Under any normal circumstances touching face instead of shaking hands would have been slightly inappropriate. But in that pitch blackness it was rather hard to keep a gentlemanly distance. Besides, Litefoot had aimed for a shoulder.

"Oh-oh, of course, we haven't been introduced", said Litefoot, "I'm – "

"Oh corks! It's the bat nannies! We better hide!" hissed the gentleman, who allegedly was investigating the exact same infernal incident Litefoot was. He took Litefoot's hand in his own and pulled him down, against his person and on the wall. They may have already been seen, or at least heard. Nevertheless, Litefoot and this huffing and puffing fellow tried their best to squeeze each other to a tiny hollow slot, in hopes of it giving them cover.

Litefoot suddenly found himself pressed tightly against the pumping chest of this new acquaintance of his. He could smell the sweat and Cologne on his collar. The man had a heavy breath that smelled like beer. A man of a tall build, sturdy, very unlike lithe Litefoot. He felt like a damned damsel in distress, short and scooped in the arms of the White Knight.

Just so, the strangest sensation of tingling and warmth flushed over Litefoot's body. He couldn't tell if it was just sheer horror of the situation. It seemed to have more to do with how nicely this man's hand fits under his arms. Litefoot was pretty much wrapped in a bear hug.

And that's when Litefoots whole higher reasoning seemed to halt. For a fraction of a second he forgot the nefarious evil bat women. There were just him and this strange gentleman, hearts pumping faster than they had any right to do. It felt like one of those dreams Litefoot had never admitted having.

"My dear Lord, up in the Heavens…" Litefoot muttered and pressed his face into the gentleman's neck. It was an instinct. Either the man didn't notice, or was most likely actually focusing on the catastrophe around them. But he allowed a half kiss on the inner side of his jaw. It was so improper act here, you could only describe it as dubious and certainly contemptible.

Litefoot's cheeks were probably beaming red. Luckily the gentleman couldn't see, as it would have been more awkward.

"Oh lummy… they know we're here…" he groaned in a worried tone as it turned out to be precisely true. It's indeed bizarre, how Litefoot had, basically between two heartbeats, begun to wish this embrace would never end. And it must end.

"Am I interrupting, gentlemen?" grinned Miss Lovett, her eyes glimmering malicious glow. Litefoot and his associate separated fast from each other, never to touch again, as he was left at the mercy if these creatures. Litefoot managed to wiggle out of the trap, back to the light of day.

Later Litefoot naturally assumed his unknown gentleman to be dead. How could have he known any better? As far he was concerned, the man was pulled down deep in the water and drowned. Nothing could have been done to it.

Litefoot felt enormously guilty for it, in lot ways he did no event understand. The inappropriateness of his thoughts in that hostile situation, coupled with the bravery that had lead to the man's doom weighed on him. He could have let the poor man keep his decency. The only way Litefoot was able to comfort himself was that, perhaps, he hadn't realized the unspeakable desires thrown at him in his last moments. Poor chap.

But he had forgotten The Yesterday Box. Few more letters came about, giving instructions on portable fire pumps and further instructions. But there was one more. It only said:

"Have mercy on yourself Mr. Litefoot. Your affections, be them as ill-advised as they might, will be reciprocated one day. Yours truly, L."

Somehow, even though the letter didn't mention anything else, it still eased Litefoot's mind. It didn't deny nor confirm anything of the mysterious gentleman's death or survival. Still, it radiated peculiar, soothing reliability Litefoot was very thankful for.

FIN