Several years later...

● qυorra neverѕea ●

"Alright, you grab the ham out the oven, I need to fix this yule log."

Lara only giggles as I look down at the mess of a homemade yule log before me, absolutely flustered. While I try to smooth over the slightly-bitty, questionably-layered chocolate frosting that encases it, I feel my hands shaking in time with the stampeding of my heart in my chest. Why has Christmas time always got to be so stressful?

Lara touches my arm and, upon seeing my troubled expression, offers me a bright smile, "Just relax, Quorra. I haven't seen you this stressed out since your exams. Slater will enjoy today no matter what."

I sigh and stand up straight, placing a powdered-sugar-covered hand on my waist to force myself to stop. It's Slater's first proper Christmas, so I want to make it the best day of his life. We've spent two Christmases together now, but we've both always been busy with work and forced to spend time apart with nothing more than a 'merry xmas, honey' text. This Christmas, I managed to avoid going to work, since all the roads were completely blocked with snow, but with the nature of his important job, Slater couldn't escape it.

He did manage to get an early leave though, so hopefully he'll be back soon, I think to myself, worriedly glancing up at the clock.

With everything that's gone wrong today already (seriously, what are those bits in the frosting?), I'm doubting that anything will go right at all. There's also the added pressure from the fact that tonnes of people are coming - family and friends from not only my side, but Slater's too. I met his parents for the first time last summer, and while they seem fairly welcoming, I do not want a terrible Christmas dinner contributing to my name.

God, why did I have to suggest hosting this at our place? Why couldn't I have just let my parents host it, as they always do? We never got back onto great terms, but we at least tolerate and understand each other now. Lara, Bennett, Elena, other friends and family, and most importantly, Slater would be there to distract me. But no, of course I had to take it upon myself to make a whole homemade feast.

My mental rambling is interrupted by a body pressed up against my back and familiar arms hugging me from behind. A chin settles on my head as I crane my neck slightly to see Slater and a head of dishevelled hair speckled with melting snow behind me. He's finally come back from work and while I missed him dearly, my levels of stress are much to high for me to smile.

"Hey," I greet, albeit miserably, leaning back into the warmth he radiates even though he's just left the subzero temperatures outside.

He paints on a breathtaking smile, but it does little to ease my nerves. Lara leaves as Elena start whining for something outside, muttering a comment under her breath and dropping her oven gloves onto the counter in defeat.

"You look like you're in pain, sweetheart," my boyfriend murmurs, brushing a thumb across my waist to soothe me as he turns me around to face him, "Your cheeks are flushed."

"I am," I confess, unable to help myself from looking around at the mess of our kitchen.

A chipped bowl of half-mashed potatoes sits on the counter, the oddly-scented stuffing container is overturned and half of it spills onto the flour-covered floor, bitty chocolate frosting is smeared all over the table and me, and the smell of burning-

"Fuck!" I curse, lurching forward to pull the oven door open and turn off the heat.

A blinding cloud of smoke infiltrates the room, bringing with it the unpleasant stench of overcooked ham. I squint through the cloud and cough, grabbing the over gloves off the counter and trying to fan the greyness away.

"Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck, I knew I should've just taken it out myself. Oh God, the main food is ruined now," I ramble on to myself, feeling my stress levels skyrocket back up after being alleviated by Slater's presence, "Everyone's gonna be here in less than an hour and there's no food to eat, and I haven't changed, and Elena's still crying - oh G-"

I'm silenced as hands around my waist yank me back into an upright position just as I reach into the oven, and lips plant themselves over my own. I'm still in a daze as Slater pulls away, holding my cheeks in his hands to force me to look at him.

"Quorra, everything is going to be fine," he states calmly, "Understand?"

I'm still as flustered before, confidence depleted, but I nod nonetheless. He catches my lack of enthusiasm immediately and pulls me into his chest, kissing my temple comfortingly.

The kitchen door bursts open as I'm on the verge of tears, emotions surfacing.

"What ha- Quorra?!" Lara exclaims, marching in with a teary-eyed Elena fumbling in tow with her.

She looks at me expression, which mirrors Elena's at this point, and then says, "Okay, Lena, go outside to daddy, yeah?"

With a gentle push from her mother, Elena dawdles out. I avoid Lara's gaze and hug Slater tighter, wanting nothing more than the postpone Christmas and buy a new kitchen. The slightly rumbling in Slater's chest tells me that he's speaking quietly with my stunned sister, but I don't zone back into reality until I hear receding footsteps and the kitchen door close with a soft thud.

"Honey," Slater calls, pushing back on my shoulders to look me in the eye, "Why are you so stressed out? Today will be fantastic regardless of what we eat. Or don't... eat..."

His joke just makes me want to cry more.

"Slater," I whine tearily, looking away and trying to create distance between us.

He laughs and walks me back until I'm trapped between the counter and his solid body, "I'm only kidding. Are you feeling okay? I was expecting a snappy retort."

I blink away the tears, feeling my emotions return to normal as I shake my head, "I don't know what's wrong with me. I just really wanted this Christmas to be the best one you've ever had. You've never had a proper Christmas, and you've never felt the heart-warming, happy glow in your chest as you and your loved ones gathering around a crackling fireplace and open presents, and you've never seen children's eyes light up like the decorated tree beside them as they tear into thoughtful gifts. I wanted today to be all you've missed and more. But I failed."

With a deep breath, I try to focus on the love in his eyes and the way he leans into me instinctively, one arm balanced on the counter behind me and the other pressing me towards him by the small of my back. He captures my gaze.

"Sweetheart, I feel that warm, happy glow every time I'm with you. I don't need a picture-perfect holiday to make me happy. I just need you. We can just order pizza - no-one will say no to good food, homemade or takeout. There will be no judging or backchatting about your questionable-"

I smack his chest unforgivingly.

"-sorry - culinary skills. We will make it a memorable Christmas. Together."

That makes me want to cry all over again. I pull him down by the neck and kiss him deeply, threading my fingers through his silky hair and tugging. He responds, the hands on my back rubbing up and down and slipping under my hoodie, and smiles against my lips in a way that makes my heart stop.

I disconnect us to lean my head against his shoulder, dropping a final kiss on his neck in gratitude. Concentrating on the hand tracing designs on my back, it isn't difficult to regain control over my nerves.

"I love you," I mumble, as if it is instinctual.

"I love you too," Slater responds, removing his hand from my hoodie to slip it into mine, "Now how about we get you cleaned up and changed?"

"We?" I repeat, narrowing my eyes at him, but smiling nonetheless as he tugs me towards the door.

He shoots me a wicked grin, mischief glinting in his gaze.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

All our guests arrived four hours ago, and now we are gathered around the burning fireplace with stomachs full of greasy pizza and chips, waiting to open presents. The warm crackle of the fire illuminates our faces with orange tints that only emphasise our smiles.

Lara and Bennett rock a sleepy Elena in their arms, shooting each other loving glances while my parents watch from afar, small smiles gracing their lips. We aren't a perfect family, and my mother and father never made genuine amends, but that's okay with me. Slow progress is progress still.

And yet, though Slater sits beside me, his parents opposite, laughing about some unknown, inside joke, Hannah and Lucas sharing a seat to my right, I feel nothing but positively sick.

I must noticeably be turning green, because Slater picks up on my silence a few seconds in, a gentle hand laying over my knee. His eyes search for mine, "Sweetheart, are you feeling okay? No-one questioned the food; it's alright."

The low murmur of chat in the room prevents anyone from noticing our conversation. I am thankful for it - imagine ruining everyone's Christmas on behalf of me.

I swallow, scared to speak in case I vomit everywhere, but force myself to grab his hand, "It's not that. I've just not been feeling well."

Worry floods his gaze, "Let's go upstairs for a bit."

I shake my head frantically before he's even finished the suggestion.

"I'm not ruining Christmas for everyone. We're meant to be hosting this party; we can't just get up and leave," I insist, though the swirling feeling in my stomach is getting exponentially more unbearable.

Slater calls over Lucas subtly. He strides over, grin as wide as ever, and greets his friend with a, "'S up, D?"

"Can you keep this going while we nip upstairs for a bit? Start opening presents without us, if that's what needs to happen. We won't be long," Slater wastes no time in delaying and grabs my hand to force me to come with him.

Lucas wiggles his eyebrows, but I have no energy to roll my eyes at him as he asks suggestively, "I'm sure it'll take a while, D."

When he catches my sullen gaze, his grin drops and he realises that something is seriously wrong. Before he can utter a word of concern, Slater pulls me out the living room door, attracting one or two curious glances from two pairs of parents.

"Wait, Slater-" I start to protest, trying to resist his pull as he heads for the winding spiral staircase.

"You need to just need to get some peace and quiet for a bit," he says without meeting my gaze, and instantly, after years of knowing my boyfriend, I notice the waver in his tone.

I screech to a halt on the third step, yanking back on his hand.

"What are you hiding from me?" I ask blankly, trying to repress the sickly feeling brewing in my stomach as I cross my arms.

He runs a hand through his silken hair and continues to divert his eyes.

"I need you to trust me, sweetheart. Please come upstairs," he pleads, hands reaching for mine.

I let him, weighing up the desperation in his voice and the soft touch of his hands. He's hurting inside. Why?

Wordlessly, I let him tug me upstairs, curiosity almost fully overriding the previously overbearing urge to regurgitate my last meal. The chatter downstairs melts into a faded drone of laughter by the time we are in our room and closing the door behind us.

I look over at Slater in the dim lighting of the room. He sits on the edge of the bed, hands interlocked as his chest falls and rises unpredictably. He draws his bottom lip into his mouth, teeth sinking into it. He's nervous. Why?

"Honey, what is it?" I ask, roles reversed as I start to question if he is the one feel deathly sick.

He eventually looks up at me, anxiety blatant in his chestnut gaze as he speaks quietly, "Please do not be mad at me."

My heart breaks at I watch his do the same.

"You know I love you with all my heart. Nothing will change that."

My words seem to comfort him a little as he reveals the cause for his worry. He swallows, balls up his hands, and closes his eyes.

"You know three weeks ago? The most recent time we..."

My gaze darts around as I try to understand his hinting.

He exhales.

"I didn't use a condom."

My heart plummets.

He didn't... use...

"W-what?" I stutter out, feeling an icy chill flood my body from head to toe.

I'm sure that fear has cloaked my expression completely when he looks at me, because I have never seen such terror filling his.

"I was just so in the moment that I forgot and I kept questioning while it felt so different - a good different - until I realised afterwards that-"

"A-are you... are you saying I might be... pregnant?"

My voice is but a whisper in the dead silence of the room. He doesn't reply for a long time, leaving me to drown in my thoughts. Every emotion tackles me all at once, leaving me in a frenzy as I stand up off the bed. Immediately, I'm dizzied and almost trip over myself, but Slater catches me at the last second, gently pulling me back down to the bed. My thoughts are racing and screaming at me so loud for attention that I don't hear Slater mutter soothing words and remorseful apologies in my ear, or the soft caress of his hand against my shoulder as he leans me into his chest.

"We don't know yet. Nothing's confirmed; I just thought I should tell you in case it's true. I didn't want to scare you by saying it but when you said you were sick, I had to," he says softly, guilt laced into his every word, "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I never meant to hurt you."

Why didn't I realise? God, I should have just been more responsible. This can't be true. Me? Pregnant? I still feel like a teenager. Raising children when I still feel so immature? So reckless? So dependent on others? The images of little kids running around the house infiltrate my mind, sending me into a panic. I imagine them jumping on the trampoline in our back garden and running in and out of the house, playing tag; I imagine them screaming and laughing like hyenas as I capture them and start a tickle war; I imagine them eating my terrible food and promising me that it tastes good for the sake of my feelings, and then I envision Slater there, throwing them over his shoulder and laughing along with them... and I realise that I don't mind it anymore.

I look at Slater eye to eye. Tears blur my vision as I throw my arms around his neck and pull myself into his warmth.

"Please don't cry," he whispers, arms linking around my waist as I hook my legs around him.

"I'm okay," I promise through a thick voice, even though I feel myself shaking, "it's going to be okay."

He is overcome with emotion when he gently peels me away from him to look at my face, eyebrows upturned with compassion and love.

"You don't have to pretend to be okay. I love you and I understand if you don't forgive me. I will never forgive myself regardless," he promises, eyes full of a sincerity that only makes me want to sob harder.

I swallow and look down at my lap, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"I'm not pretending. We were going to start a family at some point, if not right now. Even if I am pregnant, it will be okay. I wouldn't want to be with anyone else," I reply earnestly, waiting to gauge his reaction.

In wordless response, he tilts my chin up to capture my lips in a brief kiss that steals my breath.

"I love you more than words can say."

I let a small smile sneak onto my lips, "I know."

It will be okay. We will face the future, not matter how scary it is - together. That is all I need. That is enough for me.

He is enough for me.

I am enough for me.