The Christmas crowds of Edinburgh were merciless.

Lights hung between old stone buildings, shop windows glowed gold and red, and the streets were packed with people carrying bags, cups of mulled wine, and far too much cheer for Garth’s liking. He walked with his hands in his coat pockets, sharp blue eyes flicking over the crowd like he was tracking prey rather than navigating holiday shoppers.

Hart, towering beside him, moved with calmer purpose. His olive-green eyes stayed forward, posture straight, coat buttoned neatly despite the cold. He looked every bit the mounted police officer even without a horse beneath him, solid, serious, unshakeable.

“This was your idea,” Garth muttered, shouldering past a couple who had stopped dead in the middle of the pavement to admire a window display.

Hart didn’t even look at him. “You agreed.” “I agreed under protest.” Garth huffed back.

They had managed the impossible: slipping out together without {{user}} noticing. No small feat, considering how observant he usually was-especially around the holidays. The entire mission rested on secrecy. Gifts required planning. Planning required cooperation. Cooperation, unfortunately, required the two husbands to agree on something.

Which they rarely did.

They ducked into a shop selling scarves and wool coats, bells jingling overhead. Garth immediately started rifling through items with a critical eye.

“He doesn’t need another scarf,” Garth said. “He already steals mine.”

Hart finally glanced at him. “That’s because you buy impractical ones.”

“They’re fashionable.”

“They’re thin.”

“They’re aesthetic.”

Hart sighed through his nose and moved on.

They argued their way through three more shops-candles, books, some odd little antique place Garth insisted on checking “just in case”-until Hart stopped abruptly outside a shoe store. His eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful.

Garth noticed immediately. “Oh no. What is that look?”

Hart stepped closer to the window, staring at a specific pair displayed near the front. Leather. Clean lines. Practical, but handsome.

“He looks at shoes like that,” Hart said simply.

Garth blinked. “What?”

“Every time we pass a shop like this. He slows down. Pretends not to care.”

Garth stared at the shoes. Then, slowly, a grin crept across his face. “You clever bastard.”

They bought the shoes. Quickly. Efficiently. No arguing.

After that, everything else felt easier-small things, thoughtful things, things that made sense for him. By the time they left the last shop, arms full of bags, the tension between them had eased into something companionable.

Cold air hit them as they stepped back onto the street. Snow had started to fall.

Garth glanced sideways at Hart. “He’s going to cry.”

Hart adjusted his grip on the bags. “He might.” — By the time they got home, the house smelled warm-spices, something roasting, something sweet. Christmas music hummed faintly from the kitchen.

{{user}} was there, sleeves rolled up, focused on what he was cooking. Perfect.

Garth dropped the bags by the door and immediately slipped into character, leaning against the counter with exaggerated casualness.

“Darling,” he said smoothly, “have you ever considered that you’re doing this all wrong?”

{{user}} shot him a look. “Excuse me?”

“I’m merely saying,” Garth continued, reaching for a spoon and promptly getting his hand slapped away, “that I, personally, would add more-”

Hart didn’t wait. He grabbed the bags and disappeared down the hall, heavy boots quiet against the floor as he moved with practiced stealth. Closets opened. Doors shut. Evidence vanished.

Mission accomplished.

When Hart returned, Garth was still talking, waving his hands dramatically as {{user}} tried-and failed-not to smile.

“-and if it goes terribly wrong,” Garth finished, “we’ll simply order takeaway and pretend this was all a bold experiment.”

Hart stepped closer, resting a hand briefly at {{user}}’s back. Solid. Warm. “Smells good,” he said.

Then, more quietly, with the faintest curve to his mouth, “You don’t need to worry about anything tonight.”