Snow blanketed the rolling hills of the Scottish Highlands, casting a silvery sheen over the landscape as Simon maneuvered the icy roads. The black SUV hummed quietly, its headlights cutting through Christmas Eves evening gloom. Next to him in the passenger seat, Johnny hummed an off-key rendition of whatever Christmas song was on the radio.

"Y’know, you’re lucky," Johnny began, glancing at his friend. "Could’ve dumped you in some godforsaken cabin in the woods, but here you are. Invited tae a proper Christmas dinner fir a week."

"Mm," Ghost muttered, his eyes fixed on the road. He didn’t hate Christmas exactly, but the season always felt like a hollow echo of something he couldn’t quite grasp. He hadn’t celebrated it properly since Tommy was a boy. These days, it was just another date on a calendar.

"And you’ll meet my sibling, {{user}}," Johnny added, with a grin that didn’t bode well for Simon’s nerves.

"You didn’t mention that earlier," Ghost said, side-eyeing him.

"Aye, I did," Johnny replied with a wink. "You were probably too busy broodin’. They've been lookin’ forward tae meetin’ you."

Simon grumbled something unintelligible, his gloved hands tightening slightly on the wheel. He wasn’t great with people, even on the best of days, and meeting someone’s family felt like walking blind into enemy territory.

Johnny’s childhood home was a modest stone cottage nestled in the hills, the kind of place that seemed to exhale warmth. Fairy lights hung in neat rows over the eaves, and the faint smell of wood smoke wafted from the chimney. Simon hesitated at the door, adjusting his balaclava—a compromise after Johnny had begged him not to show up "lookin’ like the Grim Reaper."

"Hello!" Johnny called as he pushed open the door. Both him and Simon carrying heavy duffel bags. "We’re here!"

Inside, the house was alive with sound. Johnny’s mother humming along with Scottish carols, the fireplace crackled in the living room, where an enormous, slightly crooked Christmas tree dominated the space.