"Hey, Angche, you okay?"

"I'm fine!" The words come out of my mouth faster than I'd like then too, but I'm panicking.

Christmas, my favorite holiday. Where I learn Nick's being abused, Ace is suicidal, Samuel is mentally unstable, Nat's a combination of all of the above, and my parents are getting divorced. Lovely, isn't it?

Especially because Nick's right there, a few feet away from where I'm sitting on a bench next to the window with mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. I'm supposed to be watching the lights outside on all the houses, but honestly, with Nick right there, I can't. I can't even take my eyes off him.

I need to stop thinking like this. He won't like me, he never will, because I'm genderfluid and he's straighter than straight.

Before I can say anything, he sits down next to me, legs folded and his hands in his lap. I'm still in the fetal position, looking from out the window to him.

"No, you're not." He sighs, sitting on his knees and cups my face with his hands. I'm surprised they aren't freezing cold or extremely sweaty. "What's wrong?"

I blush. "Nothing." I breathe, a hand subconsciously grabbing his wrist. "It's nothing."

Please don't look up, please don't look up...

"No, Angche, come on. Talk to me."

"Nick, I said I'm fine okay?"

At moments like this, where he's so close to me, I find it hard to breathe. Nickolas, the cold-hearted, closed-off, problem child, and "not so great" drummer is like the gentlest angel in the world to me. Never once raised his voice at me, never once called me an asshole, never once punched my arm. He's always just an angel to me, and it seems like only me.

And it's got me falling deeper in love every time I look at him.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk?"

I nod, looking to the side in hopes of just being able to gaze at the Christmas lights.

"Just know you can always talk to me, okay?" He rubs circles on my cheek with his thumb. And he smiles like the angel that he secretly is.

I nod again, able to look at him with those pretty brown eyes of his and smile at him. I'm just glad he's going to leave now.

He inches closer, pulling my legs around his waist and wrapping his arms my waist. "Have you looked up yet?"

I blush, panicking once again with a shy nod.

Then he cups my face, pulls me closer, and just kisses me. It's not long or sexual or overdone, just a short, heart-warming kiss that makes me smile harder than I ever have in the past year.

And when he pulls away, he's smiling softly at me. I can't help but smile softly back.

Then he just presses his forehead to mine and whispers softly to me, "Just so you know, I was the one who put that up there."