This isn't weird.

***A VERY NOT WEIRD HOLIDAY SPECIAL***

Well, hello there, dear reader!

You're probably reading this right now, thinking, "What the hell? This is a Ben Schwartz fanfiction. There's no HOLIDAY SPECIALS in Ben Schwartz fanfiction." 

And to that I say, THEN IT MUST BE A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE! (Or a Hanukkah miracle, depending on which character you're following. YOU GET THE POINT.)

Aaanyway, I just had this cute little Ben-and-Millie short story in my head and I thought, you know what? This is happening. I am INVENTING the genre of Ben Schwartz Fanfiction Holiday Specials. Visionary. 

I guess you could say this is technically non-canon, as it does contradict the continuity of some minor details in the main story... but I enjoyed writing it so much, I might have to go back and dirty delete those details so everything fits. (EDIT: I DID IT! ITS CANON! NO TAKE-BACKSIES.)

For context, this takes place about ten months after Ben and Millie's first meeting, somewhere between "Rain Check" and "Scout's Honor." (EDIT: Which is now officially where it's located in the table of contents because CANON.)

So, without further ado...

****A VERY NOT WEIRD HOLIDAY SPECIAL****

"Woah!" said Millie. "That's amazing. How are you doing that?"

Ben turned his head to see her watching him, her eyes wide with earnest wonder. "Doing what?" he asked, puzzled.

"Packing a bag on the ceiling," she replied. "Are you secretly Spiderman?"

"Idiot," Ben said with a grin. "But yes." Hunched over his open suitcase, he was organizing his belongings as if he was trapped in a high-stakes game of Tetris. As usual, the meticulous neatness of his efforts had been fodder for an entire morning of teasing, but the bit having run its course, Millie now switched gears to abject silliness. The ends of her hair hung all the way down to the carpet as she watched him, her head hanging upside down over the edge of his bed. The rest of her body sprawled lazily over the duvet, arms resting outstretched as if to make a snow angel.

An orange and blue checkered sock hit her face.

"Rude," she huffed. "That better have been clean."

"Of course not," he said. "You don't clean socks. Washing them messes up the fibers, or something like that." He paused to scratch his chin. "I may be thinking of denim."

"That explains the smell." Millie failed to suppress a giggle as another sock (salmon pink, covered in tiny sharks) struck her squarely on the nose. "Rude!" she repeated.

"That was an accident," Ben insisted, then promptly threw another the second she blinked.

"That one, too?" she asked, craning her neck back awkwardly to see its pattern. Plain black. Disappointing.

"Complete accident."

"Okay, that's it." She rolled over and reached down to snatch up a fallen sock, but just as she readied her arm to lob it in his direction, she collapsed onto her stomach, dead weight. Her inverted position had decanted enough excess blood into her brain to turn her face a cartoonish shade of red. "Oh god, I'm so dizzy."

"Get it together, Millie." He crawled over to pluck the polyester blend ammunition from her grasp. "You know, I'm thinking it might be a good idea to actually put one or two of these in the suitcase."

Casting a pouty glance over at the nearly full suitcase, Millie protested, "But then there won't be enough room in there for me." She was trying to sound facetious, but a subtle hitch in her voice evinced the underlying authenticity of her sulk. Ben leaned over to offer her a consolatory little pat on the head.