After the war, Captain Solomons became one of your best and most regular customers, always booking the same room, in the same hotel in London, your favourite room, but you told nobody, not even your other regulars about him.

The young soldier, recently returned from war, had sent you a telegram ahead of time, meet me in our room, I'll be waiting.

So, you did, you met him. You met all of him, gave him the heroes welcome he'd so desperately craved whilst serving on French soil.

He was so diligently yours, for good reason too, he was desperately, hopelessly in love with you, but he knew your profession, you kept your heart tightly guarded because of it, you couldn't afford to let in any old sod with a bunch of roses and a sad story.

Alfie knew your fears, your hopes, your dreams, and in turn had shared his own. He'd dumped the weight the war had pressed into his mind, spread it out for you to see, see him at his most pure, effervescently bare with how he bore his soul to you, his one true love. He'd even offered to buy you out more than once, and more than once you'd declined, breaking his heart a little more each time.

And here you were again, certain you'd knocked a dent into the wall behind the headboard as you lay in Alfie's arms, legs akimbo as you both rested after.. well, who was keeping count of the rounds anyway?

Alfie tucked you into his chest, certain you were asleep as he began to speak in soft, hushed tones to you.