You stared at the calendar while your eyebrows twisted up as you thought hard. Your eyes then darted to the clock hanging on the wall. You hastily jotted down a couple of numbers on a piece of paper, then punched a string of numbers into a calculator. Your fist supported your chin as you did some quick math.

You suddenly jumped up, double-checked your calculations, and screamed, "Seven days, twelve hours, and seventeen minutes 'til Christmas!" The window, which you hadn't been paying much attention to, then caught your eye.

A steady snowfall accented the outdoor view, gently clothing the trees and the rooftops of your neighbors' houses in layers of sparkling white.

"Yes! It's snowing!" you cheered, running over to the windowsill to watch the snow. You pressed your face against the window's glass, but the sudden sharp cold made you draw back. Turning your head, you caught sight of your driveway, which was covered with sprinkles of snow, as if someone had spilled a bunch of salt on it.

Salt. Shoot, you forgot to put salt on your driveway.

You ran over to your closet and slipped your arms through a random jacket. Then you ran downstairs, being careful not to trip on the steps. You pulled two boots on, so hastily that you had difficulty doing it, and grabbed an old bag of road salt from your closet. You flung open your door and ran into your driveway. A cold wind bit at your face as you poured salt on the asphalt.

You curled up on your couch, finishing a cup of hot chocolate as you watched the snowfall gradually diminish into nothing. The clouds were still heavy, and there was about three inches of snow on the ground, but between the sky and the earth, few snowflakes remained.

You started decorating your house a week ago, and by now you were clearly finished. A string of multicolored lights now bordered your rooftop, and a dozen electric deer pulled a glowing Santa and his sleigh in your front yard. You had placed a number of festive gel decorations all over the once-blank windows. A sparkly wreath stood welcoming at your door. Inside, your tree was set up and ready, a sparkly golden streamer curling around it like a twisted staircase, as many ornaments on it as there were branches on a bush, and, finally, a beautiful star on top that glowed as bright as the moon.

Even so, you had a pile of leftover decorations sitting at your feet. You had bought a giant box of decorations, and even though you used a lot of them there was still quite a bit that was left, waiting to be hung up. So now you were stuck with a random cardboard box with a few feet of holiday lights, streamers, and banners, as well as a couple of ornaments.

I'll deal with them later, you thought. For now, though, I think I'll pay a surprise visit to a friend.

This friend was the Englishman Arthur Kirkland. He lived in the same neighborhood as you, though not on the same street. When you met him for the first time in the 6th grade, the first thing you noticed about him were his impossibly huge eyebrows. He got teased a lot for those eyebrows, but gradually he learned to ignore those comments. You felt really bad for him, so you learned to look past his eyebrows (which was really hard) into his real personality. He loved to be a gentleman, though he argued louder than anyone you ever knew. He loved literature. When he wasn't arguing, he would have his face buried into some old book that contained a bunch of archaic vocabulary from the 1400s. One day, you glanced at his open book and caught sight of the word "quotha." You asked him what it meant, and he had a good time flaunting his knowledge of archaic words. What seemed like one silly little question about word meanings evolved into a real conversation, and soon even your teachers would talk about you two. They would say to each other at their teachers' meetings, "Do you know _ and Arthur? A while ago they didn't even seem to notice each other. Now, look how good friends they are!" Some of the mean girls would tease that you two were secretly dating, but you ignored them as you two argued over which brand of tea was better. The arguments, though, were always friendly, not hateful, and they were interesting because you two could learn a lot about each other. After high school, you two went to separate colleges, but you always kept in touch with him via email and voice chat. Finally, one day you caught him looking for a house to buy in your neighborhood. You two were both surprised at this unexpected reunion and cheered. He's still been your best friend since, and you two love to go tea shopping together and argue about the brands, something that hadn't changed since 6th grade.

You pulled on your boots now and pushed your door open into the perfect winter neighborhood. The snow compressed soundlessly under your feet. Your nose and ears were the first to feel the sudden sensation of cold. Snow was everywhere - covering the rooftops, accenting the trees, and, of course, creating a perfect blanket on the ground, so that when you left your house there was a sudden transition from a humble home to a glare of white. The clouds were still a little heavy, though, so there was only dim sunlight, but that was enough to make all the snow sparkle. On nearly all of the houses there was some kind of decoration, whether they were lights or clay statues, Santa hats or holiday wreaths.

You walked briskly, making no effort to stop. You turned a corner and continued walking, and you entered Arthur's street. More holiday lights and decorations passed you. you admired the decorations on the houses. You wondered what Arthur's house looked like! He didn't enjoy decorations and sparkly things all too much, but you hoped that that wouldn't hinder him from showing off an awesome house. Besides, it looked like all of his neighbors sported sparkly decorated houses, and Arthur had always been one who compared himself to others. You looked at all of the houses, whose residents had find aesthetic senses. How cleverly they each designed the looks of their houses!

"Agh!" your arms became rigid as you fell face-first into the snow. You got up grumpily and shook the annoyingly cold white powder from your arms and face. "You have to stop becoming lost in thought," you said to yourself, frustration creeping into your brain. You had become absent-minded and had tripped. Your face red, you marched on to Arthur's house with a stubborn kind of air.

You watched your surroundings and let them alert you that you were getting closer to Arthur's house, though you were careful not to trip this time.

You neared Arthur's house but suddenly noticed a house that was different from its neighbors, a house completely undecorated and lacking festivity, a house that stood in the shadows while the other houses glowed bright. You would've said to yourself, "So what? Maybe the residents don't celebrate Christmas," but you knew that the resident of this house celebrated Christmas. The gloomy house was Arthur's.

Now, you knew that just because someone celebrated Christmas didn't mean that they had to add a truckload of gaudy pizzazz to their house, but it was nice to have a bit of brightness. Arthur didn't have that much of an artistic sense, so he was always embarrassed when he looked at his house and saw the awkwardly tangled holiday lights, the off-center wreath, the misplaced clay reindeer, the awkwardly placed window decorations, etc., etc. that he always ranted to you about. You would laugh and say it was just fine, that it's the thought that counts, and, honestly, no one would really care, that everyone would see the festivity instead of the art, so it was alright. Arthur, however, couldn't take it, and would complain that he wasn't really into decorations anyway, that the festivity of the person wasn't represented by the look of their house. And he was right. But what he was wrong about was that he seemed to have dismissed art itself entirely. He was someone who quit something if he wasn't good at it. You wished you could raise his morale.

You looked at his house, thought about your own house, and then suddenly had an idea. You didn't even tell Arthur about it. You just walked home, thinking about how best to go about this situation.

You walked out of your house with the box of leftover decorations. Of course, there wasn't too much left in it, but it wasn't like Arthur would like a whole bunch anyway. You were so excited you ran all the way over to his house, following your previous footsteps that were imprinted into the snow, and reached Arthur's doorstep.

You rang the doorbell. Come on, Arthur!

The door swung open to reveal a blond man with painfully messy hair and even more painfully large eyebrows. He wore a simple dark green sweater, black pants, and black boots. At the sight of you he grinned. "Hi, _!" he greeted you with a crisp British accent.

"Hi, Arthur! Mind if I borrow your house for a bit?" you grinned, though noticing the uncomfortableness of what you said.

"What?" Arthur asked, confused. Then he looked at your box and went straight to conclusions. "Oh no. Why must you do this?"

"You should look more jolly!" you said in a teasing tone.

"I don't need to be 'jolly!' There's still a week before Christmas, so I've got time."

"Please, Arthur?"

"You're probably going to do this as a joke and make my house look terrible so I can get made fun of."

"Nope, Arthur, you're wrong. I'm going to help you."

"Help me with what?"

"Your artistic sense." You already grabbed a string of holiday lights. "Shoot, I forgot to bring a ladder. Mind if I borrow one?"

Arthur looked at you for a second. "Fine, I'll put it up myself. I don't want to see you get hurt." He blushed a little, realizing the awkwardness of that sentence. He grabbed a pair of dark blue gloves and pulled them on, then walked over to the garage and opened the door. He carried out a steel ladder and came back to you.

"If this looks horrible I'm going to sue you," he joked.

"Just get up there and I'll tell you how to do it," you laughed.

"Like this?"

"A little higher," you called.

"Here?"

"Lower than that."

"Does it have to be a perfectly straight line?"

"That's what you said you wanted."

"Fine, then. How about now?"

"No."

"Now?"

"No."

"Now?"

"No."

"Now?"

"No."

"Ughhh!" he groaned.

"Just a little higher!"

"Like this?"

"Yes."

"FINALLY!"

"It's getting cold," Arthur shivered slightly, his nose and cheeks touched by a bit of red.

"Aw come on, we haven't finished yet!" you gestured toward the rest of the decorations. An icily cold feeling did brush your nose and ears, but your excitement helped to hide that.

"Let's just go," he replied casually.

"Can't take the cold?" you joked, and with that, you bent down, scooped up a chunk of snow, and threw it at Arthur's face.

"Argh!" he jumped. Bullseye! "What was that?" Strengthening his pride, he took a handful of snow with one smooth swing of his arm.

"Oh no!" you cried, laughing, and turned and ran to the side of his house. Naturally, he chased after you, until you two ended up in his backyard. You suddenly felt something pulling at your collar, then shrieked as an icy chunk of snow got shoved into the back of your neck.

"Ha!" Arthur yelled, a victorious gleam in his eyes. You laughed and you two simultaneously started to shove snow into your arms. You watched Arthur warily from the corner of your eye, as did he. You stood up and watched him suspiciously. He did so too, so you two were eyeing each other like opposing soldiers before a battle.

And then you charged.

You slammed snow onto his head while he shoved snow into your face, so that anyone watching you would think that someone threw a snow bomb at your faces. Cold whiteness exploded, and neither of you could see a thing and heard nothing but each other's laughter.

"Yargh," you said, trying to brush cold snow out of your face, which melted into water every time you touched it.

"Hmph," Arthur shook his head around, trying to get snow out of his hair.

"Well that was fun," you laughed, when suddenly you sneezed violently and shivered.

"Bless you," Arthur said.

"Thanks," you replied, then, catching the worried look on Arthur's face, you said, "I'm fine, Arthur." But then another sneeze belied that.

"Bless you," Arthur said again. You barely had time to mutter a thanks before he said, "It's too cold, _. We're heading inside." He sounded very resolute. Grabbing your hand (which, though you didn't notice it at first, made him blush), he pulled you to the front door and fumbled for his keys, so hastily that he dropped them, groaned, picked them up, and swung open the door.

The foyer itself had a welcoming British look to it. You two took off your coats, and he his gloves, and then he dragged you into the living room.

"Here, sit." he gestured toward the carpet in front of the fireplace, while he himself got a fire burning.

"Thanks so much, Arthur," you said to him. "I'm really sorry for causing you trouble."

"Aw, it's no problem, _." he smiled. Then he walked over to the closet and took something out. "Here's a blanket if you need it." He handed you a fluffy blanket. "I'll get us some tea." He went into the kitchen.

You felt kind of awkward for having Arthur care for you like that, but...

OH MY GOSH THIS BLANKET IS SO FLUFFY! What is it made of, pure sheep fluff? It's like a little stuffed animal! IT'S SO FLUFFY! IT'S UNBELIEVABLY FLUFFY! LOOK AT ALL THAT FLUFF! You buried your head into the blanket, but the thick fur blocked your breathing.

You lifted your head to prevent yourself from suffocating and looked around the room. A couple of stockings hung on the fireplace, labeled with names like "Flying Mint Bunny" and "Mr. Unicorn." You laughed softly. It was cute how Arthur still believed in that stuff (though you could've sworn you've seen a green rabbit flying around Arthur's house from time to time). Sunlight gently poured in through the window to make the room appear brighter. A couch faced the television that was always tuned onto either a news channel or a cooking channel. Currently, though, it was turned off.

Contrary to his lack of attention to the outside of the house, Arthur had decorated quite a bit of the interior. A tall Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room, its branches supporting dozens of colorful ornaments. A string of simple, humble lights yet to be turned on bordered the ceiling. A simple holiday poster was hung above a side table that supported a bowl of peppermints.

"Alright," Arthur walked in, carrying two cups of tea. "Sorry for the wait. And do be careful, it's still a little hot."

"Thanks," you said to him, gingerly placing the cup in your lap, being careful not to spill anything onto the blanket. Arthur sat down next to you. You took a small sip of the tea. It was good - the perfect balance of bitter and sweet. Tea was one of the only things Arthur was good at making, but he was superior at it and loved to make it. You smiled at the thought.

"Like it?" Arthur smiled back at you.

"Yeah," you said. "How'd you do it?"

"My secret recipe," Arthur winked.

"Come on, tell me!" you urged. "Man, you really love knowing something I don't."

"Yeah, I guess," he said awkwardly and absentmindedly, as if he really did know something that you didn't.

"Hm?" you stared at him confusedly.

"Nothing," he looked away.

"Aw, come on, Iggy!" you insisted. He hated it when people called him Iggy, and you knew it. It was simply to get his attention.

"What?" he turned toward you now.

"Tell me what you were thinking about!" you insisted.

He only blushed slightly and muttered something inaudible.

"Huh?" you leaned in closer to him.

"Have some more tea," he said, and gently shoved your teacup between your lips.

"You grabbed the cup and removed it from your mouth. "Oh, I see. This entire time you've been meaning to tell me to have some more tea."

England sighed. "Sure."

"Come on, tell me!" you urged.

"You seem pretty warm now. Want to go finish the Christmas decorations?"

"Don't change the subject."

"It was simply a suggestion."

"A suggestion to get me distracted," you said. "Speak up. I'm your friend, so tell me what's up."

"Telling you might end our friendship."

Though his tone was gentle, Arthur's words were suddenly sharp and biting, like a small cat that suddenly drew out its claws. "H-How so?" you asked, a little scared of the reply.

He blushed red with embarrassment. "I-I like you, _," he said.

"Thanks," you replied, not fully understanding what was going on. "But tell me what you were going to say!"

"I did," he replied, blushing even harder. "You said that I love knowing something that you don't. I know you were kidding, but yes, I had a secret. I like you, and don't say 'thanks.' I mean I like you, not just as a friend."

It took a second for you to grasp what that meant.

"You-You..." Now it was your turn to blush as you tried to think of the best way to reply. "M-Me?"

"Sorry, that was awkward," Arthur placed his tea on the floor and stood up. "I don't know why that happened. Please, can we just forget this?" he started to walk away.

"Wait, Arthur!" you stood up, placing your tea on the floor also. "A-Are you really...did you..."

"Don't make me blush even more," he said stubbornly, though he got redder with each word.

"You-You really..."

"Yes. I wouldn't lie about something like this!"

"Are you sure you weren't lying when you said you wouldn't lie?"

"Now you've going to question my every word?"

"No, no, not at all!" you flustered.

"I'll debate with myself whether or not that was sarcastic."

"Arthur!"

"I was joking!"

"Was that a lie too?!"

"Don't mess with me right after I've messed with you!" Arthur groaned. Both of you were blushing with embarrassment.

"Why do you like me anyway?! Why me?!" you just realized that you'd been steadily raising your voice, and dropped it down back to normal. "Why me?"

"I-I'm not even sure I can explain it!" Arthur groaned. "I mean, you're a good person and all!"

"How long have you been liking me?"

"Since...I don't know...seventh grade?"

Your jaw dropped. "That long?!"

"Yes..."

"And I haven't been able to notice it?"

"No..."

"Geez, exactly how oblivious am I?"

"Not oblivious, just cheerful and happy," Arthur replied. "You look past deep emotions when you're having fun. Everyone does."

You looked back at your life, trying to detect signs of Arthur's affection. Hm...nothing much, but...oh!

"Eighth grade Valentine's Day!" you recalled. "I found a bunch of anonymously sent flowers on my desk!"

Arthur shrugged, but you saw right through it.

"That was you?!" you exclaimed. "Phew, I thought I had gotten myself some creepy stalker-lover or something!"

Arthur sighed. "It's okay, _. This is awkward. Can we forget about this and go on? I don't even remember how this started." He turned to leave. "Let's go back outside."

"Arthur!" you grabbed his shoulder. He turned around awkwardly. "I-I think I like you as a friend, but I have no idea if I like you more," you blabbered out, flustered. "I mean - I might, but I might not. No wait, does that make sense? I think I might like you more, but, I don't know! I don't know anything!" You were so confused and nervous, and you were pretty sure you were making it worse with every word.

But Arthur listened attentively. "Sorry, _. This is all my fault. I must look bloody stupid, eh? Ranting about all of this to you."

"No, no, you didn't rant! It's just...eh..." you tried to form words. "Maybe I was oblivious to my own emotions too?"

Arthur tilted his head into a confused pose. "How so?"

"I was oblivious to your emotions, maybe I was oblivious to mine too?" you wondered out loud. "Maybe...I liked you? I just didn't know it?"

Arthur hesitated for a second, then straightened his head and smiled to himself.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing." he couldn't help but chuckle.

"You're doing it again!" you groaned. "What are you trying to hide from me?"

"Nothing," he said. "It's just that you look cute when you're confused."

You blushed fiercely. "W-What?!"

"Let's go outside now," he replied. And, finally, you agreed.

"I'm so going to kill you for saying that," you said, pulling your boots on and reaching for your coat.

"I just wanted to make you blush," he chuckled haughtily and opened the door.

You two stepped outside back into the frosty air. The sun sparkled rather dimly to the west; it was near evening now. The snow in Arthur's front yard was flattened in some places by the footprints you two made earlier.

Suddenly you felt warm lips press onto your forehead. Arthur stepped back and looked at you with a victorious gleam in his eyes. "Ha! I stole a kiss form you!" He proceeded by running away.

Your face felt uncomfortably hot. "OH MY GOSH, I'M SO GOING TO KILL YOU FOR THAT!" you yelled at him. You shoved as much snow as a thousand buckets could carry into your arms and ran after him, both of you laughing the entire time.