Title: All I Want for Christmas

Author: Will Okati

Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

Genres: Contemporary, New Releases, Romance, Romantic Comedy

Themes: 2nd Chance Romance, Christmas, LGBTQ+ /Gay

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 43

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Synopsis

All James wants for Christmas is his roommate Cillian. And he might just be getting lucky this year.

Who doesn’t love the holidays? Sleigh bells racing down winding country roads. Chestnuts, open fires, Yule logs. Homemade fruitcake that’s soaked up a full bottle of brandy. James adores it all, but his long-concealed desire for his roommate Cillian runs deeper than a river of holiday booze and burns hotter than any crackling Christmas hearth. But since he’d rather not risk losing a dear friend by making any unwanted moves, he’s kept that to himself for years.

Until now. When a flight plan goes FUBAR and James doesn’t have a way home for the holidays, Cillian suggests they keep Christmas in their own way. Tree, lights, feasting, the works.

It’s tempting. Almost as tempting as Cillian himself. And when James starts to get a clue that his interest might just be reciprocated… well. That changes the entire game. Time to bring out the holly and the jolly and maybe he’ll get his man under the tree this year.

All I Want for Christmas
Will Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2025 Will Okati

“No, that’s all right.” James cleared his throat, but his voice still came out thick with frustration and arousal denied. “I can switch to a later date. New Year’s? That’ll work.” He glanced over his shoulder at Cillian, who’d withdrawn to their kitchen like a shot when the phone went off. They had an open plan apartment and he could see everything, and nothing at all because Cillian had his hair down and had hidden his face behind it.

With his face out of sight, I can’t read him at all now, James realized. “Yeah, you too,” he said slowly, barely listening to the ticket agent on the other end, who really didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. “Merry Christmas to you as well. Thanks.” Click.

James slipped his phone in his pocket, grimaced, and took it back out to toss on the sofa. Sturdy smartphones and sensitive erections, still at half mast, didn’t play well together. He narrowed his eyes at Cillian, searching for a clue as to what they should do now. The last thing Cillian ever was, was shy, but that made twice now he’d hopped away from James like he was a hot potato wrapped in lava.

Just didn’t make sense.

Go slowly then, he decided. Feel his way through this whatever-it-was. Figure out if… if he’d been wrong all along. If Cillian didn’t want him and had just gotten caught up in the excitement of the night. Trust and believe, he didn’t want that to be the case. But if it was…

He needed to know.

“Everything good in there?” James called in the general direction of their kitchen. He wasn’t the best cook in the world, no, and Cillian liked to tease him about his protein shake habit — but Cillian? He would have lived on beer and Ramen if left to his own devices. He wasn’t even sure Cillian knew where they kept the plates, but he’d leapt on the Instacart grocery delivery like manna from heaven. After that, nothing but rustling bags and silence.

“What?” Cillian lifted his head, visibly startled. “Oh.” He looked down, as if confused by the sticks of butter and one pound bag of flour he held. “Fine, yeah, thanks.” He shoved both butter and flour into the microwave instead of the fridge, not closing its door. “You doing okay yourself?”

Lord help. James shook his head, but rather than criticize suggested, “Trade you? The decorations showed up while I was on hold with the airline.” He’d tipped the Uber deliveryman either a one or a ten while trying to juggle phone, door, and bags. He couldn’t remember which, but figured either curses or blessings were coming his way.

Cillian took a couple seconds to process that, then made a face at the canned goods sitting out. “Might as well, at that.” He stepped out of the kitchen and performed an exaggerated bow, gesturing for James to come forward and take his place. “Take your coat off first, though, you’ve still got pine needles on your shoulders.”

Did he? Figured. As James shrugged out of the heavy garment he checked the pockets — habit — and came up with a handful of cinnamon-sugar-crumbed napkins. Without meaning to and without thinking, he snorted a quiet chuckle.

Cillian’s forehead furrowed. “Something funny?”

“Not as such.” James showed him the handful. “Just remembered the person who told me they had free snacks. Really adorable older lady. Said we were a cute couple, that she loved seeing people in love, that kind of thing.”

Whoops. Cillian flinched. “And what did you say to that?” he asked, very carefully standing up from his fake-courtier’s bow.

James held very still, then shoved the napkins back in his pocket. Shit. Looked more and more like he’d gotten things entirely wrong, didn’t it? “They’re just words,” he said after a moment. “She was being nice to a stranger. One of the reasons for the season, isn’t it?”

Cillian didn’t reply but raked a hand through his hair a few times. “You never did answer my question.”

“Thought I just did.” Hands tucked in his pockets, James sashayed a couple of careful steps toward the kitchen. Slowly. Slowly. Just in case. But also, concerned. None of this was still anything like normal, everyday Cillian behavior, and it worried him.

“Not that question,” Cillian said impatiently. “I meant the one about why you wanted to go home for Christmas.”

James frowned, lost now. “Because… I always do?”

“No, you blockhead. I asked why. Specifically, why. What’s at the other end of that airplane ride for you?”

“I usually call it home,” James said, still stumped. “The place where I grew up.”

Cillian was going to end up half bald if he kept yanking at his hair like that. He inhaled deeply. “What is home, then?”

“Where you live?” James could see that wasn’t the answer Cillian wanted. “I don’t get it. Are you asking how I define the concept of ‘home’?”

Cillian fixed him with a stare that was frankly not more comfortable than his earlier avoidance. “Yeah, that’ll do for a start.”

Okay, didn’t make sense, but James could roll with it. He gave his own hair a frustrated tug. “Home is where the people who love you live, I guess. The people who are always there for you. That’s not always blood. Sometimes it’s definitely not blood.”

Cillian, listening, made a “go on” gesture.

“I don’t know what else you want me to say!”

Something snapped and crackled in Cillian’s eyes. “What about this place? Our place. What about this isn’t home?”

“This is as much my home as anywhere else.”

Cillian pounced. Mostly metaphorically, but he came a few steps closer to James, still just out of arm’s reach but drifting nearer as he jabbed the air with his forefinger. “And why is that?”

James started to answer, then stopped. This was like swimming through molasses, but he was starting to get glimmers of daylight. Trouble was, answering honestly might get him out of the molasses and into hot water.

But what did he have to lose?

“Because people I love are here too,” he answered quietly. “One people. I mean, one person. You.” He took the last couple of steps needed to get himself inside Cillian’s bubble. “It took me too long to see it, I’ll own that, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

 

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Will Okati (formerly known as Willa) has lived through a few Interesting Times, but come out the other side a little grayer, a little wiser, and ready to get writing. Still as passionate about coffee, cats, and crafts as ever, but knowing that to your own self you must be true. Also still one of the quiet ones to watch out for, but life — like storytelling — is always a work in progress.

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