Chapter Text
It was another average winter day for the denizens of Kamurocho.
Barkers were already busy shouting over one another, doing their best to harass passerbys into their particular place of employment. Hungover hosts and hostesses were stumbling into convenience stores for last minute energy drinks before the night's shift. Street toughs were dawdling in alleyways, waiting for an easy target to break from the crowds and wander into shakedown distance. And Kiryu and Majima were beating the shit out of each other outside the Smile Burger on Nakamichi Street.
All in all, fairly standard fare.
When probed, members of the gathered crowd would state that the fight had started when the one with the eyepatch slunk out from under one of those comically oversized traffic cones that lined the road, ran up to the scowling one, and proceeded to slap the bag of fast food straight out of the scowling one's hand unprovoked. A little mundane for the two of them, especially when the prelude to a fight often involved costumes and extras and, on one rare occasion, a full film crew. Still, finding out the why was a local pastime, as was the cursing and changing of money between hands that followed. Whoever had bet on 'ruined a meal (on purpose)' would be eating well that night.
At about eight minutes in, the fight was already starting to wind down. Majima had managed to sweep Kiryu's legs from under him, then followed it with a kick to the ribs that sent Kiryu skidding into the bins connected to a nearby vending machine. Not one to overlook an opportunity when presented with it, Kiryu promptly ripped one of said bins up from the ground and lobbed it squarely at Majima's head.
A few gasps rose from the crowd as Majima bent his knees and threw his torso back, barely ducking the improvised projectile. The trash receptacle flew over his head in an arc that might have been called graceful were it not for the trail of aluminum cans and mystery liquid that followed in its wake. One particularly wet looking can hit Majima square in the nose, and it sent him down onto his back with a howl of indignation, hands swiping at his face. Kiryu could hear him spitting and viciously blowing his nose to dislodge the gunk that had managed to splash into his nostrils. "Fuckin' gross!"
It was pretty gross, Kiryu agreed; it was also an easy out. Huffing, Kiryu pulled himself to his feet and pounced onto Majima with enough force to knock the breath out of him. He slapped Majima's hands from his face to better grab at his jaw, jerking his attention back to the fight at hand. Once he'd managed a firm grip with his right hand, Kiryu coiled his left arm back and held it up high, fist balled and ready to continue should Majima decide to fight through his disgust. "We done here?"
Majima coughed, wheezed in a breath. Looked from the scowl on Kiryu's face to the fist and back again. Then spat once more for good measure, grinning wide enough to let Kiryu see the blood between his teeth. "Yeah, we're fuckin' done."
"Good."
Kiryu rolled off Majima with a grunt and wobbled onto his feet just long enough to make it to the nearby curb before crashing to the ground again. His ribs were aching and he could feel the throb of a bruise forming on his lower left jaw, but the sky above him was blue and there was enough of a breeze to almost—maybe, just for a split second—let him feel at peace.
At least, until the blare of a taxi horn caused him to startle and sit up. He pulled his legs back from the street on instinct. The last thing he needed was to add 'run over by a taxi' to the list of the day's injuries. With a groan, Kiryu scooted up the sidewalk until he was slouched against one of the Smile Burger windows.
The crowd of onlookers had dispersed by the time Majima crawled over to join him. "Dunno whether I should be impressed or disgusted with that one, Kiryu-chan."
"You're the one who started it, niisan." Again. As always. Kiryu began to pat his pockets down in search of his cigarettes. He got as far as his breast pocket before a tap on the ribs left him sucking in air with a hiss, and he promptly let his arms go slack at his sides once more. Guess he was skipping the ritualistic post-fight smoke this time. "I didn't ask you to ruin my lunch."
"Ya really gonna be a baby about this?" Majima asked. The annoyance was clear in the twist of his mouth and squint of his eye. Kiryu, still a little incensed over both the monetary and dietary loss he received instead of the burger he'd been craving, served his assailant a withering look of his own.
Majima sneered at him in response.
Kiryu glared right back.
Majima arched an eyebrow and raised his chin in challenge. Kiryu raised both of his own eyebrows in the best 'what the hell do you think' expression he could muster.
They dragged this pulling of faces on for a few seconds more, punctuated the exchanges with a couple of crude hand gestures, until Majima threw his hands up with a groan. "Ugh, fine, if it means so damn much to ya!"
Majima swiveled his head over to the throng of people strolling down Nakamichi, his eye darting from face to face. Eventually, he thrust his arm forward to point at a teen that had just turned the corner onto the street from the nearby alley. "Hey kid! C'mere. Yeah, you! With the bandana. C'mon, don't make me go over there and kick in yer teeth."
The 'kid' in question was easily above both of their weight classes and decked head to toe in vibrant blues. Probably one of those color gang idiots. He looked over the two clearly battered men and sniffed. "Man, you don't even look like you can stand on your own two feet."
"Ya wanna fuckin' bet on it?"
Kiryu hadn't seen Majima unsheathe the tanto, but then, he rarely did. At least the business end of the blade wasn't pointing in his direction for once. The punk, however, wasn't taking this new development with the same level of resignation. He scuttled back a few steps, eyes wide and fixed on the tip of the tanto. "Yo, what the fuck, man!"
Kiryu sighed. He'd finally found a position that wasn't aggravating the ache in his sides; getting back up was less than desirable, especially for the second pointless fight in the last half hour. He reached over to place his hand on Majima's wrist and squeezed softly. "Niisan, stop. He's just a dumb kid."
When Majima's gaze whipped back over to him, it was with a little more heat than before. Kiryu didn't match him in intensity this time. He was tired and this was stupid and they both knew it. Or at least, that was the general emotion he was hoping was playing across his face.
It must've been working, because Majima shook his head and sighed in return, voice two steps away from a whine. "Yer the worst goddamn yakuza, ya know that?"
"I'm retired. I don't have to care about being any kind of yakuza anymore."
"Tch. Whatever." Majima shook Kiryu's hand off and the tanto was returned to its home within the snakeskin—wherever that was. Kiryu had never really been able to untangle that mystery.
When Majima's hand returned from whatever dark place he kept his seemingly endless supply of weaponry, it was with a money clip held high between gloved fingers. Majima waved the overstuffed clip in front of his face as he turned to address the street punk once more. "Look, I'll give ya ten thousand yen to go into Smile Burger and buy me 'n Kiryu-chan a couple of milkshakes and some fries. I'll even let ya keep the change."
The punk stiffened, then took a halting step forward. Kiryu could almost see the yen signs bouncing around in the kid's eyes. "Are you for real?"
"Yeah, ya buttball! Now come take this bill before my concussion wears off and I realize this is a dumb idea!"
The ensuing standoff between Majima and the teen was almost comical. Majima pulled a wrinkled ten thousand yen bill from the wad of cash; the punk stepped closer. Majima grinned and waved the bill in front of himself like he was jangling a pair of keys in front of a fussy baby. That seemed to make the punk stop to reconsider the person he was entering a deal with. The goading 'c'mere, champ, come and get it' out of Majima probably didn't help either.
As it often did in Kamurocho, however, greed won in the long run, and the punk snatched the bill from Majima with trembling fingers. He confirmed the order—a vanilla shake for Kiryu, a strawberry one for Majima, and a side of large fries—and all but walked backwards into the restaurant. Probably to make sure Majima hadn't pulled a knife on him again. Maybe the kid wasn't so dumb after all.
Back on the sidewalk, Kiryu blew at a stray lock of hair that had managed to escape its gel confinement to bounce free on his forehead. "You know, we could've just gone in and bought the food ourselves."
"And miss out on baskin' in the post-fight afterglow? Ya ain't gettin' off that easy, big guy," Majima snickered. He slid down the window a little as he pried his own cigarettes and lighter from his coat pocket and lit up. "That, and I'm pretty sure they haven't forgiven me for that whole chair thing last week."
"Stores generally don't look kindly on theft, no," Kiryu said agreeably. He reached up to smooth his hair back, only to grumble in annoyance when the flyaway strands immediately sprung back out.
"I wasn't stealin' shit and ya know it! I was just borrowin' it."
"And then leaving it in pieces in the street after hitting me with it."
Majima shrugged and took a long pull off his cigarette. "Ain't my fault ya got an anvil for a head, Kiryu-chan."
He had half a mind to argue that he had no real say in the thickness of his own head, and that Majima had definitely been at fault when he decided to assault Kiryu with fast food furnishings. The complaints died on his tongue the second Majima passed the cigarette over to him idly. He supposed he could let this one go after all. Nicotine was a very convincing peacemaker.
Between the two of them, they managed to whittle the cigarette nearly down to the filter by the time the kid stepped back out of the Smile Burger. He (rather wisely, Kiryu mused) handed the food and shakes over to Kiryu first before asking Majima if there was anything else he could do for them. Majima just flicked the cigarette butt at the punk, thanked him with a friendly 'keep it movin', dumbass' , and grabbed the bag of fries from Kiryu's hand.
There was a brief moment when Kiryu was sure that the punk was going to act up; he could see it in the curl of the kid's lip and the way his eyes narrowed. When he turned to side-eye the other man slouched on the sidewalk, Kiryu shook his head and waved the kid on. The guy had narrowly avoided Majima's wrath once already—better to chance being stabbed another day. Only after the kid tsked and walked away did Kiryu return his attention to his compatriot.
He'd half expected Majima to have upended the container of fries into his mouth with only a few stray, burnt ends left for Kiryu (which he'd probably make Kiryu fight him for.) So he was mildly confused at the sight of Majima ripping the paper bag down the center. From there he flattened the paper out until he'd created a makeshift placemat on the concrete between them.
Majima was humming to himself as he worked—something vaguely recognizable despite the occasional offkey note. With this new canvas spread out before him, he moved on to tearing open one ketchup packet after another, each one dumped into a rapidly growing mass. Kiryu couldn't tear his eyes away.
Eventually, once the ketchup mountain had reached an acceptable height—the metrics of which Kiryu found personally a little baffling—Majima took the sleeve of fries and poured them out across the clean portions of the mat-nee-bag. Almost like he was plating a meal in a Michelin star kitchen instead of spreading fast food out across a dirty Kamurocho sidewalk.
Majima grinned at the arc of fries fanned out across the paper. He drew himself up, placed one arm behind his back and brought the other hand to his chest, and bowed deeply in Kiryu's direction. "Lunch is served, my good sir."
Kiryu almost felt as if he should have clapped. He settled for returning the bow with as much gravity as he could muster with a couple of bruised ribs. "Thanks, niisan. I owe you one."
Whatever fairy tale of politeness Majima had concocted disappeared with a snort and a flippant gesture. "Eh, I'll just take it outta yer ass later."
"Of course you will." Kiryu smirked. As fascinating as it was to see him shift into customer service mode, the crudeness was much more Kiryu's speed. Kiryu picked up his shake from where it was slowly beginning to sweat under the midday sun and contemplated the cup. "Why milkshakes, though? Isn't it a little too cold out for that?"
Majima raised his own, much pinker drink up like he was going to toast to their health, then pressed the cup to a scratch on his cheekbone that was already beginning to swell. "Good for the body, good for the soul, Kiryu-chan."
Kiryu huffed out the ghost of a laugh and pressed his own shake to his throbbing jaw. The initial contact sent a chill racing down his spine that seemed to linger longer in the coolness of the winter air. Once he adjusted to the shock, however, the cold brought a pleasant numbness to bruised skin. Let it never be said that Majima couldn't dispense the occasional nugget of actually useful wisdom when he wanted.
With the small banquet of fast food set out before them, they wasted no time in digging into the meal at hand. Tomato tartness vying for attention against the tag team of peanut oil and salt on their tongues. Sips of thick, creamy sugar snuck between pressing their drinks to bruises and scrapes, leeching as much of the remaining cold as they could from their cups. The occasional brush of fingers against one another and smirks when one caught the other's eye, little dares to see who could swipe the bigger fry out from under the other's touch.
It was… companionable. Which was not a word Kiryu had associated with Majima much in the past. Then again, life had been strange since prison and this wasn't even one of the weirdest examples. Kiryu told himself not to think about it too much.
He didn't have to feign ignorance for very long. Maybe ten minutes after they started eating, the punk returned with several other similarly dressed boys, all spouting ideas on how Majima might want to make a few more charitable donations. Good old Kamurocho greed hard at work. At least Kiryu and Majima had managed to mostly polish off their meal by that point.
With a little yelp of excitement, Majima sprang to his feet, tanto already in hand and malice stretched tight across his lips. "Ya screwed up, kid. If ya were gunnin' for a shakedown, ya shoulda come at us before we got our lunch break in. Ain't that right, Kiryu-chan?"
"You're not wrong." Kiryu climbed to his feet with considerably less flair (understandable, considering his choice in fight partners.) He supplemented the initial lack of showmanship by rolling the stiffness out of his neck, then bringing up both fists to crack his knuckles. "But I guess I could go for a post-meal workout."
In the end, everyone walked away a pleased customer: Majima got his ten thousand yen back with interest. The tanto saw some action. Kiryu worked off some calories and recouped enough pocket change to cover the cost of his previously wasted burger. The thugs made it away with only a few dislodged teeth, a minimal amount of stab wounds, and a solid lesson in what happens when you try and bite the hand that feeds you.
Best of all, Smile Burger saw no further loss of property, which Kiryu supposed had to count for something. If they kept this level of good behavior up, maybe Majima's ban would be lifted sooner rather than later. Kiryu certainly wouldn't mind sharing another milkshake over split lips with him at some point in the future. Even if the thought had him feeling tingly in a way that he couldn't blame on unseasonably cold drinks.
Kiryu told himself not to think about that too much, either.
Just your average winter day in Kamurocho.