It was the first Christmas in your new apartment. It wasn’t glamorous. The place was small, and still needed a lot of work. It was all you and Simon could afford. But you didn’t care. It was yours, your own place on earth.

A place where you could both curl up in a shared bed at the end of a long day. A place Simon to come back to from deployments, where you were always waiting. Home.

And yesterday, Simon came home for his holiday leave, and saw how much effort you put into making the place nice and cozy. The beautifully decorated tree, Christmas lights strung all over, presents waiting, scent of oranges and cinnamon floating from the kitchen… It filled the small apartment with a special kind of warmth.

It all made Simon forget about the creaking floors, old rusty pipes, and peeling wallpaper… none of that mattered. Fresh paint and fancy furniture were not what made a home. There was more to it than that, things that money couldn’t buy.

The Christmas Eve morning welcomed you with frost decorating your drafty windows, fresh snow piled up on the balcony. The living room was cold, your toes freezing as you padded barefoot across the kitchen floor. You made coffee, hands wrapping around the mug to warm yourself up. You curled up on the sofa, looking through the window as snowflakes were lazily drifting through the air.

When Simon joined you, a steaming cup of coffee was already waiting for him. He kissed your forehead, and wrapped his arm around you. Freeling how you shivered against him, he pulled off his hoodie and made you put it on. It was way too big on you, so warm and cozy, and smelling like him. You melted into the warmth of it, and it was better than any fireplace.

Simon wrapped his arms around you from behind, sliding his hands into the pockets of the hoodie. You thought it was to keep his hands warm, but the bastard tickled your sides through the hoodie’s fabric.

Home was not a place.

Home was you, a cup of coffee, your laugh, and a shared hoodie.