I recently found this on my computer in my general fics file on Scrivener. I wrote it awhile back. I edited it the best I could and added around 300 or so words to the ending. Anyway, it's a bit rambling, and more than a little sappy, but hopefully you'll enjoy.

As always, all reviews welcome, and favorites are appreciated.

It was rapidly approaching Christmas Eve, and one Takahashi Misaki, 22-year-old freeloader at his… partner's apartment, was facing a dilemma.

This wasn't anything new. Misaki had faced many dilemmas in his life, most of them since moving into the gigantic penthouse he'd taken to calling his home, and all of them — most of them — had been resolved in some manner or another. Christmas Eve in particular had been troublesome for the last few years, since he had to figure out what, exactly, to give the Great Lord Usami Akihiko for a Christmas Eve gift.

It wasn't like he could avoid doing it. If he did, Usagi would give him those sad puppy dog eyes, his expression stopping Misaki's heart, or maybe just sigh and put it down as Misaki being… Misaki. So every year, he had to figure out what to get for the man who has everything, or at least the funds to buy everything with.

At least Usagi didn't want anything expensive, and not because he could already buy it. Usagi had a love of commoners and common things that Misaki was beginning to suspect was borne from a very unhappy non-commoner childhood. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened to make his past so miserable — he had some idea, based on some things he'd said and heard — but he suspected that since Usagi's childhood was depressing as fuck, he was desperately trying to make up for what he'd missed now.

It was on this basis he bought Usagi a robot toy Misaki had loved as a kid when he saw it for sale at a pawn shop last month. He had considered saving it until Christmas Eve, but when he came home, Usagi had been moping over a deadline or something or other, so he gave it to him right then and there. Usagi's eyes had lit up like Tokyo at night, and Misaki's heart had beat a million beats in one minute, and he knew it had been worth it. Even afterwords, when he'd ended up walking with a limp for two days.

But Misaki didn't want to get him a toy for Christmas Eve. For one thing, it might cause him to be encouraged to buy more, and he had enough toys as it was — not those type of toys, thank you very much, at least none Misaki knew of — the bear room was already overflowing, they didn't need to stuff more crap in there. It was the main reason Misaki had nixed the idea of taking Usagi to the doll festival on his birthday — he didn't want to spend the entire day pulling Usagi back from various booths and trying to keep him distracted without batting his eyelashes and pouting his lips (an idea that made Misaki shiver in repulsion).

He'd considered taking Usagi out somewhere, but he couldn't come up with any idea where. He'd already taken Usagi to Tokyo Tower when he found out he'd never been there before ("I always figured I could get a similar view from a helicopter"). As it was, he honestly didn't have any good ideas where to take him.

Asking the man what he wanted was right out. He knew what he'd say—"you!". And no matter how happy it would make him, Misaki could not bring himself to wrap himself up in ribbons and tell Usagi to "have fun with his present"(he gagged just thinking about it).

Misaki's cluelessness as to a decent gift had led to a brainstorming session in his room a good week before Christmas Eve. He'd been lying on the bed before, staring up at the ceiling, but he kept thinking about other things — the flawless ceiling, somehow lacking any cracks; the sounds of Tokyo's evening rush, how he could hear it even up here with his window closed; how the bed he was lying on was useless, like a vestigial organ in the body of the penthouse. He didn't know how long he'd wasted trying not to think of presents and Usagi's happiness, but he'd come to his senses and taken to pacing about the room, forcing himself to focus. He was running out of time, and originality — he gave him a Christmas Cake every year, how could he make that special?

Maybe he could write him a poem. No, that idea was ridiculous — Usagi's writing abilities meant anything Misaki wrote would pale in comparison, and no matter how much Usagi liked it, Misaki couldn't bring himself to do the equivalent of giving Van Gogh a picture of anatomical incorrect stick figures drawn by a three-year-old, even considering how thoughtfully it had been made.

No, anything with words was right out — unless—

Misaki had only said it twice. Once because Usagi was flailing himself in self-martyrdom out of fear he was causing Misaki pain, and the other had been at such a low volume it almost didn't count. He had said it conditionally sometimes, sure, with"I think"s or whatever, but it had been four years now, wasn't two times in four whole years kinda sad?

He could do it, he could tell Usagi he loved—

Misaki groaned and held his head in his hands, collapsing to the floor, his back to his bed. He raised his head and let it fall back with a thump. If he couldn't even think the words, how was he suppose to say them?

He'd done it before; it couldn't be too hard!

"C'mon, Misaki," he mumbled to himself, "just say it: Usagi-san, I lov-"

It was like almost always, when the emotions crashed over him and his throat started to swell up, a thick lump forming in his vocal cords. His hands were fucking shaking, and it was like he was having a heart attack, his heart painful and seeming to stop and speed up at once, liking it was going too fast but couldn't go fast enough.

He was pathetic. Four years, and he couldn't even manage—

Well, it would be easier if Usagi was a girl! He paused, a slimy feeling forming in his stomach. He curled up in a ball and rode out the wave of unease and disgust.

He rested his elbow on his knee, his hand supporting his head. Maybe he'd try the "replace something missing from Usagi's childhood" route instead. Though, now that he thought about it, had Usagi ever heard those words during childhood?

Probably not. Misaki thought about Usagi-chichi and what little he knew of Usagi's mother. Yeah, he very likely had never heard those words during his childhood.

Though romantic love sure as hell wasn't the same thing as maternal/paternal love. He couldn't find him he latter, though, so romantic love it was. And romantic love was pretty fucking awesome.

He could practice saying it. Maybe just form the words with his mouth? Or writing them down, to normalize the swell of feelings that came with them, would that work?

He could do it one stroke at a time…

He ripped a sheet of paper from one of his school notebooks and sat at his desk, pen gripped in hand — a pencil might break, especially with the strength his hand was squeezing the pen right now. He put down the pen and wrang out his hands, cracking his knuckles and slackening his shoulders in an attempt to relax and make his task easier. Ignoring the spiral of tension forming in his stomach, he sat down and wrote the first stroke — the one that formed the first line of Usagi's name.

It took him several minutes to put down the next stroke, and then another few minutes to form the one after that. Slowly though, he managed to get out Usagi's name on paper. Now, to form the "I love you".

If writing Usagi's name was hard, writing the next words were excruciating. He managed to squeeze them out, fingers pressing the pen so hard they hurt, one stroke at a time. There.

Now he would write it again.

He continued on like this, the words getting easier to form as he went on. The onslaught of emotions was constant — in four years, they hadn't faded, only grown stronger — but at least the anxiety seemed to be weakening with each stroke. Not much, but he was getting there—

"Misaki?" the voice came through the door, following a series of knocks.

Misaki nearly jumped out of his seat, hand knocking the paper to the floor. He glanced at the clock — shit, it was already dinnertime.

"Sorry, I was distracted!" Misaki shouted out as he zipped to the door, opening it to reveal one very confused looking Usagi.

"With what?" he asked. "Something that you wouldn't want me to see —"

"No!" he shouted, a little too loudly. "I was just rereading my favorite parts of The*Kan, that's all."

A darkness flitted over Usagi's eyes. Fuck. Somehow, Misaki hadn't thought of Usagi's jealousy, though he had no idea how he could forget something as reliable as that. "Really? Then you wouldn't mind if I came in —"

"Of course!" Misaki said opening the door — before spotting the paper he'd been using on the floor. "No, wait — !"

But it was too late. Usagi's eyes were staring at the same place Misaki's where, and he elegantly strode forward and picked it up off the floor. Elegantly. Because even Usagi could make something as simple as that look incredibly elegant, somehow.

"What's this?"

Misaki tried to get the paper back, he really did, but Usagi simply waved it out of reach, holding Misaki back with his arm easily.

Usagi's eyes lit up. It was worse than when he got Usagi the robot. He really was going to have a heart attack this time — his face was on fucking fire. He leaned forward, knocking off Usagi's slackened grip, and rested his head on Usagi's shoulder.

"I wanted to say it for Christmas Eve," he mumbled. "So, I tried writing it down… a lot…"

He thought for sure Usagi would laugh at him. Instead, he felt the smallest drop of water hit his head. No way, he thought as he moved his head back to see Usagi's face.

But he was right. There were tears falling down Usagi's face. Usagi was crying. Oh no, what had he done now?

"Usagi…?" he said.

"I'm sorry I spoiled the surprise," he said. "But — thank you, Misaki. I love you." He repeated those last two sentences over and over, his face falling against Misaki's hair.

Misaki looked at him again and Usagi was smiling, one of those breathtaking smiles that made Misaki unsure how he was still alive, because if the heart attack from before hadn't killed him then the sudden loss of breath certainly should have.

He wasn't sure what to do. Usagi wouldn't stop smiling, nor crying, nor saying those beautiful words over and over. So he made up his mind to do what Usagi had done when he couldn't stop his tears, and kissed him.

He supposed he should have been embarrassed. He was, certainly, but all the emotion before had almost worn him out in the embarrassment department. The kiss was chaste, as it was, but Misaki almost managed to get his tongue in Usagi's mouth on his own. Instead, Usagi opened his lips, and his mouth began devouring Misaki's.

Now Misaki really wasn't sure how he was still breathing.

Usagi pushed Misaki down to the bed, back against the sheets, and Misaki could only gasp as Usagi released his mouth only to attack it again. He thought of mentioning dinner, but he was pretty sure it would just inspire a naughty comment, and Usagi's body heat was causing a rise in his own, so instead he wrapped his arms around Usagi's his neck, pulled up and pressed his lips against it, and tried his best to communicate the words with his mouth without actually saying them— I love you, I love you so much it hurts.

Sexual contact heightened sensations, Misaki found, but he wondered if even so Usagi could possibly understand the intricacies in the movement of lips upon skin. He couldn't bring himself to care, however, only continue the fervent contact.

Usagi moaned into his ear, something carnal and sensual and from deep within, and Misaki shut his eyes as he listened to Usagi's beautiful words: "I love you, Misaki; I love you."

Every action he'd done to express his emotions tonight suddenly didn't seem enough.

He grabbed one of Usagi's wrists, bringing the hand from its resting place on Misaki's back to press against his chest. His heart was going so fast, his body so hot; Usagi had communicated with him this way once, it was worth trying…

There was silence, no movement beyond their ragged breathing. Then, Usagi said, "I know, Misaki. I love you, too."

Misaki managed another initiated kiss, this one much hotter and wild, before Usagi pushed him to the mattress and ran cool hands over every inch of sweat-slick skin, before his tongue brought Misaki to a precipice of pleasure and let him fall in a chasm of ecstasy, and then again, when inside him and filling him, filling every cell with the sensation of love, until all Misaki could feel was him, his body and heart and soul.

In the afterglow, as Misaki clung to Usagi's body like it was his only lifeline, he knew he could never express to this man the depths of his feelings. No words would be enough, no action could convey everything he felt. But if Usagi was happy, reveling in whatever love Misaki could give him — that would have to be enough.

Next to him, Usagi was smiling. His eyes were closed. Dotting his cheeks was a mixture of sweat and tears, and Misaki could feel his lover's heartbeat in every inch of his own skin.

Yes, he thought as he gazed upon Usagi's face, this would have to be enough.