Page 130 of Body and Soul

“Bryce...” I started, but he cut me off with an enthusiastic wave of his hand.

“I know. We agreed not to get each other anything. But it's Christmas! And after everything that's happened, I wanted you to have something nice.”

The sincerity in his voice made my throat tighten. I looked down at the presents, taking in the haphazardly taped wrapping paper and slightly lopsided bows. It was clear Bryce had wrapped them himself, and the thought of him hunched over thegifts, tongue poking out in concentration as he struggled with the paper and tape, made a wave of affection swell in my chest.

Slowly, reverently, I picked up the first present.

I carefully peeled back the wrapping paper, revealing a sleek black case. Inside was a set of knives, each blade perfectly balanced and wickedly sharp. The handles were wrapped in supple black leather, molded to fit the grip of my hand. There was no note, but it had to be from Keres.

I blushed when I unwrapped the next present, which turned out to be a buttery soft leather body harness from Shepherd.

Shaking my head, I reached for a smallest wrapped box. Inside was a little plastic dinosaur, a stegosaurus to be precise. I picked up the little plastic stegosaurus, a smile tugging at my lips. It was such a simple gift, but touching. Dex had remembered that was my favorite dinosaur.

Blinking back the sudden sting of tears, I reached for Bryce's gift. It was messily wrapped, all uneven corners and too much tape, but it made me grin. Bryce's enthusiasm shone through even in his haphazard gift wrapping skills. I tore into the paper to reveal a box set of the original Star Wars trilogy on VHS. The tapes were weathered, the cardboard sleeve faded and soft with age, but it was perfect.

“I remember you said you used to watch these with your dad,” Bryce said softly, watching my face. “Before... everything.”

My throat tightened. I had mentioned it once, in passing. A rare happy memory from a childhood best forgotten. Bryce had not only listened, but he'd tracked down this relic from my past, a tangible link to a time when things had been simpler.

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling slightly as I reverently traced the faded lettering on the VHS box. A lump formed in my throat as I remembered curling up on the couch beside my dad, a big bowl of popcorn between us, as we watched Luke Skywalker battle the forces of the Empire. For those precious hours, I couldforget the cold silences and disapproving looks that usually filled our house. In the glow of the TV screen, I felt a rare connection to my stoic, distant father.

Bryce had given me back a piece of that innocence, that simple childhood joy. I looked up at him, blinking back the sting of tears. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with emotion. “This means... more than you know.”

Bryce ducked his head, color warming his cheeks. “I'm glad you like it.” He nodded to the remaining presents. “There's one more.”

I followed his gaze to a small, flat package wrapped in plain brown paper. It was unmarked, unremarkable in every way. With slightly trembling fingers, I picked up Azreal's gift. The plain brown paper crinkled beneath my touch, giving no hint as to what lay inside. I couldn't imagine the taciturn, intimidating Azreal bothering with something as frivolous as gift-giving. The fact that there was a present from him at all left me both touched and wary.

I carefully peeled back the wrapping to reveal a small wooden box. It was plain and unadorned, the wood smooth and slightly worn as if it had been handled often. A simple brass latch held the lid closed. I flipped it open to find a rosary nestled inside.

The beads were made of some dark, reddish wood, each one worn smooth by the press of countless fingers. A plain silver cross hung from the end, the metal tarnished with age. It was a humble thing, utilitarian in its simplicity.

I picked it up, the beads cool and heavy in my palm. I was not a religious man. My parents' zealotry and the cruelty I'd endured in the name of faith had long ago soured me on the concept of God. But there was something about this rosary, something in the weight of it, the feel of the weathered wood against my skin, that felt significant.

I looked up at Bryce, a question in my eyes. He gave me a small, almost sad smile. “It was our grandmother's,” Bryce said softly. “Passed down to Annie, and then to us. She was a devout Catholic, said the rosary every day without fail. I know you’re not religious, but it has…sentimental value. Especially to Azreal.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers closing around the beads. To be given something so personal, so meaningful... it was a gesture of trust, of acceptance, that shook me to my core. Azreal, who trusted no one, who kept the world at a cool distance, had given me a piece of his history, his heart, even after trying to send me away.

“I don't know what to say,” I whispered, my voice rough with emotion.

Bryce reached out, his fingers warm as they brushed over the back of my hand. “You don't have to say anything. Just know that you're one of us now, Eli. For better or worse, you're part of this strange little family we've built.”

Family. The word sent a pang through my chest, sweet and sharp all at once. I'd been alone for so long. But now I had a family.

I closed my fingers around the rosary and tucked it carefully back into the wooden box before setting it aside with the other gifts. Bryce watched me, a gentle smile on his face.

I cleared my throat, suddenly nervous. “I, uh, I actually have something for you guys, too. Well, for all of you.”

Bryce's eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Eli, you didn't have to get us anything.”

“I know. I wanted to.” I pushed to my feet, my heart thudding against my ribs. “Let me just go grab it. I'll be right back.”

I hurried down the hall to the guest room before Bryce could reply. Shutting the door behind me, I leaned against it for a moment, trying to gather myself. Nestled in the back of the small closet was a large, flat parcel wrapped in plain brown paper. I'dhidden it there a few days ago, working on it in secret during the rare moments of solitude I could steal.

With trembling hands, I retrieved the package, handling it with the utmost care. It represented hours upon hours of painstaking work, of pouring my heart and soul onto the canvas. Taking a deep breath, I carried it back out to the living room.

Bryce was exactly where I'd left him, sitting cross-legged on the blanket, surrounded by torn gift wrap and bows.

I stopped in front of Bryce, suddenly feeling shy and self-conscious. I clutched the large flat parcel to my chest like a shield, my heart pounding against my ribs. Bryce looked up at me, his hazel eyes warm and curious.

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