Merry Christmas, I Could Care Less | Northern Lights AU
╰┈➤ [northern lights au masterlist]
C𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 P𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
12.23.95 - Jimmy Eat World
I’m Still Cheering For The 1980 U.S. Hockey Team - Oakwood
Yule Shoot Your Eye Out - Fall Out Boy
↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡
Snow had been falling since last night.
Not the gentle kind, either, this was thick, dry Alaska snow that blurred the world into a white tunnel and made everything feel narrower than it really was. The kind that muffled everything. The kind Rory had always loved.
Tanya’s SUV idled in the parking lot outside his dorm while he hauled the last of his bags down the front steps. He was halfway across the lot when Oliver leaned out of the driver’s window.
“Careful with the camera case,” Oliver called.
Rory lifted it slightly in response. “Always.”
By the time everything was packed into the bed and the back seat, the sky had gone that early December blue, with the sun already gone, the street lamps humming awake.
“Is that everything?” Tanya asked, zipping up the last suitcase.
“Yeah, should be. Thanks guys,” Rory said.
“Of course, bud. Happy to have you back.”
“Well, yeah, I don’t wanna miss Christmas.”
They pulled onto the highway, tires crunching. For a while, it was just the sound of the road and the heater and the wipers.
Then Tanya glanced over.
“Speaking of Christmas,” Tanya began.
Rory’s eyes stayed on the window.
“Are the McKenna’s coming over again?”
“No, that’s what I was about to tell you. They’re going to be at the World Juniors again.”
“Right.”
“Did Gavin not tell you?”
“He hasn’t told me anything in years.”
Tanya frowned. “That’s not fair.”
“It is, actually.”
Oliver cleared his throat. “Ro-”
“He left,” Rory said. “And then he kept leaving. Different province. Different teams. Different people.” His jaw tightened. “I was still here.”
“You know why he left,” Tanya said gently.
“Yeah. Hockey.”
“And you quit,” Oliver added.
Rory turned. “I didn’t quit him.”
Silence returned.
The road stretched out, dark and endless, forest pressing close on both sides.
“You two used to be so close.”
“He’s got new friends now, Mom.”
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The house smelled like pine and cinnamon and woodsmoke when they got home.
Rory stood in the doorway for a second too long, just breathing it in.
Everything was the same.
The coat hooks. The old framed photo of him and Gavin in their first hockey gear, sticks too big, helmets crooked. He looked away.
His room was cold. He dropped his duffel and started unpacking slowly, methodically, like if he took his time the thoughts would stay quieter.
Tanya hovered in the doorway.
“You eat today?”
“Yeah.”
“Real food?”
Rory shrugged. “Campus food.”
She sighed. “I made soup.”
“I’ll come down in a minute.”
She nodded and left him alone.
He gingerly set his camera on the desk with care. His notebooks in the drawer. His sweaters folded exactly the way he always did. Wool blanket at the foot of the bed.
His phone buzzed.
A notification from Instagram. Another. And another.
Gavin’s name wasn’t among them.
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Dinner was quiet at first.
Then Oliver set his spoon down.
“So. How’s journalism?”
Rory shrugged. “Good.”
“What are you writing about now?”
“Permafrost melt.”
“Sounds cheerful.”
Rory smiled faintly. “It matters.”
Tanya watched him. “You still talking to Gavin?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Rory’s spoon paused midair.
“No.”
Oliver frowned. “At all?”
“He texts sometimes. About hockey stuff.” Rory shrugged. “That’s it.”
Tanya’s voice softened. “You could reach out.”
Rory’s jaw tightened. “Why?”
“Because you miss him.”
Rory laughed, once, humorless. “He doesn’t miss me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” Rory pushed his chair back slightly. “He replaced me.”
“No one replaces-”
“He did.” Rory stood. “I’m gonna finish unpacking.”
Upstairs, he shut his door and leaned against it, eyes burning.
Outside, the snow kept falling, and in Minnesota, Gavin McKenna was skating in circles around a future Rory no longer fit into.
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December, 2015. Whitehorse, Yukon.
Snowbanks towered higher than the hood of the McKennas’ truck, the driveway already packed down from hours of shoveling. Christmas lights blinked along the eaves, green, white, green, white, reflected in the ice like a second, upside-down sky.
Gavin had been pacing the living room for twenty minutes.
“They should be here by now,” he said, for the fourth time, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie.
“They’ve still got another half hour,” his mom said from the kitchen, not looking up from the counter.
Right on cue, headlights swept across the window.
Gavin was out the door before anyone could stop him, boots half-on, crashing through snowdrifts like he couldn’t feel the cold at all.
“They’re here,” he shouted.
Tanya barely had time to look up before the front door burst open and eight-year-old Gavin launched himself outside in socks and a hoodie.
The Watsons’ truck door opened and Rory practically fell out, scarf trailing behind him, mittens already off, cheeks red from the cold and from smiling too hard.
“Gav!”
Rory hit him at full speed. They tumbled straight into the snowbank.
“Hey!” Gavin laughed, half buried. “You’re heavier than last year.”
“You’re shorter,” Rory shot back, scrambling up.
“I am not!”
“You are.”
They stood face to face, both grinning, both breathless, the air between them full of the kind of excitement that only came once a year and only felt like this with each person.
Tanya and Krystal exchanged smiles over the roof of the truck.
“Six hours in the car and that’s all the patience he had,” Krystal said.
“They’ve been counting down since November,” Tanya replied.
Inside, coats piled up. Snow melted onto the mat. The house filled with noise, heat, cinnamon, pine, and the sound of the boys’ boots pounding up the stairs.
They dumped their bags in Gavin’s room.
“Look what I got,” Rory said, pulling something from his backpack, a tiny notebook, already half full. “I wrote down all the animals we saw on the drive.”
“Moose?” Gavin asked.
“Three.”
“Caribou?”
“Five.”
“Any wolves?”
“No.” Rory frowned. “Next year.”
They changed into hockey gear so fast Tanya had to yell at them to eat first.
They barely did.
Ten minutes later they were outside on the rink in Gavin’s backyard, the sky already fading purple, the floodlight clicking on overhead.
Gavin passed Rory the puck.
“Loser has to shovel the driveway tomorrow.”
“You’re on.”
They skated until their legs shook and their lungs burned and their faces ached from smiling.
“Again!” Gavin yelled.
Rory wiped his nose on his sleeve. “My hands are frozen.”
“You can’t quit now.”
“I’m not quitting.”
They played until the stars came out.
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After hot chocolate and dry clothes and Christmas lights humming in the living room, they stretched out on Gavin’s bedroom floor under the glow of the tree.
“I wanna go pro,” Gavin said suddenly.
Rory rolled onto his side. “Like, NHL?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s really far.”
“I know.”
“I think I wanna take pictures,” Rory said.
“Of what?”
“Everything.”
Gavin nodded seriously. “That’s cool.”
“Do you think we’ll always be friends?”
“I hope so.”
“Maybe we could live together? Then we could always have sleepovers.”
“That’s a good idea. You’re smart.”
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Christmas morning came loud.
Gavin tore into his gifts first. Tape flew everywhere.
Then Rory’s turn.
He peeled the paper slowly, careful.
Inside was a camera.
Not a toy. A real one.
Rory’s hands hovered over it like it might break if he breathed wrong.
“For you,” Oliver said softly. “You see things.”
Rory lifted it gently, eyes shining. “It’s… it’s real.”
Gavin bounced beside him. “You can take pictures of my goals!”
Rory turned it in his hands like it might break if he breathed wrong.
Then Gavin opened his last gift.
A small box. Heavy.
Inside lay a silver hockey stick pendant, polished and solid, the chain thick enough to last.
Gavin picked it up, awe-struck. “Whoa.”
His dad helped clasp it around his neck. The metal rested against his chest, steady and sure.
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Later, on the bed, Rory snapped his first photo, Gavin in pajamas, hair sticking up, pendant shining at his chest.
“Hey,” Gavin protested.
“It’s my job now,” Rory said.
They went back outside after Rory left his camera wrapped in a blanket on Gavin’s bed. They skated until the sun went down again.
That night, under the blankets, Rory whispered,
“Do you think we’ll always be friends?”
Gavin didn’t hesitate.
“Definitely.”
Rory smiled in the dark.
“Okay.”
tags: @heartsforjh @angelyiken @smiley-roos
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