Work Text:
Jason Todd had survived worse than tinsel and bad sweaters.
That was what he told himself while standing in the middle of Kyle Rayner’s apartment, staring at a crooked Christmas tree like it had personally insulted him.
It leaned slightly to the left, branches uneven, lights blinking out of sync. One ornament—an ugly little snowman with a crooked grin, hung dangerously low, like it might make a break for freedom at any moment.
Kyle stood beside it, hands on his hips, paint smudged faintly along his knuckles, smiling like this was the greatest achievement of his life.
“It has character,” Kyle said, proud.
Jason snorted. “It’s a hazard.”
“Wow,” Kyle replied, offended in a way that was mostly fake. “I invite you over for our first Christmas together, and you insult my tree?”
Jason’s chest tightened at that. First Christmas together. The words carried more weight than they should’ve, settling somewhere between his ribs, warm and terrifying.
He shrugged instead, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m just sayin’. One wrong move and that thing’s gonna take out an eye.”
Kyle stepped closer, close enough that Jason could feel the heat from him, the faint hum of Green Lantern energy always lingering under Kyle’s skin. “I’ll protect you,” Kyle said solemnly. “With my life.”
Jason barked a laugh before he could stop himself. “You’re a space cop with a magic ring. I think I’ll survive.”
Kyle grinned, soft and fond, and Jason had to look away.
Christmas wasn’t… his thing. It hadn’t been for a long time. There were memories he couldn’t shake, empty rooms, forced smiles, the way the holidays used to highlight everything that was gone. Bruce’s stiff attempts. Alfred’s gentle concern. The second chance at life that never came with a second chance at simplicity.
Kyle knew this. Kyle knew him.
Which made it worse, and better, that Kyle still tried.
“Hey,” Kyle said quietly, nudging Jason’s arm with his elbow. “You okay?”
Jason rolled his shoulders. “Yeah. Just… trees hate me.”
Kyle didn’t push. He never did. Instead, he reached out, tugged Jason’s gloves off, and pressed their palms together, warm and grounding. Jason squeezed back before he realized he was doing it.
They finished decorating together. Jason hung ornaments with the precision of someone disarming a bomb. Kyle floated the star to the top of the tree with his ring, tongue stuck out in concentration.
When it was done, Kyle dimmed the lights.
The tree glowed softly, gold and green reflecting off the windows. For a moment, Jason forgot how to breathe.
“It’s… fine,” he admitted.
Kyle beamed. “High praise.”
They ordered takeout, Chinese, because neither of them trusted themselves with cooking, and ate on the couch, knees pressed together. Kyle talked about his mom, about Christmases growing up in Los Angeles, about staying up late drawing comics by tree light.
Jason listened. He always did.
Later, Kyle handed him a mug of hot chocolate, piled obscenely high with marshmallows. Jason raised an eyebrow.
“You trying to kill me?”
Kyle shrugged. “If I go down, I’m taking you with me.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the city humming outside. Jason’s helmet sat abandoned by the door. Kyle’s ring glowed faintly, responding to his heartbeat.
Eventually, Kyle stood. “Okay. Presents.”
Jason stiffened.
Kyle noticed immediately. “Hey,” he said gently. “We don’t have to if—”
“It’s fine,” Jason said, too fast. Then slower, more honest. “I just… didn’t get you much.”
Kyle smiled, soft and unbothered. “That’s okay.”
Jason didn’t believe him, but he followed anyway.
They sat on the floor by the tree. Kyle handed Jason a small, carefully wrapped box first.
Jason hesitated, then opened it.
Inside was a sketchbook.
Jason frowned, until he flipped it open.
The first page was a drawing of Jason asleep on Kyle’s couch, helmet on the floor, jacket half-zipped, one arm flung dramatically over his face. The next was Jason cleaning his guns, expression focused and calm. Another showed Jason laughing, actually laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright.
Page after page. Moments Jason hadn’t known Kyle was saving.
“I didn’t want to buy you something that felt… wrong,” Kyle said quietly. “So I drew you. Us. You can tear pages out. Add your own stuff. Or never use it at all.”
Jason swallowed hard.
“You’re not allowed to be this thoughtful,” he muttered.
Kyle smiled, a little shy. “Too late.”
Jason set the sketchbook down carefully, like it might shatter. Then he reached for his own gift, a small box he’d hidden under the tree.
Kyle opened it and froze.
Inside was a ring.
Not a Green Lantern ring. Something simpler. Black metal, etched faintly with green lines that caught the light.
Jason cleared his throat. “It’s not… I mean, I’m not proposing or anything. Unless you - I mean, not like—”
Kyle laughed, eyes already shining. “Jason.”
“I just—” Jason took a breath. “You’re always giving pieces of yourself away. To the Corps. To the universe. I wanted you to have something that’s just… yours. That you don’t have to earn.”
Kyle slipped the ring on, hands trembling. “I love it.”
Jason nodded, jaw tight. “Good.”
Kyle leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “You okay?”
Jason exhaled. “Yeah. Just… didn’t think I’d get this.”
Kyle kissed him, slow and warm, tasting like chocolate and peppermint. Jason melted into it, hands fisting in Kyle’s sweater like an anchor.
Later, they lay on the couch, tangled together under a blanket. The tree lights cast soft patterns across the ceiling.
Jason stared at them, thinking about how strange it felt, how right.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Kyle hummed, half-asleep.
“Thanks for not giving up on this,” Jason said. “On me.”
Kyle shifted, pulling Jason closer. “You don’t have to love Christmas,” he murmured. “You just have to be here.”
Jason closed his eyes, listening to Kyle’s heartbeat, steady and alive.
For the first time in a long time, Christmas didn’t feel like something he’d survived.
It felt like something he was keeping.