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Well, it didn’t hurt as much as getting stabbed. Wasn’t even in the top ten of ‘Goro Majima’s shittiest nights,’ actually. But his standards were high, he mused, while laying in an alley in the Champion’s District, crumpled up and soaked in blood like a discarded tissue.
He never did get a good look at the guys. It was hard to tell if the distinct nausea welling up between his ribs was from the blood loss or a head injury, but he had a feeling he was drunk when he got jumped. How else would they have gotten the drop on him? The hangover alone seemed like it’d’ve been a doozy. Just his luck.
Majima involuntarily groaned when he tried to move. His body, curled up in a fetal heap, seemed to like where it was and changing position caused several of his bones to remind him they were no longer aligned properly. Fuck. The arm trapped underneath him wouldn’t budge, and it was making some kind of noise it really shouldn’t’ve been when he tried. He got a face-full of gravel as he rolled onto his stomach, then used his left arm to push himself up off the ground. Thankfully that one still worked, but his right dragged on the concrete, hanging limply at his side, fresh pain wracking it up and down.
It was broken. Well, not just broken, he noticed— crushed. In several places.
The arm, which just so cruelly happened to be on his good side, wasn’t the only thing that’d become mutilated overnight. His foot felt like a piñata stuffed with glass, and he took a wild guess that that’s what broken toes must be like. He was lucky until then, he’d never actually broken them before. First time for everything.
There might’ve been a misaligned rib, or a concussion masked by the hangover; his eye definitely felt swollen and blurry, but after a certain point he thought it pointless to overanalyze. The real takeaway was that his good side had an unusable arm and leg, and his bad side was, well, mostly the same. Bad.
“Shiiiit,” he muttered through his split lip, “My phone…”
Whoever had done this to him made off with his stuff, too. No phone, no money, they even took his chain. How he could be bested by some losers who probably wanted to sell his shit, he had no idea. They must’ve had a leg up on him somehow.
Without his phone he’d just have to try to find a booth, but he swore up and down Kamurocho got rid of all of ‘em after the 90’s for some reason. Why’d they do that, anyway? Not everybody has a fucking phone.
The time it took him to find his way to a standing position, weight entirely off the injured foot and good arm supporting himself against the wall, was utterly embarrassing. Every step felt like an eternity, his hand tracing along the wall that fell just far enough out of his limited depth perception to see. Good foot forward, bad foot back, try to walk on the heel, nope, hop like a flamingo.
He must’ve looked real pitiful limping over to the Smile Burger on the corner, feeling his way around with only half an eye, an arm and a leg. His vision was so shot he couldn’t even read the street sign, although he vaguely recognized the scenery. What was certain was that he was a long way from his side of town, and the idea of being able to find a phone booth was becoming more and more implausible.
Exhausted from hopping around and starting to develop a migraine from the sudden flood of unobstructed sunlight on the main strip, he slid down the wall of the burger joint until he found himself curled up in his jacket on the sidewalk. Maybe if he looked homeless enough someone would buy him a hot meal, or, God, he’d kill for a milkshake. Borrowing someone’s phone might be nice, too.
It had to be some kind of cosmic intervention meant specifically to fuck him over when, an hour of fruitless panhandling later, the worst possible person came strolling down the block. Despite the blur that hindered Majima’s good eye, he would recognize that silhouette of grey and red anywhere.
Ah, the fuckin’ indignity of it all. Not that he ever had any in the first place.
While normally he’d be chomping at the bit to get Kiryu’s attention, now was not the right time. For once, he wasn’t in the mood to see him. He wanted to hold onto the last vestige of respect Kiryu might’ve had for him. Majima ran through his options, of which there weren’t many.
As the probably-Kiryu shape grew closer he thought that bolting would be his best chance to escape with his ego unscathed. However, dragging himself here was hard enough, and as he began to put weight on his leg, pain shot up his calf. It was unlikely he could hop away without drawing Kiryu’s attention.
The next best option was to just make himself look the least amount of injured possible. He wondered if Kiyru would buy that he was just taking a little curb nap, so he tucked his legs in and laid his face down in his arm, hiding his black eye in the crook of his elbow. It certainly wouldn’t look out of place in Kamurocho.
People went in and out of the store. He heard footsteps, offhand bits of passerby conversations. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed like that, pretending to be asleep, trying to fight actually falling asleep because he hadn’t had any coffee yet. Fuck. He was so exhausted.
Nobody bothered him. When he finally got the courage to open his functional eye, even more blurred from being pushed up against his arm, he saw no sign of Kiryu. Maybe he’d hit his head harder than he thought.
“Agh— What the hell!” Majima shouted, startled as something ice cold suddenly pressed against his neck.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” a familiar voice said from behind him.
Majima bristled. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder, just rubbed the wet spot on his neck, “Ya shouldn’t do that shit, ‘s rude, Kiryu-chan.”
“You looked dead.” Kiryu knelt beside him, on the bad side. If Majima didn’t turn his head, he might just pass for normal, “Wanted to check if you were still alive.”
“Just… had a long night, that’s all.” Majima snorted, “Fuck was that, anyway?”
“A milkshake.” Kiryu replied, then handed it to him.
Majima reached for it, his hand bumping Kiryu’s before finding the drink. The other man was in his blind spot, but maybe he’d be too oblivious to notice he was refusing to turn his head.
“For me? Aw, ya really do care.” Majima pressed it to his injured eye, sighed into the cool relief. “That’s… nice, actually. Much obliged.”
“I like to think I’m a pretty nice guy.”
“Nicest yakuza I ever met.” Majima heard Kiryu digging into his paper bag of food. The fries smelled good. “Ya loitering here for a reason? M’ not in the mood to fight right now.”
“Why’re you sleeping out here, Majima-san?” Kiryu asked, point-blank. Why couldn’t he just give him this?
“They say sleepin’ on the floor can be good for your back.” Majima slurped his milkshake, “Tryin’ it out.”
“Do you need a ride home?”
“Naw, I’m gonna walk.”
“I can walk you.”
“Very gentlemanly of you, but no.” He felt Kiryu lean into him and he sharply turned his head away, “But really, Kiryu-chan, thanks for the shake! Chivalry isn’t dead after all!”
“Something’s wrong with you.” Kiryu said. Ugh, no shit.
“Like I said, long night. Mind yer business.” Majima instinctually moved away from Kiryu, who kept drifting closer, until he had to catch himself with his injured arm. It crumbled under him, unable to withstand his weight, “Augh—! Fuck, fuck, ow!”
“Oh my god,” Kiryu scrambled to his feet, then he was in front of Majima, “I thought your arm looked weird, let me see.”
“Hands to yerself!”
Kiryu looked from the abnormal bend of his elbow to the purple of his eye. “You’re hurt.”
“Very observant of you, Kiryu-chan.”
“Is it— is it broken?”
“What do you think?!”
“Your face… you need medical attention.”
“Back off.” Majima spat, lifted his good foot and pushed it weakly into Kiryu’s chest. He didn’t budge.
“Majima.” Kiryu lowered his voice to a sharp whisper and leaned closer to him, “You’re making a scene. People are staring.”
“So let ‘em stare!”
“Let me help you.”
“Look, I ‘preciate it, really, but it looks worse than it is.” Majima, as if trying to prove his point, tried to get himself to his feet.
Almost immediately the world began to spin. He’d put his full weight on the bad foot, and the sensation sent a wave of nausea through him, blood pressure dropping through the floor. He lurched, and his fucking milkshake fell out of his hand, and it really couldn’t get any worse than that, could it?
It was two big hands under his shoulders that kept him from falling on his face. Kiryu’s grip on his broken arm hurt. Majima focused what little energy he had left on not projectile vomiting milkshake all over Kiryu.
“I apologize for my disrespect, Majima-san.” Kiryu’s expression was blurry, but Majima still recognized it. It was intense, those eyebrows arched almost vertically in concentration. “But I’m going to help you.”
Suddenly his feet weren’t on the ground anymore. All his blood throbbed in his head, as if it was upside down. Wait, was his head really upside down? He cracked open his eye, saw the ground moving below him and his arms dangling over a broad, grey swath of fabric. He’d been thrown over Kiryu’s shoulder like a sack of flour without even noticing.
He was too exhausted to thrash. He squeezed his eye shut; watching the rush of concrete exacerbated his nausea. His consciousness slipped away, and for once, he did not fight Kiryu.
It was like he’d time traveled. When he opened his eye he was somewhere completely foreign. It was dusk outside. He still couldn’t move his arm, but now it was like it was glued to his chest. Majima blinked, turned his head, hypervigilant as a dog and so he observed his surroundings all in one gulp.
It was a little bedroom, modest but contemporary, not at all traditional. He was in a single bed, small but more comfortable than he was used to. It beat the curb by a longshot. There was a window with blinds, a closet that had unfolded laundry spilling out, and not much personality otherwise.
Except for a couple photos. Child’s artwork on the wall of a man Majima guessed was supposed to be Kiryu. There was a low table near the bed with two picture frames on it. Kiryu and Nishikiyama in one, visions of Majima’s early 20’s. In the other was Kiryu and Haruka, posing in front of a fountain. Majima presumed that Kiryu awoke most mornings to these pictures. He felt weirdly offended he didn’t have a place in his shrine, but why the hell would he? Nobody hangs up portraits of their arch-rival, and besides, the only photos Kiryu had of him were probably the purikuras he liked to bomb.
“Should we wake him for dinner?” He heard someone in the hall say, a girl.
“He should probably eat.” A more recognizable voice replied.
Now that Majima thought about it, he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since his quarter of a milkshake.
“I’ll get him a cold towel…”
“Can you get a cup of water, too, Haruka-chan?”
“Yessir!”
Shuffling of feet. Paper thin walls.
“Have you seen the aspirin?”
“Top shelf, uncle.”
Hearing them fuss over him made Majima feel something indescribably nasty. For someone who actually cared a lot about hospitality, he really hated being on the receiving end of it.
There was knocking at the door.
“Majima-san?” Kiryu was outside. “Are you awake?”
Majima stilled. Shut his eye again. A little light trickled into the room, and the bed dipped beside him.
“Majima-san.” Kiryu said gently, “It’s dinnertime.”
“Kiryu-chan.” Majima opened his eye, “Why am I in your house?”
“Would you rather be in the street?”
Majima had no witty reply for that. He shut up.
“I’m going to help you sit up, now.” Kiryu said, and set whatever he was holding on the nightstand.
He tucked his hands under Majima’s armpits, lifted him against the wall like a doll.
“Agh,” Majima grimaced. Everything hurt.
“I’m sorry.” Kiryu said, then offered him a cup of water and a white pill, “This will help.”
Majima took it without hesitation, then tossed the water back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Thanks.”
“...How are you feeling?” Kiryu asked, and passed a damp towel to Majima.
Majima hadn’t considered that yet. He gave himself a cursory glance. Kiryu must have had a connection with a nurse, or some serious first aid training, because Majima had a splint on his foot and a sling on his arm. He didn’t remember any of it, dang, he had to have passed out cold earlier.
He took the towel from Kiryu, pressed it against his forehead to soak up the residue of his own sweat.
“Better,” he replied curtly, “Where’s my jacket?”
“In the wash.” Kiryu said, “Your gloves and socks, too.”
“So considerate, Kiryu-chan.”
It was annoying, actually, how well-adjusted the other man was. It made Majima self conscious, not that he would ever admit that. Kiryu had a house at the appropriate age, and based on what Majima could observe, relationships that were actually functional. Majima had... well, several broken limbs. And a construction company, but who cares about that?
“I take it you’re not looking for ‘you’re welcome,’” Kiryu shook his head, “Do you want to eat?”
I should really go, Majima wanted to say. Now that he was patched up he would be fine to fend for himself, but when he opened his mouth all he heard was the absolute loudest rumble his stomach had ever made.
“...Yes.”
“Okay.” Kiryu stood up, and wrung his hands, “Haruka set the table already.”
“Oh,” Majima sucked in a breath. Right, the kid. “Sure.”
“You know- you know, I explained everything to her, about you-”
“Didn’t ask.”
“Do you… need help up?”
“Geeze, Kiryu-chan,” Majima gave him a cocky smile, “Yer gettin’ too soft in yer old age.”
“Well, do you?”
“No,” Majima moved slowly, writhing out of the covers and letting his legs dangle off the bed, “Mind if I borrow a shirt? I don’t want my tits out at the dinner table if there’s a kid.”
“Sure, yeah.” Kiryu opened his closet, and more unfolded laundry fell out. He grumbled at it, then pulled something off a hanger, “Here.”
Kiryu tossed a grey button up in Majima’s direction. Majima unbuckled the sling, and his arm dropped to his lap. It was stiff, so he made quick work of sliding the sleeves over it, but struggled to button it up one-handed. Kiryu reached to help, and Majima swatted at him.
After what felt like an excruciatingly long time, he was dressed and limping down the hallway, supporting himself against the wall. Kiryu kept looking at him like he wanted to help him walk, but Majima had made it clear that was the last thing he wanted.
“Ah, Majima-san…!” The girl in the kitchenette said as they entered. She bowed to them. It was hardly the same girl Majima remembered from 2005. This one was taller, more mature, “Welcome to our home.”
The kid seemed to have bigger balls than most men he’d ever met, to be able to look someone who kidnapped her right in the eye like that.
Majima had tried to make things right with Haruka, in his own way. In the past he’d sent Kiryu home with loose arcade toys, or a pocket full of gumballs from machines smashed in the crossfire of their brawls. Kiryu always wordlessly accepted, although there was room for doubt as to whether or not Haruka was aware of the gift's origins.
Regardless of whether or not she knew, she didn’t seem to care now. Majima thought she deserved an apology, but if she was willing to ignore it, then he assumed it wasn’t worth pursuing. Or perhaps she was only being cordial out of pity. Hard to say.
“Um. Yeah, thanks.” Majima replied, bowed back, a sudden softness inching its way through him. She was really polite, just like Kiryu, “Yer a great host.”
“We made dinner, didn’t we, Haruka-chan?” Kiryu sat on a cushion at the short, birch table, “Tell Majima-san what we made.”
“Curry!” She exclaimed, walking out of the kitchen with a double rice cooker. She plugged it in, setting it in the middle of the table proudly, “Would you like a drink, Majima-san?”
“Er,” Majima sucked in a breath. Why couldn’t he breathe around this kid? “Sure. Water.”
“Can you grab me a beer, Haruka-chan?”
“Already on it, uncle Kaz.” Haruka disappeared into the refrigerator, and Majima eased himself to the floor.
“Well behaved kid.” Majima observed, impressed, “Yer actually a good dad, I’m shocked.”
“Honestly, I didn’t teach her any of that.” Kiryu had a warm expression on his face.
Majima found it hard to believe anyone was just naturally that sweet, but Kiryu seemed convinced, and for an instant Majima could see why this domestic life might be appealing to someone. It was kind of tragic, looking at Kiryu, knowing that in some way or another he might get dragged back into a life of violence when he so obviously wanted to cling to this.
“Here we go.” Haruka returned with three drinks balanced precariously in her hands. She served them clockwise, beer, water, juice, “Let’s eat!”
They did. Majima didn’t remember the last time he’d had a home cooked meal. Usually he ate takeout every night, and while this was just curry roux from a box over chicken and rice, it was the most delicious thing he’d had in months.
How the hell did it get so late? Majima wasn’t sure where he went wrong, but somehow he’d been conned into staying after dinner.
It must’ve been Haruka. Majima grew more and more suspicious that she knew what kind of power she held over men like him and Kiryu. He’d acknowledged their hospitality, explained he would have work in the morning, and should get back to Kamurocho, and then the little snot goes ’Oh… I haven’t moved your clothes to the dryer yet, can you wait an hour?’. After that it was ’You don’t want to see the end of this episode, Majima-san?’ and Majima cared very little for drama television but Haruka seemed devastated that he didn’t want to view the conclusion. For some reason, he couldn’t bear to let her down.
Then she excitedly exclaimed that AKB48’s auditions programme was on, and Majima actually did want to see that because he didn’t have the channel at home. So, an hour turned into three, all of them sitting on the couch. Haruka now and then asked which idols Majima thought would win, or what clue Kiryu’s nonogram puzzle was on.
Finally, Haruka yawned.
“It’s getting late,” Kiryu said, and glanced at the clock, “You should get to bed, Haruka-chan.”
“Really, uncle?” Haruka pleaded.
Kiryu closed his book, “Mm. Yeah. Go brush your teeth.”
“Alright.” She said, a little disappointed, but obediently left for the bathroom.
Kiryu set his book on the table, then turned towards Majima.
“Thanks for humoring her.” Kiryu said, “She can be a little demanding.”
“Ah, I mean… she seems like a good kid.”
“She is.” Kiryu leaned forward, took a swig of his third beer that had gone room temperature.
“Welp,” Majima slapped his thigh, “Had a great time, yadda yadda, but I gotta get up early tomorrow.”
“Still trying to go back to work?” Kiryu raised a brow, “In your condition?”
“I’ll have Nishida haul me around. Why’re you so fuckin’ concerned?”
Kiryu shook his head. “Why don’t you let me handle the construction site tomorrow?”
“What?!” Majima looked appalled, “What are ya, my assistant manager?”
“...Isn’t that what a foreman is?”
“Ya still can’t do my job!”
“I know how,” Kiryu insisted. “You really want your guys seeing you like this?”
“That’s dirty, Kiryu-chan. Ya shouldn’t point out a woman’s insecurities.” Majima grumbled, but Kiryu was right. What was he supposed to do, though, just stay home? Fat chance.
“Tell you what, Majima-san.” Kiryu set his beer down, “Let's do it your way.”
“What do ya figure?” Majima grinned slyly, intrigued.
Kiryu slid off the couch to the floor, and rested his arm on the coffee table.
“If you beat me in an arm wrestle, I’ll spot your cab, and you can do whatever you want.”
“That doesn’t sound like a fair fight,” Majima snorted, “What if ya win?”
“You stay here for a few days and rest.” Kiryu proposed.
“Days?! That’s cute. Ya wouldn’t be able to stand me that long.”
“Those are my terms.”
“So I either win or walk home, huh?” Majima shook his head, “Ya drive a hard bargain.”
Majima took a seat on the floor, enticed by Kiryu’s offer, not so much for the reward but because of the look on his face. It was that steely pout, one that said Kiryu knew he’d already won. Majima wanted to slap it off him, but beating him in an arm wrestle would have to be the next best thing.
“Ya think just cause’ I’m infirmed you’ll win, huh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Majima locked his left hand in Kiryu’s right.
“Don’t have to, it’s all over yer face.”
“Then prove me wrong.”
It was like Kiryu had breathed life into him. Majima felt himself inflate, getting fired up by the mere prospect of having something to fight for.
“Ya know all the right things to say to me, Kiryu-chan.”
Majima gripped the other man’s hand hard enough to turn the tips of his fingers white. Kiryu matched him with equal resistance, and for a moment neither of them had any leverage, just their arms wavering back and forth, more of a battle of endurance than one of strength. When Majima started to gain the advantage and catch Kiryu in a moment of weakness, he felt a rush of willpower.
It burned all his muscles to exert so much energy when he had so little to start with, but he’d be so close to winning if Kiryu would slip up again, just a little more—
“Go uncle Kaz!” Haruka’s voice chimed in. Majima glanced at her in the hallway.
Her pajamas… were fleece, with a hood on that had little bunny ears. Had Kiryu bought that for her? Did he pick that out? It was so insanely cute that Majima kind of wanted one for himself. Then he imagined Kiryu at a supermarket, parsing the kigurumis with that stone-faced expression he always had on. It was heart-poundingly adorable. Disgustingly endearing. Majima felt bile rise in his throat and warmth in his chest.
“Gh-!” Majima grunted as Kiryu’s hand slammed his arm onto the table, twisting his shoulder in the process. Despite Majima’s injuries Kiryu seemed to make it a point that he hadn’t gone easy on him, and that made him feel better about losing. “C’mon, she distracted me, I want a rematch!”
“It’s your fault for losing your focus.” Kiryu said, and stood from the table. Majima watched him, awe-struck.
Fuck. How could someone who was a total buffoon half of the time be so cool when he wanted to?
“Thank you for cheering, Haruka-chan.” Kiryu said to his niece, “You gave me strength.”
She laughed, and took Kiryu’s hand in a way that looked like they'd done it hundreds, if not thousands of times before.
“Good night, Majima-san!” She said.
Majima could barely hear what they were talking about– school, maybe– as they walked to Haruka’s bedroom. It felt odd, like he’d intruded on a piece of their private lives.
“Damn,” He took Kiryu’s old beer, drank the last sip, “I don’t belong here.”
The stupid leather pants wouldn’t go over the splint, but he was tired of wearing them. The inside of the fabric was crusty with dried blood and dirt, chafing his skin.
He’d have to remove the splint first though, and not only would that hurt like a bitch, it would be challenging to do with one hand. He was this close to swallowing his pride and going to beg Kiryu for help when there was a knock on the door, like an angel that had heard his prayer.
“Are you decent?” Kiryu asked through the door.
“Am I ever?” Silence.
“I’m kiddin’. Obviously.” Majima clarified, “Come in.”
Majima had never heard the shower turn on, but there Kiryu was, freshly bathed with a towel around his neck. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t ogle on accident. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to seeing Kiryu shirtless, but damn, a warning would’ve been nice.
“I’m just getting my clothes for tomorrow.” Kiryu said, then started digging around in his closet. He came away with the same gaudy outfit he wore everyday. Did he have multiples of that suit?
“Sure.” Majima said, then continued to fumble with the straps on the splint.
Just as Kiryu made his move to leave, Majima spoke again, “Hey, you, uh, ever wear one of these before?”
“No,” Kiryu turned, “Do you need help with it?”
“Apparently it’s a fuckin’ Chinese puzzlebox.” Majima said.
“Let me help you take it off.” Kiryu said, and hung his clothes on the doorknob.
“Ya don’t have to— just— tell me how.”
“You need both hands.” Kiryu crossed his arms.
Majima rubbed his face with exasperation. “Ya just wanna keep bein’ smug about this, doncha? High and mighty Kiryu-chan doesn’t think ole’ Majima can handle himself, is that it? Want me to owe you somethin’?”
“I’m trying to help you. It’d be nice if you’d be honest about needing it.”
“Honest?” Majima looked incredulous, “I’ve been nothin’ but honest, you’re the one who's been forcing yourself on me all night. What makes you think you know what’s good for me?”
Kiryu sighed, “Then good night, Majima-san.”
Great. How is he supposed to come back from that? He wouldn’t be caught dead begging for Kiryu’s help, but perhaps he could disguise it as a command.
“Wait, shit, wait.” Majima said, “Fine. Take it off.”
Kiryu looked back at him, the ghost of a grin on his face. “I thought you could handle it?”
“Ya waitin’ for a ‘please’?”
“That’s close enough.” Kiryu came back.
Immediately, Kiryu dropped to his knees, head down to focus on unstrapping the boot. Majima smirked, trying to concoct a joke somewhere along the lines of never thought I’d get you shirtless on your knees, Kiryu-chan, but his better judgement prevailed on that one.
“There.” Kiryu said, and picked up Majima’s leg, letting it rest on his lap, “This will hurt.”
He wasn’t kidding. When the splint came off it revealed skin that was so purple and black it barely looked human. All his blood rushed to his foot, throbbing in time with his pulse.
Kiryu sighed at it, “That looks really painful.”
“I’ve had worse,” Majima grunted, then ripped his pants off, only wincing a little when the hem dragged over his wounded foot. “Ahh. That’s better.”
Majima almost swung his legs back into the bed before Kiryu grabbed his ankle. It didn’t really hurt, but Majima hissed at it anyway.
“Wait, you need this back on.” Kiryu said.
“Yer kiddin’ me.” Majima groaned, “Seriously?”
“My house, my rules.” Kiryu forced Majima’s ankle back to his lap.
“Where’d you go to nursing school, anyway?” Majima scoffed, and Kiryu didn’t grace him with a response.
Although he was pissed, Kiryu’s assertive side was one of his weaknesses, so he obeyed. It was hard to say no to him. Perhaps it was in his conditioning to be predisposed to anyone who’d held the title of ‘chairman,’ or maybe it was just Kiryu’s eyes. Then again, if it was easy to deny him, Majima wouldn’t love toying with him so much. It was a worthy trade-off, he concluded.
Majima looked down. Kiryu was reassembling the splint with great care, mindful to avoid causing Majima any more pain. He swallowed— he wished Kiryu wouldn’t do that, he wished Kiryu would just let it hurt. It would all be easier that way.
“Hmm.” Majima stared at Kiryu’s hand, still squeezing his calf. The pressure felt nice, actually. “Yer hands remind of this old massage therapist I had.”
“You? Getting a massage?” Kiryu twisted his face up, “I can’t imagine you staying still that long.”
“I’m doin’ it now, ain’t I?”
Kiryu paused to look up at Majima, and a veil of silence fell between them. Majima chalked the initial tension up to them being unused to seeing each other like this, low-octane and diffused. But then again, he was sitting there in his boxers with another half naked man between his legs. That was usually a little tense.
Finally Kiryu had finished with the boot, but he wasn’t moving away. Just sitting there like an idiot, waiting for something Majima couldn’t parse.
“Kiryu-chan…” Majima murmured.
“...Hm?” Kiryu seemed intrigued. He looked up at him from the floor expectantly, and Majima leaned down close, to the point where he knew Kiryu could feel his breath on his face.
“Ya left yerself open.” Majima aligned his good foot square with Kiryu’s sternum, then kicked him half a yard back. Kiryu hit the ground with a thump, then sat up, visibly surprised before his expression dropped again.
It wasn’t as satisfying as Majima thought it would be.
“You could’ve woken up Haruka.” Was all Kiryu said, before he got up and dusted himself off, leaving Majima in the room alone.