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Akaza had received a command from Master, he would join lower moon one on the train named Mugen and help him kill the flame hashira and the annoying little children that flocked around him like flies to a corpse.
It was an irritating order, but one he followed nonetheless, not wanting to disobey his master, even with a regeneration factor he knew such a crime wouldn’t go unpunished, and he wasn’t eager to spend a night in agony ever again.
So here he was, standing in the passenger cabin, holding a rather normal-looking rope in one hand, and staring at the flame hashira, the man was attractive, Akaza wouldn’t lie, bright blonde hair fell around his shoulders like a fountain of liquid gold and fire. His face was nice too, it had a handsome shape to it, thick black brows drawing the demon’s attention, then again, the long dark lashes caught his gaze as well, falling feather-light over the man’s cheeks.
For being asleep his face was set in an expression of anything but relaxation, his brows were scrunched, lips narrowed in a hard frown, a vein in one side of his forehead pulsing against his skin with the beat of his heart.
He decided not to think too much about it, merely tying the rope around his wrist and slumping into the remaining space of the train booth, allowing his eyes to flutter shut, it took a moment to allow Enmu’s blood art to wash over him, but after a moment he was able to relax enough, giving into the pull of unconsciousness.
—
When Akaza opened his eyes he felt himself freeze, his blood boiling, skin freezing, there was sunlight, not much of it, the sun was setting, he knew it couldn’t hurt him, this was a dream, still, he found himself unable to move for a few long moments, heart pounding against his ribs harshly.
He might have been stuck there forever if he didn’t sense a fighting spirit flare violently nearby, like a fire with gasoline poured into it, burning anything that dared to be in its presence. Keen ears just barely catching the sound of something crashing to the ground, it captured his attention easily, finally pulling him from his stupor to approach the estate.
It was a bit of a mess, the garden seemed overgrown, but the deck panels seemed decently well kept, it was only now, as he strode up to the shoji door that he heard the voices, a roaring tone, slurring with intoxication and vile with hate. A much higher pitch seemed to cry something back, something like a plea maybe, then there was the harsh crack of skin on skin, a muted yelp, and the sound of a body crashing into the floor.
It had turned Akaza’s blood to ice in a mere moment.
His mind was buzzing, unable to catch the words the man must have screamed, his voice practically shaking the building on its foundations, then, the unsteady pad of socked feet on wood.
Soft sniffling is what pulled him from his stupor, he blinked a few times, willing himself to shift his appearance, glancing at his now mortal-colored forearm before he slid the door open slowly, Enmu had said he would be placing them into some of their worst memories, for a hashira Akaza had assumed it would be something like being attacked by a particularly powerful demon, or seeing they were too late to save someone, not…not this.
As the door slid open he looked down, eyes landing on a small boy kneeling on the floor, cradling his cheek, eyes wet and cheeks slick and shiny with water, “Wha- W-who are you?” Thinking quickly, Akaza was brisk to respond, “I was sent to speak with your father.” “O-oh!” The boy yelped, moving to stand, but Akaza merely dropped to a kneel, gingerly placing a hand on the blonde’s shoulder, jaw clenching at the way he flinched at the touch.
“It can wait. Are you alright? You’re holding your cheek.” The boy ducked his head, nodding, shoulders hunching slightly, he couldn’t have been older than ten, big fiery eyes all glassy with unshed tears, it was hard to think that this tiny boy, this child was the man he had just seen on the train.
Neither spoke for a few long moments, and, well, Akaza had never been the best at holding his tongue (meetings with his master aside). “Does he hit you often?” A head of fiery locks shot up, sun-kissed skin having turned almost white, “What?!” The boy yelped, “I said, does your father hit you often?” “N-no! He-he didn’t! You don’t understand! I-it was my fault! H-he was just mad! He loves me!” Words spilled from his lips like a cascade, panicked and tinged with desperation, he was still holding his cheek, now though Akaza guessed it was more to hide it than soothe.
The demon found himself frowning, open hand balling into a fist, he felt the distinct urge to find that drunken man and turn him into an unpleasant stain on the floor, but he didn’t, if he did anything too drastic the hashira was bound to realize that it was a dream.
Instead, he offered a smile, “You don’t have to lie to me, or protect him. May I… Can I see your cheek?” Wide eyes stared at him nervously, clearly distrusting, but after a long moment he let his hand drop away and it took everything in Akaza not to punch a hole straight through the wooden floor.
There was an ugly purple and black bruise forming on the boy’s cheek, it looked like it was going to swell too, he swore the corners of his vision were tinged red. He must have been making quite a face because the boy paled once again, scrambling to scoot away from him, eyes shining with fear, Akaza inhaled softly, deeply, and plastered a smile on his face.
“Let's get some ice on that, why don’t we?” And stood slowly, extending a hand to the boy, who eyed it, then cautiously gripped on, allowing himself to be tugged to his feet, however, Akaza didn’t let go, instead, he slipped his grip to a more comfortable hold, gingerly clutching the boy’s hand. “Could you take me to your kitchen?”
A hesitant nod, the boy leading him down a short hallway into a rather homey room, candles already lit, “Go sit down.” Nudging him away Akaza headed over to the ice box, he grabbed a handful of cubes and leaned over, grabbing a discarded, but relatively clean-looking, handtowel, he wrapped up the ice and walked over to the table where the boy was sitting.
He settled down and scooted a little closer to the boy, who twitched in a restrained flinch, making Akaza’s arms tremble slightly with how hard he fought to keep steady and still, to radiate calm and keep his demonic aura under check. Extending his hand he offered the wrapped cubes, which the boy took with a soft word of thanks, pressing it gingerly against his sore cheek.
“What is your name?” The blonde looked up, “Oh, uh, Kyojurou, Kyojurou Rengoku.” He murmured softly, eyes flicking away a moment later, once again Akaza was struck with a slight sense of wonder, how in just a few years, -eight, nine?- this sullen little boy would turn into the blazing flame hashira, loud and exuberant.
It seemed almost impossible, a trick maybe, a lie, and now that had Akaza wondering, how much of the flame hashira’s personality was a mask, a cover to hide the pain he had experienced at such a young age, maybe still experienced.
He gave the boy another soft smile, red-rimmed eyes taking in his expression with a look of almost wonder, befuddlement maybe, and stood. “I have to be going now, it was nice meeting you, Kyojurou.” And turned to the hallway, he had just gotten to the archway when a familiar voice sputtered out a short, “Wait! Y-you haven’t spoken to my father yet!” Akaza merely waved him off, not bothering to turn around.
He wouldn’t be fighting this hashira today, no, their fight could wait for another night, for now, he needed to have a discussion with Enmu.