"Weirdo." Chuck grins crookedly at him.

He'll duck his head to steal a sip here and there. "Do you still come to this every year?" He asks under his breath. Does he go with anyone?

It's gorgeous tonight, the sky darkening quickly in the winter hours, snow showing up bright against the sky and street lamps. The smells of hot wine and cider and baking cookies are floating around and Chuck's starting to feel the warmth in his fingers and around his chest.