Matt hummed happily to himself as he bustled about the room like a mother hen. He felt like a blushing schoolgirl and any other day he'd have been utterly embarrassed (even though there was no one there yet to see him), but on this particular occasion he was far too elated to care.

This Christmas was going to be perfect.

He adjusted the fake ivy and poinsettia garland on the mantle, fiddling needlessly to make sure it was symmetrical. An idea struck him and he grabbed a hank of tinsel as he rushed off to his favourite wall.

Jeff had said that having a favourite wall was proof that Matt was clearly even more insane than he was. Even as he'd said it though, Matt could see the pride written across his face. On Matt's favourite wall hung a solitary painting – the gift Jeff had given him for his birthday.

Matt arranged the tinsel over the frame, draping it over the corners so that the ends hung freely. Three times he pulled it down again because it wasn't quite even enough. When he was finally satisfied he tore off to adjust the lights in one of the windows. He just about managed to remind himself to be a tiny bit manly and not skip on his way over there.

As he dithered over the lights he noticed that his face was aching from the ridiculous amount of grinning he'd been doing. Singing quietly along with Dean Martin, he wondered if his own glow, ten times as bright as the lights, would be visible to others.

He wasn't excited in the way he was when he was a kid – that kind of excitement had been all about jumping up and down and shouting your glee at the top of your lungs. This kind of excitement was the kind that burned in your chest, brought all your emotions to the surface and made you feel you were in danger of spontaneous combustion. He hadn't been this excited about Christmas for a long time. But then, this was the first time in years he'd had hope.

This Christmas was going to be special.

This year, Jeff was spending the night. This year, Jeff wanted to be with his brother when Santa worked his magic. This year, Matt was going to have a cardiac arrest before Jeff ever arrived if he didn't calm the hell down.

He'd tried to stifle his wondering about whether anything would happen between them, something more than stolen embraces in the dark. He wanted it so badly; he wanted his gift to Jeff to be so much more than the stocking hidden in his closet, full of frivolities and silly little games, along with their traditional apple, orange and handful of nuts. Jeff would appreciate that stocking far more than any expensive gift Matt could come up with.

But Matt didn't want to be disappointed. If nothing happened, he didn't want to spend Christmas Day feeling like he'd missed out on something wonderful. He just wanted to enjoy being with his brother on Christmas Eve, for them to sit in the light from the tree and whisper and giggle about their plans and their hopes, like they did when they were little. And if something romantic did happen, then that was an enormous bonus and proof that Christmas was a magical time of year.

He glanced down at his watch; nine fifteen. Jeff had said he'd be here an hour ago. Matt figured that meant he probably had another hour or two to fret over stupid details before Jeff finally turned up. He decided to open the bottle of red wine he was planning to mull when Jeff arrived; it was ridiculous that he should feel like such a bundle of nerves about his brother coming over, but he definitely felt the need for a spot of Dutch courage.

This Christmas was going to be the best Christmas ever.

Jeff leaned on the doorframe, surveying the devastation.

Tiny pieces of tinsel were strewn about the room, torn into useless fragments. Matt's Christmas village appeared to have been built on the San Andreas fault, all the presents had been stamped on, and there was a dent in one wall. The tree was missing altogether. In fact, the remnants of it were still smoking in Matt's front yard.

On his stomach on the sofa, face turned to one side, still fully dressed except for one shoe (which was in the middle of the Nativity) and cuddling an empty vodka bottle protectively, lay Hurricane Matthew. He looked positively angelic in sleep, and not at all like he could possibly have been responsible for shoving the baby Jesus up the rear end of a turkey.

Picking his way delicately through the scattered debris, Jeff made his way to the sofa. He crouched down on his haunches and reached out with one hand to run the backs of his fingers over his brother's cheek. He smiled affectionately as he noted the purple stain in the middle of Matt's bottom lip – testament to the red wine Matt had drunk during the night before moving on to stronger stuff.

Hesitantly, Jeff leaned down and pressed his lips to Matt's mouth, wishing he had the courage to repeat the gesture after Matt woke up. Although Matt stank of alcohol and his lips were dry from his dehydration, Jeff could happily have kissed him for hours. He wondered how good it would feel to have Matt respond under his mouth, and his stomach leapt into his throat just as it always did when he thought about Matt kissing him.

He pulled away from the kiss reluctantly, briefly stroking Matt's frizzy and unruly hair as though it were the finest silk in the world. He moved until his mouth hovered a couple of centimetres from Matt's ear.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

“What the shit?!” Matt exclaimed, bolting upright and nearly taking Jeff's jaw off. He blinked rapidly in the bright daylight streaming through the windows, trying to remember who and where he was. “Jesus Christ, don't do that!”

“Unless he has a hitherto unknown fondness for the rectums of poultry, I don't think Jesus is talking to you right now.” Jeff nudged Matt sideways till there was room to sit alongside him.

“That'd explain the godawful headache...”

“Feelin' a little delicate today?”

“Yeah...” Matt rubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck, how much did we drink last night?”

“Not we. Just you.”

“Just me? But why would...” Matt trailed off as hazy memories of the previous night began to surface. “Oh. Did you have fun last night?” He tried to keep himself from sounding bitter.

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Not really, no. Anyway, you need to get ready so we can go over to Dad's.”

“Right. Yeah.” Despite his queasiness, Matt pulled himself to his feet. He wasn't sure if he couldn't straighten all the way up because of the ache in his stomach or the weight of the questions he didn't dare to ask. “I'll only be a couple of minutes.”

Jeff watched ruefully as Matt shambled from the room, wishing he'd had the foresight to bring some alka seltzer. In the early morning deathly quiet of the house, he heard the water begin to fall in Matt's shower, and a small part of him contemplated how easy it would be to go after him. He could see himself stepping under the spray with Matt and showing him exactly what he wanted for Christmas. The rest of him snorted derisively.

Not in the harsh light of day.

Matt came back five minutes later with a towel wrapped about his waist, his wet hair dripping all over the floor and a glass of water – his third – in his hand. He was momentarily dumbstruck by the sight of Jeff actually tidying up his house; the shock evidently short circuited his brain, because he said exactly what he was thinking.

“Why didn't you come over last night?”

Jeff put down the bag he was collecting the scraps of tinsel into and put his hands on his hips, glaring. “I did. I'm sorry to say you weren't the best company.”

Matt's confusion was written all over his face. “You did? I can't remember it at all. What did I do?”

“Fall over repeatedly, sing along extremely badly with Elvis, and babble the most ridiculous amount of self-pitying crap I've ever heard in my life.”

“Oh please. I can't possibly have been that bad. What time was this?”

“I'm not really sure...” Jeff shrugged. “Around four, I guess.”

“Four? Fuck, Jeff, could you BE any later?”

“Oh stop whining, I still came. And you were far from fun, believe me.”

Matt waved a hand dismissively. “I'm sure you're exaggerating.”

“Really?” Jeff strode to Matt's computer, grabbing Matt's damp arm and dragging him along. “I tell you what, let's have a little look at your media player, see what you were listening to last night, hmm?”

After a couple of mouse clicks, Matt heard the opening strains of 'Hang Myself From the Tree' by The Vandals. Flushing, he stood his glass down and took up a defensive posture. “I like that song, it's funny.”

“Well according to you last night, it's one of the most insightful songs ever written and we should play it at your funeral, if any of us give enough of a fuck about you to turn up.”

“Did I really ruin the night for you?” Matt asked sheepishly.

“Not really, I went home.”

Matt stared at his brother in disbelief. “You what? I was drunk out of my skull and talking about suicide, and you fucked off home?”

Jeff's fists were on his hips again. “Of course I did! You wanna fuck up your own Christmas, fine, but you ain't fuckin' doing it to mine. Besides, I was kinda pissed at you.”

“Weren't you at all concerned you might come in here today and find me face down in a pool of my own blood?”

“Nope.”

“Well fuck, don't I feel like just the most loved brother in the world...” Matt began sarcastically as he turned to go back to getting ready. A gentle hand on his arm stopped him.

“Whatever faults you might have – and believe me, you got 'em in spades – and however drunk you might get, you'd never do that.”

“I don't have any faults, I'm perfect,” Matt contradicted automatically. “I really am sorry, Jeff.”

Jeff shrugged. “It's okay, I can fix it up when I get some more supplies.”

“Huh? Fix what up?”

“The picture.” Jeff sighed at Matt's bemused expression. “You don't remember what you did to it?”

Matt made for his favourite wall with as much speed as his hangover would allow. “I never did anything to it, I wouldn't...”

The painting still hung in its allotted place, and the tinsel was still draped over the frame. But much to Matt's horror, over its subtle, disguised message the words 'lying bastard' had been scrawled in black marker pen. Further down, he'd continued with, 'Look at me, I'm Jeff, with my stupid pretentious foil crap.'

“Fuck...” he croaked as a wave of guilt hit him. “I can't believe I... Jeff, I'm so sorry. This picture meant the world to me. I'd rather I'd burned down my house than ruined this.”

“It's only a picture,” Jeff said with a smile.

“No,” Matt shook his head vehemently. “No it's not.” He caught Jeff's wrist for emphasis, making sure to look him in the eye.

Jeff shifted his hand, squeezing the fingers that had been wrapped around his wrist in an effort to reassure. “I can fix it.”

“I know you can, but why would you want to? After I treated it so badly...”

“Of course I want to,” Jeff interrupted. “Every time you ruin it, you destructive bastard, I'll fix it. And if you ever take a knife to it and shred the canvas, I'll paint you a new one. In one form or another, you'll always have that painting. I'll make sure of it.”

Matt looked at the hand in his own as he rubbed his thumb over the back of it, almost crippled by the effort of not saying the things running through his mind. “Thank you.”

Jeff moved quickly, not giving himself time to chicken out. He leant forward and placed a brief peck on Matt's lips; if he hadn't felt so nervous and uncomfortable at making himself vulnerable, he'd have laughed at Matt's stunned expression. Affectionate gestures between them weren't uncommon, but the ones they both knew meant something more, they never happened during daylight hours. Except for that one moment on Matt's birthday.

Matt took an involuntary step backward in surprise before his instincts took over and he found himself reaching for Jeff with his entire body – but by then it was too late. Jeff had already turned away, his back to Matt as he returned to his quest to make the living room look a little less as though Matt and his tinsel had been embroiled in a duel to the death.

“Go and get dressed, Dad'll be waitin' on us.”

It took a moment before Matt was able to remember how to walk, but as he left the room he noticed the flush staining Jeff's cheeks. By the time he came back, fully dressed, they'd both regained their composure. Jeff looked him up and down in appraisal.

“Well done, you don't even look like you spent the night drunkenly violating poultry with divine infants.”

“You ain't funny.”

“Whereas you're unintentionally hilarious.”

Matt glared. “Look, I know it's Christmas, I'm slow because I'm hungover, I love you and I owe you for being such a prick last night, but I'll still happily punch you if you keep this shit up.”

In spite of the threat, Jeff smiled. “I love you too. Even though you're a fuckin' self-pityin' moron who takes comical festive songs about suicide way too seriously.”

Matt opened his mouth to deflect the jibe, but his curiosity got the better of him. “Why're you so sure I'd never kill myself anyway?”

“Because no matter how much you bitch about me, you know what it'd do to me if you topped yourself, and you ain't selfish enough to do that. When it comes to the really important stuff you always put me and Dad first. Besides, you were so shitfaced you probably weren't capable.”

He had a point, Matt thought.

“Just try to be sober when I arrive next year, okay?”

Matt blinked in surprise. “You still wanna come over next year, in spite of this debacle?”

Jeff sighed patiently, as though he were explaining things to an extremely stupid five-year-old. “Of course I do, you idiot. You're my brother. There are times I could kill you myself, but I'll never walk away from you.”

“I know...” A smile spread slowly over Matt's face as he realised he really did know. The fact that he'd fucked up the cosy Christmas Eve they'd had planned didn't seem to matter anymore, and maybe he'd gotten what he needed for Christmas rather than what he wanted. What he wanted could wait until Jeff was ready; he wasn't going anywhere.

“Dude, stop grinning like a spaz, Dad'll think you're stoned. You ready?”

“Anytime you are, Jeff. Just say the word.”

From Jeff's grateful smile, Matt could have sworn he knew exactly what Matt was thinking.

“Hang on a sec, I need to grab Dad's present.”

“And mine?” Jeff asked hopefully.

Matt rummaged around behind the sofa, where he'd thoughtfully put his dad's present before starting his rampage, finally producing a small, giftwrapped and uncrushed package. “Uh... I put yours under the tree.”

Jeff's face fell. “Was this before or after you set it on fire?”

“Moments before.”

“Man, you suck.”

“I'll give you something else. How about if I promise to be patient, and not moan about how long it takes you to get around to stuff?”

Scepticism wrote itself all over Jeff's expression. “And how long do you think you can keep that up?”

“As long as you want.” Matt caught Jeff's fingers as he spoke, having to resist the sudden and stupid urge to kiss them as though Jeff was Guinevere and he was Lancelot. This mushy Christmas stuff really was playing havoc with his brain.

“Okay.” Rather than pull away as Matt had expected, Jeff knitted his fingers with his sibling's as they made for the door. “I have faith in you.”

Clutching his father's present in one hand and his brother's fingers in the other, Matt decided maybe this Christmas wasn't going so badly after all.