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Five men, all of similar complexion and stature, grinned from ear to ear as they held beautifully wrapped presents in their hands.
The lot of them had known one another for years and were the type of friends that upheld traditions from their childhoods. Besides, the various artists and musicians in the group were hardly better off than they had been in middle school, and even if none would admit to it, they were truly glad that Secret Santa required them to only buy one present for one friend.
Roman, a college drop-out with dreams of one day ruling the stages on Broadway, fiddled with the beautiful red bow resting at the top of the present in his lap. He was certainly one of the least fortunate in the group, living his life week to week. His apartment was barren and bleak, his belly often deprived of food, and the bags under his eyes from his extremely long work days spoke for him, but the other boys loved him all the same. He brought humor and never failed to smile brightly when he conjured up an idea for an adventure.
But the holidays were hard for everyone and after drawing Virgil’s name out of a hat to determine who he would be buying a gift for, he bit the inside of his cheek. He had been laid off at the restaurant that morning, no Christmas bonus for him.
And after closing the door to his apartment, leaning back against the wood with the piece of paper still clenched in his fist, he dug out his wallet with his free hand and counted his bills. His change.
Twenty-four dollars and eighty-seven cents. That was all.
Roman released a shaky breath, placing his wallet on the kitchen table - a small circle only capable of seating one, an arm length’s away - before he sank to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees, chin perched atop of them as he stared around his house wondering what exactly he could buy with the money he had.
It wasn’t like he could find anything on sale now, nothing of any value, at least not if he had to feed himself. He just had to get through the next week on what he had, determined not to ask for help.
He couldn’t do it, not with only twenty-four dollars and eighty-seven cents to his name.
But there, as if calling to him, sitting just besides his apartment keys was his grandfather’s record player.
He studied it as if he were seeing it for the first time. Despite its silence, he could hear the notes of 40's blues tickle his ears and could practically see himself as a child dancing on his grandfather’s toes to the beat. He rose, chewing on his bottom lip as he brushed his fingertips against the smooth wooden surface and knew what he had to do.
-
He had found a pawnbroker down the street, an old friend of his father’s that always drove a hard bargain. But the man was cruel, no doubt very much aware of Roman’s sexual preference, and significantly underpaid him. The turntable, surely worth a thousand dollars and then some, was exchanged for Ulysses S. Grant’s look of disapproval on a fifty dollar bill. There hadn’t been time to find anything else and then buy Virgil’s present, not while juggling two jobs and relentlessly searching for another.
But when his gaze settled upon the box of film for a Polaroid camera, Roman knew that it was worth it.
A soul lost in time, that’s what Virgil was - although Roman was aware that saying as such was a pot calling a kettle black - and he worshiped his Polaroid camera above all else. He cringe after exchanging his funds, but it was worth it.
Roman didn’t falter, believing that he made the right decision as he glanced Virgil’s way.
“I’ll start,” Logan declared. Tradition, of course. “Remy . . .”
The present was passed along to the other, all eyes turned to him as he carefully tore through the paper to reveal a small gift card to Starbucks. Remy seemed please, offering a smile as he then turned to Patton to hand over his gift.
Roman found himself struggling to remain focused, his knee bumping against Virgil’s every now and then. He was nervous, but his best friend offered him a small smile. After Patton handed his present to Logan, Virgil and Roman had the spotlight to themselves. It wasn’t the first time two people had exclusively exchanged presents; it was very rare that it didn’t happen, in fact.
So Roman decided to go first, shyly placing his present in Virgil’s lap.
He kept his gaze on the other’s nimble fingers as he slowly removed the tape from the paper and pulled the box out.
“Oh wow, a box!” he exclaimed teasingly, joking nature discarded and breath catching the moment he turned it over to see what exactly was inside.
Roman looked up when Virgil remained silent, surprised to see an indescribable in his eyes: not anger or anything like that. “What, what is it?”
He was anxious, not sure what he had done wrong. Did Virgil not want it? Was there something wrong with it? It had been expensive and-
Virgil placed his gift in Roman’s lap, forcing a smile on his lips when he met the other’s gaze. “It’s wonderful, Ro. Open yours, I think you’ll be excited about this one.”
Roman lowered his gaze, not entirely convinced that Virgil was pleased and caring more about that over the present he was to open himself.
And after tearing open the paper, the same expression as Virgil’s spread across his features when he revealed a Hamilton record signed by the cast.
“I know how much you love that record player and you’ve only been asking for years . . . so to shut you up, I finally got it for you.”
Roman couldn’t hold back his tears when he looked up, a smile across his lips as he studied his best friend.
Virgil’s own grin fell, “Do you not-”
“I-I love it,” he said, tracing his finger over Lin Manuel-Miranda’s signature, “But I . . . I sold my record player to buy you film for your camera.”
Virgil froze, eyes wide as he studied Roman. Roman didn’t look away from the black star, swallowing hard.
Virgil tilted his head back and erupted with laughter.
All four other boys were stunned, unable to look away from him.
After a moment, he managed to stutter out, “I . . . I sold my Polaroid to buy you the record.
Three pairs of eyes turned from Virgil to Roman, studying him without knowing what exactly the other would do.
And despite himself, Roman found himself grinning from ear to ear at their situation before he too burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“Merry Christmas,” he said after a moment, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to Virgil’s cheek, his smile still gloriously plastered across his lips.
“Yeah,” the other replied, continuing to chuckle, “Merry Christmas.”