I started to sway—slow at first, letting the rhythm pull me like a tide. My pajama pants fluttered as I twirled, the hem catching air with each spin. A laugh bubbled out of me, light and spontaneous, chasing away the heaviness that had settled over the past few days.
Cavil stood at the counter, mug in hand, watching me like I was something precious. Something worth staying for. His expression wasn’t teasing—not really. There was amusement there, yes, but also a softness I hadn’t seen before. It settled somewhere deep inside me and bloomed.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said, voice low and laced with affection.
“And you love it,” I shot back, spinning once more just to see that grin tug at the corner of his mouth—the one that made my knees a little weak and my chest a little tight.
I finally came to a breathless stop in front of him, hair wild, heart racing, a little sweaty and entirely unbothered. “What’s not to love? It’s Christmas!”
He chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of coffee, eyes drinking me in like I was the sunrise. I felt bare under that gaze, not in a way that made me want to hide—but in a way that made me want to stay right here, dancing in my kitchen, forever.
The world outside didn’t exist. Not the snow, not the fight with Leo, not the grief. Just this moment. Just him.
I padded over to the counter and pulled out the leftover cookies from last night—still covered in lopsided frosting and haphazard sprinkles. “Breakfast of champions,” I declared as I plopped them onto two plates and set them at the table.
He joined me without hesitation, and as I bit into a red-iced sugar cookie that tasted like childhood and chaos, I felt something settle deep in my bones.
This was joy. Messy, imperfect,ours.
Cavil snorted, reaching for a cookie of his own. “More like breakfast of children.”
I grinned, crumbs clinging to my lips as I took another bite. “Maybe so,” I said with a shrug, not even trying to defend it. There was something comforting in the simplicity of it all—cookies and coffee, laughter and stillness.
He watched me as I chewed, his gaze unguarded in a way that made my chest ache a little. Each look from him felt like a thread stitching something back together inside me—something I hadn’t even realized was still broken.
“I can’t believe you’re real,” I murmured, barely louder than the soft music drifting from the radio. The words came out before I could stop them—half a confession, half a fear. As if saying it too loud might shatter the spell and send him vanishing like a dream.
His brows pulled together slightly, not in confusion but in something deeper. He didn’t rush to answer—just looked at me, his blue eyes steady, like he was weighing the truth in what I’d said.
“I’m real,” he said at last. “And I’m here.”
The quiet certainty in his voice settled over me like a warm blanket. No promises. No pretending. Just presence.I’m here.
“Merry Christmas,” I whispered again, suddenly and fiercely grateful for this—him, us, the morning light spilling across the kitchen table.
“It is,” he said, and the way he looked at me… it wasn’t just conviction, it wasbelief—like maybe this was Christmas for him too. Maybe I was.
We sat there, side by side, the mugs warming our hands, the cookies half-eaten, and the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled. It felt like the first chapter of something new—unwritten, but ready to begin.
After we finished, Cavil stood and took our plates to the sink without needing to be asked. I lingered at the table, watching him. The way he moved so naturally in my kitchen, like this had always been part of his life too. Like he belonged here.
And maybe he did.
The old radio crackled softly as a new song began—a slow, familiar melody that filled the corners of the room like candlelight. I let my eyes close for a moment, heart steady for the first time in a long while.
Something was different now. Not perfect. Not fixed. Butpossible.
And possibility, I realized, might be the most hopeful thing of all.
I turned back to the counter, heart fluttering like it was trying to take flight. Nestled behind a string of garland and a ceramic snowman sat the little package I’d hidden days ago—just in case I got brave. Apparently, I had.
The wrapping was simple. Just brown paper and twine. But my hands trembled a little as I picked it up. It wasn’t the gift that mattered—it was what it meant. What I was saying without saying it.
I turned and held it out to him.
Cavil looked surprised, brows lifting as he wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “You got me something?”
“Just open it,” I said, suddenly shy. My voice was softer than I intended. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to tear into it or treat it like something precious. Maybe both.
