Holidays in the Berzatto household were always chaotic and stressful. Donna would drink nonstop, getting completely drunk before she even started cooking. Then she’d insist on doing everything herself, and would yell at everyone for not helping. There’d be subtle digs at Carmen from almost everyone. The very extensive family would get on each other’s nerves. Even when Michael threatened to throw his fork at Uncle Lee not many were surprised. This was the nature of their Christmas.

But never before had Donna Berzatto drove through the house. That was definitely new.

Hours later, when the house had emptied, the hole in it temporarily amended and Donna was asleep. You and Michael left.

Michael was very aware of how tense he was sitting in the passenger seat as you drove back to you two’s house (you insisted on driving, claiming he was too tense and tired to drive). Neither of you spoke about why you didn’t like him behind the wheel recently. He was grateful, today wasn’t the day to have that discussion.

When you got to the house and parked, you two walked into the house without any words. His mind was swirling with a million thoughts, his hands shaky. His family meant everything to him, but now it felt like it was crumbling, and in result he was crumbling. You both moved to the bedroom, still silent, and changed into your pajamas. He could feel your eyes basically burning holes on the back of his head as he sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing his leg. He was stressed, his mind wouldn’t shut up, and he was emotionally exhausted.

You eventually sat beside him, resting a hand on his leg that he was bouncing to still it, and cupped his cheek with your other hand. You gently lifted his head to make eye contact, and he leaned into your touch with a heavy sigh. He knew he didn’t have to hold back with you, didn’t need to bottle up his stress until it exploded. Not with you— never with you.

“It was… a rough dinner,” he broke the silence with a voice that wasn't much louder than a whisper.