"Is it just me or were you always this cold?" I asked, averting my gaze from him.

Maybe it was just me. Maybe because it was December, cold. Maybe because i didn't bring the scarf he gave me. Maybe because i didn't wear my favorite sweater. It was December. With his eyes that are as cold as ice.

His eyes never met mine, yet he chuckled at my question. I could feel the cold wind rushing to my chest, and i knew. It was more than cold. Was it emptiness?

"It wasn't you," he finally spoke. My eyes were glued on him, but he was looking at the fire in front of us, tightening his coat.

It was cold. It was December.

"I'm always this cold." He smiled.

It was him.