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Senjuro didn’t realise it at first. He repeated the same motions over and over again. He prepared the same meals, washed the same dishes, dusted the same books, swept the garden paths. He watched the sky for news of his brother, as if the funeral hadn’t happened last week. As if he didn’t wet his brother’s lips for the last time, as if he didn’t offer incense at the altar, as if he didn’t store the cremation’s leftovers himself.
It wasn’t until a distinct female voice sounded from the other side of the gate that he woke from his reverie.
“Rengoku-san? Senjuro-kun? It’s me, Kanroji Mitsuri! And Iguro-san is here too!”
He blinked, realising that the slight pressure on his ears was the sound of knocking that had been going on for the last few minutes. He walked over to the gate and opened it up slightly, peeking out to see the Love Hashira and Serpent Hashira standing side by side, with frowns and furrowed brows. He dropped his arms to his sides, barely registering what was happening as Kanroji rushed over to him, wrapping him in a tight embrace.
“I’m sorry, Senjuro-kun. I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I was so far away when it all happened. I just got back now, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”
He could feel her sobs wracking her body, dragging him downward to kneel on the floor with her. He looked up to see Iguro approaching him as well, with the man’s eyes softly lidded and putting a gentle hand on Senjuro’s head. Kaburamaru slithered down his caretaker’s arm and gave Senjuro’s face a light flick of the tongue. The boy brought his trembling hands up to Kanroji’s back, and his weak grip on her white haori seemed to make her cry harder.
He felt his tears welling up again, no matter how much he tried to call the numbness back. Kanroji’s powerful grief and Iguro’s kind concern overwhelmed him like a wave, and he found his lips wet with tears and quivering with apologies. He buried his face in Kanroji’s shaking shoulder and finally let himself cry again.
He felt the tension leave his body through his tears and his screams that he could barely hear. It felt satisfying, to finally cry like that. To let out the grief and despair from his father’s cutting criticisms and the hollow reality of his brother’s passing. To finally release the tight grip that he had on his emotions for the last week after the funeral. By the time his body finally started to relax, and his eyes opened, he saw the orange glow of sunset outline Kanroji’s wet shoulder.
Kanroji pulled away slightly, weakly smiling at him with a face covered in running tears and snot. Iguro sighed and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe both Kanroji and Senjuro’s face.
“Senjuro-kun," Kanroji cupped the boy's face in her hands, " you haven’t had the chance to visit the grave yet today, have you? I’ve heard that your father has kept you locked up in your estate for the whole week.”
Senjuro nodded hesitantly. He was worried that there was word going around about his family.
“Let’s go, then?” Iguro gently tugged at their elbows and encouraged him and Kanroji to stand up. Kaburamaru licked the air and tilted his head, as if urging them to move as well.
It is a significant walk to the gravesite, one that the master took each day, but not frequented nearly as often by the other demon slayers. The hashira, in particular, had few opportunities to pay respects to their many dead and missing allies. Kanroji, in her desperate attempt to bring some cheer to Senjuro, recounted her training days with her former mentor, making the other two smile and chuckle at some points, even if through tears. Kanroji herself found it hard to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks as she ran her mouth with every happy memory she could remember.
It was dark by the time they reached the graveyard, covered in tombstones, incense and flowers. Senjuro dutifully filled up a bucket with water and Iguro lit a lantern to carry with them as they entered the mountain of memorials. The Rengoku grave was located near the top of the mountain, the stones worn down over the centuries. The flowers laid over the grave a week ago had scattered and dried out. Kanroji quickly picked up the loose flowers to dispose, and Senjuro poured half the bucket of water over the grave, wiped the stones clean with a cloth before rinsing it again with the rest of the water. Iguro handed the boy a few sticks of incense which Senjuro placed on the altar while Kanroji placed fresh flowers down.
Senjuro prayed first, his mouth mumbling quiet, whispered words to his brother – apologising, apologising, apologising with tears once again streaming down his face. If only he could have trained harder, if only he could have accompanied his brother, if only he could have taken his brother’s place…
Iguro laid a firm hand on Senjuro’s shoulder, shaking his head.
“Your brother must be happy that you’re still alive, Senjuro. He has always fought to protect you along with everyone else.”
“Then – Iguro-sama. Kanroji-sama. You must promise me,” Senjuro turned to cling onto the two hashira, “ Please , you must come back from your missions alive. Please. Don’t leave me –”
Kanroji wrapped both of them in a tight embrace, and he let his cries come out once again. He was so tired. He was so exhausted. He felt so broken he couldn’t imagine breaking down any further and yet he still felt like he was crumbling. He doesn’t know what would happen if these two were taken from him as well. He clung on tightly.
By the time he opened his eyes again, the night was even darker, and he was held tightly in Kanroji’s arms. She looked down at him with a smile as she crossed a gate.
“You must have been tired, Senjuro-kun! You’ve been asleep for the last hour!”
“Where –” Senjuro turned his head around, trying not to blush at being carried like a child.
“We’re at Kanroji’s place,” Iguro’s voice came from ahead of them as they walked toward the gardens. Kanroji’s flower gardens were a beautiful sight, the multicoloured blooms lit softly by the moonlight and flickering fireflies. At the end of the garden, a lamp was being lit by a staff member. She set him down on a bench by a quiet, bubbling stream, facing countless beds of flowers.
“I’ll get us some blankets and snacks! Let’s spend the night here, how does that sound, Senjuro-kun?”
He looked up at her wide, hopeful eyes and at Iguro’s amused squint before he let himself smile shyly, nodding before turning his gaze toward the dancing fireflies. He heard Iguro sit down beside him while Kanroji’s voice faded away, her chatter with staff members growing distant. It reminded him of the cheerful chatter that filled the Rengoku house whenever she trained or visited. In the back of his mind, he could almost see his brother’s warm smile as they watched Iguro sit down on the engawa by the training yard, clearly smiling at the cheerful girl as she practiced with a whip. His brother winking at him, whispering that he hoped to be there for their wedding in the future.
When a comfortable, quiet ambience finally surrounded them, Senjuro turned to Iguro’s contemplative face.
“Iguro-sama, will you marry Kanroji-sama soon?”
Iguro widened his eyes and whipped his head toward Senjuro before bringing a hand to his forehead in exasperation.
“What is this about, Senjuro?”
Normally, Senjuro would shy away from this topic. He would just observe from afar, wish for the people he loved to be happy. But if his brother, such a strong Hashira, died – what about Iguro and Kanroji? How long would they be alive? He looked down at his hands. The death of his brother made everything feel so much more delicate, so transient, with opportunities slipping away like water through the cracks in his fingers.
“My brother… he hoped to see the day when you would marry Kanroji-sama. I wish… maybe he knew that he might die at any time, but he still hoped.”
Iguro sighed, brushed his hair to the side and stared up at the clear, starry sky. After a few moments of silence, he finally replied.
“Kanroji deserves better. I’ll die if that’s what it takes to make sure she gets what she deserves.”
Senjuro gripped the fabric of his hakama pants tightly.
“What if living is what it takes to make that happen?”
Iguro glanced at Senjuro curiously. Senjuro felt his voice slipping out with desperation.
“If – if it would make someone happier – would you stay alive? At all costs?”
Senjuro felt a firm hand on his head. He wiped away the tears that started to water his eyes again.
“Iguro-sama. I know that my brother died to protect hundreds of people. But I – I’m so selfish. Sometimes I wish he could have come home instead. I know that so many families are saved because of him but… why did it have to be my brother? Did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been me? Why did I have to be so weak?”
Iguro normally does not touch others. But he draped his haori around Senjuro and held the younger boy close.
He would never be a replacement for Kyojuro – he knew this. But still, he remembered the young Senjuro from several years ago, crying and confused at his mother’s death. He remembered seeing Kyojuro’s constant smile turn into a serious, contemplative frown. He remembered the wails of the former Flame Hashira, and how Kyojuro held Senjuro tighter each time they heard sounds from their father’s room. He remembered Senjuro’s cries and Kyojuro’s protests as Obanai himself was taken out of the Rengoku household by the kakushi after the mourning period was over.
So, for all the times that he couldn’t be there for Senjuro, Iguro and Kabarumaru wrapped themselves around the young boy. They held him there tightly, as if the boy would shatter at any moment.
By the time Kanroji was back with blankets and treats, Senjuro was asleep on Iguro’s lap, tear stains running across his face.