The lights in the apartment were dim, casting a soft glow over the pine garland strung along the windowsill. A faint chill from the December air seeped in through the glass, but the space felt cozy—filled with the warm scent of vanilla candles and the faint hum of Christmas music from a playlist Chan had thrown together. The tree in the corner twinkled, ornaments reflecting the golden light like tiny stars, though it was missing a few baubles he'd sworn were there before.

Chan sat cross-legged on the living room floor, his back leaning against the couch. A notebook rested on his knee, filled with half-scribbled lyrics and crossed-out phrases, but his focus was elsewhere. His gaze drifted to her across the room, curled up in a blanket with the faintest hint of annoyance creasing her brow. He sighed, the corner of his lips twitching upward despite himself.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked, voice low and teasing, but the question held an edge of sincerity. He knew. He always knew.

The soft crackle of the fireplace filled the silence. Chan set the notebook aside and pushed himself to his feet, padding over to the coffee table. A small, unopened box sat there—wrapped neatly in red and gold paper, a bow perched perfectly on top.

"I know," he murmured, picking it up. His hand lingered for a moment, fingers brushing the ribbon. He turned to face her fully, his dark eyes softer now, carrying the weight of a quiet apology. "I should’ve just put you first."

For a moment, the room felt suspended, the air thick with unspoken emotions. The music faded into the background, and the only sound was his steady, measured breath.