Could you do Mel x reader where reader normally LOVES all things Christmas and gifting presents to people but this year she’s feeling down and just not as festive so Mel goes out of her way to give reader the most magical Christmas 🎄
Please and thank you! May you have the best day 🫶
frosted hymnal
pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader
summary: generally the request above, however, there is definitely a different tone to this then what was asked for, bit more sad underneath | 4.1k
warnings: grief/loss (thematic - not in depth), hurt and immense comfort throughout to makeup for this sad
translations: bambino (baby), cara (dear), tua stellina (your little star)
note: this one is a bit personal to me, especially in the details and a family tradition i snuck in. i’m also not feeling very festive and ‘hell yeah christmas’ due to similar things i put in which is why this reads more h/c than holiday cheer oops
Ever since that balmy night in August when you’d gotten a call from your aunt as you ate dinner, laughing at Melissa’s recount of her conversation with Barbara earlier in the day. As the phone cuts her off unexpectedly, you swallow your laughter as you say a greeting into the phone. Immediately, your smile drops and your eyes flick to Melissa’s, already red and a fist clenching and unclenching as you listen.
“Thank you for calling,” you say with a shaky voice, barely making it out before you gasped for breath. Another beat as your aunt says more to you, “yeah, I will. Love you, too. Bye.” The moment the call ends, your head falls into your hands and tears fall. Melissa is immediately next to you, pulling you into her. Her lips press into your hairline, just letting you lean on her and let it all out.
You’d just talked to your grandfather three days before.
For days after, you hardly spoke, ate, or even moved from the bed. Your arms stayed locked around Melissa unless she had to step away, only then would her pillow take her place. She barely knew what to do, most of her family were angry when in mourning, much like herself; she’d broken half her picture frames and almost her hand when she found out about her grandmother. This eerie silence, the lack of anything from you, it was different, and it scared her even if she didn’t want to admit it. It took days to get you downstairs, a week to get you into the sun in the backyard. Melissa just held you until you quietly asked to go with her to the store after two weeks, the same quiet tone that filtered into most gatherings since.
She’d noticed it at Thanksgiving, the silence and the empty stare when no one was interacting with you. First holidays are always the hardest, she’d felt the same when her Nana passed away, but that was years ago and she’d had everyone around her where your family was states away. You spent the holiday pressed into Melissa’s side, only speaking when spoken to, hand gripping hers for dear life. Aunt Deb tried not to look offended when you barely touched the famous apple pie that you usually inhaled.
It had been Grandpa’s favorite.
—
The silence and the stare never really went away as the table runners went from orange to red and green, apples and pumpkins became evergreens and snowflakes. Melissa tried to stay discreet in how she watched you detangle the gold beads that wrap around the tree, robotic movements and pursed lips. Slowly, she moved from the couch to the spot next to you with her ornaments and hooks, shuffling closer to you to gain your attention.
You turn to look at her for a moment, a tiny smile stretching your lips before your eyes go back to the beads in your lap. The redhead takes the chance to prop her chin on your shoulder, making you turn back to her again, tilting your head back to get a proper look at her. Cold fingers brush her hair behind her ear while you admire her, a low voice speaking to her for the first time in an hour, “hi, pretty.”
“Hi, amore,” she murmurs back, a gentle kiss placed to your shoulder over your sweater, “you’re awfully quiet over here by your lonesome.”
You huff a little laugh through your nose, “I’m sorry, I’ve just been spacing out while I untangle these damned things,” you hold up the beads, “seriously, did you tie these in knots before I put them in the attic last year?”
“All part of my secret plan to keep you here forever,” she jokes as she shoves the ornaments away to help you with detangling.
Melissa delights in the first smile she’s seen from you all day as you shake your head at her answer. Leaning in quickly, you press a kiss to her cheek and quietly say, “like I was planning on going anywhere.”
Half of The Apartment and two glasses of wine later, you both finally get the beads untangled and wrapped around the tree. Basic ornaments went first, then the intricate ones that had been gifted by Barbara from the craft store were next, followed by the more personal ones with names, dates, and pictures within. A fireplace ornament with a photo of you two in it made you pause and let a little smile on your face, but it dropped when you remembered who had taken the picture and hand written your names on the bottom. Melissa sees the warmth in you go cold, taking the ornament from your hands and placing it on a branch for you, front and center.
“Hon, we can hold off on this if you need us to,” she says with a gentle tone, as if the right volume would shatter you into pieces. Melissa had watched you sluggishly place ornaments on the tree, for every three she got on there, you’d only put up one. The blank stare that had appeared at Thanksgiving was even more pronounced, and every conversation about holidays and holiday shopping had been borderline dismissed unless absolutely necessary.
The sigh she gets as an initial answer is less than desirable for a response. You turn away to grab a penguin on skis, breathing out a real answer, “it’s fine, babe, really. I just want to get this over with.”
That was certainly not what she expected. She normally had to hold you back from decorating before Halloween even ended, by the last trick-or-treater you already had a plan for the decor for the winter months. Sure you’d brought down the boxes for her, not letting her help at all since she always complains about her back afterwards, and yeah, you pulled out the Ella Fitzgerald Christmas album, but only at her request. There was no bounce in your steps, no obnoxious lovely singing of carols, not even the reindeer antler headband had made an appearance when decorating. As much as she poked fun at you for all of it, she found herself missing it more than anything at this moment. Simply hungering for your unbridled joy during the season.
Even though her own shoulders deflate, Melissa steps towards you, arms wrapping around your middle. Immediately she feels you give into her, leaning fully and melting into her arms. Her lips pressed to the side of your head, “it’ll get done anyways. Why don’t we take a break? We have the weekend, honey.”
“Can we just finish it now?” you murmur as if you’re afraid she’ll get mad. In truth, you just want it to be over so that you don’t have to think about it anymore, pretend the holiday isn’t even happening. You turn in her arms and move your hands to hold her face, “I just want to lay down and watch movies with you all weekend and eat the cookie dough that’s in the freezer.”
“That dough is for my students, so keep your grubby little hands away from it,” she jokes to lighten your mood, which works fractionally given your soft laugh. She leans to kiss your cheek, “how about I’ll make some brownies while you wrap this up?” She gestures to the remaining ornaments on the coffee table. Your nod and smile have more life to them, making her grin and press a short kiss to your lips, pulling away despite your insistence to make it last.
She watches you from the doorway for a moment, watching you stare at the tree as you mentally mapped where the ornaments should go, almost akin to your usual behavior. Melissa takes the distraction and runs with it, calling your aunt as she pulls out cocoa powder and sugar.
Melissa keeps her voice low as she asks your aunt questions, and slows down as she repeats her address for your aunt. The next call she makes is to her own mother, knowing that Giorgia is near god-level when it comes to sewing, having made every blanket and bunny for her grand and great-grandchildren.
The night ends with only half of the brownie she gave you being eaten while you lay on top of Melissa, head tucked into her neck and a tight grip on her shirt. She resides herself to the knowledge her back will hurt in the morning, but your steady breathing and weight against her was enough to not care.
—
The last day of school before winter break arrives, finally. The next two weeks were going to give Melissa the peace she had been waiting for, especially for you. Half of her lunch today was spent worrying about you when you came in late with redlined eyes, evidence of your tears in the corner of your eye. You waved off concerned glances and questioning looks, just giving a look to your girlfriend that you would tell her later. Under the table, she knocks her foot with yours and keeps it there, a silent I got you.
Getting out of the car, you immediately turn when Melissa doesn’t join you, “where are you going?”
“I gotta run over to Ma’s, I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” she says, crossing her fingers that you won’t press more, “I promise.” Your eyes give her a once over before you nod and turn back towards the house. She pipes up again, trying to ease the guilt of not being able to spill the beans, “no kiss?”
You laugh from your spot at the front door, calling over your shoulder, “you can come collect when you get home, ditcher.”
At her mother’s she is given the creation already wrapped since it was “perfect” and looking would be “questioning the genius at work,” so she doesn’t peek, knowing her mother adored you too much to have screwed this up. Pulling into the driveway, she moves quickly to not gain your attention, slipping inside to run upstairs before the door even shuts. She hides the box in the spare bedroom closet, praying that you won’t feel the need to remake the whole bed over the weekend.
As she descends and joins you back in the kitchen, she sees your rigid posture as you stand over the stovetop. Soup. You always make soup when you’re sad, always watching it simmer and bubble, stirring near constant like the spoon is pushing your thoughts around and not the vegetables. Before she can wrap herself around you, you’re already turned to the side with an arm out, inviting her into your embrace. Melissa quickly accepts, taking the moment to bury herself in your neck, holding your waist tight as one of your hands rests on her back, the other still stirring.
“What happened at lunch?” she asks from her hiding place, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.
Your blunt nails scratch her upper back as you speak, “Tamika gave me a card and was telling me all about her Christmas plans this year.” There it was. Tamika lived with her grandparents, and Melissa remembers from when she was her student that the girl was very close with her grandfather, always talking about their weekend adventures. You sigh as you play with amber waves, “I just needed time to cool down before I came to lunch. If I came in crying, I would probably still have Janine glued to my hip right now.”
Melissa just squeezes you tighter, “text me next time, won’t you? I could’ve been there for you, you don’t have to do this ‘suffer in silence’ bullcrap.”
“I know-”
“I don’t wanna hear it. You need me, you get me. Got it?” Despite her serious words, her tone is soft, telling you that she means every word, and that these words are coming from her heart.
“Yes ma’am,” you mumble, kissing her hair as she tucks into you more.
—
Christmas Eve at the Schemmenti house was loud, very, very loud. Melissa’s eyes were drawn to you every few minutes, gauging your reactions and facial expressions, knowing full well you’ll put on a face for everyone else that only she can see through. Her heart beat speeds up as she sees no sign of anything on your face as the nieces and nephews are practically climbing you like a jungle gym, all vying for your uninterrupted attention. When Giorgia finally allows everyone into the kitchen again, you enter with Michael over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, plopping him into his booster seat as he giggles and squirms.
Falling into your designated seat in between the toddler and Melissa, you’re met immediately with a hand squeezing your thigh. You can feel the silent question in her touch, responding with your own squeeze of her hand, an answer telling her that yes, you’re okay. Giorgia captures your attention as she passes the bolognese over to you, but Melissa’s eyes stay on you and the crinkles around your eyes.
“Bambino,” Girogia says later on, pulling your eyes away from the kids playing together, “you’ve barely touched the tiramisu, I know it’s your favorite. Not even a second slice?” Leave it to Giorgia to ask you how you are without actually saying the words.
“Ma,” Melissa begins to warn, but stops as your hand falls on top of her on the table.
“I’m okay, mamma,” you say with a little smile at her concern, “I just don’t wanna eat too much of one thing and not get to enjoy the rest.” Unconvinced, but knowing not to pry, she cuts out another square of the desert and puts it on your plate. There is no room for refusal, so you dig your fork in and pray to whoever may be watching that neither woman notices your hand shaking. As the kids open their singular gifts for Christmas Eve, there’s a notable lack of smile on your face, unless one of the kids is looking right at you. The smile seems to come out easiest for them, but Melissa can see how quickly it falls once the attention is gone. She wonders if you’ve been doing the same around her when she’s been able to get a smile from you the last few days.
Everyone began leaving shortly after, most of the kids getting tired and cranky. Though she was half asleep in her father’s arms, Nicolette made a point to drag herself over to you to hug tightly before she left, barely wanting to let go. Vinny has to pry her off of you with a promise that she’ll see you in a week for New Year’s, though you end up having to give her a pinky promise to seal the deal. Melissa thinks that may have been the most you’ve smiled in months.
Once the kids and cousins are all gone, the redhead allows herself to drape across you, mumbling into your ear, “ready to go home?” She gets a nod as a response, your eyes shutting as you bask in her touch for a few selfish seconds. Saying goodbye to Giorgia, though never a want, was a must by the end of the night, your off-behavior making it that two Schemmenti women had eagle eyes set on you. Two big kisses to the cheek and a ciao set you free from the house, Melissa’s hand only ever disconnects from yours as you get into the car.
That night, Melissa and you lay in bed watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas while you braided little sections of her hair, releasing them and rebraiding every few minutes. Your fingers trailed from her hair for her forehead, gently gliding down to her chin to tilt her face up towards you. Her lips stretch into a smile as she watches you look down at her in adoration, eyes soft and searching over her face. Leaning over her in your lap, you relish in her smile growing at the sudden closeness.
She pushes up, pressing her lips to your shortly. Sitting up and turning to face you, she kissed you again, pushing you back into the pillows. Melissa’s hands gripped your hips while yours came to her face, thumbs gently caressing her warm skin. Whining as she pulls away becomes laughter when she presses kisses across your face, settling a last kiss to your lips.
You stay cupping her face as you take your turn to stare up at her. In a quiet voice, as if you were afraid to ruin the moment, you say, “I’m sorry for being such a downer lately.”
A kiss to your cheek, “you’re not a downer, you’re grieving. It just feels different this year and it sucks. You can be all sad, and I get to hug and spoil you without you complaining about it.”
“Name one time I complained about you kissing me, I’ll wait,” you say with fake indignation, before she can answer, you cut her off, “you can’t, don’t even try.” When she laughs, you feel it as you still hold her face, staring up at her dumbfounded.
“What?” she asks when she notices that difference in your gaze.
Your thumb brushes over her bottom lip, catching slightly, “I just love you so, so much.”
“I love you, too,” her lips press to your thumb. Her eyes shift to the clock on her nightstand, 12:02 AM stares back at her, “merry Christmas, baby.”
Your only response is pulling her down to kiss her again.
—
The sun wasn’t even up yet, why the fuck did she think this was a good idea?
The better part of the early morning was spent desperately searching how to get her laptop connected to the TV, and God forbid the sound works one of these times. Melissa is just about to scream into a throw pillow before the screen lit up and the tester video finally played through the speakers. She got her present for you all situated, wondering how the ones for her got there without you waking her up, she’d both fallen asleep and woken up on top of you. After what felt like six hours but was only two, she slowly moves upstairs to wake you up, but is met with you groggily sitting up in bed.-
“I’m surprised you’re up already,” she says as she moves closer to you, her arms raising to rest on your shoulders. Your own go around her waist, pulling her in until she’s straddling your lap, hands pushing under her shirt to warm against her torso.
“It was too quiet, no one was snoring in my face,” you mumble, smile stretching across before wincing as she smacks your shoulder, “you wound me, I may never recover.”
She can’t hide her laugh, “if this ends with you saying the cure is taking my shirt off, it is too fucking cold in here and you can stay wounded.”
“I thought you loved me,” you huff as you flop back down on the bed.
Melissa leans over you, “would breakfast and presents work?”
“She really does love me,” you say with a giggle as you push up to kiss her quickly before patting her thigh to ease her off of you.
When you walk downstairs, you almost completely walk past the TV without noticing half your family on the screen, waving as they see you. Nearly jumping out of your skin makes them laugh, but your attention goes to Melissa. She just points at the laptop, showing you that the call is live, that your family is sorta-here for the holiday. There’s heavy effort that goes into making sure you don’t start crying on the spot, overwhelmed by the work that you know Melissa put into getting everyone on the call together.
“Merry Christmas guys,” you say, waving at your nephews as they start cramming into the camera, desperately trying to reach you through the screen.
“Aunt Mellie said we surprising you,” the oldest one yells, grinning with a front tooth growing in.
You smile, hands almost reaching like you wanted to grab him, “oh, you did, you totally did, buddy.” Turning back to Melissa you walk into her opening arms, needing to express the love for her that felt like Coke and Mentos in your chest. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmur into her neck as she sways you from left to right.
The rest of the morning is spent watching the kids open their presents from you and Melissa on the video call, listening to your cousins, aunts, and uncles update you on everything, and staring at Melissa as she talked easily with your family. She’s so good with them, and more importantly, they’re good with her, most of the little kids already prefer her to you anyways. Who are you to complain, you already know she’s the best.
When everyone hangs up, the tears in your eyes are no longer sad, but happy, carefree. Melissa put an arm around your shoulders, “have a good morning, hon?”
“You did all that for me,” it’s not really a question, moreso a statement of disbelief.
She nods, “I got one more thing, even though it does break the ‘only a stocking’ rule.” Your face screams unimpressed, she’s the one who said if it couldn’t fit in a stocking, neither of you could get it for the other. Before you can argue she amends her statement, “there was no purchase involved, cross my heart.” That seems to get the irritation off your face.
From behind the tree, she pulls out a box in ice blue wrapping paper, paper you recognized from her mother’s house. You eye her carefully, but her face gives nothing away, only the fidgeting of her sleeves says that this was a big deal to her. Carefully, you undo every piece of tape, pulling out a which box. Melissa’s hand urges you to open the box, nodding at you even though her eyes stay trained on the lid until your hand begins to open it.
In the box is a teddy bear, a worn-maroon color, tortoise shell buttons for eyes. Your thumb runs over the fabric, eyes flicking across it as the bear starts to feel familiar. Raising it to your nose and inhaling, there’s a lingering scent of wood and shoeshine, and this indescribable smell that brought you back to hanging clothes on the line at your grandparents house. It was his shirt, it was your grandfather’s lucky shirt. He’d worn this shirt the day you were born, when each of the grandkids graduated high school or college, and to every anniversary date with grandma.
Tears fall down your cheeks freely. Looking up at Melissa, she seems unsure of what to do, finding it hard to look at you while you look at the bear. Flying out of your seat, you launch yourself at Melissa, knocking her backwards onto the couch, “thank you. Thank you so much. This is so... you’re too perfect, thank you.”
“I’m glad you like it,” she answers as she holds you to her tightly.
“I love it,” you press a kiss to her skin. You trace your finger over the stitching on the arm, recognizing the pattern, “did your mom do this?”
“She did. I called your aunt and asked her to send a shirt, and gave it to Ma at a dinner a few weeks ago to make into a bear or rabbit or whatever she could with the material,” Melissa clears her throat, “this way, you can give the old man a hug whenever you need one.” The sincerity and adoration in her gift, her words, her actions, were all too much. She felt a choked sob against her as fresh tears fell, mutterings of I love you from both of you.
The cocoa on the table went cold, the breakfast she was going to make completely forgotten. Melissa was never one to care this much about what she got from or gave to other people during the holidays, truthfully she threw out almost everything anyone by you or Barbara gave her, save for the pencils from her students. Sure the novelty items were great, and the scratch tickets weren’t bad either, but she liked the look on your face seeing that bear more than anything she’d ever get.
This was everything. You in her arms, holding onto her, kissing her face everywhere as the appreciation and love for her overflowed into the living room. Nothing else has or will ever matter as much as this, as much as you with her in this moment.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” she whispers into the space between you.
“Merry Christmas, gorgeous,” you answer, closing that space.
happy holidays my angels, love u all ❄️
as always, feedback appreciated <3
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"Hey, cheer up!" (Squealing Santa 2k23)
fandom: TUA
ler!allison, lee!five
prompt: "hey, cheer up!"
hello @atlascozynook !! i was your secret santa this year! hope you enjoy! this would've been done much earlier but i am a horrible procrastinator lol.
fun fact, this is 1500 words exactly! anyways. merry christmas and happy holidays!
warnings: bad coping mechanisms (drinking), but nothing super crazy. five only gets slightly drunk.
The smell of chicken filled the first floor of the house and Mom’s humming lilted softly from the kitchen. For a family as dysfunctional as the Hargreeves, it was peaceful.
Sort of.
Just through the door, in the main living room, Klaus tackled Diego from a bar stool for no clear reason, and Allison was seconds away from pulling out a camera to watch Diego get beaten by a skinny hippie.
Klaus grabbed Diego’s side and squeezed his ribs, Diego yelped and tried to roll away from him. Allison hadn’t seen Diego, or any of them laugh like that in years, it had been even longer since they had all gotten semi-along. It was nice to see them act more like a family unit, even if it was loud.
Luther leaned into her side from where she was sitting on the couch, “Should we… stop them?”
Allison almost snorted and took a sip from her wine glass, “No, let them wrestle it out. It’s good for them.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but Mom poked her head out from the door and called them in for dinner. Klaus climbed off a giggling Diego and ran towards the kitchen. Allison huffed a laugh and downed the last of her wine before following.
Before she could sit at the table next to Klaus, Mom’s cold hand touched her shoulder, she jumped and Mom gave her an apologetic smile, “Do you know where Five is, dear?”
She shook her head, “No, but I can go find him.”
Mom nodded and wiped her spotless hands on her apron, “Would you?” When Allison nodded her head and pushed her chair back in, Mom gave her a small but warm feeling smile, the one that meant she was showing appreciation, “Thank you, sweetheart.”
~
Five felt shitty.
He felt shitty quite a bit, less than he did before he found his way home, but somehow days like this still managed to worm their way into his life.
The apocalypse was over, the world was saved, his family was safe, everything was good. Even his fucking siblings, who have historically disliked each other and have gone out of their way to avoid each other, were getting along. Logically, everything was as good as it could be.
So, why did Five feel so awful all the time? He had no fucking idea, but he also didn’t want to spend his time trying to figure out why, he just wanted to not feel like shit. And he, just as any man who feels shitty does, grabbed a bottle of vodka and brought it to his room to drink himself into oblivion.
However, he forgot that his fourteen-year-old body was not meant to hold this much alcohol.
The bottle was only a fifth gone, but he was already very decently drunk. His vision was slightly blurry, and everything moved just a little too fast for his eyes to keep up. He wasn’t sleepy yet, but enough time and he’d be passed out on the floor.
Overall, he felt better than he had in days.
Five looked up towards the door to see Allison leaning in the doorway. Her flowery dress caught his eye, the leftover swaying from her walking was enamoring. The colors flowed into each other and yet were so far apart. Allison bent down at the knee to his level.
“You alright there, Five?”
He inhaled sharply, being pulled out of his color fueled haze, “What?”
Allison furrowed her brows in concern, “I asked if you were okay? You were staring off into space and you look drunk.”
He snorted without meaning to and Allison’s concerned look turned into one of amusement. Five waved his hand, “I’m fine. Drunk… but that’s probably why I’m fine.”
She moved to sit next to him, she picked up the bottle and examined the leftover contents, she downed back a small gulp of the bottle and winced. Dad’s old alcohol always had a bit more of a bite, “Mom wanted me to find you for dinner.”
Five barely held back his complaint, “I’m not hungry.” He slurred slightly.
“Just come downstairs for a few minutes, eat something, and then you can come back up here and drink.”
Allison put the bottle down and it clanked against the ground, Five leaned against her shoulder and his head fell back against the bed, “Just tell her I’m… fucking… sleeping or something.”
He could feel her roll her eyes, “Come on, cheer up a bit, Five. Come sit with us just for a bit?”
“I’m drunk. I’m not going to be very fun to be around.” Five said with a slur to his words. In all honesty, he’d probably be quite pleasant compared to his normal demeanor, the alcohol took an edge off and having Allison to talk to was fun; talking to his siblings in general sounded fun. He missed being able to talk to people when he was in the apocalypse.
Allison smiled and pinched his side, “Come o- What was that?”
Five giggled when she pinched his side, he curled into himself slightly, suddenly feeling a bit more sober, “Fuck you, it was nothing.”
Her smile grew into something more playfully sinister, “Are you sure? Sounded like something?” She punctuated her words with more pinches to his side. Five tried to ignore her, but the alcohol loosened his senses. He snorted and covered his mouth with his hand.
Five glanced over towards the door and tried to beeline for it, but he stumbled over his foot and Allison followed him as he landed in the doorway. She straddled his hips, and her hands went for his waist. Five tried and failed to grab her hands, a giggle rising in his throat, he glared.
“I will hurt you, I swear to God, Alihihisohon!”
She wormed her fingers into Five's ribs, squeezing along his sides. Five bucked against her hands and tried to grab her wrists. A snort broke from his throat as Allison went for his underarms. Five slammed his arms down, effectively trapping her hands there.
Five screeched, "Ouhuhuht! Ouhuhuhut!!!"
His voice went up an octave when she reached back to squeeze his left knee. His hands moved from trying to grab hers and went to cover his face. If he was a bit less drunk, he would've been better at hiding the childish laughter, but he hadn't had the forethought.
Not that he fully minded this, he thought. It felt... nice to laugh like this.
It was probably the vodka.
Who knows, really.
Ticklish shocks shot through his system, Allison was plenty strong enough to hold him down, especially at his current size, so he bucked, he snorted into his hands and a small flush flooded his face.
Allison grinned, "You okay there, Five?" She asked through his laughing.
If he were able to glare, he would have given her the sharpest glare he could muster, but all he could do was respond with more laughter.
"Just come downstairs and eat, Five." She added.
"ShuhuUHUT UHUP-!"
She squeezed a particularly bad spot on his knee, and he kicked his legs up and-
"...Ow."
-and hit Allison square in the back.
Her face was one of shock, but not pain. She gasped as if offended, "Well, that was just rude, Five."
The alcohol in his system stopped him from having any kind of filter whatsoever, so he did about the dumbest thing one could do in his situation.
He laughed at her.
Allison's playful grin returned and before Five could blink her hands were back on his knees. He squealed.
Legitimately squealed.
She fluttered over his kneecaps to try and give him a slight break, "Now will you come downstairs?"
Five didn't respond, he was too stuck in his giggle fit to even think of giving an answer that wasn't a laugh. Allison raised an eyebrow and went back to his knees with vigor. He started going after her hands again.
"YEHEHES YEHES! JUHUHUST STOAOAHAP!"
Allison removed her hands and climbed off him, allowing him several minutes to catch his breath. She stood up and offered him her hand. He pulled himself up and refused to look her directly in the eye. She snorted.
"You okay?"
He wiped off the dust on his shorts, he felt a bit more sober than he did before and scoffed, "Never mention... any of that, to anyone ever."
He could hear her eye roll but didn't feel the need to call her out on it, to be fair, he felt much better than he did before, and this time it wasn't because of the alcohol. She grabbed the vodka bottle to return to Dad's old stash.
"Or...?"
He glared at her, a small smile he hoped she couldn't see tugging at his lips, "Or I'll kill you, obviously."
He walked out the door and down the stairs with Allison and pretended he didn't hear her sarcastic affirmation.
God, he really was glad to be back.
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