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Christmas at their household was functionally nonexistent, to say the least. The both of them weren’t really the type to go all out for the holidays, let alone birthdays and such. It made no sense to expect each Christmas to outdo the last, or to waste obscene amounts of time making a fool of yourself for something that lasted, at most, two days.
So this Christmas, Rei was working at the hospital, which his husband wasn’t particularly thrilled to hear, but they’ve celebrated enough Christmases in the past. They have multiple years to celebrate the holiday in the future.
In reality though, Rei wanted to avoid Kuya’s gaze out of his own guilty conscience. He… hasn’t figured out his present yet actually. It’s difficult, because what do you give a man who has everything already? Rei had already given himself up as a present last year and the years before that, wearing virtually nothing with the only thing covering his chest and lower half being silk red ribbons that tied him up. He can’t just pull that trick for the fifth time in the row.
That’s the real reason why Rei decided to take a shift at the hospital, to buy time.
“I got Garu and Karu a new car,” the chief answered rather smugly.
“Kuya bought them two last week.”
“What.” The chief shakes his head before crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I also got them their own apartment.”
“That’s my Christmas present for the two of them too.”
“What.”
“What am I getting my wife for Christmas?” the head of cardio echoes. “She’s been eyeing the recent collection Mr. Kuya just released, so I got her that jacket she’s been dying to have!”
“I can’t just get him that,” Rei mutters, already tired.
“You haven’t figured out what to get for your husband yet?!” she exclaims.
“Well, no.”
“Today’s Christmas!”
“Why do you think I took a shift today? I’m gathering intel.”
“Hmm.” She looks up at the ceiling in contemplation. “Well, I’m sure he’ll love anything you give him as long as it’s from you. He’s your partner after all. I know my wife would. It’s all about giving gifts from the heart.”
Of course the head of cardio is making heart-related references. He stares at her incredulously and actually shudders at the thought of Kuya accepting any trashy gift just because it came from Rei.
She tilts her head curiously.
He coughs and gathers his bearings. “Kuya isn’t emotionally delusional enough when it comes to me, I’m afraid. He cares about his gifts.”
“Oh.” She blinks. “Well, you do know him better than I do. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“What am I getting Kuya?” Eiden hums on the other line. “I got him a voucher for this once-in-a-lifetime luxury spa thing except it’s unlimited.”
“Why would he need this?” Rei sighs.
“Didn’t you say that Kuya has been frowning a lot lately and you were concerned that he eventually is going to need Botox to get rid of his frown lines?” Eiden asks. “So I got him something so he can relax, easy peasy.”
“I never said any of that.”
“Huh??” From the other end, Rei could hear a bunch of shuffling in the background. “OHHH wait, it was Kuya who said he was worried you’re going to need Botox — wait a minute. I mixed up your presents — OOPS. I shouldn’t have said any—”
Rei ends the call and exhales heavily into his hands.
“Why, I got my husband ugly sweaters for Christmas!” an elderly patient chuckles. “So we can match!”
Rei scrunches his nose at the thought of him and Kuya wearing matching ugly sweaters — let alone wearing matching anything, really. The rings were enough.
“I got my wife a beautiful casket in her favorite color,” the husband of the earlier elderly patient replies casually.
“That’s fucking morbid—” Rei stops himself when he remembers there were cameras that have been just recently installed above each hospital bed for monitoring and teaching purposes. He corrects himself. “That’s very… that’s something.”
“Our time is almost up, after all. I thought it would be heartwarming if we had matching caskets.”
Matching ugly sweaters and caskets? They both really do suit each other — the couple, not the presents.
“…Wow.”
“I got my daughter a horse,” one of the residents says, flipping through a patient chart.
Rei pauses mid-step. “A… horse?”
“Yes?” the resident replies, confused by the question. “She’s always wanted one.”
“Where does she live?”
“At a ranch.”
“…Who would’ve thought.”
“I commissioned a portrait of my partner,” a nurse says while adjusting an IV. “Oil paint. Twelve sittings. The artist specializes in capturing the soul.”
Rei hums noncommittally.
“It cost more than my car,” the nurse adds.
“Your car is nearly about to break down,” Rei says. “Yet instead of getting a new one, you got that.”
“I thought it would be romantic.”
“I’m sure it was,” Rei replies. He does not elaborate.
“I booked my husband a trip to Antarctica,” an anesthesiologist says while washing their hands. “He’s always said he wanted to see something untouched by humans.”
Rei watches the soap lather. “And you’re going with him?”
The anesthesiologist hesitates. “…No.”
“I see.”
“I got my wife a watch,” a surgical fellow says, checking the time on their phone. “Custom. Engraved.”
“What does it say?” Rei asks.
The fellow smiles. “The exact second we met.”
Rei looks away. “That’s… precise.”
“I thought it mattered.”
“Huh.”
“I gave my wife divorce papers,” someone says cheerfully in the elevator.
Rei turns slowly.
“They’re a joke,” the man adds. “We do this every year.”
“…Right.” Rei turns back forward and thinks for a moment. “Maybe I should do that for his birthday.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
In the break room, Rei stares at his coffee that has already gotten cold.
Clothes, vouchers, horses, divorce, paintings, caskets, Antarctica — none of them are things that would do well as Kuya’s gift this year. There’s no significance behind them. The first Christmas as husbands has to be something more meaningful at least.
The watch suggestion had the gears in his head turning. It narrowed the gift type down to one — the present had to be something only Rei could give. Something specific to Kuya. Something specific to them.
Though it helps to know, it still did nothing to ease Rei’s mind.
How the hell is he going to get this pretentious bastard anything in the span of a few hours after his shift?
In the pediatric unit, Rei checks the chart before he steps inside.
Kuei. Seven years old. No family, no discharge order — ward of the state.
He knocks before entering, out of habit more than necessity.
Kuei is awake. She’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, hospital socks slipping down her ankles, folding and unfolding the corner of her blanket with careful fingers. The television is on, volume low with some holiday movie playing to no one in particular.
“Hey,” Rei says quietly.
She looks up and brightens just a little. Not out of relief, but out of gratitude for recognition.
“You’re back.”
“I said I would be,” Rei replies. He steps inside, glances at the monitors and the IV. “How’s the pain?”
“Okay.” She shrugs. “They gave me the good medicine earlier.”
Rei nods. “Any trouble breathing?”
“No.”
He checks her chart at the foot of the bed, then pauses. The date stares back at him from the corner of the screen. Rei hesitates. It’s uncharacteristic, enough that he notices it himself.
“…Do you know what day it is?” he asks.
Kuei’s mouth twists. “Christmas.”
“Mm.” He folds his hands loosely. “Are they doing anything special for you?”
She shakes her head. “It’s fine.”
Rei studies her for a moment — how she doesn’t look disappointed so much as resigned. Children who expect nothing rarely complain.
“Some people…” he says slowly, carefully, “…get presents today.”
She snorts, quiet but sharp. “Not me.”
Rei doesn’t correct her. After a beat, he asks, “If you could get something, what would you want?”
Kuei goes still. It’s subtle, just the way her hands stop moving. She stares at the blanket, then at the wall, as if weighing whether the answer is worth giving.
“I don’t want a toy,” she says finally.
“That’s okay,” Rei replies. “You don’t have to.”
“I don’t want candy either.”
Rei nods once.
She glances at him, cautious now. “You promise you won’t get mad?”
“I won’t.”
Kuei exhales, small and shaky.
“I don’t want to go back.”
Rei’s posture doesn’t change. His voice stays level. But something tightens, deep and quiet.
“Back where?” he asks.
“The orphanage.” She picks at a loose thread. “They said I have to go when I’m discharged.”
“I see.”
“It’s loud there,” she continues. “And when you’re sick they tell you to stop faking. They don’t like it when you cry.”
Rei listens. He always does, especially with his younger patients.
“Here,” she says, gesturing vaguely around the room, “the nurses check on me. You explain things. Nobody yells when I ask questions.”
Her voice drops. “Here people actually look at me.”
Rei swallows.
“So…” She shrugs, too practiced for her age. “If I could have anything, I’d stay. At least a little longer.”
The monitor beeps softly between them.
Rei doesn’t reach out. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. Instead, he says, “You deserve to be listened to. No matter where you are.”
She studies his face, searching for dishonesty. Finding none. “Do you mean that?”
“Yes.”
Kuei slowly smiles. It was a smile warm enough to make Rei’s gaze flicker away awkwardly.
Rei straightens. “I’ll check on you again before my shift ends.”
“Okay.”
As he turns to leave, she adds, almost as an afterthought,
“Merry Christmas, Dr. Rei.”
He pauses at the door.
“…Merry Christmas, Kuei.”
Other than his seven year old patient, Rei was a bit annoyed at the lack of cases that were up in his alley. Rei liked cutting through tissue, don’t get him wrong, but today was filled with vanity surgeries, emergency laparotomies, and repeat operations made by other surgeons who have made avoidable mistakes that punished patients for the lead surgeon’s failures.
And what, he had about three hours left in his shift to perform emergency trauma operations that would buy time for the patient rather than remove the problem altogether? Over something controlled and planned beforehand? Rei got his thoughts sorted out, he, for once, was ready to clock out early.
He’s stuck in the pit again, going over each patient’s chart and waiting for another emergency trauma case that was inevitably going to happen because Christmas Day was a cesspool full of accidents waiting to occur.
Then there’s a hand over his shoulder. Rei widens his eyes for a second, his chest flutters very annoyingly still despite it being eleven years already, then he takes a deep breath.
“What.”
“Merry Christmas, Rei,” Kuya greets eerily which by now, Rei knows is his attempt to sound sweet.
“Why are you here?” Rei asks him, voice on edge. “You should be at home with Garu.”
“I’m just simply running errands, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“You’re running errands on Christmas Day?”
Kuya shrugs. “I wouldn’t be talking if I were you. You are working on Christmas, after all.”
“And I am not done until later,” Rei tells him. “Now shoo, I need to make my rounds—”
Before Rei could quickly escape from the source of his guilt, Kuya grabs onto his sleeve. “Now hold on, doctor, I require an immediate consultation.”
“You need a consultation?” Rei looks at him strangely. “Are you okay—”
“I am perfectly fine as I’m not the patient.” Kuya hands him a folder. “Look over these, will you?”
Doubtful, Rei takes the folder off his hands and opens it, skimming through the file until he sees it. The image of the ugliest, most gorgeous, humongous tumor he’s ever seen in his entire career.
The printout depicted a large mass, heavily invasive and its vascularity blooming like it’s rotten. It’s aggressive — the kind that would have killed someone slowly if left unfound and untreated.
His hands start shaking in excitement. “Where — where did you find this?”
“Across the world. In a village so tiny that there is virtually no technology, let alone any proper medical system there,” Kuya chirps smugly. “It’s your Christmas present, because I knew you would be bored out of your mind today. You have about an hour to gather and update yourself on this individual’s case before the operation.”
“You—” Rei stares at the ultrasound image again. “But my schedule—”
“Oh shush, the old man had you following a fake schedule this entire time,” Kuya explains. “Go on now, the clock is ticking.”
If there were no proper medical system in that village, that meant Kuya had personally flown in equipment to help aid this poor patient. He tracked their location and paid for their flights and care out of his own free will. Perhaps not out of generosity and more out of personal interest, but he still did it.
“It’s definitely operable, but I’m going to need to map out a team—”
“I have arranged your favored surgeons to be on standby beforehand,” Kuya interrupts.
Rei looks at him in disbelief. “You did?”
“What, surely you didn’t think I would hand you something like this half-prepared, did you?” Kuya tilts his head. “I’ve even made arrangements so as soon as you cut it out, that ugly thing is yours to keep. The hospital and pathology will allow it.”
“I get to keep it?” Rei asks excitedly.
“Thats just what I said.”
It wasn’t sentimental nor did he showcase his brilliance in procuring such an impossible case — it was consideration that he showed. Kuya thought of him, considered his tastes and feelings, and gave him a well-prepared gift that he knew only he could give to Rei. He knew that the only person in the world that would want something dangerous, something that’s considered inoperable for the average surgeon, was Rei.
Only Rei could accept this gift.
He closes the folder carefully.
“I—” Rei’s lips thinned as he held the folder close to his chest. “…thank you.”
And he meant it.
Kuya’s gaze softens, just barely, but enough that only Rei could be able to detect it. “Merry Christmas, Rei.”
Rei holds onto the edges of the folder tightly in his hands as he looks back at Kuya, his fingers brushing against the metal band around his ring finger that serves as a reminder of their unity. He’s already forgotten where he’s at, lost in his own sentiments.
Chuckling, Kuya takes a step closer and leans forward to press his lips against Rei’s, giving him a quick kiss before leaning back. “Stop staring at me like a fool. Don’t waste my present now.”
He turns Rei around and gives him a soft push, which snaps him out of his thoughts. Exhaling deeply through his nose, Rei looks over his shoulder.
“You realize this means I won’t be home until morning, right?”
Kuya shrugs. “You never come home early anyway.”
“I do sometimes,” Rei shoots back. “You just focus on the negatives too much.”
“So do you.”
Rei rolls his eyes and begins to move. “I don’t have time for this—”
He stops before glancing back at him. “Kuya.”
“What is it?”
“Merry Christmas.”
Seeing the thing up close and personal was basically like love at first sight for Rei. After making the final slice, his team let out a sigh of relief knowing that the impossible had just been outdone with ease and precision.
Seeing the tumor being transferred to a dish momentarily and stored in a glass jar for safe keeping, Rei’s eyes sparkled at what was basically his child. That vile thing is his baby.
He makes a quick stop at his young patient’s room to check on her before officially starting his rounds to deliver the news regarding her stay. Kuei lights up at the sight of him.
“Mr. Rei,” she exclaims — mister, not doctor, like she’s testing out the waters.
“Good evening, Kuei,” Rei says, forcing his face to remain as neutral as possible.
“Mr. Rei,” she repeats, a small grin forming on her face when he doesn’t seem to mind the title change. “Did you do the big scary surgery?”
“Yes, I did.”
“How did it go? Did you make the patient all better?”
“It went well,” Rei says. “Very well.”
“So the person’s going to be okay?”
“Well, they have a future now,” Rei replies. It’s an accurate answer.
“Yay!” Kuei grins. “Good job Mr. Rei!”
Rei couldn’t help but crack a small smile of his own. “Thank you.”
Pulling a chair closer to her bedside, he finally sits down. The movie she was watching had long since ended during the surgery, playing a different show on the television. Neither of them speak at first.
Taking a deep breath, Rei chooses his words carefully, “…Earlier, you said you didn’t want to go back.”
Her fingers clench onto the blankets for comfort. “Am I in trouble, Mr. Rei?”
“No,” he answers immediately. “You did nothing wrong.”
Kuei blinks up at him with her big eyes, still worried.
“You are stable enough to be discharged now,” Rei tells her. “But… after a talk with social work and your attending surgeon, it was deemed fit to keep you here for another few days for observation. By my advice.”
Her breath catches. “So—?”
“So you’re staying,” he finishes. “At least through the holiday.”
The relief that floods her face is quiet but overwhelming. She presses her lips together, nodding rapidly like she’s afraid if she speaks, it’ll be taken back.
“Thank you,” she says finally. It’s small, earnest — heavy with meaning she doesn’t quite know how to articulate yet.
Rei inclines his head once. “You should get some rest. I’ll check on you again later.”
She hesitates. “Mr. Rei?”
“Yes.”
“Is that… my Christmas present?”
He considers the question.
“No,” he says. “It’s not a present.”
She frowns, confused.
“It’s what you’re owed,” Rei confirms.
Her smile returns, slower. Softer. “I like this Christmas.”
“I am pleased to hear that,” Rei says. He pauses. “Kuei, may I ask you something?”
“What is it Mr. Rei?”
He lowers his voice, a bit shy about what he’s about to say. “Would you be open to let me introduce you to someone? He’s not a doctor.”
“He’s not a doctor?” Kuei echoes. “Hmm. Sure! He sounds important.”
Rei lets out a sigh before sheepishly sharing her smile.
“Yes,” he confirms. “He’s very important to me.”
By the time Rei finally clocks out, the hospital has quieted into that peculiar early-morning stillness — machines humming, footsteps distant, the world held together by fluorescent lights and obligation.
He showers, changes, and exits through the staff entrance just as the sky begins to pale. Kuya is waiting by the car.
Rei stops. “You stayed.”
Kuya lifts a shoulder. “I said I was running errands. I never said how long they’d take.”
Rei exhales through his nose, exhausted and wired all at once. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re impossible to shop for,” Kuya counters mildly. He opens the passenger door. “Did you enjoy your present?”
Rei gets in, still holding himself together by sheer momentum. “You already know the answer.”
Kuya smiles, small and satisfied.
As they pull away from the hospital, Rei leans his head back against the seat, eyes closing. “…A kid.”
Having just got in, Kuya raises a brow curiously. “A kid?”
“You’ve always wanted kids,” Rei points out. “And I told you no each time. I’m ready now.”
“A kid,” Kuya repeats, carefully. “You’re ready now?”
Rei keeps his eyes closed. He doesn’t look at him when he says it again, quieter this time.
“Not today. Not like—” He exhales. “But eventually. I think.”
Kuya watches him from the driver’s seat, expression unreadable. He doesn’t tease. He doesn’t pounce. That alone should tell Rei this is being taken seriously.
“You’re sure?” Kuya asks.
Rei opens his eyes, stares at the ceiling of the car. “No.”
Kuya hums. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“I didn’t say I was,” Rei replies. “I said I’m ready. Those are different things.”
Kuya considers that. “You hate uncertainty.”
“I tolerate it,” Rei corrects. “In controlled doses.”
“And children are famously—”
“Uncontrolled,” Rei finishes flatly. “Yes. I know.”
They stop at a red light. Kuya drums his fingers against the steering wheel, then says, “What changed?”
Rei’s jaw tightens.
“There was a kid,” he says again, like anchoring himself to the fact. “Seven. Sick. Smart. Quiet in the way children get when they learn early that noise doesn’t get them anything.”
Kuya glances at him, listening.
“She asked for permission before telling me what she wanted,” Rei continues. “And what she wanted wasn’t… anything. It was just not to be sent somewhere worse.”
Kuya’s grip tightens slightly on the wheel.
“I didn’t promise her anything,” Rei adds immediately. “I’m not — this isn’t sentimentality.”
“I know,” Kuya says.
“I told her staying was what she was owed. Not a gift.” Rei finally turns his head, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion. “And I meant it.”
The light turns green. Kuya drives.
After a moment, he says, “You’d be good at it.”
Rei scoffs. “I’m terrible with people.”
“You’re terrible with adults,” Kuya corrects. “You’re precise with children. You explain. You listen. You don’t lie to them.”
Rei doesn’t respond.
Kuya adds, almost idly, “You also don’t flinch when they cry.”
“That’s because crying is data,” Rei mutters.
Kuya smiles faintly.
They pull into the driveway just as the sun crests the horizon. The house looks the same as it always does — quiet, expensive, lived-in without being warm. Kuya parks but doesn’t turn the engine off right away.
“You’re not saying yes,” he says.
“No,” Rei agrees.
“You’re not saying now.”
“No.”
“But you’re not saying never.”
Rei hesitates. Then, “…Right.”
Kuya nods once. He doesn’t push further.
“That’s enough,” he says. “For now.”
Rei exhales, shoulders finally slumping as the adrenaline drains out of him. “You’re not upset.”
Kuya finally turns the engine off. “If I wanted certainty, I wouldn’t have married you. I’m rather pleased with this gift — a promise of a potential new future with you.”
Rei snorts despite the warmth overwhelming his nerves.
They sit there for a moment longer, neither rushing to move.
“Merry Christmas,” Kuya says again, gently, knowing that Christmas has technically passed.
Rei rests his head back against the seat and closes his eyes.
“…Merry Christmas.”