Work Text:
1. To Scratch an Itch
There is not a single cloud in the sky, and by midday, it is already unforgivably hot. The sun is burning down on them, the humidity is making his body feel sticky and itchy, and inside the boar mask, Inosuke’s hair is plastered to his forehead, damp and uncomfortable.
He was barging ahead of the group for most of the morning, as one would expect from a responsible leader, but just now has graciously allowed Tanjiro to walk ahead of him for a bit. From Inosuke’s position behind him, most of Tanjiro’s body is hidden by the wooden box strapped to his back, but in a feeble effort to ease his own discomfort, Tanjiro has pulled his hair into a messy bun on top of his head, revealing his bare neck. Droplets of sweat are clinging to the fine hair in the nape of Tanjiro’s neck, and Inosuke watches with interest as they slowly roll down to the top of his spine and eventually disappear underneath the collar of his haori, out of sight.
Inosuke isn’t quite sure why he is so fascinated by the sight, but something about the image is captivating enough to nearly make him miss the moment when Tanjiro comes to a halt abruptly, and he barely avoids bumping into him from behind.
“What are you stopping for?” he grunts, a little annoyed with the disruption but mostly annoyed with the heat. In lieu of an answer, Tanjiro gestures silently, inviting Inosuke’s gaze to follow the movement of his hand.
A small pond stretches out before them to the right of the path, hidden in the shade of lush sakaki trees. Even from a distance, the water looks clear and inviting, and Inosuke suddenly realizes just how parched he feels.
“A bath sure would be lovely,” Tanjiro sighs wistfully, and Inosuke curiously studies him from the side. He doesn’t understand why Tanjiro always says things like that but then acts like he has to refrain. The longing in his eyes is easy to recognize, but somehow, he never allows himself to just take what he wants, even when it’s right in front of him.
It seems like a terrible affliction to deal with, and luckily one Inosuke doesn’t suffer from. “That’s what I was about to say,” he proclaims, puffing up his chest. “You are not entirely stupid, Gonpachiro.”
He doesn’t wait for Tanjiro to agree with him, just takes off his mask and shakes out his matted curls, relishing the air flowing through his hair. He sets the boar head aside, shimmies out of his fur pants – and winces when Zenitsu screams behind him like he’s being stabbed to death.
“What are you doing?” Zenitsu gasps, outraged. “Nezuko is right here!”
Confused, Inosuke turns around. For some unfathomable reason, Zenitsu has thrown himself into the path between Inosuke and Tanjiro, covering the cedar box with his body like he is shielding it from view.
Inosuke frowns, then shrugs it off. Zenitsu’s behavior rarely makes sense to him. Perhaps he is upset that the girl won’t be able to swim with them. But with the sun high in the sky, that can’t be helped. Next time, they’ll just have to bathe at night.
“You can keep her company then,” he says impatiently. “I’m going to swim.” He looks at Tanjiro, whose face has turned an alarming shade of red. “You should cool off too,” he continues, feeling a prickle of concern when Tanjiro flushes darker still. “You look like you are about to pass out from the heat.”
Tanjiro nods weakly. He makes an odd noise – a squeak almost – and Inosuke figures that’s as much confirmation as he’s going to get, so he turns his back on the others and jumps into the pond.
The water parts around him, refreshing and cool. A frog leaps off a lily pad and disappears into the green depths. Inosuke mimics the creature, dives under water, shakes out his hair, drinks straight from the surface, blows bubbles just for the fun of it. When it occurs to him to turn around, a little while later, he discovers that the other boys have made their way into the pond as well, although they are sitting strangely low in the water, with only their heads and shoulders showing, as if they are trying to hide – from what, though, Inosuke doesn’t know.
And he has no time to dwell on it, because just then his gaze catches onto a fallen tree that is hanging into the pond, half submerged by the water – perfect for his needs. He splashes through the shallows and lowers his body back into the water once he reaches the solid trunk. Eagerly, he presses his back against the wet bark, wiggles his shoulders, and releases a satisfied groan when itchiness gives way to a pleasant kind of pain.
“What are you doing?” Zenitsu asks loudly, cutting through his moment of bliss, and Inosuke lazily opens his eyes to find the other two staring at him. Tanjiro’s face is still very red. He might be having a heatstroke after all.
“What does it look like,” Inosuke says flatly, seeking more friction by flexing and curling his spine.
“It looks like you are scratching your back against a tree,” Zenitsu says slowly. “Like a boar.”
Inosuke frowns. There is nothing about the comment itself that should bother him – boars are fast and strong and smart, everyone should be proud of being compared to one – but something about the way Zenitsu says it makes the back of his neck prickle with shame.
“You look stupid, with your mouth hanging open like that,” he snarls and drags his back along the tree again, but the initial sense of pleasure is gone.
Zenitsu turns up his nose. “At least I don’t look like an animal.”
“Zenitsu,” Tanjiro says quietly, a soft reprimand. “That’s not very kind.”
Inosuke ignores him. He doesn’t need anyone fighting his battles for him. “You have four limbs and fur on your head,” he says. “You eat. You sleep. You crawl on all fours when you are scared. So how much of a difference does it make?”
At that, Zenitsu draws his brows together, as if he actually has to think about his response, and Inosuke feels a spark of triumph that he’s managed to render him speechless – even if it doesn’t last very long.
“The difference is that humans have culture,” Zenitsu says with dignity, proudly straightening like there aren’t pieces of algae sticking to his dripping hair.
Inosuke snorts, defiantly. “Who cares about culture anyway?” he grumbles. “Whatever it is.” It’s not like he has never heard the word before. He is just rather fuzzy on what it means.
“Culture is – is – acting civilized,” Zenitsu elaborates, heatedly. “Like using a carved bamboo scratcher for your back. Or – or – bathing with soap. Look,” he gestures intently. “Tanjiro is doing it right.”
Inosuke looks. Between his hands, Tanjiro is now holding a smooth pale rock, and his hair is covered in white foam. Inosuke thinks he looks like a dormouse with a crown of dandelion fluff.
Curiously, he inches closer. Tanjiro smiles at him, guilelessly. Inosuke pokes at the foam on his head, then licks his finger as Tanjiro’s eyes widen in alarm.
“Yuck,” Inosuke says with emphasis, cupping pond water in his palms to rinse out his mouth. “Soap is disgusting.”
“You are not supposed to eat it,” Tanjiro says mildly. He is still smiling, and his eyes are glittering in the sun.
“Then what is it even good for?” Inosuke asks suspiciously.
Tanjiro lifts a hand and drags it through the foamy stuff clinging to his ear. “It makes your skin smell nice, and your hair shiny and soft.” He pauses, tilts his head, like an idea just occurred to him. “If I show you how to use the soap for your hair, will you show me how to scratch your back on a tree?”
Inosuke considers that for a moment. Tanjiro looks at him expectantly, not a trace of deceit in his face.
“Your trade is acceptable,” Inosuke concedes eventually, and Tanjiro beams.
“I’m so glad,” he says happily, and sets out to wash Inosuke’s hair.
In the end, Inosuke still isn’t so sure about the soap, but he has to admit that Tanjiro’s fingers feel nice against his scalp.
And when he shows Tanjiro how to rub his back against the tree bark without breaking skin, Tanjiro makes those squeaky noises again, while Zenitsu darkly glowers at both of them from across the pond.
Inosuke considers that a win-win.
2. To Still Your Hunger
On the fourth day of hiking through the depths of this forest, the bundle with their provisions falls into a gorge and is swept away by the stream. It’s sort of – probably – technically – Tanjiro’s fault, and if it was anyone else, Inosuke would not hesitate to rub the failure into his face. But Tanjiro is looking defeated and exhausted as he is sitting in the damp undergrowth, clinging to the cedar box like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Teasing him when he’s in that sort of state holds about as much appeal as playing tag with a fish that’s been dead for days.
Of course, thinking about dead fish only serves to make Inosuke more aware of the hunger relentlessly chewing on his insides. They haven’t eaten much since they left on their joint mission: didn’t take much time to rest out of fear that they might allow the demon to slip away, rationed their meals because they didn’t know how long it would take. Now Inosuke thinks that perhaps they should have just eaten the entire food on the first day – their stomachs might have protested, but it certainly would have been better than watching it float away and sink a good fifty meters downstream.
“I’m sorry for dropping the supplies, Inosuke,” Tanjiro says, and there is a note of apprehension in his voice, as if he is already bracing himself for Inosuke's response. As a general rule, Inosuke doesn’t mind it when humans are intimidated by him, but he doesn’t think he likes this particular expression on Tanjiro’s face.
“No need to worry, Tontoro,” he says encouragingly, and when the other boy doesn’t react, he reaches out to pat the top of his head, the way he has seen Tanjiro’s sister do it sometimes.
Tanjiro glances up at him, eyes wide and surprised, so Inosuke pats the crown of his head again, benevolently. “I will go and find food,” he proclaims. “You stay.”
Doubtfully, Tanjiro squints up at him. “Shouldn’t we go together?” he asks, but he sounds conflicted, and Inosuke can see how sluggish and slow his movements are.
“No,” he grunts. He folds his arms in front of his chest, tips up his head. “I’m the King of the Mountains, and I can provide for my subjects just fine. You stay here and start a fire,” he commands. “I will be back with food in no time.”
Tanjiro is smart enough – or perhaps just tired enough – not to argue further, and Inosuke ducks into the bushes, a sword in each hand. Fishing would usually be his first choice in this situation, and the stream below is bound to be full of yamame, but it’s a long way down to the bottom of the gorge, and the bare rock on both sides looks smooth and slippery. It wouldn’t be impossible – nothing is impossible for Lord Inosuke when he puts his mind to it – but it would take more time than he’s comfortable investing, would keep him separated from Tanjiro for too long.
Instead he directs his gaze upwards now, into the trees. It’s been a while since he’s had to hunt for meat like this, and for a moment, he feels a pang of concern, worries that the demon slayer life may have made him soft, that he has grown too used to wooden training swords, to soft futons and soap, to prepared meals eaten in company. But no: at the end of the day, he is still Ruler of the Mountains, and he will feed Tanjiro today no matter what it takes.
Sure enough, it doesn't take long before he follows the scent of thick smoke back to the small fire that Tanjiro has managed to build in the meantime from the damp wood around the site. “Food,” he announces triumphantly, holding up his catch, and Tanjiro looks up at him with a smile – until his gaze lands on the prey in Inosuke’s hands, and his face freezes, then falls.
“Are those … squirrels?” he asks, guardedly, sitting back on his heels.
Inosuke looks down at the bodies dangling from his fist. “Four of them,” he declares proudly. “Enough for tonight.”
Tanjiro’s face remains blank, and Inosuke furrows his brows. “What?” he snaps, irritated at Tanjiro’s lack of response.
“You want us to … eat these?” Tanjiro asks slowly, and now Inosuke also recognizes his tone: it reminds him of the inflection in Zenitsu's voice when he called Inosuke a wild boar for rubbing his bare back against a trunk. Once again, he feels that tingle of humiliation crawling down his neck; only this time, it’s because of Tanjiro, and somehow that makes it a hundred times worse.
“Fine,” he growls, clutching the precious bounty to his chest. “You don’t want them? Sharing is stupid anyway.” He turns away. “More for me. I can eat them all by myself.”
His words are met with silence, and he thinks that’s probably just as well, because whatever Tanjiro might have to say right now, he doesn’t want to hear anyway. He finds a large flat rock, drags it closer to the fire, and goes about preparing the meat, although he isn’t so sure he is even in the mood to eat anymore. In fact, he feels a little like throwing up, nevermind that his stomach has been largely empty for days.
While he works, he can feel Tanjiro’s eyes on him, an unwelcome hot weight between his shoulder blades; but he carefully avoids looking up to check, because he doesn’t want to catch Tanjiro staring at him like there’s something wrong with him.
“Inosuke,” Tanjiro says at last, once the squirrels are skinned and gutted, laid out in a row on the stone. His voice is tentative, hopeful, and Inosuke glances at him sideways through the eyes of the mask, knowing Tanjiro can’t be sure whether he is actually looking at him.
While Inosuke was busy with the squirrels, Tanjiro seems to have carved four sticks, sturdy and forked, the perfect shape and size for grilling meat. He is now wordlessly holding them out to Inosuke, a pragmatic, carefully crafted peace offering.
For a brief moment, Inosuke hesitates, his pride stubbornly urging him to decline. But something about Tanjiro's expression has him feeling squirmy and guilty, and he doesn’t particularly want to eat the squirrels raw. So he grudgingly moves closer, accepts the sticks from Tanjiro’s hands. They are skillfully done, he recognizes as he turns them over, much nicer than the haphazardly cut ones he tends to make.
They set up the sticks over the fire in silence, but once the meat is sizzling happily, Inosuke sits back with a relieved exhale, and apparently Tanjiro takes that as his cue to speak.
“This is what you ate when you still lived in the mountains?” he asks curiously, and Inosuke finally looks at him properly.
“A lot of other things, too,” he says, then pokes one of his swords into the flames to probe at the meat. “The squirrels always tasted best.”
“Is that so?” Tanjiro asks, with interest. "Will you let me try?"
"Thought you didn’t like that kind of thing," Inosuke mutters suspiciously, glancing up at him from narrowed eyes.
Tanjiro shrugs. “It’s just that I’ve never had them before,” he confesses. “We didn't eat squirrel back home. But I am very hungry.“ He smiles softly. “And I do want to learn about your life.”
Inosuke frowns. “Why?” he asks, bemused, and takes two of the meat sticks off the flames, offering one of them to Tanjiro. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Tanjiro raises his brows at that, like he doesn't entirely agree, but instead of answering Inosuke’s question, he lifts the meat to his lips and takes a hesitant bite.
“Oh,” he exclaims, surprised, and chews more quickly. “This really is quite good.”
“Told you, didn’t I,” Inosuke mumbles, through a mouthful of food. He is already feeling much better again, and his appetite has luckily returned.
“You did,” Tanjiro concedes easily, and thoughtfully looks down at the meat between his hands. “I wonder what it would taste like as a teriyaki, stir-fried with garlic, sugar, and soy.”
Inosuke's stomach rumbles with interest. “Next time you cook them,” he decides, grinning at Tanjiro from across the fire.
“It’s a deal,” Tanjiro says, licks grease off his fingertips, and smiles back.
3. To Ease Your Pain
He drifts in and out of consciousness. His body feels heavy, like his limbs are weighed down by rocks, and it seems far too much effort to open his eyes. Perhaps he can simply stay still for a bit, perhaps he doesn’t need to move at all.
That’s dangerous though, some primal part of his brain reminds him: he shouldn’t be lying around like this, defenseless and vulnerable. He groans and manages to roll onto his side, but when he struggles to prop himself up on one arm, a hand comes to rest on his shoulder, holding him down.
“Don’t try to move, Inosuke,” a voice says, brushing over him like a soft breeze rustling the leaves of the trees. He can’t quite tell where the sound is coming from, but the voice sounds safe and familiar, and he settles back down, limp arms dropping gracelessly.
“You know he is contagious,” a different voice warns, and this one, too, seems familiar. “You shouldn’t sit so close to him.” It’s the blue girl, Inosuke’s mind informs him, before he immediately forgets what that means.
“It’s fine,” the first voice says quietly. “He sounded like he was scared, earlier. Perhaps he has nightmares. I don’t like him being in here all by himself.”
“If you insist.” The girl’s voice is brittle. “Just don’t complain if you get sick later, too.” Inosuke hears footsteps, then a creaking noise followed by a dull thump, and the room plunges back into silence, leaving him hovering between fright and oblivion again.
“Remember when Lady Shinobu compared you to a honey badger?” the gentle voice says then, and the hand on his shoulder wanders up to his hair. “With skin like armor, immune to poison? It made you sound invincible.” A sigh. “But I suppose even honey badgers can still get sick.”
I’m not sick, Inosuke wants to protest, but his chest burns like fire when he opens his mouth. He feels too hot and yet he is shivering, and the soft surface he is lying on feels too rough against his bare skin. He gasps in helpless frustration, and the palm resting against the crown of his head starts to move as if in response, petting his hair very carefully.
A blurry memory is floating around in his feverish mind, rising to the surface for a moment. In the memory, his body feels smaller, much smaller, and he is in pain. In the memory, there are other bodies – the other boarlets, his siblings, squeaking, grunting, wiggling around him, and the heavy warmth of a large body, shielding him from the cold.
In the memory, he pushes himself closer, buries himself in the pile of his sounder, protected and warm – and instinctively, he now tries to mimic his own past movements, presses up against the hand on his head, tries to roll towards the soothing voice.
“Wait,” the voice yelps, alarmed. “You are going to fall off the bed, Inosuke, what are you – oh.” A little sigh, a kind of breathless little laugh – then the ground underneath him dips, shifts, and he is still working up the energy to panic when everything suddenly settles again. Except now his shoulders are propped up on a firm leg, and there are two hands on him, cradling his head.
“I know this can’t be pleasant,” the voice says quietly, as slender fingers card through his hair, “but you’ll feel better soon, Inosuke. I know you will.”
Inosuke believes him. He grunts softly in wordless agreement, curls up closer to his source of comfort, and lets himself drift back off into sleep.
4. To Recognize You
Inosuke is sitting in the grass with his back against the wooden engawa, feeling accomplished and well entertained, watching the demon girl zoom around the garden, muttering “Lord Inosuke” over and over again. Her unbridled glee at her own achievement is nearly as satisfying as the fact that the words coming from her mouth are his name.
At the sound of slow footsteps on the gravel, she stops abruptly, and Inosuke looks up to discover that Tanjiro is making an appearance outside, for the first time in the long recovery from his battle against Upper Moon Four. Excitedly, the girl runs up to him, shouts “Inosuke, Inosuke,” and Tanjiro laughs and hugs her, pets her hair.
“Goto is waiting for you, Nezuko,” he says, gently ushering his sister inside, but once she has disappeared into the building, he makes his way over to Inosuke and lowers himself onto the ground next to him, his movements still clumsy and stiff.
“So you taught Nezuko to say your name?” he asks lightly, as soon as he is sitting comfortably, and Inosuke squints at him, apprehensively. He already had to fight off Zenitsu, who inexplicably considered Nezuko’s newfound skill a grave insult, even insisted on challenging Inosuke to a duel over it. Inosuke is always in the mood to spar, so being encouraged to fight Zenitsu ended up being a nice little treat, but he has spent enough time sitting on Tanjiro’s bed these past weeks to know that his friend is still weak, and Inosuke would rather not wrestle him until he’s his old self again.
“Of course,” he shrugs. To his relief, Tanjiro doesn’t seem mad, just curious and a little amused, perhaps. “She needs to know who her leader is.”
“That is indeed important,” Tanjiro nods gravely, and for a moment, they both fall quiet, just sitting next to each other, breathing. Alive. Behind the gardens, the sun is setting, and its fiery rays set Tanjiro’s hair ablaze, making it glow like the red foliage of suminagashi maple trees.
“I suppose I’m just surprised, you know,” Tanjiro continues eventually, and Inosuke should have known that he wasn’t going to let it go so easily. Tanjiro is as stubborn as a shiba inu when he sets his mind to getting an answer out of someone.
“You think I can’t entertain your sister properly?” he grouches, defensively. “You should worry about Monitsu then, he’s the one who acts all weird around her.”
“No, no, it’s not that at all,” Tanjiro shakes his head quickly, putting a light hand on his arm. “Just –“ He shrugs, and his face turns blank, like he is trying very hard to hide what's on his mind. “I guess I simply didn’t think names were very important to you.”
Inosuke frowns. The truth is, Inosuke didn’t know he had a name until the year he learned to speak. Among the boars, he was the only one of his kind, the odd one out, there was no risk of getting him confused for one of the other, hairier runts. It was the funny old man who taught him human words, who explained what the strange symbols on his loincloth meant. Your mother and father gave it to you, he said, so take good care of it, and Inosuke did, because it was the only thing he had ever been given. The only thing that belonged to him.
“Why would you say that?” he asks now, feeling prickly and too exposed, and Tanjiro pulls up his shoulders, smiles appeasingly, his body already apologizing for whatever he’s about to say.
“Well,” he says slowly. “You never refer to Nezuko by her name. You just called Zenitsu something else entirely.” He grimaces, takes a deep breath. “And you hardly ever seem to remember my name.”
Inosuke glowers. “I know your name,” he protests, sullenly. “I do.”
Tanjiro frowns. “So you get it wrong on purpose then?” he asks, but he still doesn’t sound angry, just – disappointed. Sad.
Inosuke clenches his fists. He feels cornered, backed into a trap, and he wishes he could fight his way out of it, take off and run; but he is caught under Tanjiro’s dejected, forgiving gaze, unable to get away.
“I know your name,” he repeats, frustration vibrating through his body, his voice trembling with it. “I know your name. The picture is in here.” He thumps a fist against his head. “My mouth just doesn’t know what to make of it.”
Tanjiro stares at him, eyes big and dark. “Oh,” he makes, breathlessly, like he’s surprised. Like he’s embarrassed that he never thought to ask before.
“I’m not stupid,” Inosuke says stubbornly, and he is glad he is wearing the boar head, because there is a strange wetness clinging to his lashes, and he doesn’t want Tanjiro to think he’s about to cry.
“I know you are not,” Tanjiro says with conviction. “I just want to understand.”
“What’s there to understand?” Inosuke grumbles. “I told you how it works.”
“But – ” Tanjiro starts, then stops, tries again. “When you see names in your head,” he continues. “What is that like?”
Inosuke wants to tell Tanjiro that it’s a stupid question: if it was easy to explain, remembering names wouldn’t be so hard for him. But then, no one has ever bothered to ask him this question, and suddenly it seems very important to make Tanjiro understand. “What do you want to know?” he asks, grudgingly, and Tanjiro smiles.
“When you think of Nezuko,” he says, with interest. “What do you see?”
“Red,” Inosuke says immediately, and Tanjiro blinks.
“Just … red?” he asks, uncertainly, and Inosuke shakes his head.
“Let me talk, Kanjiro.” He thinks hard. “Red, and. The feeling of rabbit fur. The sound that you hear when you hold a ribbon up into the wind. And the smell of chili oil in a frying pan.”
“I think she would like that,” Tanjiro says very quietly, and when Inosuke looks at him, he finds Tanjiro staring at him with an intensity that Inosuke can feel all over his skin. “What – “ Tanjiro swallows, looks conflicted, and Inosuke recognizes the expression on his face: it’s the way he looks when he badly wants something that he thinks he’s not supposed to get.
“What about me?” he asks at last, the words bursting out of him like he’s incapable of holding them in any longer, but his voice is still low, as if he’s not entirely sure he wants to be heard.
And Inosuke can’t even blame him, because now that the question is hovering between them, it seems too complicated, too revealing, too dangerous. But he knows Tanjiro wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important, and in the end, Inosuke wants Tanjiro to get what he wants - simple as that.
He jumps up, abruptly. “Come,” he says, and when Tanjiro doesn’t move quickly enough, Inosuke reaches for his hand and pulls him to his feet.
He drags him out of the garden, on a path he’s taken many times before, and when Tanjiro stumbles and trips, his legs still a little wobbly, Inosuke simply takes hold of his arm and swings him onto his back. Instinctively, Tanjiro’s arms wrap around his shoulders, Tanjiro’s thighs are tight around his waist, and Inosuke slides his hands underneath Tanjiro’s knees and grips his legs firmly to hold him in place.
“Where are we going?” Tanjiro asks, his breath strangely loud against the side of Inosuke’s mask. “It’s already getting dark.”
“You’ll see,” Inosuke answers brusquely and breaks into a jog. Tanjiro holds onto his shoulders a little more tightly and nods against his neck.
There is a hill behind the estate, and at the very top is a small clearing, a hidden refuge close to the skies, surrounded by a thicket of cypress trees. That’s where he’s carrying Tanjiro now, sure-footed even in the dark, and the higher they get, the more easily Inosuke breathes, never mind that he’s carrying a human-sized weight on his back.
In midst of the clearing, he sets Tanjiro down on his feet, and then suddenly realizes, with a pang of anxiety, that he has no idea what to do next.
Tanjiro turns in a slow circle. “What is this place?” he asks, in something like wonder, taking in his surroundings with wide eyes.
“It’s mine,” Inosuke says defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I found it myself.”
“I can see that,” Tanjiro nods, and then tilts his head, curiously. “And something here makes you think of my name? Will you tell me what it is?”
“This!” Inosuke throws out his arms impatiently, then gestures around him, stupidly hoping that the place might speak for itself. But Tanjiro just looks at him, puzzled, and in his frustration, Inosuke puts a hand under Tanjiro’s chin, tilts up his head.
“Look,” he says, and together they stare at the stars, glittering like the light in Tanjiro’s eyes.
“Listen,” he says, drawing Tanjiro’s attention to the whisper of the wind in the trees, gentle like the sound of Tanjiro’s voice.
“Smell,” he says, and Tanjiro closes his eyes and inhales, takes in the crisp, woody scent of the cypresses, the flowery perfume of wisteria blooms.
“Feel,” Inosuke says, and takes Tanjiro’s hand, puts it against his own bare chest, so Tanjiro can feel the drum of his heartbeat vibrating against his palm.
“Inosuke,” Tanjiro says quietly, and when he opens his eyes, Inosuke thinks he sees tears shining in them.
“You don’t like it?” he asks, uncertainly, but Tanjiro shakes his head slowly, rejecting that thought. “It’s beautiful,” he says thickly, and Inosuke nods, because, well. That's kind of the point.
Tanjiro reaches out for him then, carefully lifts the boar mask off his head. Part of Inosuke wishes he didn’t, because he isn’t sure he wants Tanjiro to see the expression on his face. But he's already shown Tanjiro everything that matters. Tanjiro knows everything important about him.
Tanjiro’s fingers are on his face now, dragging along Inosuke’s cheekbone, the curve of his jaw. “You know I'm in love with you too, Inosuke,” he says. The trees rustle softly like Tanjiro’s voice. The stars sparkle brightly like Tanjiro’s eyes.
“See,” Inosuke says hoarsely, pushing his cheek into Tanjiro’s palm. “I do know your name, Kentarou.”
Tanjiro smiles. “Obviously,” he says, and presses their mouths together carefully.
+1. To Scent You
Inosuke has managed to move Gyomei’s boulder by another shaku when Tanjiro finds him again.
“You are almost done, Inosuke,” he praises, and Inosuke lets his burning palms slide off the boulder with a tired groan. His arms are trembling, and he feels sweat dripping down the path between his shoulder blades.
“Almost,” he acknowledges, and checks the position of the rock again before sliding to the ground with his back against the stone, gesturing for Tanjiro to sit down next to him.
“You are not mad that I beat you at this challenge?” Tanjiro’s tone is teasing, but there is something else there underneath, careful and speculative.
Inosuke pauses, stumped by the question. Yes, there was that initial crackle of annoyance, knowing that Tanjiro mastered the final challenge faster, after Inosuke had been ahead of him in the training course this entire time. But watching Tanjiro move the boulder – seeing his determination, his bulging muscles, his glistening skin – no, anger was definitely not what Inosuke felt looking at him.
Instead, there was the now familiar swell of arousal, and underneath it, a sense of pride, not unlike the satisfaction he feels after accomplishing a challenging task himself. It only makes sense, he decides ultimately: because Tanjiro belongs with him, and if Tanjiro is strong, that’s just a sign that Inosuke has chosen well.
He is about to say so, too, when another thought occurs to him. Tanjiro’s victories make Inosuke proud, but more than anything, Inosuke wants Tanjiro to be proud of him. Yet if Tanjiro is first, then Inosuke will be second, and it bothers him to think that Tanjiro might look at him and find him lacking, that Tanjiro might think he’s made the wrong choice himself.
“It’s a good thing,” he says at last, perhaps to convince himself as much Tanjiro. “I won White Hair Sashimi’s training. You won the sad old man’s challenge.” He nods, satisfied with his own logic. “So we are both the best. At different things.”
“Yes,” Tanjiro nods swiftly, clapping his hands in delight. His eyes are bright when he looks at Inosuke. “It means that we are well matched, don't you think?”
“That’s what I said,” Inosuke agrees. “The best match.” He rather likes the idea, he finds. He likes it even better when Tanjiro reaches out and takes his hand, links their fingers together carefully.
“I wish I didn’t have to leave so soon, though,” Tanjiro says, looking down at their hands, and he doesn’t sound quite so happy anymore.
Inosuke furrows his brows, confused. “You enjoy rolling boulders around that much?”
“No, silly,” Tanjiro says, amused, even though his smile is still a little sad. “I don’t mind saying goodbye to the boulders. But I don’t like that we have to part ways again so soon.” He bites his lip, glances up at Inosuke awkwardly. “I, uh – I missed you, you know? I was at the swordsmiths’ village for so long, and before I was fully recovered, you left for the Hashira training yourself. I’m grateful we got to spend these past days together, but we were also always busy, and now I have to leave again.”
“Oh,” Inosuke makes, dumbfounded. It’s not like he doesn’t understand that Tanjiro enjoys his company, but then, Tanjiro enjoys being around everyone. When they are together, he is confident he has Tanjiro's focus, but he wasn’t so sure who gets all of Tanjiro’s attention when Inosuke isn't there to ask for it. It’s a pleasant, fuzzy feeling, knowing that Tanjiro thinks about him when they are apart. That he feels in Inosuke’s absence the same way Inosuke feels about Tanjiro.
“One more day,” he nods, determined, and squeezes Tanjiro’s hand. “One more day, and I’ll be ready too.”
“Oh yes?” Tanjiro asks, and his smile is a little lighter, wider again.
“Yes,” Inosuke confirms. “I can’t leave you alone for too long, after all. You always get in trouble without me to watch your back. ”
“It’s true,” Tanjiro agrees, looking rather pleased with that observation. “I need you around to keep me safe.” He tilts his head then, leaning closer until his nose is pressed into the curve of Inosuke’s neck, the tips of his curls tickling Inosuke's skin. Inosuke allows him, because it’s not an unpleasant feeling, but he isn’t sure how to interpret the sniffling sounds Tanjiro makes.
“What are you doing?” he asks, and Tanjiro freezes, although he makes no move to lift his head from Inosuke’s shoulder, his nose still brushing Inosuke’s neck.
“I’m smelling you,” he confesses, sounding a little embarrassed, his voice muffled by Inosuke’s hair.
Inosuke stills. “Why?” he asks, intrigued, and Tanjiro shrugs against his side.
“Instinct, I guess?” he chuckles, like he is laughing at himself, but Inosuke nods slowly, rolls that thought around in his mind.
“Like an animal?” he asks, after a while, and Tanjiro huffs into his skin.
“Yes,” he concedes, even though he still sounds embarrassed. “You could say that, I suppose.”
"Ah," Inosuke nods in understanding, and then he pounces, knocks Tanjiro over onto the ground, climbs on top of him.
“What are you doing?” Tanjiro yelps, lying flat on his back underneath him, wriggling around a little without really trying to get up.
“I’m going to smell like you,” Inosuke declares, determined. “And you are going to smell like me.” He looks down at Tanjiro's flushed face, feels him growing hard against his stomach, grinds down briefly just to watch him squirm. “Or maybe we can mix our scents together, make one that smells like us. Then we'll be connected until I come and find you again.”
“Oh,” Tanjiro gasps happily, "you are so smart, Inosuke," and Inosuke purrs and kisses him.