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"We're talking to you, Agatsuma!"
Zenitsu was tired, weakly trying to raise his hands up and over his head in an attempt to shield himself. But forever weak willed, he didn't have the strength to fight back. Physically or emotionally, the drive being battered out of him. He felt the familiar sting of a rough hand twisting in his hair, blunt nails raking against his scalp, and his head snapped painfully up, near akin to whiplash. His hands found purchase on his assailant's wrist, uselessly grasping at it with a pathetic grip. He was on his knees, forced to an upright position by the hand grabbing his hair.
Zenitsu knew that he should have headed home earlier.
But then again, it wasn't as if he had any choice; with a look filled with barely hidden disdain, the teacher tasked him to double check each of the classrooms before he headed home, with the teacher himself passing his supposed job off to the young blonde. Zenitsu could do little else but comply, gingerly peeking his head inside each classroom and praying that he'd find no one.
But of course, with one classroom hosting a group of rowdy, disobedient, and aggressive students, it was yet but another wakeup call that no one is really listening.
Snapping him back to reality, Zenitsu felt a hand firmly grasp his jaw, the pain and fear shooting down his spine. "Y'know, no one really likes a teacher's pet, Agatsuma," The bully jeered, his pronunciation of Zenitsu's name deliberate and disgusted. "Even less so if it's you."
Zenitsu would have snapped back, an adamant counter of 'Teachers are supposed to LIKE teacher's pets.' but Zenitsu knew that this would only elicit further peals of laughter from the group—Not to mention only emphasize his already piteous reputation.
Ignored in middle school, bullied in high school. A definitive downgrade.
The sole girl of the group checked her phone, quickly losing interest in the current game of torment. “Hey, can we hurry up? I want to eat at that new restaurant soon!” She whined, checking the time and noting the late afternoon. For sure, most restaurants near the school are probably packed, thanks to the after class time.
One of her friends, specifically the one holding Zenitsu’s hair with a vise-like grip, waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, this will just be quick!” He assured, turning back to the blonde on his knees. “We’re just gonna mess with him a bit more.”
“Serves him right,” Another snorted, having left his supposed position by the doorway to watch for any incoming passerbys. He raised his foot, lightly pressing the tip of it into Zenitsu’s stomach. “He probably thinks he’s so much better—it’d do the school a favor taking him down a peg.”
The first girl hummed thoughtfully before sighing, repocketing her phone. “That’s true, I guess. I mean, did you guys see what happened at lunch?”
The boy previously gripping Zenitsu’s jaw raised a brow curiously as a teasing smile lifted to his lips, letting go of Zenitsu’s face and drawing up to his full height. “Why? What did Agatsuma do this time?” He spoke as if Zenitsu wasn’t even there, his heartbeat stuttering in his own ears.
The girl snorted, shooting Zenitsu a brief look of his disdain before turning back to her friend. “Tanjiro tried to invite him to sit with his friends, but he,” At that, she shot a manicured finger to the blonde, the cute designs ironic and warm toned. “Sped off! It was super awkward; and Tanjiro looked crushed!”
The one holding Zenitsu’s hair clicked his tongue, glaring down at the blonde. The hold in his hair tightened, earning a whimper from Zenitsu. “That so, huh? Wow, you must really be prideful; the guy is just trying to be nice, and you just leave?”
“I-it’s not—” Zenitsu tried to explain, tried to defend himself, but it fell on deaf ears as the guy merely yanked his head back further. Not as if it would have done him any good regardless, he needs to stop trying.
Whether it be from a genuine sense of duty or a chance to cozy up with the popular kids of the school, most probably a desperate ploy of both, the guy’s eyes darkened. “Shut up, Agatsuma. Maybe if you had just—”
“Ah, what’s going on here?”
All five students froze up for a moment, a flash of fear across all of their faces. However, as they all turned to the source of the voice standing at the doorway, the group of four relaxed, their faces bright and friendly. Even the grasp on Zenitsu’s hair loosened significantly, more or less just resting atop the choppy locks.
And yet, it was Zenitsu’s face that remained shellshocked and scared.
“Tanjiro! Hey, we thought you went home!” One of them cheered, waving at the redhead. The sunlight that filtered through the hallway’s windows bathed the classroom in a dusky orange, complimenting Tanjiro’s tanned skin and burgundy hair. The four looked unapologetic, swayed easily by the smile plastered on Tanjiro’s face. It was as if a calming wave washed over them, seemingly from the redhead.
None of them could hear what Zenitsu heard, the pang of anger that pierced his ears sharp and painful. No, the bullies were instead enraptured, as always, by Tanjiro’s gentle expression—no matter how forced.
Already with months under his practiced care, his face remained sweet and smiling, his red eyes only momentarily glancing at Zenitsu before turning back to the bullies. “Seems as if I’m…interrupting something?” He asked, raising a thin brow.
The girl of the group giggled nervously, but it was more akin to the childish guilt of having eaten one too many sweets—inconsequential in the long run. “We just wanted to talk with Agatsuma, honest!”
Tanjiro sighed, shaking his head and stepping inside. Closer and closer, until he was standing just in front of Zenitsu’s kneeling figure. Zenitsu’s eyes remained on the ground, blinking back the fearful, pained, shameful tears that threatened to spill out.
Then, a calloused hand came into view; an offer to stand.
Zenitsu heard a soft gasp and light murmur, before one of the students spoke up. “Tanjiro, there’s no need for that—!” He said, no doubt feeling bad for the redhead’s misplaced kindness.
Tanjiro paid the words no heed, his hand still hanging uselessly in the air before he dropped it, the offer obviously rejected. The flare of insolence jumped from all four of the bullies, but it was quickly replaced by an exasperated shock as Tanjiro instead leaned down himself. Zenitsu couldn’t stop the nervous whimper from his mouth as he was gently raised to his feet, Tanjiro’s larger hands running from his shoulders to his arms, easily dusting off Zenitsu’s clothes.
Tanjiro turned back to the group, a soft chuckle escaping him. “It’s fine guys, really. I wouldn’t want you lot getting caught.” He explained; his words poised and specifically chosen. Selected to as not betray a lie—he wouldn’t want them caught.
Yet.
No, he had to save that for when they really tried something.
However, Tanjiro allowed himself the indecency to slip his hand into Zenitsu’s shaking one, interlocking their fingers together tightly. A lock and key that Tanjiro himself kept, Zenitsu the precious thing hidden. The blonde was silent, Tanjiro exchanging an air of amicability with the hooligans.
“You guys are going to head to that new restaurant, right?” He asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. The group lit up, wondering if this was the chance for Tanjiro’s treasured attention to be paid to them—too distracted from the fact that Tanjiro knew of their plans, too enraptured by the prospect of the prince of the school to no longer be a mythical figure, but a friend.
“Y-yeah! You want to join?” One of the guys asked, the other three looking equally as expectant. However, their hopes were dashed as Tanjiro shook his head, giving them an apologetic wave of his hand.
“Sorry guys; I should really clean-up Zenitsu here, before he heads home.” He explained, already gently pulling along the stumbling blonde behind him. His steps were sure, already a tucked away place away from prying eyes in his mind. Zenitsu said nothing, instead keeping his eyes to the ground as the grating sound of annoyance and hatred from the four reached his ears.
As if in a twisted sense of comfort, Tanjiro squeezed his clammy hand—only earning a shiver to run down Zenitsu’s spine.
However, just before they left, Tanjiro peeked his head back into the classroom and bade the group a charming, fake smile. “But…do let me know if the food’s good there, ok? Might go there one of these days!” He smiled, the promise at least giving the group of bullies a false sense of hope; of approval.
"Ah, this looks like a good place." Tanjiro mused, one arm pushing the door open, the other still gently holding Zenitsu's own limp hand. The two were inside of the many comfort rooms of the school, empty save for them thanks to the late afternoon hour.
Tanjiro tugged Zenitsu along, paying no heed to how the blonde was an obedient wreck, placidly following the red head's movements. Even as his feet shuffled after Tanjiro, Zenitsu's skin was sweaty and cold, a prickling shine of nervousness on his skin. Tanjiro turned back to Zenitsu, gesturing to the flat, marble sink of the comfort room. "Here Zenitsu; sit down."
Zenitsu pressed his lips together, trying to keep the anxious sound of a whimper from bubbling out. He merely shook his head—he barely shook his head, the action so minute that Tanjiro could have sworn he missed it.
But, he didn't.
But that didn't matter.
Tanjiro let out an endeared sigh, finally letting go of Zenitsu's hand. Just as the blonde felt his shoulders lax at the loss of contact, he visibly bristled as he felt warm, calloused hands hold him by the waist, only to hoist him to a seated position atop the marble sink. Like a well placed figurine to admire, to put on display.
"There." Tanjiro stated, seemingly satisfied with his handiwork. He allowed his hands to rest on either side of Zenitsu, caging him in. The scent of the blonde's sweat was sweet, enticing with the near palpable hesitation. The blonde felt stifled, his own oxygen not even allowed for solace, and he tried to keep his breaths shallow—saving it to keep himself grounded. Tanjiro took a breath, two, three, breathing in Zenitsu's air before he got a hold of himself. He gave Zenitsu a reassuring smile before finally pulling back, moving towards the sink as he fished something out of his pocket. A handkerchief, a plaited checkered pattern brought under the running water of the comfort room's faucet.
The handkerchief that Tanjiro dampened with water was homemade, no doubt sewn by his mother as yet but another proof of her love and devotion to her family. For that, Tanjiro cherished it and treated it with reverence—the fact that he was going to clean Zenitsu with it was proof of that.
"Here, let me." Tanjiro said, not a space in his words to allow Zenitsu a chance to decline, to deny him again. Already, Tanjiro took Zenitsu's hand in one of his own, the other gently wiping away the scrapes along the blonde's palm. The dirt of the classroom floor clung to him, only finally wiped away thanks to Tanjiro's diligent work. As Tanjiro moved his hand to then gently clasp Zenitsu's wrist, the blonde released a hitched breath, both surprised at the sound.
Zenitsu was wearing a thick, yellow sweater, one that he treated more often as some sort of armor. It was a rare gift from his brother, and already the fibers of the sweater had started to fray from overuse. Tanjiro gently pulled back the sweater's sleeve away from Zenitsu's wrist, and on Zenitsu's skin was an already blooming bruise, a faint splotch of purple against the otherwise warm and soft skin.
Zenitsu was silent as Tanjiro tsked, shaking his head as he gently leaned down, dabbing away at the surrounding skin of the bruise. "Ah, those guys really roughed you up, didn't they."
You would know.
Zenitsu bit back the biting remark, pulling his lips in and preventing any noise to escape him. But Tanjiro could smell the flash of defiance, and it took every nerve of his being to hold back his own smile.
Tanjiro's eyes glanced upwards to Zenitsu, looking at the blonde from underneath his delicate lashes. "...Don't give me that look, Zenitsu." He murmured, his voice a low breath. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled his back straight, drawing up to his full height. Even with the sink of the bathroom's leverage supporting Zenitsu, Tanjiro was still taller than the currently seated, trapped in, blonde. His sound, which had usually carried a kind melody that made Zenitsu momentarily falter, had always paved way for a more...foreboding noise, a barely contained fire that was always looking for its perfect kindling.
Enter, Zenitsu.
Blonde hair and a sweet scent that instantly caught his attention. Even amidst the artificial smells of the people around him with the rarity of a sincere scent, it was the nectar of peaches that drew him in. Never mind the way people clamored over him, never mind the way that he was constantly praised; he was humble, hardworking, and kind.
Tanjiro was kind.
He really was.
So, wasn't it natural? For Zenitsu to be his reward?
He was never spoiled, his compassion and diligence coming in waves and herding people towards him. More than the sun, he gave warmth where it was rarely seen, and he had never found himself lacking.
Until he saw Zenitsu, and he realized that he was lacking—the one person in his life that made him bloom.
Tanjiro's attraction to Zenitsu was palpable and obvious, coming to instantly greet the blonde and becoming his friend, getting to know him and festering himself into Zenitsu’s life. Tanjiro attached himself to Zenitsu's hip, much to the mixed cooing and chagrin of their schoolmates.
And Zenitsu was endeared at first, he was; Tanjiro smelled it. The stirrings of affection from the skittish blonde grew with each passing day, getting more and more comfortable with the stranger turned friend.
Until it became too endeared. Tanjiro couldn't pinpoint what exactly drove Zenitsu away, and to be honest Zenitsu doesn't think he'd be able to tell either. Maybe it was when Tanjiro's hands lingered far too long, or when his breath hitched too close to be sweet. How Tanjiro pushed and pushed and pushed for more time together, leaving little room for denial. Maybe it was how Tanjiro's sound, once a comforting crackle of fire and chimes, became stronger and stronger, threatening to burn him from the inside—fierce and possessive, greedy. Maybe it was when the school's eyes shifted from fond to annoyed, especially with how long Zenitsu took to give Tanjiro a clear answer to their relationship.
So, Zenitsu did give Tanjiro an answer; he rejected him.
Bad move.
Tanjiro had taken the rejection with grace—supposedly. He had accepted Zenitsu's apologetic denial, treasured words of thanks and understanding.
Never mind the way his hands were tense and trembling, itching to grab him. Never mind the static pounding of his heart, a discordant noise overlapping his screeching sound. Never mind the way his eyes just stared, the softness of his gaze now sharp.
No, Tanjiro was kind—and in the eyes of the school, Tanjiro's kindness had been rejected. Stomped on.
Ungrateful, ungrateful, ungrateful.
And by the strange, erratic Zenitsu, no less.
It was a school effort, really. The camaraderie they showed in their disdain to the blonde was commendable, if not for the circumstances. After all, people band together against a common enemy, no matter how lonely or pathetic. A propaganda of isolation, if you will; from exclusion to intimidation to mere ignorance. Anything for the gilded prince of the school, whose calloused hands and charming words had people in droves.
After all, it was those same charming words that had people so...susceptible to him. Tanjiro can't lie, he never could.
But a few well-placed omissions, saccharinely protective words, that same assurance of how he still cared for Zenitsu—he chose his words with purpose.
Zenitsu supposed that was the real reason he was so remiss to Tanjiro's affections.
He was so scared of how natural it was.
Even now, especially now, Tanjiro's movements towards Zenitsu were seemingly so honest, keeping Zenitsu to himself. The way his lean arms barred either side of Zenitsu, the way his head had tipped lower, the red head's hair tickling Zenitsu's cheek, the way his breath was deep and slow. Sizing up his prey.
"...You know I'd do anything for you, right? I…I adore you." Tanjiro said, his voice a lowered rumble, even now echoing off the stilled tiles of the school's comfort room. "Anything."
The unspoken promise was clear; Tanjiro would do anything. And he could, they both knew that. Even as something as improbable as, say, getting the bullying to stop...
Tanjiro could have easily ended the torment.
But he didn't.
Not yet.
Tanjiro, his heart laying bare, closed his eyes, taking in the heady scent of Zenitsu's sweat, his natural sweetness. "I won't mind if...if you don't like me. I can like you enough for the both of us." His voice was so earnest in his rambling, Zenitsu knew that the feelings were true—however twisted they may be. Tanjiro's adoration had only grown, having always, always watched Zenitsu.
Even as Zenitsu was bullied, he was always watching, adoration and patience in his eyes. A presence that never seemed to waver, one that Zenitsu couldn't shake off no matter how insistent he was.
Tanjiro continued, moving closer and allowing his nose to brush against Zenitsu's tense jaw. The blonde was trembling, his own hands balled into shaking fists atop his lap. "I'll be ok, just being your...your crutch. Your anything, just as long as I’m…I’m yours. You can do what you want, just...let me have you." His voice had dropped to a whisper, a sincerity in his voice that he hoped Zenitsu understood.
And Zenitsu did—Zenitsu understood Tanjiro's request completely.
And it left him nauseous, and scared, and confused.
Zenitsu's scent had gone sickly and rotten, the overripe smell of peaches a familiar delicacy to Tanjiro's nose. Even if he found it just as addicting, he couldn't help the way his brows furrowed in concern, lightly drawing back to regard the blonde. "Zenitsu? Are...you ok?" He asked innocently, one of his hands lifting from the marble of the sink to instead place atop Zenitsu's own curled up fist.
Zenitsu visibly flinched, his pulse quickening at the contact. Tanjiro sighed; his gaze focused on Zenitsu's expression. Pale and wide-eyed, the object of his affections looked little less than a doll. The shine of sweat across his forehead made his smooth skin glisten, even under the sterile light of the comfort room's LED bulb.
Tanjiro felt that ever present, gnawing hunger in his teeth, on his tongue—his usual craving, never satisfied. Taking a brief moment to bite the inside of his cheek and trying to keep his own blush under wraps, Tanjiro leaned closer. Slowly, as a hunter approaches an ensnared prey. Their noses brushed against each other, Tanjiro's eyelids almost drawing to a close—
Until, of course, Zenitsu pulled away.
Tanjiro froze, the rejection chilling his body to ice. His eyes had again snapped open, clear and focused as he watched Zenitsu's face. The dreaminess of Tanjiro’s expression shattered, again that rehearsed clarity and calm that everyone knew. The way Zenitsu had winced as if struck, the way his short eyelashes already had the barest hint of tears dewing amidst them...
And the way he had met Tanjiro's gaze, remorseful but absolute.
"...Right," Tanjiro forced out a chuckle, drawing his head back from Zenitsu's personal space. Already, the blonde took in a shaky breath, feeling as if he could breathe better once the space was given. Even as Tanjiro's hand still rested atop his own, the brief respite already more than enough for him.
Zenitsu didn't dare take his eyes away from Tanjiro's, their gazes still interlocked in a seeming battle of wills. "...Sorry." Zenitsu finally rasped, the first he'd spoken directly to Tanjiro.
Tanjiro gave a smile, too tight and tense to be natural. Another laugh escaped him, breathless and without any joy. His red eyes were just, there, staring into Zenitsu without daring to blink—his own chest feeling weighted and hot, the rejection stinging. The hand atop of Zenitsu's squeezed hard, reflexively clenching over the blonde's until Tanjiro's knuckles turned white. It hurt, but the pain was barely registered as Zenitsu listened to the strained voice that spoke to him. "Don't worry about it." Tanjiro croaked, his usual charming voice having a sharp edge to it, as if it took all of his willpower to keep from screaming.
And judging from the way Tanjiro's sound shifted to a possessive, pained screech, Zenitsu knew it was true.