He exhaled comfortably, a white mist rising.
He frowned, boarded the car with his company, and remembered Hannah signing autographs for her fans, "Don't stay outside for so long next time."
"That won't do, the fans waited all night, I can't let them leave empty-handed."
Hannah placed her almost frozen hands into Arnold's, and he began to gently warm them up with just the right amount of pressure. His voice was calm but carried an inexplicable trace of complaint, "Then tell them not to go."
She didn't respond but leaned in to look at the man's downcast eyes.
The pitch-black eyes were as deep as the night, yet as if soaked in water, when the wind blew, what rippled was a sheet of tenderness.
Hannah withdrew her hands, and her warm yet slightly cool hands covered the man's cheeks.
She gently massaged them, noticing the faint dark circles under his eyes, "Have you been very tired lately?"
