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Lydia opened the door to the apartment she shared with Stiles.
Well…she tried to open the door. It hit something with a thud, and closed back in her face.
“Stiles!” she called as she poked her head through the small space that was created when she opened the door again. “What’s going on?”
She heard movement, something that sounded like boxes falling over, and a jingling.
And the jingling was getting closer.
Something scraped across the floor, and the door opened further so that she could step inside.
Lydia looked around the room in somewhat of a state of shock. “It looks like Christmas threw up in here.”
“Don’t worry! It’ll be fine once it’s all put together.”
She turned around to see that Stiles had boxed himself into a corner and was attempting to climb out from behind it. Lydia could still hear the jingling, but she couldn't figure out where it was coming from.
“You’re putting it together…now?”
“Yeah! Day after Thanksgiving, decorations go up.”
Lydia took a few deep breaths. “Okay… I think we need to talk.” He swung his foot over a pile of boxes, and kicked another box, sending it to the floor.
“Don’t worry," he told her when he saw the flinch she made. "That was the box of stuffed animals.”
“Box of…Okay.” She grabbed his wrist and began to lead him through the minefield their apartment had become (and faintly realized the jingling was following her). They finally made it to the couch, and (after carefully moving boxes marked fragile) she sat him down. “Stiles...Sweetie...Look, I love you. And I love Christmas, but... I feel like you should have talked to me before doing all of this.”
Lydia grimaced. “I’m frustrated.”
“You want to punch me in the throat…”
She shrugged. “Maybe the arm.”
“I’m sorry,” he groaned. “It’s just... my mom loved Christmas and she always got everybody into the holiday spirit. After she died, my dad couldn’t bring himself to do Christmas, so I picked up the mantle. It’s just what I’ve done every year since.”
Lydia sighed. “I get it. I mean, in my family, my parents always had decorators come in the week before Christmas. Until I moved out, I never got to do any Christmas decorations myself." She gave him a small smile and hit his shoulder lightly. "I was sort of looking forward to doing it with you this year.”
Lydia giggled. “It’s fine," she told him as she looked around, "You didn’t really get anything started.” Her brow creased in confusion as she began to notice more boxes that she hadn't seen before. “You just pulled out every decoration known to man. Where was all of this stuff?”
“My dad’s garage. I made a few trips while you were at work.”
“Just a few?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“We can barely move in here, Stiles.”
“You’re right," he nodded and surmised, "We need a bigger place.”
“Or maybe less decorations? I mean...there has to be something that isn't completely necessary... maybe you can take a few boxes back to your dad?”
He whined, “But everything is essential!”
“I haven't even mentioned your shirt.” Yes. She'd finally found the source.
Stiles looked down. “What's wrong with my shirt?”
“There are bells on it..and it jingles when you move.”
“Isn't it great?” he smiled, then shimmied to demonstrate how 'great' it was.
“That...wasn't the word I was going to use.” Stiles frowned back down at his shirt. “Also,” Lydia continued, “maybe we should start holding off on decorating until November is over. You know, just to give us a buffer. I think waiting until the week before Christmas is a little extreme, but so is the day after Thanksgiving. So, what about a compromise...first week of December?” Lydia looked up to wait for a response, but just saw Stiles smiling goofily. “What?”
“You said start holding off.”
“Yeah...and?”
“If we're going to start something...it means you plan on continuing it. It means you're thinking about the future.”
Lydia smiled softly. “Of course I'm thinking about the future.”
“You're thinking about how we're going to do Christmas together in the future.”
“This is going to be the first of many Christmases together,” she assured him as she leaned forward and kissed him sweetly on the lips. “But,” she continued as she pulled away, “only if you burn that shirt.”