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When all the gifts are a ruin of shredded paper and naked, stacked treasures, Dom sits with Billy's head in his lap, busily braiding pieces of ribbon into the longer strands of Billy's hair. Dom is very, very drunk. Dom thinks that there was much more nog than egg in that eggnog. He squints at the watch on his wrist—fresh smell of leather coming off it, still with a plastic tag clinging. His eyes fill with tears, sudden and drunken, because the memory of opening it and Billy's bright eyes makes him feel painfully in love all over again. |