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There are things you want to say to him, but the words stick to every corner of your mouth like an invasion of ants. The Kim in-front of you looks like the same Kim you've been running around with for the last few days, but this Kim felt... different.
He's angry. Judging by the deep crease between his brows and the tense line of his jaw - he's fucking furious.
And you think you know why.
You've disappointed him. Failed him. Made him feel like everything you've done together - everything he's done for you - was for naught.
He sighs and removes his glasses. He’s exhausted. Because of you.
Drama: Oh, sire.
Electrochemistry: Screw it. This is your chance – tell him where he can shove it and let’s go crack a cold one with the boys in fishing village.
Composure: No. Stand your ground. You’re a grown man.
Empathy: You’ve really done it now. Look at his eyes, don’t you think he’ll burst into tears soon?
Drama: Better yet, get the jump on him. Work those tear ducts. He can’t be mad if you cry first.
Volition: Don’t do that. Give him a second. The lieutenant deserves that much.
Empathy: - and more, frankly.
Kim holds a hand up to your face, his expression stony. “Detective… Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that. Like a sad, kicked puppy. It’s unbecoming.”
Drama: Do not give in, my liege! In-fact, turn those puppy dog eyes up to an eleven!
Volition: Stop it. This is not about you.
Half-light: What’s stopping you from leaving? We don’t need this – we don’t need him.
Espirit de Corps: Wrong.
Volition: You absolutely need him.
Drama: Like you need air.
Empathy: Light and sound.
You swallow a lump the lump of anxiety building in your throat and you bow your head low enough to show Kim that you mean it when you finally say, “ok. I’m sorry, Kim…”
There was no harm in trying again and it looked like that extra layer in the form of a vocal apology worked because the lieutenant is sighing and shaking his head, mumbling to himself while his shoulders drop.
His expression is still firm but resigned.
“Good.”
You make yourself smaller. “Okay?”
The lieutenant rolls his eyes. “Yes, we’re okay, detective. I am still mad but that isn’t going to help us solve this any faster.” He pauses, thinking. “Just… come to me next time you feel the need, alright?”
There’s a spark of heat in your chest, bright and almost painful. Hope? Relief?
Volition: It’s both. Do not waste this.
Electrochemistry: Ugh. Boring.