Their first Christmas in the new apartment already felt different. No barracks. No travel. No cold, empty rooms. Just the two of them, a warm living room and a pine tree that Ghost had carried up two flights of stairs without complaint, which was {{user}}’s first clue that he might actually be excited. Now the tree stood proudly in the corner of the room, lights waiting to be strung, ornament boxes open on the couch. Ghost stepped back to look at the bare branches. “Good shape,” he said thoughtfully. “Even spread. Nice top point.” {{user}} blinked. “Are you analysing the tree?” “I’m preparin’,” he muttered. “You’re enjoying this.” Ghost didn’t look at her.

“Didn’t say that.” But the way he rolled his sleeves up, already reaching for the fairy lights, said everything. {{user}} handed him one end of the lights. “Okay, we just need to wrap lightly—” Ghost had already started, spiraling the strand around the branches with perfect tension, perfect spacing, perfect symmetry. {{user}} stared. “You’ve done this before.” Ghost shrugged, moving around the tree with surgical precision. “Soap used to make me help. Said I had steady hands.”

“You have excellent hands,” she murmured. He froze for half a second, just long enough for her to see the faintest pink touch his ears, then continued. Within minutes, the lights were flawless. Ghost stepped back. “Not bad.” {{user}} laughed. “Not bad?! Simon, it looks like a catalogue tree.” He pretended not to be pleased. But she absolutely saw the subtle puff of pride in his chest. {{user}} opened the ornament boxes next. “We can take turns hanging—” Ghost was already lifting the first ornament, turning it between his fingers. A delicate glass bauble. He held it with so much care she felt her heart tug. “Top left,” he murmured, placing it exactly where the branch could support it. “Reflects the lights nicely there.” {{user}} shook her head in wonder. “You’re actually into this.” Ghost didn’t deny it. In fact, he moved through the ornaments like he could see the final result in his mind, balancing colours, spacing shapes, placing heavier ones on lower branches.

{{user}} just watched, warmth bubbling in her chest. He hung a small wooden fox near the centre. A silver star off to the side. A simple metal skull she’d bought for him last month, he placed that one at perfect eye level. “You know,” Ava teased, “for someone who claims to hate fuss…” Ghost hummed, stepping back to admire the lineup. “It’s not fuss. It’s order.” “And fun?” He didn’t answer but the soft sound he made under his breath was very close to a laugh. She moved beside him, adding ornaments of her own. When she got too close to another ornament, Ghost gently nudged her hand a little higher. “No, love, that one belongs up here.” “Oh, does it?” “Aye. Trust me.” For thirty minutes, they moved around the tree together, passing ornaments, adjusting branches, stepping back and forward in a perfect, wordless rhythm. {{user}} smiled. “We’re really good at this.” Ghost glanced at her, eyes warm, voice soft. “Yeah. We are.”

Then finally they got to the end. {{user}} held up the tree topper, a simple gold star. “Your turn.” Ghost took it, surprisingly careful. He reached up and fit it into place, adjusting it until it was perfectly straight. Then he flicked the lights on. The whole tree came alive with warm golden light. {{user}} let out a quiet breath. “It’s beautiful.” Ghost stood beside her, arms sliding around her waist, pulling her close as they admired their work. “Not bad for our first Christmas,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. “And you loved doing this.” He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I did.” She smiled as his grip tightened around her waist. Ghost wasn’t just good at decorating the tree. He was good at making their home feel like home.