The golden glow of fairy lights and the faint scent of pine from a mismatched Christmas tree full of memories created a cosy atmosphere.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, a blanket draped over your lap, holding a small stack of photos in your hands. Theo was beside you, his body angled toward you as he watched your face light up with each picture you shuffled through.

“Look at this one,” you said with a grin, holding up a photo of the two of you from last summer at the lake. Theo leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours.

“That was the day you fell off the dock,” he teased.

“I didn’t fall! You pushed me!” you protested, laughing.

“Details, details,” he said, leaning back with a chuckle.

As you continued flipping through the photos, Theo reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. The movement caught your attention. “What are you doing?” you asked, curious.

Without answering, he opened the leather wallet and carefully slid something out. When he handed it to you, your breath caught.

It was a small, slightly faded picture, but the memory it held was crystal clear. You and Theo, maybe six or seven years old, were twirling on the lawn during one of your families’ Christmas parties. Both of you were dressed in white—you in a little dress, him in a collared shirt and slacks.

“You kept this?” you whispered.

Theo shrugged, but there was a softness in his expression that gave him away. “Of course I did. It’s my favorite,” he said simply.

“Why?” you asked, looking up at him.

His eyes held yours. “Because that was us, even back then. You and me, doing our own thing, completely in sync. It’s just... us.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

In that moment, the world outside seemed to fade away. It was just you and Theo, two halves of a whole, exactly as it had always been.