It took a little over four hours, but finally, my apartment started looking like Christmas.

Correction — our apartment.

At least, that's what Val called it after she declared I didn't have "the aesthetic coordination or emotional sensitivity required to handle something as sacred as Christmas décor."

Which is why, for the last few hours, I'd mostly stood back as she took full control, orchestrating the living room like a battlefield general armed with tinsel and fairy lights.

The tree came first — a real one, of course. Val wouldn't have it any other way. The living room smelled faintly of pine as she fluffed the branches and layered them with gold ribbons and snowflake ornaments, humming under her breath like she was decorating for royalty. She tied small red bows onto the ends of the curtains, arranged the gift boxes (empty, of course — "it's for symmetry," she'd said), and placed a glittering reindeer figurine near the window "because every reindeer deserves natural lighting."

The coffee table now had a centerpiece, three white candles arranged in a silver tray surrounded by pinecones and gold-dusted leaves. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and vanilla from the scented candles she'd insisted on lighting.

It was chaos — organized, sparkling chaos. But somehow, when she was done, the place looked like the kind of picture you'd see on a Christmas magazine cover.

Val took a step back, hands on her hips, surveying her masterpiece. "There," she said with satisfaction. "Now it feels like Christmas."

I didn't argue. Mostly because she was right, and partly because she'd been climbing, stretching, and moving around for hours, and the last thing I wanted was to get into another round of "creative debates."

So I just sat on the couch, laptop balanced on my lap, pretending to work while actually scrolling through jewelry collections online. For the first time since forever, I could actually afford to get her something nice, and by nice, I meant expensive nice.

Something that could hold its own next to the one piece of jewelry she never took off — the ring she'd made me buy in our first semester.

From the bathroom, I heard the sound of running water and her humming. She always hummed when she showered, a habit that never failed to make me smile. The tune was offbeat, sometimes random, but it was her.

The phone vibrating next to me broke the moment.

Derrick.

I sighed and picked up. "Hey."

"Hey, Kai! Man, you sound like someone who's been buried in spreadsheets for three days straight."

I leaned back. "Not far off. What's up?"

"Nothing much," he said, way too casually, which was my first warning. "Just calling to see if you're coming to the pre-Christmas party tomorrow."

"What pre-Christmas party?"

"The one some of the teams at the office put together last minute," he said quickly, like if he said it fast enough I wouldn't realize what he was actually saying. "Y'know, drinks, games, music. Real festive stuff."

"Last minute," I repeated slowly. "And by 'last minute,' you mean you were part of the planning committee."

"Technically, yes," Derrick admitted. "But in my defense, they needed someone with taste. And you know I'm the life of the party."

I rolled my eyes. "And?"

"And," he continued cheerfully, "you should come. Bring your other half, your plus one, your emotional support human. Everyone's bringing someone, spouses, girlfriends, boyfriends, maybe even a few grandmas. You know, make it a family thing."

I smirked. "You're bringing your grandma?"

"Don't tempt me, man. You know she parties harder than half the staff."

I laughed softly. "Yeah, that's true."

Of course, he was joking, nobody was actually bringing their grandma.

"So you're coming, right?" He added.

"I'll think about it," I said, which — for me — meant no.

"Cool, cool. Translation: I'll call you again in two hours to remind you. Later, man."

Before I could respond, he hung up.

I set my phone aside just as the bedroom door opened. Then came Val, in one of my shirts and shorts so small the shirt barely covered them. Her hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and she smelled faintly of vanilla and peppermint.

She caught me looking and grinned. "Who was that?"

"Derrick," I said, quickly closing the laptop tab with the jewelry collection before she got curious. The last thing I needed was her noticing and pretending not to know, only to spend the next few days "accidentally guessing" what I'd been looking at.

She nodded and walked over, sitting cross-legged on the couch beside me, facing me completely. "Work stuff?"

"No," I said. "Apparently, the guys at work planned a pre-Christmas party. Last minute thing."

Her eyes lit up instantly. "A party?"

I pointed at her. "No."

"What?" she said, widening her eyes in mock innocence. "I didn't even say anything."

"I know that look," I said.

She tilted her head, blinking exaggeratedly. "What look?"

"The one that says you're already planning what we're wearing."

Her mouth twitched into a guilty smile. "Okay, maybe a little. But come on, Kai. It's the holidays! You can't just sit at home all day."

"I'm perfectly fine sitting at home," I said.

She ignored that completely, tugging gently on my hand with both of hers. "Look at it this way. Christmas is about joy, togetherness, and good memories. Staying home on the couch is not the spirit of the season. You don't want to be the Grinch who closed Christmas, do you?"

I gave her a flat look. "You just made that up."

> "Doesn't make it less true."

I huffed a laugh. "How do you even come up with these things?"

She smiled proudly. "It's a talent."

And somehow, despite knowing exactly how this was going to go, I found myself saying, "Fine. But if Derrick starts singing, I'm leaving."

"Deal!" she said instantly, grinning like she'd just won a war. Then she leaned forward, brushing a kiss on my cheek. "You won't regret it."

I sighed, because I already did, and yet, I knew I'd go anyway. Because she wanted to. Because seeing her eyes light up like that was worth more than the quiet I'd lose.

And that's how, four days before Christmas, I found myself parked outside a rented event hall — lights strung across the entrance, music spilling faintly through the walls — wondering, not for the first time, how she always managed to pull me into things I swore I wouldn't do.

---

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