Chapter Text
He was shivering with overexcitement. If the cold had been any threat to him, Akaza would not have felt even the slightest touch of it tonight. The blood in his veins ran wild at the mere thought of the Flame Hashira. Their meeting had enriched Akaza's collection of memories of him, allowing to choose any of them. To replay them a thousand times. To savor them.
Rengoku's face, carved by an unrivaled sculptor named Wrath, was a masterpiece. His movements were perfectly honed: the geometry of his arms guiding the blade, the dynamics of turns, bends and curves, and the balance of weight distribution. Rengoku even surprised him with a few new techniques that the slayer either had not used in their first fight or - and it was even more delightful - had created after that battle and tailored them to the opponent’s fighting style.
Specially for Akaza.
All those things, along with Rengoku's recovery from injuries that would have devastated anyone else in his place, overshadowed the obvious problems of his current state... and fueled the demon’s imagination and hopes. Rengoku Kyojuro was destined to become a demon. There could be no other outcome.
Perfection. The word echoed in Akaza's mind. It rose from the depths of the inside and settled on the tip of the tongue, demanding to be put into sound. Three syllables that Akaza longed to whisper into Kyojuro’s ears in intimate silence so that they would reach his mind, entangle his thoughts, and finally reveal to him the beauty of the possibilities offered by eternity.
Akaza was not hungry, but the idea of causing a little commotion in the town near the Rengoku estate to attract the Hashira’s attention and lure him out seemed very, very tempting. A kind of invitation to another fight. The invitation to the real world, which was not divided into black and white, evil and good. Bad demons and good humans.
Akaza had witnessed so much shit in his life. The shit done by the people Rengoku was so protective of. He had personally beaten tons of that shit out of all those weaklings before finding the best use for them - satisfying his hunger.
He could hunt down some bastard seeking easy prey, be it money from an old man or the body of a defenseless girl. He could hunt them down, tear them apart, and, when Kyojuro arrived to deal with the demonic 'plague' and protect his hometown, show him who he was protecting so fervently.
Rengoku would definitely sound like a broken record playing yet another boring tune full of excuses. He would say that there are all sorts of people in the world and that the chaff among the wheat does not mean the entire crop is ruined. However, demons are not all the same either. There are all sorts of them too. So, if you start to think about it, there are not many differences. And those present are all about the advantages of being a demon. Power, eternal life, youth, immunity to disease and injury.
Alas, despite all its temptingness, the idea of finding bait was bound to fail. First of all, Akaza realized that killing people, no matter how depraved, would never get through to that stubborn, brainwashed Hashira. And besides... He had been searching. He really had, but the only bastard he could find was the man Kyojuro was unfortunately related to.
Akaza would have preferred not to know his name, but it spread through the dark, empty, muddy street.
Rengoku Shinjuro, drunk as a lord and out of control, was forcefully pushed out the door of the izakaya by the owner who was not paying attention to his quietly protesting wife.
“He nearly lost his son,” the woman clung to her husband’s sleeve, her concerned gaze shifting between him and the hunched figure that was about to fall to the ground.
“So what?! That doesn't excuse him breaking my dishes!” the squat man growled. Akaza could bet that his early bald patches on the temples indicated that the elder Rengoku was a frequent guest.
“It’s already dark outside. How will he get home? Just think about it,” the woman did not back down, soothingly stroking her husband’s shoulder. “What if something happens to him on the way?”
These words made the owner pause for a moment and think. However, the expelled guest came to his senses and ruined everything by spitting out a few curses in his direction. The man shot Shinjuro a hostile look, snorted indignantly, and turned away, taking his disappointed wife back into the house.
Kyojuro's father was left alone in the street. It seemed like he was not even thinking of going anywhere; he was just staring blankly at the ground, his eyes glassy. Akaza fought the urge to drag him into the alley and break his neck, putting an end to his disgraceful behavior toward his son. Hazy images, which he could not decipher, made him itchy somewhere at the very back of his mind and gave rise to an unsettling feeling of deja vu, transforming his initial disgust into something more unfamiliar and alarming.
Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, the demon leaned forward, uncertain whether to kill or engage in conversation. However, Shinjuro was saved from the unknown, looming over him, by the creak of the door. A stripe of warm light spilled onto the ground, making the drunkard squint painfully.
“Please, come in, Rengoku-san,” a familiar female voice called. “Let’s talk in the cold light of day. We'll settle everything tomorrow.”
Stepping back into the shadows, the demon blinked away his evil intentions.
***
Akaza had planned to stay in the town only until the following evening. He did not want to spend the daytime in some damp cave or abandoned musty hut in the woods, so he opted to stay at one of the local ryokans. And once darkness fell, he would hit the road. But where would he go?
Since Master Kibutsuji, disguised as a child, had taken up residence with a family that cherished their adopted son and at the same time had enough resources to conduct expensive scientific experiments legally, there had been significantly fewer orders from the Demon King. At least for the Upper Moon Three. Perhaps it was because Akaza had recently failed a crucial mission. Although his master had spared him, now Akaza was most likely in disgrace until he redeemed himself and provided Kibutsuji with results worthy of attention.
Alternatively, Kibutsuji indeed did not need anything now. Nevertheless, it did not change the fact that Akaza had to continue searching for the damned flower. It was the order all Upper Moons had to follow, regardless of whether they were busy with something else or not.
It was the order that, as time went on, seemed more and more impossible to carry out, and that’s why the demons did not even half try to find the flower as hard as they used to.
These were dangerous thoughts, and Akaza tried to nip them in the bud. He was scared to even imagine what would happen if Master Kibutsuji detected any hint of doubt in his mind. He was also scared to imagine what would happen if the master found out that the Upper Moon Three’s thoughts were increasingly occupied by the enemy who should already be dead. But in this case, Akaza could at least find the right words to explain himself.
Or he just wanted to believe he could.
Fortunately, all the Moons had more freedom and privileges compared to other demons. Moreover, Akaza had never let his master down before and had earned a certain degree of... something that could hardly be considered trust, but out of all the words available, it was the word that best captured the essence. Akaza was not a fool; he realized that the Demon King trusted no one but himself. And he also realized that this kind of ‘trust’ could split and collapse at the snap of Muzan’s fingers. However, Akaza still had some time.
What is more, the flame called Rengoku burned brighter and more powerfully than the fear of punishment from Kibutsuji.
Or Akaza just lost his mind.
The Rengoku family was well known and once respected in the town. This was what the demon learned at the ryokan where he had stayed at dawn, which led him to extend his stay in the town. After talking to the owner of the guesthouse, who complimented on how helpful and handy he was while fixing her furniture, Akaza learned about Kyojuro much more than he could have learned from the Hashira in his entire life.
His mother, a calligraphy teacher, had died of illness when the children were very young. His father used to be a martial arts teacher at the local dojo.
“I believe he had some other job, but I can’t remember exactly,” the old woman said in a creaky voice, placing a tea tray on the table while Akaza was dealing with the door that had come off the rail and stuck. “That was a long time ago. He's changed a lot since then. After his wife passed away, he went on the bottle. Now you can hardly recognize him. I sometimes see Senjuro at the market. Poor boy, how does he live with it?”
As darkness fell and the lantern lights flooded the town, Akaza did not leave as he had planned. Instead, he wandered around the labyrinth of streets, where he had tried to find bait for the Flame Hashira the night before. Tonight, he walked aimlessly and tried to retrace fragments of Rengoku’s life in this place. The demon imagined Kyojuro walking these same streets, full of vigor and energy, joy and excitement, unaware that one day a demon would walk these very streets and think of him; unaware that one day he might become a demon himself.
He did not notice how he ended up on a desolate road snaking towards the Rengoku estate. Everything was just a blur as he returned to the place where he and the Flame Hashira had had that play fight the previous night. Now, nothing indicated that the house was inhabited. Except for the slayer within.
Kyojuro was all alone under this roof tonight, and Akaza decided to keep his curiosity on this matter for later.
The demon followed a familiar route, lurked inside the room, and sank to the floor, crossing his legs. Kyojuro was sleeping. Deep, but restless. Strands of golden hair clung to his sweaty forehead. His face was contorted with tension as he battled a nightmare. Akaza reached out his hand to him, hesitated for a few seconds, but then touched his cheek. Tentatively and cautiously — unlike yesterday. Black eyebrows twitched and furrowed, while Kyojuro's eyelashes fluttered, his eyes slowly opened. The dim light of a slightly open eye. The gaze was unfocused. It was unclear if the man was awake or if it was just an unconscious reaction to the sudden touch.
There was a brief moment of mutual confusion.
“You again,” Kyojuro mumbled, obviously confusing reality and dream; otherwise, he would have jolted awake immediately.
“Me again,” Akaza echoed, daring to press his palm against the warm cheek and breaking into a satisfied smile when the Hashira’s only reaction was to close his eye.
Could it be that it was Akaza himself who confused reality and dream? Could it be that he, who had never slept before, spent the past hours in a half-dream oblivion? Because when he shook off the haze, he found himself lying in the curtained room of the ryokan and looking at the dark blue pattern of the fabric. Sunlight was licking it from the outside.
Perhaps he had not gone anywhere at all? Not to the town center, and certainly not to the Rengoku estate, where he had been gently caressing Kyojuro’s bad dreams from his face until the other man relaxed and his breathing steadied. Because if that had truly happened, no words or excuses could save him from Master Kibutsuji’s wrath... if he had looked inside the Upper Moon Three’s mind.
Akaza rolled over on his side, keeping his eyes fixed on the dark curtains. The hazy images of the night did not want to let him go, but gradually, the right questions began to form in his head. More and more details from his visit to Rengoku's home came to mind.
Kyojuro's house was empty now. Not only because his family had left. Some of the things had disappeared as well. The most noticeable absence was that of his father’s katana.
The conclusion offered itself. Fearing for his father and brother’s lives, Kyojuro had probably sent them somewhere safe. But was it because he had accepted his weakness and inability to protect his loved ones, or was it because he was going to leave home and did not want his family to be without his protection?
The bag that Akaza had spotted in Kyojuro's room hinted at the second option, but the Hashira could have not unpacked it yet… though that seemed unlikely given how much time passed since his arrival.
So, Rengoku Kyojuro was planning to travel somewhere. But where to? And most importantly, why?
Was he really allowed to continue serving the Corps and hunting demons?
***
For someone who had spent decades scouring the world for a flower that supposedly did not exist, finding the Flame Hashira in the packed train station diners was not particularly difficult. Rengoku stood out from the crowd way too much, both in appearance and attire, signaling to anyone familiar with the demons-slayers matter: ‘Hey, this is the Flame Hashira right in front of you!’
On one hand, it was foolish not to attempt to be stealthy or at least less noticeable. Surely it would be useful in tracking down demons. On the other hand, Rengoku had proven himself to be an honorable fighter. He was not the type to hide and work in the shadows. If he fought, he did so straightforwardly. He fought to the death, never retreating, even if survival seemed impossible.
The fiery gaze met the squinted blue eyes, and Akaza smiled slyly, relishing the stunned expression on the Hashira’s face. The latter stared at the demon’s disguise, which surely felt jarring to his senses of a slayer.
Kyojuro's sincerity and depth fascinated Akaza as much as his strength. Perhaps because in Rengoku's case, they were inseparable. They were intertwined, unable to exist without each other.
Kyojuro blinked and closed the book, tucking it away in the bag beside him on the bench. Akaza shrugged indifferently. He did not need any answer to the question that was asked just to grab Kyojuro’s attention. Although the book did not look like a light read to kill time while waiting for the train, the demon was not interested. What did interest him was...
“You’ve just returned home. Are you already leaving?” he sighed with exaggerated concern and shook his head. “Are you hoping that the doctors in Tokyo will work a miracle on you?”
Kyojuro remained silent, staring at him without blinking. He was tense and did not seem to notice other people talking loudly and moving around him. All his attention was on the demon sitting across from him. As if Rengoku was afraid that if he blinked or looked at anyone, Akaza would also notice their existence and attack them.
“Just a reminder, the one truly capable of miracles is right in front of you,” Akaza raised his hand and pointed, as if by accident, at himself.
“What you’re talking about is not a miracle,” Kyojuro said sternly.
“Another reminder,” the demon leaned forward a little, lowering his voice. “This one is capable of causing a bloodbath here if someone continues to be rude to him.”
From the way Rengoku exhaled raggedly and opened his mouth, he was about to say something in objection or protest. But at the last moment, he changed his mind. Or perhaps he simply did not have time because a man, who looked exhausted by the number of visitors, approached their table and set down a bowl of steaming soup in front of the slayer.
“Your ramen, Rengoku-san,” he said and then turned to Akaza. “What would you like?”
“Oh, the same as for my companion, please,” the demon replied politely, offering a slight smile to the owner of the ramen shop, who gave him a silent nod and headed to the kitchen. Akaza followed him with his eyes.
“I am not your companion.”
Akaza turned his gaze to the source of the sound and chuckled mockingly.
“Would you prefer that I call you my friend?” he teased. The next moment he hooked the toes of his left foot into the sandal on his right, pulled it off, sending it to the wooden floor with a quiet thud, and straightened his leg. “I’d be happy to hear any other ideas.”
Rengoku, who had just split the wooden chopsticks, froze and glared murderously at Akaza. The demon’s foot was slowly gliding up the Hashira’s leg, moving toward his knee. The blush on Rengoku’s cheeks was undoubtedly caused by the storm of anger. However, he remained mindful of Akaza’s recent threat, so, when he spoke, his voice was neutral.
“What do you want, Akaza?”
“You called me by my name!” The surprise was so great that Akaza straightened up and put down his leg without thinking.
It was the first time. The first time these lips and this voice had pronounced his name. No matter how many liberties Akaza had taken with him, no matter how much he had urged him to follow his example, Kyojuro had never, not even once, used his name or rank. In fact, the Flame Hashira had not addressed Akaza in any way.
“What else should I call you?” Rengoku asked flatly, his eyes glued to his bowl as he stirred the noodles with chopsticks. “All other options are unacceptable either for this place or for our relationship.”
Akaza grinned again, propped his head up with his hand and got his foot back to Kyojuro’s leg, smoothly tracing the tense muscles beneath the fabric of his uniform pants. As if nothing had happened. As if he had done it countless times before.
Rengoku pretended nothing was happening, but his jaw was tightly clenched and he never took a bite of his dinner. He kept stirring and stirring the noodles with chopsticks as if hypnotizing himself. When the demon's foot passed the knee and reached the thigh, Kyojuro finally spoke up.
“Please, enough,” he stopped stirring the soup and looked directly at Akaza.
“I like the sound of that. Say it again. Just the first part.”
“Please,” Rengoku repeated coldly.
“Hmm... I'm not entirely sure who you’re talking to,” the demon grinned mockingly.
“Please, Akaza.”
He obeyed. After a few endless seconds of holding each other's gaze, he obeyed, experiencing an odd mix of two contrasting pleasures: control and submission.
As Kyojuro was free from unwanted tactile attention, he began to eat his dinner, so eagerly that it was clear that he wanted to take the demon out of this place as soon as possible.
“So why are you going to Tokyo?” Akaza asked, his tone more serious.
“What makes you think that I’m going somewhere?” Rengoku glared at him and hurried to fill his mouth with noodles.
“The train that leaves in a couple of hours is heading for Tokyo,” Akaza casually waved his hand. “Yesterday, you sent little Senjuro and the man you call your father away from home, where it’s no longer safe.” The demon smiled wryly, noticing Rengoku’s face turned pale. “How do I know? I checked on you last night.”
“Why?..” Barely swallowing the lump in his throat, Rengoku began angrily.
“Before you ask another question,” Akaza interrupted him, leaning closer again. “Don’t you think this is a bit unfair? You've never given me a proper answer while I’ve been answering all your questions. Let’s take turns. One question, one answer. Agreed?”
After a moment of staring at his uninvited interlocutor, Rengoku nodded. As if he had much choice.
“Fine.”
“So, why do you need to go to Tokyo?”
“I have a mission. My turn. So you did come last night. Why?”
“And you did wake up then,” Akaza drawled happily, then shrugged briefly. “Why did I come? Don't know.”
“Hey, what kind of answer is that?!” Rengoku exclaimed indignantly.
Several people at nearby tables turned their heads to look at them. The Hashira’s expression instantly changed. Smiling warmly, he apologized to those strangers. Such a sudden shift took Akaza by surprise. As if he was slapped in the face. Or as if someone threw a pail of ice-cold water on him.
Rengoku was not being hypocritical. He was not acting. The warmth with which he addressed those people came from his heart. The same heart that harbored a coldness toward the demon.
Not that it was surprising. After all, Akaza did not forget who they were to each other — a demon and a slayer. But still.
“No worse than your vague answer about Tokyo,” he parried belatedly when Kyojuro turned back to him.
The arrival of the second bowl of ramen passed in stony silence. But then, after watching Akaza twirl his chopsticks in his hands for some time, Rengoku resumed their conversation as if sensing a change in the atmosphere.
“I could’ve lied to you because you’re-” he stopped short before dropping the word ‘demon’. “Because it is you. But I gave you an honest answer.”
“So did I,” Akaza said without a hint of mockery. “I don’t know why I visited you last night. I just wanted to.”
If Kyojuro was still unsatisfied with this answer, he did not show it. Instead, he returned to his meal.
“I understand that you won’t tell me anything about your mission,” Akaza continued meanwhile. “So, I’ll ask something else. Do you really believe you can still be a slayer?”
“Yes,” Kyojuro responded without a moment of hesitation, and it was almost impossible to tell whether he was being stubborn or simply naive. While Akaza was trying to figure it out, Rengoku asked. “Are you going to eat your ramen?”
“Is that your next question?” Akaza joked and hurried to satisfy Kyojuro’s curiosity before the slayer could object. “No, I don’t eat this kind of food. This is for you.”
“So you don’t eat regular food at all?” Rengoku asked, and when Akaza shook his head no, he added. “What will happen if you try?”
“Are you worried that you won’t be able to eat your favorite dishes after you agree to become…” Kyojuro’s face darkened, and Akaza laughed. “Nothing will happen. It just tastes disgusting. You'll throw up afterward, and that's it.”
Rengoku did not wince, nor did he bat an eye. He continued eating his dinner without further questions. When his bowl was empty, Akaza pushed his own toward him. A crazy thought crossed his mind, suggesting he should order more ramen so that they could sit here longer. Even in silence, even just for an extra five minutes, accompanied by suspicious glances that the Hashira kept casting at him.
There was some peace in it, and Akaza wanted to savor this moment better, longer. He wanted to linger in it. Without any regrets that they were on opposite sides of the barricades. Without thinking about whether he would ever get what he wanted from Kyojuro. Without worries that the thin ice on which the demon was now walking could crack at any second and put an end to everything Akaza had already achieved and what he had yet to achieve. And why? Because he could not resist the temptation, which was growing more and more absurd with each passing day.
Wasn't it absurd? Just to sit here and watch your enemy eat. Without trying to imagine human flesh instead of ordinary food. Without trying to talk Kyojuro over to his side or get some useful information.
The silence over their table drowned out the surrounding sounds and chatter. But it must have been only for Akaza because at some point Kyojuro froze, pricked up his ears, then set aside his half-empty bowl and abruptly stood up.
For one moment, Akaza thought he had foolishly chosen to flee, so he hurried after him but stopped almost immediately. The Hashira towered over the group of four railway workers sitting behind them.
“Bear attacks are unusual at this time of year!” Kyojuro said, unblinkingly looking at all four of them and trying to determine the one who knew the most.
“That’s what I’m saying,” a stocky man replied after recovering from the initial shock of their conversation being interrupted. He scratched the back of his head with a rough hand. “Bears haven’t even gone to sleep for winter yet, so there is no way one of them could suddenly wake up from hunger. And who has ever heard of them sneaking right into people’s houses?”
“And tearing apart the entire family,” added another worker, whose wrinkled forehead was stained with coal soot. “Rabid, perhaps?”
“When did it happen?” Rengoku asked.
“They found the bodies this morning.”
The Flame Hashira turned abruptly toward the demon. He had a fiery inferno in his only eye, and his hand fell on the katana hilt, hidden by the haori. It seemed that all his self-control was used to refrain from grabbing the weapon and cutting off the head of a 'human' next to him.
“I know nothing about this,” Akaza hissed quietly.
But the expression on Rengoku’s face was unmistakable. Disbelief.