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Tim has never liked the holidays. They’ve always made him feel hollow.
Well. Not always.
He liked the festivities when he was a kid, opening presents under the tree with his mom, everything wrapped in a perfectly crafted illusion, if only for a few years. He barely remembers that time, though.
It might have been the year they brought Genny home that he learned to decipher the raised voices behind closed doors, at which point they stopped being hidden behind closed doors and he started stepping in.
By that next Christmas, the façade was shattered, like half the glasses they owned, and one of the windows, and Tim’s spirit.
From then on, the holidays were just more days lined with eggshell carpets, his arms aching as he tried to hold up the shreds of the façade for young Genny. But even that façade grew faded over time, and Tim grew bitter.
That’s how it was for years, resentment for the season residing heavy in his chest, and he never tried to fight it. He took all the holiday shifts no one wanted, worked as much overtime as they’d let him. Watched families’ bright smiles as their laughter and joyous shrieks echoed through the street, while he slinked home to an empty house with no decorations.
And then Lucy had come into his life.
While she’d questioned it at first, she hadn’t exactly been shocked when he’d worked overtime all the way through the holidays. It’s not like he made her work with him, of course—he was a tough training officer, sure, but he wasn’t a monster, and he’d made sure Grey didn’t attach her to his self-inflicted overtime shifts.
She’d stopped by the station that Christmas Eve anyway, though, bringing him a box of homemade gingerbread cookies which she’d wrapped in a red bow. He’d had no idea what he was supposed to do with that kind of affection.
Of course, in that next year, they grew closer, shifting from training officer and rookie into something he’d refused to call friends. But just because he’d refused to name it, it didn’t change the shape of it—they were getting drinks after work, and going paintballing from time to time, and he missed her when she graduated the FTO programme.
And that next Christmas, she wasn’t subtle in her attempts to coax him out with her on a few outings. He reluctantly helped with her gift-shopping, and took his truck to help pick up her Christmas tree, but otherwise did his best to remain out the way of the festive season. Lucy got him a gift that year, too, handing it to him in the parking lot the night before she left for her aunt’s. Tim had hesitated, because the last time she’d given him a small box, he’d gotten a powder bomb to the face, but this wasn’t that. No, it was some strange snowman ornament that made her giggle when he unwrapped it, like she knew he’d hate it but bought it just to see his reaction.
He’d put it on his mantle and eyed it every night until January like it might come to life. It felt out of place, but, well… Lucy felt out of place in the life he’d created around himself. Like the first glimpse of the sun after years of fog and grey skies, unfamiliar and blinding, yet inexplicably brilliant.
By the next winter, they were dating, and Lucy had been quick to put an end to any and all of his avoidance of the holidays.
She dragged him out on her evening walks, took him ice skating and out to markets, marvelled at Christmas lights and made him sit through crappy Hallmark movies while she giggled at the expressions he couldn’t hide.
Strange and unfamiliar as it was, last December wasn’t just another month Tim had to white-knuckle his way through. No, for the first time in years, it was littered with constant reminders that he was loved, sharing hot chocolate and mulled wine after evenings spent wading through crowded markets and funfairs and Christmas tree farms, Lucy’s hand clasping his through it all.
And then, in the soft light of spring, he ruined everything.
Time is still passing in the wake of his mistakes, though, and this year Tim swears the December cold is sinking into his bones in a way it never has. His evenings slip by in hollow silence, spent staring up at the ceiling, playing back memories of ice skating and endless joy bathed in firelight. Memories he thought he’d never make, now ones he might never make again.
Some nights, he feels like the void in his chest might take him out, dismantle his heart and his ribcage and his entire body from the inside out. On those nights, he thinks about calling. Sometimes he even gets as far as opening her contact, but the moment he sees her name, he locks his phone, because it wouldn’t be fair.
The holidays have always been Lucy’s favourite time of year, and that won’t stop just because they’re not together anymore. Even if she was the only thing that made his Decembers feel less hollow, there’s no reason for him to mar her evenings with reminders of the pain he caused them. He did this to himself.
So, instead of wandering markets or city parks, Lucy’s scarf draped over his shoulders or his jacket around hers, Tim spends his days off at home, looking back on what feels like another life. He only knows the world is still spinning beyond his windows because he steps out once a day to walk Kojo.
Today is the exception, though.
Today, he’s in the mall, because he needs to pick up a gift for his nephews—a new Switch game they’ve been raving about. It had taken some effort to pull himself out of bed, and even more effort to get through his front door, but he already failed at being an uncle for the first several years of their lives. He can’t break everything good he has.
The storefronts pass in a shapeless blur of twinkling lights and joy he doesn’t recognise anymore, adorned with holiday ornaments and sales posters. People are smiling with their loved ones as they walk by, swinging shopping bags overflowing with gifts and food, savouring every second.
Tim just wants to get to the store and head right back home again.
He glances up by chance, or maybe it’s some kind of muscle memory, as he passes a jewellery store, and something in the window catches his eye. He’s coming to a stop before he’s fully registered what he’s looking at.
A pair of moonstone earrings. Their iridescence almost glows beneath the window lights.
Part of him wants to keep walking, pretend he didn’t see them. The store he needs is just a little further. He could keep going, pick up the video game he came here for, and retreat back home where the only sign that it’s winter is the snowman on his mantle. But he knows that doing that would be resigning himself to the reality that it really is over, that there’s no fixing what he broke.
It might be true, but he doesn’t know if he can face that possibility just yet.
He takes one last look at the earrings and, without thinking too much about it, Tim heads into the jewellery store.
He spends the rest of his afternoon thinking about how he’s going to give them to Lucy.
The thought of doing it at work makes his stomach twist—it got easier for a while, seeing her in the station, walking the halls and working together where they needed to. But something about the holidays has brought the agony rushing back in with the cold air, and it feels like ice is starting to settle between them again. He can’t think of the last time they talked, and breaking that silence with a gift feels unfair to her.
Not only that, but the people at their station are nosy—if anyone catches wind of a Christmas present, it’ll open their dating life back up for discussion, tearing the wound open all over again. The gossip has only just died down as it is.
So, that’s off the table. He can’t give these to her at work.
Blowing out a sigh, Tim slumps down on the couch, eyeing the bag he’d set down on the coffee table. Maybe he shouldn’t have bought Lucy a gift at all—the birthday card was already stepping over a line she’d given no indication of wanting him to cross.
As if sensing his thoughts, Kojo jumps onto the couch, settling his head in Tim’s lap. Tim scratches absently at the spot behind his dog’s ears, blinking away memories of the past, when a thought occurs to him.
The birthday card. Kojo.
It worked well enough last time, so… why not again?
With a newfound resolve, that evening Tim digs out a pair of antlers from a box in the garage—the pair Lucy had bought last year. Kojo had seemed indifferent, if not mildly uncomfortable at the antlers on his head, but he wore them for his mom, sitting there quietly while she’d snapped pictures and giggled.
She’d bought matching pairs for her and Tim, too, and after some coaxing—and sworn promises to not spread the evidence amongst their friends—they’d taken a family selfie by the tree she’d helped him put up.
Those antlers stay tucked inside the box.
Tim wraps the gift and places it gently in its gift bag before wrestling with Kojo’s paw once again, stamping the tag with his pawprint. It’s less of a struggle this time around, though, like the dog knows that the sticky ink on his paw means they’re going to see his mom.
Grabbing Kojo’s leash and the gift, Tim heads out into the winter night.
The holidays have been Lucy’s favourite time of year since she was a kid. No school, sparkling lights, weeks spent with Aunt Amy when she used to live in Vermont, getting to relish in the snowfall they didn’t get here in LA.
While her parents didn’t really go all out over the holidays, she remembers the couple of years they’d put up a small tree when they’d hosted their colleagues for a party, and she’d sit in the living room for hours, distracted from her homework by the smell of pine. Otherwise, most years they’d string up a few lights and be done with it.
But the Christmas period was the one week her parents would be forced off work, their practices closed for the holidays. It doesn’t mean they weren’t answering emergency calls or sorting paperwork, but it was the most present they were with her all year. Even if that presence mostly involved making sure she was using her time to study and get her holiday assignments done, the few times they went to markets and parks are some of Lucy’s favourite memories, even now.
When she moved out for college, she spent those Decembers folded into her friends’ holiday traditions, making s’mores and hot cocoa and playing charades. And every year since then, she’s made a point of taking her friends on random holiday outings, indulging in market foods and shopping for gifts and staring at Christmas lights, sharing that sense of warmth with the people she loves most.
She used to bring whoever was willing to come with her, each activity shared with someone random based on sporadic calendars and family plans. The last couple of years, though, she’s had the same person to reliably drag into her traditions—her favourite person to spend time with. And no matter how hard she tries to forget, no matter how much she adores the lights and the festivity and the chill to the evening air, none of it changes the fact that this year, the holidays feel a little grey around the edges.
Sure, she takes Celina on her evening walks, and visits her aunt for soup and a gossip, and fills her nights with her favourite Christmas movies and Animal Crossing and fluffy socks. But she can’t help but feel the void of Tim’s absence, even when she’s tried to block it out with everything she can think of.
She doesn’t think about how she hasn’t stopped by their favourite café for a gingerbread latte this year. Last year, Tim had tried one sip of hers and hated it, and the face he’d pulled had fuelled her laughter for weeks. The taste test didn’t stop him from buying her one every time he did a coffee run, though, his eyes twinkling at the smile on her face whenever she took that cherished first sip.
She also doesn’t think about how this year, there’s no one with her on the couch, rolling his eyes at TV Christmas movies and their trashy Hallmark storylines. He’d pretend to not pay any mind to them, but on the next walk she dragged him out on, he’d pull her in and spin her around in the middle of the park, just like in the movies.
Tim got so much happiness from her happiness, and even if he tried to be all nonchalant about it, he glowed under the Christmas lights. Lucy knows his childhood wasn’t happy, that the holidays were just another season to endure, but she’d wanted to overwrite those memories, wanted to give him new, happier ones—and she did.
She’d wanted to do that this year, too. But things change.
Sometimes, more often than she’d ever admit, she finds herself thinking of him, wondering how he’s doing as the nights grow colder. But she always stops herself, digging her heels in against the pull of the thought. Tim’s the one that broke it off. He made his choice, and however he’s feeling as a consequence of it is on him.
The lie never sits right, no matter how many times she repeats it.
On quieter nights, sometimes her loneliness sinks so deep she thinks it might be contagious. Some irrational part of her wonders if maybe Tim feels it too, and finds herself glancing at her phone, almost expecting it to ring or light up with a text.
It never does, obviously.
It’s probably a good thing that it doesn’t, because that would just make this harder. Even for all the small doses he’s given her, she’s not ready to forgive him yet. Part of her hates that she isn’t ready, and wishes she was, because this aches.
On one of her quiet nights in, Lucy’s curled under a blanket on the couch, scrolling ClipTalk and saving a recipe for Christmas cookies she knows she won’t make, when there’s a knock at the door.
She’s slow to stand, definitely not expecting anyone. Maybe Celina forgot her key when she went to meet Aaron.
When she opens the door, Lucy is confused for a moment, the hallway appearing empty at first glance—until she looks down.
Her eyes well up at the sight in front of her.
Kojo is wearing the reindeer antlers she’d bought him last year, holding the ribbon handles of a small gift bag in his mouth. An echo of her birthday that aches all too much.
“Hi, baby,” she coos, laughing as she crouches to scratch at his chin. She can’t help but take a quick photo on her phone before he sets the bag down at her feet.
She lifts the tag and sees the familiar pawprint stamped in ink, and Lucy swears she can feel the gravity of Tim’s presence down the hall.
“Thank you,” she says, hoping it’s loud enough that he hears. “Shall I open it now?”
The dog just tilts his head at her, his tail wagging frantically, and she can’t help but give him one more scritch before reaching into the bag.
Inside is a small cube, carefully wrapped in snowflake-patterned paper. She unwraps it to reveal a jewellery box.
Her breath catches when she opens the lid. It’s a pair of earrings, two shimmering moonstone studs.
Just like her ring. The one that saved her life, the one Tim returned to her in the station gym in another lifetime. Before they were them. Before everything came together in a flurry of light, and fell apart just as spectacularly.
The tears make her vision blur, because she knows he’s right there. Part of her wants to go to him. The rest of her knows that’s a bad idea.
Kojo surges closer, brushing his head against her legs, and a single sob breaks out before she can catch it. Setting the bag on the floor, Lucy cuddles the dog close, the antlers falling off his head in the process.
“Santa’s little helper,” she laughs, trying to ignore how watery it sounds. She presses a kiss against the top of his head, overwhelmed with every complicated emotion she can’t bring herself to name. “Merry Christmas, Kojo.”
And then he’s disappearing down the hall, clutching the antlers in his mouth.
She stays there in the doorway as Kojo turns the corner, hearing the click of his lead being secured on his collar and nothing else. No footsteps, no movement.
They’re both just standing there, still. Painfully aware of the other’s presence.
Lucy takes a deep breath, wiping at her eyes. She could run to him. Or maybe he could come to her door instead of retreating down the stairwell.
Maybe she’d thank him to his face. Or they’d hug. Or kiss. Or she’d yell at him for how much this fucking hurts.
Every possibility flickers before her eyes, but none of them come to fruition.
Lucy just picks up her gift and closes the door.