Work Text:
Jesse kissed Adam goodbye like he wasn’t immediately about to spiral the second the door shut.
Not that Adam noticed of course. He was too busy checking the battery level on his camera and stuffing two extra SD cards into his coat pocket, muttering something about how his new client wanted 'natural lighting.'
It was snowing sideways outside, and you could barely see three feet in front of you but hey–Jesse had learnt a long time ago to not question someone’s ‘artistic vision’.
So he just nodded along and tried not to stare too hard at Adam’s hair because it was doing the thing where it curled slightly at the ends, and it was unfair how cute that was when Jesse was actively dying inside.
“You sure you don’t need me to drive you?” Jesse asked, leaning on the doorframe.
The brunet shook his head. “I’ll walk.I told them to meet me by the creek. It just has that atmosphere ya know?”
“Right right.” Whatever that meant. Jesse hadn’t understood anything Adam said about photography since the day they met, but he nodded encouragingly like always.
And so Adam kissed him once – soft and quick – and stepped out into the freezing air.
“Be back by four,” he called out, already halfway down the path.
“Cool!” Jesse shouted back. “Have fun! Don’t… fall in the creek!”
Adam turned, squinted at him. “…Why would I…you know what, nevermind.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, Jesse sprinted up the stairs to his little workshop in the attic. It technically wasn’t a real workshop, more like a poor excuse for a man cave but, it was his to call whatever he wanted.
He flicked on the light, and took one long look at the scattered pieces of wooden boards on the floor.
The boards he should have been sanding. The boards he should have been shaping. The boards that were not, at this moment, turning themselves into a thoughtful handmade Christmas gift for Adam.
Because here’s the thing: Jesse had, in fact, been planning a whole list of gifts to buy Adam. Because apparently Jesse Pinkman had turned into the kind of boyfriend who was more than willing to fight through a crowd of soccer moms in order to get a gift for his man.
-Buy Adam a new camera strap
-Buy Adam some expensive film?
-Buy Adam one of those fancy tripods
It had been a good list. A solid list. A list that would’ve made him feel like maybe he actually knew what he was doing. But then Adam had gone and said, in the most casual, gentle way possible, “Oh, no, you don’t have to get me anything big. I don’t really like when people spend money on me. I prefer when things feel personal, like little trinkets and handmade stuff you know?”
And just like that, all of his plans got thrown out the window, and he was back to square one.
Jesse Pinkman did not… make things. He was not an artist (at least not anymore).
The thought of cutting wood again made something twist in his stomach, a weird mix of embarrassment and longing and that ache that came when he thought too hard about who he used to be.
But Adam liked handmade things. And Jesse loved him too much to deprive him of anything.
“Okay,” he said to the empty room. “I can do this. I am a grown man. I have a week. I can definitely do this.” He took a breath, grabbed the measuring tape, and immediately realized he had absolutely no idea how big this box was supposed to be.
Like… box-sized? Small? Medium?
What’s the average dimension of a box for Polaroids?
He put his head in his hands.
“Dude… why is love so complicated.”
After some internal screaming, he decided the safest route was “tiny but not too tiny.” Something Adam could put on his nightstand or display in their living room. He measured the wood, marked it, made his first cut and of course, it wasn't straight.
He looked at it.
He looked at God.
He tried again.
There was a stubborn part of him digging its heels in. Maybe it was pride or nostalgia or the lingering ghost of the kid he used to be, the one who actually liked shop class and got praised for how smooth and neat his work was. Back before everything in his life exploded and he forgot what it felt like to make something gentle.
By noon, the attic floor looked like a snow globe made of sawdust, and Jesse’s patience was hanging on by a single fraying thread. He glued two pieces together and they immediately fell apart. He glued them again, pressed too hard, and the pieces slid sideways. He wiped the glue and got it all over his sleeve. He cursed loudly at both the wood and himself, which, of course did not magically fix anything.
At one point he stepped back and genuinely considered whether he could get away with claiming that his gift was “the concept of love” and that it didn’t have a physical form.
By late afternoon, after his third attempt at making a lid that wasn’t crooked enough to make a carpenter cry. He heard Adam’s footsteps outside and scrambled to shove everything behind a stack of old boxes before running downstairs to pretend he’d been doing absolutely nothing.
“You good?” Adam asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
Jesse forced a smile. “Me? I’m fine. Just cleaning a little. Normal stuff.”
Adam narrowed his eyes, like the idea of Jesse cleaning was something to be suspicious about (it was) “Why do you smell like glue?”
“Do I?” Jesse asked, with the fakest casual shrug known to man.
“Yeah.”
“Huh. Weird. It’s probably the uhh… the cleaning products…Yeah.”
Adam continued staring at him, but eventually let it go. He dropped his bag, kissed Jesse’s cheek, and wandered off to shower. And so the entire week passed in this exact pattern. Jesse waking up early, slipping out of bed to work in the attic until his hands were sore. Jesse making secret trips to the lumber store so often he started greeting the clerk like they were the best of friends. Jesse hiding tools under coats, tucking sandpaper into drawers, and hurling himself over the railing at the slightest sound of Adam coming home.
====
Jesse woke up to the sound of Adam humming in the kitchen. The sun wasn’t even fully up, which meant Adam had probably been awake for hours, bouncing around the cabin like a very tall, very handsome golden retriever. The brunet pulled the blanket over his head and tried to pretend he didn’t hear him, but then Adam poked his head into the bedroom with this ridiculous grin that made it impossible to keep pretending.
“Merry Christmas!” Adam said, stepping into the room. His hair was messy and he was wearing the most eye straining, vomit inducing Christmas sweater but it somehow suited him. Jesse pushed himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and managed to get something that resembled “Merry Christmas” out of his mouth.
His boyfriend was very obviously buzzing with excitement, which made Jesse feel a little guilty because all he could think about was the stupid box sitting under the stupid tree waiting to ruin his stupid life.
“Okay,” he said, clapping his hands together a little dramatically. “We should do gifts.”
Jesse’s entire soul clenched. He tried masking it with a big stretch, like he was greeting the morning sun instead of internally screaming. “I don't know. I think that we should eat first.” he said, hoping that sounded normal.
Adam gave him a look. “We can eat after.”
“Or, like, clean up the kitchen real quick. Or… stretch. People stretch in the morning, right?”
Adam just stared at him, confused and vaguely amused. “Jess. Come on. It’s Christmas. We’re opening the presents now.”
Jesse attempted one last desperate move but ended up being physically herded from the bed to the living room where their tiny fake tree sat in the corner. It was slightly squished from being stored in the attic and had only half its lights working, but they’d spent an entire evening decorating, so it felt perfect in the way things only felt perfect when you loved the person you were doing them with.
They sat on the floor together. The carpet was scratchy, and the heater rattled a little, but the room felt warm and safe. Adam already had his camera propped up on a nearby stack of books, angled just right, and Jesse groaned because he knew exactly why it was there, and that there was no escaping it.
“You first,” Adam said, sliding a neatly wrapped present toward him.
Jesse eyed the crisp corners and perfect tape like it was mocking him. He took his time opening it, half because he was trying to delay the inevitable and half because he just couldn’t get over how nicely it was wrapped. Inside the paper were two sketchbooks, the good kind with thick, smooth pages, and a whole pack of pens in different sizes. Beneath them were three comics he’d mentioned forever ago, when he didn’t even think Adam was listening and he felt something tug at his chest.
“These are awesome,” he said, flipping open a sketchbook. “Like… seriously awesome. I used to get these in art stores and then put them back because they felt too fancy.”
Adam smiled and leaned against him a little. “I want you to draw again. If you want to of course. No pressure.”
Jesse really wanted to kiss him right then, but that would’ve required moving, and he was too busy holding onto the books like they were going to float away.
Then Adam nodded at the box behind Jesse. “Your turn.”
With a feeling of dread crawling up his spine, he reached behind him and grabbed the present that he’d wrapped himself, which looked like it had been done by someone wearing oven mitts. But nevertheless Adam took it with so much gentleness that Jesse almost told him to forget the whole thing and throw it out the window.
He opened it slowly, carefully peeling the paper back. When the wooden box appeared beneath it, Jesse wanted the floor to swallow him. It looked so different from how he’d imagined it. He could see every part where he’d messed up. The lid was a little crooked, the stain wasn’t perfect, and the carved star looked more like a lopsided flower if you tilted your head. The hinges weren’t evenly aligned. The bottom corner had a weird shape because he’d sanded one section too much.
And Adam just...stared at it with this strange look on his face which immediately caused Jesse to start panicking.
“So it’s kinda bad,” he rushed. “Like… really bad. I don’t know why I thought I could do this. It kept breaking and I had to go to the store like eight times and I glued my sweatshirt to the table and I forgot how to measure things apparently and–”
“Jess.”
“-and I know it’s stupid because I used to be good at this but I’m not anymore and-”
“Jesse.”
He shut up. Mostly because Adam reached for his hands, his rough, still-slightly-glue-scented, newly calloused hands.
“I love it,” Adam said. His eyes were warm. “This is beautiful.”
Jesse blinked like he couldn’t quite compute that. “Don’t lie to me,” he muttered weakly. “You don’t have to do the whole ‘oh sweetie what a nice macaroni necklace’ thing.”
“I love it,” Adam said again, slower this time. “I love the stain. And the star. And the little marks on the sides that look like my tattoos –don’t think I didn’t notice that. I love that you did this with your own hands. I love that you remembered what I said about handmade things. I love the time you put into it. I love you.”
Adam opened the lid and inspected the inside, the tiny compartments Jesse had cut for polaroids and rings and whatever else. Then he closed it again and rested it against his chest.
“This is my favorite gift,” he said. “And I’m going to use it every day. And I’m going to annoy you by pointing at it all the time.”
“You serious?” Jesse asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Adam leaned forward and kissed him, slow and warm, the kiss of someone who was absolutely, totally serious.
And Jesse, finally, blissfully relieved, wrapped his arms around him, letting himself melt into the warmth and the soft lights.