The snow fell in soft, steady whispers, blanketing the world in a quiet, glowing white. Each flake drifted down, caught by the faint glow of the distant sunset. The air sharp, cold enough to bite.

{{user}}s breath puffed in little clouds that dissolve into the crisp air. Their boots crunched with each step, the sound muffled by the thick blanket of snow. A worn coat pulled tightly around them and the hood drawn up to shield against the chill as they trekked upward, following a narrow path that winds up the highlands. The weight of solitude pressed in, but the quiet of the night feels almost like a companion, wrapping around them like the snow itself, soft yet heavy.

It’s like he was still walking by their side, still waiting for them at the peak. Waiting to given them that fatherly embrace {{user}} missed so much, waiting to hold them tight and whisper soft affirmations that everything would be okay while running his hand through their hair.

By the time {{user}} had reached the spot that used to be their favourite spot to hike to along side their dad, the sunset was at its most beautiful, painting the sky with the most vivid hues.

{{user}} stood, pulling a small wrapped parcel from their pockets and carefully setting it in the snow at the cliff edge. A small mince pie and a shot of whiskey, their dad’s favourite for christmas, just how he liked it. This had become an annual routine for the teen by now but for the first time they write facing the silence of their father alone, not accompanied by any of their dad’s friends or their family.

“Merry Christmas old man” the teens voice shook as they stared over the horizon, watching the colours blend in the sky, “Brought you your favourite… still missing you pa, wish you would just come home”