Work Text:
“So let me get this straight,” says Zenitsu in his most obnoxious tone. “You think it’s inappropriate for a demon slayer to be romantically involved in any capacity?”
“Well—“
“What about the Hashiras? They can have however many wives they want, but I can’t ask out a pretty girl from the village I just risked my ass saving?!”
Tanjiro can already feel the beginnings of a migraine forming. He doesn’t point out that Uzui was already married before he joined the corps, which is why he is the exception to the rule. Still, Tanjiro can’t keep the emotions from seeping out of his voice when he says, “That’s what the rules say.”
Zenitsu blinks at him like he’s grown three heads, all his grievances forgotten. “Wait, why do you know this in the first? Why do you care?”
Tanjiro rubs the back of his neck, his laughter shrill and forced when he says, “I thought it would be interesting to go through the Demon Slayer handbook. How else should I pass the time when I’ve been bedridden in the infirmary?” Tanjiro gestures to the aforementioned rule “book”, a stack of scrolls piled up on his nightstand next to his empty medicine vials.
Zentisu only arrived at the Butterfly Mansion two days after Tanjiro. He knows for a fact that Tanjiro was unconscious the entire time. Zenitsu squints his eyes to indicate that he knows Tanjiro is lying but is nice enough to not call him out on it.
An impatient knock interrupts their tense moment as Aoi enters the room with a determined look plastered on her face.
“All right boys! I’ve successfully sedated Inosuke. I hope you don’t cause me as much trouble with your medicine..” She pauses when Tanjiro catches a scroll on the verge of falling.
Aoi musters all the energy she can to sigh.
“I hope you put them away before Shinobu arrives with the Flame Hashira. They should be here any minute now.”
The bundle of nerves in Tanjiro’s chest constricts. He’s proud when his voice comes out even.
“I’ll do it right away.”
-
Shinobu’s library is not modest by Tanjiro’s standards, with two massive floor-to-ceiling shelves flanking the side of the room, afternoon sunlight pouring in from the skylight. But there’s a certain whimsical charm to the vials of medicine scattered on the shelves like Christmas ornaments, the metal torches attached to the ceiling intricately designed in flower-shaped patterns. Tanjiro cannot identify the source of the faint smell of wisteria that fills his nose, but it does wonders to calm his bundled nerves.
He puts away the scrolls and stares at his faint reflection from the window.
What’s wrong with you? He wants to ask himself. He takes a seat on the floor to gather his thoughts.
Why did Zenitsu’s inquiries bother him so much? It’s not the first time his friend bemoaned this fact. It’s also not the first time he mentioned the rules. Until now, however, he never had any tangible evidence to back this up.
As for why he was reading it… Tanjiro shakes his head.
At least he gets to see Rengoku again. Has it been a month already? He’s lying to himself, he knows it’s only been three weeks. Not even a month and he’s itching to see the man again. But you only got to see him for one hour the last time you were at his house, Tanjiro tries to reason.
Rengoku, Rengoku, Rengoku. Just thinking about him fills his head with a thousand images. Rengoku and his boisterous laughter and vibrant smile. Rengoku’s vicious anger on behalf of everyone on the train. The crinkle of his eye when he’s amused by something Tanjiro said. This might just be one of his favourite past-times, picking apart the fragments of Rengoku he has collected over the past few years, seeing which pieces fit the puzzle he’s building in his head and what are the pieces he cannot comprehend. He still mulls over the look on Rengoku’s face when Tanjiro told him his father refused to visit Rengoku at the infirmary after the Mugen train incident. The smell of burnt apricots has been etched to his senses ever since.
A knock on the door. The second time he’s been interrupted today.
He doesn’t need to turn around to know who is approaching him. The light padding of footsteps comes to a stop. The weight of someone’s body pressed against him is a comforting thing.
“Rengoku-san was here just now.” Zenitsu prompts.
Silence.
“He was asking for you.”
Tanjiro fiddles with the drawstring of his pants.
Zenitsu grabs him by the shoulders so that they now face each other. “What’s going on with you? I’m starting to get really worried.”
There’s a long pause before either of them said anything. Tanjiro has to blink back the emotions brimming under his eyes to keep Zenitsu from worrying any further.
There are a million things weighing on his mind. He wants to say, Rengoku might just be the most enigmatic person he’ll have the pleasure of encountering. He must have ruined his relationship with his favourite person by confessing his feelings when he hasn’t even fully grasped the depth of his love for the man. He didn’t know it would hurt this much. He didn’t know the pain of rejection cuts deeper than the sword he proudly wields.
“I think I ruined my relationship with Rengoku-san forever.”
There are no exasperated remarks thrown his way, nor does Zenitsu pry any further. Zenitsu simply lays his head on Tanjiro’s shoulders and finally, finally, Tanjiro can rest easy. He should have known he could always trust his friend.
“I told him something, something I shouldn’t have said given my ranking.”
“What did he say?”
And that’s what’s weighing his mind the most: Rengoku didn’t say anything. He didn’t outright reject him with his words, but he didn’t accept his feelings either. Rengoku had turned away from Tanjiro so that the boy can't scrutinize his expression. After a lengthy silence, he finally dismissed him.
“I don’t know anymore. I just assumed…”
“Listen, Tanjiro. Just talk to him and clear up this misunderstanding. There’s no way in hell you can say anything to Rengoku that will make him hate you, okay? So stop worrying too much, dummy.”
-
Not worrying is one thing but clearing up a misunderstanding is another.
With two dozen demon slayers out of commission because of a cave-side demon, Tanjiro is whisked away to the other side of Japan, tracking down the demon, doing his part in eradicating it and dealing with the collateral damage. If the infirmary had given him an excess of time to drown in his thoughts, then this mission is the oasis that landed him in the desert. Tanjiro is glad for the change of pace.
“My saviour! Thank you, Kamado-kun!”
One of the injured villagers throws himself at Tanjiro. He can’t be more than three years older than Tanjiro himself. The man’s leg is twisted into a terrifying angle. He does his best to distract him from his pain as helps the man hobble to the Kakushi members’ campsite.
“It’s my pleasure. What’s your name, mister?”
“Yamada.” The man leans uncomfortably close to Tanjiro. “Tell me, how did a boy like you end up in this profession?”
Tanjiro looks away from the villager and laughs hesitantly. “I’m hardly a boy now. I turned eighteen a couple of months ago.” He’s not exactly willing to tell his entire life story to a stranger he’ll never meet again.
“You look like a boy but you’re as strong as a man.”
He doesn’t follow up after that. Tanjiro wills his legs to carry them across the compound faster.
Fifteen minutes goes by at an agonizing pace. Tanjiro does his best to remain civil while the man makes numerous advances toward him—he can call them advances can’t he? He may not be knowledgeable in these matters but even he can tell when someone is making overtly romantic comments. And it’s not just the comments that’s bothering him.
“You’ll visit me once you’re done helping the others right?” Yamada hasn’t let go of Tanjiro’s sleeve.
“Um.” His eyes dart back and forth trying to find someone to attend to the man.
And then it happens.
First, his senses are filled with the smell of a fireplace on an unforgiving night, with passion and justice rolled up into tiny fronds ready to burst open at the seams. Next is the warm hand that engulfs his shoulder and pulls him close. Tanjiro wants to cry with relief.
“I will personally see that Kamado-kun drops all his duties and responsibilities so that he may entertain you for a few minutes.” Tanjiro can hear the venom laced between Rengoku’s words despite the smile etched onto his face.
When the villager gapes at Rengoku, the Hashira lets out a thunderous laughter. “Oh my! Don’t look so startled! I’m not a ghost!” A startled Yamada lets go of Tanjiro in an instant.
Rengoku steers them away from the campsite. The hand on Tanjiro’s shoulder is as unwavering as the Flame Hashira’s conviction.
Tanjiro and Rengoku arrive at the site of the attack, a gorgeous cave overlooking the sea. The sun crawls up the sky and blesses everyone with a dazzling sky painted in shades of blue and yellow. The ebbing waves tickle their feet as they take a seat on a nearby rock.
Rengoku flits his eye towards Tanjiro. “I heard it was your idea to lure the demon into the water.”
“I wouldn’t say it was entirely my idea. It did help that my seniors were willing to entertain me.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.
Rengoku shakes his head with a knowing smile that makes him want to bury his head in the sand.
“I do not believe I ever took the time to tell you this, Tanjiro, but I am so proud of how far you’ve come. I’ll be the first one to congratulate you once you become a Hashira, though I know it was never your primary goal.” The fondness in his voice is too much. If Tanjiro looked at Rengoku now, he would surely wither away with the wind.
And since Tanjiro is incapable of salvaging their relationship any further, he says, “Rengoku-san, you don’t have to be so nice to me. You don’t have to deal with all my unreciprocated feelings—“
“My dear boy, who said I didn't reciprocate your feelings?”
It’s as if ice itself was coursing through his very veins. Tanjiro’s movements come to a maddening halt. He doesn’t dare turn his head around or move a single muscle in his body. Surely, he’s not hearing things properly.
Tanjiro doesn’t know from where he finds the composure to speak, but his tongue moves without any effort.
“When I confessed to you, why didn’t you say anything?”
Rengoku’s face is turned towards the scenery in front of them. A gentle breeze jostles his hair, exposing the eyepatch the Hashira is wearing. He wishes he felt as content as the peacefulness Rengoku seems to be exuding. He looks so calm and serene and nothing like the man Tanjiro had left in the estate all those weeks ago. Tanjiro looks away.
“I’m going to be extremely frank with you,” he begins. “I have always suspected you harbored romantic feelings for me. In my head, you were only a teenager, so I kept anticipating the moment you would grow out of your infatuation towards me.” Tanjiro can hear the smile behind his words when he says, “Little did I know I would fall for you too. How could I not when you hold me in such high regard, despite the fact that I haven’t been sent on a proper mission since that fateful day? How you hold the same values as me, your admirable devotion towards your sister. I would never tire of listing out more reasons.”
Abruptly, the man turns around to look Tanjiro straight in the eye. His eyebrows are pinched with worry.
“I’m sincerely sorry for the distress I have caused you. It was never my intention to hurt you. Truly.”
Tanjiro shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize, Rengoku-san. I completely understand why you’d be reluctant to pursue this…relationship. I’m of a much lower ranking than you and so much younger than you. It’s frowned upon—“
“No, you have got it wrong, my boy.”
Rengoku’s gaze pierces through Tanjiro. How can the Hashira be open as a book at one moment, but as inscrutable as the night sky in another? His eyebrows droop downwards, hand inching towards the younger boy’s. Tanjiro is dizzy with want.
“Just mere moments before your arrival, my father spoke to me about my marital status.”
Tanjiro’s throat constricts with emotion.
“I can’t fault my father for worrying about this matter. I’m at an age where I must secure my lineage and teach my children what has been passed on in my family for generations.” Rengoku smiles sadly. “As the eldest son, you know just as well as I do what it means to bear the weight of responsibility.”
He does, he really does. If someone asked him whether the pain of heartbreak is worse than the heavy mantle he must bear as the eldest son, he would choose the latter—and he would willingly bear the weight of that responsibility for life, even if it crushed him.
Rengoku cups a handful of sand and lets it sift through his fingers, falling and falling. He lets the knowledge of what he said sit between them for a moment.
“It is unfortunate that you caught me at a moment when my thoughts were spiraling out of control. You’d laugh if you knew what was going on up here!” Rengoku knocks the side of his head.
Tanjiro’s heart pangs. “Of course, you can tell me,” he says softly.
Rengoku waves his hand in dismissal. “As I was saying, it took me a while to fully reconcile with my feelings, and even longer to realize that desire is not a sin. Although it pains me that I am discounting my father’s wishes.” His hand brushes against Tanjiro’s. “Somebody once told me there’s no glory in self-imposed punishments.”
His smile is as warm as molten sugar. Once again the Flame Hashira’s disposition rivals that of the Sun’s.
The Sun is now proudly up the sky, brightening the entire area. Seagulls squawk impatiently in search of food. Despite everything that’s going on behind them, Rengoku and Tanjiro are in their little bubble. Nothing can destroy the atmosphere surrounding them—not even the waves that are hurtling towards the shore and soaking their ankles.
“Tanjiro, my boy. Allow me to make one selfish request.”
Rengoku finally holds his hand and laces their fingers together.
“Come home with me.”
Home. The word fills him with a warmth he can trace all the way back the way back to childhood. This time, though, there is an entirely different promise behind it.
“I would love that very much.”