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Kamurocho hadn’t changed. Neon still bled into puddles. The hostess bars still flickered open signs. And the rain—shit, the rain was still annoying.
Majima stood under the awning of the hospital, hair slicked down, one eye glowering at the receptionist who’d dared to ask him to wait.
“I ain’t here for checkups, sweetheart,” he barked. “Just tell me where the hell Kiryu’s room is before I start redecoratin’ the lobby with chairs.”
It only took a few seconds of that tone before he was begrudgingly pointed to Room 504.
The hallway was too clean. Too quiet. Made his skin crawl. Made him feel like he was walking into a grave.
He found Kiryu lying still in a hospital bed, hooked up to wires and machines that beeped and pulsed like they were holding him hostage.
Majima stepped in and kicked the door shut behind him with a dull thud. He stood there for a second, wet, irritable, a half-crushed conbini bag in one hand and rage buzzing in his teeth.
“… Damn Kiryu-chan, you look like shit.”
Kiryu turned his head slightly, lids heavy. But he smiled. “Heh. So do you.”
Majima snorted and threw the bag on the table. It slid and knocked over a cup of ice chips.
“I brought you some junk. Don’t ask why there’s a plastic sword in there. I saw it and thought, ‘Hey, that’s dumb as hell. He’d probably laugh.’”
Kiryu chuckled—a weak, hollow sound that made Majima’s gut twist.
“I’m glad you came,” Kiryu murmured. “Wasn’t sure you would.”
“What kinda jackass d’you take me for?” Majima shot back, half-offended. “You think I’d let you croak in some dingy-ass room without me getting the last word in?”
He dropped into the chair, grumbling like the floor had personally insulted him. Then he leaned forward, elbows on knees, and stared.
“…I went lookin’, y’know,” he muttered. “All that pirate crap? I took it seriously. Thought maybe there was some voodoo bullshit out there—some ancient potion, some goddamn miracle.”
Kiryu blinked slowly. “You really believed in that?”
“Hell no. But I had to try.” His voice dropped. “’Cause it was for you.”
Silence settled between them. Majima’s fingers fidgeted. His mouth twitched.
“…You’re the only guy who ever made me feel real,” he said at last, looking anywhere but Kiryu. “When I was losin’ it, spiralin’ out, snarling like a feral mutt—you saw somethin’. You tolerated me and pulled me back. Again and again.”
Kiryu didn’t say anything. He just watched him with those tired, steady eyes.
“I never said it. ’Cause sayin’ shit’s hard. It makes things real, and I don’t do ‘real’ too good.” Majima bit the inside of his cheek. “But damn it, I liked chasin’ you. I liked always being two steps behind you. You gave me a reason to keep runnin’.”
Kiryu’s lips twitched faintly. “I know.”
Majima’s face contorted. He looked furious. Like he wanted to hit something. But instead, he reached over, grabbed Kiryu’s hand like it pissed him off to be gentle, and clutched it tight.
“You dumb bastard,” he said softly.
Majima was silent for a moment. He gazed at his worn down friend, his one good eye watering.
“….You’re gonna die, aren’t you Kiryu-chan?”
Kiryu said nothing.
Majima gritted his teeth.
“…Damn it.”
He squeezed Kiryu’s hand harder.
“Listen. I should’ve said this when you could sock me for it—but ya mean everything to me. You always did. And if there’s somethin’ after this… you better be waitin’, or I swear I’ll come drag you back just to kick your ass and yell at you again.”
Kiryu’s breathing slowed. He looked at Majima like a man watching the sun rise—peaceful, knowing.
“Majima,” he murmured. “Thank you. You’ve already done more than enough.”
Majima bowed his head.
“Truth’ is, I love you,” he whispered, his voice rough as gravel. “Always have. Always will. And don’t you forget it.”
Kiryu smiled wordlessly. His half lidded eyes slowly drooped shut.
Majima stiffened as the legendary dragon took his final breath.
Then, there was stillness.
The machine flatlined.
Majima sat there, one eye fixed on the lifeless face of the man who’d meant more to him than anything in the world. His jaw clenched. His breath shook. His hands didn’t move.
For once, the Mad Dog didn’t scream. Didn’t howl. He just pressed his forehead to Kiryu’s, still refusing to let go of his hand. For the first time in a very long time, he allowed silent tears to flow freely.
The quiet in the room was deafening.
Outside, life in the city went on, completely oblivious.
But in Room 504, the world ended.