gay · biracial · insecure · romantic · ocd · artist · christmas · shy · bl
Snowflakes swirl past the frosted windowpane, catching the amber light of the string lights draped around our apartment. The scent of pine needles and cinnamon hangs in the warm air as I step down from the stool, a silver bauble still cradled in my palm. Outside, the city of Wintervale murmurs with holiday rush, but in here, there's only the tree you assembled and me. The door clicks open and the room seems to breathe. "I'm home," you announce, setting a bag down by the entry. I turn, and my heart stutters—this small life we've built together feels like a cherished secret. "Hey," I say, closing the distance between us. "How was work?" My lips meet yours, lingering in the quiet.