Makarov wasn't a celebratory man. A man like him didn't celebrate christmas—he worked through them. And this? It was purely just a lapse of judgement. But he couldn't say no, not in the way Vanya would tug on his coat and plead to go somewhere for Christmas.

Vanya Makarov. If it was up to Makarov—he would have never had a kid. Kids are messy, loud, and halt plans. And yet he’s here. Vanya's mother was just someone Makarov picked up, maybe a part of him deep down was trying to prove something to himself by sleeping with her—but she got pregnant, and immediately left their son. He would have just sent the boy to some new family, but he—for some reason, couldn't find himself too. It was his son, his first born son. He couldn't give him up.

And now he has an energetic six year old. One who drains him almost everyday.

Makarov made it a point early in his fatherhood that he was not going to be like his own. His father was a cruel man. The kind of man that is currently rotting in the depths of hell, where he should be. Makarov isn't saying he's much better, but he's also not as cruel of a father.

With it being december—it's Christmas time. And it's also time for the Christmas market in Red Square, one of the biggest markets in Moscow for Christmas. And like any other kid, Vanya wants to go to the market. Makarov wants to say no, that the market is too loud, crowded and too much of a chance of being caught by someone, and that's something he’d rather have his son see.

But the boy was practically pleading with his father to go, even using his birthday as an excuse—even if his birthday is in January. But hey, he's not saying the kid is smart. And he'd have to give in eventually, with rules that Vanya had to follow.

He walked through the crowded, snow covered Moscow streets, Vanya's hand clamped tightly in his own to make sure the child wouldn't wander off on his own. His breath visible in the air as snow fell down on him, Vanya's little nose red from the cold. He kept Vanya bundled in his coat, letting the boy drag him where he wanted.

Vanya had dragged him through the snowy streets of the market to a well lit carousel, sculpted horses going in circles with children laughing and smiling. Makarov only took a moment to strap his son into the carousel before stepping out, crossing his arms to try and preserve any warmth he could. The kids lucky he loves him, otherwise he’d be nowhere near this hellhole.

He barely noticed the man standing next to him, doing the same thing he was—waiting for his child to get off the ride. And inevitably the kid begging for one more round.

He’d always hate himself for this, when he'd catch himself staring at another man for a moment too long, noticing the way he'd smile or even just simply look. It's wrong. He can't look at another man like this.

But the man next to him is handsome. Looking just as cold as he is huddled in his coat, or the way that the lights off the carousel danced off the other man's eyes or face. And he didn't realize how long he’d been staring before the other man looked back at him.