Work Text:
The mic carries the last few loud notes of Harry’s voice to the back the Whirling-in-Rags’ cafeteria. But the silence right after is even louder. A lone cough can be heard from the back and then a snicker. Someone in the sparse crowd made an attempt to stifle a laugh, and then two. It’s clear that everyone thinks Harry is an absolute joke. A clown to the nth degree.
Harry can feel his heart betray him as it thumps thumps thumps, pumping more blood. A crawling creep of heat from his stomach, rises to his cheeks. Harry knows his mutton chops covers half of his face but he is sure that everyone can see how red his face is. Oh, how embarrassing.
Harry spots the cafeteria manager, Garte, shaking his head. The young man’s hand is already on the mic system’s off switch. To escape the pitiful stares, Harry climbs down the stage and walks toward Lieutenant Kim. The lieutenant’s face doesn’t betray anything of what he’s actually thinking but Harry just knows the lieutenant disapproves. But he decides to bite the bullet this time. Might as well kick a man down while he’s on his knees already.
“What’d you think of my performance?” Harry asks, pushing as much bravado into his tone as possible. People can’t hurt you if you act like it doesn’t affect you.
“These people wouldn’t know a good performance if it beat them in the ass.” Kim mutters while scanning the crowd, hands on his hips.
Harry pauses, not comprehending what the lieutenant had just said. Then, the words sink in. An emotion wells up in him, threatening to burst out through his overly large pores.
The lieutenant could very well be lying just to comfort Harry after that karaoke debacle but Harry realises that he does not care. Liar or not, Lieutenant Kim saw that the song meant something to him. And singing it out was a final ditch attempt to grasp at the faint tendrils of memory that slip through his fingers every damn time. Kim understands that Harry is trying. He could have admonished Harry just like all the times he’s done something foolish or un-detective-like. But he didn’t.
That emotion finally spills over and Harry can feel his arms stretching out wide, much like the albatross they spotted yesterday near the boardwalk, and in two staccato steps, embraced Kim tightly. Harry could feel Kim’s whole body freeze, in fear? In shock? In alarm?
He braces to be pushed away because he realises belatedly that this hug is stepping over lines that were not explicit drawn, but can be felt between the two of them. Kim has made it plenty clear that he tolerates Harry’s idiosyncrasies at best and surely this will further cement the lieutenant’s already low perception of him.
Instead, Harry feels the lieutenant’s arms awkwardly return the hug with three distinct pats on his hulking back.
The Sadness. The Anguish. The Displacement. They feel so permanent as if they were tattooed onto Harry's skin and yet, foreign to him. Slowly, Warmth, Softness and Belonging settles in his chest like a cat curling up in sunny spot. Amnesia be damned, Harry knows he hasn’t felt this way in a long time. And such a wonder it is.
After a second too long, Harry finally pulls away. His shoulders pull back, head high. Somehow, Harry appears to be different. Harry’s crows feet crinkles as he lets out a small smile. Kim clocks in on the subtle change but doesn’t comment on it.
“Let’s debrief before we end the night, hm?” says Harry and turns away to walk up the stairs to the hostel balcony.
“Of course, detective.” says Lieutenant Kim, eyes never straying away from Harry. He fears that if he blinks, Harry could suddenly revert back to that morose, manic person again.
Harry could feel the lieutenant’s keen eyes on him but says nothing. He knows Kim doesn’t like it when he talks about the Voices in his head. He may like poetry but he doesn’t know the words to properly describe the rare calm he’s feeling.
But he knows he’s going to sleep a little bit better tonight.