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A sharp wind rattles the old windows of the library, making me shudder in sympathy. I was sitting at a large oak desk with my dear friend Demian, attempting with minimal success to read from the book I had cracked open. It was a slow, wintery day at the beginning of December, and we had come here not for any academic reason, but to relax and further our own personal learning. Normally, I could not think of a better way to spend my time than to seek knowledge with Demian, but today, I merely play with the edge of the page I have open, forcing myself to go back a paragraph to properly process the words I had just read. I was trying to keep my lack of concentration to myself, but Demian is too attentive for me to get away with such a thing.
“I can see something is on your mind, so I’ll remind you of the fact I am always willing to listen. If it is within my abilities to help you then I will do so.” Demian only gives a single, concerned glance up at me from the book he is reading as he speaks.
“Ah, well, I don’t believe this is something you could help with,” I say with shame washing over me in an instant. “I’ve gotten myself into quite a situation, I’m afraid.”
“You have gotten yourself into a number of those,” he says with a soft, teasing smile on his face. “I have helped you with them before, so you should feel free to explain just in case there is something I can do that is escaping your mind.”
I sink further into my chair and turn the page on the book in front of me despite the fact I had not absorbed a word of it.
“It concerns you, actually, but in a way where I am sure you would not like to be involved. You see, in my last visit to my family I was telling them about my general improvements in my life. How I had gotten back on the right track, was no longer wasting my chance at education and was righting any debts and problems I had gotten myself into during my year of darkness. My parents, while overjoyed at this turn around, were still baffled by the fact I managed it at all. They had asked me if there was— well, they wanted to know if someone special had caused this. Some person that I valued enough to change for. I, and I hope you don’t mind this, told them that I had reunited with the Demian I had once talked about as a child and his, your, uhm… your involvement in my life had been the catalyst for my renewed passion for the world.”
“And the situation that was caused by this?” he prompts after I had gone silent for too long.
“It turns out what they had meant by that was a… a partner. A relationship,” I say as I put my head in my hands. “They were asking if I had a girlfriend and I responded in such a way that they took it as me confessing to you being my— That you are my—“
“That I am your boyfriend.” Demian is finally giving me his full attention and the fact it is because of this makes me want to crawl into a hole and die.
“Right. And they want me to bring you home for Christmas so that they may meet this person who helped me so much. They want to give their thanks to you, at least that’s what they told me. I am sure they don’t approve of the very idea of me dating ah, uhm…another boy. I’m sure they are talking about me every night because of this.”
“Can I ask why you haven’t corrected this miscommunication?” he asks with no judgment in his tone but an obvious curiosity. It’s the last question I want him to ask, for it seems to be such an obvious solution to my problem but I have found it to be an impossibility for reasons I can only grasp at.
“Well, that would be that, umm, I am sure this is quite a cowardly approach to it, but there was a moment where they were so relieved. My mother was overjoyed when she asked if there was someone I thought was worth improving for and when they told my sisters, this being the moment I realized that there had been a miscommunication at all, well… While my parents weren’t enthusiastic about announcing I was in a relationship with another man, my sisters were quite excited by the idea. I guess that my youth lacking in any sort of romantic connections had been a source of concern that the two of them held for me. I was too overwhelmed at all of this joy I had caused to be able to snatch it away from them. I’m sorry, Demian, I know that you would never want to— That you don’t— I just hope you can forgive me for this mess I have caused you.”
“It’s hardly my concern at all, it’s not me who interacts with your family. It is you who is facing the consequences. I can see why you did it, even if I would not have done the same. The love that you have for your family is something you cherish deeply and should not be so ashamed over. I do wonder, though, if there is a solution to the problem that I could assist you in…”
“I doubt it, it is something I must confess to and repent for, and then I will pray for forgiveness,” I say, defeated. I had tried thinking of other ways to fix this problem and there simply was nothing else to be done.
“Why don’t you simply take me home and let me be your partner for the holiday?” he suggests like he is pointing out that the sky is blue or that God makes up so much more than just the good parts of life.
“What?” I ask, too loud for the library and I can immediately feel the eyes of several people glaring at me.
Demian laughs to himself at my response and I am sure he must have been teasing me as he likes to do at times. I can hardly blame him for it, especially when I was the one who involved him in this mess in the first place.
“I mean it, Sinclair, I believe it would solve all of your problems. One day of acting that we are what your family believes us to be, and then it will be over. In a month or so you can write to them saying that we have parted ways and to not expect to see me again. If you’re still truly concerned about that disapproval from your parents, then embrace the dishonesty a bit further and go ahead tell them you’ve come to a realization that you are not truly attracted to men. I have never met your family before, that one incident with your sister back from when we first met aside, and I will likely never have any reason to meet them outside of this. In addition, it’s not as if I have any Christmas plans given that I don’t celebrate. Of course, it would be furthering the lie you’ve crafted, but if it’s to help the holiday spirit who could truly fault you? It’s all up to you, at the end of the day. Think it over in the next few days, if it is worrying you so much.”
I can do nothing but stare at him as I try to comprehend the full implications of what he was suggesting. It was so tempting to dismiss it outright, and if I had come up with such an idea myself I would believe it to be complete nonsense. When Demian tells me to think something over, however, I feel compelled to do my best to understand the logic he used to come to that conclusion. If he came up with it, it surely can’t be an awful idea, right? Although he was still no stranger to offering up suggestions that would lead to disastrous outcomes for me if they went wrong, I have a strong trust in the fact he could save me from anything if it came down to it.
“No… No, I don’t need to think on it. Let’s do it. We’ll need… rules and a… a story for when they ask questions and, oh, God, if they find out, I– I don’t know what I’ll–”
“Emil,” he says firmly and I’m snapped out of my rambling train of thought immediately. “It will be fine. There is no need to preemptively panic, nothing has gone wrong and it will not go wrong. You trust me to take care of you, don’t you?”
“Of course, I wouldn’t be able to do this with anyone else. You… You’re the only person who I would ever feel comfortable doing this with. I mean we obviously aren’t… in a real relationship or anything, but it’s true that you’re important to me in a way that nobody else has ever been and you should be thanked for the help you’ve given me. In a way I’m glad that you get to meet my family and be treated as a, I don’t know, a savior.”
“I appreciate that, my friend, but who is it that said that the bond we share doesn’t qualify as a real relationship?” He gives me a smile that I can’t place the intent behind and I bite my tongue so hard I’m surprised I don’t taste blood. “Is a platonic relationship not worthy of being treated as equally valuable to those that are romantic or sexual? Have we not known each other long enough, seen the other at his worst as well as his best, been close enough for this bond between us to be real ? Ah, but I suppose you should get used to the idea of us sharing the kind of real relationship that you speak of soon, even if it will be a falsehood at its core, it will be real to everyone else after all.”
“Right… I–I’m sorry if I sounded dismissive of our, ah, relationship.” The word feels so strange yet so honest coming out of my mouth, but I find that the fear this idea first inspired in me is receding into an odd anticipation for what is to come. Demian is, as he often tends to be, correct – what already exists between us is worth everything in the world. “It has always been real to me, in the way that you describe. I hope you know that.”
“I do, I always have. I just wouldn’t want you to forget that it is important for you to determine value in things yourself instead of relying on what others might claim they are worth. Time spent reassessing the norms society has taught us is always time well spent.” When he finishes speaking he stands to leave, elegantly slipping on his coat and scarf, and giving me a warm yet unreadable smile.
“Now, then, won’t you tell me when you first fell in love with me?”
The question makes me jump and for a moment I earnestly believe that he has seen something in myself that I had been blind to – how can I not, after all of the times in which he has done just that? But when I look at him and find his eyes are bright with mischief, I remember what I had agreed to and understand that he is simply teasing me. The more that I have become comfortable of being my own independent person, capable of knowing how to pick a path to follow and trust in myself, the more common it has been for him to take his chances to unbalance me not for some higher purpose of teaching me a lesson but simply because he takes joy in my reactions. Perhaps I’d find myself annoyed by this under different circumstances, but it was a reminder that he has found a role in my life that was more friend and not guide, and so while I might roll my eyes and suffer a moment of embarrassment by the time the flustered reddening of my face has faded I take some comfort in the act.
“Perhaps you would prefer if I was in charge of this part of our little scheme. There is always the classic beginning to many tales of love: you have loved me from the moment you first saw me. Never has there been a moment where you did not want me.” Demian continues talking as he relaxes into his seat, arms folded on the table and his head resting on top of them so that loose hair falls onto his face.
“I hated you when we were children,” I tell him, but his amused expression hardly changes at the words. “You were too much for the version of me that wanted to cling on to my youth and innocent understanding of the world. I was terrified by everything that you were, all of the things I was afraid of in myself and the world as a whole were suddenly reflected there in you and I hated you for it almost as much as I despised myself for being so fascinated by you despite it all… It took a long time for those feelings to leave me.”
I suppose that the truth matters little when crafting a lie, but I still felt the urge to clarify. No, what I told him was hardly the full truth either. The memories of my childhood that concerned Demian were still fresh enough that I could be sure that while hate and terror might be some of the emotions I felt towards him, there was certainly another side that I left out on purpose. How could I explain the way that even back then he inspired such complex feelings of wonder and admiration in me, feelings that I struggle to let go of even today. Demian is talking of love at first sight, and while it wasn’t love, it was certainly easy to confuse it as such when I was a child.
“Ah, but now things are so different.” I can feel the burn of his eyes on me, waiting patiently for me to continue. “Now I wouldn’t know how to live without you… or, no it’s not that at all, but rather, I am now capable of knowing how to go about life on my own thanks to you, I just wish for you to be there with me…” I realize that I have perhaps spoken too freely, and look down at my hands to avoid his gaze. “I’m sure that you’ve also felt a lot of different things about me over the course of us knowing each other… I still remember how disappointed you were when you found me earlier this year.”
“Now, Emil.” he chides. “Certainly, if you had lost the passion for charting a path for yourself, then it follows that you’d have no interest in me anymore as well. It is of no consequence anymore – I have you now, do I not?” He cocks his head almost teasingly at me. I have no idea how I am meant to respond to that – I merely manage a nod.
“We were–,” I attempt to get the subject back on track, “we were trying to get our story straight, right?”
“Yes, of course. It is my opinion that we should not overthink things, and simply say what comes to mind. We oughtn’t worry too much about the details – simply speak from the heart. If minor facts contradict each other, I sincerely doubt your family will even notice.” Yet another pang of anxiety about lying to my family. And still, Demian has a point. All good lies are born from truth – if I speak about my earnest feelings towards Demian as a friend, that would be a good strategy. Earnestly speaking about him is what got me into this mess, after all. Perhaps it will be what gets me out of it. But the thought of that now instills a deeper, much different fear within me. Something burning under the surface simmers. I push it down and move on.
The time passes in a blur, and each day I grow more and more anxious. I cross off the calendar dates with cold fingers, trying not to look at how fast the holidays are approaching. Going home for the holidays has always held a particular anxiety. It was not that my parents were unpleasant to be around, but that I always struggled to re-adapt myself to the world of light. As any child who has left home and then returned, I always found things just slightly different than I left them, and struggled not to regress to my younger self. I could hardly imagine how this tension would affect me with Demian there. My parents, my past and childhood self, there with my present self and Demian, my guide. All I can do now is pray I will not embarrass myself.
Before I know it, I am standing anxiously before my childhood home, hand in hand with my most trusted friend. It’s snowing lightly, having warmed up a bit since the past few days had left the city in a deep freeze. The flakes clump together on the ground, gathering wetly on our coats and hats. I try to wipe my boots on the doormat as much as possible. We stand there in silence for a few moments, before the door. This may be our last private moment for the next few days – our last moment of honesty before we commit fully to performing the lie. I try to suppress the inevitable wave of guilt that washes over me.
“Are you prepared?” Demian squeezes my hand comfortingly, sensing my hesitation. I take in a deep breath.
“Yes.” I ring the doorbell. There is no going back now.
A tense few moments pass, and then it is my mother who answers the door. Her face brightens seeing me, and her smile seems to widen when she sees me side by side with Demian. For a moment, seeing my mother’s face, I instantly am wracked with the urge to confess my sins. How am I going to survive these next few days if I feel this tortured about hiding something from her? And yet, as my mind starts to race, it is Demian’s hand in mine that keeps me grounded. I give her a warm smile, and we both cross the threshold into my family home.
It looks just as I left it. My family home is comforting and safe, and I have never found it more so than when it is decorated for Christmas. A garland wraps around the wooden banister going up the stairs, and a stunning tree fills up our living room, decorated with ornaments I remember all from my childhood. There are painted ceramic baubles up high–I remember painting them with my sisters one year. Photos of us line the walls, with a sprig of spruce tucked behind the frames. I had never given much thought to these decorations before, finding they blended into background noise. Now, I am evaluating everything doubly, imagining how it looks through Demian’s eyes. Sneaking a glance at him, he seems to be surveying my childhood home much like he carefully studies anything else: like it has the greatest importance to him that only he knows.
“Take your shoes off, boys, and put them on the drying rack over the heat vent here.” My mother nudges us, noticing we are both still standing in the front hall with our winter clothes still on, lost in thought. I snap back to attention and pull my boots off, hanging my coat up on my usual hook. I suddenly remember our plan, and I feel compelled to take Demian’s coat and hang it up for him, next to mine. He gives it to me graciously and naturally. Just as I thought. He will be much better at this than I am.
It’s kind of my mother to wait until our coats are off to start with this – the most stressful moment I have been anticipating. Demian, however, gets the first word in. “I am pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“Then you must be Demian.” My mother invites him in warmly. “I’m so glad to see my Emil has found someone special. My expectations are high, you understand. He had much to say about you when we last spoke,” she teases, and my torment and humiliation now begins in earnest.
“I’m flattered to hear that.” Demian stands beside me, and, natural as anything, snakes an arm around my waist, gently holding me so we well and truly look like a couple. I attempt to hide my embarrassment. It does not go well. All I can do is trust Demian to handle this.
My mother glances at my face, and she must have read some kind of distress from my expression when she tells us, “You two must be tired from the train ride in. Feel free to take some time to unpack and rest, I have the kitchen to attend to here as well.” She gives me one big hug, though, and I feel my stress melt away as if I were still a child. Then, she disappears into the other room.
“Shall we?” Demian turns towards the stairs.
“Yes.” I exhale, and finally relax, now that the initial introductions have been finished and my mother reacted positively, I start to think that we might just get through this.
I immediately change my mind the moment we step into my old childhood bedroom. It is a mirror of my childhood, but at the same time it is clear my mother maintains it, or at least has prepared it for my homecoming. My old posters hang just where I left them, musicians and artists I no longer feel so strong an affinity towards. The bed is neatly made with a christmas quilt atop it, pillows and stuffed animals atop it. It takes me a second to realize how harrowing this is. My mother has displayed my stuffed animals on my bed, implying that I still sleep with them as an adult. I have to say something, anything to defend my honor, but I am frozen solid like the cold from outside has seeped in through the walls and floorboards.
“It’s been…a while since I’ve been here…and…” I trail off, excuses seeming pointless in the face of Demian’s gaze.
“Returning to one’s room after some time of absence does give one a unique feeling of comfort, but also homesickness. You cannot return to your childhood days, and the room you have left behind seems nothing but a facsimile. Am I correct?” He tilts his head. Thank God, he didn’t decide to comment on the stuffed animals.
“Yeah…I guess I’m feeling something like that. It’s the same, but it’s so different now. Especially with you here,” I add. “I never thought that I…”
“That you would bring someone home?” Demian suggests, amused. I flush again, and it finally occurs to me that the bed in my room is a twin-size. “Ah, but I won’t tease you any more.” Demian puts a hand on my shoulder, and reassures me– “You did well, Emil.”
The praise seeps through me, mixing with my embarrassment in a cocktail of emotion that makes it feel impossibly warm in the room. “You carried the conversation, I was just frozen there… It’s you who deserves the thanks.”
“Certainly not.” There is a twinkle in his eye. “You didn’t say anything wrong, did you? That means you did well.”
I am poor at accepting compliments at the best of times, but it frustrates me endlessly how amazing Demian is in comparison to myself, and how he still finds worth in me despite all that. How can he navigate these difficult social situations with ease? How is he so good at reading people?
“Well… thank you. Let’s hope that continues for the rest of the holidays.” I manage. I can still feel the phantom touch of his hand on my shoulder.
“Quite. Should we finish unpacking?”
It’s dark outside before we know it. It is always so easy to forget how quickly the sun sets in winter, especially so close to the winter solstice. My mother calls us down for dinner, and I know we have to leave the little world the two of us have created and re-enter the world of light, now, continuing the farce. Demian closes his book and offers me a hand to help me up from where I’m sitting on the bed, except he doesn’t let go when I stand. There is no need for me to stubbornly question it. I must follow his direction if we are to get through this.
The dinner table is set up with an extra chair this time. For a moment I think Demian might pull out my chair for me, but he saves me the embarrassment this time. Our family dinner on Christmas Eve is always more humble – the grand dinner is saved for Christmas day. All the same, it hits me how much I missed my mother’s cooking. Demian has a curious twinkle in his eye as we say grace and thank the Lord for this meal, and I can only hope he’ll save the religious debate for after dinner.
It’s only after we clean up our dishes that disaster strikes.
“Ooooo! Someone’s stepped under the mistletoe, you know what that means!” My older sister points up above my head and I look up to find she’s not lying.
Since when have we ever put that up in the house? Not once in my whole life have we ever brought that awful plant into our home! I can’t even begin to imagine who might have taken the time to buy some and tack it up to the doorframe. My parents would never do such a thing but my sisters are also innocents through and through. I begin to wonder if it was possible I had done this without realizing, in some trance of self sabotage, perhaps?
“Go on and kiss already,” says the younger of my sisters with great glee, and I feel my stomach drop. It couldn’t be… Not my sweet sisters… They could never have done this to me. “You have to!”
“No we don’t!” I cry out and have to lean against the frame for support. I might just pass out.
“Come on, it’s a Christmas tradition!”
“There is no reason we should have to,” Demian says, a light in the darkness. “Actually, much like many other things often attributed to the Christmas holiday, the idea of kissing under the mistletoe borrows greatly from older ideas and myths. This one calls back to the Norse gods and an epic tale of how Baldur, a boy whose mother worked hard to make it impossible to kill him — but alas she forgot to make him immune to the sting of mistletoe, and it killed him. In her grief she decided that the plant should have a more joyful association and made it so that it brought about love and good fortune. Well, that is the short version of it at least.”
My sisters do not seem impressed by his words, not in the way that I was, at least, but they both show interest in the story. They mostly just appear to be confused at why he would talk about that, and I decide this is my chance to get out of this wretched situation.
“Thank you for that explanation, and yes, of course, there is no need for us to do anything,” I say eagerly. After hearing the story I began to find the whole concept of mistletoe was absurd. There was no reason to bring private moments into the public, even if some no longer worshiped god wished us to use these moments to find love. My sisters could be as sad as they wanted, but Demian would take my side in this.
“However, there is also no reason why we shouldn’t,” he continues and my sisters fall into giggling and whispering to each other like high schoolers. “What’s the harm in honoring such a tradition with a bit of holiday cheer?”
I try to communicate through a strong look that this is not a good idea, but it has no hope of working. I cannot manage any sort of expression other than embarrassment and some, although I would never admit this to myself, hope. Demian, better at reading me than should be possible, takes in my pouting face and seems to understand my reluctance. He closes his eyes in what could almost be seen as reluctant acceptance at my silent pleading, and then his expression is back to his typical smile and I decide I am reading too much into things.
“Ah, but then again, your brother is someone prone to being nervous, isn’t he? You two are quite the tricksters for setting him up like this. He shies away from doing anything when there are other people around, which I have no problems with.” He talks to my sisters to get them off my back like it’s nothing, and then he has a hand on the lower part of my back and is pushing me out of the doorway. “In fact, I think it’s quite a preferable thing that only I get to see him like that.”
I feel my heart trying to crawl its way out of my chest and only get more embarrassed when I see the reactions of my sisters. They were looking at us like Demian has just confessed to every sinful thing we have ever done together! Which, while in reality was nothing at all, in this imagined relationship I am quite sure is a very large number of things. I begin to feel a bit dizzy at the thoughts rushing through my head of the things that would have transpired between us if this was a real relationship.
“It’s nothing at all like that!” I say and dig my heels in, refusing to move from the spot. “Please don’t say such things, you’ll only confuse people.”
Demian and my sisters share a look at that, and Demian’s lips quirk up in a smile. I know that I should feel something other than my heart constricting in some confused, aching want – I should be annoyed or even angry that he’s doing this back and forth with me, and I certainly do find myself upset, but it is not for the right reasons. Nothing feels right within myself, I am unsure of everything except for the very things leaving me so lost, how his hand feels like it’s burning my skin despite the layers of clothes between it and my body, the way my mind is filling itself with all sorts of scenarios of him sweeping me off my feet, carrying me away somewhere we can be alone, just the two of us… I shake my head to dispel the thoughts.
I’m not a stranger to these reactions, I know what they are a product of and I hate myself for it. These are the feelings of a child who can’t tell friendship apart from true affection. I had believed I moved past this struggle years ago, during the time in which he graduated and moved on to his university years while I was left behind to work things out on my own. There was no more time to indulge in misplaced fantasies as I got older. I had not loved him at all, or, if you could call it such a thing then it must also be said that the love a child feels is nothing worth giving acknowledgement. Demian is impossibly unique, beautiful and clever, someone who has helped me at my lowest points and understood me like no other ever would, so of course I found myself lost in uncharted emotions and misidentified them, unable to realize the truth of the situation. He was – he is – nothing more than my dearest friend, and to think of him as anything else would surely be regressing to a youthful ignorance, a mockery to the mature person he has helped me develop into.
“Emil, forgive me, I just couldn’t help myself,” Demian says to me, voice low and warm and I know that he intends those words to be mine and mine alone, even if my sisters can hear them. Despite myself, I can’t help but believe that things would be wonderful if this was a real relationship, one where I could kiss him freely without a second thought instead of working myself up into the state I’m in now, one where not only I loved him but he loved me as well. “I’ll stop ruffling your feathers so much, my dearest. Your parents wished to speak to me more, take this as a chance to rebalance yourself and catch up with your sisters, mm?”
Before I can respond he runs a hand through my hair, looking far more content than he does apologetic, presses a soft kiss to my cheek, and then he is off to the living room where my parents are watching A Christmas Story , leaving me alone with my sisters while I do my best to temper my reaction into that of someone who often receives such gestures. There is lightly mocking laughter coming from my sisters as I cover my face with my hands, but it at least comes off as general embarrassment at being teased rather than the fact I am not used to him treating me as a boyfriend and not a mere companion. The thought of Demian speaking to my beloved parents without my being there does nothing to soothe the anxiety building up within me, but I am grateful he recognized I was becoming overwhelmed.
“Wow, you sure know how to pick them, Emil.” My sister snorts.
“Can’t you just be happy for me?” It comes off too abrasive, but they look over my tone considering how it was their fault for pushing me to this point.
“We are! Of course we are. You know, we were worried you would die alone,” says the younger of my sisters and I drop my hands from my face to look at her in horror. Die alone! I have barely left behind my second decade of life and they have been expecting me to die without knowing love!
“Yeah, you always seemed to be such a lonely soul,” my elder sister says, and then with a pitying look in her eyes she continues on. “It’s a shame that even around just family, you’re still so afraid of being open about it, but maybe that’s to be expected with your first real relationship.”
For my whole life I have believed that these two young women were the personification of the world of light, free of sin and made up out of everything good. At this moment I have to wonder if some corruption was staining their souls to make them behave like this. This was the behavior of a devil, not the angels I thought I knew them to be.
“What do you mean by that? Aren’t I allowed to not want to put on a song and dance for you two?” I ask her and the two share another look.
“Sure… but what about how you keep brushing him off when he tries to touch you, or how you hardly responded when he went on and on about how fond of you he is. I mean, I thought it was sweet to the point of being sickening, but you barely managed to give him a single compliment in return.”
“Yeah, look, Emil, I know you’re not used to this, but I can tell he really cares about you, like, a lot . Demian is… he’s a bit of a strange one, isn’t he? A good one, but… Anyways, I think it’s best if you make sure he knows that you love him too, even if it’s embarrassing. You have to let go of that childish mindset on relationships if you want him to know you’re serious.”
“I– I don’t… Have I…?” The words catch in my throat, leaving me unable to get out a sentence to defend myself. I’m left to mull over this accusation as words fail me and guilt and shame begin to form a clot in my heart; my chest aches fiercely over the idea that I have been neglecting him, leaving all the difficult parts of this to him while I selfishly enjoyed the praise of my family for growing up and finding someone, enjoyed the sweet words he spoke of me and the small touches filled with affection, even if they were fake. “You bring up a valid point… I have not been doing enough for him in return. I– I’m going to go to him now. Thank you for saying something, I don’t want him to feel as if I don’t appreciate him, because I do, I promise you that I do.” I try to assure them anxiously, before leaving to join Demian and my parents in the living room.
Entering the room, I had expected them to be discussing me, and for that discussion to center around a topic I would find most embarrassing, but instead the only noise comes from the surround sound playing a Christmas song belonging to some advertisement on shopping for winter coats. When I fully step into the room my attention is instantly on the way Demian sits alone on the couch, legs folded under a blanket and a blank expression on his face as he studies the decorations in the room. I’m struck for a moment at how peaceful the scene is, and have to take a moment to shake myself back to reality.
“Demian,” I call out without a second thought, working only on the childish instinct of wanting his eyes on me.
While it does get him to turn to look at me, his eyebrows raised slightly in question as to why I spoke his name as I did, it of course also captures the attention of my parents. I feel the heat rising to my face as I realize the randomness of my action and I nearly begin to panic.
“Do you want something to drink? While I’m up.” My voice is too high and it is clear that I’ve embarrassed myself, but Mother simply shakes her head with a smile under the assumption it is just my natural awkwardness showing itself – which, in a way, it is – while Father quickly turns his attention back to the television.
Demian, though, Demian looks me over and must see right through to my very soul, as that familiar smile that is equal parts teasing and soft forms on his face.
“No, worry not, my love, all I want is for you to be at my side.” He extends his arm out to me, his hand reaching out for mine, and suddenly my legs are quite weak.
There are never moments where Demian is not compelling to look at. Even at the points where he loses himself in such deep thought that he looks more statue than human, more dead than alive, I do not wish to look away. Here and now, however, he is on the other side of the extreme. Just moments before his existence in my family home felt out of place, but now the location only adds to his presence, his beauty. He is all at once right at home, in my home, because he is here with me and wants me to be there with him.
Taking his hand is the easiest thing in the world and he pulls me to sit next to him and, just as easily as he made himself belong here, I find myself belonging here as well. I pull the blanket he had on his lap to cover both of us and allow myself to relax into his side as the commercial break ends and the movie begins to play again. We stay like that, comfortably close, until my parents check in, telling us they're headed to bed for the night. I listen to their footsteps going upstairs, waiting until I hear the sound of their door closing. Demian and I are alone for the first time in hours and I know I must apologize for my poor performance so far.
“I’m sorry… I’m having a hard time pretending.” Demian would know how much anxiety lying gives me. Still, that was when I was a child, and this is now.
“Sinclair, let me ask something of you,” he says in response. His voice is low and he puts an arm on the backrest of the couch as he leans closer to me. “Tell me, if you were to actually love me, were actually in a relationship with me, how would you behave? What would you say to me and what would you do with me?”
I feel pinned not just by his body but also his words, his everything. How intense the look he gives me now is! I could hardly think through this line of thinking, much less think of an appropriate response. In an act of true betrayal to both Demian and myself I look down from his eyes to lips and cannot stop myself from remembering how I denied myself the chance to kiss him earlier. My mouth is going dry and I am sure my face is an embarrassing shade of red. Oh, yes, I do now have an idea on what I would do if I were truly in love with him!
“If I did I surely wouldn’t be able to stop myself from— Well, uh… expressing what feelings I might theoretically have. I should at least hope that if I actually held such feelings I could be honest with them.” My voice is probably too quiet, even considering the fact that what we were discussing had to be kept secret from the rest of the house. The thought of a version of us where this is real and I failed him the way I have in reality, requiring the aid of my sisters to understand that I had failed at letting him know how loved he was, terrifies me deeply, even if it is merely theoretical. That terror clashes against the desire his question sparked in me and I finally have to duck my head to look away from him, letting my gaze rest on my hands as I anxiously fiddle with the edges of my sweater.
“Of course, I would hope the same if there were real emotions in your heart,” he says and there is an odd stiffness in his voice that I am barely able to pick up on. “Now, I would like for you to continue to imagine those scenarios and act as if they’re true. I think it would aid in this charade we’re putting on.”
“Am I really that bad at this?” I ask and look back up at him, expecting to see disappointment on his face but instead he has that same warmth that I am beginning to confuse as love. It’s the same expression he has when putting on the act for my family, so why does he so often look at me like that?
“No, Sinclair, you’re perfect.” Demian speaks like he is reciting scripture and I feel like melted wax. I am being burned, I am unable to retain my shape, I am falling apart and it is my very purpose in life to do this. He puts a hand on top of mine, which stopped moving at his words, and I am shocked at how my body doesn’t fall apart at his touch.
Demian is so close, he is so close and he is looking at me like this is all so real and I am starting to believe maybe it is as real as it is in my imagination and—
“Am I interrupting something?” asks my sister and if anything is real it is the idea I had earlier that she is more than capable of playing a devil when she wishes to and has waited to reveal that fact until I am at my most vulnerable.
“No!” I cry out and jump back, hitting the arm of the couch hard enough that I nearly curse from the shock. I believed I was already pressed up against it, cornered in by Demian’s presence, but I must have leaned forward myself without being aware of my own actions. If my face was already flushed pink from my shameful thoughts then I must surely be scarlet in embarrassment now.
My sister laughs at my reaction, which is to be expected, really, but I find Demian is softly chuckling at me as well. How dare he when he is the very cause of all of this! I cannot decide if I am betrayed by this or captivated by him, the way his hand moves to cover his open smile, knuckles brushing against his lips, so devilishly charming with such simple gestures.
“You did interrupt us, yes,” he tells her, still softly laughing at me. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’m quite taken by your brother.”
She gives me a look that reads clearly as an amused befuddlement at the thought of anyone being taken by me, and, oh, if only she knew that she was right to doubt that he loved me… How often, I wonder, has Demian done this to me? Asked me to take up a new outlook on life, consider a new perspective, and then left me struggling to catch up with him. How can it be that I am sitting right next to him, yet I feel so far from him? Most of all, why is the heaviness in my heart at lying to my family morphing into a different kind of pain the longer I dwell on these thoughts?
I notice I’ve been silent for a while, and awkwardly clear my throat, trying to snap myself to attention. “Sorry, you needed me—us—for something?”
“Well, we’re about to start Monopoly, so if you wanted to join…” She glances back at the door to the other room, where my other sister is no doubt waiting.
Demian checks his watch and makes a quiet noise of discontent at the time. “Isn’t it late to start a game of Monopoly? Is it not common to wake up early on Christmas Day?”
I refrain from making a comment about the time he had asked me to play Catan when it was already less than an hour before midnight. He is typically the sort of person to hate staying up late, unless his mind is truly too occupied with thoughts to be capable of falling asleep. When I was younger, I had found this to be one of his many mature and admirable qualities, and now that I’m older I simply find it charming.
In fact, the part of myself that is playing the role of being truly in love with him is urging me to forsake the tradition created by myself and my sisters to create a new one in which I let myself be led by the soft hand of my love to bed where I could first sink into his embrace and then into a peaceful slumber. Even though he had told me to follow these instincts, I know that is surely a desire I have to refuse, so instead I make no comment at all and allow my sister to answer his question.
“Nah, as a kid you wake up early, but now we like to stay up late and drink hot chocolate and catch up. Someone is really bad at giving any life updates unless you corner him like this.”
“Hey! That’s not… entirely true,” I say weakly, following my sister as she walks to the other room, where my other sister is already sitting on the floor waiting for us with the game box on the coffee table.
“Okay, sure, it’s not like you brought home your boyfriend of– How long have you even been together?” She looks back and gestures at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Seven months,” Demian answers. I am somewhat certain that we had agreed to claim the relationship only started recently, but I am sure he is giving that answer for a reason.
“Seven months!” my sister repeats in disbelief. “Never once thought to say something in the family group chat about him? Hmm?”
“I… Sorry… Please forgive me for neglecting to tell you…”
“Just go make the hot chocolate while we set up the game and roll turn order,” my eldest sister says with a sigh. “We can get started without you.”
“Won’t that skip his turn?”
“Oh, Emil’s a total sore loser, so he doesn’t actually play, he just gets to be the banker,” she explains as she slides the top of the box off and lays out the board.
“Yeah, he is, like, always been such a kid about things,” my other sister chimes in, evidently thrilled to be a part of this conversation when the topic is bullying me. She searches through the box for the racecar and dog tokens that the two of them use every game. “You know how he gets.”
“I am quite familiar with his behavior, yes,” Demian says, voice a bit tight, as if he is holding back his full thoughts. I send him a look that I hope fully expresses how much I do not want him to debate my sisters on exactly where I fell on the scale of maturity, and I only leave for the kitchen once they’ve moved on to a different subject.
Having a moment to myself briefly puts me at ease and I let myself relax completely for the first time since I woke up. The strange thing is that, as I pull down the chocolate mix from the cabinets and put the milk on the stove to heat, I find myself missing the tension that came with being around him today. He shouldn’t even be here today, so I’m surprised at how strongly I feel his absence, how natural it is to think of him as I go about these typical holiday traditions. When I pull out the mugs my sisters and I use for this every year, I instinctively look for one that belongs to him despite the obvious fact that he does not have one. It hits me then, as I look for a mug that is not and should not be here but I want to be here, that he will not return next year or the year after. I will come home alone and he will not be there next to me and I know I’ll miss him then just as I miss him now.
I should dwell on those thoughts more, actually grapple with what they mean, but I notice that during my musings I neglected to check the milk and had almost let it hit a boil so I have to scramble to right my wrongs. How horribly embarrassing it would have been to have gotten that distracted thinking of my dear friend that I failed such a basic task! The very thought of it, of how I know exactly the amused, knowing expression he’d make if I told him, has my face heating in embarrassment and my chest tightening, but I tell myself to focus on the task at hand and return to the others as fast as I can.
I finish making the drinks, then walk back to the living room slowly, carefully watching the contents of the mugs to make sure nothing spills over, and hand them off to my sisters first and then repeat the trip again. I am much too aware of the way that his fingers wrap around mine when he takes it from me, of how it makes me feel so much like a child again. He gives me a simple “Thank you, dear”, which does not help the way my heart is behaving so oddly at this moment, and my sisters add in their thanks after hearing him.
There is one open side of the table left, one of my sisters has already placed the box with the fake money and property cards there for me, so I squeeze between Demian and the couch to make my way to my spot. The swaying of the whipped cream swirled around on top of the drink is giving me a creeping sense of anxiety that is hard to ignore, but I make it and place my mug down on one of the snowflake decorated coasters I had bought as a gift for my mother three years ago. How beautiful this little scene before me now is, with all of them here in one place.
“Hey, sit next to me.” Demian tugs on my sweater, a small pout on his beautiful lips, and I see that he had left a space for me that I had completely overlooked. I let him pull me closer, closer, until I am leaning against his side right where I have perhaps always belonged. He lets go of my arm to bring the blanket he had been given earlier around my shoulders so we are bundled up together, his hand trailing down my back as he pulls away. I think that if we were alone, yet still needed to perform this increasingly delightful ideal of a romance, I would move to sit in his lap and hope that he’d put his arms around me and hold me close for warmth and his breath would hit the back of my neck every time he exhaled and–
“Emil, stop being gay. I’m buying Vermont.”
“What?!” I say, and then, “Oh. Give me a hundred, then.”
The game begins properly then, with Demian buying up quite a few extra properties through auctions that neither of my sisters seems to really care about. Normally they skipped doing auctions altogether, none of us really cared about the games we played, and instead used them as a simple tool to keep us together in one place to talk. It’s pleasant to exist in this moment, to let everything but the fact I am here having fun with the most important people in my life fall away and allow myself to forget that this is far from the most honest thing I’ve done.
It is surprisingly easy to make myself comfortable and let myself indulge in the small desires sparking up within me. I hesitate for only a moment before I put an arm around Demian’s waist, grasping loosely at the scratchy fabric of his sweater, which he takes as a request to lean further against me. Demian is typically cold, when he hands me a book to read and our fingers brush against each other or when we walk together and I am so distracted by him that I am seconds away from walking into a pole or bench and he grabs my arm to pull me towards him, I am shocked at the frigid temperature of his body, but here he is warm . Under the blanket and an ugly Christmas sweater, as I pull him closer to me, I do not think I’d find myself warmer if I was curled up next to the fireplace rather than him and I certainly would not want to be anywhere else. In the air there is the scent of hot chocolate thick with cinnamon mixing with the fresh pine of the tree, but now that I am sitting so close to him I can also catch the smell of clean soap on the back of his neck and I wish to melt into his very being and never leave the comfort of this moment.
“So,” my sister says, in the drawn out way of a lowly gossip and it drags me out of the peace I had just resided in. “I have to ask… How’d you two finally get together? Because I remember him talking about you way back in, I don’t know, middle school? Elementary? But he stopped mentioning you at some point.”
“And he’d always act like it was such a secret when he was talking about you, it was so obvious that he was having a baby's first crush. We had a bet going on when he was going to finally come home and come out.”
“You what?!”
“How interesting, I am always so fascinated to learn about the differing perspectives people have towards the same subjects. There are more obvious examples, and while yes, of course, family and friend, sister and companion, would see the same person quite differently, isn’t it fascinating how they do end up coming to those different conclusions? They draw from different behaviors and knowledge, the private life of a good and honest family versus the new world introduced by a friend from a different walk of life, and sometimes they, without any collaboration with one another, will find the same answers. I am sure there are a number of similar things that the two of you noticed about my Emil that I had never been given the pieces to understand, and I would be delighted if you would share them with me.”
“…Did you not realize he had a crush on you since the moment he met you?”
I fear, not for the first time since bringing Demian home, that my family is not well suited to hanging on to his every word and deciphering it like scripture. His manner of speaking is second nature to me, and while the subjects or true intent behind his words might occasionally leave me befuddled or lost, I never had any difficulty with understanding the more basic intent of them.
“No, no, I knew. It would be hard not to notice given the circumstances, I simply respected him to tell me when he was fully prepared to accept himself. I am merely asking for some other stories you might have on how he would speak of me when we were younger.”
“Oh, you want all the dirt on him. Yeah, we were gonna get to that tonight sooner or later, don’t worry.”
“I’d greatly prefer it if we could move on to a different subject! Preferably not centering around me!”
“See! That right there. After he met you he – well, he had always been a bit formal with how he spoke – but he had totally started talking like you. I mean, we didn’t know you at the time or knew why he was doing it, but looking back it was totally your fault.”
“His clothes too, remember that? How he had asked mom to go shopping with him one day and he came back and just replaced half his wardrobe with all of that dark academia stuff? The sweaters and vests and sweater vests?”
“Could you please not talk about that,” I beg, interrupted by my sister kicking me under the table.
“Emil, give me the 200 for passing start. Keep up.”
“Sorry…”
Though the game starts off looking somewhat even, before long it becomes obvious that Demian is winning. The fact that he seems not to react to this seems to infuriate everyone else further, which is probably why the focus of the conversation turned to invasive questions about my personal life. It’s all I can do to wait out the storm until it passes and they run out of things to bully me about.
The miracle does eventually come. The game drags on to a long stalemate, and I yawn, causing everyone else at the table to yawn in turn.
“Should we call it a night?” My eldest sister says in between yawns.
“Oh, are we not going to finish the game? I was looking forward to its conclusion…” Is it my imagination or is Demian pouting?
I try to prevent myself from being further entranced by his expression and take this opportunity while I still can. “Yes, it is getting late, isn’t it…Let’s all head to bed so we can wake up early next morning.
Both of my sisters leave right away. Probably because they know I’ll clean it up. “Night, Emil.”
“Goodnight…”
I was expecting an awkward atmosphere to settle in on the two of us now that we were alone, but instead I stayed there by his side in a content silence for just a bit longer. It was greedy now that there was no one around to convince of how real and honest our relationship was, something done simply because I wanted to remain under that blanket with him for a few minutes more. Demian, in all of his wondrous kindness and patience with my faults, allows me this act of selfishness and does not move away to escape my embrace.
“Did you want to retire for the night as well?” he asks me, voice low as exhaustion begins to hit him.
We are closer than I had realized, with only a few inches between our faces now that we have turned to face each other rather than my sisters across the table. I can do nothing but blink stupidly as my brain fails to remember what words are. Demian is truly breathtaking so up close, even while tired his eyes are still bright and focused directly on me and his pale skin is warm under the Christmas lights, and I can think of nothing other than how I have been this close to him twice before already today yet just as before nothing will come of this. It is truly agonizing to attempt to fight back the overwhelming desire to lean in and ruin our friendship forever.
“Emil?”
“I–” My voice is thick and I choke back the words ‘ I love you so much I kind of wish I would die’ or something equally as embarrassing. “I’m going to go– ah, put the dishes away now.”
I get up in a rush, too aware of how his hand that had been resting on my back passes over my body as I move to stand, collect the mugs, and make a quick retreat to the kitchen. The mugs clang loudly against the top rack of the dishwasher, putting me even more on edge.
Can I truly continue to believe that all of the love I have for him is worth nothing? The very thought that soon I will never share moments like this with Demian ever again brings me nearly to tears, unsure how I could go back to the way things were after coming to understand the intensity in which I desire for him to always treasure me as he has today. These feelings of mine are far different from what I had known as a child, no more is it the simple acknowledgement of his beauty and intelligence, dreams of Demian embracing me amongst the stars, now I want for so much more. I want to bring him home with me every future holiday, to be able to kiss him without the need of an excuse like mistletoe, see the pout on his lips when told he can’t finish a board game even though he really should have gone to sleep hours ago, and go to sleep next to him and wake up with him in arms reach. Every ache of my heart calls out to me, urging me to live the rest of my life with Demian being something so much more than just a friend to rely on.
The attempts to calm myself prove unsuccessful. I cannot think of any ways forward that would not end in disaster, embarrassment for myself and an awkwardness between us that will never go away. Demian is so, so accepting of me and my faults, he would surely never hate me for loving him, but could he ever return my feelings? No… Demian has no want for romance and love, he has been open to me about how he would be more than content to live the rest of his life without ever entering a relationship, and saw no need to pursue love of that kind so long as he had trustworthy companions with whom he could share his thoughts with. Everything that he has done today was simply because I was his dearest friend, not because he held some sort of… secret affections for me.
“Oh, my dear Emil, are you alright?” Demian stands in the kitchen doorway, sounding awfully worried for me.
“You don’t have to call me that now that we’re alone, everyone else is asleep…” It hurts too much to hear right now. “I… I’m sorry for forcing you through this for me, I know you offered, but… I– I know it must be difficult for you to pretend as if you could ever see me as someone you’d ever actually want to… want to love.”
He walks over towards me and takes my hands in his, his thumbs brushing over my knuckles, so much concern in the action that I nearly lose my composure and begin to weep. I don’t deserve this.
“Emil… hear my words and let it sink into your heart that they are the truth, you will always be very dear to me, I have known that for a very long time. I will never meet anyone else like you, and I have no desire to ever come to know someone else as I know you now.”
I feel ashamed at how these words only serve to upset me more. He is complimenting me, professing we shall always be friends, so why is it so painful? No matter how special I am to him, it seems it will never be enough for me. I am sickened by my own greed. I hate myself, and I hate him for indulging my selfishness. The shame, disgust and misdirected frustration rise up within me all at once, and before I can stop myself, before I can salvage the burning wreck of what I am about to say, I say it, biting out:
“But you could never really love me, could you.”
I regret it as soon as I’ve said it. My stomach drops. Worse, the tears that were threatening to spill earlier do fall, and I wipe my eyes and look away, unable to face him.
“Do not go deciding my feelings for me, Sinclair.” Demian’s hands leave mine and move to cup my cheeks, staining his palms with my tears, tilting my head so that I am forced to look at him directly. “I could not begin to fully describe the depths of my love for you and I ask you to not deny its existence so freely.”
I am paralyzed by his gaze, and I cannot stop digging myself deeper into the mess I’ve made. I’ve already ruined everything, and now I want it all to come crashing down, for some sick sense of catharsis, for as patient as Demian is with me, I know there are limits to his generosity.
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew… if you knew the extent to which I desire you… if you knew the thoughts that I have, you’d be disgusted. They are… sinful, and frequent, and… You could never…” I am ashamed to even admit to the fact I have such desires; they disgust me, confirm how different and incompatible we are, so there’s no way he wouldn’t feel the same.
“You’re not listening to me. Emil, I have known of your desires for a long time.” Demian says firmly, and a bell tolls somewhere, signaling the end of the world.
“Why…” I step backwards in shock, struggling to breathe, and his hands fall from my face. “Why didn’t you say anything? If you knew all this time, then why…?”
“I could never have explained to you your own feelings, as we would never be equals if I was the one who opened your eyes for you. You had to be the one to witness the truth that existed in your heart, understand the desires that you felt… I am only capable of saying so much, asking you to believe in so much, before it ceases to be your journey of finding yourself and twists into me deciding your thoughts and actions for you. I am aware of how deeply you value my words, Emil, and I could never exploit the trust you hold in me all so I could selfishly enjoy a different type of relationship with you. I simply couldn’t… ruin the relationship that I hold so dearly by forcing your hand.” He gives an apologetic smile, and it hits me that this has hurt him as well. “Please understand and forgive me, I have only ever wanted to help foster a firm foundation for this relationship that I hope will last until our dying breaths.”
I can only stare up at him in awe for a moment, so frozen I fear even my heart forgot how to carry on its rhythm in my chest as it all sunk in. He had always loved me, always been waiting for me. Demian, my beautiful Demian who I had convinced myself could never want anything more from me than simple friendship, had been hoping day after day I would be brave enough to accept my love for him. It felt as if I was trying to accept the impossible, to believe that he had loved me all along.
“So, then, this whole time…? All of today you…?”
“I was hoping by putting on this act, you might come to understand how easy it would be for us to transition into something different from our time as mere friends. Today was a day of truth, one where I had the opportunity to express how much I adore every single part of who you are, and was it not the same for you once you tossed aside your fears? Did it not lead us to this moment where we can face each other and speak freely as to what lies in our hearts?”
“Oh, Demian, you have no idea how much today has opened my eyes to all of the possibilities!” I take a step towards him and loosely grip onto the front of his sweater, unable to bear having any distance between us and needing to pull him closer, closer. “I want this to be our future! I want to love you with no more denial or dishonesty, I want to love you as you deserve, forever, Demian, into the new year and then every year after that!”
Our faces are centimeters away. He is holding my hand–he squeezes it in encouragement, waiting. My heart leaps into my throat when I realize he is waiting for me to initiate the kiss, as he has been waiting for me to realize my feelings for years, and I cannot stand here and wait for Demian to take the lead. I almost ask him again if it’s really okay, but I push it back down. I muster all the confidence I possibly can, fueled by all the desire I have kept hidden for years, and close the distance. Demian’s eyes flutter closed at the last second before we meet and I remember to close mine too, just as our lips meet. An electric shock courses through my body, flushing my cheeks, and it returns twofold when Demian starts to reciprocate. I jolt away in embarrassment, and I must be totally red, as Demian looks like he’s suppressing a giggle. For a moment, all I can hear is our breathing and the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway. I want to kiss him again so badly that I can hardly stand it.
“Umm… It’s gotten really late.” I don’t know how to speak normally to him anymore, my thoughts are still catching up with the fact that not only does Demian love me, but we just shared a kiss in the darkness of my childhood home’s kitchen. It feels very much like a dream that I wish could go on longer, but the green light of the microwave’s clock is impossible to ignore. I clear my throat and take a step back away from him, too aware of him. “I… I’m going to sleep on the couch, I think.”
I’m much too afraid at the idea of being so close to him with all of these newfound feelings overwhelming me. He claims to know how intensely I long for him, which cannot possibly be true, but even if it was, I accept that this is hardly the time or the place for such things.
“My love, please remember that we are in your parent’s house and in approximately five hours they will walk downstairs for Christmas morning, and, when they see their child sleeping on the couch, the explanation they will come to is that we had a fight so horrible that it resulted in you being unable to remain in the same room as me.”
The pet name, with the freshly added knowledge that he truly, honestly wishes to refer to me with such terms of endearment, makes me freeze up even more than him pointing out the obvious flaw in my plan.
“Oh, that’s… that’s right. I can sleep on the floor in the upstairs office then. Thank you.” I nod along to my own words as I stumble about for a solution to my problem. The office has a very large, comfortable rug laid out in the center of it, so it really doesn’t seem like all that bad of a place to sleep, in my eyes.
Demian stares at me with a blank expression before sighing, he takes a step closer to me, his hands finding their way to my waist where he pulls me towards him. It is all very unlike him, and my mind leaps to places it shouldn’t go to, until he rests his head against my shoulder and I realize it is merely a very tender hug.
“You are making it a point to misunderstand me tonight, I fear. I want to share a bed with you, Emil, and if you insist on preferring to sleep on the floor rather than by my side… Well, I will have no choice but to conclude you cannot bear to be in the same room as me.” With every word he says, I feel his breath against my neck. “That isn’t the case now is it?”
“Ah, n-no, Demian… It is the opposite. I– I, umm… Remember that my bed is quite small and I just, I worry that by being so close to you, with all of the emotions running through me right now…” I really don’t want to say it and so I let it hang in the air for him to put the pieces together himself.
“You’d like to not stop here?” He moves to kiss me again and I let myself indulge for a moment before turning my head to the side to cut the kiss short.
“I want for nothing more than to keep going, to, ah… embrace you as I have longed to do for so long. But I know that this is all going very fast for you– for both of us, and it is late, so even if I wish for more, I can wait for another, better time.”
“Have we not waited long enough? Why deny your feelings for any longer? Oh, my dear Emil, I understand your concerns, but I wish to see you stripped down to your most honest desires. Too long have you acted with restraint, kept your true self hidden away from me, let me see it all tonight, my love.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, nearly unable to believe that this is really happening.
“I have never been more sure of anything than how much I adore you. Now then, shall we?” Demian nods at me, and I feel weak when I realize he is suggesting we continue this in my bedroom. I cannot let my anxiety make me waste this chance. I nod in turn, and let him take my hand and lead me upstairs, and my legs only shake a little.
The sound of my bedroom door closing only makes it more real – cementing my determination. Demian can hardly sit down on the bed before I am all over him, unable to contain myself. I have years and years of desire unacknowledged to make up for, so I had better get started tonight. He smiles into the kisses I press on him, places a gentle hand on my hair, moves against me more beautifully than I could have ever imagined.
I grasp at him like chasing wind, like he is a phantom my hands will phase right through. But he is here, here with me, breathing, skin hot beneath my palms as I slip my hands under his shirt, eager to feel more of him. To my shock, he makes a noise, and I am all too eager to hear it again and again and again for the rest of my life, the thought of which makes me nearly lose my balance. I try to keep myself grounded, know that, if what he says is true, I’ll have many more chances to show my love to him in our future, but I can hardly think of waiting another minute. He’s smiling, that usual knowing smile he always has on his face, but this time I get the sense that he’s laughing at me for being so eager. Fortunately or unfortunately, I think I’ve gone through enough embarrassment today already to be phased by something like that. Let him be surprised by my boldness. If he thinks he knows the extent of my desire, I should see for myself how true that is, how prepared he is to handle it. I want to outdo his expectations. We have only a few short hours until sunrise, and I intend to make good use of them.
As we lay back down afterwards, pressed together on my twin-sized bed, I can barely keep my eyes open. Before I let sleep take me, though, I have something to say to him.
“Demian?” I say softly and, when he makes a small noise to show he hasn’t fallen completely asleep yet, I continue. “I’ll make it up to you, all of those years you spent waiting for me to not be an utter fool about this. I promise.”
I can hear his heart quicken at my words and his hand on my back grips onto me a bit tighter and I am lightheaded at the fact I can make him feel this kind of yearning for me.
“I look forward to it, you’ll have a lot of work to do. I have been waiting for a long time,” he says and I’m amazed at how he can keep his voice so steady when I know that he is feeling anything but calm.
“I hope I won’t disappoint you…”
“Stop worrying over the impossible, my love.” Demian yawns as he finishes speaking and adjusts how his head lays on the pillow, and I love him so terribly much it is all I can think about.
“Goodnight, Demian… I love you.” I whisper the words, as I can tell by the shift in his breathing that he has already fallen asleep. It is peaceful, as I drift off to sleep myself, to feel him resting beside me and know that I do not need to hear him verbalize it to know that he loves me in return.
It’s still dark out when I wake. And yet, I can hear movement downstairs. The coffee maker is turned on, and I hear some soft chatter between my parents. I should probably get ready to go downstairs.
It’s all at once that I remember where I am and what happened last night. There is a warm body pressed up against me, and I have to force myself to exhale the breath I’m holding. With great reluctance I slip my arm out from under him and pull my legs out of the tangled mess they’re in with his and start to roll over to the other side of the bed. I had gotten us so far over to his side while we slept that I’m surprised we didn’t fall off, so reaching my nightstand and turning the light on was a stretch I couldn’t quite make without separating from him.
“Don’t leave me just yet, my love,” he says and tugs on the front of my shirt to pull me back down to him.
“You’re awake…” I breathe, then yelp as his tug becomes more insistent, wrapping his arms around me again and pulling me down to the bed, slotting my body in with his once again in an embrace. I’m lucky I’m not facing him so he can’t see how flushed I am. I never knew Demian could be this possessive. It sinks in gradually that I am about to see a whole new side of him, one I could have never let myself dream of seeing. I have seen what it is like to wake up next to Demian today–and I will wake up next to him the rest of my life. I will find myself in his arms not just this morning but all the ones after. Today, we must reenter the world of light of my parents, but after, I will have him all to myself. It strikes me that of course, I don’t need to pretend in front of my parents anymore. At the same time, there is always a kind of performance in front of them. After my homecoming is over, I will be able to be myself, my true self, united with Demian.
“Did you fall back asleep?”
“No, just thinking…” I want to roll over to face him, but he is holding me so tight I don’t think I could roll over if I tried.
“Mmm.” He mumbles in response. It’s incredibly endearing.
“Umm. Thank you.” I start. It’s easier to do this when I’m not looking at him, at least.
“What for?”
“For, um. The gift you gave me this Christmas.”
I can’t see him, but I know he just raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry. I mean… I’m glad. That we can be together, thanks to you.”
Demian shifts slightly. “It’s hardly thanks to me. I merely gave you a chance to express your own feelings.”
I tuck my face further under the covers in embarrassment. “Just let me thank you.” I pout.
I can feel Demian smiling, his face tucked against my shoulder. “Then, you’re welcome, Emil. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Demian.” It’s so warm and comfortable in his arms that I can feel asleep calling me once again, the festivities of Christmas morning starting to feel less important and more distant. When my mother comes to wake me up, she will find us in each other’s arms, in a show of genuine affection, not the imitation she had seen before. When we do get up, we will walk together, towards the future and the rest of our lives.