A stranger at the Club

Aurora

December 24, 2024

“More,” I said as I tipped the empty glass toward the bartender in front of me. “I want to have more.” My words came out as if I were begging.

While waiting, I looked around the club. It was just like a chaotic snow globe of December madness. The red and green lights were hung around every corner, shining across faces. Lovers were holding each other, dancing; some whispering over the music, while some singles were dancing alone and enjoying the Christmas songs blasting from the speakers.

Fake snow drifted from machines overhead, catching in my hair and melting instantly against my warm skin. The air smelled like spilled vodka, cinnamon shots, and something sweet. People around me screamed lyrics I couldn’t recognize, and the club sounded like a messy choir drowning in bass.

And in the middle of it all, I sat alone at the bar, miserable, still thinking about my miserable breakup.

The bartender slid the next shot toward me, his smile soft like he was pitying me. “Rough night?” he asked, giving me a sympathetic glance over the counter lights.

I laughed and nodded in response. “You have no idea.”

“One more, sweetheart. But after this… maybe try to enjoy the night a little? It’s Christmas Eve.”

I snorted. “Not to me.” My fingers curled around the glass, shaking desperately. I raised it toward my mouth, but before I could bring it to my lips, another hand caught mine.

A warm, large hand.

The shot was lifted straight out of my grasp.

“What the—?” I turned around, and my eyes widened in shock when I saw a man standing beside me. He didn’t look like he belonged in a crowded, sweaty club on Christmas Eve.

He looked like someone who had stepped straight out of a winter fantasy.

Tall, easily over six feet, with broad shoulders that made his dark coat strain across his frame. Under the dim neon glow, his hair shone a striking gold, tousled in a way that looked intentional and effortlessly messy. And his eyes… God.

I’d never seen blue like that. It wasn’t just blue, but piercing icy blue—like the coldest part of the winter sky and frost on glass. They were beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

He held my shot between two long fingers and said calmly, as his eyes met mine, “That’s enough.”

I blinked and scoffed. “Excuse me? Give that back!”

“No.” His tone was soft, but it carried a weight—the kind that made people obey without understanding why.

The man set the shot aside, away from both of us, and exchanged looks with the bartender. In response, the bartender lifted his hands and backed off, as he knew better than to argue with this man.

I clenched my fists tightly as my eyes met the man’s, wondering who he was and why he thought he could tell me what to do. “Who do you think you are?”

He looked down at me, and he didn’t smirk, didn’t flirt—he just assessed me, like he noticed the smeared mascara on my face. Like he could see the heartbreak seeping through every crack I had tried to hide with alcohol and loud music.

“If you keep drinking like that,” he said, voice smooth and deep, “you’re going to regret it before midnight.”

I scoffed and pointed toward him. “And that’s your problem because…?”

His gaze softened—just enough that his cold eyes warmed for a split second. “It’s not my problem,” he said. “But you look like you’ve had enough pain for one night.”

My chest tightened unexpectedly—embarrassingly—, and I felt my face flush. Maybe it was me overthinking or the fact that I was drunk; I had no idea. But this unfamiliar man had a crazy effect on me.

“And what?” I whispered. “You’re here to fix it?”

He stepped a little closer, not touching me, but close enough that I caught his scent. He smelled like clean winter air, something faintly masculine and expensive.

“No,” he said gently. “But I can stop you from making it worse.”

The moment he said those last words—*I can stop you from making it worse*—something inside me snapped, and I lowered my head and broke into tears. Sobs ripped out of my chest before I could swallow them down, and my hand flew to my mouth, but the tears were already spilling down my face—hot and unstoppable.

“Oh my God!” I cried out loud, and thankfully, the loud music was louder, else everyone would have heard my ugly cry. “I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“Hey,” the man murmured in a calm, sweet tone. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” I cried louder than I had meant to, drawing attention from those around us.

A few people glanced over, but I didn’t care. “How could I—me, Aurora—be so stupid?” My breath hitched, and I clenched my chest tightly. “Five years. Five whole years. And they… and I didn’t see it. How blind do you have to be to miss something happening right in front of you? I thought the love they both had for me was genuine, but it was all a lie!”

The man took a slow step toward me. I backed up, shaking, and ended up hitting the counter.

“Don’t—don’t look at me like that,” I whispered. “Like I’m some pathetic Christmas tragedy.” I wiped my tears because I didn’t want a stranger pitying me.

“I’m not,” he said softly. “I’m looking at someone who’s hurting and someone who deserves the best.”

Another sob cracked out of me. “I hate Christmas,” I whispered. “I hate it so much because why should this be happening to me? I…”

My words were cut short as he pulled me into his chest. It was a gentle pull—natural, like it was the obvious thing to do.

I sniffled as my forehead hit the firm warmth of his chest, and he wrapped one arm around my back, one hand bracing the back of my head.

A gasp escaped my mouth, and I stiffened at first, but the moment the scent of cold winter hit me, the fire cooled down, and I raised my hands to grip his coat and cried so hard my body shook against him.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, gently rubbing my hair. “Let it all out.”

I sniffled.

His words were comforting, and it was exactly what I needed at that moment. I didn’t care if it came from a stranger.

After a few moments, my sobs softened and turned into shaky breaths, then I raised my head to face him. “You shouldn’t be comforting me,” I muttered. “I’m a drunken mess.”

“You’re human,” he corrected. “There’s a difference. And it’s alright to cry, especially when you are hurting.”

Such gentle words, I thought. Sawyer’s words had never sounded comforting to me, but this stranger’s did. But I wondered why he was like that—acting as if he knew me from somewhere.

I pulled back a fraction, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. “Why are you being nice to me?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s Christmas Eve.” Then he tipped his head slightly, blue eyes looking down into mine. “Everyone deserves something good tonight… even if it’s only a moment.”

The music suddenly shifted, the upbeat songs sliding into a slow, soft Christmas melody—the kind with warm violins and gentle bells. Immediately, all around us, couples began to move to the dance floor and danced.

Then the ten-minute countdown for Christmas began.

The man lowered his voice and pointed toward the dance floor. “Care to dance with me?”