Work Text:
Kiryu starts second guessing the choices that led him here when the pungent smell of chemicals starts irritating his nose, long before the brush ever touches his hair. There might be a gut feeling settling in somewhere within him that tells him this might’ve been a bad decision, but it’s already too late to back down from it. He must see it through.
Nishiki is standing by the sink next to him, blocking the narrow doorway with his frame as he’s combining the contents of few different plastic packages together, squeezing paste-like liquid out of a tube and into a bigger bowl with a slightly unsure yet focused look on his face.
Somewhere in the background there’s one of Nishiki’s cassettes playing on Kiryu’s radio, loud enough that both them in the bathroom and the neighbors on the other side of the thin walls probably hear the guitar and the drums. It does little to ease Kiryu’s wavering, but at least Nishiki seems to appreciate the background noise, occasionally letting a hum out when the track gets to his favorite parts. Kiryu would hum too, if it weren’t for the bowl and the smell.
The smell is unpleasant, and when Kiryu glances at the ceramic bowl in which Nishiki has started the mixing with a brush, the bleach mix is not white like Kiryu had expected it to be, but a strange shade of light purple or blue- it’s hard to tell in the yellow light of his bathroom.
“Why is it purple?” he asks, putting no effort into concealing his frown “is it supposed to be like that?”
“Hell if I know?” Nishiki replies, but he’s also eyeing the color with an unsure expression as he continues the mixing with a steady twist of wrist, “you bought it, you should know. I followed the instructions just fine”
Kiryu doesn’t push it further because he really doesn’t know any better. It’s probably better to put his trust into Nishiki than it is to question the process further. Instead, he shifts his focus to the spider web that’s high in the corner of the wall and the ceiling. It’s been there for a few weeks at least. The spider there hasn’t shifted even once, and Kiryu briefly wonders if it’s alive or not, and if spiders too can smell chemicals. It’s a stupid thought, and he doesn’t bother asking Nishiki for his input on the matter. He shifts his eyes from the spider back to Nishiki, initiating small talk as a distraction.
The thing was that Kiryu had, more or less on a whim, decided that he was going to bleach his hair blonde.
He’d seen few of the older yakuza guys rock dyed hair, blondes and light browns of different shades, had seen an ad on the tv during a late-night drinking binge – something about it had suddenly felt really appealing to him, and the idea of a style change had taken root in his mind. Nishiki was always urging him to try something new, telling him to update his look from the boring black suit to something more eye-catching, and bleaching his hair would surely do the job.
Now, he could’ve gone to a real barber shop for it, but those shops were expensive for someone who’d spent most of his life cutting his own hair – or more accurately, making Nishiki crop it short in exchange for a paycheck in the form of cigarette packs or cheap dinners – and he wasn’t interested in detaching himself from the old habits.
The box dye he’d seen on a low shelf in the middle aisle of a Poppo had been a fraction of the prices he’d seen plastered on the walls of salons he’d passed in the streets of Kamurocho, and that had convinced him to fully stop in his steps.
I mean, c’mon, how hard could bleaching your hair be?
Kiryu had grabbed a box of bleach from the bottom shelf with one hand while thumbing at the pager in his pocket with the other – Nishiki would, most likely, know a thing or two more about this than Kiryu himself did. He took the box dye to the cashier with few beers and a boxed lunch, having convinced himself certain that Nishiki would help him out on it if needed. He’d walked home with a plastic bag that had only the essentials a guy could need, the beers, his dinner of the day, a pack of cigarettes and a box of bleach.
The reasoning for this train of thought – that Nishiki could surely give him a hand – was that he’d showered at Nishiki’s place plenty times when he’d slept over, and the first few times he had rotated the bottles of shampoos and conditioners and bodywashes in his hands with slight frustration, trying to figure out what was for what.
Kiryu likes using Nishiki’s shampoo and bodywash because they smell good, admittedly better than his own, and if he didn’t prioritize convenience, he’d probably get the same brands for himself.
As for the conditioner… Kiryu wasn’t quite sure if the increased number of products naturally came with having hair to your shoulders, or if Nishiki was just particular about grooming himself; Kiryu had always had his hair cropped close to his scalp, so he really wouldn’t know – maybe if he grew his hair out too, he’d get the sudden urge to test Nishiki’s conditioner too, but changing color is drastic enough for him as of now.
In any case, the man used conditioner, which was significantly more advanced hair care compared to Kiryu’s 2-in-1 shampoo bodywash he got for 300 yen at the Poppo. Kiryu didn’t even really know what hair conditioner did. Nishiki’s hair was always soft, so maybe it had something to do with that? If Nishiki was more knowledgeable about haircare, then Nishiki was likely to know about how bleaching works too.
It becomes clear very soon that Nishiki does in fact not know how bleaching works. He has never dyed or bleached his own hair, nor anyone else’s for that matter, and so when Kiryu invites him to his apartment to have few rounds of beer and then suddenly slams a small carboard box with a photo of some random blonde chick on the side of it on the table, Nishiki instantly turns the request down.
Nishiki told the man to do the bleaching himself, but Kiryu had been certain Nishiki would understand it better and do a better job of it.
Kiryu had torn the carboard box open out of curiosity the night before and had found out that there were more than just a single bottle of product you lather on in there: the dye consisting of several components you had to mix, with instructions on the order and manner of how one should go about it. It was more complicated than he had expected, and he’d decided that trying to pull the mission off by himself was off the table.
Kiryu had eyed Nishiki’s hair, soft and styled, and had determined that if he wants a cool looking blonde, he’d have to convince Nishiki into doing it for him. Surely, he’d do a decent job of it. Nishiki had squinted his eyes at Kiryu, ready to argue, fully aware that the man would get stubborn about it.
Unfortunately, it didn’t take too much convincing – It never did, not when a request came from Kiryu.
Nishiki had agreed to do the bleaching on three conditions: One, Nishiki gets to drink the better beer Kiryu had in his fridge – the few glass bottles that were a bit more expensive brand that he’d been saving up for their upcoming movie night, and two, he would get to pick what they have for dinner. The final condition was that if he fucks it up, Kiryu can’t blame him for it.
Kiryu had tried to switch the beer to a pack of cigarettes, because he doesn’t have that many bottles left, and he’s kind of short on cash, but Nishiki wouldn’t budge on it. The mental image Kiryu had of the blond hair – the coolness that stuck to it – was enough for Kiryu to agree to Nishiki’s half-assed demands.
That is, summed up, how they ended up squeezed together in Kiryu’s cramped bathroom, with Kiryu sitting on the closed lid of the toilet shirtless while Nishiki mixes the bleach in one of the very few bowls Kiryu owns, because the bleach box didn’t come with a mixing container of its own.
There were a pair of plastic gloves in the box which Nishiki had pulled on, big shitty ones that feel and look like they came straight out of a kids cartoon, and he’d hunted down one of his hair ties from some dusty corner on Kiryu’s floor to tie his own hair back, just in case. He wasn’t looking for any accidental highlights here.
“Are you ready?” Nishiki asks, giving the mix one last stir. It stinks and is a strange color, but he’d followed the instructions so it should be right. Probably. He gives the small step-by-step guide that was in the box one last glance, before picking the bowl off the sink to one hand. “No backing down now”
Kiryu nods, and Nishiki scoops a generous amount of the mix onto the brush and smacks it right at the center of the top of Kiryu’s head. It feels surprisingly cold.
“So… Am I supposed to like… rub this shit in or do I just brush it all over?” Nishiki questions as he rather gently moves the brush back and forth. He’s trying to brush it in, yet the bleach doesn’t spread into the hair as easily as gel or shampoo does when you do it by hand.
It feels inefficient, so he shoves the bleach bowl to Kiryu, and then grabs the strip of paper with instructions, which doesn’t seem to have any other guides than to just mix it and spread it all over.
“What does it say?”
“To just put it in”
“Then just do whatever you think is the best, I guess?”
Nishiki tosses the paper back into the dry sink, and uses his other hand to rub at Kiryu’s hair, mixing the dye in with his fingers. It’s easier like that. “I’ll just treat it like shampoo”
“Ah? Are you sure, what’s the brush for then?”
“I’ll use both” Nishiki says, scooping up a generous amount of the bleach from the bowl with the brush, wiping it off at the side of his head before placing it back down. He puts both of his hands into Kiryu’s hair, moving them in circular motions, fingers rough on the hair and scalp. The plastic gloves crinkle at every movement. Kiryu feels like he’s a dog being washed, and it makes him click his tongue.
“can’t you be gentler? you’re pulling at my hair”
“If you want gentle, go to a salon with a pretty girl – they’ll probably even throw in a massage for you” Nishiki replies with a snarky tone, but he tries to avoid pulling at the hair too much after the comment.
The work position makes his back ache, being all bent down. He’s not sure why he even agreed to this, but he’s starting to grow curious about what Kiryu would look like blonde. The top of Kiryu’s head seems to be changing in color, already little lighter than the sides. He’ll just have to see it through.
“It stings” Kiryu complains.
“I think it’s supposed to do that”
“Are you sure?” Kiryu raises a brow at him “Did it say that? I thought you didn’t know anything about hair dyeing”
“I’ve heard something like that-” Nishiki says, discarding the brush in the sink and just crudely dipping his gloved fingers into the bleach to get more of it, lathering it on generously as he talks “There’s a hostess I sometimes take on dates, Momoko-chan, who’s got this long and dyed blonde hair. She’s complained to me about how she hates bleaching her roots, since it hurts”
“you’re paying hostesses to talk about hair dyeing with them?” Kiryu looks at him, face openly judgmental.
Nishiki gives his head a light shove for stupid comment, and it makes a bit of bleach splatter, some dripping on Kiryu’s bare shoulder. Kiryu goes to wipe it himself, but Nishiki uses the more-or-less clean back of his glove to wipe it off.
“It shouldn’t be touched bare-handed” he says, before continuing with the conversation “anyway, you talk about all sorts of things with the hostesses – they’re a great source of intel. You’d know if you came along with me some time”
“Not interested. Why can’t I touch it when it’s being put directly on my scalp? That makes no sense”
“No idea, but the instructions said so. And yeah, I know, you’re boring and you only want to spend time with me” Nishiki jokes, shifting from one foot to another as he rubs the bleach into Kiryu’s sideburns on the left side of his face. Their legs keep brushing against each other, Kiryu’s outer to the inner side of Nishiki’s shin. “if you had few hostesses in your life, you could have a couple of cute girls playing with your hair right now too- could even have a nice pair in your face and everything.”
Kiryu looks up at him, knowing fully well Nishiki is just teasing him. Nishiki is hovering above him in his dark blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up and an open collar obstructing his field of vision. Kiryu’s more into this view, anyway, prefers the familiar toned chest to the assault that flowery perfume would likely be if combined with these chemical fumes.
“This version isn’t too bad”
Nishiki glances down, catching the slight smug smile on Kiryu’s face as his eyes flicker up. It almost makes him snort, and that puts a lop-sided smile on his face. “Nice try, but you won’t get a free massage from me”
Kiryu just lets out an amused huff, eyes drifting back to the the open collar and the dogtag that dangles there, catching light. He feels the temptation to pull on it, but he doesn’t get to act on the urge when his eyes drift from it to the fabric of the shirt – to the little light purple there, right above the final undone button.
“Nishiki, you’ve got some of it your shirt” he points out, and Nishiki quickly glances down.
“Shit-” Nishiki curses, taking a step back. both of his hands are gloved and covered, and he’s temporarily stumped on just how he should go on about getting the bleach off the shirt before it ruins the fabric permanently.
“I’ll get it, hold on” Kiryu tells him, reaching for the closest thing he can use – his fingers find a raggedy hand towel. He grabs onto the fabric, fingers between it and the warm skin of Nishiki’s chest as he daps at the fabric, apparently having caught onto the splatter fast enough that the color of the fabric hasn’t been affected, or at least not noticeably in this light. At least not yet.
Nishiki seems relieved, too. It’s probably yet another very expensive shirt of his, since Kiryu couldn’t recall having seen this one before, and the fabric felt smooth under his fingertips. If Kiryu had any foresight, he would’ve told Nishiki in advance about this plan, or he would’ve just lent one of his own old shirts to Nishiki.
Once he has finished wiping the stain he doesn’t let the fabric go instantly, but instead lets the touch linger as he flickers his eyes up, at Nishiki, who has been watching his movements. Kiryu gently tugs at the shirt just for the sake of it, tilting his head a little.
“So, if I can’t get a massage, then…”
Nishiki only finds it amusing, standing there with his gloved hands in the air by his sides, intentionally ignoring the slight pull of the fabric “Thanks for the help bro, but I’m still not throwing in any other extra service either”
“Stingy”
“Greedy” Nishiki scoffs back, giving Kiryu’s knee a playful shove with his own leg “I’m not letting your head anywhere near mine until you rinse this shit off”
It’s reasonable enough reasoning, and so Kiryu loosens his hold on the shirt. There’s a slight smile on Nishiki’s face as he reaches to scoop at the sides of the bleach bowl with his fingers again, sidestepping and asking Kiryu to lean his head forward, so he can get the hairs on the back of the head properly. He tries to be more careful with it from there on, not wanting to risk any more unnecessary splatters.
Once all parts of Kiryu’s hair have been more or less slathered in the purplish substance, and the hair beneath it is starting to show signs of blonde, Nishiki pulls the gloves off and tosses them in the sink, picking up the instructions again.
“Now we just have to wait for… half an hour or so?”
They crack a beer open each and Kiryu still complains about the stinging even if it isn’t unbearable, just uncomfortable. They have a smoke together, exiting Kiryu’s apartment for a bit to get away from the stink of the chemicals that have overtaken the small quarters of it. They had opened a window, but only after they’d finished, so the smell still lingered.
Kiryu’s neighbor happens to take her trash out at the same time, and she catches a glimpse of them, leaning on the metal railing and blowing smoke, and quickly diverts her eyes from the intimidating yet likely silly sight as she politely rushes past them. It amuses Nishiki, who finds the current state of Kiryu’s hair slightly amusing – there’s some sort of strange shade of yellow coming through. Kiryu asks what it looks like, and Nishiki just snickers while putting his cigarette out against the railing.
As it turns out, hair bleach is still bleach, and just wiping it off with a dry towel doesn’t neutralize its effect on dyed fabric. The stain that hadn’t been too noticeable in the bathroom light turned into a stain that’s hard to not notice, and although Nishiki curses it, he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He’s staying over today, and he’ll probably drop by his apartment before they go to work tomorrow, so he can just demote the shirt to a home shirt.
They lose track of time, unsure exactly when they put the bleach in and when that time is up, so they go little into overtime. Kiryu finishes the beer he’d been drinking in one gulp and makes way for the bathroom where he tries to first wash the hair under the sink. It’s clumsy and unsuccessful, so he takes a proper shower to avoid getting the bleach into his eyes.
While he’s in the shower, Nishiki changes the previous cassette to a Yazawa one, one of Kiryu’s (which was actually originally Nishiki’s, but somewhere down the line the ownership of it was transferred – there’s a lot of things in Kiryu’s apartment like that. Nishiki’s things turned into Kiryu’s things, which turned into their shared things.)
When Kiryu finally steps out of the bathroom, crossing through the kitchen to the entrance and pulling the towel he’d been drying his hair with off his head to reveal the new look, Nishiki bursts into laughter.
It’s a bad sign.
The laugh comes in a wave, really. There’s the widened eyes, the shift of brows and then the flash of teeth – Kiryu knows what’s coming before the sound even comes out.
“Fuck, bro- that’s- hahaha” He tries to get a sentence out, but only manages to double over Kiryu’s low sitting table, his forehead hitting the surface with a loud thunk as wheezing laughter escapes him.
The blonde makes Kiryu look more like a bōsōzoku than a yakuza, and it lacks the coolness-factor a salon dye job might have. The dye job looks exactly what one might expect from box dye and a hairdresser who has no experience in applying the dye evenly. That just makes it all the funnier for Nishiki.
Kiryu stands there, clutching the wet towel like an idiot just watching the strands of Nishiki’s hair fall all over his face. The bastard even slaps the table. That shakes Kiryu from his stupor.
“What the fuck, Nishiki” Kiryu asks, because really – he was being an asshole. Kiryu had caught a glimpse of it in the steamed mirror, and it wasn’t that bad. Still, redness was now inevitably spreading up his neck, to his ears. The blonde hair contrasts the flush and makes it stand out even more, which only works as further fuel to make the corners of Nishiki’s lips curl upwards.
“It’s so- fuck, my sides- it’s so uneven” he gets out between the laugh, but the stupid, toothy grin doesn’t falter. He turns his head, lazily laying chin against the table briefly as he recovers from the burst of laughter before finally pushing himself upwards to lean on his elbows, in some poor attempt to gather himself. “Bro, you look like shit”
“You’re the one who did it!” Kiryu argues, feeling defensive.
“Yeah, but-” He looks at the various shades of yellow-ish orange, or maybe it’s orange-ish yellows, of which none are very flattering “it’s bad, bro. You know I can’t lie to you” He sounds grave, but Kiryu doesn’t miss the poorly concealed smirk still pushing through.
Kiryu sighs, giving Nishiki an unamused side-eye before heading back to the bathroom to get rid of the towel. Before he returns Nishiki scrambles up and circles the table, meeting him at the entrance, eyes on the hair as the stupid grin tugs at his lips.
Nishiki reaches a hand for the frizzy head only for Kiryu to slap it away. It’s petty, and Nishiki just lifts his other hand instead, brushing the irritated rejection of the first try off with a quirk of a brow. When he runs a hand through the towel-dry hair, his eyes widen in surprise “Woah, it’s coarse”
“Is dyed hair not usually?” Kiryu asks. The sensation of Nishiki's hand running through his hair is familiar and pleasant, but even if he partially relaxes into the touch he’s still on the edge, unsure if he should let it linger or shove the hand away before Nishiki throws another stupid comment.
“Wouldn’t know-” Nishiki replies, fingers still raking against Kiryu’s scalp “haven’t ran my hand through any before”
Kiryu glances at him, and all the questioning look gets in reply is a teasing, knowing smile.
“We can probably fix it if we do another run” Nishiki suggests, trying to contain the smile on his face, probably holding back another few stupid comments in favor of being reasonable, “even it out, make it lighter”
He’d gotten his laugh of out it, but now he was starting to think of ways to fix the situation.
“It’s fine”
Nishiki’s forehead creases as he furrows his brows, an incredulous huh sound spilling from between parted lips. He pulls his fingers back from the hair.
“I said it’s fine – it’s not that bad” Kiryu continues, running his own hand through the hair to set it back in place from where Nishiki had messed with it.
“Bro it absolutely is not- I can do another run if you want me to. To even it out, at least. you have like 10 different shades there now”
“Maybe once the roots come in”
Nishiki looks at the hair, and the serious face below it. The contrast between his hair and his eyebrows looks kind of stupid.
“You’re kidding, right? tell me you’re kidding, Kiryu.”
Kiryu just tilts his head a little, raising a dark brow just to make a point. He’s not kidding. That reminds Nishiki of another crucial piece of intel that he’d heard from the hostess.
“You’re not expecting me to maintain your bleach job, right?” Nishiki asks, “you gotta do that like every four weeks to touch up on the roots, and this thing was a one-time deal. From here on, you’re on your own”
Kiryu seems caught off guard by this information – it’s clear he hadn’t thought of the whole thing at all. Going through this every month sounds like too much of a hassle.
“Of course I am – you’ve already done it once, right? That’s once more than I have” Kiryu says, with a shameless smirk on his face. Nishiki gives him a shove for it.
“You ass”
“Before next time, you can ask that hostess you know for further bleaching tips”
“No thanks, she’d probably think I’m thinking of dyeing my own hair and then hound me about it”
Kiryu lets out a short, amused huff before his eyes drift to Nishiki’s hair that’s still up, most of the strands still out of his face even if the shortest ones have come loose. He looks at Nishiki more closely, eyes shifting between the sharp features, until they catch Nishiki’s questioning ones, paired with a brow raised at him.
“What are you staring at?”
“I was just thinking that you’d probably look nice with dyed hair, too”
“The hell you mean too?” Nishiki shoves at Kiryu, again, before reaching to ruffle his hair, and Kiryu lets him. “You think this is in any way convincing me to go blonde too? I’m perfectly fine with my own color”
The coarseness of the hair is unusual in his fingers, so he twists a few strands between his fingers – until Kiryu shoves him off, elbow to side. There’s not enough force in it to hurt, but Nishiki still complies and lets go.
“I think you’re going to need conditioner, and a lot of it - your hair is completely fried” Nishiki says, taking a step back.
“That’s a hassle”
Nishiki frowns, not appreciating the instant rejection “dude, you can tell by eye that it’s bad”
Kiryu runs a hand through his hair, trying to determine if it really is as coarse as Nishiki claims. Maybe it is, but not enough for him to commit to a hair care routine. He’ll just borrow Nishiki’s conditioner somewhere down the line when he’s staying over, to see if it’s really the miracle worker Nishiki seems to think it is.
“You’re not using mine” Nishiki says, squinting his eyes as Kiryu looks at him again “I know you were thinking about it”
There’s a twitch on Kiryu’s face that’s clear confirmation of the fact that he hit the nail on the head. There’s satisfaction in that.
“I hate it when you do that” Kiryu sighs, but then smiles “It’s that or it’s coarse until it grows back”
Nishiki purses his lips, seemingly contemplating, although he already knew how this would play out before even making that comment. His shoulders drop as he exhales, “If that’s what it takes… Then whatever, sure, empty my fridge while you’re at it too” He says, but then adds “It’s your head, keep it coarse if that’s what you want to. It’s not my problem”
It’s all complaints, but Kiryu still gives him a smile “you say that like you’re not always running your fingers through it”
Nishiki frowns. “Yeah? You know, I might just stop doing so until your own color grows back then.”
Kiryu just makes a sound that conveys a sense of disbelief, before reaching in to grab Nishiki’s forearm. The touch lingers there for just a moment before he steps closer, pulling Nishiki closer too. He lifts the arm he’s holding onto halfway up, a clear invitation of sorts – then again, maybe it’s closer to a challenge.
Nishiki thinks Kiryu doesn’t look like himself with the frizzy blonde, that they probably should not have gone through with this. Maybe it’ll grow on him. Most likely Kiryu’s roots will push through before that ever happens, and Kiryu will ask him to trim it shorter; he’ll use a shorter blade than usual, crop it closer to the root, to rid the guy of the horrible bleach job. He’ll run a hand through it, and only the light tips will be rough against his palm, and the black will feel like velvet in comparison.
When Kiryu pulls him closer he tilts his head upwards, reading the familiar intentions, and he can’t help smiling as their lips connect. He completes the movement Kiryu had initiated by lifting his arm the rest of the way, running his fingers through the side of the stupid hair again only to slide it further back, to cup the back of his head and rest there. Nishiki thinks he indulges Kiryu too much, but when he hooks his free hand on Kiryu’s hip, finger slipping through the empty belt loop to pull him closer – Kiryu lets him, and he’s reminded the feeling is mutual.
They take a few thoughtless steps until Nishiki’s back bumps against the refrigerator, and there’s a clatter, the sound of something falling over. Neither pays it no mind, too engrossed with the warmth and comfort of the touch, to care about whatever condiment bottle had toppled over, or to notice how the stack of instant ramen bowls on top of the refrigerator is shaking like a poor man’s Jenga tower.
It’s not the sound of the clatter, but the feeling of the freezer compartment’s handle sticking uncomfortably into Nishiki’s back that makes him pull away from the kiss. It’s a sudden reminder of the beer he had been promised earlier, and the thought of that makes him crave for a drink, opting to swap the heat for something cooler. They’d have time for messing around later, anyway. Nishiki pulls apart, still kissing Kiryu back once, twice, when he chases the kiss, but then he tilts his head, eyes flickering back to the hair – he’d almost forgotten about it, with his eyes closed.
“I don’t think I’ll ever grow used to that” he says, a rather wry smile on his lips.
“You’re the one responsible for it”
“And I said you can’t blame me” Nishiki adds, unhooking his finger from the hoop and his palm from the back of Kiryu’s head to bring them back to his own sides. There’s a guiltless smile on his face as he gives Kiryu a half-shrug “I did my part, so…”
Nishiki smiles, because at least there’s benefits to reap, even if the bleach job wasn’t quite as cool as they expected – or, well, he hadn’t really expected anything. He had a hunch they’d fuck it up, but he’d been curious to see it through. Kiryu might just actually still find it cool, and that kind of annoys him, in a stupidly endearing way.
Kiryu’s brows move to furrow when he has no arguments to that, but there’s still a smile tugging at the corner of his lip as he exhales. Kiryu takes a step to the side, and Nishiki mirrors it to take a step away from the fridge, giving Kiryu the space to open to the door. He reaches into the fridge, lifting the mayonnaise bottle back to its rightful place from where it had toppled over to reach deeper to the back. He pulls out two beers and offers the glass bottle to Nishiki.
Nishiki accepts the offered beer with a short thanks, warm fingers brushing against each other over the cold glass. Kiryu doesn’t own a proper bottle opener, ever the cheap bastard, so Nishiki uses the familiar, by-now mangled corner of the counter to uncap the bottle.
The first sip tastes better than he remembers, and as they move to sit by the low table he absently thinks about what they should go grab for dinner after they’ve finished their drinks.
Kiryu pulls a cigarette from his pack and offers one to Nishiki too, giving him light with what Nishiki is pretty sure was the same cheap zippo which he has repossessed from Kiryu at least twice this month. It took a few spins to spark, so he doesn’t bother asking for it back, instead making the mental note to just buy himself a replacement. He takes another sip, eyes lingering on the hair again.
Maybe after a few, the blonde will grow on him.
It probably won’t.
He’ll still run his hands through it.