[Like A Dragon] Fake Your Death
May. 18th, 2020 12:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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teamflareTitle: Fake Your Death
Fandom: Like A Dragon (specifically, post Kiwami)
Pairing: Majima Goro/Nishikiyama Akira
Rating: G
Summary: It had rained the day before, and so they'd had to cancel their monthly trip to the graveyard.
Notes: A short ficlet written for Manishiki Week 2020, that I never posted anywhere except in picture form on Twitter. It's a Nishiki Lives AU, written as a companion piece to the art I'd drawn for the prompt "apart." Nothing super exciting, but I thought I'd archive it here even if I don't want it on AO3.
AO3 Link: N/A
The air was icy, and the ground was hard – at least, Nishikiyama thought so. It had become difficult, sometimes, to know whether he was exaggerating how the terrain felt against his feet.
His grip tightened around his walking stick – cane. Majima always wanted to call it a cane, but Nishikiyama wasn't sure which option made him feel more like a dying old man. It caught in-between two of the slabs, and the sound of his stumble made Majima turn around.
"Ya alright? Need help?"
"No," Nishikiyama groaned through his teeth. "When are you telling them to get rid of that shit?"
Majima looked down at the slabs, and then back up at Nishikiyama's face, who was now staring at one of the graves.
"Don't think they'd listen to me about renovatin'," Majima said. The other man made a sound like a laugh – or a cough. The weather had not been kind.
It had rained the day before, and so they'd had to cancel their monthly trip to the graveyard. It was only the fifth time, and if Majima had to admit it, he had not enjoyed any of them, but if it was something Nishikiyama needed, then so it had to be.
He watched him wince as he crouched to get closer to the grave. The doctor kept telling them that Nishikiyama's legs would get better eventually, but the one that had suffered the most damage kept acting up. It was frustrating; two days ago, Nishikiyama had told him he was thinking about cutting it off. Majima knew he could do it, too.
"Wanna burn some incense?" Majima said cheerfully, crouching in tow.
"Feels disrespectful to burn incense at your own grave," Nishikiyama said without looking at him. "You know I always say that."
His voice was stern, but not any more than usual. Majima thought there was something strangely soothing about crouching in front of a grave with a dead man.
"It's peaceful today, too," Nishikiyama said, as if he knew. "I wonder how often Kiryu comes to visit."
Probably not as often as you, Majima thought, but that was not what Nishikiyama wanted to hear, he supposed. He touched the back of Nishikiyama's hand with the tips of his fingers.
"When are we tellin' him?"
Nishikiyama scoffed, but said nothing. Instead, he took Majima's hand in his and squeezed it tightly. Not as tight as they both liked it in other circumstances, but tight enough.
"I mean it, ya know. I feel bad for the guy. He's mourning ya and yer friend and yer father figure–"
"Don't say that about Kazama," Nishikiyama warned, turning to look at him finally. He rubbed at the spots on his face where the skin had healed over the burns with his free hand and frowned. "Kiryu's fine."
Now it was Majima's turn to scoff. "Fine? Ya went crazy when he was gone. Maybe he's the same."
"No," Nishikiyama said, and that was it. They both knew Majima wouldn't push further for as long as they were in the graveyard.
Of course, Nishikiyama was right; Kiryu wasn't the same. Majima had heard nothing about him doing anything that might hint otherwise – for now. Still, the thought that Kiryu was grieving somebody who was alive felt cruel to him, in a way that felt all too familiar.
He would start the conversation back again as soon as they'd set one foot outside the area, and Nishikiyama knew it. For now, he was content to hold his hand.
After a minute, Nishikiyama let his head fall forward and sighed. "I'll tell him when my legs are better," he said.
"Doc said that could be anywhere from five months to two years," Majima mused. "Alright."
"You will be there," Nishikiyama added.
"'Course I'll be there. Been there for a while, now."
For a moment, Nishikiyama seemed on the verge of saying something, but instead he squeezed Majima's hand again.
"M'legs hurt."
"C'mon."
Slowly, he let Majima help him back up, and stretched his legs as best as he could.
"Your cane," Majima said. They were still holding hands.
"It's a walking stick," Nishikiyama protested half-heartedly, snatching it away from him.
"Your walking stick, oji-sama," Majima corrected with a huge grin.
At that, Nishikiyama turned away from him and let go of his hand to walk toward the next grave. They never did not talk in front of that grave. It had been a miracle for Nishikiyama to have survived what he'd been through, and not everybody could be so successful.
Majima remained in front of the grave that read Nishikiyama Akira and thought to himself, as he usually did, that he couldn't imagine believing that Nishikiyama-kun was dead. A world where Nishikiyama-kun was really dead – not a world where they were only pretending – was too foreign, too frightening. He thought of when he'd first seen him again after the incident: the burnt flesh and the burnt spirit, the way it seemed like he felt that he would have been better off if he'd died in that explosion. It can't be a sacrifice if you're not dead, he'd said. I can't repent for what I did if I'm alive, he'd said.
It was a bunch of nonsense, of course – how could you repent through dying? – but it had taken so long for him to believe it. For him to stand and let Majima hold on to him as he tried to walk. For him to look at himself again. For him to smile when the doctors would tell them that, although it would never be the same, it would be better, someday.
Majima felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to smile at Nishikiyama.
"Are you alright?" Nishikiyama asked.
"Yeah," Majima said. "Ya done?"
This time, Nishikiyama only hesitated for a second before speaking. "I'm glad I'm not actually dead, you know."
"Well, there's a relief."
Nishikiyama rolled his eyes, a little. "But I kind of like being sort of dead. It's nice. To think that only someone like you knows I still exist."
Majima's grin widened.
"Oh, how romantic, Nishikiyama-kun! It's ya and me and then the rest of the world, huh."
"You don't have to make it sound like that," Nishikiyama groaned.
"I like it like that," Majima said. "We good?"
"Yeah."
They did not move. Majima found himself staring at Nishikiyama's face, his dark irises, his scars, his eye that was now constantly half-closed unless he made a conscious effort to keep it open. Nishikiyama stared back, silent, even as Majima leaned forward until their foreheads were touching.
"Wanna kiss ya," he said against the side of his face.
"In front of my own grave?"
"When ya say it like that, s'kinda hot, isn't it," Majima drawled.
"Idiot," Nishikiyama said, but still he let him press his lips against his, until Majima grabbed at his waist in an attempt to deepen it. "Majima," he growled.
"Oh, no 'san' today, is it?" Majima whined. He was still holding him, and it was for the best that the graveyard was not well-frequented, because Nishikiyama couldn't imagine how they'd have looked to a stranger.
He pushed him away with the hilt of his walking stick. "We can resume when we're at home."
Majima sighed dramatically.
"Fine."
Nishikiyama took him by the arm, gently, as if attempting a truce, and they walked toward the exit in silence, only interrupted by the sound of the stick hitting the hardened soil. As they were about to reach it, Nishikiyama stopped to look at his grave – and Yumi's – one last time.
"Next time, let's bring flowers," he said.
Majima raised his eyebrows, but then nodded.
"I'll write ya a card that says 'Get well soon!' and put it on a bouquet."
Nishikiyama laughed, a beautiful sound. "That would be nice."
Fandom: Like A Dragon (specifically, post Kiwami)
Pairing: Majima Goro/Nishikiyama Akira
Rating: G
Summary: It had rained the day before, and so they'd had to cancel their monthly trip to the graveyard.
Notes: A short ficlet written for Manishiki Week 2020, that I never posted anywhere except in picture form on Twitter. It's a Nishiki Lives AU, written as a companion piece to the art I'd drawn for the prompt "apart." Nothing super exciting, but I thought I'd archive it here even if I don't want it on AO3.
AO3 Link: N/A
The air was icy, and the ground was hard – at least, Nishikiyama thought so. It had become difficult, sometimes, to know whether he was exaggerating how the terrain felt against his feet.
His grip tightened around his walking stick – cane. Majima always wanted to call it a cane, but Nishikiyama wasn't sure which option made him feel more like a dying old man. It caught in-between two of the slabs, and the sound of his stumble made Majima turn around.
"Ya alright? Need help?"
"No," Nishikiyama groaned through his teeth. "When are you telling them to get rid of that shit?"
Majima looked down at the slabs, and then back up at Nishikiyama's face, who was now staring at one of the graves.
"Don't think they'd listen to me about renovatin'," Majima said. The other man made a sound like a laugh – or a cough. The weather had not been kind.
It had rained the day before, and so they'd had to cancel their monthly trip to the graveyard. It was only the fifth time, and if Majima had to admit it, he had not enjoyed any of them, but if it was something Nishikiyama needed, then so it had to be.
He watched him wince as he crouched to get closer to the grave. The doctor kept telling them that Nishikiyama's legs would get better eventually, but the one that had suffered the most damage kept acting up. It was frustrating; two days ago, Nishikiyama had told him he was thinking about cutting it off. Majima knew he could do it, too.
"Wanna burn some incense?" Majima said cheerfully, crouching in tow.
"Feels disrespectful to burn incense at your own grave," Nishikiyama said without looking at him. "You know I always say that."
His voice was stern, but not any more than usual. Majima thought there was something strangely soothing about crouching in front of a grave with a dead man.
"It's peaceful today, too," Nishikiyama said, as if he knew. "I wonder how often Kiryu comes to visit."
Probably not as often as you, Majima thought, but that was not what Nishikiyama wanted to hear, he supposed. He touched the back of Nishikiyama's hand with the tips of his fingers.
"When are we tellin' him?"
Nishikiyama scoffed, but said nothing. Instead, he took Majima's hand in his and squeezed it tightly. Not as tight as they both liked it in other circumstances, but tight enough.
"I mean it, ya know. I feel bad for the guy. He's mourning ya and yer friend and yer father figure–"
"Don't say that about Kazama," Nishikiyama warned, turning to look at him finally. He rubbed at the spots on his face where the skin had healed over the burns with his free hand and frowned. "Kiryu's fine."
Now it was Majima's turn to scoff. "Fine? Ya went crazy when he was gone. Maybe he's the same."
"No," Nishikiyama said, and that was it. They both knew Majima wouldn't push further for as long as they were in the graveyard.
Of course, Nishikiyama was right; Kiryu wasn't the same. Majima had heard nothing about him doing anything that might hint otherwise – for now. Still, the thought that Kiryu was grieving somebody who was alive felt cruel to him, in a way that felt all too familiar.
He would start the conversation back again as soon as they'd set one foot outside the area, and Nishikiyama knew it. For now, he was content to hold his hand.
After a minute, Nishikiyama let his head fall forward and sighed. "I'll tell him when my legs are better," he said.
"Doc said that could be anywhere from five months to two years," Majima mused. "Alright."
"You will be there," Nishikiyama added.
"'Course I'll be there. Been there for a while, now."
For a moment, Nishikiyama seemed on the verge of saying something, but instead he squeezed Majima's hand again.
"M'legs hurt."
"C'mon."
Slowly, he let Majima help him back up, and stretched his legs as best as he could.
"Your cane," Majima said. They were still holding hands.
"It's a walking stick," Nishikiyama protested half-heartedly, snatching it away from him.
"Your walking stick, oji-sama," Majima corrected with a huge grin.
At that, Nishikiyama turned away from him and let go of his hand to walk toward the next grave. They never did not talk in front of that grave. It had been a miracle for Nishikiyama to have survived what he'd been through, and not everybody could be so successful.
Majima remained in front of the grave that read Nishikiyama Akira and thought to himself, as he usually did, that he couldn't imagine believing that Nishikiyama-kun was dead. A world where Nishikiyama-kun was really dead – not a world where they were only pretending – was too foreign, too frightening. He thought of when he'd first seen him again after the incident: the burnt flesh and the burnt spirit, the way it seemed like he felt that he would have been better off if he'd died in that explosion. It can't be a sacrifice if you're not dead, he'd said. I can't repent for what I did if I'm alive, he'd said.
It was a bunch of nonsense, of course – how could you repent through dying? – but it had taken so long for him to believe it. For him to stand and let Majima hold on to him as he tried to walk. For him to look at himself again. For him to smile when the doctors would tell them that, although it would never be the same, it would be better, someday.
Majima felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to smile at Nishikiyama.
"Are you alright?" Nishikiyama asked.
"Yeah," Majima said. "Ya done?"
This time, Nishikiyama only hesitated for a second before speaking. "I'm glad I'm not actually dead, you know."
"Well, there's a relief."
Nishikiyama rolled his eyes, a little. "But I kind of like being sort of dead. It's nice. To think that only someone like you knows I still exist."
Majima's grin widened.
"Oh, how romantic, Nishikiyama-kun! It's ya and me and then the rest of the world, huh."
"You don't have to make it sound like that," Nishikiyama groaned.
"I like it like that," Majima said. "We good?"
"Yeah."
They did not move. Majima found himself staring at Nishikiyama's face, his dark irises, his scars, his eye that was now constantly half-closed unless he made a conscious effort to keep it open. Nishikiyama stared back, silent, even as Majima leaned forward until their foreheads were touching.
"Wanna kiss ya," he said against the side of his face.
"In front of my own grave?"
"When ya say it like that, s'kinda hot, isn't it," Majima drawled.
"Idiot," Nishikiyama said, but still he let him press his lips against his, until Majima grabbed at his waist in an attempt to deepen it. "Majima," he growled.
"Oh, no 'san' today, is it?" Majima whined. He was still holding him, and it was for the best that the graveyard was not well-frequented, because Nishikiyama couldn't imagine how they'd have looked to a stranger.
He pushed him away with the hilt of his walking stick. "We can resume when we're at home."
Majima sighed dramatically.
"Fine."
Nishikiyama took him by the arm, gently, as if attempting a truce, and they walked toward the exit in silence, only interrupted by the sound of the stick hitting the hardened soil. As they were about to reach it, Nishikiyama stopped to look at his grave – and Yumi's – one last time.
"Next time, let's bring flowers," he said.
Majima raised his eyebrows, but then nodded.
"I'll write ya a card that says 'Get well soon!' and put it on a bouquet."
Nishikiyama laughed, a beautiful sound. "That would be nice."