#i can't take another 4 years of the orange one i just cant | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aineryeo · 2 years ago

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The Haunt of the Living and the Dead

Synopsis: Kyojuro is reminded of his goal by his demeaning father. The pressure leads him to crack and lash at you who found a cute puppy. Assigned on a mission that will decide Kyojuro's raise in rank in Tourui, Tokyo, he sees a woman resembling his mother; all the while, you haunt him.

Themes & Warnings: Coming-of-age, Slice of Life, Lighthearted Romance, Graphic Violence due to Setting, Heavy Canonical References (Theoretical calculated age to fit into the present time in the anime), Spoilers, Eventual Smut, Kind of Slow Burn, Domestic Violence (Verbal/Physical) because Shinjuro. (18+) Also, you meet Akaza, so make of that as you will. → AFAB! Reader.

Chapter Author Notes: So I just found out the exact story of Hairo vs Kyojuro from the wiki (I can't find the manga copy) and apparently Mitsuri is already supposed to be involved and a squadron of other slayers but from my timeline reference, Mitsuri isn't set to appear until about 4 years after the current timeline so I might be a little early. It was hard to find information about it aaaa but since determination of the years are difficult and it's not explicitly relevant in the main plot of the anime, we're going to adjust the story a little bit. I just don't know how every character's story intertwine with each other and it requires individual research on each of them which i cant do bc of cetr :") but rest assured that i am sticking to 80% of canon telling!

Marry me first! (먼저 결혼해줘) — Series Masterlist (Age Guides, Playlist, Gallery/Picture References, Terminology List.)

Chapter 5 « Chapter 6 (Current) » Chapter 7

EXTRA: Chapter 6.5

It’s now officially been two years since you first met Rengoku Kyojuro. It was Spring now. You breathe calmly in meditation as the flowers sway in the wind and the leaves that once fell from branches begin to sprout. Sun shone and threatened you to open your eyes, but you remained there, palms on your knees, taking in the warmer wind. The same white haori that was once bigger on you was now starting to shorten, even just a tad. You’re in the open area in the Rengoku estate, underneath a tree stretching in. You could hear Senjuro’s huffs as he moved to swipe his sword downwards, again and again…

You release the breath you were holding through your mouth.

When your eyes open, you’re met with the same orbs you’ve been akin to. He’s sitting in front of you, leaning back on the rock beside the tree that shaded the sun.

Kyojuro was peeling oranges.

“They’re more delicious with the peel. Wakuri-san from a few houses down says it’s healthy too.”

“You’re the only one I know that eats oranges with their peel.” Kyojuro finishes peeling the orange and hands you a quarter of the fruit.

Kyojuro watches as you take a single carpel in your mouth and squint at him like he’ll be intimidated. He remembers the last month of February, but it was colder then. He recalls the time he asked you…

“If I liked another girl, what would you do?” He now lets go of the grip of his other hand on the hilt of his sword to look at you, who only looks back casually, elbows resting on the thick red rail.

That day, the remaining wind of winter was harsher.

Alas, despite the wind that blew his hair forward, while it flawlessly combed through yours instead, you provided a simple knowing look as your right eye squinted at the setting sun that blinded you, allowing your hand to block out the light slightly.

“If you liked another girl. Oho,” You move in a bit closer, always so bold you were. “Then it simply means that you already like me?”

Kyojuro shuts his mouth tight, a slight blush from your proximity. Your nose would go closer, close enough until you quickly bumped it gently against his before pulling back. He’d look so shy; this was not how girls act. His mother told him stories before. But you seem to take mercy from his more flustered state. His question was supposed to be severe based on his initial thoughts; you leaned half of your body on the railing, attempting to catch a Camellia when you conjured a reply to his question.

“If you like another girl, Kyojuro. Then you just have to tell me, hup—!” You almost jump off the rail to catch the well-left pale pink Camellia, his hand already grasping the back of your haori out of instinct. Turning to him and twisting the winter flower in your hands with a naturally reddened face due to the inciting cold, you continue.

“If you’re unhappy or in love, and it’s not with me, that’s okay. Because you’re a pretty good family.” Your hand that once held the fallen Camellia moved to place it on the crown of his head. “Or a friend. You’re a great friend, and if it takes me leaving to satisfy you, then... That’s okay too.”

Kyojuro moves to take the lucky flower that retained its beautiful body and petals.

“I’m not in love with you, though.”

“Then are you unhappy?”

“No.” Then your eyes, which were usually wide, softened.

“Then I’m not leaving.”

Your hand waves in front of Kyojuro, spaced out, eyes nearly blown wide, staring at you. He remembers having more oranges in his mouth than he remembered.

“Aw, he’s back now, Sen-kun. Can’t fit any more of those in.”

Kyojuro’s cheeks were filled with pieces of orange that flooded his mouth. He noticed that Senjuro’s wooden sword was on the ground now. Kyojuro wanted to speak and ask why his brother stopped, but he couldn’t, so he tried to eat all the oranges.

“Hey, don’t eat that fast! You’ll—Okay, not choking. Good for you, sweetheart.”

Then he chokes. Hitting his own chest repeatedly as Senjuro panicked to get some water. You rub and pat his back and coo.

“Oh, there we go. Sorry, not sweetheart then?” You humor him.

When Senjuro arrives with the cup of water, Kyojuro downs it all at once.

“Not anything!” He says with a red face.

“Haha, I’m just messing around.” You pull away from patting his back after he wipes his mouth from the water that fell off his chin. “Darling then?”

“No!”

“Alright, alright.” You chuckle and lay back.

Kyojuro changes the topic to his brother, asking why he’s stopped. Senjuro’d say that his arms are sore; The older brother being empathetic, allows it. The three of you sat in the grassy garden, huddled in the shade of the trees. Senjuro starts peeling a new set of oranges to eat for his own. You face back to Kyojuro, noticing his hair. He finds your look a bit bothering, so he asks, “What?”

You point to your hair, and for some reason, he copies you, but he tilts his head in confusion. Then you point to his, he’ll point to yours, and your index fingers would point to each other, touching. You then sigh and lightly slap his finger away, holding it with your hand instead; he’ll let you.

“No, I meant your hair.”

His free hand runs through his scalp in curiosity. “I still don’t understand.”

“It’s getting longer. Do you have any plans to cut it?” This time, you were the one more curious. Senjuro hands you two of the only fruit you had around while you pop them in with your free hand.

“No, not really. My Father used to keep his hair long as well.”

“Don’t you think it gets in the way?”

“Maybe, sometimes. But your hair is longer! Don’t you find it tedious?”

You shake your head, “No. They say that cutting hair is like cutting memories. And these memories make me who I am. And I don’t think I want to cut the time from when I first met you until now!”

“Charming.” He’ll remark, rolling his eyes with a grin and an orange to enter between his teeth.

“Did it work?”

“Will I be training again? You and ane are getting closer. Too close.” Senjuro butts nonchalantly, “I won’t be surprised if you like her. Don’t worry, aneue, I don’t mind. I love ane!” The child grins mischievously, a few missing teeth on display.

You laugh your stomach off at what Senjuro said, your fist pounding the ground of dirt repeatedly. Kyojuro, on the other hand, had slightly flushed ears and thick eyebrows twitching. You hug Senjuro tightly, rubbing his head roughly as he laughs.

“Listen to your brother more, Kyojuro~.”

Seeing his brother so happy always infected the other Rengoku, so he’ll shake his head while chuckling. It was until heavy footsteps made their way onto the wooden porch that you all looked to the only figure left alone in the abode. Rengoku Shinjuro. With a glare and a click of his tongue, Kyojuro stands up.

“I have to go train.” He’ll briefly look back at you and Senjuro together, “Maybe (Name) can help you get by with some training today, Senjuro?”

Senjuro understands so he nods simply. That didn’t mean he wasn’t perplexed by the more visible tightness his older brother displayed. Your hand gently played with the little boy’s hair to confront him, “I’ll teach you many ways to become strong. Your brother’s passing you unto me because he knows I’m stronger than him. Don’t tell him that, though.”

Small hands would tighten a little on your uniform, eyebrows furrowed in worry, mouth down in a frown. “Does my brother think I’m a burden, ane?”

Kyojuro was far off by the side now, on the porch, close to the open shoji screen where his Father was. With his hearing, you doubt that he’d hear Senjuro’s worries now. Because you knew that if he did, he’d rush over immediately to console his little brother. You pat the back of his head lightly.

“No. Your brother is just burdened with many things right now. He wants to get stronger.”

“Like a Hashira?” He looked at you this time.

You wanted to answer. You really did. “Ha-shi-ra?”

Senjuro would lose his composure for a bit, “Ane… Do you not know what a Hashira is?”

“Am I supposed to know?”

“You’re a slayer!”

“The children in the Final Selection after the seven days just said Kinoe last!”

“Did your master not tell you?”

“...No, not that I recall anything. I told Haia-san about wanting to reach the highest rank, Kinoe, so I’ll know that I’ve... Reached a certain level of strength to know I can protect who I want to protect.”

“I guess we never did tell you about our Father….” Senjuro sweats, a little dejected and sidetracked. “Our Father was a Hashira, and so was my grandfather, and my great-grandfather, my great-great-grandfather, and long beyond our family line; were the Pillars of Flame in the Demon Corps. And when my Father retired while aneue was still training by himself….”

“I guess I can piece together why your Father stopped teaching your brother. He’s always drinking or sleeping the day through.”

Senjuro nods lightly, and you both stare at the intensely-focused Kyojuro. You notice his hair getting in his eyes until he tucked the strands behind his ears. The wind blew through the blond, raggedy locks that reached just a little over his jaw. You remember Senjuro’s birthday that just passed a few days ago, hand gently combing through his head as you both observed Kyojuro.

“Do you plan to grow your hair as well, Sen-kun?” You ask, glancing down at the boy who didn’t take his eyes off his brother, who was reading through the manuals.

He’ll hum lightly, thinking well about his answer. “Father and aneue both grew their hair, but I’m not sure about mine. I don’t know how to tie it yet if it does, and I imagine it’ll be sticky during Summer….” You smile at his reasons, making sounds of interest. But Senjuro stands up from your lap, expressing great admiration toward his brother.

“But I’ll grow it as well. Because I don’t think I want to let go of the memory of when I first met you as well, ane.” He faces you with a closed-eyed-sided grin with just the right amount of flippancy. “Haha, it’s also because the men in the family almost always do grow their hair. It’s a sort of trademark?”

“Your weird hair isn’t enough of a trademark?” You joke back before ruffling his hair, standing up, and stretching your back.

“It’s not my fault that our ancestors overate tempura!” Senjuro fights back, red-faced from the slight embarrassment.

“West! West! Head west! Gushiken, you are heading west for a mission!” Rintaro appears, flying.

You apologize to Senjuro for slacking off with him instead of teaching him anything valuable. You’d assure him that you’ll give some proper training for him next time to which he heeds no mind towards you, glad that he’s able to take a break after two-hundred swings. You leave the Rengoku estate in a jog, patting over your white haori to rid it from the leaves that latched on, following Rintaro’s lead towards your assignment after you said goodbye to the little Rengoku and giving brief waves and yells towards Kyojuro and Shinjuro; receiving no replies from both and only a glance from Kyojuro.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

On the 28th of April, a mild sunny day when the flowers were in full bloom, Rengoku Kyojuro was forcefully made to sit on the wooden porch of their house. The sun barely hit his covered calves.

“After you grab the portion you want to tie, you loop it while you keep your grip on the hair you’re grabbing. Here—” Your hand would take Kyojuro’s that was previously resting on his thigh, almost gritting his teeth due to the death grip you had on his hair that tugged on his scalp, leading it towards your own hand holding his hair. “Okay, don’t let go! So twist and… Loop it again, and you do that as much as you like or at least until the tie can’t anymore.”

Kyojuro was quick-to-learn; with you guiding his hands, he thinks he could pull it off.

“But if you want a bun, you just twist your hair, roll it into a ball, and then tie it with the same steps I told you. Easy, right?” No. What were you saying?

“Haha, yes, of course!” He regrets not being honest because now you took the tie you made from his hair to give it to him. Kyojuro gives a wide-eyed smile towards you.

“Like this, ane?” Senjuro mutters from behind. Your longer hair, once just over your shoulders, reached the middle of your back. You turn and touch the hairdo that Senjuro did for you, a loose bun. It was his first time, yet he did pretty well, especially since your hair tie was not elastic or banded. It was a virtual tie, your kumihimo. You display a proud grin at what Senjuro did for you, “Yeah, not bad at all, Sen-kun!”

Senjuro gives a toothy grin back. You two now face back to Kyojuro with smiles and tilted heads as if asking What about you? It’s not that complicated that he knew. After reading the only material around, he learned all his techniques. Sounds of summer cicadas and crickets filled the air for a reasonable time until the smiles sent towards each other weren’t enough anymore.

“Kyo, oi.” Your face recedes, and Senjuro’s face turns into a question.

“Is it… Like this?” Kyojuro finally asks, moving his thicker fingers, running through his mane-like hair. The result made your heart squeeze because the hair tie was too loose, and the portion he grabbed wasn’t enough to get the half needed.

You’ll laugh for a while, and he’ll get embarrassed and pink-faced until you help him with similarly calloused palms. And Kyojuro felt his stomach churn, like every other time you’ll find some way to give him a gift, another time when you’ll pretend to fall on nothing as you held the tea tray for his Father right in front of him because Senjuro was getting scolded, or another time when you’ll help and celebrate holidays they never celebrated. He’ll shake his head, and it’s clear again, his guided hand getting the hang of the knots and ties.

“Bark! Bark!” The sound of the puppy you picked up, straying along the streets when you were on your way here, made it as it finally finished circling their house, lying on the grassy land on its back.

Kyojuro would hear you say you’ve yet to think of a name or haven’t given it a proper bath yet, and soon you will. You’ll bring it over to Haia after, buy a lot of food and leave it there in case you have to go on a mission. Always excited, it’s been over a year since he last saw your figure like it was when you came from wherever you went. He’d never know. You never tell him about yourself deeper than what you like.

You bout up challenges and open your arms for the puppy to try and climb the porch into your arms. It was elementary to make it trust people almost like you. Calling, “Shin! Sh—”

The door behind them would slide open, and you’ll stop, nervous. “—Shiiii….t” You guess that perhaps trying out Shin as the puppy’s name must not have been your brightest idea, not like you have many brilliant ideas in the first place.

Rengoku Shinjuro hated animals. Even his children didn’t know why, but his angry face was enough to deter them from ever wanting a pet. But you were as insistent on marrying Kyojuro as you were on disobeying their Father. His glare grows weaker as each day passes by, at least for you. You quickly face back to give your greetings to Shinjuro.

“Shinjuro-san! What a surprise! What are you doing here? Wow, you should shave. You’re starting to look too old.” You waved innocently. The puppy was still barking, probably towards the new presence.

He looks at you, ignoring what you said. “This is my house.”

“Oh yes, yes.” You nod, agreeing.

Honestly, the brothers always didn’t know how to react when you interacted with their Father. But Senjuro finds it slightly amusing, though he’ll only humor it when he’s alone, through the time you talk to (argue with) his Father; he just can’t help the laughter that would bubble in his throat at the demeanor that you show. You would never show fear or indifference and silence. You were as noisy as it goes.

“Get out. Don’t bring that mutt back in here.”

“But why do you hate animals? He’s so small. He won’t be able to hurt you at all!”

Shinjuro doesn’t answer, but he grabs you by the back of your uniform, goes out to meet the puppy, who is now scared, and holds the puppy by the skin on her neck. The enraged man would stomp his way to the front door, kick it open, and throw both of you out on the dusty street. He’ll only look down at the two of you, with you cradling the puppy in your lap, before slamming the door closed. Kyojuro, who tried to follow behind, was left watching as his Father kicked you out of their house like you were nothing. He’d speak up until he’s forced to meet Shinjuro’s anger face-to-face, in which case he won’t be able to do anything.

They don’t talk, really. It was another day when you were no longer in their household, and they’d have to return to their duties.

“You plan to be a Hashira at that rate? By lounging around with pests? You’re already lacking talent. Stop dreaming.” And it’s quiet. Kyojuro’s eyebrows twitch downwards as he faces his feet. “Give up on your dream.”

Just before Shinjuro leaves, he mutters something under his breath. Kyojuro would be grateful that his hearing was not the best, though he’d also fail to hear the silent sneeze Shinjuro let out during times like these; where his shoulders were slumped, and his back felt heavy, like an anchor was setting itself on his whole body. Endlessly pushing him down.

Worthless.

He knows what his Father would breathe under his breath. He doesn’t have to hear to figure it out. He’s so close, though. Just defeat four more demons, Kyojuro. Inevitably, he’ll push himself back up. After all, nothing’s impossible if you put in your all.

“Hey, cheer up.” Kyojuro looks up, but your figure is nowhere to be seen. Until a bark follows, and he turns, immediately, he’s faced by you. Sat on the roof of the fence, the dirty puppy in your hands.

“You’re great. Just not when you slump like that.” You smile gently, legs swaying. “Bark!”

Kyojuro turns, back facing you to hide his face. “I have to train.”

“Do you want me to help?”

He begins to walk away, “No.”

He’d feel his emotions die down once more when left alone. He’ll take his nichirin blade resting on the porch earlier where he sat. Senjuro was nowhere to be seen, and as much as Kyojuro wanted to talk to his brother, he felt that he had to get his emotions in check. Most especially his priorities. Since it was Wednesday, he had to follow the routine he made himself, working on his arms. He was going down, already starting his wide to close push-ups, until the pit-a-pat of feet on ceramic tiles come. Kyojuro would continue with his repetitions.

“Bark!” And a frantic shush. Kyojuro would sigh tiredly as he kept going, alternating his push-ups underneath the hot sun.

You’ll call his name, and he wouldn’t answer, grimacing at his own pace, stuck in the scene where his Father would berate him. But it’s okay since you’ll continue, of course.

“It’s a pretty good day. Won’t you consider marrying me, Kyojuro?” You lightly tap around with an open grin, but he is not exactly on the best train of thought. Back still faced towards you, face met the ground.

Sounds of loud footsteps start to make their way to the garden again, prompting you to hop off. Not before you glanced at the boy who was lost in his own plane once again, not sparing you an ounce of attention. And you cradle the puppy in your hands at the empty reply.

“I’ll see you soon.”

He hums this time, sweat dripping off the ground, his uniform off its thicker layer. Since that day, Kyojuro has trained harder and honed his techniques more. He spent less time at home trying to hunt down demons themselves, getting increasingly frustrated when he’s met with empty reports. But he’d be as quick to shoot himself down for thinking that way. It was best that more people were safe. That they’re not exposed to the existence of demons and their danger. A world where he wouldn’t have to carry his blade everywhere he went.

During the days when he was met with no missions, he’ll train. More challenging than his routine, more than a hundred, more than five hundred, it must be a thousand swings. He’ll run around from morning to high noon, and he’ll fix his form over and over again. Read the volumes of Flame breathing once, twice, or thrice more for that day. Kyojuro would fail to notice that he was ignoring you more than he should. Days, weeks, a month, and more.

“Sorry, I’m busy right now.”

“There’s something I have to do.”

“Don’t you have anything to do?”

A tense walk, a strained dance around each other in avoidance. Kyojuro had to keep climbing up to fulfill his duty to protect the weak. Indeed, his Father would be proud of him if he did that? He’ll reach the peak only a few more, just like Shinjuro did. He can’t afford any distractions. Stop helping him; stop it. Stop giving him water, fruits, snacks, or sweet potatoes. Stop it. Stop talking to his Father like that. He’d speak nothing of it but make a tangible expression of pain whenever you did.

The churn in his stomach worsens like a never-ending ache that doesn’t hurt too much to cause him pain but enough to start a pile of grievances in his chest.

On the other hand, you were taking care of your newfound companion aside from Rintaro. After she was clean, her color stood out more, revealing that she’s a pretty Shiba! You feed her properly, and she’ll start getting more clingy towards you. As the days went by after the 28th, Kyojuro began to appear tenser, only softening toward his brother. Like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something every time he sees you.

You’d be confused when he asks with a tone with anything but aggression yet with all the more spike if you had anything else to do. Then go play with Senjuro or help him cook their meals. A tight feeling in your chest blooms, like a string of an instrument that’s kept turning with a frantic tune beyond its capacity.

He’ll ignore you, and it turns.

He’ll tell you that you should go home instead, and it turns.

He’ll stiffly reject your help, and it turns.

You admired him when he told you that he had a duty to protect the weak. But when he said he was alright with dying, you didn’t understand why. Could he not fulfill his duty more if he’s alive? This is why you didn’t accept any of your Father’s offers for his previous job. With the irony of your principle, it would definitely not fit in with the thinking of a samurai. Much of which is how Kyojuro is acting now.

The both of you would silently clash in your thoughts. And each of your ideas would seep into simple court actions. Quieter rooms and dead conversation. Shinjuro’s lesser yells aimed towards you as he, himself, would fail to notice you were there in the first place. The livelier tone from only a month ago dissipated. He’ll simply pass by, leaving to buy alcohol. Senjuro would only stare at the two of you, worried. But he’d say nothing. It was his first time encountering either of you like that, both faces made by stress.

Kyojuro’s stomach would continue twisting, while only your ears would hear a slow, screeching sound of string that stemmed from your chest.

But the quickening tune of the non-existent harmony, assembled purely on the mutual strain, stops as the black feather of a crow fell on the ground, feet perched on the opened window of their kitchen. Kaname.

“Rengoku Kyojuro, head North of Tokyo! Head North of Tokyo! There are rumors of the Kagen no Ni (Lower Moon-two) lurking in the area.”

And what followed was another set of wings sitting on the wooden porch, claws jumping around the living room.

“Gushiken (Name), head South. You are to team up with other lower and Hinoto-ranked slayers to quickly defeat a demon in the area.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Neither of you spoke too much after that. A nod, a brief goodbye, and a strum of farewells, though you were much warmer towards Senjuro, provided him an embrace and a kiss on his temple. But Kyojuro has higher priorities set at the moment. He has to focus, and then he’ll reach his goal. And it will all be okay. He couldn’t walk, no, not at all. He was running full-force North when Kaname said that Lower Moon-two was assigned to him alone, showing how Oyakata-sama is beginning to trust him even more.

Once he finishes this job, he’ll be one step closer to being of excellent service. Perhaps then, he can make both his parents proud of him.

And then perhaps his Father could start teaching him or providing him tips. He won’t be worthless anymore. A blaze of flame trails behind him, Kaname trying to match his speed yet ultimately losing; the crow notices the impatient strokes of emotion that donned his master’s face, especially since the moment the crow divulged the information regarding the exact location. The reason why he’s been assigned more missions alone is that he’d usually make decisions by himself too fast, thus, handling the situation by himself without the support of his team. While it sparked admiration from others, it created disdain for those left, not precisely for the boy; but for themselves and their inability to provide better support for the aspiring Hashira.

It was a little far up North, yet it took him an hour of his relentless pacing to arrive to…

“Tourui, Tokyo.” The big sign on the pole plastered with many different posters read.

It was a little after the noon peak, and the sun was on its way to set in a few hours. So, Kyojuro, with the same white haori he got from you two years ago, walks to inspect and gather information from the townsfolk. The bustling districts of the town were filled with people that kept walking in different directions, set to their own individual destinations. Kaname, his crow, follows after Kyojuro’s figure, which is beginning to meld into the mass of people. Perching on his shoulder,

“You’ll be sent a group of other closely-ranked slayers to support you later. Please be careful.” And then he flies off to gather more intel as the crow in and of itself exerts professionalism except with Rintaro, who always getting on his nerves.

The sky was not mainly blue, and despite the taller three-story buildings, the wood was quite shabby. The road, though, was made of brick instead of bare patches of dirt that were leveled like in Shirakawa. Uneven colors of coral brick, the other darker and lighter than another, some wetter than a portion, covered in moss that’s stepped on by many wooden sandals for every day of the week. Kyojuro would think it was like the market at 7 am, but their town was filled with big houses with smaller families. A stark contrast to the busy city that Tokyo was becoming more and more of, smaller spaces with more than six people.

He’ll see a few windows open, lanterns that weren’t yet lit up, littered in each crevice of the welcoming ridges in the passing roofs. Rails surrounding just the outside lead to the heart of Tokyo, and more, a red miniature train passes by. Kyojuro even has to walk sideways sometimes due to the hurry that some are subject to, in suits more so than in kimonos. Some buildings didn’t seem very familiar to him, made more of thicker concrete and glass windows, small tips with circle windows above the cubic ones. And for a moment, he forgets why his thoughts are swirling inside his mind; encased in the ambiance of what Tokyo was. And he thinks for a moment about how he’d love to go around the city for a while, not because of a mission, but so that he could explore.

Despite the distracting views and chains scattered to garner attention, Kyojuro’s shoulders remain down. And the voice he momentarily pushes to the back of his head tears at every nerve in his brain, clawing its way out to remind him what he must do. To remind him that in the sea of people, he is anchored with many duties to fulfill; one is to protect all of which he is faced with now. And for a moment, his eyes would not be so vast in wonder. It’s pushed back down in half-lidded blinks and a mouth in a straight line.

Instead of churning in his stomach when he’s with you, it’s like a fast-beating drum in his chest, an unpleasant feeling he wishes to not have. It’s not like he doesn’t want to save people. But this sensation he currently has swirling in his chest, it’s like he’s desperately trying to crouch, wrap his whole body and hold this fire to keep it burning, to keep it from dying while he was being washed away by the giant waves of the ocean.

The sounds were white noise for Kyojuro, the discontinued talk about fixing their business, the hasty late for work, and the different yells for people to try their delicacy. But it was the sound of a familiarly polished voice. The sight of the similarly tied black hair, serious albeit gentle red irises in a light kimono…

He fails to notice that a tear formed just from examining the exact person he was so fond of already fell from his cheek. Frozen in the crowd that kept moving like waves in the ocean.

“O..kaa-san.” And Kyojuro almost panics, reaching out to her, who doesn’t even notice him, turning back from him. “Okaa-san—!”

But he can’t bear it, accidentally pushing some of the people away to reach his mother, which was alive in his eyes. Echoes of anger and surprise would fill the air around him. Still, they’ll only spare him an angry glance before walking in the direction he was already fighting. And when he reaches her figure, hand on her wrist, her face painted in shock at the boy staring at her with intensely burning eyes, she stops.

“Hello, are you lost?” She’ll say, clueless of the raging emotions mixed within Kyojuro’s whole being.

And he thinks for a while, yet he never lets go of her wrist. The woman who was a stark image of his late mother should feel apprehensive about the boy but then… He is but a boy. Troubled, no less, given by the expression that painted Kyojuro’s face unwittingly. So she softens, coming close and shifting her hand to gently caress Kyojuro’s own hand in a small effort to calm him.

“Are you okay? You seem troubled.”

Of course, my mother is dead.

“I..” Kyojuro sucked in a breath, “Mistook you for my mother.”

Her expression turns into mild surprise, but it comes down immediately. “Shall we go look for her? I have time.”

Could he perhaps stay in this moment for a long time until he’s decided he could leave? Until he’s chosen that he’s done. If he could pause for a while, see the older woman smiled at him, say nothing, and simply freeze in time. But she’s not his mother.

Kyojuro’s already made up his mind amidst the many battles he’s already gone through mentally. “No. I’m sorry for bothering you. I… Have an important job to do.”

“Well, aren’t you a hardworking young man?” She smiles, patting Kyojuro’s head lightly with the hand that used to hold his. “Your mother must be very proud.”

He doesn’t know what to feel, and it shows. Looking at the older woman with a face that didn’t know if it should convey pain, denial, or a hint of joy. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He takes in the clone of the person that made him who he was. But the woman finds this strange when Kyojuro doesn’t make eye contact. Duly interrupted by the voice of a much younger child, close but a little younger than Senjuro.

“Mama!” A little boy with a bowl cut yells, holding a lollipop, holding an older man’s hand with a big smile directed in their generation.

They’ll approach her as Kyojuro walks back slowly, taking in the image of their own family. He’ll hear the tall man say, “Rieka, who’s this boy?” And she looked back at him, who was clutching the portion of his head that was beginning to hurt. She’ll look worried, but Kyojuro would only bow deeply in silence and a painful grimace.

His lower lip would shake nervously, and the small family would disappear in the crowd just as he did. The former was more curious about where the boy they had just met went. The boy in question would walk back to the direction he came from, trying to get to the entrance or somewhere with more space as he regulated his breath. A sharp pain goes through his head, and he winces, grabbing that area in a futile attempt for relief.

Suddenly, everything feels too noisy. The air feels stingy, and the crowd is getting tighter and tighter around Kyojuro, unwillingly getting himself pushed around. A bell that rang at intervals in his mind ravaged his brain, which revolved from the first person who yelled to the next person who needed to sell their portion for the day. And he’d almost throw up, face almost purple, but his back suddenly met a pole. The vision of the monotone sky and the heads of other people, a ring comes to disrupt his raging thoughts.

A ring and a head of dark, midnight hair catch his eye.

Ring and a voice make his breathing go faster, his chest tighter.

Ring and familiar eyes appear a mole just underneath her right eye.

Ring, and he’ll look up, and amidst the once fascinating city and other livelier colors, Kyojuro is faced with a red kumihimo that bounced on the braid of someone who could only sprint.

But his substantial worry of your presence dissipates when his vision clears, and his breathing comes back slower because when he stands tall again, his initial thought is quelled. You were not here. You were assigned somewhere South. He’ll place his palm over his chest and notice how it races, unaware of whether it was panic and worry that caused this. Kyojuro, first and foremost, did not require your help in this. Of course, he could do this alone.

It takes a moment before he regains his composure, hands running through his hair, pushing it back before wiping his sweat. He’ll simply reset and…

Alright, he’ll be alright. Kyojuro regained the intervals in which he took his breath, wiping the thin layer of sweat that formed on his forehead. Takes his time to calm down. He’s too tense for no reason at all. He calmly plays memories in his head of when his mother would wrap her arms around him, comforting him whenever he expressed his worry about her impending death. He was very young then, barely understanding why his mother had to go away. But it was okay since he was left with a wish that he could fulfill for her.

“Rengoku-san!!!” A male voice behind him called. When he turned back, he saw that the call was followed by many other slayers tagged with the boy.

Kyojuro, at this point, has come back to his senses. Putting on a smile, that’s right. Time will keep on moving even when he continues feeling terrible. Even when his body rejects the training he’s putting upon himself, time will keep moving. When he throws up what breakfast he had that day after jogging for four hours straight, he must simply keep going. When he walks and fixes his composure and stature, plain white haori wrapped snugly around his shoulders, he gives a wide grin back towards the group of other slayers in their own uniforms, except the lot of them didn’t mainly wear haori at all in this season.

When they finally manage to get together, the boy requests that they could move into another, more open space to discuss. Arriving in the less dense portion of Tourui, the evening moves faster, and the sun begins to set. The chatter between slayers stopped, now beginning to put their heads together. Still, Kyojuro exuded such energy that made all of them look at him expectantly. He, of course, catches the ball with no complaints.

“I believe the best course of action is to split into two groups. You’re all Kinoto, so you should stick together and alert me as your Senior if you gain contact with the suspected demon. I will do the same on my part.” He crosses his arms proudly, “But I trust you all to prioritize the safety of any and all civilians.”

The enthusiastic boy exclaims worriedly, “Wait, is it really okay for you to go alone? We can help you!”

He laughs with his throat, his voice loud. But it didn’t exude overflowing pride; it was more of an assurance, which sparked the others to remind the boy that Rengoku Kyojuro was no ordinary demon slayer. He was a person that was going to be a Hashira. Next to the many other people in his bloodline before him who became the respective Flame Hashira in their generation.

“I guess it’s alright after all. Okay, we’ll send a person or a crow, Rengoku-san. Thank you!” They all bow to him synchronously as they leave to scout potential areas where Kagen no Ni is staying.

He’d bow back politely as he made a loud hum of appreciation.

When the sun was already down, and Kyojuro was wandering in a less populated neighborhood still littered with western-inspired buildings as he’d observed, the masses of people were not as bad as in the central area. But still, a lot considering it was already dark and relatively unused to seeing the sight. The neighborhood had its own eccentricities, but the buildings were not nearly as sophisticated as he had faced earlier. A big brick path, probably meant for carts, was led in a straight line until it hit a dead end. The sidewalks that accompanied the road lead to eerier alleyways. Kaname is nowhere in sight, and he figures that there must not be any news yet from his other comrades.

The area was quiet; orange lights illuminated the whole place. It was until a creak of big wooden oak doors that led inside an empty chapel caught the ears of the specific boy that finally made him look to his side. But the chapel was not so empty, as tied dynamite was set off right in the center of the open building. The loud explosion caused some passersby to gasp and escape from the blast in immense shock. He, in turn, covered his face to avoid any rubble injuring him vitally as he dove backward.

The cogs in Kyojuro’s brain turn, and for a second, he thinks, looking back at the mangled chapel: Is this a terrorist atta—

But his instincts do work faster than his brain because just when the bullet went through his head and killed him, he moved an inch just in time to only allow it to scratch a few strands of his hair instead. Kyojuro sees the bullet dig into the brick road as he whips his head to the source of the said bullet’s trajectory. His eyes moved to the figure standing atop the building at the end of the road, revealing a man holding an M1903 Springfield sniper rifle with dark hair pushed back and a few strands pushing out, long enough to reach either side of his chin. He wore a black suit and a white shirt underneath with what seemed to be paired with lighter hakama pants tucked into black boots.

The man that hid on the rooftop of the building who shot the bullet clicked his tongue in annoyance, scratching his head harshly. Frustratingly muttering about missing his shot and failing to kill Kyojuro, looking away from the boy who was previously keenly observing him so that he could reload his rifle angrily. His hand would slam the magazine roughly; if he knew any better, it hurt his fingers.

Eyes set back on the scope to look at the distant Kyojuro from before, lying on the street. But he sees a shadow looming over him in the air.

“Ichi no kata: Shiranui.” Kyojuro says, his sword aiming to behead the man, yet his blade could only reach so far to only cut the man’s right hand that held the sniper rifle as the man was left to lunge back, seeming to not care about losing his arm.

When the man and Kyojuro both land on the roof, the former uses his elbows to support himself back up to look at Kyojuro with scrunched eyebrows and a colossal frown that showed his surprisingly sharp shark teeth. Eyes that bore only rage had the written markings of Ka (Lower; 下) and Ni (Two; 弐) on each of his light irises that contrasted his extremely dark sclera, which proved to Kyojuro that the man was true, a demon, a Junikizuki. The devil looked so angry at Kyojuro yet showed hints of joy, but the Kinoe slayer did not care for whatever this demon felt for him.

Until he kept repeating whispers to yells of “Rengoku… Rengoku... Rengoku! Rengoku.” Pushing his hair back with the arm that grew back despite the show of blood splatter from losing it earlier right beside him. “Everything, everything I did, it’s all for you. It’s all for this. For this exact moment.”

Kyojuro remains guarded in a standard stance, curious about what the demon is talking about. The monster continues talking, beginning to stand up, his face shifting from one emotion to another. Looking sad, he’ll say, “You don’t know… The shame you put me through. I’ll never forget it, no. I’ll kill you.”

“Who are you?” Kyojuro says, drawing his blade closer to his own face.

His question must have snapped a nerve because the demon started pulling on his hair with grunts and complaints, muttering and uttering the audacity he had for forgetting the monster.

“How could you, how could you, how could you? After what you did to me? I’ll kill y—!” Then taking out a Webley revolver to shoot himself in the mouth, pushing himself back from the impact before getting back up, breathing deeply, less frantic than before.

“Hairo.”

As he pushed back his hair and sniffed, the sound of a loud explosion and shrieks of panic caught Kyojuro’s attention, setting his sights away from the calmer demon.

“They’re all around Tokyo. What will you do now, Rengoku?” He snides, tapping the revolver on his cheek with a grin.

Nerves appear in the slayer as he becomes at least a little angrier. He has to tell this to the other slayers so they can handle the hidden explosives and usher the people. But Kyojuro wasn’t given a second to think as many bullets in record speed began to barrage their way toward Kyojuro, who moved quickly enough to block all the shots with his katana. The demon now had kept frustration as the smoke went off from the multitude of guns such as Springfields, Mauser C96s, and the encompassing Webley revolver he’d never let go since earlier, manifested purely from his right arm.

With a click of his tongue and another barrage making its way to Kyojuro, left with no choice, Kyojuro rushes to a metal billboard to block the bullets from moving ultimately toward him. But the shots will still penetrate through, a few would graze Kyojuro’s uniform, ripping and hitting his skin, and he’d wince in temporary pain before getting thrown back into the battle.

“Stop hiding, Rengoku. You’ve changed. You’ve messed with me while drunk before and humiliated me.” The demon recalls, and the shadow cast by the billboard on the ground where Kyojuro was, starts to move and morph, turning into multiple Mauser Model 1893s and Arisaka Type 38s, ready to begin firing at Kyojuro who was almost caught off-guard, jumping off.

“Shi no kata: Sei En no Uneri!” And his sword moves to swipe in a circle in defense and offense to destroy the weapons aimed at him below, the billboard getting caught in the fray.

Shocking Hairo, the demon instinctively put his hand up to shoot Kyojuro, still coming down from the air. Firing the bullet from a Gewehr 1888 that successfully only grazed Kyojuro’s cheekbone. Because of this, Kyojuro, who landed on his feet, immediately launched himself toward the demon, Hairo, once more. Aiming to simply cut off his neck.

But the blade met hard skin. The once pale skin was taken over neck-up by a darker coating. It’s as if it’s eating Kyojuro’s sword. At the same time, the skin begins sprouting eyes that are devoid of irises, coated only with concentric, repeating ripples. This dulls the attack that Kyojuro did, more so that it prevented him from escaping due to his katana being stuck on the demon’s neck. And the monster knew this, producing a ton of set dynamite to blow the floor and the rest of the top half of the building, blowing himself out.

While the building that Kyojuro and Hairo once stood on exploded and shattered into many pieces, the sounds of quick footsteps approaching made their way to the deserted neighborhood. White haori swayed slightly at the speed that the runner was set upon. And the sight that met your irises was a building blown to bits. Rintaro informed you that Kyojuro had gone there. Your mission was finished quickly with a typical demon who ate twenty or fewer people, as always. Easier than you were always with a group, a group you’ve told to look for the other slayers assigned in the area to coordinate and then leave with no further messages. Set only South of Tokyo. Apparently, you were a reserve backup for this assignment. When you got to the actual scene, rubble in front of the door and destroyed windows, furrowed brows wondering wherever your friend went; but in the quick second that you’ve gotten close and were planning to enter and take out your nichirin blade, a hand made its way to tug on your braid.

Slamming your whole body on the ground and wrecking cement walls.

“Are you looking for your friend?” The demon asks, barely having a head, eyes pulled up by still forming nerves. “Don’t worry, lady, he’s still alive. That Rengoku will suffer all the pain in the world and more.” This time, his face is back, his hand moving from your always loose braid to your scalp, pulling harshly while looking almost docile.

“You see, I was great at torturing other humans when I was a human. You seem special. Were you the wife Rengoku was mourning for before while he did my job for me?” He faces you towards him, your hands moving to take the blade off your sheath before he continues, hitting your head once on the fallen concrete from the building, forehead bleeding, and his trusted Webley revolver in his hand pointed to the side of your face. “You’re supposed to be dead. Don’t worry. Getting shot calms me.”

He says that as if it should calm you as well.

“Go no kata: Enko!” Once more, you’re subjected to the image of a flame bursting, running passionately, never stopping, in the form of a tiger as the demon is pushed off you.

Kyojuro was covered in his own and the demon’s blood from half of his whole torso. He’d barely escaped with a bit of skin tearing off at the seams of his feet.

“I’m a demon slayer,” Kyojuro begins with enough volume to reassure the shaking feeling inside of him, “And defeating you will help me fulfill my duties rightfully. It doesn’t matter if you knew me because no matter what, you will not leave this place alive.” He finishes, sword clashing against the metal rim of a gun.

You fall for a bit before catching yourself with your palms sticking out to the ground, breathing heavily at the notion of once more losing your life. But you hit the floor with your right fist, a bit frustrated at yourself, before gritting your teeth and grabbing the hilt of your sword to support Kyojuro. But you didn’t expect him to simply deny your help.

“Leave here, tell the others, and accompany them to disarm the explosives spread around Tokyo,” Kyojuro mutters for you.

You were about to protest, angry, but he started to yell; the taste of blood dripped to Kyojuro’s teeth, falling on his tongue with its coppery taste. He must have expected you to not follow, “That’s an order!”

You absolutely despise the way he denied more support for himself. You believed you were sufficiently strong. Enough to help him, at least; you could relay the information and come back, but he seems determined to keep you and everyone at bay. So you listen and rationalize, dashing out of the scene.

Hairo speaks. “So I was right. Your wife is dead. Must have gotten her wrong.”

Kyojuro still furrows his brows at what the demon was talking about, unable to think anymore as he’s using more than enough functions as of late. And a churn in his body that traveled through his torso came back when you came out of nowhere. But he has an inkling, an understanding of what Hairo kept talking about, from what he heard when Hairo ridiculed you and what he’s been saying since the beginning.

“A gun will always beat a sword, Rengoku. And demons will always be stronger than the Demon Slayer Corps.” He finishes, the battle of endurance and strength continuing on, both Hairo’s arms restrained.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Suppose anyone would describe the type of person Rengoku Kyojuro was. In that case, he was fiery, passionate, honest, selfless, and an immensely hard worker. Everything he showed radiated any of the qualities above. Kyojuro was unafraid to show that he was dedicated to protecting others and that he’ll do anything to achieve that goal; to save every life he’s to touch if given a chance. Because if you are born stronger than others, you’re obligated to protect those who aren’t. He was the sole principal left to him by his mother before she died.

And if anything, it was the sole thing that kept Kyojuro who he was until now. The fight with Hairo was over, and the slayers were long gone from Tourui, Tokyo. Now recovering. Everyone else was okay, save for the boy who was covered in multiple blast injuries from the close-contact explosion from before, bullet holes that he couldn’t block in time, or scratches from bullets that were a close call. Nobody else was hospitalized in the Butterfly Mansion, just him.

Oyakata-sama was proud when he received the news that Kyojuro had defeated a Lower-Moon demon. Proving more that he’s a true Hashira, not a filler that Ubuyashiki had to place in the roster just because they needed to fill the pillars that would help hold the Corps together. And when he wakes up after his full recovery, he’ll be a much more honorable Hashira. The Flame Pillar. But while everyone was gossiping and talking about the young boy taking a seat at the table of the strongest swordsmen in their generation, Kyojuro was on a different plane.

He was in numb tranquility. A dark space where he couldn’t feel himself at all, but he knew that his consciousness was there. And once he realized that his thoughts functioned again, Kyojuro asked himself where he was. He simply couldn’t hear anything apart from himself. It was dark, and he couldn’t see. Still, it felt like he was just coexisting, like he was just there, not necessarily floating or sinking.

What happened?

And nothing changes from the pitch-black plane he’s unwillingly placed in. But his mind answers, and somehow he’s put back in the position he was in before, before getting stuck here. He won’t think about moving, but his body will move, and he remembers the memories of the fight with Hairo. It felt so long for him before he defeated the demon. He thought it would be done after he complained about not being able to use his guns anymore. Having a sort of Bushido technique, as the demon was relaying to his former self now.

Sword-clashing sword, the memory serving as a bridge to the momentary forgetfulness that Kyojuro went under.

“My wounds may have healed since that day, but I cannot control my fear and anger. I cannot stand to live in fear of him! My rage will kill me! Revenge! I will have my revenge... Kyojuro Rengoku!” He said this after Kyojuro revealed that he was not the man the demon was talking about. It didn’t take long after the explosion for him to put two and two together after getting a little breather to gather his thoughts.

At the time, he didn’t feel quite affected. He felt more relaxed when the memory relayed the time the fight ended, Hairo’s head on the ground as the smell of dust and ash fought its way to his nose. After that, he came here.

I did it. Are you proud of me? He thinks. Indirectly asking for his mother’s approval despite knowing he’ll receive no response.

He’s finally earned the title of Hashira. What will his Father think? Will he also take pride in his achievement?

“I’m proud of you, Kyojuro.” And his ears perk surprised that someone could penetrate the environment he was encased in for who-knows-how-long. But he couldn’t quite make it out, who it was, or from where it was coming; muffled, it sounded, similar to when you’re underwater.

But he didn’t need that when the black plane turned into a sight of horizontal slits, closing and opening of its own accord, at least until he realized it was his eyelids. It felt hard to open his eyes fully. When he tried to, it felt like a sharp pain was sending itself across his skull in a warning. So he remained more than half-lidded, really. Met by the wooden ceiling of the Butterfly Mansion, a sense of feeling returned to him. Kyojuro realized he was in a soft bed; his arms stayed on each side, not moving.

He breathes shallowly in hopes to null the pain but the sound of a chair creaking backward causes him to look at the noise. Soon enough, he was met by none other than… You.

You were surprised, wide-eyed, both hands clutching the blanket that covered him. You wouldn’t speak, and he wouldn’t start anything either, just the dark, empty room and unmade beds with the only light coming from the moon, shining only on the chair you once sat on.

“You’re… Okay.” You finally breathe as if you’ve been holding it for a long time.

Kyojuro doesn’t reply as he only blinks weakly but provides a delicate hum for you.

“I should call Kanae-san, but I—” You stop, tensed shoulders falling along with your visage that looks down, away from his face. “They’ll take very long with you, and you’ve been gone for three months, but you still look bad.” You ranted, mouth forming a deep frown, with your teeth biting your bottom inner lip to stop yourself from going further.

“What were you thinking?” Kyojuro looks straight ahead, and once more, he is reminded of the situation he’s left you to deal with. But first and foremost, he asks.

“Were all the explosives disposed of before anything else set off? Were no civilians harmed?” He whispers.

“Yes, we all split into pairs. So far, the kakushi has only reported a few from the second blast that was wounded but not nearly fatal. The damages will be handled by Oyakata-sama.” You comb through the details quickly.

“I’m glad,” Kyojuro says before finally letting out an exhale. While the weight from his shoulders wasn’t precisely any lighter, it was heavier with the position he would be placed in when he got back; the fact that the mission beforehand was a pure win for them made him feel better, still.

But if anyone could describe the type of person you were, apart from the face you’ll show when you’re happy and everything else, the part where, as of now, only you knew. Only if anyone could, then they’d see that you were a selfish person. They wouldn’t notice it at face value because your other demeanor is perfectly covered by the overbearing personality that took over half of what you hid. You’re not one to share any details about yourself, and Kyojuro would notice in the uneventful two and a half years you’ve spent together as friends that not once had you celebrated or mentioned your birthday to either of the brothers. They don’t know your parents or why you don’t live with them. They don’t know why you even stuck with them.

And you’d slip slightly, just a little. A minuscule portion comes out in dribbles of water from a leaky faucet. When you’re reminded of your Father, bloodied on a similar bed with no leg to accompany his other.

“Why, why could you just not accept my help?” You reason, “Or anyone’s help? Just yell the information. Our crows are on standby to get them. Rintaro was there. I could, I could’ve protected you.”

The once tangy relationship that you two left behind before Tourui began to surface. If a musician could play the tunes in both of your hearts, the violins would snap and lose all their strings.

Kyojuro didn’t know what to say exactly. But he was confused. How could you protect him?

When his mouth finally chose to utter words, it chose the wrong ones. “Those born strong have to protect the weak.”

And you look at him, confused at what he is trying to imply. But Kyojuro’s thoughts once again begin to swirl, and he fails to notice that his stomach doesn’t churn while doing so; he remembers that time and time again when he’s with you, he somehow feels weak. He doesn’t need to be protected, and he’s proven his strength clearly, time and time again. Kyojuro has for when he’d feel embarrassed when you have to hand him a little bit of money before, when he fails to calculate his spending for groceries, or when you’d stop his Father from hitting him when he was protecting Senjuro.

Stop it. Kyojuro hates it when he sees you smiling with a red cheek and hates it even more when sometimes it ends up bleeding.

Sometimes when he would come later than you, he’ll spot a sort of injury covering you. He’s not stupid at all. He knows it’s not from a demon. Why do you keep telling him that it is? Suddenly, Kyojuro remembers why he was angrier than he should have been when fighting Hairo.

If my Father loved okaa-san that much, why… Why can’t he continue loving us as he did that way?

You and Kyojuro were consumed by the eating feeling of separate unshared and similar yet ultimately contrasting emotions. While it both ended in some form of loss and the fear thereof, you feared losing the people you valued. While Kyojuro was angry at anything or anyone who would go against the principles of the person he’s already lost. Sad that he lost the affection he once received wholeheartedly. Afraid that he won’t see his brother once more. He was conflicted about fulfilling his duty and what was only for himself; because he was not like you.

In the brief seconds that all of your shared thoughts spun around in your own minds when you thought that you’d break the silence, Kyojuro reached a conclusion. And for the first time in your arguments like this, you were not the one that spoke first.

“You’re weak. What do you think you could do that I couldn’t already do myself?”

He didn’t say it angrily. It was simply quiet. Honest. For you, that’s what made it hurt more, maybe because it was that true. For a second, your anger sparks, and you kick your chair back. The difference between you and Kyojuro, despite being both loud, boisterous, joyous on many occasions, and honest, was that you were a different kind of honest. You express the things you observe. While Kyojuro could suppress his emotions better than you could, the same way, he did his thoughts until late. Until now.

Kyojuro himself, thinking that he must’ve offended you for telling the simple truth, was genuinely expecting more anger from you. From what he said, from what he did. But the feeling of something brewing in his stomach, something stinging his eyes when you look at him with furrowed brows and pained, watery eyes after turning back to him, came back to taunt him again. Your lips were down, mouth slightly open with your teeth showing, as if grimacing the pain from what he said and more. And he’d feel bad.

He’d feel worse.

He feels the worst when you move towards him slowly, arms encasing his head with a bit of space to not squeeze him. His messy hair, touching your face’s skin, reaches down to your neck. You’d feel his hair tickle your whole visage, from your eyes to your mouth. But you bury your nose more deeply into the crown of his mane while your hand gently strokes the side of his head after yours. Your thumb going in circles, just grazing his ear.

A wet trickle bellows upon Kyojuro, who was now wide-eyed, the sharp pain ignored; goosebumps rose on his bandage-covered skin. You moved so slowly as you whispered all the same,

“I’m sorry.” Your lips ghost over his head as you pull away, covering your whole face with your arm. Kyojuro was lying on the bed, still as ever, never saw your face when you left the room.

When the room was empty and quiet, the chair backward on the floor was the only thing he had to reflect upon. Kyojuro sniffs, the sounds of multiple quick footsteps making their way into his room from the hallway.

“Rengoku-san, are you alright? Why are you crying?” Kanae asks worriedly, Shinobu right by her side.

Chapter 5 « Chapter 6 (Current) » Chapter 7

EXTRA: Chapter 6.5

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