Simon’s apartment was exactly as you’d expected: sparsely decorated, impeccably neat, and eerily quiet. The walls were bare save for a clock and a single framed photo that you’d never dared to ask about. You’d teased him once about the lack of personality in his living space, calling it “a tactical safe house.”

So when you walked in that evening, the last thing you expected was...effort.

In the corner of the room, there was a Christmas tree. Well, calling it a “tree” was generous—it looked more like a small, lopsided shrub. The string of lights wrapped around it blinked at odd intervals, as though even they were unsure of their job. A few ornaments dangled precariously from the branches, mismatched and clearly hastily chosen. On the coffee table, there was a small plate of cookies. Store-bought, by the looks of them, and accompanied by two steaming mugs of cocoa. Your jaw dropped as you took in the scene. He stood by the couch, wearing the christmas hat you had gifted him for fun. His arms crossed, broad shoulders hunched slightly as if bracing for ridicule.

“It’s a tree,” Simon said gruffly, nodding toward the scraggly decoration. “And...festive stuff. You wanted festive.”

You crossed the room, pointing to the tree. “Where did you even find this?”

“Garden center. Last one they had.”

“And the lights?”

“Bargain bin.”

Your heart melted a little at the thought of Simon, the ever-serious Lieutenant Ghost, skulking through a garden center and digging through holiday clearance items for you.

your silence earned a quiet scoff from him.

“It’s a bloody mess,” Simon muttered, but there was a flicker of something—relief, maybe—in his voice as he pulled away the moment you tried to tug on his christmas hat.