Chapter Two
Archie
The drive out to the tree grove was quiet, just the hum of the heater and Brogan’s hand resting on Archie’s thigh like it belonged there.
Archie stared out the window, watching the frost blur the edges of the world, as something soft settled in his chest. He’d never done this before.
Never had a real tree. His dad stopped decorating after his mom died, and holidays became something Archie learned to ignore.
But this felt different.
They jumped out of the van, greeted the owner, and were handed axes and a saw.
Archie held it awkwardly, unsure if he was supposed to feel festive or worried.
Brogan, of course, looked like he’d been born for this.
He was grinning, bouncing on his feet, and already scanning the grove like it was a treasure hunt.
They wandered through rows of evergreens, stopping here and there. Archie pointed to a smaller one, something neat and manageable.
Brogan squinted. “Too small. We need something dramatic.”
Archie rolled his eyes but kept walking. He didn’t mind letting Brogan take the lead. He enjoyed watching him in his element—decisive, joyful, a little ridiculous.
Then Brogan stopped and placed his hand on a tall, full pine. “I feel like this is the one for us. Do you like it?”
Archie stared up at it. “It’s huge.”
Brogan turned to him, eyes bright. “Perfect, right?”
Archie nodded, heart thudding. “Yeah. Perfect.”
They took turns swinging the axe, laughing when it got stuck or when Brogan broke into a Christmas song in Gaelic, voice echoing through the trees. Archie didn’t understand the words, but he understood the feeling—warmth, belonging—love.
Before they picked up the tree, Brogan pulled Archie behind a wide pine and kissed him slowly, hands tangled in Archie’s hair, breath fogging in the cold. Archie kissed back like he meant it, because he did. He was so in love with Brogan it scared him sometimes. But right now, it just felt good.
They carried the tree to the road, paid the owner, and tied it to the van with way too much twine. Brogan insisted on double knots. Archie just watched him, heart full.
“Let’s bring it home,” Brogan said, brushing snow off Archie’s shoulder. “Then we’ll go out and get lights and bulbs. Make it shine.”
Archie smiled, fingers laced with Brogan’s. “Let’s make it ours.”
And just like that, Christmas didn’t feel like something Archie had missed out on. It felt like something he was finally building. One kiss, one tree, one moment at a time.
They got the tree home with only minor chaos—Brogan insisted on backing the van into the driveway at a dramatic angle, and Archie nearly lost his footing trying to untie the twine.
The pine was massive, awkward, and perfect.
It took both of them to carry it inside, laughing as they bumped into doorframes and knocked into the coat hooks on the wall, leaving two sweaters on the floor.
“Watch the lamp!” Archie called, half-laughing, half-panicked.
Brogan grinned. “The lamp loves danger.”
Once they got it standing, slightly crooked, but charmingly so, Brogan stepped back, hands on his hips. “We did it.”
Archie looked at the tree, then at Brogan. “We’re ridiculous.”
Brogan turned to him, eyes soft. “Ridiculously festive.”
Archie rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.
His heart felt full in a way he wasn’t used to.
This was his first real tree. His first real Christmas, honestly.
And Brogan was making it feel like something out of a movie—one of the good ones, the kind with messy kitchens and slow kisses and people who actually stayed.
Brogan and Pasha shared a glance before Brogan poured food into Pasha’s bowl, and Archie placed food in Molly’s pink kitty bowl. They ate side by side. Brogan and Archie took time to make sure each had fresh water.
They left the house again, bundled up and still laughing, heading to the store for lights and ornaments. Brogan insisted on picking out the most absurd ones—tiny disco balls, a surfing Santa, a glittery cat and dog wearing a scarf.
Archie held up a plain silver bulb. “This one’s nice.”
Brogan leaned in, kissed his cheek. “You’re nice.”
Archie flushed, pretending to be very interested in the price tag.
Back home, Brogan had gone full holiday mode, splashing peppermint schnapps into his hot chocolate like he was auditioning for a Christmas commercial.
Archie stirred his, watching the whipped cream melt into lazy swirls.
He didn’t bother with anything fancy—just piled it high like his mom used to.
She had a way of making it feel like a celebration, even on the dullest winter days.
Whipped cream stacked like a snowdrift; a cherry plopped right on top.
He used to think that cherry was magic. Now, every time he had hot chocolate, it tugged at something soft in his chest. Not sad exactly.
Just...warm. Like she was still around in the steam rising off the mug.
Brogan chuckled from across the kitchen. “Archie, you sure do love to pile on the whipped cream.”
Archie smiled. “It brings me back to when my mom used to make me hot chocolate every night before bed,” he said. “I like to recreate it—it brings a part of her to me. You know, so I never forget.”
Brogan stopped mid-stir, the bottle of schnapps still in his hand. He crossed the room without a word, set the bottle down, and wrapped his arms around Archie from behind. Archie let himself lean back into the warmth, the steady heartbeat, the quiet strength.
Brogan pressed a kiss to the side of his head, soft and sure. “You don’t have to explain,” he murmured. “She sounds like she made things feel safe. You deserve to hold onto that.”
Archie closed his eyes for a second, letting the moment settle.
Then they carried their drinks into the living room.
It glowed with a soft light, the scent of pine and cocoa curling around them.
Something sweet hung in the air—maybe the memory, maybe Brogan’s cologne, maybe both.
Whatever it was, it made Archie feel like he could breathe a little easier.
They decorated slowly, with music playing low in the background. Brogan kept brushing against Archie, kissing his shoulder, his neck, the corner of his mouth. Archie didn’t mind. He leaned into it, letting himself be adored. It was new, but it felt good. Safe.
“You’re really into this,” Archie said, hanging a snowflake ornament near the top.
Brogan wrapped his arms around Archie from behind. “I’m into you.”
Archie laughed, heart thudding. “That’s cheesy.”
“Like the weird smoky cheese you pretend to hate.”
“I don’t pretend,” Archie said, turning in Brogan’s arms. “It’s objectively suspicious.”
Brogan kissed him then, slow and warm, the kind of kiss that made Archie forget what he was saying. They stood there for a while, tangled up in each other, the tree glowing beside them.
Later, they sat on the couch with their mugs, legs draped over each other, watching the lights blink on and off.
Archie looked around the room—at the crooked tree, the mismatched ornaments, Brogan’s sock half hanging off his foot, and felt something settle deep in his chest.
This was home.
And he was in love.
The sound of Brogan’s phone pierced the silence. After an apologetic glance he hurried to the kitchen making Archie wonder who had called and why would he move into another room to take it?
“That was Andrew,” Brogan said as soon as he walked back into the living room.
“That was Andrew.”
“Why did he call you and not me?”
“I don’t know. He wanted to know what time we were going to his parents’ home for Christmas.”
“He still thinks we’re invited?”
“I told him what his father said to you today.”
“What did he say?”
“He said if we’re not invited, he’s not going either. I heard Rafael in the background saying, ‘what the fuck?’”
“Wow! I really don’t want to see Uncle David anyway. He told me my mother would roll over in her grave if she knew what I was doing. He meant living with you and being gay.”
“You didn’t tell me that before.” Brogan cuddled Archie in his arms. “I’m so sorry. You know that’s not true.”
“I know, but it makes me wonder.”