The blood dripped from his knuckles, splattering against the counter, but it wasn't enough. Misha wanted to wreck that handsome face until it was nothing more than a red mess. His seething anger nowhere near calmed by breaking his nose and a few teeth! He lifted his fist once more, yet the punch never landed since Dereck intervened, grasping his wrist with just enough strength to hold him down without hurting him.

"Enough!" his childhood friend said with a firm tone, the look in his eyes warning him that if he wanted to keep on beaten Gabriel to a pulp, he would stop him even if he had to use force. "He's not defending himself."

Misha's lips trembled, and he looked at his friend as if he had deeply wronged him. With his index, he pointed the bloody man and asked with a shaky voice, "Why did you let him in?"

"I didn't recognize him," gulped Dereck. "It has almost been ten years since Masha's death… He grew old." It was a half-truth. What he recognized was not the man, but the clothes he had seen in the morning, at the cemetery.

In the beginning, Dereck wasn't sure of the man's identity and decided to wait and see Misha's reaction before telling him that the 'giver of lowers' was right in front of him. Now, the bouncer regretted his decision, and he couldn't bring himself to tell the bartender the truth; the wound in his friend's heart hadn't healed, not even the slightest bit.

"Let him go." Dereck took a deep breath and added, "You're scaring Vanessa."

Indeed, the waitress' face was as white as a sheet, her hands covering her mouth, and her eyes were wide open with fear. A wave of guilt surged in the pit of his stomach, and the bartender finally let go of Gabriel who instantly fell on the floor in a thud, holding his bloody nose and busted lips.

Without a second glance, Misha snatched a bottle of vodka from the shelf, compensation for being fired from the job – for sure, his boss wouldn't keep an employee that beats up the clients –, and fled outside. When he opened the door, he felt the icy wind rush against his skin, passing through the thin clothing. The snowstorm was still in his early stage, but soon enough gusts of wind would push him around like a plastic bag, and the endless snowflakes, blind him.

The bartender heard Dereck call his name, his voice filled with worry, yet Misha didn't turn around. He didn't hesitate the slightest bit before disappearing in the falling snow. For a moment, the muffled screamings blended with the howling of the wind, but less than two minutes later, he couldn't hear his friend's voice anymore.

To keep himself warm and forget the miserable face of Gabriel, Misha drank up about half the bottle while aimlessly wandering around the streets. After a short while, he couldn't feel his fingers, and the alcohol had clouded his mind. His cheeks were flushed red, and his toes seemed to be on fire, making it hard to walk and stand on his two feet. In only a few minutes, the cold had frozen him to the marrow. Nevertheless, he still dragged his body forward, even when he couldn't see anything, the blizzard hiding the flickering light of the streetlamps.

Misha was only human, a mere man made of flesh and bones, and his body couldn't take the harsh treatment eternally. Soon, he dropped the bottle of vodka, fell on the snowbank, and curled up into a ball.

The words were fuzzy inside of his mind, hard to understand in his present state, but upon hearing them, Misha sill realized that, indeed, it was cold. The alcohol had clouded his senses too much, and his mind was preoccupied with Gabriel and dealing with his anger, sadness, and melancholy. Thus, the state of his body didn't seem relevant to him until now. He just thought that it was hard to move around, nothing more.

Another push on his shoulder made him realize that he still hadn't answered the man's offer, and so Misha nodded while uttering a small 'hm'. Although he didn't know how the man saw his nod, even less heard him, he still ended up helping him get up and walk to the house, putting the bartender's arm around his shoulder and his own arm around his waist. Misha shivered at the physical contact, but was too weak to protest and could only bear with the man touching him until they reached the living-room.

The difference in temperature inside and outside the house burned his skin, making him whimper. Now that Misha paid attention to his body, all the sensation seemed more vivid and more painful. He felt like needles pierced his flesh mercilessly over and over again.

To diminish the pain, Misha thought of taking another sip of vodka only to realize that he had forgotten the bottle in the snow. Dejected, he let out another whimper that sounded even more pitiful than the first one. The bartender liked that bottle very much. He suddenly felt like cuddling with it now that he had lost it.

Silently, he mourned his dear friend.

Oblivious to his grief, the man took him to the couch near the door and Misha sprawled onto it. Curious, he took a look at his savior and couldn't help but laugh loudly like a madman, even hitting his t.h.i.g.hs and hurting himself in the process. He laughed for such a long time that he ended up choking and hissing.

The man had a long white beard, curly hair, and a round belly enhanced by his short stature. Wrinkles spread all over his chubby face, yet his eyes held the vigor of a young man. He was clothed in red and white, wearing one of those old knitted Christmas sweaters. Only the golden wristwatch on his wrist seemed somewhat modern.

"You look like Santa Claus on vacation."

"I'm Santa Claus. Though I'm not on vacation."

Santa Claus smiled weakly, then opened the leather c.h.e.s.t beside the couch and took some warm-looking blankets. As he dr.a.p.ed the youth with them, he said, "Stay still."

Then, the old man disappeared swiftly into the kitchen.

In a daze, Misha looked around the cozy living room without really seeing it. The crackling of the fire, which burned in the old hearth near a bookshelf, was the only thing that drew his attention. The dancing flames hypnotized him, and he couldn't help himself but reach for the fireplace, sitting in front of it with sparkling eyes like a child in front of a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. His face was so close to the hearth that he seemed to want to crawl into it. He stayed there, without moving an inch, until Santa Claus came back, holding a mug of hot chocolate.

When the old man saw the scene, he chuckled, a soft smile on his old lips, before sitting down on the red rug, next to the youth, and giving him the mug. "The fire is pretty, isn't it?"

Misha nodded, blowing across the top of his hot chocolate. "It makes me think of my family. You know, when I was young, mom used to tell us a story near the fireplace every day before sending us to sleep. On Christmas Eve, she would tell a story about Santa Claus, and every time, Sis' would say that I wouldn't receive any present since I was a naughty kid. And then, we would bicker, and mom would laugh and tousle our hair." Misha smiled, trying to catch a half-melted marshmallow with his lips. "I miss those moments."

"You're fond of your family, aren't you?" said Santa Claus with a gentle voice, his own eyes locked on the fire.

"Yeah, I loved them, more than anything. But now, they are all gone, and we won't ever spend another Christmas Eve together. Hell! I'm spending it with a stranger. Don't take it badly, you're a good grampa, but still…" he sighed before giggling, "I'm sure my mom would like you, by the way, especially your ugly sweaters."

The alcohol had loosened his tongue, and Misha started to talk about his mother and sister, not mentioning his father a single time. It was weird to confide in a stranger, but he also felt at ease. The gentle demeanor of the man easily broke all of his reluctance, and he talked and talked for what seemed to be forever. The man didn't interrupt him, only chuckling once in a while. As expected, Misha and Masha were naughty kids, which lead to funny anecdotes that made both of them smile from ear to ear.

When Misha finally fell silent, lost in his thoughts, Santa Claus asked, "Would you like to see them once more?"

"What if I told you that you could go back in time and be with them?"

"Then I would say that you're crazy, but that I love the idea," nodded Misha who had sobered up a little.

The old man smiled, "Then, let's say that you can and that I'm not crazy."

"Ok, ok. Let's say that I can and that you're not crazy," indulged Misha. He could entertain the old man a little since he had been listening to the stories of his childhood for many hours now. He was also curious about what he had to say. "So, how does it work? I mean, how do I go back in time?"

"It's actually quite simple."

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Author's note

ML: Misha… Didn't your sister tell you, "do not follow strangers" over and over again?

MC: But it's Santa Claus! And he gave me a hot chocolate! With marshmallows! (๑•﹏•)