The festive season was pleasantly low-key.

Brendan seemed to have gotten the message about backing off because he stopped harassing them as much. He still had a list of things to do every day, but if Laurel said no, he left it without trying to persuade her otherwise. And, much to Christian’s surprise, Laurel didn’t always say no. In the privacy of his own head he called it a Christmas miracle, because he knew if he dared to voice it out loud, Laurel might skin him.

The remainder of their break passed with a bit more relaxation than Christian had been allowed before because of Brendan’s near constant forays into the outside world. Christian finally got to sit on the couch for six hours straight, getting properly involved in “Lord of the flies” for the third time. It didn’t matter that most of his personal library consisted of books he knew almost by heart. Christian found a wonderful comfort in being able to return to the same characters again and again, enjoying the words more because he knew them. Brendan found it bizarre. But then, Brendan didn’t read.

The first time Brendan had spent the day indoors with them, he had obviously expected them to surface eventually. After three hours he muttered disbelievingly to himself and left, only to return 30 minutes later with groceries. While he cooked, Christian and Laurel carried on reading. In contrast, Laurel made a monumental effort to include Brendan, which meant that she might ask his opinion on what movies to watch. And somehow it became an acceptable equilibrium. Christian was happy to straddle both worlds, but happier to stay on the periphery of their sibling relationship, still unsure of what was really going on there.

The weekend before classes started again, Brendan was trying to fix the feet on their couch. One of the feet had always been cracked, and when Brendan had landed on it with all his 216 lb, the hairline fissure had given in and the cheap plastic block snapped right in two.

“I think it’s probably better just to take all four of them off.” He muttered, crouched low on the floor so he could see it.

“If you hadn’t body slammed onto the couch, you wouldn’t have to remove any.” Laurel said from the kitchen, but her tone had lost most of its catty bite. It was just run of the mill sibling banter. “You still haven’t apologised.”

“I’m not going to apologise because a shitty couch proved that it was shitty couch.”

“It’s a fantastic couch. That couch hugs you right back.”

“I’m removing the feet.”

Things had gotten more civilised between Brendan and Laurel, if not warm. It was a pleasant change. Christian watched Brendan turn the couch on its back without even a grunt at the effort. He started loosening the large screws with his fingers, then cursed. He turned to Christian.

“What are the chances you guys have a tool kit?”

Christian pretended to think. “Three guesses, the first two don’t count.”

Brendan shook his head. “Right. I’ll be back.” he said, walking to the door, grabbing his coat on the way. Christian didn’t bother stopping him, or pointing out that neither he nor Laurel cared so much about the couch that he should go out into the cold to get something to fix it.

“He’s like ‘Brother Bear’.” He said out loud, when the door shut.

“What?”

“You now, the Disney movie. Guy gets turned into a bear and he has to look after a little bear.”

Laurel gave him a strange look. “Are we talking about movies or bears?”

“I’m talking about Brendan. He’s always trying to look after us, like brother bear.” He clarified. “Why does he do that?”

Laurel came to lean against the window sill he was sitting on. He had moved there when the couch cracked, and it was wide enough for him to sit comfortably, if he bent his knees. His book was closed on the sill beneath his legs.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think I even noticed before you pointed it out.” She sipped her coffee. “Or maybe he never did it before we moved here.”

Christian didn’t reply to that, sure that Laurel would end up finishing her thought out loud anyway. She did that much more now as a result of her chosen course of study. It was easier to think through things out loud, and Christian was a good sounding board, since he rarely interrupted.

“I think it started because he was lonely. Maybe it has gained momentum because he’s bored. Who knows?” she shrugged . “On to more important things: have you texted Jazz?”

Christian looked down and shook his head. He hadn’t seen Jazz since the market. And he hadn’t texted, still too chicken to connect so irrevocably to someone. Giving someone your number was giving them access. It would make Jazz more real. And he wanted that as much as he was daunted by it.

“Chris, are you going to?”

Chris took a deep breath. “I want to.”

“So do it.”

“I don’t even know what to say. It’s going to look so bad, just to say ‘hi’ after I’ve ignored him for three weeks.”

“No it won’t. All you need to do is say ‘Hi, I’ve been in Mexico. How’s life?’”

Christian grinned weakly at her. Laurel was looking at him with concern, but also something rarer: fondness.

“Laurel…I don’t know. Should I?”

Laurel gazed pensively into her coffee cup. After a moment she spoke. “Christian, I know it’s hard. But you can’t go through the rest of your life being a ghost. Life is about putting yourself out there, no hiding in the background.”

Christian curled his hands briefly into the soft flannel of his pyjama pants, which he had been wearing all day, then let go.

“I know. You’re right.”

“I’m always right.” She replied, pushing herself away from the wall, and picking up her book (War and Peace) from the kitchen counter. She looked back at him. “It’ll be ok, Chris. It’s just a text. You’re not signing away your soul.”

As she retreated to the comfort of her bedroom, Christian got up, and went to find his phone. He seldom kept it on him. It was as basic as they came. His Aunt had given it to him as gift for college, the gesture had been strange, doing things a normal family would do like buying gifts. As far as he could remember, she had never given him anything, other than a roof over his head.

He stared at Hiro Jazz’s name for a long time. Then brought up the message screen.

Chris: Hey, this is Christian. Remember me?

The reply came back almost instantly.

Jazz: I certainly do ☺ how could I forget?

Christian deliberated an age before replying.

Chris: Sorry about the long silence. He hit ‘send’ before realising that didn’t sound like a complete sentence.

Jazz: It’s ok. I was wondering if I did something wrong?

Chris: No! I just don’t do text. I prefer face to face interaction.

Jazz: Are you asking me on a date?

How it was possible that he could blush when no one had even said a word to him, Christian had no idea.

Chris: I wasn’t, but I want to.

Christian found it was a lot easier to flirt over text message. In reality, he would have been a hot puddle on the floor by now.

Jazz: Should I wait? I don’t know if I can wait.

Christian felt his smile bending the skin on his cheeks.

Chris: Well, I’ve never been on a date. Any suggestions, so I don’t make a fool of myself?

Jazz: You must be joking. Not one date?!

Chris: Nope. Sorry.

This time there was a slight pause.

Jazz: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that as an insult. I just can’t believe someone as beautiful as you hasn’t been on even one date.

Christian shifted on his bed, so that his slippered feet were planted firmly on the ground. So that he wouldn’t fall off it and make a total fool of himself, even though no one was there to see it.

Chris: Its ok, I know it’s weird. Not that I’m anything special. So, date ideas?

Christian typed fast, but his thumbs were clumsy and he kept having to delete and retype words.

Jazz: Nothing special? You have no clue… ok, idea: are you going to ‘Out and Proud.’?

Christian knew about ‘Out and Proud’. It was basically a gay pride festival held on campus. He had seen the posters up, and knew it was due to happen in the first week of semester. He hadn’t planned on going at all, not really relishing the idea of the loud people and busy crowds. He had no desire to advertise his sexuality either.

But now, Jazz. Well.

Chris: Maybe.

Jazz: well if you do, maybe I’ll see you there. My band is playing at the after party.

Chris: Text you then ☺

Christian held the phone, staring at the conversation, and rereading it, just to make sure he hadn’t completely failed at text flirting. Then he slid off of his mattress and all but ran to Laurel’s room. When she saw him standing in the doorway, he handed the phone wordlessly to her. She took it and immediately started swiping at the screen, her own book cast aside and forgotten. As he watched her go through the conversation, a slow, cheeky smile grew on her face. Eventually she met his eyes and handed the phone back.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Told you to go with Mexico.”

“Not helping!”

Laurel chuckled. “Relax, it was fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Geez, breathe in before you pass out.”

Christian stood still in the doorway, arms crossed. The dopey grin came sneaking back, and he left before Laurel could see.