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He shows up at the hospital soberer than he’s been in nearly a year. The place smells of heat, and bleach, and worse than the damn fish.
Their voices are soft and low, hears them before he sees ‘em through the door.
Kiryu spots him first, tenses up. “Hello, Majima-San.”
He slumps against the door frame, clears his throat. “A Tojo clan meetin'? Without your ol’ pal Majima?” He makes a tsking noise, “Standards sure are slippin’.”
Kasuga stands up and turns to face him, bows low, starts speakin’ before he’s even level again. “Afternoon, Majima-san.”
Kiryu turns to Kasuga, tilts his head, and Kasuga is ready to bolt. “Kiryu-San, Majima-San, excuse me. I’ve gotta go - yeah.”
There’s a minute where he considers not movin’ to see what the kid will do. His fight ‘aint with Kasuga though, no fun there, he’s already done it. He moves to let him pass, cackling.
“Later, Kasuga." He calls down the corridor and can feel the flinch. The kid would fight him for Kiryu if he needed to, though, and you gotta respect that. Kiryu sure inspires that loyalty, huh?
He saunters over to the chair opposite Kiryu’s bed and slumps down into it, folds his arms, looks above Kiryu’s head. There’s a low, weird hum from the machines that goes right to his nerves, droning below whatever shit is on the TV.
There's a quick glance through the door behind him, Kiryu looking for Saejima and Daigo too, but nah. This ain’t a touchin’ family reunion. It’s just him. Kiryu sits up properly, snapping his phone shut, turns to put it on the nightstand. There’s a flash of the tattoo and he could draw that fuckin’ thing from memory and this ‘aint it. The dragon is warped and strange, too small.
Kiryu coughs. He sounds like shit, but he looks worse. He ain’t just thin, he’s thin-thin, it’s brutal under the glare of the hospital lights and this is comin’ from someone whose whole gig is being emaciated. Kiryu is thin, sick, and human. Somethin’ thumps down his spine and into his guts. Maybe the Dragon can’t beat it and there’s no hope for any of them.
“Quit stealing my look, will ya? Can’t pull it off,” he says, waving a hand at Kiryu.
Kiryu huffs, because it’s funny or because he can’t quite breathe right, or hell both. “I always thought if anything got me, it’d be lung cancer.” Kiryu says, thrown out like it’s nothin’, “That or getting stabbed.”
It’s pitched like a joke and sometimes he hopes, fucking preys even, that Kiryu will hit the bottom of his god damn stupidity and bounce off it, gain a brain cell or two. Fuck. He flicks his eye back down and looks at him. “Yer an idiot,” he says, voice flat, “Yer a fucking idiot for letting it get to this. Shit, I should kick the hell outta ya for it.”
Kiryu had told them he was dying and wasn’t gonna do anything about it. They’d tried to kick some sense into that empty head, make it clear that before Kiryu can throw his life away he has to account for that shit.
Kiryu huffs again, “I think you’d win this time though, Majima-san. I’m not in the best shape.”
Now that’s just a kick in the dick.
“This ain’t- “he says, voice tanto sharp, “about you.” He waves a hand at Kiryu, dismissive, “Thinkin’ ya can just crawl off and die. Fuck the rest of us. Rude is what it is, Kiryu-chan, rude.”
Of course it’s about Kiryu though, ‘aint everything? Has been for twenty years now and old habits die hard, ‘aint that the saying? Saejima had told him after Kiryu left, both of them shitfaced, to just forget it. Let Kiryu go. He ‘aint normal about much but he sure as fuck ‘aint normal about Kazuma fucking Kiryu, so how the hell is he just gonna forget? Not his speciality.
Kiryu shrugs. “Tider than this.”
The bone-deep assurance he’s right, that they should just have left him to die, is written on Kiryu’s face. Sure, tidier for Kiryu. Maybe. Ya can trust Kiryu to die for you but live? Well, livin’ is too much of an imposition.
He can feel his face twisting into a smile. He’s been ready to die, that’s the life, but he’s wanted to live too, clawed his way outta hell for it. Knows that feeling in his gut, visceral, that desire to live.
“You don’t know shit. Never did.” He says, shifts in the chair, fists tight, “Can’t even kick the shit outta ya anymore. What're you even good for?”
Fighting Kiryu always felt like a shared language, synchronicity, some shit. Now, well, now there’s just this.
A pause, Kiryu breathes. “You know I’m going to die. This isn’t - this isn’t going to fix it.”
He’s got jack shit intentions of fixing anything. He ‘aint gonna be one of Kiryu’s little lifelines, a dull reminder of the past. He is very much in the present and he’s pissed as fuck. He drums his fingers on the side of the chair, rolls his shoulder, muscles crackling like electricity over his skin, shooting right to his brain.
Kiryu runs a hand through his hair, his old hair, the one that looks like him. Maybe the Dragon is still kickin’ around in there somewhere. Shit, he looks like a ghost. They have ghosts, both of them, all of them, so many fucking ghosts, enough to fill a funeral. You don’t live their lives without some god damn ghosts. He dosen't have the stomach to add Kiryu to that list again.
“What are we doing here Majima?” Kiryu mutters, barely audible over whatever fuckin’ inane advert is playing.
The lack of honorific hits like a fucking punch to the gut. He huffs out a breath, “Ya don’t get it, huh?”
Kiryu squares his shoulders. “Then why don’t you try explaining? You always say that, but you never explain.”
A laugh, wild, hauled up from his stomach, feels it crackling through his bones. He has explained so many goddamn times. “I shouldn’t need to. Ya know, and if ya don’t, it’s too late now.”
Kiryu steadies like he’s catching himself on the recoil. “Yeah, I think I do.”
There’s a pause while Kiryu thinks. Should feel bigger than this, bigger than it does, but it just is. Twenty years and it just is and if that ‘aint a killer he doesn't know what is.
“I didn’t - I didn’t think I’d see you again, Majima-san.”
There’s a note in Kiryu’s voice he can’t quite place and Kiryu is lookin’ at him like he’s running the last twenty years through his head and it’s makin’ him want to set the entire place on fire.
He cackles. “Well, you’re the one that up and fuckin’ died on me. Can’t be blaming me for that.”
Except he didn’t die. Kiryu didn’t die. He’s still in the land of the living. For now, anyways. Shit, how many times is he gonna have to mourn this stupid bastard? How many times is he gonna have to do this? Kiryu has been a dead man walkin’ since they met, so sure the universe worked fairly. Never imagined it would come to this though, something so basic and stupid. Not fittin’ a dragon.
“I don't. That's on me.” Kiryu pauses, “A lot of things are, apparently.” Kiryu says, watching him, tryin’ to read him and Kiryu has never been good at that, has he? “Kasuga tried to kick my ass as well.”
Another wayward kid Kiryu’s picked up that he’s gonna have to guard. Kiryu doesn't need to ask - they both know it’s gonna happen, not worth the talkin’. Dead and still running his errands, what a life.
A smile, sharp. “Yeah, well, he can get in line. I got dibs.”
“Majima-San, l want to apol-”
He cuts Kiryu off because he’s not just gonna sit here and listen to this shit. “Shut the fuck up.” He’s almost snarling, “Sometimes when ya talk these days all I hear Kasuga flappin’ his gums. You’ve never been sorry about anything.”
Something flicks at the side of Kiryu’s mouth. “There’s no need to be jealous, Majima-San.”
He can feel the smile creep across his face. “If ya want to keep yer tongue, get that sense of humour of yours in check and leave the jokes to me.”
He doesn't seem to have many of those these days. Nothin's Fun anymore, hasn’t been for a long time. It’s all about the stimulation with him and he’s been so damn bored the last few years.
Kiryu goes to say something and stops, mouth tensing.
The room is too damn loud and shit he picked the wrong time to stop smoking. “goin’ to the vending machine.”
The machine is somewhere down the hall. If it had cigarettes in it he'd be outside smoking, fuck quittin', but it's just filled with sugary too-bright shit and he can't remember the last time he had sugar. Not much call for it up at the cabin. Kiryu always had a stronger sweet tooth than him anyways. He stands, listens to the machine hum for a second. Why the fuck is everything so loud and so bright in this god damn place. He gets whatever he can think of and stands, turning the bottle in his hand, thinkin' before he heads back.
He walks back in, dumps the warm drink down on the nightstand and stops. There’s photos on the wall, slapped over each other. Faces and faces. Everyone who ever loved Kiryu must be on this thing. There’s Haruka and her kid, the pictures must be her work because it sure ‘aint Kiryus and - there’s a picture of him and Kiryu. Somethin’ from the 90s going by the hair and where the fuck did she dig this up from? He doesn't remember it being taken, but they look relaxed, smiling. Shit, things used to be a fuckton simpler and a fuckton easier. He showed up, and, and they kicked the hell out of each other, and it was easy. Like breathin’ almost. None of whatever the hell this is. You know your shits absolutely wrecked when you're thinking back on the 90s fondly.
“Shit.” He says, a beat, a breath, “We’re gettin’ old, huh.”
There’s an answer, soft. “Yeah, I think we are.”
He looks back at the picture. The Mad Dog of Shimano and the Dragon of Dojima and they ‘aint those two people anymore. Kiryu has taken ten hits with the cluebat since then and he’s, well, he’s Majima. Just two old bastards sitting in a hospital room and none of it meant shit. He huffs a laugh.
Kiryu reaches out, snatches at his wrist lightly, holds it there a touch too long and it’s - it’s gonna be the thing that fucking ruins him. The bastard is actually gonna die. He smiles, all teeth, hauls his hand back, but Kiryu’s got a grip. “You said that if I left, I’d break your heart and -”
“Get the fuck off me,” he snarls. “Has the cancer gone to your fuckin’ brain?”
He misses the movement by seconds, feels the punch hit the side of his face and it’s electric, shoots right through him like lightning. Hauls back to catch his footing, but Kiryu still has one of his wrists and yanks him forward.
There’s a beat, and he swings his other arm to hit Kiryu in the face, but he misses it by seconds because Kiryu catches his arm as well. He pushes against Kiryu’s grip, trying to make him let the fuck go, but he won’t. Kiryu’s tensed, shoving against him. Shit, he’s still hot as hell, dying and he’s still got it, the only person who could ever match him. He’d be horny as fuck if he wasn’t so fuckin’ angry. Who's he kiddin’? He’s still worked up.
He cackles and Kiryu frowns.
“I was right,” Kiryu says, “About Sawashiro. I was harsh, but I was right.” A beat, “And sometimes, with respect, Majima-San, you really need to shut up.”
He lets go of a breath he didn’t even know he was holdin’. There it is, relief. There it fuckin’ is, there he is. Welcome back, you stubborn, stupid son of a bitch. God, I've missed ya.
He smiles, all teeth. “We never change, huh?”
Who's he kiddin’? Neither of them are the same, but it feels right, feels good. Kiryu lets go of him and then hauls him down into a kiss.
He should pull away, he should fucking pull away if he knows what's good for him, but shit, Kiryu is kissing him like he wants to swallow him whole, and he's just fucking fine with that. He matches Kiryu’s intensity, all heat, and it’s like gettin’ the shit kicked out of him.
He pulls away, takes in Kiryu’s face - his eyes and those lips - and breathes. He grins, reaches out and grabs the side of Kiryu's face. “Next time ya die, Kiryu-chan it better be for real or I’ll help ya out myself.”
Kiryu nods.