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[Peter knows he could've done this in half the time. Grabbed Odin, threw him in the car, tossed a bag of cheetos in the back seat and a bone to Rooty and taken off. Sometimes this is the hardest part of being able to do what he can do - the anticipation of having to wait. The fact he can't fast forward to the good parts when it comes to other people.

He taps his hands on the steering wheel, his ring clicking against it every time.]

im gonna take off w/o u

[But he sighs, leaving the key in the ignition and pushing open his door to climb out. He's in a thick flannel jacket over his beaten down RUSH shirt, sneakers sinking into the snow when he walks around the car to head back to the stoop. And his stoop-id boyfriend. With his hand outstretched:]

Hand. Gimme your hand.

[ more and more, over these past few months, Odin's been losing some of his pretty boy goth canary mesh aesthetic in favor of dressing more like Peter - not that he's not still a pretty boy goth canary, but he's been wearing more band shirts, been tying more flannel around his waist, things like that. tonight, he's in something relatively understated, for him - a shirt, with pants too thin for the weather and a jacket that doesn't keep him warm, all paired with peter's skechers odin bought him back during BB3K, which after a year of use are starting to desync when they light up.

he makes a show of grabbing for peter's hand, with scrabbling groans and high pitched whines, but he takes hold and pulls himself up with relative ease, only to whisper fuck under his breath when he realizes he should have pulled him down into the snow with him. you know, for a romcom moment. but.

what's done is done. he dusts himself off, shakes his head super fast to dislodge some of the snow from his hair, then gets back to the car, climbing into the passenger's seat through the driver's side and hitting the horn with his thigh more than once. again, he says fuck. ]

I'm so tired. The gods are less tired than me. Both mine and the movie one. [ he stretches, popping his joints, leaning back into his seat. ] It's cooooold.

[Peter waits for his boyfriend to dust off before he picks up the blankets he left in the snow, seeming like a divorced dad cleaning up after his kid. He heads back and nudges Odin's ass only once with his knee, ushering him into the seat before throwing the blankets in the back. Then quietly whispering fuck since the whole point was them to have them in the front.

Oh well. He shuts the door.]

I know, I know. This baby'll warm up a bit more once we start rolling. There's those heat pack things in the glovebox though. Do you want my gloves?

[He hands them over without waiting for a reply, then casually starts switching the car into drive; rolling away from their apartment on what will soon be a tour through a section of Maurtia Falls that's decorated with a variety of strung lights.]

I wanted to show you this cool route I found, ok?

[ they've been together for fucking ever, but odin still feels warmed and thrilled by something as simple as peter taking care of him. he nods, shy, like he's not sure what to do, then slowly slips the gloves on. his ass is also a little sore from being kneed, but that doesn't detract from the moment. ]

It takes a brave warrior to forego his gauntlets upon roads so cold. Don't cry to me when spirits of the ice try to bite off your fingers.

[ he makes a very real and very aggressive point in his head that once they get wherever they're going, peter'll get one glove back. just one. so they can hold their ungloved hands and still be warm. until then, these babies are his. he drums his already warming hands on the glove box and looks out through the windshield to find some kind of hint about this cool route. he immediately forgets to check out the heat packs. ]

I'm excited. Hyped up. Hypexcited. This feels like an adventure! Like you're leading me into the dark and all I can do is trust you.

Eh, I like seeing my ring. Wasn't gonna wear them anyway.

[Probably a lie - but he doesn't care. He just drives down the same side streets he's been driving for the past week, mapping out the right route for tonight. Something - nice, magical, along snow cloaked roads that are surprisingly empty. Everyone's inside for Christmas Eve, leaving them to take a tour of bright lit houses in the suburbs, where blinking and twinkling webs of color adorn the porches and verandas, balconies and front doors.

It's maddeningly bright, and Peter drives slowly past a few houses so he can point out what he likes about each one.]

Pretty sure I bought pot there once, but they have a cool Santa on the roof, huh?

[ this isn't the first Christmas Odin has spent in America, but, well - last year, he just hid away in couple of hotel rooms, hiding from anyone outside of peter. he didn't really get a chance to see all the lights. there's something childish in how he looks at all of them, once peter points them out and they catch his attention; he's wide-eyed and full of wonder and actually a little speechless, looking at blinking lights and wondering why the FUCK people don't do this all year around. ]

We've gotta get out.

[ he's up against the window, hands on the glass, nose on the glass too. he sees santa, though he gives less of a fuck about santa and more about his reindeer, and he sees snowmen with glowing noses and icicles that change colour. frantically, he repeats himself, turning around to slap Peter on the arm over and over again. ]

We've gotta get out!! They wouldn't-- they wouldn't set this up if they didn't want visitors? We need to get out. We need to climb on people's roofs and really take in the experience.

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