It’s been hours and the snow is still falling. Fat wet flakes blanket the courtyard of the Massachusetts Academy and, at this rate, the whole school will be buried by morning. Ms. Frost special ordered an enormous balsam fir for the holidays. She placed it in the center of the courtyard. Angelo thinks it was the biggest Christmas tree he’s ever seen. Now it more closely resembled a small snow covered mountain. The golden star had long since been obscured by the winter storm but he can still make out the tiny twinkling lights under the snow if he squints.

The wind howls, blowing drifts of snow that rattle the ancient windows. He shivers. The basement room is so drafty, Jono’s collection of band posters rustles slightly with every gust. Somehow his friend never seems to notice the chill but then Angelo sort of doubted Jono can feel cold anymore. Or heat. Which is probably why he wore a leather jacket with matching leather pants year round. Angelo wondered if he has a dresser full of the same outfit or if he just never does laundry. Both scenarios seem equally plausible.

He turns back to the couch, rubbing his hands together to try to generate a little warmth. Jono’s been silently watching television. There’s some sort of Twilight Zone marathon he seems marginally invested in.

It is Christmas Eve and they are the only ones left in the school for the holidays. Paige had gone back to Kentucky, Monet was vacationing in Paris with her family, Everett was in Missouri, and Jubilee had taken Penance to New York with her to visit Logan. Sean had cheerfully offered to bring them to Muir Island and Emma suggested they join her in Tahiti. Jono immediately declined and Angelo had followed suit, choosing his best friend over the potential of seeing Ms. Frost in a bikini. With the temperatures hovering in the 20’s, he was beginning to question his sanity.

He sits, tugging a blanket from the back of the couch around his shoulders.

Jono regards him, head tilted slightly, ‘ You cold, mate?’

‘Sí. I miss winter in Los Angeles. This place is like a frozen wasteland. I dunno how you stand it.’

‘Hadn’t noticed t’be honest’

Shocking.

Angelo pulls the blanket closer and grabs a pack of cigarettes wedged between the couch cushions. He pats his pockets. No lighter. Damn. No matches either. He shoots Jono his best puppy dog look, cigarette hanging from his lips, unlit.

‘Bloody hell, Ange.’

Jono says his control over his powers is spotty at best. But Angelo’s seen him when he’s focused. Hell, he watched him rebuild his body from nothing.

‘I ain’t got no matches.’, he wobbles his lower lip for effect, ‘Please?’

A sigh rattles through his head followed by a concentrated psonic blast.

Angelo smiles and puffs his cigarette absently. Plumes of smoke drifting lazily towards the ceiling.

‘Gracias.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

Jono makes a show of scowling but Angelo can tell he isn’t half as annoyed as he pretends to be. That’s the thing about Jono. He might act moody or say that he wants to be left alone. But Angelo? Angelo knows better.

‘Does the smoke bother you?’

‘Why would it? I don’t breathe and I ‘aven’t any lungs. You, on the other hand…’

‘You know me. Live fast, die young and all that.’

‘You really believe that?’

He sighs, ‘If I wanted a lecture, I’d call Mi mamá- if she didn’t already think I was dead, that is.’

Jono studies him, eyebrows furrowing, ‘… You alright, mate? I’m the one wot’s supposed to be morose. It s’not the other way ‘round.’

‘Yeah. Sorry. The holidays just gets me thinkin’ about all the family I’m missing. What did your parents do for Christmas?’

‘Eh? Well, I guess they went on holiday. Skiing, maybe? Dunno. I stopped spending time with them as soon as I was old enough to say no.’

‘That’s a little sad, man.’

‘Yeah, well, th’ feeling was mutual. Trust me. Not really sure ‘ow I fit in with that lot.’

‘Hm.’

‘You could always call ‘er. Yer mum, that is. Let ‘er know yer safe.’

‘She was never exactly fond of…our type of people.’

‘Not sure which bit yer referring to, but…’

‘Take your pick.’

Jono seems to ponder this. Rakes a hand through his unruly mop of hair.

‘ ‘Er loss then, eh?’

Angelo shrugs, grey face pulling into an exaggerated frown.

‘I mean, it seems a bit silly to cut someone out of yer life for wot they can’t control. She ought’er be grateful. ‘Er son’s a superhero, after all.’

Jono’s hand is on his back, gentle and reassuring. It’s shockingly intimate for someone who usually folds in onto himself. Jono doesn’t hug. Jono doesn’t even shake hands, really. Jono would probably wrap himself in caution tape if he thought Emma would let him.

He musters a lopsided smile, ‘Not so super. But thanks, amigo.’

‘Right then.’

Jono lets his hand linger for a moment and then reaches for something under the couch. He scrounges for a minute and then produces a tiny box, wrapped rather haphazardly in snowman wrapping paper. Angelo estimated that Jono had used at least a half a roll of Scotch tape on the tiny parcel.

‘Merry Christmas, and all of that.’

He’s momentarily stunned.

‘I didn’t get you noth-‘

‘Oh, just open it, you wanker.’

He does with some amount of effort. At least he didn’t use duct tape.

It’s small, and golden and it has his initials carefully etched onto its surface. It takes him a moment to process.

‘You got me…a lighter?’

‘I’m tired of being yer human Zippo, Espinosa. Now don’t lose it in the bloody couch cushions’

fin