That night, drooped from the events of the day, I change my pajamas quickly after brushing my teeth and I crawl into bed. The sheets feel tight and the air spoiled. Even with the central heating on, the whole condo feels freezing. Somehow.

Even though it is the warmest December I have ever experienced. Well, not accurate. I lived in Australia. Correction: it is the warmest December I've experienced in this hemisphere. Warmer than London's winter, which was mild despite what every British person insisted.

I'm too tired to think about traveling, or Christmases alone without my siblings. This must be better. I've decided it. This hot holiday where I steam and sweat in my condo

Estelle insisted on putting all the food away herself. I think she was shocked I hugged her as tightly as I did and whispered thank you in her ear. She wasn't alone though. When I came out of the bathroom, I heard Bastien's voice in the kitchen. Speaking hushed in French, and he was eating from a plate. I could see the steam rising from the food. Estelle seemed happy. Though I wanted to interrupt, I didn't. All the exhaustion slammed into me before I hit the mattress.

The door opens, light slipping into the room, thin and sharp like a sliver. I turn my head to look back as Spencer slides in the room. He shuts the door softly behind him. A wince already on his face, I know I must look as exhausted as I feel.

The bed is big enough for both of us, even though he is so tall. His feet might hang off the edge, but I don't give myself the time to worry about it. Instead, I squeeze over toward the wall so that Spencer can climb onto the bed. I'd rather be the one on the outside, but it feels rude to get up and force him against the wall. He lifts the sheets, climbing in. I'm still on top of them, not even having thought to move the quilt before collapsing on the bed.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks.

I turn my head to look at him, chest against the bed still. He brushes hair out of my face, lying on his side to look at me. My face is smushed against the pillow beneath me, so it is hard to smile.

"Yes," I tell him. "Now that everyone else has quieted down, I'm okay too."

Spencer leans forward. He leans close, planting a kiss on my cheekbone, the spot on my face which mirrors where Bastien punched him.

"You seem a little stressed, I guess," he mumbles the words against my skin. "I just wanted to check in and make sure. The whole night was a lot to deal with, I'm sure."

He lies back down next to me. The mattress groans under his weight. It's just as unfamiliar with sharing space as I am. Only after a minute passes do I turn as well, daring the mattress's strength. I lie on my back and close my eyes, ignoring the feeling of Spencer looking at me. His hand takes mine, skin so deeply cold. He was warmer on new Year's Eve, with the balcony's metal pressed on our forearms and his shadow blocking the blue light from JJ's party. It's warmer today. Neither of us move, but the mattress groans again.

He falls asleep before I do. The change in his breathing is the first thing I notice. It hadn't seemed off when he was awake, but now it is thicker, heavier, and I wonder if he had been holding it in before, pocketing air in his thin cheeks. At this time of night, still awake, I might attempt to go to the kitchen, or stand on my own balcony. Pretending to sleep only leaves me more restless and exhausted, stressing that I must sleep or all the things I want to accomplish tomorrow will be failed. Trying is futile.

Sleep must come for me though, because I wake. Startled, awake, without Spencer's hand in mine and lying on my side. My bedroom door shuts softly. I screw my eyes shut tighter, blocking out the thin stream of light which enters. I must have woke when the mattress groaned as he slipped out. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I can catch a few extra minutes of sleep.

Something knocks in the room. I turn my head, about to role over, when I feel the springs in the mattress shift. No sound accompanies this.

"Morning," Spencer whispers. His hand finds my shoulder in the dark. His body presses against my back, so much warmer than last night. "Are you still trying to sleep?"

I nod my head, aware that his body shifts too, "I'm tired."

"I made coffee," he says. "I can't stay long. I put cinnamon rolls in the oven and Estelle is still sleeping so I've got to keep an eye on them."

Now, I blink my eyes open. I roll over onto my other side so I can look at Spencer's face. Sleep is still stuck in the corners of his eyes, wet and gleaming even without light in my room. The bruise on his cheek is fresh and purple and honestly not as bad as it could have been.

"Estelle is going to kill you for using her oven."

Spencer furrows his brow, and then smiles, "she showed me how yesterday. Estelle said she wanted to sleep in. I offered to start breakfast."

As insightful as he is, I don't think he knows what she has given him. I lean forward, kissing him. He tastes like coffee, hazelnut and sweet. When he goes in for a second kiss, I pull back.

"Breakfast."

"Right."

He gets up off the bed. It feels colder now, and I shrug the sheets up over my shoulders. Spencer gets to the doorway, hand on the doorknob, and then turns back to look at me.

"Did... did something happen when you were younger?"

I sit upright, and when the mattress creaks, I'm sure just having him here has broken it irrevocably. I'm going to need to get the whole thing replaced.

"Sorry?"

"Just..." Spencer looks back at me. "It was something your brother said. Bastien."

I swallow. Curling my knees up into my chest and he lets go of the door handle, stepping closer to me. My mouth opens and he stops, firm in place.

"It's..."

It's something that happened, something Estelle thinks I should tell Spencer, something my therapist has mentioned as well. Something that defines every second of the next ten years of my life, something that echoes even still, fourteen years on. Something that might still be happening, if the letters I have shredded and chucked away are related, unlike what Luc Levesque thinks.

It's also Christmas morning.

"I told you, about Karine," I explain, swallowing.

He steps closer, sitting on the edge of the end of the bed. Ready to listen to more of the fake story about my murdered best friend.

"After I found her... well, he was still in the basement," I explain. "She was missing, and Stéphane had thought... well, he wanted to get as many people together looking. I just had a bad feeling on his porch. I asked to use the bathroom, and that's where I found her. He... well Stéphane got to me before any major damage was done. Stéphane was hurt too, subduing him. I had to be hospitalized, more for the mental breakdown than anything. Bastien is too little to really remember what it was like, but he clearly is misplacing the blame on Stéphane."

Spencer reaches forward. I pass him my hand. He holds it, tightly. My knees are starting to ache from forcing them so close to me.

"From what I can see, your brother isn't doing it to be cruel," Spencer points out. "I think your brother is deeply terrified. If he admits that what happened... well that Stéphane was doing everything he could, then I think he has to admit that no matter how strong he gets or how smart he is, bad things can still happen. That's too scary."

I nod my head.

"Thank you," I whisper. I squeeze his hand tightly, "now go get the buns out of the oven."

"Right."

This time, he actually leaves the room. I don't bother trying to go back to sleep. Instead, I force myself into appropriate clothes for Christmas morning. Purchasing separate pajamas to wear for photographs I think was my best decision this month. There's no drool, wrinkles, or sweat lingering on the new pajamas. The white and blue stripes are vertical, so at least it looks less like a prison jumpsuit than it could.

I sit on the bed. I need to brush my teeth and get started. Steam still is rising from my coffee, and it won't for much longer so I take a sip.

There's no added sugar, no cream. The coffee is black. With a sugary breakfast, it's appropriate for Christmas morning.

~~~~~

Okay, this is sort of proof-read. Lol, even hyphenated this time. My heart shatters for their softness.