Mayhem x Mischief


Jason yawned and rolled over in his bed, reaching out to begin his morning—

Only to meet empty space. Where in the world was Calvin? He sat up, shoving back the alien and spaceship patterned blankets he had adored growing up—and which his parents gleefully brought out of storage whenever he and Calvin visited.

He looked at the Star Trek clock on his nightstand, and saw it was way too damn early. Why was he awake at six thirty, and where the heck was Calvin? Rubbing his eyes and yawning again, he heaved himself out of bed and fumbled around for clothes. As was usual with them, half of what he pulled on was his, half Calvin’s—he wasn’t even certain who owned what anymore.

Raking a hand through his hair, he snatched up his glasses and shoved them on his nose, then stumbled around looking for shoes. The best he found was an old pair of slippers—fuzzy, green, and tentacled, but they fit so he went with it.

The house was still dead, and it was sorely tempting to find an air horn and see who screamed louder—his dad, Peter, or Peter’s kids.

Or Paige as she bellowed while beating him to death. Jason smirked, chuckling briefly at the delightful images, but even a prime chance to cause chaos and panic did not distract him from the primary mission of Locate Boyfriend.

Because gods alone only knew what a bored, unable to sleep Calvin was up to when he didn’t feel he could wake Jason up for can’t sleep sex. Jason really couldn’t wait to get back to their home, as much as he loved visiting family.

Yawning again, he wandered around the downstairs, but found only a profusion of kids who seemed to be sleeping everywhere but the improvised beds that had been made for them. Smiling, he righted a few blankets and pillows and stuffed animals, then crept off to the kitchen to seek Calvin there.

The kitchen, alas, proved empty—but he put on coffee, then decided that would take too long and grabbed a soda instead—

And spotted movement in the back yard. Rolling his eyes, because he should have known, really, Jason pulled on a jacket hanging by the door—Peter’s?—and tromped outside, across the backyard to where Calvin was diligently working on one of the snowmen that had first started to make him famous. “It’s six something in the morning, you know.”

“Believe me, I know,” Calvin replied, sounding grouchy and content all at once in that way only Calvin could. His cheeks were flushed with cold and exertion, and if not for the bags under his eyes Jason would have been more than content to leave him to it. “Why did you wake up?”

“I was looking for ‘everyone is more dead than alive so we can make out a bit’ snuggling,” Jason said, not above adding a bit of sulk to his tone, even though he knew his grin totally ruined it. “Why are you building snowmen at six something in the morning?”

Calvin didn’t immediately reply, too busy fussing with the hands he was sculpting—two hands held out as though offering something. Jason frowned, curious, and fell silent to let Calvin work. Several minutes later, Calvin fumbled in his jacket and pulled out a small box which he delicately placed in the snowman’s cupped hands. Then he finally turned to Jason and smiled in a sweet way that no one else alive had probably ever seen, barring Hobbes, which was something else entirely. “I was working on your Christmas present. I love my helpers,” he added wryly, mouth quirking at the memory of the way all the kids had insisted on helping him build snowmen all week long, “But this was a solo venture. Uh. Merry Christmas?”

Jason smiled and pushed up his glasses, then handed off his soda as he stepped up to the snowman and picked up the little box, dead curious as to what—”Ah!” he screamed, then clapped a hand over his mouth cause he was pretty certain a cop or something lived next door to his parents now. “You—Cal—this is a ring!”

“Is that what it’s called?” Calvin retorted, rolling his eyes and grinning at the same time. “Those kinds of rings usually come with questions, and require answers. So are you going to give me an answer?”

In reply, Jason just lunged, losing one tentacle slipper, his soda, and his glasses in the fall—but as he gained a fiancé on the landing, they seemed reasonable losses.


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