“We all need somebody, Jade,” I say softly.
Her eyes search mine.
“And I need you.”
Not desperately. Not possessively.
Just honestly.
The music fades into something slower, quieter. The world recedes.
She doesn’t say yes.
She doesn’t say no.
She just rests her forehead against my chest, right where my heart is loudest.
And for tonight, that’s enough.
For tonight, we’re here.
Together.
Trying.
And I think—this is how it starts again.
We drink too much.
Not sloppy too much. Just enough that the edges blur and everything feels lighter. Eggnog with way more nutmeg than necessary. Champagne that tastes like apples and bad decisions. Jade laughs at something I say that isn’t even that funny, and I swear I could live off that sound alone.
We end up sneaking through the house like idiots, shoes in our hands, giggling so hard I have to press my knuckles to my mouth to keep it down. The halls feel warmer now. Softer. The kind of quiet that only exists late at night when everyone’s guard is down.
It’s almost eleven when she stops in the middle of the hallway and turns to me.
“I’m staying,” she says.
I blink. “Staying… like?—”
“Sleepover,” she clarifies, far too casually.
I stare at her.
“…What?”
She grins. “You heard me.”
My brain short-circuits. Entirely. I’m standing there in a dress shirt I forgot to unbutton, champagne buzz humming in my veins, trying very hard not to look like a golden retriever who’s just been told he’s allowed on the couch.
She slips past me.
“Hold on,” she says, already heading back downstairs.
I stand there, stunned, listening to the faint sounds of her moving around, cabinets opening, soft footsteps. When she comes back up, she’s carrying a festive gift bag.
“Merry Christmas, Leo.”
She hands it to me.
