Archive of Our Own

The heat was oppressive. Even in Kamurocho’s winding alleyways, hot concrete found no respite from the sun’s scorching rays. The long drone of cicadas echoed off of the narrow buildings, calling from the few trees that dotted the area.

A sea of commuters and tourists moved sluggishly across the asphalt, the white stripes of the crosswalk almost blinding. As the crowd exited the station it headed for the famous Tenkaichi Street archway, dulled in the light of day as if it, too, were feeling the strain of having to withstand the sun on this hot summer day. Among the throngs of people walked a figure in gray and red, towering at least a head above the rest. A man with legendary status who had crowds parting and chinpira bowing in his wake.

Ironically, Kiryu Kazuma had returned to Kamurocho in hopes of putting that life behind him. In the months since the ten billion yen incident, Kiryu had done his best to make a fresh start. He had secured a small apartment in Yokohama, and Haruka had started at a new school that spring. Their lives were finally beginning to stabilize, as much as anyone’s could after such a traumatic event.

The one challenge Kiryu faced was finding steady income. Believe it or not, being an ex-con and having “Ex-Tojo Clan Chairman” on his resume did not make him a desirable candidate for most positions. So Kiryu had been working odd jobs, picking up temporary work and one-off requests where he could to make ends meet. But after months of working unpredictable shifts and leaving Haruka with a neighbor (or on her own) several nights per week, Kiryu had decided it was high time they found some stability in their lives.

So here he was, back on the streets of Kamurocho. Not as a family man or as the Dragon of Dojima, but as Kiryu, civilian jobseeker. And he was miserable.

In this heat, who wouldn’t be? Some of the misery would undoubtedly be remedied by finding stable work, and he was hoping to have more luck in Kamurocho than he had been having in Yokohama. Surely there was a bar somewhere that needed regular security, or someone to stock the shelves. Maybe Kazuki and Yuya needed a bouncer at Stardust. Although, Kiryu wasn’t sure he could stomach the thought of standing on the street, staring at the faded Serena sign night after night. Not after last December.

In that moment, Kiryu would have given a week’s pay for it to feel like December again. It had been tolerable when he’d stepped out of his Yokohama apartment, a crisp ocean breeze on the air. But as soon as he exited Shinjuku station and was met with the stifling, stagnant air of Kamurocho, he began to regret his choice of wearing a full suit. Not that he had much else to wear. Even if he had, Kiryu was in town to find work. And typically (see: always), prospective employers expected one to wear something nicer than UniQlo loungewear, which was probably the only other outfit Kiryu had in his possession.

So there Kiryu was, in a full suit, in the middle of the worst heat wave Tokyo had seen in over a decade. Fantastic.

But it was either keep it on and suffocate, or take it off and look like a sweaty, disheveled mess. Given the odds were already against him in terms of finding a business that would hire him, Kiryu begrudgingly accepted the former.

He trudged through the streets of Kamurocho as the punishing sun rose high in the sky, making his way down Park Boulevard, winding through the narrow alleys of the Champion District, catching two different masters as they stocked their bars for the evening. One hurried into his bar mumbling something about “collections” without even giving Kiryu the chance to explain himself. The other turned him down after a quick once-over, suggesting he may have better luck as a bouncer at a cabaret club than at a snack bar. Kiryu supposed he had a point.

By mid-afternoon, Kiryu was reaching his limit. It must have been at least 35 degrees out, and the Tokyo humidity made him feel as though he’d just stepped into a sauna. He debated taking a break and stopping by an air-conditioned Poppo, but decided against it when he glanced at his watch and noticed the time. Haruka would be getting out of school in a couple of hours, and he needed to get back in time to start dinner.

He decided to take a detour through Nakamichi Alley, planning to swing by Stardust on the way back to the station. Hopefully Yuya and Kazuki had something they needed help with, or at least knew of someone who did. In hindsight, maybe he should have started there.

Kiryu heaved a sigh, cringing at the sensation of sweat trickling down the back of his neck. There was no way his entire shirt wasn’t soaked at this point—he could feel it sticking to his lower back and was already dreading the train ride home, pants sticking to his thighs and damp socks shoved into his white loafers.

The air somehow seemed even thicker in the alleyway, concrete buildings closing in around him and trapping any suggestion of a breeze. Kiryu’s chest started to feel tight, breaths coming quickly and becoming more shallow. When was the last time he’d had a drink of water? That morning at breakfast? Maybe he should stop by the Poppo after all…

It was at that moment—sweat-soaked, throat dry, and regretting his choices that day—that Kiryu heard a familiar cackle.

“Kiryu-chan!”

Oh, no.

Before Kiryu could react, Majima was jumping from what must have been some second-story balcony like a bat taking flight. He landed squarely on Kiryu’s shoulders, knocking them both off balance and tumbling into the hot asphalt.

Majima rolled off of him with a grumble, and sprang back up to his feet. “Oy, what’s with this, huh? All that training and yer rusty after just a few months?”

“Majima-no-nii-san.” Kiryu genuinely did not have time for this. Not if he wanted to make a couple of stops and get on the train before rush hour. “I’m busy right now.”

Majima scoffed, flicking some dirt off of his snakeskin lapel. “I think what ya meant to say is, ‘It’s nice to see you, nii-san, sorry for ghostin’ ya fer half a year after ya worked yer ass off to get me back into fighting shape.’”

Kiryu peeled himself away from the concrete until he was on all fours, still struggling to catch his breath from the sudden assault. His head started to swim, his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth.

“And I find out yer in town through the grapevine—through fuckin’ Nishida! Talk about embarrassing. What was I supposed to tell him? ‘Nah, Kiryu-chan didn’t even bother givin’ his old buddy Majima a ring to tell him he was back in Kamurocho.’ Do ya know how bad that makes me look?” Majima’s voice carried its signature crazed edge, sharp as his tanto, as he paced back and forth in the narrow alley. “But you know me, this eye sees everythin’ in this town, I told ya I’d be watchin’ ya 24/7 and—oy, what the hell are ya still doin’ down there?”

Belatedly, Kiryu realized that he was still on the ground. That was strange. With great effort, he rose to his feet, swaying a bit but standing firm. For the first time since their encounter, Kiryu got a good look at his ex-sparring partner and Tojo Clan patriarch.

He looked unchanged from half a year past. Majima still wore the same loud snakeskin jacket, chest tattoos and torso on display for all to see. Did Majima ever wear a shirt? Now that he thought about it, Majima had been gallivanting around Kamurocho in December essentially topless. Did he ever get cold? Was that the reason he always wanted to fight? To keep warm? If that was the case, why did he want to fight now , in this heat?

Kiryu almost found himself jealous of Majima’s breezy getup, until he noticed that he was wearing his signature skin-tight leather pants. Had they always been so tight? Hugging his hips, encasing his thighs, tapering at his ankles in a way that made him look like a single calligraphy stroke. It couldn’t have been a particularly breathable material, at the very least.

Majima cleared his throat, and Kiryu realized that he had been staring. He snapped his head up, finding an unreadable expression on Majima’s face. Perhaps one of questioning, one of surprise, one of…something else that Kiryu either couldn’t place or didn’t wish to explore at that moment.

He really wasn’t feeling well. Maybe he could ask for a rain check. For when it was actually raining. Kiryu opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, forgetting what he was about to say. That’s right, he was about to ask for a rain check. Kiryu was busy. He had to catch the train, make dinner, drink a gallon of water and step into an ice cold shower.

Instead he asked, “How are you wearing leather right now?”

The question seemed to surprise Majima as much as it surprised Kiryu. Majima sputtered, waving his tanto in the air like a handheld sparkler. “I got an image to maintain! Yer one to talk, wearin’ a full suit in this swamp.”

He certainly had a point. Kiryu gazed back at him, eyes fixated on a drop of sweat that ran down Majima’s neck and over his clavicle.

“Ya gonna fight me or what? Can’t have ya goin’ soft on me.”

Kiryu should have known there would be no reasoning with the Mad Dog of Shimano. Silly of him to think that this would end in any way but a fight. Well, dehydrated or not, there was nothing for it. He cracked his knuckles and raised his fists as he assumed a fighting stance. This didn’t need to take long.

That was the only signal Majima needed. He leapt at Kiryu with a cackle, bounding toward him with his knife raised high. Kiryu dodged the first swipe with notable effort, and barely managed to block a follow-up roundhouse kick with his forearms. It took most of his willpower to prevent himself from stumbling backwards.

Majima wasn’t holding back; it had probably been too long since he’d fought like this. He directed what seemed like a massive amount of pent-up energy into every attack, like a dog that had been chained up for too long and had finally been let off the leash.

The heat was making Kiryu sluggish. Sweat dripped into his eyes, the salt stinging and blurring his vision. He was backed into a corner, inches from a concrete wall, barely managing to sidestep each slash of the knife. On one particularly sneaky combo, Kiryu managed to successfully dodge a knife to the shoulder, only to be met with a steel-tipped shoe to the stomach. Head swimming and eyes burning, Kiryu’s entire body felt like it was on fire, and not in a good way. Kiryu needed to end this, now. He rallied what little strength he could feel seeping from his bones, and with a guttural cry, swung at Majima.

And missed.

The blur of movement stopped, and Majima came back into focus. “Tch. And here I thought I was finally gonna get a real fight after all these months."

Kiryu responded with what he hoped were words. They must not have been, because Majima crossed his arms and squinted, observing Kiryu like he was a cockroach stuck on fly paper.

“Hello, Earth to Kiryu-chan! The hell’s up with you, huh? Don’t tell me a little heat wave is enough to...”

Majima’s voice faded. He sounded far away, as if there was a wall of water separating them. Which couldn’t be right…he was standing right in front of him, wasn’t he? It was difficult for him to see, his vision fading at the edges. The heat was no longer agitating. In fact, it felt comfortable, like he could just close his eyes and drift off, right here. Just a quick nap, then he would head back to Yokohama.

“...Kiryu-chan?”

He must have been dreaming now, because Majima almost sounded concerned. Majima never sounded concerned. It didn’t matter much anyway, because it was the last thing Kiryu heard before the world around him went black.

*          *          *

Consciousness greeted Kiryu in the form of a searing pain all over his body. Fire erupted over his limbs and a pained cry filled his ears, which he belatedly realized was his own. Something was pinning him down, and he had to move, had to run, had to escape —

“Calm down, yer gonna take my other eye out!”

Why was Majima here? Was Majima the one hurting him? Kiryu flailed, vision spotty, as he tripped backwards into a hard, slippery surface.

“Kiryu-chan, can ya hear me? I need ya to breathe. Can ya do that for me?”

Hands gripped Kiryu’s biceps, and he noted that his wet hair had fallen into his face. Was it raining? The hands gripped harder, waiting for an answer. It took all of Kiryu’s effort to nod and suck in a deep breath. In, out. In, out. The grip on his arms loosened again.

“Good job.” Majima’s typically manic voice sounded almost…soothing? Was it actually Majima talking to him at all? “I’m gonna help ya sit down now. I’m strong, but I ain’t strong enough to hold a big guy like you up fer much longer.”

The hands guided Kiryu down the wall until he found himself sitting on the wet floor. Why was the floor wet, too?

Majima’s visage slowly began to materialize as the fog cleared from Kiryu’s eyes. His jet-black hair was soaked, bangs limp and sticking to his forehead, not unlike a wet dog that had been left out in the rain. More surprising was that his snakeskin jacket was missing, his tattooed shoulders and pecs on full display, water flowing in rivulets over the dual snakes and cherry blossom-embellished whorls. Kiryu let his gaze drift down to find that Majima was, thankfully, still wearing pants, although he couldn’t have been happy about getting that leather wet.

If Majima noticed that Kiryu was staring, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, his eye scanned Kiryu, darting down to his chest and back up to his face with a concerned look.

“Where am I?” Kiryu croaked.

“In my shower.”

“In your…” Kiryu looked down at himself in a panic, before realizing he was still fully clothed. His jacket and shoes had been removed, but his red shirt and slacks were soaked through. Sure enough, a steady stream of cold water fell from the showerhead onto the two of them, huddled together on the tile floor. “Why am I in your shower?”

“Why are ya—because ya passed out from fuckin’ heat stroke or somethin’ in the middle of our fight! What else was I supposed to do?”

Heat stroke? Kiryu had never experienced heat stroke before, but had heard stories of those who had. It typically affected people who spent too much time in direct sunlight, didn’t drink enough water, wore too many layers, and…ah. Well, he supposed that made sense, in hindsight.

“We were fightin’ and you were sloppy as hell and I thought ya were just rusty, but then ya got this funny look in yer eye and,” Majima silently snapped with his wet fingers, “ya were out like a light. Scared the shit outta me, if I’m bein’ honest. So I shoved ya into a cab and took ya to my place because…I dunno. It was the first thing I thought of. I coulda called a doctor but I’d just kicked yer ass, and what would they do if we both showed up black and blue, especially after everything that went down last year, and—”

“Nii-san.” Kiryu closed his eyes again, letting the cold water rush over him. When he opened them again, he found Majima staring at him expectantly. “Thanks.”

Majima rose to his feet, brushing water fruitlessly off of his waterlogged leather pants. “Don’t mention it. Think ya can take a shower by yerself? Sorry I got yer clothes all wet, but I didn’t think ya’d wanna put ‘em back on, since they were kinda…” He scrunched up his nose in a way that Kiryu found strangely endearing.

Kiryu nodded. “I think I can manage.”

“Good. Call me when yer done, I’ll try to find somethin’ that’ll fit ya.” Majima moved to leave the bathroom, shower still running, but paused at the door. “When was the last time ya had any water to drink?”

“Hmm…this morning, I think.”

“You idiot, no wonder ya fainted like a Victorian heroine. You were runnin’ around in that heat gettin’ dried out like a piece o’ kelp!”

Kiryu squinted, legs still sprawled on the shower floor. “What’s a Victorian heroine?”

Majima barreled on. “If yer not outta here in exactly seven minutes, I’m bustin’ this door down, modesty be damned.”

“Yes, nii-san.” Kiryu couldn’t hide the way his mouth twitched up at the corners.

*          *          *

Kiryu exited the shower with a fluffy towel around his waist to find a pile of folded clothes and a glass of ice cold water waiting for him next to the bathroom sink. He grabbed the water and immediately downed the entire thing, filling it up at the sink again like a man dying of thirst. Which, he supposed, he was. He berated himself for not acquiring water earlier in the day. But how was he supposed to know Majima had nothing better to do than jump him in an alleyway during a heat wave? Well…he supposed he should have known that, too.

With a sigh, Kiryu hung his soaking wet clothes haphazardly on hooks and towel racks, unsure of what else to do with them. His jacket was still nowhere to be found, and his watch…was still on his wrist. Good thing it was water resistant. While inspecting it for damage, he processed what the clockface read and— shit ! Haruka would be out of school in less than an hour. He needed to catch the next train to Yokohama or he wasn’t going to be home in time to greet her.

Kiryu ripped the clothes off of the sink, barely having a moment to look at them before pulling them on. Probably not what he’d choose to wear outside of the house, but at least it was dry. Without bothering to dry his hair or gather his things, he flung open the bathroom door, striding out with purpose. Kiryu hadn’t taken two steps down the hallway before he stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding running chest first into Majima, who was standing outside the bathroom with a pitcher of water.

“I was just about to come in there to check on—pffFTT!” Majima’s eye went wide and his mouth went all wobbly before he was overcome with an uncontrollable bout of laughter.

Kiryu didn’t know what was so funny, but whatever it was, he didn’t have time for this. He attempted to push past Majima in the narrow hallway, but was blocked by his hunched figure. “Sorry, I need to go. Thank you for helping me, nii-san, but like I tried to tell you before, I’m busy and have to get back before—what are you laughing at?”

It took several false starts before Majima spoke intelligible words between his laughter. “Did ya even look in the mirror before ya came out of there?”

“No. I didn’t have time. Haruka’s school is going to let out soon, and I—”

Majima waved his hand in front of his face, still grinning. “Don’t worry about that, it’s already taken care of.”

Kiryu blinked. Paused. “What do you mean, ‘taken care of’?”

“Nishida’s already on his way to pick her up from school. He’s gonna watch her for the night. Told him to bring over some nail polish ‘n’ shit, rent a movie, order some pizza. Kids love that stuff, yanno?”

Kiryu stood there, stunned. Majima had sent someone to check in on Haruka? More than that, to pick her up from school, to make sure she was fed and happy? It was probably the dehydration, but his mind was coming up short for why Majima—or anyone, for that matter—would do this for him. Majima must have taken his silence as concern, because he kept talking.

“Don’t worry Kiryu-chan, I wouldn’t let just anyone babysit yer kiddo. I trust Nishida with my life.”

That wasn’t what Kiryu was worried about; he knew Nishida well enough after their interactions last year to know that he was trustworthy. He had so many questions, but the one that came out of his mouth was:

“You know where I live?”

Majima rolled his eye. “‘Course I know where ya live. Ya don’t spend a month stalkin’ a guy without pickin’ up a few tricks. So don’t worry about it. Haruka is safe and sound. And yer crazier than I am if ya think I’m lettin’ ya go out in this heat after ya almost keeled over on me.”

Kiryu stood there, rigid, still a bit woozy and unsure how to respond.

“Now would ya please go look in the mirror? I can only stay serious fer so long.”

Still at a loss for words, Kiryu nodded and retreated to the bathroom. And truthfully, it was a good thing he hadn’t caught the train to Yokohama in this state. Or left the apartment at all.

Firstly, Kiryu’s hair was a mess. Still damp, limp, and hanging in his face. A far cry from his perfectly coiffed look that was, quite frankly, one of the sole things he took pride in about his appearance. He shoved his bangs out of his face, making a note to root around in Majima’s cabinets for some pomade or gel. Certainly he’d have something.

The most conspicuous thing though—and likely what Majima was still busy cackling about—was the t-shirt that Kiryu had thrown on in a rush to get out the door. It was a white tee, fabric thin and softened from use, with a black and rainbow logo and the text “Nagano Winter Olympics 1998” emblazoned on the front. And it likely wasn’t meant to be skin-tight and riding up on his midriff like a crop top. Kiryu tugged down the hem, which only caused the shirt to ride up higher when he released it.

Kiryu exited the bathroom to face Majima again, who was still sniggering in the hallway. The water in the pitcher he was holding threatened to slosh over the edges. “You did this on purpose.”

“That’s the biggest shirt I have!”

Kiryu crossed his arms, which likely did nothing for his modesty as his pecs strained harder against the fabric. “It’s probably the only shirt you have.”

“Oy, whattya think I’m wearin’ right now?”

For the first time since exiting the bathroom—and the first time since their fight in Nakamichi Alley, actually—Kiryu actually looked at Majima.

He was, in fact, wearing a fitted, black tank top that somehow managed to make Majima look more scandalous than when he walked around Tokyo essentially topless. He wore a pair of dark, cropped lounge pants that sat low on his hips, and his feet were bare.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. That heat really did a number on ya, huh? Here, drink some more water.”

Kiryu held out his glass and Majima refilled it without spilling a single drop.

“Ya hungry?”

“I…” Why was Majima being so hospitable? It was unnerving, especially since Kiryu was conditioned to jump into combat every time he caught a glance of an eyepatch and a flash of dark cropped hair. “I don’t want to impose. I can head out as soon as I finish this,” he said, holding up his glass. Maybe his clothes would dry quickly if he hung them outside.

Majima let out a put upon sigh and placed a hand on his bony hip. “I mean, I ain’t gonna hold ya prisoner or anythin’, but it’s hot as balls out there right now, and it’s a twelve-minute walk to the station minimum . And I’m gonna bet that ya can’t exactly afford a taxi all the way to Yokohama.”

Kiryu hummed. He hated to admit it, but Majima had a point. Even so, spending the night at the apartment of his…rival? Ex-colleague? Sparring partner? Seemed a bit unconventional. But what choice did he really have? His clothes were wet, he was exhausted, his head was still fuzzy from the heat. And Haruka was in good hands, probably having the time of her life. He bit his lip, looked up, and slowly nodded his head.

“Great!” Majima barked. “I’ll get dinner started. Hope ya like somen.”

*          *          *

After giving it some thought, Kiryu decided to forego the shirt altogether. He walked out into the living area of the apartment wearing nothing but the pair of gray lounge shorts Majima had lended him (which miraculously did fit, even if they were a bit tight on his hindquarters), and was met with the sound of clinking dishes and the smell of freshly cut vegetables.

Kiryu didn’t know what he expected Majima’s apartment to look like, but it wasn’t this. While not cramped by any means, the space was a modest size, with a utilitarian kitchen that opened up into a dining room with a small table with two chairs. A living space lay beyond, equipped with a worn-in black leather sofa across from a flat screen TV that must have been a state-of-the-art model. There weren’t many decorations to speak of, aside from a small bookshelf and a modest collection of daggers adorning the living room wall. Overall, it was…cleaner than Kiryu expected it to be. There were no knives thrown into the wall, no blood on the floor—even the plant on the kitchen counter looked freshly watered. Most importantly, there was a modern-looking air conditioning unit near the living room’s sliding glass doors that was blessedly circulating cold air around the apartment.

“Wanna have a seat? Yer still not lookin’ so hot.”

Kiryu’s head snapped up as he remembered he wasn’t alone. Majima stood in the kitchen, a knife in his hand. But rather than looking menacing like he did when brandishing his tanto, he almost looked, for lack of a better word, domestic.

“Well, ya were lookin’ real hot earlier.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, Majima seemed to realize what he had said and backpedaled. “I mean, you know, hot temperature-wise. Not like that , but. Well. Yeah.”

Kiryu couldn’t help but smirk at Majima’s discomfort. “Yeah,” he agreed.

Majima waved Kiryu over to the dining room table as he put his head down and continued slicing a cucumber.

A few moments after Kiryu sat down, Majima placed two small bowls and chopsticks on the table, along with an assortment of condiments. A woven basket soon accompanied them, piled high with freshly sliced cucumbers, tomatoes, boiled chicken, and eggs. Last but not least, he brought out a shallow bowl filled to the brim with somen noodles topped with ice water: a perfect meal for a hot day. Majima situated the dishes so they were all within reach, and placed the pitcher of water from earlier close to Kiryu. Hadn’t Majima said he used to work in customer service? Looking at the spread in front of him, Kiryu would absolutely believe it. The display looked like a picture out of a food magazine, or a cookbook. And it smelled delicious, too.

“I’d offer ya a drink, but I’m not sure it’s a great idea, given yer constitution.”

Kiryu paused his admiration of the food to look up at Majima, and suddenly realized how strange this situation was. Majima Goro, patriarch and former Shimano Family Captain—who not six months ago had kidnapped Haruka, taken a knife to the gut for him, rammed into Shangri-La with a truck —was hosting Kiryu for dinner in his apartment, as an overnight guest.

There was absolutely no way Kiryu was going to survive this evening sober.

“I wouldn’t say no.”

They ate in silence, accompanied only by the slurping of noodles and cold beers. The somen was ice cold, the dipping broth perfectly seasoned, the sliced vegetables fresh, and the egg ever so slightly sweet. Simple though it may have been, it was the best meal Kiryu had eaten in recent memory. It was hard to believe that Majima had made this himself, if Kiryu was being honest. He’d never given much thought to what the Mad Dog of Shimano subsisted on, but if he had to have guessed, it would have been closer to “cigarettes and the blood of his enemies” than it was to “traditional home-cooked meal”.

“This is delicious,” Kiryu said around a mouthful of noodles and chicken.

Majima looked up from his bowl, eye wide and mouth full. He chewed intentionally: once, twice, before swallowing.

Kiryu’s gaze followed the bob of his Adam’s apple, transfixed by the working muscles of his neck, the hollow of his throat, unable to look away as Majima took a swig of his beer and swallowed again. Then once more.

Just when Kiryu wasn’t sure if his words would be acknowledged at all, Majima put down his can of beer and answered, “Thanks.”

Realizing he’d been staring at a fixed point on Majima’s throat, Kiryu snapped his eyes back up, only to notice that Majima was staring right back. Time seemed to momentarily slow, two rivals-turned-not-quite-friends seated at a dinner table, whose gazes were locked in a different kind of battle. One that, unlike a street fight, Kiryu didn’t know the rules to.

Majima was the first to break the stare with a raised brow as his eye flicked down to Kiryu’s chin. “Mm, ya’ve got some…” Majima motioned to his own face with his hand. Kiryu could do nothing but stare blankly, his mind not quite processing whatever was happening.

Majima must have gotten sick of performing charades, because one second he was sitting in his chair, and the next he was leaning over the table and touching Kiryu’s face.

Kiryu flinched out of habit (Majima Goro’s hands and Kiryu’s face were typically not a desirable combination), but Majima held his chin with a firm grip, as if expecting him to do exactly that. Kiryu attempted to make eye contact, in an effort to gain some clue as to what Majima was trying to do, but Majima had his head tilted just enough that Kiryu couldn’t see his good eye. Belatedly, he noticed that Majima wasn’t wearing his gloves. They must have gotten wet when he was helping Kiryu in the shower. His fingers were surprisingly soft.

But as quickly as it started, Majima pulled his hand away and collapsed back into his chair with a thud.

“What?” Kiryu asked, in a daze.

“Ya had sauce on yer face.” Majima wiggled his bare fingers, and sure enough, there was a smear of mentsuyu along his thumb. “I was tryin’ to tell ya.”

“Oh,” Kiryu replied. “Thanks.”

*          *          *

Kiryu cleared his dishes from the table, placing them in the kitchen sink before turning on the faucet and looking around for the dish soap out of habit. As soon as he picked up a sponge, Majima appeared behind him and smacked it out of his hand.

“Nuh uh, no ya don’t. Yer my patient. I ain’t lettin’ ya do the dishes in the state yer in.”

Kiryu shook his head. It was just dishes; surely that couldn’t be too strenuous. Especially after Majima had cooked such a nice meal for him. “I’m fine.”

“Tell that to my back after carryin’ ya for three blocks to call a taxi. I had to wave a ten-thousand yen bill around like it was the ‘80s. Ya have any idea how hard it is to get a cab to stop for a yakuza carryin’ a full-grown man who’s been knocked out cold?”

Majima had carried him? Kiryu supposed he would have had to. He suddenly found himself hoping that this apartment complex had an elevator. “Thank you, nii-san.”

“Ya can thank me by sittin’ yer ass down over there.” Majima gestured over to the couch in the living room. “If you crack yer head open because ya pass out again, Haruka’s gonna kill me.”

Kiryu chuckled at the thought of Haruka laying into Majima. He had no doubt that she could put him in his place.

“Alright, get outta here.” Majima sidled up behind Kiryu in a way that would have been intimidating, if his soft shirt hadn’t brushed up against Kiryu’s still-naked back. Despite how hot he had been earlier, Kiryu shivered, but if Majima noticed, he didn’t say a word. “And take some water with ya.”

*          *          *

Kiryu made himself comfortable on the wide leather couch while Majima finished washing the dishes. He crossed his legs. Uncrossed them. Folded his arms, looked at his watch. He thought of Haruka, who he had unintentionally abandoned that evening, and hoped she was doing alright. He should probably check on her, to apologize if nothing else. He pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial number for his landline.

“Hi, Uncle Kaz!” came her bright voice from his flip phone’s small speaker.

“Haruka. I’m sorry, I—”

“Nishida-san told me what happened. You should have been drinking more water.”

He missed her voice, even if it was admonishing him as if he were the child and she were the adult. “You’re right. I promise I’ll drink more water next time.”

“You better! But Nishida-san told me that Majima-san is taking care of you. Are you sure he didn’t kidnap you?”

He couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “He didn’t kidnap me. Majima-san helped me.” That was true…wasn’t it?

“Okay, good. But even if he did kidnap you, it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d probably give you ice cream and a coloring book, like when he kidnapped me.”

What? He filed that tidbit away to ask Majima about later. “He didn’t kidnap me,” Kiryu reiterated. “Are you doing okay? Did you eat dinner?”

“Yeah! Nishida-san ordered pizza! I got potato mayo. And now I’m going to make him paint my nails.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But I bet he’s not gonna be as good at it as you are, Uncle Kaz.”

Kiryu smiled, relieved that Haruka was being taken care of and having a good time. Still, a pang of guilt ran through him. He would need to make it a point to have nights like that with her more often, while she was still young enough to appreciate them. “That sounds like fun. I’ll be home tomorrow, okay? Be good for Nishida-san, and don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t!” she giggled. “Goodnight, Uncle Kaz! I love you!”

“Love you too, Haruka.” He flipped his phone closed, a soft smile on his face. He was so distracted that he almost didn’t notice that Majima had entered the living room with two chilled tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. Majima shook the bottle and held up the glasses, almost as a question. Kiryu nodded.

Majima flopped down heavily onto the couch next to Kiryu, placed the glasses on the table, and uncorked the bottle with a pop .

“Shit, it’s weird that yer a dad now.”

“I’m not her—”

“Yeah, ya are. More of a dad than her real one was, at least.” He poured a finger of whiskey for both of them—an expensive one, if Kiryu was reading the label correctly. Amber liquid flowed from the mouth of the bottle and swirled in the frosty glass, sloshing against its walls as Majima pushed it along the table toward him. “Is that why ya gave up the chairmanship?”

The whiskey warmed Kiryu’s throat, but didn’t burn. Definitely an old bottle. He hadn’t talked about his short stint as the Tojo Clan Chairman with anyone, except maybe Date. He’d prefer to pretend it had never happened at all. “That’s part of the reason.”

“Ya would’ve been good at it.”

Kiryu shook his head. “I was never cut out for it.”

Majima let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back against the couch cushions. “That’s exactly why ya would’ve been good at it, Kiryu-chan. These guys vying for the big boss chair…they ain’t in it fer the right reasons.” He took a long drink of his whiskey, and Kiryu couldn’t help but notice the way Majima’s tongue darted out to catch an errant drop on his lower lip. “Can’t blame ya, though. I wouldn’t want it, either. It’s a shit job.”

That took Kiryu by surprise. The way Majima had climbed the ranks, Kiryu was sure that being offered the position of Clan Chairman would appeal to him.

“Which reminds me,” Majima started, sitting up. “Ya never did tell me what ya were doin’ back in Kamurocho.”

Oh, right. That. Kiryu bit his lip. “I was, uh. Looking for work.”

Majima glanced up then, and for a moment almost looked apologetic. “Suppose it can’t be easy fer a guy like you to find steady work, huh?”

Kiryu didn’t respond, instead taking another sip of his drink. They sat in stilted silence for a moment before Majima turned to him again, sitting up a little straighter.

“Speakin’ of Tojo shit. I’m thinkin’ about leaving it all behind myself.”

That was more unexpected than any of the other revelations Kiryu had had over the past few minutes. “What?”

“Just kinda sick of it. Ya know? All the bureaucratic bullshit. Ain’t as fun as it used to be. I’m thinkin’ about startin’ a construction company.”

It took Kiryu’s brain a moment to catch up with what he was hearing. “A construction company?”

“Yeah, West Park is for sale and I think I could turn a big profit if I developed all that land, ya know? Put some fancy highrise apartments in there, maybe a shopping mall. What do ya think?”

“I…why construction?”

“Why not?” Majima swung his legs up and placed his bare feet on the coffee table, wiggling his toes. “And ya know what every construction company needs? A foreman.”

Kiryu’s gaze traced a line from Majima’s feet up his long legs and stretched-out torso, and back to his face. “And?”

“Kiryu-chan, try to keep up with me, here. You need a job, I need a foreman.”

“Are you…are you offering me a job?”

Majima just grinned back at him.

“I don’t know the first thing about construction.”

“Join the club! Ya want in or not? It’ll all be above board, promise.”

“I…” Kiryu looked down at the whiskey in his glass. Majima was offering him a job—a real job, from the sound of it. Sure, he’d still need to find temporary income until any of this came to fruition, but he wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity for steady work. Good work, at that. After all the trouble he’d been through that day, and the months prior, he was a bit shocked that it had been this easy. “If you’re serious, then sure.”

Majima slammed his drink on the coffee table, making Kiryu jump. “‘Course I’m serious! Serious is my middle name.”

Kiryu rolled his eyes. “Says the one who hid in a giant traffic cone outside of a Smile Burger just so he could ambush me.”

Majima socked him playfully on the arm, his knee bumping against Kiryu’s thigh on the couch. When had he gotten so close?

“Okay, well what about that ‘welcome back’ party at Club Asia? You can’t say you didn’t do that pole dancing stunt just to get a rise out of me.”

“Oy. I was dead serious about that.” Majima jabbed a finger at him, poking one of his pecs. “Not my fault you didn’t appreciate it.”

He could never tell if Majima actually meant what he said, or if it was just another bit. Kiryu wished he could read him better.

“Anyway, how are ya feelin’?”

Kiryu was taken aback, yet again, by Majima’s concern. “Uh…better. After dinner.” A couple of drinks certainly hadn’t hurt, either.

Majima must have picked up on the hesitancy in Kiryu’s voice. “What’s up?”

Kiryu debated how to pose the question, then decided he was too tired to be tactful. “Why are you doing all of this?”

“Doin’ what?”

Kiryu gestured around him, to the kitchen, the shorts he was wearing, his whiskey. “Why are you being so…” He struggled to find the right word before eventually settling on, “...nice to me?”

“What, I can’t be nice? Jeez, Kiryu-chan, just because I’m crazy don’t mean I ain’t capable of a little kindness from time to time.”

“You’re not crazy.”

Majima ignored him. “It was kinda my fault anyway, for fightin’ ya when ya weren’t at yer best.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Besides, I still owe ya fer offin’ Shimano last year.”

Kiryu knew that Majima hadn’t been on the best terms with his boss—there were rumors that Majima had gotten into trouble back in the ‘80s, had royally fucked up in some way that had gotten him thrown into The Hole for longer than anyone should have been able to withstand it. But he had still been the Shimano Family Captain, and a successful one at that. Most men would have killed to be in his position. Kiryu figured there must have been more to Majima’s words than met the eye.

“Kiryu-chan. Yer thinkin’ too hard.” Majima slid him another finger of whiskey, before taking a swig of his own.

He accepted his refilled glass with a nod. But he was pulled from his thoughts when, out of the corner of his eye, he watched Majima fail to suppress a full-body shiver. Kiryu turned his head to look at him, and noticed he had his legs crossed, and goosebumps on his arms. He glanced at the air conditioning unit in the corner, and back to Majima.

“Are you cold?”

“Nah, I’m not…shit. Yeah, I am actually, and I’m just this side of buzzed enough to admit it. How are you not freezin’ yer ass off with no shirt on?”

Kiryu looked down at himself—he’d nearly forgotten he wasn’t wearing anything but the small shorts Majima had lended him. But he didn’t feel cold at all. If anything, he was still feeling a bit warm.

When he raised his head, Kiryu was surprised to see Majima’s face hovering close to his, wearing a scrutinous expression.

“I’ve got the AC set to subarctic. You were burnin’ up before, but the shower and the cooler temp shoulda fixed that. Sure yer not runnin’ a fever or somethin’?”

Before Kiryu could respond, Majima was pressing a hand to Kiryu’s forehead. His skin was cool and soft, his touch so unlike that of their fights. It was almost, for lack of a better word, gentle. Kiryu couldn’t help but release a soft sigh at the contact, letting his eyes drift closed. When was the last time someone had touched him like this? Not with the intention of hurting him, but with the intention of helping, of making sure he was okay? He wasn’t sure he could remember. He certainly would never have guessed that the person to touch him with care and concern would be Majima of all people.

When the cool hand didn’t move, and the room had gone strangely silent, Kiryu blinked his eyes open to find Majima’s face inches from his own, looking at him with an unreadable, one-eyed expression.

For a moment, he wondered, absurdly, if Majima was going to kiss him. Oddly enough, Kiryu found himself thinking that he wouldn’t mind it if he did.

The air around them had been charged with something all evening, like static before a thunderstorm. No, not just this evening, Kiryu reminded himself. Always. During their fights, when they would push each other past their physical limits, when Kiryu would catch a glint in Majima’s eye that would make something stir, deep in his gut. He’d always chalked it up to adrenaline. But now, after that feeling had yet to dissipate even though there was no chase, no fight, no surprises…now, Kiryu was less sure.

But there was one thing that Kiryu was sure about—something he was becoming more sure about by the second. He wanted Majima to kiss him.

Oh.

Majima wrenched his hand from Kiryu’s forehead as if he’d been burned. His eye darted around the room, making Kiryu wonder if he had done something wrong. “Yer fine, probably just, uh…”

“I run hot.” Kiryu didn’t know what else to say, and it was true.

“I better get that futon set up, huh? Ya must be gettin’ tired.” Majima was speaking too quickly, pulling away, shifting to get up off the sofa to create space between them.

Kiryu had always prided himself on being a man of action. He didn’t like to hem and haw over things too much, figuring it was better to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission. He knew, deep in his bones, that if he let this moment slip by, a door would close, an opportunity forever lost. He had made that mistake before. He wasn’t about to let it happen again.

Before Majima could fully stand up, Kiryu’s hand shot out to grab his wrist, pinning it to the sofa. “Wait.”

Majima’s eye widened, lips parted, like an animal that had been backed into the corner of its cage. He sat back down, tentatively—his body still drawn tight like a bow string, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. When he spoke, his voice was hesitant, unsure. “Kiryu-chan?”

Kiryu released Majima’s wrist, fisted his hands in his black tank top, hauled Majima toward him, and kissed him.

Kiryu’s mind went blank. He felt only the soft shirt beneath his hands, Majima’s dry lips that had fallen slightly open. The sharp intake of breath, the stiffness of the man under him.

The kiss didn’t last long. After only a moment, Kiryu pulled back. His stomach dropped when he saw the distressed look on Majima’s face.

Had Kiryu misread the situation? Misread the light touches Majima had been giving him all evening, misread Goromi, and Club Asia, and the spark in his eyes when they fought? Maybe Kiryu was still delirious from the heat and the alcohol. He’d never been great at interpreting subtext, but with Majima, especially after this evening, he thought…well, shit.

Kiryu’s face flushed hotter, this time with embarrassment. Majima was never going to let him live this one down. He needed to get out of there, to save whatever scraps of dignity he had left. Surely, going out in Kamurocho in nothing but a pair of sleep shorts would be less mortifying than sitting here after kissing an unwilling and unreciprocating Majima Goro.

“Sorry,” Kiryu choked, moving to get up. “I’ll just—”

Kiryu was interrupted by hands gripping his shoulders and warm lips pressing into his. It took his mind a moment to register that this was…Majima was kissing him. Majima was kissing him and oh, realizing that felt better than it had any right to.

He surged forward, grabbed Majima by the waist, and pressed his mouth back against his, licking at the seam of Majima’s lips. Majima let out a small gasp at the contact, abs jumping under his shirt, but Kiryu held him fast. Hands came up to Kiryu’s face, long fingers brushing through his hair, looping around his neck, drawing the two of them closer together.

“Kiryu-chan…” Majima sighed into his mouth.

Kiryu drew back to look at him. Majima’s lips were wet, eyelid hooded, a blush high on his sharp cheekbones. He almost looked…cute. It made Kiryu want to kiss him again and again, for him to say his name like that over and over until his voice was hoarse with use. But he had to make sure that they were on the same page, had to make sure that Majima wanted this just as much as he did. “Nii-san,” Kiryu breathed, leaning in to mouth at his neck. “Tell me if you don’t want this.”

“Tell you if I…Kiryu-chan, I’ve been wantin’ this since…” Majima trailed off, breathing shallow as he tipped his head back.

“Since when?”

Majima let out a high pitched noise, not dissimilar to a whine. “Ya can’t ask me that when yer doin’ that to my neck.”

Kiryu smiled against Majima’s thrumming pulse, then moved to his ear, and bit down. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for Majima to feel it.

“Ah!” Majima’s hips jerked forward as he inhaled sharply. “Shit, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for enjoying yourself.”

“Fuck, ya can’t just say shit like that to me.”

He smirked, nosing against Majima’s jaw. “Why not?”

“Just kiss me again.”

He certainly wasn’t going to say no to that. Their mouths met again, this time even more passionate than the last. He felt Majima’s hands drift from his neck to his shoulders, giving them an appreciative squeeze, before moving across the planes of his back, nails scratching along the bare skin, eliciting a pleased groan from Kiryu.

Kiryu refused to be outdone in this, just as he refused to lose against Majima on the streets of Kamurocho, or at darts, or at Pocket Circuit. There was something fierce about the way they kissed, as if they had both injected the same heat and passion they put into their fights into exploring each other’s mouths. But there was something else, too. Something gentle, something soft. Something that Kiryu wasn’t quite ready to admit to yet, and didn’t need to voice aloud.

It turned out, Majima gave just as good as he got. Kiryu felt his tongue tease at the seam of his lips—a silent request that Kiryu was all too happy to grant. Kiryu groaned at the sensation of Majima invading his mouth, gripping at his sides in a futile attempt to ground himself. He tasted like mentsuyu and cigarettes and whiskey, and something else distinctly masculine and Majima that Kiryu couldn’t quite place.

The room began to tip as Kiryu found himself being guided onto his back against the leather sofa cushions, all the while licking into Majima’s pliant mouth. His legs fell open as Majima’s hips slotted against his, the weight and slide of him electric.

Kiryu couldn’t stop touching him. He let his fingers trace his jawline, let his hands slide down his neck to the muscular swell of his pecs. He felt through his black shirt until he found Majima’s nipples, then snaked his arms around his torso, feeling the strong planes of Majima’s back. And then, finally, made his way down to Majima’s pert ass, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Ah, fuck !” Majima’s hips bucked into his, fingers gripping Kiryu’s shoulders as his back arched obscenely. Majima was so sensitive, so expressive, and Kiryu shouldn’t have been surprised by it, but he still found himself unable to look away.

“That ain’t fair, I can’t touch ya there,” Majima whined, gesturing to the way Kiryu was laid out on his back.

Kiryu smirked. “Whose fault is that?”

Majima answered by leaning over and taking one of Kiryu’s nipples into his mouth. Kiryu threw his head back against the cushion, gritting his teeth in a failed attempt to suppress a groan. Majima swirled his tongue around his pec, teasing the nipple until it was peaked and overly sensitive, before moving on to the other. There was no hiding how hard Kiryu was now—and he could feel an answering hardness pressing against his own.

Majima looked up from Kiryu’s chest, bitten lips spread in a mischievous grin.

“Looks like ya could use some help with that,” he panted, shooting a pointed glance downward, to the place their pelvises met.

“Heh. I could say the same for you.” The thin pants Majima wore left little to the imagination.

Majima rubbed himself against Kiryu, and although they were still clothed, Kiryu could tell that Majima was as painfully aroused as he was.

“Tell me ya want this, Kiryu-chan.”

He’d never done this with another man. He’d thought about it, of course. In particular, he’d thought about this . There had been more than one occasion last December when Kiryu had gone back to Serena after one of their fights, still hopped up on adrenaline, unable to sleep. Unable to stop thinking about Majima on top of him, thighs bracketing his torso. About Majima’s hands around his neck, his knife against his throat, wondering what would happen if one of them had just closed the distance instead of continuing to participate in whatever game it was they were playing. The answer was obvious, now.

Kiryu rolled his hips, desperate for contact, and nodded. “Please.”

That was all Majima needed to hear. He hooked his fingers around the elastic waistband of his borrowed shorts and tugged them down around his thighs. Kiryu flinched as the cool air hit his dick, and gasped when Majima wrapped his hand around him, Kiryu’s leaking cock providing more than enough lubricant as Majima began to move.

“Oh, look at you,” came Majima’s voice from above him. Not teasing, but in awe, with a hint of desperation.

Kiryu felt hot everywhere. Not the same heat that had led to him losing consciousness that afternoon, but a heat that started in his chest and wove its way through his ribs, down into the pit of him, pressing against his skin and threatening to burn its way out.

It didn’t take long until Kiryu was nearing the precipice.

“Nii-san, I can’t—”

“It’s okay, Kiryu-chan. You can let go.”

Kiryu came with a shout, vision whiting out as Majima worked him through his release.

“Fuck, yer even more beautiful when ya cum than I thought you’d be.”

That implied, of course, that Majima had thought about how Kiryu looked when he came. The thought filled Kiryu with the overwhelming desire to watch Majima’s face as he came undone. Without skipping a beat, Kiryu pulled down Majima’s pants and underwear just enough so he could get his hand around him.

He took him in his fist, already slick with precum, and pumped him with abandon. It didn’t take long before Majima was a panting mess above him. They locked eyes, and just above a whisper Kiryu said, “Come on.” And that’s all it took to send Majima hurtling over the edge.

“Kiryu-chan, I—” Majima came with a choked off sob, hot ropes of cum painting Kiryu’s bare chest. He had never seen Majima lose control like this, and it did something funny to his insides knowing he was the one who had brought him to this state.

They lay there for a while, Kiryu on his back and Majima draped over him, as they came down from their post-release high. Even after their breathing had calmed and they had no excuse to remain so close, Kiryu threaded his fingers through Majima’s dark locks, rubbing along his undercut, which elicited a pleased sigh from the man on top of him.

“Ya know,” Majima said, lifting his head to rest his chin on Kiryu’s chest, “seems a bit silly for you to hafta sleep on a futon out here when I’ve got a perfectly good bed big enough for two people in the other room.”

“Hmm, you have a point.”

“Besides, it’s not really energy efficient to keep the AC runnin’ in both rooms all night.”

“That’s true,” Kiryu agreed, happy to play along. “Wouldn’t want to rack up your energy bill.”

Majima smirked and settled down again on Kiryu’s chest, satisfied with his answer.

If someone had told Kiryu when he had woken up that morning that he would be going to sleep not only with an offer of employment, but in Majima Goro’s bed, he would have tossed them into the window of the nearest Poppo. Absolutely nothing that day had gone as planned. He’d wandered around Kamurocho in the sweltering heat, gotten jumped in an alleyway, passed out from heat stroke, and swept away to the home of his ex-colleague. Speaking of which…

Kiryu looked down at the man in his arms, eye soft and unfocused, a lazy smile making its way across his features. Given how things had turned out, even with all of the day’s hardships, Kiryu wouldn’t have changed a thing.