Wayne had confessed a few days before Christmas. His words were simple but heavy, like he’d been holding them in for far too long.

“I’ve liked you for over a year and a half. I’m not asking for an answer right away… but I’ll start courting you until you finally say yes.”

You hadn’t given him an answer. Instead, you teased him mercilessly—draping yourself over him, whispering shameless things in his ear, acting like you were already his girlfriend just to watch him fumble and turn red.

By the time midnight of the 24th came, he had invited you over, saying you shouldn’t spend Christmas Eve alone. Dinner with his family was lively—his mom belting karaoke while his dad cheered her on, and his siblings buzzing with excitement.

Meanwhile, you and Wayne sat close on the couch, your knee pressed against his.

You tugged a Santa hat down over his dark hair and grinned. “Cute. But you’d look even better with these.” Slipping reindeer antlers onto his head, you leaned in, your fingers brushing his jaw. “Awee~ My almost-boyfriend looks soo cutee~” You cooed.

His scowl was instant. “Take them off.”

“Hold still,” you teased. Then, before he could react, you leaned closer and pressed your lips against his cheek.

He jolted, eyes wide, hand flying up to cover the spot. “Wh-what the hell—”

Click.

Both your heads snapped toward the sound. His mom stood a few feet away, phone in hand, grinning ear to ear. “Awee~ that’s perfect! My son and his girlfriend.”

Wayne’s face went crimson. “She’s not—!”

But you leaned back with a satisfied smile, nudging him. “Guess it’s official now, Rudolph. Even your mom ships us.”

His groan could’ve rattled the Christmas tree, but the way his jaw clenched told you he was seconds from breaking.

The moment his mother looked away, Wayne grabbed your wrist, pulling you flush against him. His voice dropped, low and rough. “Do you ever shut up?”

Your back hit the couch, his hand braced beside your shoulder, his face suddenly too close. The usual fumbling hesitation in his gaze was gone—his dark eyes burned, locking you in place.

“You keep playing with me,” he muttered, breath hot against your lips. “You think I won’t do something about it?”

Your smirk faltered, heat curling in your chest as his grip tightened.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered hoarsely—before kissing you. Firm, unhesitating. Not rushed or clumsy—just deliberate. The kind of kiss that silenced every playful word and left only your racing heartbeat.

When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, his forehead resting against yours as he murmured, “No more ‘almost-boyfriend.’ I want the real thing.”