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The night had just begun in Revachol, and people far younger than Harry had begun to pour out onto the streets in Central Jamrock. While others take rides with friends with far too many people in the back seat, others have decided the bars and clubs in Central Jamrock are good enough for them. Harry is decidedly not one of these people, but there’s always the urge,
Electrochemistry - The URGE baby!
The urge to go back to having a good, intoxicated time on a good old-fashioned pub crawl. But he knows it’ll only be a good time for all of 3 hours until his restraint loosens and he starts looking for more of a high to beat the next. And then the next. And then the next.
Electrochemistry - And the next, baby! Come onnn, look, they’re all having a good time! Why don’t you have a good time?
Perception - Looking across the street to where a pub lies with great big windows that let anyone peer into them, see the warm glow that only older light bulbs give. There are a large number of people in tonight, this is not unusual, you know this, given that you’ve been to this pub before, often. Like all the other pubs close to home. Inside, you can see two people chatting away at one of the tables; they seem happy as they sip on their beer. It looks warm inside, so very warm, like the type of warmth you can only get when coming home in the holidays to escape the cold, nippy breeze. You only think this because it is cold, a bit colder than normal, it’s early for the frost to kick in around this time of year, but not unexpected. The girls who are waiting outside in small shivering gaggles do not look as happy as the people inside. Possibly because they’re in dresses that go off the shoulders and are short around the thigh, the type they’d all say to each other that they looked great in.
Empathy - They didn’t expect to be outside, but one of them looked like they listened to the weather report, wearing a brown leather coat with leopard fluff on the cuff and collar. You think it’s totally disco, maybe you should go and tell her it is, or better yet, lend them your coat?
Rhetoric - Hell no. Did you know you’re staring? You’re a 45-year-old man, and you’re staring at what are probably barely legal adults. Maybe you should stop.
Empathy - Yes. Maybe you should stop.
Harry turns, deciding that he has better things to do, because he does, in his right hand is a plastic bag with 5 hot containers full of good, sweet and greasy Seolite dinner. Along with two bags of complimentary sides, of which he’s only supposed to get one, but he gets an extra one because the shop lady enjoys his business, as well as Kim’s, even if Kim doesn’t talk whenever they both wait together in the shop.
Kim, admittedly, had made a face the first time around of suggesting Seolite for dinner, which turned into a rather silly misunderstanding that Kim had thought that Harry was trying to be comforting to Kim about ‘eating within his own culture’ which wasn’t the case. And after a very lengthy, 30-40 minute explanation about how he’d stumbled upon the takeout place, on a late walk back home and how he went there almost two times a week on average because it’s ‘too good.’ Now, as late 40-year-olds, they have it together every Saturday. Which was today.
Reaction speed - Hold on. Woah. Stop.
Harry skids on his heels, and he barely gets enough leg in front of him to stop himself from falling face-first from his brisk, absentminded stroll. He’s stopped outside an alleyway, where there’s a little lip for vehicles where the road and the sidewalk meet.
Perception - it’s to the back area of all the shops you’ve just passed. For food deliveries and staff parking, if there’s enough space for parking, that is. You’ve been behind one of these before, into the “back end” of restaurants, you don’t remember if it was a job you got as a teen, or if it was part of an investigation at a cop. Either way. It’s an alleyway. So, why are you standing in front of it like a nob?
Inland Empire - You’re about to catch a robbery.
Perception - What is that? Moving your eyes, away from the dark backs of the “back end” and closer to the tunnel that is two towering brick walls smeared in tags, graffito, and racist slogans, is trash.
Shivers - But it isn't just trash, is it?
Harry, admittedly never one to ignore something that piques his interest, riffles into his coat pockets for his key chain that has a surprisingly small but wide-lensed flashlight on it. Turning it on, he points it to the trash bags, the pale white light a great contrast to the yellowing street lamp that is far enough away that there isn’t any light that reaches the alleyway at all. Stepping forward into the darkness, he slowly- expertly- (as expertly as he can with a loud plastic bag full of hot food in his other hand) creeps around the trash bags… is that?
Drama - A DEAD BODY!!
Perception - an alive body.
Inland Empire - It looks dead.
But you know it isn’t. Based on the twitching leg and shivering body, it is, in fact, alive. If not very, very cold. But even in the darkness with his pinpoint of light, the severe shadows of the black trash bags shadowing the face of whoever he’s pointing at.
Perception - Even without the face, you know this boy, and you know it is a boy, because you know who this boy is. Too skinny legs with tattered and barely hanging on shoes, pale, freckled knees with scars, cuts, scabs and needle bruising around his ankles up to his knees. You take another step, revealing shorts you know who would be wearing shorts in this weather. You don’t recognise the top half, covered in a not-so-thick coat that was too big for him. And his face is covered, hiding between the brick wall and another trash bag. But just barely, you could see that red pop of colour when you tried pointing it at his face. You know him, he’s-
“Cuno..?” Harry’s voice is rough, despite the upward tilt of his cautious calling to the boy; this was definitely a child. But was it Cuno? It had to be. He placed his takeout onto the floor of the alleyway to free his hands as he slowly started stepping towards the kid. Crouching down, pulling away the trashbag that covered his face, pointing the flashlight above him, so he wasn't fully blinded. It was, in fact, Cuno. “Cuno, hey, bud, dude,”
Encyclopedia - Before he can respond, you’ve already taken note of the state of his body. He is still shivering a lot. His whole body shivers, not just his torso, but his arms, his legs, his hands, his fingers, his jaw. And then he’s still. And then it starts up again. His fingers are particularly noticeable, even kept close to his double-layered chest; they're stark white. He is attempting a fetal position, but his knees refuse to move any higher than just below his hips. He is definitely experiencing close to severe hypothermia symptoms. I suggest getting him warm. Now.
Inland Empire - Or he’s coming down from a high. Be careful.
Encyclopedia - Even if Cuno is on something else, he is still experiencing hypothermia, and the night is set to get colder.
Harry taps Cuno on the shoulder to get his glassy, dilated eyes to look at him. “Hey, Cuno, it’s me, remember? The cop from 41st, the guy who took down the dead body in the back yard?” Cuno’s eyes glaze over Harry; his eyes are red, irritated from the cold wind that tunnels down the alleyway. Harry looks around at the solemn, spare clothes lying around before leaning back to peel off his thick winter coat. The cold air hits him almost instantly, its cold hands reaching into the warmest parts of his back. Before draping it over Cuno.
“Hey Cuno, I need you to say something, literally anything. Or else I’ll need to take you to the hospital.” Harry probably did still need to take him to the hospital, with his symptoms and such. But it was enough to get Cuno to attempt to look more alert. Slowly, Cuno’s hands reach his knees to get his legs under the radiating warmth that was Harry’s jacket. Cuno attempts to look at him continuously now; his eyes, although frozen solid, have the type of fear he’s only seen in criminals who have a gun in their face.
Empathy - Correction, Cuno isn’t just afraid of hospitals; he’s terrified. Why wouldn’t he be? You don’t like them either, sterile halls, vaguely informational posters lining the walls, the brief but constant beep beep beep and whir and buzz and talking. The type of discomfort from knowing someone possibly died in the very bed you lie in, or shat in it. Either way. Horrifying stuff.
Cuno’s mouth forms words, but the only vocalisation is as quiet as the breeze that comes at them from the streets. It’s cold, very cold, and Harry can feel it, the type that nips into your bones to the point of sickness. “What was that?” Harry leans in, and he can spot the small quirk of that shit eating grin he remembers having while throwing rocks at the week-old corpse. But even then, it’s too late to know what Cuno actually said before he got the bright idea to say something else. In a croaky, airy voice, he whispers.
“Looking for rats to fuck, you-” whatever insult is about to be croaked into Harry’s ear is interrupted by a phlem-y cough that, from where Harry’s leaning over him, is the only way his head can turn. So he ends up with a cough directly in his ear.
Ew.
Rhetoric - Ew.
Endurance - You’re going to get sick because of this.
With a scowl on his face, Harry attempts to rub off the spittle that exited Cuno’s mouth onto his face with his sleeve. It kind of worked, at least it didn’t feel like he had been coughed on a minute ago. Harry inhales, exhales, and looks back at his takeaways. They are probably going to be pleasantly warm by the time he reaches home, rather than piping hot, which is nice, no burnt mouth for him, but the food would be disappointingly lukewarm by the end. He looks back over at Cuno.
Physical instrument - Cuno is about 13 years old, he is terribly skinny for his age, despite that being normal for most kids around the isola, he is particularly skinny. He’d be around 35 kg; you can’t really do a fireman’s hold, given that you still need to carry the take-out. While a hip hold wouldn’t be particularly awkward, you doubt Cuno would be at all happy… And an over-the-shoulder would look too suspicious to onlookers. Especially if Cuno starts wiggling about and struggling like he usually does. Right. Tried and true, piggyback time.
Harry rubs his hands in preparation. “Alright, I’m going to put my coat on you, and I’ll take you somewhere safe. Promise. No Hospitals.” Cuno, at the last point, seems to relax a little, but his shoulders are still tense, either with worry or with chill. Either way, there isn’t a verbal or physical sign that he is against the proposition. So, you pull him upwards, which is difficult because he wants to go back to whatever little warmth he had, rather than the cold air you’ve just introduced to him by moving him.
Savoir faire [Challenging: Success] - Despite Cuno’s hypothermic, frigidly unmoving arms, and his useless want for the leftover body heat in the trash bags. You get both his arms through the arm holes of your jacket. He seems content, now, to stay inside the jacket rather than the trash bags. But do not let go of him; he doesn’t exactly have the best strength right now.
Turning around with his back facing Cuno, while still keeping one firm hand attached to one of Cuno’s arms. Harry grabs on to one of his legs with the other, pulling him towards his back, leaning forward, forward forward, until Cuno’s body weight was on his back.
Savoir faire [Formidable: Failure] - Too far forward. Why on earth did you think as a 40-something-year-old you’d still be good at piggyback rides?
Reaction speed [Formidable: Success] - You reach forward with the hand that was holding Cuno’s arm, slamming it onto the pavement to stop yourself from actually toppling forward like a big dumb ape.
Encyclopedia - Apes are actually very good balancers, so yes, you are a big dumb ape.
Harry shoves Cuno a bit farther up his back so his legs are around his waist. His arms were already over his shoulder, and he told Cuno to hold on to his arms or else he’d fall on the ground. Sufficiently balanced, and a small shivering tween comfortably piggybacking on his back, Harry stands, and his knees crack, but overall. Pretty good. He leans down slowly to pick up his takeaway, and he can hear Cuno sniffing out what’s inside. After readjusting Cuno again on his back, he trudges the rest of the way home.
Halfway through this weighty ride, Cuno is no longer violently shivering and then becoming still for up to 5 seconds; it’s more of a constant shiver, which is good. It means his already heating up, between Harry’s thick jacket, and Harry’s bodies aptitude for it to run hot all the time, means Cuno would be a faster recovery than what he first thought. With the weight of the takeaways now in his mind, he is just then struck with the thought. How is Kim going to react?
Rhetoric - How will he react? How would you know? Well, you know a lot about Kim; maybe he’d be silently surprised. Or maybe he’d flat out tell you ‘no’ to bringing Cuno inside. Better yet, maybe he’d stick to protocol, call up child services and the hospital, Cuno’s hospital fears be damned.
Drama - He’ll kick the poor kid out! Like unexpected puppies! Or a sordid ex! Out into the cold, cold heart of the city!
Inland Empire - You know Kim, you don’t know him inside and out, but you certainly know Kim, hell, you two moved in with each other half a year ago! Wait- Maybe this might be too much for him. Shit. No. He wouldn’t, at the very least, know Kim would at least consider your feelings in that decision, and maybe let Cuno stay for a week- then take him to the hospital, or the Child Services to get him returned to his dad. At most
Drama - At most, you adopt him.
Rhetoric - Whoa, that is way too long a journey to be thinking about now.
Empathy - Well, you do have quite a nurturing side to you, apparently. But you’ll only ever suggest it if Kim brings it up.
Authority - So you two can form him into an amazing policeman! With your strong, leader-like can-opening personality, and Kim’s collected, calculating personality, you could form the next perfect strong-willed cop for all of Revechol to see.
Empathy - Or he could become a teacher.
Esprit De Corps - Maybe instead of being a Sorry Cop, you could be a Dad Cop. Nepo babies do make it far in the cop world. Could be the next Captain of the 41st district.
Empathy - You wouldn’t wish that on your worst enemy.
Reaction speed - You’ve missed your door.
Looking around after being deep in a spiral of thought about a decade worth of worrying from now, he has, in fact. Missed his door. Turning around, he stands at the door dumbly. He thinks about dropping the takeaways, but then the handles would fall flat, and he has a child on his back, and that was not something he thinks his keen reflexes can handle, not toppling over again.
Reaction speed - I wouldn’t recommend it.
Then, after staring a while longer at the apartment door, Harry remembers he didn’t say hello to the receptionist, too deep in thought. And then another idea pops into his brilliant mind.
Electrochemistry - Break that fucking door down!
Authority - It’s blocking your way, and you have a sick kid on your back. You're the hero here, not this door.
Physical instrument [Heroic: Failure] - You try and kick the door down, really, it’s kind of embarrassing, actually, that you did really try. But your balance was off- given you have a 40 kg brat on your back, and another 5 kg worth of food in your left hand. And the muscles in your buttocks aren’t properly warmed up, let alone used, ever. So instead of kicking the door down at the doorknob. You instead give a very rough smack to the right side of the door where the hinges are, and then almost fall forward into the door, but you still catch yourself. Maybe you should’ve opted for a good ol’ foot knock instead? Your hands are full. And this is a new apartment, technically.
The singular hard wham against the door is enough for the locks and the jingle jangle of the door chain and various other locks and things to be heard behind the door. Harry takes a breath. Kim will understand, right?
Well, he'd better understand, now, because he’s opening the door-
The light from inside their apartment was a lot brighter compared to the low light of their apartment building's hallway. For a brief moment, the only thing Harry can see when the door is opened is a shadowy figure, before he opens the door fully, and it’s revealed that it really is Kim.
Perception - Kim’s face is, as it often was, neutral. He still had his orange bomber jacket on, along with his white shirt, but his brown pants were swapped for lounge wear. If there wasn’t a boy on your back, Kim’s eyes would’ve softened, given you a small smile. You might’ve even attempted to go in for a doorway kiss, which, given Kim’s track record of avoidance of P.D.A., he would have swooped in to grab the takeaway instead. But right now? Kim is unreadable. Sorry, Harrister, even in your inhuman levels of perception, you cannot glean anything from him.
“You have someone on your back,” Kim states, still standing in the doorway, just barely peering over Harry’s shoulder at the boy whose face was comfortably resting below his shoulder, away from Kim’s view, save for the pale white hands that are in front of Harry’s chin, only subconsciously holding on to each other.
Perception [Heroic: Success] - Wait! Wait! I’m getting something… Kim is, in shock, not the type of shock you remember on his face when you’d first stumbled out of your hotel room half dead and fully amnesiac, which was more like bewilderment than anything. But the type of shock where he didn’t know what to do.
Inland Empire - Harry! You heard the man, before Kim shuts the door on you to avoid this lack of experience in this very specific scenario!
Rhetoric - You know he will not be doing that anytime soon. But you should, at least, explain yourself, instead of studying your partner like he’ll have the answers to why you have a cold child on your back.
Harry shifts his weight before now deciding it was time to look sheepish under Kim’s questioning gaze. “Uhh, you remember Cuno, right?” Harry glanced up from where he had ducked his head. He adjusts Cuno on his back again by doing a little jump to get him fully on his hips again, instead of where he slid to when Harry attempted to kick down the door.
Kim’s eyebrow is raised; he isn’t exuding his authority over you, but he still has the classic Kim Kitsuragi look of ‘where are you going with this.’
“Yes, the one from Martinaise. Who referred to himself in the third person? I remember him.” Harry let in a big inhale before closing his eyes and exhaling. Yes, this was one of Harry’s many misadventures, and yes, it was something they’d have to deal with now. “May I come in?” Harry asks; his back is starting to hurt from the kid he’s got on there.
Kim doesn't say anything as he lets his hand slip from the doorframe and steps back to open the door fully. As Harry trudges in, not taking off his boots in their nice, clean apartment. He plops the takeout on the coffee table before rolling Cuno off onto the couch, sighing happily to get that weight off his back. Looking back over him again, it appears that his symptoms are getting better, which hopefully means no blackened extremities, or worse, death. Before looking over to Kim, who had just closed the door softly with a click.
Kim stares. Now he really doesn’t know what to say. Harry doesn’t either; he can barely think to properly explain the situation when Cuno lets out a wet cough into his fist. Kim breaks eye contact to look at Cuno before Harry, in an attempt to get something out, blurts. “Hypothermia.” And Kim looks back at him, with a raised brow and a minute nod before he moves to go into the kitchen, running water and rustling being heard. As Harry just stands there, what does this mean???
Rhetoric [Impossible: Failure] - What doesn’t it mean?
Logic - Maybe instead of worrying about your boyfriend, you should worry about the boy.
Encyclopedia - experts recommend calling your closest emergency line if you or someone you know is experiencing severe symptoms. Since you aren’t doing this, experts also recommend dry heat, like blankets, and warm water bottles to gradually heat the core.
Harry gets up to go into the spare bedroom closet to grab a thick blanket cover, thick and impossibly warm. Entering the living room again, Kim has a warm, partially wet towel on Cuno’s forehead, and is trying to ease him up into a sitting position. Kim notices Harry out of the corner of his eye, and has yet to say anything about this whole thing, but Harry, who is still Harry, decides it’s best to just drape the blanket around his shoulders over the top of his jacket.
Cuno is currently too tired or too weak to fully complain about Kim handling him, so all he gets is a congested sneer. Eventually, however, he opens his eyes with a crinkled nose, and Kim hands him something in a small thermos.
“You need to drink this before you eat.” Cuno’s hands appear out from the blanket and jacket, holding onto the top of the thermos to feel the radiating heat off of the uninsulated lid before putting it up to his lips and drinking. Kim stares at him, either to make sure he wasn’t going to spit it or to make sure he was actually drinking it before leaning onto the couch to stand.
“Lieutenant. A word.”
Half-light - There it is, Kim Kitsurangi has had enough of your antics.
Perception - The way he looks at you, you still cannot tell what this man is thinking. You doubt you will ever be able to- but that doesn’t stop you from trying to find the movement in his eyebrow, or a quirk in his lip, hell, the dilation in his pupils, anything. But Kim Kitsurangi is decidedly a very blank slate. No anger, but no joy either. Not even that low-light satisfaction you’ve seen when you’re doing a particularly good job at cracking open suspects.
Volition - You’ll be able to get through this. This is Kim, he knows you.
Harry, after staring for long enough, Kim makes the move to cough into his fists. Harry blinks and nods and hurriedly moves towards the kitchen. They weren’t that far from Cuno, just a wall away with an open doorway. Kim arrives soon after, and Harry decides to keep his hands busy. He’s nervous, and when he turns around with whatever he’s grabbed from the overhead cabinets, he’s met face to face with Kim.
“Hello,” Harry says, the word dies on his tongue by the first syllable.
“Hello.” Kim parrots more firmly. He leans against the counter, arms crossed. “So.”
“So…” Harry repeats, and they stare at each other again. Harry shifts his weight to his other foot.
Conceptualisation - He’s trying to prompt you.
Inland Empire - you can’t think of anything.
Logic - Correct, even I can’t think of anything ‘logical’ to explain yourself.
Rhetoric - Try from the beginning, maybe?
“-Well, I was walking home from getting takeaways...” Harry started, and Kim nodded for him to continue. “And I caught something by the corner of my eye, and so I went to investigate, and it’s Cuno, and he was hypothermic, as if he was about to die, and I wanted to take him to a hospital, but he didn’t want to.” Harry took a deep breath, and Kim’s eyebrow was still raised and his arms still crossed.
“So you brought him here.”
“Yes,”
“Instead of a children's centre.” He’s saying it like the way Harry’s just explained himself is more ridiculous than the fact that they’ve got a kid on their couch. Probably because it is. Harry nods again.
“Yes.”
Empathy - He thinks you’re an idiot.
Rhetoric - He already knows you are an idiot.
And for the first time since opening that front door, Harry sees exasperation on Kim’s face. Better than nothing. Kim sighs and his shoulders droop as he moves his right hand up to his face, covering his eyes before rubbing them, his glasses simply riding on top of his hand. “Harry…”
Authority - Do not let this man overtake you. This was your plan. Keep it that way.
“Just!-” Harry interrupts, and then he has a split second to actually think of a rebuttal to Kim’s possible reprimand. “-Just one night. And then we can figure something out from there?” Kim looks up at him through his fingers that pinch his nose. He wouldn’t be able to see anything but a dark room and an illuminated green blob from the living room lights. But his eyes look surprisingly tired; maybe it was just the severe shadows created by the living room lights.
“One night, and we’re going to take him to the correct authorities,” Kim said with the type of finality that meant if Harry attempted to argue, he’d be hit with The Look. Harry tilts his head down in thought.
Authority - What are you? Some kind of sissy? Stand your ground!
Harry opened his mouth, but not to argue, and he could see Kim in the beginnings of The Look, but he pressed on. “He isn’t going to like that.”
Kim stops and sighs, pushing his glasses back into place to approach Harry. Harry knows a little better than to try and reach out to hug him, so he settles for staring.
“I don’t think he would enjoy street life in Jamrock either,” Kim says with all too knowing eyes. Harry nods because he couldn’t say much about street life; he doesn’t remember anything clearly that happened 2 years ago.
The moment is broken by the loud plastic rustling from the living room. They both look towards the doorway before Kim moves to pass Harry to the drawers. As he passes, he mumbles, “he is eating your dinner, not mine.” And Harry, like the wonderful partner he is, nods and moves into the living room with Cuno. The first container was fried pork slathered in sweet sauce with bits of chilli flakes in it. Cuno, with his lack of utensils, has opted to hold up a perfectly (if not slightly colder) hot dripping pork piece with his bare hands. He is caught in the middle of his act.
Harry raises his brow at the boy, who, out of spite, puts it in his mouth anyway. Harry sighs and reaches over to the now cool, damp towel on the couch's armrest and chucks it to Cuno. “Wipe your hands, Kim’s getting cutlery.” He sits on the couch next to where the slowly depressing layer of thick jacket and blanket sits, no longer supported by Cuno, who sat cross-legged on the floor. “And get back under the blankets, you're still freezing.” Harry checks with the backend of his hand to Cuno’s neck, at which point, with Cuno’s sticky, saucy hand, he slaps it away.
“Don’t tell me what to do pig-fag.” Cuno’s face scrunched up into his usual snarl when he was told to do something, which Harry had done twice now.
Authority - Did he just..? Oh, he did. As head of this household, you can be having a kid punch you up.
Rhetoric - you aren’t their dad, Harry.
Harry rolls his eyes at the childish petulance Cuno often exudes, and again points to the towel. Cuno rolls his eyes and looks down at the towel before wiping his fingers off and throwing it back at Harry.
Reaction Time [Medium: Success] - You catch the wet cloth, and spare your face from the disgusting, wet sticky sauce that was on it. You fold it up and place it on the end table.
Encyclopedia - Maybe you should educate the boy on the proper terms; it may be beneficial to expand his vocabulary beyond the use of ‘fag’ and ‘faggot’; pig can stay, however, he knows plenty of words for cops.
Esprit De Corp - despite your loss of memory, the amount of words he had for cops was no doubt very impressive, perhaps the boy even invented some of the words for them.
Encyclopedia - … As I was saying, perhaps you should instead educate him on the fact that you weren’t really a fag, but in fact a bi-sexual. And that fag wasn’t really a positive term for anyone in the community, unless of course, used to reclaim. As per the small handful of books you’ve picked up when relearning about what you did and did not like, perhaps you should give one to him?
Rhetoric - Do not.
Kim interrupts his deep dive on the ethics of the f-slur and proper terminology with a firm. “Not right now, Lieutenant.” Harry hadn’t even heard him come in, having already given Cuno a fork and a plate, and taken all of the containers out of the bag that thankfully were still steaming. Kim turned to sit on the armchair with his one container of food. “He is right. At least keep the blanket on, you are still going through hypothermia.”
Cuno, like with Harry, scrunched up his nose at him and opened his mouth to say something before Kim had given him The Look. It was strange to see it not directed at him, as it so often is, but still, Harry can feel the vague want to go under the blanket for The Look to stop.
Volition [Formidable: Success] - Steeling yourself, you don’t. But barely.
Cuno tries giving back a look of his own, but even with the angered look of his scrunched up nose and glare, even in front of Kim, he looks like a child. Cuno eventually backs away from it and shifts around with a huff to drag the blanket down from the couch and around his shoulders. Kim looks happy with himself as he opens the lid of his dinner, placing it on the coffee table. They all silently eat, Cuno and Harry taking turns at loading up their plates with their forks before demolishing them all and going back for seconds. After the third round of trying all three containers, Cuno takes one of them and pours the whole of its contents onto his plate. Harry is only mildly displeased, but he’s sharing 3 containers with one small child, and he doesn’t really want to be called a pig for different reasons. Kim is the first to open his mouth to speak with Cuno.
“Why are you here in Jamrock?” He asks, after a while sitting with his food and not eating it. He’d been thinking up the question of least resistance. Harry recognises it from when they’d interview more reluctant people. Made it easier to open them up for more questions later. Cuno's mouth was still full when he answered.
“Cuno ran.”
Perception - You can tell, even if Cuno wasn’t looking at Kim in the first place, that he was lying. You’re not sure if Kim picked up on it, but you’ll ask about it later. When you’re both in bed, that is, if you’re not sleeping on the couch tonight.
Kim hums at Cuno’s response, well, that much is true, given that he isn’t in some house with his father, or hell somewhere with Cunoesse, where was Cunoesse? He spots Kim glancing at him, with a look of ‘not yet’. Which is bewildering to see because that look was only given when they were about to knock someone's door down or sneak past someone.
“Why,” Kim instead prompts, and Cuno leans back and sighs frustratedly, throwing his fork onto his plate, like he didn’t want to talk about this, which he probably didn’t.
“‘Cause! It was fucking shit in Marti! ShitShitShitShit.” Cuno grabs his fork and grips it in a fist, stabbing a piece of beef roughly. Kim breathes in to say something, but Cuno finishes with. “Shit.”
Kim breathes out, calming himself from becoming annoyed at the child. Harry sees why Kim was so amused when Harry was talking to him way back when; it’s always nicer when it’s not you.
“How long have you been in Jamrock?” Kim asks instead, and Cuno glares at him; he wasn’t getting anything more out of him questions-wise. And Kim saw, even after two questions, that he wasn’t getting any more out of him. He sighed, closing the lid on his food and placing it on the table. “I am going to go and set up the spare room,” Kim announces before heading off. Harry thinks for a split second that he probably is sleeping on the couch tonight.
When he hears a door click closed, he takes a minute before telling Cuno, “Tell me the whole story, Cuno.”
Cuno glares at him, the same way he did at Kim before spitting, “Why should I tell you, pig-face?”
“Because you were on the verge of dying of hypothermia, and Cunoesse was nowhere to be found, and you’re in Jamrock. Which is a particularly far place to walk to from Martinaise.” Harry stated, feeling a little smug about himself, he thinks Kim would probably reprimand him for doing the ‘can-opener’ routine on Cuno, but he really needed to know if he was to do Kim any convincing.
Cuno had put his fork on the coffee table (not the plate, causing more food to get onto the table), and crossed his legs. He stared at the doorway that led to the two bedrooms and the bathroom in the middle. He was silent for a bit, maybe checking to see if Kim had finished up the spare bedroom, but even Harry knew it would be a bit until he got that done, since it was their impromptu storage closet with a made bed in there.
“After you and your pig partner finished up whatever it was you were doing there, another fucking pig came by. Knocked on the door, Cunoesse saw her first, freaked and broke a window and ran for it. When the lady came in, they took me. Dad just fucking stared at her. She said something about emergency rehousing or some shit. Unfit for care- or- or something! All Cuno knows is that Cuno was put into the back of that car and taken fucking far, far away. Father than the fucking tunnels. And then they put me in this big house with a bunch of other kids. Cuno knew his dad was going to bust him out of here. Cuno’s dad was the most high-profile drug dealer in Revechol; he was going to bust Cuno out. But the fucking cunts didn’t believe Cuno. They all fucking hated on Cuno, cause they knew I was fucking better- better than them! I beat them all up! All of them! Fucking faggots.”
Conceptualisation - Cuno was lying again. You knew, as fiery and scrawny as he was, Cuno would barely hold his own in a fight against the bigger kids who had been left behind in homes. You shouldn’t call him out on this lie, however.
He pauses, looking deeply furious, and like he was trying to focus at the same time. “So Cuno ran. Haven’t found me yet. Cuno doesn’t want to be found. Not even by Cuno’s dad. Cuno’s king of the fucking streets here. Cuno doesn’t need anyone. Cuno’s the fucking shit. Cuno’s an adult.”
Cuno doesn’t go back to his food instantly, still staring at the bathroom door as Harry could see the cogs turning in his head. Harry doesn’t ask him again about where he’s been. But he does go back to the lukewarm dinner on his plate.
“Well, you’re welcome here any time,” Harry says, mouth full and staring at his plate. Cuno doesn’t respond, but he does see him go back to eating.
Eventually, Kim comes back, and then he leaves to go into the bathroom, coming out with various cleaning supplies and the more expensive things they seldom own. He then returns and shows Cuno the bathroom, explaining not to lock the door, and that even if he does lock it, he can still unlock it from the outside. Cuno didn’t like this and called Kim a pervert before leaving to go inside the bathroom. Kim only moved away once he heard the shower running.
He sat on the couch next to Harry, hands on his knees as he sighed. “It’s your turn on the dishes tonight.” He says, it probably is, but given he’d just cleaned a room for an impromptu child, he won’t say anything against it. Harry looked over at Kim as he stared at the bathroom door.
Conceptualization - This is your chance! Woo him so you won’t sleep on the couch.
Savoir faire [Medium: Success] - You casually, really casually, do a fake yawn, and stretch out your legs and arms outward, and very smoothly, let your arm drape over Kim’s shoulders, before pulling him in. Now say something witty! But cool.
Composure [Easy: Failed] - “So… Pervert, huh?” Harry says it with The Expression, and before Kim’s shoulders could tense up further from when he’d casually draped his arm around him, he hid his face with one hand and his shoulder started shaking a little.
Drama - that move was so bad you’ve made him cry! You’re a horrible boyfriend!
“Hey- Holy- Holy shit, Kim, Sorry I didn’t-” Harry, sweet, loving Harry, tried to rectify the situation instead, putting both his hands on Kim’s shoulders to face him, Harry’s face a look of great regret.
Conceptualization [Easy: Success] - He isn’t crying, he’s laughing… a lot. You don’t think you’ve seen Kim laugh this much since… since that ‘dumb’ office joke you said weeks ago, but still! That was weeks!
Kim, now verbally laughing, leans back into the couch, with Harry’s hands still attached to his shoulders, pulling Harry with him. He has a smile on his face and is covering it with one hand. Kim eventually sighs, the beginnings of becoming composed. “That’s your worst one yet, lieutenant.” Harry smiles back at Kim, with a huff of a chuckle.
“There is no need for titles, mon chat. It’s not like we’re working.”
“Mon chat? Mon chat? Lieuten-” Kim sighs halfway through his sentence when Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “Harrier du Bois. I do not need a pet name. I have a perfectly fine, short, and simple one, ready for use.” Kim makes a face, and he already regrets that particular set of words, in that particular way. So to put him out of his misery, Harry gives him a small kiss.
“Alright, Kim,” he muses, letting his hands slip from his shoulders to Kim’s forearms. Kim glances at the bathroom door, which is still closed. “I don’t think it’s wise we do this here, or now, for that matter.”
Rhetoric - One more…
Logic - But it’s never ‘just one’ with you, is it Harry?
Harry, despite his internal monologue, leans in for just one more, being stopped by a hand, and The Look once again makes it back onto Kim’s face. Muffled behind his hand Harry whined, “one more,” and Kim stared at him in silent consideration before telling Harry.
“Later.”
Logic - You know what that means.
Rhetoric - No couch!
And Harry gratefully leaned back until the palm left his lips and repeated. “Later.” With a large goofy smile spread across his face.
It wasn’t long after Cuno came back out, wrapped in only a towel with a thick scowl on his face he spat “The fucks got your piggy face all giddy for.” Before Harrier could reply, Cuno glanced between the two on the couch, and let out one harsh ‘ha!’ “Fucking knew you were a pair of fags.” Harry bewildered at the kid's speed of recognition, or maybe just a blind guess, and Kim, ever unshakable, told him there were clothes in the spare room. Cuno left to go change and Harry turned to look at Kim again,
[THOUGHT COMPLETED] – Kid Cop – [+2 Esprit De Corps -1 Perception] - A kid cop, quite a simple kind of cop. Most kid cops are trainees, still in school, learning. It’s only few that have a real talent for the job, the kind that most captains overlook unless given a chance to grow some years later. You, however, might just give them that chance early. The kid, you know the one, has had an aptitude you just couldn’t shake, maybe because it reminds you, of you. A bit too much really, keen eyes that are good for any cop, strong deduction of character. And the grit to keep hammering away at it till there’s nothing but the fine dust to sift through, that’s, the kid you’re taking a chance on. That is about an 80% success rate, and that’s just on your expectations, with the cop school he’d be 110%.
“No.” Kim interrupts his flow of thought, already seeing the near futures planned out and mapped like they were in the stars. “We’re taking him to the correct authorities.” he corrects, okay well, Harry can save that train of thought later then.
Harry nodded, and sighed. “Are you coming to bed then?”
“Of course.”