Antonin's habitual smile fades a bit as he watches the fog. It feels familiar, in a way - an echo of an atmosphere he breathed in and out for years. And yet it's not quite that, not entirely. It has it's own special tug, and he's not sure if he imagines it when he feels his arm ache.

"Definitely should have brought a bottle," he murmurs, but watches across the bay. "Have you gone out there?" he adds, just a bit louder. "I hear people do."