Ryotaro Dojima knew something was most definitely wrong when it was not he that came stumbling through the front door, drunk and tripping over himself, but was indeed his nice, kind, humble nephew.

What made it even worse, drunk underage nephew aside, was the fact that said drunk underage nephew also had his lips, and hands no doubt, attached to an equally drunk and under-bloody-age Yosuke Hanamura.

Dojima briefly thanked the Gods that Nanako had gone to bed three hours ago.

Still, the two teenage boys appeared to not have noticed Dojima, sitting cozily on the couch, coffee in hand and remote in the other, and continued their... rather lewd acts.

There was something very, very wrong here, the detective-adepted side of Dojima's mind supplied, though he was damned if he could actually do anything about. It was, after all, well known that Dojima himself could barely do anything right when in his drunk-addled state.

Which is why, Dojima told himself, his nephew and the idiot Hanamura kid were, er, making out, so to speak. He was so sure that it had to be the alcohol. Or something. Like teenage lunacy.

However, it was also well known that Hanamura was bloody terrified of Dojima, and that kind of gave him the upper hand. Kind of.

"Oi," said Dojima, in his best attempt of an authoritative parental tone. "What's going on here?"

And there it was, the [blessed] sound of two people being torn apart at the lips, and Dojima was most definitely pleased by the look of absolute horror on Hanamura's stupid, drunk face.

"H-Hello, Do-dojima, sir!" he stuttered, appearing a little bit more sobered up, and really, Dojima did not understand why he was getting a very, very nice feeling of satisfaction from it. Something about being a detective, he supposed. "I was just leaving, sir! And I am most definitely not drunk!" Then, "sir!"

Souji, who was leaning heavily on Hanamura's side, nodded. "Not drunk."

And, well. Dojima supposed if they'd stopped [no thanks to his interruption, of course] then all was okay. He could deal punishment out later. For both the drunk-ness and... alcohol influenced idiocy.

But after his stories.

The second time Dojima witnessed something, er, wrong, was during one of the rare outings that he took part of with Nanako and Souji.

It hadn't been as bad as the previous one, per se, but someone with half a brain [read: Adachi] would have noticed. Especially with the way that Souji almost all but bee-lined for Hanamura's very much to recognizable head, but not before making a quick apology and promising to join them in two minutes and, hey, maybe Nanako and Daddy could go look in that really pretty store over there?

Nanako, innocent little thing, thought it was a fantastic idea, and dragged Dojima to said pretty store to look at pretty things without a seconds hesitation.

Of course, Dojima entertained her while constantly craning his neck out the store door or towards the store windows, keeping a consistent eye on a familiar grey head.

And yeah, Dojima felt a little like an overbearing parent, but still. He had to keep watch, right?

Besides, it wasn't like... like something was going on, right? Friends now days could be that close, right?

Even if they were both boys.

Admittedly close boys, seeing as Dojima kept noticing small little touches from Souji and the way that Hanamura kept adverting his eyes and-

Christ, Dojima thought, eyes sliding to Nanako, who was holding out a pink, frilly dress and asking if he thought it was pretty. Christ.

Something was most definitely going on. Either that, or it was just his old age playing tricks on him. Being a detective was hard work, after all.

Or teenage lunacy. It had to be that. Goddamn teenagers.

The third time Dojima saw something, well, not so much as wrong but kind of different, and somewhat accidentally walked in on his nephew and his best friend doing... things, it had been a hell of a lot more awkward, and that was not only because of the lack of alcohol in both their systems.

Like the fact that Hanamura was dressed as a woman.

And was very much so straddling Souji. On his bed.

Dressed as a woman. Skirt and frilly shirt and, jesus, that looked like make up.

Dojima couldn't even pin this one on alcohol or teenage lunacy, christ. Not even old age, because no matter what some may say about your eyesight going or losing your hearing, people did not see things like this.

At least, he was pretty sure about that.

Still, there is something said about privacy and whatever, so Dojima more or less slammed the bedroom door- just, you know, to let them know he did see things -shut and focused on one thing: the bar.

A few hours later, when Dojima was properly sloshed and he was, in fact, the one that came stumbling through the front door, drunk-addled and trying his very best to be as quiet as humanly possible [Nanako was still sleeping, obviously], he found Souji sitting on the couch, coffee in one hand and remote in the other.

Dojima found the reverse in roles rather amusing, but only until the memory of what that reversal entailed came to mind.

Hanamura, thankfully dressed in clothes made for boys and not woman, was fast asleep, head resting on Souji's lap.

On Souji's lap.

Oh.

Oh.

"So..." Dojima started slowly, waving a hand around in some attempt at hidden meaning. "You and Hanamura..."

"Hmm," agreed Souji, holding Dojima's favorite coffee mug out to him like an invitation. "Does it bother you?"

Thankfully, Dojima took the mug, noticing how warm it still was as he took a sip.

Did it bother him? Dojima wondered, while staring down into the complete blackness of his coffee, watching the murky drink ripple as he tipped it this way and that.

Well. He could do worse, he supposed. There was that Kanji kid, right? And, shit, at least Hanamura, though obviously suffering from some form of stupidity, wasn't loudmouthed and didn't have a tendency to want to kick everyone and everything in sight. Nor was he so goddamn quiet to the point of sinking into the background, and at least he had a sense of humor, right?

And he wasn't as... flamboyant as that blonde boy(?), or... actually, Dojima wasn't going to start on the celebrity, but at least he wasn't as confusing as the wannabe detective.

Even if he, apparently, had an inkling for dressing like a woman.

It was at this point that Dojima realized that Souji had some bloody weird friends. Really weird friends.

"S'pose not," Dojima shrugged eventually, kicking off his shoes and sliding to the floor, back pressed against the couch. "Could be worse off, I guess."

Souji nodded again, remote control dangling from his hand as he studied his uncle. At least, Dojima was sure that's what he was doing, it was really hard to tell when there were two... wait, no, three Souji's staring at him.

But then Souji gave him that look, that one that almost seemed like he was laughing at something that Dojima did not understand, with the kind of fondness that came with being related to such a man, and an almost like an acceptance at what was in front of him.

Not that Dojima can remember clearly, he was bloody drunk, after all. Damn teenagers.

"C'mon," Souji poked at Hanamura's head, and succeeded in stirring him. "My uncle's home, let's go to bed."

At the mention of uncle, the other boy went tense and immediately pulled his head from Souji's lap, staring up at the grey haired boy incredulously. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?" he hissed, eyes darting to Dojima on the floor.

"Don't be a sissy, Hanamura," Dojima frowned, shaking his head. "Bloody hell."

Because, jesus, if the boy had the balls to date his nephew, the least he could do was not be such a pansy. Honestly.

"Yes sir, Dojima, sir!" came Hanamura's usual response, and he scrambled to follow Souji- who was snickering to himself -out. Then, "goodnight." Followed by, "Dojima, sir."

Dojima rolled his eyes, picking himself up before dumping himself back down on the couch.

Goddamn sissy.

At least he didn't have to worry about unexpected dangers in the future, Dojima supposed. Then promptly passed out.