The day after the Kembleford Hambleton cricket match dawned bright and cheery. It was one of those brilliant September days- one of the very last fragments of summer sun that clung to Kembleford. The sun was very bright, the birdsong very triumphant, and a hungover Sid desperately tried to block out both these violent features as he lay in the bed like a dead thing, vaguely aware of Sullivan completely unconscious beside him.

He'd been lucky enough to get a day off - he was assured by Goodfellow that they would manage without him at the station for a day, it wasn't very busy anyway.

The fact that this conversation took place as Goodfellow was kindly hoisting an exceptionally sloshed Sullivan out of the gutter outside the Red Lion while an equally stewed Sid scavenged the pavement for a coin that turned out to be one of those little cardboard things that fly out of party poppers, was completely unimportant.

A groggy, zombie-esque groan beside him signalled that Sullivan was awake. He coughed several times and Sid winced at the noise.

"Last night," He croaked, "Last night..."

He rolled over and their two heads smacked together. Given the strength of their hangovers, this was possibly the worst pain they had ever felt in their lives.

As they both lay there moaning and lamenting their aches, Sullivan grew increasingly dizzy and nauseous. He could have blamed the whiskey, or the champagne, or whatever the hell had been in those glasses someone had thrust into his hands.

But he knew what it was. Cloudy as his memory was, he was almost sure that in the heat of their drunken excitement last night, he felt sure that Sid had said it.

And he'd said it back.


Still pale, drawn and worried, he stood in the kitchen clutching the bitter coffee that might revive his dull senses, his brain still numb and fogged over those three little words.

It might have only been two, actually.

They were slurred and almost undistinguable, but he felt sure he'd heard them.

Sid had been laughing, and then cupped his cheek with his hand and closed his eyes, murmuring in contrast to his raucous shouting of earlier.

"I love you."

Sullivan, sprawled over him, chuckled. He took the hand caressing his face and kissed the bruised knuckles.

"Love you too."


It meant nothing at the time. The same inebriated babble he'd been spouting all evening. But now, watching Sid attempting to flip the bacon sizzling in the pan (and failing) it meant everything.

His world was changed forever, cliche as that may sound.

And Sid didn't even remember it.

He was jolted out of his daydream by the phone ringing.

Sid went towards it, hand reached out to the reviver when Sullivan shook his head.

"Leave it." He said.

Sid had a feeling they both knew who was on the other end of the line. Sullivan sipped his tea and hid his eyes.