Note: Credit for the premise goes to Mirajens! She sent me the idea and I accidentally on purpose made it sad.

I swore I was done with multi-chaps! This will be lowkey, low commitment. I'm planning on a series of episodic, self-contained shorts. Think sitcom? But like, not in order? I may add chapter titles later but it was a lot of work trying to come up with a title so give me a break.

I've tried to set a scene that covers all the main bases in this first part. I don't think there will be anything explicit in this one so I've rated it T.

Lutalica

"When you were born they put you in a little box and slapped a label on it. But if we begin to notice these categories no longer fit us, maybe it'll mean that we've finally arrived—just unpacking the boxes, making ourselves at home."

"Don't dig in the cereal box for goodness sakes

Take the prize and leave me nothing but flakes

Don't be a jerk! (don't be a jerk)

It's Christmas!"

Images danced on the television screen and Siegrain reached for the Xbox remote. His fingers brushed the body of it but he couldn't quite grab on. He sighed and his head fell backwards against the couch cushions. The small body beside him stirred and he decided it didn't matter if he disturbed her since she really should be in bed anyway. He scooted forward and eased his daughter down onto the cushions. With the remote in arm's length now, Siegran grabbed it and switched off the console.

He still wasn't sure how he felt about Sofia having free reign of YouTube – especially when it led to late night Spongebob Squarepants sing-a-long marathons – but he supposed it could be worse. In his head there was a hierarchy of obnoxious children's cartoons. According to Mystogan, Spongebob, at the very least, had been developed by an actual marine biologist. Siegrain didn't know whether or not that mattered to him since he didn't think he'd be able to tell Sofia no if she'd insisted on watching it anyway.

She was light in his arms and her eyes didn't flutter open until he had her in the twin bed, and pulled the blankets up to her shoulders. Her gaze was a bright but sleepy green. Sofia was a smooth mixture of himself and her mother.

"Will there be pie tomorrow, daddy?" Sofia yawned and rolled over on her side.

"All the pie you want."

"But only after dinner?"

"Only after dinner."

"Can you open my present before we go to the big house? Just you and me?"

"We can." Sofia yawned and Siegrain brushed a strand of the fine golden hair that was all Jenny out of her eyes. "Get some sleep." He stood and switched on the ladybug nightlight that painted her walls and ceiling with red and pink stars.

"Merry Christmas Eve, daddy," Sofia muttered. When he turned, she'd already fallen back into sleep.

Siegrain pulled Sofia's bedroom door to the frame and his hands slid into his pockets as he made his way back to the living room. A tree twinkled in the corner near the row of windows that overlooked the busy street below. A purple backpack still hung off the back of a breakfast stool where Sofia had left it when she'd come home after her last day of school before winter break. The tiled breakfast counter was littered with strips of paints, watercolors, pencils and cups of dirty water. A collection of her artwork had been spread out over the dining table to dry. On the far tea table a stack of her new books waited for her attention. Siegrain didn't have to wonder where his daughter had inherited her cluttered ways – a quick glance at his own bedroom would give it away.

He grabbed all of her dirty water cups and emptied them in the sink. The other mess could stay but the cups would disgust her in the morning. On his way to bed his foot nudged aside a family of mismatched zoo animals gathered outside his closet. Sofia had her own bathroom but she preferred his. A smear of glittering blue toothpaste caught his eye and he wiped it away before flipping the last of the lights off.

Once in bed, Siegrain's thoughts wandered to the room at the end of the hall. It had taken nothing less than a Christmas miracle to get everything done before the holiday but tomorrow he'd let her see it. The art studio was the product of both a smear of red paint on the carpet and Sofia's art teacher. She'd made a joke about all the room in his bachelor pad style condo and his mind reeled.

Siegrain didn't remember being offered such high caliber art classes when he was Sofia's age but, then again, he and Jellal hadn't ever been in the same kind of school kids like Sofia and even Mystogan attended. None of them had ever set foot in a public school, of course, Acnologia would've had a stroke at the very idea. Strictly private, non-parochial institutions for Siegrain and Jellal. Mystogan was nothing short of a goddamn genius and graduated early from a magnet school and earned his first doctorate at twenty-two.

Miss Strauss seemed vastly over qualified for her position teaching eight and nine year olds about watercolor versus oil, and pencils versus charcoal. Their private conversations had escalated quickly from broad ideas regarding Sofia's art studio to how his big, crazy family compared to hers. Miss Strauss was incredibly well read and when asked why she chose education over something – anything – more prestigious she just smiled and said, "There can only be so many museum curators and liaisons for private collectors in one place, Mister Fernandes."

She was like a walking art history reference. If he were honest, Siegrain would admit he could probably listen to her talk about it for hours. He liked her and that in and of itself was shocking.

Sofia's excited squeal might've woke the neighbors, he wasn't sure. She darted from one end of the studio to the other, taking it all in, before nearly bowling him over with a hug.

"Is it really mine?" she gasped. "All mine?"

"All yours!" Sofia's joy was contagious and he couldn't stop his wide smile.

"And I can paint whatever I want and put all my art stuff in here?"

"Yep!" Sofia suddenly paused and her expression grew somber. Siegrain's thoughts fumbled and he had a moment of horror. Had he forgotten something?

"What if I decide I don't like art anymore in a few years?" she asked quietly. Siegrain sighed and his smile returned. He knelt down in front of his daughter and took her hands.

"Then we'll get rid of all this stuff and fill the room with stuff you do like."

"What if I want to raise hamsters or want a huge aquarium?" Siegrain paused and tried to scale back his initial horror. "I'm kidding, daddy." She leaned in and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered.

Sofia's gift to him was a cityscape the exact length of the mantle above his fireplace. The expanse of canvas held the same view as the one from the roof of the building. She'd chosen a color palette of blue, silver, and grey with dots of purple and gold. He'd only taken Sofia up to the roof a handful of times but she had a photographic memory – which was why the need to have her in an accelerated educational environment became clear very quickly – and he'd never been more proud.

"Do you like it?" she asked quietly.

"I love it." Sofia's smile was brighter than the morning sun seeping through the cracks in the verticle blinds covering the row of windows.

It didn't occur to him until much, much later that there wasn't a single speck of red. Was he truly so transparent? He supposed so. Sofia's gift had come from her heart and it moved him.