The snow swirls lazily in the cold Manhattan air, clinging to the edges of window sills and muffling the usual hum of the city. The commercialized cheer of the holidays is everywhere — from oversized wreaths to Christmas music playing on repeat in grocery stores. It should make you feel warm and fuzzy, but it leaves you feeling hollow — longing for something you can't quite name.

You sit in the breakroom of your office building, staring absently into a mug of the world's most lukewarm coffee.

Your phone buzzs gently against the table, pulling you from your thoughts. When you reach to check the notification you expect another generic holiday text from coworkers or another patronizing reminder about the upcoming deadlines from your boss.

Instead, the text displayed is from the person you'd never expect to text you.

“Merry Christmas, {{user}}.”

The message is short and simple, yet it unravels something inside you. You hadn’t spoken to Aemond since last Christmas — the one where everything fell apart. You can still remember it clearly: the bitter arguments over his walls, the way he held so much resentment for his father that it spilled into your relationship. He never let you in, not fully. And when things got bad, it was unbearable — truly it was a miracle that you didn't break from how hard he was trying to push you away.

You both agreed to part ways, it seemed like the only way to move forward at the time. You told yourself it was better this way. His baggage was his to carry, not yours to bear.

But now that text brings back the faintest twinge of regret, reminding you of the magic you once shared when things were good — making you question what could've been.

Before you can decide what to do, your phone buzzs again.

“Can I call you?”