#thischachafics

His opponent laughed. "Excellent hustle, my boy!" he crowed, amusement clear in his voice. In the shadows of his helmet was a hint of gold, and two burning embers where the eyes would normally be— less of a knight and more of a demon.

Tanjiro gripped his axe tighter. "Thank you very much!" He paused, and added, as an afterthought, "um. Sir."

"You are very welcome!" The knight boomed. "Though, there's no need for such formalities. You may address me as Kyojuro Rengoku!"

"Sir Rengoku," corrected Tanjiro. He shifted back, taking a wide stance, pretending his heart wasn’t shaking. It was one thing, to chop wood. It was another to chop flesh- even if that flesh was covered in armor. “I… wish we had met under different circumstances,” he admitted.

“Hm.” Rengoku tilted his head. His eyes gleamed inside his helmet. “But I rather like this. Don’t you?”

Tanjiro didn’t know what to say to that.

Without warning, Rengoku spun on his heel, axe flashing. Metal connected— screeching past Tanjiro’s chest-plate, sparks flying, before whipping away, just missing the gap in his armor.

Before Tanjiro could so much as gasp, Rengoku pursued him, axe whirling, flashing, slicing— Tanjiro ducking, stumbling, slipping, backwards— until Rengoku slammed him into the fence. The crowd cheered.

A drop of blood plopped onto the mud. Then another. Then another.

“Got you,” huffed Rengoku. He tried pulling away, only to find his weapon embedded in Tanjiro’s axe handle. “Interesting.”

Their eyes locked. Tanjiro bared his teeth.

He wasn’t going to lose.

Tanjiro jerked away, yanking Rengoku with him— then he firmly planted his feet, whipping his head towards Rengoku.

BANG!

Both axes splashed to the ground, splattering mud over their armored boots.

“Got you,” wheezed Tanjiro.

As Rengoku stared, a crack split through his helmet. Bit-by-bit, the crack snapped over the faceplate and the helmet shattered— clanging as it clattered against his armor, to the muddied ground. In the sun, Rengoku’s ember-eyes shimmered like halos. Tanjiro recalled, then, why some men worshipped angels.

The rest of his features were equally bizarre. He had a delicate face with strong brows and bright, sweaty hair, that clung to his features like magma. The air swam around him, bubbling and popping and swaying— the sort of heat Icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun. One second, one moment of happiness.

Then he fell.

Rengoku made a choked noise.

After a long moment, he gathered himself, and shoved Tanjiro over the fence. “A very good fight!” he announced. “Though, being disarmed so easily, I am quite ashamed! Perhaps I should retire, and become a jester, hmm?” The hushed crowd burst into laughter. Rengoku picked up his axe, and twirled it elegantly, before tossing it to a page.

The nobles clapped politely as Rengoku bowed to them, and the crowd again cheered when he made his rounds, showing off an impressive display of archery as Tanjiro dazedly soaked in a puddle. Then, on dismissal, as the next competitors trotted into the arena, he hopped over the fence and squatted next to Tanjiro.

“That was impressive.” He poked Tanjiro in the forehead. “I’ve been training all my life for this. To think, I was defeated by a charcoal farmer… it’s very mortifying, you know!” he poked Tanjiro again, harder. “Regardless. It’s decided! You’ll become my apprentice.”

“Decided… “ Tanjiro blinked, trying to gain his bearings. The world tilted around him, swaying in doubles, “Decided… by who? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Decided by me! Right now.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that!”

Rengoku abruptly stood, hauling Tanjiro up, and slamming him into his chest-plate headfirst— denting it.

“Haha! You’ve quite the talent for destruction, don’t you?” teased Rengoku. “Shall I send you the repair bill?”

Tanjiro looked at the ruined armor and nearly sobbed. “I… don’t think I can afford it,” he dourly replied. “I’m sorry.”

“All the more reason to join me!” Rengoku then said. “You’re Tanjiro, are you not? I shall accept your blood, sweat and tears as payment. My word is my bond.”

This seemed more like blackmail than chivalry, but Tanjiro didn’t know enough about chivalry to disagree. “Yes, Sir Rengoku. Okay. But…”

I don’t want to fight, he silently pleaded. Rengoku watched him expectantly. I want to live with my sister. I want to live in peace. But…

In a world like this, that was impossible.

Knowing that, Tanjiro nodded, smiling weakly as Rengoku beamed.

“Very good!” Rengoku clapped a hand on Tanjiro’s back, nearly bowling him over. “To start— I’d like to use your head as a battering ram.”

“E-excuse me?!”

“That was a joke!” Rengoku yanked him closer, pinching Tanjiro between his arm and chest plates. “I hear you commoners like those sorts of things,” he added conspiratorially.

“Sorts of thi—,” Tanjiro stammered. “Do you— not know what a joke is?”

“Hm?” Rengoku did not blink. He did not look at Tanjiro. “Ah, yes. I’m quite familiar!”

“Ah,” nodded Tanjiro, as if he understood. He didn’t. Why would someone lie about that? “I’m just not used to your sense of humor, Sir. You’ll have to tell me more,” he instead offered, as Rengoku cheerily called for some ale.

Tanjiro gripped his axe tighter. "Thank you very much!" He paused, and added, as an afterthought, "um. Sir."

"You are very welcome!" The knight boomed. "Though, there's no need for such formalities. You may address me as Kyojuro Rengoku!"

"Sir Rengoku," corrected Tanjiro. He shifted back, taking a wide stance, pretending his heart wasn’t shaking. It was one thing, to chop wood. It was another to chop flesh- even if that flesh was covered in armor. “I… wish we had met under different circumstances,” he admitted.

“Hm.” Rengoku tilted his head. His eyes gleamed inside his helmet. “But I rather like this. Don’t you?”

Tanjiro didn’t know what to say to that.

Without warning, Rengoku spun on his heel, axe flashing. Metal connected— screeching past Tanjiro’s chest-plate, sparks flying, before whipping away, just missing the gap in his armor.

Before Tanjiro could so much as gasp, Rengoku pursued him, axe whirling, flashing, slicing— Tanjiro ducking, stumbling, slipping, backwards— until Rengoku slammed him into the fence. The crowd cheered.

A drop of blood plopped onto the mud. Then another. Then another.

“Got you,” huffed Rengoku. He tried pulling away, only to find his weapon embedded in Tanjiro’s axe handle. “Interesting.”

Their eyes locked. Tanjiro bared his teeth.

He wasn’t going to lose.

Tanjiro jerked away, yanking Rengoku with him— then he firmly planted his feet, whipping his head towards Rengoku.

BANG!

Both axes splashed to the ground, splattering mud over their armored boots.

“Got you,” wheezed Tanjiro.

As Rengoku stared, a crack split through his helmet. Bit-by-bit, the crack snapped over the faceplate and the helmet shattered— clanging as it clattered against his armor, to the muddied ground. In the sun, Rengoku’s ember-eyes shimmered like halos. Tanjiro recalled, then, why some men worshipped angels.

The rest of his features were equally bizarre. He had a delicate face with strong brows and bright, sweaty hair, that clung to his features like magma. The air swam around him, bubbling and popping and swaying— the sort of heat Icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun. One second, one moment of happiness.

Then he fell.

Rengoku made a choked noise.

After a long moment, he gathered himself, and shoved Tanjiro over the fence. “A very good fight!” he announced. “Though, being disarmed so easily, I am quite ashamed! Perhaps I should retire, and become a jester, hmm?” The hushed crowd burst into laughter. Rengoku picked up his axe, and twirled it elegantly, before tossing it to a page.

The nobles clapped politely as Rengoku bowed to them, and the crowd again cheered when he made his rounds, showing off an impressive display of archery as Tanjiro dazedly soaked in a puddle. Then, on dismissal, as the next competitors trotted into the arena, he hopped over the fence and squatted next to Tanjiro.

“That was impressive.” He poked Tanjiro in the forehead. “I’ve been training all my life for this. To think, I was defeated by a charcoal farmer… it’s very mortifying, you know!” he poked Tanjiro again, harder. “Regardless. It’s decided! You’ll become my apprentice.”

“Decided… “ Tanjiro blinked, trying to gain his bearings. The world tilted around him, swaying in doubles, “Decided… by who? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Decided by me! Right now.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that!”

Rengoku abruptly stood, hauling Tanjiro up, and slamming him into his chest-plate headfirst— denting it.

“Haha! You’ve quite the talent for destruction, don’t you?” teased Rengoku. “Shall I send you the repair bill?”

Tanjiro looked at the ruined armor and nearly sobbed. “I… don’t think I can afford it,” he dourly replied. “I’m sorry.”

“All the more reason to join me!” Rengoku then said. “You’re Tanjiro, are you not? I shall accept your blood, sweat and tears as payment. My word is my bond.”

This seemed more like blackmail than chivalry, but Tanjiro didn’t know enough about chivalry to disagree. “Yes, Sir Rengoku. Okay. But…”

I don’t want to fight, he silently pleaded. Rengoku watched him expectantly. I want to live with my sister. I want to live in peace. But…

In a world like this, that was impossible.

Knowing that, Tanjiro nodded, smiling weakly as Rengoku beamed.

“Very good!” Rengoku clapped a hand on Tanjiro’s back, nearly bowling him over. “To start— I’d like to use your head as a battering ram.”

“E-excuse me?!”

“That was a joke!” Rengoku yanked him closer, pinching Tanjiro between his arm and chest plates. “I hear you commoners like those sorts of things,” he added conspiratorially.

“Sorts of thi—,” Tanjiro stammered. “Do you— not know what a joke is?”

“Hm?” Rengoku did not blink. He did not look at Tanjiro. “Ah, yes. I’m quite familiar!”

“Ah,” nodded Tanjiro, as if he understood. He didn’t. Why would someone lie about that? “I’m just not used to your sense of humor, Sir. You’ll have to tell me more,” he instead offered, as Rengoku cheerily called for some ale.

Sighing once more, Tanjiro pulled himself out of bed, blinking away the sleep from his eyes. He scratched his neck, yawning, and padded down the hall, following the smell of smoke to the kitchen.

There was a clatter, then a crash. The fire alarm went silent.

Tanjiro leaned into the doorway, and Rengoku froze on the spot, fire extinguisher in hand, white foam all over the kitchen, and himself.

“I am cooking breakfast!” he announced.

Tanjiro fought for something nice to say. “I can see that. That’s,” he glanced over at the stove, where, somehow, Rengoku had managed to melt a pan onto the heating coils. Tanjiro coughed. “Thoughtful…? Of you.” Probably. “But now, I don’t think we can cook anything,” he admitted.

Rengoku had the decency, at least, to look glum. “That is correct.” The metal on the stove bubbled, and snapped. He fiddled with the fire extinguisher. “Needless to say, it did not go as planned. I ruined your morning.”

In any other situation, Tanjiro would be panicking, worrying over Rengoku, the kitchen, the neighbors—what would they think?!—the cost of the damage, and his security deposit—oh, he would not be getting that back— his chest felt tight. Why did it feel tight?

Unfortunately, he was used to this.

“It’s okay!” Tanjiro smiled, stepping over a pile of foam. “Actually, I could go for takeout. Would you mind calling it in?” He gently took Rengoku’s hand, peeling the fire extinguisher away from his death grip and tugging him out of the kitchen.

“I also broke some glass,” Rengoku admitted.

“I know.”

“And the microwave!”

“I can see that.”

“And you’re out of milk.”

“There will always be more milk,” Tanjiro told him. He sat Rengoku on the couch, gave him his phone, and went to open up the apartment windows. A moment later, he flopped onto Rengoku’s lap, yawning.

“More tea?”

“You’re too kind, my Lord.” Shinobu smiles at Douma, keeping her tongue sheathed, and her barbs sweet. “One might wonder why.”

Douma snaps his fan shut. The doors slide open.

When she blinks, a cup of tea sits before her, hot to the touch. Steam rises between them, swirling in delicate shapes. Douma returns her smile; his reflection is monstrous and teethed.

“‘One might wonder,’” he politely echoes, “but, I’d rather not dwell on such things. My mind is clear, and so is my heart.”

“Oh my.” Shinobu’s brow twitches. “How… interesting,” she manages.

They break apart with a harsh gasp, pulse hammering in their throats. Tanjiro swallows.

Slowly, carefully, he peels open his eyes, jumping at Kyojuro’s too-wide stare.

“Um!” he stammers, pulling away. Kyojuro chases after, cupping Tanjiro’s face once more. “Um. Rengoku…”

“Mm?” Kyojuro tilts his head curiously. His fingers pause at Tanjiro’s jaw, teasing, tickling. “Is something the matter, young Kamado?”

“It’s just, I like you,” Tanjiro admits, as easy as breathing. He grips Kyojuro’s haori, holding him there. No escaping this time. “I really like you, Kyojuro. Please believe me.”

A beat.

The door to their bedroom snaps shut.

Shinjuro stands at the entrance of their bedroom, blood-splattered and red-eyed, sword nowhere to be seen. Ruka only spares him a glance, before returning to her duties—watching the torches dance.

“You’re late,” is what she finally says. Firelight flickers over her face, casting it in shadows. “The neighbors will talk.”

“Let them gossip.” Shinjuro tosses off his haori. His uniform follows. “I don’t care.”

Ruka hears the rustle of a light yukata, and feels the futon dip beside her.

“We don’t have neighbors,” she flatly says. It was a joke. Shinjuro responds with a huff, throwing a comforter over himself.

She knows it to mean, not now. This is fine. She is patient where he is not; icy when he boils; steady where he fumbles. She can wait a thousand years if need be, for the perfect time, and place, and mood.

Only, they don’t have a thousand years. Not a hundred. Not even a measly ten.

“Shameful,” Ruka tuts. A hand covers her stomach, protectively.

Shinjuro’s brow pinches.

“Mm?” Rengoku glanced up sharply. The leaf waved jauntily. It looked right at home.

“Mm?” Rengoku glanced up sharply. The leaf waved jauntily. It looked right at home.

“N-nothing.” Tanjiro swallowed the lie, making a face at the stench. Bitter! “Though…”

“Though?” Rengoku repeated. His eyes gleamed like maple syrup over fresh-baked sweets.

Tanjiro stuttered, and changed the subject.

“The trees are beautiful, aren’t they?” he quickly said, stumbling over the question.

“Indeed!”

“And the weather… it’s nice, right?”

“Mm, yes! A fine day for a stroll!”

Tanjiro fiddled with a sleeve. It was too long, too expensive, made of a deep teal that felt more like water than clothes. But Rengoku had seen the outfit at a market and bought it on the spot, presenting it to Tanjiro just that morning.

It was thoughtful. And it was humiliating.

Was there something wrong with his clothes?

He plucked at his sleeve again, guiltily admiring the embroidered leaves swirling in light oranges, yellows, and pinks. Perfectly designed, perfectly smooth, perfectly pretty. Of course, it wasn’t threadbare, or stitched together, and it did not smell like blood, or death, or demons. It was better in every way that counted, but…

What was wrong with his haori?

Rengoku was from a good family, a hashira. Maybe, he didn’t want to be seen socializing with a lower rank. Maybe he was embarrassed.

Tanjiro did not have a formal education. He was poor, unskilled, and not particularly handsome. What little he had in life he got through hard work. Surely, Rengoku had better people to stroll with.

…yet here he was, a leaf in his hair, none the wiser.

There was something wrong with Rengoku.

“Yes!” Rengoku suddenly said.

“Ah?” Tanjiro blinked. “Sorry?”

“Yes.” The hashira smiled, spinning the umbrella behind him.

The road crunched beneath their feet. Tanjiro waited all of ten seconds before prodding more. “Yes, what?”

“That’s all I said. Yes!”

“…oh,” Tanjiro exhaled. That didn’t make sense. Not at all. “Um. Is there anything else?”

“Yes!” Rengoku spun the umbrella again. “In regards to the weather…” he coughed, “it’s fine. Very fine! But…”

Rengoku trailed off, spinning the umbrella faster. He flushed. “It’s not nearly… as fine…” he mumbled something quickly.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” Tanjiro leaned in. Their elbows bumped together. “Is something the matter? You look red.”

“DO I?!” Rengoku’s eyes flicked towards Tanjiro, impossibly wide. Then he snapped his head forward. “Red! Hah! What do you mean! I said nothing!“