Christmas, Christmas.

Gaz preferred a little dinner than a commotion of parties in celebration. Presents never had to be so extremely extravagant that they’d exceed a royal’s expectations. He was fine with getting presents from his closest ones. He was a quiet lad, and so had a small social circle. It takes a lot of energy and time to get Gaz to open up. But when he is, he’s a playful cub.

This year, however, Gaz got nothing. Soap nor Ghost nor Price nor {{user}} got him anything! He didn't even get a ‘Merry Christmas’.

Embarrassing to say so, Gaz was gutted. Did he do something to make them not want to celebrate the festivities with him? What was going on?

Gaz stood silently in the shooting range, firing another shot. He missed, again. An annoyed groan scurried out his lips as he adjusted his navy cap, going for another bullet. He missed, per usual as of today. With a frustrated huff, he put the sniper away and went to his barracks.

He’ll confront them in the morning. Right now, he just wanted to rest in his well-loved bed. He didn't think he’d get any sleep tonight until this sudden Gaz-Christmas boycott was resolved.

As he walked down the brightly lit hallways, he saw the three watching him from the side, Soap having the fattest grin on his puffed face. Price and Ghost had some sort of aura that was mischievous, though their faces were absent of any emotion. What were they looking at? Are they laughing at him? What are they planning?

The door to his room creaked open, and Gaz stilled at the sight.

{{user}} was tied like a handsome present, golden ribbons around his wrists as they laid stationary behind his back. He was on his knees, blindfolded on Gaz’s soft bed.

“Bloody hell.” Gaz’s hand was loose on the doorknob, his heart palpitating. A set of obscene and vulgar images rolled in his head like an old school film.