Re: Mission Uncomfortable: Secret Santa Edition
It was 3 o'clock, which meant Santa would be along any minute. Reece had already dressed (or, undressed? Except not like that) for the incoming cake party. He'd even donned the socks he'd been gifted. It meant he was a little warm inside the (immaculate) train station, but a light flush never made anyone look bad—or at least, not him. His hair was growing long, curling a little among the volume and just brushing the collar of his pajama top. It was messy, but artfully so, obviously. And, more importantly (or less, depending on your perspective), he was feeling good about this whole thing. ...Not his hair, but that too. But, about Santa and the cake and the flannel pajamas and all of that. He'd thought they'd hit it off in a nice way, and it wasn't like he had a lot of friends, and he was excited for them to meet Cat and for everyone to just have a grand ol' time gorging on cake.
This expectation didn't exactly change when he opened the front door, but it did falter. A little. Sasha was here, several cake boxes in her arms, armed in bumble-bee jammies and with who had to be her boyfriend, dressed like a shark with the words 'secret weapon' leaving his lips. The smile that had nervously spangled lips shifted to confusion, and Reece, who was always awkward, kind of stared with mismatched gaze for a second as his brain tried to put the pieces together—pieces that, in retrospect, yeah, kind of seemed as obvious as yin going with yang (or cake with pajamas, according to his Santa—uh, which meant... according to...Sasha?). Okay, the smile came back. Reece's prosthetic hand dropped from the knob. "Hey, uh, Saaanta, come in." He stepped aside to let the pair past him, and he looked over his shoulder into the space, hoping to find Cat and like, maybe give her a warning glance. Not that anything was happening that needed warning, but she'd probably like to know her sister was here and that she had four cakes.
In the living area, because it wasn't a room, it was an area, there wasn't a TV, but there was a projector. It spooled nothing but light onto the wall that dropped halfway down and sort of divided the kitchen as a separate area. It was a sleek, small thing. In case they wanted to watching something that wasn't The Grinch. Cat was probably in there too. Two more steps and they'd find out. "So," Reece ventured, fidgeting. He was tempted to use his eye. To like, scan and make sure nobody was packing or something, but then he figured Sasha probably was and did he really want to know? No. "Happy—Uh, Merry Christmas, you guys." And to Abe: "I like the-the shark look, man."