You turn around and catch your breath as you wait for Kim to fall into step with you. Before he does, you hear him stop and light a cigarette, which he smokes as you walk back to your place. Kim smokes in silence, and you just keep quiet. There is nothing more to say.
This situation seems alien to you, walking along with Kim smoking. Kim has smoked in your presence most of the days you have spent together, but never like this. It always struck you as something Kim savoured, enjoying in a restful moment or while reviewing case notes at the end of the day. You've never seen him smoke quickly while walking before.
"How was your weekend?" he asks as he flicks the cigarette butt into the gutter.
"Fine," you lie, sensing the terseness in his voice. You hope he does not ask you to elaborate. You'd like to talk to Kim about your mother, about the feelings you've been struggling with. But you feel that would lead to ranting and raving about Dora, and you already did too much of that to Kim in Martinaise. Continuing down that path is not the way to proving yourself a sane and together individual who is worthy of Kim considering as a person to spend his life with. "How was your weekend?" you ask, after a frankly enormous pause.
"Also fine," Kim says. Something tells you that he isn't telling the truth either.
You don't normally have these fake, overly polite conversations with each other. You're more at home with conversations that are batshit insane, at least those are genuine.
The grocery bag swings and hits your leg as you unlock the front door, and your leg aches as you walk up to your apartment.
"Can I help you with that?" Kim asks as you put the grocery bag down on the counter.
You shake your head. "No. You sit down," you say, and start to unpack the groceries.
Kim goes over to the couch, and sits down carefully on one side of it.
You bought more this time, wanting to impress Kim. Now you're trapped in indecision about where to put most of it. You have many empty cupboards and don't remember having any sort of system for what goes where. After staring at everything for a whole minute and wondering if you can just leave it where it is, you resolve to at least put away the things that should go in the fridge.
It's just a normal fridge. Not an Ice Bear Fridge. Everything that you witnessed and did in Martinaise seems like it happened to someone else. What have you done since then? Nothing worth shouting about. It's all a bit of a let-down really. You glance over at Kim. Maybe not a complete let-down. Kim is in your apartment, and sleeping in your bed. You haven't discussed sleeping arrangements yet but you imagine that is what is going to happen. It's too uncomfortable for either of you to sleep on the couch. That's the only reason.
If you don't think about certain parts that case, you really made a difference. Certain parts will haunt your nightmares. But you're glad you and Kim were there, and not some other cops. Your influence was, on balance, positive there. Now here you are hesitating over eggs, unsure whether they belong in the fridge or not. Picking them up, you feel a damp stickiness on the outside of the box that really shouldn't be there. You feel a sinking feeling in your stomach, and slowly open the box. Two of the eggs are cracked, leaking yolk all over one side of the box and the other eggs.
Staring down into the box, the eggs become your entire world. These eggs are like your life. Part of it is broken, and the broken parts are getting gunk on everything else, ruining everything. You feel a flash of anger towards the eggs. How dare they taunt you like this. How dare they be so fragile. Don't they know what proportion of an RCM officer's salary one egg represents?
An urge to slam the whole box against the wall rises in you.
A heaviness builds up behind your eyes, and you realise it is not the eggs' fault. No, it is yours. You must have been careless with them. You've always been careless with things. Careless with people. You drive them away somehow. All your past partners. Dora. And the people you haven't yet driven away, well, it's only a matter of time.
You blink, and tears blur your vision. One teardrop splashes on an egg. Despite your efforts, it's impossible to hold it in. You're sobbing now, uncontrollably sobbing with your body curved over the egg box.
Suddenly Kim is by your side, taking the egg box from you. "Are you all right?" he asks.
"I broke them," you choke out.
"It's all right. We can clean this up," Kim says softly, and you watch uselessly as he disposes of the broken eggs, and carefully wipes the splattered yolk from the box and the other eggs.
You sniff and wipe the back of your hand across your face, but more tears stream from your eyes. You can't cope any more. You're not sure you've ever coped well with life, but sometimes you feel like you just can't do this any more.
Kim is looking at you with concern. He lays a hand on your arm.
This only seems to make the tears fall faster. It's embarrassing. It's bad enough you have to let him see you cry, now you can't even let yourself be comforted properly.
"Do you want to sit down and talk about this?"
You blink and look at Kim. He knows this isn't just about the eggs. You shake your head. "Everything… it's… it's just been a lot lately," you say lamely.
"Things haven't been easy for me either," Kim says.
You're not sure whether Kim is trying to make you feel better or trying to shift the conversation to him instead. Maybe that's a way of trying to make you feel better. Or it could be that he's bored of this. He quietly withdraws his hand from your arm, and you watch as he walks towards the door and leaves the apartment.
You blink away your tears as a gnawing emptiness grows inside you.
Kim… left.
For a while you can't move. You can't tear your eyes away from the door.
When you finally look away, you see that Kim has left his bag resting against the couch. He wouldn't leave without his bag, right?
It occurs to you now, maybe two minutes after he walked out, that you should have gone after him. It is too late now, only now the door is opening again and Kim walks back in, bringing a breeze with him. He shuts the door with a sigh.
The smell of cigarette smoke is heavy on him. Since you remembered you smoke on occasion, you've always liked the smell of smoke on people. Especially on Kim. It's a comforting smell.
Only, Kim has his rule to only smoke one cigarette a day. And you already saw him smoke it. You think about this as you start to inexpertly prepare a simple meal, refusing Kim's help when he offers it.
You sit side by side to eat, either side of the dip in the couch, which may as well be a chasm between you. Kim is quiet. He has said nothing except a curt thank you for the meal. It's a heavy, ominous silence. You're dying to break it. You want to ask why. But you're also scared of the answer. Kim doesn't offer to help to clean up, he just flips through his notebook listlessly as you do.
You wonder if you were right about Kim being fed up of you and your bullshit. Maybe he's mad at you for being so self-centred. You don't mean to be, you just get so caught up in what's going on in your own head that it's hard to deal with anything else.
Kim mentioned that things hadn't been easy for him either, and you were unable or unwilling to ask him further about that. The Kineema, a new job, new surroundings, new colleagues, being away from home in this shithole. And that's just the things you can think of. If he's upset with you, you don't blame him.
You sit down on the edge of the couch and rest your hands on your knees. "You're quiet today," you say, attempting to ease into the topic.
"I'm tired," Kim says, closing his notebook and putting it back in his pocket.
You realise you're tired too. If it wasn't for the adrenaline running through you from the constant low level stress of being you plus the added acute stress of remembering certain things and fucking other things up, you'd have probably fallen asleep on the couch by now. You bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying that. Instead you say, "I know it's not only me who hasn't got it easy. I didn't mean to suggest it wasn't. Sorry."
Kim shakes his head. "Don't dwell on it."
"If there's anything you wanna talk about, I'm all ears."
Kim looks at you, then looks away. "No. Not right now."
"Come on, it might make you feel better."
"No, officer," he says firmly.
You find yourself flinching. Kim's use of his least friendly title for you isn't lost on you. "If you change your mind, they offer stands."
"Okay. Thank you."
You tap a haphazard rhythm on your knees, in a way that fails to come across as jolly or relaxed at all. Kim plays a half-hearted accompaniment on the arm of the couch. He gives you a tense little smile.
You'd been wanting to ask if he was mad at you, but that terrible little duet had answered your question. You wish you could express to him how much these moments mean to you.
You feel a small amount of tension ease in your shoulders. Somehow you feel a bit better to know that someone so cool and together as Kim is finding things hard too. It gives you hope that to everyone else you might look like a rad guy with great fashion sense and not the washed up wreck you try not to look at in the mirror. Not quite as cool as Kim though. You're happy to be second to him.
You're walking down the road, back towards the bus stop. Dora's bus stop. Kim's bus stop. You're not sure which. Are they the same? No, you don't think so. Then why don't you know where you are?
The first thing you notice is wrong is when the pavement starts to fade out into a zebra crossing. Pavements don't usually do that. And zebra crossings aren't usually this long.
Except, this one always is. And you know what waits at the end of it. Outside Video Revachol, a woman with blonde hair and a flight bag, and a long white dress.
"Why won't you let me go?" you plead to her.
"No, you have it wrong, Harry, it's you who won't let me go," she says.
You follow her eyes downward and see that you are grasping her wrist. Funny, you don't remember grabbing it. You're horrified with yourself. She's lying to you, she has to be.
You let go of her wrist. "Just go and leave me alone!"
"But Harry that's what I want to do. You need to let go of me first," she says, and you realise you're holding onto her sleeve.
You let go of her and shrink backwards. "You're a monster."
She shakes her head. "I'm just an ordinary person. If you think I'm a monster, it's only because you've made me one in your own mind. Insane people do that, so I'm told." She sighs. "I have to go."
You stare at her. Could what she is saying be true? "No, wait," you say, holding out a hand to her. You need her to understand that you've moved on. If you can do that, maybe you will actually be able to move on.
"See you tomorrow, Harry."
She turns, and her body fades. "No, you won't. Not again!" you say. "Please, I just want this to stop!"
Suddenly you're lying down and you bump into something as you flail around. The something makes a noise. It's not something, it's someone. Someone important. Kim Kitsuragi.
Your imperfect memories of the waking world come back to you. Kim has shut his eyes again but the way he shifts about suggests that he is awake.
"Kim, can I ask you something?"
"What if I said no?"
"I wouldn't ask you and I'd think about it all day, let it affect my work real bad."
Kim sighs. "I wasn't going to say no."
"Oh. Good. Kim, you're here because you want to be, right?"
He opens his eyes. "Yes? Why do you ask?"
"Because I'd hate for you to feel like I was keeping you here against your will."
"Harry, you hardly have me handcuffed to your radiator," Kim says, his smirk evident in his voice.
The way he says that derails your train of thought. Kim in handcuffs, voluntarily submitting to your every whim. Maybe not handcuffed to the radiator, but the bed-frame, now that was a thought you could get behind. Oh yes. Yes yes yes!
"Yes Harry, I'm here because I want to be," Kim continues when you don't say anything. "I like being your partner, and being a visitor to your apartment is working out fine right now. So long as you don't mind me being here?"
You roll over to face him, and oh no, you're so close to him now. You can feel his warmth, and his scent fills your nostrils. "Oh no Kim, I love you being here," you say, feeling your face going red, which is not such a bad thing as it is taking blood away from another part of your body that is still incensed by the handcuff remark. Oh god, would it be so bad to just kiss him right now? You wonder how he'd react, would he melt into your touch? Would he wrap himself around you, ecstatic that you finally made a move on him?
The Kim that does not live inside your imagination is looking at you through dark lashes, blinking sleepily. The longing rips the air from your lungs, leaving a deep ache in your chest. You edge closer to him.
"Harry," he says, and his voice is low and breathy. You'll never get tired of hearing him say your name. "Why are you staring at me?"
You try to form an answer. What does he want to hear? That you're staring because he's unbearably attractive? Because you love him? You get as far as opening your mouth-
The alarm sounds, startling the two of you.
You both get out of bed at lightning speed. You don't have to think about it any more. Except, you do. The thought of what might have happened if you'd been a little bit faster to act or to speak will haunt you all day. You'll be waiting on tenterhooks for another moment like this, desperate for another chance, but also afraid, so afraid that you'll never be able to trust yourself to make the right decision. You know he cares about you, but would he be horrified if you revealed just how deep your feelings for him were? There's no way to find out the answer to that question without risking everything.