"Now, wha- … what are you ssstaring at, Barrow?!"

The slurred words sent a whiff of cheap, stale alcohol straight into Thomas's face and if it hadn't been Jimmy, he'd have turned away in disgust; instead, Thomas found himself struggling to calm the sudden throbbing in his chest. "You stink like a bloody pub!" he scoffed, managing a disparaging curl of his lip only by way of effort.

Because - drunk or no - Jimmy still looked hauntingly beautiful: dishevelled blond hair softly framed the tired blue of his gaze and Jimmy's features lacked the tense composure that usually seemed to hold the young man together. Thomas felt his lovesick heart stumble over itself; the butterflies never quite went away.

A drunk sneer temporarily twisted Jimmy's face into a funny shape. "Still in love with me, then?" Jimmy blinked, his weary eyes surveying Thomas's face as if searching for something that should be there.

"Aren't you? Thomas?" he inquired lowly and, with a slight wobble to his stance, moved to lean in, so dangerously close that he was only one fleeting kiss away.

"One day …" Jimmy breathed, right into Thomas's ear, yet voice coming from somewhere underwater, "One day, I'm going to be your boy."