The Socialite undoubtedly recognized their own verbage and chuckled. "Of course. I would always accept your friendship, no matter how bare and honest, if you'll accept mine."

Their smile was warm, glowing brilliantly in the dim light outside the window, reflecting golden like the tea before them. Was this sunlight? Not the true light of the sun, but the poetic metaphor that prose enjoyed droning on about. The glow that sat on the hair of a lover or the glimmer that passed the eyes of a child. The light that causes a shimmer on the surface of water, the dappled light that danced through leaves they'd never seen, the pride of a father cast upon the sight of their joy in life. It was in a smile that reached the eyes and the laugh that rang like bells and the open, honest way of talking and the inviting look that said there would always be a place at the table. Maybe that was what the poets meant, when they said they missed the sunlight. Maybe they really missed all the people that brought it.

The Morbid Socialite- Mori- raised his cup in a toast. "To new friendships, to partial honesty, and to open windows."