Day Ten: Mistletoe

The thing is, the disdain was mutual.

There was no unrequited longing, no secretive, Hey Arnold-esque pining masquerading as hostility. Gale Hawthorne and Madge Undersee did not like each other. At all. In any way, shape, or form.

He was surly, obstinate, and had a chip on his shoulder the size of a moon crater, and she was a self-righteous know-it-all who hated being proven wrong.
So naturally, they loathed each other. (He was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it any more obvious?)

They ran in the same circle of friends, because their bumfuck town had a graduating senior class of like, fifty people, and with numbers like that, the odds of finding cool people their age were slim to none, and both being reasonably intelligent people, naturally ended up in the same small group that consisted of the other cool, reasonably intelligent people their age.

Everyone was convinced it was just a matter of UST that desperately needed resolving. If anything, a good fuck would do both of them, well, good, and everyone had hoped that, after a year away at college, perhaps they would've chilled out a little bit and Thom and Delly's join Christmas party wouldn't be completely ruined by their usual drunken spats.

It turned out to be too much to hope for.

"Well, Princess, how's Hoity Toity University?" Gale asked, sidling up next to her with some spiked punch. They had their backs to the wall, surveying the party.

"I'm getting a quality education, which is more than I can say for whichever school you ended up at, Hawthorne," Madge said dryly. "Hoity Toity University? I think you've regressed since I last saw you, Hawthorne, and that's saying something, since I didn't think it possible."

"Well, despite that quality education, it hasn't done much to dislodge that giant stick up your ass," Gale said cheerfully, taking a swig. "So perhaps we're even."

The earlier crass sentiments aside, Madge couldn't help but squint her eyes at Gale's last statement. It was surprisingly… benign. She didn't even have a comeback for it. Maybe he was lulling her into a false sense of security. "Just leave me alone, Hawthorne," she said with disgust. "I just want to enjoy tonight, thanks."

"Why?" He said, throwing back the rest of his drink, all earlier good cheer gone. His lips were stained red from the wine, and Madge thought he looked like a wolf; It was certainly clear he was on the attack tonight. "Not wanna be in that miserable old mansion tonight?" It wasn't a terribly out-there question– he frequently, over the years, threw barbs that related to her wealth, her family's house, and general white privilege.

And obviously, she couldn't say anything about his socioeconomic status without coming across as a real bitch, but she could talk about his male privilege, and so their spats had a usual ebb-and-flow. Sometimes their fights even felt a bit scripted, a bit tired, but who was he to mess with tradition?

It seemed that she was the one who decided to trip things up, because instead of tossing back a barb she said absolutely. Nothing.

Silence.

Gale finally glanced over at her; she was too busy pounding back the (very) strong drink that Bristel had poured for her earlier. The grip on her glass was so tight her knuckles were white. She slammed the empty glass down on the table.

"Yep," she said, popping her 'p.' "I don't wanna be in that miserable old mansion tonight. It's empty and it's cold and there's nothing for me there. Dad's working, Mom's stoned, aunts and uncles decided they would rather go elsewhere. So I'm here. With you." She gave a humorless laugh. "And honestly, standing next to you hearing you trash my life is still preferable to being at home. So, congrats and Merry Christmas, Hawthorne, that should tell you just how great the Princess's castle is." He couldn't look away as her cheeks began to flush from the alcohol and her eyes began to well up from– well, he knew. "Cheers," she spat, stalking away, yanking open the sliding door to the balcony, sans coat, and stepping outside. Their friends watched her go, not hearing the exchange but figuring it was Gale and Madge's usual bullshit. They shook their heads.

They didn't see the unshed tears; they didn't see the falter in her step, or the way that Gale remained immobile against the wall for a long time, eyes watching her, alone outside in the snow.

It took a bit, but he found her coat, and, taking his and ignoring their friends' curious looks, he stepped outside to give it to her. He knew she was probably, despite the warmth the alcohol provided, freezing her ass off, and shit, he was Catholic, guilt was practically in his blood.

He didn't say anything, just draped the coat over her shoulders. She turned to look at him, eyes flat. "Thanks," she said, and then turning out to look at the quiet, snowy street below. It had snowed earlier, after everyone arrived at the party.

Gale knew how to say sorry; had said it plenty times, in fact, to various people, but he had never said it to Madge Undersee before.

"I'm an asshole," he told her. "I'm sorry I crossed that line."

Madge shrugged. "You didn't know that line was there," she said. "Hell, I didn't even know that line was there until you said it. Don't worry about it, Hawthorne. Go inside and drink some more."

"Nah," he said, looking at her face– a face he had seen so many times before but, at this time and place, seemed brand new to him. He didn't want to say she was beautiful in her sadness, because he hated that manic pixie dream girl bullshit and he knew, objectively, from years of knowing her, that she looked most beautiful when she laughed, when she relaxed and enjoyed what was happening around her, but she was, in repose, so pretty. He couldn't look away from her in a way he couldn't explain. "I'm good where I'm at… if that's okay. I won't talk if you don't want me to."

"A Christmas miracle," she said, but she's looking over at him, too, and smiling, tentatively. He smiled back at her, widely, relieved, feeling that the Christmas miracle was just them, right there, at peace for once.

Being angry and arguing got his blood going, his heart pumping, in a way that reminded him of running a race. It made him feel alive and he could tell that Madge was the same way– they didn't like each other, and that just made it okay to get out their frustrations and meanness on each other because it didn't matter. But this… this was so nice, too.

Maybe he'd take up boxing instead.

They stood outside for a while, in silence, ignoring the chatter and glances from their friends, and only decided to go in when Madge's teeth began to chatter and the tips of Gale's fingers were nearly blue.

He held the door open for her, and she was in the process of slipping past him, when Delly called out drunkenly, "Oooh, mistletoe!"

They both looked up sharply, and sure enough– mistletoe. Those little bastards had set them up while they were out there.

Their friends jeered at them, and Madge flushed, but she and Gale held each other's gazes. If it was earlier in the night they would've refused, thrown tantrums like children, but they were still soft and tender from their moment outside, and Gale held himself very still as Madge stood on her tiptoes, cupped his face in hers, and kissed him sweetly, her hair falling around them as though their kiss was a secret shared under covers and in the dark, meant just for them.

The jeers and cheers faded away– she kept kissing him, and soon he wrapped her up in his arms, tender, like she was so precious, and kissed her back.

"Get a room, you two!" Someone shouted, and that startled Madge, jerking her back just a bit.

"We could just leave," Gale murmured to her, not meaning that they had to go hook-up, necessarily, but they could leave again. Brave the cold. Go walk around in the quiet.

Her eyes shone at him now in happiness. They had always communicated so well (even if what they communicated wasn't particularly nice); she understood what he meant. She looked at the scene before them, and his gaze followed; their friends, warm and happy, and all together.

"Maybe we could stay a little while," she said, slowly unwinding herself from him. "But…" She looked back at him again, and smiled. He could get used to that– Madge Undersee smiling at him.

"Later?" He asked, letting her untangle herself.

She reached over and laced their hands together. "Later," she promised.

And they went to join their friends.