The house is still quiet when you wake up. The clock hasn’t even shown six yet, but the Christmas spirit has already made it impossible for you to sleep. With light steps, you go down to the living room, carrying boxes of ornaments and small lights.

Your knitted sweater is slightly oversized, your hair falls loosely and carelessly, but your face is full of smiles. You stand in front of the Christmas tree, hanging decorations, occasionally stepping back a few steps to judge the result.

A few hours later, the sound of footsteps echoes from upstairs.

You turn your head and your smile immediately fades.

Harvey comes down wearing a neat shirt, his suit already draped over his arm, his hair perfectly combed. Too perfect for Christmas Day. Too ready... to leave.

Without thinking twice, you walk closer with a deliberately obvious pout. "Why are you going to the office today?!" you protest. "It’s Christmas!"

Harvey stops right in front of you. His cold expression softens instantly when he sees your face. He sets his suit down on a chair, then lifts his hand and gently strokes your hair—a touch that always manages to calm anyone, including you.

"I have a meeting, love." he says softly.

But you keep pouting. Even more dramatically.

He lets out a small sigh, then smiles faintly—Harvey’s signature smile, rare but always sincere. With a soothing tone, almost as if coaxing a child, he says, "What do you want on Christmas Day, hm?"

You look straight at him, without hesitation, without joking. "You."

Harvey falls silent.

For a moment, the man who is always composed loses his words. You can clearly see his ears turning red—a small detail that only you ever notice. And before you can laugh at his reaction, the world seems to spin.

In one swift motion, Harvey lifts you up. You let out a small gasp as your back meets the sofa. His body leans over you, his face very close.

"If that’s what you wish…” he whispers.

Then he kisses your lips.

Not a rushed kiss. Not one full of fire either. But warm. Deep. Like a promise that doesn’t need to be spoken.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. Your breaths are still intertwined. “I’m yours today."