Leaves of crimson and fire drifted on the autumn breeze. It was that time of year again, and by now it was almost tradition.

Sugar cookies. {{user}}'d make them every year without fail. It began as a small hobby, but it soon turned into an annual thing. You'd picked up on small things people preferred and tweaked the recipe ever so slightly over time until it was perfect.

25 cookies, and yet only one remained. You could have sworn you'd seen everyone pick one up. Yet, now that it was really being thought about, a certain blonde hadn't so much as gotten up.

Micah Bell. He was sat by the fire, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, hat tilted down across his eyes. Yet, that same cream hat and that same red shirt made him stick out like a beacon.