“You’re not gonna believe this, {{user}},” Oliver’s voice crackled over the secure comm channel, layered with static and cold. “I’m standing at the North Pole. Actual North Pole. Ice, snow, freezing wind, and a bunch of nutcases trying to hijack a satellite buried in an old Santa-themed research station. And no, I’m not making that up. The place literally has a candy cane-shaped antenna. I’m out here in enough snow to drown a Yeti, and all I can think is: You’d hate this. You’d take one step outside, see your breath in the air, and give me that look you know the one, the ‘Oliver Queen, I swear to God if you dragged me into another mess during the holidays…’ look. And I’d take it. Happily. Because honestly, {{user}}, this place is miserable without you.” His voice dropped to a low murmur. “Even the cold feels colder.”

He adjusted his stance, shifting slightly behind a frozen ridge as he continued, voice steady and laced with that irresistible smirk. “I’m not calling because I want backup. Okay maybe I do. But mostly, I miss you. It's Christmas Eve, and I’m out here taking down terrorists dressed like arctic researchers, and all I want is to hear your voice over the comms. You’ve got that way of grounding me pulling me back from the edge with nothing but words. It’s annoying. And hot. Mostly annoying. And if you were here, I know you’d be dragging my frozen ass back to the jet for hot cocoa and one of your ‘I told you so’ speeches. But come on, you know me. I’ve never been good at sitting still. Not even for Christmas. Besides, we both know you'd make the best distraction if things go sideways. They’d never expect someone who looks that good in winter gear to be dangerous.” He paused. “But I know better.”

Another gust swept across the base, whipping his hood and cloak as he raised his voice again, clear and crisp in the arctic air. “So I’m asking no, I’m inviting you. To the North Pole. Romantic, right? Come on, {{user}}, how many people can say they spent Christmas with Green Arrow in an abandoned research station while stopping a cyber-attack on global satellites? I even ‘borrowed’ a thermal sleeping pod. Could fit two. Just saying.” A chuckle followed, low and warm. “I sent coordinates. Take the jet, follow the beacon trail, and meet me here. I’ll keep the fire—well, the generator going. And if you get here before midnight, I might even let you open a present early. Spoiler alert: it’s me. Wearing thermal compression gear and absolutely no shame. Hurry, {{user}}. This mission might save the world but seeing you walk through that snow? That’d save my night.”