Late at night, after he's left the station, Adachi takes his usual roundabout path to his office. He opens the windows of his beat-up patrol car year round- who knows if the power still works to put them back up again- the biting cold of just a couple minutes past midnight slapping at his face. The fog is filtering in but he manages to navigate the roads anyway.

He always slows down around Dojima's house, sometimes circling the block once or twice, until the dim upstairs light in his superior's room goes off. Sometimes he'll purposely steal a document the other man needs, or he'll research old hit-and-run cases, ones nobody remembers any more, fabricating "new leads" for an excuse to turn up at the door.

Adachi loves the glimmer of hope that lights up Dojima's face. He enjoys it for weeks, only happier when he's struck down. The case is dead, everybody knows it, but he doggedly reaches for shadows- pulls himself forward on hands and knees, with pots of coffee and failing eyesight, to reach more dead ends and splinter at the drop.

He rings the doorbell, mussing his hair up in just the way he knows will annoy Dojima the most. His face is ready in a goofy grin, arms held tight around the stack of papers he's carefully unarranged, a paper bag half-hidden in the mess.

Dojima lets him in. He's still in his police uniform, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. Smiling, Adachi babbles and then dumps the documents on to what used to be the Dojimas' dining table. Coffee stains streak across the dull wooden surface, strewn with newspapers and Nanako's homework.

He brushes Dojima's arm lightly as the older man retakes his place at the table, reaching for his mug or his assignments, whatever gofer work he's been gruffly ordered to do. His heart laughs when he feels the older man shudder, almost imperceptibly, shrinking from his touch and hesitating at the same time to feel Adachi's breath on his face, his ear.

A bottle of cheap sake is all it takes. (sometimes he'll go into the Konishi Liquor store, look at bottles for hours, just to mutter about buying from Junes instead, just within earshot of the kid brother) "Dojima-san," he says cheerily, watching the man flinch and hide old pictures and useless reports. He's good at reading the atmosphere- he knows exactly how to make it seem like he doesn't. "Want to go drinking with me?"

"I don't have time to go bar hopping with you, Adachi." Dojima exhales wearily, looking blankly at the reports he needs to file, toying with the edge of the yellowing photograph just under the top sheet. "I have… work to do."

"Don't worry about the murders all the time."

Dojima's brow furrows. "Adachi."

"Oops. That's not what I meant. But it's been weeks!" Adachi whines, knowing exactly the right way to effectively get under the other man's skin, grinning inwardly when he sees Dojima's frown deepen. "You need to loosen up sometimes, Dojima-san. Nanako-chan wants to see you happy, too."

He delivers the deathblow with a sickeningly oblivious tone, taking care to memorize the spindling lines in Dojima's face as it droops.

"Look!" Adachi grins enthusiastically, pretending not to notice, holding up the sake. "I even brought a bottle over. We don't need to go anywhere."

Dojima sighs tiredly, casting longing looks at his notebook and files, fingers flexing as he tries to regain his focus. Adachi keeps his gaze trained squarely on him, his eyes wide and unnerving. He can feel Dojima gravitating towards him, a warm wave of satisfaction at the guilt rising in his partner's expression. Dojima's voice lowers, anticipating what's to come. "Nanako's upstairs." He says, unsurely motioning towards the door.

"But your work, Dojima-san." Adachi says innocently, leaning forward ever so slightly. He shifts his shoulder to let the collar of his shirt open, loose threads waving where the top button should be. "Oh! But I can help out with…"

A pained look crosses Dojima's face as he glances away- Adachi enjoys that, too. "No! … no." He's rising from his seat now, shuffling the photograph under the pile of papers and slinging his jacket over his shoulder as he always does. He pauses, back turned to the table.

Adachi follows his gaze to a framed photo of Dojima's wife, smiling from the kitchen counter. Shoving some of the mess aside, he sets the bottle down on the dining table and lets his fingers graze Dojima's shoulder as if to help him put his jacket on. It tenses at his touch; Adachi smiles as Dojima moves to brush him off and catches his arm.

"Adachi…" Dojima's head snaps back to look at Adachi, his voice lowering in warning. It goes ignored; it's been exactly three weeks since the last time. This, too, is on purpose- he knows just how long Dojima can hold out, where his breaking point is. He presses his lips to his superior's wrist, feeling Dojima's hair on his nose as he frantically moves to turn his wife's picture away.

He's stopped by Adachi's arm snaking around his waist, light fingers on the waistband of his slacks. They trace the belt loops, right below the Dojima's hipbone. His legs are limp and his brain is going numb, freeing himself to pin Adachi to the counter. His mouth is dry- he really wants a drink, something to blame this all on, heart pounding as he moves the younger man to obscure Chisato's gaze. She's looking accusingly at him now, but his body switches to autopilot, squeezing his eyes shut as Adachi's tongue collides with his. Spiraling.

Adachi's making note of where the picture is; as the kiss breaks, he purposefully drops to his knees, affording Dojima a clear view. His body tenses again but soon he's clinging to Adachi, fingers pulled tight in his uneven hair. He's still conscious of Nanako sleeping just above them, his moans caught behind clenched teeth.

Eventually they crash to the floor, Adachi knocking the frame off the counter in the process, landing dangerously close to his head. He wraps his arms around Dojima's neck as his clothes are ripped unceremoniously from his body.

His breath is hot and heavy as he pushes his face into Adachi's neck, moistening it; it comes quickly and ragged, grunts that pound the silence like clubs, intertwining with Adachi's high-pitched sighs and fingers. Dojima's unkempt stubble is leaving long red lines across his chest.

"Chi---" He hears Dojima groan, and his heart twists in sick satisfaction, burning hot and painful in his chest. Dojima's shoulder is pressed into his mouth and he bites it hard, feeling the slick skin and muscle move under his teeth as the man hisses.

Chisato, Chisato. It makes him sick, that someone who he thought understood the world like he did would turn out to be so weak. He was harsh and worked alone; in the beginning, Adachi felt like they could be the same, but no, he's stupid and sheeplike and too human, just like the rest of them. It's a glaring weakness but it's easily exploited and keeps him bound to Adachi. A puppet caught in the strings of the puppeteer, strung up like the perfect toy he's been trained to be.

Dojima is pulsating inside him so Adachi bites him again, harder this time, the metallic taste of blood mixing with salty sweat. But—

"Adachi." Adachi only hears it as a whisper at first. Everything stops. He opens his eyes to find Dojima not looking behind him at the picture of his wife, but at him, gaze half-lidded and cloudy. "Adachi. Ah--" Dojima's body is tensing, hips desperately grinding Adachi's into the floor until there's only a flash of white and staggered pants, Dojima crumpling on top of him.

Dojima presses a slow, awkward kiss to Adachi's lips as he leaves. "It's almost time for Nanako to go to school… I guess I'll have to take you up on that drink another time, huh?" He says weakly, eyes fixed past Adachi on the neighbor's lawn. Adachi makes some stupid comment and is only mildly surprised when he isn't smacked, retreating to his car without looking back.

He hadn't exactly expected his plans to come to fruition so easily. Dojima's place looks like a dollhouse in the rearview mirror. He only sees the door close when it's almost out of sight. Images of Dojima- overcome with lust, clutching on to him for dear life- flood his vision.

At a crosswalk, three grade-schoolers pass him, yellow backpacks swinging. Realization washes over him. A hollow laugh forms in his throat- he knows exactly what needs to be done.
Adachi smiles as the fog swallows the children's silhouettes.

Breaking toys is more fun than playing with them.