hismelody | where hope is currency and death is not the last unknown

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where hope is currency and death is not the last unknown

For years now, Christmas has felt like a time that's theirs. S had plenty of Christmases before the first one they spent in that tiny, cramped studio, but that was the one that changed everything, the two of them confessing their feelings just two short weeks before, the holiday spent still in the beautiful haze of that. It wasn't all good, of course. His first Christmas without his parents was always going to be a difficult one; he still finds that the holiday season makes him a bit wistful, a bit melancholy. It turned a time he was dreading, though — the worst time in his life, or what seemed like it then — into the happiest, too, and that's not something he could ever lose sight of.

Last year, it made him miserable. On his own, reminded of J at every turn, left to stare at the piano where they shared their first kiss (and many, many more after), Christmas became a dismal time, all the happiness and cheer only emphasizing his own lack of it. For the first time, he was alone, and it was awful. That in itself would make this year significant even if it weren't for everything else that happened in between. Their first Christmas back together is a big deal. But it's also J's first Christmas alive again, and that makes it even more of one. So does knowing how unhappy J must have been last year, too. S can't make up for that, and he certainly can't change it, but he can try to make this Christmas as good as possible, to give them some new, better memories to hold onto.

Of course, he would want to anyway. They were good at that, he thinks, in those first years together, making Christmas special even when they had next to nothing. It's not presents that make Christmas, not by a long shot, but being somewhat better off this year, he wants to make the most of that, too. That's just easier said than done when J's birthday and their anniversary come in such quick succession leading up to Christmas, and even more so given some of the ways things have changed. Although J has now played the piano again, music or anything pertaining to it still doesn't seem like the best gift, and it isn't as if they have a piano here anyway.

He's excited and nervous about what he's settled on instead, but mostly, he's just excited to be together for Christmas again, now in their less cramped apartment, him still without his parents and J now without his mother but the two of them here to see each other through it. Maybe it's because that's what's been predominantly on his mind that S is, when he wakes up, incredibly aware of the fact that he's in bed alone. He doesn't panic the way he might have months ago, but it's still unusual. Typically, J is beside him, curled warm and close. Slightly disappointing as it might be, though, S knows he has to be close, and in fact can just about make out distant noise from across the apartment. Still a little groggy from sleep, he pulls himself out of bed, and first takes advantage of the opportunity to get J's gifts out from where he stashed them so he can bring them out to the tree, wandering into the kitchen a moment later, a sleepy little smile on his face.

"You're up early," he says, coming up behind J and wrapping his arms around his waist as he presses a kiss to his shoulder. "What are you up to?"

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J's so engrossed in his efforts that he nearly misses the sound of S approaching. There's a faint telltale creak from a floorboard near the hallway, though, that alerts him just enough to hear footsteps before S is behind him, enveloping him in a hug that has J closing his eyes and leaning back immediately. "Making —" His eyes open again, and he turns his head to look back at S, pouting a little. "Making a present for you," he says. "Ah, I almost had it out before you woke up."

He can't be very annoyed, though, with his poor timing when S is here holding onto him. Instead, J twists around to face him, hands coming to rest on S's arms as he leans in for a soft kiss. "Good morning," he says. He's not really one to get up early much of the time, unless he's having particular trouble sleeping. That happens now and then, true, but today it's excitement that woke him when the sun was barely up. He's been planning for a while now — since his birthday, really — to try baking something for S, and Christmas seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so. When S gave him that cookbook and J saw the cookie recipes in it, it sparked an idea that he's sure is brilliant. If, at least, it works out. Admittedly, he knows, he probably should have tried baking them at least once before this, and ordinarily he would have practiced and practiced anything he wanted to give as a gift, but it would be really hard to get rid of the evidence both of the mess and the outcome before S got home from work, and he's loathe to waste food for any reason. He's just had to hope for the best — not his strongest suit, admittedly.

It has to be enough, though, because this Christmas, like their anniversary just a short while ago, is perhaps the most important since they started dating. He wants to get it right, to give S something special that he'll remember. Cookies are just part of it, but he considers them a pretty important part. "They'll be done in..." He glances over S's shoulder at the timer. "A minute and a half."

When J pouts, S can't do anything but smile a little wider, the expression far more endearing than it has any right to be. The kiss that soon follows helps with that, too, his arms still looped gently around J's waist. For a moment — no, always, but notably right now — that matters far more than anything else. It's Christmas, and they're here, and they're together. There's always something stunning about the quiet simplicity of moments like this anyway, and that's even truer now with the occasion at hand. Really, this is all he could ever want or need. Caught up in how good that feels, S just looks at him, indescribably fond, gaze soft. He's thought many times that J is particularly adorable when he's recently woken up. This time, it can't be that recent if he has something about to come out of the oven, but he's still rumpled and sweet in a way that S knows no one else gets to see, which makes him cherish it even more.

"A minute and a half before I have to move, then," he replies, punctuating the words with another brief kiss. "Merry Christmas. Ah, you're sweet." He knew that J would wind up doing something, despite his saying that he didn't need much, but he wasn't expecting something homemade, something baked. That he's pretty sure the cookbook he can see on the counter is the one he got for J's birthday makes it all the more touching, in a way, a sign that he really did get something right with that. Maybe he will have done so with J's presents today, too. Likewise, he knows that J wouldn't make a big deal of it if he had little in the way of gifts, because that's been the case before and it's never posed a problem. S just likes doing as much as is reasonable anyway, likes finding things that will make J happy, that he can use.

Not wanting to be in the way, but not wanting to pull away before he has to either, he lets out a tiny, content sigh. "Is there coffee yet?" he asks. "Or should I put some on?"

The way S looks at him, J could just about melt away. It's bliss, having a moment like this, standing in their home, in their kitchen, in the arms of the man he loves, being looked at like that, and it's a moment he gets to have fairly regularly. He's so fucking lucky it's breathtaking. By all rights they should never have made it to this moment and yet it's exactly as it should be.

He lifts his hands to S's face, pulling him back for another soft kiss. "Merry Christmas," he murmurs. He's not the sweet one here, S is, a soft drowsiness clinging to him, wrapped around all the fondness in his gaze. If he hadn't set a timer — and he nearly didn't, nearly just followed the clock on the microwave — he might miss the right time to take the cookies out, because it's very difficult to look away from S when he's like this. And today, today is so special he can hardly wrap his mind around it. They're here. They're still here. S could give him nothing but that gaze and he'd be happy.

"There's coffee," he adds after a moment, smiling, pleased with himself. "I thought you'd want it with your present." It's not, of course, the only present. He's already set the others, haphazardly wrapped, under their ridiculous little tree. It's just the only one that's fresh-baked and edible. He lets out a laugh, a touch nervous, but excited, too. "I hope it comes out okay."

S isn't sure, really, why he finds this quite as touching as he does. They've had plenty of mornings like this, after all, both before this place and since they got here; it's hardly new. For that matter, whether big or small, their Christmases have always involved trying to do what they can for each other. Given the circumstances, maybe he would have found anything J did today particularly meaningful, but something about this — J waking up early to cook something for him, the sound of that laugh — makes him feel surprisingly emotional, a pleasant ache in his heart. Just having J back in his life at all was, months ago, more than he could possibly have hoped for. Being back together, having come so far this year, not being alone anymore, knowing how loved he must be — it's perfect, what would be too good to be true if he weren't living it.

"I'm sure it will," he replies, as confident in J as he's ever been. J's gotten a lot better in the kitchen these last few months, and frankly, even if whatever he's making doesn't turn out well, S doesn't think he'll care. It's sweet enough that J is doing this anyway. "I had no idea you were planning on making anything."

That is, he's sure, the idea, just as he's tried to avoid giving J any indication of what he's bought. A few times, he was tempted to ask him about it, just to gauge his interest, but when it came down to it, he couldn't bring himself to give it away. He'll just have to hope for the best.

"Then I succeeded," J teases, pleased with himself already. "Presents are supposed to be surprises." For that matter, he hasn't even told S what he's made. Given that he's never made it before, he's not entirely convinced it'll come out as well as he likes or even that the smell emanating from the oven is how it should smell — appealing, but not particularly sweet. Of course, he didn't want to go overboard with the sugar, since most desserts aren't meant to be very sweet and S doesn't have quite as much of a sweet tooth as he does, so that's probably why, but he's still nervous.

The timer is ticking away. He leans close for another quick kiss before drawing away, stepping over to turn the timer off before it can make any sound. He has no interest in listening to that. "Alright, here we go," he says, shooing S out of his way as he reaches for the oven mitts. He's come a long way since the early days here, he thinks, distantly proud of how much he can do now without being afraid of the stove. Opening the oven, he wrinkles up his nose at the wave of heat that comes out, then reaches in to pull the pan out and set it on top of the stove. The cake sheet looks right, a mochi cake in a lovely brown with hints of red from the dark red bean in the filling, walnuts and chestnuts crushed and drizzled on top. If nothing else, he's pleased with how pretty it is. "Ah, it looks good though? I have to slice it and let it cool first."

S steps aside when ushered to do so, taking in the scene with an inordinate degree of fondness. With this, too, he can't help but think that something so simple shouldn't be so moving, but it's the simplicity of it — the normalcy, though it wouldn't have been normal for them until the last few months — that he's so struck by. It really does look good, too, admittedly more so than he expected, though in retrospect, it doesn't surprise him at all that J would put so much work into the appearance of it. Aesthetics have always seemed important to him. For his own part, S isn't quite so concerned with them, but even so, he has to admit that there's something nice about knowing this is meant to be a gift for him and having it come out of the oven looking like that.

"It looks very good," he replies with a nod, stepping back over to J once the oven is closed again and the pan set down, slipping an arm around his waist. "Really, thank you. I don't think I've ever gotten anything baked as a present before." He turns his head to press a quick kiss to J's cheek. "I'll get some of that coffee while it cools. Should we open things after, do you think?"

They'll probably have a little window of time now while they wait, but he doesn't know how long that will be, and it's hard not to hope that J will want to try out his gifts once he's opened them. Nervous as he might be, he can wait a few minutes longer to find out J's reaction.

J turns to kiss S's cheek in turn, leaning against him for a moment. "No, no," he says quickly, "I think we'd better open the presents while it cools so we don't cave and eat it too soon." If it tastes half as good as it looks, he'll be relieved. At least he got the presentation right. Considering that it was a gift, he wanted to make sure of that, and it seems to have gone over well as far as that's concerned. Still, if they wait around for it to cool before they open gifts, he'll just get nervous about how it tastes. The distraction of exchanging other presents will help with that.

Giving S a squeeze around the waist, he steps away, casting a smile over his shoulder. "Pour me a cup too?" He has to cut this cake if he wants it to cool well and quickly.

With the red bean and mochi, it'll be a bit too dense for a butter knife, which is what he defaults to whenever possible, but he's at least had enough practice this year to be a bit more at ease with a regular knife. It took time, but it was a necessary effort. Some things he deals with by avoiding them, but some things are too much a part of ordinary life and he's had to figure out other ways of coping. Given that he's doing a lot of the cooking these days, using knives and the stove was high on the list of priorities. Still, he's careful as he lifts a knife out of the drawer, grabbing a potholder with his other hand so he can hold the pan in place as he cuts the cake into squares.

Glancing over at J as he pours coffee for both of them, S wonders if it's stupid to think that he's proud of his boyfriend. In so many ways, though, J really has come so far in the months he's spent here. He barely cooked at all before, and now he really seems to have taken to it. S can't imagine him doing something like this back when they were in Seoul, the fact of which makes him all the more appreciative now. It's more than that, though, too. J could barely use the stove after he first arrived, and he didn't use knives for a while at all, and with good reason. Now, though, he seems collected as he cuts the cake that he baked, and the whole picture makes S feel even warmer than the lingering heat in the kitchen does.

"Presents first it is," he agrees, stirring sugar into both coffee cups. "Ah, I'm excited for you to open yours anyway." He's nervous, really, which makes him a little impatient, though he wouldn't want to say so. The main gift he got feels like going out on a limb, not as safe a bet as other things he's bought J in the past. Sheet music and manuscript paper and records were always a given. This is something new, and he can only hope that he's made a good decision with it.

With both coffees ready, he picks them up and turns around. "I'll bring these out to the other room," he says, resisting the temptation to step close and kiss J's cheek only because he's holding two hot drinks and J is holding a knife, the situation making a potential mishap far too likely, which is the last thing they'd need on Christmas. "I still can't believe you baked for me. Thank you, really."

"I'm eating your present, too," J points out, but he can't help smiling, deeply pleased. It's so clear that S is happy. Even without having tasted it, he's happy, and that's really the best J could have hoped for. He'd like to believe it tastes as good as it looks, but he's still nervous. If nothing else, though, the gesture has gone over well. And he feels good about it, too, having gone through all the steps. There's something really soothing about cooking in general, but baking was a new step for him and he already wants to give it another try later. It's satisfying to follow the steps and produce something useful to them both, something that, hopefully, not only serves a necessary purpose but also brings a little happiness to their day, something that could be a comfort after work for S. "So it's not completely selfless."

Once he's got the cake sliced about as neatly as he can manage, he takes the knife over to the sink, considers a moment, and then makes himself wait and wash it. He could just leave it and go join S right away, but the last thing he wants is to be in such a rush one of them gets injured later because he forgot it was in here. Setting it aside to dry, he dries his hands, too, then heads out to the living room, lighting up a bit. S is so cute, still a little rumpled, and it's so nice to have a tree. It's a luxury J's rarely been able to justify, but it makes the place feel so cozy. Heading over to S, he reaches for him, fingers curling in his shirt as he leans in for a kiss. "Mm, a little coffee, then presents."

With the coffee cups set down on the table by the couch, S smiles as J heads back out of the kitchen, utterly affectionate. Maybe it's because the last vestiges of sleep are still clinging to him, giving everything a slightly hazy, dreamlike quality, or maybe it's because last year was so miserable, but whatever the reason, it's hard not to be struck by how perfect this feels, everything as it ought to be and then some. He's so fucking lucky. Just having J here, alive, wanting to be with him, would have been more than enough for him. Everything else — the size of their apartment now, the fact that he was able to afford some nice presents for J, the lights on the tree they picked out and decorated, J baking for him — is just a much appreciated bonus.

Even as he reaches for J in turn, hands gently resting by his waist, he tries to commit this feeling to memory, the warmth and the contentment of it. None of it is anything new, really, aside from the baking. They've had a good few months — rocky at times, certainly emotional, but still so wonderful. All the same, there's something particularly magical about a Christmas like this, a little like the first one they spent as a couple, except that much better for all they've been through and where they've wound up.

"Sounds perfect," he says, smiling against J's mouth as he steals another kiss. "And you're welcome to eat some of my present. None of your presents are edible."

J makes a playfully petulant sound, easing over toward the tree and drawing S with him. "And here I thought you'd lavish me with expensive candies," he says wryly. He doesn't really need anything like that. He has, he's realized over the last few days, no real idea what S will have bought for him, and it's at once incredibly strange and exciting. It helps, he's decided, that he's played the piano again, if only a very little. He still isn't entirely sure of what his future holds or who he is if he isn't a musician — or, now, if he's really stopped after all — and it's bizarre to imagine who else he might be, all the doors open to him that he hasn't dreamed up yet. The few gifts he received when he was younger were precious and valuable to him, but rarely a surprise, and now he has no idea at all.

After another brief kiss, he draws S down onto the couch with him so he can lean forward and grab his coffee. "Ah, I should have had some of this sooner," he muses after a sip. "Feels nice." He cups the mug close in his hands to warm them. It's warmer in the kitchen right now than it is in the living room — not by an awful lot, since the kitchen isn't entirely closed off, so there's still a lot of airflow, but enough that he can feel the difference now.

"If I knew you wanted expensive candies, I would have," S says with a shrug, teasingly serious. It's not such a bad idea, really, when he knows how much J likes sweets and that pricier candy isn't something they would be likely to splurge on ordinarily, but for Christmas, he wanted to choose gifts that would be more personal, more lasting. J baking for him is, he thinks, different; it's something homemade, done especially for him, even if also for the two of them to share, and deeply touching as a result. Picking out store-bought candy for J, regardless of the price, wouldn't have felt half as significant. Besides, he hasn't often been able to do much for J for Christmas. This year, having a little more money seemed like something to make the most of.

Settling close beside J on the couch, he smiles, leaning into him just a little. "Next year," he decides, and even still being less than serious, it's nice to say that and know that they might actually get there, that they might have the life together he used to imagine, if different now in some ways. "For now, hopefully you won't be too disappointed with what I got you instead."

Despite the lilt in his voice, he means this more than any of the rest of it. He has no idea what J will actually think of his gifts, can only hope they go over as he intended. As far as he's concerned, though, everything is already perfect. Having his boyfriend safe and warm beside him is the best gift of all.

J huffs out a soft laugh, glancing up over his mug, clutched as it is in his curled hands, hardly wandering far from his mouth. It feels so nice and warm, it smells good, and he probably should have had some earlier, but once he starts a thing, he has a hard time stopping until it's done. This is better, though, sitting with S to enjoy it together. "I won't be," he says. He can't think of much at all S could possibly get that would disappoint him. There must be things, he's sure, but nothing comes to mind. Perhaps it helps that he has no real expectations this time. Or maybe it's just the thrill of having another Christmas together at all, the excitement of next year. Making it to this Christmas wasn't a guarantee. Those early weeks, no matter how badly he wanted to stay at S's side, he also couldn't have made any more certain promises. He needed time and help to steady himself to a degree that made it possible for him to keep figuring out the way forward. And he knows, given how suddenly his moods have shifted in the past, that it's entirely possible that things take a terrible turn in the future and it gets harder again to hold on. More than simply knows it — there are days he catches himself unable to help thinking about it, terrified by the possibility even when it hasn't begun to become real. But right now, right in this moment, with S leaning into him, here on their couch in their home, the smell of something fresh-baked in the air and presents under the tree, seeing another Christmas after this one feels less like a hope and more like something he can expect.

That in itself would be more than enough. There's just no gentle way, on Christmas morning, to point out that it's enough that S gave him his grasp on life back. His grasp on sanity, too, quite probably, tenuous though it still sometimes is. He doesn't want to make S have to think about that anymore than is already likely, not this morning.

"You know me," he says instead, simple, shrugging his other shoulder, the one S isn't leaning against. "Whatever you picked out will be right. Ah, hopefully you won't be disappointed in what I got you. The cake's the only edible part."

S smiles, gentle, as he shakes his head, taking a small sip from his own cup. He couldn't possibly be disappointed. There could be nothing but store-bought socks under the tree for him and still he would be happy just to be spending Christmas at J's side, neither of them alone anymore. J having baked for him is already more than he would have expected. J just being with him is a hell of a lot more than he had last year, a Christmas that he did nothing to mark as such, save for leaving another carefully vague message on J's answering machine, the holiday spent missing years past and people no longer with him in one way or another. Just what he has so far, a quiet morning curled up together, is infinitely preferable.

Besides, J knows him as well as anyone could. It hardly seems likely that anything he picked out could be disappointing in the slightest. Of course, by the same logic, the gifts he bought for J should be good ones, too, nothing worth worrying about now, but he knows he's taken a chance of sorts here. He just hopes it pays off — that it might be more than a nice present to open, but something good for J, too, the way that practicing in the kitchen has been. He knows that J won't always be happy, even if he doesn't understand his moods all of the time; he knows, too, that there's a particular void he can never fill, though at least J has recently taken a step in that direction himself. Still, offering something new can't hurt, as long as he's actually chosen well here. And he better have, really, given that most of the gifts he has are pieces of the same thing.

"I won't be," he promises, content and confident in that. "I already have you here. Everything else is extra." With a quiet little laugh, he scrunches his nose, taking another sip of coffee. "And the cake is one more edible thing than I was expecting."

Though it's exactly the kind of thing he expects S to say and how he feels in turn, it still feels good to hear, a gentle warmth curling in J's chest at the words, a soft smile following. They've never really been able to give each other much anyway, as far as physical things go. This is very probably their biggest Christmas in that sense. None of it is nearly as important as this, and J just barely restrains the urge to climb into S's lap and kiss him, if only because he doesn't want both of them covered in hot coffee.

"I knew you'd be surprised," he says instead, soft and pleased with himself. If it tastes even okay, he thinks it'll be a success. He's hardly the greatest cook in the world, but he's improved substantially here, he's sure of that. Shifting his coffee to just one hand, he reaches out with the other, resting it atop S's leg. "Hopefully they're nice extras, and if not, oh, well." It's not quite that simple, of course, given J's rather intense perfectionist streak, but he's also had to temper that part of himself when it comes to anything that involves spending money, and that's been true all his life. He's not always good at it, not above the occasional terrible impulse buy, but gift-giving is, at least, one area where he's a tiny bit better at simply hoping he's achieved good enough.

He glances over at their tree again. "I already feel spoiled," he says, somehow both wry and entirely in earnest.

Smiling at the tender press of J's hand to his leg, S simply breathes in deep for a moment, taking in everything — the lights on the tree, the mingled scents of pine needles and coffee in the air, the soft look on his boyfriend's face. Between the fact that he hasn't been awake for very long and the quiet peace of a morning like this, everything feels just a little bit hazy and dreamlike, a little bit surreal, at once both comfortably steady and unspeakably delicate. It makes him gentle when he leans in, not for a kiss but to nose against J's neck for a moment, too much affection in him to be suppressed. There's no need to bother at a time like this anyway. This is all theirs. Already he has everything he needs — far more than he could have expected — with J beside him.

"So do I," he agrees, pressing a kiss to J's shoulder as he eases back. It's perfect, really, as much so as any of the Christmases he might have imagined when he was young, before he knew what life would have in store for him. He doesn't need presents for that to be the case. He has no doubt, though, that they will be nice extras, if only because it's J who picked them out.

Curious as he is, though, he's far more eager to do the giving than the receiving. "Do you want to open something?" he asks. "You made me the cake, so I think you should go first."

J sips his coffee, already having it in mind to set it down after this, though his intent was to get a kiss, not a present. There's no reason, though, that he can't have both. "You haven't even had any yet," he says, grinning, as he leans away to put his cup down. Sitting back up, he leans toward S, lifting his hand to cup S's cheek, drawing him gently closer for a kiss. It's not a no, of course. He just doesn't think S walking in on the last couple minutes of preparation counts the same as opening a present. Though, admittedly, J didn't have a wrapping plan for the cake anyway.

He lingers, the kiss slow and sweet, thumb sweeping over S's cheekbone. When he's done, he barely moves at all, eyes shut, just breathing in the moment. "Okay," he murmurs, then smiles, wrinkling up his nose. "I love you." They've said good morning and merry Christmas, but that needs to be said, too. It almost seems greedy to get gifts on top of being able to hold S and to kiss him, but he knows how much S likes when J likes his gifts. He knows, too, the barely suppressed excitement and nerves that were in S's initial question. There's no point in making him wait longer.

With another quick kiss, he draws back. "Come on, under the tree then. Where should I start? I can't pick."

Strange as it may seem, S isn't really all that concerned about how the cake might taste. J, he suspects, will be expecting perfection despite having never made something like this before, but for his part, in this instance, it really is the thought that counts. For J to go out of his way to make him something — getting up so early, trying something new, planning this in secret — means as much to him as any of the wrapped gifts under the tree if not more. For a moment, it makes him wish he had something more personal to give, too, but he's hopeful that what he got will be well-received. If not, there are receipts kept and returns that can be made, but he would rather it not come to that. It's Christmas. Presents may not ever have made much difference to the two of them, but he still doesn't want J to be disappointed.

"I love you," he replies, just as soft, lingering a moment before he pulls himself off the couch and moves over to the tree. It's a good thing, he thinks, that he remembers which present is which; it wouldn't be much of a surprise if J opened film or a camera bag without yet having a camera to use with it. It's a good thing, too, that J hasn't just grabbed one of them himself. If necessary, it probably wouldn't have been too difficult to cut him off and suggest which one to open instead, but still, it's simpler this way. Looking over the wrapped packages for a moment, he picks up the one containing a camera and holds it out to J, pleased and a little shy. "This one first. Merry Christmas."

As J moves closer, sitting beside S and the tree, he can't quite take his eyes off S. He's so soft at a time like this, recently awoken, quietly eager to give J his present, and J really can't get enough. It's exciting for it to be Christmas morning with presents under a tree, when there have been plenty of years a tree was a luxury too many and presents were small and few. Mostly, though, without having opened a thing, he's utterly content.

He would pick up something for S to open, too, but he sees the way S looks now, the shyness folded in with the excitement; S wants to see, so there's no point passing him something yet. "Ah, what is this?" he murmurs, pleased in turn, as he looks at the wrapped gift — a box of some kind. He only glances at it for a moment before he starts to tear the paper away. The size and shape of it aren't likely to tell him anything, after all, especially when he really doesn't know what to expect this year.

If he'd tried to make a guess, though, he wouldn't have thought of this, his eyes going wide as he peels the paper off to reveal the box itself. He would almost think it was a joke, his real present tucked inside this camera box, but he doesn't know where S would have gotten even the box. These things are expensive, or they were back before Darrow and this time. It hadn't even occurred to him to wonder if they're more affordable now. And this one, even before he opens the box, is obviously much nicer than anything he could have gotten in his own time even if he'd had the money, technology they didn't yet have. Carefully prying open the box, he blinks in wonder as he reaches in, the styrofoam squeaking and making him huff out a laugh as he slides it free. "A camera? Ah, really? Omo. I've never used one like this."

He's not even sure how, but there's a surprisingly thick instruction booklet that comes halfway out with the rest of the contents as J starts to peel away the plastic the camera's wrapped in. He's only ever used disposable cameras and his phone. As much as he's found he likes taking pictures now that he has an inexpensive way to do so, he's never thought about trying a real camera, but it's somehow both solid and delicate in his hands and he finds himself excited to try. "Sihyun-ah, this is... ah, isn't this too much? It's so nice."

S watches as J unwraps the present, trying to keep his expression as even as he can, neither too nervous nor too hopeful, though a little of both inevitably creep through anyway. The last thing he wants is for J to feel obligated to like his gifts. Granted, that's never been any kind of a problem before, not least because they've never been able to afford much for each other, but even so, there shouldn't be any pressure in this sort of thing. If J doesn't like it, S will be a little disappointed that he didn't choose well after all, sure, but there's no reason it should have to be an issue or put too much of a damper on their Christmas. He'll just take J out later to pick out something for himself.

His attempts at rationalization and reassurance for himself are cut off by J sliding the styrofoam out of the box and taking the plastic wrapping off the camera, startling a quiet laugh out of S in turn. There definitely won't be any returning it now, which has to be a promising sign, though there's still a nervous flutter in his chest as he shakes his head. He wants to say that of course it isn't too much, that nothing ever could be, but that's too romantic even for him. He wishes it were true, and it certainly would be in theory, but they've both had to live with the practicality of having very little money to live on for too long for it to be all that believable. Financially speaking, plenty of things would be too much. They're better off here than they were, though, and of course he's wanted to take advantage of that, within reason. To give J a nice Christmas, it's worth it.

"Do you like it?" he asks, and now that hopefulness takes hold, too much to be suppressed. "I know it's different, but I wanted... I know how much you like taking pictures with your phone, and I thought it might be good to get... something creative, but new." He doesn't want to say anything more about that now, not today, but there's no bad history here, no baggage attached. J is more of an artist than anyone else he's ever known, but even now that he's played the piano a little again, S couldn't have gone that familiar route in buying a gift. This just made sense, with the added bonus of being something surprising. At least, if absolutely nothing else, it seems like a safe bet that he managed that part. "Most of the others go with it. But if you don't like it, we can get you something else."

Creative, but new. J hadn't thought of it like that, not even with all the photos he's been taking on his phone. At first, it was only ever S he photographed, and then the city around him when he managed to go out by himself, wanting to show S what he saw and, to some extent, to reassure S throughout the day that he was alright. He's become fond of it, a way to capture little details of a life it shouldn't be possible for him to have — snacks at cafés that are too pretty to go undocumented, Franz on the couch when J curls up to watch TV while S works, the sunset over the beach, selfies to show S he's fine or to tease him when he's not home to touch, stray cats on the side of the road, the silhouette of leaves against a high sun. There's a pleasure in it, finding just the right angle to show off how pretty something can be or to add drama or highlight some little glimpse of the world that struck him as noteworthy. And yet, though one of the things he loves about music is its ability to make the everyday transcend into art, though he's recognized the photography of others as a creative endeavor, he's never considered that what he's been doing is finding a way to be creative even now, his soul longing for an outlet, reaching out for whatever he could do that would let him express some tiny part of how he feels when he feels so much. He's been happier here without the pressure to excel, but even so, there are times it feels like he's become mute, some essential part of his voice lost. He doesn't know how to go on or who to be when he isn't making something, saying something.

The camera is lovely, more than J could ever have imagined owning before this place, even if he'd thought of himself as someone who could take photos that would make owning it worthwhile. The cost isn't such an impediment here, doesn't put so much pressure on any given shot. But more than that, much more, is what S says. He saw what J needed even when J didn't know how to say it for himself. Of course he did. Though he's felt more seen, more understood, here with S than he perhaps ever has, this is almost overwhelming. Before he can stop himself, he's tearing up a little, shaking his head quickly. "No, I love it," he says. He doesn't want to cry, doesn't want S to think he's upset when he's really just profoundly touched. S recognized something he didn't see for himself. He so often does. Maybe that's why it hurt so terribly before, when everything was falling apart for the first time. He kept S from seeing, and it hurt not to have that understanding from the one person who's always understood — sometimes, as now, even better than he understands himself.

His eyes glassy, he blinks quickly, pouting as he looks to S. "Ah, really!" He hates being such a crybaby. He can't help it, though. When his emotions seem to think his only options are to shut down or show everything, he can't keep himself from wearing every little thing on his face right now. Sniffling, he sets the camera in his lap, rubbing at his cheek with the heel of his hand, trying to school himself into a less emotional state, or at least one where he can talk properly and not pout so much. He doesn't want to let himself start crying in earnest or he'll get far too maudlin. Today is too important, too special, for him to get bogged down in the past or in the way it aches to realize how much more he needed something like this than he let himself really feel before now. "Thank you. Really. It's perfect."

At first, watching J's reaction, S can't help the way his stomach twists with concern, with guilt. He prepared himself for the possibility that J wouldn't like his gift; he didn't for a second imagine that J might wind up on the verge of tears over it. His own eyes go wide, mouth curving into a slight frown, even as J says he loves it. Maybe his choice of gift was even more of an error in judgment than he anticipated. Maybe he just misspoke now, cutting too close even in his caution to subjects far too unpleasant for Christmas morning. It wouldn't be the first time, after all, that he upset J when trying to do or say something nice. Really, it shouldn't even matter all that much, just a slight hiccup like so many others they've had, but it's their first Christmas back together, and he didn't want to fuck it up, hates the idea of getting something so wrong on Christmas, his mind already racing, trying to think of ways he might be able to put this right.

What J says next helps a little, easing some of the tension in his chest, but he still can't be certain yet. "Really?" he echoes, hopeful and worried in equal measure, looking at J carefully as if he might somehow be able to discern the reason for his reaction. He seems like he means it, and in all fairness, he thinks they know each other well enough to have a good sense of when the other is telling the truth, but he still wants to be sure. On one hand, it's just a gift, but on the other, it feels far too important just to let it go, and not because of the money he spent on the camera and the other related gifts. "You're sure?"

Impulsively, he leans forward, one hand braced against the floor so he can close the distance between them and kiss J's other cheek. Worried as he might be, he still thinks J is sweetly adorable like this, with his little pout and apparent frustration with his emotional state. Alongside the rest of it — the reason for the rest of it — is deep fondness, one that has him both endeared by the way J looks right now and wanting to give J as good a Christmas as he possibly can, preferably one without any actual crying.

J sniffs, shifting closer the moment S gets nearer, ducking his head to hide his face against S's shoulder. He doesn't want to be emotional about this, not in this way. He doesn't want S to have to worry, not now, not on a day that's so special, so important, when he knows he must cause S enough worry on an ordinary day. He doesn't want, either, for S to think he got this wrong. It must have felt like taking such a chance, picking out something for him that he's never pursued in any seriousness. And that's the thing, really, that it doesn't have to be serious. He can do it differently, maybe even get better at it, but it's not a career, a calling. It's something he can just do, a way to give himself more of a voice without anyone assessing the final outcome, and that — that's as much of a gift as the camera itself. It's hard to put that into words without saying too much, but he also wants S to know just how right he got it.

"I'm sure," he whispers. He reaches out, camera perched in his lap as he wraps his arms around S's waist, lifting his head, pressing a kiss to S's cheek in turn. "I just... when you said that... I didn't — I didn't know how much I wanted that. Creative, but new. It just..." He swallows hard, taking a shaky breath. "It hit hard. But it's good, it really is." Times like this are a vital reminder, too, of how thoroughly his mind lies to him, something he can point to in the future when certainty wavers. How could he doubt this man knows him better than anyone ever has? How could he ever have doubted that?

Leaning in, he kisses S on the lips, soft and sweet. "I didn't know I wanted this, but I love it, darling." He huffs out a soft laugh, wrinkling up his nose before he blinks away at lingering tears in his eyes. "I hope you're prepared to be my model. More than you already are." He'll never get sick of that, capturing S from every angle, in every mood, whether in still image or song.

S didn't know either, really. Even with his own rationale, thinking that it would be good for J to have something artistic, something creative to do, a hobby to help fill some of the time he spends alone, it never occurred to him that it might be so meaningful. Mostly, he just thought it seemed like something J would find fun. As much as he didn't intend to make J so emotional now, though, there's some comfort in that response. At least it seems like a good sort of emotional, tears over something he got more right than he anticipated, not more of a misstep than he prepared himself for the possibility of.

When J shifts closer, S wraps his arms around him in turn, careful not to dislodge the camera but wanting him near all the same. J is so sweet like this that it renders him irresistible — even more than usual — and anyway, it's Christmas morning and they're back together, exactly as they should be. As so many things have these last few months, it reminds him a little of the first year they were a couple, the holiday tempered by his grief for his parents, made slightly bittersweet, but euphoric, too, for being all of two weeks into a new relationship. They've had the better part of a year back together now, but there are still so many firsts, especially around this time. Their first anniversary back together, their first Christmas back together, these things are especially significant, ones he wants to do as much for as he can. He went all out with the camera and accessories for it with that in mind, but even so, he didn't see this coming at all.

"It might drive me crazy within a week, but I'll live," he says, gently teasing, stealing another soft kiss before he continues. "Ah, I'm so glad you like it." That's an understatement, really, but he thinks it shows, his relief and quiet pride at having done well here. "Not to give away too many of your presents, but a lot of them are things to go with it." He said that before, he thinks, but now that he's sure of how J feels about it, it makes more sense to give some details. "The one thing I didn't do — I was thinking we could turn that one closet into a darkroom for you? But then the woman at the store said they sell portable ones, too, like a little tent you can set up, so I thought I'd wait and let you figure out how you want to do that."

It feels absurd to be so emotional over a single present, but J can't help it. In a strange way, it makes him feel more hopeful about music, too. One thing he worries about in between the very few chances he's had to play since he first tried is how important each time feels. Even if it's not as heavy a thing as it was before, there's still such weight to it, as if the ability to play or not play and the impact that has on him still has the power to define him. Maybe having something like this he can do, something that's new and different but still creative, will help take a bit of the pressure off that.

And even if it doesn't, it'll be fun to figure out how this works and to annoy S with it. He's put so much thought into it, though, getting the different pieces, thinking ahead to developing the film, and J wishes he knew how to set it up right now, so he could capture S in this moment. He nods, smile bright, if a little shy. "Okay," he says. "I... ah, I guess I'll get to know this friend a bit and then figure out which would be better. This really is so nice. I..."

He doesn't want to bring the mood down, talking about things that are more difficult. He's been working, though, on this, pushing himself this year to be open, transparent in a way he wasn't for years, and which he can only manage with S anyway. Besides, it's not like it's bad contextually or even surprising. It's just a more serious subject. "It's hard sometimes," he says, gaze slightly lowered. "It has been since before here. I didn't know how to make things anymore." He didn't know, for that matter, how to let things matter a little bit less, tripping over himself because everything felt so fucking important all the time. But with the pictures he's been taking, it's different. He takes them because small moments feel important, too, and little meaningless things still have beauty. And also because he likes being able to hold onto instants with S that would have faded in memory otherwise. "I... I missed... that part of me." He doesn't really know who he is without it. He hadn't for a long, long time, well before they broke up. But maybe it's still there in the way he stops to get the angle right before he takes a picture of someone's bike against a brightly colored wall just because it's pretty. "This seems like a nice way to... see it again."

He shakes his head, making himself lift his gaze again so he can see S. "I love you."

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