Soft golden light streams in through the gap in the curtains. It illuminates Kim lying beside you. The planes of his face look almost unfamiliar unobscured by his glasses, and his slim but muscular arms jut out on either side of him as he rests the back of his head on his hands. He looks serene and relaxed.
You realise that last night you went out, and it is now morning and you don't have a hangover. You don't think this is something you have ever experienced before. You didn't do anything stupid, and because of that Kim is here beside you, not staying with you purely because of work this time. Sure, he might have said it was like an obligation to him, but he must at least not hate being here with you, sharing your bed.
You imagine leaning over and kissing him, perhaps on the forehead, or on the inside of his wrist. You imagine him opening his eyes and smiling at you, reflecting the love that burns in you so deeply.
He opens his eyes and gives you a sidelong look. "I'm not asleep. I can feel your eyes on me, Harry."
You take a shuddering breath, and your face is suddenly burning. Say something, quick. Different parts of you quarrel over highlighting or downplaying the romantic aspects of this situation. Kim doesn't sound angry or freaked out, in fact there is a touch of amusement in his voice.
"You look so peaceful and relaxed. It's nice," you say.
Kim closes his eyes and smiles.
For once, you're not seized by the urge to say something. You just enjoy the moment.
After a while, Kim rolls over to face you. "So, Harry, what do you normally do on Saturday mornings?" he asks.
"I… I don't know," you say. But I know what I want to do. Come here. You don't say that last part. "There's only been a few Saturday mornings since I lost my memory."
"Of course. I'm sorry."
"But if I had to guess, I probably wasted them being hungover."
"Perhaps it is time to start a new routine?"
"Yeah," you say. You're not sure of the intention behind Kim's words, or even if he has one, but there's more than a few things that you'd like to do instead. In fact, anything with Kim. Anything at all.
"I usually go for a jog on Saturdays. I go all the way along the harbour in one direction or the other if I have no other plans," he says.
"Maybe I could join you," you say.
"Yes, it would be interesting to explore different routes in Jamrock," Kim says, and you see his eyes go distant as he travels down the streets he knows in his mind's eye. "But what about your leg?"
You move it experimentally, and it twinges from this slight movement. You sigh. "Yeah, maybe I'm not up to running just yet."
"You will be. Just give it time," Kim says, reaching over to lay a hand on your bare shoulder.
You shiver, your skin tingling from the touch.
Kim gets out of bed. You spend an extra moment lingering on how his touch felt, then you get up too.
You cook breakfast together. This is becoming more of a natural thing for the two of you, you're getting in each other's way a lot less now.
"I should go home," Kim says after you finish eating. You knew it was coming. But now you're so used to him staying for two nights, and this seems way too soon.
"You could stay," you say.
He frowns, but there is some sadness in it. "There are things I must do at home. Laundry, for one thing."
"You could do laundry here, you could-"
Kim laughs. "The rest of my clothes are at home. Besides, I'll be back tomorrow."
"Okay. That's not too far away."
Kim is still smiling, and he shakes his head. You watch as he gathers his things. "I have to walk back to the precinct to get the MC, if you'd like to join me?"
Without a word, you grab your jacket and follow him out of the door. It's pleasantly mild outside, and quiet on the streets, as most of Jamrock sleeps in on Saturday mornings. You're glad he cut you off earlier, because you were about to say you could move in. You can't believe you almost let the words leave your mouth. Unquestionably, your life would be better with Kim around all of the time. But are you just being selfish? Is that what he wants too? You wish there was a way to ask him without it seeming overly serious.
You put your hands in your jacket pockets, and then remember the flyer as your hand brushes against it. You take it out of your pocket and show it to Kim. "So, do you want to go see this band next week?" you ask him again.
"Are you saying that you do?" Kim asks, and if he's keen on it himself he's doing a good job of hiding it.
"Yeah, I really do."
"I didn't think they would be your kind of thing."
"Well, my kind of thing seems to have only got me into bad places. Maybe it's time to try something new. You know how open-minded I am now, Kim. This is all part of that initiative."
"Mm-hm," Kim says, sounding unconvinced.
"And you saw how good I was last night at not drinking even though I had the opportunity to. This'll be another test for me. It'll be good for me. Come on Kim, say you'll go with me."
"Oh, all right," Kim says, and you get the feeling that he rather wanted to be talked into this.
All too soon, you arrive at your destination and you are waving goodbye to him. You swallow the lump in your throat, and turn around to head back home.
You think about what Kim said about jogging. It's clearly a big part of his routine, and if that's so, you want it to be a part of yours too. Your lives are becoming increasingly intertwined and shared activities are important for strengthening your bond. You ran around a lot in Martinaise, before you were shot, and presumably before, a holdover from your days as a gym teacher no doubt. Now you can only manage a normal, non-limping walk when you're on painkillers or very determined to hide your injury.
Maybe it's just mind over matter. Maybe you just need to buck up and get back on the horse.
You increase your walking pace. You remember how to run, you're sure you do. Tripping slightly as you pick up the pace some more, you break into a jog. You're doing it! And it only hurts a moderate amount!
Now it hurts more. It really hurts. You slow down to a walk and feel like a failure.
You walk past your building, telling yourself you just need to push through the pain. Starting to jog again, you force yourself to attempt a loop of your block. It hurts but you just need to get through this, for your own good, for Kim. You're on the last stretch, and your leg starts to ache intensely. Before you fall down, you're forced to stop. You feel yourself breathing hard. Your ability to do cardio has decreased since your injury. You've become lazy. You need to keep pushing yourself. But for now, all you can do is hobble back to your apartment.
The thought of visiting your mother occurs to you multiple times over the course of the weekend. But the thought of her encouraging you to drink puts you off. You could resist on Friday night because Kim was there for moral support. You're not confident about your ability to do it alone. Plus, she might bring up things and people from the past that you'd rather forget.
Even so, you torture yourself with the guilt that your mother needs you, she has no-one else she can rely upon as far as you are aware. You don't know how often you used to visit her before. Maybe it wasn't that often. But from what you've read in your case files and heard from your colleagues at the precinct, you weren't the nicest person before.
You're still working on becoming a better person. It's like Kim said, you just have to give it time. Besides, your leg is absolutely killing you, and the rest of your body is chiming in with its own complaints about pain. You need painkillers and a lie down. Being a better person will have to wait.
Your leg is still hurting on Sunday when Kim arrives, despite the painkillers and trying to rest. Okay, you have to admit it, you had another go at jogging earlier. You had to stop even sooner this time. You try to hide your limp when you let Kim in.
Neither of you are tired yet, so you decide to play a board game. You try to concentrate on the game, or even on just staring at Kim, but your pain keeps grabbing your attention. Your back hurts, your neck hurts and your head does too, but most of all your leg hurts badly. It's not fair, you're not even moving. You shift positions repeatedly, but it does nothing.
"Are you okay?" Kim asks.
You force yourself to smile. "I see my distraction tactics are working," you say, moving your counter in a way that makes Kim arch an eyebrow. You realise that move doesn't benefit you at all.
"Mm-hm," Kim says, making a move that capitalises on your lack of concentration.
Running your hands back through your hair, you let out a sigh. You don't mind losing to Kim, but you do mind being so distracted you can't manage anything but random badly thought out moves. You do mind the pain robbing you of a nice evening with him.
"Harry, we could leave the board as it is and continue tomorrow?" Kim suggests.
You want to say no, you don't want the pain to win. But you can barely focus enough to even assess the options for your next move. Maybe sleeping off the pain will work. Sometimes it does. "Yeah, let's do that," you say.
You lie down next to Kim and turn out the light. You're glad he's here with you, but even this moment is marred by an acute pain that makes you want to shove your whole fist in your mouth. Beside you, you notice his body growing still and his breathing slowing. He's already falling asleep. You should do the same.
You don't want to disturb him. But it's no good, you can't sleep. The pain is relentless and won't be willed away tonight. You try to get out of bed as quietly as you can, but the mattress creaks and Kim's eyes open.
You try to be quiet but every noise seems amplified as you search for the right pills. You shake some into your hand. The bottle is almost empty.
"I saw you taking those earlier," Kim says. "They aren't from Frittte, are they?"
Pills halfway to your mouth, you pause. "Yeah. They aren't. I know a guy… uh, several guys."
"Hmm," Kim says as you put the pills in your mouth and swallow them dry.
"Regular pain medicine doesn't always work on me," you say, sitting down on your side of the bed.
"You're in a lot of pain?"
"Always," you say, and see a brief flash of horror cross Kim's face in the darkness. People don't like to hear about things like this. "Sometimes it's worse than others."
"Like now?"
You nod. Kim's distress is obvious. But he can never truly understand your pain. It is pointless to try to explain. And you're embarrassed about trying to run. He'd probably chastise you for it if he knew that you tried, and why.
You get back under the covers and pull them up to your chin, rolling onto your side facing away from Kim. You've disturbed him enough.
"I'm sorry you have to deal with that."
"It's fine," you say. It isn't, but what more can you say? You don't want him to worry. "In half an hour that stuff will kick in and I can sleep."
"Half an hour? It takes that long?"
"Yeah, usually."
"What will you do until then?"
You snort out a laugh. "Oh, I dunno. Suffer?"
Kim goes quiet. You hope he is just tired and not upset with your flippant remark. He did ask.
"Maybe I can distract you." You detect a hint of nervousness in his voice, and wonder if he is worried he upset you.
"With what? A crossword puzzle?"
He laughs. "That is not what I was thinking."
"Then what?"
Kim doesn't answer. You try to guess what he was thinking, but your mind is consumed with the relentless pain again. How long has it been? Five minutes?
Something touches your head. You flinch instinctively. Then you realise it's Kim's hand. Kim's hand is on your head. He strokes your hair back gently and you shiver at the pleasant sensations. The pain is still there, but pushed into the background a little. Your mind has something more interesting to concentrate on.
Kim strokes your hair slowly, moving from your forehead, over the top of your head down to your neck. You find yourself breathing erratically and a pressure builds up underneath your eyes. You feel like you could cry. It has been a very long time since someone touched you like this, with kindness and care. You didn't realise until now how much you've been craving this sort of intimacy.
Kim twines his fingers into your hair, tracing patterns on your scalp. The coolness of his fingers sends shivers down your spine. You inhale sharply.
"Sorry, my hand is cold," he whispers, and pauses, seemingly about to pull his hand back.
"No, it's nice," you murmur back, internally begging him please don't stop.
Kim makes a noise in the back of his throat, and wriggles his fingers back into your hair, rubbing gentle circles moving slowly down your head. Tears form in your eyes.
You let out a sigh. You want to tell him just what he means to you, but you can't find the right words to articulate the sentiment. You're not sure you can trust yourself to speak at all right now. He has to know what he's doing to you, right? Surely he has to realise this goes beyond two colleagues staying together and sharing a bed out of necessity?
You wonder if it really matters. Having Kim here with you has made you the happiest you have been in a long long time. Maybe that's enough. Just being close and caring about each other in a way no one else would understand. What you are to each other doesn't have to be anybody else's business.
You feel your consciousness dip as you relax. The pain is waning now. Shouldn't have taken so many pills. But you didn't know Kim would do this. You want to stay awake, just to feel Kim's fingers in your hair for one more minute. But already your mind is drifting on the edge of slumber.
In the morning, you both get up for work without a word about what happened last night. You feel like you should thank him. But if you do, you can't be sure you won't let it slip that you love him. And he'd probably be embarrassed enough about being thanked.
The pain in your leg is still there, amplified when you put weight on it, but it isn't quite as intense as yesterday. You'll live.
