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It's been 6 months, 11 days and 9 hours of complete stone cold sobriety. It's been 6 months, 11 days and 8 hours since Kim Kitsuragi came into your life. You've been partners for the whole of that time.
You look at him from where you're laying across your bed, smoking the one cigarette a day he allows himself. The moonlight dances in your room, pale strips shining across the bedsheets. The end of the cigarette burns a bright red whenever he inhales, smoke pouring from between his lips as he flips through pages of his blue notebook. He looks cool even now, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts - his pajamas. He looks cool even in his pajamas.
He's been with you through it all. Every day that passed and every time you stayed away from temptations, even when everyone else expected you to end up on another bender, he still believed in you. While each passing day, everyone else expected you to fall again, Kim watched you with careful eyes, hopeful. Kim is one of the reasons you stayed sober. You want to be good to him. He deserves that from you, at least.
You sit up, and move closer to him. He looks up at you with a neutral expression and closes his notebook, placing it on the table next to him. He taps his cigarette on the ashtray and waits as you lean closer to him, expectant. One eyebrow raises slowly up his forehead as he inhales smoke from the cigarette. You love him. You love him. You love him. The emotion bubbles inside you, a bomb about to explode, and it's too much to contain.
"I love you"
But instead of an explosion, the words come out of your mouth unbidden, in a steady exhale.
A breath. He freezes. Completely still. The cigarette continues to burn where he has it halfway to the ashtray. Panic rushes through you. Maybe you shouldn't have said it so suddenly. You feel the need to explain yourself.
"You don't need to say it back, I just wanted you to know."
Stillness.
"I don't expect you to, honestly, and I don't blame you. I don't expect anything- uh, I mean, no, not that. Not that I'm trying to make you feel guilty, I'm not, I don't want that. I, um, I just wanted you to know. That I love you."
The cigarette has mostly burned down to the filter, now. The ash falls with a soft sound between the bed and the bedside table. You can feel and hear your heartbeat in your ears. Your voice is quiet, but still feels loud in the quietness of the room.
"I've been doing better, these past few months. And I don't remember that much...or anything, really... about... about before, but my body remembers how it felt and uh...it didn't feel good. But I feel better now, and I, I want to thank you. For dealing with my bullshit and dealing with me, in general."
A slow, deprecating grin spreads on your face, "Sometimes I'm not really disco," you laugh, but no amusement is sensed in your words, "and I... I really appreciate you being here. Not leaving. And, and if you did, I..."
You swallow. You can do this. You've thought about this. Almost every night, it's kept you awake. You can say this, he won't judge you. Steel yourself.
"I promise I won't be like that, like before, again. I promised myself that, and now I promise you that. But if you did leave..."
Breathe. "You would be taking all of me with you."
You hope it makes sense to him like it does to you. You look at him pleadingly, desperately wanting him to understand. But he's not looking at you. He has his gaze fixed somewhere on the center of your chest; this is the most unfocused you've seen him, like his mind is floating miles away from his body. Then, his eyes suddenly move to find yours. Your heart squeezes inside you. With quick, precise movements he takes the last drag of his cigarette, which is mostly just the filter, now. The smoke is so strong it makes your eyes tear up, but he doesn't even flinch as he inhales and stubs the cigarette in the ashtray. Then, he sighs, closes his eyes and all but sags back, his hands coming to rub his eyes behind his glasses.
You whisper, "This is the one thing in my life I don't want to mess up." You are the one thing in my life I don't want to lose.
He lets his hands drop into his lap and looks at you. His gaze is intense. Suddenly, he moves and all but pounces on you, his lips crashing into yours. He kisses you with a passion that demands your every breath, demands all of you. He kisses you furiously, like a drowning man that's just surfaced the water, gasping for air, and his hands grasp at you, feeling everything they can reach. Then, he pulls back, just when you're getting lightheaded. He rests his forehead on yours. You're both panting, breathless.
I love you, he thinks desperately, I love you so much it scares me, Harry.
You're breathing into each other, and stealing each others air, as well as giving your own. You breathe love into each others lungs. The purest form of love. He tangles his fingers into the hair on the back of your head and pulls you forward once, twice, countless times more. He breathes love into your lungs.
In a small apartment in Jamrock, two men hold each other as the moon shines bright in the polluted night sky, entangled in body, mind and soul. The stars, barely visible, twinkle like gems in ink, promising collapse and death and chaos. But they also promise time - time in every single breath. So breathe, for now, and rest. Kim runs his hands through your hair, exhaling softly against your lips. You're pressed as close together as you physically can. His deep brown eyes are warm as they stare into your own green emerald ones, and you smile. He smiles back and leans in for another kiss. Breathe.