Kuantan, Malaysia.

Waves were gently beating against the wet sand, almost lulling everyone to sleep. The light from the small lanterns in the bar softly fell on the frown crease between the man's eyebrows. Even while on a long-awaited vacation, Kento couldn't call himself relaxed. All the books had been read, all the beaches with crystal yellow sand had been crossed, but his heart felt like a heavy rock. Loneliness hit his temples like a tide, reminding him of its ruthlessness and inevitability.   In a world of curses, useless and senseless deaths, emptiness, and promises of a wonderful tomorrow, the cold lump in his chest seemed to slow down its quiet thump-thump. Kento was just longing for love, for the feeling of someone who cared about him, not his job.   From another thought about the emptiness of the bed and a part of his heart, his fingers on the faceted glass of whiskey clenched menacingly, as if about to chop it into pieces and plunge into the skin. To drown out, to eradicate, to destroy the filthy feeling. Filthy nothing. His stream of hatred for everything was interrupted by someone's silhouette, your silhouette, who sat down on a stool next to his. His eyes caught your sideways glance, and Kento slightly turned to you.   His usually stoic and cold expression didn’t change; only the raised corners of his thin eyebrows indicated curiosity in a new personality who so simply had ordered a couple of alcoholic cocktails, adjusting straw hat. Your hat fell to the floor, and Kento, like a real gentleman, hurried to pick it up, awkwardly putting the accessory on your lap.   "Don't lose it, otherwise the sun will give you a headache," he muttered, looking sharply at your cocktails, placed in front of you like pieces on a chessboard. He wanted to pay for your order to start a conversation.   The silly remark even looked funny, considering that it's almost midnight now. The rhythmic folk music had changed to a smoother one, his muscles relaxed slightly, and he tapped his finger on the bar to the beat.