" but now you can spend your christmas at home. "
Jude is quiet, perhaps simmering in quiet anger and disappointment. A loud, heaving sigh leaves him as he turns to glance Sam’s way. He doesn’t look angry, more a bit defeated, as he shrugs and lights up a cigarette.
“You’re right,” he murmurs before taking a drag, “guess my folks’ll be happy to see me. Serves me right for trying to fly during the winter. Blizzards, man.” He shakes his head and flicks his cigarette into a nearby dish. One leg is crossed over the other, bouncing as he thinks. Maybe it’d be worth staying in the States, it’d be worth going home—really home. He guessed he could spare some time for that; it’s been years, mostly because he’s been avoiding the place. “Guess I’ll dig out a sweater,” he dryly jests, “better make it ugly, too. I got an ugly sweater contest to win somewhere.”
He inhales again, exhales. “You doing anything special for the holidays? Eating fruitcake or something? You seem like the fruity type.” Jude snorts, trying to lift his spirits with a crummy joke.