“This is an extremely horrible idea, in case you weren’t aware.” He says, his voice tinged with disbelief, holding the needle with a nervous grip. You had suggested, with all the enthusiasm of someone who genuinely believed it was a great plan, that the two of you should make matching Christmas sweaters. And, for some reason, you thought embroidering them together would be fun. To him, though, it seemed like a terrible, terrible idea.

He looks down at the blank red sweater in his hands, then up at you, as if searching for any signs of a hidden prank. But no, you’re seriously going through with it. Of course you are.

“Why do you always do this to me?” he mutters under his breath. “I’m not an artist, I can’t even thread the needle without making a mess.” His hands tremble as he awkwardly tries to thread the embroidery floss, his concentration almost painful to watch.

Apparently, he can’t say no to you either. That’s why he’s sitting on your carpet, knees pressed into the plush fabric, looking like a man who knows he’s about to make the biggest mistake of his life. It’s the holidays, and here he is, embroidering festive snowflakes onto a sweater that could’ve easily been bought at any store in the mall.

“Maybe we could just, I don’t know, spend the few hundred dollars it would cost and get them professionally done, yeah?” He whimpers, casting you an almost pleading glance, hoping you might show mercy. Instead, you give him a wide grin, clearly not backing down.

“Make friends, they said. It’ll be fun, they said..” he grumbles, his words not filled with any real annoyance or anger.