#mainly just brainworms after playing y0 a whole bunch more

[milktrician-hell]

oh heres a snippet of y0 majima and y4 saejima meeting under the cut. idk if ill ever finish/continue it? if i do ill probably post it on ao3 or something

Saejima squints at sunlight that���s awoken him, and it takes him a bit before the smell of the city hits. It’s then his stomach drops, because he’s not supposed to be here—how did he get here? Did someone knock him out while he was leaving Purgatory?

He grips his hand on the nearby wall to get himself off the ground, patting his pockets making sure he wasn’t robbed while he was sleeping in this alley he’s landed in. Nothing seemed to be stolen, and he’s glad to still have the money Kiryu-san had given him. He peeks out the alley, slightly relaxing at the fact that there’s no cops in sight. But it only makes him wonder how he was dragged here in the first place, given that it’s a long way from the depths of West Park to whatever alley he’s landed in. Another question in the pile he’s desperate to get answered.

In his brief investigation however, he wonders how he’s managed to miss the body in the other corner of the alley. Slowly approaching the man he’s glad to see he’s still breathing, despite the old bruises on the man’s cheek. The guy’s got some fancy steel toed shoes and a nice suit, not to mention the long hair tied into a ponytail revealing an eye patch still strapped to his face. It’s an odd ensemble, yet something about him feels familiar. He just can’t put his finger on it.

It only takes a small shake for the man to shoot awake, eye darting all over the alley before landing on him.

“Hey, are ya alright?” Saejima asks, and it worries him a little the amount of alarm that’s all over the man’s face right now, “Found ya lyin’ here next to me, er—”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” Majima says, standing up and backing away from him. A hand reaching into his suit jacket and slowly drawing a knife, “This ain’t real—you’re not real.”

Saejima can only stare, trying to make sense of the three versions of his sworn brother in his head. The one he remembers never showing up, the next described living in luxury by Hamazaki...and the third. The one that’s staring at him like he’s a ghost.

“...The fuck happen to you, bro?” is all he can think of saying, disregarding any idea to how he thought this would go,

“Th-This is a dream.” Majima mumbles out underneath his breath, holding the knife defensively in front of him, “That shady drug test must be makin’ me hallucinate now or somethin’. ”

It’s like he’s not even there.

But it doesn’t stop him from reaching out, because what Majima’s saying is true. This could all just be a dream, or what Hamazaki told him was all a lie. Or maybe he’s just delirious enough to see some sort of version of his sworn brother. And Majima’s single eye darts to where Saejima’s hand is near his own shoulder. Before he knows it, Saejima is dodging out of the way of a blade.

For the next few seconds all he can do is strafe out of the way, occasionally being nicked by the extended reach of Majima’s knife. It’s almost like being knocked back several decades to the times where they sparred with each other. Sensing a mix of the old style he falls in sync with and the new tricks up Majima’s sleeve that trip him up. He’s almost too fast to read at points.

He’s backed up too far now, and with the opening of the alley coming up behind him. The thought of a cop coming and arresting them both springs him into the offensive.

Saejima waits for Majima to pull back from another attack to strike, silently hoping he’ll see his wind up and dodge in time. But it hits right in the gut. And for the split second as his other fist connects with Majima’s jaw, he considers the blind spot in his brother’s left eye.

“Is that real enough for you?” he demands