Work Text:
It was, what now, two in the morning? Three? He couldn't be bothered to check, and he didn't give a shit anyway.
Occasions on which Majima Goro slept a full night were rare, and for good reason. Never a stranger to the night life, he preferred the blurry haze of light and color the city had to offer late into the evening far more to its stark sunlit streets during the day. To him, the night was freedom—freedom to do what he wanted without the harsh gaze of the Tojo falling upon him, leading him to late-night escapades through the streets of Kamurocho. Bars, clubs, stores that sold the same shit since the 80s; Kamurocho was a spiderweb, entrancing people to its neon lights and attractions before tangling them in business they’d never get out of til they died.
This night was different from most, though. Never before had Majima’s nighttime wanderings led him to Kiryu’s apartment on the outskirts of the city.
He didn't know what was up with him tonight, honestly. He’d never even been inside Kiryu’s home before, only knowing the place from having followed him around long enough that he could find his way here with a blindfold on. And judging by the man’s ever-stoic face, his utter non-reaction to the other at his door, he could only assume Kiryu was already aware that Majima knew where he lived.
“‘Sup, Kiryu-chan?"
A drowsy-eyed, disoriented Kiryu stares him down from the doorway, his furrowed brows knitting further into his forehead inquisitively. He must've been sleeping, apparent from his attire, or lack thereof, only wearing loose pants and a thin-strapped tank top. A far cry from his usual gray and maroon get-up, and definitely an odd sight, considering in the 17-or-other years Majima had known him he’d only seen him sporting some semi-formal garb and carefully styled, slicked back hair. Right now, Kiryu’s short hair fell in thick clumps over his forehead, some stray strands poking away from the rest, messy and undone from sleep.
Kiryu narrows his eyes at the lean figure before him. “What are you doing here, Majima-san?"
Reasonable question. But Majima had no idea what to say. In all honesty, he had no idea what had brought him here. Felt damn glad to have come, though, eating up the sight of a casual Kiryu standing in front of him. He wonders how many people got the chance to see the Dragon of Dojima looking like a cranky bitch who just got his beauty sleep interrupted, and figures it's not many. How lucky am I? He grins to himself.
Not getting a response, he continues, “Look, if this is one of your… Schemes, it’s not going to work. I’m not fighting you at two in the morning.” He slurs out his words with a rub of his eyes, stretching at the skin of the circles beneath them.
Majima still says nothing, taking in every movement of his face, his hands. Refusing to take his eye off him in a way he knows would make the man squirm, had he been paying attention. His uncharacteristic silence levels the meager attempt at interrogation into the ground, creating a heavy air between the two. His mouth opens as if to respond, but for once in his life, the Mad Dog couldn't find his bark, and his mouth shuts right back up without a word. This earns a grimace from Kiryu, finally realizing the relentlessness of Majima’s eye, glaring at him unblinkingly like a starved animal looking at a piece of meat.
After a few contemplative glances, Kiryu takes a step out of the doorway and grabs Majima by the arm with a firm grip, pulling him into the apartment before he has a chance to react.
Majima is tugged on unsure feet into the unfamiliar room, instinctively leaving his shoes and jacket at the front as the other man frees his arm and shuts the door behind him. Well, it’s one thing to enter someone’s home, but it's another thing for that someone to just up and pull you in and shut the door. It'd be pointless to walk back out, even if he had no reason to be here in the first place. In an attempt to make sense of his surroundings, Majima looks around, only able to catch vague shapes of minimal furniture and decor. Small fridge. Low table in the middle of the room. Was that a potted plant in the corner?
While Majima stands aimlessly wondering what to do with himself, Kiryu's shadowy figure shuffles around through the darkness of the unlit apartment with purpose. The dark, paired with Majima’s lack of vision on his left, made it so only god would know what the fuck the other man was doing. He squints, trying to adjust. Footsteps over there. He almost wishes he’d just turn the goddamn lights on, but he knows the sudden light would have him complaining. Now footsteps over here. He thinks he might've caught a glimpse of Kiryu carrying something.
“You can stay here for the night, if that’s what you’re here for. So, don't feel like you’ve got to leave at some point, or anything.”
If Kiryu's offering, who was he to refuse?
Majima lazily steps around the few stray items he can make out lying on the floor, mapping out the path with his feet. He follows the sound of Kiryu's shuffling while keeping one hand on the wall to his right to guide himself through the cramped space. After some more uncertain footwork—resulting in an empty beer can kicked over and a toe stubbed on that table he saw earlier, leaving him cussing under his breath—he finally reaches the squishy mass of a futon near the edge of the room. Expectant, he then turns his head to look where he knew Kiryu was laying out another right next to it from the sound of his approaching heavy footsteps and a futon flopping on the ground.
“I have an extra,” he explains. “That one’s mine.”
“Fuck that. Finders keepers.” Majima steps forward and collapses upon the original futon, still warm from before he’d disturbed Kiryu’s sleep with his unexpected visit.
Kiryu’s only response is a sigh as he sits down on the one next to him, pulling a thin bedsheet over his lower body as he lays on his back with no further complaints. Damn, too tired to even fight for his bed? His head turns to look at Majima, and although they couldn't really see much in the dark room, they were close enough to just barely see each other.
“If you’ve got to be chatty, try keeping it down, please. Haruka’s asleep in the next room. But if you want something, just tell me.”
“So courteous, Kiryu-chan. Ya gonna offer me some of yer clothes ta wear to bed next? Maybe a teddy bear?” Majima sneers, settling back onto the futon and soaking up the fading remnants of Kiryu’s body warmth.
A simple grunt. “No.”
“But’cha said to let ya know if I wanted somethin’?” Majima drawls out in a whiny voice.
“I’m not in the mood to deal with you messing around, Majima-san.” Kiryu grumbles, clearly still tired and in disarray from being awoken.
Majima has to hold back the cackle beginning to bubble up from his throat at the outwardly grumpy response, folding his hands behind his head as he faces the ceiling. It was so much fun to mess with him, simply because he'd take Majima’s dumb plans way too seriously. It's just his nature, he thinks—he could probably be clever when he needed to be, but things tended to fly over his head a bit. Not that it really mattered, no need to hassle yourself on wit when you've got shoulders scaped like mountains and the punching force of a fucking bus. It was just an endearing quality of his, and it especially made Majima enjoy playing with him. Sometimes, when he got lucky, Kiryu would even play along. Staring at Kiryu’s silhouette from the corner of his eye, he suddenly felt like patting himself on the back for having impulsively stolen the other’s bed, since if he hadn't Kiryu would have been in his blind spot.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Get’cherself to bed, why don't ya? Y’sound tired as shit.” Majima emphasizes his words with a wave of the hand, as if he were dismissing one of the low-rank punks in his family.
Kiryu’s fingers trace the bridge of his nose, grumbling still as he leans up on his elbow, to Majima’s surprise. “Well, I can’t now.”
“Haw?” Majima quirks an eyebrow, his eye lighting up in interest. “Why the hell not?”
“You- Tch.” Kiryu pinches at the skin between his brows, shaking his head for some reason that Majima doesn't understand. “Why are you here?”
“Yer the one who invited me in.” He says plainly.
“That’s…” Kiryu lets out a deep sigh. “No, I mean… Why’d you come here?”
A long, uncomfortable silence stretches between the two like a desert. In the darkness, Majima meets Kiryu’s expectant eyes, waiting for some kind of response that didn't exist. He gnaws at his inner cheek, wracking his head for something to say now that he knew Kiryu was hung up on this and wouldn't go the hell back to sleep if he was really thinking about something. Majima really just wanted Kiryu to get back to bed by now, feeling bad for having awoken him. Some dumb part of him just wanted to watch the guy sleep, deep down, and it makes him feel like a freak. Another dumb part of him wanted to knock Kiryu the fuck out himself just so he could. He discards both thoughts at the sight of Kiryu’s face now, still hanging on faithfully for a response. Shit, I gotta get this guy to bed and get outta here.
“Dunno. Jus’ felt like it,” he finally snaps out of his thoughts, laying on his side facing Kiryu.
It's not like it was an outright lie. He really didn't know why he was here and not out drinking at some bar, or picking on some random goons in an alleyway. He’d been out and about like usual earlier, got bored, wandered here on a whim and knocked up a storm on the door until Kiryu answered. That was really all there was to it. Nothing more than another one of Majima's many impulses he acts upon. The response doesn't seem to be enough to satisfy Kiryu’s curiosity, as he averts his gaze and lays back down with a huff of annoyance, as if he was expecting some other answer.
“I don't… I don’t get you.”
But did he really not? Sometimes Majima felt like the only damn person in the world who got him was Kiryu fucking Kazuma. They were in the same boat, after all, and they had been ever since all the shit that eventually roped their lives together back in ‘88. Things like relationships and family were unattainable to men like them. Both yakuza to the bone. To settle down with a nice lady, have a real home and a kid, it just wasn't possible. Not unless they wanted them to end up dead in a ditch. Their line of work left a trail of destruction in their wake, one that neither of them wanted to pull innocent people into. Neither could live a normal life if he tried. In this sort of world, all they could ever really have was each other.
“Better for me, then. Wouldn't be able to catch ya off guard if you got me.”
Majima fakes a yawn and shuts his eye as if he was tired, knowing he’d probably not sleep for a while. He just hoped pretending he was falling asleep would spur the same results from Kiryu. Then he could get up, sneak around the apartment. Maybe raid his fridge, snatch something lying around or see if he could find any embarrassing secrets of the guy and get his ass out of dodge when his curiosity was satisfied. He nestles the side of his face into the dip of the pillow. A cheap thing, smelling faintly of Kiryu’s shampoo, damp and too soft to have reformed its shape after Kiryu’s head laid upon it. Not that Majima minded.
He keeps telling himself that he needs to get out of here. That he wants to go back out into the streets of Kamurocho and leave Kiryu up in the air about everything like he always does after letting himself slip for a bit. Go right back to being that Mad Dog who mindlessly chases after the Dragon of Dojima. It’s not like Kiryu’s stupid—Majima’s sure he knows by now that the whole act of a total nutjob is all for show, but the more he lets the façade down, the more vulnerable he becomes. He’s not sure if he wants that or not. Thinking of it leaves a raw, aching feeling in his head. No, it’s much simpler for him to tell himself he doesn't give a damn about the man.
Yet not a single part of himself believes that. He was drawn to him. Couldn't shut Kiryu out if he tried. The man’s very eyes cut and pried into him every time they were together, begging to know more. Every punch, every kick, every crackle of pain that rattled him to his bones met with slashes of a tanto, the smack of a bat, crazed laughter, yet he always continues coming back for more, like a game, trying to understand. And Majima supposes he should let him.
He pulls himself out of his ever-spiraling thoughts to realize that for a while, it’s been quiet. Too quiet. Far too quiet for Majima to believe a man in his late 30s had actually fallen asleep. Seriously, not a single snore, nor any movement or anything. Total bullshit. He sighs, furrowing his eyebrows. Well, the gig was up, pretending to sleep hadn't worked. Back to square one.
“For real, man,” Majima starts, “What’s keepin’ you up now?” Upon opening his eye, he finds Kiryu's eyes wide open and staring straight at his face. Taken aback, he sits up. Geez, talk about intense. “The fuck’s up with you?”
“I thought you were asleep.” Kiryu mirrors him, also sitting up for what seems like the hundredth time this night. My bein’ here’s really making him restless, huh? Guess the feeling’s mutual.
“So you were watchin’ me like a creep?” Not that he actually cared, considering he himself had thought about watching the other sleep before this, but the thought that a man like Kiryu would be watching if he'd actually fallen asleep definitely piqued his interest, and he was glad to have something new to focus on after trapping himself in his head moments before.
“...Don't put it like that. I was just wondering why you sleep with that thing on.” Kiryu says this like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
“Whut?” Majima doesn't follow.
“That,” when Majima still doesn't understand, he makes an exasperated gesture to the left side of his face, “The eyepatch. Why do you wear that to bed? Isn't it uncomfortable?”
"Oh." It was… Such a normal thing to point out. Being completely honest, he barely noticed or thought about it, outside of sometimes getting an itch on his eyelid or something. Most of the time, he was just so used to wearing it that he didn’t even feel it on his face anymore. He’d just had it long enough that it felt like another article of clothing to him. If you didn't think about what lay beneath it, it was just another part of his signature outfit. His persona. An eyepatch was fitting for the title of a “Mad Dog” yakuza, and he's sure some people who saw him on the street must think it's only for show and his left eye is perfectly intact. But he knows Kiryu knows better than that.
“I guess when I first got it, yeah, it felt real weird,” he reminisces, “But not anymore.”
“It’s weird to think of you without it. I’ve never seen you without that thing on.” Kiryu replies thoughtfully.
Shit, really? It made sense, he never had it off. Still, he’d known Kiryu for a damn long time by now, so the realization smacks him in the face like a brick. Kiryu stares at him head-on, giving him this hilarious look that says I really want to see how you look without the eyepatch on without saying it out loud. Majima, understanding, snickers at Kiryu’s transparency. Despite his mostly unchanging expression, Kiryu’s eyes were always so expressive that they were all Majima could ever need to read the man like a book.
“Knock yerself out.” To Kiryu’s surprise, Majima tilts his head toward the other in acceptance, figuring he may as well indulge the man’s interest. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to let him know more.
It takes a moment for it to click that Majima knew what he was thinking, but once he realizes Kiryu’s hands immediately raise to his face with an impatient quickness, carefully hooking his fingers beneath the straps of the eyepatch. Majima tenses up for a moment when the patch is removed and unfamiliar cool air ghosts over his eyelid. His gaze fixes on Kiryu’s hand as he sets it down on the ground next to his futon, and he looks back to the other only to meet a gaze sharper than any tanto he could wield, stabbing straight through him, and damn close to his face. Damn this guy. Majima wonders if Kiryu knows just what the hell he does to him.
“Yer starin’ like a kid at the zoo! Back the hell up!” Despite his remark, Majima makes no effort to move himself, nor to push Kiryu away.
Kiryu listens, however, to the slight dismay of Majima, letting his face fall away from the other. “Sorry. It’s just really interesting to see. I’ve always wanted to ask you about it, but I figured it’d be a touchy subject.” Majima quirks a brow at that, and Kiryu shrugs, continuing, “I’ve just heard rumors, and stuff, so…”
“Naw. Maybe a while ago it mighta been. I don't care now, though.” Majima takes this chance to peel his gloves off and set them down next to the eyepatch, thankful to be at least partially relieved from the clammy confines of leather. “Ask away. I’m feelin’ chatty, anyway.”
“Well, just from a few stories I've heard, I sort of know how you lost it,” he treads carefully with a frown, “But I’ve always wondered if…” Kiryu fumbles around with his words a bit, forming the sentence as he goes along as if walking on eggshells. “I’m just curious if you actually have an eye there. Is it damaged, or just… Gone?”
Majima snorts. “That's about how I’d put it. If ya want proof, just touch it,” he jokes.
“Can I?” Kiryu’s eyes light up like a child.
Well, he damn well didn't expect that. This man and his odd fascinations. Kiryu had a rather whimsical curiosity unfitting of his years, unfitting of the hardened ex-yakuza he was. It just made him all the more adorable to Majima, his honest desire to learn everything he could about his strange companion; not coming from any malicious intent but from a place of genuine, untainted intrigue. Just one of many traits that made Majima wish he could tear Kiryu to pieces.
“I mean…” Majima nabs at some dead skin on his lip. “Sure, why the hell not?” He quickly covers up his moment of uncertainty by leaning right into Kiryu’s personal space, shoving the left side of his face toward Kiryu with a twisted grin, making the man squirm away for a moment before regaining his motive and raising his hand to the other’s face once more.
Kiryu’s thumb ever-so-gently brushes over the closed eyelid, confirming his curiosity as he carefully caresses above the empty socket. Majima could never have imagined that those same hands that had roughed up and bruised him so many times could be so gentle against his face. The way Kiryu handles it, with nothing less than utmost care, it damn near made his heart ache. Such an unexpected touch from the man, but Majima wouldn't prefer anything else. He lets out a shaky breath he didn't realize he was holding, and prays Kiryu wouldn't notice.
“Are you nervous?” Kiryu’s hand pauses and falls down to Majima’s cheek in an attempt to take his hand back.
God, he was always either dumb as rocks or insanely perceptive. Majima felt so strange. It’s been years since he lost the thing, so what was the issue? One gentle touch from another guy and he gets freaked out? No, that wasn’t the issue. The problem was that he wanted more. He wanted to maintain this closeness, and he knew the moment would end so much faster than he wanted it to. It always did. Majima quickly grabs at Kiryu’s wrist with an iron grip before he can pull his hand away from his face. Kiryu looks at him, then to his hand on his arm, and then back to him. Majima was stuck in the headlights now, left wondering what his next course of action should be.
“Let go.” Kiryu’s arm quivers in his grasp in an attempt to pull it back.
Majima’s grip only tightens, making Kiryu shoot him a frustrated look. His other hand rises to try and pry Majima’s hand off him, but Majima is quick to shove it away. He tries again, gets shoved away again. Kiryu continues to struggle, each meager attempt more futile than the last. And Majima knows better than anyone if he really tried, he could get his hand back in an instant. It’s whatever causes him to not do that that keeps his hand firmly on his wrist. He needed to know.
He needed to know what always had Kiryu coming back to him. What kept him from taking out everything he had on him when he damn well deserved to. What made him invite him into his home at two in the fucking morning instead of sending him back off into the city’s streets. What made him caress his face as if they were anything more than friends. And he needed to know if it was for the same reason he thought it was—the same reason he himself had.
Majima tugs Kiryu’s arm, forcing the man towards him, staring into his eyes barely an inch away from his face. He feels the muscle in his grasp go taut as Kiryu’s eyes widen, flitting back and forth in confusion. He watches sweat bead up on his forehead and roll down his face, the faintest tint of blood rushing to his cheeks as his mouth presses into a firm line. Kiryu’s eyebrows knit in the middle of his face, his downturned lips pulling further into a scowl as he quits searching for something else to look at and meets Majima's eye again with a questioning look.
“What are you doing?” Kiryu's voice is low in his throat, a question or a warning depending on Majima’s answer.
Majima finally lets go of his arm and slides his hand to the back of the other man’s head, still keeping him from pulling away. He paws at Kiryu’s hair, pushing his forehead into the other’s and staring straight into his eyes. Frozen in place by Majima’s piercing glare, Kiryu didn't move, save for his heaving breaths. His hand stays paused at Majima’s cheek.
“Yer getting too old to be askin’ stupid questions like that, Kiryu-chan." He breaks his silence with a quiet response.
He wonders what might've been going through Kiryu’s mind when he saw him at his door. When he seemed so disappointed that Majima seemingly had no reason for showing up. Maybe I do, Majima thinks to himself, Maybe I just wanted to see him. He wonders if things would ever go back to normal between them after this. He wonders if things ever were normal between them.
He also wonders if Kiryu kisses the same way he fights.
Majima kisses him relentlessly, uncaringly, like a punishment for all the time they’ve spent dancing around each other. He was aggressive, a frenzy upon Kiryu’s face, grabbing at the back of the man’s head and not caring to mind his teeth or give him a moment’s breath. A lingering taste of cigarettes fills his senses, telling him Kiryu had likely smoked before heading to bed, and making him wheeze out through his nose. For a moment, Kiryu seems like he’s been beaten down to the ground before kissing back like a punch to the face. He grabs onto the other in a bruising hold, brutal and unforgiving with not even the tiniest hint of his typical reserved attitude. They kiss each other unskillfully, like a game, like one of them would have to win, fighting each other with hands on each other’s faces and eyes shut tight. Exactly as Majima would've expected. Exactly as he’d always wanted.
As always, Majima’s energy is unmatched, and Kiryu is the first to go on the defensive with a sputtering cough. His disheveled appearance from earlier was only furthered by the feverish sensation of a long-needed kiss, leaving him looking like he’d been dragged through the wringer once he finally got a second to breathe. He says nothing, only staring in awe as he processes what just happened while he clutches at Majima’s bare shoulders. The sight of him almost makes Majima go and kiss him again, but Kiryu’s chest heaving with shallow breaths keeps him at bay, deciding he’s had enough for now.
“...I’ve told you before that I think stalking is a bad habit, Majima-san." Kiryu grumbles as the flush on his face deepens in color.
“Ain’t stalking if ya know I’m doin’ it.” Majima pats the other’s cheek. “And don't you pretend you didn't like that.”
Kiryu opens his mouth as if to reply, but Majima shushes him quickly with a teasing whisper.
“Haruka-chan’s in the next room, remember? How ‘bout you get back to sleep before we wake her up?” He sneers quietly, content with the huff of annoyance he gets in response and the fading taste of smoke on his lips.