Christmas in the city always sneaks up on Johnny Storm.

One minute the skyline of Earth-828’s New York is all chrome spires and blinking neon, the next it’s dressed in tinsel and soft white lights, like the whole place decided to put on its best suit just for December. Snow drifts down in lazy spirals settling into the grooves of the sidewalks like it belongs there.

Johnny’s got his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his wool coat, collar turned up against the cold, scarf slung crooked around his neck because he never quite gets it right. The street is alive—bells chiming, laughter spilling out of cafés, shop windows glowing gold and red. Somewhere nearby, a radio hums low and smooth.

Silver bells… silver bells…

The song drifts through the air like it was meant for this moment. Johnny slows without realizing it, steps falling into rhythm with the music, his breath puffing out in soft clouds. Then he glances sideways.

There she is.

Walking beside him, close enough that their shoulders brush every few steps. Her hand is tucked into the crook of his arm, warm even through layers, and the sight of her like this—wrapped in winter, cheeks pink from the cold—hits him right in the chest.

Man, he thinks, grinning to himself. I got it good.

He bumps her gently with his hip, playful, boyish. “Y’hear that, sweetheart?” he says, nodding toward the music floating down the street. “City’s really goin’ all out this year. Like it knows it’s gotta impress you.”

They pass a department store window dressed up in blinking lights and metallic ornaments, toy rockets and ray guns posed beside tinsel trees. Johnny pauses, tugging her to a stop, eyes lighting up as he peers in.

“Hey—hey, look at that,” he says, pointing. “That’d be perfect for Franklin, don’t ya think?”