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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?"
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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So for now, he takes the gift S has offered him, still a bit distracted but no less pleased for it. "I can tell," he adds, lightly teasing. "Since I don't remember wrapping it. Go on, you open something too." He doesn't wait, though, for S to do so before he begins turning the present in his hands, looking for a good place to pull the paper off. "Or do you want me to hand you one?" He can't even fully remember which one is which at this point. There aren't a great many gifts, but they mostly fit into similar sized boxes, aside from the sheet music. Still, he knows which ones he got, at least, and sometimes it's fun to pick them out for each other. By this point, he's got the paper off, opening the box to find a few rolls of film, and he grins. "Ah, perfect."
There are few enough that J doesn't have to feel S went overboard, spending on him, but several enough that he should be able to enjoy learning how to use the camera without worrying about running out too quickly. It's lovely, really. He didn't expect the camera at all, but he's already itching to put the film in and try. And also to figure out exactly how to do that, because he doesn't actually know, now that he thinks of it.
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"Later, maybe," he says, expression and voice both softening a little, his hand finding J's for a moment to give it a gentle squeeze. He doesn't want to be dismissive, J's support more meaningful to him than he knows how to express. He just can't stand the thought of bringing their Christmas down any more than he already has. It means too much to see J smile like this, to know he got something right with the present he picked out, to savor what a sweet gesture the sheet music from J is. Maybe it's a little silly when it's just a day, but it's a special one. If he needs to cry about the realization of just how much he misses music, there's no reason he can't do so tomorrow or the day after instead.
"For now..." He trails off, glancing away from J only to let his gaze skim over the presents that he didn't put under the tree, reaching over to grab one at random. "Mm, I think I'll open this one."
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It helps, too, to see S reach for a box, ready to open it. It gives J something else to focus on, turning a roll of film over in his hands for no reason but to touch something, to move. "Mm," he echoes, nodding. He can't quite remember which one that is — the scarf, possibly, the softest J could find, long enough S can bundle it around his neck a few times against the cold, a dark but warm forest green J thinks will look pretty with his eyes. Or it might be the gloves, as close in shade to the scarf as he could find, soft and lined, with something special done to the fingertips so he can use the touchscreen on his phone without taking them off, the better for J to besiege him with messages while he's out. It is, he's pretty sure, one of those, because he somehow managed to fit the scarf into the same kind of gift box he bought for the gloves, since they came in a pack of two and he knew he'd just end up wrapping them into a weird paper lump with horrible shreds of tape at odd spots if he didn't box them first. "Ah, if you end up not liking it — whichever one that is, any of them — you can always exchange it for something else, of course."
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The thought of it makes him newly tempted just to curl up in J's arms for a while, but S focuses instead on the present he's opening, taking the top off the box — this one does seem like clothes — and touching the fabric inside. "What is it?" he asks, pleased, as he lifts it out of the box, the shape of a scarf quickly becoming apparent, S's smile curling wider as it does. "A scarf? Ah, it's so soft." It's been getting colder lately, and though the walk to work is bearable, it will be nice to have something warm and soft to wrap himself up in for it, which he suspects may have been a consideration. The deep, rich green is beautiful, too. "I love it. Thank you."
When they're not buying music for each other, he thinks they've both always favored more practical gifts. Photography equipment isn't exactly that, but it sort of is, if only in how insensible it would have been to get J a camera and none of the supplies to use with it. There's still photo paper in two different sizes, developing chemicals, and a camera bag for J to open, plus an empty photo album, all things that he hopes will get some use. "Open whichever one you want next. I wasn't kidding about the rest of them being boring, though."
He doesn't mind that terribly much. Already this is more than he thinks he's ever been able to do for J for Christmas before, and the camera was better received than he even hoped it would be.
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He inches closer, picking up one end of the scarf and holding it up, his own presents ignored for a moment. Touching it to S's cheek, he smiles. "Ah, there," he says warmly, "I thought so. It looks pretty with your eyes." S has beautiful eyes as it is, of course, but this color complements the rich brown of them while also being something S has little of in his wardrobe already. Now that he's sitting closer again, though, J can't resist leaning closer, drawing S to him for a kiss. Christmas is just for them, after all, and there's no one to bother if they take their time with the gifts and each other.
He would have, he thinks, bought S something like this when they were younger, too, if he'd had the money for something high quality. An ordinary scarf would have been too dull a gift, but he thinks they probably needed things like this even more back then, their studio colder than this cozy apartment with its central heating. It's nice to be able to do such a thing now, though, hence the scarf and the gloves. "I almost got you earmuffs to keep you warmer, too," he teases, "but I didn't think you'd want to wear big fuzzy ones to work, no matter how cute you'd look."
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On a whim, when J has let go of the scarf again, S loops it around his neck a couple times now, shooting J a smile as he does. It's warm enough in their apartment, which is, really, a welcome change from past Christmases, but there's no reason not to wear the scarf for a while, silly as it must look paired with the clothes he slept in.
"You're the only person who would think I look cute in them," he points out, teasing, his nose scrunching a little as he does. "Really, though, this is perfect." It reminds him abruptly of when J first got here, the two of them having only one coat and one scarf between them. Fraught as that time was, it's something he thinks back on fondly, too, the two of them starting to piece their relationship back together, coming home to each other at last. "You open something next."
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"I think anyone who saw you would think you were cute," he counters, scanning the assorted presents for ones he knows he didn't wrap, then reaching for the nearest one. "I could have gotten one with fuzzy animal ears, cat ears maybe, and anyone would think you were adorable." He wouldn't actually do that to S, of course, though if they ever encountered such a pair in a store, he'd put it on S immediately. He just likes teasing. "You'd be a very cute cat." As he speaks, he runs his fingers over the paper until he finds the end of the tape, tearing it away, pulling free a bag of some kind. It's not a briefcase or a backpack or a purse, but it seems like it could be worn as the latter, the strap long enough to go over his neck. He doesn't really go out all that much, so it isn't something he's thought worth getting for himself, especially since he no longer has schoolwork to carry — not that this is quite the right size for that anyway — but it's actually nice and seems really sturdy. "Ah, this is really nice."
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With the way J picks up the bag, though, S is pretty sure that he doesn't know what it's for, which is bizarrely endearing. Biting back a wider smile, he nods toward it and explains, "It's for the camera. So you don't have to just carry it around. And there are pockets for film and lenses and that sort of thing." He didn't get any additional lenses for J's camera, at least not this time around. There were so many choices, and he didn't know yet how the camera itself would be received. If J does wind up taking to it, though, it might be a good option to have for future special occasions.
And that's still nice, too, thinking ahead to future Christmases and birthdays and anniversaries, knowing they might just get that. It has him distracted enough that he almost forgets to reach for another present, grinning sheepishly as he finally does so.
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Eyeing the package in S's hands, he does a quick mental check of what he got and what it might be. It's not the gloves, which leaves only the nice faux-leather journal and the small plush cat, appropriately enough, the one truly frivolous purchase he made. It was, though, the cheapest of the gifts he picked out, a whim he really couldn't resist caving to, just a small cat doll with black and white fur and ridiculous plasticky whiskers. He has fewer things to give than to receive under the tree, but he tries not to let himself get bothered by that. It would be easy to make himself feel bad, as if he had somehow failed, but he reminds himself there's a whole cake in the kitchen that says otherwise. Reaching for the camera, he tries to put it carefully into the bag while still watching S.
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With this, though, given J's reaction, he thinks he must have done even better than he let himself hope. They're just presents, and God knows they've been content enough without much in the way of those before. On the other hand, though, maybe something for J to do, a creative outlet like he hasn't really had in a while, might be something a little bit more than that. Really, it doesn't matter as long as J is happy with it, which he seems to be. That in itself means as much to S as any gifts he could open himself.
He does want to see the rest, though, curious about what else J might have gotten. For just a moment, he watches J fiddling with the camera bag, smiling as he does, then he starts unwrapping the present he's picked for himself. Despite its flat, rectangular shape, he isn't expecting the notebook he finds under the wrapping paper, nicely bound in what's either leather or something that looks and feels like it. "It's beautiful," he says, hand smoothing over the cover. "Thank you."
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S is in better shape, of course, than J was then or is now, but it helped J even before he started to feel his grasp on sanity slipping away from him, and S has dealt with so much. When J knows that most of that was because of him, he can imagine there must be things S doesn't want to discuss with him. "I thought maybe you'd want to, too. Or, I don't know, make grocery lists with it." He laughs, a bit sheepish. "Whatever you like."
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He isn't lonely now, but if he's really honest with himself, there are still things he struggles with sometimes, things he wouldn't want to tell J. It's not keeping secrets, he thinks, when there's no need to share it. There's no one else he's a fraction as open with, though; if there were, he thinks that would make it feel like secrecy to take those matters elsewhere. Having something to do with them, even just putting them down on paper, might not be a bad idea, and being offered that is unexpectedly sweet.
"I won't waste a nice notebook on grocery lists," he promises, leaning over to press a quick kiss to J's cheek. "I don't know what I'll write, but I'll write something."
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"It's not a waste," he says, "whatever you do with it. But, ah, if it helps — if you need it to — I'm glad." He reaches for another present, feeling really very spoiled already, but enjoying that. There's an awkward squirminess to it, because he's really not used to getting many gifts, but he's getting a little bit more accustomed, bit by bit, to not having to watch their budget quite so closely and, anyway, he sometimes likes the feeling of being fussed over, as long as the context is positive. Even as he starts to unwrap it, he continues speaking. "Sometimes I just write down..." His hands fidget against the half-peeled paper, and he glances up, wrinkling up his nose. "The voice, you know. What it says. If I see it written down, sometimes I can see how stupid it is."
He used to write it all out as fact, blindly following, taken it all as a given. It helps now, gives some clarity, to try and find the lie.
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"I think you've kept a journal for as long as I've known you," he says, nose scrunching slightly as he smiles. "If it helps you, maybe it would help me, too." He doesn't want to ignore what J has said, after all; he also doesn't want to make too much of it, especially not now. The package J is opening is the photo paper, he thinks — another gift that probably isn't very exciting, but necessary, nothing that a camera would be much good without. Not one like this, anyway. "Ah, this one isn't much."
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"I had no one else to talk to before you knew me," he points out, gently wry. "Ah, not much, you liar. A film camera's not much good if you can't make the photos... develop." He tilts his head to the side, considering that, then nods, fairly certain that's the correct word to use. "I don't even completely understand how that works. I never thought much about it. Chemicals in a dark room somewhere, right?" He huffs out a soft laugh. "Well, now I'll never have to think again about whether or not a picture is okay for other people to see before I take it."
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Instead, he focuses on what J has said, how quietly amusing it is. Gift-wrapping bottles of chemicals seemed a little strange, difficult to pass off as presents; as a middle ground, he's put them all in a gift bag, tissue paper bundled around them, as neat as he can manage. "Chemicals in a dark room somewhere," he confirms, a little wry, reaching for the bag and pushing it over to J. Slightly silly as it may feel, he wanted to make sure J would have everything he'd need to get started, that it wouldn't be work, or something he would have to spend money on, right off the bat. "I don't know much about it, either, I just got what the woman at the store told me someone would need to get started, but we'll find a good space for you to use."
He would offer to help J figure it out, but he thinks it's better if he doesn't. The part he hasn't mentioned is that he wants J to have something that's his, nothing with any competition or sense of being behind. That has to at least help.
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"I don't know what any of it does," he says, laughing a little, all lit up, even a bit flushed. It's impossible for him not to be moved by this. "You really did... you got everything I'll need." He must have spent a lot of time planning this and making decisions and asking for help to find just the right things, and J didn't have a single clue. He shakes his head, smiling as he looks at the bottles and sets them back in the bag, surrounded by their layers of tissue paper. "This is wonderful. Really, just... thank you." It's dizzying to think of the care S took to get this and to keep it secret and to make sure he had everything, not even knowing for certain if J would like it. He's glad, then, that he really does love it. If he hadn't, he would have had to be honest, albeit delicately so, because it would be a waste of money otherwise, but he prefers not having to put them both through the hassle and disappointment of that.
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Granted, if he'd known J would be getting him music, he might at least have considered it, but S is pretty sure he would ultimately have decided against it. They're in different places with it, and from him, he would worry that it might seem like pressure to play more whether or not J winds up being comfortable with that. Better, he thinks, to give J the space to approach it on his own, if and however much he wants to. "I didn't want... I thought if it was just the camera, or even just the camera and film, then it might feel... like an obligation, maybe. Too much trouble before you even got started."
The last one is the only non-essential one, really, a leather-bound photo album, a little card tucked into it that S wrote at work so J wouldn't see. Although there's nothing in it he hasn't said before, he's self-conscious about it now, though in a way, he has been about all of this. "I think there's just one more."
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Brought back to the moment, he flushes, reaching for the remaining gift. "You have presents, too," he points out. He'd feel awkward, he thinks, sitting here without something to hold while S opens the last two, the gloves and the plush doll. They seem very silly gifts next to the array of lovely things S has given him, but he hopes that's just him getting lost in his head. S will like them. He's not sure S will be wowed by them, but they're decent gifts, surely. "Open something."
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That's sort of a gift in itself, really. How happy J looks is even more of one. Still, having been prompted, he does want to see what's in the last of the presents, reaching for one roughly the same shape and size as the box his scarf was in. "Alright, alright," he laughs, shooting J a grin as he unwraps the paper, then opens the box. Even having noticed the similarity in the boxes, he isn't expecting the gloves inside, the same color as the scarf and, he's pretty sure, nicer than any he would bother to get for himself. "Ah, these look so soft," he says, wriggling a hand into one to check for himself. "And they match. Thank you."
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He sets aside the last gift for a moment, leaning over to kiss S's cheek, his weight on one hand as the other comes to rest on S's leg. "And you look good in them." There's a sort of forest-y olive tinge in the green, dark though it is, one that, J thinks, brings out the gold in S's skin and the warmth of his eyes. It's stupidly, wildly romantic, but he can't help thinking of it as a way for S to carry him out into the world with him, to stay wrapped up in the warmth J would provide if he were there too. Except that a scarf and gloves are actually much warmer than him.
Easing back, he reaches for his present again, starting to unwrap it. There's a bit of heft to it, but not as much as the camera, and at this point, he figures, there's little reason to guess what's inside. Instead he pulls the paper away, smiling curiously at the sight of a book — an album, actually, as he opens it, with room for photos, presumably the ones he'll take, most of which will probably be of S, if he's honest. "Ah, it's pretty, thank you."
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Now, the coldest months of winter are still ahead of them, and it will be nice to bundle up more effectively — and, yes, to do so in a scarf and gloves that J picked out and bought for him. Reaching out with the hand that still has a glove on, he taps J's nose with the tip of one finger before he starts removing the glove again. The scarf, he can wear around the apartment more easily, leaving it where it is for the time being.
Once they're both freed, he twists his hands together as he watches J unwrap his last present, unsure now why he's nervous about this one. The biggest gift is long since out of the way already; this is mostly just something extra, and a tiny bit because he can just imagine the photographs that would lay strewn around otherwise, the way sheet music and manuscript paper used to be.
It's the card inside that has him most apprehensive. In his small, neat handwriting, it says, To my Jae-eun-ah — an artist no matter what you do. All my love, S. Simple as it is, almost self-explanatory, he feels oddly self-conscious now, trying to shrug that off with a laugh. "That one's selfish, really," he adds, not bothering to try to disguise the fact that he's entirely teasing. "So the apartment doesn't just wind up covered in pictures."
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He lets out an exhale of a laugh, shaking his head. "It still will," he says wryly, though his cheeks are flushed and his eyes a little damp as he looks to S again. "But I'll try not to make too much of a mess. This really is beautiful, Hyunie." He needed this, all of this, more desperately than he knew. It would be, he knows, painfully cheesy to say that S is the only present he needs, but in a way, it's true. Christmas without him was hell. Just being here, S has given him more than J could ever ask for.
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This time, though, J's reaction becomes clearer more quickly. S still feels a little guilty and a little sheepish, but at least he doesn't seem to have fucked this up. Both hands lifting to J's cheeks now, S leans in to kiss him, sure and sweet. "I figured it would anyway," he says, both teasing and not, his obvious affection colored with amusement. "I'm really glad you like it all, though. Ah, it would have been so much to return if you didn't."
The statement is a joke — a way of trying to keep the mood light, really — but he would have done it. There wouldn't be any sense in keeping all this photography equipment only for it to go untouched, but he would have wanted to make it up to J, too, and get presents he would enjoy more. This seems like the best possible outcome, though, a way of doing something nice for J, more than worthwhile even if it does result in a messier apartment.
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"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."
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