Timon smiled in return, the feeling between them mutual. He had been there so long with Krichevskoy and the others, Paixao had almost become a second home. It was outrageous, the idea that some ‘prison’ they were captive in could become such a thing but somehow, with the right people at the right time, it had. Were they anywhere else, would it have turned out the same? Would he have found himself questioning the very feelings he did then?

The mouth watering aroma that approached their table broke his train of thought just long enough for Timon to forget the idea all together. Their waitress was quick when presenting their meals, another table having just sat down a few tables away from the pair. Timon however had paid her little mind, his stomach having taken over priority.

But before digging into his meal, he decided on something he normally wouldn’t. “A toast,” he said, holding a crispy slice of lightly golden bread between the two of them. Far be it for Timon to pass up the opportunity to make a joke – with someone he’d give his last for.

“To friendship.”