Monthly Bonus Content #1: '(Un)deck the Halls' (Reese Version) (Patreon)

[Alternate Text: A header image of a royal guard of nutcrackers. They all have on different colorful uniforms while holding various weapons. The title is: '(Un)deck the Halls' in a flowing, golden font.]

"… please? Okay, seriously, that's—no don't go any higher, I swear to—You can't reach that!"

"Wanna bet? If I stretch, I definitely can."

While the nervous edge to Becca's voice raises it, Alina's actually echoes faintly as you arrive in one of the Verner mansion's many formal living rooms. It's one of the grandest ones, except its marble flooring, intricate wooden paneling, and rows of towering windows are all dominated by one thing: a Christmas tree. The evergreen isn't real, yet it appears to have been plucked from Fernweh's forests due to its staggering scale.

It's going to take hours to dismantle.

"Stretching and ladders don't mix," you lightly point out, peering up at Alina on the ladder that isn't supposed to be in here. Ms. Verner had to rent a special lift for her workers to hang all of the decorations in their proper places. (You saw the sketch—the color-coded blueprint—for the design.) The blown glass icicles are closer to beautiful stalagmites in size, while the more traditional ornaments are closer to hubcaps. "I thought you were working on the wreaths?"

"We were—we still are, sort of."

"We got sidetracked," Alina clarifies Becca's excuse, waving at you until Becca shoots her a distressed look. "I thought I saw something moving in the tree while we were working on the windows. I worried it was [Redacted]."

"It was probably just a shadow, just like you should probably come down from there. Now."

The youngest Corvin relents before you need to get involved or invoke her brother's name, but she does cheekily tap a particular spiral ornament to prove a point. You're more amused than concerned. Assisting with 'undecking' the halls is what everyone should be doing to minimize the workers' time spent in the mansion. Some of the decorations are antiques with sentimental value instead of a show of glitzy, holiday prestige. Reese didn't ask for any help with this necessary tradition, yet you volunteered and enlisted the others.

"Have you seen Reese?" you ask.

"Nope." "Sorry, no."

Both of them answering in the negative almost makes you frown, your left shoulder echoing your displeasure as you adjust the bundle of string lights looped around it. "Well, thanks," you reply with a hint of misdirected sarcasm. The Verner mansion is too palatial for you to easily locate its wayward heir; however, you're more worried about his understated absence than Alina on a tall ladder. "Let me know if you see him."

With that, you continue through the halls that are gradually losing their holiday cheer to once again allow a severe elegance to reign. A well-placed reindeer figurine or a pretty snow globe won't change the grandeur embedded in the architecture, but for a moment, Ms. Verner transforming it into a winter wonderland made the atmosphere less imposing. You had nearly cracked a joke about the aesthetic matching her icy disposition until you saw how much care went into everything. If it was all for show and decorating accolades crossed your mind, but Reese showed you his family Christmas tree, a real one with less classy ornaments that can only be seen in the family's private wing.

Maybe Ms. Verner genuinely likes Christmas?

Reese admitted to loving it, but he sometimes—

"[Name]?"

The call of your name is paired with a gentle hand on your left shoulder as James eases the weight of the lights, but it was Sofia who said your name. She managed to draw you out of your spiraling thoughts. "Hey," you greet both of them. "You look like I just ran over a reindeer."

"No, I don't," James half-heartedly disagrees.

His lips buckling into the very start of a pout earns a knowing grin from you that halts any more concern on your behalf when he quietly sighs. You shuffle out of the coil of lights to let him set them aside on the table. He and Sofia are packaging up a train set, both patient enough to properly fit all of the parts in their original boxes and line up the packaging. You'll stick to wrangling string lights from statues any day.

"I'm taking a break from untangling duty," you casually admit. "My partner seems to be too."

"He's slacking?" James clarifies.

"Did you check under the mistletoes?" Sofia asks with subtle humor, glancing up from the train piece in her hands. "Reese signed you both up for their removal on the list of tasks."

'Signed up' is putting it kindly. He wrote your names in a beautiful cursive script that was entirely composed of capital letters to take up the entire line for this chore. It's yours alone that you'll most likely do tonight once everyone else is out of the mansion, a unique kiss for each sprig. "There are too many for him to wait beneath," you reply. "He would get restless."

James cracks a smile at how well you know Reese, while Sofia considers your words.

"Then I have no idea," she reluctantly concludes. "I'm sure he'll find his way back. I know this part isn't something he enjoys…"

There's more to Sofia's comment about Reese that you've yet to learn, so you offer a quick thanks and continue searching for him.

A few twists and turns later, you finally spy a familiar figure of ebony in the entry hall of all places. He's been by the front door this entire time? Reese should detect how your footsteps across the marble grow louder, tennis shoes connecting more sharply with the planes of polished stone, but he doesn't glance over at you. His head is angled down to study what's in his hands. It's enough to make your quip die in your throat after glimpsing his expression.

It's the same one that's been lingering around, a faint specter that can't be chased away by a tree lighting in the town square or a crackling fireplace with treats. It's a very quiet sadness, only an echo of it because Reese controls its source—smothers it. You've been able to see the change no matter how quickly his playful smile returns paired with a deft remark, dispersing the other emotion. He's good at it.

You carefully drift closer to him, curious about the object in his hands. It's a nutcracker…? This is the first decoration you saw that tipped you off to the Verners observing the holidays. It is likely an antique based on his carved body and stately, hand-painted uniform. His white beard has a hint of faded crimson staining it whereas his polearm axe glints faintly. Reese is pulling the lever in the decoration's back to unhinge its jaw in a one-sided conversation you can't hear.

"Meow."

You narrow your eyes at [Redacted], who just gave away your position with his greeting. He's perched near Reese on the side table. "Fluffy traitor," you teasingly mutter, no longer moving with a quietness some might call 'sneaking'.

"While I appreciate your staring, you can have me all year round, [Surname]."

His flirtatious comment is accented by a soft clack when he releases the nutcracker to offer his hand to you, fingers preemptively curling in a want for contact. You bypass him with a hint of a smirk, unsurprised that his hand settles on your back when you step into his personal space. Reese knows it wasn't a true rejection, though the press of his fingertips through your knit sweater says otherwise as they slide temptingly lower. "Tell me about your friend here," you request. Your move to lean closer to inspect the nutcracker prompts Reese's hand to find your hip, not yet turning you to face him properly, but there's an undeniable pull there. "Does he have a name? He wasn't on the task list as your partner for these chores."

"Jealous?" Reese playfully retorts.

You seemingly go along with his silent directive, exceeding it by angling to rest a hand on his chest to keep a shred of distance. He was about to lean in to steal a kiss; it's obvious from how his eyes haltingly leave your lips. "With a name like 'Nutcracker', should I really be?" you coyly whisper. "Unless you're into the rough st—?"

He doesn't let you finish your witty comment, kissing you until your elbow gradually caves, bending rather than inserting paltry space. It was worth it. Reese pulls you flush against him as if undoing—erasing—that little display on your part that you know drives him wild. There isn't even a mistletoe hanging overhead. This is only a precursor for what's to come, but you can't forget what you saw—what you've noticed. He pulls away after a moment, kissing your cheek with far less passion in what's a silent apology.

"…I dallied here for longer than I intended."

"I'm not mad about it," you reassure him. "I'm concerned." Reese's eyebrows raise slightly as if you being annoyed would be easier to process and address. "Because you've been… quiet"

"Me? Quiet?" he echoes your words. "How so?"

You trail your hand from his shoulder to his red tie, straightening out the silk that was rumpled after he pulled you close. It even has a tie tack of Rudolph. Reese's fingers expertly still your unnecessary adjustments, flattening your palm and urging you to meet his gaze properly and elaborate. "The holidays are complicated for me," you admit. "I think they are for you too?"

"I suppose."

Really, that's it?

"Verner," you stress his last name, expectant for more than a lukewarm agreement. While Reese is a master of social situations, navigating the minefield of upper echelon Fernweh events and dynamics in a small town, you can see beyond that elegant composure. "Talk to me."

His hesitation is short-lived under your rapt attention.

"My mother putting this"—he indicates the old nutcracker before purposefully covering your hand again—"one out took me by surprise. It has a story. It's just another difference for this year's Christmas that I—well, you make it different." Reese's fingers expertly hook into yours, softening how his eyes find [Redacted] instead of locking with yours. "I remember the ones where I spent them mostly alone—after the parties and on the day of—and it makes me feel like I wasted them. It is all very bittersweet, or as you said 'complicated'. It's complicated."

The specter of emotion you've spied during the holidays isn't simply sadness for Mr. Verner's untimely absence. He is quietly mourning a what-if motivated by years of past loneliness. Past, present, and future are all colliding in the mind of a Verner meant to be steps ahead at all times, but he's uncertain about this new difference in his life after time spent alone. He still isn't ready to look at you, so you shift to embrace him in a comforting hug. "Well, you're stuck with me now," you point out. Reese's arms lock around you that much tighter, never constrictive, but always clinging on. "My stocking will be on the mantle, and we'll be on yearly mistletoe duty.

"I could never have asked for a better partner."

He says this softly, honestly whispering it, while you sense the double-meaning both in his tone and how he holds you close for a moment.