"I don't understand it! How could you have possibly been so dense in a moment like that?" Thompson scolded Thomson from their impromptu safe haven of an alley. "If you had waited any longer to fire that shot, we both would have been killed!" His voice was serious, stern—but even then Thomson could hear the concern hidden behind it.

"If you find me so dense, as you put it," Thomson replied, finding himself also caught up in the aftershock of panic. "Then why do you keep me here with you, huh? This isn't the first time I've screwed up. Anyone in their right mind would have kicked me out, or told me to get lost. But every time with you it's always the same—I mess up, you scold me, then you forget about it and ask me to join you on another one of these hare-brained heists! If you really hate me, why do you put up with me?"

Thompson's brow furrowed, he scowled as he broke gaze with his partner. "W-well…" he trailed off. He groaned as he felt his face grew hot. That airhead! he thought, He's just proving precisely how dense he is if he hasn't realized it by now!

"B-because…" he began again. "Because I don't really hate you, per se. I just…I worry about you. And…" he gulped, "I keep you around because, well, you're the only person on Interpol—no, the only person in my life—who has ever taken me seriously."

Thomson's features softened as that last line repeated in his head.

"Thompson…I—"

"Wait! There's…there's more, actually."

"Yes?"

Thompson's eyes squinted shut. "I know this is probably not the best time to tell you, but for all we know at this point, I may never again get another chance to say it." Finding courage from that statement, he opened his eyes, once again making eye contact with his partner.

"Thomson, I l

—

Tintin heard his door creak open behind him. The moment he heard Captain Haddock's "Ahoy, there!" he ripped out the piece of paper he had been typing on from the typewriter and put it on his desk, face down with the others in a neat stack. Crumbs! He thought to himself, And I was just about to get to the best part!

He turned to Haddock, his voice holding a fake calmness. "Yes, Captain? Is there something you need?"

The captain shrugged. "I just came to tell you that dinner's ready. Nestor asked me to get you, since he knows how much you like spaghetti."

"Thank you, Captain," Tintin smiled, "I'll be down in just a minute."

Haddock's eyes veered down to the stack of papers that sat behind Tintin on his desk. "What've you got there?"

Dammit! Tintin thought, trying to keep from losing his cool. And I just turned in my last report, so I can't call it that! Um… The boy reporter racked his brain for an explanation and said the first one that came to mind.

"I'm writing a letter to Chang!" Tintin lied through his teeth.

Haddock raised an eyebrow. "An awful long letter you got there, laddy."

Double dammit. "W-well, I haven't written to him in a while, so it's a little lengthy because I wrote about a lot of things, and—wait, what are you doing?"

Before Tintin had finished his last sentence, Haddock had already walked over to Tintin's desk and picked up the stack, leafing through the pages and picking a spot in the middle to read.

Triple dammit!

"Captain, what the hell!"

"'Thompson took this as better an opportunity than ever to steal a glance at his undressing partner through the bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth. It was weird…they had almost the exact same body type, so why was it that upon seeing Thomson like this, it made his body all hot?'"

"C-captain! Give that back!" The embarrassed Tintin tried to grab the story from Haddock, but the taller captain held the stack of papers high above his head to where Tintin would have to jump to try and retrieve them.

"'Rinsing his mouth out, he felt an idea emerge in his head. Before Thomson was completely in the shower, Thompson heard himself ask, "Mind if I join you? It'll save water, after all, and this apartment isn't cheap—"'"

"Captain!"

Deciding not to push the poor boy too far, Haddock reluctantly gave Tintin his story back, laughing despite his state of distress. "What exactly is that anyway?"

Tintin rearranged the paper stack neatly and safely stowed away the evidence in a large binder, which he put under his bed. "I-it's…a story I've been writing."

"…You're…writing a homoerotic story about our friends?—wait, is that even a thing? Are they even a thing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Tintin said calmly. "I mean, it seems like they'd be, anyway. For goodness' sakes, they're basically like an old married couple."

The captain considered this tidbit for a moment. "…Well, you've got a point there."

"Don't tell them I said that, though!"

"R-right…" Haddock found himself stuck in an awkward spot. "Also, don't mind me asking this, lad, but…is there a particular reason why you're writing this?"

Tintin shrugged. "Not really. On the up-hand, though, it's a good way for me to practice my writing skills for when they have to count. This whole thing started out as just a paragraph I typed out for a joke, but then I'd keep adding on to it whenever I got bored. Eventually I ended up writing a few short things. I'm trying for a full-fledged story this time."

"I see."

"But listen," Tintin's voice became serious. "Whatever you do, do not tell them about this, understood? In fact, don't tell anybody. This story never leaves this room."

"Well, I'm gonna have a hard time forgetting about it," Haddock replied, chuckling, "but sure, I can keep a secret. And I'll admit, the writing itself wasn't bad. Definitely weird, but not bad."

"You think so?" Tintin looked up at him hopefully.

"Master Haddock, Master Tintin?" The two men turned towards the door where they could hear Nestor's voice calling them. "Do hurry, please! The food will get cold!"

"He's right, we should go," Tintin said to Haddock, and began to walk out of his room. He felt a hand on his shoulder, looking up at the Captain.

"So…you said you wrote other stories about them?"

"To be honest, I write about them a little too much," the redhead admitted before his expression contorted into a cheeky grin. He added, "But if you liked that, you should see what I've written about the professor and Signora Castafiore!"