The Single Ornament

Jared faces his first Christmas away from home, grappling with loneliness and the ghosts of his family's past, finding an unexpected, electric solace in the quiet presence of Simon.

The cold was different here. Not the biting, familiar cold of home, the kind that promised a crackling fire and simmering tension, but a sterile, indifferent chill that seeped into the bones of the dorm building itself. Jared traced the condensation on his window with a finger, watching the blurred city lights bleed into the grey, pre-dawn sky. Christmas Eve. It felt like a cruel joke, the way the world kept turning, demanding celebration, while his gut twisted into a knot of loneliness he hadn't known was possible.

Back home, it would have been a performance. His mother, orchestrating the 'perfect' holiday, every ornament placed with surgical precision, every smile practiced, every interaction a tightrope walk. His father, a silent, disapproving shadow in the background. The air heavy with unspoken expectations, the kind that crushed you if you dared to breathe wrong. Here, there was just… this. The hum of the ancient heating unit, the distant wail of a siren, and the soft, rhythmic click of Simon’s laptop keys from across the room.

Simon. He was different, too. Not loud, not demanding, just… there. A solid, unyielding presence Jared hadn't anticipated needing. He hadn't asked for a roommate who smelled faintly of old books and something like woodsmoke, who moved with a quiet competence that both calmed and unnerved him. Especially now. Especially when the silence of Christmas Eve magnified every unspoken thing between them.

Jared’s breath hitched, a small, involuntary sound, but Simon's typing stopped. The sudden quiet was deafening. Jared didn’t turn around, couldn't. He stared harder at the city outside, willing it to offer some kind of distraction, a sudden burst of fireworks, anything. But there was only the cold, and the stillness, and the awareness of Simon’s gaze on his back. He felt it, a physical weight, like a hand pressed against his spine.

“You cold?” Simon’s voice was low, a rumble Jared had learned to associate with a kind of quiet strength. It didn’t demand an answer, but it invited one. Jared’s shoulders tensed. He hated feeling exposed, hated the way Simon seemed to see right through the thin, brittle shell he'd built around himself since leaving home.

“No,” Jared mumbled, finally. A lie. He was always cold these days. Cold inside and out. He pulled his threadbare hoodie tighter around him, the worn cotton offering little comfort against the creeping chill. He heard Simon push away from his desk, the scrape of the chair on the linoleum floor. Every small sound was amplified, a drumbeat in his chest.

Simon moved to the small kitchenette area, the fluorescent light above it flickering once, then holding. Jared could hear the rustle of a bag, the clink of ceramic. A moment later, the faint, comforting smell of brewing coffee reached him. Simon always drank coffee, black, even late at night. Jared preferred tea, something warm and sweet, to cut through the perpetual sourness in his stomach.

“Thought you might be,” Simon said, his voice closer now. Jared felt the heat of his presence before he saw him. He turned, slowly, and Simon was standing there, holding out a steaming mug. Not coffee. Cocoa. Dark, rich, with a dollop of whipped cream melting on top. Jared's gaze flickered to Simon's face – sharp jawline, dark eyes that seemed to hold endless depths, a faint smudge of something on his cheek. He looked… serious. Concerned.

Jared's fingers brushed Simon's as he took the mug. An electric current, sharp and unexpected, shot up his arm. He almost dropped it. He pulled his hand back quickly, clutching the warm ceramic like a lifeline. He didn’t look at Simon, instead focusing on the swirling patterns in the cocoa. His face felt hot, a blush creeping up his neck. Stupid. So stupid.

“Thanks,” he managed, the word thin, almost a whisper. He felt Simon watching him, that steady, unnerving gaze. He took a hesitant sip. It was sweet, too sweet, a saccharine comfort he hadn't realized he craved. The warmth spread from his throat down to his belly, easing some of the icy knot.

“It’s… quiet,” Simon said, not a question, just an observation. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his broad shoulders filling the narrow space. His presence was overwhelming, a physical weight in the small room. Jared nodded, taking another gulp of cocoa. What was he supposed to say? 'Yeah, quiet. Unlike the screaming matches I'm used to.'

“My family,” Jared started, then trailed off, biting his lip. He hadn't meant to say anything. He never meant to. But the cocoa was warm, and Simon was there, and the quiet was pressing in. “They’re… loud. All the time.” He shrugged, trying to make it sound casual, as if 'loud' meant boisterous, happy. It didn't. It meant sharp words, slammed doors, the constant anxiety of waiting for the next eruption.

Simon didn't press. He just watched Jared, his expression unreadable, but not cold. There was a flicker, something deep in his eyes, that Jared couldn’t quite decipher. Understanding, maybe. Or pity. Jared hated pity. He took another long sip, emptying half the mug.

“It’s… different here,” Jared offered, gesturing vaguely at the empty space around them. The dorm room, usually cluttered with textbooks and dirty laundry, felt cavernous tonight. They’d pushed their desks to the walls, revealing more worn linoleum. A small, pathetic artificial tree, barely two feet tall, sat on Simon’s bedside table, strung with a single, blinking string of coloured lights. It was Simon’s doing. Jared hadn’t even bothered.

“Yeah,” Simon agreed, his voice soft. “My folks… they don’t really do Christmas. Not like that. Not with the big trees and the whole performance.” He shifted, pushing off the counter, and walked over to the small tree. He reached out, carefully adjusting one of the plastic branches. “It’s just… another day, for them. Business as usual.”

Jared looked at him, surprised. Simon never talked about his family. Never volunteered anything. He was a closed book, all quiet competence and reserved strength. This tiny glimpse into his world, a world devoid of even the 'performance' Jared so dreaded, felt strangely intimate. It was a different kind of loneliness, perhaps, but loneliness nonetheless.

“So you… just got this?” Jared asked, pointing at the tree, the blinking lights casting a faint, erratic glow on Simon's face. His hair, dark and slightly damp from a shower Jared hadn't noticed him take, fell over his forehead.

Simon nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. “Thought it might… break up the monotony. Didn't want to just sit here staring at walls.” He glanced at Jared, a quick, intense look that made Jared's stomach clench. “Or looking out a window all night.”

A direct hit. Simon had seen him. Seen his pathetic, yearning vigil at the glass. Jared felt his cheeks flush again, the heat rising to his ears. He hated being seen. Hated that Simon, of all people, could look at him and understand without a single word needing to be spoken.

He watched Simon pick up a small, hand-painted ceramic ornament from the table beside the tree. It was a tiny, misshapen snowman, probably from a dollar store. Simon held it carefully, turning it over in his large hand. His fingers were long, slightly calloused, strong. Jared remembered them brushing his. The electric tingle.

“Want to put this up?” Simon asked, holding it out. His voice was softer now, almost… coaxing. Jared hesitated. He hadn't decorated a tree since he was a kid, before his mother's iron grip had turned everything into a chore, a display of perfect, joyless domesticity.

“I…” Jared swallowed. “It’s… fine, Simon. You don't have to.” He knew it sounded dismissive, ungrateful. But the thought of touching it, of participating, felt like admitting a vulnerability he wasn't ready to expose. Admitting he missed something, even if he didn't know what it was.

Simon didn’t drop his hand. He just held the ornament there, steady. His gaze was unwavering, pulling Jared in. Jared felt a strange battle within himself, the stubborn refusal warring with a desperate, childish urge to just… do something normal, something warm. He wanted to reach out, not just for the ornament, but for the hand holding it, for the quiet reassurance Simon offered.

“It’s okay,” Simon said again, his voice lower still. “We don’t have to make a big deal of it. It’s just… something. To mark the day.”

Jared felt a tremor go through him. Something about the way Simon said 'we.' It wasn't just him anymore, hunched over his mug of cocoa, a forgotten sentinel at the window. It was them, two unexpected strangers in a cold dorm room, trying to make sense of a holiday that felt utterly alien. He put his mug down on the desk, the ceramic clinking softly.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against Simon's as he took the ornament. This time, the spark wasn't as startling, but it was still there, a soft thrumming beneath his skin. The snowman was cold, smooth ceramic, painted with clumsy, childish lines. It was imperfect, utterly unlike anything his mother would have allowed on her pristine tree.

He carefully hung it on one of the plastic branches, near the top, where it wouldn't be hidden by the sparse foliage. The single string of lights blinked, making the snowman seem to wink. A pathetic little thing, but in that moment, in that stark room, it felt profound. It felt… real. A small, defiant act of warmth against the cold.

Jared pulled his hand back, then hesitated, leaving it hovering near Simon’s. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words were stuck. His throat felt tight. He glanced at Simon, whose eyes were fixed on the ornament, a faint, almost-smile playing on his lips. His expression was soft, a rare crack in his usual composure. This was the 'Gap Moe' Simon, the one who was impossibly gentle when Jared least expected it.

“It’s… nice,” Jared said, the highest praise he could muster. He found himself looking at Simon’s mouth, then quickly darted his eyes away. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He felt the blush creeping up again, hotter this time, a full-body flush that made his skin prickle.

Simon finally looked at him, those dark eyes intense, seeing. Jared felt utterly naked under that gaze. He wanted to run, to hide under his blanket, to disappear. But he also wanted to stay, to bask in the unexpected, terrifying warmth that Simon emanated. He felt the pull, a magnetic force drawing him closer, even as every instinct screamed at him to retreat.

“Jared,” Simon said, his voice dropping another octave. Jared felt the sound reverberate through his chest, a low hum that shook him. He gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. He couldn’t breathe properly. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken things.

“Yeah?” Jared managed, his voice barely a squeak. He was terrified. Terrified of what Simon might say, what he might do. Terrified of what he himself might feel. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, a roaring like the ocean.

Simon reached out, his large hand pausing for a microsecond before gently, almost hesitantly, touching Jared’s cheek. His skin was warm, slightly rough. Jared froze. Every nerve ending in his face ignited. It was a brand, a silent declaration. He instinctively leaned into the touch, a pathetic moth drawn to a dangerous flame. His eyes fluttered shut.

“You don’t have to be cold,” Simon murmured, his thumb stroking gently over Jared’s cheekbone. His voice was a soft rasp, close, too close. Jared could feel Simon’s breath on his lips. He wanted to pull away, to push Simon away, but his body wouldn’t obey. It yearned, a desperate, aching need he hadn’t known he possessed.

Jared’s eyes snapped open. Simon was looking at him, his dark eyes wide, pupils dilated. There was a raw, naked emotion there Jared couldn't name, but it mirrored something wild and untamed within himself. A hunger. A longing. The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken desire.

“I…” Jared tried to speak, but the words dissolved on his tongue. He could only stare, lost in the depths of Simon’s gaze. He felt the heat of Simon’s hand spreading through his whole body, melting the ice around his heart. The fear was still there, a sharp, cold jab, but it was being slowly, relentlessly, consumed by something warmer, something terrifyingly beautiful.

Simon leaned in, slowly, deliberately. Jared watched, mesmerized, unable to move, unable to breathe. His heart hammered against his ribs, threatening to burst through. This was it. This was the precipice. The moment before everything changed.

He closed his eyes again, bracing for impact, for the touch he craved and dreaded in equal measure. He felt Simon’s breath ghost over his lips, then the soft, tentative pressure. A kiss. Soft, unsure, but utterly consuming. It was like finally coming home, a home he hadn't known existed. A place where the cold didn't matter, where the past didn't sting, where there was only the electric, undeniable warmth of another person.

He returned the kiss, clumsy and desperate, his fingers fumbling to grip Simon’s shirt, pulling him closer. The mug of cocoa on the desk, the single ornament, the city lights outside – they all faded, becoming irrelevant. There was only Simon, his scent, his warmth, his lips, and the overwhelming, terrifying truth of what this meant. A new beginning, fragile and uncertain, against the backdrop of a lonely Christmas Eve.

The kiss deepened, a slow, tender exploration that left Jared breathless. His body hummed, alive in a way it hadn’t been in years. Simon’s hand moved from his cheek, tangling in his hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still. Jared felt the gentle pressure, a possessive grip that somehow felt like the safest place in the world. He pressed into it, desperate for more, for every inch of contact he could get.

He tasted cocoa and something else, something uniquely Simon – clean, warm, a hint of spice. It was intoxicating. His own fear and loneliness, which had clung to him like a second skin, began to peel away, replaced by a dizzying rush of sensation. He felt himself yielding, melting into Simon’s embrace, the careful walls he’d built over years crumbling under the onslaught of pure, unfiltered affection. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

When Simon finally broke the kiss, pulling back just enough for Jared to gasp for air, their foreheads were still touching. Jared’s eyes were still closed, his entire body trembling. He could feel the frantic beat of Simon’s heart against his own, a shared rhythm that echoed the chaos within him.

“Jared,” Simon whispered, his voice hoarse, raw with emotion. Jared opened his eyes, slowly. Simon’s dark gaze was fixed on him, an intense, almost worshipful look that made Jared’s stomach flip. He’d never been looked at like that before, not with such utter, undivided focus. It was overwhelming. It was everything.

He wanted to say something, anything to articulate the swirling maelstrom of emotions inside him, but he couldn’t. The words felt too big, too fragile. He was just Jared, messy and scared and suddenly, irrevocably, tangled up in Simon. And Simon was Simon, quiet and steady and fiercely, unmistakably *there*.

Simon reached up, brushing a stray tear from Jared’s cheek. Jared hadn’t even realized he was crying. The gesture was so gentle, so unexpected, it brought a fresh wave of emotion to his throat. He leaned into Simon's hand, seeking the comfort, the unspoken promise. This wasn't a performance. This was real. Gritty, uncertain, but undeniably real. It was Christmas, after all. And in the bleakest, loneliest moment, something unexpected, something profoundly human, had taken root.

The silence stretched between them, no longer cold or oppressive, but soft, humming with a new kind of energy. Jared felt raw, exposed, but also… safe. Safer than he’d ever felt, even back home behind his mother’s carefully constructed façade. Here, with Simon, there was no pretense, no performance. Just two boys, away from everything familiar, finding a fragile, dangerous solace in each other’s arms. And the terrifying, exhilarating question of what came next, now that the first, undeniable spark had caught fire.