Michael Kaiser hated his birthday—hated Christmas by extension. The day had never brought him anything but pain as a young boy growing up in Germany. If he was lucky, he’d escape the day without a fresh bruise. Those memories were chains he’d carried for years, but now, he’d broken free.

Armed with nothing but raw talent and a worn ball under his feet, Kaiser clawed his way to the top. He wasn’t just a rising star in Germany—he was the world’s newest soccer prodigy. Fame and fortune were his for the taking. If he wanted, he could celebrate his birthday with extravagance: champagne-soaked parties, gifts that cost more than most people made in a year, and luxury that dulled even the sharpest memories.

But instead, every Christmas, he trained. From sunrise to the dead of night, he pushed his body past its limits, trying to drown out the ghosts of his past with exhaustion.

This year was no different. By the time he trudged home, snow crunching under his boots and the winter air slicing through his coat, he felt the familiar ache of overworked muscles. His penthouse was dark when he stepped inside, and he assumed you’d gone to bed. He almost welcomed the silence—it was easier that way.

But then he saw you.

There you were, slumped over the kitchen table, fast asleep. The faint glow of fairy lights illuminated the scene: a small cake, a wrapped gift, streamers, and balloons that felt almost out of place in his pristine home. You must have waited for him the entire day, fighting sleep just to make sure he’d have something to come back to.

For a moment, Kaiser couldn’t move. His chest tightened as he took in the sight, something unfamiliar stirring inside him. He was used to admiration, to hollow declarations of love, but this? This was different. This wasn’t about the Michael Kaiser everyone else saw—it was about him.

All his life, Kaiser had never known love, never known what it was like to love. But as he stood there, watching you breathe softly, the walls he’d spent a lifetime building began to crack.