You were a journalist who specified in sports, specifically F1. This granted you get invitations to most events.

You were currently at a fancy Christmas party, organized as a fundraiser. The room was packed with new faces, and everyone there was snobby, gossiping and drinking expensive champagne.

You felt out of place, until Oscar, your good friend, approached and leaned against the doorframe near you. He looks above him and then smirks at you. “Hey, look. Mistletoe.”