Christmas time in London was hardly magical. The rain, the cold, all the bodies piled against each other on Oxford Street; the always too bright lights; the silent injunction to be happy and grateful; barely anything to be warm and fuzzy about.

Niall loved it. He was home. And just like any home, he had learnt to love it; a dysfunctional, flawed relationship with moments of pure joy. 

Niall was a happy man, or so he thought. He was running his own business, Common Grounds, a small but cosy and inviting coffee shop on Cross Street. Away from the crowd, but still close to the busy main road and easy to find for any soul in need of a well-crafted macchiato and a quiet break. He loved the connection that existed between him and customers, and making coffee was another form of art, a therapy that was less destructive than his drawings.

Drawing was Niall's passion and sometimes most dreaded hobby. It started when he was 10. He would dream the same thing, over and over again, until the urge was so strong he would have to let it spill out on canvas, or paper or anything within his reach. Sometimes it was bank statements. Sometimes it was walls. Sometimes his own skin. 

The same girl, showing in his dreams, pictured fighting demons. The same eyes, the same fierce attitude, on so many of Niall's art. "Do you know her?" enquired one of the many doctors he saw during that time. He didn't. She came out of nowhere, invading his young brain. The dreams came with intense pain, too, only intensified when he was drawing, until the picture was finished. Then the headaches, the tiredness, the dark fog surrounding his head would go away; but never for long. No one could explain.

He took art classes at school, to try and learn to control his curse. It worked for most of his teenage life. The dreams stopped suddenly, when he reached 15. The girl remained his favourite subject, and his bedroom was full of pencilled depictions of her with a sword, fighting against a dark silhouette -a misty, terrifying threat. He didn't want to name her, or to give her a story. She was a reminder of what was going on in his head at the time.

Why Niall was thinking about these drawings, on a crisp Christmas morning while walking to work, he couldn't have said.

He had decided to open Common Grounds on Christmas Day and welcome regular customers, rough sleepers and anyone struggling with the festive period for a cup of coffee, a chat and some nibbles. Some people said they would bring board games, too. It would be a relaxing and nice day, he hoped. Niall felt exhausted these days. The shop was doing great, but they were a very small team. Only him, his business partner Stephen, and a part-timer. Maybe they would have to bring in extras at some point, he thought.

Stephen was already behind the counter when Niall arrived. One of the regulars, Annie, was knitting at her favourite spot by the window.

"She made us stockings" Stephen said, pointing at the big stuffed socks hanging on the counter.

"Wow, I haven't had these in years", Niall smiled.

They spent the morning making drinks and chatting with the various people coming and going. Some would grab coffee to take away before seeing their families, some would stay a little longer, enjoying the feel-good atmosphere of the place. Niall and Stephen would take turns making coffee and offering mince pies and traybakes. Annie was showing a young girl how to knit a scarf. Two young men were completing a jigsaw together. It was a perfect, fuss-free festive time.

He noticed the fog in his head and felt like falling.