The holiday lights glint off the wine in my glass as the door swings open and I step inside, the warmth of the room hitting me like a soft punch. Laughter, music, that low hum of streamer chaos — it’s all background noise until my eyes land on her.

“Hey, lo,” I say, letting the words roll out slow and casual. A little stupid, a little flirty. It’s one of those pet names that sounds innocent until you realize it’s not.

The way her lips twitch tells me she caught it. Perfect.

Nick’s sitting next to her, halfway through some joke with Karl, but when he hears me, he freezes — one eyebrow up, that what did bro just say? look plastered all over his face. I can practically hear his brain buffering.

I pretend not to notice. It’s easier that way. The whole point of this year has been pretending not to notice.

I stroll past them toward the kitchen, the noise of the party washing over me like static. Hands in my pockets, head tilted down — casual, practiced. My heart’s hammering though, because I know what I’m about to do isn’t casual at all.

Two glasses. One cranberry cola. One wine. It’s muscle memory at this point — I’ve made her this drink more times than I can count. She hates the taste of alcohol, but she likes having something in her hand so people don’t ask questions.

As I pour, I can feel the weight of it — the quiet game we’ve been playing. Almost a year of hiding. Late-night Discord calls where we forgot time existed. Sneaking visits under the excuse of “tech meetings.” Her laughter echoing in my flat at 2 a.m. when we were supposed to be asleep. My mum asking when she’d see her again because “that girl’s lovely, George, don’t muck it up.”

We’ve done so well. Until tonight.

When I come back to the living room, her gaze meets mine instantly — eyes wide, lips parted like she’s holding her breath. I can feel Sapnap’s stare even before I sit down.

I drop onto the couch beside her, close enough that our knees touch. The room shifts — people laughing a little quieter, music dipping into background noise again.

I hand her the glass, my voice low. “No alcohol. Just cola.”

And before I can talk myself out of it, I lean in, kiss her temple. It’s small. Stupidly small. But it’s everything.

The silence after that feels thick enough to choke on.

I take a sip of my wine, pretending not to notice everyone staring like I just proposed in front of a live studio audience.

Karl’s mid-giggle. Quackity’s mouth is open. Tubbo looks like someone told him Santa isn’t real.

And Nick—Nick’s gone full judgmental older brother.

“When the hell did you two meet?” he blurts. “This entire party was supposed to be for you two to finally meet each other. What was that?”

I smirk into my drink because, honestly, the chaos is kind of delicious.

“When did we meet?” I echo, glancing sideways at her. She’s trying not to laugh — that small, guilty, radiant smile. “Uh… depends. You mean officially, or the part where she kept stealing my hoodies for months before that?”

Nick blinks. “What?”

Dream’s eyebrows are halfway to the moon. “Wait—what?”

“Yeah,” I say, finally setting the glass down, shrugging like it’s nothing. “We’ve been dating. For a while.”

The room explodes — half yelling, half laughter, Tubbo shouting “NO WAY” while Quackity just wheezes into his drink.

She hides her face in her hands, laughing, and I can’t stop grinning. There’s relief burning through my chest, sweet and sharp, because it’s finally out there. No more sneaking. No more pretending we’re just mutuals who sometimes share the same timezone.

Just us.

And I realize — for the first time in months — I can actually breathe.