Prompt 028: "Wheatley and Chell's first Christmas."

He's so bloody nervous he doesn't know what to do with himself.

It's Christmas Eve, and Chell will be home soon. She went out to pick up some pie crusts from the grocery store before closing, all because he conveniently forgot to pop them in the cart when they went shopping a few days ago. If he's honest, he never would have got her out of the house otherwise. She was loath to leave, and he had to do a whole lot of convincing (whining) where pies were concerned in order to get her out the door.

Drying his palms on his trousers, he stares at the small gift on the kitchen table, the air thick with the scent of pine and cookies. He wrapped it himself, he's proud to say, though it looks less grand than he thought it would. The red-gold paper's a bit uneven on the places where he folded it, and the dazzling emerald bow is a bit lopsided. It's not the best, he knows, but as shoddy as it seems, he hopes she won't mind.

When he hears footsteps out in the stairwell, his heart spikes into his throat and he darts out of the kitchen and into the safety of the den. He wants to be there when she opens it, but all he can think of is what if she doesn't like it, what if she laughs, what if she scoffs at him and throws it away because he honestly hasn't known her for that long and he was just grasping for things she might like. He knows there's no way he could handle any of that because, well, if he's really being honest with himself, he's a coward when it comes to things like this, and so he tucks himself close to the swirl of lights by the Christmas tree and stares intently at the amalgam of decorations amongst its branches.

The apartment door opens and shuts, and he can hear the soft scuff of her boots against the mat and the crinkle of the shopping bag in her hand from his place in the den. His pulse is a steady drum under his ribs when he hears her pause. Her approach to the kitchen table is a series of tentative steps, and the crumpling noise of her inspecting his gift makes him straighten his spine.

Wheatley listens for some sort of reaction as the lights gleam with gold, but nothing comes. He's about to slink back into the kitchen to see what's happening, but when he turns around, she's right behind him.

"Oh, god!" he yelps, jolting backward. His elbow knocks a plastic ornament off of the tree and it rolls onto the carpet by her feet. "Oh, don't do that, god, you're going to give me a bloody heart attack. What is wrong with you?"

When her brow pinches in a scowl, he bites his tongue and curses himself and his big mouth.

"No, no, no," he insists, "don't take that the wrong way—I didn't mean that, I didn't, you're fine, you are, you're brilliant, I j-just wasn't expecting—"

But she pulls him into a hug, her arms firmly hooking around the small of his back and snugly into the cloth of his jumper, and she buries her cheek against his sternum. There's still a lingering chill in her clothes from the evening cold, and it seeps into the undersides of his wrists as he curls around her.

"Did—did you open it?" he asks, her closeness spurring his heartbeat.

Chell doesn't reply. Instead, she peers up at him and grins, pieces of her dark hair draping across her eyes. Something inside his chest twists and he feels her squeeze.

"I hope that means you like it," he says. "I mean, I know it's not much, just a little book light, but I know you read a lot, always straining and all, and I just figured it would… well, it might help out. Keep you from needing glasses. You know. Like me."

Gently, she uncurls her arm from around his back and plucks his glasses from his face. Her features fade into a blur, but he can somewhat discern the shape of her other hand reaching up for his cheek. The shock of cool fingers framing his jaw unspools tender prickles down his spine, and then he's being tugged down to her, her thumb against his ear.

His adam's apple bobs in a thick swallow. Her breath is a warm puff by his mouth, the tree lights are glittering in his peripheral, and he swears his heart is going to stop.

"Happy Christmmm—"

Chell doesn't let him finish.