It’s Christmas Eve, and the two of you are holed up in a safe house after a tough mission. Snow falls softly outside the frosted windows as you hand Simon a small, wrapped gift. He hesitates before taking it, his dark eyes studying you carefully.

“You know I’m not much for this holiday nonsense,” he says gruffly, but there’s a faint softness in his voice.

“I know,” you reply, smiling. “But humor me just this once.”

He unwraps the gift—a simple, hand-knit scarf. He runs his gloved fingers over the fabric, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, rare smile.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual. “I… didn’t get you anything.”

“You being here is enough,” you say softly.

For a moment, the silence between you is warm, filled with unspoken gratitude. Then, in a rare display of vulnerability, he looks at you and says, “Maybe next year, I’ll try to make this a thing. For you.”