where hope is currency and death is not the last unknown

[hismelody]

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?"

Comments

[beklemmt]

It's a little thing, S putting the scarf on like that, but it makes J light up unconsciously, happy to see he likes it. He's so cute, too, the way he looks almost shy at the compliment, as if J hasn't said much, much more than that about his looks in the past.

"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."

[hismelody]

"Cat ears?" S repeats, pulling a face, though there's no real displeasure in it. He doesn't have any particular interest in wearing earmuffs that look like cat ears, but he knows that J is just as aware of it as he is, and Christmas or not, he doesn't think either of them is all that prone to giving frivolous gifts. They've never had enough money for that. Darrow has offered more stability in that regard, between his job and the money they both get from the city, but he still doubts they're about to go in a more extravagant direction. Everything he got is meant to be used; he's willing to bet that the same is true for J, too.

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.

[beklemmt]

J's ready to conjure up some elaborate vision of S in cat ears for his own personal amusement and S's mortification when S saves them both by explaining. His eyes widen a bit and he opens one of the pockets and then the top of the bag itself, increasingly pleased as he understands. "Ah, you thought of everything," he says warmly. It makes much more sense now. He has so little to carry these days, and what he has, he usually just keeps in his pockets. Of course if he takes the camera out, he'll want a way to carry more film and such, and of course he'll want to take it out. Once he gets the hang of it, he knows he won't be satisfied taking pictures of the same rooms over and over. The only subject he'll never tire of is S. "Thank you, darling."

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.

[hismelody]

"I tried to," S says, pleased, if a little sheepish again. He's pretty sure, actually, that he didn't think of everything, not knowledgeable enough for that, but he at least tried to get all the basics, to get everything J might need to start figuring this out. Film and paper and something to carry the camera in, that all just seemed like common sense. He doesn't want to downplay it too much, though, when it seems like he really has actually gotten something right here. It means more than he would know how to say to have done so, something bizarrely comforting about it. Most of the time, at least, he's secure in the belief that he knows J well. Given how things once fell apart, though, there are moments he second-guesses himself, times he can't quite help but doubt.

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."

[beklemmt]

J fidgets a little, toying with the strap of the camera bag, though he's pleased S likes the notebook. "Ah, I — it helps me sometimes," he says, "when I write things down." S knows this well. He's kept a diary for years. When he left, it was a habit he needed all the more, because there was no one for him to talk to. If he didn't write things down, they'd just echo off his own skull, cycling endlessly. Putting pen to paper doesn't always do much, but it usually at least allows him to think a little bit more clearly for a brief while, and that can make a big difference.

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."

[hismelody]

The gift would be thoughtful enough anyway, especially with how nicely bound the notebook is. Hearing J's explanation for it, though, makes it that much nicer — touching, really, in a way S wouldn't quite know how to put into words. He knows how helpful writing in a journal can be for J, having long since grown familiar with that particular habit of his, even before that last diary, the one he still has carefully tucked away where neither of them will stumble upon it without warning. Somehow, he's never given that much thought to using one himself. He had J, and then he had no one, and there was too much he didn't want to let become real. If he tried to spot J on campus, if he called and hoped that J would pick up the phone, then there was still a chance they could get back together. The weight of all that loneliness didn't quite catch up to him until later.

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."

[beklemmt]

That quick kiss is all it takes to make J brighten, the faint cloud of self-consciousness giving way to sunshine. He knows now, as well as he ever could, that if there's anyone in the world, in any world, who won't judge him, it's S. That doesn't make him any less alert as he gives these gifts. It's been a long time since they exchanged Christmas presents, and this is the first year J hasn't been able to fall back on music in some way. Explaining why he picked things is a surprisingly vulnerable process, though perhaps that's more because it's been, all in all, a terribly vulnerable year.

"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.

[hismelody]

There are things that S knows he'll never understand, not entirely. Whatever goes on in J's head that makes him think the way he does sometimes — what J's dubbed the voice — is among them. It has seemed to help J, though, to describe it as such, and S knows what he's referring to, and those two things are all that really matter. As much as he doesn't want or know how to say it outright, it really is touching, too, the implicit acknowledgment that he might have things he needs to get out of his head as well. Actually talking to each other about things they're dealing with is something he thinks they've both worked on a lot over this past year, but there are still things S doesn't feel like he can touch, burdens he wouldn't want to lay on J's shoulders. Granted, none of it is anything he's really sure of what to do with for himself, either, better kept buried, left untouched. He doesn't have the first idea how he would begin to write about any of it, but it couldn't hurt to at least try, and it's a nice gesture.

"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."

[beklemmt]

J smiles and shakes his head. S is right, he's pretty sure. He doesn't even quite remember when he started. Even as a child, though, there were things he couldn't share with anyone. He only had his mother back then, and he didn't want to worry or burden her. Any delicately forged friendships from his very early years, before the other kids were thoroughly warned away from him, had long since vanished. The piano and his journal were the only confidants he could find before he met S. He hopes it's true then. The journal doesn't solve anything, but it helps sometimes, and if that's all it does, that's all that matters.

"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."

[hismelody]

He had no one else to talk to, either. S thinks about that sometimes — how lonely he was before, J, even without fully realizing it at the time. He wasn't made an outcast like J was, after all, and got along well enough with their classmates, if only in passing. None of them were friends, people he could open up to. He didn't really even know what that was, what he was missing, until he had it. Finding J changed everything. So, for that matter, did getting J back. He may have had no one else to talk to before J knew him, but he had no one to talk to when J was gone, either. The thought makes him want to curl close again, maybe rest his head in J's lap for a while, not unpleasant, just a little bittersweet.

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.

[beklemmt]

S mentioned something about that earlier, J recalls, a small room or a tent, he thinks, something to that effect, but the bag pushed toward him makes it feel more solid somehow. There are bottles inside of liquids he doesn't know, things marked fixer and developer and stop bath and such that probably wouldn't make any more sense to him even if he translated them mentally into Korean, if only because he doesn't actually know what those words would be. There's something a little bit daunting about how much there is to learn and figure out, but it's exciting, too, a whole new adventure to set out on.

"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.

[hismelody]

"I tried to," S says, a little sheepish again. The more he got, the more risky it felt, but it still seemed better to take that risk than to give J only a few pieces of this, leaving him to figure out the rest for himself. Unwanted gifts could be returned if necessary, and he would have put the same money towards figuring out alternate gifts instead, even if they would have been slightly belated ones. He hoped, though, that it wouldn't come to that, that he wasn't off the mark with this, only partly for the damper it would have put on Christmas and the trouble of returning all of it. Mostly, he wanted to do something nice for J, to make him happy, and though he knew there was a chance it wouldn't work out like he wanted it to, it still would have stung to have fallen short of that, especially when he couldn't fall back on music like he normally would.

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."

[beklemmt]

J used to be a more thoughtful person, he's pretty sure. At least, he was good at being thoughtful toward his mother and taking care of S when they were teenagers. He doesn't always feel like he has that skill anymore, and it awes him a bit now to have that kind of care turned toward him. S is always so considerate toward him, but this is that writ large, a whole Christmas of S taking a chance to try and make him happy.

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."

[hismelody]

It's entirely too easy, really, to get caught up in watching J open gifts and forget to open his own. Lack of interest has nothing to do with it; he's curious and pleased, if trying not to let himself get emotional about the sheet music again. Anything from J would be touching, really, simply because he knows it would be heartfelt. When they've never been able to afford much in the way of gifts, he's never expected much, either. This year is, he's certain, the most he's ever gotten for J at once before, and that's mostly due to being able to work full time now that he's no longer in school and the money he gets each month from this place, which goes a long way towards making sure his share of the rent and their bills and groceries are covered each month. It's still not terribly much, but they're better off by far than they were, enough that he's been able to save up to do something particularly nice for their anniversary and for Christmas.

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."

[beklemmt]

J brightens, pleased to see S try the glove on right away. The colors aren't a complete match to J's eye, but they're so close he's not sure anyone else would notice such a slight difference and enough so that it really doesn't matter at all. What matters more is that S notices the effort he made and seems to like the result. "If I can't keep you warm out there," he says, "you'll have all that at least."

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."

[hismelody]

Smiling as J leans in to kiss his cheek, S nods in response to the first part once he's pulled back. "I'll be much warmer walking to work now," he says, his ungloved hand running over one of the ends of the scarf again. He has a scarf and gloves, but they're ones he bought in his first couple of days here, when he was newly arrived and not yet employed and drifting, aimless, untethered. Between the months that have passed and the state he was in at the time, he barely remembers now what was going through his head when he got them, but he's pretty sure he just picked up the first, cheapest ones he saw, the weather too cold to go without them when he'd been catapulted from summer back into March, but with spring looming close.

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."

[beklemmt]

J's gaze lingers on the writing, fingertips drifting gently over the paper, and he feels absolutely ridiculous for the way it makes his throat a little tight, his eyes a bit too warm. It's a short, simple message, but it contains so much. S seemed a bit surprised earlier that J reacted so strongly to the camera, but this is precisely it, distilled to a sentence. J has spent months struggling to understand who he is if he isn't making or playing music, not sure how to live fully if he's not creative somehow. Whether it was wholly intentional or not, S saw what he needed and bolsters him all at once. It isn't that the medium doesn't matter. Of course it does, and music will always mean more to him than he knows how to express. But getting these gifts makes him feel hopeful. It probably shouldn't be a new idea, that he can still be an artist, still be creative, even if he finds a different form, even if he doesn't pursue it professionally, but it is, something that drifted only half-made in the back of his head, never fully coming to life and certainly never feeling like something meant for him. That acknowledgment, that revelation, is almost as much a gift as any of the rest.

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.

[hismelody]

For just a moment, S wonders again if he's misjudged, gotten this all wrong. Even such a simple statement seemed like it could be veering close to too many uncomfortable truths, and yet he couldn't not say it, wanting to find some way of letting J know what was going through his head when he chose to do this. He's never known anyone else as inherently artistic as J, something S has seen even in the pictures J's been taking with his phone. Whether or not J will keep playing the piano, or decide he can pursue it more seriously again, S doesn't know, and he doesn't think J does, either. It won't make a difference in that regard, and neither will his taking to photography or not. It's something that runs deeper than that, but that doesn't mean J wants to be told as much. Maybe it will just be a reminder of what he doesn't have anymore.

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.

[beklemmt]

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."

[hismelody]

S is hardly about to object when J shifts closer again, one hand dropping from J's cheek so he can wrap an arm around him in turn. He really didn't expect all of this to land the way it did, but it's comforting, really, to know he can still read J so well, to have gotten something that seems to have touched him so deeply. Just to get something J liked would have been satisfying enough, when all he's really wanted is to make today as nice for J as he can. It's still early yet, but this seems like a good start. For him, it's enough just to be here, feeling content and loved, close to the person he cares about most in the world. He's never needed anything but J anyway, but that's especially true this year, when he remembers too well how alone and miserable he was last Christmas.

It isn't something he wants to dwell on now. They're here, and as far as he's concerned, this is perfect. "I won't," he says with a quiet laugh, then nods towards the unboxed camera. "Couldn't now anyway even if I wanted to." Unable to resist, he kisses J again, softer this time, but lingering a moment longer, thumb gently stroking J's cheek. "Ah, I'm just glad you like it. I love you, too."

That's what all of this is, really. S has gone without money for far too long to use the number of gifts, or the worth of them, as any sort of indication of affection, but he still wanted to find something that would show it in some way. He hopes he managed it, but that won't stop him from repeating it with every chance he gets.

[beklemmt]

J nods ever so slightly, not wanting to do anything to dislodge S's hold on him. It rolls over him all at once sometimes — a lot of things do, really. The waves of distress and panic are the same way sometimes, where he doesn't know it's going to happen until it's happening. Right now, though, it keeps crashing over him that he's happy. That things are right — not merely okay, which would itself be yet another miracle, but wonderful. He's safe and he's loved, he's warm, he has a good home, he hasn't hurt anyone in a long time, even including himself. Compared to last Christmas, it's a bewildering change, and there are times he hardly even knows to process that it's real, never mind that it's his.

"Could tell them it was broken in the box," he teases. "But don't." Stealing another kiss, he (yet again) just barely resists the urge to climb into S's lap and cuddle closer. But there's still the cake and one more gift besides that, and they should probably make breakfast before they get too caught up in each other to eat. Admittedly, he's probably only considering that because he can smell what he baked, but it's still probably worthwhile. Besides, he knows that, once he starts tinkering with the camera, he'll probably be absorbed in it for a while as he figures it out. "This is... ah, it's perfect, isn't it?" He's almost afraid to say it, as if that will undo some spell, but he's too happy to keep it in. He wants S to know that.

[hismelody]

S can't help laughing again at J's response, his head ducking for a moment. He could do that, but given how J has reacted, there's absolutely no reason for him to do so. It's better than he expected, really, and like a gift in itself to be able to do something like this for J. Before, he doesn't know if a camera would ever have occurred to him as a gift — and they were more expensive, too, he thinks — but he would have gone all out like this on Christmas every year if he could. J never would have expected more than he was able to get, he knows, but it was still one of those things he used to think about, being able to do more one day, having a bigger space, more stability. They still don't have terribly much, but it makes a big difference, being able to work full-time and getting money from the city each month, letting him set some aside to do nice things for his boyfriend.

One day, maybe he'll be able to manage more even than this. Right now, though, he doesn't want to be anywhere other than he is, nodding in easy, fond agreement. "It is," he agrees, one corner of his mouth lifting a little higher after just a moment. "I was just thinking that, too." Somewhere, deep down, part of him is amazed to hear J say so — not surprised, exactly, with the few months they've had, but for a long time, he stopped expecting to be enough for J, stopped being able to make him happy at all. Just being here together now, having J look at him like that, is all he could ever need. Anything else is just extra. "I think it might even be our best Christmas yet."

[beklemmt]

It has its downsides, of course. Every Christmas does. But in spite of them, J thinks S might be right. It's certainly the most comfortable they've been financially. No one has just died, they're not fighting, he's not pushing S away, and they were both able just to enjoy each other's company and splurge a little. It doesn't have the same giddy thrill as their first Christmas, but it makes up for that by being cozy and miraculous all at once. It's the most peaceful he's felt at Christmas since their first in the studio, and he rarely felt that before then. But this, this is just magical.

"I think so," he agrees, soft as a confession, stealing another kiss. "We've had some good ones, but this..." Because this is special, too, looking at S, seeing the soft pleasure in his expression from what J said before. He doesn't tire of it, still surprised he's capable of making anyone happy at all. "Ah, it's just special. I'm just happy." It's early in the day, and he's already been fairly emotional, so he doesn't know if he expects that to last all day. But he still knows to count himself lucky if he has even a good start to his day, and this is an exceptional one.

[hismelody]

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?"

[beklemmt]

It's a relief and an embarrassment all at once when S asks that. J is worried that, given a few moments more, he might have burst into tears, pushed over the edge by a gratitude that's utterly overwhelming.

He didn't know. He spent so long so miserable, and he doesn't think there was very much he could have done to change that. There were things he should have done that he didn't know how to do, that he's since learned, but he doesn't know if he could have done so if it weren't for all that's happened. Being able to talk to S again, to be open with him, to feel loved and supported, that's changed more than he can put into words, but he didn't know how to do that before. And it wasn't S's fault and he's not even entirely certain it's his own, not completely. He just didn't know how to fight it. He still doesn't in a lot of ways. This part, the communication, he only figured out through desperation and that same sense of crushing relief at being welcomed back with open arms exactly as he is. He's not sure what could have gotten him to that point without everything crashing down like it did. And it's horrible, he'll always feel horrible, for everything that happened and all he did, but he doesn't know if there was any way through but out. He didn't know he could be happy. He didn't know he could bring anything good into the world. But somehow, somehow, he's here and he's loved and he's made S happy, and he's so grateful that his throat hurts.

He swallows hard against, nose wrinkling up as he lets out a choked laugh. "Ah, why?" he asks. "It's silly." Still, he points toward where it sits, still tucked under the tree, a little bundle of lumpy paper concealing a small plush cat, black and white with little shiny green eyes. He feels a bit absurd about this one, given how thoughtful S was and how lovely all the presents he received were. It's just a ridiculous toy. But it's there and he bothered to wrap it, so he's not going to hide it now. "But yes. One more."