Archive of Our Own ^beta

Morning arrives slowly.

It doesn’t push itself into the world the way it does on school days, dragging the sun behind it in a rush. Instead pale light seeps through the curtains in thin streaks, brushing against the edges of furniture and catching the fait shimmer of the Christmas lights Tomoe had left on the night before. Outside everything is still. Cold. Quiet.

Ran wakes first.

He stirred beneath the heavy pile of blankets, shifting slightly, face pressed in to the warm fabric of the pillow, which still had the familiar scent of his girlfriend. The warmth of his body spread across the bed. For a moment he just lies there, listening to nothing, letting the world settle around him.

Tomoe is still asleep beside him. He remembers what happened the night before.

Christmas Eve had been a slow, intimate night. They had stayed up far later than expected, sitting on her bed with only the soft glow of the small tree illuminating the room. Conversation had come and gone in fits and silences, laughter half formed but was quickly swallowed by silence, both of them scared to wake up whoever may hear them. Somewhere between the yawns and quiet breaths they had ended up like this.

He hums softly, a small quiet sound.

Tomoe stirs, blinking against the pale light. “...Mornin’,” she murmurs, still half asleep.

“Morning,” Ran replies, voice low and rough from sleep. He shifts just enough to rest his head against her side, still holding onto her waist. “You… know what day it is?”

She yawns, stretching one arm over his shoulder. “It’s Christmas,” she says, voice quiet, a little dreamy.

He blinks at her, expression slow to catch up, then groans softly, burying his face against the shirt she’s wearing, his shirt, that she had borrowed when it was too cold, now smelling faintly of her and the warmth of sleep. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A quiet pause stretches between them, filled only by the small creaks of the bed or the soft electrical buzz from the cheap christmas lights. Then Ran shifts, straining his neck to face Tomoe, brushing a strand of hair from her face he speaks “...We fell asleep.” His voice slightly amazed.

“That we did” She says, smiling, still buried in a mountain of blankets.

Ran let out a soft muffled laugh, burying his face again, “Real responsible of us.” He mutters.

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Tomoe replies, reaching over to drape a hand across his shoulder “I’m very responsible.”

“Mm. You drooled on my shirt” he points out, voice teasin, still muffled against the fabric.

“...Okay, maybe not that responsible,” she admits, laughing softly, letting her head rest against him.

Ran snorts, shifting to pull the blankets a little closer around them both. The cool winter air brushes their skin where the sheets slip, but he doesn’t move away. Tomoe tugs them back, instinctively pressing closer.

“It’s cold,” he murmurs.

“Yeah. Stay here,” she says, pulling him closer.

He doesn’t resist.

For a while, they just laid there, listen to the quiet, the world outside in the pale morning light. Ran traces idle shapes against her side with his fingers, the smalle patterns make her heart beat just a little faster, and she pretends not to notice.

“... You okay?” he asks finally, voice low.

“Yeah,” she says, letting her gaze drift over to him. “Just kinda nice, y’know?”

“Nice?”

“Waking up like this,” she says, hair hand gesturing in the air vaguely, “with you. It just feel right.”

Ran feels his ears burn up immediately. “You can just say stuff like that first thing in the morning.”

“What? It’s Christmas,” she says, grinning. “I’m allowed”

After a while, the cold wins.

Not by much, just enough that Ran shifts again, rubbing at his arms under their shared blanket. Tomoe notices immediately.

“You’re freezing,” she says.

“I am not.”

“You are,” she replies, already moving. “C’mon.”

They don’t go far. Just down the hall, blankets dragged with them, feet cold against the floor. The kitchen is dim, still asleep like the rest of the house. Tomoe moves around it easily, like she’s done this a thousand times before, while Ran lingers near the counter, watching.

Steam curls up from the mugs when she hands him one.

“Careful,” she says. “It’s hot.”

He takes it anyway, hands wrapping around the ceramic. “You always say that.”

“Because you never listen.”

He smiles into the mug, then pauses. “…Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s— um.” He hesitates, then reaches into the pocket of the jacket he’d grabbed on the way out of the room. “I meant to give this to you later, but… now feels fine.”

He holds it out, it’s small and unassuming. Wrapped slightly crooked.

Tomoe blinks. “Ran.”

“Just… Open it.”

Inside is a small book.

It’s cover is worn soft at the edges, the kind of thing meant to be held more than displayed. When Tomoe opens it, she finds flowers pressed carefully between the pages, each one flattened and preserved with deliberate care. Above each flower, in Ran’s handwriting, is a short note. Simple, uneven, unmistakably his. Dates. Places. Sometimes just a word or two.

She turns the pages slowly, afraid that moving too fast will undo the care it took to make it. Some of the flowers she recognises immediately. Others she doesn’t, but she can still remember the days they came from: afternoons spent wandering with no real destination, moments she hadn’t realised just what he’d been paying attention to.

She looks up at him, her chest tightening in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. She doesn’t speak for a moment.

Ran shifts, suddenly very interested in his mug. “You don’t gotta. I mean, if it’s dumb, it’s fine, I just…”

She steps closer before he can finish, resting her forehead against his. “It’s not dumb,” she says quietly. “I love it.”

He exhales, tension draining out of him. “…Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, warm and real. “Thank you.”

They don’t exchange anything else, Tomoe had nothing to bring out to give to him, not that she would need to, this was enough.

They ended up back on the couch, still wrapped in blankets, mugs forgotten on the table. Outside, the world is waking up properly now. Somewhere down the street, someone laughs.

Ran leans in to her side, head resting against her shoulder.

“Merry Christmas,” he says.

She presses a kiss to the top of his head, “Merry Christmas.”

And for a while longer, that is where they stayed.