The blood dripped from his knuckles, splattering up the wooden counter. But it still wasn't enough. Breaking his nose and a few teeth couldn't calm his seething anger, not even a little. Misha wanted to wreck that hateful face until it was nothing more than a red mess. And so, he lifted his fist once more.
However, the punch never landed. Dereck intervened, grasping his wrist with just enough strength to hold him down without hurting him.
"Enough!" he said, casting a warning gaze at Misha. "He's not defending himself."
Misha's lips trembled, and he stared back at Dereck with a wronged look on his face. He pointed to the bloody man, asking, "Why did you let him in?"
"I didn't recognize him," Dereck mumbled, guilt distorting his voice. "It has almost been ten years since Masha's death. He… he grew old."
It was a half-truth. What Dereck found familiar was not the man but the clothes. At first glance, he recognized him as the 'giver of flowers' that his friend had always wanted to meet, so he let him in.
But because he wasn't sure of the man's identity, he decided to wait and see Misha's reaction before telling him that the 'giver of flowers' was right in front of him. Now, Dereck regretted his decision. He couldn't bring himself to tell Misha the truth, aware that the wounds in his friend's heart hadn't healed. Instead, they had festered.
"Let him go." Dereck took a deep breath and added, "You're scaring Vanessa."
Misha stiffened at these words and turned to look at the waitress, whose face was as white as a sheet. Her trembling hands covered her mouth, and her eyes were wide open with fear.
A slight wave of guilt surged in the pit of his stomach. Eventually, Misha let go of Gabriel, who instantly fell to the floor with a thud, holding his bloody nose and busted lips. Then, he cast one last glance at the man before snatching a bottle of vodka from the shelf and fleeing outside.
So not only did that jerk show up at his workplace, but he was also jobless from today onward—no sane boss would keep an employee that beat up the clients, after all. Stephan was an eccentric, but he wasn't brainless.
When Misha opened the door, the icy wind rushed inside. The snowflakes were already falling heavily, blinding him. The snowstorm was still in its early stage, but he knew gusts of wind would soon pick up and push him around like a plastic bag.
Misha heard Dereck call his name, his voice filled with worry, yet he didn't turn around and walked into the falling snow. Muffled screams blended with the howling of the wind, but seconds passed, and he couldn't hear his friend's voice anymore. Everything became quiet.
Thousands of thoughts swirled in his head, and to shut them up, Misha drank about half of the bottle of vodka. He tried not to think of anything while aimlessly wandering around the streets. It didn't take long before the alcohol clouded his mind, and his fingers became numb. His cheeks flushed red, and his toes seemed to have been set on fire, making it hard to walk and stand. The cold had frozen him to the marrow in only a few minutes. Still, he dragged his body forward, even after he couldn't see anything before him, the heavy snowfall hiding the flickering light of the streetlamps.
But in the end, Misha was only human, and his body couldn't take the harsh treatment eternally. A moment later, he dropped the bottle of vodka and fell on the nearest snowbank, curling up into a ball.
When he was on the verge of falling into a deep slumber, someone pushed his shoulder, forcing him to open his eyelids. He vaguely heard them say, "Boy if you sleep here, you will freeze to death. Come on, wake up, and come in. I'll give you a hot chocolate and some blankets, so please don't die in front of my house."
The words were fuzzy inside his mind and somewhat hard to understand, but Misha realized that he indeed felt cold upon hearing them. The alcohol had clouded his senses too much, whereas his mind was preoccupied with Gabriel's sudden appearance, and his heart, his seething anger. 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, uttering an almost inaudible 'hm'.
Whether the man heard him or not was unclear, but he nevertheless helped him up and dragged him to the house. He put Misha's arm around his shoulder and his own arm around his waist. Misha shivered at the physical contact but was too weak to protest. He could only bear the discomfort until they reached the living room.
The difference in temperature between the inside of the house and outside hit him hard. It burned his cold skin, making him whimper. Now that Misha was paying attention to his body, all the sensations seemed more vivid and painful. It felt like a thousand needles were pricking his skin. Hence, Misha thought of taking another sip of vodka to diminish the pain, 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. He liked that bottle very much, and felt a deep sense of loss now that it was gone.
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 burst out laughing once he saw his face clearly; 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 these old knitted Christmas sweaters. Only the golden wristwatch on his wrist seemed somewhat modern. And pricey as hell.
"Oh my god," Misha said between two gasping breaths, "you look like Santa Claus on vacation!"
"I'm Santa Claus. Though I'm not on vacation."
"And I'm a reindeer," Misha giggled, pointing to the fake antlers on his head, then the fluffy ears. "We're well-matched! Hehe!"
Santa Claus smiled weakly before opening the leather chest beside the couch and taking some warm-looking blankets. He draped the youth with them and said, "Stay still."
Then, he disappeared into the kitchen.
Misha was thus left alone in a daze. He 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 were hypnotizing, and he couldn't help but reach for the fireplace, sitting before 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 Santa Claus saw the scene, he chuckled a little. He stared at the sight for a second longer before sitting on the red rug next to Misha and handing over 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. When I was a brat, my mom used to tell us a story near the fireplace almost every day. And on Christmas Eve, she'd tell a story about Santa Claus, and every time, sis' would say that I wouldn't receive any presents because I had been a naughty kid. Again. 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?" Santa Claus said gently, his eyes locked on the fire.
"Yeah, I loved them, more than anything. But now, they're 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 have liked you, by the way, especially your ugly sweaters."
The alcohol had loosened his tongue, and Misha started to talk about his mother and sister. It was weird to confide in a stranger, but he also felt at ease. The man's gentle demeanor easily broke through his barriers, and he talked and talked for what seemed to be forever. The man never interrupted him, only chuckling once in a while. As expected, Misha and Masha were naughty kids, which led to funny anecdotes that made both of them smile from ear to ear.
After Misha finally fell silent, Santa Claus asked, "Would you like to see them again?"
"Of course! Who wouldn't?"
"What if I told you that you could go back in time and be with them?"
"Then I'd say that you're not right in the head but that I love the idea," Misha nodded, having sobered up a little.
Santa Claus smiled, "Then, let's say that you can and that my head is alright."
"Ok, ok," Misha indulged. "Let's say that I can and that you're alright in the head."
'I can entertain him a little,' Misha thought. After all, Santa Claus had been listening to his childhood stories for 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."
________________
Mini theater
ML: Misha… Didn't your sister tell you not to follow strangers over and over again?
MC: But it's Santa Claus! And he gave me a hot chocolate! With marshmallows!
ML: … Never mind. (-_-;)・・・
Chapter revised on 2022-04-17
Edited by Clozed! ♥
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