Chapter Text
The kid from the neighboring dojo is—how can Hakuji put it nicely—pretty fucking weird.
The eldest son of the Flame Hashira is sitting next to him, devouring the fourth of his ramen bowl and barely even registering the stare of Hakuji’s cold eyes. He's wounded and bandaged all over, yet neither the injuries or broken arm seem to falter his ravenous pace.
So Hakuji is eating lunch in a ramen booth with a wounded weirdo with an endless appetite. Big deal. It definitely shouldn't be as awkward or weird as Hakuji made it sound. The thing is—
Firstly, Hakuji grew up poor. Food is always scarce, medicine for his ill father would only be gained every few weeks, new clothes would only come in his dreams. So seeing the Rengoku kid eat with wild abandon like the bowls of ramen don't cost him his wrists (they don't, but that's not the point) pisses him off a fair amount.
Maybe it’s envy. Maybe it’s that Hakuji is still so bitter over everything that has transpired in his life. Maybe it’s the endless questions of why why why why me why me why not the rest of you. What is certain is, he's really doing his best to not put his hands around the boy's throat and strangles him to the ground.
Secondly, that's exactly what Hakuji did just a few days back. Alongside some rather brutal beatings that resulted in every wound that the Rengoku kid sustains today.
In his train of thoughts, Hakuji deduces that the boy is a bit-slash-a lot wrong in the head. It's probably his fault; he probably shouldn't have punched him in the face so hard. He heard something like orbital fracture was brought up when Keizo brought him to the Rengoku estate to apologize—he's not sure what that means, but it would probably explain some things.
"Are you not eating, Hakuji-san?"
Hakuji blinks, suddenly hyperaware of the eye contact from the wide eye of the smaller boy that isn't hidden away behind bandages. "Um."
"Do you not like ramen? That's alright! They've got some other things! Here, let me get you the—"
"No, no. I'm fine," Hakuji splutters. Now that he no longer has blind rage directed towards the Rengoku kid, there's nothing much to feel for him besides something between unwanted guilt and his usual lack of social skills—who is he kidding, it’s both. His blue eyes look down on his abandoned bowl of ramen, staring right through. "I'm just…"
That bright golden eye stares at Hakuji like the summer sun, and by that Hakuji means he would like for the boy to not . His eyes sting just maintaining eye contact with him. The sun was not meant to be looked at directly.
"Aren't you upset? I broke your everything and I haven't even known your name."
"Oh!" The Rengoku kid responds like it's a revelation, like the answer isn't already so obvious to begin with. "I'm not mad! I'm sure you have your own reasons."
What.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean.
"What," Hakuji repeats.
"Keizo-san always talks about you! He says you're so hard-working and that you always diligently take care of Koyuki and help around the place! I’m sure a kind person like you wouldn't hurt someone without a reason. You're blessed with strength, after all!"
Hakuji stares, disbelieving and so so baffled, finding nothing but sincerity behind the boy's eye.
That's…
That's actually pretty stupid.
Hakuji finds himself unsurprised finding out that Keizo has a part in it. The stupid old fart had thought—and still does, it looks like—taking a criminal to his house was a good idea. All because he can punch the aforementioned criminal three ways into the next week or two. What the hell. That kind of attitude would just come back to bite both Keizo and the Rengoku kid in the ass.
That very same attitude had landed Hakuji here, though. A roof to live under, a place to come home to—all just because Keizo had chosen to take the chance to bring him home just out of the kindness of his heart.
Hakuji still thinks it's stupid, but he also starts to think that maybe he's gotten too bitter and angry after his father's death. Maybe he should allow himself to be a little bit of an idiot, the way he always allows himself to be a lot of an asshole.
"...Okay," Hakuji says plainly. In lack of anything else to say, he takes the first sip of his ramen broth to his lips, the flavorful miso blooming on his taste buds.
Hakuji blinks, licking his lips in pleasant surprise. He takes another spoonful of the broth, then another. The broth has gotten a bit cold due to his own neglect, and Hakuji can't help but wonder just how nice it must be when warm.
Must be nice, but, this is nice enough.
As he chews and swallows he can’t help but to think that he should say something. Something about the weather? The ramen? I’m sorry for beating the living shit out of you when we first met?
“I’m—” He starts, after swallowing, “—Hakuji.”
Fuck. Hakuji wants nothing more but to put his hands around his own throat. Way to go.
“...Nice to meet you?” He adds lamely. Might as well dig his own grave.
The Rengoku kid doesn't even phase, nor does he bother to swallow first as he tries to get out several syllables with a mouth full of broth and ramen, choking himself. He coughs and splutters, trying to get the food out of the pathways to his lungs. Hakuji only watches and hopes that he won't die suffocating from that.
"I'm—!" The boy's struggle bears some result, at least. He turns to face Hakuji fully with a wide grin, of which Hakuji responds with a rather amused/confused raise of his brow. "I'm Kyojuro Rengoku! I hope we can get along, Hakuji-san!"
Hakuji attempts a smile, awkward and embarrassed all the same. "...You're paying for all these, right?"
"Don't worry! Chihiro-san knows to put it on chichiue's tab!"
"...Hmm."
Typically, Hakuji would feel a bit bad having others pay for him—not that there’s that many in the first place—but he isn't the biggest fan of a certain Shinjuro Regoku at the moment, so he could eat in relative peace this time at least.
So eat he does. The tension in the air is lessened significantly, making it easier for Hakuji to relax and breathe as he downs his bowl in his quiet. Kyojuro’s loudness as he eats besides him becomes something of a background noise, miraculously enough.
"Kyojuro?"
With ramen dangling between his lips, Kyojuro turns to look back at him with the intensity of a star. Hakuji still wonders if being buddy-buddy with this particular kid is a good idea.
Still, though:
"Get well soon."
Hakuji doesn’t know how it is possible, but Kyojuro lights up even more at that.
"Thank you! I can't wait to get better so I can train more. I want to be strong like you, Hakuji-san, so I can carry my family’s legacy as the Flame Hashira when my time comes and make my father proud."
He pauses, the rest of the words Kyojuro have spoken barely registering, overshadowed by that innocent sentence alone.
I want to be like you.
Hakuji inhales deeply, finding his heart suddenly beating just slightly faster.
No one ever said that to him, and the reason couldn’t be simpler: No one ever wanted to be like him. Why would they? He’s nothing more than a lowly criminal, wandering around the streets only in search of another victim in his attempt to get by another day by scraps and stolen money.
Yet, Kyojuro said that like he didn’t see the tattoos circling his arms.
Hakuji wants to think that’s because he’s dumb enough to not know what they mean. Try as he does, though, he couldn’t quite stop his face from turning warm or swat away the way he feels a bit like he was floating.
Kyojuro doesn’t seem to notice, rambling on and on between mouthfuls of food about training like it’s the only thing that matters in his life. And Hakuji pretends that his words didn’t affect him quite as much, eating the last bits of his portion.
“We should train together sometimes!” Kyojuro suggests, putting down his chopsticks on the surface of the now-empty bowl that Hakuji wonders if it will be his last. “Then when I get stronger we can have a proper match!”
Hakuji shrugs before he could think too much on it. “Sure.”