(no subject)
Fandom: Persona 4
Rating: R
Characters: Dojima Ryotaro, Adachi Tohru
Warnings: 1sentence challenge. Spoilers.
one; motion
In retrospect, Dojima probably should’ve ended it, but those are only empty words - Adachi spins his webs like dominoes, they don’t stop until every last man is down.
two; cool
The air-conditioning is broken, and Dojima grumbles all day because he doesn’t need overbearing heat on top of the damp line of Adachi’s throat under his loosened tie to distract him.
three; young
Dojima is too old for this, worn and weathered enough to know the dangers and risks, but years don’t help with the process of falling (and years, he’ll learn, won’t help with the pain).
four; last
One day at the very beginning of November, Adachi cracks open an eye as Dojima rises to get dressed, and his hand catches on Dojima’s sleeve before splaying, palm up, in open invitation.
five; wrong
Dojima takes it.
six; gentle
He doesn’t recall it in detail, drugged and head still spinning from the crash, but he thinks he remembers Adachi visiting, sitting beside his hospital bed and running fingers down the side of his face, saying in a muted voice, “Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon.”
seven; one
It starts with a look, maybe seemingly more tender because of the flickering light, maybe seemingly more tempting because of four cans of beer, and Dojima just raises his hand, cupping his fingers over the curve of Adachi’s face.
eight; thousand
By the time it has happened so many times he ceases to count, Dojima lets his hand fall in realization, knuckles grazing Adachi’s shoulder on the way, but it’s too late - this person has already become precious.
nine; king
“Maybe next time,” Dojima says smugly, pinning Adachi’s back to the bed, “but today, I win.”
ten; learn
“Today, I win,” says Adachi, surprisingly strong when he throws his weight into it and he grins as he hovers above Dojima, adding, “Sir.”
eleven; blur
One second he’s in the office, then suddenly, he’s home, bending over Adachi’s back, burying his laughs in the curve of his neck, then Adachi turns around, smiles, pulls him down, and it no longer matters.
twelve; wait
Time passes, seasons change, but it’s a lie - just like with Chisato, he doesn’t forget.
thirteen; change
Dojima is used to working alone, but a year passes, and suddenly it’s difficult to get used to it again.
fourteen; command
“Don’t-“ but Adachi pulls him down anyway, one hand around his neck, the other around his tie, and the smirk on his face is both strangely unfamiliar and enticing all the same.
fifteen; hold
Dojima forgets to remember them, but there were moments like this, too: blinds undrawn, Adachi rolling onto his stomach and elbows, sunlight masking his face in shadows so dark he can’t make it out, but Dojima knows it’s a smile - he can feel it against his mouth when he tugs Adachi down.
sixteen; need
“Stay,” whispers Adachi, eyes large and dark in the unlit apartment, hands tightening around the folds of Dojima’s shirt, and in that moment, Dojima is only capable of three things: touching, breathing, and saying yes.
seventeen; vision
His sight goes blurry, darkening at the edges, but lying on his back in the middle of the Junes television department, Adachi barely makes out the words formed by Souji’s mouth before the world goes black (They were partners, after all).
eighteen; attention
Maybe this is the first time Dojima has really looked at him, on the opposite side of the questioning room, watching the lamplight spread shadows across Adachi’s drawn face, expression shuttered over all the secrets that lie there.
nineteen; soul
Dojima is not stupid - deep down, Adachi is probably just like he is on the surface: wretched, bitter, and painfully human.
twenty; picture
Adachi sees her in a photograph in Dojima’s wallet, and she looks gentle, kind, the type of saint that is blessed with endless patience for an impatient husband; she is nothing like him.
twenty-one; fool
The thing is, Adachi has everything he will ever need in this nowhere-town, but he will never realize it until he’s ruined it all.
twenty-two; mad
Technically speaking, the murders are driving them both crazy (for Dojima, it is the search, and for Adachi, it is the descent), and for a time, Dojima blames this thing on that, until his heart catches up.
twenty-three; child
After a pause, Dojima rubs his temple with one hand and says, “Wait here, Nanako,” before stalking off to pull Adachi away from the Children’s Toy aisle.
twenty-four; now
Dojima doesn’t work with partners anymore.
twenty-five; shadow
They swarm, tens of them, massing at his feet and hoisting themselves up to his knees, whispering thoughts that are like snakes, slithering past his ears - it’s over, everything is over, did he even know that you- - until he steps forward, squashing them under his heel, under his weight and deadened ambition.
twenty-six; goodbye
Dojima sees everything he doesn’t need to say through the separating panel of glass, in the slanted line of Adachi’s mouth, pressed thin and tight, mocking and answerless.
twenty-seven; hide
The rules of the game are simple: first and foremost, no one can know (about them, about him, about anything).
twenty-eight; fortune
Secondly, when there is an advantage (a scared lonely man, calling about mysterious television channels in the middle of the night, or a tired lonely man, averting his eyes while asking Adachi to stay), take them, and finally-
twenty-nine; safe
As long as Adachi doesn’t fall in love, he wins.
thirty; ghost
It happens only once - Adachi jerks awake with a sharp inhale loud enough to snap Dojima from sleep, and he watches as Adachi sits up and stares, wide-eyed, out the window, at the sky (or maybe at antennas on the rooftops), but he does not ask.
thirty-one; book
Adachi plays by the book for more years than he can count on both hands, and when he gets out of prison, he finds nothing has changed - he is still empty-handed, the world is still full of idiots, Dojima still has that banged-up car, and he still gives Adachi that disappointed look from where he’s parked on the corner.
thirty-two; eye
Adachi counts them - every lecture, every name called, every disagreement and dismissal, because one day he’ll give it back just as hard, word for word, kiss for kiss until those become blows for blows.
thirty-three; never
Adachi hears three words once - mumbled against his ear in the middle of the night, rocking against each other in dim light, hands fisted in the sheets and the air smelling of heated skin, breath ghosting across the line of his jaw - and then he pretends that he didn’t.
thirty-four; sing
The Voice inside always keeps him from looking back - a lilting, echoing mantra that reminds him of beauty and decay, crooning, Humans are disgusting, look at how they lie, none of them are worth it, not one, not even your-, Adachi closes his eyes, End it.
thirty-five; sudden
Dojima presses their foreheads together, legs overlapping on the bed, and laughs (deep, rumbling, rare) - in this moment Adachi loses so suddenly he doesn’t even recognize the sound heralding his defeat.
thirty-six; stop
“Don’t use that mug,” Dojima says, the words harsh on his tongue, his fist tight around Adachi’s outstretched wrist, and times like these, Adachi reminds himself that it’s just a game anyway.
thirty-seven; time
“You’ll be in there for years,” Dojima says finally, tone almost, almost pleading as he falls into his chair, and Adachi, lowering his eyes, stretches that smile until it’s thin as film on his face, over all those unsaid words.
thirty-eight; wash
Time passes, seasons change, but unlike with Chisato, Dojima doesn’t try to remember - he does anyway.
thirty-nine; torn
Dojima stumbles across the hospital tiles once Adachi takes back his shoulder, looking disbelievingly from his nephew to his partner, and for a second, imagines he might’ve seen doubt before Adachi flees.
forty; history
Dojima stares down the new transfer (green, incapable, hardly dependable) and frowns at the young man’s fidgeting, inwardly thinking what a hassle this was all going to be.
forty-one; power
He counts these too - every touch, every kiss, and every small smile, because each is a trap laid and set, wrenching tight and suffocating on the unsuspecting heart(s).
forty-two; bother
Dojima’s fingers tighten around his pen, blotting an angry blue splatter under Suspect Surname; Adachi has to be biting the end of his pencil like that on purpose.
forty-three; God
Adachi believes in very few things in the world (the banality of human nature, that he has nothing to lose anyway, the falsehood of fairness, and the impossibility of the Rainy Day Meat Bowl), and all but one is true.
forty-four; wall
There is a calendar hanging over the television in his apartment, but it is very sparsely marked (the day those month-old files are due, the day he has off, Nanako-chan’s birthday, the day Dojima was born, the day everything, everything, ends).
forty-five; naked
He sees it then, glancing to the side - the look of shock, disbelief, and betrayal, and even though he’s been waiting for it for months, he looks away.
forty-six; drive
Dojima asks the same question everyone’s been asking for the past three days, and to his credit, Adachi gives him an answer a little bit closer to the truth, leaning back in his chair (Because I could).
forty-seven; harm
Then Dojima asks a question that only he could ask, a question that’s not quite suited for the precinct, a question for lovers, and Adachi bites the answer to this one out with a snarl, but it takes him a moment (No, I didn’t).
forty-eight; precious
Two AM, just the two of them in the office, and Dojima drinks out of Adachi’s cup while they look over files without reading them, occasionally brushing fingers when they both reach for it at the same time.
forty-nine; hunger
Opening his mouth, arching his back, lifting his face, Adachi takes and takes and takes - one day, he’ll leave everything about this man above him barren.
fifty; believe
He’s so incredibly good at lying to Dojima, to Namatame, to Souji, to himself, that he’ll probably never recognize that he did (love).
Rating: R
Characters: Dojima Ryotaro, Adachi Tohru
Warnings: 1sentence challenge. Spoilers.
one; motion
In retrospect, Dojima probably should’ve ended it, but those are only empty words - Adachi spins his webs like dominoes, they don’t stop until every last man is down.
two; cool
The air-conditioning is broken, and Dojima grumbles all day because he doesn’t need overbearing heat on top of the damp line of Adachi’s throat under his loosened tie to distract him.
three; young
Dojima is too old for this, worn and weathered enough to know the dangers and risks, but years don’t help with the process of falling (and years, he’ll learn, won’t help with the pain).
four; last
One day at the very beginning of November, Adachi cracks open an eye as Dojima rises to get dressed, and his hand catches on Dojima’s sleeve before splaying, palm up, in open invitation.
five; wrong
Dojima takes it.
six; gentle
He doesn’t recall it in detail, drugged and head still spinning from the crash, but he thinks he remembers Adachi visiting, sitting beside his hospital bed and running fingers down the side of his face, saying in a muted voice, “Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon.”
seven; one
It starts with a look, maybe seemingly more tender because of the flickering light, maybe seemingly more tempting because of four cans of beer, and Dojima just raises his hand, cupping his fingers over the curve of Adachi’s face.
eight; thousand
By the time it has happened so many times he ceases to count, Dojima lets his hand fall in realization, knuckles grazing Adachi’s shoulder on the way, but it’s too late - this person has already become precious.
nine; king
“Maybe next time,” Dojima says smugly, pinning Adachi’s back to the bed, “but today, I win.”
ten; learn
“Today, I win,” says Adachi, surprisingly strong when he throws his weight into it and he grins as he hovers above Dojima, adding, “Sir.”
eleven; blur
One second he’s in the office, then suddenly, he’s home, bending over Adachi’s back, burying his laughs in the curve of his neck, then Adachi turns around, smiles, pulls him down, and it no longer matters.
twelve; wait
Time passes, seasons change, but it’s a lie - just like with Chisato, he doesn’t forget.
thirteen; change
Dojima is used to working alone, but a year passes, and suddenly it’s difficult to get used to it again.
fourteen; command
“Don’t-“ but Adachi pulls him down anyway, one hand around his neck, the other around his tie, and the smirk on his face is both strangely unfamiliar and enticing all the same.
fifteen; hold
Dojima forgets to remember them, but there were moments like this, too: blinds undrawn, Adachi rolling onto his stomach and elbows, sunlight masking his face in shadows so dark he can’t make it out, but Dojima knows it’s a smile - he can feel it against his mouth when he tugs Adachi down.
sixteen; need
“Stay,” whispers Adachi, eyes large and dark in the unlit apartment, hands tightening around the folds of Dojima’s shirt, and in that moment, Dojima is only capable of three things: touching, breathing, and saying yes.
seventeen; vision
His sight goes blurry, darkening at the edges, but lying on his back in the middle of the Junes television department, Adachi barely makes out the words formed by Souji’s mouth before the world goes black (They were partners, after all).
eighteen; attention
Maybe this is the first time Dojima has really looked at him, on the opposite side of the questioning room, watching the lamplight spread shadows across Adachi’s drawn face, expression shuttered over all the secrets that lie there.
nineteen; soul
Dojima is not stupid - deep down, Adachi is probably just like he is on the surface: wretched, bitter, and painfully human.
twenty; picture
Adachi sees her in a photograph in Dojima’s wallet, and she looks gentle, kind, the type of saint that is blessed with endless patience for an impatient husband; she is nothing like him.
twenty-one; fool
The thing is, Adachi has everything he will ever need in this nowhere-town, but he will never realize it until he’s ruined it all.
twenty-two; mad
Technically speaking, the murders are driving them both crazy (for Dojima, it is the search, and for Adachi, it is the descent), and for a time, Dojima blames this thing on that, until his heart catches up.
twenty-three; child
After a pause, Dojima rubs his temple with one hand and says, “Wait here, Nanako,” before stalking off to pull Adachi away from the Children’s Toy aisle.
twenty-four; now
Dojima doesn’t work with partners anymore.
twenty-five; shadow
They swarm, tens of them, massing at his feet and hoisting themselves up to his knees, whispering thoughts that are like snakes, slithering past his ears - it’s over, everything is over, did he even know that you- - until he steps forward, squashing them under his heel, under his weight and deadened ambition.
twenty-six; goodbye
Dojima sees everything he doesn’t need to say through the separating panel of glass, in the slanted line of Adachi’s mouth, pressed thin and tight, mocking and answerless.
twenty-seven; hide
The rules of the game are simple: first and foremost, no one can know (about them, about him, about anything).
twenty-eight; fortune
Secondly, when there is an advantage (a scared lonely man, calling about mysterious television channels in the middle of the night, or a tired lonely man, averting his eyes while asking Adachi to stay), take them, and finally-
twenty-nine; safe
As long as Adachi doesn’t fall in love, he wins.
thirty; ghost
It happens only once - Adachi jerks awake with a sharp inhale loud enough to snap Dojima from sleep, and he watches as Adachi sits up and stares, wide-eyed, out the window, at the sky (or maybe at antennas on the rooftops), but he does not ask.
thirty-one; book
Adachi plays by the book for more years than he can count on both hands, and when he gets out of prison, he finds nothing has changed - he is still empty-handed, the world is still full of idiots, Dojima still has that banged-up car, and he still gives Adachi that disappointed look from where he’s parked on the corner.
thirty-two; eye
Adachi counts them - every lecture, every name called, every disagreement and dismissal, because one day he’ll give it back just as hard, word for word, kiss for kiss until those become blows for blows.
thirty-three; never
Adachi hears three words once - mumbled against his ear in the middle of the night, rocking against each other in dim light, hands fisted in the sheets and the air smelling of heated skin, breath ghosting across the line of his jaw - and then he pretends that he didn’t.
thirty-four; sing
The Voice inside always keeps him from looking back - a lilting, echoing mantra that reminds him of beauty and decay, crooning, Humans are disgusting, look at how they lie, none of them are worth it, not one, not even your-, Adachi closes his eyes, End it.
thirty-five; sudden
Dojima presses their foreheads together, legs overlapping on the bed, and laughs (deep, rumbling, rare) - in this moment Adachi loses so suddenly he doesn’t even recognize the sound heralding his defeat.
thirty-six; stop
“Don’t use that mug,” Dojima says, the words harsh on his tongue, his fist tight around Adachi’s outstretched wrist, and times like these, Adachi reminds himself that it’s just a game anyway.
thirty-seven; time
“You’ll be in there for years,” Dojima says finally, tone almost, almost pleading as he falls into his chair, and Adachi, lowering his eyes, stretches that smile until it’s thin as film on his face, over all those unsaid words.
thirty-eight; wash
Time passes, seasons change, but unlike with Chisato, Dojima doesn’t try to remember - he does anyway.
thirty-nine; torn
Dojima stumbles across the hospital tiles once Adachi takes back his shoulder, looking disbelievingly from his nephew to his partner, and for a second, imagines he might’ve seen doubt before Adachi flees.
forty; history
Dojima stares down the new transfer (green, incapable, hardly dependable) and frowns at the young man’s fidgeting, inwardly thinking what a hassle this was all going to be.
forty-one; power
He counts these too - every touch, every kiss, and every small smile, because each is a trap laid and set, wrenching tight and suffocating on the unsuspecting heart(s).
forty-two; bother
Dojima’s fingers tighten around his pen, blotting an angry blue splatter under Suspect Surname; Adachi has to be biting the end of his pencil like that on purpose.
forty-three; God
Adachi believes in very few things in the world (the banality of human nature, that he has nothing to lose anyway, the falsehood of fairness, and the impossibility of the Rainy Day Meat Bowl), and all but one is true.
forty-four; wall
There is a calendar hanging over the television in his apartment, but it is very sparsely marked (the day those month-old files are due, the day he has off, Nanako-chan’s birthday, the day Dojima was born, the day everything, everything, ends).
forty-five; naked
He sees it then, glancing to the side - the look of shock, disbelief, and betrayal, and even though he’s been waiting for it for months, he looks away.
forty-six; drive
Dojima asks the same question everyone’s been asking for the past three days, and to his credit, Adachi gives him an answer a little bit closer to the truth, leaning back in his chair (Because I could).
forty-seven; harm
Then Dojima asks a question that only he could ask, a question that’s not quite suited for the precinct, a question for lovers, and Adachi bites the answer to this one out with a snarl, but it takes him a moment (No, I didn’t).
forty-eight; precious
Two AM, just the two of them in the office, and Dojima drinks out of Adachi’s cup while they look over files without reading them, occasionally brushing fingers when they both reach for it at the same time.
forty-nine; hunger
Opening his mouth, arching his back, lifting his face, Adachi takes and takes and takes - one day, he’ll leave everything about this man above him barren.
fifty; believe
He’s so incredibly good at lying to Dojima, to Namatame, to Souji, to himself, that he’ll probably never recognize that he did (love).