Chapter Text
He's an idiot, clearly. It is getting colder with every passing second, the weather insistent on being an utter asshole during this peaceful autumn when Zenitsu started a whole new life or - well, let's be honest - trying to do the 'be the best self you can' thing. One day in and he has failed his plan already. Is it even possible to be such a complete idiot?
Crudely chopped brown hair tinted Agatsuma's view while he tried to breathe calmly and stop panicking over stupid (and truly his fault there, something whispers to him) situation. Zenitsu can't do it. Doesn't want, cannot and won't do it ever ever.
He doesn't have much control over anxiety slithering deep in his mind, making it difficult to understand what is a seriously bad thing and what is some exhausting trick born from his overthinking abilities. Will she do something terrible? Make him feel like a disgrace he totally is for falling into her trap without even noticing it until the poison settled deep into his blood? Agatsuma is overreacting. Harsh breathing is everything he can hear, and it's so unfair for a beautiful song coming out of the streets near his college. Mornings are hell.
Shinobu is terrifying and amazingly cunning and Zenitsu can't be anything but awed and scared out of his mind. Only she could have an idea to use flustered freshmen to her amusement and (not) admitted sadistic pleasures. He's not surprised to find the senior near his classroom with a suspecting bag. He is, however, confused to see clothes. Why, the boy thinks, do I need them? The questions are endless and all important, flying through his head with the speed of the light. A quiet voice says a deeply unsettling thing, sounding almost like his step-brother.
"Agatsuma," Shinobu chirped with a sly smile on her face which screamed danger to him, "I expect you to meet me after classes."
He wants to whine, honestly. Oh god, the resting hours after school are getting trumped by his stupid decision. Maybe, it's not late to back down, isn't it? It is, Zenitsu thinks, resigned to his fate.
So he nodded, and his devil was gone.
The lunch is something he lived for that day, the bag in his lap as hot as the fire. His thoughts are circling back to clothes, soft-looking and something out of his usual colors. The itch to touch and look is monstrous. Agatsuma is twitchy all morning, trying to talk sense into himself and stop thinking about thousands of ways he can skip class and see the content of his gift without witnesses. They are watching him now, their glares are sharp and painful. Zenitsu is first to run off after the bell, clutching the bag to his chest. It's not suspicious, he repeats in his mind countless times.
It is not something bad, the boy thinks, curiously looking at his things. High-waisted dark jeans, beige (is it beige?) sweater and - Agatsuma gasped with delight - black haori with flower print. It all looks warm, totally something he would agree to wear in the autumn. What is the trick?
The trick is a blond wig.
And, well, Zenitsu is not the brightest boy, he knows it (he is the first to admit the truth of this statement), but he likes to think that some common sense hasn't escaped him. But it is kind of hard to make him look like a girl and believe no one catches the lie. It's not possible, the brown-haired thinks.
The clothes are beautiful and the wig is pretty, but.
It's not possible until it's possible, Shinobu is sitting close to Agatsuma and seizing him up, thinking of something or another. It's eery. He's nervous, the itch to scramble away and hide is crazy, slithering through his body and making him twitch with the desire to just hit something. Every time she does something to his eyes, the desire is getting bigger.
He wears her gift, although in the heated room it makes him uncomfortably hot and sweaty. The higher the temperature the angstier he gets, too. It would be kind of nice, Zenitsu thinks, to spend the time with a girl. Only it is Shinobu, who is capable of turning his life upside down without a single doubt.
He thinks she can do it.
The senior is talking while applying makeup, too. It's not a lot of information for the boy to understand what the fuck they are going to do with all this mascarade. Does she want to practice her skills? Take photos of him and use it as blackmail to further make him do anything she needs to do? It's all probable, because, well, how can she make him feminine? Zenitsu is not that soft-looking.
Brush touches his face, tracing something pinkish to his cheeks and tip of the nose. His whole face feels tacky and gross, the amount of cosmetics is questionable at best and 'shut up, it's okay' with a cheerful smile (and deadly look) at worst. Is he gonna look like a clown? Oh god, please, freshman thinks desperately, I don't want—
"Okay," the girl song, leaning away, "it is the best I can pull off with so little time. Didn't want you to look too different, so..."
Kochou looks at him expectantly and nods to the mirror with elegant urgency. The dread is crippling at his will little by little, making the outside world go silent and bleak.
"We are going to the party, Zenko," she chirps suddenly from another room, her voice muffled to Agatsuma's ears. It is something he cataloged in his head, eyes locked in the mirror.
Zenitsu is not beautiful, it is a fact he has accepted in the recent years of puberty and lovesick glances towards passing women in the street, school, everywhere he went. He's plain. Ordinary. It's not a bad thing, the boy knows. The human he sees in the object is androgynous - his jawline and cheekbones sharper from months of poor eating habits - and elegant, far from his usual appearance of a rushed and disheveled boy from a middle-class family. The wig is quite short, a little longer than his own hair, but it compliments Zenitsu's eye color, bringing it out.
Will he dye his hair blond later? Yeah, he will.
Agatsuma doesn't look so different from himself, but strangers can assume he's a close relative. A cousin. It brings panic down a little, the safety of disguise. It's good.
"That's," he whispered, "Shinobu, that's wow."
"Speechless?" the voice is smug, loud. "I'm glad. The party starts in two hours, we need to hurry, baby boy."
A nickname, huh, he thinks, still looking at the mirror. Zenitsu feels shy, excited, blushing deeply from sweet words of wicked girl. It's a new sensation, his emotions exhausted after death road called exams, the anxiety eating away any recourses to sense something apart from dread, emptiness, and fear of being a failure. Positive feedback is similar to seven hours of sleep after working for 3 hours. A pure bliss, a drug.
It all crashed down when they were walking to the party place and listening attentively to the music. The clothes are pretty, makeup is amazing and everything is so damn good, but—
Maybe, it's all his nerves frying out during the day that makes him so lucid and melancholy, bringing out that bone-deep exhaustion. The crowd of sweaty drunk people doesn't look so appealing anymore, their dances are chaotic enough he can't repeat them after someone and pretend that all is okay and manageable. 'Zenko' wants to go home (cold room of their college apartment) and watch something sad like hatico while silently dissociating.
And that's, well, that's totally his fault. For not trying enough to be friendly to people at the party and make friends with someone, for not trying to stop bitching around, as his step-brother likes to remind. But he's so tired, even if it's only 9 pm.
He runs off, heels knocking on the road to the bus station. Then goes to a cafe, because stress eating is a thing. Zenitsu is hungry, but the tiny thing with sugar on his plate is the only thing that he could afford. It's okay, he repeats like a mantra, fighting off negative feelings and crying. I look nice, Agatsuma murmurs, mostly to himself, I can't ruin it.
The place is cozy, full of warm colors and soft furniture. It doesn't look overstuffed, there is plenty of space to move around. It's an old place, he understands, looking at the attritions of his sofa and somewhat lighter color to his dark wood table. That's pretty nice, the boy thinks, tugging slightly at his blond locks.
It is this moment he remembered, making him go tense and look around with panic. There is an old couple with starry eyes glued to each other, whispering lovely, a lone man with dark hair and dead (mood, Agatsuma fleetingly muses) eyes who works with a stack of paper. It's almost empty, the boy realises, relief flooding his veins.
The heart constricts, fear bubbling in the mind. The fewer people the more likely they will look at the 'Zenko', too elegant and out of place with her slightly masculine features. The judgment is something Zenitsu hates, tries with all his might to slip from it. It starts with just nasty words, isn't it? The bullying.
His posture is rigid, he knows it. The arms are trembling, his whole body slightly shaking from stress. It's okay, freshman repeats dully, struggling to breathe calmly, it's okay, everything is okay. How bad he wants to be 8 years old, not afraid to cry in public from his anxiety again, oh lord.
Zenitsu tries to think of something different. There is a cat cafe nearby, with this cute lady who smiles a lot and has a boyfriend with a scar. They look nice together, comfortable to be around. It's an excellent idea to visit them soon, he notes distantly. Now that Zen thinks of it, isn't Shinobu posted something with that lady?
Oh. Does he need to return clothes after today?
Does he—
They're looking. The boy who took his order is near him, hovering strangely. Is it okay, tho? Oh bang, he's bringing something to Zenko, he thinks with horror.
"Excuse me," the pretty one said after smiling charmingly (Zenitsu feels so attacked from this kindness alone), "I noticed you looked a little ill, so I thought to give something nice."
It's a little stupid, too naive of him to think of it personally. Probably, he was too miserable looking. So Zenko said, "Oh, thanks a lot?"
"My name is Kamado Tanjirou," his new favourite person introduced themselves, shy and kind of earnest. Was his question considered as fishing for more information? Zenitsu wants to fly.
"Agatsuma Zenko," the boy murmured, bowing slightly. He's a girl now, isn't he? His mannerism needs so much work, please, be patient with him, God. "Nice to meet you, Kamado," he added hastily, thinking a mile per minute. It's awkward, isn't it? It is, Zenitsu thinks on repeat, trying and failing to calm himself. It's totally not a 'guy tries to meet with a cute girl' scene, is it? He's not that good. And the boy looks too nice. Too kind. Kind of 'looks like a cinnamon roll, is indeed a cinnamon roll' meme. He needs to stop right there.
"Are you living nearby?" Tanjirou asked curiously, glancing at him. "I haven't seen you until now."
Oh. That's new. Small talk, small mercies. Where the fuck is he, indeed? Perhaps, it was a bad idea to buy something this late and stop in the middle of nowhere during one of the anxiety trips instead of going home and sleeping. Agatsuma looks at the window, but it's too dark to understand something.
"I am," Zenko said carefully, trying to trample his desire to cry, "studying in the near college, I think. Music, y'know."
Kamado smiles so good, too cheerful for 9 pm. "That's pretty neat, Agatsuma," he exclaimed, piercing eyes on Zenitsu. "Your voice is really nice, it would be good to hear you sing."
He doesn't know where to look, glancing from dark-haired man with tired eyes to the old couple and accidentally catching glimpses of the dark burgundy hair of his new acquaintance. Compliments are good, amazing even, but it's so hard to accept them. Blushing, Zenko said, "Well, maybe later?"
It's dumb. And it's a little too late, he realises, looking at his phone. His meltdown and their conversation took more than he can afford right now. Can he find his way home?
"Uh," he mumbled nervously, "I need to go home. See you soon?"
Tanjirou looks dejected, the boy thinks. Maybe it's his imagination, Zenitsu muses. Can't it be that situation? It can't be true. He's not that pretty even with makeup and elegant clothes. Even if haori is kind of nice and warm. Kamado is too good for someone like Zen.
"See you soon," he repeated evenly, "please, be careful."
It's awkward to go out of the building after saying goodbye and looking sadly at Tanjirou, the boy walking back to his stand and replacing something on the table. It was nice to meet him, Zenitsu admits to himself.
The cold room is messy and lonely, but he is soon asleep.