Herbology, task 1: Write about a kiss or near kiss under the mistletoe

Word Count: 1646

"How did you get your first boyfriend?" Piers asks, hating the way his voice is so soft, so afraid.

This is so stupid. He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck as his cheeks begin to burn. Who even asks something like that?

Max looks up from his coffee, offering Piers a smile. He looks exhausted–bright blue eyes duller than usual and rimmed with shadows from a lack of sleep. Piers can't help but feel guilty knowing Max is having to work himself to death to provide for a kid he never wanted–but there's something in his smile, like he's been waiting for this question. "Are you trying to get a boyfriend?" he asks, raising his dark brows.

Piers' blush deepens. It feels like his whole face is on fire.

He looks down, staring at his worn-out trainers as if they're the most interesting thing in the world. It shouldn't be this awkward. Max is gay; if anyone knows what Piers is going through, it's him. Still, there's something that makes the words seem to stick in his throat. Piers feels like he's suffocating.

"Is it Malcolm?" Max presses, and Piers doesn't have to look up to know he's grinning.

Piers sputters and looks up quickly, wondering if Max has lost his damn mind. Malcolm is still in his circle of friends, but Piers hasn't really talked to him in a while–not since he broke Mark Evans' nose and left him in a pitiful heap on the floor before proudly saying that's what happens to fucking queers. "Not Malcolm," Piers says.

"Good. He's a brute, and you deserve a gentleman." Max takes a sip of his coffee before setting the mug down again and tapping his short fingers against the ceramic side. "Dudley isn't so bad. Rough around the edges, and I don't like the path he lead you down. But he's growing."

Piers wonders if it's possible for someone to blush so deeply that their face bursts into flames. God knows he's close to spontaneous combustion now. "You sound like a dad," Piers mutters, though he doesn't actually know what a proper dad sounds like; his own had only ever told him to get out of the way, to stop being useless, to be normal and make some friends for crying out loud.

Max just smirks. "You sound like an embarrassed teenager with a crush," he counters. "I approve of Dudley."

"Dudley's straight."

His smirk broadens until Piers is afraid Max's face is going to split. "So is spaghetti until you heat it up."

For several seconds, Piers just stares blankly at his cousin, trying to wrap his head around that. He shakes his head. "I'm not putting Dudley in a pot."

Max laughs, pushing a hand through his black, curly hair. "I can't tell if you're just thick, or if you're being deliberately obtuse," he says.

"I'm pointedly ignoring that particular remark because you are a menace," Piers says simply. He smooths his hands over his baggy shirt before finally taking a seat across from Max. "You never answered my question."

Max leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His thin lips purse slightly, and he seems to lose himself in thought for several moments.

"My first boyfriend…"

Piers resists the urge to tap his foot impatiently to speed the story along. As much as the suspense is killing him, Piers knows his cousin isn't the dramatic type. The pause isn't there to drive him crazy.

But it does.

Finally, Max just shrugs and offers him a smile that's probably meant to be an apology. "I just sort of took a chance," he answers. "It worked out in my favor."

Piers groans and slumps forward, resting his head on the table. How is he supposed to take a chance on something this big? He's never been one to gamble or take extraordinary risks, and the thought of it feels so alien to him.

Is it really that easy? Can he really just tell Dudley how he feels or offer him some grand gesture?

As if he can read his mind, Max adds, "Laura is throwing a little Christmas party this weekend. Maybe you could bring Dudley."

"And then what?" Piers raises his head slightly.

Max shrugs. "I'm helping her and Sammie decorate. I'll make sure there's some mistletoe."

It's so ridiculous and outrageous, but Piers finds himself hoping it will work.

…

This isn't going to work. Piers feels like he might come out of his skin as he leans against the wall, as far away from the chattering guests as possible. It had been fun to dream and imagine, but now that the plan is in action, he feels like an idiot.

"You look like you could use this," Laura says, handing him a cup of warm apple cider. "Non-alcoholic, don't worry."

Piers doesn't tell her that he wishes it was alcoholic. He just murmurs a quick thanks, and she goes off to join Max and some other people by the fireplace.

His eyes shift to the doorway. Max had come through with his promise of decorating the place with mistletoe. It's hanging in every doorway.

"There you are." Dudley appears, startling Piers. "Pretty boring, huh?"

Piers sips the cider, nodding. He doesn't know what to actually say. Dudley has always been the easiest person to talk to, but Piers' nerves make it suddenly impossible to string together a sentence. Thank God for the drink to distract him.

"No wonder you wanted company," Dudley laughs. "Max wouldn't let you just stay home?"

"Nah. I wanted to come."

Across the room, Max catches his eye and grins. Piers' face grows warm, and he looks away quickly. His gaze shifts to another bit of mistletoe hanging over the doorway to the kitchen.

Can he really go through with this? He wishes he could be braver, but he's trembling and uncertain, and all he can think of is every damn thing that could go wrong.

"Wanna check the kitchen?" Piers asks. "I think everyone is distracted enough. We might be able to sneak a beer or something from the fridge."

Dudley's lips tug into a broad, toothy grin. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

Like.

Piers tries not to freak out about that word. It doesn't mean anything. Friends like each other.

But what if?

Piers sets his glass down on the nearest table and starts to walk toward the kitchen. He can feel Max's eyes on him, and he hates it.

As they step under the doorway, Piers glances up. "Mistletoe."

Dudley laughs, and Piers feels his heart drop to his stomach. He had known it wouldn't work, and yet he'd been stupid enough to be optimistic.

"I mean…" Piers clears his throat, adjusting the collar of his shirt awkwardly. "I dunno. It's tradition."

Dudley pushes a hand through his blond hair, smoothing it back. He seems to consider for a moment, and Piers wishes he could read his best friend's mind. Finally, Dudley shrugs and leans in.

It's happening. Piers' heart beats so rapidly against his insides that it's a miracle it doesn't burst from his body.

Suddenly, it isn't so impossible. There's a chance, and maybe everything is going to be okay, and Max is right, and…

Dudley's lips peck Piers' cheek. Maybe Piers should just be grateful. That's the most affectionate Dudley has ever shown anyone.

But he's disappointed. For one beautiful moment, he had honestly believed he could have it all.

"Wait…" Dudley's pale cheeks turn a soft pink, and his eyes widen as understanding seems to set in. "Oh."

There isn't any harshness in the word, and Piers is surprised. In the end, Dudley had proven to be the least homophobic person in his little gang, but Piers had been prepared for some sort of backlash. Had Dudley already guessed that Piers isn't straight?

"I figured you fancied Gordon," Dudley says with an amused chuckle.

"Gordon?" Piers echoes. "How the hell did you get that?"

Dudley shrugs and takes a step forward so that he's in the kitchen and away from the mistletoe. Piers follows him, glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone might have noticed the encounter. Everyone is busy with their own things, and Piers is grateful. At least Max didn't see him get rejected.

"You said Gordon had nice hair," Dudley answers, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"He does." Piers shrugs. "But his breath always smells like cabbage, which is a bit of a turn-off."

Silence. Piers shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot.

"You knew?"

Dudley rolls his eyes. "Mate, how could I not? You don't make it obvious, but I know you. You're my best friend. Did you think I wouldn't notice the way you look at blokes?"

Piers folds his slender arms over his chest. "Well, to be fair, you didn't notice the way I look at you."

"Fair point. Thing is, I don't care. I know I should. Mum and Dad taught me that different is bad, but fuck it. Nothing bad about you."

Piers' lips twitch into an almost smile.

"Enough with this whole talking about our feelings rubbish." Dudley opens the fridge and rummages through until he finds two beers. "Let's take a walk, drink a beer, share a cigarette. The usual."

Piers accepts the beer and nods, following behind Dudley.

It hurts. Even though things are much better than they could have been, the rejection still stings. He's sure the feelings will fade away, and he will learn to move on, but it feels impossible.

Still, at least he has Dudley. It may not be the way he wants him, but as the two of them walk through the snowy backyard, laughing and passing a cigarette between them, he realizes how lucky he is to be able to call Dudley his best friend.