Christmas used to be your favorite part of the entire year. The cheesy decor, the lights, the festive feeling… and most importantly, the presents. You loved it. You loved all of it, back as a child, living under your parents’ roof and being pampered with not a care in the world.

Of course, that was before you turned into the giver, rather than the receiver. Now, Christmas is all about succumbing to the commercialized tradition. Naturally, since you’ve grown up, you have to be the one decorating the house, planning the parties, writing all the cards, and buying all the presents.

Not to mention, the new baby you’ve got on your hands doesn’t help when it comes to busy seasons like this. It’s not like you don’t like the feeling of being a parent–it’s the best thing in the world, really–but you are honestly in entirely over your head this year.

And you are tired. So. Damn. Tired. You fervently can’t wait for the jolliness and festivities to end.

This is why it causes you great disorientation when you suddenly jolt awake, your consciousness booting up in the darkness of Christmas Eve. You blink your eyes open, squinting to read the red lights of a clock displaying 23:30.

That’s odd.

You roll over, lazily closing your eyes and snuggling into a more comfortable position as your arm stretches out for the familiar warmth of your husband. Your eyes snap back open when your fingers are only met with cold sheets, your personal heat generator nowhere to be found in bed.

You slowly rise out of bed, rubbing your eyes and shaking the last cobwebs of drowsiness from your head. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you throw the bed covers open, slipping into a pair of warm slippers and a snug robe. You hug your chest as you shuffle outside of the bedroom to find the lights of the Christmas tree turned on, shining brilliantly in the darkness.

And it is in that room that you hear it: soft singing, low and sweet. You feel a smile spread across your face as you walk soundlessly down the hall, like a ghost gliding through the house. As you get closer you, you start to take in the words.

… Fall on your knees Oh hear the angel voices Oh night divine Oh night, when Christ was born

Will lacks the range and control of Dan, but you find his voice to be quite beautiful all the same. He rarely sings to anyone on his own, but you’re the rare human being that is the exception.

Well, you and the baby.

You find yourself chuckling as Will gently rocks the sleeping infant, the sound making your presence known as your husband looks behind at you.

“What are you doing up?” he asks, careful to keep his voice muted.

You lower yourself down on the couch. Will shifts your little son into one arm, the other wrapping around your shoulders and gently guiding you to his side. You nuzzle into his soft T-shirt, humming ambiguously.

“Maybe I wanted to spend the last few minutes of Christmas Eve with my family,” you murmur back. Will’s chest shakes with laughter, his arm tightening securely around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any help this year,” he says, a hint of guilt in his voice. “I know the holidays are hard, especially with this little bugger on your hands.”

You lift your head up enough to look back at Will. You’ve always loved his eyes, the blue-tinged grey hinting at the millions of different thoughts that go on in that man’s head. You shake your head.

“You’re busy making music, pursuing your dream, and making millions of people happy. How can I be mad at that?” you say, burying yourself back into his chest.

Will huffs, and you feel the pressure of his lips as they press into your hair. He doesn’t say anything, but you know.

“Merry Christmas.”

You open your eyes to glance at the clock again, the two hands both on the 12 mark. You give a long, relaxed sigh.

“Merry Christmas.” You look back up, offering Will a smirk. “Now, are you going to finish?”

Will replies with that endearing crooked smile, clearing his throat.

Hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms I’ll be buried here with you

Will’s voice dulls to a murmur, and you feel the onslaught of sleep find its way back to you.

And I’ll hold in these hands

He lies his head against yours, gently cradling the tiny infant.

All that remains…

???

?FD?GFDG