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Akashi showed him the police report three years ago. The report was handwritten and there were five aliases on the same page, following two blurry photographs attached to several paragraphs’ worth of unexplained criminal activity. Midorima remembered seeing Akashi’s fingers tremble, the overall effect barely noticeable but the smell of unpolished danger there nonetheless, definite in the sort of way that nothing else had ever been for Akashi.
“Deal with this for me, please,” Akashi had said to Midorima. “I’ve been taken off the case.”
He didn’t need to tell Midorima why.
It was the type of afterthought fixed tight against a combination of circular reasoning and inconvenient dreams, the shape of which was 30 percent visible under a thick pane of deafening self-prescribed secrecy, probably only given the benefit of the doubt after several glasses of alcohol. Softened the blow, ideally. Akashi kept his personal life to himself and nobody at the firm dared to question it. Some of the younger officers down at the precinct even believed that Akashi was some sort of government spy sent to monitor their dealings with the high-profile cases. That would explain a lot of things, actually.
“What makes you think I’d be able to handle a job that even you couldn’t finish?” Midorima had asked. Akashi had looked at him pointedly then, and he accepted the folder with a frown. “I’m just curious.”
“Read the file before you ask me that question again,” Akashi had said, before retreating back into his office.
Nijimura woke up late and stretched his fingers out one by one because he’d tucked them under the pillow and forgotten about them some time during the night. The alarm was inconsequential and he ate breakfast alone, coffee and sliced bread, browsed the last three unread articles that showed up on the Asahi Shinbun app he’d downloaded onto his tablet last month. The trains were going to be late today. He could feel it in his bones.
At the hour, his handphone buzzed. It was a text message from Midorima. I can meet you at 9.
Oh, good, Nijimura texted back. I think the trains will be up by then
He found Midorima sitting on a bench outside of a Starbucks, eating a scone. The scone looked very delicious. Nijimura wondered if Midorima would let him have a bite. He sat down on the bench next to Midorima.
“How’s the case been going?”
Midorima checked his phone. “It’s dangerous for you to appear outside like this, honestly. Somebody could ID you.”
Nijimura grinned. “And then you’d arrest me, is that right?”
Midorima said nothing.
“Or has Akashi got something better to say to me, this time around?”
“…He’s still trying to clear your name.”
“Ah. How kind of him.”
“It’s a necessary kindness.”
“Why? Because he wants my dick?”
“D-Don’t say that,” said Midorima.
“Why not,” Nijimura scoffed. “It isn’t like you’d get jealous or anything. Hey, give me a kiss.”
Midorima opened his mouth to object and Nijimura took the kiss from him anyway, softly and likely full of more hope than Midorima cared to give him credit for. He placed one hand on Midorima’s shoulder and breathed in deeply before letting go.
“Don’t,” Midorima said again. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to be taken off the case too, at this rate.”
“Oh, that won’t happen,” said Nijimura. “You can believe me or not, but you’ve actually got more resolve toward me than Akashi ever had.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Obviously,” sighed Nijimura, “which kind of proves my point.”
Akashi asked him about the last court proceedings when they passed each other in the hall. He carried a briefcase today and a bottle of water in one hand. He’d gone back to wearing contact lenses, Midorima noticed. Both of his eyes were the same color again.
“You met with him today,” Akashi said. His tone was almost accusing.
“Because you wouldn’t,” said Midorima, and immediately after the words left his mouth he regretted it. Akashi’s entire facial expression dissolved back into the most guarded neutrality that he’d ever witnessed, since then and probably ever after.
“I could have kept his case, did you know,” said Akashi, and walked past him. “He was the one who requested to transfer.”
“And you didn’t protest?”
“I had nothing to say.”
“…”
“I don’t think I’ll ever have anything to say.”