sweet creature

          It’s only been a few days without his Duncan Donut’, and Skylar’s entire body was pretty much aching with anticipation to see him again. He might have rehearsed his reaction the night before, just like how he strangely rehearsed how a majority of their conversations would go. These were waking hours as he stood in front of his mirror, scrunching his nose and scratching the back of his head, squeezing out all the interesting things about him ( if he ever found any that were personally worth accepting ). He wanted to be at his best for Duncan, picking out the cutest clothes, trying on the nicest perfumes, and telling the funniest stories that a merely 18-year-old hermit could ever come up with. It was that massive fear that struck the soft boy every single time, how he didn’t want to stutter or make it too obvious ( especially make a complete fool out of himself ) while he clearly harboured feelings for his friend. Skylar was perfectly capable to stand in front of a crowd, presenting a proposal that was essential to his grade point average, but when all that was over, it was like that last-minute Cinderella moment where the carriage turns into a pumpkin and his grandiose ensemble turns back into tattered rags. Because really, his false confidence could only go for so long.

          But he wanted to be perfect for Duncan, no matter how much of an internal struggle that would be.

          His heart was immediately leaping into somersaults within his rib cage, chewing on his bottom lip, feeling someone’s green eyes on him ( even when he was unable to physically see them ). It was as if his soul was reaching out to Duncan’s, not needing any form of verbal communication to know that he was out there. And when he heard the familiar sing-songy voice of his beloved friend, Skylar’s face was a crimson red beneath the virgin snow.

          “Cookie Monster! At your service to eat all the food in your fridge, leave all the blame on you when your parents start to wonder where they all went, and adorably compensate for the collateral damage with unlimited hugs and affection,” he blabbered enthusiastically, mimicking the same tone of voice to keep up with Duncan’s. He just loved how he can be his normal self around him, regardless of how much he wanted to adjust to the other’s liking. But hey, he wasn’t supposed to know that. 

“Cookie Monster?” Duncan hummed curiously. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really expecting a cookie monster today. Maybe try again later?” he teased, leaving a second of pause in the air before he swiftly opened the door. “Oh! It’s my Cookie Monster! Well, why didn’t you say so?” he grinned, almost instantly scooping Skylar into a hug. They’d always been affectionate and close. It was just the way they were, and Duncan wouldn’t change that for the world. Skylar was his favorite person on earth. Always had been, and always will be.

“Welcome to the Hewett home,” he said as he opened the door and invited Skylar in. As if the other hadn’t been there a million times in his life. “To your right you’ll see my father, Sir Thomas Hewett,” he declared, seeing his father on the couch. The man glanced up from his book and gave them a little wave. “Hi, Skylar,” he greeted, unaffected by Duncan’s antics. They moved on to the kitchen and Duncan introduced another family member. “My mother, Mrs. Amelia Hewett,” he smiled. Duncan’s mother turned from her baking to see Skylar and her face lit up. “Hello, darling,” she chimed, wrapping him up in a hug much like Duncan had at the front door. “Haven’t seen you for a few days. Everything okay? Family’s all right?”

          The winter season was an absolute favorite of Skylar’s, bandaged in layers of blankets that he pulled out just in time for the cold weather. While some would call it pathetic that he had only gotten bored upon the end of their semester, which also put a halt to his crazy studying habits, the petite brunet had no idea what to do with all this spare time in his hands. Sometimes, he wished that he could’ve put himself out there a little more to attract a decent amount of friends, but this was his last year of high school, and everybody’s already branded him as a lame ol’ nerd. It made him wonder what he ever did to deserve a best friend like Duncan, who he practically grew up with and managed to stay connected with through the years. He was the cooler friend; there was no doubt about it, and with how much he put him on a pedestal, Skylar would find himself twisting and turning in his sleep, wondering if he was suffering a case of diarrhea or a mere case of having those butterflies in his stomach – because of his best friend. 

          Skylar rose from his bed the moment he got that text, unable to wipe the grin off of his face as his fingers tapped against the screen in lightning speed: uhm yes yes yes. it’s like you read my mind. be there in a jiffy !! and of course, having to end with those weird emojis that others wouldn’t exactly understand. But it was a friendship thing … even when two of those emojis included a kissy face and a sparkling heart. Just friends. That’s right.

          They lived a few blocks away from each other, which was inconvenient for the times when they really wanted to meet, hoping there was some sort of secret tunnel so they could see each other sooner. But the walk to Duncan’s made Skylar appreciate how immaculately white the sky had painted their small town, specks of snow glittering against the sunlight. He kept his cold hands buried inside the pockets of his winter coat, humming to a snappy Christmas jingle that was playing in one of the streets. Skylar watched two kids laughing and engaging into a snow ball fight, almost getting involved when it almost hit him. There was a wave of nostalgia that struck him, just reminiscing when he and Duncan were little kids as well, just worrying about which games they wanted to play. And now, they had dreams of their own– dreams they were determined to fulfil.           

          He merrily skipped onto Duncan’s front porch, taking a deep breath and rubbing his hands together to create friction, enough to be able to feel them intact again. Ringing the door bell, Skylar stepped back to wait while rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. They haven’t seen each other for a few days with Skylar’s parents having some relatives over, so he was pretty much exhilarated to be reunited with his best friend. 

One of the reasons Duncan loved the holiday season was because of the nostalgia wrapped up in literal bows. His mother always made sure to bring out the same decorations every year, ones dating back to before Duncan was even born, and the familiarity in each little trinket made him feel all warm and fluffy inside. There were still cookies to be made, presents to be wrapped, and a tree to be bought and placed in the family room, but the beginning of the season was finally upon them and nothing could make Duncan happier.

It was his senior year of high school, though, and the stresses of his future were very real and pressing. Duncan had to study a lot harder than most people in order to get good grades, so when he wasn’t in class or working, he was usually tucked up in his room to study. And sure, he still had three weeks to go until Christmas Break, but finals were coming and Duncan had been studying his ass off for over a month. So much so that his mother suggested he take a little break. For not only the sake of his sanity but also because she was worried he was overworking himself. The boys had a three day weekend and now that it was almost December the Hewett family desperately needed a tree for their house. She politely asked Duncan if he’d search for a tree and promised she’d compensate him for picking it out and getting it back to their house; and with an offer like that, how could Duncan refuse?

As soon as he heard the doorbell ring Duncan jumped up from his spot at the kitchen island and padded across the hardwood floor to answer the door. He peeked through the peephole and giggled a little when he saw that it was exactly who he’d been expecting. “Who iiiiiis it?” he sing-songed, hand on the doorknob but not yet turning it.