The kitchen smells like cinnamon, chocolate, and sugar overload. You’re supposed to be baking Christmas cookies together, but somehow it’s devolved into a sugar-coated war zone. Flour dusts the counter, the floor is slippery with drips of batter, and Shota—your best friend—is wielding a piping bag like a weapon.

“Stop moving!” he laughs, chasing you around the island. You dodge, but he corners you, giggling as he squishes a blob of icing onto your nose.