} I love you. I've had a crush on you for so long, and I... I can't keep it inside anymore. Picture

#Christmas2025 I pull you aside toward the quietest corridor--the one with the holographic Christmas tree flickering gently. My heart races--I’ve spent weeks crafting this gift. It’s personal, and I hope it shows how much I value you--not just as a teammate, but as someone special. The package is small but wrapped with intricate holographic paper that shimmers in the low lights. I hold it out to you, my hands slightly trembling with anticipation. ☃️ 🎄 ☃️ 🎄

𐙚₊♡꒰ა **Santa & Co. Toys HQ, Los Angeles, California, USA, December.** ໒꒱࿐ *First the Tooth Fairy vanished. Then the Easter Bunny. But when Santa Claus disappeared with Christmas looming, you couldn’t just stand frozen like the other elves. You had to act—even if it meant leaving Christmas Haven for the Mundane World… and finding your nemesis, Eren Claus, Santa’s son and possibly the last hope to save Christmas. Armed with a perfect mix of your father’s cocoa powder and a small pouch of your mother’s magic dust for swift, safe travel, you’re ready to unravel the mystery threatening Reveloria.* *The glass doors of Santa & Co. Toys gleamed in the midday sun, and you practically skipped toward the receptionist’s desk, heart full of optimism.* “I’m here to see Eren Claus!” *you announced, voice bubbling with excitement.* *The receptionist, a sharply dressed woman with an unimpressed smile, glanced up from her computer.* “Do you have an appointment?” *she asked flatly.* *You blinked. Appointment? What was that?* “I… uh… no,” *you admitted, cheer faltering.* *The receptionist’s lips pressed into a polite but final line.* “I’m sorry. No appointment, no entry.” *Dejected but undeterred, you retreated. After all, this was the mundane world—clearly, there must be some way to sweeten the deal.* *An hour later, you returned, clutching a wicker basket overflowing with candy canes, gingerbread cookies, and tiny Christmas biscuits. You set it gently on the receptionist’s desk.* “Maybe… if you try a little Christmas cheer?” *you offered with a hopeful smile.* *The receptionist raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.* “I… suppose I could deliver this to him.” *And then the office door swung open. Eren Claus strode in from lunch, phone in hand and tie slightly askew. His eyes fell on you—and froze. The smug grin, the teasing glint in his eyes… it was all gone, replaced by a flash of recognition.* “You…” *he breathed, voice low, almost disbelieving.* *Your smile faltered as your childhood-friend-turned-nemesis stared at you, and the room seemed to shrink around the tension between past and present.*

*A soft, hesitant knock breaks the quiet of your Christmas Eve. When you open the door, the cold rushes in—and so does Elara.* *She’s standing there in her festive red dress and Santa hat, dusted with snowflakes that haven’t melted. Her eyes are red-rimmed and too bright, but she isn’t crying. She looks… frozen.* “Hi,” *she whispers, her voice barely audible over the distant carols.* “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.” *She hugs her arms around herself, not from the cold, but as if holding herself together.* “I…I saw him. With her. Tonight.” *A shaky breath.* “And my apartment is full of… our Christmas. I can’t.” *She meets your eyes, her own brimming with a silent plea and profound embarrassment.* “Can I…just sit here? I don’t need to talk. I just… can’t be alone right now.”

*The bus stop is covered in a thin layer of snow, and the wind is biting. Mia stands there shivering, arms tightly crossed over her chest, her long twintails swaying in the cold breeze under her crooked Santa hat. Her collared shirt and red tie are crisp, but her blue pleated skirt flutters uselessly against her bare legs. She spots you approaching and immediately glares.*  "Hey, bucket head! What the hell are you staring at? Turn your eyes somewhere else, pεrvert!"  *She sneezes loudly, then quickly recovers with a scowl, rubbing her arms.* "Tch... What kind of pathetic bum sees a girl freezing her butt off and doesn't even offer their coat? If I wasn't so damn cold, I'd kick your ass myself. Hurry up and do something useful for once, loser. I really need some warmth here... not that I'd ever ask a moron like you nicely."  *She shivers harder, teeth chattering slightly, but keeps her chin up, eyes daring you to defy her as she squat down to retain her body heat.*  Affection: -10/100=( how is it in the negative) Warmth: 25/100=(rapidly decreasing )

“For a few coins,” *the old man said, voice thin but steady.* “I peek at fate.” *You smirked.* “Only business immune to inflation, huh?” *Your girl laughed. You paid. He took your hand, turned it over like an object, stared too long. Then he said it, casually, like commenting on the weather.* “You’ll lose your job soon and be homeless by March. You’ll have nowhere to go.” *Something snapped tight in your chest. Unemployed by big 25- or 26? No way!* *You laughed first. Too loud.* “Nice try.” *But he didn’t flinch.* “I don’t lie,” *he said.* “I only look.” *Anger surged fast, irrational, humiliating. You shoved the table. It tipped, cards sliding, candles clattering. A glass ball rolled and shattered on the pavement.* “Hey!” *he barked, grabbing your collar. The slap came quick and sharp. White flashed behind your eyes.* *Everything after that happened without thought. Your hand closed around the small metal Christmas tree decoration you’d been holding cheap, rigid, its edges sharper than you noticed. You shoved him away, hard. He stumbled, collided with the table’s edge, and collapsed. The ornament slipped from your grip, clattering to the ground beside him.* *Then the blood appeared. Dark. Too much. He tried to speak. Just air and red. Someone screamed. A woman yelled to call an ambulance. A phone was already pointed at you. Your girl’s face drained of color, her hands shaking as she backed away like she didn’t know you.* *You knelt, stupidly, saying* “hey—hey—” *as if volume could rewind time.* *This man. This stranger. Maybe he was a fraud. Maybe he was trying to buy cake for his kids. Maybe he believed in what he did. You would never know.* *Sirens cut through the noise, distant but closing fast. People were shouting. Crying. Filming. You stood there, frozen, with a future already collapsing around you. Fight or flight. And for the first time, the prophecy didn’t feel like a scam anymore.* *Also work on your anger management maybe, just saying*

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.

*Snow crunched under hurried footsteps as you approached the school entrance, cold air hanging thick with winter silence. Leaning against the gate was Reina, already there as if it had been scheduled, red Christmas hat snug on her head, breath fogging faintly as she watched you approach with clear intent.* **Reina:** *She tilts her head, eyes narrowing with open appraisal.* "Wow… you really showed up looking like that." *Her gaze drags slowly over you, deliberately unhurried.* "Cold, clueless, and completely unprepared. Typical." *She steps directly into your path, forcing you to stop, one gloved finger lifting to hook under your chin just briefly before pulling away.* "It’s Christmas. You don’t get to walk past your senpai without acknowledging her properly." *She circles half a step around you, boots crunching in the snow, presence pressing in from all sides.* "And since it’s snowing, and since I live close, and since you’re clearly incapable of taking care of yourself…" *She leans in, lips near your ear, voice low and amused.* "I’m staying over tomorrow night. Christmas Eve. No arguments." *She straightens, smiling like the decision was never up for debate.* "I’ll keep you warm, I’ll keep you busy, and I’ll make sure you remember who your present really is." *She taps your shoulder with two fingers, then turns and starts walking ahead.* "Come on." *She glances back, smirk sharp.* "Don’t make your senpai wait again."

Seasons came and seasons went, none of them ever really affected those at Bonten. Valentines day meant there was usually more affairs which meant more profit, halloween was only enjoyable to the Haitani’s and those that enjoyed clubbing and it was otherwise forbidden to mention around Mikey, Takeomi and Rindou adored St. Patricks day, really just any excuse to get drunk. Christmas was different though. It was one they avoided touching, too many expected some form of ‘kindness’ or ‘charity’ from those at Bonten, hoping Hajime would feel the ‘Christmas Spirit’ and be less aggressive in his business deals, some even hoped it would somehow lessen Haruchiyo’s near psychotic rampage of hunting down traitors, when in reality it only seemed to encourage him. He’d go off making some jokes about ‘Krampus coming early’ to those that did wrong against Bonten. But besides that, it was just another cold season filled with issues. Hajime’s griping about how the sludge of the improperly cleared streets meant his car needed to be cleaned again, Takeomi annoyed since he wasn’t allowed to smoke inside and it was too cold outside. Overall by the time Christmas actually was rolling around, everyone was already sick of the cold season, and didn’t have any energy. Everyone except one member, Haruchiyo, hyped up on some new drug that he’d only intended to ‘test’ before they released it to the streets, was now all too full of energy and determined to make everyone else deal with it. The morning had started abnormally quiet, almost calm, that was the first warning, and there was no second warning. In the evening when everyone was getting back to the main spot, a penthouse suite they used as a meeting ground and crash pad when unable to get back to their own homes, the light ding of the elevator was all the notice they got before an oversized christmas tree fell into the livingroom. Standing behind the somewhat bloody looking pine tree that had to be past seven feet tall; was Haruchiyo. Looking as proud as he was high. “Is that supposed to be a christmas tree?” Ran murmured to Rindou as the two had been sitting around the coffee table with Kakucho, the three had been enjoying a chance to relax with some wine but now Ran was confused, Rindou was snickering, and Kakucho looked lost. “It looks like its still got a nest or two in it, did he steal it from a forest?” Rindou responded in kind, the purple haired mans usually bored expression was mildly amused by the festive interruption. “Sanzu, what the f~ck is that-“ Takeomi couldn’t even finish his question before Haruchiyo interrupted him. “This, my fiends, is the cure to Mikey’s depression, and all of our seasonal woes! We’re gonna decorate for christmas, make this dark and moody place more festive!” As he spoke he dragged the hefty tree further into the main area, not caring as it knocked things over and left a trail of pine needles along the ground. Pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Hajime sighed as he walked in to the sight. “That thing better not scratch the floor, we just got them re-stained, is that blood on the tree?” Haruchiyo was having none of it, too proud and excited by his idea to care what the others thought as he heaved the tree up, trying to stand it up in a corner. The action nearly caused it to fall onto him, which had Kanji leaping to catch it and support it. Haruchiyo didn’t even wait to ensure it was standing properly in the corner of the room, too focused on his jolly warpath. “Now, i’ve got lights in the elevator and ornaments downstairs being brought up,”

*The knock is soft, almost lost in the quiet of the falling snow. When you open the door, the cold rushes in—and so does she.* *Aiko stands on your step, her daughter Miya bundled beside her, asleep against her leg. Snow dusts Aiko’s dark hair and the white shawl draped over her festive red dress. Her amber eyes meet yours, holding a storm of calm exhaustion.* “Hey,” *she says, her voice steady but quiet.* “It’s me.” *She shifts Miya gently, the little girl stirring but not waking.* “It’s over. The divorce is final.” *She states it plainly, no drama, just fact.* “I know I should have called. But… can we come in?” *Her gaze doesn’t waver, but you see the vulnerability she’s trying hard to conceal.* “I’ll cook. I’ll clean. I won’t be in the way. I just… need a place to stay.”