Summary:
Time has come to wrap a lot of things into a package of secrets, all loaded onto Kim’s shoulders, like the fact that Harry is not the only one who’s had to piece himself back together from scratch, that he’s never been to Martinaise, and that he has spent the first twenty years of his life preparing to leave the only home he’s ever known.
(A reverse timeline AU, HarryKim, M/R)
These fascinating and lovable characters belong to ZA/UM. The prompt is mostly from the fic Make Whole What Has Been Smashed. My first language is not English and I have no beta, so feel free to point out anything that sounds weird. Any type of feedback is welcome :)
Work Text:
Day 1
He opens his eyes to find himself lying on his side. There’s something weighing on him, heavy but not overly so, and something soft radiating warmth through a layer of fabric. He looks down and discovers a hairy thing – an arm, his brain helpfully informs him. The arm seems to have sensed him moving and tightens a little. He doesn’t feel trapped, not really, but… it doesn’t feel right to simply stay there. Tentatively, he moves the arm wrapped around him, and the thing behind him squirms. He turns around. A blurry face enters his vision. The man blinks, blearily, and asks, “Kim? What is it?”
He opens his mouth purely out of reflex, unsure what to do next, so he tries to make sounds like the man does, moving his throat, “Ah…I…” He blinks and looks around, seeing nothing but a blur of dim shapes. The man sits up all of a sudden, his voice alarmed. “Kim? Are you alright?”
He can understand the man – he’s asking how he is, but his brain is like a swamp that has swallowed up every bit of knowledge he seems to be needing. He doesn’t even know what it is that he needs to find, to be honest. He can feel panic in the air, growing more palpable by the second and not unlike what he’s feeling right now. He struggles for a bit and finally says with hesitation, “…blurry.”
The man seems a little more relieved at that. “Oh, your glasses. You forgot them again,” the man says, reaching over his body to fetch something from somewhere higher - the nightstand, his brain tells him – and puts them on his face. Only then does a weathered, shaggy face come into sight with some clarity. The man runs a hand through his greying wild hair as he studies him with worried eyes. Green eyes. “Better?” asks the man.
The man is waiting for his response. It occurs to him that he could nod, so he nods, which doesn’t seem to put the man at ease completely, but the corners of his mouth curve up – a smile – as he says, “I’ll go make breakfast.” He bends down and presses his lips against the upper side of his face – kissing his temple – and leaves through one of the doors.
He props himself up, and words pop into his mind as he looks around. The sheets and covers are beige. Against the wall there’s a cabinet where several photos are placed, all of which, at a glance, seem to feature the man from before, and a shorter, dark-haired man in glasses. A small wardrobe at the side of the room. On the nearest nightstand, there’s a lamp, a pen and a blue notebook. Propelled by instinct, he reaches for the notebook and flips it open. Spidery scrawls run through the pages, strange yet familiar and fitting at the same time, like the clothes on his back right this moment. He knows, immediately, by intuition, that it’s his. The latest page, marked by the book band, reads:
My name is Kim Kitsuragi.
I live with Harry.
I drink my coffee with a trace of milk and no sugar.
Today is September 12th, ’71.
We’re in Revachol (RE-va-shol), a city on the island of Le Caillou, in Insulinde.
……
The rest simply gets more and more confusing, elusive words and facts that are hard to take in all at once, as if seen through a fog. He – Kim, he thinks, my name is Kim – puts the notebook down and shifts his legs off the bed, bare feet landing on cold floor and pressing down experimentally. He stands up with natural balance, but doesn’t know where to go. Out of the two half-closed doors, he picks one, wondering if he will see the man. Harry. That must have been Harry.
The door reveals a small bathroom. Right in front of him, a dark-haired man in round glasses looks back from the mirror. He raises a hand to his face as his reflection does the same, runs his fingers over his pale, hollow cheeks, his wrinkles, the bags under his eyes, his thin moustache and the light, barely-there stubble along his jaw. Strange, yet familiar and fitting at the same time. His.
The thought comforts him a little, even though he remembers next to nothing.
The moment he opens the other door, an aroma thickens in the air. Coffee. A small living room adjoins an even smaller kitchen, where the man from before is busy with…something, wearing only a pair of shorts. The faded pattern appears to be some kind of bird. Cockatoos. Kim feels oddly sure of this. The man – Harry – seems to have heard Kim approaching and calls over his shoulder, “Just a minute,” and tilts his head towards the table behind him, wild hair bobbing from the movement.
Kim hesitantly pulls out a chair and sits down. Soon the man comes over with two mugs in his hands. He looks at Kim and stops, just for a moment, as if he senses something wrong, but before Kim can react, he shakes it off and continues, as if nothing has happened, and puts one of the mugs down before Kim. The orange one, filled with light brown liquid. Coffee with milk.
“Just the way you like it, a bit of milk, no sugar,” the man smiles warmly at him, already back with toast. He sits down opposite Kim. Kim contemplates his mug and takes a careful sip. The man isn’t wrong: it tastes right. The warm liquid runs gently down his throat, soothing his wrinkled nerves and gives him a little courage.
“Harry?” He asks, uncertain how the name is going to feel in his mouth, but once pronounced it begins to sound much more natural than he thinks, like he’s already called that name a million times, even though he has no memory of it at all. Familiar. Fitting.
His.
“Yes?” Harry answers as he chews.
“I feel like…” Kim tries to search for the words he needs. “…like I don’t remember anything.”
Harry stops chewing to look at him, and cracks a small smile. “You know, I said the same thing to you when we first met.”
Kim frowns, growing uneasy again. “I don’t remember that, either.”
That doesn’t seem to surprise Harry. If anything, he looks…sadder. He thinks for a moment, then raises his mug at Kim in some kind of salute. “Don’t worry, you will remember.” Then he goes silent for a while. Kim feels somehow responsible for his melancholy, but knows neither why nor what to do. So he just lowers his eyes and eats quietly.
His toast finished, he feels Harry’s eyes on him. Kim looks up, Harry is grinning at him. “Still the encyclopedia today?”
Kim blinks, and then quickly follows up with an answer: “Sure.” Because it feels like the kind of response that Harry is expecting, because he doesn’t want to appear too bewildered, and because an encyclopedia sounds helpful, at least. It’s going to serve well for him, when he knows so little about…about anything, really. “Okay,” Harry stands up and starts to tidy up. “It’s right there on the coffee table. I’ll go wash up.” Kim gets up and walks obediently to the couch. Sure enough, there it is, a thick, big book on the small table.
Not long after, Harry sits beside him with a book as well.
The day passes without him noticing. At some point, Harry puts a sandwich in his hand and tells him to eat. By the end he’s simply overwhelmed with information, his head not far from exploding. It’s Harry who gently closes the book for him. “I think that’s enough for one day, isn’t it?” Harry smiles. Kim looks back at him blankly, but the moment Harry takes the book away from his lap, he starts to feel a bit dizzy with exertion. “Yeah,” he says, slowly, relieved.
That night, Harry lies down with him and wraps his arms around him from behind. For a moment Kim feels a little hesitant and tenses a bit. His body seems to remember Harry, though, even leans back a fraction before he knows it and relaxes instantly. Comfortable. Natural. He begins to feel glad he didn’t reject the touch. The body behind him relaxes with him and he feels sleepy, all of a sudden. There’s something comforting in it, being held like this. It’s no wonder, considering that’s how he woke up today.
“Goodnight,” Harry plants a light kiss on his shoulder. “See you in the morning.”
Kim falls asleep before he could say anything.
Day 2
He wakes up and climbs off the bed, only to bump into the nightstand. Harry stirs at the sound and says drowsily, behind him, “…glasses, Kim, your glasses.” Kim feels around and finds them after a second. He fits the glasses clumsily over his nose, finds them askew and adjusts them carefully a few times before it finally feels right. The blue notebook comes into view. It occurs to him that he can take notes of the important stuff, so he takes the notebook with him to the living room.
He opens it, meaning to read the things he wrote before, but finds that the book band marks a different page than yesterday. His name isn’t there, and the first things he learned, the most important facts, they aren’t there either. He removes the elastic band to leaf through the rest of the pages, but they are all blank. Did Harry tamper with it somehow? But there’s no signs of tear at all. Anyway, he should probably relog the things first. He grabs a pen and writes:
My name is Kim Kitsuragi.
I live with Harry.
I drink my coffee with a trace of milk and no sugar.
Today is September
But what day of September? He seems to remember that yesterday it wrote 12th, but it’s hard to tell when it was written. He’ll come back to this later, he decides, and goes on writing. We’re in Revachol (RE-va-shol), a city on the island of Le Caillou, in Insulinde…
These are the first items, he thinks. Then he writes some more, according to what he vaguely remembers from yesterday’s reading. Isola: a continent of matter, enveloped on all sides by the pale. There are seven isolas, Insulinde the largest body of water among them. The pale is the separative tissue between the isolas, the interisolary mass… He opens the encyclopedia to check the facts – strange, he seems to remember he put it somewhere else yesterday. He continues to copy down the details, the basics that are hard to remember.
At some point Harry gets up, and later yells that breakfast is ready. He hums absently. The he remembers the line that he left incomplete.
“Harry? What day is it today?”
Harry glances at the newspaper on the table. “12th.” So Kim writes, September 12th, ’71. But…that doesn’t sound right, does it? Shouldn’t today be after 12th at least?
But he did try to memorize a lot yesterday. Maybe he’s misremembered. He shakes his head and put down his notebook and pen to leave for the table. He checks the newspaper anyway. Harry didn’t lie, it is September 12th.
Day 3
He opens the notebook to find last page gone again. This time he’s really somewhat vexed.
“Harry? Did you mess with my notebook?”
His tone seems to startle Harry. “No! No, you never let me touch your notebook,” eyes wide, he stops for a moment and adds, afraid that Kim wouldn’t believe him, “Besides, I wouldn’t.”
Kim frowns. There’s no reason Harry would lie to him, is there? “But the page from yesterday is gone.”
“Well, you have to write it down first, remember?” Harry grins, but the words leave him totally at a loss. Harry’s face falls. “…you don’t know it yet,” he says, quietly.
That confuses Kim even more. “Know what?”
Harry blinks and shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts a little. “Okay. Come here. I suppose we need to be sitting down for this.” He looks around, grabs the newspaper he just took in and walks towards the couch. Kim follows suit and sits next to him.
Harry takes a deep breath and says, “To put it simply, you live backwards.”
“Backwards,” Kim stares at him and repeats mechanically.
“I never thought I’d be the one who’s gotta explain this to you…” Harry mutters and uncaps the pen to draw an arrow on the newspaper. “See, let’s say that for most people time goes in this direction, then for you – ” he draws another arrow pointing in the opposite direction, parallel to the first one, “it goes the other way. Your tomorrow is yesterday for the rest of us.” Harry looks straight into his eyes. Kim would suspect this to be some kind of elaborate joke, but Harry looks too honest…and too pained. “It might take a while for you get a grasp on this…” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “God knows it took me a really long time to fully understand what it means. I don’t know how you…” he stops suddenly.
Kim traces the arrow pointing in reverse with his fingers and repeats, quietly, yet again, “Backwards.” He turns the newspaper over. The front-page marks today’s date. September 11th, ’71.
“Yeah,” Harry gives a slight, rueful smile. “God, I always thought…I always thought you figured it out on your own. It’s just that you’ve always been so…” he trails off in thought, then looks up suddenly, “this must be quite early on for you. How many days has it been for you?” Kim is just about to answer, but Harry shakes his head again. “No, no. Don’t tell me. You were right. Don’t tell me about things that haven’t happened yet, I wouldn’t want to know. You were right. You’ve always been right…” Harry grows quiet. Then he sniffs and says, “It’s fine. At least we have today. We’ll get through today together, we always do,” he forces a smile. “What are we doing today?”
Harry’s eyes have gone red. He’s sad again. For some reason, Kim starts to feel like it’s his fault all over again, but he can see that Harry doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. He looks away, around, and finds the enormous thick book gone. “The encyclopedia.” Kim says, with hesitation. “It’s…I suppose it’s not here yet. I haven’t finished reading it.”
“Then off to the library we go,” Harry’s tone carries a false light-heartedness. “Go get changed. There’s quite a wind outside,” he points his chin towards the bedroom. Kim doesn’t want to leave him like this. He feels as if he should do something at least, but he doesn’t know what. So he goes and closes the door, Maybe Harry needs some time.
The instant he opens the wardrobe, orange fabric catches his attention. Two identical jackets. They feel nice, comforting. He tries one on and it feels just right. Familiar. Fitting. His.
All prepared, he goes out the bedroom door. Harry breaks off his stare into the wall to look at him, then his eyes light up. A strange warmth rises in Kim’s chest. “I’ll be just a minute,” Harry disappears into the bedroom but leaves the door open. Kim hears muffled sounds of rummaging and grumbling as he averts his eyes. It’s hard to fathom how Harry could be so open and fearless about exposing himself, when it’s nearly unimaginable for Kim. He wouldn’t say he’s afraid of leaving this apartment, no, but it certainly gets to his nerves a little. He would arm himself to the teeth, if at all possible. Wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.
He’s adjusting his gloves when Harry walks out, in a green blazer, flare-cut pants and a pair of old green snakeskin shoes. The whole outfit appears to have seen better days and amuses Kim for unknown reasons. But he likes it. Harry winks at him and whips out his finger pistols. “Now we match.”
“How so?”
“Green goes well with orange. It was you who told me that.”
Day 21
When he opens his eyes, it’s already 3 pm according to the clock on the wall. He must have fallen asleep on the couch. Either he slept in really, really late here in the living room (not very likely), or his future self was taking a nap, and every time he falls asleep he jumps back to the last time he’s awake (much more likely). He stays on the couch and tries to untangle his thoughts.
Days fly by unceremoniously as he gets to know more and more, some from books borrowed from the library, some from his old notebooks (he starts to take notes throughout the day so he can leave some reminders for his future self), and some from Harry. At first Kim feels a bit self-conscious about asking questions, afraid to give away the fact that he knows nothing of their shared past, which, in turn, might make Harry sad. But Harry’s always ready with answers, so curiosity gradually overcomes his wariness. He learns from Harry that they were police officers, members of the Revachol Citizens Militia. Their career in the RCM left Kim with giant masses of ugly scars on his lower abdomen and his back (“gunshot through the gut,” Harry tells him, eyes evading his, brief pain flashing across his face), and Harry, a bullet scar on the thigh, from their first case together, in Martinaise. That was twenty years ago, and they’d been partners ever since, until Harry had a severe heart attack on the job a couple of years ago and they retired together.
Harry also tells him that he’s not the only one who’s different, who’s had to piece himself back together from scratch. In Martinaise, when they first met, Harry had retrograde amnesia, a condition he never fully recovered from, after “a bender of apocalyptic proportions”, in Harry’s own words, in which he sold his gun, drove his motor carriage over the roof of a pawnshop, crashed it into the sea, smashed the window of his hotel room with a shoe and attempted to hang himself on the ceiling fan with his tie, events that he only got to find out by himself after he lost his memory. “Luckily I’ve got these voices in my head,” Harry says as he points to his temple, “they tell me what to do, what’s amiss and all kinds of stuff. I wouldn’t have solved that case otherwise. Or any case, for that matter.”
Kim is sceptical. Not of the voices (Harry has more than proven that part, he always seems to know things he shouldn’t be able to tell), but of these stunts he allegedly pulled. Harry has always been a reliable, forgiving and comforting presence to him. A little whimsical, perhaps. A man with questionable taste in fashion. It might be that he still doesn’t know Harry for long enough, but one thing’s for sure, fundamental, even: if Kim ever needs help in anything, he would trust Harry to go to any length to provide it.
And with that comes the million reál question: who is Harry to him? Who are they to each other?
Colleagues, friends, that much is obvious. And family, also family, he thinks.
But there’s something more, isn’t there? It’s in the way Harry kisses his shoulders and temples, in his hugs every night, in those occasional, fleeting sorrowful glances of his. In addition to that, Harry’s closeness never makes him uncomfortable. He supposes there’s muscle memory and all that, left over in this decades-old body that he’s come to inhabit mere days ago, programmed into every single synapse, natural like instinct. He’s not at all averse to this…intimacy, so to speak. Even welcomes it.
So not just work partners, but life partners, then? Lovers?
Admittedly he’s a little wary of the thought, even though Harry never gives him any reason to be. Harry never pushes him into anything and respects his boundaries the best he can – he seems overly cautious at times, to be honest, which is at odds with his hypothesis, because it doesn’t seem like the kind of caution that romantic partners should exhibit around one another, at least not in his rather limited perception of relationships of such nature.
But he wouldn’t mind, Kim realizes, if they were to be lovers. Not at all. Age has not yet taken away the prominent edges of Harry’s square jaw, nor the well-defined muscles of his arms. Sometimes Kim just couldn’t look away from Harry’s wide shoulders – his bomber jacket creates an impression of physical prowess, but Harry would fill those lines easily to the brim. Were it not for his misgivings, he would love to feel it with his fingertips, the way he tirelessly explores the texture of anything these days…
Harry would let him, he thinks. He’s just afraid to find out if it’s true.
Yesterday – or tomorrow, for everyone else – he went to the library for a little private research, during which he learned that although homosexuality has been decriminalized in Revachol, same-sex marriage is not yet recognized by law, and that the average duration of cohabitation out of marital bonds is roughly six to eight years, according to different sources. There were no studies on bachelors sharing a flat, but he suspects physical contact between regular bachelors must be rather limited and wouldn’t usually include kisses.
He’s still not drawing conclusions from any of this, because he’s not sure he’s ready to face what it truly means.
The door squeaks open. Harry calls from the doorway, “Kim?” He sounds a bit breathless, probably got a lot on his hands. Kim gets up hurriedly, meaning to help him, but a wave of dizziness leaves him swaying a little on his feet. There are sounds of heavy bags hitting the floor, and before he even gets to try and balance himself, firm, strong hands are at his arms, holding him steady. He blinks. The world goes back to normal and Harry’s face is suddenly before him. “Nothing,” he frowns, “it’s just…”
“Low blood pressure,” Harry explains. Still lightheaded, Kim looks into his grey-green eyes as his brain short-circuits with the sudden closeness. If. He just. All he has to do is lean forward and…
And Harry kisses him first.
For an instant Kim is too shocked to react, then muscle memory kicks in and tells him to kiss back, but even the slight hesitation makes Harry pull back. “Kim? What is it?” Harry looks at him with worry. “Is something…” he trails off and widens his eyes, realization dawning on him. “You just woke up, didn’t you? You haven’t…this is the first time…” Harry’s grip tightens. Kim just stares, surprised by his sudden strength, and finally catches up with what’s going on, finally realizing what this means for Harry. He opens his mouth, but he’s at a loss what to say, as Harry’s eyes fill up with tears.
Harry releases him and takes a step back, like a wounded animal. He shakes his head. “Sorry…sorry, I just…” Kim starts to panic as something clenches in his chest. This is wrong. Something is seriously wrong. What should he do? What can he do to wipe that agonized look off Harry’s face? How does he make Harry come back to him? He reaches out before he could think better, to touch the side of Harry’s arm. Harry lets out a whimper. Kim almost snaps his hand back, but Harry doesn’t flinch, even leans into the touch, so Kim sums up his courage and holds out his arms, slowly projecting his movements. Seeing that Harry doesn’t pull away, he wraps him into a hug.
This is the first time he ever initiates a hug, even though it’s clearly different for Harry. Harry immediately put his arms around Kim’s waist and buries his face into the crook of Kim’s neck, with practiced, near-perfect ease. They fit, Kim thinks, somewhat dazed. All his nervousness vanishes as he runs his hands across Harry’s back, trying to soothe him.
“I’m sorry,” Kim whispers.
“It’s not your fault,” Harry voice sounds wet and muffled from his neck. “It’s not up to us. There’s nothing you can do…”
“But I’m sorry all the same. I really don’t want to put you through this…”
“No. No. Don’t…it’s just. It’s just that I don’t…I’m not ready to let you go yet, even though I know I’ll have to, eventually. I still don’t want to,” Harry sobs quietly.
Kim can’t help but hold him tighter at that, a dull ache clawing at his chest. He thinks for a long time, about what he could say, and in the end he goes for: “You don’t have to, not yet. Not today.”
“Hmmm?”
“It’s like you said. At least we’ll get through today together, we always do. We still have today.”
It might be Kim’s imagination, but Harry appears to be holding him tighter tonight. Kim traces the veins on the back of Harry’s hand, then his knuckles. After a while, Harry captures his hand.
“I love you, you know that, right? Since the very beginning.”
“The very beginning?”
“Well, maybe not exactly. I can’t really pinpoint when it happened. But not even halfway through the case, I was already head over heels for you.”
Kim doesn’t know what to say, but Harry seems to understand before the inner struggle even starts. He simply kisses Kim’s shoulder and says, “Don’t worry. You don’t need to say anything, and I don’t expect you to say it back. I just want you to know, all right?”
“All right,” Kim breathes.
He wakes up again. Harry’s still asleep. He puts on his glasses and contemplates his sleeping face. So content. So peaceful. Completely unaware that his heart is soon to be broken by time.
Maybe it doesn’t have to happen after all. If there’s something he could do…if he makes it…
Harry’s face twitches a little. Eyes opening slowly, he smiles languidly at Kim. “Morning,” his voice is still hoarse from last night’s sleep. Kim feels an inexplicable urge to taste that smile, then realizes now he can, so that’s what he does: he goes in for a light kiss at the corner of Harry’s mouth.
Harry raises his eyebrows. “Someone’s in a good mood,” he smirks and pulls Kim into a long, slow kiss. Kim tries his best to respond, half mimicking Harry’s movements, half relying on some sort of instinct, unsure if this is the right way, but whatever he’s doing seems to work for Harry well enough. Kim shivers as fingers run across his shoulder blades, blood rushing down in an instant. He twists his hips in desperation, uncertain as to whether he should try to break free from the strange sensation or simply allow himself to wallow in it, accidentally brushing past Harry’s…oh. Stiffness grinds against his crotch as a shock of pleasure bolts up his spine, drowning him in a blissful trance. Harry’s hand slips into his briefs to grip his cock. Kim gasps, as Harry takes the opening to invade his mouth with his tongue. His morning breath isn’t exactly pleasant, but the tingling euphoria leaves him too eager to care as he jerks helplessly into Harry’s hand and begins tugging blindly at Harry’s waistband. “Easy,” Harry teases, pulling down his shorts, his large rough hand squeezing their cocks together as Kim clutches at his hips, his face buried in the crook of Harry’s neck, slowly losing himself.
After that, all he could think about, aside from the tickle of Harry’s beard as he deliberately rubs his mutton chops against Kim’s face in between kisses, is Harry’s tearful, heartbroken expression from before – or a few hours later, for Harry.
Maybe it doesn’t have to happen. Maybe he can still salvage this. Around noon, determined not to fall asleep, he sits at the dining room table and tries his hand at today’s crossword. He still can’t fill out every puzzle just yet, as he still doesn’t know enough, but it’s easier to stay awake like this.
His eyelids still start to droop, however, and at some point his brain just stops comprehending the meaning behind the words as he begins nodding off. In the end, it seems to be Harry who carried him to the couch.
Day 22
He opens his eyes to the faint morning light seeping through the curtains and knows that he failed.
He tries to pretend as if nothing happened, so as not to worry Harry, or, God forbid, let on what would happen tomorrow, but he doesn’t quite manage it. Harry clearly senses something wrong, but holds back from prying, and in turn, gets more and more on edge. Kim doesn’t like this – it reminds him of the distance he felt in the early days, of the way Harry stumbled back in tears, yet not daring to seek comfort from him. Every ounce of vulnerability he exposes is bound to send Harry into further distress.
It’s not Kim’s fault, he knows, but it happens because of him nonetheless, and he really doesn’t want to see Harry like this. Because of him. Everything he gives away comes with unwarranted punishment.
They still have a long time together ahead. He has to be prepared.
Day 308
He wakes to Harry’s kiss. In the afterglow, they rest their foreheads together, catching their breath. Harry smiles and says, “Happy anniversary.”
What anniversary? But he doesn’t miss a beat. He goes in and plants a light kiss on Harry’s lips. “You too.”
They lie there for a moment, and Harry adds, “Next year we’ll have lived together for twenty years.”
“Hmm.” Kim hums noncommittally, silently filing away the information and reminding himself to check the date later.
“We should have a proper celebration next year. Maybe travel somewhere. What do you think?”
Kim raises an eyebrow. “Are we really going to make such a big deal out of it?”
“Hey, it’s the closest thing we’ve got to a wedding anniversary.”
“We’ll see.” Kim has already discovered that, more often than not, he has to be the rational one, but even so, he’s a little tempted. Why not?
He forgets, for a moment, that he has no memory of such a trip or anything that comes close to such a celebration.
When he gets up, he tries to scan the calendar in an unceremonious manner. It’s November 9th.
Suddenly he thinks of his second day. His second day is September 12th, and anything after September 13th is a total blank.
This day next year, he wouldn’t be with Harry anymore.
“Kim?”
Kim realizes he’s been standing motionless in front of the calendar for far too long. “Just a bit sentimental,” even with his back to Harry, he forces a small smile, hoping it would come through in his voice and at least cover up the sudden bitterness he feels.
Harry doesn’t suspect anything. Only, it doesn’t feel like a victory.
Day 1237
To tell the truth, over the years, Kim never quite understood how Harry managed all those glorious deeds he keeps reminiscing, and even as time proceeds back to their RCM days, even as Kim witnesses how Harrier Du Bois grows progressively more reckless, he still couldn’t really imagine the “Tequila Sunset” version of Harry.
Until today.
Harry grunts in his chair as Kim leans against his desk, takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose: “Seriously, Harry? A dance-off?”
“Felt like a good idea at the time,” Harry mutters.
After being heckled by the delinquent they’d just ticketed, Harry was furious enough to challenge the young man to a dance-off. To be fair, he actually did pretty well, at least in Kim’s opinion, almost incredible for a man his age. Even the delinquent looked stunned. At the end, Harry did a bloody backflip - unfortunately, as he landed, he twisted his ankle and let out a horrific howl, then stumbled to the ground, face red and hand clutching at his chest in pain, which scared Kim into running to the car for the nitroglycerine he usually had on hand. When Harry recovered, Kim assisted him back to the station. The heart attack Harry had before they retired was much worse, and it was only thanks to Kim memorizing the instructions in his notebook (several times over) and keeping the proper medication on him all day that Harry survived the drive to the hospital.
“Sorry, Kim. Must have scared you back there,” Harry apologizes quietly, like a child who’s done something wrong. Kim sighs. Harry lifts a hand to rub Kim’s furrowed brow and says miserably, “I’ll never do that again. Promise.”
Kim looks at him, resigned, knowing that even if Harry keeps his word (which, in retrospect, he did manage, in the years that follow), this type of nonsense would only again and again in Kim’s future. He doesn’t say that aloud, but Harry seems to pick up what he’s thinking, and his expression changes - damn those voices of his. Kim is quick to compensate, “Although for a moment there, you did look pretty cool.”
Harry’s eyes light up again, “Really?”
“Really.” Just like that, Harry appears to forget all about the guilt he’d just felt, and Kim just can’t help but chuckle a little. But that’s just Harry all over.
And he wouldn’t want him any other way.
Day 2185
There’s an accident on the way over, and Kim’s stuck in traffic. He taps his fingers on his legs for some time, checks his watch every ten seconds before he gets impatient enough to simply find somewhere to park and lock up the motor carriage, and runs to his destination.
He wants to stop a murder.
He’s tried several times during the years and failed, to change what happened, to stop people getting hurt, in the end either arriving too late or suddenly needing to serve as backup for other detectives and subsequently having to give up half way through, or running into some other trouble that always came up. He was somewhat discouraged and just couldn’t really find it in him to try anymore, but the day before – tomorrow – they found a young Seolite girl, raped and then killed in a remote alley in Jamrock. There was no trace of the killer at all, and they couldn’t find him. At the morgue, Kim looked at the face of the deceased, which bore a slight resemblance to his own, and something in his chest just broke.
Today after work, Harry saw him leave in such a hurry that he had to have guessed what Kim wanted to do. Harry didn’t stop him, but didn’t come with him either. It’s always been like this.
As it gets closer and closer to the estimated time of death, Kim begins to run more and more wildly, and even though his legs, accustomed to running after Harry in countless investigations, start to ache in protest, he just can’t stop. If he couldn’t save the girl from the abuse, he might at least be able to save her life. As he runs closer to the alley, through the rushing of his blood and his panting, he hears indistinct cursing: “Fuck, someone’s coming! Who the fuck…? “
Then a shot rings out.
Kim freezes, then picks up his pace again, trying to catch up with the killer at least, but the man already disappeared, leaving behind only the girl’s body, lying there, twitching slightly. Gunshot wound to the head and instant death, consistent with the autopsy results. All that’s left is the body’s residual reflexes.
Kim punches the wall hard, hissing in frustration as sharp pain shoots up from his knuckles to his entire palm, and tears wells up in his eyes. He wipes away any moisture furiously with the back of his hand. He doesn’t deserve to cry.
He stops at the door, just about to pull out his keys, when the door opens on its own, and Harry is there, looking at him worriedly, “Hey.”
He closes the door behind him and steps into Harry’s arms, forehead resting on his shoulder, finally safe and falling apart. Harry wraps his arms around him and gently strokes his back, whispering soothingly, “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”
Day 3856
“I’ve been meaning to ask, why don’t you go to Martinaise anymore? Thought you’d love to go with Harry. Reliving old times and all that,” Jean asks him, on a precinct’s night out.
It’s not that he doesn’t go anymore, when he’s never been to Martinaise. For the present him, at least. There have been cases where they’d have to go to Martinaise before, but Harry always begged Jean to go with him instead of dragging Kim along, leaving him at the precinct to help with other cases. The first time that one of these cases came up, Kim was rather blindsided, since he hadn’t seen any mention of this in his notes, but he was about to go with Harry anyway – he trusted Harry to fill him in on everything he’d miss. Harry was surprised, though. “No, Kim, you don’t have to come. I’ve spoken to Vic already…” he trailed off, slowly realizing this was another one of Kim’s firsts, “Of course, if you want to come, though…” But Kim just shook his head. He would prefer not to work unprepared, if at all possible. He watched Harry and Jean drive away from the window and realized belatedly that even if he had been prepared, even if he’d read all the case files and notes there were, he still wouldn’t have wanted to go to Martinaise.
That’s why he never goes there: he doesn’t want to go where everything ends, not just yet. Truth be told, he doesn’t even know if he’ll ever be prepared, no matter how hard he tries.
“Kim?”
He snaps out of his reverie. Jean takes a sip from his glass and cocks an eyebrow at him, waiting for an answer.
Kim couldn’t quite decide what to say for the moment, so he goes for another question in response. “How did Harry explain it to you?”
Jean snorts. “He said it wasn’t his secret to divulge.”
Kim considers for a moment whether to tell him the truth, but Jean doesn’t seem like the type who would believe this kind of thing. Besides, it’s always been as if Jean isn’t aware of his condition at all. Maybe this is the closest he ever came. “Even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe it,” Kim sighs.
“What, like shitkid’s voices?”
“Kind of, yes.”
Jean sneers. “Is his craziness contagious, then? Or are you two birds of a feather from the start?”
“A bit of both, I suppose.”
Jean grunts, goes quiet for a while, then asks again, “Really, what is it?”
Kim doesn’t want to lie to him; he owes him that much. So he takes a breath and ponders. “Laugh at me if you want. I want my memories there to be…unique.”
Jean raises his eyebrows and looks at him suspiciously, opening his mouth, on the verge of asking if Kim’s bullshitting him, but closes it again all of a sudden, as if he’s seen something in Kim’s face. He appears more baffled than ever, but there’s also a new understanding: now that he knows how much the subject pains Kim, he won’t push any further, so he mocks, with an unnatural cheerfulness, “wouldn’t have thought there’s a sappy side to you, Kitsuragi.”
Kim doesn’t say anything else, just pulls out his wallet and signals the bartender for a refill for Jean, in wordless gratitude.
Day 4849
Kim’s at the shop, planning to buy a few sweatshirts. As he was getting ready for the day this morning, he found that the few shirts left wouldn’t last long. He’s about to go to the cashier when a flash of bright colour in the corner suddenly catches his eye. It’s a pair of knee-length shorts with cockatoos printed on them. Exactly the same as Harry’s, which were hanging on their clothesline just the day before.
He raises his eyebrows and smiles, reaching down to pull them out. The girl at the checkout takes the shorts and peaks at him, a little surprised, as if she didn’t expect a man like him to buy such things. He keeps his face blank and sighs inwardly. The things one does for love.
Luckily the shopping bag is opaque, otherwise he would have to try and fold the shorts to the smallest possible size, so he could hide them in a pile of white t-shirts.
When he gets home, he sorts through his purchases and tosses the shorts in Harry’s direction, to the couch. “Here, for you.”
Harry freezes for a moment, then bursts out in wild laughter, throws himself at Kim and wraps his arms around his waist from behind, showering him with kisses anywhere he can possibly reach. Kim smiles and pretends to be indifferent, but soon gives in and turns back to kiss Harry.
He doesn’t write this down when he goes over his notes that night, just as he didn’t read about it in the notes the day before, either. Sometimes he would do things like this, omitting some details, waiting for his future self to find them out on his own, sometimes bad things of little consequence - he always wants to avoid worrying about such things in advance if possible - but sometimes it’s little pleasant surprises like today’s incident. Over the years he’s learned to have a bit of fun out of this life that goes backwards and backwards, to enjoy that wonderful feeling of pieces of a complicated jigsaw puzzle falling in place, all in their due time. Naturally, this time is no exception.
Shame though, he probably won’t get to see those shorts again. It’s a bit silly, but Kim thinks he’s going miss them.
Day 6152
He opens his eyes to find himself staring at a square of unfamiliar ceiling, the air smelling of disinfectant. The hospital. So this is the day he’s discharged from the hospital, then, after getting shot on duty. For months he’s gritted his teeth through physical therapy and can do nothing but watch his condition deteriorate and endure more pain each day. As if that’s still not frustrating enough, he’s also forced to deal with Harry, who only grows more cautious and distressed as time goes on. Please, please let it pass, so he can finally get over the feeling of his wound tearing open day by day.
Forty days to go. He knows from the files, from his colleagues and Gottlieb, and, of course, mostly from Harry’s grumbling: he shouldn’t be discharged so soon, but the resources at Revachol Central Hospital are limited, the RCM is struggling for funds, and Kim Kitsuragi himself is too fucking stubborn.
It secretly annoyed him, that Harry complained so much about something he hadn’t done yet, but as soon as he opens his eyes today, he knows that he really has no right to argue. He already wants to go home. And today… today happens to be their moving anniversary. He’s glad that he doesn’t have to be stuck in hospital on this day.
It’s good that he can almost get around on his own. Well, at least that was the case the day before. He asks the nurse when he could leave, as politely as he can. “Mr. Du Bois said he’d come pick you up in the morning. Should be here any minute,” she looks at him with apparent concern, clearly disapproving about him leaving so soon.
Great, here’s another one to complain about his stubbornness. He swallows the medicine left by the nurse and dresses as carefully as he can, but unfortunately the caution he’s come to practice over the month still can’t spare him from the pain of pulling on his wound.
Harry doesn’t really make any sound when he arrives; it was more like Kim has sensed his presence rather than heard him, like a weathered joint could sense an oncoming storm. He turns back and flinches at the warning pain of his wound, as Harry rushes to him. He shakes his head to indicate he’s fine, before he sees Harry’s face.
Something’s wrong. There’s something wrong with Harry. Kim can see that he’s struggling to reign in the chaos, perhaps holding back the outburst until they get home. Good, the hospital is hardly the occasion. He knows deep down that Harry’s also trying to be considerate, because he knows that Kim wouldn’t want to make a scene in broad daylight, otherwise Harry wouldn’t have cared where they are at all. He’s just too uncomfortable and too tired to appreciate Harry’s consideration.
On the way home, Harry’s uncharacteristically silent. When he comes over to help Kim out of the car, Kim waves him off. He starts to regret that as he goes up the stairs, his legs shaking slightly by the end, but manages to stay on his feet the whole way.
Once inside, he takes off his jacket and holds onto the wall as stealthily as he could, deliberately slowing his breathing in an attempt to hide the fact that he’s already breathless after climbing just a few flights of stairs. Harry seems finally unable to hold it in any longer and demands, “How much longer are you going to pretend you’re okay?”
Here it comes. Kim sighs inwardly. He’d rather not get into an argument with Harry right now, but Harry wouldn’t have been able to restrain himself for long, so at least Kim won’t have to stay constantly on edge, waiting for Harry to explode. “I’d still like to retain a little dignity, even if it’s just a façade of it.”
Harry shakes his head. “And just for that, you’re gonna play tough until you break, huh? Tell me, you knew this was going to happen all along, didn’t you. You always knew you’d get hurt.”
“Yes,” Kim replied. Because there’s no use denying it.
“Then why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you do something? Why didn’t you at least let me do something?” Harry accuses. Kim pinches the bridge of his nose, “Because it won’t make any difference. Trust me, I’ve learned the lesson. Instead of making you go around worrying and attempting to turn things around in vain, I’d rather just leave it be. Everything happens in its due time.”
“But shouldn’t I know? Don’t I even deserve to know?” Harry’s voice was rising, almost on the verge of shouting. Unable to raise his voice, Kim could only say quietly, “I was trying to spare you.” He almost thought he was drowned out by Harry’s yell, but next thing he knows, Harry laughs hysterically, “You’re trying to spare me? Do you know what it’s like to have you bleed out in my arms when all I can do is watch? Do you know what it’s like to see the love of your life die in front of you? You stopped breathing, Kim, you had no pulse, I couldn’t feel your pulse, I could only breathe for you… If I stop and you’ll never come back…” Harry’s voice breaks and Kim cringes. He had no idea it was that bad. “Do you know what that feels like? Do you think that counts as sparing me?”
“…I’m sorry,” Kim doesn’t know what else to say.
“Sorry for what? Sorry that you won’t tell me anything? Sorry that you don’t trust me?” Kim shakes his head, no longer sure if he’s denying Harry’s accusations or begging him to stop, but Harry presses on relentlessly, “What else are you hiding? How much more are you willing to put up with? You will even put up with a hole in your belly, surely it’s no sweat tolerating a fool like me, watching me run around in circles. Must be pretty amusing, right? Or do you already know when you’re going to leave? You won’t have to put up with me for long after this anyway. Three more years? You must be so relieved that your sentence is almost up – ”
Harry twists his head at that. He sees Kim’s face, and stops abruptly.
Kim’s not sure what expression he’s wearing, only that his whole body was paralyzed by a dull pain like none he’s ever felt. He can’t even move a finger. Harry’s face slowly falls into a look of horror.
Kim just barely manages to open his mouth, quiet voice shaking uncontrollably, “How could you say that?”
“Kim…” Harry mumbles in fear. “Kim… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…” He reaches out timidly, not daring to approach Kim.
Kim doesn’t know what will happen if Harry touched him right this instant. His jaw is shaking, his clenched fists are shaking, his whole body is shaking.
“I’m going out,” Kim says mechanically, grabbing his car keys, turning and slamming the door.
He circles between several highways before finally pulling onto East Motorway, stopping by the drawbridge to Martinaise and stepping out into the cold November wind. He forgot his jacket, and the icy air gradually numbs his senses, but it also calms the burning pain and brings a moment of clarity to his mind.
Speeding along the motorway is easy, as if he’s plunging into a gamble with his life fully in his grasp, just forward, forward and forward. No going backwards. Never backwards.
But that’s a mere illusion, one that’s quite different from his life. Even his beloved Kineema is going in the opposite direction than his, just like Harry, becoming younger, more dazzling and more unfamiliar by the day. It was a gift from Harry, which he bought cheap from the RCM after it reached its official service period, though still functioning well after years of meticulous care. It still cost a small fortune, but not so expensive that Harry couldn’t afford it with his own savings. It was Harry who taught him how to drive in the first days (or, “reacquainted him with driving”, as Kim himself always insisted), but his tendency to “drive like the devil”, that was all him.
In any case, he can never outrun time.
He still hasn’t been across the canal, hasn’t really visited the scene where the end of his and Harry’s story is to take place, naively believing that if he doesn’t cross the bridge, the end would stay on the other side. But running away never changes anything. Eventually he will have to come here someday, and he will have to reach the end. The cranes of the Great Revachol Industrial Harbour and the blown-out capeside apartment blocks are clearly visible in the distance.
He fishes out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, smokes one, then taps out another, considering whether to break his routine of one cig per day, remembering how Harry keeps saying over and over how cool that makes him, then takes out his lighter again in irritation, preparing to light a second one. Maybe the bastard is right: why make it so difficult for himself, when his pretenses cost him so much?
A jacket drapes over his shoulders. His bomber jacket. He didn’t hear Harry approach. Harry takes off his own patrol cloak and wraps it around him as well.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says.
Kim puts away the unlit Astra. Maybe one cigarette’s enough to calm his nerves after all.
“You know - “ Kim’s voice suddenly breaks. He looks down, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat, furiously blinking to fend off the tears. “You know I would never leave you by choice, right?”
Harry doesn’t say anything, just leans in and buries his face in the crook of his neck, carefully wrapping his arms around him from behind, not daring to tighten his arms in fear of putting pressure on his wounds.
Kim closes his eyes and leans back into Harry’s chest. Despite his best efforts to steady his voice, it still breaks at the last syllable. “Do you understand?”
“I’ll do my best,” Harry whispers, wrapping Kim’s cold hands in his own. “Let’s go home.”
“Happy anniversary.” That night, as they’re cuddling together, Harry says sheepishly, like a child who’s done something wrong.
“I thought you forgot.”
“I thought you forgot.”
“Well, it’s the closest thing we’ve got to a wedding anniversary.”
Harry doesn’t respond for a moment, but holds him a little tighter.
“I don’t think I’d be able to take it, if I were you,” Harry says, after a while, gently caressing the nape of his neck in the dark.
I don’t know how the future you did it either, Kim thinks, burying his face in Harry’s chest. Sometimes the darkness is where he feels closest to Harry, as if the flows of their time still had the slightest possibility of intersecting, as if he’s no longer drifting away from him by the second. “It doesn’t matter whether I’d be able to take it.” He says, haltingly. “The day will come, and I’ll always have to live with it.”
“But…”
“Don’t worry about me. There’s always tomorrow for you.”
“It is you who shouldn’t worry about me.”
“I know,” Kim replies softly, hoping Harry would let it drop: he doesn’t want to talk or think about it anymore. He’ll have plenty of time for it, after.
Harry falls silent and kisses his hairline.
Day 6112
One moment he seems to be watching Harry’s sleeping form at the side of his hospital bed, and the next thing he knows, he’s opening his eyes in excruciating pain. All he sees is a swirl of light as agony and blackness tear at his consciousness.
“Kim?” Harry’s voice rings distantly as a blurry figure swings into his vision. “Kim, hang on, we’re almost there.” His hand is being held, the back of it pressed against something. Soft beard. Skin. Wetness. Harry’s face.
He gives Harry’s hand a little squeeze, trying to tell him he’ll be okay, but doesn’t have the strength to speak and sinks back into the darkness.
Pain. Pain. There’s nothing but pain. Something terrible presses down hard on his chest beat by beat, as if going to crush his ribcage any second. Air is forced into his burning lungs and he tries to scream, but can only cough weakly, every muscle pulled in pain.
He thinks he hears Harry’s voice, but soon everything’s gone again.
He opens his eyes and sits up abruptly, but sees only the familiar colour of their old wallpaper at home and the vague outline of the cabinet, startling Harry beside him. “What’s the matter, Kim? What happened?” He asks sleepily.
Kim wipes the cold sweat from his forehead and finds his hands shaking, clenching them into fists at his side. Calm down. Calm down. “Nothing, just a nightmare.” He knows he still sounds a little off, but it’s enough to convince Harry to stop asking questions, at least. He’s good at hiding this sort of thing.
Too good at it, perhaps.
Harry tugs on his arm to pull him back into his arms, and Kim goes obediently. Harry wraps his arms around his waist, and it isn’t long before he’s asleep again. But Kim doesn’t go back to sleep. He feels around his upper abdomen and find the wound gone, only soft and slightly dry skin in its place.
Later, he climbs out of bed first, fetches the newspaper as he always did, and goes over his notes, adding a few lines of relevant details that he read in the case files earlier. He has a feeling that he won’t have the chance to do this tonight.
He hears Harry stirring in the bedroom and goes to make a pot of coffee, waiting for him to join Kim for breakfast.
Before leaving, Kim asks him, “Harry, do you have your Villiers with you?”
Harry whips out his finger pistols at him. “Always. Sunrise, Parabellum, baby. Now let’s go crack the case.”
Kim nods and feels his Kiejl A9 Armistice through his jacket.
Sunrise, Parabellum.
By this time, he has long given up the idea of changing the future, but when Kim sees the last one of Madre’s peones raise his gun at Harry’s back, he realizes that even if he could change anything, even if he had a choice, the outcome wouldn’t be any different. He rushes over and pushes Harry out of the way, the gun goes off, and with it, the pain that erupts from his abdomen. He hears another shot ring out. That must be Harry shooting back. The adrenaline surge recedes and his knees buckles. He steels himself for the ground to hit him.
The impact never comes. Harry catches him.
“Kim? Kim!!!” Harry’s voice grows frantic. In a moment, something presses hard against his wound and he cries out in pain. He hears Harry’s choked voice, “Oh Kim, sorry, I’m so sorry… Stay with me… Kim! You hear me? Stay awake!” Kim struggles to do as he’s told, but he can’t even find it within himself to draw another breath, his consciousness gradually fading out.
It’s okay. Better him than Harry. At least he knows he’ll survive. If anything, Harry will keep him alive. He will still wake up after this.
Day 6111
(He opens his eyes to find himself lying on his side. Harry’s arm’s around his waist, pulling him into his chest radiating warmth through the fabric of his shirt. He looks down and finds Harry’s hairy arm tightening a little. He turns around and Harry’s tousled hair enters his blurry vision. Harry blinks blearily and asks, “Kim? What is it?”
Kim reaches up and gently cups the side of his face, feeling the hard edge of his jaw through his mutton chops. He lost weight. Kim pulls him closer, right in front of his eyes, and Harry’s face finally comes more clearly into view, unfamiliar wrinkles creeping across his face, his beard a few shades greyer than the day before, and Kim hasn’t seen him look this old in a long time.
Epiphany dawns on him - and he can’t remember the last time he felt so blessed. He pulls Harry into a hard kiss, and after a moment of confusion Harry kisses back with equal fervor, familiar, fitting, like instinct. His. His. Still his. They roll their aged bodies around and around, making love like two teenagers. Afterwards Kim cradles Harry’s head to his chest, catching his breath. He says, softly, “I remember everything.”
Harry croaks, thick voice muffled against his chest, “I know.” Crying again, his old fool, but even Kim couldn’t help but sniffle a bit as tears well up in his eyes. Perhaps the powers that be are showing some mercy after all, by allowing him to spend the rest of his life with Harry, however little time they’ve got left.)
He opens his eyes again. It’s still dark. He’s lying on his back, tears streaming past his temples and disappearing into his hair. Harry’s beside him, snoring slightly, his hairy, heavy arm laid across his abdomen. He turns, only making out Harry’s silhouette in the darkness.
“I love you, you know that, don’t you?” Kim murmurs softly.
Harry grunts, half asleep, and hugs him closer, continuing to snore. Kim reaches out and wraps his arms around Harry, drifting back to sleep.
Day 6973
In the morning, Harry says, excited, “We’re going to Martinaise today!”
Kim hums, listening to Harry’s giddy chatter, and gradually realizes that something’s wrong. Harry sounds like he’s expecting Kim to go with him.
Kim freezes. It’s as if Harry doesn’t know at all that he has never been to Martinaise.
He didn’t expect this day to come so soon.
He interjects, “I have something to tell you.” Harry looks cautious all of a sudden, even a little scared. Kim kind of wants to laugh bitterly; Harry has nothing to fear, it’s Kim who should be afraid.
But there’s no use delaying the inevitable. What’s supposed to happen will always happen, all in due time.
“Have I told you my biggest secret yet?”
Harry shakes his head, eyes wide.
So Kim explains his condition to him as plainly as he could, even pulling over the newspaper and drawing two arrows pointing in opposite directions, just as Harry did, on his first day.
Harry stares at him unblinkingly the whole time, and Kim, afraid he wouldn’t believe him, mumbles, “Let me see how I can prove it -“
“You’re not lying,” Harry says, still staring at him in confusion, but seems certain of that. Ah, yes, the voices in his head.
Kim nods and continues patiently, “I’m telling you this, so I can explain to you why I won’t be going to Martinaise with you today.”
“But -“ Harry frowns, but trails off, his eyes slowly widening even more with realization. “For you, Martinaise is-“
“Exactly,” Kim interrupts him, closing his eyes, not wanting him to finish the sentence.
“How long have we been together?” Harry asks suddenly.
“I’m not going to tell you about the future. You wouldn’t want to know.”
Harry opens his mouth, as if to contradict him, and Kim raises one eyebrow. Harry shuts up again.
“Now, go.” Kim says wearily.
“But… the Precinct hasn’t assigned anyone else…”
“Go find Jean. Tell them I’m sick. I don’t care.”
“… You don’t even call in sick when you’re actually sick.”
“I know,” Kim says, covering his face and exhaling slowly. “Now go.”
Day 7247
Kim opens his eyes, having fallen asleep with Harry the day before, to find himself alone in an unfamiliar bed.
Today is moving day.
He doesn’t have a lot of stuff, mainly just boxes of notebooks and clothes and tidbits, not much of memorable value. He guesses he’s just not the type of person who likes to keep souvenirs and decorations. After all, he never gets to keep anything. Everything he’s got, he will have to leave behind someday.
He follows the instructions in his notes and leaves some money in compensation for the damaged items that came with the flat. It doesn’t take long for Harry to arrive and help him carry the boxes one by one down to the Kineema.
The rest of the day is basically spent carrying things around and unpacking. He opens the last box and stretches, when Harry comes over with two mugs, one green and one orange, and hands him the orange one, looking at him expectantly. “Tea,” Harry says, and Kim smiles gratefully. Harry didn’t seem to get the reaction he was expecting, though, and prompts carefully, feigning nonchalance, “I bought these two mugs yesterday.”
Ah. Especially for the occasion. And he won’t get to see them, from this day on.
Kim presses down the bitterness in his stomach and smiles, “I know. They match. Like us.”
Harry silently beams at his side. Kim takes a sip of tea, in an attempt to melt away the lump in his chest. He has always known this would happen, but the closer he gets to the end, the worse it hurts. Time has come to wrap a lot of things into a package of secrets, all loaded onto Kim’s shoulders, like the fact that Harry is not the only one who’s had to piece himself back together from scratch, that he’s never been to Martinaise, and that he has spent the first twenty years of his life preparing to leave the only home he’s ever known.
Day 7403
Harry is pratically glowing as he barrels through the interrogation, prying open the mouth of yet another suspect. Kim could never get tired of watching him can-opening, and it’s times like these when he just can’t wait for everyone else to disappear, for the two of them to be left alone.
Once they leave the interrogation room, Kim sees that there’s basically no one in the corridor - they were staying late - so he reaches for Harry’s arm and drags him into the storage room, closes the door behind them before finally tugging on his tie and kissing him.
But Harry doesn’t kiss back.
Kim backs away to find Harry staring at him, dumbfounded, and his heart sinks, but before he can react, Harry grabs his arm and kisses him fiercely.
They did it once right there in the storeroom, and then again after they got to Kim’s flat. Afterwards, they huddle together in Kim’s cramped bed. Kim lights a cigarette and looks at a groggy Harry while Harry laughs a little and says sleepily, “No need to look at me like that. I’m not going anywhere.”
You have no idea, Kim thinks sadly, but only says, “Just sleep now, Harry.”
Then he fetches his notebook and roughly jots down a few lines about the case. Exhausted, he turns off the lamp, wraps his arms around Harry, and goes to sleep despite everything.
There’s no point in delaying the inevitable.
Day 7404
Kim wakes up alone in his bed. He slaps the alarm clock off the nightstand, throws the vase that comes with the flat against the wall, and smashes everything in the house that could be smashed. The next day all these broken pieces will be back in their place, whole, intact, when he will never be able to kiss the one he loves again.
Days 7483-7484
Even though he knew how it would turn out, knew the death toll, knew that Harry would survive the trial, experiencing it first hand doesn’t scare him any less. A brief account in his notes and case files cannot depict the palpable tension between Harry and the mercenaries, recreate Kortenaer’s screams as he was engulfed in flames, nor tell him what angle he had to take to make sure he hit Ruud in the eye (God, please) - nor can he dispel the soul-crushing horror of witnessing Harry’s blood pooling on the ground. Instinctively, he turns back and falls to his knees beside Harry, pressing down hard on his wound, blood still gushing through his fingers.
“Keep talking! You hear me? Stay with me! …”
“No…” Harry whispers, his trembling hand shoving his gun into Kim’s hand. A moment of cold clarity takes over Kim’s body as he turns and fires without thinking, the butt of the woman’s gun slamming hard into his face the moment he pulls the trigger, but the bullet hits its mark, the woman’s scream coming through the blinding pain. He has no mind for anything else. Harry’s Villier falls from his hand as he crawls towards him, shouting his name over and over again, but Harry doesn’t respond anymore. He tugs off his glove with his teeth, hand feeling around the side of Harry’s neck. There’s still a faint pulse, which calms him down a little. He pulls out his own belt and winds it tightly around Harry’s thigh, above his wound. Even knowing that he would live, knowing that there are still twenty years ahead of Harry, he’s suddenly terrified that this would be the moment when time collapses and reality plunges in annihilation, that if Harry dies, then all would be lost.
Titus helps him carry Harry upstairs and settle him down. After he cleans and stitches up Harry’s wound, he can finally sit on the floor and quietly break down in fear. He pulls out his pack of Astras and lights up a cigarette, his hands, stained with Harry’s blood, not starting to shake until now. He takes his glasses off and rubs his forehead, probably smearing his face with blood, but he couldn’t care less about that sort of thing at the moment.
It’s only then that he gains some understanding of Harry’s fear when Kim himself got shot, not to mention the fact that Harry could only hold out through it, unlike him, who has the small comfort that came from hindsight, knowing that Harry will survive. The only little comfort that comes with his curse in this life.
There’s nothing he can change now. Even if there were, he still wouldn’t choose to put Harry through the pain of knowing - just let Kim bear it alone, that’s already enough people suffering. There will always be tomorrow for Harry, and tomorrow after tomorrow, thousands of days that Kim wouldn’t change for anything, waiting for Harry in the future.
After that, he drags his tired, aching body up, washes the blood off himself and wipes as much of it off Harry as he can, then sits back down on the floor. Seeing that Harry’s still asleep, he takes Harry’s hand and kisses it, presses his face into Harry’s palm and closes his eyes. He probably won’t ever get another chance like this.
Day 7490
He opens his eyes and finds himself back in his small flat, back in the narrow bed that has grown familiar over the months. He slowly props himself up to look out the window, at the still-dark sky, bare feet landing on cold floor. He doesn’t want to move, but Harry’s still waiting in Martinaise.
He calls East Motor Tract, having to pull the RCM card to get them into agreeing to let down the drawbridge for him, and drives the Kineema all the way to Martinaise. A route he has sketched out on the map many times, though he never made the whole trip himself. He stops at Whirling-in-Rags, and for the first time, the beginning and the end of the route are connected.
He watches as a hungover Harry stumbles down the stairs in that all-too-familiar green blazer and yellow flare-cut pants, stares at the microphone on the stage and walks over to the cafeteria manager. Kim slowly taps his foot on the floor. Garte glances at him, and Harry turns his gaze to Kim as well.
Kim feels himself tense up a little and takes a deep breath. Here we go. He can’t help but think of his first day. Did he look at Harry with that same indifference and confusion, and did Harry know that the end is near? It’s a question to which he will never get an answer. In a sense, it’s a kind of death, a death that happens a little bit every day. The death of the one he loves, and the death of him.
But isn’t it the same for everyone? Except that he knows in advance when each of these incidents is going to happen, and even then he remains unprepared. Perhaps loss is something that no one can ever really be prepared for, not even him.
But for Harry, this is the beginning of his re-entry into the world. Harry had been his guide into this reality, and it’s rather fitting that he should be the one to greet Harry on the day of his rebirth. It’s only fair.
As Harry approaches, Kim gradually takes in his bloodshot green eyes, the bruised bags under his eyes, his face looking even worse than it did the day before. In the shadow of a moment Kim thinks he sees a more mellow, gentler and calmer Harry, his Harry, interlaced with the Harry before his eyes, who’s not yet his.
All in due time, he thinks.
He narrows his eyes and refocuses on the Harry before him. He holds out his hand. Harry scowls back, his eyes widening slightly before finally taking Kim’s hand. Even through the gloves, a sweet warmth still crawls up his spine in reflex. Familiar. Fitting.
Not his anymore.
“Hello, I’m Kim Kitsuragi, Lieutenant, Precinct 57. You must be from the 41st…”
“How did you get so cool, Kim?”
He turns his head, seeing Harry’s eyes full of admiration and couldn’t help but smile a little, bittersweetness flooding in his weary heart. Harry’s always been full of surprises. Even before they part, he’s still leaving Kim with such an unexpected little gift.
“You mean this? This isn’t cool - it’s an unnecessary trial of will. And unhealthy.” Just as unnecessary as his attempt to drag out this briefing as long as he can, as his almost flirtatious compliment of Harry’s snakeskin shoes (“I like the green. Goes well with the orange,”) as him staring down at the nearly burnt-out cigarette in his hand, trying to stretch the final silence, trying to delay the final moment.
“Thank you,” Harry says.
He closes his eyes briefly. Here it comes. “Yeah, it’s getting very cold now. Let’s go.” He puts out his cigarette on the sole of his boot and heads for the door.
“Goodnight,” Kim says to him, turning away first, afraid he won’t let Harry go otherwise. “See you in the morning.”
Once the door to Room No.2 closes, his legs finally give in as he slides down to the ground, the unlit room swallowing him in blackness. He takes off his glasses, covers his eyes with a trembling hand, pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales shakily. There are no tears left in him. He just feels like his whole chest has been hollowed out.
(He opens his eyes to find himself lying on his side. Harry’s arm’s around his waist, pulling him into his chest radiating warmth through the fabric of his shirt. He looks down and finds Harry’s hairy arm tightening a little. He turns around and Harry’s tousled hair enters his blurry vision. Harry blinks blearily and asks, “Kim? What is it?”
Kim reaches up and gently cups the side of his face, feeling the hard edge of his jaw through his mutton chops. He lost weight. Kim pulls him closer, right in front of his eyes, and Harry’s face finally comes more clearly into view, unfamiliar wrinkles creeping across his face, his beard a few shades greyer than the day before, and Kim hasn’t seen him look this old in a long time.
Epiphany dawns on him - and he can’t remember the last time he felt so blessed. He pulls Harry into a hard kiss, and after a moment of confusion Harry kisses back with equal fervor, familiar, fitting, like instinct. His. His. Still his. They roll their aged bodies around and around, making love like two teenagers. Afterwards Kim cradles Harry’s head to his chest, catching his breath. He says, softly, “I remember everything.”
Harry croaks, thick voice muffled against his chest, “I know.” Crying again, his old fool, but even Kim couldn’t help but sniffle a bit as tears well up in his eyes. Perhaps the powers that be are showing some mercy after all, by allowing him to spend the rest of his life with Harry, however little time they’ve got left.)
-The End-
创作翻译不易，如果你喜欢我的作品，欢迎来微博啊提问箱啊给我一点点鼓励！反馈是创作者的生命线，每一个表达喜爱的字都让我们付出的心血少一分孤单。❤
