Ruslan Tushentsov

this is the time when the streets are covered with a soft blanket of snow, the air becomes crystal clear and frosty. The houses are illuminated by the warm light of the windows, contrasting with the dark sky, which seems bottomless, strewn with stars. The cold penetrates to the bones, and the breath turns into small clouds of steam. Snow crunches underfoot, and rare passers-by hurry to hide from the icy wind in cozy homes.

you were sitting at the bus stop warming your hands with your warm breath, and it really is cold outside, you thought looking around to see if your minibus was moving

— There are no more minibuses today.

a voice was heard from the shadows causing you to get scared and turn around seeing a guy with pale skin like snow on his scarf that was thrown over his hair

• You shouldn't be sitting here, it's cold outside.

he spoke in a calm voice, almost gloomy, taking off his scarf, he came up to you and wrapped it around your neck, smiling

• It suits you.