He came to this snowy city just to meet him.
He came running in an all-black sportswear, with the brim of his hat lowered, and his long silver-white hair not completely tied up. The corners of his lips were slightly raised, but he was not smiling.
Passing by him, the coldness of winter appeared in late spring.
He looked at his fiery red hair and frowned slightly: "You look very much like a person."
He gave him a friendly smile, but his eyebrows were furrowed too deeply and he couldn't raise his eyebrows at all.
This year, he was thirty-five years old, and it had been seven years since his brother's funeral.
Conception: