Is it a box of burgers? (jonas asks wryly, closing the door when all bodies are inside. his place doesn't smell like coagulating blood anymore, but it still looks like a nineteen-year-old boy's living space. combined, these facts yield a net positive—yay.

ichigo shouldn't mind.

jonas stops in front of him, hands intent on the flaps of the box.

words do reach attentive ears, although he ignores them for a moment, too busy lifting a few items. a tiny reindeer with a red nose made of birch tree and sticks, fairy lights ichigo's sprite seems uncannily interested in, the poinsettia, which looks old-fashioned wearing its garland—to name a few. the gesture means a hell of a lot more to his expression might suggest; brow pinched, he looks almost confused. it's been difficult lately for him to stem tears, missing home and father, and he just manages it, feelings staying knotted tightly in his throat instead.

that doesn't stop him from forcing his head into a jerky nod, overwhelmed. with nowhere to direct the energy but forward, he brings an arm around ichigo's shoulders, mindful of the box and its contents, and gives him a brief squeeze of a hug.

sorry, dude.)

Thank you. I... I don't know what Los Pastores is, man, but Christmas is—it's important to me, you know? (drawing away, the box comes with him, placed on a lone chair gathering dust.) I never liked it before, it's just—I miss it now. This means a lot.

(the sprite, ignored and bitter about it, folds their arms with an indignant sigh.)