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“He’s not joking,” Sloane informed his mother. “Last year, when he came down with some nasty bronchitis and was forced to take medical leave, I came over to his apartment. And the man whoshouldhave been taking it easy was instead almost literally climbing the walls.”

“I was dusting. The corners were filthy,” Dean protested.

“All he had was a hand duster and a dining room chair,” Sloane added.

Ana chuckled. “Well, as much as I wouldn’t argue with a good dusting through here, why don’t you come with us? I can’t afford to have any injuries on Christmas Eve.”

After dinner,Dean found himself growing sleepy and ready for bed. He’d passed out, slumped on the couch, as everyone gathered in the living room. The sounds of the family, remarkably quiet despite Shawna being there, were a wonderful backdrop to the soft Christmas music Ana had turned on. Addthe warmth of Sloane’s body against him, and Dean found himself dozing off for almost an hour.

Inevitably, it had been Sloane who’d woken him up. Dean had peered around, realizing only he and Sloane were left in the living room. Grunting, Dean allowed himself to be pulled from the couch and into the bedroom. He undressed wordlessly, collapsing beside Sloane, sighing contentedly as the man curled around him.

That little rest, though, had taken the edge off his sleepiness. Or rather, it was enough for him to realize that Sloane wasn’t going to sleep. The man was still, his breathing even, but it didn’t deepen, and while he wasn’t quite stiff, he wasn’t relaxed either. Dean waited, watching the nearby clock on the table and listening to Sloane’s breathing, wondering what was going on.

Eventually, his worry got the better of him. He rolled over, not surprised to find Sloane’s eyes open and looking at him.

“Something wrong?” Dean asked, worry fluttering in his gut.

Sloane glanced at the clock. “I’m trying to wait.”

“For what?”

“To talk to you.”

That did nothing to alleviate his worry. “About what?”

Sloane grunted, pushing up from the bed and flopping to the edge of the mattress. “Okay, not talk to you. And I should wait till tomorrow morning, but I can’t.”

Dean cocked his head, no more sure of what was happening than before. When Sloane rolled back over, he held a package in his hand. Sloane reached out, turning the bedside light to its lowest setting, letting their eyes adjust. Dean watched the light sparkle off the shiny paper, gold and red among the green streaks.

“What is that?” Dean asked.

Sloane held it out carefully, afraid it would break, or Dean might reject it. “Your Christmas gift.”

Dean took it, smiling at the crinkle of the paper and the wariness in Sloane’s eyes. “You were waiting to give me this?”

“Yeah. I should’ve waited, but I can’t. Damn thing showed up at the last second and now I can’t wait for you to open it,” Sloane grumbled, looking at his lap.

“So, I should wait to open this then?” Dean asked, holding the box up.

“Dean,” Sloane growled in warning.

“God, I love when you do that,” Dean grinned, peeling back the corner of the paper.

He peeled the paper away, laying it to the side gently. He didn’t have to ask if Sloane had wrapped it himself because, of course, he had. He would have insisted. Opening the thin box, Dean pulled out another simple wooden box with a hinged lid. Glancing up at Sloane, Dean laid the box in his lap and opened it, breath catching as he stared down at the velvet interior and what it contained.

“I know you like shiny things,” Sloane said suddenly. “But you hate anything around your neck or wrist. And I know what they say about giving people you’re dating rings that aren’t engagement rings, but I?—”

Dean shook his head, unable to find the words, as he plucked the ring from the interior. The entire ring comprised three bands, artfully twisting around one another. A brown, shiny metal made up one of the bands, a pale, porous surface made up another, and finally, the third was a soft white gemstone that bore a faint light blue hue when it caught the light.

“Copper,” Dean realized as he stared at the shiny brown metal.

“I remember you telling me you used to look for copper when you were a kid because it was apparently supposed to be everywhere in Arizona,” Sloane said.

He’d never found any, but boy, had he looked. It was also a good excuse to get out of the house, a home that had looked so nice but felt so sterile, even as a boy. But the search for copper, now that had been a bright, warm memory he could pull from his childhood.

He knew the white gemstone too. Another thing he’d told Sloane was how much Dean enjoyed it, not just for its simplicity with a hint of complexity but for what it represented. It was supposed to represent love and purity, which Dean hoped to attract to his life.

“Opal,” Dean said, stroking the white stone.