Archive of Our Own

Saejima couldn't sleep; not for the first time since he'd gotten back to life outside, but this was definitely the worst instance of it yet - led by his mind's insistent agonising over the mistakes of his past, actions far too late to undo.

Hadn't he tried to make up for those things enough already? Wasn't that what he'd gone back to prison for? A full sentence - no funny business, no breakouts - to wipe the slate clean, absolve himself of all wrongdoings, all need for guilt over them?

Yeah, right.

The days were easier. The nights weren't.

Daytime kept him busy. Formally taking up the mantle of Tojo Clan Captain alongside reassuming authority over his own Patriarchy - although for now it was, admittedly, made up for the most part of members loaned from the family that operated under his kyoudai, Majima, who had himself become a near-constant presence, always looking for some excuse to catch up on lost time - left little room for Saejima to focus on anything outside of the present. As soon as the quiet of night set in, and he was left alone with his thoughts - no cellmates, no subordinates, no kyoudai - it all came flooding back: eighteen faces, expressions of anger that turned to fear under the fluorescent lights of a cramped little ramen place; six guns, thirty-six rounds fired; the spattering of rain on a quiet street under an overcast April sky.

It was almost April again, and even after so many years he still hadn't forgotten them, or the families they had left behind. Even if he had been proven innocent of those deaths in the direct sense, he was still an accessory to them - a catalyst, an excuse - rendering the event possible by his mere attendance, providing it with a purpose. If it should even be allowed to be called that.

One way or the other, there was no escaping the fact that his involvement that day had played into the loss of those eighteen lives, and their mournful ghosts still followed him for it; a reminder each and every time he closed his eyes. They were no fainter now than they were the first time.

Seeing that lying there and willing the image away was accomplishing nothing, Saejima got out of his bed (which was by far the biggest he could remember ever having had the luxury of sleeping in - the type with a frame, and a spring mattress, and no broken coils - and which had been his first thought for why he was maybe having trouble sleeping in the first place, because he just wasn't used to it; though as it turned out trying to pull out a futon instead had proven just about as fruitful) to look for something that could take his mind off of things for a while, maybe help getting some rest a little easier.

The first thing he needed was a cigarette.

Entering the front room, Saejima used the dim light afforded to him by the table lamp to search out his jacket for a pack of smokes and a lighter. He took one from the packet and placed it between his lips, inhaling the first drag deep into his lungs as he lit the tip of it. The uneasy tension lifted a little, beginning to leave his body along with the smoke as he let out a long and heavy breath, both dissipating into the night air before him. He took in another puff of it, for good measure, comforted by the taste of burnt paper and tobacco that accompanied the sharp sensation at the back of his throat, before lifting the ashtray from the table and carrying it over to the full-length window; looking out from the darkened apartment as he continued to smoke, down over the landscape of bright neon that flooded the streets with light even in these early hours - a proper view, not just billboards and the backs of buildings.

Majima had gone ahead and gotten this place set up for him ready for when his incarceration officially ended. It was a good place - great, even, and a gesture that he was more than grateful for - with more space than he reasonably knew what to do with after a lifetime without, and all of the modern amenities anyone could possibly need. He was, in all honesty, still figuring out his way around how to use some of them. Turned out a lot could change in the space of three decades - a whole lot. He had some catching up to do.

Saejima stayed at the window for a long time - long after the last of his cigarette had burned out, down to the filter - painting a picture of the city in his mind: how it all would have looked from up here, back how he remembered it. All the things that had changed. The ones that hadn't. Kamurocho remained as alive as it always had been, evolving and expanding through a past more marred than his own; adapting, but never truly forgetting. Never fully moving past it. Maybe that was why it didn't sleep either.

When the scenery had no more to offer, Saejima returned the ashtray to its usual place and took a seat, contemplating what else would help to take his mind off of things. Some wood carving, maybe? The process was therapeutic; a repetitive rhythm to hold his focus, and the satisfaction of seeing the form of his work take shape, something new and meaningful pulled from the rough, unfinished surface. It was too bad he wasn't feeling any inspiration for it.

Saejima's eyes fell to the table, spying his phone - another gift on getting back out, and another thing that had moved on without him while he was gone. No buttons, just a big screen. It was something called a 'smartphone', which might as well have meant you had to be 'smart' enough just to use one, because boy did it make Saejima feel stupid trying to get it to do what he wanted.

Apparently, it could do all kinds of things - play music, take photos, access the internet, download games, watch movies; all things Saejima didn't really need it for. He just needed a phone to do phone stuff, just make calls and take 'em. The more he looked at the new phone, the more he thought maybe he should have just asked for the kind with the buttons. Still, he was going to have to figure it out eventually; couldn't live in the past forever.

He picked it up and - after a couple of tries - unlocked it; that was the easy part. Now that the phone was on, he just had to figure out how to make it do anything else.

The display he found himself faced with had a clock, a calendar, and a weather forecast. Useful stuff. Not what he'd normally have thought to use a phone for, but he wasn't complaining about it so long as he could find how to make calls as well - and one button (was it still called a button on these things?) looked promising for that. One that looked like an old telephone receiver. He pressed it, bringing him to a list of names - all of the top figures in the Tojo - and one in particular caught his instant attention; one of few to also have a picture attached. He pressed that, too, enlarging the text, and the image that went along with it - beaming at him with a toothy, lopsided grin. Goro Majima.

Saejima stared hard at his kyoudai's name in the centre of the screen. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to test it out, give him a call, talk over how he--

No, no, it didn't seem right to be sharing all of this.

They weren't kids any more, swapping stories about bad dreams and tough experiences. They were both in their fifties now, and had spent far more of their lives apart from each others' than they had participating in or contributing to them. He was sure Majima had experienced plenty of nightmares himself over all of that time; it felt wrong to bother him with any more.

It hurt to think that there could be such a wall between them, after everything. Hurt more knowing it was largely down to his own choices, his own inability to let things go - still stuck, even now.

He definitely couldn't bring it up again.

Besides which, it was late. He was probably sleeping anyway, the same as Saejima should have been doing himself. Best not to go troubling him over stupid things at stupid times. No point waking him over nothing.

"Hey? Ya there?" a muffled voice asked from the phone speaker. Great, he must've pressed something by accident and ended up calling anyway. Well, if that was what the Universe wanted...

"Yeah, m'here," Saejima answered, bringing the device up to his ear, "sorry if I woke ya up, kyoudai."

"Nah, not me," the reply came - and yeah, he definitely sounded awake; "why, what time'zit anyway?"

Saejima didn't even get a chance to pull his phone away to check before Majima had gotten his own answer for himself. "Damn, yer up late bro."

"Well so're you." He retorted instinctively; just like way back. Like not a day had passed, nothing changed between the two of them.

"Yeah, guess I am." Majima responded casually. Saejima waited for the next set of words to leave his kyoudai's mouth - for him to ask why it was Saejima had decided to call him at this sort of time, anyway. He hadn't intended to call, no, but it had happened now regardless, and Saejima had resolved by now that if Majima asked the reason, he was just going to have to tell him.

Majima didn't ask. Didn't say anything, in fact. The only sound coming through the small speaker was the vague murmuring of (what Saejima assumed to be) a television playing something off in the background, and a distinct crinkling of plastic.

"Wha's with all the rustlin'?" Saejima finally chimed in, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of them.

"Found a bucha snacks lyin' around the place." There was a pause, filled with a distinct crunching sound, followed by another rustle. "Figured I'd put 'em to some good use."

Saejima shook his head. Of course, of all things, his kyoudai was up at this time snacking. "D'ya ferget to eat last night or somethin'?" he asked. He wouldn't put it past Majima to have totally set his bodily needs aside in favour of whatever else had managed to capture his attention for the day. It wouldn't be the first time.

"I didn't 'ferget' nothin'!" Majima shot back with an unnecessary level of agitation. "Thing just got busy yesterday, s'all."

That was a 'yes', then.

Saejima wasn't about to give him a lecture on it, though. Majima would do whatever it was Majima wanted, and there wasn't much anyone could say to change that; still, he couldn't help but smile to himself at how transparent his kyoudai could be. "Got anythin' good?"

"Jagabee," he answered between mouthfuls; "got butter soy sauce, aaand" - more rustling - "chicken wing flavour."

Saejima didn't know what 'jagabee' was, so he just gave a simple, noncommittal acknowledgement. "Well, I'll leave ya to it then," he excused himself from the call. If they weren't going to talk, then there was no sense in just sitting around listening to Majima eat. "Didn't mean to bother ya in the first place. Just hit somethin' by accident tryin' ta work out this phone."

"Haw?" Majima's attention was drawn back to his kyoudai. "Ya want me to swing by and help out with that?" Saejima tried to decline out of politeness for the time and the trouble, but was near immediately cut off. "Ah, come on bro. Ain't like either of us was close to sleepin' yet, anyway."

Well that was true enough.

Saejima wondered what it was exactly that was keeping Majima awake tonight - what it was he was trying to avoid by making his own excuses to come and visit. He didn't ask.

He knew, really; he knew it was the past haunting him that kept his kyoudai up at night, just the same as it was him. The day he lost his eye, and whatever had happened in those 25 years that followed. And the seven more that had come after that.

So no, he didn't ask; and Majima still didn't either. Saejima got the feeling that he already knew, too.

"What, ya doubting my technicalogical expertise or somethin'?" Majima continued to pester when his kyoudai didn't give an immediate answer in agreement. Saejima was reminded that Majima had spent all of these years out there in the world, changing with it, being changed by it; running on ahead, leaving him behind. That was its own nightmare.

"Nah, nothin' like that. Just... ya sure, kyoudai?"

"Ain't no time like the present!" Majima's voice came cheerily through the receiver "Shouldn't take long gettin' to ya, just lemme run by Poppo first. Gonna pick us up some drinks on the way."

The scrunching of plastic was replaced with the muffled sounds of Majima readying himself to go out. After a fair amount of shuffling, he returned to the phone with a question - "Oh, right. What kinda call plan ya on?"

"Call plan?" Saejima asked back, confused.

"Yeah. How many minutes ya got?" Saejima heard the click of the door closing as Majima replied.

How was he supposed to know that?

"Uh..."

"Shit, bro. Hold on."

The line went dead.

Saejima took the phone away from his ear, watching the screen as it changed from announcing the final time of his call back to the list of names in his contacts. Had he pressed something by accident? Had Majima?

As much as he had avoided saying on their call, the room felt... emptier, somehow, now that it was over. Majima was on his way over, sure, but the loneliness of the wait came bearing down with a pressure Saejima hadn't been expecting.

The phone rang. Saejima hurriedly answered (he at least knew how to do that much), not even looking to make sure of who it was.

"That's better," Majima's familiar trill sounded through, the background ambience of light nighttime traffic and distant thumping music signalling that he was outside now. "Makes more sense me callin' you instead've wastin' yer cash if ya don't know what contract ya got."

Saejima let out a breath of relief he hadn't realised he was even holding. "Thought ya were jus' gonna hang up on me 'til ya showed outside."

"An' stop ya from puttin' yer orders in while I'm out?" There was a note of humour to Majima's voice as he played at being offended. "C'mon kyoudai, whaddaya take me for?"

The conversation remained mostly one-sided regardless, Majima spending much of it discussing his day, describing the show he had just been watching (some kind of 'psychological mind-fuckery' that had started out looking like a cheesy romcom and then slowly revealed itself to be a horror flick), asking questions and answering them for himself with very little input. Saejima didn't mind; he was just glad for the company. It didn't seem to take long at all before Majima was announcing his impending arrival, telling his kyoudai to make sure he was ready for him at the door. Not long after that, and he was at the apartment - shoes taken off in the entrance, and happily making himself at home, stretched out comfortably on the sofa.

It was like Majima couldn't see the wall that had gone up between them, built from layers of absence, years of experiences formed without each other's presence. Or maybe he was already up on the top of it, looking down, waiting for Saejima to climb up and meet him there. He could do that. He could scale that obstacle, meet with his kyoudai for a quiet drink on the ledge - even if it was only for the night; even if it meant climbing back down on separate sides when morning came.

Saejima sat across from his sworn brother - on the other couch, since he now possessed two for some reason - watching as Majima lounged there, turning his head to look about the room. "Still ain't changed anythin' in here yet?" he observed.

"Didn't think it needed doin'" Saejima shrugged. And it was the truth; everything was new, everything worked. There wasn't anything that needed replacing.

Majima gave him an incredulous look. "But it's all yers, bro. What about givin' the place that personal touch, really making it feel like it's yer own?"

He... hadn't really thought about it, honestly. Being away as long as he had, Saejima didn't really feel like he had much sense for his own style in things. Heck, he'd hardly developed his taste in fashion beyond what had been given to him by Kiryu back when he got out the first time, let alone given any thought to interior decorating. His kyoudai wouldn't like that answer, though. "Sure I have," he said instead, gesturing over to a selection of small wooden animal carvings he'd put out on one shelf. That was his own, wasn't it?

Majima was on his feet near immediately, heading to examine the new pieces. He picked a small tiger from the menagerie, turning it over in his hands. Saejima remembered having gotten hold of a block with a nice, distinct contrast to the grain; a tiger only seemed right for it.

"Ya should make a reeeaal big one a' these," he exclaimed - expressing the size of it with his arms, spreading them out wide, shelf-size tiger still in hand; "put 'im in yer office." Saejima didn't say anything back, just made a face. Somehow, he doubted the cats would like that. They might not have strictly 'lived' at the office, per se - always coming and going as they pleased, the way cats like to do - but Saejima didn't want to go giving them any reason to decide they weren't coming back; he'd sooner find himself building a cat climber to decorate the place than a big cat - now that was an idea. Majima didn't seem to notice the look, though, paying his brother no mind as he carried on exuberantly. "An' a couple'a nice snakes for mine, too - put one on either side of the door. Ain't just Daigo-chan who should get ta show off a 'Saejima Taiga' original, even if he is the Sixth Chairman."

And that was his kyoudai, alright: thinking big, with no regard to the time or the resources it would take to get there. Saejima could humour him though, for now at least, even if the project never actually lifted off of the ground - "Wall plaque or statue?"

Majima meandered back towards his seat, musing on his impromptu commission. "Think the wall'd look nice. Whaddaya think, kyoudai?" He didn't sit back down, only picked up the convenience store bag he'd brought in with him, taking it with him to go and perch at the edge of the sofa Taiga was occupying instead.

Saejima gave a small hum of agreement as his kyoudai began rifling into the bag, bringing out a can for each of them. "Two snakes, yeah?" He confirmed, accepting the drink being handed to him. Carving all of those scales would be tedious, but it was doable, alright, given some time. He'd have to keep an eye out for just the right wood.

"Two snakes" Majima reiterated, cracking the other open for himself and taking the first chug from it.

Saejima examined the side of his own can as he opened up the tab. "'Super dry', huh?" He commented, bringing it to his lips.

Majima gave a small sound of acknowledgement, returning his attention from his own drink to his kyoudai. "Mm. Really took off after ya got locked up the first time; knocked that gold stuff we use'ta drink right offa the shelves."

That wasn't why he'd mentioned it. In all honesty, when Majima had mentioned stopping for booze, he'd expected something a lot harder than just beer. Maybe it was a good sign that it wasn't - that his kyoudai was looking to make this a nice social drink, rather than some liquor-fuelled pity party. "Yeah, think ya mighta said somethin' 'bout that when I was out the first time," he remembered, choosing not to bring up the other train of thought.

"Shit, yeah, musta forgotten that while ya'v been gone," Majima laughed it off, "no surprise there; can't remember my own phone number halfa the time."

"Don't think I ever even found out mine in the first place," Saejima admitted. His phone had been given to him preloaded with the most important contacts, and his own must have been shared to them as necessary before he'd gotten out too, because no one had asked; it meant he hadn't really had a reason yet to have to work out about finding it for himself.

"Oh right, that's what we were meant t'be doin, wasn't it?" Majima gave himself a smack to the forehead for forgetting the primary excuse for visiting in the first place. He set down his beer and held out a hand for Saejima's phone. "Lemme show ya how to find yer number first, while we're at it."

Saejima passed it over, watching as his kyoudai sat back, slouching against the backrest. He looked long and hard at the screen, stretching his arm out to pull it away from his face as he squinted at the display. Was Goro getting far-sighted as he got older? Maybe he hadn't been far off the mark when he'd brought up before about that one eye going bad; he wouldn't mention it this time.

"Haw?" Majima grumbled after a short while of tapping and swiping, pulling his own phone from a pocket and looking between the two, scratching his goatee with a look of confusion. "'Kay, yer gonna hafta gimme a sec on this. Yer phone ain't the same one as mine. Nothin's in the same place."

Saejima leaned in, trying to see what it was Majima was looking for between the two screens. "D'ya need me ta--"

"No, no," he was cut off and waved away. "Ain't gonna get done any quicker with ya peekin' over my shoulder. Don't worry, I got it. Almost found it."

They sat quite for a few more minutes, before Majima threw both phones down unceremoniously onto the table. "Shit, I can't figure this out;" he admitted, finally. "Sorry kyoudai. I'll get Nishida on it tomorrow for ya, he's good at this stuff."

Saejima watched as his kyoudai leaned back in his seat again, rubbing at a sore temple and returning to his beer. Majima was still learning how to keep up, just the same as him; he was just better at pretending. Maybe he wasn't being left so far behind after all.

"Wha's that look for?" Majima asked eventually between sips from his can.

Saejima hadn't even realised until that moment that he'd been smiling to himself. "Nothin'," he said, shaking his head, dropping the expression. "Jus' thinkin' it's good ya got guys who can help out with all a' this high-tech crap."

"Yeah, well maybe when ya'v got more people than cats in yer own family, ya can have some'a yer own guys helpin' out instead a' keep on borrowing mine." Majima shot back with a (false) mocking huff. "Can't have Nishida thinkin' about switching out to go workin' for ya permanently, kyoudai. I got too much work for 'im."

Damned if he didn't already know that.

Nishida was someone Goro relied on, for more than just tech advice. Even with the minimal contact he'd had with the guy between serving sentences, Saejima could figure that much. There was no way he could possibly take that away from his kyoudai by letting him change families - not that he could imagine Nishida ever leaving the Majima Family behind, anyway. He was a good kid, loyal to a fault; his respect and admiration for Majima was clear as day, even with everything his kyoudai was constantly piling onto him.

"Guess this li'l meet-up was a bust then, huh?" Saejima said, disappointed that his kyoudai's visit was already about to be cut short when he really could have done with the company.

"N'aaahh well," Majima reached into the bag for a new drink, his first can already drained and left on the table. "Guess I'm here now, anyways. And with all a' this booze, too. Might as well make the most of it, yeah kyoudai?" He gave a smile that said he already knew what it was Saejima needed from him; that said it was what they both needed right now.

So he stayed. And they drank.

And they talked; about everything and nothing - about the town, about the Tojo, about the upcoming elections, and what the result would potentially come to mean for both. New questions and old complaints. People, and plans, and places. Stupid things. Easy things.

And Majima put on music, and they sang, and they were loud, and Majima made it clear that he didn't give a single solitary fuck about getting complaints, said 'if folks wanted it quiet, then they shouldn'ta come to Kamurocho', and Saejima decided he didn't care either. Not tonight, when the last thing he wanted himself was quiet.

And they laughed. And they drank some more.

Majima used to lose his Kansai-ben when he got drunk enough; forget it was something he was supposed to be putting on. It held now, though, like it had grown over time to become a part of him. Muscle memory, just as much as fighting was. Just as much as anything else he'd learned to get to where he was now.

What else had he been forced to learn?

Saejima still didn't ask.

Instead, they continued to talk - about anything but that. Anything but what they needed to.

It was a good while later - and after a couple of rather monstrous yawns from Saejima - that Majima found himself grabbing his phone to check on the time, eye widening in surprise at how late - or early, now - it had gotten whilst they chatted. "Damn, time really does fly, huh?" he joked a little, sounding a tad more sober from the wake-up call. "Ya want me to head off, kyoudai? Won't overstay my welcome if ya need ta sleep. Just say the word, n' I'll skedaddle on out."

No, he didn't want Majima to leave.

"Don't gotta go if ya ain't got any place to be just yet. 'Sides..." Saejima made up his mind there and then that he was going to have to come clean on the real reason he'd ended up calling. He didn't necessarily have to go into detail, he reminded himself; just enough to let his kyoudai know something was still up. Enough to say he still needed him here. "Not plannin' on sleepin' any time soon anyways."

Majima gave him a curious look. Saejima took a deep breath. "Ain't been sleepin' too good lately. S'too quiet. Leaves too much room fer thinkin'."

Majima nodded in understanding, slouching back in his seat once more, falling into silent thought. "Look," he said finally, voice more serious than Saejima had heard in a good while; "what happened back then - s'not like it was yer fault. No point beatin' yerself up over somethin ya didn't even do."

The words hit Saejima like a tonne of bricks. So his kyoudai did already know what was going on up in his head; of course he did.

It didn't help.

But I would have done, he thought, the scene playing back in his mind all over again. He had done it, really. He'd gone into that building with the sole intention of taking out everyone inside, carried it all out regardless, no remorse. The rounds might have been fake, but the intent was real; even if he wasn't the one ultimately responsible for their deaths, he might as well have been. He sure still felt like it - felt the weight of eighteen bodies, eighteen families. Saw the blood on his hands that he would have been so easily willing to spill, as if it didn't matter, so long as it was what his boss - what the man who had saved him, saved his sister - wanted him to do.

Of course it mattered.

And so did everything else he'd so carelessly thrown away by following along blindly, everything he'd missed. His sister. His kyoudai. His family.

25 years, and then seven more.

He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. How many more years would it take for the burden to lessen? Did it ever?

Should it even be allowed to?

Saejima's eyes opened again, looking long and hard at his kyoudai, searching for the words to say.

"Same goes fer you, bro," he finally settled on; "It wasn't yers neither."

Majima didn't reply - only broke his gaze, downing the rest of his drink with a sour expression. Apparently, he believed in the sentiment about as much as Saejima had. Less, even.

Seemed like it was something they were both going to have to work on.

The quiet that had fallen between them was broken by Majima, cloaking his apprehension in one of his customary grins - though this one seemed forced, the brightness of it not truly reaching his eye. "Well, I dunno 'bout you, but I could use a smoke right about now." He brought a pack out from the inside pocket of his jacket, attempting unsuccessfully to gain something from it, turning the box upside-down with a grumble and shaking it as though one more might magically appear. "Ah, shit."

Saejima was already on hand for him, offering up one of his own, along with a light for it, before doing the same for himself. "Thanks," Majima said, taking the cigarette between two fingers and breathing out a long, smoky sigh; "musta had my last one on the way over. Shoulda picked up more while I was out."

The cigarette found its way back to his lips as he turned to rummaging through the bag he had brought along. "Shoulda bought more drinks 'n I did too, by the looksa things. Runnin' kinda low here." Two more drinks were brought out from the bag (despite Saejima not being done with his last one yet) and sat out on the table alongside all of the ones that had already been drained between the two of them, before Majima leant back in his seat, bringing out his phone again. "Jus' gonna fix that, kyoudai; hang on a sec."

Saejima observed his kyoudai carefully as he absorbed himself with whatever he was looking for on the phone. There was no doubt about it, Majima was avoiding him; shutting down, shutting him out. He was still talking, sure, but there was a remote flatness to his tone that was impossible to miss. It had been a mistake to try reconciling the past with each other. The wall was back up between them.

"Could probably do with some snacks, too," Majima said after a short while, still not looking back up. "Ya like those new canned Calbee crisp chip thingies? Or should I just get regular pringles?"

"Whichever ya think's got the best flavours." Saejima shrugged, not having much to offer to his kyoudai's artificial attempt at distracting himself from his company, watching as he continued to tap away at the screen, adding whatever else it was he fancied onto his comfort list. "Ya got some kinda fancy orderin' app there?"

"Nah. Just sent a message to Nishida," he answered, slipping the phone away back into his pocket. "Told 'im to haul ass and bring us some stuff up to yer place."

"How d'ya know he's gonna get yer message right away?" Saejima asked, arms folded. "Might still be sleepin'."

"He'll get it." He answered matter-of-factly. Saejima had his doubts - but at the same time, he knew what Majima was like for wanting a snappy answer, and Nishida was probably used to this kind of thing from his kyoudai by now. Probably slept with one eye open at this point, just in case.

Majima stretched both arms out in front of him, fingers locked, earning a good crack from one of his shoulders. "So then," he asked, taking another long drag from his cigarette and tapping away the building ash, "how're we killin' the time before he shows? Got any good movies stashed away somewhere in this place?" He was already looking around, trying to fill the tension that had built in the room with more distractions. Cigarette butt discarded, he left his seat to search the cupboards for the promise of diversion; anything not to dwell on each other's shared sentiments.

Saejima didn't get it. If Majima didn't want to be here anymore - if he was so determined to keep on ignoring him, ignoring whatever clearly needed saying - then why prolong his stay any further in the first place? Why not just leave?

It dawned on him then: It wasn't a wall that had built up between the two of them, it was a ravine; one that had been eroded away by years worth of words they each so desperately needed to say - ones they kept holding on to, hiding from each other. Ones that might even be able to bridge the gap, if they would only be willing to share them.

And yet here they both were, allowing that gap to continue widening, deepening; whether for fear of what the other would think, or for the refusal to acknowledge everything for themselves - to put the words out there, and make them real.

They couldn't keep on like this. One of them had to speak up, or the rift really would grow large enough to force them apart.

So who was going to start?

He watched as Majima returned from his unsuccessful endeavour, grumbling something about 'what's the point of havin' a big fancy TV if ya ain't got anythin' to watch on it?', and took charge of the remote to see what was on at this sort of time. Saejima took note of how worn his brother looked in that moment, sharp features set into stern, harsh edges; tired in every way imaginable.

"Can we talk, bro?" Saejima asked, finally, stubbing out the remains of his own cigarette.

"We've been talkin'." Majima answered shortly, keeping his eye set squarely on the television as he flicked between channels. Saejima took the remote from his hand, forcing his kyoudai's gaze back to him with a disgruntled 'haw' of confused disappointment as the TV was shut off.

"You know what I mean, kyoudai," he said sternly; "I know you do. An' I know yer tryin'a avoid it."

Their eyes locked onto each other, the dark circle ever present beneath Majima's good eye more prominent than usual, making it look more sunken; draining him of his usual vibrance.

"Look," Saejima started, knowing it was now or never; "ya seem to already have it all figured what's been goin' on with me, and I can guess fer yer part, too. But guessin' ain't good enough. I wanna hear ya say it, get it straight from yer own mouth, whatever it is tha's playin' on yer mind."

He paused, searching Goro's face for some hint of understanding. Something to say that he was just as willing to put his kyoudai's mind at ease by opening up and tackling these things head-on as he was in trying to provide distraction for them. He gave away nothing; jaw clenched tight and eye set firmly on Saejima as he spoke. So he continued. "Feels like we use'ta share so much with each other, and now..." Another pause, this one to gather his own composure rather than to continue assessing his kyoudai's. "Now it's like we don't trust each other with it no more. I just wanna know wha's changed."

Even if it was me. Even if it was because I left again, he thought, finally looking away, lowering his head and waiting for Majima to land that blow.

When it didn't come, he brought his gaze back up to his kyoudai. The expression he wore wasn't that fixed indifference any more, nor was it angry, or accusatory; it was hurt. "That what ya thought, bro? That I stopped trustin' ya?" Majima asked, his voice carrying some of that same aggrieved sting. "Never. It ain't anythin' like that."

"Then what is it?" Saejima asked, not far off sounding pleading.

Majima didn't answer straight away. It was his turn to look away now, getting caught up in his thoughts; swallowing back any attempt at a response, overthinking rather than allowing himself to share.

"Kyoudai," Taiga said, directing Majima's eye back towards him, "please."

The silence between them was gut-wrenchingly palpable. Goro swallowed thickly, seeming like he still might not answer. Like he might actually leave this time instead. Saejima held his breath, hoping he wouldn't.

"It’s just..." Majima began - slowly, carefully - "I don't say stuff 'cus I don't think it needs sayin'."

Saejima gave the other man a confused look. What did he mean by that? That he thought the two of them should just... know each other well enough that it didn't matter? Was that why he'd not yet once commented on the gnarled skin of the badly healed scar on his abdomen, on top of all of the rest of it? Because whatever story there was to go along with it, he thought he could just... guess?

Or, worse than that, was he talking about not caring - about being able to just pretend he didn't see the uneven flesh, just the same as he pretended that no one else could tell the texture of his own skin; that the raised edges and pitted troughs were invisible under the fresh layers of ink that brightened his irezumi. That what lay under his eyepatch didn't matter so long as it was kept covered over. The thought left him sick to his stomach.

Maybe it was supposed to be a ruse - an attempt at goading Saejima into punching what he wanted out of him instead; it wouldn't be the first time.

He was too tired for that right now.

Majima averted his eye, unable to meet with the scrutiny Saejima observed him with. He cleared a lump that had formed in his throat before continuing. "S'long as I've got stuff I'm doin', it keeps me busy. An' if I ain't thinkin' about things that've happened, then it don't feel like there's a problem. Thing is..." he took a deep breath, forcing himself not to waver, struggling more with voicing his own feelings than Saejima had ever seen him face any physical challenge; he could stare death in the face easier than he could his own kyoudai in this moment. "Thing is, then night comes around. And, well, s'just like ya said, kyoudai. Things get quiet. An' that's when it starts gettin' real loud," he tapped a finger against his forehead, "up in here."

Saejima let out his own shaky breath, as relieved by the admission as he was hurt that his kyoudai hadn't thought to do it sooner. "If stuff's been gettin' ya down," he asked, probing further, "then why're ya still keepin' that all bottled up to yerself? Why ya not been sayin' anythin'?"

Majima shrugged, still refusing to lift his gaze. "Jus' thought maybe hangin' with ya might help take my mind offa it some more. Then it wouldn't matter whether I said anythin' or not, 'cus I wouldn't hafta."

Maybe it wasn't that time had seen them grow too different from one another; maybe they were just too darn similar. Both of them just as much of a damned idiot.

"Means a lot, you tellin' me all a' this," Saejima confessed. "Any time ya got somethin' needs sayin', I'll listen, alright? There's a lotta things I wanna hear 'bout from ya, kyoudai. A lot I wanna get filled in on, too, 'bout what's happened since I've been gone... and not jus' beer and high-tech gadgets and Tojo business. I wanna hear about you. What you been up to, all a' this time? What've I not seen? What've I missed out on?"

The sound that escaped from Majima wasn't quite a laugh - something less comfortable than that. "That's a long ass story to tell ya. Don't think we got enough night left for that kinda thing."

Saejima could feel Majima trying to pull away from the conversation again. "We got a lot to catch up on, kyoudai; Not just you, I got things I oughta share s’well. 'Course it's gonna take a while," he tried putting forward, easing his brother into the idea of continuing to open up, instead of shutting back down entirely. "Don't all have to get told at once; we got plenny other nights fer all that."

Majima remained silent for a long time, still looking away from Saejima, out towards the window; the sky outside had changed from its deep black to a rich twilight blue, heralding the approaching sunrise - though it was doubtful that he was interested in taking in the scenery. He was in his head again; fighting between the instinct to maintain his guard, denying any sign of weakness for self-preservation, and the want to share in his brother's trust - prove that the bond between them was still there, real and strong, before it had another chance to crumble. "Look, kyoudai," he spoke after what seemed like an eternity, revealing which of the two had won out; "we've been best buds ever since the first time ya knocked the crap outta me with my own bike outside the batting center - closer n'that, even - an' I ain't lookin' to let that change any time soon. Ya want a story? I'll give ya a story. Jus'... not tonight, yeah? Don't think I got that much left in me."

Saejima could see that his kyoudai wasn't just trying to make up more excuses not to talk - not this time. Looking at Majima now, it took him back to when they were teenagers; when they would stay out into the early hours together - without all of the pretences, just two dumb kids who thought they were indestructible, out enjoying their time in the world - and Majima would insist on being able to pull an all-nighter, but still always ended up passing out right before sunrise. It was his eyes that had always given him away then - how tired he really was; glazing over, unfocused, eyelids slowly lowering despite himself - and that still hadn't changed now.

He might only have the one left, but it still couldn't fool him. Same eye. Same Majima.

There was a comfort in that.

And there was comfort, too, in the compromise. Patience was something Saejima had built up in abundance; if it meant his brother might be willing to let him in again, then he could wait. He smiled contentedly, and Majima returned the expression - not with one of his wide, maniacal grins, but with gentle affection, the slight upward turn to his lips quivering at the edges with an attempt to suppress a yawn that ended in absolute failure.

First, it was one hand being brought up to cover his gaping mouth; then it was both hands, dragging down over the cheeks of his tired face. An exaggerated, exasperated sigh followed, and Majima wiped furiously at his now sniffling nose, his eye also damp, and tinged with a red that was from more than just drinking or sleep deprivation. "Damned allergy season startin' up again," he defended himself, despite Taiga having made no mention. He already knew it wasn't that, anyway; that was something else that eye of his could always give away. "Seriously, where the fuck is Nishida?" Majima huffed, still busy deflecting. "One'a us is gonna have to beat his ass when he shows. Make sure he knows ta hurry up next time."

Saejima raised an eyebrow, honing in on one phrase in particular. "Next time, huh?"

"Well sure, f'ya want that story," Majima said as though it was the most obvious thing going. As if he hadn't just spent a not inconsiderable amount of time actively fighting against telling it. His voice softened as he continued, letting just a little bit of sentimentality peek through the cracks of his usual armour. "Be nice ta do this some more, anyway. Make a thing of it. Maybe help stop it gettin' too quiet, for the both a' us."

Another yawn escaped from him then, and with this one he threw his arms upwards in a wholly over-the-top stretch to go along with it. "Ya won't mind me crashin' here for a bit after this one though, right? Been a long ass night."

As if he actually had to ask.

"Lemme at least getcha a blanket, then," Saejima said, standing from the sofa. "Try an' stay awake 'til I get back with one, yeah?"

Majima immediately swung his legs up onto the now empty seat and made himself comfortable, waving him off with some half-mumbled piece of sarcasm. Saejima only chuckled; his kyoudai might as well have been asleep already.

Returning to the bedroom for the first time since his memories had woken him, Saejima brought a blanket out from behind the sliding doors of the oshiire, but was stopped in his tracks by a knock at the door before he could return with it. Throwing the blanket over one arm as he approached, he answered it to find a somewhat out of breath Nishida. "Saejima-no-ojiki," he greeted with a polite bow of his head, holding out two shopping bags for him; "here are the things the boss asked for. I came as quickly as I could."

"'Preciate it." Saejima thanked him as he took the bags, leaving Nishida standing awkwardly in the doorway, like he didn't quite know how to respond to not being yelled at for taking too long.

"Uhmm... is he here?" Nishida asked eventually, once his breath was caught and his nerves calmed just a little; "the boss, I mean."

A loud snore came from further inside the apartment, right on cue. Nishida looked past Saejima, over in the direction of the sound, surprise evident on his face. Saejima just smiled. "Don't be surprised if ya don't see him 'round the office today. Think he's pro'ly gonna be out like that for a while."

"I don't think anyone will ask too many questions. Oyaji always disappears however he likes, anyway," Nishida confessed. "Just between the two of us, though..." his voice became hushed, as though Majima might still overhear and suddenly spring awake at what he was about to say, "I don't think the boss has been sleeping well lately - if at all, really. It's good to know he's finally getting some rest."

Saejima made a small noise of agreement. Nishida was just confirming what he already knew; tonight wasn't just a one-off for his kyoudai, either. "Well then, keepin' it jus' between us," he offered, with equal sincerity, "I'm glad my kyoudai's got ya around to look out fer him, and whatever he says, I bet he is too. Yer a good guy, Nishida."

The man in question grew immediately flustered, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his head - which, for once, wasn't hidden under his usual construction helmet; he must have rolled straight out of bed and ran the second the message came through - though Saejima was honestly surprised at this point that Nishida didn't also sleep wearing the damned thing. "I'm just doing my best, Saejima sir. That's all I can do, really."

"Well, yer doin' damned good at it." He offered with a soft and genuine smile.

"Oh-- Th-thank you, sir!" Nishida bowed again. "I won't keep you any longer; I'm sure you've had a long night already. Please get some rest too, Saejima-no-ojiki."

Having dismissed himself, Nishida turned to leave, but the recollection of something clicked back into place in Saejima's head. "Oh, yeah," he cut in again before the other man could hurry himself away; "d'ya think ya can help me out with my phone some time? When kyoudai here ain't givin' ya too much to do." He gestured with a thumb off towards the snoring inside.

"O-of course, whenever you need it." Nishida turned back, bowing a third time. "I'll make sure to keep some time spare. Oyaji won't mind if it's for you... I think."

"Don't worry, I'll clear it with 'im." Saejima reassured him - well, it already was cleared, really, but Goro was nothing if not forgetful. "Thanks again, Nishida."

"Thank you, Ojiki," Nishida returned before making himelf scarce. Saejima watched him scamper off down the hall as if the Mad Dog was there at his heels, closing the door once he rounded a corner and vanished out of sight.

Making his way back through to the main room, he checked the contents of the bags. Apparently their talk had made it into the hard liquor territory by the time Goro had put the order in, judging by the large bottle of whisky in one of them. It was a good thing they'd hit their turning point when they had. Passing by the individual in question, spread out on the couch - and seeming to have quietened down now considerably, breathing evenly albeit open-mouthed as he slept - he stored the bottle away in the kitchen, along with the rest of Majima's snack list, stocked up ready for another night. The cigarettes he took back in and placed out on the table beside his kyoudai, ready for whenever it was he happened to wake up.

Then, unfolding the blanket, he draped it over the sleeping Majima, standing beside the sofa for a short while, remembering back to the times when Goro would stumble in to crash at the tiny apartment he'd shared with his sister rather than going back to his own, back when there wasn't even one couch, let alone two; all bashed up from whatever series of fights he'd gotten himself involved with that day - or from his boss afterwards, laying down the law when things maybe hadn't quite gone as planned out on a job. Never any less peppy for it. He was still trying to do that now, still be that same carefree punk who didn't let anything get to him, even when he had so much more weight to shoulder. He wondered if maybe it had gotten to him back then, too. Tried to hide it so his brother wouldn't have to worry about him, when he had so much to deal with for himself already. Like he'd been trying to do himself, now. He'd have to ask, make it a part of their catching up. It'd be a tough talk, for the both of them, but if there was one thing Saejima knew about his kyoudai, it was that he was good on his word. Maybe they'd be even closer than back then at the end of it.

The tiredness was catching up on Saejima too, fast; still, it wasn't his bed that his feet carried him to, but the seat opposite the sleeping Goro Majima. There was something about retiring to his room that still just didn't feel right, and even dead to the world, his kyoudai's presence was company.

He didn't bother with his own blanket; didn't really intend to sleep any more, now that the creeping of sunlight through the huge window was rendering it more or less pointless. Just to sit - arms folded, resting for a while on the second sofa before setting about on his day, still thinking back over those days gone by, and all the ones still ahead.

He didn't mean to fall asleep. But sleep found him there anyway. And somehow, this time, the nightmares didn't.