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The days go by in blurs for Senjuro now, but they follow a standard routine, simple enough to complete even when the pit in his stomach feels too deep to dig out of. He wakes up early, letting the rising sun filtering through the curtains be his morning call, and immediately gets up, knowing he’ll gain nothing for letting his sadness keep him bound to his bed. It won’t hit quite yet, but if he stays for too long there’s a chance he won’t leave. He’ll go to the bathroom, doing the basics to at least look presentable even though he’s sure nobody will see him besides his father, and then head to the kitchen.
The cabinets are full as he rifles through them, but he notes that they’re low on oil. He’ll need to go shopping for more soon, but not today. Surprisingly, there’s a full bottle of alcohol, the kind he only gets to cook with on the rare occasion Shinjuro doesn’t get to it first. Its been here for two days, still untouched. Senjuro smiles at that, even if his lips feel like lead.
Rice is measured, washed, and set to cook. In a separate pot, he adds chopped tofu to the miso broth he’s created. Admittedly, he’s a bit tired of having the same breakfast over and over again, but he doesn’t have the will to do anything different.
In all honesty, he hates the person he’s become in his grief, someone unrecognizable even to himself, but he isn’t always like this. Some days are just harder than others, and he knows he should be more gentle with himself. There’s still things to smile about, there’s still happiness in his life, and he tries to remember that even through the haze of despair.
Kyojuro would want him to smile.
Breakfast is finished quickly and in perfect timing with Shinjuro’s own awakening, who noisily opens the door and heads to the bathroom down the hall opposite of the kitchen. Senjuro serves his food on a tray rather than the table next to him, unsure where the man will choose to eat and not wanting to risk guessing. Before Kyojuro died, before his parting words have been left with Shinjuro, he ate solely in his room, making it clear he’s not to be bothered ever. These days he’ll occasionally come out and eat with Senjuro, though it’s usually in silence and never lasts long. Still, it’s a vast improvement, and he has to admit it makes him hopeful.
With a breath of hesitation, he takes the tray of arranged food out into the hallway, intending to leave it at his father’s door. Instead, he runs straight into Shinjuro, just barely stopping before they can collide and ruin the food in the process. For a moment, they stare at each other in shock, still unsure of how to act around one another, almost like they don’t know if they can interact despite being right in front of each other. As always, Senjuro is the first to come to his senses, taking a timid step back.
“Sorry, father,” he forces his voice straight, anxiety creeping into the corners of his words, “I didn’t hear you coming.”
He can hear it now; the berating, the scolding, the harsh words spat solely to hurt. You’re not aware enough , they bite. This is why you couldn’t make it to Final Selection .
Shinjuro takes the tray from him wordlessly, making Senjuro flinch and look away, but he doesn’t do anything. His eyes flicker from his son, down to the meal, then back to Senjuro again, completely unreadable.
He hums then. A deep, powerful sound, but undeniably pleased.
“Thank you, Senjuro.”
A gentle gasp escapes Senjuro against his will, snapping his head up in surprise to gape at his father, but Shinjuro has already begun walking back to his room. He stands in frozen awe until the door slides shut, leaving him alone again but with a conflicted warmth in his chest.
He sighs, his shoulders slumping on the exhale. Maybe things are getting better, though he knows healing is a slow process. Kyojuro used to tell him that all the time, and encouraged his patience when it came to their father. Sometimes it feels like a lost cause, sometimes he thinks Kyojuro saw something nobody else could.
Cleaning up after breakfast is a nice process because he finds it gives him something to do without needing to think too hard. It’s easy and practiced, something he’s confident he could do with his eyes closed if he needed to. Before he knows it, he’s collecting the broom by the front door and heading outside.
Admittedly, he hates this part of his day. Standing in front of his house, broom in hand, the sun shining on his back, it’s bitterly familiar. Only this time there’s no news that can be delivered to him that will ever hurt as bad. What he loved most in the world is already gone, everything else seems mundane in comparison.
No, that’s not true. He shakes his head violently. He still has his friends, the remnants of his family. He has Obanai, who is adopted but no less a brother to him than he was to Kyojuro. He has Mitsuri, someone who might as well be adopted with how close she is to their family. Both siblings to him in every sense of the word but blood, and Kyojuro wouldn’t want him to forget about them in his grief. And even besides them, he has more than he leads on. He has Tanjiro, who he’s already terribly close to despite the short amount of time that’s passed between them. He has Kanao and Genya, both people he met through their similar experience of having Hashira for siblings. And he has-
“KAA!” A shriek from up above pulls Senjuro from his thoughts. “A MESSAGE FOR RENGOKU SENJURO!” A crow informs him.
Instinctive dread runs up Senjuro’s spine, once again much too familiar with the scene before him, but he relaxes when he realizes whose crow it is. He juts his elbow out for the bird to land on, smiling gently at the familiar face.
“MIST PILLAR, TOKITO MUICHIRO, IS ON HIS WAY. I REPEAT. MIST PILLAR, TOKITO MUICHIRO, IS ON HIS WAY!”
He has Muichiro. His best friend.
“Good girl, Ginko,” he whispers, scratching up the crow’s neck how she likes, “good girl.”
…
Sweat drips down Muichiro’s face as he runs, his heart pounding in his chest so hard he wonders if it’ll explode. It’s not from exhaustion of course, or any physical limitation. In fact, he’s never been stronger, still riding the high of killing an upper moon on his own and living to tell the tale. No, this feeling is from his emotions alone, excitement and anxiety mixed with cloudy confusion, but no longer veiled with forgetfulness. He’s never been so determined and so clear headed at the same time. For once he runs and he knows where he’s going, for once he keeps his mind on his goal and doesn’t lose it.
It occurs to him that maybe he shouldn’t be here, and he definitely wouldn’t be if Ubuyashiki hadn’t given him permission to step away from the Hashira training for a day- even encouraging him to do it- but he still wonders if he’s wasting precious time.
No, no. He banishes that thought as soon as it comes. How sickly unfair that would be to deny himself the chance of seeing a dear friend for his job. Not that he doesn’t find gratification in being a slayer, but lately he’s found himself yearning for something he lost so long ago. Companionship, friends, people to confide in. Happiness, mainly. And as he runs, under the protective shade of flowering trees through the backroads of a comfortable neighborhood, he thinks that this will make him happy.
He sent Ginko ten minutes ago to announce his arrival, but it feels like an eternity as he finally steps foot in front of the Rengoku estate. He’s been here many times before, more than he can remember and that’s not thanks to his amnesia. In a way, he’s been able to remember the feeling of the estate, the warmth it radiates like a fire, the complicated feeling of love touched by tragedy. It hasn’t changed, but it manages to take Muichiro’s breath away anyway.
Maybe it’s because he’s looking at it and actually seeing it. Drinking in the specific features of the old house and being able to understand what he’s looking at. He can cement the details in his mind and actually hold onto them. For a moment, he worries that they’ll slip away from him when he leaves, but even that is a good fear to have because it means he’s conscious of it, aware enough to miss a memory even before it’s gone.
Beyond the gate, further into the yard where Muichiro has spent countless afternoons basking in the sun, he finds a familiar head of flame-touched hair accompanied by his crow on his shoulder. Senjuro is talking to Ginko, his kind voice carried by the wind straight to Muichiro’s ears, and if the house was enough to leave him in awe, seeing Senjuro is beyond words.
As far as regaining his memories goes, they thankfully come in waves, just enough to keep from overwhelming him. At first it was memories of his family, mainly Yuichiro in their time alone, and it began to bleed into the years before his parents died. And when those memories ran dry, he’d remember his years as a slayer. Things like final selection, his first mission, his last mission before becoming a Hashira, things most remember but he lost long ago. Eventually it fell on Rengoku Kyojuro, as it had the day of the Sword Smith Village battle, and he remembered something precious to him.
The Flame Hashira is a strange man, as all the Hashira are, but his habit of seeking Muichiro out in particular is odd. He has yet to fully remember the man, but the fact that he’s able to recognize his presence in any sense just goes to show how often he’s put himself in Muichiro’s path.
The meeting is over but nobody has disbanded, taking their time to catch up with one another as their line of work rarely leaves them with time to talk peacefully. As always, Muichiro sits off to the side alone, staring at the sky idly and waiting to follow their lead. He’d leave on his own, but Ubuyashiki suggested he try mingling with his fellow slayers and building relationships. That last part is of no importance to Muichiro, but he never defies his master, knowing his intentions are honest and good. His orders are one of the few things that stick out in Muichiro’s mind. So he lingers, but he’s more keen to wait for someone to approach him. If he’s ever spoken to them on his own accord, he doesn’t remember it, and it clearly wasn’t memorable enough for them to seek him out either.
There’s a sudden burst of commotion, the louder people of their rank cheering and the quieter nodding their head happily. He missed the news, but it didn’t come from Ubuyashiki, so he doesn’t find interest in it. He stares at the clouds, trying to remember their names and what they mean for the weather, until a rather large figure obscures his view very suddenly. It takes him a slow moment to recognize he’s been interrupted, and another to look up and identify who the culprit is.
It’s Rengoku Kyojuro. If he had a better memory, he would’ve been able to guess that.
“Greetings, Tokito-san!” He barks like an excited dog, his owlish eyes brimming with his signature optimism.
Muichiro says nothing and does nothing, barely looking at him.
It doesn’t put Rengoku off in the slightest, and Muichiro wonders if it ever has. The Flame Hashira has never been one to lose hope so easily, so it’s no wonder he continues trying to talk to him.
“I hope your travels have been well! I worry for someone as young as you, but you’re an impressive youth! I’m sure the demons tremble at the sight of you!”
Silence.
“The meeting is over, but I hope you don’t mind, my younger brother is bringing us all a meal to share! I would like to introduce you to him! He’s just around your age and very friendly, I think two would get along!”
A friend? He wants Muichiro to make a friend? What benefit does that have to slaying? Isn’t it a hindrance to have close relationships in their line of work? Not that Muichiro would remember the boy once their introduction is over, he barely remembers the Hashira he shares this space with.
He’s prepared to say nothing again, simply wait for Rengoku to leave him be, until-
“Muichiro,” Ubuyashiki calls out gently, catching both Muichiro and Rengoku’s attention, probably the attention of everyone else as well. He smiles warmly at the boy he can no longer see, so deeply knowing. “I would like for you to accept. I have heard much about young Senjuro, I believe it would be good for you two to meet.”
And just like that, all personal feelings about the matter leave Muichiro’s head, the instinct to treat it like an order taking over. His feelings don’t matter as far as his duty goes, so he doesn’t bother himself thinking about it any longer.
“Yes, master,” he replies emotionlessly, standing up only to find himself humorously beat in height by Rengoku.
Rengoku, of course, lights up at his compliance. “Excellent!” He chirps, clapping Muichiro’s shoulder happily, “he’ll arrive any moment now!”
“Any moment” could’ve meant in the next five seconds or the next five hours to Muichiro and he wouldn’t have known the difference, but he eventually finds himself standing in front of a familiar young boy he’s never met before. His appearance is uncanny to Rengoku, who’s still fresh enough in Muichiro’s mind to recall, but their demeanors are entirely different. While Rengoku carries himself with a blinding confidence, Senjuro is full of shy smiles and cautious excitement. He’s especially shy standing before Muichiro, but it’s… comfortable. Very few of Muichiro’s acquaintances have this sort of disposition, the first that comes to mind is the Water Hashira, but it’s… pleasant, less overwhelming.
“It’s nice to meet you, Tokito-san,” Senjuro greets him, subtly twisting the fabric of his pants between his fingers. “My brother has told me a lot about you.”
Standard formalities, something Muichiro doesn’t care for. He almost says nothing, but Ubuyashiki’s orders make themselves known before he can make that decision.
“It’s nice to meet you as well,” he blandly replies, even a bit colder to his own ears, but you’d think he declared his undying loyalty to the other boy with how he lights up.
“I brought a lot of food,” Senjuro gestures to the spread he laid out minutes ago where the other Hashira have gathered, “I don’t know your favorites, but I hope there’s something you’ll like if you want to try?”
Muichiro follows his movement to the crowded space and quietly sighs. They’re loud, always so, so loud, it hurts his head. He respects them, and understands the importance of these meetings, but he finds it to be a demanding task to be around them for long. He wants to leave, to roam around in the quiet woods and let his mind wander, even if he’ll never find it again.
“Or,” Senjuro cuts through his thoughts, sympathy written in his features. Where’d that come from? “We can go out into the yard? Away from the noise?”
Muichiro blinks, slowly processing the proposition. Away from the noise is good, it’s great actually, but away with Senjuro? Well, it could be worse. The boy is quiet and respectful, he doesn’t look or act like he talks very much, and Ubuyashiki did speak in his favor. There’s worse people he could go off with, and Senjuro isn’t particularly bad in his opinion anyway.
“Okay,” he finds himself agreeing.
His memories don’t end there, but that one in particular stood out to him as the days went on. From there, he’d pick up other memories of Senjuro, of the times they’d spent together in the Rengoku estate, of the way their unlikely friendship blossomed. All of it adding up until a sudden moment yesterday, when he realized he hasn’t seen Senjuro since he regained his memories. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch the longer the day went on, nagging him, urging him to see his friend until he ended up at the bedside of his master, requesting permission to take a day off from training to see him. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Ubuyashiki agreed.
He wonders if Ubuyashiki is proud of him for this, for growing a real relationship out of what he regarded as orders in the beginning. But, strangely enough, the praise of his master doesn’t mean much to him in this case. Their friendship is reward enough in his eyes, he doesn’t need a prize to reflect that.
After what feels like an eternity, but is no doubt two minutes at most, Senjuro turns around, stuttering at the sight of his friend, but he relaxes almost instantly. He smiles so kindly and it grows a warmth within Muichiro that’s so dearly comforting, he wonders how he was ever able to forget Senjuro in the past.
The flame-haired boy crosses the yard in a few short strides, broom in hand, fondness and possibly relief rolling off of him like mist from a waterfall. Did he miss Muichiro? Muichiro feels a tightness in his chest admitting that he missed him.
“Hello, Tokito,” Senjuro greets him, formally using his family name since Muichiro has never had the presence of mind to tell him otherwise. “Its been two months since we’ve seen each other. Last time we had a picnic in the yard and shopped in town.”
He recites a script in his mind like a report, but it’s never meant to be condescending. Senjuro realized early on that Muichiro’s memory is always going to put a wedge between their friendship, always making him forget important moments, so he found that recounting the details of their last meeting would help jog his memory, or at the very least help him navigate their interactions.
“And I- '' Senjuro pauses, a look of surprise and interest shining in his eyes at Muichiro, like he’s noticed something is different about his friend. He wouldn’t be the first, actually. Everyone has been looking at Muichiro like that lately, completely shocked by his change, which is apparently as much physical as it is emotional. But Senjuro has never been one to point these things out, probably afraid he’ll be wrong or rude, so he shakes his head and continues. “And I gave you a book about clouds you were interested in. I hope you enjoyed it.”
Muichiro never read it. He left it behind in his estate as soon as he got home, but he knows where it is now. He’s so filled to the brim with memories that he can’t hold back anymore, words falling out his mouth before he can even think twice about them.
“I know,” he blurts- at least, a blurt for him. It probably sounds normal coming from anyone else. “It was a sunny day, summer just started. We had a picnic in your backyard. You made all the food and I… didn’t bring anything.”
Senjuro’s eyes widen, lips parted with surprise, but he doesn’t say anything.
Muichiro swallows, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. “But I set everything up. We watched the clouds and you told me which ones were which, and you offered to give me that book since I was interested in them.”
Now it’s Senjuro’s turn to gulp, hope visibly shining through him as he tentatively takes a step forward, arm stretched out cautiously. “Tokito…?”
“I’ve recovered,” he bluntly states, no longer willing to skirt around the truth. “And I can… remember things now.”
A blow of wind caresses Muichiro’s face, carrying his long hair and clothes with it as it flies past, but he stays warm.
“I remember you.”
A flicker of excitement shines in Senjuro at the notion though he looks like he has yet to fully understand.
“You do?”
He nods.
“That’s…” Senjuro shakes his head side to side as he attempts to put his thoughts into words, averting his eyes in the movement. Eventually jerks back up with an elated smile, one that comes to mind frequently when Muichiro thinks of him.
“Tokito, that’s wonderful! I can’t believe- I’m so happy for you!”
The excitement is blinding and so, so familiar. He looks so much like his older brother, Muichiro observes bittersweetly, though the feeling is outshined by the thrill of being able to recall the appearance of someone he knew in the first place.
“Tokito, I… oh, are you okay?”
Is he okay? Muichiro opens his mouth to ask what Senjuro means, but then he feels it. A single tear trickling down his cheek. The sensation makes him flinch, but he shouldn’t be surprised. He’s been crying a lot since the battle, finally able to truly experience the emotions that pass through him. It’s so strange, he can’t get enough of it though.
He doesn’t wipe it away, instead he smiles reassuringly. “Yes, I’m okay. There’s just a lot of memories here…”
Almost instantly, Senjuro melts back into his joy, eyes softening and so, so fond.
“I really am happy for you, Tokito-“
“Muichiro.”
“Huh?”
And there’s that nagging need again. It’s dulled thanks to the fact that he’s standing in front of Senjuro now, but he feels it eating at him. Tokito doesn’t sound right coming from Senjuro, too formal, not strong enough for what Muichiro is feeling.
“Call me Muichiro,” he asks, never breaking eye contact, “please.”
“Muichiro…” Senjuro whispers, testing it on his tongue, smiling at the way it fits. Similarly, Muichiro finds his heart swelling at the sound.
“I’m happy for you, Muichiro. Can I, um… Can I hug you?”
Have they ever hugged before? Surely they’ve touched once or twice given how close they sit and walk, but a hug? Has Muichiro ever allowed that in his memory-ridden mind? Apparently not, as he can’t recall a single time that has ever happened, and he knows he would’ve held onto that memory like a lifeline coming here.
So he nods, unsure how else to say yes anymore, and Senjuro wastes no time closing the distance between them. Despite his much smaller frame, he hugs fully, wrapping himself around Muichiro so fully that he feels they might become one. But it’s good, so warm and comforting, pouring his love into his arms as they tighten around Muichiro’s stronger torso- not too tight though, probably being cautious for a first hug.
With another teary thought, one that tells Muichiro he’ll remember this moment and never have to let it go, he returns the embrace, tucking his face into Senjuro’s shoulder and sighs.
…
In the corner of the Rengoku estate, there sits two boys under the shade of a wisteria tree.
For the first time in a long time, Senjuro thinks he understands what healing truly means. To go from bad to good feels impossible, a far too demanding task for someone who lost almost everything. But, in the simple spring heat with someone he holds to dear to his heart, he thinks that maybe going from bad to good was never possible. His day started miserably, yes, but between his father’s gratitude and Muichiro’s visit, he thinks that some days will be better than others, but they won’t always be devoid of hope. So, with that, he takes Muichiro’s scarred hand into his own, and his heart flips when Muichiro squeezes it in return.
And if Senjuro is happy, then Muichiro feels it tenfold. In the back of his mind, he holds onto the idea of happiness- something he’s become obsessed with lately. By all means, his life hasn’t been very happy, and much like Yuichiro, he was ready to roll over and take that like an animal waiting to be euthanized. Now though, now that he’s known what it feels like to be miserable or completely apathetic, he promised himself he’d never go back. Regardless of what happens to him in the future, he wants to live with his head held high, experiencing love and happiness as he was born to do. And sitting here, hand in hand with his best friend, he knows he’s finally arrived.
In the corner of the Rengoku estate, there sits two boys under the shade of a wisteria tree.