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Porsché is outside of Kim’s building.
Porsché is pulling out his guitar in the middle of the street.
Porsché is standing on one leg in front of Kim.
Porsché has written a love song, and he wants Kim to hear it.
Something inside Kim immediately recoils, at first. A love song, like this? In the middle of the street? That’s not… It’s not… And Ché looks so genuine, too. Painfully genuine. He’s relaxed, he’s happy. A little nervous, sure but… He’s unafraid.
Kim bites his lip, wanting to get this over with. He feels like he might vibrate out of his skin, if he has to stand here for too long. At first, he can’t meet Ché’s eyes, but then he starts playing, and once Kim has glanced at him, he can’t look away. He stares. Stares at this… This thing that’s happening in front of him. It’s like Ché is from another planet. There’s an uncomfortable, fluttering feeling in Kim’s stomach. Ché, he looks so...
Kim sucks in a sharp breath. Swallows.
He just… He looks so... So fully free.
Kim presses his lips together. It’s not enough. He’s staring straight at Ché, lips trembling as his eyes begin to water. He tries to blink it away. Stupid. And there it is. Wet, cold, sliding down his cheeks. First one, and then the other.
Fuck.
Fuck! Because Kim doesn’t know what it’s like to be this! Ché has written a love song and he wanted Kim to hear it, so he’d showed up at his building, and now he’s playing Kim his love song! In the street!
And at that moment there’s a part of him that hates Ché, because Kim has no idea what that’s like. None. He barely knows what it’s like to love someone, much less how to do it like this! Out, in front of the whole fucking world, and completely unafraid about it, too. Fucking happy! This kid!
And yet. Kim keeps staring. God, he feels so fucking stupid. He bites his lip hard to keep it still, and he tries! He really does try! But he can’t help it. Ché is there, and he's playing for Kim, and Kim can’t help but listen.
I gather all the words of love
I turn them into a song that I’d like for you to hear.
And of course Kim hears. How can he not, when Ché asks so sweetly?
Kim’s mouth tastes like blood. He doesn’t know what it’s like to love someone like this, that’s true. This is also true: Kim doesn’t know what it’s like to be loved like this.
Nobody’s ever loved him in a way that didn’t hurt.
His brothers are lucky. They remember their mother and what her love felt like. Kim just remembers her arms around him. They always said that he was lucky too, because at least he doesn’t remember what it felt like to lose her, but that’s not true. That’s not true, because one day he was safe, and warm, and loved, and happy, and the next day, the only skinny arms and the only soft chest he’d ever truly known were ripped from him. And they never returned. Some other arms held him instead, but they were never the ones he wanted. The minute he was old enough, he left all those other arms behind. There’s a reason he doesn’t let strangers touch him.
But as it turns out, Ché doesn’t even need to touch him to break him.
Darling, can you hear it? This love song belongs to you, just you.
How could Kim possibly listen to this, and not break?
How could he listen to this, watch this, be here, in the middle of this, and not love Ché? Love him for showing him that this exists. For showing him that there’s something in him, in Kim, that is pure enough to be seen by Ché. He has no idea what it is. Has no idea how Ché found it, but it must be something, for him to be standing here like this.
Somehow, Ché is still smiling, and for a second, all Kim can do is love him.
“I hope you liked it, P’Kim.” He says softly.
Kim wipes at the tears that are still streaming down his cheeks. He feels embarrassed and awful and whole. He nods.
Ché smiles even more softly, before glancing away once, twice, and then turning away. He’s carefully putting his guitar back in its case before he gently leans it against the car. Kim has his arms wrapped around himself, and he watches. Follows every movement until Ché is turning back to him again. Until all his attention is on Kim.
“Can I hug you, P’Kim?” he asks.
Kim doesn’t even have to think about it, he just nods. What else is he gonna do, at this point?
There’s only two or three steps between them, and Ché takes them slowly. Steps in close. Kim looks into his eyes, and suddenly, he wants this. His chest is aching with a pressure that builds and builds, and he wants this. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t-
Ché’s arms come up around him. They hold him with a soft, barely-there pressure that feels as if it’s burning into Kim’s soul. Kim’s own hands are hanging at his sides, but slowly, slowly, he lets his head tilt forward until he can rest his cheek against Ché’s shoulder. It’s bony, but his shirt is soft. Ché’s arms tighten around him. Kim feels their warmth through his jacket.
There is something missing inside of Kim. Something that has been missing for a long time.
As Ché’s thumb begins gently moving back and forth against Kim’s shoulder blade, he thinks to himself, Oh. Maybe it was this.