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Chapter Text

Majima walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, head tilted down to shield his face from the biting wind that carried fat droplets of rain. Kamurocho’s streets gleamed under the downpour, slick with oil and grime, the neon signs reflected in rippling puddles. His clothes were soaked through, sticking to his skin in a way that felt both irritating and familiar. He didn’t even have enough to buy an umbrella. Typical.

Join the fuckin’ Yakuza, they said… Big money, they said..., though no one really told him that. He scoffed quietly to himself, biting the inside of his cheek. Yeah, if you’re willin’ to sell your soul and let ‘em beat it outta you. He shook his head, splashing through a puddle, not caring about the water seeping into his new shoes, the whole reason why he's out here getting drenched in the first place; fuckers were expensive. Even so, every step felt like a reminder of how far he’d fallen—or maybe how far he’d been dragged. Couldn’t stay home. Can’t stay anywhere.

He’d run the second his mother died. There wasn’t anything left for him in that house, not with his old man slouched in a corner, always holding a bottle tighter than he ever held Majima. Drunk bastard probably didn’t even remember my name half the time. Never fuckin' used it anyway He grimaced at the memory. The stench of whiskey and the slurred insults still clung to him, no matter how far he tried to outrun them.

But Saejima… That dumbass has no idea what he’s done. Majima felt something sharp and twisted in his chest, an unfamiliar tightness whenever he thought about his kyoudai. Saejima had pulled him off the streets, dragged him into his shitty little apartment like Majima was some lost stray when he was just 15. Spent a year out on the streets before then, just surviving. Saejima was always saying he was "tough" enough to handle anything, like he could carry the weight of the world on his broad shoulders and still keep walking. But Majima knew better. Saejima had no clue. No clue what Majima was hiding under all the snark and bluster.
Ain’t nobody who could handle this. His fist tightened inside his drenched pocket, knuckles going white. If Saejima ever found out what he really was, that he wasn’t just some punk kid trying to make it in the underworld... He’d run too. Everyone would.

Majima quickened his pace, trying to shake the cold feeling creeping up his spine. He hated the cold. The rain hit harder now, soaking his hair, dripping down his neck, but he didn’t care. He welcomed it. Maybe if he got drenched enough, it’d drown out all the shit swirling in his head. He couldn’t ever let them know. Not Saejima, not Yasuko. Especially not her. I’m already a freak, I don’t need ‘em lookin’ at me like I’m some kinda monster. Even though… well, that’s exactly what he was. What he knew he was.

No matter how close they got, no matter how many times Saejima dragged his ass outta trouble, or Yasuko offered him that sweet, innocent smile she always gave, Majima couldn’t shake the nagging thought: They’d never accept me if they knew. 

The street lights flickered above him as he turned a corner, the shadows deepening, pulling at the edges of his vision. He could feel something shifting under his skin, something dark and violent. Gotta keep it down. Gotta keep it buried. Like always, the rain wasn’t enough to cool the slow burn rising in his chest, the itch crawling beneath his skin. As the dim glow of the apartment building came into view, Majima stopped for a moment, letting the rain beat down on him. His breath was shallow, fogging up the air in front of him. He tilted his head back, letting the water run over his face like it could wash away the monster underneath. Fuckin’ joke. 

He stared at the glowing windows where Saejima and Yasuko were probably inside, warm and dry. Yasuko would be cooking something, smiling like nothing was wrong with the world. Saejima would be watching TV, oblivious to the storm outside—and to the one brewing inside Majima.

He couldn’t show them. Not ever.

Majima cursed under his breath, fumbling in his soaked pocket for the damn keys as he headed up the dampened steps. The metal clinked faintly as his fingers slipped over the ring, too cold and numb from the rain to get a proper grip. He glanced over at Saejima’s door, the light barely seeping out from under it. They were probably still awake, which meant Yasuko would be lurking, waiting to pounce with that goddamn kindness of hers if she realized he was home.

Fuck, she’s too sweet for her own good… He snorted, shaking his head as he finally pulled the keys free. Yasuko had hearing like a hawk—she’d know he was out in the rain the second his foot hit the stairs if he wasn't careful. And then she’d fuss over him, offering towels and warm soup like he deserved any of that. Majima grimaced at the thought. Last thing I need is her thinking I’m worth a damn.

His old man’s words scratched at the back of his mind, creeping in like they always did whenever he felt a moment of warmth creeping too close. You’re nothing but a fuckin’ mistake. He’d hear the rasp of his father’s voice, the way it cut through the air like a knife. A freak. Not even good enough to be called a son. Majima’s lip curled, teeth clenching as the words dug deep.

He could still see it: His father’s fists raised, his mother’s trembling frame, the bruises that never fully healed. Every time Majima tried to shield her, he got thrown aside, nothing but a weak kid in the way. You’ll never be anything, his father had spat, his eyes wild with that drunken rage that never seemed to fade. The only thing you’re good for is being a fuckin’ weapon. At best. At worst? Just a failed experiment, a test subject. Maybe we should just sell you to some clinic, let them open you up. Be able to afford more that this if you weren't here.

The words settled heavy in his gut, a sick kind of weight he’d carried ever since. No matter how far he ran, how many punches he threw, it was never enough to drown out that voice. That gnawing reminder of the monster his father always saw in him. He was right, though. Wasn’t he?

Majima shoved the key into the lock, twisting it with more force than necessary, letting out a low growl as the door creaked open. He stepped inside, flicking the switch, bracing himself for the usual cold emptiness of his shitty apartment—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GORO!”

His heart nearly stopped. The lights flickered on just as a pair of party poppers went off, filling the room with bursts of confetti. Yasuko and Saejima were standing there, grinning like idiots, hands mid-air from the celebration. They had just been waiting there in the dark to surprise him for who knows how long. His brain stuttered, taking a full second to process what was happening. The cheap streamers hanging limply from the ceiling, the sad-looking cake on the table with a couple of crooked candles, the smell of something cooking in the background—it was all so surreal. 

He blinked, staring at them, trying to make sense of the scene. "The fuck…?"

Yasuko clapped her hands together, her face lighting up like it was Christmas morning. “We wanted to surprise you! I know you didn’t say anything, but Nii-san told me it was your birthday, and—well, I thought you could use a little celebration!”

Majima stood there, dripping rainwater onto the floor, his wet hair sticking to his face, completely thrown off guard. He hadn’t even realized it was his birthday. Not that it mattered. It’s just another fuckin’ day, he told himself, but looking at Yasuko’s beaming face and Saejima’s wide grin, something twisted inside him. It was that uncomfortable feeling again—the one that made his chest tight and his throat close up.

“You… didn’t have to do all this,” Majima muttered, his voice rough, almost hoarse.

“Of course we did,” Saejima said, his grin widening. “You think we’re just gonna ignore your birthday like that? C’mon, kyoudai, we don’t let shit like this slide.”

Majima wanted to argue, to tell them it was pointless, that he didn’t deserve this, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, awkward and stiff, like a caged animal caught in a trap. Yasuko’s eyes softened, and she stepped forward, a small towel in her hand. 

“You’re soaked, Majima-san. Here, let me—”

Majima flinched back instinctively, holding up his hand to stop her. “Don’t… I’m fine.” He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her concern twisted the knife deeper. Yasuko looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly, but she didn’t push. She never did. She just gave him that patient, understanding smile and held out the towel anyway.

“You’ll catch a cold if you don’t dry off. Just take it, okay?”

Majima hesitated, his hand hovering for a moment before he grabbed the towel roughly, muttering a quick “thanks” under his breath. He wiped his face, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions swirling inside him, but it wasn’t so easy. Yasuko had already turned back to the table, fussing over the cake like it was some kind of masterpiece. Saejima, as usual, was just standing there like a damn tree, looking proud as hell of whatever plan he’d come up with.

Majima let out a deep sigh. What the hell do I do with this?

Majima took his shoes off and made his way over to the living room where Saejima and Yasuko were. He sat stiffly at the busted-up table, the one he’d fished out of a trash pile months ago, now barely holding up under the weight of Yasuko’s excitement and the cake she’d somehow managed to balance on it. The damn thing was crooked, much like everything else in his apartment, but Yasuko was beaming, yammering on about some story he wasn’t really listening to. She was always cute, in her own ways. Too damn nice. She didn’t belong in a place like this. Neither of ‘em do.

He could still feel the towel in his hands, damp from drying his hair, though it didn’t do much to stop the cold sinking into his bones. His clothes were still sticking to him, and all he could think about was how wrong it all felt. A fuckin’ birthday party? For him? Of all people?
He hadn't had anything like this since his mom was around. Even then, it wasn’t really a party. Just a few moments snatched in secret when his father wasn’t around to ruin it. His mother would sneak him a stick of mitarashi dango, his favorite. The mochi so soft it melted in his mouth, and that syrup—just the right amount of sweetness, sticky and warm. It was gone too fast, always too fast, but that was the point. Easy to hide. Easy to act like nothing special had happened.

She’d kiss him twice on the forehead after he ate, right on the spots where his horns would grow when he turned into… that thing. She never made a fuss about it when she did it, never looked at him like he was anything but her son. She’d smile at him like he was the greatest thing in the world, whisper that he was the best thing to ever happen to her. That his grandparents would’ve been proud of him.

Yeah, proud. His jaw clenched at the thought. His mother’s side of the family, they were from Sumiyoshi. Osakan accents thick as syrup, the kind that rolled off their tongues in a way that made everything sound warmer. At least that's what his ma sounded like. Majima never met his grandparents. They’d both died before he was born, and from what his mother told him, it wasn’t a peaceful end. His grandpa had the same fuckin’ curse he had. Couldn’t keep it together, couldn’t stay human. His ma had dressed it up with some story about how they went to the mountains to camp and play until they “crossed over.” But Majima knew the truth. They’d gone to die. 

So, that’s it, huh? That’s my fuckin’ future? He glanced at Yasuko, her voice barely registering as she continued to ramble about something cheerful, something innocent. Saejima just sat there, arms crossed, grinning like a big dumb bear, clearly still proud of the whole setup. Probably still internally laughing at the face Majima made when their surprise was revealed. Majima wanted to feel something other than the gnawing pit in his stomach, but all he could think was that it wouldn’t matter. 

This thing inside me, it’s gonna get me one day. Just like it got my grandpa. Ain’t no escaping it. His hand gripped the edge of the table a little too tight, his knuckles going white as the weight of it all pressed down on him. I’ll be lucky if I make it to thirty before I lose my mind completely.

But tonight wasn’t about that, was it? Nah, tonight was about this sad little party his kyoudai and his sister threw him, thinking it’d mean something. And maybe it should have. Maybe he should’ve been grateful, but all he could think about was how wrong it felt. How undeserving he was of this kind of warmth. This kind of attention. His father’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, sneering, reminding him that he was nothing but a mistake.
Yasuko kept talking, her hands gesturing animatedly as she tried to make some point about the story she was telling. Majima wasn’t sure what the hell she was going on about, but she sure meant whatever she was saying. It was easy to get lost in her face, to watch the way her lips moved, the way her eyes lit up when she was excited. It was enough to distract him, if only for a moment.

But she’s off limits, he reminded himself, Saejima made that clear. His kyoudai had laid down the law early on. Yasuko was untouchable, out of bounds. But the thought crept in anyway, unbidden and dangerous. What if he kissed her? What if he just leaned over this shitty table, grabbed her, and kissed her? Not like he wanted to but, it would get a rise out of his kyoudai, and that might help him forget what he is for even a moment.

The look on Saejima’s face would be priceless. He’d probably kill Majima right then and there, end his miserable life before the monster inside him had a chance to take over. It’d be a hell of a way to go out. Majima couldn’t help the twisted grin that pulled at his lips at the thought. What a fuckin’ way to die.

Yasuko finally noticed his grin, pausing in the middle of her story. "What are you smiling about, Majima-san?"

He shook his head, wiping the smirk off his face as fast as it came. "Nothin'. Just thinkin' how crazy it is that you two went to all this trouble for someone like me."

Saejima snorted from his spot at the table, leaning back in his chair. "Don’t go actin’ like we did somethin’ big. It’s just a cake and some confetti."

Majima glanced at the sad little cake, barely holding together under its crooked candles. "Yeah, but no one's ever done this kinda shit for me before. Not like this."

Yasuko tilted her head, her eyes softening again in that way that always made Majima’s chest tighten. "You deserve to be celebrated, Goro. Everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday."

Not everyone, Majima thought bitterly, but he didn’t say it out loud. Instead, he just looked at her, the warmth in her eyes so out of place in his cold, damp world. He didn’t know what to do with it.

Majima’s leg jittered as Yasuko resumed her story. He got the jist of it; some dumb idiot at her work was trying to throw his weight around and get her to back down for a potential promotion.... No wonder she was so animated. But just as soon as he focused on her words, he was in his thoughts again, his mind already halfway out of the room. He needed something to calm him down. A smoke, maybe. Something to take the edge off. His skin felt too tight, the dampness from the rain clinging to him like a second skin, making him twitchy, uncomfortable. He was soaked to the bone, and the cold was starting to creep in, making his muscles ache. 

He grunted, standing up from the floor and walking over to his shitty dresser, which let out a pathetic groan as he opened it. The damn thing was on its last legs, half the drawers didn’t even align anymore, and the most of the handles were long gone. But it worked—barely—and that was all that mattered really. He pulled out one of his favorite shirts, a coral pink thing that was way too big for him, but he liked the color. It was soft and comforting, a fabric that sat on his skin and didn't irritate. He’d picked it up from a consignment shop a little while back, and it was the only decent thing there, outside of the shoes he wore literally every single day.

Next came the grey sweats. Shitty and worn in the knees with a drawstring that hardly stayed tied. They were stained with soy sauce from that time he’d been over at Saejima and Yasuko’s place and knocked the damn bottle right into his lap. He’d tried to scrub it out, but there was only so much you could do without proper cleaning supplies. And it wasn’t like he had money to blow on new sweats or dry cleaning. Too poor for dry cleaning… too poor for new fuckin’ clothes. He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.

“I’m gonna get changed,” he muttered, gesturing toward the tiny bathroom in the corner of his studio apartment. “Unless you two wanna see me die of hypothermia right here.”

Saejima snorted from the table, waving him off. “Go ahead, kyoudai. We’ll hold off on the cake 'til ya get back.”

Yasuko smiled, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Take your time, Majima-san. Make sure you dry off properly, okay?”

Majima grunted, already heading toward the bathroom, trying to escape before the concern started gnawing at him. He shut the door behind him with a soft click and stared at the grimy mirror above the sink. The light in here was shit, barely bright enough to see his reflection, but that didn’t stop him from catching sight of the hollowed-out version of himself staring back.

He let out a sharp breath, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt, feeling the wet fabric cling to him like a second skin. It took more effort than it should’ve to peel the thing off, and when it finally dropped to the floor, it hit the tiles with a loud, wet slap. He stood there, shivering slightly as the cold air bit into his skin, staring at the reflection of his sunken frame in the mirror.

His ribs were too prominent, poking out in a way that made him feel more skeletal than anything else. But at least he was starting to put on some muscle, thanks to Saejima letting him spar with him whenever he wanted to. Still skinny as fuck, though, he thought, scowling at his own reflection. Yasuko had been feeding him, keeping him alive when he couldn’t afford to feed himself. But it wasn’t enough to fill out the sharp angles that had become too familiar to him over the years. 

He could practically hear her voice in his head, that half-scolding, half-maternal tone she always used when he came over looking like he hadn’t eaten in days: “Sleep and cigarettes are not proper dinner meals, Goro.” She’d cross her arms and look at him like he was some kid who needed to be looked after, and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t deny that the food she made was probably the only reason he was still standing. The other option just wasn't allowed anymore. He had decided that 5 years ago.  

He ran a hand over his chest, the cold seeping deeper into his bones, and that’s when he felt it. That rough, uneven texture under his fingertips. His hand froze, hovering over the patch of skin just below his collarbone. He didn’t have to look down to know what it was—he’d felt it enough times before. But he looked anyway.

Fuckin’ scales.

There they were, scattered across his chest like some kind of diseased rash, the iridescent sheen catching the dim light from the shitty bathroom bulb. He stared at them, his heart pounding harder in his chest, that familiar mix of disgust and fear bubbling up inside him. It was always worse when it rained. Something about the cold, wet air made it harder to stay in control. Harder to stay… human.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood as he forced himself to look away from the mirror. Can’t let ‘em see. Not ever. Yasuko and Saejima couldn’t know. They’d never understand. They’d look at him like he was some kind of freak, a monster. And even though that’s exactly what he was, he really didn't need them leaving because of it. He couldn't take that.

Majima turned the faucet on, splashing cold water onto his face, trying to drown out the panic rising in his chest. The sound of the water hitting the porcelain sink filled the tiny bathroom, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the thoughts racing through his head. 

What if they find out? What if one day I slip up? What if I can’t hide it anymore?

He scrubbed at his face harder, as if he could somehow wash away the truth of what he was. But no amount of water could do that. The scales were still there, and they weren’t going anywhere.

Chapter Text

Majima finished scrubbing his face, letting the cool water drip from his chin before wiping it off with a towel. He turned away from the sink, feeling the weight of his wet clothes clinging to him. First, he unbuckled his belt, the leather stiff from the rain, then peeled off his too-big-for-him pants, letting them drop to the floor with a heavy splat. Everything was soaked through, his boxers included. Guess I’m going commando, he thought with a half-hearted snort, stepping out of them and tossing them into the growing pile of wet clothes on the bathroom floor.

He grabbed the gray sweats from the counter, hoisting them over his hips. They were old, worn, and stained, but they were dry. That was enough. The waistband sat awkwardly on his bony hips, and he had to tie off the belt cord to keep them from sliding down. He gazed into the mirror again, not really sure what he was looking for, but needing to check anyway.

Do I look insane? His reflection stared back at him, hollow-eyed but not as bad as he felt. His teeth were fine, at least. Fangs, as always, but nothing too out of place. To most people, they just looked like larger canines, a little sharper than usual, with his incisors jagged in a way that sometimes caught the light wrong. He didn’t mind them. Just as long as they don’t get any fuckin’ longer, he thought, leaning in closer to make sure nothing had shifted. He’d be fine. As long as his fangs stayed hidden, nobody had to know. 

Satisfied, or at least as much as he was going to be, Majima ran a hand through his damp hair and stepped back into the living space. 

The second he opened the door, he caught sight of Saejima, who was walking in through the front door with a shit-eating grin on his face. Majima frowned, already suspicious. “Where the hell’d you go?”

Saejima raised both arms, holding up two six-packs of cheap beer like he’d just won the lottery. Majima’s eyebrows shot up. “Where the fuck did you get those?”

Saejima shrugged like it was no big deal. “Stole ‘em.”

“Oh.” Majima blinked. *Well, that makes sense.*

Saejima smirked, tossing one of the six-packs onto the table with a satisfying clatter of cans. “Wanna smoke too? I grabbed a couple packs while I was at it.”

Majima shook his head, laughing under his breath. “You’re a goddamn menace, Taiga.”

Saejima just shrugged again, cracking open a can with a loud hiss. “Hey, we’re broke. Gotta do what we gotta do, right?”

Majima couldn’t argue with that. As much as he hated to admit it, Saejima was right. They didn’t have shit. Not a single yen between them most days. And what little money they managed to scrape together was either spent on food or sent back to Yasuko’s school fund. He didn’t feel guilty about Saejima nabbing a few packs of smokes and some piss-poor beer. It wasn’t like anyone was gonna miss it.

Majima walked over to the table, eyeing the six-pack as he scratched the back of his neck. His body still felt cold, the dampness from earlier lingering even though he’d changed. A smoke would do him good right about now. “You got ‘em on you?”

Saejima reached into his jacket pocket and tossed a crumpled pack of cigarettes onto the table, a mischievous grin still plastered on his face. Majima grabbed it, pulling a cigarette from the pack and lighting up. The first drag hit his lungs like a godsend, the familiar burn chasing away some of the tension that had been crawling up his spine. 

“Thanks,” Majima muttered, the smoke curling lazily between his fingers as he leaned against the wall, taking another slow drag. Saejima plopped down at the table, cracking open another beer. 

Yasuko watched the two of them with a playful roll of her eyes. “Just don’t smoke too much before the cake. It’ll ruin your taste buds.”

Majima chuckled, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, Yasuko-chan. My taste buds are already ruined from eatin’ shit all week.”

The night had turned out better than Majima expected. Hell, better than he could’ve ever imagined. There were a few times during the evening when he actually found himself smiling, even laughing. The kind of genuine laughs that snuck up on him, surprising him more than anyone else in the room. For once, the weight that constantly pressed down on him felt lighter, almost nonexistent.

But then again, maybe it was just the booze.

Majima’s vision swam a little as he finished off the last can of beer, the cheap stuff hitting him harder than usual. It didn’t take much to get him drunk tonight. Not when his stomach was empty like this. Shit, when’s the last time I ate? He squinted, trying to remember. Two days, maybe? Yeah, that seemed about right. He’d been too broke to buy anything, too proud to ask Saejima or Yasuko for help. Didn’t touch the cake either. Never felt right to have something sweet on his birthday after his Ma had passed. It was never the same. Hadn’t touched dango since either…

Well, that explains it. He tipped the empty can back, hoping there’d be a last sip hiding somewhere, but nope, it was dry. He set it down with a soft clink on the table and leaned back in his chair, his body warm and fuzzy from the alcohol. 

Saejima, on the other hand, looked like he was about to pass out right there on the floor. He’d been knocking back cans faster than Majima, and now his head was drooping, his massive frame slouched against the wall, eyes half-closed. Yasuko, as usual, was fine. She didn’t drink beer at all. She was mostly just watching the two idiots in the room with a bemused smile on her face. 

Majima’s eyes wandered over to her, watching as she laughed at something Saejima had just slurred out. The sound of her laugh cut through the haze in his brain, pulling his focus to her. She was always so nice to him. Had always been so nice to him. He was never sure what for though. Too nice sometimes, he thought, his head tilting slightly as his gaze trailed down to her neck. 

That’s when he noticed it.

The way her pulse throbbed just under her skin, right at her throat. A steady, rhythmic beat, almost hypnotic in the way it moved. His eyes narrowed, watching the vein as if he could see the blood coursing through it, hear the soft thrum that matched the sound of her heartbeat. And then… the smell. 

God, the smell. It hit him all at once, overwhelming and intoxicating. Sweet and warm. He hadn’t even realized it was there until now, hadn’t noticed how good she smelled.

Fuck…

He blinked, his body leaning forward slightly, his heart suddenly racing in his chest. He tried to tear his eyes away from the spot on her neck, but it was like his focus was locked in place, the scent filling his senses, drowning out everything else. His mouth felt dry, his tongue flicking out instinctively to wet his lips. 

The beer fuzz was slipping away, replaced with something sharper, something far more dangerous. His stomach twisted.

It was so close. Her scent, her pulse, the warmth radiating off her. 

No. Majima gripped the edge of the table hard, his knuckles going white as he forced himself to sit back. Not here. Not now. But the smell wasn’t going away. It was crawling under his skin, burrowing into his bones, making his body hum with a craving he didn’t want to admit.

Majima’s jaw tightened as he fought against the wave of hunger crashing over him. It wasn’t the normal kind of hunger—he knew what that felt like. This was deeper, more visceral. The kind that gnawed at his insides, demanding food, but not the kind sitting on the table in front of him. He wanted to devour her. Not in the way that would make any sense in this moment, but in the way that made his blood run cold. 

Not even in the sexy way, Majima thought bitterly. And that was the worst part. He was starving— really starving—and it had nothing to do with her looks. It was the kind of hunger that came from something darker, something he didn’t want to acknowledge, especially not with Yasuko sitting there, oblivious, laughing at some dumb shit Saejima said.

The rain outside kept pounding against the window, and it wasn’t helping at all. He felt the cold creep in deeper, making it harder to keep his grip on reality. Fuckin’ rain, he thought, clenching his teeth. And the moon… it was getting close to that time, the new moon or whatever they called it. That period where the moon disappears, leaving nothing but darkness. He’d always hated it. That was when the monster inside him clawed its way to the surface, whether he wanted it to or not. That thing always came out during that time.

Majima swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. He could feel it creeping closer, the familiar pull of the transformation, the way his body itched under his skin, begging to change. 

Not here. Not now.

Suddenly, something hard hit him in the side of the head, and Majima snapped his head up, his grip loosening from the table. He blinked, dazed for a second before realizing Saejima had just thrown an empty beer can at him.

“Oi, what the hell, man?” Majima growled, rubbing the side of his head. 

Saejima leaned back in his chair, giving him a lazy grin. “What’s up with you? Yer clingin’ to that table like it’s yer last fuckin’ lifeline. Ya good, or do I need to knock ya out for real?”

Majima forced a laugh, but it came out more strained than he’d meant it to. Shit, gotta play this off. His hands were still shaking a little as he fumbled for his lighter and a cigarette. He needed something to distract himself, something to focus on that wasn’t Yasuko’s pulse or the scent of her skin that was still driving him insane.

He flicked the lighter open, his hands trembling as he brought the flame to the tip of the cigarette. His breath hitched as he took a massive drag, inhaling so deep it burned his lungs, but it helped. It grounded him for a second, the familiar heat of the smoke filling him up, calming the worst of the hunger. 

When he exhaled, he leaned back against the wall, glancing at Saejima with a grin that was a little too wide, a little too manic. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a smoke. All good here.”

Saejima raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Ya sure? Ya look like yer about to fuckin’ lose it.”

Majima frowned and took another drag, his knee bouncing under the table as he tried to keep his voice steady. “Nah, man. Just a little drunk, y’know? Ain’t eaten in a while. The beer’s hittin’ me harder than usual. No big deal.” He flashed a lopsided smile, the cigarette dangling between his lips.

The room felt too hot now, the air too thick. His skin was itching, the scales he’d seen peppering his chest earlier felt like they were bristling under his shirt. Hold it together, he told himself, but it was getting harder by the second. He just needed to get through the rest of the night without losing control, without letting them see what he really was.

Just a little longer.

It was late— really late—and Yasuko stood up, stretching with a yawn before glancing over at Saejima, who was dangerously close to passing out on the floor. He’d sprawled out, all heavy limbs and dead weight, too big for the tiny room and too drunk to care. Majima wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for the guy. 

Yasuko sighed, clearly used to this routine. “C’mon, nii-chan, time to go home. You’re gonna crush Majima-san’s futon if you pass out here,” she said, tugging at Saejima’s arm. He groaned but didn’t move, grumbling something unintelligible as she pulled him to his feet. 

She managed to get him up, pushing him toward the door. He staggered lazily out into the cold night air, fumbling with his own keys as they shuffled next door to their apartment. Yasuko hovered by the doorway for a moment, making sure Saejima didn’t faceplant on his way in, then turned back to Majima.

Before he could react, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a warm, tight hug. The sudden contact caught him off guard. He stood there, stiff as a board, his arms awkwardly hanging at his sides, his breaths shallow as he made every effort not to use his nose. He was really just trying not to smell her again. Didn’t need that to come surging back.

She whispered softly, “I hope you had a really good birthday, Majima-san. I’m so proud of you… for letting us celebrate with you.”

Majima tried to scoff, tried to shrug it off like it was no big deal, but the words caught in his throat. Before he could respond, Yasuko let him go and backed up towards the front door. 

“Goodnight, Majima-san,” she said, her voice soft and sleepy.

Before he could even think to respond, she was gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

Majima flicked the light off, plunging the room into darkness. Bedtime, he supposed. No use staying up any later. Especially when he was feeling this way.

Majima lay curled up on his futon, arms wrapped tightly around his knees as if squeezing his body into a ball would stop the inevitable. But the beating in his chest wasn’t slowing down—it was getting louder, deeper, more insistent. Each thud felt like a hammer, pounding from the inside out. He wasn’t panicking because of Yasuko or Saejima or the birthday surprise.

No, this was something else. The thing.

It was clawing at him from the inside, like it always did when he was vulnerable. And fuck, was he vulnerable right now. Way too drunk, way too empty. His body was betraying him, letting it creep closer to the surface. He could feel it slithering under his skin, demanding to be let out. 

Majima curled tighter, his fingers digging into his knees as he tried to breathe through the pain. The pressure was building in his bones, the familiar ache he knew all too well. It always hurt. It always fucking hurt. The transformation never came easy, never gentle. It tore through him like it wanted to rip him apart from the inside out.

His mind flashed back to when he was a little boy, crying and screaming as his body twisted and changed. He remembered running to his mother, clutching her legs, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed, “ Mama, it hurts. My bones hurt. ” And it wasn’t just the bones. It was everything. His mouth would ache, his jaw tightening as his fangs started to push through. His forehead would throb, a sharp, stabbing pain as his horns tried to break free. The skin would split, blood trickling down his face as they burst through like jagged rocks forcing their way out of the earth.

No little boy should have to go through that. No child should have to watch as their own body betrayed them, their bones breaking themselves to grow longer, their eyes shifting until every single source of light was too bright, too sharp, too painful. He remembered how the world would go from dim to blinding in an instant, his vision blurring as his eyes adjusted to the new sensitivity.

What the fuck did I do to deserve this? The question echoed in his mind, a bitter refrain that had haunted him for as long as he could remember. He’d asked it a thousand times, and there had never been an answer. Only the pain.

Majima gritted his teeth, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to push the feeling back, tried to stop it from taking over. But the alcohol in his system wasn’t helping. It dulled his senses just enough to make it harder to fight, harder to stay in control. His body was teetering on the edge, ready to give in, and all he could do was lie there, trembling, as he waited for the inevitable. 

The pressure in his skull was unbearable, a throbbing pulse that wouldn’t stop. His skin felt too tight, like it was about to split open at any second. He could feel the edges of his horns pressing against the inside of his forehead, begging to be released. 

Not now. Please, not now.

But there was no stopping it. The transformation was coming, and all he could do was brace for the pain.

The tapping started quietly, barely noticeable at first. A faint, rhythmic tick-tick-tick on the hardwood floor. Majima’s eyes flicked toward the sound, already knowing what it was before he even looked. His stomach dropped, but not from surprise—this had happened before. Anyone else would’ve thought it was a leak in the roof, rain seeping through and dripping down. It wouldn’t have been out of the question, considering the state of his apartment. But Majima knew better. 

Fingernails.  

One by one, they hit the floor, little crescents of keratin falling like droplets of rain. His fingers throbbed, the soft flesh underneath exposed as his human nails peeled away, making room for what came next. Gotta make room for claws, he thought bitterly, clenching his jaw as the pressure built under his skin.

His back seized next, the muscles knotting so tight he thought they might snap. He gasped, a strangled sound escaping his throat as his vertebrae began to shift, the bones multiplying and stretching in ways they were never meant to. His spine elongated, vertebrae cracking and grinding as they realigned themselves, forming something new, something monstrous. His tail—the thick, sinuous thing that always came with the transformation—began to take shape, unfurling from the base of his spine like an unwanted appendage. 

Majima bit down hard on his lip, stifling the cry that threatened to tear its way out of his throat. He couldn’t scream. He wouldn’t. He’d learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago. When he was a kid, if he so much as whimpered during these transformations, his old man would hear it. His father would grab him by the tail— always the tail —tie him down, and beat him senseless. It didn’t matter that he was a kid or that he was in pain. His dad didn’t care. He tied him down because he had to. Because once Majima’s body finished shifting, he could defend himself. He became stronger, faster, dangerous.

That won’t happen again. Not now. Not ever.

But the pain… the pain was something he could never get used to, no matter how many times he went through this hell. His legs snapped next, bones breaking and reforming as they twisted into digitigrade monstrosities. His knees shifted upward, his ankles growing longer, sharper, until his legs resembled something more like an animal’s—built for power and speed, but not for comfort. Each break sent a new wave of agony through his body, but Majima grit his teeth, his face contorting as he fought against the urge to scream.

His fangs grew longer next, the familiar ache in his jaw becoming unbearable as the sharp teeth pushed through his gums, his mouth adjusting to accommodate them. His tongue sharpened, splitting at the tip as it elongated into something forked, something serpentine. The taste of blood filled his mouth as his teeth cut into his lip, his forked tongue flicking out instinctively to taste the air, catching scents he didn’t want to focus on right now.

Fuck, it hurts. It hurts so bad.

His whole body was encased in agony. Every muscle, every bone felt like it was being torn apart and rebuilt from the inside out. His skin burned as white, iridescent scales began to spread across his chest and arms, pushing their way through his flesh like shards of glass cutting their way to the surface. The scales shimmered in the dim light, but to Majima, they felt like barbed wire, wrapping around him tighter and tighter until he could barely breathe.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep silent, to keep the pain locked inside. He didn’t want Saejima or Yasuko to hear him. He couldn’t let them hear him like this. Tears rolled down his face, hot and uncontrollable, as his body continued to change, warping into something that wasn’t human.

His hands clenched into fists as the claws finally broke through, long and black, curving wickedly from his fingertips. They scraped against the floor as he tightened his grip, his knuckles white with the effort of holding himself together. His tail twitched, curling involuntarily as it grew longer, thicker, the muscles coiling beneath the skin. 

He wanted to scream. He wanted to claw at his own skin, tear it apart just to make the pain stop. But all he could do was lie there, curled in a ball on the floor, trembling as the transformation took its final shape. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound deafening in his ears, drowning out everything else.

And then, finally, it stopped. The pain didn’t disappear—it never did—but it dulled, becoming a constant throb instead of the sharp, blinding agony it had been just moments before. Majima lay there, his body shaking, drenched in sweat and tears, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He was a monster again.

Majima lay there, trying to breathe through the pain, thinking maybe, just maybe , it was over. That his body would spare him the worst of the pain. But no—he wasn’t that lucky. Not tonight. The final, brutal pieces of the transformation hadn’t hit yet. The horns still hadn’t broken through, and his eyes, the ones that always signaled the last stage of becoming the thing , hadn’t shifted either. 

“Stupid fuckin’ monster shit,” he growled under his breath. Why can’t it just happen all at once?  

His body ached, but he forced himself to his feet, every movement slow and deliberate, like his skin was too tight and too fragile to contain what was inside him. His legs wobbled for a second before he steadied himself, his tail dragging behind him with a weight he still wasn’t used to. The worst part of this shit was always the waiting—waiting for the next wave of pain, waiting for the final change. He could feel the pressure building in his forehead, the horns ready to break through, but they were taking their sweet time about it.

His throat was dry, parched from the transformation and the scream he had swallowed down. He needed water— something to focus on that wasn’t the agonizing crawl of his bones shifting beneath his skin. 

Majima stumbled over to the sink, grabbed a glass from the counter, and filled it with water, his claws tapping lightly against the rim as he brought it to his lips. But of course, the moment he pressed the glass to his mouth, it hit him. 

His eyes changed first. The sudden, blinding sensitivity hit him like a punch to the gut. His pupils narrowed into sharp slits, and even the light seeping through the blinds into the darkness of the room flared too bright, too harsh. He squeezed his eyes shut against the burning sensation, but it was too late. The world was already too sharp, too vivid, every detail hitting him like shards of glass. 

And then, the final blow. The horns.

They exploded from his forehead with the force of a bullet, slicing through his skin so violently that his head snapped back as if he’d just been shot. The pain was white-hot, searing through his skull as blood trickled down the sides of his face, warm and sticky. He gasped, his body jerking with the sudden shock, and the glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor with a piercing crash. 

“ Fuck! ” he cried out, clutching the sink with one hand as his body trembled from the force of the change. His tail lashed out behind him, knocking into the wall as he tried to stay upright, his vision swimming with the sharpness of his newly changed eyes. 

No. 

His breath hitched. His heart pounded in his chest. 

Oh fuck no.  

He froze, every muscle in his body locking into place as he stood there, hunched over the sink, glass shards scattered at his feet. The sound of his own breathing was too loud, too ragged, but it wasn’t the only thing he heard. 

Footsteps. Heavy. Too big to be Yasuko.

Fuck. FUCK.

Saejima. He was moving. 

Majima’s pulse skyrocketed, panic threading through the pain. Saejima wasn’t supposed to know. He couldn’t see this. Couldn’t see him like this. Not like this. His tail twitched behind him as his claws flexed involuntarily, still gripping the edge of the sink. 

The footsteps stopped just outside the door. 

Fuck. He heard me.

Chapter Text

The firm knock on the door echoed through the small apartment, and Majima’s blood ran cold. He could hear Saejima’s voice, muffled but unmistakable through the door. He was still slurring a little, still drunk. It hadn’t even been an hour since they left.

“Oi, Goro, ya in there? Ya okay?” Saejima called through the door.

Majima’s heart pounded in his chest, panic surging through him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His body was a mess, longer than it should be, his spine stretched out into a freakish length that had no business fitting in this tiny space. His tail—six feet of muscle and scales—curled behind him, knocking against the wall whenever he shifted.

There was nowhere to hide. His monstrous form took up more space, making it impossible to cram himself into any corner without something sticking out. He couldn’t let Saejima see him like this. Not now, not ever. He pulled the blinds closed, blocking out the moon’s eerie glow. The room was dark—pitch black, really. Maybe that’d be enough. Maybe if he stayed quiet, Saejima would just think he’d gone out for a late-night fight, or maybe to blow off some steam.

But then, Majima heard the worst sound imaginable.

The soft click of the lock turning. Shit. I gave him a key. He’d forgotten in all the chaos. Saejima had a fucking key. Of course he had a key, you fuckin’ numbnut! How else did he and Yasuko break in to fuckin’ surprise you?

The door creaked open, a dim shaft of light from the hallway spilling into the room before Saejima stepped inside. “Oi, Goro?” His voice was thick with confusion, and Majima could hear him fumbling for the light switch.

The moment Majima realized what was happening, the panic exploded inside him. “ Don’t! ” His voice came out louder than he intended, rough and raw with desperation. “Don’t… flip the lights. Please.”

Saejima paused, hand hovering over the switch, clearly taken aback. “What the hell, man? Why’s it so dark in here?”

Majima swallowed hard, his claws digging into the hardwood floors in front of him, trying to keep his voice steady. “I… I got a migraine, alright? The booze hit me harder than I thought, and now I can’t handle any light.” His heart was pounding in his throat, the lie coming out shaky, barely convincing even to his own ears.

Saejima didn’t move, but Majima could feel the weight of his presence, standing there just inside the doorway, his massive frame filling the small space. “Migraine, huh?” His voice was low, skeptical. “That why there’s broken glass all over the fuckin’ floor?” The shards sparkled, catching the light of the street lamps outside, filtering in from behind Saejima’s sturdy frame. 

Majima’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. He’d forgotten about the shattered glass, the sound of it hitting the floor when his horns finally broke through. His eyes flicked to the shards glittering faintly in the darkness. Shit. He couldn’t even see where all the pieces were, his vision still fucked from the transformation, his pupils stuck in sharp, thin slits that made everything too bright, too vivid, despite the lack of light.

“I dropped it,” Majima muttered, trying to sound casual, but the shakiness in his voice betrayed him. “Hands were shaky. You know how it is.”

Saejima took a step forward, his boots crunching over some of the glass that had made its way over to the front door. “You don’t sound alright, Goro. What’s goin’ on? I heard some kinda commotion in here.” His voice was filled with concern now, but also a hint of suspicion. The guy wasn’t stupid, no matter how drunk he was.

Majima’s breath hitched. He could barely move without his tail scraping against the floor or knocking into something. There was no way Saejima wasn’t going to notice. And he was too close now. Majima could feel his presence looming, could hear the deep, steady rhythm of his breathing. Saejima was always steady, always reliable.

But if he saw Majima like this… everything would change.

“I’m fine,” Majima lied again, his voice wavering as he tried to keep it together. His body was still trembling, the adrenaline from the transformation still coursing through him. He could feel the weight of his horns pulling at his forehead, the slick warmth of the blood still dripping down his face. “Just… just go back to bed, alright? I just need some quiet.”

Saejima’s footsteps stopped, and there was a long pause. Too long.

“Goro… why are you really sittin’ in the dark?”

Why the hell did I have to get picked up by someone like him? Majima thought, the frustration creeping up his spine like a slow burn. Of all the people in the world, it had to be Saejima—this towering, caring hulk of a man who wasn’t just content with dragging him out of the gutter but had to give a damn, too. Too smart for his own good. Majima cursed under his breath. It wasn’t enough that Saejima was built like a brick wall, he had to be sharp too, always reading between the lines, always knowing when something was off.

Why did they have to swear that oath, the one that tied them together? Why did Saejima fuckin' care? Majima could feel the weight of it every time Saejima looked at him like he wasn’t some broken-down stray but like an actual brother. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Saejima, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to Majima, because the guy didn’t know—couldn’t know—what he really was.

Majima sighed, the sound heavy and tired as it escaped his lips. His fingers tightened,claws digging a little further into the floors. “I… I wanna stay in the dark,” he finally said, his voice low, trying to keep the exhaustion out of it. “But you can sit if you want. I’m just… havin’ a hard night.” He paused, swallowing hard as the lie started to form. “Had an outburst.”

He heard the soft crunch of glass under Saejima’s boots again, the weight of him shifting as he moved further into the room. The darkness made it easier—easier to pretend everything was normal, easier to pretend that he wasn’t standing there, a monster, with his claws digging into the floor. Saejima couldn’t see him, at least not the way Majima could see him. His own eyes, changed and hyper-sensitive, adjusted perfectly to the dark, but Saejima? He was blind in here, just stumbling around like a bear in the pitch black.

Majima could hear the heavy breath as Saejima sat down at the low table, planting himself firmly on the cushion across the way from where Majima stood. “You threw the glass, huh?” Saejima’s tone was more curious than accusing, but Majima could feel his suspicion hanging in the air like smoke. “That what all that bangin’ was about?”

Majima forced a chuckle, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “Yeah,” he lied, hoping to make it sound convincing. “I got pissed. Dunno why, just… needed to throw somethin’, y’know?” He gestured vaguely at the broken glass scattered around the floor, though he knew Saejima couldn’t see it. 

Saejima grunted, leaning back in his chair. “You, throwin’ shit? I thought ya were the one always telling me to keep my temper in check. Ain’t ya more of a ‘go out and kick the shit outta someone’ guy?”

Majima winced at the irony. “Yeah, well. Guess it caught up to me.” He shifted, sitting, trying to keep his tail from twitching again. The weight of it was unbearable, and the horns… fuck, they were still throbbing, pulling at his forehead, the blood already starting to dry on his face.

He could still hear the skepticism in Saejima’s voice. He knew it didn’t add up, but he also trusted Majima—maybe too much. And that trust was exactly what was going to ruin everything one day. “Just a little out of it, Kyoudai.” Majima muttered, rubbing his eyes, trying to ignore the sharpness in his vision, the way everything was too damn bright even in the dark. “That’s all.”

Saejima let out a long breath as he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We all have our bad nights,” he said, his voice softer now. He wasn’t buying it, not entirely, but he wasn’t pushing either. He could’ve kept asking questions, digging into what the hell was really going on, but he didn’t. Not yet.

Majima could feel the tension in the room, thick and oppressive, the unspoken truth hanging between them like a blade ready to drop. He needed to hold it together. Just a little longer. He forced himself to breathe slowly, to keep the panic from clawing its way up his throat.

Please don’t ask anything else.

Of course Saejima had to ask. Majima could feel the question coming before the guy even opened his mouth, the tension in the air giving it away.

“Was it the birthday party?” Saejima’s voice was quieter this time, more careful. “Did that piss ya off or somethin’?”

The second the words hit Majima’s ears, he felt a sick twist in his gut. Fuck. The idea that Saejima even thought that he might’ve hated something as simple as a surprise party, made Majima feel like the shittiest friend in the world. Who the hell gets so angry about a birthday party that they throw glass and tear up their own apartment? The thought was almost laughable, but it wasn’t funny. It stung. Who in their right mind would do that?

He shook his head, the movement slow and deliberate, trying to keep himself from showing too much of the mess going on inside. “Nah,” he said, the word coming out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to steady. “It had nothin’ to do with the party. The party was…” He trailed off for a second, trying to find the right words, the ones that didn’t sound as pathetic as he felt.

“The party was great, Taiga.” He shifted in his seat, his legs struggling to hold the tight pose he put himself in as he tried to relax. “Unexpected, sure, but… it made me really happy. You and Yasuko did somethin’ nice for me, and I appreciated it. A lot.” He paused, swallowing hard. “Don’t go thinkin’ it’s ‘cause of that.”

Majima’s tongue flicked out, tasting the air instinctively, and he grimaced the second he realized what he was doing. Goddammit. It was these little things, these unconscious movements that slipped out when he was like this. His tongue, the way it flicked like a fucking snake—like some reminder that no matter how much he tried to play human, he wasn’t. Not really. These little traits always made him feel too other, like he didn’t belong in his own skin.

He forced the feeling down, locking it away before Saejima could pick up on it.

Across the table, he could hear the heavy sound of Saejima letting out a slow breath, the tension easing from his shoulders. The guy had really thought Majima hated the birthday surprise, huh? Majima could see it now, even in the dark. The way Saejima had come in here, worried that he’d done something wrong, like Majima’s outburst was his fault somehow.

The guilt was worse than the pain now. Majima hated this part. Hated making the people around him think it was something they did when all of this was his problem. His mess. Saejima had no clue what was really going on in Majima’s head; had no idea how close Majima was to losing it, to becoming something neither of them could control.

“I mean it, Taiga,” Majima said, head bowed, his voice quieter now, softer, hoping it’d get through. “The party was… it was one of the best things anyone’s done for me. I ain’t mad about that.”

He could feel Saejima shift again, his weight settling back as he leaned on his hands behind him. “Good,” Saejima said, and Majima could hear the relief in his voice. “Didn’t wanna think we fucked it up or somethin’. Yasuko worked hard on that cake, y’know?”

Majima smiled, though it was a bitter thing. “Yeah, I know. She’s always tryin’ to make things perfect.”

Saejima chuckled softly, the sound low and deep. “That’s her for ya. Always worried about everyone else.”

Majima nodded, even though the heaviness in his chest wasn’t going anywhere. He hated that Saejima had even worried about this. Hated that his fuckin’ secret made everything more complicated.

But he couldn’t tell him. 

Problem now was Majima’s entire body was cramping, muscles seizing up from the awkward position he’d forced himself into. He had wedged himself in the farthest corner of the room, trying to keep his tail from accidentally brushing against Saejima. He couldn’t sit comfortably, his elongated spine pressed painfully against the back wall, and every breath he took made his chest ache.

And of course, right then, his tail decided it wasn’t long enough.

It stretched, bones cracking as it extended another three feet, completely out of his control. Majima’s eyes widened in horror as the extra length coiled behind him, forcing him forward against the table. His sudden movement shoved the table into Saejima’s gut with a hard thud, knocking the breath out of him.

“Shit—sorry!” Majima stammered, his heart pounding in his throat. His voice was strained, almost too panicked, but he tried to cover it up. “I leaned on it wrong. This fuckin’ table’s a piece of shit.” He hoped Saejima would believe the cracking came from the rickety table and not his fucking spine. 

Saejima, rubbing his stomach, just gave him a crooked grin. “It’s fine. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” He didn’t sound mad, but Majima could hear the confusion in his voice. And worse—the suspicion. The way Saejima’s eyes squinted slightly, trying to make sense of why Majima had suddenly launched the table at him.

“Ya sure yer alright?” Saejima asked, his voice low and careful. He always seemed to know when something was off with Majima. Always. Why would now be any different?

Majima bit his lip, cursing internally. His whole body was burning from the strain of holding himself in this unnatural position, and his tail had a mind of its own, twitching and coiling in the dark like it didn’t care what kind of trouble it was causing. He needed to keep Saejima from looking too close, from seeing the scales and claws. Every little thing wrong with him, every little part that wasn’t human would be on full display if Saejima were to adjust to the darkness and suddenly be able to see him more clearly.

“I’m fine,” Majima said too quickly, his voice cracking. “I just… could go for a smoke.”

It was a stupid thing to say, but it was the only thing that came to mind. A distraction. Something to get Saejima to stop looking so damn closely. Majima was already sweating, his hands clenched into fists to keep the claws from tapping against the table, and his throat felt tight, like the lie was sticking there, unwilling to come out smoothly.

Saejima, being Saejima, didn’t question it. He just shrugged, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “Yeah, I could use one too,” he said, sliding the pack across the table.

Majima fumbled to grab it, careful— so careful —not to let his claws or the rough scales on his hand brush against Saejima’s fingers. His heart raced as he grabbed a cigarette and quickly shoved the pack back toward Saejima, trying to keep his movements fluid despite the growing panic in his chest.

The real problem wasn’t the cigarette, though. It was the lighter.

Saejima flicked open the lighter, and the soft glow of the flame flared to life. Majima felt his stomach drop as the light cut through the darkness, too bright, too sudden. His eyes—his newly changed eyes—were too sensitive, catching every detail in the dim light. He could see Saejima’s face, clear as day, but worse… Saejima could see him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Majima jerked backward instinctively, pressing himself further into the corner, trying to keep his face and hands out of the flickering glow. He couldn’t let Saejima see his eyes—those sharp, slitted pupils that would give everything away in an instant. Or the horns, still fresh from tearing through his skin, blood drying in messy streaks down his forehead.

His hands were shaking as he held the cigarette, curling his fingers into his palm, trying to keep his claws hidden. He prayed that Saejima’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet, that the lighter’s flame wasn’t strong enough to catch the details of his monstrous form.

Majima leaned forward just enough to light the cigarette, careful to angle his face away from Saejima. The glow of the flame felt like it was searing his skin, exposing everything he was trying to hide. But he managed to light the cigarette, pulling back immediately and blowing the smoke out in a long, shaky exhale.

Saejima didn’t seem to notice the panic in Majima’s movements, at least not yet. He just leaned back in his chair, taking a drag of his own cigarette, his eyes half-closed in the soft light of the ember at the end. Thank fuck for cheap beer. Saejima being drunk was a fucking godsend.

Majima’s heart wouldn’t stop pounding. He just had to sit far enough back, stay in the shadows, and pray Saejima didn’t see the monster sitting right across from him.

As the minutes dragged on, Majima began to relax, the tension slowly draining from his coiled muscles. Saejima had that way about him, a way of making every room feel comfortable, no matter the mess Majima found himself in. He didn’t do anything special—just laid back on the floor, cracked lazy jokes, and talked about whatever popped into his mind. Tired, easy conversation flowed between them, the kind that made Majima forget, if only for a little while, that he was anything other than human.

Saejima stretched out on the ground now, hands behind his head, his massive frame taking up more space than should’ve been possible. It was perfect for Majima because Saejima couldn’t see him anymore. With his kyoudai lying down, Majima finally felt safe enough to shift his legs and tail out of the corner, to uncurl from the awkward position he’d jammed himself into. He stretched out on his side, his strange, digitigrade legs kicked out in front of him like a dog resting after a long run. His tail, long and heavy, coiled around him in a loose, protective loop.

Majima let himself breathe, feeling the weight of the earlier panic starting to fade. Saejima’s voice rumbled through the dark like a soothing backdrop to the quiet room, and Majima found himself listening more than speaking, letting Saejima fill the silence with his low, calming tone.

But no matter how relaxed he felt, his body wasn’t completely under his control. His tongue flicked out again, and again, tasting the air around them, like it had a mind of its own. Each time, Majima cursed silently, hating how this instinctual part of him betrayed his efforts to stay grounded. He couldn’t stop it, no matter how much he wanted to. It was like trying to fight his own heartbeat.

The thing was, Saejima smelled… distinct. Not in a bad way. Not even close. But his scent was strong, unique—something earthy and warm, like leather and sweat, mixed with the faintest hint of cigarettes, though right now it was mostly cigarettes. It surrounded him like a cloud, and with each flick of his tongue, Majima could taste it more clearly.

I could track him anywhere, Majima thought absently, the realization creeping in like a whisper in the back of his mind. If he wanted to tap into his monstrous senses while staying human, he could follow Saejima through the streets of Kamurocho, through crowds, across the city, with nothing more than his scent as a guide. It would be easy. The thought gave him a strange sense of calm, knowing that, if it ever came down to it, he could always find his kyoudai.

Unbeknownst to him, his tail had started to move. Slowly, it snaked across the floor, inching closer to where Saejima lay.

It curled toward Saejima, moving in small, subtle motions, until it brushed against his leg. Not a hard touch, more like a gentle nudge. And then, the tail looped around Saejima’s ankle, coiling loosely, an affectionate gesture he hadn’t even been aware of.

Saejima shifted a little where he lay, kicking his leg absentmindedly, like he’d felt one of those random itches or tickles that nerves like to throw at you. It was nothing. Just a quick movement. But to Majima, it was everything.

His tail had been tugged when Saejima kicked, and in that split second, Majima’s stomach dropped. He realized what he’d done, how his tail had curled around Saejima’s ankle.

No, no, no, no, no…

Panic surged through his body, hot and immediate. His tail recoiled, pulling back toward him like a whip, curling tightly around his own body. Fuck, he thought, his heart hammering in his chest. What the fuck was I doing?

When Majima was a kid, he used to do this all the time. His tail would curl around his mother’s ankle or arm, sometimes even her waist, whenever he felt scared or needed comfort. She never minded. She would just chuckle softly, running her fingers through his thick hair and telling him he was so expressive, as if his tail was just another way for him to communicate what he couldn’t put into words.

Now, though, it wasn’t a conscious action. It was instinctual, automatic, a part of him reaching out for that same comfort he used to seek as a child.

He couldn’t breathe, every muscle in his body tensed to the point of breaking, his mind racing a million miles an hour. Did he notice? How could he not have? The touch wasn’t just accidental—it was unmistakably deliberate, a gesture that Majima had no way of explaining. There was no way to cover this up. Saejima was smart, too smart, and he would have felt it—he had to have felt it.

But then… nothing happened.

Saejima kept talking, his voice smooth and steady, oblivious to the panic raging inside Majima. He didn’t pause, didn’t ask what just brushed against his leg. He didn’t even flinch. Just kept on with his lazy, half-drunken ramble about some dumb story from their earlier days before they joined up with the Yakuza, like nothing had changed. Like Majima wasn’t sitting there in the dark, freaking the fuck out over what just happened.

Majima blinked, his tail still coiled tightly around his own legs now, his body stiff with tension. What the fuck? He glanced at Saejima again, trying to see if there was any hint of recognition in his face, any sign that he knew something was off. But no—Saejima was still sprawled out on the floor, one hand resting behind his head, his eyes half-closed as he went on about something Majima couldn’t even focus on.

How could he not have noticed? That wasn’t a small touch. Majima’s tail had curled around him. Curled around him. And Saejima just kept talking like nothing had happened. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Majima’s mind spun, the panic slowly ebbing but not quite gone. He sat there, still frozen, his eyes locked on Saejima, waiting for the moment when he’d stop, turn, and say something. Anything.

But Saejima didn’t. He just kept talking.

What the fuck…?

Suddenly, Saejima sat up without warning, and Majima’s heart nearly stopped. His whole body tensed, and instinctively, he recoiled back, pressing himself as far into the shadows as he could, trying to make sure his monstrous form stayed hidden. Every muscle screamed in protest, the cramped position already too tight for his elongated body, but none of that mattered now. Fuck, don't look. Don’t fucking look.

But Saejima didn’t seem to notice Majima's skittish retreat. He just stretched, cracking his neck like he'd been lying down too long. "Glad you’re alright now," Saejima said, his voice soft but sincere. He glanced vaguely in Majima’s direction—though not exactly at him, more like where he expected Majima to be sitting.

"If you’re ever havin' another night like this, don’t fuckin' wait it out alone. Just wake me up. We’ll go for a walk or somethin'—clear your head."

Majima blinked, his throat tightening. Wake him up? Go for a walk? Like it was that simple. Like Majima could just knock on Saejima’s door in the middle of the night, horns sprouting out of his skull, his tail dragging behind him, and say, Hey, let’s go for a midnight stroll, no big deal.

Saejima stood up slowly, still facing in Majima’s direction. "You don’t gotta worry about botherin' me. I’m your kyoudai. I’m not goin' anywhere. Ever."

Majima’s chest tightened at the words. It was a vow. Simple, firm, as solid as Saejima himself. The kind of loyalty that Saejima had always shown him, unwavering, no matter what shit Majima got into. But Majima didn’t believe it—not fully. Not when he was this thing. Sure, they were sworn brothers, but would Saejima stick around if he knew what Majima really was? What kind of monster was hiding under the surface?

Maybe, Majima thought, maybe if I keep it under wraps, I can go the distance with him. Maybe I can make it last.

Saejima turned, feeling his way toward the door in the pitch darkness. He fumbled for a second before his hand found the handle. "Anyway, have a good night, Goro," he said, his voice lighter now, almost teasing.

He didn’t turn back around. Didn’t even glance over his shoulder. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Majima alone in the silence.

Majima didn’t move for a long time. His tail was still wrapped tightly around his legs, his claws digging into the floor again. He could still feel the adrenaline coursing through him, his heart pounding in his chest.

Holy shit, he thought, letting out a slow, shaky breath. That was too fuckin’ close.

Chapter Text

The sunlight was just barely filtering through the blinds when Majima woke up, his body aching from the transformation the night before, but thankfully, he was human again. Thank fuck. He stretched out, feeling the satisfying crack of his spine settling back into place. His first thought, though, was one of pure annoyance as he glanced down at his legs, nearly bare, but draped with ripped fabric. His dumb sweats— thanks, tail, thanks fuckin’ dog legs —were shredded, torn up from the night’s chaotic mess.

With a frustrated sigh, he kicked them off, tossing the ruined fabric aside as he stood up. There were more important things on his mind today. Shimano had called him in for a job— a direct job . His patriarch. Majima could hardly believe it. He’d only been a part of the family for 4 years at this point. Joined up when he was 16, but was on phone duty for way too long . No one thought he could manage shit; Thought he was too thin, too scrawny. Even still, being low on the food chain, he wasn’t the type to get personal attention from the likes of Shimano. This was his chance. His first real opportunity to make some money and maybe, just maybe, rise up the ranks.

Gotta look sharp today, Majima thought, already rifling through his closet. He pulled out the best clothes he had—a dark button-up shirt with a filigree pattern, pressed and clean, with a pair of slick black pants. Nothing fancy, but it would do the job. He took a second to smooth his hair, slicking it back with some older gel he had laying around until every strand was in place. The gold chain around his neck was the last touch, resting perfectly against his chest, giving him just the right amount of flash without being too over the top.

He looked at himself in the mirror, his sharp reflection staring back at him. There. Perfect. Lookin' like a yakuza now, Goro. A smirk tugged at his lips. He had to admit, it felt good to look the part.

Majima grabbed his jacket and stepped out of his apartment, locking the door behind him. He had barely turned around when the door to Saejima’s place creaked open, and his kyoudai stepped out at the same time. Perfect timing.

“Mornin’,” Majima greeted, his voice casual, but with a certain energy beneath it. He was riding the high of the day ahead, his mind buzzing with possibilities.

Saejima looked rough, his hair tousled, and his eyes bleary. Definitely hungover. “Mornin’,” he grunted, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice was still gravelly, clearly feeling the effects of the previous night’s drinking.

They fell into step together, heading down the narrow stairwell and out onto the street. Their respective family offices weren’t too far apart, so walking together was routine at this point. The silence between them was easy, natural—at least, until Saejima broke it.

“Feelin’ better?” Saejima asked, his voice a little more alert now as they walked.

Majima blinked, thrown off for a second. Better? He looked at Saejima,

“Uh, what?” 

Saejima frowned slightly, repeating himself, though his confusion was evident now. “I asked if ya were feelin’ better. Ya had a bad night, remember? Outburst and all that?”

Majima cursed internally but forced a casual chuckle, waving it off. “Oh, right. Sorry, I didn’t hear ya the first time. Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just needed some sleep, y’know?”

It wasn’t the best lie, but it was all he had. He hoped it would pass without too much attention. Saejima stared at him for a moment, clearly sensing something was off, but he didn’t press. Instead, he just shrugged, letting it go with a grunt.

“Lookin’ nice, though,” Saejima added, his tone gruff but genuine. “You clean up good.”

Majima felt a flicker of satisfaction, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It didn’t matter who said it—he liked hearing that he looked good. Always had. “Yeah? Well, gotta make a good impression today,” he said, brushing off the compliment but feeling a bit of pride rise in his chest.

Saejima just gave a nod, the corners of his own mouth twitching upward, though he still looked like he might fall over from the hangover at any moment. They continued their walk in easy silence after that, but Majima couldn’t help the little boost in his step. Today might actually be a good day.

“Don’t let it get to yer head, kyoudai. Ya still look like a creature tryin’ to fit in with the rest of us. Unless a snake in a black getup is what you were goin’ for,” Saejima teased, the words just a bit too close to the truth of what had happened last night.

Majima felt the tension immediately snap into his shoulders, the tightness crawling up his spine. He knew Saejima didn’t mean anything by it—there was no way he could know —but still, the words hit too close to home. Majima’s mind flashed back to his tail curling around Saejima’s leg, his body coiled in the dark corner, hiding the monster he’d turned into only hours ago.

But Majima wasn’t one to let something like that show. He shot back without missing a beat, his voice dripping with his usual snark. “Well, at least snakes are sleek and exotic. Somethin’ you wouldn’t understand, ya big brute.” He glanced sideways at Saejima, a sly grin pulling at his lips. “You into exotic, Kyoudai?”

It was a low blow, but Majima knew exactly what he was doing. If there was one thing guaranteed to make Saejima back off, it was prying into his personal life—especially anything to do with what, or who, he found attractive. The man was notoriously private when it came to anything involving his sex life.

Saejima’s grin faltered for a moment, and he gave Majima a sharp look, clearly taken off guard by the question. 

Majima continued, his voice smooth and teasing. “C’mon, Taiga, ya got a thing for the more… unique types? Don’t be shy.”

Saejima’s face flushed slightly, and he grumbled something under his breath, clearly not willing to take the bait. “Shut the hell up,” he muttered, his voice gruff but lacking any real bite.

Majima couldn’t help the smug grin that spread across his face. Works every time. He loved getting under Saejima’s skin like this, especially when it came to topics the big guy tried so hard to avoid. It was a rare victory, considering how solid and immovable Saejima usually was, and Majima reveled in it.

They continued walking, Saejima uncharacteristically quiet now, clearly trying to shake off the tease. Majima let the silence settle between them, a satisfied smirk still lingering on his face as he took in the morning air.

The street where they would part ways came quickly. Majima was to continue on for a street or two, and Saejima needed to turn off. They exchanged nods, just like any other day. It was time for them to be yakuza, not buddies. The work day starts now. 

Majima watched Saejima turn toward his own family office, and as soon as they parted ways, the knot of nerves tightened in his stomach. He tried to shake it off, running a hand through his hair as he neared the Shimano office. This was his shot, his first real chance to prove he wasn’t just some chinpira hanging on a low rung of the ladder. If he pulled this off, he might actually move up, get some recognition, and maybe even make some real money for once.

Can't fuck this up.

The door to the Shimano office loomed ahead of him and he swallowed, willing himself to keep calm. He took a deep breath and stepped inside, making his way toward the back where Shimano’s personal office was. His nerves prickled: the air in here always felt heavy, like every step mattered more than the last. When he reached the door, he knocked, his knuckles rapping hard against the wood.

A booming voice from the other side cut through the silence, "Enter!"

Majima didn’t hesitate. He slid the door open and stepped inside, immediately lowering himself into a deep bow before the giant man seated at the low table, a smoldering cigar sitting in the ashtray beside a hot cup of tea. He kept his head down until he heard the voice again, this time more chipper—an unnerving tone from someone like Shimano.

"Majima! Just the man I wanted to see!"

Majima lifted his head cautiously, standing up straight but keeping his body tense. Shimano’s upbeat tone was either really good or really, really bad. With Shimano, it was impossible to tell until you were deep in the shit.

"You wanted to see me, boss?" Majima asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

Shimano gave him a wide grin, the kind that made Majima’s stomach twist, and nodded. "Oh yeah, I’ve got the perfect job for ya. One only you can handle for me."

He gestured toward the pillow on the other side of the table. Majima moved cautiously, lowering himself onto the pillow with a bow, trying to mask how his hands were trembling. His nerves were crawling up his spine, but he kept his face neutral, focusing on the task in front of him. This was his chance, and he couldn’t blow it.

Shimano took a slow drag of his cigar, eyeing Majima like a cat playing with a mouse. Then, in true Shimano fashion, he exhaled the smoke in Majima’s direction, letting it blow almost directly into his face. The acrid cloud hit Majima’s eyes, stinging them, but he didn’t flinch. He couldn’t. Not in front of Shimano.

Majima blinked through the sting as Shimano leaned down and grabbed a folder from the floor beside him. He tossed it casually across the table, causing it to slide toward Majima with a soft scraping sound.

"Take a look at that," Shimano said, the grin never leaving his face. "I need ya to go to this location and talk with the docs there. They got some... interesting developments I want to hear about. Yer gonna butter ‘em up for me. Make ‘em think the Shimano family’s interested in what they’re doin’."

Majima’s eyes flicked down to the folder and then back up to Shimano. It sounded simple enough on the surface, but when it came to this family, nothing was ever just simple. Still, this was the job. This was the break he needed.

He reached out, grabbing the folder, careful to hide any sign of hesitation. "I’ll take care of it, boss."

Shimano’s grin pulled into a tight line as he leaned back, taking another drag of his cigar. "Good. I’ll be joinin’ ya later, but I need ya ta make nice. Make ‘em think we’re serious. We might want what they’re offerin’, might not. That’s for me to decide, ya understand?"

Majima nodded, clutching the folder a little tighter. "Understood."

Shimano’s eyes gleamed as he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping a little lower. "Don’t fuck this up, Majima. This is yer shot. Ya do good here, and there’s more where that came from."

Majima swallowed hard, nodding again. "I won’t, boss."

Holy shit, he thought as he stood up, keeping his bow deep as he excused himself from the room. He had the job. Now, all he had to do was not screw it up. Simple, right?

Majima stepped out into the streets, the noise and bustle of Kamurocho surrounding him, the dull drone of passersby doing nothing to alleviate the feeling that gnawed at his psyche. He held the folder in one hand, his other shoved deep into his pocket as he walked, his thoughts spinning. On the surface, it was a simple job—meet with some doctors, butter them up, make them think the Shimano family was interested in their "developments." Easy enough. But that’s exactly what was bothering him.

Why the hell was I picked for this? Majima frowned, his gaze distant, lost in thought. It wasn’t like he was complaining about getting something directly from the boss—he’d been waiting for this for a long time. But why this job? Why did Shimano say only he could do it? It wasn’t exactly a glamorous assignment, and schmoozing wasn’t the kind of thing that typically required any special skill set.

He wasn’t naïve. He knew Shimano had a way of building up even the smallest tasks into something that felt monumental. It was probably part of his strategy, making sure you didn’t mess up even the smallest details by turning it into a big deal. Keep everyone on edge, keep them sharp. It was smart, Majima had to admit. But it still felt off.

Majima’s fingers drummed against his thigh as he thought it through. Tellin’ people what they want to hear isn’t fuckin’ rocket science. He could talk his way out of most situations, a skill he’d picked up out of necessity. You couldn’t always rely on fists to get what you needed, not when you were scrambling to survive the streets as long as he had. He knew how to make people like him, to sell an idea, to smile when he needed to.

Still, there was an itch under his skin that wouldn’t go away. Something about the way Shimano had said, "Only you can do this," rubbed him wrong. He wasn’t anyone special in the family, at least not yet. So why pick him?

As he walked, he pulled the paper with the address from the folder he was given. The clinic wasn’t far, tucked away in one of the quieter parts of town, the kind of place people went when they wanted to avoid attention. No big neon signs, no advertisements about smoking hazards or whatever other useless information they tried to push these days. Just a stone-faced building, worn and cracked like everything else around here.

Majima stopped in front of it, staring at the clinic’s nondescript exterior for a moment. It blended in with the rest of the neighborhood, as unremarkable as the task he’d been given. He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders to loosen up. He had to shake this weird feeling off. The job was simple. Do it right, impress Shimano, and maybe this was the first step to climbing out of the gutter.

“Alright, Goro,” he muttered under his breath, cracking a grin despite himself. “Time to make some magic for the boss.”

He slid the folder under his arm, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the clinic. Whatever was waiting behind those doors, he’d handle it. He always did.

Majima strode through the doors of the clinic with as much confidence he could muster, stepping into the sterile smell of antiseptic that always lingered in places like this. He approached the front desk, flashing a grin at the receptionist sitting behind it. She looked up from her work, her smile immediate, warm, and maybe a little too eager.

Oh, I know that look, Majima thought, his smirk growing as he watched her eyes flicker across his face. It was subtle, but he’d seen it enough times to know exactly what she was doing. Her gaze danced from his eyes to his jaw, then down briefly to his chest, lingering for a split second on the gold chain around his neck. Yeah, she was into it.

And who could blame her? He looked damn good today—hair slicked back just right, clothes sharp and fitted, and that gold chain adding the perfect touch of flash. This part of the job was always the easiest for Majima. He’d worked these angles a thousand times before, and today was no different.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice smooth as she folded her hands on the desk. “How can I assist you today?”

Majima turned on the charm, letting his grin widen just enough to keep her hooked. “Mornin’, darlin’.” His voice was low, smooth, and he leaned forward just slightly, making sure his presence felt just a little more intimate than necessary. He could see the way her cheeks flushed, the tiniest twitch of a smile tugging at her lips. Too easy.

“I’ve got an appointment. I’m here t’see Dr. Takahashi and gang." He flashed a brief, charming smile before adding, "On behalf of the Shimano family, of course." He let the weight of that name settle in the air, watching her reaction carefully. As soon as he said it, he saw her eyes widen ever so slightly. Shimano was a name that carried weight in this part of town, and it wasn’t lost on her.

She glanced down at the schedule in front of her, her finger gliding down the page until it reached the correct hour, “Ah, yes,” she said, her smile never wavering. “We’ve been expecting you.”

He gave her a softer smile, his tone more casual now. “Name’s Majima, by the way.” He straightened up, letting the introduction hang for a second before leaning in again, his voice dropping just a notch. “Nice to meet ya.”

Her reaction was immediate, though subtle—the flush in her cheeks deepened, and Majima didn’t miss the way her breath hitched just slightly when he leaned in. Damn, that was a fuckin’ breeze. He could smell the shift in her, a faint hint of arousal that filled the air between them. His senses picked it up like a bloodhound, and he had to stifle the grin threatening to break through.

She cleared her throat, her fingers fidgeting nervously, finding purchase on a pen on the desk, before she got up from her seat and gestured toward the hallway behind her. “I’ll let them know you’ve arrived, Majima-san. Please, have a seat.”

Majima gave her a wink. “Take yer time. I ain’t in a rush.” He turned and made his way over to the waiting area, the sway in his step more pronounced now that he knew she was watching. Hell, maybe I’ll get a bonus outta this job, he thought, already thinking about how easy it’d be to take her home later.

He sank into the nearest chair, feeling pretty damn good about how things were shaping up. The real work was about to start, but if this first part was any indication, he was in for a smooth ride.

Majima got comfy, grabbing some worn out magazine and flipping through it absentmindedly, already feeling pretty pleased with himself. Shortly thereafter, a man from the back came around the corner, following the receptionist into the lobby. Majima watched as she broke away and sat back down at her desk. She glanced up at him and immediately averted her eyes down to her schedule when his gaze caught hers. The doctor cleared his throat and Majima casually shifted his attention the man’s way. Dressed in a white coat, he had the typical stiff, professional air of someone who probably spent too much time in dimly lit labs. "Majima-san? We’re ready for you now," the man said, motioning for Majima to follow him.

Majima stood, smoothing out his shirt with a practiced motion, making sure everything stayed crisp and sharp. As he walked past the desk, he caught the receptionist still watching him, her eyes lingering longer than they should. He flashed her another wink, and sure enough, her cheeks flushed again. Yeah, I’ll be back for that later, he thought with a smirk before following the doctor into the back.

The room they entered wasn’t anything fancy, not that Majima expected it to be. It looked like an exam room hastily turned into a conference space. The lighting was dim, casting a dingy glow over the cracked linoleum floor. There was a large table in the middle, surrounded by a few chairs that didn’t match. Not exactly a high-class setup, but then again, not every job was gonna be luxury, and so far, this was the most luxurious he’d had.

He took a seat at one end of the table, making himself comfortable as the five men shuffled around. Each of them stood, offering respectful bows as they introduced themselves one by one. Dr.Takahashi, Dr.Ishida, Dr.Watanabe, Dr.Yamamoto, and Dr. Sugimoto—just like in the folder Shimano had given him. They all had that same serious air about them, and Majima had to admit, it felt damn good being the one they were bowing to. A small taste of power, of what could come if he played his cards right.

Majima gave a short, casual bow in return while still seated, introducing himself smoothly. "Majima Goro, nice to meet ya," he said, his tone light but authoritative, the perfect balance of charm and professionalism.

Once the introductions were done, the man in the center, Dr. Takahashi, straightened up and gave Majima a polite smile. "Just to confirm, Shimano-san will be joining us shortly, correct?"

Majima leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he nodded. "That’s right. Shimano’s lookin’ forward to meetin’ with all of ya today. I’m here to get things rollin’ first."

Takahashi’s smile widened just a bit, clearly pleased with the answer. "Excellent. If you don’t mind, I’d like to start our presentation now. We’ve prepared everything for Shimano-san’s arrival, but I’d be happy to give you an overview first."

Majima tilted his head slightly, feigning interest as he gestured for the man to go ahead. "Sure, let’s hear what ya got." He kept his tone smooth, but in the back of his mind, he was already running over how best to handle this. Shimano had made it clear that Majima was here to play nice, to butter these guys up and make sure they thought the Shimano family was interested.

As Takahashi began to speak, launching into the technical details of whatever medical project they were working on, Majima leaned forward just enough to look engaged, his mind already shifting into its usual mode—charming, playing along, saying just enough to keep things moving smoothly.

This was a test, sure, but it was also a chance to show that he could handle this kind of work, that he could be more than just some thug swinging fists in the streets. It might’ve been a dingy room, and the job might’ve seemed simple, but Majima wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip by. He’d make sure Shimano knew he was the right man for more jobs like this.

Now, all he had to do was charm these doctors and keep them talking. Easy.

As Dr. Takahashi droned on, a few key phrases started to stick, though most of the jargon went straight over his head. Something about "injections at the base of the spine" caught his attention. That wasn’t exactly a phrase you heard every day. Then there was talk of “performance increases across the board, whether it be physical or mental.” Majima’s ears perked up.

What the hell are they pushin’? It sounded like these guys were developing some kind of injectable drug, the kind that could enhance mental clarity and endurance. Kinda like those energy drinks in the konbini he could never afford— Tauriner, that was one of them, and Staminan, too. Only, this wasn’t some glass bottle full of sugar and caffeine. This was an injectable. Something they wanted to shoot straight into the base of someone’s spine.

Majima’s eyebrow twitched. That’s kinda insane.

He kept his expression neutral, nodding along like he understood everything they were saying, but it didn’t take long for him to get lost in the mess of chemical compounds and medical terms. He could tell these doctors were passionate about their work, but it was all Greek to him. Every time one of them opened their mouth, they threw out more technical jargon. It was like no one had ever thought to proofread the damn presentation for someone normal —like Majima—who didn’t have a fancy degree or even half a clue what they were talking about.

After a few more minutes of listening to them talk in circles, Majima realized he wasn’t gonna get anywhere with this unless he stepped in. He cleared his throat, leaning forward slightly as he flashed his most polite smile.

“Gents, if I could just stop ya for a sec,” Majima interrupted smoothly, raising a hand. They paused, all eyes on him now. “I gotta admit, I’m not exactly a doctor, and I don’t have those fancy degrees and licenses that you fine gentlemen got.” His tone was light, almost self-deprecating, but it was all part of the charm. “So, I need a little help here. Could you maybe explain to me—in simpler terms—how exactly this new injectable’s supposed to assist the Shimano Family?”

The room went quiet for a moment as the men exchanged glances. Dr. Takahashi blinked, seeming to realize, maybe for the first time, that their audience wasn’t exactly well-versed in biochemistry. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses before nodding.

“Of course, Majima-san,” he said, his tone a little more careful now. “I’ll simplify. This injectable we’re developing is designed to enhance both physical and mental performance in individuals. Essentially, it can improve endurance, strength, and reaction times, while also increasing cognitive functions like focus and decision-making speed.”

Majima’s eyes narrowed slightly as he processed that. So, it’s a drug that makes ya stronger, faster, and smarter. He could see why Shimano would be interested. Something like this could be a game-changer for the family’s operations. Not just for the muscle on the streets, but for the guys running the show behind the scenes, too.

Takahashi continued, “For the Shimano Family, this means that your men—if administered this drug—could perform at their peak for longer periods of time. Whether it’s in physical tasks or high-stress decision-making scenarios, the benefits would be substantial.”

Majima nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair. So that’s the angle. It wasn’t just some weird injectable energy drink—they were trying to push something that could turn the family’s men into freaks of nature.

“Well, that makes a lot more sense,” Majima said, his grin returning. “I can see why the boss’d be interested in somethin’ like that.”

Takahashi seemed relieved at Majima’s response, and the other doctors nodded in agreement. Majima didn’t show it, but his mind was already working, thinking about what Shimano would do with something like this. If it worked, it could be big. Real big.

But that was the thing. If it worked.

Just as Majima was starting to get comfortable with the situation, the door swung open, and the air in the room shifted immediately. Shimano’s presence filled the space, booming and cold, like a storm rolling in. The conversation halted instantly, the doctors standing just a little straighter, their eyes snapping to the patriarch.

Majima didn’t waste a second. He stood up so fast his chair nearly tipped over, bowing deeply, his hands pressed to his knees, head down. “Shimano-han,” he greeted, his voice steady despite the nerves clawing at him. He kept his eyes on the floor, as was expected, waiting for Shimano’s next move.

Without a word, Shimano made his way over to Majima’s chair and sank into it, his massive frame practically swallowing the seat. Majima straightened up but stayed at attention, standing rigid beside him, his heart pounding as he tried not to fidget under the tension of the room.

Shimano’s gaze swept across the table, his cold eyes landing on each of the men before he spoke. “Did Majima here give ya any trouble?” His tone was as sharp as it was casual, like he was half-joking, but the bite in his words was undeniable.

Majima’s stomach dropped at the question. Why would he have caused trouble? Regardless, the doctors practically tripped over themselves to answer.
“No, no, not at all!” Dr. Takahashi said quickly, followed by nods of agreement from the others. “He’s been nothing but receptive and professional. We’re very pleased with him.”

Majima resisted the urge to sigh in relief. Nice. He shot a quick glance at Shimano, hoping the boss was satisfied with the answer.

Shimano’s eyes flicked up to him, and after a moment, he gave Majima a small nod. It was subtle, but it carried a lot of weight. Double nice.

With that, the conversation shifted back to business. The men turned their attention fully to Shimano, their tone more formal now, almost eager. “Shimano-san, if you’re ready, we’d like to begin the demonstration,” Takahashi said, his hands folded in front of him.

Shimano leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t say anything right away, just let the silence hang in the air for a moment before giving a slow nod. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

But then, without warning, Shimano’s large hand pressed into Majima’s back. The motion was firm, almost too firm, and before Majima could react, he felt himself being pushed forward, his feet stumbling slightly as he was shoved toward the center of the room.

“Got yer test subject, like you needed,” Shimano said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Majima froze, his mind screeching to a halt. Test subject?! His heart skipped a beat, adrenaline spiking as the words sank in. He looked over at Shimano, trying to figure out if he’d heard him wrong, but there was no mistake. His patriarch had just volunteered him to be their guinea pig.

He glanced at the doctors, expecting shock or hesitation, but they didn’t even blink. Not a single one of them seemed phased. They had known. They knew all along.

Majima’s mouth went dry. What the fuck did I just get into?

Takahashi smiled, that same polite smile from earlier, but now it felt… wrong. “Very good. Thank you, Shimano-san. Majima-san will do perfectly.”

Majima swallowed hard, his mind racing, but there was no backing out now. Shimano had just handed him over, and there was no way in hell he could refuse. Not with Shimano watching.

Majima’s stomach churned as the man on the far right motioned for him to sit in the exam chair. He moved stiffly, trying to hide his discomfort, while the other doctors bustled around, preparing God knows what for whatever twisted experiment they had planned. Shimano always made the underlings watch when someone was punished, so he was no stranger to observing some pretty fucked up shit. He just wasn’t used to being on this side of things—the side where he was the one strapped down, hooked up, and poked at like some lab rat.

Shimano was watching everything, his cold, calculating eyes fixed on Majima the entire time.

One of the doctors approached him, clipboard in hand, and said, "Please remove your shirt." Majima gritted his teeth but complied, pulling the fabric over his head in one smooth motion, gripping it in one of his fists. He could feel the cold air bite at his bare skin as they started sticking electrodes onto his chest. The doctor muttered something about how they were “just for monitoring,” but that didn’t ease the gnawing discomfort Majima felt under his skin.

He hated doctors. Always had. His body didn’t do well with them because… well, because he wasn’t normal. He wasn’t human. Never had been, never would be. His body didn’t react to things the same way other people’s did. His blood wasn’t the same. His skin wasn’t the same. And as he sat there, shirtless and exposed, he felt a deep sense of vulnerability creep up on him, the kind he hadn’t felt since he was a kid.

Another doctor approached, affixing a small heart monitor clamp to his finger. The skin was still tender from the night before, where his claws had broken through and left jagged little wounds. He winced slightly but bit back any real reaction. Shimano was still watching, and there was no way Majima was going to let him see any kind of weakness. Not now.

Takahashi, standing nearby, started going over the same spiel he’d given Majima earlier, explaining the benefits of the injectable drug. But Majima wasn’t listening anymore. His focus was on the tightening knot in his gut and the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Then one of the doctors spoke again, pulling Majima back to the present. “Please turn around and straddle the chair.”

Majima froze. His brain immediately connected the dots. Injections at the base of the spine. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and he swallowed hard. His spine was already tender as hell. The transformation the night before had left it stretched and bruised, the vertebrae snapping into place as he reverted back to human form. His back was wrecked , and now they were about to jam a needle into it.

He hesitated for just a second before turning around, doing as instructed. He straddled the chair, gripping the backrest as he braced himself. The doctors were behind him now, and as soon as he shifted his weight, he felt it— shit, his back was in worse shape than he thought. He hadn’t realized just how beat up he was.

One of the doctors let out a soft gasp, and another leaned in closer, clearly noticing the state of Majima’s spine. The bruising ran down the length of it, a mix of deep purple, yellow, and black, visible even through the intricate layers of his irezumi. The bulk of his back, especially the area around his spine, was left flesh-toned to give the white Hannya its sharp contrast.

The doctor closest to him asked cautiously, “Are you… alright? Your spine looks badly bruised.” Concern showing through his words as if he wasn’t about to cause him trauma to the same fuckin’ place. 

Majima’s heart skipped a beat, but he forced himself to laugh it off. “Ah, yeah. Slept wrong or somethin’.” He shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant, even though he could practically feel the eyes of the doctors boring into him. He had no idea how bad the bruising really was, but it must’ve been awful for them to react like that.

Another doctor ran a hand lightly along his back, their fingers brushing over the bruises. “These aren’t just from sleeping wrong,” the doctor muttered, sounding more concerned now. “How did you get these? They’re… severe.”

Majima’s mind scrambled for an excuse, his pulse quickening. Shit. Shit. Shit. He couldn’t let them know the truth, couldn’t let them think anything was out of the ordinary. If they started digging, who knew what they’d find? He couldn’t afford that.

He forced another laugh, trying to keep it light. “I get into a lotta fights, doc. Guess the last guy really liked punchin’ my back.”

The explanation hung in the air for a moment, and Majima wasn’t sure if they believed him or not. But after a brief silence, the doctors exchanged glances, clearly uneasy but willing to move forward. Takahashi cleared his throat, stepping closer as the others resumed their preparations.

“We’ll proceed,” he said, though there was still a note of hesitation in his voice.

Majima clenched his jaw, his hands tightening their grip on the chair’s backrest. He didn’t care about the pain—he could handle that. But the feeling of being exposed like this, with Shimano watching his every move… that was the real agony.

The younger doctor who had earlier stuck the electrodes onto Majima’s chest now hovered behind him, swiping a cold alcohol pad across his spine. The sharp, sterile scent hit Majima’s nose as he shivered slightly at the cool sensation. It wasn’t quite the base of his spine, though—more like the lower back, a bit above where his pants sat. Majima couldn’t help but notice that detail. Not where the tail comes from, he thought, his body instinctively tightening. He still felt uneasy about the whole thing, but there wasn’t much he could do now.

Takahashi kept speaking, his voice droning on like he was giving some kind of seminar. But this time, the topic had shifted to what was happening right now. He explained the frequency of use for the drug they were about to inject into Majima, how often it should be administered, and how long the effects were expected to last. “We recommend injections once a week for optimal performance, although individual results may vary. Some users may experience heightened effects for up to a month. As the drug builds in the system, however, frequency of injection can be spread out over multiple weeks instead.”

Takahashi continued, moving onto possible side effects, rattling them off like they were just another bullet point. “Of course, there are risks involved, as with any experimental drug. Some users have reported increased aggression, rapid heart rate, and in a few cases, muscle spasms that may last for hours after the injection. We are still studying long-term effects, but so far, none have been debilitating.”

Majima could still feel Shimano’s eyes on him, a cold and calculating weight pressing into his back. The patriarch hadn’t said a word since the presentation began again, just listened, but Majima knew he was taking in every detail, watching how the doctors handled him. How Majima handled the situation.

Takahashi finished his presentation with a couple simple questions. “Shall we proceed, Shimano-san? Or do you have any questions?”

Shimano finally shifted in his seat, his voice a low rumble as he broke the silence. “Ya said this drug’s s’pposed to enhance performance—physical and mental, yeah?”

Takahashi nodded eagerly, stepping forward. “Yes, precisely. It improves endurance, strength, and cognitive abilities. We believe it could be a game-changer for men in high-stress environments.”

Shimano’s eyes flicked briefly to Majima before turning back to Takahashi. “And what about side effects? You mentioned aggression—how bad we talkin’?”

Takahashi hesitated for a moment before answering. “In our trials, only a small percentage of users displayed heightened aggression, and even then, it was temporary. It usually lasted no more than a few hours after the initial injection.”

Shimano leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing. “But we’re talkin’ about guys who already got tempers, right? What’s stoppin’ ‘em from flyin’ off the handle the moment this shit hits?”

The room went quiet for a moment as Takahashi tried to formulate a response. “We’ve found that as long as the subject is monitored properly and given time to adjust to the effects, the aggression can be managed. It’s not permanent.”

Shimano didn’t look convinced. “And what if it is? If one of my men goes off the rails ‘cause of this shit, it’s on my head, not yours.”

Takahashi shifted nervously but quickly reassured, “We have protocols in place to help manage any adverse effects. If your men are properly trained to understand how to manage the aggression, it shouldn’t be an issue.”

Shimano leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table thoughtfully. “Ya say that now, but I know how guys in my family work. They’re not exactly fans of ‘wait and see’ when it comes to control.”

Majima sat there, listening to the exchange while the cold alcohol still lingered on his skin, the tension building in his body. The questions Shimano was asking felt like more than just due diligence—they were Shimano’s way of testing, probing, trying to find the weak points in the pitch. He wasn’t about to let his men become guinea pigs without getting every answer he could. Well… not all of his men. Just me…

Takahashi cleared his throat. “Shimano-san, I assure you, the benefits far outweigh the risks. This drug has the potential to push your men to the next level—physically and mentally.”

Shimano finally nodded, his decision made. “Fine. Let’s see it in action.”

Majima tensed as Shimano’s words hung in the air. He was about to find out firsthand what this “enhancement” felt like—whether he wanted to or not.

The needle went in fast, piercing Majima’s spine with a sharp sting that he barely had time to process. The pain flared white-hot, searing through his back, and his whole body tensed involuntarily. No numbing agent, no preparation—just raw dogging this giant needle directly into his spine. No biggie, he thought with a grimace, but he could already tell this wasn’t going to be a quick jab-and-go situation.

The needle itself was nothing compared to what came next. The moment they started injecting the liquid, it felt like fire was being pumped directly into his nervous system. Majima’s entire body convulsed with the pain, his muscles locking up as if they were trying to tear themselves apart. The agony ripped through him so violently he couldn’t stop the guttural sound that escaped his throat. It was low, animalistic, a pained snarl that echoed in the sterile room.

The heart monitor attached to his finger started going haywire, the beeping growing frantic as Majima bit down hard on his lip. His sharp canines tore into the flesh, and he tasted blood instantly. He felt it trickling down his chin, dripping onto the floor beneath him, but he couldn’t focus on that. His vision blurred, and all he could feel was the molten liquid searing through his spine, flooding every nerve with a sensation he could only describe as unbearable.

This ain’t fucking right, Majima’s mind screamed, I’m not human—this shit ain’t gonna work on me!

He tried to focus, to block out the pain, but it was all-consuming, like his entire body was burning from the inside out. The feeling of the needle finally being pulled out couldn’t come fast enough. He felt it slide free from his spine, the pain dulling slightly, but the damage was already done. His body slumped forward, muscles shaking uncontrollably as he collapsed against the back of the chair. His skin felt like it was on fire, every nerve still tingling with the aftershock of the injection.

The doctors were quick to react, pressing gauze to the injection site, in order to stop the bleeding. Shimano’s presence loomed over him, the weight of the man’s gaze heavy as he stood and walked over to inspect the injection site. Majima could feel Shimano’s breath against his back as he leaned in, the silence hanging like a blade between them.

"Big hole it leaves behind, huh?" Shimano’s voice was cold, calm, like he was observing something mildly interesting. No concern, no sympathy, just detached observation.

Majima’s muscles ached as he tried to straighten himself in the chair, his back still throbbing with residual pain. But when Shimano spoke again, the weight of his words hit harder than any physical discomfort.

"How’re you feelin’, Majima?"

Majima knew this was a loaded question. If he showed weakness—if he admitted to feeling nothing—he was screwed. Shimano wasn’t just asking about the pain. He was asking whether this experiment worked, whether Majima had felt any of the effects they were hoping for. If Majima said the wrong thing, if he let on that this drug had done absolutely nothing to him, the doctors would start asking questions he couldn’t afford them to ask. Questions about why his body didn’t react like everyone else’s.

Majima forced a smile, though Shimano couldn’t see it with him facing away. "Hurt like a bitch goin’ in, but my back doesn’t hurt as much anymore," he lied smoothly, his voice as casual as he could make it. "Feels like I just got a full night’s sleep. Real refreshed, y’know?"

It was easier to lie when you weren’t looking someone in the eye. Majima’s voice came out steady, even though his body was still trembling from the aftershocks of pain. He kept it light, conversational, trying to sell it.

"Good," Shimano rumbled, standing up straight again. "That’s what I like to hear."

Majima breathed out slowly, keeping his eyes forward. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but at least for now, they bought it. Keep it together, Goro, he thought to himself, feeling the gauze press harder against his torn skin. Just keep lying, and you’ll be fine.

Shimano’s voice cut through the lingering tension in the room, dismissive and cold. “You can go, Majima.”

Majima bowed deeply despite the throbbing ache in his spine. “Understood, boss,” he replied, keeping his voice steady. His body screamed with every movement, but he wasn’t about to show it in front of Shimano. After a moment he straightened, careful to hide the wince as he stood, and quickly made his way toward the door.

He didn’t bother putting his shirt back on before leaving the room, his bare back still stinging from the injection site, the makeshift bandage barely holding up. All he wanted was to get the hell out of there and back to his place.

As he made his way down the hall, he spotted the receptionist again. She glanced up as he approached, and their eyes locked. Majima couldn’t help but notice the way her gaze lingered on his bare chest, her cheeks immediately flushing a soft pink. Still on the line, huh? he thought with a smirk as he slowed his pace.

He started to shrug his shirt back on, but took his time with it, making sure she got a good look. By the time he reached her desk, the smile on his face was back in full force. Leaning casually against the counter, he tipped his head at her, still buttoning his shirt up halfway. “Have a great day, yeah?” His voice was smooth, casual, but there was an edge to it, like he was offering more than just a simple goodbye.

Her blush deepened, and she fidgeted for a moment before sliding a small piece of paper across the counter toward him. “Here,” she said, her voice almost shy. “That’s my home number. I usually get off around 6 pm most days.”

Majima glanced at the paper, then back at her, his grin widening. He took it between two fingers, holding it up for a second before slipping it into his pocket. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Without another word, Majima turned and strolled out of the clinic, feeling the tension in his back starting to ease just a little. Despite everything—the pain, the questions, the needle—he’d still managed to walk out of there with the upper hand.

Fuckin’ easy.

Majima hadn’t been walking for long when he noticed it—he actually felt good. Really good. It was almost unnatural, like his body had been supercharged. His energy levels shot through the roof, like he’d had three square meals, a full night’s sleep, and wasn’t dragging around the constant weight of hunger and exhaustion. His mind felt sharp, his limbs light, and for a moment, he thought maybe the damn thing actually worked, even on him.

Nice, he thought, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Maybe Shimano wouldn’t be disappointed after all. Sure, it wasn’t like he was turning into some superhuman beast or anything, but there was something there—an energy boost that felt different. He wasn’t expecting much from it, considering his whole “not exactly human” situation, but maybe, just maybe, this drug had a little kick even for him.

But then, as he kept walking, something shifted. The energy didn’t stay steady. It twisted into something else , something off. Majima’s body felt strange—like too much energy was coursing through him at once. It was like his veins were buzzing, electricity shooting through his muscles, making his fingers twitch uncontrollably. His heart rate picked up, pounding erratically in his chest, his pulse racing in a way that didn’t feel right.

What the fuck…?

Majima’s steps faltered, and he realized his limbs were jerking, twitching involuntarily, like he couldn’t control them. Every muscle in his body was on edge, twitching with the pent-up energy that didn’t have anywhere to go. His mind raced, thoughts darting from one thing to the next without focus. He needed to pull off somewhere— anywhere —before he lost his shit in the middle of the street.

He turned a corner, ducking into a nearby alley, his back slamming against the cold stone wall as he leaned against it. His breathing was ragged now, uneven, his chest rising and falling in sharp, frantic gasps. Sweat trickled down his forehead, soaking into his shirt. He could feel it running down his back too, the dampness sticking to his skin in a way that made his nerves scream. He didn’t sweat! What the fuck was this?!

The world around him was spinning, everything suddenly too hot, too bright, too much. It wasn’t normal for him to feel like this—his body was cold-blooded, he wasn’t supposed to overheat like this. His skin burned, his muscles felt like they were on fire, and his vision blurred at the edges, making everything feel distorted.

He pressed his palm against the wall, trying to steady himself, but the twitching wouldn’t stop. His eyes darted around the alley, scanning for something, anything to focus on. But nothing helped. It felt like his body was short-circuiting, like the drug was frying him from the inside out.

Fuck. I need to get home, he thought, but even that felt impossible with the way his body was shaking. His mind raced with the realization that, technically, he was on drugs right now. Was he ODing? Is that what this was? 

Majima’s body convulsed again, a violent shudder that sent his legs buckling for a second. His tail—it was itching, trying to push its way out, reacting to the stress, the heat. He was barely keeping his monstrous side in check, and that thought sent a wave of panic coursing through him. He needed to pull himself together, needed to get back before something worse happened.

Panting, he pressed his hand harder against the wall, trying to push himself back upright. His vision swam again, but he clenched his teeth, trying and failing to force himself to focus. Get home. Just get home. Move yer fuckin’ legs, ya idiot!

Chapter Text

Saejima had been wandering the streets for what felt like forever, stomach growling as he searched for a konbini to grab a quick lunch. In Kamurocho, they were everywhere—around every corner, tucked into every alley. So why the hell couldn’t he find one in this section of town? Grumbling under his breath, he kept walking, eyes scanning for any familiar signs.

But as he rounded the next corner, something caught his attention. Down the alley to his right, a figure was hunched over; knees buckling, hands pressed hard against their face, their upper half obscured by the shadow of the building they were leaned against. The way the guy’s body twitched—it wasn’t normal. Saejima squinted, his brow furrowing as he took in the scene and the erratic movements. There was something familiar about the way the guy stood, the way his frame curled in on itself.

Is that… Majima?

Saejima’s eyes traveled down the figure’s body. Black snakeskin steel-toed oxfords. Shit. No one else in this damn city wore shoes like that. That was definitely Majima. His heart skipped, and without thinking, Saejima rushed toward him, his boots pounding against the pavement as he closed the distance.

"Majima!" Saejima’s voice boomed through the alley, but Majima didn’t seem to hear him. His body was shaking uncontrollably, knees nearly giving out as the hells of his hands dug into his eyes like he was trying to block out the world around him.

Saejima grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to steady him as Majima’s body lurched forward. “Oi! What the hell’s goin’ on? Put yer arms down!” Saejima’s grip was firm, trying to stop him from collapsing, but Majima barely seemed to register his presence. He looked up at Saejima but his eyes were wild, burning with something that wasn’t right. It wasn’t the usual sharp, playful look Majima always had in his eyes. It was something darker, manic—like he was looking through Saejima, not at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with ya?” Saejima’s voice was louder now, panic creeping into his tone as he held Majima upright. The erratic twitching, the way Majima’s eyes darted, unfocused, and the sweat pouring off him—it all screamed of someone who had taken something. A bad dose, maybe. “Are ya on drugs?! Fuck’s sake, Majima—what the fuck did ya take?!”

Majima didn’t respond right away, his chest heaving as he panted for breath, his hands still shaking uncontrollably. Saejima’s mind raced. What the hell had happened with Shimano? Had that meeting gone sideways? Had Majima fucked it up so bad that he’d gone on some kind of bender afterward? It wasn’t like him to do something like that, but Majima looked like he was teetering on the edge of losing it completely.

Saejima shook him lightly, trying to snap him out of whatever fog he was in. “Majima, talk to me. What the hell’s goin’ on?” His voice was rough, urgent, his mind swirling with a hundred different questions, none of them positively charged.

Majima’s gaze finally locked onto Saejima’s, and the intensity in his eyes was terrifying. It was like he was trapped inside his own head, struggling to find the words or the clarity to explain what was happening.

Everything was spiraling out of control. The world was closing in on Majima, too loud, too bright, too overwhelming. But the real fight wasn’t just with the heat or the weird twitching coursing through his body—it was with himself. The monster inside him was clawing its way to the surface, desperate to break free. It wanted out , and it wanted out right now , but Majima couldn’t let that happen. Not in broad daylight. Not here, in the middle of Kamurocho, with people all around.

Saejima’s hands on his shoulders only made it worse. The moment he had been shaken, Majima felt his world collapse. His body seized up, and before he even realized it, he started speaking. No, not speaking—babbling. He didn’t even know he was saying the words out loud. They just poured out of him, frantic, desperate.

“No no no no, not you… ya can’t see me like this…” His voice cracked, a wild edge of panic that he couldn’t control. His hands flew back up to his face, covering his eyes. “God no—FUCK. Please, please don’t look!”

Saejima’s face twisted in confusion, anger flashing through his eyes. All he could hear were the ramblings of someone out of their mind, someone who didn’t want to be found out. Drugs, that’s what it sounded like. Bad drugs.

Saejima’s grip tightened as Majima kept rambling, his words spilling out in a panicked stream. Majima didn’t want him to see. Didn’t want to be caught. What the fuck else could it be? Betrayal gnawed at Saejima’s gut, the realization dawned on him like a punch to the face. Majima had been hiding this— this —from him all along. The erratic behavior, the way he’d been acting off lately. It wasn’t just some bad day or rough night. Majima was on something. He had to be.

Saejima shook Majima again, his jaw tightening. He felt a boiling rage start to build in his chest. Majima wasn’t a junkie. He couldn’t be. The amount of nights Saejima had listened to Majima curse his old man for being an addict couldn’t even be counted on two hands. Saejima and him had bonded over this; Saejima having a few relatives himself fall down similar holes in life. Saejima had sworn an oath with him, had trusted him. But now? Now it felt like everything was crashing down.

“Majima,” Saejima growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Are you fuckin’ serious? Did I really take in a junkie ? Is that what this is?” His voice rose as he spoke, the words cutting like a blade. “You been lyin’ to me this whole time? Got my fuckin’ sister around you while you’re hopped up on shit ?!”

Majima’s response was only more frantic babbling. “No… can’t… can’t see me… I can’t help it…” His words came out in choked sobs, barely coherent as he shook his head violently. His mind was a mess, split between trying to keep the monster inside and trying to explain to Saejima that it wasn’t what he thought. But everything was jumbled, and the panic made it worse. “I can’t stop… I can’t stop it…”

To Saejima, it must sound like every junkie’s excuse, every rambling plea for forgiveness after they’d already crossed a line they couldn’t uncross. But to Majima, it was the desperate truth. The monster was there, clawing at his insides, threatening to rip him apart if he didn’t keep control. But how could he explain that? How could he tell Saejima what he really was?

Saejima’s patience snapped. He shifted his grip on Majima’s body, lifting him like he weighed nothing, slinging him over his shoulder. “Yer fuckin’ comin’ with me,” he snarled, voice thick with rage. “We’re goin’ home, and yer gonna fuckin’ answer for this.”

Majima was beside himself. He kicked weakly, thrashing against Saejima’s grip, but his body wasn’t cooperating. “NO! Not home! Kyoudai, please!” His voice cracked, raw and pleading. “Yasuko—she can’t—she can’t know!” His panic hit a fever pitch.

Saejima’s grip tightened, his anger like a wildfire now. He marched forward, determined to drag Majima back, his mind set. “Too late, Majima. Yer gonna explain all this—every fuckin’ bit of it.”

Saejima all but kicked the door open, dragging Majima through the entryway with a fury that was white-hot. His muscles bulged with the sheer force of his rage as he stormed into the apartment. With one swift motion, he threw Majima onto the ground, his body hitting the floor hard, still twitching, still squirming, and still freaking the fuck out.

Saejima slammed the door closed then stood over Majima, breathing heavily, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were turning white. He was beyond pissed. This wasn’t just anger—it was a betrayal that ran deep. “Ya think I wouldn’t find out, huh? Think ya could fuckin’ hide this?” His voice was thick with venom, each word dripping with a rage Majima had never heard from him before.

Majima just laid there on the floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His heart pounded in his chest, not just from the fear of Saejima’s wrath, but because he could feel it— the monster —right there beneath the surface. It was clawing at him, threatening to break free. His eyes were wild, tears streaming down his face as he tried, really tried , to explain, but everything was coming out jumbled, frantic, panicked.

“Sa… Saejima, I—” Majima’s voice was hoarse, barely a whisper between sobs, his hands clawing at his chest like he could keep himself from breaking apart. “Please… please leave. I can’t—” He could feel it, his bones already starting to shift beneath his skin, the ache in his spine growing unbearable. The dam was about to burst.

But Saejima scoffed, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest. “What, ya want me to leave? Leave my own fuckin’ house?” He shook his head, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ya think I’m just gonna back off ‘cause ya asked nicely?”

Saejima wasn’t listening. He was too far gone, too consumed by his fury. “You fuckin’ junkie!” he spat, towering over Majima like a storm ready to crash down. “We let ya in our fuckin’ home! Ate our food, stayed in our place when it was cold as shit, and this whole time, yer blowin’ your cash on fuckin’ dope ?!”

Majima’s hands shook, the twitching growing more violent as the transformation threatened to tear through him. He tried again, his voice breaking as he begged, “No… please, Saejima… ya don’t understand… it’s not—”

But Saejima was having none of it. He leaned down, his face inches from Majima’s, his expression twisted with disgust. “How long have ya been hidin’ this, huh? How long have ya been lyin’ to me? To Yasuko? Was it just a bad batch? Did ya take too much this time, ya fuckin’ junkie piece of shit?”

Majima’s sobs came harder now, his chest heaving as he tried to fight off the monster, but it was no use. He could feel his muscles contorting, his skin prickling with the telltale signs of the shift. His back arched, the pain almost unbearable as his spine elongated beneath him. He was losing control.

“Sae… Saejima, please…” His voice was barely a whisper, desperation lacing every word. “I can’t… stop it… I—”

Majima’s vision blurred with the tears, and he clenched his fists, every muscle screaming as the transformation started to tear through him. “ Please… ” he whimpered one last time, his voice cracking.

But it was too late.

The dam didn’t just break—it exploded. 

Majima’s entire body seized violently, his muscles locking up as a bone-deep tremor wracked through him. Saejima stood back, frozen for a second, watching as Majima’s limbs jerked uncontrollably. It looked like a seizure— it had to be —some reaction to the drugs Saejima was sure Majima had taken. His anger faltered, replaced by a sickening churn of dread in his gut.

“Kyoudai!” Saejima barked, dropping to his knees beside him. He reached out to grab Majima by the shoulders, trying to steady him, but Majima’s body convulsed again, so hard that his spine arched off the ground, his face contorting in a mix of pain and terror.

Majima’s skin rippled unnaturally, the muscles beneath it twisting in ways that no human body should. His hands clawed at the ground, fingers digging into the tatami, splintering it as his back hunched grotesquely. His breath came in ragged, broken gasps, eyes wide and wild as he stared, unseeing, at the ceiling.

Then came the sound—a low, guttural growl that rumbled from deep in Majima’s throat, not human at all. It was like an animal’s snarl, raw and untamed, echoing in the small apartment like a warning. Saejima recoiled slightly, his heart thudding in his chest as confusion ripped through his psyche.

Majima tore his pants off in a fit, his legs beginning to fuse together. At first, it looked like his bones were snapping, breaking down beneath his skin, his thighs pressing together in an unnatural, agonizing twist. But they weren’t snapping—they were merging. The muscles, the skin—it all melded into one, twisting and writhing as his body lengthened. Saejima could only watch in horrified disbelief as Majima’s lower half stretched out, becoming longer, thicker. What had once been legs was now fusing into a tail, covered in the sickening shimmer of white iridescent scales that crawled up his skin in patches.

Majima screamed, a sound so raw and filled with agony that it pierced through Saejima’s shock. “ No— ” Majima gasped, his voice cracking as his hands flew to his waist, where his legs had once been. But they were gone, replaced by the coiling length of his serpentine tail that now twisted on the floor like a living thing with a mind of its own.

His face twisted in terror, pure horror, as he stared down at himself. “What—what the fuck —no, no, no!” Majima's voice was frantic, broken, his body shaking violently as he tried to comprehend what was happening. His fingers tore at his own skin, trying to stop it, trying to rip the transformation out of himself, but it was no use.

Saejima stumbled backward, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at his kyoudai in disbelief. “What… the fuck ?!” he choked out, his eyes wide, mind struggling to make sense of the grotesque transformation unfolding in front of him.

Majima’s tail thrashed against the floor, slamming into the walls with a force that made the entire room shudder. His hands were shaking, his face contorted with panic. He wasn’t in control anymore—his body was warping, twisting into something monstrous, something he couldn’t stop. “ Saejima… please… ” Majima’s voice cracked again, tears streaming down his face as he begged, “D-Don’t Look, please! ”

Saejima couldn’t move. His mind was frozen in shock, a thousand questions racing through his brain, but not one of them made sense. What was he seeing? Majima’s body—his fucking legs —had turned into a tail. A snake tail by the look of it. Saejima swallowed hard, the lump in his throat thick as he watched Majima thrash helplessly, his tail coiling and uncoiling in violent spasms. This isn’t drugs…

But Majima was losing it, the pain and terror breaking him down. He clawed at his own skin, his eyes wild and pleading. “ Please… don’t look… don’t fucking look! ”

Majima’s body convulsed, his transformation tearing through him with savage intensity. His skin rippled again as the scales spread rapidly, shimmering under the dim light of the apartment. His face twisted, teeth gritted, fangs lengthening into sharp points that pricked against his lips, drawing blood. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, the pain of his bones and muscles shifting making every breath feel like it was ripping him apart from the inside.

Majima's eyes were wide, wild with terror as he reached out, his fingernails popping off and raining down onto the floor as large razor sharp claws burst from the nail beds, causing him to scream in agony as they sliced their way through the sensitive skin. He anchored his claws into the floor as he tried, futilely, to control the monstrous tail that had replaced his legs. It coiled and snapped, slithering without direction, dragging him helplessly in its wake. Majima was too panicked, in too much pain to control his new appendage.

Saejima could only watch, his eyes wide, disbelief and horror freezing him in place. His mind raced, but nothing he knew—nothing he had ever seen or heard of—could make sense of what was happening. This wasn’t a drug trip gone bad. This wasn’t anything human. The man he had known, the brother he had sworn an oath with, was turning into something other, something monstrous, right before his eyes.

“What the fuck … what the fuck is this?!” Saejima’s voice broke through the chaos, but there was no real question behind it—just raw disbelief. He stumbled back, knocking into the low dining table as Majima’s tail slammed into the wall again, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the plaster. The room was a whirlwind of destruction as Majima’s body continued its grotesque transformation.

Majima’s hands flew to his head, his claws scratching at the skin just above his forehead as he screamed in pain. His face contorted as two horns pushed their way through his flesh, ripping through the skin with a sickening crunch. Blood poured down his face, dripping into his eyes as the horns grew longer, slicing up and out from his skull like bone daggers. He whimpered, his voice breaking between gasps of breath, each sound filled with agony and fear.

His eyes shifted, the pupils narrowing into a slitted, reptilian shape, the irises glowing with a cold, predatory gleam. His vision blurred, the light too harsh, too overwhelming as his senses heightened to inhuman levels. His tongue flicked out of his mouth involuntarily, split and elongated, tasting the air with an eerie precision. Every nerve felt exposed, raw, his senses distorted by the transformation, and all he could feel was the unbearable, overwhelming wrongness of it.

Saejima, standing helplessly in the wreckage of the room, could only stare. Majima’s entire body had transformed. 

Majima’s tail, finally spent from its thrashing, fell still, coiling around him as he lay on the ground, trembling, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. His body was battered, bruised, and torn, but the worst of it was over. The transformation was complete. He lay there, broken—the remnants of the apartment scattered around him, furniture tossed to the side, the walls cracked and splintered.

“Majima…” Saejima’s voice was hoarse, barely a whisper as he stared at the creature lying before him. He didn’t know what he was looking at anymore.

Chapter Text

Majima lay in a twisted heap on the floor, his body coiled in on itself, trembling as the last waves of the transformation wracked his form. His once-human legs were now a long, thick serpent’s tail, the scales shimmering in the dim light of the apartment, a grotesque reminder of the thing he’d become. Blood still trickled down his face from the horns that had ripped through his skin, and his chest heaved with sobs: desperate, broken sobs that filled the shattered room with raw anguish.

“Please, Saejima… don’t… don’t look at me,” Majima begged, his voice barely a whisper between his sobs. His hands flew up to cover his face, claws digging into his scalp as he tried to hide himself from view. “Don’t come closer… please, don’t…”

But Saejima was too stunned, too horrified to listen to Majima’s pleas. He stepped forward, his boots crunching on the broken shards of plaster scattered across the floor. His eyes were wide, locked on Majima’s contorted form, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but there was no sense to be made. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight before him—the dagger-like horns, the sharp claws, the monstrous tail that had replaced Majima’s legs. His chest tightened as he ventured closer.

Majima shook his head violently, his tail coiling tighter around his body as if he could hide within it. “Don’t… don’t come closer, Kyoudai, please. I can’t… I can’t stand it,” he wept, his voice breaking. He squeezed his eyes shut, and his hands pressed harder against his face as if he could block out the world, as if he could will it all away. “Just… just look away. I can’t let ya see me like this. Not you…”

Saejima continued his advance, his steps more deliberate as he moved closer. His fists clenched at his sides, and his voice strained as he finally spoke. “What the fuck happened to ya, Majima?” The anger from before was gone, replaced by something deeper—confusion, fear, and disbelief. “What… what turned ya into this?”

Majima’s breath hitched, his weeping intensifying as he shook his head again, refusing to meet Saejima’s gaze. “No, no, no… I’ve always been this,” he choked out, his voice so fragile it sounded like it would break at any second. His arms trembled as they stayed locked over his eyes, hiding his face from view. “I’ve always been this… this thing… please, just look away… please…”

The words hit Saejima like a punch to the gut. Always? He stood there, frozen in place, trying to process what Majima had just said. This wasn’t new. This wasn’t something that had just happened. Majima had been hiding this from him all along. All the years they’d known each other, the times they’d fought side by side, sworn an oath together, and Majima had carried this burden in silence, living with this nightmare, alone.

Saejima’s hands twitched, his fists unclenching as he looked down at Majima’s coiled body, his heart pounding in his chest. “Kyoudai…” His voice was quieter now, softer, as if he didn’t know how to bridge the gap between them. “Why didn’t ya tell me? Why didn’t ya—”

Majima’s voice cut through, raw and desperate. “ Because I couldn’t! ” His arms tightened over his face, his claws digging into his scalp as he sobbed. “I can’t let anyone see me like this… not you. Not… not Yasuko… no one. I’m… I’m not human. I’m not… anything. Just… just a fuckin’ monster. ” The last word came out in a broken, defeated whisper, filled with a deep self-loathing that echoed in the broken room.

Saejima stood there, frozen, watching his kyoudai fall apart before him. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say to him. He didn’t know how to reach Majima, how to pull him out of the darkness that had consumed him. All he knew was that the man in front of him—the brother he had sworn to protect—was lost in a nightmare he couldn’t escape from.

Majima’s tail was everywhere—over 25 feet of it, coiling and uncoiling across the tiny apartment, wrapping around itself in languid loops. It was almost impossible to fathom the sheer mass of it, the way it seemed to take up so much space, the scales shimmering faintly in the low light. He was losing control fast, and as Majima felt Saejima’s gaze upon him deepen, his weeping turned into desperate sobs, his tail now thrashing as his body buckled under the weight of the transformation and the terror that came with it.

Saejima stared at the chaos for a moment, the shock still sitting heavy in his chest. Then, something clicked in his brain. Snakes. He’d studied them once—back in school, before he’d dropped out. There was something about them that had always fascinated him. He remembered learning about the way they moved, the way they responded to certain stimuli, and how they could be calmed if you knew what you were doing.

He looked at Majima—his kyoudai—twisted up in his own fear, unable to meet his gaze. Saejima didn’t know if it would work, but he had to try something. He stepped even closer, carefully avoiding the sharp edges of broken furniture, his voice low and steady as he spoke.

“Majima, listen ta me. Ya need ta calm down, alright? I’m gonna help ya,” Saejima said, his tone more gentle than before, though it still carried the weight of his authority.

Majima didn’t respond, his face still buried in his hands, his body trembling as sobs wracked through him. He wasn’t hearing Saejima, too lost in his own horror.

Saejima reached out to the mass of coiled tail, trying not to let his nerves show; snakes need to be approached with confidence or they get defensive. He remembered something from his research—how holding a snake’s body could help calm it down, how supporting its weight made it feel more secure. He wasn’t dealing with a regular snake here, but he had to believe the same principles might apply. He confidently placed his hands on the middle area of Majima’s tail, feeling the powerful muscles twitch under his touch.

He started with gentle pressure, his hands firm but slow as he ran them along the length of Majima’s tail. “I got ya,” Saejima muttered under his breath, as much to himself as to Majima. “Yer safe, Kyoudai.”

Majima tensed at first, the tail jerking in response, but Saejima didn’t let go. He kept his movements steady, slow, making sure to support the tail’s weight in his hands. The intent was to make Majima feel grounded, to give his body something to latch onto that wasn’t just the chaos in his mind. Little by little, the thrashing lessened.

Saejima, seeing it work, went further. He gently lifted part of the tail, draping it over his shoulders, letting the massive coil rest across his back, just like one would do with a larger snake like a Burmese python. The weight of it pressed down on him, but Saejima didn’t falter. He let Majima’s tail wrap loosely around his torso and arms, his hands still applying that slow, even pressure.

Majima, completely unaware of what was happening, felt his body responding. The tightness in his chest, the frantic beating of his heart—it all started to slow. His tail, now coiled around Saejima, began to relax, the muscles loosening as the sensation of being supported— grounded —took over. He didn’t understand why it was happening, didn’t know why his body was calming down, but he couldn’t fight it.

Saejima, continuing to move with deliberate care, let Majima’s tail fully coil around him, keeping the weight distributed across his body. “Easy, Goro,” he said quietly. “I’m right here. Just breathe. Yer not alone.”

Majima’s breath hitched, his sobs slowing as he slowly lowered his arms from his face. His tail was now wrapped securely around Saejima, resting against his broad shoulders and arms. The panic that had gripped him so tightly was beginning to ebb, though his body still trembled slightly, the aftermath of the transformation leaving him weak and disoriented.

“I… I can’t…” Majima’s voice was weak, broken, as he struggled to find the words.

Saejima stayed quiet, his hands continuing to move slowly along Majima’s tail, supporting its weight with that steady pressure. He could feel the tension in Majima’s body ease bit by bit, the wild energy that had once coursed through him now subsiding. Saejima didn’t know if Majima understood what was happening, but he wasn’t about to stop.

“Yer gonna be alright, Goro,” Saejima said softly, his voice low and certain. “Ya may be a monster, but yer still my kyoudai. No matter what.”

Majima closed his eyes, his tail now fully relaxed around Saejima. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt… safe. Even if he didn’t understand why.

Saejima held him there, steady, as the room fell into a strange, quiet calm.

Majima lay there, his tail now coiled snugly around Saejima’s arms and legs. It felt so strange—his body moving and reacting like it had a mind of its own, calm now, resting against Saejima like he was some sort of anchor in the storm. Majima couldn’t understand it. The fear, the panic, the terror of losing control—it had all melted away the moment Saejima had taken hold of his tail, and now here he was, wrapped around his kyoudai like… well, like a giant snake.

But what confused him even more was Saejima’s face. He looked almost… amused? There was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and his brow was no longer furrowed in anger or concern. In fact, if Majima didn’t know better, he’d think Saejima was enjoying this.

Majima sniffled, still trying to process everything, his head spinning from the aftermath of the transformation. His hand, scaled and trembling, reached up to wipe his nose on the back of his arm, leaving a streak of snot that glistened against the shimmering iridescent white of his scales. He felt like a mess—inside and out—and yet, when he looked up at Saejima, his kyoudai was… smiling?

Saejima caught Majima’s confused expression and gave him a warm, almost playful smile. "Yer alright now," Saejima said, his voice a calming rumble, so different from the anger that had consumed him earlier. "Just a big ol’ snake… I can work with that." He chuckled lightly, clearly relieved. This was way better than the alternative he’d feared—Majima being a junkie, caught up in some nightmare of addiction. This, weirdly enough, he could handle.

Majima blinked, still too dazed to fully understand what was happening. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, his breath still unsteady. "What… what are ya doin’ ?" His eyes darted from his coiled tail to Saejima’s arms, watching as the tip of his tail tangled gently between Saejima’s fingers like it was seeking comfort. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

Saejima sighed, his smile softening into something more patient, more understanding. “Just supportin’ my kyoudai,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He shifted his weight slightly, adjusting the way Majima’s tail was draped over him, making sure it was secure and that Majima’s body was supported. “Snakes—y’know, they get real twitchy when they don’t feel grounded. Need somethin’ to hold onto. So I figured… same might go for you.”

Majima’s eyes widened slightly, still utterly confused. He’d avoided learning anything about snakes, hated the way that part of him made him feel less human, like an other. And here was Saejima, treating this whole thing like it was nothing more than that. Like he was just some big snake who needed help settling down.

Saejima reached out, his calloused hand brushing gently along Majima’s scales, feeling the smooth, almost slick texture under his palm. “Yer scales, though… they’re kinda rough, Goro. Must not be takin’ good care of ‘em.” He chuckled again, almost teasing. “Need some lotion ‘er somethin’.” 

Majima blinked again, his brain struggling to catch up with what Saejima was saying. His scale texture? He didn’t even know that was a thing he should be worried about. He was too busy trying not to think about the scales at all. The warmth in Saejima’s voice, the casual way he said it—it made Majima feel something strange. Safe. Seen, but not in a way that made him feel exposed or vulnerable. Just… seen.

Majima sniffed again, his voice softer now. “I… I don’t even know what I’m doin’,” he muttered, still wiping his face on his scaled hand. “I don’t… get this.”

Saejima shrugged lightly, as much as he could while still supporting the weight of Majima’s tail. “That’s okay. You don’t gotta get it all right now. Just breathe.” He squeezed gently, the pressure grounding Majima again, attempting to further calm the storm that had raged inside him only moments ago. He was still twitching, still curling in on himself wherever able. 

Saejima sat down, his curiosity burning brighter now that Majima was calm, the worst of the chaos seemingly over. He figured if Majima was finally calm enough to relax, maybe it was time to ask a few questions—ones he’d been dying to ask since the moment this all began. Majima had always been a mystery to him, but now the mystery had a face, and that face had scales and fangs.

Saejima hesitated for a second, then dove in. “Ya said ya’ve always been like this?”

Majima wiped his nose again, sniffling as his tail tightened and loosened around Saejima’s arms in small movements. He kept his eyes down, his voice rough but clear. “Yeah, literally forever. Born this way. Came out the fuckin’ womb with scales. Freaked the doctors out pretty bad, I guess. They thought I was sick or somethin’, but nah... it was just me.” He paused, then shrugged a little. “The no legs thing? That’s new. Normally they snap back, kinda like a dog’s legs, and my tail’s usually separate. But this?” He gestured at the serpentine mass that was his lower half, still coiled around Saejima. “This whole tail deal... never had this before.”

Saejima’s eyebrows shot up, and for a second, he just took it all in. “Ya mean ya didn’t always have a tail like this?”

Majima shook his head, still looking dazed, the events clearly taking a toll on him. “Nah. Not like this. This is... fuck, I don’t know. Something new.”

Saejima grinned, surprising Majima with the warmth of it. “Well, I like it,” he said simply. “Think it’s cool.”

Majima blinked, staring at him for a second, trying to process what he’d just heard. Cool? He was still wrapped in panic and shame, still hating the fact that Saejima had to see him like this, and here Saejima was just saying it was cool. It didn’t make any sense. But before Majima could really respond, Saejima’s expression shifted, his curiosity piqued, and he decided to push just a little further.

“So… what do ya eat, then? Can’t imagine yer natural habitat includes konbini bentos.” Saejima asked casually, like it was a normal question you’d ask over drinks. His voice was steady, his tone light, but Majima froze, his entire body going rigid.

His tail twitched, tightening around Saejima’s limbs. The playful calm from moments earlier evaporated as the air grew tense again. Majima swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his face going pale under the scales that shimmered faintly in the light. This was the one question he hadn’t wanted Saejima to ask—the one thing he’d hoped to avoid. Shit.

“Uh...” Majima’s voice cracked, the words catching in his throat. He didn’t know how to say it, didn’t know how to break this truth without driving a wedge between them. The shame twisted in his gut, bile rising in his throat. “I...”

Saejima frowned, noticing the tension in Majima’s body, the way his kyoudai seemed to recoil at the question. His voice softened, concerned now. “Goro…?”

Majima couldn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on the floor, his hands gripping into the wood as he forced himself to speak, the words spilling out like a confession. “People.”

Saejima didn’t quite catch it at first. “What?”

Majima squeezed his eyes shut, his tail twitching violently in Saejima’s hands. “I eat... people,” he said, louder this time, his voice thick with shame. He didn’t dare meet Saejima’s eyes, couldn’t face the disgust he was sure he’d see. “I don’t… I don’t kill ‘em. I’ve never killed anyone, alright? But... there’s no shortage of bodies dumped around Kamurocho. I just... I just take what I need. Don’t even have to look that hard.”

Saejima went still. His mind reeled as he tried to process what Majima had just said. People? Majima ate people? His hands instinctively loosened their grip on Majima’s tail, and for a brief moment, he leaned back, the shock hitting him like a wave. All the bodies that turned up in Kamurocho’s dark alleys, floating in rivers, hidden in dumpsters— those were what Majima fed on?

Majima’s heart raced, his tail coiling tighter around Saejima as the panic returned. He could feel Saejima’s hesitation, felt him recoil, and it was too much. He was losing him. Fuck, fuck, no. “No, no, no!” Majima blurted out, his voice desperate now. “I haven’t gone lookin’ in years! Five years! I haven’t touched a body in five fuckin’ years!”

Saejima’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable as he repeated the number to himself, almost in disbelief. “Five years?”

Majima nodded frantically, his voice trembling as he rushed to explain. “I’m not... I’m not some fuckin’ ghoul, alright? I don’t go lookin’ for it, but sometimes... sometimes I need it. But I haven’t... I haven’t done it since I met ya. I swear. I haven’t eaten like that in five years.”

Saejima’s brow furrowed as the weight of the situation sank in. Five years. That was how long they’d been together, sworn brothers, fighting side by side. And Majima hadn’t fed on anyone—hadn’t eaten—in all that time. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Five years without eating.

“You haven’t eaten… at all … in five years? ” Saejima repeated, his voice quiet but filled with shock.

Majima looked up at him, his eyes wide and filled with a desperate kind of hope that Saejima might still understand, might still accept him. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice small and broken.

Saejima just stared at him for a long moment, the shock giving way to something else. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of someone going five years without eating, especially knowing Majima had to fight that hunger every day. And all this time, Majima had kept it to himself, kept his pain hidden, kept fighting it alone.

Saejima’s voice softened as he looked down at his kyoudai, the weight of the confession finally sinking in. “You… you’ve been starving yourself this whole time… Fer us, me ‘n Yasuko?”

Majima didn’t really answer, just nodded, his eyes flicking away again, ashamed. He could still feel Saejima’s hands on his tail, could feel his body calming, but his heart was racing. .

Saejima took a deep breath, still reeling from the events of the past few minutes. Five years doesn’t seem like that long of a time for most things, but eating? Saejima couldn’t even begin to relate. That was a fourth of Majima’s life spent fighting a need that no human could ever avoid doing for any long stretch of time. Majima had done it without a word, or without asking for help. Saejima didn’t know whether to be impressed or heartbroken.

He shifted slightly, still feeling the weight of Majima’s tail coiled around him, the tension slowly returning as the topic hung heavy between them. Saejima knew what he had to ask, but it wasn’t an easy question.

“Are ya… hungry right now?”

The words came out quieter than he intended, almost gentle, but Majima’s body went rigid the second he heard them. His tail twitched, tightening involuntarily around Saejima’s limbs again, and his face twisted into a grimace. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that came with that simple question.

Don’t ask me that, Majima wanted to say, but the words were stuck in his throat. Of course, he was hungry. Fuckin’ starving, if he was being honest. It wasn’t just some dull pang in his stomach—it was an all-consuming, gnawing hunger that he had been fighting for five goddamn years. And now, here was Saejima, asking him if he was hungry, like it was something that could be easily fixed with something from the fridge or cupboards.

Saejima saw the look in his eyes, the way the question had hit too close to home. He wasn’t done, though. His brow furrowed, his tone serious but laced with concern. “Do ya want me to… find ya somethin’ ta eat?”

Majima’s eyes snapped up to meet Saejima’s, his expression filled with shock and horror. The words hadn’t fully registered at first, but when they did, it felt like a punch to the gut. “No,” Majima rasped, his voice strained, barely audible. Then he shook his head violently, the panic rising in his chest. “No, no, no, fuck no, I don’t want ya ta do that.”

Saejima’s eyes widened, taken aback by the intensity of Majima’s reaction. He didn’t understand, not fully. His offer had been genuine, his way of helping, but the look on Majima’s face—like Saejima had just transformed into something monstrous too—made him pause.

“Goro…” Saejima’s voice trailed off, unsure how to proceed.

Majima’s breath was coming in ragged gasps now, his claws digging into his own arms as he tried to steady himself. He shook his head again, harder this time, his tail coiling even tighter around Saejima as if the physical pressure could somehow keep everything in check. “I don’t want that,” Majima choked out, his voice breaking. “I can’t… I won’t go back ta that.”

Saejima’s frown deepened, the weight of Majima’s words sinking in. He’d never seen his kyoudai like this, so shaken, so desperate to hold on to the last shred of control he had. It wasn’t just about hunger—this was about something deeper, something that ran to the core of who Majima was, and what he had fought so hard to keep hidden.

Saejima’s offer had been simple, practical even. But to Majima, it was a door he couldn’t afford to open. If he let himself feed, if he gave in even once, what would stop him from losing everything? He’d worked too hard to hold it together, to keep the monster inside at bay.

Majima’s voice dropped to a whisper, the weight of his fear palpable. “I don’t want to be a fuckin’ monster, Saejima.” His eyes darted away, filled with shame, his body trembling. “I don’t… I don’t want to lose myself like that again.”

Saejima stood there, still supporting Majima’s weight, his mind racing. He hadn’t fully understood what he was offering. This wasn’t just about finding food—this was about Majima fighting to stay human, fighting to hold onto what he wanted to believe was the real him. The realization hit hard, and Saejima’s expression softened.

“I’m not gonna let ya lose yerself,” Saejima said quietly, his voice firm but gentle.

Majima’s eyes flicked back to his, searching for something—some sign that maybe Saejima could still understand. Could still stand by him, even now.

But even as he looked into Saejima’s eyes, that gnawing hunger was still there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting to break free. And now that they were talking about it, Majima wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold it off.

Chapter Text

Saejima could see it in Majima’s eyes; the sheer exhaustion, the struggle of holding himself together, of fighting against a part of himself that refused to stay buried. He could feel the tension in Majima’s tail, the way it coiled tighter around his limbs, the subtle tremors running through his kyoudai’s body. Majima had been holding on for so long—too long—and Saejima knew that sooner or later, something had to give.

He spoke carefully, trying to piece together what Majima was going through, trying to understand. “I get it,” he started, his voice low and calm. “Ya don’t wanna lose control. Eatin’ people… it must feel like it’s too much. Must remind you of everything you hate about this side of yourself. I can’t imagine what that’s like, but—”

As Saejima’s voice droned on, something inside Majima shifted, something dark he couldn’t stop. His thoughts, unbidden and unwelcome, began to drift. He tried to stay focused on Saejima’s words, on the fact that his kyoudai was trying to help him, trying to keep him grounded. But instead, the hunger began to gnaw at him, louder and more insistent now that it had been acknowledged, like a beast that had been caged for far too long and was finally rattling its bars.

His mind slipped, pulled under by the weight of the hunger, the memories flooding back all at once—the taste of it. Meat. Raw and bloody, rich with iron, sliding between his teeth. He could feel it in his mouth, could almost taste the blood again, the way it had once coated his tongue, thick and flavorful.

His jaw clenched, remembering the intoxicating feeling of the muscle tearing as he bit down, the satisfying crack of bone splintering beneath his teeth, the way the marrow oozed out like the richest delicacy he could ever imagine. His throat tightened with the phantom sensation of swallowing it down, the blood sliding hot and slick down his throat, filling him with a warmth that was both euphoric and terrifying.

Majima shuddered.

Before he realized it, his lips parted slightly, his mouth watering. His tongue flicked out unconsciously, tasting the air, but it wasn’t air he wanted. His thoughts spiraled deeper into that familiar, forbidden craving. The hunger had never really left, not in five years. It had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for him to slip up.

And now, here it was. The taste of blood was so close, so vivid in his mind that he could practically feel it staining his lips again.

Fuck.

Saejima was still talking, still trying to be understanding, but Majima wasn’t hearing him anymore. His thoughts were too far gone. His mouth hung open, and he didn’t realize it until he felt the wetness at the corner of his lips. He blinked, confused for a moment, and then it hit him.

He was drooling.

Majima’s heart skipped a beat, panic rising in his chest as he snapped out of the twisted daydream. His hand flew to his mouth, wiping the saliva away hastily, his eyes wide and filled with shame as he looked up at Saejima.

Saejima’s brow furrowed as he noticed the sudden shift, his words faltering mid-sentence. “Goro…?”

Majima swallowed hard, trying to push the hunger back down, trying to regain control, but it was too late. He’d let himself slip, let himself think about it for even a second, and now it was clawing at him, gnawing at the edges of his mind, threatening to take over.

“Shit…” Majima muttered under his breath, his voice shaky, his tail twitching violently around Saejima’s legs. He wiped at his mouth again, trying to erase the evidence of his wandering mind.

Saejima saw it now—the way Majima’s eyes had darkened, the way his body trembled not just from fear, but from hunger. Real, undeniable hunger. He rose and stepped forward, his grip tightening slightly on Majima’s tail, not to restrain, but to comfort him, keep him steady and remind him that he wasn’t going anywhere. “Majima,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “Look at me.”

Majima’s eyes flicked up, wide and filled with fear, shame, and something else… something darker. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak, didn’t know what to say.

“Yer starvin’,” Saejima said quietly, a mix of sympathy and concern in his voice. “I don’t know what it’s like fer ya, but ya can’t keep this up. Ya can’t keep fightin’ it forever.”

Majima swallowed again, his throat tight, his body trembling as the hunger clawed at him from the inside. He wanted to argue, wanted to push Saejima away, but he couldn’t. He was too far gone now, too weak to pretend anymore.

“I can’t…” Majima whispered, his voice barely audible, the words torn from him like a confession. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about it…”

He didn’t know how long he could keep this up, how long he could hold off the inevitable. His chest felt tight, his throat dry, and the gnawing hunger only seemed to get worse as the seconds ticked by.

Saejima, however, seemed unusually calm, considering what was happening. Majima couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t wrap his head around why Saejima was still there, holding his tail, petting his scales like none of this was even surprising. Didn’t he realize how dangerous this was? Majima could eat him right now, tear him apart and be done with it. He was a fucking man-eating monster, a natural predator for his own kyoudai, and yet here Saejima was, sitting there without a hint of fear.

Majima’s voice was low, rough as he spoke, his eyes flicking up to meet Saejima’s. “Ya know I could… I could fuckin’ eat you right now, right?” His words came out as a half growl, half confession, a bitter truth he couldn’t keep to himself.

Saejima didn’t flinch. He didn’t even seem phased by the threat. Instead, he just looked down at Majima, his expression softening with something like understanding. “Yeah, I know,” Saejima replied calmly, his voice steady, as if Majima hadn’t just admitted to being a literal predator.

Majima blinked, stunned by the response. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. “Then why the fuck are ya still sittin’ here? Why’re ya… pettin’ my tail like it’s no big deal?” He shifted slightly, his tail twitching in Saejima’s grip. “I don’t get it. I don’t get you. ”

Saejima looked down at Majima’s coiled tail, his fingers tracing the smooth, cool scales. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and when he looked back up at Majima, it was with that same easygoing expression. “’Cause you’ve always been weird, Goro,” Saejima said, his tone casual but filled with affection. “This? It’s just one more thing that makes sense now.”

Majima narrowed his eyes, not sure if he should be offended or relieved. “Bullshit.”

Saejima chuckled softly, his hand still running along Majima’s tail, like he was handling some oversized pet snake. “Nah, I’m serious. A lotta stuff makes sense now that I know what you are.”

Majima snorted, shaking his head. “Like what?”

Saejima raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little as he started to tick off examples like he’d been thinking about this for years. “Well, fer starters, yer always freezin’. Ya practically live under blankets in the winter. Even when it’s barely cold out, yer hoggin’ the kotatsu like yer about ta die from hypothermia.”

Majima’s face flushed, his tail flicking in slight embarrassment. “I don’t do that.”

“Yeah, ya do,” Saejima shot back with a smirk. “Every winter. Heat seekin’ like you’ll die if ya don’t.”

Majima growled softly, trying to ignore the fact that, yeah, maybe he did tend to stick close to heat sources, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

“And then there’s yer whole ‘nibblin’’ thing,” Saejima added with a knowing look. “You chew on shit all the time. People, pens, your goddamn sleeves. I’ve watched ya just... nibblin’ on yer pager like it’s normal. Thought you were just quirky, but now I get it. Weird teethin’ shit ‘er somethin’”

Majima’s eyes darted away, the embarrassment creeping up his neck. “Shut up, I ain’t a fuckin’ toddler, Taiga.” he muttered, though there was no heat behind it.

Saejima laughed, the sound low and genuine. “And yer always stickin’ yer damn tongue out. Don’t think I haven’t noticed it flickin’ out when yer tryin’ ta get a sense of somethin’. Thought it was just some weird habit, but nah. Snake thing.”

Majima’s jaw clenched, and he could feel his body reacting to the list, the small gestures that had always been part of him but now felt painfully obvious. It was like Saejima had been cataloging all his strange habits, and now they were making perfect sense.

“And let’s not forget how yer always real sensitive ta sounds and smells,” Saejima added, raising an eyebrow. “Ya pick up on stuff the rest of us miss, especially when it comes to food. Always the first one to smell somethin’ good cookin’ from a block away.”

Majima scoffed, his tail flicking again in mild irritation. “That’s just having a good nose.”

Saejima shook his head. “Nah, man. It’s more than that. Yer like a freakin’ bloodhound sometimes.”

Majima glared at Saejima, though there was no real bite to it. “Yer full of shit. Ya made all those up…” he muttered.

Saejima just smiled, that easy, relaxed grin still firmly in place. “Nah, I’m just observant. Ya’ve always been like this, man. Only difference is now I know why.” He gave Majima’s tail a reassuring squeeze, his tone softening. “And it don’t change a thing. Yer still you, Goro. I’ll stick by yer side no matter what. Unless yer on drugs ‘er somethin’... Then ya can fuck off.” He chuckled, his grin widening. 

Majima stared at Saejima with a mixture of curiosity and frustration. He didn’t want to admit it, but now that Saejima had pointed all that stuff out, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He’d been doing weird shit all his life, and apparently, a lot of it was tied to him being… well, this. It sucked to realize he’d been giving himself away in small, subtle ways for years without even knowing it.

“So, what else?” Majima grumbled, half-mocking, but his curiosity was clear. “What other shit do I do that makes me look like a fuckin’ weirdo?”

Saejima smirked, clearly enjoying this a little too much. “Oh, there’s more,” he said, his tone playful but with an edge of affection. 

Saejima leaned in, clearly enjoying himself now. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that thing ya do when yer pissed. Ya start hissin’ under yer breath. Jarrin’ the first time I heard it, if I’m honest with ya.”

Majima’s eyes narrowed. “I do not hiss.”

“Yeah, ya do,” Saejima smirked. “Whenever yer mad or annoyed, it’s this low sound, real quiet. Ya probably don’t even notice it, but I’ve heard it a million times now.”

“And when yer stressed, ya get real still.” Saejima paused, his gaze locking on Majima’s. “Like right now. Ya’ve been sittin’ there barely movin’ fer the last five minutes.”

Majima realized Saejima was right. He hadn’t moved almost at all since they started talking. It was instinctual, a defensive thing, but now that Saejima had pointed it out, it felt like he was being dissected.

Majima crossed his arms awkwardly, his tail twitching slightly in irritation. “Alright, alright, maybe I do a few of those things, but so what? It’s not like I can help it.”

Saejima’s smirk softened into something more understanding. “Well, yeah. That’s what I’ve been sayin’, Goro. None of it’s weird. Not ta me.”

Majima shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to process Saejima’s easy acceptance of it all. He’d been fighting this part of himself for so long, but here was Saejima, teasing him like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a big deal that Majima was a monster. It was a strange feeling, but not entirely unwelcome.

The playful banter between them faded as things grew quiet. Saejima’s expression turned serious again, his hand still resting gently on Majima’s tail. He looked at Majima for a long moment, his brow furrowed slightly as if he was weighing his words carefully.

“Ya think ya can wait until the middle of the night?” Saejima asked, his voice quieter now, less teasing. “I’ll go with ya. We’ll look fer somethin’. Fer food.”

Majima’s heart clenched in his chest. He blinked, staring at Saejima like he hadn’t heard him right. “What?” His voice came out strained, caught between disbelief and panic.

Saejima kept his gaze steady, not backing down. “I’m serious. We’ll go out later, find somethin’. Ya can’t keep starvin’ yerself, Goro. I’ll be there with ya. Ya don’t have to do it alone.”

Majima’s breath hitched, his mind reeling from the offer. Why was he offering to help ? The thought made him feel sick and desperate all at once.

He swallowed hard, his voice shaky. “Ya… ya really don’t get it, do ya?” His eyes were wide, filled with uncertainty. “I’m… I’m a fuckin’ monster , man. Yer not supposed ta help me. Yer supposed ta be scared. Run away. I’m dangerous, Saejima. Ya shouldn’t be… ya shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

Saejima didn’t flinch. He just smiled that same calm, understanding smile, the one that always made Majima’s heart twist in his chest. “Ya’ve always been dangerous, Goro. But yer also my kyoudai.” He squeezed Majima’s tail gently. “That ain’t gonna change. Not now, not ever.”

Majima felt his throat tighten again, the weight of everything crashing down on him at once. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know how to accept this. But Saejima wasn’t giving him a choice. The offer was there, and Majima couldn’t deny how much he needed it. How much he needed him.

“I… I don’t know if I can do this,” Majima muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Saejima’s smile softened. “Ya don’t have to do it alone. We’ll go together. Middle of the night. No one else has ta know.”

Majima nodded slowly, his heart still pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but for the first time in years, he wasn’t facing it alone. 

The tension in the room hung in the air like a thick fog. Majima's heart was still racing from Saejima’s offer, his mind trying to process the impossible—someone willing to stand beside him, despite everything. Despite the monster inside him. But before Majima could say anything else, just like that, their calm was shattered .

The door swung open, and Yasuko stepped into the apartment.

Majima’s entire body went rigid, a cold panic seizing him from the inside out. His heart stopped for a second, and all he could think was, fuck, shit, fuck fuck fuck shit, no!

Yasuko froze in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the scene before her—her brother sitting calmly in the middle of the room, holding onto what could only be described as a giant snake’s tail. Her gaze darted from Saejima’s relaxed posture to the long, scaled form that was unmistakably connected to Majima.

Majima’s survival instincts kicked in before he could even think. His entire body jolted, his tail thrashing violently in Saejima’s grip as he tried to retreat , to find some dark corner of the apartment to hide in . But he couldn’t move. Saejima was still holding his tail. Saejima’s grip was firm, his body acting as an anchor, keeping Majima in place.

Majima started to panic. His tail coiled and uncoiled, jerking as he tried to pull away, but Saejima wouldn’t let him go. The feeling of being trapped, of having nowhere to run, sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over him. His chest tightened, and without thinking, Majima turned toward Saejima, his eyes wild.

He hissed .

The sound was low and sharp, a quiet but unmistakable hiss that escaped his lips without warning. He barely registered what had happened before it was too late. Fuck, snake shit again. His tongue flicked out as the hiss slipped past his lips, and he could see the shock flash across Saejima’s face for a split second before it turned into a slight smile like he was trying not to laugh.

But Yasuko… Yasuko screamed.

She covered her face with her hands, stumbling back into the door, her voice rising in a high-pitched, panicked scream that echoed off the walls. “ What is that?! ” she cried, her hands trembling as she pressed them over her face, her eyes wide in horror.

This is exactly what he didn’t want to happen.

Majima’s breath came in ragged gasps as he thrashed again, desperate to hide himself from Yasuko’s terrified gaze, but Saejima’s grip never faltered. “Majima,” Saejima’s voice was firm, but Majima barely heard it. His mind was in full-blown panic mode, his body reacting to the fear coursing through him.

He could hear Yasuko’s muffled sobs, could feel her fear in the air, and it twisted in his gut like a knife. “No, no, no, fuck ,” Majima muttered under his breath, his voice shaking. “This isn’t supposed ta— she can’t see me like this! ”

Saejima didn’t let go, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Goro, calm down.”

But Majima couldn’t calm down. His vision blurred with panic, his instincts screaming at him to get away, to run, to hide in the dark where no one could see what he was. He tried again to pull his tail free, but Saejima’s strength was unrelenting, keeping him anchored to the spot.

Yasuko, still pressed against the door, looked through her fingers at Majima, her eyes wide and filled with terror. “Majima-san… is that… you?” Her voice was a trembling whisper, the shock so clear on her face that Majima could barely stand to look at her.

Majima’s voice cracked, the words choking out of him. “Yasuko, I didn’t want ya ta see this,” he managed, as he struggled against the weight of his own shame. “I never wanted ya ta see…”

But Yasuko didn’t move. She stood frozen, her hands still pressed to her mouth, her wide eyes staring at him, filled with fear. Majima’s heart sank.

Saejima sighed and, seeing the fear in Yasuko’s wide eyes, finally let go of Majima’s tail. Majima immediately scrambled back into the corner of the room, pulling the futon and comforter over him like a shield, curling his body up as tightly as he could under the fabric. His tail, of course, was far too long to hide under the small pile of bedding, but that didn’t stop him from trying. The long, sinuous length of it remained exposed, twisting around itself as he desperately tried to cover what he could.

Saejima stood up, making his way over to Yasuko, who was still trembling against the door. Her hands were shaking, but she didn’t scream again. Saejima gently pulled her into a hug, his broad arms wrapping around her as he spoke in a soft, calming voice.

“Yasuko… ya don’t have ta be scared,” he murmured, his voice deep but steady. “It’s just Goro. He’s okay.”

Yasuko’s breath was shaky as she pulled away slightly to look up at Saejima, her eyes filled with confusion and fear. “He doesn’t look okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Saejima chuckled softly, giving her a reassuring squeeze before pulling back to look at her. “I mean, yeah, he’s been keepin’ this secret from us, and I just found out today, but... don’t his scales look nice? Healthy, right?”

It was bait. He knew Majima’s scales didn’t look healthy, not even from where she was standing. They were smooth at a glance, sure, but Saejima was banking on Yasuko’s keen eyes for detail. And she didn’t disappoint.

“Healthy?” Yasuko whispered, her worry now beginning to outweigh her fear. She stepped out of Saejima’s arms, her brow furrowed as she cautiously moved closer to Majima’s tail. The closer she got, the more she noticed—the dullness in his scales, the rough patches that lined the edges, the subtle dryness that spoke of neglect.

Majima curled up tighter under the futon, trying to disappear entirely. But Yasuko wasn’t deterred. She knelt down, her heart still racing but her focus shifting to concern. “He looks… sick,” she said softly, her eyes flicking back up to Saejima, worry lacing her voice. “His scales… they’re not supposed to look like that, are they?”

Saejima nodded subtly, glad Yasuko was catching on. He knew that her nurturing nature would kick in sooner or later—she just needed to see that Majima wasn’t some terrifying monster to be feared. He was sick , and he needed help.

Yasuko’s fear seemed to evaporate in an instant. Her caretaker instinct took over, and without hesitation, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the rough surface of Majima’s exposed tail. Majima flinched immediately, tightening up and trying to recoil away from her touch, but he was already pressed so far into the corner that there was nowhere else to go.

“Don’t… don’t touch me,” Majima muttered from under the futon, his voice weak, trembling with a mixture of embarrassment and panic.

But Yasuko didn’t stop. She gently ran her fingers over the dry, rough scales, her touch light but deliberate. Her fingers pressed and probed, feeling the texture of the scales, and as she did, she noticed something troubling—some of the scales were lifting, like they were about to fall off.

She frowned, her fingers gently tracing the edges of the loose scales. “Do you ever shed, Majima-san?... It looks like you need to…” she asked, her voice filled with quiet concern.

Majima’s heart skipped a beat. How the fuck does she know about that? His mind raced, his panic spiking again as he realized just how bad things had gotten. Shedding. He hadn’t shed properly in years, and the truth of it hit him hard. He hadn’t been able to form new, healthy scales, hadn’t had the energy to shed his old skin properly. Not eating for five years had messed with more than just his strength—it had messed up his ability to heal, his ability to maintain his body.

“It’s been… over three years,” Majima mumbled from under the futon, his voice barely audible. He hated admitting it, hated how pathetic it sounded. “I… I can’t shed right anymore. It comes off in chunks, all uneven. Leaves my skin… raw.”

The room fell silent. Yasuko’s hand stilled on his tail, her expression shifting from worry to deep concern. She glanced at Saejima, her brow furrowed as she processed what Majima had just said.

“He’s sick, Taiga,” she whispered, her voice barely holding back the emotion. “He’s not well.”

Saejima nodded, his face grim but resolute. “I know.” His eyes flicked to the curled form of his kyoudai, barely visible under the pile of bedding.

Yasuko’s hand continued to trace the rough patches on Majima’s tail, her fingers gentle but persistent. “Goro,” she said softly, her voice filled with that tender care she always gave to others. “You’re not alone in this. We’ll help you. But you have to let us.”

Majima didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The shame was too overwhelming. Instead, he curled himself tighter under the futon, his body trembling. He wasn’t ready for this conversation, especially not with Yasuko. But he had no choice—there was nowhere left to run, and the truth was clawing at him, demanding to be spoken.

Yasuko’s fingers trailed lightly over his scales again, the gentle touch sending conflicting waves of shame and comfort through him. She wasn’t recoiling in fear anymore, but instead, she seemed deeply concerned. Her voice was soft, hesitant as she asked, “Why do you think you can’t shed right anymore, Majima-san?”

She didn’t know. She didn’t know about his hunger. She didn’t know what exactly he was supposed to eat. And that made this conversation so much harder. He swallowed, tightening the blanket around his face as if it could protect him from the inevitable. He needed to say it, but he didn’t want to see her face when he did.

Majima’s voice was muffled, but it came out in a low, hoarse whisper. “It’s ‘cause… it’s ‘cause I haven’t eaten… in five years.”

Yasuko gasped audibly, her hand jerking back slightly in shock. “ Five years? Why… why haven’t you eaten?” She sounded both horrified and deeply confused, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of it. “Why would you just… starve yourself like that?”

Majima’s heart pounded in his chest, and he bit back a pained groan. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not again. But he knew she wasn’t going to stop asking until she understood.

His words were barely audible, but they hit harder than any physical blow. “It’s… it’s because I met you. You and Saejima.”

Yasuko’s confusion deepened, her hand resting on the edge of his tail, fingers trembling slightly. “What? What do you mean?” Her voice wavered, the worry clear. “Why would meeting us make you stop eating?”

Majima squeezed his eyes shut, the shame building up inside him like a tidal wave. He could feel Saejima’s presence nearby, could sense his kyoudai’s silent support. But Yasuko… Yasuko was a much softer person than Saejima. He didn’t know if she’d take this well. Hell, he didn’t even know how he was still standing after admitting it to Saejima.

The silence stretched on, and Yasuko’s confusion only grew more palpable in the room. Majima couldn’t avoid it any longer, no matter how much he wished he could just disappear under the futon and never come out again.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he forced the words out. “I haven’t eaten… because… because I can’t eat… normal food.” His voice cracked, and he pressed his face harder into the fabric, praying she wouldn’t hate him for what he was about to say. “I eat… people.”

The room fell into a suffocating silence.

Yasuko froze, pulling her hand away from his tail. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. Majima couldn’t see her face, but he could feel her shock radiating through the room like a heavy weight pressing down on him.

Finally, Yasuko spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper. “People…?” It wasn’t a question so much as a stunned echo of what he had just said. “You… eat people?”

Majima winced, his body trembling even harder now. He hated the way those words sounded when she said them. It was like a slap in the face, a reminder of just how monstrous he really was.

“I don’t… I don’t kill anyone,” Majima added quickly, desperate to make her understand. “I don’t go lookin’ for it. I never wanted ya to know because I didn’t want ya ta see me like this. But… bodies get dumped in Kamurocho all the time, y’know? I… I just take what I need. I haven’t… I haven’t touched a body since I met you and Saejima. I swear.”

Yasuko’s hand hovered over his tail, trembling as she tried to process what he was telling her. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t move closer either. She just sat there, staring at the long, coiled length of Majima’s body, her mind trying to wrap itself around the truth.

Saejima, standing nearby, finally broke the silence. His voice was low but steady, as if trying to anchor Yasuko in the same way he had anchored Majima earlier. “He hasn’t eaten in five years because of us, Yasuko. He didn’t wanna scare us. Didn’t wanna hurt us.” He stepped closer, resting a hand on her shoulder, his presence solid and reassuring. “But he’s been starvin’ himself. That’s why he’s like this now. He’s sick because he’s been fightin’ this part of himself for so long.”

Yasuko looked up at Saejima, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of shock, worry, and something else—something softer. She turned back to Majima, her brow furrowed as she studied him more closely. The scales, the rough patches, the dullness—everything was starting to make sense now.

“He’s… sick because he hasn’t eaten,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Majima, still hidden under the futon, nodded weakly, his tail twitching slightly in response. “Yeah,” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t… want ya ta know. I didn’t want ta be this… this thing in front of ya.”

Yasuko’s heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. Slowly, carefully, she reached out again, her fingers brushing over the dry, rough scales with a tenderness that made Majima’s chest tighten.

“You’re not a thing, Goro,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm. “You’re still you.”

Majima’s throat tightened, his breath hitching. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve both of their kindness, their acceptance. But as Yasuko’s fingers continued to trace the damaged scales, he couldn’t help but feel a small, fragile sense of hope blooming inside him.

Maybe… maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

Chapter Text

Majima was doing his best to disappear under the futon, his entire body coiled tight, his tail twitching slightly as Yasuko’s gentle fingers traced the rough patches of his scales. The fabric felt like the only shield between him and the world—between him and the judgment he was sure was coming.

But Yasuko had other plans. She was tired of talking to him through layers of cotton stuffing and fabric. Without a word of warning, without giving him a chance to pull away or retreat further, she grabbed the futon and blanket with both hands and yanked them away.

The sudden exposure made Majima jolt in pure panic, his body instinctively curling tighter as his scales scraped against the floor. His wide, reptilian eyes darted around, searching for an escape, but he quickly realized his path was blocked. Yasuko was kneeling on one side, Saejima on the other. Both of them were staring at him.

He felt trapped, an animal cornered with nowhere to go. His chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths, his heart pounding in his throat. His body was so exposed, so vulnerable, and he hated it. He hated that they could see him like this. He didn’t want to see the look on their faces, didn’t want to—

But then, Yasuko giggled .

Majima blinked, his panic momentarily pausing as he glanced up at her. Her hands were covering her mouth, her eyes crinkling with amusement as she looked at him with that same familiar warmth.

“Nii-chan, He’s cute ,” she said with a soft laugh, her voice filled with a kind of innocent delight. “All curled up like this.”

Majima’s jaw nearly dropped, his eyes wide with disbelief. Cute? What the hell was she talking about? He was a monster , a terrifying mass of scales and teeth, and she thought he was… cute ?

Saejima took one look at Majima’s dumbfounded expression and burst out laughing. The sound was deep and hearty, filling the room as he slapped his knee, completely amused by the whole situation. “Holy shit, Goro,” Saejima wheezed between laughs. “You should see yer face right now!”

Majima couldn’t process it. He was still trying to wrap his head around what the hell was happening. Yasuko thought he was cute, and Saejima was laughing like this was the funniest thing in the world. None of it made any sense. He was a freak, a dangerous predator, and they were treating him like some kind of pet who’d just done something adorable.

Something deep inside him stirred. If it’s one thing he hated, it was being the butt of a joke. His lips curled back, his forked tongue flicking out, and without even thinking, Majima hissed at Saejima. A sharp, irritated hiss, the sound low and unmistakably serpentine.

Saejima stopped for a second, startled by the sound, but that only made him laugh harder. He practically doubled over, one hand gripping his side as his laughter echoed off the walls. “Oh my god, Goro,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “Did you just hiss at me?!”

Majima’s face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, his voice low and surly, but the damage was already done. The sight of him, coiled up and hissing like some overgrown, grumpy snake, had sent Saejima into hysterics.

Yasuko couldn’t help but widen her smile too, her giggle soft and sweet as she reached out, placing a gentle hand on one of Majima’s coils. “He’s kinda like a big, grumpy kitten,” she said with a playful grin.

Majima’s eyes narrowed at her and a low growl rumbled in his chest. Kitten? Really?

Saejima, still catching his breath, wiped a tear from his eye. “Man, I never thought I’d see the day when you, of all people, would get called cute.” He grinned down at Majima, clearly amused. “But I gotta admit, she’s right.”

Majima continued to growl softly, trying to find the words to snap back at them like he normally would. But for some fucking reason, the only thing that came out of his mouth was another hiss, this one less sharp, more of a grumble than anything.

Saejima burst into another round of laughter, nearly falling over as he clutched his sides. “Oh, fuck. Yer killin’ me, Goro.”

Majima scowled, but even he couldn’t help the small, reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. As much as he hated to admit it, there was something strangely comforting about the way they were reacting. They weren’t disgusted. They weren’t scared. They were laughing. Treating him like he was still just Majima—scales and all.

The relief Majima had briefly felt was short-lived. Whatever the hell they had injected into him was still absolutely screwing with his system. His legs had fused into this massive, serpentine tail for crying out loud.

Majima tried to get comfortable, tried to sit at the low table Saejima had just put back in the center of the room, just like they always did after a long day. Majima’s tail took up most of the room, wrapping around Yasuko and Saejima in uneven, haphazard coils, the tip occasionally twitching involuntarily. Yasuko was talking about her day, her voice soft, trying to bring a little normalcy back to the chaos. But Majima was barely listening.

His heart was racing, pounding against his ribs like he’d just finished sprinting through Kamurocho. An oily sheen was slicking his scales on his chest and arms, and his eyes… His eyes wouldn’t focus . His pupils, normally thin and slitted, were widening uncontrollably, shifting and dilating like they couldn’t adjust properly when he looked at Yasuko or Saejima. It was like trying to focus through a distorted lens, everything bending and warping, his vision slipping in and out of clarity.

He felt bad. Like, really bad.

He tried to push it down, to keep it under control. But his body wasn’t listening. His focus kept slipping, his eyes repeatedly honing in on Saejima and Yasuko like they were prey. He didn’t want to hurt them—but his instincts were going haywire, targeting them, zoning in on their movements, the heat from their bodies. His vision blurred again, and this time, when it refocused, everything felt wrong.

Saejima had noticed. Majima could see the way his kyoudai was looking at him, frowning in concern. Saejima wasn’t saying anything yet, but Majima could tell he was worried. Yasuko, still talking, hadn’t caught on yet. She was too wrapped up in recounting her day, blissfully unaware that Majima was having a rough go of things still.

Majima hadn’t told them everything. He hadn’t mentioned what really spurred on this whole transformation. That injection, the one Shimano had set him up for—it was supposed to be some big break, but it had turned him into a fucking guinea pig. He had kept it to himself, buried the details under layers of shame and pride. Now, though, his body was paying the price.

His mouth ached, a dull throb radiating from his fangs, which felt wrong—like they weren’t long enough or sharp enough. But they were. He could feel the sharpness pressing into his gums, the weight of his venomous teeth heavier than usual. And his back... God , his back was killing him. It was like something was trapped under his skin, trying to claw its way out, and the pressure was building with every passing second.

And then it hit him.

Pain. Pure, unfiltered agony .

In the span of a heartbeat, his entire body flared with an explosion of pain that ripped through his spine, and Majima’s back arched violently, a scream tearing from his throat as he pitched forward onto the floor. His tail spasmed, thrashing wildly, coiling and uncoiling uncontrollably as his vertebrae shifted and cracked. Something was happening— something was wrong.

Before he could even process it, his back erupted. Spines, sharp and jagged, burst through every other vertebra, slicing through his skin with sickening ease. The feeling of them tearing free was unbearable, like each spike was being ripped out of him by force, and all Majima could do was writhe in agony.

His fangs were also growing, too long , too sharp. They lurched forward from his gums, pushing down past his lips, protruding grotesquely. Blood filled his mouth as they tore through the sensitive tissue of his jaw, and his hands shot up to his face, clawing at the skin as he tried to make sense of the overwhelming pain.

“ Fuck, fuck, fuck, ” Majima gasped, his voice barely coherent, the words lost in the chaos of his body mutating. His whole world was crumbling into pain. Only pain.

Saejima’s face went pale, his calm composure cracking as he surged forward to help Majima, but there was nothing to do—nothing could stop what was happening. Yasuko, frozen in shock, her hands clamped over her mouth, let out a small, terrified whimper as she watched the spines erupt from Majima’s back.

Majima’s vision was swimming, black spots clouding his eyes as the world twisted and spun. His spine felt like it was on fire, each new spike sending waves of agony radiating through his body. His tongue slithered out between his fangs, tasting the air in desperate, frantic movements.

The changes finally subsided, leaving Majima lying on the floor, panting, whimpering—each breath feeling like shards of glass cutting through his chest. The pain was excruciating, far beyond anything he’d ever experienced, and the fresh spines on his back quivered violently, straining against the skin that had given way to make room for them. His body felt alien, unrecognizable even to himself.

The taste in his mouth was foul— his blood wasn’t the same as human blood, no rich iron tang. No, this tasted like bile , acidic and bitter, burning through his veins like a poison. He gagged on it, feeling it swirl in his throat, the heat of it making him feel even sicker.

Saejima was on him in a heartbeat. Without hesitation, he lifted Majima up, cradling him in his strong arms like he weighed nothing. Majima felt himself being moved, the world spinning as Saejima shifted him into a more comfortable position, laying Majima’s head against his chest, his upper body curled between Saejima’s legs. His tail twitched and coiled reflexively, wrapping loosely around Saejima’s feet.

The pressure of Saejima’s chest was solid, but the pain still flared through Majima’s body. His new spines, sharp and rigid, throbbed against his skin, every movement sending fresh waves of agony coursing through him. He couldn’t even think straight—his mind was clouded with pain and confusion.

But then, Saejima carefully reached around the fresh spines, his large hands avoiding touching them directly. His fingers found the spots around the base of the spines, where the skin was tender and raw, and began to gently massage the muscles there, applying slow, deliberate pressure.

Majima’s breath hitched, the pain in his back slowly ebbing away under Saejima’s touch. The relief was immediate, like a cool balm being pressed against a burning wound. It didn’t take away all the pain, but it dulled it, soothed it in a way that Majima hadn’t expected.

It felt... really good.

Like, really fucking good.

Majima didn’t know how Saejima even knew to do that—how he knew exactly where to press, exactly how to apply pressure without making things worse, but Majima didn’t care. He didn’t have the energy to question it. All he knew was that the pain was fading, being replaced by something warm and comforting.

Without even thinking, his body reacted. A low, deep rumble started in his chest, vibrating through his entire body. It wasn’t something he’d ever meant to do, but it was undeniable now—He was purring.

The realization hit him like a freight train, but he couldn’t stop it. His body, driven by instinct, kept producing the sound, a steady, rhythmic purring that vibrated through his chest and throat. The shame hit him almost immediately, but the relief was overwhelming.

Saejima must’ve heard it, must’ve felt it, because he let out a soft, low chuckle. “Goro…” His voice was quiet, almost teasing. “Yer fuckin’ purring.”

Majima wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to shut the hell up, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was lie there, trembling slightly, his body still coiled in Saejima’s lap as the purring continued, uncontrollable, automatic.

“Don’t fight it,” Saejima murmured, his hands still working carefully around the base of Majima’s spines, massaging the tension out of his muscles. “Just relax.”

Majima’s body settled into Saejima’s hold, the purring becoming more steady, deeper. He buried his face into Saejima’s chest, hating himself for needing this, for feeling like this, but unable to deny the comfort he found there.

Saejima’s laughter was soft, a warm rumble that Majima could feel through the vibrations in his own chest. “Used ta get back rubs like these when I was goin’ through growin’ pains myself. Don’t just get ta be my height without some pain, y’know? Figured it might help ya.”

Majima groaned, but it was weak, and the purring never stopped.

Majima’s purring quickly shifted into something else—something deeper. The rumbling in his chest became a series of low, drawn-out moans that, under different circumstances, would’ve made anyone feel awkward. Saejima paused for a moment. The sounds coming from Majima were strange, almost unsettling and Saejima could feel the tremors running through Majima—sharp, spasmodic bursts of tension that would come and go, like his body was fighting against itself. He kept his hands steady, working carefully around the base of the spines, mindful not to touch them directly in case they were tender. The massage had loosened something in him—whether it was physical tension or something else, Saejima didn’t know. But it felt right to keep going. Back ache? Massage. Considering the way Majima’s back had erupted in fucking spikes earlier, it made sense to try and ease the pain however he could.

As Majima lay there, half-coherent and clearly dazed, Saejima thought it might be a good opportunity to pry some information out of him. Majima had a way of holding things back, of keeping secrets buried deep, but when you caught him in the right moment—when he was relaxed, too tired to keep his walls up—that’s when he spilled. And right now, he was as loose as Saejima had ever seen him.

“Hey, Goro,” Saejima murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Why were ya fightin’ the transformation in the middle of the street today?”

Majima’s eyes fluttered open, though they were still unfocused, pupils dilated unevenly from one another. He blinked sluggishly, trying to process the question. His body trembled again, another wave of pain rolling through him, but Saejima’s hands worked steadily.

Majima let out a low groan, his voice slurred and rough. “Didn’t… didn’t wanna… let it happen…”

Saejima raised an eyebrow, waiting for more. “Well, I get that , but how’d it sneak up on ya like that?”

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Saejima thought Majima might have drifted off. Majima eventually spoke, his words coming in disjointed bursts. “Shimano… Shimano gave me a job,” he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Said… only I could do it.”

Saejima frowned, his hands slowing their movements as he tried to make sense of what Majima was saying. “A job? What kinda job?”

Majima swallowed, his body twitching under Saejima’s hands. “Guinea pig… fuckin’ experiment,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “Injection… in my spine… said it’d… help me.”

Saejima’s heart sank. He could feel the weight of what Majima was saying, the gravity of the situation. Shimano had used him as a test subject. He’d been injected with something , and it had triggered this violent, painful transformation. The pieces were starting to fall into place, but Saejima still needed more.

“Yer tellin’ me Shimano had ya injected with somethin’?” Saejima’s voice was low, steady. He needed to keep Majima talking, needed to know what the hell had happened.

Majima’s eyes flickered open again, but his gaze was still distant, unfocused. “Yeah,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Said it’d make me… stronger. Faster.” He winced as another wave of pain hit him, his body tensing for a moment before relaxing again under Saejima’s touch. “But… it just… fucked me up.”

Saejima clenched his jaw, anger bubbling beneath the surface, but he kept his voice calm. “And that’s why ya were fightin’ it? Couldn’t get home in time?”

Majima nodded weakly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “Yeah…Didn’t… wanna lose control,” he muttered. “Didn’t… wanna hurt anyone.”

“Why didn’t ya tell me?” Saejima asked, his voice quieter now, laced with a hint of frustration. “Why didn’t ya say somethin’ earlier?”

Majima’s head lolled to the side, his eyes fluttering closed again. “Didn’t… want ya ta know…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Didn’t… wanna scare ya.”

Saejima let out a slow breath, his hands resuming their careful movements along Majima’s spine. There was so much Majima hadn’t told him, so much he’d been hiding, and now it was all crashing down around them.

But Saejima wasn’t going to let him face it alone.

“Ya shoulda told me, Goro,” Saejima muttered, his voice soft but firm. “Ya ain’t gotta carry this shit by yerself.”

Majima didn’t respond, the purring returning, soft and steady as Saejima continued to massage the tension from his body. As he continued, his fingers accidentally brushed one of the spines directly. He had expected Majima to jolt, maybe cry out in pain from the sensitive, fresh wound. But that’s not what happened at all.

Instead, Majima’s whole body arched into his hand, and a deep, guttural moan escaped his lips— a moan. Not in pain though.

Majima’s eyes shot open the moment he heard himself, the sound echoing in the small apartment like a bomb going off. His body froze, his breath catching in his throat as his mind scrambled to comprehend what had just happened.

Saejima’s hands jerked back immediately, his eyes wide as he muttered, “Shit, sorry!” His voice was full of shock, clearly not expecting that kind of reaction. 

What the hell just happened?

Majima’s heart was racing, his face flushed as he tried to process the sensation. Though it was an accidental touch—it had shot through him like lightning, straight to his core. The moment Saejima’s hand had made contact with that spine, it had sent a shockwave of pleasure so intense that he couldn’t stop the moan that tore from his throat. It had hit him hard , right down there , and there was no denying it now.

Saejima’s hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure if he should pull back or continue. “What the… fuck was that?” he muttered, clearly confused but not about to press the issue. He’d never seen Majima react like that, not in all the years they’d been close. This was… something new.

Majima’s whole body trembled as he tried to regain control, but it wasn’t easy. His mind was a mess, and his body felt like it was on fire. He knew he had urges as a monster—hell, he had struggled with them more than once before. His transformations were always difficult, but when he entered rut? That was a whole different level of fucked up. During those times of the year, he was basically driven by a deep, consuming urge, and staying human through it was nearly impossible.

Being that horny 24/7? It was a nightmare. No cloacal fold like in his monster form to hide it either. As a human, it was embarrassing, difficult to contain. But this ? This was worse than rut. Worse than any of the horniness he experienced then.

Because this shot straight to his cock and he didn’t even know why.

He could feel himself hardening, and he cursed under his breath, trying desperately to control his breathing, to will his body to stop responding like that. His mind was screaming at him to focus, to get a grip, but his body was simply not listening.

“Goro… ya good?” Saejima’s voice was careful, trying to feel out what the hell was happening without making things more awkward.

Majima swallowed hard, his body still trembling as he struggled to speak. “Y-Yeah,” he muttered, but his voice sounded hoarse, strained. “Just… fuckin’ surprised me, that’s all.”

Saejima didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it go. He’d seen Majima in a lot of states over the years, but he wasn’t about to pry and embarrass him when he was already having a hard time. “Didn’t mean ta push like that,” Saejima said, still clearly rattled by the unexpected reaction.

Majima just nodded, unable to meet Saejima’s eyes. He was mortified, but he was also trying desperately to keep his body under control. The ache in his back was still there, but now it was mixed with an entirely different kind of ache, one that he couldn’t ignore.

He closed his eyes, trying to breathe through it, trying to push down the desire that had been awakened by that single, accidental touch. All he could think about was the way Saejima’s hand had felt pressing against his spine, the way it had sent a pulse of pleasure shooting through him.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Yasuko had been watching the entire time, her eyes taking in every subtle shift in Majima's body. She saw how his face had flushed, the way his breathing had quickened. Saejima, with Majima’s head pressed firmly against his chest, couldn’t see it, but Yasuko had a perfect view of the tension rippling through Majima. It wasn’t just from the pain anymore; it was from that —whatever the hell had just surged through him when Saejima accidentally touched one of his spines.

Majima’s attention flicked to her, and their eyes met. His pupils were blown wide now, not from the weirdness of the mutation or the lingering pain, but from the sudden, raw rush of pleasure that had hit him moments before. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, the embarrassment burning through him, and it only got worse under Yasuko’s gaze.

But she didn’t say anything. She just gave him a soft, knowing smile. It wasn’t judgmental, and it wasn’t teasing. It was almost… understanding, which made it even harder for Majima to hold her gaze. The shame of what had just happened was too much, but there was something about Yasuko’s calmness, her quiet acceptance, that kept him from panicking any further.

Without a word, Yasuko stood up, her movements graceful and deliberate as she broke the tension in the room with a casual offer. “Do either of you want tea?” she asked, her voice soft but steady. “I’m going to put the kettle on.”

It was the out Majima desperately needed, and he latched onto it like a lifeline. Saejima, too, seemed eager to shift the mood, his hand still hovering awkwardly over Majima’s back as he glanced up at Yasuko.

“Yeah,” Saejima muttered, clearing his throat as if to shake off the awkwardness. “Tea sounds good. What about you, Goro?”

Majima swallowed hard, willing his voice to stay steady. “Sure,” he rasped, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that his body was still buzzing with residual heat from that unexpected burst of pleasure.

Yasuko gave them both a small nod, her smile never wavering as she quietly moved to the kitchenette. She wasn’t pushing, wasn’t pressing for answers. She was giving them both space, an opportunity to collect themselves and move past whatever had just happened.

Saejima shifted slightly, his hands still lingering near Majima’s spine, though he was much more careful now not to touch any of the spines directly. “Ya alright?” he asked quietly, his voice soft but with that edge of concern that Majima had come to expect from him.

Majima let out a slow breath, trying to will his body to calm down, trying to shake off the lingering embarrassment that clung to him. “Yeah,” he muttered, still pressed up against Saejima’s chest. “Just… didn’t expect that.”

Saejima gave a small, almost sheepish chuckle. “Yeah, me neither.”

They both fell into silence after that, the sound of the kettle heating up in the background giving them something else to focus on. It was awkward, sure, but the shift in conversation—thanks to Yasuko—helped them both pull away from the intensity of what had just happened.

Majima finally moved back and out of Saejima’s grasp, but he didn’t dare look up at the man. He just turned around and grabbed the bedding Yasuko had yanked off of him. Now that the transformation seemed to halt, he was starting to get cold. He curled up under the blanket, shivering uncontrollably as the cold crept into every corner of the drafty apartment. It was night now, and the day’s events had drained him. His body was still tender from the transformation, the spines on his back aching with each small movement, but it was the cold that was truly killing him.

Kamurocho’s shitty apartments never had enough insulation, and this time of year? Forget it. Summer may be approaching, but Spring still made for abnormally cold nights, the rain making the air damp and bone-chilling. 

Majima hated the cold more than anything. He wasn’t built for it. Fall and winter turned him sluggish, made his whole body feel wrong. It slowed him down, made his blood feel thick and his limbs heavy. There were days he could barely function, though he had made sure that he spent those days alone in his apartment next door in the past.

He burrowed deeper under the bedding, trying to conserve what little warmth he had, but it wasn’t helping. It was like the cold was attacking him from the inside out. Not to mention rain. The rain had always messed with him, ever since he was a kid. It made his bones itch, like a pressure building up under his skin, like his body was always threatening to transform whether he wanted it to or not. 

He closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting back to when he was little, back before all this Yakuza shit, back when it was just him and his ma. He’d struggled with the cold even back then, and she always did her best to keep him warm, even when they couldn’t afford to run the heater. They were dirt poor, barely scraping by, and leaving the heater on for too long just wasn’t an option.

Instead, his mom would pile as many blankets on him as she could find. She’d wrap him up in layer after layer, and then she’d climb under with him, curling her small, fragile body around his. He could still remember the feel of her thin arms pulling him close, her warmth seeping into him as she whispered reassurances.

She was human, through and through. None of that cold-blooded bullshit. Women in his family didn’t have to deal with the whole monster thing, it seemed. Didn’t have to deal with the cold the way he did. Didn’t have to worry about transformations. But she understood him. She knew what it was like for him, how the cold made him weak, made him feel different. And so, every winter, every fall, she would hold him close under those blankets until his limbs stopped feeling like lead, until his body thawed enough to move properly again.

At least until his fuckin’ dad came home.

Majima’s jaw clenched at the memory. His dad had never been understanding. He’d never been patient. He didn’t care that his son was different, that he needed warmth to function. He only cared about control. About making Majima feel small. Making him feel like a freak for what he was. His dad would come home, drunk more often than not, and the moment he saw them huddled together under the blankets, he’d lose it. Majima could still hear his dad’s voice, slurred and angry, telling his mom she was babying him, that she was coddling a monster, a freak. Telling Majima he needed to toughen up and stop acting like such a weakling.

Those nights felt like a lifetime ago, but the cold, the rain—it brought those memories back sharp and clear. Majima shifted under the blanket, trying to find a more comfortable position, but his limbs felt stiff. But then he noticed Saejima moving around, that giant of a man quietly making his way across the room. Majima was too cold to even ask what he was doing, but he watched from the corner of his eye as Saejima set something up next to him. A quiet click, followed by a faint hum, and then— fucking warmth .

Saejima had plugged in the little space heater they kept for the worst of the winter nights. That thing was ancient, one of those old models that could probably burn the whole place down if left running too long. But it pumped out heat like a fucking champ , radiating so much warmth that you didn’t dare sit too close to it for fear of scalding your skin.

Majima’s body immediately reacted to the heat, his muscles loosening, the tension draining from his spine. He let out a low, relieved groan as the warmth seeped into his frozen limbs. It felt like a fucking godsend , and his body stopped shivering.

Saejima just stood there, arms crossed, watching Majima’s reaction with a grin. “Thought ya could use it,” he said, his voice casual but tinged with rough affection. 

Majima glanced up at him, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him. “Yer a fuckin’ angel, Kyoudai,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from the cold. “A big, bulky, brick wall of an angel.”

Saejima laughed, a deep rumble that filled the room. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, adjusting the heater so it was angled just right. “Ya can keep it at yer place when ya go home. Better than freezin’ yer ass off.”

Majima stretched his arms slightly, feeling the heat work its way through his body. He was about to settle back into the comfort of the warmth when Saejima’s next words jolted him.

“After we get done outside, I’ll bring it over.”

Majima blinked, confused. “What the hell are ya talkin’ about?” he asked, his voice still thick with exhaustion. “Why would we go outside? It’s fuckin’ cold ‘n wet.”

Saejima’s expression didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes that made Majima’s stomach drop. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to think about what they had talked about earlier, when his body had been trembling and desperate for food.

Saejima gave him a pointed look, reminding him without saying it outright. “I told ya I’d help ya find food tonight.”

Majima’s heart sank. Fuck. He had forgotten in the haze of pain that Saejima had promised to help him find something to eat. And by something, he didn’t mean a hot meal from the konbini.

After only a few more moments of blissful heat, Saejima finally looked down at him, his expression firm. “It’s time, Goro. We gotta go. It’s late enough now that the streets are empty. Ya can be what ya are without anyone seein’.”

Majima, naturally, turned up the dramatics. His voice took on a theatrical tone, complete with exaggerated gestures as he waved Saejima off. “Oh no, no, no, really, Taiga! I’m fine now, really. Hunger’s just—poof!— gone .” He even managed to throw in a half-hearted grin. “I mean, c’mon, it would be such a hassle. Ya know how dirty it is out there? We’d have to rummage through garbage cans, crawl through those dingy-ass alleys, and the docks? God, they’re disgusting! Nah, nah, let’s just stay ins—”

Saejima wasn’t having it. He crossed his arms, staring Majima down with a look that said enough is enough .

Majima pressed on, even as he knew he was losing ground. “Seriously, man! I’m fine ! I’ve gone this long without a bite. I haven’t even had an accident or nothing. We can just stay here, keep the heater on, maybe catch up on some sleep—”

“No,” Saejima’s voice cut in, firm and unyielding. “Yer not fine, Goro. Yer starving, and you know it.”

Majima leaned forward, pushing back. “I’ve been managing just fine, okay? It’s been five years! I can keep going—don’t make this a bigger deal than it is!”

Saejima’s brow furrowed, his patience wearing thin. “A bigger deal? Yer one bad day away from losing it, and ya know it . What happens when ya can’t control it? Ya think I’m gonna sit here and wait for ya to snap and hurt Yasuko?”

The tension between them crackled in the air, both men locked in a stubborn stalemate. Majima was holding onto his pride with both hands, refusing to give in. But Saejima wasn’t budging either, and Majima could see that look in his eye—the one that said he was done arguing.

“I said I’m fine , Taiga! Ya just found out what I am today, and now ya think ya know how my body works better than me? I can handle a little hunger!” Majima growled, unwilling to let Saejima bully him into doing something he doesn’t want to do. 

Without a word, Saejima pulled a knife from his pocket, slicing a deep cut across his own forearm. Blood welled up immediately, dark and rich, and before Majima could react, Saejima thrust his arm in front of his face.

The scent hit Majima like a freight train. His pupils blew wide, and his entire body went rigid. His nostrils flared, and before he even realized what was happening, his mouth hung open, jaw slack as thick drool began to seep down his fangs. His breathing became labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his world spun out of control. The smell of Saejima’s blood—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. His senses honed in on it like a predator locked onto prey.

“ What the fuck are you doing? ” Majima hissed, his voice a shaky growl, but his body wasn’t listening. His instincts were driving him now, pushing him closer to the source of that delicious scent. His tongue flicked out, tasting the air, and the tang of Saejima’s blood hit his senses like pure adrenaline.

Yasuko, sitting nearby, gasped, her voice rising in panic. “Nii-chan, stop! What are you doing? Don’t—don’t do this to him!”

Saejima, usually calm and reserved, snapped. “He’s gotta be honest with himself!” he barked, his voice sharper than Yasuko had ever heard. “He needs this, and I’m not gonna wait around until he snaps and attacks ya because he’s too stubborn to let me help him!”

Yasuko fell silent, her eyes wide. Saejima never spoke to her like that, never raised his voice. It was enough to make her understand—this was serious. Very serious.

Majima, on the other hand, was barely registering the words anymore. His focus was solely on Saejima’s bleeding arm, his mind clouded with need. His mouth was mere inches from the wound now, his tongue flicking out again, so close to tasting the blood flowing from the wound. And God, it smelled good . The rich scent of blood in the air was so fucking good, pulling him in, his body moving on its own, the hunger he had fought for so long finally breaking free.

His fangs throbbed. He could feel the saliva building up, feel the raw need coursing through him like a live wire. His mind was screaming at him to stop, to pull back, but his instincts were louder, overpowering every rational thought.

He leaned in, his breath hot against Saejima’s arm, his tongue brushing the edge of the wound, tasting the fresh blood.

And then everything went blank.

Saejima’s hand shot out with lightning speed, gripping Majima’s neck before his fangs could sink into his arm. The immediate contact was enough to make Majima’s body thrash wildly, his instincts completely overriding any conscious thought. Yasuko, eyes wide with fear, scrambled out of the way, her back pressing against the far wall as she watched the scene unfold in front of her.

Majima was a mess of uncontrolled hunger and raw need, his body writhing, desperate for the blood that was still dripping from Saejima’s wound. Saejima’s grip on his neck was firm, but it wasn’t enough. Majima’s tail whipped around, his body wriggling and twisting with frightening strength. The hunger had taken hold, and Majima wasn’t thinking—he couldn’t think.

Saejima knew he had to act fast, and with a calculated move, he reached out with his free hand and grabbed one of Majima’s spines. He hadn’t forgotten how Majima had reacted earlier—how the contact with the spines had caused that intense reaction. Saejima knew it wasn’t the most logical solution, but right now, he needed to stop Majima from biting him, and this was the only way he could think of.

The moment his hand closed around the spine, Majima’s entire body went rigid. His thrashing ceased instantly, replaced with a wave of uncontrollable tension that surged through him. The pulsing sensation from Saejima’s hold shot straight to his core, sending an overwhelming flood of pleasure coursing through his body. It was a disaster .

Majima’s cock, nestled between the folds of his belly scales, reacted violently, hardening beneath the scales. Precum leaked out in steady streams as his body prepared itself for something it couldn’t control. His mind was lost in a haze, trapped between the intense hunger that had driven him moments before and this sudden, all-consuming pleasure.

He was so hard, so fucking ready that he couldn’t stop it—his body was fully lubricated, the housing behind his scales soaking wet as if his very survival depended on being completely drenched in arousal. The sensation was unbearable, the pleasure too much, and just as Majima started to keen—a low, desperate sound that escaped him without warning—Saejima let go.

The sudden loss of contact sent Majima’s body crashing down from the edge of climax. He collapsed, his entire form going limp as Saejima loosened his grip on his neck. Majima’s chest heaved with each breath, his limbs trembling, his mind reeling from what had just happened. The pleasure, the hunger, the shame—it was all a chaotic storm inside him, and he couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Saejima, for his part, was shockingly calm. He crouched down in front of Majima, wrapping his bleeding arm in some cloth as if nothing particularly strange had just occurred. His movements were casual, methodical, like this was just another day.

“Can we go get ya some grub now?” Saejima asked, his voice level and even, as if he hadn’t just been attacked, restrained, and then nearly forced to make his best friend cum in order to stop him.

Majima lay on the floor, his mind still spinning from the intensity of everything that had just happened. He could hardly process Saejima’s words, too caught up in the aftermath of his body’s reactions. His limbs were heavy, his cloaca still slick with arousal, and his whole body tingled with the remnants of the pleasure that had hit him like a fucking freight train.

For a long moment, all Majima could do was stare at the floor, his breath ragged, his body limp. But eventually, he forced himself to nod weakly. “Yeah… yeah, alright,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, still shaken.

Saejima gave a small, satisfied nod, standing up and reaching down to help Majima to his feet. “Good. Let’s get this over with,” he said, his tone still frustratingly casual.

Majima shot him a look, his face flushed with a mixture of residual embarrassment and frustration. “Yer too fuckin’ calm about this,” he growled, trying to collect himself, his whole body trembling as he shifted to balance on his tail.

Saejima just grinned, “Always been more calm than ya.”

Chapter Text

The night was almost suffocatingly dark. It was one of those nights where the sky swallowed up everything, where the usual glow of the city lights felt muted, and the streets seemed to disappear into the shadows. Majima tilted his head back, his eyes narrowing at the barely-there sliver of the moon hanging in the sky. The new moon was almost here, and he could feel its approach like a weight on his chest.

"Why the hell ya shootin' daggers at the moon, Goro?" Saejima asked, his voice low but amused as he glanced at Majima.

Majima huffed, crossing his arms as his eyes lingered on the tiny crescent. "New moon’s comin’ soon," he grumbled, shifting his weight. "I always fuckin' transform on the new moon. So even if I get back to bein' human tonight, tomorrow night? I’m screwed. Gonna transform again whether I like it or not." He let out a long, irritated sigh. "Sucks. The moon fuckin’ sucks ."

Saejima paused, glancing up at the sky, his expression softening. He was a big man, and like most big men, he had big feelings. He liked the moon. No, scratch that— loved the moon. He’d written poetry about it once, back when things were simpler and there was more time for words than for blood. The cycle of the moon, the way it waxed and waned—it felt like a rhythm to life itself. There was something almost spiritual about it.

"Moon’s beautiful," Saejima murmured, his gaze faraway as he admired the delicate sliver in the sky. “Tied to it like ya are? That’s… kinda perfect, don’t you think?”

Majima looked over at him, ready to snap back with some snide, self-deprecating remark, but the look on Saejima’s face stopped him cold. The man was serious . There was a softness in his expression that Majima didn’t expect. Saejima wasn’t just talking; he was feeling it. He loved the moon, saw it as something beautiful, something that made sense of the world.

Majima swallowed the words he had lined up, caught off guard by the depth of Saejima’s sentiment. He turned his gaze away, letting his thoughts roll around in his head as they made their way deeper into the night, the city around them eerily quiet.

Eventually, they reached their first alleyway. It was a narrow, dingy stretch between two crumbling buildings, littered with garbage and old cardboard boxes. The scent hit Majima first, sharper than anything else. He moved ahead, his tail propelling him forward with surprising ease. This was the first time he’d used his tail as his primary means of movement, and honestly? It was a game-changer. The fluidity, the power—it was almost fun.

"Man," he muttered to himself, sliding effortlessly through the alley, "wish I was always like this. Way easier than those dog-ass legs I usually gotta deal with. Those things feel weird as hell sometimes, like I gotta re-learn how to walk every damn time I transform. Gotta decide if I’m goin' all fours or walkin' upright. This, though? This I could get used to."

Saejima followed close behind, but he kept a careful distance, letting Majima take the lead. It wasn’t just out of respect—it was practical. Majima’s sense of smell was far superior in this form, and if anyone could track down what they were looking for, it was him.

Majima stopped in his tracks, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. The smell was sharp, distinct, and unmistakably dead . There was a body nearby, no question about it. His instincts kicked in, hunger flaring up in the pit of his stomach as his tongue flicked out to taste the air. But as they got closer, the scent turned sour. It wasn’t just a dead body—this one was ripe . Way past its expiration date.

He wrinkled his nose, pulling back a little. "Oh, fuck no," he groaned, his face scrunching up in disgust. "I can’t do this one, man. This guy’s… he’s been dead way too long. He’s—"

The smell intensified, nearly turning his stomach. "Nope," he said, shaking his head emphatically. "I’m not eatin' that. Dude’s been dead fer fuckin’ days , I can smell it from here."

Saejima frowned, stepping forward to peer down the alley. He couldn’t see much in the darkness, but the way Majima recoiled told him everything he needed to know. "Ya sure?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah, I’m fuckin' sure," Majima snapped, rubbing his face as if to wipe the stench from his senses. "I’m not touchin’ that. We’re lookin' fer something fresher, man. I ain’t that desperate yet."

Saejima let out a low sigh, nodding in agreement. "Alright. We keep movin’ then. Let’s try the next spot."

Majima nodded, though the hunger gnawing at him wasn’t going away. The night was long, but if they didn’t find something soon, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his composure.

Alley after alley, street after street, and Majima was coming up empty . The more they searched, the more his frustration gnawed at him like the hunger twisting his insides. Every corner they turned, there was fuckin’ nothing . His senses were sharp, his body primed to track down the dead, but Kamurocho felt strangely clean tonight. Too clean.

These new anti-yakuza laws? Fuckin’ ruining his food supply. Majima couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh at the irony. Sure, the laws were supposed to make life harder for criminals, but he hadn’t expected it to mess up his personal food chain. He remembered the old days—before all these laws went into place, when bodies were dumped like clockwork in the back alleys, the docks and the sewers.

It wasn’t ideal, but back then, Majima had a steady supply of fresh corpses to pick from. He’d make them disappear for the men that dumped them. Hell, he was doing them a favor, really—eating the evidence, clearing their tracks. But now? Now, the bodies just sat there, left for the police or some poor homeless bastard to stumble upon. Those fuck-ups had made it easy for the police to crack down, using the literal piles of bodies as proof of Yakuza wrongdoing. Pinning the crimes on any lower-tier family that happened to be nearby when the bodies were discovered.

Not the Shimano family though. Majima scoffed to himself. No fuckin’ way would they get caught up in that mess. They were too careful, too smart about where and when they did their business. At least, that’s what Majima told himself. Shimano wouldn’t let something as stupid as a trail of bodies take him down.

Majima’s stomach clenched with hunger as the night dragged on. Maybe if he hadn’t stopped feeding regularly, he wouldn’t be in this mess now. He wouldn’t be dragging his ass through dingy alleys and dark streets with Saejima trudging behind him, looking more exhausted by the minute.

Majima stopped and glanced back at Saejima, who was starting to sag against the nearest wall, his face lined with exhaustion. The big guy wasn’t built for this kind of scavenger hunt, not for this long, not at this hour. The guilt twisted in Majima’s gut along with the hunger, but he really wanted Saejima to consider calling it a night.

He turned to Saejima, trying to sound casual, like the hunger wasn’t eating him alive from the inside out. "Hey, man. We can head in. It’s fine. I don’t wanna drag ya around all night."

Saejima, though, wasn’t having it. His tired eyes sharpened, and he straightened up, shaking his head firmly. “No. We ain’t goin’ home until ya get the food ya need, or until the sun starts creepin' up. I ain’t about to let ya starve yourself any longer.”

Majima sighed heavily, a bitter laugh escaping him. Of course, Saejima was too stubborn to quit now. There was no point arguing. He’d already seen the look in his kyoudai’s eyes—Saejima wasn’t about to leave him hungry and unstable, not after what had happened earlier. He wasn’t going to let him slip up.

"Alright, alright." Majima muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his tail twitching with frustration. His hunger wasn’t going to wait much longer, and his patience was thinning.

He knew where to go next.

The docks.

Majima had avoided it as long as he could, knowing what kind of filth waited there. The worst kind of scum—bodies dumped from turf wars, drug deals gone wrong, and worse. But it was reliable. And after striking out this long, he knew they didn’t have much choice.

“Docks,” Majima finally said, his voice resigned. “We’re headin’ to the docks. Ain’t gonna be pretty, but there’s always somethin’ there.”

Saejima just nodded, his face set with determination. “Let’s go.”

Majima took the lead again, his body coiling forward with renewed purpose. As much as he hated it, he could already smell the docks in his mind, the thick, briny air mingling with the scent of decay. But the docks were pretty far out and there was no way he was getting there in a timely manner with Saejima following behind.

Majima knew what he was about to suggest wasn’t going to go over well. Knew his kyoudai would probably think he was just trying to shake him off, but he really couldn’t afford the scenic route right now. “Taiga, we gotta split up fer now. I’ll meet ya over there, just hail a cab, alright?”

"Yer insane if ya think I'm leavin' ya alone out here," Saejima retorted, arms crossed as he stared Majima down. 

Majima sighed, exasperation creeping into his voice. "C’mon, Taiga, think about it. Ya can grab a cab, get there easy. I can find my way there real fast, faster if I’m alone. Trust me, man, I’m not tryin’ to ditch ya."

Saejima’s glare stayed fixed on him, suspicion clear in his eyes. “Yeah, right. I leave ya here alone, and next thing I know, ya’ve bailed, tellin' me yer fine so I won't push it. Yer tryin' to trick me."

Majima shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, "It’s not like that, I swear. I know the way through the sewers, alright? It’s faster for me to get there if I’m in this form. I'm really fast like this, probably even faster without legs." He paused, his voice lowering as he glanced around. "Ya’d slow me down, Kyoudai."

The words hung in the air between them, Saejima frowning, clearly not thrilled with the idea of splitting up. But he knew Majima well enough to understand when his stubborn streak kicked in, and right now, there was no changing his mind. Plus, Majima wasn’t wrong—Saejima would be slower, especially on foot. And if they really didn’t want anyone to see Majima in his current state, this was the best option.

Saejima grumbled under his breath, clearly pissed off but begrudgingly accepting Majima’s logic. "Fine," he muttered, "but ya better show up at those docks, or I’m comin’ to drag yer scaly ass outta whatever sewer ya hide in."

Majima smirked, already moving toward a nearby manhole. “Deal,” he said, the faint edge of a grin curling on his lips. Before Saejima could say another word, Majima bent down, gripping the manhole cover and lifting it like it weighed nothing . Saejima blinked in surprise—he knew Majima was strong, but seeing him do something like that so casually? It was a reminder of just how different his kyoudai was.

As Majima slid into the opening, disappearing into the dark sewers below, Saejima’s mind wandered for a brief second. If Majima wasn’t so starved, so weak from holding back, what would he be capable of? The thought sent a chill down his spine. Maybe tempting him with blood earlier had been the wrong move. If Majima had been any stronger… Saejima shook his head, pushing the thought away. He didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened.

With a final glance at the now-closed manhole, Saejima turned and walked toward the nearest street. The night air was thick, and the quiet of Kamurocho at this hour felt unsettling, but he hailed a late-night cab with ease. Slipping into the back seat, he gave the driver a firm but tired, “Tokyo Docks, please.”

As the cab pulled away, Saejima stared out the window, his mind already racing ahead to what they might find. The docks were always sketchy, always full of secrets no one wanted uncovered. And tonight, those secrets might just be dinner for his kyoudai.

Majima moved through the sewers like a force of nature, his body flowing with a disturbing grace that no human could ever replicate. His tail—long, sleek, and coiled with muscle—snaked behind him, propelling him forward with a speed that was completely unnatural. Each twist, every turn, he navigated the garbage-laden tunnels with precision, winding around broken sections and slamming through rusted grates as if they were nothing.

Fuck, this tail, he thought, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. As much as he hated what the transformations did to him, he couldn't deny the raw power he felt surging through his body now. Every movement was effortless, precise. He almost felt invincible. Thanks, weirdo drug peddlers, he thought darkly. If nothing else, the disturbing side effects of whatever they’d injected into him had given him something useful. The speed and strength alone made it feel worth it, even if the insta-cum spines were a different story entirely. Hopefully, those wouldn’t make an encore appearance during tomorrow night’s new moon.

He pressed on, the cold damp air of the sewers swirling around him as he pushed through tunnels he knew by heart. The adrenaline coursing through him made his hunger feel almost secondary, a dull ache overshadowed by the thrill of the chase. He’d forgotten how good this felt, how powerful he was in this form—even after five years of starvation. His body hummed with energy, his muscles flexing with every twist and turn through the labyrinth below Kamurocho.

Too good, he thought with a small chuckle. There was something almost intoxicating about it, something he shouldn’t be enjoying this much.

Before long, Majima reached the docks. He pressed his hands up against the familiar manhole cover, pushing it open with ease. The smell hit him instantly—the mix of dead fish, rotting wood, and boats that hadn’t seen a proper cleaning in years. It was just like he remembered. The stench of decay was in the air, and while it might make a normal person gag, for Majima, it was almost comforting. Familiar, even.

He emerged from the sewers, his body moving with a quiet grace as he scanned the area. There was Saejima, leaned up against a shipping container, trying to stay out of sight, the orange glow of a cigarette illuminating his face in the dark. The man looked as solid as ever, but Majima could see the fatigue in his stance, the weight of the night hanging on him.

Majima approached quickly, too quickly and far too quiet. His tail moved soundlessly over the ground, and before he knew it, he was right next to Saejima. He hadn’t meant to be so stealthy, but the way his body moved now, it was like a second nature.

Saejima flinched, his shoulders tensing as he snapped his head around, startled. His hand went to his cigarette, almost dropping it in the process. “ Shit, Goro!” he muttered, eyes wide as he took in Majima’s sudden appearance. “What the fuck, man?”

Majima couldn’t help but grin, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light. “What, can’t handle me sneakin’ up on ya? Thought you had better senses than that, Kyoudai.”

Saejima grumbled something under his breath, clearly trying to shake off the momentary surprise. He took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke with a frustrated sigh. “Ya move like a damn ghost lookin’ like that,” he muttered, glancing down at Majima’s coiled tail.

“Better than movin’ like some awkward half-dog thing,” Majima quipped, stretching out his tail as he circled Saejima. “Kinda wish I had this all the time. Would make gettin’ around a hell of a lot easier.”

Saejima raised an eyebrow, clearly not sure how to respond to that. “Yeah, well, we still gotta find ya some food before the sun comes up.”

Majima’s playful grin faded, the reality of the situation settling back in. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice dropping as his stomach clenched with hunger. “Guess we better get started.”

He moved past Saejima, his senses sharpening as he led the way through the docks. The scent of death was there, hanging faintly in the air, but it was subtle, distant. They’d have to go deeper, closer to the water, where the bodies tended to pile up after a rough night in the city.

Majima's tail danced behind him as he moved forward, his focus narrowing in on the scent of something... fresh .

Majima’s senses locked on with an eerie precision, his nose flaring as the scent hit him—so fresh, so enticing. The metallic tang of blood, still rich and warm, clung to the air, pulling him toward it like a predator on the hunt. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since the life had left that body. His stomach clenched with hunger, and a low growl rumbled from his throat.

Fucking jackpot.

It had been five long years since he’d had a meal, and now? Now it felt like he’d stumbled into a personal feast. Hell, this wasn’t just finding scraps—this was like going to yakiniku, where the cuts of meat were fresh and laid out just for him. His tail twitched behind him, the tip flicking excitedly. Almost like… wagging.

Saejima, trailing behind, couldn’t help but notice the change in Majima. He grimaced at the sight, watching his kyoudai act so… animalistic. It was hard to see. But it had to be done. Saejima understood Majima had to eat, and after five years, he was surprised the man had held out this long. Still, watching the way his tail moved with excitement over a corpse was unsettling.

Majima’s nose led them to a narrow alley tucked between some old shipping containers. The smell was strongest here, overpowering. He was almost giddy, anticipation racing through him as he rounded the corner. But just as quickly as the excitement came, it vanished.

His smile dropped instantly when his eyes landed on the body.

It was a woman.

He could smell it before he even saw her—faint traces of perfume, something floral that lingered in the air, blending with the scent of blood and decay. And there she was, sprawled out in front of him like some grotesque offering. A beautiful broad, late twenties, maybe early thirties. Dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her body still dressed in an elegant evening gown, now stained with her own blood. She was just… lying there. 

The sight of her hit him like a punch to the gut.

Fuck. Why’s it gotta be a broad?

Something about it made his stomach twist in a different way. Finding women like this always reminded him too much of his ma, too much of the fragility and violence that had plagued her life. Eating them felt wrong, felt like he was eating her.

He stood frozen, the hunger now tangled with disgust. His tail, which had been flicking excitedly just moments ago, stilled. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t bring himself to move any closer.

Saejima, watching from behind, could see the turmoil through Majima’s posture. He knew this wasn’t just about hunger anymore—this was about the morals Majima clung to in the small corners of his mind. He didn’t want to eat her. Saejima respected that, respected his kyoudai’s complicated relationship with his monstrous side. But right now? Morals didn’t matter. Majima was starving. And if he didn’t eat something tonight, Saejima knew things would most likely be even worse down the road. It was a harsh truth, but one Saejima wasn’t about to ignore.

Without a word, Saejima stepped forward, moving closer to the corpse than Majima had. The confusion in Majima’s eyes was instant, his mouth opening to protest. "Oi, what the fuck are ya doing?" he hissed, his voice thick with disbelief.

Saejima didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pulled out his knife—the same one he’d used earlier— sloughed off a sleeve of his coat and without hesitation, sliced into his arm again. The cut was clean, deep enough to draw a steady stream of blood. And before Majima could react, Saejima crouched down and let his blood drip onto the woman’s body, staining her gown further with fresh, living blood.

The moment that scent hit Majima, his entire world spun.

Living blood. The heat of it, the richness. It mixed with the decay of the corpse, creating something so overwhelming that Majima’s balance faltered. His mouth hung open, his tongue flicking out to taste the air. His fangs throbbed, sharp and ready. His pupils blew wide, the hunger that he’d kept buried for years crashing over him like a tidal wave once again.

"No…" Majima whispered, barely able to form the word. His body wasn’t listening anymore. It was moving on instinct, drawn toward Saejima’s blood like a moth to a flame. His breathing became labored, his chest heaving as his body leaned forward. He tried to pull back, tried to stop himself, but it was too late. His tongue flicked out again, catching the taste of Saejima’s blood mixed with the air around them.

It was too good.

Saejima stood, watching Majima closely, his arm still bleeding as he shoved his arm back into his coat, his expression calm, resolute. "Ya need this, Goro," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos in front of him. "It’s okay. Take what ya need. Ya don’t have to starve anymore."

Majima’s body trembled as he leaned closer to the woman’s corpse, his fangs grazing his lips, his entire being locked in a battle between his humanity and the monster within him. He didn’t want to do this— he didn’t want to be this —but the hunger was stronger than his will.

And with one last flick of his tongue, he gave in.

Saejima stood there, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, trying his best not to look too closely at the scene unfolding in front of him. He knew it was going to be bad, knew this wasn’t some formal affair where Majima would sit down and eat politely. But fuck , he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. There was no way to prepare for the reality of watching his kyoudai tear into a corpse.

Majima was completely unrecognizable, feral and wild, his eyes blown wide as he gave in to the beast inside him. His body trembled with need as he hovered over the woman’s corpse, his long, forked tongue flicking out to taste the blood that had mixed with Saejima’s. It was as though the moment his tongue touched it, any shred of humanity that had been holding him back snapped .

He tore into her with a ferocity that was almost too much to witness. His claws sank deep into her flesh, ripping through the soft tissue with horrifying ease. Blood sprayed across the concrete as he dug in, his head jerking violently as his fangs pierced deep, splitting skin and muscle like wet paper. There was no finesse, no hesitation—just raw, violent hunger.

His body moved like a predator in a frenzy, coiled and tight, his tail twitching with each bite. He didn’t just eat. He devoured . Ripping, tearing, swallowing with a sickening wet sound that echoed in the stillness of the docks. His jaws stretched wide, fangs gleaming as he buried them deep into her, his lips slick with blood, dripping down his chin and neck. His chest heaved with every breath, the scent of blood and decay filling his lungs as he bit into her torso, pulling apart flesh and bone with ease.

The sounds were the worst part.

Majima was making noises that Saejima had never heard from him before. Low, guttural groans that bordered on pleasure , deep growls of satisfaction that rumbled through his chest. Every bite sent a ripple of pleasure through his body, and it showed. His muscles flexed with each tear, his tail curling and twitching in response to the sensory overload. Each time Majima swallowed, each time his fangs tore through flesh, he let out these throaty, almost euphoric sounds. Majima was enjoying this in a way that made Saejima’s stomach churn.
The wet, slurping sounds of blood and tissue being sucked between Majima’s fangs were nearly drowned out by his own disturbing moans of ecstasy. The way he worked his jaws, the way his throat moved with each swallow—it was grotesque, a primal display of raw, unrestrained need.

Saejima tried not to look, but the sounds, the violent rhythm of Majima’s feeding, made it impossible to ignore. The sight of his kyoudai, drenched in blood, body jerking with each frenzied bite, was burned into Saejima’s mind. He forced himself to stay put, to not turn away. Majima needed this, no matter how disturbing it was to even listen to . He needed to eat.

Saejima swallowed hard, fighting back the nausea that was building in his throat as he watched Majima feed, watched him lose himself in the gruesome, violent act. And the worst part? The sounds of Majima’s pleasure, the deep moans that echoed in the dark, were only growing louder.

The crack of the femur echoed through the empty dock; a sharp, grotesque sound that made Saejima’s stomach lurch violently again. Majima held the bone between his teeth, his fangs glinting in the dim light as he snapped it like it was nothing. The marrow, rich and warm, oozed out, and his long tongue slithered into the hollow space, greedily sucking out every last drop.

Fuckin' delicious. Majima’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a low growl of satisfaction rumbling deep in his chest as he savored the flavor. The marrow was always the best part. So rich, so full of life, a rarity that he didn't take for granted. It was a shame there wasn’t more of it. He always felt like he was being teased with how little marrow there actually was, but the taste was worth the effort.

Saejima, meanwhile, was barely holding it together. He had long since moved away from the immediate carnage, leaning heavily against a nearby shipping container, his body stiff with nausea. The metallic stench of blood, mixed with the rotting tang of the docks, was too much. The sounds alone— that crack , the sucking, the moans—it was all burned into his mind, flashing in brutal detail whenever he closed his eyes. He squeezed them shut again, trying not to let the images get to him, but the nausea wouldn’t go away. His throat burned, bile creeping up as he fought the urge to vomit.

Majima, on the other hand, was in a different world entirely. He was methodical, ravenous but precise. Each bite was deliberate, each crack of bone, each tear of flesh done with a practiced ease. He wasn’t going to leave any trace of this woman behind. She was, quite simply, too fucking delicious for that. Fresh, tender, her flesh practically melted in his mouth. There was a suppleness to her, the kind of body that spoke of self-care, of luxury. The faint scent of perfume clung to her skin, even in death, mixing with the sweetness of her blood.

Hostess, Majima guessed as he dug into the plush of her midsection, tearing away another chunk. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Her dress, the light scent, the way she was presented—it all pointed to someone from Kamurocho’s nightlife. The kind of woman who worked in a club, charming rich men out of their money, but likely chewed up by the industry just as quickly as she was admired for her beauty.

Sad.

He hated finding them like this. It reminded him of the violence and fragility they faced in a world that wasn’t built to protect them. With men, it was different. When he found the corpses of those flashy fucks in suits, he knew what they were. He could picture how they’d acted in life—the arrogance, the cruelty, the kind of men who thought they were untouchable. Eating them felt right. Like karma. Every bite of those bastards felt like a little revenge against his own father, against the kind of man who had left scars on him, on his ma. It felt... cathartic.

I wish I could’ve eaten that asshole.

Majima let out a low growl, pushing the thought away as he focused on the woman in front of him. Her death felt different. There was no karmic satisfaction here, no sense of retribution. She looked beautiful, even in death—her face still peaceful, her features still soft despite the violent end. Tragic. Majima hated tragedies. And yet, fuck if she wasn’t delicious.

His tongue flicked out, savoring the taste of her flesh as he worked, his movements slower now, more deliberate. He was nearing the end, but he wasn’t going to leave anything behind. He owed her that much.

Twenty minutes had passed, and it had been hell for Saejima—pure, nauseating hell. But for Majima, it had been heaven . The feral pleasure of finally indulging in a meal after five long years had consumed him completely. Majima’s movements had slowed, the frantic hunger that had fueled him finally subsiding.

Saejima had finally caved and moved to lean against a different shipping container around the corner. He waited until the sounds of chewing, sucking, and cracking had stopped. He could still hear faint lapping noises, but they were softer now. Maybe it was over. Maybe it was safe to go back around. He kicked off from the container and rounded the corner, ready to call it done and drag Majima back home.

But he had misjudged it. He was a little too early.

Majima was still there, crouched low over the spot where the body had been, his forked tongue flicking out to lick blood off the pavement . The sight made Saejima’s stomach twist in knots. There wasn’t much left of the woman now, just a few scattered bones, all of them hollow from where Majima had extracted the marrow. She was gone. Completely consumed.

Majima looked... gorged . His belly, distended and heavy, hung over the coiled length of his tail. It looked unnaturally large, as though he had eaten far more than his body could hold. And in truth, he had. Majima hadn’t stopped when he was full—he had starved himself for so long, denied his monstrous needs for years , that now, when he finally allowed himself to feed, he didn’t know when to stop. Or maybe he didn’t care.

His eyes, still half-lidded in satisfaction, drifted lazily toward Saejima. His tongue was still pressed against the concrete, lapping at the blood with languid strokes. And then he saw the look on Saejima’s face.

Saejima didn’t mean to look sick, but the sight of Majima in this state, this grotesque parody of his kyoudai, made his stomach churn. His expression said it all—the disgust, the shock, the nausea.

But to Majima, it looked like disapproval .

Majima’s eyes widened, panic instantly flaring in his chest. No… No no no. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Saejima wasn’t supposed to see him like this. He wasn’t supposed to look at him like that.

Majima recoiled, his body tensing as he pulled back from the pavement, his tail coiling around itself defensively. “No… no, no, no!” he stammered, his voice ragged, trembling with panic. His breathing quickened, his hands going to his face as he wiped the blood from his mouth frantically. “I didn’t—no— don’t look at me like that! ” His words came out in a desperate rush, his mind spiraling into a dark place. Saejima’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna fuckin’ kill me, end my miserable, tainted existence.

Saejima’s brow furrowed in confusion, his hand reaching out toward Majima instinctively. “Goro… what the fuck are ya talkin’ about? What’s goin’ on?” His voice was soft, concerned, but Majima didn’t hear it.

"Stay back!" Majima snarled, backing away further, his tail dragging along the pavement as he tried to create distance. “I… I might… I might fuckin’ eat ya .” His voice was barely above a whisper, a frightened confession. His mind was spinning, all he could think about was how much he’d let the monster win tonight. He was a danger now. A freak. An animal . He couldn’t control it, he didn’t know if he could stop himself from hurting Saejima if he got too close.

But Saejima laughed . An awkward chuckle bubbled up from him as he stared at Majima, who looked more bloated than dangerous at the moment. “Eat me?” Saejima said, shaking his head. “Ya look like ya couldn’t fit another bite in yer stomach if ya tried, man. Hell, ya look pregnant .”

The absurdity of Saejima’s words cut through the tension like a knife. Majima blinked, looking down at his own swollen belly, the way it sagged heavily into the folds of his tail. He looked ridiculous. 

Majima’s breath hitched, his panic faltering as Saejima crouched down a few feet away from him, still chuckling softly. "Come on, man," Saejima said, his voice gentle, his eyes soft with concern. "Yer not gonna eat me. Yer full. It’s okay, Goro. I’m not mad. I’m not disgusted. I’m just tryin' to figure out how the hell we’re gonna roll you outta here with that belly."

Majima stared at him, his heart still racing, but something about Saejima’s words, his calm, his normalcy in the face of everything, made the fear start to ebb. The tension slowly drained out of Majima’s body, his tail loosening from its defensive coil.

"Pregnant? I don’t look fuckin’ pregnant , Taiga…. Fuck’s sake." Majima muttered, his voice shaking slightly. He looked down at his stomach again as a breathless, exhausted laugh escaped his lips. "Fuckin' hell… I don’t exactly look lean though, do I?"

Saejima grinned. “Yeah, well, maybe don’t eat so much next time. Ya look like you're about to pop.”

Majima sat there for a moment, his tail still curling around itself as the absurdity of the situation slowly sank in. He was sitting there bloated like a balloon, feeling like he might just burst if he so much as moved wrong. But there was something even worse on the horizon, something he hadn’t yet explained to Saejima. He knew why he looked like this. Always did before it happened . 

With a sigh, Majima glanced over at his Saejima. “I, uh… there’s somethin’ I didn’t mention,” Majima muttered, his voice low and a little sheepish.

Saejima, who had been watching him carefully, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Majima exhaled sharply, bracing himself for the explanation. “So, uh… this…” He gestured to his swollen belly. “It’s not just from overindulgin’, y’know? There’s… more to it.”

Saejima looked at him, confused. “More? Like what?”

Majima shifted uncomfortably, his tail twitching as he searched for the right words. “See, the grossest part about eatin’ people—it’s not the distension, the crackin’ bones, or the slurpin’ blood and rippin’ flesh. Nah, that’s all part of it, sure, but it’s… it’s what comes after that’s the worst.”

Saejima frowned, still not getting it. “After?”

“Yeah,” Majima nodded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I can’t… digest bones and cartilage, man. Or veins. Or arteries. All that stuff… it doesn’t get processed. I dunno why, but I’m still compelled to swallow it down. Always have been. But my human body? It can’t handle that shit.”

Saejima’s expression shifted, a mix of disgust and curiosity crossing his face. “So… what? Ya just got a bunch of bones in there?” He pointed to Majima’s bloated stomach.

“Sorta,” Majima admitted, “but it’s not exactly like that. See, I’ve got two stomachs. One handles the meat and all the shit I can digest. But the other one? That’s where all the bones and crap go. The stuff I can’t use.”

Saejima blinked. “Two stomachs?”

“Yeah. Least that’s how it feels. Never gotten an x-ray done or nothin’. Can’t exactly explain that shit to a doctor.” Majima said, looking embarrassed. “And after a while… well, I gotta get rid of all the junk. The bones, the veins, all that nasty shit.”

Saejima’s face twisted in a grimace. “Ya tellin’ me yer gonna throw up?”

“Basically,” Majima said with a weak chuckle. “I can’t pass ‘em. If I tried to digest ‘em fully, my human body would probably just tear itself apart from the inside out. Internal bleedin’ and all that. So, yeah, I gotta regurgitate it after it’s all sorted in there.” He tapped his stomach lightly, as if to emphasize the point.

Saejima stared at him for a long moment, processing this new and incredibly disturbing information. “So we gotta wait here while ya puke up a bunch of bones?”

Majima nodded, looking a little sheepish. “Yep. Ain’t much choice. Can’t move around with all this shit still inside me. Trust me, I’d rather not be sittin’ here bloated like a goddamn toad either.”

Saejima groaned, rubbing his face with one hand. “Fuckin’ hell, Goro. That’s... that’s somethin’ else.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Majima muttered. “Look, just gimme a few minutes. I gotta wait until it’s all settled before I can get rid of it.”

Saejima shook his head, clearly trying to suppress his gag reflex. “Fine. Just… do it in the ocean or somethin’. I’m not watchin’ that.”

Majima couldn’t help but laugh, even through the discomfort. “Trust me, you don’t wanna see it. But yeah, I’ll make sure it goes into the ocean. Won’t leave any trace.”

With that, Majima pushed himself up slowly, his tail dragging along the pavement as he made his way toward the edge of the dock. He could feel the contents of his second stomach shifting inside him, the weight of the indigestible material pressing against him. It wouldn’t be long now.

He looked back at Saejima, who had already turned away, leaning against the shipping container again with a tired sigh. “Just… lemme know when yer done,” Saejima called out, his voice muffled.

Majima smirked to himself, positioning himself near the water’s edge. “Yeah, yeah. Won’t take long.”

And with that, he waited for the inevitable, his body already preparing to purge the bones and sinew that his cursed form couldn’t handle. 

After a few minutes, Saejima’s voice echoed from his spot against the shipping container. “Ya done yet er what?”

Majima chuckled softly, the sound dripping with a kind of dark amusement. “Oh no, trust me, you’ll hear it when it happens.” He was leaning against the dock, looking out over the murky water. 

Saejima winced, bracing himself for what was to come, his back still turned to Majima. “Man, yer too casual about this. It’s weird .”

Majima grinned, though his face twitched slightly as his stomach churned. “Weird? Nah, just practical, Kyoudai. Ya get used to it. Mostly. Still not exactly fun, though.” He paused, feeling the heaviness of the bones and sinew pressing against the back of his throat, threatening to come up. “Forcing out all this sharp shit, all the stringy bits, it ain’t a walk in the park. I’ll be chokin’ and gaggin’ soon. You’ll hear that, too. Like throwin’ up a long-ass noodle.”

Saejima grimaced. “Ya didn’t need to say that.”

Majima laughed, but there was an edge of discomfort in his voice now. “I mean, I’m just tryin’ to paint a picture for ya. The worst udon in the world. Some nightmare noodle, y’know?”

Saejima visibly shuddered, still refusing to turn around. “Fuckin’━ just… finish it already. I don’t need to know any more.”

Majima sighed, his hand rubbing his bloated stomach as he felt the beginnings of that familiar lurch deep inside him. “I gotta help it along, though,” he added casually, his voice strained now. “Sometimes, I gotta pull it out. The long stringy bits, like veins and arteries, they don’t come up on their own. Gotta yank those outta my throat.”

“Goro, for fuck’s sake,” Saejima muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to block out the mental image.

Majima’s breath hitched as the first wave of nausea hit hard. His jaw went slack, saliva dripping freely into the sea as his body prepared for the purge. “Bones come up on their own, though,” he managed to joke, his voice a little more strained now. 

Saejima flinched at the sound of Majima’s voice faltering, the sharp edge of pain creeping in. “This is disgusting,” Saejima muttered to himself, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground, his back still firmly turned. But he couldn’t help the pang of worry that hit him when he heard Majima’s breath quicken.

Majima felt the second lurch, stronger this time, and his stomach turned over painfully. “Ah, shit—” he muttered, his voice rasping now. His mouth opened wider, and the first gag hit him, hard and fast. His whole body convulsed as the contents of his second stomach started to make their way up.

There was nothing graceful about it. His chest heaved, his throat tightening painfully as the sharp bones scraped their way up his esophagus. The sound was nothing short of horrifying. A deep, guttural retching echoed across the docks, followed by a wet, squelching noise as he started to regurgitate the first bits of bone and cartilage.

The stringy veins and arteries came next, and Majima wasn’t kidding—he had to help them along, his hands going to his throat as he gagged and pulled, yanking the long strands out of his mouth. It felt like pulling out a tangled mess of wet noodles, except these were tougher, more fibrous, and they fought him the whole way up.

“ Fuckin’ hell… ” Majima groaned between gasps for air, his voice ragged as more bones clattered out of his mouth and splashed into the sea.

Saejima cringed at the sounds. The retching, the splattering of bones and sinew hitting the water—it was all so wrong, so unnatural . He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to imagine what was happening just a few feet away.

Majima’s body convulsed again, another wave of bones and tissue forcing its way up. His claws went down to dig into the ground as he coughed and gagged, the saliva still dripping from his mouth mixing with the blood-tinged mess falling into the sea.

After what felt like an eternity of retching, choking, and pulling, Majima’s body finally started to relax. The worst of it was over. He coughed once more, spitting out the last remnants of sinew and taking in a shaky breath, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

“ There ,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “Told ya… ya’d hear it.”

Saejima, pale and shaken, cautiously glanced over his shoulder, making sure the worst was done. “Yeah, I fuckin’ heard it,” he muttered. “ And I’m gonna have nightmares for weeks. Thanks.”

Majima laughed weakly, wiping more blood and spit from his chin. “Hey, don’t mention it.” He grinned, though it was a tired, pained grin. “Least now I won’t look like I’m carryin’ twins, huh?”

Saejima shook his head, clearly still disturbed, but he couldn’t help but snort at the joke. “Yeah, sure. Let’s just… get outta here. Ya good now?”

Majima nodded, his body still trembling slightly from the effort. “Yeah. Good to go. Let’s get the hell home.”

Majima noticed Saejima’s gaze wandering down to his now flat, toned stomach. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the look of confusion on his kyoudai’s face. Saejima had every right to be confused—he had just watched Majima devour an entire person, and now it was like none of it had happened. Not a single sign of distention, no bloated gut, just his usual, cut physique.

“Digests real quick,” Majima quipped, flashing Saejima a sly grin. “Stomach acid like mine? It could melt through the fuckin’ floorboards. Shit liquifies real fast.”

Saejima grimaced, shaking his head. “Man, I didn’t need to know that.”

Majima laughed, not even phased. It was true though—his monstrous physiology made him able to break down food faster than any human could, a hidden benefit of the body he lived with.

He bent down and lifted the manhole cover again, this time gesturing for Saejima to go down first.

Saejima looked at him, confused. “Thought I was takin’ another cab?”

“Nah,” Majima shrugged. “We can take our time strollin’ back now. I ain’t fallin’ apart anymore, so no rush. And I’d rather stick together. Just in case.”

Saejima didn’t argue, shrugging before climbing down the ladder into the sewer below. “Fuckin’ stinks down here,” he muttered once his feet hit the ground.

Majima followed, closing the manhole behind him. “It’s a sewer, on the docks. What did ya expect? Freshly baked bread?”

Saejima snorted, shaking his head as they started walking through the dimly lit tunnels. Majima was feeling… relaxed. More relaxed than he had in years . The worst was behind him now, and maybe things would be different from here on out.

“Ya know,” Majima started, his voice softer now that they were alone again. “Since it’s all out in the open, I figure… might as well be honest about some other shit.”

Saejima glanced at him, curious but not pushing. Majima never shared much unless he really wanted to, and this felt like one of those rare moments where he needed to talk. So, Saejima just let him.

“About my body,” Majima continued, his voice echoing slightly in the tunnel. “About… my grandpa.”

Saejima’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Majima didn’t talk much about his family.

“And about my fears,” Majima added, his tone more somber. “Y’know… about not bein’ able to go back. ‘Bout stayin’ human. I like bein’ human. I like at least kinda fittin’ in. But I know it ain’t gonna last forever.”

Saejima frowned, turning his head slightly toward Majima. “Whaddaya mean?”

Majima chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. “Grandpa… he was like me. Same scales, same fuckin’ struggle. But he… he didn’t make it. Didn’t survive it. He went full monster by the time he was fifty. Had to hide in the mountains, away from people, away from… everything. Ma told me stories about how he’d just disappear for months, only to come back lookin’ worse every time. Worn out, ragged…”

Saejima was silent, listening closely as Majima continued.

“I never got to meet him,” Majima muttered, his eyes fixed on the ground. “He was gone before I was born. I always wondered what it would’ve been like. Maybe he coulda taught me how to… control it better. But now, all I can think about is— is this what I’ve got to look forward to? Am I gonna end up hidin’ in the fuckin’ mountains too? Will I go full monster by the time I’m fifty? ”

Saejima let out a soft chuckle, surprising Majima. “The mountains, huh?” he said, his voice light, almost teasing. “Ya know how much I love the mountains, Goro. I’d go up there with ya in a heartbeat.”

Majima stopped dead in his tracks, the words hitting him like a freight train. Saejima kept walking for a few paces before he realized Majima had stopped. He turned around, frowning when he saw the look on Majima’s face.

“Why the hell’d ya stop?” Saejima asked, his tone casual, but there was a softness in his eyes.

Majima couldn’t speak for a moment. The idea that someone— Saejima —would be willing to leave everything behind to follow him, even into the mountains, even if he lost his humanity, it just didn’t compute. He wasn’t used to this. To someone sticking with him, no matter how monstrous he became. His cheeks flushed a light pink.

“Why?” Majima’s voice was rough, almost a whisper. “Why the fuck would ya… leave yer life behind fer me ? Follow me anywhere ?”

Saejima just stared at him for a moment, his expression softening even more. “‘Cause we’re kyoudai,” he said simply, his voice steady. “I swore an oath to ya, Goro. That doesn’t stop just ‘cause yer goin’ through shit. I don’t care what happens to ya. I don’t care if ya turn into some fuckin’ giant snake er lose yer humanity er whatever. I’m with ya. Always. That’s what I signed up fer.”

Majima’s heart pounded in his chest. It was hard to accept, hard to believe. His whole life, he’d been told he was nothing , that no one would ever stick by him. And here was Saejima, ready to follow him into hell if that’s where he ended up.

Majima swallowed hard, his voice tight when he finally spoke. “Taiga… yer a fuckin’ idiot, y’know that?”

Saejima grinned. “Yeah, well… yer stuck with me anyway.”

The journey back was longer than either of them had anticipated. The sound of dripping water echoed around them, mixing with the occasional scuttle of rats as they moved through the dim, cramped tunnels. Saejima glanced down at the broken grates they passed, some of them bent and twisted out of shape.

He frowned, turning his head toward Majima. “You do that?” he asked, nodding toward one particularly mangled grate that looked like it had been torn open by a wild animal.

Majima grinned, smug as hell. “Damn right I did. And that was when I was starvin’, too!”

Saejima shook his head, half in disbelief, half impressed. “Shit… remind me never to piss ya off when ya look like this.”

Majima just chuckled, that wild gleam in his eye coming back full force. The walk was dragging on, though, taking longer than it needed to. Now that he had some of his strength back, he was itching to show it off, his body buzzing with an energy that hadn't been there in years. He could feel the muscles in his tail coiling beneath him, ready to spring.

“Oi,” Majima said suddenly, stopping in his tracks. “Hold on tight, big guy.”

Saejima barely had time to process the words before Majima grabbed him, hoisting him up like he weighed nothing, slinging him over his shoulder like he was Yasuko or something. “What the fuck, Goro?!” Saejima yelped, struggling for a moment before realizing what was happening.

And then Majima bolted .

He moved through the sewers like a shot, his tail propelling him with a speed Saejima could hardly believe. The wind rushed past them, the tunnels and walls blurring as Majima zoomed through the corridors. Saejima’s eyes were watering from how fast they were going, his hair whipping forward into his face as if he’d stuck his head out the window of a speeding car the wrong way.

“ Goro, slow the fuck down! ” Saejima yelled, his voice lost in the wind as Majima laughed maniacally.

But Majima wasn’t slowing down—hell, he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. He felt fantastic . Better than he had on the way to the docks. His body was finally starting to get what it needed— nutrition , the one thing he’d denied himself for so long. He could feel the way his muscles were shifting, changing, the dense layers resurfacing as his body began to rebuild itself.

He wasn’t just strong—he was dense . Even in his human form, he had always carried that weight beneath the surface. His monstrous physiology was something entirely different from the average human. His muscle wasn’t bulk, it was layered —thin, paper-like layers stacked on top of each other, each one as dense and heavy as regular muscle but far more efficient.

And now that his body was getting the fuel it needed, he could feel that strength returning, bit by bit. Majima had always been heavier than he looked. At 186 cm, he should’ve weighed more than the 70kg he’d been stuck at for years, but starvation had stripped him down to almost nothing. The only muscle he’d been working with was the human kind—his monstrous strength, his true strength, had been lying dormant, waiting for sustenance to reemerge.

Now, with that first meal in his belly, it was waking up again. He was heavy —he could feel it in the way his body moved, the way his tail pushed him forward with so much force that it felt like he was flying. He could feel the dense muscle layering back into place, making him stronger, more powerful with every passing second.

He wasn’t back to full strength yet—not even close. His body was still sick, still recovering from five years of starvation. But once he was back to normal, once his shedding cycle returned and his muscles were fully healed?

The world wouldn’t stand a chance.

They reached the end of the tunnel in record time, Majima slowing down as they neared the manhole that led back up to the streets of Kamurocho. He stopped, panting lightly, but with a wild grin plastered across his face. Saejima, on the other hand, was completely disheveled, clinging to Majima’s back like he’d just survived a hurricane.

“ Fuck ,” Saejima muttered, sliding down Majima’s front as they came to a stop. “Yer… yer insane. Seriously. Never do that again.”

Majima just laughed, the sound deep and unhinged, his tail flicking behind him in amusement. “Can’t help it, man. Feels fuckin’ good to stretch my legs. Well… tail now, I guess.” He slapped Saejima’s shoulder playfully, still riding the high of his newfound strength.

Saejima groaned, rubbing his face, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Yer a goddamn menace.”

“Yeah, but ya love me anyway,” Majima quipped, his grin widening.

Saejima didn’t respond, but the look on his face said it all. He would follow this crazy bastard anywhere—even if it meant racing through sewers at breakneck speeds.

With a sigh, Saejima nodded toward the manhole. “Come on. Let’s get the fuck outta here before I pass out from the smell.”

They crawled out of the sewer, the cold air of Kamurocho hitting them like a slap in the face. Majima did his best to stay low and unassuming, his form blending into the shadows as much as possible. It was still dark out, but the city never truly slept, and there was just enough light for anyone walking by to catch sight of him if they weren’t careful. It would’ve been easier to hide without the long tail or the spines protruding from his back, but at this point, he couldn’t afford to care. They were almost home. He’d brought them out through a manhole that was closer than where they had entered anyway.

The rush from tearing through the sewers was fading fast, and Majima could feel himself slowing down—a lot. His body was cooling too quickly, the remnants of his monstrous strength ebbing away as the chill in the air started to seep into his bones. He needed to get to his apartment fast, or he’d freeze up completely.

Saejima noticed the change immediately. “Oi, ya alright? Yer lookin’ sluggish. I can carry ya if ya need it.”

Majima shot him a look, his lip curling into a pitying smirk. “There’s no fuckin’ way ya can lift me, big guy.”

Saejima raised an eyebrow, staring at Majima like he’d just said something incredibly stupid. To Saejima, he had. “Ya forget who yer talkin’ to? I can lift 70 kilos without breakin’ a sweat, man. I ain’t built like this for show.”

Majima chuckled, shaking his head slowly. “Nah, Kyoudai. I ain’t talkin’ about 70 kilos. I’m way heavier than that now. Got some food in me, y’know? I’m a lot more than I look.”

Saejima scoffed, still incredulous. “You’ve been skinnier than a rail fer years. How heavy could ya possibly be with a frame like that?”

Majima knew there was only one way to get this stubborn bastard to understand. He sighed, shrugging slightly before stepping closer to Saejima. “Alright, ya wanna know how heavy I am? Let’s find out.”

Without warning, Majima leaned his full weight against Saejima, his body going completely limp, his tail coiling around to cushion the impact just in case Saejima couldn’t handle it. And he couldn’t.

Saejima’s legs buckled, and before he knew it, he was crashing to the ground, Majima’s massive weight forcing him down despite his best efforts to stay upright. His back hit Majima’s coils with a thud, and Majima was quick to move the end of his tail just far enough back to keep his kyoudai from cracking his head on the concrete.

Saejima, now sprawled in the middle of Majima’s coils, looked up at him in absolute confusion. “What the hell, man?” He tried to push himself up, but Majima’s body was too heavy, pinning him in place like a boulder.

Majima couldn’t help the smug grin that spread across his face. “Told ya. I’m not just 70 kilos anymore. I’m pushin’ at least 150 now, I’d say. Maybe more.”

Saejima stared at him, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. “How the fuck do ya weigh that much?”

Majima leaned back slightly, finally easing up the weight enough to let Saejima sit up. “It’s the muscle, man. I’ve got layers. I ain’t just workin’ with regular human muscle no more. There’s more to me, y’know? Layered muscle, like… thin sheets of it. Real dense. Adds up quick.”

Saejima’s face shifted from confusion to realization. “Wait… that’s snake physiology, man.” He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly surprised. “Snakes, especially constrictors, got muscles like that. Dense as hell but in thin layers. You’ve got… snake muscle?”

Majima shrugged. “Yeah, guess so. I mean, I never really thought about it like that, but it makes sense. I’m dense as hell when I’m healthy. The only reason I’ve been so light these past few years is ‘cause I’ve been starvin’. Now that I’ve eaten, my body’s startin’ to rebuild itself, it seems. Felt it on our ride back through the sewers. Feels fuckin’ good to be movin’ like that.”

Saejima let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Shit… that’s kinda wild.”

“Yeah, well,” Majima said with a smirk, “wild’s kinda my thing.”

Saejima chuckled, shaking his head as he finally managed to stand back up, brushing himself off. “I get it now. Yer a lot heavier than you look. Guess I’ll quit tryin’ to play the hero and carry ya around.”

Majima grinned, his tail flicking playfully. “Told ya. I ain’t someone you can just toss over your shoulder no more. But thanks for the offer, big guy. Now let’s get a move on before I turn into a statue.”

They made it back to the apartments just in time. Majima was practically crawling up the steps, tail dragging behind him in long, heavy coils. His arms clung to the railing for dear life, muscles shaking with the effort of not slipping or sliding back down. Watching him like this was downright painful for Saejima. The man looked like he was moving through molasses, the tail making the whole ordeal ten times harder than it needed to be.

Sucks, not having legs right now.

The cold had sunken deep into Majima’s bones, and it was like his entire body was shutting down from the inside out. His movements were slow, sluggish, and his wild demeanor seemed dimmed, barely a flicker left in him. Saejima was doing his best to help, opening Majima’s apartment door and hurrying to lay out the futon, blankets, anything that would get him some warmth.

As soon as Majima crossed the threshold, he collapsed onto the futon, curling his tail around himself. Saejima grabbed one of the blankets and draped it over him, making sure it covered him fully before speaking softly.

“Be right back. I’m gonna grab the space heater and some more blankets,” Saejima said, his voice calm.

Majima barely managed a nod. The cold had made him so… nothing . Like the fire in him had gone out completely, leaving him a docile, shivering shell of his usual self. The warmth was gone, and with it, all of his drive.

Saejima returned quickly and Majima was still huddled in his little blanket den, tail coiled tightly around his body. Saejima quickly plugged in the space heater and positioned it so it was facing Majima directly, the blast of warmth making the room a little more bearable. He threw a few more blankets over Majima for good measure before sitting down nearby, watching his kyoudai.

“Yer going into brumation, huh?” Saejima said, almost casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Majima’s eyes cracked open, looking over at Saejima through the haze of cold. His brain was barely processing things, but that word? Brumation? What the hell was that?

“…What the fuck are ya talkin’ about?” Majima rasped, his voice hoarse, barely audible from under the layers of blankets.

Saejima blinked, surprised. “Ya… ya don’t know?”

Majima gave him a look, “Does it look like I fuckin’ know?”

Saejima was honestly shocked. How could Majima, a literal snake monster , not know about something as basic as brumation? “Goro… how do I know more about yer body than you do? Seriously?”

Majima just groaned, curling up tighter under the blankets. “Just tell me what the hell it is…”

Saejima sighed, leaning back against the wall, his brow furrowed. “Brumation’s kinda like hibernation… for reptiles. When it gets cold, their bodies slow down, and they conserve energy. They don’t move around much, don’t eat, just kinda… shut down until it warms up again.”

Majima’s eyes widened slightly. Oh. That’s what this was. This feeling, this nothingness that always seemed to hit him when it got cold. He’d experienced it his whole life, but never had a name for it. He thought it was just the cold fucking with him, never realizing it was something deeper. His body was designed to do this.

He let out a low chuckle, though it sounded more like a sigh. “So that’s why I always feel like death when it gets cold…”

“Yeah.” Saejima nodded. “Makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

Majima closed his eyes, letting the warmth from the heater seep into his frozen body. It did make sense. He had always chalked it up to the cold just hitting him harder cause he was cold-blooded, never realizing his body was literally trying to shut down until it could warm up again.

“Why the hell didn’t I know that?” Majima muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Saejima.

Saejima smirked, amused. “Maybe if ya’d done some research on snakes, ya would’ve figured it out sooner, huh?”

Majima huffed, shifting slightly under the blankets, though there wasn’t much fight left in him. “Yeah, yeah… I get it. Guess I should’ve been payin’ more attention.”

“Probably,” Saejima chuckled softly. “But now you know.”

Majima didn’t respond right away, just lay there in his little cocoon of blankets, soaking in the heat, letting his body relax for what felt like the first time all day. Brumation, huh? He had been dealing with this shit his entire life, and now, finally, he had a name for it. For once, something actually made sense.

As the warmth from the heater worked its magic, he felt the tension easing out of his muscles, the cold no longer clawing at him quite as viciously. He could feel himself drifting, finally sated, finally at peace.

Saejima watched him for a moment longer, then leaned back, his voice softer now. “Get some rest, Goro. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

Majima, half-asleep already, just grunted in response, curling up tighter in the blankets as the warmth began to pull him under.

Chapter Text

Majima woke up under the massive pile of blankets, human again, though barely. The weight of the blankets pressed down on him like a cocoon, staving off the cold that still clung to his bones. But he could feel it —the ticking clock, the inevitability. Tonight was the new moon, and like he’d told Saejima, he didn’t have much time before the next transformation ripped through him.

The New Moon transformation wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t clean or poetic—it wasn’t some mystical thing tied to phases of the moon. It was brutal, painful. Every inch of his body was a battleground of nerves and flesh, shifting under the surface, biding its time until it could burst through.

Majima stretched an arm out from beneath the blankets, only to immediately regret it. His fingers were stiff, swollen with pressure. His nails were already starting to pop off, the sharp sting under each nail bed like a dull throb of blackened bruises. But those weren’t bruises. The dark patches beneath his nails were the claws forming, still trapped beneath the surface of his skin. They felt like splinters, giant slivers pushing up from the bone, waiting for the right moment to tear through.

His hands went limp, fingers twitching involuntarily. There wasn’t much else he could do—moving them only made the pain worse. It was a familiar pain, but no less awful than the first time. Never gets easier, never gets less painful.

Majima lay there for a moment longer, willing his body to stay still, to hold onto whatever semblance of humanity he had left for the day. His back ached like he’d been hit by a truck. His mouth? Throbbing, the sharp points of his fangs already pressing against his gums, reminding him that soon enough, they’d tear through as they elongated too. His forehead pulsed, the points where his horns would grow—twin daggers splitting skin and bone—already radiating a dull, constant throb.

Fuckin' great. Like bein’ beat to shit and hungover at the same time.

To make matters worse, the effects of eating were kicking in. And not in the pleasant way he’d hoped. Sure, his body was stronger, healthier, and his muscles were repairing themselves, but it had woken up something else—something predatory, something primal that he tried to keep buried. His sense of smell was insane now, picking up every little scent in the air: the faint aroma of old food from the restaurant down the street, the mildew in the walls, even the lingering scent of Saejima’s sweat from yesterday.

And then there was the taste in his mouth. Way in the back, near where his tonsils would be if he were just human, he could feel the glands filling up, the venom starting to pool. It was heavy, thick, and it made the back of his throat itch. He hated it. The venom tasted awful , metallic and bitter, and it was dangerous as hell if he didn’t do something about it.

They needed to be milked at some point.

Majima squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the thought away. Fuckin’ gross. The venom glands would continue to fill until they were bursting, and if he didn’t get them drained, it’d be excruciating. He expected something like this to happen since he’d just started eating again and his body was sure to kick everything into high gear again; He just didn’t expect it to happen so soon and at this pace. He could already feel the pressure building, the dull ache that would only get worse as the day wore on.

The worst part? He couldn’t do it alone. Not easily, at least. After his mom died, he’d been forced to take care of it himself, but it had been an absolute nightmare. Doing it alone was more painful than anything else, his hands shaking as he tried to force the venom out without passing out from the effort.

He needed help.

Saejima or Yasuko .

Majima cringed at the thought. Asking for help wasn’t exactly his strong suit, especially with something as intimate and humiliating as this. But he knew he had no choice. He’d have to ask one of them, sometime today, or tonight at the latest.

For now, though, he had to play it cool. He had work, after all. Couldn’t let the Shimano family see him like this, barely keeping it together as he wrestled with his own body. The Yakuza world wasn’t kind to weakness.

He forced himself to sit up, the blankets falling away as the cold air immediately bit at his exposed skin. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he grit his teeth, rolling his neck and trying to shake off the stiffness.

Ya’ve done this before, Goro. Just another day, another transformation. Keep it together.

But as he stood up and felt the painful twitch under his skin, he knew this was going to be one hell of a day.

Majima pulled on his yellow button-up shirt with the brown filigree pattern, pairing it with some purple-brown slacks. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it worked. Kinda cheap-looking, but what could you do? He wasn’t exactly rolling in cash. He stretched one last time, hearing the familiar crack of his vertebrae as they shifted and realigned. His spine was restless; it knew what was coming tonight. His bones floated there, pressing against his skin in weird, uncomfortable ways, just making room for the extra pieces that would soon take up residence.

Just another day, he told himself, lighting a cigarette and heading out the door.

Saejima had already left. Last night he had said something about needing to see his patriarch early this morning. Majima didn’t press for details. That wasn’t his problem right now. His problem was Shimano—and the absolute shitstorm of questions he knew was coming about that drug . He needed a story, something convincing enough to keep Shimano off his back. The drug had done something to him, sure, but he couldn’t just go around telling the truth, that it had nearly turned him into an uncontrollable monster. That wasn’t exactly on the side effects list during the presentation.

He walked to the family office alone, taking slow drags from his cigarette as his mind raced. When he arrived, he squared his shoulders, straightened his shirt, and headed inside. He was barely through the door when the captain—some lumbering idiot whose name Majima didn’t bother remembering—grunted at him.

“Shimano’s waiting for ya in his office.”

Majima nodded, feeling a pool of dread settling in his gut. Of course, he’s waiting. Shimano was gonna want details, real specifics, and Majima was going to have to bullshit his way through this conversation without letting on just how wrong that drug had made him feel. He knocked on the door, hearing the low rumble of Shimano’s voice commanding him to enter.

Majima stepped inside, immediately bowing low before straightening up. He could feel Shimano’s eyes on him, the way they lingered just a second too long.

"How ya feelin'?" Shimano asked, gesturing for him to sit at the low table.

Majima sat, keeping his face as neutral as possible. Great question, he thought to himself. How do I feel? Like I’m one wrong move away from rippin’ my fuckin’ skin apart. Like I’ve got claws growin’ out of my fingertips and venom poolin’ in the back of my throat. But sure, let’s play along.

"Had some side effects," Majima lied smoothly, forcing a grin. "But I’m feelin' great today."

Shimano raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it at face value. “Side effects?” he repeated, his tone inviting elaboration.

Majima rattled off some vague symptoms, things he remembered from the drug’s presentation. “Ya know, the usual stimulant shit. Bit jittery, trouble sleepin’. Felt like my heart was racin’ for a while, but it’s settled now.” He wasn’t about to mention the bone-breaking transformation.

Shimano gave him a long, hard look, like he was weighing whether to push further. “And the benefits? Ya feelin' stronger? Sharper?”

Majima nodded, making up another lie on the spot. “Yeah, actually. Been thinkin' clearer, more focused. Feels like I’ve got more energy, y’know?” He threw in a few buzzwords he’d remembered from Takahashi’s presentation, talking about mental clarity, stamina, and endurance. Whatever made it sound believable.

Shimano smiled at him then, and Majima’s gut twisted. That smile never meant anything good. “Good,” Shimano said, getting up from the table. “Follow me.”

Majima blinked, confused but compliant, getting up to follow his boss. Shimano’s heavy footsteps led the way down a narrow hall to a door Majima hadn’t been through before. His instincts flared up, a warning shot through his system. He hated the feeling crawling under his skin. Something about this wasn’t right.

Shimano stopped at the door, turning to Majima with that same unsettling grin. “Got somethin’ special fer ya.”

Special? Majima’s nerves were practically screaming at him now. Whatever Shimano was planning, it wasn’t gonna be good.

They stepped out into the small courtyard behind Shimano’s office, a space designed to feel like anything but the middle of the red-light district. Bamboo stalks swayed gently in the breeze, a small stone fountain trickled peacefully in the corner. It was nice, Majima supposed, but he wasn’t here for the ambiance. His attention was laser-focused on Shimano, whose hulking figure stopped dead center, hands clasped behind his back like he was about to make some grand proclamation.

Shimano turned to face Majima with a sly grin and motioned with his hand. Two men— big men, Saejima-sized—stepped out from a side entrance, cracking their knuckles and rolling their necks like they’d been waiting for this moment all day.

Majima’s stomach dropped slightly, but not from fear. Two-on-one, huh? He fought the urge to let his excitement show too much. He hadn’t been sure what Shimano had in mind, but a two-on-one fight was not the worst-case scenario he’d braced himself for.

Shimano stood tall, watching him carefully. “Time to show me what that drug did for ya,” he said with an air of smug satisfaction. “Fight ‘em both. I wanna see what yer capable of now.”

Majima gave a small nod, swallowing the grin threatening to crack his face open. He could definitely take these guys. Hell, he could take them without breaking a sweat—especially now that he had some food in his system. His muscles felt stronger, his senses were heightened, and even though the new moon transformation was lurking, right now, he was the best version of himself that he’d been in a long time.

He stepped into the courtyard’s open space, trying to keep his demeanor calm, professional. Don’t get too cocky, Goro. But the truth was, he was ready to tear into these guys. Finally, somethin’ fun.

Shimano gave another signal, retreating to the edge of the deck that wrapped around the courtyard. He sat down, folding his arms, watching Majima like he was about to witness something incredible. He really thought that Majima was going to get the absolute shit beaten out of him. It was obvious.

The two men wasted no time. They charged Majima in unison, heavy footfalls echoing through the courtyard. Their massive arms swung toward him, fists aimed to take his head clean off.

Perfect.

Majima dodged the first strike with ease, his body moving fluidly, a low grin spreading across his face. He could feel the energy thrumming in his veins, muscles coiling and releasing with practiced precision. He didn’t bother with any fancy footwork—there wasn’t any need. These guys were big, sure, but they were slower than him, weighed down by their sheer size.

One of them came at him with a wild hook. Majima ducked under it, sweeping his leg out in a sharp arc that knocked the man’s balance. He staggered, and before he could recover, Majima’s fist shot out, connecting with his jaw in a sickening crack. The man crumpled backward, his head bouncing off the ground like a dropped sack of rice.

The second man charged at him from behind, clearly trying to catch him off-guard. But Majima’s senses were razor-sharp. He spun on his heel, blocking the blow with his forearm and driving his knee up into the man’s gut with brutal force. The grunt that escaped his opponent was all Majima needed to hear before he grabbed the guy by the back of the neck and slammed him down into the dirt, face-first.

Shit, this is easy.

He stepped back, already feeling his blood pumping, the raw strength coursing through him. The fight wasn’t even close to over, but the rush of power was intoxicating. These guys? They didn’t stand a fuckin’ chance. Not against him, not today.

The first guy was back on his feet, shaking off the hit, and Majima could see the fire in his eyes now. Good. Let him get mad. Let him make mistakes.

Majima barely had to think as he dodged a jab from the second guy, who was back in the fight now too. He could feel every move, every shift in the air around him. His senses were on fire, and his body knew exactly how to move, exactly where to strike.

Shimano watched from the sidelines, still smiling that unsettling grin. But Majima wasn’t paying much attention to him. His focus was entirely on the two meatheads in front of him.

The first one lunged at him again, this time trying to grapple him to the ground. Majima let him get close, let him think he had him. Then, in one swift motion, he ducked down and swept the guy’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing into the dirt once more.

One down.

The second guy came at him hard, swinging wildly, but Majima was already in his head. He sidestepped the punches, his body moving with that eerie speed he’d gained, and then drove his elbow straight into the guy’s ribs with enough force to crack bone.

The man dropped to one knee, clutching his side, gasping for air. But Majima didn’t let up. He grabbed the guy by the back of his head and slammed his knee into his face, a brutal crunch filling the air as the man’s nose shattered.

Two down.

Majima stood there, panting slightly, his eyes gleaming with adrenaline. He didn’t even need to look back at Shimano to know he was probably satisfied with the display.

As the two men groaned on the ground, trying to gather themselves, Majima wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead, his lip curling into a smirk. “That good enough fer ya, boss?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulder at Shimano.

Shimano chuckled, rising slowly from his seat. “Not bad, Majima… not bad at all.” His eyes gleamed with something Majima didn’t quite trust. “Looks like that drug might’ve done more for ya than I thought.”

Majima’s smirk didn’t waver, but inside, his stomach twisted. Yeah... wasn’t the fuckin’ drug.

Majima barely had a chance to catch his breath before Shimano signaled again, waving off the two men he’d just dropped to the ground. They staggered to their feet, retreating from the courtyard like beaten dogs, their pride shattered more than their bodies. But before Majima could fully process what was happening, five more men entered the space.

These weren’t like the lumbering brutes from before. These guys were leaner, faster, the kind of street fighters who knew how to move with precision. They circled him quickly, their eyes trained on him with deadly focus.

Shimano’s voice boomed across the courtyard, cutting through the tension. “Go again.”

Majima clenched his fists, flexing his fingers. His excitement didn’t wane, but his body was cooling off quickly. Five on one, huh? He rolled his shoulders, sizing up the group in front of him. This would be a test. A real test.

“Alright,” he muttered under his breath, cracking his neck. “Let’s fuckin’ go.”

The men didn’t wait for any kind of signal this time. They all moved at once, darting toward Majima with an almost eerie synchronization.

Smart.

One came in low, aiming for his legs, while another swung high, fist aimed for Majima’s jaw. He sidestepped the first attack, bringing his elbow down hard on the guy who’d gone low, sending him crashing to the ground. The second man’s fist grazed his cheek, but Majima retaliated fast, grabbing him by the arm and twisting it until he heard the snap of bone.

The man screamed, falling back, but Majima didn’t have time to celebrate. The other three closed in quickly, surrounding him. One of them landed a hit, his fist slamming into Majima’s ribs with a dull thud. Majima grunted but didn’t slow down. He spun on his heel, using the momentum to drive his knee into the gut of the closest man.

Another one of them, smaller but quick as hell, landed a kick to Majima’s side, and he felt the burn of the impact as his body twisted in response. But instead of pulling away, Majima leaned into the hit, grabbing the guy by the leg and yanking him off balance, slamming him into the ground.

Three down, two ta go.

His breath was coming faster now, but he was still in control, still feeling the raw strength coursing through him. The last two circled him, clearly more cautious after watching their comrades get dropped. Majima grinned, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.

“What’s the matter?” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. “Don’t like yer odds?”

One of them lunged, and Majima saw it coming from a mile away. He ducked under the punch, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming him into the courtyard wall with a bone-shaking thud. The guy crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

Before Majima could turn, the last man caught him off guard, landing a solid hit to the back of his head. Stars exploded in his vision, and for a split second, he was dazed, stumbling forward.

But he wasn’t out of the fight yet.

The adrenaline surged back to life, and Majima spun around, his hand already moving in a blur as he grabbed the man by the collar, slamming his forehead into the guy’s nose with brutal force. Blood sprayed everywhere as the man collapsed to his knees, his hands clutching his face.

Majima stood there, panting, the courtyard eerily quiet now except for the groans of the men he’d taken down.

He looked over at Shimano, who was watching him with that same unsettling grin. His patriarch didn’t seem impressed or disappointed—just… expectant.

Majima wiped the sweat from his brow, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He couldn’t help the small, satisfied smirk that crept across his face.

That felt fuckin’ good.

Shimano clapped slowly, that grin widening. “Not bad, Majima… not bad at all. Looks like ya might be worth more than I thought.”

Majima felt his stomach churn at the words, the faint praise crawling under his skin like a bad itch. He wasn’t a tool. He wasn’t some fucking experiment. He forced the grin to stay on his face, though, bowing his head slightly.

“Glad I could… entertain,” he muttered, his voice rough from exertion.

Shimano stood, brushing off his suit. “Get cleaned up. We’ve got more work ta do.”

Majima didn’t need to be told twice. He bowed again, then turned to leave the courtyard, the weight of Shimano’s eyes still burning into his back. He made it to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him with a soft click. 

Majima stared at his reflection, the dim, flickering light above casting shadows over his face. The words "worth more" echoed in his head, heavy and suffocating. His father's voice mixed with Shimano's, overlapping, reverberating like a temple bell struck off-key. A tool. A weapon. That's all yer good for.

His grip on the sink tightened, the porcelain groaning under his hands. He forced the memories aside, glaring at his own reflection. Not now. Don't fuckin' start now.

The blood from the fight streaked across his knuckles, dark and sticky. The sight of it, the smell, stirred something deep inside him. His monstrous senses flared, his pupils dilating, honing in on the crimson trails that decorated his skin. He glanced around the empty bathroom, the silence wrapping around him like a cloak. Alone. Finally.

Without hesitation, his tongue slid out, forked and long, tracing the blood on his knuckles. The taste hit him instantly, rich and metallic, igniting that familiar warmth in his chest. He groaned, low and quiet, his eyes fluttering shut as he savored it. The iron, the life in the blood... fuck, it was so good .

His tongue moved up, licking the blood from his arm, then his neck, leaving nothing behind but the wet shimmer of saliva. His heart pounded faster with every taste, his body responding in ways he hadn't felt in years. The hunger that gnawed at him daily began to fade, replaced by something else— satisfaction .

Majima’s breath hitched as he reached his face, licking the blood from his cheek. He could feel the slight sting where a punch had landed earlier, but it was drowned out by the rush, the satisfaction that came from consuming what he’d fought for.

Don’t get caught up now… He reminded himself, even as his body reacted. Ya have one good meal, and suddenly everyone looks like a snack?

He chuckled under his breath, the sound dark and amused, but the fog was already creeping in. The lines between satisfaction and indulgence blurred, the taste of the blood making his mind hazy, slipping into that dangerous space where everything—every fight, every victory—felt like foreplay. He groaned softly, his body already reacting, the heat building in him. His free hand drifted lower, mindlessly palming the bulge that had formed beneath his slacks. His pulse quickened as his fingertips brushed the hardness, sending sharp, electric shocks through his body.

Shit… His breath hitched again, fingers pressing down harder, mindlessly stoking the flames.

This... this ain’t helpin'...

He leaned his forehead against the mirror, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to force himself to stop, but the taste, the smell of blood, clung to him like a second skin. It wasn’t just the hunger anymore—it was the thrill . The fight had been foreplay, and now, alone in this dim, filthy bathroom, his body was screaming for more.

His hand tightened around himself, breath ragged as his hips gave a slow, unconscious grind against his palm. No. No, don’t... fuck... don’t go there, but his body wasn’t listening. His mind was already too fogged, too focused on the sensations. The blood, the fight, the taste of it still lingering on his tongue. He groaned, deep and guttural, pressing harder against the sink, his knuckles white.

The bathroom felt too small, too hot. The mirror fogged from his breath as his hand kept moving, faster now, his body falling into that dangerous rhythm. Every sound he made echoed in the small space, bouncing off the walls, mixing with the quiet drip of the faucet. His tail, fully retracted to just a nub on his tailbone, twitched beneath his clothes, a reminder of the part of him that relished this. The part that thrived on it.

Stop... He told himself again, but his mind was slipping, lost in the haze of blood and hunger.

Majima leaned harder against the sink, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the cool porcelain a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off his body. His knuckles brushed against his belt, the leather worn and creaking under the pressure of his grip. Just stop, Goro. Fuckin’ stop, he told himself, but the ache in his cock was too overwhelming, and instead of pulling back, he moved forward, unbuckling his belt with shaky hands.

The buckle clinked softly in the empty bathroom, the sound almost drowned out by his quick, labored breathing. His fingers fumbled with the button on his slacks, undoing it with a practiced flick before pulling the zipper down. His cock strained against the thin fabric of his boxer briefs, the cotton soaked with precum, sticking to the flushed skin. He groaned, the release of pressure sending a rush of pleasure through his system that had him grinding his teeth.

Fuck, just stop. This is messed up, he thought, but instead of slowing down, his hand moved again, pressing against the head of his cock through the fabric, the friction making him hiss between his teeth. His chest heaved, rising and falling in time with the strokes of his hand. He could feel his precum leaking through the fabric, warm and sticky, soaking into his hand. He winced, but the thought quickly dissolved under the mounting pressure of desire.

His hips bucked into his palm, chasing the friction, his lips parting as he let out a low, breathy moan. Every nerve in his body was screaming for more, for release, and despite the rational part of his brain trying to get a handle on the situation, his body was running on autopilot now. His hand slipped under the waistband of his boxer briefs, the cool air hitting his cock as he pulled it free. The moment his fingers wrapped around it, a jolt of pleasure shot through him, his body shuddering.

This ain’t right... beating people up and tasting their blood ain’t fuckin’ foreplay, man... But the thought only made him stroke faster, his hand moving with a desperate, frantic rhythm. His thumb brushed over the sensitive head, smearing the precum, the slickness making his movements easier, smoother. His back arched, a strained groan slipping from his lips as his mind clouded with the mix of adrenaline, lust, and hunger.

The mirror fogged in front of him, his reflection distorted, but he could still see himself—could still see the flush of his skin, the wild look in his eyes. His other hand braced against the sink, the cold, hard surface grounding him as he fucked into his fist, trying to push away the thoughts of blood, of bodies, of the violent thrill that had led him to this point.

This ain’t who I am, he told himself, but the lie felt hollow in the heat of the moment, his body giving into the urges that had been suppressed for so long. His breathing grew erratic, each inhale catching in his throat as he neared the edge. He could feel it building, the tight coil in his stomach ready to snap, and he groaned again, his hand moving faster, rougher, each stroke sending a surge of pleasure through him.

“Fuck...” The word came out in a low, breathy whisper, his body trembling as he chased his climax, his mind slipping further and further away from rationality. His hand tightened around his cock, his strokes quick and uneven as he finally teetered on the edge, his muscles tensing, his entire body coiling like a spring.

And then, with a sharp, guttural moan, the tension snapped, pleasure crashing through him in waves as he came hard into his hand, his entire body shuddering violently. His hips jerked forward, his hand slowing but still stroking as his orgasm tore through him, thick ropes of cum spilling from his cock and coating his fingers, dripping onto the floor below.

He leaned heavily against the sink, his forehead resting against the mirror, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His mind slowly cleared, the fog of lust lifting, leaving behind the sharp sting of guilt and self-loathing.

What the fuck is wrong with ya…

Majima stood there, gripping the edge of the sink with one hand, his other still wrapped around his cock, throbbing and unrelenting. He stared at himself in the fogged-up mirror, chest heaving, cum slick on his fingers. His mind was a whirlpool of frustration and guilt, but his body didn’t care. It never did. His cock, rock-hard and pulsing, was a painful reminder of just how wrong everything about him was.

Normal guys wouldn’t be dealin’ with this, he thought bitterly, his teeth grinding together. Normal guys could just get off and be done with it, pull their pants back up, and move the fuck on.

But no, not him. Of course not. His body had no off switch, no break between orgasms, no natural pause to catch his breath. His mind was screaming for more relief, something that wasn’t this relentless, burning need that refused to quit.

"Go down, ya fuckin' piece of shit," he muttered, his voice rough, filled with annoyance. His hand squeezed his cock harder, willing it to stop. Go down!

But the stupid thing only twitched in response, still swollen, still leaking precum, still painfully hard. He tried to focus on anything else—work, Shimano, Saejima—but nothing worked. His body wasn’t listening, and his dick was in charge now.

Majima leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cold mirror again, trying to cool himself down, but the heat inside him was unrelenting. His breath continued to fog up the glass, the reflection of his wild eyes staring back at him, mocking him. The taste of blood was still faint in his mouth, lingering on the back of his tongue.

Why the fuck can’t I be normal?

He slammed his fist against the counter, the force rattling the sink, but it didn’t do anything to help. If anything, the sharp jolt of pain from his hand just made things worse, sending another electric shock straight to his cock. He groaned, his voice low and desperate, his hand trembling as it hovered over his length, as if it had a mind of its own, eager to start stroking again.

No… don’t ya fuckin’ dare. He could already feel his hips grinding forward, chasing any friction, the raw need in him insatiable. His body was already gearing up for round two, and it pissed him off. This isn’t a fuckin’ game! Ya can’t be doin’ this shit here!

He straightened up, trying to pull himself together, but every movement sent shivers of pleasure up his spine. The cool air hit his exposed skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the fire in his blood.

He growled, dragging a hand through his hair, still slick with sweat. His whole body felt like a live wire, overcharged, humming with energy he couldn’t control. He wished he could just shut it off—stop the aching, the need, the fucking hunger that never seemed to quit.

But that wasn’t how his body worked. It never was.

Majima ripped his hand away from his cock, disgust curling in his gut as he fought the overwhelming need that pulsed through him. The fact that he had to force himself to let go, to pry his own fingers off like some desperate animal, made his skin crawl. His hips quivered, the muscles in his thighs twitching uncontrollably as his cock throbbed in time with his racing heartbeat.

It felt like his whole body was taunting him, the ache between his legs building with every second he refused to touch himself. His cock flexed like he was being teased, the air brushing over the sensitive head, sending shivers up his spine. His whole body was screaming for release again, his hips involuntarily rolling forward, seeking the friction that wasn’t there.

“Fuckin’ cut it out!” he growled under his breath, his voice ragged and shaky. “Knock it the fuck off!”

He pushed himself off the sink, stumbling back a step before slamming into the wall behind him. His hips jerked forward, his cock swaying with the movement, like he was offering himself to the damn bathroom sink. His breath hitched, the cold tile pressing into his back while the air around him did nothing but make his skin tingle with unwanted pleasure. Shit... the air feels good...

Stop fuckin’ humpin’ the air, ya idiot, he scolded himself, his hands clenched into tight fists by his sides, nails digging into his palms. His hips kept twitching, moving of their own accord, like his body was determined to get him off, no matter how hard he fought against it.

He stared down at himself, his lip curling in disgust as his cock bobbed in front of him, precum slicking the tip, desperate and leaking like he hadn’t just jerked himself off minutes ago. His whole body was betraying him, his need overpowering any semblance of control he had left. He felt like an animal, driven purely by instinct, by the relentless hunger that never gave him a break.

Ya fuckin’ monster.

The thought echoed in his mind, dark and venomous, wrapping itself around his chest until it was hard to breathe. He felt like he was drowning in it, in the heat, in the insatiable need that tore through him like a wildfire. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, to shove it down, it always came back, worse than before.

He slumped back against the wall, his head knocking against the tile, the cool surface doing little to calm the storm raging inside him. He hated this. He hated how his body was wired, how the curse turned him into something he couldn’t control, something that was always teetering on the edge of losing itself.

His cock twitched again, a fresh wave of precum dribbling down the shaft, making his skin slick and shiny in the dim bathroom light. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to taste blood, trying to ground himself in the pain instead of the pleasure that threatened to swallow him whole.

Yer not a fuckin’ human, his mind whispered, cruel and sharp. Yer a goddamn beast.

Majima squeezed his eyes shut, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps as he tried to push the thoughts away, tried to regain some control. But the need was still there, clawing at him, demanding more, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep fighting it.

It was unbearable, and Majima knew it. Knew he couldn't just will it away. Deep down, he’d been fighting a losing battle from the start. He reluctantly gripped his cock again. He didn’t dare move, but the twitching into the air was getting to him too much. 

He should’ve known better. Should’ve let himself be miserable, let the lack of touch slowly numb him until it all went away on its own. Should’ve just ignored the heat building inside him, let his cock leak through his pants like a goddamn idiot instead of this . Should’ve swallowed down the truth instead of licking the blood off his knuckles like some rabid fuckin’ dog. This is yer fault, Goro. Ya knew where this was going, and ya did it anyway.

And now here he was, in the bathroom of the fucking Shimano office, back pressed against cold tile, cock in his hand, aching for more. His breath came in ragged pants, each inhale catching in his throat as he began to pump himself, faster, harder. He couldn’t stop. Should’ve never started, but it was too late now.

Ya HAD ta lick the blood. Ya HAD ta palm yerself after the fight. Ya HAD ta try and block out the fuckin’ truth of what ya are ta Shimano. Just a weapon. A goddamn tool.

His body was trembling, caught between pain and pleasure, and it was tearing him apart. But he couldn’t stop now. His fingers gripped tighter around his cock, nails pressing in, the pain sharp in a way that sent him spiraling closer to the edge. He cursed himself for not having claws at the moment— would’ve made this easier, would’ve hurt more in all the right ways.

He was so close. A little more, a little faster, a little harder. His hips jerked forward into his hand, chasing the friction, his teeth sinking into his shirt to muffle the groan that threatened to spill out. Can't be loud. Not here, not at work, not with anyone who could walk by and hear him. Yer already in here too long, idiot.

His whole body tensed, the ache in his balls coiling tighter and tighter as he stroked himself mercilessly. The pain, the pleasure—it was all blending together now, crashing into him like a wave he couldn't outrun. His thighs were trembling, his knees threatening to give out, but he kept going, pushing himself closer, edging himself with the roughness of his grip.

Majima was a vocal guy. Always had been, whether it was in a fight or just living his day-to-day life, everything about him was loud. And this? This was no different. In fact, this was the worst. He was loudest right here, in pleasure, when his whole body was screaming for release.

The moans slipped out around the fabric of his shirt, stifled but still heavy, needy. His hips snapped forward again, his free hand gripping the wall behind him like a lifeline as he lost himself in the feeling. His cock pulsed in his hand, precum dripping down the shaft, slicking his palm as he bit down harder on his shirt to muffle the groan rising in his chest.

Closer. Fuckin’ closer.

His body jerked, the pressure unbearable now, his hand moving faster as he chased the high, the release that felt just out of reach. He was barely holding it together, biting down so hard he thought he might tear his shirt apart. His eyes squeezed shut, his back arching as he hit the point of no return.

Come on... come on...

And then, finally, he broke. His cock pulsed in his hand, and his body tensed, every muscle locking up as he came. Hot, thick cum spilled over his fingers, spurting out in long, heavy streams, coating his hand and splattering onto the cold tile below. His body shuddered, the release so intense that it felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside out.

He bit down harder on his shirt, a deep, guttural moan escaping as he rode out the waves of pleasure, his hips jerking forward in the aftermath. It felt like it went on forever, each pulse of cum dragging him deeper into the haze until he was left panting, his hand still loosely wrapped around his now-softening cock.

Majima slumped back against the wall, his chest heaving, his breath ragged. His hand was sticky, covered in cum, and the bathroom reeked of sex, the evidence of what he'd done splattered all over the floor.

Goddammit...

Majima stared down at the mess on the floor, cum splattered in obscene amounts all over the cold tile. Monstrous was the only word for it. His hand was still sticky, and the smell... fuck, there was no way he could leave it like this. It was everywhere—on the floor, the sink, dripping off his fingers. Fuckin’ hell. The amount he’d just blown wasn’t normal, even by his standards. It was like the monster in him had spilled out along with it, coating everything in this grotesque reminder of what he was.

He fumbled with his pants, trying to shove his cock back in before anyone came knocking. His heart was pounding, still recovering from the intensity of it all, and his hands shook as he wiped at the floor with a fistful of paper towels. He had to get this shit cleaned up, now. Couldn’t risk anyone seeing it. Couldn’t let anyone know what kind of fucked-up shit had just gone down in here.

But just as he was stuffing himself back into his pants, the pounding came. A loud, authoritative knock on the bathroom door. “Oi! Majima! Ya still in there? What the hell’s takin’ so long?”

Majima froze. His blood ran cold. Of fuckin’ course it’s Shimano-han. Who else would it be? He could’ve dealt with anyone else, made some excuse, maybe even bolted out the window if it came to that. But not him.

His breath hitched, his mind racing. He needed to make something up, fast. Couldn’t let Shimano think anything weird was going on. He bit his lip, staring at the sticky mess he’d barely cleaned up, his heart pounding in his chest. The last thing he could do was admit what really happened here. No way in hell could he tell Shimano he’d gotten into a fight, tasted blood, and then got so fucking horny he had to jerk off right there in the bathroom.

“Majima!” Shimano pounded again, his voice impatient. “What the fuck’s the holdup?”

Majima swallowed hard, the lie already forming on his tongue. Bad curry... yeah , that could work. Swallowing his pride and pretending like he’d been shitting his guts out wasn’t nearly as humiliating as the truth. Hell, that was way more believable than “I got so turned on by fighting and blood that I jizzed all over the place and couldn’t stop.”

Majima cleared his throat, trying his best not to sound completely fucked out as he called back, “Sorry, Shimano-han! Had some bad curry earlier, I’m… I’m just tryin’ ta finish up in here.” He winced at his own words, feeling the embarrassment wash over him, but there was no other way out. “Almost done, I swear!”

There was a brief pause, and Majima could almost picture Shimano’s face on the other side of the door, scowling.

“Hmph,” Shimano finally grunted. “Make it quick, yeah? Ain’t got time for ya ta be dicking around in there all day.” Another knock, this one lighter. “Ya better clean that shit up if ya made a mess.”

Majima sighed in relief as Shimano’s footsteps receded. His hands went back to scrubbing the floor, wiping away every last trace of his... accident. He had to be fast. Real fast . Couldn’t risk Shimano coming back and finding him like this.

Goddamn... this day is really turnin’ ta shit.

Majima finished his clean up and stepped out of the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Every muscle in his body felt tense, like he was waiting for the whole world to figure out what he’d just done. The air felt too thick, clinging to him, the tang of his earlier release still lingering around him despite his desperate attempts to clean up. Fuck. He needed to do something—anything—to cover up the stench, to throw people off his trail. Getting outside was his best bet for that. But the real problem was his face.

He caught sight of his reflection in one of the decorative mirrors hanging along the hallway, pretending to check his teeth. But what he saw in the glass made his heart sink. Shit. He looked exactly like someone who had just jerked off in the bathroom. No, worse. He looked like someone who had been fucked into the ground and then walked out trying to act normal.

His cheeks were flushed, a deep red that spread up to his ears. His skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat that refused to dry, making him look like he was still in the throes of afterglow. And his eyes... fuck, his eyes were the worst part. They were wide and slightly glazed, pupils blown out far more than they should have been, the whites of his eyes just a little too red from the exertion, making him look dazed. The kind of look you got when you’d been lost in something intense, something way too personal.

His lips were still parted, swollen and slick from where he’d bitten down on his shirt to keep from moaning too loud. It was subtle, but if someone looked too close, they’d know. They’d know.

Majima clenched his jaw, trying to pull himself together. He wiped at his mouth, scrubbing his hand across his lips, hoping to get rid of the evidence. Come on, Goro, get yer shit together.

But it was no use. The tension was still in his shoulders, still in the way his body moved, loose-limbed and a little too languid, like the satisfaction hadn’t worn off yet. His body wouldn’t let him hide it. He couldn’t fucking shake it.

Majima practically bolted toward the door, his mind screaming, get outside, light up a smoke. The cold air would help. Had to help. He needed to fuckin' slow down, clear the fog in his head. Maybe if the chill hit him hard enough, it would shock his monster system into submission and get rid of that wired, overcharged feeling thrumming through his veins.

Thing about him, though—after he came or did anything that pushed him to that edge—was that he was always wired. Like someone had just injected him with adrenaline, hopped up like a junkie who’d just snorted a line. It wasn’t attractive, at least not to him. His movements felt weird now, a mix of that smooth, languid afterglow that usually came with sex and the twitchy, jittery spasms of someone too high on energy.

It was a terrible balance, like his body was trying to play it cool but couldn’t quite keep it together. His limbs felt too loose, too fluid, but his muscles were tight and ready to snap at any moment. Get outside. Light up a smoke. Get outside. Light up a sm-

Before he could make it, though, Shimano rounded the corner like some kind of goddamn executioner, tall and looming, a smirk already spreading across his face. He had that look. The one that said he knew something was up, the one that made Majima’s stomach turn.

Shimano’s eyes raked over him, taking in his flushed face, the still-glistening sweat on his skin. Shit. Majima stiffened, doing everything he could to play it off, but there was no hiding how fucked-out he looked. Fuck, come on.

“Must’ve been pretty bad curry fer ya to look like it fucked ya in the ass,” Shimano said, his voice low and dripping with smug amusement.

Majima gritted his teeth, mentally cursing Shimano’s very well-timed remark. Cute. Real fuckin’ cute, Shimano-han. He forced a tight-lipped smile, trying to will the heat out of his face, but it just made him look more guilty.

“Yeah,” Majima muttered, running a hand through his hair, desperately trying to regain some composure. “Ya don’t even wanna know, boss. Almost had me prayin' ta the fuckin’ toilet gods.”

Shimano just chuckled, that condescending tone lingering in the air. He didn’t push further, but the way he eyed Majima, like he was dissecting every twitch, every stutter in his movements, made Majima’s skin crawl.

“Ya better clean yerself up better next time,” Shimano said, turning on his heel, his voice carrying as he walked away. “Don’t wanna look like yer about ta keel over after every job.”

Majima watched him go, swallowing the growl building in his throat. His fist clenched at his side, but he forced himself to relax. Just get outside. Light up a smoke. Get outside, light up a smoke.

With a long exhale, he pushed through the front door, letting the cold air hit him like a slap in the face. The icy breeze cut through the heat in his body, slowing down the jittery edges of his thoughts. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it up with shaky hands. The first drag filled his lungs, calming him, but his body still twitched with residual energy.

His mind buzzed, stuck between the high of what had just happened and the crash that would follow soon enough. For now, he just leaned against the wall, smoke curling around him, staring blankly at the street ahead.

Fuckin’ hell…

Majima stood there, back against the cold brick of the building, the cigarette smoke curling around him in lazy spirals. How long had he been out here? He wasn’t sure anymore. The pack in his hand was lighter than it had been when he first stepped out—he’d been through at least six or seven by now. His head was spinning, not just from the nicotine, but from the cold that was slowly settling into his bones, numbing the frenetic energy that had threatened to tear him apart just minutes ago.

It was doing its job, though. The chill was enough to slow him down, taking the raw edge off of the fire that always burned just beneath his skin. Not like last night, where his body had practically shut down from the cold, leaving him sluggish and struggling to move. This was different. Calmer. He hated that word. Docile. Even worse.

He groaned, reaching for another cigarette, but stopped himself mid-motion. Don't smoke the whole damn pack, Goro. Pull it together. His fingers twitched, resisting the urge, but it didn’t stop the ache that was crawling through his body.

His throat felt tight, a deep, familiar pressure building in the back of his mouth. He knew what it was. He’d been trying to ignore it all day, hoping it wouldn’t get this bad, but there was no avoiding it now. His venom glands were swollen, and he could feel them pushing against the inside of his neck, like someone had stuffed cotton into his throat. If he didn’t drain them soon, he’d start choking on his own venom. Fuckin’ great. This is exactly what I needed…

He winced as he reached up, fingers pressing lightly against the side of his neck. The skin was taut, the glands swollen and throbbing under the surface. Just a little pressure, and he felt the sting of his fangs extending, the familiar taste of venom filling his mouth. It was thick, bitter, and vile, coating his tongue like a bad aftertaste that wouldn’t go away.

Fuck no, Majima thought, quickly pulling his hand away. He wasn’t about to go through that again. Last time he’d tried draining them himself, it hadn’t gone well. Nearly choked on it, and the taste had lingered for days.

He spat the venom onto the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I can't keep puttin’ this off. He knew it was only going to get worse, and if he didn’t do something soon, he’d be in a world of hurt. The pressure was unbearable, like his throat was closing in on itself. And as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t do this alone.

Saejima… He sighed, exhaling another cloud of smoke. He’d have to ask for help. Either him or Yasuko. Fuck. Just the thought of it made his skin crawl. But there wasn’t any other option.

The venom glands weren’t going to drain themselves.

Majima kicked off the brick wall and trudged through the streets, the weight of the day clinging to him like the bitter cold. His throat was killing him. By the time the office was out of sight, his venom glands had swollen so much that it felt like he was being strangled from the inside. Every breath was tight, his neck stiff, and he knew that if anyone so much as brushed against his skin, they’d think he was about to collapse with some horrific infection.

The walk home was slow, each step a reminder of the new moon closing in, the transformations lurking beneath his skin. But at least he had a bit more time—time enough to be human, to sit down and enjoy a meal with Saejima and Yasuko like he was just… normal.

Majima checked his watch as he approached the building. Plenty of time until the sun set, until the new moon would take everything away again. He let out a low sigh of relief. One more moment of humanity before the inevitable. Just get through dinner, he told himself. He didn’t need the regular food—hell, he didn’t need any of it anymore—but it was comforting. It made him feel more like himself, like the man he wanted to be.

He knocked on Saejima and Yasuko’s door, and after a moment, it opened to reveal Yasuko, smiling softly as she stepped aside to let him in. “Hey,” she greeted, her voice warm, but there was a hint of something else there too.

Majima stepped inside, pulling off his shoes at the entrance and making his way over to the low table in the center of the room. “Taiga not home yet?”

Yasuko shook her head, moving to the small kitchen area to start preparing dinner. “No, he’s running a bit late. Should be back soon though.” She glanced over at him as he sat down, her eyes scanning his face with that same gentle concern she always had. “How was your day? You… feeling better than yesterday?”

Majima felt a pang of awkwardness in his chest. Normal conversation. He wasn’t sure how to navigate it anymore, not with her. After everything she had seen, after the truth had come crashing down… How the hell was he supposed to just talk after that?

He cleared his throat—bad idea. The pain shot through his neck like a knife, and he winced, trying to cover it up. “Yeah, uh... better. Got a lot done. Nothing too exciting though.” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes.

Yasuko nodded, but she was watching him closely, her movements slower than usual as she prepared the food. She was rattled. He could feel it. The tension in the air between them wasn’t something she could hide, no matter how sweet or caring she tried to be. And Majima couldn’t blame her. She was scared of him now, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He couldn’t blame her, it was in her biology to fear a natural predator. 

“I’m glad,” she said softly, turning back to the stove. “I was… worried.” Her voice dropped a little, and Majima felt the weight of it settle between them.

“Yeah,” he muttered, staring down at the table. “I get it.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. The room felt heavy, like the truth of what he was—what she’d seen—was pressing down on them both.

He wanted to ask her if she was okay. Wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to be scared of him. But the words stuck in his throat, trapped behind the venom and the pain.

Instead, he just sat there, waiting for the food, trying to pretend like everything was normal, even though he knew it never would be again.

But Majima could barely breathe, his chest heaving as his throat tightened more and more with every strained inhale. He wanted to wait until Saejima got home. It was too weird, too awkward, to ask Yasuko for help with something as intimate and bizarre as milking him . The words alone made his skin crawl, and the thought of how she might interpret that made his heart pound for a different reason entirely.

She’d kill him. Hell, Saejima would kill him.

But the pressure was mounting fast, like a vice gripping his windpipe. The glands were swelling so much that every breath was a battle, and his vision was starting to blur. He was suffocating in slow motion, and there was no way Saejima was going to get home in time.

Yasuko stood at the counter, her back to him, humming softly as she sliced vegetables for the sukiyaki. Her movements were light, almost bouncy, and the melody she hummed carried a warm, cheerful rhythm. She’d been so chipper when she said they’d wait until Saejima got home to start the broth, just happy to have them all together.

Majima leaned heavily against the doorway, his breath catching in uneven, rasping hitches. His throat felt like it was closing tighter with each second, the pressure behind his jaw growing unbearable. He clenched his fist against the frame, his knuckles white, but even that couldn’t ground him. The venom was backing up fast—he could feel it burning like acid under his skin.

He tried to swallow, but it was useless. Every breath was a wheeze, every exhale a rattling choke. He didn’t have long before he couldn’t breathe at all.

She hadn’t noticed yet, too focused on her cutting board. The sound of her knife against the wood felt distant, muted, beneath the pounding rush of blood in his ears. His legs felt unsteady as he took a step into the kitchen, then another, his hand gripping the back of a chair for balance. His chest heaved, and the movement brought a flush to his face, his skin already damp from the strain of fighting for air.

“Yasuko,” he managed, his voice a low rasp, barely above a whisper. She didn’t hear him. He swallowed hard, tried again, his voice breaking with the effort. “Yasuko.”

She turned, her expression soft at first. Then her brows furrowed, her eyes sweeping over him. “Majima-san?” she asked, her voice cautious, a little confused. “You okay?”

Majima tried to answer, but his chest hitched violently as he struggled to drag in another breath. His knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled forward, catching himself on the counter. The sudden movement startled her, and she reached out instinctively, her hand brushing his arm.

“You’re burning up,” she said, her concern sharpening. “You’re all flushed, and you’re—” She stopped mid-sentence, staring at his half-lidded gaze and the way his lips parted as he sucked in shallow, ragged breaths. Her voice dropped, uncertain now. “Majima-san... what’s wrong?”

He leaned closer, his face uncomfortably close to hers now. It wasn’t intentional, but Yasuko’s breath hitched, her heart thundering against her ribs. He was right there , close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. His eyes were glassy, intense, and for a moment, it almost looked like... No. She shook the thought away, but the flush creeping up her own neck betrayed her composure.

“I... I need...” Majima rasped, his voice strained and broken. He couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t form a proper sentence through the pressure in his throat. His fangs felt heavy, venom pooling and spilling over the edges, and he reached up to claw at his neck as though it might help.

Yasuko froze, her mind racing as her gaze flicked between his flushed face, his trembling hands, and the rasping breaths that shook his frame. Her lips parted as she tried to make sense of it, but then he leaned in further, his head dipping slightly, his hand reaching toward her shoulder for support. Her breath caught again, and her heart leapt into her throat.

“I need ya ta... milk me,” he croaked, the words tumbling out in a garbled rush.

For a moment, the world felt like it stopped.

“Wh-what?” Yasuko stammered, her voice small, almost breathless. Her eyes widened as her cheeks flared red. “You need me to... to what?”

Majima’s hand fell back to his neck as he wheezed, his body trembling with the effort to keep himself upright. “Please... can’t...” he rasped, gesturing weakly toward his throat.

But Yasuko wasn’t listening anymore. Her mind was spinning, a whirlwind of confusion and something else she couldn’t quite name. He’d leaned in so close, his breath on her skin, his flushed face, and that look in his eyes—dazed, desperate. She’d spent five years stealing glances at him, hoping, wondering, but this? Now?

Her embarrassment turned to anger in an instant. “You’ve got some nerve, Majima!” she snapped, stepping back and crossing her arms over her chest. “I turn my back for one second, and you’re asking me to—what, you think I’m just gonna—just because I—” Her voice cracked as she fumbled for the words. “ No! Absolutely not!”

Majima’s stomach sank, and he shook his head frantically, gasping for air as he clawed again at his neck. “Yasuko—” he tried, but the words caught in his throat, coming out as a strained gag. His fangs dripped venom, and the taste made him gag harder, nearly doubling him over. “Please... not that...”

“Oh, I know what you meant!” Yasuko yelled, her voice rising as she pointed an accusing finger at him. “You want me to—you thought I’d just—” She stopped, her face burning even hotter as she struggled to say it. “You want me to milk you?! Right here, in my kitchen, while we’re waiting for my brother to get home?!”

Majima felt his heart plummet as her words echoed in his ears. His chest burned with the effort to breathe, and his mind reeled. He tried to shake his head, to gesture, to make her understand, but every motion felt slow and heavy. The pressure in his neck was unbearable now, and his vision blurred at the edges.

“No...” he wheezed, barely audible. “Not... that...”

But Yasuko didn’t hear him, her voice rising again as she gestured wildly at him. “You’ve got some nerve, Majima-san! I don’t care what you meant—you don’t just come onto someone like that! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He stumbled backward, his legs giving way beneath him as he slumped against the counter, clawing weakly at his throat. The venom burned his mouth, his chest, his whole body. His voice broke into another gag as he croaked out, “Please... help. ”

Just as Yasuko’s voice hit a fever pitch, the front door swung open with a bang. “Oi!” Saejima’s deep voice boomed through the room as he rushed in, taking in the chaotic scene in front of him. Yasuko was red-faced and furious, Majima was pale and gasping, and Saejima’s eyes immediately honed in on Majima’s throat.

“What the hell’s goin’ on here?” Saejima’s voice was rough, but calm.

Yasuko spun around, exasperated. “ This ! This asshole just asked me to milk him! Right here, while we’re waitin’ for you! What the hell, Nii-chan?!”

Saejima barely registered Yasuko’s yelling as he stepped into the room, his focus immediately drawn to Majima, pressed against the counter, flushed and really close to his sister. His mouth hung open, his fangs dripping with something viscous and pale. The sharp, acrid scent of it hit Saejima’s nose, making him wince. The sight was enough to make him stop dead.

“Goro?” Saejima’s voice was heavy with confusion and alarm as he stepped closer. “What the hell’s goin’ on?”

Yasuko threw her arms out as she glared at Majima. “I just told you , Nii-chan! He’s asking me to— milk him! ”

Majima gagged violently, his body jerking forward as more fluid spilled from his mouth. He shook his head weakly, pressing trembling fingers to his throat. “It’s... not what ya think...” he rasped, his voice garbled and wet. His hand dropped heavily onto the table, leaving smears of venom behind. “ Help me! ” he choked out, his voice raw and cracking.

Saejima froze, glancing between Yasuko and Majima, his expression twisting in helpless frustration. “Goro, what the hell are you talkin’ about? You gotta tell us!” His voice rose as panic seeped into his tone.

Majima gagged again, retching as the bitter taste of venom hit the back of his throat. His face twisted in disgust, and his voice came out in a desperate, rattling croak. “Venom,” he wheezed, struggling to get the words out. “Can’t... breathe... need ta... drain it. ”

Yasuko blinked, her anger giving way to confusion. “ Venom? ” she echoed, her voice faltering. “What... what do you mean?”

Majima’s hand trembled as he gestured weakly to his neck, his claws scraping faintly at the skin beneath his jaw. “Fangs,” he choked out. “Glands... blocked... just... press it... please! ”

“Venom glands?” Saejima muttered, his eyes narrowing as he tried to process the fragmented explanation. His jaw tensed as he moved quickly to inspect Majima. “Wait, so... you need us ta drain it? ”

Majima nodded faintly, his breath coming in sharp, shallow wheezes. “Bowl,” he rasped, his voice breaking into another gag. “Wide rim... I need... pressure...” His words dissolved into a fit of coughing, venom dripping freely from his fangs now, splattering onto the floor.

Saejima steeled his resolve, his voice softening as he asked, “How the hell do we do this, Goro? I ain’t ever done anythin’ like this.”

“Bite down,” Majima gasped, his voice barely audible. “Press... it’ll... come out...” His words dissolved into another gag, his whole body shuddering with the effort of breathing. “Hurry... please. ”

Saejima nodded tightly, his expression grim as he stood up and turned to Yasuko. “Grab a bowl,” he said, his voice urgent. “Somethin’ wide enough for him to rest his mouth on. Quick.”

Yasuko blinked, then nodded sharply, turning around to open the cabinets. Saejima helped Majima to the low table to sit, his hand steady on his shoulder as he watched the venom continue to drip from his fangs.

“Hang on, Goro,” Saejima murmured, his voice low and tense. “We’re gonna figure this out. Just keep talkin’ ta me.”

Yasuko blinked, still trying to process the chaos, but she moved quickly, grabbing the closest thing she could find—a large ceramic bowl from the kitchen. By the time she made it to the center of the room, Majima was looking worse, his face paling, his breath coming in shallow, wheezing gasps. His throat was swollen tight, and his mind was clouding over. He needed to tell them what to do... he had to.

But his voice was a strangled mess, and every time he tried to speak, the pressure in his throat spiked until he felt like he was choking. Fuck, I’m gonna die here, he thought. I’m actually gonna fucking die.

Saejima didn’t hesitate. Grabbing Majima’s head with one strong hand, he tilted it back, forcing his mouth open. Majima’s fangs, still partially sheathed in his gums, twitched as Saejima pulled his head back, exposing them more fully. It hurt like hell, his body instinctively trying to escape the pressure. Saejima pressed Majima’s head against the rim of the bowl, pulling back to extend the fangs out completely. It was agonizingly painful for Majima and he began to thrash. 

“Hold his head steady,” Saejima barked at Yasuko, and she quickly moved in, her hands firm but shaking as she gripped the sides of Majima’s face, holding him still as best as she could. Majima groaned, his body jerking against her hold. The urge to fight was overwhelming—his instincts were kicking in, screaming that this wasn’t supposed to happen, that this was wrong, dangerous.

With Yasuko keeping his head in place, Saejima leaned in, his fingers finding the swollen venom glands at the base of Majima’s throat. They were full, bulging, and hot to the touch, and Saejima knew that if they weren’t drained soon, Majima wouldn’t be able to breathe at all.

Majima could barely keep his eyes open, his vision darkening around the edges as he felt Saejima’s fingers press firmly against his neck. The pressure was unbearable—sharp, tight, like his entire throat was being squeezed shut.

And then Saejima pushed upward, sliding his fingers from the base of the venom glands up toward Majima’s fangs, pressing in just the right spot to force the venom out of the glands.

Majima let out a strangled cry as the venom shot from the back of his fangs, thick and dark, splattering into the bowl. The force of it made his entire body seize up, his muscles tensing as his venom was expelled from his body in a violent rush.

“Keep him steady!” Saejima shouted, his fingers working quickly, applying even pressure as he milked the venom glands. It wasn’t just about pressing randomly—he had to follow the path of the venom, starting at the base and moving in slow, firm strokes up toward Majima’s fangs. Too much pressure could cause the glands to burst or injure the delicate tissue surrounding them.

Yasuko’s hands tightened on Majima’s head, trying to keep him still as his body jerked with every expression of venom. Majima groaned low in his throat, the sensation a mix of pain and relief as the venom drained out, pooling in the bowl beneath him. There was so much. More than any of them had anticipated. Venom streamed from Majima’s fangs in thick, viscous streams, coating the bottom of the bowl, the stench acrid and sharp.

Saejima continued the motion, pressing and squeezing in steady intervals, forcing the venom out until the glands were drained as much as possible. It wasn’t just the size of the glands; Majima hadn’t expressed venom in so long that the ducts had been partially blocked, backed up in a way that made the whole process even more painful than it normally would’ve been.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the venom slowed to a trickle, and Saejima eased up the pressure. Majima slumped forward, his entire body trembling with exhaustion and relief. His breathing was ragged, but it wasn’t labored anymore. He could finally breathe.

Saejima wiped his hands on a rag, looking at the bowl filled with venom and grimacing. “There’s a fuckin’ lot of it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Why didn’t ya tell us about this sooner?”

Majima, still panting, managed a weak chuckle. “Didn’t... want ta freak you guys out.”

Yasuko finally loosened her grip on his head, her hands shaking as she pulled away. She glanced at the bowl, at Majima’s slack, bloody mouth, and then back at Saejima. “What... what do we do with this?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Saejima shrugged. “We’ll dump it. But fer now, we just gotta make sure he’s okay.”

Majima, slumped against the table, nodded slowly. “I’m good... fer now.” He flashed a weak, exhausted grin. “Thanks... for the help.”

Majima, still groggy from the whole ordeal, raised a shaky hand to stop Yasuko. "Oi... wait a sec, Yasuko-chan..." His voice was hoarse, throat raw from the venom extraction, but he was managing to keep it together. He pushed himself up a little more, the pain throbbing through every inch of him, but the urgency in his tone was unmistakable.

Yasuko, holding the bowl gingerly, turned to him. "What? What's wrong?"

Saejima, standing nearby, crossed his arms and watched Majima, waiting for him to explain.

Majima grimaced, his fangs still aching as they refused to retract. Running his tongue over the sharp points again, he cursed under his breath and spat into the floor, shaking his head like he was trying to get the taste out. "Don't... pour it down the drain. Ya gotta be careful with that shit."

Yasuko raised an eyebrow, looking between the venom in the bowl and Majima. "Why? It's just... I mean, it's just from you, right? How bad could it be?"

Majima chuckled darkly, his voice strained. "It's not like spittin' up food, Yasuko-chan. This stuff..." He shifted uncomfortably, his fangs poking at the inside of his lips. "It can melt through a lot of things. It ain’t instant, but it’s corrosive as hell. If ya pour that down the drain, you might end up with busted pipes or worse, y’know?" He sighed, leaning his head back. 

Saejima narrowed his eyes, looking at the bowl more closely. "So... what happens if it touches skin?"

Majima shook his head weakly, wincing. "Won't melt ya or nothin' like that, but it burns... bad. Like a chemical burn that keeps eating at ya for hours. If it gets in your bloodstream..." He trailed off, leaving that part unsaid.

Yasuko's face paled as she backed away from the bowl. "Oh god, Nii-chan, help me with this. I don’t want this anywhere near the house."

Saejima stepped in, careful not to touch the rim of the bowl. He grabbed a cloth and used it to help hold the bowl steady. "We gotta find a place ta get rid of it... somewhere safe."

Majima nodded, still laying on his back, exhausted beyond belief. "Ya could neutralize it with some stuff... if you knew what ya were doin’. That’s what my ma used ta do, but... I don’t trust that we’ve got what we need here. Just... don’t let it hit any metal, don’t let it touch the sink. Let’s get it outside, maybe bury it in the dirt or somethin’.”

Yasuko and Saejima exchanged a worried glance, their faces set with determination. They would both take it outside, far enough away to bury it where it wouldn’t be disturbed. Majima groaned, trying to sit up again, though his body clearly protested. “It shouldn’t be like this,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. “I’m so fuckin’ tired of... all this.”

Saejima turned back to him. “You’ll feel better, Goro. We’ll get rid of this, and you’ll recover. Just... rest.”

Majima laughed bitterly, his voice a rough whisper. “Yeah... sure.” He ran his tongue along his fangs again and winced at the taste. “Just as long as I don’t have ta taste this shit anymore.”

Saejima shot him a look. "Stop messin' with 'em. They're not going anywhere for now. Just rest."

Yasuko knelt down beside Majima one last time, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll be back in a minute.”

Majima gave a weak nod, the weight of the day and the night ahead pressing down on him. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the dull ache in his body and the venomous taste lingering in his mouth. All he could do was wait for the moon to rise, knowing that tonight would bring another transformation, more pain, more chaos.

It never stopped.

Chapter Text

The warm scent of sukiyaki filled the air, a comforting mix of soy sauce, sugar, and mirin bubbling away in the pot at the center of the low table. Yasuko had stretched their budget thin to make this happen, and it showed in the ingredients—thin slices of beef that were more fat than meat, a handful of vegetables, and a single block of tofu diced sparingly to make it last. Still, it was a feast by their standards, a rare luxury that made the cramped apartment feel like home.

The broth was ready, and Majima’s stomach growled—loud enough that Yasuko snickered, giving him a playful nudge.

“Someone’s eager,” she teased, her smile warm and teasing in a way that always managed to soften his mood.

He grinned back at her, his tongue flicking out briefly, almost instinctively, to taste the savory air. The meal smelled fantastic, and despite everything weighing on him, it made his mouth water. A proper meal, surrounded by good people. It was rare, fleeting, but he planned to savor every bite.

They dug in. For a moment, it was like everything was normal, like he wasn’t constantly battling the monster within, like he wasn’t dreading the inevitable transformation that would come with the new moon.

The crackling sound of the baseball game drifted through the room from the radio perched on the windowsill. The announcer’s voice rose with excitement as he reported on the Tigers game over in Osaka. The team was crushing it, and both Saejima and Majima wore matching grins, their faces lighting up with every play. Even Yasuko, who had little interest in sports, smiled at the energy bouncing between them.

Saejima let out a cheer when the Tigers scored again, raising his beer with a broad grin. “That’s what I’m talkin' about!” he exclaimed, his booming voice filling the small apartment.

Yasuko giggled, shaking her head at her brother’s enthusiasm. “You act like you’re on the team or something,” she teased, reaching for another piece of tofu.

Majima joined in, raising his own glass, though with less boisterousness. He wasn’t from Osaka like the other two, but his Ma had been. Sumiyoshi, born and raised, and the Tigers had been her team, through and through. Loyalty like that stayed in your blood. Even now, years later, cheering for the Tigers felt like a way to hold onto her memory, a way to keep the good times alive despite everything that came after.

As he swirled another slice of beef in the broth, his thoughts drifted. In another life he could’ve been something else. Not this. Not some fucked-up hybrid of man and monster. He remembered his Ma’s cautious hands, the way she’d kept him hidden, the fear in her eyes every time someone came too close to the truth. She’d protected him, done everything she could to keep him safe. But sometimes, he wondered if she’d smothered him too. Kept him from living.

Baseball was always something he wished he could play in school. He’d had a mean swing, a natural instinct for it. Those reflexes weren’t just good—they were sharp, inhumanly so obviously. He could’ve been great. Could’ve made a name for himself. But that wasn’t the life he’d been given. Not when every little thing risked exposing what a freak he was.

His grip tightened slightly around his chopsticks as his father’s face forced its way into his thoughts. That man had taken everything from him. Baseball had been out of the question, just another thing that might show the world the truth of his embarrassing, disgraceful, “better-off-dead” son. The truth his father hated. The truth that made Majima’s very existence a constant shame in their household.

But as much as Majima resented him, the blame wasn’t all on his shoulders. His Ma’s fear had been valid. She’d lived in constant dread of what would happen if anyone found out. He sighed quietly, glancing down at the pot, watching the ingredients swirl in the rich, bubbling broth. He loved her for it, really. For doing everything she could to protect him. But there was still that bitter ache—what could have been, what he might have done if he hadn’t been forced to hide by both of them.

Saejima glanced over, noticing the brief silence on Majima’s side. “Oi, ya good? Looks like yer lost in thought over there.”

Majima snapped back to the present, a lopsided grin immediately spreading across his face to mask the melancholy creeping in. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just thinkin’ about how I would’ve made one hell of a shortstop.”

Saejima chuckled, leaning back as he took a sip of his beer. “Yeah? You and me both, Kyoudai. Though, I gotta admit, yer reflexes would’ve probably freaked out some scouts, huh?”

Majima smirked, twirling his chopsticks between his fingers. “What can I say? I was born to surprise 'em.”

Yasuko chimed in, her voice soft but teasing. “I can see it now. Majima Goro, the baseball star. You’d have all the girls swooning in the stands.”

Majima snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I’d take the wins over the swooning. But who knows? Maybe in another life.”

They all laughed, the radio buzzing softly in the background. For a brief moment, the weight lifted, and Majima leaned into the warmth of the meal, the sound of Saejima’s laugh, and Yasuko’s quiet, teasing smiles. It wasn’t perfect—nothing in his life ever was—but for now, he allowed himself to relax.

The sky outside was starting to shift, the last sliver of daylight bleeding into the encroaching night. It wasn’t just a normal evening for Majima—he felt the new moon creeping closer, a weight pressing into his bones, the telltale signs of what was about to happen. Every nerve in his body was buzzing, already anticipating the change, and he knew there was no stopping it.

Majima had learned that lesson young, trying and failing to fight what was inescapable. The harder he fought it, the worse it hurt. He couldn’t count the number of nights he spent as a kid, curled up in his tiny bedroom, pleading for the transformations not to come. He’d think maybe, just maybe, if he willed it hard enough, his body wouldn’t change.

But it never worked.

The worst memories were from when his father would come home drunk, the door swinging open, banging against the already damaged wall, catching Majima mid-transformation. "Weak," he’d spit, the stench of alcohol heavy in the air. “You give in every time, you’re just asking for it, Goro.” His dad would scream, pushing him to resist the change as if it were some kind of moral failing. And when Majima didn’t—because he couldn’t —the beatings would come.

Majima’s jaw clenched as the memories flooded back. He remembered the iron—hot and searing, pressed against his chest while his scales bubbled and burnt off, leaving his skin raw and exposed. His horns would get yanked on like they were toys, his father trying to rip them off with brute force. He nearly succeeded once or twice; they never quite grew in straight again. The pain was unbearable, but the worst part was that none of those scars showed when he was human. The agony he endured disappeared with his monstrous form, like it was all in his head.

But now, as he sat in Saejima and Yasuko’s living room, Majima could feel the clock ticking down. The dull ache in his spine was quickly escalating to something sharper, something more insistent. It wouldn’t be long now. He didn’t want to lose control here, not in their space after such a great evening. The new moon transformations were always the worst—more brutal, more violent. He was going to break all his bones and realign his body into something else entirely. That wasn’t something they needed to witness. Sure, Saejima saw a peak of that earlier, but the pain then was nothing compared to what he was used to.

"I should go," Majima muttered, pushing himself off the low table. His legs were already shaky, the strain of the impending change making it hard to keep upright. He needed to get to his own place before it started. He didn’t want them to see it.

Saejima, predictably, gave him that look, the one that said he didn’t have to go. “Oi, ya don’t gotta leave, man. Ya can stay if—”

“I’ll be fine,” Majima snapped before he could help it. He didn’t mean for his voice to come out so sharp, but the pain was starting to mess with his head. It felt like his spine was being stretched, every vertebra on fire. Yasuko’s concerned eyes were on him, too, her worry so palpable it was suffocating.

"Are you sure you’ll be alright?" Yasuko asked softly, her voice as gentle as always, but right now, it grated against his nerves like nails on glass. She was trying to help, but it was too much.

Majima felt the surge of irritation shoot through him, unbidden. "I deal with this every fuckin' month,” he snapped, harsher than intended. “It’s not like I need my hand held through it, alright? Does Yasuko need her fuckin' hand held when she’s on her period?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them, biting and cruel.

The silence that followed was like a slap. Yasuko’s eyes widened, hurt flashing across her face. Even Saejima, who usually rolled with Majima’s temper, was staring at him with a look of disbelief.

Majima instantly regretted it. The room felt colder, and he could practically feel Yasuko’s discomfort hanging in the air. He didn’t mean to snap, didn’t mean to lash out at them like that. But the pain was making him irrational, twisting his words into something venomous.

“I…” Majima’s voice faltered, unsure of what to say next. His chest tightened with the weight of his own words, guilt mixing with the pain. He wanted to say something, anything, to fix the tension he’d just created, but the throbbing in his back and the pressure in his skull made it hard to think.

He didn’t even look up at them as he muttered, “I’ll just… I’ll go. Sorry.” He turned toward the door, already knowing that the transformation would be brutal, knowing that the pain would tear him apart once he stepped outside. Maybe that could be his punishment for stomping on their kindness like that.

The pain hit Majima like a freight train the moment he stepped out of Saejima and Yasuko’s apartment. His whole body seized, his muscles twitching and cramping, sending waves of agony up his spine. He could barely think through it, his mind fogged with pain and frustration. He made it to his own door, his hands trembling violently as he fumbled with his keys.

“Fuck… c’mon…” His voice was ragged, breath catching in his throat as his hands slipped, the key jamming uselessly into the lock. The world around him blurred, spinning as the searing pain in his back intensified. His vision started to tunnel, black dots dancing in front of his eyes as his fingers finally found purchase, twisting the key and pushing the door open.

He didn’t even make it two steps inside before he collapsed, falling hard onto the floor, his body convulsing. The door swung shut behind him with a dull thud, but he barely registered it. All he could feel was the pain, white-hot and all-consuming, shooting up his spine like it was trying to tear him apart from the inside out.

Majima’s fingers dug into the floor, his nails scraping against the wood as they lifted from their beds, flaking off like dead skin. His whole body tensed, his muscles locking up as the transformation began. His spine felt like it was breaking into tiny fragments, each vertebra stretching, elongating, reshaping into something unnatural. He bit down hard, his teeth grinding together as he fought the urge to scream. He didn’t want to make a sound, didn’t want them to hear him.

But it was too much. The agony was relentless, worse than it had ever been. It wasn’t just the usual pain of his bones shifting and his skin tearing—it was sharper, more intense, the drug still coursing through his veins amplifying everything. His body felt like it was on fire, like every nerve was being electrocuted at once.

His legs snapped, the bones cracking audibly as they fused together, his skin rippling as scales started to form. The tail was back, slithering out from where his legs once were, growing longer and thicker with every passing second. He hated it, hated how it felt, how unnatural it was. He was losing himself again, piece by piece.

The spines were next. They erupted from his back with violent force, tearing through his skin like shards of glass. He couldn’t hold back the scream this time—it ripped out of him, raw and guttural, filling the room. He clawed at the floor, his body thrashing uncontrollably as the spines kept growing, sharp and jagged, paving his spine in a grotesque trail.

From next door, Saejima and Yasuko heard it all. The thin walls of the apartment did nothing to muffle the sound of Majima’s cries. Yasuko dropped the knife she was holding, her hands shaking as the noise pierced through the air. “Nii-chan…?” Her voice was barely a whisper, her wide eyes flicking toward him in fear and confusion.

Saejima stood up, his face set in a grim line as he listened to the sounds of his kyoudai’s suffering. He knew there was nothing he could do. Majima had told him before that the new moon transformations were always the worst, but this… this was something else. The sounds coming from the other side of the wall were filled with agony, the kind of pain that made your stomach twist in knots just hearing it.

“We gotta let him handle it,” Saejima muttered, though the words felt hollow. He didn’t want to just sit there while Majima went through this, but what could he do? There was no stopping it.

Back in his apartment, Majima’s body continued to warp and contort, the pain never letting up. His muscles rippled under his skin, thickening, stretching as they adapted to his new form. His tongue elongated, splitting even more at the tip, flicking out between his teeth as his senses sharpened and his fangs elongated. Every scent he could taste in the air had amplified tenfold, making his head spin.

His horns burst through his skull, leaving trails of blood down his face. His vision blurred as his eyes shifted, becoming golden and reptilian, the pupils narrowing into long slits. He blinked hard, trying to clear the blood and tears from his face, but it was useless. His whole body felt like it was being torn apart and put back together in all the wrong ways.

Majima lay on the floor, panting heavily as the transformation finally began to slow. His massive tail coiled around him, the spines along his back twitching and quivering with every labored breath. His skin was slick with sweat, blood seeping from the open wounds where his spines, claws, and horns had erupted. He was a mess, his body aching in ways he couldn’t describe, but at least it was over.

From the other side of the wall, Saejima and Yasuko heard the silence settle in, the last of Majima’s cries fading into the night.

“We’ll check on him in the morning,” Saejima said, though he wasn’t sure if it was meant to reassure Yasuko or himself.

In Majima’s apartment, the monster lay still, the remnants of his humanity slipping away as the moonless sky bore down on him through the roof, pitch black and oppressive.

Majima lay there panting, sprawled across the floor like some broken, discarded thing. His body ached from the transformation, every muscle screaming at him. Why did it have to be like this? Why did becoming himself feel like tearing apart everything inside? If this was what he really was, shouldn’t it feel... natural? Shouldn't it be easier by now?

But no. It was always the same — the pain, the agony of bone and sinew ripping apart only to be reforged. And he had to endure it every single month.

He crawled across the room, the world shrouded in darkness to the human eye, but to him, it was as clear as day. His vision was sharp, picking out every little detail, every speck of dust in the air. He reached his futon, hands shaking as he tried to spread it out, the fabric slipping between his fingers as his claws caught on the edges. Eventually, he gave up, collapsing onto the half-spread bedding, too exhausted to care. Normally, he would have had the bed set and ready to go much earlier so this sort of thing wouldn’t happen , but he had been too wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of his friends next door that it had completely slipped his mind. Come to think of it, this was the first New Moon he’d ever spent with anyone other than his Ma. 

He lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, hoping he could just sleep it off. He would call in sick in the morning, spend the next day as the thing he hated, and eventually, once the moon got its act together, transform back. Same routine, same bullshit.

Except his body had other ideas.

The hunger hit him hard and fast, like a punch to the gut. It was all-consuming, a gnawing pit in his stomach that refused to be ignored. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d depleted himself over the years, but now that he was eating again, his mouth watered at the thought of finding another corpse. Fresh meat. He needed it. Craved it.

“Fuckin’ great…” Majima muttered, sitting up, his tail coiling around him like a restless serpent. He hated this part — having to scavenge the streets like some animal. But what choice did he have? It wasn’t like he could waltz into a konbini and pick up a bento box in this form. No, he had to go out and find something. Someone.

Majima pulled himself all the way up, stretching out his tail as he balanced on it. His body ached, but the hunger was stronger now, pushing him forward. He slipped out of his apartment, moving as quietly as possible, the darkness of the new moon cloaking him like a shadow. Out here and in the alleyways, he was nothing more than a ripple in the night. The streets were quiet, empty save for the occasional flicker of neon lights and the distant hum of traffic. Perfect.

Saejima heard the soft creak of Majima’s door, followed by the near-silent click of it closing. His eyes snapped open from his place in the living room, his gut twisting with unease. He knew what Majima was doing. He was going hunting.

He couldn’t let him go out alone, not like this. But if Majima knew he was following him, he’d lose it. Majima had this thing about being babied, and it was obvious by his little outburst earlier that he’d reached his limit for the night. Still, he couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. He needed to follow, but he needed to be smart about it.

He just knew Majima could smell his scent from a mile away. He always had this mysterious way of knowing when Saejima was coming home. It struck him as odd luck before he knew what he does now about his friend’s senses. 

Saejima glanced around the apartment, his mind racing. What could he do to mask his scent? He spotted a bottle of Yasuko's perfume on the counter, something light and floral that she wore on special occasions. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all he had. He grabbed the bottle and sprayed it on himself, cringing at the overpowering scent. Hopefully, it would cover his tracks just long enough.

He pulled on a jacket, slipped into his shoes, and carefully stepped out of the apartment. The night air was cold, biting at his skin, but he pushed it aside. His eyes scanned the dark street, looking for any sign of his kyoudai. He knew the alleys Majima would head to by now — the ones where the Yakuza dumped bodies, where no one would think twice about seeing a figure lurking in the shadows.

He had to move fast. Majima was hungry, and Saejima had a sinking feeling that if he didn’t catch up to him soon, his friend might do something he’d all regret.

Sticking close to the walls, keeping to the darker parts of the streets, Saejima followed the trail he knew Majima would leave — a drag mark from his tail in the dirt here, a knocked over pile of trash there. The signs were faint, barely noticeable, but there.

Majima prowled through the empty streets, his tail slithering behind him, his monstrous senses on high alert. Every scent in the air hit him with a kind of intensity that made his whole body react. The usual smells of Kamurocho—the greasy food stands, the exhaust from passing cars, the occasional stench of the sewers—were drowned out by something much more tantalizing: humans.

The warm, intoxicating scent of live prey . His mouth watered almost immediately, drool dripping from his fangs as his forked tongue flicked out. Each smell was like a fresh tease, pulling him in, telling him how warm the blood running through those bodies would be, how tender the flesh might feel between his teeth. It was maddening.

No… No, dammit, focus. He was out here for a corpse. A fucking corpse, not a living person. He didn't need that kind of heat. He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of the hunger-driven fog that was threatening to pull him off course.

But then... there it was.

A scent, rich and powerful, like nothing he’d ever smelled before—a heady mixture of soft florals, deep musk, and something... wild. It hit him hard, making his nostrils flare as his body reacted on instinct, his pupils dilating. His entire body tensed as the scent coursed through him, sending his mind reeling for a moment.

His hunger surged.

The smell wasn’t just enticing. It was intoxicating . He could already imagine the taste of that prey on his tongue, the sensation of warmth flooding his senses. His tail twitched, a low rumble escaping his chest before he bit down hard on his lip, trying to suppress the reaction.

He shook his head, pushing the scent away, frustrated with himself. "Come on, Goro. Get it together," he muttered under his breath, trying to clear his head. This wasn’t the time for distractions. He needed a corpse, not a live snack. But that scent… it lingered in the back of his mind, teasing him, pulling at something deeper.

Finally, something else caught his nose. The smell of something... dead. The familiar staleness of blood gone cold, the metallic tang of decay. It was faint but unmistakable. Majima followed the scent into a narrow alley, his movements fluid and quiet as he scanned the dimly lit space.

And there it was. Hidden beneath a pile of trash, a body slumped against the grimy wall. A single bullet hole right through the head. Majima clicked his tongue, shaking his head in annoyance. “Man... they always ruin the fuckin' meat with guns,” he muttered to himself. It wasn't his first time coming across a corpse like this. People thought bullets did a clean job, but they didn’t realize what a mess they made for someone like him.

He crouched low, sniffing the body, checking for any signs of poison or drug use. You'd think the bullet would be enough of a confirmation that it was a clean kill, but Majima had learned the hard way not to trust the appearance of a body. He’d made that mistake before—sinking his teeth into what seemed like a perfect meal only to spend the rest of the night puking his guts out after finding out the body had been laced with some kind of narcotic.

Nope. This one was clean. No drugs, no poisons. Just a regular bullet to the brain. Majima’s stomach growled in anticipation, his fangs itching to sink into the flesh.

But then, that scent hit him again.

The floral, musky scent lingered, clinging to the air like smoke. It was stronger now, sharper, cutting through the grime of the alley. Majima’s tongue flicked out involuntarily, tasting it again, and his tail wavered beneath him, struggling to keep him balanced. The scent wasn’t just prey-like—it was something else entirely, something alive and maddeningly intoxicating. It coiled around his senses, tugging at instincts he didn’t fully understand.

He tried to shake it off, refocusing on the body in front of him. The corpse lay crumpled in the shadows, pale and bloated, the kind of find he usually avoided. Too fatty, too much booze in the blood—it would be like eating spoiled meat. But tonight, he didn’t have the luxury of choice. His hunger gnawed at him, raw and insistent, and he needed fuel, no matter how unsatisfying.

Majima knelt by the body, his claws curling around the collar of the man’s shirt. He began to undo the buttons, his movements mechanical, detached. “Can’t eat through the clothes,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, more to himself than anything else.

The scent of the corpse was rancid, even by his standards. Sweat, alcohol, and the faint chemical sting of cheap cologne clung to the man’s skin, mingling with the sourness of death. Majima wrinkled his nose but kept going, pulling the man’s jacket and shirt free to expose the pale, flabby flesh beneath. His claws raked over the man’s chest, pressing into the soft fat as he inspected the body like a butcher sizing up a cut of meat.

“Ya really let yerself go, huh?” Majima muttered, his tone flat. “Fat fuckin’ liver’s probably the only decent part of ya.”

His stomach growled in protest, and Majima didn’t waste any more time. His fangs sank into the man’s arm, puncturing the waxy skin with ease. Blood welled up around his mouth, cool and metallic, coating his tongue as he tore into the soft, greasy flesh. It wasn’t good—not by a long shot. The meat was spongy, slippery with fat, and the taste of alcohol lingered faintly in the blood, bitter and unpleasant. It wasn’t rotten , but that didn’t change the urge to recoil Majima fought with every chew. 

Majima grimaced, swallowing the chunk of flesh before sinking his teeth in again. He didn’t have the luxury of being picky. His body needed fuel, and this was what he had. His claws worked alongside his teeth, peeling back layers of skin and fat to reach the muscle beneath. It was stringy and tough, barely worth the effort, but he kept going, ripping and tearing with brutal efficiency.

His tongue flicked out, tasting the air between bites, and that goddamn scent hit him again. Sweet, floral, and musky—it obviously wasn’t coming from the corpse. It was alive, tantalizing, weaving its way into his senses like a hook sinking into flesh. Majima groaned, shaking his head as if he could physically dispel it, but the distraction was maddening.

“Focus,” he growled, his voice muffled by a mouthful of meat. “Just eat. Fuckin’... focus.”

He tore another chunk from the arm, chewing quickly and swallowing before moving on to the chest. His claws split the man’s bloated torso open with ease, revealing the yellowed fat and slick, glistening organs within. Majima’s mouth watered despite the unpleasant taste. 

For a moment, the hunger ebbed, dulled by the sheer volume of food he’d already consumed. But that scent—that maddening, intoxicating scent—was still there, stronger now, closer. Majima’s tail twitched behind him, his body tensing instinctively as he tried to pinpoint the source. He couldn’t waste anymore time on the scent. He was sure it was just some hostess walking home or something. Nothing for him. 

Majima tore another chunk of flesh from the corpse, his claws ripping through the waxy skin like paper. The meat beneath was pale, streaked with fat, and it made his stomach churn even as his hunger drove him to keep eating. He spat out a tough tendon, his lips curling in frustration as he worked to find something worthwhile.

“Could’ve skipped a few drinks and a few meals,” he muttered under his breath, glaring down at the body like it had offended him personally. His claws dug into the corpse’s side, splitting it open with a wet, squelching sound. The sour stench of death mixed with the unmistakable reek of old liquor, and Majima wrinkled his nose, swallowing hard to keep the bile from rising in his throat.

His fingers curled around the man’s liver, swollen and greasy, almost too soft to hold. “Fat fuckin’ jackpot,” he muttered, pulling it free with a sharp tug. The organ gave way with a sticky, visceral sound, and Majima bit into it without hesitation. The flavor was rich and iron-heavy, the closest thing to palatable he’d found so far.

His body relaxed marginally, the relentless gnawing in his gut dulling slightly as he chewed. The liver’s texture was softer than he liked, almost gelatinous, but it did the job. He tore off another bite, his claws working through the surrounding tissue as he searched for anything else worth eating.

Majima wasted no time carving through the rest of the man’s torso. His claws slid between the ribs, cracking them apart with a series of sharp snaps, exposing the bloated organs beneath. His tail coiled behind him, steadying his balance as he leaned in, his fangs sinking into the soft flesh of the man’s stomach. The gas trapped inside escaped with a low hiss, the putrid stench of decay hitting him like a wall. He gagged, pulling back with a sharp growl, spitting bile onto the pavement.

“Fuckin’ disgusting,” he hissed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. But his claws kept moving, tearing through layers of fat and muscle with mechanical precision. He couldn’t afford to stop, no matter how rancid the meat was. His body needed the fuel, and this corpse was all he had.

He worked through the thighs next, the muscles stringy and tough, resisting his efforts with every bite. The meat clung stubbornly to the bone, forcing him to use his claws to strip it away in thin, uneven strips. He chewed quickly, swallowing the gristly chunks with a grimace. It wasn’t satisfying—not in the way a lean, healthy meal would have been—but it kept the worst of the hunger at bay.

His claws sliced through the man’s calves, the muscles smaller but easier to tear. He dragged the bones free from their sockets, discarding the parts he couldn’t use. The act was almost methodical, a grim parody of a butcher at work.

Majima licked the blood from his fangs, the metallic tang clinging to his tongue as he leaned back slightly to assess what was left. The corpse was a mess now, the skin flayed open, the chest cavity empty, the limbs stripped of anything edible. 

His stomach growled faintly, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten like this in years. He still wasn’t full, not really. His body was rebuilding, clawing back strength after years of deprivation, and one corpse—especially one this sorry—wasn’t enough. But for now, it would have to do.

Majima sighed, leaning down to tear one final chunk of meat from the man’s shoulder. The flavor was worse now, tinged with the sourness of spoiled fat, but he forced it down anyway. “Could’ve been better,” he muttered, glaring at the ruined corpse like it might somehow improve under his scrutiny. But he knew better.

Majima crouched low over the remains of the corpse, licking the last traces of blood from his claws as his stomach churned with the meal. His two stomachs were already working overtime, breaking down the gristle and fat, processing every bit of usable energy they could extract from the sloppy mess he'd consumed. It wasn’t enough, but it would keep him moving for now.

He straightened slightly, his tail curling behind him as his tongue flicked out instinctively. The night air carried a mixture of alleyway stench—rotting trash, sour urine, and faint traces of death—but beneath it all, something shifted. The atmosphere felt wrong. His muscles tensed, his pupils narrowing to slits as his senses sharpened.

There it was again. A sound—so faint most people would have missed it. The rustle of fabric, the scrape of a shoe against concrete. It came from behind him, just out of sight, but close enough to make his instincts bristle. Majima’s head whipped around, his tongue darting out as he tasted the air more deliberately.

Something—or someone—was there, lingering just outside his field of vision. His tongue flicked out again, and a chill ran through him. The scent. Why was it here now? Majima rose slowly, his tail uncoiling as he turned toward the source of the sound.

“Oi, Goro,” Saejima said, his voice calm and familiar, like he wasn’t standing in the middle of a filthy alley watching his kyoudai eat a corpse. He crossed his arms, his broad frame leaning casually against the wall. “What the hell are ya doin’, sneakin’ out like that? Ya know I’d’ve come with ya if ya’d just asked.”

Majima’s jaw clenched, his claws twitching at his sides. His first instinct was to snap back, to tell Saejima to fuck off and mind his own business. But the sight of him standing there, calm and collected like this was just another Tuesday, made Majima hesitate.

“What’re ya doin’ out here?” Majima demanded, his voice harsher than he intended. “How’d ya even find me?”

Saejima tilted his head, his expression almost amused. “Findin’ ya ain’t hard, man. Yer tail leaves a trail wide enough for a blind man to follow.” He gestured vaguely toward the alley. “Figured I’d keep an eye on ya. Make sure ya didn’t get yerself into trouble.”

Majima let out a low growl, his tail flicking irritably behind him. “I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter,” he spat, his fangs glinting faintly in the dim light. “’Specially not when I’m huntin’.”

Saejima shrugged, unfazed. “Didn’t think ya’d mind, considerin’ yer eatin’ habits these days.” He glanced down at the mangled corpse, his nose wrinkling slightly. “Looks like ya didn’t pick the best one, huh?”

Majima’s tail coiled tighter behind him, his body buzzing with irritation. The corpse was bad enough on its own, but having Saejima here, watching, judging, made it worse. “Couldn’t exactly be picky,” he muttered, his voice low. “Not like the alleys are overflowin’ with prime cuts these days.”

Saejima raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking back to Majima. “So, this is what it’s like, huh? Huntin’ for scraps, pukin’ up what ya can’t use. Real glamorous.”

Majima’s claws scraped against the pavement, his frustration boiling over. “Ya don’t get it,” he snapped, his voice sharp. “Ya think this is easy? Ya think I wanna be doin’ this? I’m fuckin’ starving, Taiga. My body’s wrecked. I ain’t got the luxury of waitin’ fer somethin’ better.”

Saejima’s expression softened slightly, but he didn’t back down. “So why the hell didn’t ya tell me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but still firm. “Yer strugglin’, Goro. I coulda helped.”

Majima scoffed, his tail lashing behind him. “What the fuck were you gonna do? Cook me up somethin’ special? This ain’t somethin’ ya can fix, Taiga. I gotta handle it myself.”

The tension between them hung thick in the air, neither man willing to back down. Majima’s tail twitched restlessly, the muscles in his shoulders tight as he glared at his kyoudai. He hated this—hated the vulnerability, the feeling of being seen for what he really was.

Saejima sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine,” he muttered, his tone edged with frustration. “But don’t pull this shit again. If yer hurtin’, if ya need somethin’, ya tell me. We’re kyoudai, remember?”

Majima didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tight as he stared at the ground. Finally, he let out a long breath, the tension in his body easing slightly. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low. “I’ll... keep that in mind.”

Majima shifted uncomfortably, his claws curling against the rough brick wall as his tail coiled tighter behind him. The tension in his body hadn’t eased—not really. The corpse had dulled the worst of his hunger, but the gnawing sensation was still there, restless and unsatisfied. He tried to focus on Saejima’s voice, on the weight of their conversation, but something else was creeping in, tugging at the edges of his mind.

That scent.

It wafted through the air again, faint but unmistakable, and Majima’s tongue flicked out involuntarily, tasting it. Sweet and floral, undercut with something deeper, muskier—something alive. It cut through the rancid alley stench, sharp and intoxicating, and Majima’s stomach churned with a different kind of hunger.

He froze, his body going rigid as the scent wrapped around him, sinking into his senses like a drug. His fangs itched, venom pooling at the edges as his instincts flared, raw and unrelenting.

Saejima noticed the shift almost immediately. His brows furrowed as he stepped closer, the faint crunch of gravel under his boots breaking the silence. “Oi, ya good? Yer actin’... off.”

Majima snapped his head up, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto Saejima’s silhouette. The scent hit him harder now, stronger with every step Saejima took. His pupils dilated, his claws scraping against the brick again as he tried to steady himself. “Why... why the fuck do ya smell like that?” he growled, his voice tight.

Saejima blinked, confused. “Like what?” He paused, sniffing the air almost reflexively. “The alley? Ain’t exactly a rose garden, man.”

Majima shook his head, his tail lashing behind him like an agitated whip. “Not that,” he spat, his tongue flicking out again despite himself. “Ya smell... different. It’s strong.”

Saejima tilted his head, his confusion deepening. “Oh. That.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away for a moment. “I, uh, borrowed Yasuko’s perfume. Figured if I smelled different enough, ya wouldn’t pick up my scent while I was tailin’ ya.”

Majima nearly choked. “Perfume?” His voice cracked, his claws digging into the wall as he struggled to keep his composure. “Yer wearin’ fuckin’ perfume ?”

Saejima shrugged, looking unapologetic. “Yeah. It worked, didn’t it? Ya didn’t even know I was there till just now.”

Majima groaned, his head falling back against the wall with a dull thud. That explained it. The floral sweetness, the musky undertone—it was Yasuko’s perfume . But knowing the source didn’t make it any easier to ignore. If anything, it made things worse.

His body wasn’t just reacting to the perfume; it was reacting to Saejima . The way the scent mixed with his natural musk, the way it clung to him like a second skin—it was overwhelming. Majima’s tongue flicked out again, tasting the air, and he cursed under his breath as his body betrayed him. His fangs itched, his stomach twisted, and his cock throbbed painfully beneath his cloacal fold, trapped and aching.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. He shifted his weight, trying to find a position that didn’t press his bloated stomach against the sensitive walls of his body, but every movement only made the pressure worse.

Saejima frowned, stepping closer. “Goro, seriously, what’s goin’ on? Yer twitchin’ like a damn junkie. Did somethin’ happen when ya ate?”

Majima waved him off, his claws flexing against the wall as he forced himself to breathe. “Nothin’. Just... too much food, that’s all.”

But Saejima didn’t buy it. He stepped closer still, his broad frame looming over Majima, and the scent hit like a punch to the gut. Majima groaned softly, his tail curling tighter as his body tensed. He could feel the heat rising under his skin, the maddening itch of arousal clawing at his nerves.

“Back off,” Majima growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I can’t... fuckin’ focus with ya standin’ there, smellin’ like that.”

Saejima raised an eyebrow but took a step back, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. “What the hell’s yer problem, man? It’s just perfume. Ain’t like I’m wearin’ it fer you.”

Majima barked out a sharp laugh, the sound bitter and strained. “Yeah, well, it’s fuckin’ workin’ on me anyway, so congrats.”

Saejima froze, his eyes narrowing slightly as the weight of Majima’s words sank in. “Wait... what?”

Majima groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. He didn’t have the energy to explain, not with his body screaming at him to close the distance, to give in to the instinct clawing at his brain. “Just... drop it, Taiga,” he muttered, his voice tight. “It ain’t worth talkin’ about.”

But Saejima wasn’t the type to let things go. He crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on Majima like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “If somethin’s goin’ on, ya need to tell me. I’m not just gonna stand here while yer actin’ like this.”

Majima clenched his fists, his claws digging into his palms as he fought to keep himself in check. “I can’t tell ya,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Just... go, alright? I’ll deal with it.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with unspoken tension. Majima could feel Saejima’s eyes on him, could hear the faint rustle of his movements, and that goddamn scent was still there, wrapping around him like a noose.

Saejima’s eyes remained locked on Majima, his arms crossed in that way that made him seem like an immovable wall. He didn’t push further—at least not yet—but the tension in his posture made it clear he wasn’t ready to back off either. That was the thing about Saejima. Once he got a whiff of something being off, he couldn’t just let it go.

Majima knew that. Hell, he counted on it most of the time. But tonight? Tonight, it felt like the worst kind of curse.

The scent hung thick in the air, and Majima could feel the heat creeping up his neck, pooling in his chest and lower. He tried to keep his breathing steady, to focus on the conversation instead of the way his body reacted to every step Saejima took. His tongue flicked out again, catching more of the maddening musk, and he cursed under his breath, clenching his fists until his claws bit into his palms.

“Yer actin’ weird,” Saejima muttered, his tone softer now, though his brow remained furrowed. “If somethin’s wrong, ya gotta tell me. Don’t just... suffer through it on yer own.”

Majima’s laugh was sharp, cutting, and completely humorless. “What the hell do ya think yer gonna do, huh? Solve all my fuckin’ problems? This ain’t somethin’ ya can punch yer way through, Taiga.”

Saejima didn’t flinch, didn’t move. “Maybe not. But it sure as hell ain’t somethin’ ya gotta carry by yerself.”

That landed harder than Majima wanted it to. He looked away, his gaze fixing on the mangled corpse at his feet instead of Saejima’s face. It was easier that way—easier to pretend he wasn’t feeling something twist in his chest, something far more dangerous than the pull of instincts or hunger.

“Ya don’t get it,” Majima muttered, his voice quieter now. “This ain’t... fuckin’ normal. I ain’t normal. And I sure as shit ain’t draggin’ ya into it.”

Saejima stepped closer again, slow and deliberate, and Majima’s body tensed at the movement. The scent hit him again like a wave and it took everything in him not to groan at the way it made his skin burn.

“I’ve been ‘dragged in’ since the day we met, Goro,” Saejima said, his voice steady. “Ya think I give a shit?” He uncrossed his arms, letting them hang at his sides as he leaned just slightly forward, his gaze locked on Majima’s. “Yer my kyoudai. Whatever this is—whatever you are—I’m in it. Got that?”

Majima wanted to snap back, to tell him to fuck off, to shove him away and put some goddamn distance between them. But the words stuck in his throat, tangled up in the heat and the noise rattling through his brain. Saejima’s words weren’t just cutting through the haze—they were sticking , digging into places Majima wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

And then there was the way Saejima was looking at him. Not with disgust, not with fear. Just... concern. Genuine, quiet concern, like he was staring at someone he couldn’t bear to let fall apart. It made Majima’s chest ache, made him feel too seen, too exposed.

“Ya don’t know what yer sayin’, man,” Majima muttered, his voice rough. “Ya don’t get how this shit works.”

“Then tell me,” Saejima shot back, his tone firm but not harsh. “Explain it. Make me understand. But don’t ya fuckin’ stand there and act like I wouldn’t help ya if I could.”

Majima’s jaw tightened, his fangs pressing against the inside of his mouth as he fought to keep control. The urge to lash out, to snap his teeth and make Saejima back off, warred with something deeper—something quieter, more desperate. He wanted to let him in. He wanted to believe Saejima meant it. But he’d spent his whole life keeping people out, and the idea of letting someone get that close? It was terrifying.

“Fuck,” Majima muttered, dragging a hand down his face. His claws scraped lightly against his skin, the sensation grounding him just enough to speak. “It’s... it’s not somethin’ I can control, alright? My body... reacts to shit. Smells, sounds, whatever. And right now... fuck, man, right now it’s you.”

Saejima blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Me?”

Majima groaned, pressing his back harder against the wall like it might somehow save him from the conversation. “Not you , you. It’s the fuckin’ perfume, alright? That shit’s messin’ with me.”

Saejima’s expression shifted, his brows furrowing again, but this time there was a flicker of something else—understanding, maybe, or at least curiosity. “That’s what this is about? Fuckin’ perfume?”

“Yeah,” Majima bit out, his voice sharp with frustration. “It’s... it’s hittin’ me weird. Got my body actin’ like a goddamn idiot.”

Saejima tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over Majima like he was trying to piece the puzzle together. “So... yer sayin’ it’s makin’ ya... what? Hungry?”

Majima barked out a laugh, the sound strained. “That’d be easier. Nah, man, it’s makin’ me...” He hesitated, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “It’s makin’ me hard.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Saejima didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at Majima like he was trying to decide if he’d heard him right. Majima could feel his face burning, his fangs itching with the need to bite down on something—anything—to distract himself from the mortifying weight of the admission.

Finally, Saejima cleared his throat, his voice cautious but steady. “Yer serious?”

“Dead fuckin’ serious,” Majima muttered, his head falling back against the wall with a thud. “And if ya could do me a favor and not fuckin’ judge me for it, that’d be great.”

Saejima didn’t answer right away, but his expression softened, the confusion giving way to something else—acceptance. “Ain’t judgin’ ya, Goro,” he said quietly. “Just... tryin’ to understand.”

Majima sighed, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension bled out of him. “Good luck with that,” he muttered, his voice bitter but not unkind. “I don’t fuckin’ understand it either.”

Saejima shifted his weight slightly, crossing his arms again as he stared at Majima. The usual confidence he carried was still there, but it had softened, tempered by something gentler. He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t mocking Majima for the confession—if anything, he looked concerned. Like he was trying to work through what to say without setting Majima off.

“Well,” Saejima finally said, his voice steady but quieter than usual, “guess that explains why ya’ve been actin’ so damn twitchy.”

Majima snorted, a short, bitter laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Twitchy don’t even fuckin’ cover it, man. I feel like my body’s tryin’ ta climb outta my skin.”

Saejima frowned, glancing away for a moment before stepping closer again. He kept his movements slow, deliberate, like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. “Ain’t yer fault, Goro,” he said, his tone calm. “If it’s somethin’ yer body’s doin’, then it’s just... biology or whatever. Nothin’ ta be ashamed of.”

Majima’s tongue flicked out involuntarily, catching a stronger hit of that maddening scent as Saejima moved closer. He groaned softly, his claws scraping against the brick wall behind him. “Yeah, easy fer you ta say,” he muttered. “Yer not the one sittin’ here tryin’ not ta—” He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. “Never mind.”

Saejima raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t press. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying Majima like he was piecing together a puzzle. “This perfume,” he started, his tone thoughtful. “Yasuko said somethin’ about it bein’ gimmicky—like it’s supposed ta make people more... I dunno, ‘attracted’ or somethin’. Think that’s what’s messin’ with ya?”

Majima let out a low growl, his tail flicking sharply behind him. “I don’t fuckin’ know, Taiga. All I know is it’s drivin’ me outta my goddamn mind.”

Saejima nodded slowly, his gaze drifting to the alley floor for a moment before returning to Majima. “So, what d’ya need me ta do? Back off? Get rid of it?” He gestured vaguely toward his jacket, where the faint scent of the perfume still clung stubbornly. “’Cause if this is makin’ shit harder for ya, I ain’t gonna stand here and make it worse.”

Majima blinked, caught off guard by the offer. He hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected Saejima to take it so seriously. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah,” Majima muttered finally, his voice rough. “That’d... that’d help.”

Without hesitation, Saejima pulled off his jacket, the heavy fabric landing in a heap on the ground. He grabbed the collar of his shirt next, giving it a quick sniff before grimacing. “Shit, it’s all over me, ain’t it?” he muttered.

Majima nodded, his gaze flicking away as his tongue darted out again, catching the remnants of the scent. “Ya smell like a damn flower shop, man.”

Saejima chuckled softly, though there wasn’t any teasing in it. “Yeah, well, next time I won’t have ta disguise myself to help ya, will I?”

Majima didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the wall as he tried to focus on anything other than the heat still buzzing under his skin. The scent was fading now, weaker without the jacket so close, but it wasn’t gone completely. It lingered in the air, clinging to Saejima’s skin, and Majima could still feel it tugging at his senses, making his fangs itch and his stomach twist.

“Ya need somethin’ else?” Saejima asked, his voice breaking the silence. “Water? Distance? Just tell me what’ll help.”

Majima sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Just... give me a minute, alright? I need ta... fuckin’ reset or somethin’.”

Saejima nodded, stepping back a few paces and leaning against the opposite wall. He didn’t say anything, didn’t push, just watched Majima with that same steady gaze he always had. It was comforting in a way, but it also made Majima feel more exposed than ever.

“Yer takin’ this better than I expected,” Majima muttered after a long silence, his voice low.

Saejima raised an eyebrow. “What, ya thought I’d freak out?”

Majima shrugged, his claws twitching at his sides. “Figured ya might think it’s... weird. Or gross.”

Saejima snorted, shaking his head. “Goro, I’ve seen ya rip apart a guy with yer bare hands and eat him. I don’t think anything’s gonna top that on the weird scale.”

Majima barked out a laugh before he could stop himself, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. “Fair point,” he admitted, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Guess this ain’t so bad in comparison.”

Saejima grinned, leaning his head back against the wall. “See? Ain’t no reason ta get all worked up about it. We’ll figure it out.”

Majima’s smirk faded, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Maybe.”

Majima’s body tensed, a low groan rumbling from his throat as his stomach began to churn violently. He leaned forward, one clawed hand bracing against the brick wall for support while the other pressed against his middle, his muscles coiling and shifting beneath the taut skin of his abdomen. It was coming. He could feel it—the inevitable purge, clawing its way up his throat, relentless and sickening.

Saejima stood a few feet away, his arms crossed but his expression uneasy. He’d heard the aftermath of this process last time—the sound of the wet mess of bones and bile Majima had purged into the water at the docks permanently burned into his brain—but he’d never actually witnessed it. And judging by the way Majima’s body was convulsing now, he wasn’t sure he was ready.

“Ya sure yer alright, Goro?” Saejima asked cautiously, his voice quieter than usual.

Majima didn’t answer. His claws scraped against the wall, leaving shallow gouges in the brick as his body spasmed again. He opened his mouth, gagging once, then again, before a thick, wet retch echoed through the alley. A string of viscous saliva spilled from his lips, stretching in long strands before snapping and dripping onto the pavement.

The first thing to come up was bile—a sharp, acrid liquid that burned his throat on the way out. It splattered against the ground, a yellowish-green pool mixed with flecks of congealed blood. Majima coughed violently, his shoulders heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

His stomach clenched again, harder this time, and he doubled over with a guttural groan. Something thick and stringy began to emerge from his throat, slick and shiny with mucus. It was veiny, pale red: the remnants of sinew and connective tissue that his stomach couldn’t process. The long strands slid out slowly, catching for a moment at the back of his throat before he reached up with a clawed hand and yanked them free. The wet, slimy mass hit the ground with a nauseating splat, trailing bile as it landed.

“Christ,” Saejima muttered, taking a small step back as the smell hit him—rancid and sour, an overwhelming mix of rotting meat and digestive fluids. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand, his stomach turning as he tried to hold his ground.

Majima barely noticed. His body convulsed again, his throat bulging grotesquely as more indigestible material was forced up. This time, it was chunks of fat—pale, gelatinous blobs that slid from his mouth with wet sounds. They plopped onto the pavement in uneven globs, sticking to the ground like cold lard. Majima gagged again, spitting out the last of it before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his claws leaving faint streaks of blood and bile across his skin.

“Still with me, big guy?” Majima rasped, his voice rough and strained as he glanced back at Saejima. His smirk was weak, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Ain’t lookin’ too steady over there.”

Saejima scowled, though the effect was ruined by the way his face had gone pale. “’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice wavered slightly. “Just... didn’t expect it ta be so fuckin’ nasty.”

Majima chuckled, though the sound was cut off by another violent retch. His body jerked forward as the next wave hit, this one heavier, thicker. A sharp crack echoed through the alley as a rib bone emerged, the jagged edges scraping against his teeth as it slid free. He spat it out with a grimace, the bone clattering onto the pavement.

The femur came next, larger and more stubborn. Majima’s throat bulged painfully as his muscles strained to force it up. He let out a guttural growl, his fangs bared as he wrenched the bone free with both hands. It hit the ground with a dull, wet thud, landing in the growing pile of discarded remains.

Saejima’s expression twisted, somewhere between horror and reluctant fascination. “How the hell do ya even—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Nah, forget it. Don’t think I wanna know.”

Majima grinned weakly, spitting out another mouthful of bile before leaning back against the wall. “Ain’t exactly glamorous, is it?” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “Welcome ta the monster life.”

His stomach clenched one last time, forcing up the final remnants of the corpse—a sickly mixture of shredded veins, fragmented bone, and gelatinous fat. The mass slid from his mouth in one grotesque stream, pooling on the ground with a wet squelch. Majima groaned, his body trembling as he wiped the last traces of bile from his lips.

“Fuck,” he muttered, slumping against the wall. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, his tail flicking weakly behind him. “That one was rough.”

Saejima stayed silent for a moment, his gaze shifting between Majima and the pile of remains on the ground. Finally, he let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Yeah, rough’s one way to put it.”

Majima barked out a short laugh, wiping a hand down his face. “Betcha didn’t think babysittin’ a monster’d come with this kinda view, huh?”

Saejima snorted, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Yeah, well... guess it’s part of the deal, ain’t it?”

Majima didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on the pile of indigestible remains at his feet. The bile, the bones, the fat—it was all a stark reminder of what he was, of the creature he couldn’t escape. 

Saejima cleared his throat, glancing down at the pile of bile-soaked remains that Majima had left behind. The alley smelled like death, the air thick and rancid, and he figured they’d both had enough of this for one night. “Ya ready ta head back?” he asked, his voice steady, though a flicker of concern lingered in his tone.

Majima nodded, pushing himself off the wall with a low grunt. His body felt like hell—his stomach churned, his throat burned, and his tail dragged sluggishly behind him, weighed down by the effort of it all. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice rough from the purging. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

Saejima nodded, but as Majima began to shift, his tail dragging over the gritty pavement, Saejima frowned. The air was sharp and biting now, the cold settling into his bones. His breath clouded faintly in the dim light of the alley, and he realized how the chill must feel for Majima, with his cold-blooded physiology already kicking into survival mode.

Without thinking, Saejima snatched his jacket up off the ground and stepped closer, draping it over Majima’s hunched shoulders. The heavy fabric settled snugly against the curve of Majima’s back, flattening the sharp ridges of his spines as it fell into place. “Here,” Saejima muttered, his tone almost casual. “Don’t need ya freezin’ up on me.”

Majima did, in fact, freeze.

It wasn’t the weight of the jacket or even the warmth it provided—though both were welcome. It was the scent. The jacket was saturated with both the perfume and Saejima’s scent, a heady mix of musk and something earthy, like pine after rain. It clung to the fabric, stronger now that it was so close, and Majima’s instincts responded before his brain could catch up.

A low, rumbling sound bubbled up from his chest—soft, almost tentative at first, but unmistakable. He was purring . His tail twitched behind him, curling faintly at the tip as he pulled the jacket tighter around himself, burying his face in the collar. The rough fabric brushed against his cheek, and he inhaled deeply, the scent hitting him like a drug.

Saejima blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in Majima’s demeanor. “Oi,” he said cautiously, watching as Majima nuzzled into the jacket like a contented cat. “Ya... good?”

Majima didn’t answer right away. His hands clutched at the edges of the jacket, his claws grazing the fabric as he pressed it closer. His purring grew louder, more insistent, and his tail coiled lazily around itself, a stark contrast to the tense, restless movements it had been making earlier.

“Fuck,” Majima muttered finally, his voice muffled as he buried his face deeper into the jacket. “Why’s it smell so good?”

Saejima tilted his head, his confusion deepening. “What? It’s just my jacket, man.”

Majima groaned softly, his tail curling tighter, the tip lightly thumping against the pavement. His body felt warm, comforted in a way he couldn’t quite explain, and his instincts were screaming at him to hold onto it, to wrap himself in the scent until it soaked into his scales. “Don’t know what the hell ya been doin’, Taiga,” he muttered, his voice half a growl, “but yer smell’s... fuckin’ addictin’.”

Saejima frowned, scratching the back of his neck. “Yer actin’ real weird tonight, Goro.”

Majima chuckled, the sound low and throaty as he finally lifted his head from the jacket. “Guess I am,” he admitted, though his claws stayed hooked in the fabric, refusing to let it go. His pupils were still blown wide, his gaze hazy, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “But... thanks.”

Saejima shrugged, brushing off the gratitude with an awkward wave of his hand. “Ain’t nothin’,” he said, though the way Majima was clinging to the jacket made him pause. “Jus’ figured ya needed it.”

Majima nodded, his tail swishing faintly behind him as he adjusted the jacket around his shoulders. The fabric still pressed against his spines, dulling their sharpness, and the weight of it felt grounding in a way he hadn’t expected. But it was the scent that lingered, that wrapped around him and settled in his chest like a soothing balm.

He purred again, quieter this time, his body instinctively leaning into the comfort of it. He’d never felt like this before—not during brumation, not during rut, not ever. It was new, strange, and yet... he didn’t want it to stop.

Saejima cleared his throat, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Well, uh... if yer done makin’ love to my jacket, think we can get outta this alley? Stinks like hell in here.”

Majima snorted, his smirk growing as he pushed off the wall with a lazy roll of his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his tail uncoiling as he started to slither toward the mouth of the alley. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

Saejima followed, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel as he fell into step beside Majima’s serpentine movements. 

Chapter Text

Majima led the way through the darkened streets of Kamurocho, his pace slower than usual, but steady. His body was still reeling from the purge, muscles sore from all the recent transformations. Saejima followed behind, his footsteps heavy, but somehow quiet in the stillness of the night. Majima glanced back, rolling his eyes slightly and sighing. He knows they had just gone over this, but he couldn’t help himself. Saejima simply didn’t need to concern himself with this shit every single time. 

“Ya really don’t have to keep followin’ me like this,” Majima muttered, stuffing his hands into the pockets of Saejima’s jacket. “I told ya, I’m not gonna hunt live prey.”

Saejima huffed, his massive frame silhouetted against the streetlights. “I know, I know. I ain’t worried about that. I just… I don’t know, man. I wanna make sure yer alright. Make sure nothin’ happens to ya. What if ya get caught or somethin’? It’d be fuckin’ bad news, y’know?”

Majima couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He stopped moving and turned to face his kyoudai, the mischievous glint in his eye not fading despite the exhaustion in his bones.

“Look, I appreciate the concern, big guy, I really do. But I don’t need a lovesick puppy followin’ me around every time I go out to eat. I’ve been doin’ this for longer than ya’ve even known me. Hell, I was a stray when ya found me, remember? And I’ve survived just fine on my own.”

Saejima blinked, clearly confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. “First of all, I ain’t no lovesick puppy , second, what do ya mean a stray? ”

Majima chuckled, though it was a bitter sound. “Ya picked me up at my lowest point, Kyoudai. Ya caught me at a really bad moment back then.”

Saejima’s brows furrowed in confusion, and Majima could tell that he wasn’t following. He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair as they stopped in a quieter alley, the neon lights of the city dimming behind them.

“Look, ya remember when ya found me, right? I was pretty fuckin’ beat to shit. Ya’ve seen me roughed up before, but that time… that time was bad right?”

Saejima nodded slowly. “Yeah, ya told me ya’d been jumped by some gangbangers. Said ya fought back, but got messed up pretty bad.”

Majima gave a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “All bullshit.”

Saejima’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

“I wasn’t jumped by some punks. That was just a story I made up to keep ya from askin’ too many questions. The truth is a lot worse.”

Saejima stood there, waiting for Majima to continue, his silence heavy with anticipation. Majima took a deep breath, bracing himself for the confession that had been a long time coming.

“I’d just come out of a transformation. I was in full monster mode… no human features left at all.”

“Full Monster? What the hell does that mean, Goro?” Saejima replied, his confusion deepening.

Majima hesitated, his gaze drifting to the ground. “Yeah. If… if I die, it forces me to transform. Don’t get a choice. I come back, but not as a human no more. Stuck as a full monster for a bit.”

Saejima stared at him, shock flickering across his features. “Wait… reel that back a second, ya died?”

Majima clenched his jaw, nodding slowly. “Yeah. And it wasn’t pretty.”

Saejima’s eyes were wide with disbelief, but before he could ask the obvious question— how —Majima spoke up, his voice low and laced with anger.

“It was after my Ma’s funeral. That piece of shit old man of mine didn’t even show up. Didn’t have the decency to pay his respects to her. So, I went to find him, to beat the shit outta him for disrespectin’ her like that.”

Saejima listened, his chest tightening as he realized where this story was heading.

“Guess I underestimated the old man,” Majima continued, his voice wavering slightly. “He beat me to within an inch of my life. Hell, he did more than that. Choked me out… stabbed me in the fuckin’ neck with a broken booze bottle.”

Saejima’s heart sank, the image of Majima’s father doing something so brutal playing out in his mind. He had known Majima had a rough childhood, but this ?

“He left me in a trash bin,” Majima said bitterly. “Dumped me like garbage, right outside of Kamurocho, I think. When I came to, I wasn’t human no more. Was full-on monster, horns and all. It took weeks fer me to transform back. Hid wherever I could—warehouses, dumpsters, whatever. Ate the scumbags people left for dead. That’s how I learned all the good spots to find bodies. I was… so fuckin’ hungry all the damn time. Nothin’ I ever ate was enough…”

Majima’s eyes glistened under the dull streetlight, but he blinked back the emotion that threatened to surface. “When I finally transformed back, I still felt every bit of the beating, just without the fatal blows. But I was alive. Somehow, I was alive.”

Saejima stood there, speechless, taking it all in. His kyoudai had been through hell and back. And he never even knew.

Majima turned away, swallowing hard as he regained his composure. “So yeah… that’s why I was such a mess when ya found me. I wasn’t some street rat gettin’ roughed up by punks. I was a fuckin’ monster who’d just come back from the dead.”

Saejima nodded slowly, still processing the revelation. “Goro… fuck, man. Kinda wish I woulda known so I coulda helped ya with that burden.”

Majima gave him a weak smile, shrugging. “It’s in the past. I’m still here, right? Can’t kill me that easily.”

Majima’s body shivered as they reached the apartment complex, the cold biting at his skin despite the layers he wore. He had held out long enough, but the creeping chill of Kamurocho’s night air wasn’t so forgiving. It had started to sink deep into his bones again, making every movement sluggish, and his tail—though useful—wasn’t as adept at keeping warmth in like his legs once were.

But at least, this time, he wasn’t struggling. His tail moved fluidly, gliding up the stairs without much effort. It was strange how easy it was to navigate like this. No dragging his body up each step, no exhaustion weighing down his limbs. It was almost freeing. Almost . He still hated the transformation, still hated being a monster, but the utility was something he could at least appreciate.

Majima reached his apartment first, slithering inside as quickly as possible, avoiding the glow of streetlights. The bright lights made him feel exposed, like anyone could look up and catch a glimpse of him in his current state. He left the door cracked, though, so he could say goodnight to Saejima.

Saejima loomed outside, his bulky form looking like a mountain in the dim stairwell lighting. Majima leaned against the doorframe, the cold already settling into his joints.

“Thanks, Kyoudai,” Majima muttered, his voice quieter now that they were back. “It’s real kind of ya, y’know? Doin’ all this. Nice knowin’ someone’ll go to bat fer me, even when I don’t ask fer it.”

Saejima gave him a slow, knowing smile. “Yeah, well, if ya ever go out to eat again and get yerself killed because you told me not to follow, I swear, I’ll never let ya live it down when ya come back.”

Majima chuckled, shaking his head, taking Saejima’s jacket off and handing it back to him. “Yer fuckin’ hopeless.”

Saejima grinned back, and Majima waved him off before pulling the door shut, leaving him alone in his apartment. The cold, quiet darkness enveloped him, and the only sound left was the soft rustle of his tail coiling over itself as he slunk toward the futon that was only half laid out.

He stood there for a moment, letting the silence wash over him. He was exhausted, the night’s events still heavy in his body. The hunger, the purge, the strange encounter with Saejima… it all lingered in his mind like an uncomfortable weight.

Majima unfolded the futon fully and flopped onto it, his tail curling around him in loose loops. The room was dark, the only light filtering in through the cracks in the blinds from the street below. He closed his eyes, sinking into the warmth of the blankets. It was late. Too late. And he was so, so tired.

But then it hit him, sharp and insistent—like a reminder from his body that he hadn’t yet dealt with everything tonight.

It hit him like a freight train, the sensation making him grit his teeth. His entire body was buzzing, his mind swimming with the lingering aftershocks of the strange tension that had been building all night. Ever since the smell of Saejima, ever since that scent had wafted through the air, his body had been on a one-way track toward complete and total frustration.

He had successfully pushed it to the side earlier, too caught up in getting back home, in burying his face in Saejima’s jacket. That was a different kind of feeling, a weird comfort-seeking action that had effectively put a blanket over his previous arousal. But now? Now that he was alone and without Saejima’s jacket to lull him into that weird abyss? It was impossible to ignore.

His cock ached, nestled somewhere deep beneath his belly scales, pushing insistently against the inner walls of his cloaca. It was maddening, the sensation of needing to be touched, needing release. Hadn’t he gotten off twice today already? He shifted on the futon, trying to ignore the throbbing, the pulse that seemed to echo in his veins. Every movement of his tail brushed against the sensitive parts of his body, sending electric sparks up his spine.

Fuck, why now?

He stared up at the ceiling, breath coming in shallow pants. He knew he couldn’t just ignore it. Not after everything that had happened. The way his body reacted, the tension, the arousal… it wasn’t going to go away. Not on its own.

Majima groaned, frustration bubbling up in his chest. He’d have to take care of it—there was no other option.

But as he shifted again, trying to find a position that didn’t press against the growing heat in his core, his body betrayed him, hips bucking ever so slightly as the friction hit just right.

Majima was spiraling fast, losing control in the worst way possible. He had barely even touched himself and his hips were already bucking, body moving like it had a mind of its own. Seriously, man? Ya haven’t even gotten the damn thing out yet, and yer losin’ it? He grit his teeth, trying to reign it in, but the heat behind his scales was growing unbearable, insistent. He had to calm himself down—had to get it together.

His tail shifted under him, coiling around loosely as his hands hovered over his cloacal fold. He knew what he had to do to get it out, but it never got easier. Every time he had to coax his cock free, it was a process, one that left him feeling… conflicted. Almost ashamed.

That’s because it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t how a man was supposed to touch himself.

His fingers brushed lightly around the rim of the fold, and he let out a low hiss at the sensation. It was so sensitive. Too sensitive, really. The entire area was wet, slick with its own lubrication. He pressed down gently, circling his fingers around the edges, feeling the way his muscles quivered in response. Every movement sent shocks of pleasure shooting up his spine, making him pant, a shudder running through him.

It was almost like a pussy, in a way. He could tease it the same way he’d tease a woman, coaxing out every moan and whimper she had to give. Hell, maybe that was why he was so damn good with his fingers—he’d had plenty of practice on himself.

But this… this was different. This wasn’t how a man was supposed to jerk off, wasn’t how it was supposed to feel. And yet, as his fingers worked their way around the sensitive rim, he couldn’t stop the soft sounds escaping his throat. His panting grew heavier, mingling with quiet moans and whimpers that he couldn’t quite suppress.

It shouldn’t feel this good.

He pressed a little harder, fingers slipping along the slick opening, teasing it open just enough to make him shudder violently. His head lolled back, his eyes rolling as he let out a low, breathy moan. The rim of the fold was almost unbearably sensitive—so many nerve endings, more than he’d care to admit.

He could do this all night. He had done this all night before. It was dangerous, letting himself get lost like this, but he couldn’t help it. His fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, teasing himself open just a little more, every stroke sending sparks of heat coursing through his body.

His cock wasn’t like a human’s—it didn’t just show up on command. There was a technique to it, a process he’d perfected over the years. His cock was double-pronged, thick, with ridges running along the length and hook-like barbs that laid flat when he wasn’t fully aroused. Getting it out wasn’t easy, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d get lost in the teasing and never actually bring it out.

And right now? He wasn’t being careful at all.

His fingers slid deeper into the fold, feeling the heat radiating from his own body as he touched himself in just the right way, each movement making him shudder and gasp. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, his whole body arching into the sensation as his fingers danced over his most sensitive spots. He wasn’t thinking anymore—he was just feeling .

The rim of his fold pulsed under his touch, the nerves lighting up with every stroke, every tease. His cock throbbed inside, still trapped in its confines, pressing angrily against the walls, begging to be released. But Majima didn’t care. He wasn’t using the technique. He wasn’t focused on bringing it out. He was getting lost in the feeling, consumed by the pleasure of his own touch.

His breathing grew ragged, deep moans mixing with the soft hisses of pleasure that escaped his lips. His tail twitched and coiled tighter around him, responding to the mounting tension in his body. His muscles tensed, his hips grinding against the futon as his fingers continued their slow, torturous work.

Every stroke, every press of his fingers sent shockwaves through him. His body was on fire, the pleasure almost too much to handle. His mind was fogging over, consumed by the sensation. He didn’t care about anything else because it felt too fucking good to stop.

His thumb circled the edges of his fold, pressing down on the most sensitive spots, sending his body into spasms of pleasure. He could feel it building, feel the heat rising inside him, feel his cock twitching and throbbing, desperate to be released. But he wasn’t ready to let it out. Not yet. He wanted to keep teasing, to keep riding the edge of this unbearable pleasure.

His body trembled, sweat beading on his forehead as his fingers moved faster, pushing deeper into the fold, rubbing against every sensitive inch. His breathing hitched, his moans turning into desperate gasps as the pleasure grew unbearable.

He could do this all night. He wanted to do this all night.

But fuck, if he didn’t stop soon, he wasn’t going to last.

Every movement, every touch sent him spiraling further into pleasure, his body writhing on the futon, his tail curling and flexing with every jolt of sensation. His mind was blank, lost to the overwhelming need coursing through him.

He had to stop. He had to get it together.

But he couldn’t.

Not when it felt this good. Not when he could feel his release building, his cock twitching inside, ready to burst free. He was too far gone, too lost in the moment.

Majima’s body jolted violently, his hips bucking up into his own hand as he felt the overwhelming wetness spreading across his belly scales. So wet... fuckin' hell, it’s everywhere. His lubrication had slicked his entire lower half, his fingers sliding effortlessly around the rim of his cloacal fold, the thick, sticky mess pooling beneath him, soaking into the futon.

He groaned deeply, eyes fluttering shut as he slowly pressed one finger inside the fold. The sensation made him gasp, his lips parting as the finger slipped in deeper, teasing at the edge of his cock. His cock twitched violently behind the wall of flesh, trapped and throbbing, precum already spilling out from its tip. It added to the wetness, making everything that much slicker, more intense.

His other fingers continued to work the outside, spreading the slickness further, making the scales shine with the glistening liquid. The slow, deliberate movement of his finger pumping in and out of himself sent shocks of pleasure shooting through him, his whole body tensing as he let out another desperate moan.

And then he added another finger, the stretch making him quiver. Fuck… It was intoxicating. The way his fingers moved together inside him, scissoring slowly, stretching him out. The stretch, the wet slide of his fingers in and out—it was too much, yet not enough. He didn’t know why he was doing it, why he was stretching himself out like this. He just knew it felt incredible.

His gasps were getting louder, his chest heaving as his whole body writhed against the futon. The wet squelching sounds coming from his fingers were obscene, the mess he was making all over himself spreading further, coating everything. His belly scales were slick with it, the wetness creeping up to his lower abdomen as he worked his fingers faster, deeper.

He couldn’t keep himself quiet. There was no way to muffle the moans, the desperate little noises that spilled from his throat, completely unaware of how long he had been at this. Time didn’t exist anymore—only the unbearable pleasure that consumed him entirely.

His tail, which had been writhing and twitching behind him, eventually found its way up, slipping under his hand absently. When the tip brushed against the edge of his fold, Majima inhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat. The sensation was different—so much more intense than his fingers. He felt like he was losing control of himself.

Without thinking, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the tip of his tail. Slowly, agonizingly, he pushed it inside himself, the thick, slick appendage sliding deeper with each gentle thrust. His fingers went back to the rim of his fold, teasing it, pressing and stroking the sensitive flesh as his tail fucked him.

The sensation was like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was slow, deep, and every time the tail pushed in, it sent a shockwave of pleasure up his spine. He moaned loudly, his body trembling, his muscles tensing as he tried to keep himself from completely losing it.

His tail slid in a little deeper, and suddenly, it brushed against something inside him.

Majima’s entire body seized up, his hips jerking violently as his eyes flew open, the pleasure almost unbearable. His tail, thick and pulsing with every movement, pressed against it again, and he let out a choked, guttural moan, the sound reverberating through the small apartment.

But no matter how good it felt, no matter how close he got to the edge, there was one very specific problem: he couldn’t cum unless his cock was unsheathed, at least that’s what he’d experienced in the past. It felt like a biological lock, something he couldn’t fight. As long as his cock stayed hidden within the fold, he would be stuck in this torturous limbo, the pleasure building and building with no release in sight.

He didn’t notice, though. Not yet. He was too lost in the sensations, too consumed by the feeling of his tail inside him, his fingers stroking the sensitive rim of his fold. He was fucking himself, slowly, agonizingly, the pleasure coursing through him like electricity.

Each thrust of his tail against his prostate sent him higher, making him shake and tremble. His breath came in ragged gasps, his entire body drenched in sweat and slick lubrication. But as much as he felt on the verge of it, that sweet release never came. His cock twitched behind the wall of flesh, desperate and pulsing, but it couldn’t break free.

He was trapped in this never-ending cycle of pleasure, unable to finish, unable to escape the mounting tension inside him. His tail pushed deeper, faster, his hips rocking up to meet every thrust, but still, nothing. Only more pleasure, more unbearable sensation that left him panting and writhing, desperate for something he couldn’t reach.

And still, his body wouldn’t let him stop.

He couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when it felt this fucking good.

Majima's tongue darted out, flicking across his nipple with a quick, sharp movement that sent a shockwave of electricity through his entire body. He hissed, back arching as the sensation tore through him, his moans breaking free without restraint now. He was gone , deep in it—completely submerged in the insane pleasure that he never allowed himself to fully indulge in.

His nipples were a weakness, a serious weakness . Normally, he avoided them like the plague. Too sensitive, too intense—just the barest touch would send him spiraling out of control. But right now, he didn’t give a fuck. His body was screaming for it, begging for the overstimulation, and his tongue was giving it everything it had.

He licked, he teased, flicking his tongue back and forth across the sensitive bud. His breath was ragged, sharp, each flick of his tongue making his whole body jolt as if he'd been electrocuted. His chest heaved, nipples already hard and painfully sensitive under the assault of his tongue, but he wasn’t stopping. No way. He couldn’t stop now.

“Oh f—fuck, yeah… more… just like that,” he slurred out, his voice thick with lust, barely coherent between his moans. His tail was fucking into him harder, his fingers splayed around the edge of his fold, pulling it open wider, spreading himself as much as he could. It was so much , too much, but it felt incredible. His fingers slid along the wet, sensitive rim of his cloaca, his tail shoving deeper into the slick, tight space, and every movement of his body was driving him closer to the edge.

But the teasing flicks of his tongue were making his mind blank, reducing him to nothing but raw, unhinged lust. His hips bucked wildly, tail pushing into him like its life depended on it, the thick length fucking him relentlessly, hitting every sensitive spot inside him.

The sounds he was making were obscene—loud, filthy moans and gasps, interspersed with low growls as he mumbled to himself. “Fuck… just like that… shit, deeper… I can take it… more… more…”

He was dirty talking himself, caught in a loop of his own voice echoing in his ears, the sound of his own desperation turning him on even more. He didn’t care how loud he was, didn’t care if anyone could hear him, didn’t care about anything except the maddening pleasure that was consuming him.

He spread himself wider, fingers digging into his skin, pulling his fold open further, and the sensation of his tail plunging deeper was driving him out of his mind. He could feel it inside him, thick and pulsing, pushing against his walls, stretching him wider. His fingers were slick with his own fluids, slipping and sliding as he stretched himself open more, his body shaking violently with every thrust of his tail.

He was losing it , completely losing control, and he loved it. His mind was going blank, everything fading except the overwhelming pleasure that had taken over. His sounds were loud, desperate, and filthy, the room echoing with his cries as his body moved on its own, driven by instinct and need.

His tongue teased his nipples again, sending another bolt of pleasure through him, and he groaned, hips jerking wildly as his tail fucked him harder. He was so close , teetering on the edge, but unable to fall over. His cock was still trapped inside the fold, throbbing painfully, the barbs flexing and twitching with every movement of his body.

Majima was going mad—completely, utterly mad with lust. His tail, his tongue, his fingers—everything was working together, driving him higher, pushing him closer to the brink. His body was trembling violently, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and still, it wasn’t enough.

He needed more. He always needed more

Majima could barely keep track of the sensations hitting him from every angle. His tail, still deep inside, relentlessly pressing against his prostate, had a mind of its own. It curled around his cock, still sheathed in the hot, slick confines of his cloaca, rubbing and stroking in slow, firm motions that made his entire body quake. Every stroke sent waves of intense pleasure through him, his hips jerking and grinding into the sensation. He was getting fucked, stroked, spread, and teased all at once. His fingers dug into his flesh as he spread his fold wider, stretching himself open even more as his tail pushed deeper inside him.

He moaned loudly, his voice echoing in the room, hips bucking wildly as his body struggled to keep up with the overwhelming pleasure. It was almost too much, his mind teetering on the edge of blissful oblivion, but it wasn’t enough. He needed something else, something more to push him over that edge.

Before he could even finish the thought, his tail moved again, the very tip slipping out of the wet heat of his body and pressing against his lips. His eyes fluttered open in confusion, his tongue flicking out reflexively to taste it—and fuck, it felt like a cock. His own tail, thick and pulsing with every heartbeat, forced itself between his lips, jamming down his throat in one smooth motion.

Majima’s eyes rolled back in his head as he instinctively sucked, his lips closing tightly around the slick, muscular tail as it fucked his throat. The feeling of it, thick and hard, pressing against the back of his throat was overwhelming. His tail fucked him, stroked his cock, and now it was fucking his mouth too. Every thrust into his throat made his cock throb, the pleasure unbearable, his body completely out of control.

He moaned around the tail, his mouth working over it as he sucked greedily, his tongue pressing against it, sliding along the smooth, sensitive surface. His throat flexed around it, the sensation driving him wild, the pressure building with each thrust. The feeling was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and it pushed him closer to the edge, his entire body trembling violently.

His tail fucked his throat harder, deeper, as it continued to work over his cock and push against his prostate, the sheer intensity of it making his entire body quake. He could feel himself getting lost, consumed by the pleasure that was ripping through him, his thoughts fading into a haze of desperate need.

Majima's hips bucked up against nothing as his body shook uncontrollably, the pleasure reaching a fever pitch. He was close, so close, his cock throbbing painfully inside his fold, but no release would come. Not yet. The double-pronged, thick shaft still remained stubbornly trapped inside, his body locked in a limbo of unbearable pleasure.

He moaned again, a low, desperate sound, muffled by the thick tail fucking his throat. His mind was gone, consumed by the overwhelming sensations coursing through his body. His fingers clenched tightly around his fold, holding it open, his tail still fucking into him, his cock still trapped, throbbing with need.

His eyes were unfocused, his breath ragged as he continued to suck on his tail, the slick, wet sounds of his mouth working over it echoing in the room. Every nerve in his body was on fire, the pleasure building and building until it felt like he was going to explode.

But still, he couldn’t cum.

He was stuck, his cock refusing to unsheathe, his body teetering on the edge of release but unable to fall over. The pleasure was maddening, his mind barely able to process the overwhelming sensations. His tail continued to work him over, pushing him closer and closer to the brink, but no matter how hard he tried, no matter how desperate he was, he couldn’t finish.

He was caught in a limbo of pleasure, lost in the sensation of his own body, and there was no way out.

Saejima lay there in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, the sounds from the other side of the wall growing louder by the minute. He gritted his teeth. This wasn’t like when Majima would bring someone home for a night of fun. That would be one thing. Hell, he had learned to tune that out. But this... this had been going on for a while now, and it didn’t sound anything like masturbation to him .

It was… disturbing. Majima was loud, sure, but the intensity and the sheer length of time were too much. Saejima turned his head to look at the clock on his small dresser. There was no way a person could keep going like this for three hours straight. Fuckin’ monster, man…

Saejima, feeling his frustration rise, slammed his fist against the wall, hoping the loud thud would be enough to startle Majima into some semblance of quiet. Usually, Majima would get the hint—he had to do this a few times before when Majima had a broad over. But this time… nothing.

Well, not nothing .

The sounds actually intensified . Saejima’s eyes widened as Majima’s muffled voice got louder, practically screaming through the wall. He could just barely make out the obscene words tumbling from Majima’s mouth, dirty talk so frantic, so wild, that Saejima could feel his face heat up. He shifted in bed, feeling uncomfortable, unsettled even. What the fuck was happening next door?

What Saejima didn’t know was that Majima had completely lost himself.

In Majima’s apartment, things had gone beyond anything that could be called reasonable. His tail, slick with his saliva from where it had just been fucking his throat, slid out and began circling his body, the tip trailing over his chest before aggressively rubbing over his swollen, hyper-sensitive nipples. His eyes shot open at the sensation, his back arching violently as a strangled moan escaped him.

“Oh! Oh, fuck yes!” Majima cried out, his voice ragged, wild. “Oh, god, fuck… yes, more!”

He had no control anymore. His mind was shattered, his body working on instinct alone. He didn’t care about the walls, didn’t care about the noise. All he cared about was the overwhelming pleasure that was wracking his body, sending electric pulses through every nerve ending. His tail was still lodged deep inside him, brushing against his prostate with every slow, deliberate movement. His hands moved in tandem, rubbing at the rim of his cloacal fold, each touch sending shivers through his entire form.

He could barely breathe, gasping for air between ragged, filthy moans. His hips rocked forward involuntarily, grinding into his hands, his belly scales drenched in the lubrication spilling from his body. It was all so overwhelming—his body, his thoughts, the need that had consumed him, it was too much .

The knock on the wall barely registered. For a fleeting second, he had the thought that maybe he was being too loud… maybe he should quiet down…

But then it was gone. The thought slipped away like sand through his fingers. There was no more Majima in control. He was drowning in it, in his own body, in his own pleasure, and there was no coming back.

His tail coiled tighter around him, dragging over his nipples again, making him scream, making him curse. His voice echoed off the walls, the dirty words spilling from his lips without restraint.

“Fuck! Fuck! Yes, more, more, more!” His hands moved faster, his fingers sliding over the drenched opening of his cloaca, teasing the sensitive edges, making him writhe, his tail working furiously inside him.

The feeling of his tail brushing against his prostate with each thrust made his cock twitch violently. He couldn’t finish like this, couldn’t reach that final release, but he was too far gone to care. He didn’t need to cum. He just needed more .

The pressure inside him built, his voice growing louder, dirtier, more desperate.

“Fucking… perfect… shit, need… oh fuck…”

His body shuddered violently, his mouth hanging open as his tail moved faster, harder, the slick sound of it fucking into him filling the room. 

The sun's rays filtered through the slats of the blinds in Saejima and Yasuko's apartment, casting long stripes of light across the living room floor. Saejima had managed to fall asleep on the couch after the chaos of the night, grateful for some peace after all the noise that had come from next door.

But when he stirred and groggily made his way back into his bedroom to change his clothes, the sounds from Majima's apartment still hadn’t stopped.

Still happening...?

His stomach dropped. This had been going on all night.

Saejima stood there for a moment, shirt half-on, listening. He couldn't shake the feeling in his gut that something was seriously wrong, but Majima was too stubborn to accept help, and barging in on him was the last thing either of them needed. Still, the nagging unease crept in, and with a heavy sigh, Saejima finished pulling his shirt on, wondering what the hell could be going on in that apartment for this long.

In Majima’s apartment, the sun had no power over him. The dim light barely touched him through the haze of his overstimulation, his body writhing atop the now destroyed futon. He was crying, his eyes red and puffy, tears streaming down his flushed face. His breath was ragged, his voice hoarse and shredded from screaming through the night.

But despite it all, his body would not stop .

"More... fuck ... need more..." The words were broken, half-slurred as his lips parted, breath coming in heavy, shallow gasps. His tail was buried inside him, fucking relentlessly, pushing against his prostate, while the tip of it traced up and down his chest, winding around his overly-sensitive nipples. His tongue lashed at his own skin, flicking over the tortured peaks, pulling and twisting, driving him further into that dizzying abyss of pleasure and pain.

He was a mess. His face was soaked with tears, his chest was heaving, and his whole body glistened with sweat. His nipples were raw, red from the constant attention, and every brush of his tongue sent shockwaves through his trembling body, making him sob and moan out loud, unable to stop the sound from escaping his throat.

Majima’s world had become nothing but sensation. The stretch of his tail inside him felt so impossibly good, filling him in a way nothing else could. The way it stroked against the sheath of his cock, teasing and rubbing with every movement, made him buck his hips uncontrollably. He hadn’t cum yet—he couldn’t—and the desperation was eating him alive. His balls were painfully swollen, tight and heavy, a visible bulge along the underside of his tail where they sat, pulsing with the need to release.

"Please... fuck... please...!" He didn’t even know who he was begging to. His body kept moving, his tail thrusting in and out, pressing deeper, teasing his insides, his fingers digging into the base of his cock, stroking along the still-sheathed length, trying to pull it free, trying to coax himself into release.

But it wasn’t working. He was trapped in limbo, right on the edge of orgasm but never quite falling over, the pressure building inside him to a fever pitch. His tail rubbed against his swollen balls, and his vision went blank for a second, the world spinning as he screamed again, his back arching so hard it nearly lifted him off the floor.

He was fucked , every nerve lit up, every inch of him caught in this inescapable cycle of pleasure and pain, his mind shattered into a thousand pieces.

"More... more... fuck...!" His voice was a broken rasp, barely audible over the sound of his own tail slamming into him, his body quivering and trembling with each thrust. His muscles were sore, his skin hypersensitive, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was the need .

A flash of brutal clarity cut through the fog in Majima's mind.

The drug... Shimano's fuckin' drug...

He cursed under his breath, the revelation stabbing through him as fresh waves of arousal crashed into his body. The goddamn stimulant was wreaking havoc on his system, his body taking it as some twisted aphrodisiac. That’s why everything was setting him off— fights , smells , even the simple act of lying down for bed. The drug was amplifying his urges tenfold, pushing his body beyond its limits. He knows what this is.

“Oh… fuckin’—r-rut!”

He had to get himself out of this. Had to finish before his mind fractured under the relentless pressure of need. He tried to still his trembling hands, moving them away from his body and gripping the futon beneath him, but his hips were still bucking, driving up into every possible sensation. His tail was back to fucking into his mouth, teasing the edge of his throat, while it simultaneously stroked the hidden length of his cock, throbbing desperately inside its fold.

His body wanted release, and it wanted it now .

Majima gasped, tasting the raw sensation on his tongue, but he knew he couldn’t afford to lose it just yet. There was a specific technique, a way to coax his cock out from where it hid. His brain fought to remember it through the haze of lust and overstimulation, his fingers shaking as they moved back to the edges of his cloacal fold, massaging the sensitive rim.

Come on... ya fuckin' piece of... He growled, forcing himself to focus.

He had to start slow—pressing the pad of his thumb against the wet, slippery surface, circling gently, coaxing his cock into responding. His breath hitched when he felt the first flicker of movement, the shift of his muscles inside the fold, a sign that his body was beginning to respond.

Another slow, deliberate press of his fingers, his tail easing up its thrusting for a moment, and he felt it again—a small twitch, his cock stirring to life within the heat of his belly scales.

That’s it... come on... His mind clung to the sensation, chasing it like a lifeline.

He applied more pressure now, sliding two fingers inside, pressing against the shaft hidden beneath the layers of muscle. The barbed ridges of his cock rubbed back against his fingers, sending a jolt of pleasure straight up his spine. His body trembled, the slickness of his fold making everything easier, everything more intense. His cock was stirring, beginning to emerge, and the relief that coursed through him was so strong he almost cried out again.

But he wasn’t there yet. Not fully.

Majima shifted his tail again, pushing deeper, fucking himself harder as his fingers worked faster, coaxing more of his cock out from its hiding place. His breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, his chest heaving as the pressure inside him built to an unbearable peak. His cock was swelling now, thick and heavy in his hands as he finally freed it, the double-pronged head emerging slick and throbbing from the fold. He felt a rush of wet heat pour from the tip, slicking the length as his hand wrapped around it, replacing his tail as it retreated from both his length and his throat, his whole body shaking with anticipation.

His vision blurred, spots dancing in his eyes as he finally began to stroke himself. The ridges and barbs of his cock dragged through his fingers, sending sparks of pleasure straight to his brain. His tail kept fucking into him, the pressure against his prostate pushing him closer to the edge with every thrust, every movement.

Majima’s jaw fell open, a long, guttural moan spilling from his throat. He was right there—right on the precipice—and it was going to hit him like a tidal wave.

His hands moved faster, his body jerking and twitching uncontrollably, the need so overwhelming that he couldn't think of anything else. His tail fucked deeper, his fingers tightened, and with one last desperate thrust, his whole world exploded .

Majima screamed.

The force of his orgasm ripped through him, his entire body seizing as his cock throbbed violently in his hands. Cum poured out of him, thick ropes shooting across his belly, his chest, everywhere . He couldn't stop it—couldn't slow it down. His body was emptying everything , every single drop that had built up inside him during the endless night. It was like a dam breaking, a flood that wouldn't end, soaking him, drenching his futon, the floor, even the walls.

His body kept convulsing, kept twitching, his cock still spurting cum uncontrollably. The more he came, the weaker he felt, his arms giving out as he collapsed back onto the futon, gasping for breath. His tail slithered out of his body, limp and useless, but the orgasm didn't stop. His cock kept pulsing, kept draining him, the cum still spilling out in wave after wave, drenching him until he was lying in a pool of his own release.

Majima’s mind was blank, his body utterly spent.

When it was over—when his body finally stilled and the last tremors faded—Majima lay there, panting, completely drenched and utterly exhausted. His mind was foggy, his muscles trembling, but he was free.

He had finally broken through.

Majima lay there, barely able to breathe, feeling his muscles twitch and throb from the night of self-inflicted madness. His body was spent, completely drained in every way possible—physically, mentally, emotionally. He was a wreck, soaked through in a mess of his own fluids. His skin was slick with sweat, lubrication, and far too much cum. His futon was soaked, the room absolutely reeking of sex.

He couldn’t even think clearly, his body too exhausted to do anything but lie there, his mind floating somewhere between consciousness and delirium.

What... what time is it?

He could barely process it, his mind fuzzy, hazy from overstimulation. The dull gray of the morning light peeked in from between the blinds, casting a weak glow on the chaos around him.

A soft knock echoed through the quiet of the room. Majima startled slightly, his body too sore to even attempt getting up, and his cock, now sheathed, still throbbed weakly from the intensity of the night.

Another knock.

"Can't... come to the door..." he croaked, barely able to muster the strength to project his voice.

There was silence on the other side, then the muffled sound of Yasuko’s voice. She couldn’t hear him, not through the door. He was too weak to even yell properly.

Then, to his horror, he heard the unmistakable click of the door unlocking.

No... no, no, no, please...

He tried to sit up, tried to find the strength to move, but his limbs felt like lead, his body weighed down by the sheer exhaustion of the night before. He was a mess, and now they were going to see him like this—Yasuko was going to see him like this.

But before the door could fully open, Majima heard Saejima’s voice, firm and commanding.

“Yasuko, don’t go in there. Trust me.”

Majima exhaled sharply, relief flooding his exhausted body, though the embarrassment still burned hot in his chest. Of course Saejima knew. He heard everything... every goddamn sound.

Saejima must’ve figured out what was going on through the walls, the thin shared wall that separated Majima's apartment from Saejima’s bedroom. There was no hiding it. He probably heard every moan, every gasp, every groan that Majima let slip in the heat of the night. It had been too loud, too intense for anyone not to hear, save for maybe Yasuko herself. That girl, once she was out, could sleep through a bomb going off.

He heard the door close softly again, followed by the sound of Saejima's heavy footsteps moving away with Yasuko in tow. Majima shut his eyes, his face burning with humiliation.

This is hell, he thought, sinking deeper into the ruined futon, This is my fuckin’ hell.

The door creaked open without warning, and Majima’s head snapped up, too late to stop Saejima from walking in. The room hit Saejima like a wall of heat—sex, sweat, and everything else flooding the air so thick it was suffocating. His nose wrinkled, and he instinctively took a step back.

Majima was sprawled on his futon. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, his eyes half-lidded, glassy with exhaustion and remnants of what was clearly an all-night marathon. His skin was flushed, glistening under the dim light filtering through the curtains, slick with fluids. Tears rolled down his cheeks, his breath hitching in soft hiccups as his body shook, too tired, too sensitive to handle much more.

Saejima blinked, stunned into silence as he took in the scene. Majima’s futon was absolutely ruined, drenched beyond repair. Cum, sweat, saliva—everything had soaked through, creating a puddle beneath his exhausted form. It was worse than Saejima had anticipated. He’d thought maybe Majima had indulged a bit, gone overboard, but this… this was something else entirely.

He took a step closer, but Majima whimpered, his voice broken and weak. “D-Don’t… please… don’t come closer.”

Saejima hesitated, looking down at the mess Majima was lying in, his eyes scanning over his kyoudai’s body.

Majima was wrecked.

His mouth, red and irritated from hours of abuse, lips swollen from biting down and sucking. His nipples were bruised and red, the skin raw from the constant attention he’d given them, and there were patches on his tail where scales were missing completely, torn away from too much friction. His cloacal fold, normally tight and hidden beneath his belly scales, was visible, swollen and inflamed, the delicate skin there red and raw from the intensity of what he’d been doing to himself. The inner walls of the fold were glistening, the edges parted just enough to reveal how much his body had been through.

Saejima’s brow furrowed as he got a better look. Majima wasn’t just sore, he was bruised—purpling skin across his torso where his tail had pressed too hard, his throat clearly raw from what had to be hours of gasping, moaning, sucking… He looked like he’d been through a warzone, a mix of being fucked and attacked at the same time.

Saejima’s eyes lingered on Majima’s bruised and battered form before he spoke, his voice low and careful. “What the hell happened, Goro…?”

Majima couldn’t even look at him, his face flushed with shame, tears still rolling down his cheeks as he struggled to form words. “I… I couldn’t stop… I-I’m sorry, Saejima, I didn’t want ya ta… see this.”

Saejima crouched down next to him, careful not to touch him just yet, but close enough that Majima could feel his body heat from where he was laying. He still didn’t know the full extent of what had gone on. He’d figured Majima had gone at it for a while, maybe went to bed and picked it back up in the morning, but he had no idea about the revelation that had come crashing down on Majima through the night—the drug, how it had turned his entire body into a vessel of insatiable need.

Saejima’s gaze softened, seeing just how raw and broken his kyoudai looked. He wasn’t sure what to do, wasn’t sure how to help. Majima had never been like this, not this vulnerable, not this wrecked.

Majima’s voice cracked as he whispered, “I… couldn’t stop, man… I just couldn’t stop. It’s the drug. That shit… it did something. It made me… it made me—” He broke off into a sob, his entire body shaking from the effort. “I’ve been at it all night, Taiga. I don’t even know how long. It just wouldn’t stop… I couldn’t stop.”

Saejima’s brows knit together in a mixture of confusion and concern as he took in what Majima had just said. " All night ? Like, all night all night ?" His voice was low, and laced with disbelief.

Majima nodded weakly, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He wasn’t exactly sure how to explain it to his kyoudai in a way that made sense. His mind was still a haze, and his body felt like a pile of raw nerves, quivering and desperate for any relief.

Saejima cleared his throat awkwardly, his hand gesturing vaguely towards Majima’s exposed midsection, specifically the area on his belly scales where the fold was visible. " What’s this?" he asked. His tone wasn’t accusatory, more like he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Majima glanced down, following Saejima’s gaze to the fold, which lay on display, red and raw. It wasn’t wet anymore, but it looked irritated, swollen from the sheer intensity of what had happened. Majima sighed, pushing through his embarrassment. "Normally… it doesn’t look like this," he muttered, his voice hoarse from hours of screaming and moaning. " Usually , ya can’t even see it. Not unless ya know where to look or... or if ya press in the right spots."

Saejima had a feeling. His knowledge of snakes told him that this wasn’t too far off from what he expected, but seeing it up close— on his kyoudai —was something else entirely. Majima, for whatever reason, felt compelled to explain more, going into detail. Too much detail, really. His words tumbled out slowly, almost absently. "I have to coax it out, y’know?" His eyes closed for a second as if trying to gather the strength to continue. "The cock… it’s inside. Ya gotta feel around… in the fold. It’s like…" He hesitated, and a shudder rolled through him. "Gotta… tease it out."

As Majima described the process, Saejima noticed a change. Majima’s breathing became shallow, almost ragged, and something— something —was starting to leak from the fold. Saejima leaned in, frowning as the clear liquid began to pool, dripping lazily from the raw, irritated skin. "What… what is that ?" Saejima asked, genuine concern creeping into his voice. He wasn’t entirely sure if this was normal or if Majima was hurt somehow.

Majima’s breath hitched, and he shifted uncomfortably, his body betraying him once again. "It’s…" He swallowed thickly, clearly struggling for control. "It’s… self-lubrication… when I’m…" His voice broke, and a soft groan escaped his lips as if it was being dragged out of him. "When I’m… horny." He said the word like it pained him, his face flushed with shame. "I’m… wet ."

Saejima’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the scene before him. Majima’s body was leaking more of the clear fluid, the fold unable to properly close, leaving him exposed. Saejima could see it—this was not just irritation or some byproduct of the night before. No, Majima was… turned on . "How… how are you still…?" Saejima’s voice trailed off, unable to fully comprehend how Majima could still be horny after everything he had just gone through.

Majima winced, and his body shuddered again as he corrected his kyoudai. " Not still ," he rasped. " Again … I’m… fuck… I’m turned on again." His voice was laced with frustration, tinged with desperation. His body trembled, the self-lubrication oozing freely from the fold as he lay there, helpless to stop the arousal that was creeping over him like a wave he couldn’t fight back.

His tongue flicked out instinctively, tasting the air. The scent of sex still hung heavy around him, mixed with Saejima’s natural musk. It was intoxicating, overwhelming. Majima groaned again, a deeper, throatier sound this time, as his hips gave the slightest, involuntary motion. He was so sore, so tired, but his body didn’t seem to care. The heat was building in him all over again, and the slickness between his belly scales was a testament to just how quickly it was happening.

" Fuck, " Majima breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyelids fluttered, and his hands gripped weakly at the futon beneath him. " It’s starting again… I can’t… I can’t move… " His hips made tiny motions, instinctively searching for friction, even though every part of him was screaming from overstimulation. The idea of going through another round was terrifying, but his body… his body was betraying him. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Saejima, standing there frozen, felt completely out of his depth. He didn’t know how to help, didn’t know what to do to stop this before it got out of hand again.

"Kyoudai…" Saejima began, his voice unsure, his hands hovering just above Majima’s trembling body, unsure of what move to make. "What… do ya need me ta do?"

Chapter Text

There’s not a person on this Earth that could have convinced Majima that someday he’d find himself in a situation this absurd and twisted. Laying there on his futon, drenched in cum, spit, sweat, and whatever else his body had produced during that all-night marathon with himself.

But here he was. Horny and wet after an unrelenting, self-inflicted fuck-fest, and his kyoudai stood over him, asking the most incomprehensible question in the world: "What do ya need me to do?"

Majima’s mind snapped, the answer tumbling out before he could even think. " Fuck me, " he gasped, his voice raw and ragged, heavy with need.

The second the words left his lips, both their faces went blank—Saejima’s eyes widened in shock, and Majima’s followed in sheer panic. " No, no no, I didn’t mean that— " The words rushed out of him, his voice cracking in desperation. " Fuck, I didn’t mean that! "

The air between them grew heavy, thick with confusion and unspoken tension. Majima’s heart pounded in his chest. He was losing control of everything—his body, his thoughts, and now his damn mouth. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and tried to backpedal, tried to explain himself.

"I— I just need a shower!" His voice wavered, his eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but at Saejima’s stunned face. " Just a shower, alright? No fucking. No… this isn’t… I’m not… " His voice faltered again, and he felt like he was drowning in his own mess. He tried to convince himself this wasn’t some repressed desire or anything. I don’t want to be fucked. He was losing it, but not like this.

Yet, his body said otherwise. Majima felt it before he saw it—the unmistakable pulse from the fold below. Wet was an understatement at this point. It was leaking again visibly and the sensation made his hips buck ever so slightly. Another rush of slick lubricant pushed out, coating the already ruined futon even further.

" Touch me, please, " he heard himself say next. His voice was quieter this time, breathy, almost pleading.

No—fuck no.

" No, " Majima muttered, the panic rising in him again. " That’s not—no, fuck, I don’t mean that either. " His hand trembled against the futon, and he could feel the insidious urge to touch himself, to make this unbearable sensation stop or maybe just make it all worse . He didn’t know anymore.

Saejima stood frozen, towering over him, unsure of what to do with Majima unraveling right before his eyes. "Goro, are ya… do ya really…?" Saejima didn’t even know how to finish the question. He looked completely out of his depth, unsure if any kind of touch would help or if it would send Majima spiraling into something worse.

Majima's whole body was trembling now, caught in the mess of conflicting signals—his mind screaming at him to get it together while his body begged for more. His eyes rolled back slightly as another pulse of heat shot through him, causing a fresh stream of lubricant to push out from the fold, soaking the floor beneath him.

" I need a fucking shower! " Majima choked out, trying desperately to find some ground, some thread of control. He clutched at the futon beneath him, his knuckles going white, trying to anchor himself in the present moment. But it was hard, so fucking hard, when everything felt this good, when his body screamed for him to just give in .

But he didn’t want Saejima to touch him. Not really. Not in this state, not when he was like this. This was the drug, the monstrous side of him that had taken over, pushing him toward sensations he couldn’t handle, desires he didn’t want.

"Just a shower, Taiga," Majima rasped again, his voice shaking. "I can’t move, but I need a fucking shower." He tried to push himself up, but his arms were weak, trembling under the weight of his body’s exhaustion and his own self-loathing. "Please, just help me to the bathroom..."

Saejima hesitated for a moment, then slowly nodded. He knelt down beside him, carefully lifting Majima’s shaking body. "Alright, c’mon, let’s get ya in there…" he murmured, his voice low and steady.

Majima barely registered the movement, his head swimming in a haze of exhaustion and the unbearable heat that still throbbed through his veins.

The moment Saejima’s hands make contact with Majima’s overheated skin, the reaction is immediate and completely out of Majima's control. He feels that warmth, that solid touch, and his mind snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.

" It feels so good, " Majima gasps, his voice trembling with desperate need. " It feels so fucking good, Taiga... More... please, more." His words were lecherous, filthy, and dripping with raw emotion, the vulnerability behind them making it even worse.

Through his tears, he tries so hard to rein himself back in. "No, fuck... I don’t want... I don’t... I need the shower... I don’t need ya, I swear, I don’t mean it, I’m sorry... so sorry..." But his body betrays him at every turn. He's practically pouring lubricant, his fold pulsing with desire against Saejima’s hold.

Saejima’s face flushed, embarrassed for both of them, the words Majima had spilled making his ears burn. He was trying to help, but the situation was quickly spiraling into something neither of them could handle. Majima was heavy , too damn heavy, and in this slippery state, Saejima couldn’t get a decent grip without making it worse.

" Shit, alright... " Saejima muttered to himself, biting the bullet and shifting tactics. If he can’t carry Majima the usual way, maybe facing him would make it easier. He bent down, sliding his arms beneath Majima, pulling him up so that Majima’s arms wrap around his neck. Majima’s face pressed into Saejima’s shoulder, but it’s the fold that was now fully pressed against Saejima’s hard stomach and chest.

The solid, unyielding feel of Saejima’s muscled torso against the most sensitive, throbbing part of Majima’s body was enough to send him spiraling into a frenzy. "Oh fuck... oh fuck, Taiga, please... please, ya don’t... ya don’t even know..." His voice was so breathy, so wrecked, each word spilling out like a confession. " I need ya, fuck, I need ya so bad. Just... just let me— "

And then the dirty talk began. The kind of words Majima would never say in any other context, but here they were, tumbling out of his mouth in broken, filthy fragments.

"I bet yer so fucking big. I wanna feel ya... I want— fuck , I wanna feel ya inside me... I wanna feel ya split me open ... make me fucking take it... please, I need it, need ya...*"

His hips ground involuntarily, pressing the fold harder against Saejima’s firm body, soaking his shirt through with lubrication. Majima couldn’t stop, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe without those sensations flooding his brain. His words were specific, direct, pleading in ways that hurt them both. " Let me suck ya off, I’ll— fuck, I’ll do anything—*"

Saejima, face redder than it had ever been in his life, struggled to process the lewdness, the rawness of Majima’s begging. The guy was completely lost in his own delirium, his body betraying him at every step. And there was a part of Saejima that just ached for him, for how far gone Majima had become, how much he’d been struggling.

" Goro, I— " Saejima stammered, trying to keep his grip, trying to get him to the bathroom as quickly as possible. " Fuck, man, we need to get ya under cold water, this—this ain’t right. "

But Majima was writhing against him, soaked , eyes shut tight in desperate need, and every breath that left his mouth was filled with a new plea, a new filthy confession of how badly he wanted Saejima to just take him. The wetness from Majima’s fold had completely drenched Saejima’s shirt, slicking down his torso as he tried to adjust his hold.

" T-taiga... Kyoudai... please... " Majima’s voice cracked. With the way he trembled, it was impossible to tell if it was from overstimulation or just the raw, unfiltered desperation flooding every inch of his body.

Saejima grunted as he maneuvered Majima’s upper half into the cramped bathroom, his tail awkwardly spilling out into the hallway, no hope of fitting it all in the small space. He lowered Majima into the tub, trying to be as gentle as possible. The second Majima lost Saejima’s contact, though, he whined, his body arching, his fingers already moving shakily toward his swollen, angry fold like it’s a reflex he can’t control.

Saejima grabbed his arm, stopping him softly but firmly. “That’s not helpin’, man,” Saejima said, his voice low and steady. He could see the way Majima’s body was trembling, the way his hand twitched, desperate to keep going. But Saejima knew better, knew that pushing himself even further wouldn’t do him any good.

Majima was lost in his own world, far beyond hearing reason. He started up the dirty talk again, but it was more incoherent now, just mumbled words and pleas that spilled from his lips like a mantra. His eyes were half-lidded, his mouth hanging open slightly as his breath came out in shaky, desperate bursts. His body fought against Saejima’s gentle hold, hips rocking up as though seeking friction, needing something to cling to.

It was hard to watch, seeing Majima like this. He was struggling, fighting against Saejima’s grip, his mind lost to the chaos inside his body, helplessly trying to touch himself, to feel anything that would ease the burning need clawing at him. Saejima sighed, shaking his head. He didn’t get angry, though. Getting mad wasn’t going to help either of them right now. What Majima needed wasn’t frustration or impatience. He needed a soft touch. He deserved that.

Saejima reached over and turned on the water, aiming the freezing spray directly onto Majima. The icy blast immediately locked up Majima’s serpentine body, making him gasp and thrash in the tub. His tail coiled tightly, the shock of the cold stilling him for a brief moment, his head snapping up as he panted, trying to catch his breath. It was enough to break the cycle, just for a second.

Saejima watched, waited, and then adjusted the temperature to something warmer—just warm enough to be soothing without overwhelming Majima’s overly sensitive body. He sat on the small stool next to the tub, grabbing the showerhead and letting the warm water cascade over Majima, rinsing away the sweat, the lubrication, and the mess from the night before.

Majima’s eyes fluttered, his breathing still erratic but not as frantic. His body, slick with the water, seemed to relax a little under the spray, though every so often, Saejima could see a slight twitch in his muscles, the telltale sign that he was still fighting whatever was going on inside him. But he wasn’t trying to talk anymore. He wasn’t muttering desperate pleas. For now, Majima was quiet, breathing through the haze of whatever this hellish ordeal was.

Saejima worked carefully, washing Majima’s chest, arms, and neck, avoiding the bruised and raw areas that he could tell had been through the wringer. As the water ran down Majima’s body, Saejima could see just how sensitive the poor guy was—his skin red and irritated, his fold swollen to the point where it was still visible, even when it was supposed to be hidden.

“How’re ya feelin’ now?” Saejima asked, his voice calm as he ran the water over Majima’s head, trying to keep him grounded, trying to give him something to focus on.

Majima’s eyes opened slowly, blinking against the water. He looked at Saejima, and for the first time in what felt like hours, there was a glimmer of recognition. He didn’t answer right away, though. His chest rose and fell with shaky breaths, and after a long moment, he swallowed hard, his voice hoarse. “Cold… but better,” he finally said, his words strained, like speaking took more energy than he had right now.

Saejima nodded, adjusting the showerhead to avoid spraying Majima directly in the face. “Yeah… yer comin’ down from it. Just let me finish gettin’ ya cleaned up, and we’ll get ya somewhere warm, alright?”

Majima’s head tilted back, eyes closing again as the water continued to wash over him, and fer the first time since last night, he seemed to settle. Not completely, but enough. Enough that the edge of desperation was no longer sharp. Enough that Saejima could finally see his kyoudai comin’ back to himself, even if it was just a little at a time.

Majima’s face burned with embarrassment, a deep flush crawling up from his neck and spreading across his cheeks. He knew exactly what he had said, what he’d begged for. The filthy words, the desperate pleas, the pathetic way he’d practically thrown himself at Saejima without a second thought—it all ran on repeat in his mind like some torturous reel he couldn’t shut off. It was like the drug swimming through his system had taken control, forcing him to latch onto the one person who had ever shown him kindness without expecting anything in return. And now, he’d fucked that up too.

But Saejima didn’t seem upset. Didn’t seem like he was disgusted or ready to walk out of Majima’s life forever. No, he just kept rinsing him off, letting the warm spray from the showerhead wash away the evidence of Majima’s all-night spiral. Saejima’s touch was careful, gentle even, seemingly unphased by the mess Majima had made of himself.

The sound of Saejima clearing his throat awkwardly snapped Majima out of his thoughts. He blinked, focusing back on the present, on the cramped bathroom and the steady rhythm of water pattering against the tub. Saejima was staring— really staring —right at Majima’s open and red fold, and the sight made Majima tense. He didn’t know why, but the intensity of Saejima’s gaze on such an intimate part of him was way too much.

Trying to break the tension, Majima forced a fake offended tone. “Oi, what the fuck? I don’t appreciate bein’ ogled like a cheap piece of ass, y’know. If yer expectin’ some action, ya better look elsewhere.”

But Saejima didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. His expression stayed serious, focused, and Majima could feel himself getting more and more worked up, snapping irritably as he tried to cover his growing discomfort. “Kyoudai! What the fuck are ya doin’—”

Before Majima could finish his rant, Saejima’s large fingers suddenly pressed against the fold, prying it open with a firm but careful grip. Majima’s body reacted instantly, a sharp jolt of pleasure coursing through him, making his breath hitch and his vision blur for a second. Shit, shit, fuck, that feels good… What the fuck is he doing?!

Saejima, still quiet and awkward, mumbled an apology. “Sorry… it needs to be flushed. Just—hold on.” Without waiting for any more protests, he aimed the shower head directly onto the now open and gaping fold.

The sensation was immediate. The warm water rushing into such a sensitive and raw part of his body made Majima jerk involuntarily, his tail thrashing slightly in the tub. He gasped, his back arching as he tried to fight the overwhelming sensations hitting him all at once. His body was too sensitive, too worn down, and now Saejima had hit a spot that had been screaming for attention for hours.

“T-Taiga…” Majima tried to form words, tried to tell him to stop, but everything was short-circuiting inside him. The water was relentless, flushing out the build-up of fluids, cleaning him, but the sensation was too much. He felt like he was going to lose it.

Saejima kept at it, his expression still calm but his movements firm. “It’s almost done,” he muttered, his voice low. “I know it probably feels weird, but yer gonna hurt worse if this doesn’t get flushed out properly.”

Majima panted, his hands gripping the edge of the tub as he tried to center himself. The truth was, Saejima was right. His fold was so raw and irritated, it needed to be cleaned properly, but that didn’t stop the embarrassing reactions his body was having to the contact. He was helpless, stuck between the pain of being so overstimulated and the pleasure of finally being given attention.

He squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a moan as the water continued to rush against him. Just get through it, he told himself. Just get through it, and it’ll be over...

Majima could barely string his thoughts together as the water kept hitting him just right, the warm spray flushing him out while every nerve in his body screamed for relief. His hips twitched every time Saejima’s hands pressed against him, keeping the fold open as the water did its work, and all Majima could manage through the fog of overstimulation was a question. "Why the hell didn’t ya tell me before doin' it? Before…" He moaned, cursing himself as the sound left his lips. " Fuck ... before touching me like that?"

He didn’t mean for it to sound so vulnerable, so fucking needy, but there it was, plain as day. Just don’t moan again. No panting, no sounds... it’s just him cleaning ya out!

Saejima, to his credit, didn’t seem flustered. His grip stayed firm, but there was a shift in the air between them, something tense but not uncomfortable. "Figured ya’d think too much about me touchin’ ya there," Saejima said, his voice surprisingly calm. "Better to just... get it over with. Make it jarrin’ instead of lettin’ yer brain get ya all worked up first."

It made a weird sort of sense, but Majima wasn’t exactly sure he liked the idea of being caught off guard like that— especially when it came to something as intimate as this. “Sensitive area, man! Can’t just—fuck—can’t just split open a man’s pussy like that!” As soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth, Majima froze. Oh, fucking gross, Goro. Did ya really just say that?!

There was a pause, and then, to his absolute horror, Saejima chuckled. “Didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to play with my kyoudai’s pussy,” he said, his voice dry and teasing. “Guess there’s a first for everythin’.”

Majima’s brain short-circuited. He didn’t just say that... There was no way. He couldn’t have. But he did. And if Majima thought he was barely holding on before, that was nothing compared to the way his body reacted now. If the water wasn’t already there, washing him out, he’d be just as fucking wet from that comment alone. His entire body clenched, a shudder running down his spine as his overstimulated nerves flared to life again.

He couldn’t control the way his hips bucked up involuntarily, or the way his throat let out another needy moan. “ Fuck ... Taiga... don’t say shit like that...”

Saejima raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but not entirely unsympathetic. “Easy, man. Just tryin’ to get ya cleaned up.”

Majima groaned, his head falling back against the tub. This was going to kill him. His brain couldn’t keep up with what his body was doing. He was getting turned on again just from a fucking joke. What the hell’s wrong with me?

The way Saejima was handling him, keeping him steady while the water did its thing—it wasn’t meant to be sexual, but fuck, Majima’s dumb brain couldn’t separate the two. His body was on fire, hypersensitive to every touch, every word. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying for this to end before he lost his mind completely.

" Please, " Majima muttered through gritted teeth, not even sure what he was begging for anymore. " Just finish, I can’t… "

Saejima frowned, pulling back slightly as he noticed Majima’s shaking hands, his whole body tense like a wire ready to snap. “I’m almost done. Hang in there.”

Majima tried to nod, but his body had other plans. Every touch, every word was dragging him closer to the edge, and he didn’t know if he could hold back much longer. Fuck, this is so fucked up.

Saejima finally pulled his fingers away, letting the water drain from the fold. The sudden absence made Majima's body jolt, his hips pushing forward instinctively, seeking the friction again. The fold retracted slightly, still swollen, red, and visible, much more so than it should be. Majima could feel it throbbing, the sensitivity too much, but the heat behind Saejima’s lingering stare didn’t exactly help.

He hated how Saejima was staring at him. It was feeding the fire inside him, turning him on. God, what the fuck is wrong with me? But fuck, if it didn’t feel good . Wet heat pooled deep in him again, spreading through every inch of his body, and he had to clench his teeth to stop the panting whine that threatened to escape.

Majima’s breathing hitched, a smirk creeping onto his face as he squirmed under Saejima’s gaze. "What are ya starin’ at, huh?" he asked, voice low and raspy, trying so hard to make light of the situation to distract himself. "Wanna flush me out again or somethin’?"

But Saejima didn’t respond with his usual teasing tone. Instead, his face was tense, his eyes focused, and for the first time since this mess started, he looked... pained.

“Kyoudai…” Saejima’s voice was quiet and Majima didn’t like that at all. “Looks like a cloacal prolapse.”

Majima blinked, feeling his stomach drop, but the confusion was still thick in his foggy brain. “A what now?”

Saejima swallowed hard, his hand resting awkwardly on his knee, and the silence between them stretched unbearably. “Prolapse,” he repeated, the word heavy with concern. “Part of yer insides are outside.”

Majima’s smirk vanished instantly. The room spun for a moment, his heart pounding hard in his chest as the gravity of what Saejima said sank in. He shifted slightly, feeling the pull, the sensitivity, and realized it wasn’t just swollen. His body wasn’t retracting at all. 

His face flushed, not with desire this time, but with a growing sense of panic. “ Fuck ,” he breathed out, half a moan, half a whimper. " No... no, no, no... " 

Saejima reached out instinctively but stopped himself, unsure whether touching Majima again would make it worse. "We’ve gotta do somethin’ about it, Goro," Saejima said firmly, trying to stay calm.

Majima groaned, his hands hovering just over his lower belly, wanting to push things back into place but afraid to even touch himself. “F-Fuckin’ hell, I don’t know how to fix this,” Majima stammered, his breath quickening with panic. “How the fuck do I fix this?!”

Saejima seemed to hesitate, but he locked eyes with Majima, determination flickering there. “I’ll help ya, but ya gotta calm down first. Ya know freaking out will just make it worse.”

"Calm down?" Majima laughed bitterly, tears of frustration and embarrassment welling in his eyes. "My fuckin' insides are hangin' outta me and ya want me to calm down ?"

Saejima took a deep breath. "I’m serious, man. We’ll get through this. But ya gotta breathe and let me help ya."

Majima’s heart raced, his body trembling with fear and arousal that refused to die down, but Saejima’s words—his steady tone—forced Majima to focus. He tried to steady his breathing, forcing himself to nod as his hands shook. " Fine. "

Saejima glanced at him again, his hands already moving toward Majima’s body. “We’ll get it back in. Just take it slow… one step at a time.”

Saejima wasn’t an expert, but he at least went to an anatomy class before he’d dropped out of school. If it was what he thought, he’d need to manually push it back inside. Majima's body wasn’t going to do it on its own.

He explained this to Majima, voice steady even though the situation was anything but. “Goro... I’m gonna have to push it back in. But first, I need to lube ya up again since we flushed ya out.”

Majima interrupted him almost immediately, his words sheepish, "That’s... uh, that’s covered already." His eyes were half-lidded, glazed over with that now all-too-familiar haziness that Saejima recognized.

Saejima’s eyes flicked back to the open fold, and sure enough, it was glistening. More than glistening— wet , actually.

“Oh...” Saejima said, the realization slowly dawning on him.

Majima’s head dropped back against the edge of the tub, his cheeks flushed deep red. “Just... all ya gotta do is stare at it, Kyoudai. It’ll... it'll take care of the rest.”

Saejima hesitated for a split second, not sure what to make of that. He locked eyes with Majima, then his gaze slid downward, toward the fold. As his eyes focused on the raw, swollen area, he could hear Majima's breathing pick up immediately. Each sharp intake of breath came quicker than the last, the air filling with tension. And as if on cue, Majima’s body responded.

The fold began to leak , then more, and then it practically poured lubricant, coating the area in a slick wetness that made it look ready for anything.

Saejima kept staring, but now his focus wasn’t just on Majima’s body. He looked up and locked eyes with his kyoudai, catching Majima in the act of watching him watch this unfold. The moment their gazes met, Majima’s embarrassment spiked, his panting breaths turning into soft groans. The heat between them was almost unbearable, but Majima tried to speak up to clear the air. But all that came out were curses, broken up by pants and small, desperate noises he couldn’t quite hide.

“Fuck...” Majima groaned, his eyes half-closed as if he were being consumed by the situation.

Saejima, however, stayed dead serious. He had to, for both their sakes. “I’m gonna get ya out of the tub and somewhere ya can lay down,” he said, his voice firm despite the heat pressing in on all sides. “We’re gonna do this right, alright?”

Majima could only nod, feeling like he was being pulled in two directions. Half of him wanted Saejima to just finish this, to take care of the prolapse and make everything right again. But the other half was on fire, and all he could think about was how good it felt to have Saejima watch him, to be taken care of so intimately.

Saejima stood up, finding the spare futon in the linen closet. It had been sitting there for months, maybe even longer, but now it was about to be put to use in the weirdest way imaginable. He set it up quickly, knowing Majima couldn’t stay in the tub any longer.

Saejima came back, lifting Majima up, who winced from the sensation. “I know, I know... just hang in there,” Saejima muttered, his voice gruff but soothing as he settled Majima down onto the futon.

Once Majima was laid out, he stretched his tail out from its haphazard coils, trying to find a position that didn’t make his body ache. His breaths were still shaky, his eyes locked on Saejima’s every move.

“Alright, Goro,” Saejima said quietly, positioning himself by Majima’s tail, his large hands already covered in lubricant from the mess Majima’s body had made. “This ain’t gonna be fun, but it’s gotta be done.”

Majima clenched his jaw, his hands gripping at the futon beneath him as he prepared for what was coming next. The embarrassment and heat from before were still there, but now there was a sense of urgency, of necessity.

Saejima moved closer, his eyes focused on the swollen area. He took a deep breath, then began. His hands pressed gently at first, trying to ease the prolapsed tissue back inside.

The sensation was jarring for Majima, a mixture of relief and discomfort, the wetness making it feel too intimate, too close. He bit his lip hard, trying not to let out any more embarrassing sounds.

Saejima kept his hands steady as he worked, explaining everything in a calm voice, trying to steady Majima with his words. "Alright, Goro, I’m gonna start by applyin’ a bit of pressure here," he murmured, his tone deliberate and clear. Majima, though, was struggling to keep up with anything beyond the overwhelming sensations. His eyes fluttered shut, and he groaned, trying to focus on what Saejima was saying, but every touch felt way too good.

Saejima lifted his hands for a moment, stepping away. Majima blinked in confusion, head lolling back as he watched his kyoudai walk over to the sink. He turned the water on, full blast, hot steam rising from the basin as he filled a hot water bottle. Saejima’s absence made Majima squirm, his entire body pulsing with need.

Saejima walked back, setting the warm bottle on Majima’s stomach, right above the exposed fold. “This is to help relax the muscles,” he said softly. The heat radiated through Majima's body, and he groaned in relief, his muscles unclenching just a little as the warmth settled in.

Saejima got back to work, his hands now pressing more firmly on the sensitive tissue, carefully pushing the prolapsed section back where it belonged. He explained everything as he went, but Majima could barely register the words. It was like his brain couldn’t handle anything beyond the sensation of Saejima's touch. It was too much. Way too much.

“Oh, fuck,” Majima hissed, his head falling back. His breathing quickened, and his hips twitched involuntarily. He didn’t mean to react like this, didn’t want to make it harder for Saejima, but it simply felt too good not to. Saejima’s hands were firm but gentle, his fingers pressing and stroking the exposed flesh with such precision that Majima almost couldn’t take it.

"Keep focused, Goro," Saejima muttered, trying to keep him grounded. "I’m almost done, just pushing the rest back in."

Majima’s entire body trembled, his tail curling and uncurling on the floor as he struggled to hold back another moan. “Are ya sure yer fixin’ me or... practicing yer fuckin' pussy work?” He couldn’t help the words that spilled out, his usual bravado crumbling under the weight of the sensations.

Saejima shot him a look but didn’t stop his work, his hands steady and methodical. "I’m fixin' ya, but yer not makin’ this any easier,” he said gruffly, ignoring the way Majima’s body responded to every touch.

“Fuck, fuck, Taiga...” Majima whimpered, the words barely coherent.

Saejima didn’t waver, though, keeping his focus on the task at hand. He gently finished pushing the tissue back into place, then moved his fingers along the edges of the fold, massaging the area with careful, measured strokes. “I’m massagin’ now,” he said, his voice low but clear. “This’ll help the muscles relax, let everything settle back in where it should be.”

The massage sent shockwaves through Majima’s body, and he couldn’t stop the sounds that slipped from his mouth, his hips twitching helplessly as Saejima worked. He was beyond words now, just panting, his body reacting on instinct alone. Every touch was electric, every press of Saejima’s fingers driving him further into a haze of need.

“Just… c’mon, Goro, try to relax. I’m almost done,” Saejima said, his voice even softer now, though Majima barely registered it. His body had become hypersensitive, his mind swirling in a mix of pleasure and relief as Saejima’s hands did their work.

By the time Saejima finally finished, the fold was sitting flush again against Majima’s belly scales, the prolapse fixed, the area massaged to ease the tension. Saejima sat back, wiping the sweat from his brow, looking at his kyoudai with concern.

Majima, for his part, was a wreck. His chest was heaving, his body covered in a sheen of sweat, and his mind barely holding on. But at least the prolapse was taken care of. He tried to find his voice, but all he could manage was a hoarse, “Thanks... big guy.”

Saejima nodded, standing up and grabbing a towel. "No problem," he said, though there was a heaviness in his voice. He draped the towel over Majima’s waist, then stepped back, giving his kyoudai the space to collect himself.

But Majima just lay there, still trembling from the intensity of it all, his mind too foggy to process anything.

Saejima rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to process everything. "Look, Goro, I’m serious. Ya can’t mess with it. If ya keep fuckin’ around, it's gonna prolapse again. No fuckin’ yerself silly or pryin’ yerself open, got it?"

Majima lay there, still panting, every breath shaky with the edge of need that wouldn’t let up. He whimpered softly, but he nodded. "I know, I know," he muttered between breaths. "I’ve never had somethin’ like this happen before. Even during rut... yeah, I’m horny outta my mind, but not like this ." His voice cracked as he tried to continue. "Not like... like a fuckin' breeze has me... panting and cumming on the goddamn floor."

Saejima frowned, wanting to speak, but before he could, Majima kept going. “Not like this... this fucked-up speedball of lust.”

Saejima blinked, raising an eyebrow. "Ya do seem to get around though, Kyoudai. I always figured ya were a horny bastard all the time. "

Majima chuckled despite everything, his breath shaky and his body still trembling with unresolved desire. “Hey, I am a horny bastard all the time, but I ain’t this  bad, y’know?" He smirked, even though it was weak and pained. "I’m not so fuckin’ horny I tell my kyoudai I’m gonna suck him off or end up beatin’ myself up so bad my insides go on strike." He managed to laugh, but it was a dry, ragged sound.

Saejima sighed and gave him a hard look, though there was an edge of sympathy in his eyes. “Yeah, well... yer definitely in a bad way now, Goro. And I’m tellin’ ya, ya gotta quit messin’ with yer body like this. Whatever that drug did, it’s screwin’ with yer system, and we need to get ya to a place where ya ain’t gonna... y'know... destroy yerself.”

Majima groaned, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. "I hear ya... just..." He exhaled shakily, biting back another whimper. "I can’t even sit here without feelin’ like... like I need to cum again. Fuck, man, I’ve been through rut a million times and never felt this close to losin’ it every second."

Saejima looked down at him, brow furrowed. "We need to ride this out, but yer gonna have to behave. No more... well, no more of whatever the hell that was."

Majima nodded, his body still twitching in response to every shift, every slight movement. "Yeah... yeah, I’ll try." But even as he said it, his body was betraying him, his hips shifting against the futon, and the softest moan escaped his lips. "Fuck," he groaned, almost embarrassed. "This shit better wear off soon."

Saejima shook his head, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Ya better hope it does... otherwise, we’re gonna be in for a long day, Goro. Now, I’ll take care of yer old futon, that shit’s gotta go. After that, I’m gonna get changed and I’ll be back in a bit.”

Majima just nodded and closed his eyes, trying to will himself into some kind of control, but with every beat of his heart, his body responded in ways he couldn’t stop. This drug had turned him into something desperate, something beyond the usual chaos of his monstrous side. Now he was stuck in a cycle of want that he couldn’t escape, and as much as he hated it... part of him didn’t want to.

Saejima trudged back to his apartment, the tension in his shoulders heavier than the futon he just threw out. He slipped out of his soaked shirt, letting out a long, weary sigh. What the hell had he walked into? The sheer absurdity of it all was still sinking in—Majima was currently dealing with a situation so wild it defied any logic. And now Saejima was right in the thick of it.

Changing into a clean shirt, he rubbed the back of his head, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?" He muttered to himself, shaking his head.

Kyoudai is a monster.

Okay, Saejima could get his head around that. He’d seen weirder shit in his time, but it’s still a lot to process.

Kyoudai eats people.

Yeah, that’s... rough. Still, it’s not like Majima’s snacking on civilians. He’s picking off the dead. That’s... manageable.

Kyoudai’s junk is weird.

Saejima blinked, staring at himself, feeling the ridiculousness of that thought. Alright, weird junk? He could deal with it. He wasn’t gonna judge his kyoudai for that.

But... everything else?

Kyoudai’s a monster that prolapsed his own cloaca—what the fuck even is that? Came so much his bed’s ruined, gets turned on by literally anything right now, and keeps asking Saejima to fuck him, while swearing he doesn’t mean it.

Saejima pressed his fingers into his temples. "Okay, Taiga. Breathe. Ya’ve handled tough situations before... but this? What am I supposed to do with this? How do I help him without makin’ it worse?"

He stared hard at his reflection, his jaw clenching. He wasn’t some weak-willed asshole who would abandon his kyoudai. Majima needed him. Not just now, but in general. They’d been through thick and thin together. Saejima had always said he’d take care of him, but back then, it was a different kind of promise. Back then, it wasn’t this level of monstrous... and all this... intimacy .

"I swore an oath... but not with that fuckin' thing," he whispered, his thoughts spiraling. The word thing echoed in his head, and Saejima immediately felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t believe he’d even thought that, let alone said it out loud.

He slammed a fist against the counter, gritting his teeth. "No. No, Taiga, don’t fuckin’ think like that. He’s not a thing, damn it." His breath was ragged as he tried to fight off the shame building up inside him. He had seen the pain in Majima’s eyes, the vulnerability, the need for help, the fear . "He’s yer kyoudai. He’s still Goro , and ya fuckin' know it, asshole. Don’t ya dare think otherwise."

The weight of his own words settled heavy in his chest. Saejima wasn’t like other people. He wasn’t like Majima’s dad. He wasn’t like that fuckin’ asshole; turning their back on him, making him feel like he wasn’t worth a damn. Majima had already been through enough—hell, more than enough—and now Saejima was supposed to help him in a situation that neither of them fully understood.

Saejima looked back at his own bedroom wall, where Majima was on the other side, likely still struggling, still suffering. His kyoudai needed him now more than ever. As a friend —someone who could shoulder this burden with him.

He sighed deeply, grabbing a fresh towel and throwing it over his shoulder. "Alright. Let’s get back in there."

This was beyond anything he’d ever thought he’d have to deal with. But if Majima could survive being the monster that his father told him he was, then Saejima could damn well handle whatever the fuck this was.

Saejima reentered Majima's apartment, the thick air clinging to his skin, saturated with the overwhelming scent of sex. He breathed shallowly, keeping his mouth shut, not daring to taste the atmosphere. The place was a warzone, no way around it. He sighed, pulling up his sleeves, and grabbed the towel off his shoulder, soaking it under the kitchen faucet.

The sound of the water running filled the apartment, a momentary distraction from the mess. He dropped to his hands and knees, scrubbing the floors, focusing on wiping away the evidence of Majima’s earlier outburst. His movements were deliberate, slow—an attempt to give his mind something simple to focus on.

Majima, sprawled on the futon, watched Saejima work. His body was still throbbing from overstimulation, still buzzing with unwanted heat that pulsed through his veins, turning every moment into something sexual, something depraved. Watching Saejima like this, on his hands and knees, muscles flexing as he cleaned—it set him off again .

Stop it, Goro. Stop it right now.

But his body had other ideas. His gaze trailed down Saejima’s broad back, lingering on the way his shirt pulled taut against his skin, every muscle defined. His mind raced with thoughts he didn’t want—thoughts he never even entertained before. Dirty, violent, wrong thoughts. Fuck him. Pin him down. Tail or cock? Both? Majima’s mouth watered, and he felt a familiar ache in his core as his body responded to the sick fantasy.

His hips bucked slightly off the futon. He bit his lip hard, trying to snap himself out of it. No. This wasn’t right. Saejima was his kyoudai , his best friend, his rock. He didn’t want him— not like that . He had never even entertained the idea before… right?

The drug still swam in his veins, turning every thought, every movement into something filthy. His back arched involuntarily as his hips jerked again, his breath quickening. His gaze was locked on Saejima’s form, and no matter how much he tried to look away, he couldn’t tear himself from the sight.

Wanna fuck him. Wanna eat him while fucking him.

Majima whimpered, the sound catching in his throat. His tail twitched, aching with the need to coil around something— someone . He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the thoughts, but they were so vivid, so real, that he felt like he was already doing it. Jesus, Goro, stop. Stop going there. It ain’t fuckin’ right.

His breath hitched, and he stifled a groan as his hips stuttered again. The movement was enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, and he had to bite back another whimper. His hands balled into fists, knuckles turning white as he fought to keep himself in check.

But it was too late. His body had already betrayed him. His mouth watered, his tail twitched, and his mind swirled with dark, forbidden thoughts. He forced his gaze away from Saejima, desperate to regain control.

Stop it.

Saejima scrubbed the floor, his mind focused, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Majima’s body shifting on the futon again. The jerky movements, the way his breath hitched—Saejima didn’t have to guess what was happening. He knew. And fuck, he didn’t want to deal with this again.

Majima was spiraling. It was clear his body had taken over again, probably thanks to whatever that drug was still doing to him. Saejima sighed, tossing the towel aside as he stood up. He couldn’t let this continue. Majima had already hurt himself enough, and if he let him keep going like this, it was only going to get worse. He at least needed to make sure his hands or tail didn’t fuck with his cloaca. 

Saejima didn’t know what had triggered him this time, but honestly, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know. He just needed to stop it— now . Majima was too far gone to be reasoned with.

There was only one real solution to this, one thing Saejima knew would work, even if it would suck for Majima in the moment. He had to force Majima into brumation .

It was cold outside. Rainy. If he could get the temperature in the room to drop, Majima wouldn’t be able to move, let alone fuck himself senseless. The cold would slow his body down, chill him enough to make him lethargic, calm. And, most importantly, it would stop that unbearable need to mate. When a snake is too cold, they simply stop wanting to breed, stop wanting to eat, stop wanting to do much of anything at all. They’re too focused on conserving energy.

Saejima opened the window wide, the rain pattering down outside, the cool breeze already creeping into the room. Then, he rushed back to his own apartment, grabbing every fan he could find before heading back to Majima’s. He set them up around Majima, pointing them directly at his writhing body.

Majima, still panting, barely registered what was happening. His hips jerked against the futon, his tongue hanging out of his mouth in a lecherous display, moaning and whining, his eyes half-lidded in desperation.

Saejima took one last look at him, mentally steeling himself. "Sorry, Kyoudai," he muttered under his breath as he flicked the fans on, the cold air blasting into the room, hitting Majima’s overheated skin.

The response was immediate. Majima gasped, his eyes snapping open as the icy chill hit him. His body recoiled from the sudden cold, his limbs twitching, trying to curl in on themselves. The lewd, fucked-out expression melted away, replaced by one of shock and discomfort. The cold cut through the haze of lust that had clouded his mind, jolting him back to some semblance of reality.

“S-Sa—Saejima!” Majima’s voice trembled, his body visibly shivering now. “W-what the fuck…?”

Saejima stayed firm, walking over to adjust one of the fans so it pointed directly at Majima’s torso, making sure the cold hit him where it counted. “Ya’ll thank me later,” Saejima said gruffly. “This is the only way to stop it. Yer gonna hurt yerself if ya keep carryin’ on like this, Kyoudai.”

Majima tried to fight it, tried to push through the chill, but it was a losing battle. His body was cold-blooded, and the moment the temperature dropped, his energy reserves plummeted. His movements became sluggish, his hips stilling against the futon as his body slowly gave up the fight.

It didn’t take long. A few minutes passed, and Majima was shivering violently, the heat of lust draining out of him, replaced by bone-deep cold. His mind began to clear, the fog of desire lifting as the cold seeped into his bones. The moans stopped, replaced by quiet groans of discomfort. He wasn’t struggling against the chill anymore—he was simply trying to survive it.

Saejima stood by, watching carefully, his arms crossed. “That’s it,” he muttered softly. “Just let it happen. Ya’ll feel better in a minute.”

Majima’s teeth chattered as he tried to speak, his words barely coherent through the shivering. “F-f-fuck… it’s so c-cold…”

“That’s the point,” Saejima replied, his voice gentler now. “You’ll be fine. Just stay still.”

Majima’s eyes fluttered closed, his body curling into itself as the brumation took hold. His breathing slowed, his limbs heavy and unmoving. The relentless heat, the constant need that had been driving him insane for hours, finally started to fade.

Saejima kept an eye on him, making sure the cold wasn’t doing more harm than good. Majima was still shivering, but his body was relaxing, his erratic breathing evening out. He looked… calmer. More at peace than he had in hours.

The storm outside raged on, the wind howling through the open window, but inside, the room was finally still.

Saejima sat on the floor beside Majima, the cold air from the fans nipping at his skin. He pulled a blanket around himself, shivering a little. Majima, on the other hand, wasn’t moving at all. His body lay still on the futon, the only signs of life being the incredibly slow rise and fall of his chest. It was unnerving—he looked practically dead. At least he was clean now, washed of all the bodily fluids and lubricant, though the apartment still carried the lingering scent of sex and sweat.

Saejima glanced at Majima’s long, limp tail, sprawled across the entire room. The thing had to be 25 feet, if not more, and the way it was stretched out wasn’t going to help Majima conserve heat at all. Snakes coiled up to retain warmth, and right now, Majima was doing the opposite. His arms were tucked awkwardly against his chest, and his body was sprawled out like a man who’d passed out after one too many drinks. This was far from a healthy position to brumate in, though it was obvious Majima didn’t really have a say in the matter with how quickly he had frozen over.

Saejima sighed, figuring he could at least try to move Majima into a better position. He knew Majima was too cold to move on his own, and leaving him like this would only make it worse. He stood, moving slowly to adjust Majima’s body when a soft, shivering voice broke through the silence.

"Don’t… touch me." Majima’s voice was strained, almost a whisper. His eyelids barely lifted as he spoke, his entire body trembling from the cold. “Ya’ll… set me… off a-...again…”

Saejima couldn’t help but chuckle. Majima still didn’t really understand what was happening to him. He didn’t realize that in his current state, he couldn’t be set off. His body was too cold, too sluggish to do much of anything. Saejima crouched beside him, gently adjusting a blanket around Majima’s shoulders.

"Goro," Saejima said softly, “yer not gonna get set off. Not like this. Yer in brumation now. It’s more than just slowin’ ya down… it’s basically puttin’ yer body in a state where all that shit—" He motioned vaguely to Majima’s form. “—can’t happen. Yer too cold. It’s how snakes survive the winter, how they conserve energy. Yer safe.”

Majima’s eyes flickered in confusion, but he didn’t speak. He could barely keep them open, his body too heavy with cold to argue or understand fully.

Saejima gave a gentle pat to his shoulder before moving to the tail again, lifting the heavy mass to coil it properly. It wasn’t easy; Majima’s tail was dense and long, but Saejima took his time, carefully coiling the appendage around Majima’s body in a way that would help him conserve what little heat he had left.

“There,” Saejima muttered as he finished. “Now yer not gonna freeze solid.” He gave a small smile. "Ya’ll be alright, Majima."

Majima’s gaze flickered in and out of focus, his mind trying to process what Saejima was telling him, but the cold had already taken over, lulling him into a state of deep stillness. His body no longer ached, his mind no longer raced with overwhelming lust. All that remained was quiet, peace, and an almost dreamlike state of calm.

Saejima sat back down, keeping the blanket wrapped tight around himself as he watched his kyoudai settle further into brumation. The fans whirred softly in the background, and outside, the rain continued to fall.

Saejima knelt down beside Majima, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. He rubbed his hands together, thinking out loud. "Alright, Majima, I’m gonna flip ya over, put ya on yer stomach. That should help ya warm up a bit, enough so ya can, y’know, actually talk to me. Participate in a conversation at least. Yer still gonna be cold, but not so much ya can’t respond."

Majima gave the smallest of nods, his body heavy and slow, unable to do more than that. His voice, when it came, was sluggish and drawn out, almost slurred. “...O-…o…kay”

Saejima moved with caution, lifting Majima’s body and turning him so he was resting on his stomach, nestled into the coils of his own tail. He adjusted the way the massive tail was wrapped around Majima’s torso, making sure it cradled him in a way that offered both support and warmth.

“There. That should do it,” Saejima muttered, sitting back on his heels as he watched for any sign of discomfort. "It’s gonna take a bit, but ya should be able to talk soon."

Majima’s breathing stayed slow, but after a few moments, he blinked, his mind sluggishly catching up to the present. His speech was still molasses-thick, every word dragging behind the last, but he could respond. “Th-Thanks…”

Majima’s eyes began to well up, tears gathering in the corners, and before either of them knew it, they rolled down his face, staining his cheeks. He was crying, the kind of silent, helpless tears that came from somewhere deep inside, beyond the cold, beyond the sluggishness. He couldn’t even hide it if he wanted to.

Saejima froze, alarmed. “Goro? Hey, hey… What’s wrong? Are ya in pain?” His hands hovered over Majima’s body, afraid to touch but desperate to help. “Is it yer cloaca? Shit, did I lay ya down wrong? Did I put pressure on it?”

His words tumbled out fast, the worry spilling out of him. Saejima’s brow furrowed with panic as he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. “I can move ya, just say something—"

Majima opened his mouth, trying to speak. But his first attempt was too sluggish, too drawn out, and it only made Saejima more frantic. His hands reached for Majima, trying to adjust him again, to figure out how to make the pain stop.

“Wait…” Majima’s voice, weak and slow, struggled to keep up with the situation. He lifted one hand slightly, attempting to wave Saejima off. "N-no… no… I’m… I’m comfy…"

Saejima paused, his hands inches from Majima’s body. “Yer comfy? Then why—why’re ya cryin’?”

Majima breathed slowly, his chest heaving with the effort of explaining through his sluggish speech. “...It’s not… pain…” Another pause as he gathered his thoughts. “...Yer… bein’ so good to me…” His voice cracked, the slow drawl thick with emotion. “...Only… Ma used to… keep me warm…”

Saejima’s frantic worry softened into a heavy weight of understanding. He let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he took in Majima’s words. The tears weren’t from pain, but from gratitude, from the overwhelming emotion of someone finally taking care of him.

Saejima shifted beside him, gently resting a hand on Majima’s shoulder, his voice quiet and warm. “Ya aren’t alone anymore, Majima. I got ya… always got ya.”

Majima’s tears didn’t stop, but they were softer now, less desperate. His body relaxed further into the coils, his slow, languid breaths finally evening out as some warmth began to return to his muscles. Saejima stayed by his side, making sure the brumation took hold in the most comfortable way possible, his presence steady and reassuring.

"Yer good, Goro," Saejima said softly, knowing Majima needed the reminder more than anyone.

Chapter Text

Majima lay there, slowly warming just enough for the oppressive fog to lift from his mind. His eyes lazily scanned his apartment, taking in the familiar surroundings. The cheap furniture, the dim lighting, the worn edges of the floor where he'd paced so many times before. It wasn’t that anything was particularly interesting, but observing the space made him feel… safer? Was that the word? He wasn’t sure, but he was keeping track of his environment in a way that made him feel more in control.

He rubbed his face gently against his own coils, the sensation of scale on scale oddly comforting. He liked that feeling. It was soothing, but it also made him want to hide, to curl up tighter and burrow his face into the depths of his coils. No, he told himself. Stay present. Talk to Saejima. Majima could see his kyoudai on the other side of the room, bundled up against the cold, his nose buried in a book, and the low hum of the radio filling the otherwise quiet apartment.

Saejima was patient, giving him space while staying close. Majima could tell he was cold too—Saejima had wrapped a blanket around himself, and if he was feeling the chill, then it must be really cold in the room. The thought made Majima feel guilty, knowing Saejima was going out of his way to help him. Majima's mind drifted. He wasn’t hungry per se, but his body needed something. A snack maybe? Something to replenish the energy he was still trying to rebuild after those five long years of starvation.

He wasn’t supposed to feel hunger during brumation, Saejima had told him that. But Majima’s body wasn’t following the rules. It had been too long since he’d been well-fed, and even though he’d eaten recently, it still wasn’t enough. His body was still in recovery mode, demanding more than what a single corpse could provide.

But what could he do? He couldn’t just ask Saejima to go out and find him a severed arm or something to munch on. That would be… well, it wasn’t going to happen, that’s for damn sure. Still, the thought lingered. Eventually, he was going to have to go hunting again. Probably sooner than later, and that weighed heavily on him. Hunting every night was exhausting, and the toll it was taking on him wasn’t just physical. He missed the days when he could eat once and be good for weeks. His body was pushing him to hunt more often, driving him to the edge with that incessant need to consume.

He let out a slow, quiet breath, feeling the way his lungs expanded and contracted under the weight of his coils.

“Tiring…” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Saejima. His voice was soft, slow, still thick with the heaviness of brumation. But Saejima heard him.

Saejima looked up from his book, brow furrowing with concern. “What’s tiring?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

Majima didn’t answer right away. His thoughts were still sluggish, like they were wading through mud. “Hunting… every night…” He let his head sink deeper into his coils. “Too much… want it back… once every few weeks…”

Saejima nodded slowly, understanding dawning on him. “Yer still rebuilding,” he said, setting the book down and crossing his arms. “Yer body’s gonna need more until ya’ve caught up.”

Majima gave a small nod. He knew Saejima was right, but it didn’t make the process any easier. His eyes slid closed for a moment, exhaustion creeping in. Hunting every night wasn’t just physically taxing—it was mentally draining, too. The constant need to be out there, searching for food, scouring alleys, the docks… it was taking a toll on him in ways he hadn’t fully processed.

“I’ll help ya,” Saejima said after a long pause. “We’ll figure something out.”

Majima opened his eyes again, his gaze finding Saejima across the room. “...Yeah?” His voice was still soft, still slow, but there was a flicker of hope in it. Maybe… maybe with Saejima’s help, things wouldn’t be so hard. Maybe he could find a way to make this new normal just a little more bearable.

Saejima gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Yeah. We’ll figure it out, kyoudai."

Saejima looked at his watch, frowning. 

“What’s… with the face?” Majima asked, voice still sluggish but picking up a little as he slowly warmed up from the inside.

Saejima scratched the back of his neck, clearly torn. “Gotta head to the office soon,” he muttered. “Sasai-han’s got me on somethin’ today, said it’s a real good opportunity.”

Majima’s eyebrows lifted. Sasai roping Saejima into something was definitely news. A “sweet gig” from your patriarch always meant something big. Whatever it was, Majima knew his kyoudai was hyped for it. Rising in the ranks was just as important to Saejima as it was for him to rise in the Shimano family, so he understood why Saejima was excited.

But...

Saejima still looked hesitant, glancing between Majima and the clock, like he wanted to be in two places at once. The poor guy clearly felt bad about leaving Majima like this, still brumating, stuck in the cold, slowly thawing out in this half-conscious state.

Majima huffed out a breath, trying to shrug, but the motion was sluggish. “I’m fine now. Seriously. Go do yer thing,” he said. He was telling the truth too. The weird horny overdrive bullshit that had completely fried his system earlier was well and truly flushed out, thanks to Saejima’s improvised brumation trick. His mind was clearer now, and though his body was still slow, he could tell he was over whatever the hell that drug had done to him.

Saejima didn’t look convinced at first, but Majima waved him off, a clumsy gesture that didn’t hold its usual weight. “Ya got somethin’ important to do, right? I’ll be fine. Ya don’t need to babysit me.”

Saejima hesitated for a second, clearly still torn, but he finally nodded. “Alright, but I won’t leave ya in this state all day. I’ll call Yasuko and let her know to shut off the fans and close the window when she gets home. She’s gotta head to school after, but she can at least turn off the arctic blast I set up in here.”

Majima smiled weakly. “Thanks… I appreciate that. Not like I’m complainin’ right now, but yeah, I’d rather not be stuck in this haze all day.”

The cold was doing its job—he wasn’t a lust-driven mess anymore—but that didn’t mean he wanted to stay in this sluggish, brumating state forever. A little warmth would do him some good once his system had fully stabilized.

Saejima moved toward the door, but Majima called out. “Oi, before ya go, can ya bring me the phone? Gotta call into the Shimano office... can’t exactly head in lookin’ like this.”

Saejima smirked and grabbed the phone, setting it next to Majima and placing the handset against his face. “Yeah, no kidding. I’ll let ya handle the office excuse. Just don’t tell ‘em what ya’ve really been up to.”

Majima laughed softly, or at least as much as his slow body would allow. “Yeah, that’d go over real well. ‘Sorry, Shimano-han, can’t come in today—my snake body’s on the fritz and I just finished a 12-hour fuck marathon with myself.’”

Saejima chuckled. “Alright, I’ll check in with ya later. Page me if ya need anything.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Just go.” Majima managed a lazy wave as Saejima headed out the door.

Once Saejima was gone, Majima stared at the landline for a moment, feeling the quiet settle in around him. Time to call in sick... but how to word it? Can’t come in, ate someone and had a snake emergency wasn’t going to fly. He sighed, slowly placing a claw into the rotary, and dialed the number to the Shimano office.

He had a feeling this was going to be an interesting conversation.

Majima recognized the voice on the other end of the phone right away—it was Nakayama. They’d been in the trenches together back when they were both starting out, dealing with the same shitty tasks, grinding through long hours at the office. Nakayama was one of the few who Majima could actually stand, maybe even like if he admitted it to himself. He remembered the rare nights when they managed to sneak out for drinks, or that one time they went to karaoke on Nakayama’s dime; he had insisted when Majima admitted he lacked the funds for a night out. A good guy, all things considered.

Nakayama answered with that fake authoritative tone they were all taught to use when dealing with the phone lines. Majima almost chuckled, remembering when he used to do the same. Fuckin’ phone boy, he thought with a pang of nostalgia.

But now Majima had to get through this phone call without making it obvious he was talking from a half-frozen state. His words were coming out so slow, and he knew it, could feel it, but he couldn’t speed up no matter how hard he tried.

“Oi... it’s Majima... yeah, uh... can’t make it today. Got... uh... hit with some bad curry yesterday... food poisoning or somethin’...” He had to pause, sucking in a breath as the sluggishness dragged down even his thoughts. “Might be a day or two before I’m back on my feet.”

Nakayama didn’t miss a beat, but Majima could hear the shift in his tone—less formal now, more casual. He knew Majima was struggling. “You alright, Majima-san? You sound like you’re... I dunno, half-asleep or somethin’.”

Majima sighed, trying to make his sluggish voice sound more normal. Don’t fuck this up, he told himself. “Yeah, yeah, just... worn out from all the pukin’ last night, y’know? Food poisonin’s no joke. Feel like my body’s barely movin’.”

There was a pause on the other end. Nakayama was one of the few guys Majima actually trusted to let shit slide without digging too deep. They’d built that kind of unspoken understanding over the years—neither of them pried too much into the other’s business. Still, Nakayama sounded concerned.

“Man... you should’ve said something sooner. You didn’t look too hot yesterday either, but I figured you were just pushing through it.” His voice softened. “Take it easy, yeah? No rush to get back if you’re still feelin’ like shit. I’ll let the office know you’re laid up.”

Majima could feel a bit of tension drain from his body. At least this wasn’t going to turn into a bigger hassle. “Thanks, Nakayama. Owe ya one.”

“Just get better, Majima-san. We’ll hold down the fort without ya. Shimano’s been... well, you know how he is, but I’ll smooth things over if it comes up.”

Majima grunted in acknowledgment, too tired to find the words. “Yeah... appreciate it.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before hanging up, the line clicking off as Majima set the receiver back down with trembling fingers. He lay back down in his coils, the cold air still seeping into him from the fans Saejima had left running. His head felt like it was wrapped in cotton, but at least he didn’t have to worry about the office for now.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Nakayama was genuinely worried about him. The guy didn’t push much, but that kind of quiet concern had a way of lingering. And Majima, lying there in his half-frozen state, found himself thinking about what it meant to have someone in the family he could actually consider a friend. It wasn’t common, especially not with the way Shimano liked to keep his men separated, like pawns on a chessboard.

But... Nakayama was solid. Always had been. And for once, Majima was glad for that.

Majima sat there, unable to move much, his body still locked in the sluggish state of brumation. The cold air from the rainy day continued to filter in through the slightly open window, mixing with the hum of the fans blowing directly onto his coils. His eyelids felt heavy, and for a brief moment, he let them close, drifting into an almost trance-like state.

Suddenly, the soft click of the fans turning off startled him. He lifted his head as quickly as his slow body allowed, muscles protesting against the motion. Yasuko stood at the window, her back to him, gently closing it.

"Oi..." Majima's voice came out slow, almost a rasp.

Yasuko jumped a little, her hand still resting on the window, before turning around. She smiled warmly at him, walking over with that easy grace of hers. She crouched down by his side, leaning on the balls of her feet, hands resting on her knees. 

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice soft, filled with concern. "You okay?"

Majima didn’t want to linger on last night. He didn’t want her to know just how bad things had gotten. Thank fuck Saejima hadn’t filled her in. He could deal with the embarrassment from his kyoudai seeing that shit, but Yasuko was another story entirely.

"Yeah... rough night after eatin'," he said slowly, hoping his sluggish tone would mask the deeper truth. "Saejima put me in brumation to calm me down."

Yasuko’s brow furrowed in concern. "You really should be more selective with your food, Majima-san," she replied, tilting her head a little. "What made the meal so bad?"

Majima’s mind raced. He couldn’t tell her it was because the smell of her perfume on Saejima had practically driven him insane with lust. No, he couldn’t even begin to go there .

"Ah, the guy was... real fatty," Majima said, settling on something believable. It wasn’t a complete lie, at least. "So fatty that, uh, some of it came back up with the indigestibles."

Yasuko made a face, clearly grossed out. Her brow pinched with confusion, though, and Majima realized with a sinking feeling that she didn’t know about the two stomachs.

"Indigestibles?" she asked. "What do you mean, came back up?"

Majima exhaled slowly, mentally preparing himself to explain yet another part of his freakish physiology. At least it was far less embarrassing to explain this than the fact that he had spent the better part of last night and this morning desperately horny .

"Yeah, so... uh... I’ve got two stomachs," Majima began, his voice still slow, but picking up. He really wished he didn’t have to go into this. "One's for, y'know, normal digestion... like a human. The other... well, it holds the stuff I can't break down. Things like bones, cartilage, veins. All the crap I can't process. So, after a meal, I gotta puke all that stuff out."

Yasuko’s expression shifted from disgust to something more curious, though she still looked a bit squeamish.

"So you... throw up after every meal?" she asked, trying to piece it together. "Is it like that every time you eat?"

Majima nodded slowly. "Not every meal, but if I’m eating a whole person? Yeah... I gotta, y'know, purge the bad shit. It's... pretty nasty."

Yasuko let out a small hum of understanding, though she still looked a bit pale. "That’s... wow. I didn’t know it worked like that." She gave him a soft smile, her tone shifting back to something more nurturing. "You really should take better care of yourself, Majima-san. Being careful with what you eat could make it easier on you."

Majima almost laughed, but it came out as more of a slow exhale. "Yeah... easier said than done when yer hungry enough to eat anything."

Yasuko shook her head with a small chuckle, then her expression softened again, her eyes full of concern. "Well, I’m glad you’re okay now... but still, you should let me or Nii-chan know next time. We want to help, even if it’s... complicated."

Majima looked at her, feeling a weird mixture of gratitude and guilt. He couldn’t tell her everything, couldn’t let her in on just how complicated last night had been. But the way she cared for him... it reminded him of his ma in a lot of ways. He nodded as best he could, hoping that would be enough for now.

"Yeah... I’ll keep that in mind," he said with another sigh.

Yasuko stood then began cleaning up the space, making it a bit more comfortable for him. Majima watched her silently, his mind still spinning as he tried to bury the shame that bubbled up every time he thought of what really went down last night.

Now that the fans were finally off and the window shut, Majima could feel warmth creeping back into his body. His muscles slowly began to loosen, and he stretched out his long tail, which quivered as the tension drained out of it. Adjusting his position, he pushed up on his palms, arching his back in a deep stretch. His ass lifted into the air, and his tail flicked out behind him, shaking with the effort to expel the last bits of stiffness.

The sound of Yasuko's laugh caught his attention, and Majima froze mid-stretch, looking over his shoulder at her with a raised brow.

"You look like a cat after a nap when you stretch like that," she said, still giggling softly.

Majima blinked, feeling a flush creep up his cheeks and into his ears. When he got stuck in his transformed state for longer than a night, things about him... shifted. His mannerisms became more instinctual, more like the beast he tried to hide beneath his skin. And with the New Moon transformation hitting hard last night, he knew he’d be stuck like this for the rest of the day, at least. Maybe even longer if the moon decided to take its time coming back. Sometimes it happened—he'd stay stuck for an extra day or so. Didn’t know why, but it was one of the many mysteries of his cursed body.

He tried to brush it off, straightening up from the stretch and rolling his shoulders as if nothing had happened, but the warmth in his face betrayed him. Yasuko's giggles only grew as she watched him, clearly amused by his discomfort.

"I, uh, y'know... it just happens sometimes," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Get all… creature-y and I forget how to be normal."

But Yasuko just smiled, "I've gotta head to school, but I really liked sitting here and chatting for a bit." She paused, tilting her head as she looked at him. "Getting to know you like this... the creature-y version, I mean."

Majima furrowed his brow, confused. "What d'ya mean by that?"

Yasuko’s smile didn’t waver, but her expression softened a little, like she was trying to find the right words. "You're still you, of course," she said slowly, as if weighing her thoughts carefully. "But this version of you... it feels different. It's like you're not putting on as much of a face. There's something more... honest about it, I guess… I like it."

That caught Majima off guard. He stared at her, his usual quick-witted retort getting stuck in his throat. He didn’t like thinking about himself like that—about this form being more him than his usual self. It was the opposite of what he wanted to believe. But Yasuko was looking at him with those kind, curious eyes, and it was hard to shrug her off.

"I... don't know what yer talkin' about," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. "Ain't nothin' different ‘bout me like this."

But Yasuko just gave him that same soft smile, shaking her head gently. "Maybe you don't see it, but I do." She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. "I'll see you later, Majima-san. Try not to overthink it, okay?"

Majima watched her leave, the door clicking shut behind her. He stayed still for a long moment, her words bouncing around in his head. More honest... That definitely wasn't a good thing. What the hell did Yasuko even mean by that? More him ? He stared down at his body—this monstrous, stretched, coiled mass of tail and scales, spikes and fangs. What part of this was better ? What was Yasuko even seeing in this thing that made her think he was somehow more authentic like this?

This —this freakish form—wasn't what he wanted to be. It wasn’t what he asked for. How could this be his true self when it felt so wrong to be this? It made his skin crawl, even more than the cold air that had been blowing on him earlier. He wasn’t supposed to be this way. There wasn’t anyone like him—not outside his ma’s side of family anyway and even then, that was just his grandpa. There wasn’t some secret underground group of freaks like him who met up in the dead of night to swap stories and support each other. It wasn’t like he could search bulletin boards or yellow pages ads and find an advertisement for "people who occasionally turn into snake monsters and eat humans" groups. There was nothing like that. He was alone in this.

Alone and wrong .

Majima leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling with a deep frown etched into his face. A nasty monster that eats people , and Yasuko thinks there’s something “honest” about that? What could possibly be appealing about learning that this —this nightmare, this thing—was who he truly was? His claws dug into his skin as he gripped his arms tighter, trying to ward off the gnawing ache in his chest. If this is what he was, what the hell did that say about the human side of him? The side that tried to act normal, that worked hard at keeping this thing hidden?

It’s not like he didn’t know what he was. He’d accepted it in some ways—hell, he had to. There was no escaping this form or the hunger that came with it. But he never wanted to think that this part of him, this monstrous version, was the real Majima . What was there to be happy about knowing this is what lay underneath his skin? Being human was supposed to be his default, not this... creature. The human part was supposed to be the real him.

But Yasuko was right, wasn’t she? She saw something he was too stubborn to admit. Being human was always the mask, the thing he put on to get by while this... this was lurking underneath, waiting for its turn.

Fuck no. He slammed his fist down onto the floor, the loud thud reverberating through the room. He didn’t want to believe that. Couldn’t. If he started thinking that way, he’d lose what was left of his sanity.

But the truth was digging its claws into his mind, refusing to let go.

Majima pulled his tail closer, coiling it tightly around his body like a shield. There was nothing comforting about it—he didn’t feel like himself, he felt trapped. He didn’t want this. Didn’t want to accept that the thing staring back at him in the mirror on days like these was who he really was. There had to be something more. Something human about him that was stronger than all this monstrous shit.

But every time he felt the hunger gnawing at his gut, every time his tail got in his way or his fangs ached with venom, he was reminded of how little control he had over any of it.

"More honest," Yasuko had said. Like she was happy to get to know him like this, as if it was some gift to see the real him. How could she be happy knowing that this was what he was—this beast that fed on corpses and had nearly broken himself apart trying to keep his body from exploding with lust? What kind of fucked-up honesty was that?

Majima shook his head, disgusted at himself, at the whole situation. There was no getting around it. He was a monster—just as wrong and freakish as he'd always believed. And no matter how much anyone wanted to pretend otherwise, he couldn’t ignore that truth forever. Even if the people closest to him were somehow okay with it, he wasn't. He couldn't be.

He was a parasite… a goddamn failed experiment of what could’ve been a happy family, twisted into this.

Majima gritted his teeth, frustration burning in his chest like acid. Both his parents were human—there wasn't any weird shit happening with their bodies. They were normal . They went about their lives like people do. His ma especially… she had been so good to him, and she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to have him— whatever the fuck he was —come from her body. It wasn’t fair. 

But his grandpa… yeah, he knew where it came from. His grandpa had been like him. Same fucked-up traits, same monstrous bullshit hidden underneath the surface. Majima knew it ran in the family, but the fact that it was genetic made it all the worse. This wasn’t just some curse you could exorcise or cleanse with some mystical ritual. No, this was locked into his fucking DNA .

He was born with it. Like having brown eyes, or being able to roll your tongue—except instead of freckles or some quirky little feature, he got this . The nightmare inside him wasn’t something that came and went. It was a goddamn gene, a hereditary disease passed down like a family heirloom, ensuring that he’d be stuck with it, whether he liked it or not.

Happy fuckin’ inheritance, Goro.

He remembered the first time he tried to prove himself wrong—tried to believe that maybe, just maybe, he really was a human first and the thing second. He’d gone to get one of those genetic marker tests done. Just for curiosity's sake, y'know? Maybe he’d find something reassuring, some proof that he wasn’t entirely alien.

But no. Of course not.

The results came back stamped in big, bold red letters: REJECTED.

Subject provided blood from non-human origins.

It was a slap in the face. Worse, it was a confirmation of everything he feared. He wasn’t human. Not even when he looked like one. This wasn’t some magical girl transformation, where he’d flip from normal to monstrous and back again. No, the real him was the beast, the monster with fangs and claws and a body designed to tear through flesh and devour. The man everyone saw on the streets, the guy in the yellow shirt and purple slacks, was the mask.

That was the fucking lie.

It’s sick. That’s what it was. He felt disgusting , like a walking disease pretending to be something he wasn’t. A beast trying to play dress-up as a human.

Majima breathed out harshly, a long, irritated sigh escaping his lips.

"Alright man, pity party's over," he muttered to himself, rubbing a hand down his face. It wasn’t gonna do him any good being upset. If that actually worked, he would’ve rid himself of this nasty snake body a long time ago, instead of having it mutate worse—stealing his legs and giving him those "fuck me" spines on his back. Yeah, real fuckin' upgrade there. Like he needed more reminders of how far from human he’d fallen.

But something else bugged him, that gnawing curiosity he couldn’t quite shake. He wondered if these changes to his form were by design. Almost like… sexual maturity for monsters, or whatever the fuck he was. He was 20 now, after all. Maybe his body thought it was time to start poppin' out kids or something. Animals always worked faster than people did in that regard, right? Snakes definitely weren’t an exception, he figured.

Still, whatever the case may be, outside of this freak accident with his hormones, he had to admit, he was a pretty horny bastard most of the time. Couldn't deny that. Like that receptionist—damn, he couldn’t wait to see her again.

Wait— shit , he completely forgot to call her!

Scrambling a bit, Majima grabbed the phone, which thankfully was still nearby. He slithered over to his discarded clothes, his long tail dragging lazily behind him. It was the black pants, right? He rummaged through the pockets, fishing around until he finally found the little note she’d given him.

Except it was kinda… smudged.

“ Goddammit ,” he muttered, staring at the damp edges and smeared ink. Must’ve been from when he was sweating his ass off in the alley, trying not to transform. His face twisted in frustration, but he squinted at the paper anyway, trying to make out the digits. It wasn’t entirely unreadable, just a little blurry.

Alright, gotta focus.

He squinted harder, lips pursed as he carefully started dialing the numbers, hoping to hell he wasn’t about to call some random old dude instead.

The phone rang on the other end, each tone dragging out longer than it should. C’mon... pick up, Majima thought, tapping his claws on the side of the handset. She had mentioned working until around 6 most days, so there was a chance she wasn’t home yet. Shit, I’ll probably hafta leave a message if she’s got one of those fancy answerin’ machines.

Just as he was about to hang up and try again later, the ringing stopped. There was a pause before a woman's voice came through, sounding a little surprised.

"Hello?"

Majima blinked, momentarily thrown off that she actually answered. He quickly cleared his throat and plastered on his smoothest tone. “Hey there, gorgeous. Is this the lovely broad from Takahashi Clinic?”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and then she answered, her voice hesitant but curious. "Uh, yeah, this is her."

Majima grinned, leaning back against the wall, feeling the charm practically seep through the phone. “Good, good. I was startin’ to worry ya’d slipped through my fingers already. It’s Majima, by the way. Ya remember me, right?”

Her tone shifted immediately, perking up with recognition. “Oh! Yes, I remember! I wasn’t expecting a call so soon…”

He could practically hear her blushing. The way her voice softened, the subtle shift in her tone—he had her hooked, and he hadn’t even turned the charm up to full blast yet.

“Well, I just had to call,” Majima continued, his grin widening. “Got this cute little note from ya, heart at the end and all, but... y’know, seems like ya forgot somethin’ kinda important.”

“Oh?” she sounded genuinely curious.

He let the anticipation build before delivering the punchline with a chuckle. “Yer name, sweetheart. How’s a guy supposed to get any rest when he doesn’t even know who he’s been dreamin’ about?”

She giggled, a bit shy but clearly enjoying the attention. “I’m Ayame.”

“Ayame, huh?” Majima let the name roll off his tongue slowly, savoring it. “Ayame-chan, now that is a beautiful name. I’ll be sure to remember that one.”

He could hear the slight hitch in her breath, confirming she was probably blushing harder. He decided to keep it up. “Listen, I can’t tonight, busy day and all, but I didn’t wanna leave ya hangin’. What do ya say, ya free in the next couple days?”

There was a pause, but he didn’t feel any nerves on her end. If anything, she sounded excited when she replied, “I have the evening off two days from now.”

Majima grinned again, leaning against the wall. “Perfect. I’ll make sure we have a good time, Ayame-chan. Ya take care ‘til then, yeah?”

"Yeah," she said softly. "I’m looking forward to it."

Majima hung up, feeling a little rush of adrenaline course through him. Two days... should be plenty of time to get my shit together.

Majima stretched, his back cracking as he reached his arms above his head and let out a satisfied sigh. Maybe the next few days won’t be so bad after all, he thought, tail flicking lazily against the floor. A little downtime, some good food, and if all went well, a night of fun with Ayame. Seemed like he had things lined up pretty nicely.

Still, the thought of Ayame lingered. She was gorgeous, no denying that—sweet smile, those big brown eyes that looked at him like he was the only guy in the room, and that cute short haircut. But he knew better than to let his thoughts go too far down that road. A relationship? Yeah, right. That wasn’t in the cards. Not for him, anyway.

What kind of woman wants to settle down with a guy who’s got a tail and a set of fuckin' spines on his back? He couldn't see it, couldn’t even picture how it would work. Sure, he could pass for human on a good day, but at the end of it, he was still a goddamn monster. And monsters didn’t get happy endings.

He chuckled bitterly to himself. How the hell did my grandpa manage it? The old bastard had somehow snagged a wife, convinced her to pop out a kid, and then handed down this cursed bloodline. Majima couldn't wrap his head around it. Maybe the old man had some sort of charm that made it all possible. Majima sure as hell didn’t.

And that’s why Ayame—beautiful as she was—would never be more than a fleeting thing. Something fun, a distraction. A bit of human warmth he could enjoy for a night, maybe two. That’s all it ever was gonna be. And Majima wasn’t gonna fool himself into thinking otherwise. He knew his place.

He felt a pang of guilt thinking about it, but he brushed it off quickly. She was cute, yeah, but that didn’t mean she’d be down for whatever long-term bullshit he was saddled with. Hell, he wouldn’t want to drag anyone into that kind of mess anyway. What would she even say if she found out what I am? She’d run for the hills, like any sane person.

“Better take what I can get while I can, huh?” Majima muttered to himself, leaning back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. Fleeting love was better than none at all. It beat paying for it, that was for sure. Not that he ever had the money to go that route anyway.

Majima groaned, rubbing a hand over his face as the hunger clawed at his insides, making itself known like a knot twisting in his gut. Fuck, I burned through a lot of calories last night, he thought, stomach rumbling louder than the thoughts in his head. But it was still daylight, the sun hanging high in the sky, casting light across Kamurocho’s busy streets. He couldn’t risk going out looking like this; tail and spines and all. He might as well paint a target on his back.

Majima clenched his stomach. Might be a two-corpse kind of night... He shuddered at the thought, still disgusted by the greasy bastard he ate last night. No bloated alcoholics this time, he reminded himself, wincing at the memory of the slop he’d had to chew through. God, the gut on that guy had been rancid. What the hell were ya thinking, man?

Did he lose his sense of personal taste over the past five years of starvation? Maybe. He could have easily passed on that corpse and scouted around for something better. Kamurocho wasn’t that dry. Hell, the docks always had fresh bodies dumped off by the yakuza or whoever else. He was getting sloppy, eating whatever was thrown in his face; A dog begging for scraps at the table while a full bowl of food sits elsewhere. Stupid is what it was. 

Majima sighed and leaned back on his hands, tail lazily flicking across the floor behind him. He couldn’t do anything about the hunger now. Trapped in this goddamn apartment with nothing to do. Shit, I’m like 30 feet long... where am I gonna go? He scanned the room, eyes landing on the sparse, near-empty shelves, and for a second, he thought about slithering over to Saejima and Yasuko’s place. Maybe he could snag a few magazines or something, something to pass the time. They probably had some old manga lying around, maybe a few glossy mags, who knew?

But the idea fizzled out just as quickly as it came. Broad daylight remember. Yer goin’ nowhere, snake freak.

So, instead, he sat back, staring at the ceiling, trying to distract himself from the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. He thought about Saejima, probably out and about working that new gig Sasai-han gave him. Kyoudai deserves it, Majima thought with a small smirk. He works hard, takes care of business. It just sucked that Saejima ended up in such a low-ranking family. The Sasai family wasn’t bad, they were tough and brought in good money, but they didn’t have the same power, the same presence as bigger families like Shimano’s.

Not that Majima would ever say that to Saejima. He knew how much pride his kyoudai took in working with Sasai-han. And to be fair, it wasn’t like Majima was at the top of the ladder himself. He was just another soldier in Shimano’s ranks, a subsidiary under the real powerhouse—the Dojima family.

That Dojima Sohei guy though? Majima couldn’t stand him. Only met him once, and that was enough. Got some real weird vibes from the guy. He looked like a frog too, all bloated and slimy. Something about him just... didn’t sit right.

Majima’s stomach growled again, louder this time, pulling him from his thoughts. Goddammit…

Hours dragged on, and the hunger gnawed at Majima like a parasite burrowing deeper into his gut. His stomach clenched painfully, every twist and spasm sending sharp jolts of discomfort through his entire body. Fuck, he thought, rolling over onto his side, trying to curl his tail into a tighter coil around himself. It didn’t help. It couldn’t, not when he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out.

At this point, he would’ve taken another one of those booze-soaked bastards from last night. Shit, anything’s better than this. His mouth watered at the thought of just... something, anything to stop the emptiness clawing at him.

The hunger wasn’t just a craving anymore. It was like a living thing inside him, desperate, angry, clawing at his ribs, demanding to be fed. His throat was dry, his hands shaky as he rubbed at his face, trying to ignore the way his muscles felt weak and tight, like they were going to seize up if he moved too quickly.

Majima’s tail thumped against the floor, the scales dragging across the boards as he shifted uncomfortably. He’d forgotten what this felt like—the sharp, biting edge of starvation. After so long of just not caring, of ignoring the need, suppressing the hunger, he’d gotten used to it. The emptiness had become a part of him, something he could deal with, manage.

But now that his body had gotten a taste of what it was like to be full again, it wanted more.

So demanding, he thought bitterly, clutching at his stomach as it twisted in on itself, the pain nearly doubling him over. His hands shook as he tried to sit up, every movement sending shocks of hunger pangs coursing through him.

Starving had been easier when he’d been doing it long term. When he’d convinced himself that he didn’t need to eat, that he didn’t need to feed on human flesh. Now, though? Now that his body had snapped back to its full monstrous nature, it was like he couldn’t go back. His stomach wasn’t letting him off the hook, not anymore. It wanted food—needed it—and it wasn’t going to let him forget it.

Fuck me, he thought, teeth grinding together as another wave of hunger hit him like a freight train, leaving him breathless and lightheaded. His vision swam, and for a moment, he had to steady himself, his hand gripping the edge of the low table in his apartment just to keep from swaying.

The pain was like fire, spreading through his limbs, making them heavy, sluggish. His tail twitched, the scales catching on the rough floor as he dragged himself across the room, muscles screaming in protest. Every part of him ached, every part of him begged for something— anything —to make it stop.

The worst part was the way his mind had begun to fixate on the smell of human flesh, the way his senses had kicked into overdrive, heightening the faintest whiff of anyone nearby. The streets outside were full of people, full of potential meals, and his nose twitched as he picked up on their scents. His mouth watered again, a disgusting, primal reaction to the thought of tearing through someone, of sinking his fangs into warm flesh, feeling the blood coat his tongue.

Gotta wait ‘til dark, he thought, frustration bubbling up alongside the hunger. Hours to go. Hours before he could slip out, find something, find someone. Fucking agony.

The scent hit Majima before the footsteps did. He could smell Saejima from at least 500 feet away, the familiar musky scent. It was comforting, in a way. Saejima’s scent had always felt like something stable, something he could rely on. After all these years, it started smelling like home, like something he knew wouldn’t just vanish on him.

Fuckin’ guy always knows when to show up, Majima thought, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite the gnawing hunger that twisted in his gut. Maybe it was instinct at this point, but Saejima had this uncanny ability to be around when Majima needed him—whether he admitted it or not.

Maybe he could... No, no, he couldn’t ask Saejima to find him something. That wasn’t right, wasn’t fair. What was he gonna do, make Saejima drag a corpse up the steps and dump it in his apartment like some fucked-up takeout delivery? Nah, can’t do that, Majima shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face.

Besides, eating where he slept? That was just… wrong. Even for him. He never mixed his spaces like that—eating where he fucked or slept was a hard no. It felt too feral, too much like an animal. Gotta have some standards, man.

The gnawing was getting worse though, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard, trying to fight the urge to think about food. He could feel it though, that familiar tension building in his neck. The venom glands, getting heavier by the hour. Great. Gonna need to be milked again. His body was stuck in this weird freak mode, always on overdrive, always demanding something. First the hunger, now this. Had to be that fuckin’ drug Shimano had him injected with.

Can’t I catch a fuckin’ break?

Majima could hear Saejima’s footsteps approaching now, a slow, measured pace, probably tired from whatever he’d been up to all day. And Majima was grateful—if nothing else, Saejima was a good distraction. Something to take his mind off the burning hunger, even for a little while.

When the door slid open, Majima didn’t even have to look to know it was him. “Oi, ya look like shit,” Saejima muttered as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft thud.

“Yeah? Well, I could smell ya a mile away. Go take a shower or somethin’ instead of inspectin’ my looks.” Majima quipped back, his voice rougher than usual, strained from trying to keep his shit together.

Saejima raised a brow but didn’t say anything right away, just gave Majima a once-over, his eyes narrowing a bit. He could tell something was off. “Ya alright?”

Majima snorted, but it lacked any real humor. “No... Waitin’ for nightfall so I can go find somethin’ to eat. I’m fuckin’ starvin’. Don’t think the neighbors would appreciate a 30-foot snake draggin’ his ass down the street in broad daylight though, y’know?”

Saejima grunted in response, nodding as he made his way further inside, dropping himself down at the low table. Majima tried not to focus too much on how loud Saejima’s heartbeat sounded, how warm his body felt just sitting across from him. Fuckin’ appetite needs to calm the hell down.

“What about you?” Majima asked, trying to keep the conversation going. “How’s the new gig?”

Saejima sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothin’ exciting yet. Just grunt work. Paper shufflin’, runnin’ errands. Sasai-han’s got somethin’ big planned though. Said he’d let me in on it once I’ve proven myself.” He glanced over at Majima again, his eyes narrowing in concern. “Ya look worse than I thought, man. Ya sure ya don’t need…?”

“Nah,” Majima cut him off, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine once the sun goes down. Just hungry. Ain’t nothin’ ya can do about that unless ya plan on diggin’ up a corpse and tossin’ it through my window.” He forced a grin, but it came out more strained than he intended.

Saejima chuckled softly, though the concern was still written all over his face. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Nah, don’t think I’ll be doin’ that.”

Majima nodded, trying to push through the discomfort. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t wanna eat where I fuckin’ sleep.” He sighed, slumping down onto the floor, his back against the wall, tail coiled loosely around him.

The room was quiet for a moment, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside. Majima’s stomach growled, loud and angry, and Saejima shot him a look. “Ya really need to get outta here tonight, huh?”

“Yeah,” Majima grunted, pressing a hand to his gut. “Can’t keep this shit up.”

But there was another problem. The tightness in his throat was getting worse. The venom was building again, just like last night, and the thought of having to ask Saejima to milk him again was enough to make Majima groan in frustration. Can’t keep askin’ him to do this shit…

Saejima, ever the observant one, caught on quickly. “It’s yer throat, ain’t it?”

Majima blinked, looking up at him. “Yeah.”

“Ya need me to—”

“ Yeah, ” Majima cut him off, not wanting to drag it out. It was humiliating enough the first time, but now it was just becoming routine, which he absolutely hated the idea of. “But let’s do it after I get somethin’ to eat, alright? Don’t need to add that shit to the list right now.”

Saejima nodded, a little more understanding in his gaze than Majima deserved. “Alright.”

The silence stretched between them again, but this time, it wasn’t as heavy. Majima leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the hunger and the venom weighing down his body. Soon, he told himself. Just gotta wait a little longer.

Majima’s throat was getting tighter by the second, and he could already tell the plan of waiting until after the hunt was a wash. The annoying urge to swallow was back, like the persistent scratch of a sore throat that wouldn’t leave him alone. Each time he swallowed, it felt worse, like something thick and heavy was lodged in there, only getting worse as the venom glands filled up.

He tried to focus on the radio Saejima had turned on, the familiar commentary of the Tigers game filling the apartment. The usual noise that would’ve helped distract him now just felt distant, almost like it was playing underwater. His body was too busy trying to remind him of the pressure building in his neck, and how breathing was going to be a problem real soon if he didn’t handle it.

Across the room, Saejima, ever the quiet observer, had already noticed. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. Instead, he just got up, walked over to Majima’s small kitchenette, and grabbed a bowl from one of the cupboards.

Majima barely registered the movement, too caught up in his own discomfort to pay much attention. The game continued on, the crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd. The sound should’ve made him feel something, but all he could focus on was his damn throat.

It wasn’t until Saejima was right in front of him that Majima even noticed he was there, and by then it was too late. Saejima grabbed him by the back of his head, yanking it up before forcing it down onto the rim of the bowl he’d set on the low table in front of Majima.

“The fuck are ya—?!” Majima growled, instinct kicking in hard. He thrashed immediately, the sudden movement triggering the fight response in him, especially when he felt his fangs begin to stretch. His brain went into full monster mode as soon as his fangs started pushing out against his gums, elongating painfully as Saejima’s grip held him in place.

“Hold still,” Saejima grunted, his voice steady as his free hand worked its way up Majima’s neck, massaging the swollen venom glands beneath the surface. His fingers pressed firmly in an upward motion, coaxing the venom out, much to Majima’s immediate dismay.

The pressure was excruciating, and the sensation of his fangs being forcefully drawn out only made him struggle more. His tail twitched violently behind him, body thrashing as his primal brain screamed get away, get away, get away!

“ Shit— Taiga—” Majima tried to shout, but all that came out was a guttural snarl. His hands gripped the table as his body jolted in an attempt to break free from Saejima’s grip.

Saejima didn’t let up. He’d been through this before—he knew Majima’s instincts would tell him to fight, and he also knew that not getting the venom out now would mean bigger problems later.

With his hand firmly on Majima’s head, he pushed his fangs further onto the bowl’s rim, making sure they were fully extended. Then, with practiced precision, his other hand worked in slow, deliberate strokes up Majima’s throat, each motion pulling more venom out. It dripped from the fangs, thick and acrid, pooling into the bowl with a quiet drip, drip, drip .

Majima’s entire body seized with each pull, his throat spasming as the venom glands were forcibly emptied. It was like having someone squeeze the breath out of him, the pressure so intense he felt like he was suffocating. He tried to jerk his head away, but Saejima’s grip was ironclad.

“ Fuckin’... hurts! ” Majima growled between ragged breaths, but his words were cut off by another guttural snarl as Saejima pressed harder.

“Yeah, I know,” Saejima replied gruffly, his tone devoid of pity but not without understanding. He didn’t stop, his hands working efficiently, ignoring Majima’s struggles as he continued to milk the venom from the glands.

The bowl was filling quickly now, the sickly yellow liquid gathering at the bottom as Saejima worked. Majima’s body was still in full rebellion mode, every instinct screaming at him to get away, to stop the pain, but he couldn’t move. Every thrash was met with Saejima’s unyielding strength, and no matter how much Majima’s monster side wanted to fight, there was no getting out of it.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the flow began to slow. The tension in Majima’s throat began to ease, though the soreness remained, a dull ache settling in as his fangs retracted back into his gums.

“Done,” Saejima said, finally releasing his grip on Majima’s head and stepping back.

Majima collapsed forward, his chest heaving as he caught his breath, the remnants of the venom still clinging to his fangs. He spat into the bowl, trying to clear the bitter taste from his mouth as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“ Shit, ” he muttered, his voice raw and ragged. “Warn a guy next time, huh?”

Saejima crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “If I warned ya, ya’d just fight it sooner and I’d have a harder time gettin’ yer fangs out proper.”

Majima shot him a glare. He knew Saejima was right. Doesn’t make it any less of a pain in the ass, though.

“Thanks,” Majima grumbled. He wiped the last of the venom from his lips, the acrid taste still lingering on his tongue.

Saejima just nodded, not making a big deal out of it. "Ya good now?"

"Yeah," Majima said, finally managing to sit up straight again, his tail twitching slightly as he adjusted his position. "Still hungry as hell though."

"Sun’ll be down soon. Ya'll manage."

Majima nodded, though his stomach growled loudly in protest. " Barely, " he muttered under his breath.

Chapter Text

Another hour ticked by, and Majima’s hunger had only grown more vicious, gnawing at him from the inside out. Every minute felt like it stretched into an eternity, the need for food clawing at his guts, consuming him.

Hungry…

His gaze drifted to Saejima, sitting across the room. He licked his lips without thinking, his tongue flicking out more frequently, tasting the stale air of the apartment and the fresh scent that came through the cracks in the door. But the taste that lingered most, the scent that drew him in like a moth to a flame, was Saejima’s. The musk of his skin, the warmth radiating from his body, the way his sweat seemed to call to Majima’s insides, begging to be devoured.

Starving…

He couldn’t stop staring. Every time Saejima moved, his muscles tensing and relaxing beneath his shirt, Majima felt his body twitch, his own muscles coiling tight, ready to spring. His tongue flicked out again, tasting the air around Saejima, picking up every faint note of his scent.

Fuck, he smells so good…

Majima’s pupils dilated as he continued to watch Saejima, his eyes never blinking, never wavering. It wasn’t subtle anymore—he wasn’t just glancing over every now and then. Now, he was holding his gaze, letting his kyoudai see the hunger burning in his eyes. He didn’t even flinch when Saejima finally looked over, catching him in the act.

The room grew still.

Saejima’s heart was pounding in his chest, so loud it drowned out everything else, the rush of blood in his ears almost deafening. He didn’t know what it was, but something deep inside him was screaming at him to run. He had never felt this before, not even in all the fights he’d been in. This was different. This was a fear response most humans didn’t even know they had, something buried deep in the recesses of their DNA, a warning: you’re being hunted.

Majima’s eyes remained locked on him, unblinking, his gaze sharp and predatory. There was no mistaking it now. He wasn’t just looking at Saejima—he was considering him. Every fiber of his body was on edge, coiled, tense, ready to strike. It sent a shiver up Saejima’s spine, his pulse quickening, adrenaline flooding his system in a dump so sudden that his vision went hazy for a moment.

The room felt too small now. Too close.

He needed to get out of here. Now.

Saejima stood up slowly, trying to keep his movements calm, deliberate. If he made any sudden motions, he wasn’t sure what Majima might do. He kept his eyes on him the entire time, watching the way Majima’s pupils tracked his every move, the way his chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, as if trying to restrain himself.

“Maybe it’s time I head back to my place for a bit,” Saejima said, his voice low and even, trying to keep it casual. “Yer lookin’ like ya could use some alone time before we head out tonight… Maybe I’ll come back when it’s darker, help ya find somethin’ to eat.”

Majima didn’t respond. Not really. He gave a slight nod, but his eyes never left Saejima’s face, and it was clear he wasn’t fully processing what was being said. His mind was elsewhere—somewhere deep in that gnawing hunger, too far gone to listen properly.

Saejima took a step back, his heart still racing, and then he felt it—something soft and cool brushing against his foot. He glanced down, his stomach dropping. Majima’s tail, smooth and scaled, was slowly winding its way around Saejima’s ankle, languid and deliberate.

“Kyoudai…” Saejima’s voice was steady, but there was an edge of warning to it. He didn’t move, didn’t pull his foot away, just stood there, watching as the tail tightened, the pressure light but unmistakable. Majima was still sitting there, but his body was shifting, his tail moving with purpose, drawing Saejima closer, inch by inch.

Majima’s tongue flicked out again, longer this time, tasting the air around Saejima, his eyes dark and hungry.

Shit.

Saejima swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to the window. It was still too light out, not dark enough for Majima to safely head out. But if he didn’t get him something soon—if he didn’t remove himself from this fucking situation —he had a feeling he might be on the menu tonight.

He needed to go.

Majima’s tail yanked Saejima closer, pulling the big man off balance, and for a second, Majima didn’t even register what he was doing. His pupils fluttered, dilating and retracting in rapid succession as he watched Saejima lurch forward, his eyes wide and mouth moving, saying something Majima couldn’t hear.

Fuck, he doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him, does he?

The thought swam lazily through his mind, clouded by the gnawing hunger that had overtaken everything else. Saejima was all muscle— good meat. Wouldn’t be quick to digest, but he could practically feel his teeth sinking into the thick flesh, stripping the meat clean off the bone.

Saejima’s lips were moving again, words spilling out of his mouth, but Majima couldn’t focus on them. His stomach twisted painfully, the hunger blurring his vision.

So fuckin’ hungry…

His tail coiled tighter, winding further up Saejima’s leg, locking his knee in place, squeezing so hard it was cutting off circulation. The big man stumbled forward again, closer, until he was practically looming over Majima, looking down at him with… fear? Confusion?

No, wait. Not fear. Saejima looked like he was about to cry.

Why does he look like that? Why does he look like I’m about to…

Majima’s thoughts trailed off as he glanced down at his own tail, finally realizing the way it was wrapped tight around Saejima’s leg, holding him there like prey, coiled so tightly that the muscle twitched with strain.

Oh…

Oh, fuck.

His tail snapped loose immediately, releasing Saejima’s leg so fast that the big man almost stumbled backward. Majima scrambled away, burrowing into the nearest corner. Panic roared through his body, the hunger momentarily shoved aside by an overwhelming, sinking realization. 

I almost fuckin’ hurt him…

This was it, wasn’t it? The moment everything fell apart. The moment Saejima looked at him like the freak he was and finally left for good. Majima could already feel the pit forming in his stomach, the deep, gnawing emptiness that was about to swallow him whole.

Saejima was going to leave. He was going to get the fuck out of here now that he’s realized what a threat Majima really was.

Majima curled tighter into himself, his tail coiling defensively around his body, hiding from whatever look Saejima was giving him now. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to see the disgust, the betrayal. Didn’t want to see his kyoudai’s face twist up in fear, in anger, in anything that confirmed what Majima had always known deep down: that he didn’t deserve to be around people.

He was a freak. A goddamn monster.

And Saejima was going to leave. Of course he was. Majima would have left too if he were in his place. He would have gotten as far away as possible from this— this thing that could barely control its hunger, this thing that was always one step away from snapping and sinking its teeth into the nearest living thing.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. He was going to be alone again, and he couldn’t fucking blame him. Not even a little bit.

I deserve this.

I deserve to be left alone. Like the creature I am.

Majima curled in tighter, desperate to disappear. Every inch of him screamed to make himself smaller, to fold in on himself until he became nothing—just a shadow, a forgotten shape against the wall. His heart pounded in his chest, echoing in his ears as the shame, panic, and fear tangled together in a suffocating knot. He could feel his own claws digging into his scalp, each sharp press like a desperate attempt to ground himself in the pain, to keep from spiraling completely out of control.

But then, something warm and heavy draped over him—a blanket, soft and comforting, but more importantly, it smelled like Saejima. It was his blanket, the one he’d wrapped around himself earlier. The scent hit Majima’s senses like a tidal wave, and his whole body tensed.

He felt a hand touch his tail, the thin, sensitive end of it that had still been poking out from under the blanket. Saejima picked it up gently, his fingers carefully curling the thin appendage around his wrist like it was nothing. Like he didn’t realize how easily Majima could use that tail to yank him down, overpower him in a second if he lost control again.

What the fuck is he doing?

Majima’s breath hitched. Saejima’s touch was so calm, so steady. Another hand came down, pressing lightly on Majima’s back, right over the blanket. The weight of it pinned Majima’s spines flat beneath the fabric, locking them against his skin in a way that felt... soothing.

"Kyoudai."

Majima didn’t want to listen. Didn’t want to hear whatever farewell Saejima was going to give him—he didn’t want to hear him explain why he and Yasuko needed to leave Kamurocho, why they couldn’t stay around a freak like him. He wasn’t interested in hearing about how it wasn’t Majima’s fault, that this was just how things were.

Majima could feel the tears welling up behind his eyes, stinging as he tried to keep them from spilling. Please don’t. Don’t say it. Don’t leave me.

He’d never gotten a proper goodbye from anyone. Not one that mattered, anyway. His father had seen to that, leaving him with the scars—both the ones visible and the ones no one could see. The only person who knew what Majima really was had left him for dead years ago. No one had ever stayed. No one ever would.

Under the blanket, Majima continued clawing at his scalp, the sharp points digging in harder as the thoughts swirled. He didn’t want to hear Saejima’s goodbye. He wasn’t sure he could survive it.

"Kyoudai, are ya okay?"

What?

Majima froze. He stopped tearing at his hair and held his breath, the question echoing in his mind like a shockwave. Am I okay?

That wasn’t a goodbye. Saejima wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t saying anything about running off or abandoning him or... anything like that.

Majima blinked hard, his tears finally spilling out against his will, soaking into the blanket. He didn’t understand. Why wasn’t Saejima disgusted? Why wasn’t he furious?

Saejima’s hand stayed firm on Majima’s back, grounding him. His voice was calm, almost tender.

“Kyoudai... talk to me.”

Majima shook his head under the blanket, curling in tighter. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

“Kyoudai, please.”

Saejima’s fingers traced a circle on his tail, still wrapped loosely around his wrist. The motion was soothing, like he was trying to coax a cornered animal out of hiding. Majima could feel it—could feel that deep, unshakable connection between them, the one that made them closer than breath, that made them kyoudai.

“I’m not leavin’, Goro,” Saejima’s voice was low but firm. “C’mon, look at me, please.”

Majima’s throat tightened. Don’t say that, don’t make promises...

But Saejima wasn’t moving, wasn’t pulling away. If anything, his grip on Majima’s tail tightened, reassuring.

Saejima wasn’t steady—far from it, actually. His body was still trembling from the adrenaline and the realization that he had come this close to being a meal was still very fresh in his mind. He wasn’t dumb; he’d seen that look in Majima’s eyes, felt the weight of the predator’s gaze. The sharp tug of Majima’s tail had nearly yanked him off his feet, pulling him into what would’ve been a death sentence. He knew it. Hell, Majima knew it.

But Majima stopped himself. Something clicked in that brain of his, pulling him back from the edge, and now, instead of being a threat, he was crumpled into a corner, trembling and silent. Majima wasn’t looking at him now—he was hiding. Hiding in his own apartment, like it would save him from the inevitable. His tears gave him away though. The shaking, the soft tremors Saejima could feel under his palm, they told Saejima all he needed to know.

Majima had been living this way his whole life. Constantly battling what he was, keeping that monster leashed and hidden. And the only person who had ever understood him, ever made him feel like he belonged in this fucked-up world, had died. Now, Majima had no one—except Saejima. And Saejima had sworn oaths to him, just like Majima had. Oaths that he wasn’t about to break just because things got weird or tough.

Saejima’s voice was gentle, steady, as he asked again, “Kyoudai, are ya okay?”

That word— Kyoudai —meant everything to both of them. It wasn’t just a title, it was a bond. A promise.

Majima started to shake harder, his breaths ragged as he tried so desperately to hold back the sobs threatening to break free. He didn’t want to cry harder, didn’t want to make any noise. He didn’t want to be seen like this—weak, vulnerable, exposed.

Saejima sighed quietly, sitting down beside him, never taking his hand off Majima’s back. His other hand gently played with the very end of Majima’s tail, running it between his fingers like he was absentmindedly toying with a piece of string. But the motion was deliberate, comforting.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the silence stretch on between them. Then, Saejima cleared his throat, his voice quieter than before. “Y’know… Yasuko and I, we’ve been on our own for a long time. Way before we came to Kamurocho.”

Majima didn’t move. He stayed curled up, tucked tightly under the blanket, but his tail flicked just slightly. Saejima noticed and continued.

“Our parents both died when we were young. Don’t remember much, to be honest. It’s all kind of a blur—like a bad dream I’ve tried to forget. But after that… we didn’t have anyone. Some relatives took us in, distant family. They weren’t bad people or anythin’, but I always felt like a burden. Like… no matter what I did, I was just another mouth to feed.”

Saejima paused, his fingers still absently curling Majima’s tail around his wrist. “It wasn’t their fault, really. They were doing their best, but I could tell. They didn’t want us there, not really. They had their own problems, their own lives, and we just didn’t fit. I felt it every day, like this weight hanging over my head. I tried to help out, tried to be useful, but it didn’t matter. I was a reminder of something they didn’t want to deal with.”

Majima’s breath hitched, and Saejima could feel the tension in his body, the way his tail subtly tightened around his wrist. Saejima knew what that was—Majima felt the same. Always feeling like he didn’t belong. Like he was too much for anyone to handle.

“That’s why we left,” Saejima continued, his voice softening. “When I was old enough, I took Yasuko, and we just… left. Came here. Tried to start over. It wasn’t easy. Hell, it still isn’t. But I figured, if no one was gonna look out for us, we’d look out for each other. She’s my family. Yer my family.”

Majima’s tears were falling silently now, soaking into the blanket as Saejima kept talking, his hand a steady weight on Majima’s back.

“I get it, Goro. Maybe not in the same way, but I do get feelin’ like ya don’t belong anywhere. Like yer too much, or too different, or too fucked up for anyone to deal with. But yer not alone. Ya got me. Ya got Yasuko too.”

Majima finally let out a shaky breath, the sob he’d been holding back escaping in a small, broken sound. He couldn’t stop it anymore, couldn’t keep it all in.

Saejima’s grip on his tail tightened slightly, just enough to remind Majima that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m right here, Kyoudai,” Saejima murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I’m not leaving ya. Not ever.”

Majima’s mind was a hurricane of chaos, a relentless storm ripping him apart from the inside out. He should be running by now, he thought, his grip on Saejima tightening as that nagging voice in his head grew louder. He should be protectin’ himself and Yasuko. Hell, if he had any fuckin' sense, he'd be killin’ me right now! Or at least runnin’ me out of town!

Majima’s tail coiled tighter around Saejima’s wrist, and he could feel the powerful pulse of the big man’s blood under his scales. It only made the hunger gnaw harder in his gut. What the fuck is wrong with him? Majima’s thoughts raced. Why isn’t he scared? Why isn't he...

But before he could finish the thought, a wave of rage surged through him, hotter and more intense than anything he had felt in years. Majima snapped, unable to hold back any longer. Without warning, his tail yanked Saejima down to the floor. He could hear the thud as Saejima’s back hit the wood, the air rushing from his lungs, but the big man didn't fight back, didn’t throw him off.

I’ll make him run, Majima's inner voice snarled. I’ll show him. Show him what he’s fuckin' dealing with.

Majima's fangs bared as he pressed Saejima down, his eyes flashing with that animalistic hunger and a need to make him understand. His spines flared for intimidation, sharp and dangerous, his claws sinking deep into the floorboards on either side of Saejima's head. Venom dripped from his exposed fangs, hissing as it hit the wood beneath them. His breath came out in hot, ragged gasps as he stared down at his kyoudai, waiting— expecting —for the fear to finally break through, for Saejima to realize this was it.

But instead, Saejima yelled right back at him. "It isn’t gonna work on me, Goro!"

The words hit Majima like a punch to the gut. Saejima didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. He wasn’t scared.

Majima pushed harder, his tail winding tighter, claws digging deep into the floor, fangs inches from Saejima's face. "Ya shouldn’t be protectin' me! Ya shouldn’t be lookin' out fer a freak, a fuckin' monster !" His voice cracked, venom continuing to drip from his fangs, pooling in tiny greenish-yellow drops on the floor. "Yer gonna get yerself killed! Yasuko’s gonna spend the rest of her life alone because ya won’t run!"

Saejima’s jaw clenched, his eyes burning with an intensity that Majima had rarely seen before. "I’ll never run." His voice was low, but it was full of conviction, unshakable, like a mountain refusing to move, no matter how hard the storm raged around it.

Majima’s heart slammed against his ribs. The rage, the fear, the hunger—all of it twisted together, pulling him in every direction at once. Before he could stop himself, the words tore out of him, raw and broken. "Then fuckin' kill me!"

The room went silent.

Saejima’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t move. Majima’s venomous fangs were still bared, but his whole body was trembling now. The words hung between them, heavy and desperate. Majima’s chest heaved with uneven breaths, his eyes glistening with tears that hadn’t yet fallen, holding on by the thinnest thread.

" Kill me, " Majima repeated, his voice barely above a whisper now. The fight was gone, venom still dripping. " Get it over with. Finish what my old man couldn’t. There’s gotta be a way… Gotta be a way to end this fuckin’ nightmare…" His voice cracked, and he lowered his head, staring at the venom pooling beneath him.

The tears finally broke free again, sliding down his cheeks in slow, heavy streams. He didn’t bother to wipe them away.

"Please..." His voice was so soft now, broken, nothing like the fierce predator Saejima had seen moments before. " Please, I don’t wanna do this anymore..." He sniffled, swallowing thickly. "I don’t wanna be this anymore..."

The venom stopped dripping, but the tears didn’t. They fell freely, soaking into the floorboards beneath Majima’s trembling hands. He wasn’t staring at Saejima anymore. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to see the disappointment, the fear—didn’t want to see Saejima’s final judgment.

Instead, he waited. Waited for the knife to come down, for the death he thought he deserved. Because in his mind, in that moment, anything was better than living like this.

“That is enough! ” Yasuko’s voice pierced through the tension, the door slamming shut behind her. Majima jerked his head toward her, startled by the sudden interruption. She stomped over, not even bothering to take her shoes off before her hand flew through the air and cracked across Majima’s face.

“You do not get to say that,” she snapped, her eyes blazing with fury. “You do not get to request something like that from him!”

The sting of her slap rang through Majima’s body, but it was the words that hit hardest. He blinked, stunned, as he looked back down at Saejima. Saejima’s expression was one of fierce determination, but his glare was loaded with something else too—something deeper, something Majima couldn’t quite place.

Majima’s chest tightened, and he turned to Yasuko, still straddling Saejima, pinning him to the floor. His eyes were full of tears, spilling freely, confusion wrapping around his heart like a vice. Yasuko’s words cut through him, and her presence in the room felt like a force of nature, something unstoppable.

“You don’t get to decide that you’re not worth it to us,” she said, her voice lower now but no less intense. “You don’t get to say you’re not a good thing in our lives.”

Majima shook his head. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t. “Ya weren’t there !” he shot back, his voice cracking, raw from the venom of his earlier rage. His body trembled, still pressing Saejima down. “Ya didn’t see the way I was lookin' at him! Ya didn’t see what I was about to do! ” His breath hitched, panic rising in his throat. “I forced him closer, Yasuko! My mouth was watering, thinking about... about tearing him apart! Ya don’t get it! Yer just as fuckin' dense as he is!” His fangs flashed as he spat the words. “Why can’t either of ya see it? I’m not worth it! I’m better off de—”

“No!” Yasuko fired back, her voice cutting him off sharply. She stepped closer, her hand balled into fists. “You don’t get to decide that for us, Majima.” Her eyes were locked on his, unwavering. “You don’t get to put yourself below the rest of us. You don’t get to tell us what we should feel about you. We’ve been here, with you, for five years! We’ve stayed! We’ve chosen you.”

Majima’s breath hitched, his claws digging into the floor beneath him. He faltered, his anger deflating, and for a moment he didn’t know what to say. His body still shook with adrenaline, his head a mess of shame and frustration. He glanced at Saejima, who was still pinned beneath him but wasn’t fighting back. The big man just looked back at him, silent, his patience endless.

Majima’s voice wavered, suddenly fragile. “I’m so... fuckin' hungry, ” he whispered down to Saejima, the confession breaking out of him. His stomach clenched, the hunger gnawing at him relentlessly. “It’s... it’s tearing me apart...”

Saejima, who had been silent through the entire exchange, finally spoke up. His voice was calm, but firm. “It’s dark enough now,” he said quietly, looking Majima in the eye. “Let’s go get some grub.”

Majima’s head snapped back to Saejima, anger flaring back up in his chest. “Stop sayin' that! ” he snarled, his fists tightening, claws sinking further into the floor. “Stop... stop tryin' to help! ” His voice cracked again, the anger mixing with desperation, a pit of confusion and pain swirling inside him. He didn't understand why they were still here. Why they kept staying. Why they didn’t just leave him to rot.

But Saejima didn’t flinch. He just stared back, calm and unmoving.

“Not gonna stop,” Saejima said, his voice steady. “I’m not leavin' ya. I already told ya that. Yer my kyoudai. ”

Majima's breath hitched again, and he felt something inside him start to crumble. The anger wasn’t enough to hold it together anymore. His grip on Saejima loosened, and his eyes blurred with tears again. The hunger gnawed, the shame ate at him, but their presence—Yasuko’s fierce, unwavering loyalty and Saejima’s quiet strength—kept pulling him back.

“C’mon,” Saejima said again, his hand still gently gripping Majima’s tail. “Let’s getcha fed.”

Majima blinked, his gaze drifting down to where his tail still coiled loosely around Saejima’s wrist. Even after everything, after he’d yanked him to the floor, threatened him, hissed in his face with venom dripping from his fangs... he hadn’t let go. His body had kept that soft hold on Saejima’s wrist.

Why? Why hadn’t he let go? Why had he given Saejima that lifeline, that tiny thread that whispered he didn’t want to be left alone, didn’t want to be abandoned?

He felt Saejima’s thumb brush gently over his scales, squeezing just a little to pull his attention. His heart stuttered at the touch, at the warmth and steadiness of it. Slowly, Majima lifted his gaze from where their bodies still connected, his eyes landing on Saejima’s face.

Saejima was smiling at him, warm and patient, as if none of the venom, the rage, or the panic had ever happened. “It’s dark enough out,” Saejima said softly, his voice calm, steady. “Ya need to eat. Yer probably emotional ‘cause yer hungry.”

Majima blinked again, surprised. Then a soft, disbelieving laugh escaped his throat, raspy and low. What the fuck? Only Saejima could say something like that after being pinned down by a monster and just... brush it off like it was nothing. Like it was just a bad mood, not the nearly lethal episode that had nearly played out.

“Ya callin’ me hangry right now?” Majima muttered, a shaky smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “That’s a hell of a way to put it.” He loosened his grip on Saejima’s wrist even more, his tail slowly uncoiling.

But Saejima’s hand stayed there, holding onto him, his thumb still brushing gently over Majima’s scales. Like he was trying to remind him— I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

Majima’s chest ached at the gesture, a knot tightening in his throat. Why do ya do this, man? he wanted to ask. Why are ya still here? But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just shook his head, leaning back a little to give Saejima room to sit up.

Saejima slowly pushed himself off the floor, brushing off his pants before standing. He held out a hand to Majima. “Come on, Goro,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Let’s go find ya something to eat.”

Majima looked up at him, swallowing down the mess of emotions still swirling inside him. He nodded, taking Saejima’s hand and letting him pull him up. He felt unsteady, his body still buzzing from everything that had just happened. Majima’s tail swayed slightly behind him, the end still curling instinctively toward Saejima’s leg like it couldn’t help but seek that connection.

They made their way to the door, the cool night air filtering in through the cracks. The hunger flared again, sharp and demanding, and Majima knew he didn’t have much time before the real pain started kicking in. His stomach twisted, and his throat felt tight, his fangs itching for the taste of flesh.

Yasuko stared at him, now smiling that calm, patient smile. “I’m sure you’ll feel better once you’ve eaten,” she said casually, as if this was all perfectly normal. As if him and her brother weren’t about to go out and hunt down a corpse for Majima to tear into.

Majima let out another breathless laugh, shaking his head as they stepped outside into the night. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the dark alleyways of Kamurocho across the street. “Guess I might just be a little less emotional after that.”

Majima moved with caution, his massive tail sliding silently across the pavement, his body hunched low to the ground. Every inch of his monstrous form was coiled tight, muscles flexed, his instincts screaming to stay out of sight. Thirty feet of scales, fangs, and spines didn’t exactly lend itself to blending in.

But there was no hiding his size, his smell, his presence. He could practically feel the eyes that would lock onto him if he wasn't careful, his monstrous silhouette too distinctive in the wrong lighting. His heart hammered against his ribs from the fear crawling up his spine. Gotta stay outta sight. Can't fuck this up.

He glided down the stairs of his apartment building, his senses on high alert, tasting the air, listening for anything suspicious. Kamurocho's nightlife was in full swing, people flooding the streets now that the bars and clubs had kicked up. Normally, he’d relish in the buzz, the intoxicating energy that came with the city after dark, but tonight… tonight it was risky.

He could smell them everywhere. Humans. Warm flesh, hot blood, pulsing hearts. It was enough to make his mouth water, his fangs ache. His belly growled, the hunger roaring back to life, gnawing at him with a vengeance. It twisted and writhed in his gut, demanding satisfaction, something to tear into, to feed on.

Not yet, Goro. Keep it together.

"Deep breaths," he whispered under his breath, trying to steady the wild beat of his heart. "Ya can do this." He had to believe that. If he didn't, it was over. His spines lay flat against his back as he slunk down the alleyway, keeping low, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow, scanning for any sign of a corpse. Nothing here. The scent of human decay was missing, only the stench of the city clinging to the walls.

Majima’s tail flicked nervously, his muscles twitching. Every scent in the air was too fresh. No bodies dumped in this alley. He gritted his teeth, moving swiftly to the next one. Maybe there’ll be somethin’ further out, he thought. Something the streets hadn’t swallowed up yet.

From a distance, Saejima kept his eyes on Majima. He didn’t say a word, just followed, trailing behind like a silent sentinel. He knew better than to interfere, but watching Majima slink and writhe through the alleys, a mess of coiled nerves and hunger, made Saejima’s gut twist. He could see it in his kyoudai’s movements—the sharp, desperate looks around, the way Majima was scared to move too fast, too open. Majima was a predator in every way, but there was an edge of fear to the way he slithered through the dark tonight in particular.

Damn, man… Saejima thought, his heart heavy as he watched his friend trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable. Majima, who never let fear get the better of him, was scared. 

Maybe it’s cause he’s got those spines now or somethin’. Harder to hide that way I ‘spose. 

Majima slithered deeper into the shadows, his body tense, muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. He ducked into another alley, the neon lights from the street casting faint glows against the walls, but it wasn’t deep enough. There were still too many people around, the city alive with noise and movement.

Not this one. Keep going.

The hunger clawed at him, making his stomach churn painfully. His vision blurred slightly at the edges, the gnawing emptiness spreading through his limbs. He needed to eat. Soon.

Twenty minutes. Twenty fuckin’ minutes , and not a single body to be found. Majima’s patience was wearing thin, his hunger turning into an angry knot that twisted and gnawed at his insides. There was always something, always someone—dumped, dead, ripe. Hell, sometimes he'd even find a body way too far gone, flesh practically falling off the bone, but still something to tear into.

Tonight, though? Nothing.

It was driving him insane. The city, usually so full of death lurking just beneath the surface, had apparently decided to fuck with him. He could feel the hunger gnashing at the back of his throat, feel his body pulling tighter, his senses straining harder with every second that passed. No. Gotta focus. He was about to lose it. Every nerve in his body was screaming for food.

Alright. Fuck this. Gonna hit the docks. That was always the fallback, even on nights where Kamurocho felt picked clean, the docks rarely disappointed. Bodies ended up there, no questions asked.

Just as he began slithering toward the manhole that would take him to the sewers and closer to the docks, Majima froze. He heard it, felt it, tasted it. His tongue flicked out before his brain even caught up.

Warm. Alive. Here.

Someone else was in the alley with him.

Majima stayed perfectly still, not breathing, the only motion being the flick of his tongue tasting the air. The scent was fresh, human—flesh warm and pulsing with life. He hadn’t smelled them earlier. What the hell? The alley had been empty. But now...

They were close.

His heart rate spiked, pupils dilating in the dark. Whoever this was, they had wandered too deep, and now they were trapped here with him. Why hadn’t he picked up on that scent earlier? His instincts were on fire, his tail coiling tighter beneath him as he crouched lower into the shadows, blending seamlessly with the darkness.

Majima could barely make out the faintest outline of the person further down the alley. They were moving slowly, their footsteps light, cautious. They couldn’t see him; he knew that much. The alley was dark, too dark for human eyes. Even for him, it was bordering on pitch-black. But he had his other senses— better senses.

Good… stay still, Goro. Don’t rush it.

His stomach growled low, barely audible in the stillness of the alley. He stopped breathing altogether, focusing entirely on the flicker of sound and scent. The warmth of the person’s body reached him in waves, subtle but tantalizing. Fuck, that’s good. His fangs ached in his gums, venom pooling in anticipation. He could feel the hunger rising like bile in his throat, but he had to stay calm. Had to keep it together, just a little longer.

Easy... easy.

The figure moved again, closer this time. Majima’s body tensed, muscles coiling beneath his scales. He could strike now, quick and clean, take them before they even knew what hit them.

But something was wrong about this person. He didn't know what. Maybe it was the way they were walking, or the sound of their breath, too quick, too light. Not panicked, not yet—but close. They weren’t here by accident.

They know something’s up.

Majima flicked his tongue out again, tasting the air one more time, savoring the scent of warm, fresh prey. He could feel his mind teetering on the edge, one wrong move away from snapping. He doesn’t eat live prey , but with how hungry he was, entertaining the idea while he waited was too good to pass up. 

He slunk further back into the shadows, waiting, watching.

Oh… It’s a kid.

Majima’s eyes narrow, his body coiled tight against the cold concrete wall, spines lying flat against his back as he watches the kid walk closer. What’s he doin' in a fuckin' place like this? The alley wasn’t a playground, and this kid, barely sixteen if that, didn’t belong here. Short, dark hair and big, innocent-looking brown eyes — yet there was a hardness there. But the warmth in his scent gave him away. He wasn’t hardened yet, not like someone who had truly lived on these streets.

Still, Majima’s not in the business of eating anything alive, and he sure as shit wasn’t about to snack on some kid who wandered too far off his leash. But the kid was getting closer. Too close.

Gotta get him outta here before he sees me...

Majima licks his lips, thinking fast. Talking might spook him, send him walking the other way before it got messy. He knows he sounds strange, voice carrying a slithery, dangerous undercurrent. S’s linger a little longer than they should. Not ideal, but it’ll do.

He lets out a low chuckle, deep and gravelly, and calls out from the shadows.

“What’s a kid like you doin’ out here in Kamurocho at this hour?” Majima's voice cuts through the silence, laced with amusement. “Don’tcha know dark alleys ain’t the best place to be hangin’ out? Looks... suspicious s s .”

The kid stops dead in his tracks, his fists clenching at his sides. For a moment, the boy's face is calm, almost unreadable. But Majima can smell it. That sudden wave of fear—the sharp, instinctual response to being hunted. The kid tries to hide it well, but fear has a smell, and Majima’s senses are too sharp to miss it.

The boy, stiffening slightly, forces himself to answer. "I'm... looking for someone."

Majima raises a brow, lips twitching with dark amusement. The boy’s trying to act tough, but the smell of fear mixing with sweat told a different story. His voice is polite, too polite for someone trying to survive Kamurocho. Definitely from Tokyo though. Well-bred, well-spoken, like some kinda honor student playing detective on the wrong side of town.

"Lost, are ya?" Majima tilts his head, keeping his tone light, almost playful. “Ain’t no reason to be lookin’ fer anyone in these back alleys s s , kid. This ain't even close to the real nightlife. Yer a bit far from the action.”

The boy stands straighter, fists still clenched. "I'm not lost."

Majima chuckles lowly, flicking his tongue in and out, tasting the boy’s words. The kid’s brave, no doubt about it, but it’s the kinda brave that gets people killed. The kinda brave that’s better left behind when you’re running through Kamurocho at night.

"What’s yer name, kid?” Majima drawls, eyes glinting as he shifts slightly in the dark, hoping to rattle him a little more.

The boy hesitates, jaw tightening like he's considering whether or not to answer. But after a beat, he speaks, voice steady. “Kiryu. Kiryu Kazuma.”

Majima lets the name roll around in his head for a second. Kiryu Kazuma. Strong name, no doubt about that. But he needed the kid to feel uneasy, to sense something was off, something dangerous.

Majima leans forward just slightly, the shadows still concealing him, and his voice shifts, softens, becomes almost sing-song. “Kiryu-chan, huh? That’s s s quite a name, ain’t it?”

He practically purrs the nickname, sweetening his tone like he’s cooing at a frightened animal. “Kiryu-chan… What’re ya doin' here, really? Ya don’t look like ya belong in these parts s s .”

The kid’s eyes flicker, something like uncertainty dancing behind the tough facade. Majima grins, a wicked smile curling at the edges of his lips. He can feel the kid’s nervousness building, the weight of the situation settling into him.

Come on, kid. Turn around. Go on. Run along now.

But Kiryu doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he steps forward, just a little closer, face still calm but his body tense as a coiled spring. “Who are you?” he asks, his voice barely wavering.

Majima feels a spark of annoyance flash through him. Stubborn little shit.

“Well,” Majima drawls, grinning wider now, “My name’s s s not important kid.” He keeps the playful, dangerous edge in his voice. “Just know I ain’t exactly ssssomeone you wanna get to know this hour of night.”

The kid doesn’t react, not in the way Majima expected. Instead, Kiryu’s gaze sharpens, like he’s memorizing every word, every shift in the air around him.

Majima can’t help but laugh under his breath. Bold fucker. But not bold enough to take me on.

He leaned forward just enough for the dim light of a distant streetlamp to catch the gleam of one of his eyes. He wanted to unsettle the kid, give him a reason to back off. This was supposed to be easy.

Majima leaned in, his grin widening in the dim light. Alright, time to crank it up a notch. If scaring the kid off the old-fashioned way wasn't working, he’d have to try a more… uncomfortable approach. It wasn’t exactly Majima's first choice, but desperate times, right? He needed Kiryu out of here, and he figured a little freaky charm might do the trick.

"So," Majima drawled, voice taking on a sickly sweet tone, "ya waitin' on someone, Kiryu-chan? A little sweet thing, maybe? Tryin' to get yer rocks s s off in the middle of Kamurocho, huh?"

He watched Kiryu’s reaction closely, flicking his tongue out briefly to taste the air. Not much of a spike in fear—kid was still standing his ground. Bold little bastard...

Kiryu shook his head. "No. That's not what I'm here for."

Majima clicked his tongue, sighing dramatically as if disappointed. "Oh, don’t be shy, now. C’mon, first time? Got the jitters s s , huh?" He let his grin stretch wider, eyes gleaming as he moved a little closer, just enough to feel like he was invading Kiryu’s space. "Picked a hell of a spot, I’ll give ya that. Ain’t too many people comin’ back here. Ya like a lil' privacy for yer… business s s ?"

Still nothing. Kiryu wasn’t flinching, wasn’t backing down. The kid's nerves were tighter than a wire, but he was holding on. Majima could sense the tension, though—Kiryu’s heartbeat sped up just a little, enough for Majima to know he was starting to get under the kid's skin.

Alright, maybe I gotta play it a little different.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he let his tone drop to something a little more suggestive. “Or maybe it ain’t a girl yer waitin’ on, huh? Could be a boy. No shame in that. Yer secret’s safe with me.”

Kiryu’s face tightened, but there’s still no flicker of real fear. Majima raised an eyebrow, pushing further. “Hey, I get it, Kiryu-chan. Whatever gets ya off, right? A hole’s a hole at the end of the day, ain’t it?” His voice dripped with lewdness and it made him cringe internally. He felt a twinge of disgust at himself for taking this angle, but fuck, he had to get this kid to bolt. If Kiryu didn't leave soon, Majima’s instincts might kick in, and the kid wouldn’t like what happened next.

He watched Kiryu’s reaction carefully. There was a flash of something—discomfort, maybe—but not in the way Majima expected. It wasn’t shame, not guilt. Just... confusion, maybe? Like Kiryu didn’t quite know what to make of him.

Kiryu shifted slightly, but his stance stayed firm. “That’s not it,” he said, voice steady, though there was a faint edge to it. “I told you, I’m looking for someone. It’s not like that.”

Majima couldn’t help the slight chuckle that escaped him. Shit, kid’s tough. Harder to shake than I thought.

“Aw, c’mon, Kiryu-chan,” Majima cooed, leaning in just a little closer. “Ya don’t gotta hide nothin' from yer new friend. I can give ya some pointers s s if ya need ‘em. Gotta learn somehow, right?” He knows he was laying it on thick, really pushing the limits, but he had no other choice. He needed the kid to feel uncomfortable .

Kiryu’s fists clenched again, and Majima could practically smell the tension rolling off him in waves. But the kid wasn’t budging. Damn it.

Majima straightened up slightly, narrowing his eyes. "Alright, alright. Maybe yer not the type to take advice from strangers s s ." He flicked his tongue out again, tasting the air. Kiryu was getting more nervous, but not enough to turn tail. "But seriously, kid. Ya shouldn’t be here. Go on, get back to whatever good little boys like you do at night, huh?"

Kiryu’s gaze hardened, and he took a step closer instead of backing away, his eyes locked on the darkness from which Majima’s voice had come from. "I’m not leaving."

Majima blinked, surprised by the stubbornness in the kid’s voice. Stubborn little shit...

The air between them felt thick, heavy with tension. 

Majima's tail slithered with purpose, a silent, sinuous motion as it crept toward Kiryu, weaving underneath the dumpster. He was playing with fire here, sure, but what choice did he have? He couldn't let the kid see him. Couldn’t let him catch a glimpse of the thing that was hidden in the dark.

He felt the flicker of satisfaction as his tail brushed lightly against Kiryu's shoulder—just enough to make the kid jump, but not enough to give away what he was doing. Majima bit back a grin, watching the kid spin around, fists up, scanning the darkness for whatever had touched him.

"What's the matter, Kiryu-chan?" Majima called from the shadows, his voice low and teasing. "Feelin' a little jumpy?"

Kiryu straightened, his fists clenching tighter as he tried to locate the source of Majima’s voice. But Majima had already slithered to the other side, sliding his body along the alley wall like a shadow. He was having fun now, a twisted little game of snake and mouse.

He tapped Kiryu’s shoulder again, this time from the opposite side. The kid spun around, eyes wide, searching the dim alley, but Majima was nowhere to be found. The confusion in his gaze was priceless, the way his brows furrowed and his posture stiffened. Keep lookin', kid. Ya ain’t gonna find me.

"Ya should really go home, y'know?" Majima’s voice drifted from above now, mocking and light. "This ain't a place for someone like ya to be wanderin' around, Kiryu-chan."

Kiryu whipped his head around, staring at the rooftops, his frustration growing by the second. He was getting pissed—Majima could feel it, could practically smell the adrenaline pumping through the kid's veins. Good, he thought, his grin widening. Get scared. Get mad. Just get the fuck outta here.

But Kiryu wasn’t scared. If anything, he was getting bolder, angrier. His heart was racing, sure, but the kid had guts. Too much for his own good. Majima could hear the kid muttering to himself, determined not to back down, even as the disorienting taps kept coming, and his voice bounced from one end of the alley to the other.

Majima shifted, rising silently onto the dumpster without a sound, towering just enough over Kiryu that he could dip down to his ear. Close enough to whisper.

"Yer outta yer depth, kid," Majima breathed, his voice low and gravelly. "I suggest ya—"

Kiryu snapped, throwing a punch into the empty air behind him, wild and fast. But Majima was far quicker, pulling back way before the kid could land anything. The sight of him punching at shadows sent a thrill down Majima’s spine.

"Oooo, a fighter, huh?" Majima whispered from another angle, his voice dripping with amusement.

But then, something shifted inside Majima. The sight of Kiryu, fists up, the defiance on his face, the way he wasn’t running—it triggered something deep, something instinctual. His tongue flicked out instinctively. The sharpness of Kiryu’s scent filled his senses. The adrenaline, the heat, the raw fight in the kid.

It excited him, triggered his instincts, made him hungrier.

Majima’s body reacted before his mind caught up. His muscles tensed, his tail coiling tighter around the alley floor, the sharp instincts of a predator taking over. He could feel his fangs lengthening, pressing against his gums, and his eyes widened, pupils narrowing into dangerous slits.

Shit… shit, shit, shit…

Majima clamped his mouth shut, fighting against the surge of hunger and aggression building inside him. But it was like trying to hold back a flood—his body wanted to pounce, wanted to attack. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, could feel the rush of blood that came with the thrill of the hunt.

No, no, no… He had to stop. He had to control himself. But Kiryu was right there, so full of life, of fight. Majima could almost taste it in the air, the electric crackle of violence waiting to happen.

"Get out of here, kid," Majima growled, the words barely escaping through clenched teeth. "Before ya regret it."

But Kiryu… didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He just stood there, fists still up, eyes locked on the shadows where Majima’s voice was coming from.

Shit, this kid's gonna get himself killed... Majima could feel his control slipping. His tail flexed, ready to strike. His instincts were screaming at him to lunge, to wrap around the kid and crush the life out of him.

Chapter Text

Majima’s tail shot out before he could even think, wrapping tightly around Kiryu’s ankle and yanking him off his feet. The kid hit the pavement hard with a thud, his breath knocked clean out of his lungs. Shit, I didn’t mean to do that , Majima thought, panic flashing through him. His tail quickly uncoiled from Kiryu’s leg and whipped back towards him as he slid against the wall, trying to put some distance between them. His mouth ached —an insistent, throbbing hunger that gnawed at his control.

Kiryu coughed, trying to pull himself up on his palms, his legs kicking as he backed up a little, clearly shaken. His voice rose, sounding younger than it should as he called out, "Where are you?!"

Majima gritted his teeth, fighting to rein in the instincts clawing at him. His lips pulled back, and a low growl rumbled out. “Get the fuck outta here. Now.”

The darkness in the alley was suffocating, the kind of pitch black that swallowed sound and light, only broken by the distant hum of the city beyond. Saejima wasn’t far behind. He’d lost sight of Majima in the maze of backstreets, but the commotion, and more importantly, the sharp edge in Majima’s voice, was a dead giveaway. His gut twisted. He’s talkin’ to someone. That’s not good.

Saejima pushed his way through the narrow corridor, the alley narrowing into a small clearing between tall buildings. The oppressive dark settled over him like a heavy blanket, making his senses strain. Can’t see a damn thing… Where the hell is he?

Majima felt Saejima’s presence before he saw him. His tail lifted, curling around Saejima’s thick wrist in a silent request for comfort. I’m too close. Too fucking close to losin’ it.

Kiryu pushed himself up a bit further, his hands trembling as he wiped the dirt from his palms. “Where are you?” he asked again, frustration lacing his words.

Majima’s breath came ragged, his voice strained as he spat out, “Seriously, kid, why this alley? Go get your kicks in the next one, there’s a million places like this in Kamurocho.”

Kiryu shook his head stubbornly, his voice rising as he replied, “I’m waiting for someone!” He wasn’t backing down, and it only made Majima’s teeth itch worse, that predatory instinct still simmering beneath the surface.

Majima turned his head slightly, pressing his forehead against Saejima’s shoulder, seeking out some kind of relief. His breath was shallow, hot against the fabric of Saejima’s jacket. “I’m… not doin’ so good,” he whispered, the vulnerability in his voice a rare crack in his armor.

Saejima’s large hand came up, settling at the back of Majima’s head, his fingers finding the short undercut. His hand moved in slow circles, massaging, scratching lightly. The touch… helped. Why the hell did it help? Majima’s tense muscles slowly started to unwind, and a low, deep purring sound rumbled from his chest, unbidden. Damn, that feels good.

Majima took a shaky breath, the trembling in his hands easing just enough for him to gather himself. He lifted his head, his yellow eyes flickering in the dark as he moved towards Kiryu again. He knew the kid couldn’t see him, not in this kind of pitch-black alley, and it worked to his advantage. He got close enough that his breath ghosted over Kiryu’s ear, his voice low and soft.

Without giving Kiryu a chance to react, Majima reached down and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him up off the ground in one swift motion. His fingers made sure to only touch the fabric of Kiryu’s clothes, careful not to let the kid feel the smooth scales that covered his hands. He loomed over him. His tail was still wrapped securely around Saejima’s wrist, keeping him grounded. Goddamn it, the kid smells like he’d make a good meal.

“Look,” Majima’s voice came out quieter, almost resigned. “I get that yer waitin’ fer someone, but sometimes, ya gotta know when to leave. Ya don’t know what other people are goin’ through. Stubborn like this? It’s gonna leave ya out to dry someday.”

His hand settled on Kiryu’s shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze, a subtle warning wrapped in casual advice. “Go wait for ‘em out where there’s some light, at least. Just outside the alley works as good as any.”

Kiryu seemed to think for a second, then asked, “How’d you manage to trip me like that?” There was almost a spark of curiosity in his voice, like he wanted to learn something from the encounter.

Majima couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped. “I’m just really fast, kid.” He turned Kiryu around and gave him a gentle push, making him stumble forward a little. “Now, get goin’.”

Majima exhaled sharply, his shoulders finally loosening when Kiryu disappeared around the corner. The kid leaned against the wall just outside the alley, out of sight, blissfully unaware of just how close he’d come to being something far worse than a lesson learned. Way too close, he thought, jaw tightening. The hunger gnawed at him, the taste of blood on the tip of his tongue still fresh, but he forced it down. He’d almost lost control. Almost.

He turned back toward Saejima, whose silent presence was a comfort he hadn’t even realized he’d needed. Majima huffed, dragging a hand through his hair as he moved closer. “Nothin’ in this alley,” he muttered, shaking his head like that could clear the lingering tension in his body.

Saejima, arms crossed and expression unreadable in the darkness, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? So… why was that punk on the ground?” His voice was low, but there was a sharpness to the question, a subtle way of saying I saw more than ya think.

Majima froze for a moment, then bristled. What the hell was there to say? He didn’t want to talk about it. But Saejima was standing there, waiting, his patience like a weight pressing on Majima’s chest, forcing something out. He blew out a breath, and before he knew it, the words were spilling out.

“I… I couldn’t stop myself, Taiga. He swung at me, and it—it just triggered somethin’. I don’t know if it was the way he moved, or the sound, or just the fact that I’m so goddamn hungry I feel like I’m losin’ my fuckin’ mind, but my tail… it lashed out before I could even think about it. Next thing I know, I’ve got him pinned, and—and I could feel it, y’know? The fight in him. He’s a scrappy little bastard, I’ll give him that, but the more he struggled, the worse it got. It was like my body wanted him to fight, like it’d make the… the kill sweeter or somethin’.

Majima’s voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath before continuing, his words tumbling out faster now. “If he’d kept strugglin’, if he’d taken one more swing at me… I wouldn’t’ve been able to stop myself. I know it. Hell, if ya hadn’t shown up when ya did, I—I think I would’ve eaten him, Taiga. Right there in the dirt. That kid would’ve been gone, and it woulda been my fault.”

He paused, dragging his hand down his face. “I’ve never been this hungry before. It’s like somethin’ inside me is broken. I don’t know if it’s ‘cause I starved myself fer so long, or ‘cause of whatever the hell Shimano pumped into me with those drugs, or if this monster shit’s just gettin’ worse as I get older. But it’s terrifyin’, Taiga. I can’t control it. These past few days… it’s like every person I see, I can smell ‘em, taste ‘em, like they’re already halfway down my throat. I’m scared. I’m scared of what I’ll do.”

His voice was rough, raw, by the time he stopped, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his words. He stared at the ground, expecting Saejima to tear into him, to say something—anything—to break the silence pressing down on them.

Saejima just nodded, his eyes never leaving Majima’s. “I’m proud of ya, Kyoudai.”

Majima blinked, completely thrown off. “Proud?” His voice came out sharper than he intended, the confusion plain on his face. “What the hell fer? I was about to eat a fuckin’ teenager, man.”

“But ya didn’t.” Saejima’s voice was calm, steady, as if that simple fact erased everything else. “Ya stopped yerself. Coulda gone anywhere with it, but ya didn’t. Hell, probably scared a little sense into the kid. Maybe he needed it.”

Majima scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t need a gold star fer not murdering someone.” The words came out with a bitter edge, the idea of being proud of that making his stomach twist. But there was a part of him that knew Saejima wasn’t wrong. Still, he wasn’t about to pat himself on the back for it.

Saejima didn’t press the point, sensing that Majima wasn’t going to take the compliment. Instead, he shifted the conversation, his voice carrying that casual ease that Majima was grateful for. “Time to head to the docks?”

Majima nodded, the tension finally starting to loosen its grip on his muscles. “Yeah,” he muttered, though the word had barely left his mouth when something new caught his attention. His nostrils flared, picking up the scent before his brain fully registered it. Blood. Fresh. A few buildings over.

His whole body went still, his eyes narrowing. Someone had just started bleeding out nearby, and the scent was thick in the air, hot and metallic, sharp enough to make his mouth water despite himself.

“Shit,” he hissed, his voice suddenly strained.

As soon as the scent of fresh blood hit Majima’s nose, he was gone, bolting through the alley with a speed that left Saejima scrambling to catch up. His body moved with a fluid grace, his serpentine form slithering effortlessly through the narrow spaces between the buildings. The twists and turns of the back alleys were nothing to him, especially now that the kid wasn’t blocking the way. The thrill of the hunt had taken over, every sense honed in on one thing: the blood.

“Majima! Wait!” Saejima shouted, his heavy footsteps echoing against the brick walls as he tried to keep up. His lungs burned from the sudden sprint, but Majima was already far ahead, weaving through the labyrinth of alleyways like a predator on the prowl.

Majima didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. His mind was clouded, the scent overwhelming every rational thought. It was so fresh , the blood hot and tantalizing in the air. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if the person bleeding was dead yet. He was pretty sure he wasn’t just smelling blood—he was smelling the life slowly draining from someone.

Majima stopped in the alley just outside the door, the source of the blood so close he could practically taste it on his tongue. His claws flexed and dug into his palms as he tried to hold himself back, every fiber of his being screaming at him to move, to get closer, to feed. He coiled his tail tighter around himself, the muscles twitching with restless energy, desperate to surge forward.

The scent was overwhelming, drowning out everything else, but he forced himself to wait—just barely. He had to. He didn’t know what was inside. Was it just one person bleeding out, or were there others? If he stormed in recklessly, it might cost him more than the meal he was after. Still, the pull was unbearable, and waiting even a second longer felt like it would kill him.

Saejima’s heavy, panting breaths reached him before the man did, but Majima didn’t turn to look. He couldn’t spare the focus. Saejima grabbed his arm, his grip firm but not rough. “Goro, what the hell? Why’d ya bolt like that?” His voice was breathless but steady, trying to cut through the fog in Majima’s mind. “What’re we doin’ here? What’s goin’ on?”

Majima didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat felt too dry, his mind too clouded with hunger and the maddening scent of blood. He jerked his arm away, a low growl rumbling in his chest, but Saejima didn’t let up.

“Goro, listen to me! Don’t do somethin’ stupid, alright? Barging into some random building without knowin’ what’s inside? That’s how ya get yerself killed. I can guess what year here fer, but I need ya to think, man!” Saejima tightened his grip, his tone edging toward desperation. “Just—look at me, will ya?”

But Majima’s head snapped toward the door instead, his slit pupils narrowing as the scent thickened in the air, sharper now. His tail flicked wildly behind him, and a strained hiss escaped his lips. He barely even heard Saejima anymore; the hunger was too loud, the need too overpowering.

Saejima stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Goro! The docks are safer. We’ll go somewhere we know ain’t a fuckin’ risk. Ya don’t gotta do this here. Not like this.”

Majima’s lips curled into a snarl, his fangs bared in frustration. “Can’t wait,” he rasped, his voice barely human. 

 “Please, man, just listen to me. This ain’t the time to lose it. Ya don’t even know what’s in there!” Saejima urged, his tone softening, though his body remained firmly in Majima’s way.

But Majima wasn’t listening. He couldn’t listen. The scent was too much now, filling his lungs and pulling him forward. He shoved past Saejima with a sudden, forceful motion, his tail coiling and uncoiling in a blur of movement as he surged toward the door.

“Goro!” Saejima cursed, stumbling slightly but managing to follow. “Dammit, don’t—”

Majima didn’t wait to hear the rest. He was already through the door, his mind consumed by hunger, moving fast and reckless toward the irresistible pull of fresh blood.

The hallway inside was dim, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. Majima’s pulse quickened, his mouth watering as he chased the scent, his body practically humming with excitement. It’s close… really fuckin’ close . The blood was fresh, hot, and so damn close he could almost feel it against his skin. It was euphoric, almost carnal, the thought of being able to feed on a warm meal without breaking his own twisted rules.

His mind was spiraling, his senses on overdrive. The idea of not having to kill, just letting someone die and then sinking his fangs into them… It’s perfect. Just let ‘em die. Let the light leave their eyes, and then… indulge.

He moved down the hall, his breath quickening, his body thrumming with anticipation. It wasn’t just hunger anymore—it was something deeper, darker. Something that had him buzzing with a twisted sort of pleasure. His claws twitched at his sides, his skin prickling with heat. Whoa there, Goro... calm down.

He froze, pushing himself against the wall, his chest heaving as the feeling crashed over him like a wave. The blood was so close , but the sensation was overwhelming, leaving him momentarily stunned. His body was responding in ways it shouldn’t—his skin flushed, his muscles taut, every nerve alive with the thrill of the hunt.

People don’t get turned on by food, ya sick fuck, he thought, trying to reel himself in. But it wasn’t just food. It was the whole fucking process—the chase, the scent, the anticipation of feeding. His entire body was wired for this.

Saejima finally caught up, skidding to a halt next to him, his broad hand landing on Majima’s shoulder. He was breathing hard again, worry etched across his face as he looked at Majima, who was clearly losing control. “What the hell’s wrong with ya, man?” he asked, his voice a mix of concern and frustration.

Majima turned his head slightly, his yellow eyes glinting in the dim light. He could barely think straight, but he knew he had to say it. “I’m… fuckin’ excited,” he admitted, the words thick on his tongue. “About eatin’. I… it’s too much.”

Saejima’s face twisted in a mixture of disbelief and discomfort. “Excited… ‘bout eating ?” He paused, his brow furrowing as he remembered the sound Majima had made a few days ago when he’d fed on that woman. It hadn’t just been hunger—Majima’s whole body had been involved. The groans, the way his muscles had tensed, how his entire being seemed to be consumed by the act. Eating for him is a full-body experience.

Saejima ran a hand through his hair, still trying to catch his breath as he stared at Majima, who was practically vibrating with energy. “Fuck’s sake, Kyoudai…” he muttered under his breath.

Majima swallowed hard, his throat tight as he tried to pull himself back from the edge. But the scent of blood was everywhere, thick and suffocating, filling his senses until he was completely immersed in it. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, heat pooling low in his stomach, spreading like wildfire through his veins. His breath hitched, and a low, involuntary groan slipped past his lips.

Saejima’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, the weight of it grounding him for a moment, snapping him out of the haze. Majima jerked forward, claws digging into the wall with a sharp scrape to keep himself steady, the hard surface cracking under the pressure.

“Ya okay?” Saejima’s voice was rough, concern laced with the tension of the moment.

Majima exhaled dramatically, the sound too loud in the otherwise quiet hall. His heart was still racing, his body buzzing with a dangerous mix of hunger and something darker. But he nodded, forcing a grin. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.”

With a quick motion, he pushed the door open. Inside was a man, slumped against the far wall, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His hands were pressed against his side, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood that poured from a deep wound, staining his shirt and pooling around him in a dark, glistening puddle. The smell hit Majima full force, the coppery tang so intense it was all he could taste in the air.

Majima had never been in this kind of situation before. His meals were always cold, already dead, dumped in some forgotten alley or hidden away until he could find them. He’d never been there when someone was still alive, still bleeding out. Never had to watch the light fade from their eyes. The corpses he fed on had been dead for hours, the heat long gone from their bodies. But this… this was different. The man was so close , teetering on the edge of death, too weak to push himself off the wall, too far gone to save himself.

Majima’s breath quickened as he stepped forward, his body moving on instinct now, drawn to the man like a moth to a flame. He crouched down low, resting his palms on the floor in front of him, his eyes locking with the man’s. The guy’s gaze was unfocused, dazed, but there was terror there, deep and primal. It hit Majima like a punch to the gut. This was why he didn’t hunt live prey. This was why he avoided situations like this.

He always feared they would look at him like that.

That look of unrestrained terror, like he was some kind of nightmare come to life. Like they knew, deep down, that they were staring into the eyes of a monster. And Majima… he hated it. Hated being looked at like that, like he was something to fear, something less than human. He didn’t like being looked at much at all, really, but this kind of stare—the one that saw right through him, that laid him bare—cut him in ways he couldn’t even put into words.

But the hunger was stronger than the guilt. Stronger than the discomfort that twisted in his chest. The blood was there, calling to him, and he couldn’t resist.

Majima leaned down, his tongue darting out to lap at the blood pooling on the floor. It was warm, rich, the taste exploding on his tongue like a drug. He closed his eyes, savoring it, letting it coat his throat, an appetizer to the main course. Delicious.

When he lifted his head, he licked his lips slowly, his eyes flicking back to the man. He was still conscious, though barely, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The man winced, clutching his wound tighter, pressing his fingers into it as more blood seeped through, soaking the fabric of his shirt and dripping between his fingers. The man’s lips twitched, and a weak, almost delirious chuckle escaped him, a crooked smile spreading across his face despite the pain. It was faint, but unmistakable.

Majima froze, staring at him. What the fuck? He didn’t understand. He expected fear, desperation, maybe even anger. But laughter? A smile? What the hell was that about?

Majima tilted his head, confusion furrowing his brow. “What’s so funny?” His voice was low, a growl beneath the words as he watched the man’s expression, trying to make sense of it.

The man's laughter echoed through the empty room, a dry, raspy sound that grated on Majima’s nerves. It was the last thing he expected, and the more the guy laughed, the more it set his teeth on edge. He didn’t like it. Not at all. His tail flicked restlessly behind him, the hunger clawing at him, his patience thinning with every chuckle that spilled out of the man’s throat.

“What the fuck’s so funny?” Majima barked, his voice sharp, louder this time. The man’s laughter faltered, his chest rattling with the effort it took just to breathe. The smile faded, replaced with a deep tremor of unease.

Majima leaned in closer, his claws clicking against the floor as he crouched in front of the man, close enough now to smell the sweat and fear mingling with the blood. His voice dropped, a low growl in the dim light of the abandoned building. “What are you doin’ here? Why the fuck are ya bleedin’ out in a shithole like this?”

He wanted this to be easy. He wanted to look at this guy and see the same kind of scumbag he’d always justified his meals with. The kind of deadbeat that reminded him of his old man—someone who deserved it. Someone whose life wasn’t worth a damn anyway. It was easier to eat when he believed they were all pieces of shit who wouldn’t be missed.

The man didn’t respond right away. His breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, and for a moment, Majima thought he was too far gone to answer. But then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, rasping through the blood filling his lungs. “I… I was trying to find my daughter.”

Majima froze, the words hitting him like a brick to the chest.

The man coughed, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth, his hands trembling as he pressed them harder against the gaping wound in his side. “Someone… someone took her. I found out who… but I wasn’t strong enough.” His eyes fluttered, pain etched deep into his features as he leaned his head back against the wall, his voice breaking.

Majima felt his stomach drop. Fuck, man. He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the silence. This wasn’t what he wanted to hear. This wasn’t the story that made it easier for him to do what he did. This wasn’t some deadbeat who beat his wife and kids. This was a guy who’d been trying to save his own flesh and blood, and now here he was, bleeding out in some shitty, forgotten building.

Majima clenched his jaw, his hands twitching at his sides as the tension coiled tighter and tighter inside him. He didn’t want to care. He wanted to shove this down and just focus on the meal—the warmth of the blood, the taste of flesh. That’s all it was supposed to be. But something about the man’s words stuck with him, clawing at the edges of his mind.

This guy wasn’t scum. He was just… a father who tried and failed.

Majima’s yellow eyes flickered, his throat dry as he stared at the man, unsure of what to do next.

The man’s eyes flickered with a weak but knowing glint, his lips curling back into a faint smile that made Majima’s stomach churn. It was like he could see right through him, see the hunger burning in Majima’s eyes, the raw, gnawing need that had dragged him into this shitty building. The guy could obviously tell he wasn’t human. His breaths were shallow, labored, but there was something calm about the way he stared up at Majima, as if the terror had already been bled out of him along with his strength.

“So…” the man’s voice was little more than a rasp, but it carried the weight of a dead man’s acceptance. “You here to eat me?”

Majima froze, his claws hovering just inches from the floor, his tail twitching behind him with restless energy. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. The words lodged themselves in his throat, choking him. He stayed still, watching the man, waiting for… for what? A scream? More laughter? He couldn’t be sure anymore.

The man let out a rough chuckle, as much as his wounded body would allow, and lifted his head slightly, enough to give Majima another weak smile. “There’s no other reason I can think of for a big ol’ creature like you to be here. Not in this place… not at this time.”

Majima’s throat worked around a tight swallow, his head tilting slightly as he gave the man a slow, deliberate nod. “Yeah,” he muttered, the word hanging in the air like a bad omen. “That’s why I’m here.” His voice was hoarse, hollow. “Didn’t think I’d be talkin’ to my fuckin’ meal, though.”

The man’s smile stretched just a little wider, and for a second, it almost looked like relief washed over his face. Another chuckle spilled out, this one softer, but it shook his body with the effort. “It’s alright,” he breathed out, his words sluggish. “I’m a dead man anyway. Least I can… help someone else.” His eyes drifted shut for a moment, as though the weight of it all was finally settling in.

Majima’s stomach turned, the sick feeling gnawing at him, twisting in his gut. “That’s not… what you’re supposed to tell a fuckin’ monster in front of you, man. ” His mind reeled, searching for something that made sense, something that aligned with what he knew. “You’re supposed to—fuck, I don’t know—beg? Cry? Scream in terror? Somethin’!”

But the man didn’t flinch. He didn’t scream. His eyes opened slowly again, meeting Majima’s without an ounce of fear. His voice was soft but steady. “Met plenty of monsters in my life,” he began, the rasp of his words growing heavier with each breath. “None of ‘em looked like you.”

Majima’s brow furrowed. “The hell does that mean?”

“The ones I knew…” the man said, his voice hitching as he struggled to stay conscious, “they blended in. They wore suits, ate at yakiniku joints, drove shiny cars. They didn’t have scales, or claws, or tails. But they were monsters all the same.” His eyes glistened with a dark, almost amused recognition. “They fucked people over, killed ‘em slowly without ever touchin’ ‘em.”

Majima’s chest tightened. The guy wasn’t talking about literal creatures like him. He was talking about people —regular, human monsters. Monsters like his old man. The kind Majima had tried to avoid becoming, even as the world around him pushed him deeper into the darkness.

“And you…” the man continued, his voice growing weaker, “you’re not one of them. You don’t belong in that world.”

Majima scoffed. I don’t belong anywhere. The sentiment clawed at the edges of his mind, bitter and unresolved. But before he could say anything, the man spoke again, his voice softer, almost like he was falling asleep.

“You’ve never done this before, have you? Eaten someone… alive? Or… dyin’?”

Majima’s jaw tightened, his fangs pressing painfully into his lower lip as he struggled to find the words. His eyes flickered from the man’s wound to his blood-soaked hands, to the growing pool around him. The scent was everywhere, suffocating him, drawing him in. But he forced it down, locking his jaw as he spoke, his voice hoarse, almost mechanical.

“I don’t kill people,” Majima muttered, his throat tight. “I’m not some… predator. I’m a fuckin’ scavenger. I pick ‘em off the street when they’re already cold.” His words hung in the stale air, and for a second, he wondered if the man even understood what he was saying.

But then the man looked at him, eyes half-lidded and hazy, his smile faint but unmistakable. “So… does this mean you’re willing to make me an exception?”

Majima froze, his body stiffening as the question slapped him in the face. What the fuck? His breath hitched, and the confusion came pouring out harsher than he intended, his voice sharp. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

The man just laughed, a ragged sound that rattled deep in his chest, the kind of laugh that only comes from someone already halfway to death’s door. His bloodied fingers twitched against his wound as he chuckled. “I’d rather go quick than keep… fading out like this. Hurts like hell.” His voice was weak but clear enough. “You’re not killing me. I’m already dead. You’d be doing me a favor. Let me rest.”

Majima felt something twist inside him, a knot of frustration, guilt, and disgust. He hated everything about this. He hated how his body had lit up with excitement when he first caught the scent, hated how the idea of a fresh meal had sent a shiver down his spine. And now, he hated this—hated the way the guy was just… accepting it. Nice , even. How the hell could someone look at a monster like him and be this fucking nice? It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

The man’s eyes softened, and for a moment, Majima thought he saw a glint of pity. The guy looked at him like he understood, like he could see the war going on behind Majima’s eyes. “You want me to start screaming for help?” the man asked, his voice playful despite the blood leaking from his lips. “Might make it easier for you. Y’know, make you feel like the big scary monster you’re supposed to be.”

Majima scoffed, the sound bitter and dry. “Nah,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve been tryin’ to avoid the monster gig my whole life.”

The man smiled again, this time softer, more understanding. “Then just… take care of it,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper now. “Do a stranger a favor. End it for me. No sense in dragging this out.”

Majima stared at him, his breath coming in shallow bursts, his chest tight as a knot of emotions he didn’t know how to unravel. This wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to be the one to make that choice. He wasn’t a fucking executioner. He wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to have to make a decision like this.

But the man’s eyes were pleading now, the pain etched so deep into his features that Majima could almost feel it himself. And that twisted part of him, the part that was still hungry, still desperate for relief, whispered that this would be easier than any corpse he’d ever scavenged. The man was right—he was already dead. Majima would just be speeding up the process. It wasn’t murder. Not really.

He swallowed hard, his claws digging into the floor again as he knelt down beside the man, close enough that he could smell the fading warmth of his skin.

“No,” Majima muttered, shaking his head. “That’s too easy.” His eyes flickered with a grim resolve as he looked at the man slumped against the wall. The weight of the decision settled heavily on his chest. “That’s the coward’s way out—fer both of us.”

The man was still alive enough to have a conversation, still clinging to the last threads of life. Majima could see it in the way his chest rose and fell, labored but steady enough. The guy had fight left in him, and Majima wasn’t about to take that away, no matter how tempting it was to silence the hunger gnawing at his insides.

He turned to Saejima, his voice suddenly sharp, filled with urgency. “Run out to a phone booth and call an ambulance. Now. ”

Saejima didn’t even hesitate. There were no questions, no looks of confusion or doubt. He knew who Majima was, knew that underneath all the monster shit, Majima’s morals always won out in the end. His kyoudai’s word was all he needed. With a curt nod, Saejima was off, sprinting toward the nearest phone booth without looking back.

The man, barely conscious, furrowed his brow, confusion creeping into his pain-clouded eyes. “W-what’re you doing?” he stammered, his voice weak but urgent.

Majima cut him off, pushing the man’s hand away from the wound. “What I’m doin’ is savin’ yer ass,” Majima growled, using his larger, monstrous hand to press down on the bleeding, his grip firm but careful. The blood oozed between his fingers, but it slowed under the pressure of his palm. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way I’m makin’ a meal outta someone with a missin’ daughter.”

The man blinked, dazed by the sudden shift. Majima leaned closer, locking eyes with him. “Listen ta me,” Majima said, his tone steady, almost commanding. “I’m not gonna be here when the ambulance shows up. Can’t exactly explain what I look like, y’know? But my kyoudai will be here, and he’ll take over fer me. Ya just gotta hold on, alright? Fight with everything ya got.”

The man’s breaths were shallow, but he nodded weakly, his eyes flickering as he fought to stay conscious. Majima could feel the fight in him, the will to live, even in the face of overwhelming pain. “What’s yer name?” Majima asked, his voice softening slightly, trying to keep the man present, focused.

“Emoto…” the man whispered, his voice barely audible. “My name’s Emoto.”

“Alright, Emoto,” Majima said, his tone firm but almost reassuring. “Y’keep talkin’ ta me, alright? What d’ya do for a livin’?”

Emoto blinked again, his breath hitching as he processed the question. “I’m… I’m in med school,” he rasped, his voice shaky. “Career change… from law. I hated it. Hated the scum I had to work around. Wanted to help people… instead.”

Majima couldn’t help but smile. “Med school, huh? Sounds like ya made the right call.” He pressed down a little harder on the wound, feeling the blood slow even more. “Tell ya what, Emoto, since ya know my secret an’ all, I’m gonna expect ya to fix me up if I need it.”

A faint, strained smile tugged at Emoto’s lips. “Of course,” he whispered, his voice weak but steady. “You’ll be my… one and only monster patient.” His eyes drifted over Majima’s form, taking in the scales, the claws, the unnatural shape of him. “I’ll… do my best to research… whatever I can for your… unique physiology.”

Majima let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t worry ‘bout it too much. Most of the time, I’m human. You wouldn’t even know I look like somethin’ crawled outta a yokai anthology.”

Emoto chuckled weakly, his breath rattling in his chest. “You say that, but I’m sure you’re a mess on the inside even when you look normal on the outside,” he whispered. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but there was a spark of life still burning in them, a small flame that refused to go out.

Majima smirked as kept the pressure on the wound, his eyes flicking toward the alley, waiting for the sound of Saejima’s return. “Yer actually spot on with that one. Never been to a doc cause I can’t… So you better hang in there, Emoto. Help’s on the way.”

After another minute passed, the sound of Saejima’s heavy footfalls thundered through the hallway outside, each step echoing louder and closer. Majima pressed his hand harder against Emoto’s wound, trying to stave off the blood flow, but the man had already lost so much. Too much. Regret gnawed at Majima, twisting in his gut. Shit, I shoulda acted sooner. Instead, he’d just sat there, waiting for the guy to die so he could… eat. The thought made him sick now, the hunger gnawing at him all the same.

His hand was slick with blood, warm and sticky, the metallic scent so strong it made his head spin. Without thinking, Majima dipped his head down, letting his tongue flick over his bloodied fingers. His hand was still pressed firmly to Emoto’s abdomen, but he couldn’t help it. The taste of blood sent a shiver down his spine, something primal stirring deep in his belly. It was like he was simultaneously trying to nurse the wound and feed off it, a weird and gross sensation that made his stomach turn even as his mouth watered.

At first, Emoto had stiffened, clearly worried that Majima had changed his mind, that he’d decided to take the easier route and start eating. But as the moments passed and Majima’s hand stayed steady on his wound, the guy seemed to relax, the panic fading from his eyes. He didn’t seem to care anymore. Maybe he was too far gone, too close to death to give a damn either way.

Majima glanced down, feeling a trickle of blood slip between his fingers. The warmth, the taste of it on his tongue… He dipped his head again, his tongue sliding between the crack of his index and middle fingers, savoring the small indulgence. His tongue met the soaked fabric of Emoto’s dress shirt, the tang of blood mixed with the faint taste of torn flesh. Another shiver crawled down his spine, and he felt that familiar, sick thrill creeping up on him. It made him feel alive in the worst way possible.

Then, like a bad punchline to an even worse joke, Saejima came barreling around the corner just as Majima was licking the blood off his hand. The moment Saejima saw him, his eyes went wide, and panic flared in his voice. “Kyoudai!” he shouted, rushing forward, clearly thinking Majima had decided to start picking at the man .

Majima lifted his head slowly, blinking, feeling a little bleary, like he was drunk off the blood. His pupils were blown wide, his usual sharpness dulled, and he gave Saejima a lazy look that only made his kyoudai freak out more.

Saejima lunged forward, ready to rip Majima away from Emoto, but the weak, rasping sound of Emoto’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “No—wait…” Emoto’s hand lifted slightly in a feeble attempt to stop Saejima. “It’s okay… he’s… helping.”

Saejima’s face twisted in confusion, his eyes darting between Majima, who still looked half out of it, and Emoto, who was somehow still breathing. “What the hell do you mean helpin’?!” Saejima demanded, his voice rough with disbelief. “He’s lickin’ yer blood off his fingers!”

Majima blinked again, trying to focus, but everything felt a little off, like the blood had gone straight to his head. “I feel… kinda tipsy,” he muttered, furrowing his brow. “Why the hell am I feelin’ like this?”

Emoto, despite his weakened state, managed a faint, almost amused smile before turning his attention back to Saejima. “It’s his saliva,” he explained, his voice weak but steady enough to convey what Majima couldn’t understand. “Saliva’s got blood-clotting properties… and if he has any sort of venom, even in small doses it would act like snake venom does. I think it’s clotting my blood. Slowing the bleeding.”

Majima stared at him, stunned. His venom? He hadn’t been pushing any out, hadn’t even tasted it in his mouth. It just… happened? His hand was still pressed against the wound, his tongue still tingling with the remnants of blood, and it was actually helping ?

Saejima’s face softened, the panic giving way to understanding, though the tension didn’t fully leave his broad shoulders. “Yer sayin’ he’s keepin’ ya from bleedin’ out?”

Emoto nodded weakly. “Not as much… as I need,” he rasped, “but enough to slow it down. I still need… a hospital… fast.”

Saejima let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair as he processed everything. He crouched down next to Majima, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, I got it from here, Goro,” he said, his voice firm but calm. “Ya need to find somewhere ta hide. Can’t have the paramedics seein’ ya like this.”

Majima nodded slowly, his mind still swimming a little, but he knew Saejima was right. “Yeah… alright.” He glanced toward the door, then back at Emoto. “Hang tight, man. My kyoudai’s gonna make sure you’re alright.”

Just then, the distant wail of sirens cut through the air, getting louder as they approached. Saejima’s eyes widened. “Shit. That was fast.”

Majima pushed himself up, swaying slightly as he wiped the blood from his lips. “I’ll be outta sight,” he mumbled, turning toward the door. His heart pounded in his chest as the reality of the situation sank in. He was still hungry, still wired from the blood, but he’d made his choice. He wasn’t gonna let Emoto die here. Not like this.

Majima slid backward on his tail, his movements a little unsteady as he navigated the narrow hallway. Shit… I wish I had legs right now. His mind felt foggy, buzzing with the lingering sensation of the blood he’d just tasted. He’d never drunk from someone still alive before. The intensity of it hit him like a freight train, a sharp, heady rush that made him feel like he’d downed a few shots of something strong. His senses were all over the place, his pulse thrumming wildly in his ears.

Once outside, the cool night air hit him, but it did little to clear the haze. His yellow eyes darted around the alley, searching for somewhere to hide. His tail twitched beneath him, restless and agitated, but then he spotted the narrow stairwell leading to the roof. Gotta slide up there. No one’s gonna look on the roof.

He slithered toward the stairs, moving more haphazardly than he’d like, his tail knocking against the metal railing as he ascended. His balance was off, the disorientation from the blood making his usually graceful movements awkward. Each stair felt like it took more effort than it should, but eventually, he made it to the top. The rooftop was quiet, bathed in the dim light of the city’s taller buildings. He spotted two large HVAC boxes and slipped between them, coiling up tightly in the small space. His body ached to curl in on itself, to find some semblance of comfort while his mind raced.

His hands still tingled with the remnants of Emoto’s blood, and without thinking, he brought his fingers to his lips again, licking at them like a man starved. His hunger was screaming now, louder than ever, roaring in his ears like a deafening drumbeat. His breathing hitched, and he felt his muscles tense involuntarily. Oh fuck…

Now that the immediate crisis was over, now that he wasn’t focused on keeping someone alive, the urges he’d been suppressing all night came crashing back down on him with full force. His body trembled with the reminder of what he was—what he’d been out here for in the first place. He wasn’t out here to save lives. He was a predator. A scavenger. A monster.

And he still hadn’t eaten.

The hunger twisted inside him, sharp and relentless, clawing at his insides with a ferocity that left him dizzy. His tongue flicked out again, savoring the last drops of blood on his skin, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close to enough. His stomach churned, his throat tightening as he fought against the overwhelming need to feed. 

His mind was reeling from the conflict between his instincts and his humanity. He’d done the right thing, hadn’t he? He’d saved the guy. But saving someone wasn’t supposed to leave him feeling like this—like he was being ripped apart from the inside out by his own hunger.

He shut his eyes tight, trying to push the hunger down, trying to find some semblance of control. But control was slipping through his fingers fast, and the more he tried to fight it, the more it tore at him. Majima’s world was spinning, tipping off balance as he moved to clutch his head with his clawed hands, trying to keep himself grounded. Then something cut through the haze—the sound of shoes crunching on loose stone.

His head snapped up, his senses sharpening despite the fog. The next building over, just across from him, two figures were moving up onto the roof. He squinted, his eyes struggling to focus as he caught snippets of their voices, muffled by the wind and the distance. The tone was tense, agitated—something about the way their words snapped at each other made it obvious. A fight? He could barely make it out, but it was definitely escalating. What is this, some cheesy-ass movie? Fighting on a roof?

One of the men was getting louder, his voice bouncing off the narrow alley walls below, angry and sharp. Majima could feel the energy building, that weird tension that always came before something went south. Probably just some dumb spat between gangbangers or idiots with something to prove. He would’ve ignored it, would’ve let it pass, if it weren’t for the gnawing hunger that had him on edge, his instincts flaring up at the slightest hint of violence.

And then… the shot.

It rang out clear and sharp, slicing through the night like a hot knife through butter. Majima’s body tensed, his whole frame going rigid at the sound. A second later, a thud followed, harsh and final. The unmistakable sound of someone hitting the ground, lifeless.

His heart pounded in his chest, the hunger surging in his veins like wildfire. The crunch of shoes started up again, deliberate and unhurried. Whoever fired the shot was walking away, his footsteps fading from the roof and into the stairwell, descending as if nothing had happened.

Majima’s lips twitched into a crooked smile, something dark and instinctive rising up in him. Did… did he just score a fresh meal? His pulse quickened at the thought, the hunger roaring back to life with renewed force. The whole situation felt surreal, like the universe had just dropped a perfect solution into his lap. Is this what good karma feels like?

He glanced over the edge of the rooftop, his eyes narrowing as he scanned for the other man below. The hunger clawed at him, urging him to go, to check it out, to claim what was now his. There was fresh blood waiting, a body still warm, life barely extinguished. The need surged through him, erasing any lingering doubt. Shit… if I don’t take it, who else will?

His tail twitched restlessly behind him as he uncoiled from his spot between the HVAC units, the scent of blood drifting faintly through the air. It wasn’t as overwhelming as Emoto’s had been, but it was there, enough to set his instincts on fire.

Majima’s tongue flicked out, tasting the cool night air as he eyed the other building, calculating the distance. Any normal person would’ve gone down the steps, crossed the alley, and climbed back up the other stairwell to get there. But Majima wasn’t normal. At nearly thirty feet long in this form, he was more than capable of crossing the gap with ease.

He smirked to himself, his tail flicking in anticipation. This is the one time I’ll praise this damn body, he thought, a flicker of dark satisfaction creeping in. Fuck yeah, food time.

The sirens below grew louder, the flashing ambulance lights reflecting off the walls and cutting through the alley. He could see them lighting up the street below, the paramedics rushing to save Emoto. Majima knew he didn’t have long, but it didn’t matter. He was already moving, his serpentine body gliding across the divide between the buildings as if the gap was nothing more than a crack in the sidewalk. The rough texture of the rooftops barely registered under the smooth movement of his tail as he slid across effortlessly.

And then he was there, looming over the body of the man who had been shot. The guy was slumped on the gravel rooftop, limbs splayed out awkwardly, his face frozen in that eerie stillness that only came with death. Majima’s keen eyes immediately caught the precision of the wound. Wowie, that’s a clean kill. The bullet had gone straight between the guy’s eyes, an almost surgical shot.

Okay, maybe not gangbangers, he thought, leaning down to examine the body more closely. Whoever had done this wasn’t some punk with a grudge. This was professional. Cold. Efficient.

But none of that mattered now.

What mattered was the body in front of him. Warm. Full of blood. The freshest meal Majima had ever encountered. His body practically hummed with excitement, the hunger inside him screaming for release. Holy shit… it’s finally dinner time.

He lowered his head slowly, savoring the moment. The man’s skin was still warm, the blood just beginning to pool beneath him. Majima’s lips parted, his tongue flicking out to taste the air again, and that coppery tang hit him like a drug. His body shuddered involuntarily as he leaned down, his mouth hovering over the dead man’s neck.

He started with the throat, his fangs sinking in slowly, savoring the sensation of warm flesh giving way beneath his teeth. The blood that flowed out was thick, hot, and alive in a way he had never experienced before. Majima groaned low in his throat, his body tensing as he sucked the blood greedily, letting it flood his mouth, rich and metallic. It coated his tongue, slid down his throat, and filled his senses with a euphoria so powerful he nearly lost himself in it.

This... this is what I’ve been missing.

His fangs tore deeper into the flesh, working their way through muscle and sinew with precision. He ripped into the chest next, peeling back the layers of clothing and skin. The warmth of the body seeped into him, and the taste was beyond anything he’d ever imagined. There was no decay, no cold stiffness of a corpse long dead. This was fresh , and it was everything he craved.

Majima’s claws dug into the dead man’s ribs, cracking them apart with a sickening snap as he went for the organs. He barely cared about the brain being ruined by the bullet—there was so much more here. His tongue slid over the slick surface of the liver, tearing into it. The heart was next, still faintly warm in his hands, and he bit into it with a low, guttural growl, the blood spraying into his mouth, thick and sweet.

He was lost in it, his mind drowning in the sensation of feeding, the sheer ecstasy of consuming something so alive. His body trembled with each bite, his muscles coiling and tensing as the hunger inside him was finally being sated. Every mouthful of flesh, every drop of blood sent him further into that heady, euphoric haze, and he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.

The body beneath him was ravaged, torn apart by his teeth and claws. His tail coiled tighter around him as he fed, his breathing ragged, almost desperate, as he indulged in the pure pleasure of it. This was unlike anything he’d ever tasted before. Warm, alive flesh. No rot. No decay. Just pure, fresh meat.

It was a slippery slope, though, and he knew it. Tasting flesh this fresh… this alive… It changed things. He could feel it in the way his body responded, in the way his mind started to twist with each bite. This was what he had been fighting against for so long. This was the danger of indulging in something so pure, so real. But in that moment, none of it mattered.

This guy was big— really big, larger than most of the bodies Majima had ever come across, but not in a way that put him in the league of someone like Saejima. He was thick, with broad shoulders and solid thighs, the kind of build that promised a lot of meat. It was like hitting the jackpot. There was so much here. Too much, really. It was overwhelming, the sheer amount of flesh and blood to tear through. He’d already devoured the organs and they’d been divine—rich, fatty, almost sweet on his tongue. Every bite made him moan, his body humming with pleasure as the blood filled his mouth, hot and fresh.

The spinal cord had been a surprise, though. He hadn’t expected it to taste this good. It was like biting into a candy, the texture almost like a gummy snack you’d get from a conbini, soft and pliant but full of flavor. It sent shivers down his spine with every bite. And the thighs —oh man, those were the real treasure. Just like chicken, the thighs were packed with dark meat, rich and savory. He dug into them with abandon, pulling chunks of flesh away from the bone with his teeth, each bite better than the last. He’d eaten plenty of older corpses in his time, never one to waste a meal, but this … this was on another level.

It was like the difference between maguro and otoro. Same fish, completely different experience. Maguro was fine, but otoro? That was indulgence. That was the melt-in-your-mouth luxury you couldn’t compare to anything else. That’s what this was. Fresh, warm, full of life—it was incomparable.

And he wasn’t being quiet about it, either. His body writhed with every bite, his tail coiling and uncoiling around him as he devoured the corpse. The sounds coming out of his throat were indecent, to say the least. Low, guttural moans mixed with sharp gasps, the occasional growl slipping through as he fed. It was raw, almost erotic in the way it gripped him.

If anyone was around, listening to the noises echoing across the rooftop, they’d think some lunatic was up here, getting off in the middle of the night. Majima didn’t care. The pleasure was too intense, too consuming. His body trembled with every bite, every piece of flesh that slid past his lips. The blood was everywhere, coating his hands, his face, his chest. He was drenched in it, the scent filling his nose and making his head spin with euphoria.

It was so fucking good . He didn’t know how he’d go back to scavenging cold corpses after this. The warmth, the life still clinging to the flesh—it was addictive. Every bite made him want more, made him dig deeper, pulling apart the body with a ferocity that had his muscles shaking from the sheer intensity of it all.

Majima threw his head back, gasping, his chest heaving as he licked the blood from his lips, savoring the last remnants. He couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through him, his entire body alive with the sensation of feeding. It was a slippery slope, and he knew it. But for now? He didn’t give a damn.

Chapter Text

Downstairs, Saejima stood with his arms crossed, putting on his best innocent act as he explained the situation to the police and paramedics. “Yeah, I heard some yellin’, figured somethin’ was goin’ down. By the time I got there, this guy was already stabbed. Didn’t see who did it,” he lied, his face impassive. It wasn’t completely untrue; He didn’t do it and he didn’t see who did! Did it really matter how he found the guy? The cops looked skeptical, but Saejima was calm, cool, playing the part. “I don’t know this area too well, y’know? Usually stick to the main roads and thought I could take a shortcut… I was just tryin’ to find my way home. Got turned ‘round in the alleys.”

The paramedics were more focused on Emoto, strapped into a gurney, blood still soaking through his bandages. But even in his weakened state, Emoto made sure to clear Saejima of any suspicion, his voice strained but clear. “This guy… he saved me,” he rasped, waving a weak hand toward Saejima. “He’s… like a miracle samaritan.”

The cops exchanged looks but shrugged it off. No reason to press a guy who was literally being loaded into an ambulance. The paramedics didn’t waste any more time, wheeling Emoto away as the sirens flared to life again, fading as the ambulance pulled off down the street. The cops didn’t linger either. Without any clear evidence to follow, they left Saejima alone in the alley.

Saejima let out a breath of relief, rubbing the back of his neck. That went smoother than expected. Now he needed to find Majima. He glanced around, trying to figure out where the hell his kyoudai had disappeared to. Where the fuck could he have gone?

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a sound drifted down from above, faint at first but unmistakable. Deep, guttural moans, labored breathing, and… was that a growl?

Saejima’s face twisted with concern. No… is he… again? His mind flashed back to the night before, when Majima had been out of his damn mind, fucked up by the experimental drug Shimano had forced into him. 

Shit.

Saejima bolted toward the stairwell, panic setting in as he climbed up toward the roof. I gotta get up there before he hurts himself!

When he reached the top, bursting onto the rooftop, what he found was something entirely different.

Majima was feeding.

Saejima stopped dead in his tracks, his wide eyes locking onto the scene in front of him. Majima was hunched over a body—what was left of it, anyway—his tail curled around it possessively, blood smeared across his lips and chest. The corpse was torn apart, a mess of flesh and organs that Majima was still tearing into with animalistic fervor. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, and his breath came in ragged, heavy gasps. Blood dripped from his fangs, his claws stained crimson as he ripped another chunk of meat from the body.

Saejima could hardly believe what he was seeing. His stomach churned, a mix of shock and confusion crashing through him. What the fuck happened up here? But before he could even take a step forward, Majima’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he stared Saejima down.

A low, guttural growl rumbled in Majima’s chest, and he bared his fangs, blood still dripping from his lips. His entire body was tense, coiled, and the message was clear. He was being territorial . This was his meal, and he wasn’t about to let anyone near it. Not even Saejima.

“Majima…” Saejima started, his voice soft, trying to break through whatever haze had taken over Majima’s mind. But the look in Majima’s eyes was feral, primal in a way that made Saejima’s skin crawl. He took a cautious step forward, raising his hands in a show of peace. “I ain’t here to take it from ya, okay? Yer good, yer safe.”

Majima’s tail flicked violently, his muscles tensing. His breathing was heavy and erratic, and for a moment, Saejima wasn’t sure if Majima was going to lunge at him or keep devouring his kill.

“Shit…” Saejima muttered under his breath, keeping his voice low. He’d never seen Majima like this, not this far gone .

Majima kept his eyes fixed on Saejima as he ate, the low, wet sounds of flesh tearing and blood dripping filling the air. His body shifted, turning slightly to face his kyoudai better, but he didn’t stop feeding. Not even for a second. This was his dinner, and nothing was going to take it from him. His lips curled back in a half-snarl as his fangs sunk into what was left of the man’s thigh, blood seeping into the gravel beneath him.

Saejima sat cautiously on an HVAC unit near the stairwell, kept his hands raised, making sure Majima knew he wasn’t a threat. He tried to keep his tone calm, though the unease gnawing at him was impossible to shake. “Where’d you get the body, Kyoudai?”

No answer. Majima didn’t even acknowledge the question, just kept tearing into the body, his tail twitching possessively around the mangled form as he gnawed on what was left of the meat.

Saejima’s chest tightened with each passing second, the dread creeping in faster now. How long’s the guy been dead? The thought burrowed into his mind, bringing with it a sickening wave of fear. Majima had been starving for hours, maybe longer , and they’d wasted so much time with Emoto. What if his kyoudai had snapped under the pressure, finally letting the hunger take full control? There were no signs that Majima had killed anyone, but then again, how much evidence would a thirty-foot snake monster leave behind if he decided to drag someone up to a rooftop for a private feast?

Saejima’s voice cracked a little as he asked, “How long’s he been dead?”

Majima paused for a brief second, then licked the blood from his lips, his gaze still locked on Saejima. “Still warm,” he muttered, his voice low and guttural.

The answer sent a cold wave of dread rolling through Saejima’s stomach. Still warm? That wasn’t what he needed to hear. That was too fresh. Way too fresh. Majima had said it so casually, but it left Saejima with a deep, sinking feeling that his worst fear might be true. Did Majima…? He didn’t want to think about it, but the possibility was right there in front of him, staring him down.

He swallowed hard, his voice a little firmer this time, though he tried not to sound accusing. “Where’d you find the body?” He still called it a body , still trying to keep some distance from the reality that it had once been a person. But the way Majima was devouring it, the way his kyoudai had changed in the process, made it harder to hold on to that distinction.

Majima tore another chunk of flesh free, blood coating his chin as he glanced at Saejima with half-lidded eyes, like he was barely paying attention. “Came to me,” he said, his tone vague, as if the explanation was obvious.

Saejima’s throat tightened. What the hell does that mean? Majima wasn’t giving him anything solid, just cryptic answers that only deepened the pit of anxiety growing in his gut. From the way he was speaking, it sounded like the guy just… showed up conveniently, but nothing about this situation felt like a coincidence.

He had to be more direct. Had to make sure Majima wasn’t just dancing around the truth because he was in some kind of blood-induced haze. His heart pounded in his chest as he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. “Kyoudai… did ya kill him?”

The air felt heavier, the question hanging between them like a knife ready to drop.

Majima stopped mid-bite, his mouth full of flesh as he looked up at Saejima. He saw the fear written all over his kyoudai’s face—an expression that Majima rarely, if ever, saw on Saejima. It was in the way Saejima’s body stiffened, the way his chest rose and fell just a little too quickly, how his hands stayed raised, cautious, like he was ready for something to go horribly wrong. Shit, he really thinks I might’ve killed some poor bastard , Majima realized.

He took his time chewing the meat, savoring the taste, letting it roll around on his tongue. It wasn’t just to enjoy it; he needed to make sure he didn’t choke before answering. The warmth of the flesh seemed to linger, filling him with that strange euphoria again. His pupils were blown wide, the blood high still thick in his veins, but he managed to speak.

“No,” he drawled, his voice slow and slurred, like he was drunk. He leaned back slightly, still crouched over the body, his claws twitching lazily as he pointed in the general direction of the other roof with an unsteady hand. “Didn’t fuckin’ kill him…” His words came out in a languid, syrupy cadence, a half-smile tugging at his bloodied lips. “Was shot… on the roof. I was hidin’… over there.” He waved his claw again, the motion chaotic and imprecise.

Majima paused, licking the blood from his lips as he continued, his tone as lazy as ever. “Got shot. Real good shot. Professional, y’know? Like… takeout delivery.” He grinned, the dark humor of the situation not lost on him, even as he savored the last bite.

Saejima let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a bit. But it didn’t last long. Something still wasn’t right, and he knew it. Majima’s words, though they made sense, didn’t exactly ease the unease building in Saejima’s gut. There was something about the way Majima was acting, something subtle but unmistakable, that had Saejima’s instincts screaming at him to get the fuck out of there. His whole body was on edge, every nerve lit up with warning signals. What the hell is going on?

Majima wasn’t acting wildly different. There was no sudden transformation, no violent outburst. But it was the little things—his unsteady movements, the sluggish way he spoke, the glazed look in his eyes. And then there was the way he was feeding. It was… unsettling. The way he moaned, the pure, indulgent delight written all over his face as he sunk his fangs into the man’s calf, tearing off flesh and chewing it with a guttural groan that sounded way too close to actual pleasure.

Saejima swallowed hard, his fists clenching unconsciously as he tried to steady his breathing. Somethin’s wrong. Somethin’s really fuckin’ wrong.

Majima barely noticed. He was too absorbed in his meal, his eyes fluttering shut briefly as he savored the taste of the calf muscle, rich and tender. His tail twitched again, wrapping tighter around the body as he leaned in closer, his mouth brushing against the man’s skin. His voice was low, almost a purr, as he murmured, “So good… so fuckin’ good…”

Saejima felt a chill crawl up his spine. He’d seen Majima in some fucked-up situations before, but this? This was different. This wasn’t the raw, violent hunger he’d witnessed during Majima’s last feeding. This was something far more dangerous—far more consuming .

Majima didn’t even seem aware of the effect he was having on Saejima. He was too lost in the blood, too high on the fresh meat to notice his kyoudai’s growing fear.

Majima pressed his mouth against the other calf, his jaw stretching wide, unnaturally so, as his fangs dug into the meat. His monstrous maw could unhinge enough to take the entire muscle in one go, and he didn’t bother chewing. The whole thing slid down his throat in a single, grotesque swallow, filling him with a deep, twisted satisfaction. He shuddered slightly as it went down, his body still humming from the warmth of fresh flesh.

He glanced down at what was left of the body, now just bones, scraps of cartilage, and the less desirable bits—things that didn’t quite hit the same. It was all still good , but there were always pieces that got left for last. The gristly, texturally challenging stuff like the eyes, the intestines… the parts that were just kinda gross if he was being honest with himself. He had already picked the bones clean of any decent meat, but now he was staring at the leftovers. Not as fun, but still food.

Just as Majima was deciding whether or not he could stomach another mouthful of cartilage, Saejima shifted slightly on the HVAC unit. It was a small, almost insignificant movement—just a slight adjustment to get more comfortable. But to Majima, in this heightened state, it was like a jarring intrusion into his feeding. His eyes snapped to Saejima immediately, narrowing as a low, instinctual hiss escaped his throat. He lowered himself closer to the body, a deep growl rumbling from his chest, warning his kyoudai to back off.

Saejima’s brows shot up in mild surprise, but he didn’t flinch. “Fer cryin’ out loud, Goro. I don’t want your fuckin’ nasty corpse dinner.” His voice was sharp but steady, cutting through the tense air between them. “Settle yourself down, alright? I’m not touchin’ it.”

Majima huffed, an odd mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside him. He didn’t even really understand why Saejima’s presence was bothering him so much. It wasn’t like Saejima had done anything wrong, but having him there , watching while he fed, it was making his skin crawl. His body tensed, his muscles coiling with a strange discomfort, and he turned his gaze back to the remains, biting back the urge to snap again.

Prey watching him eat. That was what it felt like. Saejima wasn’t prey, not in the literal sense, but the sensation was still there, gnawing at Majima’s already fragile sense of control. Having someone there, observing , made him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that he didn’t quite understand. It twisted something deep in his gut, and it was making him more agitated than he wanted to admit.

He let out another low growl, softer this time, more to himself than to Saejima. “I dunno why you bein’ here’s makin’ me fuckin’ twitchy…” He trailed off, shaking his head, trying to focus on the scraps in front of him rather than the uneasy feeling in his chest. The hunger was still there, but now it was mixed with something else. Something unsettled.

Saejima leaned back slightly, watching Majima gnaw on a bit of cartilage with a look of pure indulgence on his face. He could take a guess at what was really going on in his kyoudai's head. This—this feeding frenzy, tearing into warm, fresh flesh—was as close to eating someone alive as Majima was ever going to get. Especially after what happened with Emoto, it was clear that Majima couldn’t just sit there and watch someone die slowly, like he was waiting for a microwave timer to go off. He had to act. And now, with this body, it was like all that pent-up hunger had finally been unleashed.

Saejima tried to push the uncomfortable feeling down, telling himself what's done is done . The man was already dead when Majima got to him, after all. Majima hadn’t broken any of his self-imposed rules. He followed his own code, and as much as Saejima wanted to be unnerved by this whole situation—the sounds, the smells, the way Majima was acting—he didn’t really have the right to be. Majima didn’t kill the guy. The real problem was that Saejima just didn’t like seeing him this far gone. But what the hell else were they supposed to do?

He cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. “So… how much better is it, huh? Fresh like that?”

Majima groaned in response, his teeth tearing through the tough cartilage with a crack. He didn’t look up, just licked the blood off his lips, savoring it like it was a fine wine. “So fuckin’ good,” he muttered between bites, his voice thick with pleasure. “A game changer. Wish they were all like this.”

Saejima’s stomach churned at the unsettling answer. The way Majima said it, so casually, made his skin crawl. He’d been hoping for something more lighthearted, something to take the edge off, but instead, he got that. Shit. Okay. Time to try another angle.

Saejima shifted his weight and forced a small smile, even though he wasn’t sure Majima was paying enough attention to notice. “By the way, Emoto looked like he’s gonna make it. Your venom did good work. Kept him from bleedin’ out.”

Majima paused for a moment, but then his response came, just as unsettling as before. “He tasted good too,” he said with a casual shrug, going back to the remains, not even acknowledging the good deed he’d done. There was no recognition of the fact that he’d just saved a man’s life, even as a monster. He only cared about the blood, the taste.

Saejima’s smile faltered, his jaw clenching involuntarily. The conversation wasn’t going the way he’d hoped. Every attempt to lighten the mood only seemed to pull them deeper into something darker, more unsettling. Majima wasn’t completely gone—he was still in control, in his own twisted way—but the way he was talking, the way he wasn’t reflecting on what had happened with Emoto, was putting Saejima more on edge than he’d care to admit.

He shifted again, his body tense, his instincts still screaming at him to be cautious, to keep his distance. The conversations were stopping and starting like a bad engine, sputtering out just as quickly as they began, each one more disconcerting than the last. Saejima swallowed hard, trying to keep himself calm, but his nerves were frayed. He didn’t know how long Majima would stay like this, but the longer it went on, the more dangerous it felt.

Majima bent down, his tongue dragging across the gravel of the roof, lapping at the blood with a fervor that made Saejima's stomach twist. The wet, slurping sound was grotesque, and the way Majima was hunched over, sucking up every last drop, like it might slip through the cracks in the rooftop if he didn’t get to it fast enough, was downright unsettling.

His body was full to bursting, his skin stretched taut from the sheer amount of meat and blood he’d consumed, but he didn’t stop. There was something almost compulsive about it, like leaving any of the body behind would be some kind of failure. Can’t just leave any of it behind , he thought. Too bad I can’t snag a doggie bag and take the rest home. Wouldn’t that be nice? He let out a low, dark chuckle at the thought, the sound muffled as he licked the last bit of blood off his fingers.

The guy had been a lot of meat, way more than Majima had anticipated. When he first set out earlier that night, he figured he’d need at least two bodies to feel full, especially after wasting so much time keeping Emoto alive. But now? He was satisfied . More than satisfied. His stomach was stretched, heavy with flesh and blood, and the familiar warmth of being completely sated was starting to settle in.

Still, there were bones left, and Majima wasn’t the type to leave anything half-finished. He cracked a few more of them, gnawing at the marrow, savoring the rich, almost buttery taste before swallowing the splintered bones whole. He didn’t need to eat the bones—he knew that much. They were just gonna come back up later, something his body would purge when it couldn’t digest them. But there was something about the act of finishing it all, taking in every part of the body, that made him feel… whole.

Saejima, watching from a few feet away, raised an eyebrow as he saw Majima gulp down another splintered piece of bone. He couldn’t help but ask, “Why the hell you eatin’ that bone, Kyoudai? You’re just gonna puke it up later. Doesn’t it hurt, bringin’ splintered bones back up like that?”

Majima turned his head slowly, his yellow eyes dull and heavy from the blood-induced stupor he was in. He stared at Saejima for a long, uncomfortable moment before he spoke, his voice low and thick with satisfaction. “Feels good goin’ down… knowing you fit it all in there.”

Saejima’s face twisted in disgust, and he couldn’t hold back the involuntary shudder that crawled up his spine. “Okay… eww,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back as far as the HVAC unit would allow.

Majima, oblivious to Saejima’s reaction, simply grinned, licking the last bit of blood from his lips before letting out a satisfied sigh. His body was coiled loosely around the remains, his movements languid and slow, like a snake basking in the warmth of a meal well-devoured. He cracked one last bone between his teeth, the sound loud and final in the stillness of the rooftop, and swallowed the shards without a second thought.

Saejima watched him in silence, more than a little unnerved. There was something different about Majima tonight—something darker, more consuming. And the way he spoke, the way he enjoyed it, made Saejima feel like he was watching a part of Majima that wasn’t meant to be seen.

Majima coiled his long, serpentine body around himself, creating a loose nest of scales and muscle as he settled down onto the roof. His belly pressed into the cool concrete, his head resting atop the thick loop of his own body, his eyes half-lidded and distant. It was a strange sight—Majima, the wild, unpredictable force that he was, now laying still and quiet, his movements slow and uncharacteristically gentle.

It was clear to Saejima that Majima had indulged in every bit of the body he could, tearing through it with a hunger that had seemed almost unstoppable. And yet, now that it was over, there was a distinct shift in his energy. His body, still glistening with blood and sweat, looked content, but his expression told a different story. His sharp features softened with something like melancholy, like a kid who’d finished his favorite ice cream way too fast and was left staring at the empty cup, wishing it had lasted longer.

Saejima squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Majima— pouting ? Was that what this was? Was his kyoudai seriously bummed out after devouring an entire corpse like a goddamn predator? Saejima couldn’t believe it. The tension in his own body slowly faded, replaced by a wave of confusion as he watched Majima lie there, his coiled form looking almost like a bizarre, scaled cushion.

“Ya... ya alright?” Saejima asked, his voice breaking the heavy silence of the rooftop.

Majima didn’t respond right away. He just shifted slightly, his tail twitching lazily behind him, eyes still cast down as if he were lost in thought. Finally, he huffed, sounding irritated. “It’s over too quick,” he muttered, his voice tinged with disappointment. “Feels like I didn’t even get to savor it, y’know? One second, it’s all there, and the next... gone.”

Saejima blinked, completely thrown by the admission. Majima was actually pouting about his meal, like he’d missed out on some great culinary experience instead of tearing through a freshly killed corpse. “Yer... bummed that ya finished it?” Saejima asked, trying to wrap his head around it. “That’s what yer upset about?”

Majima’s eyes flicked up to him, a slight glare behind them. “Well, yeah,” he replied, sounding like it should’ve been obvious. “I mean, it was... fuckin’ incredible. Fresh, warm, all that blood...” His voice trailed off, and he sighed again, letting his head drop back down onto the coil of his body. “But it’s done now. No more.”

Saejima scratched the back of his neck, still trying to process the fact that Majima was genuinely upset that his feast had ended. “Ain’t that kinda the point of eatin’? It ends when yer full or there’s no more to eat?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I hafta like it,” Majima shot back, his tone petulant.

Saejima just stared at him, baffled by the entire scene. His kyoudai, a literal monster in every sense of the word, had just finished devouring a fresh kill and was now lying there, coiled up like a snake, visibly pouting about it. It was unsettling in its own right, but there was something almost comical about the whole situation.

Saejima thought he was in the clear. Majima looked like he was winding down, coiled up in his nest of flesh and scales, too full and too content to be much of a threat. He figured now was the time to get up, maybe even haul Majima home if he could manage to untangle his tail from the damn rooftop. He stood, stretched, and began to approach, thinking his kyoudai would probably be more inclined to nap than anything else.

Oh, boy, was he wrong.

The second Saejima got within range, Majima’s entire body snapped into action—well, as much action as his bloated, sluggish form could muster. His fangs shot out, but instead of landing a clean strike, they hit the thick fabric of Saejima’s jacket, puncturing through but getting tangled on the layers. Majima’s eyes widened in sudden frustration as he realized what he’d done, jerking his head back but only making it worse. His fangs were stuck. Real fuckin' stuck .

Saejima reeled back, shocked, and blurted out, "What the fuck , Majima?!"

Majima was slow. His bloated body, full of the meat and blood he'd just consumed, wasn’t moving like it usually did. He was heavy, sluggish, his body too focused on digesting to react the way it normally would. His strikes were half-hearted, his balance off as he twisted and thrashed in a futile attempt to free himself from the jacket.

“Shit, hold still,” Saejima muttered, reaching for Majima’s head. He grabbed him behind the jaw, pressing down on his neck to keep his mouth open in the same way you’d handle a snake to subdue it. Majima’s jaw hung slack, his fangs still hooked into the fabric, and he was doing more harm than good trying to free himself.

“Nnghh... T-Taiga... I-I din’ mean t’ fuckin’ lunge, man,” Majima slurred, his words heavy and twisted with drunkenness. His mouth hung open awkwardly and his words came out slow, like he was fighting through a fog. “Damn jacket... s’stuck. I... din’t even mean it, man. J-just... fuckin’ bloated ‘n tired... shit, I dunno why I did it.”

His voice was a mess, “Sss’orry ‘bout it... Ain’ tryna bite yer ass. Jusss... too fuuuckin' slow fer this shiiiit... bloated like a big-ass fugu, man... bloated sssnake ass..." He tried to explain further, but the words came out broken, almost incomprehensible, like a man who’d taken too many shots and didn’t realize he was already drunk until it was too late.

Saejima furrowed his brow, finally getting a good grip on Majima’s head, easing him out of the tangled jacket without further damage. His speech was slurred, his movements erratic, his eyes half-lidded and dazed.

Majima’s tongue lolled in his mouth as he tried again to speak, but it was even worse this time. "S-Saeejjiiimmaaa... ya dun’... ya dun’ gotta worry ‘bout it. Ain’ gonna bite ya no more, jus’... gimme a sec... f-feel like I’m floatin’ ‘r some shit... T-Taaigaa, I’mma be real wit’ ya... I’m fuckin’... plastered..."

Saejima stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are ya drunk er somethin’?”

Majima let out a slow, languid laugh, his eyes rolling back slightly as he slumped into Saejima’s hold. “Yup… seems like— like it… fuckin’ blood drunk , Kyoudai... whooo... feels like I jus’ took a buncha shots ‘n now I’m tryin’ not t’ fall the fuck over...” His head lolled to the side, and he let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Ssshit...”

Saejima shook his head, half in disbelief, half in concern. How the hell did this happen? One minute Majima was tearing into a corpse, and the next, he was barely coherent, slurring his words like he was on his seventh round of drinks at the bar. “Ya gotta be kiddin’ me,” Saejima muttered, carefully holding Majima in place to keep him from flopping around.

Majima, his words continuing to slur, mumbled, "Nah... not kiddin’. Ain’t... ain’t ever had a meal that hit this hard... feel like m' floatin’ in a fuckin’ onsen..." He laughed again, a lazy, drunken sound that made Saejima cringe.

Saejima sighed, trying to make sense of the situation. “How the fuck do ya get drunk off blood, man?” He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be worried.

Saejima shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep Majima’s head steady in his grip, still processing everything that had just gone down. It was probably time to talk about what the hell that had been. He’d never seen Majima act like this, especially after a meal. His mind spun with questions, his gut still on edge from the near-attack. Did he do something wrong? Did he piss Majima off without realizing it? His kyoudai was unpredictable on a good day, but this...this was different.

“Did I do somethin’ to make ya upset?” Saejima asked, still holding Majima’s head like he was restraining a writhing snake.

Majima’s half-lidded eyes blinked sluggishly, his words slow, dragging like the rest of his bloated body. “Nawww... jus’... digestin’, man. This... this was a big fuckin’ meal.” He hiccuped, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he licked at his lips. “Y'know... I get jumpy when I’m full up like this. Ain’t like I meant t’ lunge atcha, but... shit happens.”

Saejima let out a breath. That made a certain kind of sense. He’d seen snakes get irritable when they were digesting a particularly large meal, especially if they felt vulnerable. And Majima had just devoured someone bigger than he was, not to mention the freakishly fresh state of the corpse. Saejima nodded slowly. “Makes ya feel vulnerable, don’t it? Bein’ all bloated like that?” His voice was softer now, trying to understand the situation. “That guy was bigger than ya, by the looks of it.”

Majima let out a groggy chuckle, his head lolling in Saejima’s hands. “Mmmm... yeah, man. Ya saw how slow I was... fuckin’ full t’ the brim. Can’t move like I usually do.” He trailed off, another hiccup shaking his bloated form. “And yeah... the meat... fuck, Taiga, it was basically still alive... even if the brain wasn’t.”

Saejima nodded, piecing it together. Majima wasn’t just out of it because of the size of the meal. It was how fresh the meat had been. The blood still warm, the flesh practically still pulsing. It had hit Majima harder than anything else ever had. And now, here they were, dealing with the aftermath.

But the worst part? That was still coming.

Majima started to drool. Thick, viscous strands of saliva dripped from his mouth, dangling from his lips in glistening ropes, landing on Saejima’s hands and forearms with an audible plop . Saejima’s eyes widened. He knew what was coming next.

“Oh... shit ,” Saejima muttered under his breath, already dreading what was about to happen. “It’s purge time, ain’t it?”

Majima let out a pathetic moan, his whole body convulsing slightly as his bloated stomach lurched. His mouth opened wider, thick strands of saliva pouring out uncontrollably. “Shit... f-fuck, Taiga... move...” His words were slurred beyond recognition, but the urgency in his tone was unmistakable.

Before Saejima could even react, Majima’s body heaved, and a massive wave of bile and half-digested mess erupted from his mouth. It was thick, dark, and filled with all the indigestible crap his second stomach couldn’t handle—cartilage, veins, arteries, excess fat, and most noticeably, the splintered shards of bone. The smell hit Saejima immediately, a rancid stench of death and rot that clung to the air like a suffocating blanket.

The purge was violent , far worse than anything Saejima had ever seen before. The sheer volume of it was overwhelming, as if Majima’s body couldn’t properly separate the waste from the good stuff. It got everywhere . The first wave splattered all over Saejima’s legs and boots, thick chunks of bone and gelatinous tissue sticking to his clothes like they had been glued on. More bile sprayed onto the rooftop, pooling around Majima’s coiled body, staining the gravel with the sickening contents.

“ Goddammit ...” Saejima cursed, trying to dodge as much of the mess as possible, but it was no use. The purge just kept coming, a steady stream of foul-smelling, indigestible sludge that seemed to have no end. Majima’s body convulsed with each wave, his mouth wide open, eyes squeezed shut as he continued to vomit up the remnants of the meal that his body had rejected.

Saejima had to turn his head away, gagging from the smell and the sheer amount of bile coating the ground. It wasn’t just bones and tissue; there was a sickly mix of blood-soaked fat and tendons, bits of half-digested cartilage that had congealed into thick, jellied blobs. Every now and then, a chunk of splintered bone would hit the ground with a wet thud , mixing with the pile of slop.

Majima’s voice was strained, barely more than a wheeze between purges. “F-fuck... I... didn’t mean... t’ make a mess...”

Saejima, covered in bile and half-digested mess, gritted his teeth and tried not to lose it himself. “Yeah, no shit, Goro... yer makin’ a huge fuckin’ mess...”

Majima heaved again, his body trembling as more bile splattered onto the rooftop. “S-sorry... b-body jus’... couldn’t handle it all... too big... fuck...”

Saejima groaned, watching as the last of the purge finally sputtered out, leaving Majima lying there, a pathetic mess in the middle of the pool of vomit. The whole scene was a disaster.

Majima gagged, his body convulsing with a violent hacking sound that echoed across the rooftop. His throat bulged grotesquely as something thick and tangled was caught in his esophagus, a bundle of veins refusing to dislodge. With every painful retch, his body struggled to expel it, his stomach twisting and convulsing as he pulled up more and more of the slimy mess.

Saejima stood there, grimacing as he watched, but giving Majima all the time he needed. It was uncomfortable to witness, the sickening sound of the veins dragging their way up Majima's throat like a twisted rope of gristle. Majima's eyes bulged, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts as he fought to clear his airway, gagging and choking on the tangled mess lodged deep inside him.

Finally, with one last wrenching pull, the bundle of veins came free. It slithered out of his mouth and dropped into the sickly pile of bile and bone at his feet, a slimy, fleshy knot that only made the scene more grotesque.

Majima collapsed back against his coiled body, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in labored gasps. His tongue lolled out for a second, trying to shake off the last remnants of the purge as he caught his breath. The adrenaline from the choking fit left him weak, but that drunken haze still clung to him, making him slow to react to the situation.

When he finally looked up at Saejima, his expression was... different. His usual smirk was gone, replaced with something softer, more vulnerable. A small, almost pitiable smile curled at his lips, but it wasn’t the cocky, half-crazed grin Saejima was used to. This was... Oh. Saejima blinked, suddenly realizing. He's embarrassed.

Majima, the wild, unpredictable madman, the guy who didn’t give a shit what anyone thought, was blushing . His face was flushed with a deep red, his yellow eyes darting away awkwardly, unable to meet Saejima’s gaze. The flush wasn’t just from exertion—it was pure embarrassment, and that was something Saejima rarely, if ever, saw.

Saejima couldn’t help but find it kinda... cute. Majima was never this bashful, not even when things went sideways. But the fact that he was drunk on blood, bloated and sluggish, and now sitting in the middle of a vomit-covered rooftop? It made sense.

Saejima chuckled quietly, trying not to make a big deal out of it. But seeing Majima like this, he just had an impulse, a sudden urge to do something he knew would embarrass Majima even more. He stepped over, cautiously approaching his kyoudai, fully expecting some pushback. Still, he couldn’t resist.

Without a word, Saejima reached down and scratched the back of Majima’s head, right where his undercut was, the soft bristles of hair barely growing back from the last shave. He’d done this in that dark alley and Majima had reacted then. Saejima was hoping he’d react now too.

Majima’s reaction was immediate. He let out an involuntary, low purr that rumbled deep in his chest, but it didn’t stop there. The purring was mixed with chuffing sounds, little hisses of pleasure as his body betrayed him once again. His eyes fluttered shut, and his coiled form shuddered under Saejima’s touch. The more Saejima scratched, the more intense the reaction became, Majima’s entire body trembling with a strange mix of embarrassment and enjoyment.

“Goddammit, Taiga… stop it…” Majima slurred, his words barely coherent through the haze of his drunken stupor. His face burned even redder, the flush creeping down his neck as he struggled to keep his composure. But the purring didn’t stop. His body wouldn’t let him fight it, the sound rolling from him in waves, mixed with those odd hisses and chuffs that made him sound almost feral.

Saejima grinned. So this really works, huh? He filed that information away for later. Majima would definitely fight it when he sobered up, but knowing he could get this kind of reaction out of him was priceless. Saejima scratched a little more, watching as Majima’s body twitched under his hand, the sounds growing louder, the purring vibrating through his whole frame.

“I’m gonna remember this fer next time yer bein’ a pissy little shit,” Saejima said, half-joking, but with a serious edge to his tone. “And we’re definitely gonna see if this works when yer human, too.”

Majima let out a frustrated groan, but the purring didn’t stop. “Yer… such an asshole…” he mumbled as his body sagged deeper into the coils of his own tail, his eyelids fluttering heavily as if he might just drift off right there.

Saejima chuckled again, stepping back after a moment.

After a while, Majima finally felt like he could move—his body had digested enough that the overwhelming bloat had subsided, though there was still a heavy, uncomfortable fullness that surprised him. He tapped Saejima, who had been on the verge of dozing off, waiting for his kyoudai to sober up.

“Oi, Kyoudai... I’m ready t’ leave,” Majima mumbled, his voice still thick and drunk.

Saejima stirred, rubbing his eyes and blinking in the low light of the rooftop. He glanced at Majima, noticing the slight distension in his belly that hadn’t completely gone down. “Ya sure yer good to move?” Saejima asked, raising an eyebrow. Majima still looked like he was halfway bloated and stumbling around like a newborn fawn.

Majima waved him off with a lazy grin. “Yeah, yeah... I’m fine, man. Jus’... might need some help with the damn stairwell.”

Saejima sighed but stood up and slung one of Majima’s arms over his shoulder, ready to guide him down. The moment Majima tried to maneuver, though, his tail slid out awkwardly from beneath him, making it harder to balance as they started their descent. Saejima grunted under the weight, Majima’s bloated form leaning heavily on him the entire way down.

“Stop puttin’ all yer weight on me, ya idiot,” Saejima growled as they reached the stairs. Majima was practically dead weight, his serpentine form coiling uselessly around them both.

“Easier said than done...” Majima slurred, his voice tinged with irritation. “I ain’t got knees like you. Can’t exactly lock anythin’ into place. Got this damn tail t’ deal with.” He grumbled under his breath as he tried and failed to keep himself upright, relying entirely on Saejima’s grip.

By the time they made it to the ground, Saejima was drenched in sweat and looking more than a little worse for wear. Majima, trying to pull himself together, sniffed at the air cautiously, making sure they were alone. He didn’t want any surprises—especially not that fuckin’ kid from earlier. But the alleyway was quiet, nothing out of place.

“Smells clear,” Majima muttered, his tongue flicking out for extra measure. “No punks around.”

“Great,” Saejima replied flatly, already exhausted by the idea of dragging Majima home. He gave his kyoudai a sideways glance. “Let’s just get back quietly, alright?”

But that was easier said than done.

Majima slithered forward, his tail lagging behind in an uncoordinated mess, still too bloated to move properly. It was like he had been drinking all night sitting down, only to stand up and get hit by the full weight of the alcohol. He was running into every trash can, bumping into walls, his tail knocking over crates as they tried to navigate the narrow alleyways. Saejima was practically losing his mind, trying to keep him upright and out of trouble.

“Goro, seriously ,” Saejima hissed under his breath as Majima nearly knocked over a stack of boxes. “Ya gotta focus, man! Yer making too much noise!”

“I am focusin’,” Majima grumbled, sniffing the air distractedly as they moved. But it was clear that wasn’t true—he was getting distracted by random scents, tilting his head toward the air every few steps. “What’s that smell...?” He muttered, half to himself. “Smells like... curry? Nah... maybe fish...?”

“ Forget about the fuckin’ smells!” Saejima snapped, his voice low but strained. “Yer gonna get us caught!”

Majima giggled, swaying drunkenly and almost losing his balance again. “S’fine, Taiga... s’fine... I’m jus’ curious...”

Saejima gritted his teeth, fighting back the urge to smack Majima upside the head. He was so done with this. His heart was pounding, anxiety bubbling up as he tried to keep Majima from slithering out into the open streets or making too much noise. The drunk snake monster was a slithering disaster, veering off course, knocking into walls, and generally making Saejima feel like he was losing years off his life with every step.

“Just... stay close,” Saejima muttered through clenched teeth, his arm wrapped tightly around Majima’s waist to keep him from falling. “We’re almost home...”

But with the way Majima was moving, Saejima wasn’t so sure they’d get there in one piece. Saejima was mentally mapping out every step they needed to take to get home without being seen, but it was getting harder to figure out how they’d get Majima through the alleys, up the stairs, and into the apartment before anyone noticed a thirty-foot drunk snake monster slithering around Kamurocho.

“Y’know, I could jusssst... come in through the window. The back’s darker, ain’t no one gonna ssssssee me.”

Saejima stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Majima in disbelief for a moment. Wait a second... that’s actually a great idea. It was the first coherent thought Majima had since they started heading back, and it just might work.

“Shit... ya might be onto somethin’ there,” Saejima muttered, more to himself than to Majima. He quickly looked at his kyoudai, feeling a tiny glimmer of hope. “Alright, you wait here in the alley. I’ll run ahead, get the window open in my apartment, and ya can stretch up to it, alright?”

Majima nodded enthusiastically, his drunken grin widening. “Yeah, yeah... I got it. Ssstretch up t’ the window, no problemmm.”

Saejima gave him a skeptical look. He wasn’t entirely sure Majima actually understood the plan, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He left Majima waiting and darted ahead, making his way back to the apartment as quickly as possible. The moment he stepped inside, Yasuko greeted him, her voice curious.

“Hey, Nii-san! You’re back already?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she saw him make a beeline for the window. “It’s a bit cold to have the window open, don’t you think?”

Saejima didn’t even break stride, throwing the window open wide as he glanced back at Yasuko. “Trust me, yer gonna wanna see this,” he muttered before turning his gaze to the alley, looking for Majima. Sure enough, Majima was still there—thankfully waiting like Saejima had asked.

Saejima waved Majima over, his hand motioning urgently for his kyoudai to get a move on. Majima saw the signal, grinning like a damn fool, and began making his way over to the back of the apartment building. But oh fuck, his movements were a complete disaster. What should’ve taken seconds was taking him forever, his tail knocking over everything in his path as he slowly slithered across the alley, his body swaying drunkenly from side to side.

He crossed the road with all the grace of a train wreck, knocking over a few trash bins on the adjacent street as he went. “Sssorry! Didn’t mean t’ knock y’ over,” he mumbled, apologizing to the bins as if they were people. God, this is takin’ forever... But eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he made it to the back of the building.

Yasuko, hearing the commotion outside, joined Saejima at the window. “What... what the hell is going on out there?” she asked, peering over his shoulder just in time to see Majima, haphazardly stretching his long, snake-like body up toward the second floor.

Below the window, Majima was a sight to behold. His body coiled and uncoiled in drunken fits, his tail dragging lazily as he tried to maneuver himself upward. Saejima leaned out the window, reaching his hand out to give Majima something to stabilize himself with. “Come on, man, get yer ass up here,” he grumbled, his patience hanging on by a thread.

Majima groaned as he struggled to stretch his body the rest of the way, his tail knocking into the side of the building. But after a lot of trouble, and more than a few muttered curses, he finally managed to haul himself up onto the windowsill, leaning heavily against it with a sigh of relief.

“Yasuko-chan!” Majima slurred, flashing a lazy grin at her. “Ya... ya look beautiful tonight...” He gave her a sloppy wink, his words dripping with drunken charm. “Ya’d be proud of me... didn’t eat a live man tonight. Nah, nah... helped one... and I got a hot date in two days.”

Yasuko stared at him, blinking in utter confusion. “...Nii-san... did you guys grab alcohol when you went out to find Majima’s dinner?” She looked over at Saejima, her expression a mixture of concern and amusement.

Saejima let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “No, he’s just... fuckin’ drunk on blood. Don’t ask me how it happened, but it hit him hard.”

Yasuko’s eyes widened, and she looked back at Majima, who was still grinning like an idiot. “Blood drunk? That’s... a thing?”

“Apparently,” Saejima muttered, scratching the back of his neck as he helped Majima crawl the rest of the way inside, trying to keep him from knocking anything over in the process. “And now I gotta get him to bed before he knocks over the whole damn apartment...”

Majima squirmed his way over the windowsill, his movements awkward and uncoordinated, before landing on the floor with a loud, ungraceful thump . His body sprawled out across the room as he pulled the rest of his tail inside, all thirty feet of him haphazardly coiling and tangling up the entire living room. Saejima and Yasuko had to back up, pressing against the kitchen counters as one of Majima’s thick coils bumped into their legs, undulating and twitching like it had a mind of its own.

“C’mon, Goro...” Saejima muttered under his breath, trying to keep his cool. His eyes flicked to Yasuko, who looked somewhere between amused and horrified.

Majima, on the other hand, was in his own world. He rolled over onto his back, revealing the full extent of his bloated, distended belly. His serpentine body heaved as he settled, sprawled across the floor. Yasuko's eyes widened as she took in the sight of his bloated form. “Nii-san… he looks like he’s... really overdone it,” she whispered, her voice a mix of concern and disbelief.

Majima, oblivious to the conversation around him, started babbling. At first, it was just random, slurred words, but it quickly escalated into a mess of incomprehensible gibberish. “Awwww... Yasuko-chan... heh ... d-did I... tell ya... got a date ... yeahh, a fuckin' hot one... s’gon be... ssssoooooooo fuckin’ good... an'... y'know... y’know what sssucks... ain't no one... no one e-ever gets me... hic ... y'knowww...?”

His voice was trailing off into broken syllables, his accent thicker than ever, his words barely making sense. He was slurring so hard that even Saejima, who had dealt with more than his fair share of Majima’s ramblings, could barely make out what the hell he was trying to say. It was worse now— way worse. Saejima narrowed his eyes, trying to hide the concern creeping into his expression. Majima was getting drunker .

Saejima hadn’t thought that was possible. Majima had been sloshed when they got him back to the apartment, but now? Now he was practically falling apart. His speech had gone from just sloppy to completely incomprehensible, words tumbling out in chunks, some of them barely sounding like language at all. His movements were even more sluggish, his body twitching and squirming uncontrollably.

“Goro...” Saejima said slowly, carefully, as if he was trying not to startle a wild animal. “Yer uh... yer talkin’ a bit more than usual. Ya sure yer feelin’ alright?”

Majima, his head lolling to one side, blinked lazily up at Saejima. “ Feelin’ ... feelin’... ohhh, Taiga... m'feelin’... great , jus’... fuckin’ bloated like... like a damn balloon ... an’... ssss’tired, y’know? Jus’ wanna... curl up... but whyyyy's the floor... spinnin’?”

Saejima winced. Shit, he’s getting worse.

Majima’s speech was nearly unintelligible at this point, every word dragging into the next, his accent thickening with every sentence. “Sss’Saejimaa... I-I can’t... can’t... fuckin’ ... staaand... I-I mean, can’t even... fuckin’ move ...” His words dissolved into a low, drunk laugh that made Saejima grit his teeth. It was like watching someone completely lose control of their body, and Saejima had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

“Yeah, no shit, Goro,” Saejima muttered, keeping his tone calm despite the alarm bells ringing in his head. “Yer kinda bloated and hammered, man. Why don’t ya just... lay still fer a bit?”

Majima didn’t respond to that—well, not in any way that made sense. Instead, he kept mumbling, his words a jumbled mess. “Mmm... fuckin’... layin’ still’sss... hard , Taiga... s’like... whoooo ... whole place... fuckin' floatin' ... y’ever think... think ‘bout... m'missin’ fuckin' legs , Kyoudaiiii... how d’ya... how ya even ...?”

Saejima rubbed his face with one hand, exhausted. He hadn’t expected this when they went out to find Majima’s dinner, and now here he was, trying to keep his kyoudai from drunkenly slithering all over the place. He glanced at Yasuko, who looked utterly bewildered by the whole situation.

She leaned toward him, whispering, “Is he... is he always like this when he’s done eating?”

Saejima shook his head subtly. “No. This is... this is new.” He kept his voice low, trying to maintain the calm front he’d had all night. Inside, though? He was barely keeping it together. Majima was way drunker than he should be, and it didn’t seem like it was letting up. He was getting progressively worse, the slurred speech, the aimless movements... it was all downhill from here, and none of them had any idea how long it would last.

As Majima continued to babble incoherently, Saejima made a mental note: Survive tonight, deal with the hangover tomorrow .

Chapter Text

Majima struggled, trying to pull himself together as Saejima asked him to coil up. He knew he was taking up the entire living room, and he wanted to help, but his drunk and bloated body had other ideas. He slithered awkwardly, his tail twitching and moving in disjointed jerks, knocking into furniture and pushing Saejima and Yasuko further back toward the kitchen counter. His tail kept brushing up against their legs, undulating in a way that wasn’t deliberate—just sloppy and uncoordinated.

Saejima sighed, clearly trying to stay patient. “Majima, c’mon, just... coil up a bit more. Yer takin’ up the whole damn room.”

Majima grunted, his face scrunching up as he attempted to gather himself, but he wasn’t making any progress. As he continued to fumble and writhe, he started to feel weird . At first, it was subtle—a tingling sensation running along the length of his tail, a strange, burning feeling deep inside him. It was enough to make him pause, his drunken mind struggling to piece together what was happening.

“Sa-Saej... somethin’s... sss’not right...” he slurred, his words barely making it out of his mouth in any coherent form. His body was still twisting awkwardly, but now there was a hint of discomfort that felt incredibly wrong . “Sss... feels like... I dunno... b-burnin’... but... can’t...”

Saejima frowned, stepping over Majima’s erratically twitching tail to get closer. “What d’you mean, ‘burnin’?’ Ya gonna be sick?”

Majima groaned, squeezing his eye shut like it might help steady him. His fingers flexed against the floor, claws scraping against the wood. “Dunno... juss’... feelin’ bad. Wrong. ” He let his head loll against his shoulder, exhaling shakily. “‘S like... all tight inside... but stretchin’ too...”

Yasuko hesitated, glancing at Saejima with quiet concern. “Maybe it’s just the food?”

“Pfft— s’not food.” Majima grimaced, curling his claws over his stomach like he was trying to hold himself together. His tail twitched again, thumping uselessly against the cabinets before going slack. “Feelsss— hahhh —like I’m gonna pop... but not.” He cracked his eye open, pupils blown wide and unfocused. “Like... I’m gettin’ bigger, but I ain't—right?” His drunken, sluggish gaze shifted toward Saejima, searching for confirmation. “Tell me I ain’t.”

Saejima narrowed his eyes, scanning him. “Yer the same size ya were when ya crashed through the damn window.”

Majima made a low, warbling sound in his throat, unsatisfied. His tail still felt like it was shifting, stretching in ways that made his skin tingle and burn. He felt like he was growing, even if no one else could see it.

He swallowed, his tongue flicking out instinctively. “Sss’wrong,” he muttered, his voice losing its usual bite. “S’like—like my skin’s too tight, n’my tail’s movin’ funny. Not me. Just... movin’.” He curled his fingers, gripping at the floor to anchor himself. His tail flicked again, clumsily coiling in a half-hearted loop before unraveling.

Saejima let out a heavy breath, running a hand down his face. “Yer just drunk.”

Majima huffed, eyes fluttering as another slow wave of heaviness and warmth rolled through his body, settling deep in his muscles. He felt full. Weighed down. Like his body had been worked over and then left to sit, processing something too much for it to handle all at once.

His stomach clenched.

Yasuko reached out cautiously, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you should just lie down?”

Majima groaned in protest but was already sinking lower, his body slackening against the floor in a way that felt involuntary. His tail twitched one last time before settling, his breathing slowing. Everything felt far away now, like his body was tucking itself into some deep, sluggish place where it could rest and process.

Saejima crouched beside him, watching as Majima’s breathing evened out.

“...Think he’s out,” Saejima muttered.

Yasuko chewed her lip. “Is he okay?”

Saejima let out a long, slow breath through his nose, staring down at the mass of Majima sprawled across his living room floor. He wasn’t sure when exactly the bastard had passed out—somewhere between all that drunken mumbling and whatever weird, sluggish state he had fallen into—but he was out. Completely dead to the world.

Majima’s tail was a mess of loose, heavy coils, draped over furniture, stretching out toward the kitchen, the tip twitching faintly every so often before going still again. His upper body was slumped forward, cheek pressed against the floor, arms half-curled like he’d tried to move and then just… gave up. His breathing was deep and steady. Saejima waited for the fake out, for a sign that Majima was going to suddenly wake.

Nothing.

Majima wasn’t waking up.

Saejima sighed again, rubbing at his temple before dragging a hand down his face. This is gonna be a pain in the ass.

There was no way in hell they could just leave him here. Yasuko had school in the morning, then work right after. He had shit to do too—last thing he needed was to trip over this big idiot in the middle of the night trying to take a piss.

“Gotta get ‘im outta here,” Saejima muttered, mostly to himself, shaking his head.

Yasuko still looked vaguely concerned, her arms crossed over her chest, staring down at Majima like she expected him to snap awake at any second and start knocking shit over again. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Saejima shrugged. “’S Majima. He’s been worse.”

That wasn’t really an answer, but it was the best one he had. Majima was breathing fine, no sign he was in pain, no weird noises except for the occasional deep, slow exhale that rattled out of his throat like a low, sleepy growl. He’d been off , sure—muttering about burning, feeling like his skin was too tight—but now he just seemed gone, his body completely still except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Whatever was happening with him, it wasn’t going to stop tonight. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to get figured out in the middle of his living room.

Saejima rolled his shoulders, staring down at him, then at the door. Majima lived right next door. Not a far move. It should be easy.

Should be.

But there was one big fucking problem:

Majima was heavy as hell.

Saejima had carried him before—had slung his scrawny ass over his shoulders plenty of times when he was too drunk to walk straight. That was back when he was just a guy. Now? Now he was thirty goddamn feet of solid muscle and dead weight.

Saejima bent down, grabbing Majima’s arm, giving it a firm tug.

Majima did not budge.

Saejima gritted his teeth and pulled harder. Majima shifted a little—his upper body rocking slightly, one of his arms sliding limply across the floor—but the rest of him did not move.

“Fuck’s sake,” Saejima muttered under his breath.

He tried again, adjusting his grip, getting a better hold under Majima’s shoulders, trying to haul him up enough to at least get him into some kind of carry-able position. It was like trying to lift a goddamn tree trunk.

The sheer density of him was unreal. His arms and torso felt normal enough—lean muscle, a little heavier than expected, but nothing ridiculous. But the tail. Jesus Christ. Saejima hadn’t really thought about how much weight had to be packed into that long, thick coil of muscle, but now that he was trying to lift even a fraction of it, he was realizing just how impossible this was going to be.

Yasuko took a hesitant step forward. “Do you need help?”

“No,” Saejima grunted, shifting his stance, trying to figure out the best way to do this without throwing his back out. “Jus’... gimme a second.”

Yasuko didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue.

Saejima exhaled sharply and adjusted his grip again. Maybe if he started from the head and shoulders , got that part up first, he could—

Majima suddenly exhaled a long, slow, groggy noise, a deep rattling sigh dragging out of his chest.

Saejima froze.

Majima didn’t wake up, didn’t move beyond a faint twitch of his fingers and the slow, sluggish flick of his tail. His breathing was still steady, his body completely relaxed.

Still, Saejima waited, watching him carefully, making sure that wasn’t some kind of warning sign that he was about to lurch up and start getting in the fucking way.

Nothing. Just another long, deep breath before settling again.

Saejima grumbled under his breath and got back to work.

Step one: get this heavy bastard off the floor.

Step two: drag his sorry ass next door.

Step three: dump him in his apartment and let him deal with whatever weird body shit he’s going through on his own time.

Easy.

...If he could actually lift him.

This was gonna suck.

Saejima gritted his teeth, his muscles already burning as he struggled to haul Majima across the floor. He had a firm grip under his arms, pulling him inch by inch, but fuck was this harder than it needed to be. The bastard was dead weight, and the sheer mass of him was making this an absolute nightmare.

He could feel the strain in his arms, his back, his legs. His breath was coming out rough, sweat prickling at the back of his neck. It felt like every time he managed to move Majima even slightly, his tail snagged on something, like dragging a massive, unconscious cat that kept going limp at the worst possible angles.

Yasuko watched quietly from the side, her brows drawn together. She clearly saw how much he was struggling, but what the hell was she supposed to do? There was no way she’d be able to lift Majima if Saejima was struggling this much.

Still… there had to be a better way.

She hesitated, shifting on her feet before speaking. “Wouldn’t it be easier to move him by the tail?”

Saejima paused mid-strain, his muscles tense, his grip tightening under Majima’s arms. “Huh?”

“Like, instead of trying to drag all of him at once.” Yasuko gestured toward Majima’s long, slack coils. “If you move him in sections, it might be easier.”

Saejima blinked at her. His brain, overheated and full of bad ideas, suddenly caught up to what she was saying.

That…

That was the best goddamn idea.

Why the fuck hadn’t he thought of that?

“Shit,” Saejima muttered, setting Majima’s upper half down a little rougher than he meant to. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s—alright. Good thinkin’.”

Yasuko gave him a small, almost bashful smile, but didn’t gloat. Instead, she just stepped back as Saejima moved toward Majima’s tail.

It was a lot of tail.

Saejima crouched down, grabbing as much as he could, looping it around his arms, draping some over his shoulders like he was carrying a massive, heavy rope. The weight was still there, still ridiculous, but at least now he wasn’t fighting against Majima’s entire damn body all at once.

Lifting with a grunt, he hefted the tail up and started moving toward the door. It wasn’t easy, but it was miles better than his previous attempt.

Step by step, he dragged the coiled mass toward the entrance, jaw clenched with effort. Yasuko followed close behind, pulling Majima’s spare key from her pocket as they reached his door.

She moved to unlock it, but then—before letting Saejima in—she slipped inside first.

Saejima frowned, still adjusting the weight of Majima’s tail on his shoulders. “What’re ya doin’?”

“If he’s gonna be sleeping, he’s probably gonna get cold,” Yasuko said simply, moving further inside as she looked around his apartment. “Snakes like dark, warm places to curl up, right? He should have a blanket or something.”

Saejima stood there for a second, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

Yasuko was so obvious sometimes.

She’d never admit it—no way—but Saejima knew she’d always had a thing for Majima. Maybe it had started as one of those dumb little childhood crushes on her big brother’s best friend, but it had never really gone away. She still got this soft look when she talked about him when he wasn’t around. She got fussy about him, even though she tried to act like she didn’t care.

Saejima had never called her out on it. It wasn’t like she could actually do anything about it, and she knew that. Having a crush on Majima—especially this Majima, when he was thirty feet long and half-conscious in a pile of dead weight—was a one-way street to nowhere.

But even so, she still wanted to take care of him. Even if he wasn’t awake to see it.

Saejima sighed and rolled his shoulders, letting Yasuko do whatever the hell she was planning. If she wanted to make Majima a little nest or whatever, fine. It wasn’t like Majima was gonna wake up and complain about it.

Besides, after all the shit she put up with, Saejima figured he could let her have this one.

Saejima grunted as he dragged another section of Majima’s tail across the floor, adjusting his grip when his arms started burning from the effort. This method was definitely easier than trying to move him all at once, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still a pain in the ass. Majima was a lot of dead weight. He was moving slowly, his body twisting and shifting as Saejima worked in sections, but eventually, he started to see the rest of him dragging along with it.

Good. Almost there.

He exhaled through his nose and kept going, inch by inch, until he finally had Majima’s entire body inside.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped further in was that the apartment didn’t feel like Majima’s apartment anymore.

The place had always been clean. Weirdly clean, considering what kind of guy Majima was. He wasn’t some neat freak, but he kept his space damn near sterile most of the time. No clutter, no stray dishes, no random shit lying around—just furniture, a few scattered personal items, and the occasional smell of cologne lingering in the air, probably from whatever woman he’d had over last. Saejima figured that was part of why he kept the place so pristine—he always had women coming and going. Couldn’t exactly bring someone back to a dump.

But now?

Now it looked like someone had gone out of their way to make it feel soft .

Yasuko had really gone all in on the nest idea.

Saejima’s eyes flicked over the setup as he stepped further inside. She’d dragged in every spare pillow she could find, including a couple from her own bed, and piled them up in the corner of the room. There were blankets everywhere, layered thick on the floor, some folded over to make extra cushions. She’d even found one of the heavier winter blankets and set it aside, clearly intending to use it despite the fact that it was May .

Saejima was half amused, half impressed. She’d gone from we should make sure he’s comfortable to turn his apartment into a damn burrow in a matter of minutes.

Majima was gonna wake up to all this and probably have no idea what the hell happened.

Saejima huffed through his nose and carried Majima’s upper half into the center of the setup. He adjusted his grip and lowered him carefully onto the blankets, watching as his limbs went slack the second he was set down. The bastard was still dead to the world, breathing slow and deep, not even twitching as Saejima shifted his weight.

Once he was settled, Saejima moved back to coil up his tail, making sure it wasn’t just sprawled out awkwardly across the floor.

As he worked, looping it in on itself, he took a step back to get a better look at just how much space Majima took up like this.

Jesus.

Majima’s body looked endless .

It was one thing to know he was thirty feet long—it was another thing to see it, wrapped up in layers, the sheer size of him taking up the majority of the room. It was… a little daunting, honestly.

Saejima had never really thought about it before, how long and heavy Majima really was like this. Sure, he’d seen him transformed a few times by now, but it wasn’t like he was still like this. Normally, he was moving, twisting, coiling around people, fighting . That made it harder to process just how much mass he had to be working with.

Seeing him like this—completely limp, barely breathing—made it impossible to ignore.

Yasuko stepped up beside him, winter blanket in hand. Before Saejima could say anything, she draped it over Majima’s upper body, tucking the edges to make sure he’d stay warm through the night.

Saejima furrowed his brows. “Ain’t that a bit much?”

“It’s not,” Yasuko said simply. “It’s a little chilly tonight, and he’s cold-blooded. He’s probably gonna need it.”

Saejima thought about arguing, but… well, she wasn’t wrong. It had been a little cool when he was outside dragging Majima over. And it wasn’t like Majima could just tell them if he was too cold all passed out like this.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Alright. Guess ya thought of everythin’.”

She nodded like she had expected him to say that.

Saejima stretched his shoulders, still feeling the dull burn from all the dragging. “Ya should head back. Ya got school in the mornin’.”

Yasuko frowned, clearly not thrilled with the suggestion. “I can stay a little longer.”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t need ya draggin’ ass all day cause of this. ” He gestured vaguely toward Majima’s unconscious form.

She pursed her lips, glancing down at Majima again.

“Yasuko,” he said, giving her a look.

She sighed through her nose, clearly reluctant, but eventually gave in. “Fine. But you’re coming back too, right?”

Saejima hesitated.

He glanced at Majima again, still deep in whatever weird state he was in. The apartment was warm, quiet, safe—there was no reason he needed to stay.

But…

Didn’t feel right leaving him like this.

“Nah,” he said after a moment. “Gonna stay.”

Yasuko gave him an even less pleased look at that. “So you can stay, but I can’t?”

“That’s right,” Saejima said simply, rolling his shoulders.

She huffed, crossing her arms, clearly wanting to argue again.

Saejima smirked a little, then tilted his head toward Majima. “What if he wakes up and he’s hungry?”

The reaction was immediate . Her face scrunched, her whole body tensing as she turned wide eyes toward Majima like he might jolt awake and sink his teeth into her any second.

Saejima knew he shouldn’t have said it—it made Majima sound like some uncontrollable animal—but the way Yasuko reacted was just too easy .

“Not funny,” she snapped, giving him a glare.

He shrugged. “Wasn’t tryin’ to be funny.”

She gave him another sharp look, but she must’ve realized he wasn’t really trying to scare her, because she sighed, defeated.

“…Fine,” she muttered. “I’m going.”

She turned toward the door, casting one last glance over her shoulder at Majima before stepping outside.

Saejima listened as she locked the door behind her.

Once she was gone, he let out a slow breath and turned his attention back to Majima.

Still out.

Still not moving.

Saejima pulled up one of the extra blankets and sat back against the wall, watching Majima’s slow, steady breathing.

Guess he was staying the night.

Majima rolled his shoulders, stretching out the last bit of stiffness lingering in his muscles as he strolled down the quiet street toward Ayame’s place. His legs still felt a little off , too light, too human, but he’d been through this shit before. It always took a couple of days for his body to settle back in after a transformation, like his skin was still trying to remember how to sit on him properly.

Didn’t matter.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, keeping his pace slow. He still had about twenty minutes before he actually needed to be there, and showing up too early was just bad manners. Women needed time to get ready, and he wasn’t about to be the asshole who knocked on her door while she was still putting her face on.

He stopped a few buildings down from her place and reached for his smokes, tapping one loose and lighting up with an easy flick of his lighter. The first drag settled into his lungs, warm and grounding, and he exhaled slow, watching the thin trail of smoke curl into the evening air.

He wasn’t nervous.

Not in any way that mattered, anyway.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t taken broads out before—this wasn’t some rare, momentous event. Ayame had been an easy catch, her interest obvious from the second she’d laid eyes on him back at the clinic. A little small talk, a little charm, and she’d been writing down her number before he even had to ask.

So no, it wasn’t her that had him feeling off . It was just his body still readjusting —that weird, detached feeling he always had after shifting back. His legs didn’t quite feel like his yet, his skin still too smooth, like he’d been peeled and forced into something too tight. It wasn’t bad , just… noticeable.

It’d pass soon enough.

Majima took another slow drag, glancing down the street toward her place. Still plenty of time before he had to head over. He wasn’t the type to get antsy waiting, but tonight, he was feeling just restless enough that standing still was starting to itch at him.

He exhaled through his nose and tapped the cigarette between his fingers, letting himself enjoy the last few quiet minutes before he had to turn on the charm.

Majima wasn’t sure where the last fifteen minutes had gone, but he was five cigarettes shorter than he should’ve been and already lighting his sixth.

The hell’s wrong with ya? He scowled, clenching the cigarette between his teeth as he sparked his lighter. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been chain-smoking until he felt how light the pack was in his pocket. Six in fifteen minutes? What are ya, some kinda inexperienced idiot?

He took a sharp drag, only for the taste to sit wrong on his tongue. The acrid, burnt tar was clinging too much, sinking into his clothes, his hair, his skin. He reeked of it.

Come on, man. Get yerself together. Ya stink.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t met him smelling like cigarettes, but six ? Six in a row, back to back? That was a desperate kinda stench, like he’d been pacing the streets over something important, killing time because he was too wired to stand still. Not a good look.

He exhaled slow, willing himself to ease up, shaking out the tension in his shoulders. It was just another date. Nothing new.

His gaze drifted up toward her apartment, and there she was, framed in the window, reaching up to slide it closed.

Majima went still.

It wasn’t like she could see him from where he stood, half-shadowed beneath the streetlight, but the motion caught his attention like a lure in the water. Her hair fell in softly over her shoulder as she reached up, her movements unhurried, methodical. She paused for a moment, adjusting the lock, making sure everything was secure.

That was his cue.

He exhaled one last cloud of smoke before he flicked the cigarette to the pavement, stamping it out under his heel. Then, without hesitation, he moved toward her door, walking up the steps, the shift in motion easy, fluid, purposeful. He gave the door a good, solid knock.

It opened a few seconds later.

And fuck.

Majima had to keep himself from visibly reacting because—damn.

She looked good .

Not just in the usual yeah, she cleaned up nice way, but in a way that made something inside him tighten, coil up and pull taut. She’d dressed for the occasion, clearly taking the time to get everything just right. Her blouse was fitted, cinching at the waist just enough to highlight her shape, the fabric soft, smooth, something he’d be real interested in getting his hands on later. Her skirt sat just right on her hips, giving the perfect glimpse of thigh before trailing off into nothing.

And her lips —painted a shade darker than anyone would wear in their everyday, something glossy that caught the light when she smiled at him.

But the real problem?

The real problem was how she smelled.

It wasn’t like she’d doused herself in perfume—no, it was her. The subtle warmth of her skin, the faint sweetness of whatever lotion she’d used, the lightest trace of floral, something natural, fresh, not overdone. And under all of that, something even deeper, something he could almost taste.

His tongue itched to flick out, to really take her in, to pull apart every layer of her scent and sink into it.

He caught himself a second too late, breathing in through his nose too deeply, letting it roll over his senses. Warm, soft, delicious. His pulse kicked up, just for a second.

Chill out, Goro. She didn’t sign up fer a snake. She signed up fer a flesh ‘n blood man.

He could keep it together. He’d done it plenty of times before. He snapped back into himself, flashing her a lopsided grin, one hand slipping into his pocket like he hadn’t just been standing there for too long, breathing her in like a goddamn lunatic.

“Well, shit. Ain’t you a sight?” His voice came easy, smooth, just enough of a tease to keep it playful. “Dunno how ya manage it, but ya somehow look even better than I imagined.”

Ayame let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You must be imagining a lot, then.”

“‘Course I am. Hard not to, after the way ya had me wrapped ‘round yer finger at the clinic.” He let his grin widen, shifting just slightly closer, enough that her perfume curled into his nose again, still so damn tempting. “Had me thinkin’ ‘bout ya all week.”

Her lashes fluttered at that, and—yeah. Hook, line, and sinker.

She was just as into this as she had been on the phone, leaning into his charm without hesitation. When she looked up at him, there was a certain softness in her expression, something pleased, flattered, maybe even a little excited.

“Ya ready to head out?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

She nodded, stepping forward as she pulled the door closed behind her. “Yeah. Lead the way.”

And Majima did, feeling that small, smug satisfaction settle into his chest.

The walk to the restaurant was easy.

Majima’s nerves melted away the second they hit the street. He slipped into charm mode, smooth as ever, the rhythm of flirting as natural as breathing. There was something about wooing a lady that came so effortlessly to him. Some men stumbled through it, second-guessed themselves, let their nerves trip them up before they even got the first compliment out. But not him.

He knew how to look at a woman, how to find just the right way to make her feel seen, special, like she was the only thing worth paying attention to in a room full of people. Knew when to lean in just close enough to make her heart race. Knew what to say and—more importantly—when to shut the hell up and let the silence do the work for him.

Saejima had given him shit for it before. Majima, yer a goddamn menace. Ain’t a lady in Kamurocho safe from ya. Ya oughta be ashamed.

Majima had just laughed him off. What, am I breakin’ any laws? ‘S just fun, man. No one’s gettin’ hurt.

Saejima had shaken his head, muttering something about poor, unsuspecting broads and how bad he felt for the ones who actually thought Majima might stick around. Maybe he had a point.

But this? This was harmless.

Ayame was a sweetheart, though. The kind that made him think maybe he would go out with her again. Maybe a few more dates—just a couple, before things got too serious.

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it?

He could play the part. He could be the man she wanted—attentive, charming, affectionate, even—but eventually, it would hit that point. That moment where she’d start wanting more—where the fun dates and the late-night phone calls and the flirting wouldn’t be enough.

And then he’d have to end it.

He’d have to.

Because no woman wanted what he really was.

And that was okay.

He wasn’t gonna let thoughts like that ruin his night.

Ayame laughed at something he said, and he grinned, watching the way her eyes lit up, the way she reached out and playfully tapped his arm like she couldn’t help herself. She was having a great time. He was having a great time. That was all that mattered.

As they rounded the corner, Kanrai came into view, the warm glow of the restaurant’s sign casting a golden hue onto the sidewalk.

Ayame’s face lit up. “Wait, Kanrai ? Are you serious?”

Majima grinned and stepped ahead to grab the door, pulling it open with an easy sweep of his arm. “Would I joke ‘bout somethin’ like this? C’mon, sweetheart. We’re feastin’ like royalty tonight.”

She practically beamed at him as she stepped inside, her excitement obvious.

Majima followed after her, rolling his shoulders as he glanced around the restaurant. Damn, yeah, he’d pulled out all the stops for this one, hadn’t he?

He couldn’t normally afford Kanrai—not on his usual take. Didn’t matter. How he’d gotten the cash? Not important.

What was important was that they were here, sitting down to one of the best meals in this corner of the city, and he could cook his meat rare as hell without anyone givin’ him a second look.

Majima had her.

Not that there’d been any doubt—he could tell from the moment she stepped out of her apartment, all done up for him , that he’d won before the night even started. But here, now, sitting across from her with the low glow of Kanrai’s lanterns reflecting in her eyes, he could see it clearly.

She didn’t even stand a fucking chance.

He wasn’t just charming her—he was mesmerizing her, drawing her in slowly , effortlessly, like a slow-moving current that carried her exactly where he wanted.

It was in the way she leaned in whenever he spoke, fingers lightly curled around the stem of her glass, lips parted just slightly like she wasn’t even thinking about it. In the way her eyes lingered on his mouth when he smiled, like she was already picturing what it’d feel like against hers.

And Majima? Majima was playing into it.

He kept his voice low, smooth, threading warmth into every word like he was letting her in on some secret meant just for her. Every now and then, he’d break eye contact just long enough to make her want it back , dragging her in deeper without her even realizing.

He had full control of the conversation, guiding it where he wanted, pushing and pulling just enough to keep her wrapped around his finger.

“So, be honest with me.” He tilted his head slightly, letting his grin turn a little crooked, a little lazy, the kind that made women lean in without thinking. “How’d ya really feel when I asked ya out?”

Ayame smirked, setting down her glass. “Like you ask every woman you meet out on a date.”

Majima laughed , sharp and sudden, tapping his fingers against the table. “Ahh, c’mon, now. That ain’t fair.”

“It’s true though, isn’t it?” She raised an eyebrow, playful, but there was something pointed behind it. “You do this all the time.”

Majima leaned in slightly, just enough to make her breath catch before he spoke.

“Nah,” he murmured, voice just low enough to make it feel like a confession. “Not like this.”

Her eyes flicked down to his mouth again. Hooked.

He smirked and leaned back, letting her sip her drink and pretend like he hadn’t just made her stomach flip.

They covered everything in their conversation—places they’d both been, the absolute shitshow of drunk people in the streets during New Year’s, the best bars in Kamurocho ( depending on whether you want good drinks or good fights ), and somehow, they even ended up on music.

“City pop, huh?” Majima grinned, swirling his glass idly. “Ain’t that a little tame for a girl like you?”

Ayame huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Just because I like a little danger doesn’t mean I have bad taste.”

Majima smirked at that. She wasn’t afraid to admit it.

She knew exactly what he was—Shimano family, yakuza, dangerous as hell—and she liked it. The thrill, the edge, the way he was just rough enough around the edges to make her shiver if she thought too hard about it.

She wasn’t scared.

No, if anything, it was turning her on.

Majima saw it in the way she watched him, the way she bit the inside of her lip when he said something cocky, the way her fingers smoothed over the rim of her glass like she needed something to do with her hands.

Damn, sweetheart. Yer makin’ this too easy.

He picked up his chopsticks, tilting his head toward the grill in front of them. “Guess we oughta eat before they kick us out, huh?”

Ayame let out a soft laugh and reached for a few cuts of meat, laying them on the grill as the scent of sizzling fat filled the air. Majima followed suit, placing a few pieces down, the sound of meat hitting the heat filling the lull between their conversation.

They ate at a slow, indulgent pace, neither of them in any hurry. The rare meat was rich, bloody, the juices coating his tongue in a way that made something deep in his gut curl pleasantly. It was always better when it was like this—warm, barely cooked, the flavor full and untainted.

He was halfway through a bite when he realized she was eating hers pretty damn rare too.

Majima paused, watching as Ayame picked up a barely-seared piece and popped it into her mouth, chewing without hesitation.

Huh.

Maybe she really wasn’t as soft as she looked.

“Didn’t peg ya fer the type,” he commented, smirking slightly.

She glanced at him, swallowing before grinning. “What, you think I’d ask for it well-done?”

“Woulda been a dealbreaker, babe.” He winked, making her laugh , and something about the easy way she fit into this moment felt dangerous.

She’s makin’ this too easy.

He picked up another cut of meat, slipping it between his teeth, the flavor hitting just right.

Then—

Ayame paused.

Her gaze flicked to his plate. “Did you… not cook that one?”

Majima blinked.

He glanced down.

Oh.

Huh.

He hadn’t even noticed.

The piece of meat in front of him was completely raw—red, glistening, untouched by heat.

For just a second, something cold licked up his spine.

That wasn’t normal.

Majima didn’t slip up like that.

But instead of reacting, instead of letting anything flicker across his face, he just smirked and waved her off, reaching into his coat pocket. “What, ya worried ‘bout me, sweetheart?”

Ayame shook her head, laughing lightly. “Not really. Just didn’t take you for the type to eat it completely raw.”

Majima flicked his lighter open, lighting up a cigarette as smoothly as ever, acting like he hadn’t just eaten an uncooked piece of meat without thinking.

“Eh,” he exhaled, smoke curling from his lips. “Had worse.”

She giggled, shaking her head.

He held out the pack, tipping it slightly toward her. “Want one?”

She wrinkled her nose slightly, smiling. “No thanks.”

He smirked and tucked the pack away, taking another slow drag.

One slip-up.

Won’t happen again.

Majima took another slow drag, holding the smoke deep in his lungs before exhaling through his nose, letting the familiar burn settle in his chest. He needed the distraction.

Because now that he’d realized what he wanted—what he really wanted—it was all he could think about.

He didn’t want it cooked .

Didn’t want it seared, warmed, grilled to perfection like some human meal.

He wanted it raw. Dripping.

Bloody.

Slick and soaked, red pooling in the plate, sinking into his tongue before he even swallowed. He wanted it fresh, not something processed and packaged, but something still warm, still pulsing. Something that struggled.

Something that screamed.

The thought slid through his mind like hot oil, slick and indulgent, making his mouth water before he could stop it. His fingers twitched around his chopsticks, a restless curl of anticipation, his body already too aware of the hunger simmering just beneath the surface.

He smothered it.

Or at least, he tried.

Ayame had already moved on, brushing off his little slip-up like it was nothing, her expression still easy, relaxed. Maybe she was even a little charmed by it. It made him seem less like the dangerously smooth bastard she’d met at the clinic and more like a guy who could make harmless little mistakes.

Endearing, probably.

Cute, even.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know it wasn’t a mistake, didn’t know that his body had instinctively gone for the raw cut without hesitation, didn’t know he was sitting here gripping his chopsticks like a vice just to keep himself from reaching for another one.

Majima shifted in his seat, his knee bouncing slightly beneath the table, his nerves coiling up tight despite the cigarette still dangling lazily between his fingers.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t handle it.

Wasn’t like he’d ever let himself slip before.

But now that he’d tasted it, now that he’d felt it slide across his tongue, rich and slick and untouched by heat—

His stomach tightened, a slow, aching pull that wasn’t just hunger, wasn’t just craving—it was something worse. Something deep, fundamental, gnawing at the edges of his restraint.

Shit.

He took another slow drag, forcing his body to settle, waiting for that itch to dull.

It didn’t.

But he could be smart about this. He didn’t have to act on it now—didn’t have to do something stupid just because his body was demanding it. He just had to wait. Eventually, Ayame would get up—go to the washroom, step away for a minute.

And when she did—

He could order another plate.

Maybe two.

He could clear what was left on the table before she got back, make sure there was nothing cooked for her to notice.

Just had to wait.

Just had to be patient.

Ayame shifted in her seat, dabbing at her lips with her napkin before flashing him a soft, playful smile. “I’m gonna freshen up real quick,” she said lightly, already pushing back from the table.

Majima tilted his head, watching her rise. “Leavin’ me all alone? Damn, sweetheart, breakin’ my heart here.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’ll survive.”

“Mm, I dunno ‘bout that.” He leaned back slightly, smirking. “Might just get so lonely I start chatin’ up the waitress. Maybe she’ll keep me company while yer gone.”

Ayame scoffed, shaking her head. “Like you need more admirers.”

He grinned. “Can’t help it if I’m popular.”

She huffed a little, amused. “I won’t be long.”

“Take yer time, babe,” he said smoothly, watching as she turned and walked toward the back of the restaurant. His eye flicked down, tracking the sway of her hips, the way she carried herself. She really was a damn good catch.

And now—

Now, he had a minute.

The second she disappeared past the bathroom door, Majima flagged down the nearest waiter with a quick lift of his fingers. The man approached smoothly, setting down a fresh bottle of whiskey Majima had ordered earlier.

“Need another round of cuts,” Majima said, his voice easy, steady, like this was just a normal request. He rattled off his order fast, specific, a hell of a lot more meat than one man should need.

The waiter nodded, scribbling it down, then turned away.

And the second he was gone—

Majima was on the plates in front of him.

No hesitation, no pause—just instinct. His chopsticks moved quick, sharp, snapping up the pieces that were still sitting untouched.

Raw.

Uncooked.

Cold.

He popped one in his mouth, barely even chewing before swallowing, his tongue sliding against the slick, bloody flesh.

His muscles uncoiled immediately, something deep and aching in him going loose, that hunger finally getting what it wanted.

Not human, though.

Would be better if it was.

Would be divine if it was.

Liver. Now that was the good stuff. Fatty, rich, blood-heavy. He could already imagine it fresh, pulled from a body still twitching, still warm—

He swallowed hard, breath coming slow as he reached for another piece.

Heart.

Thigh meat.

The blood alone.

Gods.

His mouth was watering, tongue slipping out without him even realizing—once, twice, three times.

It was so much better with Ayame’s scent still clinging to his senses.

Something about her—about the lingering trace of her perfume, the warmth of her skin, the soft, sweet musk of her body—made the meat on his tongue taste richer, more satisfying.

He exhaled through his nose, barely aware of the deep, low purr that rumbled up from his chest, curling into the air like a quiet, pleased growl.

And then he heard it. The sound caught in his own ears, pulling him back too fast, too sharp.

Majima froze, mid-bite, mid-motion, his breath stalling in his throat.

What the fuck was he doing?

He dropped the meat back onto the plate, stomach tightening as he forced himself to sit still, to get his fucking head on straight.

That wasn’t normal.

He was losing it.

Pull yerself together. Right fuckin’ now.

Majima wanted more.

His tongue flicked out again before he could stop it, the taste of raw blood still thick in his mouth. He needed it, craved it like a junkie itching for another hit. His fingers twitched against the table as he forced himself to sit still, to act normal, but the moment the waiter came back to clear the now-empty plates and set down the fresh ones—

He nearly fucking drooled onto the table.

The scent hit him hard—fresh cuts, red, raw, perfect—and something deep in his gut twisted with pure, aching hunger. His fangs itched, pressing against the inside of his lip.

He always had them—slightly too long canines, just enough to look sharp but not enough to set off alarms. Women never seemed to mind them, if anything, some of ‘em even liked it. Made him look a little dangerous.

But now—

Now, they ached, like something in him was begging to bite down, to sink in.

He swallowed hard and reached for his whiskey instead, lifting his glass and downing the rest in one sharp tilt of his head. The burn was good, strong, cutting through the haze of hunger just enough to give him something else to focus on. The warmth spread through his chest as he poured himself another, the amber liquid steadying him, grounding him just enough to pull himself back together.

Yer fine. Yer fine. Get a fuckin’ grip.

By the time Ayame got back—which wasn’t even that long, maybe a few minutes at best—Majima had already downed half the goddamn bottle.

It took a lot to get him drunk. His body just didn’t work the same way as everyone else’s. He could drink a whole table of men under without even feeling it most nights.

But now?

He was feeling it.

Not sloppy. Not out of control. Just loose, warm, that comfortable, easy kind of buzz that made his limbs feel light and his tongue a little too quick.

Ayame slipped back into her seat, and before he could stop himself, the words spilled right out of his mouth.

“Gods, sweetheart, ya look so fuckin’ gorgeous tonight.”

Ayame blinked, then laughed softly, raising an eyebrow. “Wow. Didn’t realize I was gonna get such a warm welcome back from the bathroom.”

“Nah, nah, I mean it.” He leaned forward slightly, one elbow on the table, his grin lazy, a little too open. “Damn near knocked me out when ya opened that door earlier. Thought I’d been hit by a damn truck.”

She laughed again, but it was pleased, her cheeks dusting just slightly pink. “You’re something else.”

“Yeah? Must be why ya keep lookin’ at me like that.”

She bit her lip, shaking her head, her eyes flicking to her glass like she needed a second to compose herself.

Majima took another slow sip of whiskey, his gaze flicking over her hungrily—not like prey, not yet, just appreciative.

“And ya smell good too,” he muttered, not meaning to say it out loud but saying it anyway.

Ayame tilted her head, looking genuinely delighted. “Oh, really? I actually tried a new perfume tonight. Thought it suited me.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, watching him with open interest. Wanting to be noticed. And she was right. It did suit her. Made her smell downright delicious.

Majima exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking lazily over her as he swirled the whiskey in his glass. The heat in his stomach was a slow, pleasant burn, curling through his limbs, making everything feel a little looser, a little easier.

He leaned in slightly, smirking. “Yeah, babe, suits ya real well. Smells… delicious.”

Ayame blinked, then let out a soft, surprised laugh, her brows lifting slightly like she hadn’t expected that.

It wasn’t the usual kind of compliment. Women were used to hearing they were pretty, gorgeous, sexy—but delicious? That was new. And she liked it. The slight tilt of her head, the way her lips curled at the edges—she was eating it up.

Majima grinned, watching her reaction. “What? Ain’t the first time someone told ya that, is it?”

“No,” she teased, “but it’s the first time I believed it.”

He laughed, shaking his head, tapping his fingers against his glass.

Her drink was still half full, but she was already flushed, her posture looser, more relaxed. Either she’d partaken in a little liquid courage before he arrived to pick her up, or she was a major lightweight.

That worked in his favor.

She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her eyes bright, playful.

And as she did—

Majima’s gaze snapped down.

The front of her dress gapped, just slightly, but enough.

She’d adjusted it in the bathroom.

He knew the trick—every woman did it when she wanted to draw the right kind of attention. Probably cupped her hands under her tits, pulled them up higher, made sure they sat just right.

And damn, they did.

Her cleavage was perfectly framed, soft curves practically spilling from the fabric, the deep dip of her neckline leaving nothing to the imagination.

Majima stared, openly, shamelessly, hungrily. His lips parted slightly, his mind idling on it just a second too long, the whiskey making it hard to look away.

And she caught him. A sharp little laugh escaped her, and she tilted her head. “Hey.”

Majima blinked, snapping his gaze up.

She smirked. “Are you just going to keep staring with your mouth open, or do you have something to say?”

Shit.

His usual composure had slipped. He was always smooth, always one step ahead, but she’d caught him off guard, and she knew it.

Majima let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he took a slow sip of whiskey to play it off. “Yer really tryin’ to kill me tonight, huh?”

She giggled, pleased, swirling her drink. “Can’t help it if you’re easy to fluster.”

He smirked. “Ain’t flustered, babe. Just admirin’ the view.”

She hummed like she didn’t believe him, but she liked it.

And Majima?

Majima was starting to feel ravenous.

Majima had to be careful.

For the rest of the meal, he mostly played it safe. Mostly.

He cooked his meat, charred it just enough to look normal, to keep things easy, but every now and then—when she was too focused on her own plate, watching her cuts sear on the grill—he’d slip a raw one past his lips.

Quick. Subtle.

Every uncooked bite melted against his tongue, pure, rich, bloody, sinking into his gut like something he was meant to eat. It was the only thing keeping him steady, keeping that deep, gnawing hunger from spiraling out of control.

Thankfully, she didn’t notice. Didn’t notice that he was licking the blood off his chopsticks instead of wiping them clean. Didn’t notice the way he was timing his bites to keep from getting caught. She was too busy getting drunk. By the time they were winding down, she’d finished another two drinks, her cheeks flushed, her body loose, her smile warm and lazy as she sipped the last of her liquor. And that was when she started pushing.

Majima had already clocked it when she got back from the bathroom—how she’d adjusted herself, how her body language had shifted. She was more forthcoming now, bolder.

But this?

This was something else.

Her foot slid up his leg under the table, the slow, deliberate motion too smooth, too intentional for it to be an accident.

Considering they were sitting on the floor, legs tucked beneath them at one of those traditional-style tables, it was actually kind of impressive that she even managed it.

But she wasn’t stopping at his knee.

Her foot kept going.

Barefoot, just like him, her toes curled over the bulge of his cock, pressing right against him through his pants.

Majima went still.

His pulse spiked, a sharp heat rolling through his gut, his cock twitching just slightly under the pressure. He wasn’t hard— yet —but he was gonna be if she kept her foot there, flexing against him like that.

She smiled at him, slow, dreamy, like she wasn’t doing anything at all, like she wasn’t intentionally trying to fuck with him. And she just kept talking like nothing was happening. Like her foot wasn’t pressing firmly against his dick, like she wasn’t feeling him twitch under her toes.

Oh, ya little shit.

She’d been trying to make him crack ever since she got back from the bathroom. First with that cleavage stunt, now this. She was testing him. She was trying to break him down, trying to make him lose the upper hand. And fuck, was she close.

Majima never struggled to keep control like this—not with women, not with sex, not with anything . But tonight? Something about her scent, about the raw meat, about the heat already humming through his veins— It was making keeping his cool harder.

His fingers twitched slightly around his glass, the alcohol not burning the way it should anymore, not cutting through the need building low in his stomach. He needed to shut this down, or at least get some breathing room before she made him pop a full fuckin’ boner in the middle of the goddamn restaurant. He tilted his head back and took a deep swig of whiskey. And the second his throat moved, the second his focus slipped—

She pressed harder.

His cock twitched beneath her foot.

A reaction.

And she giggled.

Majima nearly choked on his drink.

She wasn’t stopping.

She wasn’t fucking stopping.

Her foot stayed right there, pressing against him, shifting in slow, teasing strokes that made his whole body tighten in frustration. The pressure wasn’t constant—it was calculated, applied just enough to keep him on edge, never satisfied, never able to fully adjust.

She may as well have been giving him a full-on footjob under the table.

Majima inhaled slow through his nose, trying to keep his cool, but his self-control was slipping, and fuck was this doing way more to him than it normally would. His eyes rolled back slightly, a quiet, shuddering exhale leaving him as another pulse of heat shot through his groin.

What the fuck?

It wasn’t just the touch—he’d had women tease him like this before, hell, he usually loved this kind of thing. But this? This was too much. His body was too sensitive, his skin buzzing, his nerves thrumming like a live wire.

Maybe it was the whiskey.

Maybe it was the raw meat sitting warm and heavy in his stomach.

Maybe it was her scent, her voice, the heat of her body so close, so inviting, so perfect.

Either way—he was losing the upper hand fast.

He forced himself to smile, to soften the desperation clawing at him, and leaned in slightly, lowering his voice into something smooth, warm, sweet.

“Now, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone teasing, even as his pulse pounded in his throat. “Ya really can’t be teasin’ me like this in public.”

Ayame smiled, slow and sultry, blinking up at him through her lashes like she wasn’t already well aware of what she was doing to him. She moved her foot again, pressing just right, and the pleasure hit him too fast, too sudden.

A soft, low moan slipped out of him before he could stop it.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t obvious.

But it was real.

And Ayame heard it.

Her lips parted slightly, her cheeks going visibly pink.

Oh.

Oh, she had not expected that.

Majima could see it in her eyes—see the way her breath hitched, see the flicker of shock and pride in her expression.

Can’t believe she got that outta me.

She thought she’d just been teasing him, just having a little fun, but now? Now she was realizing something. She was getting to him.

Majima barely caught himself, barely managed to cover the crack in his composure. He exhaled through his nose, swallowing the lingering heat in his throat, and lifted his glass to take another slow drink.

When he set it down, his grin was still there, easy, lazy—but there was something sharp behind it now. If he wanted to get through this dinner, if he wanted to survive this without completely losing his shit, he had to turn the tables. He had to make her flustered enough to stop.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice again, but this time there was heat behind it.

"Shit, babe," he murmured, his smirk widening just enough to be dangerous. "Ya really wanna get me off this bad?"

Ayame’s breath hitched, her eyes flickering slightly in surprise.

He didn’t give her a chance to recover.

He tilted his head, keeping his voice low, intimate, letting the words slide from his lips too smoothly, too confident.

"Ain't fair, y'know," he went on, voice silky, deep, indulgent. "If yer tryin’ to get me off, ya oughta at least let me make ya feel good first."

Ayame visibly tensed, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass.

Got her.

Majima smirked, his eye dark and lidded, his body humming with satisfaction as he pressed further.

"I got a real dexterous tongue, babe," he murmured, his grin widening. "Bet ya ain’t even ready for what I can do with it."

Her mouth parted slightly, her face burning now.

Majima let the words hang between them, let the tension sink in, let her feel the weight of the shift in control before he reached for his drink again, taking another slow sip, his voice smooth, casual, like this wasn’t affecting him at all.

"That why yer playin’ footsie with my cock?" He smirked against the rim of his glass. "Ya ready to get outta here?"

Ayame stared at him, her face fully flushed, her body language suddenly smaller, less in control.

Yeah.

That did it.

Chapter Text

Majima leaned back, exhaled slow through his nose, then reached for the bottle of whiskey and downed the rest of it in one go.

Ayame’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly. “Oh my God,” she laughed, slightly incredulous. “Did you seriously just drink a whole bottle of whiskey?”

Majima licked a stray drop from his lips and smirked, his voice smooth as silk. “Hate wastin’ good booze.”

She shook her head, clearly impressed and a little shocked, but she was still watching him like he was the most interesting thing in the room.

Good.

Majima pushed back from the table and got to his feet, rolling his shoulders, casual, smooth, unaffected—except for the fact that his cock was still half-hard in his pants, and he had to subtly shift his stance, adjusting himself just enough to keep from making it obvious.

Once he had himself under control, he turned back to Ayame and offered his hand.

“C’mon, babe,” he murmured, his grin lazy, his eyes half-lidded. “Time to get ya outta here.”

She hesitated just a second before she slipped her hand into his. He pulled her up, strong, steady, deliberate, not letting go right away. Instead, he let his long fingers drag across her wrist, slow, teasing, intimate, tracing over her pulse point before sliding down the delicate lines of her palm.

She shivered.

He felt it.

Saw it.

Knew exactly what he was doing to her.

What he didn’t expect was the reaction his own body had to the encounter. The second his fingers brushed over the flutter of her pulse, something deep inside him lurched. A sharp, hot pulse of hunger slammed through his gut—fast, strong, almost dizzying. For a split second, the feeling of her heartbeat beneath his fingertips sent a wave of pure, visceral pleasure through him, like a spark of raw, animalistic ecstasy. Majima stiffened slightly, the muscles in his jaw tightening, his fingers twitching just slightly before he forced himself to let go.