#kagoshou

     ❛❛ 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓, ❜❜  he grumbles, drowsy, coarse, yet undeniably tender. In the dark his hold draws taut, pulling Diego into his warmth, a cocoon of tangling limbs and rustling sheets. He safeguards even when the room is empty and the only threats come from within. One hand rests on his partner’s nape—grasping, not squeezing—as his thumb begins to rub slow circles into tense skin. His other hand runs along his back as if mapping the contour of his grief, as if the shape of his spine could tell him just how much of it his body is housing. That same hand comes to a stop beneath the covers, settling firmly like an anchor against his lower back.   ❛❛ Talk t’me. Don’t shut me out. What’s wrong? ❜❜

     𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇. Holidays marked by stiff, orchestrated galas and the weight of expectations, by lavish banquets and wealth flaunted through donations and gifts. He prefers what he calls his own now, to stand barefoot in the kitchen of his shared home, where nothing but his own whimsy dictates his festive aspirations. Simple, imperfect, real. Like his sherpa jacket that still smells faintly of pine from when he wrestled their tree into the stand earlier. Or the sprig of mistletoe dangling from a support beam overhead, its glistening berries huddled together like the pair beneath.

      ❝ you seem personally acquainted. do me a solid and put in a good word for me. ❞   his propensity for relieving criminals from cages be damned — never would he ever accept coal in his stocking. his father granted him worse in earlier years, books that hinted to the corrupt nature of attorneys, followed by universities that held the most prestigious medical programs. was that not punishment enough?

     Under the sway of it all, he’s recovered some mischief.   ❛❛ What, ❜❜   he grins,   ❛❛ you don’t believe in Christmas miracles? ❜❜   Spurned on by the lack of outright rejection he’s come to expect from his friend, he invites himself to his personal space. He leans in, close enough to taste the mulled wine on Diego’s breath, but not close enough to grow drunk on it. Leather brushes wool when he adds,   ❛❛ As it so happens, I know for a fact he only wants to lie beneath your tree. ❜❜   As a present, maybe. Or a lovesick puppy that’s not been invited to bed. It doesn’t matter.

     Thick brows furrow for a short-lived moment in response to the barrage of Christmas tunes. He’s quick to temper the volume, thwarting distraction.   ❛❛ Is that what’s on the note, her number? ❜❜   He supplies his provocation with a playful tone. His gaze rakes down Diego’s coat, fingers following suit mere seconds later, itching to quell his curiosity.   ❛❛ Hah. Why wait ‘til next year? No time like the present. I'll add his. ❜❜

      ❝ don't say that like i'm some common criminal! ❞   sure, he was holding someone hostage, and sure, justification for vile acts such as these were seldom satisfactory, but...   ❝ he has to finish this report. if he'd stop fucking around... ❞  blue eyes shoot over shoulder, sending a biting glare towards his captive.   ❝ he'd be on his way! unless you want to transcribe the chicken scratch he's given so far? ❞