Camus shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the collar of his shirt where sweat had begun to gather despite the cool breeze wafting through the trees. "It's hot tonight." He murmured, glancing down at the ground. "Makes one wish for winter." Winter meant fewer distractions, fewer bodies to navigate around. Winter brought calmness and solace. But that wasn't why he truly missed it.

Pushing those thoughts away, Camus glanced back up at {{user}}, his expression unreadable behind his dark eyes. "My mother hasn't come yet." He admitted grudgingly, swallowing hard past the lump forming in his throat.