a/n: here it is. a holiday fic. here's to 2016 only lasting one more week.
"I still can't believe we're putting up the tree the day before Christmas," Kumiko muttered in disbelief, hefting the lofty plastic Christmas tree from its sideways position in storage.
"We had to host that banquet for Hazuki and Shuichi's engagement party. It wasn't my doing, in any case, they're your friends." Kumiko couldn't see Reina's expression from the other side of the tree, but she was sure that the other woman was wearing a triumphant smile.
"Would you be able to say no to someone like Hazuki?"
"I suppose not."
"Anyway, I'm glad Mamiko sent it." Kumiko stomped on the spokes holding the tree in place. "She said that her kids begged her for a real one, and this thing's better for us anyway. It's not a fire hazard."
"I managed to get some ornaments from home." Reina dug through her bag, sitting on the couch with old receipts and loose bills dangling from it. "They aren't anything particularly interesting, admittedly, but they're something." Kumiko plopped down on the couch beside her. "This one's my favorite." Reina held up a tiny golden trumpet, dangling from a frayed red thread.
"It's very . . . like you, Reina."
"I've had it ever since I was little. It's a bit of a family heirloom, I suppose - I got it from my father when I was too young to remember."
"We should hang it on the tree first, then." Kumiko gingerly took Reina by the hand, leading her back to the tree. "It'd be a sort of tradition, putting up the trumpet first."
"It's our first holiday living together, Kumiko, you shouldn't get ahead of yourself too quickly," Reina chided, though there was happiness behind her words. She gently hung the trumpet on one of the sturdier branches, standing back when she was done. "You should get the lights, this'll look bare without them."
"Yeah." Kumiko dug deeper through a worn cardboard box until she triumphantly pulled out a tangled mess of lights. "We'll have more ornaments next year, though, and the year after that, and . . . yeah." She strung the lights around the tree cautiously until they looked somewhat presentable.
"I'm glad." Reina looped her arm around Kumiko, holding her close as she turned on the tree's lights. "We'll have more years like this, won't we?"
"I hope so."
Christmas morning came around as quickly as it usually did, and Kumiko caught sight of a small, neatly wrapped box sitting under the tree that almost certainly hadn't been there the night before.
"Did you get that?" she asked, pointing to the box. Reina was already perched on the floor, completely awake despite the early hour.
"It came in the mail last night. I don't know who it's from."
"Oh."
"Well, in any case, we can open it later. Here." Reina took a bag from underneath the tree, holding it out proudly. "This is yours, from me." Kumiko tossed the bag's tissue paper in the air as if she were a little kid again, grinning excitedly.
"Holy crap," she breathed, gently lifting the round cactus from its packaging. "It's just like the one I had when I was in high school."
"I figured you'd like it."
"Here's yours." Kumiko hadn't wrapped it, instead opting to hide it underneath the couch until the day arrived, and she thought that the way Reina's eyes lit up made it all worthwhile.
"Kumiko, you shouldn't have." A brand-new trumpet case sat in her lap, tied with a fancy ribbon.
"I saw that your old one's kinda been falling apart, so . . ."
"I love it."
"Wait, there's one more thing." Kumiko reached an arm under the couch, feeling for the second present. Reina rolled her eyes.
"Paper Towns. Of course."
"I kept the receipt in there in case you want to return it."
"No, I think I'll keep it with the other nine copies I've received over the years." Kumiko smiled guiltily. "I suppose we should open that strange present, now, before any of the others."
"Yeah." Kumiko picked up the little box carefully, half-expecting it to explode as she ripped away the snowflake wrapping paper. A note, written in rounded handwriting, sat on top of the present. "To Kumiko," she read, trying to hold back the tears that had started to well. "I won't be needing this anymore. Really, I haven't needed it in a while, but I've been digging through my storage and I found it in a box of old junk I'm too sentimental to get rid of. I hope that you and Kousaka are happy together - you two always were inseparable, weren't you? Maybe this'll help your tree look a little nicer. Best, Asuka."
"Kumiko? Kumiko, are you alright?"
"I can't believe she still signs her letters with best," Kumiko murmured. "I haven't seen her in years, y'know. We fell out of touch."
"What did she send you?" Kumiko lifted the gift from its box to answer. A tiny silver euphonium hung from a red ribbon, newly polished. "We should hang it by the trumpet."
"Crap, you beat me to it." Reina let out a triumphant hmm as Kumiko put the little euphonium on the tree, right next to the trumpet. "I should call her. It's her birthday, y'know."
"Right."
"It's been ten years. I s-still can't believe it."
"None of us can, Kumiko." Reina leaned closer, and the two rested comfortably against each other, simply taking in the light of the tree, the warmth of their bodies. "It's nice, though."
"Yeah."
An old holiday song crooned on the radio as Kumiko and Reina nestled close to each other on the couch.
"This is nice," Kumiko murmured. Reina nodded in agreement.
"I'm glad we could spend it together."
"Hey, I'm the sentimental one!" Kumiko said in mock offense.
"We can both be the sentimental one, if we so please," Reina sighed contentedly. "Anyone with half a heart would feel at least a bit sentimental with the snow falling outside like this, the two of us warm and snug, hiding from what the world may throw at us."
"You've already started re-reading Paper Towns, haven't you?"
"I won't deny that." Kumiko kissed her on the cheek, and Reina tilted her head so that the second kiss landed on her lips before cradling Kumiko's face in her pale hands.
"Merry Christmas, Reina." Reina pulled her in close, and the kiss felt as soft and familiar as the snowflakes drifting outside the window.
"Merry Christmas, Kumiko."
a/n: happy holidays, no matter what you celebrate! i hope you're all doing alright.