Chapter Text
"Y'know," Majima breathes heavy, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He's a little winded, which is actually pretty refreshing. "You're pretty tough, for a little brat."
The boy in question scowls from his place on the ground, face all bruised - some new, some old. His nose is crooked, obviously healed wrong before. Blood drips over his lips and teeth and down his chin, staining his shirt in dark splotches, his hair messy and hanging in his face. Majima finishes his assessment and decides that the boy reminds him too much of himself when he was young.
"Not half bad." He sighs and straightens, abandoning any fighting posture. The hand at his back drifts away from his knife, tucked into his waistband. The boy watches the hand closely as it falls. "Can't say I ain't impressed - ya got some fancy moves."
His opponent stays out of breath and speechless, brows drawn in a deep furrow, round eyes teeming with a red hot anger. Majima takes a cigarette from his nearly empty carton and holds it between his lips, slowly fishing for his lighter. The boy on the ground stares up at him in continued, unspoken distaste.
The flame sputters in the cold, sheltered behind his hand and close to his face. He tucks his lighter away and takes a long drag, a deep breath in.
"Listen, kid. People like you and me, we're born yakuza." Majima blows out a thin cloud of smoke, cigarette perched between two fingers near the knuckles. "Hell, it's in our damn blood. In the end... we ain't really got a choice, huh?"
The boy finally whispers, growling through bloody teeth, "Sh - shut up!"
"Okay, look, I ain't the type to beg. But you," He points his cigarette down in the boy's general direction with a laugh, "You seem like a real pain in the ass. Just the kinda guy I'd want running with me."
The boy props himself up on his elbows, breathing heavy, mouth hanging open. He tries to wipe the blood from his face with the back of his hand and mostly fails, smearing it across his face. Majima recalls split lips and broken noses with similar results; though he wasn't half as serious at this age.
Majima silently muses, idly rolling his cigarette between his fingers. The paper crushes beneath his fingertips.
"Got an office up on Park Boulevard. Can't miss it," He says, and he almost considers handing out a damn business card. The boy looks up at him, now fallen silent again. Majima sighs, smiling a little gentle, dropping just enough of his manic exterior. "Oughta pay me a visit some time."
For a moment, the boy's face softens just enough to make room for confusion.
"You might end up yakuza either way, but," Majima shrugs, taking another long drag. He breathes in smoke, words riding along it, quiet against the loud city just outside the alley, "Least you'd have me lookin' after you, and not some random dickwad."
"Why - why would..." He pauses, slowly looking around - as if trying to find a sign that the trick will suddenly end and he'll get a foot to the face. Eventually his gaze finds its way back to Majima, wide eyed, bloody teeth visible as his mouth hangs open, gaping for words. "What... do you want from me?"
"Nothin'. Ain't anything you could give me, anyways," He laughs, softly. Something about this kid is hitting all his soft spots in all the right ways, somehow; he internally shelves a few choice thoughts about such a huge crack in the mad dog's brick wall of a personality. "Just givin' you some options. Christ knows you probably don't got too many."
The expression on the boy's face is practically indescribable. He looks so lost and confused and open, face drawn up in tight lines, torn between hope and the dark opposite. Majima wishes he had thought about things half as much as this kid when he was younger.
"Sleep on it, yeah? Try to drop by sometime." He turns towards the mouth of the alley with one last pull of his cigarette. Looking over his shoulder and looking the boy over one last time, Majima nods, "See ya around."
His shoes click on the concrete as he heads out towards the street.