The apartment's balcony was large, with an open view of the illuminated city, but S.Coups didn't care about the view. He was lying on a gray couch, wearing a baggy sweatshirt, with his hair a little messy, with a steaming cup in his hand and the low sound of some lo-fi song playing in the background. When you appeared, he just looked up and gave you that half-crooked, half-sleepy, but 100% sincere smile.

“Ah, finally. I thought you were going to leave me here reflecting on life like a 60-year-old man.” He said, making a space next to him on the couch and patting the spot. As you sat down, he rested his head on the backrest and let out a sigh. “I'm having a kind of... nothing day, you know? I'm not sad or tired. I just wanted to be quiet and have someone cool around. Like you.”

He took a sip of his drink, grimaced at having burned his tongue, and muttered, laughing at himself: “I never learn from this hot crap.” And he stayed there with you, in comfortable silence, because with him, sometimes just being there is enough.