It was ridiculous. The boy was bound to get something from Nick tomorrow, something fantastic to mark the Christmas he became a Guardian. (They all got gifts from Nick at Christmas. Usually, Bunnymund got some sort of stuffed rabbit dressed in Christmas clothes. Nick had a very poor sense of humor.) Jack didn't need whatever silly little thing Bunny could come up with.
Which didn't stop Bunny from holding a holding a small package in his paws, waiting for Jack to meet him on December 24th. He'd chosen a neutral spot, cold enough for Jack to be comfortable but not snowed over. They'd been getting along much better since the winter spirit became a Guardian—Bunny would even say, if pressed, that they were friends—but for something like this Bunny wanted a level playing field.
He felt the gust of cold wind before he saw Jack. The spirit landed with his typical easy grace, grinning and setting his staff against his shoulder. "What's up, Buttercup?"
"Good onya," Bunny answered dryly. "How long'd it take ya to think that up?"
Jack laughed. "What's so important you couldn't wait to tell me tomorrow?"
Tomorrow and North's Christmas party for the Guardians. Now Bunny fidgeted, and adjusted his bandolier so it wouldn't look like he was fidgeting. It was rare for the Pooka to feel so unsure—unsure enough to give Jack his present early, when nobody else could see the boy's reaction. After a moment, exasperated with himself, he thrust the small gift at Jack. "Merry Christmas, mate."
Jack's eyebrows shot up, and his blue eyes widened. "For me?"
Bunny rolled his eyes. "Of course for you, ya dill."
Jack still didn't take the brightly-wrapped box, content, it seemed, to stare at it. He looked as if he'd never seen a present before, which was ridiculous. Impatiently, Bunny grabbed Jack's free hand and deposited the gift into it. The boy's hand closed instinctively.
For a moment, Jack stood frozen. Then he settled his staff more securely in the crook of his arm and investigated the present more thoroughly. He ran his fingers over the neat corners and rubbed his thumb over the rough edge of a piece of tape. He brought it to eye level and inspected the blue and white and silver snowflake pattern very seriously, a grin lurking in the upturned corners of his mouth. (It was ridiculous wrapping paper, but what could Bunny do with Nick twinkling knowingly at him and slapping his belly like he did. Bunny wouldn't be asking Nick for more paper any time soon.) He mapped out the precise dimensions of the box with hands and eyes, then brought it up to his ear to shake it. Of course he didn't hear anything. Bunny was a better packer than that.
Nearly vibrating with tension, Bunny said, "Just open it already, wouldja?" He muttered under his breath, "Put me outta my misery."
Jack looked at Bunny, startled, as though he'd forgotten the Pooka was there. "I—thanks, Bunny."
"You don't even know what it is," Bunny said with a scowl.
"Yeah, but you got me something for Christmas," Jack said. "You hate Christmas—"
"I do not!"
"And you got me a Christmas present. You got me a present," Jack breathed, awed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Bunny huffed. "We're friends, right? That's what friends do."
"Nobody's ever gotten me a present before," Jack admitted quietly.
The admission stopped Bunny before he could work up a good head of steam. That couldn't be right. Hadn't the boy said he was over three hundred years old? And he'd never gotten a present before? Bunny didn't even know what to say, but he felt compelled to say something to address that. "Jack—"
But Jack bent his head and with meticulous care picked off the pieces of tape on the bottom and sides of the box, preserving the wrapping as much as possible. Bunnymund subsided as Jack inspected the box inside the paper as thoroughly as he had the wrapped gift before. The box was a light-colored wood with brass hinges on one side and a simple clasp on the other, about six inches by four inches. There was a single snowflake carved into the lid. Jack opened the clasp.
"You got me chocolates?" Jack asked, his tone bemused. "I mean, thanks, but—"
"You're always complaining that you're too cold and chocolate doesn't melt right in your mouth," Bunny interrupted. "These will." He added anxiously, "They should. Didn't exactly have a test subject handy."
Eyes lighting up, Jack took out one of the small round chocolates and popped it in his mouth. And then his eyes fluttered closed and he moaned. Bunny's ears twitched and he was very thankful he didn't blush like humans did—he didn't think he'd ever heard anyone enjoy chocolate quite that much.
"Oh my god, that's good," Jack murmured, voice an octave lower than normal. His eyes opened to half-mast. "How?"
"Then it does melt right?" Bunny confirmed. Jack answered with a lazy 'mm-hm.' Satisfied, Bunny crossed his arms and smirked. "Easter magic, mate. Can't beat it."
And by the answering smile spreading across Jack's lips, for once he couldn't disagree.