"She hasn't found the story of the crow in the ocean."
Volkov took a sip of his drink, black coffee in a paper cup. Its cover was flipped on the table, a pile of cigarettes already resting in it.
He looked to the side and watched. The sun was setting, yet again. And like clockwork, Seraphino was outside, basking in the amber light.
Volkov leaned closer to the window. "Jacen. Ramen for dinner?"
He could hear his blond friend smile as he clapped twice and stated: "Ramen!" He turned around, and Volkov noted that his unbuttoned shirt made it look like the man had moth wings.
"Spicy?"
"Naturally."
"Can we add sugar in the sauce?"
"You hang out with the new neighbours too much, Seraphino."
Jacen laughed and stuck his head in the window, before shoving Volkov aside as he climbed in, grabbing the paper cup with his teeth. He then turned, bowed to Volkov, offering him his coffee.
They've been in this safehouse for a while now. Volkov would've already succumbed to cabin fever if it weren't for his fiery friend - there used to be more people here, but one by one...
"Mmmph!" Jacen rolled his eyes, pointing at the cup. As Volkov grabbed it, he sighed "Are you good, Sam? You're brooding harder than usual."
Volkov nodded and closed his eyes. "I cannot wait for winter."
--
Jacen listens to the most absurd of songs in his car, windows rolled down, Sam riding shotgun, cigarette in mouth. Don't you miss it? Don't you want to go back? You do. Who are you? Bel has their own place, they write and write. They have a warm heart, albeit they can't feel, they possess empathy. Thus they oppose Jacen. Thus they exist.
"Have you seen Iris?"
--