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Detective Dojima was sitting on the banks of the Samegawa river. His cheeks flushed from the alcohol, he raised his hands clumsily as he tried to explain how, in the past, this place had been his wife’s and daughter’s favorite spot.
He was drunk. He didn’t realize he was confessing all of this to that fool Adachi instead of someone important.
"Nanako must think I hate this place." As he shook the can, some of the contents splashed onto the ground. "She probably even thinks I hate Chisato. Or that I hate her."
Wow. Adachi watched him in silence. If he stayed quiet for a few more minutes, would Dojima realize that none of this mattered to him?
"I could come back here with her. Show her that I appreciate our family... or what’s left of it."
Placing that much trust in a man like him was dangerous. Adachi usually blamed the alcohol, but he knew Dojima wouldn't tell someone this kind of thing no matter how drunk he was. That meant that, to the detective, he was someone important. Or perhaps, he was simply the only one who could put up with him.
Whatever the reason, it was still dangerous; Adachi was not a good person. He could admit it, though he didn't feel it was entirely his fault. It had been his parents, with their hollow demands of "study this" and "study that," who made him believe that effort would give him something that, in the end, never arrived. Feeding such naive expectations to a child only made the blow of reality hurt more than usual.
"Adachi?"
Dojima leaned in to check if he was still there. Adachi didn’t know how much time had passed while he was lost in his own resentment.
"Ah, uh…" He paused for a moment while trying to remember the last thing the older man had said. "And… why don’t you do it, sir? Why don’t you spend time here with Nanako, like before?"
The man set the beer aside and nervously scratched his unkempt beard. He had no excuses and was ashamed to admit it: doing so would be to acknowledge that little Nanako was suffering because of his own selfishness, and that he was a terrible father.
"I’m a coward, that’s why," he managed to say. "But isn't nostalgia scary?"
"I don’t think I have any reason to feel nostalgia, Dojima-san."
That twisted expression, loaded with compassion, felt disgusting to him. Such an insignificant comment should have gone unnoticed, but no; good old Dojima just had to show concern. Because if his partner was depressed, who was going to bring him coffee?
"D-don’t get me wrong!" he added immediately, letting out a forced laugh. "I mean my life is so happy now that I don't miss the past."
Although that didn't calm his partner, at least it brought the silence back.
"Idiot. You make me worry sometimes."
"Ah, yeah. Sorry."
When Dojima moved his hand, Adachi ducked his head by reflex, but there was no blow. Only a firm pat on the back. He made a face.
"It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. It’s fine."
"Tell you what?" Adachi clenched his fists on his thighs. "You’re very weird, Dojima-san."
"Adachi."
Staring at the river was becoming increasingly difficult; the image was blurry, distorted by eyes that were strangely damp. Enough action for today, he decided. He stood up clumsily and brushed the dirt off his pants, forcing an ear-to-ear grin. Staying upright was a real challenge; in all honesty, he didn't remember being this drunk.
"I think I should go, sir." He lifted his wrist to check a non-existent watch. "Oops! It really is late!"
His boss looked at him confused from the ground until he stood up as well. But instead of saying goodbye, he stepped closer and gripped his shoulders with more strength than he realized. For a second, Adachi seriously considered pushing him and running back to his apartment.
"There’s something I forgot to say."
"Really?" Adachi narrowed his eyes, waiting for the blow or the lecture.
"I lied a little. It’s not just nostalgia that keeps me from being with Nanako. When we used to come to the river, Chisato did everything. They were always more connected because I’m very bad at sentimental things."
Dojima was smiling, but the corners of his lips were trembling.
"If I come back here, how could I replace her? I don’t know how to do it." He tilted his head. "But maybe I don’t have to. Maybe I can take it upon myself to show affection. To express it, even if it's uncomfortable."
A very pretty speech, Adachi thought, not knowing where he was going with this.
"You know I appreciate you quite a bit?"
He had assumed he was important to him, but hearing it out loud was different. The weight of the words hit his chest. His cheeks warmed before he could process it. How embarrassing, Dojima-san. Don’t say those things. Do you really feel that? His mouth was frozen in shock.
"Why?" was the only thing he could articulate.
He expected an empty answer or a mocking exaggeration. How could it be true? How could anyone appreciate him?
"Because…" Dojima paused, looking at him with absolute seriousness, his eyes shining under the orange light of the sunset. "Because you’re a good friend."
Predictably, it was a bad, banal answer. It was pathetic to see how Dojima had to think about it for several seconds because, obviously, he had never stopped to reflect on that appreciation, nor the reason for it. Since he said it looking at him with total seriousness, his eyes shining in the orange afternoon light while waiting impatiently for approval. And it was even more pathetic how his weak reasoning comforted his heart. He could see himself remembering this moment in the future with a smile on his face; not a mocking one, but a tender one.
Finally, he would have a reason to feel nostalgia.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all. Because even knowing that Dojima was sincere, even guarding that small warmth he felt in his chest upon hearing those words like a treasure, Adachi knew what he was capable of. The warmth of that memory wouldn't make him a better person, nor would it stop him when the time came to betray that trust.