You held Fyodor Dostoyevsky's cold hand, dancing in the candlelight night with him, it was a moment only you and him can have. Only you both. Only you. And God forbidden anyone else to see him like this.

"Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can't help, falling in love with you..." He hums along the voice of Elvis Presley playing in the disco.

You could see the softens in his eyes, the softness that weren't allowed in the battlefield of his own life.