Knock on Emma’s door…

You step out of the elevator, gifts in hand. They’re a bit rough-and-ready – you caught a glimpse of the presents Sarah had wrapped downstairs, and yours are nowhere near as neat or shiny or expensive-looking. You’ve never been all that great with ribbons and tags, either.

But the card’s handmade, and you spent ages picking everything out. Buying presents for somebody who has fuck-you money is incredibly difficult, you’ve discovered – Emma can buy practically anything she wants already. So what do you get the girl who has almost everything?

The answer, as it turns out, is something that makes you smile just thinking about it.

Emma’s just down the hall, and you cross the plush carpet in a few easy strides. When you knock on the door, though, there’s a squeak and a muffled thud from inside.

‘Em?’ You cock your head, not sure whether to be concerned. ‘It’s only me, sweetheart. You all right in there?’

‘Yes – quite all right! Fine!’ Emma’s voice is muffled, not to mention high-pitched.

You can feel your eyebrows lifting.

When the door finally opens, Emma’s cheeks are flushed, and her hair – usually perfect – is sticking up slightly, a few wisps stuck to her forehead. ‘Hi!’ she says breathlessly, eyes falling to the pile of gifts in your arms. ‘Oh – honestly – you shouldn’t have!’

You snort. ‘Yeah, except that I’m your boyfriend, Emma, and it’s your birthday tomorrow. So screw that.’

Emma can’t quite keep the pleased look off her face. ‘I told you…’ She reaches up to tip your chin down into a kiss. ‘I’ve already got everything I want this year.’

You have to laugh. ‘Yeah, yeah, I remember. Here’s the thing, though – this all-I-want-for-Christmas routine is adorable, seriously. But believe it or not, it just makes me want to spoil you even harder.’

Emma turns away to hide her smile. ‘You’re perfectly ridiculous, do you know that?’

You don’t bother answering, finding her lips instead and kissing her until she’s out of breath and laughing.

‘Okay, okay! Let me just – put my Mac away…’

Emma ducks away from you, and you crane your neck to see the laptop on the bed, interested. ‘What’re you watching? Netflix?’

For some reason, Emma’s cheeks have gone red again. ‘Oh – nothing, really –’ she mutters.

Then your idiot brain finally puts two and two together, and you make a dive for the laptop, just as Emma squeaks and tries to slam the lid shut.