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When Shotaro returned to the Narumi Detective Agency after dropping Akane off at her house, he only really expected to see Philip in the office—and maybe Akiko, if she decided that the probable death of a former enemy was something that deserved celebrating. Shotaro didn’t think it was—he had thought that the Gaia Memory dealer might have ended up their ally if he only could have been prevailed upon to really join them—and all he could think about was how the man had loved the city as much as he did, how he had designed Fuuto-kun, how he had switched sides when he realized that his actions were harming the city and then walked off to die with a smile on his face.
They could have been friends. They could have fought together. They could have even—
But even though he was not wearing his driver, and so Philip couldn’t hear his thoughts, Shotaro didn’t want to go there. That wound was still raw. The attraction had been merely physical, before, but after today he had realized that they might have really gotten along, that maybe they could have been right for each other in that way that men and women were right for each other in stories, though Shotaro had to admit that, as much as he tried, he’d never quite seen an example of that rightness in real life. Maybe it wasn’t real.
But no—it wasn’t hard-boiled of him to give up on the idea of romance just because an (admittedly very handsome) enemy of theirs had died. Surely it still existed, somewhere Shotaro hadn’t encountered it yet. As a detective he would walk into it eventually, as easily as opening the door to their office, just like he was doing right now—
“Shotaro!” said Philip as he stepped inside. “Congratulations, you have a roommate now.”
“What?”
“He’s going to be helping out with the rent with his alimony, once the divorce goes through.”
Philip was grinning, as though romance hadn’t died today with the Gaia Memory dealer. Shotaro squeezed the Fuuto-kun keychain in his pocket and said, “I’m not getting a roommate, divorced or not. Romance died today with that Gaia Memory dealer anyway.”
Philip’s grin turned wider and more mischievous, and he leaned against the doorway, blocking Shotaro’s view of the office and presumably his new roommate inside. “Would you mind elaborating on that?” he said.
“Aside from the fact that he was extremely attractive—”
“Of course,” said Philip, still grinning. “We wouldn’t want to be biased here.”
“He loved the city too—and he was going to switch sides, but instead he just went off to die—and if I’d known he designed Fuuto-kun earlier I could have seduced him over to our side, maybe, but now he’s dead and so is all romance!” said Shotaro. “Anyway, I can’t have a roommate, I only have one bed.”
Philip’s grin broadened.
“And a couch, but that doesn’t count, nobody’s going to help me out with rent just to have the couch,” he continued. “Even you wouldn’t, and we’re partners.”
“That’s because I have a perfectly fine bed in here,” said Philip, “and Aki-chan and I have an agreement that if I’m always on the clock I never have to pay rent.”
“How come I don’t get that agreement?”
“You aren’t hard-boiled enough.”
Shotaro scoffed. “I’m the most hard-boiled—”
“What was that you were saying about romance dying today?”
“He was hot and he was charming and he loved Fuuto too and he started fighting with us when he realized he was on the wrong side, and he told us about the Museum, and—”
“Wait, is he talking about me?” said a voice Shotaro never thought he’d hear again, and his mouth fell open as Philip started snickering and moved out of the doorway to reveal the Gaia Memory dealer—pale and wan and sopping wet, and without his typical neckerchief, but whole and hale and alive despite this. Shotaro gaped.
“I thought you were going to die!” he said.
“I thought so too,” said the man, smiling wryly, “but my wife—ex-wife now, I suppose—missed her shot at me and I fell into the bay instead and lost my driver. So here I am.”
“And you didn’t think to say anything to me about this?!” Shotaro demanded. “You didn’t text or call or anything!”
Philip laughed outright; the former Gaia Memory dealer said, confused, “I don’t have your phone number.”
“I was talking to my partner,” said Shotaro; Philip laughed harder.
“I see,” said the former Gaia Memory dealer, his eyes flicking between the two of them. “Isn’t he…a teenager…?”
“Who knows?” said Philip.
“I would hope that you do!”
Philip shrugged. “I’ve got amnesia,” he said lightly. “The things I don’t know about myself would fill a library.”
Shotaro snickered.
Concern entered the former Gaia Memory dealer’s eyes, an expression that Shotaro had only seen once before—earlier that very day, when he had learned that children had been sold Gaia Memories. It was strange to see it leveled at Philip.
“It was your bosses who wiped his memories and trapped him on that island, making Gaia Memories,” Shotaro snapped.
The former Gaia Memory dealer’s gaze flicked over to Shotaro. “I didn’t know about that,” he said. “I didn’t know they were using children until—recently. But your partner is a child—”
“Maybe in his late teens,” said Shotaro, “maybe in his early twenties, definitely none of your business and besides, who else would he have partnered with? The chief was dead, and Akiko hadn’t come around yet.”
“Leaving the lack of other options aside, I am glad that Shotaro and I are partners and wouldn’t want anyone else, whatever you’re driving at here,” Philip added, eyeing the former Gaia Memory dealer with some fresh reserve. “We don’t have to take you in, or pay for your divorce lawyer, Kirihiko.”
“Kirihiko?” Shotaro repeated.
“My name,” said the dealer, with a slight bow. “Sonozaki Kirihiko—at your service.”
“Hidaro Shotaro,” Shotaro replied.
“I’m aware. Everyone at the Museum knows who you are—though I’m not sure what’s known about your partner—Philip, was it?”
Philip nodded.
“I hadn’t heard of him…though since he seems to be an official employee of your detective agency, that’s strange.”
“He’s not an official employee, he just lives here and we pay him under the table,” said Shotaro, “on account of your bosses hunting him down. But you know, what’s stranger than Philip’s deal is you wanting a divorce lawyer. Why would anyone ever want to be single?”
“My wife tried to kill me,” said Sonozaki Kirihiko.
“So?” said Shotaro. “If I had a wife—or a girlfriend—or a boyfriend or husband—and she tried to kill me, I’d say yes ma’am and die, or not act out so much that she’d want me dead.”
“He’d be perfectly house-trained, if only he wasn’t so chronically single,” said Philip. “Aki-chan and I mourn the fact all the time. I don’t suppose you have any ideas on how to change that, do you?”
The only reason Shotaro didn’t make a rude gesture at Philip was that Kirihiko was present, and watching him, and hot and single.
“…You just said that you and Philip are partners,” said Kirihiko.
“Yes, we’re the two-in-one Kamen Rider,” said Shotaro, “but that doesn’t mean he helps me get any dates, even though he’s got his whatever-it-is going on with Princess Wakana.”
Kirihiko’s face moved rapidly through several different emotions, beginning with relief, repeating several different flavors of shock mingled with severe interest, and ending on polite worry.
“I…see,” he said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
“Yes, talking on the phone,” said Philip. “It’s fun. We’re friends.”
Kirihiko mouthed friends, and then said, “Well, I know I said that I’d give you information on the Museum once you’d given me housing—”
“You’re going to live with Shotaro,” Philip said. He smiled. “You can tell him all about the Museum tonight. Did you know that he only has one bed?”
“I have a pullout couch and a bed,” Shotaro corrected. “And I eat my meals at the table in here, it’s cheaper. And if you’re living with me you are helping out with my rent!”
“Of course, as soon as I’m divorced,” said Kirihiko. “Saeko should be ordered to pay me alimony. I’ll give you a cut.”
“Awesome!” said Shotaro. “I can’t wait to buy my own hat stand.”
“Hat stand?”
“The third most important piece of furniture a man can own,” said Shotaro, “and proof that one is genuinely hardboiled—”
“You only own a bed and a pull-out couch?!” said Kirihiko, horrified.
“Of course not,” said Shotaro. “I have a mattress and a pull-out couch. The bed frame can come after I get a wardrobe.”
Kirihiko looked like he was having nightmarish visions of the future, but then he took a deep breath and visibly pulled himself together. “Well, it’s better than living on the streets.”
“Definitely,” Shotaro agreed.
“And I can see if I can get any furniture in the divorce.”
“Hat stand,” Shotaro said under his breath, “hat stand, hat stand, hat stand—”
“Not a hat stand,” said Kirihiko. “Something useful for us, and that fits in the apartment. I’m guessing it isn’t large—just two bedrooms?”
“It’s a studio,” said Shotaro. “What I could afford. We can look for a larger place once you start getting alimony.”
As if they would continue to live together—stupid, stupid. But Kirihiko was attractive, and Shotaro liked his personality, and anyway the man didn’t seem against long-term commitments. But Philip smirked and wriggled his eyebrows at them, and Kirihiko nodded, as though that were a totally normal and reasonable thing to say. Who knew—he was basically a reformed drug dealer. A lot of things probably sounded normal and reasonable to him. Shotaro shouldn’t worry about it.
“Sounds good to me,” said Kirihiko, and he smiled at Shotaro, and Shotaro felt his heart slam against his chest and his face grow hot, and he thought, Well, I’ve made a million bad decisions in my life, what’s one more? and tossed his apartment keys over to the reformed Gaia Memory dealer.
“Glad to hear it, roommate,” he said. “Let’s go home.”