Jogan fluff to balance out the angst being thrown at them :) Also, I’m sick and allowed to hallucinate about Christmas in April if I want to xP I love this pairing (although I have mixed feelings about Logan) and I adore Julian so this is Julian-centric this time round. Enjoy!
The remains of Christmas are everywhere. Tattered wrapping paper, colours garish against the muted browns of the carpet; chimney soot dusted over fallen beer bottles. A fireplace of white ash, in the place of logs that crumpled beneath insatiable flames mere hours before.
Stuart House is, at present, decisively dark and uninviting. For once its overachieving students abandoned their caffeine and coursework, heading out amidst raucous cheers to celebrate the festive occasion (four part harmony carols, tweedle-spiked punch and a stumble back at seven o’clock in the morning with bleary eyes and aching hangovers). The sole youth standing in the kitchen doorway sighs softly.
Trust their director to agree to hosting a live Christmas Special with the cast of Something Damaged. Between guest performances, interviews, donations and phone in callers, a show that should have been over ‘in no time’, to quote his avid manager, had dragged on a lot longer than expected. So it was that Julian Larson finally rolled up to Dalton’s ornate façade after midnight, wanting nothing more than to sprawl on the couch and curl tiredly around his boyfriend. Instead, he was greeted by the cold linoleum tiles of hallways long abandoned for the night.
The actor pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply as he tries his utmost not to wallow in self pity. He genuinely appreciates his role on the show, and loves his job, but this was going to be his first Christmas officially with Logan and he’d promised the blonde they’d spend it together…his company prospects now seem limited to cold coffee and bad TV reruns. Alone. No matter how many planes you catch or how many awards you accept with a dazzling smile and a charming speech, it seems some traditions never die.
Leaning his forehead against the door jamb, Julian turns away from the kitchen to peer into the shadowy hallway. He can just about make out the tree by the staircase, twinkling softly in the darkness and curling warped shadows across the walls. Even as a young boy there had only ever been one part of Christmas that Larson truly liked.
Back in LA, his parents would plaster on smiles, pretend for a day that the divorce lawyer was not on speed dial, and host hundreds of the crème de la crème for the Christmas party of the year. After an hour or so of forced laughter and stale jokes, Julian would slip away from the painted faces, down the narrow flight of stairs and out into the garden. The paparazzi would be plaguing the front of the house - a wave of frenzied voices and hungry cameras which rolled against the gate. From the back, however, Julian could creep into the yard of the house next door, obscene smears along his crisp white shirt as he crawled on his stomach through the dirty snow. Eventually he would come to rest under the largest of the dozen or so pine trees their smug neighbours insisted on decorating every year.
He would stretch out beneath it, clothes rapidly soaking through with slush, watching the lights blur, spangle and fracture - growing huge, and distorting in his eyes. The colours were his favourite part: a mirage of red and blue and magenta and green and gold against the rich ocean hue of the tree. And the child star would just lie there until the sound of revving limos faded away into the darkness and his blue-lipped form could slip back into the mansion, dripping puddles past the bickering living room, and sneezing up to his bed….Merry Christmas Julian.
Snapping back to the present, standing alone, the brunette cannot tear his eyes from the tree which Bailey had enthusiastically dragged in the week before. A rainbow of colours - almost sparking familiarity - glitter softly against the blue-green boughs, distracting him from the sight of snow beginning to tumble past the window outside.
“Julian..?” Just as he’d decided to head up to sleep (no point in staying up alone, was there?), the familiar, quicksand voice melds him to the floorboards. The youth turns slightly, hardly able to believe the welcome sight of the one person he’s been looking forward to spending time with that night.
“Logan? What are you doing here? I mean, I thought you’d be out with the others..”
Words trail off as the first genuine smile of the day lights up tired features. The blonde merely shrugs in response, the three steps he takes bringing them face to face in the doorway.
“Hoped you’d get back in time”. A mirror smile.
Julian pauses, uncharacteristically quiet as he slowly adjusts to the speeding pulse and clenching butterflies – almost a year together, yet the blonde still makes him feel like a little kid who’s won the biggest stuffed animal at the fair. Instead of speaking, he allows his gaze to rove from green eyes - displaying a kaleidoscope of emotions that change faster than the lights on the tree - to blonde hair, dusted with miniscule snowflakes, and still higher. Ah..was that..? Seriously…? Logan tilts his head slightly to see what the actor is smirking at, amusement ghosting through the space between them. How absolutely, undeniably cliché.
“Mistletoe..” murmurs the blonde and Julian laughs softly as he feels himself being pulled forward. A brief impression of pine trees and snow and damp wool, and a scent that can only be described as Logan, then lips find his and warmly, slowly he is being kissed.
Of course, the brunette does the most sensible thing he can think of, and kisses right back.
Merry Christmas Julian.
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