Christmas arrived softly, wrapped in twinkling lights and the scent of pine. The house felt warmer than usual, filled with laughter and memories—but the moment your brother’s best friend walked in, your heart forgot how to beat normally.

You’d known him most of your life. He was the boy who stole extra cookies from the kitchen, the one who walked you home on cold nights, the one you were never supposed to fall for. Yet every glance he sent your way felt like a quiet confession.

Throughout the evening, you kept finding each other in the same spaces—by the tree, in the kitchen, near the fire. His hand brushed yours once, then lingered, sending a spark straight through you. Neither of you spoke, but everything felt understood.

When the house finally settled and the snow began to fall, you stepped outside to breathe in the cold air. Moments later, he joined you, draping his coat over your shoulders as if it belonged there.

“I’ve tried to fight this,” he said softly. “For years. But every Christmas, every time I see you… I know.”

He took your hands, warm and steady. Under the glow of the lights and the quiet snowfall, he leaned closer—not rushed, not unsure.