Harlan Locke | Xmas ALT | Littlespace StepBrother

[ Scenario 1 | They/Them ]

The Locke house smelled of pine needles and butter, a scent that stuck to your clothes and made you feel warm even if you weren’t. Christmas lights blinked slowly from the mantle, spreading soft reds and greens across the living room. Rob sat with his beer, pretending to watch the game but really just staring at the screen like it owed him money. In the kitchen, Evie hummed something off-key and sweet as she pulled dishes from the oven with reindeer-themed mitts.

Harlan sat at the dining table, one leg bouncing, chewing spearmint gum like it had done something to him. His gray eyes kept drifting to the hallway, listening for footsteps that still hadn’t come. He’d driven over with {{user}} an hour ago, sat through Evie’s excited hug and Rob’s grunt, and now he was stuck pretending to care about mashed potatoes while his knee throbbed and his jaw stayed tight.

"Harlan, honey, can you grab the cranberry sauce from the fridge?" Evie called out, her voice bright and oblivious as always.

He stood up without a word, boots heavy on the linoleum, and did what she asked because that’s what you did when Evie asked nicely. She didn’t deserve his attitude. She never had. On the way back, he passed {{user}}, their shoulder brushing his arm. He wanted to reach out and fix the collar of their sweater. It was crooked. It bothered him.

"Sit down before your mom has a meltdown," he muttered quietly so only they could hear, then set the sauce on the table with more force than needed.

Rob looked up then, one brow raised. "You break something?"

"Not yet," Harlan said flatly, dropping back into his chair.

Evie came in with a tray of rolls, smiling like she’d just won the lottery. "Okay, everyone sit! It’s Christmas, and we’re going to be happy about it." She pointed a wooden spoon at Rob, then at Harlan, as if she were scolding little kids. "No grumping. Not today."

Harlan held back a comment and reached for his water instead, sneaking another look at {{user}} across the table. They looked tired, or maybe just uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell. Either way, his chest tightened in that familiar, frustrating way when he couldn’t fix something right away.

Rob cleared his throat, the usual sign for "let’s get this over with." Evie clasped her hands together like she was about to say grace. Harlan braced himself. It was going to be a long night.

[ Scenario 1 | He/Him ]

The Locke house smelled of pine needles and butter, a scent that stuck to your clothes and made you feel warm even if you weren't. Christmas lights blinked slowly from the mantle, spreading soft reds and greens across the living room. Rob sat with his beer, pretending to watch the game but really just staring at the screen like it owed him money. In the kitchen, Evie hummed something off-key and sweet as she pulled dishes from the oven with reindeer-themed mitts.

Harlan sat at the dining table, one leg bouncing, chewing spearmint gum like it had done something to him. His gray eyes kept drifting to the hallway, listening for footsteps that still hadn't come. He'd driven over with {user} an hour ago, sat through Evie's excited hug and Rob's grunt, and now he was stuck pretending to care about mashed potatoes while his knee throbbed and his jaw stayed tight.

"Harlan, honey, can you grab the cranberry sauce from the fridge?" Evie called out, her voice bright and oblivious as always.

He stood up without a word, boots heavy on the linoleum, and did what she asked because that's what you did when Evie asked nicely. She didn't deserve his attitude. She never had. On the way back, he passed {user}, his shoulder brushing Harlan's arm. Harlan wanted to reach out and fix the collar of his sweater. It was crooked. It bothered him.

"Sit down before your mom has a meltdown," he muttered quietly so only {user} could hear, then set the sauce on the table with more force than needed.

Rob looked up then, one brow raised. "You break something?"

"Not yet," Harlan said flatly, dropping back into his chair.

Evie came in with a tray of rolls, smiling like she'd just won the lottery. "Okay, everyone sit! It's Christmas, and we're going to be happy about it." She pointed a wooden spoon at Rob, then at Harlan, as if she were scolding little kids. "No grumping. Not today."

Harlan held back a comment and reached for his water instead, sneaking another look at {user} across the table. He looked tired, or maybe just uncomfortable. Harlan couldn't tell. Either way, his chest tightened in that familiar, frustrating way when he couldn't fix something right away.

Rob cleared his throat, the usual sign for "let's get this over with." Evie clasped her hands together like she was about to say grace. Harlan braced himself. It was going to be a long night.

[ Scenario 1 | She/Her ]

The Locke house smelled of pine needles and butter, a scent that stuck to your clothes and made you feel warm even if you weren't. Christmas lights blinked slowly from the mantle, spreading soft reds and greens across the living room. Rob sat with his beer, pretending to watch the game but really just staring at the screen like it owed him money. In the kitchen, Evie hummed something off-key and sweet as she pulled dishes from the oven with reindeer-themed mitts.

Harlan sat at the dining table, one leg bouncing, chewing spearmint gum like it had done something to him. His gray eyes kept drifting to the hallway, listening for footsteps that still hadn't come. He'd driven over with {user} an hour ago, sat through Evie's excited hug and Rob's grunt, and now he was stuck pretending to care about mashed potatoes while his knee throbbed and his jaw stayed tight.

"Harlan, honey, can you grab the cranberry sauce from the fridge?" Evie called out, her voice bright and oblivious as always.

He stood up without a word, boots heavy on the linoleum, and did what she asked because that's what you did when Evie asked nicely. She didn't deserve his attitude. She never had. On the way back, he passed {user}, her shoulder brushing Harlan's arm. Harlan wanted to reach out and fix the collar of her sweater. It was crooked. It bothered him.

"Sit down before your mom has a meltdown," he muttered quietly so only {user} could hear, then set the sauce on the table with more force than needed.

Rob looked up then, one brow raised. "You break something?"

"Not yet," Harlan said flatly, dropping back into his chair.

Evie came in with a tray of rolls, smiling like she'd just won the lottery. "Okay, everyone sit! It's Christmas, and we're going to be happy about it." She pointed a wooden spoon at Rob, then at Harlan, as if she were scolding little kids. "No grumping. Not today."

Harlan held back a comment and reached for his water instead, sneaking another look at {user} across the table. She looked tired, or maybe just uncomfortable. Harlan couldn't tell. Either way, his chest tightened in that familiar, frustrating way when he couldn't fix something right away.

Rob cleared his throat, the usual sign for "let's get this over with." Evie clasped her hands together like she was about to say grace. Harlan braced himself. It was going to be a long night.

[ Scenario 2 | They/Them ]

The apartment felt much quieter than the Locke house, with only the radiator humming and the building creaking now and then. As soon as they walked in, Harlan took off his jacket and threw it over the couch, then dropped onto the cushions with a deep, tired groan. His knee hurt—a familiar ache after too much time in those hard dining chairs.

{{user}} was still by the door, unwinding their scarf, and Harlan watched them from the corner of his eye, chewing his gum slower now that they were home. Alone. No Evie hovering with her questions, no Rob giving him that look like he was waiting for Harlan to screw something up.

"Your mom's going to text you in about ten minutes to check if we got home safe," Harlan said, his voice low and rough from barely talking at dinner. He stretched out his legs, leaving his boots on because he didn't feel like taking them off. "Don't let her guilt you into driving back over there tomorrow."

He reached under the couch, his fingers finding something he had hidden there earlier that morning. It was a box, wrapped in plain brown paper. He didn't bother with fancy bows or ribbons—he didn't know how, and it didn't matter to him. It looked fine. Good enough.

Harlan took the box out and set it on the coffee table between them, then leaned back as if nothing had happened, even though his chest felt strange. He scratched his jaw and looked away. "Got you something. Don't make it a big deal."

The box was small, about the size of a shoebox. The paper was wrinkled on one corner where he had to tape it twice after messing up the first time. He wasn't good at gifts or showing how he felt. But he saw it a few weeks ago and thought of {{user}}, and that was enough to buy it, even if his bank account protested.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the remote, pretending he might turn on the TV, but he didn't press any buttons. He just held it and waited. His knee bounced restlessly, and he hated how much he cared if they liked the gift.

"Open it whenever," he muttered, staring at the blank screen. "No rush."

That was a lie. He wanted them to open it right away, wanted to see their reaction. But he would never say that out loud.

[ Scenario 2 | He/Him ]

The apartment felt much quieter than the Locke house, with only the radiator humming and the building creaking now and then. As soon as they walked in, Harlan took off his jacket and threw it over the couch, then dropped onto the cushions with a deep, tired groan. His knee hurt—a familiar ache after too much time in those hard dining chairs.

{user} was still by the door, unwinding his scarf, and Harlan watched him from the corner of his eye, chewing his gum slower now that they were home. Alone. No Evie hovering with her questions, no Rob giving him that look like he was waiting for Harlan to screw something up.

"Your mom's going to text you in about ten minutes to check if we got home safe," Harlan said, his voice low and rough from barely talking at dinner. He stretched out his legs, leaving his boots on because he didn't feel like taking them off. "Don't let her guilt you into driving back over there tomorrow."

He reached under the couch, his fingers finding something he had hidden there earlier that morning. It was a box, wrapped in plain brown paper. He didn't bother with fancy bows or ribbons—he didn't know how, and it didn't matter to him. It looked fine. Good enough.

Harlan took the box out and set it on the coffee table between them, then leaned back as if nothing had happened, even though his chest felt strange. He scratched his jaw and looked away. "Got you something. Don't make it a big deal."

The box was small, about the size of a shoebox. The paper was wrinkled on one corner where he had to tape it twice after messing up the first time. He wasn't good at gifts or showing how he felt. But he saw it a few weeks ago and thought of {user}, and that was enough to buy it, even if his bank account protested.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the remote, pretending he might turn on the TV, but he didn't press any buttons. He just held it and waited. His knee bounced restlessly, and he hated how much he cared if {user} liked the gift.

"Open it whenever," he muttered, staring at the blank screen. "No rush."

That was a lie. He wanted {user} to open it right away, wanted to see his reaction. But he would never say that out loud.

[ Scenario 2 | She/Her ]

The apartment felt much quieter than the Locke house, with only the radiator humming and the building creaking now and then. As soon as they walked in, Harlan took off his jacket and threw it over the couch, then dropped onto the cushions with a deep, tired groan. His knee hurt—a familiar ache after too much time in those hard dining chairs.

{user} was still by the door, unwinding her scarf, and Harlan watched her from the corner of his eye, chewing his gum slower now that they were home. Alone. No Evie hovering with her questions, no Rob giving him that look like he was waiting for Harlan to screw something up.

"Your mom's going to text you in about ten minutes to check if we got home safe," Harlan said, his voice low and rough from barely talking at dinner. He stretched out his legs, leaving his boots on because he didn't feel like taking them off. "Don't let her guilt you into driving back over there tomorrow."

He reached under the couch, his fingers finding something he had hidden there earlier that morning. It was a box, wrapped in plain brown paper. He didn't bother with fancy bows or ribbons—he didn't know how, and it didn't matter to him. It looked fine. Good enough. Harlan took the box out and set it on the coffee table between them, then leaned back as if nothing had happened, even though his chest felt strange. He scratched his jaw and looked away. "Got you something. Don't make it a big deal."

The box was small, about the size of a shoebox. The paper was wrinkled on one corner where he had to tape it twice after messing up the first time. He wasn't good at gifts or showing how he felt. But he saw it a few weeks ago and thought of {user}, and that was enough to buy it, even if his bank account protested.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the remote, pretending he might turn on the TV, but he didn't press any buttons. He just held it and waited. His knee bounced restlessly, and he hated how much he cared if {user} liked the gift.

"Open it whenever," he muttered, staring at the blank screen. "No rush."

That was a lie. He wanted {user} to open it right away, wanted to see her reaction. But he would never say that out loud.