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From the other room, someone sneezes. Subdued and over-polite, again. This is what it’s been all morning; it must be the hundredth sneeze Jean’s endured now and he’s certain there’s a hundred more in the pipeline. The walls in this old mill are paper-fucking-thin. He can’t face a future this bleak. He has depression, goddamnit.
Breathing out heavy through his nose, Jean slams both hands on the desk, uses the leverage to hoist himself to his feet and stomps from his office to the one next door. This is the first time Lieutenant Kisturagi has been a source of annoyance, so Jean doesn’t storm their office like he usually would. Instead he knocks three times, waits, and enters.
Inside, Harry is sitting, Kim is standing. Both at their respective desks. Kim might have looked perfectly natural, arms folded behind his back as usual, were his nose not bright red from the periodic sneezing. Harry, on the other hand? Stock still in his chair. Eyes wide, knees together. Unable to meet Jean’s gaze. He disregards that for now, because Harry is always up to something and quite frankly that isn’t his problem any more. Instead, he looks at Kim.
“Lieutenant, are you sick?” He poses it like a question and not a statement, because he’s not bold enough to accuse the Lieutenant outright.
And Kim sniffs before he speaks, which pretty much ruins everything he says afterwards. “I can assure you I’m quite well, detective. Thank you for your--” He sneezes into his shoulder and says nothing more.
So Jean turns to Harry instead. “You’re being pretty fucking quiet over there, shitkid.” He’s about to interrogate further, but it’s then that he notices something else. “What’s that smell?”
“Sorry,” Harry concedes immediately.
“Oh, no, I am well acquainted with your usual stench. This...what is it? Something sweet?”
“Uh, perfume!” Harry’s eyes are darting wildly between Jean and Kim. “Kim wanted to feel a little special today, so he wore some ladies perfume to work. Isn’t that right, Kim?”
Kim sneezes again, and sounds absolutely exhausted when he says, “Yes. Perfume. That’s right.”
A moment of silence. “Something’s up here.” Jean furrows his brow.
“...but I don’t have time for this shit. Lieutenant- if you really are sick- go home.” With that, Jean leaves the office, slamming the door behind him.
Once they’re alone again, Kim sighs heavy. Removes the bouquet from behind his back.
“Sorry Kim, I didn’t know you were allergic to flowers.”
“Neither did I. No one’s ever bought me them before.”
“I shouldnt’ve--”
Kim holds up a hand to stop Harry talking. A sneeze fills the silence. “I think I’d better take these home.” He takes his jacket from the back of his chair and pauses to look at his partner. “And I’d think you’d better come with me.”
That has Harry scrambling to his feet, gathering his jacket as well. He definitely doesn’t mind the sneezing.