Harmony amidst Chaos | A Jori story

A Christmas Jori

-TORI'S POV-

I wake up early. Too early.

The sun isn't even fully up yet, but I'm already lying here, staring at the ceiling with this heavy, brick-like feeling in my stomach.

Which is dumb. It's Christmas. I should be relaxed. Happy. Warm and glowy or whatever. And I am—mostly. There's just this little twist in my chest. Something off.

I roll onto my side and grab my phone off the nightstand. No new messages. Not that I was expecting one.

Still, I guess I thought... I don't know. That Jade might text me.

Even just something dumb. Like: 'Merry Christmas, dork.' With a skull emoji. Or that weird bat sticker she uses too much.

But then again, things have been a bit off between us. Ever since she said she couldn't make it for Christmas, there's been this strange space between us. And now I'm not sure how to act around her anymore.

I just wish things could go back to when hanging out felt easy—when I could say whatever popped into my head without overthinking, without second-guessing, because she'd just laugh along anyway.

I sigh and flip my phone face-down on the comforter, pushing back the covers and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. No use lying here much longer. It's Christmas morning. I should feel... more.

The house is still quiet when I pad downstairs, the chill of the floor seeping through my socks. The living room is still dim, lit only by the soft multicolored glow of the Christmas tree in the corner. I don't bother turning on the lights. I kind of like it like this—calm and a little magical.

I pause by the tree. The decorations are exactly how they've always been—lopsided handmade ornaments, glittery ones from Trina's middle school phase, the little bell I got as a kid and insisted was magic. It all looks ridiculous. And perfect.

The pile of presents under the tree is even bigger than I remembered from last night. Wrapping paper in every shiny color. Bows slipping sideways. One of them has my name in Dad's barely legible scrawl.

I smile without meaning to.

In the kitchen, I fill the kettle and grab one of Mom's holiday mugs—the reindeer one, chipped at the handle but still weirdly my favorite. I drop in a tea bag and lean against the counter, watching the steam curl up as the water heats.

It's quiet, but in a good way.

The sound of slippers on the stairs makes me glance over my shoulder.

"Well," Grandma says, voice soft with sleep, "if it isn't the ghost of Christmas."

I laugh under my breath. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," she says, walking past me to grab her own mug. "My hips did. You're just the bonus."

I pour the hot water into my cup, the scent of cinnamon rising with the steam. "Couldn't sleep."

Grandma eyes me as she pours her own. "Excited?"

I nod, but it's hesitant. "Yeah. I mean... Yeah, I think so."

She doesn't press. Just blows on her tea and leans against the counter beside me.

For a minute, we're both quiet, sipping, listening to the low creak of the house settling and the distant sound of someone—probably Trina—snoring upstairs.

Then Grandma says, "You've always been an early riser. Especially on Christmas Day. Way too eager to open your presents."

I smile faintly into my mug. "Yeah, well. Some things don't change, I guess."