Archive of Our Own

There weren’t really lulls in the fight so much as tiny gaps for air. The crush of bodies attempting to surge forward and onto the podium —  where Daigo and Watase stood and oversaw the combat like two grim-faced generals during a final battle — had become its own singular beast, too confused and pissed off to eliminate the more pressing obstacles that kept it from its prey. Majima took advantage of one of those little pauses, tossing his head back with a big “Whew!” of exertion before running a quick survey of the war zone himself.

It was pandemonium. Be-suited men cursing, shouting, grunting as they pushed and shoved to the front lines, desperate to be the ones to save their precious clan. Omi Alliance family pins and brandished knives glinting under the ceiling lights, flailing limbs and gnashing teeth as they got punched and kicked and battered back by the defending team over and over again. They fell over themselves, over each other, some scrambling back to their feet and others down for the count for good, bleeding and bashed and defeated. 

Now this was more like it! Cramped, stuffy boardroom meetings and mind-numbing round table arguments could only do so much. In the end, violence was an answer quickly given, easily conducted, and perfectly understood. Majima thrived in it. 

“Asshole!”

So much for his breather. An Omi punk sporting an nasty mustard-colored tie had spotted him and raised his fists. 

Majima laughed at him, giving his tanto a cheeky little flip. In all honesty, he could take suckers like these on with his hands tied, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t having any fun. “Ya sure ya wanna play with me, pal?”

“I don’t give a flyin’ fuck about your rep!” A couple of his comrades, attracted to his shout, flanked their friend and closed in around Majima, cracking knuckles and glowering. It was almost cute how they thought they had a chance. “You’re goin’ down!”

“Sure, sure,” Majima drawled. “Tell ya what. I’m in a decent mood today. I’ll make it easier for y'all.” He slid his blade back into its sheath, and the whole thing back into its usual place under his belt behind his back, then spread his arms invitingly. The smile he offered them was all teeth and malice. “Who’s up first?”

To the Omi guys’ collective credit, they didn’t hesitate. An older goon on the right rushed at him, swinging and shouting. Hardly any skill and even less style. 

Majima clicked his tongue. Was this really the best the Alliance had to offer him? Their clan deserved dissolution just for this poor showing, as far as he was concerned. On the other hand, this was a decent enough opportunity to dust off a few of his old favorite tricks.

He spun back on his heel to give himself a little more space to work with, bringing his arms close to his chest and swaying back and forth as his assailant whiffed and stumbled. 

Lined up to perfection. 

With a wild shout of joy, Majima launched himself back at his attacker before he could recover. He struck him twice with quick, vicious jabs and finished him off with a spinning kick that launched him right into his friends just as they were coming forward to try and back him up. They all fell over in a heap of tangled limbs and pained cries. 

“You’re outta here!” Majima cackled once more. He still had it, no doubt about that.

“Ya didn’t bust a hip tryin’ that ol’ b-boy shit again, did ya?” came a calm baritone from somewhere behind him. It was quickly followed by the telltale sounds of a heavy fist colliding with an unfortunate face. Saejima putting in work the way he knew best. Simple and aggressively to the point.

“You—” One of the Omi goons Majima had knocked down managed to extricate himself from the pile of bodies. The original hothead with the butt ugly tie. With a snarl, Majima seized him by the lapels and swung the man around before he could fully regain his footing. “—shut the fuck up, kyoudai!”

He didn’t give Saejima any warning for what he had in mind. After that slight he didn’t deserve one and if he missed then so be it. He didn’t need a heads up, anyway. With a big laugh of his own, Saejima stepped forward and served Mustard Tie a devastating uppercut. His knees buckled, eyes bulged out, and he collapsed to the floor without a sound.

That done, Majima gave the room another once over, just to be sure they hadn’t actually lost already or anything. Busting heads and stabbing folks was all well and good, but he couldn’t get too carried away with it. Luckily, Daigo and Watase were still standing. What about Arakawa? If anyone was in danger of breaking a hip in this mess, it was him. It took a moment, but eventually Majima noticed the slight figure of The Assassin holding his ground in the corner opposite of him and Saejima, near where Tendo and his fists knocked man after man down like a bowling ball in the middle of a perfect strike. Arakawa had an elegant, silver-tipped cane that just screamed “hidden sword” in hand, and wielded it with deadly efficiency; he thrust the hilt hard into one man’s jaw then slammed its end point back into the solar plexus of a guy who had clearly thought he could sneak up behind the old man, felling them both. 

His hip was probably fine.

And everyone else? That Kasuga guy was easy to spot in his tacky maroon suit. He and his buddies had taken center stage and, much to Majima’s amused approval, they all clearly had a penchant for violence themselves. Kasuga yanked someone into a headlock and none too gently introduced his fist to the man’s teeth before dumping his ass onto the floor. Glasses guy and that old copper were back to back just a short ways away from Kasuga. Neither had much finesse to their brawling tactics — glasses guy in particular looked like he’d much rather hang back with the chairman and the captain than continue into the fray — but they were managing to crack skulls with the rest of them. Meanwhile, a man in rounded shades fought near Kasuga’s right and a devastatingly pretty guy with sleek white hair kept to his left. Now those two were fighters, forcing wave after wave of Omi officers back with vicious skill that telegraphed their gang affiliations as clear as day. Even the cute gal with the bob was doing her part. Majima whistled as she kneed a guy in the junk and bashed him over the head with her purse. He went down hard. Did that lady keep bricks in her bag? Impressive work, in any case.

“Arakawa-san’s crew is nuts,” said Majima thoughtfully. He swung his fist up and over his shoulder, knuckles crashing into some bastard’s nose. “I kinda like ‘em!”

Saejima scoffed as he planted his boot into a man’s stomach with so much force he flew halfway across the room and took out two other Omi goons on his way down. “Kyoudai, are ya even tryin’ over there?”

“Nope.” Majima spun around and stomped on the face of the guy whose nose he had just caved in, just in case he was tempted to get back up again. More bone and cartilage cracked beneath his heel and blood gushed up and splattered the sole of his shoe. “Haven’t even worked up a sweat ye—”

“Oh, shit!”  

Kasuga’s panicked curse sent a shock wave through the entire room. Someone had finally broken through their ranks and was charging straight for Watase with dagger in hand and a furious light in his eyes.

“Majima!” Saejima shouted.

“On it!” Majima unsheathed his tanto and whipped around in one smooth motion, blade pinched between his fingers. He grit his teeth, looking for an opening but finding none through the sea of shifting bodies. He’d have to throw it as soon as the attacker stepped onto the podium just to have a shot at hitting him but even then the odds were low and at that point it’d probably be too late —

But just moments before Majima was ready to chance it and fling his blade anyway, before that man could make it near Watase and ruin carefully laid plans years in the making, a muscular figure stepped out from behind the platform and decked the attacker so hard in the jaw teeth and blood flew out in a gory shower. 

Majima gaped at the newcomer, every synapse he possessed firing off in celebration. An overwhelming sense of joy and relief flooded his veins and burst out of his mouth, an agonized sort of earnestness a miniscule part of his being not laser-focused on the man before him was shocked he even possessed. 

“I knew ya still lived!” he hollered.

Kiryu Kazuma straightened up from his punch and took off his sunglasses. Their eyes met, and he gave Majima a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

It was the best goddamned thing Majima had seen in ages.

There had never been any classic romantic confession between the two of them, very few things explicitly stated one way or the other. Instead, a steady shower of little moments began to pile up over the years that established the rules of engagement in their odd, private relationship; conduct understood through instinct and little else but as binding for the two of them as any legal contract.

Majima remembered lying in bed with him one night — definitely at some hotel because back then neither of their places had been anywhere near fit for hosting guests — when Kiryu had abruptly sat up, sheets sliding off his large frame. Majima, already awake despite the thorough beat down and somehow even rougher railing Kiryu had administered to him earlier that evening, watched him with curiosity. He just…sat there, for the longest time, mumbling sleepy incoherency, head lolling. What kind of dragon was this? With his hair wilted  over his face and his eyes half-shut he looked nothing like the legendary, peerless scourge of Kamurocho’s lawless underbelly. Maybe it should have been funny, but the naked vulnerability had made Majima’s insides twist in alarm. It didn’t feel like something he should have borne witness to, that anyone should have borne witness to. You’re too open, Kiryu-chan!

But as he considered this secret, frightening side of Kiryu and what to do about it, Kiryu shifted more decisively. Majima screwed his eye shut, far too tight to fool anyone who was even partially conscious, let alone observant. Fortunately for him, that was nowhere near Kiryu’s current state. Majima relaxed a little when it became apparent he wasn’t going to get called out for staring, but flinched again when something heavy landed on his face. Kiryu’s hand.

Majima bit his lip, frozen. The hand, warm and rough, gave the side of his face a couple of awkward (and painful, thanks to the punch Kiryu had landed there just hours before) pats before settling more gently against it. The edge of his calloused thumb stroked the line of Majima’s eyebrow. Slowly, sweetly; leaving a trail of fire across Majima’s face and choking the oxygen out of his lungs. He was endlessly thankful it was too dark to see whatever dopey expression Kiryu might have had while he did it.

“Mm,” Kiryu murmured.

And that was that. Kiryu’s hand fell away and he collapsed heavily onto his back. His snoring soon filled the air.

Majima pushed himself up from the mattress. He stayed like that for a very long time, propped up on his pillows and head leaning against his upturned palm, looking down at Kiryu as the neon lights of Kamurocho buzzed and blinked outside the window.

He didn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

Reality, cruel as it tended to be, never really lived up to the gentle memories of private moments, and definitely not to the fantasies one constructed in their heads. Not that Majima had been expecting his inevitable reunion with Kiryu would go exactly as he had wanted to go, the details of which changed about as rapidly as his mood, constructing possibilities like a prolific playwright with a penchant for romance tropes. From the cliche (reaching for the same book as the handsome stranger next to him at the bookstore), the dramatic (encountering Kiryu on an ancient wooden bridge with the moon and the stars shining down upon them as he won him back with an impassioned speech that broke both of them down to their rawest emotions), to the sexually frustrated (flirting and hooking up with a mysterious “K-san” on an online dating site before getting the surprise of his life when they meet up later for an amorous night at a luxurious love hotel), he had thought of it all and more over the last few years. The most conventional scenario was simple and satisfying in its own right, however: Kiryu showing up unannounced at the Majima Family office as though he and Majima had set up a typical business meeting beforehand, smiling his barely-there smile at Majima’s shock. It had morphed a little when he, Saejima, and Daigo went into hiding, but the tune was still the same: Ogata announcing a new fourth member to their secret base before stepping aside and letting Kiryu walk through the door and back into Majima’s life. 

What he hadn’t thought would happen upon finally meeting Kiryu again was that he’d barely be able to get a word in edgewise to him for most of the afternoon.

It was no one’s fault, which was actually the exact opposite of comforting to Majima because it meant he had no target to beat his grievances out on. Right after the fight was the trip to Osaka PD. Majima and Saejima rode with Daigo, while Kiryu got into Watase’s car. Everyone was on high alert for the entire, lengthy drive, which included a couple of mini car chases down the freeway with leftover Omi Alliance officers that still had enough fight left in them to take the battle to the streets. Arriving at their destination proved no less harrowing. In any other instance Majima would have appreciated being kept on his toes, but the stray goons they fought off as Daigo and Watase marched into the station were unwelcome distractions. No time to talk. There were more important things going on than a single dead man come back to life. Majima couldn’t stand it. 

As was planned, they all returned to Omi Alliance HQ after delivering those fateful papers to the Osaka police. The place was a giant fortress, and ultimately a lot safer for them to stay in for a night or two rather than trust hotel security from stopping would-be assassins. For one bright moment as they stepped through the now-deserted threshold, Majima thought he’d finally get a chance to do more than stare at the back of Kiryu’s head (or feel him stare at the back of his, which was the only consolation Majima got out of the whole ordeal), then their bosses gave them new orders: a sweep of the entire premises for any hostile stragglers. A top to bottom search. No room left unchecked. 

He and Kiryu ended up heading off down opposite hallways for their assignment. Couldn’t cover much ground in one giant group after all. It was logical, efficient. Certainly, it would have been a crying shame for all or even just a couple of them to get offed right after successfully dissolving the two biggest and most unruly yakuza clans in the country because they had missed a guy with a tanto hiding in a broom closet or something.   

It made Majima want to scream. He didn’t, of course. But it was a close thing.

As he stormed wordlessly into a bathroom and kicked down the stall doors one by one, he tried to consider his current situation, but his mind was simply too full. It buzzed loud and endless with excited static that swallowed most rational thought.

Kiryu was alive. Kick. Kiryu was alive. Kick. Kiryu was alive. Kick.

Stall check done, he stood in the center of the restroom and took a deep breath, trying to ground himself. The harsh fluorescent lights shone down upon him like a burning spotlight, waiting for his next act. There was no need to rush. They were staying in the same building for at least another day. Plenty of time to catch him alone and finally set the record straight. He could make it work. He had succeeded at far more seemingly-impossible tasks than trying to mentally align schedules together. This would be a piece of cake. 

But if Kiryu somehow managed to disappear on him again without so much as uttering a word his way? Well. Kiryu was alive. Majima for damn sure wasn’t going to let him slip through his fingers a second time for very long. He’d make certain of that. He’d swear his goddamn life on that.

It took nearly two hours to conduct a thorough sweep on his assigned portion of headquarters and make his way back to the Dragon Room. As far as he could tell, there truly was no one left except the small handful of allies willing to go along with dissolution. A paltry amount. Majima had to admit, it was kind of miraculous they managed to pull it off without suffering casualties. Then again, the night was still young. There were plenty of now extremely angry yakuza hiding in the shadows, waiting for a chance to retaliate.

But they, as far as Majima was concerned, could wait.

He pecked out a short text message to Daigo letting him know he had completed his security check, and headed up the stairs and into the swanky hallways of the Omi’s executive quarters. It didn’t do him much good. He had roamed the halls for days, cooped up and brain leaking out of his ears for lack of things to do while he waited for Watase to get out of the clink and start the finale. The area immediately made him feel more restless than ever, even as he headed over to where Saejima guarded the entrance to the former Tojo Clan’s sixth chairman’s temporary chambers.

“Yo,” said Saejima as Majima approached. “Ya find anyone?”

Majima grunted and shook his head. His muscles felt far too wound up, so he began to stretch. The thought of sitting still, even for a moment, left a nasty taste in his mouth.  

“Neither did I.” Saejima watched him as he twisted around at the waist. The kinks in Majima’s back refused to pop, which only put him more on edge. “Well?”

“Well what?” replied Majima, though he already knew where the conversation was heading. He hadn’t divulged every gory detail, but his kyoudai was more than aware of what was eating at him.

“Ain’t ya gonna go hash things out with him?” he asked.

“Hash things out…?” That was certainly one way to put it. Majima gave up on his back and began stretching his arms, one after the other. It wasn’t just his muscles bothering him. His skin felt too tight over his body. He wanted to take laps around headquarters, do one-handed push-ups until he collapsed, maybe find another group of Omi officers jonesing for round two and try to take them all at once with his good eye closed, something . The fight in the banquet hall seemed more inadequate than ever. “Huh. Maybe.”

“Daigo told me to let ya go on break first,” Saejima said. He scratched the back of his shaved head, staring at Majima quizzically. “So now’s a good time as any. I mean, shouldn’t ya go see him? Don’t think he plans on stickin’ around for very long.”

“True.” Majima made sure he spoke like he had all the time in the world. “Guess it couldn’t hurt to take a peek at him.”

“Don’t gimme that shit when you’re chompin’ at the bit.” Of course Saejima would see right through him. He waved a large, dismissive hand. “Just go, already. I can handle an empty hallway by myself for an hour or two.”

It would have been undignified to make a run for it at that. Majima gave him an easy-going farewell wave and strolled down the hall like nothing was amiss until he turned the corner, at which he then promptly broke into the mother of all power walks. Admittedly, still not all that dignified, but he had to save time somehow.

Despite the obscene amount of empty rooms and winding passages built into Omi Alliance HQ, it didn’t take too long to find Kiryu. He was sitting at the far end of a wide, spacious room that had a distinctly half-finished feel to it. There was a tiny wet bar shoved into one corner, and lounging furniture up against the walls while the middle was completely barren. Kiryu sat on a single seat sofa next to double doors that looked like they opened up to a balcony. 

Majima poked his head in, breath held, stealthy. Kiryu was staring down at something in his palm. Probably his smartphone. The sight made Majima smile a little. His furrowed brow and down-turned lips made him look like an old man in denial about his bad eyesight. 

There was really only one way to reintroduce himself after a few years apart. Majima charged in and flung his arms wide. “Kiryu-chan!”

Kiryu jumped. The phone flew out of his hands, slipped between his fingers when he tried to catch it, and clattered to the floor. 

“Caught ya sleepin’, huh?” said Majima with a satisfied bark of laughter. 

Kiryu hastily scooped his phone up, stood, and actually bowed at him. The act cut Majima’s humor short with an ugly little squelch. “Majima-no-niisan,” he said, with unerring politeness. “Long time no see. Do you mind closing the door?”

The second of silence that followed was excruciating in its tenseness. Suddenly, they weren’t hanging around in empty enemy territory. It was 2005 again, in the busy streets of Kamurocho. Kiryu was fresh out of the joint and Majima still under Shimano’s weighty boot heel, and he was about to engage the object of his budding obsession with the most obnoxious physical training regimen known to mankind. So it was back to square one with him? Nostalgia and venom twisted around each other and flooded Majima’s blood with something acidic and steaming. 

“Sure thing,” said Majima at last. He turned around and did as Kiryu asked, something like a headache beginning to thrum behind his eyes.

This really wasn’t going how he had imagined it.

“Thank you,” said Kiryu quietly. 

Majima took a moment to plaster another smile onto his face before spinning back around and clapping his hands together. The sound cracked through the air of the mostly-empty room. “Well! C’mere, Kiryu-chan. Let’s take a look at ya.”

Kiryu hesitated, and Majima briefly thought he’d refuse. But, finally, he stepped toward. With the way things had started, Majima almost expected him to do so with the air of a new recruit too frightened to disobey a senior clan member, but no. There was a flicker of familiarity in the way they met each other in the middle of that room. The uncertainty in Kiryu’s face had given way to something softer as he bore Majima’s pacing around him with his usual high tolerance for nonsense.

“Is there something wrong?” asked Kiryu after Majima had done a full circuit.

Majima considered him with care. He didn’t look like he had lost much weight or anything. Didn’t look too exhausted or sickly or stooped. Kiryu was more or less the same old Kiryu. 

Good. That was good. Healthy. If nothing else, he was healthy. If that reassurance was all Majima would get out of this, he would take it gladly.

“Just checkin’ for signs of advanced age,” Majima told him cheerfully. “Liver spots, buncha new gray hairs, more wrinkles, that sorta thing. But ya look great, Kiryu-chan! Did ya get a dye job? I won’t tell a soul if ya did. Swear it.”

“No.” Majima could hear the slightest laugh behind his denial. “Hair’s about the same as always.”

“Tell me about it,” said Majima with a snort as he stopped in front of him. “Ya finally got a new suit, but did ya ever think about tryin’ a new hairstyle? Ain’t ya undercover? Wouldn’t hurt to switch things up a bit, would it?”

Broaching the elephant in the room was a risky play to run. He didn’t want Kiryu shutting down and shutting him out completely before the five minute mark of their reunion, but Majima had spent much of his life going for the risky maneuvers first and questioning his decision later, if he questioned them at all. And he usually didn’t. He watched in trepidation as a shadow of consternation flashed across Kiryu’s face, there and gone in a blink. 

“I don’t have to lay that low,” he said, his tone once again cautious.  “I—” and then he stopped himself, at a complete loss.

The air between them sagged with the weight of everything left unsaid. Majima could push this, push him. He saw, almost instantaneously, the myriad of ways he could yank everything out of Kiryu at once and spill it all out on the table in a bloody mess. It would cut to the chase. It would probably be ugly. It would definitely hurt. 

For this meeting, for Kiryu, Majima decided to take a different route altogether. He reached into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes. 

"Here,” he said, tapping one out for him. “Ya still smoke, right? Or are ya slappin’ nicotine patches on your arm now?”

“I’ve been trying to cut back a little,” said Kiryu, but he looked grateful for the peace offering. He took it and stuck it in his mouth while Majima went over to the balcony doors and pulled them open.

The balcony looked opened out to a view of a large rock garden below them, extra pretty and serene with the moon above shining down and bathing everything in its milky light. Majima could even see a few stars glowing insistently through the light pollution Sotenbori emitted. It was a nice night, cool and still. Kiryu joined him on the balcony, lighting and taking a drag of his cigarette as Majima lit his own.

“How’ve things been on your end?” asked Majima. 

“All clear,” Kiryu replied, his eyes heavenward. Majima took a look at the profile of his face. Still handsome. Majima wondered if he’d ever stop thinking that. “Watase has to tie up a few loose ends here. We’ll be staying for at least a couple more days.” 

“Pain in the ass,” said Majima. “Same here, though. I think Daigo-chan’s plannin’ on sittin’ tight till the election’s over. Not like we got any better place to be at the moment.”

“Is Daigo doing alright?”

“Doin’ just fine,” Majima assured him. “Handled himself pretty well, considering all the shit that landed on his plate this time around.”

Kiryu hummed and nodded. They fell silent for a time, ribbons of smoke from their cigarettes drifting up into the air. They stood together, each a little too stiff to feign relaxed demeanors, the slight distance between their bodies impenetrable like bulletproof glass. Majima didn’t have a clue on how to shatter it without fucking things up. So Majima said nothing, and chanced another glance at his face. Impassive and calm. It told him nothing. 

“You know,” began Kiryu after awhile. “I…Hm.”

“Yeah? Spit it out, Kiryu-chan.”

“I don’t really exist anymore,” he said, voice low. “Not officially. I haven’t even heard my own name in awhile and the fact that you were the one to say it to me first…well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

A cruel, heavy fist enclosed around Majima’s heart and squeezed tight, paralyzing his every limb. How did he even respond to something like that? 

Kiryu looked at him at last, and he smiled. Faint, wistful. “I’m glad.”

Majima tore his eyes away and took a deep drag of his cigarette. It didn’t steady him one bit, so he blew out a long stream of smoke and said. “I hope ya ain’t livin’ in some kind of hovel. I won’t stand for that.” He chanced a glance back at him. That look on Kiryu’s face, whatever it was, made the fist clench even more tightly around his heart, threatening to pop it into a million soft and bleeding pieces. “Gimme two weeks. I’ll set you up somewhere nice and pretty where no one’ll bother ya.”

Kiryu shook his head, like Majima knew he would. “I’m fine. Really.”

Majima wanted to argue. He laughed instead, and stubbed the last of his cigarette out on the balcony rail with unnecessary force. Throw me a fuckin’ bone here, Kiryu-chan.

“Niisan.” Kiryu faced him fully and bowed his head again, lower this time. “I’m sorry. I’ve caused a lot of trouble for you over the years.”

Something hideous twisted at Majima’s face at that, balled his hands into twitching fists. He could only assume it was disgust. Stupid fucker. Clueless asshole. Of course he wouldn’t get it. Even after all this time. “You’re sorry?”

Then, a tiny voice in the back of his mind: He’s saying goodbye —

Blood pounding at his temples, Majima’s hand snapped out and clamped around Kiryu’s throat before he could even straighten out of his bow.

“Sorry ain’t gonna cut it, Kiryu-chan,” he snarled, wicked delight at how Kiryu twisted against his grip. “How fuckin’ dare you even think that it would!” 

“M-Maji…ma…” Kiryu’s lips peeled back from his teeth. Majima pushed him until his back hit the rails.

“Funny how ya say ya don’t exist anymore.” The smile Majima gave him was ugly now.  A threatening leer. “‘Cause I’m not so sure about that. The neck I’m about to snap feels real enough, Kiryu-chan!”

Kiryu’s eyes blazed, but he didn’t fight back. He just stood there, neck convulsing under Majima’s palm, leaning perilously over the rail. Another insult. Majima squeezed down tighter.

“If you’re so bent on disappearin’ on me again,” he continued, already lost in that heady glare he regarded with roiling fury and an almost pained adoration, even now. He wished he had had the foresight to remove his leather gloves. He wanted to feel Kiryu’s pulse beat against his thumb. “Then maybe I oughta finally make good on that ol’ promise. You remember it, don’tcha? Down at the batting cages back in ‘05. It was practically a blood vow. And I still mean every single word of it.”

“So…so this is it?” Kiryu’s hand came up and latched onto Majima’s wrist. His bones creaked under the sudden, enormous pressure. “You’re going to kill me here?”

“Wanna find out, darlin’?” Majima wondered what Kiryu saw reflected back at him in Majima’s eye. He hoped whatever it was fueled him with the same thunderous energy Kiryu gave him. “Ya know what I answer to.”

“Yeah.” Kiryu’s grip tightened even harder, his face set. “I do.”

Kiryu wrenched him forward and slammed his knee into Majima’s gut. Agony exploded in his stomach and blasted through his body. He let go of Kiryu’s neck with a loud, ragged groan. Kiryu took the opportunity to shove off the handrail, then tossed him into the room.

Majima landed hard on his shoulder (a new epicenter of pain, duller but throbbing), rolled further back, sprang right up with a harsh shriek of laughter as Kiryu strode into the room, his expression ablaze. 

“Finally!” Mind swirling hot with anticipation, Majima ripped off his jacket and took out his tanto. Kiryu didn’t hesitate to follow suit. Bare-chested, they began to circle around each other, steps in perfect sync, two beasts who had escaped their cages and were about to burst with pent up aggression.

“Ya know,” he began, sliding his tanto out of its sheath and spinning the blade in his hand. “I’ve been on edge ever since I landed in this goddamn city, and that banquet hall blitz I was promised was hardly even a walk in the park.”

Kiryu cracked his neck wordlessly, keeping his eyes on him with relentless focus.

“I got shunted to the sidelines by that new guy and all his buddies,” Majima continued. “And then ya went and charged in like a big ol’ hero and stole everyone’s thunder! I barely got a workout outta that. How’s a man like me supposed to blow off steam under these circumstances?”

Kiryu clicked his tongue, loud and unimpressed. “Are you done whining yet?”

Majima could have gone on all night, honestly. About being back in Sotenbori, about how the entire day had gone, about him. Instead, he gave Kiryu a razor sharp smile, seized the delicate vase off the small decorative table that he had shifted himself toward during his little tirade, and whipped it at Kiryu’s head. 

Kiryu didn’t bother dodging Majima’s bluff. His eyes narrowed as the vase flew harmlessly past his ear and shattered against the wall behind him. Then he balled his fists and rushed forward, a battering ram aimed straight for Majima.

Infuriated, gleeful, exhilarated, Majima launched himself at him. He swung his tanto in a wild arc that would have left a long, deep gash across Kiryu’s chest, an incredible memento of their reunion, but Kiryu wasn’t going to give into him so easily. He strafed and landed punches into Majima’s ribs that would have had the average punk already on his knees.

But Majima wasn’t the average punk. He wasn’t about to give in so easily, either. 

Breath all but knocked out of his lungs, he twisted a brutal kick into Kiryu’s side. The grunt of pain he got in return sent a thrill through him. If Kiryu was going to flee from him again, then Majima was going to paint the wide canvas of Kiryu’s body with messy, beautiful splashes of black and blue and red before he left. He would leave so many cuts and scrapes and bruises that Kiryu would never again be able to look at himself in the mirror without remembering him.

They traded blow after blow; vicious, uncompromising. A punch for a kick, the cut of a blade for a strike with the elbow or knee. Up and down that room they went until Kiryu’s upper body and arms were bleeding from a dozen sharp kisses from Majima’s tanto and seemingly every square inch of Majima’s body had said hello to Kiryu’s fists, until they were both blind to everything but each other.  

Majima spun out of Kiryu’s range, wild-eyed, the roar of blood rushing through his veins and Kiryu’s rough panting drowning out the rest of the world. 

Kiryu had his fists up again. He swayed, unsteady, and grinned at Majima without reservation. Yes, he had missed this, too. Majima could see the hard glint on his face. He had been starving for it. The realization made him burn. He’d do anything to satiate that hunger, cut his body into pieces and toss them at Kiryu’s feet if that’s what it would take. All his to toy with, all his to devour at his leisure.

Kiryu charged at him again, a little too sloppy, a little too eager to get close to him again. Majima’s body reacted to the opening before his mind could register what he could do. He grabbed Kiryu’s outstretched arm, spun around, pulled, and let gravity and Kiryu’s own over-committed momentum do its thing. Up over Majima’s shoulder Kiryu went, then down to the floor in a room-shaking crash. Majima kicked into a twist through the air, following Kiryu’s arc with much more grace, landing between his splayed legs and stomping hard on his chest before he could get back up.

“Gotcha,” cried Majima, elated. Elation he thought was very well-deserved, because that was not a move that tended to work on Kiryu. He had a vague memory of throwing a joint or three out of socket the last time he had tried it, and that was before Kiryu made him pay dearly for his daring. “My, my, seems you’ve gotten sloppier in your old age. What a shame!”

They were both sucking in deep gasps of air. Majima’s foot rose and fell with every breath Kiryu took. Kiryu glared up at him, face flushed, a certain pouty edge to his frown. Adorable. He was sorely tempted to reach down and pinch his cheek, just to rub it in.

“No one’s…perfect,” Kiryu grunted. “I see you still like showing off.” 

“Of course! Who do you think I — ”

Kiryu’s hands wrapped around Majima’s leg. Slid up the calf, over the leather. Slowly, sweetly. Their eyes locked, and there was a deep shift in that intent gaze of his. It drew Majima in, hot and hypnotic.

Then Kiryu yanked. The spell broke, but it was too late for Majima. He didn’t even have time to curse before he fell to the floor in a heap. Kiryu straddled his waist, pinned his shoulder down with one heavy hand, and drew back the fist of his other.

His smug little grin was the last thing Majima saw before the darkness took him.

...

Of course, Majima was never down for very long. It was a point of pride for him. Something in his being always spurred him to rise back up again after a loss. Phoenix-like, if he was feeling particularly grand about it. This time, as it was with most times, however, he conceded that he just had the innate indestructibility of a particularly spiteful cockroach. Either way, it pissed most of his enemies off, and that was a win for Majima all on its own.  

His whole face now hurt, though. 

He blinked, grimaced, shook his head. Between the stars that swam in his vision, he realized he had a perfect view of the sky: he had fallen right in front of the balcony. Kiryu was still sitting on him, so he couldn’t have been out for very long. 

“How did you know I was still alive?” asked Kiryu. He still had a hand on Majima, but the grip was relaxed. Warm. Majima knew that touch as well as he knew the devastation of his fist. They weren’t interchangeable, but he welcomed them both just the same.

“Hm?” Majima waggled his blood-stained tanto vaguely at the ceiling above them. Pain shot through his jaw, but not enough to keep him from talking. “Oh, just a feelin’ I couldn’t shake. Wasn’t actually plannin’ on killin’ ya tonight, by the way. Don’t wanna get chewed out by Watase for it.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.”

He stared up at the moon for a moment, letting the rest of his consciousness come back to him bit by bit. The moon was full, he noticed in a comfortable daze. Large, round, tinged buttercup yellow. He idly considered saying that it looked beautiful out loud, but he doubted Kiryu would get that reference. Maybe now wasn’t the best time for it, either. He’d have to save it for later, maybe think of a way to make it a performance a little too goofy for Kiryu to take seriously before he —

“The moon is nice tonight, isn’t it?”

Kiryu’s voice startled him, the words even more so. He blinked again and sat up on his elbows, the better to stare at him.

“That’s what you were looking at, weren’t you? The moon?” asked Kiryu, regarding his blank expression with a curious look. He stood up and held out his hand to him “What’s so funny?”

There was no way Majima could put it, or anything he felt at that moment, into words. He just waved at Kiryu and grabbed his hand, his peals of laughter echoing around them.

It took them a few minutes to recover and clean themselves up. Majima retrieved his jacket from one side of the room and shrugged it back on, but Kiryu had to go shirtless for a while longer. He didn’t want blood from all the tanto cuts his chest and arms had sustained staining his clothes, which were apparently new and something of a splurge on his part. Majima certainly wasn’t going to complain about that. They drifted back to the balcony, fresh smokes in their mouths, the mood lighter and calmer, standing so close their arms brushed up against each other. Majima leaned against the handrail and stretched, sighing blissfully when his back finally popped right where he had needed it.

“You’re a rotten ol’ man, Kiryu-chan,” he said as he straightened back up. “Rubbin’ up on my leg like horny teen durin’ a brawl. I thought ya fought with honor.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Kiryu, but not very harshly. “Since when has it ever been about honor when we did this?” 

“Ha! Fair.” Fighting with Kiryu could be about a million things, really. The violence they doled out to one another was tailor-made, flexible, a ferocious expression of thought and a riotous conversation that shifted with their moods as much as their bodies. “Payback for that awesome throw I did, was it? A little tit for tat?”

Kiryu made a noncommittal sound, tilting his head so that Majima couldn’t see his face. “I still can’t believe you pulled that off…”

“Impressed, ain’t ya?” asked Majima, grinning. He was still quite impressed with himself, too, truth be told. “No matter how many times ya win, I — hold on.”

Majima squinted at Kiryu, whose head was now very pointedly turned away from him. There was no way to cover his ears from Majima’s eye, though, and they were noticeably pink.

“Oh,” said Majima, sensing a golden opportunity to really let him have it. “ Oh! Ya liked it! Kiryu-chan, what kinda kink is that? Shoulda told me about it earlier, I woulda been overjoyed to toss ya around whenever you were feelin’ frisky.”

“That’s not exactly it,” Kiryu muttered to the wall. Majima reached over and grabbed his chin, urging him to look at him.

“There ain’t no shame between us,” declared Majima. “C’mon, sweetheart, face me proudly and say ‘I get all hot ‘n bothered when my man throws me over his shoulder like a big ol’ sack of rice.’” 

Kiryu, ever the good sport when it came to Majima’s gentler teasing, finally relented and looked at him again. His face was a little flushed, he was smiling around his cigarette with that slight, private smile he reserved for the two of them, and it all made Majima realize that the last handful of years had somehow been both a mere blip on the timeline of his life and an infinitely long stretch of space to deal with without Kiryu.

“I missed you.”

Majima dropped his hand. Another win stolen out from under his nose with a sucker punch. Damn, Kiryu was good. “I know.” He plucked the cigarette out of his mouth, turned, and blew a curl of smoke into the air. “Ya dropped off the face of the earth for Haru-chan, right?”

“Yeah.”

Majima closed his eye and sighed. How utterly unsurprising. Predictable down to his last molecule. 

Time to hash things out a little.

“Was there really no way for ya to contact me sooner? Coulda spared me a bit of worry,” he said, opening his eye at last. “A burner phone? Disguising yourself and visiting me in the dead of night? Hell, I woulda trained a messenger pigeon for ya if I had to.”

“It had to be a complete wipe of everything I was connected to,” said Kiryu quietly. “But after I had settled into a new routine I could have…you’re right. I should have tried harder. It’s not like I didn’t trust you to be discreet. If you’re angry with me, I deserve it.” 

Majima wondered if he should have been. It didn’t feel like he was, and he wasn’t about to go looking for whatever tiny kernels of rage that he might have hidden deep inside himself over the past few years. Not now. “Might’ve been, at least a little,” he said after a moment, hedging his bets. “Think I got most of it outta my system during our reunion throwdown well enough.” 

“As easy as that?”

“Sure! Just glad ya ain’t really six feet under.”

“Majima.” And Majima could hear in his silence just how much Kiryu wanted to say to him. He waited, patiently, keeping his eye to the moon, wondering what it was Kiryu had to turn over in his head. “You deserve better than - ”

In one quick, practiced gesture, Majima withdrew his tanto and swung it at Kiryu, stopping just short of his throat. He stared at him with a frown.

“I decide what I deserve,” he told Kiryu. “Now shut it for a sec. I’m gonna say this just once so ya better get it through that pretty, stupid head of yours.”

Kiryu, eyes wide, nodded wordlessly. Satisfied, Majima slid the blade back in its sheath and gathered his thoughts.

It wasn’t as though his life had stopped when Kiryu had vanished. Quite the contrary. He had, in fact, been quite the busy man during the years of his absence. His kyoudai was back. His men needed his support. Daigo, for all his growth as a leader, still needed a bit of hip guidance here and there. The Tojo Clan as a whole had barely any time to breathe after the last debacle before Arakawa had shown up in Daigo’s meeting room with the biggest underworld conspiracy to date and plans to counteract it so extreme they were sure to shake the very foundations of the yakuza to its core. Now he was back in Sotenbori of all places, looking for apartments in his bits of off time, about to help run yet another civilian company, and he knew as much about the security business as he first had about construction. All in all, it had been a hectic time, almost too busy for Majima to ponder losses or regrets or longings.

Almost.

"Missed ya so bad while you’ve been hidin’ I couldn’t think straight some days,” said Majima. It was as simple and honest as he could make it. He shrugged. “I want you, Kazuma. Decided that a long time ago, fool that I am.”   

Kiryu said nothing. Not that he needed to this time. The intensity of his expression said it all for him.

“That’s all,” he concluded. A little anticlimactic, but not all of his lines could be winners. He felt kind of strange, too exposed and tender. But it was just him and Kiryu in that room; he had shown Kiryu what was really in his heart before. He could do it again. “Do whatcha will with what I told ya, just don’t forget it.”

“I won’t forget,” said Kiryu, his voice still low but fervent now. “I promise.” And Majima knew it was the truth. “Sometimes I would daydream about us, you know. That I had taken you with me.”

“Really?” 

“It’s so stupid and selfish of me, but…”

“I get it.” Of course he did. How could he not get it, when that had been one of his favorite things to imagine as well. His own dream of them balanced on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill itself out at Kiryu’s feet. It never changed very much. The long stretch of sand, the clouds scuttling across the blue sky, the gentle waves lapping at the shore. Behind him he could feel and hear all those kids, laughing and playing with each other. In front of him, standing at the edge of land and sea, was —

The figure would turn his head at some point. Just a slight movement. Sometimes he wore one of those floral-print shirts that looked both ridiculous and entirely too fitting on him all at once. Other times it was a simple swim trunks, the dragon on his back gleaming silver and inky fire in the bright light. He would stare at Majima from the corner of his eye for what could have been hours or seconds or weeks. Then, eventually, he would smile. The little upward quirk of the lips, warmer than the sun, inviting him closer.

The dream hadn’t been a nightly occurrence, but it happened often enough that it felt more like a memory to Majima now. He would light a cigarette when he woke up from it, shrouded in darkness, staring dully at the ceiling or out the window as the cold and gaping maw split open inside his chest, every time. He would say nothing aloud, either, letting the silence fill his head and push out any lingering thought. There had been nothing for him to say, really. What would have been the difference between talking to Kiryu during those nights and finally kneeling defeatedly at a little shrine, incense lit and offering laid out as he put his hands together and tried to think loud enough in the vain hope his mind could be heard and directed to the right soul in the afterlife?

Majima swallowed it back. No, that was a little too much. Certainly not appropriate for that moment between them. Maybe not appropriate for any moment.

“But ya can’t just leave it at that!”

“What do you mean?”

“Gimme some details!” Majima gestured emphatically with his almost-gone cigarette between his fingers, as though polluting the air with more smoke would banish the heaviness. “Where’d we end up? What’re we doin’? We can’t just bum around in an apartment all day in this scenario. We gotta have shit like good cover-up stories and alternate identities.”

“You make it sound like we’d be government spies.” Kiryu laughed a little. Bless him, always willing to play along. “Well, let’s see…we should stick to the cities. How do you feel about Sapporo?” 

“Ain’t a bad choice,” said Majima, tapping his chin thoughtfully. He could already see the two of them exploring Sapporo’s streets together, each wrapped up in thick winter clothes as snow fell from above. “I don’t mind the cold. Sapporo it is. So what’re we doin’ for a livin’? We need convincing professions.”

“I could go back to being a taxi driver?”

“C’mon, Kiryu-chan, spread your wings a little more!” Majima mulled it over for a moment. “We could run a bar together.”

“A bar?” Kiryu’s brow furrowed. 

“Yeah! A nice one. Cozy little hole in the wall. Gets rave reviews on the internet but ya gotta know a guy who knows a guy in order to get in.”

“Something like Shellac, maybe?”

“Shellac ain’t a bad spot, but it’s way too small. I want at least a pool table and room to play darts.”

“A little area for television would draw more customers in, too.” Then Kiryu frowned. “Wait, what would I be doing?”

“Whaddaya mean? We’re co-owners! There’ll be plenty of stuff to keep ya busy.”

“But you’ll be the one serving drinks, right?”

“Naturally,” Majima retorted, but he was amused. Sweet old Kiryu, not just playing along with him but throwing all of his brain power into their shared fantasy as though there were real, important considerations he needed to make for it. “You ain’t got a lick of experience behind the bar compared to me.”

“So I’m stuck in the back office with all the paperwork?”  

“I would help, ” he insisted, barely holding back a laugh at how honestly affronted Kiryu looked. “‘Sides, what else are ya gonna do? Wanna clean the bathrooms?”

“No.”

Be my barker?”

“No.”

Majima waved his hand pointedly. “Not a whole lotta alternatives, Kiryu-chan. I guess ya could be the bouncer, but we ain’t exactly runnin’ a nightclub, here. You’ll just be standin’ around lookin’ pretty most of the time.”

Kiryu stubbed out his cigarette. “We’ll have to think of something for me to do out front.” 

“Well, I certainly ain’t puttin’ ya in charge of the bar snacks.” Majima didn’t bother to hide his derisive snort this time. “I know you. You’ll somehow find a way to ruin the edamam — eh?”

Kiryu was suddenly very close to him. They’d knock foreheads if Majima leaned in a little.

“We need a name for the place,” Kiryu told him, voice soft.

“Good point,” said Majima. He was quick to recover, if only because he wasn’t about to let Kiryu outdo him in this, too. All at once, he became hyper-aware that Kiryu was very topless, skin radiating heat that the brisk night air seemed to amplify. “How about Legendary Bar? Kinda braggy, but cool, ya know? A catchy name makes all the difference between someone walking past your store and a new customer.”

“I like it.” Kiryu’s hand came up and rested against the side of Majima’s face. The touch wasn’t electrifying, didn’t get his knees knocking or his heart pounding. Instead, its warmth sank under his skin, through bones that were more weary than he was ever willing to admit aloud, pooled into the core of him. If he closed his eye, he could imagine that this was just another calm night between them in a little bedroom in Kamurocho. Or Okinawa or Nagasugai. Another tiny morsel of peace they’ve stolen out of the chaotic whirlwind that was their lives, both separate and together. “Maybe we could get a place that has living space above the bar. Nothing too fancy. Just enough for the two of us.”

“That sounds nice,” said Majima, a little dreamily. Kiryu could have said anything at that moment and it would have sounded nice to him. He slid a hand up Kiryu’s chest, smearing the last wet drops of blood on his skin, and the small part of his brain not fully surrendered to the magic they had woven around themselves cursed himself again for not removing his gloves. “I could let ya help me behind the counter sometimes. Teach ya neat bartender tricks. If you’re good.”

“If I’m good?” There was a touch of amusement to his voice Majima felt more than heard; it vibrated pleasantly in his chest as Kiryu leaned in further still, until their noses brushed.

“No complainin’ about the paperwork you hafta do,'' Majima murmured, rapidly losing the thread of the conversation. “And maybe wear those glasses ya had way back when. Ya looked hot in those.”

Kiryu might have said something in reply. Majima wasn’t sure, and frankly he was sick of talking. He let their lips brush together gently, experimentally. The touch was both so achingly familiar and bright with newness it had his fingers digging tight into Kiryu’s bruised shoulder.  

Then his phone rang. An obnoxiously up-beat text message jingle. They both froze.

“Gimme a sec,” said Majima, pulling away from him and smiling sweetly.

With energy so violent and sudden Kiryu hopped back a step in surprise, Majima wrenched the phone out of his pants pocket and wound back with the all the compressed fury of an all-star major league pitcher going for a game-winning strike out. Kiryu’s arm shot out and caught his fist just before he could throw it, saving the phone from certain death. 

The look on his face was pure exasperation. “You should check that, Majima.”

Majima didn’t have the energy to even pretend to be a good sport about the interruption as he pulled his hand from Kiryu’s iron grip. “Why are ya bein’ responsible now of all times?” he asked in disgust, unlocking his phone. “Years since we got any action from each other and then this shit happens…”

“We can wait a couple more minutes.” That little edge of humor was still in Kiryu’s voice. Showing off his patience. Majima scowled at him.

“If this ain’t important I swear I’m gonna — ” He glanced at his phone, and the message Daigo had sent him sucked the mood right out of him.  

“What’s wrong?”

Majima looked back at Kiryu, exaggerated frown replaced with a flat, grim line. “Arakawa’s been shot,” he told him. “Couple of Seiryu boys just fished his body outta the river.”

There were certain protocols to follow for this sort of thing. While Kiryu put his shirt and jacket back on, Majima investigated the tiny corner bar. The shelf behind it had a few unopened bottles of booze, and there were a few shot glasses stacked on the counter. He wiped the glasses off with a napkin and poured out two shots of vodka. Not the most ceremonial set up, but it would have to do. 

“I was almost startin’ to hope we were gonna hit a clean home run,” said Majima, handing Kiryu his shot glass when he approached. “Shoulda known better. What the hell was that ol’ coot doin’ wanderin’ around Ijincho at night without a bodyguard? Especially after all this ruckus.”

“Who knows,” said Kiryu soberly. Together, they lifted their glasses up, then quickly swallowed their vodka. The burn down Majima’s throat was depressingly head-clearing. He was already going through a mental assessment of the contents of his suitcase, wondering if he had thought to bring a black suit with him. He was pretty sure he hadn’t. He’d have to buy one tomorrow when he had the chance.

“Saejima just texted me,” Majima told Kiryu, grabbing his empty glass and setting them both on the counter. There were no stools to sit on at the bar, so they headed over to the nearby sofa and sat down heavily upon its cushions. It had a strange, cloying smell, both fresh-out-of-the-box new and untouched dustiness. Majima’s nose twitched uncomfortably. “Daigo-chan’s still workin’ out the details with Seiryu’s patriarch. Nothin’ we can do ‘bout it tonight. It’ll be all-hands-on-deck tomorrow mornin’, though.”

“How bad a blow is this going to be for you all?” asked Kiryu. Majima slumped down in his seat and spread his legs wide, trying to get comfortable. Close as they were, Kiryu’s own leg was in the way, so Majima hooked his leg over his knee. It served the dual purpose of feeding his space-hogging urges and testing the waters a little more. Kiryu, to his pleasure, didn’t call him out or even look down at his antics. Instead, his hand moved automatically and rested against Majima’s thigh. Over the years, they’ve sat together in that exact pose countless times. Majima never got tired of it.

“Objectively? Not very,” Majima replied after fixing the feeling of the two of them like this once again firmly in his mind. “We got most of the kinks worked out on our upcoming security biz long before today. I mean, sure, Arakawa had an executive role with us, but he hadn’t decided if he was gonna take it yet. I think he was lookin’ forward to retirement more than anythin’ else. We still win out, when it comes right down to it.”

"Subjectively?”

Majima just looked at him. “I wish these assholes coulda given us more than — what, six hours? — before tryin’ to start more bullshit.” 

Kiryu held his gaze for a long moment before settling back against the  sofa and gazing at the ceiling. “The Omi and the Tojo are gone now.  What’s the point of killing even just one man over it? Retaliation changes nothing.”  

“Ya gotta ask?” Majima raised his eyebrows. “It's all for power. Nothin’ really went away. It’s all just shook up past recognition. Whoever recovers first and takes advantage of the situation is gonna have more of it than they’ll know what to do with. Arakawa’s just the unlucky bastard who was first to fall in someone’s harebrained scheme.”

“You sound like you expected this.”

“Kinda. Sorta,” said Majima with a shrug. “I took my advisory role seriously sometimes, ya know. Thought things over when I heard how we were gonna counteract Arakawa’s shitty kid. We might’ve outmaneuvered him and a few other civvie slim-ball politicians with our plan, but I figured someone would start raisin’ more hell sooner or later. Whether for that Aoki asshole or for their own crew. Yakuza and government politics barely have any differences between ‘em. I told Daigo-chan as much.”

“It never ends, does it?” asked Kiryu. He sounded sad. Majima flung an arm over his broad shoulders and gave him a consoling half-hug.

“Nope! It just takes new and uglier forms for everyone to deal with.”

Kiryu hummed to himself. His gaze was distant, thoughtful. Tired, too. Years ago, such a look would have sent Majima into a quiet panic. The Dragon of Dojima, exhausted? He’d have started a fight with Kiryu just to snap him out of it and reignite the fire behind the legend’s steely eyes. Now, the twinge was similar, but the solution had morphed. Majima would take on every petty, plotting yakuza officer and politician in the country on his own if it looked like Kiryu was even considering asking him to do so. 

“Did you know Arakawa well?”

“Not even a little,” he admitted. “Snappy dresser, smart, polite. Stone-cold killer. He may have run a third-rate family, but I don’t think that was accidental on his part. Too many bodies to his name for him to run around Kamurocho all gung-ho like we did in our prime.”

“You did that.”

Majima thumped his fist right on to where the bruise was on Kiryu’s shoulder. He didn’t wince, but he did jab a retaliatory elbow into Majima’s side. 

“Causin’ chaos on accident is just the same as causin’ chaos on purpose, ya dummy,” he snapped. “As I was sayin’. Most of what I know ‘bout Arakawa came from the rumors I dug up. I ain’t exactly in deep mournin’ over here. I guess that despite all the hits he carried out he managed to stay a relatively decent man, so that’s somethin’. If anyone’s gonna be sad about The Assassin finally gettin’ offed, it’d probably be that Kasuga guy.”

“Kasuga?”

“The one ya spoke to back at the banquet hall,” Majima informed him. “Ugly ass suit, wild hair, dragon-fish ink? That's Kasuga Ichiban. Apparently, Arakawa had called him in for our backup. We had an impromptu meetin’ with him and his friends the night before the big fight to get them up to speed on the situation, and he spent most of it lookin’ at Arakawa with stars in his eyes. Stupidly loyal, that one, clear as day. He ain’t gonna take the death of his patriarch well at all.”

In fact, now that Majima thought about it, “ain’t gonna take it well” might have been the understatement of the year. The man had — with just a small handful of friends who, for the most part, weren’t of the violent gangster persuasion — stormed Omi Alliance HQ just to see Arakawa again. Stupid and reckless in an admirable way. Stupid and reckless in a way that might end up adding more kindling to the building blaze that was the post-Tojo and Omi Alliance era mayhem, if he so chose to apply it to a haphazard revenge rush through the plethora of possible murder suspects available to him. 

“This is already such a goddamn headache,” said Majima with a rueful sigh. “Wish we had the Florist’s tech with us. We’d be able to find Arakawa’s killer without making too much of a mess.”

Kiryu didn’t reply. Majima looked over at him. He was gazing into the middle distance, a million miles away. His hand slid languidly up and down Majima’s thigh as the gears turned in his head loud enough that Majima could hear them. 

And, oh, how they turned. The gears only really had one pattern, and they tread it with remarkable, ready self-assurance. Because of course they would. Because it was Kiryu, and Majima knew that no matter how much time passed there were some things that were simply never going to change about the guy. It drove Majima up the wall. He loved him dearly for it. 

“Meddler.”

Kiryu started at Majima’s conspiratorial whisper, blinked at him with guilty eyes. Majima snickered.

“Got a few bright ideas already, I see.”

“Just one or two,” Kiryu replied evasively.

As amusing as it was to see Kiryu fall so easily back into old habits, a slight flicker of doubt wavered in Majima’s mind. “Do ya even have enough leeway in your dead man contract to poke your nose into this?”

“Honestly? Not really. But…” His dark eyes went distant again, “if I can help, even just a little…”

“You’ll do it,” Majima finished for him, shaking his head. “I ain’t gonna try and dissuade ya, but Kasuga might not be the type to appreciate interference in a personal matter.”

“I wonder about that.”

“I mean, I could be wrong, but somethin’ tells me ya plan on findin’ out more ‘bout the guy on your own terms sooner rather than later.” Majima considered what little info he had on the man, dragging a contemplative thumb and forefinger down the sides of his goatee. “If ya ask me, Kasuga’s a clumsy-lookin’ dumbass, but I can’t deny he’s got a lotta moxie. Decent bat work, too. He almost knocked my head clean off at one point.”

“That’s high praise, coming from you.” Then Kiryu stared at him. “Wait, you’ve fought him already?”

Majima gave him an exaggerated one-armed shrug. “So I jumped the gun a little yesterday! Sue me. Ain’t my fault he barged into the Dragon Room outta nowhere. Half thought he and his little friends were Omi chuckleheads who somehow got wind of our plan and were tryin’ to get the drop on us.”

Kiryu scoffed at him. “Majima. That’s a lot of words just to say you were bored.”

Majima’s answering smile was angelic-innocent. “Me? Startin’ brutal confrontations out of boredom? Why, Kiryu-chan, I would never. ”

It was tempting for Majima to concoct ways to prolong their visit. Kiryu would indulge him, he knew. He didn’t. Instead, in the comfortable minutes of silence that followed, he simply allowed himself to enjoy the scene. His arm still loosely around Kiryu’s shoulders. His leg over Kiryu’s knee. Kiryu’s hand still stroking the inside of his thigh. All good things. All things he missed from the bottom of his heart. He closed his eye, and in the cozy darkness he imagined freely. He and Kiryu not in Omi Alliance’s reception room, but all the way back in Kamurocho, relaxing together after a fun night of semi-public debauchery, maybe sharing a smoke, still in the process of figuring each other out with punches and kicks and bites and desperate, curious tongues and lips. Then they’re in Sapporo in some near-future that was probably never going to happen. Legendary Bar was closed, so they lazed around in bed, talking and touching in no hurry whatsoever. Kiryu was going to cook them breakfast in a bit; Majima considered where he ought to drag Kiryu for their date later that evening. A middle-aged couple, sappy and content. 

But the past was the past and the future was undetermined. In the present time, in Sotenbori, with more yakuza-related mayhem brewing around them, they were able to meet again despite all odds.

And Majima figured that the reality he had been dealt with wasn’t so bad, either.

Majima cracked his eye open. Kiryu was scrolling through his phone. Judging by the pictures of carefully prepared food and the list of ingredients (as well as the hellish amount of ads Kiryu kept having to close), he was looking up recipes. Cute. 

“That phone your personal one?”

Kiryu shook his head, his attention brought back to Majima. “Just for this gig.”

“Got a pen on ya, darlin’?”

Kiryu patted himself, and after a moment procured a pen from his breast pocket. Curiosity clearly piqued, he handed it to Majima.

Not without reluctance, Majima disentangled himself from Kiryu and got up from the couch. He went back to the bar, grabbed a napkin, wrote his phone number as clearly as he possibly could, and returned to Kiryu. Standing between his legs and looking down on him was an exciting little position, but while Majima appreciated it deeply, all he did was tuck the pen and the napkin back into Kiryu's jacket.

“If you’re too skittish to use your personal for me, then get that burner phone as soon as ya can, got it?” said Majima, letting his hand linger against Kiryu’s chest.

“Yes.” Kiryu gazed up at him, dark eyes on his face, steady and intent. “I’ll contact you in a couple of days.”

“Good.” Majima cast around for one last thing to say before he left. They’d see each other again in the morning, but the bubble that room provided them was a private little world of their own making. The real one had a lot more distractions and problems waiting for them. He didn’t want to pop it just yet. “Oh, and before ya go and beat the ever-lovin’ tar outta Kasuga, you should know he has a couple of lady friends rollin’ with his crew, and they’re just as willin’ to throw down as his men are. Have fun with that.”

“Really?” Kiryu made a face “I…I just won't touch them.”

Majima laughed at him, reaching down and giving his cheek a few heavy pats. Up close, Majima could see that Kiryu did have more gray hairs than he remembered, all swept up neatly with the rest of his bangs in a salt-and-pepper blend. He wondered if Kiryu had made a similar revelation about him. “Ever so chivalrous, Kiryu-chan! Never change.”

The cheek petting had been meant to heckle Kiryu more than anything else, but once again Kiryu managed to turn the tables on him. His hand came up and held Majima’s against his face. He closed his eyes, then, resting his head heavily against their hands.

Majima rubbed his thumb under Kiryu’s eye, gentle and fond. The fist around his heart gave one last, terrible squeeze. He felt the warm rain of its devastation flood his chest, and he didn’t mind it at all even though he knew he’d never recover. “I’ll see ya later, Kiryu-chan.”

Kiryu nodded, wordless, gave him one last small smile, and let Majima slip out of his grip and out the door.

Majima was halfway down the hall, still nursing the tender and raw wound Kiryu had so easily reopened inside him, when he was struck by a sudden idea. He stopped, spun around, and squinted at the door he had exited. He didn’t necessarily have to go back. Everything had wrapped up well enough, hadn’t it? Kiryu was alive and as strong as ever. He got to see him again. Soon, they were going to be able to talk to one another as freely as Kiryu could manage. All in all, everything had more or less come up roses. No one would blame him for leaving well enough alone. 

On the other hand, there was no reason not to end the night with Kiryu on a note more his style. Screw it. Why not?

Mind made up, he marched right back down the hall and into that empty reception room, not bothering to close the doors behind him this time. He almost ran headlong into Kiryu as soon as he stepped onto the premises, apparently on his way out the door himself.

“Majima?” asked Kiryu, brow knit in concern. “Did you leave something in here?”

Majima grabbed him by the shoulder and looked deep into his eyes, face set as serious as he could make it.

“When ya get that burner phone all set up,” he told Kiryu gravely, “Don’t ya dare forget to send me dick pics.”

A beat of silence. The flabbergasted look on Kiryu’s face was almost enough for Majima to lose it then and there.

But Kiryu laughed first. It was a quick, startled punch of amusement, not very loud and a little ragged at the edges, more defined by the shake of his shoulders and the way his head tilted forward than the sound.  

“I’m serious,” said Majima, letting go of him and breaking out into a wide grin. 

“You’re a dumbass,” Kiryu retorted, still quaking with mirth. He grabbed Majima by the front of his snakeskin jacket and reeled him in, crushing their lips together.

Majima nearly crashed into him. The sound he emitted was shocked and uncontrolled and just all-around not sexy, but Kiryu didn’t seem dissuaded by it in the slightest. He kissed him again and again; against his mouth and his cheeks and his chin, hands going from the front of his jacket to underneath it, sliding around his waist and pulling him close until there was hardly any room for air between them.

Amazing what a joke could do for someone.

Wild with delight, Majima ripped his gloves off his hands and raked his bare fingers through Kiryu’s hair, tilting his head so he could slide his tongue against his and taste everything he had yearned for since Kiryu had left. The wet heat washed over him, pervasive and engulfing and so right his mind could no longer contemplate anything else but Kiryu’s mouth on him.

“Y-you know,” Majima panted, breaking away from Kiryu’s lips and letting his head fall back so Kiryu could do whatever he wanted to his neck, “ya look hot in that new suit of yours, did I tell ya that yet?” He tugged sharply at Kiryu’s hair, and was rewarded with Kiryu’s low groan and a deep, biting kiss to his throat. “Ya looked even hotter dislocatin’ that Omi fucker’s jaw. I wanna see that again.”

“I’ll do it,” Kiryu sighed, licking and sucking a fiery trail up his neck, grasping Majima even tighter to his body, sending sparks of heat ripping through his veins as he dizzily considered the best way to tear Kiryu’s clothes off. “I’ll do it again. For you. Whatever you want. Anything — ”  

They both felt it at the same time. The interruption was like a localized lightning storm, bolts striking just the two of them and shocking them out of their fervor. They broke away and stared at the open door. No one was there anymore, but…

“Who was that?” asked Kiryu between shuddering breaths. Dread tinged the undercurrent of his words.

“Uh.” Majima rubbed a thumb against his mouth, still swollen and searing hot. He had caught the movement of flailing limbs out of his periphery — and while he was busy pawing at every inch of Kiryu, which he thought deserved an award for multi-tasking. The arms and legs of a dark suit. Definitely not Saejima, and he was pretty sure Watase had worn something lighter. There were very few possibilities left. “I think that might have been Daigo-chan, darlin’.”

“Please don’t say that.” Kiryu buried his face in his palms. “Oh, god.”

“Yeah.” Majima choked back a helpless chuckle. Impeccable timing. The world was determined to cockblock them. “Yeah, that was definitely him. Oops.”

Kiryu groaned again, sounding a lot less turned on this time around. 

That was when Majima’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Giving Kiryu a few moments to stew in his embarrassment, he took it out and glanced at his messages. He had missed one. Judging by the time of it, he got it right around the start of their steamy little face sucking session. Cosmic punishment for putting his phone on vibrate after the first interruption, no doubt.

Kyoudai: yo we’re coming ur way. daigo wants to chat with k for a bit

Then the most recent texts.

Kyoudai: tried to warn u. were u guys going to pound town in there or what
Kyoudai: bc daigo’s face looks like he stuck it in boiling water 

Majima replied with about a dozen laughing emojis before stuffing his phone back in his pocket and throwing his head back, and finally cackling loud and long. An exceptionally delicious victory, in the bag.  What a night. He could have planned it down to the last detail and it still wouldn’t have gone better.

“Welcome back, Kiryu-chan,” he then cried with an expansive sweep of his arm, as if gesturing to all the bullshit he had missed over the last three years and whatever new bullshit that was to come. 

Kiryu lifted his head out of his hands. His face was cherry red in mortification and he looked mere seconds away away from throttling Majima to within an inch of his life for finding anything about their predicament funny, but there was still laughter in the bright fire behind his eyes and in his voice when he replied, and Majima couldn’t have asked for anything more than that.

“Thank you, Goro. It’s good to be back.”