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It was about time Muraoka washed his clothes again. It was getting apparent that he was wearing them for just a little too long, he had heard his employees talking behind his back. “Tcch”, he scoffed, shouldering his laundry bag anew and walking with large struts to the laundromat, his long curls bouncing heavily with every step. Ever since he had lost his house and his savings in that dreaded 17 steps mahjong game against that punk, he had moved back into a little bachelor pad with one room, far too small to fit in a washing machine or even a tumble dryer. He had kept his job at the casino, he had to pay back his debt to Teiai somehow, but his private life was in shambles – which made his professional life harder, for sure. No way to invite friends or family, no way to wash his clothes, not even a proper kitchen to cook something, in addition to the daily crushing reminder of defeat when he woke up and saw where he was living now. At least the 24h laundromat wasn’t too far away.As he walked through the night, way past midnight, he saw his neon-lit destination in front of him already. It looked pretty empty, thankfully. Time for him to sit down in there and think about life, far away from the busy mayhem of his casino. The droning sound of washing machines, that endless tumble of clothes – it was meditative somehow.He entered, the little bells on to top of the entrance tingling, and he looked around. Nobody was here. It was quite late on a workday after all, he noticed, all the better for him. Picking up a little bit of detergent at the dispenser, he threw all his clothes into one of the big machines. Cup of detergent in the little compartment, coins in the other, program chosen – done. His leather shoes clicked loudly on the 'once-white now grey-tinged' floor tiles as he walked over to one of those plastic bench seats in the middle of the room to sit down. He could leave or go to a bar in the meantime, but that was too cumbersome and wasted money. No, he would stay here, in that little loud oasis of neon noise, and watch his clothes turn, turn like his life, round and round.“Hah...” A little sigh escaped him as he sat there, watching the usual round glass where his clothes were first doused with water. It was monotonous, the sound was always the same, but it was comforting. It was one of those things that wouldn’t change in his life. Other things would.And there he sat, his eyes wandering off to the ceiling, fallen in the depth of his own thoughts. Suddenly, he heard that little bell tingle behind him.Somebody else had entered, who would wash his clothes at this time of day? Turning around, his elbow over the seat back, he saw: A man. Stout, in a purple plaid suit, his hair styled back, his laundry bag also leisurely hung over his shoulder. He was a little too far away too see him properly, so Muraoka just mumbled a quick “Good evening.” and turned around again to face his machine. “Good evenin’.” came back, in a low and raspy, yet friendly voice.The man, holding his little detergent cup a little clumsily between a few fingers, walked over to Muraoka’s side and picked a machine quite near to him. Muraoka tilted his head and looked at him, he was somehow curious about this figure: His suit was rugged and used, but he still looked presentable. Not many men could wear purple plaid and pull it off - it was unusual. From what he threw in the machine, he could see the abundance of shirts, socks and underwear. Ah, Muraoka smiled, it made sense.This man was from the underground world, like him. The eccentric suit, the many shirts, the daily socks and underwear, no suits and pants, because those went to the dry cleaners – this man was representing some clan or shady company. He was not that big enough to be a bodyguard or a street fighter, so he was one for either paperwork, finance or gambling.Looking at his face, as the man turned around to sit down, Muraoka was astonished. Quite a strong face. A pronounced jaw, sharp eyes, bags under them as well, and very distinct teeth. What a character, he wondered.The man sat down, a few seats next to him with a big sigh. Somehow, Muraoka wanted to know more about him. Underworld feathers flock together.“Hey. Rough night as well?” asked Muraoka casually, looking over to him. To his surprise, the man just tilted his head and nodded, answering with a sigh: “Oh yeah, you can say that out loud.” He folded his hands slowly in his lap and continued: “You just have to continue living, man. And do your best to not let others drag you down.”Definitely an honest answer, thought Muraoka, there was some backstory here. He could have just gone with the usual smalltalk of “Fine, thanks.” But he didn’t.Muraoka leaned back, looking at his clothes again that started turning in big swirls in the glass on the machine in front of him. Maybe he should just open this conversation and see where it lead: “Yeah, tell me about it. Lost my house and savings recently. Life comes at you hard.”The man seemed curious as well now, turning to Muraoka, asking: “Ah, that’s rough... Divorce?” Muraoka also faced to him again, they were speaking over the plastic chairs between them, “Ah, no... gambling. Lost to some little cunning punk who got lucky.” He automatically snarled his teeth a little thinking about that night, but to his surprise, the man chuckled lowly, knitting his brows in sympathy, and sighed: “Haha... Yeah, I getcha.” Adding with a slow blink in a recollection of a nostalgic moment, he added, “I have seen one of those too. A young man with silver hair, a genius, you might say. You can’t win against those, don’t beat yourself up about it. They have their own stories to tell, those guys. You and me were just obstacles.” Leaning back again, he said: “Life is like that sometimes.”Muraoka was surprised. As if it was always meant to happen, he reached out his hand and said: “Thanks. ... Muraoka of Teiai Finance, Casino director.” The man reached out as well, and their hands met, warm, palm to palm. “Urabe of the Fujisawa Clan, Mahjong rep player.” Despite the warm handshake, Muraoka felt for a split second that it was a bit stiff, but nothing to worry about.Their stares met, understanding each other. Their world was a hard one, dark and deep, ruled by power and money, and somewhere in this chaos, they both tried to survive and make their mark.“A mahjong rep player, eh?” smiled Muraoka, “You have to come over one day, I’ll give you a good spot at my casino.” Urabe chuckled back, “Haha, thank you. I play only for my clan at the moment, I’m using my free time for other things, but I’ll come back to that, sure.”There was something comforting in his presence, Muraoka found, so he stood up and came closer to Urabe, and sat down next to him. “You are always welcome.” smiled Muraoka, and patted his shoulder quickly. Urabe nodded, and they both looked at their clothes again, gently twirling in the ever-present humming noise of the machines.The neon lights from above were harsh and bright, but it gave everything a sterile, clean tone, a little safe place in a city full of dirt. The strong smell of soap was soothing as well, it felt fresh, as fresh as a slap to the face – direct, but it woke you up.“It’s surprising how just one day can change your life, isn’t it?” whispered Urabe softly, still looking at the machines. Muraoka answered, sitting more comfortably and crossing his legs: “Yeah... Yeah, it does. You never think that it could happen to you, and then it just... does.” Muraoka felt that little shoulder shrug of a silent chuckle, so he asked: “... Did you ever see that silver-haired guy again?”Urabe took a while to answer, then he said: “No... Just appeared out of nowhere, and disappeared again, who knows where... I lost against him in a mahjong battle for quite a lot of money. Money that wasn’t mine.” After a beat, he added, in a far more sombre tone: “And I was punished for that.” His eyes sunk, and as Muraoka’s followed to where he was looking, he gasped:Urabe’s hands were full of scars. Deep scars that had healed over with lighter skin, like lightning going over his hands, wrapping around every finger. From the little additional dotted scars, Muraoka could see that he must have had screws and metal inside them once. “Oh man...” was the only thing he could say. This image told him more than he had wanted to ask for. This was why his handshake was so stiff and held the little detergent cup a bit awkwardly. Yakuza clans were ruthless in their treatment of honour and money.“I’m so sorry.” gasped Muraoka, feeling worse about his own situation. He had lost nearly all of his money and his house, yes, but at least Teiai hadn’t destroyed or even sold body parts of his. He should consider himself lucky, he worried. Urabe smiled, a melancholic look to his eyes, and then just turned to Muraoka: “No worries. It has been quite a while. My debt is nearly paid off, and I can use my hands again. Even got my old job back after rehabilitation, my brain and eyes are as sharp as ever for gambling... My hands are maybe not as precise as they were before.” He looked at his open palms. “ … But I do like playing Mahjong after all, I'm glad to be back in it. I never learned anything else anyway. What kind of job could I even do with this...?” He added with a sigh: “You can’t let it drag yourself down. You've had it rough as well, in a different way than me. Even if bad things happen, we continue. Continue to survive. And maybe even live.”Muraoka was quite touched. His own rage was still red, hot and burning, Urabe was looking at his past with a relaxed attitude. Would he reach that state of mind one day? He hoped so. Even if he had lost so much, he was still alive. And wasn’t that a lot in the grand scheme of things?Feeling a little emotional, Muraoka pulled out his packet of cigarettes and took one between his lips. He wasn’t sure if it was allowed to smoke here, but there was no one here anyway who could complain. Taking his matchbox out as well, he looked inside – only one match left. It was enough for today, he hadn’t bought new ones. These little things escaped him sometimes in his daily stress. Like bringing his laundry to the laundromat at a sensible time.Lighting his cigarette with his last match, he blew a little smoke in the air, looking at it as it dissolved in the neon lights on the night. The familiar taste of his tobacco brand gave him comfort that somehow everything would be alright. He was glad to have met this man, it put things into perspective for him. It was surprising what could happen in those unexpected moments of day to day life. Heh, just like his lost 17 Steps game, that also had been just a normal day before.“Hey, uh...” he heard a deep and raspy murmur, and he looked at Urabe. He was looking directly back at him, and gently pointed at his cigarette with two fingers, “Can I...? Do you have one for me?”“Oh yeah, sure!” Muraoka was pulled out of his thoughts, and handed Urabe the packet, who took out one carefully. Muraoka saw those scars again. As dreadful as they looked, the way they had healed looked like artwork, fine lines and dots in a pattern of mayhem. There was a beauty to them – it comforted Muraoka after the initial shock.Putting the cigarette between his lips as well, holding it carefully, Urabe spoke out of the corner of his mouth: “Got a light as well?” Muraoka hadn’t thought of that, damn, he had just used his last match.As if it was the most natural thing to do, something in the back of his mind guiding him, he simply leaned forwards and murmured back softly, “No, sorry... I can give you one, there...” And put his hand to lips, holding the cigarette, his lips resting on the filter. Urabe was surprised, and after a little moment of hesitation, he came forward...The tips of their cigarettes met. Muraoka inhaled softly, the ember lighting up on his part, touching Urabe’s, giving him a spark, who also softly breathed in, his hand over his mouth, holding it carefully. Touching in this little moment – their eyes met. Only a few inches apart, they looked into each other’s eyes. Muraoka felt as if he could get lost in this sharp, yet deep look, this calm that was putting him at rest, Urabe looking into those big round eyes that were still full of emotion about life, destiny and everything else. Between them, this indirect touch, this indirect flame of something given to another. Muraoka heard Urabe’s lips repositioning on the cigarette, just a little lip smack, and then, the tiniest blush in his cheeks, his eyes shyly dodging his. Muraoka felt his heart beat faster, gently breathing again, as if kissing the filter, his lips went around it anew, to give Urabe what he wanted, closing his eyes. Urabe closed his eyes as well, tilting their heads, taking in that feeling, that lit cigarette, the private moment they shared. Meeting, giving, taking, in just a few seconds of intimacy that they were breathing together.With a little gasp, Urabe separated, smoke escaping his mouth. “T-Thank you...” he murmured and looked shyly in front again, blushing slightly. Muraoka was smitten as he slowly opened his eyes again. That had been far more intense than he had ever expected. For just a moment, a fraction of a moment, he had imagined kissing this man, this stranger he had just met. Was there a connection, hidden feelings, things he had never known about himself?Shaking his head, his long locks falling off his shoulder, he concluded that he simply must have been touch-deprived. It would make any brain run rampant with daydream fantasies.Both leaned back in their seats and looked at the machines again, this little moment had given them something they hadn’t expected. You never knew what life had in store for you. And so, there they sat again, smoke gently going upwards, dissolving in the light, and them both looking at their laundry, which twirled in many colours in front of their tired eyes.“We’re alive, and that’s what counts.” whispered Urabe, and Muraoka, taking another breath, just nodded in silence. The droning noise of tumbling clothes and the overbearingly fresh smell of soap wrapped around them in a blanket of light, the two survivors of special nights. In midst their own personal tragedies, no matter if they were a long time ago or still fresh, they had found comfort in each other. Here, in a little unexpected night wash session, were they sat in mutual silence, smoking together and watching the world go round and round.
THE END
EPILOGUE It had gone without many words later that night, then followed simply by a mumbled: “Would you like to come to my place...?” from Muraoka.Urabe found himself in Muraoka’s flat, where he was on his back, Muraoka thrusting slowly inside him. They were having sex, naked, missionary, on the ground, on a mattress – Muraoka’s makeshift bed. As Muraoka’s strong shaft entered him again and again, Urabe moaned lowly, deeply, wrapping his hands around Muraoka’s back, feeling his slender figure, seeing his panting, sweating face amidst this mass of curls that hung down. It felt good, good to not be so lonely on a night like this, even if it was with a stranger. Their understanding, their shared view, their experience merged, finding a togetherness in this world.Their laundry bags leaned now next to each other against the door.Muraoka felt Urabe’s big hands on his back holding on to him, his fingertips gently pressing on his skin, so he went closer, to kiss Urabe while continuing to make love to him. Their faces came closer, looking deep into each other’s eyes. As their lips met, Urabe trembled in passion, crossing his legs over Muraoka's butt cheeks as well. “Mmh...” Urabe moaned lowly, answering the kiss with a need, a need for more, craving intimacy, knitting his brows, kissing back passionately, his breath panting with every deep thrust.Both closing their eyes, they met stronger, kissing deep, their tongues meeting, gliding along each other – warm, wet, slow, comforting.No matter what this was, a spontaneous one-night-stand, the beginning of a relationship, or just the start of a business relationship between two clans – it felt good, fulfilling.And as they continued, they smiled when their kiss ended, and Urabe’s scarred hand went through Muraoka’s mass of locks, caressing his head with great care. “Yeah ...” sighed Urabe, a little line of saliva on his lips, and Muraoka just nodded in understanding with a slow blink, putting more strength into his thrusts, going tightly inside him, spreading him, and Urabe threw his head back in passion, moaning deep and loud “H-Hah...!” and arcing his back, holding on stronger. Not letting go. Muraoka followed, running his hands around Urabe as well. They were hugging closely, chest to chest, cheek to cheek, sweaty hands on shining skin, breathing together - again.They didn’t have to say anything as they made love to each other in this small flat, on this mattress on the ground. Having slow, passionate sex in a small dimly lit room with just a tiny lamp, going towards a shared climax full of emotion and understanding.They were alive.No.More than that.They felt alive.
More alive than ever, as their lips met again and again.