A/N: Thanks for the reviews this far, guys! It's nice to know about what I'm portraying well, so that I can work hard on keeping that consistent. I altered a bit of chapter 2 to match up better with this one, but the plot remains largely unchanged. I know that the setup is still taking awhile, but it's easier for me to write this way, since it lets me truly flesh out the climax better. This chapter's a bit short, but chapter four is going to be twice as long as what I usually write, since it's close to Christmas anyways! There is crossdressing in this chapter only because it's relevant to the overarching theme of sexes in this chapter. Again, like always, I'd really appreciate it if feedback is given on this chapter also! I'm also looking for a beta reader (I'm relying on my IRL best friend right now) since two pairs of eyes are better than one. If you'd like to offer your kind services, feel free to send me a PM! Finally, please R&R!

Adachi's expression of stricken, bewildered rage is enough to make Souji think before he speaks again. Souji assumes that the plate had held significant sentiment to Adachi, but it isn't the kind of sentiment that the boy had in mind. It came from a tableware set- a gift from a kind neighbor's daughter that Adachi had fancied as a teenager, though they fell out of contact when he attended Hokkaido U and she went her own way elsewhere. He liked her non-perversely; she was an accessory to his daily life, something he saw on a regular basis that didn't seem to have an opinion of him. If she did, she never acted on it, since she was rather gestural with how she communicated with him anyways, through smiles and "Konnichiwa Adachi-san"'s when she noticed him exiting the gates of his home. He likes people who behaved one-dimensionally towards him, and she was the last person that treated him that way. She had long, black hair that he couldn't really meticulously describe. It had a pleated nuance to it, but it framed her face just the way that it should; appropriately. He doesn't remember what her lips looked like, but there was a utopia in her eyes somewhere. When she spoke to you, you never wanted her to stop. Her body was an Eden in its own right, ripe, flavorful, curvaceous (probably); her uniform humbled her form.

Yet, he never desired her.

Truthfully, he never lusted for women for the sake of them being women.

They were just commodities that his mother and father felt that he should feel interested for, should consider being involved with and invested in, though he never found any benefit in them. What if love was not a priority? What if relationships weren't either? But that's ridiculous to his parents, so he never made himself look separately opinionated. Women represented the other half of society that was bred to become a part of him, that was meant for men to have, to own, to marry; the world is built with a patriarchal framework. He'd tried pursuing women in high school. He can't remember the last time he fucked, and he can barely recall his last girlfriend. Sluts, whores, cunts was all he learned. How strange that Yamino and Konishi thought themselves otherwise, or at least, implied that he was the social stigma. They might have denied him, but he knows that there is a man that neither of them could deny, though the identity of that man is unique to both women. For every woman, there is a man, and for every man, as Machiavelli would say, is a world made to rule.

He watches Souji briskly apologize whilst cleaning the shattered debris, but he's still thinking about the fucking women.

Adachi doesn't expect Souji Seta to understand him, and he hates that the latter is trying. Being Adachi Tohru was fucking awful, and living the life of Adachi Tohru was...

Was shit.

"Hey. Leave it alone." Adachi says, a little too loud, and Souji stops in mid-sweep.

"I broke it. I should clean it up," explains Souji, his fingers still cupped around powdered shards.

"In Doujima's house, maybe. Not here. Just leave it."

He'd prefer the remnants to be left alone like the nice neighbor girl. Both the plate and she had been a part of his daily life that he didn't feel anything particular for. The silver-haired boy, however, was making him feel many different things at once, mostly discomfort and frustration. Souji must have noticed, for he'd taken his duffel bag and directed himself to the bathroom. The detective is glad that his boss's nephew at least had the decency to give him peace when he most needed it. Souji Seta is, at this point, much more complex and plague-like than Adachi had painted him to be, and like Van Gogh's impressionist pieces, his traits are developed through details.

Adachi closes his eyes and exhales.

Dinner had sedated him enough, so he sleeps at the kotatsu.

Adachi's morning is, perhaps, literally, the most moving experience he's ever had in his entire career as an Inaba detective. When he opens his again, he's sputtering something, and something is moving against him, something warm and heavy, something he definitely did not remember being on top of him before he'd fallen asleep.

That was not there the night before.

There is a woman in his room.

She was not in his bedroom the night before.

Hell, he wasn't in his bedroom the night before.

The side of her face is pressed against his chest, and her breathing is even, her lashes casting morning cat shadows upon her cheek. Twin, silver braids curl around her shoulders, and despite the dark gradient under her eyes, she's "beautiful" in society's standards. Her dreams are intense; he can tell because her fingers keep digging themselves further into his shirt, and her legs kick against his periodically. Yet, he wonders if she looks as elegant awake as she does asleep. Whether the entire night before was actually a dream is a mystery to him. For all he knew, what had truly occurred was that he'd gotten himself and a Yasoinaba high school girl drunk with him-and that this was the result of some unruly incident that could seriously complicate his job. He debates waking her, and inhales sharply when she does so on her own.

Her grey eyes catch his coal ones, and her lips form something similar to "ohayou", good morning, before she pushes herself off him and stretches. Mesmerized, he can't bring himself to do the same, and she watches him lazily out of the corner of her eye, her lips tugging into a smile when she makes the jurisdiction to be the first to speak properly.

"That was a good, short break," she comments with a yawn, and takes his hand, leading him to the kotatsu room. "Come, Adachi-san. There's things to be done."

He gapes a little more at his living space and how clean it looked, and the rings under the girl's eyes suddenly make sense. She gestures to the kotatsu and curtsies politely, and he squints at the...the pancake and coffee assortment that had been prepared in addition to a morning newspaper placed encouragingly beside it. He sits himself across from her, staring. Adachi is less interested in the food than he is about what had entailed from the night before. The girl was not supposed to be here. The little shit, however, was. The latter had wanted to stay, and Adachi had decided that he honestly couldn't scrape off any more of his ass than he already had.

"What," he finally manages when the pieces fall together.

There is a girl in his home, but she wasn't there the night before.

Souji Seta was in his home the night before, but he isn't here now.

"You-You're-" he sputters, and the girl smiles blankly.

"Yes?"

"You-! You're a g-girl now? Wh-what the hell are you trying to do?!"

Souji shrugs shoulders.

"You said that you'd prefer it if a girl came over, and you didn't seem comfortable with me yesterday night. If this helps, then I'm glad."
Adachi slams his palms onto the table, perhaps a little too forcefully, and tries to articulate something that would make some sort of point.

"It's not whether it helps or not, but whether this is..this is really acceptable..." he mutters, eyes wide.

"You didn't seem to complain about sleeping with a woman. I then decided to stay like this because I assumed that you wouldn't mind living with one."

"I was asleep when you did that. Of course I couldn't complain."

"Is it bad though, Adachi-san?" Souji inquires, leaning forwards, and Adachi instinctively turns away.

"It...It's fine as long as you sleep somewhere else," he darkly says, and Souji chuckles into a sleeve. "You don't seem like the type that's into that kind of crossdressing shit."

"That's cute. Are you really that shy?"

The detective scowls, because he really isn't. He's forwards, actually, forwards like the direction that he pushed Saki Konishi in when he dropped her into the Television World.

"It's not that. It's something that you wouldn't understand, so please fucking stop trying to," Adachi snapped.

Adachi's retort makes something in Souji click, and his charming girl persona shatters almost instantly. The sunshine demeanor that had existed previously is now overcast with a serious one, and Souji's voice sounds tense. The realization that Souji Seta had come for reasons other than trying to understand Adachi Tohru became clearer now, and at the moment, Adachi wasn't sure if he felt disappointed by that revelation or more interested.

"I have to try, because there's only one person that understands building a conscious, personal world within 'that world', and it's you, Adachi-san." Souji explains, eyes hardening. "I came back because I had to meet you. It has to be you. You'll help me, won't you, Adachi-san?"

"Help with what," Adachi breathes, voice thinning.

Souji's smile, this time, is almost as startling as the antichrist's.

"Teach me how to do it. Teach me how to make a New World, and then destroy it."

"And why would I want to do that."

Souji places a hand on Adachi's cheek.

The latter is surprised that it isn't warm.

"Because we're partners," Souji concludes, and at this, Adachi is silent.