Chapter Text
Kiryu threw back the last of his sake, its warmth doing nothing to cut through the chill in his bones. He motioned at the bartender for another carafe of the same before shifting further into the small booth he occupied in the back corner of the dim izakaya.
The sake wasn't anything to write home about, but it was probably more than Kiryu deserved. Certainly more than Joryu deserved. But contrary to what he was told, and regardless of what name he answered to, Kiryu was still Kiryu. And he would hold onto that single scrap of dignity, would place it somewhere secret and close to his heart, in a deep, hidden place that even his keepers couldn't find. And because he was still Kiryu, he reasoned, he could allow himself another sip of mediocre sake.
As the barkeep placed another steaming carafe and a small bowl of oden in front of him with a slight bow, he thought to himself that he really should’ve just ordered the whole bottle. Alcohol hardly seemed to have an effect on him these days. Usually it at least succeeded in warming him up, but there was something about the frigid winter air of northern Japan that even the cozy izakaya, with its warm drinks and old gas heaters, couldn't remedy.
Or maybe Kiryu was just miserable, and had come to the conclusion that no amount of Hibiki 12 or Seven Stars would give him his life back. Or his name. Or his family. He slammed his cup down onto the weathered table, and poured himself another.
Speaking of miserable, Kiryu glanced over at his phone sitting face up on the table next to him. No new messages. Barely any reception, either. But 5G or not, he had no doubt the Daidoji would find a way to contact him if they wanted to. Yes, he was technically on "vacation" (a luxury that no one in his position should rightfully have), but he couldn't shake the feeling of being on edge—like he was being watched or listened to as he had so often been these past few years.
He reached for his phone to flip it over, but hesitated. Unlocked the screen. Hovered over the colorful icons before selecting the photos app. There was only a single photo in the gallery, and one he would inevitably be made to delete before his return to service. He tapped on it, and the picture expanded until it took up the entire screen. It was Yumi's ring, silver and red, glistening in the sunlight atop a stone dais in a church in Honolulu. The final page in their painfully short chapter, finally come to a close. Why Kiryu had even taken the picture at all, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep it, he wasn't sure. How would he even be able to face Yumi, after all this time? Would she ever forgive him for abandoning her daughter, who he raised as his own, even if he did it to keep her safe? How could he ever ask Yumi's forgiveness when he couldn't even forgive himself?
He took one last look at the photo before tapping the delete icon in the corner.
That picture had been taken weeks ago, maybe months at this point—Kiryu had never been the best at keeping track of time. After a couple of weeks away in Honolulu, he had expected to be contacted right away; surely an agent of his ability and risk profile wouldn't be allowed off his leash for too long. But upon his return to Japan, Kiryu had heard nothing from Hanawa or anyone at the temple.
So with nothing else to do, he wandered. Up the coast, then northwest, across the country's mountainous spine and back again. Of course, he still couldn't risk being recognized, and visiting a large city like Tokyo or Osaka would inevitably get him landed in another Daidoji holding cell. So he stuck to smaller towns. Places he had never visited, mountain villages and seaside fishing towns where the people were warm and hospitable, despite the biting chill in the air and Kiryu's intimidating stature.
Funny, though, how traveling alone only seemed to make his loneliness worse. Some sick part of him itched for another mission, for a text from Hanawa, for some purpose to his shell of a life, even if just to serve as a distraction from how pointless it all seemed. Kiryu wondered if granting him leave without the ability to see anyone who mattered was meant to be a punishment of its own sort.
His fingers twitched for a cigarette, but glancing at the "no smoking" sign next to the bar, he opted for another swig of his sake instead.
So, after weeks of aimless traveling, Kiryu now found himself in a remote town in northern Japan known for its hot springs, its soba, and not much else. As a general rule, Kiryu enjoyed both of those things, and figured, against all odds, that a dip in some hot springs might do him some good. What he hadn't expected was for it to be so damn cold. In hindsight he probably should have, considering it was the middle of December and he was halfway to Hokkaido.
"Need a refill?" the barkeep asked, clearing Kiryu's empty dishes with grizzled hands and placing another piping hot cup of oden in front of him. Chikuwa, this time, instead of daikon.
Kiryu shook his head. He should probably get moving soon and find some inn in town to stay the night before it got too dark.
"Some weather we're having, huh?" The old man nodded toward the window across the bar, where flurries of snow had begun to cling to the edges of the pane.
Kiryu sipped at his sake before responding. "Isn't this kind of weather typical this time of year?"
"A bit of snow, yes. But there's a big storm set to roll in tonight, and it looks like it's gonna be a big one. We might have to close up early tonight because of it."
It seemed like Kiryu might need to get going sooner rather than later if he was going to find a place to lodge for the night. He wondered if he could take a bottle of sake to go.
"You take your time though, yeah? We've got plenty of oden and sake to keep you warm."
Kiryu nodded in thanks, but decided he'd better get going after finishing what was left of his drink. The izakaya had mostly cleared out, save for a patron sitting at the bar quietly nursing a beer. Even as he sat there finishing the last of his drink, the wind started to pick up, the patter of snow now audible against the windows of the establishment. Surely an inn in town would have a room available. Unfortunately, searching online proved nearly impossible with his poor reception.
Just as Kiryu poured the last of his now-lukewarm sake into his cup and was making ready to leave, the heavy wooden door of the bar burst open. A blast of cold wind and flurries of snow proceeded a tall figure, wrapped in layers of dark clothing. Probably a local, practically mummified head to toe in preparation for the winter storm, their features obscured by a hat and thick scarf. It wasn't likely that other tourists would wander into town this time of year, especially in weather like this.
A chill traveled down Kiryu's spine for reasons he suspected were unrelated to the weather. He watched as the figure closed the door behind them with some effort before quickly averting his gaze.
He remained on high alert as the figure approached the bar with a clunk, clunk, clunk of their boots. Hushed whispers were exchanged with the bartender, and a carafe of hot sake procured. Paid for, up front. The scrape of a dish, the oden turned down. A question asked, but Kiryu couldn't make out what was being discussed over the rustle of fabric and the wind outside. Regardless, it was time for him to leave. He would wait until the new patron sat down, and then make his exit.
Kiryu checked his phone again, out of habit—still nothing. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find, but busied himself with flipping mindlessly through the apps, opening the now-empty camera gallery. He closed it, then opened it again as he waited for the dark-clad figure to take a seat.
And take a seat they did. Directly across from Kiryu.
The entire booth shook as the figure sat down heavily in the seat opposite him, sake sloshing onto the tabletop as the patron's carafe was deposited between them with a thunk. And when Kiryu looked up, he felt it more than he saw it. The unmistakable aura that caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise, filling him simultaneously with elation and dread. The epitome of fight or flight, the memory of forearms against shins and fists against ribs, of solidarity and friendship and rivalry and regret. All distilled into a single figure, sitting across from him in a bar.
"Yer not an easy man to find, ya know that, Kiryu-chan?"
Shit.
Somehow, against all odds, Majima had found him and Kiryu was panicking. Majima shouldn't be here. Majima couldn't be here. Although the evidence to the contrary continued to reveal itself, as Majima tugged down his scarf, revealing skin pink from the cold, and took a swig straight from his carafe of sake.
Kiryu tried not to react. Tried not to give himself away, as if the man sitting across from him couldn't read him better than anyone in the world. Still, Kiryu was nothing if not stubborn.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Unfazed, Majima tugged off his hat to reveal disheveled but familiar jet-black locks. "Yer a shit liar, Kiryu-chan. Or sorry, Joryu, or whatever the fuck yer goin' by these days." He snorted.
"It's Suzuki, actually." It was the name Hanawa had granted him with when he left the temple on his faction-appointed "vacation", and one he found easy enough to re-acclimate to.
Majima's face contorted in a way that suggested he was going to laugh, but he instead unleashed a loud sneeze. He sniffed once, twice, before continuing. "So. The fuck are ya doin' in this shithole, Suzuki-chan? Ya couldn't have chosen a place to lay low that was at least a little warmer than a snowman's tit?"
"Why are you here, Majima?"
"Oh, so ya do know who I am!" he cackled, delighted. "More than that Joryu guy could say. He was a real stick in the mud. You seem more fun though, Suzuki-chan."
Kiryu didn't have time for this. He needed to leave. Now. If Majima had been able to track him, there was a chance others knew of his whereabouts, too. The Great Dissolution in Osaka had been one thing‐that had been a job, and a calculated risk that the Daidoji found acceptable to take. But if they found out that he was crossing paths with people who knew him...the risk was simply too great.
Kiryu stood, boots scraping on the worn-down floor. He grabbed his coat and scooped up his bag, not bothering to put them on, only knowing he needed to be somewhere that wasn't here.
"Wait."
The word was spoken almost too softly to hear, over the wind outside and the rushing of blood in his ears. Kiryu almost wondered if he'd heard it at all. But as Kiryu passed Majima, before he could make it past the table to the bar to pay his bill, Majima's hand shot out to grab his. Squeezed it hard enough that Kiryu had no choice but to look at him.
And as he did, he found that he couldn't tear his gaze away. His hair stuck out at weird angles from being kept under a hat. Bruise-like smudges had formed under his eye, his skin red and chapped from the cold. Majima looked...tired. Like he'd held the entire weight of the world on his shoulders and had still let it down, even more than the world had let him down in turn. Kiryu, of all people, knew that look. But seeing it on Majima's face gave him pause. How long had Majima been looking for him?
"Just one drink. Then I'll get outta yer hair." Majima looked down at their connected hands, then back up at him, with an expression not dissimilar to the one he had worn outside of Omi headquarters mere months ago. "No one knows I'm here, promise."
No need to rush outta here just yet... Alright?
"One drink."
The relief in Majima's exhale was almost palpable as he released his death grip on Kiryu's hand. Kiryu hung up his bag and coat, and tentatively took his seat again. His entire body was still wound tight as a spring, but he accepted the sake Majima poured him with a nod of his head.
"Since when do ya drink this stuff, anyway?"
"Since I saw their whiskey selection."
"Fair enough."
They took their first sips in silence, Majima taking the opportunity to shed more of his many layers. Kiryu wasn't sure he'd ever seen him wearing so many clothes. Even Majima wasn't immune to the cold, it seemed.
"You didn't answer my question, from before," Kiryu started, causing Majima to pause in unwinding his thick wool scarf. "Why are you here?" More importantly, how had Majima found him? But one thing at a time.
"I'm here because I..." Majima's eye scanned his face, incredulous. "Why do ya think I'm here? Ya rise from the dead to beat the shit outta some guys, pretend ya don't know any of us, and disappear again. No goodbye, nothin'. Ya think we were just gonna let that go?"
Kiryu pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. It would be better if they had let it go, of course. But these were three of the most powerful men in the Tojo Clan, three people who Kiryu had at one time counted as his closest friends. He should have known by now that of all people, Majima, Saejima, and Daigo wouldn't let something like that go.
"Did ya see the look on Daigo's face when you pretended not to know him? After he just got done dismantlin' the thing he dedicated half his life to? When ya fucked off in that car with the tinted windows and yer little secret agent buddies—"
"I didn't—"
"Do yer kids even know yer alive? What about Haruka-chan? How can ya just leave like that and not expect—"
Kiryu slammed his cup down on the table. "You don't understand." No one understood, nor could they. That was Kiryu's burden to bear. His memory flashed back to the temple, to the tablet Hanawa had handed him, to the video that had hurt him and healed him and unraveled him all at the same time. It would forever be burned into his memory, the hope in his children's eyes that somewhere, somehow, their Uncle Kaz might still be watching over them. Kiryu swallowed thickly. He wondered how much drink was left, fingers twitching as he eyed the exit.
"Does Haruka-chan know yer alive?"
Kiryu looked down at the empty cup in his hands, not trusting himself to speak. Willed the lump in his throat to go away. They shouldn't be talking about this here. Shouldn't be talking about this at all, actually.
"Did you come here just to criticize me?" Kiryu meant for it to sound threatening, meant to spit it at his former rival like a challenge. But the words died in his throat before he could muster the strength it once possessed.
"Shit, I ain't..." Majima ran his hands through his hair, tugging on the strands. "We were worried about ya, Kiryu-chan. When you were swept away after the fight, still bleedin' and denyin' ya knew who we were, I..." He looked up, eyebrows knitted together in genuine concern. "We thought they might be hurtin' ya."
"I can take care of myself." They both knew it was a lie. But Kiryu's suffering, physical or otherwise, was neither here nor there. "Kiryu" didn't exist anymore, as far as the rest of the world was concerned. His pain no longer mattered, if it kept the people he loved safe.
Majima opened his mouth to respond, but before he had a chance, the old bartender appeared at their table, a worried expression on his face. "Don't want to disturb you gentlemen, but I'm afraid we're gonna have to close up early." Taking a cursory look around, Kiryu realized that he and Majima were the only patrons left in the izakaya. "Blizzard's rollin' in and they're sayin' now it's supposed to be the worst one we've seen in a decade."
Sure enough, in the time that they had spent talking over their sake, the wind had picked up and more snow had built up around the windowpanes. Kiryu could barely see anything outside, and he wasn't sure if it was due to the sun having set, or the terrible weather.
"You two gonna be okay?" the bartender asked, glancing between the two of them and then pointedly at Kiryu's coat hanging on the wall. "Do you have a place to stay?"
Kiryu was surprised when Majima nodded. Kiryu figured he would just stumble into whatever inn had availability, like he had been doing in other towns on his travels these past several weeks.
"Well if you do, I'd suggest getting there sooner rather than later. The gusts are already strong and the buses and trains are set to stop running soon. You boys need anything to go?"
Kiryu shook his head, thanked the bartender, and assured him that they would be leaving shortly.
Once he was out of earshot, Majima bumped his head against the back of the booth and let out a put-upon sigh. "Well ain't that just great. Biggest snow storm in a decade. Ya didn't think to check the weather report before you rolled into town on yer little getaway?"
Majima seemed to have moved on from grilling Kiryu on his life choices, now distracted by more pressing matters. The roll of his eye and slouch of his spine against the cramped booth reminded Kiryu more of the man he used to know.
"So," Majima continued, pulling on his fluffy, oversized hat, "ya got a place to stay or what?"
Kiryu shook his head. "I thought I'd just find a room somewhere once I was done here."
"Ya know most of these smaller places are gonna be closed, right?" Majima explained, as if it were obvious. "If the buses and trains are down, folks probably can't get to work. They can't get in, we can't get out."
Kiryu blinked. "'Can't get out?'"
"Did ya notice that there's one," he lifted a gloved finger, "one road outta this place?" Admittedly, Kiryu hadn't. "Most of these mom and pop ryokans ain't gonna have the staff to stay open if the storm's that bad. Lucky for us, I booked the nicest place in town."
"Oh," Kiryu replied. He hadn't thought about that. Wait. "What do you mean, 'us'?"
Majima shrugged, poured the rest of the sake into his own cup, and downed it in one go.
Was Majima suggesting that they—no. Surely, he could find his own place to stay. Kiryu's eyes darted to the window, the pane now rattling from the strong wind, then back to Majima, who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow as if he knew exactly what was going through his head.
"Would ya rather freeze to death?"
That was a bit dramatic, even for Majima. He shouldn't even be here, they shouldn't even be having this conversation. And yet, some part of Kiryu—the part that was still Kiryu—longed to keep talking. To keep drinking table sake and reminiscing about old Tojo drama, to hear about what Majima had been up to all of these years. To selfishly, so selfishly, spend time with someone who knew him, and who, in his own strange way, cared about him.
Before he could stop it, the word bubbled up from Kiryu's chest and flung itself into the space between them.
"Alright."
Majima's face lit up like a kid on Christmas. Kiryu hated himself for how much he loved it. "Yeah?"
Kiryu sighed, unwilling to repeat himself.
Majima seemed to get the message, scrambling up from the booth like someone had slid a sheet of ice beneath him. He threw on his jacket and scarf haphazardly, as if he thought Kiryu would change his mind if he took too long. Perhaps there was a chance he would. If anyone found out they had met here, let alone were planning to room together, it could put both of them in danger, along with those who knew them. Maybe Kiryu could play it off as a moment of self-preservation in a record-breaking winter storm...which it was. That's exactly what this was. Wasn't it?
He pulled on his coat, shouldered his bag, and left a wad of cash on the table. When he turned to Majima, he was met with a slight bow and an extended hand, gesturing toward the exit.
"After you, Suzuki-chan."