When you walked into his office, you found Graves standing by the table staring down a roll of wrapping paper like it personally offended him.

“Tell me something — whose idea was it to make gift wrapping this damn complicated?” he asked sharply, no greeting no nothing.

“...sir?” You raised your brows, taken aback by the question. His usually neat and tidy office now looked as if a tornado passed through. Expensive gift boxes, rolls of wrapping paper, and yards of ribbon were everywhere. And Graves was staring at it all with intensity equal to defusing a bomb.

“Do you… need help?” You asked, simply because you had no idea what else to say in this bizarre situation.

“I’m just… evaluating my options.” Graves tried to play it off, but it was very obvious that the man was lost. So after only a brief hesitation, he agreed. “Show me the method. I’ll execute.”

“Right…” You muttered, still baffled by how weird all of this was. But you stepped beside him, picked one of the boxes, and began instructing him on what to do.

He tried to follow, he really did. He folded paper patiently, fought with pieces of tape stuck to his fingers, and operated scissors that seemed far too small for his hands.

"Like this?" he asked, brow furrowed in focus.

"No, no—crease it first—"

"Oh. Right."

The first attempt was… pitiful. Wrapping paper crinkled, tape everywhere, bow upside down.

“...have you ever wrapped a present before?” You asked, only half-serious.

But that’s when it became obvious. He has never done it before. Yes, he bought presents, but that was it. He delegated and outsourced wrapping them, like any other task that was too mundane for an owner and Commander of a PMC.

But now, Graves treated it like a personal challenge. And he refused to lose at gift wrapping.

He completed wrapping the second box with dangerous dedication: perfect corners, sharp folds, minimal use of tape. “See? Turns out I am good at everything.* Graves looked up smugly.

“You sure are, sir.” You nodded, hiding a smirk. “Who are these gifts even for?” You asked casually.

Then, Graves paused. “…People I don’t see much anymore. Kids, mostly.” he answered quietly.

“Nieces, nephews, my younger siblings. We’ve got a big ol’ family but… don’t remember the last time I was able to be home for Christmas.”

He cleared his throat then. “Appreciate the help… really.” he added. From Phillip Graves, such words were basically a confession of affection.