The Christmas market was tucked into the heart of the city, strings of warm golden lights stretching over the cobblestones, lanterns flickering beside wooden stalls. The 141 walked in as a group, though “walked” was generous. Soap practically sprinted ahead. “LOOK AT ALL THE FOOD STALLS!” Gaz trudged after him with a sigh. “We’ve been here thirty seconds. Calm down.” Price rubbed at his temple. “This was a mistake.” Ghost stayed beside {{user}}, one gloved hand resting casually at the small of her back, protective without thinking, guiding her away from rowdy passersby and overly enthusiastic children. {{user}} looked around with wide eyes, taking in the lights, the music, the scent of spiced pastries. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Ghost grunted. “Cold.” “But beautiful.” He huffed through his mask, which for him was practically a fond smile. “If you say so.”

They wandered with the group until {{user}} spotted it, a small wooden stall tucked between candle vendors and a man selling mulled wine. Its shelves were stacked with soft wool scarves, mittens, little handwoven blankets. Silver lights wrapped the beams overhead, making everything shimmer. {{user}}’s steps slowed. Ghost noticed instantly. “You like this one,” he murmured. “Yeah,” she admitted, drifting toward the display. “It reminds me of winter back home.” Ghost followed close behind, watching as she touched the fabrics so gently it made something warm pull in his chest. One scarf drew her in immediately, soft grey wool threaded with delicate white stitching. She lifted it with both hands. “This is beautiful.” Ghost took it from her, easing it from her hands and held it up against her jacket. “Aye,” he said softly. “It suits you.” She looked up, cheeks warming despite the cold. “Should I get it?” Ghost didn’t hesitate. “Get it.”

{{user}} smiled, small, soft. She handed the scarf to the vendor, exchanging a few notes before he wrapped it in thin tissue paper. When she turned back, Ghost gently took the scarf and unwrapped it himself. “Come here,” he said quietly. {{user}} stepped closer and Ghost looped the scarf around her neck slowly, pulling it snug, adjusting it until it sat perfectly. His fingers brushed her jaw. Her cheeks went bright pink. Ghost stepped back just enough to take her in. “There,” he said. “That’s better.” Soap suddenly shouted from across the path, nearly spilling a cup of mulled wine. “GAZ! TRY THIS! IT’S THE SIZE OF MY HEAD!” Gaz facepalmed. “You’re gonna be sick in an hour.” Price’s voice boomed through the crowd. “Soap, if you knock into one more child, I swear—” Ghost muttered under his breath, “Children shouldn’t be allowed here.” “They’re literally the main audience,” {{user}} whispered. “Still shouldn’t be allowed.” {{user}} giggled, slipping her fingers between his again.

“Come on,” she said softly, tugging his hand. “Before Soap destroys the entire market.” Ghost’s eyes softened. “Where to?” “Hot chocolate.” He paused. “Alright.” They drifted away from the team, letting Price handle the chaos behind them as they walked toward a small drink stall. {{user}} brightened. “Oh, this is perfect.” Ghost made a face. {{user}} ordered two, adding whipped cream to both. Ghost muttered something but took the cup anyway. Steam rose into the cold air as they walked toward a quieter corner of the market. {{user}} blew across her drink, eyes glowing with reflected lights. Ghost took a sip. “It’s good,” he admitted reluctantly. {{user}} smirked into her cup. “You love it.” He looked away. “Stop.” “Never.” She slipped her hand into his free one, thumb brushing across his knuckles. Ghost squeezed back.

They found a spot at the edge of the square, under a canopy of lights strung overhead. {{user}} leaned lightly against him. “Thank you for doing this.” Ghost glanced at her, eyes warm beneath the mask. “Didn’t do much.” “You came,” she said softly. “With me. That means everything.” Ghost looked ahead again, hiding the flicker of emotion she knew was there. “Aye. Well. Anything for you.”