"Fuckin' ribbon an' tissue paper an' shit," Pickles mumbled angrily. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, sprinkling ashes over his work surface as he talked to himself. The remnants of the bong he'd smoked a few minutes ago littered the floor, and there was a Long Island Iced Tea in a glass nearby. Pickles found that wrapping Christmas presents was much easier when one was slightly stoned and a little bit tipsy. It was also marginally more fun—the bright colors of the wrapping paper were jumping out at him in a pleasantly vibrant way.

Unfortunately, the whole tying-a-bow thing was not easier. It was in fact a thousand times more difficult, and Pickles was about to throw the box (which contained a customized PS3, twenty video games, and a variety of candies) across the room. He should have just gotten the Klokateers to wrap his presents like most everyone else had, instead of insisting upon doing it himself, but that felt kind of wrong, considering to whom the gift was being given—Toki always wrapped his own presents.

Coming to a decision to take a breather, Pickles snatched up his glass and took a long, burning swallow. He really hoped Toki liked the present. Or presents, depending upon how one looked at it...

The band did a sort of secret-Santa thing for one another ever year. It had been a tradition they had started in the early days years ago, and even now, long after their staunch not-caring rule had been put into place, they still did it. It brought them a little closer together, and reminded them where they had come from...something they needed to remember every now and then.

This year, Pickles had drawn Toki's name. He had no idea who had his name, or who anyone else had, but the last time Pickles had had Toki's name he'd only been able to afford to get the kid a five dollar Rammstein t-shirt. Toki had flipped his shit in childish excitement. These days, though, a Rammstein t-shirt wouldn't cut it, and Pickles had been at a complete loss. He had finally settled on the customized PS3 (it was emblazoned with Toki's name in fiery blue colors on a black background and it had a lifetime warranty—if broken, it would be replaced with an identical, brand-new one even if Toki lived to be eighty), the twenty games (most of them were anime-style, an obsession in which Toki was entirely alone) and a whole shit-ton of candy. Just the sight of all that chocolate had made Pickles's stomach ache.

He hoped it would be good enough. He loved watching the kid open his gifts on Christmas day, because Toki always got so damn excited. The expression 'like a kid on Christmas' had never fit any grown man as well as it fit Toki, and Pickles could never help but smile when he saw Toki's face as the younger man ripped into his gifts.

A loud knock on his door startled Pickles out of his thoughts so sharply that he spilled his drink all down the front of his ragged old Snakes 'N Barrels t-shirt. Jumping to his feet, he held the thin, wet cloth away from his chest and hollered, "Get yer ass in here!"

The door squeaked open and Toki's stepped halfway inside the door, eyes tightly closed. "Ifs yous drawed my name I's sorries, I's leave!"

It was odd for Toki to be visiting at this hour the night before Christmas—he was usually already asleep. It was odd for anyone to be visiting, actually, since they all avoided one another Christmas eve night as they wrapped their gifts so that no one would have any idea who drew which name.

Pickles's eyes shifted to the wrapped box on his table, but he had yet to put a name tag on it—all was safe. He motioned for Toki to come on inside and skinned out of his wet t-shirt.

"What're ya doin' here, kid? Figured ya'd already be sleepin', waitin' on Santa." Pickles rifled through his drawers, looking for another t-shirt.

"I can'ts sleeps at all," Toki said, "And nobodies woulds be lettings me hangs out withs them, cause of the secretness." he sat down on the edge of Pickles's unmade bed, picking at a loose thread in his cloud-covered pajama pants. He wasn't wearing much else, and Pickles tried to pretend that it was just envy that made his eyes linger on Toki's abs a split second longer than perhaps they should have.

"Why the hell are ya runnin' around half-naked, chief?" Pickles asked as he threw on a black wifebeater. It was warm in his room, warm in all the rooms, but the corridors were freezing and Toki's room was on the complete opposite end of the hall.

Toki looked at him quizzically. "Is nots cold outs there, nots at all. Yous gots to 'member I growed up in Norway. Always colds there."

"Good point," Pickles replied. "So ya can't sleep, eh? Need some help? Got plenty a' tranks—"

Toki shook his head and cut the drummer off. "Tonights nots a good nights for sleepins, Pickle...ands most definitelies nots a drug sleep."

Pickles narrowed his eyes, forcing his slightly blurry vision to focus. Now that he looked at him, Toki did seem a little strange. He was paler than usual, and he seemed to be on edge, more jittery than Pickles himself got when he was forced to go without weed or alcohol for extended periods of time.

"Whatsa matter?" Pickles asked, sitting down beside the guitar player. "Yer not getting sick, are ya?"

Toki shook his head and looked up at the high ceiling. "Is...nothings like that. I's just havings a bads nights, I guess."

"Whaddya mean a bad night? It's Christmas eve, kid, figured that'd be yer favorite night a' the year."

Toki smiled weakly. "Usualies is, whens I still gots presents to wraps and stuffs to do so's I can falls asleep likes I s'posed to."

"Did ya get yer shit done early or somethin' this year?" Pickles asked.

Toki nodded. "Reals early. I's had the gifts wrappeds up fors days now. Really be hopins my person like it."

"A' course he will," Pickles remarked absently, trying to put his finger on what exactly was bugging the younger man. "Well what's that gotta do with ya not bein' able t' sleep?"

"I sucks at wrappins presents so it takes a longs times an' makes me tireds," Toki answered, and held up his hand. It was covered in tiny papercuts. "And since I's usually be wrappins presents on Christamas eves, I's can usuallies goes to sleep and nots think sos much, but this years I went and dids it earlies and nows I'm thinkin to much and I can'ts be sleepin and this hasn't happens to me since the veries first years we hads the band and I can'ts be rememberins how to be dealins with it..."

As he spoke, Pickles could see the hurricane swirling in the pools of Toki's eyes, gathering momentum, gathering insanity, working up toward one hell of a storm. The kid had drawn his knees up to his broad chest and was shivering despite the warmth of Pickles's room.

"Toki," Pickles said, his drug-and-drink altered mind wanting to panic. "Toki, kid, calm down, talk t'me, okay? Whatsa matter with ya?" He laid a hand on Toki's bare back and the raised scar tissue made his skin crawl—not because he was repulsed, but because feeling the scars made him think of just what had caused them, and Pickles blocked any abuse except substance abuse entirely out of his mind.

"I keeps rememberins Christamases in Norway," he mumbled into his knees. "Ands how they was nothins likes this, nothins at all...I nevers got presents in Norway, yous know."

Pickles had figured as much. Aslaug and Anja didn't seem to be the gift-giving types.

"We's didn'ts even eats..." Toki's voice had dropped into a near stage whisper as he lost himself in his memories, a place he desperately avoided and a place from which his bandmates desperately tried to keep him.

"Whaddya mean ya didn't eat? I thought th' Norwegians had th' best Christmas food ever," Pickles asked. This confession had actually surprised him.

Toki shook his head. "Every ones else did—everyones else celebrateds. We prayeds...and...fasteds? I thinks thats what Father calleds it...hads like breads and water once a days for twelves days..."

"That's fuckin' ridiculous," Pickles said flatly. He couldn't fathom that any family would make Christmas such a painful ritual, even a family as fucked up and weird as Toki's.

"I stole foods once," Toki mused. He was really far away now—he was barely even acknowledging Pickles's comments. "Outs of the stores house. I thinks I was sevens...didn't gets my daily breads for two days after that, they hungs me by the wrists..."

The hand Pickles had put on Toki's scarred back snaked its way around to the opposite shoulder, pulling the shaking Norwegian close into Pickles's arms. He held him there, horrified, mumbling inane things about how Toki would never have to go back to Norway again, he'd have more than enough to eat for the rest of his life, how Pickles would make damn sure Toki would always have the best Christmas present humanly possible, how no one would ever hurt him ever again, God damn it, not if Pickles had anything to do with it...but that last bit only ran through Pickles's mind. He wanted to say it, wanted to badly, because he meant it...but he wasn't sure how Toki would respond to such an awkward promise, and so he kept it to himself.

"I's just cant's stops the rememberins," Toki mumbled into Pickles's chest. "I wants to, I does, but I can'ts and there's nothins to be distractins me, wrappin presents does buts I don't haves nothin to wraps and the guitar don'ts work and the models plane doesn'ts work. I wants them to goes away, I likes Christamas, I don'ts wanna fucks it up..."

Suddenly, Toki's babbling ceased—his lips were now otherwise occupied, and the moment after Pickles pulled away, he looked just as shell-shocked as Toki.

Sitting up, leaving one arm around Pickles's waist, Toki touched his lips with his opposite hand and blinked a few times.

"...whats...whats was thats for?" Toki asked.

Pickles felt his pale cheeks burning. "Er...ya said ya needed t' be distracted..."

Toki was distracted. Thoroughly.

"...buts...boys don'ts kiss boys. Does they?" the storm in Toki's eyes was fading now, giving way to clouds of confusion.

"Er...well...ya needed it," Pickles muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and wondering what in the hell he had just done and why the hell he found himself wanting to do it again.

"Wills you does it agains?"

It was Pickles's turn to blink in astonishment. "Ya...ya want me to?"

"Is nice," Toki replied. "I likes this kinds of distractings."

Pickles complied, fitting his lips against Toki's and pressing gently. He shuddered when Toki's mouth opened underneath his. They kept their hands to themselves for the time being, like two shy teenagers having their first real kiss.

This time, when Pickles pulled back, he was daring enough to smile slightly and ask whether or not Toki was distracted.

Toki's hand curled into the drummer's dreads. "Distractsded from whats?"

This time, there was nothing shy about the kiss. Pickles reveled in the feel of Toki's lips on his; the soft nibbling of teeth on the tip of his tongue thrilled him the way no drug in the world ever had or ever could. As he and Toki moved to the middle of the bed, hands snaking under shirts and legs tangling together, he had a feeling that Christmas had come just a little bit early...