A little Christmas three-shot; Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and the day after (Boxing Day?). Hopefully this won't be as cliched as it seems--and if it is, whatever. It's my present to you guys.

Merry Christmas!

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"--now remember what I said about the punch, okay?" My mother flashed past me in a flurry of sparkle and red and green outfit, buzzing frantically around the buffet.

"Don't spike it?" I offered lazily, raising an eyebrow. She stopped, straightened up, and looked at me exasperatedly.

"Something like that, yeah," she answered, shaking her head, before returning to her panic.

I glanced over at the punch bowl; it was so orange-pink and innocent and tempting--but we didn't have anything stronger than eggnog. Dammit. Oh well, I suppose I'll have to forgo my ritual spiking of the punch. You'd think after three years the guests would learn to drink things that hadn't been left opened, but no--I think they enjoy it, actually.

I knew I wasn't going to enjoy myself, though. Three hours of 'Oh my god, look at how big you've grown!' and 'I hardly even recognize you, Vance!' or 'What the hell did you do to your hair, kid?' and the like. One-hundred and eighty minutes of middle-aged people and their snotty brats running around the house. There never were any kids my age in the family, despite the fact that my mother had three sisters.

"And Vance?"

I turned to look for my mom--where the hell did that woman get to in such a short time?--and spotted her upstairs, leaning over the railing. "Aunt Ardina is going to be here tonight with her son. He's about your age, I think--they're both staying the night. Please, just...just--"

"Be nice?" I wandered closer to the punch bowl, trying to remember if anyone had restocked the liquor cabinet or not. Maybe Dad? "Show him around the house, don't bite off his fingers and toes?"

"That's a good boy," She said, smiling, and would've probably patted my head if she'd been close enough. "Since she's family and all, I expect--"

Mmhmm. I'm surprised she didn't tell me not to kiss her son, either. It sounds like something I'd do--defile a kid who probably isn't actually even my age just for the fun of it. Even if he was my cousin.

"Wait." I frowned, finally processing that name. I ran it through my head to check and, sure enough; I didn't have an aunt with that name, although it did ring a bell. Ardina? Sardina. Oh, I kill me. "Is she related?"

"Well...no," Mom said, stretching out the word and shifting side to side. I rolled my eyes fondly; she was so much like a little kid sometimes. "She's my best friend. So I'd really like it if you and her son could get along."

I sighed, resigning myself to an evening--and a tomorrow, if I knew my mother--with some ugly, glasses-wearing fourteen-year-old. "What's his name?"

"Evander!" My mom practically squealed, thrilled that I wasn't going to bite off her best friend's spawn's toes. Why would I do that, anyway? That sounds so..hilarious, actually. I think I might be laughing. "But Ardina says everyone calls him Vane--oh, what fun!"

And with that, she skipped down the stairs, kissed me on the cheek, and pranced away into the kitchen, leaving me to think. Vane? I'd heard that name before...actually, it sounded pretty familiar. But then it was probably my mom; she'd been babbling on about the guests for a week now, so I guess I've heard every name on the list.

"This is gonna suck!" I called after her, but it didn't ruin her mood. At least not that I could tell.

I sighed again and flopped down on the table beside the punch bowl. If there's one that I hate more than Mom and her 'Panic Mode', it was decorating. Don't get me wrong, I love the decorations themselves (and my mom, but that's not what I'm talking about here); the gold garland stringing from the corners, the holly and evergreen boughs splashed practically throughout the room, the mistletoe marking out danger zones. I just hated putting them up. I despised getting on ladders; my fear of heights prevented me from getting anything done from six feet up.

And then the doorbell chimed and I could hear people chattering outside. I hoped they all died in the snow.

I hated the guests, too, did I mention that?

"Go, go, go!" Mom sailed past me again, checking that everything was ready. "Look presentable!" She hissed back at me as she got to the door. I rolled my eyes but didn't move, ready to glare at anyone who tried to pinch my cheeks.

"And.." Her gaze softened and she gave me a pleading look. "Be nice."

I had to give in when she made the 'do-it-I'm-your-mom' face; it was so pathetic that I just kind of gave up. I guess I could be...'good'--whatever that was.

She flung open the door with so much energy I'm surprised it didn't fly off the hinges, and began greeting the people who were congregated outside. Slowly they filed in; a mess of seasonal scarves and snow-dusted sweaters, presents in bright wrapping and sheer bows. Mom invited them all in individually, taking the time to ask after their well-being, a cheerful smile on her face, and I could see why my mother had so many friends. Although occasionally I wished she didn't have so many...

"Oh, Vance!" The first of many, I thought, exasperated already, but put on my 'nice face'. "Hi, Aunt Emery," I said, trying to convery whatever happiness I had left into those words. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm just fine, dear--look at you! You're so big! I swear you must've grown a foot since I last saw you!" Either that or you've shrunk, I almost said, but held that back and simply offered a smile as Aunt Emery took her cue to leave.

My mother appeared from absolutely nowhere, scaring the shit out of me. "Vance," she said softly over the beating of my heart, "Vane is here--the redhead with Ardina. Go play." She pointed in the general direction of the Christmas tree and shooed me off.

I stood up and took a step in that direction, despite calling over my shoulder, "Nobody says that anymore, Mom!" I shook my head; god, I was such a mama's boy. I suck.

But I still wove my way through the crowd that had already formed in the large center of the living room in the general direction of the tree. Then it occurred to me that I had no idea what this Vane looked like; how was I supposed to find him? He's probably the only person here who looks under twenty and over ten, my mind rationalized sarcastically.

Then I think I spotted him; or at least, the blonde woman next to him spotted me and waved me over frantically. I thought she looked more like she was having a seizure, but hey, who am I to judge? I'm not the most graceful model ever to walk the runway, if you know what I mean.

"Heya, cutie pie," she said when I'd reached them. I almost gagged; was she hitting on me? Oh god, I think I might puke. "You remember your Aunt Ardina, right?"

"Definitely," I said with fake conviction, smiling brightly. I was expecting a handshake, but instead she hugged me enthusiastically. Over her shoulder I caught a glimpse of this Vane guy, who was eyeing me skeptically.

When she freed me from her clutches, she patted me on the back and said brightly, "Well, then, I'll leave you two to get along! Have you seen Macy?"

I assumed she meant my mother so I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. "She's in the kitchen."

"Thanks, dear! Have fun, you two!" And with that and a wave over her shoulder, Ardina was gone. I sighed, ready to accept my fate, and for the first time really looked at Evander No-Last-Name. Looked him over from smooth, silky chestnut-red hair to stylishly worn shoes, long eyelashes to nice legs.

And damn, did me make me glad I looked good today.

I gave him a small smile and stuck out my hand. He shook it, and I said, "Vance. You must be Vane, right?"

"Yeah," he said, fixing me with gold-champagne irises, and looked me over. I didn't fidget, to my credit; I remembered what I'd dressed in and how I looked and if I'd spilled anything on myself before this (which I hadn't). "You didn't really remember her, did you?"

A half-amused, lazy smirk crept over his lips and I didn't bother to lie. That's me; short, not-so-sweet, but the to the point. "Not at all," I confessed, shaking my head. "I had no idea who the hell she was, despite that our mothers seem to be best friends."

"It's okay," Vane replied, shrugging, and I felt my arm move with his. "When your mom came up to us I was just as confused."

"I guess it's a girl thing," I supplied, and when silence slipped between us I realized I was still holding his hand.

We both let go at the same time and I managed to turn my blush into the slightest hint of pink on my cheeks (cause I was awesome like that) while Vane's face turned just a bit red.

And let the awkward silence ensue.

I simply stared him down, waiting for him to say something. I guess I must've challenged him because after a moment he rolled his eyes, dropped the aloof attitude, and gave me a small, warm smile.

"Are you gonna show me around or what?"

"Sounds like fun," I said, declaring myself King of the Awkward Silence and Ruler of the Surrounding Lands, and grabbed his wrist. He jerked a little and I could tell he'd blushed; but I didn't look back at him as I began to lead him through the crowd with one thing in mind.

"You ever tried spiked punch?"

--

An hour and four cups of rum (which I'd found finally when Vane helped me steal it from our mothers) mixed with today's punch later, I was feeling mildly buzzed and I could tell Vane was the same. We were sitting behind the tree, peeking out through the branches and watching as the guests fell victim to our rum-and-punch concoction. I admit to giggling several times, but only because if Vane were to mock me about it I'd tell him he was doing the same.

"Look at that lady over there--in th'--th' blue." Vane pointed around the tree, on his side, and I had to crane to look so I almost fell into his lap. I didn't, which almost disappointed me--anyone would be happy to fall into his lap, trust me. I did spot the lady in the blue, who was our next door neighbor; she was obviously tipsy from the way she was clinging to her husband and laughing. Oh, if only I had a camera this would be the perfect blackmail.

Vane and I had grown quite close over the last hour; I now knew that he was my age, exactly, and that he shared my birthday and my height. He had a mutual dislike for decorating, and he thought his mother was an airhead--affectionately, he'd told me this. And that yes, he was a natural almost-redhead despite his kind-of tan. I knew more than just that, but those were some of the first things he'd told me, and I'd told him just as much. Who can avoid bonding over alcohol? To hell with being underage. Eighteen was fine enough.

"That's Susan," I told him, reclining against the old leather couch that had been so conveniently located in the corner. Don't ask me--I don't know what it was doing back there, and we hadn't moved it. I swear. Mom just probably ran out of places to put the furniture and said, "Hey, I like that spot behind the tree. It's nice and cozy and it can be the designated make-out spot! Hurray!"

Make-out spot...I snickered to myself. Who was there to make out with here? Besides...

Ooh. Vane. That made me think of making out with Vane, which would definitely be very nice. But I didn't know if he even batted for that team and, for the first time in a while, I wasn't willing to risk a friendship for pleasure. I almost couldn't remember the last time I'd said 'No screwing around because this person's important to me'. Wow. (Did that mean I was a slut? Oh, that sucks...Hehe.)

"Is your hair naturally this color?" Vane takes the opportunity to ask. I roll my eyes and am this close to replying with 'Yes, dumbass, my hair is naturally navy blue. But then he reaches out and messes with my hair, fingering the fringe and then sliding his hands over the side of my head, his thumb brushing my ear. And then he leans closer until he's not too far away, on his knees with both hands playing with my hair. Damn! Did he read my mind? As soon as I decide not to screw this up he's all over me?

Why do you hate me, God?

"No," I swallow and say, trying to regain my composure. "I dyed it, stupid. That's like asking if sheep naturally produce colored wool."

Vane sits back, and I'm definitely grateful for that, clearing my mind as much as I can. "Do they?" He asks, looking pensive and oh-so-adorable. I sigh and shake my head.

"No, you idiot. They don't."

"Oh." Vane looks like he's about to ask another question, but then I hear our mothers screeching over the din: "Vance! Vane! Did you two spike the punch?" And then my mother adds, "Vance, what did I tell you?"

"You're so dead!" I hear Ardina add, and then their footsteps coming closer.

"Shiiit," Vane says, eyes wide. I look around for a hiding spot because I really don't want to die, and--

The couch! It was there for hiding, not making out. Silly me.

"Come on!" I hiss, and grab Vane to fling myself under the couch.

We land in a tangled, awkward pile that soon gets even more awkward as we collect ourselves and I realize what a bad situation we're in. I'm on my back and Vane's knees are on either side of my hips, arms holding him up bare inches from my face. My hands are clinging to his waist and we both go red at the same time.

God really does hate me!

Why?

Ardina's feet appear around the other side of the tree and my mother's join her. "Where the hell are they?" My mother swears, sounding mildly irritated. Fakely irritated, I think, but maybe she's pretending to pretend to be mad so I'll come out and she can kill me. Genius! So I stay put.

Man, drunk logic kicks ass.

"Where haven't we checked yet?" Ardina asks, tapping her foot.

"Behind the tree?" My mother says, and I can see her shrugging.

"Sounds as good as any other place," Ardina remarks and they both walk around the tree.

"Shh," Vane says, and I think he might've lowered himself because his lips are now only centimeters from mine and he's whispering. "Just..stay...still."

His breath comes out in tiny pants against my face and I have to restrain myself; I think of my mom finding us in this kind of position and my will to not move strengthens.

"Well, they're not here either. Where else haven't we been?" My mother says, stopping in front of the couch. Vane's eyes are wide and I feel kind of like a fugitive, all perverted thoughts flying from my head.

"Oh, I don't know." Ardina sits down on the couch and my mother joins her. Vane and I lock eyes and I can hardly stop the giggles; they're literally sitting right on top of us and they don't even know it!

Vane's lips form a thin line as he holds back laughter and my mother continues. "You don't think.." She says, suspicion in her voice. Ardina gasps.

"Not--the bedrooms? You don't..."

"Surely.."

"They wouldn't..."

Vane and I are shaking with silent laughter as they both say, "No!", laughing it off.

"They're probably just outside," my mother says dismissively, standing up. Ardina does the same, clapping her hands.

"With jackets, I hope," she concurs, and they both walk away to look for more hiding spots.

Vane and I simply look at each other for a few seconds before bursting into hysterics. I'm quivering with every sound that comes from my throat and somehow we roll out from under the couch, not caring now if they find us. I feel like my side is splitting and my cheeks hurt, but I can't stop.

"Oh--my god--" Vane chokes out, flopping back on the ground. His hair fans out around his face, strands brushing against his cheeks as he tries to speak. "They were--they--ohh," he says, rolling onto his side and clutching at his stomach.

"That was just--ow!" I have a cramp from laughing so hard and that spurs me to stop, if not the fact that I can't breathe. "Cramp, cramp..."

"Okay, okay. I'm--I'm done." Vane quells his laughter, turning onto his back again and staring up at the high ceiling. "I'm tired."

"I'm cramping." I sound like a whiny girl on her period but I don't care. I'm perfectly entitled to.

"I'm tired." I think; what time is it? Almost...I think. I met Vane at nine-thirty; we spent an hour together, so that makes ten-thirty; and then half an hour of talking back here makes it eleven. No wonder I'm starting to wear out.

"I'm still cramping," I persist, holding my stomach dramatically and grimacing. Vane just laughs and tugs me down to lay beside him.

"Shut up, loser," he says affectionately, and I punch him in the shoulder. "Can we sleep?"

"Back here?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "It's probably not very comfy, you know." Mm, sleeping with Vane--no! Bad thoughts. I'm not screwing this up. But when I finally acknowledge my tiredness, I can feel sleep pulling at my eyelids.

"Well, I'm not moving," Vane says with finality.

I suppose I can control myself for a night...And I am tired.

"Fine, fine," I say, turning to face him and laying on my side. "But you owe me. I don't normally sleep on floors."

"Whatever you want, baby," Vane says teasingly, and closes his eyes. I grin, shaking my head as best I can against the floor, and follow suit.

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Hurrah! Part one of the Christmas three-shot! (Jeez, I love Vance already..his thought process is so fun to write out.)

I might do part two (Christmas Day) tomorrow, even though that's the day after Christmas. I don't know. I was supposed to have this part up yesterday, but I didn't finish it so...you know how these things work.

So Merry Christmas to all, until part two!