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Kiryu never really considered himself a big date night kind of guy. As far as he could tell, Majima didn’t really seem like the type either. He honestly wasn’t even really sure what people did for special date nights, but what he did know was that it frequently involved chocolate and that Majima had a vicious sweet tooth and was a sucker for free dinner, so the rest seemed simple enough.
They’d never really gone on proper dates before, and prior to a few weeks ago, he wasn’t sure they ever would. Honestly, they hadn’t dedicated much time to romance at all. Neither of them was the sappy type, and things always seemed to make enough sense between them if they simply didn’t. But something felt different this time. Kiryu had no idea what prompted him to actually want to take Majima out, although maybe it was the unusually high number of times Haruka asked when he was going to actually treat Uncle Majima to a night out.
Haruka sure had a way of implanting those little ideas in his head, though it was no doubt an excuse to get him out of the house to watch TV past nine, when Kiryu would shut it off for bed time.
But what the hell, he figured. What was the worst that could happen? Even if Majima wasn’t sappy enough to accept the chocolates he’d bought on Haruka’s recommendation as a romantic gift, he was voracious enough to devour them as a treat for a sugar fiend, and that was good enough for Kiryu. Kiryu tried to ignore the little butterflies that fluttered in his stomach when he checked out at the register, no doubt tinged with the tiniest hint of nerves whether he wanted to admit it or not.
It was only dinner, he assured himself. He’d done far worse for far less, though maybe Haruka could have teased him just a bit less when she caught onto his anxiety.
He felt silly holding the little gift box of chocolates as he stood outside Kanrai, his heart thumping loudly. He was a bit early, but there was never any harm in being the first one there. It was a beautiful summer night, and the air was warm and pleasant, soft breezes flowing through the street to keep him cool as the sun set. He watched up and down the streets, studying the flocks of people milling about, watching tipsy salarymen claw their way out of izakayas down the way after finally escaping their surely drunken bosses.
Kiryu checked his watch periodically, his nerves only growing stronger the longer he waited. When their 8:30 reservation had come and passed and the sun started to disappear, he started to worry. Had he gotten the day wrong? Had Majima gotten the day wrong? Did Majima change his mind and decide that romance with Kiryu wasn’t his thing after all?
He pulled his phone out when 8:45 rolled around, but any calls to Majima’s phone just went to voicemail.
Kiryu wasn’t sure what to think. Did he just go home in defeat? But what would he tell Haruka? He wasn’t sure his ego could handle pity from a 10 year old when it came to being stood up, even if she was wise beyond her years.
That settled it. He just had to go to Majima’s. There was no other way. If he came away from Majima’s in humiliation, then at least he tried instead of going home to sulk without so much as an attempt.
Luckily, the walk wasn’t far. Kiryu took deep breaths as he ascended in the elevator up the levels of Kamurocho Hills. The hallway in front of him seemed long, nerves eating at his gut as he quietly made his way to the door and knocked, preparing himself to act like this was all no big deal when Majima doubtlessly continued to tease him for being so worried when they realized there had been a miscommunication about the timing.
He hoped that was the outcome he’d get, anyway.
When Kiryu fished out his key and stepped into Majima’s apartment clutching the little red and pink box in his hand, though, everything was dark and quiet. The hairs on the back of Kiryu’s neck immediately prickled, a strange, misgiving tingle running up his spine accompanied by an adrenaline spike that he couldn’t fight off.
“Majima-san?” Kiryu called. His voice echoed off the high ceilings of the penthouse and he stood still, dropping his head to listen for a response or a subtle movement or anything.
Part of Kiryu expected to hear that low, mischievous giggle that often gave Majima’s position away when he was lying in wait, but the more he looked around, the more that expectation faded. The place was a mess, quite out of the ordinary for Majima who was, despite what others may have thought, an incredibly tidy person. Kiryu kicked off his shoes at the door and stepped inside, flipping a light on to find things all over the place—Majima’s shoes laying in the middle of the floor instead of in their cubby at the door, his keys lying in a heap nearby when the key dish sat empty on the counter, and several takeout containers that sat nearly untouched, still brimming with food. The few dishes that sat out lay unwashed, seemingly set down wherever Majima had finished with them, and the windows that usually sat opened up to give Majima an eagle’s eye view of Kamurocho were shuttered tightly by thick black drapes. It looked like a hermit’s nest. It wasn’t right. Not for Majima, anyway.
He tried to think of the last time they talked, wondering if Majima had let any clues slip as to where he could be or if the plan had changed. It wasn’t unusual for Majima to disappear like this, though he never really offered a warning. He usually popped up again a few days later, eager as ever to scrap in the streets like he’d never been gone at all. Kiryu always assumed he was taking care of family business when he pulled his little disappearing act, wondering if that’s what he was doing right now. Maybe he’d forgotten their plans and gone off to crack some skulls with his boys. That would be like Majima, certainly, but it wouldn’t explain the state of his apartment, which had Kiryu’s heart pounding in his ribs with new anxiety.
“Majima-san?” he called again, wandering around the living room.
Worry knotted in Kiryu’s chest. There was no way Majima would have left his apartment in this state, especially when Kiryu would have likely been coming over after dinner. Even if Majima was lying in wait, ready to ambush him when the moment was right, he would have cleaned first. Kiryu had never seen so much as a sock out of place here, let alone full containers of old food left out on the table.
Something was wrong.
Kiryu headed down the hall, flipping the light on to find Majima’s jacket discarded on the floor in the middle of the walkway. Another bad sign.
The bedroom door sat at the end of the hall, but Kiryu hesitated to open it. He stopped again, listening. No light peeking out beneath it, no sounds of movement behind it, nothing to indicate that anyone was home, even in hiding. Kiryu opened the door, glancing in to find the room pitch dark. With the light from the hall glaring in over his shoulder, he could see a similar mess inside the bedroom—more clothes strewn about on the floor, a few dusty glasses sitting on the bedside table. The large modern wardrobe that sat on the far side of Majima’s room seemed to have been slid from its place to cover the window that Kiryu knew was now hiding behind it, leaving only a sliver of moonlight to shine through the semi-sheer curtains. Kiryu reached for the lightswitch but stopped in his tracks just before stepping on a shard of white ceramic, the light of the hallway glinting off its smooth, glazed surface to save him.
“Go away,” Majima’s voice growled, low and crackling with effort, his cartoonish Kansai accent nowhere to be heard, replaced instead by lazily slurred standard speech. It sounded threatening all the same, making Kiryu’s heart jump.
Kiryu’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, searching for the source of the voice when he spotted it—a tightly curled Majima laying atop the covers on the bed, his back turned toward the door, camouflaged by a black t-shirt and black boxer shorts. Kiryu could barely see the pale glow of Majima’s skin, his knees pulled tightly up to his chest, his arms tucked in front of him. One hand threaded through hair that messily laid across his forehead in clumps, his fingers tensed against his scalp and his palm laying over his eyepatch. Kiryu could see stark points in his bent knuckles like he was squeezing down hard, the slightest tremble visible even through the dark.
When Kiryu shut the door and stepped cautiously over the ceramic, careful to avoid the white shards, he could see Majima curl in on himself even tighter.
“I said go,” Majima repeated more forcefully.
Kiryu took another step toward the bed.
Majima rumbled out a growl, his voice raising to a weak shout that trembled just as much as he did. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay away from me, you fuckers!?”
Kiryu could see Majima shivering on the bed, completely unfamiliar. He could hardly believe his eyes.
“Majima-san,” he asked, his voice hushed with concern. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”
Majima didn’t answer, a shaky huff the only thing Kiryu got in response.
Another step forward. “Majima-san?”
Kiryu could see Majima’s form deflate a bit, curling in a bit tighter on himself like he could hide if he pulled himself in tight enough, though his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Long moments passed with the two of them frozen, only the sound of Majima’s metered exhales filling the room.
“Kiryu-chan... Please just go.” All aggression had left Majima’s tone, leaving his words weak, like each one took as much effort as lifting a ten ton boulder.
Even with bullets and knives in him, Majima was always spry and cocky and obnoxious right up until he lost consciousness, but this was something else. Kiryu had never seen him even close to this state before. If he didn’t know any better, Kiryu would have thought that Majima was right on death’s doorstep, the urge to whisk him off to a doctor nearly overtaking him.
As gently as he could, Kiryu lowered himself onto the mattress, trying not to disturb Majima’s position. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and let it rest between Majima’s shoulder blades. Majima jumped at the contact with a weak yelp, a shiver passing through him. The notches of Majima’s spine had never felt so vulnerable beneath his fingertips before. It made Kiryu shudder.
“Don’t,” Majima whimpered suddenly. “Please.”
“Huh?”
Majima swallowed hard. “I just… Please don’t touch me.”
“Oh,” Kiryu said, quickly retracting his hand. “I’m sorry.” Kiryu watched Majima’s body ease with a shuddering hiccup. “Majima-san, what’s wrong?”
Majima let out the tiniest, shakiest exhale. “Just a headache. You should go. I’m fine.”
“A headache?”
“Mmm,” Majima hummed in response.
Kiryu cocked an eyebrow, considering the state of the place. “How long have you been like this?”
Majima groaned, beginning to stir like he was about to chastise Kiryu, but his back stiffened and he hissed through his teeth when he moved his neck, remaining frozen in place instead.
“I don’t—What’s today?” Majima asked, almost annoyed. “Nishida send you..?”
“It’s Friday. No, Nishida didn’t send me. We had plans and you didn’t show, I was worried.”
“Fuck…” There was a long pause while Majima exhaled deeply through his nose. “Sorry, Kiryu-chan. I can’t.”
“It’s fine, but you didn’t answer my question.”
Majima groaned, his words huffed out with great effort. “Dunno. Couple days.”
“Days?” Kiryu balked. “How long do these headaches last?”
“Three or four days, usually.”
Kiryu’s mouth hung stupidly open. “What do you mean ‘usually’? How frequently does this happen.”
“Once or twice a month. Dunno. Don’t keep a calendar,” Majima murmured quietly.
Things were falling into place in Kiryu’s mind—the frequent disappearances, the loss of communication. Was this what happened to Majima all those times he vanished? Was he curled up in his pitch-black bedroom riding out the excruciating waves of a migraine? Kiryu suddenly swallowed a lump in his throat, regretting never having checked in. He assumed those disappearances were work-related and he didn’t want to pry, but then again, shouldn’t he have asked or followed up afterward? Granted, Majima probably would have lied and gone with whatever presumption Kiryu had already made, but he should have at least asked, he thought.
What if Majima thought he didn’t ask because he didn’t care? What if his attempts at respect for Majima’s privacy backfired and came off as indifference? Kiryu’s stomach churned.
He carefully rose from his seat, rounding the foot of the bed to sit on the other side so he could get a better look at Majima’s curled form, setting the box of chocolates on the nightstand as he settled into his seat.
Kiryu didn’t like what he saw. Majima’s eye was squeezed shut, unopening even to get a look at Kiryu, his eyebrows pushed together into a concentrated expression of pain. Strands of greasy hair clung to Majima’s forehead save for where his palm pressed down just above his left eye. The tremble in his arm was even more evident now.
“Have you seen a doctor?” Kiryu asked, lowering his voice to a gentle lull, careful of Majima’s potentially sensitive hearing. He reached out to brush a few strands of hair away from Majima’s forehead, freezing when he remembered Majima’s earlier request. He let his hand rest in his lap instead, watching the twitching scrunch of Majima’s eyebrows as he fought off whatever pain was radiating through his throbbing skull.
“Don’t need to. Nothing helps.”
“Well maybe they could tell you what’s causing it.”
“I know what’s causing it,” Majima gritted out. “Doctors can’t treat everything, Kiryu-chan…” Majima took a few deep breaths, his expression stoney and bitter as he sighed. “I’m fine. You should just go. Still got reservations, just get dinner without me. Take Haruka-chan.”
Kiryu hesitated.
Finally, Majima cracked his eye open, gazing up at Kiryu beneath a puffy eyelid that couldn’t seem to open more than halfway. “How many times do I have to say I’ll be okay? Please, just go.”
Kiryu pursed his lips. Majima was stubborn as ever, of course, and Kiryu wasn’t sure why he’d expected anything else. “Do you really want me to leave?”
Majima paused, his head curling down into his chest even further. Kiryu could have sworn he saw the slightest glint of a tear in the corner of Majima’s eye before he squeezed it shut again. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if you want me to stay?”
Majima’s voice was a whisper, murmured weakly like it was the only thing he could say. “I don’t know.”
Kiryu’s face contorted in concern, his heart aching in his chest. He couldn’t get inside Majima’s head, but whatever had reduced him to this had to be intense. He reached out to brush some sticky hairs away from Majima’s forehead, but Majima flinched away at the contact, his eye going wide and unfocused before scrunching closed like Kiryu had put a gun to his forehead.
“No—!“
“Shit, shit, sorry,” Kiryu stammered, yanking his hand away. “I’m sorry.”
Kiryu listened to Majima’s frantic breaths, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders as he fought to contain himself, the sudden movement making him wince again, his fingers digging into his scalp with a deeply pained groan that hid behind tightly shut lips, sneaking out through his nose. Kiryu gave him a wide berth to calm down, retreating to the edge of the bed until Majima’s breathing regained some semblance of its normal cadence.
“Does it hurt when I touch you?” Kiryu asked cautiously.
He could see the bob of Majima’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard. “No.”
“Oh.” Kiryu wasn’t really sure what to do with that answer, unsure of what exactly it meant, though it seemed to indicate something much more complicated than Kiryu had been prepared for.
“Sorry…”
“You don’t need to be.”
“‘S just too dark.” Majima’s voice seemed almost more strained, even shakier than before, if that was even possible. “Can’t see you. I don’t like it.”
Kiryu hummed deeply, thoughtful. “Do you want me to turn the light on?”
“Can’t. Hurts.”
Kiryu hadn’t quite noticed Majima shivering before, but it seemed so much more pronounced to him now. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around what he was seeing, but he didn’t want to pry any further. He stood slowly from the bed.
“I’ll be right back,” he said softly.
Majima didn’t respond, but Kiryu didn’t expect him to. He crept out cautiously over the broken ceramic, careful to open the door as little as possible so as not to let the hall light in, shutting it quickly behind him as soon as he was out. He hurried toward the bathroom, throwing the water in the tub on as hot as he could comfortably stand before grabbing a hand towel from the linen closet and soaking it. He wrung out the excess water from the towel and folded it, heading back toward the bedroom, making sure to shut off both the bathroom and hall lights behind him, making one last stop to grab a broom and dustpan from the closet on his way.
He cracked open the door to creep back inside and heard a slight shift, a creak of the mattress giving the movement away.
“Kiryu-chan? Is that you?” Majima’s voice asked quietly but with a hint of alarm in it.
“I’m here.”
Majima’s murmur of acknowledgment was the only response he got, but Kiryu had learned by now not to expect much else. He leaned the broom against the doorframe and made his way back over to his spot on the bed, easing himself down on the edge beside Majima. He fidgeted with the towel in his hands, quickly remembering Majima’s aversion.
“Majima-san, is it okay if I put this on your neck?”
Majima’s eye cracked open and Kiryu could see it scanning vaguely, though he wasn’t sure that it was truly seeing anything. “What is it?” Majima asked.
“Warm wet towel. Sometimes when your neck aches it eases some of the tension. I use them for Haruka a lot. She says they help.”
Kiryu held out the towel a bit and Majima’s eye seemed to finally focus, his hand that wasn’t busy clutching his temple hesitantly reaching out, recoiling slightly when his fingers brushed the wet fabric, but returning to feel it more sufficiently after a moment, patting his palm lightly over it, sussing it out.
“Okay,” Majima said, withdrawing his hand to tuck his arm into his chest again.
Slowly, trying not to make any sudden movements, Kiryu laid the folded towel gently across Majima’s neck. The angle was awkward since he was on his side, but Kiryu arranged it in such a way that it still hung down to cover the base of his head. The blanket Majima laid on would get a bit wet, but Kiryu didn’t think he’d mind.
“I’m just gonna get up a second, alright?” Kiryu said softly.
“‘Kay.”
Kiryu made his way back over to the door, grabbing the broom and quickly sweeping up all the shards from the floor, setting the hazardous dustpan safely off to the side where no one could step on it. It wasn’t an easy task in the dark, but he managed it nonetheless.
“Sorry,” Majima murmured from the bed.
“For what?”
“Mess.”
“It’s okay, Majima-san. What happened?”
“Nishida came. I threw it at him.”
“Threw what?”
“Plate.”
Kiryu nodded, knowing full-well that Majima couldn’t see him with his back turned. He eyed Majima’s crumpled form, a pang surging through his chest. He’d never seemed quite so small, and yet here he was, curled up on top of his sheets like a helpless cat.
Kiryu noticed a few dark spots on the soles of Majima’s feet and a sudden surge of concern shot through him again.
“Majima-san, did you cut yourself?”
“Hmm? No?” Majima answered, sounding confused.
“On the plate?” Kiryu clarified, stepping over to get a better look. “Your feet are bleeding—or they were bleeding.”
“Oh. Maybe,” Majima answered, exhaustion growing heavier and heavier in his voice with every passing moment. “Dunno.”
“Did you walk through the mess?”
Majima hesitated a moment. “Probably.”
“Majima-san… Why didn’t you call someone? Why didn’t you call me? You shouldn’t be alone when you feel this way.”
Majima’s jaw clenched—Kiryu could see the muscle there flex and tighten.
“I can take care of myself,” Majima answered tersely, his mouth tensing into a frown.
“You don’t have to.”
Majima took a shuddery inhale followed by an even more shaky exhale, breaths that seemed like they should have been followed by words, but weren’t. Instead, Majima turned his head slightly to bury his face as much as he could against the bed, wincing when he turned just a bit too far.
They sat in silence for another long moment while Majima’s face eased before he let out a lightly contented sigh. “Towel feels good. Thanks.”
Kiryu hummed his acknowledgment. “Do you think you can sit up for a bath?”
Another long pause before Majima spoke. “Don’t think so.”
“I ran one for you. A warm bath will help. You’ll feel better if you’re clean and it’ll relax you.”
“Nothing helps,” Majima insisted, irritation creeping in at the edge of his voice.
“You’ve never had anyone try to help, have you?” Kiryu asked, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible even though all he wanted to do was shake Majima by the shoulders and yell at him to just let someone care about you already. “No one besides Nishida, anyway. I’ll take you there. I already turned the lights off so it won’t hurt your eyes. You don’t have to move.”
Kiryu had to take Majima’s silence as a positive, half kneeling at Majima’s side. “Is it alright if I pick you up, Majima-san?”
Majima hesitated, his eye peeking up to glance at Kiryu, though it seemed distant and unfocused, a bit fearful, even. “It’s just you, Kiryu-chan?” He reached out cautiously, planting his palm experimentally on Kiryu’s shoulder just above the bicep.
Kiryu’s initially surprised reaction nearly had him asking who the hell else would be there, but Kiryu swallowed that question down, beginning to realize that whatever was plaguing Majima was more than just a run-of-the-mill migraine. He had never gotten the particulars of the story exactly, but the pieces were starting to come together and the combination of the eyepatch and the hand that Majima had kept clamped over it this whole time were starting to make so much sense that Kiryu’s stomach ached. He swallowed a lump in his throat, his chest tightening.
Kiryu placed a gentle hand over Majima’s. “Yeah, it’s just me.”
“Okay,” Majima answered softly.
Taking great care, Kiryu slipped his arms under him. Despite the warning, Majima seemed to jump at the contact anyway, like he couldn’t help it. Kiryu didn’t even want to think about what could burn a reaction like that this deeply into a man like Majima. The thought made his blood boil, but with a deep breath he calmed himself again, unwilling to trigger anything further with even the subtlest hint of aggression.
“It’s alright, Majima-san, it’s still me,” he whispered.
Majima seemed to relax a bit, humming dreamily. “Kiryu-chan…”
“Uh huh. You’re safe.”
When Majima hummed in response, Kiryu continued, lifting him bridal style in his arms, holding him at an angle that allowed Majima to rest his head on Kiryu’s shoulder without turning his neck too severely. He heard Majima groan slightly, but he didn’t complain if the movement was hurting him.
Kiryu took it slow, bringing Majima to the tub in the darkened room where just the faintest hint of starlight streamed in through the high, uncovered window, casting a faint glow over the room. That was when Kiryu got his first real look at him—his forehead was sheened with clammy sweat, and Kiryu could see the faintest red mark on his temple where he’d been pressing down with his palm for what Kiryu assumed was probably a long time, the irritation especially prevalent where his eyepatch had been digging into his skin. The bag under his eye was darkened like a bruise and Kiryu was suddenly sure that Majima hadn’t slept in a while, even despite laying in bed. He had to assume that the pain had kept him up, and his throat clenched at the thought.
Gently, he lowered Majima to sit on the wide edge of the tub. As soon as he was standing on his own, Majima wavered, two hands shooting out to hold Kiryu’s shoulders for support, his head hanging weakly. Kiryu steadied him.
“Can you get these off?” Kiryu asked, nodding to the t-shirt and underwear.
“Yeah, I got it,” Majima answered, shrugging his shirt off with slow, labored movements, his face contorted in a wince with each movement of his head and neck, blowing out a steady exhale full of pained exertion, though he seemed to be doing his best to conceal both reactions from Kiryu.
When Majima bent down to slip off his underwear, Kiryu heard him cut off a pained groan, pausing slightly. He reached out steadying hands to hover around him, not quite touching Majima, but ready to catch him if need be.
“Sorry,” Majima said, noticing the hands floating around him. “I’m fine.”
Kiryu hummed and nodded, stepping over to shut off the water, warm steam floating just above the surface when it all settled. He dipped a finger in, testing it.
“It’s warm. Do you want to feel it?” Kiryu asked.
When he was sufficiently stripped, Majima straightened with another labored groan, steadying himself against Kiryu again. Majima leaned forward with another choked off groan, reaching forward to slowly lower his hand into the water.
“Mmm. It’s good,” Majima said, his eye scanning the dark surface of the water.
Kiryu held out a hand and Majima took it, steadying himself as he threw his legs over the side carefully. One hand hovered protectively behind Majima’s back as he slowly lowered himself into the water until he was seated.
After a moment of adjusting to the temperature, Majima visibly relaxed, his shoulders slackening, his chest rising and falling with a heavy, contented sigh.
“How is it?” Kiryu asked.
“Nice,” Majima answered, the tense lines in his face easing slightly as the steam calmed his muscles.
They sat in the quiet for a while, the subtle sound of water shifting with Majima’s breaths the only sound between them. Finally, save for the thousand yard stare, Majima finally seemed more like himself, his face further relaxed until all of the lines save for the usual had been smoothed away. If Kiryu was being honest, he only looked more melancholy than he did before, something behind his eye toiling away with some deep, dark scar that Kiryu could never hope to comprehend.
Majima didn’t lift his eye toward Kiryu, staring off somewhere in the middle distance. He blinked lazily. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. You can stop saying that,” Kiryu said, soft but firm. “I just wish you had let me help sooner.”
Majima sat for a long moment, his eye wandering upward toward the window, squinting at the starlight. Kiryu saw a glint in it, heavy eyebrows resting low with a contemplative frown to try and mask whatever was happening in his head.
“You think I’m weak?” Majima asked softly, though it almost didn’t sound like a question. A statement, really.
Kiryu was taken aback. “Of course I don’t,” he said. “If anyone ever said you were weak, I’d beat the shit out of them.”
Majima pursed his lips. “Even if I’m the one saying it?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
A pang shot through Kiryu’s chest. He sat down on the floor to the side of the tub, little spots of water soaking into his pants. He didn’t care. “You’re not weak, Majima-san. Not even a little bit.”
“Don’t feel that way,” Majima said, his puffy eye wandering off to the side again, though his accent seemed to begin to slip slowly back in.
Kiryu chewed at the inside of his lip. Majima was being more candid about emotions than he had ever been about anything ever. The migraine had to be doing a real number on him, Kiryu guessed. He couldn't imagine the kind of pain that could crumble the carefully built walls that Majima had put up around himself, and he didn’t know how Majima could have gone on for so long like this on his own.
Kiryu sighed. “I know it doesn’t. You just have to trust me on this.” Kiryu reached for the bottle of shampoo that sat perched on the end of the tub, pulling it near. “Will you let me wash your hair? You don’t have to turn your back if you don’t want to.”
“Ya don’t have to do that, Kiryu-chan,” Majima responded. “I can do it.”
“I know, but I want to,” Kiryu answered. “Unless you don’t want me to.”
Majima hesitated. “No, ‘s fine. Go ahead.” He scooted gingerly over the the edge of the tub, sitting face to face with Kiryu, though he couldn’t seem to bring his gaze upward, his forehead creasing, an angry look that Kiryu was all too familiar with, though the heat in it was little more than a flickering candle. It was presumably all he could muster.
“What’s wrong?” Kiryu asked.
“Nothin’,” Majima mumbled, shutting his eye like the very act of perceiving Kiryu in front of him was too much.
“It’s okay to need help,” Kiryu said after a beat.
“It’s humiliatin’,” Majima answered sharply, his voice laden with as much bitterness as he could muster, his old self beginning to creep back in as he seemed to feel the bubbling of anger despite the pain that was still clearly evident in his tightly knitted eyebrows. It seemed that the warm water was loosening him up a bit, but that was only letting him build those walls right back up. Majima bristled, his shoulders rising ever so slightly like a protective barrier. “I just… never wanted ya to see me like this.”
Kiryu was hard up for words. He had never exactly been the talking type in the first place, and it seemed critically important to him to have the precisely correct response right now, but his mind seemed to empty itself of any useful encouragement he’d ever picked up over the years.
There were things he didn’t know about Majima. More than he’d like. But the one thing that he did know was how hard it could be to convince him he was wrong. He was stubborn and headstrong, but Kiryu had always liked that about him.
He didn’t appreciate it quite as much at the moment.
He exhaled long and hard through his nose. “Knowing when to ask for help is important. It’s a survival skill. You can’t just have your own back all the time, Majima-san. Would you run a family of one? A clan of no one but you?”
Majima sat silently, the furrowed crease in his brow deepening, his head lowering slightly, his eye skating over the water as if deep in consideration.
Kiryu quickly interjected before Majima could reply. “Don’t say yes to be snarky, because you know that isn’t true. No man is an island, Majima-san.”
“Then why’s my name literally got the ‘island’ character in it, huh?” Majima asked, the faintest laugh puffing from his nostrils, his shoulders bouncing as a small laugh shook once through him.
Kiryu’s mouth hung open for a moment as he tried to think of a response, but before he could think of anything clever, the corner of his mouth curled up and a laugh huffed out. He shook his head, his mouth reverting to that slightly upturned frown that softened his eyes, the only expression he ever wore to convey amusement.
“Very funny,” he said.
Majima’s mouth curled to mimic that smile as much as he could manage, though his downturned eye still cast an air of misery over him. Nonetheless, it was an improvement, Kiryu thought.
“What can I say, I’m a comedic genius,” Majima mused quietly. The silence persisted between them, until finally Majima huffed, that old energy creeping back in. “Ya gonna wash my hair or what?”
Kiryu hummed and collected a small cup from the side of the tub. “Tilt your head back if you can.”
Majima’s eye narrowed, his forehead creasing and eyebrows pressing together as he tipped his head back slowly, the sharp pain of the headache clearly still a driving force in his skull. Kiryu noticed the leather strap of Majima’s eyepatch laying across Majima’s head, but he didn’t dare try to take it off, deciding to carefully work around it instead.
He poured the water over Majima’s head, letting it run down the back of his hair, carefully avoiding his face. As soon as it hit his scalp, Majima’s eye fell shut, his face easing into a smooth, almost relaxed expression. Kiryu could have sworn he heard a pleased little hum. He worked gently, running the shampoo through Majima’s hair, his fingers running soothingly across his scalp in what Kiryu could make into a massage.
“Is this okay?” Kiryu asked, soapy fingers working down to the base of Majima’s skull.
“Mhmm,” Majima hummed through his nose.
Kiryu couldn’t say that it seemed like the pain was completely gone, but the rigid pull of Majima’s shoulders was much more relaxed and the creases between his eyebrows wasn’t quite as deep as he ran his hands through Majima’s hair. He rinsed away the suds and applied conditioner in the same way, letting the silence linger as long as Majima wanted.
Occasionally, he let out soft, contented hums as Kiryu scrubbed massaged his scalp and Kiryu couldn’t fight back the smile that pushed up at the corner of his lips. He rinsed the conditioner until the water ran clear.
Kiryu grabbed a bar of soap and a washcloth, holding them out for Majima. “Need help with the rest?”
Majima turned, grabbing them and letting his hands slap back down into the water, splashing Kiryu’s sleeve. “Uh-uh.”
Kiryu nodded, satisfied, and stood from the tub.
Majima’s eye suddenly widened again. “Wait, wait,” he pleaded softly. “Where ya goin’?”
“Not far, don’t worry. Just need to find something,” Kiryu assured him.
“What?”
“Bandages. For your feet.”
Majima grumbled. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ‘em, I’m fine…” he huffed under his breath.
Kiryu clicked his tongue. “I know blood when I see it. Just finish up, alright?”
Majima murmured softly, likely protesting Kiryu’s care, but Kiryu didn’t care. Majima had already accepted far too much help for his pride to handle and he wasn’t likely to take much more without complaining, but Kiryu could handle that. He searched around the bathroom, accumulating supplies as he found them—gauze pads, bandage rolls, rubbing alcohol, the works.
He stepped out briefly to bring everything back to the bedroom, laying it out neatly on the night stand and grabbing a clean pair of underwear from the closet for Majima to change into. When he returned, Majima perked up.
“Kiryu-chan?” he asked.
“I’m right here. You finished?”
Majima started to push himself up with a light groan. “Mhmm.”
Kiryu pulled the towel from its bar, offering it to Majima as soon as he stood upright, a wince curling across his face suddenly.
“You alright?” Kiryu asked, leaning down to get a better look at Majima’s expression.
Instead of answering right away, he groaned, sitting on the edge of the tub as he toweled himself off, irritation thick in his voice. “Feet hurt…”
Kiryu almost laughed because duh, but he held back, letting Majima finish with the towel before helping him dress in his boxer-briefs, scooping him up again and carrying him back to his room, laying him gingerly down on the bed. As Kiryu began to arrange his supplies, though, there was a distinctive heat in Majima’s expression, his mouth contorted in a grimace again, his eyebrows pushing down hard to paint harsh lines across his face—that was familiar, Kiryu thought. The expression he usually wore when things were serious. An expression laden with rage. Kiryu swallowed hard, the change in his mood palpable as he turned his head from Kiryu.
“I ain’t a fuckin’ baby, Kiryu-chan,” Majima mumbled, a hint of anger tinging his voice again. “I ain’t some street rat ya can just adopt and fix with love or whatever the fuck…”
Kiryu’s jaw flexed. He didn’t take it personally—how could he, considering Majima’s state? But he knew that Majima did. Every single negative thing he said, he took personally. Kiryu knew Majima wasn’t calling Haruka a street rat. He would never, unless his goal was to get the beating of a lifetime, and even knowing how Majima usually was, Kiryu was certain that wasn’t the case right now.
Majima was the only street rat in his mind. The only one he thought was useless and pathetic and week and in need of fixing was him.
“Of course you’re not,” Kiryu said as if it was obvious.
Majima was like a live wire, his emotions running wild on him in ways that Kiryu had never seen before, and he was dead set against setting him off unnecessarily. Maybe Majima was already feeling shameful about letting Kiryu take care of him. Maybe he was just embarrassed and lashing out. Kiryu knew how hard it could be for guys like them to accept help—hell, he knew he was probably the worst at it—and he was sure that Majima, in his compromised state, was having a mix of emotions fighting to express themselves over it that even he couldn’t control. Majima had been through enough already—if the worst thing Kiryu could do to him was be nice, then Kiryu could live with that, even if Majima wanted to be pissy about it.
“Then ya don’t need to treat me like one,” Majima said, gritting his teeth and shutting his eye as he clamped his hand over his eyepatch, his fingers digging into his scalp again as if he could crush the headache away. Kiryu could see a small, glinting tear squeeze out of his good eye.
“Is that where it hurts?” Kiryu asked. “Your eye?”
“Socket…” Majima murmured bitterly under his breath, almost as if Kiryu wasn’t supposed to hear. “Ain’t no eye left...”
Kiryu nodded, drawing his mouth into a tight, sympathetic line. He wanted to gather Majima up in his arms and just hold him no matter how much he squirmed or protested. He wanted to bury his face in Majima’s neck, nuzzle against him, remind him that he was alright and Kiryu would never let anything happen to him again.
Instead, he stayed quiet and did nothing. That wasn’t what Majima needed.
Kiryu retrieved the supplies and laid them out at Majima’s feet. “I’m not treating you like a baby or a pet project. I’m not treating you the way I treat my daughter,” Kiryu answered just sharply enough to let Majima know that his comment hadn’t gone unnoticed. “I’m treating you like a grown person I care about who’s acting hard-headed for no reason.”
Majima scoffed, bristling. “No reason? I’m tryin’ to protect you, asshole.”
“From what, from you?” Kiryu asked. “You’re practically incapacitated, I can take you.”
“Yeah and if ya knew even a fraction of the reasons why I’m incapacitated, your head would hurt too,” Majima spat, perhaps quicker than he could consider his own words, his eye suddenly darting away again.
Kiryu was quiet, contemplating his response. There was a long stretch of silence that followed, uncomfortable, thick with regret. Majima seemed ill at ease, squirming, his eye scrunching shut as he massaged at his temple as pain seemed to shoot through him.
Kiryu’s heart tightened in his chest. Knowing it wasn’t personal didn’t make it any easier to see Majima this way. “I just don’t know how to help you sometimes…” he admitted, his voice soft and tired.
Majima scoffed, but Kiryu could see the tension in his jaw, just a subtle quiver of his lip to give him away. “Yeah and water is wet, dipshit. No one does and no one can. I fix my own shit.”
Kiryu fidgeted with the bandages at Majima’s feet. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked earnestly.
“Thought ya’d never ask.” Majima answered venemously.
Kiryu swallowed a knotting lump in his throat, but he stood dutifully, his eyes on Majima, who just wordlessly watched him. He looked so tired, the lines etched into his face only more pronounced again with the scowl that he wore, though its fury seemed to fade with the energy that was no doubt running on empty by now. Kiryu stood by, giving Majima the chance to say something—to change his mind, to apologize, to yell some more, anything. But the silence persisted.
Kiryu huffed a little sigh, making his way over to the door, but when he grabbed the handle, Majima stirred suddenly.
“Wait, wait,” Majima called hurriedly, panicked. His voice softened, nearing a whisper rife with cracks, the fear as clear as crystal. “Stay… please don’t go…”
His hand gripping the door handle, Kiryu froze, as if debating, though the choice was clear as crystal to him as soon as Majima had opened his mouth.
“I’m sorry. I’m… I ain’t good at this…” Majima pressed the meat of his palm into his good eye, a discreet hiccup surging through him, almost guaranteeing Kiryu that he was holding back tears. “I don’t wanna be alone in the dark anymore… Just… Please don’t leave…”
Kiryu’s mouth tightened into a line, his eyebrows knit in concern. The pain on Majima’s face was so clear, wrenching at Kiryu’s heart. He returned to the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge while Majima gazed off in another direction, pointedly avoiding Kiryu’s eyes.
“Dunno why I’m like this… I don’t wanna be…” Majima huffed, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.
Kiryu hummed thoughtfully. “You don’t have to explain yourself, nii-san. It’s… I understand.”
Majima grumbled, his jaw flexing tersely again and Kiryu took the hint.
“I mean, I don’t understand. Obviously. Not fully. But I don’t need to.” Kiryu exhaled deeply. “I just need you to understand that you can trust me.”
Majima’s eyebrows scrunched together, deep in thought, his eye hazy and listless as it wandered the middle distance of the ceiling above a puffy rim. “I don’t wan’t ya to think I’m weak.”
Kiryu swallowed hard. “I don’t.”
“Sometimes I… feel like…” Majima pursed his lips, hesitating. “Sometimes when it’s dark it feels like I’m there again. And when I’m real out of it and my skull’s pounding, I just… sometimes believe it a little.”
Kiryu’s mouth tightened into a line. Majima didn’t need to elaborate. Kiryu’d heard the rumors. “Nii-san…”
Majima scoffed, sniffing discreetly beneath it. “Don’t fuckin’ nii-san me, I don’t want pity. Fuckin’ hate it.”
Kiryu hummed. His eyes fell to the soles of Majima’s feet, deep and dark cuts still glaring up at him through crusted blood now softened by the bath. Rather than respond, Kiryu instead doused a clean cloth in rubbing alcohol.
“I’m still going to take care of these, alright?” Kiryu said, resting a hand on Majima’s foot.
The grumble he got in response was good enough, and he gently lifted Majima’s foot. Majima’s hiss was sharp when Kiryu pressed the cloth to a deep wound, pulling a tiny shard of ceramic from the flesh. Majima’s leg reflexively tried to jerk out of his grip, but Kiryu held fast, dabbing continuously with a new wince crossing Majima’s face at each one.
“So what, you don’t wanna say nothin’? I told ya one of my deep dark secrets and ya ain’t got nothin’ to say?” Majima muttered.
“Is there something you want me to say?”
“Dunno… Just figured you’d tell me I’m a fuckin’ pussy or should man up or somethin’…”
Kiryu’s scowl deepened. “You think that’s the kind of person I am?”
Majima chewed at his lip for a while before answering. “No…”
“That’s not the kind of person you should be either,” Kiryu responded firmly. “Tearing yourself down won’t make you feel better.”
Majima’s grumbling was hardly the response Kiryu wanted, but he knew that if he was holding out for some sort of epiphany for Majima, then he would be sorely disappointed.
“I’m glad you told me, nii-san,” Kiryu continued, brushing away the final traces of old blood. “I think I’m starting to get it now. But that doesn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t be dealing with this by yourself.”
Majima huffed, exhaustion heavy in his voice again. “I already told ya—”
“Let me finish.” Kiryu wrapped the bandage in his hand deftly around Majima’s foot until he was satisfied. “You don’t have to tell me everything that’s on your mind if you don’t want to. You’re not the only one who has things they don’t want to talk about, you know.” He moved on to the other foot, holding tight as Majima’s flinching against the sting began anew. “But you can call me when you’re feeling this way so that you aren’t alone. I’ll bring you whatever you need and we can sit in silence for all I care. But you don’t need to protect me from this. This is what I’m here for.”
Majima was quiet, his eyelid falling shut as he took metered breaths through his nose to endure Kiryu’s treatment. Kiryu finished with the other foot and wrapped it until both were clean and dressed properly, laying them gingerly back on the bed.
“I’m going to get you some water, I’ll be back in a minute,” Kiryu said, making his way to the kitchen.
The place was still a treacherous mess, but Kiryu managed to find a clean glass in the cabinets, quickly filling it and returning to Majima’s side, snaking a hand under his neck.
“Drink the whole thing,” Kiryu said, urging Majima up until he could prop himself up on his elbow, hesitantly reaching for the glass.
Majima did as he was told without complaint, slowly, pulling away for breaths after every few gulps, but finally managed to down the water to Kiryu’s satisfaction. Kiryu set the glass on the table beside the bed before moving himself up toward the headboard, leaning back against a pillow as he brushed some of Majima’s hair off his forehead.
“You should get some sleep, nii-san,” Kiryu said.
Majima chewed at the inside of his lip, his eyelid definitively heavy and willing, though the throbbing in his temple didn’t bode well. “I don’t think I can,” he said weakly.
Kiryu thought to challenge him, but the idea fell by the wayside when he noticed how heavily Majima’s chest heaved up and down from the exertion of their time together. Instead of argue, he gently lifted Majima’s head, slipping behind him with his legs spread to let Majima rest in his lap, Kiryu’s thumbs gently massaging his temples.
It took a moment for Majima to settle into the position, draping his arms over Kiryu’s thighs and maneuvering back to let his head rest at a more comfortable angle, but when he let out a contented sigh and Kiryu felt the rigidity ease from his body, he finally seemed relaxed.
“Feels good…” Majima murmured softly.
Kiryu hummed in acknowledgment, his hands’ pressure a delicate balance of soft and deep against the soft dip of Majima’s temples. “Works for Haruka, too.”
Majima’s lips pursed tightly. “Kid gets migraines too?”
Kiryu sighed through his nose. “The explosion in the tower gave her bad tinnitus and chronic headaches.”
Majima hesitated. “Mmm. So you’re a pro at this, then,” he said with a humorless chuckle.
“I suppose so.”
The silence persisted comfortably for a while as Kiryu’s massage seemed to ease some of the pained lines from Majima’s face. It was the most at peace Kiryu had seen him all night and his chest fluttered with relief.
“‘M tired, Kiryu-chan…” Majima mumbled after a while.
“Go ahead and sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Kiryu promised, his fingers slowly travelling to rub at the rest of Majima’s scalp.
“‘M sorry for… For all that before,” Majima nearly whispered with a hefty sigh to punctuate the thought. “Didn’t mean it… Was just angry…” Majima paused, gathering energy to finish. “At me, not you…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Kiryu answered honestly. “Just worry about resting.”
“Mmm,” Majima hummed, sleep heavy in his throat. “Thank you…”
Kiryu leaned down, planting a kiss on Majima’s forehead. “It’s nothing.”
It was a while still before Kiryu was sure that Majima had drifted off, and even longer before he quit his massage in favor of stroking Majima’s hair in his lap. His back ached against the headboard and he was sure he would regret this position come morning, but he didn’t care. He was perfectly content to watch the rise and fall of Majima’s chest as he slept, Kiryu’s hands wandering idly over his skin to assure him that he was still there, keeping dreams of the hole and its demons at bay.
He was sure that come morning, Majima would insist on pretending that none of this had happened. That was fair enough, he figured. Kiryu knew all too well how fragile a yakuza ego could be, but he would be willing to play along for Majima’s sake to spare him the humiliation that he knew wouldn’t ease for a long time to come.
He couldn’t fault Majima for that, but he could ensure that Majima ate a hearty breakfast of rice and vegetables and chocolate to help him get on his feet again.
Maybe he couldn’t cure Majima, but he’d do what he could to help.
What else were date nights for?