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You nearly drop the little black box in your haste to fasten the ribbon around it.
Wrapping paper would’ve been preferable, of course, but supplies are limited and the jeweler had taken his sweet time shipping out your order.
There’s a soft knock on your door, and you sweep the matching piece into your pocket and shove the box in after it.
Simon is standing patiently in the hallway when you swing the door open, casually dressed with a surgical mask in place of his usual balaclava.
You step aside, and he enters with an absent nod, hands in his pockets and countenance unusually stiff.
As he sits on the edge of your cot, a jittery, nervous energy has you gnawing your lip. The two of you have been dating for some time now, but the gift you’re about to give him is of a whole other caliber.
“Alright, before I give this to you,” you pull your desk chair towards your bed, perching on it lightly and trying not to bounce your leg, “just know that it doesn’t have to mean anything,” you gesture abortively, “too serious.”
He pulls the loops of his mask from around his ears, stuffing it into his pocket. Despite how many times you’ve seen his face and despite your mounting anticipation, you still can’t help but smile.
“And, uh,” your thumb runs along the edges of the box in your pocket, “you don’t have to accept-“
“Hey,” His quiet voice snaps you out of your nervous spiral and your eyes flick to his breathtakingly open expression, “I’m gonna love it.”
You open your mouth, perhaps to queue up another excuse, but decide against it. The box is yanked out of your pocket and placed into his awaiting hands before you can think much harder about this.
He unties the ribbon, and you wipe your sweaty palms on your pants.
Simon lifts the lid and just stares, expression melting into something heart-wrenchingly soft.
He pulls the ring from the satin lining. It’s a delicate silver band with a polished strip of your birthstone looping around the midline.
The ring is cradled in his palm, and his lips quirk wryly.
Is he…amused?
Justifications bubble up your throat and you pull the matching band out of your pocket, presenting it to him.
“I’ve got one too, and this one has your birthstone in it, so I thought…” You fight the urge to shrink in on yourself, “it would be cool if we had a matching set.” Your voice trails off, and Simon is nauseatingly quiet.
He looks at you, finally, and the warmth in his gaze is enough to sate you for a lifetime.
“They’re beautiful.” He says softly.
Relief hits you like a freight train. “Here, let me-“ You take the ring from him gently, pointedly pulling his right hand into yours and slipping it onto his fourth finger.
It’s a perfect fit.
Wordlessly, he plucks the matching ring out of your palm, and you offer him your right hand but he reaches for your left.
Your breath catches in your throat as he slides it onto your ring finger, the ring finger, before pulling off his own and replacing it to mirror yours.
Something about the sight of your birthstone wrapped around his finger, and his on yours, ignites something primal in the back of your mind. The casual claim you’ve both just placed on each other instills you with a disarming sense of security.
You sit back, admiring your new jewelry and electing not to overthink it just yet, while he reaches into his own pocket.
“Don’t laugh,” he suddenly looks just as nervous as you had minutes ago, withdrawing a horrifyingly similar box.
He hands it over, and you numbly flip open the hinged lid. You stare vacantly at the contents for several seconds, before throwing back your head and laughing from your belly.
“I just said not to-“ Simon cuts himself off and drops his head, shaking it slightly, shoulders bouncing as he chuckles along with you.
Two rings sit innocently in the box, the metal so dark it’s nearly black. They’re so congruous with his persona that your laughter redoubles and Simon just watches you with unadulterated affection sewn into his every feature.
You pick up the larger one, ready to place it onto his finger when the light catches the engraving on the inside.
Your initials, in swirling cursive.
“Is it-” Simon straightens slightly, gauging your reaction, “Is it okay?”
You’re already nodding before the words even leave his lips. “It’s perfect.” The smile you give him conveys every bit of love you feel for him, and he reflects it right back at you.
The ring slides onto his finger, stacking against the other and complimenting it seamlessly.
As Simon places the smaller one on you, your heart sings at the sight of his own initials now resting against your skin.
There’s a bigger conversation to be had, here - you both have bought each other matching rings that are now displayed on your wedding finger, for God’s sake. But for now, you just admire the way the metals shine in the dim lamplight.
“Oh,” You stand abruptly, and Simon watches as you stride to your desk and wrench open a drawer, “almost forgot about the best part.”
Another huff of laughter sounds from behind you as you stick a piece of tape onto a small sprig of plastic mistletoe, marching over to your door and slapping it onto the doorframe.
You turn to face him, hands on your hips and a mischievous grin dancing on your lips. Simon is across the room before you know it, crowding into your space with all the confidence afforded by familiarity.
You beam up at him as he brings his calloused hands to your cheeks, cradling your face as gently as one would a priceless gem.
His thumb sweeps across your skin. You rest your hands on his broad chest as he cranes his neck down to press his lips to yours.
The kiss is achingly tender, and you sigh against him like a lovestruck newlywed.
He withdraws slightly, lingering close by with his nose brushing against yours. Simon’s heartbeat thuds beneath your fingertips as he presses his lips to the tip of your nose, to your cheeks, to your forehead.
You giggle, elated, as he peppers your face with kisses, planting a final one right between your eyes before pulling you against his chest and threading his fingers through your hair.
Your arms are looped around his neck and he holds you against him with a ferocity that reflects the casual possession now adorning your respective fingers.
“Merry Christmas, Simon.” You mumble into his skin, relishing the weight of his arm around your lower back and his ring around your finger.
He squeezes you tighter, nuzzling his head into yours.
“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”