Syracuse, New York, USA


The snow glows around the festive house in a suburban neighborhood. The windows emit warm rays of light as the Christmas lights lining the house twinkle in the fridge night. It is a house that is ready for a party.

Inside, in the spacious kitchen, Brett Howden, Taylor Raddysh, and Callan “Cal” Foote are standing behind the long countertop. Brett is wearing a crisp white dress shirt; Taylor has on a purple holiday sweater and a Santa hat; Cal is sporting a blue jacket.

Each has their own ball of cookie dough and baking sheet in front of them. Intently, they mold, cut, and roll their dusty dough.

“Hah!” Brett puts down his cutting knife and looks at the dough on his cutting board. “Look at this beaut.” He peels it off with the tips of his fingers and holds it in the air for the other two to see.

Hanging in the air is a roughly cut Christmas tree-shaped dough with a slanted angle.

“It’s a Christmas tree,” Brett remarks behind it.

Cal has an annoyed look at it. “That’s not a tree, you idiot.” He rolls his eyes.

With a huff, Brett plops the dough on the baking sheet.

In between them, Taylor contently rolls his dough in his hands. “Geez, sure was nice of Conch to let us have his house for a night to throw a party. That means, NO abusing the niceness by making ANY messes, Brett.” He throws a glare at Brett.

Brett gawks at him. “I’m not making a mess! I’m making masterpieces!” He holds his hands out at the baking sheet next to his leftover dough.

His baking sheet holds similarly jagged holiday-shaped dough. Brett himself has large splotches of dough and powder all over himself.

Cal snorts before reaching his leg behind Taylor to shove it against Brett’s calf. “You’re such a liar.”

Brett jolts at the sharp pain. “Ow!”

Meanwhile, Taylor gazes up dreamingly. “Man, if I had a place like this, I wouldn’t DARE make a mess of it. Everything would be so neat and organized.”

Cal brings his dough-sprinkled fist up to his mouth and coughs out, “And gay.”

Brett leans over to scowl at him. “You’re just jealous you can’t make cookies as good as me! I mean, look at yours!” He holds a hand out to Cal’s balls of dough on his baking sheet. “Is that an ornament or a snowball?”

Cal snaps his sharp eyes at him. “It’s your mom.”

Fury instantly engulfs Brett’s face. He rips his leftover dough into his fist, balls it up, and throws his arm up in the air.

Taylor catches Brett’s intended actions and barks, “HEY! No!” He snatches the ball from his hand and shoves it into his own mouth. He swallows it with a massive gulp.

Brett drops his jaw at him with a crinkled nose. “Ewww, that’s so gross! Now I gotta get a new batch of dough!” He takes Taylor’s leftover dough and begins to knead it on his own cutting board.

“It’s just cookie dough, you pansy,” Cal snarks at him as he rolls his dough with a rolling pin. “Maybe Shannon has a nice little dress somewhere for ya to put on, huh, Brettulet?”

Brett dusts off the flour from his dress shirt with burning eyes aimed at him. “Say that name one more time.”

Cal halts his rolling and points at him. “Hey, Brettulet, you got some flour all over your pretty white shirt, as this will be a nice party, you might wanna fix yourself up a little.”

Brett stops dusting. He peers down at his shirt. Then he glares at Cal before storming off to his right.

Taylor whirls his head from side to side with annoyance to look at both of his teammates. “Would you two, just—”

Ringing sounds from the living room.

“Hang on; I gotta go answer that.” Taylor wipes his dusty hands with the dish towel hanging below him. “It could be important.” He eyes Cal. “Just behave.” He then strolls out of the kitchen as the phone continues ringing.

Cal stands alone with his flattened dough in front of him.

Taylor’s fake, bright voice rings through the kitchen: “Hello, this is Raddy!”

Cal rolls his eyes. A smirk then settles on his face before he turns to glare where Brett exited. He continues rolling while humming a Christmas carol.

Brett stalks back to the kitchen, this time sporting a holiday-themed dress apron. He returns to his spot on the other end of the countertop and resumes kneading his dough. He slips a glance at Cal’s works.

“Seriously, Cal, is that a snowball or an ornament?” He reaches over and pokes one of the balls of dough on Cal’s baking sheet.

Cal swats his hand away. “It’s none of your business, pretty boy. Maybe you should stop before you seriously piss me off.” He sticks his face toward him. “Huh?”

Brett leans away with a pompous aura. “You just don’t wanna admit you’re so bad at baking because you wanna be as good as me.” He places a powder-covered hand on the apron’s chest.

Cal shoves him against his shoulders.

Brett’s eyes fly open as he stumbles backward. “Hey!” He regains his balance. “What’s your problem?”

Cal fully faces him and cracks his neck with a smirk. “Nothing really...it’s nothing…” He slips out a chuckle.

Brett narrows his eyes at him in confusion. “Uh, okay, just stop looking at me like that…” He turns back to his dough. “You’re creeping me out…”

Cal cocks his head to get a good look at his eyes. “Am I…?” He seizes Brett’s left wrist, making him freeze. “What are you going to do about it?”

Brett snaps down at his held wrist. “Dude!” He pulls at it, yet Cal’s hand stays still. “Let go! I’m trying to bake here!”

Cal shakes his head with his smug smile. “Not a chance.”

“Ugh, Boris, you do this EVERY single time you come here,” Taylor’s voice sounds again, making the two freeze. “It’s a left, left, right THEN another left. Don’t ask again... Fine… I’ll come outside and flag you down…”

The slamming of a door then follows, settling the inside with silence.

Cal tugs Brett to his left. Brett tumbles to the pulled direction, shock popping up in his face.

“Whoa!”

Cal drags him away from the countertop.

“Hey!”

He hauls him to the side door, throws it open, and steps out into the crisp night.

“Let go!”

Cal swings Brett ahead of him and slams him up against the cold surface of a shed. He laughs in amusement with his hands on his shoulders, letting out puffs of white clouds from his mouth.

Brett throws a fist at his face.

Cal’s head snaps to aside, causing him to stumble back. He then holds his mouth down to his open palm.

Brett peels his back from the cold shed and stares down at him, fists by his sides. “What the hell?!”

Cal flies at him and pins him back against the shed with his hands around his wrists.

He sticks his face into his, revealing red oozing down his lip. “I don’t like you,” he snarls. “And don’t even think about kicking me there, because I’ll just dodge it and hurt you worse.”

Brett pulls his arms at Cal’s grip, yet they stay still. “Let! Go!” He halts and throws at him, “I’m not liking you any more too!”

A smirk curls up on his bleeding lip. “Too bad Brayden isn’t here to save you.”

He is talking about Brayden Point, a good friend of Brett’s.

Brett then snaps his head up. “BRAYDEN!!! HELP—!”

A hand instantly clamps over his mouth, causing his eyes to fly open and his breathing to increase.

With his free hand, Cal throws the shed door open and pushes him inside. He maintains his other hand still over his mouth. “You’re not going to be around for long…”

Brett flails his hands at Cal’s face and outstretched arm in an attempt to get his hand off his mouth. He is then pushed down into a rotting leather chair before duct tape is wrapped around his shoulders, chest, arms, legs, and ankles.

Cal then rips off the last piece with his teeth and removes his other hand to slap it over Brett’s mouth.

“There…” He steps back and crosses his arms, admiring his work. “Anything to say to me now, princess?”

Brett muffles behind the tape as he writhes against the adhesive restraints. Nevertheless, the fury in his eyes hasn’t faltered.

Cal snorts. “Pathetic.” He steps up to him and ruffles his thick hair. “It’ll be a great peace and quiet to me now that you’ll be locked away in here, unable to annoy me with your constant ridicules and pesky comments about my actions...!” He trails a hand down the side of Brett’s face.

Brett flinches his head away from his hand with sharp eyes on it. He screams in frustration behind the tape.

“The best part is…” Cal brings his fingers down to Brett’s stubble-coated chin. “...no one knows where you are. You could die...or maybe close to it… I don’t really care.”

Brett throws his head to a side, removing Cal’s fingers from his face.

Cal straightens up, keeping his eyes on him. “And I’m feeling rather artsy, so why not keep the cute Christmas dress on you and…” He gazes around the dim interior of the shed.

The faint rays of the moonlight from the doorway catch a reflection of an item in the depths of the darkness, casting a glint. Cal spots the glimmer and steps up to the source. He sticks his hands in the dark before pulling it out, revealing the gleaming item: a lustrous, golden tiara.

He prances to Brett and forces the accessory against Brett’s thick, curly hair. Then with anticipation, he slips up to Brett to face him. A mad smile springs on his face. “Perfect!”

Contrasting the delicate tiara, Brett’s thick eyebrows are furrowed with burning eyes up at him. He flings his head in all possible directions. The tiara stays in place, like as if it is a part of him.

Cal snickers in amusement at Brett’s fruitless actions. “You can try all you want. But your pretty little golden curls of hair are just going to entangle more and more around it.”

Brett gives one shake of his head before halting with a glare at Cal.

Cal’s eyes light up with fake excitement. “Oh! I must be getting back inside, for the party is about to begin.” He steps toward the open doorway. “Have fun rotting away in here, Princess Brettulet!”

Brett screams into the tape once again as he thrashes against the restraints.

Cal then slips through the doorway and slams the door to the shed shut, blocking Brett from his sight. He clicks the hanging padlock together through the latch then whirls around and races back inside.

The kitchen’s side door bursts open, letting Cal back into the warm room. He scrambles to the sink across from the countertop, throws the faucet open, and tosses water at his face. He then closes it and straightens up before rotating his hands by his chest with heavy breaths.

Then with a nod and the shake of his heads, he dashes out of the kitchen, through the short hallway, and explodes into the large, festive living room.

The newly-arrived guests of the party are congregated inside along with the host.

Taylor whirls around the sound of Cal’s hasty footsteps. He scans him from head to toe with bewilderment. “Where have YOU been?”

The guests halt their conversing and stare at him. The room falls into silence; the only sound is the soft Christmas music coming from the speakers and Cal’s panting.

Cal gazes at them with pure horror, his body stiff. “Someone attacked Brett and me. I tried my best to stop them” —he throws his hands in the air— “but they took him!” He holds his hands out to his left. “I tried to run after the van, but…” His energy fades, making him dip his head and drop his arms. “...I tripped on a rock and fell.”

By the front door, Jonne Tammela scoffs at him with crossed arms. He is wearing a red and green holiday sweater with a matching Santa hat.

“Explains the bloody lip you got.” He juts his chin toward Cal. “Not even five minutes and Brettulet’s already in trouble.” He lifts his eyes to the host. “This is gonna be one hell of a party, Raddykins!”

Taylor shoots him a glare, holding his fists by his sides. “Don’t call me that, Jonne.”

Ross Colton, showcasing his multi-colored, twinkling ugly sweater, steps up to Taylor. “Well, this is one heck of a party!” He smiles at him with a hand on his shoulder. “Where’s the eggnog?”

From the side of the sofa, Alex Barre-Boulet, who is wearing a red and green holiday sweater with reindeer antlers, holds his palms out toward the ceiling and exclaims, “Who needs eggnog, when you have Katzy!” He then throws himself at the sofa and lands on Boris Katchouk’s lap, who has on a matching outfit and an elf hat. He wraps his arms around shoulders, dangerously near his neck, and shoots him a radiant beam.

Taylor steps up to Cal. “I was wondering where you and he were. I went back into the kitchen and found no one there.”

Jonne approaches the two. “Brett’s probably just run off with Brayden…” He rolls his eyes before halting by the host. “I swear, Brettulet’s such a little pretty boy.”

“I’m gonna run off with Katzy!” Alex squeals from the sofa behind the two. “On the back of Misha!”

He is talking about Mikhail Sergachev, a Lightning defenseman who can turn into a unicorn.

Jonne looks at him from the corner of his eyes. “Too bad Misha’s in Tampa right now, crazy.”

Boris eyes Alex’s arms tightening around his neck. “Can you loosen your grip?” he croaks out. “You’re choking me here, BouBou…”

“Sorry, Katzy!” he sing-songs. He then lets go before pulling him into a hug.

“Well,” Ross pipes up to Taylor. “I’m gonna serve me some eggnog.” He breezes by him, Jonne, and Cal, heading toward the opening of the hallway. “Hoot if you want any!” He then disappears into the hallway.

Boris springs up to his feet; Alex still holds him in his hug, now having his feet dangle in the air. “I’m game!”

“No!” Alex shouts at him. “No eggnog, until we find and save Brett!” He shakes Boris in his grasp. “We’re not celebrating without him! I forbid it!”

“Holy moly, the raccoons returned to Cory’s shed?!” Ross’s voice echoes through the hallway.

Cal clenches a fist at his side as he watches Taylor pass by him. “Cory would know…”

“What are you…?” Taylor is heard asking into the hallway.

Jonne eyes the entrance of the hallway with an unamused expression. “Leave it to Rossling to find something weird.”

Ross steps back into the kitchen in a glass of eggnog. Taylor follows him. “I hear a buncha banging coming from the shed!” He gives Taylor an empathic look. “Poor raccoons, they just wanna live free and in the wild!”

Taylor stops next to Jonne with Ross. “Okay, I suggest we break into groups and search the house and surrounding development here.” He pounds a fist into his open palm. “We gotta find Brett!”

Cal shoots him a bewildered expression. “Why should it matter? He got himself into trouble, let him be in trouble.”

Jonne holds his hands out at him. “THANK YOU.”

Taylor leans toward the Finn and throws an angry pointer finger at him. “Jonne, I’ll pop you, right after I slap Cal. We find Brett!”

“Any excuse for Raddykins to hang out with his Rossling.” Jonne gives him a leer with his arms crossed. “Right?”

Taylor pulls away with a deep breath as his face grows red. “Jonne...Tammela…”

Ross swings his eyes from one side to the other. “So we’re getting the raccoons or Brett?”

Taylor whirls to him. “BRETT, Ross!”

Ross nudges him with a smile. “I was only messing…!”

He sighs and looks down. “He’s still one of my best friends; I care about him. I’m just so worried about him…”

Jonne huffs and looks to a side. “Fine...we’ll find Brettulet Howden. Maybe Rossling’s raccoons have a clue?” He turns his eyes to Ross.

“Or...maybe...the white van out front?!” Cal holds his hands out from his sides.

Banging echoes through the hallway and sounds throughout the whole living room.

“Told ya.” Ross shakes head and clicks tongue. “Those poor raccoons.”

Taylor bumps his shoulder with his hand. “Come on, let’s get the raccoons, okay, Rossy? Will that make you happier?”

Ross lifts his head at him. “Yes.” He lets out a chortle. “They’re actually driving me bonkers!”

With that, Taylor leads Ross, Jonne, Boris, Alex, and Cal through the dim, short hallway and into the bright, empty kitchen.

Taylor crosses the room and opens the side door. He then ambles out. The others follow him, Cal being the last one.

Before he steps out into the frigid night, Cal scoops up a knife from the abandoned dough station and holds it behind his back.

Shuffling and crunching of the snow is heard in the dusky light as the men wander around the white-covered yard. The colored lights of the house’s Christmas lights dance on Cal’s face as he stands at the front of the closed door, gazing around with apprehension.

Cal locks his eyes on the silent shed; his heart pounds loudly; sweat prickles his skin against his coarse holiday sweater.

A shadow then casts over the shed. With a skip of his heart, Cal snaps his eyes to his right: Approaching the shed with curiosity sparkling in his eyes is Alex.

“No!”

Cal springs up to Alex, snatches his wrist, and pulls him close to him. Alex writhes, causing Cal to hook his arm around his neck.

“Katzy!” Alex cries out between his squirms.

From the other side of the yard, Jonne stares at Cal’s situation with an apathetic look. “Really? You just revealed you lied and also, what are you going to do to him?” He holds his hand out to Alex, who is still twisting and turning in his grip.

“Callan Foote!” Taylor barks at him from next to the Finn. “Let him go!”

“NO!” He lets go of Alex’s wrist to bring the knife’s blade up to Alex’s exposed neck. “I’ll slice pretty Frenchy’s neck here!” He presses it against him.

Alex lets out a whimper.

Boris storms into view from the corner of the house with a glower. “Don’t you touch my sexy little Frenchy!” He then thrusts his fist at Cal’s face.

“AHHH!!!”

Cal instantly lets go of Alex, dropping the knife to the snow. His hands shoot up to his face as he stumbles backward. “Dammit!”

Boris grabs Cal’s shoulders, bends him down, and throws his knee up at his chest. “That’s for thinking about it.” He then pushes him away before swinging his fist at his face again. “And that’s for actually doing it!”

Cal covers his face with his hands, staggering backward. He lets out a pained groan.

Alex springs up next to Boris and hops up in down with excitement. “Get him, Katzy!”

Boris charges at Cal, passing by the shed.

Ambling up to the shed is Jonne. The shed begins to tremble with banging.

Jonne presses his lips. He then looks down at the latch. A padlock hangs from it.

He then turns to peer ahead. Lying on the snow, a couple of feet away from him and the fight is the knife. He glances both ways before speeding up to it, snatching it up, and rushing back to the shed.

Jonne stuffs the blade into the keyhole of the padlock and twists it sporadically. A satisfying click sounds. He slips the knife into his pocket, pulls the padlock out, pulls the latch away from the slot, and throws the door open.

His subtle excited expression instantly morphs into subtle perplexion as he stares inside.

“Hey, uh—” He looks away from the shed. “—Raddykins, come look at this! I need a moment…” He turns back to the open shed, now with a smug smile. “...maybe to go grab my phone for a nice little picture.”

Taylor steps into the open doorway with a flat expression toward him. “No. Picture. Jonne.”

Ross slips into the doorway as well. He gives the inside a confused look. “That is not how a raccoon looks like.” He then pauses before horrid realization grows on his face. “Wait, BRETT?!”

Sure enough, Brett is still bound against the chair with the tape on his mouth. He lets out frantic muffles as he tugs at the chair, making it bang against the floor.

Jonne waves at him. “Hi, pretty princess!” He then snorts with laughter and blurts out, “PLEASE, LET ME TAKE A PICTURE?”

Taylor whirls to him. “NO!” He then stomps into the shed and turns to the hostage. He gasps. “Brett, my gosh, you okay?” He rushes up to him and inspects him.

Ross steps up to him with sympathy; his sweater’s lights cast a colorful, faded glow in the duskiness. “I’m sorry I mistook you for a raccoon, Brett!”

Taylor then rips the piece of duct tape from Brett’s mouth.

Jonne frowns at his picture-perfect moment becoming undone. “Awww...dang it.”

Brett draws in a deep breath. “CAL! STUPID CAL! HE FREAKING PUT ME HERE; LET ME GET A PIECE OF HIM!!!” He thrashes against this restraints.

Taylor grabs his shoulders, holding him in place. “Whoa! Whoa! Easy.”

Ross places his free hand on the chair’s backrest and gazes down at him. “Patience, my friend. Cal’s already getting a taste of his own medicine.”

Brett gawks up at him. “What—?”

Taylor lets out a chuckle, letting go of him. “Boris is having a field day out there.”

Jonne rolls his eyes to peer behind his shoulder. “Complete with his own cheerleader…”

“TAKE HIM DOWN, KATZY!” Alex is heard cheering.

Brett throws himself at the restraints, causing the chair to rock back and force with banging. “LET ME AT HIM! LET ME TAKE HIM DOWN TOO!”

Ross swings his eyes to Taylor and whispers, “Now I’m rethinking letting him go…!”

Taylor gives him an irritated look. “Same here…” He then holds onto Brett’s shoulders once again. “Brett, relax man. It’s okay, Boris has it.”

“OOF!!!” Cal is heard forcing out from behind them.

The three men turn around with large eyes to peer through the open doorway.

Across the shed, Boris slams Cal against the house’s wall and backs away. Cal slumps onto the snow.

“YES!” Brett shouts, shifting in the restraints. “THAT’S WHAT YOU GET, CAL!!!”

Boris stands heroically next to his defeated opponent. “He touched my Blueberry.” He flicks his head back, throwing the pompom of his hat away from his face. “I decked him.”

With blood smeared on his nose and mouth, Cal stares up at the twinkling Christmas lights, his eyes dazed. “Look...stars…”

Taylor stomps out of the shed and through the snow. He looms above Cal with his hands on his hips. “You’re in BIG trouble, Callan!”

Jonne speeds up next to him. “Oooh! Last year when we held the annual Christmas Party, Olivier Archambault hit on Shan, Cory’s wife. Cory got so mad that he called up Coach Ben and Archy had to spend the entire party at his house!” He chuckles with a slap of his knee. “It was hilarious! He was so mad. It was great.”

Ross pokes his head out from the shed. “I say we shall give this great victory over the madman a toast with eggnog!” He holds his untouched glass of eggnog in the air.

Taylor shakes his head at him before pulling his smartphone out of his pocket. “First, let’s call up Coach Ben.” He taps on its screen. “I think he’s worth punishing for such a crime. Seriously, what’d Brett do to you?” He spins around to face Brett. “Brett, what did you do to make him so mad at you?”

The others peer into the shed in interest.

Brett stares at them from the dimness. “I was just asking him if his cookie was a snowball or an ornament.” He pauses. “Now can someone get me out of this chair?!” He tosses his body against the restraints.

Jonne throws his hand into the air. “I got ya, buddy!” He pulls out the knife from his pocket and jogs into the shed.

“Merry holidays, Brettulet!” He saws the long strips of tape from Brett’s body. He then puts the knife on an empty shelf and scoops Brett into his arms.

“AH!” Brett yelps at the unexpected action.

Jonne glances at the glittering tiara on top his thick hair before returning him a smirk. “You look very pretty with that tiara on.”

Brett lowers his eyebrows. “Shut it, Tammela.”

Jonne shrugs. “Hey, just saying. I think Bray would really like it.” He then steps out of the shed with him laid across his arms. “No need to thank me.”

Brett simply crosses his arms with a fuming expression as the others approach him with joy.

“And that,” Jonne is heard saying over the scene, “is how Brett, the fiery Aries, became Brettulet the Mancess.”

Pages flip over the scene before a red back cover of a book closes over it.

Holding the large book is Jonne, who is sitting on an armchair by a fireplace. Behind him, his cozy living room is decorated with garlands, ornaments, and lights.

A roguish smile grows on the storyteller’s face. “The end.”

In front of him, Brett sits crisscrossed on the maroon-colored carpet. He stares up at him with his fists holding his unamused expression. The sparkling, golden tiara still sits on his head.

“I hate you,” he remarks.


The End.

Notes

5 more days until Christmas!
8/12

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Thank @EvelynaKitty for your help in writing this one-shot! You can also find her on Tumblr!