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The long, curved driveway split the snow like a ribbon, leading up to a brick mansion dripping in Christmas decorations—the tasteful kind, yet somehow still a lot. Every gutter was lined with warm fairy lights, the windows glowed gold, and the massive wreath on the dark oak door, it look like the house from Home Alone.
Jordan slowed the car to a stop, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. They were in their male form, hair tidy, jaw sharp in the winter light—but Marie could see the tension in their shoulders, the way their exhale fogged the windshield just a little too heavily.
They glanced sideways at her. “Final chance to bail,” they said lightly. “We can still turn around. Fake a flat tyre. Claim we were kidnapped by Santa. Spend Christmas back in the city with Annabeth and Pam. Honestly sounds great right now.”
Marie snorted. “We saw them on Thanksgiving. Now we see you're side of the family, that's what couples do.”
Jordan made a face like she’d just sentenced them to death. “Yeah, but your family is cool. Annabeth is great and your aunt Pam 'secretly' smokes cheap cigarettes and calls me 'that attitudey one’— I like them. They’re fun”
Marie blinked at them. “My family,” she said, “consists of my sister who blamed me for the death of our parents until, like, two months ago. And a woman who isn’t actually my aunt who does still kind of blame me.” She looked toward the glowing mansion again. "Your family’s all alive, all blood related."
Jordan groaned and let their forehead fall dramatically onto the steering wheel. “Ugh. Fine. You win.”
The horn honked softly under the pressure; they froze, then whispered—like it would be the worst thing in the world “They heard that, they know we're here.”
Marie laughed, reaching over to pat their thigh. “Come on. It’s going to be fine. You’re being… extremely dramatic right now.”
Jordan lifted their head, glaring half-heartedly. “I’m not being dramatic. I’m appropriately anxious.”
“Sure,” Marie said. “And I’m the Queen of England.”
Jordan opened their mouth to argue, then shut it. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with"
They both got out of the car. The air was biting cold, crisp enough to sting Marie’s nose, the kind of cold she never minded—not when it promised snow and lights and something warm on the other side.
Jordan jogged around the car and grabbed the bags before she could. Marie tried to take at least one from them; Jordan angled away. “Nope. I got it. If I’m dragging you into the belly of the beast, I can carry some suitcases.”
She rolled her eyes. “You say ‘beast’ like your parents bite.”
"Your first mistake of the day is assuming they don't."
Marie nudged them with her elbow as they walked toward the front steps.
“Okay. Here’s the rundown.” They pointed toward the shimmering house. “Christmas eve always goes the same. Mum will spend the entire day in the kitchen with Olivia, the housekeeper. Like, entire day.”
Marie smiled as Jordan continued, warming to the rant.
“Then, about an couple hours before dinner, they get this idea that we’re a ‘fun family’ who ‘spends time together.’ And by that they mean Monopoly. Or The Game of Life. Or Scrabble if they’re feeling adventurous." Jordan continued, voice flat, “mum will last approximately two rounds before she goes back to the kitchen 'just for a second'. Dad will last one more round after that before inventing a phone call, a migraine, or some mysterious business emergency."
Marie snorted.
“And,” Jordan added, tugging her suitcase up the front steps, “once both of them bail, we will have to continue playing — because if mum comes back from the kitchen and sees we’ve stopped, she will reset the whole game.”
Marie choked on a laugh. “She restarts the entire game? Why?”
“Because she believes quitting builds weak character.” Jordan said pointedly, juggling their bags.“It’s a nightmare. You don’t understand the pain of being stuck in a three hour Monopoly purgatory with a business major who is trying to explain investment to an eleven year old.”
Marie snorted at that, pushing a stray loc behind her ear as they reached the top step “Honestly? Sounds kind of adorable.”
Jordan stopped, mid-stair, turning to stare at her. “Marie. Monopoly is not adorable. Monopoly is psychological warfare. Monopoly is how I learnt my father thinks going into debt or having to mortgage property is a ‘personal failure’.”
She grinned up at them. “And now I get to witness it live.”
Jordan let out a strangled noise. “Wonderful. My trauma becomes your holiday entertainment.”
Marie shrugged, unbothered. “Relationships are about sharing.”
Jordan narrowed their eyes at her, but she could see the smile they were trying—and failing—to fight against. The nerves were still there, humming under their skin, but the joking softened everything.
Marie bumped their shoulder lightly. “Hey. We’re going to be fine.”
Jordan didn’t look convinced. In fact, they glanced at the door like it might swing open and swallow them whole. They took the last step together, eyes lifting to the enormous front door. Snowflakes drifted down. For a moment, the world felt still.
Jordan swallowed, voice quieter. “My family… they’re not bad people. They’re just—”
“A lot?” Marie supplied.
Jordan nodded. “Yeah. A lot.”
Marie reached out and took their free hand, thumb brushing over Jordan’s knuckles. “Well,” she said softly, “lucky for you, I can handle a lot.”
Jordan looked at her then, properly looked, and some of the tension in their jaw loosened. Their expression softened into something vulnerable and warm and hopeful, like maybe this wouldn’t be a disaster.
“Yeah?” they asked, voice small.
Marie squeezed their hand. “Yeah.”
Jordan exhaled, slow and steady, and nodded once. “Alright,” they said, clearing their throat. “Let’s do this.”
Marie lifted her fist and knocked, the sound echoing across the porch, sharp and certain against the quiet snow.
The door opened almost at once.
Jordan’s mother stood there with a smile already in place, like she’d been waiting for the right moment to deploy it. Her face lit up properly when she saw them.
“Oh! Jordan,” she said, stepping forward without hesitation. “You made it.”
She wrapped them in a hug straight away, lingering just a second longer than necessary. Marie caught the way Jordan went still for half a beat before returning it.
Then Kayla turned to her. “And you must be Marie,” she said, eyes bright, smile widening. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you.”
She didn’t wait for Marie to respond before pulling her into a hug as well—light, and careful.
“You’re even prettier in person,” Kayla added easily as she stepped back.
Marie flushed, laughing softly. “Thank you. It’s really nice to meet you too.”
From just inside the doorway, Jordan’s dad appeared, posture relaxed in a way that felt practised. He didn’t hug, but he stepped forward and offered Marie his hand.
“Marie,” he said warmly. “We’ve heard a great deal about you. All very impressive.”
She shook his hand, firm and polite. “Hopefully nothing too incriminating.”
Paul smiled at that, the kind of smile that suggested he appreciated wit when it came packaged neatly. “Quite the opposite. Intelligence, discipline, ambition. You seem to be doing very well for yourself.”
Jordan shifted beside her. Paul turned his attention to them. “Good to see you home, son.”
The word landed softly—almost gently—but Marie felt it, the spiky barb wire it came wrapped in.
“Your coats,” Kayla said immediately, reaching for Jordan’s, then Marie’s. “Let me take those. You must be exhausted after the drive.”
“It wasn’t too bad,” Marie said. “Jordan did most of it.”
Kayla smiled approvingly at Jordan. Paul closed the door behind them, the sound solid and final, and gestured further into the house. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
From deeper inside the house came the faint sound of movement, voices, life.
Kayla turned back to Marie, eyes flicking over her again—not critically, Marie realised, but with the kind of appraisal that came from habit rather than malice.
“That dress suits you beautifully,” she said. “You have a very elegant presence. Jordan always had an eye.”
Jordan made a face. “Mum.”
Kayla laughed. “It’s a compliment, sweetheart.”
Paul nodded once. “It’s good to see Jordan with someone… grounded.”
Unsure exactly what that was supposed to mean, Marie smiled politely. “I try.”
Kayla clasped her hands together. “Why don’t you take your bags upstairs? Get settled. Dinner won’t be for a while yet.”
“Your old room’s ready,” Paul added. “Just like you left it.”
Jordan hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. “Right. Yeah.”
Marie felt their fingers curl into hers again as they turned toward the stairs, grip just a little tighter than before. As they climbed, she glanced back once.
Kayla was smoothing the edge of a runner, smile still fixed. Paul stood beside her, watching them go, expression unreadable but pleasant.
If Marie hadn’t known Jordan—if she hadn’t felt that subtle tension, the careful language, the way warmth here seemed curated—she might have thought this was exactly what it looked like. A happy family.
They moved up the stairs together, Jordan a half-step ahead, hand still threaded through hers. The staircase curved gently, carpeted and spotless, the walls lined with framed photographs arranged with deliberate symmetry. Marie slowed without meaning to, eyes drawn upward as they climbed.
The first photo she noticed was Jordan—clearly a few years younger—standing tall in a graduation gown. A green-and-gold sash rested over their shoulders, the word Valedictorian stitched in bold lettering. Their smile was neat and contained, pride tempered by restraint.
Beside it hung another graduation photo. A boy around the same age, similar bone structure, same dark hair. No sash. Just the gown, the cap, a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Further up the wall, a school picture: another boy no older then eleven in a school uniform, shoulders squared too seriously for his age, hands folded just so. He looked like he’d been told this very important, and he believed it wholeheartedly.
At the top of the staircase hung the final photo—older than the rest. Jordan’s parents, much younger, standing side by side in graduation gowns before a stone fountain. Both wore sashes, identical in placement and lettering: Honours. They smiled broadly, confidently, like the future had already been decided and they were pleased with its direction.
At the landing, Jordan turned down the hallway, stopping in front of a door that looked like all the others. They pushed it open, stepping aside to let Marie go in first.
The room was large. Bigger than her dorm at Godolkin. Bigger than the room she’d shared with Annabeth growing up.
The bed was queen-sized, dressed in dark tones. Black and navy sheets, a deep plaid duvet folded back with precision. Navy silk pillowcases caught the light softly. Thrown across the end was a blanket patterned with cartoon Queen Maeve figures—a little incongruous against everything else.
Perched at the pillows sat a sock monkey, who looked a little more then well-loved, wearing a tiny baseball cap. Marie paused, something warm building in her chest. she smiled at it despite herself.
The walls were pristine white, broken only by a handful of posters—one of Black Noir, others of films and bands Marie didn’t recognise—and a neat, almost ceremonial row of school awards.
Beneath the window sat a desk, cluttered in a way that felt intentional rather than messy. Papers, notebooks, cables, a half-disassembled controller. Organised chaos. Familiar Jordan chaos. Tucked beneath the desk was a skateboard, its grip tape striped black and neon green, edges worn smooth from use.
The room felt suspended in time. Like Jordan had stepped out of it one day and it had simply… waited. Marie took it all in quietly. This room held every version of Jordan. Pieces they rarely let anyone see, arranged without explanation.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight, while Jordan crossed the room to set their bags down near the wardrobe door. The movement was automatic, familiar—like they’d done this a hundred times before, slipping back into the muscle memory of the place.
Marie reached for the sock monkey without thinking. It was softer than she expected, a little worn around the stitching, the tiny baseball cap slightly crooked on its head. She pulled it into her chest, hugging it, then held it out in front of her, smiling openly.
“This is cute,” she said fondly. “Look at his little hat.”
Jordan dropped down beside her, thigh brushing hers. “First of all,” they said, immediately defensive, “Rosie is a woman.”
Marie laughed softly and hugged the monkey again, chin resting against its head. “Her name is Rosie.”
She looked at Jordan as she said it, and something gentle tugged at her chest. She could picture it too clearly—Jordan as a kid, smaller and quieter, holding this exact toy and choosing the softest name imaginable.
“Of course it is,” Marie murmured.
Jordan shrugged, clearly a little embarrassed but not shying away. “It suits her.”
Marie glanced around again, her eyes catching on the desk by the window.
“Your dad wasn’t lying,” she said. “It really looks like no one’s been in here since you left.”
Jordan leaned back on their hands, gaze flicking briefly to the same spot. “Yeah. They don’t really have a reason to.” The words weren’t bitter. Just factual.
Marie leaned back on one hand, still holding Rosie with the other, letting her eyes roam again. The posters. The awards. The skateboard shoved under the desk like it had been kicked there in a hurry and forgotten. It felt like a museum curated by accident—snapshots of Jordan at different ages, frozen mid-becoming.
She turned her head to look at them. “Do you think we could’ve been friends?”
Jordan frowned slightly. “What?”
She fiddled with the sock monkey’s hat, buying herself a second. “Like… if things had been normal. If I’d gone to school properly, and we'd known each other somehow. Do you think we could've been friends?”
Jordan scrunched their eyebrows, giving it more thought than she'd expected them to. They tipped their head from side to side, considering. “I don’t know.”
Marie’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know?”
Jordan tipped their head again, like it helped them think. “I mean… yeah. I don’t know what you were like as a kid.” A small shrug. “And I would’ve been older than you. Honestly? I don’t know if we would’ve been friends.”
The answer was so plain, so unceremonious, that it knocked the air out of her just a little. Marie glanced down at the sock monkey in her hands, turning it by the arm. “That’s… fair, I guess.” She huffed a quiet laugh.
Jordan glanced at her, catching the dip in her expression, and smiled a little. “But you’re my friend now, and that's what matters right?”
Marie looked up at them slowly. Her mouth twisted. Her nose scrunched. “Oh, absolutely not,” she said immediately.
Jordan blinked. “What?”
She lifted Rosie and lobbed the sock monkey straight at their chest. “Do not call me your friend.”
Jordan caught it easily, laughing. “Why not? You are. You’re, like—” they paused, clearly enjoying this, “—my best friend.”
“Stop,” Marie groaned. “Don’t say that. Don’t phrase it like that.”
Jordan grinned, shoulders shaking as they laughed. “What? It’s true.”
“Jordan,” she warned, pointing at them, “I swear to god—”
They leaned closer. “You hang out with me more than anyone. You know all my favourite stuff. You borrow my clothes. That’s best friend behaviour.”
“Stoooop,” Marie said, shoving at their shoulder.
Jordan let her push them, then grabbed her wrist gently and tugged. Marie yelped as she tipped forward until she landed half on top of them, knee pressing into the mattress, one hand braced against their chest.
They were both laughing now, breathless, close. Jordan’s smile softened as they looked up at her. “You’re mad because it’s true.”
Marie stared at them for half a second, then scoffed. “I’m mad because you’re being annoying.”
“Also true,” Jordan said easily.
She tried to pull back, but Jordan’s hand slid to her waist, steady and warm, holding her there. The laughter faded into something quieter, heavier.
Jordan tilted their head. “You know what else you are?”
Marie narrowed her eyes. “If you say—”
Jordan cut her off by pulling her down and kissing her.
It was quick at first, almost teasing, like they were still half-laughing through it. Marie kissed them back immediately, hands fisting their jumper without thinking, the sock monkey tumbling forgotten to the side.
Jordan deepened it just slightly, enough to make Marie’s stomach flip. She leaned into it without thinking, hand sliding up Jordan’s arm. Jordan smiled into it, pulling her closer.
“Oh. Um. Sorry—”
They broke apart fast.
The boy from the school picture stood in the doorway, half-turned like he was already trying to leave, eyes wide and cheeks pink. He looked about a year older now, awkward in the way kids always were, his limbs a little too long for his short body, shoulders hunched like he wasn’t sure where to put himself. A thin vine crept along the edge of the doorframe beside him, leaves twitching faintly before freezing, like it had also realised it was somewhere it shouldn’t be.
He winced. “I—uh. I didn’t mean to—sorry Jordan.”
Jordan groaned, scrubbing a hand over their face. “Nate. Don't just walk into my room.”
Nate frowned immediately. “Your door was already open.”
Jordan squinted at him, then sighed. “Okay, yeah. Still. You can knock on the door frame, and not stand there like a creep.”
“Right. Yeah. Sorry,” Nate said quickly, nodding like this was serious feed back. “Zach’s here. Mum told me to come get you.”
Jordan straightened. “Already?”
Nate nodded. “Like, just now.”
He shifted his weight, then finally looked at Marie properly. His eyes widened.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Nate.”
Marie smiled, sitting up properly on the bed. “Hi, Nate. I’m Marie.”
He nodded too fast. “Yeah. I know. I mean—I know who you are. You're on TV and Jordan talks about you. Not like—” He waved his hands vaguely. “Not in a weird way.”
Jordan scrunched their face. “You’re being weird now.”
Nate groaned. “I know. I’m leaving.”
He turned on his heel and practically bolted down the hall, the vine along the wall retreating after him in a hurry.
“He seems sweet,” Marie said honestly. “I like him.”
Jordan smiled at that, the tension in their shoulders easing a little. “Yeah. He’s… good.”
They stood, smoothing their clothes, the moment settling back into something calmer. Marie reached for Jordan’s hand instinctively; they took it just as naturally.
Together they headed out into the hallway and down the stairs together. Nate was waiting at the bottom, pretending very hard to be interested in the banister.
Jordan went first, taking the steps two at a time. As they passed, they gave Nate a quick, encouraging pat on the shoulder. Nate straightened immediately, falling into step beside them like that was exactly what he’d been hoping for. Marie followed close behind, catching the way Nate angled himself just slightly toward Jordan as they walked, like a planet finding its orbit around the sun.
The hallway opened up and the sound of Christmas music grew louder—something classic and orchestral, all strings and cheer. They turned the corner into a larger room, warm with light and conversation.
Paul was seated neatly on one of the couches, posture straight and proper. Beside him, was the boy from the other graduation photo—the one without a sash—older now, broader through the shoulders, a haircut that suited his face a little better. He looked up the moment they entered and broke into a grin.
“Jordan!” he said, pushing himself upright in one smooth motion.
He crossed the room in a few strides and pulled Jordan into a quick hug, patting them firmly on the back before ruffling Nate’s hair on his way past. Nate swatted at him half-heartedly, scowling.
“Don’t,” he muttered.
Zach laughed, then turned to Marie, offering his hand easily. “Hey. Zach. The middle brother.”
Marie shook his hand, smiling. “Marie,” she said, then added, on impulse, “eldest sister.”
There was a beat—then a ripple of laughter. Zach laughed first, then Jordan and Nate, and even Paul let out a quiet chuckle from his seat. Marie felt a small bloom of satisfaction unfurl in her chest. She’d landed it. First joke—successful.
Jordan dropped onto the opposite couch, and Marie joined them, knocking her knee against theirs. Nate clambered up into a recliner nearby, curling into it in a way that made him look even smaller, swallowed by cushions clearly not designed for twelve-year-olds.
Paul leaned back slightly, folding his hands. “So, Marie,” he said conversationally, “Zach’s doing his Sophomore year as well. Business, at Columbia.”
Marie blinked, then nodded quickly. “Oh—wow, that’s… impressive." She said, flicking a glance at Jordan for confirmation that she was reacting appropriately. Jordan gave a tiny, reassuring nod.
Marie turned her attention to Zach, "What's that like?"
Zach shrugged, easy and modest. "I’m sure it’s nothing compared to learning how to save the world.” he laugh self-deprecating “I enjoy it, it's just challenging enough but I’ll make it through to the end of the semester.”
The room laughed with him. Marie laughed too, a second later, though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was laughing at. She wondered, briefly, if her earlier joke had actually been funny or if this was just practiced Li politeness. She made a mental note to ask Jordan later.
From his spot in the recliner, Nate suddenly leaned forward, attention snapping back to Marie like a spotlight. “When I go to God U,” he announced, earnest and a little loud, “I’m gonna study performing arts. I mean—probably some fighting stuff too. But mostly performing arts.” He paused, clearly building to something. “Look. Watch this.”
He cupped his hands together and Marie’s breath caught. From between Nate’s palms, a stem pushed through skin without breaking it, green unfurling fast and deliberate. Petals bloomed where his hands met, delicate and pale, veins threading through them like fine ink.
Marie could feel it, his blood, moving through the flower as naturally as it moved through him. Like the plant was an extension of him.
Nate separated his hands carefully, cradling the flower between his fingers, then scrambled out of the recliner and padded over to her. He held it out, eyes shining.
“For you.”
Marie took it carefully, her fingers closed around the stem. Whatever had been flowing through it stilled. She turned it over in her hands. Just petals. Just green. Something you could pluck from a garden and never think twice about.
“That’s—” she started, then stopped, searching for the right word. “That’s incredible.”
Nate beamed, cheeks lifting, and retreated back to his chair like he’d just completed a very important mission.
“Wow,” Zach said, grinning. “Jordan, you just gonna let your brother hit on your girl like that?”
Nate froze, colour flooding his face. “No—no, I wasn’t—” He gestured vaguely, flustered. “It was just a flower.”
Jordan leaned forward, resting their elbows on their knees, putting on an exaggerated fake scowl. “Find your own girlfriend to give flowers to, asshole.”
Paul’s voice cut in, sharp but measured “Jordan.”
Jordan didn’t look at him. “What?”
“Language,” Paul said. Calm. Firm.
Jordan rolled their eyes so hard Marie thought they might get stuck. “Are you serious? He’s twelve, that's practically a teenager.” They turned to Nate, grin sharp and mischievous. “Go on. Say all the swear words you know. Three, two—”
Nate shook his head quickly, eyes darting to his dad. “Nope. Not falling for that.”
Paul’s jaw tightened just a fraction. “Jordan, we’re hosting.”
Jordan glanced at Marie then, eyebrows lifting. “Sorry. You okay with that word, or should I censor myself?”
Marie opened her mouth, genuinely unsure what she was planning to make come out of it.
"Alright." Kayla appeared in the doorway like she’d been summoned by the tension itself, voice light and perfectly pitched. She had a board game tucked against her hip. Behind her hovered, an older woman with a round, kind face and rosy cheeks, dressed in a crisp maid’s uniform like you see on 'the help' in tv shows. She carried a tray with mugs and a small bowl of wrapped sweets, moving with practised ease.
“I thought I heard voices in here,” Kayla said, smiling broadly as she crossed the room. Her gaze skimmed Paul, then Jordan, quick and appraising, before landing on Marie with warmth dialled up just a notch. “I hope you’re settling in, darling.”
She set the board game on the coffee table. “We’ll start something before dinner. It’s tradition.” No one said anything. Zach just sighed like he’d lost a battle he’d fought before. Nate leaned forward immediately, already scanning the box.
the older women set the tray down carefully. “Hot chocolate,” she said gently, placing a mug within Marie’s reach.
“Thank you,” Marie said, genuine. The woman smiled back, cheeks dimpling, then stepped back.
“Thank you, Olivia,” Kayla added, as if remembering herself, already opening the box and distributing pieces. Paul nodded his approval, taking his mug from Olivia, the earlier edge in his posture easing as the room reoriented.
“Life?” Nate asked, hopeful.
“Life,” Kayla confirmed, sliding the spinner into place.
Paul dragged the coffee table closer to the couch he and Zach were already claiming, the legs scraping softly against the rug. Kayla lowered herself neatly to the carpet at one end, smoothing her skirt as she did.
Marie hesitated only a moment before following, settling onto the floor opposite Zach. Nate dropped down beside her without thinking, cross-legged and eager.
Jordan remained standing for a second longer, then folded themselves down at the other end of the table, knees tucked in close.
On the surface, everything looked normal again. But Marie stayed aware. Of the way Jordan’s knee bounced under the table. Of the way Paul watched them when he thought no one noticed, gaze flicking and lingering in small, measuring increments. Of the way Kayla’s smile never faltered, even when it probably should have.
Marie wrapped her hands around the mug Olivia had given her, warmth seeping into her palms.
Kayla opened the small bag of plastic pieces and tipped it onto the table, the bright colours scattering across the board. She began sorting them with quick, efficient movements, but Nate leaned forward immediately, eyes lighting up.
“Can I do it?” he asked, words tumbling over each other. “Please?”
Kayla barely hesitated. “Of course,” she said easily, passing him the pieces as she continued lining up cards and money. “Go on.”
Nate beamed and took the job very seriously. He picked up a blue peg first, tongue poking out in concentration, and snapped it into a yellow car before sliding it across the table to Paul. Then a pink peg into a purple car for Kayla, placed carefully at her elbow. He chose another blue one for himself, pushing it into a green car and setting it proudly in front of his spot.
Marie watched, smiling softly, as he reached for a pink peg next. He slotted it into a red car and nudged it toward her.
“This one is yours,” he said, a little quieter.
“Thank-you,” Marie said, taking the piece from him.
Nate nodded, pleased, and kept going—blue peg, orange car for Zach, handed over with a grin. Then he paused, fingers hovering over the last pieces. He picked up a purple peg, considered it, then pressed it into a blue car and leaned over the table toward Jordan. He placed it carefully in front of them.
Jordan stilled for a moment, then looked up at Nate. Their expression softened, something unguarded flickering there before they smiled. “Thanks.”
Nate shrugged like it was nothing, already fidgeting with his own piece.
Marie felt the small smile spread across her face before she could stop it. It was such a small thing. A tiny choice. The sort of thing most people would never notice, never think twice about. But Marie knew enough—felt enough—to understand what it meant here. Marie glanced over at Jordan, catching their eye. Their hand squeezed her thigh gently under the table.
The game played out exactly the way Jordan had said it would.
Kayla made it through two turns before she stood abruptly, hands already dusting off her knees. “I just want to check that Olivia has everything under control,” she said, voice light, as if she hadn’t been orchestrating the kitchen since sunrise. No one looked surprised or argued.
Paul stayed one round longer, spinning the wheel with mild interest before his phone buzzed. He checked the screen, frowned thoughtfully, then sighed. “I need to take this. It’ll only be a moment.” It wasn’t.
And just like that the room became quieter and somehow looser, like everyone had exhaled at once. Marie glanced around the table—Jordan leaned back against the couch, one arm slung comfortably behind her, Zach sprawled out over the whole sofa opposite her and Nate hunched over a nintendo switch he'd seemly pulled from nowhere, only looking up for his turn and to complain about how far behind he was (he was still beating marie).
The game continued. Poorly. And after being loudly informed that she’d once again made the worst possible choice, Marie finally cracked.
“Okay,” she said, holding up her hands. “I need to confess something.”
Jordan turned to her immediately. “What?”
“I have absolutely no idea what’s happening.”
There was a beat.
Zach blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Marie said, gesturing helplessly at the board, “I don’t know why I keep losing money, I don’t understand why careers matter, and I definitely don’t know why everyone keeps yelling at me for choosing things that sound nice.”
“You’ve never played before?” Nate asked, genuinely shocked.
Marie shook her head. “No. We didn’t really do board games where I grew up. Or… games, honestly.”
Jordan shifted closer, pointing at the board. “Okay, so—basically, the game punishes you for joy and rewards you for capitalism.”
Jordan tucked their hand around her waist and started explaining—patiently, in theory—but Nate kept interrupting to point out rules Jordan hadn’t mentioned, and Zach kept correcting both of them, which really just made the whole thing more confusing.
In the end, she decided it really didn't matter. She just kept making choices based on vibes alone. By the time the game ended, Jordan sat back, smug and victorious: a multi-millionaire, married, two kids, the perfect win.
Nate slumped even further into the recliner, dramatic to his core, and flung his Nintendo Switch onto the cushion beside him. “This is so unfair,” he complained, staring at Jordan. “How do you literally win everything?”
Jordan laughed, easy and pleased with themself. “Because I’m smarter and better than you.”
Zach let out a disbelieving huff, sitting forward properly for the first time in what felt like hours. “No. It’s because you cheat at everything.”
Jordan’s head snapped around. “I do not cheat.”
“You absolutely do,” Zach shot back. “You always used to open your eyes when we played Marco Polo.”
Jordan laughed at that, loud and unashamed. “Okay—maybe when we were kids—”
“You cheat when we play Fortnite,” Nate cut in immediately.
“I don’t cheat,” Jordan said. “I just get more kills because I’m better. And we play duos. If I was cheating, it would benefit you too.”
Nate frowned at that, clearly trying to work out if that made sense.
“You cheated when we played Smash Bros,” Marie added casually.
The room reacted like she’d dropped a bomb.
Zach’s eyebrows flew up. “Jordan. No way.”
Nate sat up. “You did?”
Marie leaned into Jordan’s side as she laughed. “He did. He forced me to play and didn’t explain any of the controls.”
Jordan rolled their eyes, but their hand slid automatically to Marie’s hip, thumb brushing there in an absent, familiar way. “That’s not cheating.”
“Yes it is,” Marie said. “You said you were going to show me what the buttons did, and then you walked my character straight off the map.”
Jordan opened their mouth, then closed it, then smiled in a way that was absolutely guilty. “Okay, that was one time.”
Zach laughed. “That’s evil.”
Nate pointed accusingly. “You’re evil.”
Jordan shrugged, unrepentant. “You’re all just sore losers.”
“Spoken like a true cheater,” Zach said.
Marie smiled, warmth settling in her chest at the sound of them—bickering, speaking over one another. To her, this is what family sounded like. At least this is what her and annabeth and always been like.
From the doorway, Kayla’s voice floated in. “Dinner’s ready.”
"Actually?” Zach called back, "or is this like last year when your said it was ready and when we walked into the kitchen we ended up folding dumplings for and hour and a half."
“Yes, actually” she replied cheerfully tone dropping an octave. “Wash your hands.”
Nate pushed himself up from the floor. “Finally. I’m starving.”
Marie stood more slowly, smoothing her dress down out of habit. Jordan had already turned halfway toward the hall, then paused and glanced back at her.
“I’m just gonna duck to the bathroom,” they said casually, like it was an afterthought.
Marie immediately stepped into their space and caught the sleeve of their jacket. “Oh. I’ll come with you.”
Jordan blinked, then smiled—slow, pleased, dangerous. “Marie,” they said, lowering their voice theatrically as they leaned in, “you look very pretty tonight, and you’re extremely cute when you lose, but I really don’t think we should be doing anything in the shared family spaces. Also not while they’re all literally waiting on us.”
Marie smacked their arm, mortified. “Oh my god,” she hissed. “No. That’s not—why is that where your brain went? I just don’t want to be alone out there.”
Jordan paused, then broke into a grin. “Ohhh.” They nodded, all faux wisdom. “Yeah, you can come with. I don’t even really need to go.”
They steered her down the hall and into a small guest bathroom. As soon as the door shut behind them, Jordan locked it automatically, then switched—body changing smoothly into their female form—and crossed the room in two quick steps to the little window beside the sink.
They slid it open, cold air spilling in, and pulled a nearly empty packet of Marlboro Reds from their pocket. The lighter clicked. Smoke bloomed.
When Jordan exhaled, Marie could swear she saw the tension leave them. Shoulders dropping. Jaw unclenching. Eyes falling shut as they tipped their head back slightly, breathing out like they’d been holding something in all evening. They opened their eyes to find Marie watching.
Jordan lifted the cigarette packet toward her as an offering. Marie shook her head, scrunching her nose. “No. I only like those flavoured popping ones you had before.”
She stepped closer anyway, leaning her hip against the counter, letting the cold air from the window hit her face.
Jordan hummed. “Cherry and tobacco. Elite combination.” Marie smiled at them without really meaning to. Jordan took another drag, then glanced sideways. “What?”
“Nothing,” Marie said quickly, shrugging.
Jordan narrowed their eyes. “No it's not.”
Marie hesitated, then smiled a little wider. “I just think you’re cute." Marie continued “Twenty-two, and hiding in a bathroom so your parents don’t catch you smoking.”
Jordan turned away from her, laughing. “Fuck off.”
Then, more seriously—but still amused—“But seriously if someone knocks, it would honestly probably go over better if we said we were in here hooking up.”
Marie laughed and leaned in, pressing a kiss to Jordan’s cheek. “I feel like I haven’t been able to touch you in years.”
She wrapped her arms around them, resting her head briefly on Jordan’s shoulder, breathing them in. Jordan’s free hand came up automatically, rubbing slow circles along Marie’s arm.
“I know,” Jordan murmured. “Sorry.”
They stood there for a moment like that—close, quiet, insulated from the house outside. The music was faint through the walls. A distant clatter of dishes. Voices moving around them.
Jordan took one last drag, stubbed the cigarette out carefully, and closed the window again
They leaned in towards Marie, tilting their head. “Do I need to brush?” they asked, deliberately breathing out near her face.
Marie scrunched up her nose, lips pursed as she very seriously assessed the situation. “Mm. Maybe just mouthwash.”
Jordan nodded once, then opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a bottle of mint-green liquid. They took a generous swig, cheeks puffing as they swished, then bent over the basin and gargled noisily before spitting it out.
They wiped their mouth with the back of their hand and leaned in again. “Better?”
Marie dipped her head and kissed them. Once. Then again. And again, quick and soft and smiling.
“Perfect,” she said, grinning.
Jordan’s smile lingered, eyes warm as they stayed close for just a second longer than necessary.
Then they reached past her and opened the door, shifting back into their male form as they did. “After you,” they said lightly.
Jordan led her down the hall and into a large, formal dining room. The space was bright and elegant, the long table set with polished silverware, delicate china, neatly folded napkins. It looked like the kind of room that existed solely for occasions.
Marie slowed without meaning to. She hadn’t really known what to expect from Christmas Eve dinner—but it definitely hadn’t been this.
The table was full. Not one main dish. Not two. But what looked like a full spread: bowls and platters of food in warm colours and rich smells, steam still curling gently into the air. Dishes she recognised and many she didn’t. It looked less like dinner and more like a small feast.
Her stomach gave an involuntary grumble. She took her seat slowly, breathing it in. It smelt incredible. Deep and savoury and comforting in a way that made her realise she was hungrier than she’d thought.
“This looks amazing,” she said, bright, directing it instinctively toward Kayla—and Olivia, who was seated beside her now, changed into more casual clothes, her hair looser, cardigan pulled on over her top.
Kayla waved a hand, smiling. “Oh, it was nothing.”
Olivia leaned toward Marie. “Would you like something to drink? We’ve got cola, Dr Pepper, juice, water—”
“Oh,” Marie said quickly, perking up. “A Dr Pepper would be great.”
Olivia nodded once, then turned her head toward Jordan. “You heard her. I’m off the clock. Go get your girlfriend a pop.”
She shooed them away with a flick of her hand. The table laughed. Jordan groaned theatrically but pushed their chair back and stood anyway, heading for the kitchen.
Food started moving almost immediately. Plates were passed. Bowls rotated. Everyone began piling things on, conversations overlapping as dishes were offered and refused and re-offered.
Jordan returned a minute later with a can in hand and slid back into their seat, setting it beside Marie.
“Sorry,” Marie said lightly. “I didn’t know she was going to send you.”
Jordan shrugged. “It’s fine. I should’ve offered. She’s just keeping me accountable.”
They glanced at Marie’s empty plate, then reached for it. “What do you want?”
Marie looked at the spread, then back at them. “Honestly? All of it.”
Jordan smiled. They took her plate and started assembling it with careful attention, leaning and reaching across the table to scoop a little of everything. Rice. Noodles. A smaller bowl filled with soup. Something that looked like an egg baked over bread. A few other things Marie couldn’t name but immediately wanted to try.
By the time Jordan set it back down in front of her, the plate was full and warm and colourful.
Jordan tapped the small bowl gently. “If you finish that one—or you don’t like it—there are, like, four other soups you can try. But I think you’ll like this one best.”
Marie smiled and squeezed their thigh under the table. “Thanks.”
She glanced around as she picked up her chopsticks. Paul and Kayla were talking to Zach about some internship. Nate was deep in conversation with Olivia, animatedly explaining—loud enough for Marie to hear—that Jordan had absolutely cheated during The Game of Life and that everyone should know.
Marie turned back to Jordan, perfectly content narrowing her world down to just them for a moment.
“Does your mum always cook like this?” she asked.
Jordan looked over mid-bite, eyebrows lifting. “What, Asian people food?”
Marie nodded unbothered, clumsily manoeuvring a piece of radish into her mouth with her chopsticks.
Jordan swallowed. “No. She doesn’t usually cook at all. Only on special occasions.” They paused, then added, “She immigrated here when she was twelve. She really only grew up eating and making Korean food. I think… at some point she got tired of the only thing she ever cooked in her adult life being American holiday meals.”
They shifted slightly in their seat. “She made this kind of dinner one year. And being the worst Asian people alive, me and Zach and Dad all complained about there not being pie or ham.”
Marie made a small, sympathetic sound.
“I feel shit about it now,” Jordan went on. “So this became the compromise.”
Marie frowned slightly. “Her compromise was… her cooking more? And doing more work?”
Jordan slouched a little. “I said I feel shitty.”
Marie laughed softly, nudging her knee against theirs under the table, then finally took her first proper bite.
Dinner was going well. Plates were refilled. Someone passed another bowl of rice. Nate was halfway through a story Marie was pretty sure only she was listening to. Zach and Jordan were debating if sweet potatoes and yams were the same thing. Paul laughed at something Olivia said about Kayla always wanting ti remodel the kitchen after she cooks, and for a while—an actual stretch of time—nothing felt sharp.
Marie noticed it mostly because she had been waiting for it, and i didn't come. Jordan’s jaw hadn’t tightened once. Paul hadn’t made any little comments. Based on how the sitting room had gone, Marie was pretty sure that counted as a win.
Then Paul set his wine glass down. It wasn’t loud. Just a soft, deliberate sound against the table. But it cut through the overlapping conversation anyway.
“You know,” he said, looking across at Marie, tone almost fond, “I have to say—Jordan’s never brought anyone home like you before. You’re… well. You’re very nice. Easily the nicest girl they’ve ever dated.”
Jordan shifted beside her. “Dad—”
Paul waved a hand, smiling. “It’s a compliment. Honestly, some of the others were just…” He searched for the word. “Odd. Or dramatic. Or not really the sort of people you’d expect. This is much better.”
Jordan laughed once, strained. “Okay, you can stop.”
Kayla smiled politely. “Paul—”
“I’m serious,” he went on. “Your mother agrees. Don’t you?”
Kayla’s smile faltered for half a second. “I think what your father means is—”
The rest of the table had gone quiet now. Zach’s fork hovered. Nate’s eyes flicked between faces. Even Olivia had stilled.
Jordan tried again, still not angry, just embarrassed. “It really doesn't matter. Drop it.”
Paul shook his head lightly. “I’m just saying. Like that last one you brought around. She was a bit of a freak, Jordan. Really.”
Jordan’s chair scraped softly as they leaned forward. “She wasn’t a freak. And I didn’t ‘bring her around.’ She came to pick me up after break and you and Mum insisted she come inside. We’d been dating for, like, a month. It was fucking awkward.”
“Jordan,” Kayla cut in quickly, “we don’t need to—”
Neither of them looked at her.
“We wanted to meet her,” Paul said. “You said your girlfriend was coming. We were curious. And she was odd. She dressed strange—”
“You just didn’t like that she looked gay,” Jordan cut in.
Paul’s mouth tightened. “That’s not a thing.”
Jordan stared at him. “Really. You made no preconceived ideas at all about the girl with purple hair, two nose rings and neon eyeshadow?”
Paul exhaled sharply. “So you agree it was weird—”
“No,” Jordan said. “I don’t. You always do this. Every time I date someone you don’t read as straight enough—or god forbid a guy—you lose your mind.”
Paul’s eyes hardened.
Jordan didn’t look away. “You’ve got this version of me in your head. Your perfect son. With his perfect wife. Building the same perfect family you did. But the big bad queers keep getting in the way.”
The table felt too small.
Paul sat back slightly. “I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal of this now.”
Jordan laughed, humourless. “Because this is the first time I’ve actually brought someone home for the holidays, and you’re sitting there listing everything you hated about the people I’ve dated before her.”
“It was a compliment,” Paul said, already glancing toward Marie. “And Marie doesn’t mind.”
Marie finally found her voice. “I can speak for myself,” she said clearly. Every head turned.
“And I do mind,” she continued, steady. “Even if what you're saying wasn’t upsetting Jordan, it makes me uncomfortable.” The words surprised even her with how easily they came out.
Jordan turned to her like they’d momentarily forgotten she was there. Their face twisted—not with anger this time, but something closer to pain. They slid their hand under the table and took hers.
“Mum, Olivia,” Jordan said, voice suddenly very controlled, “the food was really good. Thank you for having us. It was nice seeing everyone. We’re going to go.”
“Jordan,” Kayla said, reaching automatically but Jordan was already standing.
They didn’t look back. They just tugged Marie gently to her feet and started toward the door. No one stopped them. Marie registered that distantly—that no one even tried.
As Jordan led her out of the room, she heard Zach mutter, “Fucking nice one, Paul,” before his chair scraped back and he headed for the kitchen.
Considering they hadn’t unpacked anything, getting their bags back into Jordan’s car didn’t take long.
Snow had started to fall properly now, soft and steady, dusting the driveway and the hedges and the top of the fence. Jordan insisted Marie sit in the car while they loaded everything, tugging her door open and nudging her inside before she could argue. It didn’t feel like the moment to push, so she let them.
She sat in the passenger seat, hands folded in her lap, watching through the fogging window as Jordan moved back and forth between the door and the boot. Their shoulders were tight, their movements efficient and a little too sharp.
Guilt sat heavy in Marie’s stomach. Jordan had warned her. Over and over. And she’d brushed it off. Joked it away. A part of her hadn’t really believed it could be that bad. She knew, logically, that some families were cruel. That some parents didn’t deserve the title. But it had been easier to imagine Jordan was exaggerating. Easier to believe that underneath it all, there was understanding. Love. Something solid.
She’d pushed for this. Marie chewed on her lip, heart thudding. Before she could overthink it, she pushed the door open and stepped back out into the cold.
“I just need to use the bathroom,” she called, already turning toward the house before Jordan could respond.
The warmth hit her as soon as she opened the front door. The music was quieter now. The house felt different—emptier. Marie moved quickly, straight down the hall and back into the dining room.
Paul sat alone at the table. Plates and bowls were still scattered across it, food half-eaten, glasses untouched where people had left them. Marie cleared her throat. Paul looked up at her.
“Why do you do that?” Marie asked.
Paul raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“You treat your kid like a problem you have to manage instead of a person you should love.”
Paul looked at Marie, stunned.
Marie continued, steady: “You have a brilliant, brave child who’s trying to exist in a world that hates difference, and all you do is add weight. What exactly do you think you’ll accomplish?”
His jaw clenched. “You don’t know us.”
“No,” Marie agreed. “I don’t. And I don’t know what it’s like to be a parent.” She took a breath. “But I do know what it’s like to be a lonely kid.”
Paul rubbed his palms down his thighs and looked away from her.
“I went a long time without a family,” she continued, voice steady even as something in her chest ached. “You couldn’t pay me anything to do something I knew was hurting someone I loved. To keep pushing them away and pretending it was for their own good.”
He didn’t answer. The silence stretched. The room smelled like cooling food and candles.
Marie pressed her lips together, then nodded once, like she’d reached the end of whatever she’d come in here to say.
She turned and walked back out.
The cold hit harder this time. Snow brushed her hair and her sleeves as she crossed the driveway. She paused by the car, hand on the door, and glanced toward the boot. Zach and Nate were there with Jordan.
She opened the passenger door, climbed back into the car, and shut it, the world dulling to quiet again. She watched in the review mirror.
Zach said something she couldn’t hear, brows pulled together, then stepped forward and hugged Jordan quickly. Not tight—just solid. He kept a hand on Jordan’s arm when he pulled back, patting it a few times.
Jordan leaned down and hugged Nate. Even from here, Marie could see Nate talking the whole time, mouth moving fast and earnest. Zach stood slightly to the side, positioned between them and the front door, like he was standing guard.
Eventually, Jordan straightened and closed the boot. They came around to the driver’s side and climbed in, setting a small bag onto Marie’s lap.
“Olivia packed us some to-go plates, and,” Jordan sniffed—Marie couldn’t tell if it was the cold or if they were about to cry, “and Nate made us Christmas cards so in there too.” They didn’t look at her.
“That’s nice,” Marie said softly, trying to catch their eye.
Jordan kept their gaze forward as they started the engine. “Yeah.”
The car rolled down the drive, snow blurring the lights behind them as the house slipped out of view.
The bag on Marie’s lap was still warm from the food, heat seeping faintly through the paper. The road stretched out ahead of them, dark and steadily disappearing beneath falling snow. The drive had been quiet. Not tense, exactly—but heavy. The kind of quiet that pressed on her ears.
They’d probably been going fifteen minutes. It felt longer. Marie shifted in her seat, fingers tightening briefly around the handles of the bag. This might have been the longest she’d ever gone without talking to Jordan when she actually wanted to.
She swallowed. “The snow’s getting pretty heavy.”
Jordan squinted at the windscreen, where flakes were starting to blur into one another. They clicked their tongue softly. “Yeah. It’d be stupid to keep pushing.” They slowed a little. “Let’s just pull into the first place with a vacancy sign.”
They flicked a look toward her. They didn’t smile. Marie did anyway. Jordan hesitated for half a second, then took one hand off the wheel and rested it on her thigh. Not squeezing. Just there.
They kept it there for the rest of the drive, the simple weight of it grounding and familiar as they followed the road into the thickening snow.
The motel sign buzzed like it was fighting for its life, the neon VACANCY blinking against the curtain of snow. The place itself was… fine. Not terrifying. Not charming. Just the kind of cheap roadside stop that smelt faintly of old carpet and industrial cleaner, with a reception desk that had probably seen the same tired travellers every winter since the nineties.
Jordan parked, cut the engine, and sat for a beat with both hands on the wheel. Marie waited, quiet, the warm bag of food still on her lap. Jordan finally exhaled, then nodded once, like they were agreeing with themself. “Alright,” they murmured, and got out.
By the time they made it into the room, Jordan had formed a lopsided pile of luggage near the wall right next to the door, then immediately collapsed face-first onto the bed. As soon as their body hit the mattress, they switched to their female form. It was almost automatic. Like their muscles knew which version of them needed the softness right now.
Marie closed the door behind them, set the food down on the small table, and crossed the room. She sat on the edge of the bed beside Jordan, careful not to jostle them.
Jordan didn’t move. Their face was buried in the pillow, arms tucked beneath their head like they were trying to become one the mattress.
Marie swallowed and smoothed her palms down her dress out of habit, then placed a hand between Jordan’s shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
Jordan gave a muffled sound that could’ve been anything. A sigh. A laugh. A “don’t.” It was hard to tell.
Marie tried again, words more certain the second time. “I’m actually sorry. I shouldn’t have… brushed you off. You told me you were nervous and I acted like you were just being dramatic.”
Jordan’s voice came out into the bed, still face-down. “You weren’t wrong.”
Marie snorted softly, despite herself. “I kind of was.”
Jordan made a little huff, like they wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy. Marie rubbed their back in slow circles, feeling the rise and fall of their breathing.
“I should’ve listened,” she continued. “We could’ve stayed with Annabeth and Pam like you wanted. We could’ve had a normal, chill night. I’m the one who pushed.”
Jordan’s shoulders shifted under her hand. “Marie,” they mumbled, “stop—”
“No,” Marie said, firmer now, not letting herself wriggle out of it. “I can’t understand your family the way you do. I can’t feel all the… history in a room like you can. But I can listen, and I didn’t.”
Jordan’s head lifted the tiniest bit, like they were considering turning. Then they rolled over onto their back, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Their eyes were a little glassy, their lashes dark against their skin.
For a second, they just lay there, breathing, jaw tight.
Then Jordan exhaled. “I’m sorry too.”
Marie blinked. “For what?”
Jordan let out a humourless laugh. “For dragging you into that. For my family being… whatever the hell that was.” They pressed the heel of their hand into their eye like they were annoyed at it for being wet. “This is your first Christmas out of Red River and Elmira. It was supposed to be good. But now it's ruined.”
Marie’s chest tightened at the way they said it. Suppose to be. Like Jordan had been carrying a secret plan in their head all week: make it perfect, make it safe, make it feel like something new.
“Jordan,” she said softly, leaning closer “Nothing is ruined.”
Jordan looked at her, eyes shining in a way that made Marie want to drive in and live there. “It is. I knew it would go badly. And now you’re stuck in some sketchy motel off the highway instead of… I don’t know. A tree. A fireplace. Whatever you were hoping for.”
Marie huffed a laugh. “I wasn’t hoping for a fireplace.”
Jordan’s mouth twitched, but they still looked miserable. Marie shifted, tucking her legs up on the bed so she could face them properly. She kept her hand on their shoulder, anchoring them. “Every Christmas I spent at Red River,” she said slowly, “I wanted the same thing.”
Jordan’s eyes flicked to her, listening.
“I wanted to be with someone I loved,” Marie continued, voice quieter but steady. “That was it. Not a tree, not gifts, not some movie-perfect dinner. Just… to not feel like I was surviving the day by myself.”
Jordan’s throat bobbed.
“And when I wake up tomorrow,” Marie said, “I’m going to be with you. That’s the whole thing. That’s literally the only part that matters.” She smiled, small and honest. “I don’t care where we are. I don’t care where we were. I care that we’re together.”
Jordan stared at her for a long moment, the tightness in their face easing like something unclenched. They made a sound that was half a scoff and half a laugh.
“Ugh,” they said, wiping at their eye with the back of their hand. “You’re so corny.”
Marie leaned in and kissed their cheek. Then another, closer to the corner of their mouth. “If you don’t like corny,” she murmured, “you’re really not going to like your gift.”
Jordan’s head snapped toward her, suspicion immediately overtaking the sadness. “You said we weren’t doing gifts.”
Marie shrugged, reaching over to the messy pile of bags Jordan had made and tugging out a large white shopping bag. “Technically, we aren’t. I bought this with Annabeth’s money, so it’s basically from her. To us.”
Jordan squinted at the bag like it might explode. “That is not how that works.”
“Pretty sure it is,” Marie said, handing it over with a grin.
Jordan took it slowly. Their smile was creeping back, reluctant but real, like they couldn’t help it. They peeked inside—then their expression dropped so fast Marie almost laughed. Jordan looked up at her, dead serious. “Yeah, I’m not fucking wearing this.”
Marie pouted dramatically, tilting her head and scrunching her eyebrows sadly. She held the face for about four seconds.
Jordan groaned, then sat up, snatching the bag fully and rummaging through it with exaggerated irritation. “Oh my god. Marie.”
Marie clapped her hands once, delighted. “Yes!”
Jordan pulled out matching onesie pyjamas—soft, stupid, cheerful in a way that made the motel room feel instantly warmer. Their face did something complicated: disbelief, fear, and the clear realisation that Marie had won.
“These are—” Jordan started.
“Adorable,” Marie supplied.
“Criminal,” Jordan corrected.
Marie scooted closer, chin lifted, still pouting. “Please.” Jordan stared at her and held out for half a second longer.
Twenty minutes later, Jordan was in the onesie, arms crossed, looking like the world’s most offended Christmas angel. Marie had hers on too, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Jordan tried to keep scowling, but the corners of their mouth kept betraying them.
“This is humiliating,” Jordan muttered.
“You look cute,” Marie said, and then, before Jordan could argue, she pounced forward and kissed them until they stopped talking.
They ended up tangled under the scratchy motel blanket, the heater rattling in the corner, A Charlie Brown Christmas playing on the TV. The hot chocolate they made from little packets tasted like watered-down sugar and it was still perfect because Jordan’s shoulder was pressed into Marie’s and their fingers kept finding each other between sips.
At some point, Jordan’s laughter softened into quiet. Their head fell onto Marie’s shoulder, heavy and trusting.
Marie threaded her fingers through Jordan’s hair, slow and gentle. The day had been sharp in places. Fucking ugly in others. But here, in this cheap little room with snow tapping at the window, everything finally felt simple.
Jordan murmured, barely audible, “I love you.”
Marie kissed the top of their head. “I love you too,” she promised, and meant it.
Later, when the movie ended and the screen went blue, they didn’t bother changing it. They just stayed wrapped around each other, sharing warmth, sharing breath, sharing the peace.