The noise and the clamour of the city died down as Trant and Jean headed away from Boogie Street, leaning on each other, both too drunk to walk in a straight line.

"Jean, wait a minute, would you?" Trant said, stopping in front of a wall in front of a darkened shop.

Jean took his arm from around Trant and sat on the wall, then patted his pockets.

"There's something I've been wanting to say to you for some time now," Trant said, leaning against the wall as Jean took a cigarette out of the packet and put it in his mouth. The smile never left Trant's face, but it started to look strained. "I am so very glad I accepted the position to assist the RCM, otherwise I would never have met you, and my life has been so much richer for having met you." Trant laughed nervously as Jean lit his cigarette and began to smoke. "Sorry, that was a terrible sentence. I blame the alcohol. But I digress. I must admit I wasn't sure if we would get along when we first met. I thought you were rather gruff and stern."

Jean gave a short laugh, then returned his attention to his cigarette.

"But those are traits I have come to appreciate in you. As well as many others. You're dedicated, and unafraid of speaking your mind. You're brave enough to challenge anyone you think is wrong, even your superiors. And I know you try not to show it, but you really care about people. You're a great listener. You make me laugh. You... have beautiful eyes. And you look so good in uniform."

Trant shot a look at Jean, who had a smile forming on his face. He reached out and touched Jean's arm. "I adore you, Jean, you make me so happy." He felt Jean's arm tremble slightly under his hand.

Jean took one final drag on his cigarette, then flicked the butt into the gutter. He turned to Trant, who looked suddenly nervous at being observed.

Trant pulled away and clasped his hands together, lowering his gaze to look at them. "I hope this doesn't sound too presumptuous – and if it does please tell me, I won't be offended – but I would like to be more than just friends with you, Jean Vicquemare."

Jean placed a hand on Trant's cheek and turned his head gently but firmly towards him. Trant swallowed. Jean leaned forward until Trant could feel his breath on his face, shallow and smelling like beer and cigarettes. Then Jean closed the gap between them, kissing him open mouthed and fervent. Trant kissed him back, forgetting everything he knew on the subject of kissing as he tried to match Jean's movements. As he stumbled and almost lost his balance, Jean grabbed him around the waist and pulled him towards him.

"Oh Jean," Trant murmured, and kissed Jean again.

The engine of a motor carriage passing by reminded them of their location. They broke apart, breathless and sweaty.

Trant smiled and climbed up on the wall beside Jean.

Jean brushed his hair back into place. "Flattery will get you everywhere," he said. "But seriously, Trant, what the fuck? This isn't the first time you've come home with me. Don't tell me you lost your memory too. I know we drank a lot, but fucking hell."

Trant laughed. "Of course I haven't lost my memory," he said. "It's just that I had this whole speech planned out, and then you went and beat me to it. Remember, that night when we went out for Quigley's birthday? And I couldn't get a taxi. So you insisted on walking me home, and you said you knew a shortcut through that piece of wasteland. And it was all uphill, and you got me talking about footwear because we weren't wearing the right shoes for walking on uneven ground. And so we sat on that rock, and you kissed me, and said-"

Jean coughed and fiddled with the lapel of his jacket. "Don't worry, it's not like I'm in love with you or anything." The redness rising to his cheeks was visible even under the misleading yellow glow of the streetlights.

"So you do remember?"

"Of course I do!" Jean said, shaking his head. "How could I forget? God, if it wasn't for that night we wouldn't be sitting here right now."

"You could have said nothing and I would probably have just chalked it up to drunken exuberance," Trant said, smiling. "But the way you were so specific made me suspicious, and from my extensive personal knowledge of you, it struck me that that would be exactly what you would say to someone you were in love with."

Jean leaned towards him until their faces were centimetres apart. "You could've run a mile, Trant, got outta here while you were still able to."

Trant placed a hand on his chest. "Oh, but if lungs could glow, mine would have then," he said, looking away bashfully. "You really had no idea I felt the same?"

"None," Jean said, brushing his lips against Trant's cheek. Trant let out a little sigh.

"After all those excuses I made to spend time with you? And, oh," Trant said, smiling and closing his eyes, "all those times I read books on subjects that seemed to interest you. I was sure you would notice."

"I didn't. I thought you felt sorry for me. And I thought you just knew fucking everything."

Trant shook his head. "I'm just good at learning facts, especially when I have a good incentive to do so," he said, touching Jean's hand.

Jean laughed, and raised Trant's hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. "If you weren't so smart I'd call you an idiot."

"You can still call me an idiot if you want to."

"No. It'd only make me look like an idiot."

Trant smiled and squeezed Jean's hand. "I love you, Jean," he said. "Now how about we go home?"

"Yeah," Jean said as they both got down off the wall. "I love you too, Trant."

Trant smiled even wider and reached out to take Jean's hand as they began to walk down the street.

"Shit. I don't think I've ever said that to anyone sober."

Trant laughed. "Erm, Jean-"

Jean was already cringing. "I know! I'm fucking stupid!"

"Don't worry, I'll remind you to tell me again tomorrow."

"I really don't know how you put up with me."

"Well, it's actually very easy."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Don't you remember what I said earlier?"

Jean smiled. "Remind me."