Chapter Text
“You look like you’ve eaten the sun, like you drank so much sunlight you’re drowning in it.”
—Yves Olade, from Bloodsport; When Rome Falls
Iguro wakes up alone in a room that is not his own.
It’s unfamiliar, like shoes that don’t quite fit, and yet somehow this sudden change in scenery is not wholly unwelcome. At the very least, it doesn’t leave him with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’s used to the sight of concrete walls, ridiculous amounts of food left untouched, and cedar cages.
Today, however, he is met with handmade rice paper panels and polished wood. It’s also the first time in a long time he’s had even a semblance of a good night’s rest. There aren’t any pervasive smells that make him vomit. No bone-chilling echos in the dead of night. His mother, along with every other woman in his clan are no more, sans his only cousin, who has left the village for an apprenticeship somewhere in the city, wanting absolutely nothing to do with him.
Iguro Obanai is utterly alone.
As if hearing his thoughts, or rather, sensing his distress, Kaburamaru slithers underneath his blanket and coils himself in the junction between Iguro's collarbone and neck. Iguro lays still in his futon, running the pads of his fingers over Kaburamaru's scales. He listens to the sound of birds chirping just beyond the engawa, absentmindedly watching the tiny dust particles float in the air, spotlighted by a sliver of morning sun.
Iguro wonders if he’s the only one awake. He wonders if the Flame Hashira will be ridding himself of him soon. Iguro doesn't quite know what he’ll do or where he’ll go if that's the case. This worries him, but he won't complain. Being tossed out into the streets is a far better alternative than being trapped in a cage, waiting to be eaten alive by a demon.
His thoughts are momentarily interrupted by thumping feet loud outside his door and the sound of the shoji being recklessly wrenched aside.
Sunlight washes the entire room with warmth and the smell of morning dew. Iguro expects to see the Flame Hashira—intends to thank him for slaying that demon and for saving his life, but the words die on his lips.
Iguro has no clue who he’s staring at.
For a moment, the figure doesn’t move. Their silhouette eclipsed in a heavy shadow—the sun is too bright for him to see until it shifts. Sun-kissed skin, gold spun hair with patches of crimson and a boundless grin. Bright eyes that whisper of mischief. Iguro wets his lips behind his bandages and pulls his knees close to his chest.
“Who—”
“Is that a snake!?”
The visitor (or intruder, because Iguro’s really not sure at this point) scampers into the room without a second thought. With the shoji left open, a gentle breeze follows him in. The young boy trips over his feet twice between the door and where Iguro is. And then trips a third time for good measure. His knees hit the futon harder than expected, he winces, but his smile barely moves out of place.
“Can I?” He asks with unbridled excitement, making grabby hands. “I’m Kyoujurou, by the way!”
Iguro frowns, though no one can see it. He doesn’t like how presumptuous this child is. To just barge into someone's sleeping quarters and make demands so brazenly. But Iguro sighs, it is certainly not his place to cast judgements, what with his tainted lineage and the scorned blood running through his veins, he is in no place to criticize anyone.
“Not...some pet....” Iguro mumbles.
“I know that, he's too smart to be a pet, right?”
Kaburamaru slinks along his shoulder, ruffling his bed-head in the process. Iguro says nothing as he slowly unwinds his companion from his neck. He goes willingly. Kaburamaru’s interested in this boy, just as much as the boy is interested in him.
“What’s his name?” he asks and despite his initial clumsiness, Kyoujurou manages to handle the snake with a care and gentleness Iguro hadn’t thought he was capable of displaying.
“Kaburamaru.” he replies.
Kyoujurou hums, obviously pleased. "Pretty!"
Iguro can only watch as his dearest friend and ally is acquainted with Kyoujurou. The snake slithers up his arm, slow and lethargic. He disappears behind a curtain of flame-colored hair before reappearing on top of his head. Iguro sighs and stretches his legs, feet nearly knocking into the other boy’s knees.
“Obanai-kun,” he says after a while; Iguro tries to remember when he’d given his name, but the truth is he hadn’t. “Wanna go play out by the pond before breakfast?”
Iguro ponders for no more than a second. “I...don’t think that’s...a good idea.”
Freedom is an altogether new concept to him, but he isn’t sure he’s ready to push boundaries just yet. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to convince Kyoujurou further, for an older woman appears at the door.
Iguro tries not to flinch, but his shoulders scrunch up and he is unable to look her in the eye.
“Kyoujurou, no one is going anywhere until the chores are done.” Her tone is so unyielding that even Kyoujurou, for all his bullheadedness, cannot argue. He just gives a weak “yes okaa-san”. The woman turns to regard Iguro, eyes softening a fraction, though Iguro misses it.
“Obanai-kun, please come join us for breakfast. I would’ve called you earlier but you were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you.” She offers a half smile. “Although it seems my son had no qualms barging in to meet you.”
Kyoujurou has the decency to look ashamed.
“I’m...not hungry.”
“Are you sure? I made soup, it’s light and shouldn’t upset your stomach.”
“It’s really tasty!” chimes Kyoujurou.
They both look at him hopefully, though in varying degrees. Kyoujurou may look exactly like the Flame Hashira, but he and his mother share the same spirit. An infectiously attractive thing, capable of warming even the coldest of hearts and drawing him closer to it’s warmth. Iguro can’t find it in himself to refuse.
“...okay then.”
The woman nods and leaves with a swish of her kimono.
Iguro listens to the sound of her soft footfalls as they fade away. With Kaburamaru still coiled around his neck, Kyoujurou helps him fold up the futon and shove it in a corner. Given his strength, Iguro is sure Kyoujurou could’ve done it all by himself.
The boy with bright eyes and even brighter hair hair prattles on, talking about this and that; he talks about his birthday which he’d celebrated with his family. He talks about his little brother, Senjurou who recently began his sword training. He talks about his parents whom he loves and admires. Kyoujurou talks and talks all the way into the kitchen, and even as he takes his seat.
“That’s enough, Kyou. Don’t talk his ears off.” Kyoujurou’s mother warns.
She places a bowl in front of each of them, including Kyoujurou’s younger brother who sits across from Iguro.
The child regards him with wide curious eyes, but looks away blushing when their eyes meet.
The soup is a clear bone broth made with dill and basil. Iguro watches the steam curl from his bowl. Their breakfast is a modest one of soup, wild caught fish and steamed rice. Iguro appreciates the simplicity of it. He had long since grown tired of the excessive, gourmet meals his family had spent years engorging on.
Iguro hesitates to undo his bandages. He doesn’t want anyone to see his scars. He doesn’t want anyone to ask him about it. He bites his lips and looks away from the food, deciding not to eat. A pity, he had actually wanted to try the food, since Kyoujurou made such a big deal about it.
Ruka’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a blade. “Obanai-kun, you are free to eat with Kaburamaru if that’s more comfortable for you.”
Quickly, Iguro gathers his bowl and leaves through the engawa. He can tell Kyoujurou is itching to follow him but Ruka won’t allow it. He settles into the grass with his soup, and the sun warm on his pale skin. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling its rays, especially given the years he’d spent in an underground basement.
Iguro unties his bandages slowly, the wounded skin of his cheeks feels like raw under his fingertips. He hates it. He tries to focus on something else instead, taking a small sip of the soup.
Kyoujurou was right. It is delicious.
He finishes his breakfast just as Kaburamaru creeps into his lap with a full belly. As he returns the bowl, Kyoujurou latches onto his arm with a grin.
“To the pond!” He cheers.
His mother cuts in. “Chores first, Kyou.”