Chapter Text
Gross. If Hakuji had to use one word to describe himself, that would be it. Not just because of the waves of stench that floated off of him. It was his teeth, rotting and urine-toned that deteriorated behind his lips. It was his bones that seemed to both sag and jut from under his greyish skin. Like a corpse that was hardly reanimated, Hakuji was gross. Everyone around the child confirmed this theory, plugging their noses as they hurried by. The back of a red light’s district street reeked enough as it was, and a child as ghastly morbid as Hakuji was not an appetizing sight for potential customers. The boy lived on the pity of common whores and the like. An occasional fruit that was rolled gently towards his feet, or a plate of unfinished dinner from a young courtesan.
Tonight, was no different. Hakuji picked at the rotten pickles before him. He thought about the way his fingernails dug into the squishy skin of the vegetable, clearly long past its ripened time. It mixed underneath chipped fingernails as he plucked another bit into his mouth, swallowing unconsciously. The taste meant nothing as it slowed down his throat. Food meant Hakuji would not die today. There was nothing more to consider when eating, and so he didn’t. The bands of ink around his arms were still inflamed from their recent tattooing. One on each arm, the sign of a thief. While a boy may get scolded or backhanded, an invalid will get their personal scarlet letter. While spite was something Hakuji was not born with, it was something he learned regardless. It was plain to see how this era of peace was a farce. One season of poor crops was all it took to send the boy from a standard family into the arms of vagrant wandering.
It was only when a pack of snickering passed Hakuji did he finally look up from his meal, sneering like a feral cat. In this body, he could do no harm. But that did not mean he wouldn’t show his hatred for those who perceived him. Like this, in a small body that betrayed his desire to fight back, retaliate against those who look down upon him, Hakuji stayed full-blooded. If hatred is what it took to keep his heart pumping and his lungs shuddering, then so be it.
While Hakuji stayed in a limbo state of time, Rengoku did the opposite. Hands fisted at his hips, he looked onwards with a smile rested on his face. His stomach laid flat with muscle, not a hint of bone to be seen. It was one of the first things Hakuji noticed about the man as he passed by. His arms, too, were covered in healthy colors of milky white and tans. Not the pallid tone Hakuji wore, but instead a lively tone that spoke of stories and memories with each movement. It was hard to miss that the man was a samurai of some sort, and the prideful, somewhat brazen way he switched his hips with that stupid sword attached made it even less so.
The first thought that crossed through Hakuji’s mind was not of admiration, but of greed. This man had money, that much the boy was sure of. “Hello.” The voice escaped him in a gravelly tone, one ill-fitting of a child. His intentions were impure with the man stationed in front of him. He hoped that the tattooed bands wouldn’t deter their interaction. Hakuji needed only a moment. His wrists were like wings of a bird, resting until needed to flick and fly into the pockets of another, silently.
“Well, hello.” The swordsman bent onto his knees, giving Hakuji a smile. “What may I do for you, young man?”
Hakuji couldn’t help but freeze in place. His eyes, so red. Lighter than blood, but still deeper than any ruby or garnet jewel he had seen slipped across a courtesan’s body. It was pure, almost innocent, the way his gaze settled across the boy. He found himself lowering his slippery hands. “I don’t know.” He said quietly, almost wistfully. At this point, he was just shamelessly staring, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. He was…beautiful. Like an angel almost, so sweet and warm. So warm. The heat rolled off him in waves that weren’t suffocating, but instead embracing. He found himself relaxing in the close proximity of this stranger. Eyes lidding shut as his head lolled against the side of Rengoku’s knee.
The swordsman tilted his head with a quizzical look. The boy seemed to be closer to sleep by the moment. It was clear to see that Hakuji hadn’t had a proper sleep or meal in an indeterminable amount of time. His joints creaked when moved, and at this angle, Rengoku could see each dip and jut of the boy’s vertebrae, almost as if they were attempting to push out of the taut skin.
The hearth blanketed Hakuji’s body in a soft heat. It left a pink flush across the boy’s cheeks, spreading to his neck. Brown eyes blinked open, slowly, heavily. He was inside. Where, he had no clue. It was that thought that had Hakuji sitting straight in a moment. His spine ached with the sudden movement, but his stomach no longed held that familiar sting of bile and acids plowing through flesh.
“Good morning, or rather, afternoon. You slept peacefully since arrival.” Hakuji whipped his head to the voice, seeing the same flame hair and eyes greeting him. Still, his heart leaped with suspicion and a lick of fear. The boy rose to his knobby feet, knees protesting the interruption of rest. And what sweet rest it was.
“I am not for sale, nor will I work in your fields.” The boy kicked the blanket graced over him to the corner of the room. “Allow me to leave peacefully.” Hakuji dipped his head in slight at Rengoku, and moved towards the door. A sudden movement of feet made him hesitate, tight muscles preparing for a fight he would clearly lose.
“Ah! Do you intend to leave so soon? The snow hasn’t let up all day.” True to his word, Hakuji could already see the intimidating amount of snow that pushed against the sole window of the house. It was a whiteout. The younger shivered at the thought of what might have happened to him without the swordsman's generosity. His corpse would’ve been hardened to an icy block at this point. He turned slowly, letting his eyes slip slowly up to the man in a show of pacifism.
“I see that. I thank you for your hospitality.” This time, Hakuji bowed deeper, more slowly. He knew better than to take from adults without proper gratitude. He winced as his head swam with the sudden movement. His body was still tired, sore and malnourished. How irritating, Hakuji thought to himself. He straightened to find the man beckoning him forward, already a bowl of rice placed in his hand.
“Come! The rice is fresh. You need the meal.” When Hakuji hesitated in movement, Rengoku continued. “My name is Kyojuro Rengoku. You may stay as long as you wish, no need to make yourself useful, you’re but a child!” His proclamation ended in a burst of warm laughter that enveloped the already too-warm room. The blush appeared on Hakuji’s face once again as he walked forward. Tentatively, he sat by the hearth again.
“Hakuji.” He announced, eyes staring straight ahead. “I’m not sure of my full name, but-” Hakuji made the mistake of looking up, seeing the wide-eyed look of the man with a mouthful of food. The boy pushed down an amused smile. “You can call me Hakuji.”