12 Days 'til Christmas ✓

chapter three

t h r e e

*

It's still pissing it down in the morning. I usually wake up to silence, or the muted rumble of a car going past, but this morning I hear the thunderous rain before I open my eyes, and when I lift my head I can see my rain-streaked window through a crack in the curtains. It's dark outside, not because the sun has yet to rise but because thick grey clouds have taken over the sky, and it's hard to see much through the storm.

Even with my woolly onesie and a heavy winter duvet, a chill runs through me. I can't bear the thought of throwing back the covers and tearing myself from my bed when it's so dingy outside, until I remember with a start that I'm not alone in my house. Through the fog that comes with a good night's sleep, I scratch away at the surface of last night's memories and there's a moment that my heart jumps when I recall a soaked Casper on my doorstep; a crying Casper by my fireplace. I remember hearing him running a bath and I remember the sound of the water draining out, but after that I was dead to the world.

The thought of Casper in my house propels me into action: I trip over my bauble-printed duvet as I scuff my feet into reindeer slippers, both part of my attic inventory that comes out at the start of November and doesn't return until the end of January. Sometimes later. One year, it took me months to realise the two duvet covers I was switching between were both Christmas-themed.

It's only now that I check my phone and see his texts and calls from last night, missed while I was blissfully unconscious in front of a cosy fire, and when I make it downstairs in one piece, I find him in the sitting room.

"Hey. Morning, Cas. How're you feeling?"

He nods at my Christmas tree. "How the fuck did I not notice that last night?"

The tree in question is six feet tall, almost reaching the ceiling, and it's dripping with tinsel and ornaments in every shade of red and silver and green. I'm all about the classic colours: there's no hint of blue to cool down the warmth of the reds. The branches are thick and bushy, at least half of them holding a bauble or some quirky decoration I've picked up over the years, and the LED lights emit a warm glow that gives the pine needles a halo.

"You were pretty upset," I say, tearing my eyes from the tree. It's one of my favourite parts of the season, saving up to select only the best and spending days adding to it. It isn't done yet; it won't be finished until Christmas Eve, when I'll add the star to the top to guide Mary and Joseph to the barn. It may not be historically accurate, but it's a King family tradition. As soon as it strikes midnight and Christmas Day begins, I'll add baby Jesus to the manger in my nativity set.

"Still." Casper eyes the tree as though it's an intruder. "God, I must've been in a right state to miss that. Was it lit up?"

"Mmhmm. Always is."

"Fucking hell."

I give him a look not too dissimilar to the one he's giving my tree. Caution and disdain in equal measures, with a smattering of disgust. "I meant what I said last night. You're more than welcome to stay as long as you need, and it's up to you whether or not you want to talk about what happened, but it's non-negotiable that you let go of your inner grinch," I say. Casper winces. "It might make you feel better, if you let my Christmas spirit into your heart."

He takes a deep breath, fiddling with the hem of his pyjama top. It's strange seeing it on him when the last person to wear it was the last person to break my heart. I didn't realise how many memories a t-shirt can hold until right now.

"Well," Casper says, one hand going to the back of his neck. For the first time, I'm seeing him with bedhead hair rather than his usual perfectly coifed curls and it's strangely endearing, and a little heartbreaking. I've seen many sides to him, but this is the first time I've caught a glimpse of vulnerability.