He opened his eyes slowly, feeling the tiredness disappearing from his limbs and mind at a leisurely pace. For a second, he panicked, the knowledge of it being Monday dawning on him, but just as soon as the panic was there, it was gone and he relaxed back down. It was break. Blinking a few times, he smiled. The warmth radiating from next to him distracted him from the fact that half of the cover that had warmed him throughout the night was now mostly gone, wrapped around the person laying oh, so close.
Chris was still fast asleep, his soft dark hair falling across his face and Dylan couldn't help but gently push the stray locks away. He scooted down slightly on the bed, turning his entire body so that they were face to face, and rested his head on his own arm. Chris seemed so peaceful and Dylan didn't want to disturb him but the urge to touch was strong, and so, he settled on lightly tracing the other's face.
After a few minutes, Chris let out a soft huff and adjusted his position.
"Are you watching me sleep?" He mumbled, his voice still filled with sleep and rough from not using it. Dylan grinned.
"You looked so peaceful, I couldn't help myself," he responded, now noticing that his voice, too, was slightly hoarse. Chris laughed aloud, a short but genuine laugh that made Dylan's grin grow even wider if that was even possible.
"Such a sap," he chuckled as he pulled Dylan closer and snuggled his face against the soccer player's neck.
"You love it."
In response, he got a muffled hum. He wrapped his arms around Chris's neck and let out a slow breath, feeling the other's mouth on his skin.
"You know, we should get up," Dylan muttered, turning his head in search of a clock, "it's already... nine-thirty."
"That's not even that late," Chris exclaimed, untucking his face from Dylan's throat and looked at the dirty-blond boy, "I wanna cuddle."
Dylan huffed in defeat and relaxed into Chris's embrace, gently carding his fingers through the dark hair that tickled his nose. He scratched lightly at his scalp, earning a low sound from the football player.
Then, because the universe was always against his rest, a shrill ringing filled the room. Dylan groaned aloud, already knowing just by the sound who was calling and rolled over to grab his phone that lay on the floor by the bed. The movement made his body ache a little, but he ignored the soreness and answered the phone.
"Hello," he grumbled. On the other line, he heard his dad in the background, saying something about not to disturb him.
"Hey, honey!" His mom exclaimed, way too loud at this time in the day. "How'd it go last night? Dad told me you were sleeping at a friend's."
"Yeah, yeah, it went well," he turned to catch Chris's eyes, "really well."
"That's great to hear! Did you cook together?"
Dylan sighed. "No, no, we ordered take out."
"Doesn't Felicia know how to cook?" The question took Dylan by surprise, rendering him speechless for a few seconds.
"I'm not at Felicia's, mom," he said, frowning. Chris raised a brow in question and he shrugged in response. "Where did you get that from?"
"Mhmm, I totally believe you. Say hi to her from me, alright? Alright, bye, bye!"
"Mom I-" Dylan started but the beeping sound that came with the other line having been turned off interrupted him and he let the phone drop onto the bed.
"What was that?" Chris asked, opening his arms for Dylan to snuggle in between.
"Mom called to ask how it went last night. She thought I was at Felicia's or something and didn't listen when I said that I wasn't. It doesn't matter though."
"Oh, okay," Chris closed his eyes. "Do you want to make some breakfast?"
Dylan smiled. "Yeah, sure. You want pancakes?"
"Pancakes would be amazing."
He sat up, still smiling at Chris and grabbed a shirt off the floor, and just from the size he could tell that it wasn't his own, but he didn't care. Chris was close behind him as they made their way down toward the kitchen.
"Are you sore?" Chris asked as they got into the dining room and Dylan could hear the smirk in his voice despite not seeing his face. "You walk a little wonky."
"Can you blame me?" Dylan turned around, raising both of his eyebrows.
"I guess I can't," the football player admitted, throwing his hands up in mock surrender, that smirk still evident on his face.
"So smug," Dylan muttered under his breath, "where do you keep your pans?"
Chris threw his head back to let out a laugh before calming down and pointing at one of the cupboards next to the stove. While Dylan started to get the necessary bowls and plates, Chris walked over to the pantry and got the ingredients for the pancakes.
"Do you want blueberry or chocolate?" He asked as he collected various tins filled with flour and baking powder. Dylan thought for a moment before simply answering:
"Chocolate."
Chris hummed in response, obviously liking his decision, and reached for one of the upper shelves.
Not long passed before they were both sitting at the dining table, Chris laughing at an unintentional joke that Dylan had made.
"Yeah, yeah," the football player chuckled, "anyway, what's you're Christmas look like?"
"My Christmas? What do you mean?"
"Well, what do you usually do at Christmas?"
Dylan shrugged. "I don't know, usually my grandparents on mom's side come and we eat and open presents together. Nothing out of the ordinary."
"You wanna come by after? Not like, on the 25th but someday after?" Chris asked, taking a piece of pancake and stuffing it into his mouth. "Mom and dad don't-" he was interrupted by a sudden sneeze but continued after, "-mom and dad don't come home until the fifth."
He couldn't stop the smirk that came upon his face. Dylan beamed. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."
__
After breakfast on Monday, Chris and Dylan had taken the opportunity and gone into town, since Dylan had to do some last-minute Christmas shopping. After that, they'd said goodbye and Dylan had returned home with blush covering both of his cheeks.
Now, however, it was Thursday and Christmas Day. His grandparents had arrived the day prior and were sleeping in his room while they were staying there, and so he had to sleep on the couch. He squeezed his eyes tight against the bright light that had brought him away from sleep, groaning slightly, feeling his muscles ache from having slept on the stiff material. From the kitchen, he could hear various voices and the sound of pans banging together.
Despite the urge to readjust his position and fall back asleep, he opened his eyes. The pillows that he'd placed in front of the windows last night to block out the streetlights had been removed and a sort of solemn light that only came when it was cloudy out streamed in through the windowpane.
"Dylan, you're awake!" The voice of his grandmother almost made him flinch as it came from right beside him and he blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust. "Good, I've made you some breakfast. Did you see the outside? It might snow today! That's nice, isn't it? I remember when you were a kid and you always-"
Dylan tuned her out as he sat up. Don't get him wrong, he loved her more than anything but she did have a tendency to get into rants that seldom ended short of ten minutes after she'd begun. He gave her a smile.
"Thanks, Grammy," he said and stood from his seat, now really feeling the toll that the couch had had on his back. He waited for her to disappear into the kitchen before leaning back and making his back crack. His grandmother didn't like when people cracked their bodies, so he tried to do it while she wasn't there.
"Dylan, don't make me wait, the eggs will go cold!" His grandfather spoke up from the kitchen and he hurried in there while adjusting his clothes which were wrinkled from the night. "There he is! Grab a seat."
"I was just saying that he'd grown so much, hasn't he grown so much, honey? He looks so much like his brother, too. Too bad that Willy couldn't come over Christmas," his grandmother said. "Personally, I think that it is atrocious that he moved over there. I know that it was long ago and old news but just the fact that he chose Norway? No, I don't like it. You know, I have heard that the folks over in Norway are just socialists. No more than vermin, I say."
Dylan lowered his head so that they couldn't tell how much he was rolling his eyes. Oh, yeah, his grandparents were from the south of the country. And they were that kind of stubborn-old that there was no use arguing with their opinions.
"Now, now," his mom cut in, "sit down and calm yourself, don't get worked up over this. I doubt that William was taking that into account when he picked the country. And besides, now he's studying at a prestigious school and getting a degree so what does it matter?"
"Yeah, well I still think-"
"I know, mom." That was where the conversation ended. Not a moment passed before Riley came jumping down the stairs.
"Riley, my sweetheart, come here and give your Grammy a hug!" Their grandmother exclaimed, throwing her arms open. "You've become so pretty, I bet you're the most popular girl in school!"
"Well, I couldn't say-" Riley begun but was interrupted by their grandfather.
"All the boys going crazy over you! Know that if anyone is bothering you, you call your old grandpa and he'll be here with a shotgun in the blink of an eye. You're too young to date them horny boys."
"Dad!" Their mom exclaimed as Riley shot Dylan a tired look. He understood at once. It was just like his parents asked him about girls. "That's enough. Go get the kids' presents instead so that they can open those."
He did as he was told, shuffling over to the Christmas tree in the living room and knelt down to collect the colorfully wrapped boxes. Riley got to open hers first, then Dylan got his dropped into his lap. There were three presents, one small, one medium-sized, and one a little bigger.
"I know that they're not that much," his dad said, making Dylan raise his head to look at him, "but I really hope you like them. The big and small ones are from us." He placed a hand on Dylan's mom's lower back.
Dylan started with the medium one from his grandparents, which consisted of a knitted sweater and a pair of sturdy gloves. "For all the mechanical fixing you'll have to do now that you start college in the fall."
Next, he moved on to the smallest package, which was more of a decorated envelope and contained five ten-dollar bills.
Finally, it was the biggest one and by now, the room was quiet with suspense. He carefully unwrapped the decorative paper and opened the box. In it lay a pair of brand new navy blue fins that reflected the kitchen light in a way the made it look as if they were glowing. Dylan's jaw dropped and he looked up at his parents.
"Are they good?" His dad asked. "I looked everywhere for a perfect pair. I know that you're majoring in marine biology and I know that you love the ocean so I thought these would be a good gift."
"Fins? What is he, a fish?" His grandmother huffed but Dylan ignored her.
"They're amazing! Thank you so much," he breathed, looking back down at the fins. It was perfect for getting his S.C.U.B.A certificate in the summer.
"I guess you were right," his mom said, looking at his dad, "those were better than the gift card."
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