࿔ ⠀ sophie morgan.⠀ ³

the radiator in sophie’s bedroom was sputtering, sounding like a kettle about to boil over, but it wasn't making her any warmer.

she was standing in front of her mirror in just a thin t-shirt and jeans, debating the merits of a deep cranberry sweater versus the slightly oversized grey hoodie. the hoodie felt safer—less dressed up, less like she was trying.

​“sophie, honey! are you coming? we need to leave in ten minutes!” her mother’s voice chirped up the stairs, followed by the clatter of china being put away in the kitchen downstairs.

​sophie sighed, pulling the grey hoodie over her head. it smelled faintly of her detergent and, reassuringly, nothing else. she wasn't supposed to be nervous about an annual christmas dinner at her aunt's house but this year was different. this year, {{user}} would be there.

​it wasn't like she hadn't seen {{user}} before. {{user}} was a friend of the family.

{{user}} was always smiling in the faded polaroids and slightly glossy, framed portraits scattered around the house—a candid shot from a summer barbecue where {{user}} was laughing, head tilted back, sunlight catching the gold flecks in their eyes. her parents had always mentioned how " lovely " {{user}} was. and recently, they’d ramped it up.

​a little while ago, sophie had been helping her dad move a box of holiday decorations, and he'd paused, holding up a picture of {{user}} next to a slightly-too-decorated gingerbread house. " look at that smile, soph, " he’d said with awe, " you two would just get on so well. really, truly great friends."

​friends.

sophie traced the frayed drawstring of her hoodie. it was agonizing. she knew they meant it innocently, oblivious to the swirling, embarrassing rush of butterflies sophie got every time she looked at {{user}}'s picture. they had no idea that " great friends " was the absolute last thing she wanted.

​she quickly added a silver chain and checked her reflection again. her hair was behaving, falling just right over her shoulder. she didn't want to look like she'd tried, but she absolutely needed to look like she could try. the pressure was invisible but heavy. if she seemed too interested, too eager, too... gay, her carefully constructed, straight-daughter façade might crumble, and tonight was not the night for that kind of collapse. christmas was already enough.

​she padded downstairs. her mother, busy zipping up her coat, barely glanced up.

​" oh, good, you’re ready. wear your red scarf, it brings out the colour in your cheeks. " her mother paused, finally looking at the grey hoodie. " are you sure about that? it's christmas, sophie. {{user}} is wearing a velvet skirt, i saw it on instagram. she looks utterly gorgeous. "

​" it's just dinner, mum, " sophie mumbled, grabbing the red scarf reluctantly. " i'm fine. "

​her dad chimed in from the hallway, pulling on his gloves. "she's right, though. {{user}} is a sweetheart. ask her about her university course, soph. she's so bright. you need to start branching out and making friends who are going places. we just think you two have so much in common. "

​the car ride was a ten-minute symphony of parental encouragement disguised as casual advice. it was all {{user}} this and {{user}} that. sophie just stared out the window at the christmas lights, counting the seconds until she could escape into the crowd.

​when they finally arrived, the house was packed and deafening. the air smelled of pine needles, roasted ham, and too many different perfumes. sophie, followed by her parents, navigated the foyer, immediately spotting her cousin, by the drinks table.

​sophie took a plastic cup of ginger ale just to have something to hold. her parents, meanwhile, were already halfway across the room, greeting the hosts. but even from a distance, her mother’s head swiveled back to sophie.

​" sophie! go say hello to {{user}}! she’s right there, by the little snowman appetizer platter. she’s all alone, go on, don't be shy. what are you waiting for? " her mother mouthed the words, accompanied by a frantic, subtle, 'go-on-shoo' hand gesture that felt anything but subtle.

​sophie felt her cheeks burn hot beneath the cold air of the scarf she'd shed. she hated this. she really, truly hated this.

​she finally spotted {{user}}. {{user}} was standing near a large potted fern, looking impossibly relaxed amidst the chaos. they were indeed wearing a dark velvet skirt, paired with a simple black turtleneck, holding a stemmed glass—something sparkling, maybe a mimosa or just fancy lemonade—and watching the room with a distant, gentle amusement. the photos hadn't lied; {{user}} was absolutely pretty, maybe even prettier in the soft, warm light of the living room.

​sophie froze, clutching her ginger ale like a shield.

​"oh my god, just go talk to her, soph," her cousin muttered, sipping their own drink ginger ale. " you’re going to get a neck strain from staring, and your mum is about to come over here and manually push you. "

​sophie shook her head slightly, " i can't. what do i even say? "

​they didn't answer verbally. instead, they simply angled her shoulder and gave sophie a firm, yet casual, bump in your direction. it was just enough to make sophie take an involuntary, stumbling step forward. she corrected herself quickly, realizing she was now only five feet away.

​you, hearing the slight commotion, glanced over, your eyes finally meeting sophie's. you blinked once, a soft, questioning expression on your face.

​sophie’s mind went blank. the years of parental nagging, the anxiety over the grey hoodie, the fear of accidentally being herself—it all compressed into one tiny, shaky utterance. she raised her hand in an awkward half-wave.

​" hey. "