A/N: I'm not dead yet. I just have really sporadic bursts of random writing like this one. Apparently. It's completely pointless and inspired by Christmas Lights by Coldplay. I hope you enjoy and Happy Holidays.

Disclaimer: I don't own it and I know that. You don't have to tell me. Or, like, sue me.

Those Christmas Lights Keep Shining On

He had always loved Christmas; it was his favorite. Maybe it was because part of him still wanted to believe in magic. Maybe it was the way the snow and lights made the whole world shine, but not the kind of shine that hurt a little like the sun; everything was soft but crisp. Bright but glowing instead of glaring. He tried to be happy a lot of the time because he didn't want to suck, but at Christmastime, he normally didn't have to try so hard it. Anyway, he had always loved Christmas, but last year… last year he'd fallen in love with it. He didn't know if that made any sense; could you really fall in love, head over heels, for something that always left? How would that keep you from being depressed constantly? He didn't really have answers for that, but it was just how it'd gone. Last year, he'd lost himself in Christmas and it was awesome and he wanted it to just always be like that—to feel like he had something to give, someone who would inspire him to give. The place, the people—those were the parts he cared about anyway. The feeling of it all.

This year didn't even feel like Christmas. This year, he was just sort of numb.

They hadn't been to his aunt's house in several years. Mostly it was because of the time and cost of travel. He and his mom had gotten by well enough with just the two of them most years, then she'd met Burt and gotten married and they had their own little family holiday traditions. The first Christmas with the four of them, the little things had kept him from getting down too much even though he'd just broken up with Rachel and his head was a mess.

Last Christmas was the first one where everything felt one-hundred percent right. It sort of made it easier for him to feel the difference this year when he might not have noticed it before.

He couldn't really stand the inside of his head anymore and he hoped maybe the cold air outside would cut through. It was easy enough to stay unnoticed, to slip out the side door while his mom was busy with his cousin and her new baby.

His aunt, Susie, had a pretty good sized house that looked like it was made of squares. One of the "best features of the place" was a wrap-around porch. He stepped out onto it and walked around the house, looking at the air that was so cold you could almost see it. If the breeze stirred a tree, the frost that drifted down clung in the air a little and made it sparkle. He watched it happen—a couple times, actually. He just couldn't feel it.

Two Christmases ago, he'd told Rachel that maybe she could ask for him for Christmas. The next year, he'd completely lost himself with her. Not to or in her, exactly. They'd sort of gotten lost together, caught up in the enthusiastic tide of doing things for other people, and it had been the best thing that ever happened to him. As he shoved his hands into his coat pocket and thought about pulling the hat in there down over his head for warmth, he walked off the porch and started down the driveway. He hadn't been meaning to go for a walk; it was cold and he was wearing, like, dress shoes or something. Then again, he hadn't really meant for anything to happen the way it did lately; he just assumed it had some kind of purpose. He went with it and kept walking.

He didn't feel like he had anything to give or anything to offer this year; not really. Sure, he had a house and clothes and food and really—that was a lot. He knew that. He wasn't ungrateful for that but just…it was like he needed everything else. For all the physical things he had, he felt like he kind of needed everything else.

He gave up and put the hat on his head; it was cold and it seemed stupid not to somehow protect himself when he could do it. It was the same way he'd been operating for a while now—shutting down and building walls and scrambling to protect himself. He didn't wanna live that way. He looked up and really, it was overcast. He couldn't see the sky itself and he wondered if it was some sort of a sign. He'd given Rachel a star he was dead certain she wasn't looking at, told her then she could know he was always with her somehow. If he couldn't see it, how could he expect her to? He'd put up the clouds. He'd built the walls. He couldn't see his star, or even if he could see it, he wouldn't be able to pick it out. For all their talk about being a star and shining bright and whatever—the stars were all sort of the same. They may have been 'set apart', but there was still like a million of them. He looked forward and all he could really see were lights here and there—people that lined their roofs and sometimes yards in Christmas lights. Zanesville was really a lot like Lima, honestly, and he didn't think twice about stopping in the middle of the street like an idiot to stare at one display.

All he could do was blink and look. He wasn't sure what it was that got his attention, exactly. The house was like his aunt's, all made of squares, and the decorations weren't anything extreme. The lights were white, but they drew clean lines where the roof was, where the windows were, where the front door and the curve of the banister around the front porch sat. There was a wreath in each of eight windows with a candle flicking in the center of the wreath. He turned his head, looking one way and then the other, and for as simple as it was, there was also nothing like it as far as he could see in either direction.

There was nothing flashing, other than where the candles flickered occasionally. It was steady and bright, warm. He half wanted to go knock on the door. It was… inviting. It didn't have to be bright or loud to stand out. It stood all on its own. He swallowed hard. He just needed one steady thing. Something that wasn't his dad dying or his stepdad being sick or… was there something about him that was even recognizable? Something inside him he could hold onto to be bright and steady and there…a little different but still fitting in?

He loved her.

It seemed like he was always moving, growing, and… just… happy when he at least admitted that instead of fighting it. When he was fighting it, he was miserable.

He let out a breath and he just… he stopped.

It was really that simple. He might not be with her—maybe ever again—but the steady thing about him was that he loved her. That hadn't changed and it wouldn't. No matter where she lived or who else she loved or what else she was doing without him. He could just… love her… and it was okay. He didn't need to hold out hope that they'd be together eventually and he didn't need to chase her around or fight the idea that they shouldn't be together. He could just love her and do other stuff and…whatever. When he boiled it all down, it wasn't as related as he'd always made it out to be.

He pulled his phone out and snapped a picture of the house, catching the absent and random thought that he hoped that wasn't creepy. But the thing was…he needed inspiration. He'd found it and he wanted to find a way to keep it because… well. Without some kind of spark, it didn't feel like Christmas because it wasn't warm. This was the first time in, like, weeks that he'd felt warm at all and it seemed stupid that it was lights that did it but… he didn't know. It made some weird kind of sense and he needed to stop fighting; he needed to go along with the things that seemed right.

They somehow always led him where he needed to be. He needed to be home with his family right now.

He was already walking back to his aunt's house as he sent the picture to Kurt. They hadn't really talked, but Finn knew Burt was in New York and had broken the news to his stepbrother by now. He may not have known exactly how Kurt felt about it 'cause they weren't the same person at all and he only knew how he felt, but… but. He sent the stupid picture of the house to Kurt with a simple caption: I think things are gonna be okay. I hope you do too.

He was about two houses down from his aunt's when he got Kurt's text back and he smirked and actually laughed a little when he saw the words—Why? Because the house told you so?—and the laughter sort of warmed him up a little more.

No. 'Cause no matter how bad it sucked for me to get to the spot where I was standing in front of that house, I still enjoyed the view once I was there. Stuff only wins when I can't appreciate what's in front of me.

Somehow, he knew that even if the news was sad and their family had some stuff ahead, Kurt was looking across the couch at his dad when he sent the last part. You're not wrong. Thanks. Merry Christmas.

He stepped into his aunt's house and found his mom, not even shedding his coat before he gave her a big hug and she looked at him in surprise. (Maybe at least a little because he was frozen through and his icicle fingers had ended up touching the skin on her arm. Oops.)

"Merry Christmas, Mom."

She looked over at him. "Sounds like maybe you believe that more than the other times you've said it."

He nodded. "Yeah, I probably do. I really just… I think things are gonna be okay." He shrugged and tugged his coat off as he stood up. "I might not know how but… well, maybe I don't have to know details to believe."

And honestly, her grin shined like the lights on the house. And just like that, well… this year wasn't so bad.

Maybe he did have something to give.