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{1} DAN HOWELL X PHIL LESTER

JINGLE BALLS

     Dan Howell wakes up to the smell of cookies and the sound of bells, and if it isn't for Phil's echoing Christmas dubstep, the morning would be enjoyable.

     Through his window, he sees the faint blue light that tells him it is far too early for him to be awake. It's nowhere close to the afternoon. With that pestering his mind, he drops out of his bedroom, baggy-eyed and Hobbit-haired.

     Once he finds the kitchen, he winces at the light from the Christmas tree his flatmate lit up like a thousand suns. Colours of every variety shine between the faux branches.

     He's still too tired to admire it.

     "Dan!" Phil turns on his feet and grabs the brunette's attention. "You're awake rather early."

     "Because you're blasting your We Three Kings dubstep, idiot," Dan moans in response. He rubs his eyes to the point where his bloodshot vessels draw more attention than his brown irises themselves.

     "Sorry," Phil apologises, although he doesn't sound very sorry. "But it's a good remix!"

     Dan eyes him. "Turn it off, please. We can play it later."

     A moment passes and he puffs up his cheeks. "Fine, fun-killer," Phil mutters as he flips off the radio.

     Dan offers a quick appreciative look before he heads over to the cabinets and pulls out a box of cereal. He peers inside the box of Crispix for a second and feels a little surprised when he realises there's as much as the day before.

     "Bloody hell, is this my Christmas gift?" He murmurs to himself and fixes up a bowl. Phil peers over with a sly grin on his face, starkly contrasting his silly Christmas jumper and tinsel scarves.

     That's only the beginning.

     Dan takes his bowl to the table and pulls out a chair before digging in. Multiple times throughout consuming the dish, he dumps another tablespoon or so of sugar into the milk to get more flavour.

      "You're going to give yourself a heart attack," Phil says, a weak smile on his cheek as he sits across from the brunette.

     Dan shrugs. "That's a chance I'll happily take."

     "I can't give you your Christmas gift if you die, then that'd be a waste of money!" Phil frowns.

     Dan ducks his head, flushed in annoyance. No matter how many times he tells the older man to not get him a gift, he never seems to listen.

     "I said you didn't have to get me anything!"

     "You bought me the Pikachu plush; it was only fair," Phil argues as his hands reach to his back pocket. Rather than respond, Dan peers over to his butt to look and see what he's fishing out—which turns out to be a velvet black box.

     Dan's heart pounds. "No, no no no," he holds his hands up in surrender. "Whatever's in there, return it."

     "But I and my cousins spent so much time picking it out!" Phil exclaims. The pale boy sets it on the table and slides it over. "Just look at it, will you?"

     Dan's lip nearly trembles while he picks it up in his hands. The material feels flimsy, but whatever is inside has considerable mass. His hands are so close to shaking as he lifts up the lid of the box.

     Inside of pierced foam lies a chain with two bells; he furrows his brow in confusion as he inspects them. Painted crudely in peach and slathered with dots of black, they're an ugly sight to behold.

     "What are these?" He asks, befuddled.

     "Jingle balls," Phil evaluates. "Since you love Christmas and balls so much, obviously, my cousins agreed that these would fit you well—"

     The black-haired man feels the chain hit his face, but he only chuckles. Dan's face is crimson and he's glaring at him like he has just killed his mum. Twice, somehow, with a cleaver whose handle is made from the oak of his deceased grandfather's favourite tree.

     "You're literally the worst person I have ever had to meet," Dan grunts, unsatisfied.

     Phil finally pulls the Sans plush he has been holding hostage out of under the table. He offers it, but Dan hits it off the table.

     "That's your real gift!" Phil whines. "Don't hit him, he's only a young child!"

     Hesitantly, Dan lifts the plush off of the floor before proceeding to throw it at his flatmate. Phil laughs and throws it back.

     "You San of a bitch," Dan barely cracks a smile when he says it. "You're lucky I treasure you, but you're not allowed to pull that shit again."

     "Fair enough," Phil grins and snatches the other's bowl, but Dan doesn't fight him anymore. "But still, merry Christmas."

     "Merry Christmas, asshole," Dan concludes.