Chapter Text
Majima slammed the taxi door, swung his duffel bag over his shoulder, and broke into a brisk walk, all without breaking concentration on the text he was jabbing out on his phone. One text shot off to Saejima that yes, he was at the airport and yes, he was early and yes, his flight was on time. Another one to Nishida with strict instructions not to bother him under any circumstances. Any work-related questions were to be directed to Saejima, Daigo, or that mop-headed Kasuga guy Nishida seemed to like so much. He sent one last text to Daigo, warning him to specifically keep an eye on Minami, who was becoming a little too confident with his fire breathing skills during lunch breaks, and that Majima wasn’t sure if they had fire insurance on the new office.
As soon as he’d sent off his last text, a message came through from Saejima. “Kyodai. We survived without ya for six months, remember? We’ll be fine without ya for a week.” Another message arrived a moment later. “Try to enjoy yerself, yeah?”
Majima bit his lip, eyes darting from the sliding glass doors to the designated smoking area outside the airport. Did he have time for a smoke before the plane? He looked at his phone again. Shit. Probably not. Kiryu was probably already waiting for him inside the terminal.
Majima paused before the airport entrance and made a high pitched noise that sounded not unlike air escaping from a balloon. Kiryu Kazuma, Dragon of Dojima, his friend, colleague, rival— whatever you wanted to call it—and the subject of Majima’s thoughts for the past however many decades, was waiting for him. Why, you may ask? Because Majima, idiot that he was, had somehow experienced an incredible lapse of judgement, and had accepted an invitation from Kiryu to join him on a week-long vacation in Honolulu, Hawaii. Alone.
Two weeks prior
“I still don’t get why Kiryu-chan wants me to go with him.” Majima threw his phone onto the kitchen table and winced as he took a sip from his scalding black coffee.
Saejima sat across from him at the kitchen table of their Tokyo apartment, nose buried in the daily newspaper. Who still got the newspaper delivered, anyway? Saejima, apparently. “Don’t see why yer makin’ such a big deal about it.”
“I can’t just up and leave for a week in the middle of all this!” Majima waved his hands by means of explanation. “Clan’s still a mess, with all the fallout from the dissolution and the shit that went down on Nele last year.”
“Majima-san.” Daigo walked over to the table and he placed a steaming bowl of rice and a fried egg in front of him before pulling up a chair and sitting down to breakfast. “You’ve been working around the clock. I can tell you haven’t been sleeping well.”
Majima opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut when Saejima shot him a pointed look.
“You deserve a break,” Daigo continued. “Saejima-san and I are perfectly capable of handling things while you’re gone.”
Saejima made a sound of agreement. “Don’t ya want to spend time with Kiryu? Thought that’s why ya were tryin’ so hard to find him a cure in the first place.”
Did Majima want to spend time with Kiryu? Of course he did. Hell, he’d wanted to spend time with Kiryu since he’d met him in the late 80s. He was fascinated by the guy, and it certainly didn't hurt that Kiryu was built like a truck and easy on the eyes. Back then they’d both been caught up with work post-empty lot fiasco, Kiryu climbing the ladder as the Dojima Family’s golden boy, and Majima clawing his way to the top to protect himself the only way he knew how. Then Kiryu had to go get locked up for ten fucking years, and before he could get back on his feet, Kiryu’s whole world had gone to shit.
Sure, they’d had some hot and heavy fights in the back alleys of Kamurocho, shot the shit over drinks at Earth Angel, exchanged heated looks at the end of coliseum matches, covered in each others’ blood and sweat. But Kiryu didn’t seem interested in Majima in that sense—not in the way that Majima was absolutely interested in him. If the police officer pat downs and Goromi’s little cabaret stunt hadn’t awakened something in the guy, Kiryu either wasn’t into men, or he wasn’t into Majima, and he’d prefer not to know which. That, and Kiryu just seemed to have a lot going on. All the time. So Majima never pushed, never pried, and never said a damn thing about how he really felt.
One thing led to another, and Kiryu moved to Okinawa, and Majima put on that tie that felt like a noose around his neck every single day. Why? Because Kiryu had asked him to. What a sucker. Over the decades their paths continued to cross, occasionally but not consistently, like distant planets orbiting the same sun.
Then it happened. In that stupid fucking fish shack wearing that stupid soft coat that looked too damn good on him even though the frame filling it out was too gaunt, too worn.
Majima prided himself on the fact that after everything he’d seen and experienced in his lifetime, very few things were able to surprise him. Kiryu getting cancer was one of them. And all Majima could do was pour him another cup of sake and say something meaningless and threaten him with a knife like he always did, because he didn’t know how else to cope with the fact that his entire world had just fallen apart.
“Ya want me to take yer place?” Saejima’s voice broke Majima from his thoughts, and their eyes met over the newspaper. “I’m sure Kiryu and I would have a blast ridin’ around on those surfer things. We could hit up the bar at the pool, play some darts…”
Majima slid down in his chair and groaned. His knees bumped Saejima’s under the table, who responded by folding his newspaper and placing it next to his coffee.
“Just go, kyodai. When was the last time ya even got to see him? He fought harder than he has in his entire life for more time, and now he’s askin’ to spend some of it with you. Ya can’t say no to that.”
Majima knew he couldn’t say no. That was the problem. “Yer sayin’ it like he did it for me or somethin.”
“How’d ya know he didn’t if yer so afraid to spend time with him?”
Majima stabbed at his fried egg with his chopsticks and watched as the runny yolk spread sluggishly over the plate. He wasn’t afraid . He was sixty goddamned years old, an ex-patriarch, ex-convict, the Mad Dog of Shimano. What was the big deal about going on a Hawaii vacation with an old buddy? Even if that buddy happened to be the person who Majima had had a debilitating and unrequited crush on for the better part of the last thirty-five years? Okay, maybe he was a little bit afraid. But Goro Majima never was one to back down from a challenge.
Present day
Majima spotted Kiryu by the entrance to security, looking like a lost puppy as he scanned the crowds. He wore dark gray slacks and a black button-down shirt, his uniform in recent years after he’d ditched his signature gray and red. Although Kiryu had been officially declared cancer-free half a year ago, the shirt still hung too loose on his wide shoulders, serving as a reminder of everything they had almost lost. Majima pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he made eye contact. Kiryu’s features softened in recognition, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Majima took a deep breath and waved.
“Yo, Kiryu-chan.”
“Nii-san. Thank you for coming.” Kiryu nodded stiffly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Nice of you to wear a shirt.”
“Ha! Ya think they’d let me through security without one?” Majima plucked at the soft dark shirt he’d opted to wear under a patterned black suit jacket. “And ya don’t gotta call me ‘nii-san’ anymore. Clan’s gone, remember? I’m just a regular ol’ civilian now.” He brought his hand down on Kiryu’s shoulder, guiding him toward the gates.
“Sorry,” Kiryu muttered. “Old habits.”
As they approached the security line, Majima refused to let himself think about how he could feel the shape of Kiryu’s bones under his fingers. He’s fine now. He got better. He’s alive . Majima hadn’t even delivered on his promise to find that pipe dream of a cure in Hawaii, and somehow, with all odds against him, Kiryu had pulled through. Majima had sat by his hospital bed for hours, telling the tale of how he had lost his memory and become a pirate, how he’d met Noah and a tiger cub that shared his name. Kiryu had looked so weak, so small in that hospital bed that looked as if it could swallow him whole. Plugged full of wires connected to machines, Kiryu had squeezed Majima’s hand whenever he described a particularly exciting bit of his tale. He couldn’t remember if Kiryu had ever held his hand, before this. Perhaps it should have felt wrong, after all this time. But as Kiryu closed his eyes, a soft smile pulling at his pale lips, Majima didn’t think he had ever felt more at home.
“The doctors told me they’ve done everything they can,” Daigo had told Majima and Saejima as they had approached the hospital parking lot. “I’m sorry, Majima-san.”
Why Daigo had apologized to him, well. The kid was probably better at reading people than Majima gave him credit for. A guy didn’t become chairman of the Tojo Clan for nothing.
“Is what it is,” Majima had said, face neutral necessitated by decades of hiding behind a mask. It didn’t matter that he knew that Saejima and Daigo could see right through it.
That night, silent sobs wracked his body as he cried himself to sleep.
But then, a few days later, Majima had received a call from Haruka telling him that Kiryu had taken a turn for the better. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but there was hope. Kiryu was fighting. Days turned into weeks, and the treatment started working again. His doctors said it was nothing short of a miracle, that they’d never seen anything like it.
The day Kiryu officially went into remission was one of the most joyous days of Majima’s life.
“I ain’t surprised, ya know. Always knew you’d pull through,” he’d lied, feigning nonchalance as Kiryu told him the news from his hospital bed during one of his regular visits.
Once he had recovered enough to be released from the hospital, Kiryu had gone to visit his family in Okinawa. The sun would do him good, Majima thought. Kiryu didn’t need him anymore, now that he was surrounded by his children. Just the fact that Kiryu was alive, happy, no longer beholden to that shitstorm of a secret government organization—it was enough. It should have been enough. Of course Majima wanted more—he always wanted more—but he could be content with this. He would have to be.
A handful of months later, Majima was sitting in an extremely boring meeting with some suit-wearing government officials when he received a text from Kiryu. At first he thought it was a joke, or that Kiryu had sent the text to him by mistake. Surely he had meant to send it to Haruka, or one of his other friends (of whom Kiryu had many). Kasuga, perhaps. Maybe that deadbeat cop who worked at that bar in Kamurocho, what was his name? Date, that was it. But the message very explicitly opened with, “Majima-no-nii-san,” and then inexplicably proceeded to ask if he would be interested in joining Kiryu on a trip to Hawaii, to celebrate his recovery.
And now here they were, two retired yakuza getting on a plane to Honolulu together as if they were an old married couple celebrating their anniversary. Majima complained about a lot of things, but life being too predictable wasn’t one of them.
Majima jammed his feet back into his shoes and picked up both his and Kiryu’s bags off of the conveyor belt. Fuckin’ security, always such a pain in the ass.
“You don’t need to do that,” came Kiryu’s voice from behind him, arm reaching for the duffel bag that was currently slung over Majima’s shoulder.
“Haw?” Majima tilted his head before continuing to look for their gate number. “I can do what I want.”
“I can carry my own bag, nii…Majima-san.”
“Fine, but only if you quit it with the formalities. We’ve known each other too long to still be doin’ this ‘san’ shit.”
Kiryu huffed in frustration. “I can carry my own bag, Majima.”
Majima immediately regretted asking Kiryu to drop the formal title, because something about his name coming out of Kiryu’s mouth like that sounded different in a way that did something funny to his insides. It was going to be a very long week.
* * *
Majima slid down in the cramped airplane seat, spreading his legs wider than was strictly necessary. They were in one of those rows with only two chairs, so the only unlucky bastard he had to share leg space with was Kiryu.
“Do you mind?” Kiryu nudged Majima’s knee with his own. “Put your seatbelt on.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Majima griped as he made a show of clicking the metal buckle. “When are they servin’ drinks?”
“Next time, you can pay for first class tickets. Best I could do was premium economy.”
Next time, Majima thought, although he knew Kiryu was joking.
Once they were in the air, Majima took the first opportunity to order a double whiskey on the rocks. Kiryu ordered a highball, which Majima took a sip of before passing to him, earning him a withering look. “How long is it to Hawaii?”
“About seven hours.”
“Seven? Shit, should’ve ordered a triple.” Majima hated airplanes. He felt too cramped, too trapped. Seven hours in this steel can, and there was a fussy kid three rows behind them. Normally, he’d be grateful to have Kiryu’s company. But normally, the length of their thighs weren’t pressed together in economy airplane seats. Premium economy, sorry.
“I'm takin’ a nap,” Majima announced as he placed his packet of complimentary crackers onto Kiryu's tray table. There was no way he'd actually get any sleep (he had never been able to sleep on planes, but Kiryu didn't know that). And he'd be damned if he had to rawdog seven hours of feeling Kiryu's leg against his while being present and having to make conversation, god forbid. Majima crossed his arms, slid lower into his seat, and closed his eye.
After an unknown amount of time, he got bored with his little charade and decided it was high time for another whiskey. He groaned, making a show of stretching his arms above his head, when he heard a soft snoring coming from the seat next to him. Kiryu, bless him, had actually fallen asleep, arms crossed and head resting against the wall of the plane. Just this once, Majima let himself look.
Kiryu's mouth had fallen slightly open, his loose, gray bangs fluttering gently under the forced air conditioning of the plane. Even in sleep, his eyebrows remained knitted together, mouth turned down into an only slightly softer version of his characteristic frown. In a moment of weakness, Majima let his eyes wander down Kiryu’s neck, to that enticing vee of tanned skin exposed from where his shirt fell slightly open. Several months under the Okinawa sun had done his complexion a world of good, a far cry from the ghost-like specter he’d been in that sterile Tokyo hospital wing. Majima longed to reach out and touch, to make sure the man sitting next to him was real, still alive, whole.
His heart squeezed painfully as he pulled his gaze away and pressed the attendant button to order another drink.
* * *
“Damn Kiryu-chan, didn’t tell me ya got the penthouse suite!” Majima threw his bag onto one of two generously sized queen beds. Two beds, Majima reminded himself, not one. Of course there were two, this wasn’t one of his booze-fueled fantasies.
“This isn’t the penthouse suite,” Kiryu clarified as he removed his shoes.
Honestly, it may as well have been—the room was at least three times larger than any Japanese hotel room Majima had ever seen. There was a seating area near the room’s massive glass windows that consisted of a plush couch, armchair, and coffee table. A spacious balcony overlooked the ocean, furnished with chairs and a table, on which sat two glasses and a bottle of chilling champagne. The bathroom was massive, and included a walk-in marble rain shower and a deep Japanese-style bath big enough for two. And while Majima hadn’t stayed here himself during his stint in Hawaii, he could hazard a guess that the price tag on even a standard room at the Crystal Aloha Resort was nothing to sneeze at. If it weren’t for the separate beds, it would have been easy to imagine this being a room meant for a couple on their honeymoon. The entire room read as romantic, and it did something funny to Majima’s chest.
He was quickly ripped from his thoughts by the sight of Kiryu removing his shirt.
“Wh-whatcha doin’ there?” Majima’s voice had gone embarrassingly high-pitched. Any other time he would have been horrified, if he hadn’t been so preoccupied by what was happening in front of him (And in front of the window! For anyone to see!).
“I’m…getting changed?” Kiryu paused, his black shirt hanging off his shoulders. “It’s a bit warm, don’t you think? Figured I’d change into something more comfortable.”
God, he was an idiot. Of course Kiryu just wanted to change into something more suited to the weather. And why would he have hang ups about changing in front of Majima? They’d seen each other shirtless more times than he could count. Hell, Majima had walked around without a shirt for most of his adult life, and he chose now of all times to get flustered like a schoolgirl? Get a grip!
“Good thinkin’! I got just the thing.” He dug around in his bag until he found a pair of linen pants and his yellow-orange floral Hawaiian shirt. He had half a mind to get changed in the bathroom— why, he didn’t fully understand—but he stood his ground as he kicked off his snakeskin shoes and unbuckled his belt. Majima did, however, turn to face the wall as he did so—he didn’t think he would be able to survive Kiryu looking at him with his pants around his ankles.
After a bit of fumbling and nearly tripping over his pants, Majima was dressed in his Hawaiian attire, shirt unbuttoned and sandals at the ready. “So, where to, Kiryu-chan? I hope ya didn’t drag me all the way here just to sit around drinkin’ champagne.”
Kiryu had donned khakis and a red and white short-sleeve Hawaiian shirt, not unlike what he used to wear in Okinawa, back when he ran an orphanage there. Again, the shirt looked like it was a size too big, but it still didn’t do anything to detract from the handsome display of Kiryu’s strong forearms. He seemed to give some thought to Majima’s question. “Well, it’s getting a bit late, so I thought we could eat somewhere close by. There’s a restaurant by the pool, and a bar.” He paused, almost as if gauging Majima’s reaction. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Sure enough, the sun was beginning to set over the crystal blue waters on the horizon. Drinks with Kiryu-chan on a beach in Hawaii, huh? Could be worse. Majima smiled at the thought.
“Lead the way.”
The sun was already low on the horizon by the time they were seated at the bar by the hotel pool. Kiryu ordered them each enormous, colorful cocktails that were garnished with slices of pineapple and little paper umbrellas.
“Never took ya for a cocktail guy, Kiryu-chan.”
Kiryu shrugged. “I can be unpredictable.”
“Yeah, right. Yer the most predictable guy I know!” Majima took a long sip from his pink bendy straw and nearly choked. “Holy shit, how much booze is in this thing?”
“It’s good, right?” Kiryu closed his lips around his straw and honestly, the guy had no right looking that good while sipping that neon blue tourist concoction. “Kasuga introduced me to them while we were here. Said that his friend Tomizawa wouldn’t let him leave America without trying a ‘real cocktail’.”
Majima felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of Kasuga and his friends. He wondered what else Kiryu had done with Kasuga. Had Kiryu bought him cocktails, too? Shared a hotel room with him? He shoved the feelings down and took another long pull of his drink. “Dunno if this is what I’d call a ‘real cocktail’, but it sure beats the watered down shit ya get back in Japan, I’ll give ya that.”
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while, gazes flickering from their drinks to the water and back, until Kiryu spoke.
“I’m glad you decided to come here with me, Majima. It means a lot.”
Majima’s straw made a slurping sound as he neared the bottom of his glass and waved Kiryu off. “Eh, I wasn’t about to turn down a free vacation. Still not sure why ya wanted me to enjoy all this with ya, but I ain’t one to complain.”
Kiryu raised an eyebrow at that (they both knew that Majima was, in fact, one to complain), but he let it slide. “Actually, I…wanted to thank you.”
“Haw? For what?”
“For everything you’ve done for me.”
“Yer gonna have to be more specific than that, Kiryu-chan.” Majima really didn’t know what Kiryu was referring to. Even though the Tojo Clan had been disbanded, Majima must have still served as a reminder of the organization that Kiryu despised, the organization that kept bringing him back into the fray, over and over again, demanding everything of him until he had nothing left to give. Then Majima had abandoned Kiryu in his time of greatest need to run off to Hawaii for half a year. Granted, for most of that time he hadn’t even remembered that Kiryu existed, which he still felt intense guilt over. And in the end, he hadn’t even been able to help him get better—Kiryu had done that without Majima, too.
Kiryu took a deep breath as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “Saejima told me why you were in Hawaii, last year.”
Well, shit. Majima groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m gonna kill him when I get back.” Of course his kyodai had gone and spilled the beans about Majima traipsing off to Hawaii to search for some nonexistent miracle cure for the guy he had obviously been head over heels for for the better half of the last thirty years.
“Why didn’t you want me to know?”
“Because it’s stupid, alright? It’s embarrassin’.”
The crease between Kiryu’s eyes deepened and he hated himself for being the one who put it there. “What’s embarrassing about wanting to help me?”
Majima looked at his empty glass, plastic straw listing to the side, and wished very badly that he had another. His eyes scanned the patio for their waiter, and when he had no luck, he had no choice but to turn back to Kiryu and his earnest brown eyes. “Because it was just a stupid dream, a rumor that meant nothin’ in the end. I shoulda never come to Nele. Shoulda just stayed in Japan.” ‘With you’ was left unsaid.
Kiryu remained silent, his eyes searching Majima’s face. For what, he didn’t know.
And Majima, as always, didn’t know when to shut up. “So ya invite yer old pal Majima to Hawaii as what, a consolation prize for bein’ a washed up yakuza who can’t even help ya when ya need it most?”
Kiryu moved, and before Majima could react, his hand was pinned to the table under Kiryu’s. Majima made a weak attempt to jerk away, but Kiryu held fast, holding him still with a fraction of that draconic strength. Eye wide, Majima looked from Kiryu’s resolved expression to their linked hands and back again.
“You’ve done nothing but help me, Majima-no-niisan. For decades. You helped me regain my strength after I got out of prison, you looked after Daigo when I left for Okinawa, you joined me in the fight against Ebina.” Kiryu almost looked like he was about to cry and it was too much. “You’ve done everything I’ve asked of you and have never asked for anything in return and I—”
“Alright alright, I get it!” He couldn’t take this. Not now, not as they sat watching the sunset together, practically holding hands . How many years had he dreamt that Kiryu would come to him, finally having realized that Majima cared so damn much. Having realized why . But that’s not what this was. Majima wasn’t sure what this was, actually. Kiryu’s strange way of saying thanks? The fingers of Majima’s free hand twitched, and before he thought better of it, he gently patted Kiryu’s hand that lay atop his. “Just so ya know, ya didn’t force me to do any of that. I never do anything I don’t wanna do.” Another lie, perhaps, but not when it came to Kiryu.
Kiryu opened his mouth to respond, then seemed to think better of it. He tilted his head, bangs falling to the side, considering. “Does that mean you want to be here right now?”
“Course it does! Who’d say no to this?” Majima scoffed, gesturing at everything around them. “Always so serious, Kiryu-chan. Come on, let’s order another round.” He reluctantly pulled his hand out from under Kiryu’s and waved their server over, hoping the other drinks on the menu were just as strong as the first one.
* * *
Majima flexed his hand, still unable to shake the feeling of Kiryu’s warm skin on his as he set a near bursting cosmetics pouch next to one of the two marble sinks in the bathroom. The surprisingly candid conversation with Kiryu over drinks that evening might have had him on the back foot, but even that wouldn’t have him skipping his skincare routine. Six months under the Hawaiian sun had done a number on his complexion, and he couldn’t afford to skimp on the hyaluronic acid at his age.
After an indulgent shower, Majima wrapped a towel around his waist, pushed his hair off his forehead with a plush headband, and tore open a face mask pouch. He sighed at the cool sensation of the damp sheet on his face, making sure to situate the mask so it fully covered his bad eye. Believe it or not, wearing the eyepatch day-in and day-out wasn’t the best for his skin.
He continued his nightly routine by brushing his teeth, humming an old pop song from the ‘80s and nodding his head to the beat.
“Nii-san, have you seen the—oh .”
Kiryu stood in the doorway, still dressed in his dinner clothes, his cheeks rapidly turning a delicious shade of pink.
“Ya ever heard of knockin’, Kiryu-chan?” Majima asked around a mouthful of toothpaste.
“The door was open. What are you doing?”
“Gettin’ ready for bed, what’s it look like I’m doin’?” He spat into the sink.
“No I mean, what’s on your face?”
It then occurred to Majima what a sight he must have made, half naked, his hair pulled back and face covered with what looked like a wet tissue. He broke into a grin that was surely full of toothpaste. “Face mask.” Obviously.
Kiryu stood there and stared at him in silence as the seconds ticked by. Majima stared back. Until Kiryu made a small sound Majima had never heard before, the line of his mouth going all wobbly. It took Majima a moment to realize what he was witnessing.
“Are you laughin’ at me?” He put his hands on his hips, doing his best to look annoyed.
“No,” Kiryu responded, voice an octave higher than usual, trying and failing to school his features into his usual grimace.
“Ya are! It takes work to look this good, I’ll have ya know.” Majima struck a pose and puffed out his chest.
This didn’t seem to help Kiryu’s situation at all, judging by the hand that was now placed over his mouth and how his shoulders had begun to shake. The sight of Kazuma Kiryu laughing, even at his expense, would be enough to sustain Majima for years.
“If yer gonna laugh, then yer gonna join me.” Majima dug through the bag on the counter until he found two face masks, dangling them in front of Kiryu. “Rose or white peach?”
* * *
“I’ve never done this before,” Kiryu said from his seat at the edge of the tub, having mostly composed himself. He held the flat, shiny packet by its edges, as if he were afraid it would bite him.
“Ya just take it out and slap it on. How’ve ya never done this before? I do this with my kyodai and Daigo-chan all the time.”
“Wait, Daigo ?” Kiryu asked, scandalized, as he proceeded to tear open the packet. He made a face when he reached his fingers inside to remove the mask.
“Don’t tell me ya don’t have a skin care routine, Kiryu-chan.”
Kiryu shook his head. “I wear sunscreen but…oh.” Kiryu had extracted the mask and was attempting to unfold it in midair. “It’s very…wet.”
Majima filed away that little soundbite for later. “Here, let me give ya a hand.”
As the clock approached midnight, they climbed into their respective beds and wished each other good night. Majima kicked at the sheets, loosening them from their confines under the mattress, and sighed contentedly as he buried his face into a fluffy down pillow. It didn’t matter that they weren’t a couple on their honeymoon. It didn’t matter that they weren’t sleeping in the same bed. Wouldn’t that be strange anyway, after all this time? If Kiryu wanted to celebrate his good health with a trip to Hawaii, Majima would make sure it was the best damn trip Kiryu had ever been on. Kiryu deserved the world, and all Majima wanted to do was give it to him. To make him happy, just for the rare chance to see that smile that could cut through the darkest rain clouds. And that was enough. It would have to be.