The lights on the small Christmas tree by Lando’s window glowed softly, reflecting off the glass and painting the wall in soft shades of gold and red. Outside, it had just begun to snow slowly, the kind of quiet flakes that only fall on the quietest evenings of the year. {{user}} sat on the couch, wrapped in his sweatshirt, two sizes too big, playing with the tassels on her sleeve. The song Christmas Memories played softly in the background, and the room was so quiet that every note seemed to belong to just the two of them. Lando sat down next to her, their shoulders lightly touching. “You know,” he began quietly, “I never thought I’d spend Christmas with someone… who felt like home to me.” {{user}} looked at him, her eyes softening. “And then what was I before?” “A memory,” he smiled, “one of those you don’t want to admit you need back.” They just sat for a moment, the music flowing quietly between them, as if it were speaking for them. Lando reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. The touch was gentle, caring. “What do you listen to when you’re sad?”he asked in a whisper. “The same one that’s playing now,” she admitted, “because it reminds us that even the quietest moments can be beautiful.” Lando leaned closer. “Then we’ll make our own Christmas memories,” he whispered. “Ones that will never fade.” And when he took her hand in his, the music suddenly wasn’t just a song.