Chapter Text
Majima was bored out of his skull. His Kiryu-chan was out of town on "business", which probably meant he was knocking heads somewhere. As much as he'd love hearing family men whisper about Kiryu laying an entire building's worth of men to waste later, he'd rather he were knocking heads here where he could watch, preferably with popcorn and a megaphone. Or a knife.
He stalked through Kamurocho, parting crowds with his legendary status and general don't-fuck-with-me vibe, which he was somewhat less proud of today, mostly because it meant everyone was staring. All eyes on him, huh? It pissed him off more than normal.
Shit, maybe she's rearin' her ugly head again , he thought, ducking into an alleyway for a smoke break. It had only been a few days since she’d last dressed up. She was getting greedy, he guessed. Forgetting the leash just because it was slack. Hell on earth. He takes a drag and exhales through his nose.
Maybe he could cover her ass somehow? Make an excuse? Like reconnaissance or something. He snorted. Goromi was too proud to play the femme fatale, and she already had her heart set on a man, anyway. He's not stupid enough to try that, not tonight. Not when he's outta town.
Majima holds the cigarette between his teeth and pulls off his gloves. He doesn't look at the scars. Instead, he checks his nails. Chipped and broken. "Dammit, I painted these two days ago!" He tears off the other glove. They're equally disappointing. "Ugh. Maybe I should get Nishida to do this instead? 'S a lot harder doin' yer own..." He grumbled. "The fuck's the point a'wearin' gloves if the lil' shits keep chipping anyway?!"
"Majima-no-niisan?" With no warning, Kiryu had appeared at the alley's entrance, hair falling out of place and blood spattered on his suit.
Majima choked on his cigarette. "Giryu-chaghn?!" How the hell?!
Kiryu hesitated. Majima was bent double, coughing so hard it couldn't possibly be a trick... but then again, this was Majima. Regardless, Kiryu rushed up behind him and—lamenting his own ignorance for a moment—laid down two meaty, open-palmed slaps in the center of his superior's back. That would do something. Probably.
Majima's coughing subsided, supplanted by ashy wheezing and spluttered curses. Shit, maybe I should stop smoking... Kiryu lost this train of thought as he noticed a flash of hot pink on Majima's hands, which were currently on his knees, clawing at leather. Nail polish...?
Groaning, Majima stood up and grinned at him. Kiryu didn't miss the flash of fear in his eye or the wobble in his smile, though he stifled these quickly. "Nearly killed me there, Kiryu-chan! Ya hate me that much?"
"I don't hate you," he said, leaning against the alley wall.
"Awww, yer too soft. Means I ain't doin' a good enough job harassin' ya, then!"
"I dont catch you off guard often, niisan. Looks like I got the upper hand today," Kiryu said. Anyone else would have missed the smug little tug of his lips before he spoke, they both think.
"Then that means my trainin’ regiment's payin' off."
"Heh. You change your mind quickly, don't you?" He reached for his cigarettes, before retracting his hand. I'd better not. I don't want to embarrass him.
"Not all of us are as stubborn as you. Maybe I just like keepin' ya on yer toes, yeah? Trainin' yer mind and yer body. Plus, I get to see the gears whirrin' around in yer pretty lil head." He jabbed his finger into Kiryu's forehead and cooed, "Ain't all that used to usin' it, huh, Kiryu-chan? Looks like so much work I almost feel sorry for ya."
"Hey..." Unable to think of a defense, he settled for grabbing Majima's wrist. Kiryu's eyes jumped to his nails again. He could see a bit of shimmer in them. They were pretty .
Majima's eye widened slightly. Quickly, he spun away from the wall, laughing. "Well, ya know the drill by now!" He rocked back and forth with his hands behind his back. "Now yer back in town, yer fair game! So be sure to watch yer back. After all... I'll be watchin' it too!" He cackled and sauntered out of the alleyway, turning to wave and wink(?) at Kiryu before disappearing around the corner.
He put his gloves back on , Kiryu thought. He lingers in the alley for a while, smoking and smothering his own disappointment.
--
Majima walked a little too fast down Tenkaichi Street, pushing through strangers. Shit shit shit shit shit. He fuckin' saw them, right? He probably did. He had to have seen 'em. What if word of it gets to Shimano?! He clenched and unclenched his fists, which only brought more attention to the subject of his panic. He should've brought his bat today, give him something to fuss with. That bastard! How could he stoop so low, sneakin’ up on me?! He's gonna pay for this next time I see him…
"Boss!" Nishida's voice pattered over to him from a car on the other side of the narrow road, choppy and barely audible under the noon foot traffic.
"Dumbass!" Majima yelled, stomping up to him. How did he not notice him before? Fuckin' Kiryu-chan messin' with my head! "Why the hell didn'tcha tell me Kiryu-chan was back in town?! I fuckin' ATE A CIGARETTE he spooked me so bad!!"
Nishida blanched. "You what? How?! "
"Like hell I know!"
"Should we go to Emoto's?! Oh, I thought you looked pale—"
"Stop motherin' me and answer the damn question!"
"You—uh—I called you! Several times! I think your cell phone died, because you didn't respond. That's why I'm out here, boss, sir."
Majima growled and checked his phone. The screen remained dark when he flipped it open.
"I knew it would be important to you to know, so, uh—"
Majima snapped the phone closed, his assortment of clunky charms clacking loudly. "Yeah, yeah, yer little hunch was right. Whatever. We're goin' back to the office." He needed to get that shit off his nails. Maybe next time he met Kiryu, he'd just so happen to have his gloves off, and just so happen to have regular, super manly nails. The kind Kiryu has that are all stubby and square. That'd probably be enough to convince him he was seeing things.
Sorry, girlie. You know how it is.
And she did. She really did.
--
The next time they fought, Kiryu saw no polish on Majima's nails. The shape was different, too. Was it because the polish was chipping, like he said? Did it really matter that they weren't perfect if he wore gloves all the time? Kiryu had never thought about someone's hands this much before, and it made something in his stomach squirm. Maybe I should just go to bed , he thought, burying his burning face in his pillow.
But he woke up thinking about them again. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more there. Worse, Majima was jumping him less and less since the encounter. Or was he just imagining that? And when they did fight, he was always staring at his hands, to the point where Majima teased him for it. His voice rang through his head, giggling, Eyes up here, Kiryu-chan! before swinging a bat at his head full force. He suppressed his urge to duck at the memory.
Is he embarrassed about his hands? Or just his nails? It's not that unusual to see hosts with them painted these days. Honestly, it's not nearly the most outrageous thing about his fashion sense. It seems odd to be bothered by that specifically. If I try to approach him head-on, he'll probably avoid the question. Is there some way I can let him know I know without scaring him off...?
"Excuse me, sir."
Oh, that's right. He's in Poppo… Thinking about his superior's hands. How long had he been standing there? He stepped aside so the other shopper could pass. He looked away, embarrassed, and his eyes fell on a magazine. On the corner of the cover, there was a bright, poppy ad for what looked to be nail polish.
His experience with the craft was limited. Makeup was a rare treat for the girls at Sunflower, and they had only had nail polish once that he could recall. He'd had his nails painted then—a deep, sparkly blue he felt did not suit him at all, but which suited Yumi wonderfully (a pang, he needed to find her soon)—and was not sold on the experience. He hated keeping his hands still, feeling the cold brush pull against his nails, and the girls' chipped within hours. It seemed like too much effort. But that was him, and not Majima.
He picked up the magazine and flipped through it. Maybe he could get an idea of what was popular these days from this?
As he scanned through the ads, unable to sort the brands and styles in any meaningful way, his mind wandered back to that night at Sunflower.
He hadn't been able to sit through more than one coat. The girls understood, like they always did, but not without some disappointment. It felt like the cold was spreading through his nails and up his arms, like he could feel the polish buzzing. He watched them, bouncing his leg and fighting the urge to pick at scabs until lights out. He hoped everyone fell asleep quickly tonight. He couldn't tell how long he waited. Hastily, he swept up to the bathroom and scrubbed at his hands in the dark. It didn't stop the feeling and the polish didn't come off, so he tore at them. His nails were stubby in the first place, which made it hard to chip them, and trying to pick at them made his nails feel louder , and—
"Kazuma-kun?"
He froze. Yumi stood in the open doorway. Had he not shut it? Suddenly, the spluttering tap sounded deafening. He had woken her, he was sure of it. Guilt sloshed through him like angry water in a bathtub.
"Your hands..."
They were bleeding. It was slight and hard to distinguish from the polish in the dim moonlight, but it was there.
"Here..." She nudged him away from the sink and opened a cabinet beneath it, pulling rubbing alcohol and a pack of pocket tissues from it. With one arm cradling her supplies and another reaching to turn off the tap, she looked up at him. "Let's go outside. I can help you take it off."
They sat on the porch, where the moonlight guided her hands. The alcohol was colder than the polish, and it stung where he'd broken the skin, but something about it felt lighter. Cleaner, almost. It was like she was stripping away the night, and all that was left was his skin, naked and mundane. What a waste... He couldn't help but apologize again, but he could barely hear himself over the concert of bullfrogs and crickets.
"No, it's okay. We shouldn't have pushed you into it." Her eyes didn't leave her task, hunched over Kiryu's outstretched hands, squinting.
"You didn't."
"It's alright." She turned to wad up another tissue, quickly dousing it in the alcohol, before returning to finish off the last couple of nails. "Boys don't like this sort of thing."
Kiryu shook his head. He wanted to explain, but he couldn't find the words. That's not it. He looked at her and furrowed his brow, hoping that conveyed... something.
She met his eyes.
He looked away, back down to their hands. The alcohol had taken the polish off his nails and then some; Yumi's careful work on his and her hands had been ruined. "I'm sorry."
"Don't," she said. "I get it."
But she hadn't, really. She hadn't.