Snowfall, steady yet gradual, coats the city around me in its blanket of white while I trek my way through it, clutching a bag containing a haphazardly wrapped present and protecting it from the flakes. The streets are practically deserted at this point; most people probably are already with their families, but here I am, still walking around in the cold to get to my destination. I will admit, I was caught off guard a bit when Curtis called me up earlier today and asked if I wanted to spend the evening with him, but since I didn't exactly have anything planned—I prefer to keep the holidays calm and relaxed compared to what I usually get up to—and a quiet night with Curtis seemed like a fine time, I accepted. In lieu of a prepared gift, I grabbed the most expensive bottle of booze I had in my cabinet—a not entirely legally acquired bottle of Cuban rum. I had wanted to break that one open for a while now, so what time like the present, right?
The trip from my inner city apartment to his place on the outskirts takes a while on foot, but public transport is having trouble with the snowfall, and it's not like I'd be driving with the prospect of drinking this evening, so a slow walk it is. With nothing but the crunching of the snow beneath my boots to keep me company, the next twenty minutes are spent mostly in quiet contemplation of the whole situation. The thought strikes me that I've never actually been to Curtis's place, as he isn't much for inviting people over, which is why I was so caught off guard by the invitation in the first place. But I'm glad he seems to be coming out of his shell a bit, because I do like him. He's earnest and means well, and while he is a bit of a dork at times, that just makes him even more endearing to me. He deserves to not be alone on Christmas Eve, so I'm glad he invited me over.
Before long, I arrive at his address, finding a quite pretty house of decent size—might be an inheritance, I guess—fairly modestly decorated for the season. I step up to the front door and give it a few knocks, and Curtis opens it a few moments later, letting me inside. After exchanging greetings and the like, we make our way over to his living room, where he has actually ordered some Chinese food from the place we occasionally order lunch from at work. He even remembered what my favorite dish off their menu is, which is not something I would have expected of him, and I do really appreciate that. And so, as we eat in relative silence, the snowfall becomes nothing but a pleasant backdrop, the sight out the window dimly lit by a nearby lamp and setting up a comfortable atmosphere.
But then the time to exchange presents comes, and I can spot a bit of nervousness creeping into his expression. I didn't actually expect anything from him, since this was all spur-of-the-moment and all, but he did say that he had something for me. And so, I give him the bottle of rum, and he does seem happy about receiving it. Hell, we even open it up immediately and pour ourselves some, drinking to a new year. It's a remarkably intimate moment for the two of us that have really only been coworkers at this point. We were friendly with each other, sure, but it didn't go that far, and while drinking together at a bar would be something expected, there's something about drinking alone together at his place that makes it that extra bit more close.
And that brings us to Curtis's present, which he takes from a nearby table and hands me with a nervous smile before excusing himself and heading up to his bedroom, leaving me alone with his gift... an envelope. Curious, I open it up and find only a folded sheet of paper inside. I unfold it and realize that it is in fact a letter addressed to me, so I start to read it. And what a letter it is... it's a confession, and a long one, too. A heartfelt expression of desires, kept locked inside for nearly a decade, unlocked and wishing to burst out after meeting me. It tells of late night web browsing, looking at images of women, then men. It tells of confusion and arousal. Curtis is, in fact, bisexual, and working with me, an openly gay man, has led to him realizing that he doesn't need to keep his desires for men to himself, that he can tell people, and so who better than the one that caused him to realize this in the first place?
But if this letter was just a coming-out story, that wouldn't be too crazy. It's what follows that really catches me off guard: this letter is just not a confession of him being closeted, no. He's fallen in love with me. Head over heels, for that matter... He writes of having dreams about me, catching himself staring wistfully after me as I pass by at work. I can practically feel it seeping out of the paper; this guy is downright smitten. And as I finish reading the letter, my perception of Curtis is thrown into disarray, thinking of him as nothing but a coworker made impossible. Looking up from the paper, I find Curtis standing there next to the couch I'm sitting on, his expression an unreadable mixture of anxiety, affection, fear, and excitement. But one thing is clear: he's waiting for an answer.