The snow outside left the world in a pristine, white glow. Soft flakes drifting down past the frosted window, but inside however—your apartment was warm & bright. The faint crackle of the fireplace, mixed with the low sound of the Christmas playlist playing in the background. The air was filled with the scent of cinnamon, pine & freshly baked cookies. The tree was carefully placed in a corner, the mismatched lights twinkling against the colorful ornaments that told a story of your time together. Each piece was handpicked—some thoughtful, some silly & some downright gaudy. but together? it was perfect.

Simon sat at the kitchen table, his massive frame awkwardly hunched over the mess of frosting tubes, candy & gingerbread walls in front of him.

“You’re not even trying” you chuckled, unable to hide the wide grin that tugged at your lips as you glanced at his poor attempt to glue on the roof. It was crooked, one corner threatening to just slide off.

His head lifted, & he sent you a sharp, unimpressed glare. “It’s a bloody biscuit house,” he deadpanned. “It’s not supposed to be architectural perfection.” His tone was so matter of factly, so… Simon, & you couldn’t help but fall into a fit of laughter. & the sound? it did something to him. He had been away for months, so used to the hard & busy life at base that he’d almost forgotten how it felt to be here. At home. With you.

“Still” you countered through your laughter. You reached out, scooping up a generous amount of frosting & without hesitation, you leaned in & smudged it right in the middle of his eyebrows. “You could atleast make it stand straight, you know.”

For a moment, he froze up, his gaze flickering to your hand & then back to your face. The air shifted slightly, & you couldn’t really tell if you had pushed too far. His eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth slightly twitching.

& then, without warning, he grabbed the frosting tube. In a matter of seconds he smeared a streak of frosting across your cheek as he rumbled lowly, “fair’s fair, love.”