At two o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday, Dominik Wiedman was leaned up against a tree, hunching over in his big black woolen peacoat against the cold of the night, cradling a flask of fire-whiskey, chain-smoking. 

It was clear, the stars were shining down, but bloody no one was smiling upon him.  Across the street, Niobe's lights were out, but she was only sleeping.  He knew this because he'd been there for three hours, as evidenced by the pile of smoked-to-the-butt rolling paper bits lying at his feet.  He'd watched the glow die out in her room as she went to bed and closed her eyes, and he played pretend he was in there too, with her.

Dominik had dark bags beneath his eyes and he was drunk.  And though he'd finally decided not to try and weasel his way in tonight, he still couldn't bring himself to leave.  Somehow it was better spending the night with an expressionless window -- the loft window fitted with sarongs that he knew Niobe was behind -- than to spend it alone in his dungeon lair of a flat. 

If he cocked his head just so... as a car was passing by with its headlights, it appeared that her window was... winking at him.

He'd wink back. 

Then a whole ocean's worth of sorry-for-himself would push him back against the tree.  Bloody hell.  What was he doing?  Lurking.  Loitering.  Stalking?  No, of course not.  He was just --

"All the lonely winters,
All the lovely birds,
Say to me sweet nothings,
On -- the morning after."

Singing, drunk, dizzy love sick.

Dominik paced back and forth anxiously a few steps, throwing his cigarette on the ground to add to the pile.  When he went for another shot of heal-me whiskey, however, pressing the bottomless flask against his lips, he only felt a few dribbles drop down his tongue.  Apparently a bottomless thing only held as much as you put into it, and that meant that Dominik had just had himself a whole bottle.  He cursed vehemently, tossing it across the street in an overthrow befitting his fit of frustration.  It crashed against the asphalt, presumably dented, and bounced over to rest in Niobe's little lawn.

Dominik let out an aggressive growl and lifted himself up onto a hearty low branch like an agile ape.  With his right arm wrapped around her trunk like a rigid woman, he fell asleep, his cheek pressed against her charming bark.  "Tell me something Niobids," he asked the tree as he fell into a slumber.  "Are you the beauty to my beast?  Your pretty face."

A car went by.  The window winked.

At five o'clock in the morning Dominik fell out of a tree.  He stumbled back to Knockturn, wondering what it was going to take.