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Another gift for you (100k)!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 100K READS!!!!

As promised, here's another short story! Once again happy holidays, I love you guys and I am so, so grateful :)

Lucie

When I returned from a last minute grocery run (Mom: "The ham, Lucille, how the hell did I forget the ham?"), there were voices coming from my living room.

    "Bc4."

    A lengthy, studying pause. "Nf3."

    "Are you sure?" Cian? When had he gotten here? And what in the world was he doing?

    "I'm very sure." And—Dad?

    "Ah, well"—there was a somewhat jarring noise of wood hitting wood—"checkmate, Mr. Monteith."

    "What! No," replied my father, before his voice dissolved into good-hearted chuckling. "That came out of absolutely nowhere! I'm impressed, son."

    "What can I say? I warned you."

    "That you did," said Dad. I dropped the grocery bag on the kitchen counter, motioning at Mom—who was on the phone around the corner—that I'd brought her the ham she'd forgotten. It had not been an easy ordeal, getting that stupid ham; the grocery stores were overrun with last-minute Christmas shoppers, and the first two stores I'd visited were all out of nearly everything.

    I stepped into the living room, my hands on my hips. Cian and my dad were sitting cross-legged on either end of the oak coffee table, a chessboard in between them.

    "Cian," I said, raising a sharp eyebrow at him, "when did you get here, exactly?"

    "Maybe half an hour ago?" replied Cian with a sheepish grin, sweeping the chess pieces back into a storage bin. "I was looking for you, but your parents said you were out, so I was just waiting for you."

    "Lulu," Dad perked up, reaching across the table to shake Cian's hand, "why didn't you tell me your boyfriend was such a formidable chess opponent?"

    I scowled, tugging my winter hat from my head and dropping it on the armchair beside me. Patting my curls back into place, I said, "Because it's the dorkiest thing ever."

    Cian made an exaggerated frowny face. "Ouch."

    "Whatever," I said. "Cian? Can we talk upstairs?"

    Cian's eyes widened with minute concern, but nevertheless he dragged himself to his feet, meeting me at the living room's mouth. "Thanks for a great game, sir! Let's play again another time."

    My dad smirked. I couldn't remember if I'd ever seen him smirk before, but I definitely didn't care for it. "I won't lose easy next time, Cian!"

    The two of them shared a laugh, cut short when I sighed and yanked Cian out of the room by his arm.

    "Muffin," he said. "Hey, muffin—"

    I ignored him, leading him along until we were up the stairs and down the hall and in my bedroom.

    At the threshold, he dug in his heels, which were adorned with a pair of Santa socks I pretended not to notice. The hall and bedroom lights were both still off; in the shadow, his eyes were blue-black, like a calm sea at night.

    "Cian?" I said.

    He nudged the bedroom door shut with his shoulder, then drew me to him, pressing a kiss to my lips. He tasted like hot chocolate, like everything warm and cozy and God, how arduous it was to release him.

    "Cian," I said, pressing a gentle hand to his chest. "It's Christmas Eve. Shouldn't you be at home?"

    He considered it, his gaze dropping towards the fuzzy white rug on the floor as he took my hand and rubbed circles in the palm with his thumb. "Probably, but I was dying to see you."

    So that was my own fault, I suppose. I'd told Cian a week or so ago that I really needed to hunker down and study for finals before we could hang out again, and though it had seemed like a totally logical request to me, he'd been so whiny about it that even Vinny had begged me to come see him again.

    "I called you, though."

    He pinched my cheek. "It's not the same as seeing that pretty face."

    I exhaled, allowing a small grin. "I...wanted to see you, too."

    Cian's face lit up, a wide smile blossoming across his face, momentarily disguising the scar at his mouth. For a moment, I wasn't sure what he was so excited about, until he flicked on the light and motioned for me to sit on my bed. "Go go go," he said. "Sit. I have something for you."

    "Oh?" I said, pleasantly surprised. Though I'd ordered him something for Christmas (a neon hoodie, because I thought his closet needed a bit more color in it besides all the black clothes he owned), Cian had never struck me as the gift-buying type at all. Especially considering he destroyed the first gift I ever bought him when he chucked it at a wall.

    No, I was not mad about that.

    Not mad at all.

    Once I was comfortable at the edge of the bed, Cian turned and dragged a square box from underneath my desk, wrapped in red paper with a glittery red bow on top to match.

    My head tilted a little. "When did you..."

    "Don't worry about it."

    I wanted to worry about it, but before I could, Cian had already thrust the box into my hands. I took it, giving it a preliminary shake. It was fairly light despite its somewhat large size. A sweater, I wondered? Or a lot of sweaters? Maybe books? I looked up, meeting Cian's glittering eyes. Just what was in this box that had him so jumpy?

    "Open it," he said, like a five-year-old proudly presenting his artwork.

    I raised an eyebrow, pulling the ribbon loose. I removed the wrapping paper meticulously, pulling the tape free and unfolding the paper rather than tearing it to shreds. I took my time with it, just to watch Cian squirm.

    Finally, I pulled the lid from the box. "It's a bear?"

    "It's a bear!"

    I lifted the plush from the box, holding it out in front of me. It was a stuffed brown bear, with beady black eyes and a smile on its face, a Santa hat sewn to its ears that flipped forwards or backwards. It was adorable, and extremely soft.

    "Aw, Cian," I said, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. "It's so cute—"

    "Hug it," he said, interlacing his fingers, as if that were the only way he could keep them from shaking.

    I was only put off by his urgency for a brief second; then, I hugged the bear to my chest, its softness threatening to make me melt. I couldn't remember the last time I had cuddled a stuffed animal, but it had to have been in middle school some time, before I threw all of my toys away in the name of "being a grown person now."

    From the bear's mouth came a low warble of static, then: "I love you, muffin!"

    I stopped, released it, hugged it again.

    "I love you, muffin!"

    It was Cian's voice coming from this bear, undoubtedly.

    I looked up at him, and he laughed at the dumbfounded expression most certainly on my face. "Do you like it? Now, you know, even when I'm not with you, I still sort of am, you know. Do you like it? Is it dumb? I was worried it might be too cheesy, but—"

    I tossed the bear aside—Cian's voice said once again, I love you, muffin—and all but jumped from the bed and into Cian's arms. As he toppled onto his back, his head narrowly avoiding the legs of my desk chair, he smiled up at me, eyes alight. "But Lulu," he said between kisses, guiding a strand of my hair behind my ear, "there's no mistletoe."

    "As if I need a plant to tell me when it's okay to kiss you," I said, pausing to nudge the desk chair back—safety—before leaning over him again. "Forget mistletoe. I've got all I need right here."