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“Who’s this from?”
You look up from your monitor, eyes meeting Ryan’s bewilderment as he tentatively holds the neatly wrapped parcel. He looks fearful, as though the paper will explode open at any moment.
He pulls a face, giving it a light and careful shake. “Is it from the AHWU pile?”
“Don’t be so paranoid,” you tease, standing with a cascade of pops and groans. “It’s from me.”
He looks surprised, eyebrows quirking and lips settling into a soft smile. Making your way through the office you dodge the array of dangerous objects scattering the floor, shoes nudging bouncy balls and ill-placed stink bombs.
“You got me a Christmas present?” he asks, bashful. You nod, silence of an office abandoned for the holidays providing nothing but comfort.
“Of course I did, I’m not completely heartless.”
“The fans would have something to say about that,” he chuckles, watching while you stand in front of him, eyes kind while he weighs the gift back and forth in his hands.
“I can’t be a psycho all the time,” you muse, kneeling in Jeremy’s chair and looking up at Ryan, “I’d never get anything done.”
Ryan reaches out and ruffles your hair affectionately, pinks rising in your cheeks. “You make a good point.”
“Something else the fans would want to talk about,” you chuckle, poking him in the stomach. “Are you going to open it?”
“But it’s not Christmas.”
“Jesus, Ryan. Since when do you care about appropriately timed package opening?”
You’ve caught him, the narrow glare you receive filling you with triumph. A smirk peels across your lips, his twitching in amusement. “Besides, I’m not going to see you these holidays.”
“Aww,” he teases, looking more flattered than taunting; “are you going to miss me, Y/N?”
“Just open the damn gift.”
“Okay, okay,” he waves, kicking the chair and sending me in slow circles. “You’re so pushy.”
“And you’re so annoying. Don’t make me take it back.”
He glowers before turning to the present, tearing open the paper with reckless abandon. From the contents spills thick, bright red fabric, his face lighting up as he turns it over. He bounces, pressing the sweater up to his chest to reveal the ugliest print of ‘Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal’ that you could find.
“I love it!” he cheers, pulling you from the chair and into his arms – and you swear that he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m going to wear it all the time.”
“You better do,” you wheeze into his shoulder, his grip relaxing until you’re both just holding each other, surprisingly at ease. “Just, promise to think of me when you’ve got it on?”
He pulls back to see you pull your bottom lip in, chewing anxiously. He doesn’t look nervous, instead smiling with enough warmth to melt the frost clinging to the windows. “Y/N, I’m always thinking about you.”
“Oh yeah; then where’s my gift?”
“Ummm.”
“Smooth.”