Chapter Text
Sweat condenses on the outside of the cans, dripping down and leaving wet rings on the lacquered wood. Adachi watches carefully, half-closing one eye to keep the room from spinning out from under him. “Hey,” Dojima slurs, resting his own can back on the bare table, “use a coaster.”
Adachi smiles and ignores the request.
There is a steadily growing pile of trash between them, their knees rubbing each other, the feeling muted through their work slacks and the alcohol buzzing between them. If he was alone, Adachi would’ve pulled his pants off already, but he isn’t and Dojima’s legs would put his own to shame, so he deals with the canvas folds of the fabric digging into the soft underside of his limbs. It’s fine. He’s put up with worse. None of this matters, anyway.
Sound emanates from the tv behind them, weaving in and out as the two men crack idle jokes neither of them pay attention to. It’s simple, and it’s easy, and Adachi likes the sound of Dojima’s laugh, the pitch deep enough to resonate through him. So much different than the shrill voice of the announcer coming through the speakers, so much so that Adachi considers grabbing the remote and muting it right there. Annoying.
Dojima finishes up a story that the both of them had been there for (there was no point in telling work stories, really, but the two of them did it anyway). Adachi can feel himself swaying back and forth. He cracks the seal on another drink, scrambling to pour the foam running up over the lip into his mouth before it spills on the tatami beneath them. He’s successful, relatively, and quickly mops up the excess with the bottom of his sock while Dojima chuckles into his own drink. “Nice one.”
Adachi peels the wet fabric from his foot and tosses it towards the door, the sock landing painfully far from the entryway and eliciting another round of laughter from the man beside him. He gently shoves Dojima’s shoulder, Dojima shoves back, the touch raises the hair on his arms and everyone gets poetic when they’re drunk, he thinks, this is nothing special. He should stop drinking, he thinks, but Dojima is the only thing in this shithole town worth a damn. He smells like old coffee and cheap beer and cigarettes when Adachi sways into him, and it should disgust him but it doesn’t. He wonders briefly what he smells like.
“Not really like anything,” Dojima responds, “but not in a bad way. You’re just kinda normal.”
Whether or not Adachi’s let any of his other thoughts slip is ignored as Dojima reaches up to press the side of his can against Adachi’s cheek. He didn’t realize how flushed he is and he can feel the chill of the liquid inside, the condensation left behind heating up and seemingly burning off his skin. “Huh, maybe I should get some cologne or something.”
“Maybe. Nanako’s good at that kinda stuff, she could come shopping with us.”
Adachi laughs. “Oh yeah, you told me she likes going to Junes, right? We could make an day of it.”
Dojima’s age shows when he smiles, how the corners of his eyes wrinkle, how Adachi can see the grey starting to seep into the stubble under his chin. “Yeah,” he agrees, “the next day we all have off.” There’s a small thump from the next room over and Dojima chuckles. “Does that sound good, Nanako?”
The girl slides the door open and pokes her head out, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “Mm-hmm,” she smiles, “I wanna go to Junes with Dad and Adachi-san!”
“C’mere, you.” Nanako patters over and Dojima pulls her onto his lap, kissing the top of her head. “What are you still doing up? It’s past your bedtime.”
“I was asleep! You two were being loud and woke me up.” As if to prove her point, Nanako let out a yawn.
“Okay, okay. Forgive me.”
Adachi watches as Dojima rubs his stubble on Nanako’s cheek, the girl shrieking with laughter as he continues to tickle her. Adachi likes Nanako well enough, never being too fond of kids but she was more mature than most, much more so than the rest of the kids he has to deal with day to day. He takes another sip of his beer. Probably just a product of circumstance, but it wasn’t such a bad thing. Surely, he couldn’t complain.
“Ah, sh— shoot,” Dojima grumbles, squinting into the squashed pack of cigarettes, shaking it fruitlessly. He hoists Nanako up from his lap and stumbles to his feet, a hand on her shoulder not so much to steady her as to steady himself. “Guess I gotta go run down to the store. Nanako, you want anything?” The girl shakes her head. “Adachi?”
“Nah,” Adachi says, leaning back against the couch. “I’m good.”
Dojima shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back.” He turns to walk out the door, shoulder thumping against the doorframe as he fumbles the door open and stumbles out into the street, leaving Adachi and Nanako alone.
He doesn’t know how to talk to the girl and she obviously doesn’t know how to talk to him either. She sits down across the table and stacks a few of the cans up to clear some space. She’s still tired, almost nodding off as she watches the TV and pointedly ignores Adachi’s presence. He ignores her too, thumbing the volume up and resting an arm on the seat of the couch. It’s easier to be alone — he thinks that she feels the same way.
The last sip of his beer catches the edge of the can and rings metallic against Adachi’s tongue and he’s almost asleep himself; he would be heading back if Dojima was home and able to watch over the girl. He can’t in good conscience leave her here alone, falling asleep amidst garbage waiting on her dad to come back. He knows the kind of monsters that walk the streets, he knows what kind of person she could all too easily become. Maybe that’s why he spends so much time here.
Adachi shakes his head. He needs another drink.
“Nanako,” he starts, waiting until she blinks out of her trance and turns to face him before continuing, “where does your daddy keep the beer?”
“In the fridge. Here, I’ll get one for you.” She hops up and pulls the fridge door open with a small grunt. Adachi can hear her shuffling the contents around in her search and feels a little bad for asking, but it was she who volunteered and besides, he doesn’t want to mess anything up. He absentmindedly flicks the pull tab of an empty can back and forth until the metal splits and digs into the side of his index finger. He hardly feels it.
“Uh oh,” Nanako calls over her shoulder, voice muffled by the insulation of the fridge, “this is the last one.”
“It’s fine, I’ll text Dojima to get more.” Adachi grabs his jacket, digging through the pockets and finally grabbing hold of his phone. He fumbles out the message with one hand; the cut on the other is bleeding only slightly but he sticks the finger in his mouth anyway, trying to suck out the pooling blood and clot the wound quicker.
Nanako hovers over Adachi’s shoulder. “...Are you hurt?”
“Oh, this? No no, it’s just a little cut.”
“That’s not good. You’ve gotta take care of it now or it’s gonna hurt more later. I’ll get you a bandaid.”
“Thanks.” Adachi smiles weakly.
The first aid kit is nothing more than a couple plasters and a small, half used roll of gauze stuffed into an old tin with, inexplicably, a photo inside as well. Nanako plucks one of the bandaids out and tears the wrapping open with her teeth. “Here,” she says, gesturing to his hand, which he gladly provides. She sticks the bandage to one side of the finger, pulling it taut and wrapping it around to the other side. It's snug but not too tight and Adachi can tell that the adhesive is partially stuck to the wound and that pulling it off later on is going to hurt, but Nanako looks so proud of herself holding onto his hand that he can't correct her. “There you go! It’s all better now.”
It might just be the glue holding his skin together but it does feel better, the light sting he was beginning to feel gone, his finger only throbbing dully now. Nanako’s hands are so small, her grip so gentle that he’s able to shake it off quickly and pick up the photo instead. Nanako and Dojima, both looking slightly younger beam back at him, another woman laughing as she wraps her arms around the girl. Huh. “Is this your mom?”
“Yeah,” Nanako says, taking the picture. “Dad says that I’m starting to look more like her.”
Adachi can see the resemblance, absolutely, but if he was asked he would say that Nanako looked closer to her dad, her jaw, her ears, her nose showing the familial connection. He reaches a hand over and ruffles her hair. “You’re gonna be beautiful when you grow up.”
“You think so? Mom really was pretty, wasn’t she.”
Adachi doesn’t want to look at the picture any more than he has to. “Yeah. She was.”
Nanako suddenly jumps up. “Oh! I know where Dad put the rest of them! Hold on, I’ll go get them,” and before Adachi is able to register what’s happening and stop the girl, she’s already up the stairs, banging around like a demolition crew. Maybe she’s got a future in construction, Adachi thinks, and he would be laughing if he was able to pinpoint exactly why he feels like he needs to throw up.
Dust bunnies cling to Nanako’s hair and the hem of her pajamas as she reemerges, plunking a box down in the middle of the table. “Here! I think there are more somewhere, but this is enough for now.”
“Oh, good job! Let’s take a look,” Adachi says, pulling the top off the box and grabbing a glossy stack of paper. They’re all fairly benign, the kind of garbage one would be bombarded with by their girlfriend’s parents in an attempt to “embarrass” her on the fifth or sixth time over to their place. A sadistic initiation ritual, the mark being accepted into their family. Dojima’s not here to get embarrassed, however, and Nanako’s too young to be doing this maliciously, so there’s no reason for him to be getting worked up about the whole mess. It’s just annoying, more than anything. He sighs and flips through the stack of photos. Most of the pictures are of Nanako, her mom and Dojima scattered throughout. Birthdays, holidays, everyone growing younger as he digs further down into the box. Nanako’s the most noticeable, but still Dojima’s wrinkles disappear, the look in his eyes is softer, his smile more genuine. A few pictures fall from Adachi’s grasp and land beneath the table. He blames it on the alcohol.
Neither Adachi nor Nanako are spending much time on any one photo, all too aware that Dojima could be home at any moment and that he hid the box for a reason, probably not thinking that his partner and daughter would be rifling through it behind his back. “Oh! I remember this one! It’s from Dad’s birthday!” Nanako tosses a picture to Adachi and returns to dig through the box. Dojima’s wearing a party hat in the photo, Nanako grinning on his lap. A cake sits on the table in front of them (the same table that they’re sitting at now, Adachi notices) and the light from the candles dances off their eyes.
“Very nice,” Adachi lies.
“There’s some with Mom in them too.”
Adachi catches another small stack and quickly flips through them, trying not to pay too much attention to the young couple. Nanako is arm deep in the box, rooting around and continuing to make small stacks as she goes. Pre-school, baby pictures, vacations, all carefully catalogued and stuffed away in a closet. It’s almost like watching a show, Adachi thinks, like the Dojima he knows is the actor at the end of the play, changing back into his street clothes, wiping the makeup from his face. The disconnect between then and how he knows him now is shocking.
There’s an envelope in the bottom, the corners yellowing with age, and Adachi tips the paper to let the photos fall out onto the table. They’re wedding pictures, he quickly realizes, and from the fading of the ink, it looks as though they had been framed before, probably displayed in the same room he was sitting with Nanako in.
He’s no amateur, Adachi thinks, he drinks arguably more than he should and he knows it, but sitting here is giving him the spins like he’s young again and if he could move he’d make a dash to the backyard, either to clear his mind or empty his stomach, he’s not sure yet, but the point is moot seeing as he can’t muster the energy to move and even if he could his limbs are too rubbery to stand. Photo Dojima is giving his wife a look that Adachi has never seen him make before. He chokes back a gag. No, that’s a lie. He’s seen traces of it here and there, he’s been partnered with the man for a few months now, he’s had time to observe him and it’s one of the only things that can make the job bearable sometimes, but there’s an innocence that’s been wiped from the man. It’s never there for more than a second or so, but it interests Adachi more than anything else. Nanako rests her forearms on his shoulder to peer at the pictures, the touch shocking him out of his introspection like a splash of ice water. He hadn’t even realized that she had gotten up.
The two were quiet for a minute, Adachi’s throat dry, not quite knowing what to say. Nanako looked nothing short of lonely, and though her touch was piercing on Adachi’s back he didn’t ask her to move. Instead, he forces a smile. “Uh, this is a lot more traditional than I thought it would be. Your dad doesn’t really seem like the kinda guy to go for this sort of wedding.”
Nanako reached over and brushes the picture with her hand. “Yeah, Dad told me that Mom was the one who did most of the planning. He said she was a very elegant woman.” That’s not a fact Adachi can argue. She looks like a musician, a cellist if he were to judge from appearance, a pianist if he was going to take Dojima’s music choices into account, the man’s seniority automatically giving him control of the radio when they were on patrol. His jaw is tight. Nanako continues. “I wanna have a wedding someday, one just like Mom’s.”
“I think you’ve got a while to wait. Dojima’s gotta make sure you find a good guy before he’s gonna hand you over.”
Nanako smiled. “Yeah, but Dad knows a bad guy when he sees one! I trust him. How about you — do you wanna get married?”
Never. “Maybe someday,” Adachi says, “but I’ve got to make sure I’m getting a good wife.”
“I think you’re a good guy.” She’s young, and she can’t see how twisted his heart has become, and he has to forgive her. “I’m sure you’ll find someone. Maybe Dad can check them out too!”
Adachi’s toenails are clawing into the tatami below the table where Nanako can’t see, trying to ground himself with something other than the girl’s words. “Hmm, but I’m not too fond of weddings.” He can feel the keratin threatening to snap. “How about this, I’ll make sure to go to yours instead!”
That seems to satiate Nanako. “Alright! It’s a deal.” She holds out a pinky and Adachi loops his finger with hers, the two of them shaking as the pact is sealed. The pictures are laying on the table now and Nanako rifles through them, pulling out one Adachi presumes is Nanako’s mom with her own parents, posed carefully and beaming at the photographer. She sighs. “I wish I could’ve been there too.”
“You weren’t born yet, silly.”
“Were you?”
How old does the girl think he is? There was a date on the envelope and math was never his strong suit, but — “I was sixteen,” Adachi states, “I was still in high school at the time. I didn’t really think about marriage then.”
It’s bitter, twisting his guts, acknowledging that the same time he spent pissing away in school, Dojima was off getting hitched, happier than Adachi had ever been able to see him. It hurts, but he can’t say that he doesn’t know why. He just wants to ignore it, is all. Since when was that a crime? Nanako might be able to tell something’s up; she’s passing a glass of water to him and he’s unsure exactly how much time has passed since they last spoke out loud. He’s too caught up in his head, too focused on imagining the past to pay any attention at all to the present.
He wonders what else he’s missed in Dojima’s life.
Footsteps crunch the gravel outside and Nanako’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. She looks just like her dad and it almost brings Adachi to smile. “Go go.” He waves her into the next room. “Pretend you’re asleep. I’ll deal with him.”
The front door swings open. Adachi wonders if Dojima ever thinks about what his past must be like. It’s not very interesting, but he’d share. “I’m home,” the man grunts.
Adachi’s sprawled out on the floor, the photos thrown back into the box haphazardly, trying his best not to look guilty. “Ah, welcome back.”
“Thanks. I got your text, so I—” Dojima stops as he sees Adachi’s sheepish smile. His eyes narrow. He rests the plastic bag down on the table and taps the box with a toe. “Nanako?” Adachi shrugs and he sighs.
“Don’t blame her.”
“No, no, it’s fine. They’re her pictures too, she has as much right as I do to look at them.”
Dojima’s face is scrunched up and Adachi feels stupidly guilty. Even though he knows that he would’ve found out sooner or later, that maybe it’s like pulling off a bandaid, that maybe this is what’s needed to fix what’s rotting inside him, that none of this matters anyway, he can only take so much and he needs to leave. He needs to leave now.
“Wait,” Dojima says, and Adachi wonders how much he’s said out loud. He’s somehow standing now and Dojima’s sitting down with his back to the window, waving a bottle at Adachi. “Don’t let this go to waste.”
Dojima was already in his teens when Adachi was born. Adachi takes the drink. Might as well, while he still can. “Thanks.”
Blood falls on lacquered wood.
“What happened to your finger?”
Adachi looks down at his hand. Half-moon imprints are dug into his palms, slowly fading purple. The cut from before seems to have opened somehow wider and soaked the padding of the bandage, robbing the adhesive of any sticking power. It’s slowly dripping and Adachi licks the excess blood off. “I’m not really sure.”
“Well, get a tissue or something. You gotta take care of it now or it’ll be a problem later.”
“Yes, sir.”
There’s a roll of paper towels in the kitchen and Adachi grabs one, wrapping it tightly around his finger. He can’t see any tape and finishes the wrap by tucking the corners under. It’s fine, it’ll hold for now. He isn’t planning on staying too much longer.
Dojima’s looking at the photos that Adachi dropped under the table when he sits back down. “It’s funny, I haven’t really taken any pictures since… well, you know.”
Adachi takes a sip of his beer. “I don’t take too many photos either.”
“Yeah, well, you’re just you. Nanako’s growing up so fast, I should at least have some.”
“Aren’t we going to Junes? We should take some pictures while we’re there. Make an outing of it.”
Neither of them mention the implication, but all the same Dojima smiles. “We should.”
Adachi can see the grey seeping in beneath Dojima’s chin when he smiles, so much different than the Dojima in the photos. He wonders how much he will change in the future. The TV’s off by now, Nanako’s at least feigning sleep in her room, and the two have run out of conversation topics. Adachi considers telling him about his past as an exchange, as some sort of apology for reading through Dojima’s life. He decides against it.
Still, maybe he’s drinking slower than before on purpose, and maybe Dojima can tell. Dojima scoots his knee back over to rub against Adachi’s. The silence rings through the room. He knows they’re just biding their time until the rusted metal of their bonds finally snaps and the two can fade into nothingness. But Dojima’s eyes are grey, he notices. He feels the world spin out beneath him at the realization. They’re warm and comforting and calm as a cloudy sky and soon, the rest of his hair will be colored to match.
Adachi thinks that maybe, just maybe he could stay a little longer.
“Yeah,” Dojima agrees, “as long as you like.”