Your name is Dave Strider, you are thirty years old, and you don't know how you got like this.
Last you remember, you had just put Casey to bed, getting a little worried about John's apparent lack of appearance (you texted him, as you always do, repeating his name over and over in your dark red text, only for him to respond saying he was running more errands). With all that said and done though, you flicked on a late show, laid down on the couch you'd since become so familiar with, and let yourself slowly drift off.
And yet, here you are, waking up fuzzily after dozing off at some unfamiliar point in time, and blinking your eyes open slowly. All around you is a sort of encompassing warmth, and you can't quite explain it, but then, you also don't care. But with your eyes making their way open, you squint in a brightness you aren't used to at a far-off clock, hung lazily in the kitchen's lowlight.
The clock reads somewhere around 4:45, but that doesn't explain your brief confusions, nor why the television is turned off, or why the kitchen light is even on. After a moment of your late night - or rather, early morning - fatigue moving past, and your alertness kicking in, you put the pieces together and manage to discern that you're at John's place (you almost thought it was your place, not because you forgot your loft doesn't look like this, but because it's so easy to forget that somewhere isn't your home when it's the only place that feels like one), and everything begins to lineup.
You figure he ought to have flicked off the TV when you left it on (that dumb little TV that really needs upgrading, and needs cable installed on it no less), and probably left the kitchen light on from when he walked inside and unloaded the groceries (you wish you'd been awake to be able to help him with it). But you then look down at yourself, neatly tucked-in in a duck-feather blanket, crimson edges pressed neatly underneath your sides, and not to mention the pillow padded lightly beneath your head. You then glance over, the sunglasses you forgot to take off before, folded nicely on the coffee table in front of you. Next to it is a receipt that seems to be scribbled on, and despite your warmth and comfort (both in physical and in feeling the affection of a man who's become so very fatherly in his entire being), you sit up, keeping the blanket pulled around you, picking it up.
In a familiar blue pen on the non-typed side of the receipt is written, "don't freeze your butt off, jeez! :B" and that's all.
You smile a big, tired smile, before going to lay back down and go to bed.
In not too much time at all, it's Christmas morning, and Casey is the first one to let everyone know about it.
She's running out at you in baggy pajamas and fuzzy socks, jumping onto your sleeping form on the couch and shaking you with tired hands. "Davey, davey, wake up!"
You wake up, sure enough, groggy and going to quickly place your sunglasses over your eyes. "'m up, 'm up, jesus," you grumble, going to sit up as she's still tugging on you.
"It's Christmaaas!" she's exclaiming, giggling in some of the most excitement you've seen from her since her birthday (was that all that long ago? You can't really tell what's long and short anymore - despite still being the 'Knight of Time' or whatever, it really blurs things together and your life is measured by such misshapen and irrelevant timeframes). "Come on, we gotta go wake up Daddy!"
You blink before going to set your feet down on the ground off the edge of the couch, gathering her to yourself with just one arm. "Why'd ya wake me up first, ya dip? Now we're in the living room for no reason," you joke, but go to carry her down the hall (noting that it's only six in the morning, jesus christ), before slowing opening the door to John's room, and making a shooshing motion at her. You close it near silently behind you though, and set her on one side of his sleeping form, before walking your own way around him, and then you simultaneously push your weight (her force more than yours) on him. She yells, "It's Christmaaas!"
He yelps himself in surprise, flailing beneath the two of your pushing and nudging at him. "Okay, okay, I'm up, yeesh!" he's sighing, going to sit up and straighten out his pajama shirt, stretching as he yawns (and you can't help but think of how adorable he is, his back curving slightly as one arm reaches up in the stretch, the other patting his mouth as the yawn escapes).
Soon, as they are contagious, you and Casey are yawning as well (and Casey does a similar motion, and you aren't sure how much more of this cute you can take) before hurrying out to the living room, ready to open all the gifts from one another, as well as those 'directly from Santa'.
Given the circumstances, the ones meant for Casey obviously go first. They range from dolls, ghost-esque toys (she has a strange fascination with them it seems), basic accessories for her hair (which you think is John's way of trying to get her to want that rat's nest taken care of), and a pretty decently sized (giant) teddy bear from yours truly. She's pretty pleased with all of them, curling up with the big stuffed animal that's even larger than her own person. Finally though is the main gift addressed from John, which he has her close her eyes and sit on his lap for. He then slides a silver chain around her neck, fastening it nicely (despite its enormous size on her - clearly something she's meant to keep in the years to come, and for a moment you think, the years he might not be able to keep her).
She then opens her eyes, peering down at it with a look of amazement. "Ooh, s'so pretty!" and she smiles, grabbing the pendant with her chubby little fingers. It's a simple blue jewel, but he stops her, laughing, and grabbing the pendant from her. "Wait, wait, look here," he says, flipping it to the other side, which has some script which he then reads aloud, "'Be strong, my little ghost girl. Love, Daddy'." She then smiles a softer smile, grabbing his one big hand in her own to smile at him, saying cheerfully, "Thank you!"
And you have to take a moment to appreciate the beauty of all this. A father who might soon lose his own daughter after just losing his wife, smiling and extending his very heart on a platter for her to keep always, and doing it in such a sweet, beautiful way. And a daughter, who despite it probably not being what she really wants this year, being able to tell it's something bigger than just a little necklace, and accepting it seriously - so much like her old man.
And fuck if you aren't smiling the widest, genuine smile you ever did smile.
But then they're looking you, and John laughs, saying, "You look pleased." You shrug, playing it off that, well, if your pokerface is there all the time the effect is ruined, god, how don't you get that. And he just shakes his head, before you go to exchange the gifts addressed to the two of you. Expecting them to be simplest, Casey's are given first, but it's actually a joint gift - a little finger painting.
You sit next to John to receive it, looking it over and trying to decipher what exactly everything is. She seems to notice you squinting, and though she pouts a little, she then goes to explain. Finger outstretched to point out the details, she begins, "This is 'r new house, 'nd this is me, 'nd Daddy, 'nd Davey!" She's beaming, so happy and so pleased, and clearly hoping it'll make the both of you so happy and so pleased. It tears you apart - because you want this to be how it is, so bad. You want to live in this house with Casey and 'Daddy', and you want to hang that picture up on the refrigerator so you can see it every morning when you head in to eat the breakfast John's made for everyone. But that isn't going to happen.
Regardless, you both smile, thanking her and giving her the appropriate hugs and kisses in appreciation, until it's time to exchange gifts between the two of you. John's always been the type to not be extravagant about gifts, but to put a lot of thought into them, and get just what you've been wanting or needing. There's a couple, some are just some records, the typical gifts, one's a can of worms that while Casey is off playing with her toys still laughs at, but finally is just a quick, little gift.
When you open it up it's a decent-sized, very warm-looking quilt. You look up at him, appreciating it, but definitely wanting to know what exactly spurred him to get you a fucking quilt.
He laughs, putting his hands onto the comforter as well. "It's not much yeah, but it's a blanket Dad got me for when I moved in here, and I remembered that back home you didn't have one, hehe. You also always freeze your a- butt off," he says, correcting his swearing in the presence of Casey, "so I figured it'd be good, you know?" And you flash back to when he tucked you in a couple nights back, and your heart swells with his caring, his consideration - his acknowledgment of your own little quirks. Those baby wings of hope are fluttering as you think that maybe he pays as much attention as you do, maybe he cares more than you give him credit for, and oh god you just realized how close to holding hands you are through the blanket...
Until you clear your throat, going to pick up a big hefty box to hand him, before spreading your blanket over your legs in a silent, and true thanks. He seems to notice this, smiling and moving on, before opening the box.
"A... TV?" he says, seemingly confused. "Dave, you know I have one already, you watch it at night."
"Yeah, and a pretty lame one at that," you affirm, rolling your eyes despite him being unable to see it. "Just upgradin' your home, dude."
He scoffs, going to set the box down, seemingly a little irritated and disappointed. But you have a plan, so you aren't worried in the slightest.
"Fine, Case can have the big hi-def TV in her room," you say. "Ain't that right, Casey?"
She just hollers in excitement, throwing her arms in the air as usual. God, is she adorable.
"Is that all?" he asks, raising his dark eyebrows, seeming to want to deal with the TV later.
"Oh man, you wish," you say, before pulling out an envelope, and handing it to him. He seems perplexed, but very interested, as he goes to tear the envelope open to see what's inside. Out comes a set of tickets, all marked for plane tickets, and a set of three tickets for Disneyland, marked for around John's birthday. He looks up at you, a little shocked - but happy, so happy. And it's the first time you've seen that genuine happiness in a long time now, and you can't help but feel like you've given him a small little ray of sunshine in this dreary winter he's been facing.
He's laughing loudly when he throws his arms around you, pressing you against the couch back-down (and your wings are flapping behind you and your heart is beating faster but his head is pressed to your chest so you hope to God he can't hear it increase). "Thank you, thank you! Just... fuck, Dave, you're the best!" You laugh a little, because he can't even control his swearing he's so excited, and you're bursting with happiness from this as your calloused hands reach to pat his back fondly, smiling at him in return.
"It's no problem, man," you say, patting him some more, and you think you hear Casey confused, trying to understand the excitement, but you're too busy looking down at this beautiful, maybe a little lonely, but momentarily happy man on you, and you think that maybe you feel a bit of air beneath your feet.