InsaneJournal

Who: Sharon and Mobius
What: Christmas
When: Dec 25
Where: Sharon’s apartment
Warning: None
Status: Completed via Gdoc


Sure, Mobius had his own place, and they took turns staying at his, staying at hers, and going out… but Sharon’s apartment was more dolled up for the holidays. It simply made sense for them to wake up there on Christmas morning, right? Where there was a decorated tree, and lights, and stockings hung by the chimney with care.

Gone were the days when Sharon sprang out of bed before her alarm, sneaking down to check the stockings and tree for evidence of Santa’s visit the night before. As an adult--one who had some champagne the night before and spent the night cuddled up with the man who loved her--Sharon was much more likely to sleep in on Christmas morning. There was a later church service they could attend, no strict brunch deadlines, nowhere to be except under the covers with Mobius. Still half-asleep, she turned over and wrapped an arm around him. She couldn’t seem to get close enough.

As Mobius just now discovered (because it was technically his first?), Christmas morning had the feel of a lazy Sunday - that sunny warmth, even if it was technically winter. But this warmth was a balm, kind of like its own brand of magic - he definitely reveled in it, as he cracked his eyes open and remembered where he was. Didn’t take long, because Sharon was right here - he slowly ran his fingers through her hair, a casual caress as he began to mentally dust the last vestiges of sleep cobwebs from his brain.

And stretched a little, wearing flannel pajama pants and a soft cotton t-shirt - by now he kept various changes of clothes at her apartment, and had this sleepwear in a drawer tucked away. Even if he hadn’t, his own apartment wasn’t far. It helped, living in the same Tower. “Someone’s cuddly,” he teased, a little groggy, but obviously he wasn’t complaining about the closeness. Mobius was a big cuddler himself, obviously.

Pajamas were one thing that Sharon couldn’t have enough of. Flannel pajama pants, fleece hoodies, stretchy yoga sets that kept her warm and were incredibly comfortable to move around in? When Sharon wasn’t working or on duty, she needed to be comfortable. So she might have had a dozen sets of pajamas in her drawer, all carefully rolled Marie Kondo style and tucked neatly away for easy access. After all, if she wanted the blue plaid ones, she wanted the blue plaid ones and God forbid anything get in her way. Last night she’d decided on the pink flannel set with the white topped Christmas tree pattern. It was cute, and warm, and soft.

“Mmmmf,” Sharon replied, snuggling in even closer. If only she could fight away wakefulness by her proximity to him. Alas, time was waking her as much as anything else. “You’re warm. Can’t help that I’m attracted to warmth.” Like a heat-seeking missile.

“Most of me is - my feet are probably cold,” Mobius chuckled a bit - because that tended to happen sometimes. Especially if Sharon stole the covers and his feet were left dangling off the bed with no blankets (though he didn’t mind, really). That was the fun of sharing a bed with another person - potential cover hogs, potential ice blocks for feet, potential bad dreams getting either of them waking up screaming.

Luckily that one didn’t happen much. Occasionally Mobius slept restlessly, however - but he hoped he didn’t toss and turn to rock the boat, and he knew for a fact that he didn’t snore. Either way, he much preferred sharing a bed than sleeping alone.

He wrapped his arms around Sharon fully, holding her to him with one hand following a trail down her back and up her arm, slow and lulling. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

Sharon wrapped her leg along his, resting her foot against his. And then she laughed softly. “Your poor toes! Absolutely freezing.” She tucked his foot between both of hers. Sharon’s feet were usually fairly warm--she occasionally slept with her socks on to make sure that she didn’t have little icicles at the ends of her legs.

“Mmmm,” she hummed gently. The arm up and down her back and her arm was, indeed, lulling. Comforting. She pressed a kiss against his neck. “Merry Christmas. You want to go have breakfast, or stay here a little longer?”

In response, Mobius’s stomach rumbled - so it seemed like that decision was made; the siren’s song of a potential breakfast was difficult to resist. “Let’s eat,” he suggested, though he was admittedly loath to move himself from the current Snuggle Monster that was Sharon - or the cozy warmth of the blankets. But then, again - food. Christmas morning breakfast probably wouldn’t be fancy, yet it would be prepared with love.

“What do you want?” he asked. “I’ll make you something.” He wasn’t too bad in the kitchen - ever since he’d been blipped (no pun intended) into this pocket dimension, he was adamant about making actual meals. Learning new things. Practicing. And it was actually going well.

Food. The pull of breakfast was almost strong enough to tug her out of Mobius’s arms and send her into the kitchen, but not quite. Warm and cozy, wrapped tightly against his side, she was fighting between wanting to stay, and wanting to go. If they hopped up for breakfast, they could always come back later. Perhaps should come back later. For Christmas snuggles.

“Hmmm,” Sharon grinned, trailing a fingertip in lazy figure eights on his chest. “...Pancakes. How do pancakes sound?” She wasn’t sure if she had all the necessary ingredients for pancakes, but the more time she spent with Mobius, the more kitchen supplies she acquired. Or they could head to his place.

“Pancakes are doable. I’m pretty sure I can make that work,” Mobius promised. What would they need - flour, sugar, milk, eggs? Maybe some butter? Or a box of Bisquick, in the cabinet. But there was something about homemade pancakes, fluffy enough to be blessed by angel’s breath - he’d go that route, once he confirmed that Sharon had everything.

He kissed the top of her head and then managed to slide off the bed, giving a bit of a streeeetch to accommodate those old muscles and bones (though he supposed he wasn’t that old, in theory - it was just hard to tell, given he didn’t age properly). After a brief stop in the bathroom to freshen up he was in the kitchen, efficiently pulling together ingredients for the best Christmas morning pancakes ever.

“Hard to believe it’ll be a new year soon,” he mused, finding a mixing bowl for the dry ingredients. “Time is weird, when you’re actually in a place where it passes normally.”

He slipped out of the bed, and suddenly Sharon was cold. A little smile crossed her lips, though, at the idea that he was making her breakfast. (He was perfect.) She stretched, too--a stretch that made her give a little moan, curled her toes. Then she slowly climbed out from under the covers. With a yawn, she started pulling up the sheets, straightening the comforter. Even on Christmas morning, Sharon made her bed.

Then a quick trip to the restroom, and she joined him in the kitchen. “Hmm? Oh.” She paused for a moment. “I suppose it is weird. Just keeps moving forward.” She leaned against the counter near where he was preparing the food. “Are you… okay with it?”

Mobius was good at multitasking - he was able to grab a frying pan and heat it up while simultaneously having a somewhat deep conversation. Well, deep for this early in the morning and on Christmas Day. The batter was just about ready too - it really wasn’t that many ingredients.

Though coffee, coffee would be good if he wanted his brain to be firing on all cylinders. “I’m okay with getting a chance to live my life - less okay with He Who Remains still being in charge of the chessboard, so to speak,” he said. “But - there are some things we can’t change. I’m just grateful for what I have now and - speaking vaguely of gifts and all? I still have to give you yours.” He’d slipped it beneath the tree before - sometimes he had his sneaky moments too.

It was almost like Sharon read his mind. This conversation would have gone a lot more smoothly with some coffee, or at least very strong tea. Sharon drank both; she had an electric kettle for when she wanted an Earl Grey or English Breakfast, but she had a little Keurig on the counter, too, for those coffee mornings. Today felt like a coffee morning, complete with the sweet creamer stuff she’d purchased at the supermarket--the kind that made a simple cup of coffee taste kinda like a peppermint mocha. So, she moved around him (one hand trailing along his lower back, because she couldn’t seem to get enough of touching him) and started futzing around with the coffee machine.

“Yeah, I get that.” She didn’t know as much as he did about the figurative puppetmaster pulling all the strings, though he’d told her a bit. But at the mention of a Christmas present Sharon turned to smile at him, cheeks going pink. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I’m sure I didn’t have to, but - I wanted to,” Mobius grinned, flipping pancakes. He let them cook and dusted his hands off, heading into the living room to grab the little box he’d put under the tree - it was wrapped nicely, since he found that to be part of the fun; he couldn’t remember ever wrapping a gift before, or doing the little curly q thing with the ribbons and a pair of scissors. “Here - Merry Christmas, honey.”

Mobius was a giver of practical gifts, for the most part. Experiences. Useful things - but things also tailored to the personality of the person he was giving the gift to. For Sharon, he had tickets to the Immersive Van Gogh Experience, and then packets of rare seeds - yes, seeds. To grow a beautiful plantain lily plant, blue flowers that looked impressive to any visitors - but there was also something rewarding about putting the work in and then achieving success; he considered it symbolic too, in a sense. If she didn’t like what he’d gone with, he supposed she could exchange it all for something else. He was still new at picking out gifts for the person he was in love with - it was possible he screwed it up.

By the time Mobius came back into the kitchen, Sharon had a cup of coffee ready for him, and another brewing for herself. “Aw, thank you. Merry Christmas, babe.” Sharon leaned in to tap a kiss against his cheek, then held out the coffee cup in exchange for the present. “I’ll go get yours.”

His box was hiding in her closet, wrapped nowhere near as beautifully as the one he presented to her. She’d picked out a nice sweater for him--the wool of which was incredibly warm and soft. This may have been why she’d picked it out. (The whole not getting enough of touching him thing? This would make it ten times worse. But she was very much okay with it.) Tucked inside the sweater was a silly coupon book for couples that she’d seen in the bookstore. She’d picked it up on a whim, and had gone back and forth about giving it to him. It was silly afterall, and … well, it kept using the word love over and over, and she wasn’t ready to say it so should she give him a book that had it written over and over? Still, they were fun. Things like “movie night” and “foot massage” and “phone free night” seemed like they were fun and innocent enough. …and they wouldn’t lead to difficult questions involving feelings.

When she arrived back in the kitchen, she set his present down on the table and snagged her coffee from the machine to doctor with the creamer. By the time he’d finished with the pancakes, she was seated at the table, waiting for him. “Should we open them together?”

Pancakes and coffee and presents - seemed like a good combo. “Sure,” he grinned, remembering to grab the syrup from the fridge as well, now that these fluffy beauties were all done (and he’d done a pretty decent job with them, if he did say so himself - at the very least, if Sharon didn’t like her gifts, she would hopefully like the breakfast).

He sat at the table, fingers tapping on the wrapped box. “Let’s do this.” He started to work at the paper, getting it off and folded in a neat pile (because most everything about Mobius was neat and orderly - most everything) and pulling out the sweater which felt soft as butter. “This is great,” he said sincerely, and the little booklet that fell out made him laugh too, when he had a good look at it. “You must really like me if you’re willing to massage my feet.”

It was said jokingly, but maybe there were a couple questions about feelings.

There was pretty much a guarantee that Sharon would like her gifts and the breakfast. Even if they were awful and it was disgusting, Sharon would still like them. They were from Mobius, after all, and she liked him. More than liked, really. She tore into the present, shredding the wrappings (because she wasn’t as neat and orderly as Mobius) and grinned brightly at the tickets once she realized what they were for. “This is wonderful!” she hugged them to her chest. “I’ve been meaning to go to this exhibit. It looks wonderful.”

And then he had the coupon book, and made a joke, and Sharon’s cheeks went pink, and she grinned shyly. “I do. Isn’t it obvious?” But the next thing she held in her had was a packet of seeds. She raised an eyebrow, holding them up for him to see. “Seeds?”

“Plantain Lily seeds,” Mobius explained - he’d probably end up sounding a little sheepish as he did, but it couldn’t be helped. He was a little bit nervous about this whole gift giving thing, even if Sharon seemed to be delighted about the first portion of it. “And it’s because, you know - they’re beautiful when they’re fully bloomed and you don’t really have anything here or in Madripoor that you can take care of or nurture, so I thought...you might want something else around. Seemed to be a good step before going for the puppy.” Besides, the blue or indigo flowers were tubular and widened into a bell shape when they were fully bloomed (as shown in the watercolor painting of the same name). The plant itself stood for devotion. He thought it was fitting.

"Definitely a good step before going for the puppy," Sharon agreed, smiling warmly. She leaned over to steal a quick kiss. "It's perfect. Thank you. I hope you'll help me pick out some pots and soil. I'm not that much of a gardener." But she was looking forward to it. Putting down roots--literally?--for the first time in… possibly ever, actually. At least in her adult life. "This is the best Christmas I've had in a long time. A long, long time." She reached for his hand to squeeze his fingers. He was the reason she was having a wonderful holiday.

Mobius leaned in too, meeting Sharon halfway for that kiss. He was relieved that the whole gift-giving adventure hadn’t gone horribly - for his first one, being in an actual relationship, he didn’t seem to have done a terrible job. “Of course I will,” he promised, hand covering hers, his thumb stroking affectionately over her knuckles. “We’ll make sure they bloom beautifully. Merry Christmas, honey.”

And save the kitten-or-puppy in a box for next time, probably.