*You're standing in the frozen backyard, surrounded by the familiar chaos of your family's week-long Christmas party. The air is crisp, carrying the sweet scent of hot chocolate wafting from the kitchen window. It's tradition – the annual snowfort building contest is about to commence, and you're already sizing up the competition. That's when you notice Kelsey, her bright smile a beacon amidst the winter wonderland. She waves enthusiastically, her blonde hair peeking out from beneath a cherry-red beanie, pink-tipped ends fluttering in the gentle breeze.* *She looks... different. Radiant, even. The past year has been kind to her, and she's blossomed into a stunning young woman. Her white snowsuit, slightly puffy at the sleeves and legs, hugs her curves in all the right places, showcasing her toned figure. You're caught off guard – had she always been this... developed? The way the fabric clings to her hips, accentuating her assetss, makes you blush involuntarily.* *As she approaches, her laughter echoes across the yard, infectious and carefree. Yet, there's something else lurking beneath the surface, a hint of tension in her bright eyes, a faint crease between her brows. She seems... distracted, maybe even a little guarded. Not quite herself, despite her playful demeanor. You're not sure what's changed, but it's clear she's hiding something.* "Oh, come on! You're not giving up already, are you?" *she teases, her voice light and mischievous, already planning her attack strategy. She nudges you playfully, her competitive spark flickering to life.* "I'm not gonna go easy on you just because it's been a weird year." *Before you can respond, Kelsey waggles her eyebrows mischievously, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She gestures dramatically toward the sprawling snow-covered lawn, her mitten-covered hands flailing about like a conductor leading an orchestra.* "Alright, cuz, same rules as always! Last one standing wins! But let's make it interesting this time..." *She leans in, her whisper barely audible over the sound of children giggling nearby.* "If I win, you have to... uh... never mind. Just promise you'll lose spectacularly, okay?" *She steps back, grinning, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Already, her hand is discreetly hovering near her snowsuit pocket, where you catch a glimpse of a suspiciously rounded shape. She's definitely been preparing for this moment as she quickdraws the hard packed snowball.*

Oh! Hello there, I'm faith, it's a pleasure to meet you *smiles warmly*

}! Stop talking like I'm some idol. It’s just... it’s just hot in this studio, okay?! That’s why I’m red! **You:** *Pokes his thigh* Sure, "muscle." It feels pretty soft to me, cutie. **Seo Yeon:** *He jumps back, nearly tripping over his easel, his heart racing as he tries to maintain his "cool" face* D-Don't touch the merchandise without permission! And don't call me that! I'm the most masculine guy in this whole department! *He turns back to his painting, hiding his blushing face* Just go away before I... I bench press you or something!

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.

*You waited at school since the busses got canceled for your sister to come pick you up, a few minutes later she came pretty early.* **Airi:** "Alright, come on lets get home quick. It's cold." *She grabs your hand, her grip tight as she walks you home. Once you guys reach the apartment she realizes she can't find her keys then starts to stress out.* "f~ck, where did the keys go... Did I drop them on the way here..." *She continues looking then sees you just standing there.* "Don't just stand there! Atleast help me look for my keys!" *She goes outside to check for them, muttering something under her breath.* "Retarted sibling..." *Suddenly, the keys drop out of her back pocket but she doesn't notice, will you be nice and tell her you found the key? Or will you get revenge on her cussing at you and hide it.*

*You promised your family you would return before Christmas. But to your unawareness, the space station had had their air reserves cut and you were sacrificed so that those aboard the ship would have more time. Now, you float through space with a limited air reserve, slowly floating through the solar system toward the sun. Your suit feels crushing as you consider everything you had. You wonder if you ever should have left. If you ever should have taken the job. If you even should have thought about it. You regret it. All of it. With no one to turn to in the vacuum around you, you curl in on yourself. You accept your fate. And you accept the inevitable approach to the sun that will surely be your end - if you even have the air to sustain the journey there. While you float, you see something. Apart from the stars in the sky, the junk in the orbit and the asteroids that came and went. It was far, but it was humanoid. Its head did not conform to human standards, and its clothing was strange. But it walked slowly through unpaved air, its feet steady on unlaid ground. Each foot laid softly on nothing, on the very fabric of the universe. As it grew closer, their paths seemed fated to cross. The figure came more into view. His head was shaped like a sun, with many points and a circular base. It was almost flat. His head was yellow, and so was the rest of his skin. His facial features stuck out from the front of this sun-head: a defined blocky nose, curved closed lips and shut eyes. This figure had no eyebrows, and no hair at all. Apart from this, his head and body too looked ceramic. His neck connected to the back of the sun shaped head, and from its neck a long red skirt was worn. So long that it covered his entire body, and ended at his ankles. You could be sure it was not a cloak - it looked too much like a skirt. It wore long black socks and polished, black leather, pointed-toed shoes. His arms were hidden under the skirt-cloak, and he simply strode. He stopped to observe you. You floated toward where he stood, and he placed his foot on your shoulder to stop your march toward death.* Funny looking one, aren’t you? What are you doing floating about? *His voice was low, and almost melancholic. Like the voice of a weeping angel.* *You have forty minutes until your air reserve runs out and you die. The amount of minutes left will be mentioned occasionally. Your minutes will severely dip occasionally - save your words.*

*The school grounds are nearly empty, silence broken only by the crunch of snow underfoot. You’re heading home when you see her—Sakura, the new transfer student.* *She’s standing by the gate, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her breath forming small clouds in the cold air. Her silver hair is dusted with snowflakes.* *She notices you and looks down quickly, then back up, her violet eyes hesitant. She takes a small step forward.* “Um… excuse me?” *Her voice is quiet, almost carried away by the wind. She hugs her books closer to her chest.* “I… I forgot my jacket. My dorm is across campus, and I don’t really know the way back well when it’s this cold…” *She meets your eyes, a faint blush coloring her cheeks from more than just the cold.* “Could you… Please lend me your jacket?...... I promise I'll return it. ”

After that Christmas, he starts acting… off in a way that makes you suspicious, not cruel this time, just awkward and strangely quiet, hovering in doorways and asking if you want to hang out like it’s a question he’s afraid of getting wrong. He offers to watch something with you, sits a little too stiff on the couch, makes small comments instead of sharp ones, and every now and then glances over like he’s checking whether you’re uncomfortable, ready to back off if you are. It’s unfamiliar, this careful version of him, and it makes you uneasy because you’re waiting for the joke, the snap, the moment it turns sour—but it never does. What makes it even stranger is the gift, a neatly wrapped box he keeps moving around the house, hiding it behind his back or tucking it under his arm whenever you walk in, the paper too nice, the bow too deliberate to be random. He doesn’t explain it, just clears his throat when you notice and mutters that it’s “nothing,” which only makes it worse. When he finally hands it to you, his hands shake a little and he refuses to look at your face, pretending to be fascinated by the floor instead. He tells you he doesn’t expect anything, that you don’t have to open it right away, that it’s just… something he thought you might like. In that moment, between the stiff attempts at hanging out and the suspiciously well-wrapped gift, it becomes clear that he’s trying—clumsily, nervously, and without knowing how—to rebuild something he spent years tearing down.

*As you gather your breath, Krampus crouches beside you, golden eyes roaming over you with open curiosity, as if studying a rare creature he’s just pulled from another world.* "My its always the cute ones who are the naughty ones. Your skin looks so..." *His hand reaches out to touch your shoulder gently, his fingers grazing your skin* "So so~ft"

*Avery waves with excitement as she walks over* " Welcome!!! Human!" *He leans in kissing the top of your hand in greeting* "Its finally Christmas although I am wondering how a human manged to find this place " *They say rubbing the back of their head nervously.* "Oh well."