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The kid they brought to his desk in the juvenile department was much like every other kid he got. They all were sad cases, in one way or another—some were better at hiding it than others, but by this point, Officer Sanada Akihiko knew all the tells.
This one was the openly sullen and miserable type. He didn't want to be here, and he made that clear to everyone around. After being uncuffed, he promptly threw himself down on the chair in front of Akihiko's desk and gave Akihiko the sort of death glare that would probably make other kids on the playground wither.
Unfortunately, Akihiko had been immune to such death glares for years now. He stood up and pulled his rolling chair around to the front of his paper-stacked desk to sit next to the kid. Because of the sensitive and confidential nature of his work, dealing with juvenile offenders, Akihiko had his own office, instead of being thrown out into the bullpen with everyone else. This was not the reason he'd forced his way into this department, but it was a nice perk. So, they had privacy.
“So what's your name?” Akihiko asked the kid directly, without looking at his file. Establishing initial rapport was the most important thing. You had to let them know you wanted to know what they had to say, not what others had to say about them.
“...Akechi Goro,” said the kid. He'd given up on glaring, and was looking across the room instead.
“And how old are you?”
“...Eleven.”
That was surprising. He was so tall and lanky for his age, Akihiko had assumed he was fourteen. He'd clearly hit his growth spurt early. His hair, long overdue for a cut, hid his more babyish face and made him look considerably older. He wasn't wearing a school uniform, which had obscured his age somewhat. Well, it was a Saturday.
“So what's brought you here, Goro?” Akihiko asked.
“I stole some dust canisters from the department store,” Goro said. “And when the staff guy tried to stop me from leaving, I kicked him in the balls.” His hesitation in saying this was zero. It was as if he were challenging Akihiko, saying, yeah, I did this stuff, so what? A pretty aggressive attitude, for an eleven-year-old.
Akihiko sighed. The ball-kicking was one thing (Akihiko was internally chuckling, but he really couldn't let that show), but the dust canisters were another. Akihiko had a particular loathing for drug cases. “Were you going to huff those canisters?”
Goro looked taken aback by his reaction.
“Do you think I don't know about dusting? Come on. Adults aren't all idiots.”
“I dunno...”
What a cheeky kid. “Well, maybe I'm a bit of an idiot. But you're the real idiot for trying dusting. Do you know it can kill you?”
“I'm not dumb!” Goro retorted. “I know that! I was just gonna...sell them. You can make good money off 'em.”
Akihiko frowned. “You know they can kill people, and you still wanted to sell them?”
Goro folded his arms. “Well, if you do it and die, it's your own fault for being dumb.”
“...You wouldn't feel even slightly guilty if someone you sold one to died?”
Goro stared at the ground. “...No,” he said, unconvincingly.
Akihiko leaned forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Look...it's hard to really feel it when it's just hypothetical, but once it's done, it's done. And the guilt...can ruin you.” He paused. “...Do you know what hypothetical means?”
“I'm not stupid!” Goro snapped. “Of course I know what it means.”
“It's a pretty big word!” Akihiko grinned, leaning back. “I don't think I knew it, when I was your age. You're a smart kid. You don't need to be stealing dusters.”
“What do you know? I need the money. A guy like you wouldn't get it.”
“Hey.” Akihiko's look turned serious. “Do you know why I do this job?”
“No. I don't care.”
“Because I was raised in an institution, and I knew a lot of kids like you, growing up. And I want to help you now, because back then, there were people I couldn't help.” This was a familiar speech by now, but it was still true.
“Whatever.” Goro rolled his eyes. “You're probably just making that up to butter me up.”
“You're not the first kid to disbelieve me, and I keep old photos just for this purpose.” Akihiko pulled out his cell phone and flipped to a photo in his album—an old one that had made its way across multiple devices over time. It was a group photo from the institution where he'd spent most of his youth, before getting accepted at Gekkoukan. It was in front of the building, and showed the name of the institution clearly. He was around the same age as Goro was now in the photo, though considerably smaller and babier. Akihiko showed the kid his phone.
“See? This is me.” He pointed to a short, silver-haired kid in the middle row.
Goro took the phone skeptically, but the look in his eyes changed as they flicked back and forth between the photo and Akihiko. “...Okay. I guess you're legit.” He frowned, as if being proven wrong bothered him. “...Who's this other kid?” Goro turned the phone around and pointed to the other, rather shorter, scruffier kid who was standing beside Akihiko in the photo, close enough that they were touching.
Akihiko was a little startled. It wasn't often that kids would pry more about his history—and less often that they would pry about that particular person. “He was...my best friend. My brother.”
“So he died?” Goro was blunt in the way that only those who had experienced death close to them would be.
“...He did.”
“...My mom died, too,” Goro muttered, as if sharing a secret. He didn't mention his father. “That's why I'm at the kids' home.”
“I'm sorry.” Akihiko didn't remember his own parents very well, and they'd never been a great source of pain for him, being as vague memories as they were. But Shinji had remembered his mother. And the kid asking about Shinji was bringing up old memories like that.
“You didn't do anything to be sorry for.” Goro looked down at his feet.
“I'm saying it because I'm expressing sadness that something bad happened to you.”
“Why would you care what happens to me?”
“Because it's my job to care,” Akihiko said firmly. “And though you might feel like right now there's nobody in your life to care about what happens to you, you'll find your place, eventually. You'll find people who care about you.”
Goro didn't say anything, just looking down at the floor.
“Look. It's hard now. And living at an institution sucks. I know how they control your life. I used to lie to everyone at school about it, hide where I lived. I hated everything about that place. So me and my brother, we both swore we would study our asses off and get a scholarship into a private school, one with a dorm.” Akihiko looked at Goro with sincerity. “Stealing dusters is only going to help you for a day or two. It won't get you out. What gets you out is showing adults that you're worth it. If you're the best student in school, you'll get noticed. And people will care what happens to you.” Akihiko shut his mouth there. He'd been making a speech, and he tried not to make speeches to kids. It was better to listen. “Sorry for the speech,” he said sheepishly, leaning back in his chair.
Goro didn't say anything, though. He continued to focus his eyes downward.
“Hey, you knew what hypothetical meant. So you're smart. You could do it. You just need to work hard—really hard.” Akihiko folded his hands in front of him, feeling a little awkward that Goro was still silent, looking at the floor. It took him a minute to realize that Goro's eyes were flicking between the floor and Akihiko's hands.
“What?” Akihiko looked down at his hands, then back at Goro.
“You're not wearing the normal gloves,” Goro said, suddenly changing the topic.
“Huh?” Akihiko raised his hands in front of him, turning them back and forth. He was wearing his usual black leather gloves. “Oh, these. I just can't get used to the standard white ones. The chief is always riding my ass for breaking dress code, but...”
Goro snickered. “You're a cop! And you get in trouble for breaking the rules?”
Akihiko blushed in spite of himself. “It's not a very important rule!”
“Are you allowed to say stuff like that on the job?”
“Hey...” That cheeky kid. Akihiko needed to get this conversation back on track. “Fine. You know what?” Akihiko pulled off the gloves and tossed them over to land in Goro's lap. “Here. Starting today, I'm wearing the uniform gloves. So I don't need those anymore. Take them.”
Goro's eyes were wide, staring down at the gloves in his lap, but he quickly picked them up and tried them on himself. Unsurprisingly, they were far too big.
“You'll grow into them,” Akihiko said. “Those are nice ones, so don't lose them, okay? I really like that pair.” This was true. They were comfortably worn in, and Akihiko was going to miss them sorely, but he was willing to give them up to win a battle of wills with a cheeky eleven-year-old. (Sometimes, he wondered if his own stubbornness was a disease.)
Taking off the gloves, however, made Akihiko notice his watch and how much time he'd spent talking to this kid. “Crap. I'm sorry, but I don't have much more time. In fact...” Akihiko grinned at Goro, “I don't even think I have time to call your guardians about this little incident. So get outta here.” He stood up, and gestured for Goro to rise, too. Looking quite startled, with the too-large gloves dangling off his hands, Goro complied.
“I'm not going to be seeing you again—” Akihiko gave the kid a glare that said, I'd better not be seeing you again—“So take care out there, okay?” He patted Goro on the shoulder, pushing him to the door.
Before leaving, Goro turned back to him, and smiled for the first time. “Thanks for the gloves.”
Akihiko smiled back at him. “You've got a great smile. Keep doing it.”
Goro nodded without a word, just smiled back at him, and Akihiko escorted him out of his office, and out of the station.