Christmas morning he woke at dawn. The alarm didn't have to ring; excitement shook him awake. It was finally Christmas. He felt eight years old.

"Chestnut coffee!" Michael shrieked gleefully as he stepped into the kitchen. He lifted his cup toward the heavens, as though giving praise.

"Oh damn," Jeremy said. "I've been looking forward to this stuff all year."

"Merry Christmas," Michael said.

"Merry Christmas," said Jeremy.

"Now will you tell me what you got me?" he bargained.

"No," Jeremy said with a mock stern tone. "Wait till the party."

Michael tipped his head back and groaned. "But that's not until seven!"

Jeremy giggled. "Lord, be patient. What are you, six?"

"On Christmas? Hell yeah I am."

"Fair enough."

To pass the time until their friends came, they finished decorating the apartment, played board games, and watched movies.

"It's a very Star Wars Christmas," Michael said.

"Every Christmas is a Star Wars Christmas."

"Amen."

Seven PM felt days away but the time did pass reliably. Michael sprang to his feet the moment the doorbell rang.

"Merry Christmas, guys!" Brooke cried as he opened the door.

Michael returned the greeting and let her in. She made her way to the kitchen to empty her full arms.

"You're gonna love me," she teased.

"And I don't already?" Michael asked.

"Not as much as you will." She pulled a cardboard carton out of a plastic bag. "Cuz I got you eggnog."

"You're fucking kidding!"

"Nope," she said as she placed two pristinely wrapped presents beneath the glimmering tree.

"Damn, that's great. You're the best, Brooke."

"You know it, pretty boy. Chloe's bringing dark rum too," she said.

"Oh, we don't--"

Jeremy interrupted, leaning over the table. "I don't drink. Michael does."

Michael looked at him quizzically.

"Come on," he argued. "Just because I'm not hitting the stuff doesn't mean you can't. It's Christmas. Drink your head off with friends. Have a good time."

He had better self control now. He knew he'd be okay, and he was curious what a drunk Michael looked like. Entertaining as all hell, he imagined. He had so much energy already… What happened when alcohol was poured on top of it?

"You're sure?" Michael said skeptically.

"Hundred percent," Jeremy said.

"Okay," Michael said quietly. "I trust you."

The words drifted through Jeremy's head. They bounced from end to end of his skull.

Chloe arrived next, bearing high end liquor as promised, as well as a Christmas card. No less, she was dressed as a sexy (and slightly revealing) Santa Claus.

"One word and I fire you," she said as Michael opened his mouth. "I just got off work. This shit's good for business. Besides, the hat is warm. I'm freezing my tits off."

Rich and Christine came last, but not far behind schedule.

"Sorry we're late!" Christine said. "But I brought cookies!"

"Damn things don't bake fast enough and she wanted them to be fresh," Rich chuckled.

"Oh hush," she giggled.

Jesus, she's too fucking precious, Jeremy thought. Not his type of girl personally, but Rich had really scored.

They placed their presents under the tree as well, and Christine presented them with a vast array of sugar cookies perfectly decorated shaped like Santa, reindeer, trees, and snowflakes.

"You made these?" Jeremy asked.

"Yeah! My mom loves Christmas. She taught me when I was nine."

"They're fantastic," he said, biting into one.

Eggnog followed. The warmth of sugary holiday bliss filled his mouth and eased away what remaining anxiety he had.

As everyone eased in and hummed along with "Deck The Halls", Michael downed his second glass of eggnog.

"We should probably open presents before Michael and Brooke drink too much to know what they were," he said.

"Fair enough," said Brooke. "Open mine first, Michael!"

"Listen," he kidded, "I love you, but I've been wondering what Jeremy got since like, forever."

"Oh, alright. But I'm next!"

Gingerly, Michael ripped the wrapping paper and opened the first box. He let out a breath of excitement and cradled the pair of fingerless gloves in his hands. They'd jumped out at Jeremy in this store, and seemed to suit his personality exceptionally well. He smiled as Michael slipped them on, running his fingers over the skeleton design.

"Damn," he said. "These are perfect."

"They glow in the dark too," Jeremy said.

"I love them," purred Michael.

"Come on, get the next one," he nudged.

The smaller box was the important one. The most thought and effort had gone into it. Michael's eyes shined the moment he saw the concert tickets and he radiated happiness as he read them.

"Rancid?" he said disbelievingly. "Jeremy-I… I don't know what to say. I just… Floor tickets. How much did these cost?"

"Don't worry about it. We both love them, and they'll be in the area soon. I had to."

Michael threw both arms around him and hugged him tight. "Thank you," he breathed in his ear. He opened the rest of his presents with untampered joy. Brooke had given him a high end pair of combat boots—genuine leather. Rich and Christine had pitched in together to get him a vintage Ramones shirt. Folded inside Chloe's card, was a wad of cash with a note saying "Your Christmas bonus. Thanks for helping."

Jeremy buzzed with curiosity as he opened the box from Michael. Folded neatly inside was a black leather jacket—nicer than Jeremy would ever buy himself. He pulled it out, and found it fit almost perfectly. The inside was lined with soft material.

"Holy shit, Michael," Jeremy breathed.

"It's vintage. I got it online. It's really high quality so it'll hold up. I figured you deserved something really nice for taking me in like you have."

"You're amazing," Jeremy said.

As the rest of the presents were opened, Michael and Brooke took turns bringing each other drinks from the kitchen. Both of them giggled like children, and made incoherent jokes only the two of them seemed to understand. The drunker Michael got, the higher the pitch in his laugh went.

Heading toward midnight, the party began to die down. Cabs were called, and Jeremy walked everyone out to make sure they got home safely.

By 12:30, Jeremy was left in a messy, festively decorated apartment with an incredibly inebriated Michael. Shreds of bright wrapping paper were littered across the floor and couches.

Giggling, Michael stumbled toward the kitchen in search of more rum.

"No, you've had enough," Jeremy laughed.

Michael stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

"Okay…" he slurred.

Fuck, Michael was adorable when he was drunk. All of his inhibitions seemed to have melted into fun and joy. It was good to see him so happy, even if it was only temporary.

"We made a mess," Michael snickered, kicking around the carpet to fluff up the shredded paper. He laughed harder, high in his throat when it fluttered around his feet like confetti. "It's like butterfly wings…" he said distantly.

Michael managed to land on the couch face first when he tripped over his own feet. When he'd righted himself to a sitting position, he patted the cushion next to him.

"Sit with me," he slurred.

Reluctantly, Jeremy sat down. Michael met his eyes and grinned impossibly wide.

"You're pretty," he drawled.

Jeremy felt his face flush. Shit, this wasn't going well.

Michael's voice cleared a little. "I never say anything cuz I'm all fucked up. And I hate myself a lot, cuz I'm no good for you."

"Don't say that," Jeremy said.

"It's true." He hiccupped, humorously enough, and kept talking. "I'm not. But I love you. Always have."

"Michael…"

Before he could open his mouth, Jeremy felt the surprisingly gentle press of Michael's lips against his own. And he couldn't breathe, or think, or do anything but close his eyes, and lean into him. Instinct took over. His pulse rushed and his face burned. His better judgement crawled all over his skin but he still couldn't find the resolve to push him away. He was all too eager to part his lips for Michael; to melt into the way his fingers worked through his hair.

For a moment, there was only the taste of cinnamon, alcohol, and warmth on Michael's tongue.

Michael pulled back and kissed his cheek softly as well.

He stopped him as he leaned back toward him.

"Mikey," he warned. "You're drunk. You're not thinking."

"Doesn't mean it's not true."

"Yeah, but… you might regret this when you're sober."

Michael sniffed. "Probably. But I'll never get over… stuff, any other time."

"Yeah," Jeremy sighed. "But isn't it supposed to be like… a sin or something? Doesn't the Bible say shit about that?"

The high, soft laugh came again and Michael said, "That's stupid. Some… some asshole made that j-junk up and a buncha other assholes said 'eh, makes sense'. Being gay didn't keep me outta heaven." He laughed again.

"Seriously?" Jeremy said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah. Nobody gives t-two fucks. God only cares when you hurt people."

"Huh," Jeremy hummed, chewing on the thought.

His breath was soft and warm against his skin. Michael pressed his forehead to his own but didn't kiss him again. He wanted him to, but not drunk. He wanted to be loved sober.

"You should sleep," Jeremy said.

"You should too."

"Okay," he sighed. "Goodnight, Michael."

"Merry Christmas, Jere," he said groggily.

"Merry Christmas, Mikey."

"Love ya, Jere."

I love you too, he thought. He didn't know why he didn't just say it back. Maybe he'd luck out and Michael wouldn't remember any of it in the morning.