"Seems like your theory of our apartment walls being thin was right."

I stifled a yawn into my sleeved hand as I stumbled into our apartment kitchen. I was only half-awake, my eyelashes still stuck together from sleep. My socked feet dragged my drowsy body across the kitchen tiles, and my bare legs had goosebumps all over them from having to adjust from the warmth of my bed to the cold air of the apartment. I hope Shiro's gotten used to my lack of pants around the apartment in the morning.

"Good morning to you, too, Shiro."

"Morning, Em."

Shiro had his back to me as he was fiddling with the knobs on our coffee machine. He already had our favourite mugs out on the kitchen bench, waiting to be filled with coffee. I walked over to the fridge and grabbed the almond milk.

"What's for breakfast?" I asked, pouring some of the milk into our mugs.

Beside me, Shiro gestured towards the stove with his left elbow. "Pancakes," he answered simply. My stomach silently grumbled as I looked over at the pan of pancake mix sizzling away on the stove. How long had it been since I last had pancakes, let alone with Shiro? I looked back up at him. He glanced at me, grinned gorgeously, then went back to fiddling with the coffee machine.

What a handsome man.

I noticed that he hadn't shaved in a while. The bottom half of his face was peppered in black stubble, but he's probably noticed, too. He's been off work for a week due to the Christmas holidays, so he hasn't exactly had a reason to shave—apart from me, but of course, I don't really get a say. Besides, I think he looks incredible, shaved or unshaven.

"Em, could you pass the coffee beans, please?" Shiro asked. "They're in the pantry, next to the spaghetti."

I put down the almond milk and slid over to our pantry in my fuzzy socks. I pulled open the white, wooden doors with a laborious grunt. The ends of it got stuck on a particular line of uneven kitchen tiles as per usual. Neither Shiro nor I have been bothered to fix it, but we probably should. I've retreated way too many times from midnight snacks just because I didn't have the strength to open the pantry door.

I looked at one of the middle pantry shelves. There were two huge jars of coffee beans, both labelled with different brand names.

"Mocona or Lavazza?" I asked upon seeing them.

"Which do you prefer?"

"Um…either one?"

"Mocona, then."

I rolled my eyes. Taking the jar of coffee beans into my hand, I handed it to Shiro. "If you had a preference, then you should have just said so."

"Chivalry is not dead," Shiro hummed simply before bursting into a chuckle.

Cute.

I found a pair of matching white plates and handed them to Shiro. The plates – both of their rims decorated with little watercolour flowers – made me smile. We bought them at last year's Boxing Day sale in some cheap homewares shop. They were five dollars for a pack of fifteen. At that point, we had just moved in together, so we split the bill halfway.

We did that with everything: take-out dinners, paint, batteries, Windex. If it was for the both of us, we both paid for it. Now, it's not like that. After having lived in this two-bedroom apartment together for almost a year, instead of making sure we paid for absolutely everything together, we pay for each other's things and trust that the other will pay them back eventually. Currently, I don't owe Shiro any money, and I don't think he owes me any, either.

I think.

The loud sound of the coffee machine finally beginning to whir away made me sigh contently. I stood next to Shiro and leaned backward against the kitchen bench, grabbing my mug and cupping it with my sleeve-clad hands.

"Do you know what time it is?" Shiro asked. Had it not been for his gentle tone, I wouldn't have bothered to push myself off the bench and look at the wall clock in our hallway. Upon seeing the clock, I crinkled my eyebrows together, stomping towards Shiro once I was done.

"It's eight thirty," I murmured. I narrowed my eyes at Shiro, who grinned at my misery. He gestured for my mug, and I shoved it at him. "Didn't you say you were setting the alarm for ten? Did you set it wrong?"

"No," he hummed. He stuck the mug under the little coffee machine.

"So then why are we up at eight thirty?" I demanded accusatorily. I didn't need to say, 'No wonder I'm so tired,' for Shiro to hear it. I shook away my temporary frustration. Shiro did, too.

"Because," he began, spinning around to face me, "Lance texted me after we spoke last night, and he wants us to meet them at a restaurant for lunch."

I cocked my head to the side. "Then wouldn't waking up at ten make more sense?"

"Not when Lance accidentally made a reservation for ten thirty instead of one thirty."

"Oh."

Shiro huffed, crossing his arms. "Typical Lance, really. He tried to see if he could change it, but apparently, he took the last booking."

"Lucky us, then?" It sounded more like a question than a grateful statement. "Quite the double-edged sword, but…" I shrugged. "Oh, well."

A few voiceless moments later, the coffee machine stopped leaking coffee into my mug. Whilst Shiro switched off the stove and slid the last pancake onto one of the plates, he told me to swap out my mug with his. Thankfully, nothing was spilled nor broken, and when Shiro's coffee was done, we set our breakfast down on our dining table.

The table itself was made out of wood and was also bought during the Boxing Day sale we got the plates. Over year Shiro and I have lived together, the table's been through multiple breakings, multiple beverage spillages, and multiple board game nights. Somehow, it's survived through its year of usage—somehow.

Shiro chose to sit in the black chair opposite to my teal one. It was probably his favourite; I know mine was. Funny—it seems that everything in our apartment was bought during last year's Boxing Day sale. But, honestly, who could blame us? At the time of us first moving in together, Shiro was twenty-four and I was twenty-two. I'd finished getting through university the year prior and was struggling to find somewhere of my own to stay. Shiro was at this point living with an old roommate from university—who turned out to be a girlfriend he soon broke up with. One way or another, Shiro's unfortunate living arrangement and my lack of one was brought up in conversation, and after that, everything escalated really quickly. A few days later – despite being during Christmas week – Shiro and I were sharing an apartment about ten minutes from his old one. Because I had little to no homewares with me and Shiro wanted his ex-girlfriend to keep the ones they had accumulated, we settled for buying everything from scratch. Since we weren't exactly the richest fresh-out-of-uni people, we decided that Boxing Day would be the perfect day to find everything we needed.

After all, who doesn't like saving money at the cost of being squished between hundreds of people in an extremely busy mall?

The plate of pancakes before me actually looked pretty decent. Sure, on the surface they looked a little…crispy, if their very, very dark brown colour said as much. But other than that? Perfection. I'd take this over toast and jam any day.

"Thanks for the pancakes, by the way." I covered my mouth with the back of my hand as I said this, for my mouth is stuffed with food. "You didn't need to do this."

Shiro chewed thoughtfully, looking at me after swallowing his food. "Yes, I did."

"No, you didn't," I said in the same teasing better-than-thou tone.

"Em, it's Christmas."

I shook my head, playfully pointing the end of my fork at him from across the table. "It's Christmas Eve. On Christmas Day, maybe, but pancakes the day before? Unheard of."

Shiro quirked his eyebrows and I died a little on the inside. "Well, if you don't want yours anymore…" He eyed the two large pancakes left on my plate.

I softly poked his legs with my socked feet from under the table. "I never said that. I'll take what I can get."

After a moment of silence, Shiro sliced the single pancake left on his plate in half. "So, I take it they taste good, then?"

I nodded rapidly.

He smiled lopsidedly. "Even though they're burned?"

"Even though they're burned," I repeated. "At least they're remotely fluffy."

"Remotely? The pancakes take offense to that."

"Since when do you take into consideration food's feelings?"

"Since just then."

The rest of our breakfast continued like this, save for the many pauses in which we allowed ourselves to sip away at our coffees and finish off the remotely fluffy pancakes. As expected, Shiro – the faster eater out of the both of us – finished way before me. However, because chivalry isn't dead (and because we didn't want to take two separate trips to the kitchen), he patiently waited for me to finish, too. When I was finally done eating, he gathered our plates and cutlery and I grabbed our mugs. Together, we tipped them into the sink and ran water over them.

"So," I huffed, "who's showering first?"

"Well, do you feel the particular need to wash away the rest of your grumpy morning self away right now?" Shiro asked.

"Alright, just 'cause you're a morning person, that doesn't mean you get to poke fun at me for…not being one." I poked his prosthetic arm's shoulder, and he carefully nudged my hip with his.

"I'm just a night owl that still manages to get the worm," Shiro corrected.

I rolled my eyes, softly whipping him with a nearby tea towel. I giggled, to which Shiro looked at me disapprovingly.

"Right. I'm going to go get rid of my morning grumpiness, then."

Shiro nodded as I walked away from the sink. "Go ahead. I'll wash up."

"And dry them, too?" I asked hopefully.

"Not a chance."

I skulked away with a faux pout plastered on my lips, making Shiro laugh. I walked past our dining table, through the hallway, and into my bedroom. It was only once my door was safely shut, I was leaning against it, and Shiro was definitely still in the kitchen that I slid down to the floor. Squeezing my eyes shut, I buried my hot face in my hands.

Something told me that this Christmas Eve was going to be a struggle to get through.

It didn't take me too long to finish showering. I wasn't too pedantic about anything since my uterus thankfully didn't decide to destroy itself and I shaved my legs yesterday. Within fifteen minutes of entering the bathroom I exited it, my short hair wrapped in a towel and the rest of my body in another. I passed by Shiro in the hallway, and he quickly nodded at me before dashing into the bathroom and locking the door. I did the same and rushed towards my bedroom in case I accidentally dropped my towel.

I slipped into my bedroom, getting straight to work on looking somewhat decent. I had already checked my phone, and the weather app told me that today's meant to reach seventeen degrees. But those seventeen degrees above freezing point don't even compare to my hometown, which was like living in a freezer for fourteen years of my life. Based on that, I picked out a black skirt that came up to my mid-thighs and a grey v-neck sweater that – naturally – was a couple sizes bigger than it needed to be. Underneath the sweater I wore a white, synthetic shirt with a lace collar—something I picked up from an op shop not long ago. Coupled with a pair of nude tights and black boots, I felt like if I were to take any pictures today, I would look pretty okay.

Then came the challenge of make-up.

Picking out clothing and outfits is something I'm adequate at; however, I'm rubbish when it comes to everything else. Instead of sitting in front of my vanity for a thousand hours, the only things I bothered to apply to my face were a thin layer of foundation, some blush, and lip balm—nothing too extravagant. Apparently, it's a shame that I don't know how to apply make-up properly, as I'm told that my small face shape would perfectly accommodate for 'so many different styles'. But honestly, I'm perfectly fine with being unable to do all of the fancy stuff. Where would I ever need to wear elaborate make-up, anyway?

"Em? Permission to enter?"

Shiro's voice called my name right after I plugged my hair dryer into a power outlet. I got an instant case of déjà vu, as he sounded identical to when he popped into my room last night. Recalling the little time we spoke for at the early hours of the morning made me smile, and Shiro has to call my name again to remind me to answer him.

"Ah, yeah. Granted."

I spun around on my wheelie chair to face Shiro, whom I could barely see due to there being little to no light in my room besides the one that came from my vanity. Honestly, I don't know why I didn't turn on my bedroom light as soon as I walked in; it must have just slipped my mind. Fortunately, Shiro turned it on for me. Instantly, I was blinded by how bright everything suddenly was. I also became cognisant of the fact that my bed wasn't made and my novel from last night was still on the floor.

"Just…ignore the bed," I immediately justified out of embarrassment.

Shiro shook his head and sat down on it. "It's been a year," he said, "and I've seen your room in a worse state than just an unmade bed."

I shrugged, turning back to face myself in the vanity mirror. In it, I could also see Shiro's reflection. He had a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans on and a black, woolly sweater that doubled as a jacket. It's amazing how the right clothes can make someone look breathtaking without them having even tried to.

"That's true." I switched on the hairdryer from the power outlet with my foot. "Did you need something?"

Shiro shook his head. We stared at each other in the mirror in silence. As if having sensed the heavy atmosphere surrounding us, Shiro held his prosthetic hand out expectantly, to which I dumbly stare at for a little while.

"Come on. I'll do it for you."

"W-What? My hair?" I held the hairdryer to my chest as if it were my own child. "No, there's no need to." I paused, then sighed. "You're trying to prove your whole 'chivalry is not dead' thing, aren't you?"

"Em, just let me be ro—just…it'll be faster this way."

Something about Shiro's gaze instantly dropping to the floor with his hand still extended made me feel bad. He was trying to be nice. Him doing this would save my arms from hurting, and it would take less time to do—which was important since our reservation wasn't too far off from now.

"Okay."

When Shiro looked back up at me, I felt like I was shot by a dozen arrows straight through my heart…in the best way possible.

I nearly dropped the hairdryer in Shiro's hand in my haste. Shiro – who looked like he was just happy for me to have obliged – told me to spin my chair around so that he could stand behind me.

"Hold still for me. And…tell me if I'm hurting you, okay?" he instructed. His voice was soft, as if speaking loudly whilst close to me would break me—which was coincidental because he was about to blast a hairdryer in my ears. I nodded, keeping my hands in my lap.

Shiro played with the seldom buttons on the pink hairdryer, and when he switched it on, surprisingly, the sound didn't tear my eardrums apart. He must have fiddled with the settings, for the air was a little less hot, too.

"Is this good? Not hurting you so far?" Shiro asked, bending down so he didn't have to yell. His hot breath slivered against my neck, sending a chill straight down my spine. I could only manage to shake my head and hope I didn't turn too red. If I did, I could blame it on the heat of the hairdryer.

With caution, Shiro's biological hand hovered above my scalp. When his hand made contact with my hair, my breath hitched ever so slightly. His fingers…they weren't as rough nor as calloused as the last time I felt them. However, they were still as warm as I remembered them to be, and tingles shot all across my body as he traced my scalp with the tips of them.

There was something relaxing about the action. I leaned back into Shiro's hand, letting him take care of my hair. My hair fell just past my shoulders and was cropped short at the back. It was nearly the same shade of black as Shiro's, except mine stopped just short of jet black in favour of a slightly lighter hue. I've never had my hair too long because it's a nuisance to take care of. I can't stand it even when it grows past my chest.

Shiro bent down again, this time to the left of me. "Do you have a comb?" he asked. My eyes wandered around the vanity, searching for the one I used yesterday. When I found it, I grabbed and handed it to Shiro.

He handled my hair much gentle than I had anticipated. It was almost as if he was scared that he was going to hurt me. His movements were almost ghostly in the sense that they were so light and extremely careful. In the mirror, I saw that he was concentrated and had his eyes fixated on my hair and the comb. Whenever he came across a knot in my hair, he pulled at it delicately, and with enough tugs, it came loose. The fact that he could multitask with the comb and hairdryer at the same time bewildered me, for that was way beyond my own capabilities.

When Shiro switched off the hairdryer, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. The warm air that was turning my hair into a mane suddenly disappeared, and I frowned.

Shiro told me to continue to stay still, and I did my best as he took the thin end of the comb and ran it down the middle of my scalp to part my hair. Another shiver travelled across my body, and this time I physically shuddered. Shiro chuckled. I didn't have the courage to keep looking at him in the mirror; instead, I looked down at my lap.

"Em, look up for me, please."

Well, there goes that.

Shiro played around with my hair for a while longer, making sure there weren't any bumps in it. An uncontrollable smile broke out onto my face and I couldn't do anything to hide it. When he finished, his fingers lingered on the ends of my hair for the tiniest beat longer than needed.

Though I could have sworn that—

Never mind. It's probably my imagination.

Shiro unplugged the hairdryer from the power outlet. My hands instantly gravitated towards my hair, and honestly, he did a better job than I could have ever imagined myself to.

"How…how did you…manage to get it this straight without a straightener?" I stammered in bewilderment. "I can't even do this…and I do this every day."

Shiro merely shrugged. "I've done my mum's hair plenty of times."

"Oh."

That's absolutely adorable.

Shiro cleared his throat and winded up the hairdryer cord, placing it on my vanity in an empty spot. "We…should get going."

I nod meekly. "Yeah."

Shiro headed out of my bedroom, but before he could disappear, I quickly called out and said, "Thank you! For the hair! My hair…fixing it…"

He turned around slowly, meeting me with a wide, charmingly lopsided grin. "Any time."

My heart exploded.

After haphazardly making my bed and picking up the novel I left on the ground, all that was left for me to do was make sure I had my phone, apartment key, and purse. I lumped them all in a black, undersized backpack I got last Christmas. It was uncomfortable to carry, but it complemented my monochrome outfit perfectly. I could live with that.

I turned off my light and shut my bedroom door, then headed down the hallway to meet up with Shiro. He was in the midst of popping on his shoes in front of the doorway as I stood behind him. I glanced up at the hallway clock; it was already a quarter past nine.

"Hey, Shiro," I began, "how long should it take for us to get to the restaurant?"

Shiro hummed in thought, standing upright. "Well, to get to the city, it usually takes half an hour, but because it's Christmas Eve…" He, too, looked at the clock. "Maybe fourty-five minutes?"

"Address?"

"Already sorted."

I nodded. I clasped my hands together and let them fall in front of my stomach. "Let's go, then."

I unlocked our apartment door (which Shiro was unsurprisingly nearly taller than) with my key. However, whilst turning the handle, Shiro's voice stopped me.

"Actually, Em, wait."

I turned around, only to see Shiro bashfully holding something out to me. I could only identify it as a 'something' because I couldn't take my eyes off of his face, which, unlike before, looks strained. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his head leaned towards the floor. His long, white fringe hovered over his charcoal eyes, but I could still see his extravagantly long eyelashes. His cheeks were dusted the slightest shade of pink that I'd expect from him after having been out in the cold for too long.

The thing is, he hasn't stepped outside once today.

"Here. It's…think of it as a Christmas present," Shiro said, stumbling over his words. His voice was softer than usual. He shifted his fringe out of his eyes so he could properly see. "Merry—merry Christmas, Emelia."

After a few unnecessary lingering beats, I forced myself to tear my gaze away from him—a relief for us both, I presumed. Looking down at the gift, I noticed that it had been carefully wrapped…to Shiro's standards. A smile broke out onto my face and I giggled, covering my mouth with my sleeve.

"Nice wrapping paper," I commented playfully as I took the gift. It was soft, almost like a pillow.

"It was all I had," Shiro laughs.

"'Happy birthday'?"

"I tried."

I shook my head, laughing and gripping the gift in my hands.

"Are…can—can I open it now?"

I was hesitant; I didn't want to ruin this. Shiro nodded, humming in approval. My hands slowly fingered the curly, green ribbon wrapped around the pink birthday wrapping paper. He actually put effort into this; I could see it in the number of times he had to peel the sticky tape off of the paper and do it again.

Suspense hung thickly in the air as I slowly tore away at the present. I looked up at Shiro, who was suddenly way closer to me that I remember him to have been. Who was it that took that step forward—me or him?

When I got my first glimpse of the gift's woollen fabric from underneath the wrapping paper, I instantly knew what it is. I jumped on the spot, quickly tearing away at the rest of the present.

"It's—it's a scarf!" I stuttered happily. The unseasonal wrapping paper was now long forgotten and in shreds on our wooden floor. "And it's in my favourite colour, too!" I added, acknowledging the scarf's pale teal pigmentation. "It's so soft, and it's so long, and—Shiro, did you knit this?"

A bajillion words come tumbling out of my mouth one after the other before I could realise I was babbling. I looked up at Shiro again. He'd probably been watching me stammer on like an annoying, broken record over a scarf. Even so, he was smiling goofily, and I can't help but giggle like a little child again.

Shiro shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, locking his elbows. He repeatedly shifted between looking at me and the floor, eventually settling on me. "No, I didn't knit it, but…my mum. She's taken up knitting, and she wanted to know if you wanted anything, and you don't have her phone number, so I told her that she could make you a Christmas present. I drove the wool over to her one day after work, which was why I was late that day—I-I'm sorry for that, again. But I thought that maybe, if she made something for you and I wrapped and delivered it to you, then…it could be a Christmas gift. From the Shirogane family…to you."

Shiro looked breathless as he finished his little spiel. All the while, I'd been gazing up at him, and whenever he made eye contact, I looked away. He'd taken his hands out of his pockets in favour of letting them hang stiffly by his sides. I still hadn't let go of the scarf; it was just so soft and smelled like pine trees…

Just like Shiro.

"I…I-I—I don't know what to say." It was a miracle that I was able to say anything at all at this point. "I…thank you, Shiro. To…to you and your mother. I know she's been through a lot, so this means…so much to me."

Shiro sighed lightly, smiling at me. "You're welcome."

He gently took the scarf from me and into his larger, stronger hands. Silently, he found its two ends and lets its middle droop down to the floor. He held it up to me.

"May I?"

I was at a loss for words. When some did come to my mind, however, I instantly regret saying them.

"I-I'm basically immune to the cold."

They came out as a slur, the words melting together when I quietly mumbled them. My heart was racing; that's exactly the kind of thing I didn't want to say—anything but that. I may be immune to the cold, but I've been given a scarf. What I said alluded to me not liking the present, or…

To my relief, Shiro didn't roll his eyes nor look dejected. Instead, he gave me a sombre look that makes my stomach flip inside-out. His whole face became softer – which I didn't even know was even possible – and he seemed a lot smaller in general.

"But…baby, it's cold outside."

At first, neither of us said anything. A few seconds later, Shiro's eyes went wide as if only now he'd realised what he said. His eyebrows comically upturned, and his lips started to quiver. He cutely covered his mouth with the back of his prosthetic and starts to laugh. I cupped my mouth and nose with my palms, locked in a frenzy of giggles.

"I—geez, Shiro—"

"I am so sorry—"

We both stopped short, cutting each other's sentences off. This made us laugh even harder to the point where my chest physically hurt. My laughter didn't even sound nice; it was just me silently doubling over, trying to breathe properly so I don't literally die from laughter.

When I opened my eyes again, I melted.

I'd caught Shiro wiping the corners of his eyes with the back of his normal hand, trying to get rid of the tears of laughter that had risen. His eyes crinkled at the edges, endearingly wrinkling to indicate pure joy. Even the bridge of his nose was scrunched up slightly, disfiguring the huge scar across it that was meant to disfigure him.

We both let out our final huffs of laughter, and I coughed a couple times. Even though we'd both died down, my smile was still dangerously uncontainable.

Shiro was the first to speak. "I…alright, that was…cheesy." He tilted his head to the side like a puppy would.

"You've got that right," I replied cheekily. "Why—why don't you start singing while you're at it?"

"H-Hey, you were humming it in the shower today!" He was quick to jump to his own defence.

"Don't try to turn this back on me." I impishly poked out my tongue, grinning with my teeth. Shiro was at a loss, and I internally congratulate myself for having won that one.

Shiro cleared his throat. His eyebrows were back at their normal height. He pulled the almost forgotten-about scarf up from the ground and held it like he was before.

"But…seriously, Em. It's cold outside, and I—"

"—don't want me getting sick," I finished off for him, rolling my eyes. I took a few steps forward, closing the gap that we fostered whilst doubling over laughing.

"Y-Yes, that's right. Of course, you don't have to wear it; it's just that today would be a perfect day to because it's cold, and the scarf is…warm…"

I sighed. He was doing the passive-aggressive thing again. He was trying to guilt trip me—and it was working.

"A-Alright."

No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't meet Shiro's eyes. Mine dropped to the floor. I clasped my hands in front of me, lacing my fingers together.

Carefully, Shiro draped the long, woollen scarf behind me, letting its middle touch the back of my neck. I looked up as soon as he did so. He paused, waiting for my permission to continue. I nodded sheepishly. He wrapped the right end of it around my neck once, then the same for the left. The tassels on the ends reached my hips—which doesn't say much since I'm incredibly short and can barely see over Shiro's shoulder. Shiro messed with the scarf again, gently pulling it down towards my stomach so that it wasn't too tight around my neck.

Suddenly, I don't think it was the scarf that was making me feel this warm.

"T-There you go," Shiro quietly said. His voice is so tender that it's almost a whisper. His hands are still on the scarf. "Warm?"

"Warm," I confirm just as quietly. Without thinking, I wrap my hands around his. Finally having mustered the courage to look up at him, I stared right at him, doing my best to not break this eye contact.

It was magical that the silence enveloping us didn't beg us to speak; instead, the silence itself did the talking. It said a million words, and for a moment, everything that I've been bottling up these past few years formed themselves into words that are finally, finally tangible and comprehensible.

I wonder if he could hear them.

After one last shaky breath, Shiro let go of my scarf—but I didn't let go of his hands. When he drops them by his side, mine followed his. It's only a few more moments that I let my touch linger upon his. I wish those moments could last forever.

"We…should go," he said breathlessly.

I nodded.

"Y-Yeah. We—we should."

Author's Note: Ahhhh this chapter was so cute and fun to write! This chapter actually wasn't meant to exist; it just got too long to be in one chapter, so I had to split this chapter in half, hahaha! I squee every time I read the cutesy moments in this chapter. See you in the next update! 'Till then.