#I came super late to reblog this sorry ToT

[itwillbeall-dwight]

christmas (calm) spirit

Meg Thomas & Dwight Fairfield & Claudette Morel & Jake Park; implied/referenced dwake + megdette; christmas; post canon; 1455 words

a/n: A SUPER LATE SECRET SANTA GIFT FOR THE WONDERFUL AND AMAZING @dwhatsup​ !!!!!! please forgive me for dragging my heels on this one jackie, but hey, happy new year, right? hope this will do you well!

let it be known they’re all wearing their christmas cosmetics but i was not willing to write about jake’s bare feet, i’m not strong enough for that.

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror/kofi in the reblogs!

Preview: It had been months since the fog had dissipated, and life had tried to return to normal, and even now some wounds had still not fully closed - both literally and metaphorically. The littlest noises could startle, sounds of snapping twigs and crunching leaves that had once given Jake comfort digging a pit in his stomach with a 0-to-60 response, making the cold winter in the cabin that he had once looked forward to and welcomed feel all too off for him to enjoy, the snow reminding him too much of the way crawling in the snow of the Ormond resort made him feel - bleeding from his back, cold and alone as he dug his nails into the dirt. In short, not good. ...So when a letter showed up at his doorstep that invited him back tot he city, the paper written on in a familiar, nervous chicken scratch, he did what was once unthinkable - he packed a bag, and waited at the bus stop to return to the city.

The snow sat light and fluffy on the windowsill outside, untouched and undisturbed, unlike the snow that had turned to ice and sludge on the street outside, or the very same snow that stuck under boots and melted on the doormats of cozy, lively apartments. More snow fell in front of the window, too, dancing down from a dark sky and mingling among the lights of the city, festive or not. The night was alive with something magical, and it was absolutely electric - much different to the holidays he’d been used to, up until now. Nowhere near as alone, nor as cold.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts, sitting up straight with a tenseness of surprise in his back as he pressed it against the chair he’d brought to the window. Tired eyes looked up to the kind face that smiled down at him.

“I thought you like some cocoa,” Claudette gave him one of the mugs she held, one adorned with festive racoons (had she done that on purpose?), before pulling up a chair from the nearby table to sit with him. “You doing OK, Jake?”

He nursed the mug in his lap, feeling the warmth from it and the way the heat floated up and hit his face, swallowing before nodding. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

The botanist crossed one leg over the other, watching as he looked back to the window, following his gaze to the falling snow, and the sparse streets below them on the cold December evening. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Jake hummed, taking a slow drink from the mug, using it to gesture to the window as he pulled it away from his mouth. “S’peaceful. Fluffy.”

“Right.”

“If it wasn’t cold as hell, I’d probably just lay there.”

She laughed, smoothing down one side of her skirt, meeting his eyes as she looked up to him, a somewhat knowing smile on her face. “You say this like you happen to have some experience, lying in the snow.”

He paused, shrugging his shoulders, speaking over his mug before he took another slow drink. “You could say that, yeah.”

It had been months since the fog had dissipated, and life had tried to return to normal, and even now some wounds had still not fully closed - both literally and metaphorically. The littlest noises could startle, sounds of snapping twigs and crunching leaves that had once given Jake comfort digging a pit in his stomach with a 0-to-60 response, making the cold winter in the cabin that he had once looked forward to and welcomed feel all too off for him to enjoy, the snow reminding him too much of the way crawling in the snow of the Ormond resort made him feel - bleeding from his back, cold and alone as he dug his nails into the dirt. In short, not good. ...So when a letter showed up at his doorstep that invited him back tot he city, the paper written on in a familiar, nervous chicken scratch, he did what was once unthinkable - he packed a bag, and waited at the bus stop to return to the city.

He and Claudette carried on talking by the window, their quiet pleasantries contrasted with the commotion one room over, cries of despair and celebration mixing and growing in volume, though not to the point where it could be ignored. That was until the two of them had to pause, as a loud “Yeah, suck it!” rang from the room with the door wide open (followed by a quiet clatter and panicked whispers). The two of them looked at one another, exchanging a small smile, and a silent agreement to check inside.

Claudette poked her head around the doorway, now empty mug still in hand. “What on earth are you two doing?”

Sitting on the floor behind the coffee table, both Meg and Dwight looked up - the former looking stunning still in her party attire from her short college gathering (“Of course I’d bail those losers to come hang with you guys!” she’d said as she came through the door and made herself more than at home.), and the latter looking… very unique, still wearing the ef costume given to him as compulsory work uniform for the holiday season, too tired to take it off before his friends arrived at his apartment. Meg looked up sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders up to her ears, damp end of the blanket draped over her shoulders still in hand as it hovered over the suspicious stain on the carpet. “Uh… happy accident?”

“...Do you need towels?

“I.. yeah. Yes, please.” She used the couch she was leaning on to push herself to her feet, picking up the knocked over mug and taking a small jump over the cocoa stain before she jogged out of the door, sidestepping Jake as he moved to let the girls pass, daring to shoot him a knowing look he didn’t see as he came in.

The survivalist took a seat on the sofa in front of where Meg once was, watching as Dwight sighed and took off the elves hat, placing it on his lap. “Losing?”

“Badly. How do you get this good at racers?” Dwight gestured an exasperated open palm to the TV, the results screen on full display - guest account in first, home console in sixth.

“It’s Meg. That should be enough of an answer.”

“...Right. She runs on competitiveness and spite. Almost forgot.”

Jake hummed a chuckle, which the former leader (it was still so weird to call him former, even now - after all, he’d brought them all together again, didn’t he?) joined in with. There was a moment of silence in which Jake looked at his hands, before looking up to see the eyes staring back at him. “...What?”

“S-sorry, just… it’s nice to see you so… relaxed. You’re smiling. That’s nice.” Dwight paused, seeming to slowly take in what he had said, before tensing and tripping over himself in a correction. “Not that- you don’t look nice normally, I just think that-”

“Dwight.”

“Y-yeah?”

“You’re fine.”

The blatant reassurance was something he was used to from jake, and welcomed, almost, as it was enough to get him to relax his shoulders and swallow a nervous loud, though the redness in his face remained as he looked down, playing with the joysticks of the controller in his lap. “Thanks for, uh, coming, by the way.”

Jake blinked. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I-I, well… maybe? You haven’t gotten alone time in… a while. A long while, actually.”

He tilted his head, analysing the focus on Dwight’s face for a moment, the way his brows seemed to furrow at the task he’d seemed to make up to keep himself occupied. “Yeah, I suppose. I think I realised I… didn’t like it as much as I thought it did.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah. Sometimes you miss the things you don’t know you had.”

Dwight stopped, slowly looking up again to watch the way Jake smiled again, slight and self-aware, enough to make him smile back and let out a breathy laugh of relief before he ran his hands over the controller again. He paused once more, a wave of realisation washing over his face, eyes tracing over to the second controller Meg had left on the coffee table. “Hey, wanna play?”

“What?” He followed the gaze to the table. “No, I can’t-”

“I-I’m sure Meg won’t mind. Come on, you can’t kick my ass any worse than she didn’t, right?”

Jake swallowed, hesitating for a moment as he glanced back to the soft and hopeful look the other man, his friend, gave him, before looking back to the controller. After a few more moments of silence, he reached forward, trying not to pay attention to the subtle (or not so subtle) celebration in his peripherals.

They played the game together, even getting somewhat competitive, though to levels nowhere close to their athlete friend, who, at some point, returned with damp towels and a lipstick mark on her cheek that she ‘forgot’ to wipe away. As she got down on her knees to clean the mess on the carpet, Claudette gently took a seat on the armrest beside Jake, commentating as the two concentrated, and soon all four of them exchanged jokes and laughs between one another, as, finally, Dwight found his victory to great personal triumph, and a cheer rang throughout the room. All the while, the snow continued to fall outside, sitting undisturbed by the windowsill.

Fog and mist slowly rolled in with the evening chill, though it was a different fog than before. It was a fog that couldn’t hurt them, anymore. Not now they were together.