#12daysofchristmas2025

“Who’s date idea is it this week?” Tsukishima asked, slowly untangling the snow-flecked scarf from his neck. “Kou’s” Akaashi answered from the kitchen doorway, at the same time Kuroo shouted “You’re home!” and flung himself at the younger man.  Tsukishima scoffed and gently pushed Kuroo away, struggling out of the thick winter coat he’d been wearing, “could you please at least wait until I’ve taken off my coat and boots? Especially when they’re covered in snow.” Akaashi shook his head, “this is restraint, you’re an hour late you know.” “I told you with all the Christmas activities at the museum this month I’d be working late more often,” the blonde shrugged, “I did try to leave on time if it’s any consolation?” Kuroo, returning to his position with his arms around the other man’s waist kissed his cheek softly, “I suppose I can forgive you.” “How magnanimous of you,” Tsukishima deadpanned, but he couldn’t hide his smile. “He’s home?!” There was a crash from upstairs, then the thundering of feet as Bokuto careened from his bedroom into the hallway.  “You're alive!” Kuroo was clever enough to step back as Bokuto barrelled into Tsukki, knocking him bodily into the door as he struggled to keep his feet under him. “I was only at work!” He protested, voice muffled under the muscled shoulder pressing into his face, “anyone would think I'd returned from a war! And please stop trying to suffocate me Kou.” Bokuto finally released him and stepped back, drooping slightly like a damp puppy. Sighing Tsukishima leant forwards and kissed him, just once, on the lips. “It's good to be home.” The hallway erupted, Bokuto cheered, Kuroo protested loudly and vehemently about not getting the first proper kiss, even Akaashi stepped out of the kitchen properly, hands on hips and the look of a man who'd already dealt with four disasters that day on his face.  “Perhaps we could all let Kei get inside the house properly before we attack him like undersocialised pets?” The effect was immediate. Both men stepped away from Tsukishima with the kind of speed usually reserved for the Volleyball Court. Grinning Tsukki walked over and pressed a kiss to Akaashi's lips before finally, finally, letting Kuroo kiss him. Properly this time. “Welcome home Kei,” the older man murmured against his lips, kissing him a second time for good measure, “even if you are an asshole.” “I learned from the best.” Tsukishima retorted, still smiling. Ten minutes later they all gathered in the kitchen, mugs of hot chocolate (coffee for Akaashi) clutched in their hands. “I thought we could all bake cookies together!” Bokuto announced, gesturing proudly at the small pile of ingredients on the counter.  In theory it should be simple enough, just butter, sugar, flour and eggs, but Tsukishima and Akaashi stared at it skeptically.  “Kou, dearest,” Akaashi started warily, “You want us all to bake?” Tsukishima, never the most tactful of their little foursome sighed, “do you remember what happened last time we tried to cook together? We never got the smell out of the curtains.” Bokuto deflated a little and Kuroo patted his back gently, sending a glare at Tsukishima over the mess of silver-grey hair. “It's fine Kou, cookies are way easier than Okonomiyaki or Tempura. As long as we set a timer for the oven it'll be fine. Fun even.” “You promise?” Kuroo paused, staring at the pile of ingredients on the counter. On one hand cookies did involve significantly less open flames than anything else they’d been coaxed into cooking together, on the other hand Kou could be overly enthusiastic when it came to group activities and that was its own level of danger.  He sighed and nodded, “‘of course, how could we not have fun all together huh dude?” That works. Even Bokuto’s hair seems to perk up as he beams at them all. “Yeah! We’re going to make the greatest cookies ever!”

Akaashi and Tsukishima take it upon themselves to run the kitchen like a military campaign. Kuroo swears up and down Tsukishima actually hissed at him when he tried to steal a spoon of cookie dough before they’d finished rolling it out and cutting the shapes. Akaashi grumbled several times about how the dough was supposed to sit in the refrigerator for a few hours if not overnight and the cookies wouldn’t hold their shapes properly.  “But tonight is date night!” Bokuto protested, pouting slightly, “and Kei said he rushed home specifically for this!” Tsukishima raised an eyebrow, “I did not say that, I just said I did my best to get home on time because it was date night.” Undeterred, Bokuto put his hands on his hips and looked at Akaashi again, “See! We have to bake them today, for date night, or Kei will be sad.” Akaashi glanced up at Tsukishima, who shrugged, mouthing ‘as long as they’re edible’ from behind Bokuto’s head.  Akaashi nodded, turning his gaze back to Bokuto, tone carrying the slightest hint of warning. “Fine, since Kei insists they need to be done today. But don’t start pouting when the shapes have spread out after baking.” Bokuto merely beamed and nodded, hair whipping about with the vigorous motion, “I won't, promise!” Akaashi tried to look like a man who believed a single word he was hearing, he really did, only his face didn’t quite make it there. Tsukishima barely stifled a laugh, while Kuroo pulled an unimpressed face from behind him before trying to dig the old cookie cutters out of a drawer. Bo on the other hand was blissfully ignorant of the whole charade, eagerly diving around the two men to help Kuroo dig through the drawer.

30 minutes later they stood around a tray of mostly correctly shaped cookies. None were charred, although a few from the first sheet looked a little singed at the edges, and the kitchen was still in one piece and also un-singed. Or at least no further singed than it had been when they began. Akaashi was holding a bowl of icing sugar protectively, already having fought off both Bokuto and Kuroo holding the electric whisk.  “I do not wish to end the day with sugar in my hair Tetsu,” he’d huffed, shielding the bowl with his body as if it were a grenade about to explode, “I’ve already had to bathe twice today.” “But this will be so much faster!” Kuroo protested, waving the appliance dangerously. “No, it’ll be disastrous. The kitchen will look like a suspiciously sugary snowball exploded in it and I am not cleaning that mess up.” “Plus we’d have to start over with the icing and I don’t think we have an extra bag.” Tsukishima added helpfully, gently pulling on the back of Kuroo’s jumper. “You already whisked the dough, the whisk can rest now.” Kuroo whined but at least the whisk found a home back on the counter. Akaashi nodded and turned back to his bowl of icing sugar, starting to section it out into three bowls as it finally came together. The colour was added to two of the bowls, mixed carefully by Kuroo and Bokuto under Akaashi’s watchful eyes, and finally carefully settled inside three piping bags ready for decoration. Only then did Akaashi and Tsukishima allow the two older men to run wild, decorating their cookies however they saw fit. Though they supposed no one should have been surprised when one cookie mysteriously ended up with a suspiciously phallic ‘snowman’.

Wilbur is not a good person, nor is he pleasant to be around. And yet. And yet, despite everything, Tommy tracked him down. Refused to let Wilbur slip away. Yelled and kicked at his door until Wilbur mustered enough strength to resemble a person again and shoved his way into Wilbur's apartment, where dishes stacked in the sink and cabinets and dirt painted every surface.

Tommy sat in the small kitchen as if he always belonged there, feet kicked up on a seat as he leaned back to rock on the back legs. Hands fidgeting with a ring that rolled between his fingers, Tommy talked and talked until the blue sky started mixing with pinks and purples, not commenting on the dark circles under Wilbur’s eyes or the concerning weight loss.

He wanted Wilbur to come home, practically begging for Wilbur to give the party a chance. To give the family a chance again. And Wilbur, like the fool he was, a fool who loved his cousin as if Tommy were his own brother, agreed. Because, as cruel as Wilbur is, he could never dream of crushing that tentative smile on Tommy’s face. Not when he knew the full scope of such a bright smile.

His phone pinged again, forcing Wilbur to take a breath in, posture straightening to keep the illusion that he had his life together. As if he never had a mental breakdown months ago, and hasn’t been estranged from his family for years. 

In truth, Wilbur missed his family. Missed Phil ruffling his hair with every greeting; Techno dragging him to quiet corners to discuss books and films; Tubbo showing him pictures of bees and flowers; Fundy sitting on his lap as he napped; and Tommy hanging off his back just so they could be pressed together. 

He missed the light feeling in his chest whenever he could see them, missed calling them his home. Missed being happy and sharing that happiness with those he considered parts of his soul.