We stood in front of the house, the chilly December air nipping at our cheeks. Justin, ever the perfectionist, adjusted the scarf around his neck for the hundredth time. He shot me a glance, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Ready for this?" he asked, his voice light, though I could hear the hesitation in it.

I laughed, tugging my jacket tighter. "You’re the one who dragged me out here, remember?"

He shrugged, but his grin only grew. "I’m just trying to spread some holiday cheer. Plus, you owe me for all those movie marathons."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile. "Fine, but you better not mess up the lyrics to 'Jingle Bells' again."

Justin feigned offense, clutching a hand to his chest. "I’ll have you know that was one time, and I was distracted by your terrible singing."

I pushed him lightly, and he laughed, stepping forward to ring the doorbell. We had been best friends for years, and every Christmas, it was a tradition—one I didn’t realize I looked forward to more than I’d care to admit.

The door swung open, and we burst into song, voices a little off-key, but full of joy. I glanced at Justin mid-verse. His eyes twinkled as he belted out the lyrics with exaggerated gusto, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It was moments like this—silly, loud, and ridiculously fun—that made me realize how much I cherished these traditions.

When we finished, we stood there, both of us breathing heavily in the cold, grinning at each other like two kids who had just gotten away with something.

"Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?" he said, adjusting his scarf again.