Twelve Ways To Spend One's Christmas Eve

Four Calling Birds

        “You're doing this a lot tonight,” Jonathan interrupts, eyeing her suspiciously.

        Anna almost chokes. “Me? No! I mean, no more than usual - ”

        “Yes more than usual,” he raises an eyebrow. “What's up?”

        “U - up?” she repeats, shifting uncomfortably. “Up? Nothing's up - everything's so not up, it's practically down!”

        “Down?”

        “E - exactly,” Anna nods, hoping her term is a little firmer than before and trying desperately to keep her eyes from straying to the expanse of skin which is exposed as a result of his shirt hitching up slightly when he moves.

        Jonathan doesn't look convinced. He leans in closer, concerned, and Anna almost groans in frustration. Please don't do that. Please please please don't. “Anna...” he wraps his fingers around hers, and she feels her heart rate pick up slightly.

        Don't do that either, she thinks to himself. Only bad things happen if you do that. “Are you sure you're okay?” he questions.

        Anna blinks up at him. “I - uh - yeah,” she breathes, withdrawing her hand as though burnt. What is she doing, feeling like this about a human?

        Then she looks at Jonathan - really looks at him, and she realises that he's not just ahuman. He's Jonathan.

        And she thinks he might just be her best friend.

        “If you're sure,” he looks dubious.

        “I am,” she assures him, reaching back over to squeeze his wrist and offer him a smile. She's only met him four times, how can she be so...how can she even like him so much? Is it even possible to like someone that much after four meetings? It's not even four, this is the fourth, she's only seen him three times before, oh no this is totally not okay -

        “Anna?”

        But technically, she's known him four years, hasn't she? That's enough for someone to be your best friend, right?

        “Anna...”

        But the time in between each Christmas Eve doesn't count, that's so stupid, it's still only four nights...

        “Anna!”

        But four years, too? Four years and four nights, four years, four nights, ohwhat difference does it make anyway she still really likes him -

        “Anna.”

        Oh God. She likes him. She totally likes him, doesn't she? Oh God...        

        “Anna!”

        “I - yes. Hello. Hi.”

        “You're so not okay,” he declares with conviction. She can't keep the blush from her cheeks.

        “I am, I totally am, I promise! I just, uh...” Anna trails off, then, eyes alighting on the kitchenette a few yards away, says: “Am lacking some of the legendary Jonathan McQueen cookies,” she says quickly.

        There's a moment where Jonathan pauses to study her intensely, but it passes when he relaxes and laughs. “I should've guessed,” he says with a knowing grin, and Anna lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. “There are some on the counter.”