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“Goro! I’m here!”
Makoto’s voice was bright and warm, and immediately Majima felt the spirit of the apartment brighten. He was in the middle of wiping away dust on the kitchen counters of the nice little one bedroom they would sometimes share when Makoto could make it to Kamurocho.
On days when Makoto was in Sotenbori, the apartment sat dark and empty. It was more like a hotel room to them, but Majima had still bought it and, once a week, came in to clean it. It really needed cleaning, it needed more than he gave it this time. It smelled musty, no matter how much he scrubbed.
Sometimes when he came in, the light would catch through the window in just the right way and illuminate the low table Majima had found in a woodworker’s shop. The top was inlaid with blue stones along the edge, and a clear varnish kept everything bright and in place. The sun could make those stones glow, and sometimes in that light, Majima could almost see himself and Makoto, smiles bright as they curled over a small body, a child, tucked between them.
He’d blink away the vision, but the memory stayed.
“Welcome back,” he called. He looked up from the countertops and glanced out at the table in the main room, that special table. The sun was hidden behind the clouds today and the magic wasn’t there. Still, his eye lingered as he heard Makoto walk in, and he finally pulled it away once he felt her hand on his arm.
“How are you?” she asked and tugged on the open collar of his shirt, her fingers brushing over the red fabric and his slightly exposed chest. His tie and jacket were somewhere in the bedroom, his sleeves rolled up to clean.
Majima’s response was to let out a heavy sigh and lean his slight weight against her.
“Does this have something to do with why Millennium Tower is shut down?” she asked, voice low. Her arms closed around him, and her strength easily kept him standing.
“Yeah.” His words were muffled, his face in her neck, breathing her in. “Just happened. Kashiwagi-san. He’s dead.”
“What?” Her voice wavered with shock, and Majima felt her fingers press harder against his skin. She moved him and he relented and sat at the low table with her, gangly legs crossed, his fingers tracing the blue stones.
“It’s the resort deal, isn’t it?” she asked, and when he nodded she sighed. “What a mess… Poor Kashiwagi-san. You worked closely with him, didn’t you?”
Majima grunted, nodded. “I’ve known him for years. Since way back when. The eighties. He was Kiryu-chan’s friend, he...” His voice trailed off. He hadn’t thought about that time in a while.
Because it wasn’t just the eighties. It was that year, it was that time.
“Oh, poor Kiryu-san…” Makoto shook her head. She took his hand, still idly tracing the blue stones on the table, up in hers, and squeezed tight. “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve stayed in Sotenbori, given you time—”
“I want ya here, Makoto,” he rumbled. “Besides. You were already on the train. Can’t stop ya.”
“Majima…”
“Do ya know when I first met him?” He didn’t want to smile, but it came anyway. The lilt in his voice, the beginning of a desperate mania, followed. “Back when I was lookin’ for you. Heard Nishikiyama an’ Kiryu had somethin’ to do with it. An’ they were Kazama’s boys in spirit, if not in name. Fuck.” The curse dropped into a soft whisper and his free hand dove into his pants pocket.
“Kazama-san,” Makoto repeated, teeth worrying her lip. “And Nishikiyama-san… Now Kashiwagi-san… It’s so terrible, all of Kiryu-san’s friends…”
“They drop like goddamned flies,” he chuckled, dry and sick. He yanked a cigarette box from his pocket and lifted it to his mouth, picking one out with his teeth. He tossed with box on the table and it slid across the varnished surface, nearly falling off the other side. A lighter was at the end of the cig in a second, and he breathed in deep, to let the smoke fill his lungs.
“Goro…” A tone that was half warning, half worry.
“Maybe me next, eh?”
“Don’t say that.”
“Maybe it’s best.” Smoke swirled around his head, and he closed his eye to keep out the sting. “Shit, the only ones of us alive from back then… it’s you, Kiryu-chan, and me.”
She jolted for a moment, and then her eyes flickered back and forth, considering—
“Isn’t… Isn’t Kuze still in prison?”
“Died in the joint,” Majima replied. “Last year. Heart attack.”
“Shibusawa—”
“Got picked off a few years in. He had enemies, couldn’t stay safe, no matter what kinda dragon he thought he was.”
“That… hitman?”
“The Snake Flower Triad always punishes failure.”
“Wh-what about Reina-san?”
“Three years ago,” Majima said. “When Kiryu-chan got outta prison.”
“O-oh… Yes…” She put a hand to her head, the smoke filling up the room.
Majima opened his eye when he realized Makoto had let go of him and he watched her move to the window. She struggled to open it, grunting as it stuck, her leverage not quite right.
He moved, started to stand, “Here, lemme—”
“I’ve got it.” The way she said it stopped him, and he lowered himself to the ground again, watching her.
“I just… Can’t believe you’re right. Everyone?” she asked.
“Kazama worked with your brother an’ Oda, an’ they’re all gone.” He took a long, deep inhale of his cigarette. “Sohei Dojima was leader of the Dojima family back then. Nishikiyama killed him… shit, twelve? Thirteen years ago? Nishikiyama died in the Millennium Tower bombing. Kuze, Shibusawa, Awano, all those officers are dead.”
He clicked his tongue and said, with a hint of amusement, “Sagawa got what was comin’ to him. Nishitani, he… he died too. Kashiwagi just—” He waved his hand. Saying the word was getting hard. “Sera, three years ago…”
“Lee,” Makoto whispered.
“Yeah. Lee. Back then. An’ Shimano…”
With a grunt and a clatter, the window opened. Silence fell over the two and smoke filtered out of the room, rising into the Kamurocho sky. Makoto breathed deep, brought the fresh air into her lungs.
“Gone,” Majima muttered.
“Come here.” She held out her hand. An offering, a beckoning.
Majima stewed, lingered, drawing in another deep pull of the cigarette. Her hand stayed out, the offer always there. A long moment later, after silence and nervousness, he smashed the cigarette down in an ashtray.
He joined her at the window, took her hand, and breathed in clean air. The smoke was disappearing, and the musty smell he couldn’t clean out was fading as well.
He looked out the window and he saw the sun was coming out.
“It’s sad,” Makoto said. “Sad to think about. But I suppose it’s finally happened. What you wanted.”
Majima raised an eyebrow, let her speak.
“Everyone who tried to hurt me. Everyone connected to the Empty Lot. Besides us and Kiryu. They’re all gone.” She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. “We’re safe, aren’t we?” A pause. “I’m safe.”
She turned away from the window and Majima’s gaze followed her as she brushed by the table, and he saw it again.
The light hit the stones in just the right way. The room seemed to glow and he saw the phantoms of a future he thought impossible, more solid, more clear than ever.
He could even see, if he looked hard enough, what their kid might look like.
Safe.
He followed her into the kitchen and dropped to his knees just behind her.
“Hey, Makoto.”
She turned. She saw him kneeling before her and she jumped back.
He was smiling and it was softer than she ever remembered seeing him. His hands pressed into his knees and he vibrated as he spoke. “Let’s get married.”
“Goro?!” she sputtered.
“You an’ me.” He was breathless, he was beaming. His eye shone, and he glowed from the sun streaming in the window. “Let’s get married. Like ya said, it’s safe. Let’s get married and you can move here if ya like, or we can keep travelin’, I don’t give a shit, I just wanna marry ya, Makoto. Xiao Qiao.”
Her hands were up around her mouth, so he could see nothing of her expression except her eyes. Wide, wide, wide, reflecting the sunlight, the prettiest eyes he ever damn saw.
“Well?” He swallowed hard. “Ma… Makoto? … Oh no oh no!” He jumped to his feet when he saw the tears well up in the corners of her eyes. “Oh no! Don’t cry! Makoto!”
Once he was on his feet Makoto’s arms burst open and wrapped around him. She buried her face in his chest and let out a ragged cry and in the middle of all of it, Majima heard one word.
“Yes!”
He wrapped her up, he clung to her, picked her up off her feet and spun her around. “Yes?! Is that whatcha said?!” he cried.
“Yes! Goro, yes!” Her tears turned to laughter as he swung her, round and round, cries turned to squeals. She was shaking, adrenaline pumping through her.
“Shit, ya scared me, Makoto! Ya scared the shit outta me! Oh, fuck it, it don’t matter. We’re getting married. We’re gettin’ married!”
When he looked around the apartment again as he spun her, the whole space was glowing. Not from the stones in the table, not from the sun. But it came from them. From her.
The future was brighter and clearer than ever.