Ill Kiss Him On His Mouth Btw - Tumblr Posts
going to a tree farm with jason because he once mentioned how bruce used a real tree every christmas when he was younger. he says the smell of pine around the house comforted him when he was a child, and alfred used to make him hot cocoa while he did his homework beside the fireplace. it's an off-handed statement, and he didn't mean for the idea to worm its way into your brain. still, it did, and so you insist on getting a real tree this year as a way to bring his past and present together.
hand in hand, you walk through aisles and aisles of trees, searching for the perfect one; the abundance of green and the foresty smell of pine, almost overwhelming. you lean over, gently taking a branch in your hand, a soft hum escaping your lips as you search for a sign that it's a good contender. but after a couple of seconds of running your fingers over the needles, you sigh. "you don't know what you're looking for, huh?" he asks, and you turn your head towards him, a sheepish grin on your face. he just draws you back by the shoulders with a laugh. "it's alright. i'll help."
leading you by the hand, he weaves the both of you in and out of rows of soon-to-be christmas trees. it takes a few minutes, but he finally stops at a beautiful eight-foot-tall specimen, pointing out the shape, branch density, color, and smell. he tells you it's nothing you need to remember, but you make a mental note of the light in his eyes when he's explaining to you what makes it perfect.
getting the tree up the six flights of stairs to your apartment was difficult but surprisingly not as difficult as getting it to stand up. jason holds it up while you screw it into the tree stand, adjusting screws over and over again until he can safely back away from it without holding his arms out in fear that it'll fall over. you crawl out from under, a smile on your face as you admire how perfectly upright it is, tip almost touching the ceiling; and you take a step, moving forward to separate the branches but jump back when you feel something sharp under your foot. needles. lots of them.
he sweeps them up while you grab the ornaments you'd been keeping in a spare closet. last christmas by wham plays in the background, and a pot of cocoa boils on the stovetop, waiting to be seasoned with a dash of cinnamon just the way he likes it. "need any help?" he shouts, tossing clusters of pine needles in the trash. "no!" you shout back, pulling down boxes of glass bulbs and bobbles; but you still hear his footsteps as he treads down the short hallway to you, and grabs the box of decorations from your hands.
he looks down to see a mess of red. frosty red spheres, red birds, red metal engraved with his name and yours, et cetera. red on top of red on top of red, and he looks up at you, the beginning of a smile playing on his lips. "what? too on the nose?" you ask. he just shakes his head with a laugh, turning away to set them down in the living room before helping you with the rest. “at least tell me you’ll break up the color scheme with some silver tinsel.” he says, taking another box from you, this time red glass stars. “sorry," you say holding up a long line of sparkly red string. "the tinsel’s red too.”