#five writes

“I feel like we’ve forgotten something,” Daniel says as Max passes a flute of champagne to him. Below them, the hoards of people wanting to catch a glimpse of the fireworks over Port of Monaco grow louder, as the clock ticks down till midnight. “Or someone.”

Matilda’s stuck in London after her flight was delayed. Lucia’s out with Andie and their friends at some Michelin star restaurant somewhere. Gary and Steve are probably destroying the new chair they got after they destroyed the last one. Molly is sleeping soundly on the sim chair in their office. Daniel’s next to him on their balcony, curled up on the sofa with two blankets and a puffer jacket on him.

(Two blankets because Daniel still refuses to wear shorts even when he’s cold.)

“I think this is the first year in a long time we’re spending New Year’s alone,” Max responds, tucking himself between the couch armrest and Daniel. “So maybe that is why it feels so weird.”

“Yeah, the house is so quiet without the kids. Reminds me of when we first started dating,” Daniel says, balancing the champagne flute on the armrest next to him. “Could do whatever we wanted without two children bickering in the background,” he murmurs, turning to face Max and sliding his frozen hands underneath his shirt.

He nudges a knee between Max’s legs and slots himself on top of him, swinging a leg over his thigh and placing his weight on it. Max reaches up and threads his hands through Daniel’s hair, pulling him down into a kiss but it’s hard to take him seriously when his puffer jacket squeaks at every movement.

“Daniel,” Max murmurs in between their kisses. “Daniel, your jacket.” He tugs on the zipper, trying to get his husband to temporarily part with it when Daniel pulls back.

“Daniel,” he says again. “Your jacket. It makes that sound that you know I do not like.”

“Aw. But I like this jacket,” Daniel pouts, like he doesn’t know that Max has been trying to get rid of it for the past twenty years. Every time it’s in the donation pile it mysteriously finds its way back into their closet, front and centre.

From behind them, there’s a big slam from the front door, before a voice yells down, “I’m fine!”

Max is about to chalk it down to one of their neighbours being drunk and confusing the apartments for one another, when the voice comes echoing down the apartment again, with three knocks on the door.

“Papa! Dad! Can you open the door? I think I broke the lock.” Max and Daniel take one look at each other, before pushing themselves off the couch and making their way down.

Lucia is standing there with a sheepish look on her face, a box of pizza in her hand. Andie’s next to her with a nervous smile. “I tried the code and it wasn’t working, and I left the keys at Andie’s place. Sorry.”

Daniel waves them in, hugging them as they walk past. “All good Luce. Thought you two would stay out longer?”

Gary and Steve immediately saunter down the hallway, tails up in the air and weaving between them. Gary lets out a long perfunctory meow at Andie, who picks him into her arms, bouncing him like a baby. He can hear his purring, even from a distance.

“I just don’t think we’re fine dining people,” Andie explains. She has a finger underneath Gary’s chin, scratching him to his heart’s content. “Plus the restaurant doesn’t have Sir Gaga, does it?”

Lucia pulls a face. “Absolutely not. Sir Gaga is worse than Gazza. I am not letting you name our future children, your track record of names is terrible.”

“Don’t listen to her Sir Gaga,” Andie gasps in mock outrage, walking past her and out to the balcony. “You have a wonderful name, Lucia’s just jealous.”

Molly comes trotting out of the office, sitting herself right in front of Lucia. She shakes her head fondly, following Andie with Molly in tow. “At least you have a normal-ish nickname, don’t you Mozzarella?”

Daniel takes a moment to process Molly’s nickname. “Mozzarella?”

“You named birds, Daniel,” Max says bluntly. “So I am not sure you can talk.”

They’re about to move back to their outdoor couch when the sound of keys jingling in the lock plays. Max opens the door to find Matilda on the other side, two suitcases behind her and slightly frazzled.

“Did you know they wouldn’t let me into the street until I proved I lived at the apartment? And of course none of my ID showed this address—why would it show my parents address—and this cop was such a dick to me,” Matilda rants, yanking her suitcases inside.

“Oh my god, I am never travelling on New Year’s Eve again, that was horrible.” Matilda looks at the door behind her. “Did you change the code?”

Max waves his hand around. “Lucia timed it out. We’ll fix it in the morning.”

The broken door lock offender sticks her head out of the balcony door, pointing at her sister with the pizza box in hand. “Why are you here? I thought you were stuck with Riley in London,” she asks, using air quotes for her back half of the last sentence.

“No, I was actually stuck in London, don’t do the air quotes,” Matilda shoots back. “Why are you here, I thought you and Andie were at that fancy restaurant or whatever with your friends?”

“We got hungry, so we left,” Lucia explains.

“At a restaurant?”

“The portions were really tiny—look, shut up. Maybe I just wanted to eat pizza with my fiancée at home instead of wondering if I was using the right fork or not,” Lucia says pointedly, shaking the box. “Do you want the pizza or are you still judging my restaurant choices?”

Matilda practically vaults over all the living room furniture and snatches the box from Lucia, almost planting herself on top of Andie when she jumps over the back of the outdoor couch.

Andie slides a soft drink across the coffee table towards Matilda, who downs a quarter of the can in one sip.

“What?” Matilda looks around at them. “I refuse to pay for bad airport food, this isn’t a new thing about me.”

“Where’s Riley?” Andie asks instead, passing another soft drink across in preparation. “I thought you two were going to visit his parents in Colorado?”

“Left him in London,” Matilda mumbles through a mouthful of pizza.

“Matilda!” Daniel chastises. “Are you serious?”

“I did ask if he wanted to come, but apparently staying in a hotel overnight was more appealing than flying back here, so.” Matilda shrugs in a way that definitely tells him she’s annoyed at him over it. “Would rather spend the new year with you guys than in some random hotel.”

There’s a silent pact between them to not push too many questions about Riley on Matilda. Max could barely keep up with the way they were bouncing around each other at the very beginning.

They’re all saved from accidentally saying the wrong thing when the fireworks start. Daniel startles with the loud bangs echoing across the sky, scrambling to get his jacket off the floor and pulling the hood over his ears.

“Pretty cool fireworks, right?” Matilda asks, looking over at them. Max stretches his arm over Daniel, pulling them all closer.

Daniel takes a sip, hissing through his front teeth, before biting down on his tongue, cursing the teacup like it personally set out on a vendetta against him. He drops the tea down, the murky brown splashing along the rim and onto the table.

It’s kind of stupid, Max thinks. To be trivialised by silly things like the temperature of tea. It’s not like he could harm himself further.

“My official title is Ferryman,” Daniel continues, looking back up and smiling at Max. He wonders if he bit hard enough if he would still bleed. Can people still bleed here?

Max raises his eyebrows. “Ferryman?”

“You know? Because we ferry people to and from realms. Like a boat.” He holds his fist and pumps it up and down two times. “Choo-choo.”

“I know what a ferry is, Daniel.” If he didn’t watch the dirt be shovelled on top of his casket, Max might’ve thought he was hallucinating. Or in a coma. Maybe both. “And trains make the choo-choo sound, not ferries. Is that how boats sound in New Zealand?”

Daniel, for his part, doesn’t bat an eye. He tilts his head, ever so slightly and leans in, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. Max almost tells him to get his elbows off the table. “You and I both know you’ve been to Australia too many times to confuse the accents for another.”

Max blinks a couple times, and Daniel just leans further in, smiling even harder. Another stupid thing, to add to the list. Something deep in his gut swirls larger every second he witnesses Daniel’s smile.

He wants to punch it off his face.

“I’m good at my job, Max,” Daniel says, with an air of almost too much confidence, considering his job is to literally just walk people into the afterlife. A dog could do it. “Best to not keep secrets from each other, hey?”

“If you knew who I was, then why ask anyway?” Max questions.

Daniel seems to seriously consider it, searching Max’s eyes for something. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s definitely trying to find something. Maybe he’s a mind reader too.

“I think people are more complex than words on paper,” Daniel replies. Definitely not a mind reader. “I want to know who you say you are.”

Max picks up his tea, watches as Daniel tracks every minuscule movement he makes, eyes flicking down to his mouth as he mimics the two puffs of breath Daniel did minutes earlier. He didn’t need to.

The tea is uncomfortably lukewarm.

“That’s very generous of you,” Max eventually settles on. “Usually people have already decided who I am without even asking or knowing me.”

“Like I said,” Daniel finally drops his chin off his hand and the elbow off the table, leaning back in his chair. “I’m good at my job. That’s why I stay,” he says, grinning.

Most of his shiny pearlescent teeth are on display, and it feels like the grin of a wild and crazed animal trapped in its cage, baring their teeth as a method of distraction.

He would know. Max has spent a long time watching his smile transform into something that could bite. He perfected it enough to sink and burrow underneath his thick skin, so it would be easier to sink it into someone else’s.

“I thought we weren’t keeping secrets from each other?” Max asks, running his tongue on the sharp edges of his upper teeth.

It’s incredibly satisfying to witness Daniel slowly absorb what he’s saying, attempting to shutter himself up before Max can dig any further.

“No. No I guess not,” Daniel echoes, bringing his teacup up, slowly sipping the tea. There’s no slow and sharp huffs of air, just someone who is trying to pretend he hasn’t been pierced through his soul.

It’s too late.