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“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” A shaky, light-hearted scoff broke Kiryu out of his stupor, bringing his surroundings back into focus as he realised just how cold the streets were tonight. Majima was still looking up at him from the curb on which he sat, cigarette in hand completely forgotten as he watched the man stood beside him regain his senses, eyes suddenly darting, looking anywhere but back at him. A passing breeze reminded him to snap out of his own trance lest he end up looking like a hypocrite, and he tore his eyes away before he got stuck admiring the way the crease between Kiryu’s furrowed brows deepened with every passing second.
Cold and deeply underdressed for the weather, Majima hugged his arms close to his chest to conserve the little heat he had left. He knew winter nights were unforgiving, and he knew the two of them would eventually end up outside somehow, but… Maybe he could blame how unprepared he was on an underestimation of the weather as opposed to some silly hope that Kiryu might do something chivalrous for once. He was dressed as a woman after all, if even a caricature of one. Didn’t he deserve some sort of special consideration?
“Thought you said fighting me got you all fired up?” Kiryu tried to joke, crouching down to sit beside Majima - or maybe he should say Goromi, given how committed he seems to be to the persona - on the pavement, but it didn’t seem to land as he was met with a pointed glare instead of some smart retort.
“That was back when you had something to lose and you fought like it,” Majima sighed, taking a longer drag of the cigarette than necessary, “it’s just no fun when you’re used to it. Tojo clan’s not on your ass anymore, your biggest threat is me.”
Kiryu couldn’t deny that. As much as he used to find the man’s random appearances annoying in the beginning, it turned into a comfortable routine somewhere down the line, and now that the world wasn’t out to get him? He was basically demoted to being just some guy with a kid, no use in training much anymore. It was starting to feel more like a courtesy than anything else at this point, fighting the man that swore they were rivals to some degree. He would never admit that every time he turned a corner in the city he would scan every pylon, manhole, and pile of trash in the vicinity. He would never say it out loud, the fact that he found himself looking through crowds as he walked in the hope that he would see something familiar. It got to a point where he wasn’t conscious of it anymore, but something in his chest still twisted when Majima didn’t magically appear.
Although it was a known fact that he was a man of few words, Kiryu suddenly felt like the silence was stretching on far too long. It was uncomfortable, like there was something in the air neither of them wanted to acknowledge. He turned his head to address Majima, to say anything to get him talking again, only to be dumbstruck by the sight before him. It wasn’t anything special, but he could swear he felt something shift in the air as he watched him simply exist. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him so peaceful, almost melancholy, and suddenly the silence felt so much more inviting. It started to feel more like an opportunity, a chance to see a side of him he was never afforded in the past. The mask was slipping, whether as a conscious effort or not, and Kiryu wanted – no, needed – to watch it fall completely.
He held his breath as he observed Majima, taking note of the way shivers seemed to wrack his body and trying not to think about how the fishnets on his legs looked like they were about to burst, clearly two sizes too small. His eyes mapped Majima’s entire figure, roaming like he was going to turn blind in the next second, and the subject in question had to hold back a comment to that effect as he watched him. Soon their eyes met, and it was back to square one.
“What’d I say about that picture?” Majima smiled slightly, subdued by the sombre mood as he tried to poke fun at Kiryu once again, but was surprised when he didn’t look away. The longer their eye contact dragged on, the more self-conscious he felt, and it was almost enough to make him hug his arms even tighter. He liked being looked at, he made himself into a spectacle daily, but he never wanted to be seen. Not by anyone, but especially not Kiryu Kazuma. He didn’t care how desperate he sounded all those years ago, nor did it cross his mind to think before he spoke as he admitted to missing him while he was in jail, but he couldn’t bear to have the man actually give him what he wanted. He preferred it when attention was a distant achievement to fight for, but now Kiryu gave it too readily for comfort.
“Is that why you dressed up this time?” Kiryu asked matter-of-factly, although that might just be the way his voice sounds all the time. He can’t help how blunt he is, but this time it truly sounds like he was proud of himself for seemingly hitting the nail on the head as Majima was shocked into a silent stupor. A moment turned into a few seconds, and those drew longer into a minute before the man clad in pink snakeskin responded with a confused ‘what?’
“You said fighting is no fun anymore,” Kiryu began again, back straightening on instinct upon being questioned, embarrassed that he might have spoken out of turn, “so is that why you did something crazy? To make it different?” He almost broke out into a sweat out of fear of having said something wrong, the worry so overwhelming that he forgot to question when he started to be so concerned about what others thought of the things he said.
Majima took a second to think about the question, looking around at their surroundings as he dug deep to give an honest answer. If this were any other day, he would have most likely deflected the question with a nonsensical joke, maybe even a jab at Kiryu’s intelligence, but tonight felt different. The energy was shifting, and neither of them could do anything but let the tide take them wherever they needed to end up.
Was that the reason? Did he really buy the wig just to bring some sort of spark back to their fights? Did he get the dress specially made to entertain Kiryu before they carried out the routine? Or was there some other reason, hidden away somewhere deep in his chest that he refused to address? Majima shivered, but not because it was cold. Kiryu’s questioning gaze that burned holes into his skin kept him warm enough. He went through the trouble of getting his nails done, for god’s sake, surely that’s not all it was to him? This wasn’t just some simple exercise in being a little eccentric, this was the whole nine yards. What made him want to do that for someone he is tied to through violence and nothing else?
“You’d like that, huh?” The mask was back on, and Majima killed the long-forgotten cigarette beneath his heel as he stood. He wasn’t yet confident enough with the current atmosphere to throw a shit-eating grin his way, but he still managed a half-hearted smirk. He could’ve sworn Kiryu wilted slightly at his answer, but he wasn’t so far gone as to fool himself into thinking the other man truly cared that much. Not yet anyway.
Kiryu couldn’t stop himself from shooting up and reaching out before he even thought to speak, the sight of Majima turning to leave compelling something deep within him. His hand rested awkwardly on his shoulder as he thought of what to say, and before he knew it, he was pointing in the direction of the nearest convenience store and raising a questioning eyebrow. Majima could only drop his head and chuckle as he processed the request, brushing his hand off before turning away once again. He raised his hand as some sort of gesture of a raincheck, knowing they needed to part ways.
They would see each other again. Both of them knew that. If not tomorrow, then the day after, someday their paths would cross the way they always did. And if not then, all Majima had to do was wait for the next crisis and watch Kiryu come running. Maybe that was their fate, destined to stay rivals that witnessed the end of everything they held dear together. Maybe that’s what they were to each other, that unchanging monument of their past that they could cling to when everything else was just moving too fast. But right now they were no better than two strangers on opposite sides of the street, waiting for the next time fate saw fit to bring them together again.