Keegan sat on the roof of an old five-story building, his legs dangling over the abyss, watching the city light up at night. His second cigarette of the evening was smoking in his teeth, and the beat was thumping dully in his headphones — UNNV, "Muza." He didn't know why he was listening to this song again. Maybe it smelled like you.

You appeared unexpectedly, as always. You plopped down next to him, pulling one earphone off his ear.

"Have you ever seen a city from above, but not with your eyes?" you asked.

Keegan glanced sideways.

"How so?"

You took a marker out of your pocket and scribbled something on the concrete of the roof. There were already scribbles there — old letters, symbols, someone's names. He watched as your thin finger drew lines.

"Close your eyes."

Keegan sighed, but obeyed. In the darkness behind his eyelids, everything became more acute. He could hear the wind, the hum of cars, someone laughing far below. The music in his other ear continued to play, and at some point the city seemed to adjust to its rhythm.

You took his hand and ran it over the drawing.

"Now look."

When Keegan opened his eyes, it seemed to him that the city had really changed. What you had drawn was always there, but he just hadn't seen it.

"You are my muse," you smiled.

Keegan didn't answer, but in that moment he knew that this song would forever smell like you.