Work Text:
Two detectives stand on a balcony, sharing a ritual. Well, Kims’ ritual, you’re just here for the ride. You watch him as the soft cigarette glow against the night's darkness illuminates his features - you could stare at this all day. A painting in a museum; or a wall of glass in a church, broken and chipped but never leaving the minds of those who see it.
Empathy: He looks almost calm. A rare sight for him, often in his own mind and needing to prove that he isn’t. His stoic expression is merely armour. You protect yourself in flashy outdated clothes and a stupid grin, he protects himself by remaining professional - it is all he knows.
Shivers: A man sits by his window, looking down at the white and orange stick between his fingers. He feels ashamed. He knows this is a dirty, unhealthy habit - but he cannot find the urge to stop. It is the best part of his day when he is alone, and his thoughts can dance away in the wind with the smoke. The smell lingers in the house for the next few hours, sometimes even until the next day, when even last night's dinner cannot cover the scent of tobacco. It is a comforting smell to some, but to him, it is only a display of his vulnerability, his lack of self control. Eventually, it begins to burn his fingers, a wince as he inhales one more seared breath of -ironically- fresh air and then it’s all over. He feels as he did at the start, empty.
The town is dark, and it is cold. But for once, when no one is outside, there is a strange tranquillity in Martinase, one not present in the day when the union workers are yelling. It is like a different place, without the cruel history, without the still cruel present. People make up a town more than the infrastructure, the architecture, or the technology. For it is people that shape the world.
Physical Instrument: Your clothes do little to keep you warm out here.
Endurance: It’s not that bad, you’re sure you’ve dealt with worse.
You - “Hey Kim, what’s the coldest it gets in Revachol?”
Kim - “Worse than this, I’m afraid. But not by much. Are you cold, Detective?”
Physical Instrument: Yes.
Endurance: No.
Drama: Say no.
- “Extremely. Kim, could I borrow your jacket?”
- “A little, but that’s disco, baby.”
- “Not at all, I’m actually hot.”
You - “A little, but that’s disco, baby.”
Kim - “Khm. Whatever you say, detective.”
Drama: He does not believe you; however, he doesn’t care to argue.
Nighttime, like existence taking a pause. You can ignore responsibilities and feel slightly less guilty than if you were to do so during the day. When the sun hides away, so do most people—aside from college kids and failures. You are not a college kid. How you wish you could be, because then stumbling home wouldn't be as sad; instead of a grown man drinking away his life, you're just a teen having fun. However, you are not the only failure, there are many people you have passed by who are much worse off than you. People without homes or jobs, you have that at least. But right now, you are not drunk; you are just enjoying the night and the humming of the bugs, the presence of Kim, the emptiness.
Electrochemistry: A drink would make this moment much nicer though, think about it - whiskey in one hand, smoke in the other. That’s disco, baby.
Volition: No, it would not. We need to get sober, Harrier; it’s only been four days.
Electrochemistry: You’ve tried that all before, but it didn’t work. What’s the point in prolonging the inevitable? Just one drink Harry baby and this’ll all melt away.
Volition: It is never one drink.
Shivers: The look on his face always hurts. Every time he sees you drunk or high, he is disgusted, disappointed, but never concerned. He ran out of concern long ago for you. Even still, for some unknown reason, he is still there to clean you up. Part of you wishes he would give up so you could drown in your vomit, all alone on the cold floor you are so familiar with. The same tiles stained with years of history and regrets, the counters with their small dents, the yellow tinted walls from their smoke damage. The house is as broken as you are.
A sour taste is left in your mouth; you’re not fully sure where it came from, but it’s not new. That’s all this is, is it not? A cycle. After life, death; after death, life again. You have died a hundred times to continue living - to continue dying.
You - “Kim, do you think I’ll be able to stay sober?”
Empathy: His face changes, it is so slight that if you had blinked, you may have missed it, but it was there.
Conceptualization: He is not sure what to say. You put him in a bad spot.
Kim - A slow stream of smoke leaves his lips, and his eyes remain fixated on the stars, trying not to look at you.
“Detective, I do not know you well, but recovery is always possible. Even for you.”
Empathy: ‘Even for you’
Volition: There is no ill intent behind the words.
Electrochemistry: Yes there is, he thinks you’re too far gone. Show him how much worse you can get.
You could get worse. You are still alive, while barely, that is something. Living means it can get better, death is the only thing stopping you from fixing what you can. You have a clean slate with Kim, Harry. You do not need to lie in this hole, there is a ladder - all you need is the willpower to climb.
- “Even for me?”
- “I’ll recover so hard”
- “What if I just relapse again?”
You - “I’ll recover so hard.”
Kim - He quietly snorts at the statement before moving his hand over his mouth, feigning a cough. “I am sure you will, detective.”
- “Even for me?”
- “I’ll recover so hard”
- “What if I just relapse again?”
You - “What if I just relapse again?”
Kim - “It is always a possibility, if that happens though, you’ll just need to pull your shit together. People depend on you, whether you like it or not.”
Esprit De Corps: He is talking about victims, not about friends. You are not sure if you have any more friends - but there are always more people who need help, if nothing at all, be present for them. You are a good cop Harrier.
Silence returns as the two of you stare out. You contemplate Kims’ words.
Empathy:
So does he. He is unsure if he said the correct things.
A shared silence is one of the most intimate places you can be with another person. No pressure to speak or to perform, just to exist.
Kim- His cigarette burnt out long ago, there is no reason for him to still be out here aside from you, he will not easily admit it but he holds this moment as high as you do, something sacred.
In less than a month you will think back to this moment, only this time you will be alone and you will hold the room temperature bottle with such force you think it may shatter. Your back will be pressed into the couch and there will be an itch in your shoulder and upper thigh.
Tonight is that night.
Just two weeks ago your apartment was cleared of anything Jean deemed dangerous, he wants you to get better as much as Kim does - if not more. He has waited a long time for this, yet his patience has not been rewarded. Facing the world right now sounds nothing less than a nightmare.
Electrochemistry:
Keep going, by the end of the bottle you will no longer care. You’re at a 3 right now, you need to get to 8.
Encyclopidia: The intoxication scale, a 3 often meaning ‘tipsy’, while an 8 is often a danger to ones self. Measured by the amount of alcohol in ones blood, it is a 0-10 level scale, however the amount of alcohol in ones system can be misleading due to personal tolerances.
Electrochemistry: Alcohol tolerance is bullshit.
Encyclopidia: To some.
The world cant seem to stop moving, every time your gaze shifts there is a blur and all you want to do is sleep, but sleeping is a waste of this moment. If you’re going to relapse, why not enjoy it? For tomorrow you will need to deal with the consequences. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe no one will notice and you will need to prove yourself worthy of others worry. A broken man is nothing when fixed, then you are just a man.