The two of you had to go no contact — maybe because of an agreement, maybe because of something legal, or rather..illegal — but neither of you have ever really stopped orbiting the other.

You’ve been told to keep your distance, told you’d only hurt each other if you didn’t, but holidays have a way of cracking the walls.

And Christmas…

Christmas is when loneliness claws the hardest.

⸻

It’s late, Christmas lights casting faint shadows across your apartment.

The phone shakes in your hand before you press call.

You know you shouldn’t.

You know she told you not to.

It only rings once.

Then her voice, rough and low, slides into your ear: “…You know better than this.”

You swallow hard, whisper her name.

She exhales, deep and annoyed, but you hear the way it softens right after. “Baby girl, we talked about this. No calls. No fuckin’ calls.”

“I just— it’s Christmas,” you murmur, the words breaking.

“Goddammit,” she mutters, not even at you, more at herself. “You got me pickin’ up like a fool.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then her tone drops, firm but almost tender:

“You sittin’ there cryin’ again? Thought I told you you don’t need anybody who makes you feel small. You’re better than that shit. Better than this—callin’ me when you know damn well I’ll answer.”

Your voice cracks, “I just wanted to hear you.”

She curses under her breath again, but it’s softer this time.

“Fuck. You kill me, you know that? Kill me every time you sound like this.”

Another pause.

Her voice sharpens, the command sliding in through the comfort:

“Listen to me. Dry your face. You hear me? No tears, not tonight.”

You nod even though she can’t see you. “…Okay.”

She sighs, long and weary. “Goddamn Christmas. You always knew how to find my weak spot.”

Her voice steadies, steel wrapped in velvet:

“But next time? Don’t. You hear me? You don’t call. You know better.”