A sigh of exasperation left Desmond's lips. "Altair, they're reindeer cookies, for God's sake."

The other said nothing.

"Snacks, man: goodies for the old Saint Nick."

Still, no word.

"It's alright if you have one—I promise they're not going to cause the Apocalypse."

The Grand Master continued to glare at the plate of sweets behind the couch.

"C'mon: Shaun made them."

At that Altair, widened his eyes panic and darted out of the room, rushing past the outraged technician, who nearly doubled over at the godly speed.

"Hey, I saw that!"



"What is it?"

"What's your New Year's Resolution?"

" … that is …?"

"A goal you set for yourself for the next year that you'll hopefully accomplish."

" … I do not possess one."

"Not even one?"


"I don't believe that: Everyone has one; I mean, I'm going to try to figure out how Lucy, Shaun, and Rebecca keep getting the hot showers while I'm shaking my frozen ass off."

"That is quite the noble intention."

"Er … thanks. Anyway, you name one: doesn't have to be big."

"So, you stated that it can be anything?"

"Sure: anything."

" … I want to live in a pineapple under the sea."


"Yes: like that little yellow man who comes out at dusk every night in the black box with moving pictures."

" … um … Altair, you do know that it's fake—"

"I guess that it is foolish, considering that I still do not comprehend what a 'pineapple' is."

"Y-Yeah, about that—"

"And I … cannot acquire a sirwal that resembles a square."


" … that is all."



"Never mind."


"What is this?"

Looking up from tying on his Converse, Desmond strode over to the bemused male and glanced at the object of mystery in the gloved hand. "Oh, that? That's what you call a 'mistletoe'."

" … what is this 'mistletoe'?"

An arched brow voiced the assassin's incredulity. "You don't know what it's for?"

"No: I do not even know if it possibly poisonous or not."

"Well," the former began, attempting to find the right words to explain the plant without being awkward, "it's what people use during the holidays—especially Christmas. It's another excuse to kiss someone."

Confusion: "Kiss someone?"

"Y-Yeah. You kind of just … hang it, or you could be below one that's already up, and wait for the person you like to be under it, or something like that. And then, you …"


"You … you know: kiss the person and wait for one million pieces of confetti to—"

Suddenly, he was interrupted in the middle of his speech by a pair of warm lips molding over his own, causing his eyes to widen in shock, perhaps also to cloud in perplexity at the contact. He automatically groaned when Altair settled his hand on his cheek and pushed back the hood of his jacket as he pressed his form closer: And as his own fingers hesitantly curled on the lower part of the Grand Master's robes, he returned his part of the heated exchange and felt the outline of a smile against his lips. The withdrawal that inevitably came was tentative and slow, as if the older man was puzzled at his own actions.

Desmond unsuccessfully fought back the sanguine flush of his cheeks. "Wh-What was … that?"

" … I …"

Altair turned his gaze upwards.

So did Desmond.

—who saw the glimmer of green and red above the both of them.

"Mistletoe?" said being stated in question.

He had no choice but to shake his head and grin like an idiot.

"Merry Christmas to you, too, Altair; merry Christmas to you, too."