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They say if you squint hard enough into the darkness, it too begins to look back at you. Majima mentally shrugged because, well, he only had one eye and couldn't really be bothered.
Usually.
It wasn't his fault, he thinks, that her eyes were deep and sharp like fractured obsidian; he's pretty keen himself and still got snagged on her sharp gaze. He couldn't help but be drawn in at that bit of darkness.
It was a damn shame for such a pretty, young thing to have such sad eyes.
Though, he couldn't blame her. Only 22 and already married to a family head was a heavy burden, especially when most wives had a few years before a younger, prettier woman came into the picture, and a barely 30-something wife mysteriously disappeared in a way that no one wanted to think too hard about. Yet for some reason, as Majima silently stared across the room at her, he felt that perhaps that wasn't the reason for the dark shadows that seemed to tag along side her, like a smudge at the edge of ones peripheral.
Still, she walked across the room elegantly, gracefully, floating like she had no heavy burdens to carry, as if the only thing keeping her feet against the ground was the heavy diamond necklace resting against her chest, or the brilliant star studded band curving along her left ring finger. Her dress, which was long and white and slim, if, in Majima's opinion, were to be worn by any other woman, would have looked positively restricting. Yet miraculously, she somehow looked so free walking in it. She couldn't fool his good eye, though.
Under those dazzling diamonds and that white dress he could see that sorrow etched into her skin. He's been dealt, and has dealt that particular little spade one too many times to not feel the sting of recognition. He had the scars to prove it.
In this shiny little alcove of crystalline champagne flutes and starry chandeliers, where anyone who was anyone wore white and gold and silver, were the nobodies like him who were neat and trim in their deep black little tuxedos. If he had a little more self worth he would question why he was even serving this family, filled with cowards he could barely call Yakuza. The whole lot of them were too drunken on the high life, too scared to touch the dirty underside of the business. The type of people with too much money to spare, the type of people who Majima loved to take hits on.
And yet, here he was.
He would be lying if he said he didn't want to be here, as in any other situation he absolutely wouldn't. And if a passerby were to look away from the bright lights and into his dark little corner of the room, perhaps they could catch a glimpse of him staring at the family patriarch's newest little wife; perhaps they could tell why he was here. Why he stayed.
He watched her like a hawk, watched her carefully crafted smiles and the way in which her hands carried the fragile flute of champagne. Watched how she tried to converse with the other wives in the family, and saw how she faltered to truly fit in, if only for a split second.
If he could have it his way, he would never lay his eyes off her.
She was an anomaly in this world; it should have been an impossibility that she should have ever stumbled down this shitty rabbit hole, yet she did. And for whatever odd reason she stayed and Majima was entirely fascinated by this fact. This fragile girl who was a doll, yet not a doll, with her petite frame and eyes that betrayed a sort of determination, a steely sorrowfulness to him. Not everyone could see it, but he could, ever since he saw her perched in the patriarch's lap like a pet.
He watched as she made her way through the crowd, towards the back of the room, where the white marble floors cut off and bled into the night. No one seemed to notice as her hand pressed against the glass of the balcony doors.
Majima shifted at first, remembering his job, and took one slow step, one after another in her direction, speeding up to a slow gait. He nearly faltered in his steps when the patriarch's wife suddenly stopped and turned, her dark eyes zoning in on him. He couldn't breathe. Yet, he couldn't stop his pace, either. And so, with bated breath, he continued on, towards her. His own personal pilgrimage.
With a graceful arch of her back, she reached down to slip off her sharp heels; Majima would be lying if he said he didn't let his gaze linger on the exposed back of her dress. Two soft clicks were all that filled the silence as she stood before him, bare footed, giving her feet a chance to rest. The sudden loss of a few inches was jarring to Majima, and suddenly she seemed even smaller, too small.
"Why are you here?" She said, dark eyes suddenly too bright in the night air, piercing. Once again Majima found he couldn't breathe. She looked away, to gaze on the broad shining horizon of the cityscape, and he let himself take a quiet breath.
The tinkling and chattering of the soiree behind them felt so far away, like another world, bleached white in its brilliance.
"Your husband," Majima took a step so that he was beside her and gazed out, feeling awkward. He felt as if he were intruding in on something private. "Assigned me. To you."
He glanced down to her, and watched as her left hand reached up to her necklace, thin fingers clenching around the glittering pieces until her knuckles turned white. The neon of the streetlights, hundreds of feet below them, were diluted from the distance; they leaked spots of pink and blue and green and gold onto her, too many colors for Majima to even name because when he looked at her face her eyes her lips for too long suddenly his throat felt so dry too dry and he cleared his throat and he still felt it, that dryness, deep inside him-
"So you're mine, then?" She murmured, eyes still locked down onto the streets below them. Onto the little people, so small they might as well be ants scuttling below the Yakuza penthouse.
Majima nearly let it show how much those words shook something within him.
"Yes." He managed to say after awhile, voice rough on the edges. She didn't say anything to acknowledge she heard him, and instead her fingers loosened their grip on her heavy necklace, until it dropped to her side. He could see the imprints of all the countless diamonds in her palm. "Yes." He repeated, voice surer, stronger.
And then, she turned her head up to him and smiled, and he swore his heart stopped for just a small moment.
The word husband tasted odd in his mouth. Nowadays, he often found his throat to be dry (the cause of which he will not name), but saying this particular word did something different to him. It was as if the word dropped a heavy weight into his gut, only to start twisting around, squirming like a snake. It felt a little like anxiety; a little bit like anger. And yet, not quite either of those emotions.
Makoto thought it was funny how he never seemed to address her husband by his name. He's only ever addressed as Your Husband whenever he's around her. It's endearing, in an odd way. She wondered why he avoided his name, especially when she could see a shadow of whatever was lurking in his head every time he said it.
It's one of those times again, when he's informing her that her husband will be out again, off on some business somewhere out there. They both know that this business is just another name for a vacation day out, off fishing in the ocean in a yacht filled with shiny glasses of alcohol and pretty women.
Makoto wonders idly how long she'll stay amusing to him at this rate.
It's too beautiful a morning in Sotenbori for such negativity so she tried not to dwell on it too long. The sunshine is warm on her face as she watched some birds perched on the tops of buildings below her, happily chatting with each other. Judging from her vantage point, Makoto reckoned this building was probably one the tallest buildings in the area. If she were more faint of heart, she'd probably get woozy from looking down from the balcony.
Majima stood some feet behind her, in the usual spot he liked to take. He began to address her by her new last name, and she was glad he couldn't see the grimace spread on her face.
"Please," she said gently. "Call me Makoto."
Majima is once again taken aback by the little things this little woman tells him; he vaguely wonders if she realizes what she does to him. But, secretly, he's glad she's still faced out towards the city, because he can't help but smile, just a little.
For the first few days, he'd lose track of her. Somehow, she could slip through his fingers like a fleeting breeze, despite his ever watchful eye. He's quickly found, however, that when he can't find her, she would always be at the balcony, just like the first night.
It was nearly approaching midnight when he made his way up to the top, through the dark rooms until he reached the room with the balconies. In the dark, the chandeliers seemed to glitter ominously, like hidden knives waiting to strike. The other silver fixtures seemed to catch whatever scraps of light seemed to escape through the heavy curtains of the room, and vaguely, through whatever slits in the curtains Majima could see through, was the slim silhouette of someone out on the balcony.
Silently, he made his way out, gently opening the glass doors. Makoto stiffened, and turned towards him.
Upon realizing it was him, he watched as her shoulders relaxed, if ever so slightly. He made his way towards her, and stopped to take his post a few feet behind her.
"You know," She said slowly, beckoning him to come closer, "the stars are gone here in Sotenbori." As he took his spot beside her, he caught a glimpse of her lithe fingers as they made little patterns on the balcony railing. "Like the city just ate them all up."
Her finger paused. "It's eerie." She turned her head up to face him. "Where I used to live, it would always be so dark," she began to finger her heavy diamond ring thoughtfully. "So dark that I could see all the stars. Every single one of them. My mother... she was fond of them too, and always took the time to point out all the constellations." She laughed, and to Majima, they distantly reminded him of soft bell chimes.
"She..." She made a strange face, as if remembering something awful, and paused. "She, ah..." Her expression began to crumble, and Majima fought the near instinctive impulse to bring a comforting hand to her. It would be too close. Too intimate, and intimate was not a relationship a bodyguard gets into with his charge, especially this charge. Not unless he wanted to become fish food.
"I, I'm sorry," She said, her hand coming up to press against an eye. She took a quiet breath for composure, and let her hand drop.
Oh, fuck. He never- Dealing with girls crying wasn't something he was trained to do, especially when it came to pretty girls. He knew how to pummel a man's head in beyond recognition, how to clean up a bloody hit so well he might as well be called motherfucking Mr.Clean, how to incapacitate a man twenty-four different ways using only his legs, but crying girls?
She wasn't even crying, but the sight of the glistening in her eyes was enough to ruffle his feathers more than he was comfortable enough to admit.
Makoto gave him a watery smile. "I'm sorry. It must be disgraceful, huh?" She gave him another small, sad laugh. "The wife of a yakuza shouldn't show weakness." The smaller woman added on quietly, as if she were repeating a mantra. He wondered if this was something she had to tell herself daily in her new life.
Majima cleared his throat, and settled for giving her what he believed to be an understanding smile. "You're new at this, right?" He brought a hand up to scratch at his cheek. "I mean, I think I'd be more concerned if you were already a hard boiled yakuza coming into this."
She laughed, eyes crinkling. "Ah, I suppose you're quite the hardboiled egg yourself?"
Majima lifted an eyebrow, but nonetheless felt the corners of his lips raise slightly. "Excuse me?"
"Hard on the outside, soft on the inside." She said matter-of-factly, and her eyes held a little bit of mischief.
"I'll be whatever you want me to be, miss," Majima said, trying to act dismissive, but laughed along with her.
Months pass, and he's found that he's developed a sort of new reputation, based on the gossip he heard earlier that day; something about a certain new yakuza wife and her protective guard dog.
He couldn't deny it though, not really. Not when he was with her at all times, especially now that the head of the family was always out on trips all time to god-knows-where. He watched her at home, watched her when she went out, and even watched her when she slept.
"Do you ever sleep?" Makoto murmured, as she pulled the covers over her. The massive king sized bed, along with all of it's large, fluffy pillows and sheets seemed to swallow her right up. Moonlight streamed in a thin strip, just enough to reveal her face to him in the otherwise dark room. Majima simply stood at his corner of the room, and blinked owlishly.
"I'm not some kinda vampire, if that's what you're asking." Makoto laughed quietly and Majima cracked a small smile.
"You're always watching." She said, her eyes softening as her laughs died down.
"It's my job." Majima replied a little too easily, a little too practiced. Makoto shifted, and he tried not to eye how thin the strap of her night dress was when the covers revealed her shoulder.
"There are others, though." She said quietly, eyeing him. "You don't always have to be the one watching me."
"I've never been one for a good night's sleep." He said half-jokingly, but Makoto responded by giving him a half-hearted disapproving stare. "I've always been fine running like this."
Majima doesn't say anymore than that, and Makoto seemed to accept that he won't, and closed her eyes.
As Makoto's breath began to even out, he contemplated his answer. He wasn't really lying, he thinks, when he said that, but he knew it would be a lie to say that was the real reason why.
In all of his employment history, being a body guard had to be categorized as his least favorite experience. There was just something about escort missions that just got to him, yet his time being Makoto's personal guard was something he found he largely enjoyed. Perhaps more than he should.
Usually, beating down the street trash seemed like a hassle; something he usually wouldn't bother with. Even as a body guard in the past he found it to be boring.
For Makoto, though, he thinks that he'd do it again. A million times over. Even if they were all a bunch of hulking shakedown shitlords, he'd take them all on with a mad grin on his face if she asked - she wouldn't even have to say please.
He gave a swift kick to the downed hooligan. That one was for taking the knife out.
He finally gave a final stomp on the other offender, a snarl on his face, before kicking him to the gutter. That was for grabbing Makoto.
Majima turned to Makoto, who was busy comforting the young woman the men had been hassling.
"Enough excitement for today?" He asked as he approached them. Makoto gave him a thankful smile as she helped the girl up.
"Maybe for them," Makoto nodded towards the thugs limping away. Majima quickly scanned her person, starting from her face and going downwards, looking for any injuries. His eyes finally landed on the dark coloration starting to bloom on her wrist, eyes unreadable.
"Oh, don't worry about this, it doesn't hurt." She grinned, and tried to wave her wrist to show it wasn't injured, but her facade seemed to crumble when she winced at the sharp pain.
"Stop waving it around." Majima grunted, and gingerly grabbed her wrist. The smaller woman couldn't help but bite back a hiss as his larger hands cradled hers.
"It's my fault, anyways - I slapped him to get him off her." She confessed as her guard crouched down to better inspect her wrist. Her eyes were steely for a moment. "Although, I hope you know I don't regret it. I'd do it again if I had to, and more."
He reciprocated with a crooked grin of his own, eyes flicking up to meet hers. "I'll have to make sure that I can give him a proper beating before you can get your hands on him, then. I wouldn't want to miss out on the fun."
Later that day, he took out a little medical kit, and beckoned her over. She complained that she didn't need the attention, but he countered by saying he felt bad for letting this happen in the first place, and she acquiesced to him.
"He hates this," Makoto said, out of the blue, after he put away the ice pack. Majima raised an eyebrow in question, but continued to gently wrap a bandage around her wrist. "He hates when I get these marks."
Majima remained silent.
"He tells me I need to stay pretty for him, but, sometimes I worry."
Majima made a note to take off the bandage later for a cold press on the area.
"He's had a few wives before me, you know."
Majima looked back at her, eyes knowing. "I'm sorry," he says, earnestly, because there isn't anything else he can say.
I wish I could save you from this, he wanted to say, but Makoto seemed to get it, just by looking into his eyes.
Makoto stayed quiet.
It's the first full moon of the summer. The nights are warm, and Makoto left her window open, letting the bustling sounds of Sotenbori's nightlife in.
"Is it because you have nightmares?" Makoto asked as she sat up against the giant mass of pillows. The white sheets pooled around her hips. "Is that why you can't sleep at night?"
Majima closed his eye. It's enough of an answer for Makoto. "Do you know what my mother used to do when I couldn't sleep?" She asked, voice soft and gentle like a lullaby.
"What?"
"She used to talk to me about the stars." He opened his eye, and the soft, ambient light from the moon made it feel like he was in a dream. Everything seemed to be softer, fuzzier around the edges, Makoto included. He watched as she slipped out from under the covers, clad in her night gown, all silver and black and soft curves in the dim lighting of the room. He wondered if he really was dreaming.
"Come with me." She beckoned to him, and he followed obediently.
She opened the balcony doors, and the two of them were washed over by the warm night air. In the distance, he heard all the little jingles and traffic noise coming from below, see every little sign and light blinking and shining. He looked up at the sky, and for whatever reason expected to see some stars. Hopeful wishing, he supposed.
"I know you can't see them, but I can still remember the stars that come out during this time of year." Makoto said, fondness staining her voice as she leaned against the wall, Majima following suit. She pointed up to a blank spot into the sky, and Majima's gaze followed.
"Vega, Deneb, and Altair," she said softly, finger making a triangle shape in the sky. "Those three make up the Summer triangle. She always like those three the most."
"I'm having a bit of trouble picturing this," Majima said, gesturing his hand up at the sky, teasing. "Without all the stars and everything. For all I know you could be pulling my leg, and it could really be a Summer square, or something."
"You'll have to trust me then, okay?" Makoto smiled, and continued to point out stars to him. She paused in her imaginary stargazing, and said, with a small smile, "trust me like how I trust you."
Majima's eye widened the slightest fraction, before he settled into a laugh. "Alright, alright. I guess you got me there."
"I haven't even told you my favorite pair of stars yet," She said, and pointed at another portion of the sky. "Right around here you can see the big dipper,"
"Who would name a constellation after a giant spoon?"
Makoto hushed him through her quiet giggling. "You see, right in the middle of the constellation's handle is a pair of stars that are always together, Alcor and Mizar."
"The big bright one's Mizar, while the smaller star by its side is Alcor. I've always thought it was sweet how they've always been together."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I'd like to think they'll always be together, no matter what." She said quietly. Majima uncrossed his arms, and strained to imagine what those two little stars would be like.
"It'd really suck if they didn't like each other."
Makoto gave him a mock offended face, and said, "I have a feeling they were made for each other."
He wondered if Mizar ever worried Alcor would ever leave.
"I've never really been one for stargazing." Majima admitted after a bit of silence. His eyes followed where her finger pointed to another star, and ran a hand through his hair, feeling some strands free themselves from his ponytail. "But I think I'd like to see them, one day."
"Me too," Makoto agreed quietly, looking up at the vast, inky expanse of sky.
For the rest of the night, she pointed out all of their little imaginary stars, one by one, handling each as if they were precious little family heirlooms. She smiled, and looked over to him, glad she could share something so precious to her with him.
Later, in the early hours of the morning, she had fallen asleep; gently, tenderly, Majima carried her back to tuck her into bed.
As Summer marched on, her husband spent more and more time out, and his lack of presence began to fill Makoto up with an impending sense of dread.
She had to stay amusing to him. She had to.
So whenever her husband took his rare trips back home she wrapped her arms around one of his and gave him a pretty, saccharine smile, because that was all she could do, really.
She could smell the strong perfume of other women woven into his coat as she welcomed him back home.
She caught Majima's unreadable gaze as she walked with her husband, and gave him a small, but sincere smile. For a moment, his features softened just for her.
She felt a little bad for him during these nights, nights when her husband was actually home and not out on business. Nights where he had to be their guard for the night, rather than just hers.
That night, Majima guarded outside their bedroom, stony faced.
"I thought you said he hated it when you got blemishes." Majima said quietly. Her shirt was pulled up at the back to reveal little blotches of red and blue and black, which grew in size farther up her back, like flowers in bloom. He pressed an ice pack against the bruises.
"Children hate it when others touch their toys." Makoto answered, voice soft. "But as long as it's him doing it, he can treat me however he wants, in his eyes." She looked down at her arms, where a particularly large hand print began to manifest itself.
"You're not a toy," Majima said, voice straining. He grit his teeth as he pulled the back of her shirt higher, seeing a larger welt dance along her skin.
"I voluntarily went into this." She replied in a whisper, and choked on her words mid sentence. "I knew this was something that could happen." He could hear the sob in her voice as her body ached, and yet she didn't cry. The only thing that stopped Majima from pummeling the furniture around them was the fear of scaring her anymore than she needed to be.
Being with Makoto out on the balcony has become a nighttime ritual of sorts. A little secret between the two of them.
"I hated it when I first came here." She confessed during one of their nights. "I really, really hated it."
Majima quirked an eyebrow. "Why did you even come to Sotenbori? You always seem so happy when you talk about your old home."
For a frightening moment, he thought she'd get all teary eyed again. Thankfully, all she had was a pensive look donned on her face as she looked up at the dark sky.
"Here, when I saw the sky, I felt like I lost my mother again." Makoto rested her forearms on the balcony rail. "After she passed, I had nothing. All I knew was that I had a lost brother somewhere, out here in Sotenbori. That was all I had to grasp onto."
A gentle breeze brushed past them, and Makoto's hair gently blew back, ruffling her bangs. Majima fought the urge to brush one of the stray locks back into place.
"I found that he worked for the yakuza," Makoto looked back down, to the sea of lights below them. "This family specifically, and stupidly, I thought that I could find him if I..." Her eyes drifted from the neon streetlights and signs to her left hand, her ring finger cuffed by a pretty golden band. "If I joined, perhaps I could find him. I needed to find him."
"But it turns out I just wasn't cut out for that kind of life." Majima watched as her left hand closed into a fist. "Yet somehow through the mess, I managed to catch the family head's eye. I thought that maybe this could give me the presence I needed to find him."
Makoto looked back up, eyes searching, even for one little star. Any star. Majima looked up as well, desperate almost, as if finding a star could solve all her problems.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see her shift around. With a determined look on her face, she lifted a leg up onto the railing before she brought up her other leg. Majima, wide-eyed, quickly grabbed onto one of her ankles, careful not to jostle her. "What are you doing?!"
Makoto gave him a brilliant smile, and she stood up on the railings, arms spread out. "I've always been so afraid of this place. I couldn't even find what I was looking for, and I was so afraid, so lonely." Majima kept his hands firmly locked onto her, face more full of concern more than anything.
"Please, come down." He tried, but she just ignored him, and continued to look down at him, smiling bittersweetly all the while.
"But for some reason, when you're with me, I'm not afraid anymore."
Majima nearly sputtered, and really took a look at her as she balanced herself on the rails. Really took in the way her dark eyes glimmered, the way her dress fluttered around her calves, the way her hair framed her face. She brought her arms back to her sides, and the gentleness in her eyes as she looked at him took his breath away. He swore that if she were to fall off the railing at this moment, she'd fly, far away from here, away from the yakuza, away from him and be free and the thought nearly made him loosen his grip on her.
"I thought I'd die here, all alone." She said simply, and he felt her tears fall on his face.
"I won't let you," Majima said hoarsely, words falling from his mouth, dissipating into nothing like the sparkling remnants of a falling star. He wondered if Mizar could hurt like this, if Alcor left. He wondered and wished on every stupid goddamn star in the big wide universe to give her what she wanted. He'd give up all the stars for her, if he could.
She gave him one last searing look, eyes full of something Majima didn't want to name, before she closed them.
For a moment, Majima thought she'd fallen backwards, down into the sea of lights beneath them, to disappear forever. He wondered about whether or not she would have, had he not been here all this time. To die as just another Yakuza wife, another little notch, an extra tally to mark along with all the others. It frightens him, shakes him deep down to his core.
Instead, she tilted forward, towards him, and he was sure to catch her, because if there was anyone in this goddamn world who would, it would be him.
"Thank you," Makoto whispered into his dress jacket, fingers clutched into the fabric.
He shouldn't, he really shouldn't be doing this. Even embracing her like this shouldn't be happening, but Majima didn't care; in this moment nothing was more important to him than this. He felt her warmth against him through his suit, felt the way her hands grasped at him, smelled the faint perfume that she wore, and he wondered if this is what it was like to be in love, how it felt to be loved, even for just a little tiny bit.
His voice is dry and cracking as he murmured, arms tight around her. "I wish I was enough for you."
Her eyes glittered in the city lights, like stars.
"This is enough," she said, taking his hand, and Majima felt his heart beat in his throat, and for a moment he thinks that Sotenbori doesn't need stars when she's here, with him. "You're enough."