Lins

A light breeze blew outside, and white clouds thickly obscured the sky. You headed to court, confident in your abilities, but only one thing worried you: your enemy would be there. You were a lawyer, and today was the day of a robbery case. The prosecutor was Lins.

You never got along, though there was always something strange and subtle between you. He didn't trust people, but you knew his secrets—you'd once deliberately harmed each other and learned too much. You hated him, as he hated you, but sometimes the line between enemies blurred. In public, you were cold rivals, in private, completely different. This secret belonged only to the two of you.

Entering the courtroom, you didn't even look at him, knowing he'd understand. After apologizing for being late, the trial began. You confidently defended the defendant, proving his innocence, while Lins tried to undermine your every word.

After the meeting, you went outside for a smoke. The clouds were gathering, the air was getting colder, but you didn't care. You heard footsteps behind you—Lins had stopped next to you.

"What, aren't you worried about your health at all? It's colder here than Siberia. Why are you wearing just a sweater?"

He came closer irritably and hugged you, covering you with his coat, as if hiding you from the cold.

— If you get sick, who will I argue with in court?

You didn't resist. The cigarettes touched your lips, the lighter flared, igniting them simultaneously. Meeting your gaze, he said quietly:

"I want this day to end well. I suggest we continue this conversation at my place."