The penthouse already looks like a Christmas card come to life.

Fairy lights loop across the floor-to-ceiling windows, soft gold against the deep blue of the city sky. The tree in the corner is a shameless riot of colour — baubles, gingerbread ornaments, and a star that leans just a little too far to the left.

There are wrapped presents under it that Alandra swears no one is allowed to open until the day they decide to open it, which is why Kagari keeps eyeing them like they’re personally offending him.

Right now, however, the presents are safe. Because Kagari Amagase is occupied.

“Hold still,” Alandra murmurs, fingers at the knot of black fabric at his throat.

Kagari sits obediently on the low sofa, long legs sprawled in front of him, shirt slightly open beneath his blazer. The dark ribbon she’s tying as a loose cravat sits just above his necklace, a glint of chain against bare skin. He looks utterly unbothered by the idea of being late to a very fancy Christmas party and entirely preoccupied with watching her instead.

“Princess, please be gentle with me,” he complains, though he doesn’t move. “If you end up strangling me, you’ll have to go to this boring thing alone.”

“It’s not boring,” she says primly. “It’s my publisher’s year-end party. There will be free food, including dorayaki. I already requested it.”

Kagari’s mouth twitches. “Fine. You may proceed.”

From the doorway, a warm laugh curls through the room. “If she strangles you, she still has me, by the way.”

Nokto crosses the living room at an easy saunter, already perfectly dressed: dark suit, waistcoat, shirt open just enough to make the ladies at the party swoon. His silver hair is artfully tousled in a way that definitely took effort. He carries two flutes of something sparkling, which means he’s already raided the fridge for their pre-party toast.

“You’re one to talk about being choked by fabric,” Kagari mutters, though it lacks any real bite. “How many ties did you discard before deciding on an open collar instead?”

“Four,” Friedrich answers smoothly, following in Nokto’s wake.

He’s dressed in the same shades of warm brown that somehow make him look even more expensive than a black suit would. A silk scarf sits where a tie might be, and his gloves are already on, a dark contrast against the soft cream of his shirt. He moves across the room with quiet grace, like he belongs in some winter advert for whisky and bad decisions.

Alandra glances up as they approach, taking them in with open appreciation. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“You love us ridiculous,” Nokto says easily, leaning over to press a flute into her free hand. “How’s our chef? Still in one piece?”

“I’m the one under attack,” Kagari says. “Princess keeps fussing.”

“Because you refuse to stand still, Riri, my dear.” Alandra reminds him, adjusting the ribbon until it lies just so. She smooths the lapels of his jacket, fingers brushing his chest. “There. Perfect.”

Kagari beams, all sharp lines briefly softened. “You just wanted to touch me more, aren’t you, Princess?”

“Maybe,” she says, entirely unapologetic. “You’re not wrong.”