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How he’d convinced them to come to the Christmas party he would never know, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t giddy as a kid on, well, Christmas! Bloodhound, as a rule, didn’t do parties. That’s what they’d told him. And they didn’t exactly celebrate Christmas-their holiday was Yule, which they had said was the original Christmas in a way, but Yule was a bit hard to celebrate in the Apex Tower apartments, considering part of it was burning a whole ass tree for twelve days. Elliot had tried to work out the logistics for them, including having Renee use her portals, but Bloodhound refused to let anyone in their place. So, the plan didn’t get executed, much as Elliot really wanted to see if it would work.
Nevertheless, they showed, and they seemed to be enjoying themself. Wasn’t like he could gauge by their expression, but they seemed reasonably relaxed for being so surrounded by people. They had a hoodie, hood up, and their usual mask sans headdress, but with a different mouthpiece-this one had a hole on the underside for a straw to fit through. Elliot was playing the good host, making sure people had food and drinks or whatever, sending his decoys out to bemuse and entertain-they all wore Santa hats and cheesy Christmas sweaters. By the time he was able to dip in to check on his friend, they had all the women Legends around them.
“So, this…” they pointed at the festive snowman mug in their hand, “is eggnog?”
“Yep.” Bangalore said. She was wearing the ugliest sweater possible.
“And it is made of?”
“Eggs n’ nog.”
He could see the almost withering look in his head, underneath that mask. It had been an accident, an almost funny mistake of walking into the wrong room in the medbay. He was meaning to go flirt with the nurse he’d had in his room, but instead walked into Bloodhound’s private room on the one day the locking mechanism had malfunctioned, leading to an unintentional face reveal. They almost beheaded him on sight, but his charming good looks and gift of gab had saved him-it had, they told him! Okay, they said it jokingly, with a snort and a roll of the eyes in his apartment two days later. It was funny, but they’d really sort of become friends after Elliot proved he wasn’t stupid, suicidal, or an asshole by keeping what he knew to himself for once. “I do not know what nog is.”
“It’s eggs and cream and sugar,” Renee said, shooting Anita a look. “And spices. Like uh, cinnamon and stuff.”
“Nutmeg,” Elliot said, giving the slightest nod to Bloodhound. “I bet you’ll like it.”
They made a hmph that sounded like they disagreed but dropped their straw into the mug and took a sip, pausing. “Oh,” they said softly.
Elliot grinned. “Like it?”
They took another sip and then laughed, just slightly, the sound hitting his ears like beat of an angel’s wing. “This is very good.”
Anita grinned. “Hell yeah! Wait til you try it with brandy.”
Natalie gasped in mock offense. “Non, non, cognac and rum.”
“Brandy.”
“Cognac and rum.”
“Braaaandyyyy,” Anita sang over her.
“Cognac and ruuuuum,” Natalie said, but she couldn’t really carry a tune so she just drew out the word.
“Guys, guys,” Elliot got between them in a jokingly dramatic fashion, “why not try all three?”
The two women looked at Elliot, raising their eyebrows, then at each other, and went to conduct an experiment. He was going to regret that, though Bloodhound seemed too into the eggnog as it was to give a shit about making it alcoholic, so at least he might have some left over. Elliot managed to talk a little with Renee before she and Ajay went to raid the food table, and it wasn’t until they did so that Elliot realized Bloodhound slipped away without his notice. He sent out a few more decoys, getting stopped and roped into politely chatting for the sake of appearance while wondering how someone wearing a full-face mask could vanish so well in a crowd. He was almost jealous.
He sidled up to the wall and scanned the room-ah, there they were, by the tree. Elliot always had a huge tree, huge and beautiful, and this year it was even huge-er and beautiful-er because almost everyone that showed had brought an ornament, the idea being at the end everyone had a new one to bring home. Bloodhound was cradling their mug, slowly looking from the top to the bottom and back up again. Elliot breathed deeply and came to stand by them, biting his tongue a moment. “How you doing?” He said.
“Fine,” they said. “This is not as bad as I thought it would be.”
He had to consciously quiet himself from squealing; they were nearly alone by the tree, and he didn’t wanna ruin it. “Told ya.”
They whacked his arm lightly, then nodded toward the tree. “I’ve heard of this tradition. What’s the purpose of decorating the tree?”
Elliot paused, then shrugged. “To make something pretty.”
“Beauty is admirable, but it seems shallow to just throw things on a tree because they are pretty.”
“We-well it isn’t just that. I-I mean, yeah it’s ‘cause it’s pretty, or funny or-or like from a cartoon or something, but a lot-most, most of them mean something, y’know?” Elliot pointed to one of his own ornaments-he had most of them put away for the party so no one would grab something he wanted to keep, but this was an ugly plastic ball with a bunch of swirly designs in glitter that he doubted would be grabbed. “This is, well, ugly, but I made it with my mom as a kid. It-it means a lot to me. And then I have this one,” he pointed to a tiny felt tree that had a picture of him when he was seven, maybe eight? Either way he was missing his front teeth. “That I made her in school. Usually she’d have it but somehow between moves I ended up with it.”
“That is you?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re so cute.”
He felt his face flush and his stomach flip flop in a goodbad way. “T-Thanks, I uh, yeah I was a cute kid I guess, heh. Uh, I-I got others but most of them that mean something to me are put away for the party over there,” he gestured toward the box in the corner, “but I’ve got, uh, I’ve got ornaments from my grandparents, my great grandparents. My brothers, my d-dad,” he breathed deeply, felt like he was rambling, waiting for them to interrupt and stop him, but they didn’t, they just looked at him, just listened. “It’s a lot of tradition, you know? But memories, mostly, with the ornaments. Good memories, which, you know, around here, that’s something to hold on to. S-So they’re not just pretty, but they’re, they’re pre-prea-presh-preschus...” He inhaled deeply. “Precious.”
They were quiet, letting the conversation around them blanket the silence in comfort. Elliot couldn’t deny that he liked being close to them. Or that he liked their face and their smile, the couple times he’d drawn one out of them, the couple times he’d seen those adorable goddamn dimples that made him lose his mind. That he thought it was funny that one time, around Halloween, he’d handed them the candy bowl before he went to grab something from his room, and came back to a dozen candy wrappers on the counter and a flustered hunter who asked him-practically begged him-to take away the nefarious confections before they got sick, which wouldn’t be the first time. He liked that they were quiet, in a way that said they were content with what they had said. He liked that everything they said had meaning, that there was no filler; he felt like half of what he said was filler, though he never knew what was and what wasn’t.
They seemed to know everything. They reached out, hands thinner under slim leather gloves they’d worn for “practicality”, and gently brushed their hand over a little sled with a happy snowman on it, tilting it so the little metal runners glinted in the Christmas lights. “It seems this tradition is beautiful in many ways,” they said, turning slightly to him. “Though I saw others putting ornaments on here.”
“O-oh yeah. Like normally decorating a tree is a family thing, but I thought it’d be fun that everyone, y’know, bring an ornament and take a different one home. Maybe remember the p-party, maybe just get a cool looking ornament. Y’know?”
“You did not tell me that was part of the party,” they turned back to the tree.
“I, uh, I,” he inhaled deeply, “I asked you on uh, short notice so I…I kind of, um, I don’t know, forgot a little.”
They were probably raising their eyebrow at him, scoffing at the idiot who honestly forgot to tell them, and really wasn’t sure if they would have wanted to, or if they’d really care or…he was a mess. But ever practical, Bloodhound reached into their pants pocket and pulled out a small bundle of fabric, pulling out white, red, and green cords of it and stuffing the rest back in the pocket before handing their mug to Elliot. Deftly they tied the cords together at one end and started braiding them.
“What are you doing?” He cocked his head to the side, absently sending out a few more decoys.
“Making an ornament.” They pulled the cords tightly, the colors weaving together, beautifully delicate. And they’re wearing gloves. Once the cord was almost done, they reached into their hoodie and pulled out a black feather.
“Artur’s?”
They nodded, and he thought they might be smiling. “I always have a few on me. They’re for luck.”
“I thought ravens were bad omens.”
“If they don’t like you, yes.” There was some smugness in their voice as they took the cord back and somehow weaved it around the end of the feather, tying it, and then taking one more cord of white and wrapping it around the base of the feather for extra security. They made a loop at the other end of the braid and then hung it from the tree, the feather, long and black and beautiful, reflected all the colors of the lights like a prism. “There.”
“That’s pretty,” Elliot said, leaning in, watching the line of light shimmer and shift as he moved his head around the feather. If he wasn’t mistaken, they were watching him. “Somebody is gonna love it.” I’m gonna love it. Minemineminemine.
“I hope they do. As long as I walk away with that polar bear drinking Coke-a-Cola.”
Elliot laughed a little loudly. “Why the polar bear?”
They shrugged, “he seems to be enjoying himself.”
Eventually he had to play host. Because Elliot was a good host, and no matter how much he wanted to ramble next to Bloodhound, he had to keep up appearances that he definitely didn’t want to do that, no, of course not, he barely even knew them? While he was playing host, enjoying himself-no, really! Well, maybe not as much as usual because all he could think about was Bloodhound’s laugh and the inflection in their voice when they said cute, but he was always a fan of Christmas parties, especially ones he threw because everyone always told him how much they loved them. He still kept an eye on Bloodhound, drifting by, stopping to chat a moment when he could. They didn’t seek anyone out, but the other Legends did come over once in a while to say something or the other. No one else seemed to think it was allowed. The only one they really held a conversation with was Renee, and that was probably just because she was aware what had happened between them and Elliot (Elliot had begged Bloodhound to let him tell someone).
He checked the eggnog stores-which were suspiciously low compared to the year before-the alcohol, which showed evidence of Anita and Natalie’s experiments (they were half drunk somewhere else in the party, so success?), and reminded some of the early-leavers to take an ornament with them. One almost took the Coke-a-Cola bear, a nerve wracking second. He saw Renee and Bloodhound in a corner, between the wall and the breakfast bar, and came up. Soon as he was in earshot they stopped talking. He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing.” Wraith smiled, then popped out of sight into the void, faint purple trailing her path into the crowd. Elliot looked to Bloodhound for answers, but they just sipped from their straw and shrugged.
“Something about your Christmas present.”
“Uh huh.” He raised an eyebrow. “Hey, are you why the eggnog is almost gone?”
“No.”
“Mm. Must be Anita and Nat.”
“Must be,” they said nonchalantly, sipping with no hint of remorse.
He didn’t confront them when he saw them pouring the last of it in their mug later.
The party thinned as the hours went on, but by midnight there was still about twenty people (how many had there been originally, you ask? Elliot had no idea! But it was more than twenty!) milling, drinking, a couple sleeping. The Christmas carols had cycled back to the beginning of the playlist. And Elliot, finally with less people to host, realized he hadn’t eaten almost the whole night and went to the kitchen to pick over what was left. Bloodhound materialized, as they were wont to do, in the corner between the sink and the counter opposite him. He turned, slices of ham in hand. “Jesus, how do you do that?”
One hand was holding the mug to their chest, the other they held up, wiggling their fingers. “Magic, vinur.”
“That’s a new one,” he said, quite possibly inhaling a sandwich made out of a Hawaiian dinner roll, ham and too much mayo. “What does it mean?”
They paused. “Friend.”
He looked at them, something in him stirring at the way they said that. But he was imagining it. This was Bloodhound. And that was impossible. “I’m flootered. Fla, fla,” he cursed under his breath, little amused huffs coming through their mask, “flattered! God.”
Their huffs erupted into a single laugh, and Elliot heard the angels wing again. It was immeasurable how much he liked their laugh, masked and unmasked. There was a pause, they were either looking at or past him, he wasn’t sure, but either way hunger won over Elliot’s want to try something-anything-to keep the conversation going, so he was wolfing down snack foods in a totally not sexy way until his plate was empty, at which point they nodded upward. “What is that?”
He looked up and almost choked. “That’s, uh, mistletoe.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“It’s, oh it’s just a,” he cleared his throat. “Christmas tradition.”
“To…hang it up?
“Uh, yeah.”
“That’s it?”
His throat felt tight, his hands were a clammy. It wasn’t like it would happen but, well, he had images in mind. “Well yes, but actually no, not at all. It, uh, it’s uh, I don’t know how it started but uh,” they were looking at him, listening-damn it, they were always listening, “well it’s a tradition that if two people end up underneath the mistletoe you gotta, uh, you…kiss.”
They didn’t say anything. For a torturously long second. Then they set down their mug. And they stood up straight, taking one graceful step toward him, and he, on instinct of some kind, took a step too, and they were standing apart by maybe six inches, directly beneath the mistletoe, in the dim illumination of Christmas lights strung around the window over the sink. The disks of black glass in their mask glinted with colors, and he imagined their eyes, a deep ice blue, reflecting the soft light like tiny jewels. “I am not one to ignore tradition.”
His breath hitched. He could feel his entire brain imploding. “Y-you’re not, huh?”
“I’m not.” And then their mask was down, strands of almost wavy blonde hair falling over blue eyes that did make the lights look like jewels, lips drawn in the smallest smile, just enough for their dimples to show, just enough for Elliot’s heart to jump toward the heavens. He gasped when he had finally processed what happened, and they whisper laughed; their real voice summoning a whole flock of angels in his head. Did angels come in flocks? No, no, not the time, brain, not the time.
“What is happening?” He whispered. Their faces were a couple inches apart. He didn’t know when they got so close.
“This is the part,” they murmured against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine, “where you kiss me.”
He swallowed. Tilted his head so he was looking at them, taking in everything, their face, their lips, how the light hit their skin, how the room was way warmer than it ever could be. How there was no way this could be happening.
Then he kissed them.
Their lips were soft, and they returned the kiss fully, with a fervor he didn’t expect, throwing an arm around his neck and pulling him in closer, tilting their head to deepen it. He hesitated a second before cupping their face, running his thumbs over skin that was impossibly soft, feeling every bit of him was lit up like a Christmas tree. They pulled away and had their mask on again before he could breathe properly. They leaned away from each other and Elliot glanced around, dazed, not believing no one saw that-until he saw Wraith, smirking over a drink in the corner. The perfect watchman, he thought, with equal measures gratitude and amazement.
Suddenly, they giggled. Giggled. Elliot gave them a perplexed look and they covered their mouthpiece with their hand, half looking down. “I’ll tell you later.”
“What do you mean la-“
“Hey, Mirage!”
He hesitated, glancing over, then turning back, but they’d vanished already. Goddamit. They were going to make him pretend that didn’t happen. To pretend he wasn’t swimming in air. Sure, alright, that’s fine. He went to whomever it was who wanted to ask him whatever sort of question, he didn’t know, but he answered it. This happened a few more times, but the crowd dwindled and dwindled until the last person leaving was Wraith. She turned at the door and smiled a bit. “Thanks for the party, Elliot.”
“Of course,” he said, then under his breath, “thanks for keeping watch, you fuckin’ madlad.”
Her face broke into a rare grin and she held up the ornament Bloodhound had made. “I snatched this for you. I had a feeling.”
He swallowed, taking it with a soft, “thank you,” and a quick one-armed hug before she really left. Bloodhound, to his surprise, was back in the kitchen, now perched on the counter in the same corner they had been standing. They certainly liked to channel Artur. When their eyes met (he presumed) they giggled again. “Oh my God, what is so funny?” He sounded a lot more nervous than he wanted to, putting the ornament on the table by the door. He glanced at the tree and saw the Coke-A-Cola bear still present and smiled inwardly.
“Mistletoe is an old Yule tradition.” They said.
It took him a second.
“Oh my God you played dumb?”
They laughed, a real laugh, more than a beat of it and Elliot became pretty sure that angels could flock, and that all of them were in that room as he crossed it, invigorated by the obvious-by the laugh, the smile, the joke, the kiss-and leaned into them, a hand on either side of their legs, sputtering out, “that’s it, t-take off the mask!”
They did, slowly, almost nervously, and soon as it was down he took them gently by the chin and pulled them into a kiss, warm, beautifully uninhibited, embarrassingly long. They didn’t seem to mind. He pulled away, inhaling, sliding his cooler hand up their cheek. “Any other Yule traditions I should know about?”
They put a hand over his and swallowed, seeming flustered. The expression looked good on them. “There is a feast.”
“A feast? That sounds great. I like to cook. I could cook, y’know, if you wanted to uh, to celebrate, someway. Cook ya a feast.”
They chuckled, letting their head flop to one side, smirking. “Oh, I don’t know if you could make enough to feed me.”
“Hey! I’ve cooked for lots of people before.”
Their hands rested on his shoulders, slowly sliding forward until they had their arms lightly around his neck. “Ah, but you have never cooked for a Blóðhundur.”
He tilted his head to the side, thinking how the moonlight made their hair look silver. “I’d like to try.”
They visibly swallowed, slowly sitting up with him, arms still around his shoulders. He let his hands lightly touch their hips. “Is that a date?” They said, hushed.
“It’s a date.” He replied, forehead to forehead, framed in Christmas light.