I was walking straight home...

The dusty-blond figure paused slightly as he readjusted the loose bag strap sliding uncomfortably from his left shoulder-pad. The wind gently brushed her fingers tenderly across his delicate face and kissed his skin with icy lips. The tall man coughed abruptly amidst the suffocating frost and watched as his breath danced momentarily infront of him before continuing to shuffle down the concrete footpath. His brow furrowed tightly and he arched his neck backwards towards the skin – his eyelids fluttering closed, a storming headache thunderously pressing against the confines of his sanity. He brought his numb fingers to his temples and attempted to supress the pain as his shoes dragged the ground heavily beneath him.

There he was – a lonely silhouette about the glistening dew of the wintery noon, his mind wandering aimlessly as he paced slowly, the familiar route from the grimy train platform to the flaking paint of his front door.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

The man bowed his head apologetically to the stranger who glanced up at him from the side of the footpath. The blond balanced his bag on his back with one hand as he knelt down to retrieve the empty can he’d accidentally knocked over. He instinctively stole a glimpse of the stranger’s piercing gaze from beneath his messy jet-black fringe as he placed the tin upright. Guilt slowly tightened his chest as he quickly realised the can had not been empty initially. He proceeded to hastily gather the scattered coins from the pavement, sincerely bowing his head apologetically. He dropped his own fragmented metal pieces amongst the rest, his gaze drifting towards the stranger once more. The fringed man turned away, his voice trapped lonely behind his cracked lips, the hushed silence between them filled with the flutter of pounding hearts and stolen glances. The wind beat her wings once more, and the stranger shuddered as she ruffled the tatters which covered his frail body. The blond was not ignorant to scenes such as this, nor did he pass by as if his was the only life worth living. But something pulled him in to this particular stranger – the air that surrounded him clung to his lips, whispering stories of something more than just loss – more than loss of money, friends, family. The blond lowered his bag onto the hard ground as he slowly unravelled himself from his grey coat. Without a word, he draped the thick material over the stranger’s fragile body. The sidewalk angel merely curled tightly into the warmth of the coat, eyes gently closing, his thick tear-stained lashes prominent against his high, gaunt cheekbones and the chalk-dusted colouring of his skin.

The stranger opened his heavy eyelids as his gaze thoughtfully trailed over the silhouette of the man slowly disappearing into the blanket of charcoal speckled with silver flakes. He curled his slender fingers around the material once more and breathed deeply, the scent of the blond filling every corner of his senses. Then he struggled to his feet, his knees weakening in the harsh cold of the night. As he clutched the coat around him with one thin hand and picked up the cool metal can in the other, he began towards the train station. The stranger smiled sadly as he watched the sleeping figure on the hard tiles. He quietly pulled out several coins from the can and placed them carefully in the other’s lying on the floor beside him. His footsteps trailed lightly about the silence of the station as he continued emptying his can. He returned to his spot on the footpath later in the breeze of midnight and waited.

Waited for morning.

Waited for another day.

Waited for him.

Despite what the blond man had thought, the can had been empty.

It wasn’t meant to hold coins, paper or anything physical at all.

It was meant to hold hope.

He let his eyelids close once more, his heart finally beating again.

It wasn’t empty anymore.