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lorichu · 11 months ago

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Just Like the Ones I Used to Know

This is my part of a holiday gift exchange @gtypewriter and I did where we chose one of each other's stories and then selected a Christmas song to use as inspiration. I was "given" my characters from The Night Shift, and chose the song White Christmas. The art was a little extra on my part.

Thanks for reading, and happy holidays!

The distant melody of another Christmas song echoed from upstairs, as did his mom and uncle's actually pretty good singing, but John didn't move. It was all just noise to him at this point. A quiet, half-formed thought tried to encourage him to get up and go help them decorate the tree, but his entire body had been carved from a block of cold, numb stone. He slid lower in the booth's faded bench seat. Sitting before him was the equally inert empty cup of coffee he'd originally come down into the shop for, which had been drained and left to cool for some time.

John's blank expression stared at the door. Night had fallen hours ago, bringing with it the soft, hazy glow of a snowstorm. The heavy white powder blanketed the rest of the world, rounding out harsher edges and burying everything in indistinct obscurity. If you didn't already know what to expect under a particular snowbank, you'd have no way of finding out without more than a little digging. Over the past hour or so both the flurries and the wind had picked up. Together they created an intricate dance, swirling and spiraling in the shop's exterior floodlight like they were on stage. Each gust was a delicate maneuver, the entire storm a complex song.

And John was just as numb to that as well.

What did catch his attention was the crunch of snow under tires and the scraping of shovels against the pavement. Outwardly he didn't react to those either, but each one was another little jab at his heart. One more needle slipping under his skin to draw out another pinprick of blood. His body was covered in scars that matched the dried salty trails of slush across the doormat. They were rough and jagged, bright against the dark surface, and were pointless to clean away this time of year. All the scrubbing in the world wouldn't stop them from forming all over again the second someone else walked through the door.

Heavy eyelids slid lower as John continued to not put up a fight to stay present. The chilling cold of the darkened coffee shop had drained away all but the very last of his resolve, leaving him hollow and stained like the inside of his empty mug. Uncomfortable as it obviously was, he wanted to feel the pain. More accurately, he was desperate to feel anything. Each and every day had been a little bit worse than the last, but it was his Uncle Alec's return that finally broke the camel's back. Then and only then had he truly noticed how much of him had gone numb. When he couldn't think of a fix, John decided to lean into it. To really embrace the sensation fully, with both body and soul.

Was that the right choice? Probably not. But, then again, John didn't care. Right here in this moment, however long it had been, was the first time he remembered feeling something that wasn't completely soul crushingly empty.

He slouched lower in the booth so that his shoulder blades touched the seat. The stark emptiness of his mind roared loudly in his ears, and his eyes fluttered that much closer to closing. After spending such a long time dancing around the issue, John was tired. Maybe sleeping down here wasn't that bad of an idea. Sure, his body wouldn't be too happy about it, but it might give him something to help take the pain away.

All the flurries blustering about outside had been a simple distraction to dissociate to, but out of nowhere there was motion in the darkness itself. A sharp silhouette crawled up over the opposite side of the table, moving with more purpose than John had experienced in hours. The shape didn't get too close, but it did speak.

"John?" Lyra's voice was soft and yet somehow managed to cut through the static.

Had he been any more in control of himself John wouldn't have flinched so hard. It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head, snapping him out of the sleepless dreaming that had almost taken him. Scrambling to support himself, John managed to sit upright with a forceful push against the seat, but he still needed a minute to blink the daze out of his eyes.

That acknowledgement was enough of an invitation for Lyra, and she started to slowly inch closer. "Are you alright? You've been down here for a while, and we were... I was getting worried."

Even though his throat felt like it was filled with cobwebs, John's voice managed to find its way out. "I-I," he croaked, "I'm fine."

The shadows falling across Lyra's face couldn't cover up her frown. "Is that so?"

Her anger became a chisel that broke through the icy walls he'd built to barricade himself in. Dropping his hands into his lap, John hung his head. "No..." he sighed. His eyes slid shut, but that was only to stem the incoming flow of tears. "I just, I miss him."

Lyra didn't say a word. She closed the remaining distance between them by walking right up to the edge of the table. For a moment she considered sitting down, but instead chose to stand so she could be as close to John as possible.

A ragged breath filled and left his lungs. "There was so much else going on last year that I didn't really have time to think about it." His eyes opened slowly, seeking her out like a warm fire in the midst of a howling storm. "B-But, but now, all I can see are the empty spaces. All the places he should be, but isn't. And won't ever be, ever again."

Before John realized he'd moved it, his hand was on the table, loosely draped behind Lyra. She didn't appear to be bothered, and even leaned into the touch, making his fingers curl in closer. As a fingertip brushed over her hip, Lyra locked eyes with him. Her expression told him all he needed to know, but it wasn't until she nodded encouragingly that John dared to take things farther. He scooped her up with all the care in the world even though his hands were still trembling. Instead of just lifting her higher John held her to his chest and sunk into the seat again. Lyra relaxed against him, fully content and at ease despite being essentially trapped.

Like the warmth of smoldering embers, Lyra's love melted through another layer of John's walls. "I know Uncle Alec always comes for Christmas," he murmured, "and I'm glad he's here for Mom, but he," John's entire body shuddered, "he just makes the emptiness bigger, because my heart knows it's supposed to be the three of them up there. Laughing, singing, decorating... This is as close to complete as their group can ever be again. Nothing they, or anyone else can do will ever be able to change that."

Burying her face into his shirt, Lyra took a deep breath. "Filling in the blank spaces doesn't make them go away," she agreed. "No matter how much the substitution might check all the right boxes, it just isn't the same."

It was rare for Lyra to ever speak of her many losses, regardless of who was gone or how long it had been. As they'd grown closer together, John had come to accept that some parts of her would always be inaccessible to him. However, that slight peek behind the curtain brought a gentle touch of ease to his grief ravaged heart. These were not hollow condolences given out of obligation. Lyra was empathizing with her entire being by reaching into the darkest places that could only hurt her. She had not come down into the coffee shop to force him back upstairs, but to connect with him in a way only she knew how.

His thumb bent in to lightly rest on the top of her head. "I keep waiting for his car to pull up," John mumbled on. "Like all this time he's just been out helping someone. That happened a lot, especially this time of year." He filled his lungs and exhaled a powerful sigh. "My heart can't stop believing that eventually he's gonna open that door with a laugh and burst of snow, then tease me about w-why I'm down, down here, and n-not ups-stairs..."

Sobs filled his throat, choking out his voice. John curled inward, draping his other hand over Lyra as well and mindfully clutching her to his chest. That messy blur was back and stronger than ever, but now he had the most powerful shield in the world. Lyra was the only thing keeping him sane, his literal last line of defense against the bellowing grief boiling within him. The animalistic desire to wail his overwhelming feelings would do nothing but scream his throat raw. Any release he could get from that would just cause him more pain beyond this instance. By simply being here, in this moment with him, Lyra was protecting him from himself.

Painful as it was to keep speaking, the entire process was oddly cathartic. "A-And, then," John rasped, "then we'd go up there t-together. To Mom and Uncle Alec." As more words came out his throat felt looser. "There'd be a pot of peppermint hot cocoa on the stove, and the same old CD of Christmas music would be playing. First we'd decorate the tree, then the rest of the house, until f-finally we'd come down here to do the shop. When we finished it'd be at least midnight, but everything would look amazing."

The pressure on her hadn't been unbearable, but Lyra wasn't able to actually calm down until it lessened. "That sounds like a lot of fun. What a wonderful tradition." More of John relaxed around her, and she rolled over onto her stomach in an attempt to look him in the eye. "I can confirm that there is hot cocoa brewing, and Pam dug a really banged up CD out of the closet."

After feeling Lyra move, John repositioned so he could see her. Now that he was out of his mind and back in the present, he smelled the faint waftings of peppermint and heard the familiar crooning of a song he'd listened to every year as far back as he could remember. John watched as Lyra settled more comfortably beneath his hand, sharing what little warmth she had with him. The sight of her so perfectly at ease cast a bright but pleasant light on the corners of his mind, chasing the shadows away.

"What do you think about going up there and joining them?" John asked, his stabler voice already sounding more like his normal self.

Lyra's slight frown just barely furrowed her brow. "Are you sure? I don't mind waiting if you need more time."

Shaking his head, John freed his left hand and braced it against the booth seat to sit up. "Don't worry, I'll be alright. Hiding out down here isn't gonna do me any good. Right now, what I really need is-"

The dull crunching of a car plowing through snow turned into the parking lot. They both froze, now suddenly back in John's sorrowful musings, and they held their breath as the extra diffused illumination from headlights shut off. A door opened, then slammed shut with a snow-muted thud. Softer, dampened footsteps marched towards the shop, bringing with them a familiar face just barely visible through the window.

Gently letting Lyra off on the table, John shuffled over to open the door. "Bret?" he muttered as the bundled, snow-dusted figure scrambled inside. "Did I miss a text or something?"

Bret shook his head, sending a small squall into the air as the door was shut behind him. "Nah, your mom invited me." He started unbuttoning his jacket and took off his hat. "If you didn't know I was coming, why were you down here?"

Walking back over to Lyra, John shrugged and rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his hand. "Just needed a little break from the festivities, you know?"

A believable enough lie, but even in the dimmed lighting Bret could see the puffy rings around John's eyes. Despite that truth staring him in the face, he'd happily take the offered bait instead. "You always did say that decorating night could get outta hand," Bret joked. "And actually, this is kinda perfect." His gaze wandered to Lyra, who stiffened up ever so slightly.

"Why's that?" John asked in her place, shifting a little closer to her out of habit.

Not realizing just how much his crypticness was hurting the situation, Bret reached into his jacket's inner pocket. "Because I have something to give Lyra."

It didn't matter that so much time had passed, hearing him say her name like that still gave Lyra chills. She almost started inching closer to John, then immediately thought better of it. 'Don't show him anything's wrong,' she reminded herself. 'Everything can be turned into a weakness. Don't give him any more to take advantage of.'

An entire lifetime of better memories wouldn't be enough to outweigh or erase everything that happened to her at the museum. Lyra knew this, and so did Bret. However, as the one who hadn't been on the receiving end of years of torture, Bret wasn't always as quick to pick up whenever he inadvertently crossed that line. She knew he was trying his best, and the effort was appreciated, but the iron-clad instincts that had kept her alive wouldn't allow even the smallest slight to pass so easily.

When Bret's hand reemerged, it was closed around something small. He looked at Lyra then John before stepping up to the table and extending his arm just as slowly. Fingers pulled away quickly to reveal the little object, and while John was left squinting to figure out what it was, Lyra gasped. "W-Wait... Is that?"

"Your bag," Bret answered. "The one you had when I found you."

Lyra clamped a hand over her mouth and wrapped her other arm across her body. "How? How do you still have this when he asked you to destroy it?"

Bret needed to stabilize his balance by bracing a hand on the table. "Because I forgot." A groveling apology was building up inside of him, but instead of caving to that, he just went on with the story. "Amos wouldn't let me throw it out in his office because that would be too suspicious, so I just put it in my pocket. There was so much else going on that I completely forgot about it until I got home. I needed to stay on Amos's good side to keep my job, so I wanted to wait for the best time to throw it away. Until I found that, I decided to just stash it in my desk drawer... where I forgot about it again."

"I can't believe you kept it," Lyra mumbled, taking a shuffled step forward. This felt so much like a trap, but she just couldn't help herself. "After all this time."

Because she was getting closer, Bret wanted to pull his hand back and move away from the table. Thanks to his momentary indecision though, it looked like he'd missed his chance. 'She's already too close,' he grumbled. 'If I move now, it'll just freak her out. Probably enough that she won't accept it.'

So he stayed rooted in place and watched as the tiny Mintran woman knelt down to reunite with her timeworn pack. Lyra delicately unhooked the latch and drew in a sharp breath when she saw the stash of her old possessions. "It's all here," she murmured. "Everything..." Distant memories of the life that was stolen from her condensed into tears that stung her eyes. A choked down sob rocked her shoulders and her fingers dug into the thick fabric as she hunched lower.

Seconds later her head snapped up. Just as quickly she tossed the bag aside and jumped to her feet. The heavy stares following her weren't enough to stop her from breaking out into a full-on sprint, and she never wavered as she raced over to Bret's hand. She wrapped her arms as far as she could around his wrist and fully leaned into the hug.

"Th-Thank you, Bret," she whimpered, smearing tears over his skin. "You don't know what this means to me."

Now utterly terrified to move, Bret tried to hold his ground. "You're, um, you're welcome." The way she was clinging to him made his mind dredge up images of her begging for her life, which was a habit he'd broken her of long ago. He could hear echoes of mournful cries ripping through her raw throat. Each one dug into him as well to leave a festering scar that would never fully heal. Over time the wound had gotten easier to ignore, but that didn't mean it had stopped hurting.

Her joy couldn't hold her fear back forever though, so Lyra broke the embrace first. She shuffled backwards to the bag, refusing to take her eyes off Bret after voluntarily getting so dangerously close. He remained just as statuesque and didn't appear to take a full breath until she'd reached down to grab the bag.

Lyra offered a timid smile. "Seriously, Bret, thank you."

"Course," he muttered through a similar grin. "Merry Christmas."

The ache that had brought John down into the shop felt like a fading memory of an old nightmare. He hadn't fully recovered, but there was a new layer of warmth wrapped around his heart like a thick blanket. That warmth was holding him together, bundling up the pieces of him into a single place where they could be protected and cared for. Love was all around him, holding the door open to let him in out of the cold dark of loneliness. It was definitely something to do this time of year, but John knew without a doubt that everyone in this house would do the same things all over again even if it was the middle of summer.

John wrapped his hand behind Lyra's back again and gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze as he looked Bret in the eye. "We were just going upstairs to join them, and since you already talked to Mom, I know she'll be expecting you too." Lyra leaned back against him, and he knew that was his cue to pick her up. He didn't need to look down to scoop her off her feet, but he still sent a quick smile and wink her way. "They've probably already done a good chunk of it by now, but I'm sure there's more left to decorate."

Perking up more into his normal self, Bret nodded. "I'm here as long as you need me."

Nothing else had to be said as they hurried through the darkened coffee shop. When they opened the door at the bottom of the stairs the music changed. Without missing a beat, Pam and Alec were already singing.

"I'm, dreaming, of a White, Christmas..."

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #giant tiny #gt #the night shift #christmas

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