Work Text:
Taking care of Nanako was a rather fun task, no matter how complex it seemed. At the beginning of the year, he would have never considered it a priority on his to-do list, but after his boss insisted, it had become part of his routine. Instead of returning to his empty apartment after the workday, he could go to the Dojimas' house to color with distinctive crayons.
“Adachi-san is keeping all the green for himself, Dad!” Nanako exclaimed when she heard the door open, announcing that indeed, her father had arrived.
“N-No, no! I'm passing it to you now, sorry.”
He hated when children screamed, or were unbearable in general, but he could forgive her for it. He feared, though, that thanks to this little joke he would get a beating; he could almost feel the blow to the back of his neck.
“Oh, really?” Dojima loosened his tie. “I'll think of a punishment for him, later.”
An extra weight joined the sofa behind where they were working with a creak in the old springs. They were observed without real interest.
Adachi smiled widely for having gotten away with it; his boss seemed too exhausted to scold him seriously. Nanako, forgetting the small argument, went back to drawing with the help of the green crayon. Everything was fine, assuming that "later" would never arrive.
Time passed between yawns and the sound of pages turning. Without realizing it, Adachi became absorbed in the details of the drawing, moving the crayon mechanically over the paper.
“Adachi.”
The sudden voice made him startle. Turning his head, he saw Dojima sitting on the sofa drinking from a can. He didn't know at what moment he had moved toward the fridge, but there he was, with a beer in his hand.
“Stop coloring with…” a hiccup interrupted the sentence “…with crayons.”
Adachi carefully analyzed his face and noticed that his cheeks were red. He knew he was one of those who got drunk quickly, but he didn't expect it to be this much—typical alcoholic behavior. Around them, silence reigned in the room.
“Where is Nanako-chan?”
“In her room, sleeping.”
On the table lay the finished drawing. The green strokes were erratic in some parts, and Adachi realized that out of pure exhaustion he had kept going over the same spot without being aware of it. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind.
“I think it'll be better if I leave, sir.”
When he tried to get up, arms wrapped around his waist. From behind he received a tug so strong that he lost his balance and ended up sitting, not on the floor, but on Dojima's lap. The older man clung to him and clumsily rested his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes.
“Punishment,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“You stay with me as a punishment.”
He squeezed their bodies together and Adachi's cheeks flushed, as if he had been the one who drank the alcohol.
“Noo! I don't have time for this!” He tried to break free by flailing his legs and arms, but the detective's grip was firm.
“Chisato…” Dojima whispered. Adachi wished the earth would swallow him whole. “You look like her.”
“L-Like her!?”
He wasn't able to find any physical similarity... He assumed he referred to his constant presence in the house or the way he took care of the chores, which horrified him.
“I hate being alone.” He felt a gentle breeze heavy with alcohol hit his neck; the grip gave way just a little.
“You have your daughter.”
“It's not the same.”
“And you're drunk,” he added in a low voice. “Tomorrow you won't remember anything.”
“I hope so.”
Resigned, he let the warmth behind him envelop his body in anticipation of the worst, the hands on his waist tightening every now and then. Looking closer than just the lines of the drawing on the table, Nanako had tried to portray the whole family with crayons, including him, who was too distracted drawing cabbages to notice her part. It turned out well. Chisato was also there, and just seeing an imitation caused nausea; he was disgusted by the blind devotion to a ghost, and even more that Dojima, in his drunken state, wanted to project her image onto him.
With his fingertips, he slid the sheet until it was hidden under a pile of other papers, completely covering Chisato's figure and his own place in the family. Out of sight, out of mind. Now in the drawing, only Nanako and Dojima waved to the world with a big smile, just as he believed they deserved.
Hands, now cleared of sleep, slid from his waist to underneath his shirt in search of warmth. “Why are you moving so much, Adachi?” The voice was raspy, slurred by alcohol, but with a firmness it didn't have before. “I told you it's a punishment.”
“Sir, I already put the crayons away,” he said as his breath was growing short. “The punishment doesn't make sense anymore... Besides, you're crushing me.”
“It makes sense if I say it does.”
There was a sharp tug, he turned his body halfway around, and Dojima forcefully made him look him in the face. Under the effect of the drink he looked defenseless, his half-closed eyes fixed on Adachi's lips.
“You're a terrible subordinate,” he murmured. “You always complain...”
“If I'm so bad you should let me go home.” His heart was beating hard against his ribs; he likewise lowered his gaze to the older man's lips with a fascination he refused to admit.
“I don't want to.”
After the blunt confession, he smashed his lips into a kiss, which was more of a clashing of teeth due to his inherent drunken clumsiness. He smelled of stale tobacco, beer, and depression.
He wasn't kissing him, not really, but anyway, with an almost pathetic docility, he parted his lips, allowing his boss to invade his mouth. Thick fingers tangled in his hair, pulling sharply forward to reduce the space and deepen the contact of both tongues. Chisato must have enjoyed being alive next to a husband like this; the idea caused a tingling in his hands, and to appease the sensation, he clung to the gray shirt.
After minutes of a kiss where groans were drowned out in each other's mouths, the contact gradually became a damp brushing of lips. When they finally pulled apart, they did so only halfway, leaving a strand of saliva stretching between the two.
“Well...” Adachi smiled as the warm breath fogged his skin. “It was fun, but I'm sleepy now.”
In a brief silence, the detective processed the information the best way a drunk person would.
“All right,” he mumbled, and the grip on his body loosened; not to let him go, but to change positions. The detective let himself fall to one side of the sofa, dragging Adachi down with him.
“H-Hey!”
“Stay with me, please. It's the punishment.”
It was a ridiculous plea coming from the man Ryotaro Dojima was, so much so that a prickle of superiority ran along his spine. He had to accept after being asked to stay like that. “As you wish...”
To fit better inside the space they had to squeeze together, stretching their legs until they intertwined.
Before closing his eyes, he saw that one of the hands holding him slipped its fingers between his. “Are you trying to be sweet?” No one heard his contemptuous comment; the chest behind him breathed slowly, signaling that he was already asleep.
He would have preferred to be kicked out into the street; if he was honest, being this close to another man made it impossible to avoid feeling like a woman, a woman just like the one in the drawing, just like Chisato. A punishment worse than proximity.
And yet tomorrow, like every afternoon, he would find an excuse to return to that damn house. He had to go to take care of Nanako, right? That was what he told himself.