The town of Okushiri was small, a cluster of ramshackle buildings scattered along the coastline. Majima Goro wrinkled his nose at the smell of fish as he clambered off the ferry, his hand gripping the wooden railing so he wouldn't lose his step on the slick planks.
He was used to arriving with fanfare, so the lack of welcome on the beach threw him. There was no flair, just some sad looking people going about their lives. This wasn't what he expected to find when he followed his lead all of the way out here to the small island.
His information only carried him as far as the ferry, so he was at a loss. He let the wind buffet against him for a while before setting off.
"Excuse me, granny," Majima stopped an old woman who was tottering down the road, a basket of vegetables on her arm. "This is Okushiri, right?"
The old woman looked him over with shrewd eyes. He had ditched his fancy threads before hopping on the ferry, but he knew he still didn't look like he belonged. Not enough life beat out of him, probably.
"Well?" He prompted. Was the old bat deaf?
The woman hummed to herself for a moment. "Yes," she said once it became apparent that he wouldn't just walk away. She clutched her basket as if he were going to steal it. Like he wanted shriveled up, imported leeks.
"I'm lookin' for a guy," he continued.
"Aren't we all?" The woman cackled. Majima reassessed the look she had given him.
His patience was running low. He took a deep breath and reeled in his anger. "Look, granny, I'm lookin' for a man about my age, sixty or so. Woulda come to the island about ten years ago. Do you know anyone like that?"
The woman started shuffling along the road again. "You must be here for the hot springs," she said, ignoring his question. "That's the only reason someone like you would be here, young man."
Majima laughed in her face, which didn't help his case. He was hardly a young man anymore, and hardly someone who cared about going to an onsen. He guessed to someone as ancient as the woman, everyone was young in comparison. He gave in, counted the woman as a lost cause, and took directions to the nearest bus station. Asking the locals was a waste of time, a map would be better.
He trudged along the rocky beach until he reached the bus. He had no intention to go to the onsen like the woman assumed. Public bathing with obvious yakuza tattoos was no way for him to make friends in a small town. He doubted his quarry would be there either. Instead, he took a map from the stand and headed across the street to a small restaurant.
He was seated at a table and served the local flavor of cuisine. It was good, but he could have done without the suspicious stares. The place was small, with smudged white walls and wobbly, warped ceiling fans overhead. The only two other people there were his waiter and the cook.
Pointedly ignoring them, he spread out the map on the table beside the bowl and peered at it. He willed it to reveal its secrets to him, but the tiny lines and dots just wavered in his vision. Damn, he wished he could still smoke. When had he become so boring, that he cared whether he died now from lung cancer or died eventually from old age?
The young man who had brought him the food returned. Majima assumed he was the owner's son by his resemblance to the cook and the family feel of the establishment.
"What brings you here?" the waiter asked. The boy was dressed in a loose t-shirt and neatly pressed slacks. Definitely someone who still lived at home with mom and pop. "We get a lot of tourists, but you seem different."
"I needed a change of pace," Majima said. "Realized I was treadin' water. This is a-what do they call it? Mid-life crisis." He finished his food and thanked the waiter. He looked back down at the map.
"Little late for a mid-life crisis, gramps," the boy said as he cleared the dishes away.
Majima scowled at him and downed his glass of whiskey in one gulp, slamming it down on the table to prove his point. The kid's surprised look was worth the indigestion he would feel later.
"Sorry," the boy said. "Is there something in particular you're looking for? I've been here all my life, so I might be able to help."
Curse overly helpful local boys. It was just as annoying as the recalcitrant old lady by the ferry. Majima stood from the table and snatched the map up, trying to fold it back before giving up. The fucking things never went back as neatly as they started out. He creased it against the folds before jamming the wadded mess into his bag.
He forced himself to take a deep breath, knowing that his irritable side was coming out. There was a time when he wouldn't have cared, but he had learned with age that sometimes patience was the best approach. Sometimes. "I'm lookin' up an old friend. Know anyone like me in town? Old fart, scary face?"
The boy considered his question for too long. The cook piped up from across the room. "Excuse me, do you mean Mr. Suzuki?" She leaned forward on the counter. "He's a very kind man, but he does match your description."
"Suzuki, hmm…" Majima said. "It's the wrong name, but scary, nice man fits him perfectly. Where is he?"
"He spends most of his free time at the pier."
Majima bowed his thanks. "Appreciate it. Be seein' you, Miss…"
"Higa," the woman replied. "Higa Nanami. This is my son, Ryou."
"I meant no offense earlier, mister," Ryou said after a pointed look from his mother. He moved to hold open the door and bowed. "Welcome to Okushiri. I hope you enjoy your stay."
"I won't be staying long," Majima replied as he went back out into the salty sea air, this time with more purpose.
He strolled along the road, hands in his pockets, until he reached the pier. It really was picturesque, he could admit that much. The sun was just beginning to set above the choppy waves. A lifetime could go by here without realizing it.
A single, gray-haired man was sitting at the end of the pier, fishing pole in hand. He didn't look up at the sound of approaching feet.
Was it him? Majima didn't feel the certainty he thought he would when he dreamed of this moment. Was it just a stranger? He felt uncharacteristically shy, a feeling he loathed.
Before he could gather his courage, the man spoke up.
"Are you here to finally kill me?" Kiryu Kazuma said. Majima walked forward until they were side by side. Kiryu's eyes were focused on the sunset. Lines marked his face, but not as many as there were on Majima's. Apparently, the quiet life had suited him these past ten years. He had more smile lines around his eyes than anything.
"Nah," Majima said. With an anticlimactic thump, he dropped his bag on the pier and sat, letting his feet dangle above the water.
"Then why are you here?" Kiryu didn't seem surprised that Majima had found him. He had probably resigned himself to the eventuality. Nothing kept Majima Goro from what he wanted forever.
"Such a warm welcome, Kiryu," Majima said. "Maybe I'm considerin' retirement, too." He kept his voice casual, as if they were just catching up, but his heart was hammering in his chest. In another life, thirty years ago, he would have pushed the other man off the pier and held him under the water until they were both half-dead. Now he wanted to grab him and never let go.
"Retirement?" Kiryu reeled in his line and cast it again. It landed with a splash yards out, well past the breakers.
"I hate Kamurocho. I hate that it's changed." Majima felt the words he hadn't been able to speak out loud pouring out of him faster than he could think them. "I want things to go back to the way they were-you and me, dukin' it out on the streets, fightin' for those idiots with Tojo Clan."
"Do you really want that? Things were terrible."
It was true. So many of them had died. Majima had even killed some of them himself. The ones who had deserved it, at least. "No, I don't want that," he replied, "And things can't go back to the way they used to be anyway. The world's moved on."
"So what are you doing here, then?" Kiryu's voice was level and he had yet to look away from the water.
So nothing about Kiryu had changed in ten years. Majima felt more comfortable being here with him already. He was so measured, so calm compared to Majima's erratic personality. "Nothin' felt right," he said. "The last time things felt right is when you were there. I thought… maybe… if I found you I would feel right again." He let out a long, dejected sigh. "But this town is awful, borin'! How can you bear it here?"
Kiryu let out the line as something tugged at it. "It's peaceful."
"Peaceful. I guess I can try that." Majima threw his hands in the air.
"I don't remember inviting you." Kiryu frowned. "It was only peaceful because you weren't here."
"I like to crash parties." Majima grinned. "Besides, you're growin' old and complacent. You need someone to keep you on your toes."
Kiryu finally relented and smiled slightly, looking down at him. "You're so impulsive, Majima."
Majima had been holding in his manic energy all day. It was bubbling up until the bursting point inside him. "Don't I know it." He hooked his hand around Kiryu's ankle, sweeping his leg out so he was forced to sit down beside him.
Without hesitation, Majima pressed his lips against Kiryu's, waiting until the other man responded before deepening the kiss. He smelled like the ocean, and underneath that, the familiarity and certainty of things that used to be. Of things that could be.
When they broke apart, Kiryu looked stunned. It wasn't the first time they had kissed, but before it had been in the heat of the moment. Never so unanticipated.
"Expect me to ditch you within a week, old man," Majima said. He grinned widely before taking the fishing pole and casting it, leaving Kiryu wanting more. It was his turn to wait.