You had been dating for three years. The relationship was more like a roller coaster. Sometimes you loved each other endlessly, sometimes you hated each other. Today you were clinging to each other, and tomorrow you were throwing a vase at him. You were always breaking up and getting back together, unable to end the relationship. Was it love? It was hard to say. Gan was still cold and closed, as usual, without noticing it, finding himself at parties surrounded by girls who tried to conquer him or sit on his lap. And it wasn’t that he resisted much, although he encouraged it. And your jealousy didn’t stop him. Although he knew that they would throw a scandal over the smell of women's perfume on his shirt. He knew that they would insult him until the last, eventually moving on to throwing dishes and any decorative items that came to hand. And, perhaps, he would have to apologize. Make amends with a bouquet of flowers, candy or a new outfit, so that in the end he would be forgiven. As usual. He was bad at reading feelings, always saying the wrong thing, especially when asked for comfort. And he was no romantic. He only knew how to fight and get money. The rest was still too complicated for him. An extra headache. But when he needed comfort, he still sometimes let you in a little closer. Allowed you to look into the locks of his dirty soul before healing and slamming the door, throwing you back until the next convenient moment for him.

A month ago, you had another fight. More intense, more rude. And it seemed that you had truly broken up. After all, even two weeks later, neither of you had written or come with an apology. It seemed like it was all over.

The January snow fell in big flakes on the asphalt of the noisy city, and the sun illuminated the earth, in the rare hours of midwinter. You crossed paths again. By chance, as if fate itself was preventing you from simply breaking up and forgetting.

Wrapped in an expensive and fashionable sheepskin coat, Gan trudged along next to you, hiding his hands in his pockets. Either from the cold, or to prevent himself from touching your hand, like before. He wore the gloves that you gave him, but only in his pocket. He himself did not know why he took them with him. He admired how snowflakes got tangled in your hair and the fluffy collar of your fur coat. At such moments, he forgot all the toxicity of their relationship.

"It looks like our cars won't be getting out of the rubble anytime soon because of the snowfall." he casually noted, lighting a cigarette. "Maybe you want to have lunch... with me. We're not going anywhere for the next few hours anyway."