Pete feels Ruth peering over his shoulder, the metal of her gear, and the oncoming insult of his decorating skills before it comes.
“No offense, but were you raised with a normal Santa or the goddamn Krampus?”
He sighs. Deeply. “It’s a completely fine Santa cookie, Ruth, thank you very much.”
Richie appears at his other side, hands completely covered in cake batter, which he is actively licking off of them before he spots Pete’s cookies and stops. “Jesus, Pete. We are supposed to raise money for the St. Damien’s kids, not scare them to death.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Do you know that when a snow globe is made, the world inside is made somewhere?” Alice says while shaking the snow globe she got as a “sorry–I–can’t–make–it–for–Christmas” gift from her mom, watching as the snowflakes cover the Christmas trees inside.
Pete’s eyebrows furrow, giving him the likeness of an annoyed ferret. “That’s not true. We are here.”
“Yeah, but there are many more us.” She looks over to Pete. The glasses are almost slipping off his nose, even with the elastic band behind. “Petes and Alices. Lots and lots of them. Daddy told me.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is!”
“Do we really need to hide in a closet for this?” Pete whispers, and Richie slaps a hand over his mouth. They’re smushed almost nose–to–nose in the tiny crook where they can see anything. Pete didn’t think he’d spent his first Christmas out of the closet in a literal closet.
And then Ted clambers into the room, probably drunk, which isn’t surprising in the slightest, but Richie’s uncle is stumbling right behind him, and Ted falls backwards onto the shitty motel bed, and—
“What the heck. What the hecking heck.” Richie whispers, disgusted, as wet kissing sounds fill the room.