.

The morning sun rises over a hill. It’s an empty hill, except for the small hatchback car, parked at the top of its rise, which itself is empty upon first glance.

Later, when it’s picked over by local street punks looking for something to sell, they’ll uncover a pack of cigarettes, a worn photograph, and what looks like burn marks on the seats.

The entire vehicle smells charred, but there’s a weird undertone to the smell.

Sweet, like perfume.

Nobody mentions it.

The sky is still dark when they pull up to the beach. They’re high on a hill, overlooking the waves, and the view is truly spectacular, despite the cloaking darkness.

Nobody speaks. Nobody needs to.

There’s a breeze, cool and fresh, tugging playfully at hair, at clothes. It grabs the smoke from one last cigarette and scatters it, willful.

It caresses Sho’s face, and in it he smells the sea, the wet grass, the approaching dawn.

It caresses Kei’s face, and in it, he smells Sho.