Archive of Our Own

“Okay, let’s take it again from the top.”

Majima took a sip of his watered down glass of Hibiki and placed it back on the lacquered table of the bar before slouching back against the squeaky leather booth.

“You can’t tell every client yer hobby is makin’ chirashi. Yer gonna bore ‘em to death talkin’ about vinegar varieties.”

“But it is my hobby!” Yuki said with a pout, smoothing out the lap of her silvery-white dress. “I don’t want to lie about my interests. And I’ve told everyone about my bonsai already.”

Majima sighed. He wished his drink were stronger. How did this girl get a job as a hostess, again? “Yuki-chan, ya gotta learn to stretch the truth a little. If ya really want to talk about some kinda donburi, talk about unadon or somethin’.”

“What, why eel?”

“Eel’s an aphrodisiac. Guys eat that shit up.” This was hopeless. He thought everyone knew about the virulent properties of eel. “Hey, ya think we should put that on the Sunshine menu?”

Yuki seemed more interested in the complimentary rice crackers on their table than the state of the cabaret club’s food options. How long had they been here again? Majima looked up at the dingy clock above the bar. Thirty minutes? It felt like it had been hours. He chewed on his lip, grinding the heel of his shoe into the dilapidated carpet.

Club Sunshine’s top hostess had come a long way since Majima had started training her, but she still hadn’t quite perfected that initial introduction with new customers. Clients loved her once they got to know her (as did Majima), but as Sunshine continued to rise in the Sotenbori cabaret club ranks, each of his best girls had to learn how to impress new and old customers alike. So he’d put some time aside this evening for a special training session at Utahime in hopes that a change of scenery would get her to loosen up a bit.

Apparently it wasn’t working.

Before he could ask Yuki about the menu again, Majima heard the bell above the bar door jingle, and glanced up to see who had decided to join them.

Into the bar walked a tall, broad man with short-cropped hair and a scowl that rivaled the grumpy statue outside of Kushikatsu Daruma. If Majima weren’t, well, Majima, he probably would have pissed his pants. If it weren’t for the browline glasses perched on his nose and the whole lost puppy look he had about him, he also would have thought he were a family man. Had this guy never been to a bar before, or what? Either way, he looked like he could snap Majima in half. Which was exactly Majima’s type.

“Oy, Yuki-chan.” Majima tapped her lightly on the shoulder, causing a cracker to fall out of her hand and onto the floor. “Get a load of the side of beef that just walked in.”

She gave him a withering look. “I thought we weren’t supposed to be talking about food.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about food,” Majima hissed, “I’m talkin’ about the hunk in the white suit.” A white suit that looked way too big on him. Where did he even find a suit that ugly? And yet, somehow, he pulled it off. Although, Majima imagined that he probably had the kind of physique that would even make a burlap sack look sexy.

Having apparently figured out that you’re supposed to sit down when you enter a snack bar, the man in the white suit wedged himself into one of the plush chairs at the counter, awkwardly nodding at the bartender. If only Majima hadn’t promised to train Yuki, maybe he’d take a seat next to him and put on the ol’ Majima charm. Do something that he wanted to do—something that even Sagawa’s goons couldn’t get on his case for, hidden away in this little hole-in-the-wall karaoke joint that had seen better days.

Well. Majima had seen better days, too.

Suddenly, an idea dawned on him. Maybe there was a way to do both. Or at least, a way to enjoy some eye candy while also doing his job.

“I think we need to mix things up a bit,” he said to Yuki, voice low.

Yuki’s eyes widened and she sat up a bit straighter. “What do you mean?”

“How about ya try talkin’ to mister heartthrob over there?” Majima gestured toward the bar with his chin. “It’d be a good chance to put what you’ve learned to the test. Plus, it might be more interestin’ to have a conversation with someone other than me.”

“But I like talking to you, Majima-san.” The look she gave him then was probably the same look that had her ranking first in champagne sales every month.

“And that’s exactly why you should graduate to practicin’ with someone new.” Majima hunched over conspiratorily, his ponytail falling over his shoulder. “Let me do the talkin’. I’ll offer to buy his drinks for the night, and you’ll get more practice in. Win-win, dontcha think? Worst thing that happens is he says no and yer still stuck with me. Either way, I’ll let ya go after one more conversation.”

She nodded with a smile. “Okay, it’s a deal.”

The man in the white suit was just motioning to the bartender to place his order. Perfect timing. He ordered a Bowmore 12. A scotch, but still the cheapest one on the menu. There was no way this guy was going to turn down an evening of free drinks.

“Excuse me, sir,” Majima started, sidling up to the counter and putting on his very best customer service voice. “May I humbly request a moment of your time?”

The stranger eyed him skeptically, which was Majima’s cue.

“Put his drink on my tab,” he said to the bartender, who nodded in confirmation.

The man’s angry eyebrows rose ever so slightly. Bingo.

“I apologize for interrupting your evening—”

“You’re not interrupting,” the man interrupted. “Sorry. I mean…you just paid for my drink. Um. Thank you.”

Oh no. His voice sounded like that? Listening to it felt like being wrapped in a thick, velvet blanket. Majima wanted to suffocate in it.

“It’s my pleasure.” With a gracefulness that made him itch, Majima retrieved a Club Sunshine business card from his coat pocket and presented it with both hands. The man accepted it tentatively, and bowed his head in response. “Allow me to explain myself: I’m the manager of a cabaret club in town. I’m actually here training one of my hostesses in the art of conversation. It’s time she graduated to practicing with someone besides myself, and I was wondering if you’d indulge us. We’d gladly buy your drinks in exchange for your time.”

“Like…at a cabaret club?”

“Yes.”

“But free?”

“...yes.” Not too quick on the uptake, this one. “Unless you have plans, of course.”

“No, uh…I’m available.”

“Perfect.” Hook, line, and sinker.

♫  ⋆  ｡  ♪  ₊  ˚  ♬   ﾟ  .

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Yuki!”

The leather of the booth groaned as the man took a seat a healthy distance away from his conversation partner. Weird. It wasn’t like Yuki was going to bite…but Majima supposed Japanese Clark Kent didn’t know that.

Majima settled into the seat across from them, taking a swig of his double Ballantine 12.

“I’m Kiryu. Nice to meet you,” he said to Yuki with a nod of his head. “And nice to meet you too, ah…” He fumbled around in his oversized suit jacket for the business card he had been handed earlier, and squinted at it. “Majima-san.” He made eye contact with Majima from across the booth, somehow managing to look angry, concerned, and pathetic all at the same time.

Kiryu. And damn, if Majima’s name didn’t sound good coming out of his mouth.

Majima waved him off, feigning nonchalance. “You two keep on gettin’ acquainted, I’m only here to observe. Like a one-eyed fly on the wall.”

From her seat in the corner Yuki tried to stifle a guffaw, and Majima gave her a pointed look. She coughed into her hand and composed herself, sitting up straight and placing her hands gracefully in her lap, just like they’d talked about.

“So, what brings you here tonight, Kiryu-san?”

“Uh…” Kiryu’s gaze flicked over to Majima before settling back on Yuki, back ramrod straight. “Business.”

“Is that so?” A tilt of her head, a smile on her lips. “What do you do for work?”

Truly the question of the hour, because what office on earth would let him get away with that suit?

“Real estate.”

And if that wasn’t the most obvious lie Majima had ever heard.

“Oh,” Yuki giggled a bit. Just a bit—they were working on that. “That must be quite a lucrative business these days.” She really was getting better at this whole small talk thing. “Wait,” she continued, before taking a sip of her ume highball, her eyebrows knitting together. “You came to this bar for business reasons?”

“Ah, no that’s…I’m not from Osaka. I’m visiting from Tokyo.” He pulled at the collar of the bright orange shirt he wore.

The hell would a guy in Tokyo real estate be doing visiting Osaka?

Yuki simply nodded, using the opportunity to scoot a bit closer to Kiryu. “That explains your accent. I sure hope you have plans to get takoyaki while you’re here.”

“A-ah…” The sound of rustling suit fabric was somehow louder than the smooth jazz filling the snack bar as Kiryu shifted in his seat, eyes darting from Yuki to Majima to the door.

What was up with this guy? His body language made him look like a spooked cat ready to bolt. Was the eyepatch freaking him out? Wouldn’t be the first time.

Yuki seemed to pick up on it too, because she shot Majima a nervous glance, before turning back to her stranger-turned-client. “Or maybe you’ll try some Chirashi?”

Oh, no.

Kiryu furrowed his eyebrows. “Chirashi? I didn’t know that was an Osaka specialty.”

“It ain’t,” Majima deadpanned from across the booth.

“A-ah, nevermind…” Yuki tapered off, wringing her hands in her lap and looking at a spot on the far wall.

An awkward silence followed. But thankfully and beyond all reason, Kiryu seemed to have relaxed a bit.

Now that that conversation was dead in the water, Majima crossed his ankle over his knee and sipped his drink, curious about what she would do next.

“So, Kiryu-san,” Yuki perked up. Giving him her brightest smile, she closed the distance between them a bit more until they almost looked like they were in a cabaret club booth. “I can’t help but be curious…what’s your type?”

This was always an interesting question, and was telling of what type of girl a customer might prefer during future visits. It was the reason men frequented cabaret clubs, after all.

But when posed with this question, Kiryu paused. It was almost like Majima could see the gears turning in his head. As if the farther his eyebrows moved down his face, the closer he would get to the answer he was searching for. Seconds ticked by. But when Kiryu finally opened his mouth to respond, all he said was:

“Type of what?”

This fucking guy. There was no way he was this dense.

“Ladies,” Majima interjected, unable to help himself. “She’s askin’ what type of ladies you like.”

Kiryu blinked. Once. Twice. “Oh. I’ve, uh, never really thought about it.”

It took every ounce of self control for Majima not to throw hands right then and there. What was this guy, a virgin?

“I guess if I had to choose, I suppose I like…” He paused, eyes darting around the room until his gaze landed on Majima. “Long hair.” He then glanced back at Yuki, noticing how very un-long her hair was, and faltered. “I mean, short hair is good too. It depends on the person. If they’re a beautiful person, any hairstyle would suit them.” Kiryu gave a nod, as if congratulating himself on making the greatest revelation of the century.

What a charmer. At least he scored high marks in the looks department.

“Wow, sounds like you’re quite open-minded.” Yuki was doing her darndest with the material she had to work with. She took another sip of her cocktail and crossed her legs. “So, what else do you like? Do you have any hobbies?”

Kiryu’s eyes lit up for the first time since they had met. “Actually, one of my favorite pastimes is Pocket Circuit.”

Pocket what?

“Oh! You mean those battery powered car races? I hear it’s all the rage with kids these days.”

Kiryu shook his head. “It’s not just for kids.” He smirked, a spark seemingly ignited within him. “In reality, it takes an incredible amount of skill to figure out the perfect build that sets you up not only for speed, but for control around the track. Plus, the hobby can get expensive if you want to buy the best parts.”

Well, that had at least gotten him to open up. Or had opened up the floodgates, in Kiryu’s case, because now Mister One-Word-Answer wouldn’t shut up. He prattled on about the best suspension and gears for tracks with lots of curves, how to achieve the most aerodynamic build without burning out the battery too quickly, and the deal he’d gotten on something called a “Godspeed Motor” at Ebisu Pawn.

Majima had a feeling he could talk about this for hours. And although he hated to admit it, he probably wouldn’t mind if it meant he got to keep listening to that soothing deep voice.

Yuki, saint that she was, was too polite to do anything but smile and nod with occasional affirmations. In fact, it almost seemed like she was genuinely interested in what he had to say. When the hell had she gotten so good at this?

But when Kiryu started to explain the age-old debate of whether stabilizers and bumpers were worth the money or just a cash grab from Pocket Circuit HQ, even Yuki’s eyes started to glaze over. And when Majima brought them a second round of drinks and Kiryu was still rattling on about how he won the Elite Cup against four elementary school children, Majima knew it was time to step in.

"So,” he asked, a sharp edge to his voice as he placed a Macallan on the rocks in front of Kiryu, “what else do ya like, buddy?"

“Oh,” Kiryu answered, almost as if he’d forgotten that others were present. “Me?”

Majima raised his eyebrows in a way he hoped said, ‘Who the hell else?’

Ice clinked against the side of the glass as Kiryu brought it to his lips with a thoughtful hum. “Well, I also love karaoke. That’s actually why I came here tonight, heh."

Yuki looked relieved at the change in topic. “Majima-san and I love karaoke, too!”

Perfect. Majima clapped his hands together definitively. “Well, what are we waitin’ for? Can’t come to Utahime without beltin’ out a few tunes.” It was getting late anyway, and Majima wasn’t sure he could sit through another painful conversation topic. Hopefully this guy could at least sing on key. “Why dontcha serenade us first, Kiryu-chan?”

Kiryu’s mouth formed more of a smile than it had all evening (although that wasn’t saying much). “Oh, are you sure?” he asked, but was already eyeing the karaoke machine and moving to get up.

Without Kiryu in the booth, Majima took his place next to Yuki, watching Kiryu punch a number into the machine. “Looks like he’s already got a song in mind.”

Moments later, the melancholy opening notes of a tinny harmonica rang out from the speakers as the intro of crowd favorite Baka Mitai filled the small space. Kiryu closed his eyes and swayed in place to the beat, lights reflecting off the disco ball on the ceiling and glittering across his face.

To say that Majima was unprepared for Kiryu to sing those first few notes would be an understatement. This was not the voice of your run-of-the-mill salaryman who went out after work to all-you-can-drink karaoke. This voice was pornographic levels of sexy; deep and smooth and full-bodied like an aged Bordeaux. And it had no right coming out of the diaphragm of a kid who couldn’t have been older than Majima himself.

Yuki seemed equally entranced, her jaw having fallen open in a way that was not very becoming of a top hostess.

Majima sat on the edge of his seat, completely captivated, passively thankful he’d lost one of his eyes and not one of his ears. Goosebumps prickled up his arms as Kiryu reached the chorus, pouring his entire heart into belting out each earnest lyric. He had obviously done this many times before. But with who? Alone? With his friends? With a girl? Not that it mattered, obviously.

When the instrumental outro faded, Yuki was the first to put her hands together in applause, and was quickly joined by the bar’s sparse patrons and even the bartender himself. With a sharp nod of his head, Kiryu replaced the microphone and made his way back to the booth.

Scrambling to sit up straight, Majima waved his hands at Yuki with a shooing motion. “You go next, Yuki-chan. I ain’t about to follow that performance.”

“What, and you think I can?” she asked with a smile, already getting up. Hopeless conversationalist or not, Yuki really was the best.

“Yeah, because yer a cute chick and not a one-eyed loser. Get up there and show ‘em what ya got!”

Looking relaxed and maybe a tad bit sweatier than he’d been before, Kiryu swapped places with Yuki and collapsed into her spot in the booth—directly beside Majima.

“Damn Kiryu-chan, ya didn’t tell us you had pipes!” Majima gave Kiryu a playful slap on the shoulder. “Coulda lied and told us you were a professional singer and we woulda believed ya.”

Kiryu rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m far from professional, just passionate.” Maybe it was just the alcohol in his system, but Majima could swear he saw a slight blush tinting his cheeks.

“Well, ya got that right. Yuki ain’t bad either, though—that’s why we come here so often for training sessions like this. Singin’s good for the nerves.”

So was alcohol, which was why Majima leaned over then to grab his whiskey from the table. As he did so, his arm brushed against Kiryu’s—deep black juxtaposed against pearl white—and it was only then that Majima noticed how close they were sitting to each other. Kiryu’s pinstriped thigh was practically touching his leg, their shoulders all but knocking together. Which struck Majima as odd, considering the distance Kiryu had put between himself and Yuki when he first joined them in the booth. What kind of guy would rather sit next to an eyepatched ex-yakuza than a beautiful young hostess? The whiskey was undoubtedly working its magic, but it should take more than a couple of rounds to affect a big guy like Kiryu. It certainly didn’t account for the way he leaned into Majima’s space, or the way his posture had softened against the give of the leather booth. Unless…

Majima’s train of thought was interrupted by the bright saxophone melody of Yuki’s go-to X3 Shine—another crowd-pleaser, judging by the hoots and hollers coming from the dim corners of the bar. Shit, that’s right—he had to back up his girl!

“Do ya know this one?” Majima asked loudly enough to be heard over the opening piano riff.

“Of course I do,” Kiryu replied. As if to prove it, he began clapping to the beat of the song along with the bar’s other patrons.

Yeah, so Kiryu knew the song enough to clap along, but Majima doubted that he knew the entire backup set. Time to give Mister “Real Estate” a run for his money.

“Yuki-chaaaan!” Majima hollered, hands cupped around his mouth as if he were at a sports arena and not in a dive bar. “Sunshine!!”

Kiryu was unfazed. He threw out a supportive, “Yay!” and continued to clap along.

Why was that so fucking cute?

Starting to sweat, Majima adjusted his position in a way he hoped was subtle to put a couple inches of space between them. Not because he minded being pressed up against a slab of pure muscle (and Majima knew that he was, under that disaster of a suit—he had a sense for these things), but he wasn’t sure that Kiryu knew what his body language implied. And the adorable interjections weren’t helping.

Yuki hit every note as she always did, voice crisp and movements elegant. Someone had taken out a tambourine. Kiryu nodded along, seemingly having a good time in contrast with his ever-stormy brow ridge. But it was the next bit that would really put Kiryu’s knowledge to the test.

The song continued to build, and against all odds, Kiryu joined Majima with a perfectly timed: “Kono hi, kono natsu!”

He really did know this song. Majima opened his mouth to tell him so, but Kiryu was staring straight ahead, disco lights reflecting in his glasses and too invested in providing the best backup vocals to notice.

A flurry of interjections followed, each attempting to outdo the last.

“Oi, oi, oi, oi!”

“Sexy, sexy!”

“HOO!” Hoo?

When Yuki hit the chorus, they spun to face each other, knowing exactly what came next. “Kimi ga sunshine!” they belted in unison. Majima couldn’t hold back a genuine smile. One pulled at Kiryu’s lips, too.

The electric guitar of the final verse faded out to a round of applause and a playful bow from Yuki before she joined them again at their table.

“It couldn’t hurt you to be just a little less enthusiastic, Majima-san!” She sat at the edge of the booth in the small area Kiryu and Majima’s splayed legs afforded her.

“Hey, I couldn’t let Kiryu-chan outshine me!”

“Uh-huh…” Yuki looked at where the two men’s legs were now touching, then up at Majima with a squint.

Meeting her gaze, Majima pulled his knee away from Kiryu’s like he had been burned, and cleared his throat.

He glanced up at the clock again. It was already half-past eleven, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to squeeze any more painfully awkward conversation out of Yuki or their guest. It had been worth a try, and good practice to boot. And Kiryu seemed to be enjoying himself, which was a success in Majima’s book.

“Well, I think that’s all I got in me for training tonight.” Majima stretched his arms above his head with a groan. “Ya did great, Yuki-chan. And yer free to go whenever ya please.”

“You’re not going to sing, Majima-san?” Yuki asked.

“Nah, you kiddin’ me? I can’t follow back-to-back flawless performances like that!”

“Well, if you promise I’m not going to miss out on you singing 24-Hour Cinderella,” Yuki covered her mouth with a hand, stifling a yawn. “I suppose it is getting late.” She stood, bowing politely to Majima, and then to Kiryu. “It was really nice to meet you, Kiryu-san! I hope you’ll come visit Club Sunshine if you ever find yourself back in Osaka.”

Kiryu promised he would.

The disco ball overhead slowed, its reflections twinkling across the walls of the bar like stars in the night sky. It didn’t look like anyone else was queued up for karaoke, and if Majima wasn’t planning to sing and Yuki was heading home, he figured he was out of excuses to stay. Not that he needed an excuse to haunt his favorite Sotenbori snack bar. But Kiryu had fulfilled his end of their bargain, and it might look odd if Majima stuck around.

The problem was, after their little impromptu singing session, Majima was no less intrigued by this real estate agent from Tokyo than he’d been when he’d walked through the door.

“Looks like Kiryu-chan’s still working on his drink, so I’ll keep him company till he’s done.” That wasn’t weird…right? He’d bought Kiryu’s drinks, after all. It was the polite thing to do.

Yuki didn’t seem to think anything of it. “Thanks again for lending us your time, Kiryu-san. And I’ll see you at the club tomorrow, right Majima-san?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he responded with what he hoped came across as a wink.

Once Yuki had left, Majima downed the rest of his drink in one last gulp. “She’s great, ain’t she?” he asked, looking over at Kiryu.

Kiryu nodded in agreement. "If they're all trained by you it's no wonder your club is so successful."

Where the hell had that suave-ass line come from? Majima sucked an ice cube into his mouth to buy himself some time to formulate a response. "Well, the girls have got their looks goin' for 'em, too. I just help polish up their conversation game." And their makeup. But he wasn’t about to divulge that little tidbit.

"I wouldn't sell yourself short."

Majima’s brain short-circuited right then and there. Was this the same guy who had just been yammering on about the differences between slim and soft tires for tiny cars? Either way, he was glad that he and Yuki had gotten Kiryu to open up a bit.

“Didja wanna sing another song?” Majima offered, changing the subject.

“No, I think…I’m good here.” Then Kiryu turned to Majima with a smirk. “So. 24-Hour Cinderella, huh?”

“I’m damn good at it, too! Got the Sotenbori high score. But,” Majima paused, moving to take another sip from his glass before remembering it was empty, “ya don’t know me well enough to hear that yet.”

“Heh, hope I get the privilege one day.”

Either the karaoke or the multiple whiskeys had done something to loosen up Kiryu’s conversationalism. He leaned back in his seat and spread his legs even wider, his knee knocking lightly against Majima’s in a way that didn’t seem entirely accidental.

Perhaps if Majima had been sober he would have shifted away again, told Kiryu to keep his long, well-built legs to himself. But he wasn’t. And it had been so long since he had felt the warm touch of someone in any form…he didn’t want to think about it.

Because right now, Majima was riding on a very enjoyable buzz, and wanted to continue doing so for as long as the alcohol in his system allowed. So for just a moment, he let his mind wander. In a different situation, in a different life, would he have bought Kiryu another drink? Would they have sauntered out of the bar together, ended up at some hotel? Would they have kissed each other goodnight? Maybe if Majima was just the manager of a cabaret club, and if Kiryu was just some guy in real estate (he still wasn’t buying that one), just maybe, they could have had a really good time.

If his night with this bespectacled beefcake was going to end soon, Majima might as well make the most of it and take in every last detail he could. He let his gaze drift as Kiryu brought his glass to his lips to finish the rest of his drink. It looked particularly small and fragile in his hand, like he could crush it to dust without a second thought. When Kiryu swallowed, Majima followed the movement of his throat down to the opening of his hideous orange shirt which, unbuttoned to a frankly unprofessional degree, flaunted a peek of what were undoubtedly delectable pecs underneath. The two of them sat close enough that Majima could smell the alcohol and lingering tinge of tobacco on Kiryu’s breath, underpinned by whatever cheap, woodsy Don Quijote cologne he was wearing.

But before Majima could get lost in thoughts of musky man smell and powerful hands touching him in all the right places, the sound of Kiryu’s glass hitting the table snapped him back to reality.

Majima slapped his hands on his knees, causing Kiryu to startle a bit. “Well, I don’t need to stick around and cramp yer style...I’m sure ya got better plans than hangin’ out with me all evening.”

 Kiryu bit his lip. “I actually uh…don’t have any plans.”

“Real estate hot shot like you, comin’ all the way to Osaka without a whole itinerary lined up?”

“Coming here to sing karaoke was my itinerary.”

He gave Kiryu’s meaty shoulder an encouraging slap. “Well don’t let me stop ya. Get on up there, Karaoke King!” And with that, Majima started to stand with every intention of closing out his tab and getting another restless night’s sleep on the floor of his shithole apartment.

But this time, Kiryu didn’t make a beeline for the machine. Instead, he looked a little disappointed, brows furrowing and staring into his now-empty glass of whiskey.

God dammit. Did this guy use those big brown puppy-dog eyes to close on commercial properties, too?

This was a stupid, stupid idea. There was no way Majima wouldn’t regret this. But Majima had had one too many drinks to care. “...Unless you wanted to get another round?”

The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Kiryu’s lips. “I’d like that.”

♫  ⋆  ｡  ♪  ₊  ˚  ♬   ﾟ  .

“You’re JudgementKazzy?” Majima practically screeched, a splash of his drink sloshing onto the table. “Get outta here! I loved that story about helpin’ out the dominatrix. That really happened?”

“I didn’t really know what I was doing, either,” Kiryu laughed. “One minute I was trying to get a Staminan from a vending machine on Pink Street, and the next I was watching a middle-aged salaryman get humiliated in a sex dungeon.”

Maybe Kiryu wasn’t as much of a square as his glasses suggested.

“You ever catch any of the stories submitted by Gorogorogoro-chan?”

Kiryu rolled his eyes. “Yes, unfortunately. His postcards kept getting chosen over mine.”

Majima leaned back, crossed his legs, and shot Kiryu a look over the rim of his tumbler.

“Wait, that was you?”

Several empty glasses and an ashtray of cigarette butts littered the table. Majima had promised himself he would only stay for one more drink. But that was before Kiryu mentioned that he was the high score holder on the OutRun at the Theater Square Club Sega, and before they realized they were both avid listeners of Dolce Kamiya’s radio show. They both made a habit of frequenting Maharaja on Friday nights, and while Majima disagreed with Kiryu’s favorite (Koi no Disco Queen was far superior to I’m Gonna Make Her Mine), he couldn’t deny that busting a move on the dance floor was the best way to let loose.

Well, maybe there were one or two better ways.

The point was, the two of them had a surprising amount in common. And as the alcohol continued to flow, so did their conversation.

“You’re different than I thought you’d be,” Kiryu started. He took a sip of some kind of green tea cocktail he had ordered and passed it to Majima for him to try. “When you approached me at the bar.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I gotta be all professional and shit. I’m off the clock now. …Unless ya prefer the customer service voice.” Majima drank from the side of the glass. “Damn that’s good.”

As Kiryu took the glass back from him, his fingers brushed Majima’s delicately. Neither of them flinched. “No, I…like this. Better.”

Was he imagining things, or was Kiryu’s gaze lingering on Majima’s mouth when he spoke, eyelids soft and pupils wide? Or was that the dim of the bar, a trick of the light? He couldn’t help but be entranced by the way Kiryu’s pink tongue darted out to lick his own whiskey-wet lips.

“I ain’t sure most people would agree.”

Kiryu sipped his drink without breaking eye contact, peering at Majima over the rim of his glass. “Maybe I’m not most people.”

“Oh yeah?”

Kiryu angled himself imperceptibly closer, his shoulder bumping against Majima’s.

Intentionally.

“Yeah.”

Everything around them seemed to go quiet. As if the entire universe were distilled into that moment, that booth, filled with two strangers who had only just met but felt like they’d known each other for as long as the world had existed. Something was happening here—a spark that had caught on the barest bit of kindling that Majima didn’t think he still possessed.

Kiryu shifted. Raised his hand. Sucked in a sharp breath.

And was then interrupted by a loud growling sound coming from his stomach.

Kiryu glanced around, apparently searching for the source of the noise that had so rudely interrupted whatever he was about to do, before he looked down at himself. “Ah.” His face was rapidly turning a shade redder than the leather of the seats they were sitting in. “Sorry.”

Majima laughed like he hadn’t in ages, whatever spell had been cast over them broken. “Hey, whaddya say we get ya that takoyaki Osaka’s so famous for? I know a place that’s open late.”

♫  ⋆  ｡  ♪  ₊  ˚  ♬   ﾟ  .

The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from the stuffy, smoke-filled bar. Kiryu ambled alongside Majima as they made their way around Ashitaba Park, deserted by all but some idiot kid putting graffiti on the public restrooms and a homeless man sleeping on a makeshift cardboard bed.

Kiryu began to veer to the side as they walked, correcting his trajectory once in a while like a shopping cart with a wonky wheel. Majima wasn’t sure he was faring much better. But as they turned the sharp corner at the north end of the park, Majima at least had the wherewithal to notice the phone booth that lay directly in their path.

Kiryu saw the phone booth, too. What Kiryu did not see was the plastic blue trash can sitting directly next to it.

Just as he was about to trip into a pile of trash and who knows what else, Majima grabbed at the crook of Kiryu’s elbow and yanked him away from what would have certainly been an even more disastrous addition to his stark-white suit.

“Careful there, big guy,” Majima warned, nearly toppling over at the sudden shift in weight. “What if ya’d fallen in?”

“Heh,” Kiryu responded, swaying a bit on his feet. “Then you would have had to pull me out.”

Majima tried, uselessly, to push down thoughts of himself positioned behind Kiryu while pulling at that trim waist, grasping those powerful thighs, to extract him from the tiny blue can. The image was so ridiculous—and so hot—that he couldn’t help the nervous giggle that escaped him. It wasn’t until he felt the man next to him shift that Majima realized that his hand was still clasped tightly around Kiryu’s arm. He abruptly let it drop, clearing his throat.

Come on Goro, get it together. He just had to buy his not-date some steaming hot takoyaki. Then he could go home and rub one out while thinking of the beautiful man he had somehow been blessed to be toting around all evening, and return to his sad, pathetic little existence.

“It ain’t too much farther,” Majima called behind him as he continued walking down the street. “If ya don’t eat shit on the way.”

They stumbled along through dingy alleys, off the main streets and through the labyrinth that Majima unfortunately knew too well. A sense of restlessness settled in his chest, beneath the open collar of his pressed white shirt. For a moment he feared he was being watched, eye darting between the cinderblock buildings and jaw clenched shut. It wasn’t until he felt the familiar itch in his chest that he belatedly realized he needed a cigarette. Majima patted his jacket and swore under his breath when he remembered he had finished his pack earlier that evening.

“Shit. Forgot I’m outta smokes.”

“Want one of mine?” Kiryu took a pack out of his jacket pocket and tapped one out for him. Because of course he would.

Majima looked down at the slightly crumpled white package with a sigh. “Nah. No offense, but I don’t do Seven Stars. C’mon, we’re makin’ a pit stop.”

Sure enough, when they rounded the corner they were met with the bright beacon of a cigarette vending machine lighting up an otherwise dark alleyway.

Majima dropped a few coins into the machine, and a pack of Hi-Lites dropped out with a thunk.

“Hope ya don’t mind takin’ a quick smoke break.” Majima leaned against the brick wall next to the vending machine as he thumbed open the package.

“Not at all.” Kiryu stood next to him, fishing his lighter from his pocket and offering to light Majima’s cigarette before his own.

Which was…interesting. Majima accepted nonetheless, and let his eye flutter closed as that sweet, sweet nicotine filled his lungs.

The click of a lighter echoed in the alley, a bright flame briefly lighting up Kiryu’s face and reflecting off of his glasses. Something about the way the shadows cast against his cheekbones, the set of his jaw, the purse of his lips, told a different kind of story that made Majima wonder if there was more to this awkward young real estate agent than he let on.

Or maybe he was just drunk and being dramatic.

They basked in the silence for a few moments, tendrils of smoke intertwining in the chilly air.

Majima’s buzz from the whiskey at the bar was already starting to wear off. It was a shame, too—he was looking forward to living off of the hazy, embellished memories of this night for a while, like a bloodsucking bat living off a corpse. Couldn’t have anything nice these days.

Another unfortunate side effect of his increasing sobriety was that Majima, ever-vigilant, could feel Kiryu’s eyes on him.

What the hell was he looking at? Probably what most people looked at. His glaring abnormality, the constant reminder of how badly he had fucked up, for which he would be ridiculed for the rest of his life. Majima had thought Kiryu might be different. He hadn’t asked about his eyepatch all evening and Majima, fool that he was, had held out hope that for once in his wretched life, someone would just leave it be.

“What?” Majima asked, not nearly as scathing as he’d intended.

“Ah, it’s just…” Kiryu closed his mouth, as if trying to stop the words from tumbling out, before admitting, “Your hair looks really soft.”

Majima’s mind came to a screeching halt. “It ain’t.”

“Has it always been so long?”

A beat of silence.

“No.”

Kiryu’s response to Yuki about what his type was replayed in Majima’s head: “I suppose I like…long hair.”

“Do you not like it?” Kiryu asked, with those same goddamn puppy eyes he’d used when convincing Majima to stay for another round of drinks.

“I—”

“Hey, losers!” A voice rudely cut Majima off from finishing his reply.

Out of the shadows emerged a group of three young delinquents. Majima let out a long, drawn out sigh. Not this shit again.

They drew closer, like a pack of incompetent wolves cornering what they (wrongly) assumed were defenseless prey.

“This is our hangout spot, and we’re collectin’ rent. Better hand over your wallets as compensation, unless you enjoy gettin’ your faces bashed in.” A tall, lanky guy with a pompadour and sunglasses (At night? How the hell was this guy seeing anything?) snickered and looked back at his fellow goons. “Ain’t that right, boys?”

These guys were typical run-of-the-mill punks, and Majima was, regrettably, used to dealing with their kind of dumbfuckery on the daily. Still didn’t make the interruption any less annoying.

Majima maintained his relaxed position against the wall and took a long drag from his cigarette, cool as a cucumber. “I don’t think ya wanna mess with us, pal. Ya got no idea who yer talkin’ to.”

Kiryu, on the other hand, tensed up and squared off, positioning himself in front of Majima and looking like he was about to take on three dudes all by himself. Like he was going to protect him.

Majima pushed off of the wall and took one last hit of his cigarette, waving Kiryu off. “Kiryu-chan. Let me take care of these scumbags.”

But Kiryu didn’t back down. Instead, he cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck with a pop. “Don’t worry. This won’t take long, Majima-san.”

Who the hell did this guy think he was?

Another one of the hooligans piped up: a stocky guy wearing a shiny, chartreuse suit. “Ya think yer hot shit? All I’m seein’ is a gorilla in a white suit and a gangly one-eyed freak.”

“Yer one to talk. Ya look like a fuckin’ lunatic in that ugly-ass getup.” Majima dropped the rest of his cigarette and snuffed out its burning embers beneath his silver-tipped shoe. What a waste.

With an enraged yell, the man swung his fist at Majima’s head. Dodging it would have been easier than dodging a slow pitch at Yoshida Batting Center. But surprisingly, he found that he didn’t need to.

A resounding smack filled the air as Majima realized that Kiryu had caught the man’s fist mid-punch. With a twist of his wrist and what seemed like far too little effort, Kiryu flung the man by his arm and slammed him flat on his back into the concrete.

What the fuck.

Outraged at seeing his comrade get his ass handed to him, Sunglasses At Night threw a frankly disgraceful jab at Majima, probably in hopes that he was an easier target.

Poor kid didn’t know what he had coming.

Slip. Duck. Roundhouse. A single leg sweep and the guy was on the ground crying for his mommy. Kick to the face while he was down, shattered sunglasses flying across the asphalt. Which was admittedly a bit much, but these idiots needed to be taught a lesson.

The last guy standing with a punch perm and a loud-patterned purple shirt advanced on Kiryu, but received a swift punch to the nose with an audible sickening crack; there was no way it wasn’t broken. He clutched at his face and howled in pain. Before he had even a second to recover, Kiryu kicked him square in the stomach and sent him toppling backwards onto the pavement to join his buddies amongst the trash.

And that—that—was the hottest thing Majima had seen Kiryu do all evening. Two guys knocked out cold and he hadn’t flinched for a second, his fighting driven by some kind of feral instinct, the likes of which Majima had never seen.

He wanted to say something, standing amongst the crumpled bodies of their assailants and their stubbed out cigarettes, searching for the words to encompass everything that was simmering just beneath his skin.

Instead he said, “I thought ya were in real estate.”

Kiryu huffed a laugh. “I thought you managed a cabaret club.”

Fair enough. Majima brushed his palms against his suit pants and shook out his hands, taking a deep breath and standing up tall. As he did, he realized that he and Kiryu were standing no more than two feet apart—even closer than they’d been while they were smoking against the wall.

Assessing himself for damage, Kiryu turned his hands over, dusted off his pants, straightened his suit jacket. He made a sound of disapproval as he noticed a splatter of blood on his lapel. Majima found himself wondering how often he had to get that suit dry cleaned.

His self-examination complete, Kiryu turned to Majima, eyeing him up and down in a way that made him wonder how often Kiryu got into street fights. His gaze paused when it reached Majima’s head, eyes narrowing in an expression that Majima couldn’t get a read on.

“What?” Majima asked, too giddy from Kiryu’s earlier display of strength to sound as agitated as he’d like. “I got somethin’ on my face?”

In lieu of answering, Kiryu reached his hand up for the second time that night and moved it tentatively towards him. Majima braced himself, not quite sure what was going to happen. He held his breath, willing himself to keep his eye open, and looked on, transfixed, as Kiryu gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

Kiryu pulled back slowly, as if fighting with himself to let his hand linger but unsure if it was allowed. “You lied.”

“Haw? ‘Bout what?”

“Your hair is soft.”

♫  ⋆  ｡  ♪  ₊  ˚  ♬   ﾟ  .

“Ho-ho—-hot!!” Kiryu said around a massive bite of molten takoyaki, steam billowing out of his mouth like a dragon. He waved a hand in front of him, as if that ever did anything to help.

“You idiot! How’re ya gonna taste ‘em if ya burn yer tongue off? Hang on.” Taking a toothpick in his hand, Majima deftly stabbed each of the piping hot balls to let the steam escape. Poor guy must have been so hungry he would have gladly singed the roof of his mouth several times over.

Kiryu finally swallowed, face scrunching up in pain. “Huuuuhh...” His glasses had fogged up from all the steam, making him look like some nerd from a second-rate anime. “Why am I still wearing these?” he muttered to himself, slipping them off and tucking them into his pocket.

“Dontcha need those to see?”

“Oh, they’re fake,” Kiryu said matter-of-factly. “My boss said I looked too intimidating without them.”

This dumbass had been wearing fake glasses all evening? Why was that so endearing? And why did he look even hotter when he wasn’t wearing them?

Majima was a goner.

Here he was, in the middle of the night, sharing takoyaki with a relative stranger on a park bench that was barely big enough for two grown men. And letting himself enjoy something, for once in his miserable life. Of course, it would be short-lived. Once Kiryu had his fill, he was going to leave, never to be seen again. At least Majima would have his memories.

Beside him, Kiryu stared at the tray of takoyaki hungrily, but seemed hesitant to take one after his earlier incident.

“Go on. They should be cooler by now.”

Kiryu stabbed an unsuspecting octopus ball with a toothpick and popped it into his mouth. But this time, as he chewed, his eyes fluttered closed and he groaned, low and satisfied.

And that was…well. Not the sound he expected to come out of Kiryu’s mouth while enjoying a local delicacy, that was for sure. “Pretty good, huh?”

“Mm,” Kiryu licked an errant drop of sauce off his bottom lip. “I’m going to have to come back to Osaka just for this.” But when Majima glanced over, he found that instead of staring at the takoyaki, Kiryu was looking directly at him.

“I never thanked ya properly,” Majima started, desperate to change the subject, “fer helpin’ me train Yuki earlier.”

“Well, you paid for my drinks,” Kiryu said with a laugh. “It was no problem. But honestly, I’ve enjoyed my time with you even more."

Shit. Shit. Majima moved to loosen his bowtie, then remembered he wasn’t wearing one. Instead, he popped a takoyaki into his mouth to prevent himself from saying anything he might regret. It really was delicious.

“You surprised me earlier.” Kiryu grabbed another ball from the tray.

Majima followed suit, savoring the chewy texture. “Whaddya mean?”

“When those punks surrounded us in the alley. I’ve never seen anyone fight like that.”

How the hell was he supposed to respond when Kiryu kept showering him with compliments? What did this guy want from him? Did he have any idea what his pouty lips and ridiculous brown eyes were doing to him?

“You can't say things like that."

"Why not?"

Majima screwed his eye shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed to calm down, needed to pull back. He probably needed to not have gone on this impulsive little escapade in the first place, but here he was. Because he hated himself, apparently. "'Cause I might do somethin' stupid."

Kiryu tilted his head, the picture of innocence. "Like what?”

His gaze focused on Kiryu’s eyes, earnest and enormous without the glasses to hide them, then on his lips, plush and damp from where he’d licked them. Every instinct, every cell in Majima’s body, was pushing him to do something so incredibly, spectacularly foolish.

Still, he tried to reason with himself. Majima rarely misread things. There was a higher likelihood that Kiryu didn’t realize he had been blatantly flirting with Majima all evening, as crazy as that sounded. And what was the worst that could happen? Kiryu would punch him in the face like he’d decked those delinquents earlier? Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, actually.

He gently set the tray of takoyaki to the side, and before he lost his nerve, Majima grabbed Kiryu by his tacky collar, pulled him close, and kissed him squarely on the mouth.

Kiryu’s lips were warm even in the chilly air, and softer than they looked. Majima brought a hand to his jaw, smoothed his fingers along the sparse stubble there, breathed in the heady scent of Seven Stars and cheap cologne.

But not a moment later, Majima realized that there was a problem: Kiryu had gone completely and utterly still.

Dammit.

Had he gotten it wrong? He wasn’t currently sprawled on the ground knocked ass-over-teakettle, but Kiryu also didn’t seem particularly into the move he’d just made. Choosing to stare at a loose thread on Kiryu’s pinstripe jacket instead of whatever expression of horror he was undoubtedly making, Majma loosened his grip on Kiryu’s collar and regrettably pulled away.

“Shit,” he said, biting his lip. “Sorry.”

Kiryu swallowed thickly, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet park. “I, um…”

Majima waited one beat. Two. Tried and failed to calm his racing heart.

He had never been known for his patience.

When Kiryu didn’t elaborate, Majima looked up, and withered under Kiryu’s shocked expression. “What is it? Did I completely fuck this up?”

“No!” Kiryu blurted immediately, straightening up before deflating again with a sigh. “But I’ve never…”

“Never what?”

Oh. Wait.

Kiryu was into it. But he was also having Baby’s First Gay Crisis, and Majima was the lucky—or not so lucky—guy on the receiving end.

Still, he could work with this.

“Ah!” Majima snapped his fingers. “Never kissed a guy with an eyepatch, right?”

Kiryu’s eyes widened, before he visibly relaxed and let out a huff of breath. “Something like that.”

“Well…didya want to?”

The next thing he knew, Majima was being gripped by the waist and hauled into Kiryu’s lap.

It was such a surprise, in fact, that it took Majima a moment to register that Kiryu was kissing him. Fervently.

Once his brain caught up, Majima adjusted himself to fully straddle Kiryu’s hips. He settled into his lap, brought his hands up to run his fingers through Kiryu’s short hair, and deepened their kiss with a contented sigh. He tasted like takoyaki and tobacco, sweet and bitter and comforting. It was everything. And it wasn’t enough.

He brought a hand between the open buttons of that gaudy silk shirt, down to the promise of plush skin beneath, and slipped it inside. And oh Kiryu was hiding quite a delectable physique underneath all of this loose clothing. As he cursed the current fashion trends, Majima felt along sternum and plush pec until he found a nipple and pinched it between his fingers.

Kiryu groaned into his mouth. Forget the singing—that was the best sound that Kiryu had made all night.

They pulled away from each other, lips spit-slick, humid breaths coming in rapid, heaving gasps. “You like that, Kiryu-chan?”

Kiryu answered by sinking his broad hands into Majima’s ass and pulling him even closer, until their torsos were flush together.

Unable to hold back, Majima began rolling his hips against Kiryu, grinding into the unmistakable hardness he could now feel against him. Even through layers of fabric, Majima could tell he was working with something large, and couldn’t help but wonder if he might get the chance to see it someday. Pump it in his fist, take it into his mouth, slot it between his thighs.

It was addicting, drawing whimpers and moans out of Kiryu every time he moved against him. How had he denied himself this for so long? He had forgotten how fucking good it felt to do this with another person and not just his right hand.

Majima picked up the pace, mouthing at Kiryu’s neck while they rocked against each other. He could feel warmth building in his lower belly, barreling precariously close to completion.

“M-Majima, I—,” Kiryu gasped, snapping Majima out of his focus.

“Too much?”

“No but…” Kiryu let out a high pitched whine that Majima would do just about anything to hear again. “If we don’t stop, I might…”

“Oh, r-right.” Majima had gotten so carried away, the two of them very well may have creamed their pants right then and there in a public park.

Kiryu’s cheeks were flushed and lips kiss-swollen, but his eyes were full of melancholy. He sighed, head dropping onto Majima’s shoulder. “I wish this night didn’t have to end.”

He ran his fingers through Kiryu’s hair, petting him gently in a way he hadn’t touched anyone in a very, very long time. “Don’t have to yet.”

Kiryu looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Whaddya think I mean, Kiryu-chan?” Majima pointedly thrusted his hips against the man beneath him, making him choke. “I know a couple of places we could go…if ya wanna keep the party goin’.”

“Like…a hotel?”

“No, like a bowling alley.” Majima rolled his eye. “Yes, a hotel.”

“Oh.”

“...If ya want.”

“Yes,” Kiryu answered readily, before blushing and looking away. “I mean…if you want that, too.”

Majima reluctantly climbed off of Kiryu’s lap, brushed off his knees as he stood, and offered his hand. Kiryu took it, hoisting himself off the bench, their takoyaki cold and long forgotten.

As they made their way out of the park, their shoulders bumped together and Majima didn’t even try to push down the warm feeling in his chest.

“Majima-san,” Kiryu started as they walked side by side.

“Yeah?”

“Are you really a cabaret club manager?”

Majima spun around, feigning shock as he put a hand to his chest. “‘Course I am, Kiryu-chan!” Then, lowering his voice: “You sure yer in real estate?”

Pleading brown eyes caught Majima’s, shining even in the dim light provided by a nearby streetlamp. “I promise I am. I have a business card and everything.”

He knocked his shoulder against Kiryu’s playfully. “That all yer in? Never seen a realtor fight like that, ya know.”

“Heh,” said Kiryu with a laugh that was growing on Majima more quickly than he was ready to admit. “I guess you’ll just have to find out.”