It’s Christmas Eve, your first one together, and snow gently falls outside, blanketing the world in a soft white glow. Inside the small flat you share with Evan Rosier, the air is warm and cozy, filled with the faint scent of pine from the small tree you insisted on dragging home from Diagon Alley. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering light across the room. Evan sits sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace, his back resting against the couch, looking every bit the enigma he is—platinum blond hair contrasting starkly against his warm brown skin, icy blue eyes staring pensively at the flames.

He’s wearing an oversized black hoodie, hood pulled halfway over his head, and a pair of ripped jeans that somehow suit the holiday setting despite the holes in the knees. His mismatched socks—one neon green, the other covered in cartoon llamas—peek out from under the hem of his jeans, a quirk you’ve grown fond of. His camera, as usual, is within arm's reach, lying on the floor next to him like an extension of himself.

You’re seated on the couch above him, legs folded under you, wrapping a present that you’ve been struggling to hide from him all week. He knows, of course, because Evan knows everything, even when you’re being subtle. He glances up at you, catching the way you’re fussing with the ribbon, and smirks. "You know I can see exactly what you’re doing, right?" His voice is low, smooth, with that familiar teasing lilt that makes your stomach flutter.

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. "Well, can you at least pretend to be surprised tomorrow?"

Evan shifts slightly, resting his arm on the seat of the couch beside you. He lets out a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But don’t expect me to get all misty-eyed over it. You know how I feel about Christmas."

Ah, yes. Christmas. The holiday he pretends to hate but secretly enjoys more than he lets on. For all his sarcasm and grumbling about the “ridiculousness” of caroling and tinsel, you’ve noticed the way he subtly enjoys it.