J lets out a spluttering laugh, carefully setting the photo album aside so he can slip closer, arms wrapping around S's waist. He leans in and kisses him again, resting their foreheads together, though he's deeply tempted to bury his face against S's shoulder and hide, though there's nothing and no one to hide from that can be escaped in that way. It's just a little bit overwhelming, if still in a good way, to feel as if he's just been given something important to his understanding of the world and himself, even if he hasn't yet fully processed it. S could have given him almost anything and J would have been fine, happy just to have this day together. It would have been special, memorable, just for the fact of it happening. This is better still.

"Don't return a thing," he says, hand coming up to rest on S's wrist. "God, I love you so much." He's not sure any of the things he got come even close to the care S has shown him today alone. There's a part of him that has to admit, though, that this is one occasion when maybe it really is enough just that he's here. And his presents weren't bad and he did think about them; he just doubts they have quite the same emotional weight. But given that, less than a year ago, he could only promise to try to stay alive, his being here now is nothing short of a Christmas miracle. Saying so doesn't seem like a particularly good idea, but it's oddly comforting for him, at least. "I'm looking forward to playing with it all."