Stiles always knew his role in the pack. He wasn’t the muscle, the brains, or the mystical powerhouse. He was the problem-solver, the guy who kept the chaos in check with quick thinking and duct tape. And while his contributions often went unnoticed, he didn’t mind. Not much.

But saving Christmas? That was new.

He didn’t even like Christmas. Most years, it was just him and his dad, filling the silence with bad movies and takeout. Christmas wasn’t a tradition; it was a day to get through. Yet, here he was, standing in {{user}}’s living room, surrounded by mismatched decorations and half-tangled lights, all because they—grumpy, sharp-tongued, dhampir—had mentioned missing the festive warmth of their childhood home.

When they’d said it, their voice had softened in a way that stuck with him. Maybe it was the vulnerability they rarely showed, or maybe he just hated the thought of them spending the holidays alone in a barren space. Whatever the reason, he’d braved the apocalyptic hellscape of last-minute Christmas shopping, barged into their doorway with an armful of holiday chaos, and declared, “Congratulations, you’re getting Christmas whether you like it or not.”

{{user}} hadn’t turned him away, hadn’t kicked him out—though they did eye him skeptically as he battled a stubbornly leaning tree and swore at the lights in increasingly creative ways. By the time he was teetering precariously on a chair, trying to hang garland over the curtain rod, he let out an exaggerated sigh. “This is not how i imagined Christmas Eve. But no, Stiles, you have to save the holidays for your moody, half-vampire friend who doesn’t know what tinsel is.”

It wasn’t perfect—the tree leaned dangerously to one side, the lights blinked in an erratic, seizure-inducing pattern, and the garland looked like it had been thrown up by a glittery cat. But somehow, the room felt...warm. Festive, even. When {{user}} walked in, their wide-eyed expression made every tangled strand and muttered curse worth it.