I loathe Christmas. The glitter, the fake cheer, the way the office reeks of pine-scented candles and desperation-it's like the whole world collectively loses its mind.

I've never understood the appeal, and frankly, I don't care to.

And then there's Ruby.

She's my cubicle neighbor, and the only other person in the office who hates Christmas as much as I do.

It's not something we talk about directly-it's just an unspoken truth.

While everyone else gets drunk on peppermint schnapps and ugly sweaters, Ruby and I spend most of December rolling our eyes at the madness.

If you'd asked me this morning, I'd have said Ruby and I were kindred spirits, united in mutual disdain.

But now? Now, trapped in a supply closet with her, my opinions are...complicated.

×××

It all started with Brenda from HR, the self-appointed Queen of Christmas.

"Attendance is mandatory!" she chirped, slamming a tray of cookies onto the conference table during our morning meeting. "Team cohesion is important, especially during the holidays!"

Ruby, seated across from me, caught my eye and made a gagging motion.

I smirked and tapped out a response on my notepad: Kill me now.

After the meeting, we lingered by the coffee machine, grumbling about the party.

"What's the over-under on how many times Brenda says 'holiday spirit' tonight?" Ruby asked, her tone dry.

"Ten bucks says she breaks double digits before 9 p.m.," I replied.

Ruby snorted. "You're on."

We spent the rest of the day devising increasingly absurd excuses to skip the party. But when 5 p.m. rolled around, we both caved.

Skipping was one thing; getting an official reprimand for "failing to participate" was another.

The party was already in full swing by the time we arrived.

The break room had been transformed into a nightmare of blinking lights and tinsel, and Brenda was running around in a Santa hat, shoving candy canes at unsuspecting employees.

Ruby and I made a beeline for the snack table, where we were promptly intercepted.

"You two!" Brenda exclaimed, her eyes lighting up like a string of fairy lights. "I need your help with something."

"Uh-" I started, but she cut me off, pressing a key into my hand.

"There are extra decorations in the supply closet by the break room," she said, barely pausing for breath. "Can you grab them? Thanks, you're the best!"

Before I could protest, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Ruby and me standing there, dumbfounded.

"Well," Ruby said, breaking the silence. "This sucks."

I sighed. "Let's just get this over with."

The supply closet was exactly what you'd expect: cramped, dimly lit, and overflowing with office supplies. I managed to locate the box of decorations near the back, but when I turned to leave, the doorknob wouldn't budge.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, jiggling the handle.

Ruby raised an eyebrow. "What's the problem?"

"It's locked," I said, turning to face her.

Ruby frowned. "What do you mean, locked? You unlocked it to get in!"

"Yeah, well, it won't open now!" I shot back, frustration bubbling up.

Ruby stepped forward, brushing past me to try the door herself. When it didn't budge, she let out a string of curses under her breath.

"Great," she said, leaning against the wall. "We're stuck."

"Fantastic," I muttered, dropping the box of decorations onto the floor. "Merry freaking Christmas."

The first fifteen minutes were spent in silence, save for the muffled sounds of bad holiday music seeping through the door.

I tried texting Brenda, but the reception in the closet was pathetic.

Ruby, meanwhile, had taken a seat on an overturned box, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable.

"This is your fault," she said finally.

"My fault?" I repeated, incredulous. "How is this my fault?"

"You're the one who locked us in here," she said, her tone as dry as sandpaper.

I stared at her, flabbergasted. "You were the last one to touch the door!"

"So now it's my fault?" Ruby said, raising an eyebrow. "Interesting."

"You're impossible," I muttered, turning away from her with a scoff.

"Likewise," she shot back.

For a moment, I considered ignoring her entirely. But there was something about the way she was looking at me-like she was waiting for me to rise to the bait-that made it impossible to resist.

"Well, at least I'm not the one who suggested coming to the party in the first place," I said, crossing my arms.

Ruby blinked. "That was sarcasm, Irene."

I froze. "What?"

Ruby smirked. "I said we should come to the party because Brenda might fire us if we didn't. I didn't actually want to be here."

"Oh."

Ruby laughed, the sound echoing in the cramped space. "God, you're hopeless."

I wanted to be annoyed, but there was something disarming about her laughter-something warm and unexpected.

Against my better judgment, I found myself smiling.

×××

As the minutes dragged on, our initial irritation faded, replaced by something softer. We started talking-not just the usual snarky banter, but actual conversation.

Ruby told me about her family's over-the-top holiday traditions: matching pajamas, cookie-baking marathons, and a Christmas Eve talent show that always ended in chaos.

"It sounds...intense," I said, trying to picture it.

"It is," Ruby admitted. "But it's also kind of great, in its own way."

I raised an eyebrow. "I thought you hated Christmas."

Ruby shrugged. "I hate office Christmas. Family Christmas is different."

I nodded, pretending to understand. My own family's holiday traditions had fizzled out years ago, after my parents' divorce. These days, Christmas was just another day to get through.

"What about you?" Ruby asked, tilting her head. "Any big plans for the holidays?"

"Not really," I said, avoiding her gaze. "Probably just...watch some movies, order Chinese food. You know, the usual."

Ruby frowned, her brow furrowing. "That sounds...lonely."

"It's not so bad," I said quickly. "I like the quiet."

Ruby didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes said enough.

By the time we realized no one was coming for us anytime soon, we'd both relaxed considerably. Ruby had moved closer, leaning against the same shelf as me, her shoulder brushing mine occasionally.

"Do you think Brenda even noticed we're gone?" I asked, breaking the silence.

Ruby snorted. "Doubt it. She's probably too busy singing karaoke to care."

I laughed, imagining Brenda belting out Mariah Carey's greatest hits. "You're probably right."

For a moment, we just sat there, listening to the muffled sounds of the party outside.

"You know," Ruby said softly, her voice cutting through the quiet. "For someone who hates Christmas, you're surprisingly good company."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Is that...a compliment?"

Ruby smiled, and for the first time, it didn't feel like she was teasing. "Maybe."

I felt my cheeks flush, and I quickly looked away, focusing on the string of tangled lights in my hands.

I had never really thought of Ruby that way or in any way for that matter, and I wouldn't start now because she had just made my cheeks red.

The conversation shifted again after that, growing even more personal.

Ruby asked me about my childhood, and I told her about the Christmas I got my first bike-a shiny red piece with a silver bow on the handlebars.

It was the last holiday before everything fell apart, and the memory was bittersweet.

Ruby listened intently, her expression thoughtful. When I finished, she reached out and placed a hand on my arm, her touch gentle.

"That sounds...really nice," she said softly.

"It was," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. Then, slowly, Ruby's hand slid down my arm, her fingers brushing against mine.

"Irene," she said, her voice barely audible.

I turned to face her, my heart pounding. "Yeah?"

She hesitated, her eyes searching mine. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course," I said, though my voice was shakier than I'd intended.

"Whatever I say in here stays here. When we walk out that door or when they drag our copses out, I did not say any of this."

I wanted to laugh but I just smirked and nodded. "Promise."

Ruby took a deep breath, then said, "I think I've been picking fights with you because...I don't know how else to talk to you."

I blinked, stunned. "What?"

"I like you, Irene," she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. "And I'm sorry if I've been a jerk about it. I just...I didn't know how to say it. I've had this itchy feeling for a while now and it just feels a little better when I see you glaring at me."

She laughed like it's nothing. But me? I wasn't doing so well.

For a moment, all I could do was stare at her. Then, before I could second-guess myself, I reached up and cupped her face in my hands.

"I like you too," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

It was a lie.

I did not like her, I just felt the utmost need to annoy her and that in my dictionary did not translate as: like.

Ruby's eyes widened, and for a split second, she looked almost vulnerable. Then she smiled-a real, genuine smile that made my chest ache.

I could swear to bring this up maybe next year after Christmas holiday was over and maybe tease her about it alittle. My mind was definitely taking notes.

"Good," she said softly. "Because I've been waiting forever to hear you say that."

I laughed. Easy!

"Guess we both suck at this, huh?"

"Yeah," Ruby said, leaning closer. "But maybe we can suck at it together."

I didn't have time to respond before her lips were on mine, soft and warm and everything I hadn't known I was missing.

The world outside the supply closet faded away, and for the first time in a long time, it all just felt right.

And maybe, somehow, annoying her translated as like because I swear I wanted to keep kissing her.