Page 71 of The Official Problem
“It’s very… festive?”
“Well, it is Christmas and all.”
Matthieu couldn’t remember the last time he’d decorated for Christmas. Probably that first one he and Julie spent together after he became her official guardian. It hadn’t been like this, though. He’d found a tree being given away on Facebook and assembled it one day while Julie was at school. It wasn’t until he clicked the last tired, slightly bald plastic branches into place that he realized they didn’t own a single ornament—and sank to his knees in front of the thing and cried.
By the time Julie got home, he’d recovered slightly. The smile on her face when he presented it to her healed most ofthe hurt. They spent that night making ornaments out of paper and old Amazon boxes they’d found by the apartment dumpster, hanging them with paper clips as hooks. She gave him the biggest hug and called it the best Christmas ever. It had been a terrible Christmas, really, but she’d known Matthieu needed to hear that so he could hold it together.
The memory made his heart ache. It made him want to break down and finally call her. The problem was that he wasn’t sure she would answer.
“Do you usually decorate for Christmas?” he asked around the lump in his throat.
“Not usually. But this year, I had someone to decorate for.”
Oh.Oh.That made Matthieu’s heart do weird, bouncy things.
He swallowed the urge to tell Kieran he shouldn’t have bothered—that he didn’t need garlands, or a tree, or gifts. The only thing he wanted for Christmas stood less than a foot away, eager and expectant, waiting for his approval.
“Thank you,” he whispered once he’d managed to pull himself together. There was absolutely not a tear forming in the corner of his eye. “I love it.”
The grin that broke across Kieran’s face was dazzling. “I hoped you would. Can I get you a drink?”
“Water’s fine.”
Kieran disappeared into the kitchen, like he sensed Matthieu needed a moment. Matthieu kept his back turned, staring at the Christmas tree, willing his face to stop doing the scrunched-up thing it did when tears were imminent. He wasn’t sure why this was hitting him so hard. He’d just never had someone care enough to make something special for him.
There was a soft clink of glasses on the coffee table, and then two strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Kieran pressed gentle, open-mouthed kisses into the side of Matthieu’s neck, inhaling the scent of him, which probably stillcarried hospital disinfectant. He didn’t seem to mind. He stayed there, surrounding Matthieu with warmth, rocking slightly as Matthieu finally let himself feel the emotions barreling through him.
“It’s not the same without Julie here,” he confessed. He felt like an asshole admitting that, when Kieran had gone out of his way to do all this.
Kieran hummed softly in understanding.
“I’m sorry,” Matthieu whispered.
“None of that.” Kieran turned him slowly, looking down at him with the world’s most earnest eyes. “I know Christmas is hard this year, with Julie away and your mom in the hospital. I wanted to make it a little happier, but you’re allowed to feel sad. We can call Julie if you want. Maybe I can get her to talk to you. And tomorrow, we’ll visit your mom again. Novak’s wife left homemade cookies. We could bring her some?”
Matthieu didn’t deserve a man like Kieran. Never had. Never would.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered against Kieran’s lips.
“Nah, that’s all you.”
They stood for what felt like hours, pressed together, eyes locked, lips millimeters apart. Tears traced quiet tracks down Matthieu’s face. Kieran whispered soft reassurances into the space between them. He didn’t hurry him or complain that Matthieu was ruining the night he’d planned. He was just patient. Present. Solid, until Matthieu finally blinked the last of it away.
He felt raw, but Kieran was already soothing the wounds, spreading himself across the lacerations in Matthieu’s heart and healing the worst of the fractures. Matthieu thought he might be okay now that Kieran was back in his life. That felt like the biggest Christmas gift of all.
“Can I give you your present now?” Kieran asked, setting down his half-eaten Mongolian beef on the coffee table and jumping to his feet before Matthieu could object.
Kieran had threatened to cook a full Christmas spread once Matthieu was strong enough to stand on his own again, but they’d settled on takeout once Matthieu promised to help with the Christmas cooking if they pushed it off until tomorrow. Matthieu was a good cook—or at least, he liked to think he was. He’d had plenty of practice over the years, taking care of himself and Julie, even before their mother had been moved to Oakcrest.
Kieran reappeared with a medium-sized box, horribly wrapped in at least three kinds of paper and what looked like an entire roll of tape. He shoved it into Matthieu’s lap. It was heavier than expected.
“I wish you hadn’t,” he muttered, picking at a torn corner of the wrapping.
“I think you’ll like it.”
Matthieudidlike it. Scratch that, he loved it.
It had taken some serious effort to free the gift from its wrapped prison, but now the box sat open in his lap, he was in very real danger of crying again. When had he become someone who felt so many damn emotions? At least lately, they were the weepy kind—the kind that came with leaking eyes, not the ragey ones that paired well with holes in the wall.
