Work Text:
Kiryu can almost grab his searing hot wrist today, if he tried. For now, the two ex-yakuza only brush knuckles against each other as they amble down North Ryuu Street. Whenever Nishiki silently turns to face him (any glare hidden by his dark sunglasses), Kiryu only plays dumb and smiles back with a tilt of his head. Nishiki doesn't mention it, nor how Kiryu continues to look at him once he faces the street again. Even more than holding hands in public, Kiryu would love to brush aside the locks hanging on the right side of Nishiki’s face, let the salty breeze gently wash over healed, but speckled skin. But it’s not his place.
The left side is still slicked back behind his ear, a remnant of the patriarch Nishiki once was. Kiryu’s gotten used to it. It’s only natural, with age, and more contemporary than his '90s style. Nishiki’s relented in other areas of fashion; he’s even managed to get his own casual beach shirt (the children had a vote on the design: tropical blue with gold and orange sea life swimming about). His hair, however, remains a priority: half down and half back, a specific brush to stimulate his roots, proper treatment immediately after swimming, and so many other steps Kiryu had forgotten Nishiki's always done after being apart for so long. On the bright side, he’s even gotten Kiryu into considering more than a two-for-one shampoo bottle.
The children are at school right now, so they can spoil themselves for lunch without nine hungry mouths begging to come along. For the most part, Nishiki stays at home or wanders town closer to dusk, when the streets are only lit by dim bar lanterns. It’s actually surprising that Nishiki agreed to come with him now at all, when Kiryu had nonchalantly waved the discount coupons left in their mailbox without much thought. The weather, Nishiki claimed, was nice enough (being Okinawa, the weather was never not “nice enough,” but the approaching summer season did have its own flavor of uncomfortable) and it would be a waste to eat ice cream in the dark night.
They round the corner and the noise of bustling shoppers fills the air; while it’s not much compared to Kamurocho, it’s still more activity than their sleepy beach neighborhood. Kiryu can feel his kyoudai slightly tense his shoulders, but they continue walking. The ice cream shop is another block down to the right. As they approach, the volume grows and the sidewalk is suddenly full of people - had they walked at a faster pace, either of them might have smacked into a stranger and started a random street brawl.
Nishiki manages to peer through the front window, sidestepping past a few people and maybe unceremoniously elbowing some others. There’s an even larger crowd squeezed into the store. Tourists? A school trip? Did everyone want to use those same coupons? Whatever the case, it wasn’t going to be easy to get through. Kiryu follows and double-checks the wrinkled coupons in hand, evaluating if the deals were somehow better than he thought-
“I’ll wait outside.”
“Huh?” Even as Kiryu asks, Nishiki’s already side-stepped to the nearby bench, but only stands by the decorative pineapple leaves.
“You can pick for me. It can’t be hard to choose a good flavor.” Turned towards traffic, he avoids looking at Kiryu’s face. He’s embarrassed. Kiryu furrows his eyebrows .
“We can head back-” At this, Nishiki visibly stiffens, and Kiryu doesn’t complete his sentence.
“...Sorry to leave you in there alone.”
“It’s no big deal. It’s just ice cream,” Kiryu responds with a small smile (not that his kyoudai can see it), but Nishiki still acts a bit sullen. It’s only at himself, he knows, but it doesn’t make Kiryu feel any better. Walking to stand next to him, Kiryu gently, but firmly grasps his hand without a word, causing Nishiki to look down, then at his face. His sunglasses are too dark to make out any expression, but Kiryu can imagine it well enough (tired, a touch sad, grateful all at once). He can also imagine that Nishiki doesn’t want explicit comfort outside of an ice cream shop in public. So, he leaves it at that, then moves to squeeze through into the air-conditioned store.
Kiryu's a good deal taller than most of the customers, so it's easy for him to see what flavors are available even when he’s not pressed against the counter. Coffee? With another scoop of a fruit flavor? Whenever they went out for ice cream in Kamurocho, Kiryu usually stuck to his chocolate while Nishiki was always more adventurous in monthly flavors without even sampling. Their home groceries (while they tried to keep snacks low, they weren't the most successful) were mainly chosen by the kids rather than themselves, and Kiryu’s struggling to remember what kind they’ve eaten recently…
He's reached the counter, with the smiling counter clerk and brightly-laminated posters both gleaming back at him. Despite the humming air conditioner and frozen tubs of ice cream, the warm air from the constantly-opening door and the weight of his decision makes sweat form on the back of Kiryu’s neck.
Goya?
He ends up walking out with two cones of six flavors each. Nishiki’s going to kill him, his words ringing in Kiryu’s ears. Yet, it was indeed hard to choose, so he went with the largest size and most popular flavors per the clerk’s suggestion. It was a treat, after all. Most of the customers immediately wander off with their dessert to the shopping center across the street, or back down to the beach, so it’s not as crowded as before, though random shoppers continue to line up here and there. He immediately begins scanning the scenery for Nishiki, trying to limit unnecessary movements with all the weight in his hands, though how hard could finding a pineapple bench be?
He almost drops the cones. Nishiki’s casually sitting on the bench, arms laid back over the top edge and one ankle crossed over his knee, His sunglasses are neatly folded and hang off his shirt pocket, rising and falling with his breath.
The sun shines on Nishiki's red skin, his entire face exposed as his hair is all pushed back.
As he spots Kiryu, he casually waves his fingers from where they lie on top of the bench. He grins, a touch forcibly.
"Welcome back.” Kiryu doesn’t take another step. His smile fades. “Sorry, I know you hate this look.”
"No, I don’t,” Kiryu immediately answers. Then he adds, dumbly, “Did you cover with sunscreen?” At this, Nishiki snorts.
"Of course I did. I always do that even with my hair covering it, idiot." He grins again, a real one, then notices the tall melting cones in his hand and leans away from the bench. "Are you fucking serious…" Kiryu remembers why they came and holds out the messier stack.
"You said I could pick whatever."
"I didn’t think I’d have to be that specific." Despite his grousing, Nishiki takes the offered cone and gingerly licks the bottom scoop (Blue Wave, Kiryu recalls from the menu), lapping up any trail already melting down the cone.
“Do you want to head back?”
“No, I don’t think these are going to last to the train station,” Nishiki says, holding up his sticky fingers. With a jerk of his chin to the side, “Sit.”
Kiryu eventually obeys and slowly sits down on Nishiki’s right, thighs barely touching. He carefully moves his cone to his right hand and then, after a moment’s thought, moves his left arm to stretch along the wooden bench top. The heat radiates from Nishiki’s back, only millimeters away, until Nishiki shifts back and rests against his forearm without a word. To distract himself, Kiryu focuses hard on his cone, taking big long licks of the whole stack and smearing all the flavors together. The shop clerk had given Kiryu his own scoop of Blue Wave right above chocolate, and they complimented each other nicely. It seems the skill of stacking multiple ice cream scoops really was the essence of taste…He hummed to himself in satisfaction, only to hear a snort on his side. He looks at Nishiki, who’s watching him right back with crinkled eyes.
“Oi, what’re you laughing at?” Kiryu asked, slightly offended (but relieved at his good attitude all the same).
“You’re like some animal trapped in the zoo, when the keeper gives them a huge ice block.” Nishiki goes right back to his own cone, but gives another laugh in the middle of eating, probably imagining his own joke.
“Am I a bear or a lion?”
“Maybe a tiger.”
Kiryu won’t argue with that. He gives another lick, then looks at Nishiki again, eyes wandering across his profile. His dark hair neatly behind his wrinkled ear. His nose, sloping down and threatening to be smeared with melted mango each time he maneuvered around his cone. His skin, moisturized as ever, is speckled with shades of dark red and contrasting textures, patched like koi scales. Multiple surgeries, topical solutions slathered on, had reversed most of the functional damage, but the superficial remained. Maybe in another decade’s time, the discrepancy would lessen, but for now, it’s progress.
For Nishiki, who was always sensitive (out of pride, out of insecurity) about his face, it wasn’t nearly enough. On his worst days, the impossibility of a perfect fix drove him isolated and upset. Even Kiryu’s usually only allowed to see while bathing, or with the moonlight streaming into their room as they try to keep quiet. Were the scars anywhere else (and they were), it would matter less - healed wounds on the body were a point of pride besides intricate tattoos. But for Kiryu, his presence was enough. Watching the sunlight bathe Nishiki's entire face, being able to observe every detail only inches away, stirs something warm within him. He's in Okinawa, with his kyoudai, enjoying ice cream on a beautiful day as if almost nothing had ever come between them.
"You’d better finish before it gets all over your pants," Nishiki goads as Kiryu’s lost in thought, a slight curl of a smirk. This curl quickly turns downwards as Kiryu quickly turns and starts biting his ice cream.
There’s no one else around. The lunch crowd appears to have finally gone, and the shop clerk is busy cleaning a corner table with their back turned. His fingers curl onto Nishiki’s shoulder, a few strands of soft hair tickling his knuckles. Instead of tensing, as they had all day, he can feel the muscles relax underneath his touch.
Instinctively, Kiryu leans over and kisses Nishiki's cheek. It’s almost too hot in this weather, and feels a bit rough, but it’s Nishiki. There's a stickiness clinging to his lips as he pulls back, then sees a brown stain on skin. Nishiki quickly touches the spot with his free hand, eyes squinting in distaste at the unsanitary mess left behind. But as he half-shrugs his shoulders and returns the favor with a kiss of his own, Kiryu almost drops his cone directly on his own crotch.