You glanced over your shoulder at him, catching the way his eyes were already bright with anticipation, and your smile softened. “I’m excited too.”

His brow lifted immediately, and he sat forward. “So does that mean I get a hint?”

You laughed quietly, finishing your organizing before grabbing one of the boxes and crossing the room.

You sat beside him, pulling your legs up onto the couch. “I’ll do you one better.”

He shifted to face you more fully, curiosity written all over his face. “What do you mean?”

“In my family,” you said, settling the box gently into his lap, “we open one gift on Christmas Eve. So…” You tilted your head, eyes sparkling. “Perhaps this might curb your—” you gave the box a little pat, “—curiosity.”

His grin widened instantly. “Well then,” he said, setting the box carefully on the coffee table, “in that case, you get one to open too.”

He stood and crouched in front of the tree, pretending to inspect the gifts he had laid out on the other side of the tree with an exaggerated seriousness. “Hmm,” he murmured. “Big or small?”

You smiled and leaned over to look at his pile before pointing at his present on the coffee table. “Same size as yours.”

He hummed thoughtfully, then picked up a box slightly bigger than yours but not the largest of his gifts. He returned to the couch and handed it to you, leaning in to press a warm kiss to your cheek. “Merry Christmas, mi vida.”

You giggled, shifting to sit cross-legged facing him, the box resting in your lap. “You first.”

He shook his head immediately. “No, see, I believe that ladies go first.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you turned the box over, fingers searching for the seam in the paper. “Well, if you insist...”

Harry leaned his head against his fist, elbow propped on the back of the couch so he could watch you properly. “If I remember right,” he said casually, though his eyes were intent, “this is one I went off one of your ideas for…”

You carefully tore the red-and-gold wrapping paper, revealing a box stamped with the name of the local antique shop you’d wandered through earlier. You lifted it slightly to toss the wrapping paper aside, amused. “Hmm,” you teased, “I wonder what this could be…”

His smile grew as you opened it and lifted out a beautiful antique jewelry wardrobe box—dark brown wood, smooth with age, delicate lily flowers painted on the glass panels. It was pristine, elegant, and unmistakably full of history—it was exactly what you wanted.  

He leaned forward and pointed gently at it. “I uhm, I saw your jewelry in the bathroom this morning,” he admitted. “How you had it all tucked into that little tupperware container—so I thought this might be something you’d like.”

Your face lit up as you opened the tiny doors and drawers, inspecting each compartment with care. “I love it,” you said immediately. “I’ve been needing something like this back at home forever and haven’t been able to find anything I actually liked.”

You looked up at him, warmth blooming in your chest, and leaned forward to kiss him softly before pulling back, your gaze drifting back to the box. “Thank you.”

He felt a quiet swell of pride at the way you looked—genuinely delighted and touched that he’d paid attention to the small things like your jewelry in the bathroom—and smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”

You nodded, then glanced at the box that he had sitting beside him. “Ok, your turn.”

He chuckled and picked it up, rotating it in his hands, seeing that it was in the same wrapping paper as the one he just given to you. “I have a feeling this is from the same place I got yours from.”

You laughed, setting your jewelry box carefully on the table. “The wrapping paper might’ve given us away a little.”

He smiled as he uncovered the same antique shop logo on a cardboard box before lifting the lid to reveal another wooden box—it was dark-stained like yours, but sleeker. He pulled it free, noticing the small drawer at the bottom and the golden clasp at the top to lift a hood up.

He opened it carefully to reveal, inside, eight deep green felt-lined square compartments, each with a padded pillow in the middle.

You cleared your throat softly and gestured. “It’s for your watches.”

He looked up at you, listening intently as you continued.

“I’ve noticed you wear a different watch every day,” you said shyly, tucking your hair back behind your ear. “And I know you probably have something at home, but when you travel…” Your voice wavered just slightly, sounding a bit unsure now that you were explaining. “I thought it might be a good little travel case—”

You reached forward and opened the drawer at the bottom. “And this could be for that ring you wear, and maybe others?” You leaned back, hands folding in your lap as nerves crept in. “Or you could put in cufflinks for work? Or tie bars… if you wear those. Or—”

Harry’s gaze softened completely as he looked at you, but he hadn’t said a word yet. Little did you know that it wasn't because he didn’t like it, but because he was genuinely and completely speechless.

He looked back down as he ran his fingers over the felt, absorbing how thoughtful it was, how seen it made him feel.

You shifted nervously. “I know I didn’t exactly stick to your ideas—”

He immediately shook his head and turned toward you, smiling with absolute certainty. “I love it.”

“Oh, thank God…” You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, laughing softly. “I was a little nervous because you weren't saying anything.” 

"I guess I'm a little speechless." He lightly chuckled as he continued tracing the edges of the box before finally looking back at you. “This is incredibly thoughtful, sweetheart,” he said sincerely. “Thank you.”

You smiled proudly, watching him explore his gift for a moment longer—letting the softness of his reaction settle, letting the warmth in your chest linger, allowing that sense of pride sit as you knew just based on that gift alone... this would be a good Christmas for both of you. 

After a minute, you rocked forward then back a little before you muttered, almost under your breath, being completely playful, “Oh, and… I may have gotten you something else to put in it…”

He grinned at your obvious antics as he gently closed the box, then set it beside yours on the coffee table before reaching for you without hesitation. His hand found your thigh and tugged you forward until you were straddling his lap, a low chuckle leaving him as he looked up at you. “Excuse me—what was that, hermosa?”

You let out a small giggle as you shifted to settle over him, hands resting on his shoulders, your expression deliberately innocent. “What? I didn’t say anything…”

His hands stayed on your thighs, giving them a slow, deliberate squeeze as his grin turned knowing—so sinful that it was almost tempting. “I’m pretty sure you just gave me another hint…”

You leaned down, hovering just over his lips, close enough to feel his breath, close enough to see his eyes flick to your lips and his pupils slightly dilate with want. You teased, “Mm… then it’s a shame you weren’t listening closely enough to know what it was.”

His jaw clenched, and he went to rise and capture your lips, but you pulled back just slightly, teasing just enough to even drive you a little crazy. The movement made his fingers tighten around your thighs, and a quiet groan slipped from him. “Mm. Now you’re being a tease, baby…”

You grinned, fully aware of exactly what you were doing. “I don’t mean to be,” you murmured, nudging your nose gently against his, your voice low and warm.

His hands slid slowly up your thighs to your waist, gripping you just firmly enough to make heat bloom low in your belly and your breath slightly hitch. His forehead brushed yours as he murmured, his voice low. “Then be a good girl and kiss me.”

You bit your bottom lip before you leaned in slowly and whispered, “Yes, sir…” before you kissed him, your hand tangling in his curls, pulling him slightly towards you.

He exhaled sharply, like the kiss had given him air, and his hand immediately lifted to cup your cheek. You pulled back just long enough to tilt your head the other way, then leaned back in.

His grin was instant before he kissed you again—this time longer, deeper, more unhurried as he kept himself latched onto your lips for a few more seconds before breaking and going in for another. His hand tightened at your waist as he drew you closer—pulling you against him.

You began to roll your hips gently against his as his other hand came up and slid to the back of your neck, drawing you in closer with each draw of your lips. Each kiss grew heavier, slower, breaths growing warmer and closer, the pauses between them shorter—as if neither of you quite wanted to stop long enough to breathe.

As it began to get more heated, you felt his fingers slip beneath the hem of your sweater, tracing lightly over bare skin like he was exploring new territory, testing his movements. The contrast made you shiver—so much that it made a soft moan leave your lips before you could stop it.

He barely pulled back, just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, breath warm against your lips as his hand wandered higher up your side, his fingers tracing your soft skin. “Is this okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, and that was all it took for him to move in and kiss you again—his touch slowly but impatiently inching upward before his fingers brushed over your bra—making you whisper his name breathlessly between a kiss, like you were begging him for more. 

His breath caught when he felt you move your hips a little more deliberately against the growing ache in his pants—the closeness starting to blur into something dizzying and dangerous.

He hummed as he pulled back and then nudged your jaw gently aside with his nose and shifted his attention to your neck, gently kissing down the soft skin along your jawline, then under your ear as his hand moved back down your body. 

"Fuck—" You whispered, your eyes fluttering closed.

His lips began to softly suck love bites into your skin as his arm then wrapped around you more securely, before he lifted his hips and then guided you to lie back against the couch, smooth and effortless with his movements.

He followed you down without breaking contact from your skin, settling between your legs as his mouth found yours again, his presence warm and steady against you, his hips starting to grind into you slowly.

Your hands slid over his shoulders, then down his chest, fingertips exploring, lingering, teasing just as he did you. Each subtle shift of his weight drew another breath from you, another quiet sound you didn’t bother to hold back when you felt a heat start to curl low and deep.

Before you knew it, your entire body was humming with awareness of him—of how close he was, how carefully he was moving, how easily he made everything else disappear.

His mouth was still on yours, slow but unrelenting—every kiss lingered, deepened, then softened again. It became a dance of his lips tracing yours, then the corner of your mouth, then back again.

His hands would be on your thigh, pulling you closer as he would grind into you before they were at your waist—his fingers gently curling around your soft, warm curves—pulling you up and closer, as if he couldn’t quite get you close enough. The other had moved up to cradle your face, fingers threaded lightly into your hair as you lifted your head up to meet him.

You were both breathing heavier, kisses melting into each other, foreheads brushing, noses bumping with each tilt and switch of angles—little murmurs and half-laughs caught between soft groans and moans—the moment starting to peak upwards. 

He kissed you again, then moved back along your jaw, then back down to the spot just beneath your ear, making you tilt your head without even realizing you were doing it, your eyes fluttering shut as you arched your back into him, your hand on the back of his head—threaded through his curls to hold him right where he was. 

Neither of you noticed when his phone started to ring.

You were too caught in the closeness, in the warmth, in the way he felt against you, in the way his mouth found yours again so easily, like it was instinct now—how his lips parted over yours, slow and indulgent, his thumb stroking your cheek as if he was trying to keep you exactly here, in his moment.

But then the ringing continued, distant, half-lost in the one cushions behind you. It wasn’t until Harry slightly shifted and you could hear it buzz, the noise getting a little louder, now that it finally cut through.

You smiled against his lips before you even pulled back, breathless, a quiet laugh curling out of you as you shook your head just a little.

“Leave it,” you whispered softly against his mouth, grinning. “Please… leave it.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“You're right—they can call back,” he murmured instantly, like it wasn’t even a question before he leaned back in and kissed you—slower this time, like he was trying to settle you both back into the moment. He did this a few times, slow and deep kisses until his lips moved to your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck, your hand sliding to the back of his head, holding him there while he pressed warm, lingering kisses to your skin.

The phone stopped, and for a heartbeat, there was only the two of you again.

He murmured against your skin as he kissed your pulse point, “Gracias a Dios…” Then he trailed his lips slowly back up to yours again, pressing another slow and deep kiss as his hips began to roll again between your thighs. 

You were just starting to breathe him back in. Just starting to pull him close to you, your leg wrapping around his hip, your arms making their way from around his shoulders to then move your hands to grip his biceps.

Just as you were starting to feel that familiar pull that sat low in your core, is when it rang again.

This time, neither of you even tried to ignore it—you both broke at once, breath heavy against each other, foreheads still nearly touching.

A laugh slipped out of you, followed quickly by his—warm and low and completely helpless, like there was no stopping it. He dropped his forehead to your shoulder, shaking his head with a breathless chuckle, his hand still firm at your waist.

“Okay,” he murmured, still smiling against your skin, amused and a little defeated. “We'd better see who that is.”

You smiled, your hands still in his hair. “Here, hold on…” You said gently, then reached up instinctively, fixing his curls where your fingers had messed them about—smoothing them back from his forehead and temples, your movements careful and filled with affection.

He lifted his head so you could, his gaze watching you do it. His laughter faded into something quieter and softer—his eyes were still dark with want, but still completely full of you.

Something unspoken passed between the two of you as you were stuck in each other's gaze for a moment.

But then the phone kept ringing, and he reluctantly broke from your gaze, slipping his hand between the cushions and pulling it free as it must've slipped from his pocket earlier, glancing down at the screen to see a photo of his parents and then:

Facetime Call: Mom & Dad.

He hummed softly and smiled before turning the phone so you could see.

You couldn’t help but smile, too. “Ah,” you said fondly, warmth in your voice, “I’m sure they just want to wish you a Merry Christmas Eve.”

You shifted to lie back as he adjusted upright, staying as close as he could—your legs naturally draping easily across his lap as he accepted the call and lifted the phone in view for his parents to see him, his arm settling comfortably on your shins.

“Hola, Mamá… Papá,” he greeted easily, like he hadn’t just been completely undone by your lips moments ago.

Their voices filled the quiet room immediately—warm, excited, overlapping through the speaker.

“¡Mijo! ¿Por qué no respondiste?” his mother immediately interrogated. (Why didn't you answer?)

He laughed softly. “Lo sé, lo sé. I’m sorry—things just got a little… busy.”

“Ay, leave the boy alone, mi amor,” his dad teased, his tone playful. “I’m sure he was enjoyin’ his night, sí?” He wiggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly at Harry.

Harry chuckled and tried to play it off. “I don’t know what you mean…”

His dad tutted dramatically. “¿Ah, sí? ¿Y qué tal te va con tu compañero de piso? Mamá dijo que estabas hecho un tonto enamorado—” (Oh really? Then how’s things with the roommate? Mama said you were a blushing fool—)

You snorted before you could stop yourself and whispered teasingly as you watched him. “¿Un tonto sonrojado?” (A blushing fool?)

Harry cleared his throat, cheeks warming, and gave your shin a gentle squeeze, eyes flicking to you briefly before he smoothly redirected his parents. “Mamá, ¿hiciste turrón esta noche?” (Mom, did you make nougat tonight?)

You chuckled before you settled back into the couch, resting your head against the arm as he talked.

He slipped between Spanish and English without thinking—answering his mother rapidly and affectionately, then responding to his dad in English before drifting back again.

You watched him. You watched the way his face softened when his mother spoke. The way his smile changed when she started listing plans they had for tomorrow. The way he nodded slowly, listening fully, and giving them all of his attention. The way his voice gentled without him ever realizing it when they told him they missed him.

Every so often, his eyes found you watching him, and every time they did, his mouth curved just a little more.

Your body began to sink into the cushions before you meant it to. The adrenaline now diminished, and warmth was settling into its place. The glow of the lights, the quiet crackle of the fire, the familiar cadence of his voice—it all wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

You heard his dad ask as you felt yourself feel heavier, “So how’s the trip going? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“…It’s going good,” Harry replied now, smiling softly. “Really good, actually.”

His free hand found your ankle, thumb brushing idle, comforting circles onto it. His gaze drifted back to you, and something deep in his chest eased, something grounding and steady, as he took you in like this—so at home against him, it all felt so natural and simple.

His mother’s voice cut in again, pulling his gaze back to her. “Shall we let you go, mijo? ¿No se está haciendo tarde allí?” (Isn’t it getting late there?)

You didn’t even notice when your eyes finally slipped closed—then your breathing slowed down first before your body softened second.

By the time he glanced down again and saw it—your head tilted, lashes resting against your cheeks, lips parted just slightly in sleep—he fell quiet mid-sentence.

“…yeah, it is,” he finished softly, smiling to himself. 

What he didn’t see was his parents on the other end smiling at each other—knowing that smile only meant one thing when it came to their son. 

He looked back at them, kissing the tips of his fingers before waving at them. “Merry Christmas. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He ended the call a moment later after they’d said their goodbyes.

For a while after, he didn’t move. He just leaned back into the couch, your feet were still resting on his lap, his thumb gently tracing circles into your ankle, soothing you further into sleep. He watched you breathe—slow, even breaths—he even watched the tiny curve of your mouth as you slipped deeper into sleep.

His gaze drifted to the tree after a long moment—the warm lights glowing, ornaments catching reflections, the presents tucked neatly beneath the branches.

Already, it felt full of memories, and it hadn’t even been Christmas morning. 

You barely shifted in your sleep, but his attention snapped right back to you, a soft smile finding him without effort. 

Once he was certain you settled back asleep, he carefully lifted your legs from his lap, then leaned forward—slipping one arm behind your back, the other under your knees—and gathered you into his arms.

You stirred, nuzzling instinctively into his neck.

“Harry?” you murmured, your eyes staying closed.

He leaned in, voice low and steady. “Shh… I’ve got you, baby.”

It was almost instantaneous that your breathing evened out again and your body relaxed completely. The amount of safety and comfort you felt in his arms brought a great sense of pride and peace to him. 

He carried you down the hall and into the bedroom before laying you down slowly and softly.

He began undressing down to his boxers and an undershirt when you turned onto your side, still partially asleep, and hummed, “Harry?” 

He stopped as he was taking his watch off and putting it on the nightstand next to the bed before he leaned in close and kissed your temple, “Yeah?” 

“Will you stay in bed until I wake up tomorrow?” You mumbled, your nose wrinkling halfway through. 

He couldn’t help the smile he had on his face at the simple fact that you just wanted simple moments like that with him. 

He kissed your temple again and then brushed some hair off your face gently before softly saying. “I’m not leaving this bedroom until we can do it together on Christmas morning, mi vida.” 

You smiled in your sleep and hummed contentedly as you mumbled. “Good.” 

He crawled into bed shortly after and curled into you as you ahd remained lying on your side. He wrapped his arm around your waist and tucked his other arm under your head.

After a few moments, he lifted his head to kiss your cheek once before your shoulder and whispered as he lay his head down, “Merry Christmas.” 

You sleepily sighed before you mumbled back, “Merry Christmas.” 

The next morning, Harry woke to your phone buzzing on the nightstand.

The screen lit the dark room for just a second before dimming again. He squinted for a moment, eyes focusing on the display long enough to see a picture of you with your mom and dad smiling back at him.

You were curled up in the same position you’d fallen asleep in—your hands now tucked under your chin, breathing slow and even, completely peaceful.

He leaned over sleepily and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, then another to your cheek, his arm tightening just a little to pull you closer before he murmured, already halfway back to sleep, “Baby… I think your parents are calling you…”

You hummed quietly before lifting your head with effort, your eyes still heavy as you looked at the nightstand.

You reached for your phone and fumbled for it, your hand blindly searching for it before you found it. You sighed, then swiped to answer as you flopped back onto the pillow beside him.

“Hello?” you mumbled.

Your parents’ voices burst through the speaker at once, loud enough that even Harry heard. “Merry Christmas!”

You smiled instantly, warmth blooming in your chest. You inhaled deeply, stretching a little under the blankets before curling back into Harry’s hold. His lips found your shoulder again, slow and gentle, before nuzzling into the back of your neck.

“Merry Christmas,” you murmured.

Your mom immediately launched into her ramblings—how busy the restaurant had been for them last night, how she and your dad were still up wrapping gifts for your brother and his family because of it—but then headed into the territory on how she couldn’t believe you weren’t there this year.

You listened, half-awake, murmuring short responses. But when she started talking about today—about how she wished you’d stayed home, how she felt this whole trip of yours was just silly and a little sad—something in you shifted as she had no idea how much you needed this.

Your shoulders tensed, and your jaw tightened just a little—her words bringing you out of sleep.

Harry felt it instantly—felt the way your breathing changed, even the way your body stiffened the longer your mother spoke, her voice muffled against your ear. 

He lifted his head slightly and listened as best he could.

“You know, I thought in the first place it was a bit rude that you and Sam were going to take off around the holidays,” your mother said. “But then, when you decided to go off on this trip by yourself—”

Harry’s arm tightened around you, and his thumb began slow, steady circles across your stomach, trying to ground you. His lips lingered against your shoulder, pressing small kisses there, one after another.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, now fully awake as you cut her off. “Yeah, no, I understand you miss me, Mom. Trust me, I miss you guys too.”

Harry shifted closer, deliberately kissing softly up your shoulder to your neck before nuzzling there—making you giggle quietly before you could stop yourself.

You heard your mom pause mid-sentence at her attempt to make you feel guilty—now for not even leaving any gifts for your nephews.

“Why is that funny?” she asked, confused and a little offended.

You rolled onto your back, phone still at your ear, and looked at Harry.

He was now propped on his elbow beside you, hair messy, eyes warm, wearing the most unapologetically boyish grin as he mouthed, “Sorry.”

You cleared your throat. “Sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean to—it’s just… it’s still really early here, and I’m pretty exhausted, honestly. And—” you pulled the phone back and glanced at the screen, squinting at the time. “Wait, Mom? What time is it there?”

There was a small pause before your dad’s voice came through. “It’s two in the morning… which is your way of sayin’ we need to go to bed, right?”

You laughed softly, watching as Harry took your free hand and started kissing slowly down your arm, clearly entertaining himself and absolutely not helping you focus.

“Yeah, Dad. That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you smiled. “You both need to sleep... but I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“But wait, I want to know about you and how you and your roommate are—” your mom started.

“She’s letting us go, honey,” your dad cut in. “We’re headed to bed. Merry Christmas, pumpkin.”

You heard your mom mutter something to him before you smiled. “Merry Christmas, guys. I love you both.”

Then you ended the call and set the phone aside.

Harry’s lips had paused mid-kiss at your elbow, his eyes glancing up to yours.

Your smile widened as you tilted your head to look at him. “And what are you up to?”

He grinned. “Just givin’ you one of your many gifts.”

You hummed playfully. “Kisses are one of my many gifts?”

He finished kissing back up your arm, then lifted his hand to gently hold your chin still. He leaned in, voice low against your lips. “Mm, among other things…” Then he kissed you—slow, deep, and unhurried.

His hand slid to your waist, drawing you closer until your chests touched. You kissed him again, and again, each one shorter, softer, more excited than the last.

Your feet wiggled under the sheets, a quiet laugh slipping out as he pulled back. “Can we go open gifts?”

Harry chuckled, resting his forehead against yours as he teased. “Someone’s impatient…”

"Excited, remember?" You corrected as you pecked his lips and quickly slipped out of bed.

He chuckled and watched as you started getting out of bed only to freeze as soon as you stood, suddenly aware you were still in last night’s clothes.

“First,” you said, glancing down, “I need to change.”

Harry stayed sitting up, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry you’re still dressed in your clothes. I… I didn’t want to cross any boundaries by undressing you while you were asleep.” Then his gaze dropped to the sheets, shy.

Something in your chest softened at that—at the respect he continues to give you.

You climbed back onto the bed and gently pushed him onto his back before straddling his lap. “Hey… look at me.”

His hands went to your thighs automatically as he propped himself up on his elbows to meet your eyes.

You placed your hands over his, then slowly slid them up his arms, over his biceps, then up to his shoulders. “I trust you.”

His breath hitched, and something in his expression changed—like your words had thawed something deep in him.

“I trust you not to cross any boundaries,” you added as you moved one hand to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing it softly.

He leaned into your touch and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He turned his head and kissed the inside of your palm. “Okay…”

Your hand slid down to his chest, resting over his heart. “I can’t tell you how lucky I feel to have found you—how lucky I am to feel so respected by someone.”

He smiled up at you and went to speak, but then stopped.

Instead, he cupped your cheek and pulled you down into a deep kiss that said more than words ever could—then another, but this one slower and softer.

“I’m the one who’s lucky, mi vida,” he whispered as he pulled back a touch. 

He went to lean back in, sitting up more—his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer—until you pulled back just a little, your nose brushing his.

“Mm, wait... if we get started with all that funny business,” you teased, arms around his neck, one hand teasing through his back curls, “we won’t get out of this bed…”

His hand slipped up the back of your shirt as he chased your lips, his voice low. “We’ve got plenty of time…”

You hummed, scooting your hips closer, teasing him, “Do we now? I thought we had plans with our friends downstairs in a few hours..."

“Tell you what,” he said, kissing your chin, then your jaw. “Give me five minutes. Just five minutes to get it out of my system.”

You giggled, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Just five minutes… or your version of five minutes?”

He grinned, then shifted, rolling you gently onto your back and settling between your legs, making you laugh as he followed you down. “Well, now I’m definitely makin’ it my version just to spite you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling as he hovered closer, inches from your lips. “Oh no… whatever will I do?”

You didn’t come out to the living room for another hour.

After Harry’s version of five minutes, you both spent some more time in bed, cuddling, exchanging stories of how your Christmas mornings went growing up—sharing your favorite gifts you remember as kids. 

By the time you made it out to the living room, it glowed softly from the tree lights that were twinkling—the ornaments caught the pale morning light from the open window in front of it, and the presents were tucked neatly beneath the branches, waiting to bring joy and warmth to this year’s Christmas morning together. 

The world outside felt hushed as it had begun to snow again.

You and Harry sat on the floor, with your backs against the couch, and a blanket loosely draped over both of your laps.

After Harry made you both some coffee, neither of you could quite stop smiling as you settled in.

“Alright,” he said, rubbing his hands together once after setting his mug aside. “I think we’re ready.”

You reached forward first, pulling one of the smaller boxes toward you and held it out for him, grinning from ear to ear. “I want you to go first.”

He raised his brows. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Certain.”

He took it, carefully peeling the paper away.

Inside a worn velvet box were a pair of cufflinks. They were subtle, vintage, and warm-toned, featuring a design that felt timeless without being too flashy.

He turned them slowly between his fingers as he studied them. And then—just for a split second—his mouth curved upward as he thought about wearing them to the event tonight.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Why are you grinning like that?”

He glanced up at you, then away again, still smiling to himself as he closed the box. “Nothing.”

You leaned closer. “Harry...”

He finally met your eyes and deflected with a partial lie. “I just… love how good you already are at knowing my style.” His smile softened. “These are perfect, querida. Really.”

You searched his face, unconvinced but pleased, before you pecked a kiss on his cheek. “I’m glad you like them.”

The next gift was a decanter you’d found at a local brewery you two walked past yesterday—but one you had snuck into when he went into a bookstore next door and wasn't paying attention.

He lifted it carefully from the box, light catching in the glass. “Oh wow…”

“And,” you added, reaching for another package, “this one goes with it.”

He unwrapped a felt bag that had a bottle of Scottish whiskey inside.

“I thought you could use it for your office,” you said, beaming with pride. “Or for clients. Or coworkers. Or just to look pretty for aesthetics...”

He laughed quietly. “You thought about my office?”

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, like you hadn't meticulously thought of everything anxiously yesterday while shopping, wanting everything to have purpose. “I thought you might spend a lot of time there.”

His gaze held on you a moment longer this time. “Thank you. These are both really thoughtful.”

You nodded and blushed as he leaned over and kissed your temple gently before starting to unwrap his next gift that you put into his lap. 

He smiled immediately when he saw what it was—a puzzle of the town square that you found in one of the little local tourist shops. 

“You mentioned you wanted things we could do together…” You said. “Maybe we can start this one tonight?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he murmured before looking at you and smiling. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

You smiled at him and nodded. "You're welcome."

Then you handed him the next one—it was your favorite book that you found when you snuck back into the bookstore with him. 

"I've not read this yet." He said as he turned it over, curious, then opened it to flip softly through the pages, but as he started, a note slipped out.

He unfolded it carefully and read it once—then read it again. 

You leaned your lips on his shoulder as you read the note alongside him, feeling a bit nervous but hopeful that this was something he’d like. 

As you watched him read your words, you noticed a shift in him—the way his shoulders eased, the way his breathing slowed.

Part of it read:

‘This book has always felt like home to me. It reminds me that people can find each other in strange places. That timing is a funny, fragile thing. That love doesn’t always arrive the way you expect it to—but when it does, it changes everything. I can’t wait to talk about this with you. I can’t wait to hear what you see in it. I can’t wait to learn all the parts of you that stories remind me of.’

He swallowed as he folded the note back up and tucked it carefully back into the front of the book.

“…Are you trying to ruin me?" he asked quietly, exhaling a slow breath with a small smile on his face.

You blinked, pulling back from his shoulder. “What?”

He looked at you, and there was a genuine warmth in him—a great appreciation for what you’d just given and shared with and for him. 

“This is the most thoughtful set of gifts anyone’s ever given me… I can’t even put into words how much this means to me.”

You smiled, your throat getting a little tight with emotion. “Oh, Harry, I didn't mean to—”

He leaned over before you could finish and kissed you gently, his lips lingering a little longer before whispering. “Thank you.”

You nodded and pecked his lips once more before he shifted and reached for one of the boxes beside him. “Okay. Your turn, baby.”

You giggled and started to unwrap your first gift, which was a cookbook of Scottish dishes.

The moment you saw it, you softened, running your fingers over the cover. It was worn in that way, only something truly loved could be—creases in the spine and softened corners. 

“Oh, wow…” You breathed, smiling as your eyes danced over it.

“There are notes inside,” he said as you opened to the first page. “From whoever owned it before. And I just… I thought you’d like that.”

You flipped through it carefully, seeing little penciled substitutions, tiny splatters, and the folded pages—which only meant one thing in the cookbook world.

“I love this,” you said honestly. “I can’t wait to cook these for us.” You smiled as you looked up to see him smiling at you. 

He already had the next gift in his hands, offering it to you. 

You took it and unwrapped a gift that had been wrapped in brown paper but very neatly, like whoever he’d bought this from took care in their craft. 

You revealed a dark brown leather-bound journal—your initials stamped into the bottom right corner.

You opened it, smiling, but froze when you saw on the first page, in his handwriting:

Mi Cielo, This is to hold your dreams, ideas, and wishes—only until you make them come true.  -Harry

Your chest ached, and you ran your fingers across the writing, tears blurring your vision slightly. 

“For your ideas,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss your shoulder then cheek. “Your recipes. Anything you want.”

You looked up at him. “Harry, this is so sweet…”

He smiled and kissed your cheek again before handing you another box, smaller than the others, but you knew as soon as you tore the paper off what it was.

You gasped seeing a beautiful wrist watch in a small red velvet box—it was a dainty, vintage gold piece, delicate and elegant.

“I saw it and just…” he exhaled. “It felt like you.”

“It’s perfect,” you whispered as you put it in your wrist, looking at it as it then twisted your wrist back and forth for it to catch the light—smiling and giggling. “I love it!”

He chuckled and then lifted the last box over his lap and placed it gently into yours.

It was heavier than the rest. 

“Goodness, that's heavy." You started to unwrap it, unsure what it could be.

The moment you opened the box to reveal what was inside, you couldn’t help but stare as your jaw dropped.

It was a set of vintage spice jars—vintage 1992 Lenox spice jars. 

The full fucking set—every single one.

Your hand flew to your mouth in utter shock. “Harry…”

Your eyes went wide as you looked at every single one, all in almost perfect condition. “How did you—how did you find these?”

He smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “They were in the back room of that antique shop. The owner said they’d just come in that morning as a donation and said you might like them after I asked what cookware they had that was unique.”

“My God, I can’t believe it…” Your head shook in disbelief—then reality caught up with how much they must’ve cost or at least with how valuable something like this was. 

“…but I can’t accept these,” you said softly. “I know how much these cost. This is too much...”

He didn’t argue right away—he just watched you. He watched the way you were glowing—the way your fingers hovered over the jars like you were checking to know if this was real. He saw how much these meant to you—so he scooted closer.

“Nothing,” he said gently, “will ever be too much if it makes you light up like that.”

You turned your head, and your eyes met his.

“I don’t want to give you small pieces of a life,” he continued quietly. “I want to give you things that mean something to you—no matter how expensive or simple they might be."

He nodded to the box in your lap. "These? These are more valuable to me now that I know they mean to you—so much so that I don't care how much they were to buy...”

He smiled at you warmly. "You are worth every penny I have and will ever spend on your happiness."

Your breath trembled before you could whisper, “Thank you,” smiling and reaching up to put your hand on his chest.

He leaned in and kissed you slowly, his lips warm against yours—his hand coming up to cup your cheek as the tree lights glowed behind you—gifts scattered around, the room full with something so warm and full. 

You pulled back after a moment, your heart full and chest warm, and hesitated before saying. “There’s… actually one more present I have for you…” 

His brows lifted watching to stand up. “You’re joking.”

You went to grab a small box from your purse and then came back and handed him the final box. 

He shook his head as he looked at it, “You’ve spoiled me…” 

You smiled and sat back down by him, “You’ll come to learn that one of my love languages is gift giving.” 

He chuckled as he opened it carefully, seeing the same box that your watch was in, from the same jewelry shop.

"Baby..." He said, smiling, before opening the box—but then he stilled when he found a watch gleaming back up at him.

It had a gold case and ivory dial with gold hands, with a shiny dark chestnut leather band—and it was in amazing condition.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak—then he slowly lifted it from the box.

“It’s for your case,” you said softly. “The one from last night... You know, to add to it?”

He turned it in his fingers, completely speechless for a moment. He was blown away by the thought that went into all your gifts.

It had made him feel seen in a way that he’d never had before with a partner or even family. It was that kind of feeling that you don’t know if you’re awake or asleep—it had you wondering if this is all real. 

“This is…” he exhaled as he shook his head. “Baby, this is so generous...”

You shrugged a little, suddenly feeling shy. “It felt like you when I saw it. I also wanted to get you something a little… more. I wanted you to know how much you mean to me.”

He looked at you, and then he set the watch on the table next to his coffee before he turned more fully towards you, softly pulling you close to him by your chin and saying quietly. “Oh, cariño, no hace falta que me lo digas. Ya lo sé.” (Oh, sweetheart, you never need to tell me. I already know.)

He wasted no time before he leaned in to capture your lips with his and kissed you softly once before deepening it for a few more by moving his hand to cup the back of your neck. 

You kissed him back before pulling back slowly and feeling his nose brush on yours, “It’s been a very Merry Christmas, mi vida.” 

You smiled and kept your eyes closed as you leaned into him. “A very Merry Christmas, indeed.” 

Harry’s POV

A couple of hours later, after Rachelle came to pick you up, Harry and Tim found themselves on the opposite side of town you and Rachelle were in—with very different plans.

They stood just inside a small boutique that was somehow still open on Christmas; the warm light from inside spilled out onto the snowy street, the windows fogged from the inside heat enough that you could barely see inside the store—which was filled with rows of hanging dresses on racks.

Tim glanced sideways at Harry as they thumbed through a rack near the front together, his eyebrows raised. “Do you even know what size she is?”

Harry exhaled through his nose and pulled his phone from his coat pocket, already opening his camera roll. “Not exactly, no. But I… uh—” he cleared his throat and sighed, “I snuck into her closet while she was showering and took pictures of the tags. I’m hoping that they can give me a rough idea if I ask for someone's help to decipher how that translates to these sizes...” He said as he thumbed through a few hangers.

Tim snorted and shook his head. “That’s either the most thoughtful thing I’ve ever heard… or the beginnin’ of a true-crime documentary.”

Before Harry could defend himself, a voice cut in from beside them. “Cannae help ye two wi’ anythin’?”

They both turned to see a woman standing nearby who was older—silver hair swept up into a tidy bun, half-moon spectacles hanging from a gold chain at her chest, sharp eyes that missed nothing. She looked them over once, slow and assessing.

Harry straightened automatically, charm clicking into place like muscle memory. “Yes, ma’am. I need some help shopping for my girlfriend.”

“A wee bit late for a Christmas gift, aye?” She stepped forward, turning her attention towards Harry. 

“Oh—uhm, no, it’s not like that. I'm shopping for something we're going to tonight…” 

She gave him a long, unimpressed look before interrupting him. “Ye dinnae ken what she likes?”

Harry winced slightly at her sharpness—it kind of knocked him off center more so than he was used to. “Well, no, ma’am—well, I mean, yes, I mean—at least I think I do, but—”

“Christ Almighty…” Tim muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before stepping in. “What my friend needs is help figurin’ out what size dress his new girlfriend wears. He’s tryin’ to surprise her tonight by takin’ her to some fancy, smanshie Christmas dinner party.” He cleared his throat before narrowing his gaze slightly, “And just for the record, he doesn’t know much because they met three days ago, so we ain't judgin’ him, yeah?”

She tutted once and rolled her eyes at Tim before walking past him. “Aye, ye Americans are a tender lot.” Then she snapped her fingers at Harry to get his attention. “D’ye at least ken her trouser size? Bra size?”

Harry’s ears went pink immediately pulled his phone back out as he started to scroll.

Tim folded his arms, clearly entertained. “Would ya think better of him if I told ya he took pictures of every possible tag in her wardrobe, hopin’ it’d help you?”

She lifted a brow at Tim. “Every piece, ye say?”

Harry shot Tim a look. “You're making me sound like a serial killer...”

She muttered, “Ye manage that fine aw on yer own…”

Tim chuckled as Harry cleared his throat and held out his phone for the woman to see. “Here… these are her sizes.”

She slipped her glasses on and leaned in, squinting as she studied the photos. After a moment, she nodded once, understanding exactly what she needed—then turned and walked away without another word.

Harry and Tim stood there, unsure of where to go or what to do—looking at each other, utterly confused. 

From across the shop, she called, “Ye comin’, or d’ye plan tae root yersels tae the floor?”

They hurried after her, Harry putting his phone back in his pocket. “Yes, ma’am.”

She moved with purpose—sliding dresses from racks, barely pausing, draping options over her forearm. Once or twice, she glanced back at Harry—like she was quietly considering what would look best with the man standing beside the woman who’d wear each dress she selected.

She stopped abruptly after grabbing several dresses and tilted her head. “D’ye have a suit?”

“Yes,” Harry answered quickly. “Black tie.”

She hummed, then returned two dresses to the rack before walking over to the dressing area and hanging three on the curtain rod that she used for a dressing room and display area. “I’ve chosen three for ye—different cuts, different colours—but all would suit her with de sizes ye showed me.” Then, briskly asked. “D’ye ken if she needs shoes?”

Harry shook his head. “She won’t have what she would need. That was my next stop.”

“Dinnae fash,” she waved him off. “I’ve got shoes on dae wall up der. We’ll match them once ye’ve made yer peace wi’ a dress.”

Harry nodded, genuinely grateful for her help and efficiency. “Thank you—really.”

She paused in front of them, brushing each of them off—her fingers smoothing over one of the fabrics a little more than the others. “Tell me about her."

Harry blinked, "Pardon?"

She turned to glance at him, "Tell me about yer lass."

Harry instantly smiled, thinking about you. "She's... God, she's everything I've ever wanted." He started blushing. "She's smart, and kind, and generous. She has this light and warmth that she brings into my life... and I just—"

He exhaled slowly. "I just—am extremely lucky to have found her."

She looked over the options, then turned to him. "D’ye want my counsel on what ye should choose?”

“Well, you haven’t steered me wrong yet...” Harry tried to joke lightly.

She simply reached up and lifted a red dress from the rod before she held it up for him to see. “This is the one ye want.”

Harry stilled as he looked at it—taking it in. It was a deep, rich red strapless and backless gown. A soft bow tied just above the small of the back.

It was classic and elegant—unmistakably stunning but also slightly sexy in a way that he felt would give you just the right amount of confidence.

He could already see you in it.

“What kind of shoes would you put with it?” he asked, quietly. “Heels, right?”

She nodded once, rehung the dress, and held up a finger as she started to walk away. “Stay put.” Then she disappeared across the shop.

Harry studied the other options that hung next to it. 

There was a black velvet gown, but it was safe—too safe—it didn’t hit as hard as the red. To the other side, there was a beautiful, deep green satin number—but the plunge on the chest was daring in a way that made him feel like it would take away your confidence. It might make you feel like a spectacle.

He didn’t want you to feel like you were being displayed, but more so seen. 

“So?” Tim asked, coming up next to him, touching the velvet dress and rubbing it between his fingers. “What’re you thinkin’?”

Harry tipped his head toward the red one. “She’s right. That’s the one.”

“I’m aye right,” the woman said suddenly, appearing behind them.

Tim jumped, startled by her sudden presence, and clutched his chest. “Jesus Christ, woman—”

She chuckled as she held up two pairs of heels, studied them against the dress, then decisively set one beneath it. “Those’ll be just perfect for her.”

Harry nodded as he took a step back and looked at the outfit. “I trust you.”

For the first time, her mouth curved as she reached back and patted his forearm. “Good tae see ye’ve a brain in that head, lad.”

Tim chuckled at that, and Harry couldn’t help it as he did too.

“Right,” she said, clapping her hands once. “That it for ye?”

Harry hesitated. “Unless you have jewelry?”

She shook her head, already gathering the items and heading to the cash register near the front. “Nae here. But if ye walk doon the street an’ pop into the Glenstone—tell Richard that Mary sent ye.”

Tim glanced at him. “You're getting jewelry too?” 

Harry smiled and pulled out his wallet before handing the woman his credit card, “I told you I wanted to make her feel special—can’t do that without a new necklace to go with her dress, right?” 

The store owner hummed as she swiped his card, a small smile on her lips as he nodded at Harry while she glanced at Tim. “He has a point der, lad.” 

Tim chuckled and leaned against the counter as they watched her pack the dress into a garment bag behind the counter.

He teased as he glanced back at Harry. “Just calm down after a necklace, yeah? I can’t compete without a fancy gold credit card like yours.” 

Harry chuckled as he put the card back into his wallet, his tone teasing as he nudged Tim’s arm with his elbow. “I’ll think about it, but can't promise anything...” 

Tim hummed and smiled to himself, "Her and Rachelle deserve the most, don't they?"

Harry nodded, thinking of you, "That and much more."

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