John turns up at the Silver mansion not knowing what to expect. The place is covered in lights, but not tacky multicoloured ones like a lot of the neighbours, these are all carefully placed icy white lights, twinkling like the snow that never falls in LA.

Terry answers the door himself. "John, I'm glad you could come," he says, and holds his arms out, as if he might be offering him a hug. But they don't do that any more, do they?

"I had plenty of other offers, for the record," John says.

Terry drops his arms to his sides. "Come in."

John follows Terry down the hall. The inside is decorated for the holidays too, in a rather austere fashion. It would take a very dedicated decorator to fill this place, it is so huge that any amount of decorations could easily get lost in here.

Terry takes him into one of the lounge rooms. Someone is sitting by the fire.

"You remember Dennis, don't you?" Terry says.

The man rises and walks over to them. Of course John remembers him. That Christmas in the eighties when Terry had invited him over, and sprung upon him the news that he had adopted two boys he claimed to have found on the street. John had expected it to be another one of Terry's whims, that he'd pass them off to his servants to raise like his parents had done with him. But Terry proved him wrong, and well, here still was one of them, at least.

"Sensei," Dennis says, giving him a smile of recognition. He hadn't really looked in John's direction at the Sekai Taikai, although John knew who he was immediately. When he bows, John notices he has his hair tied back in a long braid which makes him resemble his adopted father.

John returns the bow. "It's been a long time," he says.

Dennis nods.

John isn't sure what else he can say. He had prepared himself to face Terry, but not anyone else. What do you say to someone you haven't seen in decades? He scarcely has anything to say to Terry. Not anything civil, anyway.

Terry claps his hands together, then clasps them. "Now isn't this nice?" he says. "How about a drink before dinner?"

"Yes," John says, and Terry goes to get the whiskey decanter. Something has been bothering him since he stepped inside. "It's very quiet here."

"I gave all my staff the whole holiday season off, except for my chef of course," Terry says, filling three cut-glass tumblers. "And he'll be leaving as soon as he's served the last course. Everyone should be with their loved ones for the holidays, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Dennis says, and the way he says it strikes John as odd. There's a tension in the air. John wonders if it's because he's here. Did Terry also not tell Dennis that someone else would be joining them?

Terry hands the glasses out and urges them to sit down by the fire.

"I thought I'd invite you this year because you're in the same boat as us," Terry says, looking at John. He drops his voice and it wavers slightly. "You have nobody else left either."

"It's nothing new," John says. Somebody else might say why didn't you invite me any of the other years, but not him.

Dennis and Terry exchange a look.

John takes a drink and tries to ignore the feeling that they're somehow conspiring against him.

"It's been quite the year," Terry says. "I am glad we were all able to attend the Sekai Taikai together, even though it was not under better circumstances."

John had been wondering how long it would be until Terry brought this up. He crosses his arms and rests his glass in the crook of his elbow. "It was worse for Kwon and his family," he says.

"Yes. That was a terrible tragedy," Terry says.

Dennis nods, and reaches out to touch Terry's arm.

There's a silence that falls between them. It seems like Terry is waiting for John to say something. But what? Does he expect an apology? Well he isn't getting one. Not until Terry apologises himself. And even then, John will have to seriously think about it.

The conversation continues in this stilted manner, the air heavy with things unsaid. Terry at least has the decency to top up their glasses before they can become empty.

Before long, they're called into the dining room and served lavish starters. As always, Terry insists on sharing a bottle of wine, but he brings the whiskey decanter too. Despite his alcohol tolerance and the food, John is quickly getting drunk. He feels himself loosening up and caring less about the awkward atmosphere between them.

As they work their way through the frankly enormous main course, John turns to Dennis. "So what happened to that friend of yours? What was he called, Snake?"

Dennis's mouth opens slightly and he drops his fork. He looks as if John's just insulted him.

Terry bangs his fist down on the table. The cutlery rattles. "Don't bullshit me!"

John feels a smile creep onto his face. "What did he do? Betray you?"

"How dare you! I invite you into my home after everything, and this is how you repay me!"

"Terry-" Dennis says.

Oh, here we go, John thinks as he places his fork down on his plate. Usual old Terry. He can never play nice for long.

"You just can't help it, can you? Any sign of weakness and you can't help twisting the knife. God forbid we actually get together to offer each other mutual support! I should have known you're not capable of such a thing. Why do I…" Terry trails off and picks up his wine glass and downs the contents.

John tries to exchange a look of disbelief with Dennis, but Dennis looks like he's seen a ghost. "You don't know, do you?" he mutters.

"I don't know what?" John asks. He feels suddenly cold. Terry has slumped down in his seat and put his head down on the table. "What?"

"Snake's dead," Dennis says.

"Shit," John breathes. "When?"

"Just over a year ago."

"That would have been when I was in prison."

Terry lifts his head up and continues to eat like nothing happened.

"Did you forget you didn't come to visit me, huh?" John says. As if he would have spoken to him anyway.

Terry swallows his food, and doesn't look up. "I meant to," he says, "I was busy."

"Didn't write or call either. So how could I have known? Who else was gonna tell me?"

Terry glances at him, then picks up his wine glass, sees it is empty, then puts it down and drinks from his whiskey glass instead. John takes a drink too. The three of them continue to eat in silence. The others do at least. John just pushes his food around his plate.

Some time later, the chef returns to take their empty plates, and as they wait for him to return with dessert, Terry silently fills their whiskey glasses again. John is starting to wonder how he's going to get home. He thinks he has enough money for a cab, but on Christmas Day in this part of LA? Maybe he ought to take his leave sooner rather than later.

"It was an accident, but I blame myself. I knew he drank too much. Sent him to rehab once, should have made him go again."

"It's not your fault, Terry. We all tried to help him. He wouldn't listen," Dennis says.

Terry shakes his head. "I should've done more," he says. "I love you boys more than anything. But you know I don't like to interfere in your lives too much."

"And I appreciate that. Snake did too."

John has nothing to add to the conversation, so tries to make an effort to eat the Christmas pudding in front of him. There's a lot of rum in the cream. He hasn't seen Dennis or Snake since they were kids, raising hell in and out of his class.

"We were there for him at the end at least," Dennis says, reaching over to put a hand on Terry's arm, gripping him tightly.

Terry nods. "Even though he was barely conscious."

John can't think of anything comforting to say. He's not good at stuff like this. And he doesn't quite trust his mouth now he's drunk. Besides, Dennis and Terry have barely taken their eyes off the food or each other since dessert arrived.

Terry catches his eye eventually but says nothing. Waiting for him to say something again. Damn him.

"I've never liked Christmas," John says, looking away.

"Nor have I," Terry says quietly.

"I did," Dennis says, his voice sounding slightly strained. "Back when we were kids. It was great, when it was the three of us."

Terry smiles. "Yes, when you two came into my life, everything changed. I always loved to see your faces on Christmas morning. You know, I worked so hard figuring out exactly what it was you wanted. I had to. You didn't make it easy for me! I don't know which one of you it was who got the idea you were supposed to burn your letters to Santa."

"It was Snake," Dennis says, a smile growing on his face. "He said as Santa comes down the chimney it only makes sense for us to send our letters up there to him. I think he was supposed to have some magic way of reading the smoke or something." He chuckles.

Terry laughs and slaps the table. "Fantastic!" he says. "Snake always had such the imagination!"

John feels he should add something. "We never had much. But when my dad left there was even less in my stocking. I think that's how I figured out Santa wasn't real. That and hearing about how the rich kids always got the best presents." The other two look at him and he knows he's screwed up and brought the mood down.

"It's the thought that counts," Terry says. "I'd much rather have the people I love back than any number of gifts. Wouldn't you?"

John doesn't answer. There's a lump in his throat. Dennis nods grimly. None of them finish their desserts. The chef comes to collect their plates after their food goes cold.

Somehow they're ushered outside with their drinks, probably by Terry. John isn't even sure what's happening at this point, he didn't realise how drunk he was when they were sitting down.

Terry nearly bumps into a wall, and raises his glass. "To Snake!" he says. "And to all our dearly departed loved ones."

"To Snake!" Dennis says, wobbling as he raises his glass too. Terry reaches out to steady him.

"To Snake," John says, raising his own glass.

Terry pours the contents of his glass out onto the ground. Dennis and John do the same.

Terry sniffs, and goes to put his glass down on something that isn't there. It falls out of his hand and smashes.

Dennis pulls him into a hug, and Terry sags against him and sobs. John is too drunk to politely avert his gaze, so stands and watches them as he sips his drink.

Dennis turns his head to John and holds out an arm to him. A tear drips down his cheek. He couldn't possibly be inviting him to join them, right? That would be ridiculous. But now Terry is raising his head and looking at him too. Terry is a mess, like when he'd bawl his eyes out when they were much younger. He holds an arm out to John too.

It must be the alcohol that decides that it's a good idea to join them, because John would never. Both of them pull him in tightly. He feels a tension building up in his chest. He lets his breath out slowly and wraps his arms around them. Slowly, the tension starts to release. It's been such a long time since anyone hugged him.

There's another sound of glass smashing. Someone else dropped their glass, maybe it was even John himself. That would explain why he's able to rest both of his hands against Dennis and Terry's backs. Terry's sobbing again, and Dennis sniffles too. John's not sure he's capable of crying any more. He thinks he cried all the tears he had inside him long ago. Still, it feels right that they're all here like this. Together.

Some time later, John finds himself released. Broken glass crunches under his shoes. "Thanks," he says haltingly, "for inviting me. But I must be going now."

"No, stay," Terry says, reaching out in his vague direction. "We haven't opened gifts yet, we were waiting for you."

John sways on the spot. "I didn't bring anything for you."

"Doesn't matter," Terry says, his brow creasing. "I got something very special for you."

John can't help but smile, but he shakes his head. "That's not necessary. I'll leave you to your evening," he says, turning back towards the house. "Where's my jacket? Did I bring a jacket?"

Despite his inebriation, Terry manages to find John's jacket for him. He and Dennis follow him to the front door.

"Johnny?" Terry calls when he's already on his way out. "I'm planning a small gathering for New Year's. Join us?"

"I'll think about it," John says without turning round. He raises a hand in a wave and walks off down the driveway.