if you lie on the ground, you can't fall.

October 3rd, 2020.

Hagekure never ddid change much, which is why Akihiko still went, ten years after S.E.E.S., fourteen years after he and Shinji had stepped off a train, silent, Gekkoukan scholarships and the promise of no more foster care drawing them to the city. They'd taken the train from Port City to Iwatodai and eaten their first meal, silent, together, in this ramen shop—he could probably even remember what they'd ordered.

There had been a time that Akihiko had sworn off memories, confusing them with the past, but he's older now and cares much less. He's a few minutes early, but Ken is even earlier, already half way down a glass of soda by the time Akihiko sits at the table.

"Happy birthday," Ken tells him by way of greeting. His twenty-eighth had been last week. "I didn't buy you a present, so I ordered beef bowl for you instead. You're still paying." Ken's sense of humor was strange, but Akihiko didn't mind it. Yukari still lived in Iwatodai with her husband and children, but the rest of S.E.E.S. had scattered throughout Japan with high school and graduation done with. Akihiko was still in contact with everyone, visited Mitsuru when she's in town, but it's Ken who he sees the most of. To both of their surprise, they had become genuine friends.

"How's school?" Ken was a pre-law student.

He ran his hand through his fringe, shrugging a bit. "Midterms are next week. Mitsuru-san said that she'll raise my allowance if I score in the top three."

The waiter came by—true to his word, Ken had ordered Akihiko gyudon. He dug in with enthusiasm, then remembered to ask. "Allowance?"

Ken paused in the difficult task of breaking apart his disposable chopsticks without rendering them unusable. "Didn't you know? I'm on scholarship, but that doesn't leave me with any spending money, so Mitsuru-san bribes me."

"She's probably going to head-hunt you for the Kirijo Group the second you graduate."

"Probably. But I'm studying criminal law, not business law. I'm hoping she's not planning on needing a criminal defense attorney." Ken raises his eyebrows at Akihiko and eats his egg.

Akihiko grins into his bowl. "You still have a few years to go, but I wouldn't put it past her to plan that far ahead."

"So how about you, Akihiko-san?" They finally made the switch to first names a few years ago. "So long as we're speaking of criminal acts."

Where Ken was planning on going into law, Akihiko had become first a police officer, then a detective. "We caught the guy for the Tamada case."

"I saw that in the papers." Akihiko waiting for the 'but'; Ken took his time providing it. "It was your case, right?"

That explained it. "I was the primary." Akihiko kept eating. "But it's not unusual to call in experts, and the captain wanted to establish a business relationship with them."

"It's bullshit." Ken was angrier than Akihiko had expected, but he was touched more than anything. "I saw it in the papers. Shirogane solves another case, et cetera. They didn't even mention you."

"I didn't become a detective for the fame."

"It was still your case. They even quoted that Shirogane bastard—"

"—bitch," Akihiko correctly mildly. This was enough to cause Ken to falter. "Shirogane is a woman. Anyway, I don't really care, and she went home a few days ago, so you don't have to worry about her stealing my thunder from now on."

Ken sighed, shoulders rising and falling, exasperated at what he probably considered another proof of the world's injustice. "You're too easy-going, Akihiko-san." But he let it drop, and they ate in silence for a few minutes, eventually turning to more casual lunch subjects. How is Koromaru doing; fine, he's getting arthritic but the vet says he's in good health for his age; did you hear Yukari-san is pregnant again—casual chatter, catching up.

Finally, soup and drinks finished, Akihiko got around to asking. "What are your plans for tomorrow?" Tomorrow. Sunday. October 4th. Today was only obstinately to catch up over lunch.

Ken ran his fingers around the rim of his glass. "I was going to visit Mom in the morning... I have a paper due, so I need to finish it up, but I'll probably visit him and that place tomorrow night." Day and night, Akihiko notices. Even after ten years, Ken still puts too much stock in the fourth of October—but he can't blame it.

"Maybe I'll catch up to you."

"No, it's okay." Ken shrugs, smiles sheepish. "Like I said, I have a paper. I won't be long this year." He waves the waiter over, and they both spend a moment digging for money. Ken pays in cash, small bills, and Akihiko uses a credit card. He offers to pay, Ken refuses.

"Hard to believe it's been so long," Ken says eventually. "Eleven years... I mean, I was eleven, at the time." It's still a little hard for them both to speak honestly about that night, even after all this time. He covers it with a joke: "I feel sort of old."

"You've been old all your life." Akihiko smiles.

You have one new text message.

amada 080-5932-7588

10/3/20 14:37:06

is everything okay? you didn't show up to lunch.

i tried to call you, but your phone was off.

October 4th, 2020.

He was too old now to skip work just because of a friend's death, and he didn't want to anyway. Akihiko showed up at the station a few minutes early on the 4th, returning greetings called out to him, sitting at his desk. Tamada's murder has been solved, but it's going to court, and he has a lot of paperwork to do. Not just for that case, although that's the one the Chief will be wanting fastest. When he'd decided to become a police officer, he'd had no idea how much desk work there'd be tied to it.

"Akihiko-kun." Kurosawa was exactly the same, just grayer. He was still a police officer, still stationed in the same police box. When Akihiko had joined the force, Kurosawa had been his mentor and staunchest supporter.

"Kurosawa-san." Akihiko stood back up from his desk. "How are you?"

His entire face was lines and angles; Kurosawa had never smiled much, but he did now, hardly visible. He pulled a cell phone out of his coat pocket; Akihiko recognized it as his own. "You left it at the police box yesterday."

"Oh." Come to think of it. Akihiko didn't care much for his cell phone, and was always leaving it here and there. One of these days, he'd really lose it. For now, he took the phone and put it on his desk. "Sorry about that."

"You're diligent, but forgetful," Kurosawa replied, waving off Akihiko's gesture to an empty chair. "I didn't come here to chat. Got some business with the boss. Take care, Akihiko-kun."

The send off was unlike him, but the officer was gone before Akihiko could respond to it. He sat back down at his desk, flipping open the phone. Two spam text messages, and a voicemail from Fuuka that he'd listen to later. He could guess what it was about, anyway, given today's date. Careful to remember to put his phone in his pocket, he prepared to lose himself in the world of paperwork, starting with the notes Shirogane had left behind.

Akihiko lived on Port Island, his apartment a stone's throw from Gekkoukan—rent was cheaper near the school—and the station was filled with high school students, some of them even in uniform despite it being a weekend. They all looked somehow tiny and young. He remembered being their age. He remembered it too well, today. Instead of staying on the monorail, he got off at Port Island Station, wheeling towards the alley without thinking about it. Then he did, and stopped short outside the flower shop, staring down at it. Eleven years today, Shinji, he thought.

He turned towards the flower shop. He knew roses, daisies, and sakura on sight; everything else was beyond him, and he was pretty sure Shinji would hate them. But he was here, and he was on his way to a grave-site. Maybe he'd leave them on Miki's instead, or donate them to Ken's mother.

Fingering the petals of something long-stemmed and purple, the saleslady slid up behind him. "Iris," she said; he was a little startled. "What are you looking for?"

"It's the anniversary of a friend's death." He turned to look down at her. She wasn't as tiny as Fuuka, but she was a small woman, pale haired and eyed. Her expression turned sympathetic.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

She stepped next to and in front of him, gathering the irises together. "They're associated with death, so it's an appropriate choice."

"I'm not sure what Shinji would think of purple flowers." He hadn't quite meant to say that. He was still, even now, a little awkward around women, tended to ramble.

Her mouth curled up. "Would red be better?"

"Yeah, actually." But even better, he thought, would be no flowers. He wasn't good at talking to salespeople, either. Akihiko allowed himself to be talked into a small bouquet, and the saleswoman tried to give him her business card along with his receipt. He threw both out without looking.

A few years ago, Iwatodai's police department had cracked down on the gang activity off the station. Akihiko hadn't been involved, and the entire project had been a failure anyway. The gang had stayed away for a few weeks, and then it was business as usual. Of course they'd be around on a Sunday, casting Akihiko and his flowers wary looks. "Hey, hey, pretty boy, get your pretty ass outta here," one of them hissed. Akihiko wondered if that was supposed to be scary, and pushed back his jacket just enough to reveal, casual, his gun's holster.

Punching one of them would work just as well, but he didn't feel like taking it that far. Them knowing he was a cop was good enough. He didn't come here often. Now and then for police business, or just passing through—but to this spot, lingering, less frequently. And, standing on the spot Shinji had died, he felt next to nothing. No significance, no sudden onset of grief, guilt. Just the same dull ache of sadness as always, the realization that he'd never seen him again, the twist of memory.

But he could feel that anywhere.

Over by the steps of the mahjong parlor, Akihiko spotted a stray cat. For some reason, the sight relaxed him, cheered him up, even, and he—still ignoring the staring punks—went over to it. It rubbed against his knuckles and he left the flowers at its side; it sniffed at them, too, and one of the punks muttered something crude. Akihiko wondered if it would be true to Shinji's memory to beat the shit out of the brats anyway; decided he'd probably embrace the thought, and further decided that it wasn't worth his job. He'd almost hoped to run into Ken. The boy could often be found here, especially when stressed over school or girlfriends—to the point that he was teased about it, a little. Oh, well. He scratched the cat's ears and decided to go to Hagakure again tonight.

You have one new text message.

amada 080-5932-7588

10/4/20 19:12:47

not to sound like a stalker, but you never showed up for lunch, and i can't reach you by phone. because of the date, i'm a little worried.

October 5th, 2020.

The trains were delayed the next morning, and Akihiko was almost half an hour late for work. He wasn't usually late, so doubted he'd get in trouble for it, but it irked him. He liked order, routine, arriving on time for things. Kurosawa was at the station again, standing and drinking coffee from a styrofoam cup; the Chief was with him.

"Sanada." Chief waved him over, and Akihiko obeyed, curious out of his slight annoyance. Kurosawa had shown up here yesterday, too: a new case? Chief—Kobayashi Eiichirou—was a few years younger than Kurosawa, a small, wiry man with leathery skin like a farmer. He had a cup of coffee, too, and was holding the cup so tightly that the sides were bending in. "We've got a body."

"You're giving it to me?" Akihiko tried not to grin and look excited. He'd just come off a major case, admittedly one he hadn't solved himself—it was a good sign. He had hopes of someday getting a promotion—

"No," Kobayashi said, and Akihiko realized the man was tense.

"Is this about Tamada?" Shirogane, he almost said. Maybe Ken had been right about that.

Kurosawa cleared his throat, and Akihiko looked at him, eyebrows raised. But it was Kobayashi who spoke. "The victim..." He was usually direct, almost blunt. And suddenly Akihiko knew.

He staggered a step sideways, bracing himself against a desk. Stared accusingly at Kurosawa, who had provided them all with weapons and armor and support, who knew every member of S.E.E.S., who had mentored Akihiko from the moment he'd entered the police academy. Who Kobayashi had called to the station to help break the news.

He didn't flinch from Akihiko's glare; Akihiko would have respected him for it if standing wasn't suddenly so difficult. "Early this morning, the body was discovered. He had identification, and I was able to positively identify him as Amada-kun."

"How...?" October 4th, Akihiko thought. Goddamn it. Goddamn it all to hell. And the image that flashed to mind was of Ken, eating his eggs, talking about his exams, and then again, Ken has an elementary school student, shaking and dead eyed, clothes splattered with someone else's blood.

"Gunshot wound to the temple," Kobayashi replied. "Suicide."