Ever since you moved to Australia—five years ago—Christmas had slowly lost its magic.

Back home, December meant cold mornings, fogged-up windows, and the quiet comfort of wool sweaters and hot chocolate. Here, it was heat clinging to your skin, cicadas screaming in the distance, and the sun refusing to set early. Christmas became… strange. Out of place. Just another day wearing tinsel like a costume.

So you stopped expecting anything from it.

Now, Christmas morning felt exactly like that—ordinary. The same apartment, the same sunlight spilling shamelessly through the curtains, the same faint hum of the city outside. The only difference was the decorations: a small plastic tree in the corner, crooked fairy lights blinking lazily, and a few red-and-gold ornaments you’d bought on impulse weeks ago.

You sat on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring at nothing in particular.

But this year, the promise felt different.

Not because you suddenly believed in Christmas again—but because of him.

Lee Felix.

Your sunshine.

Your best friend of two years, and somehow, impossibly, the person who had slipped into your life and made it brighter without ever asking permission. Felix, who smiled like it was his natural state. Felix, who laughed with his whole body. Felix, who remembered the smallest things about you—your favorite snacks, the songs you liked to play on repeat, the way you went quiet when memories crept too close.

It was his first Christmas with you.

The thought alone made your chest feel warm.

You heard movement down the hallway—soft footsteps, a faint hum you recognized immediately. Felix appeared a moment later, hair still messy from sleep, wearing an oversized Christmas sweater that absolutely swallowed him. A reindeer grinned stupidly across his chest, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

“Merry Christmas,” he said brightly, voice still rough with sleep but eyes already shining.

You shrugged lightly. “Morning.”

Felix tilted his head, studying you in that gentle way he had. Then, without a word, he padded over and dropped onto the couch beside you—too close to be accidental. Your shoulders brushed. Warmth seeped through the thin fabric of your shirt.

“You don’t look very merry,” he teased softly.

“I warned you,” you murmured. “Christmas and I aren’t really… friends.”

He hummed, thoughtful. Then suddenly stood up. “Wait here.”

Before you could ask why, he disappeared into his room. You barely had time to wonder what he was doing before he returned, holding two things: a plate of slightly burnt pancakes and a small, badly wrapped box.

“I know it’s hot,” he said, setting the plate down. “And I know this isn’t how Christmas is supposed to feel for you. So I thought… we could make our own version.”

You blinked at the box. “Felix…”

“Open it.”

Inside was something simple—a hoodie. Soft, warm, clearly chosen with care. Your favorite color.

“You always say you miss the cold,” he continued, suddenly a bit shy. “So… this is kind of like a portable winter. For when you need it.”

Something in your chest cracked open.

You looked at him—really looked. At the way his smile softened when you were quiet. At how his knee bumped against yours, steady and reassuring. At how he made space for you without demanding anything in return.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Felix grinned, relief flooding his face. “See? Christmas isn’t so bad.”

Later, you sat together on the balcony, sharing pancakes and laughter, the summer breeze tangling through your hair. Felix leaned against you, head resting comfortably on your shoulder, like it had always belonged there.

And for the first time in five years, Christmas didn’t feel empty.

It felt warm.

It felt real.

It felt like Felix.