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Even in near darkness, Kim recognized him. He was sure he could recognize the silhouette, the stance, the walk of the man anywhere.
At this time of day, the neighborhood was showered in complete silence, save for the whir of electricity. Fluorescent lights from the supermarket, colors of the sign above flooded the parking lot, as he stood on the edge of the pavement, one hand flicking his cigarette, the other holding a shopping bag. Moments before, he had finished grocery shopping and was about to head home. On a Friday evening like this, his plans boiled down to dinner, then reading something and trying not to fall asleep halfway through a chapter, the latter he succeeded at on a lucky day. Nothing extraordinary.
Until something extraordinary came walking down the street. Honestly, the sight of none other than Harry Du Bois in his neighborhood, let alone after hours, was a surprise. The clack of his shoes determined it really was him.
When he thought about it, it’s been a while. Their last encounter was on the phone, when Kim was starting to think Harry lost the piece of paper he wrote his number on, but then the phone rang, a familiar Hey, Kim… is it you? resounded from the other side. He called him a few times, they met once or twice. It was quite the drive to central Jamrock, a drive he didn’t really have time for, with everything else piled up.
After Martinaise, everything was different. Everything was almost the same as before. March ‘51 seemed like a black hole that was both yesterday and years ago. April had come and the wind got warmer.
It was carrying a shout when Kim picked the cigarette up from his mouth, “Harry!”
The addressee turned his head around, happy to spot the voice was attached to an actual person and not a product of his psyche. When Kim waved at him, he could see a smile beaming from Harry’s half-illuminated face. The closer he got, the clearer it was that this face wasn’t as rough as it was when Kim last saw it and also, the more visible his egregious patterned shirt was. Classic Harry. His pants were purple and flared and his shoes, as usual, had a clicking heel to them.
“Hey!” he responded, as Kim sat down on the curb and he followed, “Good to see you.”
“You too.”
Kim exhaled a cloud of smoke and passed the cigarette in Harry’s direction, a silent offering. The latter took a drag. It gave Kim time to give him a proper stare, accompanied by a prolonged breath, “You look good.”
“Well, thank you,” Harry nonchalantly breathed out the smoke, his ego stroked, “Cool? Disco?”
“Pretty disco ,” he muttered with that hint of smile not many could tell was there, “Anyway, what are you doing here?”
On lunch break, Harry asked with pieces of kebab still in his mouth, “Did Torson invite you over tonight?”
“Yes,” McCoy looked at him as if he came to Frittte and asked if they had any beer, “We do that, once a month or a few.”
Harry nodded, wiping his fingers with a napkin and discarding it in the bin, “Cool. Me too.”
“Like I said, we do that.”
He figured it was best not to say that he forgot, he was theorizing that at this point the precinct is keeping count of the times he had said that. Still, expecting him to remember that was borderline grotesque.
“I was visiting a friend from the precinct,” he scratched the back of his head, “Apparently I used to do that before, you know… The Incident, but I must have been really wasted then. These people are kind of… unbearable when you’re sober. So, I just took a nice little early exit and I’m heading home.”
A peaceful look crossed Kim’s face. When it clicked, what Harry just said, the corners of his mouth lifted.
“You’re still sober,” he pointed out, “Good job.”
There was a deafening air of genuine mirth in his voice, it hit Harry as hard as jumping headfirst into a cold body of water. The lake of sweet approval. He had to look down at his shoes to ground himself and not accidentally pull Kim into a bear hug.
“Yeah. It’s hard. Fucking impossible, sometimes, but the ship called Harry keeps on sailing!”
He grinned as the other huffed out a laugh. Kim wondered, what went on in these waters, who was the captain and where would the currents take the ship called Harry .
“Actually, can I have another drag?” asked Harry, “And how are you?”
Passing the cigarette, Kim extended his arm and considered how was he . Days melted altogether, he was always on his way, nights were cold and he kept dreaming about The Tribunal. Blood, words on the ground, the smell of oil. Yet, he had been very satisfied with his work lately, he was efficient and it didn’t take a very tiring toll on him.
“I’m alright,” brevity is truly the soul of the wit.
They sat, breathing in the evening air as the sign above them flashed, hissing. Kim had a feeling. The feeling, he figured, was probably more important than the novel he would read before heading to bed. Something about longing and making up for lost time. Harry was opening his mouth, about to go on a tangent about a cryptid he read about a few days ago.
“Do you want to come over? I live nearby.”
The bearded man lifted his eyebrows at the invitation. He didn’t need any more convincing, but Kim did anyway.
“I bought some chocolate hazelnut cake,” he lifted one of the grocery bags, “We can share it.”
“Then lead the way, detective,” Harry nodded with a grin.
—
Undeniably, his apartment was nearby. The road stretched out under the dark blue sky, lit by lanterns placed one by one alongside it. Some small shops were peppered here and there, most of them either closing or about to close. It smelled of gasoline and pizza. Greasy pizza you would get after drinking way too much, it would taste like the most heavenly meal to a party animal like the ones lined up at the pizza stand. There was a bar with an obnoxiously bright neon sign, yet it looked empty. Then a row of advertisements, some motel, all aglow. Eerily quiet. They reached an apartment complex and the shorter man looked back to notify him that this is it . After a bunch of stairs they were at the door.
Harry took some of the bags as Kim searched the pocket of his jacket for the key. It clicked in the door.
Kim was never the person to casually have guests over. Too much appreciation for his personal space, so the only people who had the opportunity to access it were his old partner and his ex-boyfriends. So, when he palmed the handle to open it up to Harry, he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Some fear caught up to him. Yet, some part of him wanted it, wanted him to walk in, shoes on, leaving dirt on his living room carpet, sprawled on his couch.
All the while Harry was looking at his back, waiting for him to open the door. He noticed the flush of his ears.
The apartment was spacious, sparsely decorated. Kim took off his jacket, now in a simple T-shirt and they walked into the room that was a concoction of a living room and a kitchen, the two separated by a sideboard and a dining table. His sofa seemed comfortable and the coffee table, with books stacked on top and a rug underneath, looked like it came straight from an interior design magazine. A balcony could be seen behind the glass door. The tenant of this place put the shopping bags on the kitchen counter and started unpacking them, while Harry sat down, glancing at the cover of the book in front of him. Discreetly, yet curiously. It was some science fiction novel, which was kind of unexpected of him. Then again, when he thought of Speedfreaks FM, Kim was composed of many multitudes.
The man in question spoke from in front of the fridge, holding a can in his hand, “Soda?”
Harry nodded and mumbled in agreement.
“Do you want another cigarette?” what a show of hospitality, which might have been motivated by the lack of guests, “I could really use one,” he added, opening the balcony door.
“Clearing your head?” the bearded man stood up and walked up to him, retrieving his soda can.
“Yes, exactly.”
As he stuck his head out, the night breeze ran through Harry’s hair. Taking a sip of the soda, he felt a citrusy flavor. Solid choice. Kim was looking at him from over his shoulder, an extended look with his eyebrow curled up, before putting one cigarette in his mouth, the other in Harry’s hand. With a swift shift of his head, Harry was now close enough to smell the scent lifting from the skin on Kim’s neck, a woody, deep yet refreshing scent. The lighter clicked. Both cigarettes lit up at once. Harry leaned back, fighting back the gravitational pull driving him in Kim’s direction. He studied the other’s face, his relaxed expression, the way his mouth moved as he sucked a breath in. In a futile attempt to pretend like he hadn’t been staring, he looked away, licking his lips.
“Real nice place you have here,” exhaling the smoke, he started, “I like it, but you could give me an extended tour.”
“Like a… real estate agent?” Kim smiled and nodded, “Well, this,” he imitated an agent trying to convince Harrier to rent the apartment, “This is the balcony. This chair… is from a furniture store I can’t remember and as you can see, it has enough space for two grown men. Yes.”
With a tilt of his head and a calculating squint of his eye, Harry decided, “Hm, you could be a little more convincing.”
“Yes?” Kim just lifted his eyebrows.
“It lacks a certain… a certain je ne sais quoi,” he spoke with feigned confidence, “But it’s good, you know. Real estate agents have no souls.”
“And that means I still have one?”
“Uh-huh.”
The man’s face produced a grin. He took a sip of his soda, looking out into the distance.
“You live on your own?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Harry didn’t make it in time to control his curiosity.
Kim turned his eyes to him, squinting, feeling a little prodded with the question.
“Too tangled up in work,” he answered anyway, “It occupies most of my time, my thoughts. I’m sure you relate to that.”
Harry gave a brief nod.
“Besides, men our age have a tendency to have very fragile egos and this stubbornness about them. It annoys me.”
With a reciprocated glance between them, they laughed at his brutal honesty. After a beat of silence, Harry asked with a hint of a grin:
“Do I have a fragile ego?”
Kim took a sharp inhale. He was caught off-guard, unsure whether that was a question of genuine curiosity or another segment of the twisted game titled Is Harry flirting with me or am I distorting it to my own narrative . The shivering nerves on the tips of his fingers wanted him to say something clever, flirty back, but all he did was clear his throat and say:
“Khm, you’re not bad. And what about you, where do you live?”
“Near central Jamrock. The neighborhood’s not the greatest, but it’s a nice short walk to the precinct. Maybe the apartment is a little big for one. Maybe I should get a dog? What do you think, Kim?”
Not a great question to ask him, in particular. Kim never had a pet and wasn’t fond of pets, but dogs especially. The only living organism in the apartment aside from him were two plants.
“Personally, I don’t really like dogs, but maybe it will be good company.”
Both men were washed in neon light, in a shade in the midst of blue and purple. Its reflection bounced off of Kim’s glasses. The all-consuming quiet of the moment was being interrupted only by deep breaths and distant noises of the city. It was choking Harry up. A choice between silent and honest was before him and even though they weren’t mutually exclusive, when it came to a matter that sat on your chest with a weight you couldn’t move, staying silent felt almost like lying.
“I missed you,” he managed after a while.
How convenient was it for Kim to be wearing glasses when they drew attention away from the sparkle that just appeared in his eyes. It was, in a way, relieving. Something unspoken hung between them, resolved.
“Me too,” Kim’s palm found its place on Harry’s arm and lingered there. As reassurance, as well as proof of their physical proximity. Then it fell with the appearance of the notion in his head, that they were two people with hands that might as well could have been on each other. He put out the finished cigarette.
A gust of wind made it colder. Somewhere below a speaker played a mellow but distorted tune. It was dissolving into the night, into the strong glow of the signs that ironically, were supposed to entice but weren’t interesting any customers anymore, just a well-lit background to a sleeping mass of apartments.
“It’s so… hollow here,” Harry remarked, looking around at the area, trying to listen to the melody. His weight shifted from leg to leg, now lightly grazing Kim’s leg, a plea for any contact.
Kim only nodded.
“Does it make you feel hollow?”
Lieutenant Kitsuragi was obviously world famous for his affinity to talk about his feelings. But under the night sky, with Harry on the balcony, he tried.
“Sometimes. But then I focus on work, come home late. It gives me a sliver of motivation, some hope.”
Harry looked at him with all the empathy his sage colored eyes could carry.
“Hey, let’s go inside. It’s getting kind of cold.”
—
Inside, on the coffee table, Kim placed the plate with the piece of cake he got and two teaspoons. Harry was spread on the couch in an eccentric manner, one that couldn’t be called either sitting or lying down, with playing cards in his hands, warily assessing his next move. They were already one game in. His pensive stare moved from card to card, then at Kim, who looked back at him with a cunning raised eyebrow. Game on , thought Harry, responding with raising his own eyebrow. An eyebrow-off escalated until Harry finally put a card down.
“It seems like it’s the end of the road for lieutenant Du Bois,” his mournful voice made Kim’s eyes light up, but then his other card was on the table, “Or is it?”
“Congratulations, detective. Well played.”
After a sly grin, he bowed theatrically and sat back as the other collected the cards. Suddenly, the apartment felt a bit warm. His hands proceeded to unbutton a few of the top buttons, then casually check if there’s sweat on his forehead.
Nothing about this was casual to Kim. When something in his stomach dropped at the mere fragment of his hairy chest, he wished he could roll his eyes at himself. A vision, of raking his fingers through it, of feeling the warmth on his fingertips, came and his brain short-circuited, part of the deck in his hand, part still on the table, him frozen in place. His ears blushed. Hopefully, Harry didn’t notice.
After picking up the cards, Kim began to shuffle them as usual. He was perfectly aware that the trick he was using looked cool to the untrained eye, that Harry would be staring at him in awe as the cards mixed at a rapid pace. And so he did. When Kim caught him staring, he figured they could call it even.
Besides his really cool card trick, Harry was eyeing his hands. A realization struck him that because he was so used to him wearing gloves, something was off about seeing his hands bare and it felt weirdly intimate. They appeared pale, his fingers slender and agile, moving, controlling the cards in swift, sturdy motion. He must have been very good with those fingers.
Another set of cards was handed out, another round played. Time seemed to float by when they focused on their strategies, exchanging intense stares, cracking jokes at one another. Somewhere along the way their feet met under the table. Yawning, Harry tilted his head and said:
“Thank you.”
Kim used his tendency to communicate through his eyebrows to indicate a question with a puzzled frown.
“For inviting me. It’s always a good time with you.”
“It is?”
“Seriously, in a way, I think… You make the all-consuming void in my head… less consuming.”
In response, he flashed him a genuine, joyous smile. Harry, save for the mess he could make, his idiosyncrasies, his outlandish style and way of carrying himself, was a figure of warmth. Determined to help others, in tune with the deeper meaning of the world, the man had one hell of an intellect. And even in all their weird glory, those idiosyncrasies were something one could get used to.
Then, Harry looked at his watch and immediately remembered the concept of time. The idea of the train he should be hopping on to get home.
“I need to get going,” he leapt to his feet, “Thanks again.”
“You can stay for the night,” even Kim himself wasn’t sure where that came from, it was fine to invite him, but a sleepover could be overboard, “If you’re okay with it.”
“Yes, of course!” his face lit up as he mused, “Detective, your hospitality knows no bounds.”
The man laughed, because matter-of-factly, it was crossing all of his own known boundaries.
Eventually, Kim would make tea, the ornaments on the cards would slowly get more and more blurry and they would get sleepy. Kim brought Harry a blanket, blue and velvety to the touch and some even softer pillows. They exchanged a muttered goodnight and he entered his bathroom, looking in the eyes of the reflection in the mirror. After taking off his glasses, he rubbed his face with his hand in frustration.
—
Kim slept well. Something he didn’t anticipate, upon hearing Harry’s incessant snoring coming from the living room, but the long day lulled him to undisturbed sleep. Lying awake, he looked out the window, letting the sun rays climb over his face. He felt the wind’s gentle blow through the window, slightly ajar. A fresh morning. Stretching his arms, he took a deep breath in. The tiles on the bathroom floor sent a chill through his feet that hastily prompted him to put on a hoodie placed on the nearby chair. It sufficed, he thought. At this time of year it was warm enough to be sleeping in just his underwear, but seeing that his coworker and friend (complicated) was asleep on his couch, he couldn’t afford himself a lazy, half-naked Saturday morning with a cup of coffee. His mind trailed off while he brushed his teeth. It was high time to check if Harry’s woken up yet and if not, wake him up so he wouldn’t overstay his welcome.
In the living room, Harrier was dozing off, but woke up to a quick Good morning and the sound of footsteps coming into the kitchen. His response was something akin to Morning . He opened his eyes to a tranquil scene, the pleasant blanket wrapped around him, light coming through the balcony door, dancing on the kitchen floor, reflecting from the trinkets collected by Kim. The man stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water, wearing a hoodie and some slippers. The sight was achingly domestic. With his lanky, yet firm legs exposed, Harry definitely wasn’t staring at them, nor his ass.
“Coffee?” a question pointed at him left unregistered.
“Huh?”
Kim frowned and repeated his question, “Would you like a coffee?”
The man on the couch said yes and collected his thoughts, preparing his daytime brain, as he sat up. Fortune didn’t exactly favor Kim when he turned to ask:
“Milk or no milk?”
He didn’t catch Harry’s answer. All of his consciousness was now focusing on Harry’s exposed chest, now that he wasn’t covered by the blanket. Trying to pretend like he caught that was impossible and embarrassingly, his eyes were still glued to the dark hair, the stomach and the well-built arms.
“Again?”
There was a grin on his face after that question, which made Kim want to run into the Pale and never be found again, “With milk.”
Making coffee was habitual to him, but it proved to be a bit complicated when you’re simultaneously getting hard over your colleague who’s sitting right behind you. Fuck, was this bad. Shivers reached his shoulders as he contemplated a smooth way out of this awkward mass of coincidences. When he put his hands in his pockets to pull the hoodie down, the coffee was ready. Thankfully, Harry was so absorbed in his cup of coffee he probably didn’t notice the uncomfortable ordeal that was sitting down unsuspectedly next to him. Kim felt a bead of sweat on his forehead.
“Thanks, Kim,” the maker of his predicament spoke up, “I’ll have to repay you.”
His mind went places.
“How about your place next time,” he sipped on his coffee, trying not to look at the other, “And you’ll make me coffee, then.”
The smell of coffee lingered in the air, two cups on the table. One black, one with milk. Opposites, like the men on the sofa in most ways. One fully relaxed, the other tense. The corner of Harry’s mouth raised.
“Sure, I’ll be a great host,” he claimed, “Anything for you, partner.”
Finally managing to get Kim’s attention back on him, he lifted his hands and with a wink, shot two finger guns at him. Kim stilled. He kept eye contact, but there was something largely different in his eyes, like he was swallowing Harry up with his eyes. His mouth was open, lips parted slightly twitched. They would often sit together in silence, but this silence was different than any other, probably the most quiet one they had experienced. Kim felt like some magnetic pull was working on him and regardless of his actions he would move closer to Harry like he just did.
Harry gained a new thought. A violent strike. Mouth on mouth, like a punch to the face. Lieutenant Kitsuragi’s lips were heated and wet against his and he was kissing him back. He almost forgot to breathe at first, a breath hitched and stolen between Kim’s teeth. Even though he wouldn’t remember how it was done, his last experience of kissing falling into the black hole of his memory on that godforsaken night, some internal feeling suggested this was satisfactory. The feeling was proven right with a suppressed moan when sucking on Kim’s bottom lip. The man had to take off his glasses along the way. His hands wandered to Harry’s hair while Harry’s gripped his cheeks. Kim was going to take everything he wanted, everything he needed from this, he decided, moving to straddle his hips and sitting down at the tops of his thick thighs. The skin to skin contact was burning like a fever. A hand traveled underneath his hoodie that would soon be discarded anyway, dropping to the floor, ironically almost like the other shoe, in the context of whatever it was that was between them. There was no coming back from this. Kim pulled away momentarily.
“Are you fine with missing your next train?” desire gleamed in his eyes with the breathless question.
“Yes. Did you know that was kind of my first kiss? First one I remember.”
“Did you like it?” he had a delicate smile on his face.
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
Harry felt lips sucking on his neck and his head got dizzy.
Thought breakthrough! Kim was going to drive him fucking insane.