He could spend the rest of his life trying, and still S doesn't think he could ever find a way to put into words how much it means to hear that, and to play any part at all in J's happiness. Even if he didn't, it wouldn't matter as long as J still felt it, regardless of the cause. This, though, is deeply, inexpressibly touching, enough so that, for a moment, S feels something in his chest tighten like he might start to cry. He avoids giving into it, at least — relieving, when he has no idea how he would begin to explain what's going through his head, either — but the weight of it is there, bittersweet and wonderful.

When they were together before, S didn't take it for granted, or at least he's pretty sure he didn't. He always knew he was lucky, always felt awed by that. Still, that was nothing compared to this. He's said before — he's tried to make clear, anyway — that he doesn't need or expect J to be happy, but it means a lot to him when he is. That's even truer on a day like this. It really is special, their first Christmas back together, both of them able to do something nice for each other.

"As good as our first, at least," he says with a shrug, though there's nothing dismissive about the gesture. It's just fond and relaxed, his expression equally so as he watches J. That first Christmas was wonderful but strange, the excitement of being newly a couple tempered by the fact that it was his first without his parents. Whatever weight might be attached to this one, too, at least they're together. "I'm happy, too. So happy."

It's to further fend off any further threat of emotion that he, a moment later, tears his gaze away, looking for the wrapped present he saw earlier. "There was one more, wasn't there?"