content warning: drug use (weed)

word count: 498

Manolo watches Javier's fingernails, grime-tipped and shining, as they pinch at the thin sheet of paper. It's tucked and sealed with a slow drag of his tongue, given a firm twist, then lit - the smoke from his joint curls into the frigid black sky and they find themself feeling more relaxed than they have in weeks.

"What are the kids doing?" He asks between puffs. Out stretches his hand, blunt sitting pretty between those dirty, calloused fingers. They take a sip. The smoke clings to their rib cage and they flutter their eyelids with a soft exhale; long lashes fanned across frost-chewed skin. Weightless.

Tilting their head, they gesture towards a window through which Gabe and Mariana can be seen playing cards; euchre, if the grin spread across Gabe's face is any indication. The kids are blanketed in a soft glow, courtesy of lights that'd been less than perfectly strung about the living room floor. They were excited to find the Christmas decor tucked away in the homeowners' attic - their crumpled bodies, less so. Manolo tries to take solace in knowing they'd gone out on their own terms.

Next to the lights, an assortment of plush snowmen (now lovingly warming Mariana's lap) and some candy cane shaped ceramics. Cute, but fragile; they'd attract muertos if broken, so the survivors let them be. There were ornaments but these, too, were left alone on account of a nonexistent tree.

"Feels good to get a break from the car," Javier chuffs, "but man, it's fucking freezing."

Manolo hums. It is fucking freezing. Their hands travel the waistband of his jeans to his blood-crusted back pockets, hooking in the stiff fabric and tugging him close. A little warmer, they hope.

And it must be, because Javier grins, lifts his free hand to the puffy skin that cradles their eyes, thumbs at the ache in kind. "Y'know, I think we missed Christmas," he says, "but it's worth it, watching the kids put all that shit up. I haven't seen a tree ornament in years."

"Mhmm." A pause. "New Year's, too."

"New Year's was always fun. Flew into Times Square one year to watch the ball drop."

"Y'all make resolutions?"

A fleeting shadow passes over his face and they almost regret mentioning it (God, everything holds bad memories for someone these days) before it passes and he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, mamá did. David 'n pa, though… y'know, me, I could’ve - should've taken mine more seriously."

"... most people didn't, Javi."

"Yeah."

Javier brings the blunt to his mouth, deeply inhaling. The fumes fill the pocket of his lungs and burn his throat—suddenly he's choking and sputtering, his teeth carving the smoke into a kind of jagged haze in the sky. He throws his head back and laughs, he laughs till tears come down his face. So they laugh, and tug him by his belt loops, and they say:

"Let's go back in before you hurt yourself, dummy."

Javier breathes, "Fucking cold," and follows them inside.