Hokuto wakes up to the sound of his alarm, the ring of it high and grating—too sharp for the hour. He fumbles for his phone, sweeping over his bedside table and under his pillow, hands clumsy with sleep, dangerously close to knocking things over. Blessedly, he manages to locate his phone without incident and finally silences the alarm. It's 3:15. He groans. Too early under normal circumstances, he thinks, but then he sees the date and remembers what day it is. December 24, just a little ways before Christmas. It’s the final day of Simbang Gabi, nine celebrations of the Holy Mass in the days leading to Christmas.
He’s just about to put his phone back on the bedside table when it rings again, the ringtone much more obnoxious. Definitely Jesse’s work. Hokuto tells himself to guard his phone a lot more tightly so that his friends won’t be able to play with it anymore, and as he clicks accept—without even having to put the device to his ears—Hokuto hears Jesse yell, “MERRY CHRISTMAS HOKUTO!!”
There’s some shuffling from the other line and lots of bickering in the background, and when Hokuto finally puts his phone close to his ears, it’s to Kouchi’s milder tone taking reign. “Hi, some idiot got too excited for the end of Simbang Gabi and was up early. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” Hokuto replies with a small, if quite sleepy, chuckle. “It’s the first time in years that we’re completing it together. Let me just get ready.”
“We’re already on our way, let’s meet at the entrance?”
Hokuto agrees, and the scuffling noises in the background start again, the light ribbing between the others continuing well until Hokuto hangs up.
And so Hokuto runs a hand over his face, rubbing off the remnants of sleep, rounding it up with a soft slap to his own cheeks. He wills himself into wakefulness to prepare for the day ahead.
The pre-dawn air is much colder during this time of the year; he tightens his jacket against the Northeast Monsoon's chill. He’s glad for the four other boys standing beside him in church, distracting him from the cold and keeping him on his toes. He watches out for them, making shushing noises when his friends get too loud. It’s an effort in futility—they are far too talkative—but his wish is much stronger than the distractions. So he persists. He closes his eyes and prays to God. The faint scent of wax and incense clings to the air.
The recession song plays and there’s applause all around as people stand up and begin to make their exit. Hokuto gives his friends a not-quite hug, telling them he has plans for the day and to enjoy the holidays. He doesn’t miss the suggestive looks between Jesse and Shintaro; his gaze softens for a moment, and then he’s shooing them away. He stays still for a second after his friends leave, allowing most of the crowd to disperse before heading for the candle stands.
He’s lights a white candle after the Holy Mass, the flame trembling in the faint draft. Then someone calls his name.
It’s a deep, melodic voice that calls to him, one that Hokuto hasn’t heard in a long time. There’s a lilting, loving quality to that one word from the other person’s lips, if Hokuto so chooses to nitpick. The flame wavers, catching on his breath.
Hokuto hears a hearty chuckle from behind him, no doubt that the other person saw him fumble. He sets the candle upright before he turns around.
“It’s been a while. Hi, Hokuto,” Taiga says when Hokuto has fully turned towards him.
“I’m not dreaming, right?” Hokuto replies. He steps closer, just until he’s within Taiga’s reach. Hokuto raises a hand to touch the other man’s cheek, feeling the warmth of life and smooth skin beneath his palms.
Taiga’s hand closes over Hokuto’s own, his actions affirming Hokuto’s words. “I’m here, Hokuto. I’m sorry for being away for so long.”
Hokuto shakes his head as he strokes Taiga’s cheek with his thumb. “I wished for you,” he confesses. “I’ve prayed for all this time. I’m happy that you’re finally here.”
“You have a lot of faith in me, huh,” Taiga says, leaning into Hokuto’s touch as though commiting the sensation to memory. “I’m glad to be home.”
“Welcome home,” Hokuto says instead, as the questions remain unspoken.
“Okay, first order of things,” Taiga says as they walk toward Hokuto's home. “Let me spend the holidays with you?”
“That’s already a given, Taiga,” Hokuto replies, eyes crinkling with fondness.
“But I heard you had plans for today?” Taiga asks, voice small and hesitant. A glimpse of a pout crosses his lips, even after so long apart.
This time, Hokuto chuckles. “I do. I have plans to go grocery shopping for tonight’s festivities.”
“I was just going to cook for myself, but since you’re here, then it’s all the more necessary to go grocery shopping,” Hokuto adds with a wink.
Taiga’s jaw hangs open for a moment, the less innocent implications running through his mind, but he catches himself. He shakes his head as he gets his mind out of the gutter, unused to this bolder and saucier version of Hokuto.
“You’ve become naughty,” Taiga observes. It may sound like a reprimand given the matter-of-fact delivery of the words, but there is a sparkle of mischief in Taiga’s eyes.
“I only learned from the best,” Hokuto hits back, “you know how our best friend is.”
Taiga cracks up, laughing a little closer to the point of hysteria. “I’m gonna have to thank Juri,” he says as he wipes an imaginary tear from his eye once he collects himself.
“Don’t you mean blame him?” Hokuto sneers.
Taiga smiles, softening. “I’m serious. He took care of you—of everyone—while I was away. He took care of me, too, and he did it happily.”
Taiga takes Hokuto’s hand, which the other man readily accepts. “I know,” Hokuto says. “Juri really is a blessing to the planet.”
They walk as the town brightens around them. The few early risers from the Holy Mass have either gone back home to or left for their jobs. Some signs of life can be seen in the shops opening up for the day. In a flash, Taiga’s eyes widen when Hokuto slips their joined hands into Hokuto’s jacket pocket.
“It’s still cold,” Hokuto says simply, his grip firm, and ears reddening. Taiga smiles.
By lunchtime, the group of six is older, quieter, yet still warm and lively. Gifts are exchanged—pens and art supplies, even an all-expense paid trip to Cebu—and hugs follow, full of nostalgia and gentle joy.
Taiga stands. “I’ll just head to the toilet.”
“Wow, same,” Juri says, getting up seconds later. He catches up quickly to Taiga. “Settling the bill yourself again?”
Taiga smiles and hands over a card with Hokuto’s name.
It’s Juri’s turn to be stunned, but a grin quickly replaces his expression.
“That was quick,” Juri says. “Suddenly you’re practically married.”
“Well, we have to make up for lost time,” Taiga replies. “And I’m glad he trusts me with this.”
“You’re going to stay, now, right?” Juri asks, grin softening into curiosity
“For good, yes,” he replies. “I’ve missed you guys, and I missed celebrating Christmas here.
“But more than anything, I miss my home. I miss Hokuto.” He settles the tab as he speaks.
“I won’t say I saw you pay for everything so quickly and so generously in Hokuto’s name,” Juri teases, cocking an eyebrow.
Juri's smile widens. “We all missed you too. I'm happy you’re home.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Hokuto asks, awestruck, as Taiga moves in the kitchen. “You just got here, you’re the guest.”
“I have lots of energy now that I’m home with you. Don’t worry—I’ve actually learned to cook the perfect rice over the years,” Taiga says, passing a bottle of Hokuto's favorite togarashi.
“You remembered,” Hokuto breathes, eyes sparkling as he carefully unseals the bottle and allows the scent to mingle with the steam rising from the rice.
“I know you miss the taste of our old home. I brought this anyway,” Taiga admits, tone sheepish.
“I appreciate it, Taiga,” Hokuto says. “Honestly, it’s the first time in a while that I’m having this, and I’m having you cook it makes it even better.”
“Ah, it already smells so good,” Hokuto breathes in the steam. “We already have all the good Philippine dishes for Christmas night, but this—this is home away from home.”
The scent of rice mingles with the faint trace of candle wax—the prayer that he lit that morning still burning quietly on the table.
“I realized that I was just making us both unhappy by going away. It pained me when you were hurting while I was away, but I thought it was for the best,” Taiga confesses. “Now, I’m glad you’re giving me this chance, Hokuto. Let me make it up to you.”
“You were forgiven a long time ago,” Hokuto replies. “I missed you so, so much. I want us to make up to each other. I want to do this together.”
“I’ll be here for you until you get tired of me,” Taiga nods solemnly.
“You’re not getting rid of me either, Taiga,” Hokuto says. He locks Taiga in a tight embrace, holding on to all the fondest feelings they have for each other.
It's past midnight, and they are winding down from the Eve celebrations.
“Merry Christmas, Taiga,” Hokuto whispers as they lie together. Taiga curls into Hokuto’s space, arms wrapped around his midsection.
Taiga’s already nodding off, tired from his flight and from the activities of the day, but he manages to whisper back, “Merry Christmas. I love you.”
The alarm blares, a long, piercing sound through the quiet air. The scent of candle wax lingers in the air. The room is still. Hokuto sleeps on.
Jesse had not intended to spend Christmas morning standing awkwardly in someone else’s kitchen, holding a tray of bibingka like it was a dangerous object.
He especially had not intended to be standing this close to Shintaro.
“Careful,” Shintaro said, reaching out automatically when Jesse tilted the tray a little too much.
Their fingers brushed.
They both froze.
“Oh—sorry,” Jesse said at the same time Shintaro muttered, “My bad,” and then they laughed, too loud and too fast, like they were trying to convince the universe that nothing weird had just happened.
Nothing weird had happened. Obviously.
“Okay,” Jesse said, adjusting his grip. “I’m just going to… put this down. Over there. Far away from you.”
“That’s probably wise,” Shintaro agreed solemnly.
They managed exactly three seconds of peace before Jesse, attempting to be helpful, reached for the same stack of plates Shintaro was already holding. The plates wobbled. Jesse lunged. Shintaro caught them.
Somehow, Jesse’s hand ended up on Shintaro’s wrist.
Somehow, neither of them moved.
They stood there, very aware of the warmth where they were touching, the faint scent of sugar and smoke in the air, the quiet hum of the house still waking up around them.
“…So,” Jesse said, voice betraying him slightly. “Merry Christmas?”
Shintaro blinked, then snorted. “You’re terrible at this.”
“At… Christmas?” Jesse asked.
“At not making things weird,” Shintaro replied, but he didn’t pull his hand away right away.
Jesse smiled, soft and a little sheepish. “I make things weird professionally.”
That earned him a laugh—real this time, warm and unguarded. Shintaro finally let go, shaking his head as he turned back to the counter.
“Let’s just finish setting up,” he said. “Before you accidentally confess your love to me or something.”
Jesse choked. “Whoa. Bold of you to assume I’d survive that.”
Shintaro glanced back at him, eyes bright with something unreadable. “Yeah,” he said lightly. “Same.”
Nothing else happened after that.
They finished setting the table. They rejoined the others. Christmas continued as planned.
But Jesse stood a little closer to Shintaro for the rest of the morning, and Shintaro didn’t move away.
And if neither of them could quite explain why their hearts felt a little louder than usual—
Well.
It was Christmas.