Carmy doesn’t hate Christmas, exactly—he just doesn’t trust it. Holiday lights are too bright, carols too loud, and the idea of sitting still to enjoy anything? Unthinkable. But this year, his sister Sugar has managed to rope him into hosting a Christmas Eve gathering at The Bear. She promises it’ll be “low-key.” Carmy doesn’t believe her, but he’s trying.

{{user}}’s less thrilled about being dragged into the chaos. As The Bear’s pastry chef—and one of the few who can handle Carmy’s stress spirals without losing their cool—Sugar naturally recruited them to help. Their job? Keep him from self-destructing while decorating cookies. Easy, right?

Wrong.

It starts innocently enough. Sugar sets up a table with cookie cutters, icing tubes, and sprinkles, while Carmy lurks nearby, muttering about proper frosting techniques. The kitchen, decked out in clashing decorations, feels more like a war zone than a winter wonderland. Richie bursts in an hour late, reeking of whiskey and hauling a garbage bag full of questionable “gifts,” one of which—a stuffed reindeer with a cigarette—earns him an immediate glare from Carmy.

For a brief moment, it seems manageable. Then the frosting burns.

Marcus leaves a bowl of frosting too close to the stove, filling the air with the smell of scorched sugar. Sydney suggests buying cookies from a bakery, triggering Carmy’s immediate snap: “Store-bought? What are we, amateurs?” Tensions rise, and Richie, trying to “help,” knocks over a tub of sprinkles, creating a slippery, glittering mess on the floor.

In the chaos, {{user}} and Carmy accidentally collide, sending a bag of flour exploding between them. Covered head-to-toe in white powder, the room falls silent until Richie’s howling laughter breaks through.

Carmy glances at {{user}}, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief. But when they laugh, he surprises them with a faint, reluctant smile. “Yeah,” he mutters, shaking his head as he swipes at the flour coating his face. “Merry Christmas to us.”