Work Text:
Ever since he was first introduced to the concept of Christmas, Owen had hated it.
It was a waste of time above all else. There was no joy to be derived from buying others gifts and Owen always got the same thing each year. A few sweets and sometimes nothing at all. Of course, he wasn’t complaining about that. It was a little funny how everyone knew so little about him, though.
That’s exactly how Owen wanted it.
A few days before Christmas, The Sage suggests setting up a Christmas tree. The lights are too bright for Owen and hurt his eyes whenever he passes by it. Or the general vicinity, for that matter. He catches a glimpse of Cain lifting Riquet on his shoulders so that he can put the star on top of the tree. The sight is sickening.
…
The day after the tree was set up, The Sage furthers Owen’s misery by announcing what they call a “Secret Santa”. They must really hate him, Owen thinks. But, he’s unable to slip past the twin’s watchful eyes, even with Bradley’s help in a rare moment of cooperation.
Everyone lines up single file in an even line. They’re so cooperative it makes Owen want to laugh. He must’ve zoned out at some point because the next thing he remembers is being nudged by Bradley’s elbow and absentmindedly picking a slip of paper from a hat.
Owen doesn’t read the paper and teleports away the next breath.
…
Owen considers Christmas that night. He fiddles with the piece of paper and thinks about what he could possibly get the person he was assigned. Nothing, probably. But what if, what if…
Owen doesn't look at his paper.
…
It's two days before Christmas when Cain takes him out to a sweets place somewhere in Central with the bribe of seasonal treats. The cake he orders is minty and fills every one of his senses with candy cane adjacent scents but it reminds him of the North so Owen makes himself eat it.
When he looks out the window of the restaurant, there’s already a layer of fluffy snow covering the ground. Cain says something about how they usually don’t get weather like this in Central and exclaims it must be a Christmas miracle.
“Why didn't you get anything to eat,” Owen says instead of replying properly.
It’s the truth, at least. While Owen is surrounded by plates of food, both finished and unfinished, the wizard across from him has nothing but a glass of half empty water. Cain looks a little bashful at the sudden comment and scratches the back of his neck.
“Ahh, I dunno…” Cain answers rather lamely. “Guess I'm just not very hungry.”
That's a stupid answer, Owen can't help but think. Cain had said that exact same thing the last several times he prodded about his absence of food. Not like it was particularly important to him. Cain could starve and wither away for all he cares.
“Liar,” Owen huffs. He can hear Cain click his tongue and shift the glass. It’s even more empty now. They fall silent for a few more minutes and while Owen would usually relish such a thing, it's just awkward whenever it’s with Cain. Especially if they were eating out somewhere.
It had been like this for the last few visits, really. Cain would order nothing and Owen would be able to feel his eyes on him the entire time. On the off chance that Owen did call him out on it, the knight would just laugh it off. It was stupid and annoying. He couldn't understand it.
(After all, Owen couldn't see the way his lips curled into a smile every time he took a bite of whatever treat he had ordered that particular day.)
“Who did you get for the gift exchange?” Cain asks suddenly. Oh, is that what they're calling it now?
Owen huffs and takes another stab at his cake. “I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“Not a clue.”
Cain makes a face but lets the topic go in the end. When he gets back to his room, Owen still doesn't look at his paper.
…
It's Christmas Eve now, and Owen finds himself in some shop, for whatever reason. There's barely anything on the shelves, so he assumes everyone else had the same last-minute gift shopping idea as him. He still hadn't looked at who he had gotten yet, miraculously. But he assumes he should get something stupid just in case.
Somewhere between turning over a large coin and maneuvering to a section with more decorative gifts, Owen contemplated what he would do if Cain’s name were written on that slip of paper. Nothing, the more logical part of his brain said. He'd get the knight a grain of sand, at best.
Something else within him tries to argue otherwise. What would Cain like, anyway? Surely none of these decorative displays. They were made of too many small, fine parts. He would break them in some freak accident.
Owen’s attention finds itself drawn to a small collection of wind chimes. Most of them are either made out of too many intricate parts or make too sharp of a noise, but his eyes are pulled in by one in particular. It's simple and when Owen nudges one of the metal rods, it produces a sound that’s almost akin to the babbling of a river.
Mindlessly, Owen buys the wind chime and decides to look at the name written upon his piece of paper when he gets back to the manor.
…
The slip of paper only has Bradley’s name on it. Owen throws a bad luck charm into an old box and contemplates returning the wind chime.
…
Christmas morning comes and goes without incident. Granted, Owen had left the moment he was handed his mystery gift, but he hadn't heard anything explode yet. That was probably a good sign.
It doesn't take a genius to tell who Owen’s present was from. The wrapping was messy but still had a large degree of care put into it and that was all Owen needed to be able to tell he wouldn't be getting just sweets this year. Still, he can't help himself from shaking the present like a child. Nothing rattles.
Owen plucks off the red bow and drops it to the ground, tearing into the wrapping paper the next second. It falls away in chunks, revealing the gift underneath in intervals. Once it’s fully revealed, Owen cannot identify the emotion that overwhelms him.
In his hands, Owen holds a thick picture book. Within is a collection of disjointed stories telling tales of knights and princesses and other fairy tales. For whatever reason, it feels bittersweet. Owen’s heart aches and he feels the pages are too clean and the book as a whole is too well put together.
Of course, only one person would be stupid enough to buy him something like this. If Owen looks at the cartoony illustrations of the knights hard enough, he can imagine they have long red hair and mismatched eyes.
Owen isn't sure how long he spends flipping through the pages. It could've been hours or minutes. He doesn't process anything from the stories themselves—that makes his chest twist in unforeseen agony a little too much. He stops reading before the dull flame of the past consumes him whole.
Soundlessly, Owen tucks away the book somewhere secluded. His head clears and remains quiet.
…
A few days later, Owen finds himself at the same parlor Cain had dragged him off to in the past. And just like in the past, he had ordered the same minty slice of cake. It still tasted like the North and Owen still ate it solely because of that reason.
“Did you like my gift?” Cain asks suddenly. Owen pauses, body locking up on instinct. He regains control of himself quickly though, clicking his tongue and setting his fork down against his plate.
“No. I hated it,” Owen answers swiftly, a frown crossing his expression.
“Ah, really? I should’ve expected that I guess…” Cain lets out an awkward laugh and scratches the back of his head. He’s still smiling, sickeningly enough. “I can return it and get you something else if you want.”
“No.” Perhaps that answer came out a little too quick. Thankfully, Cain just shrugs his shoulders and Owen doesn’t have to elaborate. A few minutes pass by without conversation, but of course, Cain has to be the one to engage again.
“You know,” Cain starts as he sets down his glass of water. Once again, that was all he had gotten. “Someone left a gift in front of my door today. No card, no name, nothing.”
“Really?” Owen mused with a general sense of uncaringness.
“Yeah! When I opened it, it was some sort of wind chime or something. It sounded really nice, so I kept it. Kinda weird that whoever gave me it didn’t name it, though.”
“How strange…” Owen hummed, facing the window. This time, he felt the way his lips curled up into a smile.