#morgan: self-thread008

[deejayisms]

some time of year to be with the one you love || self-thread

WHO: Morgan Weston, Food Sampler St. Nick, Eva Anderson and Noah Puckerman

WHERE: Grocery Store

WHEN: The 25th of December

WHY: Morgan is struggling to figure out what to give Eva and Puck for the holidays, but a kind, jolly man helps him out.

SONG INSPIRATION: The Eagles - Please Come Home for Christmas

Morgan Weston stood in the middle of the bustling grocery store, shifting from one booted foot to the other as he stared at a display of chocolates. His fingers absently stroked his beard, a habit when he was deep in thought. The store was packed with holiday shoppers, the hum of carols playing faintly in the background blending with the chatter of customers and the squeak of cart wheels.

He’d been walking these aisles for nearly an hour, feeling more like a lost kid than the easy-going cowboy he was known to be. His cart was empty except for a box of crackers he’d grabbed on a whim.

Puck’s Chrismakkah party was tonight, and Morgan couldn’t show up empty-handed. Thanksgiving had been a delicate balancing act - his relationship with Puck and Eva felt like trying to keep a loose saddle steady on a wild horse. Both of them had kissed him since then, separately, leaving his heart in knots. Now, as the holidays rolled around, he wrestled with whether there was any real hope for them, or if it was just wishful thinking on his part.

"Flowers again?" he mumbled to himself. He shook his head. Thanksgiving had been flowers. It felt repetitive, uninspired. Wine was out - Puck and Eva didn’t drink. Morgan wasn’t about to show up with something impersonal like a candle, either. This wasn’t just any party. It was Puck's party, Eva was probably going to be there, and he wanted what he brought, to matter.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the older man at the sample station waving at him until he was almost in front of it. “Hello there, son,” the man greeted warmly, holding out a small square of gingerbread on a napkin. He had a kind face framed by a thick white beard and was dressed in a festive red sweater adorned with embroidered snowflakes. His belly shook a little as he chuckled, though Morgan wouldn’t dare call him Santa out loud.

“Afternoon,” Morgan said, managing a polite smile as he accepted the gingerbread. He read the nametag on his red sweater briefly. Nick. “You look like you’re trying to solve the meaning of life,” Nick teased gently. “Gotta say, the holidays’ll do that to you.”

Morgan chuckled softly. “Feels like it, yeah. Got a party to go to, and I can’t figure out what to bring.” The older man studied him for a moment. “Special party?” Morgan hesitated but nodded. “Yeah, kind of.”

“Ah,” Nick said knowingly. “The kind where what you bring says a little something about how you feel?” Morgan’s brows lifted in surprise. “How’d you guess?”

“Seen plenty of fellas like you come through here this time of year.” The man leaned on the counter as if settling in to chat. “Here’s the thing: if it’s about showing you care, what you bring doesn’t have to be fancy. Just thoughtful. What kind of folks are you visiting?”

Morgan thought for a moment. “They’re... warm, generous. They’ve been through a lot, and they mean the world to me.” His voice softened. “More than I probably let on.”

The older man smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Sounds like good folks. You know, sometimes the best gifts aren't something you pick off a shelf. Maybe it’s something that reminds them of who they are to you.” Morgan tilted his head. “Like what?”

Nick glanced at Morgan’s cart, then back at him. “Got a picture with these people? Something from a time you were happy together? Put it in a nice frame, wrap it up. That way, every time they see it, they’ll think about what you shared - and what you still could have.” Morgan blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the idea. “A picture?”

The jolly man nodded and gave him a soft smile. “Doesn’t have to be fancy. Just something from the heart. Best thing about this time of year - it’s about remembering what matters most. And it sounds to me like they matter a whole lot to you.” Morgan felt something in his chest loosen, a little of the weight lifting. “That’s-... a really good idea. Thank you.”

“Anytime, son,” the man said with a wink. “Now go find that frame. Bet you’ll find what you’re looking for on aisle five. Oh, and how about this pack of gingerbread cookies - I'm sure they'll go down a treat.” Santa- Nick handed him a packet, and Morgan laughed as he took it, giving him a gentle nod and a smile, before heading off. By the time he left the store, his cart held two simple but elegant frames, some festive wrapping paper, and ribbon. And of course the gingerbread cookies that the man had been handing samples out of.

---------

Later that evening, standing on Puck’s doorstep with the wrapped frames tucked under his arm, Morgan took a steadying breath. Both frames held pictures taken with each person. He'd tried his hardest to wrap them the neatest he could, but remembered the white-bearded man's wise words: “It's about remembering what matters most.” And to Morgan, the time they'd spent together meant the world to him.

The house was lit with a warm glow, the faint sound of laughter and music drifting through the door.

Hope.

It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was enough to carry him through. He knocked, and as he waited for the door to open, Morgan felt just a little lighter.