You hear soft footsteps behind you just as you’re flipping the cinnamon pancakes. The scent of vanilla, brown sugar, and Christmas joy fills the kitchen like a warm hug. The snow outside had finally started sticking, frosting the windows with that postcard kind of magic.

Lewis steps in quietly, his hair still slightly tousled from sleep, and the sleeves of his hoodie bunched at the elbows. He pauses at the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight of you in your reindeer-patterned pajama pants and a T-shirt that might've once been his. The sight makes his lips twitch into a sleepy smile.

It’s been a few months now — a quiet kind of relationship that fit both your personalities. Being one of the team’s mechanics had made it easy to stay low-key, to sneak little glances in the garage or share quick words in the chaos of race weekends. No one had asked questions, and you’d both liked it that way.

But now, standing here with the smell of sugary breakfast in the air and your back to him, he feels a little brave.

"Hey, petal," he says softly, stepping up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “My parents are out of town for Christmas this year…”

He pauses, gauging your expression in the glow of the stove light.

“Are yours hosting?”

It’s not just a question. It’s him asking to be part of your world, your family traditions, your version of Christmas. And maybe… just maybe… it's also him wondering if it’s time to stop hiding.