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Sweating, panting, and more than a little bruised, Genya finally called a halt to the sparring session with a hand in the air, bending over his knees to try catch a breath.
“Can we take a damn moment?” He heaved. “I’m aboutta fuckin’ pass out over here…”
Tanjiro lowered his sword and relaxed his stance immediately, though he also tilted his head and frowned, fixing Genya with that signature soft look of his.
“Are you alright?” He asked, and took a step forward. “I didn’t go too rough, did I?”
Genya shook his head, though his aching joints certainly disagreed. “I just can’t keep up with you,” he admitted. Tanjiro’s expression fell further.
“Is there something else you’d like to try?” He offered, his voice sweetly timid, eyes studying Genya closely. Genya shrugged, though he also had to turn his face away, suddenly feeling very hot around the collar with Tanjiro looking at him like that.
“I could always do with more target practice,” he said—before flicking a quick glance at Tanjiro and backpedaling, ashamed of the surely selfish suggestion. “Not that we have to do that, you know,” he assured, stumbling over his words. “I-I know that’s not really your thing, so we can totally do something else, I can go later on my own—”
But Tanjiro was already at his side, grabbing his wrist (Genya’s whole arm flushed hot at that) and dragging him along. “That sounds great, I’d love to see you practice!” He cheered, and sent a bright grin over his shoulder, all his previous worry fading in a blink. Genya’s heart tripped and stalled when his eyes landed on him again, as did his feet. “Where do we go?”
~
The only other person Genya had ever willingly brought to his target range was Himejima-san, which honestly didn’t count in the first place: the stone pillar had provided Genya with the space, he was hardly a guest in his own property.
Tanjiro, however…
His eyes were wide with wonder when they arrived in the arena, darting over the entire space and categorizing each target and obstacle. His hand had yet to release Genya’s wrist, so it was with Genya dutifully in tow that he began to meander through the course, probably plotting out the best training pattern, if those inquisitive eyes were anything to go by. He seemed to be correct too. His gaze followed a path Genya had carved for himself many times over, noting each point he’d duck or shoot or draw his sword and slice.
“This looks incredible, Genya,” Tanjiro breathed when they’d made it near the center, still holding Genya’s very warm wrist. His smile from earlier stretched further before it turned up to see Genya, blinding him with the sudden onslaught of his sunny disposition. Genya swallowed, throat flushing hot to accompany his arm. “It reminds me of Urokodaki-san’s training grounds in the mountains.”
Genya sent his own glance over the arena. “Does it now?” He murmured. He tried to imagine Tanjiro passing through an obstacle course like this: the targets altered to suit his swordfighting, but the winding paths and challenges pushing him to adapt and learn just as Genya had been instructed. Would he carry that same fierce expression he wore into battle, or would it be softer, focused on the task itself instead of his fury? Did he wear his uniform while training, or a less formal outfit? Why did Genya’s face burn at that question?
“Well, I’m ready whenever you are,” Tanjiro’s chipper voice butted in suddenly, reminding Genya to blink and breathe and pretend his skin wasn’t as hot as it was.
“Oh, yeah, uh…” Genya cleared his throat, then sent a look to Tanjiro’s hand, still wrapped around his wrist. “Would you…mind…?”
“Oh!” Tanjiro snatched his grip away in an instant, cradling his fingers to his chest and turning his head elsewhere, so Genya could only see his ears and the bright red color they flushed into. “Sorry about that! Got…distracted…”
“Mm.” Genya—unsure what else to do at that point other than blush and gawk—turned sharply in place and marched a little further, standing in one of his usual starting spots. He gestured to Tanjiro without looking at him, then onwards, outside of the range. “Could you step out there?” He asked. “I just don’t want you getting hurt…”
“Yes! Yes, of course,” Tanjiro a little over-exuberantly agreed, and a moment later, Genya saw him dashing to leave, leaving him alone in the arena.
He took a breath and closed his eyes, trying to focus. He really had no reason to be getting so worked up—Tanjiro was a friend. A very touchy, affectionate, and pretty friend, but just that nonetheless. A friend. He needed to calm down. Focus. Impress him. Yeah. Great idea, Genya.
Making sure not to accidentally glance Tanjiro’s way—lest he distract him again with those glittering, distracting eyes of his—Genya drew his gun and began. He chanted his sutra in his head as he fired at and dodged around targets, the same repetition of words Himejima-san had ingrained in him. Shaekoku gijugikkodokuon yodaibikishu…on and on, narrowing his thoughts and honing his strength in a small mimic of what Tanjiro could do simply with his breath.
It still awed him, the way other slayers could match the speed and strength of a demon just by breathing a different way. Watching Tanjiro fight Upper Four inside the swordsmith village…he had seen other wielders of the breathing techniques battle before—his mentor being one of them—but nothing quite compared to the sight of Tanjiro wreathed in sun-like flames, eyes glowing as if they held the power of daylight the same way his sword did. He was beautiful, and talented in a way that was too far out of Genya’s reach. Too far to make their friendship fair, on Tanjiro’s part at least. Why did he stick around Genya still? Surely there were others more worthy of his time—that annoying Zenitsu Agatsuma, or even that very annoying Inosuke Hashibira. They were both (unfortunately) talented, they could do what he did, move and fight and hold their ground like he could. Not Genya. He couldn’t do any of that. He could just do this: fire nichirn shells to accommodate for his lack of speed and consume demon flesh to make up for his lack of strength. A gun and stolen regeneration. Hardly refined, hardly worth the attention of any proper slayer, least of all that of Tanjiro Kamado.
Yet the boy never seemed to care for these facts. As Genya finished his routine, landing outside of the arena and panting softly, Tanjiro erupted into the loudest chorus of cheers he’d ever heard before. It startled Genya to be honest, drawing him sharply from his thoughts to spin and see his friend. Tanjiro jogged over to meet him, face stretched in his characteristic grin and sunny eyes twinkling despite the dusky skies. Always happy, always excited. Always for Genya.
“That was incredible, Genya!” Tanjiro hollered, despite barely being two steps away from him at that point. Genya couldn’t help a small flinch at the way that loud voice pierced his ears, but he also couldn’t help a smile at Tanjiro’s unwavering support. His own downcast thoughts aside, Tanjiro truly was his best friend, and he was overwhelmingly grateful for each moment they soent together.
“Thanks,” Genya murmured, shrugging off Tanjiro’s words and holstering his gun. He scratched absentmindedly at his nose and glanced into the arena, trying to memorize each board he’d shot or sliced through so he could replace them later.
Tanjiro, however, did not care for the broken boards; rather, his rapturous gaze remained locked on Genya, his expression like a beacon of light as he leaned forward in place. His hands clasped over one another and he bounced slightly on his toes, practically vibrating in Genya’s peripheral.
“How did you learn you could do that?” He asked, voice as awed as his face. Genya turned to see him again, stoically ignoring how hot his cheeks flushed when he met those shining eyes. “Did you grow up shooting, or was that something you learned in the corps? Did you build this place yourself? Will you show me how to do it too?”
“Uh…” Genya shuffled a step backwards. The heat in his cheeks began to flood through the rest of his body, warming him more and more with each of Tanjiro’s questions until every inch of him burned like a bonfire. Tanjiro seemed to notice his discomfort and edged away just a mite, but nothing could squash the light emanating from him.
“Sorry,” he apologized, giggling quietly and scratching his nape. His own cheeks and ears flushed a rosy pink, which looked absolutely stunning on him. “I didn’t mean to…”
“You’re fine,” Genya assured, and waved off whatever words Tanjiro had tried and failed to find. Tanjiro exhaled slowly with a smile. Genya cleared his throat and looked at the arena again, wishing he didn’t feel like he was on fire every time he looked into Tanjiro’s eyes.
“I don’t really know how I figured it out,” he answered slowly, trying to focus on his own words instead of how warm Tanjiro’s continued presence made him feel. “I guess I just…needed a way to make up for what I couldn’t do? And then I learned I could specially commission a weapon, and I’d seen similar guns before so…” he shrugged. “I didn’t build this, though. Himejima-san had some kakushi put it together for me. I’m very grateful to them. And, uh, for the last question…” Genya shot Tanjiro a new glance, quickly swallowing down the tick of his pulse to ask: “Did you want to learn how to shoot…?”
“Absolutely!” Tanjiro cheered, eyes practically popping from his skull. “Are you willing to show me? I’d really love to learn!”
Genya shrugged, if just to pretend he was as cool and composed as he wanted to be. He wasn’t sure if it worked, but Tanjiro didn’t question him either way. “Yeah, sure, why not,” he said, then ushered Tanjiro to follow him back into the arena.
As he very quickly learned, however, Tanjiro didn’t know the first thing about guns. To start, he nearly dropped the thing when Genya handed it to him, apparently not expecting and therefore unprepared for its weight, though it admittedly did not weigh much at all. From there, he had no clue how to handle it, gripping it unceremoniously in both hands, both of his fingers fitting over the dual triggers. Genya stepped in when he noticed that, quickly fitting his hand over Tanjiro’s, ignoring his heart leaping to thud in his throat at the contact, and gently prying it away.
“First rule,” he said as he took back the weapon, “don’t put your damn finger over the trigger ‘till you’re ready to shoot. Okay?”
“Okay,” Tanjiro agreed, smiling meekly and nodding his head.
“Second rule,” Genya continued, then held the gun properly, taking aim at a random plank then giving Tanjiro a pointed look, “only aim at actual targets, never anyone else.”
“Got it,” Tanjiro said, and gave another nod, a little more firm this time. He held out his hand again, though—Genya noticed with a small start—his fingers trembled ever so slightly as he grinned up at Genya. “May I try again?”
Genya looked between him and his gun a few times. He wasn’t the best at explaining things, he knew that. He really tried to be clear and give good examples—and Tanjiro was very smart of course, he could understand even the worst of Genya’s instructions—but…well, maybe he should switch tactics. Nothing worked better than hands-on teaching, right? He swallowed thickly, his entire body flushing hot despite how sound his reasonings were. Ridiculous, really. This was a totally platonic thing to do, he’d do it for any of his friends! If he had other friends, that is…
“Come over here,” Genya instructed, as solidly as he could with how hard his heart beat in his throat. Tanjiro obeyed the beckon immediately, and maneuvered into the space Genya ordered—that space being directly in front of him. Genya took a breath, then stepped forward, positioning himself so close they nearly touched. He heard Tanjiro’s breath hitch as the closing distance, but he ignored it for the moment, reaching around his shoulder to hold the gun in front of them both.
“Grab here with your right hand,” he said, then readjusted his own hand to guide Tanjiro’s over the grip. “Support underneath with your other hand—not around the grip, beneath the base.” Again, Tanjiro followed instruction, being sure to keep his finger off the trigger and actually doing rather well to obey what Genya said. Still, Genya took another breath and leaned down, pressing his chest lightly against Tanjiro’s back to wrap both his arms around, lacing his fingers over where Tanjiro’s laid to support his grasp and trying really, very desperately hard to not pass out from the contact. Tanjiro himself made a small, nigh indecipherable noise when Genya first touched him, but he didn’t pull away; rather, he leaned back, pushing into Genya like he wanted him even closer. Genya was only partially ashamed to say he immediately obeyed the unspoken whim, shuffling further forward so they were practically squished together and squeezing his hands over Tanjiro’s. He bent his head to rest over Tanjiro’s left shoulder as well, doing his best to stare forwards so he wouldn’t turn to stare at him instead. Tanjiro, however, did not share the same reluctance, and immediately turned his head.
His cheek brushed against Genya’s at the first movement, which must have startled him too, for he twitched slightly back afterwards. He didn’t move away, though. He kept himself turned, breaths short and hot against Genya’s throat, making it all but impossible to not shift and face him as well. Those ruby-esque eyes glittered in his peripherals like all the temptations in the world. Genya swallowed heavily. Tanjiro took a trembling inhale.
“What now?” He whispered, still staring at Genya like he was the only thing he could see.
“Aim,” Genya replied, still refusing to look at him in turn. “Follow the line between the barrels and use that to aim.”
“Okay,” Tanjiro said, then finally turned, doing as told and staring past the gun. Genya didn’t dare admit to himself that his heart squeezed too tight when those eyes left his face, curling in on itself as though the removal of that stare was the removal of his life.
Surely just a dramatic fantasy of his…right?
“What do I do once I’ve aimed?” Tanjiro asked, starling Genya back to attention. He tapped his index finger against Tanjiro’s as a response, then nodded forward.
“Once you’re ready to shoot, put your finger over the trigger,” he explained. Tanjiro did as he said, guiding Genya’s finger along with his to rest over the double trigger. “Now, it’s got a bit of a kick to it, so don’t be surprised when you fire. Take a deep breath—” Tanjiro immediately sucked in a noisy breath, which made Genya smile, “—then fire at will.”
There was a split second of stillness, silence, and anticipation, then blam.
Tanjiro’s long range aim obviously needed a little work, though he still managed to clip the edge off of a wooden target. Impressive, really. What he failed to do, however, was accurately anticipate just how much of a kick Genya’s gun had—not necessarily his fault. Genya could have explained it better, but regardless, it meant he was unprepared, and he jerked backwards against Genya, practically falling on him. They managed to keep their footing, their stances too sturdy to allow that much of a folly, but Genya still found himself lurching to wrap an arm around Tanjiro’s torso to keep them from stumbling too far, seizing around his ribs and shuffling his feet in time and successfully keeping them upright. Tanjiro’s hand clasped around his almost the moment Genya grabbed him, which he took—at first—to just be stabilization. But he didn’t let go. Even when they both fell still again and Tanjiro laughed quietly at his own mistake, he didn’t let go. If anything, he held tighter, squeezing Genya’s hand and properly leaning on him, breaths shallow and heart rabid on his ribs.
Genya didn’t know what to do. He certainly didn’t separate himself, but he didn’t know what to do with the closeness. Tanjiro was so warm while this close, and his palm was alarmingly rough, likely worn raw from too much training. His hair tickled Genya’s neck and made him twitch, accidentally bringing his head even further down, so his mouth almost touched Tanjiro’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but stare a little at that, mind turning hazy with a sudden and unexpected slew of daydreams: holding Tanjiro this close in the privacy of a room—closer even still—his lips pressed against the scarred skin between his neck and shoulder, Tanjiro’s hands woven over each of his and his voice uttering the softest of sweet nothings…
When did Genya start thinking this way? When, exactly, did his overwhelming disdain and annoyance for the slayer turn to this: this writhing, covetous desire inside of him that begged to be close, to touch, to breathe, to know every inch of his red-headed companion? Was it when he first understood Tanjiro’s honesty? Hot and wired in the midst of a battle, staring into his unclouded eyes and finally recognizing there was no deception behind them? Or was it even later—beaten and on the ground, staring at his bruised back and muscled shoulders as he bravely defended Genya from his raging older brother? Was it then, realizing how deep Tanjiro’s devotion for him dove?
Or had it always been there? Had it been smothered under his many walls since the moment he grabbed Genya’s arm after Final Selection? His younger self certainly would never believe it, but now…ever since that moment, Tanjiro had been a pillar in his sight, a beacon of his righteousness and purpose, no matter how much Genya told himself he loathed that to begin with.
He didn’t know. He didn’t know what his feelings were and he didn’t know what to do with himself. All he knew was how impossibly right it felt to be wrapped around Tanjiro like this, to feel their hearts thrumming in tandem, to feel the warmth of the sun breather piercing every last inch of his icy body.
Which was, naturally, exactly why they had to be interrupted. May the universe damn itself if it ever allowed Genya a second of honest peace.
The moment he heard the keening call of Tanjiro’s yellow-haired friend, Genya moved away, immediately removing his arms from around him and taking several steps back. Tanjiro whipped around to watch him disappear, face taut in a pained expression of disappointment, but he too quickly relented to the incoming pair; he pulled on his best patient smile, shared it with Genya, then turned to address the Very Loud and Very Annoying pair.
Genya tried to not pay too much attention to them. They were whining about being hungry, demanding to know where Tanjiro had been and what he had been doing that could so distract him from their obviously more important issue of wanting food. Zenitsu Agatsuma in particular fixed Genya with a piercing stare during these demands, as if accusing him of stealing away their precious cook. Which, he supposed, he was guilty in a way. He made sure not to meet Agatsuma’s golden eyes, too afraid that he might lose his composure and snap and ruin what little dignity he’d managed to convince Tanjiro he retained.
It didn't do him any good though. It just made it all the more worse when Tanjiro placated their noisy worries and agreed to follow along, turning around at the last moment to give Genya a hopeful—if forlorn—smile.
“Are you joining?” He asked in his kind tone, head tilted like a curious dog and eyes twinkling in the twilight sky. “I could use a hand again…”
Genya met his smile with a terse one of his own, then offhandedly shrugged. “I’ll, uh, be along in a minute,” he somewhat lied, and cast his eyes away, fixating on one of his splintered targets to avoid staring at his beautiful friend any longer. “Y’all head on without me. I’ll…meet you there.”
Tanjiro definitely didn’t believe him—he had that strange ability to smell through falsehoods, Genya knew—but he also didn’t have time to argue; Zenitsu and Inosuke started griping again about how starved they were, then they each had a grasp on each of his arms and were dragging him off, ignoring his stumbled protests as they went. They could not, however, stop his final words from reaching Genya.
“I’ll see you later!” He hollered before he disappeared, and—curse him a thousand times over—Genya turned to see his departing grin. His heart immediately twinged, tight and ashamed and rueful. “Thank you for teaching me! I had a lot of fun!”
Then he was gone—his voice echoing indiscernibly alongside that of his two friends through the woods—and Genya was alone—closing his eyes to the memory of Tanjiro’s bright face and kicking himself for his own stupidity.
He really was such an idiot, wasn’t he?
~
Against what he’d told Tanjiro—but true to what he knew would always be the case—Genya did not join for dinner. In fact, he did not make his way back to the Stone Estate proper until he was certain at least the vast majority of training slayers had fallen asleep. Only by that time, in the wee hours of the night, did he pick his way back through the forest and towards his mentor’s home.
He expected to be unbothered the whole trek. The few slayers that may remain awake most likely would avoid him if spotted—most of the corps in general tended to avoid him, or at least give him a wide berth—so, he predicted, he would be left undisturbed until he made it to his bedroom, at which point he might see Himejima-san. More likely, he’d be alone even then, solitary in his small quarters with all the freedom in the world to curl up on his futon and dream sinful dreams about his only friend.
He did not expect to see aforementioned Only Friend sitting outside the slayers’ communal room, eyes hazed and unfocused and arms wrapped around himself as if in a mimic of another’s touch—Genya’s touch, to be exact, which made his stomach do all sorts of gymnastics when he saw it.
Tanjiro didn’t notice him at first, and honestly, if Genya hadn’t been frozen in surprise, he very likely never would have noticed him; but, as it was, Genya stood completely still, shocked and maybe a little glad to see his friend, and soon enough, Tanjiro took notice of him. He glanced aside, then back, then startled in place, jumping up and unwinding his arms and grinning under bright red cheeks.
“Genya!” He exclaimed, a little breathier than Genya’s presence deemed necessary, but he wasn’t one to complain. Tanjiro patted the spot on the porch next to him then waved Genya forward with an exuberant hand. “I missed you! What took you so long? Everyone else has eaten and gone to bed already.”
“I hope you didn’t wait up for me,” Genya said, though he secretly hoped for exactly that—not for Tanjiro to lose sleep or anything, just for him to lay in wait for Genya, to want him to return. He certainly seemed excited enough when Genya moved to his side and took the seat next to him; he leaned against him immediately, eyes glittering as bright as ever and smile shining even more with those blushing cheeks.
“It’s alright, I wanted to see you,” he assured. “I didn’t get to thank you enough for earlier! I really had so much fun. I never knew what it was like to hold a gun, let alone shoot one, and you’re always so fascinating to watch, so thank you for teaching me.”
Genya shrugged. “It was no big deal.”
“It was though,” Tanjiro continued, then reached out a hand, very lightly draping it over Genya’s knee. Genya stared at the small point of contact, skin prickling like needles and heart skipping incessantly.
More, he wanted to demand, unable to turn away from his friend’s callused hand, his thin fingers and rough palms and the freckles spattered across his skin. Touch me more. Let me hold you again.
“You trusted me to handle your weapon,” Tanjiro kept saying, though Genya was having an admittedly very difficult time listening, “something that can mean life or death for you. That means a lot to me. I’m glad you can trust me the way you do. I’m glad we’re friends.”
But I want to be more, Genya wanted to scream. Can we please be more? This isn’t enough. I don’t even know what is—but this certainly isn’t enough.
“Me too,” he agreed aloud, because he could never admit those desires. It wasn’t right, not in any way. They were both men. Both slayers. Both burdened with their own responsibilities and wants. Genya would just be a distraction, a roadblock in Tanjiro’s path to return his sister’s morality, and he could not—would not—do such a thing to someone so important to him. He refused to be a hindrance. Not to Tanjiro.
“Did you want to eat?” Tanjiro asked, and his hand squeezed a little, just the slightest application of pressure on either side of Genya’s kneecap. It made him want to erupt, to turn and grab him and claw him into his grasp, fold him into his skin and bones and soul and never let him go again. “I’m sure you’re hungry, and there was some food leftover. I…well, okay, it wasn’t leftover, I made it for you—do you want to eat?”
Genya was not hungry, nor did he want to eat, but he nodded and gave Tanjiro a little smile, thanking him as acceptance. The agreement unfortunately took his touch away from Genya’s knee, but maybe that was just as well. He was sure to lose it sooner or later if Tanjiro kept touching him, so maybe it was better that he let go now, instead of tempting Genya any further.
Besides, he remained close after bringing Genya his dinner, sitting down directly beside him so their arms pressed together again. He rambled quietly while Genya ate—just nonsense about everything and nothing—but Genya was glad for it. He loved to hear his voice, no matter what it was he had to say. He just loved to be near Tanjiro, to be close to him in any capacity he was allowed.
Maybe he should bring up those thoughts he had, those unspoken desires. Maybe it wasn’t so evil to be honest about them. Maybe they could make it work. Maybe they could beat the odds. Maybe it’d be worth it. Maybe Genya could actually deserve this, deserve him. Then again…
Maybe not.