I was wonder if I could request a platonic first years oneshot? Since it’s canon that Twisted wonderland doesn’t do Christmas how would the first years react to reader being sad they can’t celebrate? Like they want to but nobody knows what they’re talking about.
"...you said merry christmas?"
The cold in Twisted Wonderland was different.
It bit more than it nipped. The air clung to your jacket and chilled you through the seams, despite the thick scarf you'd pulled tight around your throat. Every breath fogged the air in front of your face as you trudged back from a long lecture, bag hanging heavy off one shoulder, gloved fingers stiff around the strap.
Winter was in full swing, but something about it felt… empty.
There were no lights. No soft carols drifting from dorm windows. No decorations strung up in the hallways, no smell of cinnamon or pine or anything remotely cozy. No countdowns. No paper snowflakes or hidden presents or the low buzz of excited students whispering about family traditions, gifts, food, reunions.
Here, it was just winter. Cold, dry, quiet winter.
Nobody even knew what Christmas was.
You’d tried to explain it once in passing. Something about traditions and togetherness, maybe a tree, maybe snow. But Ace had laughed and Deuce had blinked in confusion, and Jack had grunted something like “Doesn’t sound like a Sunset Savannah custom.”
It hadn’t come up again.
Until today.
Because now it was the week before Christmas, well your Christmas the one back home, and everyone else seemed perfectly fine. Worse, they were excited for a flying relay next week. Or an alchemy assessment. Finals, of all things. Everyone was carrying on like this was just any old stretch of winter days, and the loneliness of it all hit you harder than expected.
So you sat on the floor of Ramshackle’s dusty lounge, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around them. Grim was fast asleep on the couch above, tiny snores curling around him like a blanket. The space heater crackled in the corner, an old squeaky thing Crowley lent you out of “seasonal generosity,” which was a sad replacement for central heating.
You closed your eyes and thought about lights. Bright ones, warm, glowing ones. Home.
The knock at the door made you flinch.
It came again, less like a knock and more like someone shoving the door with their shoulder.
You shuffled up, opening it with your shoulder.
“Finally,” Ace complained, breath huffing. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been out here?”
You blinked. “We?”
He stepped aside revealing Deuce, shivering but smiling, Epel in a huge coat that definitely wasn’t his, Jack with his arms crossed like always, and Sebek looking insulted to even be here as always.
“What…?”
“We’re doing something,” Ace said, matter-of-fact. “Come on.”
“I-what? I didn’t agree to anything—”
“You don’t need to,” Epel said. “You’ve been sulkin’ like a kicked puppy all week. It’s startin’ to make me depressed.”
“That’s not-!”
“We noticed,” Deuce cut in, gentler. “You’ve been kinda down lately. And you mentioned… that holiday, once? What was it called again?”
You stared at them. “...Christmas?”
“Yeah! That,” Ace said. “So. We’re doing that.”
“I don’t…” You glanced at their expectant faces. “You don’t even know what it is.”
Jack huffed. “We figured it out. Mostly.”
“It’s not that complicated,” Epel added. “You decorate. You eat stuff. You give each other presents. Right?”
You opened your mouth, closed it, and blinked fast. The chill had nothing to do with why your eyes stung.
“C’mon,” Ace said again. “Get your shoes.”
You ended up in the lounge of Heartslabyul, for some reason. Cater had helped them borrow it, “Don’t break anything or I’m not covering for you,” he’d said with a wink, and it looked completely different than usual.
Someone had gotten (stolen, bcs we're broke freshmen) streamers from the Mystery Shop. They were taped haphazardly along the walls and twisted around chairs. A single sad pine-scented candle burned on the table. A few ornaments hung from the lighting fixture, and what looked like a makeshift tree- an actual branch, stuck into a flower pot- stood in the corner. Blankets were piled on the floor, and Ace had lugged in a weird-looking magic disc player that played something vaguely like holiday jazz if you squinted.
They even had cocoa.
“Jack made it,” Deuce whispered. “It’s not poisoned. I think.”
You laughed, small and shaky but real.
“We’re not good at this,” Epel said, flopping onto a pillow. “But we figured… even if we don’t know what the hell this ‘Chris-muss’ thing is, we could do something. Right?”
You sat beside him slowly, the warmth from the mug seeping into your hands.
“You did all this… for me?”
Ace shrugged. “Yeah, well. You’re our friend or whatever.”
“Hmph,” Sebek muttered. “I only came to ensure the Young Master wasn’t bothered with your sniveling mood. But I admit… your pouting has been distracting.”
“Thanks, Sebek,” you deadpanned.
“Of course.”
Jack nudged a small box your way. “We didn’t have time for real presents. But I got you something.”
You opened it with numb fingers. Inside sat a pair of thick gloves, simple, sturdy, definitely meant for running outside in the cold. There was a note in neat handwriting: “These ones won’t get wet through the seams. Happy Christmas.”
Your throat tightened.
“…You said ‘Happy Christmas.’”
“I heard it in a book,” he muttered, ears twitching. “Wasn’t sure if that was right.”
“It’s perfect.”
There wasn’t much fanfare. No tree lighting, no songs, no exchange of stories or traditions. Just six boys, a fake tree, too much hot cocoa, and a few confused attempts at understanding what this strange holiday meant to you.
But as Ace leaned back and kicked his feet up, and Deuce offered you a second blanket, and Epel tried to explain how his grandma used to bake something called snow sugar pie, you realized it wasn’t about doing it right.
It was about being remembered.
And for the first time since arriving in this strange world, you didn’t feel quite so far from home.
IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE!! I HADN'T GOTTEN THE NOTIF