Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Uzui-san.” Shinobu’s voice was soft, her hand on Tengen shoulder startled him awake. He jolted underneath her light touch. 

Tengen blinked rapidly, trying to shake the drowsiness from his body and make sense of his surroundings. Then, it all hit him like a brick like it usually did when he started to forget. It had become dark in the hour or so since he fell asleep and he rubbed his legs to try and rid them of the ache in his muscles that came with sitting in the same position for too many hours on end. 

“Oh, it's you, Kochou,” Tengen replied, voice rough with exhaustion. Of course he'd know it was her but conversation was hard to come by these days. “I dozed off.” 

“He’s going to be okay,” Shinobu said, in a rare moment of authenticity. “He’s been out of the red for awhile now. You should go home and get some sleep.”

Tengen sighed, softly, turning his head back towards the figure lying in the bed beside him. 

“I will,” he replied. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Shinobu replied. “One of my girls will see you out when you leave.”

And, with that, her footsteps retreated out of the room, leaving Tengen alone once again. Well, not alone. Tengen reached down and loosely laced his fingers through Kyojuro’s limp hand. Then, he brought their interlaced hands to his lips, pressing a firm kiss on the ridges of Kyojuro’s knuckles. He tried to feel life beneath the skin. 

“Please wake up soon,” he whispered, trying to hold back the desperation from rising in his voice. “This is so un-flamboyant of you, my love. I don’t like it.” 

Kyojuro was ghostly pale, nearly unrecognizable between the pallor of his skin and the array of bandages placed over his eye and around his sternum. The only thing that let Tengen know the man was even still alive were the shallow breaths Kyojuro took. In, out. In, out. Each breath was like a tiny promise that, no matter what, he was here and he was alive. Even if barely so. Alive was more than Tengen could ask for; alive was enough.  

He unlaced their fingers, letting Kyojuro’s hand fall limply back at his bedside. Tengen caressed Kyojuro’s cheek, cupping it in his large palm, before saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow, darling.”

The chair creaked when he rose from it, whining in relief from the burden placed on it all day. His footsteps echoed through the empty house, hollowed out with midnight. Sumi-chan walked him, wordlessly, to the door, both knowing that he’d be back by sunrise. 

“I should’ve been with him, Kochou,” Tengen said, gritting his teeth. “Then, he wouldn’t be hurt like this—“

“With all due respect, Uzui-san,” Shinobu interrupted, “what are you going to do? Be his body-guard? Are you just going to follow him around, 24/7?” 

“If that’s what it takes to keep him safe—“

“There was no way we knew that his mission would’ve been this dangerous… and even if we did...”

“Still,” Tengen’s words were like a strangled, half-shout. They were uncontrollable, flying from him mouth out of their own volition. “Look at him! He’s been asleep for days. There’s a fucking hole in his sternum, for Christ’s sake!”

“He knew the danger, just like we all do.”

“I didn’t ask for him to be fucking noble,” Tengen spat out. He knew he didn’t mean his words, that he was being irrational. Part of why he loved Kyojuro so much was for that kindness, that pure, earnest heart of his. The ability to charge into danger to protect those around him. Yet, Tengen still couldn’t believe he’d come dangerously close to losing another person. To losing his person, his Kyojuro. 

“He’ll wake up soon, Uzui-san,” Shinobu promised. “You know it’s not in Rengoku-san’s nature to leave us hanging like this.”

“He better,” Tengen sat back down in that goddamn wooden chair, once more. “Or else I’m going to travel to the gateway of hell and rip him back to us with force.”

Shinobu laughed that little giggle of hers. “Only you’re going to hell, Uzui-san.” 

“Yeah,” grinned Tengen, lightly running a hand over Kyojuro’s shoulder before dragging the back of his hand over his high cheekbones in a soothing ministration. “You got that right.” 

The days blurred into weeks and Tengen stayed dutifully by his side. The benefits of being a hashira was that his days were relatively free, besides frequent patrol, so he could spend it with Kyojuro.

Of course, conversation was sparse, but Tengen was nothing if not fabulously persistent so he made it work as best he could, chatting to his lover in a low voice. 

“—and then, last night, I ran into this little Mizunoto demon slayer and he didn’t have a clue how to hold his sword, I mean, talk about amateur. It’s no wonder the Corps are becoming weaker, you would’ve absolutely balked at the incompetence of it all—“

“Hello!” A loud voice interrupted Tengen’s rambling train of thought from the threshold of the room’s entrance. Tengen turned his head. “Pardon the intrusion!”

It was that kid, the one with a demon sister and the unflashy headbutt. 

He stood in front of Tengen, in the doorway, bowing at a nearly 90 degree angle, that wooden box strapped tightly to his shoulders. 

“You’re that kid, aren’t you?” Tengen asked, letting Kyojuro’s hand fall out of his grasp. “The one from Oyakata-sama’s garden?” 

“Yes!” the boy spoke politely, a far cry from his angry outbursts back on that day. His eyes were squeezed tightly, as if he didn’t want to look at Kyojuro’s crumpled, fragile figure on the bed. “I’m Kamado Tanjiro! And I’m here to see if Rengoku-san is okay!”

There had been other visitors— Kyojuro’s little brother, of course, who visited as frequently as their father allowed (which was growing sparser and sparser, that awful dad of theirs). Mitsuri had stayed the entire time Kyojuro was in critical condition. She’d wept and clasped her hands together, praying for his survival. Even Sanemi and Giyuu and Obanai had all come to visit at some point in time, to pay their respects, but they didn’t stay for long. So Tengen was quite used to the comings and goings of people in this tiny room that had quickly become the extent of his world, these past couple of weeks. 

Tengen sighed, paused for a second, before waving his hand.

“Alright, alright. Come on in. But be quiet.” 

Tanjiro grinned, pulling over another chair to the opposite side of Kyojuro’s bed. He dropped the wooden box by his side, murmuring something about saying ‘hi’ to Kyojuro for his sister before peering at the man’s face with a tentative, almost scared gaze.

“Is he asleep, Uzui-san?” Tanjiro asked, biting his lip like he didn’t want to know the answer. 

“Who knows,” Tengen replied, shrugging. He remembered how he asked Shinobu the same question. “He might be but he also might be unconscious, like in a coma. Kochou thinks that perhaps he can hear us.”

Tanjiro’s big, bright eyes widened, lips twisting upwards into a smile. “You think so?”

Tengen had to laugh, in spite of himself. He wasn’t a fan of the kid’s bratty behavior but something about the earnestness in his eyes and face reminded Tengen of Kyojuro, himself. 

“I’d like to hope so,” Tengen shrugged, nonchalantly. “After all, Kyojuro’s the most flamboyant of us. Besides me, of course. Surely, he’s aware of his surroundings.”

Tanjiro seized one of Kyojuro’s arms, using both hands to cup around Kyojuro’s limp one before bringing their interlaced fingers to his forehead. 

“Rengoku-san,” he whispered in a voice so low that Tengen probably wouldn’t have heard it, had it not been for his heightened sense of sound. The benefits of being the Sound Hashira. “Rengoku-san… Thank you so much. Not a single passenger died and it was all because of you. Thank you, thank you.”

It was then that Tengen realized Kyojuro had been with Tanjiro when it happened. He’d heard at one point that Kyojuro had been with the Kamado kids, but he’d been so concerned with Kyojuro’s wellbeing that it never truly registered and he’d forgotten all about it. There were points where no one thought Kyojuro would pull through; those had been the darkest hours of Tengen’s existence, nothing else really mattered. 

“You…you were with him,” Tengen said. “When it happened, you were with him on the train?” 

Tanjiro looked up from Kyojuro to nod, solemnly, letting his hand fall from Kyojuro’s.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to do anything. I couldn’t protect him, I couldn’t even help in the fight. I—I—” A small, strangled sob escaped the back of Tanjiro’s throat and Tengen swallowed, harshly, at the sound. 

Tengen didn’t know what to say, his mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry. Then, gently, he ran his hand over Kyojuro’s cheeks, fingers lightly exploring the dips and curves of his lover’s handsome, boldly drawn features. 

“He wouldn’t have let you fight, anyway. Not when he knew how outmatched you guys were. He isn’t the type to put his subordinates in danger like that.” 

“But still,” Tanjiro protested, loudly, leaning forward to seize Kyojuro’s hand once again, “it’s because of me that Rengoku-san, he… he…” 

Tengen wanted to blame the Kamado kids, he wanted to agree that it was Tanjiro’s fault and a deep, ugly part of him truly believed such. Why couldn’t they have intervened? Maybe then his Kyojuro wouldn't have had to bear the brunt of the injuries, maybe then he'd be awake. Yet, there was something in Tengen that couldn’t. There was sympathy, almost as much as there was resentment, and Tengen knew Kyojuro would’ve loathed Tengen blaming anyone but the demon who put the hole through his stomach. 

“Kamado,” he whispered, “did he say anything? Before he lost consciousness?”

Tanjiro was silent for a few seconds, eyes darting from Kyojuro and Tengen. He looked pain-stricken at reliving the memory. 

“He…he said that he thought he was going to die,” whispered Tanjiro and Tengen let out an involuntary groan, a low wounded little sound at the mere prospect. “He told me to go to his family’s house and… and tell his little brother to follow his heart and walk the path he thinks best. He told me to tell his father that he wants him to take care of himself and… he told me to tell you that it will be okay and he wants to know that…you’ll be alright… without him.” 

Tanjiro stayed until dusk, speaking to Kyojuro in low words. Tengen left to give them some privacy, walking back to his estate to take a well-needed shower. By the time he returned, freshly bathed, Tanjiro was gone.

Kyojuro’s disheveled, sleeping figure the only thing left in the empty room, save for the bed and medical supplies. 

The room buzzed in its quietness and it was so disconcerting. As long as Tengen had known and loved Kyojuro, nothing about the man was quiet. Nothing about him was subtle or subdued so this… silence, it had all been so wrong. Tengen wanted Kyojuro to go out kicking and screaming and roaring into the world but it had been nothing but a soft simmer, a barely-there flame. It was like Kyojuro's existence was flickering, fading away. It was a horrible feeling to have. 

Tengen slid back into the chair that had become his best friend. Leaning forward, he grabbed onto Kyojuro’s hand and held it with more fervor than he had in days. 

“Stupid,” he whispered, voice choked up and garbled. “Stupid, stupid idiot, Kyojuro.”

He felt tears rising in his eyes, his chest tightening, squeezing harder and harder every second as he thought back to what Tanjiro said. 

“You dumbass, Kyojuro, how could I be okay without you? How would I bet alright in a world that you’re not in? Idiot… you big, old dummy.” 

Then, so soft you could almost miss it, Tengen’s heart nearly stopped, when he felt the hand in his own squeeze back and the light, labored breaths coming from the bed quicken to a gasp. 

“You’re the idiot, idiot,” Kyojuro whispered, voice horribly hoarse from the weeks of disuse, and Tengen could’ve cried out of relief (maybe he did, he’d never tell). 

They had gone on a mission together, when tensions had boiled over, evolving from longing glances and little banter into something more. Tengen remembered it as clear as day, as vividly as if it happened yesterday. The clouds loomed ominously over the sky, wind shaking the branches over the overhead trees.

“Looks like rain,” Kyojuro had said, his sword clinking where the hilt hit his belt. 

Tengen clicked his teeth in a scoff. “How drab.” 

Kyojuro laughed at that, bright and bubbly and beautiful, and Tengen felt heat rise in his cheeks. 

“The inn can’t be too far, Uzui.” 

“Tengen,” Tengen replied, quickly. 

“Hmm?” Kyojuro had tilted his head to the side in confusion, blinking his wide eyes with those unfairly long eyelashes fluttering. Tengen was never a particularly restrained or reserved man, so it was killing him that he couldn’t make Kyojuro his, right then and there on the forest floor. 

“You can call me Tengen, if you want,” Tengen had said before shrugging to feign nonchalance. “We are both Hashira, after all. Some familiarity might not be too bad.”

Kyojuro thought about this for a second before smiling and nodding, firmly. “Alright, then, Tengen. You can call me Kyojuro!” 

“Kyojuro,” Tengen said, slowly, letting the words marinate and roll off his tongue. “Perfect. A flashy name for a flashy person.”

Kyojuro laughed a little. “Am I really all that flashy?”

“Sure,” Tengen nodded in approval. “Not quite as flamboyant as me, God of Festivities and all, but you’ll do.”

“I’m glad you think so—“

Kyojuro’s words were interrupted by a crack of lightning, loud and reverberation through the forest. 

“Shit,” cursed Tengen. Nightfall had begun to approach but it was hard to tell given how dark and stormy the clouds were becoming, shrouding the forest in darkness even before the sun had fully set. 

It was then that fat raindrops began to splatter down and Tengen and Kyojuro looked at each other, dumbfounded. 

“We should hurry,” Kyojuro said and Tengen had agreed. 

They began to run, feet pounding against leaves and dirt and stone, but there was seemingly no clearing in sight. The rain got harder, soaking through their uniforms and drenching Kyojuro’s flame-ridden haori, their hair sticking to their forehead in wet tufts. 

“Look!” Tengen pointed at an old, moss-covered sign hammered into the ground. 

Shrine, it read, 2.0 miles. 

“Ah, we can duck inside the shrine and wait for the storm to pass before continuing to the inn,” Kyojuro had said. 

They huddled under the red hood of the temple, listening to the rain patter noisy against the roof. A crack of lightning, a boom of thunder. The wind howled mercilessly and Tengen had watched Kyojuro from the corner of his eye. The younger man shivered, shrinking in on himself, wordlessly. 

Tengen scooted closer. Tentatively, he leaned over and wrapped an arm around Kyojuro’s shoulders. The younger man tensed up for a second, body growing rigid. Tengen wondered if fuck, maybe I fucked up. Maybe I shouldn’t have put my arm—

Kyojuro relaxed into the touch, body melting like putty in Tengen’s strong hold. 

“Do you think it will let up any time soon?” Kyojuro asked. 

“I hope not,” Tengen answered, honestly. 

“Hmm?” Kyojuro had hummed a low note of confusion. “But you were just insisting the rain was drab.”

“Maybe from forest floor,” Tengen replied, running his hand up and down Kyojuro’s bicep, “but it’s quite nice from this angle, don’t you think?” 

Kyojuro twisted around in Tengen’s hold so he could look him face-to-face, peering up at the elder man. 

“You’re very weird, Tengen,” he had told Tengen, voice piercing. 

“I try my best.”

“But I like it.” 

Tengen’s eyes widened, mouth opening and closing with words that weren’t fully formed. A man like Tengen was never speechless yet here he was, tucked underneath the shrine roof and hidden from view, dumbstruck and in awe of this man. 

“I—“ he said before clearing his throat and cupping Kyojuro’s cheeks in his palms. “I’m going to kiss you now, okay? If you don’t want it, tell me.” 

Kyojuro just blinked owlishly at Tengen before surging forward and connecting their lips. It had been so cold, the rain pouring down and the wind blowing in heavy gusts. It was freezing but Kyojuro’s lips were warm, they burned a thousand degrees and engulfed Tengen in the heat of the sun. His touch was electric and it shocked Tengen, it traveled down his spine and reached even the deepest parts of his body. 

The storm didn’t let up for another hour and they stayed that way, holding each other close. 

By the time they stumbled their way to the inn, dripping wet and shivering, it was midnight and the moon shone through, it spilled into their room through the window in little beams of light. They didn’t sleep, Tengen took his sweet time making Kyojuro his against their futon. Moans and mewls and shouts of pleasure were drowned out by the sound of their hearts beating, in perfect synchronization. 

Kyojuro would never be anything but his again. 

“Easy,” Tengen said, hand pressed firmly on Kyojuro’s back as he helped the younger rise to a sitting position. “Easy.”

“You don’t need to worry about me so much,” Kyojuro muttered, wincing as his body shifted around from lying to sitting. Everything hurt, Tengen could see it in his pained expression. His heart ached for his lover. 

“What are you saying, Kyo?” Tengen clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Of course I’m going to worry. I’m your…” Well, they didn’t exactly have labels for what they were to each other. Lovers? More than lovers? Something along the lines of boyfriends and soulmates, perhaps. 

Kyojuro was easygoing, though. He just laughed a laugh that turned into a cough and Tengen frowned. 

“You’re just an overbearing worrywart,” Kyojuro told him. “I’m fine.” 

Kyojuro put his hand over Tengen’s, where it rested on the side of the bed, and Tengen involuntarily flinched, pulling away. Kyojuro looked hurt. 

“It’s been three days, Tengen,” Kyojuro whispered and Tengen gritted his teeth. “You don’t hold my hand or touch me for longer than a couple seconds. You haven’t hugged me… why haven’t you touched me like you used to?”

Tengen’s heart hurt in his chest, he couldn’t look his lover in the eye. Shame and grief filled his lungs as he struggled to breathe. He didn’t know why, it had been three days since Kyojuro woke up and as relieved and happy as he was, it presented a whole new hurdle of challenges that Tengen was not at all equipped to handle. 

“I’m scared to hurt you,” whispered Tengen, bearing his heart out as honestly as he could. “You don’t know how scary it was, Kyo, fuck, I mean you don’t know what… what you looked like. Lying there after Kochou operated. There were times when, shit…when we couldn’t feel a pulse.” 

“But I’m here now. Okay?” Kyojuro said, voice soft. 

“Yeah…” Tengen murmured but it did little to quell the rapid beating of his heart. 

Kyojuro wasn’t done, speaking slowly when he said, “And…I… I need you to do something for me, Tengen. Can you do it for me?”

Tengen’s head whipped up, eyes wide.

“Of course,” he replied, in earnest. “Anything, baby.” 

“I need you to hold me sometimes, okay?” Kyojuro requested before scooting over to make room for Tengen, beside him in the bed. He winced with pain at every tiny movement. 

It was then that it dawned on Tengen how stupid he was being. It didn’t matter how he felt, he realized. This was about Kyojuro and his wellbeing, no matter how scary the prospect may have been.

“Okay,” promised Tengen, rising from his chair and sitting beside Kyojuro. “I’ll try my best.”

Kyojuro’s body was warm, a little bit too warm, against Tengen’s chest. His face rested in the space between Tengen’s broad shoulders and neck, his breath coming out in hot little puffs, chest shakily rising and falling with each inhale. Tengen felt like he was holding a porcelain doll, if he squeezed too hard, Kyojuro would crumble in his palms. But, at the same time, it had been so long since he’d gotten this close to his lover. It felt even more intimate than sex, their legs tangled together beneath the duvet, their hands slotted together where they rested in Kyojuro’s lap. 

They stayed like that for awhile, Tengen dozing in and out of sleep. The afternoon sun streamed in through the half-cracked open windows, spilling warmth into the room and dancing over Kyojuro’s tanned skin.

Aoi was the one who woke them up, touching Tengen’s shoulder. She was carrying a tray with a cup, setting it down on the nightstand beside the bed. 

“It’s time for Rengoku-san’s medicine and to change his bandages,” Aoi informed Tengen. “Can you wake him up? And then have him drink the medication before I prep him.” 

“Sure,” agreed Tengen through a yawn and Aoi walked away to wash and glove her hands. Tengen turned his attention back to his lover.

Tengen lightly tapped Kyojuro’s cheek, touch grazing over his heated skin.

“Baby,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your’s earlobe. “Can you wake up for me?”

Kyojuro let out a strangled groan, muffled by his lips that were pressed together in a taut line. His eyelashes began to flutter.

“There’s my baby,” cooed Tengen, coaxing him further awake. “C’mon. Show me those pretty eyes, hmm?” 

“Mmm,” Kyojuro murmured. “Food time?” he asked, voice still thick with drowsiness, ripped from his deep slumber. The word food was used liberally, of course. He’d been on a mostly liquid diet— soups and tofu and oyaku. 

“No, I’m afraid not, angel-face,” Tengen’s tone was sympathetic, knowing how much of a struggle bandage-changing time was. The sounds of Kyojuro’s wounded yet restrained shouts the first time they had to change his bandages had been haunting to Tengen, ringing in his ears for the whole night like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. 

Tengen slowly brought the cup of liquid to Kyojuro’s chapped, parted lips. 

“Can you drink this for me?” he asked. Then, he guided Kyojuro’s neck with a steady hand, tilting it back so he could drink with ease. “There we go…” Tengen murmured. “There we go…Such a good boy, huh?”

Once he finished his drink, Kyojuro’s eyes opened fully and he registered Aoi’s presence. 

“Hello, Aoi-san,” he greeted, kindly, though there was a darkness in his eyes when he knew what was coming. 

Tengen swung his legs over the side of the mattress and got up, letting Aoi make her way next to the bed. She diligently pulled the covers off, the duvet pooling at Kyojuro’s calves and feet. 

“Can you turn this way, please?” she asked, her wide blue eyes apologetic yet firm. 

Kyojuro was a compliant patient (better than Tengen thinks he would be, given the still-healing wound in the middle of Kyojuro’s tummy). 

Aoi’s gloved hands trembled as she unwrapped the bandages, crusted blood painting the white gauze, as well as pus and other unpleasantries and Tengen wished he could look anywhere else but couldn’t tear his eyes away. His wound was exposed to air now, neat stitches doing little to soothe the worry that Tengen felt every time he saw it. The scar would run deep on Kyojuro's skin forever with a twin wound matching the one on his stomach on his back from where the demon’s arm went clean through. Tengen felt sick, bile rising in his throat. 

Kyojuro sucked in air through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut as tightly as humanly possible. 

Aoi disposed of the dirty bandages, before bowing her head and saying, “I’ll go get Shinobu-san.”

“Are you okay?” Tengen asked, once Aoi was out of an earshot. 

“Y-yeah,” Kyojuro mumbled, his face as pale as the sheets on his bed. “I’ll be fine.” 

Shinobu came in swiftly, holding the tub of antibiotic salve and a shot of local anesthesia. Two of Kyojuro’s biggest enemies thus far in his life. 

“I’ll work as quickly as possible, Rengoku-san,” promised Shinobu, disinfecting the needle with a wipe before pushing it into the wound and waiting for the numbing to begin. When she punctured the skin, Kyojuro let out a garbled noise, a mix between a shout and a hiss. Tengen was over at his other side in an instant, letting Kyojuro grab onto his hand. Kyojuro held on so tightly that the tips of Tengen’s fingers began to turn purple, Kyojuro’s knuckles whitening. He couldn’t feel a thing, though, not when Kyojuro was writhing on the bed. It was nothing compared to what Kyojuro was suffering through. 

“I’m sorry,” apologized Shinobu and her eyebrows furrowed together. They waited for a couple of minutes for the anesthesia to take affect. Finally, Shinobu watching the clock, leaned forward. She lightly pinched the skin, then. “Can you feel any pain?”

“No?” Kyojuro tentatively said, more like a question than an answer, before he let out a shaky breath. 

“You need to be sure, Rengoku-san.” 

“I’m sure he’s just overwhelmed,” Tengen spoke up, feeling irrationally defensive. 

“Alright. We’ll wait a couple more minutes, just in case.”

Tengen was grateful for Shinobu’s skills as a doctor, she cleaned the wound as fast and as skillfully as she could. Kyojuro clung onto Tengen’s bicep with both of his arms, leaning into Tengen’s touch like he was a leaf in the wind and Tengen was his only anchor to keep him from flying away, never to be seen again. 

Once she finished with his stomach, she started again with the matching wound on the other side. The process began again. It was grueling. 

“All done,” she proclaimed after what felt like years to both the Sound and Flame Hashira. “I’m going to put salve on and dress your wound now, okay, Rengoku-san?”

Kyojuro nodded. Despite having a notoriously sadistic personality, Shinobu was kind and understanding to her patients. Maybe some more so than others, thought Tengen, thinking back to his first time coming to her with an injury. Granted, his was not at all to the degree that Kyojuro’s was and just maybe he had said a few flirtatious things that she didn't take too kindly to. 

Kyojuro sucked in a heavy breath when her palm laid a generous amount of ointment on the newly cleaned lesion but he was noticeably more relaxed than before.  

Finally, finally, she laid a hydrocolloid bandage on the area before Aoi was back, rewrapping the gauze around his middle section. 

“Get some rest, Rengoku-san,” Shinobu instructed, lightly, but no one needed to tell him twice. Kyojuro was already slumped over, eyelids fighting a very valiant battle against himself to stay open. 

Tengen listened to the sounds of Shinobu and Aoi’s retreating footsteps then the whine of the hinges, the thud of the door closing. 

“You heard the woman,” Tengen murmured, running his hand through Kyojuro’s hair. It was greasy and sweaty despite Tengen delicately washing it for him, two nights prior. “Get some sleep, baby. No use fighting it.” 

Kyojuro made a low noise in the back of his throat, something like a grunt of agreement, before he whispered out a soft plea. “Can you stay?” he asked. 

Tengen couldn’t help the gooey smile that spread across his lips, eyebrows knitting together in unbridled affection that he couldn’t contain. He slid back into the spot where he laid before, the sheets still warm. 

“Darling,” he said, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of Kyojuro’s head, his bright hair tickling underneath Tengen’s nose, “they’d have to drag me out of here, kicking and screaming.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tengen asked, in a hushed voice. It had been a week since Kyojuro regained consciousness. 

“Talk about what?” Kyojuro feigned confusion. Tengen clicked his tongue. 

“You know what I’m talking about,” he scolded, lightly.  

Kyojuro was quiet, midnight hummed and whirled in the room. It was dark, all Tengen could see was the darkened silhouette of his lover beside him in the bed. 

“Were you scared?” Tengen continued to implore.

“No,” whispered Kyojuro, finally, after almost a minute of silence.

“No, you weren’t scared or no, you don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Tengen reassured. “We don’t need to talk about anything.”

A couple more minutes passed, the sound of the old clock in the corner ticking filled their ears. Kyojuro shifted around, winced in pain. Tengen moved his arm, the muscles half-asleep, to let Kyojuro sink further into the elder’s embrace. 

Finally, Kyojuro’s voice cut through the quietness like a searing hot knife once more. 

“I wasn’t scared of dying,” he said, slowly, like he was gingerly choosing each word, “but I was scared of what would’ve happened to you. If I was gone.” 

Tengen thought about this for a moment, pondering the worst hypothetical that came this close to becoming his reality. A shiver ran through his spine. Even thinking about it made his stomach flip. 

“I was scared of that, too,” Tengen replied. 

“Get some rest before you have to go out to patrol,” Kyojuro instructed, sleepily. 

“Now look who’s being the worrywart,” Tengen shot back with a grin. 

“Shut up. If you worry, I’ll worry.”

“What a pair we make…” 

Tanjiro and his friends came to visit often— the noisy, bratty, snotty blonde and the boar-head. They were always loud, coming into the room like a storm hit the Butterfly Estate but Kyojuro seemed to like them, laughing warmly when they flooded him with their well-wishes and concerns.

Speaking of Kyojuro, he was looking a little tired today and Tengen swore he’d felt a little warm that morning when he ran a hand over Kyojuro's forehead. He was a little pale but Tengen tried to push down the anxiety that welled in his chest. He’d been doing better, after all, and Tengen never seemed to be able to decipher if it was just his irrational protective instincts making things up or if Kyojuro truly was worse for wear. 

“Once you’re better,” shouted the boar-head, one day when their little trio visited a little over a week and a half since Kyojuro woke up, “you have to fight me, Flame Hashira!”

“Shut up, dumbass!” the blonde shouted. “He’s not going to fight you, you brainless boar!”

“What was that?!” the boar screamed back, grabbing and yanking at the blonde’s collar. “Don’t talk to your boss that way, Monitsu!”

“You’re not my boss,” screeched the blonde, clearly deeply offended at the insinuation. Tengen snorted, the blonde kid was nothing if not amusing in a pathetic way. 

“Can you guys shut up?!” Tanjiro shouted, ever the disciplinarian of the group, before turning back to Kyojuro and apologizing, profusely. Kyojuro just chuckled, weakly, and waved off his torrent of ‘I’m so sorry’s. 

Tengen leaned over to whisper into Kyojuro’s ear, “I’m going to go get something to eat. Let me know if you want me to scare these brats off for you, okay?” 

Kyojuro responded with a simple squeeze of Tengen’s hand and Tengen left, the booming sounds of the kids echoing throughout the hallway. 

He chuckled to himself. Nearly every day he was reminded of how lucky he was, everyone was innately drawn to Kyojuro— young and old, big and small— and it was him that Kyojuro chose. 

He entered the kitchen, Aoi and the other girls bustling around and making food. 

“Ah, Uzui-san,” greeted Aoi, matter-of-factly like always. It was never unkind, though, as Tengen learned over his prolonged stay at the Estate. “I made some onigiri, would you like?” 

Tengen accepted the plate of three perfectly shaped rice balls and headed back upstairs when the presence of a shadowy figure in the hallway stopped him in his tracks.

“Is that you, Tomioka?” he asked. Giyuu jolted when he heard his name, dull eyes widening ever-so-slightly, then relaxing when he realized it was just Tengen. 

“Hello, Uzui,” he greeted, voice monotoned. 

“What brings you around here, Tomioka?” Tengen asked, popping a rice ball into his mouth as they spoke. 

“I wanted to, um,” Giyuu was awkward, like always, as he spoke, “see how Rengoku was doing but I heard he’s busy with Tanjiro and the rest of them…”

“You can still go in,” Tengen shrugged. “The more the merrier, or however that dull little saying goes…”

“No,” Giyuu dismissed. “I wouldn’t want to intrude. It sounds like they’re having a good time.”

Tengen rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Is that what you’d call that noise-fest? Ah, whatever. If Kyojuro likes them, I suppose I’ll tentatively trust his flamboyant tastes. He’s never led me wrong before.” 

“How is he doing?” Giyuu asked after a pause. 

“He’s…” Tengen was unsure how exactly to answer. It was a loaded question, after all. Physically? Not great. Mentally? Even worse. Of course, Kyojuro put on a brave face but Tengen wasn’t so sure it was genuine, even a little bit. It had been hell getting him to open up about the incident and Kyojuro still has yet to divulge most, if not all, of the details but some nights Tengen wakes up to Kyojuro, drenched in cold sweat and shaking against the mattress. Some nights, Kyojuro screams in pain, the pillow muffling his shouts. Some nights, he wordlessly grips Tengen’s wrist so hard that Tengen wonders if it’ll pop right off. “He’s doing his best.”

Giyuu nodded, solemnly. 

“It’s a shame,” the Water Hashira said, looking away. “He was the best of us.”

“Is,” Tengen corrected, voice snappy. “He is the best of us.”

“Right,” Giyuu replied. “Well, I’ll be on my way, then. Give Rengoku my regards, I’ll visit another time, maybe.”

“Sure, sure.” Tengen agreed. He watched Giyuu turn and walk away, watching him leave through the sliding wooden doors.

It was then that a piercing scream had Tengen on high alert, his stomach dropping to his knees. 

“Rengoku-san?!” shouted Tanjiro from upstairs and Tengen took off in a run, dropping the plate of onigiri and thundering up the stairs. His footsteps pounded against the steps, it was a bit of a surprise that the wood didn’t buckle underneath him. 

When Tengen re-entered the room, he was shocked at the sight before him. Kyojuro was sitting up in bed, a puddle of vomit pooling in his lap and clinging to his lips, dripping down his chin. His face was flushed dangerously red, eyes glassy and unfocused. 

“Ten…” he mumbled, voice hoarse. 

“What happened?” Tengen demanded, at Kyojuro’s side in an instant. “You! Blonde brat!” Zenitsu squeaked. “Go get Kochou!”

“Y-yes, sir!” he shouted before scurrying off. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Tanjiro answered, his voice wobbling. There were tears gathered in his big, ruby eyes. Kyojuro muttered something unintelligible. “We were talking and suddenly h-he went silent and threw up.” 

“It was nasty,” the boar-head piped up, unhelpfully. “Did you see the way he spewed, Kentaro?” 

Tengen would’ve shot Inosuke a death glare, had his attention not been so laser focused on his lover.

Kyojuro’s shoulders jerked as another gag tore through him, bringing up a stream of bile over his lap. The action of heaving aggravated his injury and he let out a choked-up groan of pain.

“Fuck,” Tengen cursed under his breath. Unconcerned about the puke—that’s what love does to you, a small voice in the back of his head said—he pressed the back of his hand to Kyojuro’s cheek and hissed at the burning heat running beneath his lover’s skin. Kyojuro always tended to run on the warmer side, a perpetual furnace in the colder seasons, but this was different, this was too intense. 

“Kyo, baby? Can you hear me?”

“Hmm,” Kyojuro let out a whine. He leaned over the side of the bed and buried his head in Tengen’s stomach. Tengen ran a hand through his lover’s tangled, vibrant locks. 

“Don’t feel good, Tengen,” he whimpered. He sounded impossibly young, far too vulnerable for Tengen’s comfort. 

“I know, I know,” murmured Tengen, unable to quell the panic and upset that rose in his chest, crashing into him in uncontrollable waves. He felt helpless, unable to do anything to stop the illness and pain wracking Kyojuro’s body. “You’re just running a fever, that’s all, okay? No need to get worked up, baby, we’ll get this all sorted out…Kochou is coming…” 

Tengen wasn’t sure if he was consoling Kyojuro or himself at this point. 

“Where the fuck is that blonde brat?” muttered Tengen, impatiently. 

Zenitsu burst through the door with Shinobu hot on his heels, bustling into the room. Aoi was behind her, swiftly escorting Tanjiro and his friends away.

“Bye, Rengoku-san!” Tanjiro called out as he left, voice full of unshed tears. “Feel better!”

Kyojuro managed to garble a farewell, slumped over Tengen’s strong hold. 

“You’re going to need to let go of him, Uzui-san,” Shinobu instructed, soft but firm. Tengen was reluctant but let Kyojuro go, allowing Shiobu to hold him by the shoulders and gently ease him back onto the bed. He rested weakly against the headboard. 

Aoi and another Butterfly girl stripped the duvet away from him and Kyojuro shivered at the sudden exposure to the cold, curling in on himself. It took everything within Tengen to keep him from hugging Kyojuro, hold him tight and shield him away from all the ugly and all the pain. 

Shinobu was pressing a stethoscope to his back, Kyojuro jolting at the cool metal underneath his shirt, making contact with his bare, over-heating skin. 

“Breathe in for me, Rengoku-san,” Shinobu told the man. Kyojuro was a dutiful patient, doing as told despite the weak way he held up his head and the glassiness of his normally sharp, intuitive, and knowing eyes. Tengen bit down on his lip so hard he thought he might break the skin and taste blood. 

“Aoi, get me the thermometer.” 

Shinobu placed the medical instrument underneath Kyojuro’s tongue, holding his chin firmly to keep it from slipping out. 

“Is it high?” Tengen asked, though he already knew the answer without needing verbal confirmation. Kyojuro reached weakly for him and Tengen let the man grab onto his wrist, using one hand to comb his fingers through Kyojuro’s hair and the other to run up and down Kyojuro’s arm in a comforting rhythm. 

“Yes,” Shinobu replied. “Not dangerously high yet but it’s up there.” Then, she sighed. “It’s mostly likely an infection. I’ll take his bandages off to confirm but he’s showing symptoms.” 

Tengen’s eyes widened. “But…I thought he was getting better.”

“I thought so, too.” Shinobu frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “But these things are just unpredictable. I’ll put him on antibiotics right away to prevent sepsis, and we’ll wait it out.”

“Is there nothing else we can do?” Tengen asked, voice rising. Kyojuro squeezed Tengen’s wrist tighter, as if to try and calm the elder man down. 

“I’m afraid we’re doing as much for him as we can,” Shinobu replied. “I don’t like it either, Uzui-san. We’ll give him medication to try to soothe the symptoms and bring the fever down.” 

Tengen sighed, deflated. He was tired. Kyojuro was tired. It seemed no matter where they turned, a brick wall met them. 

“I want you to be okay,” Tengen whispered, once Shinobu left and Aoi went to get Kyojuro a change of vomit-free clothes. 

“I’ll be okay,” Kyojuro reassured him. Then, after a second, he amended his statement. “I am okay.”

“How?!” Tengen asked, frustrated. “How is any of this okay?”

“I don’t know,” Kyojuro answered. “Maybe because you’re here with me.”

“I haven’t done anything for you.” 

“You stayed. I asked you to stay and you did.” 

Tengen let out a choked up sob as he leaned down, connecting their lips together. Kyojuro’s lips were too warm but not like they were that day underneath the shrine's roof— the day where Tengen made Kyojuro his. Instead, they were hot like a fire that was waiting to burn them both to a crisp, encroaching closer and closer, wanting to blaze forever and scorch down everything good left in their lives. But Tengen wouldn’t let it have its way. He kissed Kyojuro deeper and deeper and didn’t realize the tears that dripped out of his eyes, dampening his cheeks, until they pulled apart and Kyojuro used what little strength he had to wipe them away.

“Don’t cry for me yet, Tengen.” 

“Don’t be silly,” Tengen managed to laugh a little, vision blurry. “I don’t cry for anyone.” 

The fever ravaged for days, slowly climbing higher and higher. Kyojuro’s hours were like torture with each minute, burning up hotter and hotter. 

Twice a day, Shinobu checked his wound. She would touch it lightly and watch the way Kyojuro groaned in pain and discomfort. The skin around it was angry and red and warm to the touch. Every time Tengen looked at it, he couldn’t picture anything but the arm, puncturing his lover’s stomach. It was hellish and awful, every single day the infection persisted. 

Kyojuro couldn’t keep anything down, he gagged his food up hours— sometimes minutes— after it went in and Tengen always made sure to hold his hair back. He rubbed the space between Kyojuro’s shoulder blades as the man wretched and heaved.

One night, almost three weeks after Kyojuro became conscious again and a week after they discovered the infection, Tengen awoke the muffled sounds of groans. He was pretty accustomed to it at this point, waking up in the middle of the night to Kyojuro’s night terrors or some pain flare-up in his stomach. 

But this time was different. 

Kyojuro’s eyes were open inserted of shut like usual and his fingers gripped tightly at the sheets. He took fistfuls of the duvet into his palm, clutching them so hard that his knuckles turned white. 

“He’s here, Tengen,” Kyojuro said, voice high and panicked. 

“Who’s here?” 

Tengen was alert in an instant, eyes wide and scanning the room for anything in disarray, any little detail out of place. He listened intently for any sound, any creak in the floorboards or rustling of the curtains to signal another presence 

There was none, though. 

“He’s here,” Kyojuro insisted, though. He pointed at nothing, eyes wild and restless. 

He’s having a hallucination, Tengen realized. The elder grabbed onto Kyojuro’s wrist and could feel the flurried beating of Kyojuro’s pulse beneath Tengen’s fingers; it was pounding too fast and too hard. Kyojuro was panicking. 

“Baby,” Tengen tried to reason with Kyojuro, “there’s no one there. It's just me, see?” 

“No! He’s here! Can’t you see him?” Kyojuro’s voice grew louder with each word. The hum of the night quickened, everything was hot and nothing made sense. 

Kyojuro let out a little incoherent shout and Tengen held him tight, trying to pin his lover’s flailing limbs down to the mattress and prevent Kyojuro from opening up his stitches and further hurting himself. It was hard, though, even despite the extra arm strength Tengen had over Kyojuro. His lover was desperately persistent, so caught up in a nightmare that Tengen couldn’t see. He struggled against Tengen’s grip. 

“Let me go! I don’t want to be a demon,” he said, then. “Leave the people of this train alone, I won’t come with you!” 

Is this what happened? Tengen wondered, scared, as Kyojuro continued to yell at nothing, tears streaming down his feverish cheeks as he thrashed around and begged Tengen to let him go. Does he think I’m the Upper Moon he fought? 

“Kamado-shounen,” Kyojuro continually called out, his voice hoarse from the screams. With each strangled shout, Tengen winced, as if Kyojuro’s pleas physically hurt him. “Kamado… Oyakata-sama…Father! Senjuro! Tengen. Tengen. Tengen!”

“I’m sorry,” apologized Tengen as Kyojuro sobbed, sweat beading on his forehead and matting his hair in damp tufts. He looked strikingly similar to the way he did the day they kissed for the first time, drenched and soaking wet underneath the shrine roof.

Tengen buried his head in the crook of Kyojuro’s neck; it was burning up. 

“I’m sorry,” Tengen repeated once more, apologizing again and again like it was a mantra. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry you had to go through all of this. 

Kyojuro let out a wounded, defeated gasp, the fever coiling in his stomach and spreading through his helpless body. His wound pulsed. Tengen held onto him, the only anchor in the open sea of despair that tossed his body around in its waves. 

I’m sorry I can’t help you. 

It was a long, long night. Nightmares and delusions continued to wrack Kyojuro until daybreak, when the fever finally peaked for now and he settled down into a restless sleep. But Tengen couldn’t follow suit. He held onto Kyojuro— he wasn’t sure which one of them needed the touch more. 

Tengen didn’t know how long he simply laid there, clutching onto his lover and lost in his thoughts, memories of their tumultuous night playing through his mind at a dizzying array. 

He watched as the sun rose over the mountains, golden and orange and red like the color of Kyojuro’s hair. It peaked into the room, filling it with daylight, casting a shadow over the sheets, still damp with Kyojuro’s sweat. Or maybe it was Tengen’s, his body was far too warm from continuous contact with Kyojuro’s. It was probably a mixture both. 

Tengen leaned down and pressed his face into the crown of Kyojuro’s head. Even despite the thick scent of antibiotics and infection that perpetually clung to the man, Tengen pretended he could smell the vaguely burnt scent Kyojuro always used to carry, like a recently extinguished fire, charcoal still glowering and ignited. He pretended he could smell cinnamon and the sweet potatoes Kyojuro always liked to roast. 

Tengen knew it was selfish, he knew he had no right to think this way, but he wanted that Kyojuro back. The one from before, the one from the shrine. The one who spoke in deep breaths and laughed from the very pits of his stomach.

It wasn’t fair to this Kyojuro. This Kyojuro couldn’t take in deep inhales anymore; it aggravated his injury. This Kyojuro hadn’t eaten cinnamon or sweet potatoes or used Flame Breathing in countless weeks. This Kyojuro was broken and needed to be pieced back together, slowly, to maybe—one day—become the Kyojuro he once was again.

And Tengen knew he needed to be there for this Kyojuro because, no matter what, he loved Kyojuro in any shape, any size. In sickness or in health. 

But, by god, he missed that other Kyojuro so much. So, so much. He wasn’t ready to let go of the other Kyojuro. 

The sound of Shinobu’s footsteps approaching the room broke Tengen out of his thoughts. 

“Rough night?” she asked, walking to their bedside and took in Tengen’s disheveled form.  

“Something like that.” 

Tengen was having trouble even faking being okay anymore. The mask was slipping, everything was crumbling as Kyojuro’s fever continued to burn, no end in sight. 

“Did you even sleep at all?” Shinobu asked, raising an eyebrow as she studied the deep purple bags underneath Tengen’s eyes. 

“No,” Tengen answered honestly. 

Shinobu sighed, crossed her arms tightly over her chest. 

“You can’t keep going on like this, Uzui-san,” she lectured him. “You’re running yourself into the ground. How will you fight demons in this state? How will you do anything in this state?”

“I’ll be fine,” insisted Tengen, stubbornly. He shifted his grasp on Kyojuro, his arms starting to grow tired but he refused to let Kyojuro go. The younger finally found some relief in sleep, waking him up was not an option. 

“What a joke.” Shinobu punctuated her words with a mirthless laugh. “You’re not fine.” 

“You don’t get it, Kochou,” Tengen seethed, suddenly feeling irrationally angry. Maybe it was a mix of the exhaustion and the seemingly never-ending turmoil of the past night, but his emotions were boiling over. “No one gets it! I have to be fine. For the two of us.” 

“But,” Shinobu replied, remaining calm even in the face of Tengen’s sudden angry outburst, “you’re just one human, Uzui-san.”   

Tengen’s eyes widened upon hearing her words, mouthing parting open but no words formed. 

Shinobu let out a huff of air, rolling her eyes but not in an unkind way.

“Have a little more faith in Rengoku-san,” she told him. “He’ll make it through.” 

Tengen managed to choke out a weak bout of laughter. 

“Promise?” he asked. 

Shinobu shook her head, a smile returning to her rosy lips. “It’s not me who can make that promise to you.” 

One late afternoon, on a day after Tengen had lost track of when Kyojuro woke up and when the infection started, Kyojuro asked Tengen a question. 

“What would our lives look like, right now, if we weren’t demon slayers?” he asked. His head laid on the pillow, hair draped over the pillowcase like a shining halo of rich gold and intense red hues. 

“Hmm…” Tengen pondered this for a bit. “We’d live a very flamboyant life, of course. Unparalleled to anyone else except maybe God, himself.”

Kyojuro laughed, weakly. His eyelids crinkled on the sides when he smiled and Tengen leaned over to press light, butterfly kisses on the edges of Kyojuro’s eyes. One day he’d convince Kyojuro to let him put eye-makeup on him, maybe matching red dots. It would look exquisite. 

“Of course we would,” Kyojuro agreed.

"Nothing but the best for us," Tengen drawled.

"We'd have a house," Kyojuro continued to speak. Then, after a second, he added, “We’d have a cat.”

His eyes shone brighter than Tengen had seen since the injury. He sounded almost wistful for a present that didn’t exist. “My father never let me have pets, he doesn’t like animals.”

“We wouldn’t just have one cat,” Tengen told him, lacing their fingers together underneath the duvet cover, “we’d have a whole zoo.” 

“With birds?” 

“Of course. An entire flock,” proclaimed Tengen. “Peacocks. Their feathers are perfectly flashy.”  

“And we’d have guests over all the time,” Kyojuro said, excited at the hypothetical they'd drawn up, “like the Kamado’s and their friends. And maybe Shinazugawa.”

Tengen rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “He’d just complain the whole time. Nothing would be to his drab, awful taste.” 

“Maybe so,” Kyojuro agreed with a grin, voice soft. 

“I suppose he can visit. Just for the day. So can Kochou and Misturi-chan. We’d cook them all your favorite foods, of course,” Tengen said. “Sweet potatoes and grilled fish and roasted beef.” 

“Why not their favorite foods?” Kyojuro asked.

“Because they’re not my lover,” Tengen answered, as if it the most obvious thing in the world. “And I don’t care about making anyone else happy except my lover.” 

“You’re a flatterer,” Kyojuro retorted but he was smiling and he looked more genuinely happy than Tengen had seen him in weeks. Then, his smile faltered. “But, you know, I can’t imagine us as anything other than Hashira.”

“No,” agreed Tengen, softly. There was a pang in his chest, his ribcage squeezed his heart dangerously tight. “I guess not.” 

“I can’t really slay demons anymore, huh?” Kyojuro whispered after a few seconds of silence. He gestured to his stomach then to his eye. “I can’t be the Flame Hashira anymore.”

Tengen was silent, let Kyojuro get all his words out. He had known that there was something Kyojuro had been keeping inside, something that was festering within him and it wasn't just the infection that still persisted in his blood. This must be it. 

“The Rengoku family has been the Flame Hashira for many, many generations,” Kyojuro said, but he was looking far off. “I’ve never read the books or records or anything but I’ve learned that there has never been an era of the Demon Slayer Corps without us as the Flame Hashira.”

“A flamboyant lineage, truly,” Tengen commented with a sad smile. 

“But I will have to retire now. And my little brother, Senjuro, he… he isn’t going to be my successor. He’s going to make his own path in life, one that makes him happy.” 

Senjuro was a nice young kid. He looked exactly as Kyojuro did, but they were nothing alike in their personalities. Tengen didn’t usually get along with kids but he was fond of Senjuro, from the few conversations they’ve had. Most of them were at a scary point in time, back when Kyojuro was undergoing surgery and his future looked bleak. Still, Tengen commended the kid for his emotional tenacity, if nothing else. 

“I'm happy for Senjuro and I will support him in whatever he chooses to do but this will be the first time in the Corps’ history that no Flame Hashira will stand,” Kyojuro whispered. 

“Yes, there will be,” Tengen replied. He cupped Kyojuro’s cheek, felt the steady, feverish warmth that thrummed beneath the skin. 

“What? I don’t understand…”

“You haven’t fallen yet,” Tengen insisted, gaze firm. “You might not ever fight demons again but you are the Flame Hashira. Even when you decide what else you’re going to do, when you’ve recovered and can choose a new path, you’ll always be the Flame Hashira.” 

Kyojuro’s eyes widened like he couldn’t quite believe Tengen’s words. 

“Besides,” laughed Tengen, “I won’t accept any other Flame Hashira besides my dearest beloved.” 

“You’re cheesy, Tengen,” Kyojuro replied but the smile painted on his rosy, full lips spoke volumes. Tengen hoped there would never come a day where he couldn’t see that grin. 

I love him so much, Tengen thought, in that moment. And he realized, then, that there was no version of Kyojuro he could ever love more than another. 

Later that very night, Kyojuro’s fever climbed higher than it ever had before. 

His body was spasming. He’d thrown up in his sleep and Tengen had to tilt his body over the side of the bed to keep Kyojuro from choking and drowning himself in his own fluids. 

Shinobu raced to the room in the dead of the night, feeling his pulse and trying to load him with fluids that his body automatically expelled. 

“This is bad,” she said. It was the first time she’d lost her composure since the night of the operation. Her panic did little to assuage Tengen’s own. “The fever is spiking before it breaks and the infection on its tail end but I don’t know if his body can withstand the highs before it breaks. He’s overheating.” 

Fear wracked Tengen’s whole body, the night draped over them like a veil of darkness and a curtain of unknown.  

Kyojuro moaned loudly, his handsomely drawn features were screwed up in pain and discomfort as sweat dripping over his face in buckets. Shinobu had instructed Tengen to remove his clothing, he was naked on the mattress except for the bandages around his middle section. 

For the first time since the day they couldn’t find a pulse, Tengen was genuinely terrified. How could things have gone so wrong so fast? 

“Please,” Tengen begged, holding onto Kyojuro’s hand, gripping as tight as his palm would allow. “Please don’t go out like this.” 

Kyojuro couldn’t go silently into the night, Tengen would never allow it, not after all he’d overcome to stay this long. He couldn’t go silently into the night because that wasn’t befitting of someone as grand, as good, as Kyojuro. He would leave this Earth with a bang, if Tengen had any say in it. He’d go out kicking and screaming and demanding that the world know of his existence, that they’d remember it and all the benevolent things he did for them with little in return. 

That’s the way he’d go out someday, not like this. Not like this, Tengen pleaded with any higher power who might possibly be up there, don’t take him from me like this. 

The hours were hellish and bleak but Tengen rode them out, diligently. He held onto Kyojuro’s hand throughout every tremor and jerk and shout and gasp and moan and, when the sun peaked over the mountains and the trees, Kyojuro’s fever finally, finally broke. 

“Are you okay?” Kyojuro asked, voice hoarse and tired. He was peering up at the elder from where his head rest on the bed’s pillow. 

Tengen sat in the chair beside Kyojuro’s bed, flipping through a book that he wasn’t really paying attention to. His brain was still reliving the events of the past couple of hours, the way he still couldn’t really believe that they were truly out of the woods. 

Tengen scoffed. “I should be asking you that.”

“You seem upset,” Kyojuro insisted. 

“I’m not.” Tengen closed to book and placed it on the nightstand. He reached over and brushed Kyojuro’s sodden bangs from his eyes with a light gesture. “It was just scary, last night. When your fever broke.”

“Oh,” Kyojuro replied, dumbfounded. “I can’t remember anything.”

“Nothing? At all?” Tengen asked, a little shocked. Lucky bastard, he couldn’t help think. Tengen’d do anything to forget last night. 

“Well, I remember being really hot,” Kyojuro said, tapping his chin, “and I remember holding your hand and that’s it.” 

Tengen sighed and ran his hand over Kyojuro’s arm. 

“You’re gross right now,” he remarked, cringing a little. All the sweat and the grime and sick still clung to Kyojuro like a terrible reminder of what he’d so recently overcome. Tengen stood up from his chair, walking to the room’s door. “I'll be right back.” 

Tengen came back with a basin of warm, soapy water and washcloth. He’d given Kyojuro a bath a couple of times before but often he let the girls of the Estate do it. It was something so painfully tender, intimacy beyond sex, that his heart lurched every time he did it so he shied away most times. 

Tengen dipped the washcloth in the basin, wringing it out when he brought it up. He slowly slid the washcloth, each movement tender, down Kyojuro’s arms. He started with his shoulders and biceps, still strong and broad in all its glory, then moved down to Kyojuro's hands and his palms, wiping away the stickiness of the sweat and replacing it with the sweet scent of Shinobu’s lavender soap. 

Next, he re-dipped the washcloth, wrung it out, and moved on to Kyojuro’s face.  He took careful consideration with each stroke of the washcloth, wiping his forehead and underneath his eyes. The hollows of his cheeks, around his nose. He studied his lover’s features, the way they were drawn on so bold yet careful. Each stroke of his face from the slope of his nose to the arch of his eyebrows were contemplated deeply, Tengen loved every dip and curve. He was the greatest artwork to ever exist. 

After that, once again repeating the dipping motions, he moved onto Kyojuro’s chest. He wiped down Kyojuro’s pectoral muscles in slow, circular movements, careful not to jostle his stomach too much and cause his lover any discomfort. 

Kyojuro let out a little noise, a mix between a sign and a yawn, and Tengen grinned.

“Feel good, baby?” he asked, as he finished up the chest.

“Mmhmm,” agreed Kyojuro. Then, softly, he said, “You always make me feel good, Ten.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” Tengen replied, pressing a chaste kiss to Kyojuro’s lips before bringing the washcloth to his legs to begin but then he paused at Kyojuro’s navel, just beneath where the bandages ended. He put the washcloth aside and brushed his hand over Kyojuro’s bellybutton, felt the way his lover tensed under the touch. 

“You sensitive there, darling?” he asked, mischievously. A coy smile started to spread through his lips. 

Kyojuro only grunted in response and it made him so much more alluring to Tengen; his little noises, the way he asserted himself with both the biggest and tiniest of gestures. 

It took little effort to coax Kyojuro erect, Tengen’s breath ghosting over his tip, springing it to life. Tengen grinned, leaning down to press a series of tender kisses down his length before looking up at Kyojuro with doe-eyes and saying, “I’m going to get you off, okay?”

Kyojuro’s eyes widened at the realization before he threw his forearm over his eyes and whispered out a choked-up, “Please.” 

Tengen slowly ran his thumb over Kyojuro’s slit, basking in the quiet grunts that escaped his lover’s pursed lips, little moans and whines, sensitive with every bit of contact their appendages made. 

Tengen took Kyojuro’s shaft in one hand, the other gently massaging Kyojuro’s balls, and stroked him, pace quickening with each jerk of the hand. 

Kyojuro’s hips stuttered, arching up off the mattress and throwing his head deep into the pillows as Tengen stroked him to completion, almost too much yet not enough at the same time. His fingers curled around the fitted linens as he thrust himself into Tengen’s fist.

Tengen didn’t know if it was the oversensitivity or perhaps the lack of anything even remotely sexual in more than a month that was bringing Kyojuro to the brink of an orgasm so quickly but the delicious sounds of his partner’s pleasure were like music to Tengen’s ears. He ate it up. 

When Kyojuro came, ribbons of cum spurting into Tengen’s palm, the younger man let out a prolonged sigh of pleasure and relief. Tengen pressed a kiss to Kyojuro’s forehead, just above his brow. It was soft and affectionate. 

It had been nothing like their first night in the inn, hot and heavy and continuous until daybreak. That time, Kyojuro had been so thoroughly fucked out that their mission was delayed half a day. Tengen still relished in the memory of Kyojuro, flushed and panting underneath him. 

No, it wasn’t like that anymore— this had been just some measly hand-job to tide Kyojuro over (and, well, Tengen loved to hear Kyojuro moan. He’d missed those sounds so intensely)— but, in some ways, it might be better. It was little bits of normalcy shining through this new, uncharted life they’d found themselves in. 

They’d take things slowly if they had to, Tengen was more than willing to wait. He waited weeks to even see Kyojuro, waited weeks at his bedside to get him better. He’d wait an eternity if it meant a few more days with Kyojuro. 

“I love you,” Kyojuro whispered, voice husky and still breathless. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Tengen replied through a chuckle. “Just stay with me, okay?”

Kyojuro’s laugh matched Tengen’s as he weakly reached a hand over to entwine with Tengen’s. Sometimes, in times like these, their palms just fit perfectly. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” 

Tengen grinned before gesturing for Kyojuro to flip over. 

“Now, get on your side,” he instructed, elated. “I have to wash your back.”

The sun was shining, the warmth of the mid-day spreading through the garden of the Butterly Estate. It had been almost two months since the incident and Kyojuro was finally walking again, slowly and stilted but progress was progress and neither he nor Tengen had any right to complain.

Kyojuro was sitting on the back veranda of the Estate, legs dangling from the wooden platform and toes curled in the plush grass.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Tengen’s voice came from behind. He was leaning on the sliding door’s frame, a fond grin painting over his lips at the sight of his lover, basking in the sun’s golden rays. 

Tengen had been away more often, recently, upon Kyojuro’s recovery. He was gone later into the night, left more frequently during the day to run errands sometimes. But he always returned, he always found his way back to Kyojuro. 

“You’re so intuitive,” teased Kyojuro, sarcastically, as he wiggled his toes in the dirty, “the great Uzui Tengen-sama.” 

“Be careful what you say,” Tengen teased back; they were always able to keep up with each other’s tongue lashings, caught up in a verbal deadlock every time, “because some day that last name’ll be yours. The great Uzui Kyojuro-sama.” 

Kyojuro just threw his head back and laughed. 

“I think you mean Rengoku Tengen-sama.”

Tengen shook his head, dismissively. “We’ll see.”

Kyojuro gestured to the space next to him and Tengen plopped down on the wood, crossing his legs as he sat. 

“Nice day, isn’t it?” Kyojuro commented, closing his eyes as he greeted the afternoon breeze. “I often take things for granted.”

“Meaning?” asked Tengen.

“Well,” Kyojuro explained, once again opening his eyes to follow a blue bird that flittered through the many branches of the green trees that adorned Shinobu’s garden, “I forgot how much I loved fresh air until I was cooped up in that bed. I forgot about grass and mud and wind.” 

“Hmm,” hummed Tengen, contemplating this. He watched Kyojuro watch the bird, the way the gentle winds blew his long, golden hair past his shoulder. The twinkle in his eye. “I think I used to take things for granted sometimes, too.” 

“A couple of fools, the two of us,” Kyojuro replied. 

“That we are, I suppose.”

They sat in silence for a bit, enjoying each others presence. In a profession like their own, where each new day was not promised, simply the act of existing next to each other was enough for the two of them. Wordlessly, hands ghosting over the wooden veranda floor, Tengen reached for Kyojuro’s fingers and intertwined them with his own. Kyojuro’s touch was warm and perfect. Not too hot that it was burning up, not too cold that it was lifeless. 

Perfect, thought Tengen, quietly, as Kyojuro always is. 

“Hey, so,” Tengen spoke up after a few minutes passed, breaking the silence that settled between them, “I spoke with Kochou this morning. She thinks you’re good to be discharged next week and can start doing out-patient treatment.”

“Really?” Kyojuro’s eyes lit up, a wide grin spreading across his lips. “That’s great news! I’ll have my crow tell Senjuro right away!”

“Yeah.” Tengen sheepishly rubbed the back of his next with his free hand. “And, um, I told Kochou that when she has the girls pack up your things… they can deliver them to my estate.” 

Kyojuro paused, smile faltering. He turned his head to look at Tengen, red-faced and averting eye contact. Kyojuro raised an eyebrow in recognition, a smirk replacing his earnest grin. 

“Is this Uzui Tengen-sama’s way of asking me to move in with him?” Kyojuro asked. 

“It’s not a big deal if you don’t want to,” Tengen replied, speaking fast. “I completely understand if you want to go back to living with your family or—“

“Tengen,” interrupted Kyojuro, fondly exasperated. “Will you just ask me properly?”

Tengen coughed, pressing a fist to his lips. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, and Kyojuro found it all the more endearing. 

“Will you… live with me, Kyojuro?”

“Yes,” Kyojuro answered. 

“Yes?” repeated Tengen, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. 

Kyojuro leaned forward, closing the gap between them with a kiss. It was soft-lipped and open-mouthed and suddenly Tengen was back at that shrine, drenched in rain water and kissing his lover for the first time. 

When they broke apart, Kyojuro laughed. He knocked their heads together, pressing his forehead into Tengen’s.

“Yes, you big idiot,” he whispered. “Yes.”