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Kiryu did not ask about his eye.
At first it had been because Majima was (despite it all) his superior, and Kiryu was (despite it all) unfailingly polite. It wasn’t like it was a great mystery anyway, not when there were so many more important mysteries to be embroiled in. The ten billion yen, Haruka’s lineage, the Go-Ryu coup, all questions more important than “so what’s your tragic backstory?”
Even after they’d started… whatever this was, this domestic couples shit that was closer to marriage than either wanted to admit to, he hadn’t even thought to wonder. Until the first time Majima slept over.
That night wasn’t usual. Usually he’d only stay the night if Kiryu had knocked him out, really put him through the wringer and sapped that seemingly endless energy. Usually he slept on the couch in the clothes he arrived in and was gone in the morning.
(Not that Kiryu was thrilled with the usual: he’d started keeping an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, an extra pair of slippers by the door, sugar cubes by the coffee machine even though he only ever took his with milk. Outright asking Majima to move in would have been more subtle, and they both knew it)
But that night they were settled on the couch, TV on in the background, dozing lightly through the bread and beer they’d shared. It was the news jingle that woke Kiryu, who stared uncomprehending at the 2:00 that lit up his phone screen. Majima shifted, sitting up from his position against Kiryu’s side with a symphony of cracks and pops.
“I kept you” Kiryu mumbled.
Majima blinked a few times and yawned, before rising from the couch to head to the bedroom. Kiryu watched in awe as he shucked his leather pants with a practiced ease and began rummaging around in the dresser for a pair of Kiryu’s sweatpants.
(They were too big. Of course they were, Majima was a lanky bastard. They hung low on his narrow hips, and seeing him like this, sleepy and in his clothing shouldn’t be doing this to Kiryu.)
The jacket had long been discarded by the time Kiryu’s body caught up to his brain. Some observation about a snake shedding its skin rattled around his mind before his train of thought was again derailed. Majima had made a noise that sounded annoyed and before either of them had really noticed, he was pulling the eyepatch off to rub at his missing eye.
They both froze at the same moment. A thousand expressions flitted across Majima’s face: fear, shame, exhaustion, a horribly vulnerable look Kiryu had seen only a few times before, before finally settling on defiance. Knuckles tight, Majima stood there, staring Kiryu down like a stray cat cornered in one of Kamurocho’s dirty alleys.
“I uh… it gets hot. The leather, I mean.” He gestured weakly with the eyepatch by way of explanation.
“I’ll pick up some cloth ones next time I’m out.” The offer came instantly, second nature. The implication, the domesticity of it was so overwhelming Kiryu almost put his fist through a wall.
“Thanks.”
Majima was still eyeing him like a rabbit before a car. Like one wrong move and he’d throw himself out the window. The heel of his palm was still pressed to his eye. This was a delicate moment, and if he didn’t want to totally spook Majima he’d need to be cautious.
Caution didn’t suit them. Not individually, and certainly not together. Which is how Kiryu found himself crossing the gulf of his living room to take Majima’s wrist in one hand and rest the other on his left cheek. The motion was smoother than he’d anticipated. Gently he thumbed down his cheekbone and noticed, with a little shock of pleasure, the mole that sat just below his bad eye.
Majima took a deep breath, and on the exhale pressed his nose gently into the palm of Kiryu’s hand. The tension left his body slowly, as if he was forcing each muscle to relax. Kiryu had seen it before, done it himself a few times too. The body remembers pain far better than the brain remembers safety.
They stayed like that for a while -Kiryu’s hand on Majima’s face, Majima breathing slowly and intentionally- before Majima murmured a “thank you” against his palm, and Kiryu continued his inspection.
He’d known about the Hole since that night in the woods in ‘88. How Nishiki found out he was never sure (he never asked, never wanted to know. Nishiki never volunteered the information), but he had, and the idea of Kiryu ending up there was enough to make putting him down like Old Yeller seem merciful. He knew Majima’d been in the Hole, knew the scars and burns, those eighteen tally marks on the underside of his arm, where the tattoo didn’t cover. Neat rows of five, five, five, three; even and uniform.
(He’d asked, when he first discovered them. Majima had huffed out a weak laugh. “Stray cat”. He didn’t press.)
It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, to figure out what had happened to Majima’s eye. And now, given permission, Kiryu began to take in the new information, to complete the picture.
His eyebrows were uneven, the left a little bit shorter than the right where the band of the eyepatch sat against his skin. His eyelid was intact, identical to its twin except for the strange flatness to it. The realization that this meant the eye was open when it was gouged out hit Kiryu like a truck. Was it bravery, that kept him glaring at his captors? Defiance? Rage? Or had it been forced? Had they denied him even the small mercy of not having to see his disfigurement incoming? Had the eye still had its manic gleam when it was cast aside? The scarring was so minimal, it had to have been a precise operation. How long had-
Kiryu was pulled out of his horrible reveries by Majima nuzzling into the hand still cupping his cheek. He’d let his good eye fall closed while Kiryu inspected him, but as Kiryu’s breaths began to quicken he’d opened his eyes to see what was wrong.
Eyes, plural. Kiryu watched in awe as the eyelid lifted to reveal… nothing. In the dim hallway light all he could make out was gummy pink flesh and deep shadows. Majima blinked and lowered his lid quickly. “Sorry” he murmured into Kiryu’s hand. “‘S gross”
“I don’t mind. It’s you.” The answer came automatically, instantly, with no thought. Because yeah the results of having an eye carved out violently and then not being allowed to heal properly were a bit gross. It certainly wasn’t the grossest part of Majima though. Kiryu had seen his apartment. And his diet. And, once, the aftermath of a Majima family party.
(Like a fool, he’d asked a dazed looking chinpira about the origin of the mystery liquid pooling on the floor. It took the boy a good minute of listing off drinks and bodily fluids before Kiryu stopped him and informed him “Majima” was an acceptable answer. He’d sent the kid off with 1000¥ for a bottle of turmeric tablets and paper towels.)
Majima laughed quietly “Where’d‘Ja’ learn a line like that Kiryu-chan? Cheesy as fuck that is…” his accent thickened, always thickened when he was performing. Anyways played up when he was tired of being vulnerable.
He should say something. Reassure Majima that it wasn’t just a line, share one of his scars to keep them even, say something damn it. Instead, he kissed the bridge of that perfect nose, took his hands in his, and pulled him gently toward the bedroom. Kiryu hoped this would communicate everything he needed it to. I’m glad you’re safe here, and You’re so strong, and I want all of you in my life, even the parts that hurt, and I lo-
They wouldn’t talk about it in the morning, but Kiryu would follow through on his promise and soon a small box of soft cloth eyepatches would find it’s way into the bathroom medicine cabinet, between the Kitty-chan bandaids and the half empty bottle of Ibuprofen. And sometimes Haruka would come home to find a leather strap and a shimmery silver snake hanging from the hook by the door usually reserved for the apartment keys, and she’d giggle because that meant Uncle Goro was home and she’d be able to convince him to let her have some of his Staminan.
(Once she’d managed to puppy dog eye her way into a sip of the Asahi dry he’d been drinking, on the condition that she keep it an absolute secret. It had been sour and bitter, nothing like the sweet golden nectar she’d imagined. She must have been making a face because the moment she lowered the can from her lips Majima had burst out in high peeling laughter. Later she’d heard him talking to Kiryu: “-should’a seen ‘er face Kazzy Baby, like someone pissed in her Cheerios. Cutest damn thing I ever did see.”)
And eventually, Majima stopped waking up with an indent carved across his forehead, and an ache in his cheekbone. Instead, pressed against the left side of his face was Kiryu’s chest, or shoulder, or pillow.
Kiryu never asked about his eye. Instead, he asked him if he would stay. Majima still wasn’t sure which question he’d rather answer.