. hands growing colder

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He smiles a little at her description of the movie. "Sounds like he'd find you difficult. Probably try get you fired from your job or something." His hand forks through his Covidly long hair. There's something endearing about Cleo watching this stupid rom com with her dad. He pictures the two of them sunk deep in a sofa, tears rolling down their faces at this favourite scene. "I bet your parents miss you over there. Weird year." He shrugs when she mentions his twin, "nothing unusual." Theo usually worked. But then, so did Oliver. Now days were pulled into stretches of emptiness. He bumped into him in the hallway the other day and that moment of socializing had him weirdly elated. "Must be harder on you, right? What are you doing down that hallway?"

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"Oh, he's not that vindictive," she grins, finishing off her beer. She snorts. "Honestly? My dad's kind of a whackjob... I love him, he's my whackjob, but I think 2020 has been his favorite year ever." She pauses, regretting overspeaking. It felt crass to complain about her parent to him, especially when she not only had two of them, but they both loved her very much. She feels compelled to explain, "he's kind of a conspiracy theorist. Bunker level. He's been convinced there'll be a worldwide catastrophe for decades now, something that would change life as we know it... I think he feels vindicated." He deflects the question and she drops the point. Their distant relationship had gone through a few stages, initially she had been desperate to prove they could be friends, then she kept her distance because she thought he'd come around, and now she simply kept her distance. But she was glad not to have been spurned as of yet and cautious of tipping the balance against herself. "Oh. Well, Lily left a few weeks ago for New Mexico." She pauses, unsure of what to say now. What would sound cool? Or at least not embarrassing? She gives up, laughing a little. "I've been climbing the walls, to be honest. Broke up with my sort of boyfriend - honestly, for the better - a couple weeks ago, but we weren't even seeing each other, not really, so it almost didn't matter either way, it's almost not worth mentioning--" she hears herself, blushing. "I'm sorry, I can't stop talking. I haven't talked to anyone in ages. What have you been doing?"

[Deleted]

He stares at the screen as she talks. Her dad sounds like one of those people from the bar that aren't so familiar. The type that comes in on a quiet night to sit and babble on to him. He found those people to be the most charming and interesting. He smiles a little and nods at her empty drink, "you can have another if you'd like." His own father was one of those normal types, which he liked because he loved him. Cookie cutter father of the year. "He sounds wild." While her year had moved through ups and downs, his had remained a steady line. Each season was much like the last. Though in summer he'd made the point to spend more time out on the balcony to help bake his mind. 2020 was the year he had actually accomplished shit all. "It was probably still nice to have someone around, right? Even if you didn't like him much," he shrugs again, not really knowing what to say. His life was pretty pathetic and he felt it. "Oh, just this really," his hand waves around the room. "Read a couple of books, watched a lot of stupid shit on tv, maxed out my credit card on streaming subscriptions."

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She nods along with him. Thanks to her father she had a black belt in jiu jitsu, she knew how to purify dirty water so it was drinkable and she could navigate using the sun and a compass, but none of these skills had been any good against cancer or, more recently, coronavirus. She had hoped that he would open up about his own father in response, maybe offering up the tiniest morsel, but he doesn't and she doesn't want to pry. Or rather she does, but she restrains herself. "Do you want one?" she asks, holding up the empty bottle. She wills herself to stop talking so much. "Oh, no, not really. I thought we were serious but it turns out he had a live in girlfriend, so when lockdown happened, I found out the hard way that I was wrong," she says, embarrassed by her continued terrible taste in men. She studies him for a moment, before a thought occurs to her. Her eyes light up and she reaches out, grabbing his arm in the excitement. "I got him a bottle of Patron for his birthday that I never wound up giving him. Do you want to get shitfaced? I really want to get shitfaced."

[Deleted]

Cleo was curious and he wasn't well matched when against that. He was a closed person to most. His thoughts weren't worth sharing and at this point they felt like a broken record. Everything hurts. Everything is the same. Nothing is the problem.. Cleo was curious, but she didn't know how boring it would be to read beyond the cover. He nods yes to her question and finishes the remaining sip of his whiskey. "That's must have hurt though. Hard to date six feet apart," like he would know what it was like to date without pandemic rules. He hadn't been on a date for at least a year and that was a set up which he immediately left. She lights up and grabs him. He raises his eyebrows and shakes her hand off his arm, "do I want to get shitfaced?" he looks around at the empty bottles around him and looks at her like she's clueless. "I really shouldn't. I've got a dinner to monitor... ah, fuck it."

[Deleted]

Sh shrugs, though her heart pines for the nights she's missed getting drunk in nightclubs and making out with strangers. "It's for the best. I have the worst bullshit detector, always go for the wrong ones. Covid is saving me from myself." She's too excited to be offended at him shaking her loose, her big eyes looking up at him with borderline desperation as he weighs up the offer. She ignores the bottles around him, knowing that in reality her question wasn't really 'do you want to get shitfaced' but 'do you want to get shitfaced with me.' When she gets her answer she claps her hands together, before pulling the blanket off and going to retrieve her keys. "Un momento." She skips down the corridor to her apartment, fumbling with the lock. The place is an absolute dump, an outward expression of her inner turmoil. But she knows where the Patron is. Having retrieved it, she pauses only to take a quick look at herself in the mirror on the back of her front door. She fiddles with her bangs, fidgets with her sweater, pulling it down so it drapes over her kilt just so. Then she returns, settling the bottle down before him and going to fish out some glasses, lemon segments and salt. "Merry Christmas," she says finally, splashing more than a shot's worth into each of their glasses. She licks the salt off her hand, swallowing down the liquid and scrunching her face up as she bites into the lemon, the acidity washing away the harsh taste of alcohol. "Mm. Delicious."

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He ran into one of her boyfriends before Covid while getting in from work. He couldn't remember much about him, it was such an insignificant meeting. He wonders if he that was the guy she's talking about. "I've always thought there should be some sort of website where people rate their exes. Pros: good fuck, bought flowers. Cons: chewed with mouth open, narcassist." He gets up when she leaves and brings beer back into the room. He opens them both and settles on down in front of her. "Merry Christmas," he clinks his tiny shot glass with hers, licks the salt, shoots the Patron and bites into the lemon. Liquid dribbles in his beard and he rubs his chin against his sleeve. "Let's wait a minute till we do that again," he chases the sour taste with a chug of beer. "No offense to you or your dad, but this movie is seriously terrible. What the fuck is even happening?"

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Cleo shakes her head. "Wouldn't work, every guy would label their ex a psycho and every girl would say their ex was a gaslighting narcissist. A website full of unreliable narrators." She wonders about his dating experience. She had never seen a girl other than Elyse come and go from the apartment, and Theo had never mentioned anyone in particular, but she'd never asked. The thought of Elyse twists a knot in her stomach, remembering the role she played in helping Ollie get her fired. It wasn't her fault, Cleo was sure she was just supporting her friend, but she felt a twinge of resentment regardless. She decided not to ask where she was today. The warmth of raw alcohol burns her throat but lights a fire within her. She feels more at ease already, kicking her sneakers off and settling onto the couch again, folding her legs up underneath herself. She lets the movie wash over her, the awkwardness between them already starting to ease with the promise of impending drunkenness. "That's because you're not really watching. Will has discovered that single moms are low maintenance, so he's pretending he's a single dad so he can fuck them. Just watch, it's genuinely funny, I promise."

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"Yeah, you're right," he agrees. "Gaslighting is the word of the year isn't it? If one more person throws around the word gaslighting.. I swear to fuck." Narcissistic drunk is what his profile would say. Before his parents passed, he was a big flirty classclown. He often wondered where he'd be if his body and mind hadn't become a crumbling mess. Dating more than once annually, have an actual job, maybe he'd even be in an ivy league. He shifts his thoughts to what's in front of him. "Sure sure," he readjusts his body and grabs another pillow to prop behind his head. He can feel his mind getting a bit numb from the alcohol and company is getting easier to be around. He's letting his guard fall just slightly. "Is Hugh Grant really that funny though?"

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She laughs, nodding. "I didn't text my sister back for a few days last week, then she called me in a panic, all worried. Accused me of gaslighting her by not replying." She rolls her eyes, though she remembers that she should probably text her something today. Maybe later. She wonders what her profile would say... probably that she was the most gullible girl in LA. Easy to get in the sack, would pretend she didn't care about not getting a call back. The thought is so embarrassing that she's legitimately relieved the site isn't for real. The smell of turkey is slowly starting to seep into the room, stirring her appetite and making her question her life choices. "If I end up eating some of that turkey will you think I was gaslighting you into cooking it for me?" She shoots him a look. "Yes. Yes he is. And look how hot and young he is in this too! Look, you probably think this is about him meeting a girl, but it's not. It's about him meeting Marcus, a fourteen year old weirdo, and realizing life isn't all about pretending to be cool all the time." She's weirdly defensive of this movie and she knows it. She forces a laugh. "We can watch something else, I've learnt not to try and convert you to my way of thinking."

[Deleted]

He laughs a little. He was guilty of ignoring his brother's texts. Though Theo living with him and being used to it, kept tabs of the beer drank in the fridge and occasionally rap at the door to make sure his brother was alive. "I would probably just think you were self-concious about your cooking," he admits. He gets a whiff of turkey and feels nostalgic about Christmas past. It makes him feel sick, so he takes another drink. "No, you can watch it. You can have your weird tradition of non-Christmas movie watching," he shrugs. He genuinely doesn't care. He'd rather be watching this than having her interupt It's a Wonderful Life, that movie felt too personal to share with anyone else. He unwraps a sweet and shoves it into his mouth, "what else does your family do at Christmas?"

[Deleted]

Cleo watches him drink. She wonders if he still woke up some days and forgot about what happened, if he got up expecting to walk downstairs and see his mom and dad making him breakfast, his aunt across town, hungover from partying like a normal twenty-something. Probably not, she thought. That time must have passed. The edges are starting to blur, but she promises herself she won't ask him that too personal question. Instead she laughs, nodding. "Oh, I am that. But I really am a vegetarian... or trying to be." Cleo's whole life in LA was a series of attempts. Trying to be vegetarian, trying to be carefree, trying to live her best life. Efforts that were frequently thwarted, sometimes by fate, but mostly by herself. "This movie begins and ends with Christmas, that's a Christmas movie. Sorry there's no ghosts of Christmas past or Santa Claus," she says. "Oh you know, the usual. Turkey, gifts, board games, tactical drills in the event of an unexpected nuclear event to rival Chernobyl," she says, taking a sip of beer. "You? What about... can you remember what your childhood Christmases were like?"

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"What if you went... cold turkey"" he visibly grimaces at his own pun. At the beginning of 2020 he actually made an effort to fuel his body, under recommendation of his doctor. Though it was short lived. When the gyms closed down and he was laid off, it didn't really feel like there was much to support these healthy habits. So now he was allowing alcohol and microwaved dinners to fuel his body. She was definitely the type to call Die Hard a Christmas film. "I really don't think it is." He laughs when she mentions her father sending them through drills. He imagines a strategically decorated tree, with weapons disguised as ornaments just in case. "Hm," he pauses and takes a long sip of beer. "Pretty much the same," he pours a couple more shots of Patron, though lazily ignores the salt and lemon get up. The shot helps him get a little looser, "picture perfect, I guess. My mom used to make my dad dress as Santa. She'd make footprints out of icing sugar and lead them from the fireplace to the uh.. tree. She'd always insist Santa preferred beer over milk. Just like in the books, I guess."

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She barks out a laugh, rolling her eyes. "What, are you on CSI Miami now? That's a real put your sunglasses on and head off screen joke." She absentmindedly starts twirling one of her curtain bangs around her finger, sinking deeper into the couch as alcohol loosens her body and her inhibitions. She reaches over and takes a few chocolates into her hand, taking a bite out of one only to throw it at him when he insists that About A Boy is not a Christmas movie. "Stop shitting on my sacred Christmas traditions, Lovett." As he speaks her heart swells. He's painting such a vivid picture of domestic bliss that it's hard not to run away with it, picturing the twins in matching Christmas pyjamas, the tree almost eclipsed by perfectly wrapped gifts. She actually feels herself tear up a little, the line between her own longing for her parents mixing with her empathy for how much he must miss his. It's impossible to distinguish where one stops and the other begins. She distracts herself by licking her hand, dousing it in salt and going through the same rigmarole of doing a shot as before. She settles back again, feeling warm and fuzzy from the inside out. "God that's good." She looks over at him. "You're less scary when I'm drunk."

[Deleted]

He pushes the half eaten chocolate into the tray. Looking down at his hands when he speaks, the tips of his fingers bounce off the beer bottle. He wonders if it was actually that perfect, or if he was looking through rose tinted glasses. His mom always pushed buttons and he was sure that his father hated that scratchy felt suit. But that excitement and that Christmas belief, he could still feel it. His dad had made a legendary Santa. "Am I scary?" he frowns at her and makes a bit of a face. Short-tempered, definitely. Impatient, for sure. Sometimes he felt so on edge that he was like a ticking time bomb. When he went off it was unfortunate if it was directed at someone else. "I guess that makes sense," he admits. God he wishes he had something to do with his hands, something to fiddle with. "I have some stuff going on. I know I'm an asshole, it's nothing to do with you."