Now, Dave was done. Red and green wrapped boxes were arranged under the glowing hues of the Christmas lights, wrapping paper sparkling below as if some unicorn took a shit on them. It wasn't the prettiest display, but what it lacked in a "womanly touch" would be made up for by the awesome things inside. More shitty swords and weird mechanical pieces for the little Strider this year. He'd love it.

Dave sighed and flopped onto the couch, one arm resting on the back while his other hand meandered to the small plate of cookies his little brother left for Santa on the side table. The fat, jolly man wasn't real. They both knew that, but he still placed out those cookies every year. Tradition. Fucking tradition.

Popping one of those cookies into his mouth, Dave stared at the multicolored lights wrapped around the small, wiry thing they called a Christmas tree. Small glass orbs were littered around the strands of color, hiding the fact that the tree was nearly bare in the center. He meant to buy a better tree earlier, but he'd forgotten. Not that it mattered. Neither he nor his little brother cared about the tree. The only reason he bothered was to give the impression that he cared for this silly holiday.

It wasn't a facade he put on for his brother, but for his ridiculous work mates who insisted this was the season of joy and happiness. In a sense, it was true. Wrapped in most of those packages was little bursts of happiness his brother would show. Each smile was worth whatever lingered inside. There was a few things in there for himself too. Little shit he wanted but waited to own until now, like another pair of sunglasses. Black aviators with black wiring to match. They looked exactly like the ones Ben Stiller handed him a few months back. Even came with the same red case. Stiller said they were a gift.

"They're neat, right? The real deal too! They're the authentic Ben Stiller sunglasses."

That voice popped into his head when he first opened that red glasses case. The boyish words made it sound like he'd owned these very pair of glasses before. But these sunglasses didn't come into his life before Ben. No, he only had cheep, plastic pairs that he could easily replace with five dollars if he ever lost them. Then he received these, and Dave never bought another cheep pair again.

No, he made sure these were always perfect. Lenses were scratch free, legs straight, and if something happened to them, Dave took time out of his day to make sure they were properly fixed. On the off chance they weren't being used, they were always tucked away in that red case, protected from any harm. Sure, it was a cool gift, but to Dave, there was more to these shades. They reminded him of someone important. The name and face were lost from his memories, but that boyish voice was there, starting the same conversation.

"Now I can't even compete with myself. What am I suppose to give you next Christmas?"

Dave swallowed the cookie, but didn't reach for another. Instead, he spoke. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Yeah, but it won't be as cool."

"Doesn't matter."

He hears laughter, but there's no words. No answer. Then the laughter drains away. That's where the conversation always ended, without fail. Somehow, Dave knew that he'd had this conversation with someone really, really important. It wasn't a logical thought. He couldn't back it up with anything. There was no name, no face, nothing but that stupid, boyish voice and that addictive laughter.

Dave leaned his head back, resting it on the back of the couch as he sighed again, staring blankly at the ceiling through those dark lenses. His hands tightened against the couch back. Feeling tears pool, Dave closed his red eyes to hold them back. His lips quivered. A lump formed in the center of his throat. He tried to rid it with a swallow, but the lump wouldn't budge. Slowly, he exhaled and words slipped out with it.

"You know what'd be cooler? You being here."

"Don't be silly, Dave. We both know that can't happen."