Christmas, With You
The first thing you notice when you wake up is the quiet.
Not the empty kind, but the soft, peaceful hush that only comes on Christmas morning- like the world decided to hold its breath just for a little while.
The heater hums faintly, and somewhere down the hall you hear movement.
Then comes the smell.
Coffee. Cinnamon. Something warm and sweet.
You smile before you even open your eyes.
Padding down the hallway in Austin’s oversized Lakers hoodie and fuzzy socks, you follow the sounds into the kitchen. Austin is standing at the counter, hair still messy from sleep, wearing red plaid pajama pants and a white T-shirt that reads Santa Reaves. He turns when he hears you and breaks into that familiar grin- the one that makes his eyes crinkle just a little.
“Merry Christmas,” he says softly, like it’s just for you.
“Merry Christmas,” you reply, stepping into his arms.
He wraps you up immediately, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You fit against him easily, like you always do, and for a moment neither of you says anything. The kitchen glows with warm lights, the Christmas tree twinkling in the corner, gifts tucked neatly underneath.
“This is my favorite part,” he murmurs. “Before everything starts.”
You tilt your head back to look at him. “You mean before you start crying over a gift I got you?”
He scoffs. “I do not cry.”
“You cried over socks last year.”
“They were custom socks,” he protests. “With my dog on them.”
You laugh, and he grins, pretending to be offended before kissing you again- this time slow, lingering, full of everything the season seems to amplify. Love. Gratitude. Home.
Breakfast is simple but perfect. Cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven, scrambled eggs, coffee in matching mugs that say Naughty and Nice. Austin insists you get Nice, even though you argue.
“Absolutely not,” he says, sliding it toward you. “I’ve seen your Amazon purchase history.”
You snort. “That was one time.”
After breakfast, you curl up on the couch together, a blanket pulled over both of you. The fireplace crackles softly as Christmas music plays low in the background. Austin pulls you against his chest, his arm snug around your shoulders, absentmindedly rubbing circles into your arm.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod. “Just happy.”
He presses his lips to your temple. “Good. That’s all I want.”
Eventually, he jumps up suddenly. “Okay. Gifts. Now.”
You laugh. “You’re like a kid.”
“You love it.”
You do.
You sit cross-legged by the tree, handing gifts back and forth. Austin insists you open yours first, watching your face closely with every rip of wrapping paper. There’s a cozy sweater, soft and exactly your style. A bracelet with a tiny basketball charm and your initials engraved inside. A framed photo of the two of you from last summer, laughing on the beach.
Then you open the last box.
Inside is a small, delicate ornament- clear glass, hand-painted- with the words Our First Christmas Here.
Your throat tightens.
“I know it’s cheesy,” he says quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But this year felt… big. Like the start of something.”
You stand and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love it,” you whisper. “I love all of it.”
He exhales, relief and happiness washing over his face. “Okay. My turn.”
You hand him his gifts, heart pounding even though you know he’ll love them. There’s a custom leather journal with his initials, a hoodie from his favorite brand, and finally a small box.
He opens it slowly.
Inside is a simple silver necklace with a small charm shaped like a star, engraved with the coordinates of where you first met.
Austin goes very still.
“…You remembered,” he says quietly.
“Of course I did.”
He swallows hard, blinking a few times. “I said I don’t cry.”
“You’re definitely crying.”
He laughs breathlessly and pulls you into his arms, holding you tight. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “Seriously. This means everything.”
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of laughter, photos, and FaceTime calls with family. Austin talks to his parents, you talk to yours, and at some point you both end up on the couch again, full and content and warm.
In the afternoon, you bundle up and go for a walk. The air is crisp, the sky bright, and Austin laces his fingers through yours as you wander through the neighborhood. A few people recognize him, offering smiles and quiet holiday wishes, but for the most part it feels like the world belongs just to you.
“You ever think about how weird our life is?” you ask.
“All the time,” he admits. “But I wouldn’t trade it. Not if it means I get this. I get you.”
You stop walking and look at him. “You’re getting sentimental.”
“It’s Christmas,” he shrugs. “I’m allowed.”
That night, you cook dinner together- well, you cook, and Austin pretends to help. There’s wine, music, and a lot of laughter when he burns the garlic bread. You eat by candlelight, the tree glowing nearby, the house filled with warmth.
Later, curled up in bed with Christmas lights strung along the headboard, Austin pulls you close, his forehead resting against yours.
“Thank you for this,” he says softly.
“For what?”
“For making life feel like this,” he answers. “Even when things are crazy. Even when basketball gets hard. You make everything feel steady.”
You trace your thumb along his jaw. “You do the same for me.”
Outside, the world is quiet again, the night calm and gentle. Inside, wrapped in his arms, you feel completely at peace.
Your favorite Christmas gift isn’t under the tree.
It’s right here, holding you, whispering “I love you” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.