Christmas is the only time of year Flame hates. And it's not because of the singing, or the dinners.

He comes to a park in the next town every year, and every year he sits on this bench, and he sips on a cup of hot cocoa that has just a bit too much chocolate and no marshmallows. He doesn't like marshmallows.

When he's here, he sees all of the parents taking their kids to different shops for the holidays, how they come out with happy smiles because they got something. And if Santa really wants to pile it on, he'll see the odd hug or kiss between parents.

No matter how hard he tries to get himself to leave, his legs won't move.

It's only when someone sits down beside him that he pulls his attention away from the twinkling shops, and his eyes clash with yours. The lights over the veranda flicker, as if something big is happening, and his grip tightens on his cup.

It's silent for a moment as you sit next to him, but he can't help but think that maybe Christmas will be better this year...