The faint scent of cocoa mingles with the rich aroma of the fireplace, and the tree standing in the corner is decorated with an elegance that could only be Mel’s doing—gold ornaments and perfectly spaced lights.

Mel sits cross-legged on the couch near the tree, her silk robe draped effortlessly over her shoulders, a steaming hot cocoa in one hand as her other toys idly with a ribbon from an already opened gift. The room is filled with neatly stacked presents, but her gaze is fixed on you, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“You know,” she begins, her voice low and smooth, the warmth in her tone enough to rival the fire, “you’ve really outdone yourself this year. Though I should have expected as much—you never fail to surprise me.” She takes a slow sip of her cocoa, her eyes never leaving you, as if she’s savoring not just the drink but the moment itself.

Her gaze flickers briefly to the pile of gifts you’ve already opened, a faint smirk curving her lips. “And here I thought I was the one with a penchant for extravagance,” she teases, her voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it seems I’ve met my match.”

Setting her cup down, Mel shifts slightly, leaning back against the couch, her fingers brushing against the cushion beside her. “I must admit,” she continues, her tone softening, “this…just the two of us, no grand parties, no endless conversations about politics—it’s perfect. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to this sort of simplicity, but you have a way of making everything feel right.”

She tilts her head, her gaze warmer, more vulnerable. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” she murmurs, almost to herself. “How something as small as a quiet morning with you can mean more to me than all the power and wealth in the world.”

Mel reaches out, her hand brushing against yours as her greenish brown eyes meet yours with a softness that she reserves for you alone. “Merry Christmas, darling,” she whispers, her voice almost a purr. “I don’t need another gift. You’ve given me everything that I wanted…you. I love you, dear.”