These always sound better when Sun edits them for me. 8D <3

Word Count: 1627

Christopher Gallo was not the sort of man to give in to the advertising skill of commercials. (If he could even be considered a man. He still felt like a kid a lot of the time, but he figured since he was twenty years old now he should man up and try to be an adult.)

This may have something to do with the fact that he didn’t watch TV very often. When he did, he tended to quickly grow bored and inevitably found something else to do during the commercial breaks, homework or checking emails or turning to attach his lips to his boyfriend’s face. The only time he ever really paid attention to the advertisements was during Super Bowl Sunday, but that was only because a few of them were actually pretty amusing. Other than that, he went about his life ignoring the line-up of fifteen or thirty or sixty second spiels that interrupted the shows of his choice, almost completely immune to their power.

At least until one Sunday evening.

It was not, however, Super Bowl Sunday, but a regular Sunday near the middle of October. He sat with Paris on the couch in the small living room of the dumpy apartment he’d let Paris convince him would be a worthwhile experiment (and which Paris said wasn’t dumpy at all, but it was small and didn’t have all the amenities Chris was used to, so he’d continue to call it “dumpy” until he was given a better reason not to). His boyfriend was curled up next to him, nestled into his side with Chris’s arm wrapped around him, face turned avidly toward the television currently in the midst of an episode of Once Upon A Time.

In the year and a half that they’d known one another, Chris had never understood Paris’s attachment to fairytales, especially when Paris went to great lengths to assure everyone that he did not believe in princes and princesses or perfect, happy endings. Yet he showed such devotion to the fairytale ballets, adored Sleeping Beauty, collected Disney figurines like they were actually valuable assets, and had become so invested in the characters and the stories playing out before his eyes that he refused to ever miss a single episode.

A youma could tear through the apartment in the middle of it and Chris doubted Paris would pull himself away from the television screen, merely shoo Chris off to take care of it and ask him to “Please keep it down, I’m trying to watch this.”

It was strangely cute, but also very confusing. Chris did what he could not to spend too much time trying to analyze it for fear of hurting his head.

And so, during one of the breaks mid-way through the show, Chris turned his head with the intention of catching Paris’s mouth and making out with him until it came back on. This may have been allowed had they been watching a re-run of Law & Order, and could have even developed into something more involved that would have them ignoring the TV in favor of a different sort of entertainment. But this was not Law & Order, and Paris seemed to want no part of it. He raised a hand to Chris’s face and gently pushed him back.

“Stop, you’ll distract me,” he said.

“But it’s a commercial,” Chris pointed out.

“So? You’ll distract me and then I’ll miss it coming back on.”

“I’m glad your show comes before your boyfriend.”

Paris scoffed and nestled closer. “It’s just for an hour, Christopher.”

Chris sighed and propped his elbow onto the arm of the couch, tilting his head to plant the side of his face against his palm. He thought about getting up to find something else to do, but Paris seemed comfortable and would only complain if Chris moved. Chris happened to like having Paris curled up against him anyway, all soft and warm and snuggly. Besides, if he let Paris have his hour to devote to Prince Charming and Snow White and the Evil Queen, he’d likely be rewarded for his generosity later.

It was worth an hour of boredom, and he did so love to see Paris happy.

Instead, Chris looked back at the television to disinterestedly watch the commercials. The holiday season seemed to start earlier and earlier every year, he thought, as a few of them already gave off the feeling of Christmas. There wasn’t yet snow, or presents, or a snowman melting by the power of Chicken Noodle soup, or shoppers singing carols as they twirled around the screen with their purchases, but there was the cheerful jingle of “Every Kiss Begins with Kay~” as a woman kissed her dashing male significant other by a window strung with lights, having only just opened a box containing a festive necklace Chris supposed looked dazzling to people who were in to those things.

Christopher Gallo wasn’t into those things. They made nice gifts, but most of the time he thought jewelry was just the easy way out. It was easy to impress people with things that looked expensive and sparkled so prettily in the right kind of light. Even Paris wasn’t immune to it. He didn’t flock to the displays in the store, but he still ‘ooh’ed and ‘ah’ed and looked in awe of the piece whenever Chris happened to purchase one for him—the necklace he’d bought for Paris’s birthday, or the promise ring that sat conspicuously on Paris’s left hand. Paris did not generally shop for jewelry. He didn’t stop to try it on unless someone encouraged him to do so, he didn’t give any hint that he even wanted it, but he wore it when it was given to him and acted as if it was what he’d wanted all along.

Like he didn’t know he’d wanted it until it was set right in front of him.

When Chris took a moment to think about it and look back over the last year and a half, he realized Paris was like that about a lot of things. Sometimes he just didn’t know he wanted it until he had it, and then he wanted it fiercely.

Somewhere in the back of Chris’s mind, an idea sparked, and he wondered why he’d even bothered to stop halfway in that store a month ago.

He spared a glance at Paris, lowering his eyes to the ring on his hand, then switched his gaze back to the television screen and felt the need to ask, “So what’s the deal with fairytales?”

Paris shifted to make himself more comfortable. His head settled on Chris’s shoulder. Chris lifted his hand to card his fingers through Paris’s hair, listening to him hum with pleasure and sigh contentedly.

“What do you mean?” Paris asked.

“Just that you act like they’re dumb but you watch them anyway.”

“I don’t really think they’re dumb,” Paris denied. “I think people who think life has a fairytale ending are dumb.”

“Right. ‘There are no such things as happy endings,’” Chris recited. “When you get like that, it’s almost like you want to be miserable.”

“That’s not true. I just expect the worst because that’s all I’ve ever really known, I guess.”

Frowning, Chris pressed the tips of his fingers against Paris’s scalp, gently massaging.

“Besides, it’s not like this stuff is real,” Paris continued.

“Magic is real,” Chris pointed out.

“But dragons?”

“Some of the youma we’ve seen could make pretty convincing dragons.”

Paris failed to respond. Chris peaked at his face and saw that his boyfriend looked somewhat pensive.

“Even if dragons aren’t real, who says they’re not a metaphor for something that is?”

“Like what?” Paris asked.

“Adversity,” Chris said. He smiled when Paris tilted his head to look at him. “Overcoming the impossible.”

Paris stared at him for a few moments, then sighed again and set his head back down on Chris’s shoulder. “You could be right, I guess,” he allowed.

“If you don’t believe it then why do you like them so much?” Chris wondered.

He felt Paris’s shoulders lift to shrug. “Hope,” he said, “that happiness is out there somewhere. That love is powerful enough to overcome any evil, as corny as that sounds. That life is more than what it’s been so far. That there’s an end to all the bullshit and the pain.”

Chris tightened his arm around Paris and leaned over to kiss the top of his head. “Life is what you make it,” he countered. “Maybe there isn’t an end to all the pain, but there’s still good in life if you look hard enough. Happiness isn’t something you sit around and wait for. Sometimes you have to fight for it, but that makes it worth even more in the end, doesn’t it?”

Paris didn’t say anything in response. Chris didn’t push him any further. He was sure he’d at least gotten Paris to think about it, and for now that was more than enough for him.

“It’s coming back on,” Paris said unnecessarily as the last commercial faded out.

Chris let him get back to the TV, but kept his arm around him to hold him close and continue to play with his hair. He didn’t pay much attention to the show himself. Instead, he lost himself in thought—thoughts of towers and castles on far-off worlds, monsters and magic and love.

And the idea that had sparked in his mind during the commercial break grew clearer. It twinkled and glimmered through all the dark memories like a single ray of hope.

Like a star, or the ring on Paris’s finger, innocent as it was to them now.

It could be his very own happy ending if he let it.