Of Moonlit DreamsHe shouldn't have any more wine, the fine blur decorating every object in his vision stands testimony to that, but he pours himself some more anyway, and then finishes off the bottle completely when he gives the last of it to her. Lips painted dark green curl upward at the edges, a wordless expression of gratitude, and then the two of them raise their glasses. A crystalline ping rings out through the night air as they raise a toast to this strange, little friendship of theirs; her to his unwavering ability to listen, him to her very existence in his bittersweet life.He was not the only man around willing to hear her worries, not even close.
Sta.sh
