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SHIVERS — Summer air lies thick as batter over Revachol. Close to the ground, heat shimmers and pools, almost opaque. The streets are full of smog, sweat, the sour ammonia of piss evaporating from pavement.
SAVOIR FAIRE — Even in the evening, your shirt clings anxiously to your armpits like an overly drunk dancer.
YOU — Your apartment is uninhabitable until well after sunset.
RHETORIC — At which point it becomes uninhabitable for different reasons.
INLAND EMPIRE — So many things. You can’t bring yourself to move them. Memories lurk underneath and scatter like cockroaches when disturbed.
ENDURANCE — The cockroaches do that too.
KIM KITSURAGI — Kim, however, has navigable floors. And air conditioning. And a balcony.
YOU — And so you are here, four storeys up, poring through notes together.
PERCEPTION (SMELL) — Lavender and mint. Undertones of diesel fumes and hot concrete.
KIM’S BALCONY — Not a large balcony. Just enough space for Kim’s three herb planters, one table and two chairs. Mismatched - one folding chair he keeps outside, and one desk chair he contorts out the tiny door whenever you visit.
VISUAL CALCULUS — Unlike your apartment, rented out in more hopeful days, Kim’s is quite obviously designed for a single occupant.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — A single-celled occupant, yeah. At least you’re out on the balcony today. When you’re in the kitchen, you get all tense trying not to crush the little guy like a bug.
KIM KITSURAGI — This is the trade-off he’s chosen – the tiniest kitchen in Revachol in return for a balcony. And, of course, not needing roommates.
INTERFACING — “Privacy is a priority of mine,” he explains, voice serious, as he unlocks the apartment door.
SUGGESTION — “I don’t like having anyone in my space,” he tells you over the rim of a teacup, having just made you coffee.
RHETORIC — “I don’t see why solitary confinement is considered so inhumane,” he thinks to himself, probably, while inviting you over for the third time this week.
ESPRIT DE CORPS — Yes, to work on cases. You both need to prove yourselves to the precinct.
YOU — Three months since Martinaise and you’re still living down the theatrical suicide attempts, the forgetting your own name, the destruction of RCM property…
HALF LIGHT — Still fucking laughing at you.
RHETORIC — You’re on thin ice, Du Bois, the joke goes. Then a gasp. Noooo! The Coupris!
AUTHORITY — The joke used to go. Last time Vicquemare tried that one, Kim flashed one of those hard stares at him, and the words shrivelled and died in his throat. Nobody’s been brave enough to try digging them back up.
COMPOSURE — You haven’t thanked Kim, but only because it would embarrass him.
ESPRIT DE CORPS — Lieutenant Kitsuragi is merely advocating professionalism in the workplace.
KIM KITSURAGI — He transferred two months ago. He could be here a decade and still need to prove himself.
LOGIC — Two months, Harry. And you still haven’t asked him the question. What kind of a detective are you?
VOLITION — You are not going to ask him the question.
LOGIC — Since Martinaise there’s been no solid evidence, just traces of a pattern you lack the context to identify. You’re going to have to ask him eventually. What if it helps you solve a case?
VOLITION — It's a stupid, insensitive question, and it is extremely unlikely to be relevant to a case. You're going to embarrass yourself in front of him.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Ooh, are you? Sounds FUN. Ask ask ask!
PERCEPTION (HEARING) (Failed) — Wait, wait, he’s asking you something.
KIM KITSURAGI — “...what do you think, Harry?”
REACTION SPEED (Failed) — Oh, fuck, what do you think?
LOGIC (Failed) — Nothing. It’s hot and you’ve been working very, very hard.
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant sits across from you, one leg crossed over his knee. His blue notebook lies in his lap, and he’s absentmindedly tapping his pen against the cover.
VISUAL CALCULUS — A diagonal of sunlight rests over him. One iris cool and dark, the other glowing amber.
EMPATHY — The creases beneath his eyes soften. As they often soften, around you.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT) — It is too hot for the bomber jacket, but Kim has draped it over the back of his chair as a concession to his sentimentality. Black tank top. You are trying hard not to look at the sweat on his arms.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — The sweat glistening on his arms…
RHETORIC (Failed) — Say yes. Wait. Don't say yes. He’ll think you’re just agreeing, not listening. Say no?
YOU — “I disagree.” You nod smartly. “That doesn’t fit the evidence at all.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “It doesn’t?” A smile flickers in the corner of Kim’s mouth. “You’re sure? Because I was saying it’s late, and you seemed to be struggling to pay attention, so perhaps we could take a break…”
LOGIC — Oh. That does explain the closed notebook.
COMPOSURE — He’s barely hiding his amusement.
KIM KITSURAGI — He leans back in his chair. “I apologize, you’re clearly alert. We can go - “ he checks his watch - “another hour?”
ENDURANCE (Failed) — Absolutely not.
YOU — “Uh, actually, yeah, a break sounds good. And then I can do another hour?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “It's okay, don’t worry, detective. That was a joke.” He raises a hand in dismissal. “We're on top of things, I think, and we have our interviews planned out for tomorrow. We really should wrap up for the night.”
PERCEPTION (SIGHT) — He glances at the sky. Behind the apartment tower blocks, a faint wash of blue-grey, fading down to yellow by the horizon.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — Beneath you, Revachol exhales. A stream of motor carriages, flowing home.
KIM’S BALCONY — The proximity to the 8/66 also makes the apartment cheaper. Nobody wants to live next to a motorway except Kim Kitsuragi.
INTERFACING — Sometimes a coil noise will catch his attention and his eyes will widen. He’ll debate for a moment and then, inevitably, he’ll spring up to the railing and start telling you about an interesting MC.
EMPATHY — Kineemas always evoke a sharp pang of longing.
SHIVERS — Within the apartments – fingers dip into water, already wrinkled, an elderly man testing the temperature before washing his wife’s thin hair. Above, a toddler is screaming with excitement, and in the corridor, a man is pressing his ear to the wood of the door, pressing his fist to his glowing lungs. Below, in a fortress built of blankets and filled by sugared breath, two girls are trading secrets.
YOU — There’s nobody waiting for you at home.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT) — Sunset flashes on Kim’s lenses as he turns to you.
SUGGESTION — Simply asking you to stay is too forward. He’s looking for an excuse.
KIM KITSURAGI — “Do you want something to drink before you go?”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Oh, my god, yes, you haven’t had anything to drink in months, it’s killing you –
VOLITION — He means non-alcoholic. Kim’s not helping you relapse.
YOU — “Sure. You still got the Chaise?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Of course I still have the Chaise,” Kim raises his brows. “I don’t drink that shit…”
PAIN THRESHOLD — He is careful not to rock the table getting up, but the balcony is small, and the table jabs into your stomach. An apologetic frown as he steps inside.
YOU — Normally you don't drink that shit either, but one day, walking to Kim’s, the cans just called to you.
ENCYCLOPEDIA — Chaise Électrique - a brand of energy drink named for its dangerously high caffeine content. It comes in flavours like High Voltage Vanilla and Strawberry Death Spasm.
EMPATHY — Just lying there on the pavement, cradled in slightly sodden cardboard, like a litter of puppies. They looked too sad for you to leave them.
KIM KITSURAGI — Kim had been relieved to discover they weren't alcoholic, then bemused to discover they weren't even caffeinated.
VISUAL CALCULUS — Their previous owner probably abandoned them upon noticing the same. People don't drink Chaise Électrique for the taste.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Yeah, I'm with people. If you want to taste chair so badly, Kim’s been sweating in that seat all evening –
KIM KITSURAGI — Kim emerges with a can and an ashtray, places them on the table wordlessly, then disappears again.
LOGIC — Your frontal lobe perks up. Another piece in the puzzle…
VOLITION — No. No. Not this again.
YOU — What?
LOGIC — Smoking. On a balcony.
HALF LIGHT — Fuck this. Throw the ashtray into the motorway. You don't like not knowing what's going on.
VOLITION — You do know. He wants to smoke, and the balcony has good airflow. This is perfectly normal.
LOGIC — But how can you be sure unless you ask?
YOU — You click open the can to distract yourself.
PERCEPTION (TOUCH) — Cold to the touch, and sweating condensation.
YOU — You already know it tastes fucking awful. Chemical waste with an afterglow of pure acid.
PERCEPTION (TASTE) (Failed) — I know. I'm staying out of this one. Harry, you can just taste cold.
YOU — Thanks. Appreciated.
VISUAL CALCULUS – You’ve seen Kim’s fridge. It's not particularly large. Keeping a can ready for you is a significant concession to your comfort.
EMPATHY — Care, cool against your fingertips. Ice spreading through your veins.
KIM KITSURAGI — Kim returns with a teacup and a watering can.
YOU — “Tea? In this heat?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Yes. I am tricking my body into increased thermoregulation.”
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Lemme translate from nerd — he’s making himself sweat.
SUGGESTION — Oh, cool. Can we drink that instead of the Chaise?
VOLITION — No.
KIM’S BALCONY — The tea cools on the table, thin tongues of steam licking into the air. Kim waters the herbs - lavender, rosemary, mint.
ENCYCLOPEDIA — Hardy plants capable of surviving both intense sun and winter frost.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT – You insisted on helping Kim move to Jamrock, but he insisted on carrying up the planters himself.
EMPATHY — For such a serious man he's surprisingly sentimental.
KIM KITSURAGI — Between the lavender and the mint, he tosses a box of cigarettes onto the table. “You can smoke if you want,” he says mildly.
HALF LIGHT — Don’t fucking touch those. It’s a trap.
SUGGESTION — Or an invitation.
COMPOSURE — He’s acting far too nonchalant for you to tell the difference.
LOGIC — Simple solution. Ask the question.
VOLITION — Don’t ask the question, just take a cigarette like a normal -
YOU — “Is this a homo-sexual thing?”
RHETORIC — Next time, try not to phrase it like an accusation.
ENDURANCE — His hands stiffen in place. A spasm of panic in his diaphragm. The lieutenant lets it pass through him unremarked.
INLAND EMPIRE — A child caught doing something wrong, bracing for punishment.
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant says in a low, controlled voice, “Is what a homo-sexual thing?”
COMPOSURE — He’s heard this before, but not from you.
EMPATHY — Thick sediment of exhaustion underlies the even tone.
DRAMA — Et tu, Du Bois?
RHETORIC (Failed) — Quick, explain - it does make sense -
YOU — “The cigarettes!”
KIM KITSURAGI — “The cigarettes,” Kim repeats. His eyes narrow and harden.
ESPRIT DE CORPS — Officer, he is thinking. I have let you into my home. Don’t you fucking dare call me a slur.
YOU — “No, shit-shit-shit, not like that. I mean - the balcony!”
ESPRIT DE CORPS — What?
RHETORIC (Failed) — This is why Kim insists on planning out interviews instead of just winging it.
KIM KITSURAGI — “Uh... The balcony…?”
YOU — “Back in Martinaise, everyone I saw smoking on a balcony was homo-sexual.”
HAND/EYE COORDINATION — You count out the examples on your fingers.
YOU — “The man from the Capeside Apartments, the one with the unbuttoned shirt - always out smoking on the balcony - homo-sexual. You - I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smoke not on a balcony? - homo-sexual. Klaasje - smoked on a balcony - okay, ambi-sexual. But that was a rooftop patio, really. So I was wondering if the number of walls made a difference. And what way round it goes. Does smoking on a balcony turn you homo-sexual, or does being homo-sexual make you smoke on a balcony, or are they unrelated…”
LOGIC — And you're leaving out the most compelling evidence. Ever since that first night in Martinaise, when you smoked together on the Whirling Balcony - you have been overwhelmingly attracted to him.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You're not homo, so it's gotta be the cigarettes.
COMPOSURE — Kim’s mouth is hanging open.
KIM KITSURAGI — “Whooh,” he manages. Off come the glasses. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Detective. That is. Quite. The theory.”
EMPATHY — Relief rushes to his head, makes him a little giddy. It’s a real struggle not to laugh.
YOU — “I know the sample size is pretty limited, but you gotta admit, Kim, there is a correlation.”
KIM KITSURAGI — He observes you with fond, gentle curiosity. A smile is tickling the muscles under his eyes.
AUTHORITY — Then - a stiffening of resolve.
KIM KITSURAGI — “Yes,” he says simply.
YOU — “What - really?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Yes. Well. I suppose I can let you in on the secret.”
LOGIC — So there is a secret. Brilliant detective work, Harry, if I do say so myself.
INTERFACING — Kim takes his time fishing a cigarette from the box, indulging in your awed attention.
YOU — You hold your lighter up, expecting him to take it.
KIM KITSURAGI — He puts the cigarette in his mouth and bends down into the path of the flame.
AUTHORITY (Failed) — Yes, sir!
HAND/EYE COORDINATION — You don’t even think. You light his cigarette on instinct.
VISUAL CALCULUS — His lips are approximately two centimetres from your fingertips.
KIM KITSURAGI — Eyes softening with dopamine, he exhales luxuriantly, propping his elbows up on the railings.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — He’s so cool…
KIM KITSURAGI — “The homo-sexual underground use cigarettes to communicate. They act as portable beacons. The light can be seen from a surprisingly long distance - and of course, the elevation of a balcony helps with visibility.”
YOU — “Oh shit, what message are you sending now?”
KIM KITSURAGI — Kim glances at the glowing cherry. “Nothing, currently. Meaning is encoded in movement.”
INTERFACING — Squinting in concentration, he raises his hand and waves the cigarette in an intricate pattern.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Breaking news. His tongue is sticking out a little. You need a cig so fucking bad.
YOU — Mouth suddenly dry, you take a sip of Chaise and wince. Then you grab yourself a smoke.
VISUAL CALCULUS — If each movement correlates to a letter, that tight clockwise circle is probably an e, the most frequent letter in Suresne. But you’d need a much longer message to properly decrypt anything.
YOU — “What did that mean?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Urgent assistance required. I am being interrogated under duress.”
INLAND EMPIRE — The tiny glowing dot rises across Revachol like a star. Scattered cells of homo-sexuals raise their faces to the sky and instinctively begin planning a rescue mission.
VISUAL CALCULUS — No, wait, there weren’t enough letters for that.
YOU — You’re holding your own cigarette very still just in case.
ENCYCLOPEDIA — Signed languages often encode whole words in each movement. This might not be a direct transcription of Suresne.
YOU — “Cool, now show me how you say ‘never mind, call off the assault’?”
KIM KITSURAGI — His mouth twitches. “It’s okay. Once they realise I’m RCM they’ll cancel.”
COMPOSURE — The lieutenant is losing a siege against the urge to laugh.
YOU — “You’re making this up, right?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Yes,” Kim says happily. He takes a drag of his cigarette, very pleased with himself.
EMPATHY — Why did he even worry? He trusts you.
YOU — “Okay, so they’re unrelated? Smoking on a balcony doesn't make people homo-sexual?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “No. And - before you ask - the reverse is also not true.”
YOU — “So then why do people call homo-sexuals –”
HALF LIGHT — DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE.
DRAMA — You gesture helplessly at your mouth.
KIM KITSURAGI — Kim huffs out a laugh. “Yes, lieutenant, I get it.” He sits down to tap his cigarette in the ashtray.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — The table rocks against your stomach. Underneath, your legs make space for his.
PERCEPTION (TOUCH) — Slight pressure as his boots rest against yours.
KIM KITSURAGI — “The term dates from several centuries ago. From Mundi. It originally referred to a bundle of sticks, tied together for use of firewood. And so - well, cigarettes, they are sticks designed to be burned.”
ENCYCLOPEDIA — Ooh, this is also the origin of the word fascism! A single stick is easy to break, but when many are bound together, they make each other strong. Innocence Franconegro often used this metaphor to justify the subjugation of colonies.
KIM KITSURAGI — “When homo-sexuality was illegal, a common punishment was flogging with those same sticks. And eventually the word became a pejorative. Of course, it has not been a crime for decades now, but…” He contemplates his embers. “Legality and social acceptance are not always the same.”
YOU — “I’m sorry, Kim.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “It's okay.” The lieutenant shrugs. “It doesn’t affect me.”
RHETORIC — By this he means he has never been targeted for a hate crime because of his sexuality.
ESPRIT DE CORPS — When a person dies in an attempt to flee police officers, the officers involved are not technically considered responsible. Even if you have them cornered, even if you're egging them on. Some officers use this as a loophole to avoid paperwork.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION — It's not your fault unless you pull the trigger.
YOU — Is that why you’ve only got three recorded kills?
INLAND EMPIRE — You don’t know. Ruby was very afraid of you. Best not to think about it.
AUTHORITY — Repression is a matter of pride for Kim. If he stamps out his desires himself, the world doesn’t earn a perforation.
ENDURANCE — Saves the world a lot of time and effort. Thanks, Kim! Keep suffering in silence.
KIM KITSURAGI — “But…” he exhales. “You aren’t entirely incorrect. There is a link between homo-sexuality and drug use. Homo-sexuals are far more likely to use drugs. Or, perhaps, drug users are more likely to be openly homo-sexual.”
SAVOIR FAIRE — Because they're cool?
LOGIC — Because they don't have to worry about getting fired.
KIM KITSURAGI — “You see a similar overlap with other marginalised groups. Immigrants, sex workers, the homeless, the generally disillusioned. If society rejects a person for one deviant behavior, they have little left to lose by embracing others.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS — He is speaking as an RCM officer, not as a homo-sexual. The two do not mix.
YOU — As you’ve discovered. At least three clubs in Jamrock have a blanket ban on RCM members after getting raided a little too hard, a few too many times.
INLAND EMPIRE — Best not to think about them recognising you as RCM, either.
KIM KITSURAGI — He takes a sip of tea. “Hopelessness breeds apathy and resentment. Followed by a certain ‘fuck the world and my organs also’ mentality.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Oh yeah, you know that one. The bottom of a low makes such a comfy hammock, why bother getting out?
YOU — “It’s about power. If you don’t think your life can get better, no matter how hard you try, then trying feels like a waste of time. So you sacrifice the future to make the present tolerable. Or you say fuck it and make the present worse, too. At least then you're in control, right?”
RHETORIC — Second person is a strange choice here. It sounds like you’re expecting him to agree. The lieutenant’s not a self-destructive addict like you.
COMPOSURE — He hides it much better.
KIM KITSURAGI — Kim nods. “Yes. It is not an easy position to be in. But - “
REACTION SPEED — He raises his hand to touch your shoulder, then decides against it.
KIM KITSURAGI — “You’re doing well. I’m proud of you, lieutenant.”
VOLITION — Holy fuck. He's proud of you.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — In the darkness of his pupils – the flicker of fuel oil flames. You are hope.
YOU — “Thanks. I'm proud of you, too.”
PAIN THRESHOLD — He looks away very quickly.
YOU — “You know, if anyone at the precinct is ever shitty to you –”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Let me guess,” Kim raises an eyebrow, “I shouldn’t let it bother me? It's okay. I don't take these things personally. I’ve seen how they treat even their best detectives.”
DRAMA — He just means you, sire. The plural is a ploy for plausible deniability.
INTERFACING — Sarcasm is somehow imbued in the twist of his fingers as he stubs out his cigarette.
YOU — “No. I was going to say, tell me, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
ENDURANCE — No need to protect him. He can tolerate worse than this.
YOU — He shouldn’t have to.
KIM KITSURAGI — “That’s not… That’s really not necessary.”
YOU — “It is, though. Nobody’s treating my partner like shit if I can do anything about it. ‘Sides, I know you'd do the same for me.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS — Ah. Of course, the lieutenant thinks. You must have been listening in on his discussions with Vicquemare.
YOU — He talked to Vicquemare? Explains why he's been less abrasive with you recently…
ESPRIT DE CORPS — And Torson. And McLaine. Did you notice they’ve stopped trying to get you to drink?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Oh this motherfucker -
YOU — “I wasn’t eavesdropping, don't worry. Just figured you're the kind of person who would.”
KIM KITSURAGI — Kim adjusts his glasses silently.
YOU — “Anyway, I already told Torson and McLaine that you won't put up with their bullshit, if they harass you about pinball you'll quit. So the first one to even think about calling you Kimball is volunteering to be my next partner.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “You are interminable, detective.”
EMPATHY — It is his fondness for you that is interminable.
PAIN THRESHOLD — Tender, raw pain, like pressing too hard on a bruise.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — Like lungs claustrophobic after a run, straining desperately against the ribcage.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Like nicotine cravings. Guess who’s a self-destructive addict?
COMPOSURE — He adjusts his glasses, nonchalant.
KIM KITSURAGI — “Khm.” He clears his throat. “Given the topic of conversation, I suppose I should ask… where do you prefer to smoke?”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Who needs a preference? You're not fussy. Anywhere you can get your hands on a ciggie.
SUGGESTION — Psst. He’s not asking about literal cigarettes.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT) — The tips of his ears are pink, and he is looking out at the 8/66.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Answer still stands.
ENDURANCE — Shut up. Be a man for once. You like women.
SAVOIR FAIRE — So? They’re not mutually exclusive.
ENCYCLOPEDIA — Ambi-sexuality is the ability for an individual to be attracted to others regardless of gender. It’s not an unfamiliar word.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Son, you're not actually attracted to him. That was just the cigarettes.
LOGIC — Keep up, coach. Already disproved that hypothesis.
SUGGESTION — And you are definitely actually attracted to him.
REACTION SPEED — Which predates smoking together, by the way.
YOU — “Uh… you know me, Kim.” You wave your hands non-committally. “Street, bench, rooftop garden, balcony…”
KIM KITSURAGI — He nods, once, sharply. “Mm. I thought that might be the case.”
AUTHORITY (Failed) — What? This smug bastard…
CONCEPTUALIZATION — His smile gleams, steady as a lighter.
YOU — “Really? What gave it away?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “There is also a correlation between deviance and disco.” He smiles into the rim of his teacup.
SAVOIR FAIRE — Not wrong. Baby, your disco days were deviant as deviant gets.
INLAND EMPIRE — Your disco days are over, old man…
KIM’S BALCONY — The sunlight’s slipped away. Orange light clings only to the edges of leaves. It’s still so warm.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — His forehead and forearms are dewy with sweat.
YOU — So are yours. More than his. You’re better insulated.
COMPOSURE (Failed) — You realize suddenly that you stink of physically active man.
SUGGESTION — If Kim disliked it he wouldn’t be sitting so close.
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant is not even leaning away the way he does when you’ve forgotten to brush your teeth. His head is resting on his hand, angled in your direction.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Thank god he’s sitting so close. He smells like physically active man too. It’s delicious. You should kiss the sweat off his arms.
YOU — “Kim, what if I want this to be a homo-sexual thing?”
ESPRIT DE CORPS — Lieutenant Kitsuragi has a whole speech about the disadvantages of workplace fraternization. He gives it to patrol officers whenever their gaze lingers 0.2 seconds longer than statistically average.
VISUAL CALCULUS — He gazes at you a full twenty seconds longer than statistically average.
ENDURANCE — Expressionless.
SAVOIR FAIRE — Magnificent hypocrisy. Absolutely shameless. He’s so fucking cool.
KIM KITSURAGI — He tilts his head to the side, contemplating his next move. “Do you?”
HALF LIGHT — FUCK FUCK FUCK. No. Say NO. Before everything goes wrong.
AUTHORITY — Wait. Don't answer yet. Not until you know what he thinks. He’s trying to assert power over you by making you answer first.
RHETORIC — Answer ambiguously, then adapt depending on what he says next?
VOLITION — Calm down. Deep breaths. Kim deserves honesty. Don't panic yourself into self-sabotage. It's alright if you need a moment to think.
REACTION SPEED — Yeah, I figured this would happen. Don't worry. It's handled. You said yes immediately.
YOU — We did what?
RHETORIC — What happened to democracy?!
SHIVERS — HEAVY BOMBARDMENT FROM COALITION AEROSTATICS.
REACTION SPEED — Sorry. Had to get in there fast before anyone said anything insane out loud. Harry - don't overthink this - your instinct says yes. You've never wanted anything more.
YOU — “Yeah. Yeah. I want that a lot.”
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant's expression is unreadable.
YOU — “You?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Okay,” he says calmly. “I’m willing to try.”
DRAMA — An understatement, sire.
EMPATHY — The true intensity of his want is too much to express.
PAIN THRESHOLD — Looking you in the eye is looking directly at the sun.
KIM KITSURAGI — He looks you in the eye and pretends he is not placing his hand over yours.
YOU — You pretend you are not his, entirely.
INTERFACING — Precise, agile fingers lace between your knuckles.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Ridiculously delicate. Does he ever take off his gloves?
YOU — The true intensity of your want is about to make you cry. Or confess eternal love. Or something else ridiculous.
INLAND EMPIRE — One step at a time.
YOU — “Kim,” you say. It’s the only thing you can say right now.
KIM KITSURAGI — “Harry.”
RHETORIC — He uses your name more often now. A spark of glee, every time, as if he's doing something he shouldn't.
KIM KITSURAGI — A light tug at your hand, you instinctually follow - and he kisses you.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Calling it now, boss. You don’t need oxygen any more. You’re gonna be Elysium’s first oxytocin-based lifeform.
PERCEPTION (TOUCH) — His lips are dry and a little chapped. His moustache is softer than yours.
LOGIC — He probably uses the same product as on his hair. You’ll need to touch that too. As evidence.
SUGGESTION — Later. He’s not even opening his mouth. It’s been a long time for both of you. Take it slow.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Your palms crave his skin. Dammit, champ, I think we might be into him.
REACTION SPEED — Oh my god how slow can you be.
EMPATHY — The craving is mutual. Please.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION — Your free hand raises to his jaw. His cheek rests against your palm for one, two, three indulgent seconds.
KIM KITSURAGI — Then he pulls back, blinking.
VISUAL CALCULUS — His irises are almost dark enough to hide how wide his pupils have blown.
YOU — “You okay?”
ESPRIT DE CORPS — This - all of this - is a bad idea. Workplace relationships aren't banned by the RCM, but they're frowned upon. Involved officers are easy to compromise, prone to distraction, and susceptible to corruption. You should not pursue this any further.
PERCEPTION (HEARING) — The lieutenant always breathes very quietly, but the flutter of his lungs is quicker than usual.
AUTHORITY — He is trying to make a decision.
HALF LIGHT — Tensing up to rip himself away from you. No matter if it kills you both.
INLAND EMPIRE — No. The decision was made against his will three months ago. All that remains is signing the instrument of surrender.
KIM KITSURAGI — He relaxes. Nonchalant like there was never a struggle at all. “Yes,” he says. “I’m very good, detective. And you?”
YOU — “I’m — I’m fucking disco, Kim, you’re fantastic, you know that?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “I’m aware. You’re not so bad yourself.”
COMPOSURE — A rare flash of white teeth as he smiles, open-mouthed.
KIM’S BALCONY — Motor carriage whines rise into the night. The air is drowsy with diesel fumes, gauzy and dense with humidity.
DRAMA — O, La Revacholiere, will you not indulge us? A little pathetic fallacy? Let the taut heat break, let the rain fall…
SHIVERS — NO. IT IS NOT YET TIME. THE WORLD REMAINS UNBEARABLE.
VOLITION — That’s okay. You are increasingly able to bear it.
ESPRIT DE CORPS — Easier with a partner looking out for you.
SHIVERS — YOU WILL KEEP EACH OTHER ALIVE.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — Watering the herbs on the balcony, all through the hot, dry summer, so that when the rain comes they are still alive to drink. This is the purpose of love.
SAVOIR FAIRE — Don't forget smoking herbs on the balcony.
KIM KITSURAGI — A tiny exhale of a laugh, carried away in the breeze. He leans in to kiss you again.