"Um-" Dylan's expression was sheepish as he used one hand to fumble in his jacket pocket for his keys. "I kind of did a little more than just a fireplace." He said, smiling, his lips thin, cheeks flushed from the cold outside and the effort of bringing the tree up six flights of stairs, and from being so happy that, in a way, he was fit to bursting. Finally, he dug his key out of his pocket, pushed it into the lock, turned it and opened the door. Yes. He had done a little more than the fireplace. There was a fireplace, of course, but there was so much more. The farthest wall, the one with the window, was covered in snowflakes. The wall on the left, near the kitchenette, was a brilliant meadow, not seasonal, but still beautiful. The wall on the right was the fireplace, and it was obvious that it had taken the most time. The bricks were an odd reddish orange, and the fire was a mixture of blue and green, but still, it was painstakingly crafted for this day, this moment. The bed had been pushed to about two feet away from the "fireplace."
Dylan pocketed his key, still embarrassed, and helped Dave to pull the tree inside his apartment. That accomplished, he slung one arm around Dave's neck and pressed a warm kiss to his lips. "It could be better." He said after pulling away slightly.