The cool night air swept sweetly over the dew dampened grass of the hill, the water droplets catching the warm and distant illuminance of the city below. The moistness of the ground had long soaked into your sweatshirt, and now the ever-present chill was as comfortable as the twinkling light of stars overhead. Fyodor lay beside you, his head rested on his arm and his eyes closed contentedly to the sky. A bottle of half finished vodka you had been sharing leaning against his abdomen as you both basked in the pearly glow of the moon.