Perhaps rainy nights tend to make people feel drowsy.
In the quiet private room, only Little Eleven's rambling voice could be heard.
Finishing a cigarette, Lilac Serval flicked the butt into the ashtray, rested her chin on her hand, and quietly continued listening to him speak.
Little Eleven didn't know how long he'd been talking, and Lilac Serval didn't know how long she'd been listening.
When the night grew still, she curled up like a ball, clutching the blanket with both hands, and fell asleep.
A spring dream quietly follows the scene of March, the morning chill fades the blooms away.
After Lilac Serval fell asleep, Little Eleven didn't immediately carry her away, but lowered his head and stared at her flushed cheeks.
His head drew closer, lower and lower. He wanted... to kiss her.
It was the strongest, most tumultuous impulse deep inside him.
Under such lighting, in such a place, on such a rainy night, he wanted to kiss her.
