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You stare listless at the screen, render bar creeping ever so slowly as cold shivers through an office abandoned with the encroaching dark. Trevor meets you’re glance with dismay, frowning at his phone before sighing.
“You head out, Y/N. I've got to lock up anyways.”
“You sure?” you ask, already standing and shrugging on your bag, burrowing into your scarf. “I can stay.”
“You've done the late night shift for the past 4 days, fuck off and have fun. Better yet,” he nudges you in the back, your chuckles stumbling through the door, “go have a lie down. You need to sleep.”
“I'll sleep eventually,” you mumble, waving goodbye and weaving through the hallways seeping with cold.
Tugging your Christmas sweater's sleeves over your fingers, the air bites as soon as you step through the exit. Your breath fogs, clouds covering the pin prick stars shining down upon the sparse car park. It’s surprisingly peaceful, the nothingness ringing with a comfortable silence while you wander through, head bent skyward and eyes mystified by the moon.
“Y/N, wait up.”
The voice stops you, turning to the figure you barely make out as Ryan jogging through the darkness. Growing closer, the moon casts silvers through his hair, his lopsided, nervous smile brighter than the stars. He stops, rocking on the balls of his feet as an exhale throws fog until he’s still, watching you anxiously.
“Hey Ry, I didn't realise you'd stayed back this late.” You smile; warm despite the ice whistling on the wind. “You heading home?”
“What are you doing now?” The words are rushed, as though confidence has left him to fight the enemy lines alone. Faintly, you can see his eyebrows furrow at his own words, a tint gnawing on his nose.
“Like, right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, besides standing in an empty car park, not much.”
He fiddles with his fingers, jamming his hands into the depths of his pockets once realising. “Come see the Christmas lights with me?”
Your eyes widen as he yet again curses his forwardness. “Like, right now?”
“Please?”
“I can’t argue with those manners,” you tease, his face lighting up as you gesture for him to start walking. “Where did you park? Can’t be that hard to find with literally no one here.”
He’s sheepish, casting you sideways glances between watching his feet. “I didn’t drive today.”
“What the fuck, Ryan?”
“Hey, I’ve been on a health kick; wanna look good so I can ruin it with Christmas dinner.”
“You look great all the time,” you argue, following the foot paths towards down town, cars surging past in freezing waves. “And no amount of push ups or jogs can counter the 3 day feast that is Christmas time.”
“Aww, you noticed?”
“Your jeans are tight, but in the good way.”
He looks positively overjoyed at your statement, his hand moving to his butt. “Walking does wonders."
“Not enough. To not put weight on during holiday season would be a Christmas miracle. You need to be more like me.” You sigh, patting your stomach with a sorry expression. “I’ve accepted that nothing will come between me and potatoes. Except maybe tacos.”
He raises an eyebrow, chuckling into the night with a cloud of steam. “What about... potato tacos?”
“That’s it, that’s the key to my heart.”
The pathways get busier the further you go, couples and families lining the gutters and choking the alleys. Chatter mills around, a gentle hum filling the night air.
“What time are the lights turned on?” you ask, looking up and the decorations cutting from building to building as tinsel strings between quiet lights.
“Half an hour maybe?” he replies, taking you arm in his as larger throngs begin to mix on the streets, keeping you close. You don’t mind, leaning into his shoulder with a contented smile.
“Should we find somewhere to sit?”
He considers your question, glancing down with a red in his creeks at the sight of your face so close. “That might be a good idea. Do you want to find somewhere while I see if I can scrounge up something to eat?”
“Deal.” You nod, scanning through the crowd and spotting the tree towering above, empty benches tracing it’s parameter. “I'll meet you by the tree?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
You release each other; eyes lingering as though neither of you want to risk turning away. Still, you’re the first to fracture the moment, ducking through the groups and dodging elbows with ease. It doesn’t take long for you to claim one of the few remaining benches, seat stinging with cold.
The sight of the tree brings with it a sense of childhood, so small beneath its enormous furry branches and the elaborate tossing of decoration. Each bauble is the size of your fist, gleaming with pride beside the equally rich tinsel and string beads of red and gold. You lose yourself in its magnificence, long enough for Ryan to return with a smell you’ll never miss.
You gasp as he sits, taking in the styrofoam container housing the tacos and roast potato mix, a wooden fork stuck up like a soldier. “Ryan, I think I love you?”
He laughs, blushing and shuffling up for others to sit down, legs pressing together as you take a bite. “Oh, I was wrong,” you manage around a mouthful, “I just love food. My bad.”
“You got my hopes up and dashed them, Y/N.” He's teasing, the light in his eyes as mischievous as the smile tugging his lips.
You want to respond, but your mouth is too full with delicious taco and by the time you're clear Ryan's repeatedly whacking your shoulder and grinning at the tree. “It's happening!”
All at once Christmas carols begin to blare from nowhere, speaker feedback blurring the tune as the tree starts to sparkle. Glowing, everything shines as the light above flicker to life, yours and Ryan’s head tilting to meet the stars.
Cheers erupt, but all you manage is a sigh as your head rests against his shoulder, smiling at your reflections in the closest red bell. His arm winds around you waist after recognising that you weren’t resting on him by accident, his cheek nestled in your hair.
“Tacos, potato, shiny things, I’d almost confuse this for a date, Mr Haywood.”
Your fingers find he free hand, smiling in his palm before meeting his chuckles. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“Oh no.” You shake your head, silly smile still trying to split your blushing cheeks as your faces inch closer. “I’d never date you.”
“It’d would be a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs, the softness of his lips against yours ending his sentence with a sweetness almost as good as street tacos and carbs. Almost.