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The weight shifting to your legs, your feet, feels uneasy as you stand. You place your left hand on the back of your office chair for some sense of stability. It’s just you in this dark room. It would feel more cramped if it were not for the fact that you diligently keep your space well-organized.
Every item nestled into their respective places. Shelves are stock fully of books, sorted alphabetically. When you first started collecting books, you pondered if by size it would have been better. After struggling to keep up with where a specific book was located – you realized how anti-thetical the original plan was.
The wooden floor is constantly swept. Without the daily maintenance, it would feel and look disgusting. Riddled with dirt, dust, or crumbs (from Harry). The record-shaped rug is vacuumed on occasion.
On your desk, there is a coaster for cups (mostly coffee mugs Harry gifts you). There’s a permanent, light brown stain ed into its surface. It would have looked bad if that ring had been etched on your desk instead.
Your vision feels as if someone has turned the zoom in your eyes up, like a pair of binoculars. The room has a softer edge in your peripherals. The light creeps through the blinds, leaving images in your brain. A lagging green-colored where something was seen to be a moment earlier. These specks of light only last for a moment before catching up with your current gaze.
There are dull pains attacking your skull and lower spine. Compressed vertebrae from sitting for quite a prolonged period of time. Placing the gloved palms of your hands on the small of your back, you lean backwards – as much as your muscles allow. You wish it were more. The rigidness shoots another joint of pain through your spinal cord before any relief can be captured. When was the last time you allowed yourself to decompress? Something always appears to pop up out of nowhere when you desperately need a break. What is stopping you now?
You move slower than your usual pace to keep yourself steady until you reach the floor-length window. Pulling the blinds back, you see the city bustling below your apartment’s balcony. Streetlights shine on the concrete sidewalks and roads. People stumble and stagger about, leaving the downtown bars. Probably to retire in the late evening to their own homes, you think to yourself. It reminds you of your earlier life.
The gay bars you’d frequent. The small itch of paranoia that would not dissipate, no matter how much you tried to drink it away. Worries of someone finding you there. Either from a police raid or someone following you. It would keep you up during the cold nights. At any moment, your life could have been turned upside down. Stripping you of your badge, thrown in jail. Maybe even lynched. Still, that trill kept you coming back for more.
Opening the window and stepping out to the balcony, the cool wind welcomes you with open arms. It brushes through your jet-black hair, pushing any bangs out of your eyes. Exposing your forehead to the world. A shiver claws down each vertebra that makes up your spine.
You paw at your jacket’s inner pocket. There’s a mellow sadness swimming up when you realize you don’t have your pack of cigarettes with you. You lean your body weight against the railing. The metal nips at your bare forearms. You close your eyes, soaking in the surrounding noises and smells.
Sometimes the thought of returning to your more ‘reckless’ lifestyle pops into mind. Letting everything go and starting anew isn’t too terribly sounding. There’s a contrary echo at the in the back of your mind telling you that it’s a childish thought to even grace the slightest attention to. There isn’t much else to find there, anyways. You’ve tried and looked before on different occasions. Either on an investigation or on your own accord.
You are alive after all, right?
A noise can be heard from the other side of the room. Startled by the sudden commotion, you quickly whip around to try and face it.
The room starts to spin around you. Darkening in the corners of your vision, you feel the muscles in your legs become uneasy – weak. You try and use the railing behind you as some sort of support. Gravity, on the other hand, has other plans. You can feel a pair of hands, no arms, reach underneath your armpits. They grab ahold of your limp body and the weight it carries. This prevents you from completely falling to the cold ground.
“Woah there now,” you hear. The voice feels like it’s coming from within your brain. Bouncing around, rattling your own tired skull. It takes a moment or so for your eyes to focus on the man holding you up. “I knocked before coming in. When I didn’t hear you respond, I figured something might happen. Thought maybe you were asleep on your desk, again.”
He tries to keep his voice from rising in pitch. His expression is betraying that effort. Brows pressed together and eyes scanning you up and down. Up and down. Taking in all of you meticulously. “When I’d open the door to check… Pew, down you went.”
You can feel his hands behind your back moving when he’s speaking. Even in a predicament such as this one, he still manages to use his hands to show emphasis when he needs to. There’s meaning to his words. They’re not carelessly chosen.
“Good catch, detective,” is all you respond back with. It’s the only thing you can really muster at this moment. You’ve got your own train of thoughts racing around the track. Did you really not hear him knock?
A small smile creeps on his face. He’s relieved you’re responding in your usual manner, slightly moistened with humor. His eyebrows still hold onto the tension in the air. There’s still the question on why you fell in the first place. He’s in control.
“Is everything alright with you, Kim?” His tone of voice is more varied now. Emotion is allowed to flow through his words this time.
“I feel fine,” you say, dismissingly so. Clearly, something isn’t ‘fine’. You just don’t want to cause anymore worry to your partner more than he already is. You’re the rock in this.
“You, literally just fell by turning around. I may be the greatest detective in the world, but anyone could tell something is obviously off about you.” You exhale through your nose, trying not to audibly laugh. Even if he doesn’t mean to sometimes, he can be quite charming to you.
“I’m okay. Now may I stand?” You retort back, referencing the current position you both have been glued in for a few minutes.
He holds onto you as you shift your legs underneath your center of gravity. Using your knees like rusted hinges, you try to stand. He lets go to see if you’re able to handle it on your own. His hands hover around your sides just in case you need it.
Your right knee buckles underneath you and starts to stumble forward. Harry catches you once more, pulling you close to him. He allows you to rest on him like he’s a deep-rooted tree in the dirt. Burying your face in his chest, you realize that this isn’t something that can be ignored. There’s something too apparent here. You can’t hide forever.
He walks you to your office chair and leaves the room for a moment. The idea of following him flashes through your mind. Taking a second to consider the option, it’s clear you’re not able to.
He returns back shortly with a bottle of water in hand. He gives it to you to take a sip. The water is shockingly cold to your system. It’s been a while since this sensation last occurred. Was it when you’d pull late nights back-to-back at the precinct? Or when you had to work non-stop in your teenage years? Whenever this pattern of behavior you had last indulged in, it’s quite an evident age has impacted your ability to be as reckless with your health in this type of matter compared to what you are used to.
“Do you need anything else, right now?” Harry asks you, snapping your line of thinking back to reality. “You seem sort of out of it, Kim.”
He’s outwardly acknowledging you’re deep in your head at the moment. Though, he isn’t trying to stop you. You see more questions appearing in his thoughts by his eyes slightly squinting. You know this looks deeply. He doesn’t ask those questions. He doesn’t want to scare you. Giving you room to take your time. He’s giving you room to be in control of the situation, while figuring out what happened. His detective nature is intertwined with his compassion.
Harry is on his knees, looking up at you. If you wanted to physically escape this situation, his sheer size could stop you. But would he?
“I just need you know this isn’t about or caused by your own actions,” you say in a level tone. It takes more effort than usual to regulate your own voice. Your own actions. Every inch of you demands that effort. Harry appreciates the reassurance. You can see his shoulders loosen. They still reflect his concern for your wellbeing, nonetheless.
You take a deep breath before saying anymore. You feel your jaw clenching. Tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth. Saliva builds around your molars. You swallow it back. It’s hard to be vulnerable, isn’t it?
“Sometimes, I put certain needs to the side to accomplish needed tasks.” This is all you can muster. It hurts to just speak those words. The roughness of acknowledging this behavior verbally for the first time out loud. There’s a small, building lump deep in your throat. It scratches the inside of your esophagus.
“Like?” Harry asks. You assume he’s just wanting to force you to say it. That isn’t the case. That isn’t the type of thing Harry would do. Perhaps for an investigation where the individual is hesitant on sharing key information, but definitely not now. There’s a shine on authenticity in his voice when he’s speaking to you. It’s tender.
“Sleep,” you answer. He knows that bit. Everyone within this field partakes in it. You shift your eyes to the side before saying the real truth. The raw truth. “Eating on the rare occurrence.”
Even the section he knows about hurts to admit out loud. It’s speaking a theory into reality. Something you’d rather keep buried deep within. It’s like pushing a boulder up a hill. Gaining more tons with every syllable that leaves your mouth.
Your eyes are now fixated on the bridge of Harry’s nose, as a way to fake eye-contact. Something you’ve noticed he does throughout the years, himself. He looks down, thinking. Did you say something wrong? Is this too much for him to handle? More insecure thoughts dance about. It’s hard to keep track of them. Eventually, he breaks the sickening silence.
“Are you sure it's not like a… mental thing?” There’s a slight confusion coating his language. Is it? All your life, up until this point, has been surrounded by people that sacrifice basic necessities for results. It became almost a requirement to live this type of life. To be alive is to sacrifice bits and pieces of yourself. Sometimes, even, it becomes a bragging right. Maybe he just doesn’t understand that, rationalizing with yourself internally. His eyes are narrow, focusing on your eyes when you try and explain yourself.
“That doesn’t seem right. Maybe once in a while. But you’ve been refusing breakfast and lunch for weeks.” He wants to press you more on it, but he prevents himself from inquiring. Has it been that long? “Also, you’ve been eating less for dinner.”
You hadn’t realized that fact until he had spoken it. Most lose themselves to something at some point in their lives. But you? You’re usually in control of your actions. Your behaviors. Everything about you. It’s not surprising to you he caught on with those behaviors. People, especially someone like him, study their partners when there’s a peculiar change to them.
“You don’t need to tell me why. But it’s hurting you, Kim.” He interjects your thoughts like a knife through butter. Should you be talking more? You must come clean about it all. If not for yourself, for him. You’ve seen this man had his worst, most pathetic states of life. Then to adapt to the world around him. The least you could do is admit your own issue.
“I…” the words get lodged into your diaphragm. It stings like a dozen bees swarming inside you.
He places a hand on your knee, plain facing up. You take it. His warmth manages to wrap around you. Tears feel like they could stream down your cheeks at any given moment. You try and hold them back. Before trying to speak once more, you cough as a way to clear your aching throat. Rip it off like a bandage. The more you hesitate the worse it’ll be.
“From time to time, I have issues with eating regularly. The process is…” you trail off, stumbling over syllables. You couldn’t even get all of it out. You try to take another deep breath before trying once more. This time, you are not so successful.
A tear falls down your left cheek., Then your right. Then it rushes out like a waterfall. Any pain or loss streams down like a dam had been broken into pieces. You fold in on yourself, trying to become as small as possible. Hands shielding your face from Harry’s gaze, from unwanted eyes. Shoulders rise and fall as silent sobs escape you.
Harry moves his once occupied hand to your back. Patting the upper half between your shoulder blades in an even beat. He doesn’t say anything. He knows there’s more to it than just you are having a small problem. There’s a venomous disease that has been slowly spreading throughout your veins. Contaminating every tissue, of your body.
Sleepless nights lead to sleepless conversations. Talking about the latest nightmare that still curses the brain. He’s gotten small stories from you over the years of knowing each other. Enough to know the amount of strain that forces you down into the ocean. It was a matter of time before you broke down. Everything has a breaking point. Even you, whether you want to believe it or not.
He’s not stopping you. Audible whines and gasps are protruding now. How long as it been? It feels like an eternity but how can you be so sure? How can you be so sure of anything at this moment?
Fuck, it all really hurts. There’s a pounding in your head, as someone is taking a jack hammer to your frontal lobe.
As your sobs soften, he removes his hand from it’s patting objective and trails to your face. Cupping your head between both hands, he pulls you in to place a kiss on your forehead. It’s soothing.
Then, your eyes meet for the first time since this conversation has started. It’s hard to see at first. The salty tears have been glued to your glass lenses.
“May I?” Harry asks, gesturing to them. He removes them from your face and places them neatly on the desk behind you. His face is severely out of focus. He is a water-color painting that still needs to be dried right now; even if he’s only a few inches away from your face.
Little sniffles break the silence periodically. Wait a minute, why is it so silent? A small laugh escapes you.
“First crying, now laughter?” Hary slyly remarks, “I figured I was the unpredictable one here.” He fake pouts.
This arouses another laugh out of you. More organic and free compared to the former.
“My apologies, I’d just imagine we look ridiculous right now. Just staring at each other.” You respond back. Your voice is hoarse from crying.
“Kim, my lovely partner. The light of my universe,” Harry says in a grandiose tone. “You are never ridiculous to me.”
He knows what he’s doing. You do, too. You let it happen anyways.
“I feel ridiculous right now.”
“I know. What else is this very amazing person right n front of me feeling?”
“That I am weak for crying. For letting things get this out of hand with myself. I-” Before you go back to spiraling down a deeper hole, he cuts you off.
“If you’re weak for crying I must be dead,” he argues back. You shake your head free from his gentle grasp before trying to continue.
“I’ve always been able to handle this,” you gesture around yourself to show exactly what you intended to mean. Harry doesn’t say anything in return. He’s letting you continue to see where you go with this. “I don’t know why I can’t now.”
There’s a brief lull for Harry to think of something.
“Y’know, a wise man told me I don’t need to ‘understand’ everything. Oh wait,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “That was you,”
Harry lends you his hand once more. You take it. He pulls off your glove and puts it with your glasses. He starts to massage your - now exposed - palm. Feeling each individual muscle, every vein, callous. He remembered your late-night chats. You talking him through nightmare-induced panic attacks. Touching your palm the same way you do for him. This makes you melt inside a little.
“You know you’re putting too much pressure on yourself, right?” Harry says. His voice is laced with a type of sternness, yet caution you’ve never heard from him before. Especially not directed to you. “But it’s hurting you. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
He looks back up at you. You nod to show understanding. Everything he’s saying is true. More tears start to well in your eyes. How could someone ever be this kind to you? You don’t try to hide your face this time.
Harry rises to wrap you in tight embrace. You don’t move, neither do you reciprocate or fight it. His arms squeeze around you. Putting a pleasant pressure around your ribs, with enough room for you to breathe.
He may not say the most comforting things, but that’s not something you’d want. You don’t want words poisoned with pity. Your face sinks deeper into Harry’s left shoulder. Muffled cries are barely audible but don’t go unheard. Harry stays in this position until you’ve calmed once more. Shallow breaths becoming deeper and deeper gulps of air. Heart rate slows back down to a rest.
Then, he retreats back to the floor in front of you. Hands trailing to your biceps. Then forearms. Then wrists. Then your hands. He’s holding them together this time. Rubbing circles on your skin with his thumbs. A technique to keep your mind grounded to the room around you both. Nothing else. Just you, him, and this home office space.
The only thing you can crack is apologies for this whole mess. Harry plants a kiss on your knuckles. “I’m going to kiss you every time you try to apologize until you can get it through your head that it’s okay. You can feel, well, feelings!” His tone oozes with sincerity.
Still, you can’t help but feel like apologizing for not being straightforward. For being so secretive. For being yourself. “I’m so-”
Harry cuts you off with a kiss. He did warn you. He leaves his face close to yours this time. His breath is warm on your pale skin. You can see his eyes, now. They’re slightly squinted, probably due to tiredness and concern for your wellbeing.
“Do you want to try again?” He teases. You let out a quick exhale from his remark. He’s really trying to make you feel better in his own ‘Harry way’.
“There are times where I physically cannot bring myself to eat food.” You try explaining, finally. “Even if I wanted to. It makes me feel physically ill. The whole process feels sickening at some points.”
You don’t bother trying to delve deep into your psyche right now. It would only make you feel worser than you already are. Harry’s eyebrows are raised, not with shock but with the intention to comprehend every spoken and unspoken word.
“I didn’t realize this time had lasted so long,” a twinge of your usual composure sweeps through. Another habit of yours. Disconnection. “I am-”
Before you can start to even utter the word, Harry plants another kiss on your chapped lips. This one with more strength than before. “For a lieutenant of the force, you sure forget easily,” he teases at you, again. “Or do you just like being kissed?”
Even the professional façade can be broken by this man. Why is that surprising to you? He isn’t going to stop just because you’ve been sobbing.
“Kim, just try to ease up on yourself. Trust me, I know it’s hard.” He lets out a laugh and points to himself. “Loosen them Kim bones.”
He shakes your arms. Light enough to make sure he doesn’t physically hurt any of your sore joints. A smile creeps in the corner of your mouth.
“I will be there when you trip. We can manage this together. I am not expecting you to suffer by yourself.”
You sniff once more and nod a silent “yes” in agreeance.
“Now, it’s very late. Shall we hit the sack?” He says, groaning as he’s trying to get up. He reaches out to help you out of the chair. “We can figure out way through this when you’re ready.”
You grab ahold. The rising sun peaks over the horizon. A new day has reared its ugly face. But the man next to you is nothing but smiles for the new day. You lean against him. He wraps his left arm around your torso, squeezing you close to his form.
“The sunrise is beautiful,” you say. The fatigue finally catches up to you. Your eyelids feel like heavy weights. “Yeah,” is all you hear before falling asleep against Harry.
Maybe this life is worth staying for, after all.