"I already agreed to your wildly unnecessary line about Iron Man in a Christmas song. I think you owe me by not saying—" Stevie gagged. "—Father Christmas."

The worst part about having this argument with him was that he never used Father Christmas in his everyday life. Many British facets of Everleigh's personality had rubbed off on Maverick in some way, like his ability to eat beans on toast without throwing up, but Father Christmas was not one of those. Yet there he was, trying to pick a fight with her for the sake of it, and Stevie continued to take out her frustrations on the beautiful grand piano at her disposal.

"It's grown on me," Maverick insisted, punctuating each word with a new note. "What's wrong with Father Christmas?"

"It just sounds bad. Santa or Saint Nick are way better. Plus, the Irish say Santa more. Don't be like the Brits."

He rolled his eyes. "I recognize the issue with Britain, but Father Christmas / I don't want to miss this fits, Stev."

"And I still think come on Saint Nick / I don't want to miss this sounds better," Stevie asserted. Sue her for wanting to play around more with her lyrics and rhymes.

"There are so many rhymes with Nick we could use later—" Maverick gaped. "Like if we redo Santa Baby—"

Snow continued pelting the window and it distracted Stevie enough to miss a note in the melody she was playing around with. But she was a professional, so she recovered quickly. "We need to diversify the types of rhymes we use. But this wouldn't be a problem if we used Santy like I suggested."

Maverick stopped playing this time. "You hear how Santy is worse, right?"

"Santy is not worse than Father Christmas." Stevie damn near slammed the piano shut just to cover up the sound of his disapproval. "Anything the Brits love to say will always be worse."

"Should we go ask Everleigh—"

"Why would we sak the Brit—"

"So she can tell you Father Christmas is the way to go—" Maverick paused to collect himself. "Fine. Let's ask Bash."

"Neither the Brit nor any of her commonwealth besties get an opinion on this on principle alone."

Look, did she love all of them to death? Yes. Would she do literally anything they wanted at a moment's notice, no questions asked? Of course. Nobody questioned that. But when the four of them were together, they outranked her (unfortunate) American English vocabulary. She wasn't about to hand them another win on a silver platter. Maverick's gloating would never end.

"So neither of the other two people in the house?"

Stevie nodded. "That's what I just said, isn't it?"

"That seems unfair," Maverick protested.

"Perhaps you should ask yourself why someone with all their daddy issues is fighting so hard for us to use Father Christmas."

He picked up the guitar again. Looked like he wanted to throw it against the wall hard enough for it to splinter into a million little pieces. "Maybe that's the reason."

"Well, then I say my father is dead and I don't want to use Father Christmas, how about that—"

"My dad could be dead too, how the fuck would I know—"

"I guess that demonstrates that it doesn't matter what you want to use because I said no—"

"I said no to Santy, nobody here is Irish—"

On a practical level, sure. But every stop MARS made in Dublin became one of their favorites of any tour. Irish fans were passionate, and fun, and made for fantastic drinking buddies when the band went out for celebratory drinks after their shows. Walking around Ireland didn't require massive security teams like many other cities did, which meant they felt more human. More welcome to exist like normal people, whatever that meant.

"Oh, so now you have a problem with the Irish?" Stevie asked.

"I'm shocked you don't," Maverick replied. "You seem to have a problem with everyone else. Including your boyfriend."

"Very likely accusation from a commonwealth bestie."

His eyes bugged out. "Oh my god."

If they wanted to get anywhere with the song, they needed to find a solution that satisfied both of them. As best as they could, given their passionate creative differences. The problem with that plan of action was that Maverick and Stevie weren't what she would consider the best at compromise. More like they argued so much that they traded off taking the wins enough that it felt like something close to compromise.

"You can have Father Christmas or Iron Man. You cannot have both."

She might as well have asked him to choose between food or water for the rest of his life. But he opted for the easier route than putting up another fight. "... I want to hear you sing Father Christmas."

Unfortunately for him, Stevie had asked a rhetorical question. No one on the planet could convince her to use Father Christmas in a song, and he was clearly mistaken thinking that she would seriously entertain that.

"Iron Man it is. Next line."

The door creaked open and Everleigh stuck her head inside with a plate of cookies appearing directly below it. "I hope you shits are hungry and getting along—"

Maverick's declaration of "Stevie, I'm going to throw you out of the studio next time—" was incredibly well-timed.

"Depends on what your definition is of getting along," Stevie told her.

"Can't even tell you what we're arguing about because she doesn't care about your opinion," Maverick said. Did he always look that short?

"Don't worry." Stevie brushed him off. "He's trying to mansplain. Those smell delicious."

Everleigh looked like she had completely forgotten she was even holding the plate of warm cookies. All but threw the plate at Maverick, which Stevie wished she could see, even if it meant sacrificing one batch. "Yeah, well, enjoy. Hope you're making progress on that first song you're writing."

"Oh, we finished the first one," Stevie explained. "This second song is taking longer than anticipated." She sent a pointed look at her writing partner.

Everleigh smiled at her but looked like a zombie. Like one of those zombies that just turned so they're trying to blend it and make it look like they're just a normal person, but really they were waiting to eat themselves and everyone else alive.

Maverick filled in the rest of the blanks. "Yeah, the first song was just a cover. This one's an original. And we have... artistic differences." To put it lightly.

"Everleigh, if I said you have to choose between Father Christmas and Iron Man, which one would you pick?"

Asking her for her opinion after being so adamant that she didn't need it was risky business, but Stevie decided to take a leap of faith. She didn't believe in such things as Christmas miracles, but if there was ever a moment she would be glad to be proven wrong, it would be then.

"Can you please explain why Iron Man is in a Christmas song before I answer?" Everleigh asked.

No matter what long shots Stevie took, she could count on the fact that she was never quite as bold as Maverick whenever he attempted to show someone else what was in his songwriting journal. Nobody on the planet—besides Stevie—could read a lick of it.

He held up the journal for Everleigh to read his lyrics, but she didn't give it more than a spare glance because Everleigh knew it would do her no good to try.

"You know I can't read that, right?" Everleigh asked.

"You can just say Father Christmas, it's okay." Maverick ate another cookie before she answered. When he tried to snag another, Stevie yanked the plate away from him, taking the one he reached for and ate it herself instead.

"Why would you use Father Christmas if neither of you say Father Christmas?"

"Thank you," said Stevie.

"Not sure why Iron Man would be appropriate either, really," Everleigh added.

And once again, another relieved, "Also thank you. But for the sake of compromise, which one is less worse?"

"I mean—" Everleigh started.

Stevie tensed up, suddenly unsure of what was coming. A flicker of hope beamed from Maverick's eyes. Maybe she really was a fucking loser for asking the damn question.

"Father Christmas does theoretically fly around the world in one night, which Iron Man could also do. You've both said Iron Man before, not Father Christmas. So... Iron Man? I guess? If that's the context of your chicken scratch?"

Stevie hummed and smiled.

"God fucking—" Maverick groaned. "Maybe you two should go write and I'll go hang out with Bash."

And so he was summoned. Brendon popped into the room with more pep in his step than warranted for that time of day. "Hey, just checking in.

Everleigh jumped at the sound of his voice. Stevie eyed her curiously.

"How's the writing going?" Brendon asked.

"I think we just finished our second song," Stevie answered. "Thanks to Everleigh."

"Second song, you say?" Brendon tilted his head in Everleigh's direction.

"First original," Maverick clarified. "The first one was a cover."

"Well." Everleigh clapped her hands together and made her way back to the door. "We should leave them alone. Glad you two are getting along. I need to pee."

Maverick frowned. "I don't think you needed to announce that, but thanks for the information."

"No kidney failure here," Everleigh said before spinning on her heel and darting through the doorway.

Unfortunately, Brendon, for whatever reason, didn't allow her to get very far before he caught her arm. "Leigh and I will be in the kitchen quality assuring these cookies. Happy writing."

Stevie and Maverick stared. Fucking weirdos.

"Oh-kay," Maverick sang. "Bye. Have fun, commonwealth besties."