Archive of Our Own

Kim Kitsuragi had a secret. This was it: he was becoming quite infatuated with Harry Du Bois, the man he’d found himself partnered with on a murder investigation in Martinaise. It had been taking far longer than it should have, and as the days dragged on it became apparent to Kim that he didn’t mind this at all. He should have minded it, he was sure of that, but it was nice to spend some quality time with another human being.

Harry was an odd man. Interesting, in every sense of the word. He was fascinatingly adept at getting people to spill their guts, and if Kim didn’t have a lifetime of raising his eyebrow at disrespectful teenagers under his belt, he may well have caved to Harry’s uncanny ability. He could also be impossibly stubborn about exactly the wrong things. He could be nearly revoltingly kind and empathetic when the situation called for it; he could be snappy; he could be sweet; he could be loud; he could be anything he wanted to be. He was devastatingly human.

Sometimes, when he got to thinking about it for too long, Kim was jealous that Harry seemed to possess so many selves inside of him. Even if he logically knew they were the same species, Kim felt the two of them could not have been the same type of animal.

Kim liked to think that he could detach himself from his humanity in a way that most could not. He played the part of the unaffected, serious detective. His heart was not cold, he had empathy for those poor souls who deserved it, but he was not an outwardly warm or inviting person—or so he thought. Harry seemed to want to be near him as often as possible, even if he acted as though he was embarrassed simply by being in the same room as him. Harry talked to him about any and everything, asking his opinions on matters that stretched far beyond the case at hand. Kim thought this was…well, he wanted to think it was annoying, but it was really quite endearing.

Kim found that he enjoyed being spoken to like a peer, not just like a coworker. He liked that Harry asked his opinion on matters that didn’t pertain to the case, that Harry was sensitive to how Kim felt. It was alien to Kim, but it was not unwelcome.

That must have been where it started, Kim reasoned. He shook his head to himself, cursing that he’d fallen into the trap of becoming infatuated with the first man to show any sort of interest in him—but that wasn’t it either. People had shown interest in Kim; they wanted to know all about how Kim “the Kimball” Kitsuragi had risen to fame in his youth. Folks wanted to hear it from the man himself even if they’d heard stories through the grapevine, Kim just wasn’t keen on sharing anymore. Pinball is a stupid game for stupid young adults, among whom Kim no longer numbered.

So why, despite Kim’s resolution to keep a certain emotional distance from this man, did the proposition of better rapport and working better together make him want to talk to Harry about himself? Harry truly was a can opener. He didn’t have to do anything but speak and it was like Kim was wrapped around his finger. It would have been concerning if Kim didn’t like it so much. It might have been even more concerning that Kim liked it. He could feel when he snapped out of the can opener’s grasp, and he often wished he wouldn’t have shared so much, but that feeling never lasted long. When Kim could see the sheer pride that Harry felt after getting stone cold Kim Kitsuragi to open up, he felt that he could let Harry have his wins every now and again.

Kim decided that there must be a real, tangible reason that he let Harry open him like a wartime ration, so he did what any good detective would: he took notes. They were mundane at first, simply taking note of how Harry spoke, how he interacted with the world, how he went about his various side quests. These, Kim thought, would help him find the root of Harry’s strange abilities. Then, they got…less mundane. Kim started noticing things that didn’t have anything to do with his little case. He noticed that Harry would sometimes twirl his hair around when he was thinking and he’d scrunch up his nose when he was confused. But, most notably, Kim started to notice that Harry had a bad habit of looking down at the floor, away from someone, across the room, over their shoulder, or through them. He did this when he was anxious, embarrassed, or otherwise made to feel awkward.

It was hardly something you could miss, especially if you paid any sort of attention to his mannerisms—and Kim paid a lot of attention to Harry’s mannerisms; it was the only way to make any sort of sense of the way he acted and engaged with the world around him. He noticed very quickly that Harry would always look away from him, down at his shoes, or at an ugly painting on a wall whenever he was uncomfortable. If his ex-something came up, even if Harry had brought them up on his own, he would shift subtly and avert his eyes. If he misspoke to someone like Titus Hardie, he’d flush red and look down at the floor instead of making eye contact. If Kim pushed him to do something that might be hard, he’d look away and sometimes suck his teeth. If Kim ever touched him, he’d shy away from it and come up with cheeks redder than anything Kim had ever seen.

It became something of a game for Kim to watch and see when Harry would avert his eyes. He made up little experiments in the margins of his journal, mapping out ideas for how to get the officer to blush. Kim’s little experiments started out just like that, little. Then, they steadily got braver as the Lieutenant became more and more curious as to how far he could take it. As it turned out, he was able to take it very far.

At first, he would simply try to soften his gaze a bit when he looked at Harry. Kim was not shy about eye contact, but it seemed that Harry certainly was. If Kim held his gaze for too long, Harry would turn his head and make some excuse as to why they had to move on from their current conversation. Kim learned to keep his head on a bit of a swivel so that he didn’t stare at Harry for too long.

Kim would lean in just a little closer to show Harry something in his notebook, measuring the distance between them and inching nearer when he felt he needed to. Kim was once so bold as to deliberately swing his arm out just far enough to brush the back of Harry's hand with the gloved tips of his fingers while they were walking together. Harry looked firmly away from Kim for the remainder of their walk through Martinaise and through their conversation with Evrart Claire.

Kim knew that it was somewhat wrong, of course he did, but it was working out very much in his favor. Harry didn’t seem so nervous to be close to him anymore, and his attempts at conversation were more than questions or opinions now. They’d talk, really talk, into the little hours of the morning, and then they’d go their separate ways. They’d wake up only a few hours later and they’d go about their case as normal.

Kim found that he scolded Harry less and less, not caring so much about the case as he probably should have. He wanted to talk to Harry, to be close to him.

When they crossed the water lock and ventured into the fishing village, Kim immediately noticed the motor carriage bobbing with the tide. He did not mention it, he waited for Harry to walk over to it. When he did, Kim followed and carefully watched his expressions. Harry seemed puzzled, scrunching up his nose and furrowing his brow. He asked Kim how he thought the motor carriage had gotten there, and what marque he thought it might be. Kim did not have the heart to tell Harry that he knew exactly whose motor carriage it was, so he agreed to the idea of sitting and waiting for the waves to draw back so that they might find out more about it.

The two of them sat together on the decrepit swing set and watched the tide for some time. Harry stared straight ahead at the sunken motor carriage and whistled a tune. Kim gave Harry a short glance, then mimicked his whistling. He followed Harry’s lead, still looking straight ahead.

This was a different sort of intimate. This was gentle and reassuring, and yet it was something like terrifying. Kim knew exactly what waited for Harry; the knowledge that he’d driven his motor carriage into the water. Still, he decided to hold his tongue. He kept in time with Harry. Two whistling birds in the morning, calling to the rising sun.

The two whistled for some time, then fell silent. They sat in quiet contemplation of the moment to come.

“Would you rather sit in an anthill for an hour or stand in a river of leeches?” Harry asked, breaking the gentle silence between them.

“Well…” Kim considered this for a moment. “Historically, leeches have been used to prevent and cure many ailments.”

Harry nodded, but did not make any further remarks.

The shadow of the swing set continued to rise as the sun climbed to its peak. Kim could hear the distant sounds of the city, of voices and of machinery. He glanced sideways at the man next to him, still staring off at the motor carriage. Kim looked him up and down, figuring that this was as good a time as any to get a good look at him. His face was blank, though his eyes seemed tired. He was thinking, probably, about who this motor carriage might belong to and why it might have ended up there.

Kim thought that it might be time for another experiment, sort of a sequel to a past one. He reached his right hand out and hooked his index finger onto Harry’s pinky. Harry did not react verbally, but he did drop his hand from where it held the chain of the swing. Then, without even glancing at Kim, he grabbed at the spot where Kim’s finger had been. He caught it, then ever so gently pulled at it so that he could get ahold of Kim’s hand in its entirety.

Neither of them said a word, but they felt so much in that moment of connection that writing a book about it couldn’t have done the gesture justice. Kim looked up from their intertwined hands at Harry’s face, only to find that he had looked quite firmly away. Kim had half expected this, but it was still something of a disappointment. He wanted Harry to look at him, that must have been it. He wanted Harry to feel at home looking him in the eye.

Kim Kitsuragi was not impulsive. He planned things meticulously and did not dare do anything without a solid idea of what he was trying to accomplish. But, finding himself in this moment, he did something incredibly foolish.

“Detective—” Kim started. But no, that was too formal. “Harry,” he said. That was better, more familiar, more intimate. He inhaled. “Look at me.” He exhaled.

Harry turned his head so slowly Kim thought he might have been imagining it. When his face came into sight, it was red as could be. Kim smiled something gentle. He didn’t make any reference to the fact that they were still holding hands, as that was sure to make Harry look down again.

Now that he’d said it, Kim had no idea why he wanted Harry to look at him. He didn’t know what to say or do, only that he knew he wanted this.

“Hi,” Harry said timidly. It sounded so strange in his voice, so wrong for this man to sound so bashful.

“Hi,” Kim replied. He was nearing the point of embarrassment himself, but was determined to see this through. He was going to give Harry a reason to look him in the eyes, and a goddamn good one too.

Harry didn’t say anything more. It looked as though it was taking every ounce of resolve he had to keep Kim’s gaze.

“I thought you might need some support,” Kim blurted.

Anxiety: See, this is what happens when you don’t plan. This is what happens when you act on impulse.

Harry cracked a smile, then laughed. Just a small exhalation of air, but nonetheless humorous. “I guess so,” he said.

Impulse: Come on Kim, say something that actually means something. Say something nice, something sweet, maybe even something romantic! Say—!

“Your hands are warm,” Harry said, interrupting Kim’s thoughts.

Now Kim was the one who was frozen. So much for carefully thought out plans; now he was caught in Harry’s net with only one way out.

“They are, yes,” Kim said. “I tend toward the warmer side.”

“I like that, it’s cold out here,” Harry said.

A long moment of silence.

Impulse: Go for it.

“Harry, I…” Kim struggled to put the words together.

Harry looked up at the motor carriage once again, away from Kim. He was gathering his thoughts as well. “That’s my motor carriage, isn’t it?” he said.

Kim was going to say that he thought he was quite in love with Harry, but the words fell flat on his tongue. “Um, yes, it is,” he stammered. Kim cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine that anyone else here has recently driven their motor carriage into a body of water,” Kim bullshitted a sentence he thought sounded like something he’d normally say.

A beat.

Harry nodded slowly, looking down at their hands, still clasped together. He didn’t want to let go; it felt good that the lieutenant wanted to be close to him.

Kim had been getting steadily more comfortable with Harry in the time they’d been working together in Martinaise. If it weren’t for the massive crush Harry had developed on Kim, he might have been glad for this.

Alright, it wasn’t that he wasn’t glad, just that it was entirely overwhelming (in a good way, he thought) that Kim was getting so touchy-feely. When they first met, Kim had been so…cold? Focused? Goal-oriented? Whatever it was, he wasn’t like this. He’d been fed up with Harry since the moment they met, but now he acted like a school boy with a crush.

Kim was definitely testing the waters, but it also felt a lot like he was teasing Harry, and the smile Harry saw out of the corner of his eye told him that he might have been right about that hunch.

Their hands swung slightly as the two of them sat together on the swing set. Harry felt as though all of his mind’s attention was going to that slight sway, like all other sensory input was dulled so that he could focus on the small bit of weight the lieutenant’s hand added to his own.

Kim’s hand was warm, even gloved as it was. Harry’s own fingers were freezing, but the white-hot pool of anxiety/butterflies/fear/love spreading from his hands up to his cheeks warmed him right up. Kim’s hands shouldn’t have felt warm, right? It was snowing here, and Harry couldn’t actually feel Kim’s skin, so his hand shouldn’t have been warm. Kim probably knew that; Kim knew pretty much everything, Harry thought.

He didn’t have time to dwell on the lieutenant and his warm hands, he had a motor carriage to inspect, one that he was growing more and more sure was his motor carriage, so he told the lieutenant as much.

Kim seemed taken aback at Harry’s realization; did he really think Harry was that dumb? In fairness, he might be, but he was still a detective and this was still an investigation.

“In that case, let’s go check it out,” Harry said.

Kim slowly—ever so slowly—let go of Harry’s hand—

Perception (touch): Letting go felt wrong. The weight of Kim’s hand leaving his, the breeze erasing the warmth Kim’s hand had provided. Harry should still have Kim’s hand in his; they should still be sitting together.

Empathy: They had left so much unsaid. When would this moment come again? Come back, Kim; I don’t care about this damn motor carriage, I need to know what you wanted to say.

—and stood from his swing. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket and looked down at Harry, who was still sitting. “Yes, let’s,” he said. His eyes were no different than they had been moments ago; they held all the fondness he saw in that slight smile that told Harry that he was being teased.

Harry stood up from his own swing and mimicked Kim, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Harry started toward the motor carriage, silently observing the product of his bender. He’d avoided learning about what he’d done, wishing to forget and yet trying to make amends without even knowing what had happened. He stood and looked at the number 41 plastered across the sinking thing and he sighed. Among the wreckage, Harry discovered his badge. He proudly showed it off to Kim, who did seem slightly impressed. Harry looked at the photo on the badge, one of a man he did not know anymore. He learned that his full name was Harrier, and Kim seemed to like that as well.

“Harrier, that’s long for Harry,” Kim said.

Harry looked back down at the badge. His ledger told him that he’d been on the force for 18 years, so this must be him in, what, his mid twenties? Yes, that was it. There was a memory somewhere that told him he was right; there was a woman there, blurry.

“I was one handsome bastard, huh?” Harry said, only slightly bragging. “I can’t imagine telling this guy that he turns into this in 18 years.” Harry pointed to his face.

Kim just nodded, as though he didn’t want to confirm or deny. “18 years is a long time, especially on the police force. I’d be shocked if you looked much like him anymore,” he said.

That only stung a little bit. Kim was right, of course; it would be a miracle if Harry resembled that young man in anything but name anymore. “Well, is there anything more to do here?” Harry asked, not wishing to stay on the subject of his poor life choices any longer.

“I don’t think so, unless you have a means of getting this motor carriage out of the water. Even then, I don’t think it would be of much use given the state it’s in,” Kim said.

“I guess you’re right,” Harry said with a frown. He probably loved that car. It hurt a little bit to see it like this, but maybe that was the guilt talking.

A beat.

The two of them stood together, Harry with his badge in his hand and Kim with his hands still firmly in his pockets.

“I can’t believe I did that,” Harry said, breaking the silence. “I wish I’d have had you, Kim; maybe you could have stopped me from doing all this stupid shit.”

Kim took a long moment to consider his response. “Perhaps,” he simply said. He was not going to give Harry any more reasons to self-flagellate today.

Harry sighed loudly. “Well, fuck it, then. Let’s get out of here and interview some people around the village,” he said. You know, the thing they came here to do.

Kim did not give a response, save for a gentle nod of the head to indicate that he wanted Harry to lead the way.

The interviews that day were not entirely fruitless, but they didn’t give much in the way of helpful evidence for the task at hand. At least, Kim thought, Harry now had somewhere to stay with a heater and a bed that doesn’t look as though it would rather die than hold another human’s weight.

Though, in the very, very corner of his mind, he was the slightest bit disappointed that Harry would be so far from him every night. Throughout their time in Martinaise, the two had spent their mornings, afternoons, and nights together. Even if they slept in separate beds, separate rooms, they were close. Kim didn’t like the idea of Harry being any further than he had been.

Nagging Thoughts: It’s because you want to be close to him, to keep him safe. If he’s all the way over there, you’re not going to be able to save him from anything. You can stand here and stare all night, but that won’t save him either. Now, if you were to walk over there—

Nevermind, he thought. I have notes to read and a cigarette to smoke. He took his notebook, pen, and his pack of cigarettes out to the balcony of the Whirling-in-Rags. Though he was welcome to smoke in his room, he needed the invigorating chill of the evening wind. He needed a lungful of salty air to keep him from delving any further into that line of thought.

Harry was in that shack now, probably sleeping. It was far too late for Kim to be awake, but he couldn’t quell his anxiety. Harry needed to be safe, and Kim needed to keep him safe. He leaned on the creaking railing of the Whirling-in-Rags’ balcony and opened his notebook. The wind threatened to blow it away, so Kim had to hold it down with one hand and hold his cigarette in the other. His notes had become sparser since he’d been conducting his experiments with Harry. Today, there was hardly anything. He wrote down most of what they’d done, but it turned out that it amounted to little more than a paragraph.

He noted their discovery of Harry’s motor carriage (and the state they discovered it in), their interviews with the few people in the village, and their interactions (he couldn’t rightly call them interviews) with the local drunks. Separate from this, though, was a simple sentence. Objectively useless, but incredibly dear to Kim.

The lieutenant-yefreitor pressed his cheek to a stuffed animal named Lamby.

Kim always maintained professional language in his notebook; it was almost a muscular reflex, the way he took his notes. Despite this, he could not help but smile at the image that sentence conjured in his head. They had interviewed Little Lily, the net-picker’s daughter, and her proposition of feeling how soft Lamby was had warmed Kim’s heart beyond measure. Kim smiled, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.

Before he could catch it and put it back where it went, the thought I wish Harry were here floated across Kim’s mind. He only allowed himself to entertain it for a moment, a precious bit of self-indulgence, before flipping to a blank page in his notebook and noting down the things he wanted to get done the next day. They needed to keep looking for the Hardie girl, Ruby, and that meant that they needed to comb the coast up and down. Kim expected that would take up the majority of the day, so the only other goal he noted was speaking to Joyce Messier and asking her if she knew of this Ruby at all. Kim closed his notebook, ashed his cigarette, and looked over the city. He could see the tiny village from this point, just a blip in the night, barely visible with the small bit of light the street lamps provided. Kim stared at the point he knew the shack inhabited.

What if I just walked over there? He wouldn’t mind, would he? Kim thought. He tapped his finger on his notebook anxiously. This won’t go away unless I do, but what happens after? What happens when I have to explain to him why I’ve showed up at his door at one o’clock in the morning?

Impulse: That’s easy, dear. You tell him the truth. You saw how he reacted when you held his hand. You’re a smart man, you can tell that this little thing you have for him isn’t one-sided.

Kim shook his head, trying to dispel the thought. Do you know how fucked I would be if that isn’t the case? Even if I have a hunch, that isn’t evidence.

Logic: But there is evidence, Kimmy boy. Like I said, you saw him when you two were holding hands. Do you think you’re just running those experiments for fun? Do you think you were going to tell him you love him in a platonic, brotherly way? Stop kidding yourself; you’re no fool.

Kim had started walking back inside the Whirling-in-Rags.

Impulse: What do you have to lose? You two aren’t even in the same precinct. This is one and done; the pissing contest will be over when you solve this and you can go your separate ways, live your separate lives forever and ever.

Kim stuffed his notebook in his pocket and flicked the butt of his cigarette over the railing.

Logic: And now, Kimball, you have to consider the other options. What if I’m right—

Impulse: And what if you can finally get some? Wouldn’t that be nice? You can still be the man you pretend to be; you’re still going to be split up after this case, you can play it cool. You don’t ever have to see each other again.

Kim made his way down the stairs to the first floor of the Whirling-in-Rags. He passed Garte. Neither of them acknowledged the other.

Impulse: Or, best of all, Kim, you could fall in love—

That’s enough, Kim said to himself. He was outside the Whirling now, and he had made up his mind. I’m going; I don’t need your goading.

Impulse: Good choice.

Anxiety: Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll show you every possible way this could go.

Kim started walking. It was not a long walk, and it was freezing, so he was not going to be dragging his feet.

Kim knocks on the door; there is no answer. Kim waits there. And he waits, and waits, and waits. He waits until the sun rises and he does not answer Harry when he asks why Kim looks so tired.

Kim passes his motor carriage.

Kim knocks on the door; there is no answer. Kim knocks again; he hears a rustling. Harry answers the door, bleary-eyed and confused. “Lieutenant?” he says. Kim does not have an answer for him.

Kim knocks on the door; Harry answers. He’s still awake. He asks Kim why he’s here, and Kim says he can’t sleep, he needs to talk about something—the case.

Kim passes the pawn shop.

Kim knocks on the door; he hears a rustling. Harry is there, tired. “Lieutenant? Are you alright?” he asks. He must have been just about to fall asleep; Kim feels some small amount of guilt for this.

Kim knocks; the door is open. Kim pushes the door inward and finds Harry fast asleep. He must have forgotten to lock the door. Thank god I came, Kim thinks. He sits on the floor next to the bed until sunrise.

Kim crosses the water lock and enters the outskirts of the village. The shack is almost in his sights now.

Kim does not knock, he simply pushes on the door and finds it open. Harry is awake; he is sitting in front of the heater, warming his hands. Kim does not need to be invited; he sits next to Harry after pressing him for the key and locking the door behind him.

Kim simply stands outside of the door. Harry opens the door; he is surprised to see Kim there, and Kim is surprised to see Harry. They do not say anything; they both understand what the other is doing.

Kim stood in front of the shack and replayed these moments in his mind, a millisecond each. He took a deep breath, one full of salt and of anxiety. He picked out bits and pieces from each one, willing them to come to life.

Kim knocked on the door, the dull thud making his heart pound. He heard creaking floorboards, the old things no doubt whining under Harry’s footsteps. He heard Harry fiddling with the lock, then he heard the gentle creak of the door hinges, then he saw Harry. He was still awake; Kim had not disturbed his sleep.

“Lieuten—uh, Kim,” Harry said. He sounded concerned.

“Harry,” Kim replied. There was a sudden swell of emotion in Kim’s chest, as though he were afraid some harm might have come to Harry in the couple of hours they were apart.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked; his voice was stable, and yet it was fearful. He must have thought that something truly terrible had happened for Kim to have walked there from the Whirling.

“Yes, I think I am,” Kim said. He exhaled deeply, a cloud forming where his breath had left him. “May I come in? It’s freezing out here.”

Harry nodded and opened the door wider, gesturing for Kim to walk inside. The shack was quaint, hardly big enough for one, and certainly not space enough for two grown men.

Impulse: Now’s your time, Kimmy boy, take it away!

Kim found himself bereft of words, his vocabulary stolen from him. Harry would do the talking for him, he was sure. He would make this easier.

“Is something wrong?” Harry asked. “Did the Whirling burn down or something?”

Kim smiled slightly. “No, nothing so concerning as that,” he said. “I was…worried.” Now he was the bashful one, turning his head away and feeling his ears grow hot.

“Worried? I hope you don’t think the washerwoman is secretly one of those militants,” Harry joked.

“No, no, it’s nothing, really,” Kim said. He was searching for a reason to be here that didn’t include I need you near me so I can protect you.

For as oblivious as he could be, Harry was still quite good at recognizing when someone was lying. “I don’t think it’s nothing, Kim,” he said. He took a cautious step closer to Kim. Besides the tiny bit of moonlight coming in through the window, it was pitch dark, but that moonlight was enough for Harry’s hand to find its rest on Kim’s shoulder without any fumbling.

Kim was caught. There would be no coming back from this, would there?

Impulse: Sure ain’t, baby. You gotta man up real quick, or you’re gonna strike out.

His mind was running at a million miles an hour, trying to find something, anything, to say or do.

Impulse: You know what to do, Kimball, kiss the man!

Kim was on the fritz, his sense of self-preservation at odds with his desire to get what he wanted.

Anxiety: Just say something; just do something; just make something up; just get out of here; just kiss him; just push him; just run; just go; just do it.

Kim tried to take a step back, but found his path blocked by the bed. He’d managed to shrug Harry’s hand off of his shoulder, but that made it even more apparent that there was something wrong. Now, Harry looked plain scared. He wouldn’t know what was going on unless Kim told him, and Kim had stunned himself into silence for the moment.

Goddamnit, Kim thought. He straightened his back and returned his feet to their previous position so that he wasn’t leaning back, over the bed. “Detective…” he started. The word felt wrong, too impersonal. “Harry,” he corrected. “I just needed to make sure that you were okay.”

The mixture of feelings Harry had displayed on his face melted away, until only something very soft and mildly worried was left. “I’m not gonna die if you’re not watching me,” Harry teased.

Kim shook his head and looked down at Harry’s hand. It wasn’t quite by his side again; it floated, ready to hold onto Kim if it needed to. “I didn’t think so, just that…well, you found that bullet earlier,” Kim muttered.

Harry’s hand sprung into action, grabbing onto Kim’s arm and pulling him in close. He did not waste a moment in wrapping his arms around Kim and pressing his cheek to the top of the lieutenant’s head. Harry did not tower over Kim, but he was a good bit taller than him, and certainly stronger.

Kim, for the first time in years uncountable, was wrapped up in a hug. The warmth of it made him want to cry. Instead, he let his head rest and let Harry’s hands hold him close. Even if there was a part of him that felt like a trapped animal in his grasp, there was another part that had been crying out for this moment for decades. Kim chose to let himself be held. Even ignoring that Harry was almost certainly stronger than he was, Kim knew that he was not going to escape the embrace easily; he’d come to learn that Harry could do anything he set out to do, no matter how much the world—or, in this case, Kim—pushed back.

Harry’s arms wrapped around Kim’s back, and Kim had the thought that Harry could easily pick him up off the ground if he wanted to. Kim, against his better judgment, put his own arms around Harry. Almost immediately, his body relaxed; he thought he might have fallen to the ground if it weren’t for Harry holding him up.

Captain Obvious: That’s what a good few decades of non-stop trying to prove yourself will do to you, Kim-boy. The fall was imminent; it was only a matter of if you had somebody to catch you when you fell.

Kim was suddenly very aware of his body and all the various sensations being provided to it. Mostly, he noticed that he was incredibly warm. The heater did plenty to keep the room warm, and in combination with Kim’s jacket and the heat of another person, it was verging on hot. Despite the slight prickly feeling rising on his skin, the part of Kim that needed this hug made the decision to ignore it.

That part of Kim that needed this hug was steadily growing in influence, letting him ignore the noise coming from every other part that told Kim that he needed to get out, that he needed to flee to safety, that he needed to hole up in his room and rid himself of this feeling in its entirety. If there were ever a moment for Kim to listen to his heart, this was it.

[Kim’s heart had never had much bearing on his choices. He often thought that his heart might have died along with his parents when he was just a toddling child. It did not speak to him often, and it did not speak loudly; it had the quiet voice of something beaten down and put in a cage for a lifetime.

There was a sort of learned helplessness in Kim’s heart. It had learned that he had no choice but to fight, abandoning his personal relationships and ignoring his needs in order to prioritize his own self-protection. Kim fought and he would keep fighting until the day he dropped dead.

It was not until his early twenties that Kim learned that there was a word for what he was and how he felt: homosexual. But that was a dirty word, something to be ashamed of. You could find the odd accepting soul, normally in a dark alley alongside people who’d already lost too much to care about where others put their dicks, but it was not commonplace. So Kim beat it down, only speaking about it in hushed voices, in those same dark alleys, with people whose hearts had been similarly beaten down.

Kim never found as much fellowship as he thought he might have in those alleys. He could find a good night, but he knew that he would not find a good life. He would not find a love, only a high to chase. Kim could only pray that better days would come before he died, but he’d never been a religious man.]

Kim was lost in thought as he felt a wall break down. He couldn’t have said if it was in his heart or his mind, but he felt something deep and, he thought, integral, collapsing.

Heart: You know where I am. Even if I am buried deep, you have always held the key close to you. Though it has accumulated dust throughout these long years, it is there, and I am here. I am waiting for you, Kim Kitsuragi. I love you, even if you choose to keep me here for the rest of your life. I love you even if you can never love me. I love you, Kim, no matter how many years I must endure in the cage you have built around me. I will not go, I will not die, for I would take you with me if I were to find a way out of this place. You cannot go; you have so much left to do. You will make a difference, Kim, even if it is only in the life of one man.

This must have been something like what Harry had felt in the church, though Kim was not speaking to something so special as the city of Revachol herself. He merely spoke to his own heart.

Heart: You are mistaken, Kim. There is a part of La Revacholiere in every one of her citizen’s hearts. I am her heart, just as I am yours. The city loves you, but she does not have a voice with which to speak to you, at least not one that you can understand. Instead, La Revacholiere speaks through you, Kim. She speaks of resistance, of defiance, of persistence. She speaks of love.

How could Kim speak with her? How could he hear her voice, listen and understand her language?

Heart: You must simply let me be. I need to be free, to be able to take in her air and hear her songs in the wind. You hold the key—rather, he holds you.

He? Who is this ‘he’? How will I find him?

Heart: My darling Kim, you need only look in front of you.

Kim’s eyes shot open.

It was silent, the only noise the sputtering of the heater and the gentle breathing of the man standing in front of him. He was still standing, unlike Harry after his encounter with madam Revacholiere. He was still in Harry’s warm embrace, and he couldn’t tell if he’d been there for seconds or minutes or even hours.

Harry was muttering something under his breath, something that Kim couldn’t make out despite how close they were. Kim thought he might have been whispering something to himself, but he couldn’t have known for sure.

Kim’s muscles jerked involuntarily, alerting Harry to the fact that he was awake again.

“Kim! Are you alright? You kind of passed out,” Harry said. He placed his hands on Kim’s shoulders and gently pushed him; they were still close, he just needed to get a better look. His expression was so incredibly fond that it made Kim feel a little bit sick.

“I…what?” Kim said, puzzled. He tried to remember what he’d been doing, why he was there, but all he could focus on was the feeling of his heartbeat quickening. As Harry pushed him back, his hands fell from around Harry’s back—how had they gotten there?—and down to his side.

“You were knocked out for a minute there,” Harry said.

Impulse: Go on, say it. Say you spoke to your heart; he’s certainly said stranger things to you.

“I, um…I think I spoke to my heart,” Kim faltered slightly, he didn’t really know what he was saying.

Harry nodded, as though that was the most normal thing in the world. “I do that sometimes,” he said.

“No, I think this was different,” Kim said, slowly piecing his thoughts together. “And…and I think I can speak to the city as well.”

“I knew you could,” Harry said. His hands didn’t move from Kim’s shoulders.

Even if hands were in polite places and they weren’t pressed together anymore, Kim was still acutely aware of how close they were.

Impulse: Come on, Kim! Stop beating around the bush and do it! You’re killing me!

Fuck, alright, Kim thought. Leave me alone, I can do this on my own time.

Impulse: Someone’s feeling feisty tonight…

“Harry…what the hell just happened to me?” Kim asked. He didn’t really know if Harry would have an answer, but he had to try.

“I think you finally heard the city,” Harry said plainly.

Impulse: Here comes the good bit.

“Why did it just happen now? I’ve lived in Revachol my whole life, so why now? Why not when I was a child?” Kim asked.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess you just couldn’t hear her before. Maybe something was stopping you?” he guessed.

Heart: You were stopping you, Kim.

[The voice came so quietly that Kim could have lost it to his own breathing.]

Kim nodded to himself; he felt his thoughts slipping back into that dark and unconscious place.

Harry saved him—as he always did. “Hey, stay with me,” Harry said with a snap of his fingers. It wasn’t harsh or intrusive, it just brought Kim back to where he needed to be.

“Yes, sorry,” Kim said. His heart and his impulse worked together, but only one could be truly put away and ignored. A heart was a physical thing, an impulse electric and hard-wired into his system. A heart could be cut out, but an impulse was built into his very being.

But, unlike an impulse, a heart did not need to goad him into bad choices; a heart could simply tell him the facts and that would be enough. Impulse and anxiety did not need to fill his mind, didn’t need to throw him, stumbling, into a fuck up. No, not if his heart could rest in his chest and guide him into those bad choices with his head held high.

Kim Kitsuragi was going to do something so, so incredibly stupid. Rather, he was going to say something stupid and hope that it wouldn’t ruin him.

“Harry,” Kim started. He realized that he didn’t even have an impulse or a semblance of a plan; he didn’t need one, he had a heart to guide him. However quiet its voice might have been, no matter how weakly its hands pushed him, it was there. His heart told him that he didn’t need to be afraid, so Kim took a breath and ignored the clamor of anxiety in his mind. “Harry…”

Heart: He knows.

“I know,” Harry said.

All at once, they were pressed together, lips locked. Harry’s arms were around Kim again; one wrapped around his back, the other was a hand gently holding the back of his head. Harry had leaned down just enough that Kim didn’t have to reach at all. Kim thanked every deity he could name that Harry was who he was; he couldn’t imagine having to ask for this out loud—not yet. Kim found his left arm pinned to his side, so his right hand reached up to hold onto Harry’s shoulder.

The kiss was chaste, but it lingered pleasantly. Kim could feel a small smile on Harry’s lips, followed by a small breath and a noticeable relaxation. Kim didn’t think he ever wanted the moment to end, but there was also a pinprick of fear in the back of his mind; it asked whether this was ever going to be anything more than every good night Kim had ever had.

Heart: It doesn’t need to be. It just needs to be right.

And heavens above, was it right.

Kim was the one to end the kiss, his hand falling back to his side. As the two separated and Kim’s eyes opened again, he caught a glimpse of Harry, eyes closed, and had the thought that he might want to see that every day for the rest of his life.

Kim did not find the feeling of shyness or embarrassment he thought he might have when he and Harry locked eyes again, there was only a small smile on his lips and a feeling that he’d finally done something right. He and Harry stood in silence, each processing their feelings on the moment before speaking.

Harry, ever uncomfortable with the quiet, was the first to speak. “I liked that,” he said. It was quick, blurted out as a reflex. He removed his arms from around Kim and waited nervously for his response, searching his expression.

Heart: You needed that.

“I…” Kim started. That’s a weird thing to say, he thought.

Heart: I assure you that it’s not. Trust me a little bit, why don’t you?

“I needed that,” Kim said.

Heart: Now take his hand.

Kim’s impulses didn’t give him time to think, jolting the muscles in his arm awake. Then, he had Harry’s hand in his own and no idea what to do about it.

Harry was smiling bashfully now—like something you’d see on a young girl as she spoke to the boy she liked.

Heart: This is the stalemate. You can either say goodnight or you can say that you love him; which one you choose is entirely up to you.

Is it really? Kim thought. Are you sure you don’t hold any sway?

Heart: Ah, the age old question. How much are your mind and your heart really separate?

I don’t have time for this, Kim thought. He was losing the moment—and fast. “Harry, I…” he began, quickly finding himself at a loss for words. He knew what he had to say, what he was going to say, but was that how it worked? Did people just say these kinds of things?

“I love you,” Kim said. He felt like a wide-eyed child as he said it, like he was scared of what punishment the words might incur.

Harry’s eyes were similarly wide, but, Kim guessed, for an entirely different reason.

I should not have said that, Kim thought upon seeing Harry’s expression change.

Heart: You did exactly the right thing, just wait a moment.

“I…love you too, Kim,” Harry said. The pause in his sentence was not one born of hesitation or doubt, but rather one formed from realization.

Kim looked down at their hands, once again intertwined. He hadn’t taken his gloves off, and now he was almost itching with a desire to really hold Harry’s hand, to feel his skin.

“Did you, uh, did you want to sleep here?” Harry asked, his voice quiet and struggling against the sounds of the heater to be heard.

“I think so, yes,” Kim said. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, but why would he stop now? This was not the time to be bashful, he was a grown man. The bed was small, but that would only work to his advantage.

Harry winked theatrically at Kim, eliciting a roll of the eyes and a sigh from him. Kim began shrugging his jacket off, really feeling the heat now that he’d been stood in the shack for a while. He folded the arms in and set it down on the table beside the bed, making sure it was out of the way of the razor which sat on the table. Then, he hooked a thumb underneath his left glove and pulled it off, repeating the practiced motion with his other hand. As his hands hit the fresh(ish) air for the first time in far too many hours, Kim stretched his fingers out and rolled his wrists. A small nightly ritual.

Harry hadn’t budged from where he stood; he watched Kim with so much curiosity, Kim would have thought that it was his first day alive if he didn’t know better. Kim looked over to Harry and raised an eyebrow at him, questioning.

“It’s nothing,” Harry said quickly.

Kim raised a hand. Hey, I’m not judging, it said. I don’t mind.

“It’s just…I think somebody’s routine tells you a lot about them,” Harry said.

Kim took the few small steps it took to reach the bed, watching Harry all the way. “Is that so?” he said. He sat on the mattress; it was soft, warm, and old. How many people had this very bed held before? How many had slept here, free of charge, simply due to the kindness of an old woman’s heart?

“I think so, at least,” Harry said. “I could tell that you were meticulous the second I saw you, but if I only saw the way you just folded your jacket and took off your gloves, I’d have said the same.”

“Well, that’s not much of a description, is it?” Kim said. “There are millions of meticulous people.”

“Sure, sure, but that isn’t all. I can tell that you take good care of your things, which means you probably like to keep things for as long as you can. I saw that you put it as far away from the razor,” Harry pointed to the razor on the table, “as you could,” he said.

Kim nodded. “I’ll give you that one,” he said.

“That’s just the beginning, Kim,” Harry said, beaming. He really was a detective at heart. “You didn’t put it on the edge of the table, which means you thought about the fact that it might fall off. You don’t do things without a reason.” Harry had turned towards Kim, picking his legs up onto the bed as he continued to speak.

Kim was rapt, listening to all the things Harry had (mostly correctly) assumed about him from the way he interacted with the world. He nodded along, adding a little mhm or is that so? where appropriate.

“Honestly, the only thing that surprised me about you was your handwriting,” Harry said.

Kim was somewhat taken aback by this; his handwriting was quite good, he thought.

“From what I’ve seen, smart people usually have bad handwriting. People who write all pretty usually have too much time in between thoughts,” Harry said. “But you’re really smart and your handwriting is nice, so that surprised me a bit.”

Kim wouldn’t have categorized himself as really smart; he thought he was probably above average, but not all that smart in the grand scheme of things. “I don’t think I’m all that smart,” he said.

Harry shrugged. “I think so,” he said. “But maybe it’s just all that time detecting and stuff, you’ve just got a nose for what you need to know.”

“Probably that,” Kim said. “Besides, with all you seem to know about me, I’d say you might be smarter than I am.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Harry said. “I mean, you have to learn at least a little bit about how to read people if you want to be a detective.”

“There’s that, but then there’s being able to tell what kind of person I am from the way I put my jacket down,” Kim said, only slightly teasing.

Harry waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever, Mister can’t-take-a-compliment,” he said. He crossed his arms behind his head and laid back on the bed, looking at the ceiling.

Kim followed Harry’s movement, squeezing into the small space left after Harry had laid down. It was cramped, but he’d expected that. “I can take a compliment just fine,” Kim said matter-of-factly.

“Sure you can,” Harry muttered. He had clearly lost his train of thought. Up there in his mind, it’s less like a train station and more like a cramped city bus.

Kim followed Harry into the silence, looking up at the ceiling and occasionally stealing glances over at Harry. Once, they’d apparently had the same idea and locked eyes for just a fraction of a second; just a flash of affection. Neither cared to make a comment, instead choosing to bask in the warmth and comfort of the moment.

Kim didn’t have the words to say what he felt, and he was fast approaching the point of no return—if he hadn’t crossed it already. He knew that, come morning, if he found his legs tangled with that of the man laying next to him, he’d be down for the count.

Heart: That’s what you want. You want to wake up with the sureness that there is someone next to you—someone who will not leave you.

Was that all? Was it that simple? Would it always be that easy?

Heart: Simple, yes. Easy, no. You are complicated, as is Harry. You are humans. You are complex. You feel so much. It will not always be easy, but it will always be worth it. This, right now, this is easy. You must simply fall asleep and let the waves of the night carry you to the light of the morning. When you wake—hours before the man you lay next to—you will find yourself safe and happy. You will be afraid, but you need not be. He will hold you, you will hold him, and you will be safe.

Safe. That’s all Kim ever really wanted to be, to feel.

Heart: Yes. All you ever wanted was safety. How long has it been since you were safe? Months? Years? Decades? Maybe you never truly felt safe. But, now, you can be, if you only choose it. Will you choose safety, Kim? Or will you default to your old habits and run from this like a helpless animal? Will you allow yourself to trust—and to find safety in this trust—or will you leave it all behind?

I…I don’t know, Kim thought. I’ve been here, in Revachol, my whole life, and yet I’ve never been safe here. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt safe. He couldn’t keep track of the times he’d failed to fully relax, to calm down. Maybe it was true, maybe he’d never been safe.

[There came a voice from behind his heart, small and weak.]

Shivers: You were.

Kim shuddered, despite the heat of the room. Harry’s breathing slowed next to him, his eyes fluttering shut.

Shivers: You were safe here, with me. You have always been my pride and joy. I am still small in your senses, but you will feel me as long as you reside here. As long as you are in my arms, I will protect you.

[The city had always loved Kim, just not in a way that he could see. He called it luck, a repayment for the tragedy that marked his life. He called it chance, coincidence.

Kim could always find his way home, even when he was just a teenager with nothing better to do than wander and try to get lost. He couldn’t, for the life of him, seem to find a way to get lost in the streets of Revachol. He called it instinct.

He couldn’t seem to find trouble. He was steered away from the shadier parts of this shady city—only when he was off-duty. When he was on the job, he could only find trouble. Kim called it street smarts.

When Madam Revacholiere saw fit to direct a fallen branch through the window of a particularly nasty man’s motor carriage, Kim sarcastically called it karma.

Kim would be led to a gunfight within a week. He survives the encounter, no matter how badly those mutts want to bite at him. Kim Kitsuragi will not go down without a fight—from himself or from Madam Revacholiere. Kim was a citizen of Revachol, a piece of her heart, and he would not die for anything less than a legendary cause.]

Heart: As long as Harry is here, you are safe. He would throw himself in front of a bullet for you, just as you would do for him. If the end came tonight, he would be by your side into the blackness of the night.

Harry would be there. He would not go, would not die. Kim relaxed into the mattress. He let Harry’s breaths lull him to sleep. I want to be safe here, Kim thought. He slipped away into the waves of the night, trusting that they would deliver him to the morning.

And, as sure as shooting, they did. Kim woke to the light of the rising sun coming through the window and a sleeping Harry next to him. Kim stayed in bed, ignoring the internal clock he’d always followed. He would be safe there.