Angel had originally proposed it, which of course meant that it would be immortal.
"Shh. Stay still." And she'd kissed him, lightly, on the lips, eyes dancing, and Mark had stumbled backwards with his face flaming, and Collins had laughed.
"Your turn!"
It's been a while since anyone heard Collins laugh like that.
No worries, though. Christmas was coming.
It was a little unorthodox, admittedly. But everything about them was. Each Christmas, no matter how far they'd scattered during the year, the six of them – their little bohemian family – still ended up back together again beneath the forever-broken skylight in Mark and Roger's apartment.
In honor of the first time, it was Mark who kicked it off every Christmas Eve. Despite the fact that Angel hadn't lived to see her tradition carried on they carried her torch faithfully. It was almost like a game.
But games weren't quite this serious, were they?
With half of them dying and Angel conspicuously missing, except in the occasional sad, laughing comment, there was little room left for anything trivial. They had to make use of the time they had left together.
That realization alone was horribly sobering. Luckily, they had something much more entertaining to dwell on.
Such as Mark attempting to subtly – but not really – lure Maureen under the mistletoe with him.
"Maureen," he begins conversationally as he sidles up to her, with a wheedling tone that gets everyone turning their heads and grinning slowly. Another year, another performance. Mark was, shockingly, quite a good actor – that's another thing that makes them all glad for their excuse to get a little chummy once a year. "You look great."
"I know. Your point?" She bites her lip to hide her smile, eyes honing in on his twitchy fingers. He's set up the camera on his tripod in the corner, and he always acts so nervously without it. Roger mutters something about withdrawals, and blows a smirking kiss when the filmmaker shoots him a dirty look in return.
Mimi feigned gagging at the exchange. Collins thumped her on the back with a choked laugh. They all knew what Mark and Roger got up to when they had the loft to themselves.
"Stop hitting on my boyfriend," Mimi scolds, ruffling Mark's hair. Roger scoffs.
"Stop telling your boyfriend to stop hitting on his boyfriend," he counters, slinging an arm around him. Joanne just sighs and sinks lower into the couch, pretending to read a copy of the Voice to disguise her amusement. It's two months old, and she hasn't noticed yet.
"You were saying, Mark?"
Startled back out of his pleased reverie at Roger's possessive touching – once, he might have complained, but with the way things have progressed he hardly has to feign protest at the affection anymore – Mark sheepishly returns his attention to his target.
Maureen is pouting. Hates not being the center of attention, Mark thinks, feeling his lips twitch upwards at the truth in it. He reaches out to take her hand and brings it up to brush his lips across it; Joanne places a hand on Collins' shaking back, slightly worried at the way his chest is heaving with the force of his silent laughter.
"My apologies," Mark says, very formally, and then breaks into a mischievous grin. "I was just wondering if you were ever going to give me a proper hello."
She pretends to consider it for a moment, twisting a glossy, wavy strand of hair around her finger, before reaching out to tip curl her hand around the back of his neck coyly. "That depends on whether or not you were planning on giving me a proper welcome back."
He has to stand on his tiptoes to kiss her but it's worth it, both of them giggling so much that they can barely keep their teeth from clacking, and everyone bursts into applause. Roger wolf whistles, and Mimi stomps over and plants her lips on his just to shut him up.
"Oh, shut up!" Maureen pulls away cheerfully, glancing back at their audience with an incredibly satisfied glint in her eyes. As fun as it is to watch Mark put on a little show, Maureen is a born performer, and she can't help but love the attention – not that she wouldn't be getting it anyways. Joanne, swallowing her wine, reaches to her with a reassuring smile.
"It's your turn, Mo," Collins reminds her, tilting his own glass precariously. He's probably a little more tipsy than the rest of them, but then, he had a good enough excuse – and even if he hadn't, it wasn't like Collins had ever been the sober type. Mark is drawn insistently to his side and stands there with one of his arms around his waist, as well as Roger's, feeling utterly squashed and terrifically content with that feeling.
After April he was sure that things could never be like this again. Now, he gets to see Roger smile – hear Collins laugh – see Maureen wrap her arms around Collins neck and kiss him chastely, nose wrinkled happily – listen to Mimi cheer and catcall…
The first year, he had thought Joanne might feel a little left out. Instead, she seems to enjoy just sitting back and watching the scene unfold almost as much as Mark, jealousy all but forgotten.
They have so much to thank Angel for.
Tomorrow, they'd all go together to visit her grave.
"C'mere, lovergirl," Collins is cooing, and Joanne is scrambling to get away from him, spluttering with laughter. "Gimme some sugar."
"Get it, Collins!" Roger calls through Mimi's fingers, and Mark snickers and leans heavily against his shoulder, thinking warmly about the footage he'll have later when they've all left and he has to wait another year for this kind of happiness again.
When Joanne comes to grab a handful of Maureen's ass and kisses her hard, with tongue, even Mark has to clap for them. The contentment radiates in his bones and in his gut and leaves him slightly drunk on their charming, once-a-year dynamic.
It wasn't entirely perfect, nor often enough, but it was what they had.
And as Maureen turned to kiss Roger, with her fingers twisted in his unwashed hair, their laughter floats up to the sky where Angel watches over them with a small smile.
She'd done something good before she died, after all.