It's funny how things don't occur to you until after the fact. How much I truly love the Whirling-in-Rags, for instance. How little I value my own life. And how much I like certain people. I mean, not funny, certainly not funny-ha-ha at any rate.

Especially not about the people. Some of them are dead. I'll never have the pleasure of verbally sparring with them ever again. None of them were bad people, not really. They irritated the life out of me of course, but things seem grim and boring without them.

Not all of those people are dead. There's others who are still alive, but I don't expect to ever see again. Sylvie. God, I fucked up with Sylvie so badly. I try not to think about her, but thoughts of her prey on my mind in the dead of night when I'm closing up because there's nobody else to do it.

And on the whole I'm glad that the RCM aren't hanging around here any more. But in the mornings I have to stop myself from automatically making a strong black coffee for Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. I have to stop myself from glancing up at the stairs at seven o'clock sharp in the morning, waiting for the clomp of his boots. I don't imagine he'll come back to Martinaise, it isn't his jurisdiction. It isn't anyone's jurisdiction. Well, not unless that business with the Union blows up, I suppose. And if it does I imagine they'd have to send the army. That is if they're even bothered about stopping us from being wiped off the map. Ah, just another day ending in Y in Martinaise!

I try not to think of any of those people. It only gets me down. But things are so quiet around here that I don't have much else to do but think. I sometimes close up early. Some days I consider not opening up at all, but that'd be admitting defeat. So I come here, I serve a few customers, I clean, and I think.

I've been thinking of Kim Kitsuragi the most, truth be told. I try to tell myself that's because it hurts the least to think about him, but that's not exactly true. I don't know, maybe I fucked up with him too. Or maybe I just got my hopes up, which is never really a good idea.

As I watch a plastic bag caught in the wind through the window that unfortunately doesn't need cleaning again just yet, I start thinking about when Kim first caught my attention. It still feels weird, even thinking of him by his first name. Disrespectful, almost. But he asked me to use his first name. Frankly it would have been even more weird to carry on calling him Lieutenant considering what happened between us. Or would it? God, look at me getting ahead of myself. I can't think straight when it comes to people I like. That's probably why I always fuck things up. It's not my fault really.

I barely registered his presence the first day I saw him. Saturday. It was fairly busy, you know, before the shooting, even though Titus and his crew weren't in. On Sunday morning I clocked his orange jacket again, and remembered seeing him the day before. Once again he was standing by the doorway. I don't make it my business to pay attention to people who come in and don't buy anything, not unless they're making a nuisance of themselves. But it was weird that he was here again, and then I noticed the white rectangles on his jacket. RCM.

Now I was aware that there was an RCM officer staying at the hostel-cafeteria. Oh, how I was aware of that. I hadn't seen him yet, but I'd seen the destroyed back gate, the smashed up window, and well, I could only imagine what his room looked like from how it had made the cleaner quit on the spot. I knew I couldn't be held responsible for what I was going to say to him when I finally met him.

But this officer looked very professional, very sensible. I immediately decided that this couldn't be my current guest. Must be one of his co-workers.

I went over to pretend to tidy up the tables. "You again," I said. "Can I help you?"

"No no. I'm waiting for someone," he said, hands still clasped behind his back. "Is that a problem?"

"No. Go ahead. It's a free country," I said.

And he just carried on waiting. I think Lena might have spoken to him, but whoever he was waiting for didn't show up and he eventually left.

He showed up on Monday too. And this time, someone else showed up. The infamous guest in Room One. I smelled him before I saw him stumble downstairs wearing only one shoe. I don't remember what I said to him when he came up to the counter acting like he didn't know where he was, but I know that whatever it was, I felt like he fully deserved it.

I was glad when he left and went to talk to Lena. She'd been coming in regularly and talking everyone to death, but even she sounded like she was bothered by Detective Disaster. He spoke to Orange Jacket at length, who kept calm even as my unwanted guest got hysterical.

Orange Jacket introduced himself as Kim Kitsuragi, and his new companion claimed not to remember own his name. During this and all subsequent conversations with them, I would look to Kim as the voice of reason.

Nameless detective owed me a lot of money for damages and rent, and by the evening I presumed that he must have decided to run away from his debt. But both officers returned, tried unsuccessfully to negotiate the amount, and then most surprisingly, not long later returned with the actual cash. Kim decided to stay too, which meant that at least all three rooms were rented out again.

I was dreading what the next day might hold. Kim came downstairs first and asked me to make him a black coffee. He sat down at the counter, and thanked me for his coffee but otherwise said nothing. That was when I first got a good look at him. He had deep brown eyes magnified a little by the thick lenses of his glasses. I guessed that he was a fair bit older than me, both from the odd streak of grey in his cool haircut, and the way he carried himself. He was quietly intimidating, which seemed fitting for a police officer. Much better than the other one, who I would have described as loudly obnoxious.

"Black coffee, right?" I said when he came to the counter the following morning.

"Yes, thank you."

I prepared it and set it on the counter for him, and he sat and drank it while looking through his notebook as he had the day before. I didn't usually find it difficult to make smalltalk, but with Kim I found I wanted to but couldn't. Usually it was the customers who initiated it, and perhaps it was improper to make smalltalk with a police officer, but I wanted to all the same. There was just something so interesting about him, something that made me think of him even when he wasn't around.

I saw the way he acted and spoke to people in the Whirling. Especially the way he spoke to the other detective. He was always so calm and levelheaded, and he acted with such gentleness and compassionate towards him. It made me feel weirdly envious. The world is harsh and so are people. The best I've been able to hope for is a good bit of repartee. I wanted, just once, to feel how it was to be treated how Kim treated people.

The next morning, I timed it just right and was making Kim's coffee when he walked downstairs.

"Something smells good," he said as he walked to the counter.

The recognition made me smile despite myself, and I set the cup down in front of him as he took his usual seat. He blinked, and momentarily looked taken aback. Then he met my eyes and gave me a little smile before raising the cup to his lips.

I stared at him for a few solid moments before I realised I was holding my breath. This was bad. Reacting like that from just a smile.

He let out a small sigh. "Just how I like it. Am I really so predictable?" he said.

"I wouldn't say that's a bad thing," I said, returning to the stuffed Great Skua, running my fingers over the feathers of its broken wing.

"Thank you, Mr Garte," he said, and I wasn't sure if he meant for the coffee or the affirmation.

"You don't have to call me Mr Garte," I said with a nervous laugh.

"Then what should I call you?"

"Well, my name is Lawrence, but-"

"Lawrence," Kim repeated. And I've never liked my name, but the way he said it softly in his warm, calming voice made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

"But no-one really calls me that," I said, feeling small and childish as I felt the heat rise to my face. "Everyone around here just calls me Garte."

"Is that right? Well, I think I'll stick to Mr Garte if you don't mind. It is more professional."

I just nodded and focused by gaze on the poor, broken Skua. Kim's tone exuded nothing but kindness, but I couldn't help but feel stupid. As I'd wanted, we'd had a conversation, but I'd gone and come off as awkward and immature.

I knew I shouldn't be paying such close attention, but I noticed that Kim finished his coffee faster today. At first I thought it was to get away from me and my awful social skills. "I must hurry to meet Lieutenant Du Bois. He is staying somewhere else now," he said as he got to his feet.

"Oh," I said. "Good."

"I am sorry for the trouble he has caused you."

"Oh, don't mention it," I said. "Good luck with the case, Lieutenant."

He gave me a little nod. "Thank you, Mr Garte."

The next day, I had his coffee ready again the moment he stepped downstairs. He gave me a knowing smile in recognition that yesterday's stunt wasn't a one-off. We made brief, polite conversation, avoiding the case, Harry, and other people in town, which left us little to actually talk about.

Some other RCM officers arrived and they were much less friendly than Kim. Less friendly than Detective Disaster Harry Du Bois himself, even. The pair of them seemed to be in a permanent bad mood. They sat around in the cafeteria, no interest in speaking to me, only ordering the odd drink in a way that told me they would rather be dealing with a vending machine.

The next few days proceeded in the same way. I grew to accept being called Mr Garte by Kim, there was an old fashioned elegance to it, like two gentlemen addressing each other. I started to grow comfortable in his company, and allowed myself to admire his poise and good looks.

I was still intimidated by him. I found myself taking extra care to choose my clothes for work and make sure they were perfectly ironed. Wanting him to like me was never far from my mind. There's never been much I could do with my face beyond shaving and looking like a teenager, or attempting to grow a beard, so I fussed with my hair a little more instead. Ultimately I knew that there wasn't much I could do if decidedly average cafeteria managers weren't already his type, but that didn't stop me from wanting to try.

I mean, I wasn't going to actually do anything about my silly little crush on him. God, it was bad enough with women. And most people could be counted on to be attracted to the opposite sex. It could be really bad if I made a pass at a man who was only interested in women. I've heard some people say that they can just magically tell if a person is homo-sexual, but that sounds like a load of nonsense to me. And with Kim being an RCM officer, might he even arrest me? No, that's going a bit far. But still it could be really, really bad. If anyone found out about me being shot down by him, they'd make fun of me for it forever. It'd be bad enough if they found out why Sylvie really left, that was inappropriate enough. But a man, and a police officer who was investigating the murder in our yard? I'd never hear the end of it. It'd be all oh how stupid can you be Garte, don't you know you're going to die alone, probably still serving drinks behind this bar?

I was somehow talked into setting up the karaoke equipment again, only to witness Harry actually not brutally murder The Etenniers. And the smile Kim gave him when he dedicated the song to him, well, I would have given anything for it to be directed at me instead. The two of them had a bond that I could never come close to. Maybe I was kidding myself. I grudgingly had to admit that Harry seemed to have sorted himself out, and along with Kim's help was actually doing some good about town. But I still didn't like him half as much as I liked Kim.

There was a bizarre incident where they asked if they could store the dead body in my fridge. I'm not sure what to make of that, but it's a vivid memory that comes back to me again and again. Even to gain favour with Kim, no, it was absolutely not happening.

But despite everything, Kim and I still had our morning coffee routine, and that I found immensely comforting. If that was all we'd ever have, maybe that was okay. I could enjoy his company, and just fantasize about what it'd be like to kiss him.

Then almost as soon as it had started, our routine was shattered. The mercenaries descended upon us, Titus was shouting, everyone was shouting. I don't remember why I went upstairs or how I ended up on the balcony, but I watched the whole thing happen from up there. I saw Kim and Harry try to intervene, try to save people. I knew I might be killed too, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I needed to stay and watch.

When I went downstairs I was vaguely aware that some people had taken shelter in the Whirling. Someone was crying. Someone else was talking hysterically. The doors opened and I saw Kim and Eugene carrying Harry between them. They were all covered in blood. At that point, I thought Harry was dead. They dragged him upstairs. There was nothing I could do. I went behind the counter and served whoever wanted serving. I might have forgotten to ask them for payment.

I operated on autopilot for the rest of the day, trying to keep busy, but repeatedly finding myself staring into space. I was okay. I was surprisingly okay. People around me were dead, people had been murdered just outside, but I was alive. You probably expect me to feel some way about that. Lucky. Or maybe guilty and unworthy of being spared. But I didn't feel much of anything about it.

"Mr Garte?"

Kim's voice startled me.

"I didn't think anyone else was still here."

It was dark outside. The main lights were dimmed and mirrorball lights were on, as usual for the evening. I don't remember changing the lights, I must have done it automatically. The way they moved and danced over Kim's form was hypnotic.

Kim walked over to me, and it was then that I realised I was sitting on the floor, my back against the wall by the kitchen door. I tried to get up, but I felt so weak.

Wordlessly, he sat down beside me.

"Are you not going home?" he asked after some time had passed. The coloured lights reflected off his glasses and illuminated the angles of his face.

I mumbled something about not being sure I'd be able to come back if I left.

"Have you eaten anything today? Have you drank water?"

I shook my head, unable to answer.

Kim sighed and got up. He returned with some bread, and a glass of water. When he passed the glass to me, he spilled it on my trousers. "Sorry," he said, and tried to wipe it off with his gloved hand. I gasped at the touch of his fingers. "Sorry," he said again.

We shared the bread, gnawing on it like animals, dropping crumbs all around us. Kim probably had a brain injury from the confrontation. I didn't know what was wrong with me. I was so tired I felt drunk, but I was pretty sure I hadn't been drinking. Working in places like this since I was a teenager rather took the shine off turning to drink.

He encouraged me to drink some of the water, and I realised that I was finally on the receiving end of that Kim Kitsuragi care and attention that I had so craved. Even when he needed looking after himself, he still thought of others. He really was too good to be true.

"How is he?" I asked.

Kim dropped his gaze and stared down at the floor for a long time, and I understood.

So I started talking. I don't remember exactly what I said. I probably didn't make a lot of sense. I think I might have told Kim some really personal things, things about my past that I never usually share with anyone. But I can't say for sure. My memory of this part is too blurred. And Kim might not have been listening anyway. He seemed to be, but he'd just seen all those people die, and maybe his partner was dying too. He probably had more important things on his mind than anything I had to say.

I just remember at one point he laid a hand on my shoulder and asked, "Mr Garte, are you okay?"

"Yes! I'm okay!" I'm pretty sure I was shouting. Suddenly I was on my feet, pacing around. "But what you've got to understand is, I really shouldn't be. I watched them die! Liz! Titus! Glen! Angus! Theo! Shanky! Those were people, lieutenant! Real people. Used to come here every day. Now they won't. They're dead! Dead!"

I don't know what I was expecting. Kim to tell me to calm down. Or to just listen quietly until I was done with my rant. But instead I found myself slammed against the wall. The air was knocked out of lungs.

"Stop this! Get your shit together!" Kim yelled. One of his hands was pressing my shoulder into the wall, and he had his other arm across my neck, pinning my head back. I stared at him, gasping for breath. I'd never felt so alive. And it felt so good. Good in a way that outliving other people didn't.

Kim blinked. "Oh god, I'm so sorry," he breathed, taking his arm away from my neck, loosening his grip on my shoulder. "I- I forgot for a moment. I should never have done that to a civilian, or anyone."

He had taken his hand off my shoulder and taken a step back, a glazed look of horror in his eyes. But I didn't want him to retreat. Oh god, I wanted him. I wanted him pushing me against the wall, pressed right up against me.

I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him towards me. There was just time for me to see the surprise in his eyes before our mouths crashed together. We exchanged a few awkward, unsatisfying kisses, our noses and his glasses getting in the way as we frantically tried to get into a better position. Kim rested his forearms on the wall beside my head and tilted his head, and finally I was able to concentrate fully on the divine feeling of his lips on mine and his tongue against my own. We kissed each other desperately. I pulled him closer, anchored by his weight against me.

When we parted, we stared at each other, gasping for breath. I felt like I should say something, but I didn't trust myself not to completely fuck things up. He pushed himself away from the wall, taking his weight off me. I wanted him to stay, but I wasn't able to tell him that.

Kim leaned on the wall beside me. After a while we started to talk again. Not about the kiss. Not about what happened today. About something, or nothing.

He was exhausted. That was very clear. I offered to sit with Harry so he could get some sleep, and he made a token effort to refuse the first time I offered.

Harry was still. I had to focus very hard to see that his chest was still moving up and down. I was tired, but somehow the thought of Kim kept me buoyed above the sea of unconsciousness. It all felt very unreal, like some bizarre, vivid dream.

After only a few hours, Kim returned and insisted on relieving me. I wanted to hug him, to kiss him again, but I wasn't sure if he would want that, and besides I was so tired I might have collapsed in his arms. I hadn't brought the key to recently vacated Room Three up with me, so at Kim's insistence, I crawled into his bed, still fully dressed. The sheets were still slightly warm and smelled of him. I wrapped myself around in them and consciousness left me.

In the morning, I went back to see how they were doing. Kim was still sitting in the chair. Harry was still unconscious. I didn't know what to say, so I left the room and went out onto the balcony.

I'd only gone out for some air, but I'd unthinkingly returned to the scene of yesterday's conflict, looking upon what I'd wanted to avoid. Yeah, that was it. Part of the reason I hadn't gone home yesterday. I'd have had to leave the building, and walk where all those people took their final breaths.

I saw red. I gasped. Blood. So much blood.

No. Not blood, words.

UN JOUR JE SERAI DE RETOUR PRES DE TOI.

Kim was suddenly beside me, leaning on the safety rail. We looked down at the street together. We looked at the words silently. Then we turned to each other.

I opened my mouth. Then closed it again. Had I dreamed that kiss from last night? No, it happened. I was sure of it. He was looking deep into my eyes. What was he thinking? Did he want to kiss me again? I've always been terrible at figuring this sort of thing out. For a moment, I thought he was leaning closer to me, but then he turned away.

I swallowed, and grasped the rail tighter in my hands. Kim had taken a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, and was repeatedly opening and closing the flap. He got as far as pulling a cigarette half way out of the packet, then quickly pushed it back in and tucked the whole packet back into his jacket pocket.

I spent the rest of the following day cleaning Room One, trying not to look at Harry's unconscious form, and trying to look at Kim without him realising I was looking at him. I called the regular window repairman without thinking, and it was only when he answered that I remembered that his name was Tibbs Hardie. Regardless, he said he would come around straight away. I carried on cleaning and doing what repairs I was capable of alone while I waited. If any customers came in they could help themselves, I really was beyond caring.

After I paid Tibbs for replacing the window, he shook my hand and kept hold of it while he thanked me for taking care of his brother. I wasn't sure what I'd done exactly beyond letting him drink in the cafeteria, but he looked like he was about to cry so I just mumbled something in response.

The sun had already set and the sky was darkening to an inky blue black when I stepped out onto the balcony to join Kim. He looked tense, and was sucking hard on his cigarette.

"Is there anything else I can do?" I asked. I'd asked the same question to him several times already.

Kim shook his head.

I moved to stand beside him and watched him smoke the rest of his cigarette, then put it out on the sole of his boot.

He heaved a sigh. "Usually I feel calmer after my cigarette."

"Have another one?" I suggested.

Kim smiled. "You're a bad influence," he said. "My promise to myself is to limit myself to one a day."

"But today isn't a normal day."

"No," he said, "it isn't."

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked once more.

"No," he said, then he raised a finger to his mouth. "Unless…" He shook his head.

We stood in silence for a while. It was freezing outside, but I wasn't ready to let this moment with Kim be over just yet.

"Lawrence."

I flinched in surprise at hearing him say my first name.

"Lieutenant?" I said, edging slightly closer to him.

He laughed softly. "Call me Kim," he said, taking a step towards me and placing an arm very deliberately around my shoulders. He dipped his chin down and stared into my eyes.

"Kim," I said, and it came out as barely a whisper. He was stroking my hair. It made me shiver.

It struck me that Kim is like an invisible sun on a cloudy day, offering hope when there appears to be none.

"There is something you can do," he said, and I could hear him breathing as he drew out the pause. "Kiss me."

And then my lips were on his, soft and warm and pliant. It felt so good, so right. But only for a moment. He quickly drew away.

"Now let's not get carried away," he said with an air of complete seriousness. He had more self-control than I did. One cigarette. A brief kiss. I'd have kissed him until we got frostbite in our fingers and toes. I had to respect his willpower.

Eventually, Harry regained consciousness and was able to make it downstairs, albeit limping heavily. We made our peace with each other. I felt very differently towards him after seeing him put his life at risk for us. It made me realise that this was what he had been doing the whole time, only I couldn't see past the alcoholic who had been driven to destruction by his own despair. And he appreciated the little I had been able to do for him in return. Kim didn't say much other than to echo Harry's sentiments. But he did give me a smile before they left to follow up a lead.

I had expected, stupidly I now realise, that they would return.