Friends today's the day for our glorious feast, and sharing meals is like sharing souls! *Has everything he grilled set out in mountains* Come fill your stomachs!
friends don't: chapter 1 - in which Kyojuro decides to befriend You
Author’s Note: first sentence inspired by @call-me-ko’s "Home Repairs"❣️
chapter 1: in which Kyojuro decides to befriend You
Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader
Word Count: ~1,700
CW: none
Song Inspo: Friends Don’t by Maddie & Tae
friends don't
~faqs~
Many love stories begin with Once upon a time, but this love story begins with Truth or dare?
“Whaddya mean truth or dare?” you ask boldly, nose upturned as you admire your newly built sandcastle, “How about you help dig the moat?”
The bright eyed boy’s smile barely falters, persisting despite your confident declination, his friends—surely they’re his friends, since they’re watching him between bursts of giggles from a mere five feet away—booing at your rejection, “If I help you dig the moat, then will you play truth or dare?”
Your lips purse, eyebrows scrunching, fingernails already scratched as you stick your hands into the coarse sand, still damp from last night’s rain, “Recess is too short for building a castle and playing truth or dare.”
“I BET YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TRUTH OR DARE IS,” hollers the boy with long, white hair and glittery eyeshadow—you wish your parents let you wear eyeshadow—pointing dramatically at you, “DITCH THE SAND!”
Let us teach you his gaze seems to plead, as though Truth or Dare was wholly appropriate for a 3rd grader.
“You have a point,” the bright eyed boy recaptures your attention, stepping one foot, then both feet, into the sandbox, “How about I help you dig the moat today, and tomorrow you join us?”
“How old are you?” you huff, arms crossing as he swiftly scoops sand out from around your castle, “I’m not supposed to talk to older boys.”
Laughing softly, a big—big compared to yours—hand pushes fire tipped hairs off his forehead, eyes narrowing at his handiwork, “I’m 11, Rengoku Kyojuro, nice to meet you.”
“I’m 9,” you reply, lying flat on the sand to join in on his scrutinizing, “But my skills are better than yours!” pointedly pressing a palm against the walls of his moat to smooth them, “[y/n].”
“Not all your skills,” Kyojuro responds wisely, “Your time management could be better,” eyeing the nearest teacher, whistle being slowly raised to their lips, “For instance, I could build a castle and play truth or dare in one recess, but you need two.”
The whistle splits the air, interrupting games of tag, giving away hiding spots, and cutting off your scathing retort seconds from being unleashed upon Rengoku Kyojuro. Quickly, he traces his initials into the sand beside your castle, gesturing for you to follow suit. You do, albeit with a sour taste in your mouth, resisting the urge to remind him that All you did was dig! The carefully stacked towers, delicately outlined windows, and beautiful rock garden Was all me! No way would Rengoku Kyojuro have thought to made a hedge pathway leading to the grand hall out of upstanding twigs, and he definitely wouldn’t have stuck a pigeon’s feather into the tallest tower — your visions took intricacy and patience, not a rushed job to partake in two activities with one recess!
“Promise me you’ll join truth or dare tomorrow?” the boy says cheerfully.
You decide you despise his bright, bright eyes, even as you accept his handshake, a reluctant, “Whatever,” slipping from your starstruck tongue.
He takes your limp agreement to heart, beaming so earnestly you almost close your eyes, wondering what exactly constitutes as the older boys your parents warned you about as you stride away from your castle (you can never bring yourself to destroy them yourself) — from the unnerving glow in your stomach.
“[y/n], Uzui Tengen. He’s 14, and will be leaving us for high school this fall. Iguro Obanai, Shinazugawa Sanemi, and Tomioka Giyuu, 12, and one year above me. Kocho Shinobu, 11, in my grade. And you might know Kanroji Mitsuri, one year above you!”
What even is this? you blink rapidly, collecting your bearings with a deep sigh, unsurprised in the slightest to see Mitsuri sitting comfortably between Shinazugawa Sanemi and Iguro Obanai. She’s popular, although somehow nice too; you vividly remember the one time she’d complimented the leaves sprinkled across your empty moat, “Lily pads!” you’d proudly explained, and you’d almost thought she’d join you, until her real friends called her away.
“Are we gonna play or what?” the more rough looking white haired boy—Nemi?—grumbles, irritatedly shoving woodchips through the holes of the play structure’s platform.
“Yes we’re going to play!” Mitsuri exclaims, grin not quite as blinding as Kyojuro’s, “But it’s important that we all get to know [y/n] too!”
“Who wants to go first?” Leader Tengen bellows, hands clapping loudly together, “We only have twenty minutes!”
“Eighteen now, actually,” the boy with the black and white striped shirt mutters.
You eye his white stuffed snake animal, which he duly notices, promptly shoving it into his lap, ears pink as he glares at a scuff on his shoe.
“We ended on Giyuu’s turn last time!” Mitsuri announces, staring intently at the faintly blushing boy on the edge of the group, slender frame overshadowed by a dark, messy ponytail, eyes so blue you feel like you’re swimming.
And then Ocean Eyes grunts—“No.”—your budding crush on such a mysterious character dashed by his serious, deadpan tone.
“Oookay,” Mitsuri singsongs, unperturbed, “Well then Kyojuro can go,” patting the space beside her, “Sit, Kyojuro,” fixing her enthusiastic gaze on you next, “You too! There’s plenty of room.”
Duh your brow furrows, taking in the expanse of the playground from your perch on the coveted circle of the highest platform around Of course there’s plenty of room.
“Truth or dare?” Leader Tengen asks, the only one still standing, everyone else fanned around him with varying degrees of attentiveness, “And if you say dare I will dare you to say truth.”
Leaning over, Mitsuri whispers conspiratorially into your ear, “Kyojuro never says truth, he’s like my favorite pink diary, all locked up and secret!”
You wonder, for a fleeting moment, if Mitsuri likes likes Kyojuro, but her smile feels much the same settling on your face as it appears to settle on his. You shrug.
“Truth,” Kyojuro declares, expression unreadable, not even a hint of red tinting his skin.
“Ooh,” Girl-Who-Isn’t-Mitsuri giggles, “Showing off for our guest?”
“Guest?” Kyojuro looks at you, unabashed as he gives you a thumbs up, “They’re my newest friend!”
Eyes widening, you sputter indignantly, cheeks hot in a flash, “I am not!” Oh dear you think you hear Mitsuri murmur, Nemi glancing up from his pile of woodchips at the commotion, “You interrupted my castle building, made a moat that I could’ve made two years ago, and then dragged me into truth or dare! Like! What is truth or dare???!!!”
A hush of uncertainty zips the bubble of your tiny world shut, screaming and running of your fellow classmates melting to the background as Kyojuro—and all of his friends—stares quietly at you. A twisting, churning discomfort hangs in the air, your mouth primed to shout Sorry! before he bursts into… Laughter?
“Sometimes I forget what being 8 was like,” he chuckles, like he’s 25 or something, “We should have explained the game before starting,” waving off Leader Tengen’s apologetic sound, “And in return for teaching you truth or dare, you can teach me how to build better castles.”
“Truth or dare,” Ocean Eyes speaks up suddenly, voice sympathetic as he remembers being in your position, affectionately coerced into friendship by his ragtag group of now-friends, “Is simple. If you say Truth, you might be asked Who do you have a crush on?, and if you say Dare, you might be dared to eat sand.”
Having eaten sand before—a curiosity you immediately regretted—your nose wrinkles. Truth sounds much easier. I don’t even have a crush!
“Tengen,” Nemi butts in, “Ask your question!”
Grinning devilishly, Leader Tengen pretends to ponder—in actuality, he’s desperately trying to think up a question appropriate enough for someone five grades below him that also takes advantage of Kyojuro’s rare choosing of truth—eventually settling on a arguably tame question, “Have you had your first kiss? And if yes, then with who?”
“I haven’t,” Kyojuro replies immediately, Girl-Who-Isn’t-Mitsuri's eyes widening, White Snake and Nemi snickering loudly, “But I know who I would like to have it with.”
“OHMYGOSH,” Mitsuri yelps, “Who?” White Snake demands, “Tell us,” Nemi tacks on — even Leader Tengen appears shocked, mouth curved with amusement.
“Nope,” Kyojuro winks, and your heart flutters at the possibility that he could’ve been winking at y- Stop that! You don’t have a crush! Remember?!, “It’s [y/n]’s turn!”
“Mine?!” you sputter, “But it’s my first time!”
“Even better,” White Snake mutters darkly.
“Hah,” Nemi scoffs.
“You’ve got this!!!” Mitsuri squeals.
“[y/n],” Leader Tengen smiles—the kind of smile that calms your belly, cheeks warming as you recall I’m not supposed to talk to older boys—glancing your way, “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” you grumble, grateful you at least get to avoid eating sand, “I pick truth.”
Knowing better than to question a second grader about kissing, Leader Tengen hums for a thoughtful moment before asking, “What scares you the most about growing up?”
Part of you regrets picking truth What kind of question is that?????, the other part of you grappling with its implications, the concept of growing up having never thoroughly occurred to you until now.
“Um…”
“Tengen, what kind of question is that? She’s in third grade,” Ocean Eyes snaps, albeit not unkindly, “Not all of us are facing the impending doom of high school and our grades actually mattering.”
“It’s okay, it’s fine, don’t worry!” you hurriedly assure him, pressure and expectation blurting out your answer for you, “I’m scared of growing up alone.”
The circle quiets at your admittance, glances shared above your head as you stare hard at your ankles. Your nose starts to prickle as the silence stretches another second, and another, a dreadful feeling draping itself across your shoulders: humilia-
“Well then grow up with us!” Mitsuri chirps, “That way you won’t be alone.”
“Exactly!” Kyojuro grins, “What a great idea!”
Girl-Who-Isn’t-Mitsuri chimes in, “I wouldn’t mind.”
Tengen nods like it was his idea, and you could honestly care less about White Snake and Nemi’s opinions (they could honestly care less, too). Your eyes dart over to Ocean Eyes, only to find that he’s already looking at you, and the pressure in your chest evaporates.
“Seriously?”
You hope you don’t sound too hopeful. Too childish. Too lame.
Still grinning, Kyojuro answers for the group: “One hundred percent serious!”
My mother has discovered this sticker of Rengoku that I keep in my phone case and immediately jumped to the conclusion that he’s Satan bc of the hair at the front that look like horns and now I can’t stop thinking about Rengoku’s demon form having his hair turn into the horns
You’re pouting, eyebrows scrunched as your hands grip Kyojuro’s biceps, his own resting comfortably on your hips. (If you’re also drooling a little, then that’s nobody’s business!)
“I am right here.”
He’s smiling, kissing the side of your head when you grumble, kissing you again when you grunt at the amused twinkle in his eyes.
“Hmpf, welllll, fine,” you huff, “I missed you.”
Try as you might to feel annoyed by his laughter, it’s always so earnest and bright that all you’re left with is a twinge of guilt — though you do let out a halfhearted sigh of indignation to let him know that you are Not Amused.
“My love,” his voice full of mirth, “I was gone for two hours.”
“By two hours did you mean too long?” you retort.
He subtly nudges you backward now, the distance between you shrinking rapidly as he places one hand on your back, the other ensuring that the front door shuts behind him. Your body, much to your brain’s chagrin, relaxes into his, no longer bracing against tendrils of autumn wind. Instinctively, your nose nuzzles into his shoulder, even as your brain dutifully ignores his satisfied hum.
“I would have loved to have you join me,” he murmurs.
“You went running,” you deadpan.
“Yes.”
You’re too busy inhaling the crook of his neck like a basket of fresh laundry to pick up on the fact that Rengoku Kyojuro is teasing you.
“You. Went. Running,” you emphasize, “For TWO hours.”
He grins, “My point still stands, I would have loved to-”
You interrupt him, with slightly less attitude than he’d expected, “I would not have loved to join you.”
“So you loved missing me more?” he gasps.
You groan. Loudly. It’s hard to mimic smacking your head into his chest when he’s this close, but you feign the motion nonetheless, his laughter louder, deeper, so in love, as his fingers interlock at the base of your spine.
“I hate missing you,” you mutter.
He waits. (He knows you so well.)
“ButIhaterunningmore.”
The way he squeezes you You are so ridiculous and precious and I LOVE YOU! until you’re wheezing makes every grumpy, stubborn moment spent missing him worth it. Although-
—
“Seriously! Kyo! I would go to the gym with you! Or the pool! Or a walk-”
“A walk… surely your knees are not that weak?”
Sexy smirk be damned.
“RENGOKU KYOJURO, I AM LITERALLY GOING TO-”
Do nothing, because then he’s squeezing you again. Fucking biceps.
