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“Tohru Adachi, Ryotaro Dojima is here to see you.”
The clinking metal noises of prison bars opening spurred Adachi from his midday nap. Not feeling rushed, he stretched his arm above his head, tension crackling beneath his muscles.
“Hurry up.” The faceless police officer snapped.
“Alright, alright.” He roused from his spot on the moldy tatami, dragging his feet.
As he was lead into the visitor’s room, he met the familiar gaze of his former boss across the thick glass… he always seemed way too relaxed during these visits, considering who and where he was visiting. Maybe it’s the years of police work under his belt.
Dojima smiles, small yet significant.
Adachi plops down in his chair. His returning grin was lopsided. “How can I help you, sir?”
Dojima’s brow furrows just slightly at the faux formality, then he chuckles. “I don’t think you can help me much from in there.”
“Hm. I guess.” Adachi leans into the table in front of him, hand propping up his chin as he stares at Dojima. “Well then, what’re you here to tell me this time, then?”
Dojima recalls his week. Talking about nothing and everything. How Nanako’s piano lessons are going. How Souji will be visiting again soon. How the bar they used to frequent had a new employee. How spring was making Nanako all sniffly. How learning how to cook was difficult, but rewarding. Adachi nodded with each announcement. Softened with each revelation. He still couldn’t look Dojima in the eye, however. How was he supposed to? He was talking like he wasn’t in prison. Like he was from across him in the kotatsu, the TV mumbling the nightly news and sports narration as they downed beers.
“Adachi?”
“Hm?”
“You seem lost in thought.” As if he wasn’t always grinding gears in his head to figure out why Dojima kept coming back. “Something wrong?”
“Hmmm… I think the only thing wrong here is the fact that you seem adamant on clutching my leg here.” Adachi rubbed the back of his neck, “Would’ve thought the formality of visiting your dumb little subordinate serial killer would’ve stopped at the first visit. Or maybe, would’ve just never happened at all.”
Dojima raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “Still on about that, huh?” He stares Adachi down. Adachi suddenly feels the need to fidget. “You know, I think you’re the hardest on yourself about any of this.”
“H-huh…?”
“Nanako’s been talking about what she wants to do with you when you come back. What songs she’ll play. If she should make a card.”
He grimaces. “Tch, that kid… there’s no guarantee that I’ll ever come back.”
“She knows.” That surprises Adachi. “She says that you’ll probably be… ‘bumming yourself out’ either way.”
“Yeah...? Even so-"
Dojima cuts him off before he can argue. “She wants you to know she still thinks of you as part of the family.”
Adachi opens his mouth, then shuts it, shocked at the sentiment. He was barely family, but... if the Dojimas keep saying so after all this time, he supposed he could play along. “Family?” Despite his inner resolution to deal with it, what the word implied sunk a little deeper in his chest. He swallowed. “... Damn. Just because I drag your drunk dad to bed a few times doesn’t mean I’m your mom, Nanako.” He mumbles, feeling embarrassed.
“Hey, I‘ve been sober half a year now.” Dojima retorts, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, yeah, me too, tough guy.” As he pushed away his heavy feelings with a witty jab, Dojima huffs. Silence washes over them for a moment. Adachi shifts in his seat. “...Still, I did some pretty fucked up shit. Sure you want me around your little girl?”
Dojima replies readily, “Of course.”
Adachi fumbles, “Y-yeah?” He didn't expect him to be so sure.
“And maybe now that you’ve finally shown your smart side to us, you can help her with her homework.”
“Ugh, don’t put that on me, Dojima-san.” Adachi groans, “Plus, the kid is smart enough to do it herself.”
The corners of Dojima’s eyes crinkle with a smile, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Adachi thought he looked annoyingly handsome like that, being proud of his daughter. It wasn’t something he should’ve been able to see, really. He should have been rotting in his cell. Without visitors. Despite this, Ryotaro Dojima kept plodding back into his lap like a big, stupid dog that wasn’t aware of its own size. He didn’t know whether to be grateful, or just a little pissed off…
‘Well, it doesn’t matter.’ Adachi thought untruthfully.
When Adachi was released on parole, the basis being an overwhelming lack of evidence, alongside his model prisoner status… Dojima was the one to pick him up, and bring him home.