긴긴 어둠 속을 지나 다시 찾아온 하얀 겨울

The strangest thing to J — at least, the strangest sometimes — is how normal it all is. It catches up with him sometimes, the thought fluttering up out of nowhere, that he shouldn't still be alive to celebrate another Christmas in Darrow with S. But he is. In spite of everything, himself included, he is. Another birthday, another anniversary, another Christmas. Soon another new year.

It would be a lie to say it's that simple, that he never takes it for granted, that he never even wishes it away. As happy as he often is, there are still days when it feels to him like he'd be better off no longer existing, like the world would be better for it. There are still days when it's nearly, nearly too much, waking up from the millionth nightmare or getting hit with some horrifying image — memory or imagination, sometimes it's too hard to tell them apart — when he's just trying to shower or cook dinner.

He's wary, too, of the coming weeks, remembering how hard it hit him last year, how bad it got before he had any real understanding of how far he'd spiraled. He's not sure awareness will be enough to keep it from happening again, and that gets exhausting. He doesn't really know what's wrong with him still or why it never goes away. It's hard to accept that it may always be like this, but, at the same time, he can't pretend some magical cure will arrive all of a sudden, a Christmas miracle to restore his mind to a more peaceful state. In any case, he was an anxious child before he became a haunted young man. If nothing else, at least he's fairly certain he can't ever get as bad as he did before, if only because there's no one here to poke and prod him into murder.

Which should be a sobering thought for Christmas morning. It should slow him down, drag him down. Instead, it throws the gray morning into relief, reminds him of how vividly, if groggily, alive he is. S is warm and solid against him, entangled together in sleep. J usually sleeps later, drowsy even as S prepares for work many days, but since coming here, Christmas is exciting again. Much of the money he gets from the city, he puts into helping pay for expenses, but it's more than enough when they're sharing the bills, enough he can actually set aside funds to buy S presents. He has one, too, that he's been eager to give, trepidatious about handing it over even as he knows S will love it, because what if he doesn't? It's enough to make him stir early, though at least this year he didn't get up early to bake what turned out to be some overwhelmingly salty desserts. He made cookies last night, not needing to surprise S this time, and he used sugar, so they actually taste like cookies. Instead, he can lie in, watching S for a few moments, soft in sleep.

He doesn't want to wake him. He probably shouldn't just lounge here, tucked against S's side, staring at him. It's probably creepy, no matter how long they've been together. It's just that he's beautiful. Everyone's a little messy in sleep, but S is relaxed, too, sweet, and the fan of his eyelashes against his cheeks makes J want to kiss him awake and let him sleep all morning if he likes, all at once.

He settles halfway between, leaning close to press a gentle kiss against S's cheek before he draws away. There's no point in disturbing S when he could enjoy the chance to sleep in instead. When he wakes, J decides, he'll have tea ready, the lights on the tree switched to flickering life. Sometimes he has trouble handling that the rest of his life will undoubtedly be riddled with the same inconsistency and dread and horror as it has been thus far. Right now, glancing at S from the doorway as he pulls a sweater around himself, it makes him oddly proud to have survived this long.