* * *

He let out a deafeningly high-pitched screech. "Oh my God!" Jason exclaimed, a toothy smile stretching across his face as he tore off the wrapping paper. "Mrs. S, you didn't!"

Dylan groaned, his face twisting in repulsion. "Please tell me you didn't."

My mother smiled, stifling a laugh, "I did." She eagerly leaned forward in her seat, excited by Jason's reaction and not at all put off by Dylan's.

Christmas has always been one of my favorite holidays because it's always been so full of traditions and sweet memories. Gathering at my house on Christmas morning to exchange gifts had been one of the long-celebrated traditions. Eventually, my mother joined in, and would get each of my friends a little gift as well.

Jason let out another excited squeal as he stood up, holding the footie pajamas up against his body, waving them around for everyone to see. I suppressed a grin as, upon further inspection, it appeared that the red and green footie pajamas were also decorated with Dylan's face.

"I love it!" Jason screeched again. He bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting for Dylan to fully unwrap his present. His smile grew even larger when Dylan held up, pinched between two fingers with repulsion, his matching footie pajamas, with Jason's face plastered all over.

Jason clapped his hands together, "I'm putting mine on right now. Dylan, put yours on!"

He ran out of the room, almost knocking off some of the ornaments on the tree in his hurry to get to the bathroom. Dylan remained motionless on the floor, surrounded by discarded wrapping paper, a scowl twisting over his features.

"You need to stop encouraging him," Dylan said finally to my mom, a grave look in his eyes.

"Oh, just put it on, Mr. Scrooge," She said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. "It'll make his day."

"Yeah, Dylan," Carson smirked. "Go put on your matching jim-jams."

I nodded my head, "Do it in the spirit of the Christmas season."

Dylan groaned, rolling his eyes and glaring at the pajamas with disdain, before eventually pulling himself up from the floor. "One hour," He said curtly, giving in, and trudging down the hall after Jason.

I looked down at Carson; he had been mostly quiet all morning and this had been the first he spoke other than the occasional 'thank you' or 'Merry Christmas to you, too' when necessary. He had been sitting stiff in his chair for the entire exchange of presents, barely even acknowledging me as I came to sit on the arm of his chair. He kept glancing at his phone, holding it outward and constantly flipping it to see the screen before quickly flipping it back over to the back side.

"Hey," I whispered, placing a hand on his back, gently rubbing between his shoulders. His head snapped in my direction like I had interrupted his cycle. "Are you alright?"

He glanced down at his phoned before nodding, then, he leaned up to kiss me, before giving me a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, I'm fine." Clearly not wanting to talk anymore, he turned away, shrugging my hand off of him and concentrated in on Luna unwrapping her last present. I placed a hand in his hair, gently pulling him into me, and kissed the top of his head.

When Dylan and Jason came back in the room, both dressed in their footies, everyone's attention fell to them as my mother insisted taking their picture in front of the Christmas tree. Without anyone watching him, Carson slipped from his seat and disappeared down the hall. I waited a moment before following after him.

He had unintentionally left the front door open just an inch, making it really easy to locate him. I pushed it the rest of the way, finding him sitting on the top step, his right leg bouncing up and down.

"You're going to catch a cold," I said, shuddering at the temperature drop as I joined him on the snow-covered stairs. He said nothing, keeping his steady gaze on the street, absently watching the snowfall. His phone was still in his right hand, resting on his leg.

"Am I a bad person?" He asked, refusing to look at me.

I didn't answer right away, a little stunned at how blunt his question was. I could tell something had been bothering him since we woke up earlier this morning, but I hadn't expected it to be something too serious.

There was only one person I could think of that caused Carson to be fully absorbed in watching his phone. "No, Carson, you're not a bad person."

"I feel like a bad person."

"Responding to something with your emotions doesn't make you a bad person. It just means you've been hurt. You're not a bad person."

"I feel like a bad person."

I took the phone from his hand, finally gaining his full attention. I took his hand in mine, gently intertwining our fingers together. I unlocked his phone, taking a quick second to appreciate the stupid photo of me he had as his lock screen, and opening up the Phone app before handing it back to him.

"You should call her, Carson."

"But-"

"You're obviously waiting for someone to tell you what to do. This is it. This is what you should do."

He shook his head. "Why didn't she call me?"

"I don't know, love. I can't answer that for her. Maybe she just didn't want to pressure you into talking to her."

"And you think I should call her?"

"Carson-"

"What if I'm still mad at her? What if I can't forgive her?"

"Are you still mad at her?"

"I don't know. Tell me what to do, Maddie."

I sighed, placing a kiss on his cheek, "It's Christmas. No one deserves to spend Christmas alone. You have the rest of your life to decide if you'll forgive her, but choose today to be the start."

He took his phone reluctantly, punching in the numbers with hesitation before bringing the phone to his ear. "I love you, you know?" He said, while waiting for her to pick up.

I smiled, standing from my spot. "I know. Don't stay out here too long."

I turned back to go inside, hanging at the door to watch him just for a moment, only long enough to hear him say, "Hi, mom" into the phone, before slipping back inside.

* * *

The rest of the day had passed mostly seamlessly. Everyone had cleared out by noon, urged to go home for their own family dinners. Carson ended up inviting his mother to dinner with us, and it was actually pretty nice– mostly silent, but still nice.

After dinner, Carson had made a valiant effort to actually talk with his mother. He seemed to have loosened up, and had spent almost an hour sitting with her in the living room, talking quietly between themselves.

She left soon after it had gotten dark out; Carson had urged her to get home because the snow was still coming down pretty heavily. I was curious to hear from him how talking to his mother went, but we hadn't managed to get very far before my mother called us back.

"Alright, before you two go off and do whatever it is you to do," My mother started, a suggestive eyebrow raised, "There's a small matter we have to address.

Carson and I shared a look, trying to recount things we had done recently that may have been scrupulous and/or punishable.

"There's one more present that needs to be opened," My father said, picking up a long, thin box from under the tree. It was wrapped in shiny green paper with a red bow on top, and must have been pushed to the far backside of the tree because I hadn't noticed it until now.

My father smiled as he handed the box to Carson, and my mother beamed beside him. He took it hesitantly, a confused look on his face.

"We wanted to wait until everyone else had left to give it to you," My mother explained. Carson still held the box in one hand, eyes moving between my mother and father, waiting for more of explanation or forewarning.

"Well, go on!" She urged. "Open it."

He began slowly peeling off the wrapping paper, gently unraveling the slim box. He pulled off the lid, revealing a velvet red stocking with a decorative golden trim, and, just below it, woven into the fabric with golden letters, the name 'Carson.'

It caught me by surprise, and I held back a gasp; I had no idea that they had this planned. I looked up at Carson, to see what his reaction to the gift was, eagerly waiting for him to say something. Hs brows were knitted together and his lips were parted, as if he was on the verge of saying something.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "Mrs. Spencer-"

"You're part of the family now, Carson," She cut him off. "You have been for a while."

I watched, half in shock, as Carson stepped forward and embraced my mother in a hug, catching her off-guard. He pulled away and thanked her before moving on to my father, shaking his hand and thanking him as well.

"Come on," My mother said, indiscreetly using her sleeve to wipe the corner of her eye. "Let's go hang it with the others."

I watched from the afar as her and Carson moved over to the fireplace, and hung the stocking beside mine, made of the same red, velvet material with the same decorative, golden trim.

We stayed downstairs with my parents for a bit longer, much to my mother's delight, who could not stop beaming at Carson because of how much he appreciated the stocking. An hour or so later, we had dismissed ourselves, yawning our way to the stairs.

"Did you have a good Christmas?" He asked as we walked down the hall.

"Yeah. You?"

He nodded, "I spent it with you, didn't I?"

I cringed, "Ew, don't be gross."

"You could just take the flattery, just once."

"Yes, but then you'd be led to believe I actually like you."

He hummed his agreement, "Very true. We can't let that happen."

"Carson, look." I pointed up, above us to the ceiling, where some decorative mistletoe had been strung up. He glanced up, lips pressed in a straight line, and assessed the ceiling, before looking back down at me skeptically.

"Madeline, I sincerely hope that you're not suggesting I kiss you under a bundle of dead leaves taped to the ceiling."

"Carson, it's Christmas. You have to."

"What I have to do is find a girlfriend that is less annoying." I slapped his arm. "Ow! And not as aggressive."

"Just fucking kiss me."

"Now, that's just the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me. Could you say it again so I can write it in my diary?"

"I actually cannot explain how much I want to punch your face right now."

He laughed at me, mockingly, "Babe, please. Your head is barely level with my shoulders, you can't even reach my face."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed him around the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to kiss me. I felt his lips curl up into a smirk, and his hand came up to the side of my face.

He pulled away slowly, holding my face in his hand. "Merry Christmas, my love."

"Merry Christmas, asshole."

* * *

I watched the snow fall from the warmth of the bed, wrapped up under the blankets and sitting between Carson's legs, leaning against his chest. He had one arm lazily wrapped around my stomach and the other stretched out to my right, holding a book open in his hand.

With a heavy sigh, he closed his book and tossed it onto the nightstand.

"You alright, love?" I asked, placing my hand over his, loosely clinging to my hip.

He pulled off his glasses, gently placing them down on top of his book. "We need to talk."

"Oh." My voice came out more raspy than I expected. "Talk as in...?"

"No, not that type of talk, idiot. I'm not breaking up with you."

"There's no need to call me an idiot."

"I kissed you under dead fucking leaves. Why would I break up with you now?"

"Oh fuck off, you asshole."

He let out a light-hearted chuckle, "Alright, really though, I need to talk with you."

"Is it serious?"

I felt his shoulders move up in a shrugging motion, "I suppose."

"Okay. Whenever you're ready."

"I want to move back in with my mother."

I took in what he said, staying silent for a moment to contemplate the information. The selfish part of me considered telling him to stay because I had grown accustomed to him always being around and wasn't sure I wanted to know what it was like for him to not always be around. But the larger part of me, the good person inside me, knew it couldn't be about me because it's what's best for him.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Well, if it's what you want, and you think you'll be happy, I'm not going to say no."

"Yeah, but, I don't know. I was expecting you to have something to say."

"You're eighteen, Carson, and I'm not your keeper. If you want to move back in with your mother, then I think it's a good decision. If you're doing it simply because it's what she wants, then I'd say maybe reconsider."

He didn't respond at first, seemingly off-put by my answer. I pulled myself away from his chest, and rolled over to sit beside him so I could see his face. His lips were tightened in a straight line and his brows knitted together, signs that he was overthinking something.

I reached for his face, gently carding my hands through his hair. "You don't have to make this sort of decision right now, babe. I don't mean to dissuade you or anything, but just this morning, you weren't sure you even wanted to see her."

"It's never going to be easier to make this decision, Maddie. Part of me is always going to think what she did is unforgivable until I give her a chance to make up for it."

"So, then, go home, Carson."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Moving back in with my mother means leaving you. I don't want to do that."

The flame of selfishness reignited, and I bit my tongue to keep from letting it all out. And beyond this selfish feeling of not wanting Carson to leave, there was an even more greedy notion that I didn't want Carson to ever leave. It was a hungry, insatiable necessity for Carson to stay with me– forever.

This was frustrating and soothing all at the same time. It subdued me; maybe I could deal with Carson moving back with his mother for now, because I was pretty sure I would be spending forever with him.

I brought his face into my hands, catching him of guard as I pulled him in closer. I smiled at the way his eyelashes loomed over his bright green eyes, and the shine of the lamplight reflecting off of his cheekbone, and the way his lips always looked so perfect and kissable. So kissable that I had to kiss him.

"It's alright, Carson," I assured. "Go back home."

Home– it's a funny word. I think I had found mine.