Chapter Text
Kim Kitsuragi cannot remember the exact moment he knew he liked men.
At thirteen, the cliquey boy group at the orphanage that referred to themselves as "The Wild Seven" took an interest in Kim. In between the pesky stealing of his food and mean spirited comments, one of its "leaders" saw a hint of recklessness nested behind Kim's mild mannered temper, when he bit one of the boys in a fit of rage, leaving nasty imprints in his arm for a week - He tried touching Kim's model airplane he meticulously built out of carton and paper.
He was asked to join them, but only if he succeeded at a test of courage - Go to the Frittte's store and steal one of the adult rated, lingerie and fetish magazines without notice. The Frittte's they chose for him was manned by an evil man, who pulled on the kid's ears for lesser offenses than theft. It is said one of the orphan's cousin's knew a kid from the neighboring precincts, who had his ears ripped cleanly off his head by the clerk, after running into him during his smoke break. Rumors diverge whether he kept his ears in a jar of liquid or minced them into pieces to mix them into to his kebab.
Behind his composed veneer, Kim was petrified. However, part of him wanted to prove the boys right. There IS a reckless side to him. Plus, the lunch stealing was getting increasingly annoying.
He set up an insidious plan - Run inside and grab the pack of Astra's that idly sits on the cashier counter, to lure the mean clerk outside his booth towards the other end of the store, where a trap gauntlet of strategically oiled surfaces and placed obstacles await him. By the time the evil man was writhing on the ground, trying to free his foot from the tangles of a jumping rope, Kim already ran into the booth and stretched out his toes to snatch the magazine off its shelf.
When he brought his find to the pack, the boys began arguing over the prize. The chaos was swiftly subdued by one call of the leader's bellowing voice. In a group circle, the boys scoured through the trashy magazine, hovering over it on the ground like a group of gamblers throwing dice in a ring. Giggles, hoots and howls filled the ring as each page revealed a new set of naked beasts or erotic lingerie. Kim's pupils dilated, when one page revealed a man, big and hairy, in a get up consisting of black leather pants, an adorned leather jacket draped over his naked torso and a really cool hat.
Footsteps from afar alarmed the boys and the magazine was shut quickly, before their guardian could catch them, and shoved under Kim's too wide jacket. Just like that, the group name changed to "The Wild Eight" and Kim was tasked with guardianship over the raunchy magazine.
Later that night, Kim sneaked out of his sleeping quarters with the magazine tucked tightly under his nightgown. In the sanctity of night, he huddled under a streetlamp by the parking lot near his orphanage and turned to the right page. In the stillness of the night, he finally gets a proper look at the man. His torso was adorned with curvy pecs covered in dark, coarse chest hair, shimmering with sweat and oil. His stomach looked firm and well trained, with a soft cushion of fat layering over the outline of his muscles. His beard was dense in a way that has Kim wondering what running his fingers through that patch of hair would feel like. Wistfully, he glides his fingers across the man's paper chest.
That night, Kim went to sleep to the image of the big, hairy man.
---
At sixteen, Kim knew he was different from his peers. Where Kim wanted to keep rating MCs and motorcycles, the other boys wanted to rate the girls from the other orphanage wing instead. Josie had a beautiful face, one boy argued. Juliet has a nice rack, another countered. Kim recognized early on, that a nice rack was paramount. Or a nice ass. Whichever camp you align with. By the time the boys drew out an intricate graph of which boy gets which girl, Kim could no longer remain passive.
"Who do you like, Kitsuragi?" The keeper of the graph asked him. "No one." He deadpans with a drag of his self rolled cigarette. This gets him a chorus of disappointed voices. "You are such a spoilsport. C'mon, you can tell us." The clown of the gang prompted, poking a greasy finger into Kim's cheek, which he promptly slapped away. "You guys are idiots. Who is to say that Jessica, with the nice rack, even wants to jack and jill with Laurie?" Kim squints his eyes at the diagram, to decipher the nonsense. "You're just jealous, because Laurie won't let you stick it into the exhaust pipe of his motorcycle." The group hollers and Kim rolls his eyes. "Delinquents." He mumbles under his breath.
Kim decides it was nobody's business who he liked. Besides, he has a suspicion adding a new node to the diagram for the man in the magazine would be ill received.
---
At seventeen, Kim started seeing other men. While he sneaked out into the night to mingle in underground bars, on the look out for boys like him, his friends spent their time peacocking for the girls of the other orphanage wing. For them, no strategy was left untested. Some tried their luck with gift giving, smooth talking or even displaying their inguinal ligaments with hazardously low cut pants, like crests on a bird. Most of their efforts were met with ridicule from the girls, who had their own unsaid standards by which they are passing judgment. Kim pitied them. To an outsider, these courting rituals seemed like a complex dance, under scrutiny of countless rules one had to navigate without a manual.
Once Laurie managed to bed Jessica, it was all the boys could talk about for the day. Overt details of what she wore, how she wore it and what they did in the privacy of the school storage room were shared to the excess. "I'm telling you, I got her wrapped around my finger bad, she did not see it coming."
Kim bites back his comments. He wonders how dim Laurie must be, to think that a girl would show up to school with a matching set of lingerie and perfectly shaven privates if she didn't plan way ahead of him.
---
At forty four, Kim was in a committed relationship with his partner - A big, hairy, sensitive man with a soul as deep as the ocean and the attention span of one of those Graadian shepherd puppies, still in training for the patrol unit in the RCM.
From the day they met in Martinaise, Kim knew Harry as an adventurous and curious man. Hell bent on leaving no stone unturned and no broader, societal concept un-conceptualized, Harry dragged Kim along endless jogs to inspect insect traps, tedious errands to paint a mural or awkward small talks to uncover the secrets of the "homosexual underground" from an effeminate, young man.
Even after their case was closed and Kim transferred to his new precinct, the side quests did not end. Faced with the black hole in his memories and its endless possibilities, Harry went on a path of self-discovery. Some days, those discovery were pleasant, as he remembered his favorite restaurant chains or secret hideouts in the midst of his living block. Others were sorrowful, as he uncovers repressed memories in scraps of old letters of his ex fiance and a framed picture of an old woman next to her death report. Kim was certain he would relapse in a matter of a week. He was surprised when he didn't. Instead, when he Kim visited him on a lowly Sunday, he found stacks on stacks of paper, containing snippets of poetry, journal entries and abstract paintings made of cheap Frittte's store water color.
Kim was always observant, so he noted the patterns. Usually, Harry loves horrendously bright colors, but when he shows up in muted lavender, gray or black office wear, he is in mourning - Probably of a future that never was. When he's filled with overbearing energy or determination, he itches to go for a run or a workout in the precinct's gym. When he feels relatively regulated and flat, he does his procrastinated paperwork with paced efficiency and a uncharacteristically peaceful demeanor.
Kim observed and with every new peculiarity, the man became more endearing to him. Six months in and one reckless decision later, they found themselves necking in the backseat of Kim's Kineema like a couple of teenagers.
Now, Harry's colorful clothing, art utensils and stretch bands found their own place in their shared apartment. Now, Kim gets to observe Harry's frantic, creative impulses 24/7. That is why, when he found Harry, standing in front of their bathroom mirror, in a green, velvet dress, red color on his lips and a charcoal pencil in his hand, he acted out of habit.
"Harry... What are you doing?" He sighed.
Harry looks like a deer caught in the headlights. He begins fumbling the beauty products, messily scattered across the sink, stuttering. "K- Kim! I thought you would come home much later." He laughs nervously, haphazardly stuffing his things into a toiletry bag. "I was going to, but I handed over the report to..." Kim mutters, but the answer was irrelevant, because Harry is now hiding his things and facing away from Kim's sight, showing him his crouched back.
Kim examines the magazines splayed out atop the sink cupboard, displaying beautiful women. He notes the way the dress clung loosely around his partner's torso. The previous exasperation in his voice now seemed awfully ill fitting to the situation. "Kim I-" Kim interrupts, turning away from the scene as if he walked into a naked stranger. "It's alright just- clean up the bathroom after your done."
The clinking of metal cutlery on ceramic plates rang loudly in the silence that hang over them at dinner, as Harry sat uncharacteristically quiet, eyes fixed on his food and hand nested in his lap.
That night, Harry went to sleep with his tail tucked between his legs and Kim, to the image of green velvet clinging to a muscly, hairy thigh.