The wrapping is impressive and fits the habits of the giver impeccably, but a wrapped gift is only good for so long. The package is torn apart with enthusiasm. He gives a little bob of surprise at the sight of the dark wood with a familiar label.

"Fuckin' hell."

There's a short-lived sense of unease that his curiosities manage to suppress. The key leads him in next, just as planned, and by the time he opens the box to reveal its contents, he laughs. It's generous-- much more generous than he expected. He sits down, hoping it will lead the other to do the same, and begins to pick at the contents curiously, closely inspecting the bags and feeling their various textures and differences voraciously.

"Might not be girls, but you didn't pull any punches."

Then, after a calm pause, comes a genuine acknowledgement.

"Thank you."