he nodded his head. “Happy Christmas everyone. Begin unwrapping.”
It was a bit like a race. Michael watched in awe as teacups and mugs were set aside, and wrapping paper went flying through the air. Even Max was tearing into his presents.
He pulled the first from his stack and set to unwrapping. Max gifted him a snazzy new watch, with multiple unknown dials and little buttons, and a cardigan in a lovely royal blue shade. He pecked him on the lips in thanks and continued with his pile.
Catherine had bought him a collector’s edition set of Lord of the Rings bobbleheads and a pair of padded black handcuffs. He stared down at the handcuffs for several seconds, and when he looked up, it was to find her smirking at him. She winked. He shook his head, laughing quietly, and tucked them back away in their box. They would definitely be of use in the future.
Most of the other presents in the stack were of the couple variety—little odds and ends for their house and such.
The very last present in the stack was addressed solely to him and the “from” bit of the tag read: Jonathon. He frowned. Who was Jonathon?
“That would be from me, Michael.”
He looked up in surprise at Mr. Stewart, then back down at the present. He bit his bottom lip as he tore into the wrapping paper to reveal a plain box. He worked through the packing tape holding the box together—Jonathon was an excessive tape user, it seemed—and flipped the top off.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, staring down at the custom paints. There were acrylics and watercolors and some of the nicest-looking brushes he had ever seen. “This is… this is so much.” Hundreds of dollars’ worth of art supplies. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Sir.” He dragged his fingers over the brushes and the paints, truly at a loss for words.
“You can call me Jonathon.”
His mouth may have dropped open a little, as his system took a minute to reboot from the shock. When it did he made sure to make eye contact as he said, “Thank you. Jonathon.”
Beside him Max was pressed tight to his side, and when he turned to look at him he was beaming. Michael kissed the side of his face, turning his head just the tiniest bit so he could whisper, “Did you hear that?”
Max nodded, reaching for Michael’s hand and clasping it tight.
Following the opening of the presents, pictures were taken, which everyone was forced to partake in, and then the rush to get the Christmas meal done was on.
Michael and Max refrained from going into the kitchen—from which quite a bit of shouting could be heard as everyone got in everyone else’s way. A good 70 percent of the shouting was coming from Jonathon and Felisha as they bickered back and forth.
Max looked mightily content with it all.
“I missed this,” he sighed, as a very loud and excessive amount of curse words flew from his mother’s mouth.
Darren snickered from where he was stretched out on the floor, playing a card game with one of the children and Catherine.
“Michael’s family does it, too,” Max said. “Michael’s father and his aunt spend a good portion of Christmas day yelling at each other. His mother doesn’t cook, which is probably for the best.”
“If my father yelled at her like that she’d probably knock him one with the skillet,” said Michael, musingly, as Jonathon cursed right back at his wife. “I can’t believe your father finally kind of likes me,” he added after another moment.
Catherine flicked a card down on the floor. “He just needed to actually see you with Max. He hadn’t really gotten that chance before. It was only just in passing when you guys first met, and then you were gone.”
Darren hummed in agreement. “And when you were around, you acted so docile it drove him crazy.”
“And then you crashed his car,” chipped in Catherine.
“Still it seems so abrupt. Can he really change his mind that fast?”
Max leaned into him. “Do you really want to look the gift
It was a bit like a race. Michael watched in awe as teacups and mugs were set aside, and wrapping paper went flying through the air. Even Max was tearing into his presents.
He pulled the first from his stack and set to unwrapping. Max gifted him a snazzy new watch, with multiple unknown dials and little buttons, and a cardigan in a lovely royal blue shade. He pecked him on the lips in thanks and continued with his pile.
Catherine had bought him a collector’s edition set of Lord of the Rings bobbleheads and a pair of padded black handcuffs. He stared down at the handcuffs for several seconds, and when he looked up, it was to find her smirking at him. She winked. He shook his head, laughing quietly, and tucked them back away in their box. They would definitely be of use in the future.
Most of the other presents in the stack were of the couple variety—little odds and ends for their house and such.
The very last present in the stack was addressed solely to him and the “from” bit of the tag read: Jonathon. He frowned. Who was Jonathon?
“That would be from me, Michael.”
He looked up in surprise at Mr. Stewart, then back down at the present. He bit his bottom lip as he tore into the wrapping paper to reveal a plain box. He worked through the packing tape holding the box together—Jonathon was an excessive tape user, it seemed—and flipped the top off.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, staring down at the custom paints. There were acrylics and watercolors and some of the nicest-looking brushes he had ever seen. “This is… this is so much.” Hundreds of dollars’ worth of art supplies. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Sir.” He dragged his fingers over the brushes and the paints, truly at a loss for words.
“You can call me Jonathon.”
His mouth may have dropped open a little, as his system took a minute to reboot from the shock. When it did he made sure to make eye contact as he said, “Thank you. Jonathon.”
Beside him Max was pressed tight to his side, and when he turned to look at him he was beaming. Michael kissed the side of his face, turning his head just the tiniest bit so he could whisper, “Did you hear that?”
Max nodded, reaching for Michael’s hand and clasping it tight.
Following the opening of the presents, pictures were taken, which everyone was forced to partake in, and then the rush to get the Christmas meal done was on.
Michael and Max refrained from going into the kitchen—from which quite a bit of shouting could be heard as everyone got in everyone else’s way. A good 70 percent of the shouting was coming from Jonathon and Felisha as they bickered back and forth.
Max looked mightily content with it all.
“I missed this,” he sighed, as a very loud and excessive amount of curse words flew from his mother’s mouth.
Darren snickered from where he was stretched out on the floor, playing a card game with one of the children and Catherine.
“Michael’s family does it, too,” Max said. “Michael’s father and his aunt spend a good portion of Christmas day yelling at each other. His mother doesn’t cook, which is probably for the best.”
“If my father yelled at her like that she’d probably knock him one with the skillet,” said Michael, musingly, as Jonathon cursed right back at his wife. “I can’t believe your father finally kind of likes me,” he added after another moment.
Catherine flicked a card down on the floor. “He just needed to actually see you with Max. He hadn’t really gotten that chance before. It was only just in passing when you guys first met, and then you were gone.”
Darren hummed in agreement. “And when you were around, you acted so docile it drove him crazy.”
“And then you crashed his car,” chipped in Catherine.
“Still it seems so abrupt. Can he really change his mind that fast?”
Max leaned into him. “Do you really want to look the gift
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