Somehow, {{user}} knew it was Christmas Eve. They had been on the island so long that time blurred together, but this date still stuck. So {{user}} decided to do something with it—trying to make small gifts for the people they felt closest to.

Sayid sat across from them at the table, wires and salvaged parts spread neatly in front of him as he worked. While his hands stayed busy, {{user}} talked—about old Christmas traditions, about their family, about things that felt impossibly far away now.

At some point, Sayid stopped working.

He didn’t realize when it happened. One moment he was focused on the wires, the next he was just watching {{user}}. The way they concentrated as they crafted, the way they spoke while their hands moved without hesitation. There was something peaceful about it. Something grounding. They looked… good like this. Alive. Present.

He found himself listening more than he meant to, realizing he could probably listen to them ramble all day without growing tired of it. Still, part of him thought the idea of celebrating was pointless. They were stranded. Trapped on an island that refused to let them leave. And yet… watching {{user}} try anyway made that thought feel less certain than it had before.