A/N: Shortest fic ever, I know.

Inspired by the discussion we had in my Lit Class about the parallells of the tone in "Crime and Punishment" and Vincent Van Gogh's "Stary Night." I did not find them, but while I was searching, I found a fanfic instead.

Thus, you now have a Sonya/Raskolnikov fic. It's slighty AU since they never actually sleep with each other... But god, I wish they had. They are so cute! Like Dunay and Svidrigailov.

He lays silent next to me, his dark hair a mess about his head like a soot-stained halo. I watch him for a while as he lays in his tranquility, his thin chest rising and falling with his deep breaths. I want to reach out and touch him, but I'm afraid I might wake him.

I can hardly believe what he has done for me, what he has done in general. I do not want to realize this man is a murderer, despite what he told me. I know it's the truth, but I don't want it to be. I want him to be my angel, my lover for the rest of forever. Without him, I would certainly be in prison, or starving in the streets. He gave my father a proper funeral and my stepmother honor I do not know she deserved.

Through my window, I can see the moonlight. It glows light, hazy gray on the floorboards. It's so bright, it calls me forth. The floor is cold on my bare feet, but I keep walking to the window and push the curtain back. The stars are endless. It takes my breath away.

I have never found my city beautiful. Usually, it is filled with death and sadness. But tonight… There are stars and the moon and the rooftops glisten and shine like silver. The little puddles in the street below are mirrors. I cannot help but draw a sharp breath.

And then a small scream escapes me as I feel hands around my waist. "Shh, Sonya," his voice is soft and comforting, and the rest of the scream dies in my throat. I lean back against him. "What are you looking at?"

"They sky. It's so beautiful tonight. It reminds me of a river."

He nods slowly. I can feel his breathing against my back and he says quietly, "If you say so."

"You don't think so?"

"I can't tell. It looks like the sky to me."

"But look at the stars."

For a moment, he is silent, and then his hands slide down to my waist and he kisses the back of my neck. "Yes. I can see the stars. But they aren't half as beautiful as you."

I can feel a blush rising on my face and I put my hands on top of his. "Thank you," I mutter. "But the sky… It truly is beautiful tonight."

"Yes," he agrees, and takes me back to the bed, pulling me down and wrapping his arms around me. "So we'll leave the curtain open."

I kiss him gently and he smiles. It is rare when he smiles, and I am glad I am the cause. With one backwards glance at the window, I pull myself closer to him and smile back. The sea of the moon and the river of the stars can see us plainly, and as he kisses my hands, I feel closer to everything. From him, to the sky, to God.

Silently, I pray that every night I spend with him can be this beautiful.