Fairytale Of New York

Locke managed to sneak out of his apartment, donning a Santa hat and holding a glass of eggnog that he didn’t entirely trust. Even with the door shut, he could vaguely hear the Christmas music.

In his other hand, he held his box of cigarettes. He looked at it ad nauseam, to the point his head almost spun.

“Been a while since I smoked with Lost,” He mumbled to himself, “Maybe I should invite them.”

So, Locke resolved to find Lost, wherever they may be.

Lost usually had a few spots, outside of their apartment, that they hung around; usually out of sight of things that Locke couldn’t see himself. It wasn’t a massive issue, because he didn’t have to see them to try to help, hell, it was probably better that he didn’t.

And so, Locke looked around at all the small, hidden places Lost would often squeeze themself into.

The first and second places were a bust, and Locke was thinking maybe they were hiding out in their apartment. He took a swig of the eggnog, bourbon, that was a new one.

He took equally small sips as he slowly meandered to Lost’s apartment. On his way to it, however, he heard a little shuffle.

“Lost?” Locke called out, “It’s jus’ me.”

There was silence.

Then, out of a little corner, one of those places that was oddly hidden and dark, a hand waved him down.

“‘Ey mush,” Locke walked over to the alcove, peeking his head around the corner, “Been lookin’ for ya’.”

Lost was pushed up to one side of the alcove, with their legs to their chest and their arms wrapped around them.

Locke took this as an opportunity to situate himself on the other side of the alcove, sitting on the ground with all the grace of someone trying to ease themself down with a glass in their hand.

“This is a new one, didn’t know this place had alcoves,” Locke took a sip of his surprise eggnog, “Nothin’ should surprise me these days, though.”

Lost shrugged a bit, looking at the eggnog in Locke’s hand with a slight tilt to their head.

“Flare’s specialty,” Locke held it out to Lost, “She calls it ‘surprise eggnog,’ always has a different secret ingredient. It’s bourbon this year.”

Lost lightly pushed it back to Locke, but signed vaguely, softly, inquiring why he was drinking it, he assumed because it had alcohol in it. He took another sip.

“I can be normal,” He put the glass between his legs, “Holiday cheer, I don’t wanna be a Debby downer ‘cos I won’t join in.”

Lost nodded.

“Flare loves Christmas, in fact I think all of ‘em do,” Locke led his head against the wall, “Y’know, ‘cept Corra, but I’m startin’ t’think they don’t like nothin’.”

Lost grimaced slightly, and then signed a book, to which Locke laughed.

“Yer very right,” He took a sip from the eggnog, “Feelin’ festive yerself?”

Lost perked up. This was a good sign, Locke realised, and he sat up a little straighter too. Lost signed, in LSL — Locke Sign Language — that they had got or made presents for everyone.

“Everyone, huh?” Locke smiled, grabbing the hat off of his head, “Y’probably need this more than me, then?”

He threw it to Lost lightly, which they caught with little issue. They looked at it for a while, rubbing their hand over the fabric for a few seconds before pulling it on with a rare smile.

“There’s that smile of yers,” Locke knocked back the rest of the eggnog, “I came to invite ya’ for a smoke, feelin’ it?”

Lost thought about it, tapping their feet slightly as they did. And then, they nodded.

“Bangin’,” Locke grunted as he stood up, holding his hand out to Lost once he was stable, “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Lost took his hand, and he pulled them up as softly as he could, so as not to fling them up by accident.

Again. Possibly again-again.

It didn’t matter, the two were standing now and Locke had started walking to the front of the building, talking in vague festivities and mentioning presents he’d been able to buy — missing out Lost’s, of course — for his friends and roommates.

He’d bought for his roommates: Channel a gameboy to either enjoy or smash, Corra a new book, Flare a new jacket, Macken a bracelet making set, Ink a new pen and notebook, and Starfell a new dress.

He was so caught up in rambling that he had started walking slower and slower to the front of the building, watching as Lost nodded their head along with everything he said, often giving an opinion on it, the best they could for a group of people they didn’t exactly like, that is.

“And so, for ‘Jury, I got ‘em,” Locke went to gesture with both of his hands, only just realising he had been holding on to Lost’s hand the whole way down, “Ah, sorry, ‘m caught up in presents.”

Lost signed that it was fine, that they didn’t mind, the best they could in the simplified sign language they had concocted while Locke was learning more and more. It was slow going.

“So I got ‘em this cute like,” Locke finally did gesture, opening the door for his friend with his foot, “Shark backpack, where the mouth is the openin’.”

Lost nodded, holding the door open for Locke, to which he replied with a mumbled ‘tah’ while fishing out the cigarettes. Lost agreed that Injury would love it, and that they had gotten something shark themed too.

“They,” Locke spoke through his cigarette, handing Lost theirs, “Love sharks.”

Lost nodded, trying to use his lighter to light their cigarette when all it did was spark. And spark. And spark.

“Did that thing jus’ fuckin’ die?” Locke groaned, “Here, let me jus’…”

Locke leant down, coming face to face with Lost. He used his lit cigarette to light up Lost’s, with a bit of touch and go. Lost stood oddly still, just staring at Locke with wide eyes.

Locke finally leant back once Lost’s cigarette had taken light, “There, it’s a bit old fashioned, but it should work.”

Lost nodded quickly, taking a drag from their cigarette while Locke did the same with his.

“So, as I was saying…”