Yule
Beneath the sprawling evergreen, sparking with golden baubles, lay a package, dressed in blue. The bow was tightly wound and yellow, matching the torn up paper littering the tables. Many lovely things were spilling out from open boxes: glossy new tubes of acrylics and watercolor, expensive running shoes and portraits. The tinsel swung from tender needles, its glow refracting the icicle lights trimming each window. Snow dusted the sill. It had been a beautiful holiday.
Haruka struggled against the grin in her throat. "Well. Go ahead, Michiru. Open her up."
Well-practiced hands pressed the sides. Down they curved, took and ripped; swishing between bunching tissue folds, delicate fingers rustling about, fiddling. She plays the gift like a well-tuned violin.
Haruka chuckled.
Michiru startled as a tongue took a lick at her. The Yorkshire terrier wriggled, it's sweet little caramel head blinking up at all the festivities.
"Merry Christmas, my love."