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“Did he say Christmas present?” Jack asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, sheet pooling at his waist and giving Harry an eyeful of his bare chest and tattoos, a sight that never got old. “It’s not Christmas for another week.”
“He probably wants to get in before we drive to your folks’ place for Christmas,” Harry said. “He’s never done presents before, though. I wonder what he got us?”
Jack's eyes widened and he gasped, “No, he wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t what?” Harry asked, just as the door swung open again and Tristan peered at them over the top of a giant gift basket.
“Ta-dah!” he declared, dropping the basket on the bed so that it bounced. “Have fun!” He flounced out of the room.
The basket was swathed in coloured cellophane and topped with a bow big enough to choke a horse, but Harry couldn’t quite see what was inside it. He prodded at it dubiously with a fingertip, then peeled back the piece of tape holding the plastic in place.
Jack’s hand clamped down on his. “Maybe—maybe I should open it.”
“Why? I like presents!”
Jack exhaled heavily. “He once threatened to get us a sex toy basket.”
Harry stuck the tape back down. Then he bum-shuffled away from the basket so Jack could deal with it, and turned his bear’s face to the wall, just in case.
Jack unpeeled the tape carefully, the expression on his face changing from suspicion to delight as he peeled back the cellophane. Then he grinned and pulled out a DVD. “It’s Love, Simon. And there’s champagne!”
Harry scrambled forward. There was the DVD, and a bottle of champagne, and a variety of snacks and treats including honey-roasted macadamias, as well as some brand of fancy biscuits he’d never heard of that promised they were “enrobed” in chocolate instead of presumably being simply chocolate-coated, like some kind of common biscuit.
“This all looks expensive,” Jack said, shaking his head in wonder. “How could he afford this?”
Harry shrugged. “He’s been doing really well with Bad Boyfriend. He just swans up wearing leather pants, crop tops and glitter eyeshadow, and talks about how much he likes fucking. Apparently, it’s a winning formula. He was saying the other day he’s getting so many dates that he thinks he’ll have to get someone else on board.”
Harry hadn’t been a Bad Boyfriend for over a month now, not since he’d finished his final exams and found a temporary job working at a local daycare while one of their other workers was on maternity leave. It would keep his rent paid until he started as a preschool teacher in the new year, and he honestly found it a lot less stressful dealing with twenty toddlers than he did going on Bad Boyfriend dates. Bad Boyfriend had been good for the few months he’d done it, but he’d never been as well-suited to it as Ambrose, and apparently, Tris. Harry much preferred being a good boyfriend.
Which reminded him.
“Are we still doing the op shop run today?”
Jack looked up from where he was still inspecting the contents of the basket. “I can do it, if you want. Save you from having to go in.”
“This is why I love you,” Harry said, even though he loved Jack for so much more than offering to protect him from Beryl. “But no, I want to see if she’s still wearing her eyepatch on the same side. I can’t be the only person who’s noticed that!”
Jack looked at him dubiously. “Are you sure it moves?”
Was he? He almost was. “I’m going to get photographic evidence.”
“Please don’t start stalking Beryl,” Jack said. “You know she’d love to get you arrested, and I don’t think the daycare would wear it.”
“I’ll be subtle,” Harry promised. “Besides, she should be in a good mood with all the stock I’m bringing her.”
He’d spent last Saturday going through his Bad Boyfriend wardrobe and getting rid of most of it. He’d offered it to Tris, and Tris had informed him in a pitying tone that their styles “didn’t quite mesh, darling.” So back to the op shop it went, in order for Harry to make room in his closet for khakis, polo shirts and the utterly boring, sensible and stain-resistant wardrobe of a preschool teacher. Except for the peacock suit. He was keeping that, for sentimental reasons. Sometimes he just liked to look at it to remind himself of how much Jack loved him, because he’d actually willingly worn that to Mia’s wedding.
He climbed out of bed. “Are Mia and Tate coming for Christmas too?”
“I think so,” Jack said. He set the basket aside. “But maybe not for a few more days? Tate has some work thing he can’t get out of. Also Mum asked if you had a preferred Christmas dessert. I think she likes you better than me.”
“Pavlova,” Harry said. “Oh wait, was I supposed to say, ‘No, Jack, don’t be ridiculous. You’re her only son and she adores you’.”
Jack laughed. “I mean—maybe?”
“Okay,” Harry said. “You’re her only son and she adores you. But also, make sure you tell her about the pavlova thing too.” He leaned in and kissed Jack on the end of the nose. “So that’s your parents for Christmas, and mine for New Year’s.”
“Yep,” Jack agreed, smiling at him.
