Chapter Text
Griefer folds the batter with the spatula, left hand sprinkling pieces of crushed candy canes and chocolates. He’s never deviated from her recipe like this, but he figures it’s worth a shot. Griefer snaps out parchment paper to line the tray, and when he tilts the bowl to pour, he swears he can feel the ghost of a hand holding the dish steady with him.
He’s dunked in ice water. He drops the bowl. The metal screams against the wood floor.
Griefer stares for a moment, before smoothing out his hands, sighing. “1 CAN D0 1T MYSELF, M0M.”
A piece of batter flicks to his socks. Griefer’s eyes narrow. “1 TH0UGHT Y0U’D BE W1TH D4D.”
A strange, huffy noise.
“YE4H, H3’S… N0T B33N T00 H0T TH1S YEAR,” Griefer laughs awkwardly, “…PR0BABLY BEC4USE 0F M3.”
There’s a cold silence, but with a shuddering breath of warmth, soft fingers graze Griefer’s cheek. It’s the smell of caramel left on the stove too long, and wilting lilies over a grave. He reaches his hand up to his face, and the warmth dies.
Griefer’s hand slowly falls down.
He stares into nothing.
“…M3RRY CHR1STMAS, M0M,” he whispers.
His front door explodes open.
“WH4T THE FUCK!” Griefer screams, rapidly wiping his face, shrieking as mint gets in his eyes. He runs out from the kitchen, and is not surprised in the slightest. “Y0U C4N JUST KN0CK!”
Player shrugs from the doorframe, rocket launcher slung over their shoulder. “I thought you would be busy.” Next to them is Kyoko, expression vaguely traumatized.
“W3LL, YE4H!” Griefer sputters.
Kyoko’s look of slight shellshock fades at the appearance of Griefer, covered in batter and candy cane dust, wearing a frilly pink apron, a cat playing with yarn stitched on the front. She opens her mouth in question before Griefer grits, teeth clenched, “1T’S MY D4D’S.”
Kyoko nods understandingly. “Ah, yeah, makes sense. He comes off as a cat guy!”
“He seems more of a bird person to me,” Player hums.
“Well, I guess that’s fair, but he’s—”
“GUYS,” Griefer groans, “TH4T D0ESN’T M4TTER. HE L1KES L1ZARDS. WHAT’S UP.”
Kyoko opens her mouth, face incredulous, when Player says, “Christmas shopping.”
“…HUH?”
So, Griefer’s roped into it, obviously, not like he has… anything else to do. He makes an effort to clean off the batter first, hastily cleaning up chocolate gore off the floor. Griefer scoffs at the basically empty bowl, before shiftily looking around, and taking a finger to the batter, having… just a slight taste.
The colors of sugar and glittering mint and rich chocolate explode with joy. Burn with flavor. Crumble into regret.
Whatever.
Griefer ditches the apron, throws on his jacket and shades, and passes the fraying, looming portrait of his family. The painted people stare down. Griefer can’t help but feel the empty space by his shoulder, but he pushes the strangeness away as he steps out the door.
There’s Kyoko’s car, Player grumpily sitting in the back, and Griefer, leaving her ghost in the past.