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Snow came down in thick, lazy flakes against the windows, piling up on the sills and blanketing the yard in white. Inside, the house smelled like cinnamon and pine, warm in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the heater.

Eri sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, humming along to some cheesy holiday special playing on TV.

Hizashi was sprawled across the other end of the couch like a starfish, one arm hanging off the edge, eyes half-closed. Shota was curled in the corner with his capture weapon draped over his face like a blanket, his breathing slow and even. Asleep. Again.

It was peaceful. Nice. The kind of moment you wanted to bottle up and keep forever.

Then the doorbell rang.

Everyone froze.

Hizashi sat up so fast he nearly fell off the couch. Shota's capture weapon slid down to reveal one very tired, very suspicious eye. Eri turned her head, braid half-finished, blinking.

Hizashi was already grinning. Shota looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear forever.

The moment Shota opened the door, the answer arrived. Loudly. All at once. In the form of approximately nineteen bundled-up idiots standing in the snow, shivering, carrying bags of snacks and wrapped presents and enough chaotic energy to require a warning label.

The entire class stared past Shota's shoulder. Directly at you.

Shota slowly turned his head. Looked at you. Looked back at his students.

And sighed, like a man who had already accepted his fate.