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Sifting through the pile of shoes and clothes that has built up in the bottom of his closet, Harry hears the soft thud of something solid knocking against wood. Reaching in, his hand closes around the smooth glass. The shape is so familiar in his hand that he doesn't need to see it to know what it is. Pulling it out, he comes face to face with the tiny little bottle, filled with a clear liquid. Harry clutches onto it tight as he makes his way into the kitchen, his mouth growing dry. He's conscious of his heart thumping just a little faster. The tiny little voice is already there in the back of his head, urging him on.
"Go on," it urges, deep and dripping with malice. "Nobody needs to know."
Harry studies the label on the bottle, swallowing thickly. He imagines it, the bitterness on his tongue, the burning sensation as it rushes down his throat. "I... I can't." His voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.
"Why not?" The voice drawls in a needling tone. "Even if you get a hangover, all you have to do is call in sick tomorrow. Just tell them you're not feeling well. You've been sober for so long now, they won't suspect a thing."
Won't they, Harry wonders. Maybe some of them will be fooled, but Jean, there's no way. He'll shake his head and spit out "Not again" in that disgusted tone, utterly sick and tired of his partner failing again and again to get his act together. Then there's Kim. His chest contracts.
"Kim? Is that what you're worried about?" The voice chuckles. "He doesn't have to know. He won't suspect a thing. You'll be fine."
Harry sets down the bottle and leans on the counter, breathing heavily as he contemplates what to do next. Would it really be possible to have that drink without Kim even knowing? Come to think of it, he wonders, why is he so worried about Kim knowing of all things? The image of Kim shaking his head, frowning with disappointment, floats through his mind's eye.
"You've come so far, haven't you?" A high pitched voice, calm and soothing, speaks to him. "He will suspect it. Just picture it, the look on his face as he shakes his head, knowing what you've done. Could you really deal with it, Harry?"
"So what?" Even though the other voice has no face, it would no doubt be sneering if it did. "He will forgive you, just like all those other times that you've done questionable things. Who's to say he won't really believe that you were sick?"
"It didn't work with her, did it?" The gentle voice is back. "You tried, you hid the bottles in all sorts of places, tried freshening your breath, told her you didn't feel well, but she knew. Oh, yes, she knew."
Harry closes his eyes and kneads his forehead, wishing that he could have some silence for once. A frustrated sigh passes through his lips.
"Just imagine it, the liquid rushing down your throat. The sweet, sweet relief that it will bring."
"And then what? A night of terrible sleep, tossing and turning beneath the sheets, and terrible dreams? The pounding headache and dry mouth in the morning?"
"Oh, but it will be worth it, won't it?"
"Will it, Harry? Will it, really?"
Drawing in a deep breath, Harry picks up the bottle. With a slow and deliberate motion, he unscrews the cap and takes a whiff, allowing the sharp aroma to crawl up his nostrils. His mouth starts to water.
"Yes!" The deep voice quivers, filled with excitement. "Drink it! Accept it. This is you, Harry, this has always been you! You'll never be anything more than a sad, drunk cop, and you've always known this deep down."
"Think about it carefully, Harry," the other voice urges, tinted with worry. "Do you really wish to go back to being that person?"
Clenching his teeth, Harry holds the bottle out over the sink and upturns it. The contents spill free, sloshing into the sink and spiraling down the drain. He slams the empty bottle back onto the counter and collapses onto the chair. For a moment, he feels the stabbing spikes of regret, thinking about how close he was, how he could finally have had it, the additional thought that the liquor store is still open, he could still go and get more, but he pushes those bothersome thoughts away.
After several minutes of just sitting and holding his head in his hands, breathing heavily all the while, Harry goes to pick up the phone and dials. After a few rings, the line is picked up.
"Hello?" Kim's voice comes through the receiver. "Kim Kitsuragi speaking."
Harry clears his throat. "Hey, Kim. It's me."
"Oh, detective. What can I do for you?"
"I just... I needed to talk."
"I take it this is the serious kind of talk?" And not the kind of talk where Harry saw something interesting in the newspaper or had a sudden thought and wanted to bend Kim's ear over it for the next hour, presumably. Not that Kim minded listening, he just preferred when Harry didn't try to do it over the phone.
"I found a bottle."
"Oh." There's a long pause. "Do you need me to talk you out of it? Should I come over?"
"I poured it out. It's gone. The bottle's empty." Harry curls his fingers into his hair as he rests his head against the wall. "I wanted to drink so badly, but I managed not to do it. It was so tempting. I was that close."
"I see." Kim sounds relieved. "Well done, Harry."
Hearing Kim praise him, along with the rare drop of his name, brings forth a tingling warmth. It feels so good to have someone acknowledge his accomplishment. "I honestly considered it," Harry chokes out. "Could have called in sick, said I just didn't feel well, but I couldn't lie to you. I'd hate for you to be disappointed in me. You're... you're..."
"Yes? What am I?" Kim prompts.
"You're important to me. I don't want to lose you."
"Oh. Er." Kim clears his throat. "I... I see. I hadn't realized I was that important to you. But, don't you worry, detective. It would take a lot for me to be disappointed in you."
How much would it take though? Harry is certain of one thing, he never wants to find out. If he was to keep chipping away at that firm belief in him, then surely, cracks would form and then before he knew it, Kim could be gone, just like her. His stomach twists at the thought. He doesn't want Kim to leave him. He...
"I need you, Kim," Harry blurts out.
A long pause follows.
"Is that..." Kim hesitates in his words. "An 'I need you right now' or 'I need you' in general?"
Harry shakes his head, his fingers tightening, almost pulling hard enough to yank his hair free from his scalp. "I... I just need you."
"Hey," Kim says in a gentle tone. "Have you eaten yet?"
Harry glances at the clock. It's already well into the evening now. "No."
"Okay. How about I get some takeout and come over? Does pizza sound good?"
"Yeah. Alright."
After hanging up, Harry sits and waits, soon hearing the chime of the doorbell. Kim is here, bearing a large box of pizza. They sit together on the couch, Kim delicately eating each slice while Harry tears into his own, grease dripping down his chin, relishing the hot food. The empty box is discarded and they sit back, Kim dabbing at his mouth with a napkin while Harry rubs his belly with a look of sheer contentment.
"I see you enjoyed that," Kim remarks, to which Harry nods. "So." His expression turns serious, concern shining in his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Well, I mean, you seemed rather out of sorts on the phone. You were quite emotional."
"Was I?" Harry releases a long breath, throwing his head back. "Yeah. I suppose I was."
"You certainly can be quite dramatic at times, but something seemed off." Kim gazes at Harry with a furrowed brow. "I wonder if there might be something more to it? Perhaps I'm merely overthinking things here, but if there's something on your mind, it would be good to get it out."
Harry slowly shakes his head. "I'm not sure. I just know that I don't want to hurt you in any way, Kim. The thought of that hurts, it really does, like my chest gets so tight and I... I can't bear it. If I think about you giving up on me and just turning your back on me, it hurts. I don't want you to go anywhere."
"Mm." Kim looks away for a moment. "So. I truly am so important to you, is that it?"
"... Yeah. You really are."
"I see." Kim takes one of Harry's hands in his, holding on to it as he looks at Harry, his eyes showing a sharp intensity. "You are very important to me too, Harry. But I want to be sure of where we are. Do you understand what I mean?"
Harry meets Kim's gaze, conscious of his heart thumping just a little faster. Just what does it all mean? Kim's a good friend, his dear partner, and a constant presence in his life, or is it something more than that? When he imagines Kim not being there, it makes his heart ache. He thinks of the loneliness and the despair after Dora left him, how he was drowning, cast adrift at sea without anyone to save him, but then Kim was there, a shining light in the darkness.
So what does this all mean? What is the reason for his throat growing dry and his heart beating just a little bit faster? Amid the whirling questions in his head, one thought pushes itself to the forefront.
"Kim." Harry's voice is hoarse. "Am I in love with you?"
Kim lets out an incredulous noise, his lips twitching. "I can't answer that for you, detective. You have to figure it out yourself."
"What if I am in love with you?" Harry searches Kim's face, taking in his stoic expression. He doesn't seem at all flustered by any of this. "How would you feel about that?"
Kim squeezes Harry's hand gently. "I would be quite flattered, and happy to know that." He looks away for a moment, considering his words before looking at Harry again. "You are someone who I cherish very deeply. If you really wanted to take our relationship further, then I would not say no."
Harry's throat bobs. His gaze doesn't even waver. What should he do next? Kim is waiting, watching him with a calm expression, anticipating his next step. Go on, a voice urges. He's clearly inviting you to do it.
Raising his trembling hands, he rests them on either side of Kim's face, feeling his smooth skin beneath his palms. Kim blinks, but does not make any sound or movement, he just watches, waiting. Harry leans in, breathing heavily.
This is it, he thinks, the moment that will decide it all. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he presses his lips to Kim's, letting them linger there. His body seems to come alive in that instant, a tingling and fizzing sensation surging through his veins. His blood roars in his ears, drowning out the distant sounds of traffic. When they break apart, Harry blinks, looking dazed. His lips are still tingling. One thing he's sure of. It felt good. He liked kissing him.
Harry touches his forehead to Kim's, hands dropping to his shoulders. "It felt right." His voice is low and breathy. "Not weird or anything. I think I kind of get it now. I might just be in love with you after all."
Kim is smiling as his hands cup Harry's cheeks. The kiss that follows is deep and lingering. Breaking away, he speaks in a soft voice. "I'm happy to hear it."
With a sigh, Harry sinks down into him, burying his face in the crook of Kim's neck. His arms come up to embrace him. Kim returns the gesture and they hold onto each other. Harry closes his eyes, relaxing into Kim's hold.
They soon return to their resting positions on the sofa, with Harry resting his head on Kim's shoulder.
"I'm sure glad I didn't have that drink after all," Harry says. In high spirits, with his belly full, next to the person he loves, this is far better than what the alternative could have been, and he's not going to wake up tomorrow morning with a pounding head, filled with loathing and regret.
"So am I." Kim grasps Harry's hand. "I'll always be there for you if you need me. You did the right thing, calling me. I know it's a rocky road, but don't worry. I've always got your back. You can count on me."
"Thanks, Kim." Harry glances up at him with a smile. He then fixes his stare on the opposite wall. "You really mean a lot to me, you know. Meeting you was one of the best things to ever happen to me."
"Mm." Kim rests his head against Harry's. "And I'm glad to have met you too, Harry."