"My idea of Christmas, whether old-fashioned or modern, is very simple: loving others.
Come to think of it, why do we have to wait for Christmas to do that?"
― Bob Hope
Frigid air swirled about white flurries, the snow falling so rapidly that it concealed the gray sky and slowly rising sun. The ground was blanketed, transforming the town of Pontypandy into a glittering winter wonderland. The sun lazing on the horizon conjured freckles of shimmer, an awe-inspiring ballet of lilac fractals.
While even the sun was indulging in resting, Elvis was bustling about the kitchen, and had been since the early hours of the morning. He bounced from one countertop to the next, humming along to the carols pouring from the radio, and busily worked on a slew of recipes. He alternated between whisking pie meringues, mixing batters, and kneading doughs; the only consistency being dousing himself in flour. Every step and subtle dance move further matched the kitchen floor to the snowy ground beyond the window.
He peered outside as he stood before the window, cradling a mixing bowl in the crook of his elbow and stirring, his eyes glinting with childlike wonder. The beauty of nature seemed to stretch for eternity, the flickering speckles rivaling the glistening in his eyes. A content sigh parted his lips, which curled into a dreamy smile. He felt a comfortable heat spread throughout his body, the sight genuinely warming his soul.
"Ooh!" He exclaimed, setting down the mixing bowl and rushing toward the radio. He eagerly fiddled with the volume knob, hearing the voice of his namesake - Elvis Presley - crooning his rendition of Winter Wonderland. "I love this song!"
"Elvis?" A groggy voice called from the doorframe, half-lidded eyes observing the mess strewn throughout the kitchen. "What are you doing? It's not even six o'clock."
"Hmm?" Elvis mindlessly acknowledged, too enthralled in quietly singing along to the song and whisking a fresh batter. It wasn't until a sleepy finger tapped his shoulder that he jolted back to reality. "Oh! Sam, it's you!" He gleefully greeted, somehow managing to sound more bubbly than usual.
"Who else would it be?" Sam chuckled, lazily patting his partner's shoulder. A sleepy grin brightened his face, admiring how Elvis made joy contagious. "Father Christmas?"
"You never kno-oo-ow," Elvis responded, his voice carrying like a song. He playfully shrugged, jokingly placing a finger to his lips and whispering, "he's a magical man, Sam."
Their quaint home absorbed their upbeat spirits; the kitchen was abuzz with banter, laughter, and music. The music particularly caught Sam's attention, the iconic voice causing him to shake his head and send a smile to his own Elvis.
"Well, that explains why the radio's up so loud."
It wasn't until that moment that the true volume dawned on Elvis. He checked the dial, noticing he had tuned it to the highest setting while caught up in his enthusiasm. His fingers fumbled for the knob, an apology hanging from his lips, yet never getting the chance to be voiced. A ruddy tinge pinched his cheeks as his hand was pulled away from the dial and adorned with a kiss.
Sam glanced at the weather from the kitchen window before returning his attention to Elvis. "Leave it, it's rather fitting."
"Sorry if that's what woke you," the brunette sheepishly muttered, a bashful smile decorating his face as he kneaded at the back of his neck.
"Never mind, Elvis. I shouldn't get too comfortable sleeping in anyway," Sam explained, maneuvering around the clumps of flour and splatters of batter strewn along the floor. He filled a kettle with water, placing it atop an element before heading to the cupboard and fishing out two mugs. "What'll it be today? Coffee, tea?"
"Cocoa...?" Elvis asked, though his tone and the renewed shimmer in his eyes suggested it wasn't much of a question. He hurriedly dashed to a separate cupboard, pulling out a canister of powdered cocoa mix and a bag of marshmallows. Once he'd settled them on the countertop, he commenced to collect a rolling pin and set of cookie cutters.
"Doesn't look like it's my choice, hey, Elvis?" Sam teased, graciously fetching the ingredients and preparing their mugs for when the kettle would sound. Knowing it would take the kettle time, he approached the baking area, fiddling with one of the holiday-shaped cutters. "Mind if I help? I've been feeling a little useless with the vacation and all."
"I know, you shoveled the driveway sixteen times yesterday alone," Elvis sympathetically giggled, dusting the rolling pin in flour and handing it to the other. "Here, give rolling a go. I'll be right back."
Sam fumbled with the rolling pin that was practically shoved into his hand, a suspicious glance trailing to a giddy Elvis exiting the room. While confused, the redhead shrugged off the antics and started on working at the dough. The task began easily enough, only to twist his face with irritation when the pin started to stick and the dough became finicky. He grumbled a few swears under his breath when rips formed and the once pristine mound transformed into a malformed blob. "Oh, c'mon! This won't do."
A familiar and inviting laugh wafted from the living room to the kitchen, an amused Elvis staring at the pitiful attempt. He quickly planted a few gifts beneath the meager tree they'd decorated earlier that month, and returned to Sam with assisting hands at the ready.
"Here, you need more flour, is all," Elvis informed, sprinkling the pin and dough, reshaping it. He moved his hands to form atop Sam's, oblivious to how his partner's face instantly burned crimson, and guided the rolling pin. "You see?"
"H-how did you get better at cooking than me?"
"Years of being a human cooker, I suppose."
The statement did little to ease the fire lapping at Sam's face. His palms began to sweat, making it difficult to keep his grip on the pin. He trembled slightly, searching his mind for an excuse to break from the position; his body relaxed as the kettle sounded out the perfect excuse. "I'll get it!"
Elvis suppressed a chuckle at the other man's flustered demeanor. The doe-eyed sapphires excitedly watched as the mugs gave off steam, marshmallows peeking over the rims. Instinctively, he took a seat at the table and reached for the mug well before it was offered to him, blushing when Sam shook his head in mock disappointment. He lowered his hands, patiently waiting for the mug to be set before him and Sam to take the seat across from him.
"Where did you get off to anyway, Elvis?" Sam finally inquired, gently blowing away some steam before taking a warming swig of cocoa.
"Oh!" Elvis exclaimed, proudly gesturing to their meager tree that was humbly decorated with twinkling lights and a few baubles. "I was putting gifts under the tree. I'd almost forgotten, a-ha."
"I told you you'd forget them if you hid them away," Sam smugly expressed, chuckling under his breath. He eyed their tree, noticing the new collection of shiny blue paper now nestled beside the silver paper he'd used during his own wrapping. A shy smile pinched the corners of his mouth, the sight a shimmery reminder that they were sharing their first Christmas as a couple. His face went red, which he hid by bringing his mug to his lips.
"I know," Elvis muttered, laughing at his own expense, "but, I didn't want to give them all to you early."
"I've never known anyone who's had to hide gifts from themselves," Sam toyed, sliding a hand to rest atop Elvis', delicately grazing the flesh with his thumb. "You really are one-of-a-kind, you know that?"
As the radio continued shuffling through a selection of holiday tunes, the noise drifted into the distance. The two men held eye contact, both in a certain level of disbelief that they'd built a reality together. They'd staggered through a decade of fearing rejection and flirtatious blunders, yet wound up at their desired destination. That, for Sam especially, was better than any gift tucked under the tree. Sharing such a cozy moment, safe and secure in his mutual feelings, felt closer to a miracle than a gift.
"So-oo-oo," Elvis awkwardly broke the silence, a coy grin on his face and his eyes shifting toward the tree. Subtlety had never been his strongest suit, and Sam instantly followed the gaze. "Can we open them?"
"Elvis, what about all this, then?" Sam softly scolded, vaguely gesturing to the mess overflowing their kitchen and then to the wad of dough resting next to them. "We should at least tidy up fi-,"
"Please, Sam?" The brunette innocently whined, weaponizing his thick lashes by fluttering them over large baby blues and donning a well-rehearsed pout. "The mess'll still be here after. Please?"
The stony expression Sam held began to crack, a breathless laugh shattering his facade. He heaved a sigh, reluctantly suggesting, "how about this: we each open one now? We save the rest until the kitchen's cleaned."
"Deal!" Elvis instantly accepted, arising from his chair so swiftly that it nearly tipped. He rushed the tree like a child, the wonders of the holiday radiating from his every pore. A precise gift was in mind, one that he worried he'd confuse with the others, thus had placed an identifiable fire engine sticker on the wrapping. "Found mine!"
Sam had been patiently waiting for his boyfriend to finish plundering through the gifts, partially to admire the glee and partially to avoid accidentally getting hit by a present turned projectile. He gave a courteous nod before kneeling to the floor, calmly sifting through for the smallest box he'd wrapped. With a satisfied smile, he snagged the box and carried it over to their couch where Elvis had already planted himself, wriggling in excitement.
"Could I go first?" The energized man asked, though refused to wait for a response. He stuffed the small, rectangular gift into the redheaded man's hands, his eyes staring intently and impatiently. "Open it! Go on, open it!"
"Alright, alright," Sam nervously laughed, almost fearful he'd lose an arm if the other got too impatient and tried tearing open the paper himself. With careful, yet swift fingers, the redhead pried away the wrapping and popped the lid off the box. His cheery expression formed into sentimental mush. "Oh, Elvis..."
"D-do you like it...?" Elvis questioned, unsure how to interrupt the vague reaction. "I kept the receipt ju-just in ca-,"
"I love it," Sam softly reassured, tilting the navy wallet in his hands to fully admire its beautiful simplicity. The fabric was sturdy, yet soft to the touch with an emblem reminiscent of Jupiter front-and-center. It was a gift that summed up his personality to perfection - resourceful, reliable, simple, and with a love for his firefighting job. "It's absolutely perfect, Elvis," he added, his emotions chasing away any hesitation as he leaned to place a kiss to Elvis' cheek. "I suddenly feel I should have done a bit more."
Sam rested the small box in his partner's awaiting hands, a twinge of shame skewing his features. In comparison to the gift he'd been given, the box size paled and the present within held no candle. A blend of worry and sadness trickled through his system, and he lowered his head to add, "I'll understand if you want to return it."
Noticing the tonal shift, Elvis fretted. He placed the box aside and cupped his lover's face, lifting it from its pitiful droop. "Don't be silly," he lovingly consoled, a whisper of a giggle on his breath as he sowed a kiss to the frown staring back at him. "I'll love anything, so long as it's from you, Sam."
"You don't have to try to cheer me up, Elvis. Go ahead and open it," Sam sighed, dismissively waving toward the box. "But, don't say I didn't warn you."
"Won't have to," Elvis confidently assured, antsy fingers shredding into the paper and carelessly slinging the lid to the floor. Sam screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the crushing expression that he was certain was awaiting him, only for his eyes to fly wide in surprise when he was yanked into a tight hug. "I told you! I told you I'd love it! It's so cool!"
A stunned Sam wrapped his arms around the other, both returning the hug and balancing himself. Despite not being fully convinced, the widespread grin and genuine adoration lighting Elvis' face was confirmation. Sam worked his fingers at the back of his neck, unsure how to react to such a huge reaction in response to such a tiny gift. "It's only a keychain, Elvis."
"A cool keychain!" The other corrected, dangling the silver keyring from his finger, enthralled with the engraved guitar and music notes, reading the etched words aloud, "I'll always pick you! A-ha!"
"So, you like it, then...?"
"Like it? I love it!" Elvis gushed, clinging to the trinket as though his life depended on it. He showered his partner's ever-reddening face in butterfly kisses, a series of involuntary giggles following each one. He pulled back to read the words again, his brow soon furling with bewilderment. "Uh, th-there's just one thing, Sam."
The shorter man's confidence dropped and he gnawed anxiously at his lower lip, his heart slowly slinking into his stomach. Reluctantly, he posed the question, "wh-what's that?"
"Well, uh, does it mean that you'll always pick me? Or, does it mean that I'll always pick you? Because, s-since you gave it to me, that means you'll always pick me... but, on the other hand, when I'm carrying it, it makes it sound like I'll always pick myself, and that makes no sense. So, does that mean, so long as I'm carrying it, that I'll always pick you? Or-,"
"Elvis..." Sam, suddenly just as confused by the gift he'd purchased, held a hand up to his boyfriend, hoping to stop the rambling. He allowed his anxieties to rid themselves in the form of a chortle, clapping a hand atop Elvis' shoulder, finding the brunette man's befuddled expression curiously adorable. "Let's just say it means that we'll always pick each other." With a quick kiss to Elvis' cheek, Sam stood from the couch and began walking toward their kitchen, waving for Elvis to follow. "Now, about that tidying up."
"Aww," Elvis groaned, begrudgingly pushing himself off the couch and slumping into the kitchen. A glimmer of hope sparked behind his eyes when he caught a glimpse of the abandoned dough. "How's about you do the washing up and I'll finish up the biscuits?"
"Oh, Elvis..." Sam breathlessly chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed a broom and began brushing up the powder from the floor. In that moment, his mind drifted to how their relationship often mimicked that of a married couple; nervously, he toyed with the idea that his next gift, while still small, would have much greater meaning than a keychain. "Best start saving up for that," he absently uttered to himself, the figment of a future engagement ring at the forefront of his mind.
"Did you say something, Sam?" Elvis asked, distracted by cutting the dough into festive shapes and lining them along a baking sheet.
"N-nothing, Elvis," the redhead lied with a smile that rivaled how goofy his partner's grins often were, lovingly eyeing the baker, "nothing at all."
"A little smile, a word of cheer,
A bit of love from someone near,
A little gift from one held dear,
Best wishes for the coming year.
These make a merry Christmas!"
― John Greenleaf Whittier
