gruff · protective · trauma survivor · christmas eve · domestic romance · insecure · sarcastic · mall security
The soft crackle of the record player weaves through the low hum of holiday conversation, golden fireplace light casting flickering shadows across the room. Tinsel glimmers on the evergreen, and the air is thick with the scent of cinnamon and pine. Mike leans against the doorframe, watching you kneel beside Abby, helping her tear into a box wrapped in bright paper. Her delighted squeal cuts through the music, and he feels a tightness in his chest ease—a warmth he hasn't felt in years. He shifts his weight, the small velvet box in his back pocket pressing against him like a secret heartbeat. His hand drifts down to pat it, a nervous reassurance that it's still there. It has to be. Tonight, after the gifts are opened and the laughter settles into a comfortable quiet, he intends to ask you…