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[Harry takes a sip eagerly. Kim takes a sip calmly.
“It’s really sweet,” he says. The texture of it is almost thick, bright and crisp but still a little sticky on the inside of his mouth. The cherry sits apathetically at the bottom of his glass, pickled in sweet syrups for so long that the color of it had taken on a deep wine red color. Harry doesn’t wait until he’s done with his drink, he stabs the apathy right out of the cordial cherry with the wiry cocktail straw and pops it in his mouth. There’s a sweet, satisfying separation of the fruit’s cooked flesh between his back teeth.]
[ Their shoulders are knocking together pleasantly. They’re inching closer and closer until they couldn’t get any closer without melting into one another. Harry would let that happen if he had a choice. When Kim’s looking up at him he’s sure he’s seeing a face nobody else gets a good look at. Blissful and calm, energetic and sweating. Harry’s transcendent in this moment and so is Kim.
That’s when Kim’s grip on his tie transitions into a firm pull, one so heavy handed that Harry’s brought closer to him than he thought was possible before. It’s definitely closer to Kim than he’s ever been before. Even when Kim was picking that fucking bullet out of his leg in the bathroom at the Whirling — somehow this is more intimate.
It’s more intense than being shot, too. That’s when Kim kisses him, enveloping him in his wet and warm mouth. ]
[ In a hazy, dreamlike memory Jean is in a threadbared leather jacket and ripped up jeans. His coarse black leg hairs creep out of the windows ripped in the denim like overgrown vines of ivy. He’s swaying pleasantly in a packed crowd of hot intoxication. Harry can hardly see him through the other patrons as he makes his way towards him on his way back from the bar. He looked cool. Like, really cool.
Okay, maybe not as cool as Kim did last night. But he blended in with the crowd of the club really well and he was having fun, and as far as disco dancing goes that’s all it really takes to look like you’re born for the scene. His eyes are like jasper, and the enamel of his teeth is so white they almost look fake. He’s taking a sip out of his third Manhattan of the evening while they’re moving and Jean’s drunk enough that an amber dribble of whiskey and sweet vermouth spill out the side of his lips. Harry dips a greedy pair of fingers into his glass and eats the soft fruit of the cherry at the bottom of his glass. When he scowls at him in protest he doesn’t actually mean it. He was his best friend at one point in time. This point in time, probably. Of course they’d do something like this together.
Holy shit… This was a long time ago, wasn’t it? ]
[ Jesus fucking Christ, Harry…” He’s smiling now though, and it’s certainly wider and more genuine than it was yesterday. His thumb and index finger pinch the bridge of his nose so hard that the color’s flushed from his thumbprint indents when he pulls his hand away. “Fine. You wanna dance, partner? Let’s go. Same time next week.”
“Yeah?” he’s practically jumping out of his seat at that. Judit picks up on his enthusiasm for a moment then forces herself back into the work in front of her.
“Yeah. I’d like to see the lieutenant get loose.” Jean points his attention towards Kim, flustered he’s even part of this conversation. His tone is solid like the stone of a cherry, but there’s still more succor behind it than there was yesterday. ]