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Kiryu’s done a lot of odd jobs for the Daidoji, but this one might take the cake for most… odd.
After interrupting his meditation time yet again, Hanawa dragged him off to the Tokyo hideout, where he’s now standing in front of a stainless-steel table covered in various chemicals, and then some sort of device. It looks almost like a perfume bottle or an air freshener. He frowns.
“It’s a new biological weapon that we’re testing,” Hanawa explains. “A poison. It’s fast acting, aerosolized. Effects should be felt immediately, and death within forty-eight hours. Tests of the poison itself are very promising, but we are attempting to develop an antidote. Since it is an aerosolized poison—”
“There’s a risk of dosing yourself in the process,” Kiryu says.
“Precisely.”
“Where do I come into this?”
“The Faction wants to use you as a guinea pig of sorts. We’re going to administer the poison and use a variety of antidotes we’ve developed. You will be constantly monitored, blood tests taken every hour for twenty-four hours, to make sure the antidote is working.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“We’ll discuss if it comes to that,” Hanawa says.
Kiryu stares at the table, his expression pinched. He’s never been asked to do a drug trial before, so he’s apprehensive to say the least. He supposes he was chosen for this because if he does die, well, he’s already technically dead. It would be no skin off the Daidoji’s teeth. It’s not like he can refuse, either. He’s the perfect candidate.
Letting out a long, slow breath, Kiryu nods.
“Excellent, Joryu. Please sit down. It’s going to be a long day.”
---
Twenty-four hours later, and the expression on the doctor’s face is not inspiring confidence. He looks concerned. Hanawa looks concerned. Kiryu feels like shit.
He’s been poisoned, prodded with various medical instruments, injected, inhaled, and ingested enough compounds to knock out a horse. He’s sweating from what feels like every pore, feverish, dry-mouthed, the tips of his fingers tingling unpleasantly. He doesn’t think the antidotes are working.
“Unfortunately, the antidotes are not having any effect,” the doctor confirms for him.
“I figured,” Kiryu grits out. A shudder wracks his body as he folds forward. “What do we do now?”
The doctor and Hanawa glance at each other. Kiryu doesn’t like the way they’re looking at each other, like they’re trying to figure out some kind of damage control. That can’t be good.
“Leave us for a moment,” Hanawa says to the doctor. He’s gone then, stiff-legged as he walks out the door. “There is a fail-safe antidote, but it’s… complicated.”
“Tell me,” Kiryu says. He may technically be a dead man, but that doesn’t mean he wants to die because of some science experiment he’s been forced to be a part of. If there’s a way out, he’s taking it. He doesn’t care how complicated it is. He refuses to die quietly in the basement of a Daidoji hideout.
“A heavy dose of oxytocin right from the pituitary will kill the poison. It’s complicated because there are only a few options to get that heavy a dose. One is childbirth, which is off the table for obvious reasons, another—” Hanawa sucks his teeth, and… is he blushing? “Another is to have sex with someone you have strong feelings for.”
“I see,” Kiryu grunts. “That is complicated.”
“Joryu, if there is someone you can think of, I would be willing to let you go. It would be a single day mission only, but the Faction would allow it to get this… sorted.”
Goddammit. Kiryu sits there in silence, unable to move, unable to even blink. Sweat keeps pouring off him, dripping down his neck, gathering uncomfortably in his hairline. He was perfectly willing to leave his past behind in order to protect the people in his life, now he has to go back or die? He only has one day. He barely has time to decide. He can’t even think. “Is there no other way?”
“Unfortunately not.”
Goddammit.
There’s only one person it can be, only one person living he’s felt anything close to that for over the years, not that they’ve ever acted on it. How can he possibly be expected to contact him and demand sex? He’s supposed to be dead. There would be so many questions he can’t answer. Would he even agree? It’s such a gamble, but if it’s the only option then he has to try.
“I need to make a phone call.”
Hanawa nods. “You have until six tomorrow morning. If you’re not back here, we will come find you. Dead or alive.”
Kiryu stands, shaky on his feet. The world sways nauseatingly, his stomach lurching, but he keeps himself upright. He swallows down any bile that made his way up his throat and walks towards the door. “I’ll be back by then.”
He barely hears Hanawa saying good luck as he leaves.
---
The phone booth stinks like piss, and it’s making him feel sick all over again. He has to hold his breath in there, try to ignore the stench. The phone number he dials was memorized a long time ago, stored away in his memory for emergencies only. This, he figures, counts as an emergency. There are no guarantees the number is even in service still, but he has to try. It’s his only shot. There’s no one else.
Ringing. The ringing on the other line seems to last forever. At least it hasn’t been disconnected, at least there’s a chance.
Nothing. A dropped call.
Kiryu swears under his breath, looking at the phone like it’s offended him. He tries again.
More fucking ringing. It’s like being stuck in limbo, seeing if he’ll get to live or die, his only hope the person who or may not be on the other side of this lime green phone. He waits. It continues to ring, until—
A click. Silence, then the distinct sound of someone breathing on the other end. “Who the fuck is this, and how the fuck did you get this number?”
Relief. “Nii-san.”
More silence. It stretches on for so long that Kiryu thinks the call’s dropped again. He lets out a long sigh, about to hang up and try again when he hears, “only a couple people callin’ me that nowadays.”
“Nii-san,” he says again.
“That you, Kiryu-chan?”
He doesn’t answer that. He can’t. He’s supposed to be dead. “I need a favour.”
“Of course ya do,” Majima scoffs from the other end. “Why the fuck else would a dead man be callin’ me from beyond the grave? It wouldn’t be just to let yer ol’ pal know yer alive and kickin’, not to fuckin’ worry, just checkin’ in—”
“Please.”
“Fuck,” Majima huffs. “Yer a real piece of work, ya know that? Ya know I can’t say no when yer askin’ me so nicely. Well, spit it out already.”
“We need to meet. Somewhere private.”
“Holdin’ me in suspense, are ya? Fine. I got a little place in Shinjuku we could use. No one there right now.”
There’s an address rattled off that Kiryu barely hears. He nods, then hangs up before he can remember that it’s a phone call and Majima can’t see him.
---
The apartment is small, unassuming, more like a room in a halfway house than something owned by a former Tojo patriarch. The bed is nothing but a threadbare mattress, no sheets, blankets or pillows. There’s a table with an ashtray, a still smouldering cigarette butt stubbed out inside, and a fridge with nothing in it. It’s clearly a place used to crash, or hide, not really a place anyone lives. Kiryu’s still standing in the doorway. The sweating hasn’t stopped, and the nausea is only worsening. He’s pretty sure his shirt has been completely soaked through.
“You look like shit,” is the first thing Majima says to him.
Kiryu just clears his throat, unsure of what he should say in a situation like this. “That’s why I need a favour.”
“What, you sick or somethin’? Dead guys don’t gotta worry about the flu, do they?”
“I’ve been poisoned.”
“Shit.” Majima looks concerned now. He uncrosses his legs from where he’s sitting on the bed and leans forward, giving Kiryu a hard stare. “I don’t really see how I can help with that. I ain’t exactly got a stash of anti-venom layin’ around.”
“The antidote is—” Kiryu bites off the words. If it weren’t for the fever, he’d be blushing. How is he supposed to explain this situation? He doesn’t have much experience in this area in general, especially not in a life-or-death way. Goddammit. “I need to sleep with you.”
“Sleep…?” Majima looks confused now, his face twisted up, lip curled to reveal a sharp tooth. Kiryu can’t help the swell of affection that wells within him. It’s been so long since he’s seen Majima. It’s been too damn long. “As in… what? Bang it out?”
“Something like that,” Kiryu mumbles. A fresh wave of vertigo nearly floors him. He grabs onto the wall to try and steady himself and nearly crumples.
Majima rushes over to him, swinging one arm over his shoulders. “Fuck, c’mon, let’s sit ya down.”
“Please, nii-san, if we don’t—”
“Why’s it gotta be me, huh?” Majima asks, his voice high-pitched, a little manic. He sets Kiryu down on the mattress. “Ya can’t go hire somebody for this? It just has to be me?”
“It has to be you,” Kiryu says. He looks Majima right in the eye, holds his gaze. They’re close, only a breath between them. Kiryu sways slightly from his place on the bed, his hand bunched up in Majima’s snakeskin jacket. “It has to be you.”
“Fuck,” Majima hisses. He looks vaguely panicked, like he might run away, or maybe punch Kiryu in the face, or both. “How long ya got if we don’t?”
“About ten hours.”
“Fuck.” Majima springs back, pacing now, a gloved hand raking through his hair. Without Majima holding him up, Kiryu slumps bodily against the wall. “Ya can’t just spring shit like this on a guy, Kiryu-chan. I thought you were fuckin’ dead, and now I know you ain’t, and now you’re askin’ me to fuck you or yer gonna die for real? That ain’t fair. That’s so fucking unfair—”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you ain’t,” Majima snarls, eye fierce now. “Fuck you. Fuck you. I’ll fuckin’ do it, obviously, but just know, I’m fuckin’ pissed.”
“I’m sorry,” Kiryu says again. This isn’t how he envisioned this going in any of his fantasies. This is so far outside how he wanted this to go if it ever happened. Majima’s right. It is unfair.
There are thighs straddling Kiryu’s hips now, a warm weight on top of him. He shivers and looks up. Majima’s good eye is obscured by his hair, and the jacket is gone, torso on full display. Kiryu swallows against the dryness in his throat, places shaking hands on leather covered hips.
“Guessin’ I gotta do most of the work, huh?” Majima scoffs. He skims a thumb down Kiryu’s hairline, picking up the perspiration there. “How do ya want this?”
Kiryu leans into the touch. Even through the fog in his brain, being touched like this feels good, feels incredible. “I don’t know.”
With a barely imperceptible shake of his head, Majima sighs. “Slow, then.”
Lips. There are lips being pressed against Kiryu’s. It doesn’t register at first as a kiss, not until those lips are moving, just barely brushing together. Kiryu gasps against that mouth. It’s almost too much at once. His skin feels overheated, too sensitive, the fever making things too sharp, too bright. He chases that mouth, presses their lips together as insistently as he can.
He tries to pretend things are different. He tries to fall back on one of his fantasies—Majima kissing him after one of their brawls, Majima throwing him down after battling him at the Coliseum and taking him there, Majima coming to see him in Okinawa, having slow morning sex in a pool of tropical sunshine. Not here in this flophouse, poison eating away at his insides.
Gloved hands slide through his hair, a soothing pressure. Kiryu sighs, content at the feeling, his heart swelling at the affectionate gesture, at the care. There’s a tongue swiping at the seam of his lips, and oh, he likes that. That feels good. He tries to let Majima know by arching against him, trying to pull him closer. He can feel himself getting hard even through the haze, can feel his body coming awake. He kisses back with as much fervor as he can manage, breathing through his nose, licking into Majima’s mouth. He bucks up, his quickly stiffening cock desperate for some kind of relief.
“Ya like that, huh?” Majima chuckles against his mouth. “Calm down. Yer a fuckin’ million degrees still.”
Kiryu moves his hands up Majima’s body, feeling all the skin on show. There’s a clench in his chest. He wants desperately for their circumstances to be different. He wishes they could do this again, when Kiryu isn’t sick, when he isn’t knocking on death’s door.
Majima’s lips move lower, brushing over the jut of his jaw, the sweat-soaked line of his throat. It feels like a trail of fire, scalding him. The buttons of his shirt are being undone, one by one, too slow. It makes his breath catch in his throat when his skin meets the cool air.
“Nii-san,” he says as Majima nips at his collarbone. “Feels good.”
“Mm,” Majima hums in return. His tongue runs flat over one of Kiryu’s nipples, causing a jolt of sensation to run from his hair to his toes. His back bows, chasing the feeling. Majima’s lapping at his nipple, taking it into his mouth, sucking gently, a bare scrape of his teeth. “I’ve always wanted to get my mouth on these, ya know? Every fuckin’ time ya got yer shirt off.”
There’s nothing Kiryu can say in return. The feeling is driving him insane. It’s like being electrocuted every time that rough, wet tongue drags over his nipple. He’s writhing on the mattress, his fingers digging into the meat of Majima’s shoulders, unable to tell if he wants to bring him closer or push him away. A long, low groan is ripped out of his chest, followed by a sharp gasp. He looks down, sees the way Majima is staring at him and it hurts. There’s pain in that eye, pain and lust and maybe genuine affection, and it’s too many feelings to process at this same time.
This is so unfair.
“More?”
“Yes,” Kiryu says. His mouth is so dry, his skin clammy, but he’s so turned on. He needs this to continue. It’s working, he thinks. The numbness in his fingertips has gone away. Something must be fighting against the poison. He keeps his eyes trained down on Majima, needs to see him.
His belt in being undone next, his pants inched down his hips, and it’s making his body shake. When his cock is free, springing loose from the confines of his underwear, he almost keens. He reaches down, cups Majima’s face, forces him to look up. He hopes he can convey everything he needs to with just a look. He’s never been good with his words. He’s never been able to say the right things.
Majima’s eye is wide, blinking owlishly as they stare at each other. There’s a moment that passes, a moment where Kiryu wants to say so much, but he just can’t. Majima almost nuzzles into Kiryu’s hand, tender, but just on the edge of aggressive. He nips at the pad of Kiryu’s thumb. “I got ya, Kiryu-chan.”
That’s it. That’s all he needs to hear.
That sharp tongue is on his dick next, running root to tip and it’s the most intense feeling of Kiryu’s life. The breath he lets out is so shaky, it’s practically a sob. He flings an arm across his face, feels the heat radiating from his skin. Majima’s mouth engulfs him, sucking him down, and it’s wet, wonderful, his tongue slick along the underside. The pressure is perfect, tight and hot, and the sounds—slurps so lewd that Kiryu thinks he could get off on those alone. He can’t look down. If he does, he knows this will be over, and he doesn’t want it to be.
He can feel hands gripping his thighs, spreading them further apart, bending his knees up to give Majima a better angle. Kiryu’s head is swimming, the fog a thick blanket preventing him from thinking anything other than yes, this is good, I want this, I need this, Majima, Majima, Majima—
“Do ya want this to go further?”
Kiryu can’t formulate a response. It’s like his tongue is too big for his mouth, like there’s something stuck in his throat. He only nods.
“A’right,” Majima says. “Gimme a sec. I’ll be right back.”
Whining at the loss of contact, Kiryu sits up. He feels so cold without Majima there. He’s shaking from it, naked and freezing and he needs him back, needs him there. Majima returns with lube and a condom in his hand and tuts when he sees Kiryu. “Hold yer horses, I ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he says. Kiryu grits his teeth, feels his body tremble involuntarily. “Oi, it’s fine, Kiryu-chan. I’m right here.”
“Sorry,” Kiryu breathes out. He falls back on the bed as Majima crowds around him. The warmth is back, the heat of Majima’s skin. It feels so good to touch him, to be touched, to be taken care of. It’s been so long. Too long. His heartrate slows down as he feels Majima slide his hands down his body, gloves off, palms hot enough to feel like they’re branding him.
“This is so fucked up,” Majima mumbles, face buried in the juncture of Kiryu’s neck and shoulder.
“I know.”
“Fuck. It’s fine. Gotta save yer ass for the millionth time.” The chuckle against Kiryu’s skin is mirthless. “Just never thought this would happen this way.”
“Me neither.” Kiryu’s eyes are closed again, just enjoying having Majima so close. “I’ve never actually—”
“I figured,” Majima says, knowing exactly what Kiryu was about to say. “I told ya. I got you.”
There’s a hand then, slick with lube, reaching down, sliding between his thighs. When a long, slender finger finally reaches inside of him, pushes into him, Kiryu can’t breathe. It feels so strange, so foreign. He tenses. There’s another hand on his flank, soothing him. “Relax for me, will ya?”
“Trying,” Kiryu grits out. Easier said than done.
Majima’s mouthing at his neck, attempting to distract him. That finger moves inside him, in and out, his wrist twisting, and the strange feeling starts to feel good. Majima’s other hand goes from his side to his dick, stroking him and yes. That’s it. He arches up into that hand, spreads his legs wider to accommodate him.
“Nii-san,” he groans.
“Yeah?” Kiryu can feel Majima grinning against his neck. There’s a bite there next, a pointed little nip. “Fuckin’ love seein’ you like this. You make me crazy, ya know that? Look how good yer takin’ it for me, Kiryu-chan.”
Hearing Majima talk to him is really doing it for him. Kiryu can feel the clamminess of his skin dissipating, replaced by the heat in his gut, by the sweat of arousal instead of illness. Hanawa was right. It is working. He rakes his hands through Majima’s hair, feels the silkiness of it as it slips through his fingers.
Another finger joins the first inside of him. It burns a little, but not in a bad way. It feels like it’s burning right through him, searing him from the inside. With this one he’s able to relax a lot faster, knowing it’ll start to feel good, anticipating what’s coming next. He knows where this is going, and he wants Majima inside him like he’s never wanted anything. He wants to feel how close he can get, wants to feel him chase his own pleasure with Kiryu’s body.
Majima hooks his fingers just so, in a way that makes Kiryu’s vision white out around the edges. “Oh.”
The self-satisfied, gleeful chuckle dances across Kiryu’s skin. “Feels good, huh?”
“Yeah,” Kiryu says back, the word turning into a long moan as Majima drives his fingers into that spot. He can feel his cock twitching in Majima’s hand, the stimulation so much all at once that it almost hurts. He claws at Majima’s back, at the hannya he knows is there, right over her face. Majima hisses into his ear, grinds against his thigh. Kiryu can feel how hard he is through the layers of clothing he’s still wearing. He can’t believe he’s the one doing this to Majima, that he’s the one turning him on so much. The thought drives him wild.
When the third finger pushes in, Kiryu stills. He tenses again—it’s too much—tries to will himself to relax, but it feels impossible.
“Sorry, I know it’s a lot,” Majima says. “Just a bit more, a’right? I promise it’ll feel good soon.”
Kiryu wants to say that he knows, he trusts Majima with this implicitly. Trusts him more than he trusts anybody else. He just can’t bring himself to speak. Majima’s hand has stopped moving, giving Kiryu time to adjust to the girth of having three fingers inside him. It takes time, but he does. They start moving again, a slow drag that he can feel lighting every nerve ending ablaze. He’s practically crushing Majima against him, wanting to melt into him, needing to feel him everywhere.
The nausea is long forgotten, the fever replaced with a burning need.
“Please,” he says.
“You feel ready?” Majima asks. He pulls his face from Kiryu’s neck to look him in the eye. Kiryu can see how dark that one eye is, completely black from his pupil, half-lidded. His face is flushed a bright pink, and suddenly Kiryu realizes how badly Majima is also wanting. They both want this. Need it.
He nods.
“Fuck yeah,” Majima says. He removes his hand, the emptiness making Kiryu shudder. There’s a rip of some kind of package, and when he looks up, he swallows hard. Majima’s shimmying out of his pants, working the condom over his hard dick. Kiryu can feel his mouth watering as he stares.
Majima grips Kiryu's knees, spreading his legs apart, pushing them up until he’s almost folded in half. Kiryu grabs hold of Majima’s shoulders, looks him right in the eye as he’s lining himself up. They stare at each other for a long time, it feels like, so much going unsaid between them. Kiryu can feel the painful clench in his chest again. He knows this can’t last; they both do. But they’ll have tonight. Maybe that will be enough.
“Oh, fuck,” Majima groans as he starts pushing in.
Fuck. The stretch, the heat, the fullness—it’s the most intense thing Kiryu’s ever felt. He almost can’t stand it, is fighting between shoving Majima off and pulling him in all the way. He can only grit his teeth, his breathing ragged, his eyes screwed shut. His hands don’t seem to know where to rest. Majima’s skin is slick with sweat and hot, like he’s the one burning up with a fever and not Kiryu.
Tilting his head back, Kiryu presses his forehead to Majima’s. He likes this. He likes how close they are. He rests one hand on the back of Majima’s head, just holding him there, watching the expressions on his face as he’s pushing in. A gamut of emotions is passing through Kiryu, one after the other—pain, pleasure, need, lust, and something else. Something softer. Something he’s been running from for a long fucking time, and it’s squeezing his heart like it’s clenched in his fist.
Majima’s eye opens, seems to have trouble focusing on him. The expression on his face changes when he finally does. Instead of being lost in pleasure, it twists up in a vicious snarl. “Stop fuckin’ looking at me like that.”
He pulls back, shoves a hand over Kiryu’s face and pushes it to the side, so all Kiryu can see between his fingers is the dirty mattress, the bare walls.
“Ya can’t just—” he chokes out. His hips snap, an almost brutal thrust that makes Kiryu grunt, makes his skin come alive with goosebumps. “Ya can’t—”
Kiryu wrenches his head away from Majima’s hand. He wraps his legs around Majima’s torso, hooking his ankles together. He scratches at Majima’s arms, nails catching on a webbing of old scars. He bites at flesh, trying to hold the other man close in every way he can think of. It seems to work. Majima nearly flattens him against the mattress, his fingers like claws as they gather in Kiryu’s hair. He pulls fiercely and Kiryu’s pretty sure he can feel a few hairs rip loose.
This is more like them, this violence. It’s more familiar.
“Fuckin’ asshole,” Majima hisses. “Givin’ me the goddamn loverboy treatment. Fuck you.” His words are punctuated by more thrusts, the slap of flesh hitting flesh making Kiryu’s nerves hum, buzz like he’s covered in a hoard of ants. The feeling is electric. It’s pins-and-needles everywhere, Majima’s hands grasping, digging into his skin like he wants to rip him to pieces. Maybe he does.
“Nii-san,” Kiryu groans, barely able to form a sentence, a coherent thought. He presses his forehead to Majima’s again, his hand on the back of his head and holding him there this time. He needs to see. He needs to see him.
“Stop,” Majima says on an inhale of breath, his voice barely there, like he’s in genuine pain.
They both still.
Seconds pass that feel like minutes. Kiryu eases up on the pressure at Majima’s head. He keeps his hand there, though, just a weight, just wanting to touch. He’s stroking now, like he’s trying to soothe, feeling the silky strands of hair, the soft bristles where it’s been shaved. This is getting too intense, and he knows it. There’s too many locked away feelings for this to be easy. It hurts. It’s hurting them both.
“Goddammit,” Majima hisses. His head droops, resting on Kiryu’s shoulder. “This can’t just be a fun fuck? Ya gotta pull this shit on me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Quit sayin’ that.” He rolls his hips, just once, just enough to press at that spot inside Kiryu and have him see stars. “Quit sayin’ anything.”
When he starts moving again, it’s slower, some of the intensity gone, but none of the heat. They move against each other, words forgotten, each of them trying to lose themselves in sensation. Kiryu buries his face into Majima’s shoulder. The feelings are welling up inside of him again, threatening to spill over. He clings to Majima. He clings to him like they’ll both disappear if he doesn’t. There’s a lump in his throat, choking him, and a dry sob breaks loose.
He can feel his cock leaking against his belly, ignored up to this point. Majima’s lower stomach brushes against it as he thrusts, but it’s not enough. He needs something. He needs—
A hand. There’s a hot, sweaty palm stroking him off, and it’s so good, so much, it’s crazy. Kiryu didn’t know it could be like this. He didn’t know it could feel like this.
He comes with a ragged, choking sound, torn straight from the pit of his stomach. He’s coming so hard he’s shaking, trembling involuntarily, and the hand doesn’t stop. It keeps going until he’s wrung dry, until he’s so overstimulated he feels like he might die. Majima keeps fucking him, keeps chasing his own pleasure, and Kiryu doesn’t want him to stop. He’s loose now, boneless, exhausted. He wants to keep him right there until he’s all used up.
It has to end some time, though. They’re both in their fifties, and neither of them have the stamina to continue like they used to.
Majima bites down onto Kiryu’s ear as he spills deep inside of him. His hips stutter, and the sound he makes almost breaks Kiryu’s fucking heart. It’s shattered, so full of something, almost despair. Kiryu can only wrap his arms around Majima and hold him close as his orgasm wracks his body.
Silence falls between them. The only sounds are their laboured breaths, the rush of traffic outside, the gentle tap of rain on the window. Neither of them moves. They don’t dare to, lest this moment between them come to an end. They can have this, Kiryu thinks. They can let this stretch on a bit longer. Kiryu’s fingers trail down Majima’s spine, tracing the roadmap of old scars covered by tattoo ink, the puckered edges and indentations left behind by the life of a yakuza. There’s a tension that’s left Majima’s muscles. Despite everything, he seems… loose. Relaxed.
It's nice, this closeness. He only wishes it could last.
When Kiryu moves to stand, Majima lets him. He moves off him hesitantly, sitting naked and upright on the bed. Kiryu can feel that eye watching him as he dresses.
“Ya don’t gotta hurry off right away,” he says.
“I do,” Kiryu replies. He pauses while buttoning his shirt, bites the inside of his cheek. He can’t look back, can’t drag this out. He needs to make his exit quick. “No one can know I was here. You know that, right?”
“Duh,” Majima snorts. “No one would fuckin’ believe me anyways. Yer feelin’ better, right? All good?”
“Yes.” Kiryu nods. He still hasn’t turned around. “Thank you, nii-san.”
“Don’t thank me,” Majima scoffs. Kiryu hears the flick of a lighter, smells cigarette smoke. “Fuck, Kiryu-chan. This is all kinds of messed up, ya know that? Ya come here outta the blue, have me fuck you like… like that, and now you’re just leavin’? That’s that?”
Finally turning around, Kiryu bows his head. He feels ashamed. He knows he shouldn’t have used Majima in this way, but it was his only option. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. His head spins from the guilt and the shame sticking to his heartstrings like sludge, a heavy weight on his chest. He doesn’t want to end the night this way, he really doesn’t. “I’m sorry. This is how it has to be.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Majima says under his breath. “Yer somethin’ else. Fine. Leave. See if I care.”
Kiryu stares at Majima, sitting there on the edge of the mattress. His forehead is resting in the palm of his hand, his face stony. The cigarette between his fingers smoulders, a building column of ash about to topple to the floor. Kiryu steps forward. He places a gentle hand on Majima’s face, cupping it in his palm. He gets one last look. One last chance to commit this moment to memory. “I really am sorry.”
Leaning into the touch, Majima’s eye slips closed. He lets out a long, slow breath. His eyebrows knit together, and his lips purse like he’s trying to hold back saying something. “Don’t ever ask me for a favour again. I ain’t doin’ it.”
“I won’t,” Kiryu says. His thumb strokes the point of Majima’s high cheekbone, all affection. It’s all he can allow himself. He lets go after that and makes his way to the door. “Goodbye, Majima-san.”
“Be seein’ ya, Kiryu-chan,” the reply is too quiet, too soft, too sad to come from Majima. It stings like a dagger to the chest.
And after that, he’s gone—out the door, and into the night.