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Two coffee mugs, empty, sit in the sink. What remains of breakfast is on the stovetop—a thin brothy soup. The milk had spoiled before it could be used to thicken it up. The bottle of olive oil on the counter is frozen thick.
The heat’s been on and off in Harry’s house for the past month and a half. He says it’s broken, but Kim’s seen the past due notices. It’s not his house, though, so he doesn’t mention it.
Besides—they’ve found ways to keep the blankets warm.
They’re lying together in Harry’s bed, tangled in layers of comforter and sheet and naked limbs. Kim on his stomach, head resting on Harry’s chest—he still smells like sweat, and radiates a sort of ruddy warmth.
The radio is on, playing softly. Music switches up for the afternoon news.
“Temperatures today in the negative thirties with wind chill… coldest winter of the current century—”
“Tensions build in West Revachol’s Martinaise district, where strikes against the Wild Pines-backed Krenel have turned violent the past three nights—”
“In other news, ticket sales for the quadrennial TipTop Tournée in Revachol open this week—”
“What do you say,” Harry says, kneading his hands into Kim’s bare shoulders. “How about we go?”
Kim presses into Harry’s hands, groaning a bit as he massages the tension out of Kim’s shoulders.
“To the tournée? Harry, those tickets are hundreds of réal each.”
“We’ll get the cheap seats.”
“Those are the cheap seats. The one-day pass.”
“Well, I’ll collect tare. I’ll get the week-long passes.”
“You would have to collect… Over ten thousand bottles. Even you couldn’t do that.”
Harry has been collecting a lot of tare, now that he’s left the RCM. He goes to Boogie Street at four in the morning and pulls the bottles out of the dirty black snow before anyone else can. He’s also started a private investigation business, but Kim knows he’s yet to actually charge anyone for his services.
“I’ll pick up some extra jobs. Business should really pick up in the springtime.”
“Oh? Did they teach you that in PI school?”
“Yeah. Everyone cheats in the springtime.”
“I see.”
“Either way. I’ll get the week-long passes. There’s a suite in the hotel that has a balcony view of the circuit.”
“Hm,” he replies. When he’s satisfied with Harry’s work on his shoulders, he shifts, rotating their bodies so Harry is on his stomach. Kim rubs his back.
Kim can almost see it—the thick pine trees, the smell of motor oil and summer. The harsh coolness of hotel air conditioner, so different from the winter freeze outside of these blankets. He doesn’t know how Harry knows about the hotel suite, but he believes him.
“We wouldn’t watch the race from the balcony, though, of course,” Harry continues. “We’d take the shuttle down to the tournée to watch it in the stands.”
“Oh? No box seats? No meet and greet?”
Harry turns to look at Kim, scandalized.
“No, no box seats. You want to be in the thick of the action. When the racers whip around the circuit and everyone gets out of their seat… You don’t want to be sitting with the upper crust drinking champagne. You want to experience it with real people.”
“Mmmm,” Kim replies. The palms of his hands and the skin of Harry’s back are hot with friction as he rubs circles around the knots in his back. “Yes, I’d like that.”
He pulls a curtain of Harry’s hair away from his neck, leaving a ghost of a kiss there. Harry breathes, flipping himself to meet Kim’s lips with his own.
Quiet, except for the radio, and the snow hitting the windowpane. And lips meeting each other.
Kim is the first to pull away.
“But I can’t get the time off.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Harry. I can’t go. I can’t take a whole week off.”
“You’re in charge of the whole wing, Kim. You’re the one you submit the paperwork to.”
“Yes, but I’d be worried about how the captain might see me taking a week off. So soon after being promoted.”
“When was the last time you asked for a day off?”
“Never. I’ve never asked for a day off.”
“Well. that’s really sad. I think you deserve a week off after all that.”
“I’ve had weeks off before. But it’s when I was hurt.”
Harry pushes the loose hair from Kim’s forehead. His thumb feels rough against Kim’s temple. “That’s worse.”
Kim doesn’t disagree. “You still haven’t persuaded me.”
He frowns. Harry’s eyes go slack, like he’s thinking about something that requires more than a few of the skills in the conversation.
“I’ll have already bought the tickets. Sent in the cheque for the hotel. Reserved the train tickets. That’s hundreds of réal.”
“Wait, the train? I don’t get to drive?”
“We’d be stuck in traffic for hours. You’d be in such a bad mood by the time we got there.”
Kim raises an eyebrow. “I don’t mind traffic that badly.”
“You do! Traffic jams make you so mad. It’s a five hour drive down to Zéro Carrousel usually, but so many people would be driving the same way. It would take us over eight hours.”
“That’s not good for the battery.”
“Exactly. I’ve already reserved the train ticket. You have to go, Kim.”
Kim rests his head back down on Harry. “Okay, I’m not happy about that, at all. I’m actually quite angry.” He presses his nose into the whorls of hair on Harry’s chest. He doesn’t sound angry at all. “I don’t like surprises. This is a lot of money to spend, too. You could have fixed your heat.”
Harry shrugs under him, presses his lips to the top of Kim’s head. The blankets have shifted, and Kim feels the bite of the winter air on the tops of his shoulders—Harry pulls the covers up and over them.
“I want to do this for you. You work so hard, I want to see you enjoy yourself. I want to take care of you.”
“Harry,” Kim groans. He buries himself in the blankets. It’s all too sweet.
“Kim.”
“Okay, okay.” Kim sighs. I’ve put the paperwork in. I’ve accepted my own leave request. Happy?”
“Yes! Great! Oh, it’s going to be so fun, I made sure you got a window seat on the—”
“But I feel guilty about leaving for so long for my own gain. So a week before we’re supposed to leave, I pick up a tough case.”
“Kim, no.”
“Yes. And I get shot and killed the day before we leave.”
Harry scowls, his hand pulling at his own hair. “Kim, Come on! Take this seriously.”
“I’m perfectly serious. These things always happen at the worst possible times.”
“No…”
Kim is uncomfortably warm now. His breath and Harry’s body have left a flush on his cheeks. He peeks his head out from the covers, looking up at the blur of Harry’s face. He’s taking this so much more seriously than Kim is—he sounds distraught, like Kim had really died.
“Okay, okay. You’re right, I don’t die. But I’ve been injured badly. I’m in a lot of pain.”
Relief. Harry’s fingers on his face, again, brushing knuckles against his nose.
“We could cancel. I could persuade them to hold the tickets until the next tournament.”
“It’s against the terms and service. You’ve missed the refund period.”
“I’ll cry on the phone. I’m very persuasive when I cry.”
Kim laughs. “No, you’re not. Besides, I would never forgive myself. I’d be in a lot of pain, but I’d insist we go. We’d just have to… Move a little slower.”
Harry nods. His fingers have found their way to Kim’s ears, tracing the outline of each one. It tickles, makes Kim want to sneeze somehow.
“We’ll get there early,” Harry reassures. “You could sleep on the way there. I would hold you up on the train.”
“In the middle of the crowd? I wouldn’t let you.”
“Okay. Well I’d let you have both armrests.”
“Okay. It’s hard for me to get around, though. I sleep most of the first day. But that’s okay—I already know who will qualify this year.”
“It’s a good thing I got that balcony suite, then. We could just watch up here.”
“No, it’s going to be foggy all week.”
“Kim!”
The Zéro Carrousel is 307km of high-speed racetack in the wet south, where it rains three hundred days out of the year in the humid mountain pass. In ‘31, visibility reached a low of seven meters, and thirteen racers died in the mists.
“Either way. I want to experience it in the fray. Like you said.”
“Well, I’ll help you down, then. You can lean on my arm. How are you feeling by mid-day?”
“Worse. I think I’ve broken a rib.”
Harry sucks in a breath, like it’s really happened.
“That’s not good. Do you want to go back up?”
“No, no. I suffer through it all day. Narang qualifies for the finals, though, so I’m very pleased.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
“He won’t win, though. His stats this year are impressive, but Van Laar has him beat by point seven. He also handles much better in wetter climates, and it’s been raining all week.”
“Kim,” Harry sighs. “You’re really bad at this. We’re just pretending.”
“Oh? How did you want this to go?”
“Well... It’s a nice day out. And we sit in the stands. And when the racers whiz by, everyone leaps out of their seats and shouts. And you’re having such a good time that you leap and shout too.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Not even for Narang?”
“No. Either way, I have a broken rib. That much movement would be really painful.”
Harry drags a hand across his face, the whiteish blur of a smile smearing against his beard. “Okay, alright. I’ll shout for you, then.”
Kim hums into Harry’s collarbone, pleased with this arrangement. It’s one of his favourite things about being with Harry—letting him do the things that Kim wants to do. “So? What’s next in your day dream? Do you order us pretzels?”
“Do you want one? I can get you a pretzel if you like.”
“I could eat. Get me one with mustard.”
“They’re out of mustard.”
Kim tries very hard not to let out the snort of laughter in his nose. “I see.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Yeah. See how it feels?”
“No, no, this is realistic. If we’re going to waste time imagining things that don’t exist, I want an immersive experience.”
“And you’re enjoying yourself?”
Kim thinks. Harry shifts, and Kim lets himself be shifted—they roll on their sides, Harry’s front pressed to Kim’s back. Harry drapes an arm across Kim’s shoulder, his hand on his chest.
“I am,” Kim decides. “I’m mad at myself for ruining this week for you, though. I should have been more careful. But I’m enjoying myself. It’s an exciting race.”
Harry takes Kim’s hand. He leaves a tiny, wet kiss on his palm.
“You’re not ruining anything,” Harry says softly. “Things happen. We both know what the job is like. It could happen at any time.” He lets Kim’s hand go. His own moves under the blanket to settle, gently, on Kim’s side.
Kim reaches back, twisting his spine to locate and kiss the side of Harry’s scratchy jaw.
Harry is so gentle with him—like he’s forgotten that Kim is not actually injured. Just barely grazing calloused fingertips against the skin stretched across Kim’s ribcage. Kim, satisfied with the intricate rituals they have followed to initiate this tenderness, simply lets himself be held.
“When I wake up the next morning,” Kim says against Harry’s skin, “I’m even worse.”
“Oh, Come on!”
“Have you ever broken a rib?”
“I don’t remember. Have you?”
“Six times.”
“Whoa.”
“Whoa, indeed. The past three days I’ve been over-exerting myself. Trying to make the most of the trip. When I wake up today I’m probably in a lot of pain.”
“Can you breathe?” Harry takes this very seriously.
“Yes. Short and shallow.”
“I’ll grab you some medicine. We’ll stay in today. I’ll take care of you.”
“I’d hate that. I’d get mean.”
“I know. I’d get frustrated too. We’re going to miss our reservation.”
Kim raises an eyebrow. He shifts, and Harry moves too–Kim’s front to Harry’s back. Kim wraps his arm around the thickest part of his waist and pulls him close. “Our reservation?”
“Yeah. There’s a restaurant in the tournée town that I wanted to take you to. I would have wanted it to be a surprise, but now I’m going to have to cancel. It’s making me really upset, but I don’t want to tell you why.”
“That would make me angry. I don’t like surprises.”
“I know. We’d have a big argument about it. We’d both be very tired and angry. You wouldn’t have wanted to go, anyways.”
“To the restaurant.”
“Yeah. You’d be afraid of it being a date. But it would be okay. It wasn’t anywhere too fancy. Just two guys having dinner.”
“But we don’t have dinner.”
Despite everything, Harry laughs. “Well, no, because you’ve got your heart set on having a broken rib in a daydream.”
“I do. It’s very important to me.”
Kim thinks about this for only a second. He’s uncomfortable with the implication, but not afraid of it. “This reservation is important to you, though.”
“Yeah. If the tournée is in the middle of summer, it’ll be about a year.”
About a year since…
“You want to take me on a date for our anniversary?”
Harry’s quiet. That’s a yes.
“I found a place, down in Faubourg. Just a little place that’s friendly to the underground, the owners—”
“Harry—”
“No one would know us, just, I want, it would be—”
“Yes. I’ll go.”
Harry deflates into Kim. He is so predictable.
“You will?”
“In four months. For our anniversary.”
“Will you still be around in four months?”
“Unless the broken rib kills me.”
“I’m going to give you a broken rib, if you want one so bad.”
A draft presses into the room, shaking the door in its frame. Kim pulls Harry closer, his nose in the crook of his neck. Harry hums his contentment. Neither of them realize it, but he picked that habit up from Kim.
“I would cancel the reservation. Get us room service. We would eat on the balcony. That would be nice.”
“I wouldn’t be very hungry. Painkillers make my stomach upset.”
“I know. But the evening is really nice. The clouds have cleared.”
“No, they probably would have—”
“No.” Harry says with finality, taking control of this one small part of the dream. “I say the clouds have cleared. The sun is setting and you can see the moon.”
Kim can practically see it. The pinks and blues staining the sky. The sun setting behind the black pines.
“It’s lovely. And dinner is nice. I’d feel like an ass for being so rude all day.”
“I’d forgive you. I like it when you’re mean.”
“Is that so?”
“Well, I like it when you’re sweet, too.”
Kim snorts. “I’m not sweet.”
“You can be. When you’re not careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
“I love you.”
Kim holds a breath he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t the first time Harry had said it—lost count of how many times Harry had said it. It wasn’t the first time Kim had responded in turn. But this time, it almost scares him. How much he means it.
“I love you too.”
“I know.”
“Are you telling me that here? Or on the balcony?”
“Both. But I’d make sure to really mean it on the balcony.”
“Oh? Will there be a band?”
“No. It wouldn’t fit on the balcony. But I’d have a ring.”
A ring?
“Harry.”
“Something simple. I’d put it on a chain so you can wear it around your neck if you like. So it doesn’t get in the way of your gloves.”
What an ungrounded fantasy. Kim can barely keep up with Harry’s imagination, sometimes. The things that are true and the things that are not.
“How can you afford a ring and TipTop tickets?”
“Well, I’ve had the ring for a while.”
“Have you, now. Will you get on one knee?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“I would. We’re alone.”
Kim pulls away, letting the cold air gust in between them. He touches Harry’s shoulder, and Harry flips to face Kim.
Kim can’t make out the expression on Harry’s face at this proximity. His hand finds a way to Harry’s hair.
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Like, right now?”
“Harry.”
“I don’t have a ring yet.”
“Yet.”
“But I’ve been saving, and in a couple months, I think—”
Kim groans. “Your heating bill—”
“I should have enough in a couple of months. It was going to be a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“I know. I’m not very good at keeping them, anyways.”
“You’re really not.”
Kim moves to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling in a suspended silence. Harry follows suit. Their shoulders press together.
“I’m not changing my name for you,” Kim says.
“That’s ok. Maybe I’ll change mine.”
“You go right ahead.”
“Yeah. I think I will. I have to get a business license anyways, I can change my name while I’m there. Harry Du Bois-Kitsuragi.”
“I was thinking Kitsuragi-Du Bois, actually. I think it flows better.”
He can feel Harry’s heart beating beside him.
“I’ll change it the moment we get back from the tournée,” Harry says. “I want to put it on my business card.”
“I’ll come with you. I need to update my badge, anyways.”
“Or not. I don’t—I don’t have to. It’s all hypothetical. A little day dream.”
Kim looks over. Harry’s already looking at him. Kim presses a thin kiss to his own knuckle, then touches the knuckle to Harry’s face. He smiles, and Harry smiles back.
“I like this day dream.”
“Yeah. I do too,” Kim admits.
“Does your rib ever heal?”
“No. I puncture a vital organ on the train ride home and die in your arms.”
“Damn.”
“Yes. You have to sell my ring to afford the burial.”
“I think you wake up feeling fine on the fourth day. And we can see Narang win the whole thing.”
“No. I don’t think so. I think we lay in bed and listen to the finals on the radio.” A compromise. Harry picks it up.
“We leave the balcony door open for the breeze, though, right? It’s a nice day. The rain finally broke.”
“I’ll give you that. It is a nice day. And when the racers come by—”
“We can hear them.”
“We can feel them. They’re so loud it vibrates the room.”
“Does it hurt you? Your rib?”
“A little. But It’s exciting. Now, do you have any more surprises for me on this trip?”
Harry thinks. Truly, seriously thinks.
“No. I think that’s all I can budget. We take the train home the next morning.”
“And I die in your arms?”
“Only if you really want to.”
It’s Kim’s turn to think. “Not yet, Mr. Kitsuragi-Du Bois.”
Harry smiles. “No, not yet.”