Chapter Text
Harrier du Bois.
All he has is a name. The name etched into his skin, more familiar than his own, that he’s seen every single day of his life.
Harrier. A wartime name, so they’re likely around the same age, as soulmates typically are. Du Bois. Suresne, so he’s likely a Revachol native, just like Kim. Not that anyone would think the same of Kim based on his name.
It’s not much to go on, but it’s enough to form an impression of Harrier in his mind. A proud and noble man, forged through adversity and tribulation, facing the world alone in the absence of his soulmate.
Kim has filled notebook after notebook with his flights of fancy. He invents stories about Harrier du Bois, usually in the role of the knight in shining armor dashing to the rescue, sweeping Kim off his feet and out of this awful hellhole forever.
It’s the only thing that keeps him sane. He writes for hours on end, losing himself in his own imagined worlds and the hero that inhabits them. Intellectually, he knows that Harrier is a real person out there in the world somewhere, but he might as well live on the moon for all that Kim is likely to ever meet him in real life.
People usually aren’t too concerned about not meeting their soulmates. The same fate that wrote the names on their arms leads them to meet at the most opportune moments. In the movies, it’s always an adorably awkward meet-cute, with two people bumping into each other and just knowing even before they see each other’s names. In real life, it’s usually less dramatic but no less exciting when two soulmates find each other by happenstance.
People are always encouraging fate along as well. Impatient youths and frustrated adults hold meet-up parties or submit their names to be read aloud on the radio. It’s exceptionally rare that a person reaches thirty without meeting their soulmate.
Kim had turned forty behind bars without ever having had the chance to even search for Harrier du Bois.
Sometimes he wonders what Harrier thinks about him. Does he wonder why Kim seemingly hasn’t made any effort to find him? People don’t put quite as much stock in soulmates today as they used to. It’s becoming more and more common for people to get involved in temporary romances to pass the time, only for it to turn into a long-term committed relationship that they aren’t willing to give up once their “destined one” appears. Soulmate breakups, which had once been nearly unheard of, are becoming increasingly common as well. Many, if not most, of Kim’s fellow inmates have tattoos or burn scars on their arms instead of names. Others have no names at all, indicating that their soulmate had passed away.
Once in a blue moon, people live their entire lives and die without ever meeting their soulmate. Kim expects to be one of them.
It’s for the best that Harrier never meets him. People pity the ones who live their lives without their soulmates, but Harrier is still better off alone than having someone like Kim drag him down.
When Kim hears arguing voices echoing from down the hall, he quickly stashes his notebook under his mattress and pretends to be asleep.
“You’re asking for far too much here, lieutenant.” Kim recognizes the warden’s wheedling voice. “It would be an administrative nightmare, not to mention cause the loss of dozens of jobs for my staff!”
“They’re all benefiting from this corrupt system,” another gruff voice says. “They’re complicit. If they face consequences for that, I’m not sympathetic.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you, lieutenant,” the warden says placatingly. “But the systemic injustice reaches far beyond these walls. There’s no need for you to target us specifically in this lunatic crusade. Surely you have better things to do with your time?”
Kim tries to piece together the context of the conversation. If this man is a cop, then he is also benefiting from the “corrupt system.” What is he asking for, exactly? And why does the warden sound so nervous?
“You can’t blame “systemic injustice” for your actions,” the cop growls. “You’re keeping innocent people locked up for personal profit, and sending the real criminals away to be someone else’s problem. Is there a single actually guilty person in here, besides you?”
Suddenly, Kim understands. This lieutenant has taken notice of the way this prison actually works. The warden has taken advantage of the overcrowded and underfunded justice system, and offered to take on some of the burden of housing and feeding convicted criminals in exchange for tax cuts and under-the-table benefits.
All of this is fine in theory, until judges and cops start accepting bribes to arrest innocent people on false charges and lock them away after a mockery of a trial, never to see the light of day again.
Kim had been one of those innocents. He had been arrested on completely made-up charges. His sentence had been meant to last six months. He’s been here for ten years, and fully expects to remain here for the rest of his life.
“Every prisoner is here for a reason, lieutenant,” the warden says patronizingly.
Yeah, the reason is that none of us have anyone on the outside to fight for our innocence and freedom, Kim thinks bitterly. We’re the ones they can make disappear, and no one will notice.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” the warden says bluntly. “You’re far from the first person to show up at my door making these accusations. Do you think any of them actually care about the way things go on around here? No. They want in. I offer them a cut of the take, and they magically disappear. So just come out with it. Tell me a number that will make this little investigation go away.”
“I’m insulted you would even suggest that,” the other voice says. “I’m not here for a bribe, Mr. Fielding.”
The warden actually laughs. “Playing hard to get, are we?” he says. “You’re a tough nut to crack, lieutenant du Bois.”
Kim sits bolt upright in bed.
There’s no way. It’s a coincidence. It can’t be him. I must have heard wrong. It can’t be-
“I’m not playing games, Mr. Fielding,” the lieutenant who cannot possibly be Harrier du Bois says.
“Oh, but you are, lieutenant,” the warden chuckles. “You’re playing a game you can’t possibly win. I’m not offering you a bribe. I’m offering you a way out before you destroy yourself and everyone around you. Let’s talk in my office, shall we?”
There are footsteps approaching. Kim’s heart is pounding in his ears. He wonders if he might keel over and pass out right then and there.
The warden passes in front of Kim’s cell. And walking right behind him…
Harrier du Bois, if this is indeed him, looks absolutely nothing like Kim expected. His outfit is garish, bordering on atrocious. His hair and beard are even more outrageous. The overall impression is more of an aging party-boy than a straitlaced police officer.
Harrier glances in Kim’s direction as he passes. For a split second, they make eye contact.
Kim almost calls out. He almost runs up to the bars and reaches through them to grab on to this absurd-looking man and make sure that he’s actually real. He almost does a lot of things, but he is frozen in place.
And then Harrier continues down the hall, and Kim’s only chance is gone forever.
Kim hasn’t written any of his fanciful stories ever since he saw Harrier in real life. He’s no longer a figment of Kim’s imagination, he’s a real and physical person, and it doesn’t feel quite right to write a fairy tale about the man he saw walking down the hall that day. The real Harrier wouldn’t exactly fit in the imaginary one’s place, anyway. It would be difficult to ride a horse in those ridiculous pants, for one.
His stories have been replaced with daydreams about running his fingers through those mutton chops and being offered that baggy green jacket while they’re out walking together and get caught in a sudden downpour…
These fantasies are far more realistic, and far more painful. Unlike Kim’s made-up stories, these scenarios are things that could have easily happened in real life had things been just the tiniest bit different. The almost is what hurts worse than any of the awful things that have happened to Kim in these ten long, lonely years.
“Who’s got a visitor?” someone shouts in response to something Kim doesn’t hear. “Since when do we allow visitors?”
“Warden’s making an exception,” the other voice says, closer now. “It’s above our pay grade. Just go get Kitsuragi already.”
Kim nearly chokes on his own spit. Someone is here for him?
People don’t visit him. People don’t visit anyone in here, both as a general rule and because of the nature of a place like this. The higher-ups go to great lengths to make sure the prisoners here are all but forgotten by the outside world. Kim has never had anyone, even before this. He can’t think of a single person in the whole world who might have a reason to visit him.
Except…