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“Umai!” Rengoku shouts, always smiling, always enthusiastic, eyes terrifyingly bright.
Tanjiro was… nervous to say the least. Rengoku had been uncomfortably quick to condemn Nezuko, and while in any other instance it was admirable, Rengoku didn’t know Nezuko.
He just had to give her a chance.
Tanjiro had hoped that this mission, off to someplace he’d never heard of before, would fix that.
Ubuyashiki gave the assignment in person, gracious as always with a quiet, almost sad smile. Tanjiro could almost sense the wink directed his way, something kind and familiar.
Oh, Tanjiro jolted, excitement bubbling up underneath his skin. Rengoku had been silent and when Tanjiro peaked over at him, he was met with unwavering, intimidating determination.
It made his insides squirm, excitement warring with anxieties that left him spinning. I hope this goes well.
“Of course, Ubuyashiki-san,” he practically barks, eyes impossibly wide. “However, I must request that the demon sister stay behind!”
Tanjiro’s heart drops at that, head snapping to Ubuyashiki. He doesn’t shift in response, and, if anything, that serene smile softens. Then, he nods.
“Very well, I hope you don’t mind, Tanjiro.”
“Not at all, sir!” He says sharply with a firm nod. (He minded. Very much.) Nezuko had been sleeping a lot lately and would need the rest. However, that put a damper on his plans. But the demon took priority and he could trust Rengoku’s strength.
On the train, Rengoku’s energetic and shovelling down food faster than Tanjiro can breathe - let alone how he offers it to him with a gaze that pierces through his very being - and Tanjiro… isn’t sure what to think.
This man, this hashira, can’t help but earn his respect, and yet…
And yet, without Nezuko, could he convince him, so firm in his beliefs, that she’s good?
No, probably not, but he had to try.
“Rengoku-san-”
“Tanjiro-kun,” he says suddenly, the hollow ‘thunk’ of his chopsticks hits his bento as he sets it down. “You seem like a good person and an excellent demon slayer. However!” Bright eyes meet his own. “A demon’s a demon and I will not change my stance on that!”
Tanjiro stares, mouth dry and tongue heavy as he swallows, a cold bead of sweat trailing down the back of his neck.
Rengoku’s smiling. A wide, bright thing that he’d almost think were deranged. But Rengoku’s good. He’s- Tanjiro just knows that he’s a good person.
He’s unyielding and it’s- it’s intimidating but it’s also inspiring.
One day, he hopes to be that bright, that strong, that… Rengoku was a hard man to describe, and an even harder one to emulate, but if Tanjiro could be even half the man he is, and still see the humanity in demons?
Perhaps by then he could save his sister.
“Yes, but-”
“No buts!”
Tanjiro’s jaw clenches, eyes burning with intensity. But she’s my sister, he almost says, but that’s hardly an argument, not for someone like Rengoku. So, he loosens his muscles and sighs. There was a reason Ubuyashiki didn’t fight him on his demands and Tanjiro could see it.
“I… can’t convince you now,” he concedes, but he meets Rengoku’s gaze firmly, a fire churning in his chest. “But I will change your mind.”
Rengoku smiles at that.
“I admire your determination, Tanjiro-kun!”
Tanjiro gets the feeling that, for how adamant Rengoku was against it all, the man was almost wishing him luck.
“Thank you!”
“Yummy!” Toriko shouts around a dish that another might, perhaps, overlook, but not him. Never him. Every meal, every bento, every snack was always worth the effort to appreciate.
To not do so was disgraceful, not only to the chef but also to the ingredients. Toriko would never be anything less than respectful to whatever he had the honor of consuming.
Beside him, Komatsu’s almost jumping in his seat, fingers curled around the newspaper that had caught Toriko’s attention.
“They’re- they’re calling it a ‘night terror.’ It’s not actually eating people, right, Toriko-san?”
“No,” he says, eyes finally moving from his food. The smile across his lips grows bright. “It’s probably a plumbat.”
“A plumbat?”
“Yeah. They only come out at night and the more they feast, the juicier their fruit gets. Seems they’ve gotten into the fruit shops and stalls and are eating it all.”
“So, they wouldn’t eat people?”
“They would if they were hungry enough.”
“EH?!”
“We are here, Tanjiro!” Rengoku declares - and nothing else could describe something so loud and confident - with hands on his hips. It has Tanjiro leaping from his seat (a bit too high, back oddly light. It stings but he brushes it off. Nezuko was fine, she was safe. He’d left Zenitsu and Inosuke with her, after all.)
“Yes!”
Leaving the train finds them in a foreign territory, the streets full and bustling, vendors shouting out to the both of them.
Tanjiro pays them little mind. He keeps his nose in the air as he sniffs, searching for the scent of death, of stale blood and something that makes his blood run cold.
He’s greeted with natural sugar that’s almost gentle, laying on the back of his tongue with the tang of fruit.
“Bluemelons sold here! Bluemelons!”
“Strawhat berries are low, but order now and you’ll get ‘em fresh!”
“Sorry, we’re out of pearapples-”
“Exploding grapes have been left untouched, plenty of exploding grapes here!”
The names take Tanjiro a moment and he’s reeling, wondering if perhaps they’d stepped into an entirely different world. But it explained the heavy scent of fruit. No wonder he wasn’t getting anything else.
Although…
“Rengoku…-san?” He turns to find… nothing. No hint of flaming red or piercing eyes. One quick sweep finds him, though. He’s too bright and loud to miss.
And he’s standing beside one of the largest men Tanjiro has ever laid his eyes on.
Blue hair, broad shoulders, and a laugh that not only carries above the bustle in the street, but almost seems to quiet it. Rengoku’s chestful laugh joins in matching enthusiasm.
The poor vender just looks between the two, a pitiful amount of what Tanjiro can only guess are strawhat berries (it’s odd. They look like strawhat berries, with the green a fragile yellow that fans out above the bright fruit. How had they created such a thing?)
Cautiously, Tanjiro approaches until he’s a respectful distance.
There just isn’t a time to jump in. Between equally boisterous laughter and the interrogation of that poor vendor, Tanjiro can only offer a sheepish smile.
However, with a short scan of the crowd - constant vigilance ringing in his ears - he finds another person. They’re far smaller in stature, their fingers interwoven with anxiety as they, too, watch the interaction.
But they’re not surprised, not intrigued.
No; They’re exasperated.
“Um,” Tanjiro approaches them, “excuse me?”
“Huh?” They snap to look at him, nostrils flaring and eyes wide. “Sorry. Hello. Is Toriko-san bothering you? I’m so sorry, he’s just so…”
“Passionate?” Tanjiro supplies. When he reaches out a hand, the other just stares for a short, confused second. “I’m Tanjiro Kamado. I think your Toriko-san got distracted by Rengoku-san. So, my apologies!” He bows sharply.
When he straightens, the other accepts his hand and sends a bright smile.
“I’m Komatsu!” When his eyes drift back to the loud duo, there’s a soft fondness in them. “I don’t often see people match Toriko-san’s energy.”
Tanjiro blinks at that before smiling in return.
“Rengoku-san is something special.”
“Komatsu-kun! This is Rengoku-san, he’ll be joining us in our search for the plumbat!”
“Tanjiro-kun, this is Toriko-san! He says our ‘demon’ is something called a plumbat. We must investigate!”
Tanjiro and Komatsu, side by side, can only stare. And when they make eye contact, their soft snort turns into hesitant laughter.
Rengoku and Toriko, without context, happily join.
Between Rengoku, Toriko, and even Tanjiro - a fact that leaves Komatsu reeling - the hoard of plumbats that had grown too large to self-sustain gets dwindled down to size. It’s quick and easy and they’re left with a bundle of large juicy plums.
“Toriko-san, I must say, your breathing technique is quite impressive!” Toriko laughs heartily at that, his large palm slapping against Rengoku’s shoulder.
The hashira doesn’t break his stride.
“You’re an amazing swordsman, Rengoku-san!”
“Thank you!”
As they continue with hearty praises, Tanjiro and Komatsu find themselves trailing behind once again, but they don’t really mind. Between their softer personalities and their larger-than-life companions they’d found a kinship.
“Tanjiro-san, you’re amazing!” Komatsu seems to sparkle giving the praise. Tanjiro offers a sheepish laugh, brows drawn together.
“Thank you, Komatsu-san, but I’m nowhere near strong enough.”
(They’d found themselves at a polite impasse, neither willing to change their honorifics so both were forced to give up.)
The response makes Komatsu pause, lips pursing.
“I understand,” he says softly, eyes drifting forward, smile growing small. “Toriko-san and I have a mission but we’re not ready for it yet. But we will be! If- if I may ask, what do you need to get strong for, Tanjiro-san?”
When Tanjiro doesn’t immediately respond, Komatsu almost takes the question back. But then Tanjiro sighs, breathes, and looks to Komatsu with a small, sad smile. Immediately, Komatsu’s nose tingles, the corners of his eyes burning at the soft, deep pain his friend had shown in a single look.
“My sister got turned into a demon,” he admits softly.
The words feel like a punch to the gut and Komatsu’s eyes widen. Shock? Disbelief, perhaps, at the fact that he’d only recently learned about such a thing (yikes, scary!) and he’d only found himself thankful that it was so far away.
But for Tanjiro…
When Tanjiro looks forward, his eyes shine with emotion. Komatsu’s insides twist at the sight. He’s not broken, but there are cracks, sadness spilling through and yet, determined. A will unmatched.
“She’s all I have left and I will save her.”
Komatsu doesn’t doubt he will.
(In front of them, they miss how that boisterous duo had grown quiet, ears open and thoughts far from silent.)
Tanjiro and Rengoku can’t stay long but they do for as long as they can. Long enough for them to try Komatsu’s cooking and, much to the young chef's embarrassment, shower him in pure, genuine praise. Rengoku was somewhat forceful, shouting ‘Umai!’ while requesting that Komatsu cook for him again. Tanjiro was softer and, as a consequence, took his hands, stared into Komatsu’s very soul, and praised the cook in a way that left his mind spinning.
Combined, the directed praise was almost too much. Sure, people thanked him and praised him for accomplishments, but recently it hadn’t been done from such utterly genuine and well-meaning people.
While they left Komatsu blushing, too humble for his own good, it was still nice.
Tanjiro left with the promise to write. Rengoku left after confirming a time to train with Toriko. A monthly thing, for now.
News doesn’t reach them, not by crow or letter or even word of mouth (in hindsight, Komatsu should have noticed. Tanjiro always sent letters, and while Komatsu was bad at responding, he kept them all. He should have known. With months of no letters, he should have known.)
It’s a nice day, the sky a surreal perfect blue, clouds white and fluffy, breeze cool and light.
Toriko and Rengoku hadn’t been meeting long but it was a welcome routine. The two of them, each bringing food - Rengoku a stack of bentos, Toriko whatever Komatsu had thrown together - feasting as a greeting before putting their all into a day's worth of training. Rengoku was always early, sitting with his legs crossed, back straight, and eyes always finding Toriko before he even broke the treeline.
There’s nothing special about the day, nothing at all. Not until Toriko returns, the sun’s still up and food secure under his arm. Untouched.
Komatsu watches, brows creased. He’s just started shopping. When he sees Toriko’s face, his mind takes a moment to process but his heart drops.
It’s when Toriko’s by his side, when he slowly sets down uneaten food and starts picking up Komatsu’s dropped basket, that Komatsu feels the tears.
He writes his first letter. He isn’t sure if Tanjiro will respond, if he was there, if…
There are too many questions and he’s scared to ask.
Tanjiro’s response is short. It’s enough.
Komatsu saves that one, too. And even with its tear-stains, both old and new, it’s legible enough.
Enough to know that Rengoku died a death that they could never forget. And he died a man they would always remember.
(They mourn.)
While Tanjiro always wrote, congratulating Komatsu on every accomplishment and updating the chef on his journey. The two were far too busy to see each other.
When Grandma Setsuno died, Komatsu was surprised he didn’t receive a letter. When it was agreed that he - him, of all people, him - would take the mantle of reopening the Setsuno Dining Hall, (the name, of course, left unchanged,) Komatsu expected a letter to arrive.
Leading up to its reopening, nothing came. Stressed and far from alone, Komatsu threw his all into dishes he could only hope would live up to the hype. Friends old and new helped gather ingredients or mix together dishes, all under Komatsu’s anxious eye.
A knock rattles the door a week before its projected opening (a line would form soon, a terrifying thought, but Komatsu had been prepared for a month.)
They don’t knock again and they’re lucky Komatsu was out front when they came. Typically, it was reporters, sometimes someone from the street, always curious. Slowly, he approaches and cracks the door open, shaky but polite.
He’s greeted with a small, kind smile, a wave of a calloused hand, the other holding onto someone Komatsu doesn’t recognize.
“Komatsu-san, this is my sister, Nezuko.”
Komatsu bursts into tears.
They’re his first customers, their picture framed beside Toriko and Coco and Sunny and everyone that’s left such a large impact on his life. In each one, Komatsu’s crying big, thick tears, snot dribbling from his nose. Leaking, as Toriko had once noted with a laugh.