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PERCEPTION (touch) — The cool wind is a sedative on your hot, alcohol-worn skin. A thin drizzle of rain hangs in the air, just enough to cool you off after running around Martinaise all day. You close your eyes, enjoying the refreshing breeze.
VISUAL CALCULUS — It’s exactly 22:00. You’re just in time for another debrief with your partner, Kim Kitsuragi.
KIM KITSURAGI — The Lieutenant’s shoulders are slack now, more relaxed than when you first met. You watch his movements, the slow rise and fall of his chest.
INLAND EMPIRE — His lungs filling with air. You swear you see them glowing a little.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Exhale, and it’s like all the tension hanging in the air is released.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You know what would make this even better?
KIM KITSURAGI — Kim knows. He reaches for the Red Astras in his pocket.
INTERFACING — He flicks the packet open with his dextrous fingers, pulls one out. Cups it with his gloved hand as he lights it so it doesn’t get wet. It makes the motion seem secretive, an intimate experience between the two of you.
PERCEPTION (easy:success) — He really does just carry the one.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You’re a grown-ass man. You should buy your own smokes when you have the chance.
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — Maybe he’ll share…?
LOGIC — He won’t. He doesn’t even like to share his pen.
INTERFACING — It doesn’t matter — your attention strays from the thought as soon as it appears. You’re laser-focused on his leather-clad hands, opening his lighter, setting the cigarette alight alight in one smooth motion. When he finally takes a drag, the smell is makes you delirious.
COMPOSURE — Oh, man, he looks so good like this. The curling smoke with the dim light just makes him look even more like an Innocence. The tight muscles in his arms, his waist, glowing gold under the flame... he’s like a Perikarnassian statue. At first, you would think that Kim’s frame is too smaller him to look *this*…
AUTHORITY — Imposing?
INLAND EMPIRE— Saintlike?
ELECTORCHEMISTRY — Hot?
COMPOSURE (challenging:failure) — …yeah, fuck it. Hot.
REACTION SPEED — Unconsciously, you find yourself drawn to the source of the delicious smell.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — To his mouth.
KIM KITSURAGI — He’s eyeing you. Waiting for the question.
COMPOSURE — Fuck, are we that obvious?
CONCEPTUALISATION — We’re *so* obvious. The look he’s giving you is the same look he’d give to a dog begging for scraps at the dinner table.
EMPATHY — *You’re not slick*, he thinks. The corners of his face crinkle a little.
PERCEPTION (touch) — This close to him, you can’t bring yourself to think about anything else. You feel his body heat, the fire on his cigarette.
INLAND EMPIRE — The sunrise-warmth of his lungs.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Fuck, the cigarette won’t be enough. You should kiss him.
HALF-LIGHT — NO.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Why *not*? Look at him. He’s the perfect distance away. How long has it been since you’ve done this? You could just lean in, and—
HALF-LIGHT — No. No. No. You’re not allowed to touch him. You’re the scum of the earth, Harry. You’ll ruin him with your filth.
COMPOSURE — You feel your hands grow cold and sweaty. Think about how disgusting they would feel to touch, and your heart beats like a jackhammer. You hate yourself for even thinking about it.
ENDURANCE — What’s happening? Is this another *little panic attack*?
PAIN THRESHOLD — An electric shock runs through your body, holding you still. Every time you think about reaching out to Kim, the voltage kicks up and you feel paralysed. You couldn’t move right now, even if you wanted to.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY (impossible: failure) — Fuck this stupid shit. I hate all of you.
HALF-LIGHT — Good. Don’t let anyone touch you, ever.
KIM KITSURAGI — “Is something the matter, Detective?”
COMPOSURE — Oh, *fuck*. He can tell, can’t he?
ENDURACE — Of course he can. Hideous splotchy red marks cover your face. You can’t even bring yourself to stop shaking.
HALF-LIGHT — Look what you’ve fucking done now. Any moment, he’s going to realise what a sick, disgusting pervert you are and leave you.
EMPATHY (legendary: success) — Stop it. He doesn’t think that.
HALF-LIGHT — He does.
EMPATHY — No, he doesn’t. Look closer.
VISUAL CALCULUS — You look over his body language, like a suspect’s during an interrogation. You know how to do this. He’s not tense, he hasn’t moved away from you yet. He’s aware of the closeness, the shared air between you, and he’s letting it happen. Meeting your gaze…
COMPOSURE — …with *difficulty*. It’s taking conscious effort not to glance down at your lips.
DRAMA (challenging: success) — There’s a mischievous look in his eye, sire. Some unspoken thought. He seems almost entertained by your display.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Wait, so he *wants* to kiss us? What the fuck are we still doing, then?
HALF-LIGHT — It doesn’t matter what you think he wants. You know you can’t control yourself. You cannot ever let this happen. Best to get away from him now before you ruin everything.
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant waits for you knowingly. You try to determine how much of your inner thoughts he can actually discern. It’s hard to determine anything when he’s looking you over like *that*—
RHETORIC — Hold on, why do we have to do it? If Kim wants it so much, why doesn’t he lean in himself?
SHIVERS (legendary: success) — Many, many years ago, in the break room of the fifty-seventh precinct, Junior Officer Kim Kitsuragi sits down to lunch. Across the room, Captain Armand ’Ace’ Lefebvre chainsmokes a pack of Smokes Tiomouturi.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — An old-fashioned, sweet-smelling brand, favoured by older customers. This is a man of *tradition* — he will stick by his ways for the rest of his life, no matter how much it hurts.
SHIVERS — It’s almost painful, watching cigarette after cigarette disappear in his shaking hands. Every few weeks or so, he boldly announces that this is his last smoke of his life. He believes it, too, though no one else does. But no matter how thorough his faith, he always, always reaches for the next one. Then the next. Then the next. More and more each time he promises to stop.
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — You’d be hard-pressed to find a Jamrock cop who doesn’t rely on some kind of substance to get through his shift. In precincts like yours, you could even say that cigarettes are the *health-conscious* option.
SHIVERS — But not for Captain Lefebvre. He knows the tar coating his lungs will kill him soon.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — The junior officer has already his one today. He wants another one. Really fucking badly. Watching all those succulent smokes go to waste on this man who will certainly be dead soon only makes it worse.
INLAND EMPIRE — He observes the conflict closely. The battle between what his colleague wants and what he needs. His wants win day after day.
EMPATHY — The Captain is weak, he decides. I want it too, but I can control myself. I don’t succumb to my base desires like some kind of animal.
RHETORIC — That’s not how addiction works. At all.
SHIVERS — Kim knows that. Of course he knows that. Still, he watches him reach for one after the other, sitting diligently in his place. Another cigarette would feel good, but control feels better. And once again, something in the private corners of his mind whispers — I am better than this man.
EMPATHY — It’s the same private thought that keeps him from quitting now. He knows, too, that it would be easier than what he’s doing now. Keeping himself staved, feeding into his wants only once per day. But he doesn’t want it to be easy.
LOGIC — More difficulty means more self-control. More self-control means he’s better, saner, more competent than the others. And then, nobody can ever hurt him again.
EMPATHY — You see him now, standing close to you, letting himself feel the proximity. The closer he is, the more he wants you, the more meaningful it is when he denies himself.
RHETORIC (medium:success) — If I can control myself now, he thinks, that means I will be better than all the other homosexuals. The hedonistic, over-emotional faggots. Everyone will see I’m not one of them.
EMPATHY — He doesn’t *really* hate homosexuals. But still, the mantra plays in his head, flowing through him, holding his muscles taut like a bowstring — I won’t succumb to my base desires. I’m not an animal. I can control myself.
PAIN THERESHOLD — It hurts. It hurts so, so much that you cannot just reach out and hold each other. You’d be so much happier if you just let it happen — you *both* know it.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA — The thing about desire is that it’s stronger when it’s not totally satisfied.
HALF-LIGHT — But it can’t be satisfied. You’re both held in place by your fears.
REACTION SPEED — Oh, god, how long has it been since we’ve spoken? Didn’t he ask us a question?
VISUAL CALCULUS (medium:failure) — Uhh…
REACTION SPEED — SAY SOMETHING!
YOU — “Kim, can I have some?” You point to the cigarette in his hand.
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant pauses. Blinks.
EMPATHY — He wasn’t expecting you to ask.
KIM KITSURAGI — His expression warms. “Of course, Detective.” Then, before you can register what’s happening, he puts the cigarette to your lips. He moves with a gentleness, as if trying not to startle an animal.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You all keep saying that he sees us like an animal…
PERCEPTION — His gloved hand is warm on your lips. His eyes are tracking every little movement you make, drinking it in.
COMPOSURE — Your reaction is only spurring him on. You’re a red-faced, stuttering mess compared to him.
VOLITION — More importantly, he’s letting you do this because he trusts you, Harry. This is a gesture of affection.
CONCEPTUALISATION — An intimate gesture. That thing was in his mouth a second ago.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You take a long drag of that wonderful, wonderful cigarette, savouring it, keeping it close like you’re trying to taste Kim through it. The nicotine sends a flood of relaxation over your racing thoughts. The contact makes it all so much *better* — you want to pull him in, keep him there.
COMPOSURE (legendary:success) — You flex your hand. He doesn’t comment on it. He’s no longer pretending not to look at your lips.
EMPATHY — This is hard for him, too.
COMPOSURE — But he’s *so* much better at handling it.
LOGIC — Years of practice.
KIM KITSURAGI — Still, something falters. He keeps his fingers on your lips for just a little too long. Stares just a little too much. Averts his dark eyes too quickly, looking out towards the city, trying to steady his breathing.
PAIN THERESHOLD — His absence leaves you hollow. The cold air on your lips makes you shudder a little.
INLAND EMPIRE — By the time you look back at him, the Lieutenant is already someplace else. You feel the painful distance between him and you. You know deep in your aching lungs that this is all you’ll get from him tonight.
CONCEPTUALISATION — One cigarette. One glance. One moment of contact. Nothing more.