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The air left Kiryu’s lungs in a harsh gust as the force of a kick sent him staggering backwards. Yet his body barely registered the pain, muscles burning as it prepared to retaliate. Across the alleyway, Majima resumed a fighting stance and grinned, the tip of his trademark dagger pointed straight ahead.
“What’s the matter, Kiryu-chan?” he goaded between hard breaths. “Don’t tell me you’re goin’ easy on me.”
Standing up straight, Kiryu raised his fists again, the adrenaline singing in his veins. In truth, the idea of holding back had crossed his mind—it didn’t feel fair giving his all against someone who’d been shot less than a week ago, even if that someone was the infamous Mad Dog of Shimano. Now, though, the roaring in his ears drowned out the nightly noises of the city, leaving only the sound of his breath in short, sharp gasps. All else had long since blurred to nothing as Majima shone in sharp focus before him, the brightest point in Kamurocho.
Kiryu answered the taunt by surging forward. A feint, a swing, his fist connecting with nothing but air. Centimeters of empty space separated him from a knife wound and a ruined shirt. He kept up a steady barrage of blows, heart pounding, instincts guiding every movement. Near-misses became hits, impact after impact meeting muscle and bone. Yet Majima continued to dive and weave before him, filling Kiryu’s senses until he was seeing that manic grin even when he blinked.
“Come on,” Majima panted, his one eye burning, “are ya even tryin’?”
Despite the mocking tone, his movements had slowed. He pressed a hand against his bandaged torso, quick enough that anyone else would have missed it, and once again Kiryu saw him falling backwards into the ocean, blood spilling from the hole in his abdomen. Phantom claws of fear clutched at his chest as he recalled rushing to the water, expecting to see Majima already reaching to climb back up, but finding empty waves.
Too late, Kiryu realized he’d lost focus. Majima picked up on the opening like a dog sniffing out a scrap of meat—he lunged, blade-first. A thin red line appeared across Kiryu’s exposed collarbone as he wheeled back and pivoted. When the dagger followed, though, he was prepared. A block and a sidestep gave him some distance. The subsequent flurry of swings and stabs lacked the intensity Kiryu had come to expect during these battles. He moved to strike. Majima backed away, and then: an opportunity.
Muscle memory overrode conscious thought. Kiryu clenched his teeth and drew back his arm, feeling his blood pulse with power. He let out a yell. His fist shot forward. The rest of his body followed through.
His knuckles collided with Majima’s solar plexus, halting him in place. When Kiryu drew back, he remained standing there, mouth hanging open in a mixture of surprise and awe. He took a half-step forward. Wobbled. And then, finally, fell.
Regardless, Kiryu maintained a defensive stance, eyes narrowed; he’d seen Majima spring back to his feet after much worse. But the legendary mad dog didn’t move from his half-curled position on the ground as he let out a low groan. He shifted to lie on his back and coughed. Already, Kiryu could see dark purple splotches appearing across his bare torso where the snakeskin jacket didn’t obscure them.
“Alright, I’m cryin’ uncle. You win this one,” Majima said, waving a gloved hand.
At that, he relaxed, lowering his fists and releasing a slow exhale. Kamurocho began to materialize, first as the ever-present murmur of people making their way along the streets, followed by the the harsh glow of a vending machine down the alley, a row of bicycles that’d miraculously remained untouched. Fragments of light leaked in from the main thoroughfare beyond, painting them pale pink and blue. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Kiryu felt the cold air scraping at his throat. For maybe the fiftieth time, he wondered how Majima ran around with no shirt on in the dead of winter.
Speaking of which…Kiryu frowned and took a step forward. “You’re unusually quiet,” he said. “Need any help?”
“Just gimme a minute,” Majima replied, breathing ragged. “Fuck, I’m gettin’ old…” Although he could hide his pain well, Kiryu knew him well enough to pick up on the tightness around his eye and the way his jaw clenched.
He knelt beside him, concerned. “Can you stand?”
“Course I can,” Majima wheezed. “Who the hell do ya think I am?” He made as though to haul himself to his feet, but it ended up being more of a weak, flopping motion. A second attempt proved equally futile.
Kiryu’s frown deepened. “Did you break anything?” Thinking back through the fight, he couldn’t recall ever hitting hard enough to break bone, but who knew if he’d aggravated any old injuries. To his relief, a glance at the bandage around Majima’s torso didn’t show any bleeding.
After a few moments of experimentally rotating his joints, Majima shook his head as best he could while lying on concrete. “Honestly, Kiryu-chan, I’m not that fragile,” he said, sounding affronted. “If ya had the full power of the dragon again, maybe, but—”
He stopped short when Kiryu reached out and pressed on his ribcage. At Majima’s look of surprise, he explained, “Sorry. I just want to make sure for myself. Tell me if it hurts, alright?”
Using gentle pressure, he pushed along Majima’s ribs, working his way up. Even in the dim light, Kiryu could see the sharp definition of his muscles; when his hands lingered a second or two longer than necessary, he mentally chalked it up to being thorough. A low “hmm” drew his attention, and Kiryu withdrew, ready to apologize for pressing too hard. When he looked up, though, rather than a pained expression, he found Majima smirking at him.
“Y’know, Kiryu-chan, if ya wanted to put your hands all over me, all ya had to do was ask,” he said, a devilish gleam in his eye.
Warmth rose in Kiryu’s face, but he did his best to ignore it. “I need to know if you have to see a doctor,” he replied, managing to keep his voice even. “The pain hasn’t gotten worse?”
Majima scoffed. “I’m fine. Just need to patch myself up some.” With visible effort, he propped himself up on his elbows, then shot Kiryu a triumphant grin. “Ya see? I’m all good, so just go and hit the bowling alley like ya usually do around this time. I’ll catch up later.”
Unphased by Majima’s intimate knowledge of his routine, it took about three more seconds of watching him struggle to sit up for Kiryu to make a decision. Fatigue weighed down his body; the mere thought of going back and forth on whether to see a doctor made his head ache. So, if Majima refused professional treatment, he would have to accept the next best option.
In one fluid motion, Kiryu scooped Majima into his arms and stood.
“The hell are ya doin’?” he grunted, although he made no move to escape.
For once, Kiryu noted, it looked like he’d caught him off-guard. As he began walking, he said, “I won’t just leave you lying in the street. We’re going somewhere safe.”
Several minutes passed without either speaking. The crowds of Kamurocho parted before them like a school of fish making way for a shark. Multiple people turned to stare as they passed, but looked away at the sight of their injuries, smart enough not to get involved. While Majima didn’t struggle or ask to be put down, he remained tense. He focused on Kiryu, eye narrowed as if he were searching his face for something. Then, seeming to come to a decision, he sighed and relaxed, shoulders sagging.
Now that the danger of an argument had passed, Kiryu felt some of the tension drain from his body. Glancing down at Majima in his arms, bruises standing out on his face and blood staining his lips, something stirred in his chest.
“You shouldn’t push yourself so hard,” he chided. “What if you’d been seriously injured?”
“What, like if ya gave me a concussion by accident?” Majima said. At the look of guilt that flashed across Kiryu’s face, though, he snickered. “I wouldn’t ever want ya holdin’ back on me, Kiryu-chan. Part of your power is the control you’ve got over it. ‘Sides, long as I get this treatment…” he said, wrapping an arm around Kiryu’s neck and leaning his head against his shoulder, “maybe I should start pushin’ my limits a little more often.”
Although his voice lilted with the usual singsong tone, Kiryu picked up on a note of sincerity in his words. His expression softened as they continued down the street in silence.
After some time, the two arrived at the door to Serena. It felt strange, opening the door to silence on what usually would’ve been a busy night. The bar always been Kiryu’s safe haven, somewhere he could return to a warm welcome and the promise of a few stress-free hours. Nowadays, though, with all the familiar faces either dead or gone, it’d come to feel more like a base of operations. A small shelter in a storm instead of the oasis it’d been for so long.
Setting Majima down on one of the gray couches, Kiryu headed back to the storage room. Reina had always kept a first-aid kit handy, just in case.
“Huh,” he heard Majima comment. “Haven’t been here in a long-ass time.”
He didn’t elaborate, and Kiryu decided to ask him about it another time. Right now, kit and water bottle in hand, he had a task to focus on. Returning to the couch, he sat down and put an arm underneath Majima’s shoulders, helping him to sit up so they would be side-by-side. They ended up closer than he expected, nearly pressed against each other, as though they had to make room for other patrons. Despite his choice in attire and the low temperature outside, Majima radiated warmth. Kiryu leaned against him the barest amount as he moved to open the first-aid kit, brushing their shoulders together. If he noticed, he gave no indication of it.
“Nishiki and I used to patch each other up all the time when we were kids,” Kiryu said, taking supplies out of the kit and placing it on the nearby table. “Even after we joined the Tojo Clan, I guess it was an old habit. It’s been a while, but I still remember what to do.” His gut twisted at the memory. Ten years spent looking forward to sharing a drink and a laugh again with the man who may as well be his blood brother, only to come back to a stranger. An onslaught of emotions threatened to rise in his chest. To distract himself, Kiryu focused on the items in his hands. Cotton swabs. Antibiotic gel. Bandages.
Majima let out a noisy sigh, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You sure are takin’ your sweet time, Kiryu-chan. I’m gonna bleed out over here,” he complained, and did Kiryu just imagine that he shifted little closer?
Like a passing storm, the tumult of pain and anger settled, replaced by a sense of comfort. It was possible that Majima was genuinely impatient, but part of Kiryu insisted that he’d picked up on his train of thought and derailed it on purpose. The idea made him smile, if only a bit.
“Alright, alright,” Kiryu said, reaching for a pack of antiseptic towelettes. He moved back along the seat to face Majima and immediately regretted the loss of warmth. “Hold still, this’ll sting.”
He started with a long scrape at the base of Majima’s neck, where a dark crust of dried blood had already formed. Trying not to press too hard, Kiryu made to wipe away some of the grime from the street. As soon as the cloth made contact with Majima’s skin, though, he yelped and jerked away.
“Ain’t there anything else you can use?” he demanded. “That shit hurts . Just gimme a bandage.”
Kiryu raised an eyebrow. And here he’d dared hope he might be out of energy for the usual antics. Leave it to Majima to walk off injuries that’d make any other adult cry, and then decide to be melodramatic about antiseptic, of all things. Rather than point this out, however, he decided to play along. Ducking his head, Kiryu spoke with exaggerated remorse. “Sorry. I must have been too rough. Here, I’ll be gentler this time.”
A wicked grin spread across Majima’s face. “Oh?” he crooned, moving much, much closer. He placed a hand on Kiryu’s thigh and leaned in, eye gleaming. “Ya don’t have to be that gentle with me.”
“That’s—” Kiryu choked, heat rising in his face. “Uh…”
His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and the previously chilly room felt as though it contained a roaring fireplace. But he’d been waiting for an opportunity like this for years, hadn’t he? One slight incline of his head would be all that it took to close the distance between them. Steeling himself, Kiryu shut his eyes and—
Majima pulled back with a sigh and waved a hand. “Alright, ya can go ahead and keep playin’ doctor.” Rubbing at a bruise, he muttered, “Feels like I fuckin’ got hit by a truck.”
For a moment, Kiryu had forgotten the cloth in his hand. He blinked at it, still uncomfortably warm, stomach twisting in a way it hadn’t for over a decade. When he looked back at Majima, his expression reflected something like regret. As soon as he caught him watching, though, it vanished beneath the usual manic veneer.
“Well? Are ya gonna stare at me all day?”
“R-Right.” Kiryu wasn’t prepared for the wave of disappointment that hit him then, but he mentally shook it off, returning to the task at hand. If nothing else, he could at least take care of Majima for now. That was something.
Before long, he finished cleaning and bandaging the scrape. Kiryu moved on to a scattering of smaller wounds across Majima’s chest. As he alternated between the antiseptic and a roll of gauze, it became more and more difficult to ignore the hard lines of lean muscle beneath his hands. Minutes had passed, but Kiryu’s heart had yet to calm down. He simultaneously had the urge to move away and to pull Majima even closer than before, to bunch the snakeskin jacket in his hands and hold him still long enough to answer the unspoken tension that’d been building between them for years.
More than anything, though, he didn’t want to ruin what they had now, odd and complicated as it was.
Midway through applying another bandage, Kiryu glanced up and found Majima watching him with a peculiar look. Almost like he was trying to solve a difficult problem and couldn’t figure out the right solution. This time, when their eyes met, the expression remained.
“What is it?” Kiryu asked, drawing back.
For several seconds, it seemed like Majima wasn’t going to answer. Then, with no trace of the typical mania, he said, “Can’t say I’ve ever had a guy beat the shit outta me and then patch me up.”
“Really? I find it hard to believe anyone can put you down in the first place.”
He snickered at that, and it seemed real, less high-pitched than the keening laughter during their fights. “Ain’t that the truth. Guess I’m just wonderin’ why you bother, Kiryu-chan.”
Kiryu hummed, considering. Because you’re one of the few constants in my life. Because you make me feel like I’m alive. Because I almost lost you.
Of course, he couldn’t say any of those. If he was being honest, he couldn’t describe his relationship with Majima to himself, let alone put it into understandable words for someone else. And the way the other man was scrutinizing him with his good eye, Kiryu guessed that his answer was important. Pushing down the sentiments that’d been twisting and fluttering in his chest for most of the evening, he exhaled before responding.
“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Kiryu said, folding his hands. “I care what happens to you. And last time…” He couldn’t help a glance at the layers of gauze where Majima had been shot. Common sense told him to bite his tongue. Leave it there. But he’d never been very good at listening. “I don’t want to lose you, Majima-san.”
Silence stretched between them. When Kiryu looked up from his hands, Majima was turned away; if he didn’t know any better, he’d say he seemed nervous. All of a sudden, he twisted to face Kiryu, mouth open like he was about to say something. Then it closed, then opened again, until Majima clenched his teeth in apparent frustration.
Finally, shoulders slumped, he settled on, “Ya mean that, huh?”
“Of course.”
Majima made a noise that was half laugh, half sigh. He looked more tired than he had the entire night. “You’re really somethin’ else.”
Uncertain how to respond, Kiryu waited to see if he would say anything else. Several seconds ticked by. While he didn’t get the sense that he’d ruined anything, nerves still pricked at his chest. He wanted to talk about this, to ask if Majima understood. Really understood. Instead, though, he opted to take a cotton swab and disinfectant from the first-aid kit.
“Here,” he murmured, drawing Majima’s attention. “Your face has a few cuts, too.”
Eye widening, Majima shifted back, his face the slightest tinge of red. Yet the distance, small as it was, seemed to give him some confidence; he plucked the swab from Kiryu’s hand and smiled. “Can’t let ya baby me, here. You’ve got your fair share of injuries, too.”
Before he could protest, Majima was in his personal space again, wielding the medical supplies like they were weapons. Ignoring the way his heart rate doubled, Kiryu braced himself for more pain—but it never came. Swabbing the long cut he’d left along Kiryu’s collarbone, Majima was surprisingly gentle. He took his time working from one end to the other, being as thorough as possible. An air of calm focus came over him.
“Hey, Kiryu-chan,” he said, quieter than Kiryu was used to hearing him.
“Hm?”
“Anyone ever tell ya that you’re a handsome guy?”
The question sent a jolt through his chest. “Huh?” was all Kiryu managed as his ears grew hot.
Majima snorted. “Of course you’d be surprised by that.” Finished with the largest wound, he picked up Kiryu’s hand so it was on top of his own, pausing to brush a finger lightly over the split and bloody knuckles. Kiryu didn’t move, his breathing shallow as he watched Majima clean the wounds with a touch far too delicate for a member of the yakuza.
“Y’know, it would’ve been a lot easier to leave me there. I wasn’t about to die,” Majima stated, concentrating on wrapping gauze around Kiryu’s knuckles. “You’re an odd one, Kiryu-chan.”
He frowned at that. “Hey…”
Ignoring him, Majima continued, not making eye contact. His voice was low, in a way that Kiryu had only ever heard in snippets between crazed exclamations. “So, anyway, guess what I’m tryin’ to say is...thanks. For carin’ and shit,” he muttered. Even though he’d finished treating Kiryu’s hand, he made no move to withdraw.
Not pausing to think, Kiryu curled his fingers around Majima’s hand. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Majima-san,” he murmured.
With a quiet hum, Majima intertwined their fingers. Then, leaning in, he pressed his lips against Kiryu’s. They felt rough and chapped, but he didn’t mind as a thrill shot through his body, leaving his fingertips thrumming. Ten years in prison would have that effect. It was a chaste kiss, soft and over far too soon. Kiryu had little time to react before Majima was pulling away with a small, lopsided smile on his face.
“Well, I’m exhausted,” he declared, cutting off anything Kiryu might’ve said. “Ya wouldn’t mind if I crashed here, right, Kiryu-chan? I’ll give your personal space back, though.”
He stood to leave, but Kiryu held onto his hand. They didn’t have to talk, but he wanted them to have tonight, at least. When Majima turned in surprise, he said, “I’m fine if you are. It, uh...isn’t very warm in here.” He smiled, a little embarrassed, but it worked. Keeping their hands linked, Majima returned to the couch, sinking down and sagging against Kiryu. After some repositioning, they managed to get comfortable on the cushions together.
Majima made a contented noise, his head resting against Kiryu’s chest. “Should’ve gotten shot a long time ago,” he yawned. “Been missin’ out on this.”
Running a hand through his hair, careful not to disturb the eyepatch, Kiryu responded with a low “hmm.” Soon enough, Majima’s breathing evened out as he drifted off to sleep. A feeling like coming inside to a fire on a cold day lingered in his chest as he watched him. It was true that next week he’d probably be dodging Majima’s blade again. For now, though, he could enjoy the warm weight pressed against him, the way Majima’s face softened into something like peace as he slept, how the fingers of one gloved hand kept a light hold on his shirt.
Leaning back, Kiryu shut his eyes as weariness set in. The usual worries and doubts remained far from his mind—right now, all that existed were the two of them, safe in the shelter of each other. And even if it didn’t last forever, it was enough.