graveyardparade
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Summary
“Hey, so… when were you planning on telling me?”
Knowing Kristen, the question could mean anything and everything, all at once. She’s always been like this, for as long as Riz has known her, even in the single-minded grip of the cult; easily distracted, prone to flights of fancy, mind darting down rhetorical alleyways and swimming through segues. Riz doesn’t look up from the paper they’re (okay, he's) working on, though he taps his claws against the table to show that he’s listening until he’s finished his sentence.
“Tell you what?”
“That you’re aroace.”
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Riz doesn't mean to come out to Kristen. It just kind of happens.
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“I’m just looking,” you say, drifting towards it. You run your hand over the buttons, numbers faded from overuse, cradle its graffitied side, languidly run your fingers down the shiny exoskeleton of the armoured cord. You pick up the phone, cradling it between your shoulder and ear.
PASSION - In a different life, you spent every evening like this, phone tucked intimately in the crook of your shoulder. Who did you speak to? A far-off lover? Someone who made you smile. Someone who made your heart sing. A beautiful memory.
INTERFACING - Eyes closed, your fingers are guided by sheer muscle memory, dialling a familiar number.
PANIC AND STRESSOR DISORDER - HANG UP.
Ring… ring… ring…
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Roleswapped Kim has a very uncomfortable phone call. -
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From where he’s slumped on the couch, everything but Leslie is swimming. The walk back and the food and water sitting in his gut helped him sober up, but he doesn’t even know what he’s saying when he blurts out: “You’re handsome.”
“Thanks.” She raises her brow at him, gives him a little smirk. He was right. It’s very handsome. “You into girls too, kid?”
“No. Are you into boys?”
“No.” She raps her knuckles against the side of his knee. “But if you were, I was planning on letting you down easy.”
“I’m not into girls.” He squints at her, trying to think of why her looks had struck him. It dawns on him, all at once. “I’m not into you. I’m just jealous. I’d like to be handsome.”
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Kim gets too drunk at a club, meets a new friend, and gets a haircut. -
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Hungry for companionship, Kim found an equally as lonely homo-sexual by the name of Thomas, living not too far from his humble little apartment in the GRIH. He too had a steady job, better paying than Kim’s, working not with the great big machines of the harbour that Kim held such fascination for but in coordinating hours and shipments. He liked Kim, but not too much, and never demanded what he couldn’t give. He had no eccentricities, no strange hobbies, and was perfectly acceptable company to discuss radio programs with, to introduce friends to with his sharp suit and perfectly honed small-talk, and occasionally went with Kim for dinner in which he reliably ordered steak and potatoes without horseradish. In short, he was perfect.
Two years later, Kim stood in the entryway of hostel in a miserable little town and watched in horrified fascination as a man in mustard-yellow trousers and the most hideous tie he’s ever seen staggered down the stairs, smelling of piss and spirits, and declared himself Raphael Ambrosius Costeau.After giving up on true love, Kim finds it again in an unlikely place -- all he has to do is let it in.
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Summary
“If you insist on changing your footwear every other day, you can’t just buy all of your clothing to fit your highest heels,” Kim continues. “You’ve got a decent wardrobe built up. You need to treat your things with the respect they deserve..”
“Okay,” Harry says, sheepish. “I see your point. But this is the wardrobe I’ve got, and I can’t exactly go out and buy a whole new one. You’re just gonna have to live with your partner being a ragamuffin.”
Kim deliberately does not reveal that he’s somewhat charmed by Harry’s use of ragamuffin. “Oh, I always knew you were a ragamuffin. Properly fitted clothes won’t change that one. But…” He hesitates, but only for a moment. Being able to sew wasn’t something that was looked kindly upon by his peers, no matter how useful it was, but this is Harry. He’s happy to go gallivanting about in mesh shirts and silken robes. “I could always hem them for you. If you like.”
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A short series of vignettes, in which Kim's sewing skills get a work-out by tailoring the 41st Precinct's clothing, and a little bonding happens along the way.