Chapter Text
Like with so many experiences in Kamurocho, it starts with some creeps sexually harassing a woman. He hears her screams as he walks toward the bar Mako-chan told him to visit, planning to have drinks with his old friend after getting an invitation for a night out in Kamurocho. But his plans grind to a halt as the woman cries for someone to help her. Frustrated that no other people seem to give a shit, Adachi spins on his heels and runs down the alleyway the noises come from.
He finds a young woman (she’s younger than he thought, barely out of high school, and the thought of these creeps going after a teenager makes him even angrier) backed into a corner in the damp, musty lot behind an abandoned building, sobbing with fear as she begs a group of four young men to leave her alone. They just laugh, taunting her and calling her cries cute and telling her they’ll show her a good time at a love hotel, which makes Adachi want to puke.
“Get the fuck away from her,” Adachi says, and they turn to look at him.
One of the men snorts, looking Adachi up and down. “What’re you gonna do to us, old man?”
Since everything happened last year, Adachi hasn’t found himself getting jumped in the street twenty times on the way to the Poppo, but he’s still used to ending up fighting people who won’t take ‘fuck off’ for an answer. So, of course, he still carries the baton that Ichiban got custom made for him. Fixing the men with a glare, he removes the baton from his pocket and flicks it, letting the weapon extend itself.
“If you won’t get out of here, I’ll make you leave her alone,” he says.
He knows he’s outnumbered. But Adachi is tough (Ichiban once said he’s got the “Highest HP in the Party” and Adachi still can’t tell if he was being serious or not) and even if he wasn’t tough, he must do something. He can’t just let them hurt her.
“Wow, we’re so scared!” One of the men says sarcastically.
With all the men focusing on him by this point, the young woman looks at Adachi. She makes eye contact for a brief moment, nods at him, and the dashes away. By the time they realise she’s escaped, it’s too late for the creeps to catch up with her.
“Fuck you, old man!” Another man yells. “You ruined our fucking fun!”
“Good,” Adachi says.
“I think we should pay him back for ruining our good time,” a third creep says to his friends. “What d’you say, guys?”
“Sounds good to me,” the final guy says, cracking his knuckles in a way he probably thinks is cool.
And, slowly, the assholes approach him, clearly ready for a fight. Before they can surround him, Adachi strikes first, smacking one of them across the face with his baton. His skin splits under the strong plastic, and the man lets out an undignified scream as blood begins to pour down his face. He follows it up by dodging a punch to his jaw and kicking one of the other men hard in the knee, trying to knock his leg out from under him. The man’s scream suggests he did some serious damage, and Adachi smirks.
All the battles fighting alongside Ichiban must have helped his fighting skills, because Adachi never would have stood his ground for this long before. He manages to block and dodge every punch they throw at him for several seconds, so used to this by now that it almost feels natural.
But, of course, he’s never fought four people by himself before, and he’s only human… so soon enough, one of them gets a lucky hit and manages to smash his fist into Adachi’s cheek, just below his eye. Pain flares through his face, and his first thought is this is sure to give him an ugly black eye.
“Fuck!” he hisses.
Adachi pants for breath, his face pounding with intense pain, but he doesn’t stop. When another man comes at him, Adachi blocks with his free arm and strikes with his baton, hitting the man in the nose and watches as blood begins to leak from his busted nose. But he’s distracted, too focused on blocking attacks from the front that he never notices one man sneak up on him.
Not until pain explodes across the back of his head. Adachi lurches forwards, falling to one knee as his vision goes black around the edges, so dangerously close to passing out. He feels stunned, unable to do anything when someone appears in front of him with a baseball bat (the weapon that cracked him in the back of the head, he later realises), and kicks Adachi in the chest. He topples onto his back, banging his sore head against the ground, and a groan escapes Adachi as his ears ring and his vision fades again. The man stands over him, his figure distorting as he makes a big show of winding up his attack, and then slams his body down on top of him, bringing the end of the baseball bat down on Adachi’s stomach with immense force.
Adachi cries out in agony, the breath knocked out of him by the hard attack. Over his rasping breaths, he hears the man laugh and say, “That’s for knocking my tooth out, you old bastard.”
As he slumps on the damp ground, they surround him, beginning to kick every inch of Adachi they can reach. He tries to curl up to protect himself, but not before someone kicks him in his bruised stomach and he screams. At least he manages to cradle his head to stop them hurting it again, but that doesn’t stop their boots connecting with his legs, arms, and back, pain radiating up and down his body. The ground sways underneath him, and Adachi wills himself not to throw up. His hearing continues to distort, everything sounding like he’s underwater, but he does recognise their taunts as they kick him.
Eventually, they stop, for as simple a reason as all being badly out of breath. Adachi hopes they’ve got their anger out of their systems, and they’ll leave him alone now, but then he hears them speak to each other, and horror settles in his aching stomach like a rock.
“…ruined our fun with her, so why don’t we use him instead?” one of them says, and Adachi’s heart drums against his sore ribs.
And even with his head hurting so badly, Adachi understands the implication. But before he can work out how to move his bruised, aching limbs and get up when everything keeps spinning, one of them leans down, grabs a handful of the front of his shirt, and ungraciously hauls Adachi up onto his knees. Adachi sways on the spot, only staying upright thanks to the violent grip on his dirty shirt.
And then it all happens so fast. Someone is unzipping their pants and forcing his mouth open and shoving their cock past his lips. Adachi chokes, gurgling on his own spit as hands grasp the sides of his head hard enough to bruise, and begin to violently force Adachi’s head back and forth as he thrusts into him. He keeps blacking out, the jolts too much for his pounding head, passing out for a few seconds before snapping back to reality. But despite barely staying awake, he knows exactly what the man does to him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Adachi thinks about lashing out and trying to fight the man off, or even biting down on his dick and ripping it off, but… he doesn’t. He can’t move. He can’t do anything. He doesn’t know if he’s frozen in terror or just too dazed to move, but Adachi just stays on his knees, only held up by the man’s grip on his head, and gags and chokes as he phases in and out of consciousness.
When the bastard comes and pulls out, Adachi hopes they might be done with him. But then another man takes his place, and he comes to the horrifying realisation that all four of these bastards want to take turns with him. He wishes he could just black out for good, but his fucking brain keeps clinging to consciousness.
By the time they’ve finished using him, Adachi’s mouth and throat both ache like hell, his lips and corners of his mouth are cracked from having his jaw forced open so wide, and his lips and chin are sticky with spit and semen. The moment the final man finishes raping him, coming in Adachi’s aching mouth and laughing when Adachi chokes on the foul fluid, he lets go of Adachi like he’s nothing but trash. Unable to hold himself up, Adachi crashes back to the ground, slumping there just like when they kicked him. His head bumps against the ground when he lands, and pain explodes through his pounding skull. And he hates himself for it, but a sound close to a whimper escapes Adachi.
“Thanks for the fun, old man,” says one of the men, and someone spits on him, the glob of saliva landing on Adachi’s cheek.
And then the four rapist bastards walk away, leaving Adachi slumped on the cold, dirty ground in the alleyway, in agony and covered in fluids. Even breathing hurts, and it’s a genuine struggle to keep his eyes open, his body wanting him to just drift into unconsciousness. But he can’t do that. He’s too vulnerable like this—what if someone decided to take another turn with him, or even murder him? And, besides, he’s supposed to meet Date at that bar. He’s already probably late, and he doesn’t want Date to worry about him.
So, Adachi drags himself to his feet, but the ground seems to wobble beneath him and he lurches to the side, bumping against the wall and jarring his injuries so hard that the pain makes him retch. As he leans against the grimy wall, longing for everything to stop swaying, a wave of nausea crashes over him. Before he has time to react, his stomach flips and Adachi pukes; the violent heaves pull at his bruised, aching stomach and a yelp escapes him as he throws up everything in his stomach. Realising that he just threw up everything they forced him to swallow makes Adachi feel a tiny bit less disgusting. But only a little.
Once he’s stopped throwing up, Adachi gasps for breath, the pain in his head even worse after the strain of vomiting. It pulses incessantly at the back of his head, and in a move that would make Nanba yell at him about infections, Adachi finds himself touching the wound with his fingertip. He winces at the pain the stupid action causes, but when his fingers come back bloody, he at least learns it’s an open wound. It probably needs stitches. But he doesn’t have time for that. He needs to meet Date.
Without a mirror or access to a bathroom, there are limits to what Adachi can do to clean himself up. In fact, it’s downright idiotic to think he can hide this from Date. But after taking two hard knocks to the head (and experiencing something so fucking horrifying just minutes earlier), he can hardly be blamed for making stupid decisions.
So, with only the thought of meeting Date in his mind, Adachi settles with wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, trying to remove the foul mess of fluids from his skin. And, once he’s done, and he can trust himself to stand without falling over, Adachi begins his slow, painful trek to meet his old friend.
---
Just when Date starts getting worried that something has happened to Adachi, his old senpai finally pushes open the door of Earth Angel and enters the bar. And then, in an instant, he understands why Adachi didn’t show up on time.
“Oh fuck!” he gasps when he sees Adachi, horrified at the sight. His friend staggers on his feet, his clothes rumpled and dirty like he’s spent time slumped on the floor. Adachi’s left eye is badly swollen, sure to become a nasty black eye, but Date is more drawn to his lower face. His skin and stubble are a mess, covered in saliva and… what very much looks like semen, all smeared across Adachi’s chin and cheek like he tried to wipe the mess away with the back of his hand but just made an even bigger mess. Adachi’s non-swollen eye looks unfocused, and Date fears he might be concussed. But most of all, Adachi looks utterly terrified, and the sight is alien to Date. “Adachi-senpai…”
Adachi stumbles towards him, oblivious to the bar Mama’s horrified reaction at his appearance—and Date is very grateful that there aren’t any other customers, minimising the number of witnesses. He knows Adachi wouldn’t want anyone to see him like this.
“Mako-chan…” he mumbles, his voice slurred like he’s drunk, and conveying a vulnerability that Date has never seen before. “S-Sorry I’m late,” Adachi says, trying to smile, but it comes out as a grimace.
Date wants to snap that Adachi being late is not the focus right now, but he doesn’t get time to formulate a response. Because when Adachi takes another step, his legs wobble so badly that his knees buckle, lurching forwards. Date dashes towards him, thankfully catching Adachi before he can smash his face into a table, instead helping Adachi sit down on a seat. Adachi leans heavily against Date, like he’ll topple over if Date lets go of him. His hands tremble violently, and Date spies blood on his fingers and knuckles—but Adachi isn’t visibly bleeding, so where did it come from? Is it the blood of the person who hurt him, or is he injured in a way Date hasn’t seen? Given how groggy he looks, could he have more head injuries than just the black eye?
Finally, Date manages to say, “That’s really not what I’m worried about, Adachi-san.”
“I was… Had to stop…” Adachi says, unable to continue his train of thought for long. “They were g-gonna hurt her… So I…” And then a wave of pure agony crosses his face, and Adachi’s voice cracks as he mumbles, “But they… they…” He trails off, and for a moment Date thinks he’s about to cry.
He doesn’t need Adachi to finish his sentence. His old friend’s appearance paints a horrifying picture of what ‘they’ did to him. Date does his best to supress his rising anger. Looking after Adachi is more important right now.
---
Adachi can’t concentrate, everything feeling fuzzy and strange, and his body hurts so badly he feels like he might pass out, so he doesn’t entirely pay attention to what Date says and does. But he’s aware of Date taking his arm and leading him out of the bar (how did he get in here again?), letting Adachi lean against him when the head pain triples and makes him wobble on his feet.
At a painfully slow pace that still feels like a massive exertion to Adachi’s weak body, he and Date walk through the streets of Kamurocho. It’s dark outside, all light coming from too-bright streetlamps and glaring neon signs that seem to burn his eyes, making the head pain even worse. Adachi ducks his head, keeping his gaze on the ground in front of him and just focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other. It shouldn’t be this difficult to just walk in a straight line (and he’s not even doing this by himself, because he has Date’s assistance), and yet it is. He must be concussed. Or perhaps his brain just won’t work properly after the shock of what happened to him.
After what feels like forever, Date helps him into an elevator. Adachi leans against the wall, gasping for breath—but the pain just increases with every breath, his ribs and stomach burning.
“Where… are we?” he asks, disturbed by how slurred and wobbly his voice sounds.
“This is Doctor Emoto’s clinic,” Date explains. “It’s small and quiet most of the time, so I thought you’d rather go here than the hospital.”
“Y-Yeah. That’s… a good idea,” Adachi mumbles. He’s vaguely aware of walking the entire way here looking like this (he hasn’t seen his reflection, but from how he feels, he suspects that he looks a total wreck—a wreck who a passerby could easily deduce got raped from his appearance), but it’s dark outside and people in Kamurocho are good at minding their own business, so it’s unlikely many people actually paid attention to him. In a crowded, brightly lit hospital emergency room, however… Yeah, he doesn’t like the alternative. (Not that he really wants to go to the clinic either, but he knows that, from how badly he’s injured, he needs medical attention, and Date won’t let him run away.)
The elevator pings, and Date leads him toward a door with a label confirming they’ve reached one Doctor Emoto’s medical clinic. Date knocks and opens the door, helping Adachi into a room with a desk and several couches. A man a few years Adachi’s senior sits at the desk, but he turns on his spinning office chair when he hears their entrance, looking at his visitors.
“Emoto-sensei, my friend needs your help,” Date says without saying hello.
“Yes, I see that,” Emoto says, getting to his feet. “Let’s get you to the examination room, and we’ll see what I can do.”
Adachi just murmurs a response, a little startled when Emoto and Date help him into an adjoining room. They encourage him to sit on a reclining examination couch, and such a simple action jolts Adachi’s bruises, pulling a wince from his throat.
“Sorry, Adachi-san,” Date says softly.
“Would you like Date-san to leave?” Emoto asks.
Adachi glances at Date, a sudden wave of ridiculous anxiety washing through him at the thought of being left alone with a stranger. Which is fucking stupid, because as if Emoto would decide to break his code of ethics to finish what those bastards started and rape Adachi when he’s too weak to fight back. He knows it’s pathetic. But that doesn’t stop the fear.
“I… I want him to stay,” Adachi mumbles.
“Very well,” Emoto says. “Before we do anything else, I have something important to ask you. Adachi-san, you were sexually assaulted, correct?”
It feels unnecessary to say, but Adachi still replies, “Y-Yeah…”
“If you wish to get the police involved, they will want to take samples for a rape kit. And if you wish for that, it’s vital that we not destroy evidence. So, it would be better to start that process before I begin examining you. What do you wish to do?”
“I, I’ve got a choice?” Adachi asks.
“Victims always have a choice if they want to have a rape kit done, Senpai,” Date explains. “And to press charges, for that matter. If you don’t want to do that, the doctor and me… we’ll respect your decision.”
It’s hard to think with his head aching and memories of those men forcing their cocks down his throat swirling through his mind, but Adachi does his best to consider it. Logically, he knows the best option would be to report it and get the kit done so those men can get caught and brought to justice. But he also knows from his years in the force how few rape cases ever get taken to court, and how traumatic the experience reporting the assault—reliving it all over again during witness statements and courtroom testimony—seemed to be for victims. And he doesn’t know if he can cope with that when there’s no guarantee they’ll even manage to find the men who raped him. Plus, if this goes to court, his partners will definitely find out. But Adachi was honestly planning on keeping it from them for their own good.
“I… I don’t wanna do that,” Adachi says.
“Are you sure?” Emoto asks.
Resisting the urge to nod, Adachi murmurs, “Uh-huh.”
“I understand,” Emoto says. “Right, well… can you tell me what hurts the most?”
“Back of… of my head,” Adachi says. “It was a… baseball bat.”
Date sucks a breath through his teeth. Emoto nods.
“I’ll take a look,” Emoto says. “Just give me a moment to wash up.”
As Emoto heads over to the basin and washes his hands, Date steps closer to Adachi and says, “Would you like me to call Kasuga and the others? To let them know what’s happened?”
He appreciates the offer, but the thought of his partners rushing all the way here and seeing him like this… it makes Adachi want to throw up again. He doesn’t want them to see him in this state. It would make them upset, and he can’t bear to see them in distress.
“Thanks, but… no,” Adachi says. “It’d just worry them.”
Date’s expression suggests he wants to argue, but instead he just nods. “Okay.”
When Emoto returns, he tells Adachi before he does so that he needs to approach him from behind. Adachi appreciates the warning, remembering the sickening pain of the baseball bat smacking into the back of his head. The doctor talks Adachi through everything he does, parting Adachi’s hair (sticky and matted with congealing blood) and inspecting the wound.
“It isn’t too deep, but it should need stitches,” Emoto explains. “Before that, would you like some pain relief?”
“Please…” Adachi says.
“Do you have any medical allergies?” Emoto asks.
“Don’t think so…”
“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t,” Date adds helpfully.
Emoto nods, and soon enough Adachi has a needle in his arm, administering a dose of something—and it must be strong judging by how quickly it kicks in. He sighs in relief when the drug starts working, lessening the pounding in his head and making it a bit easier to breathe as the pain in his ribs eases.
“Is that better?” Emoto asks.
“M-Much better,” Adachi gasps.
As Emoto grabs the equipment to sew the cut shut, Date fidgets from foot to foot, and Adachi suspects that he wants to do something to help, because Mako-chan has always hated feeling useless. That must explain why Date asks out of nowhere, “Hey, Adachi-san, do you want me to go get your stuff from your hotel?”
“Why?” Adachi asks, his head pounding. He suspects there’s an obvious answer, but his brain won’t function properly right now.
Luckily, Date is nothing but understanding and patient with him, explaining, “Because I reckon you want to brush your teeth and change your clothes once Doc’s finished with you.”
Yeah, that makes perfect sense. If he didn’t feel so shitty, Adachi suspects he would blush in embarrassment over not realising that before. Instead, he just mumbles, “Y-Yeah. If you don’t mind.”
“It’s nothing, Senpai,” Date says. He hesitates like he expects Adachi to say something, but when Adachi just stares at him, Date adds gently, “Can I have your keycard?”
“O-Oh, right,” Adachi says, aware he must be frustrating to deal with right now, like a drunkard, just not listening or taking in anything someone says to him. “Sorry.” He reaches a trembling hand into the pocket of his jeans, revealing his wallet, which he’s incredibly lucky those bastards didn’t take. His blood-stained fingers fumble to open it, but he manages to find and remove the keycard he tucked in here for safety, and passes it to Date. “H-Here.”
Date smiles (but from what Adachi’s aching brain can understand, it seems forced). “Thanks, Senpai. I’ll be back soon, Doc,” he adds to Emoto, and he leaves the room.
“Sorry for the wait,” Emoto says about a minute later, setting down his supplies.
Once again, Emoto talks Adachi through the process, allowing Adachi to prepare for the feeling of hands on his head. He’s no stranger to having stitches, but he’s never had them in his head before, and even though it doesn’t hurt too much, it still feels fucking unpleasant as the needle pierces his skin and pulls the edges of the wound together, leaving his scalp feeling tight and itchy.
“There, we’re done,” Emoto says, stepping backwards. As he disposes of the needle and washes his hands, the doctor adds over his shoulder, “Do you have any more injuries for me to look at?”
Most of them are just bruises on his arms and legs, which Adachi thinks will just heal on their own. But a couple of areas probably require being looked over by an expert. “I’ve got… bruises on my…” He trails off. Fuck, it’s getting harder to speak than before, and he already sounded drunk. Emoto must have given him the good stuff. Instead, Adachi gestures to his torso, “Here.”
“I see. Would you mind removing your shirt?”
Part of Adachi feels ridiculously vulnerable at the thought of taking his shirt off in front of Emoto, even though those bastards never made him strip, so where is this stupid fear coming from? But the rest of him can’t wait to get this shirt off, wishing he could burn it to get rid of the very obvious stains of a revolting mix of spit and semen that dripped off his chin and stained the fabric. Slowly and clumsily, Adachi unfastens the buttons on his shirt, revealing the impressive swelling across his ribs and stomach, already forming massive bruises on his skin.
“If you’ll sit up straight for me, Adachi-san,” Emoto says, “I can check for internal injuries.”
Adachi tries to prepare himself for the contact, but he still flinches when Emoto’s cold hands touch his bare skin. Emoto’s touches are clinical yet gentle as he presses down along Adachi’s ribs and across the bruises on his stomach, explaining to Adachi that he checks for signs of rib fractures or internal bleeding. He adds that he can’t know for certain without a scan, but that’d require Adachi to go to hospital. Adachi decides that he’ll trust the doctor’s examination and trust his luck that there’s nothing seriously wrong, because he’d rather that than go to a hospital right now.
“You can put your shirt back on now,” Emoto says, stepping backwards. “I’ve finished examining you, but I have something else we need to discuss. There is a risk that you could contract a sexually transmitted disease from the assault.”
Adachi flinches. Just the thought makes him want to puke again. “Can you… test me?”
“I don’t have the equipment, I’m afraid. Besides, it can take a few weeks for an infection to take hold, so testing early can be premature. My suggestion is that in two weeks from now, you visit a sexual health clinic and get tested there.”
“O-Okay,” Adachi says.
Already, he starts thinking about how he can’t kiss his partners until he knows he’s clean, and that means finding an excuse to avoid kisses for two whole weeks. But what if it turns out he caught something? Adachi sighs, longing for his thoughts to stop spiralling, because there’s no point worrying about something that hasn’t even happened yet.
With the examination finally over, Adachi mumbles his thanks and staggers into the small bathroom, where he finds Date has helpfully laid out his travel bag next to the basin (he doesn’t remember Date getting back, disturbed by the gaps in his memory). Adachi glances at the mirror, where his reflection stares back at him, and he looks just as dreadful as he feels. He’s incredibly clammy and looks close to fainting, his non-swollen eye appearing all unfocused. His sore eye looks awful, his skin inflamed and swollen until it’s nearly half-shut, already forming into an angry black eye. And, of course, there’s dry spit and semen smeared around his cracked lips, across his cheek and down his chin, and the sight nearly makes him sick again.
Once he stops staring at his reflection, he digs through his belongings with shaky hands, locating his toothbrush, mouthwash, and a face cloth. Before anything else, he rubs soap all over his washcloth and begins to clean his face, scrubbing away every trace of what those bastards did to him. He rubs his skin until it chafes, turning red from all the friction, but Adachi doesn’t care; he’s more concerned about feeling clean.
His mouth needs cleaning too, so he swirls mouthwash multiple times, determined to get that horrible taste out of his mouth. Adachi can’t help but think about his throat being contaminated too, and before he can talk himself out of such a stupid decision, he swallows a huge mouthful of the liquid. Unsurprisingly, that action has him spinning on his heels and puking into the toilet behind him. When he stops being sick, he rinses his mouth yet again even though it makes his gums feel like they’re burning, and brushes his teeth three times before dumping the toothbrush in the trash alongside the washcloth. But he still doesn’t feel clean.
Afterwards, he changes out of his filthy clothes. It’s a pretty new set of clothes that he actually liked, but now Adachi can’t bear to see them, taking great satisfaction in stuffing them into the trash can.
When Adachi finally leaves the bathroom, aware he looks like shit but hoping the others won’t dwell on it, Doc Emoto looks up from his notes and says, “Now, Adachi-san, I’d like to keep you in overnight for observation.”
“Why?” Adachi asks, wincing when he breathes a little too deeply and the action pulls his bruised ribs.
“You have a head injury. You might seem all right now, but people with such injuries can rapidly deteriorate,” Emoto explains like he’s had this conversation many times before. “And I’d rather that happen when you’re already in my clinic.”
Adachi supposes that makes sense. Thinking about it, if nothing else he doubts his ability to walk all the way to his hotel right now. It’s undoubtedly the safer option to remain here for the night.
“I can stay if you’d like,” Date says.
“You don’t have to,” Adachi mumbles. But to be honest, he’d appreciate the company.
This thought must show on his face, because Date says, “I’ll stay.”
Adachi doesn’t argue.
Emoto shows them to a bed, where Adachi eases himself onto his side, not wanting to lay on his back and put pressure on his stitches. And as Date settles into a chair nearby, Adachi just slumps on the bed, longing to stop feeling so fucking terrified.
---
At about eleven o’clock that night, only a couple of hours into his long night in the clinic, Adachi is half asleep (he doesn’t feel like sleeping, anxiety still punching him in the chest, but the painkillers must be making him drowsy) when his cell phone starts to ring. The sudden chime and vibration coming from his pocket makes him jump; as a pained groan escapes Adachi from jolting himself, Date jumps to his feet and Emoto pokes his head back into the room, but Adachi gets them to back off when he takes his phone from his pocket (hating the way his fingers tremble) and says, “Just… just my phone…”
The caller ID says Kasuga, and Adachi sighs. He loves Ichiban deeply just like all his partners, but he does not want to talk to him right now. If he admits to being stuck in the clinic, he’ll just worry Ichiban, and then the three of them will come racing all the way to Kamurocho and see him looking like this. And then they’ll want to know the full story of what happened. But… the thought of telling his partners that he got the shit beaten out of him and then four men took turns raping his mouth whist Adachi was too dazed and horrified to move… that thought makes him want to throw up again. He knows they’ll be nothing but supportive, but he doesn’t want to make them upset or angry or a combination of the two. He doesn’t want them to worry about him. But most of all, he’s terrified of being treated differently. He doesn’t want this to change the dynamic the four of them have.
“Hey, Adachi-san, is everything okay?” Ichiban asks the moment Adachi answers the call. “You didn’t answer any of our texts.”
Fuck, Adachi thinks. The texts must have arrived when he was too injured and fucked up to even notice. And by accidentally ignoring the texts, he’s worried his partners regardless.
Desperately, he tries to think of an excuse, and a potential explanation for how Ichiban can probably hear the grogginess in his voice. “Sorry, Kasuga, didn’t mean to ignore you. Guess I… lost track of time.”
“Are you drunk?” Ichiban asks, and relief floods through Adachi’s anxious body. Without meaning to, Ichiban just gave him the perfect excuse for his weird behaviour.
“Is it that obvious?” Adachi says, forcing out a chuckle. “Yeah, Mako-chan took me out drinking. Might’ve had a bit too much.”
In truth, Adachi is incredibly sober, because he never even got to the bar to drink with Date before everything happened. He’d actually like to get drunk to see if it might help him calm down, but he suspects Doc Emoto would not approve of him drinking when he’s injured and dosed up on painkillers.
“Don’t push yourself too hard, old man,” Saeko teases, and Adachi realises the call has been on speakerphone all along. Although he doesn’t know why he’s surprised by that; if they’re together, it’s impossible to have a conversation with only one of his partners.
“Yeah, yeah,” Adachi says, playing along.
“Make sure to drink water,” Nanba adds, going full Nurse Mode. “We know how shitty you feel when you’re hungover.”
“Yes, Doc,” Adachi says sarcastically, but he chuckles.
“Anyway, we’ll let you get back to your fun,” Ichiban says. “Say hi to Date-san for us.”
As they all say goodbye, Adachi replies with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, and then ends the call.
He must be a better actor than he thought, because he’s managed to convince his partners that nothing is wrong despite the opposite being true. And even though guilt spikes in his aching stomach for lying to them, Adachi is glad they believe him and don’t know the truth about what happened.
Things are better this way.