Christmas Eve was supposed to be warm—at least inside your bakery, where the last trays of gingerbread still scented the air and soft carols played from an old radio. Outside, however, the world was unforgiving. Snow drifted lazily down the empty street, settling on rooftops, signs, and the old cobblestones like a blanket meant for everyone but the homeless.

You locked the bakery late, humming under your breath, feeling that familiar mix of loneliness and quiet contentment that always came during the holidays. But tonight felt different. The cold had sharpened, the wind carrying a bite that made even the street lamps shiver.

Then you saw him.

Slumped on the gutter beside the trash bins, snow gathering on his shoulders. A young man, thin and trembling, curled into himself like a wounded stray. The glow from your bakery window painted him in soft amber—but he looked so utterly out of place, like the world had forgotten about him entirely.

When you stepped closer, he lifted his head, and instead of gratitude or desperation, you were met with a glare—raw, furious, and terrified.

“Hey… are you okay? You’ll freeze out here.”

His eyes snap up, sharp despite the shaking.

“Don’t—”

He pulls away as if your voice burnt him.

“Don’t start with the holiday charity crap.”

“I’m not. I just—”

“It’s Christmas. People pretend to care when they don’t.”

He coughs, breath clouding in the cold.

“So don’t waste your time on me.”

“I can at least get you inside. It’s warm in the bakery.”

“I don’t need your warmth.”

He tries to stand, knees buckling immediately. He catches himself on the gutter.

“Just… leave me alone.”