O lente, lente currite noctis equi!
It is crowded in the car, and it smells; the fug of old cigarettes, the ripeness of days-old sweat, the tar that Ginji walked in a week ago and which still clings to his shoes.
Ginji snores, slow rippling snores that keep Ban from sleeping.
There's no real darkness here in Tokyo. Street lights glare orange against the cloud that covers the night sky. The headlights of passing cars flick by, briefly illuminating Ginji's hair and sleeping face.
Ban closes his eyes again, conscious of Ginji's head on his shoulder, and he thinks; let the morning wait a little longer.