Chapter Text
The snow that the news originally predicted would be just a dusting for Christmas kept building. Three days ago, they upped it from a dusting to a few centimeters, but just the afternoon before, the weather stations had to eat crow and admit the storm was much bigger than they expected. It had stalled, and a few other ingredients had come together to potentially produce a half metre of snow in some places.
This amount of snow was unheard of in recent memory, and as the news started spreading, panic set in. People who needed to travel were trying to push up plans to get out earlier. Others were running to the store to prep for having family in the house for longer than expected. Traffic turned into a nightmare by lunchtime, and when dusk settled in, and the cold wind started, delays and cancellations began rolling in.
Trudging through the brisk swells of wind and the start of the storm you head toward your flat, flipping up your collar as you walk. Your travel plans are a bust, and while you would have loved to pick up some more wine to help wait out the storm, you aren't going to battle the shops. It’s not worth fighting with people to get the last box of crackers or standing for an hour in line. Cereal and mac and cheese would have to suffice for your Christmas meal.
By eight in the evening, the wind is howling, and snow is swirling around the street lamps. Pouring another glass of wine in the kitchen, you hear a knock at the door. You hesitate and stare at it when the knock sounds again. Who would be at your place this late on Christmas Eve?
After a quick glance out the peep hole, you open the door to find your neighbor standing there. He has a box at his feet, a sheepish grin on his face, and snow dotting his coat.
“John?” You ask pulling the door open a bit more.
You knew him enough to have polite conversation, grab his packages for him when he’s out of town for work, and him offer to lug your heavy things inside after shopping. But that’s about the extent of it.
“Sorry, I know it’s late, but I saw your lights on. I think we’re the only people still in town,” he reasons as he picks up the box. “That sounds worse than it is.”
“It’s fine,” you answer peering at the box as you glance into the box. Clothes with the tags still on them, a few toys, some trinkets, a stocking, and rolls of wrapping paper. “I don’t think those shirts will fit me, though,” you tease, glancing at a pale green long sleeved number.
He glances down and grins a bit before looking back at you.
“I was supposed to be home alone until Boxing Day. But the storm trapped Emily’s mom in Germany, so we had to make last minute changes..and she’s too nosey for her own good. I had to hide these in my boot until she went to sleep,” he starts explaining as you step aside to let him inside. “She still believes in Father Christmas, and I didn’t want to risk her waking up while…”
“Come in, we’ll figure it out,” you offer. You know what he’s asking without him having to. “She asleep?”
“For now,” John answers as he sets the box on the ground by the coffee table. “Spent the past few hours doing up the tree. She wanted blue and white this year and eventually made me sit while she fixed my mistakes,” he laughs as he pulls out rolls of paper.
Setting your glass of wine down on the end table, you grab a pair of scissors from the kitchen. John has all the items laid out and boxes to put things in. For being such an intimidating looking man, he certainly looks out of place and unsure as he looks at everything to figure out where to start.
“You work on the stocking,” you offer, sitting on the couch next to him. "I’ll box.”
“Why are you still home?” John asks as he hands you the roll of tape as you seal up a pair of pajamas.
“I’ve been stranded at the airport before. I wasn’t risking it over the holidays,” you state as you grab a roll of paper and begin measuring it out to wrap. “Not so sure I hate the idea of a quiet Christmas at home though. My family can be…a lot,” you laugh.
You both work while chatting a bit, the Christmas movie you had been watching playing in the background. Despite being out of his element, John seems to be enjoying the work. His wrapping isn’t world class; the edges are bent, the ends jagged, and some things are too loose, while others are so tight they look like they may tear.
To keep the illusion of Father Christmas, you send him back to his flat to find things of his own to wrap. It doesn’t matter if it’s old items; Emily will be too excited to notice that detail, but she would certainly pick up on the fact that her dad had no gifts. When he returns with a few shirts that look relatively new and a coffee mug, you smirk before taking them.
“You’ve got nothing under your tree,” John remarks as he glances at the tree in the window. It’s a small thing, a few twinkling lights and ornaments covering up the bare spots.
“Oh, no. I sent my gifts for family to my parents, easier than trying to travel with them,” you explain pouring yourself another glass of wine and topping off the one you had poured for him.
“No I meant,” he pauses as you hold out your hand for the tape that keeps disappearing. “For you. No gifts to open in the morning?”
“Ah, no,” you reply with a small shrug. “Not a big deal. I’m sure my family will send them in the post.”
By the time you both finish your drinks and clean up, it's almost eleven. He doesn’t say anything else about your lack of gifts, but you see him looking at the tree around your flat and then at the pile of gifts at your feet a few times.
“Get some sleep, she’ll be up at the crack of dawn,” you joke as John heads back into his place to set the gifts out.
“You as well,” John states as he looks at you from across the hall for a moment before slipping into his dark living room.
Unintentionally you fall asleep on the couch. Having spent the rest of your evening watching the snow from the living room couch. So when another round of knocks, sounding more impatient and perhaps a bit quieter rap on your door, you jolt up. It’s barely seven, and you yawn and stretch, ambling to the door to pull it open.
“Forget some-“ you start before seeing it’s not John there, but Emily.
She’s wide eyed and grinning as she fumbles her hands in front of her. The little girl is practically bouncing with excitement. Glitter from the wrapping paper coats her hands and shirt, and you spot a pair of socks you had wrapped the night before on her feet.
“Morning!” She bursts out, “dad asked me to come over and invite you for breakfast! He said you were all by yourself for Christmas because of the snow…like us!” She turns to look back at the door where John has appeared, a bit of flour on his flannel shirt…another item you had helped wrap.
“It’ll be ready in about ten minutes,” John adds as Emily darts back to him, pushing past his legs to get back to her gifts. “If you’d like to join that is,” he finishes watching Emily go before turning to look back at you.
“You know…why not,” you state after a second with a shrug. “I’ll just go get changed.”
“We eat breakfast in our pajamas,” Emily chimes in when she returns with a doll, fingers twirling the hair that matches hers.
“Uh, well,” you glance at your sweats and sleep shirt. “Alright be there in a moment.”
You take the few minutes you have to freshen up, ie fix your sleep mussed face and hair then quickly brush your teeth before heading over. The flat smells of pancakes, bacon and maple syrup as you push open the door. The layout is the same as your place, just mirrored, so you’re able to find the kitchen easily.
“Father Christmas did pretty good it looks like,” you state as John digs out plates and forks.
“She was beyond excited. I think she was a bit nervous about him not knowing where she was…Christmas is always at her mother’s,” he explains as he heads to small dining room table. “But at five sharp she was squealing and dragging me from bed.”
“You did good, dad,” you whisper, glancing over your shoulder to see Emily on the floor digging another new toy out of the box.
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he replies and when you turn back around there’s a small box sitting in front of you. Wrapped in the same paper as the night before, but with a ribbon and tag with your name.
“I, what’s this?” You ask grabbing the box and turning it over in your hands. “You didn’t have to get me something,” you mutter as he slides a plate in front of you.
“Wasn’t me. Father Christmas must have mixed up our houses,” John answers with a knowing smirk as Emily slides into one of the chairs.
“What is it?” Emily asks as you peel back a corner and glance at John who’s busying himself at the sink.
Not sure what to expect, you pop off the top of the box and peer inside. It’s a familiar looking pair of socks, the same ones on Emily’s feet, though on your size. Pulling them out, you spot John's note under them, and you carefully put the cover back on. Emily doesn't need to see the note and ruin the illusion.
“It looks like we have matching socks,” you say with a grin, looking at Emily as you hold them up.
“Dad got a pair too!” She exclaims before darting from the table to go find them.
“When did you have time to get these?” You ask as you clutch the soft material. “It’s a blizzard out there,” you remark glancing at the bright white snow still falling.
“Doesn’t matter,” John answers as he sits across from you and nudges the box toward you again. “There’s one more thing in there,” he adds as he glances to where Emily is rooting around in the discarded paper. “A proper gift…I hope,” he adds as Emily comes in and shoves the socks at John, demanding he put them on so you all match.
While they’re busy, you unfold the letter still in the box and read it over. It’s an invitation to dinner and drinks with John for New Year's—a date of sorts at a very hard to get into restaurant in downtown London that costs about half your rent for one meal.
You blink at it, preparing to refuse because of the cost, but when you glance up to see John smiling a bit nervously at you, you don’t.
Unable to give him an answer with Emily sitting there, you eat instead, grinning to yourself and catching John’s eye every once in a while. The anxious grin John had at first turns into a dazzling one as time goes on. And when Emily darts to her room to get changed, yelling about sledding, you catch John’s arm as he stands up.
“Wasn’t exactly the Christmas I had planned,” you state as he looks at you. “But…it is better than the quiet one I was planning on having. Only issue is, I have nothing to give you.”
“A yes would be good enough for me,” John states as his eyes dart to the box.
“A yes? That’s it?” You ask, raising an eyebrow as you stand up, realizing how close you are to him. “Seems easy…and not exactly a fair trade since you’re the one taking me out. ”
“Just a yes,” he replies looking down at you, his hand braced on the table fisting a bit.
“Well then. I wouldn’t want to ruin the day, John,” you say quietly. “So, Happy Christmas,” you state and push up on your toes to kiss his cheek lightly.
“Happy Christmas,” he answers, cupping your cheek to give you a proper kiss before his eyes dart to the suspiciously well placed mistletoe…right above your chair.