ONE YEAR LATER

        The next time Anna falls (yes, falls, she hasn't quite got the hang of this yet, and it's not even her damn job) down Jonathan's chimney, she's still royally pissed off at her brother and his complete lack of responsibility, and she doesn't really notice that she's in Jonathan's house at all, because, come on, they all look kinda the same anyway.

        So, what she is not expecting is for a vaguely familiar voice to say, dryly; “How nice of you to drop in,” and then add, after a pause; “literally.”

        “Oh,” she says dumbly after a moment, and it's pitifully feeble, but hey, at least she hasn't broken anything. 

        ...she hasn't, right?        

        “Hey,” Jonathan says, and she can't see his face, but she can hear the laughter in his voice, and she's seven hundred percent sure it's because of her. 

        “Go on,” Anna grumbles, but there's no real bite to it. "Laugh. But it's not like you could do much better."

        “I'm not laughing,” he says, but she can finally just see his face, and his eyes are bright, and all it takes is a disbelieving look on her part to set him off into fits of laughter. Anna rolls her eyes and feels her way through the dark to the kitchen table before sitting patiently at it and waiting for him to finish.

        “I'm sorry,” he gasps eventually, still breathless, and Anna can't help but snort a bit as well - his laughter is infectious. "It's just...funny...how you...and you..." he trails off, takes one look at her, and collapses back into a series of snickers. 

        “When you're done...”

        “I'm done,” Jonathan tells her, although with all the chortling he's doing he doesn't seem very done at all. Eventually, though, he does manage to get his laughter under control, enough for him to point to the plate nearby and say;  “for you.”

        “For me?” Anna repeats excitedly, eyeing the plate, which is laden with enough iced cookies to probably feed Jonathan’s entire town.

        “You seemed to like them last time,” Jonathan responds with a knowing grin.

        She make an eager grab for the first cookie her fingers can reach, bringing it to her lips and sighing blissfully after the first bite. “Seriously, these are the best,” Anna tells Jonathan sombrely, accidentally showering herself in a cascade of biscuit crumbs. “How do you even make them?”

        “Family recipe,” Jonathan chirps. “If I told you I’d either have to kill you or marry you.”

        “I’d marry you for these,” Anna informs him gravely.

        “They’re that good?”

        “They’re that good,” she agrees, swallowing down her first biscuit and reaching for her second.

        “Well,” Jonathan says with amusement, “I’m glad you think so. How’s life been since last Christmas Eve? Any particular reason it’s still you and not Nick coming down my chimney?”

        “Ugh,” Anna scowls immediately at the mention of her twin brother. “Don’t even get me started. I literally – ugh. I don’t even want to talk about it.”

        “Okay,” he laughs.

        “He just – ! Ugh!” Anna says articulately, pausing in her biscuit eating to stare at the cookie angrily. “And he’s so...ugh! You know?”

        “Absolutely,” Jonathan nods seriously. “I completely get you.”

        “And he’s always – and it’s always like – and I’m always – ! Ugh. I don’t want to talk about it.”

        “Okay,” Jonathan’s smiling, and she has no idea why. It’s not like Nick being a complete jerk is something to smile about...

        “Aside from Nick,” Jonathan cuts through her silent rant. “How are things going over at – where does Santa Claus live, again?”

        “I don’t think there’s a specific place,” Anna says thoughtfully. “We kinda like to move around a lot so that people don’t find us.”

        “Oh,” Jonathan frowns. “But the – ”

        “Letters?” she finishes with a wry smile. “We organised that a long time ago.”

        He gazes at her slack mouthed. “I still can’t believe this is all real,” he says.

        “Believe it, ‘cause it’s true!” she chirps, then frowns. “Wait, is that a song? I don’t think it is. At least, not here. Maybe in France. Or Germany! Or wait, is it Britain? Sometimes I get them mixed up...France and Germany, I mean. Britain isn’t easy to mix up. Since it’s kind of separate from the rest of them. Being an island and all...”

        “What’s it like?” Jonathan asks her, and Anna realises he’s been watching her intently. “In those other countries, I mean. I’ve only ever been out of state here, and I wish...”

        “Oh,” Anna says. “I don’t get to see very much of it, really. I expect they’re all quite different at in the day time.”

        “But, really – ” Jonathan leans forward, eager. “Tell me about it. What it’s like in Hong Kong and London and Paris.”

        “Okay,” her brows furrow in concentration. “But first, can I ask something?”

        “Uh, sure.”

        “Is it you who smells so good?” Anna leans closer and sniffs Jonathan’s shoulder.

        “Uh...”

        “No, seriously – ” Anna’s sniffing is approaching dog-like levels now, but really, Jonathan smells good, like brown sugar and wood smoke.

        “Do you always do this?” Jonathan asks, shifting slightly away from her and watching as she presses her nose to his shoulder with some bemusement.

        “What?” Anna snaps back quickly to look at him.

        “Smell people?”

        “Oh. Not really. Sorry,”  she can feel her cheeks begin to heat up as she avoids eye contact with Jonathan. So maybe the fifty years of no social interaction with anyone other than her mom and Nick are starting to show...

        “I’ll take it as a compliment,” Jonathan says breezily, getting up. “Want some milk?”

         “Oh, God yes,” Anna groans, forgetting her embarrassment in favour of remembering her utter thirst. "Seriously, all the jumping down those chimneys - ”

         “Jumping?” Jonathan repeats innocently, and she can see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes even from where she's sitting. "Are you sure that's the right verb to use?”

         “Oh, shut up,” she follows him into the kitchen area, hopping onto the counter without asking permission. "I'm here in one piece, aren't I? And so are your presents.”

         “That's true,” Jonathan concedes, wearing a quiet smile. "Out of interest, what is my present this year?”

         “I can't tell you,” Anna rolls her eyes. "That defeats the whole point of tomorrow! Actually," she glances at the clock steadily ticking its way through the early morning hung above the sink, "the whole point of today.”

         “See? It's today. So you can tell me.”

         “No, I can't,” she swats his arm. "That's not fair. Plus, I'm not sure how well you'll be able to fake complete surprise for the benefit of your family tomorrow.”

         “You'd be surprised,” Jonathan says, handing her a tall glass of milk and stirring his own mug of dark brown liquid. "I've gotten by quite well for the past ten years.”

         “Ha ha,” Anna deadpans. "Don't be such a Scrooge!”

         “I'm not being a Scrooge!” he protests. "I was just saying, they tend to be quite predictable.”

         “Alright, Mister Fussypants, we get it - ”

         “What did you just - ”

         “Not even the most surprising of gifts is enough for your high standards. What is that, by the way?”

         “What, you mean my coffee?” Jonathan holds up the cup that Anna is nodding at. 

         “Oh, is that what it is? Because it smells really good.”

         “Gee, you have a thing for smells, don't you?” he asks amusedly, sipping at the coffee.

         “Oh, yeah," Anna nods.  “You don't get many of them around in the freezing cold tundra. Everything just smells of...snow. Which doesn't really have a smell. So when you go out on Christmas Eve, it's like...smell overload. Which is awesome. Hey, doesn't that stuff keep you awake?” She pauses to gesture to the coffee cup in Jonathan's hand once more.

         “Well, uh, yeah, it does.”

         “Then why are you drinking it?"

         “Well, for one thing, I don't plan on letting you leave until you tell me everything about all those other countries you see. And I plan on being fully awake while you do.”

         “That's not good for you,” Anna warns, and she tries to give him a pointed look down her nose, but it doesn't work, because even while she's sat on the counter Jonathan is still her height, and ugh stupid human teenage boys and their tallness.

       “I'm a junior in high school, Anna,” he replies, grinning as he takes another gulp of the steaming liquid, and she thinks about how this is the first time he's said her name all night, and how she kind of...likes it.  “Coffee and I are very well-acquainted.”

         “Junior in high school?” she parrots.

         “Uh huh,” Jonathan nods. "But we're not talking about that now. You're telling me about all those other countries you've been to see.”

         “Alright,” Anna can't resist the urgency of Jonathan's wanderlust, how badly he wants to know about places and countries and people other than his own. "Where do you wanna start?”

         “Tell me about your favourite country to go to.”

         “Easy. Saudi Arabia.”

         “What? Why?”

         “Because they don't celebrate Christmas,” Anna grins. "I can just fly straight past...”

         “You're funny,” Jonathan rolls his eyes. 

         “Okay, okay, if we're being honest? Probably here. Maybe Britain.”

         “Really?”

         “You guys are so big on it, y'know? Christmas isn't just about Jesus, it's about family and spending time together and giving and receiving and Mariah Carey...”

          “Mariah Carey,” Jonathan deadpans, raising a brow.

         “Yeah!” she exclaims. "Everyone loves Mariah Carey - ”

         “I don't,” he interrupts flatly. 

         “Oh, sure, you don't,” Anna teases, shoving him slightly in the chest. "That's what they all say, but the minute they've had a little too much eggnog, we all know which song gets cracked out first...”

         “Oh my God - ”

         “What? It's true!”

        Jonathan opens his mouth to respond, before shaking his head and closing it again.  “You're so...”

         “So?”

         “I don't know,” he murmurs.  “Christmas.”

       “Well,” Anna finishes off her glass and slides off the counter.  “I have no idea where that could've come from.”

      “Alright, no need to get all cynical,” he follows her back to the couch, still nursing his mug of coffee.

         “I'm only cynical when I think it's called for,” she points out with a smirk. 

         “Whatever,” Jonathan huffs, but he can't fool her - she can see that smile even if they're both sat on his couch in the darkness.

         “How's Flynn?” she asks with genuine interest. 

         “Oh, he's, you know. A five year-old.”

        Anna lets out a laugh.  “I didn't know that could be a mood,” she says. 

         “Of course it can," Jonathan tells her seriously. "Age can always be a mood.”

         “Is that so?”

         “Uh huh," he nods.  “For example, right now, I am feeling seventeen years old.”

         “You are seventeen years old.”

         “True. But I'm also acting my age. If I suddenly decided to throw a cushion at you, for example - ”

         “Don't you dare - ”

         “- I'd be acting around eight.”

         “Okay, you got me," Anna agrees. "But I have a question.”

         “Shoot.”

         “Shoot? Who's shooting?”

        Jonathan smiles, rolling his eyes.  “It's just an expression, Anna.”

          “Oh. Right. I knew that.”

          “Sure.”

         “I did!”

         “Okay.”

         “Whatever,” she shoves him in the arm.  “You're so annoying sometimes.”

         “As annoying as Nick?” he asks, draining the last dregs of his drink and setting it down on the coffee table. 

         “No, but keep doing what you're doing, and you'll be heading in that direction,” she sniffs with disdain.

         “Ouch,” Jonathan places his palm over his heart in mock anguish.  “That hurts, Anna. That really does.”

         “I still haven't asked my question.”

         “Go on, then.”

         “Okay. But you can't laugh.”

        Jonathan raises a brow.  “Okay.”

         “You promise?”

         “I promise.”

        She takes a deep breath.  “What'sajuniorinhighschool?”

         “I'm sorry, you're going to have to repeat that, I don't think I can decipher individual words at the speed of light,” he jokes.

        Anna sighs.  “What's a junior in high school?”

         “Huh?”

         “You said you...you said you were a junior in high school.”

         “Oh,” Jonathan says, and then his eyes widen with understanding.  “Oh.”

         “So...” Anna trails off, biting her lip.  “What's a junior in high school?”

         “The worst thing to be in high school,” he says with a laugh.  “Except maybe a teacher. Here - ”

        Jonathan grabs a notepad from the coffee table, rooting around briefly for a pen before drawing a crude pyramid divided into four sections.

         “Okay, so these,” he points out the bottom most section with his pen,  “these are freshmen.” He pauses to write the word FRESHMEN in block capitals on the pyramid.  “They're the youngest. They're also the ones people don't really care about. Unless they're super cool. Or super assholeish. Some freshmen are really popular, like more popular then upperclassmen - ”

         “Were you a popular freshman?” Anna interrupts curiously. 

        Jonathan's brows furrow.  “Well, I, uh - I did have a lot of friends, yeah - ”

         “So you were!” she crows in triumph.

         “Ssh,” he shakes his head.  “I wouldn't say I was popular - ”

        “Oh, you so were - ”

         “Not the point! The point is, freshmen are at the bottom of the metaphorical food chain. They're like...plankton.”

         “Those teeny tiny things that whales eat?”

         “Exactly.”

         “You know, I never got how something so big could live on something so small,” she begins pensively.  “Like, imagine how much you'd have to eat of them...or what they'd look like when you peed them out. Or pooed them out. Do whales even pee?”

        Jonathan rolls his eyes.  “Back to the original question - ”

         “Right. Junior high school thing. Why did you tell me about freshmen? I was kind of asking about juniors. Why are they even called freshmen?”

         “As I was saying - ” he goes back to the diagram, writing the word SOPHOMORES onto the next section up from freshmen. 

         “Wow." Anna says.  “That seems like a mouthful.”

        It seems like Jonathan has finally mastered the art of completely ignoring what Anna has to say unless it's actually relevant to the conversation topic.  “Sophomores are the next up. They're usually dicks.”

         “All of them?”

         “Mostly. Finding decent sophomores is hard.”

         “Oh. That sucks.”

         “It does.”

         “So, they're like freshmen, then?”

         “Kinda, in that they're usually assholes. Just...less innocent assholes.”

         “Okay.”

         “Then, you have juniors,” he taps the penultimate division of the pyramid.  “That's what I am right now.”

         “Are juniors assholes too?”

        Jonathan laughs.  “Mostly, yes. We're stressed assholes because we have these big exams that are important to us getting into college.”

         “I don't think you're an asshole,” Anna informs him. 

         “Well, thanks,” he says with a grin, and she thinks that she really could get used to seeing it on his face, the way she can just make out the upward curving of his lips in the receding darkness of the early morning. They stare at each other for a few beats too long, before Anna clears her throat. 

         “So what's the last part?” she asks, nodding at his diagram.

         “Oh, that's the seniors,” Jonathan says, almost as though it's obvious. 

         “What are they like?”

         “Pretty awesome,” he admits.  “I'm gonna be one next year, so.”

         “You are?”

         “Yep,” he chirps, almost like a proud kindergartner. “Movin’ one year up...”

        “Right,” Anna says heavily, and it’s not anything in particular, it’s just...she’d forgotten about that thing that humans do. How they get older.

        (Anna doesn’t. Get older, that is. She just kind of stays in this perpetual state of youth, and she thinks that a lot of humans would kill for that sort of thing, but she’d kill to get rid of it; she likes the idea of growing up and having a family and a house that humans seem so enamoured with. It seems...nice. Like doing something for yourself. Her only purpose in life is to do things for other people.)

        “Hey, are you okay?” Jonathan’s tone is gentle as his fingers graze her arm in concern. Anna is jolted back to the present (haha...present...come on, that was a pretty good pun, right?) and lets her eyes flicker to the sun, which is beginning its steady ascent upwards.

        “Oh, crap!” she exclaims, jumping up from the couch. “I’m so late! I haven’t even started on South America or – ”

        “Hey,” he interrupts her with a smile. “It’s okay. You’ll get round in time. But you better get going, right?”

        “Right,” she pauses, realising that he’s also stood up, making her feel kind of small in comparison. It’s not that she’s that much shorter than Jonathan, it’s just something about him that makes him still feel...big. Tall. Like a tower. Or a giant! Something along those lines. She’s never been great with similes. Or are they metaphors?

        “Anna,” he sings, poking her. She realises he’s become practiced at being able to tell when she’s gotten lost in her own train of thought.

        “Right,” she nods, beginning her determined path towards his fireplace and by extension the rest of the world. “Mexico will get their presents!”

        “That’s the spirit,” he grins, and he follows her to the fireplace before letting his eyes widen. “Wait, hold up!”

        He goes to rush towards the kitchen space, pausing briefly to turn to her and say; “Don’t move a muscle.”

        “My feet are rooted to this spot until your return,” she declares, crossing her arms for good measure.

        “Good,” he grins, and he disappears out of her sight for a few brief moments, returning with a large Tupperware box. Anna takes it from him, discovering upon further inspection that it is filled to the brim with cookies.

        “Oh, Jonathan – ”

        “For the rest of your journey,” he waves off. “Since I’m the one who held you up, and all...”

        Before he can finish, she lunges towards him, throwing both her arms around his neck. The cookies rattle in the box.

        “You didn’t hold me up,” Anna murmurs into his shoulder. “You’re the best part of my Christmas Eve.”

        She feels a quiet chuckle resonate through his chest. “Likewise.”

        She takes it as a cue to pull back. “So, until next year?” she says, and okay, maybe she makes it into a bit of question, because she’s still not completely one hundred percent sure that she doesn’t just really annoy him.

        “Until next year,” Jonathan agrees with a grin.

        Anna turns to go up the fireplace, but stops short. “Uh, Jonathan?”

        “Is another one-up necessary?” She can hear the smirk in his voice, damn him.

        “Maybe a little one.”

_____________________________________

a/n: for daven because i'm not even adorable she's just delusional also she's a junior??? look edilio jonathan knows your struggle
vote and comment bc it's like 3 days till christmas and that should be enough incentive
I LOVE YOU ALL