-Lance's house-

Christmas carols play softly from the radio in the background. Lance is sat on the floor, his back resting against the couch. His cat, Blue, snoozes next to his thigh. In his hands he holds knitting needles. Spools of yarn in garish primary colors lay spilling on his legs. He hums softly along with the music.

-Keith's apartment-

Keith is sat hunched at his computer, resting his chin in one hand thoughtfully. His other hand clicks about furiously. His cat, Red, paws along in the space between the monitor and the keyboard. He's making a mixtape. Well it's a CD, which itself is vintage as hell. The only reason he isn't actually using a cassette tape is that he doesn't think Lance actually owns a cassette player. Or if anyone besides Keith does, for that matter.

Lance is really into cheesy pop songs. Keith normally hates them, and in turn Lance hates the stuff Keith is into. But tomorrow will be their first Christmas together, as in after they've started dating, and Keith can't think of a more apt present for his cheesy boyfriend than a compilation of cheesy classic romantic holiday numbers that also serve to express how Keith feels about Lance. Or whatever. Hunk helped him think of it okay. He may or may not be blushing as he thinks of songs to include, and about the exact nature of his feelings.

It's Lance, so of course the first song Keith puts on the CD for his giant memelord boyfriend is "Never Gonna Give You Up." But the rest of it is a genuine present, with some of Lance's favorites like "All I want for Christmas is You." As an ode to the days in which Lance was too oblivious to notice his pining, Keith adds "Last Christmas."

-Lance's house-

"Well go on. Open it!"

Hesitant, Keith tears open the sparkly red wrapping paper of the present Lance just shoved at him. He isn't sure he wants to see what is either something so sappy he'll blush uncontrollably, or a cringey joke. Of course because it's Lance, it's both. Keith pulls out an ugly Christmas sweater, except it's not so ugly. It's a pleasant red—not gaudy but not dull—with a standard snowflakes pattern on the sleeves and "dat boi" written on the front in huge white letters. Somehow Lance has managed to turn the romantic gesture of knitting him a sweater into a meme. Keith rolls his eyes, refusing to admit he's impressed.

Lance reaches behind him and pulls out another sweater. This one has the same sleeve pattern but it's blue and says "oh shit waddup" in similar white lettering on the front. "So we're matching," he explains, wiggling his eyebrows. He pulls on the sweater and winks at Keith.

"Oh my god you're so embarrassing," Keith groans, but a laugh escapes him. He pulls the sweater over his head and hands Lance the CD, a bow taped to the cover.

Lance's eyes widen, and his lips turn into a grin. "You made me a mixtape?" He jumps up and puts the CD into his laptop, hitting play. The instant he realizes he's been rickrolled, he whirls around. "Keith!" he cries, indignant.

Keith laughs heartily; this was worth it. "Just hit next," he relents. Lance does, and Mariah Carey's soulful vocals fill the room.

"Aww, babe," Lance smiles softly. He walks over and pulls Keith to his feet. "You can't not dance with me." He guides Keith's hand to his shoulder and puts his own hand on Keith's waist. He intertwines the fingers of their free hands and begins to sway in place. Keith starts to protest, something about not knowing how to dance. Lance silences him with a kiss, slow and deep. By the time they pull apart, Keith is following Lance' lead.

"Merry Christmas," Keith whispers into the space between them.

"Merry Christmas, Keith."

The song changes. They keep dancing.