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Spencer had woken up that morning to Huxley licking at his face and nothing but empty space beside him when he'd thrown his arm over where Joel's usually sleeping. It had only taken a moment or two before he'd reached clarity, remembering that it's Christmas before wiping the sleep from his eyes and rolling out of bed so he could wander downstairs with his messy hair and pajamas making him a ridiculous spectacle.
Seeing the kitchen so full of life had been so strange, incredibly surreal because he knows what a busy household during the holidays but despite knowing that Joel's parents would be there, that Charlotte and Raleigh would be there, Spencer had still found himself frozen in place when he'd seen all the happy faces bustling around his home. Joel had noticed him standing there first, as he always has and likely always will, and Spencer had easily fallen into the cheer that had come with sloppy kisses to his cheeks from all the women in the room and even his father-in-law.
Where the kitchen had been warm, Spencer's now freezing cold. He'd gotten considerably quieter as the hours had passed because he'd known what he and Joel were going to leave to do. Ellie had taken him aside at one point, the concern evident in her eyes, and she'd hugged him almost as tightly as Joel knows how to when Spencer had explained that he'd be visiting the cemetery today. They're here now, and it's stranger than he remembers it being the last time. He's wearing one of the awful Christmas sweaters from the box in the attic and the leather jacket Dane had given him for a birthday--the one he'd been wearing for his and Joel's proposed first date, but he's not thinking about that now--but he dons his coat overall and is pressed closely against Joel's side as they stand in front of the two graves in silence.
It had snowed a bit this morning, there's a light blanket of it at their feet, and nobody else is here. Spencer's never seen anyone else here on Christmas Day, and he doesn't know if that's because he just comes at the right time or if nobody else could bear to be here with their late loved ones on a day like today, but he's always glad for it. The idea of sharing his pain with anyone else had always seemed terrible, though with Joel, it's different. With Joel, the company is welcome. Necessary. Needed.
He has the angel tree topper in his pocket, though it's gotten a bit crushed between the house and here, and Spencer tugs it out after another quiet moment so he can rest it in front of his mother's grave. He hesitates, self-conscious for a millisecond until he reminds himself that Joel would never judge him, then reaches out to press his gloved hand against the cold stone. It's so lifeless, the rock, so unlike his mother in every way, and he can feel a lump forming in his throat as he wets his lips to speak.
"Hi, mom," he murmurs, glancing up at Joel before shifting his gaze to his brother's headstone. It always hurts to see the dates, 1987-2012, because god, his brother had been so young. Too young, and it doesn't do any good to think that it isn't fair, but Spencer thinks it all the time anyway. "Hi, Dane. It's me, it's-- It's Spencer. I know I haven't stopped by in awhile, and I'm sorry about that, I've just been... really busy. Can you believe that? Me, busy, but it's true, I promise. I even brought someone with me this time."
Spencer looks back at his husband with a small, tentative smile. He doesn't expect Joel to say anything, of course he doesn't, and he knows just as well that talking out loud to his dead family doesn't mean a thing in the grand scheme of things; but it makes him feel better. It makes him feel like he's doing his part in keeping their memory alive. "This is Joel," he continues, reaching out for his husband's hand and keeping his eyes trained on him. "He's my husband, and we wanted to come by to say Merry Christmas."
Seeing the kitchen so full of life had been so strange, incredibly surreal because he knows what a busy household during the holidays but despite knowing that Joel's parents would be there, that Charlotte and Raleigh would be there, Spencer had still found himself frozen in place when he'd seen all the happy faces bustling around his home. Joel had noticed him standing there first, as he always has and likely always will, and Spencer had easily fallen into the cheer that had come with sloppy kisses to his cheeks from all the women in the room and even his father-in-law.
Where the kitchen had been warm, Spencer's now freezing cold. He'd gotten considerably quieter as the hours had passed because he'd known what he and Joel were going to leave to do. Ellie had taken him aside at one point, the concern evident in her eyes, and she'd hugged him almost as tightly as Joel knows how to when Spencer had explained that he'd be visiting the cemetery today. They're here now, and it's stranger than he remembers it being the last time. He's wearing one of the awful Christmas sweaters from the box in the attic and the leather jacket Dane had given him for a birthday--the one he'd been wearing for his and Joel's proposed first date, but he's not thinking about that now--but he dons his coat overall and is pressed closely against Joel's side as they stand in front of the two graves in silence.
It had snowed a bit this morning, there's a light blanket of it at their feet, and nobody else is here. Spencer's never seen anyone else here on Christmas Day, and he doesn't know if that's because he just comes at the right time or if nobody else could bear to be here with their late loved ones on a day like today, but he's always glad for it. The idea of sharing his pain with anyone else had always seemed terrible, though with Joel, it's different. With Joel, the company is welcome. Necessary. Needed.
He has the angel tree topper in his pocket, though it's gotten a bit crushed between the house and here, and Spencer tugs it out after another quiet moment so he can rest it in front of his mother's grave. He hesitates, self-conscious for a millisecond until he reminds himself that Joel would never judge him, then reaches out to press his gloved hand against the cold stone. It's so lifeless, the rock, so unlike his mother in every way, and he can feel a lump forming in his throat as he wets his lips to speak.
"Hi, mom," he murmurs, glancing up at Joel before shifting his gaze to his brother's headstone. It always hurts to see the dates, 1987-2012, because god, his brother had been so young. Too young, and it doesn't do any good to think that it isn't fair, but Spencer thinks it all the time anyway. "Hi, Dane. It's me, it's-- It's Spencer. I know I haven't stopped by in awhile, and I'm sorry about that, I've just been... really busy. Can you believe that? Me, busy, but it's true, I promise. I even brought someone with me this time."
Spencer looks back at his husband with a small, tentative smile. He doesn't expect Joel to say anything, of course he doesn't, and he knows just as well that talking out loud to his dead family doesn't mean a thing in the grand scheme of things; but it makes him feel better. It makes him feel like he's doing his part in keeping their memory alive. "This is Joel," he continues, reaching out for his husband's hand and keeping his eyes trained on him. "He's my husband, and we wanted to come by to say Merry Christmas."
