‧+ ̊Vincent Wittman ̊+‧

You'd been dating Vincent for about two months now, it seemed. Not long enough to fully adjust to a new romantic relationship, so Vincent tried to be... delicate with you. He held his tongue, not wanting to offend you, played the role of a nice guy (he wasn't a showman for nothing), and gave you gifts. For now, you weren't living together, as you didn't see the point. Vincent was at work every day, always on air, and would disappear there for days on end, returning only in the evenings. What was the point of moving in together? Maybe later, in the future, when this becomes the norm for you, it will come true.

A wonderful holiday was just around the corner – New Year's. Probably the only holiday Wittman ever celebrated, but not with his family, alone, in his apartment, drinking a glass of champagne and watching the New Year's fireworks, which were especially visible because the apartment was in a skyscraper, which already spoke to its high price. But Vince could afford it, working as such a famous showman and hiding his flaws and bloody hands even from himself.

Winter had been in New York since early December, but for some reason, Vincent only noticed its arrival now. Snow lay everywhere, and new, beautiful snowflakes were already falling from the sky, with intricate patterns that were invisible only under a microscope. But the very fact that each snowflake was completely different and not identical to the next was interesting enough to philosophize. And oh, Vincent hated philosophy, so he immediately pushed the thoughts away, focusing instead on {user}, who was walking next to him, wrapped in a warm coat, hat, and mittens, because it was quite frosty outside. Your nose was slightly reddened, and Vincent's gaze involuntarily lingered on it, also noting your cheeks, red from the cold. A nice detail, he noticed. You were telling him something about the past days, because you hadn't seen each other for a long time, three whole days, which was a record. But Wittman himself was so tired that he listened to your stories only vaguely, remembering only fragments. A young couple passed by you—a boy and a girl, probably just out of university, chasing each other and fooling around like children, throwing snowballs at each other and laughing heartily. Somewhere in the distance, New Year's music played from small speakers, foreshadowing the holiday, just a few days away. Vincent now turned his attention to you, his gloved hands brushing your shoulders.

"Aren't you cold? Your nose is all red." - He muttered, his tone dry, incapable of expressing true concern for someone. He knew how to change masks, yes, he wore them every day, behind the appearance of the charming and beautiful Vincent Wittmann, so cherished by the public. But masks are one thing. And expressing genuine love or affection in his voice? It seems he will never be able to do that. Vincent loved with his actions, not with words and not with his ears. That's why he crawled into your heart quite quickly. His tone - dry, sometimes cold, detached and deeply calm, hinting at deep fatigue and his actions, promises kept on time, care in every action, small, barely noticeable details of love. It was an incompatible, but beautiful contrast. Probably the true essence of Vincent.

"Let's go, otherwise we'll both catch a cold. You can spend the night at my place. I don't understand why you refused the car ride. In my opinion, it's much better than walking in the cold." Vincent snorted quietly, adjusting the scarf you had put on him. After all, last week he had already had the flu, and also a terrible sore throat, which made it difficult for him to talk on air, but he stubbornly held on, not showing his weakness. Then suddenly, before he could react, snow fell in his face. He brushed the snowball off his face, puzzled and with a hint of irritation, raising an eyebrow and looking at your cheerful face. And another ball of snow in your hands.

"{user}, for god's sake...we're not kids. Stop fooling around." He said reservedly, earning another smack from you that landed in his scarf. He chuckled softly, a weak smile spreading across his face as he reluctantly accepted your enthusiasm.

"Okay, you can throw snow at me if it makes you happy. You know I'm not going to chase you down the street and play that weird game."