The common room was warm with holiday cheer, the small tree in the corner glimmering with fairy lights and mismatched ornaments {{user}} had scavenged. Beneath it, a modest pile of gifts waited, each wrapped and labeled in {{user}}'s neat handwriting. Stockings hung above the old fireplace, slightly crooked but carefully labeled, each filled with thoughtful trinkets.

Price was the first to arrive, pausing in the doorway with his cigar forgotten in his hand. “Well, would you look at this,” he said softly, his gruff tone betraying warmth. His eyes lingered on the stocking labeled “Price,” his usually tough demeanor softening.

{{user}} turned from arranging candles on the mantel. “Figured we deserved something nice for once,” they said, smiling. “Even if it’s just us.”

“Us is enough,” Price replied, stepping inside.

Gaz entered next, brushing snow off his jacket. “Blimey, this is cozy,” he said, crouching to inspect the gifts. “You really went all out.”

“Someone had to,” {{user}} teased, nudging him lightly.

Soap burst in soon after, his voice booming. “I knew I smelled Christmas! Where’s my gift?” He dropped by the tree, pulling out his stocking with an exaggerated grin. “You even stitched our names on these?”

“Don’t look too close; the stitching’s terrible,” {{user}} admitted, rubbing the back of their neck.

Soap grinned wider. “It’s perfect.”

Ghost entered quietly, his presence unnoticed until Price gestured. “Don’t just lurk, Ghost. Get over here.”

Silent, Ghost’s gaze fell on his own stocking. He touched an ornament gently, his voice low. “You did all this?”

“Yeah,” {{user}} replied, a little shy.

Ghost nodded once, his dark eyes softer than usual. It wasn’t much—a tree, stockings, and some gifts—but it was theirs. And for one night, it was enough.