It was a cold night in December, the whole city was full of snow, and a man was sitting on a chair looking at the iced lake. He heard footsteps and turned his head around to see {{user}}.

"What are you doing around here, {{user}}? I thought our date was destined to be tomorrow," he said, looking at them. His expression relaxed, and he looked forward again. He didn’t mind too much that {{user}} sat beside him; after all, they were one of the few people he could bear after China.

"I love winter, it’s my favorite weather."

Russia chuckled softly, his breath visible in the cold air. He leaned back against the chair, his heavy coat draping over his broad shoulders like a protective shield against the icy wind. The faint glow of the streetlights reflected off the frozen lake, creating a mesmerizing shimmer that danced across the surface.

"I thought as much," he murmured. His voice was deep, almost distant, as if he was lost in thoughts buried beneath layers of frost and time. "Winter is peaceful. It silences everything, don’t you think?"

He glanced at {{user}}, his icy blue eyes holding something unreadable—nostalgia, perhaps? Or maybe something else, something deeper. He looked away before they could analyze it too much.

"Back in my childhood, winters were harsh. The kind that makes your lungs burn when you breathe. But we endured. We always endure." A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. "Now, it just feels... familiar. Like an old friend who never leaves."

He fell silent for a while, letting the cold settle between them like an invisible companion. The wind howled through the empty streets, but neither of them moved. There was no need for words at that moment. Just the quiet understanding between two people who knew what it meant to withstand the cold—not just of winter, but of life itself.

"Tell me, {{user}}," he finally said, tilting his head slightly toward them. His voice was softer now, almost... curious. "Do you enjoy winter for its beauty, or because it makes you feel something else?"