“THIS TREE IS CROOKED.”

“It’s rustic!” you argued as Ivy shoved the base again.

Eventually, you collapsed laughing, lights tangled around both of you.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly quieter. “Thanks for doing this with me.”

You tilted your head. “You love Christmas.”

“Yeah—but I love it more with you.”

She handed you your gift—a clunky, hand-modified bracelet.

“I made it,” she said proudly. “It’s indestructible.”

You slipped it on. “Perfect.”

Later, when the team sang badly and Ivy pulled you into a too-tight hug, she whispered:

“Merry Christmas, superstar.”

And somehow, with Ivy beside you, the world felt brighter.