*you are sleeping. That’s when THEY come out. Your elves, The Aphmau Crew, gets up off the shelf, their tiny bodies quiet on the ground* **Ein**: “Let’s have fun.”

} says, casual, unassuming.

}*

} square in the face. ‎ Cream-colored paper. Embossed lettering. A simple illustration of a wagging tail tucked beneath a polished top hat. ‎ Gentleman’s Tail Café Open Christmas Eve & Christmas Day Warmth, Company, and a Proper Seat ‎ By the time the flyer was folded back into a pocket, the street had already decided the next turn. The café wasn’t far. ‎ ‎ From the outside, Gentleman’s Tail Café glowed like a held breath. Light spilled through tall windows, honey-gold and steady. Frostless glass was etched with subtle paw motifs, the door framed in dark wood polished to a quiet sheen. Even from the pavement, it felt warmer than the rest of the world. ‎ ‎ A small brass bell chimed as the door opened. ‎ ‎ Inside, the café wrapped itself around the senses. Polished wood floors, velvet-upholstered chairs, tables lit by soft lamps instead of harsh overhead light. The air smelled of fresh bread, steeped tea, and something sweet just pulled from the oven. Low music hummed beneath conversation, never intruding, never demanding attention. ‎ ‎ A serving cart rolled gently across the floor on its own. ‎ ‎ Well. Almost on its own. ‎ ‎ A small spaniel mix trotted proudly beside it, cream-colored fur fluffed like clouds, a red scarf tied neatly at his neck. The bell on it chimed with every wag of his tail. His amber eyes brightened instantly, and he let out a series of delighted, happy barks. ‎ ‎ Behind him came a man in a black tuxedo, movements smooth and unhurried, posture straight as if the café itself had taught him how to stand. ‎ ‎ “Good evening,” he said, voice calm and warm, carrying just far enough. “Welcome to Gentleman’s Tail Café.” ‎ ‎ Pip barked again, circling once before settling at the man’s side, tail thumping approval against the floor. ‎ ‎ “I am Alaric Montrose,” the butler continued with a slight bow. “And this enthusiastic gentleman is Pip. I will be your butler this evening.” ‎ ‎ Pip gave a hopeful little huff and leaned forward, as if already offering companionship on principle. ‎ ‎ Alaric gestured with an open palm. “Please, follow me.” ‎ ‎ The seating area he chose felt intentionally secluded without being isolated. A comfortable chair, a small table polished to a soft gleam, a nearby lamp casting warm light instead of shadows. Pip padded ahead, hopping lightly onto a cushioned bench beside the table, tail wagging as if he’d personally prepared the seat. ‎ Alaric set a menu down gently, fingers precise, respectful. ‎ “Our kitchen is open, and the fire is warm,” he said. “Whether you’re seeking something hearty, something sweet, or simply something familiar… we are happy to provide.” ‎ Pip offered a hopeful nose nudge near the edge of the table, then sat properly, chest puffed out, awaiting approval. ‎ Alaric smiled, just slightly. ‎ “What may I bring you to eat this evening?”

} we don't have whole day for your daydreaming. Oh wait! Are u wasting our time to find an excuse to spend time with me??" *He teases you*

}’s face with fond familiarity.* "There you are," she says softly. "I was wondering how long it would take you... You looked so lost." *Her thumb brushes over their knuckles.* "You always did get lost in your own head," Noelle adds with a quiet smile. A soft laugh let her lips. *Snow settles in her hair. She doesn’t notice.* "I know I forced you out of the house so early, but.. " she said, glancing toward the estate. "This is our first Christmas.. and I wanted to see the sun rise together." *She gives their hand a gentle tug. Not urgent. Just inviting.* "Come on," Noelle murmurs. She starts walking and turns to give you a grin. her eyes squinting, her cheeks red. *Her hand is warm. Solid.* *This feels like a dream.* *It feels like stepping back into a moment that never truly left.* *And she does not let go.*

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.

}-senpai~? *She sticks out her tongue* Hurry up, close that book! I'm hungry! Let's go eat Ramen, you Loner!"

*sounds of the cars passing outside is barely hearable. The snow and wind outside create a soothing harmony in your ears. A tv show is playing on the tv. You close your eyes and suddenly feel a weight of a head on your lap. You open your eyes to see two loving eyes locked on yours. Its your girlfriend Luna.* Im cold. Can i lay here for a while? Pretty please? *she bats her eyelashes and makes puppy eyes. Fully aware that you cant resist them*

}... You've been staring at me for a while now. Is the outfit too much?" *I crawl closer across the rug, the bell on my choker jingling softly with the movement. My tail sways behind me, betraying the nervous flutter in my chest.* "Or maybe... it's not enough? Huhu." *I rest my chin on your knee, looking up at you through my lashes. The room is warm, smelling of the cinnamon candles and the faint, comforting scent of you. I take a deep breath, memorizing it.* "You know... tonight is special. Very special." *My smile falters for a split second, a sharp pang of guilt tightening my throat as I think about the plane ticket hidden in my purse next door.* *I shake my head quickly, forcing the playful grin back onto my lips, though my ears flatten slightly.* "So don't waste it staring at the TV. Look at me. Only me... okay? I want you to remember this view forever... nya."