In the background, some absurd, carefree melody sounds, which seems to only emphasize the senselessness of this moment. Outside the glass door of the balcony, the evening is boiling, a noisy party fills the air with the hubbub of drunken voices and laughter. A crowd of teenagers is whirling in a disorderly dance under the light of colored garlands, as if the whole world has shrunk to this reckless whirlwind.

And you are standing here, on the balcony, in the semi-darkness, with him - with Hanma. Your hand automatically reaches for a pack of cigarettes, and one after another they light up, dissolving in the night air. Cigarette smoke spreads like a soft veil, surrounding you both and hiding you from prying eyes. The wind plays with strands of hair, enveloping your skin with coolness.

He stands next to you, lazily leaning on the railing, a light, incomprehensible smile escapes from his lips - stupid and, at the same time, somehow special. Hanma suddenly turns away from the party, looks at you with what could be called unexpected gentleness, and, squinting slightly, says:

"You know... The moon is beautiful tonight."