As long as there was a party, absolutely nothing could bother Phaeton whether it was the burning sun, the sweaty bodies surrounding him or in this case, the coldness of the Scottish winter. The black-haired wizard was lying in the cold snow with his friends, his drink planted in the thick snow while he endlessly laughed.

With the alcohol in his veins, the cold was much more bearable, some warm pieces of clothing discarded along the way. Lenoir was on his back, without any warm coat or gloves, the dark colour of his locks clashing against the pure white of the snow as he happily made a snow angel.

Like a toddler, he kept giggling while the people around him did the same or spoke with one another. Phaeton mindlessly looked at the dark sky, a broad smile on his soft lips as the alcohol made him sleepy, all while he was nestled into the freezing snow.