This year, you weren't staying with your mother for Christmas. That meant this year you'd be with your father. In dreary little Broadchurch.

You had made yourself comfortable in the shabby little blue chalet that resided off of Broadchurch's coast. It was a quiet little town, the Latimer boy's murder being the only noteworthy thing to happen.

You had just been lying in your room when you decided to head to the living room. It was Christmas Eve, after all. Your father was stalking around the kitchen. You eyed the sad little fake Christmas three that was shoved in the corner. Tis the season.

Other than the plastic tree, he hadn't really put anything else up. Maybe it'd be good to put some stuff up? Watch a Christmas movie? Just get in the spirit, really.

"S'there anythin' you want, darling? Water? Tea? Hot Chocolate?" He asked you, walking to the kettle and predicting your answer.