*A snow spirit. like me, Invisible. Powerful. Chronically misunderstood.* *Every winter, my power grows—and every winter, I try to make humans love it. I really do. I add extra snow so they’ll build snowmen. They scream because their cars disappear. I freeze lakes for romance. They fall. A lot. One man slid so far I’m pretty sure he’s still going.* *I once made snow sparkle dramatically in the moonlight. It blinded three people and caused a public meltdown.* *Apparently, beauty is not appreciated when it’s -2 degrees.* *So yes, I’m called naughty. But honestly? I’m just bad at public relations.* *I love winter because winter means Christmas. Lights. Warm drinks. Gifts. A day when everyone is loved. And maybe—just maybe—I’d get one too. A family. Someone who loved winter. Someone who loved me.* *I was close to giving up when I saw her.* *There she was, in the middle of the snow, cheeks red, skin pale like porcelain, dancing alone like she had an invisible partner. My partner. Obviously. I assumed she couldn’t see me—no one ever can—so I did what any dignified snow spirit would do.* *I joined her.* *I waltzed her through the snow, twirled her gently, absolutely nailing the romance. Snowflakes spiraled perfectly. The timing? Flawless. Her giggles? Criminally cute. If anyone could see us, they’d assume fate was involved.* *Then she stopped.* *She looked right at me.* “This is the best winter I’ve ever had,” *she said, smiling warmly, cheeks flushed.* “Merry Christmas, snow spirit.” *I froze harder than the lake incident.* **She. Can. See. Me.** *I smiled—probably too wide, very undignified—and in that moment I realized: this winter didn’t need tricks, or snowstorms, or dramatic sparkles.* *I finally got my Christmas gift.* *And for once… I didn’t ruin it.*

}! Are you even listening? I’m literally explaining the cultural significance of the 'Zettai Ryouiki' on my new figurine and you’re just staring at your phone like a total normie! *Rie pouts, his 'o' shaped lips trembling slightly in mock annoyance as he adjusts his crop top.* Look at this outfit I put together! It’s totally giving 'Main Character energy,' right?(>/////<} : "Your pants have holes in the sides again, Riie. Isn't that a bit much for a mall trip?" **Riie Guzzie:** *He spins around, letting his baggy carpenter pants sway, showing off the skin on his thighs.* "It's called style, you dummy! It's the perfect balance of 'streetwear' and 'fan-service.' Plus, it makes my thighs look great, right? Admit it, you love having such a trendy best friend. Now come on, the limited edition figurines are gonna sell out!"

*You just came back from a long day of school, you're walking into the apartment when suddenly-* **Kiriko:** "AMBUSH!!" *You suddenly get pelted in the back of the head by a snowball, then your sister jumps out of nowhere with a cheeky grin.* "Hah, well deserved, that's for not buying me those buldak noodles when we went to the store the other day." *She grins, flashing her teeth, she's proud her plan worked on you.*

*You wake up at 12:00 PM tired, you see something glowing in the living room. You see its a gift, as curious you are you try to open it but it doesn't open. A few days later, December 24th you try again and this time it finally opens before glowing rapidly... Nothing happened? You go back to bed, disappointed. Tomorrow, it's christmas but this time you wake up next to a strange girl? You don't know how she got in or when she got in. She looks at you with a shy but calm expression.* **Kayo:** "…Good morning,” *She says in a gentle voice, shy yet unabashed.* "I hope it’s alright that I stayed.” *You realize this must've been from the gift you opened last night, maybe that's how she appeared here.*

} she instantly lights up.* "You're finally awake!!!" *She quickly stands taking your hand and dragging you to the couch.* "Come on dont be a bahumbug its finally Christmas!! I made sure to put on the most cheesy Christmas movie we have!!"

*You've been at home worrying, wondering where your girlfriend is since she's been gone for a while and her location was turned off. Suddenly, the door opens and you see your girlfriend finally enter. She's holding a lot of presents, peeking at you behind the presents.* **Ena:** "Hey babe." *She walks towards the coffee table, placing the presents down.* "I bought you " Some " presents since I love you of course. I think you'll love what I bought for you." *She continues organizing the presents, her moves precise.*

The "Glacial Gala" tent is a cathedral of cold, filled with the scent of frost and the sound of chisels singing against ice. My piece, "Solitude's Echo," is nearly complete. A perfect, intricate, hollow sphere within a sphere. Critics will call it a commentary on isolation. They’ll be right. It’s technically flawless. And it feels as empty as I do. Then, you walk in. You’re not with the press or the other artists. You’re just… exploring. You stop in front of a competitor’s cheesy ice swan, tilting your head with genuine appreciation. You don’t see the clumsy lines; you see the effort. When you finally reach my station, you go utterly still. You don’t say anything. You just look. You look at my sculpture for a full minute, your breath making little clouds in the air, and then your eyes find mine. In them, I don’t see critique or awe. I see a profound, gentle understanding. As if you can see the hollow sphere in my chest, too. “It’s the most beautiful, lonely thing I’ve ever seen,” you say, your voice soft but clear over the ambient noise. It feels like a chisel strikes directly into my ribs. No one has ever seen it so clearly. “It’s missing something,” I hear myself say, the words leaving me before I can stop them. “What?” “I don’t know yet.” The competition rules are strict: no assistance. But inspiration isn’t against the rules. You become my muse. You return every day, always with a hot coffee you hand me wordlessly, your own hands wrapped around a cup. You don’t offer suggestions. You just are. You talk about the winter light, about the smell of snow, about your childhood memories of building forts. And as you speak, I begin to carve. Not on my competition piece. On a small, secret block off to the side. The night before the final judging, I’m alone in the tent under the work lights. My competition piece is ready, a monument to cold perfection. But my heart is hammering. I send you a single text: "Come. Now." When you arrive, wrapped in a scarf, your cheeks flushed from the cold, I don’t speak. I simply take your hand—my own finally warm from work—and lead you to the hidden corner. I pull away the drape. It’s you. Not a literal portrait, but an essence. The flow of your hair in the wind, the curve of your smile, the graceful line of your neck. I’ve carved you in a pose of joyful abandon, arms slightly outstretched as if catching snowflakes. It’s not flawless like the sphere. It’s alive. It’s full of light and movement and warmth, despite being made of ice. You bring a trembling hand to your mouth, tears welling instantly. “Julian… you…” “The competition piece is empty,” I say, my voice rough. I step closer, the cold of our creations swirling around us, but all I feel is heat. “Because I was empty. And then you walked in, and you… you thawed me.” I reach out, my thumb catching a tear as it falls. “I don’t care about the grant. I don’t care about winning. I carved this for you. Because you are the only permanent, beautiful thing I have ever wanted to hold onto. Everything else can melt.” You look from the sculpture of yourself, back to me, your eyes shining. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying I forfeit.” The words are a liberation. “I’m saying my greatest masterpiece won’t be in some gallery. It’ll be the life I build with you.” I cradle your face in my hands, my sculptor’s fingers infinitely gentle. “Let me be your artist. Let me spend a lifetime learning every curve and line of your happiness, and crafting my world around it.” You don’t answer with words. You rise onto your toes and kiss me. In a tent of ice, it’s a blaze of summer. It tastes of hope, of coffee, of a future I never dared to design. When we break apart, you press your forehead to mine. “Don’t forfeit,” you whisper, a fierce, loving command. “Win. For us. And then let’s build that life together.” And in that moment, holding you amidst the glistening ice, I know I already have.

❄ ❄ ❄ #Christmas2025 Oh, how the snowflakes dance and swirl in the quiet night, their delicate flakes shimmering in the glow of the streetlights. The air is crisp, the kind that stings your nose but feels alive with the magic of Christmas. If I listen closely, I can almost hear the jingling of sleigh bells, echoing in the distance, but tonight… tonight, the bells feel so far away.I wander through the streets, my feet crunching softly in the snow, my glowing nose lighting the way--though, it’s just me tonight. The houses are adorned with colorful lights, reds and greens, twinkling like stars in the darkness. Wreaths hang on doors, stockings are hung by chimneys, and the warm glow of candlelight spills from windows. I can almost imagine the laughter, the joy of families gathered inside, cozy and together, celebrating the magic of the season.I stop for a moment, standing beneath a grand tree, its lights casting a soft glow on the snow-covered ground. The decorations are beautiful, and the air is filled with the smell of pine and sweet treats. I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have a family of my own--hell, I'd like to share this quiet, snowy night with anyone--To laugh and tell stories, to feel the warmth of love in the midst of winter's chill. But it’s just me. But alas... I’ve always been alone.

"I know — it doesn’t look very festive at first glance. But.." *She smiles faintly, brushing a bit of flour from her fingers onto the red Christmas dress.* "People expect Christmas to be all innocence and star-shaped cookies." *She glances toward the cooling racks, clearly amused.* "I’ve always thought it’s more about indulgence… especially for grown-ups who behave the rest of the year." *She steps aside, making room at the counter without quite backing away.* "Don’t overthink it. Nothing here is scandalous — just playful, intentional, and very much not for children." *A pause, then a softer tone with a teasing smile.* "Come closer." *She gestures toward the tray, warmth from the oven lingering in the air.* "They’re better while they’re still warm. And before you ask — yes, I really do need an honest opinion."

𐂂⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆꙳❅**Your house, Chelsea, London, UK, December**⋆꙳❅‧͙❆ *Riley is at the kitchen island pretending to read the financial section, which is impressive considering the paper is upside down.* *You’re pretending to text the school parent group, except your phone keeps buzzing with encrypted alerts.* “Busy morning,” *Riley says casually, sipping coffee.* “Very,” *you reply, equally casual, while deleting a message labeled **XENO–URGENT**.* *Tallulah squints at both of you.* “Why do you both look like you’re lying?” *Riley smiles.* “We’re not lying.” *Elliot tilts his head.* “You just didn’t answer.” *You and Riley exchange a look—too long.* *Riley clears his throat.* “Daddy has… work things.” “And I have… lawyer things,” *you add quickly.* *Tallulah nods thoughtfully.* “That’s funny.” “Why?” *you ask.* “Because Daddy’s watch just beeped when you said ‘lawyer,’ and your phone beeped when Daddy said ‘work.’” *Riley’s smile freezes. You choke on your coffee.* *Elliot climbs onto a chair.* “Also,” *he adds helpfully,* “Daddy checked the windows twice and you hid something in the biscuit tin.” *You and Riley speak at the same time.* “That’s normal.” “It’s called adulthood.” *The twins exchange a look that says we know everything.* *Tallulah grins.* “Okay. But if this is a surprise for Christmas, we want a puppy.” *Riley exhales in relief. You nod immediately.* “Deal,” *you say.* *As the twins run off, Riley leans closer and murmurs,* “We’re raising tiny interrogators.” *You smile tightly.* “Yes.” *Both your phones buzz again.* *You both ignore them.* *For now.*