Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Max Evans, as a rule, did not particularly like Christmas.

He didn’t exactly hate it. It just that it never felt particularly magical, the way he was assured it should feel.

Mostly the holidays were an inconvenience. He wasn’t a fan of awkward family engagements and endless responsibilities. Helping his dad put up lights and pushing past throngs of people running around buying presents that would be forgotten in a month and trees that would be dead in half that.

Ironic, he supposed, that he spent a lot of his time around the holidays selling those trees. 

At least he could spend morning shifts writing in his journal, trying to work out bits of his book that still, stubbornly, stayed unwritten. They’d stayed that way so long he wasn’t sure if they’d ever be done.

Max never knew how to get it just right - how to describe a pair of mischievous dark eyes or the particular sharpness of wit. 

Some days, he thought he might just be writing to keep memories from fading away entirely. Others, he worried that the things that he loved were no longer there, if they had ever existed at all. 

Max had a tendency to romanticize, or so he’d been told.

“What do you think?” 

Max raised his eyes from the page that he could barely see in the warm glow of the café lights strung all over the tree lot. Looking at his sister, festively bedecked in a fitted green pea coat, the hem of a red velvet dress just barely peeking out from under its hem, skimming the tops of her red knee-high riding boots. She’d topped it off with a Santa hat and sequined green alien antenna. She was fiddling with her ear. Looping an elf ear over it, he realized.

“Honestly?” Max smiled at her. Her enthusiasm was infectious, even if Max wasn’t particularly feeling the holiday. “I feel like you might want to pick a lane, costume-wise.” 

She scoffed, “Please, it's Roswell. Santa is clearly an alien.”

“I'm pretty sure even here, no one seriously thinks that Santa’s sleigh is really a UFO.”

“Tell that to Grant Green,” she said, dryly. Getting the other ear on. “Why are you so gloomy?”

Max twirled his heavy fountain pen in his fingers, looking down at his journal, and closing it. “Who says I’m gloomy?”

“Please. It’s me , Max.” 

As if he could forget that Isobel knew him, inside and out. “I’m fine, Iz. Just the normal holiday blues.”

“Max,” she said, softly. “You need to stop romanticizing Christmas. You always get disappointed.”

He shrugged, uncomfortable. “Yeah, I know. Christmas and aliens don’t really go together, do they?” Twisting it right back on her.

She scoffed. “Whatever. Anyway, you know that’s your problem, right Max?”

“Oh please tell me my problems,” Max drawled.

“You always want to do one thing or the other.” Isobel said, airily. “When you should be maximizing your opportunities.”

“Isobel, that was incomprehensible.”

“Oh, is that your writerly opinion?”

“Yes, in fact–”

“Hey,” Michael cut into their argument, setting a tree down with just a little too much force. He was learning to be just as gruff as old man Sanders. “When you two volunteered to help, I expected help , not bickering.”

Max and Isobel exchanged amused glances. “We didn’t exactly volunteer , Michael,” Isobel started.

“We were more like volun-told,” Max agreed.

“Well I’m about to volun-kick-your-ass.” Michael glared at Max. “Isobel, the Fredricks need help. Can you go hold their hands? Or their trees. You’ll find them in the six foot Nobles.”

“Ugh, do I have to?” Isobel asked, grimacing. “Kate and Jasmine are the worst . Especially since they got married.”

“You do, so get the elf over there.” Michael shooed her off.

She groaned. “Fine, but if I get sap on this coat…” Isobel brushed invisible wrinkles out of her pea coat as she headed off toward the priciest section of the tree lot.

Max chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You just love torturing her, don’t you?”

“I love not losing customers.” Michael shook his head. Pulling the plastic tag out of the branches of the large grand fir he was balancing, detaching the bottom of it and handing it to Max.

“That one’s nice.” Max nodded at the silvery-green tree. Impressively tall without being overbearing. Lush, and fragrant.

“Yeah. Kept it aside special for Arturo.” Michael grinned, lopsided. “Nothing but the best for the Crashdown, right?”

“Oh.” Max swallowed the pang that always ran through him when thinking about the Ortechos. It was second nature, by now, the pain faded to a dull, ever-present ache. “Same discount as usual?”

Michael nodded. “They’re just looking at the wreaths. Be along in a minute. I gotta give this a fresh cut.”

Max tucked the tag between the pages of his journal, nodding. “Sounds good.”

“All I'm saying,” Liz said as Kyle looped a gold-dusted juniper wreath around one arm and reached for a red and green chili pequin wreath with the other hand, “is that it is seventy five and sunny today. We could literally be ice skating at the beach right now.”

What did the man need with so many wreaths? It wasn’t like they lived there. Where was he planning on hanging them?

Kyle scoffed softly, oblivious to her scrutiny. “You hated that last time we did it.”

“I did not!” 

Kyle rolled his eyes. “You said, and I quote, that Coronado is an overpriced tourist trap, and that no amount of Christmas lights was going to make you forget that.”

Liz laughed, having to concede the point. “...and I stand by that.”

“The only part you actually liked were the drinks and the beach. And you complained the entire time about the people. Face it, you are a grinch .”

She couldn’t deny it, so she just rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly. “Well, good thing for me we’re in a city that loves little green men.”  

Kyle chuckled, shifting the wreaths in his hands long enough to pick up a smaller juniper wreath, plopping it haphazardly on her head. “Wrong genre.”

“Anyway.” She pushed the wreath out of her eyes. “I don’t hate Christmas, I just… prefer my holidays at the beach. And not freezing. Why didn’t we go to Cabo?”

“ Because , babe, my mom threatened to murder me if I missed one more Christmas at home. And your dad…” 

She sighed softly. “I know, I know.” Talking about her father’s health wasn’t going to help her get into the holiday spirit. 

Honestly, his health was the only reason she’d finally agreed to come home for the holidays. And as much as she loved him, being home… it felt like putting on a jacket a couple sizes too small in a blizzard. Necessary, warming, but confining.

She reached up to the wreath, straightening it on her hair. She was sure she looked ridiculous. “It’s good to see him, it is,” she admitted, instead of trying to explain any of her other feelings. “And Rosa,” she added softly.

They never really talked about it, anymore, but Liz knew that Kyle missed Rosa about as much as Liz did. Only Kyle’s relationship with her was, necessarily, made infinitely more complex by the need to keep old family secrets buried.

They all agreed that there was no point in breaking papi’s heart any more than Helena had all those years ago.

Kyle took a breath, flashing her a slightly weak smile. “Yeah. And that is what we are going to focus on, because it’s going to be a very busy night. We’ve got a tree to decorate, after all.” Kyle held up the two wreaths. “Which one do you think Mom would like best?”

Liz hummed, looking at them both with a critical eye. She didn’t know Michelle’s taste all that well, so she relied on her own. “The juniper one smells nice.”

Kyle nodded as if she was confirming his hunch. “Juniper it is.” His phone chimed, and he put the chili one back so he could pull out his phone. Smiling, fond and sweet. “Speaking of…”

“Everything okay?” Liz pulled the wreath off her head, hanging it back up and smoothing her hair. Glitter clung to her hands, and she tried to dust them off, in a futile gesture.

“Yeah, just hoping we got in okay and excited for breakfast tomorrow,” Kyle said, with slightly-forced lightness. “Come on, let’s check out. Sooner we get this tree back to the Crashdown, the sooner we can decorate .” He couldn’t possibly feel all the excitement he was projecting, considering the nearly eight hours of flying and driving they’d done that day. Liz suspected he was throwing himself into Christmas to distract himself. 

“Bah humbug. You realize the amount of alien kitsch you have signed up to dig through,” she said, under her breath as she trailed after him toward the checkout counter.

“I did sign up…” Kyle trailed off, stopping a few paces away from the checkout. Liz almost crashed into him

“Wh...” she started, then stopped, immediately, her heart seizing painfully in her chest as she realized who the familiar figure behind the counter was.

God, he looked the same. He looked entirely different. Broader, taller. A bit of a beard defined his jaw, called attention to his mouth. The one that had always seemed so soft and kissable. But he still had the same tousled, boyish brown hair that seemed to always be falling into soulful eyes. Eyes that had haunted more than one dream.

“Max.”

“Liz,” Max breathed her name out like some kind of a prayer. Staring at her for what felt like an eternity before his eyes flicked to Kyle. “Kyle. You’re back.”

“You’re still here.” Liz took a deep breath. Suddenly, painfully, aware of herself. The hair set into disarray by Kyle’s antics with the wreath earlier, the lack of any real makeup, the boxy, unflattering rust-colored flannel jacket that Arturo had insisted she wear ( It’s cold out there, mija. Do you not have jackets in San Diego? ), her slouchiest, most comfortable jeans. All the road trip finest hits.

“Yeah. Um… checking out?” Max asked, looking somehow even more awkward than Liz felt.

“Yeah, Guerin said he’d drop off the ticket.” Kyle’s voice sounded slightly… confused? Awkward?  

“Right.” Max nodded, waving them closer. Tugging the tree ticket out from between the pages of the well-worn leather journal that sat in front of him on the counter. 

“You’re still writing?” Liz asked. Leaning into Kyle after he put the wreath down, breathing a little easier as he slipped his arm around her, rubbed her back gently.

Max pushed his hair back out of his eyes in a futile gesture. A slightly sardonic smile tugging at his lips. “Trying to, anyway. Um... anything else? Mistletoe, maybe?” he asked, his eyes lingering on Kyle. Intense as a storm blowing in over the ocean.

“Sure,” Kyle agreed, easily. Though there was the slightest hitch in his voice that had Liz glancing up at him. His expression unreadable. Kyle’d gotten a lot better at being polite to people he didn’t really like over the years.

“All right.” Max grabbed a bunch, smartly tied with a red ribbon. Kyle squeezed Liz once more before setting his phone down on the counter and reclaiming his other arm. Pulling out his wallet, flipping it open. Liz tried to focus on his hands, to keep from staring at Max.

She barely heard the rest of the exchange. It didn’t matter, anyway. It was brief and mostly numbers. Kyle handing his credit card over to Max, the tips of their fingers brushing just a little as they did. A frisson of… was that jealousy that ran down her spine?

Ridiculous.

“Ready to load up?” Michael called, from the entrance.

Max let out a soft breath that seemed amused and frustrated. “Just finishing up,” he called to Michael. Running his hand through his hair again. “I’ll see you soon?” he asked, but it sounded like a promise.

“Yeah.” Liz nodded. Grabbing the wreath and the mistletoe off the counter, needing something to do with her hands.  

“Arturo’s waiting,” Kyle murmured, wrapping his arm around her again. Tugging her toward Michael, waiting to load the tree on their car.

Liz couldn’t help but glance back as they left, though. Max’s eyes still dark, on her, setting her warm and shivering all the way to the car.

“Thank god that’s over with.” Isobel leaned against the counter as Jasmine and Kate headed out with Sanders and their tree. 

“You’re just going to have to see them at the gala, you know,” Max said, too distracted to engage with Isobel’s frankly illogical distaste for Jasmine and Kate Fredricks. They’d matured a lot since high school, and while they weren’t exactly the nicest people in Roswell, they didn’t deserve the level of spite Isobel had for them.

(Privately, he was pretty sure that she was just mad they’d claimed the first-queer-couple-to-get-married-in-town crown.)

Isobel groaned. “Don’t remind me. Hey, was that Liz Ortecho earlier? She hasn’t been back in town in years .”

“Yup. Her and Kyle.” He flexed his hand. His fingertips still practically burned from the brief brush with Kyle’s. 

“They looked good. LA must agree with them.”

“San Diego,” Max corrected, absently. Not that he’d been social media stalking them, at all. There wasn’t much to stalk, anyway. Liz barely had social media, and Kyle was only slightly better. Their linkedin profiles were the ones most filled-out.

“Are they married now?” Isobel asked, looking over her shoulder at Max. 

He shrugged, keeping himself as relaxed and natural as possible. “Dunno.”  

“Well I… wait.” She frowned, twisting to face him. “Since when is he ‘Kyle’ and not ‘Valenti’ or ‘that jock idiot?’”

Of course Isobel picked up on that. Max felt his face heating up, just a little. “Come on, Iz.”

She just raised her eyebrows, looking at him flatly. Waiting him out.

Max sighed. “I dunno. We hung out a bit, sophomore year.”

“What?” she asked, delighted incredulity coloring her voice. “How did I miss this?”

“You were away with Michael at UNM. Anyway, it was no big deal. Kyle just needed a tutor for lit.” 

“And you volunteered?”

Max half-laughed. “Yeah, well, I needed the money. Michael’s surgery.”  

It wasn’t a lie, at all, but it did get her to back off and stop digging. Max had healed Michael’s hand just before he went off to college and then spent the better part of two years working his ass off to ‘help pay for surgery’ - really funneling the money to Alex, to help him get established away from his family, while he picked up shifts at the local Guitar Center. 

Michael hated accepting charity, but Alex hadn’t been above it, and what Michael didn’t know didn’t hurt anyone.

“Right,” Isobel said softly. Awkwardly. “Still. Are you guys like… friends now, or something?”

Max shook his head, quickly. “Just someone I used to know.”

It was true. And also the biggest lie he’d ever told Isobel, and it stuck in his throat in all sorts of weird ways.

“Huh.” She looked suspicious, but dropped it. “All right.”

“Shit,” Max said, under his breath. Realizing, suddenly, that there was a phone on the counter, tucked half-under a festive centerpiece. 

“What?” Isobel started, then groaned as he grabbed the phone. “Please tell me Kate didn’t forget her phone. I cannot deal with them twice in one night.”

Max turned the screen on. His stomach hollowing out a little as he took in the background photo. A selfie of Kyle and Liz somewhere on the beach, arms around each other, cheek to cheek as they blew kisses to the camera.

“No such luck,” he said, dryly. Shoving the phone into his pocket before she could see the background, grabbing his journal and sliding off the stool. “Hey. Man the desk for a bit, all right?” he called over his shoulder as he stepped out from behind the counter.

“Wh… Max ,” Isobel called after him, startled.

He hastened his steps. Not wanting to talk about what he was about to do, lest he lose his nerve entirely. 

Max fucking Evans.

Kyle hadn’t talked about, or even really thought about Max in years. Not really , save for seeing him in the curve of someone else’s jaw, or hearing him in a bookish friend’s rant.

Seeing him again… it was like uncovering a box full of dusty high school keepsakes. Nostalgia, warmth, sadness, embarrassment, all in equal measure. That uncomfortable, illogical feeling that everything that had happened was only a moment ago and that he could just pick up exactly where they left off. The feeling that it was at least a lifetime ago.

The drive back to the Crashdown was quiet, a fact that he was glad for as he wrestled with the complicated feeling in his gut. Liz seemed just as thrown by Max’s unexpected appearance as he was. 

Thankfully, once they got back to the Crashdown, there was a flurry of activity to distract him. Kyle had, with Arturo’s help, gotten the tree into the stand in front of the broad windows, and gotten it level. The scent of fresh pine permeated the empty diner, closed for holiday decorating and family time.

Exhausted, Kyle settled back in a booth. Even though they’d flown most of the way, they’d still been traveling most of the day, and the brief nap they’d indulged in at their short-term rental hadn’t been quite enough.

“No, Rosa, the tinsel goes on last!” Liz complained. 

“Unless it’s garland ,” Rosa corrected her sister, holding up the roll of bright silver garland. “Then it goes on after lights…”

Kyle settled back in a booth, watching the sisters argue about the tree décor. A little ache in his chest as he did.

Part of him really wanted to join them. After all, Rosa was his sister too. He’d known for years, since the day of Jim’s funeral, when they’d had their first real talk, a half-finished bottle of vodka sitting between them on their father’s grave.

Weird to find a sister on the day you buried your father. 

He and Rosa had gotten close since then, but their relationship had been mostly phonecalls and texts, the occasional video chat. Rare visits to San Diego for art shows. Kyle had expected things to be different, with Arturo there, but he hadn’t been quite prepared for the yawning sense of distance that opened up between them here.

But Kyle wasn’t about to try and push past it. Liz deserved a little, uncomplicated family time. As much as she might complain about being home for the holidays, there was something different about her, when she was home. Richer.

It was nice seeing her like that. Felt so easy, so simple.

Letting Liz and Rosa enjoy their time together made it easier to ignore the complexities of his own relationship to the Ortecho family. Of course it did nothing to distract him from the weird pit that had opened in his stomach the minute they’d run into Max Evans at the tree lot.

“Just don’t forget the topper!” Arturo called from behind the counter. “I got it special–”

“--Made by a tin artist, papi, we know ,” Rosa finished for him. “Liz, it's in the box, there.”  

Arturo harrumphed, coming out with a tray full of milkshakes. “Well, while you do that, you can try my Christmas menu for the Emporium’s fundraiser.”

“Oooh…” Liz said, distracted from her tinsel battle. “What do we have?” 

Arturo preened a little, never more proud than when he was able to showcase his skills. “Kevin Maple Bacon Bourbon, Elf Invasion - peppermint with schnapps-” Arturo anticipated the question before anyone could ask. “Space Rum Caramel Apple, Saturn Spruce, with gin, and North Star Eggnog, with brandy. And a Cosmic Christmas Cherry Chili for Rosa.”

“Good. I hate sharing.” Rosa picked up hers, festively bedecked in red, green, and silver star sprinkles, turning back to the tree with a critical eye.

“Are we workshopping these names, dad?” Liz asked, looking over the drinks with a thoughtful frown before picking up the maple bacon one.

“I worked very hard on them!” Arturo protested.

“And it shows,” Liz softened, smiling, though it was tinged with worry. “You really shouldn’t be drinking. Or having this much sugar,” she fussed gently.

“Mija, it’s Christmas .” He waved a hand at her. “I’ll go back to steamed vegetables and chicken after the holiday.”

Liz sighed, shaking her head. Clearly about to launch into a lecture when Rosa grabbed her arm, pulling her back to the tree, tin UFO in her other hand. “I’m not doing this by myself, this year.”  

Arturo watched them fondly a moment before he slid into the booth across Kyle. The softness sliding from his face as he did. “Nunca me caíste bien,” Arturo said under his breath. 

Kyle blinked. Frowned. He knew damn well Arturo knew he understood Spanish.

“Well, I was a dumb kid,” he acknowledged after a moment of sitting with the sting of it, the sense that no matter how hard he tried, he would never really be part of the Ortecho family. That didn’t mean he’d stop trying, though. “I wouldn’t have liked me either.” He reached for the eggnog shake, taking a sip that he hoped looked nonchalant instead of rebellious. Choking a little at the unexpected burn of it.

“Too much?” Arturo asked, regarding him with a mixture of concern and suspicion. 

Kyle shook his head. “You’ve got a stiff pour. It’s good though. Bracing.”

“Well, perhaps you need the liquid courage.”

“Courage?” Kyle asked, his head snapping up to look at Arturo. Having a horrible feeling he knew exactly where this was going.

“You know, Liz has always liked my mother’s ring,” Arturo pressed, leaving no room for misunderstanding. His eyes narrowed. Expectant.

“Ah…”

“I assume that’s why you’re here. To ask.”

Kyle took as hurried a drink as the thick consistency of the milkshake would allow. Buying himself time… and yeah, maybe some courage. “You think I’m going to ask Liz to marry me?” He dropped his voice, painfully aware of Liz only a dozen feet away. And yeah, maybe her attention was wholly on the tree, but still .

“I hope so, at least. For your sake,” Arturo said, in a tone that had Kyle shifting uncomfortably. 

Kyle flushed. Holding his milkshake in both hands, looking down at it. The whipped cream was dusted with silver powder and gold star sprinkles. Arturo really did go all out, he thought, distantly. 

In everything . 

Kyle suddenly remembered Arturo’s machete, and desperately hoped the man had left it behind the counter.

“Look, I might be thinking about it,” he said, carefully. It wasn’t a lie. He’d been thinking about it for years. They’d been talking about it, here and there. Trying to figure out what their relationship was, and what they wanted it to look like in the future. 

“So then…” Arturo said, waving his hand, expectantly.

There were a lot of things Kyle could say. Most of them felt like excuses. Ways to shift the blame. After all, it was Liz who wasn’t ready, not Kyle. 

The rest of the things he might say were things he would never, under pain of death, admit to Arturo Ortecho . The man was kind, and a good father, but he could be painfully traditional. And Liz and Kyle weren’t traditional, in any sense.

But anyway, that wasn’t what this - any of it - was about.

Kyle was going to have to walk a very fine line to get out of this conversation without making his relationship with Arturo even worse. 

“I’m not going to ask for your permission–” Arturo narrowed his eyes, and Kyle continued, hurriedly– “not because I know you’d say no, but because she would hate that. You know she’d hate that.”  

Arturo didn’t look convinced. “ Still .”

“Still nothing.” Kyle straightened his spine. He wasn’t some dumb seventeen-year-old anymore, and he wasn’t going to let Arturo make him act like one. It wouldn’t make him like Kyle any more, anyway. “My job is to make your daughter happy. So I’m doing things her way.”

Arturo looked over at Liz, who was quietly singing along to a song with Rosa as they draped the tinsel around the tree. The stubborn lines of his face softening as he watched them. “I suppose you must be doing something right. She does seem happy.”

“I try,” Kyle said, softly. Watching her too. Liz always seemed to light up from within when she was happy. She was magnetic. “Anyway. I… didn’t think you approved,” Kyle said, after a minute. 

“And I don’t.” Arturo nodded, firmly. “ But my daughter clearly loves you. So…” he trailed off, as the door jangled open. “Max!” he called out, brightly. “Come in! Come in.”  

Despite his courage earlier, Max hadn’t immediately had the nerve to go into the Crashdown.

Instead, he’d spent a while in the car. Watching Rosa and Liz bicker playfully as they strung lights on the tree. Watching Kyle carry boxes of ornaments down, and Arturo settling santa hats onto blow-up aliens before going to make some milkshakes.

It felt so cozy. So right . Maybe Max shouldn’t be there. Shouldn’t disturb family time. 

Kyle’s phone pinged loudly beside him in the passenger seat, and Max groaned. Leaning his head back against the headrest. Feeling an absolute fool, for carrying a torch for so long . 

He supposed that it was fitting, in a way, that the two people he’d managed to fall for had ended up together.

What the hell was he doing here? 

Arturo brought the milkshakes out, distributing them and settling down in the booth with Kyle. Looking quite serious, expectant.

Something twisted in Max’s stomach, and he reached for the phone in the seat next to him. He needed to get this over with.

Although the sign was flipped to closed, the door wasn’t locked, and he pushed it open with a bright tinkle of bells. Too, too aware that everyone was suddenly looking at him.

“Max!” Arturo beamed at him, waving him in. “Come in! Come in.”  

“Hey… sorry to crash family time,” Max said, his eyes drawn to Liz, then Kyle. 

“Crashing is in the name,” Rosa called out, with a careless wave of her hand. “You here to help?”

“I actually came to return something.” Max pulled Kyle’s phone out of his pocket as he crossed the diner. Setting it on the table. “You forgot this.”

Kyle let out a startled laugh. “How the hell…” He looked up at Max. “Thanks. Not usually so forgetful.”

“No problem.” Max nodded. Letting out a soft breath. Time to back the hell out of here.

“You should try papi’s shakes.” Liz was there , next to him, her hand on his arm. “How ‘bout the Elf Invasion?” She reached for a green and white shake, handing it to him. “It’s got peppermint schnapps.” 

Kyle huffed out a laugh and slid out of the booth, stepping away, over to Rosa. His head bowing low to hers as they consulted about the tree.

“Oh.” Max wrinkled his nose a little, focusing back on Liz. “Never really cared for mint.”

Liz looked up at him, startled. “Little Green Man.”

Max stared at her. Baffled, his stomach flipping over. “Uh…”

“That was your drink ,” Liz said, looking equally as thrown.

“You remember that?” Max asked. His heart in his throat still, though no longer for fear of discovery. Wanting to take it back, take the shake without comment. 

Anything, to keep her from realizing why that had been his order.

“Of course.” Liz smiled, softly. “My brain is my superpower.”

Max flushed a little. “Guess so.” It came out softer and more fond than he wanted it to. But what exactly was he supposed to sound like when Liz was looking up at him like that, her dark eyes wide and gleaming in the bright light of the diner?

He couldn’t say how long they looked at each other, before Liz started, as if breaking a spell. Offering him the shake she was holding, angling her straw toward him. “Well, if not the Elf Invasion, maybe you want to share this one? Maple Bacon Bourbon?”

“ Kevin Maple Bacon,” Arturo corrected. “It sounds so… plain otherwise.” 

Share . That was the only word he really heard out of all that, honestly. “Uh.. sure.” Max leaned down to take a sip of the shake. Aware that his lips were brushing the straw right over the imprint of her red lipstick.

The lights flickered.

“God, please tell me we’re not about to have a blackout,” Rosa complained from over by the tree. “Liz, come on, we need help!”  

Liz rolled her eyes. Pressing the shake into Max’s hands. “Duty calls.”

“Well?” Arturo asked, sounding expectant. Max dragged his eyes away from Liz, who was going back to dig into boxes with Rosa and Kyle.

Arturo was looking at him a little too intently, the slightest of frowns creasing his forehead.

Oh right. The milkshake.

“It’s good.” He took another sip, focusing on the shake itself. “Balanced.”

Arturo hesitated for a moment, his expression slightly clouded before he let out a breath, nodding in pride. He waved his hand toward the tray. “And the others?” 

Max laughed softly, setting the shake down. “I’d love to taste-test, but… I should probably get back. Before Michael decides to sleigh me.”

Arturo chuckled, whatever lingering tension in his body draining out, his eyes twinkling in approval of the pun. “Ah. Well, thank him for the tree.” 

“Will do,” Max nodded, turning to go.

“Wait! ” Kyle straightened from the boxes of ornaments. “We’re in town for a few days. We should get together. Grab a bite, or a drink. Catch up.”

It took a minute to get his thoughts together. The thought of spending more time with Kyle, with Liz. It made his stomach flip, lazily, and the lights flickered slightly again. “Yeah.” He nodded, getting firm hold of himself. This was nothing but some old friends catching up. “I’d like that. Michael’s not going to need me tomorrow. We could meet up at the Pony?”

“It’s a date,” Kyle said, smiling soft. Doing nothing to discourage Max’s thoughts from running away from him.

“Yes, it is,” Liz said, lightly. Mostly facing the tree, ornaments dangling from each finger. “We’ll see you then, Max.”

“See you.” Max half-waved at her, and then left before he could make some kind of fool of himself. Getting his keys out. Deciding, impulsively not to go back to the tree lot, but instead to go home. 

Itching to write for the first time in what felt like years.

“ Shit .”

Liz frowned. Poking her head out of the bathroom, where she’d been winding down for bed. Taking off her makeup, braiding her hair loosely.

“You okay?”  

“Fine!” Kyle called back, quickly.

Curious, Liz flipped off the light in the bathroom, stepping out to find him. Stopping in her tracks as she did. Kyle was perched on a wobbly barstool between the kitchen and living room.

“What are you…” she trailed off as Kyle looked back at her, realizing exactly what he was doing. 

“Mistletoe. Really?”  She laughed. “I thought you left that for papi.”

Kyle got down off the stool, tucking it back under the kitchen island. Sucking his thumb briefly, looking at it. “If I had done that , I wouldn’t be able to do this .” He reached out for her hips, pulling her close.

Liz laughed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “No?”

Kyle shook his head. “Your father still hates me a little.”

“He doesn’t,” Liz protested, softly. Though she couldn’t blame Kyle for tip-toeing around the bruises of the past.

“He does. I’m working on it,” Kyle murmured, dipping his head to press his nose against her cheek, his lips ghosting over hers until Liz lifted up on her toes just a little, to meet him in a slow, sweet kiss.

Kissing Kyle was always like coming home and wrapping up in her coziest blanket. Soft and grounding. 

Wonder what kissing Max would be like ?

Liz flushed… pressing a little more into the kiss with Kyle, before dropping out of it. 

“Opened that bottle of pinot the hosts left for us.” Kyle squeezed her waist.

She sighed, leaning her head back briefly before leaning up for one more, quick kiss. “Perfect. Halvsies?”  

“Yup. Meet you on the couch.” Kyle patted her hip lightly, turning to the kitchen.

Liz went to drop on the grey couch in front of the fireplace. Gratuitously deep and plush. It reminded her a bit of the couch in their house, and she settled into it, happily. Making room for Kyle next to her when he came back, with a liberally filled glass.

She took it, sipping slowly. Savoring it. “Hosts have good taste.”

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed. Pulling her close, so that Liz could rest her head on his shoulder. She hummed softly, closing her eyes and letting herself half-drift. 

The fire crackled softly, smelling of cedar and cinnamon. Kyle was still just a bit damp from the shower he’d taken before she took over the bathroom, and she turned her head into his shoulder to inhale his body wash. Slightly spicy. Familiar. Grounding.

She loved this time of night. It had become a ritual sometime during their years in school - interrupted a bit by the long hours in Kyle’s residency period, but one they returned to time and time again. No matter how exhausted they were, Liz and Kyle made time to reconnect, even if just physically. Cuddling together on the couch and sharing a glass of wine was their standard go-to when they were both too exhausted to do much else.

And they were exhausted, from the traveling and then the excitement and work of tree trimming. Papi had fed them all the Crashdown’s finest and hadn’t let them go until they’d given him a detailed review of all of the shakes. 

Kyle tugged the glass of wine out of her hands, raising it to his lips and taking a small sip of it. 

“You know,” Liz murmured. “Have to admit that the fireplace is nice.”

He chuckled softly. “Easier to get cozy in a place that occasionally gets snow.”

Liz hummed, doubtfully. “Have you been in our place? It’s so drafty it doubles as a wind tunnel. Really should’ve held out for a house with a fireplace.”

“Next year, or so.” Kyle promised as he dropped a kiss into her hair. “Good to be back?” 

“Yeah.” She cuddled into him a little more. “Good to see papi, and Rosa. Even if all she does is argue with me.” Fond and exasperated. 

“What are sisters for?” Kyle chuckled softly, offering her the wine back. 

Liz took it, swirling the wine around in it gently, before taking a drink. Not dwelling on what was unsaid there, but resolving to take papi out. Give Kyle a few hours, at least, with Rosa. “Good to see Max, too.” 

Max. Always had been the one that got away. She had forgotten how his name felt in her mouth, how just being around him made her a little breathless. Like she was standing on the edge of a cliff above the sea.

“Years have been good to him,” she continued when Kyle didn’t say anything. “You see his shoulders?”

Kyle grunted softly, picking the wine out of her hands and taking a drink.  

Liz twisted a little to look up at him. “You okay?”

“Sure,” Kyle said. A note of something in his voice that had Liz shifting to sit up, so she could fully see him. 

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m not,” Kyle protested. 

“You’ve never had a problem checking out guys with me before,” Liz pointed out. “Unless you don’t think he’s hot…” she trailed off. Was Kyle blushing ?

“I didn’t say that.” 

“And if you did, you’d be lying,” Liz said, tartly. “Max is totally your type in guys. Unless you’re still holding on to weird high school drama?”

“It’s not that,” Kyle said, awkward. Taking another drink of the wine, his eyes meeting hers. Crumbling a little under her scrutiny. “Just… you remember that night at Vince’s party?”  

Liz raised an eyebrow slowly. “You mean the night we ran into each other at a lifestyle party and we somehow managed to do nothing but talk all night and then basically moved in together the next day? Yeah. Kind of vaguely rings a bell.”

He rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. “You remember what we talked about?”

Some days, Liz swore, Kyle could be so roundabout . “I remember having a lot of questions about how my straight jock quarterback ex-boyfriend found himself at a party full of queer poly people, yeah.”  

Kyle half-laughed. “I had just as many questions about that for you .”

“Mmh, yeah, this one’s not about me. Get to the point.” She poked him, lightly. Impatient. “As I remember, you told me you’d had a thing for a guy.” She paused, eyes starting to widen.

“Yup.” Kyle nodded. Pressing the wineglass into her hand, as if knowing she’d need to process that.

“ Max was your gay thing?” 

“Max was my gay thing,” he echoed in confirmation. “Tall. Dark. Soulful brown eyes. Smells like rain.”

Liz sputtered at the revelation, and did take a hasty drink of wine. “...you got close enough to him to know what he smells like?”

“Yeah, well. I found out that semester that I’m a sucker for a guy who reads poetry.” Kyle was grinning now, clearly enjoying the fact that he’d managed to throw Liz.

She let out a slow breath. “...could stare into those eyes for hours, couldn’t you?”

Kyle hummed in agreement. “Yeah.”

“Did you two actually hook up?” Liz asked, starting to run through their entire interaction at the tree lot, then the Crashdown, earlier.

Kyle shook his head. “Nah. I chickened out before either of us could make a move.”

“Damn,” Liz said. “Me too.”

Kyle raised his eyebrows in expectant confusion.

Liz tossed her braid over her shoulder, playing more nonchalance than she really felt. “I was going to run away with him. After we broke up.”

“After you dumped me. Heartlessly. On prom night,” Kyle corrected.

“You deserved it!” she protested, grabbing a pillow to smack him with. Gently, mindful of sloshing the wine in her other hand.

Kyle caught the pillow, hugging it to himself. “Yeah, you’re right. I did,” he admitted. “So… did you make a move?”

Liz shook her head. “I was going to wait to kiss him ‘til we got to the beach.”

Kyle chuckled. “Should’ve figured.” Shifting to pull her back in against him, gently. “Well, here’s to the road not taken.”  

She raised the glass, to toast that. 

“... what if we got a chance to take that road?” she asked, after a moment.

“It’s been almost fifteen years, Liz,” Kyle said, shaking his head a little. “I’m sure Max has moved on.” 

Liz let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah,” she agreed, settling back into him. Absolutely not sulking.