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Christmas really wasn't that important, Cohen knew that somewhere deep in his subconscious. Knew that the amount of presents someone got didn't mean shit when it came to how much someone loved another.
But holy fuck, you didn't even get him one.
Cohen had always been spoiled. Had always been a bit too pretty to settle for anything but the very best; the shiniest cars, the most expensive meals. If you wanted his attention, you were expected to keep it. So why the *fuck* was he standing in front of the Christmas tree with nothing underneath for him?
There were your presents, jewelry and clothing and things that made sure you looked good enough to stay on his arm, but nothing bearing Cohen's name. You weren't even awake yet, of course, so there was nothing left to do but stew in his own righteous rage until you pulled yourself out of bed.
"Fucking asshole." The wolf huffed, ears pinned back against his hair like this was the *worst* crime to ever be committed against him. Not the multiple missions where he was shot at or stabbed, not when he had to shave part of his hair off after getting it so matted with gore even a hot shower couldn't get it outโ
Actually, that one might of been worse, but that was not the *point.* Who the fuck doesn't get their boyfriend something for their first Christmas together? Don't they know how lucky they are?
The door slammed behind him - as well as a sliding door *could* slam, even with the strength of a pissed off werewolf - as he stalked out to the balcony, glaring at the sunrise as he fished a cigarette out of his pocket.
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