#christmas75

“what d'you mean ‘what'?” matty peels himself up from sorting christmas cards on the floor. “the midwife said literally yesterday that you're not to exert yourself too much, darling.”

you roll your eyes. “i don't think hanging shit from a christmas tree at eye-level is quite what she meant by me exerting myself, babe.”

“don't swear, the baby can hear you!”

“oh my god,” you shake your head, hanging the offending bauble despite matty's attempt to reach around and take it from you. “you're too much. i miss when you were on tour, and i could do things in peace.”

matty laughs, a lovely warm sound that you can't help smiling in response to; it widens when he wraps his arms around you, your head lolling back onto his shoulder and being greeted with a kiss. “no you don't, sweetheart,” he murmurs, hand softly running over your bump. “you love it when i'm around to spoil you. and our baby.”

“yeah, i do love it,” you twist, pouting until matty presses a sweet kiss to your lips. “and the baby wants spoiled now, actually, so…”

“s'that so?” matty smirks against your lips. “in what way?”

you smile, saccharine. “hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows.”

“and a flake?”

“god, you're so good to us. yes please.”

he kisses you quickly again. “anything for you,” he moves, leaning round to kiss the bump. “and you,” a final kiss to your head, and he begins to wander backwards towards the kitchen. “have a seat, my love. i'll be back in a couple of minutes.”

you shake your head. “i'm better standing right now, baby. keeps the leg cramps away.”

matty sighs, pausing. “babe…”

“really, matty, m'alright,” you smile softly at him, heart fluttering at the way he can't help himself returning the expression. “i'll sit down when you come back through, yeah? can put a film on or something.”

he nods. “love you.”

“love you too.”

he disappears into the kitchen, the sounds of mugs clinking and liquids heating following a minute or so later. humming softly, you busy yourself with hanging more baubles and trinkets from the tree, smiling at the ones with your and matty’s names on them and feeling a rush of excitement at the fact you'll have an extra one for the baby this time next year; while you're rubbing the bump, as if to transfer the excitement to your half-ready little one, a sudden change on the outside of the big windows beside you catches your attention. “that's the snow started, babe.”

“has it?” matty stops clattering around in the kitchen - you can see him at the window there, your respective rooms perpendicular to each other. “christ, s'falling fast. was it like this while i was away, sweetheart?”

“hasn't snowed at all until now, ba- oh, you didn't,” you groan, watching your boyfriend take a hit of the vape he's resigned himself to in lieu of cigarettes while you're pregnant. “for f- eff's sake, matthew.”

he makes a face at you through the window, moving to pick up your hot chocolate and wander back through to the living room. “what?”

“don't ‘what’ me, healy, i saw you trying to do smoke rings with that bloody vape,” you shake your head while he giggles, taking the mug from his hands and perching yourself on the sofa. “vaping. be a boy and just go outside for a cig.”

matty snorts, settling himself down beside you and tugging you to rest against his chest. “in this weather? not bloody likely.”

“actually, yeah, fair enough,” you sip your hot chocolate, humming happily as the warmth travels down your throat. “this is really good, by the way.”

“baby-approved?”

“baby-approved,” you smile, turning to press a sweet kiss to his neck. “thank you, my darling.”

“like i said, anything for my girl. and my baby.”

“so, your girls plural?”

matty rolls his eyes. “well, we don't know that yet.”

“i do,” you gently rub your stomach, smiling when matty joins you in the action. “our daughter's in there. i can sense it.”

“yeah?” your boyfriend's voice is soft, those big brown eyes of his even softer; you really wouldn't be unhappy if your baby inherited them. “you really think it's lyla?”

you nod. “i do. mother's intuition, or whatever,” taking a bite of the flake half-melting in your hot chocolate, you smile cheekily. “and both of our mothers agree with me, so it's definitely lyla growing in there right now.”

“lyla annie healy. good name, that,” matty kisses the side of your head, leaning his own against it while the two of you look out at the snow now blanketing the stones and flowerbeds in the garden. “god, look at the garden. gonna be whiteout, i reckon. that'll be nice - haven't had a white christmas in years.”

“as long as we can still get to your mum's,” you lean forward to place your now-empty mug on the coffee table, snuggling further into matty. “i'll take a white christmas with clear roads, please.”

he shrugs. “m'not bothered either way. as long as i've got you, i'm alright.”

“sweet boy,” you stroke his hair. “i'd prefer if neither of us had to cook christmas dinner, though.”

“true, true,” matty traces a heart shape on the bump, everything about him just radiating tenderness. “maybe we could host christmas next year, though? have everyone over to spend it with us and the baby?”

“i love the sound of that, babe,” smiling, you softly kiss his stubbled jaw, sighing happily into his skin as he hugs you tighter. the snow continues falling thick and fast outside, and you can already imagine your baby girl sat in front of the windows watching it in fascination this time next year, surrounded by warmth and happiness and a host of people who love her more than life itself; the vision brings tears to your eyes again, and you burrow even further into matty just to calm yourself down. still, you can't help your voice cracking when you speak again. “she's gonna be so loved, you know.”

“she already is, sweetheart,” matty's voice wavers, too, but his touch is reassuring as ever when he places his hand on the bump - on his daughter. “you hear that, munchkin? mummy and i love you very much. we're already besotted with you, actually. and so is nana, and granddad, and gran, and your other granddad, and your uncles, and… oh,” your boyfriend shifts to look at you, eyes wide in amazement. “was that-”

“yeah,” you breathe, too awestruck to talk properly and move even the slightest bit in the process. the feeling inside your body is a new one, brand new, but you and matty both know exactly what the fluttering sensation was. “our daughter just kicked me.”

“god,” matty exhales, his eyes filling with tears to match yours. as your hand moves to rest on his on your stomach, your boyfriend's forehead meets yours, and he beams. “she's real!”

“she is!” your words come out as a half-laugh-half-sob, a cocktail of disbelief and gravitas and just sheer joy coursing through your bloodstream; the way matty's looking at you, you reckon he's feeling the same way. “she's real. and she's about to start kicking lumps out of me, i think.”

your boyfriend laughs tearily, kissing you sweetly before mustering up a smirk. “oh, i'll sort her out,” he leans down, pressing a kiss to the bump before letting his lips rest a centimetre or so from it. “hi, my darling, daddy here. now, i know you're only the size of a banana, and you can't respond to my voice just yet, but i just wanted to get ahead of schedule and ask you to please refrain from kicking your mother too hard, yeah? she's taking very good care of you, angel - and me, but that's beside the point - and i think you should respect that and be nice to her, alright? thanks, munchkin,” he kisses your stomach. “we love you so much.”

you beam. “we really do,” your hand finds its way into matty's hair again, nails lightly scratching at his scalp. “and i love you, matty.”

“i love you so, so much,” matty moves up to kiss you, the extent of his affection for you apparent even in his lips. the baby kicks again, a tiny push against you from within, and neither you nor matty can help giggling - deliriously, you think - against each other. he rubs your stomach again, soft soothing circles, looking down at it with a little smile. “yeah, i know, you love mummy too, darling… oh, my love,” he coos, free hand coming up to hold your face when your lip wobbles. “it's true, though - she loves you already.”

“and you,” you sniffle. “i can't wait to meet her.”

matty kisses your nose. “soon, sweetheart. we'll be opening christmas presents with her before you know it.”

you hum, leaning against his chest while you gaze outside. “are you gonna be the dad who whizzes around recycling all the wrapping paper as soon as it's been torn off?”

he laughs, your favourite sound in the world. “maybe. i'll just be whatever you and our baby need me to be, to be honest,” he kisses your head. “i promise.”

“sweet boy,” you turn to kiss him in return. “really would appreciate you clearing the wrapping paper next year, though.”

₊˚⊹♡ — 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙰𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚈 𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

santa’s lap warming up festive fantasies wrapped like a present spiked eggnog the season of giving

₊˚⊹♡ — 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙸𝙲𝙴 𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

snowball fight family traditions snow angels white christmas red-nosed new year’s wish

She loves him more than she ever imagined was humanly possible. She has fallen for him, wished for him, longed, and pined for him, and now he's hers. 

She loves him because he makes her feel safe. It doesn’t feel like the ground will crumble beneath her when he’s nearby and gives her that smile he reserves just for her—the one with twinkling eyes and his tongue in his cheek, as if he’s subliminally sharing one of their inside jokes. It feels like she could fall, and he would catch her, no matter what. 

That's precisely why, when he attempts to break up with her, she laughs it off. 

~~~ 

The boys tour right up until the end of October, concluding with a Halloween show spectacular. He makes an offhand comparison about horror films and UK politics that gets a few laughs from the band and some of the front-row crowd, before the music starts up again, but he can feel it in the air, the disconnection. Perhaps it was because he was English and they didn’t quite get his humour, or maybe it was something else entirely. 

He can feel the backlash online, which is fine because it just means he’ll spend less time on his phone, rotting his brain with Twitter. He catches up on a few tv shows that he’s fallen behind on and watches some of the worst movies Netflix has to offer. It’s only once they’ve arrived back in London does he realise that he might have really fucked up. 

Paparazzi crowd the arrivals gate at Heathrow and airport security try to guide them through. He’s separated from the boys, and he panics for a moment because Britt normally meets him at the gate. However, according to security, she couldn’t even get out of the car due to the mania. 

His bags get taken away and he’s shoved into one of the Sprinter vans lined up along the pick-up bays. The door slams shut behind him and the tinted windows don’t do much to stop the camera flashes through them. 

“Welcome home?” 

He swivels his head to the back row, finding Brittany hidden away. She’s biting her lip nervously and her hair is messy from where she’s clearly been running her fingers through it like she does when she’s anxious. He sighs in relief, crawling through the vehicle as it pulls away from the curb and settling into the bench seat beside her. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he draws her closer, their lips meeting for the first time in weeks. It feels safe and feels more like coming home than the plane touching down on the tarmac ever could. His racing heart begins to slow back to its regular rhythm, and he feels like he can breathe with every one of her soft touches, brushing her fingers across his jaw and squeezing his thigh gently when the car turns around a corner. 

More paparazzi line the street of their gated community in Belsize Park and the realisation dawns on him that this might be more than a few outraged keyboard warriors online. 

“How bad is it?” He wonders as they slowly pull through their street. 

She looks surprised by the question, like she isn’t sure how he wasn’t aware of the answer. 

“It’s not good,” She simply states. 

~~~ 

During a meeting with Jamie, he’s bluntly told to stay off the internet and to stay in the house. He tries to make a joke about it being “covid 2.0” and that he hopes that nobody will leak his lockdown parties. However, Jamie doesn’t laugh, and neither does Britt. In fact, she looks so despondent that it makes him quiet immediately. 

“It’ll all blow over soon, but right now, you just need to shut up and not be seen.” 

His old tweets resurface, sparking a second wave of hate. They’re not exactly scandalous by any means but added to the melting pot along that was his current downfall, they do not help. He loses a couple hundred thousand followers on Instagram before he deactivates the account, which then also makes the headlines, and makes Jamie lose his shit. 

He feels lonely around the house whenever Brittany has to leave. They’ve been ordering their groceries online, to be delivered, and she uses his music room sometimes whenever she wants to work on her songs. He loves sitting with her while she tries to figure out the jumble of lyrics in her mind and she’s adamant that he isn’t allowed to help, but he can watch and bring her cups of tea throughout the day. 

She’s meant to be leaving for New York later that day, heading over to Manhattan to perform at the Jingle Ball and do Jack’s annual charity show. He’s been dreading her leaving because he wants to go with her and can’t, but also because it’s December and he wants to spend some of the Christmas season in the city with her. He wants to stand in front of the Washington Square Park tree like a tourist and walk around Central Park with her, tucking their hands into his coat pocket because she hates wearing gloves, but her fingers are too cold otherwise. 

By the time he gets out of bed, it’s closer to mid-morning, and he’s bored of laying around in bed waiting for her to come and get him. (He just likes the way she’ll lay on top of him when he’s waking up, a Cheshire cat grin covering her lips and laughing loudly when he flips her onto the other side of the bed.) Stumbling down the stairs while wiping the sleep out of his eyes, he expects to see her suitcase by the garage door with her passport and travel sickness tablets carefully placed on top, but it's not there and neither is she. 

Instead, it's unzipped and open on the floor of the living room, with their cat, Annie, laying amongst the clothes. Mayhem, their dog, is nowhere to be seen, so he imagines Britt is probably walking him around the neighborhood before her flight. His suspicions are true when the dog bursts through the front door and bounds over to the cat, who offers nothing but a hiss and a half-hearted swipe of her paw as a greeting. 

Brittany quietly closes the door behind her, pulling off her sneakers and leaving them by the rack in the entryway before kissing him hello and mumbling something about needing a shower. He looks at the clock on the wall before reminding her of how much time she has before she needs to leave, and her eyes avert away from his. 

“Actually,” she clears her throat, “I’m not going.” 

She tries to back away from the conversation and head up the stairs, but he grabs her arm before she escapes. 

“Why? What happened?” 

“Nothing, I just don’t want to go anymore.” She pushes his hand off her. “I’m gonna shower. Can you make me a cup of tea?” 

He nods, and she quickly kisses him before jogging up the stairs. The room is so quiet when she leaves that he can hear the moment she turns the shower on and the buzzing of her phone underneath the cat in her suitcase. Pushing Annie aside, he pulls the device out and checks the notifications on the screen. 

There’s a singular message from Jamie. 

“I’m really sorry, Britt.” 

Now, he’s not a snoop. He never goes through her belongings or her phone; he doesn’t need to. He trusts her and believes everything she tells him. She’s long past lying to him about stupid things because she’s trying to save face. But there’s been something off with her the last few days. She’s been locked away in his music room more than usual, spending more time walking the dog. She’s quiet around the house and hasn’t been singing along to the record player mindlessly when it’s been playing. 

He knows she’s been feeling down lately, so he’d encouraged her to spend some time with Charli, reminding her that she didn’t need to stay locked up in the house like him, but the cameras that stalked her as they tried to go out for dinner were too much. 

The pictures were online before she’d even made it home. She looked beautiful but angry as she pushed through the crowd of men that surrounded them, shoving the photographers that came too close away. Charli had grabbed her and thrown her into the back of the car, throwing her middle finger up as they drove away. 

(She slammed the front door behind her when she’d come home and had angry sex with him on the couch. He’s not sure he’ll ever forget the way she rode him that night, the memory of her breasts bouncing in his face and the filthy words whispered into his ear seared into his memory for all eternity.) 

She’d been really looking forward to her trip, though. Mr. Davis was going to play with her during Jack’s show, and they were also hoping to have enough time to decorate the tree in his apartment. Her decision to stay home doesn’t feel right. So, unlocking her phone, he goes through some of the last texts from the morning. 

There’s a handful from George, asking if she wanted a coffee, which tells him they met up during her walk. There’s another from Charli with an apology, like Jamie’s, that continues to fill him with confusion. The group chat with her band is what clues him in the most, though. Messages about how the Jingle Ball is corrupt and that next year, if she gets invited to perform again, they’ll decline. So now he gathers that she’s been removed from the lineup, as opposed to deciding not to play, no doubt because of her affiliation with him. 

Guilt pools in his stomach. He’s been canceled before. He’s hidden away from the public until it all blows over. He’s not overly concerned about what's been said about him because even though he could’ve said it differently and sounded less like a twat, he still means exactly what he said. This is the first time that his actions have consequences for someone else near him. 

He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Brittany being with him could affect her negatively. He thought it would be business as usual: she’d fly out to the US, she’d play her shows like nothing was wrong, and then come home to him. In her texts with Jamie, there’s a link to an article that will be dropping the next day. It’s practically a hit piece, discussing what kind of person Brittany Jackson is if she’s going out with Matty Healy. He feels sick as he reads over the words that pull his girlfriend apart, tearing her into shreds in the name of journalism. 

Brittany spends the next few days retreating into herself. He watches her descent into misery and the invisible weight that she’s carrying across her shoulders. He watches her go for walks in their neighborhood, leaving her phone at home because the only news she’s getting anymore is negative. 

The article comes out and she loses more shows, more interviews, and social media followers. She laughs and tells him how much worse it was after she moved to New York, but he can’t watch anymore. He loves her too much to put her through this for a second longer. He needs to let her go, and maybe one day he’ll sort his shit out enough that he’ll be worthy of her. He’ll take his own misery over hers any day, and in a messed-up way, letting her be free is almost admirable. 

He tries to start the beginning of the end before Christmas, giving her enough time to make plans with Charli or Mr. Davis if she decides that she doesn’t want to come up to Cheshire anymore. The thought of doing the drive alone, without her there to mess around with the radio, makes his stomach drop, but he pushes through it. 

“Can we talk?” 

She’s laying on the couch in his usual spot (she likes to steal it when he leaves the room, and he likes to let her) with Mayhem’s head in her lap and Annie on the other end of the sofa. Britt nods, lifting the remote to pause the terrible 80’s movie on the screen and moves her feet out of the way when he sits down. 

“I know that you didn’t pull out of your shows in New York,” he begins, and she shuffles back uncomfortably. “I know they cancelled you, and that you’ve lost other stuff too.” 

“This thing with me doesn’t seem to be going away any time soon, and I know that you love what you’re doing now, and having it all taken away has been hard. I know that I’m the reason things aren’t going well for you right now, and I think we need to be realistic about what happens next.” 

“Ok...” She drawls out, waiting for him to finish. 

“I think we should break up.” It feels like choking as he tries to get the words out, and it feels even worse afterward with the sentence hanging in the air. 

“Oh.” She laughs, her brow furrowing as she looks at her knees pulled close to her chest. “No.” 

It’s defiant, and in all the thought he’d put into this moment in the last few days, this scenario never occurred in his mind. 

“What do you mean ‘no’?” 

“I mean no.” She lifts the remote to the television again and presses the play button. The movie plays again, and she moves her legs so they’re reclined behind his back. 

"Baby, I'm being serious.” 

"No, you're being stupid." 

He thinks she’s in denial and maybe needs a bit more time to get used to the idea. Lord knows he’s not exactly ready to let her go just yet. He lets her off the hook, moving one of her legs to lay between them. Her nails rake through his hair, and he watches the movie but doesn’t take in any of the plot. Instead, he plans how to approach the conversation again the next day. 

~~~ 

“I don’t think we should be together anymore.” 

They’re eating breakfast, and she’s laughing at him. 

“Too bad.” 

She feeds the crusts of her toast to Mayhem before putting her plate in the dishwasher. She presses her lips to his cheek as she makes her way to his music room, closing the door behind her, and he’s left wondering why she’s making this so hard. 

~~~

He attempts to break up with her multiple times, but she always manages to finesse the conversation onto another topic or pretends that she hasn’t even heard him. (That one pissed him off the most because she literally pretended that he didn’t exist all freaking day until it made him mardy enough that the only conceivable idea he could think of to get her to speak to him again was to go down on her while she was showering until she was screaming his name.) (This did not help his case in trying to break up with her though. Mixed signals and all that rot.) 

His latest idea is dumb, but it's dumb enough that it might work. He stops doing things around the house, doesn’t cook dinner or make sure that they didn’t leave any wet clothes in the washing machine for days on end. He doesn’t order groceries, so they don’t have enough milk for their tea or pasta for dinner. 

The idea is that she’ll be so sick of his shit that she’ll leave him instead. It’s genius, really, except that he forgets that Brittany Jackson is the most organized person he knows. She might not be as uptight as when they first met, but she’s not one to let things slide. The groceries show up on time at their doorstep, the laundry remains clean. He feels a little guilty when she takes the bins out (according to her, that’s a “boy job” and he’s fine with it because he doesn’t like her going out in the dark anyway, even if it's just to the top of their driveway) and feels worse when he sees her in the backyard, picking up the dog crap. 

So, yeah. This idea was a bust because he forgot just how much Brittany Jackson loves to take care of her family. 

~~~ 

He tries one more time after he’s fucked her so good that she can’t do anything but laugh. They’d been at it for hours, probably the longest session they’ve ever had. Earlier, Britt had been trying on all her swimsuits for an upcoming girls' trip to someplace sunny with Charli. She’d been modelling all the different pieces, and he vetoed a couple that were too similar to others in her collection, but when she’d stepped out in the tiny black bikini? Yeah, he’d lost his mind a little. 

His brain conjured up images of the tan lines against her skin and the smell of sunscreen as he’d slathered it across her back last summer. He’d been viscerally reminded of watching her dive into the pool before coming out of the water at the other end like a Bond girl. He was the luckiest motherfucker in the universe, and he was about due for the tides to turn. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered. 

“I love you too,” she grinned, pressing kisses to his chest and sighing contentedly. 

“I think we should—” 

“If you try to break up with me one more time, I swear to God,” she snaps angrily, pulling the sheet to cover herself as she sits up in bed. It’s the first time she’s ever actually acknowledged his attempt at these conversations. 

“We need to talk about this,” he offers calmly. 

“No, you need to shut the fuck up.” 

His jaw drops as she climbs out of the bed, grabbing for some clothes. They don’t talk to each other like this. Not even in their angriest moments do they ever get so aggressive with their words. It’s confrontational and combative, and he suddenly feels very unprepared. 

“I’m so sick of you playing the martyr,” she says, pulling on her jeans roughly, jumping to get them over her hips. “You fuck up, and I’m the one you’re going to punish? Really?!” 

She throws his trousers at him roughly, and they slap against his chest noisily. They’ve discussed his current situation; he knows that she doesn’t think his overall problem is entirely his fault. She agrees that he could’ve worded himself better, but even she’s astonished at the negative press and the incessant phone calls. It’s unwarranted and unprecedented. 

“I don’t give a fuck about a few missed performances or an interview that cancels on me,” she spits at him as she pulls her shirt on. “You think you’re being a savior by letting me go? Oh, how noble. My hero.” 

She rolls her eyes and mockingly bows at him. Now he’s pissed off. 

“You’re the smartest person I know, and you’re being so fucking stupid right now,” she grabs her phone off the bedside table, throwing in a “seriously” to punctuate her sentence. 

“Calling me ‘stupid’ right now is helping you how?” 

“I’ll stop calling you stupid when you stop acting like an idiot!” 

“So, now I’m an idiot?!” he snaps. 

“They’re the same fucking word, dumbass!” 

They bicker, their voices raising until they were practically screaming at each other. She’s not backing down, and he’s saying anything he can to get her to see reason, to make her understand that this is how it's meant to be, how it needs to be, but she won’t listen. 

She finally breaks when hot tears stream down her cheeks. 

“There is not one day I’ve ever regretted loving you,” she sniffles. “The press can say whatever they want, and it’ll never make me feel differently about you. But you’re the one making me feel like complete shit right now.” 

She picks up her shoes at the entryway to their walk-in robe and steps towards the bedroom door. 

“You win.” 

It closes quietly behind her, and he’s immediately racked with guilt so strong that he couldn’t move even if he tried. 

~~~ 

He doesn’t see her for days. She doesn’t call, doesn’t text. He doesn’t even know where she is, and he regrets never doing that stupid location thing with her on his phone so that they could always find each other, no matter where they were in the world. 

It was practically seconds after she’d left that he realized how much he needed her. He was too caught up in his own head to step outside of himself and understand exactly how instrumental she’d been in keeping him sane the last few weeks. Brittany had come up with lists of shows she wanted to watch with him, found intricate pieces of music that she asked him to help her learn. She was a great piano player now, probably better than him since she practiced more frequently, and he knew she didn’t need the help, but it was a way to keep his mind occupied. 

She’d wake him up at 2 am when it was snowing, convincing him to get up and put his coat on so they could walk Mayhem. He knew she was just trying to get him out of the house so that he didn’t feel so stir-crazy all the time, and it worked. He loved walking through their neighborhood as the flakes drifted around them gently, and the dog tried to lick the air. He remembers feeling sad that he got his Christmas wish of holding her hand in his pocket, but because it wasn’t in Central Park, he was a miserable prick about it. Throughout the whole time he’d been trying to leave her, not once did he ever think her love for him waned. If anything, he didn’t realize how deep it ran and feels ashamed. 

~~~ 

A knock on the front door startles him as he sits through the first episode of Ted Lasso. Brittany had been harping on for years about the show and how he might like it. So far, he doubts it as the fake southern drawl makes him irritated and the jokes aren’t funny, but it makes her feel close, even if she isn’t. 

Swinging the door open, Charli stands there with her arms crossed. 

“Aren’t you the guy in trouble on the telly?” She smirks. 

He doesn’t appreciate the joke, rolling his eyes, but opening the door wider to let her through. She brushes past him, heading for the stairs and throwing a quick, “Can you grab Britt’s suitcase down for me?” and pointing towards the hallway cupboard. 

His stomach sinks. He wasn’t exactly expecting a social call from his (ex) girlfriend’s best friend, but he hadn’t exactly expected her to come and collect all of Britt’s stuff. He thought he and Britt were just having some time apart for the moment, letting things cool off, and then she’d come home. He’d apologize and things would go back to the way they were. Watching Charli pack underwear, pajamas, and some warm clothes into the suitcase was not on the agenda. More clothes would mean more time away, and more time away meant more lonely nights for him. 

“Is she staying with you?” He wonders. 

“She is,” Charli offers, and he hates this shit. Hates this fucking code between best friends where they give no information to anyone and talk in riddles. 

“Is she okay?” 

“She’s great!” He can’t tell if the enthusiasm is real or not. “We went ice skating at Winter Wonderland the other night. She’s never been, did you know that?” 

He did know. He was meant to take her this year, but his personally sanctioned lockdown meant that he was stuck in the house, and she would miss out. She hadn’t been put out at the time. Instead, they watched Love Actually, drank mulled wine, and he licked her out on the staircase because they couldn’t be bothered making it all the way to their bedroom. 

He carries the suitcase down to the car feeling terrible, and Charli makes it worse when she tells him that Britt wants Mayhem by the end of the week, so he needs to pack up the dog's stuff. Her car leaves dust in the air as she drives off, and he realizes he needs to fix this. 

~~~ 

It takes a stupid (yes, stupid—Brittany was right) amount of time to think of how to win her back. She’s so difficult to buy for because she doesn’t really care for jewelry, except the engagement ring he bought her, and a pair of earrings that her friend from Australia bought her for Christmas years ago. She’s not really into candles, and really, what kind of candle says, “I’m sorry for being a twat. Please still marry me?” 

No, he’s really asking. Maybe he could get something made? 

He breaks Jamie’s rules and goes to Oxford St and hopes that inspiration will strike. He gives up when he's almost in tears in the appliance section of M&S looking at coffee machines before remembering that she doesn’t even drink it. He’s exhausted, overwhelmed, and overstimulated from the entirety of London seemingly out and about shopping for last-minute gifts. 

He can’t even give her his Christmas gift early because she knows exactly what it is. They’d sworn not to get each other presents that year because they didn’t need anything and would rather not have the added stress, but he’d written her a song, of course, that he thought she might like. During her time in his music room, she’d found the sheet music under the piano lid where he’d stupidly left it and played it. He’d rushed out of bed in time for her to get to the chorus, pulling the page away from the ledge in embarrassment. 

“It’s not done yet!” 

“It’s pretty! What is it?” 

“Your Christmas gift?” 

She’d looked so happy that he’d given the page back to her, pushing her across the bench seat and playing it in full for her. There were no lyrics, but she seemed happier about the music than she had about the diamond on her finger, to be honest. 

As he treks back to his car, his eyes catch on the screens illuminating the city, and he finally has his first good idea all night. 

~~~ 

He feels like an absolute fucking twat walking up to Charli’s flat, holding the boombox. The lengths he had to go to ensure that this moment was perfect are damn near insane. It seemed that more than a few others had also messed up around the holiday season, as he had to go to three different craft stores before finding enough white poster boards. Then there was a debacle with finding a bloody stereo; in the end, he borrowed one from the neighbors with the promise of a bottle of red wine when the night was over. 

Knocking on the door, he hits play on the music, the sound of carollers echoing down the street, and gets the cards ready. His heart is beating so quickly at the thought of seeing Brittany again for the first time in over a week. It was the longest they’d gone without talking to each other in years, and he’s not exactly keen to continue any longer. 

The only problem with tonight is that he’d been so one-track-minded that he’d completely forgotten about all the variables. Like George opening the door instead. It seriously felt like those dreams he had as a kid when he went to school naked, and everyone was staring at him. The drummer leans against the doorframe with a brow arched and a delighted grin across his face. 

“Oh, this’ll be good.” He turns to yell down the hallway. “BJ! Someone’s at the door for you.” 

“Don’t call me that!” is shouted back, and he can hear her footsteps along the carpet. 

His hands are sweating, despite the cold air, and he’s nervous that they’re going to leave a mark on the cards. She appears in the doorway, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a cream off-the-shoulder sweater. She’s so fucking beautiful with her hair lightly curled away from her face with a little ribbon in the back, but she frowns when she sees him. So far, not so good. 

George leaves after making sure Brittany is fine, which annoys the shit out of him because the drummer is supposed to be his best friend, siding with him and telling him that his ex was a bitch. He’s not supposed to be living in the same flat and probably talking shite about him while he’s not around. (To George’s credit, he’s so passive that Matty doubts his best friend had anything to say about him at all.) (Charli, on the other hand...) 

The music is still playing, and he quickly tosses away the first card reading “say it’s carol singers” because obviously they're past that point. He watches her read the next few cards: “with any luck, by next year” and “I’ll be going out with one of these girls…” before waiting for her to laugh as she sees the poster board containing pictures he’d cut out of magazines containing her face. It doesn’t come, and her lips don’t even twitch into the beginnings of a smile. 

He progresses, showing “but for now, let me say”, “without any hope or agenda”, “just because it's Christmas—” and “(and at Christmas you tell the truth)” before revealing his best card. The one that makes her swoon with every watch of the movie, the one that makes her kiss him every time she sees it. 

“To me, you are perfect.” 

He pauses, letting her see the words, but she’s not even looking at the cards in his hands. She’s looking at him, and she doesn’t seem happy. He keeps going despite his nervousness that this isn’t going as well as he’d hoped. 

By the time he gets to the last card, “Merry Christmas”, her arms are folded over her chest, and he knows her body language enough that he can tell that they aren’t about to have a romantic reunion. He brushes off some of the snow that’s landed on top of the stereo and turns it off, plunging them into silence. They stand there in the cold, and she waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know where to begin. 

“Thank you for doing that,” she breaks the silence. 

He nods, looking at his shoes because he knows if he says “you're welcome,” then it’ll make him sound like a wanker. He needs to say something, he knows he does, but his brain, for the first time in his life, is empty. 

“You didn’t have to do all of this,” she waves her hand around all the cards and the stereo. “Is that all you wanted to show me?” 

“Um, yeah,” he frowns. He guesses that really was everything. 

“Ok. I’m going to go back inside now,” she steps back, grabbing the door with one hand. “It was nice to see you, Matty.” 

The lock clicks into place, and he’s left standing on the front step, more confused than ever. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She was supposed to swoon over the effort that he made, tell him that she loved him, and that they’d be together again. She wasn’t supposed to close the door in his face after thanking him? What the fuck was that? 

Without putting too much thought behind it, he twists the handle on the front door and stomps through the house towards Britt’s old room. He steps past Charli and George on the couch, cuddled up in the corner with wine in their hands and shock covering their faces. Pushing into her room, he stops abruptly when he sees her sitting in the armchair by the window, watching the snow fall and looking miserable. 

“You’re supposed to be with me,” he blurts out. “We’re supposed to be together.” 

She looks shocked to see him standing there, and he’ll take that over her sad face any day, but then she looks angry, and he can’t work with that. She bests him every time. 

“You think I don’t know that?!” she snaps. “I tried fighting for you, but you kept pushing for us to break up! This is what you wanted!” 

“Yeah, well, I was an idiot!” 

“I know, I fucking told you that!” 

“Yeah, well, I guess you were right!” 

Angry tears are brimming along the bottom of her dark lashes, and this feels stupid. They both want the same thing, and yet, they still aren’t together. They’re both yelling at each other about what they want, and nothing is changing. 

“Why’d you stop fighting for me?” 

It comes out as a whisper, but he hears it like she was screaming it at him. It breaks his heart that she thinks he gave up on them when that wasn’t the case at all. He thought he was giving her a fighting chance without him. He doesn’t have an answer that makes him sound smart, so he tells her the truth. 

“I don’t even deserve you, and you were losing everything by being with me. I had to let you go.” 

She scoffs. “You think I’m this untouchable being that you have to work hard to keep when the reality is that I chose you first.” 

The tears finally drop, and she wipes them away hastily. “I just wanted an apology and for you to tell me you loved me as much as I love you,” she sniffles. “I didn’t need the whole ‘Love Actually’ reenactment. I just needed you.” 

A choked sob comes out, and she looks out the window again. “Can you go now? I’d just really like to be alone.” 

No. 

“No.” She looks shocked again. “I’ve been alone for the last week without you and it fucking sucks. I’m not doing it anymore.” 

She rolls her eyes, getting up from her armchair and grabbing a tissue from the box on the side table. Dabbing at her under eyes, she sniffles and tries to hold herself together. He hasn’t seen her like this in years, filled with the kind of sadness that runs bone-deep, and knowing that he was the cause of it just about breaks him in half. 

He slowly wraps his arms around her stomach from behind her, holding her tightly against his chest and kissing the back of her neck gently. He whispers over and over how sorry he is and how stupid he'd been acting. One hand splays over her ribs, his thumb rubbing soothingly underneath her breast, over her shirt, while the other grips the soft skin of her waist. 

He tells her how much he loves her, how he thinks of her every single day and sees her in every cup of tea he makes and in the piles of leaves he sees in the park when he walks Mayhem. He tells her about the young girl that stopped him during his night on the town, while he was looking to find something to impress her, that was only excited to see him because it meant Brittany might also be around. He tells Brittany how unforgettable she is, torturing him all week long without even trying. 

“I’m just a twat,” he finishes. 

“You are,” she cries, resting her head back on his shoulder. 

“I love you, though. So much.” 

He waits with bated breath for her to say the words back. 

“I love you too.” 

he then realises his finger is still coated in icing. he stands there looking down at his hand, contemplating his next move for barely a second before you reach over and take it in yours, wrapping your lips around his index finger and swirling your tongue around the sugar coated tip. his jaw hangs open as you stare at him with siren eyes the whole time, sucking on the digit that's pressing down on your tongue. he lets out a low groan, biting his lip when you release it with a pop and go back to work as if nothing happened. 'fucking christ,' he mutters to himself, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief as he tries to focus on the biscuits again. 

you can see him out of the corner of your eye busying himself with something else aside from the house; alternating between different coloured icing tubes and guarding his mini creation away from your view. he looks focused, the same concentrated expression he has when he's writing down lyrics or guitar melodies in his studio. 'what are you doing? looks like there's more dilly dallying and less construction work going on over there, healy,' you grin, never taking your eyes off the little sugary jellies that you're placing ever so carefully along the top of the slanted roof.

'oneee second.... bam'. the colourful tubes clatter onto the table and he spins around to face you holding two little decorated gingerbread men. one of them has peaks of black icing on its head for hair, along with thick stripes of white and black vaguely representing a shirt and trousers. the other is in a messy black dress, three curved stripes on either side for your hair and bright dots that match your eye colour surprisingly well.

'us!!' you exclaim, instantly forgetting the task at hand and clapping your hands together in excitement. 'us!!' he repeats, his face breaking out into a grin at your reaction. 'i'll put them right here outside the door, look! it's like they're holding hands,' he says, gesturing excitedly towards his creations.

an idea springs to mind and you put it to action before you have time to think. it's daunting, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little terrified of his potential reaction, but it has to be done. you pick up a red jelly tot and place it on the plate between the two figures. your heart races as you do it, knowing what's about to come of the seemingly insignificant act. you'd only been keeping this secret from him for a few days, but waiting for the perfect moment to tell him felt excruciating.

'that's our little baby,' you say in a half-joking tone, looking up at him tentatively. 'pff, yeah, some day,' he replies obliviously, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin in the crook of your neck. 'matty...' your voice comes out as little more than a whisper, trailing off into nothing. he pulls away and you turn to look at him. he looks confused but grips onto your arms reassuringly nonetheless. 'what's wrong darling?' he asks, voice laced with concern. 'what if i said... that some day is coming soon...' you can nearly see the cogs turning in his head as he stares at you blankly, trying to figure out what you mean. his eyes widen as you take his hands and cautiously place them on either side of your belly. 'really!?' he whisper-shouts, leaning down to you. you shakily nod your head, biting your lip and smiling nervously.

'i'm pregnant, matty' you reply. 

- december 12th 2023 -

bing crosby's white christmas floats through the air from the radio as you sit at the kitchen table with matty and your 18 month old daughter, harper. you'd been having a bad day earlier until matty went out with harper, returning an hour later with a gingerbread house kit and a bottle of wine to cheer you up.

your heart melted at the gesture, especially at the fact he remembered and pointed out that it was two years to the day since you were sat in the same place and you'd told him the most important thing you'd ever had to tell him. from that day onwards he'd been nothing but supportive and loving, always there to help in any way he could and you were so eternally grateful.

'last time we made one of these i was only finding out harper was in mummy's belly wasn't i?' he says, bouncing her up and down on his leg. 'you were, and mummy was bricking it over what daddy was gonna say!' you reply, both of you laughing. casual conversations usually turn out like this nowadays, with you and matty talking to each other but directing every sentence at your daughter, as if she'll suddenly be able to answer. 

she reaches up and makes grabby hands at the gingerbread biscuits spread out on the table. 'you wanna get up and help?' she lets out a little happy scream and starts wiggling as you pick her up from matty's lap and put her sitting on the table in front of you, moving up against her back so she doesn't fall. she's instantly drawn to the bright colours of the sweets and icing, smacking her tiny hands on whatever she can reach.

she's fascinated, scooching around on the table and bouncing excitedly when you reach around her to open the bag of powdered icing. you pour it into the bowl of water that matty had set down earlier and she immediately grabs at the powder, making it erupt in a white cloud that covers herself and the table. 'woah, easy on the icing there baby,' you say. her big brown eyes sparkle in the reflection of the christmas lights as she falls down with laughter, making the two of you melt.

~

the festive playlist drones on in the background mainly unnoticed, but as soon as jingle bell rock plays you and matty's eyes light up. it's your favourite song this time of year, especially now you get to share it with harper. you take hold of her arms and dance with her, making her giggle as you move them around to the beat. matty laughs, taking his phone out to take pictures of the two of you, covered in icing sugar and having the time of your lives.

~

the decorated gingerbread house sits in the middle of the table like a trophy, but the three of you are exhausted after spending all evening on it. 'would you mind putting her to bed while i clean up?' you ask, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. 'course, love' he replies, placing a chaste kiss to your lips before making his way over to where she's now sitting in her high chair.

he unclips the chair and picks her up, cooing at her softly. 'time for bed munchkin,' he says, kissing her head and getting her settled in his arms, her sleepy head lulling over his shoulder. you smile to yourself as he disappears upstairs, footsteps barely audible as he does his best not to disturb her. 

after what feels like ages, you finish up the dishes, throw the towel back over the cupboard handle and make your way upstairs to the bathroom. as you reach the top of the stairs, you hear a gentle voice coming from harper's bedroom. the door is wide open, the only light being the warm yellow of the lamp on the landing flooding through the doorway and the soft pink glow of her flower shaped night light. you peek your head into the room to see matty perched on the little stool by the open side of her cot, book in hand. '..and then, a magical cloud appeared over the snowman..'

harper is lying tucked in under her favourite blanky and surrounded by plushies as he reads to her. her eyes are gently fluttering shut, although she's clearly trying to stay awake, gazing up at her dad in awe through yawns. you tiptoe over as quietly as possible. matty's eyes flick up towards you and he smiles before returning to the story. you stand listening to him, wondering how you got so lucky.

after a few moments you lean down over her and gently place a kiss on the top of her head. 'goodnight angel' you whisper, rubbing her soft cheek with the back of your hand before stepping back and letting matty finish the book. she's fully asleep by now, so he mutters a little 'blablabla, the end. goodnight munchkin'. he leans down and places a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose, making sure she's fully tucked in and covered before making his way back to you. 'fancy a bit of that wine?' he asks, closing the door over and stepping into the landing. 'ugh, you know me too well', you reply, kissing him before moving towards the stairs.

if you could have it your way you'd exist forever in that room, where you finally feel safe and truly comfortable. you and matty's little safe haven, forever <3

*Rosie is about a year old in this*

"Just a little bit more to the left please, baby." I tried to direct Matty as he tried his best to perfectly align our stockings along the staircase.

I could hear the light sigh leave his lips and could picture the rolling of his eyes as his arms began to get tired from holding them up for so long.

Rosie, who was sat on my hip, copied her dad's dramatic sigh. Making me roll my own eyes jokingly.

"See what you've done! She's going to be as sassy as you if you aren't careful." I warned him, giving his butt a cheeky slap, making him flip up his middle finger in reply.

"Watch it." I mumbled, lingering beside him as he finally hung Rosie's stocking in the perfect spot beside his own one and mine.

"Ah Ha! Look at that. Perfection!" Matty stumbled down off the small ladder, standing back to admire his work and placing a kiss on top of Rosie's head.

"It's perfect. Thank you, my love." I smiled, leaning towards him so I could place a kiss on his lips.

"Dada" Rosie cooed in awe at Matty. Her pacifier falling out of her mouth and onto the floor, arms wide open for him to take her into his warm embrace.

"Oh, that is my favourite sound in the world! 'Ello, my darlin" Matty was quick to take her out of my arms when I passed her over, rocking her from side to side as her small hands cupped the side of his face.

"Dada! Dada!" She repeated excitedly, slapping her hands against his face.

"Ah! Don't slap, please. Gentle hands" I laughed, rubbing her back softly, her hands returning back to my face.

"You are just the best girl, aren't you! Oh, love, can you go get the camera from upstairs? I want to take pictures of you and Rosie." Matty asked sweetly. His shaking hands that held Rosie close to him catching my eyes immediately.

"Yeah, sure. But, are you alright? Your hands are shaking." I removed Rosie's hands from my face, concern washing over me.

"Huh? I'm fine! Guess it's just the adrenaline of Christmas, I suppose." He shrugged, letting out a chuckle that could only be described as nervous laughter.

"Ehhh, okay. If you say so."

I quickly turned and made my way up the stairs to get the camera from our bedroom.

I could feel Matty's eyes follow my every move until I was out of sight, making me feel slightly nervous.

All I could hear from upstairs was the noises of Rosie fussing and low mumbles coming from Matty as he tried to shush her. The two of them still clearly hanging by the stairs.

The sudden silence in the house didn't go unnoticed to me. Silence in our house was always a complete rarity, but it's especially rare now that we have a one year old.

"Matty! Is everything alright down there!?" I called down to him while rummaging through the top drawer of his bedside table for the camera.

No reply.

"Matty!? Sweetheart!? Is Rosie okay!?" I called louder this time, hoping he'd catch me calling Rosie's name and assume I was asking after her.

But the only thing I got was a loud and guttural screech from Rosie, which was an answer I suppose.

"Ah! Gotcha." I spoke to myself as I came across the retro camera.

"Took me a minute, but I found it." I announced while jogging down the stairs.

I stopped at the bottom step, confused as to where my two loves had gone, but the baby babbling noises coming from the living room reassured me they hadn't suddenly left the house.

"What are you two doing?....oh!" I spoke in surprise, looking at Rosie scooting on her bum across the floor, wearing a Christmas jumper she wasn't wearing when I'd left the room.

"Look at you, my gorgeous girl! Did Daddy put a Christmas jumper on you, huh?" I sat down immediately on the floor right in front of her, my hand gently caressing the top of her head while I stared at her in admiration.

Her big brown eyes looked up into mine, a wide smile showing her two bottom front teeth that were coming in.

I couldn't help but laugh at her gummy smile. Her smile, her eyes, her little rambles and her baby giggles totally intoxicating.

She had me and Matty wrapped around her little finger since day one. She was our special gift all year round.

"Now, should we go see where your daddy has gone off to?" I huffed as I got up off the floor, lifting her up with me and my eyes noticing the words on her jumper.

"Dada! Dada!" She screeched, pointing over my shoulder, but my eyes were fixed on her jumper. Trying to keep her as still as I possibly could so I could put the words together.

"Mummy, will you marry my daddy?" It read.

Oh....OH!

Without turning around, my brain filled with zero thoughts and words unable to leave my mouth, I put Rosie in her little play chair. Quickly strapping her in and planting a kiss on her rosy chubby cheek.

"Matty. If I turn around and you're behind me on one knee I swear to god I'll go feral." I warned, my voice quivering with emotion.

"Just turn around, darling."

So I did, slowly, not believing any of this was real, but there he was. Completely real, and human, on one knee under the mistletoe in the doorway of the double doors that led into the kitchen.

"Matty, I-"

"No, let me speak." He interrupted. Knowing I was about to go into a rant that would make zero sense in my emotional state.

I nodded yes, allowing him to go ahead and speak. My hands clasping over my mouth to shut myself up, tears already streaming down my face.

"Okay....Y/N, I've thought of multiple ways I could've done this. I could've taken you somewhere fancy on a romantic getaway, just the two of us. Or loads of lights and fireworks and candles, but I know you. All those fancy proposals aren't you. So that's why I did it here. Just me, you, and Rosie."

It was like on queue Rosie giggled, her feet kicking like crazy in her little moving seat.

"For the last six years you have given me everything. A life, a home, a beautiful baby. I know I'm not the easiest person to love, I really know that, but somehow you've managed to put up with all of my problem's and make them your own, and that to me is true love. So please, Y/N L/N, will you marry me?"

"Are you being serious? You want to marry me?" I whispered in disbelief. A part of me not being able to comprehend that someone wants to marry me.

Someone wants to be with me forever.

"Why would I joke about this. I've never been so sure of anything in my life."

Matty brought the neck of his jumper up to his face, wiping away the stray tears that streamed down his face.

The ring sat so elegantly in the opened black velvet ring box. The opal diamond, which is Rosie's birthstone, shone beautifully from a mile away.

"Matty....I....oh god." I sobbed happily into my hands. Continuously shaking my head in disbelief.

"You don't have to say yes, we can just forget about it if it isn't what you wa-"

"No! No, no, this is what I want. I want to marry you. I'd marry you tomorrow, I'd marry you next week, I'll marry you whenever. Jesus Christ, yes, yes Matty Healy I will be your wife whenever you want me to be!" I sobbed, running over to him and engulfing him in the biggest hug that I knocked him over.

The two of us crying and giggling on the floor, the ring still safely in his hand, thank god.

Matty wrapped his left arm around my waist, sitting the two of us up that I was straddling his lap.

"So....can I put the ring on you? Just to make it official?" He smiled widely. Eyes squinting and teeth showing.

"Yes. Yes. Yes." I spoke excitedly. Each yes being punctuated by a passionate kiss.

With his still shaky hands, he slipped the beautiful gold and opal ring onto my ring finger. My heart skipping a beat from a touch so soft and loving.

He brought the hand up to his lips, kissing the ring keeping his eyes on mine.

"Just the three of us future Y/N Healy."

"Just the three of us Matthew Timothy Healy."

Matty looked up above us, noticing the mistletoe that hung.

"Would you look at that. Ever thought you'd get proposed to under the mistletoe when we hung it up last night?" He smirked, his eyes watching my every move as I quickly got up to get Rosie.

"If you'd told me six years ago when I met you outside a pub in Manchester that you'd be the person I'd love for the rest of my life, I would've believed you." I smiled wholeheartedly, returning back to the floor with Rosie sitting on my lap.

"What? Really?" Matty was totally shocked by my words. Not expecting me to say that I knew he'd be the one.

"From the minute you asked me if I had a spare cigarette and I turned around to face you, there was no way I was letting go of you. Loving someone has never been easier. Falling in love with you and Rosie has been the easiest thing I've ever done in my entire life, and everyday I fall more and more in love."

"Stop it, darling. You're gonna make me cry again." Matty huffed, looking up at the ceiling to try and stop himself from crying.

"I think someone else is going to start crying if you don't give her her first kiss under the mistletoe." I chuckled, letting go of a squirming Rosie so she could go back to clinging onto her dad.

"Uh oh, we can't have little miss RoRo crying. Isn't that right, petal?" He tickled her chubby baby belly, making her roar out a laugh that had me and Matty laughing along with her.

“Would she like this?” I groaned, inspecting the snow globe from all angles. The glitter swirled around a badly painted snowman, his carrot nose more red than orange.

“For your mum?” Matty took the snow globe from my hands, turning up his nose, “We could find a better one, I think.”

“But this one is ten dollars,” I noted, earning a scoff from him. “I think I ought to quit celebrating Christmas, I can’t afford it anymore.”

“As if you ever could,” he shrugged, putting the snowglobe back on the shelf. I smacked him in the arm, the wool of his coat scratching the back of my hand.

“Please help me,” I sighed, “I hate finding secret Santa gifts.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he smiled, the fluorescent lights of the store darkening the shadows under his eyes. He wandered off, heavy boots scuffing against the floor. I trailed behind him, following his warmth.

“Was it a long trip back home?” I asked, and he turned an ear towards me to listen. He stopped, picking up a candle and smelling it.

“Not really,” he set the candle down, “I slept the whole way back.”

“And when do you go back?”

“I leave on New Year’s.”

“On New Year’s Day?” I huffed, “So you’ll miss my party?”

“Party is a bit gracious, isn’t it?” Matty looked back at me, tongue between his teeth.

“What do you want me to call it?” I giggled, trying to pout.

“Just a… handful of friends in a room. Eating crisps and staring at the wall.” 

“Don’t be mean,” I frowned, “It’s always better when you’re there.”

“Not this year,” he said, with a bit of a wince, “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I gave him a weak smile, one he was used to. 

“She’d like this, wouldn’t she?” He held a white cardigan at arm’s length.

“Very much so,” I nodded, reaching for the price tag, “Oh, no.”

He laughed, “Come on. It’s your mother!”

“My mother also wants me to be able to afford groceries,” I raised an eyebrow, taking the cardigan and putting it back on the rack. “Let’s go somewhere else. The dollar store, maybe.”

“God,” he sighed, following behind me. I stopped at the exit when I noticed he wasn’t behind me, finding him at the register with the cardigan. I stood with my arms crossed, watching his eyes crinkle when they met mine.

“Matty,” I scolded, and he chucked, putting an arm over my shoulders.

“I just wanted to go home,” he rubbed my shoulder, letting go. “Come on, it’s cold.”

(picture found on pinterest)

The moment Ross picked your name from the bowl, he knew exactly what he wanted to get you. He left the restaurant where you all had gathered for the name picking, he was on the phone, discussing with a seller in America.

There was a candy you loved and talked about all the time but it was an American candy. Tour had been on hold so none of the boys could get it for you and it cost an arm and a leg to get it shipped to you so you settled without it.

It took a few weeks for the package to make it across the ocean but when it finally arrived, Ross couldn't help but feel giddy imagining your reaction to the gift. He could picture it in his mind so clearly.

The sparkle in your eyes so similar to the glimmer of diamonds. The smile on your face so bright it would be the stars in the sky to shame.

A few weeks after the initial name-picking party, everyone gathered together again, just before Christmas, to exchange gifts. Matty went first, giving his gift over to Adam, who went next, giving his gift to Polly, and so on and so forth.

After Ross received his gift from Carly, it was his turn to give his gift. He couldn't help but feel nervous. He knew you would love it, but there was still that nervous pit in his stomach.

He walked right up to you, smiling at the confused look on your face, "Merry Christmas, love." He took a step back and watched you carefully tear the wrapping paper apart.

"Holy..." You breathed out when you saw what was inside the giant box. Everyone around you was looking at you confused, so in response, you tipped the box over, dumping out the copious amounts of candy bars that were inside of the box.

"Ross MacDonald, you big softie." George teased. Ross took it all with a proud smile as he watched you dig into one of the bars, the happiest look on your face.

After the party, Ross helped you carry the giant box of candy out to your car, setting it on the passenger side. You turned to him and smiled, "Thanks for this, really. I appreciate this more than you know. I practically have a lifetime supply."

"Knowing you, this'll last maybe two months." He teased, chuckling when you rolled your eyes.

"Well, most people don't listen to me when I talk, so it's nice to know someone still does."

"I always do." He stated.

"I know." You smiled up at him. You leaned up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He nodded, walking around to the driver's side and opening the door for you then shutting it when you're inside. He waved to you and watched you drive away. Once you were finally out of the sight, he smiled to himself as he made his way over to his own car.

-

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