- "Dear Santa... No, no I am not too old to be writing letters to you."
- Percy/Clarisse/Chris
- Romantic

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"What are you doing, Prissy?"

"Writing." Percy replies, in a verbal duh; as if what he is currently doing is so obvious, Clarisse should just know by now, should straightaway understand him and his unusual habits.

"Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh."

Clarisse pulls a face, her eyebrows furrowed in baffled ambiguity. "Then why are you upside down?"

"Being upside down helps me think better." Duh, Clarisse.

Clarisse doesn't bother responding to him this time, doesn't even attempt to amuse his odd quirks. 

At the sound of their apartment door opening and closing, Clarisse's head shoots towards it. (She was the only one to do so, since Percy is too engrossed in his... work?)

Heavy footfalls make their way towards them, heading into the living room where Percy has spent several hours of his time in throughout the day, flitting between this room and the next continuously. (Clarisse had only been home from her friend Silena's house for going on half an hour now.)

"What ya writing, Perce?" Chris asks, deep voice genuinely curious, a stark contrast to his girlfriend's faux interested one - the one she had had enough of as soon as she said a word in it.

"My letter."

Percy answers his boyfriend right away, a matter that would be a slap in the face to anyone but Clarisse, who had been in the situation she has for the past ten minutes, trying to wrestle out a response from her youngest boyfriend.

"To Santa?"

Percy nods seriously, only now sitting upright on the - very comfy - couch. The red-wine coloured material molds around his form, moving and dipping beneath him as he shuffles around until he is sat properly, facing both of his partners.

"Of course."

Clarisse chuckles, as if the prospect of Santa is profoundly entertaining to her.

Chris turns to her, then, with his nose scrunched in confusion. 

"What are you laughing at?" He asks quietly, wondering secretly if she is laughing at him, or maybe something he has done.

She is not, nicely enough. Well, she kind of is, kind of isn't, he supposes. (She is actually laughing mostly at the two of them.)

"Just you two weirdos. It's cute that you both still think Santa is real."

Percy pauses, his whole body going still, frozen, at her words.

"That's because he is real, Clarisse." He argues, voice stern in order to emphasise his point clearly.

Clarisse does nothing to hide the chuckle she lets out at his words.

"Yeah, yeah, okay, You're right; Santa is real." She sniggers unattractively, "Silly me."

Percy scoffs, rolling his eyes. He's not hurt, nope, no way.

He stands, notepad and pen in hand, and leaves the room, anyway.

--

"Dear Santa... No, no I am not too old to be writing to you, no matter what some people might say. And, yes, yes I do believe in you, my old friend." Chris purses his lips in thought as he continues to read Percy's letter to Santa, reading only so much of it out loud before he begins reading it in his head, instead.

When he finishes, he looks up at Percy, avoiding staring straight into his pleading, hopeful eyes that appear to await praise and acceptance on a 24-hour basis.

"It's... good. Very good."

If Chris was looking, he'd maybe notice how the hope in Percy's eyes dimmed a tiny bit.

"But?"

"But maybe you should turn down the sass a little bit. You're writing a letter to Santa, not one of your old principles."