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The liquid amber burned on its way down, a stark reminder that age was catching up to him, and he couldn’t drink like he used to. Nights where he and Majima would stay at the batting cages until the manager would practically drag them out, and the only thing left to do was swipe a case of beer from Poppo while the cashier was too tired to do anything but half-heartedly yell at them as they ran out the store; they sat in the back of his mind, not forgotten, but too long ago to do anything but reminisce on the rare occasions they could lean against each other on the couch and share a bottle of whiskey between them. He may have liked those nights more than the ones when they were younger, they felt more intimate, more tender, and more like they weren’t constantly caught in a perilous state of whether rent could be afforded that month or if he had to skimp on dinner so Yasuko could eat her fill.
Saejima drained the rest of his whiskey, the empty glass clenched in his hand as he let out a huge sigh and pressed his forehead against the wooden bartop of the Goromaru. The crew had retired long ago, but with the conversation that he and Majima had earlier that night pulsing in his mind, he couldn’t bring himself to head to his bunk. Masaru had taken pity on him and given him free rein of the bar so long as he promised not to drink them out of house. Easy enough, especially when three glasses was enough to make him feel like a sulky teenage girl.
Yer still a handsome fella. You ain’t got someone in your life?
Fine, fine. I’ll introduce ya to someone.
He had wanted to call him an asshole to his face, but with the memory loss, it’s not like his kyodai would get it. Still, still, it hurt like a bitch to have the one person you’ve been tangled up with for forty years ask if he wanted to be introduced to someone.
As if Majima hadn’t been his first kiss.
“Yo, Saejima, whatcha doin’ still up?”
His name being spoken made him wince ever so slightly as he lifted his head and found Majima leaning against the door frame of the stairway. Hearing his kyodai call him just ‘Saejima’ was enough to make him want to throw back another drink, but instead he pushed his glass away and frowned.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled. “What ‘bout you?”
Majima shrugged and walked into the bar area, planting himself on a stool beside Saejima. “Same thing, I guess. Went up to deck for a smoke, but still couldn’t get myself to relax. Thought I saw the lights on down here.”
Right, well at least that hadn’t changed. Whenever Majima tossed and turned in bed, he would eventually get up and stick his head out through the bedroom window for a smoke. It brought little comfort though, especially seeing the complete lack of recognition beyond some guy I just met a few days ago in his eye.
“Ya still thinkin’ ‘bout lettin’ me introduce ya to someone?” Majima grinned and elbowed Saejima in the side. “C’mon, surely someone would catch the eye of a good-lookin’ guy like you.”
Saejima couldn’t help but scowl, the conversation feeling a little too familiar. Earlier that evening wasn’t the first time his kyodai had goaded him into trying to meet a woman, the only difference was that they were forty years older, Majima had two eyes, and Saejima’s hair wasn’t pulled back into a ponytail to keep the summer heat at bay. His kyodai was still wearing that shit-eating grin though, the one that said he was going to push and push until he heard an answer that satisfied him. It was the same back then too, but easier to bear because at least Majima called him kyodai.
“Y’know, this ain’t the first time ya told me that,” Saejima said. He glanced at Majima, taking in his lithe form clad in leather pants and that ugly-ass floral pattern shirt he bought before leaving Japan. He looked like he’d lost weight in the time he’d been sailing around, but his pants still clung to his hips like a glove.
“No shit, man. I said the same thing earlier.”
He waved a large hand in the air as if pushing the idea away. “I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout that. I meant you told me the same shit when we were young.”
“Huh, no kiddin’? What’d ya say back then?” Majima leaned in close to Saejima, close enough that he could’ve reached over and brushed back a piece of shaggy hair behind his pierced ear. That had been only a slight surprise when he saw Majima again. Majima had long given up the four piercings that dotted his ear and helix shortly before the hit.
“Same thing I told ya earlier. I ain’t interested.”
Something seemed to click in Majima’s head, his eye flashing with something too quick for Saejima to pinpoint. Maybe recognition? A memory?
Just…anything from before.
“Oh yeah, that so?” His kyodai was even closer now, calloused fingers wrapping around the thick muscle of his arm. “So what? There a particular reason for that? High standards? Waitin’ for the right one? Or–”
The familiar warmth of Majima’s breath on his ear was enough to make Saejima freeze, equal parts wanting to shove him off and wanting to stay there and let it happen.
“Someone yer already into?”
Asshole.
Saejima gripped Majima by the wrist and yanked him off, not so gently pushing him away hard enough that the bar stool screeched against the wooden planks of the floorboard. He seemed surprised for a brief moment, but Majima was quick to recover with a sharp grin and a finger jabbing at Saejima’s chest.
“You get flustered so easily, man. Yer lookin’ cute with all that pink in yer cheeks.”
“And you should learn to back off,” Saejima muttered, staring at his kyodai hard. He could feel his face flush even deeper at being called cute. “I ain’t in the mood for teasin’.”
The finger trailed up Saejima’s chest to his chin, pushing it up ever so slightly. “So what are ya in the mood for then? Maybe somethin’ that’ll make us both tired?”
Anger flared up in Saejima, the very emotion of it penetrating deep into his bones. He could adjust to his kyodai losing his memory, it was temporary, it would come back, it had to, but an amnesiac Majima coming onto him? That wasn’t something he could stomach, not when forty years of history was gone and everything that had made them…them.
“I ain’t stupid, Saejima. I know we were tumblin’ ‘round the sack, you an’ me. Yer exactly the kind of guy I like–”
His hand now moved to caress Saejima’s face.
“Big an’ strong, someone who has prob’ly put me in my place a time or two–”
“Fuck off, Majima. I just told you I ain’t–”
Both hands caressing his face now.
“Come on…kyodai.”
Large hands wrapped around slender wrists and Saejima pulled Majima’s hand off his face so quickly that for a brief moment his kyodai looked surprised.
“I said to fuck off!” Saejima snapped, his voice raising. “I ain’t gonna do this without your memories.”
Majima pulled his wrists from Saejima’s grip and let out a sigh. “Why not? It ain’t like it makes a difference, y’know. If we’re fuckin’ with my memories or not. ‘Sides, it’s not like I asked to have amnesia and forget shit.”
“It does make a difference, ya fuckin’ asshole! You may think it’s fun to fuck someone, forgettin’ everythin’ ‘bout them, but I don’t. For fuck’s sakes, do ya know how scared shitless I was when I got that phone call from Nishida that somethin’ happened? And here you are just…actin’ like the past forty years ain’t meant shit!”
“Hey! I didn’t say that! Like I said, it ain’t my fault! ‘Sides, if yer really who ya say you are, then it shouldn’t matter! I’m me no matter what!”
Saejima pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. They could argue about it all they wanted, but it wouldn’t change how either of them felt. He could concede that Majima without his memories was just like Majima with his memories, but that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was their history. The things they did for each other.
The sacrifices.
Twenty-five years in prison. One year in the hole. Two years eating shit in Osaka. The guilt of eighteen men dying. Yasuko.
It was all fucking gone from Majima.
“Listen, I get it. It’s fuckin’ frustratin’ to gotta deal with my shit brain right now,” Majima said in a low voice. His eye went downcast and stared hard at the floor. “But you an’ me? It feels right–”
“Kyodai–”
“So just wait a bit longer ‘till I get my head right. Until then, can ya just…” Majima paused and took Saejima’s hand into his own. “Stay by my side? Don’t go leavin’ me until this is all done and over with.”
And he would wait. Saejima would wait a hundred, thousand, millions of years for his kyodai to come back to him. But until then–
“Alright, cap’n. You got my word.”
Until then, he’d stay by his kyodai’s side and watch over him .