"And... that's that."

Simon straightens slowly, a low grunt slipping out of him as his spine protests. A dull ache blooms across his lower back and he rolls his shoulders once, exhaling through his nose. "Getting old," he mutters, more habit than complaint.

But the sight in front of him makes it worth it.

The tree stands tall in the corner of the living room, branches heavy with lights, tinsel, baubles—nothing fancy, but chosen carefully. A star crowns the top, slightly crooked. He leaves it that way. It feels right. The flat glows warm and soft around it, nothing like the place usually looks.

He already knows how you’ll react. That alone is enough to quiet the ache.

He knows how much you like Christmas. He’s seen the way your eyes light up once it gets cold enough for soft jumpers and layered clothes, the way snow—when you’re somewhere it’s common—draws a quiet kind of wonder out of you. He’s noticed how you watch families enjoying their time together, an expression that carries both warmth and longing. The same look appears when you slow down in front of certain shop windows.

He knows why, too.

Your parents were stricter than most. Holidays weren’t loud or indulgent or full of traditions the way they should’ve been. Celebration always came with rules, limits, conditions. He doesn’t push you to talk about it—but he listens when you do.

The moment it really hit him was a few weeks ago, walking beside you through the lights and stalls of a winter fair. Your reaction hadn’t been to anything grand. Just something small. Simple. And that was enough. Right then, Simon decided he’d make sure this Christmas was one you wouldn’t forget.

That’s why his entire flat is lit better than it’s ever been. Decorated better, too. He’d never bothered before; he never had a reason. This time, he went all out. He took leave two days early just to set everything up—after already buying your presents—and blamed it on Price being eager to get rid of him.

String lights run along the walls and window frames, woven through garlands he definitely struggled more than he'll ever admit. Fake candles sit on shelves and furniture so the place doesn’t accidentally go up in flames. The hallways are softly lit with them, too. Every window has some kind of decoration. Extra pillows and blankets are spread over the sofa and the bed. Presents sit beneath the tree, with a few smaller ones placed on a stocking.

It was a lot of work.

But the end result looks like something straight out of one of those cozy Christmas films that always seem to be on at this time of year. Simon thinks it might be the best thing he’s ever put effort into.

He’s just about to sit down and wait when the doorbell rings, and the nerves hit him all over again. His stomach tightens instantly.

He’d hidden your keys on purpose, knowing you’d have to ring. It gave him an excuse. When he opens the door, he’s already holding the blindfold.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “I’m just gonna put this on you, alright? Just a sec.”

You sound confused, and he huffs a quiet breath that might almost be a smile. "It's a surprise," he adds. "Can't let you see yet. Doesn’t work otherwise."

He slips the blindfold into place, careful with his touch, then helps you out of your jacket and hangs it up. One hand settles at your back as he guides you inside, closing the door behind you. His hands slide to your arms and down 'till your hands as he leads you toward the living room.

“Stand here,” he murmurs. “Won't be long.”

He steps away only long enough to grab the mug of hot chocolate he made earlier, still warm, pressing it carefully into your hands when he returns.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna count to three. Then you can take it off.”

He waits for your nod.

“One…” He steps closer, presence solid at your side. “Two…” His hands find your waist and settle. “Three.”

The moment you lift the blindfold, he presses a quick kiss to your cheek, then pulls back to watch your reaction as the lights and decorations come into view.

“Merry Christmas, darling.” Simon says softly.