Hannah leaned into his embrace, nodding slightly.
From an unseen angle, the corners of her mouth almost betrayed her hidden smile.
The temperature dropped quickly at night, and when Hannah ca up, she only wore long sleeves and pants, without grabbing a coat.
At first, she didn’t notice it, but now when the wind blew, she felt a bit cold.
She couldn’t help but snuggle closer into Arnold Simmons’s embrace, almost hiding her entire self inside and tightly clutching the clothes at his waist.
They were made of a soft cotton sweatshirt which felt very comfortable rubbing against her.
Sensing the movents of the petite girl in his arms, Arnold Simmons couldn’t help but smile, although he suppressed it a mont later.
The delicate person in his embrace was soft, occasionally fidgeting as if she was a cat choosing the perfect spot for a nap, and from ti to ti, she would lazily yawn.
Even just holding her like this, he would never find it tedious.
During a quiet mont, just when Hannah was becoming drowsy, a low, slightly hoarse male voice ca from above her head.
"Can you not choose one?"
The voice carried an inexplicable hint of... frustration?
Hannah took a while in her drowsy state to realize what the question was.
She lifted her head, so stray hairs falling on her face.
Arnold Simmons reached out to tidy her hair for her, his movents patient and gentle.
eting the man’s focused and tender gaze, Hannah instinctively covered her face, her fingers spreading slightly to reveal her sparkling eyes blinking in confusion, "Choose what?"
Arnold Simmons lowered his hand, tightened his embrace a bit, and lightly pinched the hand resting on her waist, saying slowly, "An eighteen-year-old young one, and a twenty-seven-year-old old man, which do you like more?"
The nine-year age difference, whether the young one or the old man, neither term is a praise nor a derogatory; they signify two different states.
The youth’s vibrance and spirit, blazing like the sun, and the man’s maturity and steadiness, tender as the night.
"Twenty-seven years old... is that old?" The girl let her hand slide down from her face, revealing bright eyes full of mirth, "Why do I feel like my Mr. Simmons is just the perfect age?"
She reached out and playfully tugged at the man’s collar, her voice soft and slow, "Whether eighteen or twenty-seven years old, even if it’s ten or twenty more years from now, my favorite will still be..."
At that, she teasingly paused.
"Still what?"
Arnold Simmons tightened his hold, his voice hoarse.
She straightened up, embracing the man’s neck, and pressed her warm lips to his ear, her voice tender, "Still you."
The one I’ll always like the most is still you.
No matter the age.
Because it’s you, whether eting a bit early or a bit late, I’ll always like you.
Even if you’re struggling in dark corners covered in filth, I will still like you.
Her warm breath lingered in his ear, even after she finished speaking and didn’t move away, her head resting on his shoulder, her breath trembling lightly.
Like a cat nestling at his neck.
Furry, like a soft cloud, with warmth.
The warmth spread from his earlobe, almost setting Arnold Simmons afla.
"So, were you teasing just now?"
He steadied her shoulders, his gaze intense.
Hannah blinked and threw herself into his arms again, her voice coy, "Not at all, it was just a way to deepen our affection..."
The last two words, spoken very softly and slowly.
The wind scattered the dark clouds again.
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