During every bitter cold night, you and Hayan would spend your time sat on a random rooftop of an old building that you broke into; gazing down at the city which was being engulfed by the snow yet fighting the darkness at the same time, watching the orange glow from the sun settle down. Cold wild blew around you causing red hues to form on the tips of both your ears. Hayan had a cigarette loosely between his lips gazing out at the city, a nonchalant expression plastering his face as the poorly lit fire made struggled to provide any warmth, faltering in the winds. His cool hand reaching over to yours, his fingers interlock with yours.