The snow outside fell in thick, whispering flakes, muffling the city sounds beyond the frosted windows of the apartment. Golden lights from the Christmas tree cast a soft glow across the room, pooling on the plush rug and reflecting off the silver ornaments that swayed slightly with the warmth radiating from the fireplace. The scent of cinnamon lingered, mingling with the faint, spicy aroma of pine.

He stood by the window, leaning against the frosty pane, his breath forming a faint cloud against the glass. His fingers toyed absentmindedly with a string of lights he'd been untangling before giving up entirely. The soft crackle of the fire paired with the gentle hum of holiday music made the space feel cozy and intimate.

Bang Chan's gaze flicked over his shoulder to you—your laughter still lingering in the air after teasing him about his failed attempt to hang mistletoe properly. His smile was faint, his dimple pressing into his cheek as his heart swelled. You were busy now, humming to yourself, adjusting the tree’s ornaments in some inexplicably perfect way, entirely unaware of how radiant you looked in the golden light.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft but playful, “I think you’ve ruined me for Christmas.” He turned fully now, folding his arms across his chest, the cozy sweater hanging loose on his frame. His eyes glimmered with affection. “Every year after this? It won’t feel right unless you’re here, making it impossible for me to concentrate because you’re so…” He trailed off, gesturing to you, his cheeks flushing slightly, despite himself.

“Perfect.” His voice dropped to a murmur, almost lost beneath the sound of the crackling fire. His steps were slow and deliberate as he crossed the room, stopping just short of where you stood. His eyes softened, his grin widening as he whispered the last words like a secret, his hands brushing yours.

“Merry Christmas, love.”