December, 2016.

"Happy Christmas, love!"

I'm walking into the kitchen, rubbing the sleepiness out of my eyes, and practically moaning at the smell of fresh coffee.

"Happy Christmas, mum." I reply, less enthusiastic but with a sincere smile on my lips.

I feel good. Tired, but good. The last couple of months have been the most bittersweet of all, and I am yet to decide where the balance will lean to.

The album is almost ready; the songs have been written, chosen and recorded. All that's left is to work on the art and the visual concept, which is pretty much decided already, and decide the name I want to give to it.

The whole acting thing turned out to be amazing. Exhausting and really rough, but amazing all the same. Mainly because I got to learn a lot about myself, and the things I can endure.

So yeah... it's been a good one this year. Professionally wise, that is. Because in other aspects, well, lets just say there is one giant rock at the other side of the scale, making it hard for it to get even.

I feel a loud noise from behind me, followed by a really awful curse that can only live in Gemma's mouth, and I turn around to see her skipping her way into the kitchen, grabbing one foot with her hands.

"Stupid door frame!" She yelps.

"You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?" I reprimand her with a mocking tone and she sticks her tongue at me.

"And a whole lot of other things." She retorts.

"Ew! Gemma!" I cover my ears and screw my eyes shut, trying to erase that despicable image from my brain before it ruins things for me entirely. "Mum, say something!"

My mother is laughing at me, saying something about not being a prude, to which I respond with a grunt before defending myself by telling her that not wanting to hear my sister talking about that stuff hardly makes me a prude but a perfectly balanced person.

"Oh, come on, broody boy." Gemma teases me, ruffling my hair and I snap her off.

I don't like being called like that. I have been called like that before and the memory of that conversation, along with everything that happened next, sends bile up my throat.

"Do you have everything for tomorrow?" Gemma asks my mother whilst rubbing her toe, and though I appreciate the change of subject, I frown.

"Yes, everything is going to be just beautiful." She beams, and I still don't know what they're talking about. "Did you take care of what I asked you?"

Gemma nods and pours herself a generous cup of coffee, to then proceed to attack the variety of pastries stacked at the center of the table.

"What are you talking about?" I finally ask, staring at them fairly confused. "What happens tomorrow?"

Both of them exchange a weird look, and Gemma rolls her eyes.

"You really don't listen, do you? Mum is throwing a Christmas party tomorrow. We told you last night, remember?"

I got here at midnight the night before. I had been driving for four hours from London, straight from the airport. I wasn't listening. And if I was, my brain wasn't retaining any new information at the moment.

"Right... of course." I nod rapidly. "Dinner party. Yay!" And I truly try to sound excited.

The moment they both start talking about table dressing and such, I take full advantage of it and sneak out upstairs with my mug.

I haven't got out of my pajamas just yet, so I find it most appropriate to slide back under the covers and plug the headphones on my phone to have a listen to the final track list of the album.

I was planning on arranging a listening session for my family tomorrow night, but I guess we'll have to do it today, and I'm just giving it another listen as if I could change anything at the last minute. Which I cannot.

*****

"This is..." Her voice is weak and cracked, and there are tears pooling in her eyes. "I don't think I have the words, son."

I can't explain the feeling I got throughout the entire forty minutes the album lasts, and I had my mum, Gemma and Robin listening to it.

The best way to describe it is to say that I felt utterly exposed for everything that I am.

From start to finish is like watching a movie through the lyrics and the drum beats.

Hotel hallways. Empty New York streets. Blue eyes. Broken fingers and scraped knuckles. Crazy moments. Sad times. All of them knitted together to make for a very embellished, poetized version of our story. Of us.

As an artist, I couldn't be happier with the result. Honest and raw. Straight from the veins. No gimmicks, no borrowed thoughts and emotions to hide behind. Just me and my bleeding heart.

But I just can't shake the feeling that I would have given anything to have been able to write a whole different album.

"It's fantastic, lad." Robin stands up, trying to be more stoic than the females in the room, but when he leans down to give me a hug, I can feel the emotion in his grip.

"I loved every single second." Gemma pitches in, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "And I know you'll never tell me, but I'm sure there's one in there for me."

I know exactly which song she's referring to. And although two hearts in one home may sound like a pretty tale telling line, it may or may not hold a different meaning to it. Maybe a home is not exactly that. Maybe it's just a place with walls and many rooms. And a lobby. And a rooftop.

But she's right about one thing. I will never tell her that she's either right or wrong. If she wants to run around saying that song is for and about her, she can do it. Because it might as well be.

So I just give her a smile and a sly wink of the eye; and that's all she really needs.

The rest of the afternoon goes by rather quietly with the four of us drinking tea and eating a few samples of the food my mother ordered for the party.

Apparently, since this is the first Christmas in a really long time that I get to spend here without having to take off right away - in fact, I am planning on staying all through the holidays and maybe more -, she decided to commemorate such rare occasion by inviting all the family members and friends who were willing and able to come.

"They're here!" Gemma jumps out of the couch when the doorbell rings. I was half asleep next to her so I get fairly startled when she slaps my shoulder. "Come help me."

With a scowl on my face that she forthright ignores, I get pulled out of my comfy position and dragged to the front door.

As soon as I see the woman standing on our porche, I have to blink several times so I can convince my eyes that this is not my sleepy brain taking the piss at me.

She's fairly bundled up in one of those inflated winter coats, and since there's this thin but constant drizzle coming down, she has the furry hood on. The moment we lock eyes, I see recognition in hers, which was the last evidence I needed.

Although the flower arrangements in her hands pretty much settled things for me.

"Where do you need this?" Lea's mother barely nods in my direction, probably feeling as surprised as I am, and Gemma leads her inside after scolding me into taking the load out of her hands. "I got this, but there's more in the van."

I am to shocked to do much else other than nod and walk towards the parked vehicle.

And that's when I spot her. Just like the first time we met, with her back on me and leaning over, half of her body inside the back of the van as she tries to reach the rest of the flowers.

I want to step in to help her, like I tried to do back then, but I suddenly remember her head bumping against the roof.

So I just bite my lip and stay still, waiting for her to turn around.