Emma
By the time classes finished, the pale winter sun had already dipped behind the rooftops. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and the streetlights hummed to life, one by one, painting everything in gold and shadow. Tommy was waiting outside, hands deep in his coat pockets, his scarf pulled up to his chin.
"Hey," I said, smiling.
"Hey, you." He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "You ready to head home?"
We fell into step easily, our shoulders brushing now and then. The streets were slick, Christmas lights already up in some of the shop windows — red and green and gold tinsel, painted snowflakes, those twinkly fairy bulbs that made everything look a bit more magical than it really was.
After a while, I said, "You know what I fancy doing this weekend?"
He glanced at me, curious. "Go on."
"The pictures."
"The pictures?" His grin widened. "Haven't heard anyone call it that in ages."
I nudged him with my shoulder. "Shut up. I mean it. There's that Christmas film on — National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. I saw the poster the other day."
"Oh yeah, that one with Chevy Chase, right?"
I nodded. "Mum says she read about it in the paper. Apparently it's daft, but funny. I thought maybe…" I hesitated, suddenly shy. "We could go. Just us."
He stopped walking and turned toward me, the lamplight catching in his eyes.
"A proper date?"
My cheeks warmed.
"Yeah. If you want to."
"If I want to?" He gave a low laugh. "Em, of course I want to."
I tried not to smile too hard, but it was impossible.
"Alright, Saturday then?"
"Perfect," he said and for the rest of the walk we talked, about how ridiculous Christmas jumpers were, about how he'd once tried to roast chestnuts and set off the smoke alarm, about the small things that make Christmas time magical.
By the time we reached my house, the night had settled deep and still. The air was so cold it nipped at our noses, but I didn't want to go inside just yet. He looked down at me, that same gentle look that always made my stomach twist.
"I'll pick you up on Saturday," he said. "We'll grab a bite before the film."
"Ok."
He brushed a strand of hair from my cheek, fingers barely touching me, then kissed me — a slow, soft kiss that melted the chill for a moment. When I finally went inside, Mum called something from the kitchen, but her voice sounded far away.
For the first time in ages, I was looking forward to something good.
Tommy
The week crawled. Every day during classes and between classes and every other hour, I'd catch myself thinking about Saturday — the dark cinema, the flicker of light across her face, the sound of her laugh. I couldn't wait.
By Friday, I'd already cleaned my shoes, ironed my good shirt and bought a packet of those sweets, shaped like fruit slices that Emma liked, from Woolworths.
Saturday finally came, cold and clear. I went to her house just before six, my breath turning to mist as she walked toward me through the amber glow of the streetlights.
She wore her coat with a red scarf, her hair was loose around her face. When she smiled, it felt like the whole street lighted up.
"You look…" I took a deep breath, "You look lovely."
Her cheeks flushed pink. "Thank you."
We caught the bus into town, sitting side by side, I put my arm around her shoulders, our knees brushing every time the bus jolted around a corner. She rested her head lightly against my shoulder and for a few stops neither of us spoke — there was just the sound of the engine, the chatter of strangers, and the warmth of her beside me.
We stopped by a bakery first, I bought us cornish pasties and a cup of tea that steamed in the chill air. The window was fogged over and she drew a little heart and put our initials inside it in the condensation before looking at me laughing while she scrubbed it away again.
By the time we reached the cinema, the queue was already winding out onto the pavement. Posters of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation filled the front — Chevy Chase tangled in fairy lights, snow falling all around.
Inside, the place smelled of popcorn and that faint, dusty scent of old carpet. The lights dimmed and she leaned against me. I put my arm around her and the world felt right.
Through the film, she laughed freely — that bright, clear laugh I'd fallen in love with. At one point, when Clark Griswold fell off the roof tangled in Christmas lights, she clutched my arm, trying not to spill her drink, tears of laughter in her eyes.
And I realised, sitting there in the flickering dark, that it wasn't just that she was smiling and laughing again — it was that she felt alive again. The heaviness that had hung around her for so long had lifted, even if only for a night.
When the credits rolled, she turned to me, cheeks glowing. "That was ridiculous."
"But you loved it," I said with a laugh.
"Yeah, I did." Her grin so wide and her eyes gleamed with joy. My heart felt full just looking at her.
Outside, the world was glittering with frost. She tucked her hand into mine and we walked toward the bus stop, our breath rising like smoke.
"Next week," she said softly, "we'll pick another one."
"I'll watch anything, even if it's rubbish," I replied, "I don't care — as long as it's with you."
Her laugh rang out in the cold air and I thought, if this is what forever feels like, I could live here forever.
Emma
The bus rattled softly through the streets, the windows clouded with condensation. Tommy's hand was warm in mine, his thumb tracing lazy circles over my knuckles. Outside, Christmas lights shimmered across shopfronts and the frost made everything look dusted in silver.
I didn't want the night to end.
We'd laughed until our stomachs hurt — at the squirrel in the Christmas tree, at the lights shorting out, at Clark Griswold clinging to the gutter — but now that it was over, a soft quiet had settled between us. Not awkward, just… comfortable.
When the bus reached our stop, he stood and offered his hand, as if the world were a place where chivalry still lived. I slipped my fingers into his and followed him off the bus, our breath catching in the chill air.
The streets were still and empty, only the hum of faraway traffic and the crunch of our shoes on frozen pavement. The moon hung low and pale, making the frost on the hedges glint like tiny stars.
"I'm glad we did this," I said quietly.
"Me too." His voice was soft, almost reverent. "I haven't heard you laugh like that in a while."
I smiled up at him. "You make it easy."
He chuckled, low and warm, but then he fell quiet again. We walked in silence for a while, the world shrinking to the space between our joined hands and the soft rhythm of our steps.
When we reached my road, I slowed. The thought of saying goodbye tugged at something deep inside me.
"I wish this evening didn't end," I murmured.
Tommy looked down at me, his breath misting between us. "Then let's not let it. Not yet."
Tommy
The world around us faded — just her, the quiet and that silvery, winter air. We stopped by the park gates, where the trees stood bare and black against the sky.
I turned towards her. She looked up at me, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes soft in the half-light.
"Did you have a good time?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
She nodded. "Better than I thought I would. I felt…" She hesitated, searching for the right word. "Free, I suppose. Like nothing was waiting to fall apart."
I swallowed hard. "Nothing's going to. Not while I'm around."
Her gaze lifted to mine, steady and bright, and for a heartbeat neither of us breathed. Then she stepped closer until I could feel the soft brush of her coat against mine.
"You always say things like that," she whispered. "And somehow I believe you every time."
"Good," I murmured. "Because I mean them."
The cold bit at our skin, but I barely noticed. I lifted my hands to her face, the faintest tremor in my fingers and she closed her eyes as I brushed my thumb over her cheek. Her breath came out in a small, shivering sigh.
When I kissed her, it wasn't hurried or fiery — it was slow, deep, full of everything I couldn't say. The kind of kiss that spoke of home and promises and quiet forever.
Emma
The kiss left me breathless, my heart trembling against my ribs. I leaned into him, my hands fisting lightly in his coat. For a moment, everything else — the cold, the dark, the world — just fell away.
When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling in the icy air.
"Saturday nights should always feel like this," I whispered.
"Then we'll make them," he said softly. "Every one we can."
I smiled, feeling that warmth spread through me again, the kind that started deep in my chest and reached all the way to my fingertips.
We started walking again, slower this time. He stopped at my gate and waited while I fumbled for my key. The street light cast a soft glow over us, catching the frost on his hair and for a heartbeat I just looked at him — this boy who had waited, who had loved me through every storm.
"Goodnight, Tommy."
He brushed his thumb over the back of my hand. "Goodnight, Em."
I hesitated, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek — just below the edge of his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment and when he opened them again, they were shining.
"See you Monday?" he asked.
"Monday," I promised.
I went inside, but I lingered at the window, watching until he turned the corner. The streetlights glowed softly through the mist and the air shimmered faintly with frost.
Something inside me whispered that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be alright.