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‘Well, that's gonna be a shitshow…what was the name of the place, again?’
Majima strolled down the dirt road, his shoe kicking at a tiny stone he'd found a hundred metres back and carried with small kicks all the way with him. It was almost meditative. To send it flying forward, only to find it again after a couple of steps. Kick it and find it and kick it once more. Rinse and repeat. A never-ending game of tag, almost like—
He sighed. It was still too hot to smoke, never mind the hour, and he was nervous enough to crave a drag or two, and the shoes he wore weren't broken in, and the setting sun was piercing through his sunglasses, and there was no one to answer his question, and… He could go on with complaints forever.
‘Damn, what was it?’ he whispered breathlessly and reached for his pack of cigs. Hot or not, he needed one right now.
He kind of wished someone had come along, but it was too risky. His coming here was a problem in and of itself, but with that he was ready to deal. He could justify being here alone in case of being disclosed and interrogated. Just havin' a holiday, what's the prob? Or, visitin' a friend, minding my own damn biz. Nothin' special, no one cares about yer families, guys. Might be from Tōjō, but here not for ya. However, if even one of his boys came with him—well, that would be Kantō sneaking into someone else's turf.
Majima lit his cigarette. The air was dense and wet, and breathing was a challenge enough, but he needed to loosen, even if just a bit. Smoke crept down his throat, and he felt a soft kick at the back of his head.
Okay. You go in, find the girl, talk to her, and go out. How hard can it be?
Yet it was hard. Would she be suspicious? After how they'd first met, probably. With the questions he had, surely.
Would she even recognise him? Yeah, Majima wasn't easy to forget—but, well, he did his best to look as plain as he could, wearing a linen shirt with long sleeves, jeans, sneakers, and sunglasses, hiding all the scars and his tattoo, and the last time he saw her was…he couldn't even recall. Why wouldn't she recognise him, though? Could one forget the face of their kidnapper? Nah.
He took another drag and resumed his walk. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could leave. It was too damn hot, his shirt was becoming wet from all the sweat, and he could feel the beads rolling down his back. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was close to deafening.
He was in desperate need of a shower and of punching a couple of faces.
Seeing a small figurine of a lion, Majima sighed in relief. That detective hadn't lied, it seemed; but if he were honest—it would have been hilarious if he'd come from Tokyo to Okinawa to find nothing at all, just because the old fuck had given him a false lead. He'd laugh his ass off, maybe even tell the fuzz that the joke was good. Even though it wasn't really, and he wouldn't even be pissed off; he'd just be despondent that all the effort was for naught.
The moment he turned at the lion statue and entered the yard, Majima heard a loud bark. A shiba ran at him, seemingly angry, but seeing that he wasn't trying to flee or attack, it lowered its aggression level to suspicious.
‘Yo. What's yer name?’ Majima asked quietly, squatting down and offering his free hand for inspection. The dog looked pleased with this approach and barked again, but now wagging its tail lightly. It looked old.
He took another drag and patted the dog, its nose wrinkled from the smoke. Its fur was soft and comforting; if only it was enough to bring some peace to his mind. Yeah, he'd appreciate that.
The yard was spacious, and the house itself looked, even though modest, big enough for a small family. Yet Majima had a general idea of how many people it had to accommodate, and with that in mind, it seemed tiny. He could see the appeal, though, with the beach right in front, only ten steps or so, and the calm neighbourhood was inviting. That wasn't what he needed from life, but he knew how one would want to live here.
‘Mame, what's the matter?’ came a voice from inside the house, and a guy wearing glasses peeked from the door. Seeing Majima, he frowned. ‘Who are you?’
‘Yo. I'm looking for Haruka. Just wanna have a chat. Name's Majima.’
The guy looked him up and down and, probably thinking if he looked normal enough, disappeared inside the house. After a few long moments, and after the quickly finished cigarette had been carefully concealed in a pocket ashtray, he saw Haruka going out.
‘Majima-san,’ she said quietly, ‘good evening.’
‘An' good evening to ya too,’ he replied and stood up.
Haruka sure had grown up since the last time he saw her. She looked collected but had the familiar fire in her eyes.
‘What do we owe for such an unexpected visit?’
Her tone was strict; not like his visit could be good news. If any news was possible, that is, after everything that had happened.
Majima was suddenly out of air. ‘Uh. Do ya mind if we take it somewhere else?’
She looked him up and down, just like the guy before. A question was plain on her face, why the hell do you look like that? Who would believe it if she told them that Goro Majima of all people was dressed like a proper civvy? Shit, she'd get offered to have her perception of reality checked if it was someone from Kamurochō.
Haruka nodded and started walking past him, towards the beach. He followed silently.
The sun was crawling down slowly, the sky bright red and with not a single cloud in sight. Majima could hear a dozen different insects and birds chirp and sing at the same time, yet it seemed deadly quiet nevertheless. The longer their silence stretched as they walked on the sand, the more quiet it sounded around them. As they reached the water, the question died on Majima's lips.
Do you…
Although, it was never a question to begin with.
I think Kiryu might still be alive.
He couldn't just drop this bomb on her. And then it appeared to him that coming here was nothing but a huge mistake. He couldn't tell her, no matter what. It would be a false hope; it would only endanger her if she tried to look into it. It wasn't for fun that Kiryu was dead for the world. Majima of all people should know, having been dead once, even if for a shorter while. And Haruka—fuck, he had said it himself, Kiryu loved and cherished her more than anything. If Kiryu had a choice whether to keep her and all the children a target for anyone aiming at him or to die, Majima knew what he'd choose. It wouldn't matter if the death was staged or not, Kiryu would do it with no hesitation.
And now he came here, like a total dumbfuck, with his stupid hope that maybe the death had been bogus. After the girl had probably cried a bloody canister of tears.
‘What was it that you wanted to talk about, Majima-san?’
He sighed and dropped his arse on the sand. Maybe Saejima was right and he was too old for all this. Maybe he should just settle here and become a gardener or a fisher… he used to like fishing, actually. It would be peaceful, calm, and nice. And hot. But maybe Hokkaidō would work better?
He wanted to puke from the thought alone.
‘Uh. Y'know when ya plan a nice long speech but when the time comes ya can't deliver 'cause words just dissolve? Yeah well, it's exactly that. Y'mind?’ he said as he took out his pack of Hi-Lite. Haruka shook her head, and he smoked. ‘Guess ya could sum it up in, just wanna check how ya doin' 'n maybe say goodbye.’
‘Goodbye?’
‘Not t'ya. I mean… This place was important.’ Majima thought it was stupid how he avoided saying the name out loud, so he added, ‘To Kiryu-san.’ The postfix felt alien on his lips but it was proper at least; he looked up at Haruka. ‘If ya let me, 'f course.’
‘Only if you join us for dinner.’
‘Huh?!’ he almost choked on smoke. ‘I don' really follow.’
‘I know it wasn't exactly on good terms that we first met, Majima-san,’ Haruka looked at him expectantly, and he nodded abruptly. ‘But I do not hold any grudge against you. I've heard that you were of great support for ojisan, and I don't think I've ever heard of you hurting him.’
Majima cackled. ‘Girl I've hurt him more'n once, of that ya can be sure.’
‘I do not mean in a brawl. You've never stabbed him in the back, literally or not.’
He smirked with a sharp exhale and stared at the sea. Yeah. If he ever wanted to stab Kiryu, that'd be face to face, and he'd be pretty beaten up himself beforehand. Majima would lie if he said he didn't miss their fights, especially those that took place after Kiryu had just left the joint, when every battle was fiercer than the last, when each time Kiryu was a bit stronger than before, gradually getting back in shape and reclaiming the title of the Dragon of Dōjima.
Fuck, Majima missed him.
‘Have you visited him?’ Haruka asked, sitting down by his side, her arms hugging her knees.
‘Yup.’
At one point Majima thought he'd grow roots at the grave, attending daily and spending an obnoxious amount of time there. It must have been a miracle he'd never run into anyone else; probably due to the late hours he chose. And he wasn't the only visitor, neat bouquets appearing occasionally as solid proof. He'd bring flowers himself sometimes, but he wasn't sure Kiryu's family or friends would approve if they knew, so he did so rarely.
Nishida hadn't dared say anything about his trips to Okinawa. Especially not the first one, when for a few weeks all Majima had been doing was spend daytime at the cemetery, come home, drink himself into a stupor, rinse and repeat. Majima had been grateful for Ukon no Chikara, though.
The pause stretched, and Majima stole a glance at Haruka. She was calm, looking at the waves, a small smile playing on her lips.
‘So what've ya been up to?’ he asked before it became awkward.
‘Not much, really. Being a mother means you're always busy but have about zero plans. But since Haruto started to attend daycare, I've been thinking of finding a job.’
‘Oh? How old's he?’
‘He'll turn four this year.’
‘Shit, time sure does fly.’
‘It does.’
With a strong gust of wind, the salty smell washed over them, and a wave almost reached his toes.
‘Do you miss him?’ Haruka asked without a warning, and this time Majima choked and had to clear his throat.
Like hell.
‘Yeah.’
‘I do, too. We've been to the grave a few times, and each time there were flowers. It's nice to see how many people share the sentiment. Makes me feel less lost.’
Majima smiled and closed his eyes. ‘I know the feeling. Like you have a hole in your chest, but when you see you're not alone in this, it becomes a bit more bearable.’
Haruka chuckled, and he looked at her in question.
‘Your accent just disappeared for a second.’
‘Gimme a break, gettin' all sentimental an' shit.’
‘Well, it's not everyday I meet someone who knew ojisan well.’
‘Not like I knew him that well, t'be fair.’
‘Probably better than me.’
‘Nah. Longer—yes, but not better. I didn' live with him or anythin'. Don' even know what he thought of me, if I were completely honest.’
That was true. However good he could read Kiryu's behaviour patterns, or get a grasp of his general thoughts, any deeper level of emotions was locked from Majima. Even though Kiryu complained that Majima could read him like a book, it was only partially so. Kiryu would come to ask for help in the time of need, and would come to help if needed, and there probably was mutual respect between them — but anything else was an uncharted territory.
They hardly ever talked in the later years, so Majima had no idea where this itch to find Kiryu even came from. Where the black hole in his chest came from. Why he missed Kiryu so bad. Why it was enough for him to hear one phrase from that Akiyama dork to start checking one place after another. Why he spent like a month in Okinawa, and still came here regularly.
‘He spoke quite fondly of you, if that's what you mean.’
Why it only hurt more when he heard Haruka say that.
They did fuck a couple of times when they were younger, but that was the extent of it. One such time, Kiryu even tried to hold his hand afterwards, lying breathless in a run-down love hotel, only for Majima to snatch his hand away and hear a muffled and confused sorry.
Shit, he fucked up so bad.
‘Just shows he didn' know me that much, then,’ he muttered grudgingly.
‘Let's not turn this into a therapy session, Majima-san. Come on, it is time for dinner.’
‘You sure ya wanna see me there? Gonna ruin yer nice family evening.’
‘I hope you won't, otherwise…’ she stood up and looked at him, ‘There will be consequences.’
Haruka said it in such a plain and calm, yet at the same time threatening voice, that Majima believed her. It also made him think of his own mother.
But when he saw how Haruka cared about her cohabitants, husband, and son, any hint of resemblance was gone. She oozed warmness and love; it didn't feel mandatory. She wouldn't say something along, ‘I do all this for you, and you just—’
He didn't really have a family anymore. His parents were long gone—even if his mum was still alive, she wouldn't want to do anything with him. Tōjō was as good as disbanded as it was now, never mind the plans. The thought of Mirei still made his breath catch in his throat. Daigo was a brat, and he still needed Majima, it seemed, so at least he had that. And, of course, Saejima. There would never be something even remotely close to this tiny house in his life, though. Well, that's gokudō for you. Not like he didn't know what he had signed up for.
What he sure didn't sign up for was a barrage of questions.
‘Are you ojisan’s friend?’
Yeah, kinda.
‘What’s your occupation?’
I actually have a construction company.
‘Why do you wear sunglasses inside?’
Uh. Let's just say it was an accident, 'kay? Don' wanna scare y'all.
‘Do you have tattoos like ojisan?’
Yeah. A hannya.
‘Can you fight?’
I think so. Used to brawl a lot.
‘Are you as strong as ojisan?’
…No.
‘Can I sit in your lap?’
Majima, dumbfounded, looked at Haruto. Haruka was about to say something like, ‘Don't harass our guest,’ but Majima quickly nodded, and the boy positioned himself on his legs.
‘When did you meet?’
Thirty years ago or so.
‘Wow, you must know him well, then.’
Not really.
‘What do you think of ojisan?’
That question came from a girl with pigtails — was it Eri?
‘I…’
He suddenly got lost. The kids radiated warmth and curiosity, they seemed to genuinely like him. He looked to the side and patted Haruto's head.
‘I think he was one 'f the kindest people I've met. An' I've never met anyone stronger than 'im. Quite a mixture, eh?’
‘Do you miss him?’
It wasn't Haruka this time, but the attack was just as abrupt.
The house had a distinct smell—comfort. Love. Family. The thought washed over Majima, suffocating him; this was where Kiryu was supposed to be now. Not under the ground. Not anywhere else, all alone, wherever he was if he was alive. Not in the gokudō world. Not near Majima. Maybe Daigo could be here, too, but in a t-shirt and with a resignation letter. Not fresh bruises and broken bones.
Coming here was a fucking mistake indeed. He should have learnt his lesson when it took him 18 years to come to terms with his feelings for Makoto, but now he was invading this space, Kiryu's most personal world.
His lips curled.
‘Okay, guys, let's leave Majima-san alone. Haruto, come on, I have to talk to him,’ Haruka probably noticed how he was crumbling in on himself, and hastily shooed everyone away.
She led him into Kiryu's old room, dropping a quiet, ‘Take your time, Majima-san,’ and he was left alone. Now, this room smelled of Kiryu alright. It was as if he had just stepped out to grab a drink. It looked like even while lacking living space, they didn't dare touch this room. There was a bottle of cologne on the end table, a book lying nearby, still open, cover looking up. A futon was neatly rolled up in the corner. A light beige shirt hung on the chair. Papers were scattered all over the desk, with a framed photo in the corner. Of course it was the kids' one.
Majima hadn't thought himself sentimental, but now he was almost ready to reconsider.
Being in Kamurochō hurt, so he escaped to Okinawa occasionally, only to lie drunk, staring at the ceiling and trying all he could to process that Kiryu had died. Every cell of his body screamed no, he just could not believe it. The last couple of years had been a catastrophe. He needed to collect himself.
Being here hurt. It was probably the most intimate moment between them—yet Majima was here alone. He felt invasive, alien. Wrong. He did not belong here, even as a guest.
Seeing the kids hurt. Kiryu's death didn't just take their friend away; he was a father of theirs. It must have been much more devastating, but there they were, still living their lives, and not being a hot mess. Majima could learn from them.
His eye stung and shoulders twitched, but he took a deep breath, snatched a clear sheet of paper from the desk, and sat on his knees near the tea table, composing himself.
Majima didn't believe in any deity really, but now he felt he could pray. It might have been stupid, but he wanted to do it. Maybe someone was there and would listen.
That if Kiryu was dead, his kids would find their ways in life and be happy.
That if Kiryu was alive, he didn't suffer in loneliness now, and that he could eventually come back here, to the kids. And finally be happy and at peace.
He folded the paper once, twice. His fingers didn't remember the process that well, so the figure would come out wonky, but he didn't care. It was a stupid impulse — like coming here, like walking around Kamurochō, reminiscing of the last 30 years, like silently crying at night, his breath calm, only tears falling down, like having feelings in the first place. It was a stupid, childish ritual, but well, he was surrounded by children. Maybe it was contagious.
He put the paper crane on the tea table, and clasped his hands, trying to calm down his storming thoughts.
His feelings didn't really matter—but not in a bad way. The pain would wither, the itch would cease, the hole in his chest would heal—he hoped, but didn't care that much if it didn't. All he wanted was that both Kiryu and the kids could finally find peace, in any way possible.
It was only fair.