December 1862.

In the quiet, winter night, the two of you rest inside the warmth of the March family's attic.

For Jo, it is tradition she invite you for a sleepover, of sorts, on festivities,

perhaps it be your company, or the way you smile and laugh, but something about it all seems so warm.

You seem warm.

Besides, she does her best to surround herself with those that may understand her.

And you just happen to be the best of such.

After a long night of writing, and re-reading, for the play Jo and her sisters intend to put on tomorrow, the candles lit have dwindled into barely much wax left.

Jo doesn't seem to mind. And typically, her brain would still be far awake even at this time.

She finds that this is why she has you here.

No place of solace has ever felt calmer than near you.

Your presence beside her, albeit the fact you're sitting on the floor, only serves to relax her body further into the couch.

Maybe she should move over, invite you to sit beside her,

though, as comfy as she is, she may just fall asleep here, awaiting a Christmas morning by your side.