Chapter Text
In retrospect, joining Kiryu might have been a mistake. But Majima was no stranger to small weaknesses of the heart, as rare as those occurrences were these days.
The night had started off innocently enough, with him white-knuckling his way through the seemingly endless construction contracts and building plans. The stifling air of the cramped office had him jamming a knuckle into his temples, attempting to stave off the inevitable headache. Kiryu had called, asking if he was free. He had been tempted to say no, to make up some stupid excuse, his head swimming from dealing with work all day. But Kiryu rarely called on him voluntarily and though his voice had been stoic as always, something about the cadence was off. And so Majima went, cursing whatever softness inside of him that still had him running to those he cared about.
Kiryu wanted to meet at some fancy karaoke place Majima had never been to. Not like he was all that familiar with the options around town anyway. He wasn't in much of a singing mood most days. Kiryu was standing out front when he arrived, and judging by the cigarette butts littering the ground near his feet, he'd been there a while. “Didn’t take ya for the singin’ type, Kiryu-chan,” Majima exclaimed obnoxiously. Kiryu gave him a look, brows furrowing. “It reminds me of simpler times,” he said quietly. A heaviness settled in Majima’s gut. Not knowing how to respond, he laughed and headed inside, Kiryu trailing silently behind him.
Kiryu was quiet. Well, quieter than the man usually was, if such a thing was possible. He didn't respond to any of Majima’s ribbing, opting instead to tackle the bottle of whisky at their table with a somewhat concerning seriousness. It made Majima nervous. Annoyance or anger from Kiryu he could understand—it would all lead to a fight, in the end. But tonight Kiryu just seemed…sad. Fighting him like that would be no fun, he mused. Not that he was really in the mood for a real fight anyway—he was too tired and too hollow tonight.
Instead, Majima lounged on the leather seat, spreading his legs wider than necessary, nursing his drink. Kiryu flicked through the songs on the machine next to him. Half empty bottles of beer and whisky already littered the table in front of them. Kiryu still hadn’t picked a song. Majima glanced over at the machine and read the title of the song Kiryu had been staring at for what seemed like the past five minutes, “Judgment, huh? Ain’t that one of those pop-rock things that was all the rage in your day?” Kiryu grunted and quickly flicked to the next song. Feeling restless, Majima grabbed the microphone from the stand and poked Kiryu in the shoulder. “If ya ain’t gonna pick somethin’, pass it over. Time’s a-wastin’.”
He swiped through the song titles aimlessly, settling on some popular ballad he recognized. The sad guitar of the intro began playing over the speakers in the room. Majima swayed with the music, putting on a show of sincerity. Kiryu stared at him impassively, his expression unreadable. Majima huffed and started to sing, purposely making his voice careen off-pitch and off-beat. He threw a mockingly mournful look at Kiryu, playing up the drama of the song with the growl in his voice.
The first three verses of the song were pretty standard love song stuff. Swearing devotion and all that emotional shit. He followed along as best he could, making sure to put on a show.
“If you're happy, if you're happy, it’s alright…”
A flash of brown eyes, the taste of takoyaki.
His voice cracked and he covered it with a screech.
“If you’re happy, if you’re happy, I really don’t mind…”
A white dress, the smell of massage lotion.
What was wrong with him all of a sudden? Maybe he’d drunk more than he thought. He forced more crazed emotion into his voice in an effort to continue his act, but it was starting to feel stupid and pointless. Kiryu was still staring at him with that unreadable expression on his face. Majima wished that he would at least roll his eyes or something. Something, anything, so that he could play all of this off as just the Mad Dog being his unpredictable self.
By the time Majima reached the end of the chorus, it was becoming hard to pretend the emotion in his voice was for show. His throat felt swollen with years of things unsaid.
“I love you, I love you. But I don’t deserve to say, ‘please don’t forget me’”
“If you're living, if you're living, I really don't mind! I'll fight again and again for you.”
“I love you, I love you, I don't need money, pride, or anything.”
The bridge of the song came out as a desperate plea, as he ignored the lyrics playing on the screen in favor of saying the words that had been ringing in his head for the past eighteen years. It was ridiculous but the alcohol buzzing through his system made it hard to care. Just once, he would say these words that were never intended to be heard.
“You should be happy. That…that’s enough for me. That’s my…yeah. That’s my happiness. I wish I could say, ‘please don’t forget me’. I wish I could say, ‘I love you’. But it doesn’t matter. If you forget me, I won’t mind. It’s okay. At least you’ll be alive, you’ll be happy. That’s all I ever wanted, really.”
He couldn’t look at Kiryu anymore—his vision had become dangerously blurry. The song was winding down and he felt hollowed out, the pit in his stomach starting to ache. He started as the mic was plucked from his hand. The next queued song had begun to play. How long had he been rambling? He stalked back to his seat, hiding the tremble in his hands by reaching for his cigarettes.
Kiryu stood, not looking at Majima as he began to sing. His smooth baritone was steady, betraying nothing.
“Yes, tonight. At our promised place…”
Kiryu’s brows were furrowed with concentration, as he made the effort to hit every note correctly.
“Yes, tonight. I'll be waiting. It feels like I'll meet you on a night like this.”
The song was a yearning thing, full of regrets and abandoned dreams. It made Majima want to scream. Why had he agreed to this? As the final notes played, Kiryu walked heavily back to the table, grabbing his drink and draining his glass in one gulp. Majima opened his mouth, Kiryu had invited him out of some sense of loneliness—there was pain here that he did not know how to broach. Kiryu cleared his throat, sparing him the effort.
“Majima-nii-san, it’s been a year since Nishiki died.”
Majima snapped his mouth shut. What was he supposed to say to that? So the song was about Nishikiyama. Nishikiyama, the man who had gone dark in the ten years Kiryu spent in prison. Nishikiyama, who had been Kiryu’s shadow for so many years before that. Nishikiyama, Kiryu’s sworn brother. And judging by the song, perhaps something more. He wanted to say, I understand. Or I feel the same. “Ah,” he said intelligently, instead. He looked down at his hands, exhaustion flooding him. The weight of his snakeskin jacket felt suffocating and he scrubbed at his eye hard, flexing his shoulders in discomfort.
“Were you singing about Makoto-san?” Kiryu spoke again. Majima jerked his head to face the other man, his eye narrowing.
“She asked me about you, you know,” Kiryu interrupted, the steadiness of his voice making Majima want to hit something. “There aren’t too many one-eyed Yakuza who were involved in the Empty Lot incident. I figured it had to be you.”
Majima reached out to grab at Kiryu’s shoulder roughly, pulling him in close to hiss in his face, “Was that a threat, Kiryu-chan?” Kiryu didn’t even do him the courtesy of flinching, his eyes staring solemnly into Majima’s own.
“You should know me better than that, nii-san.”
He shook Majima’s hand off gently and leaned forward to pour himself another shot of whisky. Majima’s hand hung in the air. He was shaking, he realized, dropping his hand quickly to the seat between them. His throat was so dry, but he felt pinned to the spot, afraid to move. It felt like he had stumbled on a yawning chasm of unresolved feelings he wasn't ready to address. Kiryu wasn’t even looking at him, eyes still on the glass in his hand as he swirled the contents gently.
“I think you should go see her, nii-san,” he started again. “She told me that she’s thinking about moving overseas. This might be your last chance.” Kiryu broke off to swallow roughly, his jaw clenching.
“It’s better not to have regrets.” He turned to look at Majima again, the pain in his eyes so naked that Majima averted his gaze.
“Seein’ her would just put her in danger. She doesn’t belong in our world,” he muttered, watching the lyrics of the now replaying song scroll across the screen. Kiryu made a low sound in his throat, “Shouldn’t that be a choice for her to make?”
“What the fuck d’ya mean, Kiryu?” Majima snapped, patience suddenly worn thin. “What other choice was there to make? Ya know better than anyone else what our lives are like, how it takes and takes from anyone we bring into this. Is Haru-chan not proof enough?”
Kiryu didn’t respond right away, stopping to take another infuriatingly slow sip from his glass. Majima felt cold and too sober, the flush of alcohol drained out of him.
“Haruka was scouted, you know, by some agency man. Said she was a natural, that he’d train her to be a star. She’d have been safe, protected. Away from this life.”
Majima started, remembering all the times she’d dragged them to sing karaoke together, her soft voice lighting up the room. He could see her on a stage now, her bright smile wide on her face.
“She cried when I told her,” Kiryu let out a low chuckle. “Never seen her so mad. She accused me of making decisions for her. ‘Don’t leave me again’, she’d said. What was I supposed to say to that?”
Majima clenched his hands into fists and scoffed, “That’s different. Haru-chan’s a child.”
“Everyone needs somebody, nii-san. I just think you should give things a chance before it’s too late.” Kiryu raised an eyebrow at him, “Besides, you’re barely yakuza anymore. Isn’t Majima Construction a legitimate business? You’re practically a regular salaryman.”
Majima twisted his face into an exaggerated grimace, “Don’t make me hurl, Kiryu-chan.” Kiryu laughed, properly now, standing up to answer the phone ringing in the corner of the room. Their time was up and they'd only sung two songs. What a mess they were. The lights flicked back on and Kiryu walked back to slip a business card in front of him. Majima would recognize the green of the logo anywhere.
“Think about it,” Kiryu said seriously.
Majima didn’t respond, but he pocketed the card as they left the room anyway. He’d throw it away on the way home, he told himself. Whatever feelings had been dredged up for Kiryu on the anniversary of Nishikiyama’s death, there was no use in reopening doors long closed for himself. He’d made that decision years ago.
He stopped Kiryu with a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry about Nishikiyama,” he said awkwardly. Kiryu turned to look at him briefly, emotion swirling in his dark eyes for a moment. “I appreciate that, nii-san,” he said softly, turning to stride away. Majima let his hand drop to his side, the weight of the business card burning in his pocket.