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Sometimes Kiryu just needed some rest.
Selfishness wasn’t in his nature, but as much as he wanted to help every soul in danger from the looming perils of Kamurocho’s chaotic streets, helping people in need often stopped him from getting anything done, and the occasional interruptions that came from being jumped from practically anywhere by Majima on the loose only added to his tiredness by the moment the evening rolled around. Being a full-time dad didn’t mean he could take it easy and ditch any shred of self-care as he did in the past decade. He had someone that relied on him now, and Haruka deserved some semblance of normalcy and stability, possibly as far as possible from getting caught in the midst of gunfire or risking being squashed by thrown bicycles or unidentified flying objects aimed at her adoptive father.
Surely, he could have benefitted from a few home economics classes since learning the basics of cooking when pushing forties was far from a stroll in the park, and more often than not they had to rely on konbini food after his cuisine endeavors turned their dinner into overcooked rice, a gooey and inedible pulp that’d make rats cower in fear and disgust at the sole glance.
Being Saturday and all, Kiryu decided it was probably better to call it a day, draw a veil of mercy over the remnants of carbonized mackerel in the pan and take Haruka out for dinner, put some decent food in her stomach aside from instant ramen.
No wonder the moment he asked Haruka if she was up for eating at Wild Jackson’s, she gave him a wide-toothed smile, dark maroon irises gleaming in genuine happiness before a veil of doubt crossed her mind, lips squinting in a judging seam, “Wait, Uncle Kaz. That’s junk food. You’re always saying I should eat a proper diet.”
Kiryu was already checking the money in his wallet, counting the bills just to make sure it’d be enough to cover the dinner, fumbling with his words.
“I guess one time won’t hurt us. Besides, we can always ask for a salad on the side.”
Haruka slid into her sweater, head shaking in disappointment. “Uncle Kaz, you should pay more attention to your diet. Smoking and eating unwell isn’t good for your skin.”
This kid was going to be the death of him. So sassy and sharp; he often wondered whom she took after. Definitely not him nor Yumi.
“…I suppose you have a point.”
Time to get a burger and drown his worries in food.
* * *
Wild Jackson was a cozy place, for being a fast-food. The dining room upstairs offered a nice view of the busied streets, and yet Kiryu was thankful there weren’t any seats occupied when they got there; it meant they’d be the first to be served, and boy was his stomach protesting and throwing a tantrum at the inviting perfume of meat, warm bread, and fries coming from the kitchen.
Haruka rushed to the booth, claiming her spot and leaving him to pick the good-old-fashioned squeaking chair, squirming in all his height and might at the tiny table, a small sacrifice though if it meant being able to enjoy a peaceful dinner with his adoptive daughter and putting some cholesterol in his veins for a change, without any goons getting in his way or trying to beat him up with traffic cones —at least, the few times Majima wasn’t hiding under them— or rice cookers that he would have loved to get his hands on before they landed on his head.
The tranquility almost felt unreal but guess sometimes the stars aligned even for him. It wasn’t that hard to believe that even the universe took pity on him.
Haruka was dangling her feet from the seat, skimming through the menu and humming some song she’d heard from a street performer back in Sotenbori. The poor man couldn’t sing for his life, but he made good music.
Patiently waiting for his daughter to choose, Kiryu’s glance drifted for a moment to the windows, fighting the growing unsettlement.
Was it really that uncommon for Kamurocho to be so quiet? Usually, Wild Jackson’d be packed with customers, and yet now it looked like a deserted saloon in the middle of nowhere. And worst of them all, it had been days since he’d last seen or heard from Majima.
In hindsight, that was enough to raise a few doubts.
“What are you taking, Uncle Kaz?” Haruka gingerly offered him the menu and slid her palms under the skirt, sitting on her knuckles as she patiently waited for the waitress, “I think I’ll have the chicken burger and some nuggets. Although it’s a shame they don’t serve buffalo wings when it’s literally written on the sign outside. I wanted to try them.”
“They don’t?” Kiryu tilted his head, scratching the tip of his chin, short nails picking the short goatee, “I guess I never paid attention.”
“You never do, that’s why you always get scammed”
“It was only once.”
“You signed that petition for that forestry project” Haruka snickered, as the man’s cheeks lightly tinged in rose shades, “Even Yuya-san called you out on that one. And then there was that shady exorcism… the cursed VHS... and the modem thing... ”
“Point taken. Thank you, Haruka.”
Had he always been that gullible?
If he had a yen for every time he’d been scammed, he’d be dead rich by now and wouldn’t have to hustle and work side jobs to make ends meet and put some food on their table. Working as a bouncer down at Debolah’s or breaking arms for a living in the Coliseum didn’t pay that well, but it was better than nothing. Although Dr. Emoto was probably thankful for all the new clientele he brought down his way.
“Can I take your order?”
Kiryu was barely able to skim through the selection of burgers before the middle-aged waitress materialized at their table, battered block notes and pencil in hand as she offered her best smile at the two.
Haruka enthusiastically placed her order, giving her father the puppy-dog eyes before asking for fries, and as time ticked, Kiryu couldn’t recall any of the items he’d seen on the menu. He didn’t feel like making the waitress wait any longer, and his stomach seemed of the same opinion, gurgling and protesting.
“I’ll take the special” he stoically conceded, “And a beer.”
The woman’s brows knitted, “I’m sorry sir. We’re currently out of beer.”
“Oh. Guess I’ll have to settle for…” he realized only later that he had just handed back the menu and had no idea if there was even anything else to choose from, aside from one orange juice he just didn’t have the cravings for, “Is there anything else? Soda?”
As much as being out of beer seemed kinda… off for a fast-food restaurant. On a Saturday evening of all days.
The waitress offered a courteous smile, “We do have wine, sir.”
“Wine?” he blinked. With burgers? “I… guess I’ll have some wine then.”
No need to worry. Not everything had to be a ploy to ruin his day. If he tensed any more, even Haruka might have suspected he was growing paranoid.
“Excellent sir” the woman gently bowed and took the menu under her arm, “What kind of wine would you like to order? We have Chardonnay, Champagne, Gold Champagne, and Cabernet Sauvignon.”
“I—” Kiryu cleared his throat. Definitely a ploy. “I... have little knowledge about wine.”
“I’ll have our sommelier at the table soon then. He’ll be able to help you with your choice.”
Oh, good. He could have used some suggestions from a—
A what now? A sommelier?
He couldn’t even stand up from the table, cramped as he was, legs too long and knees too high, and the waitress had already disappeared downstairs with their orders. For some reason, a feeling of dread and discomfort started blooming in his chest, as if he had just signed his death sentence. They were still in time to stand up and head to Gindako —it was literally across the road— but his stomach was protesting and holding him pinned to the chair, already addicted and hooked to the perfume of sizzling meat coming from the kitchen downstairs, and Haruka seemed really enthusiastic about eating her burger. He didn’t want to take this away from her.
“What’s a sommelier, Uncle Kaz?”
“It’s, huh…” Kiryu’s words trailed as he tapped his forefinger on the table, anxiously scratching the plastic, in a vain attempt of keeping his nervousness at bay, “Someone who drinks wine for a living, I suppose.”
“That just sounds like being an alcoholic with extra steps.”
“Yeah… leave it to the French to make everything sound fancy.”
Kiryu’s knee jackhammered into the floor tiles, heels tapping with every moment of prolonged wait, nervousness bubbling in his stomach and tying his throat in a knot, all the appetite gone from his body like a soul leaving the dead the moment a far-too-familiar bob of obsidian hair made its appearance from the last step of the stairs, a bottle of red wine tightly held in one palm, and a chalice in the other, the stem elegantly sitting between tapered gloved fingers, the black leather gone and replaced by white and immaculate one.
“Good evening, Kiryu-chan.”
Before Kiryu could take a breath or utter the man’s name, the air had been kicked out of his chest, eyes engulfing the sight of the man in front of him, donned in a pitch black, elegant suit, stark and crisp white shirt, ivory buttons and a bowtie sealing the collar, hiding from prying eyes the sight of his irezumi, the hissing snakes and patches of dashing crimson and black now concealed beneath a layer of elegance.
He must have spent far too long staring, enough that Haruka was now glaring at him, and kicked his shin as if he was supposed to say something, anything, at Majima showing up unannounced as always and in that get-up nonetheless.
“Majima-no-niisan” he mumbled and inwardly chastised himself for not being able to say anything else, heart caught in his throat and a swirl of butterflies swarming his stomach. He’d never felt this stupid, so swept by the man’s outfit that he could barely keep his train of thought in line, teetering on the edge of madness and wondering whether a peaceful dinner with his daughter was really the best moment to be reminded of the conflictual one-sided feelings he harbored for Majima.
“Can’t say I didn’t see that one coming” Haruka slumped in the couched seat, arms crossed as she ogled Majima, studying his unusually careful motions as he gently set the bottle on the table, now pouring some of the wine in the chalice, acknowledging the girl with a gentle smile that bore the echoes of years of customer service.
“What are you doing here, nii-san?”
Clenching his fists on his thighs, Kiryu silently hoped that’d be enough to stop his knee from anxiously bouncing.
Majima was swathed in a cloak of cologne. He was so used to his smell of sweat, grime, blood, or, in the worst cases, just outright trash, that seeing him so proper ignited his need to touch him, a primal yearning for a brush of arms or a pat on the shoulder. That, or pinch himself just to make sure he wasn’t having one of his wet dreams, the kind that’d keep him awake the rest of the night questioning the when and how of their relationship and why recently, every time they fought, he used his punches as excuses to touch him.
“Ain’t it obvious, Kiryu-chan? I’m a sommelier. Yer sommelier. Ya wanna drink? Ya can’t just go n’ pick any random wine. Gotta hear it from ’n expert.” Accent popping up almost on command, Majima smirked, and rotated the bottle towards Kiryu, so that he could take a good look at the label. “No wine for Haru-chan though. Yer still underage, ya’ll have to wait a few more years before you can take a sip o’ this good shit.”
“Language.”
“Oh, what, Kiryu-chan? Yer my boss?” Majima curiously raised a brow in playful defiance, arms crossed as his gaze lingered on his stance, frowny lips tight and nervous, strong fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his elegant pants, “Yeah, thought so big guy. ‘m well past that the customer’s king bullshit. ‘sides, how old are you, Haru-chan? Yer gonna start swearin’ real soon. I tell ya, ‘s like smoking. Once you start, ya’ll stop only when ya drop dead.”
“Is that why you’re our sommelier tonight? Cause you’re making a living out of being an alcoholic?” Haruka deadpanned asked, no venom in her words, just outright teasing.
Majima seemed taken aback for a moment, mouth agape as his eye jumped from Haruka’s proud remark to Kiryu, who really seemed in need of a shovel to bury himself alive and never leave.
“I like ya, kiddo” he yet conceded in a fond grin, “Kiryu-chan, ya should give her a raise in her allowance. She ain’t paid enough to deal with your antics. I’ll give her one if ya don’t.”
“Majima-san. While I really appreciate the visit…” he had to stop glancing at him for a moment, even though the more he looked, the more he was afraid his sight could actually dig a hole in the shirt, “Please, just tell me you’re not here to fight me. We’re just here to have dinner.”
Majima seemed to consider his words for a moment. After all, he was with the kid, and he was almost certain his stomach made the rumblings more than once.
“Ya must think I’m a monster, Kiryu-chan. Ya really believe ‘m gonna let ya fight or sleep on an empty stomach? I told ya,” he shook his head, “I’m here to be yer sommelier. A man on a mission to get ya some good wine.”
“That’s comforting.” Kiryu’s smile relaxed, although he was dead sure his appetite had just thrown itself out of the window, eyes already sate with Majima’s stunning presence. He really hoped Haruka didn’t notice how much he was staring.
Majima gently poured the wine into the chalice, letting it swirl around the edge of the crystal glass, and for a moment, he seemed to resume a somewhat professionalism. “’sides, everybody back in the day knew me as The Wine Whisperer: Goro Majima! I tell ya, yer gonna love what ‘m pouring ya. Gonna do a taste test though, only for you, Kiryu-chan!”
Kiryu silently prayed to whatever god it was up there that it didn’t imply stripping or anything over the top, but Majima was still Majima, and even if Haruka seemed slightly entertained and curious about whatever the man was planning, Kiryu decided to stop worrying about whether his food would come or not and just sit back and make peace with the fact that at least he’d get a good drink out of it.
Although he did not want to know how much that bottle of wine would cost him.
Majima took the chalice and nose-dived deep into it, taking a sniff out from the glass, and holding back a cough.
“Ya can smell the French countryside, Kiryu-chan” he theatrically uttered, as if the fumes of alcohol had already fried his brain, the tip of his nose red from a drip of wine, a detail that made him look goofy and yet almost cute.
Haruka checked the label, “Majima-san. It says here this wine is from Italy.”
“If yer so nitpicky about details, you oughta find a job in quality check, Haru-chan.”
Stirring the wine in the chalice, Majima took a huge gulp, before rinsing it in his mouth and gallantly letting it drip from his agape lips, saccharine red staining the shirt and crimson dribbles now turning the opaque white to transparent, translucent expensive fabric now sticking to his skin. He took another swig, filling the chalice before wasting half of the wine on his shirt.
“Ya can taste the sulfites, Kiryu-chan.”
“The… what?”
But Majima had already made a mess of himself, and as he drowned the rest of the bottle in one go, Kiryu was left with nothing to do but dread the moment he ordered wine instead of sticking for some good old orange juice or water like every normal human being, because sure, Majima was hot as the rocks drenched but he also reeked of alcohol and was probably stickier than flypaper. And there was no guarantee he’d ever see him in that suit now that he went and ruined it. Not that he was hoping to see him in that ever again, but if the man brought back Goromi from time to time just to have a reason to fight him in heels outside of host clubs, he could as well make a comeback as a sommelier. He couldn’t take out of his head that time Majima served him a drink in that same suit.
“Wait! Where are you taking my wine?”
“Haw? You haven’t paid for it yet! ‘sides, didn’t ya hear me? ‘s got sulfites. Shit’s bad for your health.” Swinging the now emptied bottle of wine around as he’d usually do with the metal bat, he trotted to the stairs, careful not to slip on the wet and sticky floor, “Your food’s on the way, Kiryu-chan. I’ll have you brought an orange juice or somethin’ actually healthy for ya. Wouldn’t want ya to kick the bucket too early. After all, you belong to me. Gotta take extra care of ya.”
Kiryu stared at him dumbfounded, and even if Majima only had one eye, he could have sworn the man deadass winked at him, right eye squinting before hopping down the stairs, arm gliding on the railing and feet off the floor, as he ecstatically screamed like a kid on a slide.
In a handful of minutes, just like a tornado, Majima was gone from their sight, leaving havoc and mess on his way, a poodle of wine on the floor, and a deep longing that gnawed at Kiryu from the inside.
“Uncle Kaz” Haruka’s voice called him back to the present, to the food served to them, after the waitress gladfully informed them that the tab had already been taken care of by their sommelier, “We all saw that.”
He sighed. He really was a lost cause.
“But I’ll let you off the hook if next time you see Majima-san you remind him of my allowance. With all the wine he wasted tonight, he must have a few bills to spare for me,” toying with the plastic straw, Haruka grinned from ear to ear.
And even if it was a small promise, it was still something to look up to.
Even if he wouldn’t order wine any sooner, he deeply hoped next time he popped open a Champagne, “The Wine Whisperer: Goro Majima” would be there to advise him.