Title from a song by Hubert Felix Thiefaine
Tonight, like every nights since they met, a month ago, she's here waiting for him.
At first they don't talk. They do not say "Good evening" or "how are you?" they just look at each other and walk. It takes them twenty minutes to finally reach their destination, a squat in Menilmontant. People don't judge them, don't look at them. They sing and jump and scream till the night fades away.
Brienne is tall, and strong, blonde like Jaime, strong too, but smaller. They mock her sometimes, calling her "ugly" but Jaime knows that she is not. That she has sapphires in her eyes, and when those eyes look at him, they shine only for Jaime. Together they listen to the song playing "Salut a toi" by Berurier Noir. They know it, everybody do. Usually they would stay and drink with the others but tonight none of them really want. They just want to keep walking together.
After a while they talk. It's Jaime usually who starts their conversation. He teases her about her appearance and she answers reminding him that he killed a man once, that she does not care about what a man could possibly tell her. There's no anger or hate between them. They just have trouble communicating to each other, and it's their way to express their feelings.
They both have secrets that the other ignore. Brienne doesn't know that it because he wants to forget his love for his sister that he comes at her every night. Jaime doesn't know that Brienne fell in love with a man that would never love her and who died in front of her.
They do not know and they do not want to know.
They do not want to say they're in love but Oscar Wilde once said that "You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear". Brienne sings an harsh melody of sadness and bravery.
Jaime sings a melancholic hymn to the past and the lack of hope.
And together, till the night fades away they sing together.
les dingues et les paumés se cherchent sous la pluie
& se font boire le sang de leurs visions perdues
& dans leur yeux-mescal masquant leur nostalgie
ils voient se dérouler la fin d'une inconnue
ils voient des rois-fantômes sur des flippers en ruine
crachant l'amour-folie de leurs nuits-métropoles
ils croient voir venir dieu ils relisent Hölderlin
& retombent dans leurs bras glacés de baby-doll