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Michael Townsend | Age: 17
Lia Zhang | Age: 17
Technically, it wasn't quite Christmas yet. It was officially December 22nd but since Cassie and Michael were leaving early, Judd had insisted on taking the entire house to a festive local diner to celebrate as a group before those two particular Naturals went home.
Cassie's departure was expected but Michael's, on the other hand, was certainly not. Lia had a sinking feeling she knew exactly why Michael was going back to his family, but she didn’t know how to stop him. When Michael Townsend wanted to do something, he could be ruthlessly persistent, and it worried her ever since he had abruptly informed the group of his plans this morning.
The cold nipped at her legs from where pieces of skin were exposed under the purposefully distressed denim, tearing her from her thoughts.
The diner's exterior told Lia everything she needed to know about what the inside would look like. Multi-colored rainbow lights were strung aggressively along the roofline and there was an inflatable Santa Claus outside. Festive window decals were plastered across the glass, with phrases like Stay Jolly! and ’Tis the Season.
As soon as Judd pushed past the doors, leading the group, a brass bell jingled overhead. They were immediately hit by the smell of maple syrup and the faint sound of old holiday music echoing from a jukebox which was pushed into the corner. There weren't too many customers inside, Lia noted. After all, who would want to be stuck in Quantico, Virginia during Christmas time? The interior was a sea of red vinyl booths, checkered floors, and tinsel.
They all piled into a large corner booth and scanned menus packed with festive holiday-themed items like Reindeer Fries, Peppermint Milkshakes, and a Grinch Waffle Stack. After a moment of eyeing the options, Lia decided on something simple yet comforting.
"Hot chocolate and the gingerbread pancakes for me," Lia stated smoothly, sliding her menu across the table to the waiting waitress.
The rest of the table promptly proceeded to order as well. When their drinks arrived shortly after, Lia wrapped both hands around her heavy ceramic mug, letting the heat seep into her palms. Over the rim, she looked across the table to where Michael was sitting at the edge of the booth next to Sloane and directly across from Lia. His expression was relatively passive, save for the faint, ever-present smirk playing at the edge of his lips.
Lia liked to think she was good at reading people. Truly. Of course, some were all too easy—like Cassie and Sloane—but regardless, she could always tell. Michael, though, was an impenetrable fortress, and Lia hated it. If he felt any sort of unease or worry about going home, he didn't show it in the slightest.
"What's your favorite holiday Christmas tradition, Cassie?" Dean asked Cassie who was sitting to his right. Lia couldn't quite makeout her face from her position in the booth but she did hear her voice respond.
"My family always does gingerbread house competitions. It’s the best," Cassie beamed. "That and the gift exchange, of course. What about you guys?"
Lia saved the others from responding. "Dean, Judd, and I normally watch a holiday movie together once a year. Sloane joined us in this tradition last year, too."
Sloane gave a confirmatory nod. "They even let me choose the movie last year. We watched The Polar Ex—"
Suddenly, across the room, the distinct, violent sound of a mug crashing to the floor and shattering halted all conversation at their table.
"Stop being so clumsy!" a harsh male voice boomed.
Michael flinched. It was a microscopic movement, but Lia saw it. He immediately masked it, staring at the scene to high right almost impassively, as if it meant absolutely nothing to him. Lia’s eyes followed his line of sight. A small boy—maybe seven years old—was standing by a puddle of spilled milk, silently crying while his father aggressively berated him for dropping his cup.
Michael looked back down at his eggnog, taking a long sip.
After another minute, just as the chatter at their own table began to resume enough for his departure to be deemed situationally appropriate, Michael placed his palms flat on the table and slid out of the booth. "I can't stand this music. I'm going to go to the jukebox and change it," he announced, turning before anyone could argue.
Judd gave him a brief, understanding nod, turning back to Sloane, who had seamlessly launched into a new topic.
"Jukeboxes were actually popularized in the 1930s," Sloane supplied cheerfully, "originally designed to—" Lia drowned out the words. It was something she did occasionally, but only when Sloane truly started to ramble.
Cassie spared only a brief glance toward Michael's retreating back before turning back to the conversation. She, of all people, was getting strangely accustomed to Michael's emotional distance lately. Especially after she chose Dean, Lia noted silently.
Dean, however, had his dark eyes fixed intently on Michael’s back.
Lia didn't stick around for the rest of Sloane's obscure facts. "Bathroom," she murmured a mere minute after Michael's departure, sliding out of the booth to make her own exit. She caught Dean giving her a knowing glance, but she ignored him and walked away.
Michael was exactly where he said he’d be, standing by the glowing neon jukebox. Only, he wasn't looking through the song selections at all. He was simply leaning against the wall, his gaze fixed blankly onto his shoes.
"Thinking about if you should replace them with an even newer, even more expensive pair?" Lia chimed in.
She leaned against the wall opposite him, drawing his attention. She crossed her feet at the ankles, her black ankle-boots—part of the classic "rich girl" look she was sporting today—clicking softly against the floor.
"Close," Michael shrugged, his smirk returning like a shield. "I was thinking about which song to choose next."
Lia didn't call him out on the lie. Michael knew she knew, and she knew he wasn't going to give her the truth.
"Still planning on going home?" Lia asked quietly, dropping the playful tone. "You don't have to, you know."
"I know," Michael responded. His gaze drifted, fixating on shoulder which was covered by an icy blue cashmere sweater. "But I need to. It's been a while since I've spent some quality time with daddy dearest."
That statement alone made Lia’s spine stiffen. Knowing Michael's history, the phrase quality time felt incredibly loaded. "He's not making you, is he?" she pressed, keeping her voice strictly even.
Michael looked her straight in the eyes this time, his expression completely blank. "No."
True.
Before she could utter another word, he swiveled back to the jukebox, effectively shutting down the topic. "Care to help me pick a song, Zhang?"
Lia couldn't care less about his music selection in the moment, but she still sidled up next to him, looking over the glowing titles. She scoffed when she saw where his finger was hovering. "Seriously? That's your pick?"
"Seems fitting, don't you think?" Michael teased. He fished a quarter from his pocket, slotted it into the machine, and pushed the button.
A moment later, the melancholy chords of Charles Brown's "Please Come Home for Christmas" began to echo through the diner.
Before Lia could respond, an older man sitting in the booth right next to the jukebox chimed in. "Now this is nostalgic! Great selection, son!"
Michael flashed the stranger an easy, charismatic smile. "I'm glad someone in here can appreciate fine music." He shot a pointed look at Lia.
The old man let out a hearty laugh as he turned in his booth, giving Lia a better look at him. He was elderly, with a face that looked exactly like what Lia imagined Santa Claus would look like—well, if Santa had a closely shaved beard. He looked incredibly jolly, with a warm smile and a good smattering of laugh lines around his eyes. He seemed to be eating with his wife who sat beside him and, while she didn't say anything, she was looking at her husband with a fond expression.
Suddenly, the man’s eyes flicked upward, and he pointed a finger toward the ceiling. "Maybe a kiss will make your girlfriend less upset," he chuckled.
"I am not his girlfriend," Lia corrected instantly, answering for both of them.
But as she spoke, her gaze involuntarily followed the man's finger upward. Right above their heads, hanging from a rogue piece of scotch tape on the diner ceiling, was a small sprig of plastic mistletoe.
"Maybe not yet," the old man laughed, winking at Michael. "You should give her a kiss, young lad. It's tradition."
Michael looked at the mistletoe, then down at Lia. He appeared to genuinely contemplate it for a fraction of a second—which was especially strange given the weirdness and distance between them over the past few months. Then again, Michael had a tendency to be especially reckless when he was spiraling, and kissing Lia Zhang was about as reckless as he could get. As Michael stepped forward, decision made to close the distance, Lia stopped him dead in his tracks by placing a firm hand flat against his chest.
She smiled up at him entirely too sweetly.
"If you think I'm going to let you kiss me when you're still mooning over another girl, Townsend, you'd be heavily mistaken," she purred, her voice a dangerous murmur meant only for him.
"Not in the holiday spirit?" Michael challenged, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.
"Not particularly."
But Lia didn't step back. Instead, she leaned in close, letting her lips lightly graze the sharp edge of his cheekbone in the faintest remnant of a kiss. She pulled back just enough to see a cherry red gloss coating his skin from where her lips had touched.
"That is the best you're getting from me," she claimed. "Be grateful."
With a smooth motion, she used her thumb to wipe at the spot she had just kissed, gave him a dazzling smile, and pivoted on her heel. Leaving Michael standing by the jukebox, Lia walked calmly back to the safety of the Naturals' booth. Lia wasn't sure what took him so long but he returned two minutes and twelve seconds later than her, as Sloane pointed out.
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Michael Townsend | Age: 18
Lia Zhang | Age: 18
Lia wasn’t pissed off at him. Not really, at least. Getting pissed off would mean he was actually getting under her skin, and he wasn't—not by a long shot. She was just a slight bit annoyed. She had assembled all the Naturals in the downstairs living room for a high-stakes game of Mario Kart, and just as she was coasting toward victory—and a hundred-dollar prize—Michael had sniped her with a green shell. The resulting crash stripped her of the lead and dropped her to a humiliating third place.
Now, after everyone else had dispersed, she was retreating to her room. But for some reason, Michael remained hot on her trail, his footsteps echoing right behind hers as she crossed the dark wooden steps.
"You're mad," he taunted, a hopelessly infuriating, lopsided smile spreading across his face as he jogged to catch up with her. "That's adorable. The great Lia Zhang, brought down by a little Mario Kart."
True. Lia wasn't sure what she was more offended by: him calling her adorable, or the infuriatingly correct observation that she was annoyed.
"I am not mad over Mario Kart, and I am certainly not mad over anything you did. I'm just tired," Lia replied, her voice a picture of even, controlled calm.
Normally, Lia had flawless mastery over her micro-expressions and tone. She could fake joy, tears, or frustration so perfectly that most people wouldn't even blink. But Michael’s specific gift made him the one person in the house—and naturally, the person she least wanted to—who could see right through her facade.
"Not sure why you're tired when all you did was lose," Michael supplied smoothly.
Lia rolled her eyes as she continued to surge forward, almost at the door to her room. "I am glad you're relishing the only victory you've managed to barely scrape by this year."
Michael's hand then shot out to grasp her wrist and pull her to a stop. Lia raised a questioning brow.
Michael didn't reply with words. Instead, he simply tapped his index finger upward as he released her wrist.
Lia’s eyes followed the gesture. She scoffed. Hanging directly above them was a plastic sprig of green leaves, wrapped in twine and anchored to the hallway ceiling with a desperate piece of clear tape.
This was Cassie's fault. Well, technically, it may have been Lia's, but Cassie had started it. Cassie was the one who had insisted on the matching Grinch pajamas that they were all currently sporting. Before Cassie arrived, the Naturals didn't really do holidays. They used to just do the occasional, quiet present exchange, born from moments where Lia managed to sneak into grocery stores to buy the others small gifts—a random accumulation of chapsticks, headbands, and the occasional T-shirt.
Cassie was probably the only one of them who had grown up pseudo-normal. At least, as normal as one could get before ending up in this program. She was used to Christmas—to hot chocolate, fuzzy slippers, and lit-up trees. With her, she had brought a desperate burst of holiday spirit. Lia had been the one to actually buy the mistletoe, though. It hadn't been meant for her, per se. Lia simply bought it because she thought it would be an interesting, chaotic addition to the house. She also wanted to use it to see if she could help Celine sneak a kiss out of Sloane but they hadn't gotten to that part, yet. But of course, she had happened to stumble right under it at the most inconvenient moment possible.
Her gaze snapped back down to Michael's hazel eyes, which were practically dancing with mischief.
"As if," Lia hissed.
Michael took a deliberate step closer, narrowing the distance between them. Lia didn't budge. Moving backward would mean she was intimidated, and Lia Zhang was absolutely not intimidated by Michael Townsend.
"It's in the rules, Zhang," he teased, his voice dropping a register.
Lia crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "Since when do you follow the rules?"
Michael shrugged. "When they work in my favor. Besides, I'm many things, but I'm not a bad sport. But after Mario Kart, I'm starting to wonder if you might be. Care to prove me wrong?"
Lia wasn't weak. Even if a small, traitorous part of her leapt at the notion, her pride soon took the reins and it wouldn't allow her to give in that easily. She was an expert at reading the playing field, and if Michael wanted a game, she would give him one. Her lips curved into a predatory, dangerous smile.
"Fine. If you want a kiss so badly, you have to come and get it," she challenged, her voice dropping into a smooth, velvety purr.
Michael tilted his head to the side, his analytical gaze flitting over her face, searching for the bluff. He took one more agonizingly slow step forward until they were practically touching noses. "You think I won't?"
"No, I know you will. But I will warn you," Lia continued. "I bite."
"Good," Michael smirked.
Before she could reply, he hooked an arm around her waist. His grip was sudden and firm, closing the final fraction of an inch between them. Lia’s hands instantly flew up to steady herself against his chest, her palms pressing into the soft cotton of his ridiculous pajama shirt. Beneath her fingers, she could feel the steady, rapid thud of his heart—a stark contrast to his cool, collected exterior.
When Michael deepened the kiss, his free hand came up to cup her face. His thumb traced the sensitive line of her jawline in a soft, surprisingly tender gesture. His lips slid across hers with a slow, agonizing deliberation that made her knees wobble.
That was the thing Lia enjoyed most about kissing Michael compared to their other physical activities: he couldn't read her like this. He needed to see to analyze people, and right now, his eyes were squeezed tightly shut just like hers. For once, he couldn't read the signals her body was screaming out. He couldn't know exactly how desperately she wanted him.
Shifting his hand from her jaw, Michael slid his fingers down her neck and tangled them in her silky, purple-dyed hair. He tilted her head to the right, angling the kiss deeper. Lia let out a soft moan as he pulled her even closer, though she hadn't thought it was physically possible to get any closer than they already were.
Her hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders, savoring the solid warmth of his muscles, before looping around the back of his neck. He tasted sweet, like the hot chocolate Cassie and Sloane had made for everyone earlier, sending a comforting jolt straight down her spine. Every drop of Lia's usual, rigid control evaporated. She didn't want to fake an emotion right now; she just wanted to feel this one.
Just as they were about to part, she nipped sharply at his lower lip—keeping her promise from earlier.
"Yeah," he murmured, his voice deeper and rougher than usual. "You definitely bite."
Lia forced her lips into a shaky, triumphant smile, though her racing pulse was still betraying her. She detached her hands from his body and stepped back, out of his embrace, though it took a monumental amount of willpower to do so. "Told you so."
As she pivoted to finally return to her room, she heard his voice call out from behind her, "Best three out of five in Mario Kart tomorrow, Zhang?"
Lia smiled from where her hand gripped the handle. "You're on."
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Michael Townsend | Age: 19
Lia Zhang | Age: 19
Lia caused this particular argument, she supposed, but she blamed Michael for it regardless. It started earlier this evening when they had all attended a charity gala that Celine was helping host. Celine had insisted it would be fun, and it gave Lia a good excuse to dress up, so she accompanied Michael and Sloane to the event. Cassie and Dean were currently spending the holidays with Cassie's family, so they were absent.
Michael and Lia were off this Christmas, too, just as they had ended up being the past two Christmases. So, technically, when another girl was flirting with him in the middle of the gala right in front of Lia, she had no reason to be upset. Reason didn't really justify feelings, though, especially when Michael started flirting back. She was pretty calm, she liked to think, at least until she heard a particular truth come from Michael's lips: "You look gorgeous in that blue dress."
Lia scowled at the comment. Michael hadn't told her she looked good in the floor length gold dress she was currently wearing. She didn't need his approval. She knew she looked good. Hearing him give praise to another girl, however, was grating on her raw nerves. Regardless, Lia didn't make a scene. Not yet. Toward the end of the gala, though, just when she eavesdropped on them about to exchange numbers, she looped her arm tightly through Michael's. "Celine and Sloane want to leave, Michael dearest, and I'm bored. Care to drive me home?"
Luckily for Lia, Celine had mentioned something about being ready to leave a mere ten minutes ago so this gave her the perfect excuse.
The girl in front of them—Chloe, as Lia had irritatingly come to learn—looked between them. Up close, Lia got a good look at her face. She was pretty, Lia had to admit. She had a sweet, heart-shaped face, bright blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Her blonde hair was pulled into a neat French braid, and she did, in fact, look gorgeous in that dress.
"I didn't realize you two were—" the girl started, then stopped. "Did he just give you a ride here?" Her question was a bit hopeful, Lia could tell, but she was ready to squash all hope.
"Yes. We live together, after all, so he didn't really have to go out of his way," Lia explained with a dazzling smile.
Michael's expression didn't change in the slightest, but Lia guessed he was annoyed simply by the fact that she knew him so well, and by the tight knot of tension she felt through the sleeve of his tuxedo. "Apologies, Chloe. I should be leaving," Michael said like a polite, perfect gentleman. It was oddly out of character for him.
Chloe gave a tight-lipped, half-hearted smile. Lia might have felt bad. Maybe. If anything, she was doing Chloe a favor, really. Getting involved with Michael Townsend was a bad idea—she'd know. Besides, they'd never last anyway. It was only a matter of time before she and Michael would inevitably come back together again.
On the ride home, Lia had been spared an icy lecture as Sloane and Celine joined them in the car. The ride was filled with chatter about the gala, and Lia and Celine briefly discussed the fashion of the dresses and the theme. As soon as they got home, however, the atmosphere shifted when Celine and Sloane departed to the basement, leaving Michael and Lia entirely alone in the living room.
"So are you going to tell me what the hell that was at the party, or are you going to keep glaring holes into my jacket?" Michael asked, shedding his tuxedo coat and tossing it over the couch.
"Why would you think something is wrong?" Lia asked, feigning innocence as she unbuckled her tall gold heels, stepping out of them and letting her feet touch the cold hardwood.
"Then what the hell was that with Chloe?"
"I didn't realize you cared so much about this Catherine," Lia shrugged, purposefully getting her name wrong. "Besides, Celine and Sloane wanted to go, so I called you over. I didn't lie and I don't see the problem."
"You knew exactly what the hell you were doing," he accused, his dark eyes narrowing. "Did she really piss you off that much?"
"I don't care about her," Lia snapped, abandoning the innocent act and crossing her arms. "Or about how gorgeous she looks in that that blue dress,'" she mocked, mimicking his low cadence with biting accuracy.
Michael’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. "We are off, Lia. We've been off for weeks. You don't get to dictate who I talk to, and you certainly don't get to hold a double standard when you're the one who called it off this time because you wanted space."
"Careful, Michael. For a supposed master of his expressions, your emotions are glaringly obvious right now," Lia countered smoothly. "Besides, I didn't realize it was such a big deal. I just wanted to go home, so I really don't see what's making you this frustrated."
Lia could see the thin thread of Michael's temper finally fraying. "You know exactly what you were insinuating, and you scared Chloe away," he snarled.
"Catherine, Catherine, Catherine," Lia yawned, waving a dismissive hand. "This Catherine seems to be a real sore spot for you. Did you like her that much, Michael? Were you actually going to take her out?"
"Yes," came his blunt response. Though Lia didn't know which question he was actually answering, a sharp, unexpected pang shot straight through her heart regardless.
"Why? You know you'd never work with someone normal, so what's the point?" she pushed, her voice dropping its playful edge. "Is it just to have another failed attempt at moving on from me?"
Michael didn't respond to that, which made Lia's brow tick upward. "Tell me. Do you ever think you can move on from me, Townsend?"
She was genuinely curious about this one. Honestly, some hidden, buried part of her wasn't quite sure if she could ever truly move on from him, and she desperately wanted to know if he was trapped in the exact same boat.
"Stop claiming ownership over me when we're not even together," Michael growled instead.
"That's not ownership," Lia hissed, her vision narrowing.
Before he could process the shift in her energy, Lia grabbed the collar of his dress shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him—a sharp, sudden, hostile takeover that ended before he could even grasp her waist to fire back. She tore herself away just as harshly and abruptly as she had kissed him, leaving him completely off-balance, his breathing ragged.
"This is ownership. Kissing you when I want to because I know you'll let me," Lia seethed.
Michael's momentary disorientation was long gone now. "Screw you," he spat in response, running the back of his hand harshly along his mouth to catch the remnants of lip gloss coating his skin.
A part of her derived a smug satisfaction from the fact that he didn't deny it—that he didn't dispute the fact that he'd let her kiss him when she wanted to. Truthfully, Lia didn't think Michael would actually let her kiss him whenever she wanted, and she was assuming he didn't either. She had a feeling his silence wasn't because he necessarily agreed with the statement, but because he didn't trust his own voice in case it was a lie. The hesitance, however, spoke volumes.
"You know, you look gorgeous when you're frustrated, Townsend," she murmured, throwing his own line right back in his face.
Turning on her heel, she picked up her gold shoes and walked up the stairs, leaving Michael standing alone by the front door, absolutely furious.
An hour later, Lia stepped out of her room. She had slipped out of her elegant gold dress and opted for one of her classic silk pajama sets. This particular one was a lacy white camisole with matching shorts.
Almost as if it were fate, she ran into Michael on her way down to the kitchen. He was already there when she entered, and he set his glass of water down the moment he saw her.
"Still mad at me?" Lia questioned, her tone uncharacteristically cheery. He, notably, didn't move an inch upon seeing her. Michael Townsend wasn't one to run away from a confrontation. Embracing the challenge, Lia moved closer until she was standing right next to him by the fridge.
"Furious," he replied, even though his expression was far more even and controlled than it had been an hour ago. He didn't look furious but his words rang true.
Lia let out a soft sigh, her head tipping upward as she caught a perfect opportunity. "Why, look at that," she drawled, drawing Michael's attention to the green leaves dangling directly above their heads in the kitchen doorway.
"It's in the rules," Lia echoed his words from last year, a dangerous spark in her eyes despite the rigid set of her shoulders.
"I don't care," Michael combatted.
"I thought you weren't a bad sport?"
"Well, looks like I'm not going on Santa's nice list this year because it turns out I'm a liar. Just like you," Michael rebutted. His voice was clipped, but his face remained completely expressionless in a way that she absolutely hated.
"That's not very fair," Lia pouted mockingly, stepping closer until she was entirely in his personal space. "You made me do it last year. Looks like it's your turn."
"You don't want me to kiss you right now," Michael quipped, his jaw clenching as he tried to read the stubborn defiance in her posture. "Trust me. It'll be angry and brutal and you don't want that."
Lia didn't flinch. Instead, she tilted her chin up, her gaze locking onto his with absolute certainty. "What if that's exactly what I want?"
Michael looked at her for just about half a second, analyzing her with a dark, heavy intensity before he moved in faster than her brain could process.
He placed a firm hand against her shoulder to push her into the refrigerator, the sudden force pinning her flat against its cold surface. Lia barely recovered from the impact before his body pressed right against her own, completely trapping her in between the cool surface behind her and his warm body heat. Before she could even draw a breath to speak, he leaned down. His hand hooked tightly around her waist, pulling her upward into him, and Lia instinctively arched into the movement, her hands flying to his shoulders as their lips finally met.
Michael was right. This kiss was brutal and passionate and angry in a way that made her toes curl. There was no gentleness to it, no hesitation. He devoured her mouth as if trying to reclaim every bit of the control she had stripped from him earlier. She wasn't sure why she liked the fire so much; logically, she shouldn't want him to burn her, but as his lips moved against hers, she realized she had never wanted anything more.
They stayed lost in that fierce, desperate lip-lock for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, the heat between them turning the kitchen air thick. Finally, completely lightheaded, Lia pushed firmly against his chest, forcing him back just an inch because she desperately needed air. He obliged, granting her only the slightest inch but still pinning her to the fridge.
Lia swallowed hard, her hands sliding down to grip his forearms, which remained anchored tightly around her waist. She could feel the rigid tension in his muscles, the heat radiating off him in waves.
"Are you still angry at me?" Lia asked, her voice dropping to a breathless whisper as she struggled to catch her breath.
His grip on her hips tightened further, his fingers digging possessively into the soft silk of her pajama shorts. "Yes," he ground out, his own breathing heavy and ragged.
It was a half-truth, and they both knew it. He was furious at their earlier exchange downstairs and her jealous actions in the gala, but the anger was rapidly mutating into something much less disciplined.
"But I can be angry at you in my room," he added, his dark gaze dropping to her lips.
"You promise?" Lia challenged softly, her heart hammering a frantic, undeniable rhythm against her ribs—a signal she knew his gift was picking up loud and clear.
Michael didn't bother answering. He closed the remaining distance, his mouth crashing into hers with a sudden, bruising intensity that utterly eclipsed the year before as he dragged her backwards with him, both of them not separating as they slipped into his room.
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Michael Townsend | Age: 20
Lia Zhang | Age: 20
Michael and Dean entered the house after finally wrapping up whatever grueling case they had been helping the FBI with. Michael threw his heavy winter jacket haphazardly onto the couch, while Dean silently slipped past the living room and into the garage to decompress.
Slumping against the bricks of the fireplace, Michael closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath. "I wish Santa would give me a peaceful Christmas this year instead of another complicated case," he sighed dramatically to no one in particular.
Lia raised an eyebrow from where she had been slinking down the stairs. "I didn't know you still believed in Santa, Townsend."
Michael opened one eye, squinting up at her, before opening the other. "You don't, Zhang?"
She shrugged, reaching the base of the steps and moving casually toward him. "My childhood didn't really give me the luxury to believe in Santa Claus."
"Well, then. Allow me to rectify that," he declared. Sitting up straighter, a sudden, determined spark lit up his face. He spread his legs slightly and gave a inviting pat to his thigh. "Care to tell Michael-Claus what you want for Christmas?"
Lia let out a light scoff, but she didn't stop moving forward. When she stood directly between his outstretched legs, she paused, looking down at him. "That depends. Will you actually give me what I want? I'm not exactly on the nice list."
Michael's hazel eyes gleamed with instant mischief. He reached up, his hand securely gripping her hip, which was clad in a tight, short maroon sweater dress. "I know. You're very, very naughty. But you won't know unless you try."
Allowing Michael's hand to guide her downward, Lia perched herself onto his left thigh, crossing one leg over the other as she pretended to thoughtfully ponder her options. Michael's left hand remained steady at her waist, while his right hand mindlessly drifted, tracing slow, distracted lines up and down her bare thigh.
"I want to marry a billionaire," she stated finally. "A hot one. That way I'll never have to work a day in my life and can just live in absolute luxury."
Michael’s gaze flicked up from her thigh to meet her eyes. "A hot, rich guy? Will a millionaire do?"
Lia smiled, a dangerous little curve of her lips. "Maybe. Do you have any potential candidates in mind?"
"A few," Michael murmured, his voice dropping as he began to lean in.
Lia stopped him, pressing a firm hand against his shoulder to hold him back. "Ah, ah, ah. We're off, Townsend. And there isn't even any mistletoe to use as an excuse this time."
Michael groaned in defeat. Reluctantly pulling his hands away from her, he reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out his phone, and quickly typed something.
A second later, Lia’s phone chimed in her pocket. She pulled it out, checking the screen, and despite herself, a light puff of laughter escaped her lips.
Michael grinned, watching her reaction. "Is that good enough?" he asked, pointing at the lone mistletoe emoji he had just texted her.
Instead of answering, Lia leaned in close. Michael’s hands immediately found their way back—one gripping her thigh while the other tugged at her hip, shifting her further down his leg and pulling her flush against his chest. His eyes slid shut as her breath ghosted his lips.
Lia bridged the final gap, delivering a quick, firm peck to his lips before pulling back. "It counts for exactly that much."
Michael’s eyes snapped open, his grip on her thigh tightening. "Can you be persuaded for more? It might bump you higher on the nice list."
"Well in that case…” Lia started coyly, her fingers playfully toying with the short hairs at the nape of his neck.
With a wicked grin, Michael’s hand began to slip further up her thigh from its position under the hem of her dress—just as a familiar, literal voice echoed through the room.
"I thought you two were off?" Sloane announced, stepping into the living room.
Michael’s hand snapped out from under her dress, returning instantly to his side. Lia took a deliberate, calculated moment—just long enough to make it look like they hadn't been caught doing anything scandalous—to uncross her legs and smoothly stand up from his lap.
"We are," Lia confirmed, smoothing down her maroon dress. She shot a pointed look down at Michael. "And we're staying that way."
"Sure," Michael shrugged, his face a picture of innocence.
Sloane looked between them, the gears in her brain turning. "There is about a 86.2% chance that you guys will get back together within the next four days."
"Not likely," Lia countered, seamlessly pivoting as she walked toward the blonde and hooked her arm through hers. "Anyways. Let's go holiday shopping. Call Cassie and Celine, too."
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Michael Townsend | Age: 21
Lia Zhang | Age: 21
Earlier that evening, they had all gathered for a massive holiday dinner. The entire roster of the Naturals, alongside Briggs, Sterling, Judd, and Laurel, had packed into a restaurant. But now, the chaos of the evening had faded, and Michael was accompanying her back to her place for the real conclusion to the night. Strangely, this was the first time they were on during the holidays since they'd known each other and Lia had done something small to commemorate the occasion.
Stepping up to her door, Lia punched the security code into the keypad with a quick, practiced rhythm. The lock clicked open, and she stepped inside, flicking on the overhead light switch.
Lia’s apartment was undeniably nice, bordering on lavish. It was a space entirely of her own making, curated with a sharp, sophisticated eye for art—a trait she partially attributed to her brief stay at an art museum when she was younger.
"Ta-da," she declared, halting in the entryway and gesturing dramatically toward the ceiling.
Michael stepped in behind her, his eyes following her hand upward. He let out a breathless puff of laughter. Hanging securely from her sleek, modern light fixture was a familiar, slightly frayed sprig of plastic mistletoe.
"This is your grand surprise?" Michael teased, a warm, genuine smile breaking across his face as he kicked the front door shut behind him. "I never took you for the sentimental type, Zhang."
"What can I say?" Lia smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she casually twirled a strand of her gleaming ponytail—which was currently sporting fresh, vibrant streaks of jade green. "It's tradition."
"Never took you for a traditional girl, either," Michael quipped.
Lia stepped closer, her heels clicking a sharp, deliberate rhythm against the hardwood. "Are you complaining, Townsend?"
"Not in the slightest," he responded, his voice dropping a register as he reached out to pull her toward him.
Lia didn't waste a single second playing hard to get. Her hands instantly buried themselves in his hair as she used the angle to drag his mouth onto hers.
Michael’s hands slid around from the back of her heavy, structured brown trench coat. Seeking more than just the fabric between them, he slipped his fingers inside, finding the hem of her tight black turtleneck. When his hands slid underneath the knit, his palms—slightly rough and intensely warm—brushed against the bare skin of her lower back. A shiver rippled through Lia, her breath hitching into his mouth.
As the initial rush of heat settled, the urgency melted into something deeper. The kiss slowed, deepening into something sweet, thick, and undeniably warm. The grounding rhythm of his breathing, combined with the familiar ease of his touch, was entirely too comforting. It felt like home.
After a couple more minutes, they parted. Michael leaned down to rest his forehead against hers, hands still holding her against him by the waist.
"Merry Christmas, Zhang," Michael murmured.
"Merry Christmas, Townsend," Lia replied with a genuine, rare warmth.