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When the letters stopped coming, Giyuu couldn’t help the pinch of irritation that caught in his chest, on the bridge of his nose.
Mondays. They came on Mondays. For the past four months, they had always come on Mondays.
At first, he had assumed that Rengoku was busy with a mission. Perhaps far away, perhaps rather difficult. Yet, the following Monday, no white folded piece of paper dropped by his front gate either, sprawled across with slanted characters, no ink smudged from an overenthusiastic hand. Giyuu had grown to enjoy seeing the messy handwriting, picturing the Flame Pillar hunched over a chabudai in a distant inn, scarred and battle-weary but loyal to his pursuit of conversation with the Water Pillar. He would imagine a sliver of a pink tongue poked out between dark lips in concentration, sharp eyebrows crumpled together.
Two weeks had passed. That could be attributed to a particularly strenuous mission, or maybe two back-to-back assignments. It was when the third week rolled in that Giyuu recognised; this was a pattern. The Flame Pillar was many things. One of which was: intentional. The letters had stopped coming on purpose.
“He’s interested in you, Tomioka-san.” Shinobu had said dryly, wringing a boiled chestnut between her fingers from their shared bowl.
At the start, Giyuu had attended to the Butterfly Mansion, confused as to why Rengoku had suddenly begun to send letters and occasionally call in to his residence following a shared mission of theirs. Shinobu was more reliable than he in matters of humanity and the art of conversation. Perhaps she knew the reason.
“Why would he be?” He had murmured in response, chewing through a nut of his own.
She had rolled her eyes. “I suppose, he’s partial to a pretty boy like the rest of us.”
He had flared furiously rouge at the comment.
The idea had grown on him, against his better judgement.
The letters piled on through week after week, and the quiet embers budded and grew. Giyuu was not accustomed to feelings of flattery, yet increasingly his breath would be caught by particularly heated gazes across a courtyard housing kneeling Pillars at a Hashira meeting, when most certainly the Water and Flame breathers should have been facing their soft-spoken master. His breath would increasing catch, and his chest would jump when the words on the pale pages took a progressively sweet turn, or when his visits grew more frequent.
“I hope that you respond, one day, Tomioka.” Rengoku had whispered whilst brushing past him on his way out from the Ubuyashiki residence.
None of the other Pillars had heard it but Shinobu, ever observant, had watched wide eyed and somewhat amused as Giyuu’s neck took on a reddish tinge and steeled his eyes to the floor.
He had not indulged him, of course. Attachment was inappropriate; dangerous, even. Giyuu was wiser than to allow himself to sink into the Flame Pillar’s pursuit of him, else he burn and leave with scars irreparable. Still, he had never asked Rengoku to stop with the notes or the visits. No, that was rather unnecessary. It was clear that Rengoku was perhaps getting some sort of consolation or comfort out of writing the letters. Giyuu would not dare take that from him. It was a lonely profession, with long days that stretched into bitter nights. Yes, the Flame Pillar needed the encounters more than he did.
The feelings of regret came two months after the letters had stopped. Rengoku had not called in to the Water Pillar residence once in that time, and Giyuu had not bumped into him on missions or just out and about. Perhaps, it would not have hurt to have replied to at least one of the letters. Rengoku had given plenty of openings for conversations…
“You have no one to blame but yourself, Tomioka-san.” Shinobu had said dryly, this time over a bowl of cherries. It was summer, and the sweltering humidity was overwhelming. The heat had also caused Giyuu to grow especially frustrated at Rengoku’s continuing neglect of him, and he sought solace in his sharp-tongued comrade. He should have known better.
“I am aware of that.” He had muttered.
She had looked at him, large doe eyes ever-knowing. “Well, you know what you need to do.”
Of course he did. But he could never do it.
It is four months since Rengoku's last letter. Giyuu stalks back from a successful mission, autumn rain hammering down hard against his pale skin. His dark tresses cling limply to his forehead in the torrents, the roar of the storm obscuring his view of his residence. If this was part of your strategy, Rengoku, he seethes, it’s certainly worked. He has thought of nought else but smouldering eyes and flaming hair for the best part of eight months. He’s at his limits.
Flinging his soaked haori and uniform to the pile of clothes requiring washing, he pulls himself into a clean, pin-striped navy yukata. Dropping himself to the light-wood tsukeshoin below his bedroom window, he looks out to the torrential downpour. The piles of letters that scatter his desk have been date-arranged.
He opens one, from seven months ago.
Tomioka,
This winter has been particularly harsh, has it not? My father worsens in this season. Perhaps Flame breathers do better in the summer.
My brother is well, and his combat improves daily. I worry for him, but I can only do my best.
How have you fared so far? I will call in soon. Though you do not smile often, I hope to see it when I come. That will thaw the harsh cold of winter, I am sure.
Kyojurou Rengoku.
Giyuu’s chest pangs. Rengoku had indeed called in a few weeks following, bearing plum sake - ‘borrowed’ from his father, he had explained. Giyuu had been unable to help himself, a small tug pulling at the corners of his lips as Rengoku demonstrated the stealthy lengths he had to go to to acquire the bottle from the pantry. Rengoku had gleamed at the sight, and Giyuu had glowed with more than just the warmth of the alcohol as their time stretched into the evening.
Now, his scoff is wry. Perhaps, the Flame Breather has found others to entertain him. Others who respond to his letters. Others who call in to visit him, also.
He shakes the thought from his head.
His eyes scan the desk, looking for the most recent. He opens it, re-breaking the red seal. He smoothes out the creases in the corners; who knew this would have been the last he was to receive?
Tomioka,
What a spring it’s been! The war wages on, but I feel my heart burns ever sure that all our efforts will amount to the Demon Slayer Corps' overwhelming success one day.
I will see you at the autumn Hashira meeting, if not before then.
Until next time, set your heart ablaze.
Kyojurou Rengoku.
Giyuu sets the letter down. He had won. Rengoku had won. A few stray tears are insulated by the steady drizzle from dark clouds outside.
The autumn Hashira meeting. It was only two weeks away. He would approach at the autumn Hashira meeting.
If summer resembled the Flame Pillar, autumn certainly did as well. Giyuu sees it in everything. The crimson, the golden leaves. The musky earthiness of the air, the calls of the warblers. The crunch of gravel beneath him.
He enters the gates of the Corps Headquarters, sees the lined Pillars.
His heart twinges at the sight of familiar fire-coloured hair, ruffling in the wind and catching the low sun in iridescence. He sees the Flame Pillar tense slightly at the sound of his approaching footsteps, watches as Rengoku turns his head slightly in his direction as Giyuu takes his place at the opposite end of the line.
“Last again, I see.” Shinazugawa bites.
Giyuu is too distracted to bristle at the comment.
The air is taut as the Hashira wait in silence for the appearance of their master. It seems everyone knows of the tension between the two Pillars that breathe opposing elements. It does not come as a surprise. Giyuu is particularly mysterious amongst those in the rank, and Rengoku particularly loved. Shinobu would have had difficulty holding her tongue on the details of their relationship, or lack thereof, over the past months.
Like the blesséd rain, Oyakata soon makes his entrance, dousing the growing fire in Giyuu’s mind, and opens the meeting.
The second bi-annual meeting stretches on for longer than usual, with discussions on the Kamado siblings, Muzan’s whereabouts and praise for Rengoku who has recently heroically defeated Upper Rank Three. It was a joyous occasion for the Corps. Giyuu had received news of it from Kanzaburou at the time, and had fluttered with renewed hope that Rengoku might write to him about it. Alas, no letter came.
At the closing of the meeting and their dismissal by Oyakata, the Hashira congregate to congratulate the Flame Pillar and catch up amongst themselves.
Usually, this would be Giyuu’s cue. He would sneak out from the group unnoticed by most, or more accurately, ignored, and return to his residence, avoiding painful encounters of small-talk or run-ins with Shinazugawa or Iguro. Today, emboldened by his months of misery and jibes from Shinobu over the weeks, he stands tall at the periphery of the congregation.
The Insect Pillar clears her throat, and Rengoku along with the others look up and back to where Giyuu stands. He swallows,
“Rengoku-san. May I speak with you?”
The young man appears surprised, eyebrows shooting upwards. He nods, slowly, courteously.
The other Pillars look on in revered silence. Shinobu gives an encouraging glance.
Giyuu turns to walk out from the Ubuyashiki residence, Rengoku following and falling into step with him.
Heart juddering loudly in his chest, Giyuu is entirely conflicted. He managed to get them alone, managed to call him out from the group. He is doing well so far. He feels sick. He feels exhilarated. He is upset; missing the man walking right beside him terribly yet at the same time unable to look up at the brilliance of his raging sun.
A suitable distance from the residence, amongst tall bamboo shoots, Giyuu clears his throat.
“Was your intention always to make me fall in love with you, then leave me in silence?”
His words carry no bite. He knows it is entirely unfair. If anything, he should be congratulating Rengoku, not chiding him. It was he who decided to never respond to the younger man’s letters, who chose his protection and perhaps pride over simply calling in to the Rengoku household or writing a new letter of his own when two Mondays turned into four months of no contact, and his heart sunk further into the depths with each passing day.
It was him who had purposefully ignored the very obvious and clear intentions of the Flame Pillar after their joint mission, yet who had silently carried on with longing and fearful expectation that Rengoku might break the barrier of Giyuu's own silence, hoping that with each home visit he might eventually press those warm lips against his and take him as his own, claiming without asking permission.
Rengoku was a righteous and honest man, and would never have done such, Giyuu knew this. Still, he had hoped; hoped that this blazing presence would break in and make it so he did not have to face the ferocity of his own desire; where he could simply be swept away by the other's smouldering currents and get caught in the eddy of it all, perfectly consumed.
No, Rengoku was a gentleman.
Rengoku is still a gentleman. He turns to Giyuu with deep concern etched into his brow, “Tomioka, what do you mean?!” His voice booms in the stillness, putting a few sparrows to flight.
Giyuu turns his gaze to his feet, shuffling awkwardly in the spot where they have stopped.
“I longed for you.” His voice is but a whisper. Sometimes, Giyuu would tell himself that he had always hoped that Rengoku would forget him, that his passion would eventually burn out and they could focus on their duties. He had soon abandoned that act.
“Tomioka?”
Rengoku appears in his sight, bending low to try and gain eye-contact. Giyuu feels his embarrassment red-hot on his face, up to his ears and down to his fingers. He looks up.
“I missed you.” His lower lip quivers.
Rengoku’s face only crumples the more. Giyuu almost feels sorry. “I - I thought I had been a disturbance to you.” He has never heard the Flame Pillar so quiet.
Tears now spill from Giyuu’s eyes, the dam set loose, four months of self-loathing, remorse and longing mixed into this moment. He shakes his head furiously. “It is my fault. I made it seem that way. I was afraid,” He is rushing, his words loose on his tongue, “I am… I am sorry, Kyojurou.”
He looks down again, but not before catching the surprise that covers Kyojurou’s face at his new term of address.
He waits in the silence, ready. Ready for any number of things: Sorry Tomioka, you seem to have misunderstood something. Sorry Tomioka, my feelings have changed… you left it too long. Sorry Tomioka, I met someone else. Sorry Tomioka, this would hurt either, or both, of us.
Instead, large hands on his shoulders. Warm, callused. They grip firm.
“Do you know what I thought as I battled Upper Moon Three?” Kyojurou’s eyes blaze into his own, alight, alive.
The tears have not stopped, so all Giyuu can manage is a shake of the head.
A small smile breaks across the other man's face, the first glimpse of the sun behind parting clouds, “I thought: I must get back to him. I must return to Giyuu and tell him how I feel. I must not give him up.”
And searing warmth crushing him against his comrade ignites the flame brighter, burning stronger than ever; scorching and devouring his entire being, wrapped in his embrace.
Giyuu's heart is in his throat, his chest pattering with a thousand agitated butterflies. The taller of the Demon Slayers presses his mouth to Giyuu’s forehead. Relieved chuckles escape them both.
"If you write to me again,” Giyuu whispers, “I promise to reply this time." A warm smile tingles his lips as Kyojurou envelops him tighter in all-encompassing arms.