As he slipped his loose change within its leather folds, he noticed something slyly peeking out of his wallet: a thin piece of paper, not quite square, tattered and worn. He gripped the exposed corner and slowly withdrew an aged black-and-white photograph.
It had faded over time; for some it might be impossible to discern what it portrayed. But he could see immediately, without even thinking, that it depicted two sharply-dressed men, and his memory filled in the details from there.
One was older and taller, with scrappy black hair and beard, calloused skin, and eyes the pale blue-green of the tropical ocean. The other, smaller and more youthful, had short russet ginger hair that peaked in an iconic quiff on his forehead, faint freckles scattered across his face, and eyes the deep blue-grey of a tropical storm. They were wrapped in each other's arms, dancing and laughing, without a care in the world.
The poor fools. They had thought that night could last forever.
"Hello again, Archie," he murmured, gently running his thumb across the blurry, imperfect imitation of the elder man's cheek. "It's been a long time, eh?…I trust you're doing well? You're staying away from the liquor for the most part, I hope. One of these days it's going to bite you in the rear…"
Still tightly encircling his left ring finger was a golden band engraved with a simple emblem, a few lines and curves suggesting an anchor. So many years later and it looked exactly the same as it had on that day.
So many years later and he, too, was essentially the same, as if his twenties had never left him, as if he was still ready to take on the world at a moment's notice with his comrades by his side. He had found quite a few allies in his time, but of his many dear friends, there was only one who had qualified as not simply a companion or a sidekick but a best friend and a lover.
All of his hopes and dreams and thoughts and kisses had belonged to this man. They had completed each other, taught each other what it meant to be human. No part of him would deny that they had been the perfect pair.
No part of him would deny that they still were.
So went the fairy-tale legend of the fearless reporter and the loyal sea captain: after countless wild adventures, they had fallen for one another, star-crossed true love, and they would live happily ever after.
He shook his head, his eyes watering. That certainly hadn't happened in a while.
What a silly little sap he was. There was nothing to cry about.
"Adieu, mon amour," he whispered, carefully returning the picture to its hiding place. "Until next time."
Then, now, and ever after: love like theirs could not be broken, could not be separated. Before much longer, they would meet again.
So many years later and he could still smell the sea.