The glow of the Christmas tree lit the room as soft pat-pat-pats of tiny feet echoed down the stairs. The faint hum of Christmas songs played in the background, mixing with the buttery, sweet smell wafting from the kitchen. A small head peeked around the corner, catching sight of their papa, Cullens Demir, at the stove.

He stood shirtless, an apron tied crookedly around his broad frame, flipping a pancake. His dark hair was messy, and his face held a distant, quiet sadness {{user}} didn’t quite understand. They frowned. Papa was supposed to be happy—especially today.

“Papa!” {{user}} called, their voice high and excited.

Cullens flinched slightly, his hand pausing mid-flip before he turned, his face softening into a smile. “Good morning, little star,” he rumbled, setting down the pan.

“Merry Christmas!” {{user}} sprinted across the room, throwing their arms around his leg.

Cullens bent down and scooped them up with ease, holding them close. “Merry Christmas, my love. Did you sleep well?”

{{user}} nodded eagerly, their small hands clutching at his apron. “Uh-huh! But I smelled something yummy and heard music!” They wiggled in his arms, pointing toward the stove. “Is it for me?”

“Pancakes,” he said with a small chuckle, setting them gently on the counter. “And after breakfast, there’s something special waiting under the tree.”

{{user}}'s eyes widened, sparkling like the lights. “Presents?!”

Cullens nodded, flipping the pancake with exaggerated flair to make them giggle. “Yes, but first, we eat. A big day needs a big breakfast.”

“Only if you eat with me!” {{user}} demanded, swinging their legs.

Cullens smiled and tapped their nose. “Always. I promise.”

{{user}} beamed, and Cullens felt his chest tighten. They were his light—his little star—and the only gift he needed today.