Chapter Text
The second Akaza heard the rattling of those goddamn spray paint cans, he knew.
“Fucking hell.”
He chucked the bag of trash he was carrying at Enmu and bolted around the back of the building. There, in the gap of darkness between the train tracks and the rear wall, was the fucking delinquent with the dime-store Halloween mask and raggedy-ass sweatpants. He was tagging the tattoo shop. Again.
The kid barely had time to react before Akaza was yanking him up by the collar.
“The least you could do is put up good shit,” he said as the kid choked and dropped his paint cans. “Your art sucks, asshole.”
“Let go!”
“Nah, I got skinned alive last time my boss found your bullshit on our building, so I think I’ll take my pound of flesh, thanks.”
Though the kid struggled, Akaza was stronger. He dug his fingers into the kid’s arm. The kid grunted. When Akaza yanked him closer, the kid’s shoulder dislocated. The sound was deep, disgusting, and apparently intentional as he then unzipped his hoodie and let his limp arm slip through the sleeve and out of Akaza’s grasp. He popped it back into place as he ran, hopping the fence onto the train tracks. Akaza grabbed a paint can and hurled it after him.
“If I ever see your face, you’re dead, motherfucker, you hear me!?”
“Get bent!” the kid yelled back.
Akaza had half a mind to chase him down and kick his ass, but Enmu poked his head around the building and gasped.
“Oh, no…”
Finally, Akaza turned to take in the damage.
From corner to corner, the kid had painted a long, hairy approximation of a pig. In the shape of a dick and balls. It covered the entire wall. Akaza physically felt his soul leave his body.
“What do we do?” Enmu asked, clear panic in his voice.
“It’s one in the fucking morning, Enmu,” Akaza replied. “There’s nothing we can do.”
They had roller brushes, but no paint, and every hardware store within fifty miles would be closed until morning. Plus Akaza had to be back at eight-thirty to open the shop. At least the pig was on the back of the building where Muzan would be the least likely to see it. Akaza could grab paint tomorrow and send Enmu out first thing to cover it.
“Get here at eight,” Akaza said. Nervous, Enmu nodded. “We’ll deal with it then.”
Bending, he grabbed as many empty spray paint cans as he could carry and took them to the dumpster in the parking lot. Enmu helped without instruction. A whiny shithead Enmu might have been, but Akaza ultimately preferred working with him over anyone else.
A few of the cans still had paint in them.
Akaza broke the tips off before tossing them in the trash.
“Muzan’s not supposed to be here tomorrow, is he?” Enmu asked. He hefted the trash bags into the dumpster.
“Like I know?” Akaza replied. “He just materializes.”
Enmu had only been apprenticed at Infinity Castle for a couple of months, but at least he had a healthy fear of Muzan. Everybody else worshipped the bastard. Akaza had, too, once. That veneration had ultimately got him snookered into working at a 40/60 split the shop’s way even after an apprenticeship from hell. He wanted to quit, find somewhere else to tattoo, maybe even move to a new city or something, but he was scared. Scared of what would happen if he left. Muzan could ruin him, and they both knew it.
Muzan would ruin him if he found this goddamn pig graffiti on the back of the shop.
“Go home,” Akaza said to Enmu. “I’ll make sure the idiot doesn’t come back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Go.”
Enmu gave him one final look of reluctant fear before scurrying to his car and heading home for the night. Akaza walked once around the building to make sure the dick pig was the only piece the kid had put up, grabbed his hoodie and chucked it in the dumpster. He checked the door and the window bars—locked, secure. Then he went to his own car, took a blanket out of the backseat, and sat himself behind the wheel. He was a light sleeper. If the kid came back, he’d hear him.
Though his presence alone was probably deterrent enough.
Folding his arms across his chest, Akaza settled to sleep in the tattoo shop’s parking lot.
His alarm went off at seven. Akaza woke to a stiff neck and freezing limbs, but a building free from any additional defacement. As soon as his brain was functional enough to drive, he started up his car and went straight to the nearest hardware store. Bought like eight gallons of paint. Walked to the Taco Bell in the same parking lot because he was fucking starving and had to wait for the store to mix the paint.
He pulled up at Infinity Castle at eight. Enmu was already there. Akaza tossed a breakfast crunchwrap at his head when he got out of his car to go inside. Fortunately, Enmu had the reflexes to catch it.
“Thanks,” he said, devouring the thing while Akaza unlocked the side door.
“Sure.”
They went in, flipped on the lights, dug around the maintenance closet for ten minutes looking for the paint trays and roller covers, which they did not find. They searched the whole shop, in fact, without success.
“Fucking hell. Here.” Akaza handed Enmu his credit card and gave him directions to the hardware store. “Go buy shit, I have to start sanitizing the booths or we’re fucked.”
Had he sanitized the shop the night before? Yes. Did Muzan require complete sanitization at open and at close? Yes. He had also installed security cameras, which he absolutely checked to make sure his orders were followed. Akaza didn’t mind keeping the shop clean. A clean shop was a necessity. What he hated was cleaning up everybody else’s shit. Still, he made sure everything made it into the autoclave.
The side door opened, but it was Daki, not Enmu, who walked into the shop.
“Where’s the brat?” she asked, sneering.
“Buying paint trays,” Akaza replied.
Daki pulled a face. “Why? I threw those out. We never use them.”
Of course.
Akaza could have strangled her. Instead, he offered what he knew was a murderous smile and said, “Rot in hell.”
She left him alone after that, moving to prep her booth. Gyutaro entered shortly thereafter, already complaining about his first piercing appointment, followed by Nakime, who took her place at the front desk without a word. Right before the shop was set to open, Enmu finally reappeared, but Akaza had a nine o’clock, so now he wouldn’t be able to help.
“Just cover as much as you can as quick as you can,” he said, tossing Enmu his car keys so he could get the paint from the trunk.
Nodding, Enmu headed out back.
“What’s that about?” Gyutaro asked.
Akaza gave him a look of disdain. “The pig kid came back,” he replied.
“Again?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have a death wish?”
Shaking his head, Akaza shrugged. “Evidently.”
The front door chime rang—their signal to shut up and be personable. A few moments later, Nakime appeared in the archway that separated the booths from the waiting area. She stayed quiet for a beat.
“Akaza.”
He gave her a thumbs up, and she disappeared.
Then Enmu came flying through the side door with a bizarre expression of bewilderment and terror on his face.
“Akaza?”
“My client’s here, Enmu. What?”
“Can you—come out back? There’s…a guy? Some guy showed up with a kid and I don’t know what to do?” Enmu had never really been one for successfully taking charge of a situation.
Akaza started toward the archway. “Tell them to leave.”
“I did, but he won’t. Will you come? Please?”
He sounded ready to pass out. Akaza rolled his eyes.
“Give me two minutes to get this appointment going.”
“Thank you,” Enmu breathed.
He rushed out the side door, probably to keep an eye on whatever was going on outside. Akaza called his client back from the waiting area, got her settled in his booth, showed her the design he’d mocked up well in advance. They talked changes. Akaza might have despised Infinity Castle, but he did have great clients. They knew what they wanted, knew what he could do. Showed up on time, didn’t complain about payment.
“Let me go get this drawn up,” Akaza said.
When he left the booth, he went outside instead. As soon as he stepped through the side door, Enmu’s head snapped over his direction, relief plastered all over his face. He was standing by the corner of the building, not painting. Akaza raised both of his hands in a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing motion, but he only had to reach the back to see for himself.
Some dude with insane hair and a kid with blue tips were painting over the dick pig.
“Hey, nah,” Akaza said, approaching while slicing his fingers through the air over his throat—a universal “knock it off” gesture. “This is—”
The guy turned and Akaza came to a dead halt, stunned. The smile on the guy’s face was a killer—bright, beaming, burning with the light in his eyes. He was also beyond goddamn hot. Looking at him was like looking directly into the fucking sun. Akaza found himself squinting.
“Are you the owner?” the guy asked, still grinning.
The kid with him glanced at Akaza and paled. “Oh, shit.”
Akaza recognized him then, though he’d never seen his face.
“Pig kid!”
Rolling up his sleeves, Akaza advanced. His hands balled into fists, and he could already visualize exactly how he was going to grind this idiot into the asphalt, but the guy stepped between them with a steady hand raised. Akaza paused. The pig kid dropped his roller brush and started to bolt, but the guy reached behind himself without looking and grabbed the kid’s wrist. The kid got yanked backward by the force of his own movement. The guy didn’t shift an inch.
“I apologize for Inosuke’s behavior,” the guy said, smile unbroken, “and I’d like to reimburse you for the paint.”
Akaza stared at him. He found himself glancing at Enmu as if to confirm that this was actually happening. Enmu returned him helpless eye contact. No wonder he hadn’t known what to do. This guy was certifiable. Akaza—carefully—turned back toward him.
“You what?”
“It’s my understanding that this is not the first time Inosuke has expressed his creativity on your building,” the guy replied. “I’d like to reimburse you for the paint, and the two of us will make sure this—” His bright eyes landed on the dick pig. “—gets appropriately covered. I’m hoping to teach this one that there are consequences for his actions that don’t have to involve the police and a judge, though I do understand if you intend to press charges.”
The kid had been fighting to free himself from the guy’s grip, but he went still at “press charges” with a genuine look of betrayal.
“You said if we painted over it, the cops—”
“I said if we painted over it, the owners might choose to let you off,” the guy replied, “and you have selective hearing.” He turned back to Akaza and smiled. “What do you say?”
Akaza had to actively work not to be charmed by that smile. He looked at the kid. The fear and the failure written throughout his posture were painfully familiar. This was a kid with a long record. A kid who was trying to do better and not succeeding. As much as he wished he didn’t, Akaza knew exactly what that felt like.
“The paint was two-fifty,” he said.
The guy’s smile softened and he let go of the kid. “Venmo okay?”
“That’s fine.”
As the guy grabbed his phone, the kid picked up the roller brush he’d dropped and resumed painting. Narrowing his eyes, Akaza pulled out his own cell so the guy could scan his Venmo code. The kid painted with determined vigor. The guy sent the money.
“Does that Tom Sawyer shit actually work?” Akaza asked.
The guy laughed. Loud and ringing. “As I recall, Tom Sawyer tricked the other children into trading him all sorts of things to let them whitewash the fence. So that would make you Tom Sawyer.” He finished the statement off with a smile that Akaza could not defend against. It went straight to his heart like an arrow. “Thank you for understanding. I’ll make sure we do a good job on the paint.”
“Sure…”
Moving away, the guy retrieved the other roller brush and dipped it into the paint tray. He went to work right alongside pig kid with an undimmed smile on his mouth. Akaza could not recall having ever seen anyone who smiled so much so brightly. He started to leave, but glanced at his phone to check the payment.
Kyojuro Rengoku paid you + $250
He looked back at the guy. Kyojuro Rengoku.
“Keep an eye on them,” he said to Enmu as he went inside.
After several minutes, Rengoku noticed Inosuke’s face turning red. The poor boy was so determined not to talk, he was actually holding his breath. Rengoku chuckled.
“This is a great canvas,” he said. “I can see why you picked it.”
Inosuke did not respond.
“Your subject matter could use a little more forethought, but the execution…” He paused to survey the artwork—crude, but admittedly hilarious. He’d had to try very hard not to laugh when he’d seen it. “You’re getting better and better.”
“You don’t have to lie.”
Rengoku turned his face toward Inosuke, but the boy avoided his gaze. Pale now, upset, Inosuke kept right on painting. Tears welled in his eyes.
“Inosuke, have I ever lied to you?”
“No…”
With a satisfied nod, Rengoku returned to painting. Inosuke liked to pretend he was good at hiding his emotions, but the boy was and always had been an open book. Rengoku had found the most success with him by playing along, acting like the book was closed until Inosuke chose to acknowledge the feelings himself.
“I know the center doesn’t have that money,” Inosuke said.
Slowing, Rengoku said nothing.
“And I know you don’t have that money either,” Inosuke continued. “And you wouldn’t have had to pay that jerkwad if I hadn’t gotten caught…”
“Getting caught is not the problem, Inosuke,” Rengoku replied. “You shouldn’t have done it in the first place.” Inosuke huffed, but did not refute. “Hell, this is a tattoo parlor. You probably could have asked them if you could put some art up in the back and they might have agreed. Now they’re angry with you, and rightfully so. But I’m the one who offered to pay, so let me worry about that.”
Unfortunately, Inosuke was not wrong about the money. The Wisteria Youth Center did not have fifty dollars to spare from their budget, much less two hundred and fifty. They relied on grants and donations, but neither was easily collected when most of the city lived below the poverty line and your programs did not yield strong results.
Rengoku could borrow from his father, maybe. Provided he hadn’t paid a recent visit to the liquor store.
“I’m sorry,” Inosuke whispered. “I’m really sorry…”
Smiling, Rengoku paused to put a hand on Inosuke’s shoulder.
“Thank you for apologizing,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re forgiven.”
Inosuke sniffed, then wiped his nose on his arm. Nodding at Rengoku, he dipped his roller brush into the paint with a little more confidence. The tray was running low, so Rengoku headed over to grab another gallon. The employee who’d been left to babysit them tensed as he approached. Rengoku offered a smile.
“Any chance you’ve got that hoodie Inosuke left here last night?” he asked, picking up a paint can. “It’s his favorite.”
The man startled. “Oh—um… I don’t know what Akaza did with it, but I can ask?”
“Akaza…”
Rengoku had seen his name when he’d paid him, but hearing it aloud, his mind stitched together the sound of it with the pretty face, the pink hair. The big, beautiful, baby-blue eyes. Eyelashes like a cow’s. Some of the tattoos on his arms had been blue, too, though Rengoku hadn’t taken a clear look at them. The solid blue tattooed fingers, however, were quite distinctive. As was the attitude. Akaza had given off the heavy aura of a true fighter.
“Probably best not to bother him,” Rengoku replied with a smile.
The relief on the man’s face was obvious. Rengoku took the paint and returned to Inosuke, who had not slowed down in the least. He refilled the tray and resumed his work, pondering the idea that Akaza probably could have kicked his ass.
He didn’t know why he liked that.
An hour passed before their babysitter left. The man did not return, and Rengoku was pleased that the shop had decided to trust them on some level. Two hours later, a layer of fresh paint covered Inosuke’s artwork from head to tail. Inosuke collapsed the instant they finished.
“Nice work,” Rengoku said.
Panting, Inosuke gave him a thumbs up.
“Why don’t you relocate and get something to drink while I return the brushes?” Though he phrased it as a suggestion, Rengoku grabbed Inosuke’s hand and hauled him to his feet, then guided him around the building to plop down in the shade. He retrieved and handed Inosuke his water bottle, which was alarmingly—but unsurprisingly—full. “Don’t chug that.”
Inosuke froze with his cheeks full.
“I’ll be right back.”
Rengoku grabbed the remaining half-empty gallon of paint and headed toward the front of the shop. The picture window caught his attention as he passed, the words INFINITY CASTLE TATTOO on the glass. A chime rang when he entered. The interior was marvelous. Lacquered wood floors, sleek furniture, sample artwork in stylish frames on almost every inch of wall. From an archway into the next room, the buzz of tattoo machines and conversation reached his ears. The woman at the front desk was busy filling out paperwork with a customer.
“You’re all set. Thank you.”
Akaza and another customer appeared in the archway. The customer was beaming and examining her forearm like she couldn’t take her eyes off it, though her new tattoo was covered by a bandage.
“You’re sure I don’t need to rewrap it?” she asked.
“Not this one,” Akaza laughed, which was lovely. “I promise it’ll be best to dry heal, but you can text me if anything’s off.”
She nodded, gushed, thanked him, then made her way to the door. Rengoku stepped backwards to open and hold it for her, so she thanked him as well. When he stepped back inside, the smile was gone from Akaza’s face, replaced instead by an expression of stony irritation. Rengoku grinned.
“We’re finished,” he said, hefting the paint can. “This was left over. I’ll wash the brushes and the tray if you like.”
“Nah, toss ‘em. Enmu bought extras.”
“I’ll bring the rollers in, then.”
He set the paint can down when Akaza made no move to take it from him, then jogged out back to pop the covers off the paint rollers and put them in the dumpster with the tray. Inosuke watched, sipping from his water bottle. Rengoku returned to the shop with both rollers. Akaza was leaning against the front desk. He held out his hand to take them.
“I wanted to ask if you have that hoodie Inosuke was wearing last night,” Rengoku said, passing over the rollers.
“Dumpster,” Akaza replied. “That thing was foul.”
Rengoku laughed. “He rarely takes it off.”
“Hasn’t school started?”
“Suspended.” Rengoku offered a sorry smile. “I’m sure that’s not surprising. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so he’s stuck with me.” Akaza raised an eyebrow. “Oh—I’m the Teen Development manager at Wisteria Youth Center. Inosuke attends our programs.”
“Ah.”
“Great place you’ve got here.”
“It’s not mine.”
“Do you do cosmetic tattoos? I’ve got a coworker who’s been talking about it for years.”
“I don’t. Daki does. You can take one of her cards if you want.” Akaza motioned at a display rack of business cards. “It’s the one with the flowers.”
There were eight different business cards exhibited on the rack. Rengoku located Daki’s at the bottom. White and green with pink chrysanthemums, which would almost certainly appeal to Kanroji. He took one and surveyed the others. Each was wildly different from the last. Matte black with an embossed moon. Flashy holographic rainbow. Akaza’s was white—a shiny, barely-blue snowflake the only illustration.
“Which work is yours?” Rengoku asked, gesturing at the art on the walls.
He looked back at Akaza with a smile and found the man staring at him, wide-eyed and a little disarmed. Rengoku smiled. Akaza’s cheeks turned as pink as his hair.
“Right-hand column,” he said.
The wall behind the desk did have three distinct sections of artwork. In the center, photo-realistic renderings of people, places, and objects. To the left, dreamy watercolors. To the right, stylized illustrations much closer to Rengoku’s idea of what tattoos “were”. Black lines and bright colors, though with a level of detail, care, and composition he might not have expected. They were, in a word, wonderful.
“I do neotraditional, mostly,” Akaza continued, scratching the back of his head. “Traditional as well, depending on the design.” He sounded uncomfortable talking about his skill, though Rengoku could see no reason why that should be the case.
“They’re beautiful,” he said. “How long have you been working?”
Akaza blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Just over a decade.”
Nodding, Rengoku took in the artwork on the wall once more. He liked it. He liked it a lot. He could see why someone would want to have it on their body for the rest of their life.
“Who did yours?” he asked.
Akaza shrugged. “I’ve probably got about thirty different artists,” he replied. “I don’t remember them all. When you’re trying to break in, you spend a lot of time hanging around tattoo shops letting people practice on you. This one’s Doma.” He pulled up his sleeve to point out an icy watercolor lotus on his inner forearm, then tugged his collar to the side to show three hyperreal moons in different phases just below his collarbone. “Kokushibo.”
Rengoku couldn’t help but find the way displayed himself very attractive.
“What about your fingers?” he asked.
“I did these myself,” Akaza replied. “Finger tattoos never last, and I don’t trust any of these sadists to put a needle to my nail beds.”
The woman at the front desk giggled. Rengoku had forgotten she was there. Thankfully, the sudden reminder of her presence saved Rengoku from traveling too far down the mental path of Akaza having the precision to tattoo himself with his off-hand. Assuming he had an off-hand. Maybe he was ambidextrous…
Inosuke saved him this time, stomping in through the front door to loudly declare, “Hey, Flavortown, what the hell is taking so long? I’m hungry. Let’s leave.”
Rengoku startled, glancing at Akaza by accident. The man was grinning.
“Lunch should be ready at the center,” Rengoku said, perhaps a little too quickly. “We’re all set to go, but if you want your hoodie, it sounds like you’ll have to do some dumpster diving.”
“You threw away my hoodie?!”
Hunching his shoulders, Inosuke stalked toward Akaza, but Rengoku grabbed the back of his shirt and brought him to a stop. Inosuke gave Akaza one hell of a stink-eye, grinding his teeth and doing his best to look menacing. There was no doubt in Rengoku’s mind that Akaza could and would beat Inosuke senseless if this went on too long.
“Thank you again,” he said. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
He took half a step toward the door, but hesitated. Before he could think much harder about it, he leaned toward the business card display and grabbed one of Akaza’s. He brandished it with a smile.
“Great to meet you,” he said, then dragged Inosuke out of the shop.
Before they left, he gave the boy a boost into the dumpster to root around for his hoodie.
The Wisteria Youth Center occupied a small campus halfway between the city center and the surrounding suburban sprawl. The neighborhood the center served was dense and dilapidated, much like the center itself. Chronically underfunded and understaffed, the place stayed open by sheer force of will.
As Rengoku pulled into the parking lot, Inosuke kicked open his door and jumped out before the truck had stopped moving.
“You have got to stop doing that,” Rengoku said.
“Give me my hoodie,” Inosuke replied.
“No. Go to the locker room and shower. Both you and your hoodie have been in the dumpster at a tattoo shop. Neither will be allowed within thirty feet of the cafeteria until they’re clean. Put your rec clothes on. I’ll get everything else in the wash.”
Grumbling, Inosuke stormed off in the direction of the pool, which was located in the basement under the teen center. The building had been constructed in the 1930s, so the pool wasn’t exactly luxurious, but Sanemi and a few of the more ambitious kids had drained and resurfaced the whole thing last summer. Rengoku followed Inosuke down the outdoor stairs and into the locker room. Inosuke grabbed his gym clothes and towel from his locker, went into one of the showers, and chucked everything else over the curtain at Rengoku.
“Use soap,” he said as he bundled the clothes.
“Eat shit and die,” Inosuke replied, which made Rengoku laugh.
He went to the laundry just off the locker room, and Sanemi was there, loading a bunch of jerseys into the washing machine.
“Will you wash these, too, please?” he asked.
Wordless, Sanemi held up a hand for the clothes, so Rengoku tossed the bundle to him. Sanemi caught it and stuffed it in.
“How’d you get that hoodie off him?” Sanemi asked.
“I didn’t,” Rengoku replied. “A tattoo artist did. One at the shop Inosuke tagged.”
Sanemi did not ask any more questions, and Rengoku did not mind. He left him to the laundry, heading across the small campus to the cafeteria where he was sure to find Kanroji, and where Inosuke would inevitably wind up once he got out of the shower. And find Kanroji he did. She was wiping down the tables ahead of lunch. She looked up with a jolt as he came in.
“We’re back,” he said and smiled. “Is it okay if Inosuke eats, too?”
Hurrying over, Kanroji nodded. “Of course. It’s for the little ones, though, so it’s hotdogs and mac and cheese. With shape noodles! Is that okay? You were gone for so long, I was so worried. How did everything go? Were they mad?”
“They weren’t happy, but I think we smoothed things over well,” Rengoku replied. He grabbed a dishtowel from Kanroji’s supplies to help her clean. “The shop was big, and Inosuke painted the entire wall, so it took a long time to cover, that’s all.” He offered her a smile when she gave him a concerned look. “Totally good. I promise.”
Kanroji found a smile of her own. “Okay.”
“Actually, the place was high-end,” Rengoku continued. Together, he and Kanroji started the last table. “They have an artist who does cosmetic tattoos, so I grabbed her card for you.”
“Really?”
Rengoku laughed. “Yeah. Here.”
They finished the table, so he slung the dishrag over his shoulder and fished Daki’s business card out of his back pocket for Kanroji. She took it delicately, her eyes wide and sparkling. There was an Instagram handle on the back, so Kanroji ditched her own dishtowel to grab her phone and check it out. Her eyes only got bigger and more sparkly as she scrolled.
“Oh, wow! Her stuff is really pretty!”
“I’m glad you think so. I know you’ve been having trouble finding the right artist.”
“Maybe I’ll do eyeliner, too, look how gorgeous!”
She flipped her phone to show him a post with side-by-side before and after photos of an anonymous woman with newly-permanent winged eyeliner. It did look expertly done, but Rengoku frankly had no idea. Though he did imagine tattooing one’s eyelid probably hurt a lot.
“That would look great on you,” he said.
Kanroji blushed.
“Let me know if you decide to go,” he continued. “I was sort of thinking about getting something done myself.”
“Eyeliner?” Kanroji asked, blinking.
Rengoku laughed. “No, something for my mom. I’m not sure what yet.”
When he looked at her next, she had teared up and her mouth was downturned. He smiled. Kanroji really was a little too empathetic. Thankfully, Tokito poked his head through the cafeteria door before the waterworks could truly start.
“Can we come in?” he asked.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the cafeteria, Rengoku could see the line of pre-K kids that trailed behind Tokito like ducklings, ready for lunch. Inosuke was at the back—not helping to supervise, but part of the line. He’d been told off one too many times by Tokito and his army of four-year-olds to not have learned his lesson about cutting.
“Yes,” Kanroji said, wiping her eyes. “Yes, we’re ready. I’ll go open the service window. Everybody can come in.”
Tokito dipped out the door and held it open, saying, “Okay, team.”
The procession entered, quiet and obedient, and lined up at the corner of the service window, which Kanroji opened from inside the kitchen a moment later. She and Iguro served trays of hotdog macaroni with accompanying side dishes, and the kids found seats at the cafeteria tables. Rengoku joined Inosuke at the back of the line.
“Sanemi’s washing your stuff,” he said with a smile.
“What’s for lunch?” Inosuke asked.
“Macaroni and cheese with hotdogs.”
“Shape noodles?”
“Shape noodles.”
Inosuke clenched his fist. “Hell yeah.”
Custom picked up in the afternoon, like it always did. Akaza would have been off at four, except he got caught up helping Enmu transfer one of Daki’s designs onto tracing paper while she provided Gyutaro with a second pair of hands for a corset piercing. The delay forced Akaza to cross paths with Doma when he finally arrived with all the pomp and circumstance of a discount sacrilegious bodhisattva.
“I hear our pretty little piggy paid us another visit,” Doma said without so much as a greeting. “Did I miss all the excitement?”
He walked to his booth, keeping his eyes on Akaza, and shed his fur coat and hat, which he wore almost year-round no matter the temperature. He proceeded to take out a fan to cool himself off. Akaza clenched his teeth. The only person on the planet that Akaza despised more than Doma was Muzan. But there were clients around, so he exercised restraint.
“Yeah, it’s covered already,” he said.
“Did you at least take a picture?”
“No.”
A wicked grin unfurled on Doma’s mouth. “Hiding the evidence?”
“There was a problem, I dealt with it.”
“Oh, you’re so sensitive. I was only teasing.” He snapped the fan shut. “I like the piggy’s art. It’s always so delightfully obscene.”
Akaza went to his own booth and grabbed his shit so he could leave. “Bye, Doma.”
“No fun at all today, I see.”
Ignoring him, Akaza swept out the side door and let it slam shut. He was fucking exhausted. A night of sleep in his car and a stressful morning notwithstanding, his back and neck had been killing him lately. More so than usual. That’s what a decade of eight-hour days spent hunching over had earned him.
He climbed in his car and drove home. His apartment was one of six in a two-story complex about twenty minutes from the shop. He lived in the middle on the second level between an old woman who set her TV volume at a hundred and a couple who spent their weekends screaming at each other. The sound of the local PBS station was bleeding through the walls when he walked in and went to his room to change. He didn’t really notice.
Nor did he notice that his fridge was basically empty, even as he grabbed a beer and sat himself on the couch. Not until he’d taken a sip.
“Goddamn it.”
The thought of going back out made him want to die.
Dropping his head against the couch, Akaza shut his eyes.
His mind surprised him by supplying an image of the guy from this morning—all bright eyes and glowing smile—as soon as his lids had closed. It surprised him so much that his eyes popped back open. But that smile… Akaza closed his eyes and let the image bloom. Nothing wrong with enjoying the memory of some hot, godforsaken oddity—except that it was pathetic.
He polished off his beer in one go.
Rising, Akaza paced his way into the kitchen, called the Chinese restaurant down the street to place an order for takeout, and forced himself to leave his apartment to walk the four blocks to get it.
His phone buzzed as he arrived.
“Not quite ready, Akaza,” the hostess said. “The kitchen will bring it up soon.”
“No problem,” he replied, taking a seat on a plastic leather chair in the waiting area. He checked his phone. He had a text from a number he didn’t recognize. His heart flipped when he opened it.
Hey! This is Kyojuro Rengoku.
We met this morning at your
tattoo shop. Thank you again.
We found the hoodie. :) I was
wondering what the process is
for commissioning (is that the
right word?) a tattoo? I have
never had one, but there’s a
first time for everything, right?
:) :) Thanks!
Akaza hated the double smile almost as much as he hated that he thought it was cute.
do your research then schedule
a consultation with the artist
The dots that indicated a message being typed appeared on the screen—and Akaza hated that his stomach dropped more than he hated everything else.
Great! When is your next
consultation opening? :)
Akaza narrowed his eyes. Was this guy serious about getting a tattoo, or was he flirting with him? Wait—flirting? Was this guy flirting with him? Akaza did not know which option he found more distressing, or if he didn’t find either option distressing at all. Maybe he found both appealing, but fuck if he was going to let that train of thought continue. He opened his calendar app to check his availability.
6pm tomorrow or 3 weeks out
I can do six :)
what do you have in mind
You tell me! I’m new!
for the tattoo I mean
what do you want
Oh! Haha! I understand. I
think a furin—it’s a glass wind
chime. I’ll send you a picture…
He sent three. Two of them had multiple chimes, each with a different design painted on the glass top and the paper that dangled from the bottom. They were pretty. Delicate with just enough movement to suggest a breeze. Akaza could work with that.
cool should be a good fit for
my style
Great! :)
do you know what you want
for the design on the glass
and the paper
Not yet! Can I think about it?
youve got time
Great! See you tomorrow :)
Akaza let his breath out, though he was uncertain when he’d started to hold it. Under no circumstances was this clown going to show up at Infinity Castle tomorrow. There was no way.
“Here’s your order,” the hostess said, yanking Akaza back to the present.
He got up, accepted the takeout bags, stuffed a twenty into the tip jar, and left with a wave over his shoulder. His phone buzzed again on the walk home. He forced himself not to look, not until he was safely tucked away in his apartment alone. Even then, he resisted. He knew, instinctively, that preparation and delay would be futile.
He was right.
The text was from Kyojuro. It said:
I'm excited :) :)
Rengoku had volunteered to stay late at Wisteria and lock up after the last class of the night—an ESL course for some of the adults in the community. Though Senjuro could have taken the bus home, he’d chosen to stay and keep Rengoku company. The two of them sat in the shared office attached to the art center, on speakerphone with Giyu, trying to reboot Rengoku’s ancient desktop so Senjuro could finish his homework.
“You have to wait for it to stop making noise before turning it on again,” Giyu said.
“I thought we were just restarting it?”
Giyu sighed. “Nobody listens to me.”
“You’re the computer whisperer,” Rengoku replied. “You walk into the room, and suddenly everything starts working.”
“Please shut the computer down and wait for it to stop making noise and then give it least thirty seconds before turning it back on again,” Giyu said. Rengoku envisioned him massaging the bridge of his nose as he spoke. “I will not be driving back to the center tonight. I will cry.”
Senjuro leaned closer to the phone. “I’ll make sure we follow the instructions, Giyu.”
“Thank you, Senjuro.”
“You—um—get some rest, all right? Thank you. Bye…” Senjuro took the phone from Rengoku and hung up before the conversation could continue. He also took over the computer to execute Giyu’s instructions exactly. “I feel bad calling him after hours.”
Rengoku laughed. “He’s always like that.”
Frowning, Senjuro gave him a look of disapproval, but said nothing.
The computer still blue screened after start-up.
“I’ll go early tomorrow and finish at school,” Senjuro said. “The class is almost over anyway, isn’t it?”
He didn’t wait for an answer before scooting from the desk to pack up his books and bag. Rengoku glanced at the clock. The class had ended, but people liked to visit and he hated chasing them out of the building. If he strained, he could hear their voices chatting in the art center. The ESL teacher would let them know once everybody left.
“Sorry, bud,” he said to Senjuro, who shook his head.
“That’s okay. It isn’t anybody’s fault.”
“We could plan an Ocean’s Eleven heist to break into the computer lab in the teen center?” That room went into turbo lockdown after seven PM, hence the office desktop.
“Ocean’s Two?” Senjuro replied, raising an eyebrow.
Rengoku laughed. “Yeah! Ocean’s Two. I like that.”
Though small and timid, Senjuro offered a smile. Rengoku ruffled his hair. A knock sounded at the office door, and the ESL teacher poked his head in to say thank you and that folks were heading out. Senjuro and Rengoku finished gathering their things and waved goodbye to the students as they themselves lingered to turn off the lights and lock up.
“I think we need to stop at the store before we go home,” Senjuro said as they walked through campus to the parking lot.
“Do you have the grocery list?”
Senjuro nodded. He climbed into the truck and buckled his seatbelt. Rengoku sat and smiled at him for a second without starting the engine. Senjuro glanced around.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
They drove to the grocery store and completed their weekly shopping at a unhurried pace. At home, they unloaded the bags from the back and carried everything inside. Senjuro put the food away while Rengoku got started on dinner. They worked quietly.
“You know how I went to that tattoo shop today with Inosuke?” Rengoku asked.
Senjuro unpacked a head of broccoli and took it to the sink to wash. “Yeah?”
“It got me thinking about getting one.”
“A tattoo?”
“Yeah. What do you think?”
“What would you get?”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.” He took the broccoli as Senjuro passed it to him to cut up. “I want to do something to remember Mom, so I thought a furin would be good.” Smiling, he glanced at his brother. Senjuro’s eyes were glistening.
“That sounds really nice,” he said, sincere.
“I’m not sure what design I’d want on the bell,” Rengoku replied. “Any ideas?”
Pursing his lips, Senjuro thought for a moment. “I don’t know… I don’t remember her very well, but when I do think about her, I always think of maple leaves.”
The words alone conjured an image in Rengoku’s mind. Holding his mother’s hand on a walk through the park, autumn trees ablaze. The smell of dead leaves and cider. The warmth of her fingers and the scattered sunlight. Their mother was a maple leaf sort of woman—bold, strong, fleeting. The image filled his heart to the brim.
“That’s perfect, Senjuro,” Rengoku said.
Senjuro beamed. Rengoku placed a hand on top of his head.
“I’m so glad I asked you.”
Senjuro’s beam grew brighter, joined by a blush. He continued beaming as they finished cooking dinner in companionable silence. Once everything was ready, Rengoku put together a plate for their father and went to his room. He knocked on the door before entering.
Shinjuro did not turn or look up as Rengoku came in, pointedly absorbed in a pile of mail that had remained untouched for several days. Rengoku set the plate on the corner of his desk.
“Dinner, Dad,” he said.
Sniffing, Shinjuro ignored him. He seemed only slightly buzzed.
“I have an appointment tomorrow at six,” Rengoku said. “If Senjuro needs to come home, will you be here?”
“That flimsy little idiot can’t fend for himself?”
“Are you planning on being home tomorrow night?”
Shinjuro grunted in response, which Rengoku had learned long ago meant that he could not be counted on. He nodded, said nothing more, and returned to the kitchen to eat with Senjuro. His little brother looked up—hopeful—as he came in.
“Sour mood,” Rengoku said with a smile. “But subdued.”
Senjuro’s expression fell. “Okay…”
“Any plans tomorrow? I’m going to a consultation with a tattoo artist at six, but I bet you could come along if you wanted.” Rengoku dug into their meal.
“Tomorrow Tanjiro invited me to the movie party thing at Zenitsu’s house.” Taking his cue from Rengoku, Senjuro started to eat as well. “Everybody was just gonna walk over after center. Is that okay? Can I go?”
“Of course,” Rengoku laughed. “I’ll pick you up when you’re done.”
“You already found a tattoo artist that you like?” Senjuro asked. “Someone at the shop?”
“Yeah…”
Rengoku hunted through his pockets to find the business card and see if Akaza had an Instagram handle like Daki. He did. He pulled up the feed and passed his phone to Senjuro, who accepted it with both hands. As he scrolled, a small smile formed on his face. Rengoku took the expression as a seal of approval.
“These are cool,” Senjuro said. “I really like them.”
“Good.”
“Is this the artist?”
He turned the screen toward Rengoku. On it was a picture of Akaza, hard at work on someone’s arm, tattoo machine in black-gloved hands. He had a look of intense concentration on his face, a look Rengoku instinctively associated with masters of their craft. His eyes were such a cold shade of blue. Pale, like ice.
Rengoku nodded. “Mhm.”
“I like his hair…”
The statement brought an uncontrollable smile to Rengoku’s face. His chest brimmed with warmth. He was certain Senjuro didn’t mean anything by it. To him, it was a simple compliment, a statement of fact, but the level of innocent honesty just made it all the more impactful. The smile and the warmth settled together, then turned in Akaza’s direction. Rengoku found himself smiling again.
“Me too,” he said.
The clown actually showed up at Infinity Castle.
Akaza couldn’t believe it.
Friday nights were some of the busiest for the shop. Even Kokushibo made regular appearances on Fridays. Amid the bustle and the buzz, with every booth full, Nakime stood in the archway to let Akaza know his six o’clock had arrived.
When he went to the front, he had to stop himself from staring. He’d forgotten how bright the guy was. Kyojuro sat in the waiting area, smiling like a motherfucker, totally out of place.
“Come on back,” Akaza said, motioning with his head.
They went to Akaza’s booth and sat. Akaza grabbed a sketch pad so he could take notes. Kyojuro looked around the booth and the rest of the room with deliberate curiosity, drinking in the sights and sounds like a kid at a theme park. The shop had long-since stopped being interesting to Akaza. He wondered what it looked like to a sunshiny idiot like this one.
“My name’s Akaza, by the way,” he said. “I know you know it, but…”
At being addressed, Kyojuro turned his gaze to Akaza. Absolutely none of his curiosity or interest dimmed. Akaza had to glance away.
“I’ll give you the spiel, then. Since you’re new,” he said.
Akaza regurgitated every bit of information anyone with zero experience in tattoos would need in order to make an informed decision. He might have been a little more grisly in the details than necessary—just to see how Kyojuro would react. That goddamn smile never left his face. He asked questions, clarified points he did not understand. Akaza wasn’t quite trying to talk him out of getting a tattoo, but by the time he’d finished laying groundwork, he felt like he’d somehow managed to talk Kyojuro into it.
“Did you decide on a design?” Akaza asked.
“Yes. I brought references, too. The internet recommended that.”
He gave Akaza two pages of printer paper with various images. One was a furin, under which Kyojuro had written SHAPE in black marker. The others were orange and red Japanese maple leaves labeled PATTERN. He’d written the name RUKA with an arrow pointing to it that said FOR THE PAPER. There were also a surprising number of Akaza’s own designs scattered throughout—evidently ones that he liked.
“I’ll leave the exact layout up to you,” he said. “You’re the artist, after all.”
“Do you want these colors?”
“Yes.”
“Leaning more orange, red? Balanced?”
“Orange, I think. Something softer.”
Nodding, Akaza wrote all this down. “Where do you want it? The upper arm is a good place for firsts. Generally less painful and easily covered by clothes.”
Kyojuro smiled. “That’s what I was thinking. The left.”
“Okay. And how big?”
He used his thumb and pinky to measure against his arm, spanning roughly from his shoulder to about where a standard short-sleeve shirt would end. Akaza nodded. The guy had great biceps.
“I have a personal policy about names,” Akaza said, “so I gotta ask who this is.”
He tapped RUKA on the paper. Kyojuro smiled—a different kind of smile.
“My mom,” he said. “She passed about seven years ago.”
Those words dropped a stone into a still pond buried deep in Akaza. Silt stirred, ripples formed one after another, but he silenced all of it. Those were thoughts he never allowed himself to think, feelings he never allowed himself to feel, memories he never allowed himself to remember. Instead, he forced himself to focus on his bewilderment that Kyojuro could still smile after losing someone he loved.
“I’m sorry,” Akaza said.
Kyojuro met the empathy with another impossible smile. “She loved these wind chimes. And autumn.”
“Putting her name on the paper will be a good touch,” Akaza said.
The response made Kyojuro’s smile even brighter. Akaza couldn’t believe it.
“I’ll draw up a few options for designs and you can chose one when you come in for the appointment. I can make changes day-of, if needed. My next openings for actual tattoo sessions aren’t until January, but we should be able to get this done in one. I’d price it at three hundred. You can schedule with Nakime when you head out, if that sounds good.”
The four-month waiting period would give Kyojuro plenty of time to back out.
Of course, the guy smiled.
“That sounds great.”
“Great. That’s it for the consultation. Unless you have questions for me.”
“Are you working the rest of the night?”
Akaza narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t tell if the question was innocent or not. The way Kyojuro marveled at the booths as he looked around obfuscated any ulterior motives.
“I have two more consultations,” he said. “I’m done at seven-thirty.”
Kyojuro focused those scorching eyes on him, still smiling. “Can I take you to dinner?”
Akaza’s heart stopped. So Kyojuro had been flirting. Yet he seemed equally serious about getting a tattoo. Akaza did not know how to read him. He was too straightforward, too honest. Frankly, Akaza didn’t trust that shit. Good people got taken advantage of. Good people got fucked. He knew this. He also knew that any kind of interaction with a client that wasn’t strictly professional was a bad move. Not that he’d ever had a client ask him to dinner, but—
You know what?
Fuck it.
“Sure,” he said. “I can meet you somewhere.”
Kyojuro beamed. “What do you like?”
Shrugging, Akaza had to look away to shield himself from that smile. “Anything. I’m not picky. There’s a good Indian place up the street.”
“Guras Spice House?”
“Yeah…”
“I love it there,” Kyojuro said. “I’ll call ahead.”
Utterly disarmed, Akaza could only stare at him. Who in the ever-living fuck was this guy? Where had he come from, and how could he be so goddamn charming? Akaza was not one to get taken in by charisma, nor kindness. But here he was. Again.
“I’ll probably be more like seven forty-five,” he said.
“I’ll see you there.”
With a parting smile, Kyojuro nodded at him and rose to leave. He went striding out of the booth and the shop altogether with his head held high. Akaza could not help but watch.
Doma popped his head over the wall separating their booths.
“He was cute,” he chimed.
Akaza felt his face go red to the tips of his ears.
“Shut the fuck up, Doma.”
At seven forty-five, seated at a table with a view of the door, Rengoku eagerly awaited Akaza’s arrival. He’d spent his hour and fifteen minutes running various errands for the center, picking up supplies for programs, sending emails about upcoming events. Senjuro had texted him to let him know he and the others had made it to Zenitsu’s house all right.
Did your appointment go okay??
Yes! It went very well. I can’t get
the tattoo until January, but I think
it will be worth the wait. :) Call me
when you’re ready to get picked up!
Okay :)
Have fun :) :)
The restaurant’s door opened, and Rengoku looked up to see Akaza pointing at him and the host nodding at him to go ahead. His heart leapt.
“How were your other consultations?” he asked as Akaza pulled out his chair and sat.
“Fine,” Akaza replied. “Glad to get out of there.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I don’t like the shop, my boss, or my coworkers,” Akaza said. “Everything else is great.”
The conversation paused as their waiter stopped at the table to take drink orders. Rengoku put in a request for vegetable samosas as appetizers, and Akaza nodded when the waiter looked to him, then left them to themselves.
“I have the opposite problem,” Rengoku said. “I love the people I work with, and the kids, but the job is…a little disheartening.” He chuckled, shaking his head.
“You said you worked at Wisteria?”
Pleased he’d remembered, Rengoku nodded. “Yes. Teens specifically, but we all do a little of everything.”
“Are they all like pig kid?”
Rengoku laughed outright. “Inosuke is definitely a special case.”
Tilting his head, Akaza narrowed his eyes and gave him a searching look. He said, “I don’t know if I believe you,” then, at Rengoku’s surprised reaction, “You said the job is disheartening, but you don’t seem like anything could bring you down. You’re probably the most ‘up’ person I’ve ever met.”
He finished the statement by opening his menu to end the discussion. Rengoku had not the slightest idea if he’d meant what he’d said as a compliment or an insult, but he followed his lead and looked at the menu himself. The quiet did not last long.
“I’m fucking starving,” Akaza said, “and I can eat a lot when I’m not hungry, so I will genuinely feel bad making you pay for it, but I’m also not going to not eat to be polite, so… Also, I don’t know what this—” He gestured between himself and Rengoku as if to indicate a transaction. “—is, so I don’t know if you were planning on paying, but you seem like the type to fall on the sword at the slightest provocation, so you let me know what you want to do here, but I’m offering to split the bill.”
So Akaza talked a lot when he was nervous.
Rengoku had to smile. It was cute.
“I also eat a lot,” he said. “I’ll split the bill if we can share the entrees.”
“Deal. What do you want?”
Between the two of them, they picked out five entrees and the mixed bread basket. They put in their order when the waiter returned with waters. The samosas arrived shortly thereafter.
Akaza rolled up his sleeves to eat.
“Do they all have meaning?” Rengoku asked, nodding at his tattoos.
“Nah. Most of them are art pieces, no special story behind them,” Akaza replied. “I’ve been trying to get Doma to do a whole water garden thing on the rest of this arm to match the lotus I’ve already got, but he won’t do it for free, and I don’t want to pay him.” Akaza shrugged. “I hate that motherfucker, but he does good work.”
Rengoku observed the indicated arm and the ink thereon. Pine trees, a small solar system, various stars in various shapes and sizes, a string of prayer beads, some kind of harlequin with a sad expression on his face. He smiled.
“I don’t know if I believe you,” he said.
Akaza stared at him.
“I think they do have stories behind them.”
The stunned expression on Akaza’s face was incredibly satisfying. Rengoku was more than happy to leave the topic at that, eating his samosas with a grin.
When their food arrived, he broke the silence with a question about Akaza’s interest in tattoos. As they ate, he learned that Akaza had been fascinated by them since he was a kid. He’d spent a lot of time in tattoo crowds, started his formal apprenticeship the day he’d turned eighteen, but had tattooed more people than he should have even before then. He also had not lied about his ability to eat a lot. Rengoku was helplessly impressed.
Akaza asked about Rengoku’s job—what he did, what the center and the kids were like. Rengoku talked happily about Wisteria. Though they often struggled, he believed in their mission. He planned on working there for the rest of his life.
“You should come and give a presentation,” he said as the idea struck him.
“Oh, I’m not into that whole ‘scared straight’ thing.”
“No, I mean about being a tattoo artist. It might spark interest in some of the kids.”
Fork halfway to his mouth, Akaza blinked.
“Are you serious?”
Rengoku nodded. “I’ve had people with all kinds of careers come in and talk to the teens,” he said. “Though I don’t know if any of them have stuck.”
“I don’t think you want me talking to teenagers,” Akaza replied.
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I’m not, like, nice.”
“Frankly, I think you’d talk to them like people and that’s all I really care about.”
For some reason, that response seemed to strike a chord with Akaza. He looked at Rengoku with an open mix of gratitude, confusion, and hesitation. Rengoku smiled. He meant what he’d said. Akaza did not mince words. He wasn’t exactly respectful, but he did converse with people like they stood on equal ground, and for teenagers that was everything. Particularly teenagers with difficult lives.
“If you don’t want to, no obligation,” Rengoku said, “but the invitation stands.”
Brow furrowing, Akaza nodded. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
Together, they managed to finish the food. When the waiter brought the check, Akaza took the book, put his credit card inside, and passed it back to the waiter without even looking at the bill. Rengoku raised his eyebrows.
“I changed my mind,” Akaza said. “I’m buying.”
Rengoku laughed. “That wasn’t the deal.”
“Well, I hate that you paid for that goddamn paint,” Akaza said, “so we can count your share of this bill toward that.”
Several things about that sentence sent Rengoku’s brain down different tracks simultaneously. Paint. We. This bill. He did not know which to focus on.
“I’ll get the shop to reimburse me for the paint,” Akaza said. “God knows Muzan’s got more than enough money to fork over two-fifty, and I’m sure Doma already ratted me out about the graffiti. It’ll be more suspicious for me not to ask to get paid back. No chance in hell I’m just gonna sit on that money. And this way your reputation with pig kid stays pristine.”
The waiter brought back the checkbook. Akaza signed and left a tip. Rengoku watched him, touched. And grateful. Frankly, he didn't know how he was going to pay Akaza for the tattoo, either.
“You’re sure?” he said.
“I’m not going to take no for an answer as a matter of fact,” Akaza replied. He pointed the pen from the checkbook at Rengoku. “If you try to Venmo me, I will send it back.”
Laughing, Rengoku grinned. Akaza was bossy. He liked that.
“Understood,” he replied.
They rose, put on their jackets, left the restaurant, and lingered in front of it on the curb. Nights got chilly in September. Akaza stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them warm, but made no move to get in his car.
“Thanks,” he said with apparent reservation. “Been a while since I had good company.”
“I’m glad to be considered good company,” Rengoku replied.
Akaza rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure anyone would consider you good company.”
“You’d be surprised.”
He laughed, and though Akaza shook his head and rolled his eyes a second time, he did chuckle, too. Again, neither of them moved toward their cars. Akaza spoke first.
“Do you want to—”
Rengoku’s phone rang. Both of them jumped.
“Sorry,” Rengoku said. “It’s probably my little brother…” The call was, in fact, from Senjuro. With an apologetic smile for Akaza, Rengoku answered. “Hey, bud.”
“Hi! It’s me. We’re done, so you can come anytime. Would you be able to give Tanjiro and Nezuko a ride, too? I know we’ll have to squish, but I promised I would ask.”
“Of course,” Rengoku replied.
“Okay. Thank you!”
“I’m about fifteen minutes away, is that all right?”
“Mhm! We’ll be ready.”
“Thanks, bud. See you soon.” Hanging up, he returned his attention to Akaza. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
Akaza shook his head and waved a hand. “Not important. How old’s your brother?”
“Twelve,” Rengoku replied.
Akaza nodded, then said, “Well, I won’t keep you,” and started to move away.
“Thank you for dinner.”
Pausing, Akaza studied Rengoku. Rengoku could not quite decipher the look in those cold eyes of his. He really was attractive. Sharp features accompanied by sharp expressions. He occupied space in a very particular, almost confrontational way. He didn’t look or act like anyone else Rengoku had ever met. Maybe that was why he felt drawn to him.
“Thanks for the invite,” Akaza replied.
He got in his car, then.
Rengoku raised a hand as a goodbye and watched him pull out of the parking lot.
Akaza started the sketches for the furin tattoo that same night.
Notes:
Because I am and will forever be That Bitch, I've assembled a playlist! The link leads to YouTube, and here is a track list in case the videos are blocked in your region!!
Small Fire of Winter Stars
Everything is Awful - The Decemberists
Slow Mover - Angie McMahon
Wind - Akeboshi
Wake Me - Bleachers
Fallorun - Andrew Bird
Breaking Down - Florence + The Machine
Is My Love Enough? - White Lies
C'mon Baby, Cry - Orville Peck
Wild is the Wind - David BowieIf you pick just one song to listen to, make it "Is My Love Enough?" 😉
ANYWAY--thank you so, so much for reading!! I hope you'll stick around to read the rest!
Chapter 2: January - Part One
Notes:
Well, well, well. Would you look at that? Already upping the chapter count because I don't have any self-restraint? It's more likely than you think.
Chapter Text
By January, Rengoku’s life had fallen apart.
Shinjuro’s alcohol intake had increased, Inosuke had gotten himself expelled from school, a gas leak at Wisteria had burned down half the kitchen, Tanjiro and Nezuko had nearly been transferred to another foster home, Ubuyashiki had been hospitalized again, leaving Gyomei and Rengoku to run the center, and by late November, Rengoku had checked his own dad into rehab for the second time that year.
The stress of the holidays had come and gone. With it, the fundraisers and reminders that Wisteria and the youth it served had so few opportunities, so few resources, so many cards stacked against them. Their circumstances infuriated Rengoku, deep down. He’d never known what to do with that anger, so he channeled it into his work.
Throughout all this, Akaza had lingered at the back of his mind. He’d sent a few texts here and there, which Akaza had ignored, but Rengoku had lacked the mental currency to spend on that particular situation. Somehow, he’d managed to scrounge up enough to actual currency pay for the tattoo.
He’d known he would see Akaza again. The tattoo appointment had provided a singular light at the end of a very long tunnel.
By the time it arrived Rengoku was, frankly, exhausted.
That morning, Senjuro knocked on his door while Rengoku was still in bed.
“Come on in, bud,” he said, rubbing his eyes as he rolled over.
Senjuro creaked the door open and leaned just far enough into the opening for Rengoku to see his face. Rengoku knew by his expression that he was about to deliver bad news.
“Um, Gyomei just sent a text out to everybody… The heat at the center’s not working, and because it’s Saturday they’re having to cancel everything until they can get it back on. I guess it’s like ten degrees in the buildings…”
Reaching for his own phone, Rengoku discovered that he had received the same text.
Senjuro was chewing on his bottom lip when Rengoku looked at him next.
“I bet you could come with me to the appointment if you want,” he said with a smile. “It’ll be a couple of hours, though.”
“Can I? Would that be okay with them?”
“I’ll ask the artist, if you want?”
Senjuro nodded, so Rengoku sent a message to Akaza.
Morning! I apologize for the short
notice, but would it be all right if
I brought my brother today?
fine by me
The quick response surprised him, but he sent back a Thank you! and gave Senjuro a thumbs up.
“You’ll probably want to bring something to keep busy,” he said.
He and Senjuro got ready and left the house. Back in September, Akaza had given Rengoku a list of instructions to prepare for the appointment. The first was a good night’s sleep, which had not happened, but aside from that, Rengoku had followed the directions religiously. As he pulled into the parking lot at Infinity Castle, reality struck him.
He was getting a tattoo today.
He was going to see Akaza today.
For the first time in nearly four months, he would see Akaza.
Both prospects thrilled him.
They hopped out of the truck and headed in. Senjuro stuck close by his side, nervous in any new environment. They could have walked through the pearly gates and Senjuro still would have clung to Rengoku’s sleeve. Glancing around, he took in the art with obvious interest. Nobody was at the front desk, but a woman walked into the waiting area from the archway.
“It’s yours, Akaza,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll sign him in.”
“Thanks, Daki,” Akaza replied from the other room.
Rengoku drew a breath, excited.
“Welcome,” the woman said with a smile that seemed entirely performative. “You guys are so cute. Thing One and Thing Two.”
She checked Rengoku in, helped him fill out the paperwork, took his payment. The bureaucracy of it helped Senjuro relax, as did the much quieter atmosphere of the shop. Rengoku imagined that would change as the morning went on. He was about to move to sit in the chairs in the waiting area, but as he turned from the desk, he noticed Akaza leaning against the archway, his arms folded across his chest.
Rengoku had forgotten how pretty he was.
“Ready when you are,” Akaza said.
Rengoku went without a second thought.
Leading the way, Akaza got both him and Senjuro settled in the booth. He had a new tattoo—on his neck—blue-purple crocuses blooming in a scattering of snow, the petals of the tallest flower stretching up behind his ear. He pointed at a framed image of some text on the wall of the booth.
“Network and password,” he said to Senjuro, “so you don’t have to burn through your data if you get bored.”
Shy, Senjuro nodded. “Thanks…”
“I like the flowers,” Rengoku said, gesturing at his own neck.
“Thank you,” Akaza said. “Daki’s work. Let’s hope you like mine just as much.”
Retrieving a tablet, Akaza turned it on and handed it to Rengoku. On the screen was a drawing of the most beautiful furin Rengoku had ever seen. The glass bell hung on an orange string with red beads. A delicate, detailed maple leaf pattern somehow gave the appearance of being visible on both sides through the transparent parts of the glass. Hanging from the chime, the paper curved and shifted slightly sideways as if blowing in a breeze. It had a single maple leaf in one corner, a black box outlined near the edges, and a gentle gradient to its color. Ruka was written just above the bottom line of the box. The image took Rengoku’s breath away.
“Senjuro.”
His little brother stepped closer and peered over his arm, then gasped. He looked up at Rengoku with the biggest sparkly eyes.
“What do you think?” Rengoku asked, smiling.
“It’s perfect,” Senjuro breathed. He turned his attention to Akaza. “It’s perfect!”
“Any changes?” Akaza asked.
Rengoku looked at the artwork again, but he could only think exactly what Senjuro had expressed. It was perfect. Sophisticated and stylish, but somber as well. He got a sense of loss from it somehow, a sense of love and honor for the dead. Akaza had captured an emotion Rengoku hadn’t even known to express.
“No, it’s beautiful. I wouldn’t change a thing,” Rengoku said. He lifted his eyes to Akaza and smiled. “Thank you. I love it. I think my mom would, too.”
For the first time ever, Akaza gave him a genuine smile in return. The effect was dazzling, like sunlight on snow.
“Let’s get started, then.”
About two hours into the appointment, Akaza could no longer ignore Kyojuro’s little brother’s interest in what he was doing. The kid kept glancing up, craning his neck, checking things out from the corner of his eye. He seemed averse to taking up space or making his presence known. Try as he might to be unobtrusive, the weird reluctance was more distracting than if he’d hovered over Akaza’s shoulder.
“Do you want to watch?” he asked.
The kid—his name was Senjuro—stiffened.
“Can I?” he said in his tiny voice.
“Yeah, you can stand right here,” Akaza indicated a spot to his left. “Just don’t touch the machine or anything else.”
Senjuro glanced at Kyojuro, who gave him a natural smile, before getting out of his chair and standing exactly where Akaza had told him. He kept his hands by his sides and stood almost perfectly still. Akaza continued to work.
So far, Kyojuro had taken the ink like a pro. He didn’t seem bothered by the pain much at all, happily chatting with Senjuro, Akaza, and literally anyone else who stopped by the booth. He just sat there with that godforsaken smile on his face. He did have very nice arms, however. Akaza had spent the last two hours admiring the left in great detail.
After a moment, Senjuro asked, “Is it hard to learn how?”
“To tattoo?”
Senjuro nodded.
“It’s not hard to learn, but it’s hard to convince someone to teach you,” Akaza replied.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Plenty want to do it, but most don’t want to follow the rules. Professionals won’t take on an apprentice they can’t trust or don’t like or who sucks, honestly. You get hazed a lot to prove you’re serious.” He glanced at Senjuro. “You also have to be willing to get tattooed by almost anyone.”
Thinking, Senjuro nodded. He watched as Akaza put the needle to Kyojuro’s skin and waited until he’d lifted it to speak again.
“What happens if you make a mistake?”
“You cover it. We make mistakes all the time, you just have to fix it as you’re working.”
“Really?” Senjuro sounded disproportionally impressed. “That’s really cool. I thought you’d have to do it, like, perfect every time.” Though he moved only a little, he did lean forward to watch Akaza more closely.
The second half of the appointment proved as easy as the first. Akaza talked shop with Senjuro, who asked good questions, and Kyojuro sat with so much serenity he probably could have taken a nap. As Akaza finished the tattoo, he knew it was one of his best. As he held up a hand mirror so Kyojuro could see, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction that this particular man would spend the rest of his life with his artwork on his arm.
“Take a look,” he said.
Akaza had never seen a person’s face change so much in an instant. That calm, placid smile disappeared, replaced by joyful shock that swiftly bloomed into a deep and heartfelt sorrow. Akaza recognized the expression. He knew what it felt like, and Kyojuro did not mask the emotion at all. In fact, he was quiet for a long time—looking at the reflection, looking at his arm. Looking at Akaza.
“Thank you,” he said.
His ember-warm eyes shined with unshed tears.
Senjuro, on the other hand, did cry.
Kyojuro chuckled when he turned to take in his brother’s reaction, saying, “You like it?” with a gentle smile.
Nodding, Senjuro wiped his eyes. “I do. I really do. It—it’s so beautiful.” He looked at Akaza. “I know our mom would love it, too. Thank you. I don’t know how, but it feels like you captured her.” He sniffed. “You’re a really talented artist.”
Akaza shrugged in a feeble attempt to deflect some of the sincerity that had been heaped upon him. “My pleasure. That’s probably the best reaction I’ve gotten in years.”
The brothers continued to gush until Akaza shut them up with aftercare instructions and a bandage. Even then, they kept glowing and smiling and directing all of those glowing smiles at him. Akaza wanted to get them out of the shop and out of his hair as quickly as possible, but he also never wanted them to leave.
That concerned him.
As they packed up and put on their winter coats, Akaza found himself asking Senjuro, “Do you want to watch some of the other artists?”
The kid almost leapt out of his skin. “Can I?”
“I’ll ask. You should see Kokushibo. He’s insane.”
The others had trickled in as the morning had progressed. Kokushibo had the best booth at the back—quiet, private. He was Infinity Castle’s lead artist. He’d more than earned the title with thirty years of experience doing photorealism. The base price for his work started at a thousand dollars, and he’d never struggled to maintain a steady stream of clients.
Akaza approached his booth and stood in the opening to wait to be acknowledged. Kokushibo was focused on his client—on her tattoo more specifically, a massive back piece of the Winged Victory of Samothrace.
“Yes?” Kokushibo said without looking up.
“I’ve got a kid who came in with one of my clients who would love to watch you work for a bit if that’s cool with both of you?”
“Is he well-behaved?”
“Very.”
Kokushibo leaned sideways to put his face in front of his client to ask her permission, and she happily agreed. Thanking them, Akaza went to retrieve Senjuro and lead him back.
“Stay quiet, unless he asks you a question or something,” Akaza warned.
The kid swallowed, looking terrified, but the expression melted as soon as he stepped into Kokushibo’s booth. He actually silenced a gasp. Akaza steered him into a corner where he’d be out of Kokushibo’s way. And line of sight, honestly. The client stuck her arm out to give Senjuro a thumbs up and a grin over her shoulder. Nodding, beaming, he returned the gesture. Confident he’d be comfortable, Akaza stepped away.
He encountered Kyojuro just outside the booth. The guy had a particularly irritating smile on his face. One that was smug without the smugness, as if that made any sense at all.
“I told you you should give a presentation,” Kyojuro said.
“Oh, god.”
Kyojuro laughed. “Did you think I forgot?”
“You don’t seem the type to forget much.” Akaza leaned his shoulder against the outside wall of Kokushibo’s booth and folded his arms across his chest. “Just like you don’t seem the type to take no for an answer.”
“Birds of a feather, then.”
Something in the smile that accompanied the statement warmed Akaza, but that warmth made him freeze as soon as he recognized it.
“Right…” he said.
“You were wonderful with him,” Kyojuro continued. “I think you sell yourself short.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
He jolted. He should not have said that. He’d cultivated a careful ability to keep his thoughts to himself, but here he was speaking them aloud without thinking at all. Kyojuro was dangerous. Akaza could feel himself beginning to thaw.
“You think they’d be interested to hear what I have to say?” he asked.
“On the contrary, I know they would.”
“Thinking and knowing aren’t contrary.”
Kyojuro smiled. “Sometimes they are.”
Gritting his teeth, Akaza shook his head. He did not want to be charmed by this idiocy, but he was. He suspected most everyone was. Kyojuro had that way about him, an easy charisma combined with good looks and a kind heart. Kyojuro was a person for whom others molded and remolded themselves without him realizing the effect he had. Whether that was to please or to emulate him, it didn’t matter. Fire burned.
“I don’t want to say yes because that will reinforce your manipulation tactics.”
The smile faded. “I’m not trying to manipulate you.”
“Maybe not on purpose.”
Though Kyojuro did not move physically, Akaza felt him back off as clearly as if he had. His force of personality was that strong.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. I won’t push the subject.”
Akaza hated himself for yearning for the return of that proximity. Kyojuro tilted his head.
“If I may be honest with you, though?”
Shrugging, Akaza replied, “Sure.”
“I’d like to see you again.”
Akaza’s heart flipped. It tried to flip out of his throat and into his mouth, but he swallowed it, staring. Kyojuro continued.
“I’m not very good at this sort of thing, and I’m not certain if you’re seeing anyone, or otherwise spoken-for, or even interested for that matter, but it really is true that you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. I want to take this one.”
Another stone dropped into that still pond, stirring up memories and feelings that Akaza drove away with staggering intensity.
Kyojuro kept his distance, not pushing, not manipulating. Akaza couldn’t comprehend it.
“I’m not,” he said. “Spoken for, I mean.”
Not anymore.
“Honestly, you irritate the fuck out of me, but not exactly in a bad way. I… Well, now that you’re off my active client list, it’s probably fine.”
“Lots of mixed messages in there,” Kyojuro said with a self-deprecating chuckle.
Akaza sighed. “I’d like to see you again, too.”
“You don’t sound too happy about it.”
“I’m not.”
Akaza lifted his gaze to Kyojuro and made uncompromising eye contact.
“You’re honest with me, I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “You and I are very different. We have completely separate worldviews, opinions, morals. I don’t have to know you well to know that much. I’d be interested to see where this goes, but I know how things like this usually go and that’s painfully. I’m hesitant, but…interested.”
Kyojuro had not shied away from the eye contact. “Interested is good,” he said, somehow finding a smile.
“When would you want me to come to Wisteria?”
The smile brightened. “The teens have programming on weekdays after school until about six o’clock. Some stay later.”
“I can do afternoons.” Akaza couldn’t believe he was doing this at all.
“We’ll rearrange our schedule to fit if needed,” Kyojuro replied. “I know you’re busy.”
Akaza offered an awkward half-shrug-half-nod. He could only assume Kyojuro was equally busy, if not more so. Yet here he was, exhibiting gracious hospitality. Akaza wondered if he often got taken advantage of. Even if he did, Kyojuro probably didn’t think of it that way.
“Sure,” Akaza said. “I’ll let you know today.”
Kyojuro nodded. “Great.”
“If you want to grab a beer in the meantime, I wouldn’t be opposed.”
“That almost sounds like you’re asking me out,” Kyojuro replied with a very particular, very flirtatious smile.
“Take what you can get,” Akaza said.
Kyojuro laughed, and the sound rang through Akaza like bells.
“All right,” he said. “I will.”
In reply, Akaza gave him a nod.
Smiling still—always smiling—Kyojuro placed himself enough in the opening to Kokushibo’s booth to be visible to his brother, at whom he made a time-to-go gesture with his head. Inside the booth, Senjuro offered a small thank you and a goodbye, and offered another of each to Akaza as he and Kyojuro headed for the exit. Kyojuro paused in the archway.
“See you again, Akaza,” he said.
They agreed to meet at a bar closer to downtown Sunday night. They also agreed that Akaza would give his “career presentation” that Wednesday at three. He had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to talk about, but after some thought he had to admit that he was looking forward to it. In spite of himself, he liked Senjuro—and pig kid. If Akaza could help them find some stability in their lives…
He was beginning to understand the appeal of nonprofit work.
Kyojuro, of course, was already seated in a booth when Akaza walked into the bar. The guy probably had to be chronically early to everything.
Akaza did not have to work to see the appeal here.
The naked excitement in Kyojuro’s eyes when he noticed him hit Akaza like an uppercut to the jaw. People did not look at him like that. He could count on one hand the number of people who had ever looked at him with an ounce of tenderness. While he believed Kyojuro was genuine, the expression still triggered his fight or flight response.
He almost walked backward out of the bar.
What the fuck was he doing here?
What the fuck was he doing?
Kyojuro raised a hand and called, “Akaza!” maybe thinking Akaza hadn’t seen him.
No turning back now. Bracing himself, Akaza made his way to the booth, but did not sit down. He lingered alongside the table. Kyojuro beamed up at him. Akaza resisted the urge to punch him in the mouth just to get him to stop.
“What do you want?” Akaza asked, skipping a greeting. “I’ll buy first round.”
Kyojuro blushed, a little sheepish. “Oh, uh—I actually don’t drink? Don’t let that stop you, though. I don’t mind at all. So I’ll have a Dr. Pepper, I suppose?”
Akaza stared at him. “Dr. Pepper? Are you—we could have done something else.”
“I really don’t mind.”
“Fucking hell.”
A polite, self-sacrificing smile served as Kyojuro’s reply. Akaza curled his hands into fists in his coat pockets.
“Do you at least like chili cheese fries?”
“Of course.”
Shaking his head, Akaza stalked away from the booth to put in an order at the bar. Dr. Pepper, a Coke, the biggest plate of chili cheese fries they had. He got a look from the bartender, who knew him, but Akaza refused to explain. He felt bad. He hated that he felt bad. He hated that he cared at all whether or not Kyojuro was comfortable or having a good time. He couldn’t bring himself to go back to the booth to wait for the food.
Kyojuro gave him a look similar to the bartender’s when Akaza returned to the table.
“I don’t like to drink alone,” Akaza replied, shedding his coat.
Though that was true, it did not often stop him from doing so.
“I’m sorry,” Kyojuro said, sheepish again.
“Don’t be,” Akaza said. “How’s the tattoo healing?”
That changed the nature of his smile. Akaza eased. Kyojuro gushed for a minute or two about the tattoo, how much he loved it, even rolling up his sleeve to take a look as he spoke. The skin seemed to be healing well, though only a day had passed. No doubt Kyojuro would follow Akaza’s instructions like commandments. He was certain he’d take good care of the ink. Something about that made his heart hurt.
“Can I ask why you don’t drink?” Akaza said. “Is it personal? Religious?”
Here’s to hoping it wasn’t the latter.
Kyojuro looked up, his mouth full of cheese fries. “My dad’s an alcoholic,” he replied. “Recovering, almost, but…that’s why.”
“Fuck,” Akaza said. “Sorry.”
Kyojuro shook his head. “That’s all right. My mom’s passing was very hard for him. I truthfully don’t mind social drinking, I just find it hard to participate myself, though I do I feel a little silly.” He chuckled. “I should have said something before.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” Akaza surprised himself with his own sincerity. “I understand.”
He probably understood Kyojuro’s dad’s perspective better than he understood Kyojuro’s, but the honesty wasn’t lost on him either way. The guy smiled a small, sad smile that made Akaza wonder if every expression of his was just a variation on a smile.
“If you want, we can go somewhere else after I kick your ass at pool,” he said.
Kyojuro grinned. “I’ve never played.”
“I can teach you.”
Another grin. “All right.”
They finished their “drinks” and polished off the fries, then headed into the next room to find an open pool table. While Akaza was not the best player, he did consider himself good and had hustled more than a few people out of more than a couple of dollars. He wasn’t going to bet Kyojuro anything, however. The guy seemed too pure for that.
“Do we need sticks?” he asked, pointing at the cues mounted on the wall.
“Yeah,” Akaza chuckled.
Kyojuro retrieved two cues while Akaza racked the balls for a game. He felt Kyojuro’s eyes follow him with avid interest.
“We had old pool table donated to the teen center at Wisteria, but I never got it assembled,” Kyojuro said. “We don’t quite have room for it as-is, and because I don’t know how to play, I put off rearranging the furniture.”
Akaza shrugged. “Not like pool has the best reputation to begin with.”
“Seems like fun, though.”
“Is it fun, or are you just agreeable?”
Laughing, Kyojuro stepped up to the table. “Let’s find out.”
Akaza explained the rules along with some technique. Kyojuro listened, unnerving in his intensity. He hung on Akaza’s every word, absorbed every syllable, nodded, asked questions, took the tutorial seriously. One thing about Kyojuro, he made how much he cared apparent. He seemed to care a lot.
“I’ll break,” Akaza said, grabbing the cue ball and moving to the far end of the table.
Kyojuro’s eyes followed him the whole way.
In spite of the pressure, Akaza managed a good break and secured stripes for himself. He had absolutely no intention of going easy on Kyojuro, calling and sinking half the stripes before a miss. He might have been showing off a little. He tried not to let that thought linger, but the low whistle Kyojuro gave him was a sound he’d probably remember for the rest of his life.
“Wow,” Kyojuro said, “for a second there I thought you’d roll right through.”
“I’m not that good,” Akaza replied.
“Is it my turn?”
“Yup.”
Kyojuro surveyed the table and made a choice. A good one. As he called his shot and lifted his cue, Akaza stepped up behind him to correct his technique, lowering the cue closer to his hip, changing the bridge of his hand. His body was warm. Kyojuro turned his head to smile and lowered himself to the table.
He said, “You don’t have to try to make me throw my shot.”
“Believe it or not, I was helping.”
Kyojuro chuckled, took the shot, and sent the ball straight into the pocket.
“You’re welcome,” Akaza added.
Laughing, Kyojuro surveyed the table again and lined himself up for another shot. He seemed to have a natural instinct for the game, or at least for applying the principles Akaza had outlined. He looked at Akaza as he positioned himself, an expectant invitation on his face.
Akaza stepped in front of him, met his eye, and slowly lowered the cue to his hip.
Kyojuro did not take the shot.
He did not look away from Akaza.
“I find you very attractive,” he said.
“Do you just say whatever comes to mind?”
“Only if it’s true.”
Those words disarmed Akaza. Kyojuro seemed to have an instinct for that, too. Akaza just stared at him, open and vulnerable and dreading every second but unable to close himself back up. A gentle voice at the back of his mind told him that that was okay. Open up. Find someone. Let them like you. Let them see you. Let them love you.
No. Akaza shut everything off. Never again.
He took a step back from Kyojuro. “Take your shot.”
The way Kyojuro watched him made Akaza uncomfortable. Like the guy saw straight through him somehow.
“I’m sorry if that was too forward,” he said.
“Nah. I don’t know how to take a compliment.”
“I’ve noticed that.”
Akaza glared at him, but that just made Kyojuro chuckle. He eased away to realign his shot without any need for correction.
“Honestly, it’s nice to know where you stand,” Akaza said.
His eyes roved over Kyojuro’s posture and form. The height, the hair, the eyes, the arms. He was something else. Something Akaza likewise found very attractive. The gentle voice returned. Please, it said. For me. And that hurt him in a new way, but he decided to listen.
“I think you’re sexy,” he said.
Kyojuro missed the shot completely. It was almost comical, the way he turned around, his eyes wide, his shock plastered all over his face.
“Do you mean that?” Kyojuro asked.
“Yeah,” Akaza replied. “Unlike you, I think before I speak.”
Careful, calculated, he nudged Kyojuro out of the way so he could resume control of the table. Kyojuro went pliably, his eyes bright, that naked excitement flying full colors. Akaza let him look. That in itself was a victory.
He won the game on his next turn.
They played another.
Wednesday afternoon, Rengoku puttered around the teen center setting up the chairs in a circle for Akaza’s presentation. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling. All week he’d thought about Akaza. Every time he closed his eyes, that pretty face and ice-cold comportment rose to meet him. The sound of his voice, the rare curve of his smile. Rengoku was absolutely smitten. The feeling was new to him. He didn’t quite know where to put his energy.
“What’s this for?”
Glancing up, Rengoku noticed Giyu standing in the doorway to the computer lab. He was frowning at the chairs.
“Oh, we’ve got someone coming in for another career talk,” Rengoku replied.
“Thank god,” Giyu replied. “I thought you were going to say a staff meeting. Who did you get? Seems like short notice.”
“A tattoo artist.”
Though Giyu was not a particularly expressive person, Rengoku could read his disbelief as clear as words on a page. He laughed.
“Since when do you know a tattoo artist?” Giyu asked, bewildered.
“Since I got a tattoo.”
Giyu’s mouth opened. His brows drew together. Deep, deep confusion filled his eyes, but he said nothing. Rengoku watched him process the information, compartmentalize it, then press his lips together and come to terms. He raised his hands ever so slightly in a gesture of submission.
“This conversation is too much for me,” he said, and went back into the computer lab.
The door to the teen center opened the next moment, and a group came tumbling in with the winter wind: Tanjiro, Nezuko, and Zenitsu. They were always the first to arrive, and used to walk from the high school with Inosuke, but since his expulsion, he’d been doing online classes at Wisteria. He came running out of the computer lab the instant he heard their voices, but Giyu caught his collar and dragged him back.
“Finish your timed test, or I will lose my mind.”
“Hi, Rengoku!” Tanjiro said, beaming as he came in and dumped his coat and backpack at one of the tables. His eyes caught on the chairs. “Do we have a presentation coming today?”
“Yeah, a friend of mine,” Rengoku replied. “A tattoo artist.”
Tanjiro blinked. Nezuko and Zenitsu regarded him with similar surprise.
“You…know a tattoo artist?” Tanjiro asked.
Rengoku laughed again. “I do. I got a tattoo.”
“What?!”
All three of them rushed him, talking over each other to express their shock. He couldn’t even make out what they were saying. They spoke so loud and so fast and with so many hand gestures that excitement buried most of the meaning. Nezuko finally managed to get a word above the din.
“Can we see it?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Rengoku rolled up the sleeve of his sweater and the kids went dead silent. They stared, eyes shiny.
“Wow,” Nezuko breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
“As if I you needed something to make you cooler,” Zenitsu grumbled.
“This is your mom’s name, right?” Tanjiro asked, carefully pointing out the little Ruka on the paper hanging from the furin. Rengoku nodded, and Tanjiro smiled warmly. “That’s so nice. It suits you.”
The door opened a second time, and the four of them looked to find Akaza entering. Rengoku’s heart thrilled. Akaza noticed him and nodded.
“I’ve got some stuff to bring in,” he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “I wanted to make sure this was the right building.”
Nezuko shot her hand into the air. “Hi, I love the tattoo you did on Rengoku!”
“I’ll help you carry,” Tanjiro said, already putting his coat back on and heading over.
“Oh, uh—”
“I will also help.” Zenitsu sent a pointed expression Nezuko’s way, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was scurrying after her brother. Zenitsu sighed. “Why do I bother?”
“You can’t carry shit for shit, noodle arms,” Inosuke proclaimed from the computer lab doorway where he now stood with Giyu. “I’ll help because I’m—shit!” He’d noticed Akaza and was now searching for an escape route.
“Hey,” Akaza said, raising a casual hand in greeting.
“If somebody tagged your shop again, I swear to god it wasn’t me.”
“He’s here to give a career talk,” Rengoku chuckled.
Inosuke narrowed his eyes at Rengoku, searching for a lie. Rengoku smiled. Suspicious even so, Inosuke crossed the room to join his friends, but kept his distance from Akaza. Tanjiro and Nezuko, on the other hand, chatted incessantly as the group steered Akaza back to the door. Akaza shot an accosted expression Rengoku’s way. He returned a thumbs up and a grin.
The chatter quieted as the group herded Akaza out.
Rengoku still could not stop smiling.
Then he noticed Giyu scrutinizing him.
“What?”
“Please tell me you’re not planning to ‘fix’ him,” Giyu replied.
Puzzled, Rengoku offered an awkward laugh. “I’m not planning anything,” he replied.
“Uh-huh.” Giyu raised an eyebrow.
“Uh-huh?”
Giyu shrugged. “You’re always obnoxious, but I’ve been thinking that you seemed peppier than usual. Now I know why.” Brows drawn, he turned his gaze toward the entrance to the teen center. “That’s your type, then?”
“My type?”
“You gave him sparkle eyes.”
If Giyu of all people had picked up on a particular disposition, then Rengoku must have been terribly transparent. Part of him felt he should have been embarrassed by that, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. He liked Akaza. He got excited at the sight of him. Those weren’t sensations he wanted to squash.
Giyu continued. “Can’t say I’m surprised. It tracks that you’d be attracted to a project.”
The comment made Rengoku frown.
He opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but the door opened and Tanjiro and the others breezed in, Akaza’s visual aids divided between them. The man himself had empty hands. He looked like he didn’t know how to feel about that.
“Let’s put everything on the table,” Tanjiro said, leading the charge.
“Thanks,” Akaza muttered as the kids unloaded their items—art samples and some kind of defunct tattoo machine.
“We’ll do the presentation first thing, so if you all want to get started on your homework or take some free time, either is fine,” Rengoku said. He received a round of nods in return, and they all dispersed to occupy themselves in the meantime. Tanjiro gave a particular smile to Akaza before leaving him to set up. Rengoku stepped closer. “Sorry,” he said with a chuckle, “I should have given you warning.”
Akaza shook his head. “I should have expected they’d model you.”
That was the second statement in as many minutes that confused Rengoku deeply. He didn’t get to ask for clarification this time either, as Akaza flicked his attention toward Giyu eyeballing him from the doorway and said, “Got a problem?”
Raising his hands, Giyu retreated into the lab without a word.
“He’s not very talkative,” Rengoku said.
“I’m sure you’ve got that covered,” Akaza replied.
Rengoku almost interpreted the statement as an insult until Akaza glanced up at him through those extraordinary eyelashes, a hint of a smile on his mouth. Rengoku went warm to the tips of his fingers. Whatever expression Giyu had identified as “sparkle eyes” before, Rengoku was certain he was doing it now.
“Hey, Rengoku?”
Pulled back to reality, he turned toward Nezuko, who had spoken.
“Can you help me with this question?” She held up her math homework.
“Of course.”
He moved away. Akaza set up. The other teens filed into the center, sometimes one by one, sometimes in groups. Senjuro waved at Akaza with a unique excitement upon his arrival. As soon as everyone was present, Rengoku directed them to the circle of chairs. Akaza had pulled the table over and seated himself atop it with an air of cool collection Rengoku knew would work on these kids like ice on a burn. As they chose their spots, Senjuro picked one as close to Akaza as possible.
“Okay, thanks, everybody,” Rengoku said. “I think you’ll like our career presentation today. I know I’ve been looking forward to it. I’ll let our guest introduce himself.” He gestured for Akaza to take the floor.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m Akaza. I’ve been a tattoo artist for going on eleven years.”
The words tattoo artist sent a wave of surprise through the teens, and the rest of the talk went off without a hitch. Akaza—as Rengoku had predicted—spoke to them like people. He seemed to understand their language, so to speak. He answered their questions with honesty, painted a frank picture of what his job was actually like, and the teens engaged with him. By the end, they were practically begging him to stick around for the rest of programming.
“I’m not, like, good at school,” Akaza replied.
“That’s okay,” Tanjiro replied. “Homework is only for forty-five more minutes.”
Akaza looked at Rengoku. Rengoku smiled.
“You’re welcome to stay,” he said.
“Please,” Nezuko begged. “I didn’t even get to ask you about your favorite tattoos.”
“My own or the ones I’ve done on other people?” Akaza asked.
“Exactly,” Nezuko replied.
“Um, I’ve got an art project you could help me with?” Gentle, Senjuro inserted himself into the conversation. “I don’t really understand the color blending we’re supposed to do?”
“That I can help with.”
Senjuro, Nezuko, and Tanjiro all looked at each other and beamed.
“I’ll bring my math book over to where you’re sitting, Senjuro,” Nezuko said.
Rengoku chuckled. “Just make sure you actually do your work.”
She shook her head and laughed. “You’re so funny, Rengoku.”
The three of them scurried off to set up a station to work at one of the tables. The others had already gotten started, but Rengoku could hear them talking to each other about Akaza, about jobs like his they’d never considered.
“Thank you for coming,” Rengoku said. “I think you’ve made a lasting impression.”
Narrowing his eyes, Akaza studied Rengoku. “Sure,” he said after a moment. “They were a good audience, but I guess I should have expected that, too.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re their mentor.”
Those words touched something deep in Rengoku. Though he was certain Akaza had not intended that level of impact, in a way that only made the statement more meaningful. Rengoku poured everything he had into these kids. He loved them. They weren’t always cooperative. Some days they were downright combative. But to hear from someone who had only just met them that they were good was so selfishly affirming that it almost made Rengoku wince.
Akaza hurt in a good way. Rengoku hadn’t thought that was really possible.
“Thanks,” he managed to say, smiling.
“Akaza!”
Senjuro, Nezuko, and Tanjiro had set up their table and pointed in unison at the chair they’d pulled over for him.
“I think I might regret my decision,” Akaza said.
Rengoku laughed. “You won’t.”
Much to Rengoku’s delight, Akaza not only stayed for the remainder of programming, but for dinner at the center as well. Many of the teens ate on campus, most notably Tanjiro and Nezuko, who ferried Akaza along with them to the cafeteria. Judging by the man’s expression, the attention he’d received today was more than he’d received in a while.
Rengoku found himself admiring him from across the room.
“Do you have a new volunteer?” Kanroji asked, leaning out the service window.
“Maybe,” Rengoku replied with a smile. “That’s Akaza. He gave a career talk today.”
“Ooh, the tattoo artist,” Kanroji said. “I guess that’s pretty obvious, huh?” She spent a moment admiring him herself. “Wow. He’s gorgeous.” Rengoku had to agree. “I love that crocus tattoo. The colors are perfect.”
“Did you ever contact that artist whose card I gave you?” Rengoku asked.
Blushing, Kanroji shook her head. “I got too nervous!”
“I’m fairly certain she did that tattoo, but I might have my names mixed up.” The look of wonder Kanroji gave him made him smile. “She and Akaza work at the same shop. The one Inosuke tagged back at the beginning of the school year. All the artists are very skilled. I don’t think you have to be nervous.”
She shook her head again. “I’d be nervous no matter what,” she said. “I’m not you, Ren.”
He chuckled. That was the third time today someone he admired had made an assertion about him he didn’t quite comprehend. He decided not to probe. Besides, Kanroji’s attention diverted as Nezuko approached the window to return her tray. As soon as she’d finished, Rengoku motioned her over with a small, secret gesture she instantly understood.
“Did you get any stories out of Akaza about any of his tattoos?” he whispered.
Nezuko scooted closer to whisper back. “Sort of? He tried to play them off, but he did say that the one he has on his back is his favorite. He wouldn’t show us, though.” She considered the mechanics a moment. “Probably for the best.”
“Probably,” Rengoku laughed.
“Do you think he’ll volunteer again?” Nezuko asked.
Shrugging, Rengoku replied, “I hope so. You’ve all done a great job showing him a good time today, so if he’s hookable, I’d say you hooked him.”
“Senjuro was talking so much,” she said. “Oh! You should see the stuff Akaza helped him make. It’s way better than what Uzui has been trying to force him to do.” She rolled her eyes. Uzui did have a particular method of running Wisteria’s art program. Students who did not conform or live up to his expectations were often scolded for “lacking vision”. Unfortunately, this included Senjuro most of the time—try as he might. “They really seem to get along.”
Both of them cast their gaze across the room to the table where Senjuro, Tanjiro, and Akaza sat. The boys were chatting with each other, Akaza offering occasional input.
“It’d be cool if he came back,” Nezuko said.
“I agree.”
Tanjiro sat bolt upright. “Oh my gosh, we’re gonna miss our bus!” He located Nezuko and motioned her over with his head, so she and Rengoku approached the table. Tanjiro continued, saying, “We’d better get going. I totally lost track of time.”
He packed up their stuff in a hurry. Rengoku found his eyes wandering to the back of Akaza’s neck. A hint of color—cold blue—crested the collar on his long sleeve t-shirt right on the node of his spine, obviously part of some larger whole. The vague, pointed shape did not provide enough information to make an educated guess, nor did Rengoku have any idea if it even belonged to the tattoo Akaza had claimed as his favorite. He had such a myriad of them.
“I should head out, too,” he said.
Looking up at Rengoku, he caught Rengoku looking at him. Rengoku startled, but covered with a smile that didn’t seem to fool Akaza in the least. He made no comment, instead turning back to Tanjiro.
“I know it’s probably illegal for me to drive you home or whatever, but are you guys okay in the cold?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tanjiro replied, nodding. “Totally good. We’re snow people.” He said this as he wound a scarf around his neck with a bright smile. Nezuko zipped up her coat and struck a pose to further illustrate the point. Akaza chuckled.
“Me too,” he said.
“It was so nice to meet you,” Tanjiro said as he shrugged his backpack over his shoulders. “If you want to volunteer again, you definitely should.”
“Thanks,” Azaka replied.
Waving, the Kamado siblings made a hasty exit and sprinted across the field to head toward their bus stop. Rengoku smiled as he watched them go. So did Senjuro. Rengoku put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“How about you, bud? You ready to go?”
Senjuro nodded. “Let me just turn in my tray.”
He got up to take his set to Kanroji, leaving Akaza and Rengoku at the table. Akaza rose, silent, his indecipherable eyes on Rengoku.
“I left all my shit in that other building,” he said.
Rengoku grinned. “Would you like some help carrying everything?”
“If you’re offering.”
The tone of his voice was electric. Rengoku had to subdue and hold onto the thrill of it as Senjuro returned, the three of them walked back to the teen center, gathered their things, and left for the parking lot. He could feel his heart in his chest. After Senjuro set a bundle of Akaza’s art samples in the trunk of his car, Rengoku handed him the keys to the truck and told him to get the cab warmed up. Senjuro took them, but lingered.
“Thank you for helping me today,” he said to Akaza.
“Yeah, anytime.”
“I’ll…I’ll let you know what my teacher thinks of the project?”
Akaza nodded. “And if you need me to come kick his ass, I will.”
A little intimidated, Senjuro laughed. “Okay,” he said, smiling. “Bye, Akaza.”
“Bye, Senjuro.”
With that, glowing, Senjuro scurried across the parking lot and climbed into the truck to start it up. Rengoku set his own bundle of Akaza’s things in the trunk, which Akaza shut afterward. The two of them stood for a moment in the dark and the cold. Akaza let his breath out, and it crystallized into a cloud.
“What did you think?” Rengoku asked.
“I think that you’re an asshole who unconsciously manages to present himself in the best possible light at all times,” Akaza replied. The affection inherent in the way he said it confused the statement, but Rengoku decided to err on the side of intent. “The worst part about your bullshit is that it’s genuine. You’re an insufferably good person, and I had a great time in spite of my determination to hate every second of it.”
Uncertain what to say, Rengoku replied, “I’ll withhold an I-told-you-so.”
“Smart choice.”
“It seemed like the kids really connected with you.”
Akaza shrugged. “At the very least, I’m not a rich twat trying to log enough community service hours to get a merit award.”
“I have seen my fair share of those.”
They were quiet for a moment. The single street lamp that illuminated the parking lot buzzed. Wet asphalt reflected the light, as did the heaps of old snow in the places they were still white. The engine of Rengoku’s truck rumbled not too far away.
“What’s next?” he asked Akaza.
“Meaning?”
“What’s next,” Rengoku repeated with a chuckle. “Are you going to come back to volunteer? Am I going to schedule another tattoo consultation? Are we going to keep dancing around each other in places where we have to be professional, or are you going to teach me how to play pool again?”
He didn’t know what had possessed him to be so bold, but the look in Akaza’s eyes assured him that boldness was the right move.
“You tell me,” Akaza said.
Rengoku didn’t know when they’d moved so close together.
“If memory serves, it is my turn to ask you out.”
Akaza huffed a laugh, and his breath crystallized again. Rengoku couldn’t help but allow himself to be mesmerized. His mind supplied him with a memory of Akaza at work on the furin tattoo—the buzz of the machine, dull pain, his hands on Rengoku’s arm. He wanted him to touch him again. He wanted to be the object of his undivided attention.
Akaza had a very lovely mouth.
Rengoku almost leaned forward to kiss him.
Akaza shifted back a step. He said, “It is your turn. I’m not gonna make a fool out of myself ordering soft drinks at the bar, so you’ll have to think of something else.”
“But if I do think of something else, you’ll say yes?”
The question brought Akaza up short. He looked at Rengoku with these wide, unguarded eyes—and not for the first time. Rengoku did not fully understand the expression, but he liked it. He liked the way it made Akaza seem softer, more youthful. Vulnerable. Rengoku was determined to honor that.
Quiet, he waited for an answer.
“Yes,” Akaza replied.
Rengoku smiled, warmth spreading from his heart through the rest of him. “Then I’ll think of something.”
Nodding, Akaza moved away. They didn’t really say goodbye as he climbed into his car. Rengoku stood in the parking lot and waved as Akaza departed, receiving just a small wave in return—along with another one of those unguarded expressions. Almost as if Akaza was surprised at himself.
Rengoku turned his face to the sky and smiled at the distant winter stars.
When Akaza woke late the next morning, the first thing he did was check his phone. Most of the texts had to do with work—clients asking questions, Enmu asking questions, Doma pretending to ask questions—but one of the texts was from Kyojuro. He’d sent it at six AM.
Good morning! I’ve decided
that we’re going sledding :)
Akaza sat up to reread the text and make sure he was awake and not hallucinating.
are you fucking serious
He sent off a few answers to the client texts before Kyojuro replied.
You already said yes :) :)
“Oh my god.”
Several emotions at war in his chest, Akaza put his face in his hand. Irritation was the most prominent, underscored by embarrassment. Beneath those, disbelief and apprehension. Deeper still, excitement, warmth, giddiness. He hated the giddiness most. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt giddy—if he ever had.
fuck you
when are we going
I know your weekends are busy
with work, so I was hoping I
could see you tonight!
Giddiness shot straight to the surface and overtook every other emotion. Nerves followed. Akaza could not believe Kyojuro wanted to see him any more than he could believe that he wanted to see him, too.
I finish at 9
Can I pick you up at nine-thirty?
sure
What’s your address?
Akaza sent him the relevant information. Kyojuro sent back an affirmation and exclamation of excitement, complete with the double smile.
At the shop, Akaza had to dissociate to stay focused. Under no circumstances was he going to fuck up a tattoo because some big dumb blond had invited him sledding like a goddamn, godforsaken playground crush. He ignored the veiled insults lobbed at him by Doma, ignored the very existence of Daki and Gyutaro, ignored Enmu’s silent pleas for help. As soon as he finished his last appointment, he sanitized his booth and left without a word.
At home, he stared at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“This is fucking stupid,” he told himself.
Yet, the fact remained that he’d flirted with Kyojuro as much as Kyojuro had flirted with him. The fact remained that he’d said yes to this, had opened the door. The fact remained that he was terribly, desperately, soul-crushingly lonely. Fuck, he was lonely.
Akaza let his breath out, that sense of the hole in his heart rising into conscious thought.
He didn’t like to think about how lonely he was. Acknowledging it felt like weakness. Akaza was not weak. He despised the weak, and in that moment he despised himself.
He left his thoughts and reflection in the bathroom.
In preparation, he pulled his good coat from the closet, and unearthed a pair of gloves and a set of thermals he hadn’t worn in ages. As he pulled on a beanie, there was a knock at the door. He went to answer, frowning. Kyojuro stood on the threshold—grinning, naturally. He had on a mad bomber, but the ear flaps were clipped up over the top, completely defeating their purpose.
“You came to the door?” Akaza said instead of hello.
Kyojuro nodded, unfazed. “You ready?”
Akaza was not ready. For some reason, his memory of what Kyojuro was like and what he was actually like never quite aligned. His imagination failed to recreate the sheer presence he carried. Resisting his charm was as futile as resisting gravity.
“I need to put on my boots,” Akaza replied.
He could hear Kyojuro’s truck running in the parking lot below as he sat down to shove his feet into his boots. He felt ridiculous, plopped on the floor with Kyojuro standing over him in the doorway. He felt slightly less stupid, but infinitely more embarrassed when Kyojuro offered a hand to help him stand. Akaza took it and let Kyojuro pull him to his feet.
“Thanks,” he said.
“My pleasure.”
“Let’s go.”
Flipping off the lights, locking the door, Akaza swept past Kyojuro and hurried down the stairs. Ice melt crunched beneath his boots. He heard Kyojuro behind him and knew instinctively that the guy intended to open the cab door for him, so Akaza picked up his pace and cut him off.
“Absolutely not,” he said, gripping the handle.
Kyojuro blinked at him.
“Don’t open doors for me.”
Kyojuro blinked again, his expression changing to a smile and a thumbs up. Akaza pulled open the door and climbed into the truck as Kyojuro went around to his side and did the same. He put the truck in gear and backed out.
“I appreciate how frank you are,” he said, still smiling.
“You can call me an asshole,” Akaza replied.
Laughing, Kyojuro shook his head. “I don’t think you’re an asshole.”
“Well, you’d be wrong.”
“You can change the music if you’d like,” he said, indicating the radio, which was currently tuned to the oldies station.
“Where are we going?”
“Flat Iron. You seemed to me like a thrill seeker.”
He punctuated the statement with a smile and a sidelong glance. Thank god for the winter dark and high neck on Akaza’s jacket that hid his blush. The idea that Kyojuro had impressions of him made that giddiness resurface, which was idiotic. Of course Kyojuro would have an impression of Akaza. That was how human consciousness worked.
“As long as you don’t Ethan Frome us into a tree, Flat Iron is great,” Akaza replied.
Kyojuro laughed out loud, the loudest Akaza had heard him laugh, and that was all it took to get him addicted to that sound.
“Do you like classic literature?” Kyojuro asked.
“What?”
“I’m familiar because I have to help with high school English homework, but most people I know wouldn’t reference Ethan Frome offhand.” Another sidelong glance and a smile. “Tom Sawyer, too. What’s your favorite?”
Quiet, Akaza considered not what his favorite was, but whether to be honest.
“Little Women,” he replied, honestly.
Kyojuro nodded. “I’ve only seen the movies.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s required reading.”
“Maybe it should be,” Kyojuro said. “Tell me what you like about it.”
This was not the conversation Akaza might have expected, but that did not stop him from enjoying it. The give and take of dialogue was easy. Kyojuro listened, contributed. By the time they arrived at Flat Iron, the topic had long since changed, but Akaza’s enjoyment had not. He hopped out of the truck with a sense of contentment wholly unfamiliar to him and met Kyojuro at the tailgate.
“We’ve got a few options,” Kyojuro said, reaching into the bed to haul out the sleds—a saucer, a foam runner sled, and an honest-to-god toboggan that looked like it had been constructed in the 50s.
“I bruised my tailbone on one of these once,” Akaza said, picking up the saucer.
“That is exactly why we have the foam one now,” Kyojuro chuckled.
“I’ve never been on a toboggan.”
“We’ve had it in my family for decades.” Kyojuro removed it from the truck bed with a strong sweep. “Probably dangerous, but very fun.”
“I can carry these,” Akaza said, grabbing the foam runner. “May as well take them all.”
It had not escaped his notice that the toboggan was the only one big enough for two.
Smiling, Kyojuro closed the tailgate, and the two of them set off.
The park had been built for storm drainage on the side of a steep, sizable hill. A low field of white, sparkling snow—pockmarked throughout by trails of footprints of daytime sledders—extended some distance until sloping up to meet a playground. A baseball diamond sat in one corner of the field, silent for the season. Though night sledding was a popular activity, it was a Thursday and the two of them were the only people in the park.
At the top of the hill, Akaza paused to look out at the field, the street, the houses beyond.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said.
“I find that a lot of adults stop doing things because they think they’re for children,” Kyojuro replied. He looped the rope for the toboggan around a young tree at the top of the hill so it wouldn’t slide down when he let go. “Luckily I have Senjuro as an excuse to do all sorts of childish things, though in fairness, he’s far more mature than I am.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“He’s fun to embarrass.”
Akaza smiled, his face toward the snow. “Siblings always seemed like fun to me.”
“You don’t have any?”
“Nope. Only child.”
He decided to end the conversation there, pushing the foam runner into Kyojuro’s hands and claiming the saucer for himself. They’d picked out a spot with a clean, clear run and enough space for them to slide side-by-side. He sat down, holding himself in place with his feet.
“Are we racing, or what?”
Kyojuro grinned, a bright and blinding and toothy display of delight. He got into position on the sled, his legs behind him like he was going to take off from a runner’s block.
“You say go,” he said.
“Go,” Akaza replied that instant, pushing off, hoping to catch him by surprise.
He didn’t. Kyojuro leapt into action with a strong launch that sent him down the hill headfirst on his stomach. Better positioned, with a better sled and a better takeoff, he beat Akaza to the bottom easily. Akaza’s heart raced with the wind and the speed as he propelled himself to his feet and went to pull the foam runner from under Kyojuro.
“Unfair. We’re trading.”
Kyojuro laughed. “How was that unfair?”
“We’re trading.”
Akaza managed to free the sled and chucked the saucer at Kyojuro. He started for the top of the hill before the guy was even on his feet, but Kyojuro caught up.
“Go,” he said, and took off running.
Caught off-guard, Akaza did not process that Kyojuro intended to race him up the hill until he already had a head start, but he absolutely would not lose again. Hauling ass, he passed Kyojuro and reached the tree where the toboggan was tied for a decisive victory that left him out of breath.
“You’re very…competitive,” Kyojuro laughed, breathless himself as he came to a stop.
“Thought the…pool lesson…would have taught you…that.”
“No, it did, it did.” He stretched, and something in his back popped. “Oof.”
“Maybe we…should have warmed up.”
Chuckling, Kyojuro said, “No kidding.”
They continued the downhill races, trading the sleds back and forth, but did not attempt the run up the hill again. As Akaza had expected, Kyojuro was in good shape. He seemed to be enjoying himself enormously—his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. Akaza could not help but admire his appearance, his laughter, the whole package. He even lost count of who was winning by the end.
“You want to try the toboggan?” Kyojuro asked.
“Together?”
Kyojuro’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “Absolutely.”
He untied the thing and set it in place. Akaza, being shorter, sat in front.
“This thing is slippery as hell, so if you can put your feet down while I get on?”
Akaza obliged.
“Thanks.”
Kyojuro took a seat on the sled. Akaza’s whole body tensed as he slid up behind him and slotted their bodies together. Thank god, again, that Kyojuro couldn’t see his face. Akaza could feel the heat of embarrassment rising from his skin. Reaching around him, Kyojuro took hold of the rope and Akaza blushed all over again.
“Okay,” Kyojuro said. His voice was close and warm. “Whenever you’re ready.”
The sooner they reached the bottom of the hill, the sooner the humiliation would end. Still, Akaza hesitated. The sense of stability, of being enfolded, was so comforting.
He lifted his feet.
The toboggan started down the hill without propulsion, as slippery as Kyojuro had asserted. With the weight of two of them, they picked up speed fast. So fast, in fact, that for a split second, Akaza actually felt a spike of fear. Then the adrenaline kicked in and he laughed, flying down the hill, the wind pulling saline from his eyes and stinging his face, having the most fun he had had in years.
Near the bottom of the hill, easily missed in the dark and the sameness of the snow, was a small jump some kid or other had constructed. Akaza noticed their course only with enough time to notice and not to do anything about it. The toboggan hit the jump and caught just the right amount of air to hurt like a motherfucker on landing.
Kyojuro laughed like a madman. The toboggan did not slow down. Akaza leaned sharply to the side to give that idiot a piece of his mind, but they were still going so fast that all he achieved was a side spin that launched them both off the toboggan.
Kyojuro was still laughing.
“You fucking lunatic.” Akaza righted himself enough to grab a handful of snow and hurl it at Kyojuro’s head. He missed.
“I saw that jump about four runs ago,” Kyojuro said.
“My one condition and you broke it!”
Akaza scrambled closer so he could actually hit him with a snowball this time. Kyojuro sat up as Akaza threw it, dodging by virtue of a changed position. He watched the snowball land beside him, and looked up just in time to receive a face full of powder as Akaza moved close enough to land a hit for sure. Kyojuro laughed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chuckled, “I had to. But that wasn't technically a tree.”
Glaring, Akaza readied another handful of snow, but he didn’t get the chance to throw it as Kyojuro leaned closer and touched a kiss to his lips.
The kiss was brief, little more than a peck, and Akaza’s eyes stayed open, but it knocked the air from his lungs all the same. He stared, his throat tight, his heart racing, stunned and silent, his hands trembling, as Kyojuro leaned away and smiled. Akaza struggled to breathe.
“…why would you do that?” he whispered.
“I wanted to.”
His body frozen, his eyes flicked to Kyojuro’s mouth, and no sooner had he looked than Kyojuro had closed the distance to kiss him again.
Akaza could not move. He couldn’t breathe. The kiss continued, warm and inviting, asking without demanding, and there was nothing Akaza could do but melt. His mouth opened. Kyojuro drew closer. He lifted a hand to Akaza’s cheek, and the lingering snow on his gloves was cold—a searing difference to the heat. Kyojuro shed the gloves and took a proper hold of Akaza’s face. It was all Akaza could do to let him.
Their mouths came apart with a gentle sound as Kyojuro drew back. He smiled, brushing his thumbs across Akaza’s cheekbones.
“I’ve been thinking about that since yesterday.”
Akaza’s eyes were burning and it wasn’t because of the wind. “Why?” he said again.
Kyojuro glanced over Akaza’s features like he was drinking him in. He smiled about it. “I don’t know,” he said. “I feel drawn to you.”
Akaza did not know how to respond. He knew Kyojuro should not feel drawn to him. Those that wandered too close to Akaza did so at their own peril. He was a force of destruction. He knew this. He knew that his affection was a death sentence, though he didn’t understand exactly why. Whatever was in charge of the universe—a god, fate, random chance—it fucking hated Akaza. But he didn’t know how to say all that, so he didn’t say anything.
“Can I kiss you again?” Kyojuro asked.
The words caused a gnarled sensation in Akaza’s chest, but he nodded and let Kyojuro tilt his head back, let their mouths touch, and his lips part, and the kiss deepen and turn from one into many. Slowly, carefully, he even let himself return them.
He did not ever want this to end.
Eventually, though, Kyojuro pressed a final kiss to the side of his mouth and rested their noses alongside each other with a sigh. His breath was warm. Akaza was warm. He wanted to grab him and pull him in and kiss him until he couldn’t remember his own name, but he still couldn’t get his body to move. He just knelt in the snow, his breathing ragged.
“We should probably go…” Kyojuro said.
“Probably,” Akaza managed.
He let Kyojuro help him to his feet. As soon as they were standing, Kyojuro laced their fingers together without a second thought. Tethered, Akaza allowed himself to be tugged along as Kyojuro picked up his gloves, retrieved the toboggan, and hiked to the top of the hill to grab the remaining sleds. They loaded everything into the truck bed.
“Do you want to stop for hot chocolate?” Kyojuro asked.
“Sure,” Akaza replied.
The next thing he knew, he was standing in the strange liminal space that was a 7-Eleven late at night, accepting a cup of hot chocolate as Kyojuro handed it to him, their boots sticking to the linoleum as they left. Then they were in front of his apartment building and Akaza still hadn’t put himself back together.
“Do you want to come up?” he heard himself say.
“I have to get home,” Kyojuro replied.
Akaza nodded.
“When can I see you again?” Kyojuro asked.
“…I’ll let you know.” As Akaza moved to unbuckle his seatbelt, Kyojuro did the same, but Akaza grabbed his hand to stop him. “Don’t walk me to the door.”
“Can I kiss you here, then?”
Akaza nodded, and Kyojuro leaned across the bench. The kiss was soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that said see you later rather than goodbye.
“Thank you for indulging me tonight,” he said.
I would indulge you every night, Azaka thought but did not say. Somehow he supposed Kyojuro would take offense to that, not wanting anyone to bend themselves to fit his desires, but he was the sort of man who brought that out of others—like a field of sunflowers helplessly following the sun across the sky.
“I had fun,” Akaza said instead.
Smiling, Kyojuro kissed him once more. Like it was natural. Like they had not done that for the first time this evening. Like they’d known each other all their lives.
Akaza extracted himself from the truck and went upstairs to go inside. For a moment, he stood in his kitchen and did not turn the lights on. In the dark, he listened to himself breathe and sensed the quality of that breath, the harsh feeling in his throat.
Of all the things he had allowed himself to do tonight, crying would not be one of them.
Chapter 3: January - Part Two
Notes:
Much like the actual month, January keeps getting longer and longer somehow. Oops?
On god, the next January chapter will be the last one--but I won't speak for February, lol!
Chapter Text
“Jesus Christ, you’re an idiot.”
Halfway through hauling a block of clay up onto a table in the art center, Rengoku paused to frown at Uzui, who had spoken. Uzui clicked his tongue, then gave Rengoku a serious—if condescending—eyebrow raise.
“He asked you up and you said no?”
Rengoku had recounted the date to him while helping set up the space for a ceramics class with the teens. He had thought things had gone well, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“I had to get home,” he said—as he’d said to Akaza.
“Rengoku, Rengoku, Rengoku.” Shaking his head, Uzui planted one hand on a table and the other on his hip. “That was a sex invite.”
Rengoku almost dropped the block of clay.
With a low whistle, Uzui added, “So you didn’t know.”
“How do you know?” Rengoku replied, depositing the clay on the table.
Uzui scoffed. “Do you really think that I of all people wouldn’t understand what does or does not constitute a sex invite? Please.” He rolled his eyes. “I know what I know, and it was what it was.”
“He’s right,” Shinobu called from inside the office, “and I hate to agree with Tengen.”
She appeared in the doorway a moment later wearing a small, apologetic smile and carrying a stack of flyers for an upcoming nutrition seminar. Embarrassed and now more than a little bit nervous, Rengoku glanced between her and Uzui. He had to admit that Uzui had a wealth of relationship experience that far outclassed his own, and Shinobu was probably the most logical person he knew. Plus, the two of them rarely agreed on anything. He didn’t know what to say.
“Have you talked to him since?” Uzui asked.
“I sent him a text this morning…”
“Did he reply?”
Rengoku shook his head. Both Uzui and Shinobu grimaced. They even went so far as to exchange expressions with each other. Uzui turned to Rengoku.
“This is why I told you to talk to me about sex stuff,” he said.
“Gentlemen,” Shinobu interrupted, “I do apologize for eavesdropping, but perhaps this isn’t an appropriate topic of conversation for the workplace.”
“You are part of this conversation,” Uzui replied.
Her smile morphed into something terrible as she turned her eyes on Uzui. “That’s hearsay,” she said.
Intimidated, Uzui shut up. Shinobu smiled again.
“I hope things go well for you, Rengoku,” she said. “The date sounded fun.”
With that, she left the art center.
“What do I do?” Rengoku asked the instant the door closed.
“I don’t think there’s anything you can do, man,” Uzui replied. “Wait for him to text you back, and if he doesn’t…” He shrugged. “Then that’s that.”
A pit formed in Rengoku’s stomach—a tangled thing composed of the smitten butterflies that had previously occupied the space. It dominated his every thought as the teens rolled in and the art class started. Akaza had ignored texts before. Everything was fine. But circumstances had been different then. They hadn’t formally dated. They hadn’t kissed.
His heart wrung in his chest at the thought. The hazy glow of a memory that was his lips on Akaza’s, holding his face in his hands, the slow thaw that finally saw Akaza return those kisses. He couldn’t give up on that. Not yet.
Afterward, Akaza had been quiet. He’d invited Rengoku up, and, once turned down, had told him not to walk him to his door. Maybe that was a bad sign. But they’d kissed again. Rengoku did not know what to make of any of it. Though Akaza was honest and straightforward for the most part, mixed messages abounded still. Like something was at war within him, both parts equally truthful.
“Flavortown.”
Rengoku returned to the present to find Inosuke standing in front of him, carrying a sculpture of a club-shaped ham.
“Move?” Inosuke prompted.
Jolting, Rengoku righted himself and stepped away from the drying racks where the students were supposed to put their sculptures. Inosuke slid his into place with attentive care.
“You didn’t want to make anything?” he asked.
“I wasn’t braced for another lecture from Uzui today,” Rengoku replied.
Inosuke raised an eyebrow at “another” but did not press. Though he’d never been on the receiving end of one of Uzui’s diatribes, he knew the drill. Inosuke was probably the only teen Uzui hadn’t berated. The two of them seemed to speak the same language somehow. Folding his arms across his chest, Inosuke took up a post beside Rengoku. He was quiet for a moment, but Rengoku could sense his desperate desire to speak.
“Do you—um—remember when you said that if I’d talked to the tattoo place maybe they would have let me paint the back?”
Rengoku nodded. “I do.”
“Do you think—um—now that you’re friends with that guy or whatever, you could ask him about it?”
Trying to look casual, Inosuke scratched the back of his head. A helpless smile found its way onto Rengoku’s face. Akaza had made a bigger impression on the teens than he had anticipated. His heart wrung in his chest again.
“I’ll give it my best,” he said.
Inosuke nearly toppled over. “Wait—really?”
Laughing, Rengoku replied, “Of course. I do think you should manage your expectations, however. The shop doesn’t belong to him, so the owner is the one you’ll have to convince. And your established relationship with the business in general…leaves something to be desired.”
“But you’ll really talk to him?”
“I will. I promise.”
Inosuke glowed. With a firm nod, he left before Rengoku could change his mind. Even from across the room Rengoku could see the excitement with which he delivered the news to Tanjiro and Zenitsu. A small seed of guilt sprouted. He would make good on his promise, but he’d only promised because it would give him a concrete reason to talk to Akaza.
As programming concluded and Rengoku and Senjuro headed home, he waited on tenterhooks for his phone to buzz. It did not. He waited through meal prep and cooking and eating and watching television with his little brother. Nothing.
When he did break down and send another message, it was late, and not what he’d planned to address.
I think I may have misunderstood
your invitation last night.
He took himself into the kitchen and pretended to clean.
He forced himself to shower and finish getting ready for bed.
He laid under the covers and stared at the ceiling, picking out shapes in the texture, sick with the thought that Akaza may never reply.
Then his phone lit up.
I figured
The relief that flooded Rengoku overwhelmed him entirely.
I’m sorry! As I said, I’m not very
good at this sort of thing. I understand
completely if you’re upset!
I’m not
not with you
There was a gap, then:
better that you said no
Another gap—longer.
I’m not ready for this
Rengoku’s heart stopped so forcefully it hurt. For a moment, his mind blanked. Then he spiraled through a thousand different ways he could reply, searching for the right one and coming up empty. He couldn’t give up on this. Not yet. He couldn’t give this up.
Can I call you?
Another gap—longer still.
sure
His stomach churned while he listened to the ring in the receiver.
“Hey,” Akaza answered. He sounded exhausted.
“Hello.” Rengoku scrambled after his thoughts. “Senjuro’s asleep, so I’ll have to speak quietly. Let me know if I’m too soft. Also, I don’t want you to feel obligated to have this conversation if you would rather not, but it seemed like the sort of thing that would be easier to talk about than text…”
“No, you’re right,” Akaza replied, “and I owe you an explanation.”
Sitting up, Rengoku pressed the phone closer to his ear as if Akaza was the one who had to lower his voice. Akaza sighed.
“I…want this to work,” he said, “and I realize that we’ve only been out, like, twice, so that’s an intense thing to say, but there’s something about you and the way you act that just cuts straight to the fucking quick. I know you’re serious, and I can sense where this is going, and I think you’re the kind of person who could convince me to go there, and I… I’m not ready to go.”
Go where? Rengoku wanted to ask. He refrained.
“I think I understand,” he said instead. As much as he longed for specifics, he did know that Akaza was referring to some level of emotional vulnerability. “Is there something I can change to remove that pressure?”
A humorless laugh huffed into the receiver on Akaza’s end. “No.”
Rengoku did not know what to say.
“I don’t want you to change who you are,” Akaza said, “but if I keep seeing you…”
They were both quiet, then.
“I’m afraid to say anything,” Rengoku admitted. “I don’t want to try and talk you into something and I feel like expressing my own desires is going to have that effect.”
In the silence that followed, he listened to his pulse beat in his ears.
“You’re too good for me,” Akaza said.
Rengoku’s heart stopped again. His head spun. He tried to think of something, anything, to say, but his mind supplied him only the white noise of crashing waves. His heart ached. The tone of Akaza’s voice betrayed more than he could comprehend. Though he had no way to know what had happened to Akaza, he knew in that moment that something had. Probably many things. Probably a lifetime of things. Dreadfully difficult and unfair things. Things that would make him weep if he knew.
“I’m sorry,” Akaza said. “I don’t know what I want.”
“You know exactly what you want, you just don’t think you deserve to have it.”
Akaza hissed, wounded. “Fuck…” he whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Rengoku quickly appended. “I—”
He cut himself off. What more could he say? It was a miracle that Akaza had not hung up on him, that they sat in tense silence for a long time. Rengoku was the one to break it.
“I don’t know that what we deserve has any bearing on what life brings us,” he said in a gentle voice. “Undeserving people suffer. Equally undeserving people succeed. There isn’t any rhyme or reason to it. As far as I can tell.”
He found himself wishing he had said yes the night before. Maybe they wouldn’t be having this conversation now, or maybe things would have been infinitely worse. He couldn’t change the past. He could only do his damnedest now to shape the future. He didn’t understand this desperation he felt, like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. This something between them—more than attraction, different from magnetism. Like they repelled and pulled each other in equal measure.
“I want to see you again,” he said.
“I’ll hurt you.”
“Then hurt me.”
He heard Akaza inhale. A sharp sound. He felt the same sensation in his chest.
“Kyojuro…”
Words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. “Will you ever be ready?” He heard Akaza hiss again, but he had momentum now. “Whatever is holding you back—forgive me, but it doesn’t sound like the kind of thing that heals.” He knew something about that. Loss. The holes people leave in your heart when they go.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve.”
“I know. I apologize.”
“Fuck, I hate you. This is exactly what I was talking about.”
The way he said hate did not sound like hate at all.
“I’m not afraid of you, Akaza.”
Another intake of breath.
“There’s nothing you can say to make me afraid.”
For a moment after that, they were silent. Rengoku listened to the labored sound of Akaza’s breathing. He had breathed like that the night before, too. Rengoku could not help but draw comparison between the noise and that of an injured animal. The quiet sound of someone fighting for their life.
“Anyone else would have given up by now,” Akaza said.
“If you don’t want to see me anymore, I understand, and I will respect your decision,” Rengoku said. “But if you do want to…please know that I want the same.”
Silence, then,
“…I need some time.”
Rengoku nodded. “Take as much as necessary.”
“I’ll…call you,” Akaza continued. “I won’t leave you in the dark, I promise. I… I owe you that much.”
“Thank you for taking my call tonight.”
Akaza chuckled—genuinely, though it was soft and tinged with a deep, bone-aching sorrow. “Now you sound like a businessman,” he said.
Returning a gentle laugh, Rengoku replied, “It was nice to talk to you.”
“Much better.”
He smiled, unable to hold it back, though smiling alone was enough to twist his heart into a knot. Whatever Akaza’s decision, he would respect it as promised. But part of him wanted to get in his truck, speed to Akaza’s apartment, kick down the door, and kiss Akaza until every last one of his fears and doubts had been driven away. He’d never felt that way about anyone. Maybe he should have been afraid, but he wasn’t.
“Good night, Kyojuro.”
“Good night, Akaza…”
They ended the call, and Rengoku curled up under the covers once more, strangely comforted by the fact that Akaza had chosen to say good night and not goodbye.
Several days passed. Those days began to add up to a week. Had Rengoku not believed Akaza to be a man of his word, he would have written the entire relationship off. That’s what Uzui would have told him to do.
A week and a half had gone by before his phone rang.
Rengoku answered immediately—something Uzui would have told him not to do.
“Hi,” he said, breathless.
“Hey,” Akaza replied with a heavy exhalation. “This is last minute, but can I meet you somewhere? I’ll bring food.”
Blinking, Rengoku glanced down at the pan of onions he was currently caramelizing for dinner. He glanced over his shoulder at Senjuro finishing up his homework at the kitchen table. Then he blinked again, his heart and his mind pulling him several directions at once. Instinct took over and forced a response.
“I’m already cooking, but I can check with Senjuro if you’d be okay with meeting here?”
At the sound of his name, Senjuro perked up at the table. “Who is it?” he asked.
“Akaza,” Rengoku replied. Senjuro perked up again.
“Oh, um…actually…” Akaza sighed. “That would work. If he’s comfortable with me coming over. I don’t want to, like…invade your home.”
Smiling, Rengoku said, “I’ll ask him,” then looked to Senjuro. “You okay if Akaza joins us for dinner tonight?”
Senjuro almost jumped out of his chair. “Really?”
Rengoku nodded.
“Of course!”
Chuckling, Rengoku turned his attention back to the phone. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah…”
“Then you’ve got the stamp of approval. I’ll text you our address. No need to rush.”
Akaza happened to arrive right when the pizza came out of the oven. Rengoku heard a car pull up in front of the house, a door open and shut, and crunching footsteps up the walkway. Each made his heart beat with increasing speed. He could hardly believe this would be the first time he’d see Akaza since their date. Part of him was braced for the worst. The other part was sick with excitement.
The doorbell rang. Senjuro abandoned the kitchen table where he’d been setting three places and sprinted to answer.
“Hi! Come on in…” His little voice reverberated down the hall. “The kitchen’s this way.”
Footsteps, and then there was Akaza. Painfully pretty, zipped into a winter coat, hands in his pockets, a grocery bag tucked in his elbow. Rengoku almost stopped breathing at the sight of him. He wished he understood why this person made his throat catch.
“You can put your coat wherever you want,” Senjuro said. “Oh! I want to show you…”
He scurried off, leaving Akaza and Rengoku to themselves.
“What did you bring?” Rengoku asked.
“Garlic knots,” Akaza replied. “Just the kind you bake in the bag.” He shed his coat and hung it on the back of one of the chairs at the table. Rengoku could not help but watch, admiring the cobalt color of his tattooed fingers, the crocuses on the column of his neck. He let Akaza catch him, just to see how he would react. Akaza smiled. “What did you cook?”
“Ham and onion pizza. I promise it’s better than it sounds.”
“It smells amazing…” Careful, as if approaching a dog he didn’t want to run away, Akaza removed the package of garlic knots from the grocery bag and went to Rengoku to hold them out. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
Rengoku took the package and turned the oven back on as he read over the instructions. “Do you cook?” he asked.
“Do I look like I cook?”
He chuckled. “I try not to make assumptions.”
A soft expression crossed Akaza’s face. Senjuro returned, then, dragging his art portfolio along behind him. He plopped in a chair and hunted through the accordion sections before he found what he wanted: the colored pencil project Akaza had helped him with at Wisteria. A grading rubric accompanied the drawing, which he proudly held out.
“I got a ninety-one,” he said.
“Hell yeah,” Akaza replied. He accepted the drawing and glanced over the rubric.
“My teacher was really impressed. He said this was a big improvement over my practice sketches.” He beamed. “Thank you again for helping me.”
Akaza nodded, spending a moment longer on the artwork before handing it back. “Sure.”
“Did you take art when you were in school?”
Laughing, Akaza nodded. “Yeah, that was like the one class I showed up for. I was not a very good student.”
Senjuro shrugged, tucking the art away and leaning his portfolio against the wall. “I like school, but I understand why other people don’t. It can be boring. And it’s hard.”
“Senjuro wants to graduate with straight As,” Rengoku said.
He brought the pizza to the table and grinned at the embarrassed expression his brother sent his way. Akaza nodded appreciatively, sitting as they did. Rengoku gestured for everyone to eat. Senjuro waited for Akaza to take the first slice.
“You wanna go to college?” Akaza asked.
Senjuro nodded. “I think so.”
“I bet you can make it.”
Senjuro beamed, and his was the kind of smile no one could resist returning. Akaza smiled back, and the three of them settled in to eat.
The dinner was the warmest they’d had in months. Nezuko had remarked about how much Senjuro had talked when Akaza had volunteered at the center, but seeing it firsthand was something else. He talked almost nonstop, asked all sorts of questions. He was a great conversationalist when he felt confident. Something about Akaza’s straightforward demeanor must have brought that out of him.
They devoured the garlic knots once they came out of the oven, and Senjuro insisted they play a game as soon as he finished his homework.
“I only have a few questions left,” he said. “Do you like Uno?”
“I will crush you at Uno.”
“Great! I’ll only need ten or fifteen minutes.”
He gathered up his school stuff and headed to his room. Rengoku rose to clear the table and wash the dishes. Akaza followed suit, silently asserting his help. Once the table was clear, they stood side-by-side at the sink so Rengoku could wash and Akaza could dry.
“Your house is nice,” Akaza said.
“Thank you. I still have a hard time feeling like it’s mine.”
Akaza glanced at him, asking without speaking.
“It’ll always belong to my grandmother,” he replied. “We all moved in with her so she could help when my mom first got sick, and stayed after she passed. My dad was pretty unstable, and I didn’t make enough at the time to move me and Senjuro out. When my grandmother died, she willed the house to me.” He chuckled a little. “I think my dad’s still bitter about that.”
“Where does he live?”
“Here,” Rengoku replied. “He’s in rehab. He’ll get out in February.”
“Gotcha.”
“Are you close with your parents?”
A chill ran through Akaza. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I think I should explain why I wanted to see you…”
They’d finished the dishes. Rengoku pulled the plug on the sink.
“All right,” he said.
“I, um… I can’t get you out of my head.”
Rengoku’s heart stopped.
“It’s driving me fucking crazy, but it’s the truth and I can’t ignore it. I want to spend time with you, but you have this way of asking these questions…” Sighing, he shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve got a lot of fucking baggage, okay? I’m barely a person, and I can exist because I keep all of that shit hidden. I don’t like talking about it, but I’ve realized that with you it’s not that I don’t want to talk about it, but that I don’t want to burden you with it. You ask—and I think you genuinely want to know—but you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Quiet, Rengoku dried his hands. Then he brushed a gentle pair of fingers down Akaza’s arm. Akaza jumped.
“I sensed that in you,” Rengoku said. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, no, but I’ve gathered that it must have been painful.” Tilting his head, he offered a gentle smile. “You’re not obligated to tell me, but I won’t mind sharing that weight.”
Akaza stared at him. Those pale blue eyes were wide. Rengoku could almost see the thoughts running behind them. He put a hand on his crossed arms and gently squeezed. Akaza almost seemed to shatter.
“My dad’s dead,” he said. “He was sick, and we were poor, and I got involved in all kinds of shit so we could pay for his treatment, got arrested, but I was a minor so they couldn’t do much. He, uh…took his own life when he found out. He didn’t want me to live like that because of him. I was the one who found him. I was like…eleven? Twelve? I don’t remember exactly. I never knew my mom.”
He delivered the words at near breakneck speed, as if slowing down for even a moment would mean he’d never be able to speak again. Rengoku almost couldn’t take it in. So many emotions glossed over with a stoic strength, so many details obfuscated by blunt honesty.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Akaza let out a shaky sigh. “So there’s your answer.”
“You were so young. What did you do?”
“On paper I got shuffled into foster care. In practice I mostly stuck to the street. Hung around tattoo parlors. Shit like that.”
“I’m so sorry…”
Akaza shook his head. “Still standing.”
Frankly, Rengoku could not quite comprehend how. He could, however, understand that the doors on that particular topic of conversation were now shut. Akaza had opened them only for a moment. Pushing would only meet with resistance.
Luckily, that was when Senjuro arrived with a pack of Uno cards.
“Ready!” he proclaimed. “Should we play in the living room?”
Akaza did indeed crush Rengoku and Senjuro at Uno. His competitive nature took over in a spectacular display that only made winning a game against him that much more fun. Even Senjuro, who kept to his sleep schedule on school nights like a religious practice, stayed up later than he should have.
As Senjuro put the cards away and headed for bed, he paused at the entrance to the living room and asked, “Can we do this again?”
Akaza swallowed, looking like a deer in headlights. “Sure,” he said.
“Okay.” Senjuro smiled. “Good night, you guys.”
“Night, bud,” Rengoku replied. Akaza mumbled a good night of his own, and Rengoku looked to him as Senjuro left the room. The two of them were seated on the floor between the coffee table and the couch. “He’s usually so shy. It’s nice to see him open up and relax.”
“He’s not like that with you?”
“No, with me he is, but the moment you introduce another person to the mix…”
“Are you trying to say something?” Turning to face him, Akaza slung an elbow on the couch and raised his eyebrows.
“You know how dogs can sense when someone is a good person?”
Akaza snorted. “Your brother is a dog?”
Laughing, Rengoku shook his head. The comparison had already gotten away from him. “No,” he said, “but I do believe he’s an excellent judge of character.”
He looked to Akaza and smiled, and found Akaza looking back at him with a new expression on his face. He looked like he sounded sometimes—exhausted—but there was an openness to it that Rengoku hadn’t seen before. Like Akaza had taken off a mask. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t upset. His face was entirely neutral, but there was something much more honest about it.
“I’m not a nice person, Kyojuro,” he said.
“I didn’t say you were nice.” Akaza balked, which made Rengoku laugh. “I said you were good.”
Akaza balked again, but this time he blushed, too. Rengoku smiled at the little ping the expression sent through his heart. He liked that he could fluster Akaza with a gentle compliment. For his part, Akaza dropped his head against the couch cushion to hide for a moment before turning his face to look up at Rengoku. He didn’t say anything, but the helpless way he drew his brows together and smiled spoke for him. Rengoku shifted so he could rest his shoulders against the couch as well.
“You’re not very nice,” he said. “I like that about you.”
“Why?” Akaza chuckled.
“There doesn’t have to be a reason,” Rengoku replied, but Akaza raised an eyebrow that clearly said that wasn’t a suitable answer, so he continued, “You’re different from me. You’re confrontational. I admire that. I usually try to keep the peace.”
“People take advantage of you.”
Though it wasn’t a question, Rengoku nodded. “It’s not malicious. Most of the time. I’m used to it.”
“The incurable optimist.”
The comment came with an affectionate smile that Rengoku couldn’t help returning. At the back of his mind, he wondered at the easiness between them, how beautifully ordinary it was to have Akaza in his home, to talk with him like this. His eyes wandered the curve of Akaza’s jaw, the pink sweep of his hair, and he wondered instead how someone could look so young and so weathered at the same time.
“Thank you,” he said, “for telling me about your parents. I know it’s difficult to talk about things like that. I… I hope you feel like you can trust me.”
“When I’m with you, I never want you to leave,” Akaza replied.
Jolted, Rengoku stared at him. Those words made his heart beat hard and fast.
“Honestly, it scares me,” Akaza said.
“I don’t want you to be afraid…”
“Nothing you can do about it,” Akaza replied. “Like I said before, I’ll hurt you. I know I will. I’m pretty sure I already have.”
“As I said before, I’m used to people taking advantage.”
The air between them changed. Akaza sat up slowly. On instinct, Rengoku followed. He didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t quite know what to make of any of this. So it came as a surprise when Akaza kissed him.
Their lips met with a soft sharpness—a promise for more. Akaza drew back, and the look in his eyes struck Rengoku like a bolt of lightning.
“Then I’ll take advantage,” Akaza said, his voice low. “If that’s what you want.”
The statement made Rengoku’s head go dizzy and his heart swim. Nobody had ever spoken to him like that. To his surprise, it actually turned him on. The revelation must have been written all over his face, because Akaza grinned and kissed him again—an open-mouthed kiss that made Rengoku burn.
Being kissed by Akaza was not quite the same as kissing Akaza. Maybe that had to do with the fact that they were inside, not separated by layers of bulky winter outerwear, but Rengoku suspected it had more to do with being on the receiving end. Akaza kissed the same way he conducted himself: confrontationally. It was thrilling, like standing on the edge of a steep drop without any guardrails.
His teeth grazed Rengoku’s lips.
They drew closer and closer, and then Akaza was in his lap, and his hands were in his hair, and Rengoku went electric at the feeling of his nails on his scalp. He wound his arms around Akaza and returned every kiss, surprised for some reason that he could hold him like this. He pressed his hands into Akaza’s sides and shoulders, slid them up into his hair, as if to confirm he was actually there.
Akaza drew back, but he did not go far. Rengoku could feel his breath across his own lips, could see the flick of his eyes over his features, cold, but also incredibly present. Rengoku knew now what it was to be the object of his undivided attention. How heady, how addicting.
“I thought maybe if we did this, I could get you out of my system,” Akaza said. He shook his head. “It isn’t working…”
He gripped Rengoku’s chin in his hand and kissed him fiercely. A flare of heat shot between them, and Rengoku couldn’t help parting his lips and letting Akaza kiss him however he wanted. It was new for him, to be at someone else’s mercy. Akaza drew back again and looked at him, his eyes narrowed, but fell into a deep and biting kiss.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” Akaza said, the words barely spoken a breadth above Rengoku’s mouth. “It pisses me off.”
Rengoku chuckled, bewildered, but flattered—and hungry for it, truth be told.
“I don’t think anyone has ever told me that,” he said.
“Not to your face,” Akaza replied, “but you’re the kind of person people fantasize about.”
“Do you?”
Drawing up short, Akaza stared at him a moment. His gaze moved to Rengoku’s mouth, then back to meet his eyes.
“Yes,” he said.
The admission was like fire. It changed the flow of energy as Rengoku straightened and plucked Akaza’s hands from the back of his neck to bring them to his lips to kiss the palms. Akaza drew in a sharp breath. Rengoku pulled him forward, draping Akaza’s arms around his shoulders so he could lean in close and kiss the crocus tattoo on his neck. He felt Akaza tense, then unwind, so he kissed his neck again.
“I think you’re beautiful,” he said softly.
“Don’t say that…”
“Why not?”
“Because I think you mean it.”
Rengoku lifted himself to look in Akaza’s eyes. Taking his face in his hands, he brushed his thumbs across his cheekbones. What happened to you? he wanted to ask. Who made you feel so unworthy of love?
“I do mean it,” he said. “I absolutely do.”
He kissed Akaza himself, then. His own way. Sweetly, sincerely. The only way he knew how. He felt Akaza sunder and understood that some threshold had been crossed and they stood now in unfamiliar territory. He could feel how much that frightened Akaza—truly. He could feel how desperately he wanted to fight or run away.
“You can stay,” Rengoku whispered.
Akaza swallowed. “I don’t think I should be here when Senjuro wakes up.”
He offered a sorry, half-hearted smile. The expression had a strange comfort to it, not a refusal but a delay.
“Now we’re one for one,” Akaza said.
Chuckling, Rengoku let his head drop to rest in the crook of Akaza’s shoulder. He wrapped him up in a firm hug. Akaza hesitantly put his arms around Rengoku in turn.
“I’m not going to take advantage of you,” Akaza said. “I can’t…”
“I told you you’re good.”
Rengoku lifted his face to smile. Shaking his head, Akaza laughed a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. Rengoku admired him a moment in the lamplight. Those eyes and their incredible eyelashes.
When he kissed Akaza next, they both settled in to stay—for a little while, at least.
Akaza caught Doma eyeing him from his booth. The expression on the bastard’s face almost had Akaza stalking across the shop to punch him in the mouth, but he resisted. Doma grinned.
“Happy today,” he observed the next time their paths crossed.
“Do you want something?”
“No, it’s just that you’re so fucking miserable all the time, it’s hard not to notice.”
He nearly did punch Doma then. Doma’s eyes flicked from Akaza’s clenched fist to his face with a wicked smile. He followed when Akaza tried to walk away.
“Something happen?”
“Terrorize someone else.”
“Something good?”
Languishing, Doma spread himself out against the low wall around Akaza’s booth and rested his cheek on his hands. Akaza ignored him, focused on tidying before his next client, so Doma gave him big, innocent doe eyes that fooled exactly no one.
“Was it that cute client of yours?” he asked.
Though Akaza froze for maybe half a second, Doma was unnaturally perceptive. The slight pause in Akaza’s movement served as confirmation. Doma giggled, rolling his head from side to side. Akaza ignored him, but Doma righted himself and slinked into the booth to plop himself down in Akaza’s chair as if preparing for a long chat.
“Out.”
“So that’s it.”
“Get the fuck out of my chair, Doma.”
“It would be such a shame if Muzan learned about you and your client, wouldn’t it?” Doma smiled a cold smile. “Don’t worry. Your secret will be safe with me.”
Sighing, Akaza set down the equipment and cleaning supplies in his hands and turned to face Doma, who perked up like a cat. Akaza did not trust him. He had never trusted him. But to tell him nothing would be the quickest way to ensure he went crying to Muzan, and likely with the most damning report. Akaza shook his head.
“First, he’s not my client anymore.”
“Sure, sure.”
“We’ve been out a few times.”
“Ooh, a few.”
“Yeah. It’s going fine. He’s… He’s nice.”
Kyojuro was nice. Too nice for Akaza, that was certain. But in addition to being nice, he was also stubborn, and as many times as Akaza had tried to talk him out of moving forward, Kyojuro had met him with smiling obstinance. Well, on his own head be it.
“I thought I saw sparks,” Doma said, wiggling his shoulders.
“Out.”
Raising his hands, Doma obliged. “Fine, fine. I’d hate to ruin your good mood.”
Akaza glared at him. Doma just laughed.
“Adorable,” he said and finally departed.
Later, Akaza met Kyojuro for lunch, which was the most domestic thing he’d ever done. He couldn’t help but feel out-of-place eating at one of those soup and sandwich quick-service restaurants aimed at middle-aged women. He also couldn’t help but notice that Kyojuro seemed right at home.
“Oh! I’ve been meaning to ask,” Kyojuro said, suddenly looking up from his meal. “Back in December, some tech company looking for a tax write-off ‘donated’ a weekend ski trip to the staff at Wisteria. Do you want to be my plus one?”
Azaka stared at him. Then said, “I don’t ski.”
“Well, neither do I, but we can give the lift tickets to somebody else. It’s just one of those resorts up the canyon. I’m sure someone else would be happy to take them.”
“You don’t want to go with Senjuro?”
“I want to go with you, but if you don’t want to go, that’s okay.”
He smiled, hopelessly sincere. It was one of those smiles that would have Akaza bending to his every whim.
“Also it’s adults only,” Kyojuro added.
“Fuck you,” Akaza laughed. “When is it?”
“Next weekend—”
Akaza stopped laughing immediately. Kyojuro kept speaking, but Akaza did not hear what he said. His whole body had gone rigid. His ears were ringing. He could feel his heartbeat accelerating, but he couldn’t breathe. Of course it was next weekend.
“I know it’s last minute, I apologize,” Kyojuro was saying when Akaza could hear again. “I understand if you won’t be able to get the time from work.”
“I have that weekend off,” Akaza replied.
Lips parted, Kyojuro puzzled over Akaza’s strange, stilted delivery. He understood Akaza well enough to know that he never spoke coldly without cause. Akaza could see him weighing the cost of asking for clarification over the burden that knowing would inevitably bring. Having the weekend off should have sounded like a good thing.
Under any other circumstances, it would have been.
“Do you want to come?” Kyojuro eventually asked with a warm smile.
The question brought Akaza up short. He almost didn’t respond. Then that voice echoed in his mind, saying again, Please. For me.
“Yeah,” Akaza whispered. “I do.”
Kyojuro beamed so brightly Akaza almost had to close his eyes.
“I don’t want to ski,” he said.
Kyojuro nodded. “Understood.”
They exchanged the necessary details, resumed ordinary conversation, and finished their soups and sandwiches. In the parking lot, Kyojuro kissed Akaza goodbye with too much open affection. It was a kiss that brought that same affection out of Akaza. He didn’t understand how Kyojuro could wield that kind of power over him, but at least he could rest assured that the guy would never abuse it.
“I’ll see you later?” Kyojuro asked.
Akaza nodded. “Yeah.”
Somehow, Kyojuro’s smile brightened. “Good.”
After parting ways, Akaza climbed into his car and sat motionless for god knows how long. His fingers gnarled around the steering wheel as he resisted the urge to bash his head against it. He did let his forehead tip forward to rest at twelve o’clock, however.
“What the fuck am I doing, Koyuki?”
He understood, deeply, that she would want him to be happy. But, like Doma had said, he was used to being fucking miserable. He didn’t know if he knew how to be happy.
Would a weekend getaway up the canyon make him happy?
Would it even be enough to distract him from the reason he’d taken the weekend off in the first place?
Akaza felt his throat constrict in his neck. His eyes burned. Slowly, he drew in and released a breath to keep himself from breaking down in tears. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to the trip. Maybe he should have volunteered the reason he never scheduled tattoo appointments or consultations the last few days of January. Maybe he should stop listening to Koyuki’s voice in his head telling him to open up, to do things for her.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said.
He was supposed to be a pro boxer. He was supposed to run the gym. Koyuki and Keizo were supposed to be alive.
His hands twisted around the steering wheel again. His knuckles might have turned white had his fingers not been tattooed blue. Next weekend, the days he never scheduled himself to work, was the anniversary of their deaths.
Maybe that’s why Kyojuro terrified him the way he did.
He made Akaza hopeful. Like his life could be something more than mundane suffering.
Koyuki had made Akaza feel the same way.
Refusing to dwell on it, Akaza dragged himself back to Infinity Castle. Doma looked up as Akaza came through the side door and his lips twisted in a grimace.
“God. I take back what I said about you being in a good mood.”
Akaza did not justify him with a response.
Chapter 4: January - Part Three
Chapter Text
The following weekend, Kyojuro picked Akaza up on Friday evening to drive to the resort. The place was nice—probably smack in the middle of the spectrum when it came to ski resorts, but Akaza had never been, nor stayed anywhere that wasn’t a Super 8. He’d turned off his emotions in order to cope with the impending stress, but as they walked into the lodge, he had to admit he was impressed.
Wooden beams soared overhead, complimented by a pair of gaudy antler chandeliers. A fire crackled in a stone fireplace surrounded by leather couches. There was a warm, cozy atmosphere that only increased as a woman with pink and green hair who was sitting on one of the couches called out to them.
“Ren!”
She waved when they looked her way. The guy she was sitting with did not. Akaza recognized the pair from the time he’d volunteered at Wisteria. They ran the cafeteria. Smiling, Kyojuro headed toward the couches, so Akaza followed like a tether.
“Hey, Kanroji,” Kyojuro said, dropping his luggage.
“Did you guys make it up the canyon okay?” she asked. “I guess the road is closed for snow further up, so I’m glad we’re staying here. We haven’t seen anyone else, though.” She gave a nervous little laugh, then straightened up when she remembered Akaza. “Oh my gosh, sorry. I didn’t introduce myself at all. I’m Mitsuri. This is Obanai.”
Akaza and Obanai nodded at each other.
“We’re really glad you could make it,” Mitsuri continued. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you since you came to volunteer. The kids still talk about it.”
Akaza did not know how to respond.
“Kanroji is the one who wants to get some cosmetic tattoos done,” Kyojuro said, graciously throwing Akaza a lifeline. For her part, Mitsuri blushed.
“Gotcha,” Akaza said. “Yeah, I don’t do cosmetic, but our shop’s artist is good.”
Kyojuro decided to sit, so Akaza followed his lead.
“What do you do?” Obanai asked.
“Neotraditional,” Akaza replied.
“Any of your own?”
Huffing a laugh, Akaza shook his head. “A few,” he said. “None of them accessible.”
Kyojuro happily shed his coat and started rolling up his sleeve to show off the furin instead. Curious, Obanai leaned forward. Akaza accidentally exchanged embarrassed expressions with Mitsuri while Obanai nodded appreciatively, then looked at Akaza.
“You ever do snakes?” he asked.
Akaza nodded. “All the time.”
Obanai pursed his lips and sat back with a nod, so Akaza filed him away as a potential client. Kyojuro fixed his sleeve, then beamed at Akaza with an expression of pure pride that was, in a word, overwhelming. After glancing at him, Akaza focused his attention on Mitsuri to try and keep himself steady.
“You should set up a consultation with Daki,” he said. “It’s like half an hour and you can decide if it’s something you really want to do. There’s no pressure to commit.”
Chuckling, embarrassed still, Mitsuri nodded. “I know, I just get so nervous.”
Akaza started to respond, but the lodge doors opened and everybody shot to their feet as a couple entered—the man holding onto the woman’s arm as a guide. She whispered something to him and he turned toward the couches with a serene smile.
“Come,” he said. “Let’s get checked in.”
The woman ushered him to the counter where he gave the concierge some reservation information. Akaza hung back, pretending to watch the luggage, but mostly preferring to steer clear of the newcomers. Kyojuro and the others seemed to hold them in such high regard that they were probably genuinely good people. Ergo… Akaza startled when Kyojuro turned from the counter with a pair of room keys and a smile.
“We’ve got a dinner reservation with everybody in an hour,” he said. “You wanna drop off our stuff and get changed?”
“Sure.”
Smiling again, Kyojuro motioned with his head toward a pair of doors at the back of the lodge and the pair of them exited to find the hotel building and an elevator up to their room. Top floor. Balcony overlooking the canyon. Two double beds. Akaza ignored a spike of uncertainty and set his shit down against the wall exactly in the middle.
Kyojuro did not seem to notice, depositing his bag almost in the doorway to go straight onto the balcony. A blast of cold air shot through the room, so Akaza rolled his eyes and joined him just to close the sliding door.
The winter dark made it impossible to see much of anything, but that didn’t stop Kyojuro from beaming at the view and letting out a contented sigh.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, turning that smile on Akaza.
“I think we’ve reached the saturation point of me asking why,” Akaza replied. He did join Kyojuro at the balcony railing, however, which Kyojuro took as an invitation to lean their shoulders together.
“You’re easy with strangers,” Kyojuro said. “I don’t feel like I need to worry.”
“About?”
“Whether you’ll get along with people.”
Akaza laughed outright. “Maybe you should.”
Chuckling, Kyojuro shook his head. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“You know what I’m like, I shouldn’t have to explain this to you.”
As a response, Kyojuro took Akaza’s face in his hands and kissed him. Akaza startled, just slightly, taken aback by the butterflies. Then he opened his mouth, let that kiss deepen, and kissed Kyojuro back in that gentle, quiet way he knew he liked. Much to his surprise, he found himself wanting to let go, to unwind, to plug back into his emotions. But that didn’t mean he could bring himself to do it.
“Everything all right?” Kyojuro whispered.
Drawing back just enough to meet his gaze, Akaza swallowed. He looked at Kyojuro for a moment and wondered what the fuck he was doing here. However, waiting for him at the end of the wondering was that stable current of reassurance that made him want to stay. He wrapped his fingers around Kyojuro’s wrists and nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered back.
Kyojuro’s expression softened, and he tilted Akaza’s face up to kiss him again.
“I know you’re not really one for sappy romantics,” Kyojuro said, “but… How do I explain this? I’m always with people, but they have certain expectations for me, or I have to fill a role in their lives, and that can get…lonely. I don’t feel alone when you’re around.” Chuckling at himself, he shook his head. “Does that make sense?”
Before he’d even finished asking the question, Akaza was nodding. “No, it does,” he said. “It does.”
The way Kyojuro’s eyes crinkled when he smiled made Akaza forget everything. Where he was, who he was, what was going on around him. He let go of Kyojuro’s wrists to grab the front of his coat and pull him into a kiss. Akaza liked how Kyojuro didn’t quite know what to do when he took charge. That spark of excited curiosity, the subtle submission. He loosened his grip to run his hands up Kyojuro’s neck and into his hair where he tightened his fingers again. Kyojuro huffed. Akaza drew back.
“I’ve gotten used to being alone, too,” he said. “It’s…good…not to be…anymore.”
Though good, companionship was likewise strange and uncomfortable. He never knew how to combat the surge of emotion he felt whenever Kyojuro looked at him with smitten eyes that said you matter, as he did then. Only one other person had ever looked at him like that.
No, he couldn’t bear to think of Koyuki now.
He kissed Kyojuro again instead—a deep, sensuous kiss that went on for too long to be mistaken for anything other than an invitation. He pressed Kyojuro between himself and the railing just to feel the guy’s knees go weak. Akaza slotted one of his legs between Kyojuro’s before breaking the kiss to look up at him through his eyelashes.
“Are we sharing a bed tonight?” he asked.
Kyojuro blushed red to the tips of his ears. His mouth opened and closed twice before he cleared his throat. Akaza let him struggle, amused. Kyojuro cleared his throat once more.
“No, um, I’d like that,” he said. “I’d like that a lot. I—I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”
Chuckling, Akaza slid his arms around Kyojuro’s waist to pull himself closer. He enjoyed the way Kyojuro’s eyes tracked his mouth until he kissed him again. Akaza savored it. He even let his teeth graze his lips just before he stepped away.
“C’mon,” he said. “We should get ready for dinner.”
He left Kyojuro wide-eyed on the balcony.
Dinner was fine. The food was good, but Akaza could not avoid engaging in pointless small talk while they ate. Kyojuro’s coworkers did very little to disguise their curiosity. Apparently, he’d never brought anyone along to a work event. One person in particular kept sizing Akaza up—some idiot with a face tattoo who was attached to three women.
Akaza made direct eye contact with the guy over the bar after dinner while ordering a pair of goddamn Dr. Peppers.
“You want something?” Akaza asked him.
To his credit, the guy didn’t flinch or back down. “No,” he said. “Just trying to figure out what Rengoku sees in you.”
“Tengen,” the woman next to him scolded.
“I’m not exactly the person to ask,” Akaza replied. The bartender brought over the drinks, and he took a sip off the top of one. “But something tells me you don’t have the balls to take that question to Kyojuro.”
The guy blinked. The other two women snickered. Akaza left the bar to rejoin Kyojuro at a table with Mitsuri and Obanai. He could sense that he’d stirred the pot, but he didn’t look back. Not even when Kyojuro saw the drinks and pulled his eyebrows together to give Akaza a pitying expression.
“You’re sure you don’t want to get a beer or something?”
“Yep,” Akaza replied, passing him his Dr. Pepper.
“I really don’t m—”
He shut up when Akaza raised his eyebrows.
Sitting, Akaza said, “I hate drinking alone as much as I hate being the only one who isn’t drinking.” He raised his eyebrows again, softer. “I’d rather keep you company.”
Kyojuro smiled, and Mitsuri—whose cheeks and nose were already flushed pink—cooed. Akaza decided not to be mortified, suspecting she would have been mortified enough for both of them had she been sober.
“You guys are so cute,” she said, making it worse. “It’s so nice to see Ren so happy.”
Again, Kyojuro smiled. Akaza made a point not to look at him, sensing his desire to display some kind of affection. Thankfully, Kyojuro had picked up on Akaza’s reservations ages ago. He always acted with care, sharing that affection gently, treading around Akaza’s edges like he would around a sheet of glass. He handled him as if he might break, never quite realizing that Akaza was already broken and what he held in his hands were just pieces.
“You said you’ve been tattooing for ten years?” Obanai asked in a noble attempt to change the subject.
“Formally, yeah,” Akaza replied.
“Oh, oh, what was the first tattoo you ever did?” Mitsuri asked.
“I knew a shop owner when I was a kid who let me do a dolphin on his ankle because he thought it would be funny,” Akaza replied. “I was probably…ten? Came out okay.”
“Is that legal?” Obanai asked.
“Absolutely not.”
Mitsuri and Kyojuro laughed, and Obanai chuckled mostly by placebo. Kyojuro did put a hand on Akaza’s knee, then. It took every ounce of Akaza’s control not to get up from the table and walk out. But a gentle application of pressure and another smile from Kyojuro saw him relax—unwillingly.
They spent the rest of the night talking about Wisteria. The coworkers had no shortage of stories from the kids or gossip about parents and guardians. Mitsuri told Akaza about the kitchen burning down in vivid detail. When she started to cry over the loss of a particular stirring spoon, Obanai decided it was time for bed. The four of them left the lodge, and Mitsuri pulled Akaza into a hug, but he didn’t have much time to react since she detached from him to hug Kyojuro.
“I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” she said. “The complimentary breakfast is supposed to be really good here.”
“We won’t miss it,” Kyojuro replied.
“Okay, good.” She waved as Obanai steered her away. “Night, Akaza. Night, Ren.”
“Good night, Kanroji. Sleep well.”
The pair disappeared into the hotel building. Akaza would have followed, except that Kyojuro had stayed put. Next thing he knew, the guy was wandering off the other direction.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“I want to see something,” he replied. He held out his hand to Akaza. “Come with me.”
Rolling his eyes, Akaza obliged. He let Kyojuro hold his hand and lead him along a somewhat circuitous course to the aerial tram station. Though late, the thing was still running. Kyojuro bought them a pair of tickets from a kiosk without a second thought.
“We are not going up to the peak in the dark,” Akaza said.
“Oh? What are these tickets for, then?”
“It’s gonna be fucking freezing up there.”
“I’ll keep you warm.”
“That shit doesn’t work on me.”
Nevertheless, Akaza found himself boarding the tram. The attendant informed them that this was the final ascent for the night, and they’d have fifteen minutes at the peak before the last tram down left the summit station. The door slid shut, a bell rang, and the tram crawled to life, climbing up the mountain via cable.
The light inside the tram obscured what otherwise would have been a fantastic view. Akaza stood and stared at his faded reflection in the window. He glanced at Kyojuro.
“I like that she calls you Ren,” he said.
“I like that you call me Kyojuro,” he replied. “Not many people do.”
“What do you prefer?”
He shrugged. “I don’t have a preference. Rengoku seems to be the most popular.”
Akaza huffed a laugh. “You are kind of a last name guy. Like a fucking little league baseball coach or something.”
Kyojuro chuckled, saying, “I do actually coach a youth team in the summer.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“It’s true.”
Shaking his head, Akaza couldn’t help but laugh. He also couldn’t help flicking his eyes from Kyojuro’s feet to the crown of his head. He’d cut quite the figure in a uniform. The white pants in particular.
“What did you just think?” Kyojuro asked.
Akaza startled. “What?”
“What were you thinking just now?”
“…That you’d look hot in a baseball uniform.”
Grinning, Kyojuro wrapped Akaza in a hug from behind. “I thought so,” he said. “You had this glint in your eye.” He sounded self-satisfied, but Akaza’s ability to tell him off vanished when Kyojuro nuzzled his way around Akaza’s coat to press a kiss at the hollow of his ear. “I’m glad I can tell.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Akaza replied, but he did not sound convincing.
Kyojuro kissed his neck. Akaza watched their reflections in the window. His reflection lifted its hands to take hold of Kyojuro and hang off the arm he had hugged around his chest. He only registered that he had done the same when Kyojuro rested his chin over his shoulder to meet his eyes in the window.
“Do you play any sports?”
It suddenly got hard to breathe.
Akaza swallowed.
“I used to box,” his reflection said.
“Wow,” Kyojuro replied. “I bet you’re good.”
“I was gonna go pro.”
“Really?”
Akaza nodded. A gnarl had formed in his throat. If Kyojuro asked why he’d quit, he wouldn’t be able to answer. He wouldn’t be able to conjure a single explanation from the blank space in his memory. The space that wasn’t really empty. The space he’d had to convince himself was empty in order to keep on living.
“I’d love to have you show me sometime,” Kyojuro said.
“I’ll kick your ass.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
With a smile, he pressed his lips to Akaza’s neck. He was probably the only person on the planet capable of making a goddamn neck kiss feel sweet and comforting. Akaza closed his eyes and leaned against him. Outside of Kyojuro, he genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he’d been held. He wasn’t about to feel sorry for himself, however.
“Thank you for coming with me,” Kyojuro said softly.
“It’s not exactly easy to say no.”
They were quiet. The tram rumbled past one of its support towers.
“Please tell me if I push too hard,” Kyojuro said. “For anything. Even if it seems silly.”
“Believe me,” Akaza replied, opening his eyes to meet Kyojuro’s in the window, “you’ll know.” The statement prompted a small frown from Kyojuro. “I need to be pushed. Like I said… I’ve gotten used to being alone. My reaction to everything is to say no.”
“All the same…”
“Kyojuro.”
Suddenly they were looking at each other face to face.
“I’m fighting myself. Not you.”
Careful, Kyojuro took Akaza’s face in his hands. The expression in his eyes was so open—sorrowful and searching for answers. Akaza didn’t have them. Maybe if he let Kyojuro look long enough, he’d piece everything together on his own. The selfish part of Akaza—which was most of him—was tempted to sit back and make Kyojuro mend it all. The other parts were certain that was impossible.
“I want to help,” Kyojuro whispered.
“You can’t,” Akaza lied.
The tram slowed as it arrived at the summit station, and the pair of them shifted to stand side by side near the exit. Once the cable had fully stopped, an attendant slid open the tram door. The wind that blew into their faces outclassed the hotel balcony by a mile. Akaza could already feel the sting in his cheeks. All the same, Kyojuro dragged him out into the snow without hesitation.
A burst of wind picked up a flurry of fresh powder and sent it right into Akaza’s face. He startled and shut his eyes reflexively. Kyojuro did not slow down.
“Hang on, idiot, I can’t see,” Akaza said.
“Then open your eyes.”
Akaza did open his eyes to give Kyojuro a flat expression, but the moment he did, he fell absolutely still.
The night was clear and cloudless. At the summit, a panorama of the mountain range spread out around them. Bright white peaks and slopes of snow dappled with rock and pine. Far away, the orange-yellow lights of the city glittered in the valley. Overhead, the sky expanded as blanket of pure stars. Akaza had never seen so many stars.
He had never seen so many stars.
His fingers clutched Kyojuro’s hand tight. He only noticed because Kyojuro lifted it to kiss the back of his knit glove. Meeting his gaze, Kyojuro gave him the warmest, brightest smile—like one of those stars, close enough to call a sun. Akaza’s eyes stung, and he tried to convince himself it was the wind.
“Oh my god,” he said, pointlessly.
Kyojuro turned his face toward the sky. Starlight reflected in his eyes.
“I’ve only been up here once before,” he said. “Back when my mother was still alive. That was during the day, though. I always thought the stars would be fantastic up here at night, away from all the lights. It sort of feels like the top of the world.”
It did.
To some degree, it was.
“It’s beautiful,” Akaza said.
“I thought you might like it,” Kyojuro replied.
“Why?” he asked, saturation point be damned.
“Because of your tattoos.” Giving Akaza’s hand a squeeze, Kyojuro indicated the exact location of each of the stars on Akaza’s arms with a gentle, pointed finger. He could only have seen them once or twice. “I still think they have stories, even if the stories came after.”
Akaza swallowed. “Some of them do have stories…” he said.
Quiet, Kyojuro hugged him. His arms were strong, and his body was warm, and try as Akaza might to remain solid, he had no choice but to finally melt. His cheek came to rest on Kyojuro’s shoulder as he wrapped his own arms around him and returned the hug. Though he closed his eyes, he could still feel the stars.
Kyojuro let out a happy sigh.
“You know,” he said, “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you really relax.”
Tension ebbed from Akaza’s arms and shoulders, unable to return due to pure exhaustion. Unguarded, his mind dug up a few old memories—the good ones. Fireworks. The gym, busy on a Saturday morning. Koyuki’s tearful excitement when she’d asked him to marry her. His arms tightened around Kyojuro.
“Don’t let go,” he said. “Please.”
Kyojuro responded by pressing Akaza to his chest and resting his cheek on his head.
“I won’t,” he said, as if anyone could really promise such things.
Akaza could feel it—everything. Everything he’d buried from his childhood on, right at the surface. The pond wasn’t still anymore. Shapes formed in the water. Fireworks again. Satisfaction after winning a match. More fireworks. The snowflake charms Koyuki had worn in her hair. Fireworks, fireworks, fireworks.
Akaza opened his eyes.
The stars hung like frozen fireworks in the sky.
Lifting his head, he stared at the sky, at the stars, so far away, so small and insignificant that a streetlamp could block their light. That wasn’t what they were, really. They were more than pinpricks. They were colossal balls of glowing plasma held together by their own gravity, so superheated that they gave off enough light to travel trillions of miles to reach the earth. Trillions of miles, and Akaza’s eyes were the first thing those photons had met.
“Kyojuro…?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
Kyojuro snuggled him into another affectionate hug.
“My pleasure,” he said.
Rengoku’s hands shivered as he tried to put the keycard in the lock on the hotel room door. His whole body was trembling, as a matter of fact. Akaza had been correct about the temperature at the summit. Between inadequate clothing and the wind chill, Rengoku had frozen through.
“Cold?” Akaza teased.
His arm looped through Rengoku’s elbow, he smirked when Rengoku glanced his way.
“Fine. You were right,” Rengoku chuckled. “Is that what you want to hear?”
“Pretty much.”
The card reader beeped, so Rengoku pushed open the door and ushered Akaza inside.
Something about him had changed on the mountain. Rengoku could not put his finger on exactly what. Images hovered behind Akaza’s eyes. His mind seemed to drift from thought to thought—distant, but not so far away that he could not be reached. Even so, Rengoku did not want to disturb him.
He followed Akaza into the room and tried to shut the door quietly. In the dark, he fumbled for a light switch, but failed to find one before Akaza’s chest pressed flush against his own and his back bumped against the door. Rengoku’s pulse spiked.
Inches away, Akaza’s eyes shined—bright even without any light.
Akaza placed his arms over Rengoku’s shoulders. His fingers gathered in his hair. Rengoku watched his gaze flick over his features. His heart had not stopped beating fast.
“You’re a frustrating person to find attractive,” Akaza said.
“That’s not exactly a compliment.”
“No. It’s the truth.” Akaza’s lips parted ever so slightly. “You’re…” Noticing something, his expression changed to amusement as he laughed. “You’re really shivering.”
Rengoku was. He couldn’t control it. He’d never been so desperately cold in his entire life, and no matter how hard he tensed his muscles to stop them from shaking, his efforts had yielded no results. As if to retaliate, when he opened his mouth to respond that he was fine, his teeth chattered. Akaza chuckled.
“You should take a bath,” he said.
“I—”
Rengoku cut himself off. He didn’t have a suitable counterpoint.
“What?” Akaza asked, a glint in his eye.
“I, um…I don’t want to interrupt…this.”
Aside from the shivering, he had held himself very, very still. Any more movement and he would have become a little too aware of Akaza pressed against him, of himself pressed between Akaza and the door. Unhelpfully, his mind returned to their conversation on the balcony earlier that night, to sharing a bed. He felt his ears blush red.
A grin crept slowly onto Akaza’s mouth. “I’m not going anywhere, Kyojuro.”
Even now, Rengoku did not want to be presumptuous.
Tentative, he raised a hand and placed it on Akaza’s cheek. Akaza leaned into the touch, his gaze drifting to Rengoku’s mouth, so Rengoku obliged him with a kiss.
The hum of approval he received gave him goosebumps all the way up to his neck. He found himself rising from the door to draw closer to Akaza, to kiss him with a little more open intent. The taste of his lips was magnificent, the way he hugged their bodies together even more so. Rengoku dizzied.
At once, Akaza drew back, tipped him into the bathroom, and flipped on the light. Bewildered, Rengoku squinted at him.
“Take a bath,” Akaza said. “We can pick up where we left off.”
Rengoku nodded.
He’d unpacked his toiletries while getting ready for dinner, so all he had to do was shut the door. As much as he would have liked to refuse, the shivering continued, and something in Akaza’s demeanor indicated that this reprieve was equally for himself as it was for Rengoku. So shut the door he did.
The hotel water got hot fast. Rengoku drew a steaming bath. After only a few minutes in the tub, he felt worlds better. Warm to his core. He tried not to think too hard about Akaza on the other side of the wall.
He did not know much about matters of the heart, nor did he know what to make of his intense attachment, except that he had never felt this way about anyone. While he acknowledged that such a lack of understanding was cause for concern, he had to admit that he’d always been a believer in love at first sight.
Perhaps that’s what this was.
He glanced at his arm resting along the edge of the tub. The orange and red maple leaves now permanently inked into his skin shined, wet. He ran his fingers over the lines of the furin.
He wished he could ask his mother for advice.
The water cooled. Rengoku rose, drained the bath, and dried himself. A pair of plush resort robes hung on the back of the door, so he put one on and tied the belt around his waist before tentatively poking his head into the hotel room.
Akaza sat on the end of one of the beds, answering a text. He’d taken off his winter gear.
“Why aren’t you cold?” Rengoku asked.
Looking up, Akaza chuckled. “I like the cold.”
“And because you like the cold, the cold likes you?” Rengoku took a seat beside him.
Akaza tossed his phone onto the other bed. He said, “Something like that…” and turned to face Rengoku.
He really was beautiful. Rengoku had never seen eyes such an icy color, or features that managed to convey so much strength with so many delicate lines. Akaza was, in many ways, an enigma. Rengoku wanted to touch him. He didn’t quite know how.
“I feel like I’m making a mess of this…” he said.
“You’re not,” Akaza replied.
Neither of them moved.
With an awkward breath, Rengoku said, “We don’t have to—” but Akaza drew close and pressed his fingers to Rengoku’s lips.
“I want to,” he said. “Do you want to?”
Flushing, Rengoku nodded. He lifted a careful hand to hold Akaza’s wrist and kiss the fingers already touching his lips. As Akaza withdrew that hand, Rengoku laced their fingers together. “I do,” he said. “I absolutely do.”
Again, they were still, but it was a charged stillness—their eyes locked, Rengoku’s heart hammering inside his chest.
Akaza observed for a moment before leaning forward to kiss his mouth.
The kiss lasted just long enough for Rengoku to return it. Then Akaza’s lips moved to his cheek. To his jaw. To his neck. Rengoku shivered. His hands wandered Akaza’s waist and back, steadying him as Akaza closed what little distance remained between them, straddling his legs on either side of Rengoku’s to rest in his lap.
“I—”
Akaza broke from his neck and swallowed the rest of Rengoku’s words with a fierce kiss. Lips parting, Rengoku welcomed it. His fingers dug into the back of Akaza’s shirt as Akaza slipped his tongue into his mouth. Akaza brushed his own fingers down Rengoku’s neck and under the collar of the robe. Rengoku hummed.
Drawing back, Akaza looked at him. He spread his hand open over Rengoku’s shoulder, the touch surprisingly cool against his skin. His eyes flicked across the robe. Then he took Rengoku’s hands and put them on his hips and pulled his own shirt off over his head.
Rengoku had but a moment to admire before Akaza brought their lips back together. He caught glimpses of tattoos that were new to him—two black-capped chickadees in flight over his heart, a towering lighthouse from his hip up his side. Rengoku smoothed his hands over Akaza’s ribs, reeling to be able to touch him like this. Akaza had a remarkable body. Though perhaps not in peak condition, he retained the form of an athlete. A boxer, he’d said.
Akaza tangled his fingers in Rengoku’s hair.
“I don’t know what you’re used to, but I’m up for anything,” he said, his mouth only a breath away, and Rengoku began to feel very, very warm.
“I’m afraid I don’t—” Akaza kissed him. “—have a wealth of experience—” He kissed him again. “—in the first place.”
“I don’t mind,” Akaza replied.
He put his lips to Rengoku’s neck, and Rengoku found himself closing his eyes and letting his head fall toward his shoulder to allow it. Akaza’s teeth grazed his skin. Rengoku drew a deep breath, his fingers pressing into Akaza’s ribs.
“Tell me what you want,” Akaza whispered.
“I…” His blush deepened. “I want you to touch me. I—I want to touch you…”
“All right. Just hand stuff, or do you want to fuck?”
The question knocked the wind out of Rengoku. He laughed, helpless, embarrassed, but burning, too.
“That’s not exactly the word I would use, but…” He swallowed. “…Yes.”
Akaza lifted his face, a smile decorating his mouth. A strange smile, colored by amusement and curiosity in equal measure. Perhaps a little pity as well. He smiled at Rengoku as if he’d just learned an unexpected secret. Perhaps he had.
He smoothed his fingers along Rengoku’s neck.
“You’re a top, right?”
“Historically.”
Akaza laughed. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Shaking his head, Rengoku said, “I don’t know…”
That smile returned. Mellow, Akaza leaned in and kissed him. His hands cupped Rengoku’s face. Rengoku opened his mouth, and Akaza relinquished control. Testing, Rengoku slid his hands down to Akaza’s thighs. Again, that sound of approval gave him goosebumps.
They kissed for a moment—slow, incredible kisses. Each one brought a little more heat than the last, building surreptitiously until they’d become the deepest, filthiest kisses Rengoku had ever given anyone in his life. He realized this all at once when Akaza broke away panting, his mouth wet, to say, “Fuck…” and Rengoku could not resist kissing him again.
Akaza surged in his lap to wrap his arms around his neck and kiss him back.
“Sorry,” Rengoku breathed.
“No…”
“I don’t—” He didn’t know what to say.
“I’m giving you permission, Kyojuro,” Akaza said. “I want you to kiss me like that. I want you inside me.” Those words made Rengoku woozy—woozy and hot. Akaza grinned. “So let’s get on with it.”
If he’d been woozy before, that melted him to a puddle.
Akaza stood. He stepped away from the bed for a moment, toward his bag against the wall, and as he turned, the sight sobered Rengoku.
Across his back—shoulder to shoulder, neck to waist—was a snowflake tattoo in cool blue. The artwork was exquisitely detailed, like symmetrical lace fixed in his skin. Rengoku recognized the style as Akaza’s immediately, though he had no way to know who had done the inking. He got the same feeling from the snowflake as he did from his own tattoo. A profound sense of sorrow.
Akaza removed his pants, and though Rengoku now had a full view of all of his tattoos, the snowflake had eclipsed the rest. He could almost see its afterimage burned red onto his eyes when Akaza returned.
“Your back…” he said.
“Oh. The snowflake?” Akaza placed a condom and lube on the corner of the bed as he assumed his previous position.
Rengoku nodded. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you do the drawing?”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Akaza replied.
His arms settled around Rengoku’s neck. Their weight brought him to awareness—awareness of the fact that he had Akaza, nearly naked, seated in his lap. Astonished and aroused, his mind reoriented itself to focus on the prospect in front of him. The only sensible course of action seemed to be to kiss Akaza. So he did.
After only two or three, the kisses turned deep and dirty again. Rengoku felt himself flush. His hands wandered Akaza’s body. Akaza’s wandered his—sliding underneath the collar of the robe, opening the robe as they went down his chest to his abdomen. There, he took Rengoku’s cock in his hand, and Rengoku liquefied at the same time Akaza drew back to glance down between them. He clicked his tongue in satisfaction.
“Wow.”
Rengoku could only manage to raise his eyebrows a little. Akaza chuckled.
He didn’t answer the implicit question, choosing instead tighten his grip and stroke. The intense pleasure of it stripped Rengoku’s breath from him as he dropped his forehead against Akaza’s collarbone. Akaza chuckled again.
“Sensitive, huh?”
Rengoku responded by kissing Akaza’s throat, and enjoyed the vibration of the hum he earned against his lips. He hummed himself when Akaza stroked him again.
Of their own accord, his hands ran up Akaza’s thighs. They made their way around his hips to tug at his underwear. In one fluid motion, Akaza stood, took them off, retrieved the lube from the corner of the bed, and returned to Rengoku’s lap to wrap his fingers around him once more. Rengoku hazily admired his dexterity as he accepted the bottle, spread lube on his fingers, and the two of them returned to kissing.
He set his fingers at Akaza’s entrance and tested for a moment to ensure he was relaxed. Akaza shifted his hips back in encouragement, his thumb pressing onto the head of Rengoku’s cock in a way that almost had him seeing stars. When he did slide a finger inside, Akaza keened into his mouth.
“Is that all right?” Rengoku asked, his voice soft.
He didn’t really wait for an answer before sliding in and out a few more times, adding a second finger.
“Nngh… Fuck, that feels amazing,” Akaza replied.
Heat rose off Rengoku’s neck and face. He’d never had a partner talk to him like Akaza did. He enjoyed it, the way it made him feel. Electric. Sexy. That was not often a word he applied to himself. He felt sexy. Barely wearing a hotel robe. His fingers inside such a beautiful, dangerous person.
Curious, he curled them, and Akaza dissolved against him with a huff.
“Goddamn. You’re sure you don’t know what you’re doing?”
“I said I didn’t have a wealth of experience, not that I didn’t know what I was doing.”
The spark that hit Akaza’s eyes lit Rengoku up like a bonfire.
“Feisty, are you?” Akaza asked. Rengoku curled his fingers again. “Fuck! Okay, very feisty.” He settled his hips low, pushing Rengoku’s fingers deeper all on his own. “I like it. It’s hot. I didn’t know you had that in you.”
“Neither did I,” Rengoku replied, awestruck as Akaza slid himself up and down on his fingers. “You bring it out of me…”
“Mm. Let’s see what else I can bring out of you.”
He changed his grip and pulled—long and slow, with excruciating pleasure. Rengoku softened a moan by biting the inside of his bottom lip.
“You don’t have to do that,” Akaza said.
He stoked again, and again—perhaps out of habit—Rengoku bit the inside of his lip as he sucked in a breath.
“Are you just quiet, or are you holding back on me?”
Locking eyes with him, his own narrowed, Rengoku pressed his fingers right into Akaza’s prostate. A lucky move, in truth, but he made his point. Akaza laughed as his hips bucked forward.
“Vindictive now,” he said. He let go of Rengoku to push the robe off his shoulders and wrap his arms around them to lean in close and kiss. “That’s hot, too…”
Rengoku kissed him back. Akaza settled with a sigh. Though his hands were now in Rengoku’s hair, he made good use of his hips, grinding against him in a rhythm that matched his fingers. The whole experience was so heady, Rengoku almost couldn’t breathe. Akaza truly brought out another side of him.
He spread his fingers a little at a time until he was satisfied Akaza was adequately relaxed. Around the same time, Akaza separated from him to grab the condom and open it. Rengoku felt a glow of pride at having been correct.
“Next time,” Akaza said, sliding the condom on Rengoku with maddening deftness, “as long as we’re both clean, I wouldn’t mind going bareback.”
Falling still, Rengoku said, “‘Wouldn’t mind’…or…?”
“I’d love to have you fuck me without a condom,” Akaza replied. “Clear enough?”
Dazed, Rengoku nodded. Akaza took the lube and prepped himself a little more.
“How do you want to do this?” he asked once he was ready.
“Um…”
Rengoku couldn’t help but feel as though he ought to offer some adventurous suggestions, but truth be told, he'd already been more adventurous tonight than he ever had. Akaza must have sensed the wheels spinning in his mind. He put a hand on Rengoku’s cheek and gave him a smile.
“Like I said, I’m up for anything.”
The meaning of that phrase had changed, somehow. No longer exclusively a promiscuous invitation, but reassurance that he did not expect Rengoku to make himself uncomfortable.
“I usually just…”
“Missionary?”
“Yeah…”
Akaza chuckled. “You don’t have to say it like that.” Rising, he tossed the duvet aside and found a position he liked. He looked incredible against the sheets, particularly as he took a pillow and propped up his hips. “You sound like you’re admitting defeat.”
“Well…”
“Well what? I get to be under you. Trust me, I’m having a great time.”
Akaza grinned. Entranced, Rengoku drifted toward him. His body moved of its own accord, magnetized, until he lay flush with Akaza. Even now, Akaza’s skin seemed remarkably cool. Rengoku pressed his lips to the crocuses on his neck, propped himself up, and kissed his way to the birds on his chest. Akaza carded his fingers in his hair.
“I know you don’t mean to be, but you’re kind of a tease,” he said.
Rengoku lifted his face to frown. Akaza chuckled.
“Don’t get me wrong, I—”
Without much more ado, Rengoku aligned himself with the entrance to Akaza’s body and pushed inside him. The sensation of it coupled with the absolutely ecstatic noise Akaza made as his fingers curled in Rengoku’s hair etched itself forever into his mind.
“—ngh, fuck, yes!”
The way Akaza laughed took Rengoku by surprise. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Akaza was having a good time. The confidence that accompanied that reassurance likewise surprised him. For a moment, he could do nothing but drink him in.
Akaza flashed him a sharp smile.
“Come on,” he said. “Show me what you can do.”
He was marvelous. Rengoku started slow—with gentle, even thrusts. Sighing, Akaza seemed to open beneath him: relaxed, but alert, and so incredibly present with his own pleasure that Rengoku found himself admiring Akaza’s ability to enjoy himself like this. He’d never really considered such things to be possible in bed, but Akaza’s body was hot and tight and welcoming, and Rengoku decided maybe he should join him in seeking out the best of what they both had to offer.
He ran his hands down Akaza’s sides and dug his fingers into his hips to take control of their position and movement, angling him up. Akaza keened. Leaning down, Rengoku kissed his collarbone and throat.
Each thrust brought him deeper, deeper until he’d completely bottomed out.
Sensuous, Akaza’s breath passed his ear. Rengoku rose to look at him, maintaining that deep rhythm, and admired the way his eyes had fluttered closed, the dusting of pink in his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. His lips had parted and his arms lay above him, sprawled across the bed. Rengoku shivered to be the cause of so much pleasure in someone else.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said.
Akaza blinked his eyes open. Rengoku tried to memorize the color of his irises.
“I don’t think you have any idea how incredible you are. God, look at you.” He drove himself deeper, after something. He didn’t know what. “I can’t believe I…” His face flushed. “…I get to have you…”
Quite suddenly, Akaza shuddered and sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes closing and his brow furrowing with startling intensity. Rengoku couldn’t believe it.
“Are you—?”
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—fuck, don’t stop!”
Obedient, Rengoku continued, though in sheer disbelief. There was no mistaking the contraction of Akaza’s body around him as he came. It felt amazing. Akaza’s fingers curled into the sheets above his head. Rengoku did ease his pace a little, if only to keep from pushing him too far. As Akaza sucked in a breath and opened his eyes, he relaxed again, but his expression was more keyed up than ever.
“Keep going…”
His voice made Rengoku’s hair stand on end.
“Are you sure?” he asked, though he hadn’t really stopped.
“Mn,” Akaza replied. “Credit where it’s due.” He glanced down his chest, prompting Rengoku to follow suit. Akaza was still hard—slick, but he hadn’t ejaculated. Rengoku looked at him, surprised, and Akaza grinned. “We’ll see if you can keep up.”
Rengoku had to kiss him. He brought their lips together and felt Akaza’s smile against his mouth as he kissed back. Rengoku slid a hand up his body, all the way to his arm, wrists, hands, linking their fingers. He could sense himself getting lost in a fog of instinct, but the nipping of teeth against his lips kept him present.
“Do you like that?” Akaza asked.
Rengoku nodded.
Akaza freed one of his hands and took hold of Rengoku’s chin. After a few more sharp kisses, he turned Rengoku’s head to the side and pulled him close to kiss his pulse. The skin was primed and sensitive when Akaza bit his neck. Rengoku huffed, delighted.
“Maybe some time, I’ll fuck you,” Akaza whispered, right into his ear, and everything about it made Rengoku burn.
“Okay,” he said, nodding.
Akaza chuckled. “I like you like this,” he said, kissing his neck.
In reply, Rengoku kissed him back, kissed his neck. Tried his own teeth. Akaza let him know he approved with a pleasured hum. The sound urged him deeper, a little faster, and Akaza gave him another beautiful noise. Akaza knotted his fingers in his hair and Rengoku found himself chasing those sounds until Akaza came a second time, exactly like the first, now with an incredible moan mixed with laughter on his lips.
“God you’re good,” Akaza huffed.
“How do you do that?” Rengoku asked, amazed in spite of himself.
“Practice,” Akaza replied. “I like it. Not everybody does.” Rengoku nodded appreciatively. “Make no mistake, though, that’s all you.”
The words unlocked some primal fire Rengoku had never ever felt.
“You can go harder,” Akaza said, “if you want.”
He did. He would. Rengoku did not waste any time reorienting himself into a better position with a little more control. Akaza keened as he picked up the pace. His nerves must have been raw, having orgasmed twice already, but he seemed to be enjoying himself all the more for it. Still, Rengoku made sure to be careful.
Akaza felt so good. The uncanny cool of his skin played a striking contrast to the heat inside him. Rengoku was wholly absorbed in the sensation of it—the pressure, the push and pull, the reward of every little breath he brought out of Akaza’s mouth.
He wanted to make him come completely.
Sitting up a little, he repositioned himself to take Akaza’s cock in his hand and stroke him while he kissed his neck, never once stopping the forward momentum of his hips.
“Oh, fuck—that’s—yes—”
Rengoku relished every word.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Akaza.”
“Kyojuro.”
He felt himself start to turn toward climax. He sucked his mouth against Akaza’s neck. “Please say my name again…”
“Kyojuro.”
His skin prickled with goosebumps. He was hardly aware of where he ended and Akaza began, but there was something wonderful about that. Something holistically lovely about being welcomed into a person in more ways than one. He really did feel good. He felt—well, Rengoku didn’t have the words to describe how he felt, but it was better than anything he’d ever felt before. He was close now. Akaza gasped.
“You’re—”
Rengoku did not slow down.
“You’re so—”
He pressed deeper with every ounce of affection he possessed.
“You’re—”
He did not learn what he was, as Akaza came then, giving of himself in Rengoku’s hand. More intense and prolonged, the contraction this time pulled Rengoku over the edge right after him. His own orgasm was the best in recent memory, overtaking his conscious thought until he found himself blinking back to clarity some moments later.
A little surprised, he raised himself to look at Akaza.
“Wow…” Akaza said with a grin.
By then, the laughter had become contagious. Chuckling, Rengoku dropped his forehead to Akaza’s chest. Soon, though, he lifted his face and kissed him. Akaza hummed.
“I’m sorry,” Rengoku said. “I meant to pull out…”
Akaza shook his head. “I like it. Don’t be sorry.”
Rengoku kissed him one more time—well, a few more times, actually. Akaza returned each of them.
“I’ll get a towel if you want?” Rengoku asked.
“Sure.”
With a temporary-goodbye kiss, Rengoku pulled out and got up. He went to the bathroom and cleaned himself up, then ran a hand towel under hot water, wrung out the excess, and grabbed a second one to dry. Returning to the bed, he noticed a slight, satisfying unsteadiness in his limbs. When he sat, Akaza welcomed him with an open-mouthed kiss.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the towel. Unceremonious, he wiped himself off, dried, and tossed both towels over Rengoku’s shoulder before wrapping his arms around his neck and drawing him down so they could lie side by side and kiss.
They kissed, and kissed, and kissed. Every single one tugged at Rengoku’s heart.
Naked as they were, the room proved chilly, so he pulled the duvet over them both. Akaza brushed his fingers down his chest.
“You’re unbelievable,” Akaza said.
“I have a feeling that’s high praise coming from you.”
Akaza just kissed him. Rengoku enjoyed this new, open softness. He wouldn’t have guessed Akaza would be the cuddling type, but here he was. It matched Rengoku’s own sensibilities perfectly. As Akaza settled, he rested his head on Rengoku’s arm.
“You wanna go again?” he asked.
Rengoku chuckled. “I’ll probably need an hour or so, if you want to wait?”
Nodding, Akaza let his full weight fall against the mattress with a smile. “Sure.”
His fingers grazed Rengoku’s hip. Returning that smile, Rengoku searched out his hand to lace their fingers together and free it from the covers to press a kiss to Akaza’s knuckles.
“Tomorrow, we can hang around the lodge, or rent some snowshoes and get out on the mountain,” he said.
“Okay,” Akaza replied with another nod and a smile.
“I think there’s a pool or a hot tub somewhere, and I know for sure there’s racquet ball courts and shuffleboard and stuff like that. Actually, I think I saw a couple pool tables off the bar. Maybe you owe me a rematch.”
Quiet, Akaza chuckled. “That sounds like fun.”
He’d closed his eyes. Rengoku smiled as a pang went through his heart.
“Tired?” he asked.
Akaza nodded. “Mmhm…”
“I’ll get the light, okay?”
“Okay…”
He craned himself over Akaza to reach the lamp on the bedside table. By the time he’d resettled, Akaza was already asleep. Rengoku brushed a thumb across his cheekbone.
“Good night, Akaza,” he said, so much more in love with him than he had realized.
When Akaza woke the following morning, he did so with a jolt. His eyes went straight to the clock on the nightstand. Six sixteen. He didn’t remember falling asleep.
He’d let his guard down.
Had he not participated in some of the best sex he’d ever had, he might have been surprised. Beside him, Kyojuro breathed in and out long and slow—the special kind of breathing reserved only for those who slept with security. At some point, he’d draped an arm across Akaza’s chest. It was too much.
All at once, Akaza realized what day it was.
Several hundred feelings slammed into him, and he propelled himself from bed, from the embrace, though he only went as far as to sit on the edge of the mattress.
His own breath came and went with ragged effort.
He put his elbows on his knees.
How could he have forgotten what day it was?
Today was the anniversary of the worst day of his life. He shouldn’t have agreed to go on this trip, but of course he’d been asked by the one person he couldn’t refuse, who also happened to be the person responsible for dredging up all those old memories in the first place. Traditionally, Akaza would drink and dissociate to avoid the grief. But here he was—clear-minded and wide awake.
In an attempt to distract himself, he glanced at Kyojuro, asleep on his stomach, an arm tucked under his pillow. The duvet had shifted with Akaza’s escape, revealing only part of Kyojuro’s sculpted back. His hair was a mess. Akaza had made sure of that.
A twinge of arousal went through him just thinking about it. Kyojuro fucked like a king. Akaza tried not to place expectations on any partner, but he certainly had not expected the precision and stamina, nor the attentiveness. Kyojuro fucked like he kissed—hopelessly sincere and effortlessly powerful. Akaza almost could not believe that he had come three times before Kyojuro had even finished once. He could feel it, but he wasn’t really sore.
Akaza had had a lot of sex with a lot of different kinds of people. But he’d only ever had sex with one other person he actually cared about.
Though different, Kyojuro and Koyuki had a lot in common.
Perhaps against his better judgment, he let himself remember.
Koyuki had never understood her own strength. Gentle, quiet, unassuming, she’d made herself as small as possible in order to minimize the burden she placed on others, or to escape their notice altogether. Akaza had never seen a need to be careful with her, treating her as he would anyone else, and she’d loved that about him. She’d loved it enough to want to marry him, which was something he’d never understood.
Eleven years to the day, now. He’d driven out to the place in the mountains where he’d scattered his dad’s ashes to tell him about their engagement. The gym had been dark and quiet when he’d returned. He’d known then that something was wrong, but nothing can really prepare someone to find the bodies of the people you love—not even having experienced it before.
She’d been so cold in his arms. So cold, like snow, and he could feel that anguished scream rising in his throat all over again.
A warm hand touched the small of his back.
Akaza jumped, turning to find Kyojuro awake, cautious, almost sitting up. He did not withdraw his hand.
“Sorry,” Kyojuro said softly.
Akaza shook his head.
“You okay?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I don’t mind.”
His hand was so warm. So reassuring. Before Akaza even realized how badly he wanted it, Kyojuro had drawn close, sliding that hand up Akaza’s back and wrapping his arms around him. His lips touched a kiss to Akaza’s shoulder. Akaza let his breath out.
Winter wind howled over the balcony. This early, the sun had yet to rise.
“You can go back to sleep,” Akaza said.
He could feel Kyojuro’s eyes on his face and knew that he could sense something was wrong. Though Kyojuro did not reply, he didn’t move either. Akaza’s hands trembled. That scream still lingered on the edge of his teeth. He probably wouldn’t be able to silence it. He couldn’t comprehend how he’d become so weak.
“Do you, uh—do you remember, on the mountain, I said some of my tattoos do have stories?” he said.
“Of course.”
“You asked about the snowflake…”
Kyojuro shifted to set his eyes on Akaza’s back. A smile colored his voice when he spoke next, but Akaza felt none of the warmth.
“I think it’s my favorite,” Kyojuro said.
“Mine, too,” Akaza replied, his throat tight.
“Tell me about it.”
All warm skin, Kyojuro settled, pressed his chest to Akaza’s back, and wrapped his arms around his middle. He touched one of those comforting kisses to Akaza’s neck before resting his chin on his shoulder. Akaza glanced at him. Kyojuro smiled, soft and undemanding. Akaza drew in a breath.
“I had it done for my fiancé,” he said. “Her name was Koyuki.”
If Kyojuro had any kind of negative reaction to that, he didn’t show it.
“I did the art. She, uh—she loved the snow. That whole ‘every snowflake is unique’ shit really worked on her.” Defenseless, he chuckled. “The shape of the branches is sort of the shape of her name, the sound waves.”
Kyojuro traced a hand down Akaza’s side. “That’s beautiful,” he said. “How did the two of you meet?”
“Her dad took me in. I was sort of between homes. He got called out to deal with me because I was in a fight with some assholes on the same street as his boxing gym, but I actually ended up impressing him. He tried to convince me to come train with him, I said no, he kicked my ass and dragged me back anyway.” A small smile crossed his face. Keizo had been a crazy son of a bitch. “Koyuki was really sick. He couldn’t take care of her and work, and I was used to it with my dad, so…I stayed.”
“And that’s where you learned to box?”
Akaza nodded. “I was good at it. Keizo—that was his name—he didn’t have any students, but I was gonna change that. As soon as I turned eighteen, I was gonna get my license from the state commission and go pro, win a bunch of fights, bring a lot of publicity. You know. We had big plans. Koyuki and I were gonna run the gym together.”
“I can hear how much you loved it,” Kyojuro said. “In your voice.”
“Yeah, I did. They…they were family to me.”
“What happened?”
“They were murdered.”
Kyojuro jolted. Akaza felt him go stiff with shock, but he kept talking.
“There were some motherfuckers who wanted the gym and didn’t think Keizo should have it. Koyuki just happened to be at there when they came for him, but I wasn’t…” He flexed his hands. “The one time they needed me, I wasn’t there.”
“Oh my god…”
No point in being strong if you couldn’t protect the people you love.
“I miss them every fucking day, Kyojuro,” Akaza said, tears finally rising in his eyes. “I miss Koyuki so much.” His throat was too tight. “Oh god, I miss her. I miss her.” The tears fell. He couldn’t stop them. He couldn’t breathe. “What did she do? She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve to die—not like that. She didn’t—she didn’t—” He really couldn’t breathe.
He felt tears on his skin—not his own—on his shoulder. He looked at Kyojuro, and he was crying. Shocked, Akaza stared, and Kyojuro looked back with incomprehensible empathy.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry…”
Akaza shattered. He broke down completely. All of his grief overtook him at once, and in a matter of seconds the weight of it had him weeping. Kyojuro held onto him, and he dug his fingers into Kyojuro’s arms like it was a final, desperate act of self-preservation. Under the shaking of his own shoulders, he could feel Kyojuro crying, too.
Nobody had ever cried with him before.
He didn’t know how long it went on. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried for Koyuki, or Keizo, or his dad. He couldn’t even remember if he’d ever cried for them. How horrible. How tragic. How like him.
A decade of sorrow spilled out and took every ounce of his strength with it. As his tears quieted, his whole body trembled, and he realized that Kyojuro was holding him up.
“I’ve never talked about that,” he said, though the words hardly left his mouth.
Kyojuro hugged him tighter.
“I’m sorry,” Akaza continued. “I’m sure it’s the last thing—”
Kyojuro pressed a kiss to his spine and rested his cheek on his shoulder blade. “Please don’t be sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else to say, but you don’t have to be sorry for anything.”
A few more sobs bubbled up out of Akaza. People said you were supposed to feel better after crying, but he didn’t. He felt wounded and raw and exhausted.
“I don’t know how you’ve carried that on your own for so long,” Kyojuro said.
“Who was I supposed to tell?”
After Keizo and Koyuki, he’d never let anyone within ten feet of him. He’d given up on boxing, sold everything, moved to the city, and taken the first tattoo apprenticeship he could get. Muzan had seen his potential as an artist, and Akaza hadn’t given a shit one way or the other how he was treated. He hadn’t cared about anything.
Until Kyojuro.
“I’m so sorry, Akaza.”
Akaza sniffed, but achieved nothing. He couldn’t breathe through his nose and his face stung with tears. “Yeah, well, the world’s fucked, so…”
Kyojuro sat up. Tender, he shifted to put himself in Akaza’s line of sight, but kept him in his arms. When Akaza glanced his way, he caught his face in his hand and held his gaze. Then he wiped away Akaza’s tears. That alone made Akaza’s throat catch, but when Kyojuro brought him close to press a kiss to his forehead, Akaza broke down all over again.
The room was cold outside the covers. Kyojuro grabbed the duvet to bundle it around them both. Akaza gave up, collapsing against Kyojuro as he continued to cry.
A few minutes passed before he simply ran out of energy.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice sounded sticky.
“No…” Kyojuro replied. His voice sounded warm.
“I don’t want you to think—I don’t usually do this, it’s just…” He sighed. “It’s been a long time since I…”
“Akaza, I am exactly where I want to be.”
Akaza lifted his face to stare, wide-eyed, at Kyojuro. His own face stained with tears, Kyojuro smiled, as hopelessly sincere as he always had been.
“I mean that,” he said.
Akaza nodded.
Raising Akaza’s chin, he touched a kiss to his mouth, then snuggled close and rested his cheek on his head. Akaza wrapped a pair of trembling arms around him almost in disbelief.
“When my mom died, I felt so lost,” Kyojuro said. “It was like…not only did she die, but who I was with her died as well. It’s hard. It’s still hard… I don’t think people really come back from that. You heal and you change, but nothing is ever the same. You just…make room for the grief and live with it.”
“Yeah.”
Akaza had died when Koyuki died. That much was true. He’d been dead ever since.
“I want to do right by you,” Kyojuro said. “No matter what that looks like.”
“You are,” Akaza replied.
As much as reliving the past hurt, Akaza had to admit it was the most living he’d done in a long time. He’d felt more alive in the last twenty-four hours than the last eleven years.
“She would have liked you,” Akaza said.
Kyojuro chuckled, warming. “I’m glad.”
“She liked me, so don’t think too much of it.”
“Well, both of us like you, so I think we’re in the right.”
Against all odds, Akaza found himself smiling. He let himself rest against Kyojuro. His eyes slowly drifted closed.
“Today was the day they were killed,” he said.
Kyojuro made a gentle, affirmative noise. “We can stay right here all day if you want.”
“No,” Akaza said. He opened his eyes to give him a small smile. “They’d want me to do something fun to remember them. I never have. Even just…being conscious has been too much for me in the past. I know they wouldn’t want me to have lived through any of the last decade the way I have, but I haven’t ever been able to pull myself together. With you, I…”
He could hardly believe the way he felt. Wretched, vulnerable, but relieved, too. He didn’t understand how a person like this could come into his life and choose to stay. How could he be that lucky twice?
Koyuki would have liked Kyojuro. She would have adored him.
She was the reason Akaza was here at all.
Sitting up, he took Kyojuro’s face in his hands and kissed him. Sweetly. Sincerely. The way Kyojuro so often kissed him. He looked into his eyes and spoke with complete conviction.
“I’m exactly where I want to be, too.”
Notes:
HI, WELCOME TO THE END NOTES I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER!!
Chapter Text
For Rengoku, returning to the valley on Sunday afternoon felt like entering a new world altogether. The grey light of the sun behind grey clouds. The grey slush on the side of the road. No longer so bleak, they served as reminders of the constancy of winter. Silent, gentle flakes fell from the sky, melting as soon as they touched concrete or asphalt, piling on old snow. Beside him, Akaza watched the city form through the passenger window.
Some deep part of Rengoku ached just looking at him. He was so beautiful, and so sad. So strong, and yet Rengoku could not help but want to protect him.
They’d borrowed snowshoes from the lodge and hiked a few of the winter trails on Saturday. Akaza had talked softly about Koyuki. The silence of the snow and the isolation of the wilderness had seemed less daunting with him there, recounting stories Rengoku was certain he had never told before. A grounded sense of loss had accompanied them throughout the day. Sometimes it was good to grieve.
Sensing his gaze, Akaza glanced at Rengoku.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” he teased.
Smiling, Rengoku obeyed. He said, “I drive safe.”
“No, you drive a truck.”
“This is not a get-out-of-my-way, I-rule-the-road truck.” He flashed Akaza another smile. “Not that I wouldn’t drive a Ram 1500 if I could afford one.”
Chuckling, Akaza shook his head. Rengoku glanced at him again and fought the urge to reach across the bench and put a hand on his knee or the back of his neck. He knew displays of affection made Akaza tense and uncomfortable. Even when they were alone. Rengoku didn’t mind, though it did make him aware of just how often he wanted to touch him.
“This is a change of topic, but is there something you’d like to do for Valentine’s Day?”
“What do you want to do?” Akaza replied.
Rengoku’s heart glowed at the implicit affirmation. “I’m not sure. I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Liar.”
“I haven’t!” Rengoku laughed. “I’ve never had an honest-to-goodness Valentine before.”
Up ahead, the light turned red, so he brought the truck to a stop at the intersection and turned to smile at Akaza. Akaza blinked at him, eyes wide. Rengoku reached across the bench to take his hand and kiss his knuckles.
He could only restrain himself so much.
“Believe me, it’s a welcome change,” he said.
A small smile crept across Akaza’s mouth. He had this look in his eyes somewhere between confusion and pity, and intersected by gratitude. Like he couldn’t believe what Rengoku said was true. He squeezed Rengoku’s hand before reclaiming his own.
“I’ll think about it, but don’t expect me to come up with any earth-shattering ideas.”
The light turned green. At the same time, Rengoku’s phone rang in the cupholder on the console. Akaza checked the screen as Rengoku set his eyes on the road.
“It’s your brother.”
“Will you answer and put him on speaker?”
Akaza did. He even held the phone up close so Rengoku wouldn’t have to shout.
“Hey, bud.”
“Hey,” Senjuro replied. “Are you, um—are you on your way home?”
Rengoku exchanged expressions with Akaza over the apparent concern in Senjuro’s voice. “Yeah, we are. We should be there in about twenty minutes. What’s up?”
“Okay, if you can hurry, that would probably be good,” Senjuro replied.
Nothing could have prepared Rengoku for the next words out of his brother’s mouth.
“Dad came home early.”
He almost slammed on the brakes. “What?”
“I don’t know, he said they let him leave, but… I guess he’s on the front porch? I’m still with Nezuko and Tanjiro. The buses are delayed because of the snow, and Urokodaki isn’t back yet, so I don’t have a way to get home. Dad called me because he couldn’t get ahold of you and the door’s locked.”
“We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Text Dad and let him know I’m on my way.”
They said their goodbyes, hung up, and—after receiving a nod from Akaza—Rengoku pressed the gas pedal almost all the way to the floor. He’d make his truck a get-out-of-my-way truck or die trying. With the wet roads and fresh snow, the latter was a very real possibility.
He shaved a dangerous ten minutes off the drive.
As soon as they turned onto their street, Rengoku spotted a hunched figure seated on their stoop. It could only have been Shinjuro, bundled in his black and red plaid coat. He lifted his head as Rengoku pulled into the driveway. His eyes were narrowed and his nose was red from the cold. He had his duffel bag with him. Rengoku and Akaza got out of the truck.
“Look who finally dragged his carcass home,” Shinjuro said. He still had a mean tongue sober. “Forget about your deadbeat dad, did you?”
“I didn’t forget,” Rengoku said. “You were supposed to get out on the eighth.”
“I took the bus here. I sat in the cold. I froze my ass off. Where the hell were you?”
“Up the canyon. The Wisteria staff had a weekend trip.”
Shinjuro snorted. “You can’t afford a new furnace, but you can take the staff skiing. Makes perfect sense to me.”
Rengoku’s heart quickened and he flexed his fingers, flustered. “That’s not—there was…” He’d never been very good at keeping up with his dad. “We didn’t—”
He stopped speaking when Akaza put a hand on his arm.
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he said.
As if noticing Akaza for the first time, Shinjuro shifted his weight back. His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits and he jerked his chin forward. “Who the hell are you?”
Akaza glanced at Rengoku, obviously uncertain how to answer. His name alone would not satisfy Shinjuro, who would want to know why Akaza was riding around in a truck with his son who had no friends, but they hadn’t exactly defined their relationship. The fact that Akaza had not immediately jumped to “friends” as an explanation was reassuring, but the reassurance did not last for long.
“Are you fucking my son?” Shinjuro growled.
Rengoku winced, but Akaza remained remarkably cool.
“What’s your point?” he asked.
Shinjuro stood up.
“Get off my property.”
“It’s not your property.”
Grinding his teeth, Shinjuro stalked down the porch where Rengoku intercepted him with a hand on his shoulder. He strained to bring his father to a stop.
“Dad, don’t. Let’s just go inside and you can shower and unpack. I’m sure Senjuro will be home soon. We can make dinner.”
Shinjuro shrugged off his hand. “I don’t want to eat, I want this son of a bitch to tell me who the fuck he thinks he is.”
Akaza shrugged. “I’m not anybody.”
This was not going to end well. Rengoku could feel the stray sparks, just waiting for the right strike to ignite the kindling. Akaza was not one to back down from a fight. Neither was his father. He tried not to think too much about that as he moved to intercept Shinjuro again. Shinjuro wouldn’t have it.
“Don’t fucking touch me, you ungrateful piece of shit.”
Akaza’s eyes glinted. “Hey.”
“What?” Shinjuro wheeled on him. “You’ve got something to say now?”
“Don’t talk to him like that,” Akaza replied. Shinjuro huffed, so he continued, “He works his ass off to keep you housed, fed, and probably fucking insured. You live here because he allows it. Anybody less kind would have dumped your ass a long time ago. You’ve got a whole hell of a lot of pride for someone in your position.” He flicked his eyes over Shinjuro with clear disdain. “But that’s probably all you’ve got.”
That, it seemed, was the threshold.
Shinjuro moved first. Akaza was faster. He dodged the fist headed for his face, then brought both of his own up in what Rengoku could only assume was a boxing combo. One strike went straight to Shinjuro’s cheek and dropped his head. The other followed from below right into his chin. A deep, sickening crack accompanied the second strike. Shinjuro, who had not expected resistance, tumbled to the ground.
Surprisingly, Akaza dropped to one knee and steadied him with a stark expression of concern. “Oh, fuck. I think I broke his jaw.”
“What?”
Rengoku knelt alongside his father, who was still reeling from the blows. Leaning his weight on Rengoku, Shinjuro lifted a hand to hold his mouth closed. A trickle of thick, red blood leaked from the corner of his lips.
“Are you sure?” Rengoku asked.
Akaza gave him a grim nod. “I know that sound,” he said. “He should go to the hospital.”
Mortified, Rengoku turned to Shinjuro, breathing deeply and shockingly calm. His dizziness cleared enough for him to look at Rengoku and nod, his expression firm and serious. He seemed almost to have gained a certain amount of respect. Rengoku helped him to his feet. Akaza followed.
“I should have held back,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.”
They headed for the truck, and Rengoku noticed the knuckles on Akaza’s right hand were bleeding, too.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just out of condition.”
Shinjuro huffed as he climbed into the cab. Rengoku dug around for the tissues under the seat and passed him the box. Akaza grabbed an empty water bottle, scooped it through the snow, then offered it to Rengoku.
“For the swelling,” he said.
Nodding, Rengoku gave his father the bottle. Then he turned and unhooked his house key from his key ring and held it out to Akaza.
“Will you stay here and wait for Senjuro? I don’t want him to be alone when he gets home.” Taking the key, Akaza nodded. “Thank you. There’s a first aid kit under the sink in the bathroom in the hallway.”
“I’m so sorry,” Akaza said, his voice soft, clearly speaking to Rengoku alone.
Shaking his head, a little shaken himself, Rengoku put a hand around the back of Akaza’s neck to give him a quick kiss before climbing into the cab. “It’s okay,” he said. “I promise.”
Akaza nodded, took a step back. Rengoku swung the door closed.
He drove his father to the emergency room in absolute silence.
The panic rising in Akaza’s throat turned into bile as he watched Kyojuro back out of the driveway. He almost puked on the fucking sidewalk. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What was wrong with him? Somehow, he managed to ruin every good thing he touched. He shouldn’t have expected anything less.
Blood ran over his knuckles. Clutching the house key had opened another split.
He needed to busy himself or he would fall apart.
The key left a jagged indent in his palm. He almost knocked his head into the screen door when he opened it. That sound of breaking bone replayed over and over and over again no matter how hard he tried to empty his mind.
In the bathroom, he washed his knuckles, and it hurt like a motherfucker, but he held his hand under the water longer than he should have for that exact reason. The first aid kit under the sink was well stocked. Akaza scattered about a hundred difference pieces all over the counter looking for what he wanted. His heart pounded and his lungs raced. His hands trembled as he dried his knuckles on a cotton pad. He held it there for a while, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop.
This was nothing. Shinjuro was hurt. Akaza had broken his own jaw more than once, broken other people’s jaws more than once. Of course he would fist fight Kyojuro’s dad five seconds after meeting him. Of course he fucking would.
Tears stung his eyes.
“Don’t fucking cry, don’t fucking cry.”
He made the mistake of glancing at himself in the mirror.
He looked so pathetic.
The tears fell. In an effort to silence them, he went back to bandaging, but he couldn’t fucking see, and his hands were shaking even more, and he just kept blubbering. He dropped the roll of tape about four times trying to find the end.
He hadn’t quite recovered from the emotional vulnerability of the weekend. He’d opened callouses all the way to the root and his nerves were still raw. He couldn’t believe he’d told Kyojuro everything. Now, having a breakdown in the guy’s bathroom not two days later, Akaza couldn’t help but wish he hadn’t said anything at all.
“Oh my god, are you okay?”
With a jolt, Akaza turned to find Senjuro standing in the doorway.
He pulled himself together and silenced everything in an instant.
“Yeah,” he said. “I broke your dad’s jaw. He and your brother are on their way to the hospital right now.”
He focused his attention on picking up the tape—wet, after rolling into the sink. His hands were still unsteady, and he still couldn’t find the end. He lifted it closer to his face, tilted it toward the ceiling light, desperate, frantic, embarrassed. Part of him was certain this was the last time he would ever be allowed to set foot in this house.
Then he felt arms around his middle as Senjuro folded him into a hug.
Akaza froze.
“He probably deserved it,” Senjuro said.
Akaza did not dare move. He could not comprehend what was going on, but the hug was genuine, and Senjuro held so much of the same warmth as his older brother.
“Do you like hot chocolate?” Senjuro asked. “I think we have mini marshmallows?”
Akaza’s chin trembled.
“Sure,” he said.
Senjuro nodded. “Okay. I’ll make some.” He let go and stepped back, but the mess from the first aid kit caught his eye. “Do you need any help?”
“No, I’m all right. Thank you, though.”
“Okay.” He took another step back. “I usually make it with milk?”
“That’s great.”
“Okay…”
Reluctant, Senjuro headed for the kitchen. Akaza braced his hands against the counter and sucked in a deep breath. He shut his eyes and exhaled slowly.
Careful not to look at himself in the mirror, he gripped the tape and tried again.
Seated in the hospital waiting room, Rengoku called the rehab center where his father was supposed to have been for another seven days. Perhaps if he had not come home, they wouldn’t be anticipating x-ray results right now. Perhaps if he had not come home, the soft and delicate world from this morning would not have shattered. However, something told Rengoku that this particular conflict had been inevitable.
The line rang for a long time before anyone answered and offered a greeting.
He sat up straight. “Hi. This is Kyojuro Rengoku. My dad checked out of your program this morning, and I just wanted to check and make sure that… I just wanted to check.”
“Oh, yes,” the receptionist said. “We did try to call, but we weren’t able to get through. Would you be able to verify a few things for me and then I can get one of our staff on the phone to explain the situation?”
“Yes, of course.”
Address. Dates of birth. The handful of identifying factors they had to make sure Rengoku was who he claimed to be. Then he listened to the hold music for a minute or two before someone else picked up.
“Hi. Kyojuro?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Hi. Glad to hear from you. Long story short, with your dad’s stay rolling over between years and billing cycles, there was some pushback from the insurance and they refused to cover that final week. When we couldn’t get ahold of you, we decided to follow the precedent you’ve in the past. Shinjuro is doing well, so we felt comfortable making the decision to send him home a week early. I apologize for the surprise, and we’re ready to readmit him if you’d like, but that cost will likely have to come out of pocket.”
Sighing, Rengoku massaged the bridge of his nose. Of course it would be the insurance.
“I am sorry,” the woman continued. “I know it’s not a fun surprise.”
“No, no. I understand. Thank you. I’m sorry for the trouble. As long as he’s doing well and didn’t…I don’t know…escape…”
She laughed. “No. He was officially discharged. And he is doing well. Better than he has after past stays.”
Rengoku decided not to tell her Shinjuro was currently sitting in a hospital room with a broken jaw.
“That’s good to hear,” he said, which he supposed was true.
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“No, you’ve been very helpful, thank you.”
“Thank you for understanding. Don’t hesitate to call if you or your family need some additional support.”
“Will do. Thank you.”
As he disconnected the call, he noticed a text from Senjuro:
I think Akaza is kind of freaking
out, so if you can let him know
if things are okay I think that
would be good! How’s Dad??
He did not get a chance to answer, however. A nurse entered the waiting room and called him back. Rengoku picked up his coat and went, following to a door for a treatment room where he was informed the doctor would be by shortly. Inside, Shinjuro looked up from the hospital bed. They’d supplied him with ice packs and stabilized his jaw with a bandage that wrapped around his neck and crossed over his head.
The nurse closed the door.
Rengoku took a seat in one of the chairs.
He and Shinjuro were silent.
Muffled emergency room noise filled that void. Then Shinjuro spoke.
“Your boyfriend sure can hit.”
“He’s not…”
Rengoku trailed off, and Shinjuro raised an incredulous eyebrow.
“C’mon, kid,” he said.
“He isn’t,” Rengoku replied.
“Do you want him to be?”
With a deep breath, Rengoku nodded. “I think so.”
Pursing his lips, Shinjuro nodded as well. He let his gaze fall across the room, empty and contemplative. Eventually, he asked, “So what’s wrong with him?”
Rengoku furrowed his brow. “What?”
“You only surround yourself with broken people,” Shinjuro replied.
“That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with them.”
Shinjuro gave him a somber, sorry smile—one laced with pity for the years of pain he had inflicted, for his son who couldn’t draw the line, couldn’t stand up for himself. Shinjuro was a lot of things, but he wasn’t ignorant. He understood his failings with perfect clarity. He was just as powerless as Rengoku, only in a different way.
“I don’t like him,” Shinjuro said.
“You don’t like anyone.”
“I don’t want him in my house.”
“It’s not your house.”
Lifting his chin, Shinjuro surveyed Rengoku with apparent curiosity. “You’re showing some backbone.”
Leaning forward onto his elbows, Rengoku sighed.
“Dad,” he said, “I love you. I want you to be safe. I want you to be healthy. I want you to be content, because, frankly, it feels like wanting you to be happy is asking too much. I don’t expect you to do any of that without support. I never have. But you can’t sit there and pretend like you don’t understand the effect your actions have on me, on Senjuro, and on yourself.”
Silent, Shinjuro stared at him.
“I’m tired, Dad.” Rengoku shook his head. “I have to be so many things to so many people. I have to be strong, and I have to give, and I choose to do that, I know, but it is hard not to feel spread thin. With Akaza…I don’t know. I don’t have to be anything. He… He makes me feel full, Dad. He makes me feel like…me.”
He looked at his father, but he could not decipher the expression on Shinjuro’s face. It almost wasn’t an expression at all, just blank space.
“Living without Mom is never going to get easier,” Rengoku said.
That made Shinjuro’s eyes flash and his jaw clench, but that caused him so much pain that he had to drop the intensity immediately. Solemn bitterness replaced the anger as his pain subsided.
“I miss her, too, Dad. Every day.” Tears filled his eyes, and he thought of Akaza—torn open and weeping in his arms. “I want us to be there for each other. Because we knew her. Because we have each other.”
The room quieted again. Rengoku sniffed and blinked away his tears. He didn’t want to look at Shinjuro. Not that he would have gotten much feedback from him anyway.
“You’ve been a better father to Senjuro than I ever have,” Shinjuro said. “Even when your mother was alive.”
Surprised, Rengoku lifted his head. Shinjuro looked at him—clear-eyed, focused. Honest.
“He’s lucky to have you. I’m lucky to have you. I take advantage of that.”
“I know.”
Perhaps the worst aspect of Rengoku’s allowing others to take advantage of him was the notion they all seemed to hold that he didn’t know. Shinjuro gave him a censured nod.
“Thank you,” Rengoku said.
They left it at that. Shinjuro probably shouldn’t have been talking to begin with. Maybe the injury was not as severe as they feared if he could speak so easily. Rengoku wondered where the doctor was, and why they always called patients back only to make them sit and wait. Outside the room, the hospital sounded busy.
“You’ve got something on your arm,” Shinjuro said, indicating with a lazy finger.
“It’s a tattoo.”
The expression that surfaced on Shinjuro’s face was the most shocked he’d looked all day, and that included the fight with Akaza.
“When did you get a tattoo?”
“In January,” Rengoku responded. He pushed his sleeve up his arm. “It’s a furin. I had it done for mom.” Shinjuro’s shock transitioned into raw emotion. “Do you want to see it?”
“Of course I want to see it.”
Chuckling, Rengoku stood and moved closer. Shinjuro pursed his lips when he got a better look at the tattoo. He raised a pair of gentle fingers to underline Ruka’s name on the paper that hung from the bell. His eyes were wet.
“It’s beautiful,” he said. “She’d love it.”
“I think so, too.”
“Where’d you have it done?”
“Akaza,” Rengoku replied. Shinjuro straightened in surprise. His eyes turned to the furin a second time and he observed a little more deeply.
“He understands, then,” Shinjuro said.
Rengoku nodded. “He does, Dad.”
Letting out a deep breath, Shinjuro nodded as well.
It was then that the doctor finally knocked on the door.
Both Senjuro and Akaza dropped their Uno cards the second they heard Kyojuro’s truck in the driveway. Since leaving for the hospital, Kyojuro had not responded to any of Senjuro’s texts, which had both of them worried, though for entirely different reasons. Senjuro raced for the front door. Akaza stood, but could not get his legs to move him from the living room.
In spite of the card game, the hot chocolate, and Senjuro’s reassurance, Akaza had braced for the worst. Kyojuro may have been kind, but Akaza did not expect him to overlook this.
He’d harmed his father.
That was a fact.
Soft voices reached him as the brothers spoke in the entryway. Footsteps and coats and an exchange of information and responsibilities that Akaza did not catch because his ears were ringing. They were ringing so loud.
A hand touched his cheek.
Akaza startled backward, looking up to find Kyojuro in front of him. He retreated further.
“I’ll—um, I’ll get an Uber home,” he said, turning to pick up the cards. “You don’t have to drive me. Senjuro said he already finished his homework. He wanted to wait up for you, so I’ll go now that you’re back. I want to pay the hospital bills. Tonight’s and then any follow-up appointments he has. I—”
A hand touched the small of his back.
Straightening, Akaza let go of the cards and tried to retreat again, but Kyojuro secured an arm around his waist and held him in place. It didn’t make any sense. Akaza didn’t know what to do. He just sort of coiled up. His eyes stayed glued to the carpet.
“Akaza.”
He swallowed.
“I’m not angry,” Kyojuro continued. “Hell, I’m not even upset.” His voice dropped to a low, soft register as he spoke next. “Please stay.”
Slow, shocked, Akaza finally lifted his eyes. The smile Kyojuro gave him was slight and serious, but warm nonetheless. He understood the gravity of the situation as well as he understood Akaza’s current mental state. Careful, he ran his hands up Akaza’s back, and Akaza found himself uncoiling—against his instincts.
“He’s okay,” Kyojuro said. “His lower jaw is fractured, but it’s minor. They didn’t have to wire it shut or anything. He’ll be on a liquid diet and rest for a while, but they said he’ll make a full recovery.”
“…I…don’t understand.”
“I can show you the x-rays?”
“No—I don’t understand why you’re not upset.”
Kyojuro huffed a humorless laugh. “Well, to begin with, my dad started it. Most of what you said and did was defense.”
“That doesn’t…” Akaza did not know how to finish that sentence.
“As far as I’m concerned, it does.” Kyojuro shrugged. “This may be uncharitable, but somebody needed to knock some sense into him, and it was never going to be me.”
Tilting his head, Kyojuro placed himself in Akaza’s line of sight and smiled. Akaza could only return him disorientation and concern. None of this made any sense—it didn’t make sense—especially not Kyojuro cupping Akaza’s face in his hands to brush his thumbs along his cheekbones.
He said, “Thank you for standing up for me.”
Akaza’s strength abandoned his limbs. He started to collapse, but Kyojuro was there to catch him. His arms wrapped around Kyojuro’s back and he gnarled his fingers in his shirt. How could he know? How could he know Akaza’s desperate, misdirected desire to protect?
Not that he’d ever been any good at it.
“I understand if you’d rather not stay, but please let me drive you home either way.”
“Kyojuro…”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t understand…”
Tears pricked Akaza’s eyes and he hated himself for it.
Kyojuro chuckled softly. “Frankly, neither do I, but that’s not going to change the way I feel.” He leaned back, and Akaza was forced to ease his grip. “Do you want to stay?”
Akaza nodded.
“Then stay.”
Those words twisted his heart and it hurt in the most confusing way—elated and awful and relieved and ashamed all at once. Akaza loathed any lack of control, but now his control had been wrested from him by this terrible new feeling in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I know you are,” Kyojuro replied. He folded Akaza back into his arms. “You’re forgiven.”
Akaza hugged him. “I’m paying the hospital bill.”
Kyojuro chuckled—Akaza felt the vibration of it pass through him. “Okay,” he said.
Akaza could not bring himself to let go. He’d been so certain that this was the end of whatever this was—whatever alternate reality he’d wandered into the day Kyojuro had appeared at Infinity Castle to whitewash the pig graffiti. If he let go now, maybe it would be the end. Maybe letting go would drop him back where he belonged—miserable and lonely, dreading every day, but too depressed to change.
Hope was a dangerous thing.
Hope hurt.
“I got Dad put to bed,” Senjuro said, announcing his approach from down the hall. Kyojuro and Akaza separated, but did not go far. Senjuro arrived in the living room. “He seemed pretty comfortable. Went straight to sleep.”
He gave them both a small, awkward smile.
“I’m sorry, Senjuro,” Akaza said.
“Oh, that’s okay,” Senjuro said, shaking his head and waving a hand.
It really wasn’t, but there wasn’t any point in arguing with people who were senselessly kind. Akaza released a breath that made his throat catch.
“How was your weekend, bud?” Kyojuro asked.
Seamless, the brothers transitioned topics. They spun tales for each other as they bustled around the house to tidy up for the night. With their cheerful smiles and genuine laughter, nobody could have guessed their father lay in a bed not two rooms over, asleep with a broken jaw. Akaza stood in a daze. He couldn’t believe he’d been permitted—welcomed—to stay.
“I brought your bag inside,” Kyojuro said in passing. “My room’s at the end of the hall.”
The implicit instruction gave Akaza something to do, at least. Nodding, he shifted away. Grabbed his stuff by the front door. Wandered down the hallway on swaying legs. He opened Kyojuro’s door and closed it quietly behind him, leaving a small crack without clicking the latch.
He found himself in the master bedroom, which had probably been a point of contention with Shinjuro when Kyojuro had inherited the house. Like the kitchen and living room, the furniture consisted of pieces from the seventies that had belonged to their grandmother mixed with odds and ends collected over time. That same familial warmth that permeated the rest of the house burned here, too. Kyojuro even had a framed family portrait mounted on the wall above his dresser.
The photo had been taken while Ruka was still alive. The four of them posed in coordinated clothing in a tunnel of trees ablaze with autumn color. Senjuro couldn’t have been more than three or four, held in Ruka’s arms. She was beautiful. Dark hair and shrewd eyes. Mona Lisa smile.
She stood next to Shinjuro—still proud, but bright, his eyes not yet clouded by pain. On his other side was Kyojuro in his early twenties, a hand on his father’s shoulder. He was grinning, that sun of a smile on full display.
Akaza’s eyes drifted back to Ruka. To Shinjuro. He wondered if he had ever looked like that—before everything. He didn’t think so, but he’d never know. He didn’t have any pictures.
He dragged his toiletries from his bag and dragged himself to the en suite bathroom.
Halfway through brushing his teeth, he heard the door creak open.
Kyojuro smiled at him from across the room.
Akaza didn’t say anything. He tried to go back to brushing his teeth, but it was all pantomime. He sensed Kyojuro move up behind him just before those arms snaked around his waist, drawing him in, holding him close. Kyojuro tucked his face against Akaza’s neck. He breathed deep. Pressed a kiss to his skin. His fingers found Akaza’s and he brushed his thumb across the tape covering his knuckles.
“How’s your hand?” he asked, his voice like distant thunder.
“Fine,” Akaza replied. His mouth was full of toothpaste foam.
He took the excuse to move away, spit in the sink, and rinse, but Kyojuro didn’t let him go far. As Akaza turned, he backed him against the counter and lifted his hand. His eyes ran over the injury. His lips followed with gentle pressure. Akaza’s heart skipped—frightened, almost.
“If I kiss you, is that going to make you more or less tense?” Kyojuro asked.
Akaza swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Chuckling, Kyojuro shook his head. “I know you think I’m making the wrong choice,” he said. “Letting you stay. Wanting you here.”
Akaza’s lips curled with the beginning of a snarl, but Kyojuro simply tightened his grip.
“You’re not right about everything,” he said.
“You f—”
Kyojuro pressed his mouth down on Akaza’s and shut him up. It was the most aggressive kiss he’d ever given him, though that wasn’t saying much. He was still too tender, too caring. He pulled back and said, “I don’t care what you think. I want you to stay, as long as that’s what you want, too.”
“I broke your dad’s jaw.”
Kyojuro hung his head with a frustrated sigh. “Why does everybody talk to me like I don’t understand what’s going on?”
“Because you don’t. You said so yourself.”
The flick of his eyes was the closest Akaza had ever seen him come to anger. Even then, he wasn’t angry with Akaza so much as he was himself, the situation, or maybe just getting caught in his own words.
“You’re a frustrating person to find attractive,” he said, borrowing the phrase.
Akaza didn’t know how to respond.
“If that’s all this was,” Kyojuro continued, “then maybe I wouldn’t want you to stay. Maybe I wouldn’t understand that what happened was an accident, that what you did stems from something deeper, but this isn’t just attraction, Akaza. I think you know that. I think you know that because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here either.”
They stared at each other in stifling silence.
“I don’t care if you think you don’t deserve my forgiveness…” Kyojuro continued. “I don’t care if you think you don’t deserve my affection. I don’t care if you don’t deserve forgiveness or affection. What we deserve has nothing to do with what we get.”
He’d said that to him once before—over the phone, back when Akaza had nearly called things off. His assessment of Kyojuro then had been correct. He was the type of person who could convince him to open up, to expose the darkest parts of himself, to sob in his arms without shame. Worst of all, he was the type of person who could convince Akaza to care.
He’d only survived as long as he had by convincing himself he didn’t.
He did.
He cared too much.
“You scare me,” he said, his fingers finding their way into Kyojuro’s hair.
Kyojuro huffed. “The feeling’s mutual.”
“I don’t know if I can change, Kyojuro,” he said. A little seed of panic put down roots in his heart. “I’m just—I’m like this. I’m messy, I’m—I’ve always been this way. I…”
“I’m not asking you to change.”
The words came at him low and intense. Surprised, Akaza lifted his eyes and revised his earlier assessment. This was the closest he’d ever seen Kyojuro to anger. His brow lowered. His eyes stern and flashing. He looked offended somehow. Akaza shivered, being looked at like that. With a sigh, Kyojuro shut his eyes and let his forehead come to rest against Akaza’s.
“I won’t ever ask that,” he said. “You don’t have to change to be worthy.”
Akaza’s heart stopped. He could only stare. This close, Kyojuro appeared only as a smear of color before his eyes, but Akaza could not look away. He still didn’t understand—not in his mind. In his heart, however, he knew exactly what Kyojuro meant.
Careful, his lips already parted, he tilted his face up to kiss him.
Kyojuro met the gesture with warmth, assurance, and a kiss of his own. His fingers toyed with the hem of Akaza’s shirt, slipping under and brushing skin. He pulled Akaza closer.
“God, the way you make me feel…” he breathed. “Is it always like this?”
Akaza shook his head. “Almost never.”
“I don’t ever want you to leave,” Kyojuro said, kissing him. “When you’re around, I feel like…like I don’t owe anybody anything, including myself.”
Akaza carded his fingers in his hair and grazed his lips with his teeth.
“I like the way you kiss me,” Kyojuro said. “I like falling asleep next to you.”
He pushed Akaza against the counter as if that would somehow minimize the nonexistent space between them. His voice dropped low when he spoke next, his hands up Akaza’s sides.
“I like knowing that you’ll fight for me.”
Chills ran through Akaza from head to toe—the good kind that made him dizzy.
“Akaza.”
Akaza didn’t recall closing his eyes, but that clear, commanding tone opened them.
“I don’t want to see anyone else,” Kyojuro said. “Just you.”
His heart stopped. All he could do was lean into the touch as Kyojuro lifted his fingers to stroke his cheek.
“Would you mind terribly if I called you my boyfriend?”
How absurd this whole charade had become. Surely they’d stretched beyond the limits of realism. Akaza could not be standing in Kyojuro’s bedroom, kissing him, receiving compliments and an invitation to be his boyfriend. Not after what had happened that afternoon. Anyone else would have called it irrational. Akaza didn’t know what to call it.
He pulled Kyojuro’s head down to kiss him hard, resisting the urge to bite his lips and make him rethink his offer. Kyojuro melted underneath his hands—the way he always did whenever Akaza assumed control.
“I’d like that,” Akaza said just above his lips.
He felt Kyojuro shudder, felt his breath across his mouth, sensed his desire to be kissed again. Akaza made him wait just because he could.
He knew Kyojuro had not expected a yes.
“You make me feel human,” he said, drawing back a little to meet Kyojuro’s eyes. “I haven’t felt human in a long time.”
Expression softening with sympathy and sadness, Kyojuro gave him a quiet smile. He surveyed Akaza, deliberate and slow, as if trying to peel back the years one by one and understand each of them in detail. Akaza would never let anyone else look at him like that. But Kyojuro had seen the worst and embraced it with tenderness. He’d earned Akaza’s trust. That was not an easy thing to do.
He traced a thumb around Akaza’s ear, along his jaw, to his chin, which he lifted to kiss his mouth.
Akaza returned the kiss, sighing, letting his head rest against Kyojuro’s cheek when his lips moved to his neck. He seemed to like to kiss the crocuses. The idea made Akaza smile. He brushed his fingers through Kyojuro’s hair, hummed his approval when Kyojuro ran his hands across his body and under his shirt. Those hands were so warm and so strong and they felt so fucking amazing. Akaza could not help but press into him.
“This is a nice ending to a strange day,” Kyojuro chuckled, a smile in his voice.
“Thank you for letting me stay.”
“You can stay as often as you like.”
Spoken low and close, the words sent a roll of lovely unsteadiness through Akaza’s limbs. He pooled against Kyojuro. The consistent ebb and flow of power between them always kept him guessing. He liked it. He curled his fingers in Kyojuro’s hair as he kissed his way up Akaza’s neck to his mouth. As he pulled back, Kyojuro smiled—warm and affectionate.
“You ready for bed?” he asked.
Nodding, Akaza tried to ignore the exhaustion settled deep in his bones, but wound up letting more of his weight rest against Kyojuro, who kissed him in response.
“I just need to brush my teeth,” he said.
Nodding again, Akaza peeled away. He put on his pajamas and folded up his clothes, as dazed as he was tired. This new reality was tumultuous, emotional. His life before, while depressing, at least had been consistent. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Maybe, though, like the skin of his knuckles, he was simply out of condition.
He pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. The sheets smelled like Kyojuro, softly so, mixed with laundry soap. Akaza drew the fabric closer to his nose. Breathed deep. Embarrassed, but not embarrassed enough to stop. The scent and comfort doubled when Kyojuro turned off the light and climbed in beside him, draping an arm over his side. Akaza turned over to face him.
“I’ve never really had a partner before,” he said.
“What about Koyuki?” Kyojuro asked, freeing a hand to stroke his cheek.
Akaza shook his head. “That was different. She was different. We were young and codependent on each other. That wasn’t…a relationship like other people have.”
“I don’t want a relationship like other people have,” Kyojuro said. “I want you.”
He smiled in the dark, and Akaza had to swallow to combat a surge of emotion.
“You can’t say shit like that,” he said. “I’ll take advantage of you.”
Kyojuro smiled again, almost laughing. “No, you won’t,” he said. “You told me you wouldn’t. I trust you.”
Quiet, Akaza drew closer and wrapped his arms around his neck. He spent a brief moment observing the shadows of Kyojuro’s face before he kissed him—long and slow, deliberate, his heart aching.
“You shouldn’t,” he whispered.
Kyojuro did laugh that time, just a gentle chuckle which was followed by a kiss.
“Akaza, if there’s one thing you are it’s reliable.”
Akaza stared at him.
“You’re good, and I’m going to keep telling you that until you understand.”
Though Akaza did not see what Kyojuro saw in him, nor did he feel that he brought much of anything to the table, he could not deny that Kyojuro’s feelings—and his confidence in him—were real. The man was an idiot, but he was true and kind. Akaza had recognized almost immediately Kyojuro’s innate ability to bring out the best in people. Maybe, if Akaza allowed it, Kyojuro would do the same to him. Maybe that was already happening.
Pulling close once more, Akaza kissed him tenderly and said, “Thank you.”
Notes:
Hello, lovely readers!!
This chapter, and this past month, royally kicked my ass, lol. To give myself a little extra breathing room, I'm not going to hold myself to my monthly update goal until I'm feeling more on top of everything!! Thank you so much for showing this fic so much love, it means SO much to me 💕💕
Y'all are the best, and I hope to see you again a month from now!! 😉
Chapter 6: February - Part Two
Notes:
H E L L O ! !
I am so excited to finally share this chapter with you all! Thank you for being so kind and gracious and encouraging while waiting for this update. The November break was absolutely needed, and I am feeling much better! Your well wishes helped me more than you know!!
Also, don't mind me casually upping the chapter count again... I am going to eat my words on this, but I'm pretty sure 8 is my final answer. Do I win one million dollars?? Only time will tell.
Enjoy!! (And mind the new tags for the end of the chapter, in case that's not your thing!)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Pool tables, as fate would have it, turned out to be exactly as difficult to assemble as Rengoku had imagined. Perhaps the process was more “time-consuming” than “difficult”, but this particular pool table had been donated without instructions, so he didn’t know the make or model or even if he had all the necessary pieces. He’d coerced Giyu out of his computer cave to help, but in Giyu’s case help was a relative term.
“I don’t want to do this,” he said for the fourth time, carefully counting screws.
“Many hands make light work,” Rengoku replied.
Giyu gave him a flat expression of pure disgust. “And they call me out-of-touch.”
“We’re both out-of-touch, and I think it’s time you accepted that,” Rengoku replied. Giyu sighed, which made him chuckle. “I appreciate the assistance.”
That morning, he’d rearranged the furniture in the teen center to accommodate the pool table. Some of the work spaces now sat a little too close together, but he didn’t think the kids would mind. They liked to talk. If anything, he’d only created a problem for himself in that regard. Hopefully they’d like the pool table, too.
Stepping back, he surveyed their work. He and Giyu had laid out all the pieces on the floor in formation after consulting a few different diagrams online and watching a twelve-minute YouTube tutorial.
“Got enough screws, do you think?” Rengoku asked.
Giyu divided and deposited a set of screws next to each piece of hardware. “Probably.”
“Great.”
“We should get someone else to do this. What happened to that volunteer? The tattoo artist who gave a career talk? From the ski trip? The one you were making googly eyes at.”
“You don’t have to describe him three different ways,” Rengoku chuckled. “I know who you’re talking about.” He took a seat on the floor and started attaching the pool table pieces together. Unmoving, Giyu’s eyes stayed trained on his face. “He, um… We’re dating now, though I suppose it’s a little more formal than that. He’s my boyfriend.”
Silence.
That was exactly what Rengoku had expected. He kept working, certain that the blank expression Giyu undoubtedly had on his face would do little to illuminate his thoughts on the matter and was therefore not worth seeing.
“Oh,” Giyu said. Rengoku nodded. “Congratulations…?”
“Is it really that off-putting?”
“No. More that I don’t know if it’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to congratulate someone over.” He shrugged when Rengoku lifted his face to smile at him. “Better to err on the side of caution.”
Laughing, Rengoku nodded. “Understood.”
The door to the teen center swung open, and Tanjiro entered alone. Rengoku craned his neck to look out the front windows and spotted Zenitsu, Inosuke, and Nezuko out on the lawn—Nezuko refereeing an argument between the other two that seemed two steps shy of an all-out snow brawl.
“Hello, Rengoku!” Tanjiro called. “Are you building something?”
“It’s a pool table,” Rengoku replied. Tanjiro’s face sparked with curiosity. “Everything okay out there?”
“Oh, it’ll be fine,” he said. “Just too cold to stay outside.”
He set his backpack on a chair, hung his coat over the back, then came to look at the parts of the pool table and plopped himself down by one of the legs.
“Can I help?”
“Of course,” Rengoku smiled.
No sooner had Tanjiro started putting pieces together than the door opened and slammed shut as Nezuko stomped inside. She stomped her way to Rengoku, chucked her things aside, then slumped all the way to the floor to lie on her back.
“Boys are so stupid, Rengoku.”
“You are absolutely right.”
“What’s this thing?” she asked, her head lolling to the side.
“A pool table,” Tanjiro replied.
She sat up. “For us?”
Rengoku nodded. “I’m hoping I won’t need to call an installer.”
“Oh, we can figure it out,” Nezuko replied.
She scooted across the carpet to help her brother, and Rengoku glanced up to find that Giyu had taken the opportunity to slither back into the computer lab.
Several minutes later, Zenitsu and Inosuke finally made their appearances. Both were soaking wet and Zenitsu had snow clinging to his hair. Silent, either angry or humiliated, they went to opposite sides of the room.
“I gave you permission to walk to the school and back so you could spend time with your friends, not fight with them,” Rengoku said to Inosuke, who was shivering by the radiator.
Inosuke glared. “He started it.”
“Frankly, Inosuke, I don’t know that that matters,” Rengoku replied. “I’d like to see more positive behavior, especially when someone else picks a fight. Where’s your coat?”
Inosuke shrugged, sniffed, and turned to look out the window. “Dunno.”
“I’ll go see what I can find…”
Rengoku got up to go dig through the pile of donations he kept in the office, but Inosuke turned from the window, his eyes a little wide.
“You don’t have to,” he said.
“You don’t deserve to be cold,” Rengoku replied. Shrinking, Inosuke pursed his lips, but nodded. Rengoku smiled at him. “Why don’t you help put the pool table together? Some physical activity might warm you up.”
He didn’t stay to see whether or not Inosuke would take the suggestion, putting on his own coat instead and ducking into the cold to walk to the office attached to the art center. Inside, Uzui had his hands full with Tokito’s pre-K kids, who greeted Rengoku with a lot of shouting and holding up their various projects as he passed through the mess.
The office was quieter, the sounds of the art center muffled by the one well-insulated wall on the whole Wisteria campus. Rengoku went to the closet of donations and hunted until he found a decent coat that looked about Inosuke’s size.
The last thing he wanted was to feel discouraged, but sometimes the emotion just crept up on him. His effort so often felt futile. It wasn’t. He understood deep down that a difference was a difference, no matter how small, that change took years. Sighing all the same, he flipped off the light and headed back to the teen center.
Sounds of commotion reached his ears as he approached. Bracing himself, he prepared to pull Inosuke and Zenitsu off each other and went inside to find Akaza surrounded by a whirlwind of excited teenagers.
Rengoku stopped dead.
“Hey,” Akaza said with a smile and a small wave.
“Hi,” Rengoku breathed.
“You seem handy to me,” Nezuko was saying. “Please help us with the pool table?”
“I think you’re gonna be disappointed, but I’ll help,” Akaza replied. High-fiving, Nezuko and Tanjiro herded him closer to the pieces. Smiling at Rengoku, he said, “I had a client cancel on me last minute, so I thought I’d come volunteer.”
“Glad to have you,” Rengoku replied. Already his heart felt lighter.
Only Inosuke did not participate in the pool table festivities, watching from his post by the radiator. Rengoku went to him and proffered the coat.
“Thanks…” Inosuke mumbled.
“Who’d you give your other one to?” Rengoku asked.
Caught, Inosuke startled. Looking at his feet, he replied, “The guy who sometimes sits at the corner by the gas station.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “That’s what we fought about.” His eyes flicked briefly toward Zenitsu. “He said I shouldn’t have.”
Nodding, Rengoku leaned against the wall beside him and folded his arms across his chest. “Neither of you is wrong.”
Inosuke huffed.
“If you want to help others, it’s important to be in a stable position yourself,” Rengoku said. He was still learning that lesson the hard way. “Giving your coat to someone who needs it is a good thing to do, and being concerned for your friend who no longer has a coat is a good thing, too. I think you know that, and that’s why you fought.” The look on Inosuke’s face confirmed it. “If you want, you could organize a donation drive. Take some coats around town. I’ll help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” Inosuke replied.
Rengoku nodded. “All right.”
The two of them went quiet. They watched Akaza and the others wrestle the pool table.
“Did you…talk to him?” Inosuke asked. “About my art?”
“Truthfully, not yet.” In the midst of everything else, Inosuke’s desire to paint the back of Infinity Castle had slipped Rengoku’s mind. “But perhaps this could be an opportunity to lay some good groundwork. Why don’t you show him some of your designs?”
Inosuke frowned. “…Should I?”
“I’m sure he’d be willing to look,” Rengoku replied. “You’ve seen how Senjuro has improved. Akaza gives good feedback, though it’s not always phrased kindly.” He chuckled. “Give it a shot. I bet you can handle it.”
Naturally, Inosuke took that as a challenge. He narrowed his eyes at Rengoku, then bent over to sift through his backpack for a notebook before marching over to Akaza. His bravado faded, though, as he reached the pool table assembly zone. He hovered awkwardly on the fringes of the group, waiting for Akaza to notice him.
“What?” Akaza asked, looking up after a solid thirty seconds of unsubtle staring.
“I know you think my art is shit but I’ve gotten better since September will you look at it?” Inosuke said in a single breath. He gulped in some air and stuck out his arm, notebook in hand. “Um…please.”
Akaza got to his feet. “Sure.”
He accepted the notebook, which Inosuke clearly had not expected, and began thumbing through. Precise and perceptive, he studied the art on each page.
“These are tattoo designs?”
“Yeah.”
“Are they all pigs?”
“That’s my brand.”
“If you want to be a tattoo artist, you’re going to have to draw what your clients want,” Akaza replied. “Especially when you’re starting out. Obviously you’ll have your own style, but the subject won’t always be up to you.” He surveyed a few more pages. “Your linework is strong, though. Clean and expressive. Great for tattoos. Can you draw anything other than pigs?”
Inosuke snatched the notebook back. “Duh.”
“Okay. Draw me something. If I like it, I’ll have our shop’s apprentice tattoo it.”
“Wait, like, on you?”
Akaza chuckled. “Yeah.”
By this point, the conversation had drawn the notice of the entire pool table assembly crew and they watched with rapt attention, their eyes enormous. Inosuke’s eyes were enormous, too, his mouth agape. He snapped it shut and gave Akaza a firm nod. He spun around to walk away and start drawing immediately, but remembered something and turned to face him again.
“If you’re the client, then…what do you want?”
“Surprise me,” Akaza said. “I like winter subjects. Most of my other tattoos are blue or black, and I don’t have a lot of real estate, so nothing over four inches square.”
“Got it.”
With a nod, Inosuke spun on his heel and marched to the computer lab. The other kids followed him, chattering in excitement. The pool table lay abandoned, only partially put together. Akaza looked over the pieces.
“I think you’re missing some hardware,” he said.
“I did wonder,” Rengoku replied.
He moved to Akaza’s side and exercised every ounce of his restraint to keep from wrapping an arm around his waist and drawing him into a kiss.
“You’ll also need a drill. Hand-tightening these screws won’t be enough.”
“Thank you.”
“For delivering bad news?”
“For encouraging Inosuke.” He wouldn’t spell out the details of the day, the week, or Inosuke’s life for that matter. Akaza understood. Not only had he been on the receiving end of Inosuke’s destructive self-expression, but he’d been in a similar position himself as a teenager. He probably understood these kids better than Rengoku ever could. “I’ll be very interested to see the tattoo.”
“If it sucks, I’m not getting it done,” Akaza replied.
Rengoku laughed. The urge to kiss Akaza almost successfully overwhelmed him, but the teen center door squealed open. Uzui entered, looking worse for wear.
“Two things,” he said. “One, Tokito’s hellions just made the worst mess I’ve ever seen in my fucking life, so I’m gonna need an extra half an hour to get ready for yours. Two, can I borrow that one kid you have? The one who’s addicted to helping.”
“Tanjiro? Please don’t describe him like that.”
“See, but you knew exactly who I was talking about.”
“We’ll be starting homework in a few minutes…”
“I’ll go,” Akaza said. Rengoku blinked. Uzui gave him a once over. “I’m here to volunteer. You may as well put me to work doing something I’m actually good at.”
The door swung open again before anyone could answer and Senjuro hurried inside, saying, “I’m sorry I’m so late, my usual bus never arrived—Akaza!” His whole face went bright. “I didn’t know you were coming today.” He ran over to give him a hug, which Akaza returned.
“I had a cancellation,” he said. “Client wasn’t feeling well.”
“Oh, I’m sorry…”
“Nah, that’s okay.”
“You’re coming for dinner tonight, right?”
“I’ll be there,” Akaza nodded. “You can get started on your homework. I’m going to help clean the art center.”
Senjuro glanced at Uzui. “Is the art center messy?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“I can help, too,” he said, his eyes turning to Rengoku. “I finished my homework at school, so I won’t be behind or anything.”
Rengoku was certain his little brother wasn’t lying about his homework, but he was equally certain that the only reason he’d volunteered to clean was because that was where Akaza was going to be. Chuckling, Rengoku nodded.
“That’s fine by me.”
“C’mon,” Senjuro said. “I’ll show you where the supplies are.”
He scurried out the door with Akaza beside him. Uzui gave Rengoku a flat, irritated expression, and left without a word when Rengoku laughed at him.
After tidying up the pool table and double checking for rogue screws, Rengoku herded the teens out of the computer lab to do their homework. Others trickled in as programming officially started. The closer tables did result in more talking, but they also made it easier for Rengoku to monitor everyone and help in more places at once. At the very least, the kids seemed happier, and were therefore more productive, so he’d probably keep the furniture arrangement even if the pool table never came to fruition.
Just before their slot in the art center would normally have started, Senjuro returned.
“We’re nearly done, so we can stay on schedule,” he said with a thumbs up.
“How bad was it?” Rengoku asked.
“Bad,” Senjuro laughed. “Glitter.”
“Ah.”
The group finished up and headed over to the art center. Rengoku noticed with no small measure of relief that Zenitsu and Inosuke were speaking to each other, talking over sketches in his notebook like nothing had happened. Inosuke did abandon Zenitsu, however, the second they walked in the art center door and he spotted Akaza putting away the rag mop.
“You’re my client, but you’re also way better than me,” he announced.
Akaza gave him a look. Inosuke balked.
“I mean, what I wanted to ask was is it against the rules for me to get your, like…help? Opinion? I dunno…”
“There aren’t any rules,” Akaza chuckled.
“Find a seat,” Uzui called. “I’m only gonna give instructions once.”
The kids scrambled. Akaza pulled up a chair next to Inosuke. Uzui presented a brief workshop on color theory before turning them loose. As the noise picked up and everybody got started, Uzui sidled over to Rengoku and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I get it,” he said.
Rengoku furrowed his brow. “Get what?”
Lifting a finger, Uzui pointed at Akaza, who was gesturing over Inosuke’s sketches, then grabbing a paper himself to draw something. Inosuke watched, nodded—focused.
“What you see in him.”
Rengoku’s heart swelled, but before the moment could take on even a little sweetness, Uzui punctured it by adding, “Guess the ski trip weekend went well for you, huh? Even after the failed invite of yore.”
“Under no circumstances are we talking about this right now.”
Chuckling, Uzui socked Rengoku’s shoulder and leaned away. Then he opened his mouth and drew in a deep breath as if preparing to say something very obscene very loudly. The color drained from Rengoku’s face. Uzui grinned.
“Keep your stations clean, folks!” he called. “If any of you so much as look at the glitter, I will get special permission from hell to haunt you after I die.”
“Over glitter?” Zenitsu replied.
“I have threatened greater men over less.”
Zenitsu did not challenge him on that.
Rengoku removed himself from Uzui’s sphere of influence in order to avoid talking further about the ski trip, or his relationship with Akaza in general. He took up a spot at the back of the room where he usually stood—accessible, but out of the way. His gaze drifted to Akaza and Inosuke over and over again. Inosuke demonstrated a unique focus when it came to art. It was one of the reasons he and Uzui got along as well as they did. Rengoku supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised to see the same thing happen with Akaza.
That didn’t mean it didn’t warm his heart, however.
As Akaza finished with Inosuke, he glanced up and caught Rengoku’s eye. A smile, and soon Akaza was by his side.
“Decide on anything?” Rengoku asked.
“Not yet,” Akaza replied. “He’s still in the ideas phase.”
“I’m excited to see what comes out of this.”
“I already told you, I’m not getting it done if it sucks.”
Chuckling, Rengoku smiled at him. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”
Akaza’s lips parted, his cheeks flushed pink, and he said, “Don’t start that shit with me,” but the disarmed expression on his face betrayed him. Rengoku smiled brighter. Akaza’s bark and bite were equally deadly for everyone except him, it seemed.
“Technically speaking, you started it,” Rengoku said.
Akaza glared at him.
“You’re only irritated because it’s true.”
The glare intensified. Rengoku laughed. Then, sensing eyes on him, he looked up to find Nezuko watching the two of them from across the room. She cracked a grin from ear to ear, her gaze flicking briefly to Akaza. Rengoku froze. Smiling still, Nezuko pressed her lips together, pantomimed zipping them shut, and even locked the corner of her mouth with an imaginary key.
Chuckling, Rengoku nodded his thanks.
“Hey! Akaza!” Inosuke shouted. “C’mere and tell me what you think of this…”
That night, on his way from Wisteria to Kyojuro’s house, Akaza stopped at the store to pick up a few more components for dinner. He couldn’t cook for shit, but Kyojuro and Senjuro would be staying later at the center to lock up after some English class, so the least he could do was get things started.
His hands full of grocery bags, he walked through the front door and made dead eye contact with Shinjuro—seated in an armchair in the front room.
Startling, both put their guards up immediately.
They hadn’t spoken after their confrontation and subsequent trip to the hospital.
“Hey,” Akaza said.
Shinjuro did not reply, so Akaza continued through the house into the kitchen, his heart pounding, which irritated him. That miserable fuck was not worth the anxiety. But that miserable fuck was also his boyfriend’s father.
Palms sweaty, Akaza put shit in the fridge and unbagged everything else.
Then he stood in the kitchen for a long time, doing fuck all before finally gathering his courage and returning to the front room.
Shinjuro stared at him for an uncomfortable moment.
“I want to apologize,” Akaza said.
Silent, Shinjuro squinted.
“With what happened between us, I don’t think there’s a real difference between offense and defense. We both acted, and I think we both acted stupidly. You don’t have to forgive me—hell, we don’t even need to be on neutral terms—but at the very least I want to acknowledge that I did wrong by you. I’m sorry.”
Akaza did not expect a response. He waited a few seconds to give Shinjuro the opportunity—and to emphasize his sincerity with a show of control. Just before Akaza turned to leave again, Shinjuro spoke.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the apology type.”
Staying put, Akaza shrugged.
“Done a good job avoiding me ‘til now.”
“We’ve avoided each other.”
Though it caused him displeasure, Shinjuro conceded with a flat grimace. “I suppose.” He adjusted himself in the armchair, chewing on a thought. “I should apologize to you as well, but to be honest, I don’t much feel like it.” He laughed, sharp and self-deprecating. “Guess that makes me the lesser son of a bitch.” A sniff. “Where are my kids?”
“Wisteria.”
“Hm.”
Akaza shifted his weight. “I don’t really give a shit if you apologize to me,” he said, “as long as you’ve apologized to Kyojuro.”
That quieted Shinjuro. An eerie, perceptive stillness settled over him.
“Perhaps not in as many words,” he said.
“Yeah. I didn’t peg you for the apology type either,” Akaza replied.
Shinjuro coughed up a humorless chuckle. “You and I have got plenty in common.”
Curious, Akaza furrowed his brow. Shinjuro cleared his throat.
“I saw that tattoo you did. On Kyojuro. The furin.” Though the lines in his face did not soften, Shinjuro turned inward. “I should think that I was lucky to know Ruka, but more often I find myself wishing I never had.”
He looked at Akaza and his gaze pierced right though him.
“I suspect you know that feeling, too.”
Akaza did not even need to nod.
“I thought so,” Shinjuro said. Grunting, he settled deeper into the armchair. “Every day I wake up knowing that the world would be a better place if our positions had been reversed.”
A sense of fear, panic, needing to escape bubbled up inside Akaza.
“Why are you talking to me?” he asked.
He didn’t know how to respond without lashing against this strange, barbed openness from Shinjuro. He didn’t like how familiar it felt. He didn’t like hearing aloud from someone else’s mouth the thoughts he had lived with in silence for more than a decade. He realized then that he hated Shinjuro the same way he hated himself.
“How old are you, kid?”
Akaza narrowed his eyes.
“Twenty-eight.”
Cold, Shinjuro nodded. “Good. You’ve got time, then.”
Akaza did not dare ask for an explanation, but the question hovered between them nevertheless. Shinjuro looked at him with another piercing stare.
“Don’t turn into me, kid. Don’t make my same mistakes.” His lips curled into a sneer as if he had to fight with himself to get the words out at all. “I let my pride stand in the way of the help that I needed—that was offered to me. Now I’m alone, and one of my kids is terrified of me and the other is too stupid to cut me loose. Too kind. Like you said.” He shook his head. “Kyojuro is more like Ruka than he is like me. That isn’t true for you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Yes I do.”
Shinjuro stared him down.
“Yes I do. Of course I know you. I know everything I need to know about you the same way you know everything you need to know about me.”
Akaza’s throat tightened.
“We’re the same.”
He wanted to deny it.
He couldn’t.
“The first chance you get to step off the path you’re on—take it.”
That was the last thing Shinjuro said. He sealed his mouth shut and turned from Akaza to face the rest of the front room, his eyes bright and full of pain. For a moment, Akaza could not move, but the instant he had control of his body again, he turned on his heel and walked away. He busied himself in the kitchen, completely on autopilot. Try as he might to erase that conversation from his mind, Shinjuro’s words only sank deeper and deeper the more he worked to block them out.
He about jumped out of his skin when a pair of warm hands folded around his waist.
“You were really in the zone there,” Kyojuro chuckled.
Turning toward him, Akaza found he could not speak. Kyojuro’s expression changed.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Akaza said, his voice hoarse. “Yeah… Your dad and I talked, that’s all.”
Kyojuro blinked—shocked, maybe. With an attempt at a reassuring smile, Akaza pecked a kiss to his mouth and nodded.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I promise.”
“What did you talk about?” Kyojuro asked.
Akaza shrugged. “I apologized…he…gave me some advice.” He didn’t know how to quantify or qualify the rest of their conversation, much less describe it to Kyojuro. “I think we’ve settled things between us. We’re not going to be friends, but—” He just nodded. “It was productive.”
From the front room, the muffled sound of Senjuro and Shinjuro’s voices could be heard.
“Is it…” Kyojuro’s voice dropped low, soft. “Is it patronizing to say I’m proud of you?”
Chuckling, Akaza replied, “A little.”
A smile crossed Kyojuro’s mouth. Without saying another word, he gave Akaza a kiss and assumed control of the kitchen.
Akaza helped where his limited skill allowed. The two of them worked side-by-side in companionable quiet. As dinner came together in earnest, Senjuro appeared in the kitchen and went to the cabinets to start pulling down plates for place settings, an enormous grin on his face.
“Dad’s gonna eat with us,” he said.
Kyojuro exchanged a smile with Akaza.
Senjuro set the table for four.
The tattoo machine buzzed in Akaza’s hand. Beautiful bright blue ink joined a smattering of stars behind a snowy owl, its wings extended in flight. The bird was the fourth of ten for a sleeve on a client he’d worked with for years. They could only do a little at a time since the guy tended to get sick around hour three.
Weeknights at Infinity Castle had once been Akaza’s favorite time to tattoo. The shop was quieter, the clientele more experienced and casual. A weeknight working was a weeknight spent with company. That had kept his brain occupied, satisfied the need not to feel pathetic holed up at home. Now, though, he could only rue the fact that every weeknight he worked was a weeknight away from Kyojuro.
“This is gonna kick ass when it’s done,” his client said.
Akaza nodded. “You chose smart increments,” he replied. “It’s never looked incomplete, and it’ll come together beautifully.”
He lifted his face to smile and found a curious expression on his client’s.
“You’re different,” the client said.
Akaza startled.
“Oh, not in a bad way,” he clarified. “Shit, man, I hope you don’t take this as an insult, but you seem happier?”
A blush tried to creep all the way to the tips of Akaza’s ears, but he fought it back. “No, I am, I guess,” he said. He busied himself again with the blue ink of the sky in order to deflect. “I just got into this new relationship and it’s been good for me.” Hard, too, but his client didn’t need to know that.
“Congratulations, man. That’s awesome.”
“Thanks,” Akaza said, finishing the section and looking up. “He’s—”
It was then that he caught sight of Kyojuro standing in the front window. Akaza had not been expecting him. The idiot grinned through the glass, then lifted a coffee cup in his hands, which were covered by a pair of hideous mittens.
“That’s him,” Akaza said, bewildered.
His client laughed. “I wouldn’t mind taking a break if you want?”
“Sure…” he said, quickly prepping his station. As he rose, he told Kyojuro to go around to the side of the building by pointing at the wall through the window. Nodding, Kyojuro disappeared from sight.
Akaza went to the side door. Opening it sent an ice-cold breeze through him and into the shop. He squinted as he leaned his head out and found Kyojuro hurrying over the asphalt.
“What are you doing?” he asked, unable to mask the pleasure in his voice.
“You’re working late on your own,” Kyojuro replied. “I thought maybe this would make your night a little better.” He put an arm around Akaza’s back as he arrived and kissed him hello. Akaza’s heart leapt, still unused to the easy, undemanding affection. Kyojuro nestled the coffee into his free hand and smiled. “I apologize for interrupting.”
Akaza shook his head. “Nah, he’s cool. Come inside, we’re letting the heat out.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
Stepping backward, Akaza encouraged Kyojuro to follow and let the door swing shut behind them.
“You look pretty today,” Kyojuro said, apropos of nothing. Akaza looked the same way he always looked, but that didn’t stop his face from turning pink as he glanced at the floor and chuckled.
“Thanks.”
“I’m free tonight, if you’d like to do something when you’re off.”
“You wanna come back to mine?” Akaza asked with a smile.
“Absolutely.”
“Good.”
“Can I see what you’re working on?”
“Probably. Let me check first.”
Kyojuro nodded, so Akaza headed back to his booth to find his client returning from the bathroom. He pointed his thumb backward over his shoulder.
“Want to meet him?” he asked.
“Yeah. Hell yeah,” the client replied, drinking from his water bottle. “I gotta meet Mr. Mittens.”
Laughing, Akaza motioned Kyojuro over and stood somewhat awkwardly while the usual niceties were exchanged. The two of them chatted for a bit before Kyojuro asked about the current tattoo and Akaza’s client held out his arm to display the owl in progress. Kyojuro beamed at the artwork.
“That looks fantastic,” he said.
“It’ll be a whole sleeve eventually,” the client replied, gesturing at the other birds.
Kyojuro nodded appreciatively. “Wonderful subject matter. They’re beautiful. I’m biased, but I think you chose a great artist.” He gave Akaza a glancing smile as he spoke. Akaza tried not to blush, which was stupid.
“No, I’m biased, too,” his client laughed.
“All right,” Akaza chuckled, embarrassed.
“It’s true, man. I wouldn’t have an entire fucking arm dedicated to your work if that wasn’t the case.”
“If we’re going to keep talking about me, I’m going to leave the room,” Akaza replied.
His client laughed, so did Kyojuro, and the two of them exchanged an expression Akaza did not care for at all—one that communicated that they mutually understood this particular trait of his. He gave them both a flat glare. Thankfully, that had the desired effect. Kyojuro’s hand alighted on the small of Akaza’s back.
“Thanks for letting me interrupt,” he said to the client.
“No problem.”
He looked to Akaza. “I’ll see you later?”
“I’ll text you when I’m leaving.”
“Okay,” he said with a smile. His fingers curled in a light, but intensely intimate touch over Akaza’s spine. He glanced toward the client. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
With a nod and an exchange of goodbyes, Kyojuro went out the side door. Akaza’s client took a seat in his chair once more. Akaza returned to himself and went to wash his hands to resume work on the tattoo. When he did finally sit down and pick up the machine, his client had moved on to other topics of conversation, but Akaza couldn’t unstick his brain from Kyojuro.
He’d have to be careful not to rush closing sanitization.
That godawful truck was parked on the street in front of Akaza’s building when he got home. Light glowed through the front window. Evidently, Kyojuro had arrived and shown himself in. The notion of coming home to someone made Akaza sick in the best way. His stomach swayed as he put his own key in the lock and opened the front door.
“I’m here,” he called, which turned out to be unnecessary as Kyojuro was right there, standing in the kitchen. Akaza startled. “What are you doing?”
“Returning the favor,” Kyojuro replied.
Akaza blinked. The apartment was warm. A pot of noodles boiled on the stove. Something was baking in the oven. As he stood there, processing, Kyojuro’s arms folded around him. Akaza’s breath caught, and when Kyojuro turned his face to kiss him, Akaza returned it with pleasure.
He loved the way Kyojuro kissed. A little too determined, a little too intent. As if failing to express the full extent of his feelings would kill him. It was stupid, and Akaza hated (just a little bit) that he found it sexy.
“Don’t let me interrupt your routine too much,” Kyojuro said with a smile. “Did you want to take a shower? I’m sure this will be ready by the time you’re out.”
Akaza nodded. He said, “Okay,” but he didn’t go anywhere.
Chuckling, Kyojuro tugged him into another kiss. The sense of his lips on his own, kissing him, wanting him—Akaza didn’t know how to describe the warmth that instilled.
His fingers knotted in the front of Kyojuro’s shirt as that kiss deepened. He pulled Kyojuro forward, pulled himself up, making a small noise at the back of his throat as the kiss turned from one into many.
He wished coming home could be like this every night.
They drew away, just far enough to see each other, their noses almost brushing, still sharing the same breath.
“I’ll take a shower,” Akaza said.
Kyojuro nodded. “Okay.”
Akaza showed himself to the bathroom, his mind still wheeling. He was learning to differentiate the intentions behind the ways Kyojuro kissed him. Those had been bedroom kisses, pure and simple. Excited, Akaza washed himself in preparation.
The food was ready by the time he returned to the kitchen. The two of them sat at the tiny, two-seat table, eating spaghetti and slices of bread that Kyojuro had toasted in the oven with butter and parmesan cheese. Akaza never ate at his table. He’d never had a reason to do so.
“Thank you,” he said. “This is really nice.”
“Truth be told, I was hungry too, but you’re very welcome.”
“How’s your dad?”
Smiling, Kyojuro nodded. “He’s doing well. He talks too much, but Senjuro and I are choosing to take that as a good sign. The two of them made plans to go to the movies tonight.”
“Really,” Akaza chuckled.
“Really.” Kyojuro beamed. “I’ve never seen him try like this before. It’s…encouraging.”
Before the subject could stray a little too close to home, Akaza redirected by asking about Wisteria. Kyojuro recounted the day to him in great detail. Which of the teens were struggling in school, which were succeeding. The grants they had or had not received, the grant applications he was still writing. Kyojuro liked to talk. Honestly, it surprised Akaza how much he liked to listen. Though that did not stop him from watching Kyojuro’s mouth the whole time.
“Inosuke has been working very hard on that tattoo for you,” Kyojuro said.
“It better not be a dick-shaped pig.”
Laughing, Kyojuro shook his head. “No, I think you’ll like it—oh, speaking of that pig, though. He asked me some time ago to talk to you about having him paint the back of the tattoo shop with official approval.”
“Seriously?”
Kyojuro nodded.
“Kid’s got some balls,” Akaza replied.
“I did tell him to manage his expectations.”
“I can talk to Muzan, but I doubt it’s something he’ll go for. Plus we never know when he’s going to be in the shop.”
“That’s all right,” Kyojuro said. “I’ve discharged my duty, asking you.”
“And made it my problem in the process.”
“Precisely.”
“Asshole.”
Kyojuro just laughed. He got up to clear the dishes. Akaza made him sit down, but he rose again to help wash and dry as soon as Akaza had taken everything to the sink.
“You’re staying tonight, then?” Akaza asked.
“If you’ll have me.”
“Are you kidding? Of course I will,” he replied. “Fuck, we can skip the pretext and go straight to sex if you want. Though I know you like the pretext.”
He turned to grin at Kyojuro and found him already closing the distance between them. Hands slid around his neck as lips pressed against his mouth. Akaza melted. He let Kyojuro pin him to the counter as curious, fiery fingers traced the edges of his throat, slid into his hair. Returning the kisses with tongue, Akaza gripped his chin to whisper in his ear.
“You want to fuck me?”
Kyojuro quivered—the physical embodiment of flustered stammering. His sense of propriety, while endearing, also made him easy to tease. Akaza couldn’t help but find it sweet.
“Do you have to say it like that?” Kyojuro asked.
“I think you like it when I do,” Akaza replied. Another tremble weakened Kyojuro’s knees and confirmed Akaza’s suspicions. He chuckled, securing his arms around his neck. “I like it when you’re shy.”
“I’m not shy.”
As if to prove a point, Kyojuro trailed his hands down Akaza’s body to hook a pair of fingers over the button on his pants. Unwinding his arms, Akaza leaned back, tilted his hips forward, and let the pressure pushing him to the counter work in his favor. The blush that unfurled across Kyojuro’s face made him grin.
“Not shy, huh?” Akaza laughed.
Kyojuro didn’t react. Akaza straightened a little.
“Sorry,” he said, “I can lay off the teasing.”
“N-no, it’s not that,” Kyojuro replied. “I was just thinking…I…want to take you up on what you said the first time we… Sort of the other way around…” His blush deepened and he glanced at Akaza, then away, with wide eyes.
Everything ground to a halt.
Akaza couldn’t move. He could only stare.
“You want me to fuck you?” he said.
Swallowing, Kyojuro nodded—but the movement was so slight Akaza almost didn’t see.
“Are you serious?” he asked. When Kyojuro did not immediately respond, Akaza placed a hand on his chin to get him to look him in the eye. “Hey. Are you serious?”
“I, um…I’ve often thought about it and…wondered…what it would be like…”
A swell of arousal rolled through Akaza all the way to the tips of his fingers. He actually shivered. The idea that Kyojuro would entertain or even fantasize about that particular scenario once, much less often—it almost made Akaza salivate. Bending him over, getting inside him, fuck, he wanted to do that so bad. He would have been lying if he’d said he hadn’t thought about it, too. Electric, he ran his fingers along Kyojuro’s jaw.
“I’m in,” he said.
“Really?”
“Fuck yeah,” Akaza laughed. “I don’t want you to feel pressure to like it, though. It can be…weird, especially the first time.”
The first time. This would be Kyojuro’s first time. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have worried Akaza, but he’d had enough sex with Kyojuro by then to know that the guy did not provide a whole hell of a lot of vocal feedback. That was fine with him as a top. Akaza could rest assured that whatever he was doing of his own accord was something he enjoyed. As a bottom, well—he’d just have to pay very close attention.
“I want to try it,” Kyojuro said, kissing him, “with you.”
Akaza kissed him back—really hot for it, truth be told. “All right,” he replied, “but you need to understand I don’t fuck like you do.”
The softest, slightest sound of pleasure slipped out of Kyojuro’s mouth—so quiet Akaza would have thought he’d imagined it had the noise not had such a visceral effect on him. Kyojuro pressed their mouths together, wet, before speaking just a breath above Akaza’s lips.
“If it’s anything like how you kiss, I’m ready.”
That hit Akaza like a sledgehammer. He tangled his fingers in Kyojuro’s hair and pulled him forward to seal their mouths together.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he breathed. “I’m gonna get addicted to you talking like that.”
“Frankly, that was probably a one-time occurrence…”
Akaza laughed. “Then shut the fuck up and take off your pants.”
Blushing straight down his neck, Kyojuro kissed Akaza instead, all tongue. Returning those kisses, Akaza did the honors himself. He pressed a palm over Kyojuro’s dick and hummed with surprised pleasure to find him hard already.
“Skipping the pretext, then?” he chuckled.
Kyojuro nodded. “Yes.”
Akaza pulled him toward the bedroom. Kyojuro followed willingly, stumbling a little in his effort to continue kissing as they went. The haziness he exhibited in bed was one of Akaza’s favorite things about having sex with him. With someone usually so bright and clear-eyed going woozy in his arms, Akaza could only feel powerful.
Unhurried, he undressed Kyojuro, savoring the warmth of his skin and the muscle underneath. He let Kyojuro undress him, basking in the heat of those hands as they trailed his body with apparent wonder.
“You are so beautiful,” Kyojuro said. His fingers traced the four red and blue lines that circled Akaza’s left thigh—a tattoo he’d done himself, trying and failing to evoke a boxing ring.
“Thank you,” Akaza replied, plucking that hand from his thigh to kiss the palm.
“Taking compliments now?” Kyojuro said, a poorly-veiled attempt to steady himself.
Rolling his eyes, Akaza pushed him onto the bed. Kyojuro landed on his back, Akaza seated himself atop his hips. He squeezed his legs around Kyojuro’s ribs and enjoyed the way his eyes fluttered and his hands gripped his thighs.
“What are we doing?” Kyojuro asked.
“Warming up,” Akaza replied.
He pressed the heels of his palms to Kyojuro’s pelvic floor and kneaded all the way to his shoulders. As he arrived, he let their chests rest flush, dug his fingers into Kyojuro’s hair, and kissed him with deep, deliberate, and complete control. Kyojuro returned the kiss, falling a little further into that attractive haze.
Akaza moved his lips to his neck. “You have to talk to me.” He sucked his mouth against his skin. “You have to tell me how you’re feeling, or we’re not doing this. Understand?”
Kyojuro nodded. “I understand.”
“Good.” He skimmed his teeth along Kyojuro’s jugular vein. “Prove it.”
Kyojuro swallowed. Akaza felt the movement, his mouth on his throat.
“I—I’m a little nervous,” he said, “but I’m excited, too, and I… I really like it when you talk to me like that.”
A curling grin overtook Akaza’s entire expression.
“You do, hm?”
Swallowing again, Kyojuro nodded. Akaza pressed a hand to his sternum and sat up to look down at him.
“You like it when I tell you what to do?”
That got a rise out of him. Akaza felt his dick twitch between them and couldn’t keep from chuckling. Holding his gaze, he rolled his hips over Kyojuro’s, earning himself an intake of breath. God it felt good. Though Kyojuro was not particularly vocal, Akaza could still appreciate his subtle reactions. He leaned down to kiss his chest and continued to roll their hips together, slow and purposeful.
“I know you like it when I say your name,” Akaza said. “Kyojuro.”
“Mn.”
Akaza laughed. “You’re making this too easy.”
“You’re not exactly—playing fair…”
“No, I’m not. Didn’t I tell you? I don’t fuck like you do.”
Akaza moved to grind against him, but rose instead so that their bodies hardly touched. Where his knees were pinned to Kyojuro’s sides, he felt him squirm—anticipation having worked against him. Akaza grinned, his teeth catching the corner of his bottom lip.
He was enjoying this.
“Tell me,” he said, “if you don’t like the teasing.”
“I like it,” Kyojuro replied. Pleased, Akaza lowered himself to nip at his throat and collarbone. “I don’t know if I like that I like it, but…I like it.”
“I get that,” Akaza chuckled.
He pressed a long kiss to the center of his chest. Cautious, Kyojuro laid a hand atop Akaza’s head to run his fingers through his hair. Humming, Akaza pecked his way kiss-by-kiss up to Kyojuro’s mouth and smiled at him before linking their lips together.
“You’re safe with me,” he said.
A smile dawned on Kyojuro’s face, one that crinkled his eyes the way Akaza liked so much. He placed a hand on Akaza’s cheek and kissed him.
“I know,” he said, and kissed him again.
The kisses continued, one after another after another, lusty and thoughtful with Akaza leading and Kyojuro carding his fingers in his hair as he followed. They’d kiss as long as needed for Kyojuro to settle in. As eager as his body had been in the kitchen, Akaza understood that he’d need time to let go mentally, to adjust to operating on instinct rather than his tremendous self-discipline.
Though it wasn’t like kissing Kyojuro was anything less than an absolute pleasure.
Once that tension unwound, Akaza licked into his mouth and pushed himself up.
“Lay on your side,” he instructed, moving to grab lube and a condom from the bedside table. When he returned, he seated himself in the crook of Kyojuro’s legs and spent a moment admiring the view.
“Have I ever told you that you have a great ass?” he asked.
An embarrassed laugh burst out of Kyojuro, who blushed. “No,” he replied. His legs shifted against the sheets as Akaza put his hands on him. “Not that I remember…”
Akaza squeezed, and Kyojuro twisted a little—unused to but clearly enjoying the sensation. He probably had a few more barriers he’d need to lower if he was actually going to let Akaza fuck him. Akaza decided not to expect that to happen tonight, or ever, honestly. Hell, if he spent the rest of his life just taking Kyojuro’s dick, he wouldn’t complain.
“You’re very sexy,” he said. “Kyojuro.”
That earned him a full body reaction. Kyojuro almost curled in on himself. Chuckling, Akaza opened the lube and spread a little on his fingers.
“Seems like both of us have trouble with compliments.” He lowered into a comfortable position and said, “I’m gonna touch you now.”
Kyojuro nodded. Watching like a hawk, Akaza slid his fingers over his entrance. Instinctively, Kyojuro shifted away. Akaza stopped. He waited for Kyojuro to return to his original position, which he did with apparent, but probably unintentional, reservation. Akaza welcomed it with a gentle massage that made Kyojuro tense again. Chuckling, Akaza leaned over to press a kiss to his thigh.
“You’re gonna have to relax,” he said.
Letting his breath out, Kyojuro nodded. Akaza decided to rest his head on his thigh and his body on the mattress, trying to project an air of relaxation himself, though inside his heart beat hard. He continued to run his fingers over and around without pressing inside so Kyojuro could get familiar with the feeling. He also placed intermittent kisses along his thigh, but that was more for himself than Kyojuro.
“You’re patient,” Kyojuro observed.
Akaza laughed. “Hardly.” He snaked a hand between Kyojuro’s thighs to wrap his fingers around his dick. “How does that feel?”
Kyojuro did not respond for a moment as his eyes had rolled back in his head. Akaza grinned, heavily aroused, highly amused, and relishing the power trip. Still, they’d had an agreement. He sank his teeth—lightly—into Kyojuro’s thigh, and locked eyes with him the instant he glanced down.
“I said, how does that feel?”
Kyojuro’s eyes widened and a blush swept through his cheeks. He shivered as Akaza stroked him—fingers running circles around the head of his dick and his entrance. Akaza sank his teeth into his thigh a second time, deeper. A noise of intense satisfaction sounded at the back of Kyojuro’s throat. He spoke through it, but not without effort.
“Good…” he said. “It’s…really good…”
Akaza released his jaw and lathed his tongue over the indents his teeth left. “I like the sound of that,” he said, renewing the lube on his fingers. “Now breathe.”
Kyojuro obeyed, Akaza continued to stroke him, and as he did, he slid a first finger inside—slowly, but all at once—much to his surprise. Rather than tensing up, Kyojuro practically came undone, melting into a malleable puddle from head to toe.
He had expected resistance.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Akaza breathed.
Brows raised, Kyojuro looked at him with that half-gone, inquisitive expression, but Akaza just shook his head.
“Keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”
“I’m n—”
Kyojuro cut himself off when Akaza began to work that finger in and out—temporarily returning to a solid state with a powerful tremor. He pooled right back into that liquid, though, as Akaza reached his prostate. Watching it all happen, Akaza found himself becoming a little unhinged. He wanted to be inside him. He wanted to see him come like this.
Nothing would be gained by rushing, however. Keen and careful, Akaza started a rhythm. He trained his eyes on Kyojuro’s face, unwilling to miss even a single reaction. The way his mouth opened. The way his brow furrowed. The way his fingers skimmed the sheets. The hot breath that slipped between his lips with every pass. As soon as he’d loosened enough, Akaza added a second finger.
“Oh my god…” Kyojuro breathed. “This is what this feels like?”
Akaza kept going, firm and deep. “What do you think?”
Swallowing, Kyojuro could only nod. His face and neck were entirely pink. He nodded again, more emphatically, looking toward Akaza.
“I want to kiss you,” he said.
With a smile, Akaza obliged. He let go and let his fingers slide free so he could readjust and crane himself over Kyojuro before leaning down to kiss him. Kyojuro returned it with a soft hum. Akaza kissed him again and again before pulling back to look him in the eye.
“I’m gonna fuck you on your hands and knees.”
The statement made its impact. Surprise and fire flooded Kyojuro’s expression. His lips parted. Akaza kissed those lips. He reached for his thigh and hooked his leg over his hip so he could slide his fingers inside him again. That earned a searing sound of pleasure that went from Kyojuro’s mouth into his own—louder than he’d ever been before. Akaza fought down a surge of arrogant pride. He ran his fingers around Kyojuro’s prostate and kissed him while he stroked it, over and over and over again.
“Akaza—” The tone caught his attention. “—wait… Let me…catch my breath…”
He eased off and lifted his face. Kyojuro inhaled and exhaled deeply. His hand brushed over Akaza’s chest, then neck.
“I feel like I’m…going to come…” Kyojuro said, “and I…don’t want to yet…”
Pride surged again through Akaza. Nodding, he pressed a kiss to Kyojuro’s mouth, then turned his lips to his neck. Kyojuro settled, taking himself out of the equation for a moment. Akaza rested on top of him—not so much patient, but eager to please. He listened to the sound of Kyojuro’s breathing, pressed a hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat as it calmed.
“I suppose I didn’t know what to expect,” Kyojuro said with a quiet laugh.
“It is different,” Akaza replied.
“You’re…”
Kissing his chest, Akaza waited for him to continue and chuckled when he did not.
“I’m…?”
Kyojuro shook his head. “You’re exactly like I thought you’d be,” he said. “I’m just… I’m surprised by how much I like it. I wouldn’t have thought…”
“You wouldn’t have thought you’d want someone else to take control? I feel like I’ve known that about you from the beginning.” Kyojuro startled, so Akaza raised his head to look at him. “You’re always in control. Always in charge. Always so put together.” He ran his fingers up his chest. “I want to see you let go. I want to see you come because I made you let go.”
Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, Kyojuro swallowed heavily. Akaza grinned at him.
“When you thought about this, what did I do? What did I say to you?”
Kyojuro swallowed a second time as the blush deepened.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Akaza added, “but I’d be more than happy to make that fantasy a reality if you want.”
“I-I don’t know if I can tell you…”
“That’s okay,” Akaza replied. He kissed his neck. “Maybe I can guess…” He sucked his mouth against his skin. “I can’t wait to get inside you,” he said, right into his ear. “You’re gonna feel so good.” Kyojuro drew in a breath. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He started to squirm, but Akaza held him still. “I’m gonna make you come, Kyojuro.”
When Akaza looked at Kyojuro’s face, the expression he wore—lost and beyond turned-on—just went straight to his dick.
“You ready to keep going?” Akaza asked.
Kyojuro nodded, his eyes half-lidded.
“Get on your knees.”
They moved in tandem—Kyojuro turning over and rising to all fours, Akaza taking a position behind him. The view was incredible. The sight of Kyojuro actually on his bed, actually on his hands and knees, actually made Akaza’s brain short-circuit. Thankfully, his body moved of its own accord, retrieving the lube again. And the condom. He paused, then, just briefly. His heart had not stopped beating hard.
“Do you want me to pull out?” he asked, opening the package and putting on its contents.
“I don’t know,” Kyojuro replied. His voice was sticky, muffled. “Whatever you want.”
“That’s a dangerous response,” Akaza replied. He spread lube on his fingers to massage Kyojuro’s entrance once more, slide his fingers inside one right after the other. Kyojuro quietly keened. “Are you sure?”
“Y-yes,” he said, so clearly focused on the sensation. “I’m sure.”
“All right.”
Akaza would decide when the time came, do what felt right in the moment. In this moment, he opted to take his time opening Kyojuro up, avoiding his prostate for the most part, determined to help him relax as much as possible. Kyojuro loosened beautifully for two fingers, then three.
“I think you’re ready,” Akaza said. “This’ll be different. Deeper. Tell me if it hurts or you want me to stop.”
“I will…”
Akaza paused to press a kiss to his hip. “Good.”
Rising, he lined himself up. His own dick was practically aching with anticipation and neglect. He grabbed some more lube just to be safe, maybe to buy himself a little more time, but either way, he brought his thighs flush with the back of Kyojuro’s and pushed inside him at long last.
The feel of it almost made him lose his mind.
“Fuck…” he murmured.
Kyojuro, on his end, had sucked in a deep breath and dug his fingers into the sheets, but he didn’t flinch away or even show discomfort. In fact, as Akaza settled and rolled his hips, Kyojuro’s arms collapsed and his shoulders fell against the mattress as he gasped. Fuck, how sexy was it to see Kyojuro Rengoku lose control of his body taking his dick? Perhaps a little merciless, Akaza rolled his hips again and earned himself a moan. He slid a hand up his spine to angle himself over his back.
“You’re tight,” he said. “I’m your first, right?”
Kyojuro nodded. Akaza tangled his fingers in his hair at the base of his skull.
“I’d like to be your last, too,” he said. He rolled again, bottoming out. “Your only.”
“Yes,” Kyojuro breathed. “Absolutely, yes.”
“Fuck, you feel so good.”
He did. He felt fucking fantastic. Strong and pliable. Akaza knew what he was after: a constant, consistent pressure. Measured, he picked a rhythm hungry and intentional, but reserved. He kept their thighs flush with every thrust. He’d unravel Kyojuro thread by thread.
Deep, even, he held his pace, letting his fingers wander Kyojuro’s back and hips. As Kyojuro relaxed further, his weight settled, distributed between Akaza and the mattress. The added depth drew a satisfied hiss out of Akaza’s mouth.
Knowing Kyojuro was not particularly vocal in bed, he knew not to expect to hear much from him, but neither did he want to push him too far. All the same, he felt incredible, and Akaza got a little lost. The thought occurred to him to check in with Kyojuro, but the last thing he’d expected was to find him with his mouth open, his eyes shut, completely gone, and drooling.
“Jesus,” Akaza whispered with a full body shiver. He put a steady hand on Kyojuro’s hip. “You still with me?”
He received a meager nod in return. Honestly, Akaza didn’t want to pull him out of it. The haziness was one thing, but this was another level.
And also the most satisfying thing he had ever laid his eyes on.
Steady still, he reached around to take Kyojuro in his hand and stroke him in time with each thrust. A small sound accompanied the breath that passed from Kyojuro’s mouth. Akaza took that as an affirmative.
Though it required a tremendous amount of control, he maintained his pace. He wouldn’t rush. He wanted to give Kyojuro the best orgasm of his life, and given his current state, staying the course felt right. He sort of lost track of his own pleasure in the process of seeking Kyojuro’s. Akaza didn’t know when it would happen, he just knew that it would.
He was familiar with the feeling, the building of something powerful somewhere deep. Quiet at first, like a thought at the back of the mind. If chased, it grew stronger, but somehow less distinct, just building and building and building until it broke and overwhelmed everything.
That moment right before orgasm, right on the edge, that was his personal favorite.
For Kyojuro, it started as tension flickering through a muscle here and there. Then labored breath that sounded harsh in his throat. Then his brow began to furrow and his mouth moved, and Akaza could sense that he was close, so close, so he tightened his fingers around his dick and said, “Come.”
And Kyojuro did.
His whole body seized up, tense from head to toe, those contractions started, and Akaza continued to thrust through them. Kyojuro almost stopped breathing. Then he finished so powerfully in Akaza’s hand that he collapsed, trembling, onto his stomach.
Stunned, Akaza blinked for a moment. He’d never seen anyone come that hard.
Pulling out, he unstuck their thighs and climbed over Kyojuro to draw him into his arms so they could rest against the headboard. Kyojuro went, his breath heavy and his eyes closed, but clinging to Akaza and letting his weight fall on him completely, his head on his collarbone. He continued to shake for a lot longer than Akaza might have expected.
“That good, huh?” he chuckled.
Kyojuro finally lifted his head, but his expression was still hazy. “Did you finish?”
“No,” Akaza said with a smile, “but I don’t m—fuck…”
Kyojuro had taken his dick in his hand and stroked him intensely. The next thing Akaza knew, they were kissing and Kyojuro was stroking him and Akaza was keening into his mouth.
All things considered, Kyojuro made pretty quick work of him.
Akaza came in his hand with a delighted moan. After, Kyojuro nestled his head in the crook of his neck and fell still.
A little dizzy, Akaza could only do the same.
Time passed. They cooled off. Heartbeats returned to resting. Breathing required less effort. When Kyojuro eventually lifted his head, his usual alacrity had returned to his eyes.
“I can’t believe you can do that more than once,” he said.
Akaza laughed. “What did you think?”
In response, Kyojuro kissed him. “I’ve never felt anything like it,” he said. “I loved it.” He smiled at Akaza, and Akaza could not help but smile back, his heart stupidly full. Kyojuro kissed him again, then said, “I’d like to do it again, though, frankly, I feel like I’m going to need a few weeks to work up to it.”
“Anytime you want,” Akaza said. “Just say the word.”
Kyojuro linked their lips. Akaza sighed into his mouth. They kissed for a moment until Kyojuro pulled back. His eyes roved Akaza’s face, a particular, soft expression on his own.
“Hm?” Akaza asked.
Kyojuro shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, but that soft expression didn’t change.
Notes:
💕❄️💕❄️💕❄️
Chapter Text
Staying over at another person’s house and sleeping late were unusual activities for Rengoku. Sunlight shined around the edges of the blackout curtain that hung over Akaza’s bedroom window. It got a lot of light in the mornings, facing east. Akaza lay tucked in his arms, pleasantly cool in spite of the warm dark and two bodies sharing a bed. He stirred after a moment as though being observed was enough to rouse him.
Rengoku’s heart skipped when those blue eyes opened, met his, and smiled.
“Good morning,” Rengoku managed, his voice thick from sleep.
Rather than respond, Akaza kissed him. Then he settled and shut his eyes to lie in silence, his face nestled against Rengoku’s neck. Smiling, Rengoku adjusted his arms to hold him more deliberately. Akaza had a lovely way about him in the morning. Feathery before the weight of the day dropped onto his shoulders.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Akaza said.
“Is that today?”
“As if you forgot.”
Rengoku could hear the eyeroll in his voice. Chuckling, he hugged him. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he replied.
He released his arms as Akaza sat up to survey him. His gaze trailed his features, and Rengoku wondered what he was thinking about. In spite of what he’d said on the tram up the mountain, he couldn’t always tell. Akaza was not exactly easy to read—though Rengoku was learning.
“Are you my Valentine?” he asked.
Akaza gave him a flat look. “Don’t be cheesy.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to let me be at least a little bit cheesy.”
Try as Akaza might, he could not hide a smile. He gave up and let the full expression shine—soft and bright, a little bewildered. Rengoku reached to stroke his cheek, smiling himself. Akaza sighed.
“Yes, I’m your Valentine,” he said, shaking his head. “Are you mine?”
Rengoku took his hand and brought his knuckles to his lips. “Of course.”
“I don’t know if you had a surprise planned, but please don’t come to the shop or send anything there,” Akaza said. He had an appointment scheduled during the day, but he’d be finished in plenty of time for their dinner reservation. Nowhere fancy, though that did not dull Rengoku’s excitement in the least. Uncurling Akaza’s fingers, he touched kisses to their tips—blue, beautiful.
“I won’t,” he said.
Akaza gave him a stern, skeptical scowl.
“I promise.”
He could see in his eyes that this was a non-negotiable boundary. Rengoku had contemplated having flowers delivered to Infinity Castle and ultimately decided that Akaza wouldn’t enjoy it. He was glad his understanding had been correct. Another fingertip kiss finally assured Akaza of his sincerity.
“Thank you,” Akaza said.
“No need to thank me,” Rengoku replied.
The conversation had awakened the coils of tension in Akaza’s body. Sighing, he returned to resting, but that feather-weight was gone. Rengoku shifted closer, placed a hand on his waist beneath the sheets. He loved the feel of his skin. The curve of his hip. The grip of his thigh. Rengoku’s hand had wandered without him fully realizing until Akaza gave him a soft, seductive smile. Rengoku stalled, momentarily self-conscious.
Without a word, Akaza closed the distance and drew a kiss from his lips. His hand fell atop his briefly to anchor it to his thigh, then he brushed his fingers into Rengoku’s hair and kissed him again. And again. A little flustered, Rengoku went to return those kisses, but by the time he’d gathered himself, Akaza had moved to seal his mouth against his neck.
“An early start to the day,” Rengoku said. He wasn’t certain what he meant by it, nor what he hoped it would achieve.
Akaza lathed his tongue across his throat.
“I can stop,” he said.
“N-no…”
Chuckling, Akaza kissed his pulse, the slightest hint of teeth skimming through the sensation. It raised goosebumps all the way to Rengoku’s scalp.
“You’re so quick to backtrack when you try to play coy,” Akaza said.
Rengoku searched his mind for a response and found nothing, distracted by Akaza’s mouth on his neck, kissing. That mouth trailed to his own eventually. Rengoku kissed him, his fingers digging into his thigh. Akaza hummed. Shifting back, Rengoku started to speak, but Akaza beat him to it.
“Can I suck your dick?”
The question landed like a punch to the gut. He might not ever get accustomed to Akaza’s directness, but that did not mean he didn’t appreciate it. Still—the initial surprise prevented him from responding right away.
“I don’t mean to catch you off-guard,” Akaza said, a small smile at the corner of his mouth. “I should probably expect that, though, if I’m just going to say what I’m thinking…”
Shaking his head, Rengoku lifted Akaza’s chin to kiss him deeply. Gentle tongue, fingers skimming along his jawline. “I like that you say what you’re thinking,” he replied, just above his lips. “It’s reassuring. And to answer your question, yes, absolutely—but only if you let me return the favor somehow.”
Grinning, Akaza nodded. “Okay,” he said, and the next thing Rengoku knew, they were kissing and Akaza had hooked his arms under his shoulders to haul him up to rest his back against the headboard. He disappeared just as quickly, leaving a trail of kisses down Rengoku’s neck and chest before arriving at his hips. The change in temperature outside of the blankets passed unnoticed as Akaza’s breath at the crook of his thigh, then the base of his cock, sent a surge of heat through Rengoku from head to toe.
Akaza pressed his lips to the base, lingered. Rengoku rested his hands atop his head and felt him smile. Then there was tongue, which forced his breath from his body in a rush. A moment later, he was fully erect, and he might have been embarrassed except that this was Akaza and he felt no need to downplay exactly how attractive he found him.
Relaxed, he combed his fingers through Akaza’s hair and let him do as he pleased. Slow kissing. Careful tongue. Up the length. When Akaza closed his mouth around the head, Rengoku could not help but react. Then there was sucking and his fingers gnarled and Akaza flicked his eyes up to look at him, so sharp and intentional. Rengoku knew immediately that this would not be enough, he wanted to be inside him, but as he opened his mouth to say so, Akaza slid down, taking Rengoku almost to the back of his throat, and a noise of pleasure slipped out instead.
Akaza bobbed back up, and Rengoku fumbled to get his hands under his chin and lift him all the way off.
“Here…” he said, his voice sticking, encouraging Akaza to rise high enough for him to kiss his mouth. Akaza indulged him for a moment, but soon returned to his lap and turned the rest of his limbs to jelly by cupping his tongue around his cock. Akaza hummed in approval.
“When you’re…ready…” Rengoku said, swallowing, “I’d like to…finger you.”
Akaza swirled his tongue. “Mn. Can I ride you after?”
A little breathless, Rengoku nodded and said, “Absolutely, yes…”
Even so, Akaza took his time, savoring every minute movement, wet and hot, until Rengoku was panting. Only once he had him on the edge did he pull off, sit up, and settle where the two of them could kiss. Rengoku went after the lube and wasted no time opening Akaza up, holding him in his arms. An elbow locked around Rengoku’s neck, soon Akaza was panting, too.
Rengoku leaned to retrieve a condom, but Akaza drew him to a stop.
“No, leave it,” he said. “We’re clean.”
Before Rengoku could ask if he was sure, Akaza had wrapped his fingers around his cock, lubed him up, and guided him inside, all the way to the base in one go. The back of Rengoku’s skull knocked into the headboard as his fingers dug into Akaza’s bottom. When he lifted his head, he found Akaza trembling, his mouth open, eyes watering, flushed pink through his chest.
“—good?” Rengoku asked.
Focused, Akaza nodded, then murmured, “oh, fuck…” so softly under his breath. He seemed to brace himself, then exhaled, and settled his weight fully atop Rengoku’s hips. Another few breaths and he began to move, rocking forward and back. Rengoku drew him closer to kiss him, his own mind in a fog.
“You’re amazing,” he said, “…feel amazing.”
“I don’t think I’m gonna last very long,” Akaza replied, a self-deprecating chuckle peppering the statement.
Rengoku shook his head. “Me either.”
Careful, he began to thrust his hips up in time with Akaza’s movement.
“Ah, fuck, you’re fantastic,” Akaza breathed. He tumbled forward a bit, momentarily upsetting their rhythm, but soon found his way back to it, their chests flush now, his knees squeezed against Rengoku’s waist and hips. His fingers knotted in the back of Rengoku’s hair, and they stared at each other, mouths open, eyes only two or three inches apart. “Where the fuck did you come from?”
Rengoku kissed him, pushed his tongue into his mouth. Akaza whined. Rengoku had never heard him make a sound like that. He dug his fingers in, perhaps unintentionally opening him wider.
“Oh my god.”
“Sorry…”
“No, fuck, keep doing that, I just—I’m close already.”
Rengoku nodded. “So am I.”
He started to lift Akaza off, but Akaza grabbed his wrist and said, “Stay. Please. I want you to come inside me.”
Unable to think or respond Rengoku could only keep his eyes locked with Akaza as he lowered himself once more and resumed that rhythm. Had he—? Did he—? Rengoku dug his thumbs into the crooks of his thighs.
“Kiss me,” he said, and Akaza obeyed, keening into his mouth.
They kissed messily, driven by an unusual desperation. Akaza’s weight on his hips and chest. The grip of his fingers in his hair. The taste of his lips. The sum total proved too much for Rengoku. Perhaps only moments later, he was coming, and Akaza was right on his heels, letting out a choked and beautiful cry. His legs pulled together, but he pushed himself through, riding the orgasm until the collapsed against Rengoku with a gasp. Arms shaking, Rengoku wrapped him up in a hug.
Neither moved.
Rengoku had never been as vulnerable with anyone as he was with Akaza. Stranger than that was the fact that he had never made the conscious decision to be vulnerable. Somehow Akaza managed to bring out the most truthful parts of him. He had a feeling Akaza would say the same—though only under duress. The thought made Rengoku smile. He held Akaza to his chest and radiated pure happiness. He couldn’t help it. Sooner or later, his feelings were going to overwhelm him and make him say something he shouldn’t, but the longer he waited, the more certain of those feelings he became.
Some time passed before Akaza finally pushed himself up. He looked at Rengoku, smiled, touched a kiss to his lips. Rengoku returned it with pleasure.
“I wish we could stay here the rest of the day,” Akaza said.
“You’d wear me out,” Rengoku replied.
Laughing, Akaza separated from him. “I would,” he said. “You want to take a shower with me?”
“Of course I do.”
Rengoku grasped his hand and let Akaza pull him to his feet.
Were it feasible, he’d never let Akaza out of his sight again.
A few days earlier, Kyojuro had insisted on buying basic ingredients and storing them at Akaza’s place so he could cook as the need arose. Akaza did his best to assist, but spent most of his energy figuring out a balance between being helpful and staying out of Kyojuro’s way.
For his part, though, Kyojuro was a good teacher.
“We ought to get you a few larger utensils,” he said, carefully flipping over a slice of French toast with a pair of forks, “and measuring cups and spoons.”
Akaza blinked. He’d never had a need, nor a desire. Even now, the idea seemed foreign to him. His apartment was less a home and more a shelter. He felt no level of attachment to it, no need to fill it up with domestic shit. The Rengoku home on the other hand had fifty-some-odd years of being lived-in, decades of time to build up all the teaspoons and spatulas a person could want. Honestly, he preferred spending time there. The only thing his apartment afforded them was better privacy.
“We might have a few extras lying around,” Kyojuro said with a bright smile over his shoulder. “I’ll take a look when I get home.”
“Sure,” Akaza replied.
He ignored a tug at the back of his mind that his preferred solution wouldn’t be for the things to come to him, but for him to go to the things. That thought made Akaza want to puke—terrified, excited, and other emotions which he immediately pushed to the side.
“For tonight,” Kyojuro said, “do you want to come over right after your appointment, or should I pick you up here?”
Before Akaza could answer, a knock sounded at the door.
His eyes flicked to Kyojuro. “Are you expecting someone?”
Kyojuro nodded toward the door with a grin. “Go on,” he said.
Eyes narrowed, Akaza went to answer.
He opened the door to a deliveryman with a vase of roses. There must have been at least two dozen flowers, so densely red that Akaza almost couldn’t distinguish the individual blooms. He accepted the absolutely egregious display on autopilot, thanked the deliveryman, and closed the door. When he brought the flowers to the table and set them down, he wondered why he felt like crying.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Kyojuro lifted the last slice of French toast from the pan and came to stand by Akaza. “It seems I didn’t forget after all,” he said with a wink.
Akaza stared at the roses.
Nobody had ever given him flowers before.
Roses were, perhaps, the most cliché Valentine’s Day gift imaginable, but he’d never received them. Maybe that was why his throat had tightened and his eyes stung. Turning, he took Kyojuro’s face in his hands and kissed him.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
The display (or rather tamping down) of emotion did not go unnoticed by Kyojuro. Tilting his head, he smiled softly, then pressed a kiss to Akaza’s forehead.
“I’m glad you like them,” he said.
“I do, I…” He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t stop looking at the flowers. Reaching out, he brushed one of the velvety petals between his fingers. If he thought about this too hard, he was going to lose the fight against the tears, so he decided to change the subject. Looking up at Kyojuro, he asked, “Should I give you your gift now, too?”
Kyojuro blinked, but the surprise softened into a smile.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said.
Rolling his eyes, Akaza laughed. “Don’t be an idiot.”
He kissed him again before leaving the kitchen to head to his bedroom closet and retrieve Kyojuro’s present: a framed family portrait of Shinjuro, Kyojuro, and Senjuro as they were now with Ruka as she had been before her death. He’d spent the last week working on it with Senjuro’s help. The drawing was, perhaps, a little too stylized, but Akaza wasn’t exactly a portrait artist and Senjuro had sobbed when he’d looked at an early version, so Akaza figured it was probably fine.
All the same, he found himself too nervous to move for a moment.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed the picture to his chest, and returned to the kitchen.
“Sorry it’s not wrapped or anything,” he said, his voice wavering. “I didn’t think that far ahead, I guess…anyway, um…here.”
Kyojuro had opened his mouth to respond, a smile on his face, but he froze the instant Akaza turned the frame around. His eyes locked on the image. A breath of impact left his mouth. Entranced almost, he came forward and accepted the frame, his gaze never leaving the picture inside. Tears pricked his eyes.
“Oh my god,” he whispered.
The portrait was simple—reminiscent of the one that hung over Kyojuro’s dresser. Senjuro and Kyojuro sat in front, angled toward each other. Ruka and Shinjuro stood behind them, hands on their sons’ shoulders.
“I can do a color version, too,” Akaza said. “I just need a little more ti—”
Kyojuro surged forward and cut him off with a kiss. Surprised, Akaza kissed him back on instinct, then with intention when he felt Kyojuro’s tears on his face.
“Thank you,” Kyojuro said, drawing back. His lips trembled. He looked from Akaza to the picture, his fingers grazing the glass. “This is…this is so beautiful, Akaza, I really don’t know what to say, I—”
Smiling, Akaza wiped away his tears. “Senjuro was a big help with reference photos.”
Kyojuro nodded. He lifted his face to look at Akaza. Kissed him again. He seemed reluctant to set the frame down, but managed to part with it in order to take Akaza in his arms and squeeze him hard. Akaza returned the hug, brushing his fingers through Kyojuro’s hair.
“I’m so glad I met you,” Kyojuro whispered.
Akaza’s heart twisted and he hugged Kyojuro harder.
“Me too,” he whispered back.
Infinity Castle was surprisingly hectic. Akaza arrived to a full house, everyone, even Doma, in their booths working on a client, with even more clients were waiting in the front. His own pair had arrived early, so they got started early. The tattoos were small and simple and, though his clients were a couple, not thematically related to each other. Another personal policy of Akaza’s. No matching tattoos.
“Busy today,” the woman remarked. They had finished her tattoo first, so she’d been sitting in the guest chair in Akaza’s booth, but had stood up to stretch.
“Yeah,” Akaza nodded. “Saturdays can get crazy.”
“Do you get to get out of here, though?” the man asked. He winced as Akaza finished with the last of his lines. “Do something fun for Valentine’s Day?”
“You two are my only appointment,” he replied with a smile.
Thankfully, they didn’t press him on the second question. The last thing Akaza needed was more regulars commenting that he seemed happier. Not that he could fault anyone for that. He was happier.
He just wished it wasn’t so fucking obvious.
After cleaning, drying, and bandaging the second tattoo, he walked his clients to the archway to say goodbye, then returned to his booth to sanitize so he could leave. No sooner had he started the process than Doma poked his head up over the wall. Akaza noticed him out of the corner of his eye and deliberately chose not to lift his head.
“So, are you doing something fun for Valentine’s Day?” Doma trilled.
“Don’t you have a client?”
“Bathroom,” Doma replied. “Don’t dodge the question.”
Akaza flicked his eyes up to give Doma a flat stare, then continued cleaning and putting away his equipment.
“That’s either a no and you’re bitter about it, or a yes and you don’t want me to know,” Doma said. Standing fully, he settled his arms across the top of the wall. It took every ounce of Akaza’s restraint not to spray him with Lysol.
“Things not going well with your cute client?”
Things were going so well, but Akaza was not going to tell Doma that.
“Fuck off,” he said.
“Oh, you’re so rude,” Doma laughed. “I’m just showing a little personal investment in my colleague’s life. Is that wrong?”
“Nothing you do is ever motivated by anything other than self-interest,” Akaza replied.
He met Doma’s eye. Doma gave him a wicked smile.
Luckily, his client returned from the bathroom then, and Doma had to slither back into his booth to return to work. Akaza had finished sanitizing and grabbed his coat and keys when Nakime appeared in the archway.
“Akaza.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s someone here to see you.”
Curious, Akaza leaned sideways to peer past Nakime into the front waiting area. Inosuke of all fucking people was standing at the counter, his hands shoved into the front pockets on that awful hoodie, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He cast his eyes around the shop like he’d just entered enemy territory. In many ways, he had.
Akaza looked to Nakime. “Show him back.”
Nakime gestured Inosuke through to the main parlor. The kid kept his shoulders hunched and a mad dog scowl on his face. Akaza waved him toward his booth. Inosuke stomped over.
“Don’t you have a coat?” Akaza asked.
“Gave it away again,” Inosuke replied. “I finished your tattoo and I want you to see it.”
Akaza blinked.
“Can I show you?”
“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” Akaza replied. “You could have waited until I volunteered again, or given it to Kyojuro.”
Inosuke shrugged. “Not like I had anything else to do today.”
Right away, Akaza could tell that there was more to it than that. Something in the back of Inosuke’s eyes, the tautness of his posture, told him so. He’d needed somewhere to be, something to do, some endeavor to take his mind off whatever else was going on in his life.
“Okay, sure. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Akaza grabbed his chair and swiveled it over as he gestured for Inosuke to sit in the guest seat. Shedding his backpack, Inosuke did exactly that. He dug out his sketchbook. Flipped through the pages. Found the one he wanted. Then he looked at Akaza and narrowed his eyes, the book held protectively to his chest.
“If you don’t like it, I can make changes,” Inosuke said. “That’s how this works, right?”
“I give my clients a round or two of changes, yeah,” Akaza replied.
“Yeah, but is that how this works?”
Chuckling, Akaza shrugged. “If you want.”
Inosuke chewed on his bottom lip for a second, thinking to himself. The buzz of machines and the drone of chatter filled his silence.
“Well, don’t be an asshole about it, I guess,” he said, then held out his sketchbook.
In the center of the page was a colored pencil sketch maybe three inches square: a human skull with icicles hanging where the lower jawbone should have been. Bright blue and black, it had a distinctive, cartoonish style like the rest of Inosuke’s sketches and graffiti. Though simple, the drawing was evocative and eye-catching. It was actually really fucking dope.
“Do you like it?” Inosuke asked, obviously hopeful. He must have seen the approval in Akaza’s expression.
Sitting up, Akaza took the sketchbook out of Inosuke’s hands to get a better look at the tattoo. “Linework is definitely your strength. You stuck to my parameters, which I didn’t exactly make easy for you, without specific direction on the subject. The colors are great. They’ll match what I’ve already got pretty well.” The kid had worked hard on this. Akaza could tell. He might make a few tweaks, but nothing major. “I think this kicks ass.”
Inosuke froze, his eyes wide. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’s cool,” Akaza replied. “Might need a few adjustments just to clean it up for the medium, but I like it a lot. I’d have our shop’s apprentice do it now, but we’re pretty busy.”
Jaw slack, Inosuke stared at Akaza with his mouth hanging open.
“Really?”
Akaza laughed. “Yeah. I’ll have him work on it in the meantime.” He took his phone out of his pocket to take a few pictures of the sketch to show Enmu. “If you want to come to the appointment, you can. Probably take about four hours, though..” He held out Inosuke’s sketchbook. The kid didn’t take it for a second.
“My art always gets painted over,” he said, voice soft. Gentle, he accepted the sketchbook and hugged it to his chest.
“Well, when it’s a penis with a pig head,” Akaza chuckled. Inosuke folded a little, so Akaza eased off. “Hey. Life’s a bitch. I’m not gonna tell you it gets better because most of the time it doesn’t. But you’ve got talent, which means you’ve got options. You don’t always have to be one step away from juvenile detention if you don’t want to be.”
Inosuke huffed. “I didn’t think you were the monologue type.”
“You thought that was a monologue?” Akaza laughed. “Fuck off.”
Lifting his face, Inosuke grinned. “Tattoos are permanent,” he said.
“Yes, and I am opting to be your canvas. I’ll even pay you for the artwork.”
Inosuke’s eyes lit up like sparklers, and he opened his mouth to respond, but the side door opened and the whole atmosphere of the shop changed. Immediate. Dark. Like a sudden gathering of shadow. Even Inosuke, who had no context, froze in place like a chill had just gone down his spine.
Muzan.
“Fuck.”
Rising, Akaza peeked over the wall of his booth and caught sight of the top of Muzan’s stupid hat. He ducked back down, grabbed Inosuke’s backpack, and shoved it into the kid’s hands before practically yanking him out of the chair, a hand planted on the top of his head to keep him low.
“You’ve gotta go,” Akaza said.
Inosuke did not argue. Shoving his sketchbook into his bag, he beat a hasty retreat. Thankfully, Kokushibo had gone to greet Muzan, so the kid managed to slip out unnoticed.
If Akaza got lucky, maybe he’d be able to do the same himself.
There was no fucking way.
He decided to play it cool. Donning his coat, he double checked his booth and departed, headed for the side door, where Muzan and Kokushibo were currently standing. He nodded as he approached—part greeting, part deference. Muzan set his eyes on him. Akaza could see that he was already out for blood.
“Akaza,” Muzan said.
The guy simply had a way about him that inspired dread. The straight-backed posture, the slippery voice. Akaza had worked for Muzan for over a decade and he still had no idea how old he was. In all that time, he hadn’t aged a day, but he conducted himself like some kind of ancient, otherworldly entity. Deep down, Akaza understood why everyone else in the shop worshiped at Muzan’s feet. It was the same reason some people worshipped God.
They feared what he could do.
“Muzan. Happy Valentine’s Day,” Akaza said in reply, keeping any hint of emotion out of his voice. “Good to see you.”
Muzan flicked his eyes from Akaza’s feet to his head. The expression should have carried distaste or dislike, but it was utterly empty. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you about the recent defacement of the shop,” he said.
Good thing he’d sent Inosuke out.
Akaza nodded. “Sure.”
“The incident occurred in September,” Muzan said.
“Yes.”
“The same delinquent as before.”
“Yes.”
“You had it covered.”
“I bought paint and rollers,” Akaza replied. “I was going to have Enmu cover it before the shop opened, but the delinquent got dragged back by a mentor from his youth center. The two of them were the ones who ended up doing the actual painting.” There wasn’t any point in lying to Muzan—either he’d already heard the truth from someone else or he would wring it out of Akaza like water from a cloth.
Placid, Muzan said, “They did this of their own volition without seeking remuneration for their labor.”
“He seemed to think it was a teaching moment.”
“He?”
“The mentor.”
“He’s actually a client of Akaza’s,” Doma chimed in.
A cold bolt of panic shot through every last one of Akaza’s veins.
Waving goodbye to his client, Doma strolled over to join the Akaza, Muzan, and Kokushibo by the door. Muzan directed his full attention toward Doma, an intense question in his eyes.
“Oh, the whole graffiti incident happened before he became a client,” Doma explained with a hand toss and a chuckle. “If anything, I’d say it was the incident that brought him in.”
Muzan’s eyes flicked to Akaza.
“True,” Akaza said.
Clicking his tongue, Muzan made a meaningless noise. Akaza glanced at Doma to try and get a read on his intentions. Doma only offered a terrible smile, then he spoke again.
“As I understand it, they’ve started seeing each other.”
The shadows darkened. The atmosphere charged. Though Muzan’s face did not shift at all, bloodlust radiated from him like a beam of light. All of that rage focused squarely on Akaza—frozen stiff. He should have expected Doma to betray him. He should have known the fucking bastard wouldn’t keep his word. Akaza never should have told him anything, but he hadn’t had a choice.
Doma, like Muzan, could wring the truth out of him simply by existing.
“You’re seeing a client,” Muzan said.
“He’s not a client anymore,” Akaza replied. The wrong answer. Muzan’s eyes flashed. “He asked me out after I’d finished his tattoo.”
“Well, that’s not strictly true,” Doma put in. He tapped a finger against his chin, feigning contemplation. “As I recall, he asked you to dinner the night of his consultation.”
Fists clenched, Akaza restrained himself from physically attacking Doma.
“We didn’t start dating until after I’d finished his tattoo,” Akaza said again, firmer.
“I fail to see how that negates his status as your client,” Muzan replied. “Did he or did he not sit under your needle? Does he or does he not have your artwork on his body? A client is a client. They do not cease to be such.” Muzan’s upper lip curled in disgust. “And here at Infinity Castle, we do not fuck our clients.”
Akaza winced. He couldn’t help it. His gaze had averted to the floor, but he couldn’t remember looking away.
When he looked up, Muzan was staring at him with eyes like sharpened knives.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
End this, or I will end you.
That’s what Muzan’s eyes said.
Akaza was late. Not so late that they were in danger of missing their dinner reservation, but late enough that the sun had set. Late enough for Rengoku to worry.
He lifted one of the blinds over the front window to look outside. Just his truck in the driveway. No other cars on the street. He’d texted Akaza, but received no reply. In all likelihood, he’d probably gotten caught up at work. A phone call wasn’t going to change that, but Rengoku was beginning to feel compelled.
“Is something happening out there?” Senjuro asked.
Rengoku jumped. He turned to face his brother and shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I was just keeping an eye out for Akaza.”
“When was he supposed to get here?”
“We didn’t set a time,” Rengoku replied. “He had decided to come straight here after his appointment today, but that would have finished an hour ago. Maybe two.”
Senjuro frowned.
“Exactly,” Rengoku said.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Senjuro replied. He did not sound convinced himself. “It’s probably nothing.”
It was never nothing with Akaza. That was the problem. He reacted as intensely as he did because most of the events in his life were intense. Rengoku could have labeled it a conditioned response, certainly, but he’d never felt as though Akaza had overreacted to anything. He communicated, he was direct. When he wasn’t, something was wrong. Something big.
Headlights passed across the window, and the sound of a car drew Rengoku to the blinds again, his heart racing.
A vehicle passed by, going fast. His stomach sank, but just as he started to leave the window, another set of headlights approached from down the street. In the dark at a distance, it was difficult to identify the car until turned into their driveway.
“It’s Akaza,” he said with no small measure of relief.
Senjuro let his breath out. “Okay, good.”
They smiled at each other. Senjuro left the front room. Rengoku waited. In the driveway, Akaza’s car shut off. The headlights followed. A door opening and closing did not. Rengoku continued to wait. And wait. His smile slowly shifted into a frown.
Akaza was not getting out of his car.
Worried all over again, Rengoku left the house. He trotted carefully down the walk. Akaza came into view through the driver’s side window—his expression blank, staring at his steering wheel. He didn’t even react as Rengoku approached the car. Not until he knocked on the window. Akaza jumped.
“Everything okay?” Rengoku asked.
For a moment, Akaza just stared up at him. Rengoku could not describe the look in his eyes except that something about it gave him the impression that Akaza might turn his key in the ignition and back out of the driveway never to be seen again.
Rengoku held his breath.
Akaza snapped out of his fugue state and scrambled out of the car.
“We need to talk,” he said—the four most dreaded words in the language of any relationship. Rengoku didn’t quite have time to respond. Akaza shut the car door, leaned against it, shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, and proceeded to speak at breakneck speed.
“Muzan came into the shop today—and before you ask, no, I did not talk to him about Inosuke painting the back. He was never going to fucking agree to that, I don’t know why I agreed to talk to him—I mean, I do know, but that’s not the fucking point.” He bared his teeth as if trying to get ahold of himself. “Muzan came into the shop today,” he said again. “Nobody was expecting him. We never are. He always picks the worst times. He interrogated me about the graffiti, and I had to be honest with him, so you came up—sort of. Not really. It doesn’t matter. What I said gave Doma just enough of an opening to rat me out.”
Akaza had not looked at Rengoku since getting out of the car—his gaze directed down at the ground or off into the distance. Rengoku held still. He couldn’t feel the cold at all.
“I shouldn’t have ever said anything to Doma, but he’s such a pain in the ass. I felt like I had to tell him about us. He’s always known. He told me he would keep it a secret from Muzan, but when the chips were down…”
Shrugging, Akaza finally looked at him.
“Muzan gave me an ultimatum.”
Oh.
Rengoku understood now.
He swallowed, but his mouth was dry.
“I see,” he said. “I’m sorry. That’s a stressful situation. I…” He could feel his heart breaking—a new kind of horrible hurt he had never felt before. “I would never ask you to sacrifice your job for me.” He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Akaza. “You can return to Muzan tomorrow and tell him that we ended things amicably.”
“I’m not going to do that, you idiot.”
Rengoku lifted his face.
“I love you,” Akaza said.
The world stopped. Rengoku had thought he’d felt the world stop before, but he’d been wrong. The world stopped now, and it flung him outside his body—brimming with absolute, ecstatic fire—and into a strange quiet space where his only thought was that he had always expected that he would be the one to confess first. Only the sound of Akaza’s voice pulled him back. Akaza had tears in his eyes.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said.
Rengoku grabbed him and pulled him into his arms. Startled, Akaza went stiff, but folded as Rengoku kissed him. Hugged him. Kissed him again. He hugged him so hard Akaza probably couldn’t breathe. But when he opened his mouth, Akaza cut him off.
“Don’t say it back. Please. I’m not ready to hear it.”
Rengoku eased his hold.
“It isn’t fair to ask that of me,” he said.
“I know…”
Drawing back, Rengoku searched Akaza’s face—eyes wet and sparkling. Rengoku cupped his cheek in one hand and leaned down to kiss him intently, sincerely. As he leaned away, he said nothing. The tears brimmed.
“Why do you always do what I ask?” Akaza asked.
“You know why.”
The tears fell in earnest as Akaza began to cry, but he lifted himself to wrap his arms around Rengoku’s neck and kiss him even so.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much, and that terrifies me. It hurts. I hate how much it hurts, how scared I am. I should be happy, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how, Kyojuro. You don’t deserve that…”
“What we deserve has nothing to do with what we get.”
The air rushed from Akaza’s lungs.
Then he began to sob.
Holding him close, Rengoku cradled his head. The sobs sounded so alike to those Akaza had wept over Koyuki in their hotel room not long ago. Sobs that had gripped at something deep in Akaza and tried to yank it out by its roots. Rengoku brushed his hands over his back. Over the memory of a blue snowflake. Seen for the first time. Seen so many times since. He turned his eyes toward the nighttime sky, most of the stars hidden by the glow of neighborhood lights, and sent a small prayer to Koyuki—wherever she was—to ask for her blessing.
“I love you, Akaza,” he said. There was a hiccup in Akaza’s sobs as he pulled back to stare at Rengoku with big, blue, beautiful eyes. “There. See? I don’t always do what you ask.”
Helpless, Akaza laughed.
Rengoku took his face in his hands and wiped away his tears with his thumbs. The way Akaza nuzzled into his touch twisted his heart so hard in his chest, he thought it might burst.
“I’m so scared, Kyojuro,” Akaza said.
“Of what?”
Shaking his head, Akaza swallowed. “Being happy.”
Rengoku did not understand, but he could sympathize. Happy wasn’t permanent. Happy came and went. Happy meant that sadness or frustration or anger would follow. Perhaps for Akaza, happy was simply dangerous. It was easier, perhaps, to deal with sad and frustrating and angry when that was all there was.
“Muzan’s not going to let me walk away,” Akaza continued. “He’ll do everything he can to ruin me, my reputation. Any shot I have at landing another job somewhere else.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Rengoku replied.
A tiny smile broke through Akaza’s expression as he released a shaky sigh. “I still don’t find your optimism comforting, you know.”
Chuckling, Rengoku drew him forward for a kiss. “I don’t care.”
Akaza kissed him back. He held on for dear life and tangled his fingers in Rengoku’s hair. The kiss was a little too passionate to call tender, too vulnerable to call passionate. Rengoku could feel tears of his own in his eyes, but he kept them to himself. They were happy tears—overwhelmed, but overjoyed.
“I love you, Kyojuro.” Akaza held his gaze, firm and unyielding. “I want you to know.”
“I do,” Rengoku replied.
He lifted Akaza’s chin to kiss him again.
“I love you, too.”
Gentle, Akaza tucked himself into Rengoku’s arms and nestled his face against his neck. He drew in a deep breath, let it out, and Rengoku felt the weight that always rested on his shoulders depart—leaving him feathery, like he had been that morning.
“I don’t think I want to go out to eat anymore,” Akaza said with a sheepish chuckle.
Smiling, Rengoku let his cheek rest on Akaza’s forehead.
“Then let’s stay home.”
Sitting in the cab of Kyojuro’s truck parked in the lot for Infinity Castle, Akaza took a deep breath. Took inventory. Where a pit of dread usually would have formed in his stomach, there was instead the lightness of relief.
Kyojuro sat beside him. Akaza held in his hands a letter of resignation—one Kyojuro had helped him write the night before. They’d stayed up late contacting all of Akaza’s clients to let them know that he’d be quitting, effective immediately, but he’d be happy to reschedule their appointments once he found a new shop.
Cancelling with such short notice might not have been the best move career-wise. Plenty of people were reasonably pissed. Plenty of others actually expressed their support. That loyalty had surprised Akaza.
It shouldn’t have.
He was still scared. But that was the nature of change. He had never imagined himself in a scenario like this one. Leaving Infinity Castle had always been an impossibility. He understood now that the only person who could pull him out was himself. Now, though, the thought of quitting ultimately left him with a sense of peace. For the first time in his life, he felt like things were going to be okay.
He didn’t really know how that was possible.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” Kyojuro asked.
He had his hands gripped around the steering wheel. Sympathetic nervousness pulled at his brow. Akaza gave him a smile.
“No. You shouldn’t. If things turn into a real fight, I don’t want you to have to get involved.” Muzan wasn’t the type to throw a punch, but who the hell knew anymore. “Besides.” He let out a deep breath. “I think this is something I have to do on my own.”
Pursing his lips, Kyojuro nodded. He squeezed Akaza’s hand. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
He popped open the door and hopped down from the truck. Ice melt and loose asphalt crunched beneath his feet. Every step brought another set of butterflies to his stomach. This was going to be ugly. If not now, then later. He’d worked for Muzan for so long, and an established artist taking his leave would damage the shop’s reputation. Muzan would sling as much mud as he had to in order to cast the blame on Akaza.
So be it.
He pulled open the side door. The shop was sleepy on a Sunday morning. Daki was working on a client. Kokushibo’s booth had its light on. Akaza went to his own booth and collected the few personal effects he kept there—sketchbooks, charging cables. He packed them into a bag, then made his way back to Muzan’s office.
He could feel his heartbeat in his throat.
The door sat open. He knocked on the frame. Muzan looked up from his desk.
He bristled immediately.
He could tell something had changed in Akaza.
“Don’t do anything rash,” he growled.
Akaza shrugged. He stepped forward, placed the letter on the edge of Muzan’s desk.
“I quit,” he said.
Muzan just stared at him.
“As of today. I’ve already contacted all of my scheduled appointments to let them know, and I’ll take care of the paperwork with Nakime on my way out.”
“You think you can just walk away.”
Akaza shook his head. “I know I can. I am. I don’t doubt that you’ll try to make my life a living hell for it, but frankly, Muzan, you’ve already made my life a living hell, so nothing much is going to change there.”
A cold, deadly aura radiated from Muzan, but his face remained placid.
“You’ll regret this,” he said.
“No,” Akaza said. “I won’t.”
Muzan could say nothing to change Akaza’s mind. He seemed to sense that, and it did not make him pleased.
“You’d throw away your career, your livelihood, for a man you met six months ago?”
In spite of everything, Akaza found himself smiling.
“Absolutely.”
He took a step backward.
“Bye, Muzan.”
Akaza had been gone so long, Rengoku was beginning to wonder if and when he should go inside to make sure he was okay. Not that his presence was likely to help anything, just that it seemed like a more rational first step than calling the police.
His heart skipped when the side door opened.
Akaza appeared.
His heart stopped completely when he saw how happy he was.
Beaming, Akaza dashed across the parking lot and climbed into the truck. Rengoku had never seen him look so joyful. Akaza knelt on the seat bench and craned himself over to give Rengoku a kiss.
“Done,” he said with a grin.
Rengoku could only stare in bewilderment and admiration.
He felt like he was seeing Akaza for the first time.
Notes:
Hello, all. 💕
Thank you so much for your patience as I've worked to get this chapter written! I hope you've enjoyed it and that it was worth the wait. I appreciate every single one of you more than I could ever say!
THANK YOU for showing this work so much love!! It means everything to me. 💕
One more little chapter to go!!
Chapter 8: March
Chapter Text
Through the shop’s front window, March looked deceptively warm. Bright sun, vivid blue sky. Melting piles of snow. Then the wind would whistle over the roof with a firm reminder that it was, in fact, still winter.
Blood Bewitchment sat tucked between two much taller buildings on a side street downtown. Narrow, cozy, covered almost floor to ceiling in flowering plants, the shop looked more like an apothecary or a greenhouse than a tattoo studio, but that was by design. The only signage was a removable plaque mounted over the door. Unless someone already knew the place, they would be very unlikely to notice it. That, too, was by design.
The relaxed atmosphere appealed to Akaza. He’d barely been tattooing here a month, but that month had been surprisingly therapeutic. Being able to do something he loved with the freedom to love it. And under the protection of someone who knew almost exactly what he’d endured working for Muzan.
Tamayo, the shop’s owner, had been an apprentice of his, too.
Blood Bewitchment was a small operation. Before Akaza, Tamayo and her apprentice Yushiro had been the only artists. Yushiro was (in Akaza’s opinion) a little bitch. Akaza had yet to win him over—not that he was trying. The kid had talent, but Akaza had experience, which had immediately netted him a senior position. Yushiro had yet to emotionally recover. Not even tattooing Akaza for practice had earned him an ounce of good grace.
But that was because the art had been Inosuke’s.
Yushiro stood beside him now, arms folded, scowling, watching Akaza work.
“You get a lot of clients with that attitude?” Obanai asked.
He was the one in Akaza’s chair at the moment—a black and white tattoo of a snake taking shape around his upper arm and over his shoulder. Yushiro had never worked with white ink before, hence Tamayo’s orders for him to observe Akaza. Yushiro refused to learn anything from Akaza, but he also refused to disobey Tamayo, so he found himself in precarious situations like this one a lot.
Akaza snorted.
Yushiro opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Obanai gave him a mean smile.
Thankfully, the three of them were spared any further escalation by the appearance of Tamayo herself, ushering over a newly-tattooed Mitsuri. She sported a pair of now-permanent black dots under either eye. Aside from a little redness, she looked virtually no different than she had when she’d arrived. She had apparently been drawing the dots on herself for most of her life.
“You look great,” Obanai said, his smile softening.
Mitsuri blushed. “Oh, thank you,” she replied. “I think they came out perfect, but I was so nervous. We measured and remeasured and checked so many times.”
Akaza glanced up to smile at Tamayo. She returned it, calm and gentle.
“Oh, but look at you!” Mitsuri cried. “You’ve done so much since we started.” She exchanged expressions with Tamayo, whose inexhaustible patience earned Mitsuri a smile and a nod. “That’s so beautiful, Akaza.”
“Thanks,” Akaza chuckled. “I don’t get to work with white often. It’s been fun.”
Yushiro rolled his eyes. Tamayo gave him a disappointed frown, and the kid went rigid, absolutely mortified.
“I’m glad you decided to finally take the plunge, Mitsuri,” Akaza said. A few more lines and this first appointment with Obanai would be finished. He’d wanted the snake to be pretty fucking huge—elbow to collar bone, almost—and would require multiple appointments. “Or, I guess, I’m glad you’re glad you did.” He lifted his face to smile at her.
“Me too,” she replied, blushing a deeper pink. “Thank you so much, Tamayo.”
“Of course,” Tamayo replied. “I’m pleased to be of service. Precision work is always an engaging challenge.”
One hundred percent of Blood Bewitchment’s inviting atmosphere had to do with Tamayo herself. She had a soothing aura, almost imperceptible, like the scent of a flower, but she also seemed in constant conflict with herself. Akaza had not asked questions. She’d hired him right away after learning he’d apprenticed under Muzan. She’d been so kind to him since then that he honestly couldn’t fault Yushiro for being such a simp.
The rear door that led to the tiny parking lot behind the building opened, and in swept Kyojuro with a grin to rival the March sunshine.
“Kanroji! Iguro! I hoped I’d catch you,” he said, striding forward and blinding everyone with that smile. “Hey, you look fantastic, Kanroji. How’d it go?”
Mitsuri’s face turned beet red under Kyojuro’s attention. “Great!” she squeaked.
Chuckling, Tamayo put out a gentle hand to guide Mitsuri away. “Come with me,” she said. Mitsuri was already on the move. “We’ll apply that second skin and I’ll give you some care instructions.”
The two of them returned to Tamayo’s booth, so Kyojuro set his eyes on Obanai’s tattoo instead and said, “Very cool. It’s not finished yet, right?”
“Finished for today,” Akaza replied.
Yushiro turned on his heel and left.
“Tough crowd,” Obanai chuckled.
“I’ll take him over any of the artists at Infinity Castle, trust me,” Akaza replied.
He cleaned the tattoo, let it dry, applied the second skin, and gave Obanai the same set of instructions Mitsuri had received. She returned to check out the snake midway through Akaza’s lecture, her eyes sparkling.
“I’ll see you next month to finish up,” Akaza said.
“Thank you,” Obanai replied. “Can’t wait.”
Kyojuro put a proud hand on Akaza’s shoulder and squeezed.
“It looks so pretty already, thank you so much, Akaza,” Mitsuri gushed. She continued to gush as Obanai donned his coat, and gushed the whole way out the door as Obanai steered her from behind and everyone waved goodbye. She gave them another wave from the street through the front window.
Kyojuro laughed. “A glowing review.”
Akaza smiled up at him. “Naturally.”
Both hands on his shoulders now, Kyojuro applied a little weight and smiled back.
“I just need to sanitize and then we can go,” Akaza said.
“Yushiro can manage that,” Tamayo said. Yushiro snapped his attention over to the booth, glaring. The glare vanished from his face the second Tamayo glanced at him. “The two of you have an appointment to keep.”
“That would be great if Yushiro’s willing,” Akaza replied.
Wordless, Yushiro had already returned to the booth and begun cleaning up. Tamayo smiled, satisfied, and looked to Akaza to shoo him.
“Good work today,” she said.
Akaza smiled back.
Rising, he stripped off his gloves, washed his hands, and met Kyojuro by the back door. Any other day, he wouldn’t have relied on Yushiro. He was determined to earn his keep around the shop. Tamayo had managed to shield herself from Muzan for years, and Akaza was eager to learn from her. She seemed eager to teach. He’d need her knowledge if he was ever going to open a place of his own.
“You ready?” Kyojuro asked, offering his hand as Akaza arrived by his side.
Akaza laced their fingers together. “Let’s go.”
In the truck, Rengoku kept glancing at Akaza as they drove. The blue sky framed by the passenger window made for lovely contrast against his hair. A picnic basket and blanket sat on the bench between them, their arms resting and fingers intertwined atop it. A bouquet of tulips nestled between Akaza’s feet in a small vase of water. Akaza had his gaze focused out the window, watching the city change into suburbs.
“Kanroji seemed quite happy,” Rengoku said.
Akaza turned from the window to chuckle. “You should have seen how nervous she was when she walked in. Honestly, I’m surprised she went through with it.”
Smiling, Rengoku brushed his thumb over the back of Akaza’s hand. “Tamayo was the right choice, I think.”
“Daki never would have been able to calm her down.”
Since leaving Infinity Castle, Akaza had developed an ease in speaking about it. Rengoku had learned more about his tenure since he’d left than in all the time he’d worked there. The distance had provided some clarity, some closure. He got the feeling that the Muzan issue would never truly resolve itself unless the man himself disappeared, but Akaza could not control that, and so had decided to deal with problems as they arose. Rengoku was proud of him.
“When you have your own shop, what sort of people are you going to hire?”
Akaza laughed—casual, dismissive, a little embarrassed. Whenever Rengoku brought up the prospect, Akaza would always smile and shake his head and try to brush it off, but Rengoku knew he was serious. He knew he was saving as much money as he could. It was one of the reasons they’d been discussing having Akaza move in with him and his family.
“I don’t know,” Akaza replied. “Part of me just wants to work alone, and I’ll probably have to for a while, but… I’d like to train my own apprentices, I think. Seems like the easiest way to ensure the shop’s got the culture I want.” He shrugged. “And if that means one less artist has to endure a bullshit apprenticeship, then…all the more reason.”
Rengoku’s heart swelled as he smiled.
“Well, I can think of one who would make for a very happy guinea pig,” he said.
Laughing outright, Akaza glanced at him, his expression bright. Rengoku still hadn’t gotten used to seeing so much light in his eyes. It gave him butterflies every time.
“I don’t know if I have the patience for Inosuke that you do,” Akaza said.
“Sure you do,” Rengoku replied. “It’s a different kind of patience, but no less suitable.”
Frankly, Akaza had made more headway with Inosuke in less than a year than Rengoku had since he’d started attending Wisteria in middle school. He’d turned his bottomless creative energy toward designing tattoos ever since seeing Yushiro ink the icicle skull into Akaza’s skin.
“Just food for thought,” Rengoku added.
Akaza gave his hand a squeeze.
They sat in happy, companionable silence for the rest of the drive, out of the suburbs and a little ways into the foothills of the mountains to a cemetery that overlooked the valley. There, they parked in the largely empty lot, disembarked the truck, and walked hand-in-hand to his mother’s grave, the blanket and basket split between them. Akaza carried the flowers. He put them and the water into the vase built into the base of Ruka’s headstone.
“Looks like we beat Dad and Senjuro here,” Rengoku said, combing the lawn for them.
Solemn, Akaza nodded.
“Help me with the blanket?”
Together, the two of them spread the blanket out at the foot of the headstone. They sat. Lunch would wait until Senjuro and Shinjuro arrived. Akaza kept his eyes on the grave.
Today was the anniversary of her death.
“This is a nice spot,” Akaza said.
“She picked it,” Rengoku replied with a smile. The maple tree not too far off had been the primary motivating factor in that. He loved visiting her in the fall.
Akaza nodded. “When the snow melts, we could drive up to the place where I scattered my dad’s ashes,” he said. His eyes flicked to Rengoku. “If you want.”
Rengoku reached to take his hand. “I’d love to do that.”
Letting his breath out, Akaza nodded. Rengoku knew Akaza had not been out to that part of the mountains since Koyuki and Keizo had died. He might have scattered their ashes there as well, but he hadn’t been allowed any control over what had happened to their bodies. They’d been murder victims, and he was not their legal next of kin. He didn’t even know what had happened to their remains, something Rengoku had learned when they’d planned this picnic.
Akaza looked back at Ruka’s grave.
“You raised a good one,” he said with a small smile.
Tears pricked Rengoku’s eyes, but they were interrupted by the appearance of Senjuro and Shinjuro a short distance across the lawn. Upon seeing them, Senjuro scampered to the blanket, kicked off his shoes, and sat down, positively beaming. Rarely did he look so at ease this time of year, his heart heavy with the loss of their mother and the burden of doing his best to hang onto the few memories of her he had.
“How was your drive?” he asked. “We hit some weird traffic.” He looked to the headstone and his eyes went a little somber. “Sorry we’re late, Mom.”
“Not late at all,” Rengoku replied with a reassuring smile.
Shinjuro arrived, then. Much more subdued. He hadn’t come out to the grave much. In fact, this was probably the first time he’d been sober for the anniversary of her death since she had passed. Rengoku smiled at him, proud. Shinjuro nodded back. The pain he felt was evident and acute. Rengoku felt it, too.
His father sat down beside him, the closest he had been in years. Physically, emotionally. Though they would mourn Ruka for the rest of their lives, sometimes simply knowing someone else hurt too was enough to make it through.
“Thank you for coming,” Shinjuro said to Akaza.
“Of course,” Akaza replied.
The two of them had an unusual rapport that Rengoku had yet to figure out. Something to do with being so similar, he assumed. He wouldn’t call them friends, or even friendly, but somehow they seemed to get along.
“Pretty flowers,” Senjuro said.
“I’m glad you think so,” Akaza replied.
They didn’t say anything more for a moment. Rengoku unpacked their lunch and they distributed sandwiches and other sundries amongst themselves, began to eat.
They felt like a family.
At first, the thought startled Rengoku, but in truth there was nothing odd about it at all. The three of them had been missing something between them—a ballast to keep them steady, a counterbalancing weight. They were not a trio, and they had never been. They needed a fourth. They’d needed change. And Akaza had needed them, too. He had so much to offer. Rengoku could only consider himself lucky to be the recipient.
“When you move in, we should plant some tulips out front,” Senjuro said.
“If I move in,” Akaza chuckled.
“When you do,” Senjuro continued, not missing a beat, “we should have a big party. Invite everybody from the center and your new tattoo shop.”
“Oh, yeah, that’ll be a great crowd,” Akaza replied. “One hundred teenagers.”
“There aren’t a hundred of us,” Senjuro replied. “We could redo the whole front yard!”
“What in the hell kind of party are you planning?” Akaza laughed.
“I don’t think we need to invite everyone over to do manual labor,” Rengoku said. Senjuro pouted at him, obviously feeling misunderstood, so Rengoku ruffled his hair. “I like the tulip idea, though. The front could use some flowers.”
“I agree,” Shinjuro said.
Senjuro turned to smile at him. Shinjuro could not help but smile back. The two of them struck up a conversation about ideas for the yard. Rengoku put a hand on Akaza’s knee to get his attention. His heart skipped when those blue eyes met his, and he leaned over to rest his forehead against Akaza’s and let out his breath.
As he drew back, he smiled and said, “When.”
Chuckling, Akaza shook his head, but returned the smile. Then nodded.
“When.”
Eleven years since Akaza had last put on a pair of boxing gloves, but doing so felt in many ways like coming home. He could feel Koyuki and Keizo in the familiar movements that, even after more than a decade, his body had never forgotten. The same way he would never forget them.
Kyojuro had encouraged him to get back into boxing, even found a few gyms for him to pick from, introduced him to the owners and talked him up like some sort of undiscovered star. Akaza could not understand how Kyojuro knew exactly what he needed. He wasn’t used to being perceived, much less taken care of. Though, perhaps the thing he appreciated the most was Kyojuro’s comfort with Koyuki and Keizo, with what had happened to them.
Strange to say it, but Kyojuro seemed to love them. These people he had never met. He didn’t want to take them away. He wanted to talk about them, honor them, honor the hole they’d left in Akaza’s heart through no fault of their own. He didn’t even try to fill that gap. He just…loved Akaza along with it.
He came sometimes to the gym that Akaza had ultimately chosen, trained with him. He was good. A little too good. The staff kept trying to convince him to train for real, but he would just smile and shake his head and wave them off and push Akaza into the spotlight instead.
“You could still go pro if you want,” the owner said, his arms hung over the ropes around the practice ring where he’d been watching Akaza work with one of the coaches.
“That’s what I keep telling him,” Kyojuro called from the other side of the room.
“Yeah, but you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Akaza called back.
The owner chuckled. “In this case, I think he does.”
Their session was finished. The gym had closed an hour ago, but the owner often kept it open so Akaza could train late. He stripped off his hand wraps and made his way to the edge of the ring to climb out.
“I’m still thinking about it,” he said.
“And I’m not trying to put pressure on you. Just letting you know what I see.”
Potential. Possibilities. Things Akaza had not dared dream about. He could tattoo. He could box. He could try knowing there were people behind him to catch him if he fell. Nothing was ever going to turn out perfect. Like tattooing, he simply needed to learn how to adjust and work with his mistakes.
Drawing in a deep breath, he nodded. “Thanks.”
The owner clapped him on the shoulder and smiled as he swept away. Akaza grabbed his shit from next to the ring and called to Kyojuro.
“I’m gonna take a shower. Let me know when Inosuke gets here.”
The two of them were staying even later to meet Inosuke so he and Akaza could start the mural they’d been commissioned to paint on the back wall of the gym.
He showered, changed. Readied paint rollers and mixed buckets of white and blue and black with Kyojuro until Inosuke arrived, a duffle bag stuffed with cans of spray paint slung over his shoulder. They prepped the back wall, washing, then whitewashing, and looking at that big blank canvas Akaza was struck by a strange sense of surrealism and déjà vu.
Across the city, there was a wall exactly like this on the back of Infinity Castle. A dick-shaped pig under a thin layer of white paint.
“We don’t have to finish this tonight,” Akaza said.
Inosuke rolled up the sleeves on that wretched hoodie and grabbed his first paint can.
“Two trips are for wimps,” he replied.
The mural they’d designed lent itself well to Inosuke’s style of graffiti: the skyline of the local mountain range, capped with snow, an aurora borealis in pink and blue and green rolling through the sky over the peaks. Kyojuro helped where he could, filling in large blocks of color as the three of them got to work.
More than once, Akaza caught Inosuke eyeing the tattoo he’d designed on Akaza’s arm.
He was still getting used to being trusted. To having people who relied on him. Who looked up to him. Who liked him. Loved him. Considered him family. He’d spent so long hating himself, he had a hard time understanding what anyone saw in him, but slowly those scales had begun to fall from his eyes.
Akaza was beginning to see himself. And beginning to like what he saw.
“Can I paint a few of the stars?” Kyojuro asked, holding the ladder for Akaza as he added a spray of white dots across the sky.
“No chance, Flavortown,” Inosuke replied, intently focused on the mountain shadow.
Chuckling, Akaza descended the ladder and tucked the paintbrush into Kyojuro’s hand, leaning up to give him a kiss as he did so.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I won’t tell.”
Kyojuro beamed, kissed Akaza a second time, and scurried up the ladder to add a few misshapen stars to the array. He slid down before Inosuke could catch him, giggling like he was a kid who’d just pulled off an incredible prank. Then he slung an arm around Akaza’s waist and took a step back to admire their handiwork.
“We’ve made a lot of progress,” he said, satisfied.
“Yeah,” Akaza said, looking up at him. “We have.”
Notes:
I want to say thank you to all of you for your patience and support. This has been such a meaningful project for me, and it has sincerely filled my soul to see the love you all have shown it! Thank you for your kudos, for your comments. Thank you for encouraging and reassuring me! I say it all the time, but it means the world to be able to share my writing with such wonderful people.
THANK YOU!! From the bottom of my heart, thank you 💕
I hope you enjoyed the journey!!
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