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“Hi,” Greg said cautiously as he opened his door for Alex, who was more bundled up than he’d ever seen him, and considering how cold Alex normally was, that was saying something. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” Alex said flatly, his voice muffled by the scarf wrapped around his mouth.
While Alex was far more comfortable swearing around friends than he was on telly, it was still a sign of how awful he really must be feeling for him to say it. “I’m sorry,” Greg said with a wince, stepping back to let him in. “Who gave you a lift into the city?”
He reached for Alex’s rucksack which the other man let him take, another sign of how poorly he felt, since normally his pride wouldn’t allow something as silly as someone helping him. “My mum,” Alex said, sounding absolutely pitiful as he unwound his scarf from his face, “and let me tell you, you’ve not known humiliation until your mother has to drive you someplace because you as a fully grown, middle aged adult, can’t.”
“And because your wife’s not allowed to,” Greg reminded him.
Alex pulled a face as he unzipped one of what appeared to be several coats that he was wearing. “Not sure it’d make it better if Rachel was the one driving me,” he sighed, shrugging out of the first of his coats. “But she at least would’ve fussed over me less.”
Greg’s lips twitched. “To be fair, if it was my mum, she’d’ve taken the piss far more than fussed over me,” he said.
Alex just hummed noncommittally, tugging off his bobble hat to reveal his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. “If this weren’t entirely Rachel’s fault, she’d probably have done the same.”
Which wasn’t remotely fair to Rachel, but Greg knew Alex was feeling lousy enough as it was that he figured he’d give him a pass. “How you managed to end up with the sole person I’ve ever met who didn’t have chickenpox as a child—”
“Don’t remind me,” Alex sighed, finally divesting himself of the last layer of outerwear, which he left in a pile on Greg’s floor, taking two steps forward to collapse face-first onto the sofa. “When we took Tom in to get his vaccines years ago, the doctor encouraged her to get the chickenpox vaccine as well, but neither of us ever thought I’d come down with shingles at the age of 46 and risk infecting her.”
Greg made what he hoped was a sympathetic noise. “Well,” he said bracingly, “luckily for us all, I had chickenpox when I was 4 and also have no real Christmas plans, so you can quarantine with me as long as you need to until the risk of passing it to her has passed.”
“Thanks,” Alex said, without lifting his head up. “But it’s really only until she takes the kids to her parents. Then I can go be miserable at home.”
“Don’t be daft,” Greg said, bending to pick the pile of coats up off the floor. “I’m not letting you spend Christmas at home alone. Especially since last I checked, stress causes shingles.”
Alex picked his head up just far enough to glare pathetically at him. “Stress doesn’t cause shingles,” he said crossly, in the tone of someone who’d said this now multiple times over the past few days to every person who reminded him that he needed to take it easy for once in his life.
Thankfully, especially while sick, Alex was about as intimidating as a wet puppy. “But it can cause the virus to flare up,” Greg countered, hanging the multiple coats on the coat hooks in the hall. “I know how to Google, mate.”
Alex muttered something unintelligible and dropped his head back onto the sofa. Greg shook his own head fondly as he looked at him. “Right,” he said, picking up Alex’s rucksack once more, “until the antivirals kick in and your fever breaks, it’s bed, fluids and rest for you.”
“Must I?” Alex sighed, as close to a whine as Greg had ever heard from the man.
“Yep,” Greg said, offering Alex his hand. “Come on, mate, don’t make me carry you, that’ll just be embarrassing for the both of us.”
Likely despite himself, Alex honked a weak laugh, letting Greg pull him upright. “I’m tempted to make you try,” he said, even as he shuffled in the direction of the guest room.
“Sure, and then I’m sending you my chiropractor bills,” Greg said, trailing after him.
“It’d almost be worth it,” Alex said, managing a small, slightly strained smile. He paused in the doorway, looking at the guest bed already made up for him, along with a heating pad, a glass of water and a bottle of paracetamol on the bedside table. “You did all this for me?”
Greg rolled his eyes as he brushed past him to set his bag down. “Yeah, it was a real hardship,” he scoffed. “Come on, get in bed. I’ll wake you up when it’s dinner time.”
For a moment, it looked like Alex might try to protest again, but then he stepped forward to flop down on the bed. “Thanks, Greg,” he mumbled, and Greg shook his head affectionately as he pulled the blanket up over him.
“Anytime, mate,” he said, turning the light off. “Just don’t make me regret it, yeah?”
Alex’s only answer was a soft snore, and Greg shook his head once more before slipping out into the corridor and shutting the door after him.
Alex picked at the cuff of his jumper, an uncharacteristic scowl on his face as he sat at the kitchen table, looking for all the world like a petulant child instead of a supposed adult. Greg took a deep, steadying breath and tried to summon what little patience he had left after three days of dealing with this. “Do you want to put a movie on?”
“No,” Alex said, not looking up at him.
Greg jerked a nod. He hadn’t expected anything different. “Do you want to play a game?” he offered, even though he knew he’d hate every minute of it.
Alex shook his head. “No.”
Greg ground his teeth together. “Do you want to take a nap?”
“No.”
“Do you want to Facetime one of your twerpy friends?”
“No.”
Greg’s fingers twitched involuntarily as if they were tempted to throttle Alex of their own accord. “Do you want to get pissed and pass out early?”
Alex sighed. “Not supposed to drink on the antivirals.”
“Fine,” Greg said shortly. “Do you want to stare sullenly at the wall for another three hours?”
Alex gave him a look. “Hilarious,” he said dryly.
Greg sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m trying, mate,” he said tiredly. “If you feel that shitty, go back to bed. Or don’t, I’m not your fucking mum and if you want to sulk for the rest of the day, have at it, I suppose, though I for one will be trying to get some work done.”
With that, he grabbed his laptop and stalked over to the sofa, sitting down and stubbornly staring at the script he was meant to be working on, even though he knew he wasn’t remotely in the right headspace to try writing.
After a few agonisingly long minutes, Alex emerged from the kitchen, his scowl softened into something more like guilt. He sat down first at the far end of the sofa before slowly scooching closer to Greg until finally he was right next to him. He rested his head against Greg’s shoulder, glancing up at him. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled.
Greg put an arm around his shoulders. “You’re ill and feel like shit,” he said. “You’re allowed some leeway.”
Even if Greg had been at his fucking wit’s end, he wasn’t about to tell Alex that. To his credit, Alex let out a small, disbelieving hum. “Mm, but I’m still sorry.”
Greg looked down at him. “For what?”
Alex screwed his entire face up. “For being a, erm, a miserable cunt.”
Despite everything, Greg couldn’t quite stop his wide, delighted smile. “Did you use that word just for me?”
Alex managed a tiny smile in response. “Yes, Greg.”
“Good boy,” Greg said approvingly, squeezing his shoulders. “Look, why don’t you go take a nap for an hour or so while I finish this, and then we can pop a movie on? Something Christmas-y? Christmas Vacation, maybe?”
Alex nodded slowly. “Yeah, all right,” he said, shrugging out from under Greg’s arm to get up and plod back toward the guest room. Greg sighed and shook his head, looking back down at his computer.
Well over an hour later, Greg set his laptop down and stretched, standing to head to the guest room to see if Alex was ready to put the movie. He paused in the doorway when he saw Alex sprawled across the bed, fast asleep, his expression softening at the sight.
He stepped forward to turn the lamp on the bedside table off and couldn’t quite resist bending down to kiss the top of Alex’s head. “Goodnight, love,” he murmured.
They could always watch the movie the next day.
As Christmas approached, despite physically doing better with each passing day, Alex’s mood only seemed to get blacker. He was almost exclusively a glass half-full type of person, to the point, usually, of driving Greg absolutely barmy with his never-ceding optimism, but he seemed unable to muster any of it now.
And while Greg couldn’t exactly blame him, he also didn’t have it in him to constantly counterbalance his misery.
Even if he did his best to try, putting Christmas music on and hanging fairy lights and everything else to make it as jolly as he possibly could, seemingly with little to no effect.
On Christmas day, he pulled out all of the stops to make it a good holiday, making sure Alex woke to stockings bulging with gifts and treats, having a full turkey dinner catered in for just the two of them, making himself scarce so Alex could Facetime his family and open presents with them, and later, Zoom with Mark and Tim for the requisite Christmas game of No More Jockeys, and otherwise making sure all of the festive trappings of Christmas were in place.
But as the day wore on, Alex’s mostly fake enthusiasm rapidly faded, and he rather sullenly declined Greg’s offer to pull a cracker, instead telling him, “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“You can’t call it a night, mate!” Greg said, with the last vestiges of faux-excitement. “Christmas isn’t over yet!”
Alex sighed, crossing his arms in front of the Christmas jumper he’d donned for No More Jockeys and hadn’t yet taken off. “Greg, I appreciate everything you’ve tried to do, really I do,” he said, with the tone one might use to talk to a very small child, “but it’s just– it’s not the same. And I don’t want to ruin the rest of your Christmas.”
Greg scowled at him. “Right, because letting me spend the rest of Christmas by my lonesome is a surefire way to make sure it’s not ruined.”
Alex’s eyes flickered to his and away again. “I didn’t mean—” he started with a sigh, and Greg cut him off.
“Good, then you’ve time for one more Christmas activity before you go to bed.”
“Greg—”
Greg didn’t often resort to pleading, aware as he was that it wasn’t an attractive look on him, but he gave Alex his best approximation of puppy dog pleading. “Just one,” he cajoled. “Please?”
Alex huffed a sigh and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Fine.”
It wasn’t exactly the enthusiasm Greg had been hoping for, but he’d take it nonetheless. “Right,” he said, standing up and crossing to the cupboard, stretching to reach above where he knew Alex would never have thought to look, “you’ll have to explain the exact rules, because I don’t really remember, but—”
A short, startled laugh burst from Alex as he glanced from the outstretched fruit up to Greg. “A pineapple?”
Greg nodded, grinning. “That’s your Christmas game, isn’t it?”
Alex shook his head slowly. “I– yeah, it is.”
“Well all right then,” Greg said triumphantly, setting the pineapple in the centre of the table with a flourish. “Horne family tradition. Let’s do it.” Alex just stared at him, something unreadable in his expression, and Greg raised both eyebrows. “What?”
Alex shook his head again. “Thank you.”
Greg’s chest suddenly felt tight, and he looked away. “It’s just a pineapple, mate.”
“No, it’s more than that,” Alex said. “You’ve been trying so hard, and I’ve—”
“Been a miserable cunt?” Greg supplied, only half joking.
A smile twitched at the corners of Alex’s mouth. “Suppose so, yeah.”
Greg shrugged and sat down. “Well, normally you’re the one who cheers me up when I’m being a miserable cunt, so I figured it was only fair I do the same.”
“Yeah, but—”
Again Alex broke off, this time with a faint flush darkening his cheeks, and Greg gave him an appraising look. “But what?” he prompted.
Alex shook his head. “Nothing,” he muttered.
Greg’s brow furrowed and he nudged him with his elbow. “What?”
Alex scratched his cheek, flushing in a way that Greg was tempted to blame on his fever, even though it had broken some two days prior and not yet resurfaced. “I do it because I, er, well, because I want to do it,” Alex mumbled. “For you.”
Greg blinked. “And you think I don’t?”
Alex shook his head again. “No, I mean, I want to do it for you because I, erm…”
He trailed off and Greg scowled with mostly mock impatience. “Spit it out, mate, these pineapple leaves aren’t going to count themselves.”
“Because I like you,” Alex said, a little too quickly.
“Well, yeah, and I like you, too,” Greg said easily.
Alex let out what might have been a groan, covering his face with both hands for a moment before lowering them to tell Greg, “No, I mean, erm. I like like you.”
It was absolutely worth putting up with Alex being an absolute prick for the preceding week to hear those words from his mouth, and Greg grinned. “Yeah,” he said casually, as if he wasn’t internally doing cartwheels, “well, I like like you, too.”
“Oh,” Alex said faintly, his eyes widening. “Really?”
“Mate, I was the one who suggested you come stay with me,” Greg said with a patience that came only from finding Alex’s idiocy utterly charming when it’d’ve driven him mad were it anyone else. “You think I wouldn’t have just told you to fuck off to a hotel if I didn’t want the excuse to spend time with you?”
“I—”
Greg shrugged. “But you’ve been, to use your words, a miserable cunt and I didn’t want to make things worse, so I figured, best wait for next time.”
“What, next time I contract an illness that requires me to spend Christmas with you?” Alex asked sceptically.
Greg laughed. “Something like that.”
Alex shook his head slowly. “So you did all this…”
“I did all this because you’re my friend who I love very much,” Greg said honestly, because no matter what else, that would always be the truth, “and I’ll let you interpret that however you wish.”
“Whom,” Alex said, and Greg frowned at him in confusion until he recognised the correction of his grammar for what it was.
“Oh, you little fucking prick—”
Alex cut him off by launching himself forward to give Greg a hug, the force of it enough to startle Greg into silence even as he automatically wrapped his arms around Alex to hold him close. “Thank you,” Alex repeated after a long moment, pulling back as far as Greg would let him, which wasn’t very. “You’re saved this Christmas from being complete shit.”
“Well,” Greg said, “I did what I could.”
“Mm,” Alex said, with the tone of someone who thought he’d done far more than that. “There is one thing you didn’t think to get.”
Greg’s brow furrowed. “What’s that?”
Alex grinned. “Mistletoe.”
Greg matched his grin before ducking his head and murmuring, “Thankfully, I don’t think we need it, do you?”
He caught whatever asinine answer Alex was undoubtedly going to give with his mouth, pressing his lips against Alex’s in a searing kiss.
The angle wasn’t great, and when Greg pictured kissing Alex like this for the first time, it wasn’t at his kitchen table, but it was also the best Christmas present he’d ever gotten and he was determined to savour it for as long as he could. Still, when they broke apart to catch their breath, Greg used it as an excuse to stand, tangling his fingers with Alex’s, tugging him toward the sofa.
But Alex hesitated, glancing back at the table. “Should we, er– I mean, you went to the trouble of getting the pineapple, seems a shame—”
“No need,” Greg told him, “I already counted the leaves.”
Alex stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowing. “What? When?”
Greg raised both eyebrows as if it was obvious. “When I bought it.”
Alex looked so genuinely affronted by the thought that Greg almost kissed him again. “You cheated?”
He just shrugged. “If you want to call it that,” he said casually, before pulling Alex to him to kiss his furrowed brow. “Since I cheated so that I could let you win.”
Alex blinked up at him. “Why?”
“Because it seemed like you needed a win,” Greg told him truthfully, before adding wryly, “And I thought it might be easier to get in your trousers if you were in a good mood.”
Alex honked a laugh and shook his head, grinning. “Well, thankfully, it looks like I got a win anyway,” he said, equal parts saccharine and smug.
The worst part was, Greg couldn’t even find it in him to mock him. “Yeah. I’d say we both did.”
Alex searched his expression for a moment before stretching up to kiss him once more. “Happy Christmas, Greg,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” Greg repeated, grinning. “It really has been, after all.”