Christmas at your place had become a tradition.

Every year, you’d insist on hosting, and every year Han somehow got roped into helping, despite complaining about it from the moment he arrived. By noon, the living room was already glowing with Christmas lights, holiday movies played softly in the background, and the kitchen counters were covered in flour, cookie cutters, and bowls of frosting waiting to be used.

You’d even convinced him to wear matching pajamas. After ten minutes of relentless persuasion, he’d finally given in. You were wearing a black top with red plaid pajama pants, while Han matched in a black T-shirt and the same red pajama pants, muttering the entire time about how “this was never happening again.”

Now the two of you stood shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, decorating sugar cookies in comfortable silence. Han frowned at the growing mess on the counter before glancing around the kitchen. “Where’d you put the green icing?” he asked, opening another cabinet. “Don’t tell me you forgot to buy it.”