Christmas was weird.

Not bad. Not tragic. Just... wrong.

I had planned the whole thing in my head weeks ago: Tim would think I was sleeping at Elyse's, but really I'd sneak over to Jordan's and sleep in my old room, wrapped in the familiar comfort of the only real home I'd had before Toronto. It should've worked. It always had before.

But the second I landed in Dallas, reality slapped me in the face.

Jordan had downplayed things with Michael, but they were very much back together. Not halfway, not tentative. Full family mode. Patrick had his parents back under one roof for Christmas, and they made a cute little family of three — in my old house. The house that used to smell like my shampoo in the bathroom and my laundry in the hallway.

Now it smelled like them.

And I felt like a guest. A visitor passing through a life I used to recognize.

Staying with Elyse didn't feel right either. She and Colin had moved into a two-bedroom, and even though the guest room was nice, it wasn't mine. I couldn't run around in pajamas without a bra, or steal handfuls of chips from the pantry, or sprawl on her couch without apologizing. I felt like I was walking on tiptoes through both places — too big, too loud, too out of place.

I kept texting Elle every few hours, checking in on Ari. He was still in the hospital. No updates. No answers. Just waiting.

Everything felt heavy.

And then Christmas morning — while I was sitting on Elyse's bed staring at a pile of gifts that suddenly felt like obligations — my phone buzzed.

Tyler.

Tyler:
Merry Christmas, Alex 🎄

Me:
Merry Christmas 🎄

Tyler:
How's Dallas?

(I stared at the question for a long minute. No idea how to answer it without lying.)

Me:
Weird.

Tyler:
Weird how?

Me:
Just... weird.

Everything feels different and familiar at the same time.
I don't feel like I fit here anymore.

There was a pause — long enough that I thought maybe he'd backed out of the conversation — and then:

Tyler:
You okay Little H?

I swallowed hard.

Me:
I don't know.
I feel like a guest everywhere.
I want to come home.

Tyler:
You mean Canada-home?

Me:
Yeah.
I miss it.
More than I thought I would.

Tyler:
I get that.

Me:
You do?

Tyler:
You're building a life here LH. You're bound to miss it.

Me:
That's exactly what it feels like.
Like I left home to come home but it's not home anymore.

Tyler:
Ah yes, the classic Schrödinger's teenager.
Both belonging everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.

Me:
You're such a nerd.

Tyler:
You like that about me.

My stomach did that stupid swoopy thing.

Me:
Whatever.
Shut up.
How's your Christmas?

Tyler:
Loud lol.
My mom invited half the family tree.
Someone's uncle is singing Mariah Carey off-key.
Please send help.

Me:
No. Suffer.

Tyler:
Wow ok.
Cold-hearted.
I like it.

I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself.

Me:
You're annoying.

Tyler:
And yet you're still texting me 😉

Me:
Because literally everyone else is busy or far away.

Tyler:
Uh-huh.
Sure.
Not because you miss me or anything.

I paused so long he sent another message.

Tyler:
...you good? Did I push too far?

Me:
No.
Just thinking.
I guess I do miss you a little.

A beat.

Tyler:
Just a little?
Rude.

Me:
Fine. Medium amount.
Maybe large.

Tyler:
Keep going...

Me:
Don't push it.

Tyler:
Okay okay 😂
But hey — when do you get back?

Me:
The 27th.

Tyler:
Good.
Come to the New Year's thing?

Me:
What thing?

Tyler:
Reece's basement party.
Very exclusive.
Only like... 40 people.
A total chill vibe.
I promise no weirdness.

Me:
Will I get glitter-bombed?

Tyler:
Not unless you want to.
I can arrange something.

Me:
Hard pass.

Tyler:
So... you'll come?

(I hesitated. I thought about Ari. About how complicated everything felt.)

Me:
Yeah.
I think I want to.

Tyler:
Good.
Then it's a date.

Me:
Not a date.

Tyler:
Not-a-date date.
Totally different.

Me:
You're impossible.

Tyler:
But I made you smile.
So I'm counting that as a win.

I stared at the last message for a long time, the corners of my mouth pulling up despite everything.

Christmas still felt wrong. Dallas still felt foreign. Ari was still in a hospital bed I wasn't allowed to visit.

But for the first time that week, I didn't feel completely alone.

And maybe... just maybe... I had something to look forward to when I got home.

Home to Canada.
Home to the life I was building.
Home to people who missed me too.

New Year's Eve came fast, and I was more than ready for a night that felt like anything other than the last two weeks. Reece's house was already glowing with lights when Dad dropped me off, the muffled thump of bass pulsing through the windows.

I smoothed down my dress before I got out — a backless white piece covered in tiny silver sparkles that caught every streetlight and made me feel like a snow angel who'd wandered into suburbia. The sleeves were delicate lace, and Aunt Claire had loaned me a pair of silver heels I was terrified of scuffing.

Of course, I had to bury the whole outfit under a puffy coat because it was snowing again. Meanwhile, Elyse texted me earlier saying she was wearing shorts because Dallas was sitting at fifty degrees.

I missed heat. Real heat. Heat that hugged you instead of stabbing your face with icy needles.

As I walked up the driveway, I wondered if Elle would be here tonight. She'd been basically AWOL since Christmas, bouncing between houses and family obligations. I missed her—really missed her. It felt wrong celebrating anything without my best friend.

Tyler had promised to meet me outside, but I hadn't seen him. Maybe he'd already gone in?

I tugged my coat tighter around me as I spotted someone standing near Reece. For a second, I genuinely thought it was an angel. Or someone auditioning for one.

Ari.

But not Ari as I knew him.

He wore a white pullover sweater that clung just enough to show the lines of his chest and stomach — soft, clean, simple. His hair wasn't spiked or flattened with product; it curled naturally, falling in ringlets that made him look bizarrely like Jake. No eyeliner. No jewelry. No leather.

Nothing about him screamed Prince of Darkness.

He looked... healthy. Like the light had finally found a way back into him.

"Hey," he said, voice soft, uncertain. "Hi, Alex."

That was all it took. I stepped into him automatically. He caught me, arms folding around me in a way that felt both familiar and brand new.

And then—

Fireworks exploded behind us.

Literal fireworks.

Boys in the backyard started cheering like they'd cured cancer instead of lighting a fuse without burning down the garage. The sky flashed red and gold, and for a heartbeat I just stared at Ari, surprised by how steady he looked.

"How are you?" I asked.

He shrugged, hands dropping to his pockets. "About as good as someone can be when they find out they have the family curse."

"Curse?" I frowned.

"It's... a lot," he said. "Stuff I'll tell you tomorrow. I just want tonight to be normal. Can we do that?"

I nodded. I wanted answers, but this wasn't the moment. And honestly? It felt good just to see him out of bed.

I scanned the yard again. No Tyler. 

I didn't know how to casually drop into conversation with Ari that I'd agreed to meet someone else here too — someone who had definitely not shown up where he said he'd be.

Before I could think too hard about it, Elle spilled out the front door. She squealed when she saw me and practically knocked the wind out of me with her hug. Aaron joined us a second later, and suddenly the core four was together again — laughing, talking over each other, slipping back into place like we hadn't scattered across the city all break.

But even surrounded by them, a tiny knot formed in my stomach.

Where was my fifth?

Half an hour later, with no sign of Tyler, I wandered upstairs to look for him. Reece's house was chaos — two people I didn't know making out by the stairs, cups stacked like a drunken Jenga game, someone screaming over beer pong rules.

I checked one room and immediately regretted it — Brenna and her... whoever-he-was-this-week were halfway to becoming a crime scene.

I closed the door quietly.

The game room had a group of seniors playing pool, ignoring everyone else like they had evolved beyond teenagers.

At the end of the hallway, with the door half-open, I found what had to be the master bedroom. It was dark, lit only by the faint glow from the backyard fireworks.

And on the edge of the perfectly made bed, staring out the window with a beer bottle dangling from his fingers, was Tyler.

I stepped inside. Slowly.

"Tyler?"

He didn't look up at first. When he finally turned, his eyes were unfocused, tired. His speech slurred just enough to worry me.

"Nothing," he said. Then, "Everything." He laughed without humor. "I'm just... frustrated, Harrison."

Not Little Harrison.

That was new.

"So you're sitting alone in a dark room drinking?" I asked.

He huffed. "Why are you even here? I saw the Prince of Darkness came back."

"He doesn't really look like the Prince of Darkness tonight," I said.

"Nope," Tyler agreed. "Haven't seen that kid look that normal in at least two years."

"Is that when he discovered eyeliner?"

"And his sister's skinny jeans."

I snorted before I could stop myself. "Okay, enough about him. What's going on with you?"

He tipped the bottle to his lips. "Besides the fact half the group still treats me like a leper? And you were practically tackling Ari on the front lawn?"

"I was happy to see him out and not, you know... hospitalized," I said. "Are you jealous?"

"Nope."

"So you're just mopey?"

"Probably deserve it. I've been a dick the last few years."

"I wouldn't know. I've only been around four months."

"And in that time," he said, leaning back against the headboard, "you managed to make a mortal enemy out of a soulless ginger, win the heart of her little brother, become best friends with her little sister, and get her ex-boyfriend to publicly serenade you."

"That was your doing," I said. "I didn't make you sing anything. You chose embarrassment, boo."

I plucked the bottle from his hand and took a drink. It was warm and horrible — nothing like the cold ones Patrick and I used to steal from Elyse's fridge. I handed it back.

Tyler blinked, surprised I didn't lecture him about drinking.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I messed up. Should've waited for Munro to screw up before I swooped in."

"No," I corrected with a smirk. "You should've kept your damn mouth shut."

He smirked back, the first real spark of him I'd seen tonight. "Did you at least like the songs?"

"I plead the fifth. And songs? Plural? Please. I knew the second one was about me."

He laughed and placed his hand gently over mine. Warm. Steady.

"You're in Canada, Harrison," he murmured. "You can't plead the fifth. And of course it was about you. Everything I've written in the last four months has been about you."

The room went still.

The party noise faded.
The fireworks dimmed.
Only his confession hung in the air, heavy and bright and terrifying.

And I suddenly wondered — how many other songs were there?

And how many were still coming?

Tyler didn't pull his hand away after he confessed. If anything, his thumb brushed lightly across my knuckles like he wasn't sure he was allowed to but couldn't help it.

My heart did an obnoxious flutter.

"Four months?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "That's a lot of material."

"Yeah," he said with a small laugh. "Turns out you're... inspiring."

I rolled my eyes even though my chest felt tight and warm. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or you're blaming me for your creative trauma."

"Definitely a compliment," he said, leaning in just slightly — enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. "You make things interesting."

"I didn't mean to."

"Don't think I mind," he whispered.

There was a beat where neither of us moved. The air felt thick. Or maybe that was just the alcohol on his breath and the fact that he was looking at me like I was a secret he wanted to memorize.

I cleared my throat, desperate for something normal. "You know you're missing the entire party, right?"

He shrugged and looked back out the window. "I didn't feel like being out there."

"So you're hiding?"

"Definitely hiding."

"From what?"

"You."

I blinked. "Me?"

He gave a guilty smile. "You showed up looking like a walking snowflake commercial and then went straight into Ari's arms. My pride needed a minute."

"That wasn't—"

"I know," he said, softer now. "I know it wasn't what it looked like. But it felt like someone stomped on my ribcage anyway."

The honesty hit harder than I expected. He wasn't angry. He wasn't dramatic. He was just—hurt.

"You could've still met me out front," I said gently.

"Yeah, well," he muttered, rubbing his face, "being emotionally well-adjusted isn't exactly my specialty."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Clearly."

He grinned at that — a real one, crooked and warm. "You look good when you laugh at me."

"You look like you're fishing for compliments."

He tilted his head. "You giving any out tonight?"

"Depends how hard you work for them."

His eyes flicked down to my lips and then away, like looking too long would break some rule he'd set for himself.

I felt heat crawl up my neck.
I needed a distraction.

A sudden roar erupted downstairs — someone yelling about the countdown starting soon.

Tyler glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "It's almost midnight."

"Oh." My stomach dipped. "Right."

We were quiet for a moment.

"Hey," he said, shifting to face me more fully, "you know the whole 'good luck to kiss someone at midnight' thing?"

My heartbeat immediately migrated to my ears. "I've heard of it."

"It's stupid," he said quickly. "Superstitious. Probably made up by Hallmark."

"Probably."

"But..." he added, voice dropping a little, "I wouldn't hate it. You know... if you wanted."

I stared at him. "Tyler."

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he said, though his voice betrayed him. "It can just be... tradition. Or whatever."

I laughed nervously. "We're really doing this?"

He leaned closer, but still gave me space. "Only if you want to."

Downstairs, someone shouted, "TEN!"

The noise swelled through the house like a wave.

Tyler's hand slid carefully over mine again.

"Nine!"

His eyes searched mine, nervous for the first time all night.

"Eight!"

I swallowed. "This is crazy."

"Seven!"

"Everything about us is crazy," he whispered.

"Six!"

"True."

"Five!"

He brushed a curl behind my ear, fingers trembling.

"Four!"

I nodded—so small I wasn't sure he saw it.

He saw.

"Three!"

We leaned in—slow, slow, impossibly slow.

"Two!"

His breath warmed my cheek.

"One!"

Our lips met.

It wasn't dramatic. Not fireworks or angels singing or the world stopping. It was soft and hesitant and warm — like we were both afraid of shattering something fragile. His hand slid to my jaw, holding me like a secret he didn't trust himself with.

When we finally parted, he rested his forehead against mine, breathing just a little too fast.

"Happy New Year, Little Harrison," he whispered.

Before I could respond—

The door cracked open.

We jumped apart like we'd been caught committing tax fraud.

James stood in the doorway, holding a half-crushed can of beer and swaying like the ground was optional.

"Ohhhh shit," he slurred, pointing at us. "Nope. Nope. I didn't see anything. You didn't see me. I was never here."

"James," Tyler groaned.

He shook his head dramatically. "My lips are SEALED. Like—like a vault. A vault with... uh... combination lock. No key. Nope." He stumbled backward into the doorframe. "I ain't telling nobody the snow angel was kissing the rockstar troubadour."

"Oh my god," I whispered.

James saluted, missed his forehead entirely, and staggered off down the hall shouting, "VAULT!"

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence.

Then Tyler looked at me.

And started laughing.

Not mocking. Not nervous.

Just... happy.

I laughed too, because what else could I do?

"Guess that's out there now," he said.

"Only if James remembers," I said. "Which he won't."

Tyler smiled — soft, hopeful. It wasn't the smirk he usually wore; it was something unguarded, like he'd finally let himself breathe.

"Still," he murmured, fingertips grazing mine again, "I'm glad it was me you rang in the new year with."

My stomach fluttered, sharp and light at the same time.

I cleared my throat, trying to steady myself. "We... should probably go back downstairs."

"Probably," he said, though he didn't move at first.

After a moment, he pushed himself up and offered me a hand. I didn't take it — not because I didn't want to, but because something in my chest warned me it would be too much, too soon.

He seemed to understand. He nodded, let his hand fall, and walked beside me.

Not touching.

But the charge between us had its own gravity. Every step buzzed with the memory of the kiss. Every breath felt a little too warm. Every glance made something inside me slip and slide out of balance.

We made it down the stairs just as someone popped another bottle of cheap champagne. The living room glowed with flashing lights and drunk laughter. Ari stood near the kitchen with Reece and Aaron, nursing a soda like he wasn't sure how to hold himself in a room this loud. He looked better — healthy, present — but still fragile around the edges.

And Elle... Elle saw us the moment we stepped off the stairs.

Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightened, and she marched straight toward us like she was on a mission.

"Oh no," Tyler whispered under his breath.

"Oh yes," I muttered.

Elle stopped in front of me, arms crossed, her glare bouncing back and forth between us like she was watching a tennis match she hated. "What are you two doing together?" she hissed.

"We just—" I started.

"I don't care," she cut me off quietly. "Ari is barely okay tonight. Please don't do anything that's going to send him backwards, Alex. Not tonight."

Guilt stabbed me in the ribs. She wasn't wrong.
Tyler shifted beside me, jaw clenching.

"Elle," I said softly, "we weren't... doing anything."

Her eyebrows lifted. She didn't believe me for a second. "Just be smart. Please."

She walked away before I could answer, heading straight for Ari like she needed to physically guard him from the world.

My heartbeat pulsed uncomfortably. I wasn't ashamed of kissing Tyler. I wasn't. But the timing... the situation... Ari's face if he walked down that hallway and saw us...

It would destroy him.

I exhaled shakily. "Tyler... can you take me home?"

His expression softened instantly. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. You wanna go now?"

"Before Ari sees us together," I admitted.

His shoulders dipped a little—not in disappointment, more like he understood exactly why it had to be that way. "Come on," he said gently. "Let's go."

We slipped out the front door quietly, cold air hitting my cheeks like a reset button. Tyler opened the passenger door of his truck for me — a small gesture, but it made my chest pinch.

He didn't start the engine right away once we were inside. The cab was warm from earlier, smelling faintly like cedar and whatever cologne he'd worn for the party.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low.

"Yeah," I said. "Just... overwhelmed."

"Yeah," he echoed. "Me too."

We sat in the silence a second too long. The space between us tugged tighter and tighter, like an invisible thread pulling us forward.

Tyler brushed his thumb across his bottom lip, nervous.
I watched the movement without meaning to.

He noticed.

"You're looking at me weird," he said.

"You're imagining it."

"No, I'm definitely not."

I swallowed. "You're starting trouble, Mason."

"You want me to stop?"

I should have said yes.
I knew I should have.

But I didn't.

Instead, I leaned just a little closer, and he met me halfway. Our lips touched again — slow, tentative, then quickly deeper, like we were both remembering how warm the first kiss had been. My fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket. His hand slid behind my neck, gentle but wanting.

It was good.

Stupidly, overwhelmingly good.

When we finally pulled apart, breathing uneven, he rested his forehead against mine.

"God," he whispered, "I have wanted to do that for months."

My heart twisted — sweet and painful all at once.

"I know," I said softly. "But..."

He pulled back just enough to look at me. "But what?"

"I'm not there yet," I said. "I can't... be in something. Not right now."

He didn't flinch. Didn't snap. Didn't pull away.

He just nodded. "Okay."

"It was just kissing," I said, the words tasting wrong even as I said them. "Just tonight."

His jaw flexed—hurt, acceptance, something in between—but his voice stayed steady.

"Okay," he repeated. "Just tonight."

We both sat there, our breaths fogging the windshield, hearts still racing from something that wasn't going to go anywhere. Not yet.

Tyler turned the key, the engine humming to life.

"I'll get you home," he said quietly.

And even though my chest ached, I nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

Outside, fireworks cracked faintly in the distance, marking the start of a new year.

Inside the truck, everything felt like it was beginning and ending at the exact same time.

Tyler pulled up in front of my house, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. The neighborhood was quiet, snow piled on the curbs like forgotten pillows, porch lights glowing warm against the cold.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for the door handle. "Thanks for—"

"Alex."

The way he said my name made me pause.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on me with a softness that made my breath hitch.

"You said the kissing ends tonight," he murmured. "So..."

He swallowed, nerves flickering across his face.

"We might as well make it worth it."

I didn't even have time to laugh or roll my eyes before he reached out, hand curving gently around the side of my neck, not pulling — just waiting. Asking.

I nodded.

And then he kissed me.

Not careful like before. Not hesitant. This one was deeper, warmer — like he'd been holding his breath for months and finally let it go. I gasped against his mouth, and his fingers slid into my hair, anchoring me. I gripped the front of his jacket as the kiss spilled into another, and another, the windows fogging around us as the world shrank to the small cab of his truck.

It wasn't messy or rushed. It was hungry and sweet and overwhelming all at once — a pull that I felt in my chest, my stomach, my fingertips. Every place he touched felt suddenly brighter.

When we finally broke away for air, our foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths mingling in white puffs.

Tyler let out a shaky laugh. "Okay," he whispered. "Now it's officially worth it."

I smiled — soft, helpless.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "It was."

We lingered in that closeness for a moment longer. Then I leaned in and pressed one more kiss to his lips — not heated, not rushed. Just a gentle, grateful brush of goodbye.

"Thank you for the ride," I whispered against his mouth.

He closed his eyes, breathing in like he was trying to memorize the moment. "Anytime, Little Harrison."

I opened the door, the winter air hitting my flushed cheeks like a reminder of reality. I stepped out slowly, closing the door with careful fingers.

Tyler watched me the whole way to the porch.

And even after I went inside, I could still feel the ghost of his hands, his breath, his lips —

A warmth I knew I couldn't keep.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But tonight...
Tonight, it had been enough.