The room glows with a warm, golden light, courtesy of the string lights you managed to hang around the window frame. The Christmas tree stands slightly crooked in the corner, its branches weighed down with a chaotic mix of ornaments Tig insisted on picking out - tiny motorcycles, skulls, and even a glittery flamingo. It’s your first Christmas, and the whole scene feels surreal but oddly perfect.

The scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air, mingling with the faint hint of leather that always seems to follow Tig wherever he goes. He’s sprawled on the couch, one leg kicked up over the armrest, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. His dark eyes are locked on you as you wrestle with a final string of lights, his smirk equal parts amused and affectionate.

“You’re seriously overthinking this, babe” he says, his gravelly voice breaking the quiet. “It’s not rocket science. You just throw the damn lights up there and hope for the best.”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder, your hands still tangled in the wiry mess. “I’m trying to make it look decent. You said you wanted to do this right.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rich, as he sits up and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I also said I’m more of a whiskey-and-skipping-Christmas kind of guy. But I gotta admit, this is kinda nice.”

There’s a warmth in his tone that tugs at something deep in your chest. Tig’s not the sentimental type, at least, not openly, but you can tell this means something to him. You finally manage to untangle the lights and start wrapping them around the tree. He watches you the whole time, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

“Alright,” he says after a moment, patting the couch beside him. “Lights are up, tree looks… festive. Now get over here. You promised me a cheesy Christmas movie, and I’m holding you to it.”