Leave It In The Sun 04
CHAPTER FOUR
It was cold and rainy the night you took the stage in the Whirling-in-Rags. The second after you won the war with Garte, you began to regret it. Maybe you should’ve let him stop you, but you never did learn when to shut up. By that point it was too late to change course and you barreled ahead.
Then Kim took a position in the audience front and center, looking up at you expectantly, notebook open and pen poised. What the hell was he going to be taking notes on? You forgot to ask about that later.
“Look, Kim!” you said, laughing nervously. “I’m going to sing karaoke.”
He nodded. “I can see that.”
And then he fell silent again. Waiting. Focused on the stage. Focused on you.
You sang your heart out that night. Put everything you had into it, everything you lost, all for an audience of one. By the end of the song you realized that that’s all that actually mattered to you anyway. Fuck everyone else, you had Kim Kitsuragi enraptured by your sad-ass song for about two minutes.
“I dedicate this song,” you said confidently into the mic, booming through the scattered applause, “to my partner, Kim Kitsuragi.”
He gave you a small smile and turned away. That was the first moment he took his eyes off you the whole time you were on stage.
Then the two of you left to talk to Joyce about…something. You can’t even remember what it was now. What you do remember is the way the cold breeze ruffled his hair and how he kept tugging at the collar of his jacket to keep out the rain and how you suddenly became aware that you wanted desperately. You weren’t sure what it was. All you knew was that it felt like you were being torn apart from the inside out.
“Hey, Kim?” you said, coming to a stop on the broken pier and gazing out at the choppy sea. “I think I might be one of those homo-sexuals.”
The look on his face seemed strange at the time, just barely visible in the flickering glow of the streetlight above. Like so many of his facial expressions--or lack thereof--you weren’t sure how to categorize it further.
When he finally spoke, his voice was slow and measured. “I see. And you just now figured this out?”
“Yeah,” you confirmed. “Just a little mind project I’ve been working on today.”
“Well, congratulations. Maybe now you can stop obsessing over this.”
“Uh-huh,” you said idly. Your mind was already full of a hundred thoughts repeating the same burning question, and before you realized it, one of them pressed its way out of your mouth. “Are you, Kim?”
A flinch. Just a tiny one, but you caught it. You could feel his eyes on you almost like a physical weight. “Yes. I am. Now let’s get back to the case, shall we? We have more important things to do.” Apparently you passed the inspection.
“Right,” you had replied awkwardly. “Yeah. Sorry. Let’s go.”
“It’s fine,” Kim answered, his voice softer now. “But try to focus on solving the murder now, alright? And for God’s sake, don’t ask anyone else that question.”
You nodded. You had no plans to ask anyone else in the first place. There was only one answer that was important to you and you already had it.
He gave you a small, encouraging smile and the wanting inside you howled and clawed at your throat.
...
The sunlight pouring into the living room from the balcony is perfectly aligned to hit you right in the goddamn eyes around seven o’clock in the morning. And unfortunately you managed to toss and turn enough during the night that the blanket that was over your head is now bunched up on your chest.
PERCEPTION: The faint smell of coffee drifts toward you from the kitchen.
LOGIC: Kim must be up already.
INLAND EMPIRE: Oh God.
For a few blissful seconds, you had forgotten the stupid thing that had happened last night. That you caused to happen. Why the fuck did you kiss him? And why the fuck did he apparently want you to?
INLAND EMPIRE: No, no, there must be some misunderstanding here. This can’t be right. Someone like him would never…
HALF LIGHT: Run. Just go. Open the door and leave. Go back to your apartment, go to work early, go get day drunk, it doesn’t matter. Just go somewhere else. Please.
VOLITION: You can’t just throw people away when they get a little hard to deal with. Liquor and speed are poor replacements for human beings.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Getting wasted is nice and simple. People are messy.
VOLITION: So are you. And yet they haven’t abandoned you.
INLAND EMPIRE: She did.
VOLITION: So what? There are still people in your life who give a shit about you. Try giving a shit about them back for once.
You spend the next few minutes sitting on the couch in a daze. Then you stand up and head for the kitchen to get some coffee.
“Good morning, detective,” Kim says. He doesn’t look up from his crossword puzzle.
“G’morning,” you mumble, yawning.
You go through the motions: get mug, pour coffee, add milk, stir, sip. You sit down across from Kim at the table. He gives you a little nod.
“Did you sleep well enough last night?” he asks. “I know that old couch isn’t the most comfortable.”
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” you say quickly. You don’t feel like admitting out loud that his decade old couch is still way more comfortable than the broken, piss-stained mattress back at your apartment.
“Glad to hear it,” he says.
“Look, about last night--”
Kim chokes on a mouthful of coffee. “Don’t--I’m not--I mean… Don’t mention it.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS: No, really, he thinks. Please do not mention it.
“I just wanted to apologize,” you ramble. “I shouldn’t have… you know, done that. I’m sorry.”
“Harry…” He sighs, resigned to having this discussion.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: For the sake of his own dignity, he’s going to make it as brief as possible.
“It’s all right,” he says, looking steadfastly down at his half-finished crossword puzzle. “I know it was only a…lapse in judgment.”
You chuckle humorlessly. “Y-yeah.”
RHETORIC: His or yours?
He takes a moment to clean his glasses, then looks up at you and gives you a small, careful smile. “Nothing’s changed between us, I assure you. Let's just move on.”
“Cool, great,” you say, despite the fact that you don’t really think it’s cool or great at all.
INLAND EMPIRE: Maybe you wanted things to change.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Of course you do. You want it so much it’s killing you. You’ve wanted it ever since that night in Martinaise, before you ever had the words for it.
When you arrive at the old silk mill, you force yourself to put your personal problems aside and throw yourself into your work.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: You have a duty to Revachol and her people.
Some of your coworkers seem rather distracted, but that’s not your problem. You flip through files, searching for the best way to make yourself feel useful today.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Several hours later and a couple of doors down the hall, Kim Kitsuragi sits hunched over eating lunch at his desk.
“Working through another lunch break, lieutenant?” Judit asks gently.
“Oh no, Officer Minot, not at all,” Kim replies. “No work, just lunch. And a good book.” He waves a paperback in the air.
“That’s a relief, Lieutenant. I don’t think I’ve seen you take a proper break in the past few days. A-and just Judit is fine, sir,” she says.
He nods. “Sure. Noted.”
“Say, I don’t think I’ve read that one,” Judit remarks, picking up the shabby little book.
“You’d probably enjoy it,” he says thoughtfully. “Feel free to borrow it when I’m done.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant Kitsuragi!” she says, smiling. “Oh right, did you get around to watching that movie?”
“Uh… Y-yes, actually. Last night after work.”
“How did you like it?” Judit presses.
“It was…nice, actually,” he replies after a moment’s pause. “I enjoyed it.”
Truthfully, he can’t remember much about it. The only thing he’s thinking about right now is Harry’s lips pressed against him, the way his stupid facial hair tickled, the way his touch made Kim’s insides melt. But he shouldn’t be thinking about that, should he? It was a mistake. For both of them. A warm, beautiful mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.
“Wonderful! I’m happy to hear that,” Judit says. “What was your favorite part, if I might ask?”
“The ending really tied it all together,” he says vaguely. “The scene where they finally kiss is just…” He trails off. Stop thinking about it, he reprimands himself.
“So romantic, yes?” she chimes in. “I love that scene too. But who doesn’t, really? It’s so masterfully done.”
“Mm, well, Harry was a bit more critical,” Kim says mindlessly.
“Oh, that’s right! Harry was staying with you last night. You watched…together?” she asks in a measured voice.
Shit, Kim thinks. “He watched some of it, yes,” he says out loud.
“I'm surprised he watched any of it at all. How sweet,” she says with a smile. Her tone is overly saccharine, almost motherly. Something about it makes Kim’s blood run cold.
“This might be out of line, but Lieutenant,” Judit says slowly, “I have to say I’m glad that Harry finally has someone who--”
“Officer Minot,” Kim interrupts sharply. His voice is a little too loud and a little too shaky. “What are you implying?”
Judit blinks quickly, startled. “N-nothing, Lieutenant Kitsuragi, sir. I… I’m sorry.”
Kim sighs and rubs his temples, agitated. It’s his third goddamn day; how is this happening already?
“I don’t know what gossip has been circulating,” he says quietly, “but whatever it is, I assure you it is baseless.”
“Understood, lieutenant,” she replies quietly.
“Thank you,” Kim says more gently. He feels a twinge of guilt about his small outburst. She probably didn’t deserve that, but he has a reputation to protect. “Um… Ah, so about this book…”
Judit’s face lights up again. “I’d love to hear about it, sir. You know, the author also wrote…”
…
The office is stuffy, and you are desperate to stretch your legs and get some fresh air.
INLAND EMPIRE: You feel so useless and trapped in this room.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Cramped. Claustrophobic.
“Hey, what’re you still doing here? Jean left a few minutes ago.”
Chester is leaning on your desk, looking down at you. He seems more honestly curious than shit-stirring right now. A rare sight.
HALF LIGHT: What? Jean is working without you?
AUTHORITY: Who the hell does he think he is? You’re the reason he was promoted to his current position in the first place.
You push past Chester and storm out of the room, breaking into a run once you reach the hallway. Maybe you can catch up to him. It takes a while for that shitty old motor carriage of his to get moving, especially on unseasonably chilly days like this one.
You burst through the side doors to the covered parking lot where the precinct’s small fleet of carriages sit in storage. As luck would have it, Jean is standing near the road gazing out at the rain-soaked pavement, smoking a cigarette. Not far away, you hear the whine of a motor carriage engine warming up.
“Jean, you fucking asshole,” you yell.
He glances over his shoulder at you, then looks back at the street with a sigh.
AUTHORITY: Make. Him. Pay. Attention. To. You.
You grab his shoulder and yank him back toward you.
“I’m fucking talking to you! What the hell is this? You’re just gonna go off on your own?”
“It’s the Leslie case, shitkid,” Jean says, rolling his eyes. He brushes your hand off. “And you know what? Getting wasted at work and trashing the fucking office wasn’t much help the other day!”
HALF LIGHT: A cold knife of dread pierces all the way through you, leaving you hollow.
LOGIC: You remember getting drunk, but…
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Is that what you did afterward?
“Oh, forgot about that, did you? Convenient,” he snarls. “Then I’m guessing you’ve forgotten about trying to punch me in the fucking face too.”
“I…” you trail off, trying to remember.
HALF LIGHT: What if he’s just fucking with you?
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: It’s a lie. You’d land that punch.
AUTHORITY: You came here for a reason, don’t let him derail the conversation. Focus.
“Well, if I did, then it’s probably because you deserved it!” you insist.
HALF LIGHT: That’s right, double down. Good plan.
Jean just gives you a tired look. “You know what? Yeah. You’re right. At this point, I really do.” He exhales long and hard, then throws his cigarette on the ground and steps on it.
The rain begins to pound noisily on the tin roof above as you and Jean stare each other down silently. You feel cold suddenly.
EMPATHY: In another life, this man cared for you. Your memories of that version of him are in tatters now, but you’ve been told that it was real.
INLAND EMPIRE: It’s hard to believe now. But you do believe it, because otherwise why would it hurt so much?
EMPATHY: Whatever affection, kindness, or goodwill that he once harbored for you has long since crumbled away. He looks at you and feels nothing, not even hate. He’s too exhausted for that.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: This man is no longer your brother.
“I… I’m sorry.”
“Harry, just go back inside,” he tells you. “If you’re looking for an excuse to get drunk, I’m not going to give it to you. You can find one on your own, I’m sure.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You don’t need an excuse for that.
INLAND EMPIRE: Then why do you keep finding ways to cause yourself so much pain that you can’t bear to stay conscious any longer?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s called partying.
VOLITION: It’s not.
Jean leaves, and you let him. You stay in the parking lot for a long time afterward, chain-smoking and listening to the rain. You haven’t smoked like this in a while, but you’re not sure what else to do to keep the impulse to drink at bay.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Why deny yourself? You’ve still got some Commodore Red in your personal stash under your desk. Maybe some other shit too.
God, you wish you could. But you can’t.
INLAND EMPIRE: You keep thinking about what Jean told you. Who else watched you upend your desk and throw punches? Who else might you have picked fights with? Mack? No, Mack would’ve kicked your ass. Chester? Did Judit watch your drunken rampage in horror? Did Kim?
VOLITION: You can’t keep this up for much longer, Harry.
…
ESPRIT DE CORPS: It’s late afternoon and Kim Kitsuragi is wrapping up all the loose ends he can before his shift ends. He’s still got an hour and a half or so, but he likes to be thorough and that takes time. He’s making good progress until he is unfortunately interrupted by an unusual visitor.
“Kitsuragi,” Jean Vicquemare says, “may I have a word with you?”
Kim hesitates. “Sure. Please, sit down.”
Jean takes a seat on the other side of the desk across from Kim. He’s damp with rain and smells like stale smoke and looks like he’s never craved death quite as much as he does today. Considering the way he normally looks, this is quite an impressive feat.
“I’ll get straight to the point: I talked to Captain Pryce a few minutes ago, and long story short, he’s sticking you with Du Bois now.”
“But I thought you were his partner,” Kim says.
“Organizational reshuffling,” Jean says, waving his hand. He doesn’t want to talk about it.
Kim nods. “That’s fine with me. Um, did Captain Pryce send you to notify me? That’s not how we’d do it at the 57th, but--”
“No, you see, you’re a good man, Kitsuragi and I just thought ‘hey, this guy probably deserves a heads up about what he’s in for’, you know?” Jean says, looking Kim right in the eye.
“I don’t follow.”
“I’m here to warn you,” Jean sighs. “About Harry.”
Kim gazes back at him, unflinching. “It’s a little late for that, I’m afraid. I’m well aware of him.”
“Funny,” Jean says. He doesn’t laugh. “You know, I was his partner for three fucking years. Three of the worst years of my goddamn life.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kim says placatingly. “But Harry and I worked together quite well in Martinaise. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine here in Jamrock too.”
“Three years,” Jean repeats a little louder, a little more bitter. “You spent--what, a week?--with him. You don’t know what you’re in for, Kitsuragi.”
Kim studies him carefully, unfazed. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s really not needed.”
Jean’s face twists in anger and frustration. “The stories I could fucking tell you, Kim… Wanna hear about the time he spent half an interview trying to ask the suspect out on a date? Or the time I found him mysteriously passed out in a pool of vomit next to his desk after we confiscated a shitload of drugs from a trafficker? Same case, by the way. Actually, come to think of it, same goddamn day! Almost ruined everything.”
Kim says nothing.
Jean continues. “Or the time he almost got me shot? Or fuck, what about just yesterday when--”
“None of this is as much of a surprise to me as you think it is,” Kim interrupts coolly.
Jean narrows his eyes and leans closer.
"He doesn’t give a shit about anything, you know,” he says quietly. “Don’t expect him to give a shit about you either.”
That’s not true. Kim knows it’s not. If anything, the Harry Du Bois Kim knows gives too much of a shit about everything. The man is a veritable fountain of emotional diarrhea, constantly thinking and feeling and suffering and being wonderfully, horribly alive. Was the old Harry really so different?
“Officer, with all due respect, I am perfectly capable of handling my own affairs,” Kim says calmly. “If any issues arise with Detective Du Bois, I’ll address them with Captain Pryce. Not you.”
Jean opens his mouth, then closes it. Then the anger drains from his face and he sighs. “Fine. None of my fucking business.”
“Glad you agree,” Kim says.
Jean turns to leave, then pauses. He turns to look at Kim one last time.
“Just know this: you’re the best officer to join the 41st in God knows how long.” he says, jaw muscles clenched. “Don’t let the shitkid bewitch you any more than he already has. We need you.”
The door slams shut, and Kim heaves a sigh. He glances out the nearby window to see a puddle full of soggy cigarette butts.
…
It’s still raining when you finally leave work. You haven’t seen Kim all day, which isn’t improving your mood at all.
INLAND EMPIRE: You fucked it up. You fucked it all up. You useless fuck-up. The thought of spending the rest of the evening alone and waking up to an empty apartment is crushing, but what are you going to do about it? Absolutely fucking nothing. This is the life you’ve made for yourself. It’s lonely and disconnected and miserable, but it’s yours to deal with.
You are so wrapped up in your own shit that you don’t care about the rain soaking through your blazer or the nagging pain spreading through your hip and thigh from the bullet wound you refused to take care of properly. The thing that snaps you out of your current misery and flings you face-first into a brand new miserable cesspool is when you arrive at your apartment to find that the locks have been changed and there’s a sheet of paper taped to your door.
PERCEPTION: It says “eviction notice (non-payment)” in large red letters at the top.
You sink to your knees, unsure how to handle this final blow.
AUTHORITY: Bullshit! How can they do this to you? You’re an officer of the RCM! You have to live somewhere.
YOU: Fuck it, I’ll be a hobo. I don’t care.
LOGIC: You tried that before, remember? It didn’t go so well.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Kim just stood there watching you crawl into the dumpster behind the Whirling. Baffled.
EMPATHY: You’ve never seen a single human being contain such an obscenely high amount of concentrated pity in your entire life.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: You crawled back out so that he’d stop looking at you like that. Stop wondering what the hell was wrong with you. You could see him coming to the realization that maybe you’re just beyond help, and it was terrifying. PERCEPTION: Behind you, the rickety old elevator groans, announcing its arrival. The doors creak open, and then you hear wet, squeaky footsteps coming toward you.
“There you are, detective.”
Kim exits the elevator, carefully holding a folded, still dripping umbrella away from his body. He looks somehow ethereal, lit up by the discolored halogen lights dotting the ceiling, like he doesn’t belong here in this crumbling slum.
“I was looking all over for you and then Judit said you’d… gone home…” He trails off, looking at you with that same goddamn expression, as if he just caught you trying to crawl into a second dumpster. Maybe you are.
You’re not sure when you started crying--was it before or after Kim showed up?--but that’s what’s happening on your face right now. In fact, it’s happening so much that it won’t stop happening no matter how hard you try.
You search your brain desperately for something to say. Nothing seems right.
SAVOIR FAIRE: You’re not gonna be able to lie or finesse your way out of this one. Homeboy caught you mid-breakdown. There’s no recovery from this.
RHETORIC: There is no right thing to say.
SUGGESTION: Maybe you should just say whatever comes to mind, then.
“Hi, Kim,” you say shakily. “I fucked up again.”
He crouches down next to you and gives you a grave look. “You mean…”
ESPRIT DE CORPS: “You've been drinking again?”
“I’m not drunk,” you assure him. It feels nice to not be lying this time.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Ah, but it would feel even nicer if you were.
You sigh. “Fucking should be right now, though.”
“No, you really shouldn’t.”
“Well, I’d have a reason to be,” you say, handing him the notice.
He reads it with a deepening frown. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”
INLAND EMPIRE: Whatever you do, don’t beg him for a place to stay. You’ve imposed upon him more than enough already. Just leave him alone.
“It’s fine, this place is a dump anyway,” you insist.
SUGGESTION: His place is so much nicer.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Yeah, because he’s in it.
SUGGESTION: Imagine spending every day with him, at least for a little while. Waking up to fresh coffee. Playing boardgames and watching shitty movies to unwind after work.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: There are plenty of other ways the two of you could unwind after work, if you know what I’m saying.
YOU: This isn’t helpful.
“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Kim asks, breaking you out of your self-absorbed daze.
“Sure don’t,” you reply automatically.
He shakes some of the raindrops from his umbrella onto the grimy tile and then gives you a little smile. “Well, my couch is still available if you want it.”
You struggle to hold back a fresh round of tears. It’s so much easier when everyone around you just hates your stupid, miserable guts. But Kim… Kim always treats you with patience and kindness, even when he's annoyed with you. You don't understand why.
“You’re so nice,” you blurt out.
“Am I?”
“Why are you so fucking nice to me?”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “You owe me some waffles.”
“God, I knew it, I’m just being used for breakfast,” you mutter dramatically.
Kim coughs. You could swear it was to cover up a small chuckle, but it’s hard to tell for sure.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Ugh, does he even know how cute he is right now?
“Anyway, if you’re ready, we should go,” he says seriously. “The rain has let up a little.”
You nod. He stands and stretches, then offers his hand to help you up. You take it.
PERCEPTION: Is his hand really that warm, or is yours just that cold?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Almost as warm as his lips.
SUGGESTION: You could ask for another kiss.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: He did say there’d be a next time.
SUGGESTION: Yeah!
LOGIC: Stop making it weirder than it has to be.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s for science! Inquiring minds want to know which is warmer: Kim’s lips, Kim’s hands, or Kim’s--
YOU: Oh my God, when did the third thing get added?
You’re not crossing that line again. That was stupid. But you want something from him. Something he would gladly give to you… but what is that? As you gain your footing, he pulls his hand back and disconnects from you.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You need another hit.
“Um, Kim?” you say quietly.
“Yes?”
“Think I could get a hug?”
He looks you from head to toe. He rests his chin on his hand, thinking. Evaluating.
“No,” he says finally.
“Aw.”
SUGGESTION: Give him your best sad puppy dog eyes.
“I’m sorry, but do you realize you’re absolutely soaking wet? Did you even use an umbrella? I took great pains to stay dry out there and it’s not my fault if you…”
You are staring at him with big, sad, round eyes. It’s kind of awful, really. He glances at you and immediately loses his train of thought entirely.
“Maybe later,” he concedes.
RHETORIC: Maybe later usually means never.
…
ESPRIT DE CORPS: About twenty-five minutes later, Kim Kitsuragi is sitting on his couch, reading the newspaper and trying very hard not to think about the fact that Harrier Du Bois is currently in the shower.
Not that Kim finds it titillating. Of course not. This is Harry, after all. Harry is nothing to get excited about… Even if he does have the thickest biceps Kim has ever laid eyes upon. That’s not the point.
No, what’s concerning Kim at the moment is the dawning realization of what exactly he’s gotten himself into. Apparently half the employees of Precinct 41 have already clocked him, so what kind of rumors are going to start circulating once word gets out that Harry is now his roommate?
And God, what exactly is Harry thinking right now for that matter? What does Harry want? It’s always hard for Kim to tell what’s going on in that brain of his. And he hates not knowing what’s expected of him, for better or worse.
Maybe the most important question at hand is the one Kim is too afraid to ask himself: what does he want from Harry? He wants to say the answer is “nothing”, but if that were true, he’d be sitting alone in his apartment in the G.R.I.H. right now, obsessively poring over case files to fill the wasted time between work and sleep. Instead he’s in Jamrock, continually making exciting new kinds of terrible life decisions.
...
“Shower’s all yours,” you announce as you exit the bathroom.
Kim looks up from the newspaper. “You’re wearing my robe,” he says flatly.
“Oh yeah, sorry about that. My clothes are still wet, and uh…”
It’s a little bit too small for you, mostly in the upper torso. It shows a little bit too much of your broad, hairy chest and your massive arm muscles strain dangerously against their silk prison, but at least it’s covering all the important parts.
Kim stares at you for a long time, silent. Then he nods slowly and looks away.
HALF LIGHT: Something’s wrong. Is he upset with you about the robe? Maybe it’s an old family heirloom that you’re desecrating with your sinful naked flesh. Maybe it’s his favorite fucking robe and he was planning to wear it, but you just stole it from him. You monster.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Maybe you should take it off.
LOGIC: Don’t be an idiot. Ask him if he wants you to take it off first.
VOLITION: You shouldn’t do either of these things and you don’t need me to tell you that.
“That’s fine. Not a problem,” he says. “Make yourself at home.”
“All right, thanks,” you say, plopping down on the couch next to him.
He glances at you, then suddenly suffers a coughing fit and looks away, burying his nose in the newspaper again.
EMPATHY: He’s exerting masterful control over every muscle in his face right now. He crosses his legs and pulls his elbows in close to his body, making himself as small and compact as possible. Like he doesn’t want to touch you, or even risk brushing against you accidentally. Like you’re poison.
INLAND EMPIRE: You are.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: No chance of that hug then, huh?
RHETORIC: See? What did I tell you?
“Sorry,” you say.
“Hm? For what?” Kim turns the page.
“Just in general, I guess.”
Kim looks up at you, his expression softer than it was before he disappeared behind the newspaper. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
INLAND EMPIRE: You do, though. More than he’ll ever know. More than you’ll ever know, for that matter, thanks to all the damage you’ve done to yourself with various substances. That’s the whole reason you did that damage in the first place. But self-flagellation isn’t really atonement, is it? Too bad it’s taking you this long to figure that out.
DRAMA: He’s being truthful, though.
EMPATHY: He doesn’t want your apologies. Stop offering them.
“I guess what I mean is… thank you, Kim,” you say quietly.
He nods curtly and returns to the newspaper.
“I mean it,” you insist. “I don’t know where I’d be right now if you hadn’t…”
INLAND EMPIRE: If he hadn’t what? Found you crying in front of your apartment this evening? Brought you back from the brink of death in Martinaise? Met you in the first place?
Kim looks flattered but uncomfortable. “Yes, well… we’re partners, after all.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS: But Jean is your partner. Kim was only your partner in Martinaise temporarily.
INLAND EMPIRE: A sick lump in the back of your throat tells you that maybe you can already guess what’s going on here. Jean’s finally had enough.
HALF LIGHT: So what? Fuck him. Focus on Kim.
LOGIC: You did ask Kim to be your partner permanently. Maybe he changed his mind?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Maybe he meant “partner” in a general sense. Like “life partner” or something, you know?
“Wait, what do you mean?” you ask.
“Oh, they didn’t tell you?” Kim says awkwardly. “I was informed that you and I will be working together soon.”
“Shit, really? That’s great,” you exclaim, a big stupid grin plastered across your face. “It’ll be just like old times. You know, the old times of two and a half weeks ago.”
“Mhm. It should be quite interesting.”
He’s still not looking at you, though. Still scrunched up, distant. There’s something wrong. For whatever reason, he’s refusing to just tell you what it is. You’re going to have to suck it up and ask outright.
“Kim, you’re acting kind of weird. Something wrong?”
“Weird?” he repeats. “N-not at all. Nothing’s wrong.”
“No, there’s something. What is it? You don’t want to work with me?” you press. “Or… live with me? I’ll stay out of the way and move out when I can, I--”
“No,” he interrupts quickly. “It’s not that.”
HALF LIGHT: Then what the hell is it?
He looks up at your expectant face and sighs. His eyes dart downward for half a second in a way that seems almost involuntary. “Detective, forgive me, but…” He looks away again, conflicted.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Your heart leaps into your throat.
EMPATHY: Whatever he’s saying is something that’s very hard for him to find the right words for.
“Y-yeah?” you stutter.
“Your entire dick is out right now,” he says very quickly. “You can’t sit like that in that robe.”
HALF LIGHT: Your what?
“Oh my God,” you mumble. Your legs snap together and you tug at the robe to hide your shame. “I’m so sorry.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Enjoying the view, is he?
HALF LIGHT: Oh God, what if he’s judging it? He’s looking at your dick like “wow, I didn’t know they could be that shape! What’s wrong with it?”
INLAND EMPIRE: What if he thinks you did it on purpose? What if he thinks you’re some kind of pervert?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You are, but not that kind.
The lieutenant can no longer hold back his amusement and is snickering quietly into his newspaper.
“Just thought you should know. Honestly, I’m surprised--it seems you take more care grooming things down there than, uh,” he motions toward his own chin, “up here.”
“Yeah, well…” You feel like you’re on fire. “Sh-shut up.”
He smirks and folds the paper. “Let’s call the landlord about picking up your things as soon as possible tomorrow.”