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There was a stranger crouched in the middle of his crime scene. He was frowning in concentration at the poor soul currently lying, very dead, on the kitchen floor. Goto crossed the floor of the apartment in four long strides and cleared his throat. The man started in surprise: clearly not the most observant fellow. He was absolutely not supposed to be there.

“This is a crime scene. You are absolutely not supposed to be here.”

The trespasser turned to face him, standing up in the process. Absentmindedly, Goto filed away information about him. Tall- a little taller than he was, and Goto was, in his opinion, comfortably above average. Curls of eye-catching blond hair shifted as he moved. Handsome, too; in another world, he could have been a model. 

“Pardon me?” the man’s voice was polite at least, and he seemed genuinely unsure why he was being reprimanded.

“There’s been a murder here. No civilians allowed in this area.” Goto wasn’t sure how this wouldn’t be obvious on account of the very deceased corpse lying right next to them, but his stint as an officer had led to dealing with quite a lot of the general public, towards which his faith was now irrevocably shattered.

“No, I know that. Why else would I be here?” The man smiled pleasantly. “It’s okay. I’m a detective.”

Ah.

Him.

Goto had been told about the strange man standing before him by his superiors shortly after starting his new position. They’d thrown around words like “eccentric” and “possibly a serial killer in the making” and “those damn millennials watch too much television and don’t have anything better to do with their time, I guess.” From what Goto could gather from their grousing, the man in question was some sort of self-styled, wannabe armchair detective obsessed with sneaking onto crime scenes and attempting to solve them. The problem was, he was also apparently a total idiot who couldn’t deduce his way out of a paper bag.

It also turned out the man had donated quite a large sum of money to the police department in the past, which was the only reason they had to tolerate him prowling about and only kicked him out when he got too obnoxious instead of having him arrested for trespassing. Chief Okuzaki had some choice words about that as well.

“I hate people like that,” he’d said, shaking his head. “If you ask me, he’s watched one too many movies and and now he’s got delusions of grandeur. Latched onto this idea that he can style himself after pop culture because it’s exciting and glamorous. Thinks he can buy his way to being an interesting person. Disgraceful, really. Young people these days.”

“I’m a detective,” the man repeated, “And I know how this man died.”

The victim in question (male, 47, blunt head trauma) continued to lie on the floor in a congealing puddle of his own blood and did not react to this statement at all, so Goto took it upon himself to do so instead. He pasted a stern look onto his face.

“Are you confessing to the crime?” He put his hands on his hips. “Because that would make my job so much easier.”

The man reeled back in exaggerated but genuine offense. “I would never- I wouldn’t do- I definitely did not kill this man!”

“That’s exactly the sort of thing a murderer would say.”

The man pulled himself up to his full height, indignation radiating from his very being.

“I deduced it from the clues! After all, like I said, I’m a detective!” His face fell a fraction of an inch. “I could prove it to you all, if you would just give me a chance and hear me out!”

Goto came to a decision: really, the man seemed eccentric but ultimately harmless. It wasn’t as if he could really disturb the crime scene, in this particular case. And if hard pressed, he would have to admit he felt a tiny bit bad for his ribbing.

“Okay, sure.” He crossed his arms. “Let’s hear it.”

The man immediately withdrew a large magnifying glass from inside his jacket, and Goto had to fight the urge to turn around and leave immediately. Except- the man had perked up instantly at the prospect of sharing his ideas with someone else, and Goto couldn’t find it in himself to knock that down.

The man carefully scanned the body with his magnifying glass, then bent down and plucked something off it. He brandished it at Goto, who scrutinized it to see-

“Two hairs!” the man crowed triumphantly. “Both long, one red, one blonde. Clearly this was a crime of passion! Our victim was caught red-handed with his lover by his wife, who bashed his face in with a frying pan in a fit of anger! If you examine the kitchen you’ll see that the frying pan is conspicuously missing, so that’s why there’s no murder weapon, and if you check under the victim’s nails-”

“Okay,” Goto finally interrupted. The man was entertaining, but he had to put an end to this lest it continue for the rest of the night. “All plausible deductions, except for one small, minor detail.” 

“What is it?” The man’s face shone with earnesty.

Goto carefully plucked the strands of hair from the man’s palm. “They actually found the culprit a little while ago. Burglary gone wrong, the weapon was still in the car. Open and shut case. We just hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up the crime scene yet. The victim was actually a huge animal lover and owned several dogs, so these hairs are probably dog hairs. He was unmarried too, so that ruled out any potential spouses.” Goto couldn’t help but pause for dramatic effect. “I guess he just didn’t like frying pans.”

“Oh.” the man looked crestfallen for a second, but then he shrugged. “Next time, I guess,” and he smiled helplessly and shit that smile looked so much like hers that Goto couldn’t-

“Yeah?” He found himself responding before he can stop himself. “Your deduction was a pretty good attempt! I can see why you would come up with that conclusion if you didn’t have any of the information I got to work off of.” He put a consoling hand on the man’s shoulder. “Chin up, I’m sure you’ll get it next time!”

The man paused and looked at him with a wide-eyed, unreadable expression, then unexpectedly stuck out his hand. “I’m Hazama Masayoshi!” He said. “What’s your name?”

Goto paused, then took it. “Hidenori Goto”, he replied. “Pleased to meet you.”

He’s surprised to realize he’s not lying, exactly.

Goto regretted his decision a week later when he saw Masayoshi again at the scene of a hit and run (thankfully no casualties). He watched, helpless, as Masayoshi ducked under the caution tape and looked wildly around. When he spotted Goto, he waved enthusiastically and made a beeline straight for him, ignoring the exasperated shouts of the police officers he walked past in the process. Totsuka looked up from the form he was filling out.

“Why is our resident weirdo walking towards us?”

Goto cursed inwardly. Clearly indulging the man last time had been a mistake, and now Goto would forever be remembered as “that cop who was nice to me once and will probably be nice to me again, let’s go talk to him.” He explained as such to Totsuka. “I felt bad for him when he, uh, trespassed on that botched burglary last week. So I think he’s imprinted on me now or something.”

“Good luck,” he said, clapping Goto gamely on the shoulder. “He’s your problem now.” And then he left, the bastard.

Masayoshi stopped short a few feet from Goto, attempting to paste a mask of analytical indifference on his face and failing miserably.

“Officer.” Masayoshi nodded at him stoically, still trying his best to look professional. Goto knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore him. He halfheartedly raised his hand in acknowledgment.

The man pointed to the smashed vehicle they’d cordoned off. “What happened here? Because based on the model and plate code of the car, and the fact that the driver side window is completely shattered, I think this was actually an assassination made to look like an accident-”

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” Goto interrupted, “but nothing that dramatic. Just your run of the mill hit and run, you know, a nasty rear end that everyone walked away from, except of course the asshole who caused the accident and then drove away, happens all the time”. Although tempted, he made the executive decision that he absolutely was not going to point out the fact that the driver’s side window was completely fine and had just been rolled down at the time of the crash.

“Aww.” Masayoshi paused a moment, then perked up. “Oh! Then does that mean nobody died here?”

“Nope.” Goto spread his hands in front of him. “You know, not every crime scene ends in a grisly death or a mysterious murder, like in the books. Most of the time it’s pretty mundane. Hit and runs. Petty thievery. Drunken bar fights. Part of the job.”

“That’s a relief though! That nobody died.” Masayoshi seemed genuinely happy at the thought and there it was again, that bright little smile. “I guess that’s the rest of my evening plans shot, though. I kind of figured this would take all night.”

Goto hesitated. It had been a long day and he was tired but then he remembered his empty apartment and-

“I haven’t eaten yet,” he shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “And my shift just ended. Are you hungry? We can go grab a bite if you want.”

Masayoshi positively beamed, which unexpectedly made Goto’s chest do something strange. “I know a great curry place nearby,” he exclaimed. “Follow me!”

Here’s what Goto learned over curry with Hazama Masayoshi. Masayoshi was twenty years old. He was an orphan with no family- his last remaining family member, his grandfather, had passed away the year previous but leaving him with a sizeable inheritance (which at least explained the donation and how he could spend apparently every waking moment stalking the police scanners). He was enthusiastically interested in Goto’s career- a career he admired greatly- and this in turn seemed to lead to an admiration of Goto, which was oddly flattering: Goto didn’t hear that much, as a police officer.

And he was terribly lonely.

Goto didn’t really like thinking about it, but the truth of the matter was he was also maybe a very lonely person. He hadn’t had any close friends or relationships in years, not after what happened in high school. So yeah, maybe he’s lonely too, and that’s why he didn’t say no to this weird man who kept breaking into his crime scenes.

Two visits turned into three turned into four. Masayoshi just kept showing up, and Goto found himself with the unofficial job of corralling the man whenever he happened to wander onto a crime scene by virtue of being the only one able to stand him.

(Which Goto thought was a little unfair, to be honest. Masayoshi was strange but clearly not dangerously so. Basically every idea that came out of his mouth was incorrect, but despite this his enthusiasm never flagged. Talking to him was fun. And at the very least he was polite, which Goto’s career so far had taught him was a distressingly rare commodity.)

They went through several iterations of the same basic scenario. Goto would find himself cordoning off the latest crime scene, as was his job. Masayoshi would, at some point, attempt to sneak in. He’d make a deduction, which would be definitely not what had actually occurred, and then they’d go get food and talk about the week they’d had. 

“He’s actually stopped trying to sneak into crime scenes when you aren’t there,” Totsuka casually told him one day. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing to be the fixation of a person like that, especially if Chief Okuzaki ends up winning the serial killer betting pool, but hey. Better for us. Easier to deal with.”

“We’re friends, right?” Masayoshi explained when Goto asked him about his more discerning appearances later. “You might be my only friend, actually-” and Goto isn’t sure if he should be flattered or worried Chief Okuzaki was right on the money.

Masayoshi continued: “I think there’s only a certain number of times they’ll tolerate me trying to solve a crime before they actually do just go ahead and arrest me, so I have to pace it out. And I really enjoy talking to you!”

This time, they’d actually gone back to Masayoshi’s apartment for dinner because he’d wanted to try out a new recipe. An empty pot of what had been curry sat on the stove, the distinctive smell still lingering in the air. Death on the Nile played out its inevitable conclusion on the television beside them. It was surprisingly cozy, and Goto let himself take a deep breath and relax.

He settled into his place on the couch and looked around, noting details to file away in the back of his head. It was larger than Goto had expected, but it made sense when he thought about it- Masayoshi had money. It was a cluttered mess- papers strewn everywhere, a children's chemistry set on the counter- but sparsely furnished: other than the couch they were currently on, the only furniture in the room was a small dining table with two chairs. Masayoshi clearly didn’t get many visitors. One wall was taken up almost entirely by a very large, detailed map of Tokyo; crammed next to it was a cow skull. Underneath them he could see a peek of Victorian wallpaper that clashed horribly with the apartment’s otherwise modern sensibilities: were these elements of Masayoshi or just the person he was trying to style himself as? The other wall was a bookshelf crammed full of knick knacks and novels.

The movie credits were rolling so Goto picked up his empty plate, walked to the kitchen and deposited it into the sink. Masayoshi followed suit, turning off the television as he got up. Goto paused on the way back at the bookshelf, turning his head sideways to read the titles- Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, Edogawa Ranpo- the works. He paused at a small framed picture of a man and a young child, both smiling at the camera. 

“My grandfather,” Masayoshi said from behind Goto.

“Ah. He raised you, right? Seems like he was a nice man.”

Masayoshi smiled fondly at that. “My childhood was a happy one, yes. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.”

“So your grandfather was the only other family you had. Wasn’t that lonely?” Goto, who was an only child but who had at least grown up in the same small town where his family had lived for decades, could not imagine that. “What about, I don’t know, other grandparents? Cousins?”

Masayoshi pondered this for a moment. “You can say I don’t have many people close to me in life, sure, but like I said I never felt lonely. I wouldn’t have traded my grandfather for all the family in the world. And now I have you!”

Goto couldn’t help but look away, blushing slightly. His eyes drifted back to the detective novels. He cleared his throat.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, actually. Why detectives? I mean, I know they’re cool and all, but there are tons of things that are more popular right now like, I don’t know, spies, or superheroes to hyperfixate on? So why are you so obsessed with detectives in particular?”

Masayoshi went quiet for a minute, which was very uncharacteristic of him. He was clearly thinking something through in his head. When he spoke, it was in a softer tone.

“My parents were murdered when I was a child. They were abroad. They never caught the culprits. That’s why my grandfather had to raise me.” Masayoshi ran his thumb absentmindedly along the row of book spines before continuing. “Do you know what that’s like? Knowing you’ll never learn the truth of what happened, exactly. Knowing you’ll never get that closure.” Goto didn’t answer.

“Anyways, my grandfather really loved detective fiction, and he passed that love onto me! He’d read me short stories and novels as bedtime stories. In a way, I think we were both just trying to find some measure of justice in a situation where there was none. ” He looked straight at Goto, and behind his eyes were determination and steel. “I’ve wanted to be a detective ever since I was a child. I want people to know that no mystery or burning question in their life will go unresolved, because nobody deserves to feel the way that we did. And I’m determined to do anything to make it happen, even if people think I’m being silly and wasting my time.”

It occured to Goto that he might have severely misjudged Masayoshi. The officers on the force had speculated Masayoshi was some sort of notoriety-obsessed glory hound, and Goto had accepted it as logical- but now he was starting to see that it was anything but. Here was a very genuine desire to do good, to make the world a better place. Outlandish and perhaps misplaced though the execution may be, Goto could find no fault in the motive. It was sincere in a way nothing in this world had any business being.

Goto could not stop the thrum of fondness that ran suddenly through him.

Masayoshi did not seem to realize how he had just tilted Goto’s world, ever so slightly, onto its axis. “Anyways, neither of my parents had any siblings. My maternal grandparents died before I was born, so… no extended family.” He smiled ruefully. “My fraternal grandmother actually died right after I was born, so I never really got to meet her. I’m told she was a flamenco dancer in her younger days. I’m told she was very beautiful.”

“A flamenco dancer, huh….” Goto tapped his fingers against his chin thoughtfully.

“Yeah. Flamenco.”

“Pity you didn’t inherit any of her grace, then.”

“Hey!”

Masayoshi swatted at Goto but smiled in mock exasperation.

The thrum of fondness in Goto’s chest fluttered upwards into his throat.

The first clue Goto might have had that everything was going to go completely sideways was how uncharacteristically gruesome this crime scene was. Like he had said before, petty break-ins and minor car accidents were the norm; the burglary turned accidental homicide where he had met Masayoshi for the first time was about the worst thing he’d seen. 

Until now.

“You really shouldn’t be here. This one is way too high profile, there’s police people and media everywhere , we can’t just ignore you as usual,” he told Masayoshi quietly when he appeared, skulking, by the elevators; they were at the top floor of some very expensive, high rise apartments.  “You don’t want to go in there, anyways. It’s… it’s really bad, this time. Nobody needs to see this.”

The victim had been a young woman. She was an up-and-coming actress, if Goto recalled correctly- one of the rising stars of the scene. He had seen her on the television before- so had a lot of people, which explained the news vans and gossiping reporters currently stationed outside the building. She had been all but decapitated, courtesy of a series of deep, gouging slash marks wildly littering her throat. Blood was splattered throughout the room, soaking into her neat clothes, the rug, the floorboards below. A large broken bay window was letting in the hot summer air, and the smell of iron lingering, hot and humid, was beginning to turn Goto’s stomach.

“Please.” Masayoshi fixed him with a pleading stare. “Just a few minutes, let me see what I can find.”

Goto was weak to that look. He nervously glanced around, checking to see if anyone had noticed Masayoshi. “Just five minutes,” he hissed back. “Then you have to leave.”

Masayoshi gave him a quick thumbs up and ducked through the doorway, stopping immediately at the sight of the body. He stood there for a moment, swaying ever so slightly, breath frozen. Goto walked up beside him and put a comforting hand on the small of his back.

“It’s not pretty, is it?” He asked. “Not at all like in the movies. Nobody tells you about the smell .”

Masayoshi shook his head, refocusing on the scene in front of him. He squared his shoulders and squatted down.

“This is gonna be one for the books,” Goto reminded him. “There’s news vans outside and everything. So you really, really shouldn’t be here.” Unspoken: don’t mess up the crime scene, and it would be for the best if you just leave. Masayoshi did not.

“Any leads?” He turned to Goto. “She’s famous, right? Did she have any enemies? Crazed fans?”

Goto shook his head. “We already thought about that. Our first guess was some sort of obsessive stalker? But there’s nothing on the security cameras of anyone entering or leaving the apartment in the past day or so, and her management says they weren’t aware of any problems. And as far as they know she had never dated anyone, so probably not a jealous ex.” He pointed to the broken window. “They think that might have been shattered in the struggle? But there’s no sign anywhere of the culprit.” He paused, frowning. “But I don’t think that’s right…”

“What do you mean by that?”

Goto thought for a moment. “The glass shards,” he replied. “They’re all over the floor, look- which makes sense if something broke it from the outside. But if it was shattered from the inside, the glass should be all over the sidewalk downstairs.” He shrugged. “But I’m probably wrong… after all, how would someone get in from this high up? Unless our murderer could fly, or something.”

Masayoshi turned back to the room. Occasionally he muttered something indistinct to himself as he swept his eyes across the floor. His gaze sharpened on something, his back stiffened and suddenly he was up.

“Not flying,” he said to nobody in particular. “ Climbing.”

“Sorry?” Goto asked.

“It’s the Rue Morgue ,” Masayoshi replied nonsensically.

And then he was off like a shot.

Goto turned back for a second to where Masayoshi had been looking at. On the ground there was...a few tufts of course black hair?

“Not the fucking hairs again,” Goto groaned to himself, and chased off after him. “That idiot, he’s going to get himself arrested.”

He got to the elevators just in time to see the doors of the one carrying Masayoshi slide smoothly shut. Cursing slightly, Goto slammed on the down button and jettisoned himself into the next one. He hit the ground floor button on the panel in front of him and waited impatiently for the doors to close.

Elevator music played, nonsensically peaceful.

The doors slid open, and Goto rushed out just in time to see-

Masayoshi standing in front of a row of news cameras, a reporter looking nonplussed beside him.

Masayoshi taking a deep breath.

Masayoshi addressing the news cameras.

Oh, no.

“People of the city!” Masayoshi began, passion evident in his voice. “I have a warning for everyone! Please, stay inside if you can, and away from any windows! Particularly if you live on the upper floors and close to other tall buildings. I’ve successfully solved this case! Let me explain. The victim was attacked so viciously she was nearly beheaded- a show of strength practically inhuman. And, the murderer had to have broken in and climbed in from a living room window- a feat impossible for a human being, from so high up. The only logical solution is-” He paused dramatically. Oh no, oh no. Here it came.

“Roaming the streets of our city tonight is some kind of escaped primate, most likely a gorilla, based on some hairs I found at the scene of the crime. Also it has a knife. And it is probably very angry, and may attempt to attack you. With the knife. So please, stay inside until it can be subdu-.”

“Masayoshi,” Goto said softly. “Masayoshi, you have to stop.” It was one thing to conjure up these earnest but implausible scenarios for petty crimes, but to do so at the scene of something so horrific seemed disrespectful. He grabbed Masayoshi’s arm and pulled him away from the cameras and reporters, ignoring his protests. “Let’s go home.”

He tried not to think about the number of people who had probably just witnessed Masayoshi’s eccentric but ultimately harmless ramblings, how Masayoshi had just catapulted himself into the limelight in the worst way possible. And the public could be so cruel. Tomorrow was going to be a nightmare.

Except he was right. He was right. 

The call came in shortly before midnight. A smuggling ring, an angry gorilla that had been trapped in a hot storage container for far too many days at sea, an antique sword still sharp as the day it was forged. A rampage over the rooftops of their fair city and an unfortunate victim who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time (in this case, very high up). It was the craziest thing Goto had ever heard of happening.

Someone put a recording of Masayoshi’s news clip online (“YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT- CRAZED CONSPIRACY THEORIST ACTUALLY CORRECT!!! A REAL LIFE SHERLOCK HOLMES?”) and suddenly he was trending in five different countries across three different social media platforms. A small mob of their own reporters were beginning to congregate outside of Masayoshi’s apartment, intent on getting the scoop on the internet’s hot new viral video before the next big thing in a few days. Someone had dug up Masayoshi’s home phone from somewhere and Goto had been forced to disconnect it in the face of a never-ending flood of phone calls.

“This is just a crazy coincidence,” Goto reasoned, trying not to let panic creep into his voice. “The number of bad ideas that come out of your head all the time, one of them was bound to eventually be correct. Sort of like that saying, with the monkeys and the typewriters? Don’t get full of yourself, it won’t happen again.”

Masayoshi only preened.

But it did happen again. And again. And again . Deductions that had absolutely no business being correct ended up... being correct. 

And with each case solved, Masayoshi’s fame- which Goto had initially expected to be a flash in the pan- only grew. He graduated from questionable online news blogs to less questionable online news blogs (no online news blog has ever been or will ever be non questionable, in Goto’s opinion). He was invited to talk shows- the prestigious kind, not the kind that aired at 3 am and had a tendency to play rude pranks on their guests. He had fans . Twice they got to the entrance of Masayoshi’s apartment complex to find desperate civilians, nervously wringing their hands, with impossible mysteries they had no answers to.

He solved both of them in his living room.

Goto found himself transitioning, again unwillingly, from being responsible for making sure Masayoshi caused the least amount of damage to being Masayoshi’s handler, showing him around crime scenes, explaining their findings so far before Masayoshi could blow the case wide open. It was as if the whole game board had shifted: suddenly, instead of rolling their eyes and tolerating Masayoshi’s presence, he was an invaluable and lauded member of the force. The public- the police force- the media- all hung expectantly onto every one of Masayoshi’s wildly implausible deductions and applauded enthusiastically when they inevitably turned out to be the truth.

“What the hell is going on,” Totsuka asked him one day over drinks. “Chief Okuzaki is having a goddamn aneurysm.” Goto could only shrug. He wished he knew. 

A series of misadventures, over time: 

“There is a highly venomous snake in the vent,” said Masayoshi.

 “That’s absolutely not what is happening,” said Goto.

“Hisss,” said the vent.

“I just wanted to go on vacation,” Goto moaned, collapsing on the floor of his apartment. “I’m not even on duty, it was two goddamn days , and how many attempted murders was that? Three?”

Masayoshi dutifully put down the bags he was carrying and dropped down beside him. He began listing them, counting up with his fingers. “Four, actually. The one the train ride there, the poisoning during dinner, the one at the amusement park-”

“Who kills someone at a goddamn amusement park?”

“-and the one on the train ride back.”

An interlude, but not a case:

Goto let himself acknowledge it just once, when Masayoshi was turned away rambling excitedly about something or other, then wrapped it back up inside himself like a gift. The knowledge that meeting Masayoshi was the best thing that had happened to him in years. That this was the most he looked forward to getting out of bed in the morning, in years.

“A doctor!” Masayoshi perked up at the middle aged, dumpy looking man in front of him. The man nodded and handed his business card over. 

“Yes,” he replied. “A doctor of engineering, to be precise. I actually design stationery for a living? And I think my rival has called a hit on me and is planning on faking my death and stealing all of my designs. For stationery. Also, all the stationery are actually secret gadgets.”

Masayoshi was silent for a moment, then:

“Do you think you could make me a voice-changing bow tie?”

The doctor turned out to be correct about the assassination attempt, by the way.

A teenager disappeared in between school and his family’s walk up apartment. The police figured he had just run away from home- reputation-wise, he was apparently a bit of a delinquent- but his friends felt very differently. They came down to the station to give a statement. 

“I just don’t think he would have run away from home!” the girl said, nervously pulling on her short pink hair. “Sure, we look like delinquents, and maybe we hang around the city a little bit too late, but I don’t think he would have disappeared without at least telling us first! There was nothing out of the ordinary when we waved goodbye, he just didn’t show up to school the next day!” Her friend stood silently beside her. He didn’t seem to be paying particular attention to the situation, zoned out and staring vacantly past Goto from underneath his choppy grey hair.

“We’ll find him,” Masayoshi told her, serious. “I promise, we’ll find him.”

They took down some information about what the missing teenager looked like and when he was last seen (tall, bleached hair, Hawaiian shirt) before sending the children on their way with a strict admonishment to go home and stop loitering about.

“Sawada-kun, let’s go,” the girl said to her vacant friend. They left.

They track him down, eventually- two days, one dramatic car chase and a coded message (because this was Goto’s life now) later- tied up in the back room of an abandoned restaurant. The pink-haired girl was ecstatic and gave each of them a tight hug in thanks. Her deadpan friend was less excitable, but still shyly accepted a handshake from Masayoshi. Goto felt like they had done good. He felt like he should be feeling a sense of closure about this.

But what they weren’t able to find was the kidnapper.

“Who could have guessed?” Masayoshi said when it was over. “Esteemed action movie star Kaname Joji did not, in fact, murder his acting rival to secure a starring role on a weekday children’s television program.” 

“Makes perfect sense.” 

“But, who could have guessed,” Masayoshi continued. “That the real culprit was the victim all along trying to frame Kaname Joji for a completely different murder in order to secure a starring role on a weekday children’s television program, but accidentally dying in the process!”

Another interlude, but not a case:

“Goto-san, move in with me!” Masayoshi asked completely out of the blue one day.

“Sorry?” Goto looked up from his position on Masayoshi’s couch where he was currently scrolling idly through his phone. He was finding himself here quite a lot, these days.

“You’re here all the time, anyways. And my apartment is gigantic! So you should move in with me!”

“But I already… have a perfectly good apartment?” Goto frowned. “Is there a reason you’d want me around here, all the time?”

Masayoshi looked away and muttered something vague about needing a roommate and liking having Goto around. Goto wasn’t sure he bought it; Masayoshi had been fine without a roommate so far, and he had the money to not need one. He couldn’t help but feel as if he was missing something.

Masayoshi didn’t bring it up again.

Another teenager disappeared into thin air.

They don’t find him this time.

“The mud on your shoes comes from a specific neighborhood- in fact, the very neighborhood the body was dumped in!”

Goto squinted. It looked like normal mud to him. 

“It’s true.” The man before them collapsed onto his knees in despair. “I couldn’t forgive him for putting down my dog so- I killed him!”

“That’s actually pretty valid,” Goto said.

“I’m nobody’s fucking femme fatale, fuck off,” the woman in front of them spat before shooting Masayoshi directly in the chest with a taser. She pirouetted gracefully off the roof, her pigtails spinning behind her. Goto ran to the edge just in time to see her joined by two other masked and black-clad figures. Together they sprinted away with the grace and speed of professionally trained dancers. He didn’t pursue; the diamond they had stolen was a clever fake, after all.

“It’s probably for the best,” Masayoshi observed later after recovering from being horribly electrocuted. “I didn’t… I didn’t really like her as much as I thought I would. Not my type.”

Goto carefully didn’t ask him what his type was, exactly.

“Plus, I think she was dating both of her accomplices? I hope they are happy together and also stop trying to steal expensive artifacts.”

Behind them a girl group pop song started playing on the radio. Goto hummed along; the group was pretty popular and the song was catchy.

The next crime was another kidnapping, as was the next. They started happening with alarming frequency- teenagers spirited into thin air with no clue where they could have gone. They were the only cases Masayoshi didn’t seem to be able to solve despite his best effort. Half a dozen, a dozen- an avalanche drowning out all their other cases until they became impossible to ignore. Rumors started swirling around: of a cult, of a suicide pact, of a human trafficking ring.

“I think there’s a connection between these kidnappings.”

“I mean, yeah,” Goto called from the couch. He picked idly at a piece of peeling wallpaper. “That seems like a very safe bet, no offense.”

Masayoshi was currently standing in the middle of his living room, focused intently on the map of Tokyo that took up most of the wall. He’d started putting pins on the map at the suspected places the teenagers had disappeared from. They were all over the city in no discernible pattern.

“I’ve connected the dots,” Masayoshi said.

“You didn’t connect shit,” Goto replied.

“I’ve connected them.”

Masayoshi had, quite literally, started connecting the dots on the map with bits of string after the first couple of cases. It had looked like an incoherent tangle for several weeks but he was convinced that hidden within was some sort of coded message so Goto had let him have at it. Masayoshi stood aside to let Goto take a look at his handiwork.

It didn’t look like an incoherent tangle anymore.

The bits of string on the map spelled out, indisputably:

F L A M E N C O

“Arghhh,”Goto covered his face and groaned waspishly at the map. He wished he could say he didn’t see that coming but well, with the year he’d had he probably should have expected this.

Masayoshi plunked himself bodily down on the couch next to Goto. He was smiling madly.

“My grandmother was a flamenco dancer, remember? So this could only be a message for me! You know what this means?”

“No. And I don’t think I want to,” Goto sighed.

“I have a nemesis!”

“Real people don’t HAVE nemeses, holy shit.”

“A rival! A criminal mastermind! An equal with which to match wits-”

Goto could only shake his head at Masayoshi’s enthusiasm, but fondly in spite of himself. Despite everything that had happened, Masayoshi was still the same dumbass.

“Why do you even need an arch nemesis? Is it ‘cause all the detectives in the books get one?” Goto teased. “Better to not have one- he might get you killed, if you aren’t careful.”

He left for home a little while later- it was getting late and he had an early start the next day. Masayoshi waved him out of his apartment, smiling and still energized.

Goto yawned and checked the clock. Darkness was approaching and it was shaping up to be a rare quiet day- no unexplainable murders on the horizon- and it was almost time to clock out. He wondered whether Masayoshi was busy. Would he be up for dinner and maybe that new action movie that had come out last week?

Totsuka appeared in the doorframe.

“Chief is calling an emergency meeting, right now.” He looked worried, the stress lines visible underneath his eyes. “Says its important.”

Goto got up. So much for his quiet day. “Do you know what it’s about?” He asked Totsuka.

“No idea. Just that he says you need to be there.”

They filed into the police lecture hall, which was already filled with officers. Goto immediately tensed; the atmosphere had a palpable buzz to it. Chief Okuzaki stood sternly at the front. The lights were dim and the projector was whirring; he was clearly about to present something.

“Glad you could join us,” he nodded back at them. “You’re going to want to see this.”

He turned to address the audience, projecting his voice to be heard. “I’ve called this meeting in regards to the string of serial kidnappings we’ve been dealing with for the past several months. So far we’ve been completely stumped- the kidnappers have left very little evidence behind. Until now.” Okuzaki tapped on the remote control and a video began to play.

It was grainy security footage, choppy and clearly shot at night. The scene was an empty stretch of sidewalk. A few seconds passed, then a young teenager in a school uniform walked into the shot, headphones on, looking at his phone. A hooded figure entered opposite, head down, casual at first. It walked past the teen, then turned without warning; in a flash, it had grabbed the victim by his choppy grey hair and was dragging him away. Goto involuntarily jerked. He hadn’t read that in the figure’s body language at all. The two figures struggled on screen; the victim wasn’t going down without a fight. He managed to grab onto his attacker’s hood and pulled- it fell and underneath, familiar eyes-

Goto felt as if the floor was dropping out from underneath him.

Okuzaki froze the video. In the shot, clear as day, was Hazama Masayoshi in the process of knocking out and dragging away his latest missing victim.

Whispers were breaking out among the gathered officers. Okuzaki cleared his throat and silence fell again.

“I trust that all of us here know this man- perhaps intimately. And that we trusted him to help us.” Okuzaki paused for a moment. “But, it has become clear that he is actually a fraud who's been using us, tricking us- and most likely laughing about it behind our backs.”

Below, the audience shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed at the thought of having been manipulated. Goto’s brain was still struggling to function, to parse what this all meant-

“If he was able to fool us for so long while committing these crimes, there’s no telling how dangerous this man truly is, how much power he wields. And what did he have to gain from this other than publicity? Not content to simply live in the shadows, he wanted to be noticed. He wanted an audience . There’s no telling how many of these so-called cases he’s solved he might actually be responsible for. He’s a megalomaniac of the worst kind, and must be stopped.”

A cadet in the front row, still green from the academy, raised his hand. “Sir?” he asked. “So what are we doing here? We need to take him in as soon as-”

Okuzaki shook his head. “We already tried,” he said. “Sent a covert task force earlier today, before too many people knew and could blow our cover. This was supposed to be a debriefing meeting. But, well, guess he got a wind of it-” he clicked to the next slide.

“-As you can see, he destroyed the evidence and fled. We’re still trying to track him down, but until we catch him he’s public enemy number one. There’s a city wide alert. Everyone is on the lookout- he won’t get away. We’ll catch him.”

Okuzaki gestured to the image. It was of Masayoshi’s apartment complex, the top suite- Masayoshi’s suite- still smoking, burnt completely beyond recognition. It had been blown up.

Goto hadn’t thought he could feel even worse than before. He stared blankly at the image on the screen. He had just been there last night- everything had looked fine- even then, had there been explosives hidden around the apartment? Had he been too blinded by affection to see it?

The meeting ended while Goto was still lost in thought, blindsided. As they were filing out of the room, Okuzaki stopped Goto.

”I always knew there was something wrong with that boy,” he said, patting Goto on the back. “I honestly don’t know how you put up with it. Lucky he didn’t get cocky and you didn’t end up dead or something.”

Goto smiled and nodded. He hoped his poker face was convincing enough to hide the turmoil currently raging inside him.

Everyone else at the precinct was raring to go catch the prick who’d made a fool out of them, but as Goto’s shift had just ended he was able to beg off, citing that he was still in shock from apparently brushing so close to his demise. Instead he went back to his apartment, quietly doing his best not to have a meltdown. The LCD screens he had to walk pass- all pasted with Masayoshi’s face and angry warning messages- were not helping at all. Social media was probably having a field day.

Masayoshi couldn’t have done those things. Could he? The Masayoshi he knew was an idiot, but with a heart worth its weight in gold. The Masayoshi he knew tried very hard every day to make Goto’s life just a little bit brighter, to make him smile. The Masayoshi he knew was- without a doubt- his absolute favorite person in the entire world. Present and past.

The Masayoshi in the security footage had eyes like ice chips.

Goto put his key into the keyhole and paused. It was unlocked. But that couldn’t be right- he always locked his door (which he now doubled checked thoroughly after the fourth horrifying breakin/murder they’d had to investigate).

Goto counted to three in his head, then shouldered open the door to see-

A silhouetted figure, visible through the nighttime gloom, lit dimly by the city lights behind Goto. He clicked on the lights. The figure resolved itself. It was Masayoshi, sitting nervously on his bed, a little worse for the wear. The edges of his jacket were very slightly singed, and there was a scratch and a bruise underneath one of his cheekbones. Goto quickly shut the door behind him as Masayoshi looked up.

“Goto-san!” Goto could hear the fear in his voice. “I didn’t know where else to go, so I came here-”

“Masayoshi- the things that they’re saying about you-”

“It wasn’t me! I swear, it wasn’t me!” Masayoshi was pleading now, desperation evident in his voice. “I’m being framed! I don’t know how on earth they did the security video, but someone blew up my apartment! I only escaped because I went down to the vending machine to get a drink, the explosion happened right when I got back and-”

Goto couldn’t take it anymore.

“No, I know it couldn’t have been you,” Goto reassured him. “You’re too-” Too what? Too good a person? Too kind? Too important to me to have done something like this? It was on the tip of his tongue and died there. “-you’re too much of an idiot,” he finished, lamely. “I know you couldn’t have pulled something like this off.”

Goto could see Masayoshi visibly relax at the thought of someone- anyone- believing him. He pulled himself together: now was not the time for panic.

“Who do you think could have done this?” He asked Masayoshi in his best policeman voice. “Who do you think would have the motive to discredit you and frame you for these crimes?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? It’s my nemesis!”

A frazzled and exhausted Masayoshi had gone to sleep and Goto had followed shortly after. Masayoshi had been hiding out in Goto’s apartment for hours and no police officers had come knocking down his door, so he had most likely not been followed. And now it was almost a day later and they were trying to put together the clues. Goto had gone out around lunch to get some convenience store bento and snacks, but other than that they’d stayed holed up in his apartment.

One phone call to his good but gullible friend Totsuka later and Goto had what scarce evidence the police had been able to gather. He felt a little guilty manipulating his coworker and vowed to buy him a drink later to make up for it.

They’d managed to find out the brand of explosive used to blow up Masayoshi’s apartment, and were now trying to triangulate where it could have been obtained. They had a rough timeline of events- the most likely time the explosives could have been planted was when Masayoshi had stepped out. They had some security footage from his apartment complex, but most of it had been lost in the fire. The two of them were currently scouring it for any suspicious figures with no luck. They also had the security footage of not-Masayoshi caught in the act- it had been uploaded online and was now trending (MODERN DETECTIVE A FRAUD? YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT!)- but Goto hadn’t been able to watch it more than a few times.

“Pass me my tea, thanks,” he asked Masayoshi idly, eyes still focused on his screen.

The doorbell rang.

Goto froze. Beside him, Masayoshi went still.

The doorbell rang again. A pause, and then footsteps down the stairs.

False alarm.

Right?

Goto motioned for Masayoshi to stay hidden, then got up to investigate.

He cautiously cracked open the door. There was nobody there, but somebody had left a box on the welcome mat.

Goto lurched backwards in fear. However, when the box proceeded to not blow up, taking him and his apartment with it, he cautiously approached it again.

Taped to the front of the box was a card. He opened it and read aloud:

“ Guess who! If you’re stuck, here’s a clue from your #1 fan! :) ”

Goto hurriedly stepped over the box and peered over the railing, searching in vain for the person who had delivered it. They might have been an unwitting witness, if not the perpetrator themself. But they were long gone. 

Still paranoid, he picked up the box gingerly and carried it inside. It was about the size of a shoebox, but mostly empty. What felt like one small item rattled ominously inside- but too light to be an explosive or a bomb. Goto closed the door behind him with his foot and let out a breath.

Masayoshi got up from where he had been crouched behind the bed  and went into the kitchen. He rummaged through a drawer and retrieved a pair of scissors and approached Goto. He handed Goto the scissors, then took the box and turned it this way and that, frowning- it looked like an ordinary cardboard box, after all, except-

“Wait!” Goto stopped Masayoshi and took the box back. He flipped it over. The cardboard it was made out of was worn out but unmarked, except at the bottom: VLINE PRODUCTION CO, it read in small black letters.

“VLINE…” he said to himself. “That’s the shipping company that went bankrupt recently, right? They’ve been bleeding money and closing warehouses for years, so I suppose it had only been a matter of time.”

“Did you say warehouse?” Masayoshi perked up, excited. “I think there where a couple throughout the city- the one near my house was shut down when I was still in high school, but they just never repurposed the properties. So everything should still there-”

“-which explains the box! The cardboard looks like it’s been through a few years, look here-”

“-and an abandoned warehouse is the perfect place to hide all the missing people!”

“Let me see, let me see...” Masayoshi muttered to himself, tabbing open Google Maps and entering a search. “Yes, that makes sense! Look, this warehouse”- here, he pointed to a location on the other side of Tokyo- “is just a few blocks from one of the places the explosives could have come from! Goto-san, I think we got it! ...Goto-san?”

He turned to where Goto stood in silence. In his hand were the objects that had been in the box.

One was a note. The other was an umbrella: small, cheap, clearly mass-produced- the sort of thing you’d be able to find at any convenience store in the city.

It was covered in a cute octopus pattern.

The front of the note read, in a scrawled handwriting: “ If you want answers: the apartment. Tonight. ”

Goto turned the note over. On the other side, in the same handwriting: “ See you tomorrow! ”

He knew that handwriting.

“What’s this?” Masayoshi frowned at the objects, no recognition in his eyes.

Goto could feel the anxiety from the day before come roaring back, and then some. It had been what, ten years- he had put the past behind him- he hadn’t thought about this in so long - and now, like claws digging into an old wound and ripping it open, it was back.

“We have to go back to your apartment.” He felt himself say, automatic. “We have to meet this person.”

“Goto-san?” It’s Masayoshi’s turn to be gentle for once. “Goto-san… this could not more clearly be a trap! And my apartment is on the other side of the city from the abandoned warehouse. There’s no telling what’ll happen if we don’t go there ASAP, the kidnapping victims might get moved, or-”

“Damn the warehouse!” Goto yelled. He stumbled over to his bed and sat down. For the second time in a day, he felt like a rug had been pulled from underneath him and he was tumbling into the abyss. Goto carefully did not look at Masayoshi.

“Goto? Is something wrong?” Masayoshi asked softly, timid in the face of Goto’s sudden outburst.

Goto took a shuddering breath, and finally let out his biggest secret.

“Remember when you told me all that stuff about your parents? About how the not knowing what happened to them, about how you would never know what happened to them, was almost worse than them dying? Well, I actually do understand how that feels. What that’s like.” 

Masayoshi sat down next to him. Goto continued.

“When I was in high school, I had a girlfriend who I loved more than anything. We were going to be together forever. Well, one day we said our goodbyes after school, as usual. There was nothing out of the ordinary, except she never came back . We searched for weeks, but the bus she was on had completely disappeared. She was just… gone. I was heartbroken: it’s one of the reasons I became a police officer, to try and help other people going through the same thing. Can you understand how I felt?” Goto’s voice was rising in volume, but he couldn’t control himself anymore. “How I feel, loving someone and never able to find out what happened to them? Have you ever loved anyone before? Are you even ca-” as soon as the words left his mouth, Goto regretted them.

“Of course I have!” for possibly the first time since they had met, Masayoshi sounded genuinely angry. It was not a good feeling having that directed at him. Masayoshi took a moment to collect himself. He put his hand on Goto’s arm.

“I understand what you’re going through, but- they’re children , Goto-san. The warehouse comes first.”

Masayoshi was looking at him, his eyes full of compassion but also that familiar steely resolve. Goto shook his head and looked away. Even now, despite himself, he couldn’t bear to disappoint Masayoshi.

“Goto-san. Please.”

“So was she. So was I . I have to find out what happened to her.”

A pause. Then- Goto heard some shuffling, the sound of Masayoshi slipping on his sneakers. The door opened, then closed. Silence. Masayoshi was gone.

Goto sat there, silent and unmoving for what felt like hours. Finally, he forced himself to get up.

He put on his shoes, grabbed his gun and left for the apartment. Alone.

Masayoshi’s apartment building loomed into view on the horizon. It almost entirely deserted- the evidence had been gathered and there was no point wasting manpower guarding a burnt-out shell, after all. Goto easily snuck past the lone guard on duty. The elevator clearly wasn’t working, so he slipped into the fire escape and started the climb to the top.

Goto tried his best not think. He failed. It had been what- ten years since he’d seen her last?

What had happened to her?

Where had she been?

How did Masayoshi’s supposed “nemesis’ know any of this?

He stopped at the top of the stairs. He’s arrived. Here- potentially- was the answer to the question he’d been asking himself for years and years and years.

Goto opened the stairwell door into the blackened hallway. He stepped over a ruined wall into what had been Masayoshi’s apartment.

“You’re here,” came a voice, and a figure stepped out of the shadow.

It’s not what Goto was expecting.

He’s a lot younger, for one. The voice belonged to a young boy- barely a teenager, if that. He’s dressed in a short-sleeved school uniform and black slacks, both slightly rumpled.

His hair was choppy and grey.

“Glad you could make it!” the teenager smiled, toothy and cruel. “Do you remember me?”

He looked familiar.

“Let me reintroduce myself,” the teenager continued. “My name is Haiji Sawada, criminal mastermind and Hazama Masayoshi’s fated arch nemesis. Such a shame he couldn’t join us today to witness the downfall of his dearest friend!”

It was beginning to click into place.

“You!” Goto made the connection. “You were with that pink-haired girl! When the first victim went missing!” And now he saw it. The boy in front of him was the bored-looking teen from so many months ago.

He didn’t look bored anymore. He looked vicious .

“You kidnapped your own friend?!”

“Well, sure. For a given measure of the word ‘friend’. He trusted me, anyways. Still doesn’t suspect a thing.” Haiji looked incredibly smug.

“And- you were the teenager getting attacked in the security footage!”

“Aw, you saw that?” Haiji shrugged in mock embarrassment. “Not my best work, sure, but it did the trick. Amazing what you can do with technology these days.” He laughed. “Who would have suspected little, unassuming me? But it makes sense, doesn’t it- the best way to gain the trust of a teenager is another teenager.”

A chilling thought occurred to Goto. “And what are you doing with all of the missing victims, anyways? You can’t possibly be corralling that many teenagers just to attract the attention of one idiot detective.”

“Well you know, big awful world we live in these days. You can find anything, for a price. And who’s going to miss a couple of teenagers?” Haiji glanced up at Goto, his eyes full of mockery. “Like what happened to your girlfriend.”

“What do you know,” Goto said through gritted teeth, “about my girlfriend.”

Haiji examined his fingernails, a look of boredom on his young face. “It’s been a few years, but well. She was one of the first, after all. Crashed the bus by accident- that wasn’t fun. For her, I mean. And the cleanup really sucked, hiding all that evidence- but she pulled through in the end. No clue where she is now- it’s been years, as I said.”

Goto saw red. All he could hear was a roar that drowned out all rational thought. Mechanically, he drew his gun and aimed it at the figure in front of him. He was going to kill Haiji.

Something wasn’t right. Something about this did not make sense.

“That’s right!” Haiji tilted his chin up at Goto, unrepenting. “Shoot me! Avenge your girlfriend, if she’s still alive! Break Masayoshi’s heart!”

Goto’s hands shook.

Something was deeply wrong, but his brain refused to cooperate, too busy drowning in rage and fire and pain. Something was wrong. Something was wrong -

“Do it!” Haiji crowed.

In Goto’s head, something clicked into place. He felt his resolve harden and his hands steady. He took a deep breath-

-and lowered his weapon, switching the safety back into place as he did so.

“What you’re claiming…” he said. “It’s a great story, but impossible. My girlfriend disappeared ten years ago. You’re what, in middle school? That’s probably eleven or twelve at the oldest.” He holstered his gun confidently, and the motion carried with it an air of finality. “That means you were one or two years old when she disappeared. I’ve had a hell of a year in which everything that previously seemed impossible has actually happened, somehow, but. I’m still pretty confident a toddler, no matter how much of a criminal mastermind, could have been mentally or physically capable of pulling this off.”

Silence from Haiji. Then, unexpectedly, a wild burst of laughter. Haiji howled like a hyena and the sound bounced around the wreckage of the apartment like an unearthly siren. And just as suddenly, he stopped.

“He doesn’t love you, you know. It’s impossible for him. He’s just using you.”

Goto paused, unsure how to react to this apparent non sequitur.

Haiji continued. “You’re just filling a role, for him. You’re the ordinary best friend, the storyteller, the narrator. The Hastings to his Poirot, The Watson to his Holmes.”

“What makes you so sure about that?” Goto found himself asking. “If you’re just trying to rile me up again, it’s not going to work.” 

Haiji plowed on, completely ignoring Goto’s question. “It’s true, I couldn’t possibly have anything to do with your girlfriend’s disappearance. I was basically a baby. But my mentor, the guy showing me the ropes- he was my age at the time, and well. You’ve seen what I’m capable of. He is so much worse.”

He bowed, a flourish to the side. “Allow me to reintroduce: Hazama Masayoshi.” A horribly familiar figure emerged from the shadows and Goto felt the blood in his veins turn to ice.

The coat was wrong the posture was wrong everything was wrong. But the face- the face and the hair framing it- were as familiar to Goto by now as his own.

“Thank you for the introduction, I’ll take it from here. You did well, my apprentice. Good evening, Goto-san,” said the stranger with Masayoshi’s face. There was no kindness in his eyes. “I see we’ve reached the end of this particular story.”

“Masayoshi?” Goto whispered. “Masayoshi, what the hell is going on?”

Masayoshi shook his head mockingly. “Do you still not get it? The stuff they’re accusing me of- it’s true. All of it. I’ve been behind everything all this time, pulling the strings from the shadows. I kidnapped all those missing teenagers. I was responsible for your girlfriend’s disappearance- so sorry to cause you so much heartache!”

He paced madly around the wreckage of his apartment as if he were on a stage delivering a monologue to a captivated audience. But the only audience here was Goto.

“Do you know how maddening it is? Having to constantly pretend to be an idiot, having to play the idealistic, good-natured fool. When all the people around you are so dreadfully thick you could die of boredom. Well I bet you never say any of this coming. I completely pulled the wool over your eyes.” He paused. “So now you know. Are you going to try to shoot me too?”

Goto didn’t even bother reaching for his gun this time. It didn’t matter what cruelty came out of Masayoshi’s mouth: Goto knew in his heart there was a part of himself that would never believe them, irrational though that might be. And even if they were the truth, he’d never be able to bring himself to hurt Masayoshi. Defeated, he sank to his knees.

“Oh,” said Masayoshi, wonderingly. “Oh, you really do care for him.” He turned from Goto and sauntered away. “Anyways, I’m bored now. There’s nothing for me here anymore. I think I’ve accomplished everything that was set out for me to do, so-”

Masayoshi stopped at what remained of the outer wall of his apartment. “-this seems like a good stopping place, to me. We’re going out on a high note here, in a blaze of notoriety and glory.” Goto didn’t understand what Masayoshi meant by this.

“See you in the next world, Goto-san.” Masayoshi took a step-

And, anticlimactic, he tumbled over the edge and out of sight.

Goto started towards him but it was far too late. From the corner of his eye he saw Haiji striding forward, moving with intent.

“ Not today, you little shit ,” Goto roared and changed course automatically, training and adrenaline the only things keeping him going. He grabbed Haiji’s collar in the nick of time just as he stepped off the ledge and spun him around, tackling him into the burnt flooring below with the force of his own momentum. He’s safe. Goto’s safe. Masayoshi-

Hazama Masayoshi plummeted straight downwards two thousand feet to surely inescapable demise. Goto didn’t let himself think about it as he half-herded, half-carried a protesting Haiji all the way down the fire escape. He didn’t let himself think about it as he handed Haiji off to the arriving cavalry. He focused intently on the task at hand, on doing his fucking goddamn job- because if he thought about anything else, for just a second. 

And then Totsuka was there, desperately trying to block his field of view but it’s too late: he’d seen the body crumpled and unmoving on the sidewalk and something inside him finally shattered and-

Masayoshi was really and truly dead.

Goto went home afterwards despite Totsuka’s protests, because there’s nowhere else for him to be. It didn’t really feel like home anymore. Home was a squishy green couch and ostentatious wallpaper and far too much space for one person to inhabit.  Home was a mass of blond curls and “Goto-san” and a bright-eyed, sheepish grin startling into an undignified little snort of a laugh and now he’ll never get to see it again and-

“Fuck”, Goto said out loud to his dark, lonely apartment, and quietly crawled into bed without bothering to change. The bed where Masayoshi had been just a day ago. He’d already screamed his throat raw and cried his eyes dry, so really the only thing left to do was to go to sleep. He would have the rest of his life to deal with this. 

Again.

It was still dark when Goto woke up to an insistent rapping on his apartment door. He was blissfully groggy for a few seconds before the memories hit him and the weight of grief settled itself back across his lungs. He debated never getting out of bed ever again.

The knocks continued, louder and more persistent. They were tinged with an air of desperation.

Slowly, Goto dragged his body up into a sitting position and let his feet dangle off the bed and hit the floor. Every part of his body ached as he willed himself to travel the few feet he would need to in order to get to his front door. Without bothering to check the peephole, he unlocked the door and swung it open and-

Masayoshi was there, impossibly alive and whole, his body framed by the doorway and his back lit dimly by the dusty city lights. Goto felt like the wind had been knocked out of him- he couldn’t breath- this was completely impossible and yet-

“Can I come in?”

Goto stood aside in silence. After an unsure moment Masayoshi stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He brushed past Goto, who started in surprise at the contact. Up until this moment, he had been half convinced it was a dream.

Masayoshi sat down on the bed. He was clearly nervous, twisting his hand together as he rambled on. “I couldn’t do it. I think I was supposed to disappear? It wasn’t exactly my plan- I mean, I guess it was, in a subconscious sort of way, it’s a little difficult to explain - but the whole thing was set up so all I’d have to do was go away for a bit. Fake my own death and then come back triumphantly three years from now to clear my name. That’s the way you’re supposed to do it, from the books.” He sighed. He still wasn’t looking at Goto. “Three whole years, Goto-san. I couldn’t even do a Poirot and wait, what, the couple of days to reveal myself after the funeral? I couldn’t bear it.”

Goto sat down on the bed next to Masayoshi. He still couldn’t find words, head buzzing, barely able to parse whatever it was that was falling out of Masayoshi’s mouth. 

“I came back,” Masayoshi whispered softly. He finally looked up, wide eyed and sincere in the way that always did something to Goto’s heart, pleading but determined. “After all that stuff you said about your missing ex-girlfriend, I couldn’t- I wouldn’t let you go through that again. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Goto still couldn’t think of what he could possibly say to convey the flood of emotions coursing through him, so instead he grabbed Masayoshi by his coat lapels, paused for just a second, and then slowly kissed him, hesitant at first. A heartbeat. Then Masayoshi’s hands were around his head, holding the back of his neck, gently cupping his cheek and he was kissing back and for the first time in possibly a decade Goto’s chest settled into something that knew it would be okay.

It’s hours later when Goto thought to ask about how Masayoshi had pulled it off. He had seen- had touched- had tried to pick up- the body, after all. It should have been impossible to fake that level of brokenness.

“Oh yeah, that’s going to be fun to deal with tomorrow,” was Masayoshi’s candid response. “There is probably a very real body in the morgue, and it is very actually dead, and it looks very exactly like me. Not quite sure how to explain that one away.”

He paused for a moment, then yawned.

“I guess… I’ll call him an evil identical twin, hellbent on destroying my reputation? They’ll probably believe that. Although he’s not really a twin. He’s me, just… from somewhere beyond here.”

The two of them were curled up loosely on Goto’s bed. Goto frankly had no idea what any of the words coming out of Masayoshi’s words meant (which was a pretty normal state of existence for him), but the fact that the words were coming at all was a great source of comfort for him.

“By the way, I found all the missing kids hidden in the warehouse. They were fine, should be heading home to their families soon. And everything should be put to right now.”

Goto blinked groggily at that statement, still warm and content. “What do you mean by that?”

He felt Masayoshi shift closer to him. “Had a conversation with… a powerful entity about all this. I’m hanging up the hat, so to speak. No more of this detective business. It really isn’t fair to everyone else who has to deal with the fallout.”

“What will you do then?”

Masayoshi yawned again. “Oh yeah, my landlady, Isahara-san- I don’t think you’ve met her- has actually been asking me to consider modeling. Says I have the face and the height for it! So I’ll probably take her up on that offer, give it a go, see what happens. Don’t worry, I’m not about to disappear on you again.”

“Mmm,” Goto responded, and buried his face back into Masayoshi’s hair. Goto felt himself starting to doze off again. He let it happen.

He deserved it.