NoveLight ™
THEY CREPT THROUGHthe dry jungle of Averon, their footsteps light as they moved along the underbrush. The air was warm and humid, unlike the temperature a few miles away. It was all in the power of the moons.
Alva led the way, her eyes searching the woods for any signs of danger. He followed closely behind, his bow at the ready. They moved cautiously, trying to make as little noise as possible.
“Do you see that?” she asked.
“Absolutely not.”
The jungle was dense, the trees and bushes so thick that it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The leaves of the trees were brown and brittle, signaling the dry season.
She reached back, fishing for his hand, which he gladly gave to her. Her skin was always tepid, brazing with warmth at any time or occasion. It was in her nature.
“Careful here,” she said.
He had to push his way through the foliage, trying to avoid the thorns and sharp branches that wanted to murder him from every direction.
“Can you hear it?” she asked.
He stared through the air. She turned to look at him.
“Syphix,” he muttered with dread.
“Correct.” She let go of his hand and moved a thin branch that concealed the path into the grassy area.
“Oh, I know that type of grass,” he whispered into her ear.
It was softer than any bed or pillow or blanket or hug. A built-in rest house, a gift from nature for the ancestors who were nomads.
“But look there.” She pointed at one tree that encircled the area like a fortress. “A Syphix of middle age. Most likely female,” she whispered. He tilted his head to view the reptile from a different perspective. It had the length of his upper arm and the girth of a thin tree stump.
It took its time to crawl up the tree and spend more time filling the atmosphere with its nasty clicking. He covered his ear and grimaced.
“She’s trying to reach the bird's nest,” Alva said, smiling at his discontent.
“Please tell me I can hit that thing.” He set an arrow in place.
“Only because it’s threatening the hatchlings. You shouldn’t hunt with the seed of disgust or malice, but because of the passion you have for the act—and food.” She whispered from one ear to the next, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Those are the only reasons that Menewa excuses the killings of its creatures,” she whispered. “Respect the Syphix.”
He chuckled before facing the target. The creature's long tail whipped back and forth as she climbed higher and higher.
Dante raised his bow, the arrow already docked and ready.
The Syphix almost reached the top of the tree, its head turning back and forth.
“What do you aim for?” she asked.
A rush of adrenaline coursed through his body.
“Behind the shoulder.” That’s where the blade left the most damage.
In a smooth motion, he released the arrow. It flew through the air, a blur of feathers and wood. It struck the reptile with a thud, and the creature screeched. Dante watched the reptile writhe in pain, his arrow still lodged deep in its side, pinning it to the tree.
He smirked, satisfied. That was good.
“Too aggressive.” She fought her way into the grassy haven.
“Hey, just admit that it was a good shot.”
She reached for a branch and effortlessly swung her body onto the tree. It looked like the wind was carrying her. Swiftly. Like a feather. She picked up the nest filled with east birds and hopped from one branch to the next, higher and higher, into the inked sky.
He pulled the feathered arrow out of the tree. The Syphix shook slightly, its nerves still intact.
“So, do people eat this?” He touched the tail.
“Some do. Papa once gave it to me when I was younger, but Maman told me to spit it out.”
“You know, I always respected your mother.” She was one of the few who looked after him when he stayed in Averon.
“She liked you so much. She always wanted a son who showered her bakeries with compliments.”
“Anthony wouldn’t?”
“He hates sweets.”
“What does the man not hate?”
His question was left unanswered—because clearly no one had an answer.
For a moment, he feared she’d break her legs leaping from such height. But she landed effortlessly and barely recovered before hopping over to him.
“What do we do with it?” She tickled the reptile to see if it would react.
He shrugged. “Toss it into the shrubs.”
“Wrong. If you don’t plan on eating the animal or use it for other purposes, it should stay in the same place—”
“—so that Menewa can draw its soul back to herself, where it came from and belongs,” he finished.
“See? Why hide your knowledge in the first place?” She patted his cheek before setting the skewered syphix next to the tree.
“Fear of making a mistake? You are an aggressive teacher.”
“I'm not.” She crossed her arms.
“You are.”
They went back and forth on the matter while Dante lowered himself into the grass, finally feeling its fluffy madness.
“I won't kill you for making a mistake, but I will certainly kill you for your fear of failure.”
The blue glimmer of the moons danced on the edges of her features.
Her profile was striking. Her lips were full, but not overly so. Her eyes were so deep brown that they sparkled like diamonds, which were guarded by the lashes that threw shadows on her soft cheeks.
“If I fail, don't laugh,” he whispered.
“We will laugh together.” She smiled and crouched down next to him.
“I hope you understood what I meant by saying that. You shouldn't carry shame over failure and mistakes but see it as a joyful road to success.”
“How wise you are.”
“I know.” She tapped along the round knot that was bound to the back of her head, locking in the rest of her curls that draped down her back. The bun came together by spinning and pinning thin braids into a composite shape that looked like a rose.
Back in Circe, when Dante and his mother used to walk their way down to the bakery every morning, she’d tell him plenty about Aldegone customs and traditions. They were the chapters in her yet-to-be-written book about Aldegone culture. And one rainy morning when they both walked under the umbrella, she explained to him the different meanings of Aldegone hairstyles. They were not only complex and beautiful to look at, but they also displayed status, ancestry, occasion, age, and even emotions.
Thin braids were a display of youth, but also betrothal.
Alva poked her fingers into the air as a swarm of night twirlers flew by. Their dark purple wings blended into the starry night, but the butterflies' skins were adorned with glowing dots.
He reclined into the grass, watching her as she played with the twirlers.
“Now, tell me,” he said, propping his hands under his head. He agreed to go hunting with her on the proviso that she would tell him all about the dinner and the reasons for her escape. She sighed. He wanted to know all of it. Every detail.
She told him about the dinner, and he realized that it was very close to his original guess.
“And then there was Sainaa,” she scoffed and softly kissed the wings of the butterfly.
“Sainaa,” he repeated under his breath. “Just so I know, why do we hate her?” he asked.
She chuckled mischievously. “You are not bound to hate her because of our little misunderstanding. I'm not sure whether I hate her myself.” She crashed into the grass and lay on her back for a moment before flipping over.
“I don’t want to marry him,” she said, barely audible. She tugged at the grass as if resisting the urge to pluck it out of the soil.
“He has always been Anthony’s good friend, not mine, though everyone assumed we were friends. Which is not exactly a lie, but also not the truth.” She stopped and looked at him. He nodded softly.
“We got along sometimes, but then other times we fought mercilessly, and I’d be the one to apologize because he’s incapable of doing so and Anthony insisted that I’m ruining the atmosphere.” She scoffed. “Within our friendship, I could keep him at arm’s length, but I can’t do that in marriage. Not with his idea of marriage.”
“You feel trapped.”
“I do. Is that what marriage ought to be?”
The stars gleamed and sparkled like diamonds in the dark expanse.
“No,” he responded. “Not with the right person. Any decisions you make for your future should be because you really want them, not because someone planned them out for you. What do they know about your needs?”
“My needs,” she muttered under her breath, followed by a silly laugh. She leaned forward as if to hold a speech. “I need a man who can kiss me well. Whom may weaken my knees. I want to feel his deepest emotions. I want to feel our bodies spark off each other in the most beautiful way possible.” Her legs lifted and rocked through the air. He stifled a laugh at her sappy monologue.
“Kissing him felt strange. I don’t understand how one could look forward to kissing, enjoying it even. I don’t think he’s a bad kisser. Dear, many women could attest to that.” She paused. “It’s me.”
“I doubt it.”
“No. I think it is.” She laughed. “I've only kissed one other man so far. Some guy on my seventeenth birthday who Hina wanted to set me up with. It was terrible.” She blinked at him with wide eyes.
He nodded slowly, the back of his head bouncing against his arms. “Did you like him?”
“Before we swapped saliva, I did.”
He snorted and tore a blade of grass from her bundle.
“It was your first. They are a disaster ninety percent of the time.”
“Well, I had my second. And it wasn’t good either.”
“Again, I doubt it. I doubt that it's your fault. I doubt that a soul like yours doesn’t cause a man’s back to arch and his knees to dissolve—trust. They probably got overwhelmed. Losing their minds...”
She smiled, which broke into laughter.
“You think Fayed got overwhelmed?” Her voice was soft, but her left brow moved in doubt.
“Yeah. A good woman is a man’s greatest weakness. It’s biology.” He grinned.
“Sure.”
“Third time's a charm,” he whispered into the air. He lowered his gaze and cleared his throat.
“Do you kiss well?” she asked with a mocking smirk.
“You ask when you could know in a second.”
“Ah.” She looked away and ran her tongue over her teeth. “Well, teach me then,” she said. “Without lips touching. What do I need to do?”
“What?” He laughed.
She propped herself up, eager to learn. “Please,” she pleaded.
“It's strange.”
“It won't be, I promise. I won't step past your boundaries, please.”
Trample on these boundaries, tear them apart, and run past them for goodness’ sake.
“No lips touching, you say.”
“Absolutely.”
“So, how will you 'learn' then?” He made air quotations.
“Um, well, you give me instructions on what to do. I just don't execute them. Like when we danced earlier.”
“That's so strange,” he muttered but tapped the side of her waist. With his help, she lifted from the grass and came to rest on his lap. He took a last glance at the moons before his body rose to glance at a view just as gleaming.
Oh, here we go.“What's wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” She chuckled. She held onto his shoulder as he shifted her in his lap. He narrowed his eyes but managed a calm smile.
He wanted her to be at ease. Knowing him, Fayed must have made her feel anything but that. He always took what he wanted, and Dante imagined that his principles in a relationship were no different.
“May I?”
She nodded. He rested his hand low on her waist, the lowest it had ever been.
“Where would you put your hands?” He tilted his head a wee.
She paused. “To my side. At my side.”
The corners of his lips rose.
“What else am I supposed to do with them? Stick them down your throat?”
He caught her fist, unraveled the fingers, cleared them from all bits of grass, and held them to her view.
“This is a precious tool.”
“The key tool?” Her lips curled into a grin.
“Almost,” he answered and led the open palm to his cheek-to-neck area. He released his grip, and she found the right spot for him. Her thumb brushed along his cheek. The other fingers fondled the backend of his hair. She smiled. Not looking into his eyes while he got lost in hers.
“What now?” she asked in an attempt to snap him out of his daze. An attempt because he decided to surrender to the sight of her for as long as he wanted.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
“I am.” She blinked in his direction before looking away.
“Look at me like you always do.”
“Right now,” she said, stretching the last word. “You are too close for that.”
He tilted his head. “Are you uncomfortable?”
She shook her head.
“Do you feel safe?” he asked.
“I do.”
“Then look at me. What will happen if you do?” Perhaps his whole face spoke of the bliss that exploded within him. A singular sensation, so new and perplexing. She raised the corners of her sweet lips.
“You might fall in love.” She searched the night sky. He smiled. “Now you have to hold a promise.” She dug her finger past a button of his shirt. “Promise that you won’t fall in love,” she joked.
He took a second, not to think but to grasp the reality.
“No man standing in your sight will make such a promise.”
A dark shadow cast across her face, to which her smile faded.
Heat rose in his vessel. From bottom to top, he was on fire. A flame of consuming desire he was not supposed to touch—but was not afraid to fall into.
“What else do I need to do?” she asked, her voice softer, hoarser.
“Keep your eyes on mine,” he said, “feel me and know that I’m here and that... you’re as beautiful as the stars.”
A glint burst in her eyes.
“I will wait. I won’t move an inch. You are in control. No man should force a kiss from you. You give them freely. They should fall to their knees and beg for them, but they shall never force them from you.”
“How do I know which man to give my kiss to?”
“You'll know when you feel so at ease that all worries leave your body and soul. The world and its problems turn blurry and unimportant. Not an ounce of doubt or fear...”
He felt her breath against his lips. “Just desire.”
He gripped the grassy soil with his free hand. Balling his fist against the ground. His heart pounded out of his chest.
She lifted forward. The distance between them shrunk so much that he felt like he could touch her soul with the tiniest stretch.
“Thank you,” she said and rolled off his lap onto the grass.
Curses flew through his mind at an unprecedented speed. His system crashed from one hundred to negative territory.
He flopped down like a deflated balloon.
“You are driving me insane.”
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“But did you hear that?” she asked. He groaned. “Dante.” She touched his cheek with increasing force. “The Syphix.”
His head lolled to the side. He blinked.
Through the shrubs and branches of the dry jungle, he spotted the wild eyes that gleamed with danger. Two pairs, double the trouble.
“Oh, dammit. I told you to toss that filthy thing away.”
Slowly and steadily he sat up. He didn’t take his eyes off the wild animals that the dead reptile summoned.
“Shh.” She placed a finger against his lips. “Torakos.” She smiled, drowsy. She was excited, but to him, those wild and always-hungry beasts were never good news.
She stretched out and motioned the wind to glide the archery weapon all the way to her steady palm. The Torakos jumped out of the thick bushes, snapping their fangs.
She held onto his arm and leaned forward, baring her teeth at the two animals.
Her sharp canines sent a message he knew they couldn't execute. He pushed her back, right before the Torakos returned the gesture. Quickening their steps.
“Run!”
The moonlight barely illuminated their path, but they didn't dare to slow down.
The Torako pair were hot on their heels. Their growls sounded louder with each rushed step.
Alva laughed, the thrill of the moment seemingly taking over. He shook his head but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
They stumbled over roots and fallen branches, nearly falling with each step. Alva's laughter turned to gasps as Dante caught her before she hit the ground.
They were massive beasts. Their fur was a dark brown. Their eyes glinted in the moonlight. Their massive paws pounded the soil, sending up clouds of dust.
“There, the tree!”
He reached back for her and pulled her body forward. She jumped ahead, used a large rock as leverage, and swung onto the tree.
Blindly, he grabbed the branch, heaved himself up the tree, and landed right next to her. His eyes widened, as did hers.
She laughed in astonishment. He stared at the ground, nine feet under him. She pulled him close and went forth to search the back of his hand and his forearm. His Endra remained uneventful, unchanged.
“You, you—” she stuttered. “How did you do that?”
“I don't know,” he muttered, looking at her.
Their hands fell apart. “Just keep it. Keep going.” She rose and tried to slip past him when the tree began to shake and tremble.
Alva lifted her legs and pressed herself deeper against his body. She breathed heavily, full of shock and fright.
“It's alright. I've got you.” He held every part of her body that he could hold on to.
“My bow.” She watched the Torakos trample on her adorned weapon. Their sharp teeth chewed on the hardwood, only to spit it out the next second.
“I'll go first.” He gradually lessened his hold.
“We can't leave. They will follow us to the horses,” she argued, pulling him by the collar.
The smaller Torako snapped its teeth at them, its yellow eyes watched their every move. The other stomped its hoofed paws against the ground, searching for a way up the tree.
“So, what then?” he spoke against her cheek. She squeezed his neck before letting go of him. Her hand trailed down her gown.
She unraveled it to her thighs, where her dagger was held in place by the white garter. He blinked, unsure if he was supposed to glance away or stay alert. She pulled the cover off the weapon but hesitated.
“Go on.” He lifted them higher so that they'd be able to flee once she hit the animal. She wavered from left to right, back and forth. Her fingers trembled, and she blinked profusely.
“Left, Alva,” he whispered, letting go of her.
She blinked one final time, before launching the dagger at the left Torako. The sharp blade drilled into its back, causing it to roar in pain. She stared at it, caught in a trance.
When the other Torako rushed to its injured partner, Dante pulled her with him. “Come on. Go.”
They climbed, ran, and swung from one branch to the other.
Following the way of the stars.
“COME ON, IT WAS FUN.” She chuckled.
“We'll have to study your definition of fun,” he muttered and loosened the last stitch of her corset. “Another night.” He stepped away and turned his back on her.
The chandelier was too bright for such a calm night. So instead, candlelight was lined up across the chamber, atop drawers, shelves, and along the tinted windows. The warm yellow inside contrasted the blue shimmer the moons kissed the landscape with.
A porcelain vase stood on the windowsill. Its blue pattern looked familiar. The touch of it evoked a warm and fuzzy swirl within him.
He lifted the cover and stuck his fingers into the opening. He pinched the piece of paper in his grip and drew it out. Insane. Absolutely insane.
“It’s still here,” he said. Awe consumed his voice. “One of my stars.”
“Really?” she gasped.
He heard her clothes drop to the floor.
“What color was it again?”
Dante held the origami star to the moons. “The color of your algebra textbook.”
She paused, pushed the air out of her lungs, and laughed.
“Oh, that one. Right. My favorite. What a high-quality prof you were. With you, I didn’t solve equations. I tore out the pages and pretended like they never existed.”
“You get what you pay for. Teaching is not an undemanding job.” He dropped the star back into the vase. May it rest there for another ten years.
“Maybe in Circe. When I saw your textbooks back then, the mountains of Tsukai trembled,” she said. “Why do they expose young children to such material?” She tiptoed across the room.
“I’m surprised that you haven’t lost your sanity,” she breathed. “Graduation day must have been joyous.”
“I barely passed. I think Floyd bribed the headmaster.”
A beat of silence. He chuckled.
“Or they knew that you were a bright kid who was suddenly affected by circumstances,” she whispered.
“Right.”
“What are you laughing for?” she asked, appalled.
“Nothing. May I?” He hesitantly turned around. She stood under the chandelier in her loose nightdress, a frown on her face, her hair bouncing off her shoulders, so wild and untamed.
“So, how long are you staying?” He rubbed along the back of his neck.
“Just the night.”
“Just the night,” he repeated and slipped his hands into his pockets. “You can stay longer if you want. As long as you want. Until Anthony leaves, perhaps.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, “but I fear I will mutate into a full-fleshed Strauss.” She laughed.
“And what's wrong with that?” Dante narrowed one eye and smiled knowingly.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked from heel to toe.
Alva Strauss.
Alva Diora Strauss.
It had a nice ring to it.
She unhooked the pendant that hung from her neck.
Dante reached behind her. He slipped his fingers into the folds of her gown's collar, retrieving a single strand of her hair.
Through five concrete blocks, infinite numbers of steel walls, and an unimaginable distance, he would have sensed the intensity of her eyes. She stared into his soul. Past eyes, skin, and bones.
“Good night,” he said. “Sleep well,” he said, backtracking. The closer he got to the door, the more she followed him. A smile danced on her lips, but it wasn’t quite there yet. He stopped walking, but she didn’t.
“Night,” she said with a sweet smile.
Innocent? Where? Innocent what? Not her. Sly little rat.
She swallowed him whole with her eyes. One small bite. Effortless. Her lashes fluttered, and she tilted her head to the side.
“You are trouble,” he said.
“How so?” She bit into her smile. Dante enveloped her in a hug to save himself. Her arms crawled up his chest and leisurely wrapped around his neck. She slumped against him and depended on him to hold her upright. She swayed. And the movement deceived his hearing to believe that there was a piano playing and his eyes saw bright lights above them.
In scattered bits, she whispered, “Sleep well. May Menewa bless your sweet soul with sweet dreams. I have you dear to my heart, Dante, my talented athlete.”
He chuckled softly and caved in, burying his face in the nook of her shoulder.
“And! I request Circe sweets tomorrow morning.” She punched him and gently withdrew her head to meet his gaze.
“Not tomorrow. I forgot to tell you. Tomorrow morning, I...”
His eyelids dropped lower and lower. Her gaze was a mirror of his emotions. So blank, yet so bewitching.
Just once, he thought. Just one second. Just one quick taste. How silly his thoughts were. How delusional. How his imagination lacked realistic boundaries.
But then her lips brushed past his. The softness of her touch was electric, sending shivers and bursts down his spine. She whispered words against his lips that he couldn't understand in the heat of the moment.
He kissed her briefly before pulling away. The width of a strand of hair separated their lips. He tilted his head and kissed her again. She was so soft. Her lips barely moved against his own.
Dante held back from kissing her again. The breath of her lungs hit against his skin like a summer current.
Alva traced her fingers along his neck and lowered her head. She stared at her toes, blinking, lashes fluttering. He kissed her forehead, resting his lips against her skin for the moment.
It was quiet. So silent that he heard the distant waves hit the shore. Souls spoke. Gone and alive. The night and its companions sang a lullaby.
She lifted her chin, and their lips interlaced. He leaned into their kiss with all that was pent up. A sudden release. An explosion and they both set off into pieces.
With a deep breath, he savored the beauty of her soul.
She tasted warm and sweet, like the height of summer, making the normally warm environment seem cold in comparison. He grasped her waist tighter, pulling her deeper into their doom. His fingers splayed against the cold gown. Sparks bounced off her skin.
His hands wandered up the side of her upper body.
“Dante.”
Dante pulled away. He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. His heart pounded like the wings of a bird in flight.
Floyd was a natural menace. Not this time. Anytime, but not this time. Dante silently leaned his weight against the door and held the door handle with his free hand. He gripped her, pulling her along and pushing his lips back on hers.
Their lips now moved in perfect rhythm. Quicker and heavier than before. She allowed him to lead the way, copying the pressure of his lips and the discrete movement of his tongue.
She kissed like no one ever had before. So tender and pure with so much intention and care. Slowly and in no rush.
She combed through his hair, touched his neck, and pressed her body against his own. He was flooded with heat.
All strength left him. His hand slid off the door handle. His splayed palm pressed against the hardwood.
“Fuck.” A kiss had never felt this good. What was wrong with him? “Do you want me to stop?” he breathed.
She shook her head, dazed. He tried not to sink any deeper, but his willpower was suddenly non-existent. He flipped their joint bodies around and gently pressed her against the door. He didn't know what his hands were doing, but they were doing something.
She squeezed his neck and broke out of the kiss. His lips made their way down her neck, and he heard her slam against the door.
“I'm sorry, you are so good.”
He met her lips.
“This is stupid,” she muttered, pain coating her voice. She caressed his cheeks, but her lips dropped against his own.
His eyebrows furrowed in fear. “I know,” he whispered into her mouth, “but can you not stop?”
She locked her lips with his again, answering the pleas of his soul.
“Dante!”
“What?” Dante yelled, hopefully popping his brother's eardrums. She trembled, and her hands dropped off his body.
“I’m sorry,” he said and took in her startled face.
“Where are you?”
Alva slipped away from the door, but he still held her hand and he couldn’t let go and he just needed one more to cope. He kissed. And she kissed. Their lips melded together. Frantic and desperate. He held himself back to not be too rough, but slowly they crossed that line.
Alva pulled away, both caught in their heavy breathing. She picked up the nightgown that she wore and rushed off. Just as the door hesitantly cracked open, she fell into the bed, throwing the blanket over her and sinking against the stacked pillows.
Floyd held the doorknob and stood there like a knobhead.
Oh, if Dante could have killed this man...
It was revenge for all the times Dante walked in on Floyd and his lovers. There was the blonde one, the redhead, and also the one Floyd would have never found attractive if his dick wasn’t the substitute for his lacking brain.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Dante shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor, moving his lips in circles.
“No,” she said, “we were just talking.” She overcompensated with her smile, trying to convince Floyd that they were, in fact, just talking.
“About what?” Floyd asked, oh-so interested.
She sat up, covering her lips. Dante knew they’d feel good, but what he experienced just now was more than good.
“Court,” she answered Floyd’s question.
Dante looked at her and subtly shook his head.
“Really?” Floyd let go of the door.
“We were talking about the architecture.” Dante rubbed his neck. The light in Floyd’s eyes burned out. “It’s a beautiful building.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, I was looking for you. Come on.”
“I’ll be there,” Dante assured.
“Now. You are already wasting my time.” Floyd turned his back on them and headed for the door. Alva nodded aggressively, but Dante didn’t understand why she would do so. He couldn’t leave now.
“Go,” she mouthed.
He granted himself a last look at her before closing the bedroom door. The gentle thud broke his heart.
“What are you doing in the ladies' room so late at night? Do you have decorum, brother? You know, she’s another man’s bride,” he whispered. Dante stood in front of his brother, and suddenly the air smelled of heavy bourbon and burnt tobacco.
“So? Am I not allowed to talk to her?”
“So late at night?” Floyd’s eyebrows shot into the air. “Dante, Dante, Dante. Now I’m disappointed.” He swung his arm around Dante’s shoulder.
“You were in a woman’s bedroom.” He checked his watch. “An hour past midnight. Alone. Candles everywhere. A bed and you didn’t touch her? Are you kidding me?” He hollered.
Dante chuckled.
“Are you kidding me, good brother?” Floyd playfully shook him. “Now, next time, I want you to be more of the Casanova that you were born to be. She has a fiancé, so what? I know she’s drooling over you.”
“You think?”
“No doubt,” he slurred.
“You are drunk. I’m not taking anything you say seriously.”
Tomorrow, everything would've been different. And none of it would be fun and jokes anymore.
Drunk Floyd was like a flash from the past, and Dante liked Drunk Floyd more than anything else.