
*label L_story_start
[b]The late evening, at ${lex_name}'s apartment…[/b]

The delicious scent of the baked dish fills the spacious kitchen, merging with the soft hum of the TV playing timeless songs that always seem to weave their way into every New Year's celebration. 

This blend of familiar music and the warmth from the oven evokes a nostalgic feeling, wrapping around your tired body and easing the tension that goes deeper than mere physical fatigue.

Being at ${lex_name}'s apartment always has a way of putting you at ease—always making you feel this way.

Warm. Comfortable. Safe.

"I know I've already said this, but thank you for helping me with the cooking," ${lex_name} says softly, ${lex_his} voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

"As I said, I really don't mind," you reply sincerely, turning to face ${lex_him}. "Besides, it's nice to spend time like this."

${lex_name} doesn't meet your gaze, keeping ${lex_his} focus on preparing the appetizer plate, but the soft, distracted smile tugging at ${lex_his} lips answers for ${lex_him}.

Trying not to stare too much, you step closer, leaning in just enough to catch a glimpse of ${lex_his} handiwork. 

$!{lex_his} hands move awkwardly but carefully, arranging the almost comically unevenly sliced pieces of the appetizer, ranging from overly thick to almost paper-thin.

*page_break You bite your lip to stifle a chuckle.
"You know," ${lex_name} says without looking up, ${lex_his} voice carrying a faint hint of amusement, "I can feel you judging me, even without you saying anything."

Suppressing your growing smile becomes increasingly difficult as you reply, "Believe me, you're doing way better than last time." ${lex_name} glances at you and narrows ${lex_his} eyes. 
"At least you're not cutting yourself."

"Don't sugarcoat it, ${mcname_l}," ${lex_name} retorts, rolling ${lex_his} eyes but flashing a warm smile. Before you can respond, ${lex_she} turns ${lex_his} attention back to the task at hand, adding, "I know a child could probably do better. I'm not great at cooking, nor do I really enjoy it, but it's fun preparing everything together with you. Maybe I can—"

Whatever ${lex_she} intended to say is cut short by a sharp hiss, and both of you glance down at ${lex_his} finger, now bleeding from a fresh cut.

"Or maybe not…" ${lex_name} mumbles, and you sigh, already moving toward the cabinet for peroxide and band-aids before gently guiding ${lex_him} to the sink.

You can feel ${lex_his} gaze on you as you treat the cut, working in silence. This isn't your first time doing this.

*page_break And it certainly won't be the last.
"Sorry," ${lex_name} says after a moment, closing ${lex_his} eyes with a tired sigh. "I know it sounds silly, wanting to cook something together. I promise, next time I'll just order something in advance so we don't waste time on it."

You press your lips together, carefully wrapping a band-aid around ${lex_his} finger before looking up to meet ${lex_his} eyes.

"I don't need you to be perfect, you know that, right?" you say softly, noticing how every muscle in ${lex_name}'s body tenses before ${lex_she} relaxes again, ${lex_his} shoulders slumping.

You didn't mean for your words to hit ${lex_him} that hard, but ${lex_she} asked you not to sugarcoat things.

Your gaze lowers to your joined hands, giving ${lex_him} this moment as you continue, "Besides, it's not about the food. I don't care if it's homemade or delivery. I care about this." You gesture vaguely around the apartment, at the two of you standing this close. 

[i]About being here… with you.[/i]

"Considering our work, I'm really happy to finally celebrate together," you say instead, your tone calm and sincere, yet unspoken words hang between you as you realize you're still holding ${lex_his} hand.

A quiet worry about saying too much—about crossing some invisible line—begins to grow as you feel ${lex_name}'s intent gaze on you, making you pull your hand back.

But then, ${lex_name}'s fingers tighten around yours, a gentle but deliberate squeeze that stills your retreat.

*page_break $!{lex_she} doesn't let go.
You look up again, meeting ${lex_his} forest green eyes, which glimmer with an unspoken intensity—something that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

"Me too. I… care about you being here," ${lex_name} says slowly as if ${lex_she}'s tapped into your thoughts, making your heart skip a heavy beat. "Especially today."

Since you both became officers, your shifts have often overlapped with Christmas or New Year's, forcing you to either miss the celebrations or celebrate them much later.

Now, with your promotion to detective and your sister back in Fallenmor, the moments you get to share together have become even rarer.

But is it really the circumstances' fault, or—

An unexpected brush of ${lex_name}'s thumb gently strokes your skin, silencing your thoughts and sending another pleasant surge through you.

You try to ignore it, distracting yourself as you ask, "When was the last time we spent New Year's Eve together?"

${lex_name} hums. "Probably at the academy?"

You look away, saying, "Can't believe it's been so many years already."

"Yeah, me too… But it's definitely worth the wait." $!{lex_his} words linger, pulling your attention back to ${lex_him}. Almost as if ${lex_she} had been waiting for your eyes to return to ${lex_hrs}, ${lex_she} adds, 
"As long as I can celebrate with you, it'll always be worth anything."

The depth of ${lex_his} words hits you unexpectedly, their intensity stirring the longing you've tried so hard to hold back, making it almost impossible to stay composed.

You part your lips to respond when suddenly, the blaring sound of your phone's timer cuts through the silence, startling both of you.

*page_break The moment is broken.
"The dish is ready," you say, releasing ${lex_name}'s hand a little too quickly as you step back toward the oven, the lingering warmth of ${lex_his} touch refusing to fade.

${lex_name} clears ${lex_his} throat. "Finally…" ${lex_she} says, ${lex_his} tone soft but laced with something unreadable. "Here." 

$!{lex_she} extends the oven mitt toward you, ${lex_his} fingers grazing yours as you take it, a flicker of disappointment passing through you when ${lex_she} moves away to give you space.

Turning back to the oven, you switch it off before opening the door, mindful of the rush of heat that escapes immediately after.

Carefully, you pull out the dish and set it on the trivet you prepared earlier, allowing it a moment to cool before you move it to the dinner table.

"All set for dinner?" you ask, setting the oven mitt aside.

${lex_name} parts ${lex_his} lips to respond only for ${lex_his} voice to be drowned out by a sudden burst of fireworks outside, 
causing both of you to instinctively snap your heads toward the nearby window.

*page_break
The bright sparks streak across the dark sky, their reflection shimmering on the window sill. Each sharp crackle cuts through the peaceful hush of snow gently falling outside.

"It's beautiful," ${lex_name} says after a moment, ${lex_his} tone hesitant and unsure. "But I hate when people do that so close to residential buildings. It's not safe."

You hum in acknowledgment, and just as you're about to look away, something catches your eye. 

In the window of the building across, two figures sway in a slow, graceful dance.

The falling snow and the distance make it hard to see the couple clearly, yet the warm light in their apartment outlines their silhouettes as they move, 
revealing their unwavering focus on each other—oblivious to the loud fireworks, lost in their own world.

The scene stirs something indescribable in your chest, making the moment feel wistful, intimate, and undeniably private—clearly not meant for prying eyes.

*page_break And yet, you can't tear your eyes away.
"I know this couple," you hear ${lex_name}'s voice near you, drawing your focus back.

"Of course you do," you reply, not even surprised.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch ${lex_name} rolling ${lex_his} eyes. "Knowing your neighbors and being on good terms with them can be useful." You give ${lex_name} a side glance, but ${lex_she} ignores it, continuing, "Anyway, they're both retired dancers, so they do this quite often." $!{lex_she} suddenly winces before quickly adding, "Not that I watch them, but… it's hard not to notice them."

You know exactly what ${lex_she} means. "They look happy."

"Everyone would be happy dancing with the person you love like this," ${lex_name} says quietly, and something in ${lex_his} tone makes your heart skip a heavy beat.

Returning your gaze to the couple, you remain silent, the echo of ${lex_name}'s words lingering in your mind.

You don't know if that's true, but it must feel nice. There's no other way to explain the ache deep inside you—the peculiar longing that stirs within, blending with the warmth of ${lex_name}'s presence, while the soft, nostalgic melody from the TV wraps around you, filling the silence with its quiet, familiar pull.

*fake_choice
	#❤️ Following a sudden urge, you turn to ${lex_name} and extend your hand. "Dance with me?"
		Driven by a sudden urge, you turn to ${lex_name} and extend your hand. "Dance with me?"

		Whether you meant your words as a question, a plea, or a command matters little when ${lex_name} responds with a fond smile.
		
		The crackle of fireworks fades into silence, yet ${lex_his} forest-green eyes shine brighter than any firework ever could as, without a word, ${lex_she} accepts your hand.
		
		The touch of ${lex_his} skin against yours sends an electrifying ripple through you, filling you with a craving that makes you tug ${lex_him} closer—closer than necessary.
		
		Still, there is no hesitation as ${lex_name} 
		*if (MC_gen = 2)
			@{L_gen curls ${lex_his} other hand around your waist just as yours settles on ${lex_his} shoulder|places ${lex_his} other hand on your shoulder just as yours curls around ${lex_his} waist}. 
		*if (MC_gen != 2)
			places ${lex_his} other hand on your shoulder just as yours curls around ${lex_his} waist. 
		$!{lex_his} eyes never leave yours as you begin to guide your movements, the air between you humming with a charged stillness.
		
		It's less of a dance and more of a slow pace in place, but you don't mind—not when you hold ${lex_name} so close, not when ${lex_she} look with such tenderness, making your tired heart sing.
		
		Lost in the forest green depth of ${lex_his} eyes, you wish this moment would never end—the song, the night, the way ${lex_she} fits so perfectly in your arms.
		
		The heavy beat of your heart suddenly silences your thoughts as ${lex_name} closes ${lex_his} eyes and presses ${lex_him}self closer, whispering softly, "Happy New Year, ${mcname_l}."
		
		Even though you know it's still an hour away, you close your eyes too, smiling contentedly as you murmur in response, 
	#💙 You force yourself to look away only to pause when you find ${lex_name}'s gaze fixed on you.
		You force yourself to look away only to freeze when you realize ${lex_name}'s gaze is locked on you.

		There it is—the familiar intensity hidden beneath a softness that quickens your pulse as you watch ${lex_him} slowly extend ${lex_his} hand toward you.
		
		You lower your gaze to ${lex_his} outstretched hand, a wave of unexpected joy swelling in your chest at the silent invitation. As the crackle of the fireworks suddenly fades into silence, you meet ${lex_his} eyes again, feeling the air between you hum with a charged stillness.
		
		Before ${lex_name} can voice the question hanging between you, you place your hand in ${lex_hrs}, eyes never leaving ${lex_hrs}.
		
		As soon as you feel the warmth of ${lex_his} skin, ${lex_name} interlaces your fingers, tugging you closer—closer than necessary. Your other hand naturally 
		*if (MC_gen = 1)
			@{L_gen rests on ${lex_his} shoulder just as ${lex_hrs} curls around your waist|curls around ${lex_his} waist just as ${lex_hrs} settles on your shoulder}, 
		*if (MC_gen != 1)
			rests on ${lex_his} shoulder just as ${lex_hrs} curls around your waist, 
		and you surrender to ${lex_his} lead as ${lex_she} begins to guide your movements.
		
		It's less of a dance and more of a slow pace in place, but you don't mind—not when ${lex_name} holds you so close, not when ${lex_she} look with such tenderness, making your tired heart sing.
		
		Lost in the forest green depth of ${lex_his} eyes, you wish this moment would never end—the song, the night, the way ${lex_name} holds you.
		
		"Happy New Year, ${mcname_l}," ${lex_name} murmurs in a low voice before pulling you even closer, causing you to smile because you both know it's still an hour away.
		
		Still, you close your eyes, resting your cheek against ${lex_his} @{L_tall shoulder|shoulder|shoulder|chest, where ${lex_his} heartbeat mirrors your own|chest, where ${lex_his} heartbeat mirrors your own}, whispering, 
"Happy New Year, ${lex_name}."

*page_break …
*goto_scene main_page