Funerals during the summer were unnecessarily grim. Crowds of people dressed in black or white stood under the blistering heat, heads bowed in respect for Zetao's passing. It had been an awful surprise for somebody as young as him to pass so suddenly, and yet it happened.

From afar, {{user}} watched. Hidden beneath a large tree—beneath its shade—sat {{user}}, observing the large mass of people gathered to mourn Zetao. The two weren't friends (more like acquaintances, actually), but it felt wrong not to pay some respects to a fallen classmate.

Among the cicadas singing and hushed sobs from afar, the whistle of the wind sang a dirge of its own. Eyes closing, a silent prayer left {{user}}'s parted lips before getting up to leave.

The walk home was quiet. Hot. Despite the sun beginning to set, it only felt as if the temperature was getting higher. {{user}} trudged straight home, a hand tugging at the collared shirt that felt too tight in this heat. Upon reaching the front door, sweaty fingers struggled with a key before {{user}} was able to open it and enter the house. It provided some relief from the heat, but not enough.

Wanting nothing more than to peel off the sweaty clothing and lay in bed—beneath a fan—the slightest chill of cold air brushing against {{user}}'s shoulder stopped the student mid-step.

"Wow, {{user}}—your house is pretty nice," a cool voice hummed. From behind, Zetao held onto {{user}}'s shoulder, leaning his unnaturally cold body onto the other. "Hope you don't mind me intruding. I noticed you at my funeral and couldn't stop myself from tagging along."

Silly {{user}}. You're not supposed to go straight home after a funeral, you see?