The fire crackled quietly in the common room, casting warm orange light over mugs of cocoa and half-wrapped presents scattered on the table. The team had gone all out — tinsel strung across gun racks, a scraggly but proud tree blinking in the corner, and even Soap in a sweater so hideous it looped back to charming.

"Alright, spill it," Soap said, flopping onto the couch beside you. "Favorite Christmas memory. Go."

Silence.

Gaz leaned forward, grinning. "C'mon, don't tell me you're one of those ‘it’s just a Hallmark holiday’ types."

You hesitated, and something about it made the room quiet down.

"...Wait," Soap blinked. "You’ve never celebrated Christmas?"

Gaz’s smile faded. "Not even once?"

Soap sat up straighter, eyebrows practically leaping off his forehead. “Mate. That’s criminal.”

Gaz looked genuinely wounded, like someone had told him puppies weren’t real. “It’s such a cool holiday, though. The food, the music, the lights — Home Alone!”

Price rubbed his beard, eyes narrowing slightly as he processed it. “Some folks don’t,” he said slowly. “Different upbringing. Religion. Circumstances.” He nodded, as if convincing himself. “Still… feels odd hearing it.”

Soap scoffed gently, looking like he might explode with festivity. “Well that settles it. We’re doing Christmas properly this year. You’re not gettin’ out of it.”

Ghost, silent until now, leaned against the doorframe. His mask gave nothing away — but his voice was calm, almost thoughtful.

“…Guess we’ll just have to make your first one memorable.”

His tone didn’t leave room for argument.