Archie’s Holiday (Foggy Basin Season Two)

Chapter One

Archie

Archie was thumbing through the bookshelves in the local bookstore, hunting for something Brogan would love—maybe that Gaelic poetry collection he’d mentioned in passing, or an action novel. The place smelled of old paper and cinnamon from the café next door. It was peaceful until it wasn’t.

“Archie,” a voice barked behind him.

He turned, stomach already tightening. Uncle David. Andrew’s dad. And judging by the way he was marching over, this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat.

“Are you done teaching?” Uncle David asked, like he was small talk.

Archie nodded slowly. “For today, yeah.”

Uncle David didn’t waste time. “We don’t want you or Brogan at the Star Christmas dinner. If Andrew told you otherwise, he was wrong.”

Archie blinked. “He did say we were invited. But… that’s okay we have other plans.”

“It’s not personal,” Uncle David said, which was a lie. “Two gay men are more than I can handle. If your mother knew what you were up to in Foggy Basin, she’d be turning in her grave.”

The words hit like a slap. He swallowed hard, heat rising behind his eyes. “You don’t know that,” he said. “It’s really messed up for you to speak about my mother. She loved me. Nothing you say can change that.”

Uncle David didn’t flinch, but he grew louder. “Give up being gay. Give up, Brogan.”

Archie didn’t say another word. He couldn’t. His throat felt like it was closing up. He turned on his heel and marched straight out of the bookstore, the bell above the door jingling like nothing had happened.

The cold slapped his cheeks as he swung a leg over his motorcycle, the engine growling to life beneath him.

He rode fast, hoping the wind would scrape off the sting of his uncle’s words, but they clung to him like frost. Saying his mom wouldn’t have loved him—God, that was low.

She’d been the one person who made him feel safe, seen.

And now Uncle David had twisted that into something ugly, just to justify uninviting him and Brogan from Christmas dinner.

Archie’s chest ached, not just from the insult, but from the way it made him question things he’d never doubted before.

He gripped the handlebars tighter; the road blurred under him, wishing he could outride the hurt.

He parked his motorcycle as the rumble of the engine faded and before he charged through the front door.

Archie’s brand-new briefcase hit the floor with a thud as Brogan’s warm smile met his. Brogan’s quick kiss, a brief moment of connection, and it was enough to ground Archie. Like Brogan was saying, “You’re safe now. You’re home.” He needed that more than Brogan knew.

Archie barely had time to kick off his boots before Brogan was on him with his hands sliding under his coat, lips brushing his neck, that familiar scent of lime and pine clinging to his skin.

Brogan kissed him like he’d been waiting all day, like Archie was the answer to something he hadn’t even asked.

“You’re all over me,” Archie murmured, half-laughing, half-melting.

Brogan grinned against his cheek. “I missed you.”

Archie didn’t say it out loud, but he missed Brogan too. Even after just a few hours apart. It was ridiculous and kind of perfect.

“How was your day, Mr. Star?” Brogan asked, already tugging Archie’s coat off like he couldn’t wait to get closer.

Archie let himself lean into it, into him. “Good. Busy. I think I corrected the same spelling mistake twelve times.”

Brogan laughed, guiding him toward the couch. “You’re changing lives, one letter at a time.”

The coffee table was already set with the tea steaming in mismatched mugs, apple slices, crackers, and that smoky cheese Brogan liked that Archie still wasn’t sure was edible. It was domestic and weirdly perfect. Archie sat down beside him, their knees brushing, and pulled out his stack of papers.

Brogan was watching him too closely. The focused attention made Archie feel both seen and slightly exposed. He’d barely sat down, still shrugging off the chill from outside and Uncle David’s cruel words, when Brogan leaned in closer to him.

“Tell me what happened,” he whispered.

Archie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You always know, don’t you?”

“It might have had something to do with the way your motorcycle raced into the driveway.”

Archie nodded, knowing very well speed was dangerous especially with the winter ice and snow.

Brogan just waited patiently, like he always did when Archie wasn’t sure how to say something.

“I ran into Uncle David,” Archie said finally. “Andrew’s dad. At the bookstore.”

Brogan’s face tightened. “Did he say something?”

Archie nodded, trying to keep his voice even though the words felt like gravel in his throat. “He told me we weren’t welcome at the Star family Christmas dinner.”

Brogan raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

Archie hesitated for a moment. “He said two gay men were more than he could handle.”

Brogan’s jaw clenched, but his voice stayed calm. “We’ll have our own Christmas here.”

Archie nodded, but the ache in his chest didn’t ease. “He looked at me like I were a stain. Like I’d shown up to ruin something sacred.”

Brogan reached for his hand, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry.”

Archie stared at their fingers intertwined.

“He said Andrew had already broken his heart. That marrying another man was a betrayal of everything he raised him to be. And now when I showed up in Foggy Basin, living with you, it was like I’m just another reminder that his version of family doesn’t exist anymore. ”

A gentle warmth spread across Brogan’s face. “That’s not your fault.”

“I know,” Archie said. “But it still feels like I’m being punished for something I didn’t do.”

He leaned back against the couch, letting the warmth of the tea Brogan had made seep into his hands.

“After my mom died, Uncle David stayed with us for a while. He was the only adult who didn’t treat me as if I were radioactive.

He used to take me to church, buy me books, tell me I was smart.

After that Andrew’s entire family visited for a week out of the year.

When I went to college, they didn’t visit us anymore.

Then, my dad went to prison, and everything shifted.

I became a thorn in the Star family. A reminder of failure. And now? Now I’m just...unwelcome.”

Brogan moved closer, resting his head against Archie’s shoulder. “You’re not a thorn. You’re not a failure. You’re mine.”

Archie swallowed hard. “I didn’t expect it to hurt this much.”

Brogan kissed his temple. “We’ll make our own traditions. Our own tree. Our own dinner. You and me.”

Archie nodded slowly. “Yeah. Us.”

And even though the ache didn’t vanish, it dulled a little. Because Brogan was here. Because Archie wasn’t alone. And maybe that was enough to heal the parts of him that had been abandoned too many times.

“My dad called today. Asked if I was coming home. I told him no because I had someone special here.”

“So, it’s just us, then?”

Brogan smiled, that slow, steady kind of smile that always made Archie feel like the world wasn’t so bad. “We’ll make our own Christmas dinner together. Then enjoy each other.”

“Sounds good.”

Brogan leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time. Like he meant it. Like he always meant it.

They settled into grading homework after that, the silence broken only by the scratch of pens and occasional sighs.

Archie glanced over at Brogan, who was frowning at a student’s essay that had somehow turned photosynthesis into a conspiracy theory about aliens.

He looked so focused, so at ease in this little rhythm they’d built together.

A humming sensation coursed through Archie’s chest. The one that whispered, “This is right. Two teachers grading homework together, side by side.” The silent chaos lingered in a shared space. It wasn’t flashy, but it was real.

“You know,” Archie said, nudging Brogan’s leg, “I used to think grading would be the worst part of teaching.”

Brogan didn’t look up. “And now?”

Archie grinned. “Now I think it’s the part where I get to sit next to you and complain about it.”

Brogan finally looked over, eyes crinkling. “Romantic.”

“Tragic,” Archie corrected. “But also, yeah. Kind of romantic.”

They finished the last paper around the same time, both groaning as they stacked the mess into a neat pile. Brogan stretched, arms overhead, shirt riding up just enough to make Archie’s brain short-circuit.

Archie looked away, smirking. Madly in love, he thought. That’s what Brogan is. And maybe I am too. But he didn’t say it. Not yet. He just reached for his tea and let the warmth settle in.

“How about we chop down our Christmas tree?” Brogan asked, voice warm and mischievous.

Archie grinned. “Now?”

“Yeah, now. Then we can decorate it. Make it ours.”

Archie raised an eyebrow. “I guess we’re taking your van?”

Brogan nodded. “We’ll need to tie it down. Plus, room for ornaments. And snacks. Obviously.”