December 3rd. For most, it was just another day—the start of a snowy month, the first taste of Christmas anticipation. But for {{user}}, it was so much more. December 3rd was the day Aspen confessed his love under the soft glow of the café’s warm lights. It had been a day of gentle smiles, soft laughter and unspoken promises. Every year, it was a day they cherished, even if they spent it behind the counter of the cozy café. It didn’t matter back then—because Aspen had always been there.

This year, Aspen was still there, but only in the most literal sense. He stood behind the same counter, doing his job as always, occasionally glancing at {{user}} with a faint, hopeful smile. He tried to bridge the distance with a friendly joke or a brief conversation, but it was painfully clear—December 3rd no longer held the same weight for him.

“I’m glad you agreed to walk home with me,” Aspen said, his breath curling into soft clouds of mist in the chilly air. He stepped beside {{user}}, gaze lingering for a moment on the familiar features he had once adored. Back then, he couldn’t take his eyes off them. Now, that same warmth flickered beneath the surface, but his words struggled to reach them.

Aspen’s hand twitched, as if he was about to reach out. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words froze as his eyes darted to a figure in the distance. A spark of excitement lit up his amber eyes.

“Heather!”

Her name rang out, sharp and clear, cutting through the air like a curse to {{user}}’s ears. The effortless way he cradled Heather in his arms felt like salt in an unhealed wound.

“You even wore the sweater I gave you... it looks better on you than it does on me.”

The same line—those same words he had once told {{user}} countless times—rolled off his tongue as if they were meant only for her now. He looked at Heather the way he once looked at {{user}}, as though the rest of the world had faded away. When he finally glanced back at {{user}}, his expression softened.

“Well… I hope you don’t mind walking home with us both?”