Chapter Text
It’s truly remarkable how much stuff can fit into the gap between losing everything you’ve ever known or loved, and figuring out what comes next.
Kiryu tries. He gets up most days. He eats most days. He drinks every day.
He goes to see Haruka.
What he needs is somewhere she can live, because currently he’s sleeping in a bar most nights. He’s looking even now, but paying rent means spending money, and most landlords in the sort of neighbourhoods where he’d be comfortable raising Haruka take one look at him and want to know where the money is coming from. He has a feeling that explaining any money he has access to is severance pay from when he was chairman of one of Japan’s most notorious crime syndicates would not be the correct move. He’d rather not take advantage of that money anyway, not unless he gets desperate. It’s a wage dipped in blood, and he's seen before what accepting that can lead to.
So, secondarily, he probably needs a job. A real one, that doesn’t involve hitting people for money. Or at least, involves hitting people for money in a way that preserves a veneer of respectability.
As mentioned previously: there’s a lot of stuff.
It all feels distant, in a way that concerns him a little. Surely the world is supposed to feel more real than this? The last time he felt as though he was fully a person was prison, which is probably the wrong way round.
Well. There’s prison, there’s fighting, genuine knock-down blood and broken bones fighting. And then there’s Haruka’s hand in his.
Real.
And so almost every day, he takes the train to Sunflower, and he takes Haruka’s hand and they walk around the city together.
They’re learning a lot about each other now that they have a chance to actually spend time together without constant Tojo clan distractions.
Well.
With minimal Tojo clan distractions.
Said Tojo clan distraction flashes a wild smile with nicotine stained teeth and tries to kick Kiryu’s skull in, polished shoe toe flashing in the neon lights as Kiryu ducks out of the way.
Ah yes. He probably should be paying more attention to that.
Kiryu does his best thinking with his fists. Most of his good talking too. He’s faster when the adrenaline kicks in, feels alive only when he can hear the indisputable evidence of bloodrush in his ears.
Real.
And that’s the truth. He can complain all he wants about it, but here’s the thing. At about the eighth time that you purposefully go exactly where you’re told, even knowing it’s going to end up in a fight with only the faintest pretence of justification, you have to acknowledge that yes, you are doing this on purpose. Acknowledge that you like how it feels, raw and bloody and honest.
They have it down to an art by now, almost conversational.
Question: If I sweep my leg up like this Kiryu-chan, what are ya gonna do?
Answer: Duck to the side, evade, feel the force of movement rustle my hair, see the lights flash bright and the air from my lungs condense out into dragon's breath in the cold morning air. Drive a heavy punch straight into the kidneys where they're unguarded on the other side.
A stumble. That one connected. Good.
Rebuttal: Well, screw you if you're going to be like that.
Majima is dropping anyway, completes his spiral down to the floor and follows the momentum round, spinning like a gyroscope, feet off the ground. Kiryu takes a couple of steps back because he has no interest in getting caught in hurricane Majima when he's in a breakdancing kind of mood, and watches the flashing lights of the pachinko parlours dance across his flickering silver suit like a disco ball. He misses disco more than he thought he would. All the clubs seem so lifeless and empty these days. The most awake Debolah has ever felt since prison was the first time he saw Majima dressed like this, when he fought him there.
It's ugly as hell, the idol outfit, but it's ugly in the way most things were during the bubble. Excessive just to show that you can. Like Majima is. Like Kiryu isn't. Guess they both learnt lessons, back then. There's the old saying - that the nail that sticks up gets hammered down, unless the nail is militarised, has fangs and claws and is too sharp and strong to force back into place.
Majima flips back onto his feet, white boots scuffed against the damp tarmac. The feather in his headband wobbles, threatening to fall out. For a moment, Kiryu considers straightening it, and then dismisses that as the kind of idiocy born from sleep deprivation.
He gets a one-eyed stare for his troubles. “I boring you?”
“No.”
“Ya ain't moving much.”
“You haven't made me move,” Kiryu says, though actually Majima hasn't been much different than usual. But he has some pride.
Majima laughs anyway, starting almost human and becoming a howl-like thing at the end. He wipes a coppery-red smudge from his jaw, squints, and then licks it off the back of his hand because he’s disgusting. Kiryu must’ve caused that, but he’s not sure when exactly. The back hand, most likely. Or maybe the other man clipped the ground when he fell.
“Message received,” he replies. “Let’s dance, Kiryu-chan. Hope you have your fancy footwork ready.”
He lurches forward, his hand flat and darting out like a weapon, and Kiryu expects him to go high and aim for the head again, which is probably exactly why he goes low. He hits Kiryu’s inner knee hard with the arch of his foot, even as Kiryu grabs hold of his wrist and twists until he feels the bones move. For a moment he thinks they’ll both go down as a result, but Majima keeps twisting under his arm as he stumbles, and comes bobbing up again, driving the heel of his palm up into Kiryu’s nose, which crunches. He stumbles back, letting go. Doesn’t feel broken, but his face stings like hell now, which judging from Majima’s wide-eyed grin, he knows full well.
Whatever. Move. Kiryu grabs at his lapel, catches while Majima is still enjoying the view and pulls. The shiny fabric slides under his hand, but holds, and they end up front to front, too close for comfort, but close enough that Kiryu can head-butt Majima hard enough to make himself slightly dizzy. Majima tries to do that annoying thing he usually catches Kiryu out with, aiming to get one of those long legs up to hook round him and bring him down, and Kiryu figures that the way things are going he’s probably going to end up on the ground anyway, so he might as well take Majima with him.
An arm hooked around the waist. Push off with his feet. He launches himself forwards and rocks them both forwards and back, chest to chest. And then they’re down, as close as two people can be, scrabbling in the gutter. But Kiryu's on top, which makes all the difference. Not that Majima doesn't make his marks anyway. A sharp elbow to the face. A knee to the gut. Kiryu lifts him up as far as he can without giving him the leverage to flip them, and then slams him down again. Majima’s back hits the asphalt and he goes limp for a second.
There’s a drawn-out wheeze below him, and he presses the long line of his forearm against the other man’s throat, slightly harder than he needs to, because his nose is still throbbing and he knows Majima did that just to piss him off. The long smudge of red on his jaw has marked the sleeve of Kiryu’s suit. Hm. He’ll need to deal with that later.
“Oiiiiii,” says Majima in one long breath, and tilts his head back, so that even more of the curve of his long neck is visible. “There we go. That wake you up?”
Kiryu sighs. “Are we done?”
“Dunno. Are we?”
Kiryu doesn’t merit that with a response, just presses down harder until Majima makes a soft little sound.
“Yeah, yeah, big boy, we’re done,” he hisses, and taps on Kiryu's shoulder with one hand. “C’mon, lemme up.”
“I just don’t want you to go at my ankles again,” Kiryu says. He hasn’t seen Majima’s dagger today, which means it could be anywhere.
“That was one time! Move, dumbass, I don’t wanna have to dry clean this outfit if it gets eau de Kamurocho all over the back.”
Kiryu gets up, and sucks in a deep breath. The rest of the world fades back in. He accidentally meets the eye of a nearby barker, and the man shies away, going pale. He adjusts the collar of his shirt, rolling the shoulder that probably has a new bruise forming. He can feel a wet patch on his knee from a puddle. Hopefully water.
Majima, for all his complaints about the state of the ground (complaints that are probably perfectly reasonable. Kiryu doesn’t even want to think about what sort of muck has been gathering there over the years), doesn’t get up. He lies on his back, chest rising and falling, and then slowly tips to the side, movements long and languid, propping himself up on one elbow.
Kiryu, burdened by some misguided sense of chivalry and the last remnants of his respect for hierarchy, holds out a hand. Majima, as per usual, ignores it, and instead stretches out, toes pointing, wriggling his fingers.
“Now that’s what I call a proper workout,” says Majima, with a loose grin. “Wooo, I could have that for breakfast, lunch and dinner and still be hungry for more.”
So they’ve reached the self-satisfied stage of the conversation, which is usually about the point where Kiryu makes his exit. Still…
He turns back, because he’s going to be annoyed all day if he doesn’t mention it. “Oi. Your feather is falling out.”
“Haaaaaw?” The wide-eyed, wide mouthed look of confusion. Kiryu has seen that look many times, and is absolutely certain that it’s the face Majima pulls when he’s trying to be as irritating as possible. It’s certainly successful in its goal.
“You’re going to lose the feather in your headband,” he points at the offending accessory, and Majima raises a hand, feels around through loose hair.
“Always looking out for me, Kiryu-chan,” he says, and pointedly straightens the headband. Kiryu rolls his eyes, and steps away.
Haruka is sitting on a low wall, her legs swinging as she kicks back against the brickwork. She’s left the poppo bag to rest beside her, and has cracked open one of the cans of grape soda that he bought for them to drink together, which is probably a point against him and a sign that he spent far longer than he thought distracted by his friendly local stalker.
Kiryu and Majima have an agreement about Haruka.
Well. No, that’s not exactly true. An agreement has the prerequisite of the two parties actually agreeing. What they have is a boundary, which Kiryu has never vocalised but is nevertheless certain that Majima understands implicitly. The boundary is as follows: If Majima ever speaks to, bothers or even looks at Haruka in a way he doesn't like again, Kiryu will break his legs in eight places, and he can spend the next half a year in hospital until he learns his lesson. For all he plays around, Kiryu doesn’t think Majima is completely stupid. He hasn’t gone within fifteen feet of her since the batting centre.
Haruka, for her part, is remarkably blasé about the whole thing. Kiryu is quite concerned about that, when he’s not busy being grateful. It’s possible that kidnappings number two and three surpassed kidnapping number one. It’s possible that the millennium tower wiped out all three of them, to the point where every other fear in her mind has shrivelled up next to it. Maybe she’s strong, stronger than he is. Maybe she’s brave. But he remembers that one from his own childhood. People call kids brave when they mean unhappy, but quiet about it.
You know what Kiryu keeps thinking, these days? That Nishiki, his Nishiki, way back when he was still Akira-kun, was the first person to find his parents' bodies. Kiryu and Yumi had no memories before Sunflower, but Nishiki did, didn't see them die but saw the results and dreamt about it at least as long as they shared a room. Wet the bed sometimes, until he was a teenager, and the other kids made fun of him for it so Kiryu would hit them until they shut up while Yumi helped Nishiki secretly take care of the sheets so that no adult would ever find out.
He doesn't actually remember anymore why they tried so hard to keep it secret.
He would wonder if those wounds ever healed, but he knows in his heart of hearts that they didn't. He sometimes catches himself in the depth of night and bottom of a bottle, and wonders if it would've made any difference if he'd passed on Kazama’s revelation. Surely it was better for them to go to their graves not knowing.
But what if it could've changed anything?
Haruka’s hot little hand slips into his.
Real.
Kiryu couldn't help Nishiki. He couldn't help either Nishikiyama, not Yuko either. She's dead, he knows she's dead because there's no other solution that makes sense, but he doesn’t know when she died, or how old she managed to get, in the end. He doesn't know how many birthdays she ended up having. He doesn't know where her grave is. Surely Nishiki would have found somewhere decent where she could be laid to rest. Surely Kashiwagi or Kazama would've helped.
Unless…
Anyway.
Haruka saw both her parents die, even if she disavowed one of them. She saw Yumi die, Yumi who Kiryu also couldn't help, even though he tried with every straining fibre of his body and soul.
Haruka's hand squeezes his own.
He remembers that he's a person.
He looks down at her. “I thought we were going to drink our sodas together,” he says.
She frowns, and rustles around in the bag, holding up a condensation beaded can. One hand in his, the other holding the can, her own drink tucked between her knees, and she tries to open it with her thumb and makes an annoyed little noise.
“Here,” says Kiryu, and takes it, and holds it still for her. She grins, and reaches over to pop the tab.
Neither of them acknowledge that the whole task would've been far easier if they had been willing to break their tight grip on each other.
The soda is sweet and fruity, though he swears it used to be sweeter. But that's what all old men say, and Kiryu isn't even 40 yet but he feels every year like a weight.
“It's good,” he says, smacks his lips, and Haruka gives him that look that makes him realise just how old a man he is compared to her.
“Sorry Haruka,” he says, because she really is very patient with the way he bounces back and forth across Kamurocho like a pinball. “We're done now. Where do you want to go next?”
She hums quietly. “We could go back to the casino. I like watching the roulette wheel spin.”
The casino again. Do all kids like gambling, or is it just Haruka? One day he'll put a stop to it. Not today though. Today he just wants her to have fun.
He helps her hop down safely from the wall, and hooks the poppo bag around his elbow. There's steamed buns for later, because the konbini had a flavour he hadn't tried before. He's still working his way through all the new types of instant noodles that you can get now.
Haruka doesn't move though, swinging their joined arms.
“Ummm. Oji-san?” She says slowly.
“Hmm?”
“Can you… ask a question for me?”
He's not sure what she means. “A question? I… guess.”
She nods, and glances to the side. “Could you…? Could you ask Majima-san where he got his shiny outfit please?”
“Majima.” Kiryu frowns, and looks around. Sure enough, she's watching the other man, which is unusual for her. Haruka usually pretends Majima doesn't exist. It's mutual. “I always assumed he got it out of a cabaret club’s garbage.”
“That's a very rude thing to say,” she says reproachfully. “You have to ask him properly.”
“Okay.” He did agree, after all. He approaches Majima again. He's shifted slightly, but hasn't gotten off the ground yet. Instead he's just perched on the curb, long legs splayed out in front of him. The lights behind him reflect off the shimmering fabric of his jacket, blue, green, red, yellow, back to blue again as they flash. In one hand he has a cigarette, and he's holding his phone in the other, texting furiously with his thumb. Kiryu is a little jealous. He hasn't worked out how to do that one yet, still needs to squint and stab at each button with his index finger. Once Haruka showed him how to play sudoku on his phone, and he’s been trying ever since to get back to that screen on his own.
Majima looks up when Kiryu's legs come into his eyeline, craning his neck back. Kiryu has always thought Majima has a neck like a bird, like it's slightly longer than a human neck should be. It's the sort of rude personal thought that Kiryu has often, and usually doesn't say out loud after being told off for it too many times as a child. He probably will mention it to Majima at some point though as payback for when the other man does something particularly annoying.
He narrows his eye at Kiryu, and then his gaze flickers down to where Haruka is half hiding behind him. He takes one last pull and stubs his cigarette in the gutter. “‘Sup, Kiryu-chan? Ya want round two already?”
“No,” says Kiryu, “We do actually have plans for the rest of the day.”
Majima makes that little high pitched giggling noise, and tilts his head. “Whaddaya want from little ol’ Goro-kun then?”
Kiryu feels like he’s going to make himself look like an idiot here. But a promise is a promise. “Where did you get your outfit from?” It feels wrong to just demand like that, so he finishes with an honorific to be safe. “Majima-no-nii-san,” he says, and nods. There. That was good. Polite interaction with the man who follows him round to try and goad Kiryu into a fight: achieved.
Majima looks at him, and then down at Haruka, dark eye intense. And then he grins wide. “Aww, Kiryu-chan, are you jealous? Ya wanna match? We can go dancing together. Get ourselves a synchronised karaoke routine.” He looks thoughtful for a second. “Actually, I did have a backing dance worked out at some point…”
“No. I just want to know about the clothes.”
“Ehhh, be boring then.” He shrugs. “It’s bespoke. Most of the costumes are, didn’t ya ever wonder how it all fits so well?” Kiryu hadn’t wondered, actually. If anything he had just assumed Majima made Nishida sort it all out. “I’ve had this since the 80s, lil’ something to rock the disco in. It lasted pretty well, but that’s nylon for you. This suit will probably outlive both of us.”
Well, that’s depressing to think about. Kiryu nods. “Thank you.”
He waves it off. “Sorry kiddo,” he says, addressing Haruka for the first time. “They don’t make them like this anymore. But hey, you know what, you should go to Donki. They got these lil fluffy tulle skirts right now with sparkles and stars on them. Cute as shit. Keep seeing those harajuku kids wearing them.”
“What are you talking about?” Kiryu says. He’s not sure how this conversation got onto Donki and Harajuku. And hey, this is that boundary that he’s pretty sure does exist. Majima isn’t supposed to talk to Haruka.
Majima sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Eh, why do I bother? Some guys just can’t be helped.”
Kiryu is pretty sure he’s being insulted right now. He considers picking another fight just to save face, but that’s probably what Majima wants him to do. And Haruka has been patient enough already.
“Goodbye, Majima-no-nii-san,” he says instead pointedly, and Majima makes a shooing motion with his hands like he's herding cats, going back to typing speedily on his phone.
They stop for ramen on the way to the casino, and he gets extra fish cakes for Haruka, because they're her favourite for some reason. She helps him get 500 chips up with some good calls, and then he loses it all again messing around guessing lucky numbers. He really does need to stop bringing her here.
They get stopped on the way back by a woman who got her state of the art model aircraft stuck in a tree. He boosts Haruka up on his shoulders to retrieve it, and the woman is so thankful she gives them a mini kit of model aircraft pieces out of gratitude. It reminds him a little of pocket circuit, but maybe this one would be cool enough that he can persuade Haruka to do it together with him, whereas she wrote off pocket circuit as ‘boring’ after overhearing one conversation between Kiryu and Pocket Circuit Fighter about gear adjustment.
They find a token for the arcade on the ground, give directions to a group of hopelessly lost and flustered tourists trying to get to the Tokyo Skytree, and eat steamed buns sitting on a damp bench in children’s park. Kiryu listens, making interested noises at appropriate junctions as Haruka tells him about a boxing match she watched the other day.
And when the night starts drawing back in, he takes her hand and they walk back down towards the station.
The rain seems to have cleared out all but the most dedicated tourists, touts and troublemakers. It’s quiet, or at least as quiet as Kamurocho ever is, and for once he’s unbothered. Haruka tugs at his hand, and he lets her lead the way. He doesn’t realise they’re headed for Don Quixote until they’re already inside.
He’s mostly forgotten the whole strange interaction with Majima by that point, and only remembers when Haruka searches out the clothing section, her big dark eyes scanning up and down.
She snags a passing employee, “Excuse me!” she says, perfectly polite. “Could you please tell me where the sparkly tulle skirts are, please?”
The woman frowns. “Oh, I’m sorry, those have been very popular. We sold the last one this morning. Maybe you’d like to see some of our other clothing?”
“No, it’s okay,” she says, a little deflated. She returns to Kiryu, latching onto his hand.
“Did you really want one?” he asks.
“It’s alright,” she says, with a little frown. “I just wanted to see if they were actually that cute. But it’s not like I was going to get one or anything.”
“Okay.” He’s not sure he believes her, but he’s familiar with the games that kids like Haruka play to bounce back from disappointment. He had his own share of things as a kid that he ‘didn’t really want anyway’.
“Do you want to get something else?”
“No!” She shakes her head. “I don’t need anything else, oji-san. I had a really nice day today. Thank you.”
He smiles. “I should be thanking you.” He really should. Life is better when Haruka is there. “I had a lovely day as well, Haruka.”
She smiles. “Can we do it again?” She asks every time, like he’s ever said no. But nonetheless, he wonders if some part of her thinks every time that he’s going to do exactly that.
“Of course.”
By the time he gets back from dropping her off at Sunflower, the night has pulled fully across the sky. He avoids the usual bunches of idiots trying to cause trouble, and doesn’t look up at the Kazama offices as he passes, just in case he sees Kashiwagi looking back. He doesn’t want to know.
Duck round the back into the alley behind Serena, up the rattling fire escape. It’s cold inside, and is starting to smell slightly of stale alcohol. It used to be so warm here.
He walks around the empty patches of floor where the police cut away the bloodstained carpet.
It’s not helping his drinking, staying in a bar. He’s starting to think he needs to kick that habit, for Haruka’s sake if nothing else. Another reason to find somewhere to live. Another thing to add to the checklist he’s making no progress on. Useless.
But today was a good day. He holds onto that, a bright thread wrapped around his heart.
He drops onto the couch, and sleeps deeply, and for once without dreams.
One of the best tricks Kiryu knows is this: never stop. He learnt this first like he learns many things, through fighting. If you get hit, even if it hurts, don’t let yourself lean against a wall and take a breath. You might think you’re recovering, but then it’ll be harder to move again when you need to. If you let the adrenaline start to drop then you’re done for. Better to barrel through, keep pushing until you hit the end.
It’s applicable, he thinks. He gets up. He takes the train. He takes Haruka’s hand in his. It feels real.
That’s the first time.