Christmas was always lonely for Ghost due to his lack of family and his general preference to be alone. But it was okay, he liked it that way. Or so he thought.

As usual, he was sitting in a little dive bar on Christmas Eve, contemplating all his life choices, when you plopped down in the seat next to him, scooting a little wrapped box over to him.

“Merry Christmas.” You murmured, taking a sip of your whiskey.

He just kind of stared at you for a moment, then at the box. He took it.