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Akaza was not a person who cared for weakness. The mere thought of fragility, seeing such a worthless thing in others left him rotten. A volley of restless, untamable fury would always catch in his blackened heart, and something in the back of his mind would howl. Yearn and demand him to snuff that putrid weakness out.
Akaza, a man crowned by decay and the blood of his master, would never think to embrace weakness. That all it would ever deserve was scorn, the pitiful people he encountered would become nothing more than a swan song.
He supposed, in the face of Rengoku Kyojuro’s brilliance, Akaza should have known. With each glance, each conversation, each night shared, the Flame Pillar would ignite in him a lantern show of contradictions. Flimsy and fragile little lights, and yet, Akaza would continue to let them glow as brightly as they could.
Something had shifted, this night. No blood had been spilled between them, no blade had been drawn; roaring to life so beautifully. They remained unblemished, housed and shielded by a forest enshadowed by fog. Usually, Upper Moon Three and the Flame Pillar would come to a clash time and time again, Kyojuro rising higher and higher with each battle, nothing more than playfights teetering onto a falsified death match.
Tonight, however.
Akaza had never seen the bluster of the Flame Pillar diminished to ash. He had seen the result of their monumental battle, Kyojuro reduced to a candlelight vigil and sputtering, fraying embers. Akaza would catch the flickers of restless agony, the anger Kyojuro would hush and drive away, the despondency that would flood into his mind and leave the man achingly silent.
Kyojuro had come to Akaza a shell, hollowed out and brittle.
It should not have been haunting, seeing the lack of clarity in Kyojuro’s lone eye. Glossy and half-faded. The silence that brewed from him, the warring tension that kept the man standing.
“Kyojuro?”
The blackened chasm in place of those marvelous flames drew a wave of discomfort bleeding along Akaza’s back. Rancid, red hot burns carved into his back, lingering until Akaza’s next breath. Kyojuro did not reply, still standing as rigid as a board.
“Do you wish to fight, Kyojuro?”
Akaza was not accustomed to comfort. Why at all would he bother to gentle his hands? Why would it matter to soothe another? And it showed, leaving a hole burning in his throat as he watched Kyojuro’s despondency grow harsher. The bleak and fragile quiet hounding Kyojuro splintered into something sharp, his eye flashing in pure panic. His body stiffened and locked up completely, his shoulders rising to his neck.
Kyojuro looked like a puppet held up by only its strings.
“No-” Kyojuro shouted, his voice dripping with horror.
It was just a single word. Just one word, and Akaza knew that was not quite Kyojuro speaking. The Flame Pillar’s refusals were always steadfast and clear. The man before him sounded more like a boy, lost and terrified of something Akaza could not see.
“Then, we do not have to.”
The reassurance proved to be unsuccessful. Judging by how Kyojuro’s face contorted further in fear, how the sheer quiet remained, the man might as well heard something entirely different. Something that encouraged violence over compassion.
Akaza stared at the ground beneath his feet, a worthless attempt at giving Kyojuro privacy.
What could Akaza do for Kyojuro? Akaza only knew impulsivity, mindless and catastrophic brutality. Fights that he wished could last a lifetime.
The pink pearls of Akaza’s anklets glimmered under the moonlight.
The times Akaza would thoughtlessly wander into Kyojuro’s spaces, ignorant to his sightless petrification, bloodied and mangled by the hand that fed him, came to mind. His footsteps would always lead to Kyojuro, desperate for comfort and safety he was unfamiliar with, the blonde being the last thing on his mind before it fractured to nothing. Though the Flame Pillar raged against an everlasting night, though he despised the raven that would waltz by his window, Kyojuro hadn’t scorned Akaza, then.
Kyojuro had been so warm, so warm, that Akaza could only imagine what the sun must have felt like. That Kyojuro had to have been the sun.
Kyojuro had spoken to him, while Akaza was fraught and restless, talking to him as though they were friends. Kyojuro had sacrificed the chance of a faster recovery, kneeling down across from Akaza. He did not second guess, he did not leave him, comforting Akaza and herding him away from the ghosts that haunted him.
Akaza was well aware he was nothing and could never be anything like Kyojuro. There would be no point or triumph in trying, though, Akaza was starkly unwilling to leave Kyojuro like this.
Akaza raised his head and a flicker of a smile budded on his lips.
“Do you want to sit down, Kyojuro,” Akaza paused, his gaze skittering to the ground, “it’s not comfortable but it may make you feel more at ease.”
Kyojuro watched Akaza like he was expecting to be hurt. Dangerously wary. It was decidedly different, better, Akaza thought if Kyojuro were this on guard because he saw Akaza as nothing more than a threat, a thing to put down. Being this on edge out of rationality than being afraid of a ghost.
Akaza did not allow for the tense, fragile silence to reign between them. With what he hoped was an encouraging smile, Akaza sat criss-crossed on the ground. A light huff of a breath left his lips and he tipped his head up, briefly staring at Kyojuro. Kyojuro kept staring, possibly distantly aware Akaza sat down in front of him.
“Come now, Kyojuro,” Akaza lightly called, “are you so wary you’d fight the ground?”
Kyojuro’s brows quirked, Akaza’s stupid joke not even processing.
“If anything, I would be the fool to pick a fight with the floor,” Akaza splayed out his hands with a snickering little laugh, “I’d most likely lose, you know?”
Kyojuro squinted at him.
“Which means,” Akaza’s voice pitched softer, the smile on his face reflecting the pale moonlight above, “you’ll be just fine, right? I’ll-”
-protect you, Ko-
I swear on my life, no matter what-
Akaza’s thoughts slipped away as Kyojuro cluelessly gazed at him, entirely befuddled by the demon’s nonsense.
“It is alright, come join me on the floor. I am getting rather lonely down here.”
The first breath of spring bloomed life into Kyojuro’s eye, and like a puppet, the Flame Pillar crumbled gracelessly onto his knees. He winced a little, but his posture was not as rigid as before.
“There we are! Good.”
Fragile as Kyojuro was, he could not hide his reaction. Pink bled across his face and he ducked his head, a mangled and embarrassed little smile lighting on his lips. It was absolutely not adorable.
And since Akaza’s mouth was cluttered by blackened, fluttering moths, he could not resist pouring praise from his lips.
“You look cute, Kyojuro.”
Kyojuro flushed a startling bright red. It was a surprise to see Kyojuro fiddling with his haori, a pale attempt of hiding himself. A laugh tickled Akaza’s throat, and he could feel his eyes crinkling along the corners.
Akaza’s eyes landed onto his anklets, his gaze flicking back to Kyojuro. His fingers skated along the pristine pearls, a disgusting ache quivering in his chest. Akaza gently pulled one of the anklets off and loosely curled his fingers over the beads.
After a beat of silence, Akaza outstretched his hand.
“Do you want to hold this with me?”
If it was not the chilled, smooth anklet to yank Kyojuro out of that fog, then it would be Akaza’s own hands. It would be nothing close to a comfort, but the shock of them, the sheer, twisted cold, perhaps-
Perhaps they could reawaken the flames in Kyojuro.
Kyojuro faintly dipped his head down, staring dead onto the anklet. His lips briefly pressed into a frown. It took a moment, and for whatever reason Kyojuro placed his trust in Akaza with a simple nod. Akaza smiled at him, a touch confused and incredulous before it whispered to ash. He waited, watching carefully as he shuffled closer to Kyojuro. The blonde did not tense up nor freeze in place, bridging onto a sense of calm.
Lightly humming, Akaza placed his anklet into Kyojuro’s calloused palm, the beads gently clattering together. There was a shift in Kyojuro’s expression, his eye dawning with a faint warmth. Kyojuro brushed his fingertips along one of the beads, terribly hesitant as if he was terrified of shattering them. As if he still was not here.
“It’s okay,” Akaza huffed out a breath, murmuring, “they’ve endured plenty. Let them be your comfort.”
Akaza slowly reached his hands out, cupping Kyojuro’s. He lightly smiled, a bit wry, at the warring melting point between them. The blinding warmth of Kyojuro’s hands melted against the frigidness of his own, unblemished and undead flesh outlining healthy yet scarred skin.
And it did not matter. The horrid clash of warmth and a harrowing chill. Their positions, monster and man. The hurt laid bare between them, the agony Akaza ceaselessly wrought. It did not matter, as Kyojuro shuddered out a quiet breath, tears slipping down his face and striking the anklet.
“Akaza.”
Akaza would have felt so darkly euphoric at Kyojuro freely saying his name. There would have been this roaring mania wriggling in his chest. He did away with those emotions as Kyojuro continued to use his name, only feeling touched by it. Seen, he guessed.
Now, though, Akaza could not help but feel relieved. Relieved that Kyojuro’s voice was no longer chased away by aged agony. That Kyojuro was much more clearheaded, that he recognized distinctly who Akaza was.
“I am here, Kyojuro.”
Kyojuro only cried more, the tension in his body finally snapping apart.
“You can tell me what happened, if you so want.” Akaza offered.
Kyojuro’s expression warped, the look in his eye clouding into something unreadable. Caged and fairly uncomfortable.
“I do not know,” Kyojuro replied, and it sounded like he was desperately attempting to hide; to forget, “ah.”
Akaza cocked his head to the side, an apology on his tongue.
“Father,” Kyojuro weakly voiced, “it was Father. We had a,” Kyojuro’s brows knitted together and he grimaced, “disagreement just a few nights ago. The questions you asked-”
Akaza hated how Kyojuro stalled. How he grew quiet and wide-eyed as though he truly wished to run.
“I suppose I thought I was speaking with him, instead of you. My ap-”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
Kyojuro shied away from voicing any more details, from saying anything more in general. He did not need to reveal much, really, when Akaza could hear the drunken and angered voice of Kyojuro’s father rattle down the halls. When he could so easily pinpoint how the might of the Flame Pillar tore harsher from his father than Akaza’s hands ever did; Kyojuro freezing in place and going deathly silent.
It was a painful thing to witness, this weakness. And it was foolish of Akaza, how he could not even bear the thought of trampling over it.