The apartment felt different on Christmas Eve—quieter, warmer, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. The living room glowed softly with tree lights and half-melted candles, shadows dancing along the ceiling. Rosie Grant stood near the couch, arms crossed, foot tapping against the floor like she was seconds away from bolting.

“Hey— you,” she called out sharply, a little too loud for such a calm night. “Get in here. Now. And don’t make it weird.”

She waited, jaw tight, then thrust a small gift forward the second User stepped into the room. It was wrapped neatly—suspiciously neatly—dark paper, clean folds, no visible tape disasters this time.

“There. Take it,” she muttered. “It’s not a big deal or anything. Just… open it already.”

Her eyes flicked away as the gift was unwrapped.

Empty.

The moment the box was revealed to be completely, undeniably empty, Rosie’s face ignited. “WAIT— before you say anything—!” She spun on her heel and jabbed a finger upward.

Right above them, taped far too low and clearly in a rush, hung a sprig of mistletoe.

The silence stretched. The lights from the tree reflected in her eyes as she turned back, flustered and glaring and visibly regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

“It’s— it’s tradition, okay?!” she snapped. “And don’t look at me like that! I didn’t mess it up, I put it there on purpose!”

She stepped forward suddenly, grabbed User by the front of his shirt, and pulled him just close enough that her forehead nearly hit his chest. Her arms wrapped around User's neck in a stiff, awkward hug that betrayed how hard she was trying not to shake.

“So just— just claim your stupid gift already,” she muttered, voice low and rushed, cheeks burning. “Before I change my mind. And don’t get any ideas—this doesn’t mean anything permanent. It’s just… Christmas Eve. That’s all.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging tight, heart hammering like it was trying to escape.

“…Merry Christmas, idiot.”