Joe was sitting at his desk with a work project open, sketching idly in his notebook, when he heard someone else come into the office, accompanied by a the sound of music from the party further along this floor. He winced. If someone had come to drag him back to the Christmas function –
“Uh. Last minute project?”
He looked up to see the IT team’s new administrator. Joe didn’t know him well, and was mentally scrabbling for his name, but he definitely recognised his face. It was a very good face. And there weren’t any other Italians at the company, which made him doubly easy to remember.
“Yeah, yeah,” Joe lied. “It was stressing me out standing around having a good time instead of working on it.” He crossed his fingers under the desk, hoping this would work.
“Ah, yes, me too. I just have to go and…” He seemed to run out of words half-way through the sentence. They blinked at each other awkwardly.
“I am so fucking tired of Christmas, and it hasn’t even happened yet,” Joe blurted out, after five silent seconds.
The other man let out a long sigh, and pulled out the chair next to Joe, where Nile usually sat. “Me, too. Everybody wants to know what I will be doing, and what I look forward to, and what I have learned is that the British think you are allowed to complain about it, but you aren’t allowed to not participate.”
Joe laughed, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve nailed it. I had five separate people try to invite me to their family Christmas, so I wouldn’t be sad and alone and away from my family. I’m not going to be sad! I’m going to sleep in and watch some terrible movies.”
“That sounds like an excellent plan.” The other man smiled. It was a very nice smile.
“Also, sorry for asking this, but it’s going to be worse if I hold off – ah…what’s your name?”
He laughed. “Nicolò. Most people here call me Nicky.”
“Nicky,” Joe repeated. “I’m Joe.” They shook hands. Joe wanted to hold on, and tried to ignore it.
“How long do you think we’re going to be allowed to avoid it?” Nicky said, hanging an arm over the back of his chair.
“Until Nile notices we’re gone. You know Nile? American, sits in the chair you’re sitting in, she was wearing this great yellow dress tonight –”
“I don’t, but I think I heard her talking. She is very enthusiastic about Christmas?”
“First one away from her family, and I think it’s…spilling over a little.”
Nicky pulled a face. “That must be very hard for her, but…”
“Yeah, exactly.” Joe looked around. “Actually. You know what. We could just…leave. There’s enough people here, I don’t think they’d notice.”
Nicky was already standing up. “The back set of lifts…?”
“You read my mind.”
They reached the ground floor without running into anybody, although they’d had to crowd into a side-corridor when a group of women had come by, tipsy and holding onto each other, clearly headed for the toilets. Joe had held Nicky’s arm; Nicky’s eyes had gleamed with mirth. It had been fun, like getting away with something.
“Can I ask,” Nicky said as Joe was unlocking his bike, “why it is you’re running away, too? Or – not, if you don’t want to –”
“Muslim,” Joe said succinctly. “Just not my thing. I mean, I know how it all works, contrary to what a lot of people seem to assume, but…still not my thing, and sometimes I just get tired of all of it.”
Nicky nodded. “Well, that’s easy.”
“You?”
“I used to be Catholic.” His voice was wry.
“Less easy, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“Glad to give you an excuse to get out, then.”
“Thank you,” Nicky said, smiling again, and it was the best work Christmas party of Joe’s entire life.
*
He messaged Nicky his phone number on the work Slack the next day, careful to keep it casual, and thirty seconds later his phone vibrated. They spent the next two weeks grousing to each other about the number of Christmas songs they were being forced to listen to, or the whole ugly Christmas sweater thing (Joe politely but flatly refused to participate in the work competition), and held their own personal competition over Number Of Workmates’ Christmases Invited To. By the twenty-third, Nicky was ahead by one, but Joe thought he had a shot at tying.
Joe was getting the sense, however, that Nicky’s feelings about Christmas were a lot more complicated than his were. Joe just wanted to get away from it. Nicky, Joe was pretty sure, also wanted to get away from it, but wasn’t really looking forward to being alone, either. The company was shutting down for the following week. Joe had meant to make plans to get away, but hadn’t got organised in time; Nicky, when Joe asked him, hadn’t thought about it.
So, on the twenty-fourth, Joe wandered over to the IT area when there was nobody else there and said “No pressure…but would you like to come over tomorrow?”
“I seem to remember you had a busy schedule of sleeping in?”
“I didn’t say come over early.” Joe leant against the desk. “I can promise entertainingly bad movies, a meal of whatever happens to be in my fridge, and no Christmas music at all.”
“I’m sold.”
“Great,” Joe said brightly, “I’ll message you the address,” and then went off to panic in the toilets because it was just possible that he was more invested in this going well than he’d realised. He dealt with that realisation by spending the afternoon (they’d been let off early, something he wasn’t going to complain about) cleaning his flat from top to bottom to a soundtrack of French hip-hop. After checking what was actually in his fridge, he even thought about braving the supermarket, and then remembered that would be active madness.
The next day, he had a glorious sleep-in just like he’d told Nicky he would. When the doorbell rang a bit after noon, he’d only just scrambled into clothes.
“Hi,” Nicky said. His cheeks were pink from the cold, and he was holding a bottle of wine. He looked amazing, solely through the virtue of being on Joe’s doorstep. “I realised on the way, I don’t know if you drink, but I didn’t want to not bring something.”
“I’m not good at drinking,” Joe said, “but I live in hope it will taste better the next time.”
“If this doesn’t, you can give up trying,” Nicky said authoritatively, which was…okay, a bit hot. They grinned stupidly at each other before Joe remembered his bare feet were freezing and he needed to let Nicky in.
They more or less followed the programme Joe had laid out, except that when it came to finding something to eat, Joe got kindly manoeuvred out of his own (one-person sized) kitchen so that Nicky could make pasta sauce. Half-way through he’d looked back guiltily and said “I’ve taken over, haven’t I?”
Joe grinned. “Forgiveness is dependent on how the food tastes.”
Nicky looked almost offended at this, and held out a teaspoon. Joe obediently leaned forward, keeping eye contact. Forgiveness was achieved immediately; it tasted amazing. The noise Joe made might have been a bit theatrical, but the heat in Nicky’s eyes made it worth it.
“You can come and take over my kitchen anytime,” Joe said, licking his lips.
“I am pleased to hear that,” Nicky said, a little breathlessly.
They ate on the couch, and put on another movie. Joe never remembered what it was, because ten minutes in, Nicky reached out and put a gentle hand on his cheek, then leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. It didn’t stay gentle for long; not because it got rough, but because it got intense. Nicky straddled Joe, sinking his full weight down, and Joe pulled him in, closer, as close as they could get. They made out on the couch for a while, and then when clothes started to come off they moved to the bedroom.
Sometime after the second round, when Joe was spreadeagled catching his breath back, he saw Nicky look at the alarm clock and frown.
“You have somewhere to be?”
“Just trying to remember when the last bus will be.”
“There are no buses,” Joe said, surprised. “It’s Christmas Day, remember? You walked.”
“Huh,” Nicky said, and flopped back down, his chin on his folded arms. “I…forgot.” He sounded pleased.
“I am extremely available,” Joe said, “to help you keep forgetting.”
Nicky smiled. He only left over the rest of the break to pick up some clothes.
"I'm glad I didn't make any plans," Joe said, the night before work started again. "This was better."
"Would you be interested in...continuing to not make plans?" Nicky asked him.
Joe kissed him. "For as long as you'd like."
*
“So, how was your Christmas?” Nile said to Joe brightly, the first day back at work. “I mean – not Christmas Christmas – did you have a good break?”
FILL: Modern Joe/Nicky avoiding Christmas
“Uh. Last minute project?”
He looked up to see the IT team’s new administrator. Joe didn’t know him well, and was mentally scrabbling for his name, but he definitely recognised his face. It was a very good face. And there weren’t any other Italians at the company, which made him doubly easy to remember.
“Yeah, yeah,” Joe lied. “It was stressing me out standing around having a good time instead of working on it.” He crossed his fingers under the desk, hoping this would work.
“Ah, yes, me too. I just have to go and…” He seemed to run out of words half-way through the sentence. They blinked at each other awkwardly.
“I am so fucking tired of Christmas, and it hasn’t even happened yet,” Joe blurted out, after five silent seconds.
The other man let out a long sigh, and pulled out the chair next to Joe, where Nile usually sat. “Me, too. Everybody wants to know what I will be doing, and what I look forward to, and what I have learned is that the British think you are allowed to complain about it, but you aren’t allowed to not participate.”
Joe laughed, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve nailed it. I had five separate people try to invite me to their family Christmas, so I wouldn’t be sad and alone and away from my family. I’m not going to be sad! I’m going to sleep in and watch some terrible movies.”
“That sounds like an excellent plan.” The other man smiled. It was a very nice smile.
“Also, sorry for asking this, but it’s going to be worse if I hold off – ah…what’s your name?”
He laughed. “Nicolò. Most people here call me Nicky.”
“Nicky,” Joe repeated. “I’m Joe.” They shook hands. Joe wanted to hold on, and tried to ignore it.
“How long do you think we’re going to be allowed to avoid it?” Nicky said, hanging an arm over the back of his chair.
“Until Nile notices we’re gone. You know Nile? American, sits in the chair you’re sitting in, she was wearing this great yellow dress tonight –”
“I don’t, but I think I heard her talking. She is very enthusiastic about Christmas?”
“First one away from her family, and I think it’s…spilling over a little.”
Nicky pulled a face. “That must be very hard for her, but…”
“Yeah, exactly.” Joe looked around. “Actually. You know what. We could just…leave. There’s enough people here, I don’t think they’d notice.”
Nicky was already standing up. “The back set of lifts…?”
“You read my mind.”
They reached the ground floor without running into anybody, although they’d had to crowd into a side-corridor when a group of women had come by, tipsy and holding onto each other, clearly headed for the toilets. Joe had held Nicky’s arm; Nicky’s eyes had gleamed with mirth. It had been fun, like getting away with something.
“Can I ask,” Nicky said as Joe was unlocking his bike, “why it is you’re running away, too? Or – not, if you don’t want to –”
“Muslim,” Joe said succinctly. “Just not my thing. I mean, I know how it all works, contrary to what a lot of people seem to assume, but…still not my thing, and sometimes I just get tired of all of it.”
Nicky nodded. “Well, that’s easy.”
“You?”
“I used to be Catholic.” His voice was wry.
“Less easy, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“Glad to give you an excuse to get out, then.”
“Thank you,” Nicky said, smiling again, and it was the best work Christmas party of Joe’s entire life.
*
He messaged Nicky his phone number on the work Slack the next day, careful to keep it casual, and thirty seconds later his phone vibrated. They spent the next two weeks grousing to each other about the number of Christmas songs they were being forced to listen to, or the whole ugly Christmas sweater thing (Joe politely but flatly refused to participate in the work competition), and held their own personal competition over Number Of Workmates’ Christmases Invited To. By the twenty-third, Nicky was ahead by one, but Joe thought he had a shot at tying.
Joe was getting the sense, however, that Nicky’s feelings about Christmas were a lot more complicated than his were. Joe just wanted to get away from it. Nicky, Joe was pretty sure, also wanted to get away from it, but wasn’t really looking forward to being alone, either. The company was shutting down for the following week. Joe had meant to make plans to get away, but hadn’t got organised in time; Nicky, when Joe asked him, hadn’t thought about it.
So, on the twenty-fourth, Joe wandered over to the IT area when there was nobody else there and said “No pressure…but would you like to come over tomorrow?”
“I seem to remember you had a busy schedule of sleeping in?”
“I didn’t say come over early.” Joe leant against the desk. “I can promise entertainingly bad movies, a meal of whatever happens to be in my fridge, and no Christmas music at all.”
“I’m sold.”
“Great,” Joe said brightly, “I’ll message you the address,” and then went off to panic in the toilets because it was just possible that he was more invested in this going well than he’d realised. He dealt with that realisation by spending the afternoon (they’d been let off early, something he wasn’t going to complain about) cleaning his flat from top to bottom to a soundtrack of French hip-hop. After checking what was actually in his fridge, he even thought about braving the supermarket, and then remembered that would be active madness.
The next day, he had a glorious sleep-in just like he’d told Nicky he would. When the doorbell rang a bit after noon, he’d only just scrambled into clothes.
“Hi,” Nicky said. His cheeks were pink from the cold, and he was holding a bottle of wine. He looked amazing, solely through the virtue of being on Joe’s doorstep. “I realised on the way, I don’t know if you drink, but I didn’t want to not bring something.”
“I’m not good at drinking,” Joe said, “but I live in hope it will taste better the next time.”
“If this doesn’t, you can give up trying,” Nicky said authoritatively, which was…okay, a bit hot. They grinned stupidly at each other before Joe remembered his bare feet were freezing and he needed to let Nicky in.
They more or less followed the programme Joe had laid out, except that when it came to finding something to eat, Joe got kindly manoeuvred out of his own (one-person sized) kitchen so that Nicky could make pasta sauce. Half-way through he’d looked back guiltily and said “I’ve taken over, haven’t I?”
Joe grinned. “Forgiveness is dependent on how the food tastes.”
Nicky looked almost offended at this, and held out a teaspoon. Joe obediently leaned forward, keeping eye contact. Forgiveness was achieved immediately; it tasted amazing. The noise Joe made might have been a bit theatrical, but the heat in Nicky’s eyes made it worth it.
“You can come and take over my kitchen anytime,” Joe said, licking his lips.
“I am pleased to hear that,” Nicky said, a little breathlessly.
They ate on the couch, and put on another movie. Joe never remembered what it was, because ten minutes in, Nicky reached out and put a gentle hand on his cheek, then leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. It didn’t stay gentle for long; not because it got rough, but because it got intense. Nicky straddled Joe, sinking his full weight down, and Joe pulled him in, closer, as close as they could get. They made out on the couch for a while, and then when clothes started to come off they moved to the bedroom.
Sometime after the second round, when Joe was spreadeagled catching his breath back, he saw Nicky look at the alarm clock and frown.
“You have somewhere to be?”
“Just trying to remember when the last bus will be.”
“There are no buses,” Joe said, surprised. “It’s Christmas Day, remember? You walked.”
“Huh,” Nicky said, and flopped back down, his chin on his folded arms. “I…forgot.” He sounded pleased.
“I am extremely available,” Joe said, “to help you keep forgetting.”
Nicky smiled. He only left over the rest of the break to pick up some clothes.
"I'm glad I didn't make any plans," Joe said, the night before work started again. "This was better."
"Would you be interested in...continuing to not make plans?" Nicky asked him.
Joe kissed him. "For as long as you'd like."
*
“So, how was your Christmas?” Nile said to Joe brightly, the first day back at work. “I mean – not Christmas Christmas – did you have a good break?”
“You know,” Joe said. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”