Chapter Text
Kiryu Kazuma knew the minute he stepped into the stark back office of the Tsuri Komu company that it was not his night. For starters the room wasn’t furnished with easy, grabbable items for a brawl, almost as if it had been stripped clean pre-emptively. There were two doors but they seated him far away from them on a couch that was boxed in on all sides. Worst of all, what was supposed to be a routine hand-off had turned into an extended social visit. The Dojima family had long learned their lesson not to send Kiryu on that type of job, for many reasons not limited to but including his distaste for the veiled nuance of negotiation.
“So my business partner here would like to enter into a contract with the Tojo clan for protection.”
Kiryu replied, “That’s not my job.”
Un-nuanced negotiation was also not part of the skillset he put to work for Dojima.
“But, uh –” The man looked to his supposed partner, a man with too much muscle to be purely business. Maybe if his business was getting paid per inch of bicep. This must have been what people saw when Kiryu had worked that real estate venture. The two men sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch in front of him, blocking an easy exit.
“Call HQ instead. I’ll be heading out now.” Kiryu reached for the briefcase on the table between them, but then Mr. Muscle slapped a hand down on top of it. Kiryu flicked his eyes up beneath his furrowed brow in a way that sent most punks scurrying.
“My apologies Kiryu Kazuma-san, my friend here says he lost their number. If you could be so kind as to call for me, I would be forever in your debt,” he said calmly in perfectly formal language. He had muscle, he had composure, and he had formality. Kiryu could smell the set-up from a mile away.
“I don’t carry a phone with me.” Kiryu said, starting to feel distinctly pinned down, so he stood. Mr. Muscle stood as well. The company liason searched for a rathole to dive into.
“Just a name will do, then. Who can we contact for further business?”
Kiryu went silent. The overhead lights burned a touch of sweat to his brow. In a second of doubt, he thought maybe he was reading the situation wrongly, and maybe he was fucking things up for the family by denying a new source of income. He wondered how Kazama would handle this delicate situation. Surely he wouldn’t grab the briefcase, flip the table, and beat the threat into submission.
Kazama probably wouldn’t do that, but it was too late to wonder if Kiryu should have done things differently.
As soon as the table flipped up between them, the man shouted and the room filled with cops, bursting in from both doors like a reverse clown car.
Finally, Kiryu felt like he could breathe again.
He delivered a haymaker that swept three men to their feet. He flowed through fists and police batons and even used the briefcase, indiscriminately whirling around and beating them with the weight of their own trap. If he were a sensitive sort of man he would have thought it poetic. Instead he kept a bodycount tally like a factory worker watching the clock.
He didn’t stop to think about the consequences of leaving a hallway full of unconscious police who knew his name as he strolled back to HQ, a spring in his step. He didn’t usually have to worry about that sort of thing. He was the muscle, and he was good at it.
So when he was called into Dojima’s office a few days later, he did not expect to be berated for doing the exact thing the family paid him to do.
“You’re fuckin’ lucky I don’t expel you on the spot,” Dojima grunted, tapping his fat fingers on his desk. Kiryu stayed quiet, but the sheer hypocrisy of the situation sparked a quiet burn of irritation. He knew he was a good bruiser, and Dojima knew he was good, but he’d always play at this anyway. “Our agreement with the cops don’t cover your mindless rampages.”
Kiryu had learned to bear Dojima’s clear distaste for him, so he didn’t rise to the bait and he didn’t try to set the record straight. Both would end poorly. Instead, he kept his head down and idly wondered what his next assignment was while Dojima power tripped his way around the room.
“-We’ve got a place for you out in Kyoto. Stay there while we smooth over the mess you made.”
“What?” Kiryu said accidentally. This was new. Dojima sneered gleefully, his wide face stretched wider by arrogance and the opportunity to smack Kiryu down.
“Be grateful this is even being arranged for you. You happened to throw your fists at the son of a politician or some shit. Go cool your head, dumbass. Dismissed.”
Kiryu robotically jerked his body into motion while his mind tried to catch up to what was happening. The family was pretty much his life at the moment. And he doubted it would be a paid vacation. And he didn’t know anybody in or anything about Kyoto. Was he really in so much trouble they had to send him away?
His thoughts were still jumbled the next day as he arrived at the train station, searching for the train that would take him to his strange punishment. The station was bright and impersonal, hard lines with no empathy, filled with faceless crowds traveling from point A to point B. He walked like he was in a bad dream. Beside him Nishikiyama offered a helpless shrug.
“Man this is why I keep telling you to think before you jump into these fights. Sometimes you don’t have to resort to violence yeah?”
“What was I supposed to do, give them a name? Maybe get booked?” Kiryu said in a tone that probably betrayed too much of his annoyance. Nishiki didn’t deserve it - he had come along to see him off, and was just looking out for him. They stood blocking a whole gate but received nothing more than a worried look from passerby - one of the perks of being obvious gangsters. The station attendant at the booth on the far end was beginning to look uncomfortable though.
“They wouldn’t let you go to jail dummy, you’d probably just spend a night in detention.” Nishiki smirked like it was obvious, but Kiryu had his doubts that Dojima would be chomping at the chain to free him. Nishiki was too preoccupied with his sister’s illness to really learn the inner workings and dynamics of the clan like Kiryu had, so he held his tongue. He’d been doing that more and more these days as the gap between them in the clan seemed to widen, despite his best efforts. He’d always felt responsible for his bro.
Nishiki slapped him on the back and brought him to the present again. “Anyway bro, I don't know Kyoto too well but the old man gave me this restaurant recommendation when I asked for you, maybe check it out if you've got the time." Kiryu looked at the business card in his hand, and tucked it into his jacket. "I’ll see you on the other side. Make sure to bring some yatsuhashi back.”
Kiryu grunted, hiked his overnight bag onto his shoulder, and marched alone to his fate.
The hub was easy to navigate but inexperience made him hesitate. He looked to the surrounding stores he walked, stocked with travel bentos and snacks and newspapers. Did he need those things? He’d gone 3 hours without food before. Right?
He forewent the purchases when he realized his train was leaving in 5 minutes, and jogged up the stairs three at a time, barely hopping onto a traincar that ended up being the opposite end of where his seat was. The train began to move, and Kiryu pushed down his embarrassment and walked the long walk through car after car. He had barely left his small pocket of Tokyo since joining up and didn’t have much experience outside of organized crime these days. Suddenly thrust from the life, something about that struck him as sad.
He’d have time to mull it over more on this trip. Or better yet, to sleep the matter off and forget it entirely. He hadn’t been able to keep a decent sleep schedule in ages, last night no exception. Kiryu finally reached his aisle and slung his bag up into the luggage compartment next to another small bag and a loose baseball bat, then looked down to find that his seat was already occupied.
“Excuse m-” He stopped.
He stared.
The man in his seat turned one gleaming eye up at him.
“There ya are, Kiryu-chan. Cuttin’ it close.”
“Majima-no-nii-san,” Kiryu managed to choke out. His body tensed with memories of aching muscles and tantō wounds. Majima sat sprawled across two seats like the world owed it to him, gloved hands laced contentedly across his bare midriff. It wasn’t what Kiryu would call an attack pose, but the man was an artist. Everything he touched turned dangerous. The train car was suddenly way, way too narrow to contain the both of them.
“Don’t just stand there, sit, sit,” he beamed like a child on a field trip, patting the window seat that he’d graciously guarded. Kiryu pressed his lips into a thin line. Majima didn’t move so Kiryu was forced to straddle awkwardly over his legs, making an undignified leap the last few inches.
“There ya go.” His lips were pursed in a funny little smile, no doubt at Kiryu’s expense.
If he felt boxed in before, he may as well have jumped into his own coffin and slammed the door shut. He tried not to sweat.
“To what do I owe this visit?”
“Can it with the stuffy language, you’re on a company retreat aren’t cha?”
“It’s not exactly by choice,” Kiryu said testily. He didn't have a rein on it around his senior, even though he should have. His stubbornness is what had gotten him in trouble with Majima in the first place all those years ago, and since then he’d been like a bur he could never shake no matter how many times he tried. “Why are you here?”
“That’s more like it,” Majima said, sitting up now that it wouldn’t be a helpful thing to do. “I couldn’t let you go all by your lonesome. Kyoto’s a big place for a young punk - a brother worries.”
Kiryu narrowed his eyes. “If you’re not going to tell the truth, there’s no point in talking in the first place.”
“Now why would I lie about that?” Majima cackled, then dropped his voice an octave in that way that made Kiryu’s stomach clench. “Ya wanna have it out instead?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want to fight,” he sighed through the tension that always crackled between them. They were technically “officially” forbidden from fighting after creating an unprecedented ruckus at a family gathering, but that didn’t stop Majima from trying every time they met under less than official circumstances. He couldn’t say he didn’t understand the drive, either. “Will you let me sleep without waking up to a knife between my ribs?”
“But it’s your first time, isn’t it? You’ll miss Mt. Fuji, our nation’s pride and joy. That’s why I saved you the window seat, it’s prime real estate!” Majima looked proud and sounded sincere, but Kiryu just couldn’t fully read him. He’d seen Majima’s mood do flips like an Olympic diver off a board. You never knew what sort of dive he was attempting until he hit the water, and by then you were probably already bloody.
“I guess it would be a shame to miss that,” he conceded, choosing the path of least resistance. He looked out the window for the first time. The landscape rushed by at a dizzying rate, urban sprawl giving way to fields and tall grass as they moved further from the city. It was actually more striking than he thought it’d be. For the first time since he’d been given the order, Kiryu felt something vaguely positive. It was at least a distant relative of a positive thought.
“Of course it would be! Anyway, keep this between us but Shimano’s got somethin' in the works out west, so I’m killin' two birds with one stone here,” Majima said as he hunkered back down into a confident sprawl, combative energy fading away. Kiryu recognized the armistice but couldn't relax because Majima was ni-hi-hi-ing like some comic book villain. “Lookin’ forward to gettin’ some quality Kiryu-chan time.”
“A..ah.” Kiryu put that aside, because what else was he supposed to do with it? “They’re just sending you? Alone?”
“Yeah. What,” Majima’s head flopped his way, wide-eyed. “Think it’s too much?”
“For them, maybe. Seems unfair.”
Majima laughed, delighted. “S’right.” He procured a second eye patch from somewhere and snapped it around his other eye, wiggling even further into his seat. Kiryu pursed his lips at the ridiculous sight.
“I’m not allowed to sleep, but you are?”
“Quiet, cadet. Mt. Fuji will be on your right in an hour or so, stay sharp.”
Kiryu held back his sharp retorts and settled in for the long haul.
*
“So this is what you meant by quality time,” Kiryu said, taking his shoes off at the entrance to the hideout the clan was loaning him. It was an unassuming old house down a quiet street, tucked amongst some other houses in a way that would have been hard to find if Majima hadn’t led him straight there. He sat on the raised tatami portion that comprised the rest of the floor leading from the ground-level entrance, reminiscent of the kind of homes he saw in his childhood. It was a perfect picture, except for the extremely loud snakeskin jacket at face-level. “You meant you’re crashing my solitary confinement.”
A few weeks alone with Majima. He wondered just how soon the next train back to Tokyo was – but no, orders were orders and they were both here on official business. Now he just had to focus on survival. Majima was a startlingly loyal soldier but Kiryu could no sooner get him to do things his way than wrangle a typhoon between his fists, and Kiryu was far below him in rank to boot. Given a choice, he'd take the natural disaster. He was beginning to wonder if this was actually an execution instead of a hiatus.
His would-be executioner could not be happier. “Woah woah you’re talkin’ like you aren’t super excited that Majima ‘been around the block’ Goro is your personal tour guide!”
“I don’t think that’s a nickname you want to share.”
Majima grinned, his manic energy building up in waves. “Don’t get too lonely. I’ll be back later.”
“Hey, what happened to being my personal tour guide?”
“Duty calls!” He was already out the door, baseball bat across his shoulders, sporting an aura that Kiryu was glad wasn’t directed at him for once. The door clicked shut.
Majima left a deafening silence ringing in his ears. The air was brisk even inside, obstinately remaining undisturbed despite his presence in a way that made the place feel like a guarded secret. He decided to wander around his cage. He mapped out exit points from the second floor where he could reach the roof of the next building through a window on the western side if he tried hard enough, and strategic chokepoints in between the sliding wooden doors.
The shower room downstairs was small, with a wooden floor and dark stone beneath the raised portion for water to drain into. There was a rectangular tub set into a raised hearth-looking apparatus, at odds with the modern shower set and temperature regulator mounted on the wall next to it. As far as emergency exits went, the room only had a small window he would never fit through.
The kitchen stretched long and narrow adjacent to the living room, separated only by shoji, and ended with a backdoor, perfect for funneling enemies down. The whole house was sparsely furnished but the living room had a phone, a television and a kotatsu, which was a luxury Kiryu had never considered owning before. He could probably dole out some creative punishment with this, if the fight came to him.
He paused at that thought. But that was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? Keeping a low profile, no fighting.
So in a novel move, Kiryu turned the kotatsu on just to use it. Late autumn had rolled in without his notice, and something about Kyoto chilled his extremities faster than Tokyo. Early afternoon sunlight streamed in through the opaque windows that faced the street. He warmed his toes under the blanket, circled his mind a few times for anything he may have forgotten to do, then settled down.
What now?
He didn’t know.
He relaxed out further beneath the pleasant heat of the kotatsu as it sank into his legs, and his thoughts drifted inwards. It was easier to sit back and let Kazama guide him from afar, but in these rare moments of quiet, when he was left on his own with nothing ahead and nothing behind, his mind always strayed to the same thought like an animal licking a wound.
What was he doing?
Kiryu relied on his gut instincts as situations arose rather than coming at them with an agenda. Nishiki might criticize him as impulsive but his moral compass had gotten him this far. It’s just, there was nobody around to tell him what to do, and he didn’t have anything to make decisions about.
And so he was left, an empty vessel with no desires of his own. The thought troubled him.
Before he knew it, his thoughts slowed and left him with a vague, sloth-like impression of unease. He slipped into a dream he wouldn’t remember, but did little to comfort him.
*
Kiryu woke groggily after what felt like a few moments. The late sunset slanted in from the windows, landing in large orange squares that were fading to darkness even as he blinked at them. He was curled on his side in a pose that struck him as distinctly juvenile, something he should have long outgrown.
A sound came from the kitchen. Kiryu jerked up in response, hitting his knees on the underside of the kotatsu table with a bitten off curse.
“Oops,” Majima said, peeking in momentarily from the kitchen, eyepatch-only. Kiryu’s face heated up and he scrubbed a hand over his eyes and mouth to get rid of the evidence of his nap.
“Did you just get back?” His voice rumbled even lower than usual, sticky with sleep.
“You were sleepin’ like a lil babe.”
“I wasn’t allowed to on the train.”
“Wasn’t Mt. Fuji majestic, though?”
It had been. The bullet train was one of the fastest in the world but it could barely outrun the behemoth of a mountain, and it’d put things in perspective. But he wasn’t about to tell Majima all that.
Majima emerged from the kitchen with a tray of something hot and delicious-smelling, and Kiryu realized as his stomach twisted that he hadn’t eaten a single thing all day. He shamelessly eyed the food as Majima dropped down across from him, and was surprised to find there were two servings, beer and all. Majima dug into his portion with the all grace of a pig to a trough.
“What’s wrong? Eat up,” he said through a mouthful of curry and rice, like this was a normal thing they did and not something totally extraordinary. Majima had brought food for him.
Kiryu stared at the cheap convenience store meal, overcome with a feeling that sat wetly at the top of his throat. He must have been in worse shape than he thought, to be so touched by something Majima had done for him. He tucked into his food rather than trusting himself to speak.
Majima loudly tabbed open his beer and guzzled it, throat working to keep up. Kiryu dragged his eyes up to his face, which upon closer inspection, had the telltale puffiness that portended a bruise.
Kiryu didn't want to get too into it but his curiosity won out. “How’d it go?”
Majima slammed the can down onto the table. “Buncha pathetic excuses. Can you believe the sort of incompetent fucks that manage to climb ranks just because they’ve got a few pounds?" He sighed wistfully. "Lotta build up just to be blue-balled, it was like cuttin’ through butter."
“I guess yakuza aren’t especially picky about who joins up.”
“That’s all well an’ good, but ya can’t just put someone in charge on account of he looks like he’s smuggling melons in his biceps." Majima waved his hand dismissively like chasing away a bad smell. His voice dipped and swayed along the valleys of his Kansai accent. "He’s gotta have at least some brains if he’s runnin’ business. And more importantly, heart! If the guy backs down and gives up his men as soon as he gets a little scared, he’s worthless.”
Kiryu secretly agreed. He almost laughed at the thought of agreeing with Majima, but contained it to a small, sardonic smirk.
“Is that why you rose to the top? Heart?”
“And my dazzling wit.” He said wit in a way that Kiryu thought he really meant ‘dagger’. “And I’m not done gettin’ to the top yet. I’ve got the biggest, sloppiest heart outta all of you Tojo clan morons, and don’t you forget it!” He waggled his drink at Kiryu.
Kiryu opened a second beer and tapped their cans together, something like respect in his tone. “That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear you brag about.”
“I don’t go around tellin’ just anybody that. And I could be wrong, I’m keepin’ my eye on an up-and-comer, a real musclehead but the kinda guy who’d risk it all for, I dunno, a fuckin’ kitten or something. Can’t tell if it’s just an act yet.”
“Shinji?” Kiryu mused out loud. Majima managed quite an impressive stare despite only having one eye to work with, looking inexplicably thrown off.
“Whozzat?”
“He’s a kid I helped out a while back, just joined the Dojima family half a year ago or so. Too enthusiastic about soaplands but he’s good people.” Kiryu set his chopsticks down on his empty bowl, and sighed a satisfied sigh.
Majima still looked at a loss. His voice was flat. “Kiryu-chan, you musclehead.”
“Thanks for the meal.” He ignored the jab and rose, taking their tray with him.
All things considered, the night passed easily. Kiryu kept looking for the trap, and Majima kept not springing it. He just sprawled under the kotatsu indolently, flipping channels, looking for all the world like a normal person. It made Kiryu seem like the weird one, tip-toeing around and glancing over to check on him anytime he moved. Kiryu refused to be the weird one, between the two of them.
“Somethin’ eatin’ ya?” He asked lightly as Kiryu nearly paced around the house in his discomfort.
“What are you up to?”
“Hm?” Majima was sprawled on his side, head propped on his hand. Seeing him at ease was like watching a fish flop onto land, sprout legs, then do nothing with them. What were the legs for? Would it go back to the water? Why had it sprouted legs in the first place if it wasn’t going to do anything with them? The anticipation was killing him.
Majima, on principle, was a sharp object. Dangerous if touched. Kiryu swept his eyes along his lean body, lingering to make sure his hands were empty. His deafening jacket spilled onto the floor, offering a peek at the glaring eyes of the Hannya beneath. Majima couldn’t do innocent, but he said innocently, “Nothing?”
It couldn’t have been true, but there wasn’t anything to contradict it yet.
“So you’re just going to sit there and do nothing.”
“What do ya want me to do?” Majima asked brightly, finally leaning back to face him. Everything was in place – the eye patch, the manicured goatee. His smile was normal, not manic. Kiryu felt itchy.
“Never mind, do what you want.”
He sat heavily, third beer in hand, stress drinking. His instincts rarely steered him wrong but maybe Majima really did just want to hang out.
Kiryu could do that.
Probably.
*
Majima boo’d at the television. It sat there playing a fuzzy baseball game, screen curved and dusty. It was a solid cube that could do some damage if properly wielded - Kiryu shook his head to re-center his thinking - it was a television that was pretty OK at playing things on the screen.
“What happened?” Kiryu asked, squinting to see if that would help him demystify the rituals playing out before his eyes. It didn’t.
“The fuckin’ pitcher just gave up a run and now we’re bases loaded, one out, top of the ninth.”
“Ah.” Kiryu went for a neutrally masculine agreement. Majima would probably make fun of him if he discovered he didn’t even know the rules of the game.
“If they score here we’re tied and it’ll go into extra innings. I gotta head out soon though. Fuck!” Majima yelled as one of the men on screen ran, making the other ones run, while someone threw the ball to someone who didn’t catch it. Kiryu nodded externally and piled question marks internally.
He offered his only observation up to the dais of the manly conversation gods and hoped it’d do: “The guy… threw bad.”
“Yeah this guy’s tired. The pitcher’s gotta be strong enough to throw the balls the catcher needs.”
“Oh yeah?”
“That relationship is sacred. See look, they’re headin’ to the mound now ‘cause they can’t agree. This catcher is one of the best though, he’s a real tactician. The pitcher’s just the muscle to get it done.”
Kiryu didn’t know enough to refute that but it sounded not quite right.
“You more of a pitcher or a catcher, Kiryu-chan?”
“Uh,” Kiryu floundered, sipping his beer, not wanting to be caught in the lie. Between the two choices, with the description Majima just gave, probably, “Guess a pitcher. You?”
Majima nodded seriously at him, eye narrowed in concentration. He was all sharp corners; the corners of his bangs falling on his forehead, the corners of his facial hair, lifted just slightly. “Depends on the guy tryna be pitcher.”
Kiryu nodded one more time, and turned to the television so he wouldn’t have to meet Majima’s eye. Again, he didn’t know enough to judge that answer properly, but he’d just have to accept it. The whole conversation seemed perfectly normal, but it was making his jaw ache with tension.
Majima stood with a bitten-off curse, stretching his long legs. These too were weapons cased in leather and altogether too flexible despite the constricting material. Kiryu could kick, but Majima could kick.
“Keep watchin’ would ya?”
Kiryu belatedly realized he’d been staring and jerked his head up. Majima was facing away but pointed to the television.
“I wanna hear how the game goes!”
“Ok,” he said thoughtlessly, tapping his finger against the empty beer can. Majima was being normal for once, and now he was the one making things strange. He had to calm down.
Left alone once more, Kiryu took a deep breath to get himself under control. He turned his attention back to the game, where someone started running even though the ball hadn’t been hit, and everybody was cheering? He squinted, but it was no use. He wouldn’t be able to recount any of it.
*
Kiryu fell asleep late and woke late in the morning, lazy because he could be, for once. His limbs moved with drowsy motions as he rolled his futon up, stumbled downstairs, and tried to remember where he was.
The house appliances were basic and utilitarian and looked like they hadn’t been updated in a while, except for the hot water pot. It had a bunch of unnecessary-looking buttons and Kiryu pressed every single one before he finally managed to make hot tea.
Kiryu scratched at a curl of green wallpaper that was peeling from the wall by the window as he came awake, sipping tea. He was out in Kyoto ordered to lay low. In a house that was too big for two but still not big enough for him and Majima to share. He didn’t know what to do out there, left alone with his thoughts and forced into a liminal space where his job was to not have a job. There was only one thing he could fix right now, and that was how he was treating his roommate.
He replayed last night’s conversations and determined that he’d try better to come at Majima with an open mind. He’d bought him food, and he hadn’t seriously tried to fight him – it wasn’t just an olive branch, it might have been an entire tree. And Kiryu had just stared at him all night, weird and tense.
Ok, this was something tangible and fixable. It was just two guys getting to know each other. He could do better.
*
Turned out he was not good at doing better.
Majima, despite not coming back at all last night, greeted Kiryu with a chipper slap on the shoulder when he stepped through the door in the evening. Kiryu, out of instinct, grabbed for his hand, ready to throw him off. He stopped himself before it could become apparent he was about to do violence but then he just stood there holding his hand to his shoulder, very tightly.
“Hey,” Kiryu greeted like he wasn’t death-gripping his hand. He patted it twice in an attempt to make it friendly but he sailed past that and landed straight back into awkward. Majima just slid the leather down his arm as he stepped into the kitchen to grab a beer, talking about something or another. Kiryu was too busy being mortified with himself to listen as goose bumps crawled in the trail of his fingers.
“What do ya think?”
“Huh?” Kiryu glanced at him, coming back down to earth.
“The guy’s kind of a goober but he seems to want to fix it. Should I give him a chance?”
Kiryu, grateful for his stoic face, inwardly scrambled but outwardly didn’t do much beyond bring a hand to his chin. “Is he a friend of yours?”
Majima tossed a beer to Kiryu and leaned back, hip against the counter. “Friend? Wouldn’t call him that. Just a guy with a mutual interest.”
“If he wants to fix it, I don’t see why not.”
“It’s just, he doesn’t seem worth it. Some guys, you just see ‘em and BAM, you know, y’know?”
Kiryu narrowed his eyes. He wished he’d been listening to the beginning of this conversation because his stomach was twisting. “…I suppose. You don’t owe him anything, but maybe he’s asking for a chance because he knows he screwed up.”
Majima sipped his beer with a considering look. “Alright, since ya told me to. If it goes south, I’m blamin’ you though. You’ll have to make it up to me.”
With that, Kiryu had successfully navigated his way through a second conversation without knowing any of what was going on. Normally, Majima did not let him get away with this sort of thing. He had a disturbingly accurate read on Kiryu whenever they talked, and Kiryu had always wondered how. He didn’t consider himself a complex man, but his stoic demeanor went far with most people. Not Majima.
He took a long pull of his beer to hide his discomfort. It wasn’t just their strange circumstance - there was something that always threw him off around his senior. He’d thought it was simply dealing with the unwarranted animosity Majima levied at him, but that was gone here. Kiryu couldn’t deny now that he was part of the problem. And he could at least fix his half.
“Did you… have a good day, otherwise?” Kiryu nearly winced hearing his voice wrap awkwardly around the words, so unassuming directed at anybody else in any other situation. He was very aware of where his limbs were as he tried to lean against the doorjamb casually. Majima popped up from behind the fridge door like a prairie dog.
“Aw, Kiryu-chan. The best thing about my day is comin’ home to you.”
There was this face that Kiryu made sometimes, when confronted with the more outrageous things Majima said or did to him. It was related distantly to incredulity but world-wearier, and genetically similar to fondness in the way that every other family member denied ties to. Sometimes there was more heat involved, or more confusion.
But this was the first time his heart started beating at such an obvious jibe. He could only imagine how it manifested on his face. That familiar and yet new expression took hold of him and his ears went red hot as he looked away, crinkling his beer can. “Alright, alright. Just asking.”
“Just answerin’,” Majima grinned, pulling out more food he’d picked up on the way back to the hideout. “You’re always so serious about everythin’. Grub?”
*
Night fell while they ate, and Kiryu felt amped from the meal. He looked back at Majima who sprawled under the kotatsu flipping through tv channels again, and considered. He had brought food for him in a surprisingly thoughtful gesture, twice. It was only natural to treat him back. “You know any good bars around here?”
Majima groaned.
“I JUST got warm.”
Kiryu felt this response was obvious every time he said it, but it never seemed to stick. “You could… wear a shirt.”
“Why don’t you wear a shirt,” he groused, inching further beneath the kotatsu petulantly. Kiryu pointedly grabbed his jacket from the entrance and made a show of pulling each arm through, then opened the door.
Majima’s disembodied head frowned at him. “Argh! Fine!”
They skipped out into the night, wandering the streets without interruption in what Kiryu would call “a miracle”. Not only did they go un-accosted by punks, but they were maintaining this armistice so well that Kiryu wondered why they hadn’t done this sooner. Majima had shown hints of a more serious personality behind the bluster of his bloodthirsty persona, but it was so blink-and-miss that Kiryu had assumed he was projecting. To finally be given a good look at it was something he didn’t even know he’d been wanting.
In the clan Majima was something of a legend. His bloody rampages and dogged persistence made his a feared name, even alongside the strange rumors about his predilections and hobbies. He was as much a legend as he was a favored topic of conversation. People talked about how you could summon him by gathering a tooth, some stolen panties, a sakura blossom and then chanting 'mad dog' in the dark of any alleyway in Kamurocho; how he'd taken down a human trafficking ring operating out of bounds with just a garter belt and a pair of glasses.
For all everybody loved to talk about him, nobody seemed to really know him. Nobody had warned Kiryu how perceptive he was. Hidden expertly by the loud bloodlust was a bone-searing eye and a sharp-witted tongue. Kiryu had noticed it on the day of their first meeting, and he kept noticing it every time they were in a room together. Like magnets, they’d inevitably end up in the same corner trading charged conversation. He'd always wondered what he'd done for the Mad Dog to catch his scent.
They ended up in a bar a couple train stops away, by Kyoto’s famous Uogawa river. It glittered with the reflection of the shore side restaurant lights. They seemed to arrive with the regulars; salary men on their first bar of the night and students from the nearby universities who filled the room with bubbling chatter.
Kiryu bought their first round and grabbed them seats at the bar, feeling lighter than he had in a long while, energized by food, drink and company in a way that made him want more. He looked at Majima next to him and questions filled his head. Which to ask first?
“Majima-no-nii-,” Kiryu started, and then thought better of it. Ditch the formalities, he’d said. “Majima. What got you into the life?”
He sent him a mocking look. "You lookin' for an interview or somethin'?"
Kiryu shook his head earnestly. "Just curious."
Majima knocked his drink back and looked off to the side. "Oh, ya know. You’re a kid with no power, then you realize one day it’s something ya gotta take for yourself, that’s how the world works. So you start picking fights and you start winning and it turns out there’s a business in this sort of thing." Kiryu refilled his glass, and Majima's ever-present smile dimmed. "And the business finds you.”
“Just like that?”
“Eyyyup.” He sounded like he was glossing over a few details. “What about you, golden boy?”
“Orphanage, owned by Kazama. I grew up wanting to become a man like him. This seemed like the best way to give back. But,” Kiryu paused. The ice in his drink clinked into the glass as it melted. He hadn’t said this out loud before, and now he was saying it to Majima of all people. But, he was trying to make friends here, so. “He didn't want me to, and that should have been the end of it. I was a bullheaded brat. I was probably using that as an excuse to stay close to him.”
“Woah Kiryu-chan that’s some high EQ stuff you’re sayin’ right now.” Kiryu snuck a look to see if he was making fun but Majima stared back easily. So he continued.
“It was the only thing I wanted at the time. Since then I haven't really...” He’d counted that amongst his most selfish moves, and he’d decided not to do something of that magnitude ever again. “Well anyway it's just something I’ve been thinking about lately.” He filled his own glass again, flipping through the sudden mountain of questions he wanted to ask Majima, who seemed in a rare and especially lucid mood. There weren’t many people in the Tojo clan that Kiryu could say he wanted to get to know better. And before this trip, that included the man next to him.
"It’s good. That’s the sorta reflection that helps ya grow. Just don’t get lost in there.” Majima hit the bottom of his cigarette case with the heel of his palm, and Kiryu pulled his lighter out. His eye slid shut as he leaned into Kiryu’s space with his cigarette, lashes a tight curve against his cheek. The fire cast his face in shadow, smudging his eye patch away in the dark of the bar. Kiryu was just buzzed enough to think he could get away with more than usual.
“I’ve always been curious, did you have to re-learn how to fight after this?” he tapped his own eye. He also wanted to know how he got it, but he wasn’t drunk enough or sober enough to ask that and come away unscathed, he wagered.
Majima took a long drag on his cig and watched Kiryu intently, like he was weighing the merits of responding when he could just throw all of this civility out the window and carry on like they usually did. Kiryu hoped the roulette would land on civil.
“It was a bitch and a half,” he mumbled, voice deep. “I was at the batting cages everyday tryin’ to figure out how distance worked again.”
"Oh is that why you carry that bat around? Got something to prove?" Kiryu teased, like he would with Nishiki.
Majima narrowed his eye, mouth covered by his gloved hand as it held his cigarette delicately. Kiryu got the distinct impression that he'd stepped on some sort of landmine, from the way his body tensed at Majima’s look. He wasn't ever one to backtrack so he made up for it by telling the truth. "To be honest, when we first fought I thought I could take advantage of it. That was my biggest mistake.”
Majima cackled, finally breaking the eye contact that was threatening to make Kiryu sweat. “That’s what everybody thinks! I remember now, you kept trying to dodge into my blind spot with that quick shit but you got a knife in the ribs for yer trouble, didn't ya?"
Kiryu swore he could feel the scar from that hit pulse as if Majima had pressed a finger to it. "That was the last time I tried that."
"Then, then, I saw your fuckin' brute-ass mode for the first time, just taking the abuse-" He mimed his punches with one fist and Kiryu's defensive pose with the other. "-Then you walloped me good." he sent his hands colliding and one flew crashing down the bartop as he made an explosive noise. Kiryu tugged his glass out of the path of carnage and finished it while he was at it, playing the fight over in his head. He thought about it a lot, too.
Majima settled back, storm clouds thankfully dissipated. "That's the kind of punch that sticks with you. Reached all the way to my heart, Kiryu-chan." He punctuated each syllable of his name, savoring it like a piece of candy.
A small smile ticked the corner of his mouth up of its own volition. “Worst job interview I’ve ever had.”
“And we never settled that fight, did we?”
Now Kiryu really began to sweat. Majima had that dagger-shaped glint in his lidded eye, and a smile like the cat that has gotten the cream. Even the smoke from his cigarette curled smugly into the air. Had all of their conversations just been setup for this, somehow? It wasn’t a rational thought, but Kiryu had it anyway because Majima wasn’t a rational man.
Even though Kiryu wanted to swallow to relieve his suddenly dry throat, he couldn’t let himself show any signs of weakness in front of this predator when a fight was looming over the conversation. He just stared back, speared through the chest by Majima’s gaze. They were too close.
“Guess not.” Thank god his voice came out normally. “You almost seemed like you were waiting for it, even that first time.”
“I was,” Majima said mysteriously. Kiryu couldn’t stop staring, even once their silence hit a point of no easy conversational return.
Kiryu couldn’t tell what was going to happen in the next moment, but they were so wrapped up in each other that neither of them noticed the man that appeared at Majima’s left shoulder and calmly, casually, cold clocked him in the jaw.
Kiryu’s lunge was more reflex than anything, hot rage burning through his veins with a rare intensity. As Majima recoiled into him from the blow, Kiryu reached behind him and grasped fistfuls of a tacky suit and head-butted the man to the ground. A weight pressed against his bent back then Majima was rolling over him, legs striking out at more attackers he’d missed from the side, whirling in a controlled flurry.
The bar descended into familiar chaos. Screams rose from every corner of the room and tables and chairs scraped against the floor as people rushed to avoid the fight in the narrow space. The men were blocking the exit and escape was next to impossible for most civilians. They’d have to work around them.
Kiryu and Majima drew back to back. A natural circle formed around them, pinning them to the bar. There were a lot of these men, whoever they were.
“The fuck kinda welcoming party is this?” Majima yelled, and Kiryu couldn’t see his face but he could hear the shark-smile through the words, normally directed at him and now at his back. In his tipsy state, he found he kind of liked it.
“Kawano sends regards,” one of the men said, interrupted halfway by a loud groan from Majima, and then the lull was over and Kiryu shoved his palm up some guy’s nose with a satisfying crunch. He grabbed two wine bottles and cracked them against someone’s head and poured the contents down the victim’s mouth.
“How generous, Kiryu-chan!” He heard behind him, and he wondered how Majima could find the time to comment on anything as he wound between three men like a human Gordian knot then knocked them unconscious. Kiryu didn’t think he’d be able to pull that one off if he tried. Someone clapped, in the distance.
Kiryu’s initial rage gave way to something even more dangerous, something he normally kept a firm grip on but seemed to come especially loose around Majima. He tried to keep himself from smiling. The two of them found a pattern where they took out a few men, then snapped back to each other. At one point they shuffled along the bar back to back, Majima’s ankles against the back of his, the circle moving with them as they went. Something about that tickled him. It was more like a dance then it’d ever been.
One more thing occurred to Kiryu as he crunched a man’s windpipe beneath his white shoes.
“I’m supposed to be laying low.”
“Yer doin’ a crap job.” Majima vaulted up onto the bar and kicked shot glasses out into the dwindling number of enemies with startling accuracy, striking poses; 1, 2 and 3. The glasses met their targets but some customers behind were splashed with alcohol and booed. Majima waved a dismissive hand at them.
Kiryu delivered a savage uppercut to a man with a prominent scar over his lips, and as he went down he grabbed Majima by the cuff of his pants. Majima’s belt dipped low onto his thigh with the strain, revealing a part of its owner’s tattoo that Kiryu had never seen before and couldn’t tear his eyes away from. Majima slid sideways off the bar with an undignified yelp, and Kiryu was glad his laugh was lost in the chaos because he would not have survived the night otherwise.
Distracted, someone barreled into Kiryu and knocked the wind out of him, bending him backwards over the counter in a way that cracked his spine. He groped around for something, anything to fend off his attacker, but they’d used up all of the glasses, and the man’s hands were curling around his throat and he was beginning to see stars. The cowering bartender lifted her eyes above the counter and pushed an ice pick into Kiryu’s empty hand.
He could kiss her.
He jammed her thoughtful gift into the man’s arm, and gasped for air as the grip loosened just enough to let him breathe. Then Majima tackled the guy from the side like a freight train.
He could kiss-
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Majima gathered him up frantically, cackling into the night as they went dashing through the brisk autumn air. Running alongside him and his boundless glee, Kiryu’s head light with drink, he felt invincible. He was still trying to catch his breath when they ran onto the train, doors sliding shut. Majima gave a hoot, and Kiryu let himself smile, just a bit.
“Why ya always gotta be such a cool customer? Let loose, we went wild in there!”
Kiryu chuckled and wiped some blood from his face that wasn’t his. It wasn't often he let himself enjoy a brawl because that was a dangerous road to go down for someone in his line of work. He didn't want to like what he did, but there was an allure to finding the fight that challenged him. Majima vibrated where he stood, watching every movement.
“You fucker that’s an even cooler thing to do.” He was leaning towards Kiryu, looking off-balance in more ways than one. He was the perfect example of what happened when you started liking it a bit too much. Kiryu made the mistake of meeting his eye and something crackled between them, like they were picking up exactly where they’d left off. Whether that meant their conversation from earlier, or the unfinished fight from when they met, or something that happened in a past life, he wasn’t sure. His heart went cold with adrenaline, stronger than it had been for the entire bar brawl. The people on the train went still with an animal fear.
“Majima-no-nii-san,” Kiryu said low like a warning.
“Kiryu-chan,” Majima whispered like a prayer.
Then he struck.
His tantō sang through the air and barely missed Kiryu’s stomach, then zipped up to nick the bottom of his chin as he dodged sideways into a sleepy salaryman. Kiryu twirled the unsuspecting man out of the way in a wide circle as Majima bore down on him in a perfect, unbreakable flow of dagger swings and kicks that forced them to the other end of the train as people flattened themselves against the windows and seats. Kiryu’s back hit the car divide, and left with no alternative, he kicked up just as Majima swung down, knocking the tantō out of his hand and into some unfortunate woman’s bag. She looked like she would sooner abandon the bag than take it with her.
Majima recoiled only slightly and then dropped into a power stance, knocking into Kiryu’s ribcage in savage blows. Kiryu eventually managed to weave underneath one particularly wild punch to jab Majima in the solar plexus. While he was doubled over Kiryu whirled them around and slammed him back against the door, straining to contain his erratic movements.
The train slowed. A soothing automatic voice announced their stop over the loudspeaker with a pleasant ding.
People rushed to leave, but as soon as Kiryu began dragging Majima kicking and screaming back towards the outdoor platform, they thought better of it and rushed back onto the train.
Kiryu stood under the harsh lighting of the station and watched the train pull away, bowing to express his utmost apologies while Majima bucked like a wild horse.
“Fight!”
Kiryu just tightened his arm around his throat. He thought he heard a laugh snuffle up through the gagging. Trying to hold onto Majima in this state was like holding onto a bag of cats, without the bag.
Kiryu blinked, looking around the station. “I don’t remember how to get back.”
“Win and I’ll tell you.”
“I’ve already won,” Kiryu said with just a touch of arrogance, which was the wrong thing to do apparently because Majima screeched, then flipped entirely up and over Kiryu using just the strength of his abs and his anger. He slithered around Kiryu’s upper body like a goddamn viper, and then Kiryu’s front was smashed against a dirty station pillar and he was left dizzy and trying to figure out what had just happened.
Majima panted his exertion in his ear, and they were pressed together from shoulder to hips to thigh, so he could feel every expansion and compression of his chest. Kiryu felt an ugly twist in his belly as something rumbled to life, hungry. He stiffened.
Oh god.
Even worse, Majima picked up on his preternatural stillness and answered with his own. Time slowed to a crawl, just to celebrate Kiryu’s total crisis. A bead of sweat dripped behind his ear. He tried to keep his breathing controlled through his nose, but it echoed loud and insistent and left wet condensation against the pillar and his cheek.
Then the pressure let up. Kiryu could move again.
He made a show of cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, adjusting himself subtly before turning around.
Majima was already hopping up the stairs away from him.
There was a second of time before he had a real reaction, just drunkenly noting the distance suddenly between them and how strange that was, for Majima not to push his advantage. It was a nice second; neutral and lacking in any of the self-sabotaging actions that would soon follow. But, in the end, it was only a second.
A pang of undeniable hurt swept through his chest. Kiryu realized he was disappointed. Why would he be disappointed? Had he wanted Majima to do something like, wrap his strong hands around his hips and press against his-
Oh.
God.
His body moved to follow while his mind dealt with the one-two punch of getting turned on by Majima, then wishing Majima had done something about it. Then wondering if he should do something about it. Turned out it was a one-two-three punch, and Majima had hit him with those before but this was something entirely – scratch that, mostly new. New in that, he’d never consciously lingered on it long enough to draw out. But now he was lingering, and the idea took root. It seemed like a no good terrible unprecedentedly awful idea, even drunk as he was. But his gut curled warmly in anticipation, preparing him for the long dive. Kiryu grit his teeth against the thought but it persisted, and he wasn't disgusted at all.
Majima swayed from side to side with drink while he guided them back in the dark, 4 quick paces ahead of him. Kiryu kept his distance and tried and failed to argue with himself. He’d been tense since arrival, uncomfortable and pent-up from trying to figure Majima out. His taunts sometimes had a certain edge that Kiryu tried his best to ignore because they were just part of the intimidating persona he put on, like the vivid markings on a poisonous creature that warned you away. Despite his best efforts, it seemed as if those taunts had finally seeped through.
He was losing the battle with himself. He’d already thought longer on this decision than he had on most anything he’d done for the other 10 months of the year. His mind dug up one final defense: What if this wasn’t what Majima wanted? They both needed to be in on it, and if they weren’t, this trip could turn excruciating. The answer was easy though, barely a defense at all it turned out; if he had a problem with it, they would fight about it for the rest of their days and it’d end up being exactly what Majima wanted.
His nerves threatened to overwhelm him. Nishiki would call him impulsive, but Kiryu’s instincts had gotten him this far. They reached their base, and the thin ends of Kiryu’s patience snapped.
“Hey.”
Majima turned away from the door at his call and Kiryu stepped in close enough to mark his intent, surprise lighting up Majima’s sharp face as his back hit the house. There was no moon in the sky to reveal them, no streetlights to guide his movements, just the dark silhouette of the man in front of him radiating an unbearable amount of heat from his exposed chest. They were nearly equal in height and Kiryu thought how strange it was to not bend down to kiss someone.
Majima turned his head at the last instant, and Kiryu’s lips met his scruffy facial hair. He pulled back, his blood pulsing so loudly at the clear rejection.
Head still turned, Majima’s mouth fell open with a soft click. It was the loudest sound Kiryu had heard all night. As if in slow motion, his eye curved cruelly and he rounded on Kiryu, and Kiryu hadn’t been paying attention to Majima’s hands because they were suddenly at his shoulders, around his neck-
He bit the skin between Kiryu’s ear and his jaw.
Majima surged into him, licking and biting and kissing his neck in such a startling turn around that Kiryu’s hand was gripping the back of his head instantly, prepared to smash his skull into the wall but instead drawing from him a muffled groan that vibrated against his throat.
Kiryu drew a shuddering breath to gather himself. That was a green light.
With the slow inevitable approach of an avalanche, he leaned heavily against Majima’s body, curling his large hand around the generous rise of his hip, fingers landing on the mound of his ass. The leather of his pants creaked as Kiryu gripped it, trying to hold on through Majima’s attack. He could feel his pulse beating in his face, in his cheeks as the wet sounds of Majima’s lips and tongue against his skin filled his head.
Kiryu thought the experience was much like how time supposedly slowed down when one underwent a catastrophic event.
Before he could think better of it, Kiryu slipped a leg between Majima’s and forced him up onto it, tugging his hips roughly down towards his crotch to ease some of the ache that was building. Majima made a thick, surprised sound that got stuck in his throat halfway out as Kiryu began a slow grind, relieved to feel an answering hardness growing along his thigh. He glanced down to watch the movement, the blunt shape of Majima’s cock clearly outlined through his tight pants. Majima finally pulled back from his assault and shot Kiryu a sly look that jolted him like a taser.
“I knew it,” he breathed, rubbing himself against Kiryu eagerly, shamelessly, his chest arching into Kiryu’s with each movement. “I knew it, I knew it-”
“Shut up,” Kiryu huffed, dipping both hands beneath the beltline and pressing into his thigh for sweet, sweet relief. If they were being shameless anyway, then. He bit hard at the curve of his neck and shoulder so he wouldn’t have to say anything else, and Majima was laughing his mean laugh - the laugh that usually precipitated an especially sharp hit. But it never came. Majima just worked his hips like a pro while Kiryu was left waiting for the axe to fall every second that passed.
So this was where he died. Rutting Majima Goro up against a door like a horny teenager in a nice, quiet neighborhood. Kiryu felt no small amount of shame when he realized he hadn’t even made it inside.
Majima groped around behind them to open the door and they stumbled for a few uncertain steps before Kiryu effortlessly hiked him high onto his hips and walked them over the threshold.
“Holy fuck,” Majima clung to him like an octopus. The sheer admiration in his voice boosted his confidence. “This is gonna be the good shit.”
They kicked their shoes off staying as tangled as they could, slipping onto the tatami in an uncoordinated mess. The door clicked shut with a finality that Kiryu couldn’t bring himself to care about. Majima was pawing at his belt and slipping his hand inside to finally press – Kiryu realized with a start that he still had his gloves on.
“Gloves off,” he said, on his knees before Majima, head spinning. Majima clicked his tongue but impatiently lifted a hand and put his fingers to Kiryu’s mouth, and it took Kiryu a slow second to realize he had to bite down. Kiryu had never seen his bare hands before, and even in the dark they were nice.
“Hey hey don’t stop here, ya got work to do,” Majima snapped with his other bare hand. Majima pulled Kiryu’s erection free and chased the shock of cold air away by immediately wrapping his hand around him, warm and rough. Kiryu’s stomach jumped at the skin-to-skin contact, then for a moment he was removed from himself.
They were really doing this. That was Majima’s hand on his dick.
Now Kiryu was the one off-balance. His hands had curled behind Majima’s neck at some point and he was leaned back so far that Majima was basically dipping him like a dancer, one hand splayed across his back supporting his weight and the other pumping long, fast pulls on his cock that wound him tighter and tighter with each pass of his fist. His cropped hair hung in greased strands in front of his eye patch, moving minutely as he jerked his arm. Majima’s eye burned a path down the line of his body and he let out a low, appreciative noise in a dark voice meant just for him and this thing they were doing.
“Look at you.” He paused his work to lick a sloppy wet string of saliva down his hand, then palmed Kiryu again. “I’ve wanted you on your knees for the longest time.”
Kiryu couldn’t respond to that, it was all going too fast, and he wasn’t touching Majima nearly enough. The unmistakable slick sounds of his hand on his cock echoed into the otherwise complete silence of the room, and if Kiryu were fully in control of his actions he’d be embarrassed about it.
“Wait,” Kiryu managed through the onslaught. Majima spread his legs, helpful for once as Kiryu fumbled around feeling like an amateur. He couldn’t get a good look in the dark, and the angle was difficult, but pubic hair tickled the back of his fingers and his skin was silky smooth and hot against his palm. Kiryu swiped his thumb across the head of him and squeezed, and Majima hissed his approval, shuffling them closer, not quite touching except where it mattered.
Kiryu kept his head down through the panic that waited just beyond the promise of release. He was in the grips of something, in the middle of a slow-moving accident with no way to prevent or minimize damage. He was mesmerized by the rough movements of their arms, and the rhythm of Majima’s ragged breaths. Majima’s free arm hooked around Kiryu’s neck for support, hips thrusting up to meet Kiryu’s strokes. He wanted to kiss him, because it seemed like the thing you did in these situations. But he didn’t want to be rejected again.
“Kiryu-chan come on baby come on, I got you, fuck, fuck-” he muttered feverishly. His own stomach was heaving and his arm was trembling. This was going to be over in a shamefully quick amount of time, but at least they both seemed to be there. Kiryu panted directly into his ear, and Majima’s dick pulsed, and Kiryu grit out a sound that he would not admit to being his name—and Majima came with a muffled burst of hot breath into the side of Kiryu’s neck, shooting thick lines of cum that splashed down Kiryu’s fist and onto his knee. Embarrassingly enough the sight pushed Kiryu over the edge with a pitiful choking sound, and he scrabbled at Majima’s sweaty shoulder as he worked him through it, uttering filthy encouragements as cum dripped over his hand, down onto the floor.
So that was that, then.
When he finally finished shuddering, Kiryu felt like a demolished tower. He catalogued his vitals like a crash victim crawling out of a car accident. His thundering heart pulsed almost painfully behind his eyes. His chest heaved with cooling sweat, and the musky smell of sex hit him with each breath. He was held up only by the equal weight of Majima counterbalancing him, arm hooked around his neck like a lifeline as they collected themselves.
Majima pulled back first and Kiryu found he was suddenly, stunningly, soberly apprehensive about whatever he was about to say.
Majima leered at him with a dirty smirk and patted his face twice with force just short of a slap.
Then, he rolled to the floor and passed out.
Well. Kiryu wanted to do the same, but he was relieved that Majima gave in first. He looked at the evidence of their activities cooling tacky on his hand, on Majima’s stomach.
Kiryu gathered the pieces of his wit together again, freed from the madness that had driven him into the arms of Majima Goro on… day two of laying low. Panic at what they’d just done gathered like storm clouds on the horizon of his mind. This tryst was an outlier for him in many, many ways, all frightening.
He jumped into action blearily. He washed up, cleaned the spot on the tatami, and eyed Majima before determining yes, he was completely passed out. He swiped the washcloth impersonally over their mess even as he still pulsed with distant pleasure.
Kiryu dragged himself up the stairs and pulled a futon out from the closet, growing chillier with each step as his body warmth was sucked away into the night air. He was absolutely not thinking about any of what had just happened. He piled double blankets onto his bed and was about to collapse into blessed and chilly unconsciousness when he stopped himself.
There was one last thing he could do. He didn’t have to, but still. He didn’t have to do any of the things he just did.
Kiryu hoisted Majima over his shoulder like a sack of rice, toted him upstairs and dumped him into the futon. He was impressed at the tenacity with which Majima clung to sleep. Majima was nothing if not tenacious, though. Kiryu did not tuck him in. But he did slide in next to him and drape the blankets over both of them. It was just warmer this way.
*
Kiryu dreamt. When he was growing up he was full of fear and want, two sides of the same coin. He wanted to get adopted, and he was scared he wouldn’t ever get adopted. He wanted to stay with Yumi and Nishiki, and he was scared Yumi and Nishiki would leave him. He wanted to be there for Kazama and he was scared Kazama would die away from him, on one of his jobs.
He hadn’t ever been adopted. So he clung to Kazama.
Yumi and Nishiki could have left, but he pulled his bro into the life with his own strong ideals, and was secretly happy when Yumi found work near Kamurocho.
He’d be dealing with the threat of Kazama’s death for a long time. But he tried to always be where Kazama directed him.
All of the things that Kiryu had accomplished with his life were fear-driven. All of the things he wanted were burdens on the people around him, so he carefully pruned those desires like clipping errant sprouts from a bonsai. People came to him with their wants, and he helped them. That was enough for him on most days.