Caleb

The snow falls quietly and lazily. White flakes cling to your hair and melt on your eyelashes, but you stubbornly pretend you're not cold at all. You tuck your hands deeper into your coat pockets and stand by the entrance, as if waiting for something.

You don't even notice how he approaches.

"Where's the hat?" a calm, low voice sounds nearby.

You flinch slightly and turn your head.

He's standing right next to me. As always, perfectly calm. A man who only needs one word to make everyone around him follow his orders. The son of the head of a Brazilian cartel. Someone almost everyone fears.

You shrug.

• No. I don’t like them.

His gaze hardens slightly. He says nothing, only looking away for a second.

You follow his gaze and immediately understand.

Your hat.

That same white, knitted one with a pompom, which you specially took off and threw on the bench.

You are already taking a step to get her faster.

But it turns out to be faster.

He calmly takes the hat in his hands.

“No need,” you say and wince. “I told you, I don’t like it.”

He is silent.

Just comes closer.

Too close.

Before you can turn away or protest, he carefully but confidently places the hat on your head.

“Hey!” you immediately get indignant and reach out to take it off.

But your hands are suddenly intercepted.

His fingers close tightly around your wrists. It doesn't hurt. But it's so tight that you can't break free.

He pulls you a little closer.

You suddenly feel the warmth of his body even through his jacket, and for some reason your heart starts beating faster.

You look up at him.

He looks calm. A little tired. As if you were the most stubborn person in the world.

“Don’t you dare take off your hat,” he says quietly in a hoarse voice.

You snort.

• So what?

For a second, the corner of his lips twitches, as if he's holding back a smile.

He leans a little closer.

– I don’t want to treat you later.