lu's library @lumi-nescentt - Tumblr Blog

Ex Under The Tree ╰┈➤ NM29

summary: after breaking up with your now ex boyfriend just after halloween, you decide to push through the rest of the holiday season without telling your family. coming home for christmas should’ve been easy, but that all changes when you walk in and see your ex already there…ugly christmas sweater and all.

[word count] 18.5k

pairing: nathan mackinnon x reader

a/n: a full nate fic has been a long time coming! and i must say, i feel like this is the perfect story for him — enjoy loves. title loosely inspired by underneath the tree by kelly clarkson…just gives that vibe

🎶 underneath the tree by kelly clarkson, last christmas by wham!, blue christmas by elvis presley, sue me by audrey hobert, christmas morning by megan moroney, tis the damn season by taylor swift, have yourself a merry little christmas by john legend, a couple minutes by olivia dean + celebrate me home by lizzy mcalpine

you're not sure when being with nathan went from matching halloween costumes—this past year, paint covered jumpsuits incapsulating the most perfect scene in movie history. julia stiles and heath ledger in 10 things I hate about you. naturally—to this.

sitting on your new couch in your new apartment, internally matching the sad and empty vibes of your place, inside your hallow chest. the lights of your fake christmas tree flicker pathetically, but besides the little light they give off, you're in the dark. too unbothered with getting up to flick on the overhead light, you just sit in your empty living room, half cold tea on the armrest and picking at your chapped lips like it's an olympic sport.

chapped lips because you left your favourite lip balm at your ex boyfriends apartment—one you shared. obviously, you're not going back there to get it. you told yourself you'd just buy a new one! but the store has been sold out for almost two months and you're seriously going crazy.

a usual colorado snowstorm whirls outside, snowflakes smacking against your window panes like little harsh reminders of just how everything is going. you're in the climax of your own sad romance movie—when julia stiles finds out that heath ledger only perused her for a bet. except in this version, there's no happy ending.

ugh! throwing tomatoes at yourself. seriously.

you pull your fingers away from your raw lips as your phone vibrates against the cushion beside your leg. pausing whatever below deck variation you'd been half paying attention to on tv, you grab your phone and hold the screen so it's doesn't go dark.

mom

hey honey. when you and nathan are on your way up to ours tomorrow night, can you stop by the store and grab the...

you stare at it like your phone just personally insulted you—which, in a way, it did. you and nathan. the words feel like a paper cut: small, but somehow way too painful for what it is. you picture your mom typing it out, smiling to herself, probably imagining the two of you laughing in the car, him driving with one hand on the wheel and the other reaching over to squeeze your knee. gross. cinematic. tragically outdated.

you don't open the thread to read the rest, to busy stumbling over the coupling of your name and his. you send her a thumbs up and all but throw your phone back down to the cushion.

your tea has gone entirely cold now, a thin film forming on top like it's given up on being comforting. you take a sip and immediately spit it back in like its poison.

you glance around your apartment, half expecting it to respond to your despair. the couch says nothing, the fake tree keeps flickering like it's on its last emotional leg, and the framed print you've been meaning to hang for three weeks still leans against the wall. it's a sad little ecosystem of almosts.

you think about texting your mom again. this time to correct her. you imagine yourself just putting on your big girl pants to type say like actually, it's just me now, or nathan's not coming—ever again, preferably, but even the thought feels exhausting. you don't want the pity. or worse, the oh, sweetheart, you'll find someone new speech, which should honestly be punishable by law.

but instead, you reach for the half empty bag of pretzels on your coffee table and crunch one loudly, like it might drown out the ache in your chest. it doesn't.

the snow outside is falling harder now, blurring the view of the streetlights until everything looks like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. you remember how nathan used to make fun of your obsession with snow—said it made you "romanticize seasonal depression." you told him that was rich coming from a man who once got all pouty when you did that tiktok prank on him about wanting to go home early.

you almost laugh at the memory. key word being almost.

the thing is, you and nathan? you were good together. until you weren't. until life became less about shared playlists and more about shared internalized emotion and mismatched expectations. now, you're here—alone, lip balm-less, eating dry pretzels like a woodland creature in emotional recovery.

your phone buzzes again. for a brief, humiliating second, your heart does that stupid skip thing, the one you swore it wouldn't do anymore. but it's just your mom again.

mom

also don't forget your matching christmas sweaters! can't wait to see you two! ❤️

you stare. inhale. exhale. then type back, with all the grace and restraint of someone holding a half leaning christmas tree together with nothing but hope.

sure thing.

and then, because you're nothing if not dramatic, you toss the phone face down and mutter to the empty room once again, "this is just perfect."

⸻

Mon. December 22nd

the entire drive up to your parents place, you mentally prepare for the week ahead.

the scenery is beautiful—as it always is in colorado—with tiny snowflakes swirling around your vehicle like the world is your own personal snow globe. the heaters on full blast to give that cozy, borderline sweaty flush across your skin, and you're three candy canes deep. but then a mariah carey song stars playing through the fuzzy speakers, and you're thinking about last years impromptu karaoke session with nathan.

which brings you back to mental preparation for a holiday week of questions and comments and more than enough side eyes when you will inevitably shrug off the thought of your ex.

by the time you pull into your parents driveway, it's well past sunset. your headlights carve through piles of fresh snow shoveled around their cars that haven't moved in weeks, and there's a snowman in the lawn built by your niece, lennon, the day prior. you know that because she facetimed you to show it off while you were still wrapped in a towel after a shower last night.

the house glows like it always does this time of year—warm, golden light spilling from every window, and a wreath so big it could have its own zip code hanging from the door, completing the holiday vibes.

you sit in the car for a few moments, collecting yourself in the last bit of silence to a surely hectic christmas. when you see shadows moving through the windows is when you make your way through the snowy path and to the front door.

you tug at the hem of your christmas sweater—a red and green monstrosity with the dancing reindeer that you and nathan bought two years ago to appease your mom—and take one more deep breath. you try not to think about how you're showing up without the body that the matching sweater belongs too, and you definitely try not to think about how you're about to lie to your parents face about...your entire romantic life. no biggie.

"oh, nathan couldn't make it," you practice under your breath, lips moving around your new candy cane. "stomach flu, yeah. tragic."

candy cane dangling from your lips, and heart in your throat, you knock one hardy knock and push the door open. like usual, it creaks like it's something out of the haunted mansion.

the familiar warmth rushes out to greet you, cinnamon and pine and nostalgia thick in the air. "hey, mom!" you call, half cheery and half hoping she's too busy prepping a turkey for christmas dinner to ask questions right away.

she must be, because you can hear her muffled greeting from somewhere deep in the house. automatically, you smile at the familiar sounds of home. football highlights playing from the living room, tea kettle rumbling in the kitchen and conversations too loud for indoors. most likely your dad—it's always your dad.

"is that finally you teddy bear?" you hear your father grumble as you round into the archway of the family room. the tree is dressed in its usual bronze and gold fashion, lights almost blinding you as you enter.

"it's me," you drop your purse at the back of the couch, and let your eyes scan the room. it's only then, that you spot an all too familiar man, looking sheepish next to your niece as she shows him her colouring pages.

words die on your tongue as your freeze in spot—candy cane falling to the hardwood and shattering on its sticky impact.

"you okay, honey?"

your brain short circuits for a beat too long, candy sticky at your shoes. for a second, you genuinely consider turning around, walk right back into the snow, and pretending you never showed up. a figment of imagination, if you will.

no, you want to scream at your dad, so not okay because your ex boyfriend is sitting on your families couch, wearing the matching ugly christmas sweater like you're still together.

nathan looks at you, sheepish smile still tugging at his mouth. "hey," he greets softly, like it's the most casual thing in the world. like your heart isn't currently auditioning for the nutcracker.

"what are you doing here?" you question, voice on the verge of frantic.

your dad puts his newspaper down and sends you a look of despair over his glasses. probably wondering why you're talking to your supposed boyfriend that way.

you swallow hard, eyes lingering on nathan like you’re seeing a ghost in someone else's living room. "I... I thought you were staying home sick," you manage, voice tighter than you expected.

he looks up from where he's sitting on the couch, lennon curled happily on his lap now, like an affection starved cat. nathan gives you a small, awkward smile. "yeah...I was," he says slowly, piecing together the bullshit lie you've started. "but then..." he glances at lennon, and she giggles, tugging at his sleeve. "...she insisted."

before you can say anything else, your mom's voice rings out from the kitchen, way too cheerful for the scene you've just walked into. "oh, good! you're both here! I was so worried one of you wouldn't make it driving separately like that!"

you freeze, staring from her to nathan, your mind racing. he shifts slightly, as if trying to make himself smaller, but your niece's giggle makes him stay put. you can almost hear the invisible tension stretching across the room, thicker than the smell of pine and cookies.

you take a slow step forward, forcing a smile you don't feel. "yeah, well, it is a christmas miracle," you mutter, glancing between your mom's oblivious cheer and your exes quiet, almost apologetic presence.

your niece claps her chubby hands. "yay! christmas!" the innocence of her excitement makes you laugh nervously, but inside, your chest tightens. somehow, everything feels normal and impossible all at once.

"nate, honey," you bite out through clenched teeth, plastering on a large smile that reeks of sarcasm. "can you help grab me some things from the car?” or grab your sanity, whatever.

he glances up from where he's holding your niece, eyebrows raised. "uh...sure," nathan says carefully, like he's stepping onto a minefield.

you grab the coat you'd only just stripped off because you were feeling to hot and flustered—resisting the urge to throw it over your head like a shield as you stomp towards the front door. nathan follows, trailing slightly behind you, careful not to bump into the wreath hanging on the porch. the chill outside bites at your cheeks, which, combined with the peppermint still lingering in your mouth, makes you feel disoriented.

nathan closes the car door behind him with a soft click, like he's waiting for you to smack him in the chest or something just as violent. he can practically see the steam coming from your ears, and the anger laced with confusion adorning your features.

he swallows again, nervous. there's not a room full of people to hide behind now. within a blink of an eye, it's just the two of you, standing under the glow of the porch light wreath—christmas lights twinkling like innocent bystanders to your festering panic.

"okay," you start, voice low but laced with panic. "what the actual hell is happening right now? why are you here? have I had a stroke and suddenly forgotten we're back together or something?"

nathan raises his hands, palms outward, like you've just pulled a weapon instead of emotional baggage. "your mom texted me and said to let me let you forget the roast pot she left at yours at thanksgiving." you roll your eyes as he continues, "and then your niece texted me of your brothers phone and said she was excited to see me—"

you cut him off with a harsh whisper, eyes darting through the front window briefly to make sure nobody was snooping. "okay?" you press, crossing your arms over your pink puffer coat. "okay?! you didn't think to, I don't know, maybe just say you wouldn't be coming."

his eyes widen, half in disbelief, half in confusion. "and you didn't think to tell your family we broke up?"

you blink at him. "well neither did you, nate."

"obviously not," he says, exasperated, loosely gesturing back inside. "that's not my place. they're your family"

"you know what else is not your place," you hiss, jabbing a finger at his chest, "showing up here wearing our matching reindeer sweaters!"

his mouth twitches, the ghost of a smirk threatening to appear. "technically, your mom told me to wear it."

"nathan, this is not the time to be cute," you snap, though it comes out softer than intended.

he sighs, running a hand through his hair, looking every bit the boy who once promised you forever in the dairy queen parking lot. "look, I didn't want to make things weird."

"too late for that," you mutter. "i'm really freaking out now. my whole family thinks we're together, and we are very clearly broken up. at least if you weren't here I could've faked it—not have a constant reminder that i'm sad and lonely on christmas."

"y/n," he says your name, a hard beat passing between you. your eyes flicker away, he continues. "I can leave."

you shrug, feeling a little emotional and a whole lot heartbroken. "well you've gotten everyone excited now. there's not point in leaving and making it weird." you trudge down the stairs.

nathan glances toward the living room window where your mom's laughter echoes faintly, then follows you. there's a spark in his eyes—the kind that used to mean trouble, but also sometimes meant fun. "listen," he starts quietly, "I don't mind...fabricating some stuff this weekend. just to make it seem like we didn't break up."

your eyes dart towards him, candy cane sugar still coating your tongue and disbelief coating the rest of you. "fabricating. like—lying."

"like acting," he corrects, a little smile tugging at his lips. "and we both know we're pretty good at that."

you snort. "oh right, because pretending to be julia stiles and heath ledger at halloween was the peak of our performance careers."

he grins. "exactly. so what's one more encore?"

you fold your arms, trying to hold in the ridiculous flutter in your stomach. "and when do we tell them the truth? before or after my aunt asks about wedding venues again?"

"after," he says confidently, like it's already decided. "way, way after."

you groan, leaning against your car for support. "this is going to be a disaster."

"probably," he agrees. "but hey—at least we'll match."

your eyes narrow, "fine," you say, straightening up. "but if we're doing this, we're doing it properly. no awkward side hugs or pity glances. they know us well enough to sniff out that kind of bullshit."

nathan nods solemnly, as if he's already thinking of a game plan. "deal. strictly professional fake relationship."

"strictly." you smile, although it looks more like a grimace than anything sweet. you shove your bag into his chest and he lets out a low grunt before throwing it over his shoulder. you grab the present bags and then shut the car door with your hip.

the front door creaks open then, jingle bells singing and warmth blowing onto you and nathan as you climb up the stairs —your mom peeks out, all bright eyes and enthusiasm. "everything okay out here?"

you both plaster on identical smiles that feel like holding a jenga tower together with your fingertips. "perfect," you chime in unison.

and just like that, you're back in the performance—two idiots in matching reindeer sweaters, rehearsing the world's most uncomfortable christmas miracle. realistically, you know this isn’t the brightest idea. pretending to be in a healthy relationship with your recent ex, who you may or may not still be totally in love with, sounds like a recipe for disaster—more so than last year gingerbread cookies that were more salt than ginger.

but the way your mom is looking at you both—like she’s expecting nathan to like…get down on one knee christmas morning—and the way your niece texted him and asked if he was coming. nathan being here in general…is all feeling very magical and nostalgic and you’re a sucker.

for you, the holidays have been spent with nathan for as long as you can remember. so maybe your decision to go along with this fake relationship has more to do with being selfish than anything else. that, and it’s too late to back out now. seriously, nathan’s got his free hand in your back pocket like he always used to do and your mom has turned all gooey eyes again.

thankfully, she doesn't seem to notice the tension buzzing between you and who she’s always deemed her future son in law—she’s too busy cheerfully announcing, "I laid out your matching pajamas upstairs!"

"oh...lovely," you manage, forcing a smile that feels like a pulled muscle. beside you, nathan's trying—and failing—not to laugh under his breath. turning his head into your hair like it hasn’t been over two months since he’s touched you.

your mom waves a hand toward the staircase. "well, i’ll let you two back inside so you can get changed and relax! I put the heater on so it'll be nice and cozy."

cozy. right. that’s one word for it.

you mumble something polite under your breath—maybe "thanks," maybe more along the lines of, "kill me"—and start up the stairs of the porch.

nathan's hand slips out your back pocket in favour of taking the present bags from your hands. it happens in the blink of an eye, and before you can even protest it, nathan’s already nudging you towards the door.

you don't look at him. looking would mean acknowledging the absurdity of everything that has transpired in the past 20 minutes, including the way his laugh hits the back of your neck and the warm feeling he’s left on your ass—and acknowledging all that would mean your face doing that thing it always does when he's smug. heat rushing up your neck, eyes rolling skyward, every nerve buzzing like don't react, don't react, don't give him the satisfaction.

and you always used to react. one of nathan superpowers was getting you to crack. you’re trying to save yourself some dignity now.

you mom disappears into the kitchen, humming something faintly festive, still completely oblivious to the silent warfare as you kick off your boots and nathan shedding his jacket. you watch her go, wishing you could follow, or evaporate, or maybe crawl inside the cookie tin on the counter and live there forever. anything but this.

the moment her footsteps fade, nathan exhales a quiet laugh. "matching pajamas," he murmurs, voice dripping with mock awe. "that’s a new level of commitment."

you turn toward the stairs instead of answering. "going upstairs," you mutter, like it's an order you're giving yourself and not a blatant escape mechanism. you can’t hear your niece anymore, which means your brother, devin, must’ve put her in bed. also meaning it’s late enough for you to crawl under the covers and not been seen for the rest of the night. sounds perfect.

the steps creak beneath your feet, the air getting warmer as you climb. the smell of pine from the living room fades into that faint, nostalgic blend of laundry detergent and cinnamon candles—your mom's attempt to make the house smell like comfort. It almost works. almost.

unfortunately for your whole plan of rotting alone in your childhood bedroom, the stairs creak again behind you as nathan trails a few steps behind, close enough that you can feel him even without seeing him—his breath, his presence, that unspoken this is ridiculous, but also kind of awkward energy rolling off him in waves.

you tell yourself not to think about the last time you climbed these stairs together, back when "us" wasn't just a script you both agreed to stick to for the week. but memory doesn't take direction well, it slides in anyway, quiet and sharp edged until it feels like you can’t breathe.

at the top of the stairs, you pause, fingers curling around the doorframe like you might need to hold onto something. because it’s only then that you remember you’ll be sharing a bed with your ex boyfriend who is acting way too cool about this entire thing.

your old queen sized bed sits in the middle of the room like a punchline, mocking you. the polka dot bed spread you used to have in highschool has been replaced with a snowflake blanket, and pillows that feature cartoon snowmen wearing scarves. it’s the kind of festive overkill only your mom could get away with—temu hates to see her coming.

yours arms hang uselessly at your sides for a moment, brain processing this with the kind of disbelief reserved for plot twists and bad dreams. somewhere downstairs, the tv is turned off and light unplugged—but up here, you’re trying to not to scream. or cry. or a combination of both.

"you’ve got to be kidding me," you mutter finally, the words dragged out of you like surrender.

behind you, there's a pause—then the soft thud of his duffle bag and yours hitting against the dresser next to the door. “wow,” nathan muses in that half humoured way he does when he’s trying to make everything seem fine. spoiler alert: this is so not fine.

he gently moves past you, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, pretending to survey the room like a tourist at a crime scene. his grin is tugging at the corners of his mouth, the kind of grin that always used to get him out of trouble, or deeper into it. “deja vu. except last time there were fewer snowmen on the pillows."

you spin towards him so fast your sweater nearly snags on the doorframe. "don’t you dare try and make this funny. this is literally nightmare fuel. i’m sharing my childhood bedroom with my ex-boyfriend, who last time we were in here…" you stop yourself, heat rushing up your neck as the words die on your tongue. you’re not sure saying, ‘ate me out so good he had to put his hand over my mouth so nodboy would hear you moan,’ would be appropriate.

he lifts his hands, all faux innocence. you’re not sure if he’s remembering that hot night like you are. you don’t have time to dissect his expression to find out before he’s speaking. "well, we've shared worse. remember your cousin's wedding? twin bed. floral sheets. one half decent pillow."

the memory hits before you can block it—nathan sprawled half off the mattress, you stealing the blanket in retaliation, both of you whispering jokes until dawn because sleeping had felt impossible with that much closeness. you swallow the ache that memory leaves behind.

"yes," you finally say, voice as flat as you can make it. "and I still have emotional scars. you always take up too much room.”

“because you always took up none.” he retaliates, although it lacks any kind of actual retaliation. more like sadness. realization, maybe. like nathan hears what he says, he looks away from your big, sad eyes and towards the chair in the corner of the room.

a beat passes, “look,” nathan starts softly, eyes finding yours. he moves towards you, and you catch a faint whiff of his cologne, familiar in a way that makes your stomach twist. “if it makes you uncomfortable, i’ll sleep in the chair tonight.”

you hold your hand out, eyes wide, “no.” he hurt his back in the offseason and up until halloween, it was still bugging him anytime he laid funny. you can’t imagine a chair being the best for the avs star player.

nathan raises a brow, “you want to share the bed?”

also no. but you don’t say that aloud—you don’t have to say it for nathan to see it written all over your face. a small grimace that you always used to get when you’d got to wedding together and see seafood on your plate.

you swallow, “just for tonight. I’ll smuggle some stuff from the linen closet downstairs to make an extra bed on the ground tomorrow.”

a pause stretches out—nathan looks at the bed, then back at you, eyebrows raised in quiet challenge like he doesn’t quite believe you. but he doesn’t push.

“i’ll let you change first. gunna brush my teeth.” nathan says after a long beat, a hint of something you can’t decipher in his tone.

you mumble something that resembles an answer and watch as your ex leaves the room, door clicking shut softly. finally alone for the first time since you got here, you exhale—the sound part sigh, part surrender. you make quick work of shedding your jeans and top, pulling on the gingerbread printed pyjamas. you use the en suite bathroom to speed brush your teeth before nathan can return from the hallway bathroom, and then you’re slipping between the covers like your head isn’t aching and heart isn’t racing.

when he returns a few minutes and a pair of matching pyjama pants later, the room is dark expect your old bedside lamp. your eyes lock over the top of your phone.

nathan swallows and moves towards his side of the bed. you put your phone on the bedside table as he climbs under the sheets, and you get a pang in your chest at how domestic it all feels.

you roll away, and turn off the lamp. “goodnight.”

darkness swallows the room. for a while, there’s only the soft rustle of blankets, the faint hum of the heater, and the shallow rhythm of two people pretending like everything is normal. it’s not silence exactly—just the kind of quiet that hums with things unsaid.

the you hear it—“y/n?”

“nate?” you whisper, though your voice sounds smaller than you mean it to.

"nothing," he says. "just—i’m sorry."

you pull the comforter tighter, cocooning yourself in fabric and denial. "yeah.” me too.

and for one stupid, treacherous moment, as you stare at the dim ceiling and listen to him breathe beside you, you almost forget how hard this is going to be.

⸻

Tues. December 23rd

the morning unfolds like a holiday sitcom you're desperately hoping won't get syndicated. it really starts at 7:30 a.m—your niece, bless her soul, bursts into your room, jumping on you and nathan until you're both awake. and that promptly had you remembering that your ex boyfriend was in your bed, half naked and with a semi definitely poking against your leg.

eventually, your corralled lennon downstairs with the promise of helping with decorating the tree, leaving without a second glance at nathan—who flopped back down to the snowman pillow with a grunt.

that's beings you to around 8:45–decorating the tree. nathan came down the stairs in a hoodie and jeans, a lot more dressed than you, still in your way too victoria's secret esque onsie for a family christmas. he made you coffee—just the way you like it, damn it—while your dad got all the storage boxes from the closet. by the time the tree was ready to be decorated and nathan was trying not to stare at the part of your ass cheek hanging out the shorts, lennon lost all interest in the tree.

leaving just you and your not so fake ex.

your mom and aunt hover nearby, offering unsolicited advice about symmetry and ornament placement like the tree is going to a holiday auction. but you and nathan shoulder the task like stoic soldiers, silently judging each other's choices.

"I think the last glittery one should go up near the top," you say, holding it aloft.

"top's fine," he mutters, then positions it a centimeter off center.

you frown. "that's—uh—off."

"perfectly off," nathan hums, smirking just slightly, the corner of his mouth curling in that infuriatingly familiar way. you roll your eyes but carefully adjust it, then notice he's strategically placing ornaments in the worst spots—right in front of your carefully arranged candy cane clusters.

you've always been picky about the aesthetic of the christmas ornaments, and you're pretty sure he's only doing this to be annoying. you watch as your mom cooes at the sight of nathan brushing his hand against your lower back, and you plaster on a too big smile.

you lean in, and it looks like you're simply seeking his touch. but instead—"I hate you," you whisper under your breath.

"I bet you do," he counters, squeezing the flesh of your hip tightly. then, you watch as he moves your last placed ornament—a little gingerbread couple who's faces are framed pictures of you and nathan, rather than the cookie. ironic.

you could only gape at him.

around 11:30, once the tree is officially declared full—its branches sagging under the weight of ornaments that probably date all the way back to world war II—you finally manage to slip away long enough to throw on proper clothes instead of the matching pyjamas you've been wearing since you were dragged down the stairs.

but, unlike you hoped, the chaos doesn't calm. if anything, it evolves. loudly.

you step back into the hall, still half pulling your sweater over your tank top, only to be intercepted by your aunt, who launches immediately into a fresh round of rapid fire questions about wedding plans you absolutely do not have. you should've expected it, she's always been obsessed with the idea of you marrying your long time boyfriend.

"you know," she starts, voice too loud despite her attempt at a conspicuous tone. "I found this gorgeous venue out in denver that would just be—"

"auntie liv," you choke out, already inching backward, "we're, uh—I think my brother was wanting me, so sorry."

he's not, but your aunt beams anyway. knowing her, she's probably thinking you've already picked some venue and are trying keep it a secret. if only she knew that couldn't be farther from the truth.

and that's your cue to flee.

you retreat down into the hallway, inhaling the blessedly cool air and leaning against the wall like someone who narrowly escaped a small emotional disaster. your pulse is still jumpy. it always is around the holidays—but this? this year? it's a different kind of nerves entirely, for obvious reasons.

nathan rounds the corner, stopping in the doorway when he spots you. you know it's him before you even look. its like he has this sense when you need rescuing, even now. even though he's your ex. he eyes you, "you okay?"

you push off the wall and swallow, "yeah," you nod, footsteps soft on the hardwood as you walk towards him. you fully intend on passing him, escaping the entirety of his gaze completely, but nathan takes ahold of your wrist before you can.

"you look a little frantic right now."

you don't say anything right away. hell, you can barley look at him. because every time you do, your brain seems determined to remember exactly how it felt to be his, and that is not helpful. because then the wedding talk doesn't sound all that bad.

"I—"

"oh look at you two," your grandma’s croak interrupts before you can even articulate a response. you and nathan look towards the frail woman, half confused, but your grandma smiles, gesturing towards the ceiling.

apparently, neither of you noticed the small sprig of mistletoe dangling from the narrow doorway overhead. but clearly, your grandmother did. she waves a hand between you, like this is cute. "oh! go on, dear!" she chirps, needle still in her hand from her earlier knitting—you're pretty sure she's still working on a gift for your dad. looks like a scarf.

your stomach drops. "grandma—"

"just do it!" she insists, voice bright, absolute, unstoppable. "it's okay, I know you two kiss and do things like hump-"

you're seriously going to die.

instantly, your face goes hot, just as nathan's eyes go wide as saucers. your grandma’s cheer gets the attention of everyone the living room and kitchen. your mom watches with a fond look, spatula smothered with raw cookie dough in her hand. your brother is snickering like it's the funniest thing in the world, your niece is singing—'nathan and auntie sitting in a tree, k i s s i n g.'

you take half a step back, flustered, and he gently shifts closer—not like he's agreeing, but like he's trying to shield you from the attention.

"hey," he murmurs under his breath, voice low enough that only you can hear. "you don't have to go through with this. seriously. we can make a joke out of it or fake it or something—"

nathan's hand twitches like he might reach for yours, or like he might pull the whole mistletoe off the archway entirely.

"nate—" you whisper, heart thudding.

"it's okay," he continues softly. "I know this is awkward. you don't owe me—"

you don't let him finish. mostly because if he keeps talking, if he keeps being gentle and considerate and very much like the man you remember falling for, you're going to panic.

so you lean in—quick and decisive. your hand wraps around the back of nathan neck, and you pull him down. your lips press to his before you can overthink it, before the moment can collapse under its own weight.

nathan inhales sharply against your mouth, startled—but then stills, warm breath brushing your cheek, like he's trying not to react too much.

the world goes silent for half a heartbeat, but your brain is screaming at you. because oh my god you're kissing your ex boyfriend and yup, confirmed, you most definitely still love him.

your lips malt together softly. quickly. too quick to be anything real. too soft to be anything strictly required by tradition. but that doesn't mean you don't feel the spark igniting under your ribs, like muscle memory is slowly waking up.

you pull back just as fast as you pulled nathan towards you, trying to style the motion as casual, like you're not thinking about how nathan kisses—warm, familiar, steady—like nothing has changed.

he clears his throat. "that was... social obligation," he murmurs, tone neutral—but his eyes aren't. they're warm, glinting with something dangerously close to amusement.

"yup. social," you swallow, reaching up to adjust your hair like that will somehow mask the fact that your heart is trying to perform a drum solo.

you can only hope you look normal and relaxed. maybe even cool—because you sure as hell do not feel normal, or relaxed, or cool. because even though you're trying really hard not to, all you can think about is the way nathan's lips lingered just a fraction of a second longer than necessary. the way your body leaned forward without asking permission.

he opens his mouth like he might say something else—something that could make this situation ten times worse—or ten times more confusing. but then the living room erupts with someone shouting about missing garland, and you both step apart instinctively.

you swallow hard, almost shell shocked at realizing your entire family wasn't even watching. you don't glance at nathan again. wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you dart back the hall.

by the time the afternoon rolls around, you finally mange to sit down with a huff, turtle neck sweater itchy at your neck—but you’re too lazy to switch it for something else. nathan flops down beside you, knee barley brushing against yours. he's got a santa sticker on his cheek, courtesy of your niece, and some of your peppermint lips gloss still shimmering on his mouth.

and then, your mom is waltzing into the family room, a blissfully unaware smile on her face, "let's all go take pictures with santa! I need to update those gingerbread faces on the tree, you two." she waggles a finger between you and nathan, and you almost throw yourself into the fireplace.

—

the local mall had been turned into, what they advertised as "santa's grotto." it's a new development in your hallmark esque town, but your mom insisted on the car ride over that it looks like christmas threw up in the best possible way.

and that was obvious as soon as your brother whipped the van into the packed parking lot. your niece sequels from the backseat, shouting for nathan to look at the overly huge christmas bulbs hanging from the entry way. thankfully, she pulled your not so fake but also fake boyfriend into the back seat of the car, meaning you got to sit between your grandma and mom.

which is good, because you're still reeling from that kiss only an hour or so ago, and you think if you had to sit next to the man you're trying really hard to forget, it might make you go crazy.

once devin parks, the christmas excitement comes to a tenfold. everyone piles out like something out of a national lampoons movie, and while your mom and niece run ahead of everyone, you slowly linger at the back, boots moving throw the slush covering the carpark.

you can feel nathan eyeing you, but pick up your pace instead of looking at him, arms crossing when your coat blows open.

but he's quicker than you'll ever be, and catches back up in two strides. you silently curse as your brother shoots a look over his shoulder, and nathan has to slide an arm around your shoulders to keep up the whole act. you smile politely until devin looks away.

"are you upset?" nathan murmurs into your hat.

you turn away, rigid, "i'm fine." you don't mean to be such a bitch, but the words comes out sharp anyway, carved by nerves you cant seem to swallow. if you knew now how much this whole fake dating thing would take a toll on you in the first 16 hours, you would've sent nathan packing. or yourself.

shrugging yourself out of his hold, you catch up to your grandma and let her talk your ear off about a telenovela she's been watching as you all navigate your way through the holiday crowd. a few fake smiles and polite nods to show her that you're listening pass, and then you're all in line to meet santa. and unfortunately for you, you're back next to nathan.

you focus on the giant candy canes lining the path, and the fake snow that somehow manages to get everywhere instead of him. but it's proving hard when his gaze, once again, is burning holes into the side of your head.

you wait until your family is occupied and have no chance of eavesdropping to speak up about it. "stop looking at me like that," you mutter under your breath.

"like what?" nathan prompts, faux innocence dripping from his voice.

"like you're trying to read me or something just as cynical."

he doesn't flinch. instead, he tugs you closer, warm and steady despite the stiffness you're putting out like a force field. he dips his head a little, voice low enough that only you can catch it through screaming and the distant chatter of your family.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he says, careful, almost cautious. "just wanted to make sure you're okay after—."

you cut him off with a sharp exhale, "I know. I told you i'm fine." fingers curl inside your gloves, the frustration knotting itself in your chest. not just from the lingering tension that bleeds from your kiss, but also having him here in the first place. still loving him and knowing there's nothing you can do but make it worse by pretending.

nathan leans impossibly closer, "you know, for people pretending to still be together, we're really selling the 'about to breakup' energy."

"maybe that's a good thing. prepare them for the inevitable," you whisper back, voice a little sour.

he pulls back, eyes swimming with something that looks a whole lot like hurt. you gaze up at him, guilt gnawing away at your heart. after a beat passes, he looks away and huffs quiet, almost mocking, laugh, "yeah. guess so."

you open your mouth—an apology, an explanation, something—but the line inches forward while you are frozen in the moment, and suddenly the family behind you clears their throat pointedly. nathan steps aside so they can pass, his jaw tight, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets.

you fall back in step beside him, close enough that your sleeves brush, but not close enough to fix anything. nathan keeps his eyes forward now, expression unreadable, and you trail after him through the velvet ropes, wishing you could rewind the last thirty seconds.

after a minute, it's your turn, and santa waves you over with a ho ho ho that sounds like he's running on fumes, shoulders slumped under the weight of the costume and the endless line of overstimulated children. the bright mall lights give everything a soft, artificial glow, and the whole setup smells faintly of peppermint and old velvet, and you're feeling nauseous.

your mom practically shoves the two of you forward. "go on! just the two of you first—for the ornament!"

"oh no, I don't think—" you start, but nathan's already steering you by the elbow toward the oversized velvet chair like this is the most natural thing in the world.

"come on," he murmurs, dipping his head just enough for his breath to brush your ear, all mock chivalry. "don't make santa wait."

you sit stiffly beside him, leaving exactly two inches of space that doesn't last long because the chair dips under both your weights, and slides you closer anyway. the seat creaks in protest. you can feel the warmth of nathan's shoulder brushing yours, the scent of his cologne threading faintly through the peppermint haze. both of you smile in that strained, photo day at school kind of way.

the fake santa looks between the two of you like he's trying to decide if he should ask what's wrong or just hand out candy canes and pray his shift ends soon. "and how long have you two lovebirds been together?" santa asks, clearly fishing for small talk, but his tone suggests he already regrets it.

you inhale, ready to correct him—ready to claw your way out of this entire situation, give up on the whole fake dating and walk out of the mall with your tail between your legs—but nathan beats you to it without missing a beat.

"oh, a while now," he starts smoothly, voice dipping into that easy confidence he puts on when he knows you can't interrupt without making a scene. "we're...really close."

you turn your head slowly, painfully, your smile frozen and dangerous. "so close," you echo through gritted teeth.

the photographer, bless her oblivious soul, claps her hands. "perfect! one more—get closer!"

"closer," nathan repeats under his breath like this is some kind of sick joke, mouth already lifting into a smirk. he leans in just enough that you can feel the warmth of his cheek near yours, close enough to make your face burn despite the weird tension brewing under the surface.

—

for the first time all day, the house has finally fallen silent just after 10 p.m. there’s no clattering dishes, or laughter bleeding down the hallway, and your niece had hit a sugar crash almost two hours ago—meaning that she’s stopped sprinting up and down the hallway like a feral reindeer.

now, it’s just the faint hum of the furnace kicking on, and your brain going a hundred miles a minute. since the pictures at the mall, you haven’t talked to nathan. the car ride was filled with classic christmas music and crossed arms. dinner was opposite sides of the table and purposeful avoidance.

you excused yourself and the half finished plate and the lie of not feeling well. after a shower so scalding it left your skin red, you rustled through the linen closet for extra bedding, promptly making a makeshift bed for nathan in the floor. after today, you’re really glad that your mom has so many pillows.

now, nathan is on the floor beside you—shifting on a nest of quilts, comforters, and two pillows stacked like a sad little throne. the lamp is off, and has been for the past 30 minutes, leaving the two of you in the kind of darkness where outlines blur but familiarity remains. you can hear him moving, trying to find a position that doesn't murder his spine.

you stare at the ceiling, pulling the covers to your chin. you sigh gently, equal part guilty and still upset from the day.

nathan has been in your childhood bedroom with you for almost an hour, and even though he’s been in the darkness for half of that, sleep hasn’t come. for either of you. a beat passes, tense and stilling.

"are you upset because of the kiss?" nathan asks quietly, voice drifting up from the floor. he doesn’t sound defensive, or teasing. just little unsure, like he’s been wracking his brain all day for an answer to your coldness.

your heart does an annoying little skip. "no." you say it too fast. too sharp, and he knows he’s hit the nail on the head. "i’m not upset."

he shifts again. you hear the soft exhale he always does when he doesn't quite believe you. "you kinda ran off afterward."

"only because I had things to do,” you mumble, although it’s a lie.

"right," he hums. "things like giving me the cold shoulder all afternoon."

you twist under the blankets. "it wasn’t all afternoon."

"it was," he reminds you, lowly. "then when I tried to talk to you about it in the mall, you practically wished death upon me with your angry little stare." nathan pauses, swallowing roughly, “I thought I did something wrong.”

he didn’t do anything wrong, and that might be the problem.

"you didn’t," you mumble after a beat. you’re still a little rigid, but your voice is warmer now. "I was the one being weird. honestly, I forgot that the whole fake dating thing could’ve very likely led to kissing." you admit shyly, dipping your cold nose underneath the comforter.

nathan lets out a small laugh—the low, tired kind he only does when it's past midnight. "honestly, so did I.”

another quiet stretch sits in the bedroom, the kind that feels like an open door waiting for one of you to walk through. it’s him who steps through, voice barley above a whisper. “but seriously... I don't want you to be upset. not with me and not because of the kiss.”

something inside you caves just a little. you swallow, tracing a pattern on the blanket with your thumb. "i’m not upset, nate." you hesitate before adding, "It just...surprised me."

he takes that in for a long time, and you can hear the thoughts turning in his head. "I probably shouldn't have gone so hard," he murmurs. "but you know i’ve never been able to help it."

that shouldn't make your stomach flip. but it does. because nathan always knows right where to dig your grave. silence envelopes you again, the heater hums, but the room feels suddenly too cold. or maybe you just miss the warmth you had last night after months of sleeping alone.

you listen to nathan shift on the floor again—another quiet wince hidden in the movement. guilt pricks you all over. concern, too. and something else you refuse to name. you knew his back was still bugging him, that why you let him in bed with you in the first place.

with a heavy sigh, you roll onto your side, and face the edge of the bed. "nate?"

"yeah?"

"...your back is going to be killing you tomorrow."

he laughs softly, but it doesn’t land. "it’s fine."

"it’s not fine. that’s the fourth time you've adjusted in ten minutes."

he goes quiet, like he's deciding whether to lie or not. "maybe the floor's a little firmer than I expected," he admits.

you chew your lip, staring into the dark. the space between you is cold, and the floor is hurting him. you tell yourself your offer is reasonable. practical. you tell yourself you’re doing this for his health—because you do care. you’re definitely not thinking of the little groan of relief he’ll let out when he slips under the covers, or how he’ll pull you against him in his sleep.

definitely not.

you clear your throat. "get up here."

nathan goes still, like he’s not sure if he heard you correctly. "what?"

"get. up. here," you repeat, forcing your voice into a huff. "i’m not letting you throw your back out because i’m too much of a weirdo to share a bed with my ex."

he sits up, and hesitates, looking at your glossy eyes through the dark. "you sure?"

"no," you snap—too quickly, too honestly. the you clamp down on it. "I mean—yes. obviously. just—don't make it weird." your words sit heavy in a beat of silence, and then the mattress dips as nathan climbs in slowly, carefully, like he's afraid he'll spook you. he stays on his side, leaving polite space, even in the dark.

but the warmth radiating from him bleeds across the sheets anyway.

you don't move. neither does he.

then, softly—"is this okay?"

you hate how much you like the concern in his voice. "yea," you whisper. "just...don't hog the blankets."

nathan chuckles under his breath, settling in. "wouldn’t dream of it."

when the mattress shifts and his shoulder brushes yours, you don't shift away. not even a little. and as your eyes begin to flutter, nathan’s body heat warning the chill in your bones, you let yourself believe that this is real.

⸻

Wen. December 24th

you wake up on christmas eve with your head tucked in the crook of nathan's neck. he was still sleeping when you woke up, chest rising and falling in a way that radiates warmth. your matching pyjamas brushed together as you untangled yourself from him, quitley, as to let him rest. after all, you'll need a moment alone to try and come to terms with waking up cuddling your ex two days in a row.

you creeped downstairs and found your mom, devin and lennon in the kitchen. it smells like chocolate chip pancakes and some kind of festive tea.

"hey teddy bear," you dad greets form his chair, "nate still sleeping?"

your niece slips of her barstool, and runs into your legs, sticky finger gripping your bare thighs while she grins up at you. ruffling her hair in greeting, you nod. "yeah. didn't want to wake him."

your mom hums at the stove, hair pinned back in a jingle bell hair clip. "that's good. he looked tired yesterday."

lennon slips out of your hug and climbs back into the bar still with help from your brother. she's got a mouthful of pancake when you sit next to her. you shrug casually, looking at your mom across the island. "yeah. hockey has been kicking his ass."

you're actually not sure how hockey is going, but nobody seems to question that. she slides a plate of pancakes smothered in butter in front of you, kissing your head as you pour syrup over top. it's soaks in almost immediately, and your stomach growls—making your brother snicker.

you narrow your gaze at him, and then whip a loose chocolate chip at him. lennon laughs, and just like that chaos ensues. butter sizzles, silverware clinks, chairs scrape as your grandma and aunt join the table in the corner of the bright kitchen. devin is mid teasing your niece about stealing her elsa mittens for himself—the latter laughing no daddy!—when nathan rounds into the room.

you look at him, chocolate smeared in your cheek. "morning."

the corner of his mouth the up in an amused grin, "morning."

"we're having chocolate pancakes!" lennon exclaims, already high on sugar as she practically bounces on the stool.

nathan doesn't take his eyes off your face, sitting in the unoccupied spot next to you. he thumbs the chocolate of your cheek, "I can see that."

you swallow, eyes following as he brings his calloused thumb to his mouth, licking the smeared chocolate from your cheek off. your niece gets your attention before you can blink again, momentarily forgetting about that whole...sucking as your pulled into frozen talk.

the rest of breakfast falls into an easy rythym—nathan finishes his coffee quietly beside you, nudging his knee against yours under the table every time somebody talks to either of you.

"so is it true that y/n still can't skate?" devin snickers, biting off a chunk of bacon from the strip in his fingers. he's looking between the both of you, mischief in his eyes as he looks between you and your ex.

even though he's not asking you, you give devin the finger behind your nieces head.

nate grins, watching fondly as you point your eyes in your brothers direction. "i'll have you know, that i'm much better."

that has your mom gasping, turning away from your grandma, fork in her hand and elf apron still on. and she doesn't even need to say it for you to know what she's thinking.

soon enough, plates are cleared and everyone's bundled up, the house erupting into a flurry of scarves and zippers. your mom herds you all toward the mudroom like a determined sheepdog, shoving skates and thermoses into arms at random.

"come on," she says, ushering you and nathan toward the door. "the outdoor rink is only 10 minutes up the road." she moves down the stairs, helping lennon get buckled into the car.

nathan leans in just before you step down the porch, words hushed under his breath. "am I about to get bombarded at some random outdoor rink today?"

you think of the outdoor rink you frequently used to visit when lennon was only a baby and you much younger. it's a busy one, full of kids and dads wearing avalanche jerseys. you ponder sarcastically, patting his chest half sympathetically. "that's a very high possibility, honey."

—

you hear the faint sound of music before you see anything, a nostalgic little jingle warbling through static. kids are laughing somewhere ahead, and a vendor is yelling about free hot cocoa. the air outside is crisp enough to bite your nose the moment you step out, your breath fogging between you in pale little clouds. you'll definitely be making a visit to get you a hot chocolate before the afternoon is over.

as you all turn the corner at the end of the street, the world opens up into a postcard come to life. the outdoor rink looks like something out of a christmas movie—strings of fairy lights looped overhead, soft music playing from a speaker that keeps cutting in and out, and snow falling in the kind of slow, cinematic way that makes people believe in miracles. or at least, instagram worthy moments.

nathan slipped his hand into your mittened one after he helped you with your skates, and then followed by his own. he does it without thinking, but suddenly you feel like you're in the bahamas and not colorado with how hot you feel. he helps you onto the ice, and your fingers tighten around his in an attempt to keep yourself steady.

he doesn't pull away, and neither do you. mostly because you don't want to fall. mostly. but then lennon is wanting to skate with him, and kids are zooming by and you're resembling a baby deer as you attempt to keep up.

"how are you still so bad at this?" nathan laughs from a few feet ahead, gliding backward like it's nothing.

you glare, wobbling as you cling to the boards for dear life. "because, nathan," you hiss, "some of us didn't spend our formative years pretending to be an olympic figure skater on a frozen pond."

"that was one time," he muses, but he's smiling—wide, unguarded, the way he used to when things between you weren't complicated.

you push off from the boards once a group of kids clear away, determination outweighing common sense. "okay. see? i'm doing it."

"you're doing great," he says encouragingly. "much improvement from the last family skate." he adds, and the way his mouth curls tells you he's absolutely picturing it.

you groan, taking nathan's outstretched hands as he offered them to you. "please don't bring that up."

"oh, I'm bringing it up," he muses, laughing as he gently tugs you forward another few inches. "you fell on your face. your face."

the memory flashes warm and humiliating through your mind—the ice rushing up at alarming speed, your skates shooting in opposite directions like they were actively trying to murder you, the metallic taste of panic and blood. and then nathan—panicked, frantic nathan—scooping you up and rushing you off the rink while muttering apologies over and over even though he hadn't touched you.

"I chipped one tooth—"

"two," he corrects, smug.

you narrow your eyes. "I hate you."

nathan grins, leaning in just a little. "no, you don't." he's still holding your elbows now, steady and certain, steering you like you're something breakable.

"I think you kissed my tears away," you remind him, cheeks heating as he guides you into a smooth glide. "and you paid my dental bill."

"that was not a big deal," he says, brushing it off like he hadn't insisted the receptionist put the charge under his name.

"yes, it was," you argue, wobbling slightly—only for his hands to catch your waist, firm and sure.

he steadies you effortlessly. "it's my fault for not keeping my hands on you at all times," he quotes himself, but this time with a teasing lilt.

"you can't actually prevent gravity," you deadpan.

"bold of you to assume I won't try."

you snort, and the sound puffs into the cold air like a little burst of warmth. nathan circles behind you, hands coming to rest lightly at your hips so he can steer you without forcing you to look down at your feet. "bend your knees a bit more," he murmurs, voice close enough that it tickles your ear. "there you go. you're getting it."

"you're a very bossy teacher," you say, but you lean into him anyway, letting him guide you through another slow lap around the edge of the rink. he's tried to teach you before, but something about this time has you feeling weak in the knees for an entirely different reason.

"this is why I never learned," you add on.

"and you're a terrible student," nathan counters playfully. "but you're always cute when you're struggling, so it evens out."

the words catch you so off guard that you physically glitch. it's somewhere between a full stop, and a frantic spin in his arms like you've forgotten that you’re not on solid ground. you try and do something—shove him, skate away, say something just to get him as riled up—but the only thing that happens are your skates slipping under your feet.

your balance tilts and then you're flailing, arms moving like pinwheels at your sides until you hit the ground with an undignified thunk.

nathan's down at your side in seconds, skidding across the ice like gravity works differently for him. he drops into a crouch beside you, breath coming out in white puffs, concern carved into every line of his face. "hey, hey—are you okay?"

"ow," you manage to mutter through the embarrassment, blinking up at the cloudy late afternoon sky, where the rink lights glow like blurred halos. "I think I just broke my entire body."

"what hurts?"

your voice echoes faintly in the winter air, and a couple of kids whiz by, laughing, their blades scraping sharp little arcs into the ice. you groan and push yourself upright, snowflakes clinging stubbornly to your coat. you look down, your knee is already throbbing. "just my pride," you sigh dramatically. "it's shattered."

nathan huffs a soft laugh, reaching out to brush a patch of snow off your sleeve with gentle, sweeping strokes. his gloves leave faint trails in the frost. "your pride always did bruise easily."

"funny." you muse. but once you try to stand, and the pressure hits your knee, a sharp wince pulls through you, pulling you back down. "okay... maybe a little more than pride."

his teasing expression dissolves instantly, replaced with that laser focused softness he only ever uses on you. "where does it hurt? for real."

"here," you say, pointing to your knee. before you can even think to argue, nathan shifts onto one knee in front of you, the snowy ice crunching under him as he leans in. his gloved hand settles just above your kneecap, careful, warm even through the fabric. he looks like he's auditioning for concerned boyfriend of the year—and nailing the part. you're sure your mom is somewhere cooing at sight, not even caring that your injured. damn her.

he examines it like he actually knows what he's doing, then nods. "you'll be okay," he murmurs, relief threading through his voice. "maybe just ice it a little if it's still bothering you when we're home. doesn't feel like anything's broken or dislocated."

nathan's eyes flicker back to meet yours, and before you can make a sarcastic comment about him being dr. mackinnon, he continues. "you scared me," he admits, voice low. there's a half grin on his face, like he's relived that you're okay, but his breath catches like a warning between you.

the honesty knocks something loose in your chest. you force yourself to look back at him—really look. his cheeks are flushed red from the cold, his nose a little pink. his dark blonde hair sticks out haphazardly from beneath his beanie, and his eyes...they're warm in that way that always feels like stepping into a heated room after being out in the snow too long.

"it's just a fall," you force yourself to say quietly.

"yeah," nathan murmurs, gaze steady on yours, "but still."

and then—with the kind of tenderness that always catches you off guard—he reaches out. a stray piece of hair has fallen forward out of your floppy bun, and nathan tucks it gently behind your ear, the brushed wool pad of his glove grazing your cheek.

it has a shiver rippling down your spine that has absolutely nothing to do with the weather. "when did you become such a sap?" you question teasingly, because humor is easier than acknowledging the way your heart just did a full body somersault.

nathan's eyebrows draw together for a beat, like he's trying to determine whether you're actually asking him that. "i've always been when it comes to you."

you don't know what to say to that besides I love you so instead, you give a half hearted snort and dust your mittens off. "smooth."

thankfully, nathan gives you a half smile, "i've been practicing," he muses, rising to his feet and offering you his hands. "come on. hold on to me."

"that's how I fell in the first place," you grumble, but you take his hand anyway, fingers curling around his as though they were made to fit there.

nathan steadies you with an arm around your back as you carefully regain balance. "see?" he says when you start sliding forward again—slow, cautious, but upright. "not so bad."

"you're insufferable." you groan, letting your head fall back like you're auditioning for most dramatic person alive. your knee is barley throbbing now, but you don't make any move to take your weight back. "i'm done. I want hot chocolate."

he still hasn't let go of your hand. his fingers tighten just slightly, as if making sure you don't attempt one final disastrous glide across the ice. nathan studies you for a second, lips pressed together in a way that's half teasing, half concerned.

then he exhales a soft, amused huff and nods. "alright," he says, giving your hand a gentle tug. "c'mon then."

nathan guides you carefully toward the exit, matching your steps—slow, uneven, a little pathetic—with patient ease, his thumb brushes the back of your hand through the gloves. as he leads you off the ice, his voice drops into something soft and mock solemn.

"for the record," he murmurs, "I would've carried you if you asked."

you roll your eyes, but your grin is impossible to hide.

—

the afternoon at the rink ends soon after your disastrous fall, as you referred to it when devin mentioned your tiny limp. it had nathan snickering, and pressing a fleeting kiss to your beanie—so you'll take it.

dinner is chinese take out that’s so fresh and yummy it has you audibly groaning into a container of chow mien. now that earns you a disgruntled look from your aunt and giggle from lennon—the latter who follows suit around a full mouth of lemon chicken.

you and nathan help your mom and brother set out all the gifts for lennon under the tree once she was put to bed, all of you tip toeing and stifling laughter like little elves. nathan even got a unflattering picture of you crouched by the tree, a wrapped barbie in your clutches. you told him to delete it, he made it his wallpaper. whether it was out of spite or out of something else—who knows.

eventually, your mom and devin retire to their respective rooms, already preparing for a long day of wrapping paper, toys and turkey dinner. the house is left only illuminated by the tree lights, home alone playing on almost mute above the fireplace while you and nathan slouch on either end of the couch.

he's got a christmas bow stuck on his shoulder, and you've got an ice pack on your knee—curtesy of your mom before she left. the fire's gone low, just a warm crackle now, and the half empty mugs of cocoa on the coffee table are starting to look like chocolate sludge.

you watch under your shared santa blanket as kevin does something annoying. "no," you protest, pointing at the screen like it personally wronged you. "kevin in the first one would never do that. it just proves the original is better better. it's classic. the blueprint."

nathan scoffs quietly, leaning further into the cushion with a smug grin. "please. home alone 2 is superior in every way. better traps, better pigeon lady, better—"

"—product placement?" you cut in. "because if you love plaza hotel advertising, sure."

he laughs, low and easy. "you just hate it because it's set in new york."

"i don't hate new york," you protest, "i just think the first one feels more...cozy. more christmas-y. it's got heart."

"and a tarantula," he points out, shuddering. "instant deduction of ten points."

you roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch. "fine, mr. pigeon defender, what makes home alone 2 so much better?"

nathan thinks for a moment, eyes glinting in the dim, bluish glow of the tv. "it’s...funnier. wilder. bigger ," he says slowly, like he's pulling the words from somewhere he doesn't usually let people see. "it feels like what you'd imagine as a kid—getting lost in a huge city but still being okay, still making it work. I liked that."

you turn your head, and this time you really look at him. his expression softens—not dramatically, not enough for anyone else would notice, but you do. you always do. it’s that barely there shift, that unguarded flicker, that dangerous warmth he probably doesn't mean to show you.

it hits you in the ribs—hard and familiar. that ache you've been trying to ignore for months. the warmth that feels like a secret you aren't supposed to keep. the problem is, it's getting harder and harder to pretend that you don't feel the way you do.

for a moment, neither of you speak. you watch as kevin runs through manhattan, setting up some absurdly complex booby trap—and the living room feels too still, too intimate for something as silly as a holiday movie.

you adjust your ice pack just to have something to do. "you know," you start, trying for casual but landing somewhere much closer to wistful, "we used to do this all the time."

"stay up too late watching dumb movies?" he teases, though his voice is quieter now, the edges softened.

"yeah." a faint smile pulls at your lips. "except back then, we didn't argue about which one was better."

"no," he starts, a small laugh under his breath. "because there was no time for arguing with you always falling asleep halfway through."

you nudge his foot with yours under the blanket, your toes brushing against his ankle. "and you always denied wanting to watch a movie at all. but always stayed up to watch the whole thing.”

nathan chuckles, and the sound curls warm in your chest. he leans his head back against the couch, eyes half lidded, lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks as he look at you. "guess i’ve just learned to admit when something makes me happy."

you glance at him from the corner of your eye, and your chest does that stupid, traitorous squeeze again. the one you keep pretending is nothing, but know that it’s everything. you think about your breakup, how you cried that you don’t feel loved. hiccuped that it felt like he didn’t want you anymore. how nathan didn’t argue or try or make you feel better.

it’s a night you’ve tried to forget about. and for the most part, you had forgotten about what the final nail in your relationship coffin was. but nathan’s words brought it all back. and now, all you can think about is how you’re supposed to keep pretending that this is simple.

the thoughts continue to rise, uninvited, and you swallow them down with a sip of cold cocoa.

"even home alone 2?" you ask lightly, because teasing is easier than honesty.

"especially home alone 2," nathan murmurs, meeting your eyes—really meeting them—and something warm and unsteady unravels in your stomach.

it goes quiet again, but this time the silence doesn't feel heavy. It feels...comfortable. steady. like an extra blanket settling over both of you. you let yourself breathe into it, sinking further into the cushions as your eyes inevitably get heavier.

"fine," you slur, blinks becoming heavier. "we’ll call it a tie."

nathan grins softly, watching as you slowly begin to fall asleep. he brushes your hair off your forehead before he can think otherwise. “deal.”

outside the window, snow falls in the slow, lazy way it does right before midnight, all while kevin wishes himself a merry christmas. and for a fleeting, impossibly dangerous moment you think maybe you could too have a merry christmas.

⸻

Thurs. December 25th

christmas morning unfolds in that soft, slow motion way where nothing feels rushed, even though the house is full of people and noise and has been chaos up to that point. you and nathan are dragged downstairs by lennon naturally—because according to grandma, present opening can't start until everyone is up and at em.

you're a little grumpy until you're in the heart of it all—the living room glowing with the blur of multicolored lights reflecting off tinsel, the air warm with coffee, cinnamon rolls, and the sound of your dad's favorite holiday playlist—five songs on repeat, because, you know, tradition. one of them is mistletoe by justin bieber, a song you snuck on there in the 3rd grade and he's never taken off.

torn wrapping paper carpets the floor like festive confetti as your niece dives right in—seriously, your ass barley touches the couch and she's going crazy. everyone is in pajamas of questionable fashion, including your aunt liv in her annual llama onesie. your grandma keeps proclaiming that this year is "the best haul yet," you don't even know where she learned that term.

and like usual, nathan fits into the chaos almost too easily. he sits beside you on the couch, one leg crossed over, coffee cupped in both hands like he's worried he'll spill it on someone's present. at one point, your niece insists he help her assemble a glittery, structurally unsound dollhouse. and he takes it seriously—kneeling on the floor, reading the directions upside down, muttering things like, "this definitely roof defies physics, right? It's not just me?"

and then lennon calls him uncle nathan on accident and your heart explodes. there's a brief thought then, that if nathan never showed up a few days ago at your parents house, it would've been your nieces first without him. you snap pictures of them in an attempt to not cry at the thought.

he glances up at you mid screw placement and smiles, a small, private thing that hits you in the ribs.

later, once lennon is done all her gifts and trying to decide which is her favourite—which changes every three minutes—your brother passes out gifts, he tosses a small one into your lap.

"from nathan," he says, like it's just a fact of life now, and moves on to pass another gift out—you're pretty sure it's the knitting you suspected your grandma making for your dad.

you shoot nathan a narrowed look. "a gift?"

he shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. "it's christmas, and I just...open it.”

cautiously, you tear open the wrapping paper you're pretty sure you've seen in melissa landeskogs closet, and uncover the present. it's a special anniversary dvd copy of 10 things I hate about you, as well as a small chain necklace with a dangling letter N. the latter of two you used to own, but the chain broke right before halloween when you were trying on a glinda costume.

words die on your tongue, and your eyes well up for a million different reasons. you trace the letter and look over at nathan, who's watching you gently like this—watching you—is his present.

"you remembered." you whisper.

"I remember lots of things," he nods quietly.

the morning drifts into afternoon lazily—lennon continuing to play, your dad and grandma napping in the same position, someone is always making more coffee. all while you and nathan steal little pockets of quiet. in the kitchen while grabbing extra napkins, on the stairs when he ties a crooked ribbon in your hair from a leftover bow, on the back porch, getting fire wood, where the cold air bites your cheeks but his presence makes it oddly bearable.

by late afternoon, the energy starts to shift. the peaceful lull turns into the annual pre-dinner scramble. your mom is orchestrating the kitchen like a general. "potatoes need mashing! someone check the bread! devin, stop taste testing everything!"

nathan mashes the potatoes with his sleeves rolled up and tendons and veins on display like it's a porno rather than cooking. you almost let the bread burn because you're too busy staring at him. devin catches you and you flip your brother off once he waggles his brows suggestively.

for the rest of the war zone in the kitchen, nathan stays by your side, helpful and careful—hand at your back when someone squeezes past you with a hot tray, brushing snowflakes from your hair after you dashes out to the garage for more chairs. at one point he quietly refills your wine without you asking. it's such a small gesture that it shouldn't mean anything. but somehow it does.

you keep chugging it down to see if he'll keep refilling it. he does, and you’re well tipsy once everyone finally gathers around the table. some people's cheeks are flushed from heat and hustle, and the house is full in the best way—laughter echoing, silverware clinking, the scent of roasted herbs and cranberry in the air.

nathan ends up seated next to you again, because of course he does. he leans slightly toward you, just enough for only you to hear. "all good?"

you nod and swirl your red. "you?"

he exhales, maybe a soft laugh. "yeah. i'm great."

and you can only smile shyly.

the conversation warms, dishes are passed around, and the comfort of the day settles around the table like another layer of soft light. you're not thinking about the pretense, or the rules, or any of the carefully rehearsed boundaries. it just feels real.

and as the chatter swells—as your family falls into that cozy holiday rhythm they do every year—you can almost pretend that its exactly what it looks like. exactly what it feels like. you and nathan sitting beside each other at christmas dinner...like nothing has changed.

your dad carves another slice off the turkey with the arm of a man performing a televised demonstration. "nate," he starts, not looking up as he puts the poultry on your moms plate, "how's the team? haven't had a chance to watch the last few games with the mrs and her cooking shows."

nathan straightens a little, laughing as your mom smacks your dads arm. "ah—yeah. it's been alright. were on a hot streak right now, but in a few days we're playing all the top of the league teams. so we'll see, I guess. we've been putting in the work though, practices over practices."

your mom tuts sympathetically and sips her wine. "that's why he looks tired! poor thing. working himself too much."

you nearly choke on your stuffing. "he's fine, mom. that's just his face."

nathan presses his lips together, fighting a laugh. "actually...no yeah, it is just my face."

your aunt liv reaches for the green beans, nearly knocking your brothers drink off the table. he sends you wide eyes in disbelief as she looks at nathan, "I keep telling you, you'd look less tired if you ate more. here—take some." she dumps a heap onto his plate without hesitation.

"thanks," he says, glancing at you like he’s saying save me with his eyes. you only grimace in mock apology.

devin leans back in his chair, looking between the two of you with a smirk that's a little too knowing for comfort. "you have a game in the next couple days? i'm assuming that's why you drove separately? so y/n could stay a bit longer."

"yeah," you say evenly, not looking up in favour of pushing around some potato on your plate. “and he wasn’t feeling great. it was a surprise that he came.”

"yeah, I go back tomorrow night," nathan adds, almost too quickly. "jersey."

your brother huffs, and his next words make you cough. "mhm. I bet my sister will miss you. but I sure won't miss the sound of the headboard banging against the wall."

you tut your tongue, "you've heard nothing like that. and you're lucky you're daughter is 4 and doesn't understand what a weirdo her dad is."

your mom points a finger at him, "don't tease them. they're adults. and don't talk like that it's the dinner table, it'll turn me off my plate."

"adults who linger in doorways, trying to hump in plain sight." your grandma adds, half disappointed and half amused. you can only assume she is referring to your mistletoe kiss the other day—that she initiated mind you.

you laugh and the crudely and absurdity of it all. nathan's fork pauses mid air and his ears go red.

your mom lets out a gasp coupled with a snicker, her eyes wide. "mother! what is with you and humping? seriously, what's this, the third time?"

next to you, nathan shifts in his seat, while you hide your face with your palms. underneath the table, your knee brushes his again, a silent apology. he pushes back and stays there.

your mom changes the subject for mercy's sake. "nathan, you mentioned last time I saw you that you were trying to learn how to cook. how's that coming along?"

he nods and the winces. "trying is the correct word. I can chop vegetables, though. badly."

your dad snorts. "that's half the battle."

nathan glances at you, something soft settling over his face. "y/n helped me figure out how to not cut my fingers off."

"oh! you two have been cooking together?" she brightens, thinking back to many years of your teenage years. specifically, you almost burning down her kitchen trying to make kraft dinner.

you almost answer too fast. "no—just—like once. maybe twice."

"three times," he murmurs.

you turn. "three?"

he gives you a small, sheepish tilt of his head. "the soup counts."

"right. the soup." you soften without meaning to. "that was good."

he shrugs one shoulder, his voice low. "only because you fixed it."

the memory of last winter hits you like a soft blanket. it was one of those evenings were the roads were covered and attempting to get anywhere was like playing bumper cars. so nathan insisted he'd make a soup he saw on tiktok—some lasagna thing that looked delicious. it ended up with him staring helplessly into the pot like it personally offended him soon after the first few ingredients were thrown in.

you had stepped in behind him after 10 minutes of just watching. you giggled as you took the spoon from his hand, fingers brushing over his knuckles. you guided him through the rest, storing slow and steady until it finally came together. nathan watched you the entire time, leaning against the counter like he couldn't fathom how much he loved you. and then because he couldn't not show you, you abandoned the soup for the bedroom—where kisses turned into moans and touched turned to thrusts.

it wasn't the soup that you both are remembering, but rather how easy everything felt.

so maybe that's why it's fitting for your niece to crack the snow globe bubble around you and nathan that you've been steadily trying to mend these past few days. how it's only when you think that maybe you could walk away from this holiday unscathed, and with a family who will never know that this was fake, because you and nathan would be an ‘us’ again.

the entire table is happily oblivious, focused on passing dishes and discussing holiday travel between the soup story. it's right then—right when everything is calm and harmless—that your niece, perched in her booster seat between your brother and mom, looks at the two of you with the bold innocence only a four year old possesses.

"so..." she begins, legs kicking idly under the table, "are you guys ever going to get back together?"

the entire table freezes.

your fork stops. nathan stops breathing. your mother's eyes go round. your aunt's eyebrows shoot up like they're on springs.

and your niece, utterly unbothered, shoves a bite of cranberry sauce slathered turkey into her mouth and adds, "you always act like you still like each other."

the words hung in the air like a dropped ornament, rolling across the polished wood of the table and making everything feel impossibly still. you have no idea how she figured that out, or how she knows in general, but the silence falls like a snowstorm all the same.

"what?" your mom blinks at her, the room tilting just slightly as you go rigid in your chair. "who are you talking about, honey?"

lennon continues to swing her legs under her chair, completely unaware of the tension she's dropping like a grenade. "auntie y/n and uncle nathan," she says brightly. "I heard daddy talking to mommy on the phone about them breaking up."

your breath hitches as your families eyes turn towards your side of the decorated, full table. you don't move. devin's fork pauses mid air, while your aunt's eyebrows climb to the ceiling. your mom looks like she's about to choke on her sip of wine.

your brother lifts both hands in surrender. "don't look at me. It was just a theory," he says quickly. "they were acting all weird and I thought she was sleeping."

your mom's gaze moves to you. "well... is it true?"

"clearly it's not true," your grandmother cuts in before you can answer. she's waves her hand as if that settles it. "they're here, are they not?"

"teddy bear?" your dad asks carefully, voice low, as if the truth might shatter if spoken too loudly.

"I...um." the word curls in your throat, too small, too thin, as emotion presses on your tongue. you trail off, un answering, which only confirms the fact. that everything has been fake. you and nathan aren’t together.

your aunt liv presses a hand to her chest. "oh my god."

the realization hits the table like a dropped plate. "you guys broke up?" your mom whispers, heartbreak softening the edges of her voice.

the silence is suffocating—too warm, too close, the lights suddenly too bright. it's too much, and you push back your chair quickly, breath catching as everything closes in. "I need some air. I'm sorry."

you stand in a flash, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor. the room blurs—your mother's worried frown, devin's guilty wince, the stunned faces all around.

and behind you, quiet but firm, nathan rises halfway from his seat. already reaching for your wrist. you don't notice his reach, or how your mom is looking at you with sympathy in her eyes. you just high tail out of the kitchen like your plate has caught fire.

you don't make it far before your bottom lip is trembling in its own little rhythm, tears clogging the back of your eyelids as you walk down the hallway. the brief chatter that started up once you left your napkin scrunched at the table along with your dignity, fades as you walk further into the house.

once you feel like you're away from paying eyes, you stop and lean against the cool wall next to the basment door. you cry silently for a couple moments and briefly debate returning to the kitchen. but the thought of the knowing, sad looks you'll inevitably get from your family, is enough to have you not moving at all.

deciding that you're done with the world, you grab a bottle of expensive wine from the rack next to you and pull the cork out with a pop. you take a gulp, tastebuds assaulted by sour grapes, and then trudge up the stairs to your childhood bedroom where you plan to wither away.

what feels like an hour later, which in reality was only about half of that, you sit up against your headboard, wine bottle empty and abandoned next to you. you're curled up, knees drawn to your chest, itchy snowflake throw blanket from the end of the bed pulled tightly around your shoulders. you're still crying, more controlled then before, and have decided that scrolling through old photos of you and nathan was a good idea. spoiler alert: drunk you has always been such a sap and never has good ideas.

the door creaks, and your mom appears in the doorway, a mug of something warm in her hands. you hate how your chest deflates, fully expecting that it would’ve been nathan to walk through the door. you mask it with a sniffle and a slurred greeting.

she doesn't sit immediately, just leans casually against the frame, eyes soft in the dim light. "mind if I come sit?" your mom asks.

"no," you mutter, voice small and a little wobbly. "not really."

she settles on the opposite side of the bed, mug still in her hand. she takes a slow sip. "wow," she hums, half to herself, half to the ceiling. "that was... a lot tonight, huh?"

you shrug, sniffing and trying to sound nonchalant, which mostly just made your voice wobble. "yeah. a lot."

your mom doesn't push, just waits a beat, letting the silence stretch comfortably around you both. finally, she sighs, eyes landing on yours. "honey I know you're hurting. and I know that...sometimes, we think someone doesn't see our worth, or maybe we're scared they don't." she pauses again, letting the warmth of the mug seep into her hands. "but he showed up, honey. I think maybe that's something. clearly, to nathan, you're worth something."

you blink, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat. "worth something?" you whisper, incredulous, half laughing at how ridiculous it sounded after all the chaos.

"yeah," she said, voice calm and sure. "worth enough to notice when you're hurting. enough to kiss you in front of your family when you're confused. enough to...try, even if it's messy and confusing. love doesn't have to be perfect. it's usually not. it's just...showing up. over and over. even when you don't know what's coming next."

you let the words sink in, the quiet warmth of her presence a calm against the tension of the weekend. even drunk, a part of you appreciates that she didn't ask a bunch of question. doesn't ask why you pretended to still be dating your ex to appease your family and not feel lonely. and maybe she asked nathan and he told her truth, or maybe your mom is just perceptive. either way, she's said exactly what you've been yearning to hear without prying. what you've spent months wondering, and wishing to hear—told through someone else's pov.

"i’m scared," you slur softly, hugging the blanket tighter. "i'm scared it's all... too much, too late, too complicated."

she reaches over, hand brushing against yours, solid and grounding. "it's never too late to be honest, honey. to yourself, to him. maybe it's messy, maybe it's awkward, maybe there will be laughs and tears and a few burned dinners along the way—but that's life. and right now...you're still here. and he's still here. that counts for something too."

you nod slowly, letting her words settle like snow falling softly on your chest. the world outside is still quiet, snow drifting lazily past the window, but inside, your chest feels a little lighter. the chaos of the day, the embarrassment, the wine, the unspoken words—they all still hung in the air, but for the first time since arriving, it feels like maybe you don't have to carry it alone.

"thanks," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

your mom smiles, small and wise, and you feel a lot like a kid on christmas again. just with alcohol and the emotional range of a teenage girls diary. she squeezes your hand. "anytime, sweetheart."

you lean back, letting the santa blanket cocoon you—feeling the warmth of the room, the quiet understanding, and the faint echo of nathan's presence somewhere nearby.

you end up falling asleep before nathan even makes it upstairs. your niece had insisted—no, demanded—that he read her a bedtime story, and the moment she hit him with those wide, pleading puppy dog eyes, nathan knew he didn't stand a chance. he never did, not with kids and definitely not with the people he secretly loves too much.

by the time he finally slips into the hallway, the house is quiet enough that every step feels loud. he opens the bedroom door slowly, like the room itself might shatter if he moves too quickly. his eyes find you immediately, curled on your side, hair fanned across the pillow in soft messy waves. you look warm. safe. peaceful in a way that twists something in his chest—and that also says you've had enough to drink.

nathan exhales, the sound barely a. million emotions crowd behind his ribs—fondness, longing, guilt he can't quite name, the ache of wanting something he's not sure he's allowed to have. he stands there for a moment, just watching you breathe, like he needs the reassurance of it.

then he quietly kicks off his jeans and the floor creaks when he climbs into bed. he freezes, waits, but you don't stir. not even when he hesitates, then gives in, sliding his arm around your hips and pulling you toward him with a gentleness he doesn't think he deserves. you fit against him like you always do—without effort, without question.

your body relaxes instinctively, tucking back into his. he presses his face into the curve of your shoulder, breathing you in. something unravels in him. he knows he shouldn't be holding you like this. the secret is out. but his own secret, the one that has him still loving you, isn't yet.

and as nathan is falling asleep behind you, he decides that he's tired of keeping it.

⸻

Fri. December 26th

morning comes in slow, gentle, and way too bright for someone who had stayed up drinking and overanalyzing holiday disasters. the sunlight slants through the blinds, painting stripes across the bedroom floor. you groan, stretching under the blanket like it might magically fix the world, or at least your aching head.

for a moment, you're completely unaware of anything except the heavy weight behind you and the steady rise and fall of a chest pressed to your back. then you realize in your groggy haze—nathan.

and he's not just rested there like every other morning, but instead he’s holding you tight, like he spent the whole night afraid to let go. his hand is splayed over your stomach, fingers curled slightly, and his nose is tucked into the back of your neck. his breaths are warm against your skin, slow, soft...unguarded.

you shift just enough to glance over your shoulder.

he's still asleep, hair tousled, lips parted slightly, with the faintest shadow of stubble dusting his jaw. like he'd forgotten his razor at home. he looks younger like this. vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen in a long time.

a pang hits your chest—something sweet and equally terrifying. you had intended to stay up last night and talk to nathan about everything—or as much as you could comprehend with the wine. you really tried. but inevitably, the liquor won and you were out like a light, leaving a million conversations un-had.

you slip out of bed just as the sun starts to rise, careful, to not wake him. when you moved his arm, nathan had attempted to keep you close, and you let yourself bask in the touch for a moment before slipping out fully.

down the hall, the house is still, holding the last traces of last night's disaster. you wrap yourself in somebodies big coat and the candy cane blanket off the back of the couch, and then quietly as to not wake anyone, step out onto the porch.

snow glitters across the yard, making the world look muted and soft. It feels like everything is holding its breath this early—just like you are holding yours too. you exhale, and move to sit on the porch swing. you draw your knees up under the blanket and let the early, cold morning envelope you.

after everything that has happened the last few days—family chaos, confusing glances, the weight of wanting nathan more than you ever have—you breathe in the much needed quiet. for the first time since you arrived, it's a proper moment alone.

you stare at the horizon until the cold numbs your fingers, until your thoughts stopped spiraling quite so loudly. you regret not making a coffee before coming out, because something warm to hold right now sounds like heaven.

just as you think about maybe heading back inside, the front door creaks open, a crack in the silent, snowy morning.

nathan shuffles onto the porch, your brothers slippers on his feet. he's holding two mugs, one obviously for himself and one—thankfully—for you. "coffee?" he hums, voice still rough with sleep but laced with something soft.

you blink, trying to focus. "please," you croak, because embarrassment from last nights fiasco is already climbing back up your spine. "how'd you know I was out here?" you ask.

nathan passes you the santa mug and then carefully sits down next to you, careful not to trap the blanket under his big thigh. "heard you get up. then saw you slip out." a beat passes, eyes searching your face. "you okay?" he asks, voice low, just for you.

you blink, trying to find words—any words that weren't going to come out in a messy jumble of embarrassment. instead, you let out a humorless little laugh, rubbing your temples. "no. not really. I mean...everyone knows now. and I—ugh—i'm...a disaster."

nathan shaka his head, a tiny, exasperated smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "you're not a disaster," he hums softly. "you're...you. and yeah, it's awkward. and yeah, everyone knows now. but that doesn't...it doesn't change anything about you. I was the one who made you do all this."

your cold lips part, but nothing comes out, leaving silence to settle again. it's not a cold silence though—it's warm, heavy, and full of things unspoken. he watches you carefully, like he's memorizing every shift in your expression, every flicker of emotion crossing your face.

you're not looking at him anymore, so nathan reaches forward, slowly, as if he's approaching a baby deer and not the girl he's loved for a greater part of his life. his thumb brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, gaining your attention like a slow flicker.

"i'm sorry," he starts again, quietly. "for all of it. I shouldn't have sprang this fake dating thing on you. I should've walked away, even if i didn't want to. it was too much considering how recent everything happened." you swallow, eyes glassy as you wait for him to continue. his thumb lingers by your hairline, swiping along the baby hairs like a symphony.

"and i'm especially sorry for that night. when I let you walk out of our apartment without trying to stop you. I fucked up everything." nathan pauses, breath shaking just slightly. "and there's not a day that's passed that I haven't regretted it."

your heart stutters in your chest, throat tightening in a way that feel impossible. you don't argue, or try and take the blame. because it's true, nathan was the one who let you leave, when all you wanted was for him to just see you. you place your mug on the ledge in favour of wiping your tears, nathan following suit, using his sleeve to clean your cheek.

solemnly, you nod. a mixture of agreement and relief. "I just..." your voice cracks, and you have to try again. "I wanted you to fight for me."

it comes out barely above a whisper—fragile, exposed, the words you had swallowed for months suddenly laying themselves bare between you. a truth you never let yourself speak because you hadn't wanted to sound needy or naive or unfair. but now, out here on the porch in the cold morning, with him watching you like you were something he's been trying to hold onto for too long, it slips out before you could stop it.

nathan's expression breaks—softening, hurting, and understanding all at once. the mug he's been holding is placed on the weathered floor, and he reaches for your hand slowly—like he's afraid you might flinch away. but when his fingers curl around yours, you don't pull back.

"I should've," he murmurs, thumb tracing the back of your knuckles like a promise he was only now learning how to make. "I wanted too, I just didn't know how. I was lost." he tugs your hand, and your eyes flicker to his. "but i'm here now, trying to show that i've always been there. i've always wanted you, even when I didn't know how to show it."

you let out a small laugh, watery and humorless. "you're here now," you repeat. "but we should've done this months ago. we shouldn't of gotten here in the first place."

"yeah." nathan drops his gaze to your joined hands, rubbing small circles into your skin. "we shouldn't be here." a pause settles—still, heavy, not painful, but true.

you breathe out, feeling your throat constrict a little tighter. you let a few more tears fall, hitting the blanket around your legs. "I kept hoping," you say softly, "even after I left...that you would call. I waited for you to call. or show up. or say you made a mistake." you swallow, the words tasting far too vulnerable. "I waited for you to come back to me."

nathan's jaw tenses, shoulders pulling in just slightly as if your confession has landed like a punch. "I thought about calling," he admits, voice low. "every night, honestly. i'd get all the way to your contact and then—" he shakes his head. "I convinced myself you already hated me. that you'd pick up the call and tell me that it was too late."

"and I convinced myself you didn't care enough to try," you whimper.

he wipes your face again, something raw flickering across his. he gently shakes his head, "no, I cared too much. that was the problem. I was terrified that if I begged you to stay, you'd feel trapped. like I was pulling you into something you didn't want anymore."

your eyebrows furrow, "Ive never not wanted you." you watch him frown at hearing the quiver in your voice, like the sight breaks him. "I wanted us, nate. I didn't want the silence, or the running or the avoiding or pretending that I didn't miss you when we were still sleeping in the same room. I just..." you shake your head this time, blinking fast. "I just didn't want to fight alone."

nathan moves so that he's cupping your cheek gently, guiding your gaze back to him once it flickers to your hands. "you weren't alone," he said, voice breaking in the middle. "I was fighting in my stupid, silent, completely backward way. I just didn't know how to fix what we broke. i'm sorry that it felt like I wasn't there."

you lean into his palm without meaning to, closing your eyes for just a second. "maybe...we broke it together," you admit quietly. "we both walked away. we both...gave up." it hurts to admit that maybe you had a bigger roll in your heartbreak than you thought. and although nathan was the one who didn't try and fight for you, maybe you didn't really give him a proper opportunity.

maybe you weren't hearing him.

nathan's thumb brushes your cheekbone, slow, tender. "then maybe," he whispered, "we stop giving up."

the words hit you with a warmth that cuts straight through the cold morning air. you open your eyes again, meeting his. you can see the sincerity swimming in his gaze—the regret, the longing, the fear of making another mistake. the hope he was almost afraid to feel.

"do you mean that?" you sniffle.

"I mean all of it," he hums. "I should've fought harder. I should've said what I felt instead of assuming you already knew. I should've shown up. and i'm sorry—really, truly sorry—for everytime I made you feel unwanted or unchosen. I never stopped wanting you. not for a second."

you blink, feeling a little starstuck. nathan sucks in a breath, "and being here this week with you, even though me showing up made me look selfish—and maybe it was—it only just reminded me of how much you matter to me. how much I've missed paying attention to your little quirks. your sarcasm and your stubbornness and the way you handled all the chaos like it bows to you." you laughs faintly, and nathan grins. "I screwed up before. I know that. but I don't want to let us slip through my fingers again. I can't. because I love you too much to not fight."

your breath stutters as you let his confession settle into all the empty places his absence had created. then, softly and tentatively, you hum, "I should've fought too. I should've told you I was scared instead of pretending I wasn't hurt. I thought pushing you away would keep me from losing you, but all it did was speed it up."

a beat, then you add—"and I love you too much not to fight, too."

nathan shoulders sag in what feels like relief, and you can't help the watery smile that pulls on your face at the sight. he leans forward, letting his forehead rest against yours. his breath fans softly over your lips, warm and familiar, and for a moment neither of you move. it's the kind of stillness that feels sacred—like the world is holding its breath for the two of you.

"I missed you," nathan whispers, not pulling back, not even opening his eyes. "god, I missed you."

you swallow around the lump in your throat. his closeness feels like slipping into your favourite sweater after months of cold—instantly right, and instantly safe. your fingers lift, almost hesitant, curling into the fabric of his hoodie as if to make sure he's really here. his hands slide to your waist, grounding you, steadying you, like he's relearning the shape of you.

"nathan..." your voice cracks, embarrassingly soft.

he tilts his head, nudging his nose against yours in a way that shouldn't make your heart somersault—but it does. "you don't have to say anything else," he murmurs. "I love you. so much."

you shake your head, a small, breathless laugh escaping. "I love you," you whisper.

that earns the smallest smile from him—tender, shy, almost boyish. "yeah?" he breathes.

you nod.

and nathan looks at you like he's falling all over again—like he's been waiting for permission to breathe. his thumb brushes your cheek, slow and reverent. "come here," he whispers the command, even though you're already in his arms, but it gives you butterflies all the same.

you lean in first—a tiny tilt, barely movement—but he meets you instantly, like magnets finally close enough to snap together.

the kiss is soft. not desperate, not rushed. just soft and familiar in a way that steals your breath and gives it back sweeter. his lips mold perfectly to yours, like they remember exactly how to fit, exactly how to make your stomach flip and your skin warm and your heart ache in that good, shimmering way. this is better than the mistletoe kiss a couple days ago, because this one, you know he wants.

nathan's hand slides up your back, pulling you just a little closer, and you melt—actually melt—into him. your fingers slide into his hair, and he lets out the quietest sound against your mouth, like he's been starving for this and didn't realize it until now.

when you finally break apart, you're both smiling—giddy and flushed and wide eyed, like teenagers kissing behind someone's garage. and because he's a greedy man, nathan presses one more quick, sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth before resting his forehead against yours again.

"that," he mumbles softly, breathlessly, "felt like getting you back."

you laugh—wet and bright and overwhelmed. "that was…so cheesy of you to say, nate. meaning this has truly turned into the ending of one of those terrible hallmark movies." you admit, tone playful.

his grin widens, soft and disbelieving. "yeah," he murmurs. "but terrible hallmark movies are my specialty, so it all checks out."

you're still tucked close to him, his breath brushing your cheek, both of you hovering on that sweet edge of another kiss when the door bangs open so hard it smacks the wall.

"—lennon, wait—!" your brother's voice tries—and fails—to corral the chaos but it's too late.

your niece barrels onto the front porch like a tiny agent of chaos, hair flying, rudolph slippers lighting up with every determined stomp. she sees the two of you in an instant—and then gasps like she's just walked in on santa himself taking his beard off.

"oh my gosh." she announces, tiny finger pointing accusingly at the both of you. "are you kissing?!"

nathan's hands fly off you like he's been caught doing a crime. you nearly stumble with the sudden lack of warmth. "we—uh—" he tries, cheeks pink.

your brother appears behind her, out of breath. "lennon, I told you to wait until they came inside."

your niece ignores him entirely, eyes still huge. "does this mean you're un-breaked up? because mommy said adults get weird and sometimes break up but then sometimes they un-break up because of christmas magic and hot chocolate."

you cover your face with both hands. "oh my god."

nathan, to his credit, bites back a smile. "uh... something like that."

lennon beams, satisfied. "good. because I already told my teacher we were all still a family and if you guys stayed broken up, i'd be a liar."

devin groans, and sends you an apologetic look as he grabs his daughters shoulders. they're both still in their pyjamas, meaning they haven't been up long. "we're going. we're leaving. say goodbye."

she doesn't, just waves at you with as much cheer as a 4 year old could. "carry on with your kissing! just not too much because that's gross!"

another beat—then she's gone, door swinging shut behind them.

you and nathan stare at each other for two seconds before laughter bursts out of both of you—loud, helpless, and relieved. your tears have gone dry on your cheeks now, and both cups of coffee have started to freeze over.

"christmas magic and hot chocolate," you repeat with a snort, wiping your eyes. "so that's what brought us back together?"

nathan leans in again, slower this time, the corner of his mouth curved. "nah," he murmurs. "pretty sure it was you."

and when he kisses you again—soft, warm, and absolutely interrupt proof—you feel that same dizzy, giddy spark bloom in your chest.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

lu's library