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The entirety of Precinct 41 thrummed with life. Well, insofar as the cacophony of overlapping inane chatter, idle foot traffic, and whirring ceiling fans barely able to keep the building's temperature tolerable under the summer heat could be called life. It was one of three days in the month Harry was required to sit down and put his papers in order, transcribing his chicken scratch into proper reports and actually filing documentation he had never finished filling out. It was tedious and mind numbing. Harry was truly, unequivocally, bored out of his mind.
Harry didn’t do well being bored. This fact about himself was evident pretty early on post-Martinaise. Between the ceaseless voices leaving no room for quiet in his head, his proclivity for going off on tangents on both thought and movement, and the boundless evidence towards his many historic addictions, it was a fact that Harry Du Bois could not bear being bored. Perhaps he never learned how.
It just so happened, however, that Harry’s paperwork day had landed on the same day as Kim’s. Kim only needed two days a month to get his paperwork in order, and didn’t need to be reminded to do them. Kim seemingly assigned paperwork days for himself. Inexplicably, this day, desks perpendicular to each other, the two lieutenants sat hunched over stacks of papers, diligently writing.
Harry could only bear about five hours, interspersed with brief bathroom and coffee breaks, before the boredom got to him.
“Any weekend plans, Kim?” Harry leaned over his desk towards Kim, leveraging himself on folded arms. Kim finished the sentence he was writing before flicking his eyes up towards Harry, not bothering to lift his head. Harry wasn’t sure if he hadn’t been heard clearly, or if Kim was opting not to reply, so he added more context for him.
“You have Sunday and Monday off this week, right? What’re you gonna spend those days doing?” Harry hoped his smile was as casual and conversational as he meant it to be. Kim blinked slowly before leaning back to roll his shoulder, as if Harry wasn’t even there.
“What interest is it of yours, detective?” Kim sighed.
(SUGGESTION – He’s sick of your prodding. What right do you have to dig into his time off work? The one part of his life you haven’t invaded?)
(EMPATHY – He’s probably just as strung out from this menial work as you are. The weariness in his voice doesn’t indicate any ill intent towards you.)
“I’ve got plenty of interest. In many things. Including, for example, literally anything that doesn’t have to do with re-writing my 28th report today.” Harry skewed up his eyebrows and slumped his shoulders to emphasize his desperation for entertainment. Any brief reprieve for his rampant mind and cramping hand. Kim leaned back in his chair, the axle of it squeaking as he bent his arms above his head, interlocking his fingers and pressing his palms against the back of his head to stretch his triceps.
(VOLITION – Stop thinking about the man’s triceps, detective, this is a professional work environment.)
(ELECTROCHEMISTRY – So we can think about his triceps later?)
“I suppose I can appreciate your sentiment,” Kim consented with a small nod.
(ESPRIT DE CORPS – I agree, this is a nightmare of a doldrum, he thinks.)
“So…? Enlighten me,” Harry said, grinning expectantly. Kim’s arms fall back onto the desk, his forearms resting against the edge. Kim stills, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
(PERCEPTION – In amusement? In thought?)
(INLAND EMPIRE – Even now, as observant as you are, you can’t always read the subtle quirks of his face.)
(AUTHORITY – It’s frustrating.)
(DRAMA – It’s exciting.)
“I think not,” Kim concludes. He picks his pen back up, moving to start writing again.
“Oh, come on, Kim! What’s the harm?” Harry insists, knowing if he lets Kim's pen hit the paper he’d lose him to the red tape again.
“Why don’t you tell me about your weekend plans, detective?” Kim’s pen idled, tapping against the page with the nib still sheathed.
“‘Cause my weekend plans don’t exist, Kim! And I just know whatever you get up to has to be infinitely times cooler than anything I’d come up with,” Harry insists.
(ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Oh, you know how to party, Harry-baby.)
(PAIN THRESHOLD – Party fast and hard and fall so far you shatter every bone in your body.)
(INLAND EMPIRE – And betray any trust any one may still have for you.)
(VOLITION – Which is emphatically not cool.)
“I believe whatever ‘coolness’ my weekend activities may have would be severely diminished if the mystery was taken out of them,” Kim replies. His words are soft and matter-of-fact, how his usual timber always is.
“No way,” Harry said, shaking his head. His folded arms lifted off of his desk and pressed against his chest as he leaned back in his chair. Grinning, he adds, “everything Kim Kitsuragi does is totally cool.”
Kim’s eyebrows jumped, for a fraction of a second. The barest of flinches. He cleared his throat and trained his eyes back onto the paperwork in front of him, clicking his pen.
“This conversation is going nowhere, detective,” Kim muttered, pen meeting paper.
(HALF LIGHT – Fuck! You’ve lost him. Great going.)
(RHETORIC – Don’t give up now. You were getting so close!)
“You’re holding out on me, Kim. What is it?” Harry said, eyes trained on the movement of the ink scrawling along the page. Swift, measured movements. Dark blue scarring in its wake. Kim remained silent.
“You go backroad MC racing as a sidegig? Or maybe just for the hell of it?” Harry leaned one elbow back onto his desk, smirking conspiratorially. The scratch of the pen continued.
“Or maybe you party with all your super cool friends. Go out on the town with people way cooler than the likes of me.” This earned Harry only the briefest of eyerolls. He’d often get such noncommittal answers from his self-deprecating comments. On occasion Kim would outright tell him his language was ‘unproductive at best and obstructive at worst’ when he said something really nasty about himself, and so Harry had been trying to curb such tendencies. But it still eased out of his mouth far too simply at times.
“You got friends to talk about cars with? Cooler cop friends back from the 57th precinct?”
Kim frowned slightly, but his writing didn’t stop. And Harry didn’t stop to think about it, either.
“Do you have your own Sunday Friend?”
This time, the flinch ran through Kim’s entire body, jerking his shoulders and dragging the pen sharply off the paper. Ink dappled the desktop. Kim’s eyes snapped up to meet Harry’s eyes, opened wide and pupils focused, nostrils flaring. Harry could hear the vice tight grip he had on the pen, plastic creaking in his fist.
(SUGGESTION – Oh no.)
(DRAMA – Oh god.)
(RHETORIC – Oh fuck! )
(HALF LIGHT – You have fucked it! You’ve royally fucked it!)
(CONCEPTUALIZATION – He’s about to storm out of the precinct and never talk to you again.)
(VISUAL CALCULUS – No, he’s about to stab that pen through your eye socket and slam your head into the desk.)
(ENDURANCE – Hopefully the latter. That’d be easier to stomach.)
“Officer.” Kim’s voice was strained, his jaw was clenched, as if he’d be screaming those words if he wasn’t focusing so hard not to. “A word.”
Harry was on his feet in a flash, his shoulders rigid, his throat suddenly very dry. Kim nodded curtly towards the direction of the balcony, and Harry turned to go where he was told. Kim walked right behind his shoulder. Harry almost the way his eyes flicked around the bullpen.
(AUTHORITY – You’re just going to heel with your tail between your legs? Like a damn dog?)
(VOLITION – Yes, you are, because it’s the only chance you might have to salvage this, and a small one at that.)
(VISUAL CALCULUS – He’s bringing you up to the balcony to push you off. Much cleaner than a pen.)
Over to the stairs, up to the mezzanine, to the right and through the doors. The door would’ve closed on its own, drawn back by its own weight, but Kim pushes it closed behind him all the same. The click of the latch catching made the hair on Harry’s neck stand on end. Harry walked up to the railing, hands tentatively grazing the cold metal as he looked over the edge. The stretch of asphalt below, the slow crawl of traffic.
(VISUAL CALCULUS – You could tip yourself over the edge now, get it over with.)
(ENDURANCE – Do Kim a favor, let him keep his hands clean.)
(VOLITION – Stop that. You know that’s not what’s happening.)
(ESPRIT DE CORPS – Turn around and face it like a man.)
Harry turned to face him, the warm air tossing his hair over his shoulder as the hot summer afternoon dipped into a warm dusk. Kim stood near the door, arms crossed, roughly two meters away. His face was as stoney as ever. No, even moreso. Even though it was almost identical, this expression was made with considerable effort, rather than general impassiveness.
Harry swallowed, unsure whether he should apologize immediately or if he should wait for permission to speak. Kim remained stock still, so much so Harry could swear he must be holding his breath. The tension grew with each passing second, each pulse through his veins growing in pressure. Harry couldn’t take it, the need to break the silence bursting out of him like a faulty dam.
“Listen Kim I am so so sorry–”
“Are you insane!?” Kim hissed, his voice just short of a shout. Harry quickly withered, slouching wear he stood and eyes dropping to his shoes.
(COMPOSURE – Meet his eyes, coward.)
Harry looked back up.
“Where do you get off asking me a question like that? Here, of all places!? You have no right to– to even assume I would–” Kim couldn’t finish his sentence, instead closing his eyes to collect himself. He grimaced, shook his head, then raised his eyes back up to stare Harry down.
For as much as he wanted to be the cause of Kim’s voice being broken with emotion, he certainly never wanted this. He wanted to hear barely contained amusement toward his antics, sincerity slipped into objective sentiments, sarcasm pressed against purposefully obtuse statements. He never wanted to be the reason Kim was clipping his words and clenching his jaw and staring Harry down like that.
“Why in the world would I have a Sunday Friend? ”
For once, Harry was at a loss for words. He was so caught up in his dressing down that he didn’t spare a thought towards a response. Or perhaps so many voices in his head were talking at once that it had become a perfect white noise. Harry swallowed again, trying to properly take in Kim’s words.
“I, well… Don’t most gay guys have one?”
Kim scoffed, actually scoffed for the first time in Harry’s memory, turning his face and shaking his head.
“No, Harry. They do not. And neither do I, for your information.”
“...Oh,” is all Harry could muster.
(ELECTROCHEMISTRY – Really? Most don’t? Not even a good looking, super cool guy like Kim?)
Kim's left hand rose up and pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses pushed up by his knuckle. The pads of his index and thumb made tiny circles of pressure, easing away just one of the many furrows upon his brow.
“Do you really think that is something I would do, or were you simply trying to get a rise out of me?” Kim asked. Harry wasn’t completely sure himself.
“Is it really such a bad thing?” Harry wondered out loud. “What’s the point of being a part of The Homosexual Underground if you don’t have anyone to enjoy it with?”
The fingers pinching Kim’s radix stilled. He lifted his head to reassess Harry, scanning him head to toe. Through some miracle, Harry was able to suppress the inexplicable shudder that fought to run through him. He also began to worry Kim may never be able to stop frowning ever again.
“Officer… What exactly do you think a Sunday Friend is?”
(INLAND EMPIRE – Hold it. Whatever you say next is pivotal.)
(ENCYCLOPEDIA – This is a trick question. You both know what a Sunday Friend is, you met the very same Sunday Friend back in Martinaise.)
(RHETORIC – How sure are you, though? Sure enough to give a definition?)
(AUTHORITY – You’ve spent enough time cowering. Assert your knowledge.)
“It’s a… It’s a friend that a gay guy has. Who’s also gay. And they do… gay things together. Usually on Sundays?” Harry was less and less sure of himself with each word.
Kim closed his eyes again, then tipped his head back, facing the sky. Harry watched as his chest rose, and rose, and rose, until Kim huffed a great exhale. Harry’s shoulders fell, and he realized he had been breathing along.
“No, Harry.” Kim suddenly sounded very tired, rather than livid. “A Sunday Friend is a man who pays for that sort of company. And the day of the week has nothing to do with it.”
“Oh.” Harry mumbled, before he fully absorbed what had just been said.“OH.”
Harry pushed himself away from the railing, raising to open palms in a placating gesture. “Oh, my god, Kim I never meant to– I didn’t mean to–!”
“I know, detective. I can see that now.”
“I-I thought that’s just what’s used instead of, like, girlfriend or bird. But you know, for other guys,” Harry continued, steadfastly ignoring the heat rising to his face. He was relieved to see the return of Kim’s neutral expression and parade stance as he approached.
“That’s… quite the assumption. Although I shouldn’t be surprised it’s one you made,” Kim said with a quirk of his brow. Harry huffed half of a chuckle and shrugged.
“So, what do you call it, then?” Harry deigned to ask. Kim sighed through his nose in a way that Harry knew was the equivalent to a chuckle. Harry’s lopsided grin stretched over his face in the knowledge of it.
“Nothing so interesting, I’m afraid. The same as what a woman would call her romantic interest, such as boyfriend or beau. Or by using gender neutral terms all together, like companion or significant other or partner.”
“Partner?” Harry quickly parsed out before thinking better of it.
“Khm,” Kim raised his fist to his mouth, eyes flitting to the side momentarily. “It’s all in context. Obviously.”
“Obviously, yeah,” Harry parroted. The heat in his face really wasn’t going away, and he resigned himself into hoping it didn’t stand out significantly against his usual ruddiness or his facial hair.
Having presumably decided their conversation was concluded, Kim began to turn back towards the door. Yet just as quickly, he idled.
“Detective. If you… insist on any further inquiries into this realm of knowledge, I suggest you investigate yourself. On your own time. And, above all else,” Kim looked back at Harry, meeting his eyes with a sternness no longer carrying anger, but no less weight; “do not ask me such things in public.”
Harry swallowed. He knew this, he knew, how dangerous it could be to out Kim as a gay man to the RCM. There may be protocol barring dismissal for something as trivial as sexuality or race, there could very well be rumors already for all Harry knew, but to be confirmed as a homosexual would no doubt bring untold difficulties for Kim. Even if it didn’t, it wasn’t Harry’s place to make that decision. And yet he used what he believed to be colloquial gay terminology in reference to him in the middle of the precinct.
“You're right. You’re absolutely right Kim, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” Harry promised with pleading eyes. Kim held his gaze for a moment before nodding curtly, and opened the door. The two of them walked back to their desks, and continued on as if they hadn’t left at all. Harry still thought about it the rest of the day, however. Two key points in particular.
Firstly: “do not ask me such things in public”; so he could ask Kim more personal questions in private, instead? Where would that be? In the kineema? In Harry’s place, if he could convince him over? At Kim’s place?
And secondly: Kim didn’t have a Sunday Friend. And it didn’t really sound like he had any other sort of romantic friend, either.