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Paul sneaks into her room at one in the morning with an open bottle of whiskey and a condom in his pocket. The door has barely clicked shut before she's pressed up against him, smiling against his lips, fingers curling around his shirt collar and half-dragging him into her bed.

That night, he undresses her carefully, peeling each layer off one by one. Leah keeps giggling, and he keeps trying to muffle her sounds with kisses so her parents don't hear through the thin walls. She just laughs into his mouth, instead, and wriggles out of her pajama bottoms.

His hand slips up into the slick heat between her thighs, and then later he slides himself inside her, and then she drops kisses onto his chest like snowflakes and makes all kinds of wonderful sounds, little whimpers and murmurs. In-between sharp gasps, she breathes I love you - don't stop - I love you - oh god please - I love you.

It doesn't matter if she doesn't mean it. It's still the most beautiful lie he's ever been told.

He falls asleep and dreams of being trapped in a snow globe, but it's not like other dreams he's had where he's trapped. In this dream, he's with Leah and everything is quiet and peaceful and still, except for the snow descending around them.

Paul wakes up on Christmas morning with her legs tangled in his and believing in something, something, with painful intensity. He's not sure what.

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