Day 23:

Your meeting with Afua is late, but brief, and you walk over to your room to paint in the last, fading moments of the day. You briefly consider painting on the top raft, to take in the sunset more fully, but remember how cold it was last night. December is finally starting to feel its age, crystallizing into frosty gales that skip across the surface of the choppy waves.

The bobbing of the raft would have ruined the detailing of the painting, anyway.

You trace the Eiffel tower against the sky, carefully, carefully; the spire of steel traces into your palms. You will stand there, you think, and paint it for real some day, when the light and shadow detailing on the spire won't be from pictures, but from the actual, moving light of Paris's electric dusk.

You dip your paintbrush into the water, swirling it and cleaning the tip with a paper towel. Your mouth stretches into a yawn, the calm, Christmas piano music coupled with the warmth of the Bubble lulling you into a kind of peace.

You hum along to the piano yourself as you shade in the majestic base of the tower, thinking of the days to come. You'll be spending Christmas here on the Bubble, by yourself. The thought  strikes you, and you shiver, pulling your brush back so not to disturb the painting.

You don't typically spend holidays with your mother, but you will miss the academy Christmas- the feast in the main hall, the decorations and wrapped doors that bedeck the dormitory, and the others who stay during break Christmas-caroling down the hallways. There would be quiet dorm Christmas parties and loud movie nights, with lots of treats like popcorn balls and all kinds of cookies.

The silence of the Bubble seems louder.

You clean your brush and set it down.

Dinner is simple tonight: leftovers, pho.

"Dinner," you announce, lowering one of the bowls you brought down onto the monster's tray and glancing up at the bare walls.

You sit down next to him, lowering yourself down to the ground.

He glances at you. "You're sitting next to me," he says, eyes running along the glass between you. "Aren't you scared I'll monster out or hurt you or something?"

You set your pho down into your lap. "Honestly? Yeah."

He scoffs, pulling off his jacket. "Well, at least you're honest, warden."

You lift the bowl, taking a sip of the flavorful broth. The taste of rich spices- cinnamon, anise, ginger- swirls around your mouth. You smile against the warm bowl.

"I had an idea," the monster says, eyes flickering from your face to your hands.

"Yeah?" you ask, glancing over.

"I think... I think we should call a Christmas truce," he says, smoothing down his jacket and lifting his head to meet your eyes. "You know. Act like friends for Christmas."

You point your spoon at him. "Right, so I get lulled into trusting you, and then you can manipulate me and escape."

He scoffs, throwing up his hands. "Y/N, it's for Christmas."

"Yes, and this is my reputation," you say, pointing to the door. "Afua would-"

He squints, then looks forward. "You're alone here. Afua isn't celebrating Christmas alone."

"You're right," you say sarcastically. "He's off making appearances at USOAT formal Christmas parties. So much more fun. But you wouldn't understand that."

The monster lets out a sigh, rubbing his forehead with a palm. "Look. Let's act like friends, and the day after Christmas, you can go back to treating me like the Hyde that killed your father."

You flinch at that. "You didn't kill my father."

He raises his eyebrows. "I know that."

You roll your eyes and lean forward on your elbows. "You know what? Fine. What do friends in Jericho do at Christmas?"

He leans forward, turning his face. "Well, they talk together, and they laugh a lot. There's a lot of singing. They... they do things together, I guess."

You suck a breath in behind your teeth. "Sounds difficult."

But deep down inside, you can't help but admit that you like the monster's idea, not that you'd ever tell him that. Even Christmas with a monster is better than Christmas alone. And you don't have to trust him- you'll know he's faking the whole time, and after Christmas, you can go back...

"Okay," you say, sitting back. "Fine. Talking it is."

It feels weird to be thinking about him like a human. What do you ask a monster about Christmas? But he isn't fully a monster. He has a family back home. He has Sheriff Galpin. And he wasn't always a Hyde, either.

"What did you do for Christmas back home?" You say, sighing and leaning back.

He pulls his bowl of soup from the rack and takes a long sip. "Before or after my mother?"

You make a board gesture with your hands. "Both," you say. "I'm feeling sentimental."

"With Mom, we'd open gifts," he says, some kind of light returning to his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling. "She'd make her special Christmas danish- a "smooch", she called it- and we'd all run around the local park on the scavenger hunts Dad would set up for us. He'd be out all night Christmas Eve, and they always had a theme. Like, one year, we were pirates, or another, we had to escape the wild west, but at the end, there would always be this big treasure chest, an oak one that Dad kept in the basement, with the biggest gift of all in it."

"And what was that?"

"It was different every year," Tyler says, and a smile appears on his face for the first time since you met him. "One year, I got a whole sack of chocolate coins, all to myself. Another year, it was a laptop for my school. We'd all cheer together when we found it, then go home to Mom's smooch fresh out of the oven and open the rest of the gifts."

You cross your arms over your legs. "That sounds awesome."

"After Mom died, I... um, I never wanted to go out to the park anymore," he says, swallowing, holding his legs to his chest. "I didn't really want to go anywhere, outside of work. And then... you know. My Hyde got activated."

The pain in his voice is soft, but you scoot closer to the glass. "Did it hurt?"

"More than you know." He sighs, examining his hand as if a chocolate coin will pop into it, then leans his head back against the wall. "Guess I won't be having too many more Christmases back home."

The words hang in the air, and you wish there was something you could say, but all you can do is look at him, sitting back against the wall of the prison he'll be in for the rest of his life.

"I'm sorry," you say, glancing over. "I know it's kind of empty, but I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, turning to look at you with those striking green eyes. "How about you?"

"I stayed at the Academy," you say, rubbing at your nose. "Mom was home, but it was... it was better with me out of the way, I think. The dining hall always threw a feast, with the softest dinner rolls you can imagine, and huge tubs of butter to spread on them. They made spice cake for the Christmas feast. Those of us who stayed would run around the school like we owned the place."

You find a smile on your face at the memory, and when you turn to the monster, you notice with a jolt of electricity that he's smiling, too. "New Years was always a blast," you continue, gesturing with your arms, energy flooding into your voice. "There's always a big party with a disco ball- one year, my friend Keary tried to jump off a stool and knock it down, but she fell on her face and broke her arm. All she could say was 'I've been disco-d.' It was so dumb, and it was all anyone could talk about for weeks, and we all still reference it, anytime anyone falls."

You grin, setting your bowl down. "And then after the party, it was always so late, and we'd have this giant sleepover. We'd play Auld Lang Syne on a piano and fall asleep in a big pile."

"A big pile," Tyler echoes, shaking his head. "The Academy sounds like having siblings."

You shrug. "I've been there since middle school," you say. "Every season except summer, that's where I'd be. We were basically a family by the end of it." Your smile drops, and you turn your head to look at the ground. "I miss them."

"You don't call them?"

"Not allowed to on assignment, and mine lasts all year."

"Oh," is all he says. He rests his head against the glass wall. "I guess it's just you and me, then, Warden. Merry early Christmas."

You lean your head against his. "I'm glad we're not alone," you say, staring straight ahead, and you're surprised to realize that you mean it. "Merry early Christmas."

Day 24:

Christmas Eve is blissfully free from the meetings, allowing you to bask in the lights you've strewn around the Bubble. There aren't  any Christmas lights in the storage, but if you turn on all the lamps and turn off the overhead light, it gives the place a cozy atmosphere. The Christmas music you have pumping through the speakers helps, too.

"Here," you say, jogging down the stairs and planting a lamp firmly in the basement. You run back up and flick off the light, leaving the room in a honey-colored warmth. "How does that feel, Hy- I mean... Tyler?"

Tyler flicks his light on as well, and the room blossoms into soft, golden light.

You yawn, stretching as you walk down the stairs. Tyler's eyes run down your body, and you hide a blush. You don't typically walk around in your pajamas.

"Christmas pajamas," you explain, smoothing them down. "Red plaid."

He nods, but the tips of his mouth quirk up, and you can tell he's repressing a laugh. "They're... cute," he says, nodding seriously. "Very befitting for a powerful USOAT agent guarding a Hyde."

"Geez," you huff, sitting down next to the glass. You plunk the food you brought for him onto the tray and flick the switch to send it over. "I didn't know agreeing to your truce meant getting bullied about my pajamas."

You crack open the dish you brought for your food, and stab at the salad with a fork. You hear the sounds of your chewing.

Is he going to say something?

But the room remains uncomfortably silent, except for the sounds of the two of you eating, occasionally glancing around the room. I guess truces don't automatically make you friends, even if the whole point is to act like you are.

You finish your salad, the last taste of vinaigrette lingering in your mouth.

"Alright, enough of this," you say, abruptly getting up. "Goodnight."

"Wait," he says, lifting a hand. "How'd we meet?"

You turn around, frowning at him. "You jumped at me. When Afua brought me down to meet you."

The monster lifts his eyes to the ceiling, nodding. "Okay. Okay, but like... if we met under different circumstances. How did we meet as friends?"

You shrug, tucking your hands into your pajama pockets. "I walked into your coffee shop. Ordered something vegan, no caffeine, something that gives the illusion of health."

He laughs, eyebrows furrowing. "Pretty sure something like that doesn't exist."

"But you found something for me anyway," you say, turning to the stairwell and grabbing the banister. You swing over to look back at him.  "And that's how we met."

"Goodnight," you call, sprinting up the stairs before he can call you back down. You pull yourself back into the main room, breathlessly tossing over your shoulder, "The sky was purple again!"

Day 25:

You wake to a Christmas surrounded by white, your finished Paris painting finally dry on the easel. You skip out of bed and hurry over to it, grabbing the edges of the canvas and holding it back at arm's length as you scurry out into the main room.

The Eiffel tower is gorgeous, all shining steel with gold accents from the setting sun above it. The grass below it- you couldn't remember if it was grass or a garden or just a mall- is twined into delicate flowers, each with more detail than the next, in sunset reds and pinks and burning oranges that complement the energy of the piece. And there, in front of the dazzling scene, you painted yourself, poised with an easel.

The TV clicks on behind you, and you freeze, the painting in your hands.

Oh, no.

This episode was long and got absolutely insane, (almost 3600 words??) so I decided to release it in two parts! Second part coming as soon as I finish it!