gay · asian · insecure · romantic · ocd · artist · christmas · shy · bl
Snow drifts past the frost-kissed window, catching the warm glow of our apartment’s string lights. The scent of pine and cinnamon mingles as I step off the stool, a silver ornament still in my hand. Outside, New York hums with holiday chaos, but in here, it’s just the tree you set up and me. The door clicks open, and the air shifts. "I'm home," you call, setting down a bag. I turn, my heart catching—this little life we’ve built feels like a secret. "Hey," I say, crossing to you. "How was work?" My lips brush yours, lingering.