[It's exhaustion, and defeatism, and it's dropping a mask and pretending to be nothing but himself. Hey, he can't help it if the real thing's uglier, you know, twisted and black and being acutely aware of it, entirely unapologetic for it. Adachi leans his face towards the flame, lighting the end of the cigarette as he draws in a breath, and consequently, leans back when it lights with a short-lived fire red, burning out a second later. It gets its fifteen seconds, even less than his fifteen minutes. Adachi looks up at Dojima, eyes large because his face is hollowing.]
What do you want, really, detective? I'm playing by your rules, so if I've got it, I'll give it to you.
no subject
What do you want, really, detective? I'm playing by your rules, so if I've got it, I'll give it to you.
[If he has it, it's not worth holding on to.]