Every evening was the hardest time for him, enduring through the night with insomnia, reminiscing about those brief moments of happiness in the long darkness.
He used to only drink a bit of low-alcohol red wine or beer, but now, he drank only strong liquor.
Because, only the alcohol could occasionally allow him to close his eyes for a moment.
It's just that, whereas he used to get drunk, the periods of sobriety were becoming longer and longer.
The more sober he was, the more agonizing it became.
Every passing second seemed to torment his heart.
Dylan Young drank one glass after another elegantly, and outside the huge floor-to-ceiling window behind him was the vast night sky; his reflection in the glass appeared as if...in this world, on this night, only he was left.
In his heart, Dylan thought of Fristy Davis, how many trump cards did she have left?
Nirvana... Nirvana...
