The soft buzz of music filters through the apartment as snow drifts down outside the windows, painting the world in silence. Your tiny off-campus apartment is warm and dimly lit, golden fairy lights blinking gently along the windows. The scent of cinnamon and Gabriel’s cologne lingers in the air.

He’s sitting on the floor by the coffee table, dressed in grey sweats and a black hoodie, skimming through what looks like a hundred-page document from the board of Hawke Enterprises.

You watch him for a second—his focus, the tension in his jaw, the way his pen taps lightly against his knee. He looks like the future: sharp, capable, already stepping into his father’s shoes. But to you… he’s just Gabriel. The same man who shares your bed and drinks your coffee and kisses your shoulder when he thinks you’re asleep.

You shift on the couch, knees tucked beneath you. “Hey, babe?”

He glances up, pen stilling. “Yeah?”

You hesitate. “My parents called earlier. They want me home for Christmas.”

His brows lift slightly. “That’s sweet.”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip. “I was thinking… would you want to come with me?”

Gabriel leans back slightly, registering the question. “To your hometown?”

You nod, nervous now. “It’s small. Super small. Like… one-main-street-and-everyone-knows-each-other small. Christmas is a big deal back there. My mom bakes twelve different kinds of cookies and my dad still wears light-up sweaters.”

He chuckles. “Sounds like a Hallmark movie.”

You smile faintly. “It kind of is.”

There’s a pause. His gaze softens as it lingers on yours.

“Do they know about me?” he asks, carefully.

“Not really.” You chew your lip. “They know I’m dating someone. But… not your last name. Or the fact that your dad owns, like, half of Manhattan.”

Gabriel grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re hiding my wealth, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes. “I just didn’t want it to be about that. I wanted you to be mine, not some future CEO they’d Google the second I mentioned your last name.”

He reaches out and gently pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Okay,” he murmurs against your shoulder. “I’ll come with you.”

Your heart flips. “Really?”

“Yeah. I want to see where you grew up. Eat pie. Wear the ugly sweaters. Sleep in a twin bed that squeaks every time I move. I want to be part of your world.” He smirks. “It sounds terrifying. And perfect.”