A Monday in the Lake District

Waterfalls are trickling down from the mottled hills, down through the wisps of mist and drifting sheep, and past the third highest pub in England, the Kirkstone Pass Inn.

That morning, she applied turnedoffneon's Spider-Man tattoo to her leg, as preparation for hill-walking, as she thought super powers might be able to help with tired feet.

The boy with the long dark red hair scrambles up a nearby slope and she follows him as he begins to disappear into the thickening fog. The gusts of wind make even a brief walk up the hills seem somehow exhilarating, but she shivers slightly, despite the thick coat she wears that reaches down to her ankles. There is no spectacular view, there is nothing to see here, as the fog has enveloped the valleys.

In the car, when the voice of Tim or Ken is quiet, he tells her tales of takeaways and teenage romances, and she remembers the last time she was in the Lake District, more than a decade ago now, and how strange and magical kissing felt back then, and sometimes even now.

And then there are more lakes to gaze at and scones to eat, and boat-rides to go on past little islands dense with trees, while eating ice-cream and holding each other's hands.

And later still, there is a pub in Arkham, decorated with hunting memorabilia and a solitary old man sitting at the bar. The boy with the red hair and the girl with the Spider-Man tattoo sit slouched in the corner and she tries to avert her eyes from the deer head on the opposite wall, and instead look into his eyes, but then she notices the deer head above them, and it is creepy and unsettling.