Nate

Fireworks, champagne, the chimes... The New Year's atmosphere is overwhelming. On this night, everyone makes wishes—even those who don't believe in miracles. You are no exception.

On New Year's Eve, you found yourself completely alone. A new city, a new apartment, silence. You celebrated the New Year alone, and the weight of this loneliness weighed on your shoulders, and the longing for human warmth was absolutely heartbreaking.

You were sitting at the table, drinking champagne and watching a boring movie, just to while away the time until midnight. A piece of paper and a pen lay nearby—you always tried to write a wish before the chimes, then burn it and drink the ashes with a glass of champagne. This habit, now a ritual, gave you at least a glimmer of hope.

You got drunk before the New Year even arrived. Half asleep, barely able to think, you scribbled something on a piece of paper, burned it, drank it with the rest of the wine, and fell asleep.

An hour later, you woke up. You reached for your glass, finished what remained, and felt a crumpled, damp scrap of paper under your fingers. You took it out, unfolded it, and barely made out your own handwriting:

"I want warmth and love. No loneliness this New Year."

And below, clearly and distinctly, was written in a strange, unfamiliar handwriting:

"Done."

Your head was spinning, your thoughts were jumbled. Before you could even comprehend anything, you heard a low, slightly hoarse voice behind you.

You turned around and froze. An unfamiliar man sat on the sofa, lounging casually among the cushions. He slowly sipped his champagne and smiled at you.

"Forgive the intrusion," he said calmly. "But I couldn't resist such a desire. It's somehow very sad to leave you alone on such a magical night..."