Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Muichiro's thoughts rest in a quiet cloud, far above the heavens and removed from the rest of the world. The world flashes by in snapshots, barely grazing the front of his mind before disappearing off into a cloud of haze. It's during these times, where he's so out of it, that he craves for your touch the most, to tether him back to reality.

(it reminds him of life, reminds him to keep going — for you)

So he disregards formality and greetings and decency tonight, and makes to lay his head on your lap. He sighs contentedly at the warmth the contact brings and closes his eyes against the light.

"Mui . . . ?" you ask in surprise, before breathing out a chuckle and patting his head. The young Pillar leans into your touch, and invariably whines when you pull away. Muichiro snatches your wrist, and drags it back to rest against his head.

You bite back an endeared chuckle and oblige, carefully brushing his hair away from his face, untangling the dark locks and massaging his scalp. He relaxes beneath your touch, like thread unravelling, and hums his approval.

The repetitive motion is soothing. It almost lulls him to sleep, coddled by the blistering warmth and the inexplicable feeling of safety and security in your arms.

(nightmares emerge, within the shores of wakefulness)

He sees it beneath his eyelids, shards of memories that won't make sense, and the edges are sharp enough to keep him awake. The hearth burns crisply across the room, and it paints your shadows playfully against the wall.

"Y/N," he says suddenly. "How was your day?"

(distraction, distraction; let the honey of your voice lull him to sleep)

"Oh," you breathe out, and chuckle. "Frustrating. I had to deal with some unsavory people today."

"Hm?"

"Nothing much happened," you hurry to assure. "But they were certainly annoying. Kept saying how if only I did this or did that, everything would have been better. The usual entitlement."

"Oh," Muichiro says, and yawns. "What happened then?"

"It got resolved pretty quickly, thank God." You start to ramble a bit, weaving a captivating story as easily as breathing. Muichiro tries to keep his eyes open, watching you as your expression shifts from emotion to emotion that flows with your animated chatter. He can get lost here, within the confines of your warm gaze and buoyant smile.

But your fingers keep stroking at his hair; delicate, as if you were handling glass; lovingly, as if you were cradling in your arms the most precious of jewels in the world. Muichiro tries to stay awake, to listen to your tale with as much rapt attention as you give him when he speaks, but he finds himself giving in to the comforting lull of your words and touch,

"So, we were trying to make it work all afternoon. And then I was —" A sudden light snore disrupts your story. You look down at the boy cuddled against you, face peaceful in sleep, and smile hopelessly. "Oh." You press the lightest flutter of a kiss to his forehead. "Goodnight, dear."

Chapter Text

Light spills from beneath the door and patches gradients of grey in the floor. It burns where it touches your skin, but you keep still and watch the lights flicker and dance across the expanse of your palm, lifeless as you count down the seconds 'til dawn.

(butterflies flutter, like wild lions raring to get under your flesh

it's uncomfortable. take it away)

You shift. Fingers tap a rhythm as erratic as your rasping breaths, though you try to keep it as calm as possible. One, two, three; one, two, three. You take a deep breath, and it trembles on the way out.

Footsteps echo like gunshots in the freezing silence. You flinch and wrap your arms around your knees in reflex, cowering from the onslaught of noises that disrupt the peaceful night. The door opens with a slam; you jump and muffle a shriek.

"Y/N!" A booming voice. "I'm home!"

You bury your head against your tucked knees, and pray he doesn't notice you. A fool's hope. Your shadow is stark against the flickering light of the outside and the silver light of the moon.

A hesitation in the air, taken aback and speechless. It drowns in your thoughts.

"Y/N? What's wrong?" Quieter now, footsteps approach your huddled form, and in the stillness, you sense the person kneel in front of you. Hands that run hotter than the sun touch yours and you curl into yourself more.

(a jittery breath leaves, one, two, three; one, two, three)

"Y/N?"

(one, two, three; one, two, three.

through the haze of rapid heartbeats and shivering cold, you try to recognize this voice, this touch.

it's him)

"K-Kyoujurou," you gasp out. It ends in a whimper, and you hold your breath at the sound. You sound stupid, weak, a pathetic mess. You bite your lip until iron fills your tongue.

Kyoujurou's voice is wrought with concern and worry. "Who did this to you, Y/N?" he asks, as quietly as possible though it still booms in your ears. Warm skin lingers inches atop yours, desperate to provide comfort, and yet afraid to scare you away.

You shake your head, and hug your knees tighter to your chest. It hurts. Your eyes burn, but you'll never let yourself cry. Not over this. Not over nothing.

He says your name again and trails off, as if at a loss about what to say, and yet his palm finally touches your head, combing through your locks as soothing as a sun-bathed afternoon glow. He ushers you to raise your head with his touch. Hesitant at first, you refuse, but give in with his gentle cooing.

Kyoujurou smiles when you finally meet his eyes, and his hands move to cup your cheeks. You shiver at the warmth, and watch yourself get lost within the fiery depths of his eyes.

His thumb brushes the skin beneath your eyes, catching the droplets of tears that cling to your lashes. He looks pensive for a moment, still smiling brightly at you throughout.

(in the darkness of the night, your sun shines like a beacon)

"It's okay to cry," Kyoujurou says then, and you start at his words, though he doesn't let you go that easily. "You're stronger when you admit to your weakness! Listen to your heart, Y/N!"

You stare at him, opening your mouth to say something, but a sob escapes first. You slap your hand against your mouth, and Kyoujurou raises his hand to rest atop it.

"It's okay to cry, Y/N," he says again, smiling so kindly and so warmly. "You don't have to hold back. Not with me!"

Quietly: "I'm here for you. Always."

(you break, and it's as relieving as barriers being broken)

You throw your arms around his neck and let loose, letting out wrenching sobs muffled by his clothes. Your shoulders shake with the intensity of your cries, and in the haze, you feel him combing your hair back and murmuring comforting words in your ear. He's unbearably warm, but you'd rather burn in his arms than shiver in cold away from his touch.

You cry for what feels like hours. You cry until you're heaving and your breaths claw their way into your lungs painfully. You cry, cry, cry, until the heaviness in your chest is reduced to trembling wails and puffy eyes and wordless pleas for relief. Through it all, Kyoujurou is steady and strong by you, calloused fingers running through your hair and tracing comforting circles against your back.

He waits until your breathing's somewhat steadier before speaking again. His tone is somber, as if it pains him physically to see you like this.

"Do you feel a bit better now?"

"Yeah," you say in between sniffles.

Silence.

"Do you want to go to bed?"

"Please."

Effortlessly, he gathers you in his arms and carries you to the bed. He holds you delicately, like an exquisite jewel, and it makes you want to cry even more. But then he crawls into bed beside you and smiles brightly again, and you can't help but smile back. You press yourself against him, and his chest rumbles with a fond chuckle.

He doesn't say anything again for a while, and you almost fall asleep next to him, surrounded by his warmth, until Kyoujurou speaks again. "Is that my shirt?"

He sounds genuinely confused. His hand traces the length of the clothing, as if searching for any indication of his ownership.

You can't help but giggle. "Yeah," you say. "It smells like you. It's comforting when you're away on a mission."

(it feels too bold to admit to this, but the words slip out of your mouth anyway)

Kyoujurou laughs, and the vibrations against your ear makes you shiver. You peer up at him and spot the bright flush dusting his cheeks as he returns your gaze with another bright smile. Moonlight glances off his eyes, and they burn gold with fire.

"I'm glad you can find comfort in my clothes, then!" he says and laughs, pressing a kiss against your hair.

His joy is infectious. Just the sight of him laughing can take away all the burdens on your shoulders, you think. You smile back, and his eyes soften.

"Stay with me tonight?" you ask and yawn, drowsiness tugging your lids down to sleep. You remain stubbornly awake, if just to gaze into his golden eyes for a second longer.

"I will," he affirms. "Sleep well, Y/N. I'll be here when you wake up tomorrow."

Chapter Text

Her name means butterfly, and she falls from the heavens fluttering like a leaf caught in the wind. She is beauty and grace, delicate as the swinging sword hanging above her upturned neck. She breathes sharp poison and drips blood from her fingertips, yet smiles like the holiest of saints and hums songs of praises like double-edged blades stained to kill.

(yes, i am angry, tanjirou —

i've always been angry)

Her name means assassin, and she culls the blight of the land like an angel in flight, bathed by the risen moon and the blood of her enemies. She smiles prettily and speaks prettily and moves prettily to hide beneath the bitter venom flowing through her veins. She hides behind the guise of kindness in a desperate grab to her sister's vanishing figure.

(i hope demons and humans can coexist peacefully one day)

Her name means weak, and she despises the petiteness of her figure like a spring fallen prey to winter. She holds her blade with all the strength she can muster, but her grip falters. Still, behind bitter tears, she fights on.

(why are my hands so small? why didn't i grow taller?)

Her name means resistance, and she fights on through the blood and the tears and the pain, clinging to life as hard as she clings to the past. Hatred burns through her painted smiles until happiness means anger and anger means happiness, and yet she still smiles ever-so kindly, and cares ever-so warmly. She stands up, through the blood, through the tears, through the pain.

(it isn't about whether we can or we cannot. there are things we have to do)

Her name means friend, and her road of happiness climbs on through the harshest of mountains and the steepest of climbs. She persists, even as her hands turn bloody and her body screams out in pain and her soul begs her to give up. She persists, because happiness lies on a thin sheet of glass, and even though it's fragile, and cracks and breaks and shatters, she believes in it wholeheartedly.

(somehow, i feel the people i care about and those important to me will still be alive tomorrow, but that's just my hope, and there's no way i can promise that with any certainty)

Her name means pillar, and she thrives on the thrill of vengeance as much as she lives for the happiness of others. She fights to protect, she fights to save, she fights for others. She fights for love, even if she can't muster enough strength to swing her sword to cut off a demon's head, she'll fight.

(stand up, insect hashira shinobu kocho)

Chapter Text

The serenity of the night is disturbed by the sound of deafening music blasting through the windows of your friend's house. Schoolmates bustle around, faces both familiar and unfamiliar, but they all flit past by, staying like the morning mist in your mind. You sigh, and curl into yourself, hiding as best as you can in plain sight by the living room. The place is cramped, and you feel alone; every brush of a stranger's skin against yours is a ringing reminder of it.

In the span of time between Muichiro leaving your side to grab some drinks and him returning, you don't think you've ever felt so alone. You try to peek up above the heads of your schoolmates for a hint of mint, but the crowd shifts and bustles too much, and the dim light offered by the few fairy lights scattered around makes it almost impossible for you to find him.

Should you go and find him? Leaving this safe place feels too much like dipping your feet into volatile waters, but at the same time, your chest crawls with ice cold spiders at the thought of being alone for a second longer.

Ah. Whatever. With a deep sigh, you get to your feet. Hands  flail carelessly, hips sway impetuously, shoulders shake thoughtlessly; you're hit by a stray limb as soon as your feet hits the floor, and you turn to glare at whomever hit you, but no one even seems to care. Slaves to the music and the alcohol running through their veins, these lot.

Walking through the crowd is as easy as walking against the current of a tidal wave. You take a step forward, and get thrown into a different direction after. By the time you've tried to reorient yourself, the crowd shifts again, and you're caught helplessly against this ocean of sweaty bodies and euphoric glow.

Where is he? You can't even call out, because who'd hear you over this ear-splitting tune? This is useless. It's too hard to breath. Too hot, too compact, too much, too much. You need to get out.

( — ah

there he is)

Mint eyes catch yours from across the room. The warm glow from the fairy lights cast him in a fair shade and puts a spell on him that's absolutely breathtaking. He steals away what little air you've got in your lungs.

Then he smiles at you and the world falls flat, stricken with grey, and he is the only color left in the world. The anxious butterflies in your stomach turns to a flame that warms your chest and tugs a smile back onto your face. Only him, you muse, as you wade through the crowd again. Only he can calm you down as easily as this.

You meet in the middle, and, even with the bodies pressing against you, Muichiro's presence is like a breath of fresh air. He's holding a cup gingerly to his chest, as if guarding it with his life, as he shoots irritated glares at anyone bumping against him.

Muichiro says something, but the words are lost to the noise. You think he's saying your name, but you can't be sure. You blink stupidly at him, and he sighs in frustration, grabs your hand, and leads you somewhere away. His grip is firm around your wrist, and all you feel is relief at direction he's giving you. You don't feel lost anymore, now that he's here.

He tugs you up the stairs, down the hall, and to a large window by the end. Mint eyes wink in a conspiratorial way as Muichiro pushes the windows open and hands you the cup.

"Trust me?" he asks.

Helplessly trapped in his gaze, you merely nod. His grin widens. You watch as he pulls himself up and disappears from the ledge, and breathe out a laugh. Music drifts faintly from downstairs, a perfect backdrop to a hidden rendezvous.

"Rooftop?" you ask. "Really, Mui?"

A pale hand emerges. "Gimme the cup and then I'll pull you up."

He doesn't even hear the exasperated sigh you let out. You hand him the cup, and he disappears for a moment before appearing again and holding his hand out again. Your hands fit perfectly together, and it's something that never fails to amaze you.

Muichiro pulls you up effortlessly, smiling in that self-satisfied way at you. You smile back and pat his hair in a silent gesture of praise, and he beams even more. He'll be brighter than the sun if he keeps grinning like that, you muse, as he sits down by the edge of the roof and beckons you to sit with him.

He hands you the cup again.

"What's this?" you ask, tilting the cup to meet the fair light of the moon. "Milk?"

"Milk," he confirms, leaning back to watch you. "I was gonna brew you some tea 'cuz I know that calms you down, but I couldn't find any hot water or tea bags, so I settled for that."

You can't help but giggle at that, idly stirring the drink with the straw he put in there. "But why's there a straw?"

Muichiro just blinks. "That isn't a stirrer?"

You raise the straw. "I'm not sure in which universe you live in to think this was a stirrer, Mui. And besides, why would you need a stirrer for milk?"

When you look back at him, he's flushed a light pink and his cheeks are puffed out in embarrassment. You laugh again and pinch his cheeks, taking the straw between your fingers to take a sip.

"This cup's rim is probably dirty anyway," you say. "From all the people we bumped in on the way up. Or something."

"That really doesn't make me feel better, Y/N."

You snort and push the cup towards him. "Here."

Muichiro's silent for a bit. "Isn't this an indirect kiss?" he asks, but takes a sip anyway.

The stinging wind suddenly feels too cold for your burning skin. "T-that's not —!"

The straw taps against your lips, and you look to your side, where Muichiro is leaning towards you, lips pulled into a mischievous grin. "Drink your milk, Y/N," he sings, nudging the cup into your hands.

You flush even brighter. "Mui! No! You drink it!"

He pulls the most unfair card he holds: his eyes widen and his lips pout at you, making the most adorable and irresistible  puppy-eyed look ever known to mankind. "But, Y/N," he whines in this incredibly sad tone. "I made this milk for you. I had a hard time looking for it, but I still pushed through because I was thinking of you."

Dammit.

You sigh and take the cup into your hands. "I hate you," you tell him as you take another sip from the straw. The heat in your cheeks won't subside, especially at the thought of sharing this straw with him. Your throat feels dry, even as you sip your drink.

Muichiro laughs and leans his head to rest against yours. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he says. "Love you too."

You shove the drink at him in embarrassment as his chuckles grow louder.

Chapter Text

Winter chills the back of your hand like the faintest whisper of breath, crawling slyly like an assassin of the night. The cold you feel is almost surprising; it would've been obvious by the blanket of white sticking to your surroundings that it'd be cold outside, but you can't seem to remember when, from leaving your home up to this point, did the chill have you masterfully ensconed within its glacial fingers.

You shiver.

Like a predator to his prey, Sanemi notices immediately. Shadowed dark eyes glances back at you, and you stand on alert, as if on reflex. The palest hint of warmth grasps your chest and turns your heart to pound heavily as your eyes meet his.

"Oi, stop being so slow and come on," he gripes. The words are harsh, but the usual venom in his voice is missing.

(it's the little things, that send your heart aflutter and your cheeks aflame and your lips upturned)

"Sorry," you mumble and trudge through the snow to catch up with him. He's been walking too fast for your liking, but he slows down so you can walk side by side with him. The back of your hands brush, and even through the mittens you wear, you think you can feel the heat of his skin seep through.

Not enough, apparently, because another gust of wind passes by, and the bitter cold sends a spectral chill down your spine. You bite your lip and clutch at your arms, rubbing some warmth through the layers of cloth you wear. You sigh, and it mists in front of your face before fading.

(the cold is ungodly; like a bitter reaper grinning with the jaws of death)

"Sanemi," you huff. "Where are we going again?"

Sanemi doesn't even look back. He's walking fast again, leaving you to walk behind his shadow as he heads to the horizon. It's a dramatic scene, from your spot here; he looks like a prince of ice, with the way the pale sunlight illuminates his hair and the snowflakes trapped between each silky strand. Like diamonds on ice. Pretty.

"It's a surprise." Sanemi looks back again, and mild annoyance tugs the corners of his lips down as he regards your slow pace. "Don't you know the meaning of hurry up?"

(what about no, because the cold grips you in a chokehold that forces your limbs into a lethargic stare. not everyone can be effortless in the snow as he, with his light clothing and gloveless hands and upper buttons opened to reveal a hint of pale skin —

no. you are not gawking)

As if having enough, Sanemi groans and reaches for your hand, tugging you up to his side. He frowns, and holds your intertwined hands up. "You're shivering."

"No shit. It's cold."

He ignores the sarcasm dripping from your voice and raises your hand to his lips. Words dry in your tongue as you watch him blow hot air into your fingertips, immediately warming your hand. The heat travels to your face and melts the frost over your cheeks.

"S-Sanemi?"

"What?" he grouses, and tugs you forward to grab your other hand. He gives it the same treatment, warming both your hands with his breath and touch. The cold is long forgotten, as your body buzzes with heat from the uncharacteristically tender actions the man before you is doing

(for you, a sly voice whispers in your mind, and you flush even hotter)

You breathe out a laugh and shake your head. "It's nothing."

Sanemi gives you a suspicious look before rolling his eyes and pressing a kiss against your knuckles. He lets go of your left hand to tug you forward again, but his hold on your other arm is firm. You watch your twined hands, and smile quietly to yourself, bathing in the warmth of Sanemi's presence and quiet affections.

Chapter Text

Shinazugawa Sanemi is a name to strike fear unto the hearts of anyone who has had the unfortunate luck to meet eyes with him. He's always glaring, always impatient, always, always, always just teeming with vicious energy that snaps and bruises like a raging hurricane. He is a terror to demons, a blight to his enemies, a walking nightmare in the form of the devil himself.

And, apparently, Genya thinks, a hopeless failure at caring for plants.

(what a funny thing, this sort-of weakness on someone as powerful as maybe god himself)

"N-no, aniki, you're being too harsh on the —"

"A demon wouldn't flinch at this," Sanemi interrupts as he continues to tug on the leaves harsh enough to tilt the whole bonsai to him. Genya hurries to right the pot, and sighs.

"This isn't really a demon, aniki . . ." he mutters, but the Pillar hears him anyway. Sanemi clicks his tongue and snaps the trimmer a bit harder than necessary. The echoing snap rings, and Genya flinches.

Sanemi glances at him.

(he's being wimpy again, probably, but he can't help freezing up around his brother; the nervousness, the tension, the am-i-good-enough-yet)

After a bit of silence where the brothers stare awkwardly at everything except each other, Sanemi sighs heavily and puts the trimmers down.

"Oi. Stop gawking stupidly and help me already," he snaps, but then Genya turns to look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and the venom in his words fade to ash.

It's the sense of being useful to some degree to his brother that fills Genya's heart with warmth and forces his lips to curl up into a bright grin. "Yeah! Of course, I'll help you, aniki!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sanemi grumbles, rolling his eyes and turning back to the potted plant before him. "Just tell me how to trim this thing properly already."

Chapter Text

The moon blinks sleepily as its light strikes the ground in a dreamy haze of silverlight and mist. Not even the streetlamps can stave away this mess of a darkness; it isn't even very dark, but no light can penetrate through the thick mist blurring your vision.

"Y/N," a smooth voice weaves like honey dripping. "Pray, tell me again, for what reason are you dragging me out on such an ungodly hour?"

(it hides a deadly poison, that lilting calm)

"It's a secret," you reply simply.

It doesn't go very well with the demon behind you. You feel the air snap along with his impatience, but you keep your eyes forward, anyway. Down that narrow path towards the unseen horizon. Yet.

As soon as his temper spikes, he manages to keep it down. Admirable, the way he speaks again, calm as unbothered mountains. "Y/N, if this trip is useless, I swear —"

"You swear what?" you taunt. You know he'll never do anything to you. He can't. He won't.

He falls silent, but you can just feel him stewing behind you. With a snort, you turn back and grab his hand, careful not to touch him where his eye is. Another confrontation is not what you need. Not tonight. So you take him by the arm, and tug him to make him walk faster by your side.

After a while, he speaks again. "Are we near yet? All this dust and dirt are clinging to my skin and it feels disgusting."

"That's mist," you say, stifling a laugh. "Morning dew, probably. I don't know. I haven't been out during this time in centuries."

He scoffs. "Well, whatever it is, it's disgusting."

You roll your eyes and stop walking. Yahaba halts as well and tilts his head over your direction, but with his eyes closed, he doesn't see the way you tilt your head up to watch him.

"Are we here yet?" he asks, dryly.

"Depends," you reply. "Will you open your eyes here?"

Yahaba's silent for a bit. You take that as a disagreement and sigh, taking his palm instead to face the horizon. "Open your eyes, Yahaba," you say. "Your Blood Demon Art will do, too."

You can tell he wants to snark. That's not the way he made Blood Demon Arts for, Y/N. This is dangerous, Y/N. We should go back, Y/N. Wouldn't want to make him angry.

Yahaba doesn't say anything, however, and you watch as the eyes on his hands blink open. He's still silent, and you hold your breath in anticipation.

"What am I watching?" he asks simply.

"The sunrise." Indeed, over the horizon, where the sky kisses the land, blood red fire explodes in a kaleidoscope of oranges, pinks and golds. It's pretty and nostalgic, almost, though any memory of it you might previously have had escapes you.

(that's fine. you'll make new memories here, then)

"I haven't seen this in ages," Yahaba murmurs in awe. You squeeze his arm and smile at the sunrise.

"Me neither."

"How long until the rays get to us?"

You chuckle, because Yahaba sounds so stiff and formal, and yet you can hear the almost childish whine in his voice. Can we stay here, a bit longer?

You answer his unspoken question. "We can stay here for a while."

Yahaba doesn't answer back, but you watch, as a gentle smile graces his lips at your answer.

Chapter Text

Hinatsuru's tending to the garden again, and the sun kissing her sweaty skin bounces rainbows off into her eyes. A golden haze surrounds her; it feels peaceful and serene, and there's a quiet satisfaction that plays in the little lift of her lips that seems to melt all your worries away while you watch her work.

She notices you lingering and lifts her eyes to meet yours. The smile on her lips widens when she beckons you to her place.

"The sunflowers are growing marvellously this season," she comments lightly.

"Really?" You can't see it. So far, only a stump has grown, with fluttering leaves shivering in the soft breeze. It's barely grown, and yet Hinatsuru leans over it and cradles the sprout in her hands as carefully as she would handle the finest clothing and heaviest diamonds.

She hums in response. "Yeah. In a few weeks, they'll all be taller than us." Hinatsuru then laughs, and it's still the most magical thing to ever grace your ears. "I can't wait for you to bloom, little one," she tells the bud fondly before standing up and moving to the next flower.

You follow.

"What'll you do when they bloom?" you ask her.

Hinatsuru doesn't stop to look at you. Her focus is intense on the flower in her hands. "I'll take the seeds to plant and sell them. There's a lovely couple from town who adores these beauties."

"Huh." You watch her sprinkle the littlest bit of water into the soil and murmur a soft compliment to the bud before moving on again. "Why not keep it?"

"Keep what?"

"The flowers." This one, you can see the flower itself, about to bloom. The petals are still curled into themselves, still asleep, and yet it faces the sun as if begging to be awakened. You reach out and trace a pale line against its stem. Hinatsuru stops to watch you.

"Keep . . . the flowers?" she asks, as if never having entertained the thought before.

"Yeah." You tilt the bud ever so lightly so it touches her cheek. She blinks. "Don't you want to at least keep one for yourself? You're always growing them for others."

Hinatsuru looks down at that. "I guess?" she sounds so meek. "It never really crossed my mind like that."

"You're always so generous, Hina," you sigh and lean down to meet her pale eyes and smile cheekily at her. "You should totally keep at least one. I bet you'd look pretty with sunflowers. They can be, like, your leitmotif!"

She flushes at that, porcelain pale tainting red as life while she looks at you as if seeing you for the first time. The scrutiny of her gaze makes your skin tremble, but it isn't a feeling that you mind. It feels nice, almost, the fluttering, the sudden shyness, the way your pulse pounds hotly in your chest.

Hinatsuru finally turns away from you to regard the sunflower in front of her. She laughs lightly then and leans over to press a soft kiss against your cheek. The wind bites a bit colder against your flamed skin, and it tingles where her lips touched your cheek.

Did — Did she just — ?

The moment is over before you know it. Hinatsuru tilts her head up to look at the skies, and you think you're lost in the wistfullness of her smile.

"I guess," she breathes out, awash in the morning light. "I'll keep one then, and we can take care of it together. Does that sound nice?"

Your throat is dry but you manage a nod, and Hinatsuru smiles at you like she's the sun and you're the moon in orbit.

Chapter Text

Muichiro always hogs the bathroom.

It's because of his hair, longer than anyone else's that you know, that takes up most of the time. Once, you took a bath with him in the tub, and his hair completely filled the whole thing. You love his hair, of course; love to run your hands through it and watch the silken strands part around your fingers, but this is just ridiculous. He's been in the bathroom for an hour. An hour. He never usually takes up this long, and you're starting to get concerned.

The door finally opens. Steam rolls into the room, warm and smelling vaguely of mint. Muichiro steps out, a towel wrapped messily around his head. Droplets of water cling to his skin and paints dark spots in his clothes.

"Finally," you remark, sitting up on the bed. You pat the spot in front of you, and Muichiro promptly obliges. "Took you long enough."

"I tried using your conditioner," he says in lieu of an explanation as he sits on the bed.

You snort. "Lemme guess, it's all gone now?"

"I left some for you."

Your fingers dig into his hair, and the wet strands fall easily down his back. Muichiro hums quietly in satisfaction and leans into your touch. You chuckle at his antics.

"How fortunate for me." Sarcasm. He doesn't respond to that.

He's quiet for a bit, and you use the time to reach over to your bedside drawer and take out a comb. Muichiro tilts his head and takes a strand of hair between his fingers. He's lost in thought again.

"Mui?" you prompt, starting to comb his hair. One, two, three, up to a hundred. The mint of his hair is dark against your lap where they rest. "What's on your mind?"

Muichiro takes a minute to respond. He lives in the world as if a minute late, and responds thusly. He blinks and turns back to look at you.

"Huh?"

You smile and lean over to peck his forehead. He closes his eyes. "I asked you what you were thinking."

"Oh." A pale hand flies up to rest against your wrist, and you stop combing at that. He takes your hand and pulls you forward so his head rests on your chest. You feel your clothes grow cooler when droplets of water drip against it. "Y/N? I was wondering . . . Is my hair annoying?"

You blink, shifting so the both of you can rest a bit more easily. "What do you mean annoying?"

"You know," he looks off to the side, out the window, "Annoying. You're always forced to comb my hair, I'm always taking so long to wash it, and —" his voice grows meek — "Zenitsu said it makes me look like a girl."

You're just surprised Zenitsu found the courage to say that to Muichiro. "I'm not being forced to comb your hair, and I don't mind you taking long in the shower. Much."

He doesn't seem convinced. "But it makes me look like a girl."

You snort and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He smells of fresh mint and the faintest hint of strawberries from your conditioner. "Zenitsu really said that to you?"

"Yeah. I overheard him saying that my hair was too long to Tanjiro earlier." He sounds so dejected then, and when he finally looks up at you, his eyes are wide. "Do you think I should cut my hair?"

"What? Why?" Muichiro with short hair? It's inconceivable. He treasures his hair as much as you do, and it's a shock to learn that he'd ever contemplate doing such a thing.

Muichiro shrugs as best as he can. "I dunno. So you're not constantly being bothered by it? And so I don't look like a girl that much?"

Disappointment weaves in your voice. "I mean, if you really wanna cut it, then I won't stop you. But I really like your hair, Mui. It's so soft and pretty, and I love combing it for you."

He sounds like a man who desperately wants to be swayed. "You do?"

You hum and rest your chin against his shoulder. "I do. I love your hair, Mui."

"Even if it makes me look like a girl?"

You snort. "I'll slap Zenitsu the next time I see him for ever putting that thought in your brain. I don't mind that it makes you 'look like a girl' at all."

"Really?"

"Yes, *really."* You pause. "Besides, if you cut your hair, I wouldn't be able to brush it like I do every night, yeah?"

"Oh. Yeah." He's only realizing it, and the dawning horror in his expression is almost hilarious. "I'm never cutting my hair if you promise you'll brush it every night?"

You kiss the side of his head and push him away gently. "I promise," you say. "Every night for the rest of our lives. Does that sound nice?"

He hums. "Yeah. That sounds nice," and he flashes you the most adorable little grin before kissing your cheek and turning his back on you. You chuckle and grab the brush again, taking his hair and starting back on combing his hair a hundred times. It's soothing, this routine, and Muichiro sighs in contentment as he leans back into your touch.

Chapter Text

He waits for the nights impatiently. Nights where the moon is out yet hidden beneath thick clouds through which no light can penetrate, nights where the stars are asleep so the sky is merely a giant void, nights where he is restless, where his blood pumps hotly through his veins and his heart is hammering madly in his chest. Akaza waits for the night with a burning passion of a drowning man desperate for air, with his fists clenched as if to hold something dear to him safe.

(ha. as if —

as if he had anything dear to him, as if he was strong enough to protect anything)

He hates those nights. And yet he can't help but be eager to greet the darkness with open arms, because in those murky depths, he thinks he sees it.

It — the reason why he keeps holding on to this listless existence, keeps opening his eyes to the neverending darkness, keeps moving on, moving on, moving on. It's only in the deep darkness Akaza can see the clearest he's ever seen. His reason for living comes in a slender figure, with their back turned to him: light playing so that angel wings paint beneath the dip of her shoulderblades. He reaches out, calls out, but he always falls short, and he always wakes up just when the figure turns around to gift him the most beautiful of smiles.

(who are you, he craves to ask. why are you in my dreams, why are you in my nightmares?)

If he takes another step forward, if he closed his eyes to the buzzing sound in his ears, Akaza thinks he can almost take ahold of it. He'd protect this person, he'd love and cherish and never let go of them, long as they provide him the reason to keep on living this meaningless life. He'd make sure they were safe, he swears to the full moon tonight. He'd make sure they were happy.

Of course he would. But then why do the words taste so bitter on his tongue, like acid forced down his throat. It spreads corruption through his veins, stronger and stronger until his chest contracts with pain and his breath is ragged, and the bubbling need to fight someone arises.

He swallows bitterly. Empty promises, air-filled lies. Akaza doesn't know where the thought came from, but it sends him down a spiral of hazed red madness.

(again. again. again

somewhere, he thinks he sees a girl weeping)

"Hakuji-san, do you remember talking about seeing the fireworks when we were young?"

Akaza tilts his head up, and lets his eyes wander across the night sky. Do you remember, Hakuji? And he feels shame coil on the pit of his stomach, because he envisions the scene on a peaceful night like this, except without his bloody fists and bitter loneliness creeping up his spine, and he thinks, this is what happiness looks like.

(i'll be counting on that, said with a trusting smile

— please don't)

Memories sharper than a double-edged sword; they pierce his chest every time he takes ahold of them. But still, through the pain, Akaza closes his eyes and jumps headfirst into the pool of blood.

"Who are you? Are you the reason why I keep living?"

And the figure merely smiles and says nothing. Akaza steps forward, and he holds his breath as he rests a hand against the figure's shoulder, half-expecting them to dissolve into mist again.

But they don't. They remain solid and still and alive in his arms, and Akaza can't stop the flood of emotions roiling in his stomach. Feels like a hurricane: all-consuming, as inexplicable as the ephemeral winds of nature, as unstoppable as a tidal wave.

"I've been looking for you," he says.

The figure is of a petite girl, and she peers up at him with glassy eyes that promise of eternal spring when they crinkle up in a smile. "I know."

(stay with me, please, he wants to say —)

"I've been waiting for you, too."

She, the unnamed light to which Akaza revolves around. She steps forward to wrap her arms around his waist, and though she's too small to hold him properly, Akaza feels a slow drizzle of warmth trickle down his skin. It feels safe, for some reason. Feels like home, and comfort, in a way he doesn't think he's ever felt before.

She starts swaying to a music that doesn't exist, but her ear is rested against where his heart pounds strongly, and she dances to that while he dances to her. He closes his eyes and sighs contentedly, resting his chin above his head. She is an apparition of a light long gone, and yet she still shines like the sun in an eclipse. He's been looking for this, this belongingness and security and love, he realizes. This is what happiness looks like — this is what life looks like.

But everything will end. Sometime. The sunrise will come eventually to steal her away, and he'll wake up to another lonely day of helpless wandering, spiralling down thoughts of why, why, why.

(why continue to live, akaza? why?)

So he'll try to cherish this tender moment as long as he can. He clutches her tighter to his chest, and takes in the scent of fresh leaves and winter chill. She's warm in his arms, and it's all he's ever wanted.

"Stay with me," he begs.

(i'll protect you, i swear. this time i'll do better, he promises)

"I will," she replies, still smiling that honeyed smile at him. She is broken promises and should've-beens and delicate snowflakes dancing in the wind. "I'll stay by you until the morning comes, my husband."

(and that is the most comforting thing akaza has ever heard in his life)

Chapter Text

If only you'd realize how desperately he craves your presence beside him, Kyoujurou thinks you'd never run away from him again. There is a cold sensation in his chest; it rolls haphazardly like a specter gripping his heart tight enough to bruise and hurt and kill. He can't breathe.

(where are you, love, a sorrowful voice sings)

The moon is out, too. It's dangerous outside at night — no, it's always dangerous outside for you, day or night. Demons prowl the streets, and they sometimes come in the form of a grinning human who moves with the intention of harming you, deceiving you, taking you away from him. He can't have that. He can't. He won't have that.

No one's allowed to harm even a single strand of hair from your pretty head. Kyoujurou's blood boils just thinking about it; he'll kill anyone who dared lay a hand on your perfect skin. The strong should protect the weak, his mother said. This is your mission, Kyoujurou, and he thinks he understands now, why he was given this indomitable strength.

(it's to protect you

until his dying breaths, and even beyond: always, always, always)

So he sets out to find you. His hands are shaking, and he clutches at the hilt of his sword to steady them. You couldn't have gone that far, he tries to calm himself. The woods are thick and you aren't familiar with the way the trees weave in and out of the land. He'll find you. And then Kyoujurou will make sure to take care of you. He'll dote on you, make you happy, make sure your were safe and never again able to run away from him. You'll see how desperately he needs you to survive. He'll make sure you understand.

Kyoujurou hears you first before he sees you. Ragged breaths, a suppressed whimper echoing someone please help me. He lingers for a moment behind a tree, where you can't see him, and marvels at the way your hair clings to your cheeks from sweat.

You look divine, as always, and you take his breath away. It's the good kind, this time, not the panic-induced worried rasping of his lungs earlier. He feels his lips turn up into a familiar smile at the sight of you safe and sound.

"Y/N!"

You jump and turn your eyes at him. Blown wide and glassy from the moonlight reflected in the tears in them, Kyoujurou daresay this is the most beautiful you've ever looked. So terrified, so frightened, his poor Y/N — he'll make sure you'll never have to fear anything again in your life.

(just stay by him and don't look back, all right?)

"R-Rengoku —"

"Ah! I thought we'd agreed to refer to each other using our first names, Y/N!" He can't take his eyes off of you.

You muffle a choked whimper beneath your palms. He takes a step forward, and you take a step back, and Kyoujurou almost wants to laugh at the stupidity of it all. Sweet, sweet Y/N, did you ever truly think you could escape from him?

"Kyoujurou," you breathe out, and the Pillar shivers at the sound of his name from you. "Please."

"Please, what, darling? You have to be a bit more specific than that, love."

Your back hits a tree, and your body seizes up in a panic. Kyoujurou's grin widens when your eyes flick from side to side in a frenzied manner as if scoping out escape routes. No use; he pushes forward in a single step to encase you in his arms, and you let out a squeak of terror when your eyes meet his again.

"Kyoujurou!"

"Yes, dear?" He presses his forehead against yours and takes in your scent. Like home. Comforting, familiar, yours.

"P — please. Let me go. I — I wanna go home, Kyoujurou. Please." Tears fall hot down your cheeks, but your eyes remain fixed to stare at his.

"Why, of course! I thought you'd never ask!" Kyoujurou laughs and leans in to kiss your forehead. "I'll take you back to our home right away, as you wish, Y/N!"

He watches hope play with your expression like an instrument, and the dawning horror that replaces it is a guilty pleasure Kyoujurou would never admit to.

"No! I meant, let me go! I wanna go back to my home! My friends and family! I want out from here! Let me go!"

(eh? what a silly thought, to think you belong in any place other than his arms)

"But, the world outside is a scary place, Y/N," he says earnestly, peering deep into your eyes. His breath is hot as it fans against your cheeks. "Everyone wants to hurt you out there, and I'm the only one who can protect you. Don't you see that?"

(stay with me — forever)

"N — no!" Your voice is growing meeker. "You're wrong!"

And he sighs here, because you lovely, lovely, innocent Y/N. He trails a finger down your cheek and brushes your tears away. "I just don't want you to get hurt, love."

"But I —"

"Come home with me, Y/N." His eyes are aflame with a burning passion as he smiles down at you. "The only place you're safe at is with me. Let me keep you safe, all right?"

He keeps on smiling, ever-smiling, and it looks chilling next to his words. You're trembling, pushing helplessly at his arms as if he'd let you go if you'd push hard enough. He's immovable, though, no matter how hard you try, and Kyoujurou chuckles at the cuteness of you struggling futilely.

But eventually, his patience spikes and the Pillar sighs before just picking you up in his arms. You squeal in shock before wrapping your arms around his neck for balance.

"Kyoujurou! Let me down! Let me go!" You try kicking against him, punching and pushing him away, but he doesn't even seem to be bothered by any of your attempts. He only smiles cheerfully at you as if this is a normal occurrence that he shouldn't be bothered about. You lash out as best as you can, but eventually, exhaustion strikes and your lids start to feel heavy.

"I just wanna go home, please," you mumble against his chest, sniffing back tears as unconsciousness creeps in.

"Don't worry, love," Kyoujurou says to you, as comfortingly as he can. "We'll be home soon."

Chapter Text

Giyuu has the strangest relationship with fear. It's an all-consuming entity that likes to swallow him up into an ocean of maddening black and red and a mess of frazzled thoughts and trembling hands. As a Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps, he rendezvouses with Death nightly; he knows it as intimately as it knows itself, and yet Giyuu has never once experienced fear.

(not for himself, anyway

— and only when it matters)

He feared when Tsutako urged him to hide until morning broke, and while screams flickered in the air. He feared when Sabito smiled at him that strangely-hued smile underneath the moonlight before running off to where he couldn't go to yet. He fears every night for every person in his region, unknowingly under the reign of demons.

And now, his heart pounds in his ears in a vibrating echo that resonates with the shivering mist of air he breathes out. The air out here in the mountain is cool and restrictive and foul, reeking of death and despair, and Giyuu chances a look at his companion to see her expression.

(it's probably one of the least practical things he could do at the moment because now he finds himself distracted by how the silver gleam of the moon paints her skin into a lovely shade of ethereal white)

Shinobu is looking up the mountain, head tilted as she scans the place with an unnerving smile on her lips. "I wonder which Demon Moon is here," she says, and her grin turns wider, more wistful. "I hope we get along. Don't you think so, too, Tomioka? Won't that be nice?"

She turns to look expectantly up at him, and Giyuu averts his eyes before the Insect Pillar can catch him staring.

"That's impossible." Again and again. She never stops babbling about getting along with the demons. It's tiring.

"Rude," she sighs and closes her eyes. Giyuu finds his eyes inevitably drawn to her again. "You could stand to be friendlier, you know? A little smile goes a long way. You should try it."

He coughs. "And you could stand to be more practical," he replies, because they've had this conversation long ago, time and time again, where she sings of a fantastical daydream, and he shoots her down with the grim reality.

(and now he fears again, because shinobu is a pillar, yes, but she is also human, and the slightest misstep can cause her demise —)

Giyuu swallows through the boulder in his throat. If Shinobu noticed the change in his demeanor, she didn't show it. She just laughs and shakes her head at his retort, before starting to head off. That visage, of her shadows pulling at the edges of her haori, it overlaps with another image, Sabito walking away, and he feels a fresh wave of spectral cold awash over him. Death haunts their work, he knows this. Still, he can't help but fear.

(fear that he'd lose her, fear that he'll be useless —

again — )

He reaches out and grabs her hand.

It's a reflex more than anything, really, and Shinobu gifts him with an expression so surprised that Giyuu almost second-guesses himself and starts to pull away. But then her hands squeeze back, and Giyuu forgets why he ever thought of untangling their hands together.

"Scared, Tomioka?" she teases. Light and airy.

"No."

Shinobu giggles at that and looks off into the distance. "Don't worry," she says. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together. Scaredy-cat."

And Giyuu doesn't even know whether that is another one of her jokes, but he lets it slide, along with the rolling heat in his chest and the warm blanket of comfort he feels in her words. Yes, together, he wants to say, but he conveys it by holding her a hand tighter. A promise to never let go.

Chapter Text

Out here, in the open, you can smell the crisp, cool air of the night, and it's probably the lightest you've ever felt. Warm hands graze past your ears, and the blindfold around your eyes fall away to reveal eyes brighter than a million glowing embers. Kyojuro grins at you, and this close you can see the individual flecks of fire that lick the golden ring of his irises.

"We're here!" he announces proudly and looks expectantly at you for your reaction, but it's hard to pull your eyes away from him when he's the only light in the world. You

"Oh," you breathe out, and nothing more. The breath is stolen from your lungs.

Suspense hangs in the air as Kyojuro continues to watch you. "Do you like it?"

The night sky is laid out like a blanket across the sky, patterned with stars that span out as far as the eye can see. Out here, where the city with its smoke and light and noise can't reach, the sheer magnificence of the sight knocks you dizzy. You feel small — insignificant, even, in the face of this eternity, but your hand reaches out to grasp Kyojuro's, and it makes you feel better when you feel his fingers interlock with yours.

"Y/N?"

When you turn to him, he's still sporting that same grin, but you think you can see a hint of growing nervousness underneath.

"I thought taking you out to see the stars would be a great first date!" Kyojuro explains. His voice booms in the quiet fields and explodes in a flash of stardust. He commands attention, you muse, even more so than the dazzling show of the heavens above. "I've always dreamt of taking my soulmate here, and just watching the stars! I'd hoped there would be falling stars, or an eclipse to make it memorable, but the night sky in itself is already memorable, yes? In fact, the sky is always so beautiful! Just lights up your heart, doesn't it? And the constellations! I've always loved just stargazing, even as a child! I thought I could teach you about them too because I remember you mentioning you didn't know how to tell each one apart!"

He's rambling. It's too cute. When you first met him last week, you certainly never took him for the type to get flustered, but here he is. Kyojuro notices your stare and stops abruptly, and in the dim light, you watch his cheeks bloom with heat.

"Oh, my God," you chuckle. "My soulmate is a complete and utter dork." And you sound exasperated, but you gift him a fond smile, and the flush in his skin turns scarlet.

He smiles almost stupidly at that. "That's, that's a good thing, yes?"

You giggle at that. In a sudden rush of confidence, you stand on your tiptoes to press a fleeting kiss against his cheek. "It's a good thing," you confirm as you tug him down to sit on the grass with you. "So, tell me more. You sound very enthusiastic about it."

He grins at that, even more stunning than the sun, and cuddles you to the side as he tilts his head to watch the sky. But you look up and watch him instead, and the stars glint off of his face in an ethereal glow. Bathed in warmth, here in Kyojuro's arms as he talks animatedly about the night sky, you sigh in contentment and lose yourself in the cadence of his voice and the sound of his heartbeat in your ears.

Chapter Text

He steals glances at you, and those lingering gazes cling to the back of your neck as uncomfortably as summer sweat. You shift and keep your eyes stubbornly forward, forcing yourself to listen to the Pillar Meeting than to get lost within the searing stares the Snake Pillar shoots at you.

Obanai's in his usual place, draped atop the branches of a tree like a ribbon strand weaved in and out. He's silent, more-or-less, merely adding in his two cents whenever prompted by the others. You can tell he tries to pay attention to the meeting as well, except his eyes get drawn to your figure like magnets to metal. You keep your eyes on the pale stones of the garden beneath you, though the sunlight reflected in them sends pinpricks of fire in your eyes.

"Do you have anything you want to add, L/N?" Oyakata-sama's voice resounds. You jump at the mention of your name and shake your head at him. Obanai's stare grows heavier.

You ignore it.

The meeting flits by quickly. Eventually, the Pillars disperse and the Master heads back inside, and you'd go out and be on your way as well if not for the sound of sandals hitting land and Kaburamaru's quiet hissing in the background.

Ah. The confrontation. It was too much to hope Obanai would let your strange behavior pass by, after all.

"Y/N," he drawls. You turn to face him and find him even closer than you'd first presumed he was. "What's wrong?"

You paint a smile on. "What do you mean? Nothing's wrong."

He stares, deadpan. "You've been awfully quiet the whole meeting," he accuses, and though he sounds as flat and naggy as usual, there's an underlying tone of concern in the way his eyes are so intensely stuck on your skin like hot glue. Even Kaburamaru seems worried; you raise a finger to pet his head, and the snake nuzzles against you.

Obanai doesn't let up. "Tell me what happened. Did anyone hurt you?" His eyes darken. "I'll —"

"No one hurt me," you sigh, knowing exactly where this conversation is heading towards. "And I'm fine. No need to do anything hasty, Obanai."

A stray breeze whips across the two of you. It emphasizes the silence that Obanai seems to be using to pressure you into giving in and answering his questions. You refuse to break first.

"Look, I'm just tired, all right?" you say. "The night was long and I really want to sleep."

"You usually head off to have some breakfast first before going to bed," Obanai says as if this is evidence to his case.

"I'll eat later. I just want to sleep now."

And he's silent for a bit before he finally sighs. You think you've won, finally, and that he'll let you off the hook for now, but then he looks up at the sky, and there's something in his eyes that looks extremely dejected, though his expression remains the same.

"I'm just worried about you," he says.

You swallow the guilt that bubbles up, and suddenly, you can't look at him anymore. "I know."

Obanai's rarely honest about his feelings, but he continues to speak, and your heart breaks at the sheer honesty that drips from his lips. "I can tell something's bothering you. Even if you don't want to tell me, at least don't push me away, you idiot."

There's almost venom in his words, but his tone is too fond and too hurt to hurt you like his words would have normally done.

"I'm sorry," you tell him because there's nothing else you can think to say.

He looks at you for the longest time, words trapped in his throat. You can't even begin to fathom the emotions that are swirling in his mismatched eyes. And then he steps forward and takes your hand to give it the faintest squeeze before pulling away just as quickly, but the warmth of his palm pressed against yours lingers anyway.

"I'll have someone deliver you some food for later," he mumbles. "You should go to sleep now."

Ah. Your heart warms at that. Obanai's too harsh sometimes, and when he shows you this side of him that cares too much about people, about you, you can't help but fall for him even more.

"Yeah," you say. "I will. Thank you."

You turn to leave the garden, and faintly, the wind carries out his murmured words to you: "I at least want to be there for you when you need me the most."

Chapter Text

Your hands shake ever-so-slightly as you tie the ribbon that wraps around the heart-shaped box for the third time. Morning peeks through the windows and illuminates the kitchen, brings light to the evidence of your attempts to make the most delicious chocolates he would have ever tasted. Nervousness kindles a flame in your chest, and it spreads like wildfire through your nerves.

You hope this is good enough. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and let it all out. Inhale confidence, exhale worries, you chant in your mind before picking the box up as delicately as possible and leaving your home.

The walk to school feels like a dream. It ends too quickly, and you find yourself staring up at the open gates of your school in a blink. Sanemi waits by the edge where he always is, waiting for you. He's a sight to see, all rough edges and scars and uniform barely buttoned down to his chest. You take a deep breath and head towards him.

His eyes snap to you. "Took you long enough," he grouses, shoving his hands inside his pockets and scans you from head to toe. His gaze lingers on the box on your hands.

"Why?" you tease. "Is Mr. Rebel concerned about getting to class on time?"

He grunts and pushes off the wall. "Maths is first," he says. "I don't wanna miss that shit."

Cute. You start to walk to school, expecting Sanemi to be following you, but he stops you with a hand to your shoulder. You pause and turn to him. He's still staring at the box in your hands.

"What's that?"

Suddenly, it feels like a million eyes are inspecting your every shift and turn. You try to hide the box behind your back in a stupid attempt to hide it, and Sanemi raises an eyebrow, looking highly wry.

"N-Nothing!" Your voice sounds too shrill in your ears. "Don't mind it! It's just trash. Yeah."

Sanemi's not having it. He snorts, "What, did someone give you that? Why are you hiding it?"

You flush even more at his words. "It's really nothing," you insist. Ah, you feel so stupid now. Your chocolates probably aren't even good. You feel pretentious for even trying now. "We'll be late for maths if we don't go in now — y-yeah, that's right. So, let's go!"

"Why do you have a chocolate box, Y/N?" he asks again, annoyance seeping, staring you down with an intense glare. "If you didn't get it from someone, are you planning to give it out?"

You don't respond to that. He lets you simmer in the quick silence, and you can just feel his smugness already, as if he knows you're going to break before he does. Of course, you won't. This box of sweets will be your secret until the day you die —

"Fine!" you exclaim, cheeks burning. You shove the box to his chest, turning your head away so he can't tease you for being so flustered. "I made them for you! So take them already!"

He does. Your fingers shake when you feel the weight leave your hands. You're still looking away.

"You do know it's only February 13, right?"

Ah. Here it is. You try to hide behind a curtain of hair. "I know," you say. "But I, I kinda wanted to give you your chocolates early. So, you know . . ." your voice lowers to a mumble: "So it won't get lost when other girls give you a ton of sweets for tomorrow."

There's probably something about the bad boy trope that hooks girls along, because Sanemi always receives sweets, even when virtually everyone knows he's taken. It's as if they're still vying for his attention, trying to steal your man, and every time, it fills you with an unpleasant feeling bubbling in your throat.

Sanemi sighs then and rests a heavy hand across your shoulders, jerking you out of your thoughts. "My God," he drawls, rolling his eyes. The box is uncovered, held in his other hand, and there's already an empty space where he'd taken one. "My soulmate is a complete and utter dork."

Eh — "Dork? How am I a dork?" Feeling extremely embarrassed by now, you shake his hand off and start speed-walking towards the school. Only a few stragglers are still outside, by now.

Sanemi catches up with you effortlessly. "Only a dork would give her boyfriend Valentines' chocolates a day earlier because she's jealous," he snarks back.

"I'm not jealous! And I'm not a dork!"

You can't look at him anymore. You can only imagine the smug and haughty expression on his face. But then Sanemi tugs your arm back to halt your steps, and you have no choice but to turn and look at him.

There's no smug nor haughty expression on his face. Instead, there's an uncharacteristically soft look in his eyes that gives you pause. Your heart stutters to a stop before coming back with a vengeance. He looks away, and there's the slightest hint of pink on his skin.

"You know I only ever want to eat your chocolates anyway, right?" he mumbles, shooting glances at you from the corner of his eye.

That's . . . You don't think you've ever felt more giddier in your life. A wash of fire wraps your body in an angelic flow and sweeps you off of your feet at his words. Your heartbeat resounds too loudly in your ears.

"Sanemi, I —"

He doesn't give you a chance to scramble for words. He grabs your hand, then, and pulls you towards the school almost hurriedly.

Sanemi answers the question in your eyes as he reaches for another chocolate. "It's already Maths," he complains. "I said I didn't want to be late for that shit."

Chapter Text

There's an unsettling feeling buried in Muichiro's chest that he can't seem to get out. It follows him as he wanders the busy streets at day, progressively getting worse and worse as people laugh and talk and generally just be annoying all around him. He can't place this sensation. He doesn't like it at all.

And then he sees you, and a tickle of a memory whizzes by like a distant breeze. You look familiar, though no matter how hard Muichiro wracks his brain for your name, he can't come up with anything. And yet all the other pieces come to place when he finds you: the stone in his chest, the rising anxiety, the haunting loneliness. It's your presence. He's missed your presence, and even though he can't place who you are yet, he knows you should be by his side.

But you're not. Even now, you're walking home with someone else, a fuzzy face and a negligible person, but there's laughter on your face while the two of you talk. The ache he's been feeling bubbles into another emotion; more intense, uglier and sizzling, but Muichiro can't care enough to try to put a name on it yet. He still can't remember you properly.

(your name, your name — what was it again? he's pretty sure he knows your name)

The man calls out to you then, saving Muichiro the embarrassment of having to ask you your name when he's almost completely sure that he should know you. You part when you reach a home — yours, probably —  and the man leaves you alone, finally.

He knocks at your door. You open it almost instantly, and when your eyes land on him, the brightest smile graces your lips.

"Mui!" you greet, wrapping your arms around his neck in the quickest hug. Muichiro finds himself missing your warmth when you pull back. "It's been quite a while!"

"Who was that?" he asks in lieu of a greeting. A familiar hurt washes over, and it bleeds into his voice. "Is he my . . . replacement? Have you been ignoring me?"

(he thinks he'd cry if you confirmed that)

You take a beat too long to answer, and that fills Muichiro with anxiety. But then: "Mui!" you respond with a laugh. "That was my tsuguko! I was training him. I wasn't trying to ignore you!"

Muichiro stops at that, tilting his head as he tries to connect the dots like a constellation. "Your . . . tsuguko?"

"Yeah." You nod vigorously, stepping aside from the door to beckon the young Pillar in. He obliges, a distant look in the scrunch of his brows. "Oyakata-sama advised me to get myself a tsuguko, remember?"

He doesn't remember. Ah, whatever. He must have forgotten because your tsuguko is as unnecessary and unimportant as maybe demons are. He turns to you to watch as you disappear into another room, only to reappear with a tray of tea and cups in your hands in minutes.

( — what was he thinking again?)

"Here," you urge him to sit beside you. "Make yourself at home, Mui."

So he does. This is familiar, almost as nostalgic as a deja vu; he must have done this a million times before, for his actions to be ingrained into his very bones, even without a memory to guide him. He sits beside you and sips at the cup of tea you pour for him. It scalds his tongue in the most delectable way possible.

(ah. right)

"So, you haven't forgotten about me?" he asks.

"No!" The indignation in your face is gratifying, as if you're offended he'd even think you'd do something like that.

But still, he asks again: "You haven't replaced me with someone else yet?"

"No!" you say again. "And there's no yet in there, Mui. I could never replace you." You grant him the most beautiful smile he's ever seen: eyes crinkling with sincerity, the sunlight glinting off of your teeth, and a warm hand patting his hair. He's awestruck. "You're my favorite person, after all!"

He has to pause again to process that. (favorite, favorite . . . person? him?) His eyes widen at the statement, feeling lightheaded and fluttery for some reason. He doesn't quite understand, but decides he likes this sensation anyway.

"What does that mean?"

You chuckle. "It means I can't ever replace you or ignore you because you're really important to me!"

And that takes his breath away. Probably. The air's too warm and you're too dazzling to look at but he can't look away either so his breath catches in his throat and he can't think can't think can't think —

"Mui?" you ask, concerned at the dazed look in his eyes. He blinks back to reality at your proximity, heart jumping to his throat when your breath warms his skin. "Are you all right?"

Instead of answering, he asks, "Do you mean that?"

It takes you a second to go back to the derailed conversation he'd just picked up. "Oh. Of course I do, Mui! I'd never lie to you, you know that!"

 He knows that. He doesn't know how he knows that, but there's a fluttering sensation of trust that he inevitably feels whenever you're around. It's irrational, maybe, but he decides to listen to that instinct and nod his head. It's the right choice; you grant him another beautiful smile, and Muichiro feels his face warm up at that. You reach out to pat his head again, chuckling, and Muichiro wonders if he can surf in this ocean of heat beside you forever. Maybe he will.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, the colors you see are a burden. Like a sunset firing, the world is so beautiful when you see it through the reds and golds and oranges, but you can't help but linger on the darker shades and shadows. The thought creeps in without prompt: do you really deserve this beauty?

The answer is in the light glancing off of Kyojuro's teeth when he smiles brightly at you. He looks at you like the stars and planets were brought to life by your mere presence, taking your breath away with the sheer intensity with which he holds you in his arms. He's warmth, the sun, and if you close your eyes, you think you're all right.

Almost.

(because doubt creeps in again the moment he leaves your side; bitter bitter bitter —)

"I'm sorry," you mumble one day, eyes stuck to the ground in shame of the thoughts bubbling in your mind.

Kyojuro stops walking and turns to you. The wind pushes the umbrella away from his grip, but he holds tighter onto it. Rain drips heavy from its sides. "Hm? What was that, Y/N?"

Your skin feels suffocating, stuck to your flesh like a cage, screaming let me out —

You take in a breath, and exhale. You smile at him and shake your head. "No, it's nothing." You laugh then, and pray to whoever would listen that Kyojuro doesn't notice the strain in your smile.

(he does)

"Y/N," he says again, more urgently now. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

You can't look at him. Droplets of rain splash against your boots, and it reflects the deep indigo of the sky, splattered by the artificial lights of buildings. You would have never been able to appreciate the deep hue of the night sky if it weren't for him. Your chest hurts.

"Hey, hey," he coos gently, raising his hands to tilt your chin up. He stares into your very soul, so intense, so passionate, too much. "Tell me what's wrong, love?"

Kyojuro's smiling at you, as always. There's reassurance in the way he holds you; there's safety there — home, warmth, love.

(do you really deserve that?)

"I'm sorry." It spills from your lips. "I'm sorry you're stuck with me. You should have had someone better to be your soulmate."

He blinks owlishly, surprised, and smiles tentatively. "Where did this come from, love? What do you mean?"

You step away from his grasp and his hand falls limply to his side. "You're stuck with me because of whatever fate there is destined you to be stuck with me. I'm so sorry. You don't deserve to be with — with someone like me. You should be with someone better; someone who's prettier and smarter and happy and nice and bright and —" Your words cut off from the pain in your heart. Tears burn at your eyes, so you look up to try to keep them in.

(the sky cries for you)

"Y/N . . ." Kyojuro sounds pained. "That's —"

"No," you interrupt. "Please don't try to make me feel better. We both know I —"

"Listen to me, Y/N." He rests his hand against your cheek, and you lean subconsciously to the warmth of his skin. "I don't love you because the fates deemed it that way, I love you because you make me happy."

(no —)

"Kyo," you start to say, but he hushes you with a finger against your lips. He smiles again, and you feel both fluttery and incredibly sad at the sight.

"You're the only one who could ever make me this happy," he tells you. "Even in a world without soulmates, I've no doubt you'd be the only one I'd ever love this fiercely. Please believe in me, if you can't believe in us quite yet!"

You'll cry if you speak, so you pinch your lips shut and nod at his words. Kyojuro smiles even brighter at that and leans forward to kiss your forehead.

"I'll prove to you how much I love you every day for the rest of our lives," he tells you. "Until you believe in it as well!"

You nod again, quiet, but the smile on your face is a bit more genuine now.

Chapter Text

Drowsiness creeps in steady as quiet footfalls echo in the lonely corridors of the Butterfly Estate. Sleep sticks to the white-washed walls, mingling with the scent of wisteria and venom and bitter medicine: home. Shinobu's lids feel heavy, but she forces her yawns down, at least until she finishes this last round of patrol. Her patients have always been known to be quite rambunctious, and she'd rather spare herself the headache of finding another catastrophe tommorow morning.

Muffled whimpers dredge from the last door down the hall. Shinobu tilts her head curiously at the sound. It's your room, the one nearest to the blooms in her garden. Shinobu had specifically put you there, where the roses can greet you right as you open your eyes to the morning.

You're usually fast asleep by this time, and so Shinobu can't help the tickle of curiosity as she walks up to your door and knocks. The whimpering sounds are louder, this near to your room.

"Y/N, love," she says, voice as soft as a whisper. She opens the door to peek in. "You know you should be asleep by now —"

Shinobu stops at the sight that greets. The soft moonlight reflects off of your glistening chreks as you sit hunched over your shivering frame. You look like a child. No — you look like her, she thinks, stepping over to kneel by your side. So tiny, so helpless, so afraid.

"Y/N?" she calls out, tilting her head to catch your eyes. But you keep them pinched shut, so she resorts to pressing her hand against your cheek. Your skin's hot beneath her fingertips.

Your eyes fly open. Tear-stricken, glazed with the shine of diamonds, Shinobu sees her own smile reflected within the hue of your irises. "Sh-Shinobu?" you mumble, shoulders racked with hacking sobs and whimpers. Shinobu's heart clenches at the sight, but she manages to hold on to her smile.

"Are you all right?" she asks. "You seem quite unwell, dear."

You shake your head and croak out a weak it's nothing, before hiding your face from her. It's not a very persuasive show, and Shinobu merely stares for a bit before sighing and climbing up the bed. The mattress dips with her additional weight atop.

"Come here," she coos, wrapping her arms around your chest and coaxing you to rest your cheek against her chest. Her hands dig into your hair, deft fingers untangling the unruly strands. "You're not convincing anyone like that, you know," she says lightly. "Tell me what's bothering you, love."

Only your heaving sobs permeate the heavy air. Shinobu lets you be, resting her chin atop your head and murmuring comforting nonsense in your ear. Her hand dips to your back and she presses light circles against your skin there.

You gasp for words. "N-Nightm-mare," you manage to get out. Shinobu's heart clenches. If she could transfer all the pain you're feeling to herself, she would, in a heartbeat, but she can't, so she settles with hugging you tighter and hoping that she's enough to ease your worries.

"Tell me about it, love."

It takes you a minute to find some semblance of coherence. "I-I dreamt that you were gone," your voice falters, "Everyone was dead and it was all my fault and —"

Her heart breaks.

"But that's not true, now, is it?" she says, meeting your gaze and smiling as kindly as she can though tears prick at her eyes. She raises her hands to wipe away the tearstains on your cheeks. "It was just a nightmare, wasn't it?"

You nod and bury your head in her chest, still crying your heart out. It's too stiffling, the hurt in the room. She feels helpless, lost and falling as she tries to comfort you as best as she can. She's helpless. She can't take away your pain no matter how hard she wills it to. She closes her eyes.

"Hey, hey. It's all right. You've nothing to fear; I'm here," Shinobu murmurs against your hair as she sifts through the strands. She bows her head and holds you tighter to her chest. "Everything's all right, dear."

Again and again. She only hopes her presence can serve as a comfort to you. Eventually, your cries lessen to sobs, until only hiccups shake your shoulders. When Shinobu looks up again, the sun has risen, and you are slumbering peacefully in her arms. 

Chapter Text

It's chaos holding its breath in terror that greets Sanemi as soon as he steps inside the gates of your home. Rambunctious squealing and laughter die down, and dozens of wide eyes turn to stare at him curiously. The gazes on his skin feel sticky, unwanted. He huffs, already itching to get away from the place as soon as possible.

He's about to turn around and walk out when he hears your voice. "Oh! Sanemi! You're finally here!"

( . . .

dammit)

A pair of warm arms wrap around his waist as you lean over to press your weight against him. "Where do you think you're going?" you chide lightly. "You haven't even met my parents yet."

Sanemi leans in close, close enough that his breath tickles your skin, and anticipation catches your breath in your throat as you close your eyes for a kiss.

He nudges your face away. Your eyes fly open at that, and Sanemi would never admit how adorable you look like that, with embarrassment staining your cheeks scarlet and indignation hanging from your lips.

"Sanemi!" you whine, rubbing your forehead where he'd pushed you away from. "What was that for?"

He shrugs. "We agreed that I'd meet your family. I've met them. Agreement over. I'm going home —"

"Don't make it sound like a business contract!" you huff, clutching at the sleeve of his haori, almost pleading. "And won't you at least come inside? My parents are really eager to get to know you!"

Sanemi's highly aware of the eyes on both of you, hanging onto your every word like a live play of some sort. It's annoying, and he turns to glare at a random spectator. A kid yelps and hides behind an older woman's yukata.

"Why are there so many people here?" he grumbles, before allowing himself to be led inside the house. You grin brightly at him for that, hand falling to twine against his, and Sanemi marvels at the smoothness of your skin against his scarred palm. "Are you running an orphanage or what?"

You snort, waving at a girl near your age. She has some of your features, he notices eerily. "No. They're my family. That was my cousin there. Say hi!"

He doesn't. You sigh, already too familiar with his mannerisms to even be annoyed. "Don't tell me you live with all these people here."

"I do." Another child, barely reaching your waist, rushes to wrap his arms around your leg. You laugh and kneel to pat his head, and the kid stares at you with wide eyes.

"Y/N-nee-chan," he mumbles. "Who's the scary guy?"

Sanemi bristles while you laugh. "He's the one nee-chan loves, Takihiko. Be kinder to him."

His eyes widen. "But — but he looks scary!" Takihiko chances another glance at the Pillar and hides when their eyes meet.

You pat his head again. "He's actually very nice! Don't be so scared! Sanemi, come here and stop being such a grouch."

He is *änot being a grouch at all. Either way, Sanemi sighs and kneels by your side, lowering his head to be at eye-level with the boy. When he speaks, there's an almost calming quality to his voice that surprises you. Like a blossom unfurling, he transforms before your eyes into a kindly figure, with the softest of smiles and the most delicate of touches.

"Hey, there," he says. "My name's Sanemi. What's yours?"

Your cousin peers from behind your clothes. "T-Takihiko."

"Suits you well. You'll grow into a fine young man someday."

Takihiko watches him with wide eyes sparkling like a wonder is unfurling before his eyes. "Y-you think so?"

Sanemi nods, and the boy becomes even more excited. "I want to become a Samurai when I grow up! Do you think I can do that?"

Unfazed, Sanemi nods again. His attention is fully on the kid now, and there's nary a hint of irritation in his body. "You'll be the strongest Samurai out there, huh?" he asks, and there's a lilt of laughter in his voice. "I'll train you in swordsmanship if you want."

"Really?" At the Pillar's nod, Takihiko squeals and rushes over to hug Sanemi. "You're the best, nii-san!"

Well. That didn't take long. You want to coo at the heartwarming sight before you, but Sanemi narrows his eyes at you, and you decide you quite value your life for now.

As if a seal has been broken, the children previously playing at the yard unfreezes, clambering towards Sanemi and excitedly asking him to play with them. He responds with all the ease of an experienced fatherly figure, and you can't help but blush at the fond spark of light in his eyes. You back off into the engawa of your home, leaving him outside.

"Is that the boy you were talking about?" a voice next to you speaks up. You turn to see your mother beside you, watching the scene with crinkled eyes.

"Y-yeah."

As if contemplating a deep thought, your mother tilts her head and snaps open a fan to hide her lower face. Satisfied, she nods and turns to you. "Yes," she says. "He'd make a fine husband and father to your children, no doubt."

Sanemi looks up at that, and he couldn't have possibly heard your exchange, but there's definitely a suggestion in the twinkle in his eyes as he plays with your cousins. You flush furiously.

Chapter Text

A vivid sunset illuminates crystalline tears as they fall from the skies. The summer air reeks of sticky humidity and fresh grass and jewels aired out to flash rainbows in the sky. It's too pretty. Muichiro sighs and thanks whatever gods there may be for the umbrella he found randomly on his bag. Yuichiro must have put it there. Or something.

He's about to go home, when a stark shadow catches his eye. A lone figure stands by the playground, catching light raindrops in the strands of hair colored amber by the setting sun. Muichiro doesn't know what leads his feet to turn and head towards you, but soon, he's standing by you, tracing your gaze to a muddied envelope on the ground.

He tilts the umbrella to hide you beneath its shade. You don't look up. For a while, the sound of falling rain is the only sound in the world.

"Are you all right?" he finally asks.

A slow nod. Lethargic. You're still not speaking. Muichiro directs his eyes to the envelope sticking to the ground, torn apart by the droplets. The heart on the cover bleeds red, shifting the puddle it's in into a pale pink.

"What happened?" he asks again.

You shake your head. Muichiro frowns at that. You're too glum, and there's obviously something wrong — he's not dumb. Irritation climbs at the back of his throat, hot and venomous, prompting him to turn away and walk away. You're his friend, yes, but he won't bother trying to talk with someone who isn't even interested in saying a word.

You look up. Pale sunlight glitters against the droplets of water on your cheeks, and Muichiro would have dismissed it for raindrops if not for the redness in your cheeks that bloom like hearts beating hollowly. You sniff and wipe at your cheeks, and he stops at the pure . . . brokenness of your expression.

"Y/N," he says again, quietly. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Muichiro pinches his lips together, an attempt to stave away a sigh. He wants to take you in his arms and comfort you, he wants to grab your shoulders and shake you until you say what he needs to hear. He wants to go and find the jerk who made you cry. He wants to stay and keep you company until the tears dry from your cheeks. He wants to see you smile.

(he wants you to trust him enough to let him care for you)

"Y/N . . ."

"I–It's really nothing, Muichiro," you say. "I'm fine. I am. I really am. It's nothing. It's my fault for getting my hopes up, after all." A bitter laugh that dries up to mist. "I'm fine."

He blinks, opening his mouth to say something — the feeling of missing puzzle pieces rises, however, and Muichiro directs his gaze back to the envelope laying on the ground. It's important, somehow, he knows, but can't put together how it fits yet.

(. . . oh. oh)

"You confessed today?" he blurts out, eyes widening in realization. "It's Friday already?"

He remembers. A bit. Friday. Confession. A nervous prayer and meticulous grooming. You nod glumly at his question, and though your face is cast in shadows, Muichiro thinks he can still see the heartbreak in your face.

"Oh," he repeats. "I–I'm sorry?"

You shake your head again, and the laugh that you force out sends a pang of ache in his chest. "No, it's my fault. I should have known better. This is all on me. I'm so stupid."

The rain almost washes away your words, and Muichiro would have missed it if he hadn't been paying close attention to every shift and flutter of your trembling lips.

"Y/N, I —"

"Please don't."

So he cuts off. It's silent again between you two, and in that space, Muichiro scrambles for words. It feels like he should say something. The pressure rests on his tongue, heavy, but the words won't come. He should say something. He should.

Finally, you heave a shivering breath and turn away before he can even start to compose his frazzled thoughts and pained heart logically. "I – I have to go. I'm sorry for bothering you, and thanks for checking up on me."

(no, dammit. you're not a bother. stop saying that)

"Y–you know that you deserve better, right?" he trips over his words like a fool. He winces but continues before you can walk away completely. It's inexplicable, the urge to keep you here, by his side, at least until the rain ends and your heart isn't hurting as much. "You deserve someone, um, someone better. Y–yeah. And someone kinder and —"

"I know," you say, but it rings hollow. Still, you muster a smile for him. It's painful. Just painful. "Thank you."

He can't take this anymore. Muichiro steps forward and wraps his arms around your shoulders, a palm holding the back of your head against his neck. You make a sound halfway between a protest and a squeak, and Muichiro merely holds you tighter. The cloying scent of decaying spring fills the air, washed away by the rain. He breathes it in and closes his eyes against the pinpricks of heat that stab at his eyes.

(can you feel it? he wonders. can you feel the pain he feels for you?)

He still doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know if he should say anything at all. But that's all right; you fill the silence well enough, anyway. At the touch, your walls break, and Muichiro both feels relieved and pained at the sobs that catch on your throat. Your hands come up to clutch at the back of his clothes as you bury your head in his shoulders.

He can do nothing but hold you closer as you cry into his shirt. He wishes — God, he wishes — that he can take away your pain for even just a minute. He'd give the world just to be able to alleviate your sadness. He can't bear to see you so hurt, to the point of crying and gasping and shivering in his arms.

"Why?" you cry into his shirt. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts; why does it hurt? And he wants to say something but he doesn't have the answers to your questions. It's frustrating, being so helpless and useless. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like it at all. He tightens his hold on you, praying desperately to any who would listen that he be allowed to ease your pain even a little because he can't do anything else but that.

You stay huddled like that for what feels like hours dragging on and on. He lets you be, lets you lash out and shout and cry until your breaths heave painfully from your lungs and hiccups shake your shoulders. He pulls away, and his heart wrenches at the look in your face. Your skin is cold; it burns his fingers when he reaches out to wipe your tears away.

"Do you feel a bit better now?"

You nod, sniffing back tears. There's a shaky smile on your lips that relieves Muichiro a bit.

"D–Do you wanna go home now? I'll brew you some tea to get you warmed up."

Muichiro holds his breath when you don't react. Finally, you nod your head again, and his shoulders fall in relief at that. He shares with you a small smile, and you can't return it yet, but you squeeze his hand, and Muichiro thinks, he'll wait until your smile becomes bright once again.

Chapter Text

It's the weirdest thing, walking the halls of the medic bay of the Butterfly Estate and finding complete and utter silence to bask in. It's usually so rowdy in here, so loud and lively, that the sudden quiet is jarring and uncomfortable. It feels like the very sensation of wrongness, and you shift on your feet as you reach your destination, hand hesitating on the doorknob.

It's the room that Tanjiro and his friends frequently crash into whenever they either get sent into the Estate or just passing by. It's their room, by all means; a part of the family as much as the others are —

You're just dawdling now. You sigh,  pinch your eyes shut, and push open the door.

Only one of the beds is occupied. That would explain the silence, if you didn't know that he doesn't need companions to make a mess of things. He's laying so still in his bed, but his breathing is too uneven to be caught in the throes of sleep.

"Inosuke?" Harsh, in the stillness. You wince and clear your throat. "How are you feeling today?"

The answer comes in weak, deprived of the boisterous lilt that characterizes the boy's speech. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you hum, placing a tray of food by his bedside. "Here, I brought you some food. Aoi said that you haven't eaten yet since yesterday's lunch."

Inosuke doesn't even react. "For being so weak."

Ah. So this is what's wrong. You pause at that, glancing at the boy in surprise. If he notices your stare, he doesn't boast or tease you for it. Strands of ultramarine-tinted hair brush his neck when he shifts to turn away from you.

"Inosuke? What do you mean? Is this about your latest mission?" The bed dips as you sit down, bracing your weight against your arm as you lean down to try to peek at his face from beneath his mask. He hides even further.

"I'm sorry," he says again dully.

You sit there in silence for a bit, trapped in a bubble of oppressive depression and guilt. You sigh and rest your hand against his arm, squeezing comfortably. He doesn't push you away like normal, and you can't decide if that's a good or a bad thing.

"Hey, hey," you coo. "Don't worry so much about it. I think you did pretty great out there."

It's like your words don't reach him. "I was only in the way," Inosuke grumbles. "I couldn't even hurt at least one demon. I'm too weak." A pause, then, dejectedly: "Maybe I'm really not as strong as I thought I was."

It's too odd to see him so forlorn like this. This somber mood just doesn't belong to him. When you think of Inosuke, you think of the wild, of primal instincts and manic laughter. Not . . . Not this. It crushes your soul to see him so defeated. Lost.

You reach out to intertwine your hand with his. His mask shifts, and you think he's looking at you now. Finally. You give him what you hope is a reassuring smile and kiss his knuckles. His breath catches in his throat.

"But you're already so strong, Inosuke," you say. "You're only going to get stronger from here on, right?"

There's another pause. Inosuke latches on to your words desperately. "I — You think so?"

You nod, raising your intertwined hands to rest the back of his palm against your cheek. His skin is warm against yours. "I do," you say. "And you know what else? You make me feel safe, Ino. When I'm with you, I feel at ease because I know you're there to protect me. I only feel that way with you. Isn't that an indication of how strong you really are?"

He's silent again, but this time, it's more contemplative, less gloomy. And then, finally, a spark of life. "Ha!" he bursts out. "I knew it! Silly Y/N can't even protect yourself properly!"

It takes you by surprise, but you chuckle and play along anyway. An ember of heat flares in your chest at the sight. It feels lighter on your shoulders, somehow, now that Inosuke seems to be back to his old self. "That's right. I can't."

"And you need me to protect you from the demons!"

You hum, giggling, and nuzzle your cheek against his hand. Inosuke hasn't pulled his hand away yet. "I do. Protect me from the scary demons, Ino."

He huffs. "Fear not! The mighty Inosuke will come to your rescue! I'll slash anyone who makes you scared, Y/N!'

You squeeze his hand and smile at him fondly. "Thank you, Inosuke. You've no idea how relieved that makes me."

And for a beat, he does nothing but stare at you. You wish you could see the expression he's making now. But Inosuke pulls his hand away from yours and turns to the tray of food next to him, and the moment's broken. But when he takes his mask off to eat, you spot a hint of red tainting his cheeks.

Chapter Text

Exhaustion clings to the back of Giyuu’s mind as he trudges down the path that leads to his estate. Dried leaves painted a fiery red with decay and rust crunch beneath his feet, and in the deep moonlight that scatters in between the spaces of branches and leaves, this autumn looks like a dream glazed in ice. Lethargy drags his limbs down, and he sighs when he finally reaches his home, body and soul longing for the warm press of a familiar body against his.

You’re waiting for him outside, sitting in the engawa and petting his messenger crow soothingly. A piece of paper lays forgotten beside you, and Giyuu spots his handwriting spilled against the white of the parchment. You look up at when his shadow engulfs your figure, and the lovely smile on your face is a picture he’s been craving to see since he left for his latest mission.

“Ah, Giyuu!” you say, eyes brightening. “You’re back.”

He hums and sits beside you, leaning against his arms as he basks in your presence beside him. He hasn’t realized how much he’s actually missed you until this moment, when you’re sitting so close to one another that he can smell the lingering scent of vanilla that clings to your skin. He peeks at you, and you grin when you catch him staring.

Where he normally would have looked away and spluttered an excuse, tonight, he changes the script. Emboldened by the loneliness of the weeks he spent without you, Giyuu takes initiative tonight, reaching out to grab your waist and pull you towards his chest.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, voice weary but eyes bright with hunger. “Give me a kiss.”

Giggling, you comply, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet your lips with his. You pause when he’s merely an inch away; a teasing beat, warm breaths barely ghosting skin before you gift him with the slightest of kisses. You pull away before he can fully reciprocate.

Giyuu juts his lip out into an almost pout, a needy groan drawing from the back of his throat when he tries to catch your lips with his again but, laughing, you lean away and avoid him. He whines and pulls you closer to him.

“Y/N.”

You try to pull back again to tease him further, but his hand grips the back of your head to press your forehead against his. For a while, he lets you stay like that, taking in your features like drinking honey off of a golden spoon. His eyes look luminescent in the moonlight, so captivating and beautiful.

“Y/N,” he says again, and your name on his tongue sounds heavenly. His other hand comes up to grasp your cheek, and you nuzzle your face against it.

“Giyuu,” you say back, on the ends of a breath stolen.

The tenderness of the moment cracks, breaks. Giyuu tugs you forward and mashes his lips with yours in a heated kiss. Feather-light, gossamer-soft, his lips mold against yours smoothly, familiarly. Heat blossoms in the pit of your stomach like a tender fire, matching the fervent caress of his skin against yours.

When you’re forced to come up for air, you part unwillingly. Giyuu keeps you near, near enough that you’re hypnotized by the swirling depths of indigo in his eyes. He’s so beautiful, your Giyuu. You brush away the strands of hair that tickle his lashes, and he closes his eyes to your touch.

“I missed you,” he whispers, lips pressed deliciously against yours with every word that passes from them. “Gods, I missed you so, so much.”

You breathe out a laugh and nestle against his form, and his arms around you is a comfort nothing else can compare to. You sigh and press another light kiss against the side of his lips. “I missed you too, Giyuu. Welcome back home.”

Chapter Text

Mitsuri finds Sanemi in a swish of pale strands sticking to his cheeks, humidity painting an array of kaleidoscopic rainbows on his skin whenever the sunlight would hit him, and it takes her breath away. The sheer beauty of this scene, the sheer beauty of him; a spectacle.

(and what more — he's smiling! smiling! how gorgeous he looks when he smiles!)

Sanemi's holding a little pup in his arms, rocking it like he was soothing a baby crying. He looks so . . . so fatherly, almost, and Mitsuri can feel her face warm at the thought. Sanemi? A father? (that's a thought that shouldn't be legal)

Mitsuri grabs tighter to her umbrella and steps forward on shaky knees, outstretching her arm to have Sanemi and the pup in the shade, away from the harsh sun. Sanemi looks up in surprise, his grin dimming in reflex. His eyes are intense, when he meets her own wide eyes.

"Oh. It's you." He clears his throat and looks away. His smile is gone. (smile again, sanemi? he looked so handsome and sweet when he smiled!)

"Yeah!" Her hands are shaking a bit. "I thought you might want some shade from the sun."

Sanemi's silent for a while. Then, quietly: "Thanks."

Mitsuri hears her heart pound loudly in her ears. It's the only sound she hears, a static music playing in a loop: ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, in time with the butterflies fluttering beneath her skin.

"You're welcome, Shinazugawa!" she breathes out, feeling inexplicably happy for some reason. Then she looks down to the pup the Pillar has been craddling to his chest all this time, and coos. "Hi there, little guy! Nice to meet you!"

The puppy blinks at her. She swoons.

(adorable! cute! precious!)

"Aww! Is this your pet, Shinazugawa?" she asks, leaning forward to tap the pup's nose with her finger. A little paw raises and swats at her. She giggles. "He's so cute!"

"I just found him here," Sanemi answers. "Abandoned, probably."

(oh no! that's so sad! how could anyone leave behind such a sweet little thing?)

"Are you going to adopt him, then?"

He's silent again, and Mitsuri uses the time to play more with the puppy. His paws are so cute and squishy! His fur's so soft! Mitsuri wants to melt, overwhelmed by the cuteness.

"I don't have time to take care of him," Sanemi finally says. Mitsuri can hear the slight disappointment in his tone. It tugs at her heartstrings pitifully.

Mitsuri deflates. "That's unfortunate."

"It'll probably be better if someone else came to pick him up than me, anyway."

(but, but, sanemi looks so comfortable and happy holding that pup like that —)

Her eyes widen. "I have an idea!" she squeals excitedly. She peers up at Sanemi with a bright grin. "I'll help you look out for him! We can take care of him together!"

Sanemi stares at her.

( . . . oh no. was that too forward? did she sound too pushy? was she out of bounds —)

"That sounds . . . agreeable," he says.

(eh? he — he agreed? he agreed!)

Mitsuri beams at the man. "I'll do my best, then! Let's raise him well! Oh, but first, what are you gonna name him?"

Sanemi looks down at the pup. "You name him," he says.

"Me? Really? You'd let me do that?"

Sanemi shrugs and takes the umbrella from her. "Yeah," he says. "And come on, we should go home."

(home? we? huh?)

Mitsuri flushes pink again. "Yeah, sure! And, about the names, um, what about, what about, um, Aki?"

Sanemi snorts. "Can you be even more unoriginal?"

"H-hey! I thought really hard about that one! And it's cute! Isn't it, little Aki? Isn't it?" Mitsuri leans over to scratch Aki's head. The puppy barks happily. "See? He likes it! You do, don't you, Aki?"

Sanemi sighs and rolls his eyes upward. "Aki it is, then," he says begrudgingly.

Chapter Text

Times when she slips under, Shinobu's memories feel like a tidal wave, crashing harshly to shore and ruining any semblance of balance she has, no matter how hard she tries to quell it down. This time, without even the moon to guide her quivering footsteps, she falls. The night air has chilled the floorboards of your room into ice, and they burn against her skin painfully. Ink splatters to the floor, a clattering of quills and pens and the slow rasp of a heaving breath.

(control yourself, shinobu kocho, she tells herself, heart leaping to her throat. control yourself)

But her hands shake too much for control, and her temple throbs with white-hot pain even as she presses her palms against them. The onslaught of memories is too strong, however, and they pull her under in the blink of an eye.

(mom, with her dark hair fluttering in the wind and a joyful laugh. dad, with the kindest smile and warmest hugs —)

Where earlier, her fondest memories would have been a charm to give her the motivation to keep living, tonight, they become nightmares, a leviathan in the form of tantalizing happiness that should have been within Shinobu's reach, and yet she couldn't, couldn't, couldn't ever get to. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Someone, she wants to beg, tears in her eyes; someone take away this pain from her.

She blinks, and her hands are red with blood, glistening in the pale moonlight that drifts from between low-hanging mist. Purple and pink and white flutter, tattooed with the wings of a butterfly torn apart. Shinobu leans over Kanae, and her dark hair tangles between her fingers —

"Shinobu," her sister says, voice weak. Trembling, she tries to staunch the flow of blood from her wounds, but her hands have always been too small to ever be of any help. She bathes in the heat of her sister's life draining, helpless; as always. "Leave the Corps and go live a happy life."

(no! she screams into the empty air. how am i supposed to do that if you're gone?)

And Shinobu can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe underneath the weight of these memories, but she thinks she'd rather live in an eternal nightmare than ever be without her family ever again. Sinking, she closes her eyes and lets herself fall.

Warm hands catch her. Shinobu's eyes fly open, and they meet with yours, heavy with concern and hazy with sleep. Your hand on her shoulder, it feels so — so warm, and real, and alive. Frail shoulders shivering, she raises her hand and grips your fingers in a backwards squeeze.

"Shinobu?" you ask, yawning. "What's wrong?"

She tries to force a smile and wipe away the tear tracks on her cheeks with her other hand without you noticing. "I'm fine, dear," she says. Her voice is shaky. "Just a bit tired from all the work. You know how it is." And she tries to giggle, but it sounds stifled, like a sob catching in her throat.

As she thought, you aren't convinced. You draw her towards you, and there's a cotton-light wave of comfort that draws itself around her shoulders when your arms wrap around her, engulfing her body completely with your own. She's always so small; too delicate, too dainty, too slender, but in your arms, it doesn't feel like a weakness at all.

You call out her name again, a low murmur in the quiet night and she shivers. Shinobu, Shinobu, Shinobu, you press kisses against her skin with every breath, and it feels too much like worship that she wants to cry all over again.

(but she shouldn't. she's a pillar, for god's sake. she shouldn't be so weak like this)

"Tell me what's wrong, Shinobu," and the care in your voice is too heart-wrenching. She rests her head against your chest and searches for the beat of your heart pounding in her ears.

(there it is — beating red and hot and incandescent. alive)

It takes her a while to gather her thoughts. "It's really nothing, dear. I'm fine." She corrects herself: "I'll be fine. Just, let's stay like this for a bit more, all right?"

Your arms tighten around her. "Shinobu —"

She hushes you with a finger pressed lightly against your lips. She smiles again, and it's still a pale imitation of the smile that you know and love, but at least she's smiling.

"I'll be fine," she says again, purple eyes fluttering shut as she buries her head in the crook of your shoulder once again. "I'll tell you all about it in the morning. Just hold me for tonight, all right?"

You sigh. The lightest press of a kiss on the top of her head as you shift for comfort. "I can do that," you mumble. "I'll hold you for as long as you need me to."

Chapter Text

Only stars light the way in the forest, shyly peeking from beneath stray leaves and branches overhead. The trees here tower over Shinobu's head, and it feels like breaking through ocean waves when she finally surfaces from beneath their shade.

She gasps for air.

(where are you? where, where, where?)

It feels strange, being out here without you by her side. It almost feels like vulnerability, because you've never left her side once ever since she's met you, and now, Shinobu could've easily lost a limb, and it would be inconsequential to the loss she feels in your absence.

Her eyes widen. What —?

A heavy weight pushes her off of the branch she's perched on. She hadn't even noticed anyone there. Her feet land on the forest floor expertly, and she cranes her head up just to see your blood drip from the branches above. Her heart freezes.

"Y/N!" Her voice has never sounded this desperate before. She turns to the demon and makes quick work of it, foregoing her usual play and banter to get to your side as you fall.

Too much red. Iron stains the air, sticks heavily to the pale of her skin when she presses against your wound. A weak groan is dragged from your throat. Shinobu blinks back the pricking in her eyes when your bleeding won't stop.

No, no, no, no, no. No.

(please, she gasps —

i can't lose you; anyone but you —)

She struggles to rein in her anger. "You know I would've been fine even if you didn't jump in, yes?"

You cough. Blood as dark as the night sky glistens in the faint light. "I wasn't willing to take that chance."

"Still," she persists. The bleeding won't stop. "You really shouldn't have done that."

She rummages through her pack for some coagulation medicine she'd brewed before. There has to be something here, anything. She has to save your life. She has to — can't, can't, can't lose you. She just can't. Gods, please help her, she can't lose anyone else.

"Hold on for a moment, all right?" Her hands shake. She almost knocks over the needle of the injection, precision and calm replaced by boiling worry and the desperate fear of losing you. "I'll inject you with a medicine that will help with the bleeding. Everything will be fine, love."

(everything will be fine, everything will be fine: a mantra built on lies —)

She can feel your gaze on her, deep and cutting, as the injection pierces skin. There are pinpricks of heat in her eyes, but Shinobu doesn't dare let them fall just yet. She takes out the needle, wraps your arm with a bandaid. Painkillers. Shinobu can't quite find her composure just yet.

A hand lands on her wrist. "Hey, hey," you chide, lips pulling back into a blood-tainted smile. Shinobu uses the sleeves of her haori to wipe away the blood that dribbles down your chin, desperately trying to hide the trembling of her arm. "Everything worked out just fine, didn't it? Stop —" a coughing fit — "Stop worrying so much, 'Nobu-chan."

The hand that wraps around hers is warm and comforting. She squeezes your fingers. "I wouldn't worry so much if you weren't so reckless and imprudent now, would I? The blame is still on your shoulders for this one, love."

You laugh. It's a twinkling sound that breaks in the breezes. "Fair enough," you say, and the shining starlight that catches in your eyes is the most beautiful thing Shinobu has ever seen. She breathes out a laugh, leans in, and presses a kiss against your forehead.

"Don't strain yourself too much," she says. Blood stains your hair dark, and they cling to your skin like a vice. She brushes them away delicately. "It's not like you're at full health yet."

"Really?" you ask. The sky lightens and the world spins. "I feel pretty much healed already. Maybe it's your magical kiss that's healing me up, 'Nobu."

"Please don't delude yourself. That's quite harmful to your health."

You hum and tilt your head to show your cheek to her. "Right, right. Maybe another kiss will heal me completely?"

Shinobu shakes her head in mock exasperation but pecks your cheek again anyway. You smile at her, that lopsided, wide smile where the sides of your eyes crinkle with happiness, and she shudders in relief. She wants to capture this moment to remember for all eternity: the radiance of your smile, the warmth of your skin, the tenderness in your eyes.

(everything will be fine, everything will be fine. she swallows heavily, and the fluttering in her stomach is contrasted by the weight in her chest)

Her voice is low, and she can't quite cling to her smile much. "You . . . Don't do that ever again, all right? I — I don't know what I would do if I lost you."

Your hand catches hers again. "Don't worry about that," and your voice drips with too much solemnity that Shinobu can't help but believe in you. "I promised you I'd never leave your side, right?"

So she smiles instead of crying, and the first rays of dawn break past the horizon. "Yes, you did. I'll take your word for it then, love."

Chapter Text

The first time he meets you, Inosuke can't help but be drawn to you. Maybe it's because you have the same eyes as Gonpachiro that is so familiar and comfortable for him, or something else that he can't put to words, but he freezes when he sees you, and just stares.

You turn completely, and the smile you give him is — is something so, so pretty that Inosuke forgets how to breathe for a second.

"Hello! Nice to meet you!" you greet, seemingly undeterred of the mask hiding his face from you. Even with his mask on, your eyes meet his. A gentle fluttering of warmth bursts in his chest and suddenly, he's too painfully aware of everything. The sun glaze dancing against your skin, the breeze that teases your hair, his reflection mirrored in your smiling eyes.

(he thinks he might be sick, but getting sick has never really felt this nice before)

Inosuke doesn't understand at all. But then he notices your hand resting on the hilt of your sword, and everything clicks into place. Oh.

"You can't try to fool me!" he bursts out, taking hold of his swords to get ready for battle. "Your underhanded tricks will never fool me! You'll never catch the great Inosuke off-guard!"

Quiet. You blink at him, stunned, before that gentle smile graces your face again, and you raise a hand to catch the lilting laughter that spills from your lips. Instead of responding in kind, you reply with: "Inosuke . . . is that your name? It's a very beautiful name."

Torn from equilibrium at the unexpected compliment, Inosuke lowers his blades and stares at you once again, but your crow lands on your shoulder and signals that you have to go. A hand raises to wave at him before you turn away completely, and Inosuke can't help but stare at your retreating back until he can't see you anymore, and then some more.

The next time you meet, Inosuke realizes he never got your name, but Kentaro beats him to that. And thank the gods he did, because when you wave at him and say his name in the sweetest tone possible, Inosuke forgets once again how to breathe.

(it's getting quite annoying, that his knees buckle when you're near — you must be using some kind of trick to make him feel so weak —

no. impossible. inosuke would never be weak)

There's an inkling of something nagging at his mind, watching you and Tontaro fall into step with one another, chatting brightly and laughing. Inosuke falls silent and contents himself to watching you, but then Monitsu teases him about his silence since you appeared.

He's really looking for a fight, isn't he? The blondie is already running, too, and as Inosuke gives chase, he hears Kentaro sigh, intermingling with your light chuckling.

"It's fine," he hears you say to Monjiro when he moves to stop him and Zenitsu. "That's probably just how he shows affection."

He really, really doesn't understand at all. And Inosuke would dislike this feeling if it didn't make him feel so damned warm and fuzzy inside.

And — and you'd get the weirdest pinched look when you're worried, too. Like now; your brows are pinched and your cheeks are puffed up in concentration as you wrap his wounds with clean cloths.

"You should be a bit more careful," you're saying, but Inosuke's not listening. He's too busy soaking in your attention, feeding the fire that heats up his cheeks with every brush of your fingertips against his skin.

"I said I'm all right!" he insists, snatching his arm from you to cross them in front of his chest. "The mighty Inosuke-sama would never be hurt by such a weak demon!"

"I know," you say, lids lowered and lips tugged into an exasperated smile. You tug on his arm again, and reluctantly, he lets you wrap the bandaid around the gash again. You let him simmer for a while, and in the resounding silence, Inosuke watches you work quietly.

You speak up: "You don't really need to convince me that you're strong, you know? I can already see how amazing and strong you are, just by looking at you."

Starstruck. His throat is dry and words get stuck once again, tangling into a familiar frustration. He huffs and turns his head from you, arms crossing into a defensive position. But your touch is so gentle and your hands are so much more smoother and gentler than his own, and any sort of bravado falls.

You smile again and pat his head, and instead of recoiling back, Inosuke closes his eyes and relaxes at your touch.

Chapter Text

"Sh–Shinobu-chan!"

The illusion of serenity shattered, the butterflies that had been resting peacefully atop Shinobu's outstretched finger flutter away, disturbed. She watches them fly off and perch against a flower before turning to her guest.

It's Mitsuri. There's a mad flush of color staining her cheeks, cheeks puffed and eyes pinched shut. Shinobu tilts her head in concern.

"Hello!" she chirps. "Is something the matter? You don't look quite well, Mitsuri."

She hesitates, looking away as if tempted to run. But then, steeling herself, she blows out a breath and looks straight at Shinobu. "Um! I – I was wondering if I did something to make you hate me. If I did, please know I'm extremely sorry for it!"

Shinobu blinks, her smile faltering in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand —"

"Y–You've been avoiding me this past week, haven't you?" Mitsuri says, but there's no hint of accusation in her voice. Instead, she even seems confused herself, as if starting to second-guess her claims. "Have you?" shd adds in a meek voice.

Shinobu opens her mouth to rebut, to tell her friend that it isn't like that at all. But a familiar voice calls out, and the warm lilt and cadence of that voice scrambles Shinobu's thoughts, leaving her throat dry and mind empty of anything that doesn't involve the way your skin glistens with sweat in the early rays of the morning.

"Mitsuri-chan! I've been looking for you all over! Thank gods I finally found you!" you pant, wiping the sweat off of your forehead with the back of your hand. There's a flustered sort-of grin on your face, blown too wide for someone who isn't Shinobu.

"Oh! Y/N-chan!"

It feels unnatural and painful to do so, but still, Shinobu forces a smile and speaks up, clapping her hands once. "How lovely! Mitsuri was just looking for you, too, Y/N."

Mitsuri looks confused. "I–I wasn't? I mean, I was planning on it, but —"

"Go along, go along," Shinobu says, turning the pink-haired girl around to push her to your side. "I'm sure you have some business to take care of, yes? Have fun!"

"B–But, Shinobu-chan, I —" Mitsuri turns around, but Shinobu has already left. Nails cutting half-moons into the flesh of her palms, butterfly wings swishing around like a hurricane; she runs off, heart pounding in her chest and a bitter, bitter, bitter taste in the back of her tongue.

It's distasteful of her to be so affected by a trivial thing. You probably just didn't see her there at first. Or you were just too excited to see Mitsuri that you forgot to greet her. Or you just greeted Mitsuri first, and were going to acknowledge Shinobu next. It's incredibly pathetic to be so hung up over something so negligible, but Shinobu finds herself replaying the scene over and over in her head for the whole day, anyway.

The emotion burns hotter and hotter, and she wants desperately to let you know how much she craves your attention on her and her only, for even just a moment of time, but she can't put it into words. And it's unfair of her to want you to read her mind and cues and to respond as how she wants you to, Shinobu knows that, and yet she can't seem to stop acting so childishly.

But still. Even Tomioka manages to get your attention, simpering and soft-eyed and fluttering on a summer breeze. The height difference between you two is absolutely adorable, with the way he has to tilt his head to meet your eyes and the way you have to raise yourself on tiptoes to pat hid head, laughing. Yes, Shinobu has to grit her teeth. Absolutely adorable. She has the urge to steal you away and hide you from Tomioka's shy smiles and mumbled responses.

So she does. "Tomioka-san," she calls out. You look up at the sound of her voice, and Shinobu doesn't have enough will to keep her lips upturned, so she turns her back on you. "I've been looking everywhere for you. I should have known you were hiding here again all by yourself." A sigh as she pokes his arm. "This is why nobody likes you, Tomioka-san. You're so unsociable."

He stiffens at her words. But she cuts him off before he can defend himself. A sweet smile, spiteful as hellfire: "Please don't try to deny it. You're just coming off as quite pathetic when you do, you know."

You clear your throat behind her. "He wasn't hiding from the others, Shinobu," you speak out tentatively. When the two Pillars turn to look at you, there's a sheepish shade of pink in your cheek that turns your eyes downcast. "I asked Giyuu to accompany me out here."

Shinobu swallows against the wave of jealousy that washes over her. "Pray tell, for what reason must you absolutely have to ask Tomioka-san of all people to go with you? He's a rather busy man, you see. He has to be grumpy and sullen and miserable —"

"I'm not —"

"Oh, hush, Tomioka-san," she says cheerily. "Everyone knows what you do when you're alone. It's all right, no need to be shy just because Y/N's here."

"I asked him to come because I wanted his company," you interrupt. "Please don't start a fight."

But — but why not her? Shinobu wants to ask. Why not ask her for company? Is she so undesirable to you? Have you become sick of her constant presence around you? Dozens of questions bounce in her mind, but Shinobu knows when she's beat, so she doesn't say anything about that and merely smiles.

"Oh, all right then. I'll leave you two to your business. Have fun!"

So she runs away again. She's almost out of sight when Tomioka calls out to her. "Kocho!"

Shinobu stops. "Yes?" she asks without turning around. She doesn't want anyone to see her right now, when there are tears threatening to fall from her eyes and fragments of her heart beating erratically. Tomioka walks forward, however, so he's face to face with her, and she can't hide anymore. She purses her lips.

A long silence. "You're jealous," he notes.

Shinobu breathes out a sharp laugh at that. "What makes you think that?"

She suffers from an even longer bout of silence before he speaks up again. "You're pouting."

"I'm sorry, Tomioka-san," she says, smiling tightly even as she clenches her fists. "You must be going senile in your age. I do not pout."

He stares at her.

"I don't."

He stares at her. And sighs and shrugs, turning around, away from where you still are. Thankfully. He doesn't say anything else, but Shinobu can feel the judgment emanating from him. She huffs.

"Please don't act like you know more about relationships than I do," she can't help but add. Spite rises and mixes with her voice. "It's quite annoying, you know?"

Tomioka doesn't respond to her provocations. Then again, he doesn't need to. Shinobu has already lost.

The final straw comes in the form of a fiery-eyed Pillar with a booming voice and a kind presence. Rengoku, vibrant and lively as ever, is talking to you, and there's something in the way you're both so focused on your conversation that rubs Shinobu the wrong way. Your eyes are wide as you look at him, as if taking in his every word like it is the word of the gods themselves.

But that's just the way you are, Shinobu tries to tell herself. You're always so willing to listen, so attentive and empathetic and wonderful. And there are times where that intense concentration is fastened to her, and Shinobu has never felt on top of the world as she does on those times.

It's all right, she tells herself. There's nothing worth getting jealous over here —

"Y/N, love," she calls out.

You turn around to face her, startled, and somewhere in the background, Rengoku is greeting her. Shinobu can't focus on any of that. All she can focus on is the way your lips part in the softest gasp as she leans in to capture your lips with hers.

She almost sighs as her knees buckle with the sheer relief and warmth of your kiss. It feels like finally being able to breathe again after drowning for so long without your presence, and Shinobu has to hold back a whine when you part for air.

"Sh–Shinobu?" you ask, cheeks flushed in the most delightful way possible. She raises her hand to cup your cheeks in her hands, and marvels at the heat emanating from them. You flush deeper. "Wh–What was that for?"

Rengoku has left, leaving the couple to themselves. Shinobu sighs at that and turns to you, smiling as she presses your foreheads together. "Because I've missed you, love. Why else?"

You blink, hands coming up to rest at her shoulders. "What do you mean? I never left."

Shinobu purses her lips at that. "You haven't," she agrees. "But I rather think that being gone physically isn't the only way for one to be distant, no?"

"Wha —?"

"You've been hanging out with everyone but me this past week," she accuses. The look on your eyes is startling and beautiful, as intense and breathtaking as she remembers it to be. "It's not very hard to feel lonely when you've put everyone but me on your priority list, you know?"

Your eyes widen at that, lips parting in shock, and Shinobu doesn't even try to resist the urge to kiss you again. She gives you the chastest of kisses, a brief brush of her lips against yours. A trail of heat and electric sparks leave their wake.

"Shinobu," you breathe out, eyes agleam. You stifle a laugh and urge her forward for another kiss. Another. Another. Another. Until you can't stop your laughter and opt to rest your head against her shoulder for balance.

Shinobu flushes. "What?"

You wait until your laughter subsides, enough for you to form words. "Are you jealous, Shinobu?"

She entertains the thought of denying, of claiming the title of the bigger person and say she was not jealous. But she gives in to the sparkle in your eyes as you peer up at her from beneath long lashes.

"What if I was?" she says instead, dropping her arms to wrap around your neck and drawing you closer to her. "What will you do, love?"

You smile at her and draw her even closer. "I'd tell you that I'm sorry for ignoring you."

She hums, closing her eyes to soak in your warmth more. "Is that all?"

"I'd tell you I love you and you never have to worry about me leaving you."

Your breath brushes the shell of her ear and she shivers in your arms. "And?" she whispers, breathless.

Shinobu can feel the imprint of your smile as you press a kiss against her neck. "I'd show you how much I love you."

Shinobu sighs at that. "That sounds lovely."

Chapter Text

Tengen hates the dark. He hates the shadows that cover the brilliancy of the cities with its slumbering embrace, the dullness, the danger, the blandness. The way the dark hides and hides and hides everything into ink and black. Like now, stumbling through the woods near the back of his house with not a flamboyant light supply to guide the way. The shadows creep at his shoulders, screech and laugh. It's not the most flamboyant thing, to traverse the woods so deep in the night in only his nightwear, but you've been gone for quite a while, and Tengen can't sleep if you're not safe by his side.

He finds you lying in a wreath of daisies stained redder than roses. The moon overhead casts light upon your skin wherever thin branches don't block them, and through the splotches of light, Tengen thinks you are a scene from a play, with death splayed across your fingertips like death's grip on a lost soul. His ring glints on your finger glints. A mockery.

"Y/N!"

He'd taken it for granted, your safety. Trusted the wisteria and the gods and the dream for the future that you two have created. His missing arm itches and aches, a memoir of pain and loss. The ground is too red. You are too red. You are not supposed to be this red.

No such thing as rationality when the world is collapsing beneath one's feet. The ground is unsteady. Knees threaten to buckle and fall, give up, give up, give up. His heart beats painfully against his chest, and it sings a lament of the living.

"Y/N! What — what happened? Y/N, stay with me!" He kneels beside your prone figure. Warm liquid soaks through his kimono. Smells like iron, tastes like blood. Uncaring. Tengen leans down to assess your condition.

Blood. Blood. Blood. Everywhere. He doesn't have Kocho's mastery over medicine, doesn't even have two damned hands to help you with. He tries to staunch the bleeding in your stomach with his hand. Useless, useless, useless. A whimper of pain escapes your lips.

(the smallest of reliefs. gods, please, tengen can lose anyone except you —

anyone but you)

Your eyes are a stained glass full of kaleidoscopic rainbows bouncing off of the moon's rays. Weakly, your lids flutter open, and laughter bordering on hysteria and manic, manic relief rises aggressively up his throat. He presses harder against your wounds. The blood flow won't stop. He doesn't have any serum for coagulation on him. Useless, useless.

"Y/N! Stay with me! I'll get you home, all right? Just — Just stay awake and I'll —"

"T–Tengen-sama." A weak voice, heady and breathless with pain, but your voice is still a music that he can listen to for all eternity. Your hand reaches out to take his, and Tengen catches it before it falls to the ground. "I —" A sob catches on your throat and traps your words unsaid.

A late memory resurfaces: walking through these same woods like a daydream, except the sun is there to illuminate the way, and your smile is there to warm his heart. You look like the most exquisite person ever, lovely and flamboyant; the very embodiment of everything Tengen has ever been drawn to. Shining like gold-stained glass and diamonds sprinkled with stardust whenever the sun would touch you; you are nostalgic. Laughter rings out, along with the faintest touch of red blush tangled with murmured i-love-you's and fantasy touching reality.

(gone —?)

"Y/N!" Desperate. Blood rushes to his head and spins his vision until all that he can focus on is the coldness of your hand — you're not supposed to be this cold at all — "Y/N! Stay with me! Didn't I tell you to save yourself first? What happened to that? Everything would be for nothing if you died now!"

Clear as day, he remembers his words: a flamboyant priority list, selfishness as a way of life. First, you. Second, others. You, you. You. Always you. You should've been safe and sound with him, sleeping. Dreams of the future flit by, of murmured whispers in the deep night about retirement and moving away, and maybe having kids and growing old together. A future planned for two — it would all be for nothing if you left now.

"I'm sorry." Your voice breaks and cracks, but your eyes remain steadfast on his, even as tears pool and fall. "I'm sorry, Tengen-sama . . . I – I couldn't do what you told me to do. I failed you. I'm sorry —"

His anger dies down with the fall of your tears. They drip down to clean your face from the dirt and blood that stains your skin. It's Tengen's greatest fear to watch you leave, but it hurts just as much to see you cry. He wants to brush your hair away from your cheeks and wipe your tears away, but the grip you have on his hand is so faint that he's afraid he'll lose it if he took his hand off for just a second.

(but he knows, doesn't he? it's too fatal, this wound. and he's too late to save you from this. the truth is too bitter. he'd give anything just to be able to hold you for a little longer)

"Hey, hey, hey," he says. The chill of the night has stolen your warmth. Tengen shifts so you're pressed against his chest. He holds you close as if to protect you from the monsters of the night, and your relocate your grasp to his kimono. "Don't say that. I didn't mean it. You did absolutely flamboyantly. I'm proud to call you my wife."

You cry harder at that, and Tengen tucks you deeper against his chest and bows his head, praying to any god out there that his warmth would pass on to you. It doesn't, but he doesn't stop trying.

(there's no use pleading. a derisive snort and upturned nose, from a wave of nostalgic bitterness. "who do you think listens to your prayers? shinobi are meant to die."

no! his hollow echo rings)

Tears soak through his kimono. Your hold on clothes weaken, and Tengen desperately wishes for his other arm to be whole so he can at least hold you properly tonight. He settles for kissing your tears away. The salt on his tongue is a bitter, bitter gift of the night.

"Tengen-sama, I . . ."

He hushes you gently. "Don't worry about it. It's fine." There's a build-up of something in his chest that washes over like a wave, suffocating him until his lips are blue and his eyes prick with tears. Still, Tengen manages to smile reassuringly at you, the way you've always liked his smile. Earnest, as open as the heart on his sleeve. "You did amazing. It's all fine now, Y/N. You're the most flamboyant person ever, for fighting so hard until now. It's about time you took the time to rest."

"But —"

"No buts." He kisses you on your lips, chaste as the first winterfall. His hair comes out red when he pulls off. "I told you you should think of yourself first, and me third, right? Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

(he wants to fight so badly. wants to shake you and tell you to fight for him, for both of you, for the future you've dreamt of for so long —

but a smile graces your lips at his words, and tengen knows he'd never be able to ask such a thing of you if it meant you wouldn't be smiling so peacefully like this for him)

He waits until you're still in his arms, waits until the dawn rises, before he lets his smile fall and the tears out. He doesn't even care anymore if it's undignified or unmanly or unflamboyant to wail over you like this. There's no other way to let off the pain that thrums in his chest, but to cry and hope for a different time where he can share his life with you again.

(ah . . . he hasn't even told you how much he loved you one last time)

Chapter Text

Here is a secret held tightly by bound lips and lowered eyes: in the Butterfly Estate, grief paints the walls white, and a lingering bitterness fuels the sharp blade of its inhabitants. Here is another secret: Shinobu should have been the one to die, and Kanae, the one to live. And why not? Shinobu is petite and small; she is simmering angry and rash and rough around the edges. She is hatred and tears and shaky hands veiled carefully beneath poison-laced smiles. Kanae, she is the flower that tilts gracefully to catch the sunlight. Her smiles are genuine, her kindness is genuine, she is genuine and fills everyone with warmth and love. No one thinks of that at all, and yet it seems to be the reality Shinobu is living under.

If Kanae lived, everything would probably be happier and brighter. So Shinobu dons her smile and the lilting way she speaks and her haori and everything Kanae, and forgets herself in the process.

My sister told me she loved my smile, she told you once. She smiles at you then, and her revelation unlocked a reality that you’ve never seen before. The sky is grey, rain falls, and that’s the only time she lets herself confide in you.

Sometimes, you catch her in the rooftops, watching the inhabitants of the Estate work and laugh and play, and there’s an emotion swirling in those hooded eyes that screams of pain and misery. You wonder why she doesn’t come down and talk with you all.

(but you think you know. it’s because she’ll always hold herself back from being truly happy)

“Shinobu-san?”

Scattered items, upturned vials and spilled liquids. Her room smells like incense and wisteria and fully-bloomed grief scattered like spring petals in the air. She’s crouched in the middle of the chaos, and when she tilts her head to look up at you, her eyes are red.

Still, she smiles. You wish she’d stop that.

“Yes, dear?” She slips something into her pocket and directs your attention to the grace with which she walks over to you. “Did you need anything, Y/N- chan?”

“Nothing in particular.” You scan the broken glass that litters her floor. There’s bits of blood in them. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing in particular,” she teases, hip bumping against yours playfully as she guides you carefully out of her room. “I was just cleaning up my mess. Dear me, I’m so clumsy sometimes, aren’t I?” And she laughs at the blatant lie, but doesn’t try to divulge the matter more.

You stop before she can usher you out of the room completely. “Shinobu-san. I know it isn’t my place to question or oppose you, but are you sure you’re all right?”

Shinobu looks at you strangely at that, a blankness in her eyes as if taken aback by your question. She opens her mouth, and it’s almost as if she’s finally going to break and give in, but she recovers with another smile perfected by years of training, and you wonder if there was ever anything to worry about in the first place.

“Of course I’m all right,” Shinobu says, reaching out to cup your cheek in her palm. “I have you, after all.”

(and then she shuts the door, and the illusion is shattered

she has you, but did you ever have her at all?)

You find her the next evening by Kanae’s room. It’s been turned into a shrine, a memorial for the girl larger than life itself. Shinobu is kneeling in front of her sister’s picture, hands clenched into fists and breathing out a heavy prayer. You stay quiet and watch, but eventually, the Pillar notices your presence, and turns to greet you with a smile.

You swallow back your nervousness.

“Y/N-chan!” she exclaims. “How wonderful to see you here! Come in, come in. Did you need anything?”

That again. She’s always asking that. No, you don’t need anything, except maybe for her to finally smile from genuine happiness and leave behind the burdens of her past. But that isn’t an appropriate response, so you merely shake your head no, and go to sit next to her.

“What’re you doing awake so late in the night, Shinobu-san?”

Shinobu doesn’t reply for quite some time. Her gaze is fixed on Kanae’s smiling portrait, but her mind is far away. When she does finally reply, the topic she brings forth is different.

“Hey, hey, Y/N-chan.” Her voice is dreamy. “When I die, I’ll entrust everything to you, all right?”

Your eyes snap to her. “When?”

(why does she sound so certain of her death? doesn’t she have anything to live for anymore? doesn’t she see how devastated everyone will be if she were gone?)

“I mean if,” she says easily. The smile she shares with you is a mystery. “Everyone will have to die one day, after all, yes? I’m just preparing for that.”

You’re not convinced. Shinobu sees your expression and giggles, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Relax, dear. I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”

And you so desperately want it to be true, so you hold on to her before she can pull back. The purple of her eyes is luminescent in the deep moonlight. “You swear you won’t die?”

She  sighs softly, and her fingertips are warm against your neck, where your heartbeat flutters and stutters. “I swear, love.”

(and you can’t believe how easily she lies with that infuriating smile on, but you should’ve known. she’d sooner give you the world than give herself and her revenge up

did you need anything, dear? she asks –

1. all you ever wanted was her)

When the night breaks and the sun finally peeks from the horizon, Kanao finds you in the aftermath. The kakushi are rounding up all survivors, and you’re getting desperate. Shinobu’s not here. Shinobu’s not anywhere. She has to be here. Alive, and maybe a bit wounded and tired, but alive.

Kanao finds you instead. She’s quiet as she hands you the butterfly pin Shinobu always wore. Her hair spills everywhere, down her shoulders and sticks into her face, but she doesn’t pay heed to it. There’s a hunch to her shoulders that won’t go away. She’s tired. All of you are.

“I’m sure,” she says quietly, “that she would’ve wanted you to have this.”

( . . . oh)

There are no more tears to shed, no more grief left to wallow in. You take the hair piece from her hands and hold it to your chest, and try to remember the way her laugh used to sound like. Try not to think about how you weren’t even there during her last moments.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you about her plan.” When you look up, Kanao’s crying again, arms wrapped around herself for comfort. She’s shaking. “We could’ve come up with something to save her if I did. I’m sorry.”

(you could’ve. but shinobu, she never really wanted to be saved anymore, did she? she wouldn’t allow herself to be saved, even if she could be. her fate was set from the moment she started living to die)

You take her into your arms. Kanao falls against you, gasping for air as another sob wracks through her body. She’s still so young, and so drenched in loss and agony. You bury your head in her shoulder and take in a shuddering breath. No more tears to shed, but your eyes prickle with heat.

“She chose her own fate,” you say, patting the girl’s back while sniffing back tears of your own. “We couldn’t have done anything for her. It’s what she wanted.”

Kanao cries harder. Her nails dig into your shoulders pitifully, seeking to break free of the sea of pain and tears that steal the breath from her lungs. Her knees buckle, and thoroughly exhausted yourself, you fall to the ground with her.

“But – But she was happy, right?” Kanao pulls back to look at you desperately. “We made her happy, right?”

You don’t know. If she was happy, then why didn’t she make you and everyone else her reason to live? Why didn’t she live for everyone? For you? Maybe she was happy, but it still wasn’t enough for her. She needed more. Her revenge weighed heavier than anything else in the world, and in the end, she let herself sink with it.

Still, you nod and smile at Kanao reassuringly. “Yeah. Shinobu-san was very happy. I’m sure she was.” And if Kanao heard the doubt in your voice, she doesn’t comment on it.

Chapter Text

There are few constants in Muichiro’s life, what with the chaotic nature of death and the way it likes to appear randomly every now and then to take away someone dear to him unexpectedly. He likes to cling to routine, to tradition, to any semblance of order amidst the maelstrom that is demon slaying, and one of those routines is you.

You, with the brightest smiles that can light up the skies far greater than the sun ever can, with the warmth that can heat up the loneliest of winters. You. Muichiro doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone as beautiful as you, as caring and gentle and understanding and just perfect. You feel like a dream, sometimes; unattainable and unreal, ethereal. Except you’re always there, sticking by his side through everything that may come in the way dreams never do, and really, Muichiro could never dream up of someone so larger than life as you.

He’s never appreciated you before as much as he does now. The fog of his memories has parted, and now, everything seems so clear. You’ve always been there. You’ve always been there for him, even through the darkest times where he pushed you away and forgot your name constantly. A constant source of comfort and warmth and reason to keep on going.

(just the thought of you invokes a heavy sense of relief and home, and it feels like safety and security and trust)

But now, there’s an ache in Muichiro’s chest that he can’t ignore anymore. It builds and builds with every laugh and smile you give him, every time you pat his head for a job well done, every time you look after him before he goes on a mission. If he had a word to describe this emotion with, it would be almost. Almost satisfying, almost enough, almost as how he wants – needs you to be.

The loving affection you give him, they border on maddening teases and glimpses of if only you’d see him as a man rather than a boy. It’s frustrating, frustrating, and Muichiro doesn’t know how to deal with it, except maybe watch you from afar and daydream of a someday where you look at him like maybe the way Iguro looks at Kanroji. Like maybe the way Muichiro looks at you.

(don’t you notice? his smiles are reserved only for you. his affection is only for you)

If only he could delude himself into thinking that the secret smiles you share with him are the smiles of a lover. But he can’t. It leaves him unsettled. Restless, like the ground beneath his feet is never steady unless you are there to calm him down with your mere presence. He craves for more, greedy and selfish for the way your brows scrunch up when you’re concentrating, the way you sing him a lullaby when he can’t sleep, the way you trust him so wholly about everything.

(the word for this is love , he thinks

but then, don’t you love him?

– you do. just not the way he wants you to love him)

“Y/N?” he asks one day. The midday sun is scorching and your hands are tangled in his hair, weaving the strands into a braid dotted by wildflowers. Leisure. Days like this, so calm and relaxed, are rare. Muichiro soaks in everything, every sensation and detail, so he can revisit the memory again and again. “What does being in love mean?”

There’s a brief silence that breaks when you throw your head back to laugh. Muichiro turns around to watch you, and his eyes are trapped in the way you bare your throat as you laugh. Elegant. “Let me guess, you’ve been talking to Mitsuri, haven’t you?”

He looks away. “Have you ever been in love? How does it feel?”

A thoughtful hum, broken by giggles. You continue your work on his hair. “I’ve never been in love to be honest,” you admit. There’s a shy note that underlies your voice, and it’s probably the cutest thing ever, next to maybe cats or the clouds. Muichiro tries to peek at your expression, and his heart jumps at the flush of colour staining your cheeks.

“Mitsuri said it feels amazing,” he says.

“I’m sure it does. The way she describes it is very romantic.” You pause, and then teasingly, you add: “Why are you so interested so suddenly? Are you in love, Mui?”

The words fly away. It almost feels like when he lost his memories, where he’s swept off by the clouds, untethered from reality, except this time, he’s acutely aware of every nudge and brush of your wrists against his neck, the wind flitting past and his heartbeat in his ears.

“I-I dunno. Maybe?” His tongue is tied. “How do you know if you’re in love?”

You finish the braid and tap his shoulder to make him turn back at you. He obliges, but his gaze falls everywhere but your eyes, but that’s all right, because you’re not seeking to meet his eyes anyway. Your hand falls to pat his head, brushing over his bangs as you look off to the side in thought.

“I don’t actually know,” you say. You look back at him and smile. Muichiro can feel his cheeks heat up. There’s a jittery sensation in his body; the urge to run. Restlessness. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “If you feel comfortable with someone, I guess. If you feel like you can trust them with your life, and if you’re willing to do anything just to make sure they’re happy. At least, that’s what Mitsuri told me.”

(there’s a wistful smile on your lips, as if a prayer to the gods for a love like that. muichiro wants to tell you that he’s just right there, beside you. if only you’d see him that way)

Snapping back to reality, you pinch his cheeks and wink conspiratorially at him. “Anyway! Who’s the lucky person, Mui? Come on, tell me! I swear I won’t tell anyone. Pinky promise!”

Oh no. No. His eyes dart up at you, mind racing to find an excuse to not to tell you. Or maybe he should just confess? Or just tell you a random name? But his thinking cuts off when you just sigh at his hesitance and offer another smile.

“Hey, hey. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You pull him to your chest and tuck him beneath your chin. “But, man. You’re growing up so fast, aren’t you? Soon, you’ll be dating and then getting married and having kids!”

Muichiro hides his face in your clothes. His heart’s beating so terribly fast that it’s all he can feel, down to the very tips of his feet. He’s never felt so nervous before, never felt so unbalanced as much as he feels in this moment right here. He chances a peek at your face and hides again just as quickly.

“Mui?” you ask in concern. “Are you all right?”

His throat is dry. He’s about to do something stupid, and he can’t even summon the will to stop himself. “Y/N,” he breathes out. “D-Do you love me?”

“Of course I do! I love you a lot!” A giggle that echoes from a long distance.

And he should have been content with that. But Muichiro gulps and pulls away from you to look at you in the eye. It’s immediately overwhelming, and every fiber of his being begs for him to hide himself once again. He can’t do this. He can’t. He can’t. He shouldn’t.

(he wants to)

So he pinches his eyes and shakily leans in. You’re still, extremely so, as Muichiro holds his breath and presses his lips against yours as he sees some couples do. Heat mixes with the cool of his skin and raises goosebumps along his arms. He pulls back just as quickly and throws himself back into your chest, hiding the redness in his cheeks and the giddy smile that breaks free. Giddy. Yes. That’s the word. It’s exhilarating. His lips tingle pleasantly. His heart won’t stop pounding in his chest. Breathless and giddy.

Muichiro can’t believe he just did that.

You’re quiet. Shock, maybe, but your arms wrap around him reflexively, anyway, and you haven’t recoiled from him. Yet. Muichiro doesn’t have the courage to take a peek of your expression, thought. He wants to run and hide and maybe replay the scene over and over until the sensation of your lips pressed against his is embedded so deeply in his mind. He wants to kiss you again.

“Mui. I –“ you cut off. There’s a dazed slur in your words, a certain slowness that makes him tighten his arms around your waist. Muichiro waits for your next words with bated breath, but they don’t come. Instead, you tug him away from your embrace to stare into his eyes.

(are you angry? muichiro searches for any hint of anger or disappointment or anything in your countenance, but all there is is the mad blush on your cheeks)

Your eyes are wide. “Was that what you meant when you asked if I love you?”

Hesitantly, he nods. A conflicted expression crosses your face, but it passes away before Muichiro can even begin to decipher the way you regard him in a different light.  You breathe out a laugh and press your forehead against his.

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me.”

The proximity jumbles his words and tangles his thoughts together. He can feel every breath you take, fanning across his lips hotly with every exhale. He can’t speak. But that’s fine. Probably. You lean in and press your lips against his in the most delicious of ways, but you pull away too quickly, and it leaves Muichiro longing for more.

“In that case,” you laugh, cupping his cheeks in your palms. “I love you a lot, too, Mui.”

Chapter Text

There's a blank point in time where events that should have fit seamlessly together don't, and it drives Muichiro crazy. The niggling thought claws at his waking hours and visits his nights in the form of a hollow nightmare where he wakes craving for something that he can't quite place yet.

It grows worse when he looks at you. Your face is a memory he can't shake off, and it haunts him even through the mist of haze that always stops him from figuring out just who the hell you are to him. He forgets, but the feelings remain. And they are ever intense, when he sees you shivering in the corner of your room, hands gripping at strands of your hair. Whimpered sounds escape your hunched figure.

He approaches quietly, eyes searching as he draws near. A word titters at the edge of his tongue; your name, and it's almost there, almost there, almost, almost, almost —

(he can't find it)

"What are you doing?" It comes off as harsh and cold. Probably. He'd kill anyone who tried to talk to him in the tone he's used, so he clears his throat and tries again. "Did something happen?"

You flinch. A hesitation, then, without lifting your head from your knees, you shake your head. No.

Muichiro frowns. He should accept your answer and move on. The seconds that he spends here by you could be spent on more productive activities. The sun is bright outside and the winds calm, a day crafted perfectly for training all day. But for some reason, he finds his feet glued to the floor, kneeling curiously in front of you as he tries to tilt his head to meet your eyes.

"That's not how someone all right looks like."

(he pauses. were those the right words to say? muichiro doesn't know

. . . apparently not)

You raise your head, finally, and meet his stare. Your eyes are narrowed, lips pinched and cheeks glossy and red. Muichiro blinks. Tears? Hesitantly, he reaches out to wipe them off, but you slap his hand away.

"I said I'm fine," you snap. "Go away. Don't you need to train or something?"

Yes. He should train. Go away. It's the most logical thing to do, especially now when you're looking at him with glassy eyes and hurt swirling in your irises hidden beneath prison bars. Your knuckles are white, and your nails draw blood from your arms. You don't even want him there — why should he stay?

"But —"

"I said go away!" you burst out, stumbling to your feet and pushing him off in the process. Your voice cracks. "Leave me alone!"

And then you're gone, in a swirl of clothes and drapes and tears. Muichiro watches your figure disappear, and tilts his head to the side.

(ah . . . why is he in this room again?)

Muichiro finds you by the water's edge next, feet dipped into a lake that glitters silver in the night. There's a heavy aura to you, an oppressive feeling of sullenness and melancholy that stains the air dark. Muichiro can't help but pause in his tracks and stare at you. Your head is tilted to watch the night sky above.

(you . . . who are you again? you seem familiar)

He has a job to do, demons to slay and missions to fullfill, but still, Muichiro finds himself drawn to your lonely silhouette, dragging his feet towards you until he's beside you. You don't react. The silence drags on.

"I . . ." he hesitates when you turn to look up at him. You're so frustratingly familiar. If only he can find your memory in the emptiness of his mind. "I think, there's a star here that tells you where you are."

You hum lowly. A listless sound, a dull sigh. You turn back to the sky, and Muichiro starts to think you wouldn't be responding to him, but you do. It's a whisper, stolen of all vibrancy and life.

"Polaris. North Star." The quickest lift of your lips before they fall down in exhaustion. "I taught you that."

"Oh." Muichiro fixes himself to sit beside you, taking off his sandals and socks to dip his feet into the water as you're doing. Warm. A sigh escapes his lips. Relaxing.

When silence descends once again, it's a bit more comforting now. Still so achingly familiar, being by your side like this, while nature sings a lovely tune for you two.

"Teach me about the stars again," he says after a while. You look at him, surprised, but then a quiet laugh escapes your lips, and Muichiro feels his chest warm at the sound.

"Yeah," you say. "Sure. Anytime."

So you do. You point out random stars that connect to paint a picture in the canvas of the sky. Muichiro can't see the connection, can't see the beauty you see, but he does see the way your eyes light up in the prettiest of ways while you teach him, so he turns to watch you instead while you look up to watch the sky.

"Are you sad?" he asks suddenly, interrupting your lesson. You falter at the interruption, and suddenly, you can't look at him in the eye anymore.

"No." You laugh. It sounds hysterical, like a blanket to hide in. "What makes you think that?"

He shrugs. You sigh and ruffle his hair. But you're still not looking at him. "I'm fine, Mui," you tell him, and there's a note of finality in your tone that Muichiro doesn't dare defy anymore. Fingers twitch, itching to reach out for you, but you keep him at a distance. There's an ache in his bones; it seeks to take away the glint of pain swirling in your eyes.

(but he lets the silence simmer and boil. you don't talk to him for the rest of the night, and when it's time to go, you barely acknowledge his presence beside you)

"Muichiro?"

Late afternoon light spills through the open window, a vibrant orange and pink and yellow peeking through. It's to these colors splaying you with warm light that Muichiro wakes up to. The familiar emotion of longing settles, but Muichiro doesn't pay as much heed to it as he normally would. He's too lost in the gleam of tears pooled in your eyes.

He stares. Then: "You . . . I know you, don't I?"

You shift to look at the distant corner. "You do. My name's Y/N. Remember?"

Y/N? It sends a spark of electricity through Muichiro's veins, eyes growing wide as he stares at you.

(like a lock unclicking, everything falls perfectly to place, as if your name is the only key that your memories need.

oh. oh. it's you. y/n, y/n, y/n. it's a revelation, the way the world sharpens intensely to the point of pain — is this what being grounded feels like?)

In the back of his mind: flashes of red. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming. A plea to run that rots on his tongue. Failure. When the sun rises, it brings to light the atrocities the night has committed. Your hunched figure bowed over a body stained in dirt, eyes wide open with fear. Here is where the puzzle pieces fit together, where the sadness that clings to you comes from. Muichiro reaches out to take you into his arms, dazed by the onslaught of memories that comes with the mention of your name.

"Y/N . . ." he mumbles, burying his face in your shoulder. "Y/N, I —"

"Can I stay here for tonight?" you ask in a meek voice, wrapping your arms around his waist. You fall against him, and he finds a sense of comfort in the way that little actions means you're finally opening up to him. "I can't sleep."

"Sure," he mumbles. "Stay here with me, Y/N."

You squeeze his waist a bit tighter in gratitude, shifting so that you rest more comfortably against him. Muichiro raises his hand to run his fingers against your hair, and you give a little sigh at the sensation.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You hum lazily. "I don't know. Maybe later. I'm just so tired. I want to sleep."

"Then sleep."

Your eyes flutter shut as you nuzzle against his neck. His skin breaks into goosebumps as your breath tickles him. "I can't," you mumble. "They haunt me when I sleep."

It's as if there's an unspoken rule that says the silence must stay unbroken. Muichiro lowers his voice until only you can hear. "I'll protect you from the nightmares if they come."

A twitch; the beginnings of a smile. "Will you?"

"I will."

Sleep claims you slowly. You yawn and snuggle deeper into his embrace, and Muichiro feels his own lids become heavy with sleep as the seconds tick by. He lays back down in the bed and waits for you to adjust before pulling the covers over both of you. This, here, with you between his arms and the blankets trapping your heat between you two, is the last missing piece he's been searching for. Finally, his longing satiated with you by his side, it almost feels like everything will be all right.

"Thanks, Mui," you sigh. "For everything."

And Muichiro wants to say always, whenever you need him, but he can't really guarantee that, so he settles for holding you a bit tighter, and hoping that you feel a bit better with him.

Chapter Text

Exhaustion brings forth a plethora of vitriolic thoughts slicked with oil onto Sanemi's tongue. The moon is barely anywhere to be seen, so hidden by the clouds of mist that entangle the sky with darkness, and so he relies upon the red of the faintly lit streets of his district to find his way home.

(home . . . like a fleeting wind whispered in the break of dawn. home)

He comes home to a fire burning warmly on the hearth, the sound of cheerful humming and the lovely smell of cherry blossoms and sweets and her. A familiar blanket of comfort settles upon his shoulders, and unbidden, a smile quirks the corners of his lips up.

Mitsuri doesn't notice him arrive. She continues to chop happily in the kitchen, humming a song as romantic as a bouquet of roses and a candlelit dinner. Sanemi keeps his footsteps light, and surprises her by wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resting his chin on her head.

She shrieks in surprise, though calms down just as quickly upon recognizing Sanemi's presence. She puts the knife down and huffs. "Sanemi," she whines. "Don't do that when I'm holding something sharp! That could've been dangerous!"

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, though Mitsuri can't see. "As if. Stop being so clumsy and absentminded, then."

She gasps dramatically. "Sanemi! That's not a very nice thing to say! I was genuinely scared!" She disentangles his arms around her and turns around to jut her lower lip at him. Her face is flushed, and she tries too hard to maintain her pissed off expression.

Her lips twitch.

(no, no, no — stop smiling, mitsuri! stop! you're angry at him —

sanemi looks really good tonight —

aaah! stop it mitsuri! stop! don't smile yet!)

Sanemi has already moved on. He pokes at the finished pieces of ohagi she's placed aside for dessert. "Did you make this?"

He takes one and tries to eat it, but Mitsuri slaps his hand away and places the sweet back onto the plate. (Sanemi! He's so cute when he sees sweets!)

She tries to make her expression as serious as possible. "Nu-uh, no sweets until dinner is ready!"

Sanemi's face twists into another scowl — so handsome! — before he urges her to continue cooking. His gaze is trapped by the plates of sweets, and Mitsuri has to keep an eye on him lest he tries to steal one. He always tries that. Sanemi's so cute when he looks so concentrated like that!

Mitsuri continues chopping seaweed, though in her distraction trying to watch Sanemi, she cuts herself. She winces at the sudden influx of pain and blinks at her finger. A cut. How wonderful.

Sanemi's on her in the blink of a second, leading her into the sink to wash off the pooling blood. "What the hell?" he asks. "I thought I told you to stop being so absentminded."

Mitsuri flushes hot. Sanemi's worried! He's so cute when he gets like that!

"S-sorry!" she squeaks. "But I was watching you to see if you were going to steal another sweet!"

He glances at her with the most really? look she's ever seen, and she flushes even more. "That's stupid."

"I-it's not! I was serious! I mean, I am serious! You always try to steal sweets before food's ready!"

Sanemi wraps her finger with some bandages, biting his lip as he loops the cloth around to secure it. He scoffs again, as Mitsuri leans to inspect her finger. It didn't even hurt anymore! Sanemi's amazing!

Mitsuri beams at the man, to which he looks away. Cute! She giggles and steps on her tiptoes to press a light kiss against his cheek.

"I still don't trust you not to steal the sweets, though," she says, returning to where her chopping board was. A small huff escapes Sanemi's lips.

After a few seconds, she feels arms wrap around her waist and a chin rest against her shoulder. She stiffens, and blushes even harder.

"S-Sanemi?"

"Now you'll be sure that I won't steal your shit," he says. "So focus on chopping that up."

Mitsuri breathes out a giddy laugh at that, heart aflutter and face still aflame. "Yeah! I'll be quick then."

Sanemi hums and kisses her shoulder, watching, and says nothing. Buoyed in a bubble of lightness, surrounded by her, her, her, all worries flee from his mind. She continues humming, and he closes his eyes to the melody of Mitsuri's words.

(home, like an ephemeral whisper in the brink of darkness. home)

Chapter Text

Sanemi doesn’t even remember what the argument had been about. Lost in a tidal wave of bubbling emotions and fatigue and the tiniest bit of masochism blending into a mouthful of spiteful words, all that he’s left with now is the ringing silence that remains with the slamming of the door, and the triumphant voice of his insecurities, singing.

(all you ever bring people is hurt and pain. haven’t you learned your lesson yet?)

He stays there in that small room for the longest time, watching through the slight opening of the doors for the tiniest hint of you. There is a tightness in his chest that compresses his breathing, stealing his air every time he tries to take a breath until his skin is hot and he is breathless and the burning urge to take off into the night, blade in hand and blood in his tongue rises aggressively once again. Maybe he should. Let off some steam, let off this antsy sensation flowing through his veins in the only way he’s ever known. It hurts, this itch to watch another pale scar bloom across his skin like cherry red petals.

His skin is too white. Too pure for all the sins and pain he’s committed.

(he’s been too kind to himself to let you near him, and now he should pay the consequences. his is a cursed existence destined to hurt anyone who comes near

so he takes up arms, and sets off to clean his mistakes with the blood of the demons again and again and again until nothing is left but beating hearts and rotting ashes in the wind)

He comes home with the earliest crack of dawn hounding his steps, breathing ragged and unsteady, limbs weighed down by an exhaustion that seeps down to his very bones. It’s the type of weariness that soaks down to the deepest crevices of his soul; the same old weariness of him, him, him – everything him. His sword is heavy in his side. A reminder. He still has work to do, even if his very being begs him to stop and rest.

“Sanemi!”

He’s barely opened the doors to your home when you greet him, arms thrown around his neck in a shuddering embrace. Sanemi only understands once he feels hot tears drip down your cheeks and into his skin. A scalding heat that punishes everything that comes its way. You’re crying. Crying. He did this again? He made you cry again?

“I was so worried!” You pull back to glare at him, but the anger that should’ve been there is dulled down by the glass in your eyes, sparkling in the sun’s light. Sanemi raises his hand to cup your cheek and wipe your tears away. Uncharacteristic, but his heart aches in seeing you cry. “I couldn’t find you anywhere, and I . . . I thought I drove you away because of last night.” Your voice lowers to a shuddering breath, and your mouth opens again as if to say something, but no words come out anymore.

(no. never)

Disconnected from reality. The world turns hazy when he leans in to tilt your head up to meet his lips. There is blood on his tongue, turning your taste into a bitter metallic tang as he opens your mouth to breathe you in. Your lips are red when he pulls back, and it matches the rawness in your cheeks as you sniff back your tears.

“Y/N . . .” Sanemi pulls you in to rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes to the stricken look in your face. “Fuck, I – I’m so sorry I made you worry. I’m sorry I – shit . I’m so sorry I upset you. I didn’t mean anything. I’m so sorry.”

The words taste so foreign. He doesn’t usually apologize for anything, but desperation takes ahold and sends regret spilling down his chin. It might be selfish to think this, but Sanemi would rather die than to ever let you go. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and you sink all too willingly into his embrace.

“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble. “I was being an insensitive jerk. I should have tried to understand your side instead of just storming off.”

There’s the urge to disagree, to tell you to shut up and let him take all the blame. But you rest your head against his chest, pressing your ear against where his heart beats. You only do that when you’re seeking comfort, seeking reassurance that he’s still there with you. It calms me down, you said once, and Sanemi can’t summon the will to try and take all of the burden all on his shoulders anymore.

Chapter Text

“Oh my, oh my. What brings such a sad frown to your face, Y/N?”

Kanae appears like the breezes in a summer dusk. Unexpected yet pleasant, bringing with her a warm scent of lilacs and roses and the carefree feeling of a spring field of flowers. Her haori flutters in the wind, like butterfly’s wings struggling to fly free.

“Oh! Kanae! I didn’t notice you there!” Taken by surprise, you try to paint over a smile to appease her worries, but Kanae sees right through you. Of course she does. She takes a seat beside you and stares into the same sky that you do.

“You shouldn’t let things bother you, Y/N,” she advises. She leans over and presses her fingers against your cheeks, pulling your lips up into a silly smile that has her giggling. “I love your smile very much, after all!”

That steals a laugh from you. However, as soon as she takes off her hands from your face, the faux smile falls, and you breathe out a heavy smile. Kanae waits patiently this time, watching you with that ever-present tilt to her lips. Her eyes are unreadable.

You give in. There’s just this trustworthy air about her that’s so irresistible and inexplicable. You can’t help but to confide in her. “You know, as Demon Slayers, we’re always risking our lives for others, right?”

She hums, tangling her hand with yours. She squeezes once, twice. Reassurance. You squeeze back.

“Well, I just had a thought earlier,” you admit. “How you could just die one day and leave me alone, too. Sometimes, it’s just easy to forget that you’re human too because you’re a Pillar.”

A thoughtful beat. Kanae regards you quietly for a beat, taken aback by your confession. But then she recovers, tugging your intertwined hands forward so that your palm rests against her chest, right above where her heart beats.

“Oh my. You don’t have to fear about that so much,” she says, smiling as beatifically as a saint. The light coats her skin with a holy glow; ethereal , but her eyes remain grounded, locked with yours. “Even if my heart stops beating and my life drains away, the one thing I will never do is abandon you, my love.”

Her hand is warm around yours, her heart beating strongly beneath your palm. She’s magnificent. Beautiful and alive and mesmerizing . Her eyes are crinkled with her every smile, and they grow deeper when you pull her into your chest into a hug.

“You’re so cute, Y/N,” she sighs, sinking into your embrace like a long lost friend. Her head rests perfectly in the crook of your neck. “I love you so much. You know that, yes?”

“I love you too,” you mumble, pressing a kiss against the top of her head.

(when i-love-yous turn sorrowful as goodbyes, and the seasons shift so autumn can bring its death –)

The next day, the world is still with anticipation. It buzzes with restless energy and the tension of someone waiting for terrible news to be delivered. Shinobu walks into the Estate, Kanae’s haori fluttering around her shoulders like a blood-soaked butterfly, and immediately walks into her room. The slam of a door resounds.

No one speaks.

Kanae’s burial is held the next day.

It’s otherwordly, this sensation of being , while at the same time being so disconnected from reality. You stand off to the side of the grieving Shinobu comforting Aoi and the others, watching emptily as they help each other deal with the grief. Kanao is next to you, sweating bullets and shifting from feet to feet. Her gaze darts from Kanao’s grave, to the ground, and back again. You can’t even bring yourself to offer her any comfort. The wind bites coldly.

Otherworldly. It’s impossible. Simply impossible. Kanae, the woman larger than life itself, who radiated happiness and beauty and everything good in this godforsaken place. Kanae, a Pillar, one of the strongest people in the Corps. Kanae, the woman you love. Gone? It feels unreal. It isn’t real. It can’t be real.

All that radiance, trapped below ground with nothing but a tomb to remind you of her? She deserves something more, something that will catch her very essence, the sunshine in her, her brilliancy, her resplendency. Something, something more. Something more than this. Something more than being stuck in a godforsaken world where happiness drains away faster than it is given.

Wasn’t she good enough? You’d ask the gods and Buddha if you thought they’d listen. Kanae was everything good and nice in this world; the epitome of grace and perfection. She was kind and empathetic and nice and merciful and – and – why the hell was she taken? Why her? Why her? Why her?

(the gods don’t reply)

You don’t realize you’ve sunk to your knees until Shinobu comes over to wrap Kanao and you into a hug. Lavender and roses . Just like how Kanae smells like – how Kanae used to smell like. She must have used her perfume. It’s a twisted way of feeling closer to the deceased. Almost. Almost her.

Almost her. Almost Kanae.

But not her. She’s gone.

She’s gone.

Reality sinks in like a hurricane. It knocks you off your feet and steals all your breath away from your lungs. You gasp for air, try to breath in, but nothing’s enough. Nothing’s enough. Oh gods. You can’t breath. Kanae’s gone. She’s gone. Oh gods. She’s dead. Never coming back. She can’t smile at you anymore or tell you stories or weave you flower crowns or sing for you. You won’t ever hear her lilting laugh ever again.

You can’t breath.

“You said you’d never leave me! You liar! What happened to all your promises? Kanae!”

Silence. Of course. There’s no one left to answer your accusations. Kanae’s eyes stare emptily at yours, blank with that smile printed dizzily on paper.

Chapter Text

The smell of alcohol and absinthe hang low in the air, dripping like tendrils of mist pervading the sunlit skies. They flourish like crystals aired-out and shimmer beneath half-lid eyes stained crimson rivers, as if watching your every move as you tuck your chin to your chest in a low bow. The atmosphere’s restrictive. It wraps around your lungs. Suffocating. You should’ve gotten used to this already.

“I brought you your afternoon tea, Father,” you say. Even in whispers shaky as a sprout of seed in the breeze, your voice echoes loudly in the silent room. You flinch, and the cup of tea perched on your tray spills.

Shinjuro doesn’t even turn around. There’s a blank nonchalance in the way smoke flits from his open mouth to rise to the ceiling. A flask of alcohol lays lazily to his right, catching sunlight within its edges, smoothed carefully to suit the imprints of his fingertips around its neck. You scramble to clean up the mess you’ve made.

He scoffs. His voice rings out cruelly; a derisive snort. “How useless can you be that you can’t even deliver a cup of tea without making a fool of yourself?”

“I-I apologize, Father!” You use the sleeves of your kimono to wipe the liquid off, staining the pale material a syrupy brown. It stings your skin where it sticks to it, but you do your best to not irritate the man any further. “I’ll get you another one! I’m so sorry for spilling your tea!”

He grumbles underneath his breath. Your hands shake. The wind flits in and takes the mumbled words to your ears, circling with a venom lashing that bites heat into your eyes. “I still don’t know what got into that boy, marrying someone so worthless as you.”

You bite your lip, and keep your head down low. Shinjuro is a crow, shrewd in his pursuit of prey, and you’d like to think you keep your defenses up, dressed in iron filled reinforcements, ready to brush off any such underhanded comments he directs at you. Sand scratches against your throat, eyes blurry, and the wooden panel of the door almost slides off from your sweaty palms. You are not unaffected, no matter how desperately you wish you are.

You bump into Kyojuro on the way out. He’s wearing his uniform and cape, sword still hanging from his belt. You watch in horror as the tea in the cup spills even more, trailing down the tray to singe his uniform dark. You stumble back, eyes wide, apologies ready at the tip of your tongue, but your husband greets you with a smile nonetheless, seemingly unaffected by your clumsiness.

“Y/N!” he booms out. His voice echoes in the lonely hallway. You try not to recoil away from him. “Just the person I’ve been looking for!”

“I’m sorry for spilling tea on you!” you burst out, bowing low. Your eyes are pinched close, breath held as if in anticipation of another berating. You try to tell yourself Kyojuro is not like that at all, that he is kind and understanding, an epitome of graciousness and sunlight that crowns the world in a golden glow. But his image overlaps with his father’s, and you cower in reflex.

“Hey now, hey now! Don’t worry so much about it!” Laughter. “I’m fine, see? And the stains won’t be so noticeable, anyway! Everything’s all right!” Kyojuro bends down to take your tray gingerly from your trembling hands, and the heat of his skin is scalding. Your sleeves are stained brown, and underneath, your flesh is a raw pink. “Let me take that for you, Y/N!”

“N-No!” You clutch the tray close to your heart, bowing low again. Habit. “I wouldn’t want to bother you anymore than I already have, Kyo! I-I can handle this just fine. I can do something as simple as delivering tea. I can. I’m not completely worthless. No.”

You are not. You are not. You stumble past the stunned Kyojuro, scrambling to the kitchen area. Your shoulders shake with unheaved sobs. You are not worthless. A mantra that whistles of decaying flowers and faux comfort. You are not. You pour scalding liquid onto a new cup. Steam curls upward.

You are not worthless. Kyojuro clearly saw something of worth in you, saw value even in someone like you. Why else would he marry you, if not for love? You certainly have nothing else to offer –

Nothing else to offer.

You pause in front of your father-in-law’s door, another steaming cup of tea perched carefully on your tray. A deep breath, as if preparing for a warzone; the weary sigh of a battle-hardened warrior longing for the peace of slumber. Voices arise, mingling into each other into a heated argument. You catch the tail-end of Kyojuro’s speech, and there’s the barest hint of anger tracing his deep voice.

Shinjuro snaps back. “If only you’d chosen a more suitable woman to marry –“

“Y/N is suitable. Not just suitable; perfect. She’s the woman I love!”

A snapshot: Kyojuro’s strained smile, brows the slightest bit furrowed as if to plead for his father to see things his way for once. He clings to the memory of his loving father childishly, and yet you cannot really fault him for needing to see the kindness in Shinjuro’s cruel words.

“Bah! Love!” Dripping disdain, spilling contempt. “What use is love if you’re tainting the bloodline with her? She’s a disgrace! Worthless! Useless! She hasn’t ever done anything right in her whole life!”

Shattering. You drop the tray, and it clatters to the ground like tolling bells. The arguing in the next room halts. You run off before the door can open. Your socks are soaked; the boiling liquid drives deep into your flesh.

You haven’t done anything right your whole life. Worthless. Useless. A blemish upon a great ancestry. Your feet take you outside, past the busy streets, past the liveliness, past the houses and civilization and into the woods that shelter your district from the mountains overhead. They tower above your head, shedding shadows that mask the glimmer in your eyes from being seen. People would have called them tears had the sun been here to shine its rays on them.

Salty. You wipe them off, and wander alone. Somewhere, rain drizzles ephemerally, but here, you don’t have the pleasure of being able to hide your sorrow. You pause by a pond, dyed green by moss. When you look down, the image you see is not your reflection. What flashes back at you is a hideous monster, all twisted hair and sunken eyes and deep grimace. There is failure written all over her forehead, and disappointment runs through her veins instead of blood. This is you; the real you. Useless, worthless, pathetic. You run a hand through your hair, and it gets tangled midway in.

Rustling. It’s Kyojuro. The heady scent of spices and earth fill the air into an intoxicating blend. He stands next to you, and the waters below reflect back the sun’s radiant rays trapped within the brilliance of his smile. Respectfully, he doesn’t speak, though the words he longs to say swirl in his golden eyes.

“Kyojuro,” you say softly, meekly. He perks up, and tilts his head at you in attention. You lick your lips. “Why did you marry me?”

Was it for money? For display? Because he got pressured to marry that anyone would do? You’d accept any other answer except for love. That’s too confusing. Too vague. It fills your head with doubts and why’s until you swim in a sludge of insecurity and uncertainty. You don’t want to doubt him.

“Because I love you!” he says almost immediately, turning to you with the brightest grin ever, enclosing your hands within his larger ones. You feel tiny. You feel warm. Safe. And the story is supposed to go something like this: you fall in love with the sun, and its rays scorch your wings alive until you plummet to the sea, but with Kyojuro, the sunlight is too gentle and mild to ever be able to scorch your wings.

But, oh, does he realize how easy it would be? A wrong word, and he can send you drowning, drowning to the deepest depths of misery and despair, never to resurface again. You give him your heart in exchange for the band of gold wrapped around your finger, and it is a promise that will remain unbroken, even if it is drenched in blood and tears.

You turn your head. Kyojuro’s gaze is too intense. “But why?”

“If I listed all the reasons why I love you, we’d be here for all eternity!” he tells you earnestly, squeezing your palms in his. “I love you because you’re kind! You’re hard-working and passionate! You put others before you!” A kiss pressed against your knuckles; a declaration of loyalty as much as it is of love. “I love you because you’re patient! You always listen to me when I talk! I love you because you take care of Senjuro! I love you because you love sweets, and you get the loveliest expression in your face whenever you’re eating something sweet! I love you because you’re not afraid to be vulnerable!”

“Kyojuro . . .”

“I could go on forever, Y/N, if you asked for it!” Honesty drips from the fire in his eyes, staring deep into your eyes as if he can open the doors to your soul if he looked hard enough. The grin on his face is split wide. “I would spend my entire life telling you how amazing and lovely you are if you’d let me!”

No.

No.

No.

Words echo. Harsh and cold, swirling with the bitter taste of alcohol on your tongue. The scene shifts, and you are back in the house, aching longingly for a relief from harsh words.

The words fall like a whisper. “But I’m worthless –“

“No!” Vehemence. Kyojuro frowns for the barest of seconds, before his lips quirk once again into a familiar smile. Traces of pain linger in the edges as he fixes his wide-eyed stare at you. “You’re not worthless, Y/N! Other people may think so, but never let yourself believe those lies! Believe in yourself! You are worthy! You are loveable! You are loved!”

You know. You know, dammit. You cover your heart with steel and iron, braced as if to brush off any insults thrown your way. Except, instead of brushing them away, you keep them in, treasure them like gold and air them out in the early evenings; reminders of hatred whenever you feel like you’re being too happy. It’s a grounding therapy.

But you know. Logically, you know. You are not worthless. You are not useless. You are not unlovable. And yet, and yet –

“I can’t,” you whisper. Tears prick at your eyes, and they cling to your lashes heavily. “I can’t get it out of my head. I’m so tired, Kyo. I want to do what you say; I want to forget his words and believe in myself, but I can’t. I can’t.”

A warm arm rests around your shoulder and tugs you closer into his chest. This close, you can smell the faint aroma of sake clinging to his clothes. You bury your head against his chest.

“Tell me how to make it stop,” you beg him. Tears can basically be fire singing your skin, and you wouldn’t know the difference. Both hurt too much. “Get it all out of my head, please!”

Useless. Worthless. A haughty voice. Why did he even marry you? You press your forehead against his chest harder, until you’re gasping for breath and clutching at his clothes for support. Useless. Worthless. Make it all stop. Please. You’re tired. You just want to rest.

Kyojuro doesn’t offer any advice. He holds you closer to him and sways to the beat of a rhythm only he can hear, and the motion is strangely comforting. His head dips down until his hair tickles your cheeks. Time ticks by, unfelt.

“Stay strong, Y/N!” he tells you finally, after a while, when your sobs are reduced to gasping and shivering shoulders and trembling knees. “You’ve already been so strong, enduring everything for so long! Just a little bit more, and everything will turn out fine, all right!”

You nod lethargically. Sleep crawls from the corner of your vision and sings a quiet lullaby to charm your lids to close. You try to stay awake.

“I love you so much, Y/N!”

You close your eyes. Sleep is a siren that beckons the living. You are unresisting as it leads you away from Kyojuro’s arms into a kinder place. Within the last vestiges of consciousness, you sigh.

“I love you too, Kyo.”

Love will have to be enough, for now. You let yourself fall.

Chapter Text

A curious glassy look rests in the sheen of your eyes, frozen in the way it cracks and breaks like molten lava. Brows pinched, lip bitten; you are the epitome of distress. It interweaves with the pale sunlight dancing above your head, and when those crystalline eyes turn to look at him, Genya can’t help the pleasant thrum of electricity that zaps through his veins. Heat crests like a wave, gliding through his skin and leaving behind an imprint of cherry-red skin in its wake.

His throat is dry. Hesitancy fuels the smile on your lips, shy and unsure, and the sheer cuteness of the scene makes Genya melt. He doesn’t even try to understand the fluttering emotions circling his chest; you have always been so magnificent, like a work of art, and such things are better off admiring than criticizing. If he were his old self, made grey with dry cynicism and headstrong with his eyes set on a lonely goal, Genya would’ve never been able to let himself even marvel at the sheer brilliance that is you.

But then he goes to take a step forward, urging the jelly of his knees to take on the confidence he needs to be able to sit with you. The quiet smile on your face turns to dust, and your expression shifts to a broken mosaic. Conflicted. You turn away, and Genya can feel any sort of confidence unravel.

 “Genya!” A familiar voice. He turns around to find the Pillar of Love bounding towards him, cheerful grin set in place. She’s still wearing that god-awful clothes, and Genya flushes even more as she nears. “Genya! I’ve been looking all over for you! Are you busy? Shinazugawa adopted another puppy! Come look at them!”

“W-Wha –? Big Bro? B-But I . . .?” Genya looks back, trailing off. You’re gone, and only the visage of your back leaving is left in his eyes. He tries not to take it too deeply. A sour taste fills his tongue, like ripe lemons sweetened with vinegar and rejection: this is not the first, nor the last, time this has happened.

Here is a coincidence: a low hum resounds, paper wrapped around nimble fingers, and in your hands, the plain white sheets transform into stars and planes and unspoken wishes trapped within glass bottles. You laugh at a mistake and redo a crease, and the absence of any pretense in your carefree stance makes his heart beat faster.

This is not a coincidence: Genya is walking alongside Tanjiro and Zenitsu, quietly listening to their easy banter, and when your eyes meet, it forces a smile onto his lips and a frown onto yours. You’re gone before your name can even leave his lips.

 “Trouble in paradise?” Zenitsu simpers, lips arched into a catty grin. He is not useful, and he does not seem to want to be useful. He is promptly ignored.

“Maybe she just needs some time alone?” Tanjiro reasons out, the logic and undiluted reason of the trio. His face is bright as if struck with an idea, and he smiles at Genya, all lips and no teeth. He sounds quite unsure of himself, though he tries to hide it. “I don’t smell any hatred from Y/N at all. If anything, she seems to be sad.”

Sad? A trip down windy memories; Genya flicks through days past worriedly, searching for a hint of melancholy in your actions. He doesn’t notice anything. He can’t notice anything. Oh, gods, is he the reason for your sadness? Is that why you’ve been avoiding him? Has he done something to hurt you –?

Tanjiro pats his shoulder. He smiles again, ever-so-kind, and just that alone is enough to lift some of the worries plaguing his mind. Some. Your image lingers in the back of his head.

Maybe she just needs time. So he gives you your time. The chasm between you two deepens, until he sees your eyes cloud over with sprinkled rain and downturned misery. You look so lonely. Genya feels the urge to come over and tangle your hands in his, to feel your warmth and your heartbeat against his skin. But he doesn’t know whether that would be appropriate, and so doubt-filled, he believes any other people’s advice more than he lets himself believe in his own knowledge of you.

He doesn’t quite trust himself enough not to make a mistake.

Hourglass seconds. You approach him finally, in a rush of twirling strands of hair, face flushed with the colours of the sunset behind you. There is a spark of hope in Genya’s chest, soaring high with the blooming petals of a wine-drunk puppy love. He turns around to greet you, but the sullen look on your face makes him hold back. A familiar terror flashes: did he do something wrong?

“Genya,” and his name falling from your lips is like sipping from the fountain of youth. Rejuvenating, magical. But your next words come, and his world falls apart. “I think we should stop seeing each other from now on.”

The wind rustles. Kicks up dust.

Genya stares at you blankly, uncomprehending. You don’t meet his gaze, and sunlight tips to glaze your eyes with prism-coloured tears. Silence. It speaks for itself, but Genya would rather suffocate than let this heavy silence pull both of you underneath its oppressive air.

“B-But, Y/N . . . why? Did I do something wrong?” Desperation is heady, and it mixes with the sunset’s bloody spill. “I-I can fix it! Whatever I did wrong, I’ll fix it! J-Just let me –”

“It’s all right, Genya,” you say, and the fight falls away. A faint smile on your lips, but it doesn’t match the burn in his eyes or the sound of his heart shattering into a million little pieces. So, this is how a heart breaks: emptily, like glass falling down an endless cliff; beautifully, a macabre schadenfreude with palms raised to catch tears as much as they hide the mad laughter. “It’s all right. You don’t have to.”

“At least tell me why, please.” And it sounds so demanding of him, as if he has any right to ask anything of you. As soon as they leave his lips to hang in the air between you, he regrets it. Take it back, go back in time – is it more heartbreaking to know than never being sure? His heart stills in anticipation, breath held until his lips turn blue and maybe he’d wake up to find this scene is merely a nightmare.

Here is the cliché it’s-not-you-it’s-me, only it’s always been Genya’s fault because he always falls short of everything good and nice and happy. You take a deep breath, and breathe it all out.

“I just . . . I – I feel like –” Redo. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m not good enough for you.” Your voice falls into a whisper.

Oh. It’s astonishing. A pale reflection of his self stares back when you finally meet his eyes. The image is distorted, bent and disfigured so much that it barely resembles him, but it is him. He sees himself in you, in the way the words you speak is the mantra that loops in his head every day.

He’s never realized how much it hurt until he hears it from you, and his heart bleeds and calls out.

“B-But, Y/N –“

You aren’t finished. “These past days, you’ve always been with someone else, and I know this is so stupid of me, but I get the feeling that you’ve been ignoring me in favour of others. And I know I’m not as amazing and interesting as everyone else, but I – I don’t even actually know why I’m feeling this way. I’m sorry for taking up even more of your time. I’ll be going now –”

“No!”

Time freezes in the bridge that connects this second to the next. Lethargic. The world moves as if a minute too late, and Genya reaches out, hand wrapping around your wrist before you can truly walk away from him. You turn to him in surprise, but the catch is that you’ve let your tears fall, and Genya is confronted by the magnitude of the heartbreak staining your cheeks red.

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to say. His mouth opens and closes, shaping around words that will never form, will never take flight, because nervousness flutters like a caged bird in his chest, jumbling his thoughts like ribbons tangled. He falls prey to the way your heartbeat jumps beneath his hands.

If only he has Tanjiro’s way with words, or Zenitsu’s boldness with his thoughts, or even Mitsuri’s bubbly demeanor –

If only he wasn’t him, but someone better –

No. Not that again.

Shakily, Genya stands on uneven ground, and decides to take the chance to fall, anyway. He draws closer, closer still until he can feel the warmth you radiate hover against him. The proximity drives him crazy: heart pounding against his throat, red blush in his cheeks. Your lashes flutter against your lids, wide and pained. Genya finds the courage to lift his other hand to brush away the tears from your face.

He doesn’t know what to say. Another chance, another gamble with Lady Luck; he closes his eyes, and lets the floodgates of his heart open, and without letting himself ask whether or not his words are the right thing to say, he speaks.

“Y/N, I – I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I never meant to do that. I thought you needed your space so I left you alone. I’m so sorry. Please. Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be without you.” Spill, these words are unstoppable. Genya chances a look at you, only to find you staring back at him.

You don’t speak, but you don’t pull away either. A stalemate. Seconds tick into minutes, until it breaks, and you fall into a sigh.

“Genya, I . . .”

“I love you a lot, Y/N,” he declares, pleads, squeezing your wrist as if to make you see reason. “Please. I’ll do better. I love you so much.’

An confession so heavy it might as well be an admission of guilt. Your eyes are watery. “I love you too, Genya,” you say, and there’s a lingering but in there somewhere that you never give voice to. Instead, you choke back a sob before wrapping your arms around his neck. Genya stumbles back, heat staining his face an even more redder hue, before he finds the equilibrium he needs to wrap his arms around you as well.

“Genya,” you breath out, voice muffled by his shirt. Genya, Genya, Genya. You chant his name like a prayer and though you say nothing else, Genya can feel the sentiments in the words that go unspoken. He keeps quiet, however, and only squeezes you tighter.

A promise, as the sun sets to sleep in the far horizon: he’ll do better this time.

Chapter Text

It comes as a mere suggestion. A hint, maybe, or even a dream for the future. The night is silent and peaceful, the weather so wonderfully cool against your skin. It looks like a scene painted purely for romanticism. Tamayo’s hand brushes against yours, in the deep midnight.

“I wonder,” you murmur into the night, “how it would be like if we could spend all eternity together. That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?”

Tamayo hums in affirmation. Chachamaru meows lazily in her lap and she chuckles quietly, a dainty hand raising to scratch the cat’s head. “I’d love that.”

Dangling atop a cliff, the abyss below is an endless freefall: “Turn me into a demon like you, Tamayo.”

A beat.

“What?” Her attention is fully on you now, hand resting atop her chest in a show of surprise. Tamayo stares at you, as if pleading for reality to wake and reassure her that her imagination is playing tricks on her. “Y/N, I . . . what?”

“Turn me into a demon, Tamayo,” you repeat. The thought gains traction, early evenings and late mornings spent daydreaming of a what-if where you and her, forever together. You can live with her in everyday bliss, surfing on the crests of love and ecstasy.

Here is a thought: waking up to her sleepy eyes and lazy arms snaked around your waist like a trap, breathing in her warmth and basking in the cool rays of the moon. The loveliest of dreams, the purest of wishes. All you want is to be able to stay by her side.

“No. Y/N, I’m sorry. I will not do that.”

(ah . . . ?)

“Why not?”

Too accusing. Tamayo flinches.

“You’re better off living your life as a human,” she says. A pleading note trickles down, haphazardly spilled down like the glitter of the tears in her eyes. She speaks as if trapped in a dream. Her eyes are faraway, and she looks at you but doesn’t see you. “Becoming a demon, it’s . . . I wouldn’t want to make you suffer this fate, Y/N. Not if I can help it. Please trust me.”

Her hand is warm in yours. You pull away. “You just don’t want to be stuck with me forever, do you?” Bitter, bitter, bitter. Still accusing. Your vision blurs.

Ah. Tears. It hurts.

“Y/N, no. It’s not like that at all.” Tamayo reaches out for you, eyes wide and brows crinkled. When she touches you, it feels like she’s holding the most precious thing in the world. “If I could, I’d be with you for all eternity.”

“But you can. ”

“I refuse.”

Stalemate. The silence drowns out your thoughts until all that remains is the rush of your heart pumping in your ears. Air feels hotter than ice in your lungs. You want to cry.

“Tamayo, don’t you love me anymore?”

Lips open into the shape of a word that goes unspoken. There is a challenge there, hidden between the hurt in your voice and the dejection of your words. Tamayo falls for it.

“You know I love you dearly. If I must, I’ll tell you how much I love you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Then turn me to a demon.”

(why doesn’t she see it your way?)

“Y/N. Don’t play that game with me,” she says shortly. Calm demeanour breaking, clenched fists trembling; her blood drips down to the floor, intoxicating in its deadliness. Tamayo turns away from you and takes a deep breath. “Please. You don’t want that all.”

No. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand – so who is she to tell you what you want? Your flesh is brittle and so, so human it’s disgusting. You’ll grow old and become ugly and turn senile and then die miserably, and how can you ever hope to stand by her side as equals with that truth hanging like a sickle above your head?

She doesn’t understand.

You walk away. The tears down your cheeks burn hot like lit coals.

(no one brings it up again, but nowadays, yushiro stares at you accusingly.

the silence is stifling.)

A juxtaposition: a kind smile is perched on a stone-cold face, red eyes like hellfire except bloodier that freeze you in your spot, and a warm breath fanning your face while ice-cold fingers grip your chin in a harsh grip.

“Well, well. Isn’t this delightful,” he coos, leaning down as if to watch the terror play out in your face closer. Sadistic delight brightens his eyes when you shrink away from him. Your back hits the wall. “Tamayo’s little pet, coming right up to me. What brings you here?”

This is a horrible idea.

Shrug off the shivers racking your body as if unafraid. This is for both of you.  

A deal with the devil: “P-Please turn me into a demon!”

Ah, you must be so desperate. It’s disgusting. A smile presses into your skin like a brand, hot and steely, and Muzan leans against you even more until he towers over your hunched figure. (a wilted rose, strayed from the burial shroud; look at its loveliness and the stench of death surrounding it. terrifying in its beauty.)

“Who am I to refuse such a request from someone so pure?”

Hope blossoms. Maybe he isn’t as bad as Tamayo makes him out to be? “You-You’ll do it?”

“Of course. For a price.”

You should have seen this coming.

“What is it?”

Suspense hangs. The moon stares, and it reflects his sharp teeth in its overbearing light. Muzan never takes off his smile, so lethargic, so deadly. You shiver. You don’t like this. You don’t like this at all.

(tamayo, help.)

“Tell me where Tamayo is. Lead me to her,” he murmurs in your ear. “I’ll grant you your wish for this small thing.”

“But –”

“Don’t worry,” he interrupts smoothly. “I swear no harm will come to her. I only wish to see an old friend.”

Really? You want to believe him. Here is how dreams are created, with hope and utopia and everything going perfectly your way for once. It feels like a dream.

“You promise she’ll be all right?”

A smile, teeth glinting in the moonlight like glittered glass broken and bloodied. A shiver tickles your spine. This is a horrible idea.

“I promise.” Honey-sweet.

This is a horrible, horrible idea.

(but it’s all for her – she’ll understand. she has to.

she has to.)

Chapter Text

Here in the quiet moonlight dwells the lady of sorrow. She has eyes fairer than the wysteria that drips down to poison the skin off her flesh, cast down with lashes that fall thick to catch the shallow raindrops. Out here, in the loneliness of the night, Yushiro thinks he's found a goddess.

(oh, fairest maiden; won't you share with me a smile?)

"Yushiro," she says, like the gentle lap of the water against skin; a musical note from the choir of angels above.

"Yes, Lady Tamayo?"

There's a beat, a heavy silence. Tamayo is the picture of delicate chiaroscuro: all pale limbs and pale eyes and dark hair and dark lips and dark, dark, dark, dark thoughts and Yushiro wants nothing more but to reach out and take away just the littlest bit of pain from her. When she smiles, it's the saddest thing Yushiro has ever seen.

"Do you think Y/N's happy?"

Yushiro doesn't reply. The water ripples underneath Tamayo's touch.

(it's what you chose. this is the path, the consequence you must all suffer.

do you feel it? the aching loneliness, the void, the emptiness between your fingers where tamayo's hands should have fit? do you?

probably not.)

Here is a question for you: if you could redo everything, would you change anything at all? Tamayo thinks you wouldn't, because why would you? The glimpses of you she sees — you seem so happy with him. And she cannot fathom the thought of that man making anyone happy, but the smile on your face proves otherwise.

It hurts.

(here is another question:

i

love

you?)

Tamayo remembers a time, once, where such exchanges of affection and declarations of love spurned the ticking of the clock. The smile on your lips, the flush of your cheeks from laughter. She remembers dreaming of a future, the first time she's ever dreamed in a hundred years. Peace, serenity, you and her and Yushiro, living happily together. This is the first time she's dreamed in quite a while —

Watch. Watch it shatter into a million little pieces.

Again. Again. Again. Watch.

(turn me into a demon, tamayo —

no.)

"If it isn't Tamayo the Fugitive."

This is the visage of a woman who has lost everything she used to live for: tangled hair clutched painfully, hand burning, burning, burning from the medicine in her hands. There are tears in her eyes, and for the first time in a while, Tamayo admits it freely — yes, these are tears.

"Give me back my family," she grits out. Muzan wraps his hand around her skull and presses his thumb against her eye. She can't look away from that bloody gaze. "Give me back my Y/N!"

Pain explodes. White-hot, indiscernible from everything else. Her head's pounding. Distantly, an iron tang fills the air. Blood. Her eye's gone. The other is blurry with tears.

"Give them back to me! Muzan! Give them back!"

Muzan grins. Wide, maniacal. There is moonlight trapped in the sharp of his teeth and when he looks down on her, Tamayo sees her reflection stare back defiantly.

"Don't you think that if they wanted to stay with you, they would've?" And he speaks casually, leans down, even, as if a mere courtesan spreading rumours to her friend. "Is it my fault you're too unpleasant to be with that everyone you love leaves you?"

"No! You took them away from me!" Composure, the stoicism she holds so dear, it cracks and breaks into a million little pieces. She can't stop the shivers racking her spine. "You took them all! Give me back what you stole!"

And Muzan smiles and smiles and smiles, and in those razor-sharp teeth, Tamayo meets death.

(let's be together forever, tamayo.

no —!)

Yushiro is getting worried. She knows. The boy is much too quiet, glancing at her every now and then as she tries to focus on her book. Sleep sings to her a sweet lullaby that coaxes her lids to close, but Tamayo shrugs the exhaustion off. The sound of pages turning fills the room.

The fireplace crackles.

"Lady Tamayo," Yushiro starts, but stops. Tamayo puts her book down, and turns to him. Yushiro doesn't meet her gaze.

"What is it, Yushiro?" she prompts.

He hesitates. "Are you doing all right, Lady Tamayo?"

Tamayo doesn't know how to reply. Yushiro doesn't push for an answer. He knows already.

(tamayo, don't you love me anymore?

if tamayo could go back, here is what she'd do differently: she'd take you into her arms, propriety be damned, and press her lips against yours and breathe you in and tell you dearest, the love of my life; forever is too little of a time to tell you how much i love you —

too dramatic. but she can't think of anything else that she could have done differently.)

"You look quite unhappy, Y/N."

It spills from her lips, confessions and admissions and i-love-you's turned deadly lies that seep into her blood and pound her heart with you, you, you, you. Yushiro stands between you and her, fangs bared and eyes slitted.

There are marks in your eye. Lower Moon. His.

"I should have known," Yushiro scoffs. "Someone as pathetic as you, turned to a demon by that man himself. When did you sink this low, Y/N?"

You don't flinch. There's an easy-going smirk pasted onto your lips. It contrasts with the dullness of your eyes. You look quite unhappy, Tamayo deludes herself, because the only other explanation is that you are happy with him, and Tamayo doesn't know how to deal with that yet, so she settles for a lie.

Your eyes are on her.

"Y/N, come back to us. Please," she begs. "Come back to me. I'll find a way to break that man's curse on you as well, so please, come back to me. Let's go home."

Your eyes are on her. Unnerving. You look so stiff, so unnatural. Tamayo would give up the world if only you could return to the way you were when you were human.

"Lady Tamayo," Yushiro says. "Please go somewhere safe. I'll take care of this."

"Yushiro . . ." she murmurs. "I . . ."

"I'll protect you. So, please, go!" he says. Softer: "I'll try to make it as painless and quick as possible."

(please. no. no more.

don't make her choose.)

"Yushiro —"

"Go!" he snaps. You lunge at Yushiro. He barely manages to fend you off. "I'll be fine! Go!"

(this is a crossroads, and here is where we part ways.)

Tamayo backs off, watching in horror as you fight against Yushiro. The two people she loves most in the world, fighting to the death. One fights for her safety, and the other, for her death.

Words bubble at the tip of her tongue. Please please please come back i love you let's go home i'm sorry i love you i love you i love you —

None of them ever take form. She's left with the bitter aftertaste that comes with words that are left unsaid. It's become too familiar, these past few days.

It hurts. And yet, and yet.

(you chose your path, and so tamayo must choose hers now.)

Tamayo raises her hand, and scratches skin.

Chapter Text

The lingering loneliness in your home, set aflutter by the absence of Muichiro’s tranquil presence, leaves you antsy. There’s nearly nothing to do and the estate feels much too large for just one person. Outside, the early afternoon shines brightly; with a sigh, you get out.

It’s been too long since you’ve last seen Muichiro. You’d be used to the radio silence whenever he goes out on missions except there’s always a part of your mind that likes to think of death and loss too much. His absence bears heavy on your shoulders.

You set out to the marketplace, looking for human contact, even with strangers. The trinkets are blinding and you reach out to take a golden hairpin in your hands. A splash of mint catches your eye. You turn around – there he is. Relief bubbles and nudges your lips to lift into a smile.

“Oh! Muichiro! You’re back!”

You hurry your steps to catch up to the Pillar. He stops and blinks at you, tilting his head to the side. There’s a pause, contemplative, as Muichiro examines your face silently. Then: “Who are you again?”

“It’s Y/N,” you remind him gently, falling to step beside the boy as he starts walking again. His gait is lethargic, lazy, as he quietly pauses from time to time to indulge in the fiery embrace of the setting sun in the sky. “Remember?”

“Oh,” he breathes out. “Right.”

You chuckle and ruffle his hair, earning a wide-eye stare from the Pillar. His hand flits out to touch his head when you remove your hand, blinking rapidly as if confused. You laugh again and coo at how adorable he looks.

“How did your mission go?”

“It went fine, I guess.” His voice is low. The cool air that passes by urges him to draw closer to your side, enticed by the warmth of your skin. You welcome the brush of his hand against yours, tangling your fingers together. Muichiro glances at you. You smile back.

“You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

“No . . .?” he mumbles. The lilt of his voice indicates a question, and you read it in the way his eyes stray to your tangled hands curiously. You squeeze his hand, and belatedly, he squeezes back. A hesitant flush rises in his cheeks, turned brilliant by the scarlet sky.

“Are you sure?” A preliminary check reveals dark spots in his uniform, smelling suspiciously of blood and iron. As if suddenly conscious of himself, his free hand flutters down to where the blood splatters on his clothes are.

“I don’t think this is mine,” he says. “Maybe it’s the demon’s blood.”

You snort at that. “I’m glad to hear that. Give me your uniform later and I’ll wash it for you, all right?”

“Oh. Thank you.”

You hum and squeeze his hand again. Silence falls again between you two and it’s the kind of silence that’s too serene. It almost feels like floating in a bubble of cotton-candy clouds except you’re grounded by the sensation of Muichiro’s hand in yours.

“Anytime,” you reply. “Oh. By the way, I heard that they were going to have a fireworks show later tonight. Do you want to watch, Mui?”

He pauses, tilting his head to your offer. His eyes are on yours and somehow, there’s a quiet intensity in his hazy gaze. But then he shakes his head and wordlessly leads you back on track again. Your house comes to view.

Your shoulders deflate in disappointment. “Oh. You must be tired, huh? I should let you rest. We can watch from home.” You sneak a glance at Muichiro, but his eyes remain stubbornly upward. There’s no use tracing his gaze to the sky because he sees a world different from yours, so you don’t even try. You chuckle fondly and lead him home.

You stop by the gate. Muichiro lingers off to the side, watching as you fumble with door to let you in. He doesn’t let go of your hand, and it’s inconvenient, but you can’t find the will to let go yourself, either. His hand fits perfectly with yours and that’s a miracle you never want to let go of, if the gods allow.

You greet the opening of the door with a sigh. Home . “Welcome home, Mui.”

Muichiro finally lets go of your hand to take off his sandals. You step inside the house first and the chill of the floor cools your feet like an alarm.

“Did you want to eat anything in particular, Mui?” you call out. You pad into the kitchen area and wince at the lack of ingredients you have stored. You hope he doesn’t ask for something you can’t cook. Being at home with him brings a sense of laziness that crawls bone-deep and beckons you to sleep within the comforts of Muichiro’s arms. You really don’t want to have to leave to get food.

A pair of warm arms wrap around your waist, however, halting further movements. You jump in surprise and turn around, but Muichiro rests his forehead against your back, leaving you immobilized with warmth fluttering up your cheeks.

“Mui?”

Muffled voice, breathing heated whispers in your spine. “I wanna sleep.”

“Then sleep,” you say, twisting around in his hold so you can wrap your arms around his shoulders. “I’ll be with you after I prepare dinner, all right?”

“No,” he almost whines. Muichiro peers up at you with wide eyes pleading, lips shaped into a pout. “Sleep with me, Y/N.”

“But dinner –“

“Can wait,” he says. He buries his head in your chest and tightens his grip on you. “I missed you a lot. I just wanna stay in bed with you all day.”

Another smile perches on your lips that is as inevitable as falling in love with him, you press a kiss against his head and sigh at the hum of content that leaves his lips. “I missed you too, Mui.”

Muichiro peeks up at you again, a spark of hope flickering in his eyes. He asks a question that never takes flight, but you answer it anyway, tugging him towards your bedroom. Routine sets in. You prepare the futons as Muichiro changes clothes. He melts into the sheets as soon as he lays in the futon, and you giggle when Muichiro opens his arms expectantly.

“We can watch the fireworks here too,” Muichiro mumbles sleepily against your clothes, pulling you closer and closer still until the distinction between you two disappears. He rests his chin against your shoulder, and you shiver at the warm breath on your skin. He yawns. His drowsiness is contagious.

You just laugh. “Sweet dreams, Mui.”

He doesn’t respond, falling to the clutches of sleep easily. That’s fine. The silence comes again, but this time, it comes in the form of an undisturbed mirror-lake. Tranquil. You close your eyes, and breathe in the smell of mint and vanilla, and wait for sleep to claim you as well.

Chapter Text

The night air is humid and sticky, settling into your bones like honey. There's a lot of people walking around, laughter and chatter, and it's all suffocating. You forget why you even went out tonight, when you could have just easily watched the fireworks in the safe confines of your home, away from the buzz and the noise and the harsh push and pull of the wave of people in the streets.

Muichiro's hand on yours, however, prevents you from leaving. The Pillar glances back at you every now and then, an unreadable gleam in his eye, and really, he doesn't need to make sure you're following him when he looks like that. You'd follow him anywhere, to the ends of the world and back.

The crowd finally thins, and you breathe a sigh of relief when Muichiro pulls you to an almost abandoned bridge. There's a nervous energy surrounding him, in the shy glances he steals, in the quiet brushes of his knuckles against yours, in the way he's tapping his feet against the ground.

He's preparing for something, you think. Planning something, and looks for the skies for courage.

"Mui . . . ? Are you all right?"

He breathes in, exhales, and peers at you from the side of his eye. An electric moment hangs, and then he's too close, and the light glistens off his eyes reflect your wide-eyed stare and cherry blossom blush. His hand comes up to touch your cheek, and instinctively, as if your body has been craving for his touch all along, you lean into him.

"Y/N," he murmurs, eyes wide and searching. You're rooted to your spot. "I've been wondering for a while now . . . Can I kiss you?"

(no words; logic left aflutter by the boldness of his actions, the soft caress of his fingers against your hair

can he see, you wonder, the anticipation in your trembling hands, the nervousness in your stuttering breaths, the resounding yes in your rapid heartbeat?)

The moment is as fragile as moonlight, hidden by the overgrowth and the clouds, by the shadows and the dawn. It's so silent, so still, and all that remains of the world are you, him, and the thundering beat of your heartbeat in your ears.

Muichiro flicks his gaze up to meet yours. His touch on your cheek is as hot as embers, and yet your skin trembles like ice glazes against your spine. It's dizzying. He's dizzying, too near, and you can see every crystalline fleck of blue in his eyes, the reflection of the fireworks on his cheek, feel every wisp of breath that escapes his parted lips brush your own.

It lasts for an eternity, and, in the span of a second, he closes his eyes, and leans in.

(nothing exists, nothing but emptiness and the swirling heat in your chest and the quiet strength of his touch and the soft press of his lips against yours)

It's over in a blink, and he steals with him all the air in your lungs as he pulls away. It's over too quickly, and yet your knees buckle and your stomach flutters too intensely and your breath rasps from your lips like a drowned man gasping for breath. Muichiro's own cheeks blush with the fire of autumn, and though he seems to less affected by the little kiss than you, you can see the emotions swirling in his eyes as he watches you. His thumb brushes against your lower lip, and your breath catches.

"Mui . . ." you breathe out, because there's nothing else to say when your throat is dry and your heart is erratic and your blood is rushing to your face hotter than lit coals. You lick at your lips, and try to gather the remnants of your courage back. Your voice comes out breathy still. "Really? That's all?"

His lips twitch, and he looks at you so fondly that your heart melts. "Are you testing me, Y/N?"

(maybe, maybe not. you just really want him to pull you in and kiss you until the world disappears and only he remains)

So he does. He presses against you and holds you tighter than ever, enough to take your air away again, but who needs air when Muichiro has his lips pressed against yours, firmly, passionately, ardently; a perfect fit. He molds his lips to yours easily, and like a guitar plucked, your very soul sings out in ecstasy. Muichiro, Muichiro, Muichiro. You close your eyes, and lose yourself in him.

(muichiro, muichiro, muichiro: your heart echoes)

He parts your lips with his and delves deeper, breathing you in like ambrosia and nectar drips from your lips. You're trembling, set adrift by the assuredness with which he moves against you. He's relentless, firm, and so, so, so sweet and tender.

Heat settles like a storm, all-consuming and overwhelming, lighting all your nerves on fire until you're acutely aware of him, him, and everything him. The brush of his fingers through your hair, the way he tilts your head to meet his lips, his own heartbeat copying your own unsteady beat, echoing in the silence that rings in your ears.

(more. you are lost, and you don't ever want to be found)

When Muichiro pulls away, you almost want to cry out, the sudden cool that settles in with his absence a jarring contrast to the heat budding beneath your skin. You're panting, tightly clutching onto the back of his clothes for support. You didn't even know you were holding onto him, so lost in the kiss you were.

"Y/N . . ." Muichiro murmurs, and you close your eyes at the feel of his voice, the thickness and the breathiness.

"That . . . that was kind of . . . hot," you reply, for lack of anything else to say. What are the appropriate words, when he has just stolen the stars in the sky and painted stardust in your skin until you glowed in delight? You can't look away from him. You don't want to ever look away from him.

His lips pull back into a smile. You flush deep red, and now, you can't look at him at all. He chuckles and presses a kiss against your hair and buries his head in it, still laughing.

"Mui!" you whine. "Stop laughing at me!"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, but he doesn't really sound very sorry at all. "I'll stop."

He doesn't, for a while. He holds you in his arms and snickers at your awkwardness, and you're helpless to do anything but flush brighter and deeper in humiliation. Your lips tingle, and you'd try to kiss him again if he wasn't being such a jerk.

"Love you, Y/N," he says, after calming down.

You sigh, and watch the fireworks explode in the sky from behind his shoulder, a smile curling across your lips. "Love you too, Mui."

Chapter Text

The early sunlight sonata plays a lulling melody of the light breeze intermingling with cheerful birds chirping about a new morning. Sunlight filters lazily, creeping up from the bedroom floor, up and up until it illuminates the tangled limbs sprawled heavily atop each other on the bed.

You wake with the sun, but Muichiro whines when you pull away, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you back in. Closer and closer still. You laugh sleepily when he nuzzles back into your chest. Silk shifts, entangled in your skin, and the warmth of your skin is trapped from the cooling air by the blankets. Muichiro flings a leg over your hip, keeping you secure against him.

"Not yet," he mumbles. His voice is low and rough, muddled by sleep and muffled by your clothes. "Later."

You hum. Your mind races with tasks to fulfill before the day ends, jobs and deadlines and work, but your tired body doesn't allow you to protest. You sink into the sheets and into Muichiro's warm embrace.

"Five more minutes," you say, and Muichiro mumbles an agreement of sorts. You both know you won't get up in five minutes, but it feels almost like tradition to say it. He presses the lightest flutter of a kiss on your collarbone before cuddling back against your chest. His dark hair splays over the pillows.

Cute.

You start combing through his hair, starting from his scalp down to the mint-stained ends, and it earns you an appreciative hum from Muichiro. He leans to your touch, eyes closed and a half-smile resting lazily on his lips. The sunlight stains his cheeks an apple-blossom red and, caught in a sudden wave of adoration, you lean forward to press a kiss against his brow. Lashes flutter, sighs shaped into your name brushes your skin. Bliss; this is what it feels like.

One of your hands drift down to cup his cheek in your palms. Giggling, you press another kiss against his cheek, his forehead, the tip of his nose, his lips. Still caught on the throes of sleep, Muichiro half-heartedly tries to pull away from your affection, but it doesn't stop you from peppering kisses all over his face.

"Y/N," he whines, trying to pout but failing spectacularly when he breaks into laughter as you kiss the side of his mouth. "I wanna sleep more."

"Then sleep."

Eyes hazed by sleep meet yours. You pause, breath caught in your lungs as Muichiro leans forward to press his forehead against yours. A warm palm rests against your cheek.

"You're so pretty, Mui," you coo. You tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear as his grin grows wider. He looks too adorable, with his eyes crinkled like that. The sight sends your heartbeat stuttering, even as a wave of comfort tucks neatly around you like a fluffy duvet.

"You're prettier." And he brushes his lips against yours in a sweet kiss that makes your toes curl. It lasts for a mere second and yet the breathless sense of floating serenely with the clouds above lingers long after he's gone. You can't stop smiling.

Neither can Muichiro, it seems. He smiles brightly at you, chuckling at the heat spreading down your neck. His touch is gentle, decadent in its reverence as his hands glide down your skin to tug you closer against him again. There's no space left in between you two, no other way to become even closer than you already are, and yet Muichiro still tries. His affection is endearing.

If only this moment lasted for eternity, you'd capture it and lock it all up until your heart burst from the love and joy. But you'll have to content yourself with the knowledge that this is the scene that'll greet you in every day that the sun wakes you up.

Chapter Text

There’s a beat of silence, brought about by your surprised and blatant staring as soon as Yushiro steps out of the house. He’s wearing unfamiliar clothing, almost stiff in the way the seams are streamlined to fit him perfectly. It feels foreign and weird – he feels foreign and weird in his own skin. That’s probably the reason why there’s an amused glint in your eye. Your lips quirk in a knowing smile, so terribly smug that it sends a flustered cherry hue in Yushiro’s cheeks. He crosses his arms.

“Oi,” he snaps at you. “Stop staring.”

You don’t reply. You can’t. You slap a hand against your mouth to muffle the laughter that spills out, though the mere fact that you’re laughing at him already deepens the redness of his cheeks. Yushiro opens his mouth to speak up again, but a heavy cloth drapes over his shoulders, the scent of mild perfume and medicine arises, and Yushiro can’t find his voice anymore. He stands straighter, as if a marionette held captive by Tamayo’s slightest touch.

“Yushiro,” Lady Tamayo scolds, adjusting the happi so his arms slip through the holes. “Be kind to Y/N.”

“Yeah, Yushiro,” you say, barely keeping in laughter. “Be kind to me.”

Yushiro almost bites his tongue in an effort to keep himself from retorting something rather nasty. He turns to Tamayo instead, widening his eyes to plead with her. “B-But, Lady Tamayo –”

“No buts,” she says, padding over to you to pat your head. Tamayo smiles at you so very beautifully that Yushiro can’t help the stab of jealousy over the fact that you’re on the receiving end of that lovely smile. “Y/N’s been kind enough to offer to show you around the festival today, after all.”

But he wanted to go with her. Disappointment trickles lowly, setting itself into the crease of his brows as he huffs in dissatisfaction. You laugh at him again.

“Anything for you guys,” you say, grabbing Yushiro’s hand in yours to tug him to the direction of the festival. “Anyway, we should be going, or we’ll miss the fireworks. Come on!”

Yushiro shoots one last pleading look over at Tamayo, begging her to take him away from here. He’d much rather be in the house with her than outside and away from her. Who even cares about some measly fireworks? Tamayo’s beauty encompasses those any day.

But Tamayo just smiles at the long-suffering look in his face as she waves. “Have fun, you two!”

You burst out laughing. Yushiro snatches his hand away from you.

“Let me guess,” you say, undeterred. “You got all dressed and dolled up for Lady Tamayo, didn’t you?”

“That’s none of your business!”

You’re laughing again. It grates on his nerves. You’re awfully giddy today.

“You’re so cute, Yushi,” you cackle. You take his hand again as the festival comes into view. Humans walk around in groups, flitting through the various booths and stalls while they wait for the fireworks show to start. It’s immediately overwhelming to be immersed in so many humans all at once, in such a cramped place too, that Yushiro freezes up. He’s forgotten all about your teasing and when you squeeze his hand for comfort, he accepts it willingly.

“Let’s go somewhere less crowded,” you suggest, tugging him by the hand gently. The wave of people parts easily when you walk through, much to Yushiro’s relief.

“Yeah,” he replies. It’s lost by the noise, but you seem to understand well enough anyway.

“The fireworks show should be starting in a few minutes or so,” you explain. “Let’s get near to where they’re setting up the fireworks! I wanna watch close! Or maybe they’ll even allow us to light some!”

Yushiro isn’t even listening anymore. He’s looking around, taking in the sights and the clamor and the noise. The summer heat clinging to the ground, combined with the warmth of the humans and his own yukata’s stifling material makes for an overall hot atmosphere. When you finally manage to break free from the wave of people, Yushiro feels nothing but icy relief drenching his bones.

“Ah, Yushiro! Look! They’re setting up the fireworks!”

You haven’t lost your enthusiasm yet. Yushiro turns to where you’re pointing, to find a couple of humans setting up contraptions of sorts, aimed towards the sky. You step forward, eyes wide and cheeks pinched into a childish grin as you watch. Sighing, Yushiro follows you quietly.

“Hi! Hello! Happy fireworks festival!” you greet the humans working on the rockets. A few of them nod and greet you back, though the weird choice of words does garner a few strange looks from the men. Yushiro pinches the bridge of his nose, if only to hide the exasperated smile tugging on his lips. “I was wondering if we could help light some fireworks, too! I’ve always wanted to try it out!”

You are promptly guided towards the side, where a bunch of sticks lay on the grass. Yushiro doesn’t really understand the way your eyes gleam with excitement when you grab a bunch of sticks in your hands.

“Yushiro! Look! Here, here, take one! Let’s light some fireworks!”

Yushiro races an eyebrow. You’ve gone insane. Yushiro has never seen how fireworks are prepared, but he’s quite certain they are not these little twigs that he could’ve easily just picked up from the side of the road. But then you spark a fire and light the edge and a bunch of colorful sparks jump up to shine brightly before fizzling out into the darkness. Yushiro almost lets go of the stick in surprise.

Your irises capture the colors and turn luminescent.

“What’s this?” he asks, calmed by awe and the dizzy dance the sparks create.

“Fireworks!” you exclaim. “Isn’t it cute? Isn’t it! I love fireworks so much!”

Yes, he’s actually pleasantly surprised to find himself not minding being separated from Tamayo too much. But Yushiro would rather die than admit that and be subject to another few weeks’ worth of teasing from you. So he bites his tongue.

He clicks his tongue. “You’re acting like a kid.”

“But I am a kid!” you protest, jutting your lower lip in an attempt to look childish. Rolling his eyes, he flicks your forehead and tries to stifle the laughter bubbling up his chest.

“You’re almost a hundred years old.”

“I’m a kid at heart!”

Silence.

Yushiro rolls his eyes in exasperation while you laugh at your own joke. Off to the side, a boom explodes, and the night sky becomes alight with colors. Yushiro cranes his head up to watch, stick forgotten. The fireworks dance against the night sky, a kaleidoscope of reds and yellows and greens. Only one thing would have made this better and that is Tamayo’s presence beside him, but as your arm brushes against his in a silent gesture of companionship, Yushiro finds himself not minding this at all.

Not that he’d ever tell you that.

Chapter Text

There's a secret glade by the mountains that hides frosted tree leaves and vivid grasses sprouting a colorful smattering of wildflowers. Nowadays, Inosuke finds himself there, led by a secret whim that takes the form of a fleeting giddiness that always seems to rise only in your presence.

But as he marches hurriedly from the Butterfly Estate to the glade, a feeling of restlessness invades his senses like an alarm. The wound on his chest itches and hurts, leftovers from a mission gone awry, and it forces him to slow down his brisk pace, much to his frustration. The sense of wrongness grows with every step he takes.

He reaches the glade. Ah. Here's where the sensation of wrongness comes from: there's nothing but wind and air in the spot where you sit, braiding flowers and taking in the light of the sun as if to be luminescent like the moon. A spike of panic in his chest; where the hell could you be?

He searches the glade. Beneath every hidden nook and cranny, behind every shade and cover. The glade is empty. Inosuke feels the urge to turn around to the Butterfly Estate to grab his swords — no, fuck the swords; he'd go barehanded just to find you faster.

A crunch of fallen branches. Inosuke whips around, and wide eyes meet his. A crown of flowers dangle from your fingertips, blooms in different shades of blue and purple. Inosuke feels a bubbling warmth in his chest, bordering relief and something else he can't place.

"You – You!" he points a finger at you. He's shaking ever-so-slightly. Why is he shaking?

You step towards him and offer the crown as a way of explanation. Inosuke stares at it for a moment before turning back to you.

"You went to get flowers?" he asks. You nod eagerly, smiling. Inosuke huffs. "Idiot Y/N! Don't you know how dangerous it is outside?"

You blink.

"What would you have done if a stupid demon tried to eat you?" You remain smiling at him gently, a worried furrow in your brow. Inosuke stomps his feet, as if to make you understand the gravity of the situation. You could have been dead, for god's sake! Stop – Stop smiling so serenely!

You draw forward and rest the tips of your fingers against his arm. At the touch, Inosuke feels all the tension drain from his muscles. Something about your touch, maybe. Could be the smile on your lips too, as you step on your tiptoes to place the crown on Inosuke's head. You pat his head, and Inosuke preens. You breathe out a quiet laugh and kiss his cheek.

He tries to stop the smile forming on his lips. But then you take his hand to lead him near the base of the old tree which you two normally sit side-by-side, shoulders touching, silence calming. The warmth of your palm pressed against his makes his heart jump, a sensation akin to dancing will-o-wisps fluttering by his skin.

You sigh as you lean back and stretch your legs against the grass. You rest for a few seconds like that before sitting up again to peer at him. You point to his chest and tilt your head.

"It's nothing," he says instantly, shrugging of your concerned gaze. "It's just a scratch. The stupid demon just got lucky!"

You furrow your brow.

"Oi, stop looking so worried!" Inosuke tells you. "Who do you think you're talking to? The mighty Inosuke-sama has slain the demon! You have nothing to fear anymore!"

You huff and give him a look. Inosuke shoots you an offended look in return.

"I'm not weak enough to be hurt by a mere scratch!" he protests. "It doesn't even hurt at all!"

A finger comes up to poke the area near the bandages. It's quite far from his wound, but still manages to draw a hiss from Inosuke. You flinch at that and your wide eyes indicate an apology that Inosuke doesn't need. He huffs at you and turns away in a mock show of anger.

A sigh. You reach out to take his arm and wrap it around your shoulders, nuzzling against him affectionately. Inosuke jumps, eyes widening as his heart stutters in his chest. You peer up at him with doe eyes.

Inosuke grunts. "Fine. It hurts a bit. But I'll be fine! It's just a minor wound! The mighty Inosuke-sama won't be brought down by something so small!"

Your smile comes back, and you brace yourself on his knee to lean forward and press a kiss against his lips. For a moment, Inosuke swears his heart stops beating, before returning with a vengeance until it's the only thing he can hear pounding between his ears. The visage of you, looking at him with such warmth and adoration splayed openly in your eyes — his toes curl at the display of affection.

He doesn't know what to do. His eyes look around frantically, but nothing else manages to hook his attention quite as well as you do. You giggle, and it's a breathless sound as you cup his cheek in your palm and tug him forward for another kiss. Led by a rush of emotions too thick to ever try to resurface from, Inosuke lets himself sink into your touch, helpless. The warmth in his chest spreads to his very fingertips.

When you break away, you grin at the flustered flush staining his cheeks. Inosuke tries to turn away in embarrassment, but the sudden shift sends a spike of pain through his chest. He sucks in air through gritted teeth.

Your smile turns into a frown. Inosuke turns on the strong facade before you can even berate him again, however. The unamused expression on your face does not falter until Inosuke finally sighs and gives up.

"Fine!" he says. "I'll make sure to take care of myself more next time, all right? So stop looking at me like that, you stupid Y/N!"

At that, your smile returns again, bright and sunny. Inosuke's throat is dry when you reach out to squeeze his hands in a comforting way. Your smile is probably one of the loveliest things Inosuke has ever seen, and the giddiness he feels in seeing it — in knowing that he is the cause for it — sends an emotion so strong in Inosuke that it knocks him off his feet. He wants to keep that smile and put it in a bottle and treasure it forever.

When one doesn't have words, one has to show every emotion through actions. You rest your head against his shoulder, and from that simple action alone, he feels completely at peace. Inosuke can tell you do as well and that draws a content smile to rest on his lips. The silence is enough for him.

Chapter Text

It’s a tradition of sorts between you two. The sun knocks at the window of your room, a gentle alarm to rouse you from the deep embrace of sleep. The day starts lazily, engulfed in the scent of vanilla and incense and Kagaya’s warmth by your side. You yawn and turn to him, waking him up with a gentle kiss to his cheek. A light-sleeper as always; it doesn’t take much more than that to wake him up.

“Good morning,” you say, smiling as you brush away strands of his hair from his forehead. “It’s a lovely day today.”

“Good morning, Y/N,” he repeats, reaching up to grasp your hand in his to press a kiss against the inside of your palm. “It’s already a good day today because I woke up to you.”

“Charming,” you laugh. A shiver of warmth flutters against your chest and spreads to your cheeks. He smiles back at you, laughter spilling from his outstretched lips.

The house is silent as you guide him to the dining table. Kagaya smiles at you as he settles into his seat, the aroma of freshly cooked breakfast wafting through the air. You sit beside him and peck his cheek before scooping some food in your chopsticks to feed him.

The way his disease is progressing is heart-breaking. And yet, even unseeing, Kagaya smiles so warmly at you in gratitude and the visage of him in his earlier years overlaps with his disease-stricken image now.

“Always,” you say.

The rest of the meal is spent in silence. When it’s time to go, you help Kagaya up and fix the table while he lingers by the engawa, encircled by the messenger crows. His serene smile never fades as he pats the crows for a job well done before letting them fly off to deliver another message. Some crows stay to peck at the birdfeed you’ve left off to the side. You surprise him with a kiss to his cheek.

“I’ve finished with the chores. Shall we go now?” You guide his arm so it entangles around yours, allowing him the freedom to lean on you whenever he feels tired. He hums.

“Yes, let’s go. Thank you, Y/N.”

“Of course,” you say. “Always.”

This is another tradition: you trudge through the woods, soaking in the cool morning air and the fresh mist of the mountains. Wysteria blooms eternal here, tainting the ground with an ethereal purple glow when the sunlight hits the flowers. It’s always such a marvel to go through this path.

You wish Kagaya can see this as well.

The lavender forest parts and a stretch of graves greet your eyes. You stop by the entrance to the graveyards, bowing your head in respect for the fallen Demon Slayers laying here. Kagaya stops when you do and, as if sensing you’ve arrived in your destination, leaves your side to kneel by the first grave. He bows his head, and murmurs a prayer for each noble Slayer in here. You stay behind him always.

The sun is shining brightly above you by the time Kagaya is done with his daily visit. The air is solemn as you take his hand again, and there’s an oppressive sadness in the hunched slant of his shoulders. You tangle your hands with his and squeeze. The solemn atmosphere dissipates and you kiss his cheek in a quiet assurance of ypur constant presence by his side.

When you arrive home, preparations for a Pillar Meeting ensue. You lead him out into the garden where everyone else is waiting and, as always, stay by his side. He is Oyakata-sama here, the Master of the Demon Slaying Corps. And yet, when the sun sleeps and the day is over, Kagaya turns to you with a genteel smile on his lips, and he becomes yet again your husband. You draw nearer to him and take a seat beside him. Kagaya takes your hand.

“The sunset is marvellous today,” you say quietly. “The sky is a kaleidoscope of red and gold and orange.”

“It sounds very lovely.” His thumb catches on your skin, rubbing circles against your palm. His very presence is soothing. Kagaya leans his head against your shoulder. This is what serenity feels like. You tilt your head to watch him, cupping a hand against his cheek to press a kiss against his head. Kagaya’s smile widens, and he pulls himself up, his free hand gliding through your collarbone, up and up until he finds your cheek. He kisses you chastely, the heat barely lingering enough to make the cold bite harsher when he pulls away.

“Tell me more about the sky, Y/N,” he says, returning to his position beforehand to nuzzle against you. You squeeze his hand.

“Of course,” you tell him, looking up to watch the darkness bleed into the horizon. “Always.”

Chapter Text

The sunset reflects against scuffed floors and crumpled papers shoved haphazardly beneath lockers and in between the wooden floorboards where the tiles have come loose. The school hallway is finally silent, and the wood creaks beneath your every step while you walk towards the music room.

She should be starting sometime now.

Every day, without fail, after school hours and when everyone else has left the school to go home, she goes to play the piano. You’ve stumbled upon her playing the piano and singing along it on accident once, and since then, you’ve become entranced. You don’t know her name, don’t know who she is. There is a glimpse of hair dancing around her shoulders, purple-stained and wavy, a butterfly motif clinging to her every movement, and a haunting voice that calls out to you and soothes your very soul, but nothing else other than that.

Still, you come here every day. It doesn’t matter if you don’t know her, doesn’t matter if she might think you’re creepy for staying outside her door listening quietly, doesn’t matter if you always run away after the music ends, too afraid to even dare try to talk to this amazing musician. This is your routine and your anchor to sanity in this harsh and fast-paced world. You don’t want to change it, lest your peace gets destroyed.

But today, the script goes unfollowed. You take a seat beside the door, resting your head against the wall and sighing in relief. The girl is already inside the music room, fixing her stuff, and you try to wait patiently. What song is she going to play today? Maybe another lullaby. She seems to be fond of those, and it’s always so lovely to hear childish tunes in her voice turn into a song of longing and yearning.

The door opens.

It registers a second too late. You scramble to your feet, heart jumping to your throat as purple eyes meet yours curiously. Her gaze is light, but you find yourself frozen in place either way. She’s smiling. You have to go. She looks really beautiful. You have to go. It’s quiet for a while as she stares you down.

“Oh my,” she says finally, smile widening. “I knew it. You were the one listening to me play, weren’t you?”

Panicked, you only manage a nod. The girl leans against the doorframe, never taking her eyes off of you once. “Aren’t you a charmer. I’m flattered you like my performances that much.”

“I’m sorry!” you burst out. “I didn’t mean to intrude. It was just – well, I just really love your voice. It’s beautiful and soothing and really, really good. But I’ll stop if you want me to. I’m really –”

“You know,” she interrupts, smile growing. You chance a peek at her and find the littlest glow of pink dancing on her cheeks. Her voice is playful and light, like the butterfly wings she prances around with. “You could have just asked me and I’d have let you listen in, yes? Sitting outside here all alone – you’ve made yourself rather uncomfortable for no reason.”

You stare at her, throat dry. “Miss, I –”

She grabs your hand and tugs you inside the room, still smiling. Her hand is so tiny and soft in yours. “It’s Shinobu,” she tells you. “Shinobu Kocho. Please, none of that formalities.”

Shinobu. A name to put to the melody in your mind whenever you think of her. Shinobu. It’s such a lovely sounding name, fit for an exquisite person like her. You nod in agreement and let her pull you inside the music room. Shinobu points you to a chair by the side of the piano.

“I’m Y/N,” you say quietly.

She laughs, a tinkling sound. Shinobu takes her seat in front of the piano and gives you an impish grin. “It’s lovely to finally meet you properly, Y/N,” she says, and you flush at the teasing lilt to her voice. “Don’t you think so as well? It’s nice to sit in a real chair than outside, yes?”

“Yeah,” you say and Shinobu giggles at the awkwardness in your voice.

Her fingers drift over the keys, playing a swift tune before turning to you. “Well, Y/N, since you love my voice so much, why don’t you give me a song to play for you? Consider it as a gift from me.”

“Anything will do,” you say, hands fidgeting together at the gaze she levels at you. You feel unusually shy around Shinobu, for some reason, but that could also just be the embarrassment over being caught.

Shinobu hums, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh my, feeling shy, are we, Y/N?”

“N-No?”

Shinobu leans closer to you suddenly, eyes twinkling. When she speaks, her breath fans against your cheeks, awfully bold with someone she’s just known. “Then tell me what you like, Y/N. I’ll play anything you want me to.”

You lean back in surprise. Shinobu’s smile turns cocky, almost, as she leans back to regard you, hiding laughter behind a palm. “Aren’t you cute,” she coos, her other hand returning to her piano and pressing random keys into a crescendo of notes. “I’ll play you my favourite piece then, if you can’t choose right now. That’s all right with you, isn’t it, Y/N?”

You nod. Her fingers hover over the keys for the barest of second before pressing lightly. This song is familiar – it’s one of the songs that Shinobu always plays. Her eyes are closed, so familiar with the music that she doesn’t need eyesight to play the piano. Shinobu opens her mouth, and sings.

Angelic. There’s not even any other word for it. She’s angelic. Her voice is the most beautiful you’ve ever heard, and here, listening to it in this very room, so close to her – it feels almost like a revelation. 

“Your voice is really beautiful,” you tell her again when the music stops.

Shinobu doesn’t look at you. She’s staring at the piano.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, still smiling softly.

Chapter Text

A surprise greets your eyes as soon as you step inside the spare room in the Wisteria House. There had been chaos inside prior to your arrival: muffled protests, rambunctious arguing, terrible screams. Pandora’s box unravelled and just begging to be spilled.

It’s all silent now. Cautiously, you open the door.

Three pairs of eyes snap towards you. Where normally, the attention would have made you flustered, today, you are dumbfounded, blinking owlishly at the trio in the room. They are caught in a position too satirical to not make fun of: Tanjiro has his hands extended, as if trying to dissuade the crying Zenitsu to stay still. The Sound Pillar is crouched over Zenitsu, on the process of dolling him up. Rogue smears from Zenitsu’s lip up to his cheek. They freeze, deer in headlights.

You stifle laughter and inch back away from the door. “Um, should I come back some other time? You all seem to be rather . . . preoccupied.”

Zenitsu opens his mouth, but Uzui beats him to it. “Yes, yes. You’re disturbing us. Scram off, girl. I still need to make this shrimp into a semi-decent girl at the least.”

“Good luck,” you snort. Zenitsu whines at your flippant tone, and his wails are a prayer for salvation which you promptly ignore. Tanjiro smiles at you, brows furrowed, fingers fluttering in a wave.

“Oh! Y/N!” Tanjiro exclaims. “Please wait!”

You pause, peeking back into the room. You haven’t gotten a good look at him earlier, but Tanjiro isn’t really faring any better than Zenitsu. Cheeks painted a harsh harlequin red, dark hair pigtailed – he looks like a joke.

But Tanjiro smiles at you. “Um, if you don’t mind, would you look for Inosuke for me? He went out a bit ago, and I’d go look for him, but, well . . .” he shrugs helplessly.

“Yes,” Uzui interrupts once again. “Make sure that boar hasn’t made a mess of himself yet.”

If the two friends are any indication of how well Uzui’s makeup skills are, you doubt Inosuke could make a mess of himself that wouldn’t make him look even worse. But you agree with a nod and a wave, setting out to search the missing Slayer.

Here’s another surprise: Inosuke is sitting quietly outside the gates of the House, head tilted to watch the sky. His boar head lays by his side, eyes staring into nowhere. Backdropped by the nature and the roses peeking from beneath the fences of the Estate, and clad in a floral-themed kimono with his hair sweeping gracefully across his shoulder, Inosuke actually looks pretty.

That’s unfair.

You march over and plop yourself beside him. He acknowledges your presence with a side-eye, and nothing more. You can’t stop looking at him, but you content yourself in the silence. People pass by the two of you, casting curious glances, but neither of you pay them any mind.

A breeze wafts by, blows Inosuke’s carefully kept hair into his face. On an impulse, you reach over and tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. Inosuke blinks, finally focusing his attention on you. You grin impishly at him. His cheeks are painted in the same abhorrent rouge as the two others, the red too deep against his pale skin. You wipe at his cheeks with the edges of your sleeves, until the colour lightens to a pretty pink and complements his complexion nicely.

You snicker. “You look really pretty, Ino.”

Inosuke blinks again, still silent. You tilt your head at him, matching his wide-eyed stare with your own. Why isn’t he talking? You’ve expected an insult or a something snarky or something.

Inosuke remains mute, and realization crashes against you. Uzui must have told him to be silent. His voice has always been too harsh and deep, and would definitely ruin his lady-like visage. You stifle another laugh and lean in close, watching his brows scrunch as he tries to lean away from you.

“Aww,” you coo. “You’re so cute like that, Inosuke! So pretty and graceful, almost. Maybe you should stay like that all the time. I can even lend you some kimonos and do your makeup every day!”

Inosuke’s brows draw low, and he opens his mouth to retort, but stops himself and huffs instead. Giggling, you lean in even closer until he’s forced to look at you in the eye again. You pinch his cheeks. What a cutie pie! Inosuke tries to back away from you again, when a voice interrupts you two.

A disgusted sigh, long-drawn. “Fucking gays, I swear to the gods.”

You freeze, turning to the speaker. He’s a grumpy looking man, a scowl etched on his face like a statue frozen by centuries. He’s looking down at you both in disgust, and the air he breathes out smells faintly of alcohol and booze. You crinkle your nose back at him.

“Excuse me?” you say, standing up. “What did you say?”

The man glares back at you. “I said,” he says, disdain dripping, leaning close until the stench of alcohol is all you can smell. “You fucking gays.”

He’s out of your sight in a flash, kneeling down in front of Inosuke, who’s been watching everything quietly. The man raises his hand and sloppily rests it against Inosuke’s cheek. Disgusted, Inosuke rips his hand away.

The man is undeterred. “Why don’t I show you a real good time, huh?” He leers at Inosuke. “Let a real man take care of you, and then you can take that gay shit off of your mind, huh? Whaddayasay?”

You stomp over, readying yourself to lecture the man about propriety and politeness and maybe show him what it’s like to be hit to sobriety until he passes out again – what a douchebag! Inosuke, as if finally having enough, sits up straight, gets into a kneeling position, and launches himself head first against the man’s midsection.

You stare.

“Pig Assault!” Inosuke announces, as he brushes dust off of himself. He looks down at the man, groaning and mumbling on the ground. You can’t help the laughter bubbling up your throat at the sheer stupidity of that attack. Always gets you, you swear.

“Inosuke!” you call out. “Inosuke, are you all right?”

He seems rather unscathed, but the drunken harasser isn’t faring any better. He’s laying on his side now, gripping his stomach in pain, but his eyes are staring at Inosuke.

“Hmph! No insect such a this one can ever dare hope to hurt me! I am God!” Inosuke proudly proclaims. “The God of the Mountains!”

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

“Yeah, of course,” you agree.

“What . . . ?” the man mumbles, squinting at Inosuke. Now that he’s speaking again, the illusion of a shy maiden has vanished. Inosuke scrubs at his face even more, smearing the makeup onto his kimono. His face is clear of any makeup, but he still looks like the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t worry. Let a real man take care of you,” you repeat. The man’s cheeks turn red.

Inosuke huffs. “Even Monitsu’s a better man that this thing is. I’m a hundred times more man than he is. Oi, Y/N. I’m right, right?”

“Right, right,” you agree wholeheartedly, and there’s a moment where Inosuke merely stares at you quietly. “You are. This scum doesn’t even deserve to be called a man.”

Inosuke preens at your support, and laughing, you pat his head. “Oh, right, Uzui is looking for you. He’ll get angry that you wiped off your makeup, too,” you sigh.

Inosuke wrinkles his brow, letting himself be tugged inside after taking his boar head. The man is still laying on the ground, groaning and demanding for you two to help him out. He is promptly ignored. You have to find a way to fix Inosuke up without Uzui getting angry, after all.

Chapter Text

The mission comes wrapped around the messenger crow’s feet, on a parchment that protests when you unfurl its edges. The letters are painted painstakingly onto the page. Master’s orders. The setting sun turns the paper bloody.

Ominous. You scan the page. A pang of something curls in your chest, dries your throat. You should hide this paper, for some reason. The urge beckons like a grinning siren with bloody fangs for teeth. Hide this paper and forget it ever happened. It’s inexplicable. You don’t want Kyojuro to go on this mission.

“Y/N?” Kyojuro’s voice rings out. You turn around to look at him, but he sits down beside you and rests his chin against your shoulder to peer at the letter on your hands. Too late. You stiffen, and try not to move too much as Kyojuro reads the letter. “Oh! The mission the Master told me about! I should depart now, then!”

“But –”

Kyojuro looks at you expectantly, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips. As always. You hold the letter to your chest, a futile attempt to quell the uneasiness within. You can’t explain it, but a voice within you screams to not let him go on this mission. Make him stay home! He can go tomorrow – just, just not tonight.

“Yes, love?”

You stare at him for a while, mouth opening and closing as you try to find the words to say. There’s too many things to say – your mind’s abuzz. Kyojuro, don’t go. Kyojuro, stay here with me. Let someone else take care of that demon. It’s dangerous, Kyo.

“Do you really have to go?” your voice lowers to a mere whisper. Crickets sing a haunting lullaby, even though the sun is still just dipping down the horizon. You can’t look at him anymore.

There’s a pause, where Kyojuro takes in the wobble in your voice, your lowered head and tensed shoulders. The paper in your fists crumples.

“I’ll be back in a few days. Don’t worry, Y/N! I’ll always come back to you, you know that, yes?” Kyojuro finally assures you. He draws near to plant a kiss against your forehead before drawing away. Panicked, you clutch at his cape, cloth bunching and slipping, pressing yourself closer against him as if you’d be able to hold him captive in your arms. Keep him, protect him – save him.

This is madness.

“Y/N?” Kyojuro asks. “Is something wrong?”

Nothing. Nothing is wrong. This is only a hunch, a silent foreboding feeling that has randomly crept up on you. It’s based on nothing but nightmares and the creeping shadows and – oh gods, Buddha, please keep him safe.

“I don’t want you to go,” you say instead. “Don’t leave. Let some other Pillar take care of it, Kyo. Please.”

“But Y/N.” His voice is soothing. “You know I have to. This is my job. I have to help everyone.”

“But you don’t.” A helpless plea. “You don’t have to. Just please, stay with me for today? Just this once, Kyo, please.”

Kyojuro reaches down to clasp your hands in his. You’re shivering. Kyojuro smiles at you, but all you see is an omen of death in the way the sunset casts him in shadows and fire. A wave of nausea and paranoia: is he really here, still here? You reach out to touch him, but Kyojuro merely smiles at you.

“Hey, hey, Y/N. It’s all right. I promise I will definitely come back home to you, so stop crying, please.”

He lets go of your hands to wipe at your cheeks, and with a start, you realize the warm wetness clinging to your skin are tears.

He’s too set on going, isn’t he?

“Kyojuro,” you whisper. “Please. I don’t want you to go. Just stay, even for tonight. Please. I’ll cook you dinner – your favourite. I’ll treat you. Whatever you want. Or we can stay in bed ‘til morning. We can watch the stars. We can stay up talking until morning. We’ll do whatever you want, so just please. Stay with me tonight.”

Kyojuro stares at you with a pained look. It’s unnatural, that frown on his face. He’s always strived to smile, to put a smile on others, always always so strong, your Kyojuro. You don’t want him to be strong right now. You want him to stay by your side.

“Y/N . . .” He sighs. “If there’s something wrong, please tell me.”

But nothing’s wrong. Not yet, maybe. Nothing is wrong. What’s wrong is this heavy feeling of dread in your chest, poised and sharp like glass shards barely dangling off a broken picture frame. It hurts. Climbs up your spine like a spectral chill you can’t shake off. You shake your head because nothing’s wrong and you’re being stupid and you can’t find the words to give truth to your thoughts and –

Kyojuro eventually leaves. He leaves you tucked in bed with the warmest blankets wrapped around your shoulder. It smells like him, incense and steel and blood and passion and the ever-smiling words set your heart ablaze. He makes your heart break, you think idly. A steaming cup of tea is left at your side. You don’t touch it. The lingering heat from Kyojuro’s touch dissipates in the night chill.

You wait. There’s nothing else to do here but wait.

His warmth is long gone.

You should have tried harder. Maybe. But either way, you pinch your eyes shut and press your palms tightly against your ears when the messenger crow inevitably comes back. This must be a dream. If you don’t acknowledge it, it must be a dream.

Should be.

His warmth turns cold. It never comes back.

It’s a dream. It has to be.

Chapter Text

Nezuko is running a race against time. Behind her, the sun is steadily creeping up from the horizon, dusting the ground a pale shade of red and orange. Her skin is cold, but her blood runs hot. Every breath of air feels like a stab to her lungs.

Nii-chan . . . please, please be okay.

She can't stop running. The sun has won the race when she finally arrives at the ruins of an old town. Scattered bricks and dust speckled with blood and guts decorate it like a macabre artwork; bile rises up her throat.

But she can't let herself get distracted. Nii-chan — where is he? There are masked people running around frantically, familiar faces that she doesn't know as intimately as her memories would lead her to believe, and chaos. The smell of burnt ashes and metal fill the air.

Nii-chan. Where is he?

Nezuko's legs threaten to collapse. The earth beneath her feet feels unreal, not solid enough to catch her weight. Sweat clings to her lashes and blurs her vision with faux tears. Nii-chan, where are you —

There!

The sea of people parts, finally, and Nezuko finds him. He's leaning against a wall, beside an older man with spiky hair — Tomioka. His name is Tomioka. Nezuko remembers clearly that oddly designed haori, the one wrapped around Tanjiro's shoulders now.

Nii-chan . . .

She stumbles towards the pair. Tomioka notices her first. The smile he gives her is soft and relieved, and Nezuko feels like crying all over again at just the sight. Tanjiro's head is down, wrapped in bandages streaked with red.

“N–Nii-chan,” she rasps. Her throat aches like it hasn't been used for ages. “Nii-chan!”

Tanjiro's so still. He's so still. A fresh wave of panic surges anew as Nezuko falls to her knees in front of him. Her nails dig against the ground. Nii-chan, wake up! Please.

She can't be too late. She licks her lips. “Nii-chan . . . ?”

A benevolent god must be looking down on her today because her prayers are answered when Tanjiro's lids flutter weakly. A groan leaves his lips.

A bleary eye blinks up at her. “Nezuko?”

Nezuko crushes him into a hug. Her eyes are wide, hands shaking as she presses his face against her chest. Tanjiro yelps in pain once again, and Nezuko would feel guilty if she could hear it beyond the sound of her pounding heart.

“Nezuko,” Tanjiro breathes out. A hand grips at the back of her clothes, almost desperately pulling her closer as Tanjiro rests his head against her shoulder. “Nezuko! You – You're really —”

Nezuko can't help it. Tears prick at her eyes and flow freely, dripping down her cheeks and into Tanjiro's hair. He's all right. He's all right! Everyone's all right! Her tears are cleansing, a catharsis as she sobs in her brother's embrace.

“Alive,” she gasps. “You're alive! Nii-chan!

Her haori's getting wet with tears. She doesn't mind. A weight settles around the back of her head, pulling her off to the side and into a warm chest. She gasps as she falls, though Tomioka is there to catch them both. This scene is a faint callback to a distant memory: a misty mountain and an old man with a red mask, the one whose arms felt like home too.

“Tanjiro!” a whiny, tear-stricken voice cries out. “N–Nezuko-chan!”

Nezuko only has the chance to lift her head for a brief glance at a bright yellow streak hurdling to them before another weight crashes into them. Tanjiro sucks in a breath as he is rattled suddenly.

Zenitsu. A wave of familiarity crashes through her. The dandelion kid. He cries as he wraps his arms around Tanjiro and Nezuko, bawling and stuttering something intelligible. Nezuko understands the sentiment, anyway. Her tears grow stronger.

“We won!” he cries. “We're not dead! We won! Nezuko-chan, you're human! We won!”

“Zenitsu . . .” Tanjiro mumbles, smiling tearfully at his friend. “I'm so glad . . . you're okay.”

Nezuko smiles up at Zenitsu, too, bringing a deep flush of red to stain his cheeks. But before he can speak, another weight crashes against all of them, stealing the air from Nezuko's lungs. Tomioka tries his best to protect them from the brunt of the damage, but Nezuko can tell he's too tired to do so properly.

“Yahoo! Oi, we won! Stop crying!”

Nezuko tilts her head and laughs breathlessly. “Boss . . . Inosuke!”

This she remembers clearly. The boar head, the guttural voice. Nezuko wastes no time in including the two of them into the hug, and Zenitsu eagerly melts into it while Inosuke huffs.

“That's right, my minion!” he says. “The Boss Inosuke has once again saved the day!”

Zenitsu turns around to glare at him. “Huh? The hell are you talking about. Don't lie to Nezuko-chan like that just so she'd like you more, you stupid boar head!"

“Huh?” Inosuke snarks back. “Who you calling a stupid boar head, Hinitsu?”

“You! And it's Zenitsu not Hinitsu!”

Nezuko giggles. The two boys turn to her, and she grins back, still crying in relief. The worry gnawing at her chest has long disappeared, and it's replaced by nothing but warmth when Tanjiro looks up to match her beaming smile.

“I'm so glad,” she sobs. “I'm so glad. I'm so glad!”

A hand rests at the top of her head, patting her hair. She turns to Tomioka, who's been silent the whole time. A relieved and sad smile graces his pale lips.

“You all did good,” he says, and nothing more. Nezuko smiles back at him.

Chapter Text

Muichiro's getting pissed. An array of colorful words bubble at the rip of his tongue, all swallowed back harshly as he watches you pause and greet the random stranger who's just called out to you. Your face lights up in a smile, and like scales balancing, Muichiro's descends into a frown.

You've been talking for a minute now. A minute. Muichiro gets it; you're kind, very, but wasting a full minute of your time to entertain this . . . whoever that is — that's just pushing it. Aren't you being too nice? You have places to go, places you've promised to bring Muichiro to today, and now you're indulging this guy.

Muichiro sighs loudly, dramatically loud, hoping maybe that it'll bring your attention back to him. It doesn't. Muichiro juts his lower lip at you, making a face. Temper spikes, and the crowd of people bumping against him only serves to further annoy him.

He takes a step closer to you and hugs your arm, nuzzling his cheek against it in an attempt to make you look at him. You cut off mid-laugh, and to Muichiro's delight, finally look down at him.

“Oh, hey, Mui,” you say, still giggling. A hand ruffles his hair, and Muichiro just hides his pleased smile behind your arm. “Wait a bit, all right? I'm talking with Riku-san here.”

His smile drops in a flash. Muichiro looks up at you and fixes the most adorable puppy dog eyes he can muster. You're weak for this. It's never failed him before. It's Muichiro's ultimate weapon.

“But, nee-san,” he whines. “You told me you'd buy me origami papers today.”

“I will, I will,” you dismiss. “In a bit, Mui, all right?”

You turn back to that guy, and Muichiro's blood boils. He glares bitterly at this absolute bird-brained cretin who dares steal your attention from him when it was supposed to be your special day together. Muichiro even took a day off from his usual schedule to hang out with you today! How dare he just barge in?

The man turns to him, however, and smiles. “Is this your little brother?”

He holds out his hand as if to pat Muichiro's hair. The gal of this imbecile. Muichiro slaps his hand away before it can reach his head and pokes his tongue out.

“Don't touch me with your dirty hands,” he snaps, snuggling closer to your side. “Also, stop doing that thing with your face. I can't tell if you're constipated or what.”

His smile fades slowly as if confused. Muichiro's basking in the happiness of a job well done, but you click your tongue disapprovingly and take your arm away from his grip. Muichiro blinks at the space where he had just been previously hugging you.

“Don't be rude, Mui,” you scold, brows pinching into an angry frown. Muichiro's heart spikes in panic. You're angry at him? But what did he do?

“I wasn't being rude. He looks ew.”

“Mui . . .” you warn.

Muichiro pouts. That stupid harebrained idiot chuckles and pats his head before he can react. Muichiro slaps his hand away and steps near you, avoiding the icky man. He can't believe he just let his hair be touched by someone else —

He just let his hair be touched by someone else. Dear merciful gods. Muichiro might be sick. The trauma is too great.

“It's all right,” the man says, good-naturedly. Muichiro narrows his eyes in suspicion. “He doesn't mean it, I'm sure.”

“I mean it. Go away.”

If only this guy knew what Muichiro's capable of, then he'd back the hell away faster than Muichiro can blink. If only he can take out his katana. Even just bonking him in the head would satisfy Muichiro.

“Mui . . .” you sigh again. “Say sorry to Riku-san. Now.”

Muichiro blinks at you, surprised. You're just joking. Right? Right? But your unamused expression remains unwavering, and Muichiro really starts panicking now.

He widens his eyes and pouts at you, mustering every weapon he has in his arsenal to try to convince you to not be angry anymore. “But, nee-chan,” he whines, forcing his eyes to turn glassy with tears. “I wasn't doing anything bad.”

He never calls you nee-chan, always abiding by the more formal nee-san, so now, his use of the cutesy term appears extra effective. More or less. Muichiro reaches out to grab your arm again and press his cheek against it.

You push his head away gently. “You were being rude, Mui,” you chide. “Say sorry.”

The man just watches, amused. Muichiro shoots him a glare before turning back to you innocently. He bites his lip and puffs his cheeks up. “But – But why, nee-chan?” he drags out. “Don't you love me anymore?”

“That doesn't have anything to do with this,” you say.

“But —”

“Muichiro.”

Muichiro gulps. You're using his whole name now? But, what did he do wrong? He was just being truthful! Is that really such a crime?

Slowly turning with a murderous glare at the guy, Muichiro makes sure that the man clearly feels his killing intent before forcing the words up his throat. “I'm sorry.”

I hope you die painfully and get your limbs gnawed on one by one by maggots.

The man gulps.

You pat his head in approval, and Muichiro snaps his eyes towards you, beaming brightly. You return his smile gladly.

“See, that wasn't so hard now, was it, Mui?” you ask, pinching his cheek and cooing at the redness of his face.

Muichiro winces but doesn't protest against your pinching. “Can we go buy origami now, nee-chan?”

You look up. The sun is bright overhead — it's almost lunchtime. “Oh, all right. We should go eat first though. Oh, Riku-san, would you like to come eat lunch with us?”

Muichiro glares terribly at him.

He laughs uncertainly. “N–No, thanks. I have my own errands to do today.”

“Aww.” Your lips purse into a frown for a second before tilting back up to a smile. “I guess I'll just see you around then, huh?”

“Y–Yeah.” The dimwit nincompoop makes the mistake of looking over at Muichiro, who's promising bloody murder with his eyes. “I'll see you both around.”

You hum and wave goodbye, gently tugging Muichiro along, talking about whatever food he'd like to eat. Muichiro takes a moment to look back at the dumbass who'd just interrupted your day for almost seven minutes. Seven minutes wasted. Wasted on him.

Muichiro catches his eye, and pokes his tongue out childishly. Stupid nincompoops, he swears to the gods.

Chapter Text

You open your eyes to cool darkness overtaken by a golden light. The ascension of the sun is slow and lazy, almost as if even the sun itself does not want to rise quite yet. You watch the play of light and shadow dance against the curve of your lover's cheek, watch his lashes flutter with every slow sigh, and smile.

A warm beat in your ear, heavy arms on your shoulders. It's the most comfortable you've ever been, and you don't want to go, but the day beckons to you.

You start to rise, but Obanai pulls you right back in. He's a bit harsh about it, a frown crossing his brow as he tugs you back to his chest. He tries to reassume the cuddling position you've both been in, and you stifle a sigh, though you're not really complaining.

Still. “Obanai,” you murmur, voice raspy from sleep. “It's morning already.”

Obanai takes his time to reply, burying his face in your hair. “So? We don't have anything to do today.”

Your brows raise. Did you hear right? The Obanai Iguro, wasting precious time that could have been spent training, just to cuddle with you? That's so honestly endearing, if not suspicious.

You raise your eyes to try and meet his, but Obanai's still hiding from you.

“Are you sick?” you ask, half-joking. “Did something possess you? Are you all right?”

He groans. “Shut up. Just a couple more minutes.”

You can't help but giggle. “Wow. This is stellar character development, Obanai. I'm so proud of you.”

“Shut up and go back to sleep,” he sighs, but the tone is pleading.

“No, no,” you say, laughing and trying to push away from his chest to look at him properly. “This is a day to celebrate. You're starting to become human! We should tell everyone.”

Stillness. Without warning, Obanai pushes you off of him and sits up properly, glaring at you through dark strands hanging down his face. He clicks his tongue exasperatedly.

“Fine,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. He goes as if to get out of your futon, but you crawl up to him and throw your hands around his waist, effectively stopping him. He looks down at you, though there's no real irritation in his gaze. “Y/N. Up. Training. Now.”

You nuzzle against his thigh. It's an uncomfortable position you're put in, laid prone on the bed with your chest up against his lap, but it's worth it to see the blush on his face where his bandages don't reach.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” you exclaim. You can't control your chuckles. “Don't be mad. Come back to bed with me.”

He flicks your forehead. You pout and mutter a little 'ouch.' Obanai immediately rubs the spot he flicked apologetically.

“We're wasting time here when we could be training,” he says, a bit softly now. At least you know he's back to normal now. You rest your chin on his thigh and give him your best doe eyes to try and sway him.

Defeated, he looks away.

“Come on,” he tells you, patting your head. “Breakfast, then training.”

You don't move. Obanai looks down at you, questioningly and a bit impatiently, but you're already staring up at him. His hand goes up to touch his bandages.

“What?”

You continue to stare, until, unnerved, he splays his fingers over his bandages, checking if they've slipped off while he was asleep. You smile at him and raise yourself to your elbows, hand reaching up to his hair.

He blinks at you. Dazed by sleep and the gentle morning light, he looks innocent and childish, mismatched eyes wide. You can see yourself reflected in those irises.

“Your hair,” you say, carefully combing the dark strands away from his head until your hand lands on his cheek. “It's sticking out everywhere.”

He flushes even more. You lean closer until your forehead rests against his, breathing him in and reveling in the stutter of his breaths with your eyes closed.

He's so red. You giggle again and press a kiss on top of his bandages.

“You're so cute, Obanai,” you tell him. Casually, you move away and stretch your limbs, ignoring the frozen Obanai in beside you. His hand flutters down to his chest as he bows his head, presumedly to hide his face. You laugh again and kiss the crown of his head.

“Breakfast, then training,” you remind him. “No time to dilly-dally, right?”

Obanai buries his head in his hands and groans.

Chapter Text

There are many things Muichiro regrets in his life, most consisting of never being strong enough to save someone in an exact moment when he needed it. He could have been strong enough to stop his dad from going, but he wasn't. He could have been strong enough to save Yuichiro from dying, but he wasn't. And now, he could have been strong enough to protect you from his ancestor, but he still wasn't. Even if he is strong, it's almost always never enough.

In the pale sunlight, you look like an angel, the first droplets of snowfall reflected on shining stars. A kakushi holds your hand as he guides you to the engawa, mumbling directions and tugging you away from any that may trip you. You laugh and smile at him, thanking him when you finally reach the engawa of Muichiro's home.

The kakushi blushes and stutters, and Muichiro can feel the familiar cold steel of jealousy pierce through his clenched fists. Sensing the glare on his back, the guy peeks at Muichiro, squeaks, and makes a hasty retreat after bowing to both the Pillars.

You laugh again, and sit down, resting your back against the wall. Your head is tilted upward, as if watching the sky, and Muichiro's heart tugs at the familiarity of the scene. He could decieve himself and think everything's all right, everything's back to normal, as they should be. You're merely stopping by his estate to find comfort in his presence, quietly watching the clouds drift by and taking away the weight of the world from your shoulders.

But then you turn to him, and though he looks at your eyes, you stare unseeingly into the distance. The illusion is shattered, and Muichiro is reminded bitterly of how he always fails to save those that matter.

"Mui," your voice rings out in the drab silence. "Come here?"

Your arms widen, beckoning him to sink into your embrace. Again, these bitter words: just like always, but there's an almost to this feeling. Almost, almost like always, almost like nothing's changed. He wants to close his eyes and drown in dreams for all eternity, he wants to keep awake to stay by your side, because the warmth of your skin burns hot enough to remind him why he's still alive in a way dreams never can.

After a moment, he drags his feet to where you're lounged, carefully sitting on your lap so as to not hurt you. Immediately, you wrap your arms around his waist and draw him nearer, resting your head on his shoulder.

There's a heavy scent of regret, cloying and suffocating. You let it linger in the air, a tense moment where he holds his breath in anticipation of your words.

"Sorry I can't do much for you anymore," you say then, and Muichiro's heart breaks. You're thinking about that? That you can't fix him lunches or make him small trinkets or watch the clouds with him? You should be blaming him for being weak, not being fast enough, not being good enough to have dodged that attack on his own without your sacrifice. Every night, he still sees it in his dreams, the way blood spilled from your skin, the strangled gasp of pain, the way you'd kept on fighting and fighting even on the throes of death.

"That's not it," he says. You can clearly feel he's upset, and trying to comfort him, and that upsets him even more. You should be selfish for once and condemn him rightfully. Not — not this. Not cradling him in your arms like a precious jewel you're afraid to break. Not trying to make him feel better, as if he isn't the one at fault here.

You sigh. "There's no need to worry about me, Mui. Even though I can't see the sky anymore, you being here with me is enough for me." Muichiro bites his lip at your next words. "I'm happy just being able to be with you."

There's no way to reply to that. Not without him bursting into tears and grovelling for forgiveness you don't even seem to think he needs.

You raise your head when he presses his back against your chest, relaxing against you. He can feel your lips curve into a smile in the back of his head as you adjust your grip to make him more comfortable. This is unfair. You deserve to have gotten out of that fight whole and unharmed. He should have protected you the way you've protected him. It's unfair, truly unfair, how he's the only one now who can behold the sky twisting into different colors as the day birthes the night.

He wipes away at his cheeks when he feels tears fall, careful to not let it wet your kimono. He doesn't want you to know how much he regrets not being able to protect you. At least you're alive, he thinks, desperately hopeful. Alive and warm and here.

And, maybe, as you said, happy with him.

Chapter Text

Muichiro's always looking off into the distance. His eyes are blank and wide, unaware of the world around him, silently moving forward. He is still, he is calm, where the rest of the world is chaotic. You lean your head against the windowsill, and sigh. Don't even bother trying to trace where his gaze has fallen, because he will always remain stubbornly out of reach. That is a fact you've known long ago, and had grudgingly accepted already.

Doesn't make your life a little more easier to bear with, a little less lonely to live in. Muichiro's warm beside you, his skin heating yours in a way no one else's can, but his mind's far away. Far away to a place no one's ever been.

You tilt your head up. The sky is rapidly darkening, bleeding crimsons and golds to midnight hues. You try to remember a time when sunsets have been a beautiful thing to watch, but your memory doesn't reach that far. This scene is one you've seen countless times before, enough to make you oblivious to its beauty. The novelty's gone, the magic's faded. It's just there. An irrefutable fact of life.

You squeeze your boyfriend's hand, and in the lack of response he has, you wonder if you'll get bored of him, too, and leave. Again. He doesn't even seem to notice your loneliness. Doesn't even seem to know you're right beside him. Is he aware? Is he merely choosing to ignore it? Or is he truly unaware of you?

You don't know what hurts more.

The silence speaks for itself, you think. It speaks of the distance between you two, the uncrossable gap between the cracks of your fingers, the unreacheable daze in his eyes. It screams, this quietness, this stillness; it screams and wails until someone, anyone listens to its woes.

So you interrupt, because your ears ring from this deafening silence, and you no longer want to hear how your love is crashing, failing. "Today was really stressful, huh, Mui?"

No answer, of course. Might as well be talking to a wall, except a wall is not supposed to answer at all where he should be, and your heart is not captivated by a wall the way he holds your entire being in his palms. You squeeze his hand again, and wait. Wait until he notices the warmth of your skin pressed against his, because eternity is a little price to pay for a woman in the throes of love.

"There's so much to do. I don't even know where to start."

You wait. Silence sinks, deepens.

"Mui . . ." You lean towards the boy and brush his hair away from his face. Your fingertips brush his cheek, and he still isn't reacting. What is he dreaming about, you wonder, that is so captivating that he can't look away, for just one moment in time, to meet your eyes and reassure you he loves you still. What is it, that you can't give him, that he must resort to fantasies to attain? Is it affection, is it lavishness, is it your body?

What is it that you must give, in order for him to notice you once again?

You sigh and lean your head against his shoulder. It's no use. No use at all. Muichiro is like mist: here, there and everywhere, but cannot be held back down, cannot be grabbed nor held. Not truly. Never truly.

What will it take for him to listen?

You continue, still, though no one listens. "I can't wait for Friday. I think we all deserve some kind of break from all this, don't you think so?"

Sometimes, you wonder why you hold on. Is it because you love him? Can't be, because love is fleeting and impulsive, and though you've thought about it for a very long time now, the conclusion you reach is the same every time: you cannot leave because you cannot live without him.

Ah. Is it perhaps because you are lonely? Then, isn't being with a person so removed from the world even more so lonelier? Then, is it because you are desperate; to be touched, to be desired, to be loved? Is it because you are masochistic, heart twisted with the pleasure of pain his every rejection brings about?

You close your eyes and fall against him. He doesn't catch you; he never does. His arms remain still on his sides, unmoving, though they are as warm as always.

Is he still alive? His heart may be pumping, his lungs may be working, but without your touch to guide his way, he would never move. He would stay in place until the sand and storm claims him as their own, a sculpture lost in time and grieved by history.

"Hey, I was thinking. Do you wanna go on a date with me? At least lunch. We haven't really gone out much these days anymore. What do you think?"

Unresponsive as a statue. His chest rises and falls, and you kid yourself by thinking he might use these breaths to form words and finally speak to you.

Laughable. Truly laughable in its pitifulness.

The sun falls and the moon rises, steadily appearing where previously, it'd been overshone by the sun. It's waxing now. Muichiro would have disliked it, you think. He prefers the light, prefers the full moon, with its silvered glow and glory.

You wonder if it is really time to give up, when your thoughts stray to funeral rites and past tenses when thinking about him.

"Mui," you say again. "Do you still love me?"

Petals plucked off, a dance in the breezes, of unrequited love bitter with despondent hope and paralyzed fear. Your lover is a statue, still, and surely, as unshakeable as one.

You should probably give up. There is a striking sensation in your chest, biting and painful. You should give up, walk away. The inevitable parting between you two will be less painful if you never say goodbye.

One friend of yours once said, say 'later,' instead of 'goodbye,' for those are less painful, more hopeful. You thought that was cute, and then you were forced to say goodbye, permanently, again and again.

Again, until you lost all sense of the word and forgot 'later.' All will disappear anyway, sooner or later. Rather cut the string before it is formed, so it doesn't pinch your skin when the bond is cut.

You should really, probably give up. You shouldn't have gotten involved at all, because now, regret is all that awaits. You knew, didn't you? You knew all along, and yet, you still tried to wish for the better, for happiness.

Optimists deserve what they get, for not seeing properly what cruelty the world is capable of.

Muichiro doesn't answer your question for a long time. You close your eyes and fall asleep, to the imprint of his eyes beneath your lids. Like the earth, stoic and unyielding. Then, as if frost demisting, he raises his arms and wraps it around your shoulder, hesitant, as if unsure of his actions. You jump at the contact of his skin against yours, strange yet welcome.

You whisper his name again, and though he doesn't answer, he lets his arms stay around you, a comforting vice that holds you to this addiction, until you fall deeper and deeper where there is no escape.

Chapter Text

The sticky morning light creeps quietly across the floor, drenching the room in a pale haze of golden tint. A gentle call to wakefulness: sleep recoils and delves further back into unconsciousness. Here is where Giyuu would normally rise to start the day early, but today, the pull of exhaustion weighs heavier and the warmth cuddled against his chest intoxicating. Giyuu sighs groggily and tightens his arms around you. The chirping of the birds serve as a mellow lullaby.

You shift, wakened by the sudden movement. Consciousness comes to you slowly, and though Giyuu’s lids threaten to shut once again, he forces them open, if only so he can watch your brow crinkle and your eyes meet his hazily as you yawn.

“Is it time to go already?” you murmur, delving back in to the warmth of his arms. Endearing. Giyuu wants to keep this moment to freeze and treasure forever.

He shakes his head.

You hum. Muffled: “What time is it?”

Your head is buried against his chest, unwilling to part quite yet from your makeshift pillow. Giyuu groans, equally hesitant to part from your pressed bodies to tell you the time. He settles for the closest thing he can get, raising his hand to draw the time on your skin.

You jolt, skin breaking into goosebumps at his touch. Gasping out a mumbled protest, you try to shift away from his fluttering hands, but find no other escape. Mildly entertained by your reaction, Giyuu doodles against your back again, tracing sweeping lines across the expanse of skin. He breathes out a laugh when you squirm.

“Giyuu,” you whine, gasping and twitching, trying and failing to shy away from his fluttering touches. Giyuu buries his head against your hair to hide the growing smile pinching at his cheeks. “Stop tickling me! I’m tryna sleep.”

“But you asked me the time,” he traces against your back. You pause your squirming when his touch becomes too long on your skin, scorching and comforting at the same time. He figures you must have decoded his little message-in-a-bottle, because you peer up at him and blink dumbfoundedly.

“Are you . . . Are you trying to tell me something?”

Giyuu nods.

Your smile blooms like winter-spring, wide and bright and still muddled by sleep and tiredness. A short laugh escapes your lips, before you close your eyes and nuzzle once more against him. This is the calmest Giyuu has ever been, when you’re pressed against him like this, when he can protect you and cherish you and wake up next to you like the dream he’d never dare speak.

But that’s the beauty of you. He never needs to speak his words, never needs to stumble or fumble for the perfect words that never come because you’ll always understand his thoughts even through his touch alone.

“Do it again,” you urge him, laughter dripping like honey. “Let me try again.”

So he does. You try to stay still, spine shivering. Your concentration easily unravels.

“Is it – is it 5 AM?” you ask, holding back laughter. Your back arches away from his hand.

Giyuu taps your back twice. You cheer quietly in celebration, but your voice cuts off when Giyuu starts talking to you again. You squeal again, but he can tell you’re trying to concentrate on his words. You always do.

“What?” your voice is breathy, still chuckling. “What are you writing, Giyuu?”

He buries his head against your hair and retraces the kanji on your back. He repeats it again and again. Your eyes are wide open now, fully awake as you fall to hysterics from his tickling. It’s not his intention, but Giyuu can’t stop; the sight of your crinkled eyes and upturned lips is enough to lay to rest all his fears and worries in one fell swoop.

You look up at him and, caught in a rush of impulse, Giyuu leans down to kiss you. You hum in delight and kiss back. It ends too quickly. You’re too precious and breath-taking. Giyuu never has words to speak, though he has many to say, so he settles for tracing that one kanji against your skin again.

“Oh,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut. Giyuu presses a soft kiss against your closed lids, and you smile in content. “Is that what you’ve been saying all this time?”

He taps your back. Your smile widens.

“I love you too, Giyuu.”

Chapter Text

When the lights cut off and the fan dies to a slow whirr, Muichiro's first thought is to go to you. The moon tonight is faded silverlight, nestled among thick clouds that shadow what little light the stars offer.

You've never been fond of the darkness. And this, this almost complete inky darkness that takes over the world — Muichiro hopes you're asleep. Until, at least, the electricity comes back on and you can stave away your demons with the light.

Groaning, he pushes himself off the bed, heavy limbs protesting at the action. He wants to go back to bed and sleep as soon as his feet hits the floor, dawdling a bit in tempted contemplation before shrugging off his exhaustion and clambering off the bed.

The hallways are even worse. Without windows to offer the barest light from outside, it's pitch black. Muichiro lets his fingertips glide through the wall, blindly groping around to find his way to you. His hand catches on a door knob, and elated to get out of the dark, he twists it open.

You're asleep. Huddled beneath the covers, with the open window blowing gusts of wind every now and then, you look almost peaceful. Muichiro lingers by your doorway, stuck on going back to his room, or staying here with you. Who knows how you'd react if you wake up in the middle of the night to find your night lights turned off.

Ah. Guilty pleasure: Muichiro tiptoes over to your bed, intent on snuggling with you to sleep. Sleep is always better when you're with someone else, anyway, right?

But as soon as Muichiro crouches by your side to pull the blankets away from you, you jump up, blindly screaming and kicking at him. Deftly, he manages to avoid your random attacks, watching from the side as you scramble over to where the wall is. A plethora of whimpers, shaky limbs and heavy breathing fill the room, syncing with the pounding of his heart.

Your outline is barely visible. Muichiro watches you as you descend into hysterics, not daring to get any closer as you struggle to calm yourself. A frown pulls at his brow.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, as comfortingly as he can. “Y/N, shh, it's me. It's all right. You're all right. Don't panic.”

At the sound of his voice, you peek up from beneath your arms, and by the faded starlight, Muichiro watches your cheeks glisten with tears. His chest aches with empathetic hurt.

You sniff, wiping at your eyes. Your arms shiver like a lost leaf in the breeze. “M–Muichiro?”

He hums in acknowledgement, finally judging it safe to draw nearer to your huddled form. The open window above your head draws forth a humid wind that clings to his skin heavily. Muichiro crouches beside you, though he doesn't dare to disturb you even more by touching you.

You stare at him, doubt swimming in the way you grip at your arms desperately, clawing for stability even as you struggle to even your breathing. Muichiro quietly settles by your side, leaning against the wall. He brushes his arm against yours in a show of companionship.

“Y-You,” you hiccup, furiously wiping at your cheeks before casting your eyes at him in a glare. “Don't sneak up on me like that! You're terrible!”

“Sorry.”

You huff, shifting so you lean your head against his shoulder. A shy hummingbird; your hesitance is endearing to him.

“I was really scared, you know,” you mumble, holding your knees tighter to your chest. “I thought you were someone else. At least try to tell me who you are before just getting in my bed.”

“Sorry,” Muichiro repeats. He peeks at you from the side of his eyes, but you've already pinched your eyes shut again. Ward off the darkness with an illusion of a light you cannot see — Muichiro stares at your profile for a beat, before an idea occurs to him.

“Hey, Y/N,” he murmurs, nudging you with his shoulder. You hum in reply, never opening your eyes. Muichiro raises his thumb to smooth over the furrow in your brow. “Get up.”

Your eyes snap open, and you look at him with betrayal slashed all over your expression. Cold fingers circle his bicep, tugging at his sweater insistently.

“Are you leaving?” you ask in alarm. “Where are you going?”

Absently, Muichiro pats your head. You stare at him, dumbfounded and worried, and he offers you a soft smile to wash away the tides of anxiousness crashing to your shores.

“Candles,” he says. “I keep a stack of candles in my room.”

You stare, uncomprehending. Your grip fades to weakness due to exhaustion, and Muichiro rests a hand atop yours in return. “We can light them up so it isn't that dark here anymore.”

You bow your head, a soft 'oh' escaping your lips. Muichiro sits and waits for you to let him go so he can take the candles, but instead, you will your fists to clench around his sweater, pulling him closer to you.

“Don't leave.” Your voice dries to a rustling whisper through an empty lake. Lifeless. “Please.”

Muichiro doesn't reply to that. Growing self-conscious, you find the need to explain yourself. “I just — everything's manageable when you're here. I — I don't think I can —”

Muichiro hushes you with a soft peck against your brow. Your words halt, voice freezing in your throat as you stare up at him wide-eyed. He squeezes your hand.

“Let's go together, then.”

You hesitantly nod. Muichiro can barely see your outline when he pulls away to sit up and stand, but he never lets go of your hand. You're still trembling, footsteps jumpy whenever the floorboards creak with your weight. Muichiro tries to reassure you with his touch, though that does little, at least, until you get to his room.

Muichiro leaves you by the bed before scrambling in the dark to find the candles. He finds the lighter first, and bumps into the box of candles clumsily. Breathy laughter pierces the air, clear through the shaky breathing and sniffling, and Muichiro smiles to himself at the sound.

The lighter clicks open. Warm light envelopes the room. Carefully, Muichiro stands one of the candles in its holder before lighting it up. The light spreads to grasp your feet in warmth. Muichiro looks up at you, but your gaze is fixated on the dancing light beneath his fingertips.

Unsatisfied with the light, Muichiro sets off to scatter the candles around the floor. The scent of spring embraces the room, growing stronger the more candles Muichiro lights up. He's on the sixth candle when you finally stand up. Your legs are wobbly, tethering like you're about to crash anytime, but you manage to get to his side safely. You sigh and lean against his shoulder again.

“Are you better now?” he asks hesitantly.

You hum tiredly. A yawn. Muichiro stays still as you rest against him and close your eyes. Your shoulders slope lazily, a relaxed slant as compared to your previous tension.

Muichiro sighs and drops the lighter, foregoing lighting the candle in favor of holding your properly in his arms. You snuggle against him, effortlessly finding your place in the crook of his neck. He rests his chin against your hair and holds you tighter.

“See?” he mumbles. “No one's gonna get you. I'll always protect you, Y/N.”

Sleepy: “You promise?”

“I promise. Always.”

Chapter Text

Kanao's emotions rest on a single golden coin, glinting maniacally, bloody red in the sunrise. On one hand, she is relieved; exhausted, tired, victorious — so happy she wants to cry all over again. And if tears won't come, then she'll collapse on the floor and scream her heart out: they won, they won, they won!

But on the other hand, there is nothingness. A deep void. This part of her feels old, like a long-lasting companion, or even, a stranger. Who are you, she asks this doll. An empty smile: I was you, and she froths at the mouth with thoughts forever unsaid and tears forever unspilled. Kanao watches the ashes rise and fall, watches the wind scatter the traces of their fight into the abyss beyond, and in the aftermath does nothing.

They won. It doesn't feel like how a victory is supposed to feel.

Kanao would flip her coin to decide which side to embrace: the chaos, the agony, the relief, or the chilling numbness — she'd flip her coin if she wasn't afraid of what the implication would be if she left her fate to fortune once again. So she doesn't, and her inner turmoil swallows her whole.

She hasn't seen any of her friends yet. Kanao doesn't have any strength left in her limbs to stand and search, doesn't have any will to do anything but sit and cry and maybe wait for a miracle. Kakushi scamper around, through the wreckage and the broken limbs splayed across the red battlefield, searching, searching, searching for survivors. Kanao prays to the gods that they find everyone alive and well.

Would that be too much to ask for? The sun rises, up and up, helpless to the tides of time. Kanao raises her eyes to the sky and stares, past the glare of the sun, until her vision burns.

Someone plops down beside her. Kanao stiffens, doesn't dare hope, doesn't dare —

“Kanao,” a faint smile and a breathless groan of pain. “You're alive!”

She stares. It's Tanjiro. He smiles at her and it looks painful, but he's smiling and he's alive and he's here, and Kanao might really cry now. Her face crumples and she opens her mouth to say something, but the words get choked up by the wave of emotion that engulfs her whole being. She shivers. The wind raises goosebumps down her arms.

Tanjiro's brows lower in concern, and he winces as he raises his hand to brush her cheek. It stings. Kanao doesn't realize her tears have already spilled until he wipes them away.

Her hand trembles. It lands hesitantly against his own cheek, marred by scars and blood. Kanao can't stop looking at the tumor-like wound on the side of his face, like flesh exploded from the inside. His eye's likely rendered useless from this, too. Kanao cries harder until her shoulders shake and her lungs heave.

Too many lost. Too many.

“Kanao . . .” Tanjiro says, worried. His hand flutters to rest at her shoulders instead, and he remains silent in a sort of consolation. Here, you win: take the pain, take the silence, take it as prize. Tanjiro sits beside her, and Kanao feels the missing presence of her sister too much.

“I — I —” she hiccups, starts again. “I thought I'd lost you too. I'm so glad you're alive.”

An admission, a confession. If Kanao's happy, then why can't she stop crying? Her chest aches too harshly. Take it away, someone, anyone! The hand on her shoulder leaves, only to be replaced by a pair of arms, warm and strong and achingly gentle. Kanao gasps at the contact.

“I'm sorry I made you worry,” Tanjiro tells her. “But I'm here now. Everyone's fine. We all survived.”

Not all, but Kanao takes what she can. She raises her hands to grasp at the back of Tanjiro's uniform. The sharp smell of iron tickles the back of her throat like an overbearing memory. It's nauseating, but Kanao doesn't dare let go. A whirlwind, a thunderstorm, a rocky ocean: she clutches Tanjiro like a lifeline, as if she can survive any disaster as long as he remains beside her.

This truth rings like a bell chime. Kanae's voice echoes in her mind again; it always does, nowadays, when she thinks of Tanjiro. When you fall in love with some boy someday, you'll change too, Kanao. She buries her face against the crook of his neck.

He starts combing through her scalp, careful not to mess up her hastily tied ponytail by the way his strokes curve here and there. It feels as soothing as a lullaby to sleep.

“Tanjiro,” she says. The answer to an unspoken question, his name. The words crawl up the tip of her tongue, desperately insistent. A fear, of the future. This might be her only chance to tell him. Kanao does not dare entertain the implications of these thoughts, and yet, as she pulls back to meet Tanjiro's eyes, she finds herself surfing within the reality of the present. His gaze is warm.

Suddenly embarrassed, Kanao looks down. “Tanjiro, I — I have something to tell you. Please — Please listen to these feelings of mine!”

Her eyes are pinched shut, as if hoping to shield her from a rejection recreated by the monster in her mind. If she denies it, it doesn't happen. A warm hand engulfs her own, and she opens her eyes to find Tanjiro smiling brightly down at her.

“Always, Kanao,” he says and squeezes her hand, dissuading Kanao's fears with one little action.

Here it is. Three words. Kanao's skin burns. She can't stay still. The urge to run away grows. What is she doing —

Ah. Dawdling. She is dawdling.

Closing her eyes once again and ducking her head, Kanao tries to gather all her courage left. Once, she let her fear overtake her body, and it resulted in everyone being hurt even more. She can't let that happen, even if the situation now isn't as important as the final battle.

She takes a deep breath. “T–Tanjiro! I—I love you!”

A deep silence. It feels like the sensation of being underwater; her ears filled with saltwater and muffled noises that barely register. It rings, before fading into white noise.

“—anao? Kanao?” Tanjiro asks. “Are you all right, Kanao?”

She nods, eyes still closed. Tanjiro chuckles and cups her cheek again. Leans in, pressing his forehead against hers. Kanao startles at the proximity. So close, too close; she can feel every breath he exhales ghost around her lips.

Tanjiro smiles again, eye crinkling at the side. “I love you too, Kanao.”

It sounds ethereal. A dream within a dream. Kanao's eyes widen, heart jumping to her throat at his words. Tanjiro pulls back and laughs at her dumbfounded expression, raising a flush up her cheeks. An endeared expression crosses his face, but it's gone before Kanao can treasure it, as Tanjiro pulls her back into another heart-warming hug.

“I love you too,” he mumbles against her neck. Another breathless chuckle escapes his lips, makes Kanao shiver at the warm breath that tickles her skin. He sounds almost confused, euphorically entranced and yet still disbelieving of reality.

“R–Really?” Is this what loving and being loved back feels like? Kanao feels like her chest might explode. Bathed in this warmth, she almost thinks she'll be all right, will be well enough to walk through life even without her sisters by her side. In Tanjiro's arms, it almost feels like everything will be all right again in the end.

Her eyes burn. She's crying again. Tanjiro laughs and nods, reaffirming his previous words, and Kanao can't find her words anymore, stolen away, gone in the wind. She wraps her arms around his waist instead and holds him closer. Closer and closer still. Until maybe, everything turns out all right in the end.

Chapter Text

Muichiro would like to hold your hand. He doesn't know why, doesn't know what brought on this sudden urge to intertwine your hands with his and feel the pulse in your wrist jump beneath his fingertips. It's a weird thought, but either way, he finds himself glancing at your hands every now and then. His skin tingles with the warmth of a hand he's never held.

It's getting crowded, too. The streets are lit with firelight, dashing everything with a warm hue, and Muichiro doesn't really like this kind of scene, but upon your insistence, he finds out he doesn't have the will to resist you. It's obvious in the way he can't take his eyes off of you from the moment he first saw you, clad in a pretty kimono instead of the usual demon slayer uniform. He doesn't want to take his eyes off.

But it's getting really crowded. It's almost suffocating. Muichiro almost loses sight of you several times, all of them accompanied by a deep well of panic and a sudden wave of loneliness before he finds you again, just as worried for him as he was for you.

Now or never. Muichiro swallows, limbs taut with uncharacteristic nervousness, as he hesitantly reaches for your hand. But then you turn around to look at him questioningly, and Muichiro loses his nerve, hastily retreating his hand and tucking it within the sleeves of his yukata. He hopes you didn't see his attempt. He hopes you did. His chest weighs heavy with disappointment.

“Hey, Mui,” you say, eyes still sparkling. A flush has crept into your skin, sweat glistening in the lights. Muichiro is entranced. “Can we get some cotton candy? I saw a vendor selling one over there!”

You point somewhere excitedly. Muichiro doesn't even look, only nodding his head at you in agreement. Your entire face lights up. His heart skips a beat — you look so cute, like that. Prettier than any painting the sky could create. Muichiro would gaze at you for all eternity, if he could.

You spin on your feet to head towards your promised sweets. The heavy crowd almost swallows your figure up as soon as you take a step forward, and Muichiro thinks he really should take your hand now, for practicality, if not for his own self-indulgence, but, bumbling and shy, he still can't manage to gather the confidence he needs to do so.

It's just holding your hand, he tells himself. It shouldn't be this hard. It's illogical to be so flustered over something so simple. But his pounding heart won't listen, so he settles for grabbing at the sleeve of your kimono instead. You glance back at him, and he can feel the burn of your gaze in his head, but he keeps his face down in embarrassment. His hands shake.

He barely hears your laugh through the hubbub. “We might get separated,” he justifies his action.

If you reply, then he doesn't hear. You start to walk forward again after a few seconds, and Muichiro is tugged along, passively glaring at people who bump at you and try to separate both of you. Walking like this, Muichiro almost feels like his old self again, but then you turn around to make sure he's still following you, and Muichiro forgets how to breathe properly all over again.

You stop. Muichiro peeks from behind your shoulder to see the array of pastel, cloud-like food hanging from the vendor's stall. His eyes turn wide at the sight, the sweets a novelty he's never seen before.

You chuckle and ruffle his hair, earning a startled yelp from the boy. “Do you want one too? My treat.”

Muichiro tears his stare from the candies to you. Big mistake. Now he can't look away. Hesitantly, he nods, hands still clutching at your sleeve tightly, and you grant him another wide smile.

“Two, please,” you tell the vendor, exchanging a few coins for two, sticks of candy. You hand one to him, and Muichiro's really hesitant to release his hold on your clothes, but he does so anyway. He takes the candy from you, and marvels at the fluffiness. Like clouds. He's holding a cloud on a stick. He kind of wants to poke it to see how it'd feel like, but that'd mean releasing your sleeve completely, and he doesn't want that.

You laugh at his expression. “Let's go somewhere else,” you suggest. You wince as someone bumps you, and Muichiro glares venomously at the person. When you speak again, he snaps his gaze back at you, eyes wide and innocent. “Somewhere less crowded?”

Muichiro nods again. You wrap your hand around his arm, and Muichiro stares at it, utterly despising the cloth of his yukata that separates your skin from his. You lead him towards the end of the street and up a set of stairs carved into rock. A shrine. The lights doesn't reach this area, but that only means Muichiro can admire your profile as outlined by the moonlight easier.

You sigh as you sit down by the entrance of the shrine, stretching your arms and leaning back. “Finally. It was so suffocating down there.”

Muichiro tilts his head. “Are you all right?”

“I'm good.” You laugh. He can hear you clearly now. “Just a bit tired. If you wanna go back down, just give me a moment to rest up for a while?”

Muichiro sits down beside you, careful to put some space between your bodies. Still, he can feel the warmth emanating from your body, even from this distance. “I don't like crowds either.”

You beam at him. “Then we can stay here! At least until the crowd wanes. Is that all right?”

Muichiro should respond. It's the polite thing to do. But your hand rests against the space between you two, so close to his, invitingly alone. He really, really wants to hold your hand. Still doesn't know why, but his failed attempts earlier has just fuelled that desire even more.

“Muichiro?” you ask, concerned.

He takes a deep breath, and wrenches his gaze away from your hand. His heart pounds heavily in his ears, like a warning for him to stop what he's planning to do. He hesitates once again, second-guessing himself. A hand rests against his shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie. Muichiro turns to you, startled.

Your brows are pinched. “Is everything all right, Mui?”

“Can I hold your hand?” he blurts out, words escaping before he can try to shut his mouth up. He stiffens as soon as he speaks, tensing at the momentary silence that descends down on you two. Muichiro's preparing himself for rejection, until he hears you laugh. A warm hand envelops his, fingers tangling with his own, and Muichiro's eyes widen as his heart jumps.

“Of course you can,” you say, still chuckling. “Do you even have to ask?”

Muichiro stares at your intertwined hands. Heat crawls up his cheeks. “I . . . I've been wanting to do that since earlier,” he admits.

You blink at him, dumbfounded, before laughing even harder. Muichiro flushes even deeper at your amusement.

“Oh my god. You're too cute.” Another giggle interrupts. “Mui! Stop being so cute!”

You lean towards him, and Muichiro closes his eyes reflexively as your face nears his. A brief peck on the tip of his nose, and then you're gone, chuckling to yourself as you watch his expression scrunch up. Muichiro opens his eyes and stares at you wide-eyed, reaching up to touch his face, forgetting the cotton candy on his hand. Ah. Right. He stares at it, confused.

“You still haven't eaten that?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “I don't know how.” It looks too fluffy and weird to eat.

You burst out into giggles once again, raising your free hand to pinch a piece of the candy. Muichiro watches you quietly, drinking in your every move to replicate later. But then you move your hand to him, the fluffy sweet on your fingers tickling his lips. Muichiro opens his mouth on reflex, and belatedly, he realizes you're feeding him. Sweetness explodes on his tongue. His eyes widen in pleasant surprise.

You smile at him, squeezing his fingers. “Yum, right?” you ask, and Muichiro just nods, opening his mouth to prompt you to feed him again. You chuckle and lean down to press another kiss on his cheek before taking another piece of the candy, never letting go of his hand once.

Chapter Text

“Muichiro,” you whine. “Come cuddle with me.”

“No,” he says, voice muffled by the pillow slung over his head childishly. “Go away.”

It's been like this since you've both retired to your room for the night. When usually, Muichiro would have headed straight to your arms to sleep, tonight, he turned away from your open arms, opting instead to curl on himself on the edge of the bed. You stare, confused at the change of routines, but Muichiro isn't budging.

“But, Mui . . . Why not?”

“Go to sleep.”

“But I can't sleep without you near me.”

A beat of silence. “Stay awake then.”

Ouch. You crawl over his side, fully intent on spooning him, at the very least. The bed dips down beneath your weight and, upon realizing your nearing presence and intentions, Muichiro sits up, the blankets falling from his shoulders. He huffs, lips drawing to a pout. He stares at the wall nearest to him, pointedly ignoring your calls. You sigh, stopping your advances.

“Mui,” you sing. “Mui, Mui, Mui, apple of my eye, love of my life. Won't you come cuddle with me?”

A spoon comes flying at you.

Eyes widened, you duck your head to avoid the projectile. Behind you, a clattering sound rings out as the spoon hits the wall and drops down to the floor. You stare back at it, perplexed.

“Did — Did you just throw a spoon at me?” you ask. “Wait, where did the spoon even come from?”

Instead of replying, Muichiro grabs a pillow and blindly throws it at your direction, still not looking at you. His knees are tucked into his chest, curled into fetal position as he sulks in the corner of the bed.

The pillow plops uselessly several inches away from where you sit. Grinning, you resume crawling towards him, resting your chin against his shoulder once you're behind him.

“Mui,” you say, playfully dragging out the vowels in his name. “What's wrong? Are you mad at me?”

He buries his head in his arms to avoid looking at you. “I dunno,” he replies, voice muffled. You nuzzle your cheek against his cutely, seeking his attention. “Why don't you ask Tanjiro and his friends?”

You blink. “Tanjiro? What's he gotta do with anything?”

Muichiro inches away from you, and you almost fall if you hadn't caught yourself in the nick of time. You turn to him in betrayal, but Muichiro just pouts back at you aggressively. He's probably angry. He doesn't look angry at all. More like a ruffled bunny, trying so hard to look intimidating. You want to pinch his cheeks, but that might be inappropriate, given the circumstances.

“I dunno,” he repeats. “Ask him. And just cuddle with him, too, while you're at it.”

“But . . . You're the one I wanna cuddle with, Mui,” you whine in protest. “I don't wanna cuddle with Tanjiro!”

Muichiro doesn't reply. He turns his head away from you again. Unjustly deprived of his attention once again, you resort to poking his arm. “Mui. Mui. Mui. Muichiro ~ Hey, Mui. Mui. Mui. Mui . . .”

Muichiro doesn't respond at all. You sigh dramatically. “Fine, then. I guess it's off to Tanjiro I go.”

Muichiro snaps his head toward you fast enough to break his own head. You stare at him worriedly. He stares back, eyes wide, hands reaching out to grab at your sleeve.

“Wait,” he says. “You're really going to him?”

You inwardly smile at his reaction. “I mean, you said I should, so yeah . . . ?”

His hand at your sleeve fists, his knuckles turning pale. “But I don't want you to go to him.”

“But you just said I should.”

This is actually rather fun. You rarely get to tease him, and his jealousy towards Tanjiro is almost endearing. Muichiro frowns at you, chewing at his lip as he regards you with something akin to hurt and betrayal.

“But I don't want you to go,” he repeats. He sounds about on the edge of crying.

“But where do I go if you don't want me here?” you ask back, hand curling over his comfortingly. Muichiro looks down, shy for one second before he tilts his head to look back up at you, determined.

“I don't want you not here,” he says finally. You have to take a minute to decipher the convoluted double negative of his words.

“So you really don't want me here,” you conclude, dramatically sniffing back tears and sitting up. You face the door, acting as if you're heading out. You're probably having too much fun teasing him.

Muichiro's eyes widen in panic.

“Y/N,” he stresses, grip tight on your sleeves. “That wasn't what I meant!”

“Then what did you mean?”

Muichiro purses his lips at you. In a smooth motion, he sits up and flings a leg around your lap, effectively straddling you as he hides his face between the crook of your neck in apparent embarrassment. His arms wrap around your shoulders in a tight hug.

“Stay here,” he demands.

You hum, delighted that he's finally cuddling you. You reach up to comb through his hair in habit. “But what if I wanna stay over at Tanjiro's room tonight, though?”

His arms tighten around you. When he speaks, his words are pointed and tinted green. “Haven't you spent enough time with him already this afternoon?”

You try to stop the laughter rising up your chest. “Mui,” you say slowly, savoring the moment. “Are you jealous of Tanjiro?”

He takes too long to respond. “No?”

“You are. You so are!”

“No, I'm not,” Muichiro says flatly. “Stop deluding yourself.”

“Fine then. Off to Tanjiro I go —”

His arms and legs trap you into a vice-like hug at your words. “Y/N —”

You wait for his next words.

“Fine,” Muichiro drags out, nuzzling his head against your neck. “Maybe I'm jealous. A bit.”

You lean back at his reluctant admission, forcing Muichiro to look at you. His cheeks are puffed up, speckled with hints of a blush, and his lips are pursed into a pout.

“Aww, Mui,” you coo, cupping his cheeks into your palms and smushing them. He winces a bit and splutters a protest. “You're so cute!”

“Y/N,” he whines. “Stop that.”

Muichiro's hands come up to try to take away your pinching fingers, but you just laugh and peck the tip of his nose. He closes his eyes in reflex, nose scrunching up, and you giggle uncontrollably as you move to cover his face in butterfly kisses. Muichiro protests even more, but every time he opens his mouth to speak, you dip down to press your lips against his, stealing his breath away.

“You're so cute, Mui,” you sigh, laughter ebbing away as you try to catch your breath. Muichiro opens his eyes hesitantly, as if afraid that your barrage of affection might start up again if he let his guards down. “You know you don't have anything to be jealous about, right?”

Muichiro tilts his head. “You won't be going to Tanjiro's room tonight?” he asks in confirmation.

A devilish grin crosses your lips. “I mean, unless you really want me to —”

Muichiro pokes his tongue out at you. Laughter renewed, you lean forward to wrap your arms around him again and Muichiro, satisfied that you won't be going anywhere, easily finds his position against you, head nestled against your chest, right where your heart beats. 

Chapter Text

She finds him sitting by the apple tree near the backyard of the school, shadowed by the imposing tree with a bag filled with boxes of chocolates spilled open in front of him. This is the first time Kanao sees him alone today, and though she's been looking for him ever since classes ended, now, she can't seem to bring herself to go near him.

Kanao starts fidgeting, fingers on the box shaking as she holds it to her chest. It feels like everyone's staring at her, judgingly, curiously, as she takes a deep breath and starts walking towards Tanjiro. There are no more girls around him, clamoring for attention, no one left to see her practically confess her feelings for him, but it still feels like the whole world is watching.

She stops. Maybe she shouldn't? Maybe she should just turn back and go home and forget this ever happened? Then tomorrow can be just like always: he'll convince her to hang out with him and his friends, and she'll smile and laugh and pretend her heart doesn't ache whenever their hands accidentally brush.

But Tanjiro spies her lingering nervously near him, stealing away her chances of escape. “Oh! Kanao!” he calls out cheerfully, waving at her to sit beside him. Kanao dreads and craves to sit beside him, but her footsteps drag on to forever.

Tanjiro smiles at her. Kanao clutches the box tighter to her chest; maybe it'll act as a barrier to prevent her heart from leaping from her chest to his. Her skin and bones feel too brittle of a cage for the fluttering sensations rolling in her heart.

“Did you just get out of school?” Tanjiro asks. “Oh, you had club day today, didn't you? You must be working really hard, Kanao!”

She swallows around the blocked emotions in her throat and nods, letting her head droop so as to avoid looking into his eyes. She's shaking. She hopes he doesn't notice.

Tanjiro notices, of course. Kanao would have to be dumb to wish he didn't. His tone takes on a concerned note. “Kanao, is everything all right?”

Hesitantly, Kanao nods again.

Tanjiro contemplates her, and Kanao can just feel his gaze burn through every layer of defense she has, digging deep into her soul though she tries to hide. She hunches over her chocolates, and opens her mouth to speak.

A box of chocolates appear in front of her. Stunned, Kanao snaps her head up to look at him, and he offers her a brilliant smile. What . . . ?

“We can share this box of chocolate, if you want!” he offers genially. “Chocolates have a way of making people feel better, after all!”

Kanao drops her gaze to the box. The sweets inside look pristine: carefully baked and designed to perfection. They look like the chocolates sold in shops, and Kanao would feel guilty taking one if Tanjiro wasn't offering them to her.

Her hand stops right before she takes one, however. “Um, Tanjiro . . . These chocolates . . . Are these from your bakery?”

He shakes his head, earrings tinkling against his neck. “Nope! Saya from Kaki Class was kind enough to give me these!” Tanjiro scratches his head, a confused tint on his smile. “Actually, a lot of people were giving me chocolates today. I wonder what's up with that?”

Really? Really? Kanao lets out a sigh, retreating her hand from the offered chocolate box. Tanjiro looks at her in surprise.

“I think Saya wanted you to eat those by yourself,” she mumbles. “You should probably not share them with me.”

“But food is always better when shared,” he says.

Kanao looks down at the ground. Grass sways with the breeze, performing a graceful dance like waves on the sea. Really pretty. She stands up, and the grass crumples beneath her feet.

“Um, I should probably go home now,” she says, still not looking at Tanjiro. “Shinobu and Kanae must be looking for me.”

“Oh.” Tanjiro sounds disappointed. Kanao's heart jumps. “I'll see you tomorrow then?”

She says, “yeah,” but her feet stays rooted on the ground. Kanao can feel Tanjiro's gaze on her back, utterly confused and concerned by her actions. Her heart's pounding in her ears: adrenaline and sugar rush and sweaty palms. Her courage comes and wanes, keeping her trapped in indecision. The chocolate box in her arms burn.

“Kanao?” Tanjiro prompts.

She pinches her eyes shut and turns back to him, shoving the chocolate box to his chest. Kanao doesn't dare let herself peek at the expression he must be making.

“Here!” she bursts out. “Um! H–Happy Valentines Day, Tanjiro!”

She lets go of the box once she feels Tanjiro's hands take it. Here was the plan: give it to him, run, and maybe fly to another country and change her name and her face so she'd never have to look at Tanjiro again. Those plans are promptly failed when a warm hand wraps around her wrist, keeping Kanao trapped in the moment. She keeps her eyes closed and face turned away. She must be burning red by now.

“Kanao . . .” Tanjiro trails off. “Oh. So it was Valentines today.”

She doesn't fully believe that the day had passed without him noticing, especially with all those girls shoving gifts at his face. Still, Kanao nods to his answer and half-heartedly tries to tug her hand away from his grip. He doesn't let go, though his hold is gentle.

“Do you really have to go so soon?” he speaks up again. “I was hoping we could share your chocolates together.”

She can feel her heartbeat down to the tips of her toes. Maybe Tanjiro can feel it too. Can he smell how nervous and giddy his statement made her feel? He's always had such an amazing ability to smell other people's feelings, but right now, Kanao would really like for him to stay oblivious of his effects on her.

“Um, I . . .” Caught on another crossroad. Kanao wants to stay and she wants to go. She doesn't think she can handle being so near to him right now. “I . . .”

Tanjiro squeezes her wrist and lets go. Her arm flops uselessly to her side. “That's okay if you didn't want to. Please don't force yourself for me.”

Kanao peeks at him. He's wearing that beatific smile again, sunset coloring his hair into a blinding fire. It feels like her heart might burst and collapse from the sheer intensity of all her emotions clambering for attention: nervousness, shyness, adoration, love.

She gulps and slowly sits back, movements almost mechanical. She must be flaming red by now! Her skin feels too hot and she still can't bring herself to look him in the eye.

“Wow, Kanao!” Tanjiro says, opening the box. “Did you do these yourself? They look amazing! Thank you for thinking of me!”

Kanao hides her face in her hands.

“They taste really delicious too!” he continues. “You're really amazing, you know that? Hey, here, take one!”

Mindlessly, Kanao tilts her head to face him, mouth opening in instinct to accept a treat. She realizes what she's implying a second too late, as Tanjiro smiles at her and feeds her a piece of chocolate.

She might die of embarrassment. Kanao slaps her hands against her cheeks once again, hiding her burning face from his gaze. Her toes curl, body and soul just begging for her to fade out of existence. She can't believe she did that! What came over her to do such a bold thing? She starts to panic, mind racing for an excuse or an apology or anything to save herself from the humiliation.

But, unaffected, Tanjiro only says: “Tastes amazing, right?” and smiles kindly at her. Kanao wants to melt into the ground.

Chapter Text

Winter bites harshly against every exposed skin, caressing frozen cheeks and stealing any hint of warmth the insides of the boys' haori might have provided. The streets are barren at this point, and Zenitsu looks longingly at the flickers of warm light that peek behind every closed window of every home.

“Tanjiro,” he whines, shivering. Zenitsu tries rubbing his hands against his arms, but even the friction can't offer enough warmth before the cold steals it away. “I'm dying, Tanjiro! Dying!”

Tanjiro glances back at him with a concerned furrow in his brow, lips quirking into a comforting smile. Even his messenger crow is tucked securely in his haori, basking in his warmth, and Zenitsu shoots a jealous glare at the bird. Chuntaro chirps weakly inside his own pocket, head peeking for a second before hiding again.

“Don't worry,” he assures. “We're near the Wisteria House. I can almost smell it.”

Zenitsu huffs. His tears are long frozen, clinging to his lashes heavily like icicles. “What use is a Wisteria House if I'm dead? Dead! Tanjiro, I can't do this anymore! I can't feel my toes! Oh, God, I have hypothermia! I'm dying!”

Tanjiro bites his lip. However, before he can speak, Inosuke interrupts: “Oi, Monitsu, Gonpachiro!” he spits, fists resting on his waist. “Stop being so slow, dangit!”

Zenitsu stops walking and stares at him, deadpan. “Shut up, you monster. How the hell are you even walking through this snow without a shirt on? What kind of abomination are you?”

“Um, guys,” Tanjiro butts in before another fight can start between the two. At the interruption, every cold and ache in Zenitsu's body rushes back with a vengeance. “Let's not fight here . . . The neighborhood won't appreciate the noise.”

“But, Tanjiro,” Zenitsu whines again. He forces his hand towards his friend's face. “Look! My fingers are blue! I'm dying! I didn't even get to see Nezuko before I die! Why are you worrying about the neighborhood when your friend is dying?”

A finger placed above his mouth, Tanjiro winces. “Hey, now, we're nearing the Wisteria House. You know Y/N wouldn't appreciate having her neighbors complain about our noise, right?”

Even Inosuke perks up at the name. “I told you to hurry up, you stupid Hinitsu! Now you're even making trouble for Y/N!”

“It's Zenitsu,” he snaps. “Who the hell are you talking to? And if anything, it's you who's making too much noise, you stupid boar!”

Tanjiro sighs as the bickering ensues once again. Nezuko knocks once at the door of her box comfortingly.

“Guys . . .” he tries again. “We're here.”

At once, the fighting stops. Both his friends stare at him, then at the approaching gate with a curved wisteria flower carved into the wood. At this point, this place is almost home to the trio, and Tanjiro can't help the relieved smile that crosses his lips at the sight of the House.

Inosuke marches over and pounds at the gate. “Oi! Y/N! Let us in!”

Tanjiro and Zenitsu panic, trying to pull Inosuke away from the gate before he can rouse even the dead from all his ruckus. Each of the boys take one of Inosuke's arms, frantically hushing his grumbling complaints.

This is the scene that greets you when you open the gate. The four of you stare at each other dumbfoundedly for a minute.

“Ah,” you say, the sleep on your features fading to cheer. “Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke! Welcome back!”

Zenitsu is the first to pull away from his friends, throwing his hands around your waist and crying out. “Y/N! Help me, Y/N! I'm dying of hypothermia, and that stupid boar head over there isn't helping the least! Save me, Y/N!”

“Oh dear,” you say in distress, wrapping your arms around the shivering boy. “You're freezing! Don't tell me you all walked through that snowstorm just to get here!”

Inosuke shoulders past the duo to enter the estate. “Ha!” he snorts. “Spineless wimps! If you lived in the mountains, the cold will never bother you!”

You reach out to pat his head, ruffling his hair so the snow that has gathered atop the black strands fall. “Be that as it may, you're all still at risk of hypothermia. Come in, come in, let's get you all warmed up.”

Inosuke eagerly obliges, marching straight up to the house. Tanjiro sighs at him. “Sorry for just barging in like this,” he says. “Your house was the nearest refuge we could find.”

You roll your eyes and grab his hand, dragging him along with Zenitsu still clinging to your waist. “Oh, hush, you. You know you're all always welcome here.”

Inosuke's already inside. His shoes are laid haphazardly across the floor. Tanjiro bends down to fix it up.

You slap his hand away. “You're guests here,” you tell him for the umpteenth time. Every time the boys come in for a visit, Tanjiro's always the one trying to do your job for you. “That's my job, Tanji. You guys head to your room and grab some extra yukatas, and I'll prepare you all a warm bath.” You squeeze Zenitsu's arm, still wrapped around you. “How does that sound?”

Zenitsu cries. “Y/N! You're a savior! Are you God? Is this heaven?”

“Zenitsu . . .” Tanjiro sighs. “Inosuke! We haven't gotten permission to take all the food yet. Please don't —”

You ruffle his hair. Tanjiro blinks in surprise and turns to you, eyes wide. His earrings jingle against his neck. “Stop worrying so much,” you laugh. “Oh, and you should let Nezuko out too, when you get to your room. She must have been stuck there a long time now.”

Tanjiro gives you another apologetic look despite your words, before ducking his head and grabbing Zenitsu and Inosuke.

“We'll be back in a bit, Y/N!” Tanjiro says cheerfully, voice rising to combat Inosuke's complaints. His boar mask is left lying on the table. You take a minute to right it and comb off all the crumbs clinging to its hide.

It takes some time to heat up the baths. The room steams and warms, hopefully enough to take away the cold clinging to the trio's bones. You leave them there, rushing to the kitchen to cook dinner. When they arrive at the dining room, towels hanging around their necks, you've prepared bowls upon bowls of steaming ramen for them.

“Tell me if you want something else,” you say, sitting across the trio. You smile at them, and Tanjiro stutters something along the lines of "thank you, that's so kind!" and "inosuke, don't bother them anymore—”

Inosuke doesn't listen. He looks up at you, eyes wide and hands gesturing wildly. He hits Tanjiro on some occasions, much to the latter's resignation. “Oi, Y/N. I want that thing you cooked last time! Those little orange things, with the leaves and the tiny black things!”

Zenitsu stares at him weirdly, chopsticks pausing on the way to his mouth. “At least say the name properly. No one understands you, you know.”

You chuckle. “I got it,” you say, standing up. “Sushi, right? I'll be back in a minute.”

Tanjiro splutters. “Um, y–you really don't need to cook more, Y/N! You've already done so much . . .”

“Stupid boar head always making Y/N do so many work,” Zenitsu snarks. Inosuke doesn't give him any heed, only reaching out to snatch a piece of egg from him, completely bypassing Tanjiro's bowl.

“Oi, stop stealing my food, you —”

Tanjiro sighs.

The table is dirty with spilled ramen and overturned bowls when you arrive. You merely blink at the chaos. Inosuke's trying to reach out to hit Zenitsu, who's hiding behind Tanjiro. In the corner, Nezuko watches quietly, eyes half-closed in lethargy.

“Here you go, Inosuke,” you say, carefully placing the plate of sushi in the table. “You too, Tanjiro, Zenitsu. Eat to your heart's content.”

Inosuke takes a moment to stare at you with some sort of fluffy admiration in his eyes before eagerly diving in. Making a face, Zenitsu mutters something along the lines of ‘disgusting pig’ before reaching out to grab some sushi into his plate lest he runs out, what with Inosuke's gluttony. Tanjiro looks up at you.

“Um, Y/N,” he says. “Please let me help you with the dishes, at least.”

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” you say. “Please, enjoy your meal for me, all right? I'll meet you guys in your room after dinner to tuck you in.”

It's rather childish to do that, but the trio's eyes light up anyway. You chuckle fondly before gathering some of the plates and glasses from the table to the sink.

The boys are already mostly settled in when you've finished with the chores, sat in their respective futons and geared for the night. Tanjiro quietly braids Nezuko's hair, keeping a cautious eye on his bickering friends. You barely manage to catch the tail end of their argument before Zenitsu turns to you with a huge grin.

“Y/N's here, you big-mouthed oaf,” he snaps at Inosuke when the latter tries to spark another argument. “Shut up.”

You clear your throat. Zenitsu turns to you with a docile expression.

“Tuck me in first, Y/N!” Inosuke interrupts, eagerly shoving his blankets to your hands. His mask is already laid carefully by the side of his futon.

“I said shut up, you boor,” Zenitsu whines. “Y/N, you'll tuck me in first, right? Right?”

“They've been arguing about that since dinner,” Tanjiro says. “I told them it doesn't really matter, but they wouldn't stop bickering.”

You gather the blankets in your hands. “Well, that's true, isn't it? I'll tuck you all to bed, no matter who comes first.”

Inosuke eagerly lays down the futon, his dark hair fanning across the pillow. You fix his blanket around him, tucking him in before leaning down and pressing a kiss against his brow. “Good night, Inosuke.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. You smile back.

You do the same for Zenitsu, Tanjiro, and Nezuko, pressing goodnight kisses against their foreheads and tucking them all to bed. You pad towards the night light to close it before sighing and leaning back against the wall near to Tanjiro and Nezuko's shared futon. You'll stay until all of them fall asleep, at the very least. 

You start to hum. It's a lullaby that your mom used to sing to you, and though the lyrics are lost in time, the emotions behind the song are never gone. It's a sweet song, you remember: of gentle embraces and the comforts of a warm home. The crickets chirping outside provides a soothing harmony to go along with the song.

Nezuko crawls up to you and lays her head on your lap. You stop singing in surprise and the girl looks up at you in protest, grumbling beneath her bamboo gag as she grabs your hand and places it atop her head. 

Oh. 

You laugh and start to brush her hair, continuing your song where you left off. Satisfied, Nezuko coos happily and rests against your lap once again.

“Nezuko . . .” Tanjiro trails off. “That's . . .”

“It's fine, Tanjiro,” you interrupt. You notice Inosuke staring rather jealously at Nezuko's slumbering form beside you. “Actually, would you all like to come cuddle with us?”

Inosuke and Zenitsu perk up at that. Taking that as agreement, you pat the space by your side, and the two friends immediately jump at your offer, even bickering on where each one will be sleeping. Tanjiro remains hesitant, peering up at you with wide eyes.

“Tanjiro,” you sing, pointedly patting the empty space beside you. “Come on.”

He gives in bashfully, shyly crawling to the mess of bodies gathered around your lap to his place beside Nezuko. Tanjiro gives you a grateful smile before laying down as well and embracing his sister. You brush your hands against their heads, carefully stroking against their scalps and lowly humming your lullaby until they fall asleep.

The moon beams down on the room. You close your eyes, smiling. “Welcome back, everyone.”

Chapter Text

Daki's hair is wavy. It's most likely from the intricate updos that the dark locks are forced to stay in for days upon end, and now that you're disentangling the plaits of her hair, they tumble down her back like waves. The comb that you push through the strands smoothen the curls a little, but they bounce back again anyway when it's passed.

Daki frowns at her hair and groans. “Hell. That's ugly. I specifically told that old hag not to tie it too tightly.”

You hum, continuing to sweep the comb against her hair. “I don't think it's ugly. You're always beautiful, no matter what,” you pause, keeping a cautious eye on her scowling face, “Daki.”

The frown on her face doesn't lighten. “Yeah, yeah. You're always flattering me. That won't get you laid tonight. I'm tired.”

“I wasn't looking to get laid,” you say, somewhat relieved that the girl did not comment on your usage of her true name. She must be in a good mood tonight, even though her words and actions say otherwise. Either way, it's always a minefield when it comes to her. Sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes, you don't.

“Yeah, sure,” Daki snorts, tilting her head so she can meet your eyes. Her painted lips pout, and there are smudges of red by the side of her lip. You raise a hand to wipe it off.

She opens her mouth, fangs glinting, as if to bite your thumb. Laughing, you snatch your hand away, and her pout intensifies.

“Y/N,” she whines, dropping her head to rest against your collarbone. The mirror reflects the two of you, and like this, the two of you almost seem like a normal couple. “I'm so ugly now! That old hag ruined my hair!”

“You're not ugly,” you say in mild amusement. Your arms reach out to wrap around her waist, and Daki hums in content, snuggling against your chest more. You take a strand of her hair and curl it around your finger. “I think it's cute.”

Daki slaps your hand away. “Stop that! You're making it worse!”

You chuckle and bury your head in her hair. The smell of jasmine and incensed perfume clings to her like smoke. “I'm sure it'll straighten out by the time morning rolls around.”

“And then that stupid bitch will ruin it again,” she huffs. “I should teach what's-her-name a lesson. I think she hates me or something.”

“She's probably jealous of your beauty.”

“Probably. I should pity her for being born so freaking ugly, huh.” Daki makes a face at the mirror.

You chuckle at her statement. Daki can sometimes act rather entitled and self-centered, and sometimes it's scary, but her mood tonight is playful and blithe that it's almost adorable. You catch her eyes in the mirror and unwittingly, a soft smile grazes your lips.

“What?” she asks. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

She shifts in your hold, squirming when you refuse to let go and straddles your lap. Her pout comes back full force as she crosses her arms around her chest. “Tell me,” she demands childishly, “Or I'll make you sleep outside tonight.”

She won't. She always says that, and always gives in anyway, too. Still, you reach up to tuck a stray strand of hair beneath her ear, surprising both of you with your bold action.

“Nothing,” you repeat. “I was just amazed at how beautiful you are.”

Daki narrows her eyes, as if incredibly suspicious. “My hair is ugly.”

“It's not.”

“It is,” she whines. She grabs a few strands and shoves it in your face. “Look! It's all frizzy and wavy now!”

You lower her hand, but not before pressing a kiss against her knuckles. “You're still pretty.”

An almost blush darkens her pale cheeks, hidden by the layers of makeup she still has on. Daki looks at a loss-for-words for a bit before sitting up straight, as if regaining her composure.

She does not regain her composure. “Y/N,” she protests. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that!” Daki points at your face. You go cross-eyed, following her finger. “Stop that!”

“But I'm not doing anything, Daki,” you rebut, slyly grinning at her. You squeeze her waist, and Daki puffs her cheeks up in annoyance.

“You're impossible,” she huffs, turning around to face the mirror once again. You gladly welcome the shift of positions, especially when Daki rests her head against your chest once again. “I hate you.”

“It's not my fault I forget how to breathe around you,” you say, kissing the top of her head to hide your smile. “You take my breath away, you know.”

“Stop being so cheesy! It's disgusting!” Daki complains, turning her face to the side as if trying to hide her face from you. You wish her face wasn't so heavily made up, if only so you can see the way her cheek flushes in embarrassment at your words.

“But I can't help it when you make my heart sing whenever we're together,” you tease.

Daki glares at you. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

“You're sleeping outside tonight.”

“I know.”

You hold her stare. Daki likes initiating staring contests between you two, as if trying to assert her dominance in the relationship, but almost always fails to last longer than you. True enough, Daki turns away after a few seconds, brows furrowed cutely as she purses her lips at you. It's so hard to take her seriously when she's like this, all cutesy tantrums and childish annoyance. You pinch her cheek, and she turns back to you, eyes wide in surprise before she narrows her eyes.

“Y/N!” she shrieks. “Stop that! I'm not a kid! Don't pinch my cheek!”

You laugh. Daki's protests turn louder.

Chapter Text

The bouquet of flowers sits primly atop your lap, catching sunlight within the pale petals as they bloom prettily. You take a moment to appreciate them, before turning your attention to the boy heading towards you. Your eyes meet, and your heart jumps at the way his irises look luminescent in the daylight. He came, just as you asked.

You can't help but feel extremely happy at that.

“Hey, Mui,” you greet as he stops in front of you. Muichiro blinks, confused for a moment before recognition dawns in his pale eyes. You smile at him, and hesitantly, he smiles back, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

“What's that?” he points to the bouquet in your lap as he sits down beside you.

“Flowers, Mui,” you say in amusement. “It's Valentines' Day today, you know.”

“Oh. Right.” He pauses. “Who's it for?”

Suddenly, you can't look at him. The nerves you've been staving off rather successfully so far now returns with a vengeance. It's stupid. It's just flowers. Muichiro probably will forget you gave it to him after a few hours, so lost he is in his own world. He probably wouldn't even understand the deeper implications hidden beneath the pretty blooms in your hands.

Logic doesn't matter, though. You're already second-guessing yourself now.

“Someone,” you manage to say. “Someone I really like.”

“Oh.” Muichiro, miraculously, doesn't push for the identity of this secret man of yours. You wait with bated breath, hoping he'd at least get a bit interested, or maybe even jealous, but the boy merely tilts his head up to watch the sky.

You purse your lips. Dejection creeps up.

“You think he’d like it?” you ask, peering at Muichiro.

Shaken away from his reverie, Muichiro glances at you before looking down at the flowers again. His hand raises, as if to touch a petal, but he quickly retracts his hand. His demeanor is of one who's afraid to ruin a precious item.

“I dunno. Maybe. He should be happy you're giving him something.”

Your heart leaps with hope at his words. Is that jealousy? Is Muichiro perhaps hoping he's the one you're giving these flowers to? Does he like you back? Muichiro meets your gaze evenly, seemingly unaffected — almost as if he doesn't realize how much his words could have possibly affected you.

Well. That's frustrating. Maybe you're overthinking things again. You turn back to the bouquet.

“I'm scared he won't like it,” you admit. “I don't even think he likes me, to be honest.”

Muichiro's silent for a while. It comes to the point where you've given up on trying to get him to be jealous when finally, he speaks up. “Why wouldn't he like you, though?”

You startle at that, heat rising to your cheeks. You're just overthinking it, you're just overthinking it is what you tell yourself, but like this, it's easy to delude yourself that Muichiro's looking at you and only you when his stare is this intent.

“Well, um. You know,” you laugh nervously. Your heartbeat jumps beneath your skin.

“I don't know,” he says rather bluntly.

You look down again. A smile creeps into your lips and you cling to it though it tastes bittersweet on your tongue. “Well, um. This guy . . . he's really amazing. A lot of people like him too. Would seem pretty unlikely for him to pick me out of countless others, no?”

A self-deprecating laugh. Muichiro scoots over until your shoulders touch, leaning his head against your shoulder in comfort. His dark hair spills down your clothes and lays stark against the white flowers.

“That's stupid,” he tells you. “He's a total moron if he doesn't like you back. He should get his brain checked.”

You chuckle despite yourself. He's basically roasting himself. That's funny, but you want to cry.

“Here,” you say, handing the flowers over to him. “Take it.”

Muichiro raises his head to look quizically at you, then back at the flowers. A soft huh? leaves his lips as he tries to process your words.

“They're for you,” you say, cheeks burning. “Um, happy Valentines' Day.”

A beat of silence.

“Those flowers . . .” he says, tilting his head in the most adorable show of uncertainty. Muichiro eyes the bouquet in your hands with open interest now. “Are for me?”

“Um, yeah . . .” you trail off nervously, ducking your head in embarrassment. Maybe you shouldn’t have. Muichiro's quiet for a bit, contemplating you. You shift nervously, and your confession hangs awkwardly in the air.

Muichiro takes the flowers from your hands. Surprised, you turn to him, but he isn't looking at you. He plucks a white freesia and twirls it around his fingers, looking it up as it glows in the sunlight. He turns to you then, a playful glint in his eyes, and leans over to tuck the flower behind your ear. You freeze as his hand touches your cheek, heat overflowing. Your whole world revolves around the spot where his skin met yours.

Muichiro regards you with something akin to pride. “There,” he marvels. “Looks better.”

Shakily, you raise a hand to the flower by your ear, eyes wide. “M–Muichiro . . . ?”

He doesn't say anything else, just rests his head back on your shoulder and hugs the bouquet to his chest. You stay still, afraid that the slightest wrong movement will break the moment, and you'll have to wake up from this dream. Muichiro sighs happily, however, and one of his hands snake down your arm to tangle your fingers together. He squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

Chapter Text

Muichiro’s cold. The warm morning rays that are creeping into the room barely provide any heat, especially compared to the chill that the night has left imprinted into the air. He shivers and groans a sleepy complaint, watching the ceiling lazily as he tries to beckon sleep back into his lids. The cool air nips at his bare skin.

Huh. But the blankets . . . ?

Muichiro turns to you, pouting and shivering. You’re on your side, faced away from him, hair splayed messily across the pillows and bed while hugging a pillow tightly to your chest. The blanket is cocooned all nice and warm around your shoulders. Muichiro narrows his eyes. That’s his pillow. And your shared blanket too, for that matter.

So that’s why he’s so cold. You’ve stolen his pillow and his half of the blanket away from him. He puffs his cheeks up in mild exasperation.

And yet, he can’t really bring himself to wake you up, despite his own craving for more sleep. Only during sleep can he see you this peaceful and untroubled by everything that plagues your mind whenever you’re awake. It’s really the least he can do to give you this moment while it lasts.

Besides, Muichiro won’t really deny himself the chance to be able to gaze at you undisturbed, and without you getting flustered or anything. Almost reverently, he raises a hand and cups your cheek. You twitch, leaning into his touch even unconscious, and Muichiro feels so impossibly giddy and happy just from that. A smile grazes his lips, uncontrollable.

But he’s still really cold. And tired. And he really, really wants to go back to sleep too. And why are you cuddling his pillow, anyway? You have him to cuddle with! Muichiro makes a face at his pillow, and it almost looks like it's mocking him back. He wants you to cuddle him, not his pillow, dammit.

He decides for the kinder route and eases himself next to you, spooning you until he can feel your warmth seep through your clothes and press against his skin. With fingers lighter than a butterfly’s wings, Muichiro tries to pry away the blanket from your shoulders, praying that he doesn’t wake you up. You groan and shift, tucking the blanket between your body and the bed, making it harder for Muichiro to grab a corner.

Well. There goes that.

Muichiro chews on his lip. Maybe he can nudge you to the barest hint of wakefulness, just enough so that he can urge you to share the blanket with him again? Worth a try, maybe. He pokes your shoulder, and you respond with a sleepy grunt, burying your head further into the pillow.

He glares at it accusingly for stealing you from him. He's the one you're supposed to be doing that to! Muichiro almost can't believe he's getting jealous of an inanimate object.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, jutting his lower lip out though he knows you won't see. “You're stealing the duvet.”

You groan and turn your head to look at him, bleary-eyed and yawning. Strands of your hair cling to your cheek, and Muichiro raises a hand to graze them off. You hum contentedly before your eyes finally open wide enough to see him fully. You blink, confused, turning to the pillow you're cuddling, then at him, then back, and again.

Muichiro pouts at you.

You throw the pillow away and wrap your arms around his shoulders, nudging his head to rest at your chest. Muichiro eagerly melts into your arms, nuzzling against you like he'd wanted to do since earlier. Where's that damn pillow now? Muichiro kind of wants to gloat, childish as it seems. Your warmth easily staves off the morning chill.

You fix yourself so that the blanket covers Muichiro as well. He purrs in satisfaction, a deep warmth spreading through his skin when he feels your fingers sink into his hair. You press a kiss on the top of his head, and Muichiro hides his self-satisfied smile against your neck.

“I thought you were the pillow,” you mumble sleepily into his hair.

Muichiro huffs. “But I'm a better cuddler than that stupid pillow, right?”

He waits for your answer. You stay silent. Betrayed, Muichiro pulls away from your embrace to shoot you a glare before noticing that you've already fallen asleep again.

He sighs, a bit disappointed. At least, now, he's in a better position to admire you fully. A little grin pulls at his lips. He thinks you're drooling. It's so adorable. Every little thing about you is too wonderful for him to do anything but fall in love a little more with you.

He brushes a hand against your cheek and leans in close to kiss the tip of your nose. You groan and squirm away from his and Muichiro breathes out a laugh, tugging you back into his arms.

“You look so beautiful, Y/N,” he sighs, and he might be dreaming, but Muichiro swears your lips quirk into a smile for a split second. He pecks your lips and returns back to his place by your chest, sighing happily as he lets your warmth coax him back into sleep.

Chapter Text

Aoi sighs for the umpteenth time upon as spotting your figure walking up to her. You are all smiles and sunshine and bandages wrapped around limbs, waving at her as if you hadn't caught her attention the moment she sees you.

“Aoi!” you greet cheerfully, walking faster to catch up with her. Aoi doesn't miss your wince as you speed up your pace. She narrows her eyes. “Hey, Aoi! I was just looking for you. I'm glad I found you.”

Aoi places her hands on her waist and glares at you. “What are you doing outside your room? I thought I told you to stay there and rest? You shouldn't be walking around yet!”

You pout cutely. As if that will work on her. Ha. “But I was lonely there.”

Aoi sighs and starts walking again to the direction of your room. You follow her faithfully. “This isn't a social call, you know,” Aoi says. “You're here to get better, not to hang out.”

You frown at that. “That sounds boring. I'd much rather hand out with you.”

Aoi stops walking and pokes your forehead irritatedly. “That's your fault for being so reckless during your missions.” She resumes walking, leaving you to scramble after her. “I swear, you're just gonna get yourself killed by the rate you're going, if not in battle then by not letting yourself rest properly.”

Doesn't help that you insist on walking around and tailing her as she goes through her daily tasks. You act like an annoying shadow, really, and that infuriating, easy-going smile you put on for her whenever she scolds you just makes it even worse.

Like now. You smile at her for lack of anything to say. Aoi scowls back at you and opens the door to your room.

“In you go,” she ushers. She follows you inside as you slip back into your room like a docile puppy. Her full intention was just to make sure you really went back to your bed and slept, but now that she's here, Aoi decides that she might as well do her chores in this room first.

Your eyes track her every movement.

“Aoi,” you suddenly say, surprising the girl. She looks up from changing the bedsheets of the bed next to yours in question and startles at the intensity of your gaze on hers. “Do you really hate seeing me here that much?”

She bites her lip and abandons her work for a minute to turn her attention completely on you. Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know,” you say, scratching your head. “You always seem angry at me and I don't know why most of the time.”

“Of course I'm angry at you!” Eye-roll. “You idiot! What kind of friend would I be if I liked seeing you hurt? And then you're always here, prancing around like you aren't injured and making everything worse for yourself when you should be resting!”

You stare at her, dumbfounded for a moment. “Friends . . . huh.”

Aoi flushes, quickly turning back to changing the bed sheets so that you won't see her blushing. Her hands shake ever-so-slightly. “Well, yeah. We're friends, right?”

“I guess,” you say. Aoi doesn't want to acknowledge the disappointment she feels upon hearing that.

“I really enjoy spending time with you,” she admits, back still turned to you. She takes the dirty bedsheets in her arms and tries to calm her heart down before turning back to you. “I just wish you weren't hurt when we hang out.”

“I really like spending time with you, too,” you murmur. “The only reason I follow you around is 'cuz I want to hang out more with you.”

Electric shock through her veins. Aoi ducks her head and fiddles with the cloth in her hand at that. It must be weird for you to talk to someone who has her back turned to you, and Aoi should really do the polite thing and face you properly, but she's afraid of what her happiness might imply were you to see it. She takes a deep breath and pinches her lips to keep herself from smiling so widely.

“You should get better fast, then,” she says instead, slowly spinning on her feet to meet your eyes. Aoi tries to put on a strict expression, but from the look on your face, it isn't quite as effective as she would have preferred. “I'm not hanging out with you until you're fully healed.”

A contemplative silence. Aoi hopes you've dropped it and just agreed with her for once, when suddenly, you speak again.

“You know,” you say, cheekily grinning at the girl, “Maybe I'd feel better if you kissed me.”

The bold claim makes her stiffen, eyes widening as she clutches the cloth in her arms closer to her chest. Aoi swallows through the sudden bloom of warmth trailing up her cheeks and squints at you, uncharacteristically bashful.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her thoughts won't form words, and she's left looking like a dumbass while your grin grows larger and larger. Her cheeks are hot.

“Just – Just go to sleep, okay?” she finally manages to squeak. Aoi winces at the high pitch of her voice. “I'll check on you later!”

Her heart won't stop pounding, for some reason. She scrambles away from your room, and your laughter is a tinkling sound that haunts her even when she slams the door shut. Once outside, Aoi takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, sliding down the wall to sit at the floor.

She presses a palm against her chest and tries to deny the smile that wants to bloom on her lips. It tastes distinctly like the first stirrings of a springtime love and the littlest hint of regret. Maybe she should have taken your offer.

She hides her face in her hands.

Chapter Text

• Muichiro has a pretty obvious bias when it comes to you. He's always rather absentminded and impatient with other people, but he's always been so kind and patient to you. His other admirers may resent you for gaining his special treatment, but you know they can't resist cooing over how cute both of you act around one another.
• You go to school together. Yuichiro and Muichiro usually end up taking a really long time to get ready, so you always end up hanging out in their house while waiting for them. Sometimes, you cook breakfast for the twins and eat with them. Muichiro always grabs the chance to wash dishes with you, much to Yuichiro's exasperated amusement.
• Hold his hand while walking to school, please. Muichiro always picks the weirdest times to daydream, and you have to tug him to make him continue walking. One time, you three were walking to school and didn't realize Muichiro was gone from your side. You found him while backtracking, head tilted as he puzzles over the clouds.
• Now you always hold his hand. Not that Muichiro minds. In fact, he doesn't mind so much that every instance he gets, he skips over to your side and intertwines your hands together. Lunch? Hold his hand. Going out? Hold his hand. Time to go home? Hold his hand.
• You cook both of your lunches, while Muichiro prepares the sweets for your desserts. At lunch, you two usually sit alone, as your friends are rather off-put by your affection. The Kamaboko squad sometimes sits with you, but Zenitsu always ends up whining about how lonely he is, and Muichiro snaps at him to shut up. You and Tanjiro agree not to let the two of them near one another too much.
• Feed. Him. Muichiro thinks it's the sweetest thing ever. He'd get insistent over it too, just staring at you with puppy eyes while pointing to himself. He'd say it's because he wants to taste what you've cooked for yourself as well, but really, it's just an excuse for an indirect kiss. This sneaky boy also always takes just one straw for your drinks, and smugly tells you to share it with him. He loves how flustered you get about it.
• Don't worry though! Muichiro returns the favor eagerly. He feeds you the sweets he's prepared, and is always delighted to see you beaming at him after every bite. Also: headpats. He craves your validation, and gets ecstatic when you duly provide.
• You take notes for both of you. Muichiro usually zones out during classes, so you write down all your assignments and lessons and other important notices like quizzes and stuff for him, as well. He takes your notebooks with a cute smile, cheeks flushed the tiniest bit red.
• Muichiro gets really upset when you're absent. If it's because you're sick, he heads straight to your house after class to visit you. If you refuse to let him in your room lest he risks getting the disease as well, he just sits down on the other side of your door and talks. He mostly talks about the sky, or something fascinating he notices while not paying attention to class, or talks shit about people who have annoyed him — basically anything other than what's important like lessons and assignments.
• He stays there by your door until your parents shoo him for the night. But the next morning, he's there again, asking if you're well enough to come to school again. When you are, he'll just hug you tightly in the middle of the living room and whines for headpats. He'll stay in that way even if you both turn up late in class, claiming he missed you too much.
• Muichiro loves it when you go to his Shoji Tournaments. He always does his extra best with you there. Before every match, he steals a kiss from you as a good luck kiss, and he always heads straight for you every time he wins for a celebratory hug.
• Muichiro lowkey fights in these tournaments just to see you cheering for him. It warms his heart to see you care that much about him and his interests enough to take time from your busy schedule to watch him play.
• Study dates! After school, you both go to the library to finish up some homework, browse through the lessons and quiz each other. It's usually playful and light, as Muichiro doesn't really care enough about academics, and is only interested in how many times he can make you laugh over his silly antics. You both go out for ice cream after for a job well done.
• Sometimes, Muichiro skips classes to lay in the tree behind the school, just absently cloud-watching. Sometimes, you skip classes with him. Conversation is light and calming, almost serene. Most of the times, both of you end up taking a nap in the grass until the bell rings and signifies the end of the day.
• On the walk home, Muichiro always insists on going to the park first to rest. There, he picks a flower to give to you, to tuck behind your ear. He smiles at you fondly then and pecks your lips, not giving a fuck that he's just violated the park's rules once again. You get the sentiment, though you do have to sneak to escape the park.
• You both sleep late, just chatting and texting each other weird and random stuff. You talk until one stops replying, and Muichiro always tries to be the last one awake just so he can send you a good night message. Cutie pie. It ends up in you sleep-deprived and him waking up too late and having to hurry to get ready for school, but it's always worth it.

Chapter Text

• It's almost impossible to ever feel down when you have Mitsuri as a sibling. She's just always too bubbly and happy and radiant all the time, and it's so contagious. You can't help but see the world as she sees it.
• Mitsuri loves to cook with you! She already loves cooking anyway, and getting to share them with family along a nice cup of tea on a nice afternoon? She lives for those moments.
• You can always count on her to be there for you! She places high priority on the people she loves, and you're quite near the top there, along with your parents and other siblings. If ever you need help on anything, she's right there for you!
• Mitsuri's the most comfortable with you. Despite her outgoing nature, she's actually rather shy when it comes to revealing her own feelings to others. She only gets to unwind and rant and gush about others with you.
• You're quite relieved about how Mitsuri acts nowadays. When you were kids, she tried so hard to fit in with the other girls her age that she became practically unrecognizeable, which worried you greatly. But now that she's truer to herself, you're incredibly happy for her.
• When she announced that she wanted to join the Demon Slayer Corps, you tried to dissuade her. But upon hearing her reasons for doing so, you gave in and agreed.
• She seemed so passionate about it, and so adamant that this was her calling that you just had to let her do her own thing. As long as she's happy and she returns home after every mission safe and sound, it's fine.
• Every time she returns home from a difficult mission, you treat her to eat outside. Doesn't matter what she's craving or how much she eats. What's important is that you can spend time with each other.
• You love tying her hair up into different up-do's! It's probably one of your favorite pasttimes whenever you hang out with each other, just hanging out and making fun of the thousand and one ways you manage to tie her hair up.
• She keeps the hairdo the whole day, no matter how beuatiful or unflattering they may be. "My sibling fixed my hair today! Isn't it lovely?"
• Yeah, she just likes to brag about you. Not much to the extent that it's annoying, but she really, really wants the world to know how lucky she is for having such an amazing sibling and how much she appreciates your undying love and support for her.

Chapter Text

• Obanai's whole personality when it comes to people he likes can be summed up into one word: overprotective.
• Overprotective. Overprotective. Overprotective.
• He'd go to the ends of the world for you.
• Oh no, you have a tiny nick that's not the least bit consequential? Who's the stupid a-hole who did this? They're dead.
• He's also very perceptive. You may try to hide your emotions, but you'll never escape his prying gaze.
• "Hey, Y/N. I noticed you blinked exactly two times more in the span of a second than normal. Is something wrong?"
• I'm not even sure if that was an exaggeration
• He's a bit shy and callous and brash, to some degree, but he means well. He just wants the best for you. And so do you.
• It usually takes him quite a while to warm up to others, and even longer to bring himself to trust wholeheartedly. You can't be too pushy, nor too demanding of him.
• He'll let you in, gradually, and would even share his past, after quite a while.
• Oh-ho. You learn he likes Mitsuri? Welp. Say goodbye to subtlety, Obanai~
• Joke. Please don't do that. He'll die of embarrassment
• The best way to help him is by helping him accept himself, and let go of the resentment he feels towards his family, and by extent, himself, and he'll do everything on his own terms.
• He just needs to get over himself.
• Genuine compliments about how he's kind, and helpful, and good, and understanding of how he works and why he acts the way he does, it goes a long way.

Chapter Text

• There's something about Muichiro that just makes you gravitate towards him, for some reason. Maybe it's because of his age, maybe it's because he's always too serious and overworking for someone so young, or maybe it's just your older sister senses going haywire at a potential younger brother.
• Either way, you stick by him. I mean, you try to stick by him whenever you could. He either ignores you or tells you to go away, and it's not until Kagaya explains his situation to you that you understand why he acts like he does.
• Operation: Get-Muichiro-To-Remember-You commence.
• He finds you at his usual spot where he hangs around to pass the time. You've laid out a cloth across the grass and prepared some food as some sort of picnic. He doesn't acknowledge you at first, but he does grab a bite of some of the food you offer him.
• You're there when he's training late into the night and until the sun rises. You're there before he goes into missions, and you're there when he gets back from them, taking care of him. When he can't sleep, you're there, humming a lullaby or telling him a story until he falls back asleep to the sound of your voice.
• He gets used to it, gradually. He forgets who you are sometimes, but somewhere in his mind, your presence does linger. He's come to expect you to be by his side. At some point, he starts calling you nee-chan and you're pretty sure it's because he's forgotten your name, but that's fine with you too.
• By this point, you've probably spoiled him. He's so used to you taking care of him that he gets quite a bit demanding like, nee-chan come here i need help training or nee-chan i'm hungry or nee-chan i can't sleep tell me a story.
• He gets extremely possessive and protective too. Whenever anyone even tries to ask you for help, he snaps. Hey, that's my nee-chan. Find your own, you lonely scum.
• Or something a bit more vicious.
• He becomes tame when you scold him, though he does try the kicked-puppy look on you to make you have pity on him. It works, because he's too adorable but you have to stay strong and resist the urge to pick him up and babey him again.
• His life as a Pillar is always so hectic and dangerous that he doesn't really have time to go out of his way to find someone even slightly less annoying than the regular person. So he's really grateful that you're just there. There when he needs you, and not really asking him much in exchange for your company.
• (plus he gets spoiled rotten so that's a major bonus too)
• He goes batshit insane whenever you're injured. Feels like he's failed you and that he should have been stronger and that he should have been there protecting you. He sulks and keeps to himself after that, and you have to seek him out because no mui, it's just a scratch, it's not life-threatening at all.
• Yeah. He doesn't listen. Any wound on you is a fail on his part, but he can't deny that it feels gratifying to have you comfort him even though he's supposed to be the one doing that.
• He really, really just doesn't want you to leave him. He's never had a family like this before (at least, not to his memory), and he plans to cherish this until he's 50 years old or something. 

Chapter Text

• Before losing his memories, Muichiro was the nicest, kindest boy you know, always ready with a smile and a helping hand to everyone.
• When your parents died and Yuichiro became closed off and harsh, he sought for comfort with you. You could see the strain everything had on him, and so you tried as best as you could to be a home for him.
• So it hurt when, after the demon attack that killed Yuichiro and caused Muichiro to lose his memories, your little brother woke up and blinked at you with hazy eyes.
• "Who are you?" he asked. "Where am I?"
• He's forgotten. The whole world could have ended right there, and you wouldn't even notice. Your world is ending. You're all each other has now, and to have that taken away from both of you . . .
• You try to be there for him. Muichiro, unable to recognize you with every day that passes even though you've spent yesterday with him, always pushes you away.
• Even though it hurts, you still try to be by his side. Enough that he eventually becomes familiar with your presence, even if he can't quite remember your name or your face yet. Subconsciously, he's still the same little kid, trying to find comfort from the harsh world in your arms.
• You help him prepare for his missions. He often forgets to pack some bandages and food and water, so you do that for him. You also scold him if he tries to overwork himself to death. Which he does. A lot.
• You stay by his bedside after the swordsmiths' village attack. He wakes from his mild coma, sees you crying over him, and the biggest smile crosses his lips.
• "Big Sis, Big Sis! I remember everything!"
• Heartwarming. A mix of relief and happiness and nostalgia that fills the room as Muichiro recounts to you animatedly everything that happened that led up to him recovering his memories. All the while, there's this huge grin that crinkles his eyes, and he finally looks like his age so much that you cry again.
• He's a lot different now. Sometimes, you see hints of Yuichiro in his personality when he's dealing with strangers. And then he turns to you and he becomes the sweetest boy ever. It's almost funny, really.
• He's more responsible about his own health, now that he finally knows who he is. But he pretends to be as absent-minded as before, if only to get you to take care of him like you did before.
• As if you'd ever stop pampering him, even when he's old and grey. (yeah, sorry mui, you're too babey to ever be independent from your sis ksk)
• Muichiro has few fears, and one of those is that you'll leave him alone. So he clings to you every time he can, holds onto your sleeve like he can prevent you from leaving if he held on tight enough.
• You learn of his thoughts, and your heart pinches in pain. You tell him that you'll never leave his side, and with wide eyes, he asks you to pinky promise with him.
• "I'll never leave your side, Mui. Pinky promise." And for some reason, that comforts him a lot.

Chapter Text

• Obanai holds an attachment to you unlike every other attachment he has for anyone else. You were the only one who stuck by him through thick and thin, since childhood up 'til now.
• When he was imprisoned back home, you'd been the only one who would sneak down to hang out with him, despite the danger in your life.
• When the snake demon attacked, he felt terrified — not for himself, but for your life. What if the demon hurt you? What if you died because of him?
• And when he saw Rengoku had saved you as well, he was so thankful he burst into tears.
• You are not a Demon Slayer. He wouldn't allow you to put your life on anymore danger than necessary.
• oH i'm sorry, you want to be a Slayer? . . . He'll argue with you. He'll say a lot of harsh words. You're weak. You're not suited for this job. You're a woman, you're supposed to stay at home.
• He doesn't mean any of it. Not really. Not much. Okay, maybe a bit? But he's traumatized. He doesn't think he can handle it if he let his sister be hurt ever again.
• You deserve a normal, happy life, in his eyes. Married to some noble Samurai, get a kid or something, and you can't do that if you're risking your life to fight demons.
• Even if you two are of the same blood, you are probably the purest, kindest person Obanai has ever known. He must have gotten all the impurity from the family; the gods and Buddha have spared you the pain of being cursed with darkness.
• Which is fine. He'll bear all of the pain and hurt and impurity and everything just to be able to see you happy, as you deserve.
• "But I won't be able to rest easy at all, knowing my brother is out there risking his life!" you protest. "I can't deal with that helplessness! I want to be able to protect you like you want to protect me!"
• And Obanai loses it. He sometimes forgets that you're your own person who has her own thoughts and feelings. And he forgets that, for you, he's someone worth protecting too.
• Fine. He'll let you be a Slayer. Just don't mind the occassional Slayer following you and protecting you.
• (they're threatened tasked by obanai to protect you. if even one strand of hair gets slashed, they're gonna get it)

Chapter Text

• Giyuu's lost a lot of things in his life. He's lost Tsutako, he's lost Sabito, and now, he swears to himself, he'll die first than let you get hurt. You're the only one he has left now.
• But he also thinks that he's cursed, that everyone who gets close to him is bound to die. So he tries to distance himself and look out for you from a distance.
• Nu-uh. You're not having that. Giyuu sees you from, like, a mile away, safely away from him. He blinks, and the next thing he knows, you're there beside him, holding onto his haori like a leech.
• "Get away from me."
• "No."
• "Okay."
• He's actually touched that you want to be next to him. He doesn't understand why you want to, but he's touched.
• And he shows that in the most non-showy way possible. Probably. You can't really tell. But he does bring you your favourite foods every time he gets home from a mission. Just shoves them in your face and then scrams, but you get the sentiment.
• You try to help him make friends. Try. You try. Giyuu's just so easily misunderstood, it's almost frustrating how socially awkward he's become. You give him tips on how to make friends, and he reports that he tries to do them, but just ends up making the other Pillars angry.
• You team up with Tanjiro at one point to help Giyuu get himself some friends. He's like a lost child, approaching the others with sacrificial food and sweets to try mending relations, particularly with the Wind and Snake Pillars.
• It goes well enough, if you lower your standards on what 'well' means. You treat him out to dinner to celebrate, anyway.
• He tries so hard to be strong for you, to be the big brother he should be. But sometimes, the facade cracks and he becomes human, and you make sure to be there for him whenever he feels tired.
• You never knew the extent of his hurt and guilt about your elder sister and Sabito until he confesses how he's still so hung up about it. That kind of hurts you too.
• But then he smiles slightly and looks at you fondly. "But everything's a bit more bearable because you're always here to support me."
• He scrams after that. But you get the sentiment. You sigh to yourself, smile, and revise your plans. Helping your brother love himself again is first priority before making friends, after all.

Chapter Text

• Muichiro doesn't know jealousy, doesn't know what it is or how it works. All he knows is the distasteful feeling coiling in his chest that prevents him from acting as efficiently as possible in his job. All he can think of is you, and somehow, instead of happiness, the emotion that accompanies is unpleasant.
• He looks for the source. Of course, his main priority has always been his job, and he's going to make damn well sure he does his job well, and he can't do that when you're distracting him too much, even when you're not in the vicinity.
• He tries to talk to you. At first, everything is well — he's having fun, relaxing, basking in the warmth that is you. And then that guy comes in and steals your attention. Suddenly, all the air leaves his lungs, and his chest constricts to a painful degree.
• He stares at you pointedly, almost as if trying to mentally will you to turn back and look at only him again. It doesn't work, of course. Logically, he knows that it won't work. Doesn't stop him from feeling irritated and angry, though. He storms off, stewing in his own mind.
• That's annoying. Now he really can't focus on his training. Every time he sees you with someone else, he feels incredibly, incredibly aggravated. He hopes you'll just magically know somehow what he's feeling and make it all better with your smiles, but that doesn't happen, and he just falls in deeper into jealousy.
• That guy's face is carved into his mind. He gets rather vicious really fast whenever he sees that guy. Actually, no. He's devious first, vicious next. He offers to train the guy as an honorary tsuguko. It's a prestigious title that almost nobody gets, so of course he agrees, eagerly. Then the training begins.
• “How the hell did you survive until now? Your sword skills are nasty.”
• “You'd make better livestock than slayer, you incompetent nincompoop.”
• “Are you even trying? I've never seen anyone so disgustingly inept as you. What are you, a noob? Stop whining like a baby and practice that attack 500 more times.”
• He takes sadistic pleasure in watching the man struggle. Day in, day out: verbal lashings, unfair and heavy physical training, stone-flicking, bashing — anything he can think of.
• Probably the best thing of all is that you've started visiting his Estate to watch them practice. Muichiro greatly cherishes these moments when you visit, though they're marred by a sense of irritation still. He can't help but wonder if you just came over to watch that guy train.
• Doesn't help that you're both too friendly with each other. Why are you letting him touch your arm? Why are you laughing with him? Is he that funny? Why are you going out to eat lunch with him without Muichiro? Is Muichiro too bland of a person to hang out with now?
• These insecurities color his interactions grey with you. He becomes cold and harsh with you when you're alone. But when you're in public, he clings to you tighter than a leech, fending off anyone who even dares to think of approaching you with a glare.
• This very confusing behavior continues on for several days, until finally, you burst and confront him about it.
• Muichiro's reply is very simple: “I don't like you hanging out with that guy,” and he says this so matter-of-factly and easily that it takes you aback for a few seconds.
• You try to explain that you're just friends and that you haven't been ignoring Muichiro in favor of your new friend, and no, you are not replacing Muichiro with him.
• But he isn't having any of it. He huffs and pouts and uses everything in his arsenal to make you agree to hang out with only him. Isn't he enough to make you happy? Why do you need other people? Muichiro doesn't understand.
• Calmly, you talk to him about boundaries. As always, Muichiro listens intently to you, though you can tell he's frustrated. You're not answering his questions with all this boundary talk.
• But the fact is, Muichiro makes you extremely happy, but he doesn't own you, and your life doesn't revolve around him. Same thing goes the other way around: Muichiro's his own person as much as you are. Sad as it may sound, Muichiro makes you happy, but he isn't enough to make you completely happy.
• You both come to an agreement to talk about it whenever Muichiro feels jealous of you hanging out with someone else. He agrees to it, along with the condition that you cuddle him whenever he admits to being jealous. An additional incentive of sorts.
• Muichiro's really just afraid of losing you to anything. You understand that, of course, because you feel exactly the same for him. But Muichiro also wants you to be happy, so he tries to do as you say and talk to you about these kinds of things. It feels rather awkward at first, to just casually admit to feeling jealous, but hey, he does get extra cuddles to show up for it, so it's worth it.

Chapter Text

• At first, the freedom is frightening. There's too many things to do, too many things to see, to experience, without the constant threat of demons hounding your backs. For a few days, you're both stuck in the same old routine, sleeping for a few hours, waking up only to train yourselves — until you realize that there's no use training anymore. Demons are gone. You're free.
• Muichiro would really like nothing more than to settle down and live peacefully with you. He's expressed this dream several times to you, in between yawns, tucked between your arms and drifting off to sleep. Now that everything's over, Muichiro can't believe he might actually get to live that dream with you.
• He'd prefer to live in a rural area, maybe near a mountain or a field, where the air is fresh and the streets aren't busy and where life drags on lazily day-by-day. A place where the skies aren't blocked by skyscrapers and roofs, where the sunlight streams free to brighten the nature up.
• But if you'd rather do something else, that's fine, too. Really, Muichiro's fine with anything, as long as he's able to be by your side through it all. He'd happy as long as you're happy. You want to travel? Sure. You want to live in the city? Okie. You want to migrate into a foreign country? Give him a moment to pack his bags.
• You compromise between both your wishes, though, so you can both be happy. You get a nice house by the mountains, but you do take vacations every now and then to explore the world. There's so many places to explore, that Muichiro finds himself enjoying everything too, even if his initial desire was to just stay cooped up indoors with you.
• Muichiro doesn't realize how much he adores domestic life with you. He lives for waking up next to you, cooking beside you, cleaning beside you, and at the end of the day, falling asleep next to you. It's bliss. Muichiro doesn't think he's ever been this happy and light-hearted before.
• Now that you don't have demons to worry about, you guys go out at nights for festival dates, or sometimes, just leisurely stargazing. The world is completely transformed when nighttime arrives; everything's darker and starker, but the silver moonlight that glances off of things gives the world a hazy, ethereal look. Muichiro likes to admire you in the moonlight, when he's supposed to be admiring the sky or the firelight.
• He buys you two a matching promise ring — a memento of an oath to stay by each other's side for all eternity. You're both too young to get married; there's still so much things to do and explore before you decide to settle down and start a family, and Muichiro understands that, so he makes you a promise for that someday, instead.
• Muichiro's savings from the time when he was a Pillar is almost enough to last you both for a lifetime. Neither of you are particularly extravagant, anyway, so it should be fine even if you both laze around all day. Still, Muichiro finds himself taking up woodworking as a hobby, and eventually, as work. He's really good with his hands, especially in carving, it seems. You help him with it, sometimes.
• You have a spare room in your house. There, you hang crane origamis from the ceiling like flowers. Muichiro's goal is to get to a thousand paper cranes. He says his mom said it would give you both happiness and good luck, so he'd like to try it. You kiss him and tell him he's your happiness and good luck, and he flushes a deep red, wrapping his arms around you to hide his blush.
• You still fold those origami with him, though. You don't know what you'll do with all these after, but it's a fun past time, and over time, it just becomes habit for both of you to settle down and fold papers in peace. It's very relaxing. One day, you'll show your children all those origami.
• Sometimes, the others visit you guys. It's not very often, as they all have their own lives to lead, but it's always fun to host your friends over for lunch or dinner. Tanjiro and his friends always come visit every other month to check up on both of you. Muichiro always wears the brightest smiles whenever they're around, and it warms your heart to see him having fun and bragging about what he's been doing the past few months with your friends.
• Every month, you both hike up the mountains where the Ubayashiki Estate used to be. Oyakata-sama, Amane, and their children are buried here. There are no bodies, of course, but the Pillars have decided to erect their gravestones here, in the place where serenity and home used to be. You pray for them, and afterwards, though your eyes are red, Muichiro smiles at you wordlessly and reaches out to squeeze your hand, and just from that, you're reassured that everything will be all right.
• After everything that has happened, peace seems like a distant dream. But here, now, it's a reality for both of you. Victory came with many losses, but as always, you have to take what you can. There are some bumps in the road: you're both plagued by nightmares of what could have happened, and sometimes you get so depressed thinking about all that you've lost that it becomes hard to breathe.
• But as always, as he promised, Muichiro's always there for you, as you are to him. Everything will be all right, as long as you're both beside each other. You're both happy. It's all you've ever wanted, really.

Chapter Text

• Inosuke gets rather unpleasant really fast. He's not quite in touch with his emotions just yet to know what he feels; he just knows he doesn't like seeing you with that guy.
• Who's he? Why are you interacting with him? Is he strong? Can he fight him? He wants to fight him. His jealousy manifests in the form of an almost territorial wrath and manic glee. Someone dare challenge him? How freaking fun. Let the blades decide who they favor more, then.
• You stop him, of course, because violence is almost always never the option though it's the first thing that he always resorts to. Inosuke's easily calmed down by words of reassurances and your smiles and your touch. If you tell him it's fine, then all right, he'll believe you.
• But then he sees you with that guy again, and his jealousy flares anew. Seriously, who the hell is that guy? Why is he still with you? Why are you still with him?
• He decides to confront you two. Inosuke's the type of person to face his problems head on, usually with blades unsheathed and nothing but victory on his tunnel vision, but this time, he keeps in mind your aversion to violence.
• “Oi, Y/N. Who's this?”
• Your friend tries to introduce himself, but Inosuke's only listening to you, pretending that the guy's voice is nothing but a pesky fly buzzing around his ear. You sigh and introduce him as your friend, and Inosuke's nose flares.
• “Huh? Your friend? Why's he your friend? He looks weak.”
• You try to explain that he's not weak, and that friendship isn't based on strength or weakness anyway. Inosuke only hears one thing: he's not weak.
• Oh really, now.
• “Oi, you! Fight me!” he points at the guy, huffing irritatedly. “I'll show to Y/N who's stronger!”
• And, in the middle of the day and in public, Inosuke unsheathes his blades, and rushes towards the guy. Cue panicked shrieks and ladies falling unconscious as Inosuke tries charging at your friend, screaming bloody murder while wearing a boar head on. Must look like quite the scene, really.
• Miraculously, you manage to separate the two from each other without anyone shedding any blood. You tug Inosuke away from the place with a plethora of mumbled apologies and shameful bows.
• Inosuke spends the whole walk home huffing and pouting to himself. You don't see it through his mask, but you can hear his angry mutterings clear enough, anyway. You don't bother trying to coddle him, instead letting the boy calm down on his own.
• Once home, he acts almost like a tsundere. Doesn't try talking to you, refuses your help on anything, and basically just acts cold to you, even though it's obvious he wants you to pamper and baby him.
• Well, you don't. He needs to learn proper manners, especially in public, so . . . yep.
• The next day, you wake up to Inosuke practicing in the backyard extremely early. The sun hasn't even risen yet, but there he is, sweating and panting like he's been at it for a couple of hours now.
• Concerned, you go up to him, but Inosuke refuses any offers of yours to come back inside and rest up. You pester him for a few minutes before finally giving up and marching back inside to cook breakfast. You know the smell of food will lure him right in.
• Lure him in it does. Inosuke still tries to ignore you through breakfast, huffing and grumbling as if he can't decide whether or not he wants you to ignore him back or pamper him in your attention more.
• You sigh, just done with the silent-not-so-silent-treatment. Inosuke looks up at you, expectant and still frowning.
• “If you're still grumbling about what happened yesterday,” you say, “I told you we're just friends. You don't need to be worried about it.”
• “I'm not grumbling about that, you stupid Y/N!”
• Inosuke denies that so quickly that it's really suspicious. You stare at him pointedly, until finally he breaks, and admits that he just wants to become stronger so you don't leave him. What's wrong with that?
• Well, what's wrong is that he doesn't trust you not to leave him for someone else when he's the only one you'd rather spend your whole life with. You tell this to him and watch as Inosuke practically melts to the floor from fluffiness. You know him well enough at this point to understand that's just how he shows that he appreciates your words.
• But then, as if remembering he has to be tough too, he crosses his arms across his chest and huffs. “You can follow me 'round as one of my minions, then.”

Chapter Text

• Akaza trusts you. He trusts you wholeheartedly. He knows you wouldn't cheat on him. He loves you and you love him. Simple as that.
• Who he doesn't trust, however, is that guy.
• Each and every nerve in his body screams at him to march over there, take you, beat that guy up to a pulp — because how dare he try to prey on such a vulnerable, lovely girl such as you — and then run away with you on tow.
• But he trusts you, dammit. He won't interfere. You know what you're doing. Doesn't mean he won't stalk you across town to wherever you're going. Akaza's content to hide in the shadows and just watch over you, though the guy you're with might feel some unsavory glares piercing through him the whole time.
• The minute the guy you're with tries to make a move, however. Well. Hands off the table, it's free real estate. Even if your hands just brush for the tiniest of seconds, even if it's entirely coincidental, Akaza doesn't care.
• He walks around and bumps into you, then acting surprised as if he wasn't just following you around. He actually doesn't know what he's doing: all he knows is that he really, really needs to get you away from this guy. Right. Now.
• “Oh, right. Y/N. I think that man wants to have a word with you,” he lies.
• He doesn't even realize how much of a heart attack those words give you. You panic, asking him if you've done something wrong and if Muzan is going to kill you or something, and Akaza just stares at you, uncomprehending.
• Oh. Right. You're not a Demon Moon. You don't regularly meet with Muzan. So he just makes some stuff up about how Muzan's thinking of ranking you up into a Lower Demon. Akaza feels incredibly sick lying to you like this, especially seeing your face light up with excitement.
• He tries to tell himself that it's worth it just to separate you from that guy. He basically drags you off to wherever, shooting a glare at your friend before he panics again, realizing that he doesn't know how to go through with this. Muzan isn't looking for you! How's he supposed to tell you he lied, though?
• In the end, he manages a lie through gritted teeth about how Muzan says you should meet at some other point because something came up. Akaza swallows the bitter taste in his mouth at your crestfallen expression and swears to himself he won't do it again.
• Um. Yeah. He does it again. And again and again and again. It's that guy's fault for hanging out so much with you. What else is he supposed to do? He'd love to fight that guy, would love to smash that face of his into a window and crack all his bones until he stopped hanging out with you, but Akaza knows you wouldn't like it, so he restrains himself and resorts to just this.
• It eats at him so much. But still, throughout the weeks, Akaza's managed to come up with a whole slew of creative excuses just to get you away from him. He needs your help in a mission, he needs your help stitching his clothes. There's a demon slayer in town and you're safer off at your home with him.
• It comes to the point where you get suspicious. Because of course you would. You're too smart for Akaza to lie to, and he's actually surprised he's lasted this long without you noticing. But you've noticed now, and well, shit.
• “Akaza, have you been lying to me?”
• Shit.
• Akaza tries to stutter out some nonsense that could maybe explain the random, sporadic errands that he drags you off to and yet always lead to nothing. He continues, even though you start to frown, and on and on.
• “Akaza.” Your tone is a warning.
• It's not in his personality to back down. Never in his whole life has he backed down. Except now, as you turn your back at him, disgusted by his lies, he really does start to panic. He reaches out to grab your hand on instinct, afraid that his fear of losing you might actually happen for real.
• He can't have that. He can't. He just can't. He'd rather die. He'd rather get burnt by the sun. He'd sooner admit his weakness than lose you. Anything but that.
• But as you turn around to wait for his explanation, Akaza finds himself at a loss for words. What is he supposed to say? What could possibly justify him lying to your face again and again and again?
• But then you sum up his emotions in one nasty little word. “Akaza . . . are you jealous?”
• He doesn't want to admit it, but yes. Yes, he's jealous. It's so unpleasant to admit that out loud, as if admitting that he doesn't really trust you at all when one of the things he holds dearest is his bond with you. But then you smile patiently at him, and his worries fade off to dust when you cup his cheeks in your hands and kiss him.
• You tell him it's fine to be jealous every once in a while, and that you didn't mean to make him feel so neglected enough to feel that way. Akaza's almost hopeful that you'll forgive him without any serious consequences.
• Jokes on him. He'll have to do all the house chores and work for the next few weeks. Akaza's relieved that he's getting off with only that, and he promises you he won't lie to you ever again. He'll just get your attention properly and talk to you whenever he feels jealous again. You know, like normal people.

Chapter Text

• A barrage of long-hidden insecurities and all-too-familiar doubts and monsters are woken up in Genya's mind when he sees you walking and laughing with another man. It hits along with the exhaustion that has settled into his bones from Himejima's intense training and boils into the most familiar thing he knows. Anger.
• Who the fuck is that guy? What the hell are you doing with him? You look so happy too. What the hell.
• In his long journey to reach the heights that his brother has achieved and to be able to apologize finally to Sanemi, Genya has only ever let one distraction claim another place in his mind. You. The result is a deep devotion between his goal and you, as Genya doesn't really have anything else to care for.
• So, seeing this scene in front of him, it triggers something. His doubts and fears and guilt and insecurity. Everything. It's one of his greatest nightmares coming to reality: you're going to leave him, and there will be nothing else to hold on to, except that distant dream of reuniting with his brother. And even that seems so far away.
• You're really the only thing he has to keep him going, most of these days.
• So he snaps. He marches over towards the both of you, and just, looms over the guy. He looks scary. He knows that. Riddled with scars and angry eyes and a frown — yes, he has a lot of intimidation factor, and plenty of guts and strength to walk the walk too.
• The guy knows it. He scrambles away from Genya's glower, and he's starting to feel triumphant over it when you pull at his sleeve and make an annoyed face at him. So, now he's the one who's scared.
• “What the heck?” you ask, unamused. “Did you really have to scare my friend away?”
• From a scary, angry man, Genya becomes this flustered and shy boy, blushing bright red now that you've turned to him. Your words just make him fret nervously even more that he stutters badly.
• “Um. Well. I — I was just. Um. You see . . .”
• Needless to say, he doesn't get to explain things for himself. You purse your lips, and Genya loses his mind.
• Yeah. That doesn't help his case at all. You sigh and march home, Genya trailing after you still stuttering out half-words and explanations, but you aren't even listening. He realizes the rudeness of his actions, and knows you're extremely justified with your reaction, but he can't help but feel upset that you're angry at him.
• You spend the rest of the day not on speaking terms. Every time Genya tries to talk to you, you quickly shut down his attempts and continue sulking. He doesn't know what to do. His mind's in a panic, trying to construct ways on how to gain your favor again, but the mess of thoughts jumble, and all he's left with is a whole slew of trailing thoughts and jumpy actions.
• You sleep on opposite sides of the room that night, and Genya has never felt so cold since the day he lost his family. He barely sleeps, and when he does wake up the next day, it feels like he's just blinked for a second.
• All right. His mind is set up. Well. It isn't. Genya's still a mess, but he's determined to gain your favor today. He tiptoes out the room to cook breakfast for you, your favourite food. He makes sure everything is perfect and as how you like it before standing in the corner, fidgeting and excited and nervous.
• You blink in surprise when you see him there, as it's almost always you who wakes up early to do the chores and to cook breakfast. You frown at the purple rings underneath his eyes, and yet, you're still reticent. He's starting to feel anxious, standing in his corner, when you look up at him again.
• “What're you doing there, standing?” you sigh. “Come here and eat with me, you dumbass.”
• He perks up at that. It's first time you've talked to him since yesterday. Eagerly, Genya walks over and sits in front of you, still watching you carefully.
• Back to silence.
• Genya jumps to wash the dishes before you can even stand up. He ushers you to rest or recline or just do whatever and not to trouble yourself at all. You're suspicious of his motives, but decide to take the day off, as he says.
• Genya basically spends the rest of the day regaining your favor, almost like a puppy begging for attention and affection. You almost give in a couple of times. The temptation to just hug him tightly is too strong. He's just such an adorable giant!
• You manage to last until evening, though. Genya's disappointed that you haven't talked to him much today, but then you drag your futon to rest right next to his, and Genya brightens up like a Christmas tree.
• “I'm still upset at you, you know,” you mumble, even as you reach up to tangle your hands together. Your warmth is so comforting and your hand in his is so familiar. Genya doesn't realize how much he adores holding your hand until he wasn't able to do so at all today. “You can't just barge in and scare my friend like that. That was really rude.”
• “I'm sorry,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “I wasn't thinking. It won't happen again.”
• “'Tis fine.” You're dozing off. You press one last kiss to his knuckles. “You know I love you very much, right?”
• Yeah. He knows. Genya smiles madly at the ceiling, flushing brightly. “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

• Mitsuri’s attuned well enough with her emotions to know that this bitter taste in her tongue is jealousy. She’s sad that she’s not the one you’ve been hanging out with a lot these past few weeks, envious that she’s not the one who’s laughing with you, embittered that she’s not the one who catches your attention like that girl does.
• That – That doesn’t mean anything, though! Right? She’s fine! It’s not her place to intrude in your other personal relationships, after all. You’re free to make friends and hang out with whoever you wish to hang out with! It’s fine. She’s fine. She denies it a bit too fast whenever anyone asks, suspicious enough that no one believes her for a second.
• I mean, even she doesn’t believe her own lies. Mitsuri huffs and pouts every time she sees you with that girl. It’s nothing harmful – she’d rather die first than ever even think of separating you from your friends. She’s sure that girl’s really amazing! She must be really nice and funny and really friendly!
• Still, Mitsuri finds herself seeking for your attention. Even when that girl’s around. Especially when that girl is around. It’s – It’s completely unintentional! It really was a coincidence that she found herself eating at the same restaurant you’re both eating at, and oh, lovely weather for a walk – Y/N, you’re here too! What a lovely surprise!
• She feels sick to her stomach. She feels so manipulative and just . . . bad. Mitsuri’s usually never like this. She’s never been the kind to go out of her way to seek your attention like this. And even though your meets are “coincidences” that she most definitely doesn’t plan beforehand, Mitsuri flushes bright and gets extremely flustered whenever you give her even a scrap of attention.
• She’s so happy she could fly to the moon! Even just a smile from you brightens up her whole day! Every time you hug her, her heart pounds to an unhealthy level, all giddy and ecstatic, and she clutches at you like she doesn’t want to let go yet even though her whole face is cherry-red and sweating.
• She finds herself feeling triumphant every time you give her affection, too. It should be commonplace for both of you to hug and kiss whenever you like, given you’re lovers, but nowadays, Mitsuri almost feels like gloating every time. It seems like she’s stuck in some sort of petty competition where she’s the only one participating.
• You notice it one day at a random. Mitsuri has managed to get to herself for today, and immediately pulled you to a date. She foregoes her usual favourite restaurant and instead heads for the more extravagant and expensive ones. Her hair is made up to perfection, and she looks a bit different.
• “Mitsuri,” you ask hesitantly. “Are you wearing makeup?”
• Not that there’s anything wrong with that. In fact, she looks even more radiant with that on. And yet, Mitsuri doesn’t usually wear any makeup, deeming it to be impractical, given her job as a Pillar.
• Mitsuri takes it as if you found it wrong, however. She flushes heavily and slaps her hands against her cheeks, eyes-widening as she tries to hide her face from you in embarrassment. She stutters apologies and squeaks out some excuse of ‘just wanted to try it out i’m sorry i’ll take it off right away i just –‘
• You take her hand into your own and smile at her reassuringly. It’s honestly adorable how excitable she can get over the littlest of things, but when pushed to the extremes like this, she starts overthinking and second-guessing herself, and you always take it upon yourself to reassure her she’s doing just fine.
• Mitsuri hesitantly smiles back. And you think that’s all over with, but then you get to the restaurant, and you just really know something’s wrong.
• For one, Mitsuri orders less than she usually does. She tries to act . . . not her. She acts really modest and reclusive, and just so decidedly opposite her usual vibrant and cheery personality that you can’t help but worry. There are some slip-ups, where she gets so embarrassed that bits of her normal self peeks through, but for the duration of the date, she isn’t herself.
• When you confront her about it, she gets extremely self-conscious about it, but still denies that something is wrong. Nothing is most definitely wrong! She’s fine! She’s actually having a lot of fun getting to hang out with you again after all this time! Yeah!
• That last bit catches your attention. After all this time. Mitsuri starts to fidget with the tail ends of her braid beside you, biting her lip as if she’s trying to hold something back. You wait patiently
• Finally, she cracks. In a meek voice, she asks, “Are you going to leave me too?”
• See, the whole thing plays to her old fears and insecurities of being too weird to the point of being unlovable. Mitsuri thought she had gotten over that, but seeing you with another girl, who’s definitely not weird like her and has pretty black hair and doesn’t eat so much and isn’t so unnaturally strong and –
• You shut her up with a kiss.
• What nonsense is she talking about? You can’t even imagine life without someone as bubble and lovely as Mitsuri by your side. Why would you settle for someone less when you can have Mitsuri Kanroji, for God’s sake. You’re not that dumb.
• You tell her all that and more, just repeatedly assuring that you’ll always choose her, again and again, kissing her every time she protests until she’s beet red and stammering and shy. Mitsuri smiles widely until her jaws ache, heart soaring at your words, and for the first time in days, she lets her mind calm.

Chapter Text

• It seems that even the most stalwart of pillars and the most dedicated of lovers fall into the trap of the green-eyed goddess every now and then. Kyojuro likes to think of himself as a good Pillar, a good lover to you, and just a good person over-all. It’s all he’s ever strived to become.
• Well. Apparently not good enough. Good people . . . they don’t feel like this, do they? They don’t feel sick to their stomach when seeing the love of their life hanging around with someone else. They don’t get sudden urges to take their significant others away and keep them all to themselves, pampering them until all they can think of is him, him, him.
• No, of course, they don’t. That kind of thinking is for selfish people. It’s for manipulative and restrictive and suffocating boyfriends, and if there’s anything Kyojuro doesn’t ever want to be, it’s that. He was raised to be better than that. He is better than that.
• So he tries to bury down those feelings with a smile bright enough to combat the sun. Someone once said that if you said something enough times, it might become true, so Kyojuro chants it as a mantra inside his head every time he sees the two of you together.
• Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s nothing to get upset over.
• Really.
• It doesn’t come true, much to his dismay. Kyojuro’s still deeply troubled every time he sees you with that guy. He doesn’t understand it at all.
• So he goes with the most logical thing, and goes up to you to introduce himself. Befriend the guy, yeah? It seems like the easiest way to dispel his worries. He’s really sure your new friend is really great, and if they become friends too, well, that would just build his trust on both of you that nothing wrong is happening that warrants his distress, right?
• Yeah. Sounds like a good plan.
• In theory.
• It just gets worse. Your new friend is extremely kind and welcomes Kyojuro happily whenever both of you plan to hang out. And it’s all nice and good until Kyojuro’s just exposed even more to the familiarity and emotional intimacy between you two. You two seem like really close friends. He’s happy that you found another person to share your deepest secrets with. Yeah. He is. Now, will you please stop talking about him so much?
• You act so much like you’re in love with that guy instead of Kyojuro. Probably not, but Kyojuro finds himself magnifying your every movement into a mountain of problems. You talk about going out to shop with your friend, and Kyojuro feels like you’ve been talking about him since daybreak. You go out to visit your friend once every two weeks, and Kyojuro feels like you’re over his more than you’re home.
• It’s irrational. Stupid. Extremely and decidedly not good. He finds himself getting irritated easily more and more whenever you bring up something that has the slightest thing to do with that guy. He shouldn’t feel this way! It’s wrong of him to feel so horrible, especially when the other guy is so kind. It would be really nice if he was just plain bad, then Kyojuro wouldn’t have any problem hating him.
• Kyojuro finds the perfect solution. Or so he thinks. It works perfectly, at first. He jumps at every opportunity to join you both whenever and wherever the two of you go. And yet, it comes to the point where he’s beside you 24/7, laughing merrily with his arm almost always either around your shoulders or your waist, in an unconscious display of possessiveness.
• Inevitably, you get sick of it. You take him aside to talk one day. You tell him the two of you should take some time apart from each other because it’s really not healthy to be so attached to the hip like this. You hadn’t meant it as a break-up, only that he should give you some personal time to spend alone with your friends, without him trailing along.
• Apparently, Kyojuro takes it the wrong way. His smile becomes frozen on his lips, a stunned expression crossing his eyes for a brief moment before he laughs uncertainly. There’s hurt there, somewhere, hidden behind the fear and mania of his laughter.
• “Y-You’re leaving me?” he asks, feeling incredibly nauseous at the thought. His hands reach out for your hand. “But why? I thought we promised to stay together forever, Y/N.”
• Kyojuro doesn’t, doesn’t, doesn’t take commitment lightly. He takes it extremely seriously and will do everything in his power to follow through his every promise until his last breath. Similarly, he expects everyone around him to be responsible as well and make their promises with care. So when you once told him that you’ll spend your forever with him, he expected you to follow through to the best of your capabilities.
• So add in betrayed to the huge mess of confused emotions rotting in his heart. His grip on you tightens though he does his best to control himself lest you get hurt because of him.
• “I just think we need some time off,” you explain calmly, caressing the skin atop his pale knuckles comfortingly. Kyojuro gets little comfort from it, not when he’s hanging off your every word like just the little breeze would push him off the edge of a cliff to certain pain and suffering.
• “Time-off,” he repeats. That’s just the same as leaving him, right?
• It isn’t. You take the time to ingrain that into his stubborn head. You just really need some air to breathe, because right now, he’s being rather suffocating – scratch that, he’s being very suffocating.
• And that stops Kyojuro right on his tracks. He’s being suffocating? Really?  He thinks back to the past few weeks, where he basically trailed you everywhere, almost to the point of obsession. The past few weeks don’t feel real, to be honest. If anything, he feels like he’s been dreaming all this time, and now, he’s only just waking up.
• But it wasn’t a dream. And the consequence of that is that you’re here now, in front of him, upset at him and maybe even angry, and Kyojuro really doesn’t know what’s gotten into him to make him into the one thing he didn’t want to be.
• He hangs his head and apologizes from the bottom of his heart. He really didn’t want to do that. He never wanted to alienate you or make you feel trapped with him at all! He wanted this relationship to be as fulfilling and loving as possible, so it fills him with so much grief that he’s the one who caused that to fall apart.
• Well. Not that the relationship is falling apart. He’s actually being a bit dramatic on that one. You forgive him easily and with a sigh, tapping his shoulder to make him straighten up. As long as he’s truly sorry, then there’s really nothing else for you to do but to forgive him.
• Except . . . that isn’t the end of this. You’ve been suspicious about it for a while now. You decide to confront him about it, because solving the problem requires tackling it from its roots head-on. He might never repeat his actions again, but the reason why he became so clingy should still be resolved.
• “Kyojuro,” you ask him again, “Tell me the truth. Were you jealous of my friend?”
• It takes him a while to connect your words to the tangle of emotions he’s going through. He doesn’t realize it at first, but as he thinks more about it, he realizes that yes . . . he might be jealous, after all. It sounds so ugly and so intrinsically humane, to feel so insecure like that.
• Now that the problem has been given a name, however, everything seems a bit easier to talk through. You two make a deal to give each other some personal space to live your lives outside of each other, as healthy couples should. He agrees wholeheartedly, desperate to get your affection and to prove to you that he really isn’t a bad guy.
• Of course, he isn’t. You believe him fully. Doesn’t mean he’ll be easy on himself though.

Chapter Text

• Obanai understands insecurity; in fact, he's too intimately familiar with the very sense of never feeling good enough, never, never, never being able to look at the mirror without frowning in disgust. You could very well crack his heart and soul, and find nothing but doubt and uncertainty and shaky, shaky insecurity.
• But while it feels natural as breathing to him, he doesn't understand why you, of all people would feel insecure. What is there to be insecure about, when you're practically a being closest to perfection as can be, when Obanai worships the ground you walk on, when your very core is more radiant than sunlight itself?
• He really doesn't understand. And yet, in a way, he does.
• Obanai just wishes he can take all those thoughts away from your mind and replace them with happier things and softer things and lovelier things. That frown that you try to hide so much, it doesn't suit you. Nor does the smile you try do hard to maintain throughout the day. It pains him to see you like this.
• On a whim, he puts Kaburamaru on your shoulders one morning. When asked why, Obanai stutters some excuse about how his neck is stiff and he doesn't think he can support Kaburamaru on his shoulders today. You accept it gracefully and doubtfully, and Obanai sighs in relief.
• He keeps an eye on you the whole day, hoping, praying to whatever deity might be there that Kaburamaru does to you what he always does to Obanai. Kaburamaru's always been his support system, always made him happy and always calmed him down, ever since childhood. Now, he watches, and prays, that Kaburamaru will do the same for you.
• He feels triumph whenever your smile turns genuine every time Kaburamaru nuzzles against your cheek. Fondness fills his chest with warmth for you both, and Obanai rarely smiles, but now, he smiles while watching you play with Kaburamaru.
• He coaxes Kaburamaru to rest on your shoulders again, the next day. He feels empty and strange without the snake's familiar weight on his shoulders, but seeing you smile is worth it enough.
• You go home to a place filled by little notes scattered around. Obanai doesn't like talking, but he does know he can't take away those pesky insecurities from you without words, so he settles for writing everything he loves about you on a piece of paper and letting you find them. He can write books and books of praises and compliments about you, you know?
• Obanai tries to spend more time with you. It's so impractical and it goes with so much of his ideals and beliefs about professionalism, but he finds himself doing it again and again, anyway. He takes you with him in missions and patrols and excuses it as practice and more experience for you, but really, he just wants to be with you more.
• During training, he makes sure to compliment you as much as his blushing cheeks and pounding heart will allow. Every end of the training, he pats your head and tells you "you did a good job today."
• He'd tell you how proud he is and how he loves you so much he'd give the world to you if only you'd asked, but he's too embarrassed by how deep his feelings truly run. He shows them by taking you out to dinner and basically pampering you with attention and as much affection as he can bring himself to show in public.
• But just that won't work, now, would it? He knows it won't. Insecurities, though sometimes shallow, always run deeper than that. Just showing you how much he adores you won't make you love yourself as much as you should, this he knows painfully well.
• But he can help you start your journey to self-love. Obanai takes you to a secluded place, where people are scarce and where the sky is brilliant and wide and beautiful. He takes you to an ethereal place, where he hopes your troubles and insecurities won't reach, and just holds you. Tight. Like he'd never let go, even if death tries to separate you two.
• He doesn't push. But: “You know you can trust me with anything, right? You know I'm always here for you, right?”
• You nod, and he's satisfied with that. As long as you know he's here with you, he's fine. As long as you can lean on him, he's fine. As long as you trust him enough to let him hold you like this, he's fine.
• He waits patiently for you to speak. It's all right if you don't, it's all right if you do. Obanai will always wait for you and be there for you. He knows how painful it is, to loath yourself so much and to compare yourself to others, and he doesn't want you to feel like that anymore. He'd do anything in his power to make you feel less insecure.
• When you do finally spill and tell him everything, Obanai says nothing. Just holds you close to his chest and lets you cry it out. He doesn't tell you to hush or to stop crying; he encourages you to let it all out on him and let him be your pillar even just for today. It hurts him so much to see someone as wonderful as you to be so heartbroken and discouraged like this.
• Eventually, your tears run out. He wipes them from your cheeks and rests his forehead against yours. Kaburamaru does the same and nuzzles against your cheek comfortingly, and you can't see it, but Obanai's smiling at you, so gently, as he tells you again and again how much he loves you.
• You don't have anything to worry about at all. You're so perfect to him. But if you don't believe him, then that's fine, too. Obanai just has to make sure to tell you every day until you believe it yourself, too. And that, he will do. Gladly.

Chapter Text

• Sanemi is very disciplined. He wakes at 5 AM sharp without even alarm clocks, gets out of bed, fixes breakfast, takes a bath, everything. After he's done with all, he goes up to yell at Genya to wake the fuck up for school, before going back to your room.
• He stares at you for a bit, brushing your hair away from your face to see you clearly. He does this every day: takes a moment to thank the gods to have met someone as wonderful as you before kissing your brow. It's the sweetest and one of the most vulnerable he lets himself be.
• As always, he tries gentler methods to wake you up first. He tries shaking you, telling you to wake up until he's yelling, tries to allure you with the scent of food. If that doesn't work, well, forgive him (not that he apologizes) but he'll shine a flashlight on your eyes, sprinkle some water on you. If that doesn't work, well. He has other far more . . . nebulous methods in mind. You had better just wake up already before he resorts to dumping a bucket of iced water on you and the bed. He'll go there, if pushed. That's just a threat, though.
• If it isn't a school day and Genya is out sleeping over at one of his friends' houses, however, Sanemi's far more lenient. He's only usually strict because he'd like to set an example for his brother, but with him away, he lets himself indulge with cuddling you more. He likes the feeling of you snuggled against his chest, sleeping peacefully as if you trust him wholeheartedly to protect you from anything that could disturb your peace.
• Sanemi drives you to work before going to the academy. He used to drive Genya too, but since gaining new friends, Genya started going with them instead. At first, Sanemi was skeptical and wanted to insist that Genya still go with him for safety reasons, but you managed to quell his worries.
• He sulks if you don't give him a kiss before leaving the car. He doesn't say it, doesn't even act like he wants it, but when you do kiss him, even if it's just in the cheek, he'll blush and look away. He's so soft whenever you tell him you love him.
• If you're a teacher at the academy as well, the students adore you so much. Sanemi is such a scary teacher, but whenever you're with him, you somehow manage to calm him down whenever he gets agitated over the stupid little brats.
• He has a picture of you on his desk. He likes to look at it to destress himself whenever you're too busy to hang-out with him. The students think it's adorable, but he threw one of them out the window when they dared comment on it. You ignored him for the rest of the day, and he had to win you back with cuddles and kisses. He begrudgingly apologized to the student the next day, and since then, his students always come to you for help in dealing with him.
• You eat lunches together. Sanemi usually cooks, but there are times when you take over. He's still hovering behind your back when you do, guiding you every step of the way. He says it's because you'll burn the house down if he didn't supervise you, but you both know he just likes the skinship between you two.
• And besides, your lunches always turn out fine. Sanemi actually enjoys his food more when you cook it. He complains about the day less, at least, and is kinder to everyone else. You'd take over cooking permanently if he wasn't so adamant to be the cook in the relationship.
• Uzui tries to set you two up for double dates with him and his wives. Sometimes, he tries to invite Rengoku, too, so he can find his own date. It usually ends well, but there was this time when Uzui bragged about his wives being the best, and Sanemi argued with him, saying that you are the best and Uzui's obviously fucking blind. You're flattered, but still. You and the wives ended up leaving Rengoku to stop the fight while you four just hung out.
• No more double-triple dates since then. Not that Uzui has stopped trying.
• Sanemi loves math. He adores how everything makes sense because of it, how logical and simple math makes everything. He gets annoyed fast when people say it's useless or hard. I mean, sure, it's hard, but that doesn't mean it's useless, all right? You're just not looking at it the right way.
• So imagine his annoyance when you, one day while computing your students' scores manually, for some reason, say that you hate math. Sanemi makes up his mind to give you private tutoring lessons until you learn to love math, dammit.
• This is not an NSFW blog. That's all there is to it. Unless . . . :3
• When you get home, he's usually so beat that he just flops into the couch and communicates using grunts. At dinner, it's usually either you or Genya who's in charge of cooking. When Genya's the one who's cooking, Sanemi pulls you with him on the couch and lays his head on your lap. You comb his hair until he's on the verge of falling asleep.
• Sanemi adores it when you get along with his brother, and even more so when you visit the rest of his family during weekends. These times, he just likes to step back and watch you interact with his siblings. You fit in so well, he thinks.
• And then his mom sits beside him and teases him about how long it's taking him to just pop the question already. He flushes and stammers and glares half-heartedly at his mom for that. He doesn't look at you in the eye for the rest of the day.
• It's always in his mind. Doesn't help that his mom brings it up almost every other time they visit.
• So, finally, he just goes out and tells you straight up to marry him. Nothing special: he shoves a ring at you and just stands there, waiting for you to respond. When it takes you too long to reply, he peeks at you, thinking he's made a big mistake.
• Well, yeah, he did. You're crying and you're smiling and your lips are pursed as you glare at him. That's not how a marriage proposal works, Nemi.
• So you tell him maybe. The next day, however, he brings you to an empty, picturesque beach in the sunset and proposes to you again. He's researched this stuff now and all the romantic cliches and stuff to make you swoon. He's confident he'll get your yes now, and of course, he does.
• His family is very happy.
• He is, too. He kisses you and closes his eyes and thanks the gods again for letting him meet someone as wonderful as you and now, for letting him experience this everyday bliss with you for the rest of your lives.

Chapter Text

• At first, he does not want kids. He is vehement in his disagreement when you first brought it up. After all, why birth more children, why add to the suffering in this world — why would you hate your future would-be children enough to bring them to this world?
• So, no. Gyuutaro is strictly against this idea. He's suffered so long, knows the deepest, darkest secrets of the world, has eaten grime and scraped blood off his cheek and starved to death and cursed the world far too many times than he can count. And though Gyuutaro considers himself as a person (a demon) who has stripped off all empathy from his soul, he feels a sort of pang in his chest whenever he thinks of being the reason for his children to suffer like that.
• Daki, on the other hand, is ecstatic about the idea. Another brat to play with and follow her around and idolize her? Maybe if it's lucky, she could even let it play with her makeup and maybe she can do its hair or something. As long as it doesn't cry or just be annoying.
• You're somewhat concerned that she refers to children as 'it,' but still, her voice is another opinion that agrees with yours, and you think it makes your argument stronger, but Gyuutaro only turns his head, snaps an insult, and walks away.
• You try several times to convince him otherwise, or at least make him reconsider, but his answer remains firm. Harsher, even, by the day.
• The turnabout happens, though, when he finds you one day holding a baby in your hands. She's a friend's kid, left in your hands while your friend went on a little errand. Gyuutaro's brow scrunches on instinct at the sight, though he does not know why it irks him.
• You don't see him for the rest of the night.
• It's not as if he's avoiding you, though it may certainly seem like it. The images of you with that baby and him with his sister when they were young overlaps in his mind, and an emotion resurfaces from within. He can't quite put it to words, but it's a gentle feeling, very tender, almost adoring: it's the warmth fluttering in his chest the first time he laid eyes on Daki, the way she giggled and held his finger in her tiny hands.
• It's confusing. If he ever went near a kid, they'd probably scream in fright and stone him or something. Right? Daki was a special case. She was the only one he would ever care for like that.
• But that was what he thought too until you came along. So, maybe . . . What if . . .
• Gyuutaro doesn't want to dare torture himself with those thoughts. Wishful thinking. Idiotic thinking. He knows what will happen. Not only will his kid suffer, being the child of a demon — no one even knows what it'd be like for a demon child to be born. Never been done before. That kid would definitely suffer. And, to have such an ugly man for a father? What if the kid inherited his looks and posture and everything, everything wrong with him and ends up like him too? His kid would hate him.
• But still . . .
• He finally reappears before you after a few nights of hiding and drowning in his thoughts. At first, he won't answer your questions of where he's been, but after a while of pestering, he finally snaps and tells you what's been on his mind, albeit in a sarcastic and rather patronizing tone. He adds a snide “are you happy now?” as if annoyed by your persistence, but really, if only you could feel how hard his heart's beating at this moment, right now, you'd know just how nervous he is at being so vulnerable.
• Fine. He might want a kid. Maybe. Stop looking at him with those wide, happy eyes, already. Gyuutaro averts his eyes in embarrassment, shoulders hunching and lips pursing, but you merely throw your arms around his shoulders and laugh.
• “As long as we're together, I don't really mind,” you say. “But I do admit I'm glad you think that too.”
• One kid.
• He glares at you strictly. Just one. Gyuutaro doesn't think he can handle anymore than that. You nod agreeably, and he's really just relieved that you don't seem to think any less of him for being so moody and indecisive about this that he could cry.
• Daki is overjoyed at the news. You and Gyuutaro have to break it to her that kids are not meant to be her servants.

Chapter Text

• “My, oh my, Y/N. You again? I'm starting to think this is just your excuse to see me.”
• Shinobu may have a smile on her face, but underneath, she's exasperated at seeing you once again back at her Estate, various bruises and wounds lacing your skin. Your injuries are rather mild, but Shinobu only half-listens as you retell your tale of running into a tree earlier, startling the cat sleeping nearby, prompting it to claw at you before running off.
• The other half of her mind worries. Your injuries might be relatively minor now, but who knows how you'd be in the future if your bad luck continues like this?
• Shinobu has one eye on you and another on the lookout for potential danger. Throughout the years, she's been extensively trained to expect danger to jump out from every shadowed corner, but with you, she thinks, it's even worse.
• She always holds your hand or has someone to keep an eye on you on the off-chance she's unavailable. She can't help it — her circumstances have made her paranoid, and your affinity with disaster has just heightened this paranoia.
• Shinobu has never been one for superstition, but now, she sees a black cat, and her thoughts immediately go to you, and she prays to the gods and Buddha that you're safe. She has a whole diary that she writes her prayers for you on. It calms her down when she writes her thoughts on paper. Sometimes, her entries get a little cheesy, for some reason, so she hides that notebook somewhere no one will ever find it.
• Whenever you go to the Estate with bruises and scratches, Shinobu just sighs exasperatedly and smiles at you, teasing you about your luck. You have a special room in the Estate that's just filled to the brim with dangling good luck charms and what-nots that Shinobu randomly buys on the way home from her missions.
• Aoi and the others find it adorable when Shinobu fusses over you, but whenever she's gone, Aoi berates you for not taking care of yourself and worrying Shinobu more. She can get rather harsh with her words, but always gathers herself and apologizes once her rant is over.
• One time, Shinobu caught her scolding you for your carelessness while rewrapping your bandages, and though Shinobu was smiling, you and Aoi can feel her annoyance seeping through.
• Shinobu really doesn't mind taking care of you. In fact, she adores being able to pamper you (and occasionally, sadistically tease you while you're stuck in bed) and keep you safe in her Estate. What she does mind though, is that you're getting hurt.
• She pleas to Oyakata-sama to always pair you with her on missions, as she hates the fact that she can't protect you at all times. He agreed, thankfully, so now Shinobu really isn't letting you out of her sight.
• You're about to slip on wet floor? Shinobu has you. Someone's going to mug you? Not on her watch. You're about to run to a tree? Shinobu's already tugging you to the side.
• Your life has gotten significantly easier with your little bodyguard constantly on the lookout for trouble. And yet, the constant worrying over you, atop her usual duties as a Pillar makes you worry that she's running herself dry. Shinobu assures you that she's fine, that she's strong enough to handle everything on her own, and even slips in a little tease in there to make your worries fade.
• Still though. You force her to take a day-off and just stay in bed with her all day to alleviate her worries a little. You massage her back and deliver food to her in bed, and while she does keep her eye on you, afraid that you'll cut yourself with the knife or burn yourself, she does appreciate it a lot.
• You try to be more observant and take care of yourself better to avoid worrying her too much. It works, somewhat, and Shinobu's really just glad that you're not a patient in the Estate 24/7 anymore.
• She just rolls her eyes upward and sighs when you do return with bruises and a sheepish grin. You're still trying to prove yourself to her as a capable slayer who doesn't need her to look after you all the time, but whenever you do slip up and get unlucky again, Shinobu's always happy to nurse you back to health. In return, you cuddle and kiss her until her smile becomes genuine and her worries fade away.

Chapter Text

• Giyuu knows the value of words but, as a man with too much swirling thoughts that overflow whenever he tries to put them into words, he's come to give up on ever being able to eloquently reach out to you using his words.
• He thinks this as a failure on his part, especially when he sees others do so effortlessly what he struggles to do. Giyuu stumbles over his I-love-you's, stutters when he tries to tell you the magnitude of his affection for you, flushes and loses his voice when he tries to tell you how lovely you look with your hair parted to the side like that.
• He thinks of his ineloquence as a failure, even though you always come home to a warm bath and a warm meal prepared for you when you've just been on a tiresome mission. He thinks it as a failure, even though he always brings you back random things and snacks that he says made him think of you. He thinks it as his failure, even though he always offers to go with you on family meetings before you can ask him, disregarding his own dislike of gatherings like that just for your sake.
• Giyuu would like to tell you how much he loves you, but he cannot, and so he shows you instead. His actions are never grandiose, but they are thoughtful, they are sweet, they are obviously done with you in mind.
• He likes it, however, when you tell him of your feelings for him. A silent afternoon: the bustle and hustle of the city outside can't reach the safe confines of his home as you sit opposite him in seiza style, sipping a cup of tea while the sun drenches you both in honey light. Giyuu listens carefully as you talk, taking note of the little nuances of your tone and gestures and words.
• He feels closer to you this way, and he likes the feeling that he knows you better than anyone else in the world. Better than you know yourself, he thinks. He knows when you're tired, knows when you're lying to yourself, knows that you feel safe with him when you nuzzle your head against his neck in your sleep. And most important of all, Giyuu knows you love him because you tell him and you show him and you never let him forget, ever.
• Once, he bought you a beautiful pendant that shines like the color of your eyes, and in return, you gave him a letter that he keeps to this date, immaculately preserved and well-cared for. There's a little box in your room where he keeps all your letters to him, and every day, he takes the time to sift through them and bask in the flutter of warmth in his chest at the thought of you.
• It's become somewhat of a game nowadays between you two: a competition on who can make the other one flustered over your letters. As such, your letters to him have become increasingly cheesy and riddled with humorous metaphors and snippets of poetry about love.
• Giyuu keeps his simple. Like the letter he wrote for you as a confession so many years ago, he jumps straight to the emotion rather than fancy it up with flamboyant words. He can't grasp the necessity of pretty words when just I-love-you sends his own heart pounding, so he sticks to that. He adds flowers and sweets to his letters as a signature.
• Every time he passes by that cherry blossom tree on the way home, he can't help but think of when he first gathered enough courage to tell you of his feelings. He had it written down with Rengoku's encouragement and help, and left it in your Estate while he waited in beneath the tree where he'd asked you to meet up with him.
• He doesn't remember that day in detail. It passed by too quickly and too emotionally — all he remembers is the anxiety and nervousness of standing still underneath the cherry blossoms, and the sudden relief like a heavy exhale when you meet him with a grin and tell him you love him back.
• You still tease him about his confession letter to this day. Rengoku had written most of it and Giyuu, insecure about his inability to express himself properly, didn't dare oppose. The result was an extremely cheesy letter that didn't sound like Giyuu at all.
• He's learning though, through all the letters that he writes to you with nothing to guide him but the stirrings of his heart and the brightness of your smile. He's slowly finding his words, and one day, he thinks, he'll definitely tell you how much he really adores and loves you with all his heart.

Chapter Text

• In a world that runs fast and runs harsh, time is not something you have in spades. It always feels like you're running out of time, like tomorrow may not come, and while that's always a threat, somehow, it just serves to make Muichiro treasure every moment he has with you even more.
• He knows you love him when you offer to spend time with him on your break times. He knows you love him when you rest your chin on his shoulder, wrap your arms around his waist, and just be. He knows you love him when you let him lay his head on your lap, head tipped up, pointing out hazy clouds and laughing at nothing and maybe braiding his hair with wildflowers. He knows you love him as long as you're with him.
• Muichiro's love language is quality time, those precious, little moments where the clock stops ticking and it's only the two of you in the world, existing, living, breathing — just being together.
• He also likes it when you let him touch you. Little things: bumping shoulders, pinkies touching while you walk; surprise hugs that never fail to melt away the tiredness of the day from both your shoulders; a quiet moment where your forehead rests against his, eyes closed, just breathing each other in. Muichiro never particularly cared for touch, not until you came along, but now, he craves the heat of your skin as much as he craves your presence beside him at all times.
• His favorite thing comes during dusk, when your duties end and when the sun is just barely dusting the horizon with an orange hue. You'd both come home and crawl underneath the sheets, and Muichiro would tuck his head underneath your chin, pressing his ear against your heartbeat. You'd tangle your fingers in his hair and murmur stories about your latest mission in between yawns. Muichiro would try to listen, even as sleep claims him and drives him to where his dreams await.
• He treasures those moments where all is silent and calm, you're beside him, safe and sound, and all seems well in the world.
• All these little things add up and up until the questions about your relationship burst. Muichiro never questioned the nature of your relationship until Uzui absently comments about your strange intimacy with each other that doesn't really befit two people who are just friends.
• He doesn't get it at first, but then your routine resumes later that night, and Muichiro finds himself staring at you more than usual. He doesn't say anything; his throat constricts with some sort of fear or anxiety whenever he even thinks about speaking out about the sudden thoughts plaguing his mind, so he remains silent.
• For now, at least.
• Love, Uzui suggests. “Maybe you're in love,” he says, and waggles his eyebrows as if in jest, and though Muichiro merely blinks his eyes and ignores the older Pillar, he keeps the words in mind.
• Love. Muichiro's concept of love clashes painfully with his idea of reality: it simply does not belong in such a harsh world — especially not when the things he feels when you're around are so precious and fragile as a newly-hatched bird and the world outside your arms is so brutal and cruel and heartless.
• So Muichiro doesn't call it love. It's just what it is. He likes your company, likes you because he feels safe and warm and *loved* with you because you seem to understand him on such a personal level that Muichiro can't even think of waking up without you beside him to make him smile.
• It's on one of your day-offs, beneath an apple tree on a quiet little hill, mindlessly chatting about anything that comes to mind, that Muichiro speaks up about everything that has been on his mind. He takes your hand in his and rests it against his chest, peering at you with an almost cloudy gaze, even though his eyes never waver on yours.
• “Y/N . . . lately, I've been feeling all kinds of stuff when I'm with you.”
• He professes his feelings bluntly, maybe even unwittingly. Never one to mince his words, Muichiro gives you the facts and lets you connect the puzzle pieces together on your own. He's tactful enough to act like he isn't holding his breath in anticipation of your answer, but can't help but hold onto your hand a bit tighter anyway.
• And then you smile at him, and Muichiro practically melts in relief. You card your free hand against his scalp, tracing his hair while they drip down your legs, and laugh.
• “I feel the same way, Mui,” you tell him earnestly. Muichiro is endeared by the glint in your eyes and the way your smile is unevenly perfect and the way the sun behind you gives you a halo like an angel's. You respect his unsaid thoughts and don't give a name to these feelings, and Muichiro thinks it can't be possible to hold this much affection just for one person, but here he is.
• “Don't leave me,” he says. “I can't remember how to live without you anymore.”
• You respond with a flitting kiss on his forehead, and Muichiro thinks it's not love. Not yet, at least. Maybe. Love is too pure for this world — too bright, too wholesome, too unattainable. But maybe, just maybe, one day . . .
• It's a distant daydream, but Muichiro doesn't mind losing himself in dreams as long as you hold his hand, serving as an anchor so he doesn't drift too far away from your warmth. You smile down at him and squeeze his fingers, and his heart flutters pleasantly in his chest as he smiles back.

Chapter Text

• He finds you swatched in shadows and purple rings sketched heavily underneath your eyes. There is blood on his sword and blood on his clothes and early sunlight on his skin, and the sinking feeling of relief on his shoulders for a job well done.
• The night is over for him, but it isn't for you. Not yet, at least, it seems.
• You don't seem to be injured too much at first glance. Still, your depressive air is concerning, and so Kyojuro, unwilling to leave anyone alone in such a state, crouches down beside you and tries to cheer you up.
• It doesn't work.
• He tries the empathetic route next and laments at those who gave up their lives in this mission, mourning them though he doesn't know anyone personally. It's always a sad thing, death, no matter the person, and today is no exception for Kyojuro. Still, though, he keeps them in his heart as a fuel to keep on living to one day defeat the head of the demons. He's been told this mindset is inspiring, and he hopes it's the same for you.
• But you're still not responding. You stand up and brush him away coldly, stunning the Pillar as you speak to him in a harsh tone:
• “Stop bothering me. It's not like you know how it feels like to lose everything in just one night.”
• And Kyojuro wants to say that, no, he doesn't know how it feels like to lose your all in one fell swoop, but he does know loss, he knows how painful it can be to keep it in, lock yourself away and throw away the key. That he'd like to be there for you even though you just met, but you've already walked away.
• For some reason though, you linger in his mind.
• Kyojuro can't help but think of you and how sad you looked that day. He supposes it might be his brotherly instincts flaring up at the sight of someone looking so vulnerable and so sad. He doesn't like seeing anyone sad. If possible at all, Kyojuro feels the need to carry everyone's burdens, so no one would feel sad anymore.
• Nothing he can do about you now, though. He doesn't even think he'll see you again.
• But he does.
• The next time he sees you, it's like the gods and Buddha have smiled down on him and given him a second chance to make you smile. You meet at the Butterfly Estate where he is getting his wounds treated. You enter the room where Shinobu is bandaging his arm, and Kyojuro blinks at the seeming familiarity you have with Kocho.
• “Oh!” he booms, surprising both you and Kocho. “It's you again! Hello! How are you doing? Better, I hope?”
• But the gloomy air around you is the same as ever. You merely nod and excuse yourself, and Kocho curiously asks him how he knows you, to which he exclaims, “I don't!”
• Kocho looks at him weirdly but doesn't pry. She details the bare bones of how you came to be in her care: family dead, friends dead, an orphan in all the sense of the word.
• That solidifies his resolve even more. He will make you smile and become your pillar as well.
• He follows you around as you go on your duties for the next couple of days, offering his help here and there, talking to you, cracking jokes, telling tales. He can tell you're getting annoyed, but you haven't shooed him away yet, and maybe, just maybe, you're listening to him too.
• After every mission, he goes straight to you instead of at his own estate. It's come to the point where Kocho had arranged him his own room with an exasperated smile, so now he's around you more often than not.
• Finally, one day, he succeeds. You're on your way to deliver medicine to Aoi, with him trailing behind a bit. He's telling this story about the other Pillars and that time when he and the others had tried all silly types of things to make Tomioka smile, on Oyakata's orders. You stop in your track and shoot him a glare.
• “What's your motive here?” you ask. “Why are you still here?”
• Kyojuro ignores the blatant disrespect in your tone and offers you a wide smile. “I want to make you smile! Life is much lighter when you face it with a smile, after all!”
• And you blink and blink and blink up at him, shock hazy in your eyes. To Kyojuro's surprise, you tear up, and he panics for a bit, wondering what he's done wrong, but then your lips twist into a small smile.
• He feels electrified. The air's suddenly so warm and you move in slow motion, bowing your head to him in gratitude. He thinks you say something along the lines of “thank you” and “I appreciate it,” but your words are jumbled. Kyojuro isn't listening. The sight of your smile is all he can think of as he relives the moment again and again.
• When he finally snaps out of his daydream, you're looking at him in concern. He mourns the loss of your smile, but makes a promise to himself that he'll see you smiling again.
• He tails you around even more now, and every laugh and smile he manages to pull from you makes his heart flutter so much that he's swimming in a euphoric glow for the rest of the day. He's in such a happy mood every day since then, even happier than usual, that everyone notices.
• But the bubble of happiness bursts all too abruptly. He's on his way to visit you once again after a mission, looking forward to another day of just spending time with you. Feeling agitated for a reason he can't pinpoint, Kyojuro looks for you everywhere in the Estate but comes up with nothing, until Kanzaki tells him you're tending to another Slayer in one of the clinics.
• He goes over and finds you, finally. But his relief is overshadowed by the sudden burning in his chest. Your smiles have come so easily and frequently nowadays that it's no surprise to see you looking so happy, but what stuns Kyojuro most is that you're showing that precious smile to somebody else.
• He doesn't know why, but it feels wrong. It makes him sick to his stomach. He doesn't like it.
• No. He doesn't like it at all.
• He distances himself from you, at first to allow him some room to breathe and to think logically about what he's feeling. But the agony is that he's become so attached to you that not seeing you even for just a day makes his heart ache so much that sometimes it feels like he's going to die.
• Nothing makes sense. And yet, Kyojuro still distances himself from you. You're on his mind 24/7, and even while on patrol and missions, he fantasizes about you. How are you? Are you doing all right? Are you lonely too? Does your chest hurt so badly without him beside you too? It must be, right?
• Kyojuro's not particularly sadistic, but he finds himself deriving pleasure from the thought of you hurting because of his absence. It's proof that you love him, right? That means you depend on him as much as he depends on you —
• That means you aren't smiling for anyone else, right?
• How could you, if he's gone from your life? Even Kyojuro finds it hard to smile since not coming over to visit you every day, though he manages, if not for the sake of appearances. He's pretty sure everyone has noticed though.
• But the only thing that matters is that he's the only one who can make you smile.
• He gives in one day and asks Tanjiro to update him on how you're doing. The boy seems curious on why he doesn't fo himself, but doesn't ask questions and just agrees.
• The report Tanjiro gives him is unbelievable, however. You're doing all right, Tanjiro wrote. In fact, you seem happier than before. Isn't that great?
• Kyojuro pesters him with questions, asking for confirmations about your wellbeing, if you've asked for him, if you miss him at all. Tanjiro thinks it's rather cute that Kyojuro's acting like a shy boy hoping his crush notices him.
• It's so much worse than that, though. With every soothing letter that he receives about how you're doing all right, Kyojuro's losing his mind. He doesn't understand it. Why aren't you as lost and listless as him? Why aren't you crying yourself to sleep from missing him —
• Why are you so unaffected?
• Finally, he manages to calm himself enough to visit you again in the Butterfly Estate. You greet him warmly; that settles him a bit. But then he sees you greet everyone the same way you greeted him, and now he's very confused. You seem to have gotten a lot friendlier since he last saw you.
• You say it's because of him. “You've reminded me of what someone special in the past said to me. Life's much easier to face with a smile, right?”
• So now you're smiling at everyone you see.
• He doesn't know how to feel about that.
• Or maybe he does. He's angry. Jealous. Indignant. Maybe he's angry at himself, maybe he's angry at you, maybe he's angry at the world. Not that it matters. He doesn't like that he's sharing you with everyone else.
• You should be his and his only.
• Kyojuro keeps his bright smile and nods at you encouragingly, saying clichéd stuff like “that's it, you're doing so well!” and “I'm proud of you!” and “just keep smiling and everything will be all right!”
• You don't notice it, but Kyojuro narrows his eyes and keeps careful track of everyone you're being awfully close to.
• He wants them gone.
• Kyojuro feels a bit icky about breaking the Corps' code of conduct though, but he doesn't want them anywhere near you again at all. He debates the idea for so long until finally, he gets an idea.
• He'll just have to take you somewhere they won't be able to get near you, right?
• He pleads to Oyakata-sama to give him more missions with you. The man agrees, and Kyojuro's just ecstatic that he gets to spend his days and nights with you, even if it is on a mission.
• He invites you out to dinner before every mission and puts a little droplet of a soporific drug he got from Kocho under the pretense that he's having trouble sleeping. He acts all innocent and tells you both to do your best, even as he watches your lids start to droop.
• The drop was barely enough to make you sleep, but enough to make you sleepy. Your movements are slow and inefficient during the battles that occur during the night. Kyojuro watches from a distance and allows the demon to wound you a bit before swooping down to kill it. He makes it hurt — even though technically, he did allow for the demon to hurt you, he still can't forgive it for doing so.
• He catches you fall and sighs, staring at your face with a loving smile. Now he'll protect you.
• He brings you to his Estate and takes care of you until you wake up, where he explains what happened last night after you fainted. He's incredibly doting and gentle with you, patiently spoonfeeding you your food even though you protest that you don't need to be babied so much.
• In your eyes, he's just being a caring friend as usual. But behind closed doors, he's gleefully adding drugs in your food, on and on until your mind has turned hazy and you can barely stand on your own without collapsing into a fit of giggles. Everything's so funny to you, and you coo every time Kyojuro catches you.
• That's right. Everything is as he wants. You, smiling for him, with him, and only him. He kisses your forehead and smiles back at you.
• Forever.

Chapter Text

Piles of paper lay neatly across a sunlit desk, made vibrant by the playful hues of color the vials on the rack are casting. Day after day, like she always has, Shinobu leans across her desk, and works.

But today, her attention is captivated by your sullen figure. You've been laying in bed for the whole morning 'til afternoon, staring blankly at the ceiling with a listless frown on your face. Shinobu stares at you, but your mind is too far away to notice.

She sighs, and pushes off her desk. “Y/N, dear?”

No response. Shinobu tilts her head and walks towards you. She smiles brightly and leans over your prone figure, fingers raised in a half-wave. Your eyes snap to her.

“Hello,” she says cheerily. “Lovely afternoon, isn't it?”

You turn to your side, away from her. A mumbled 'yeah' drifts in the air, though it lacks the familiar energy and cheer that Shinobu has come to associate with your voice.

She sits down by your side. Only a dull silence permeates the air as Shinobu tries to figure out what could have possibly casted this rain cloud on your parade. She opens her mouth to speak, though she has no idea what to say yet.

You cut her off to it. “Shinobu.”

“Yes, dear?” Delighted at your initiative, she rests a hand against your arm and squeezes lightly. You flinch away from her touch, curling into yourself. A defensive position. Shinobu doesn't know whether to be hurt or alarmed at your reaction.

Your next question hits like a punch to the gut. “Why are you still dating someone as worthless as me?”

For a while, Shinobu blinks at you, stunned at the suddenness of that question and its implications. A hesitant smile curls up her lips. “My, my. Whatever do you mean, love?”

“You know what I mean.” Your voice is so dull. “I'm . . . I'm just this, while everyone's just, amazing.”

Her first instinct is to find out whoever put this idea to your head and maybe make them drink a good dose of poison to repent for their sins. But you look so sad and lonely that Shinobu doesn't want to leave your side at all. She wants you to know she's always there for you, so she stays and restrains the rage boiling in the clenching of her fists.

“That's just a complete lie, now, isn't it?” she asks. “No one can compare to your sheer greatness.”

You shake off her attempt to touch you once again. This time. Shinobu bites her lip at that, but tries to honor your wishes.

“You're just saying that,” you mumble. A pillow is shoved above your head, a shelter from the harsh brightness of the world. You are secluded, there in that darkness of yours. Shinobu fights off a frown.

“When have I ever lied to you, love?” she rebutts. “You're one of the strongest and most amazing people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, you know?”

Shinobu adjusts so that her back is faced away from you. She sighs and raises her eyes to the sky outside, and waits.

“But I — But I'm . . .” You sit up, frustrated, and Shinobu chances a peek at you only to find a flurry of angry lines marking your brow and pulling at your lips. “I'm — you know.”

“I don't really know, dear. What is it?”

“I'm ugly,” you snap. Hurriedly, you pull your knees to your chest and bury your head into your arms, imitating the fetal position you've assumed while laying down. You aren't fast enough for Shinobu not to notice your teary-eyes, however. “I'm not a good Demon Slayer either. I'm not in good shape. I can't even walk outside without almost getting killed in 500 fucking ways. I'm worthless. Useless. Why are you even still with me? It's probably just pity, huh.”

Stunned silence. A sound of gasping rings out, painful like holding back spilling tears even as the dam breaks and breaks and breaks. Shinobu longs to reach out for you, but she doesn't.

Instead, she turns around again and leans against you. It's less intrusive than a touch, and yet more intimate and comforting. A claim of reassurance.

“I don't think that at all,” she says. You sniff. “You're very amazing, you know that?”

“No, I'm not,” you interrupt. Your voice is shaky with your tears. “I'm weak and pathetic. A good-for-nothing.”

“That's not a very nice thing to say.” Shinobu's tone gains a sharp edge. “You shouldn't say that to yourself, Y/N.”

“Why not? It's the truth anyway.”

Ah. That does it. Shinobu's heart pinches at your words, striking through like a physical drill wounding her own skin. It might be an overstatement to say she feels your pain, but it's definitely not a lie to say she hurts for the pain in your voice.

She turns around, and coaxes you to look at her. You refuse for a while, along with a frantic headshake and several half-hearted attempts to turn away from her once again. But Shinobu's persistent. Her words turn into honey and wine, a smooth velvet that promises warmth if only you'd do her bidding.

Slowly, you tilt your head up. Shinobu smiles at you when your eyes meet, though inside, she wants to weep at the tracks of tears left in your cheeks. She cups your face in her hands and uses her thumbs to wipe away your tears.

“I don't like it very much when people aren't trearing the love of my life right, you know,” she says, almost conversational. “That includes you, love.”

You try to look away. Shinobu's hands on your cheeks prevents you. “I'm sorry,” comes your weak whisper.

Shinobu hums. “That's nice, but it isn't quite good enough of an apology. You must have really hurt your heart, saying all those harsh things, after all. A mere sorry won't heal it.”

You stay silent.

“Y/N is amazing and beautiful,” she continues.

No response.

“Say it with me,” she demands, tilting your head down to level her eyes with yours. She frowns, strict. “I am amazing and beautiful.”

“I am amazing and beautiful,” you mumble back.

Shinobu narrows her eyes. “Say it like you mean it!”

You sigh. “I am amazing and beautiful.”

“I am wonderful and talented.”

“I am wonderful and talented.”

“And I will not speak so harshly about myself ever again.”

You try to pull away. Shinobu doesn't let you. “Shinobu —”

“Say it,” she says. “It's your apology to yourself.”

You huff at her, but Shinobu refuses to budge. Of all things, this is the one thing she refuses to lose. The sight of tears in your eyes glistening like rainbow fractals is imprinted on her mind, and it's something she never wants to see again. Shinobu pulls you near and presses a kiss against your forehead.

“Please, love,” she murmurs, feather-light words carressing your skin. You shiver. “For me?”

You stay quiet for a while. Finally, you sigh and give up. “I won't speak so harshly about myself ever again.”

Shinobu leans back to flash you a bright smile. “See? That wasn't so hard, was it?”

You look away and nod. Glumness still clings to the slouch of your shoulder, slanting them as if you bear the weight of the world in your back. Her hands leave your cheeks to rest on your shoulders, gaining your full attention as she tugs you into a warm embrace. You eagerly wrap your arms around her as well.

“Please smile,” she says. She sounds upset already. Shinobu tries to quirk her lips into a smile again. “I love your smile so dearly, after all.”

You start, as if you hadn't expected that. Shinobu hugs you tighter.

“R–Really?” you ask in a meek voice.

Shinobu pulls back to smile at you. “I do! I love your smile so much! You look really cute when you smile, you know!” And she pinches your cheeks and laughs. “You're always so beautiful, but you're even more radiant when you smile, love.”

Shinobu watches as a hesitant smile blooms on your face, slow and unsure and not quite the full-blown grins that she loves so much. Shinobu smiles back, relieved, and on a sudden impulse, leans in again to kiss you.

“That's better,” she breathes against your lips. “Wouldn't want to look like Tomioka with how grouchy he always looks, yes?”

And she laughs. The undertone in that is a prayer of thanks to the gods when she hears you chuckle as well.

Chapter Text

Muichiro's getting confused. It's easy to read in the furrow of his brow and the judgemental look he shoots you when you sit beside him one day after training. Muichiro's usually so hard to read, an enigma unlockable, but now, you can tell he's getting wary of you.

As he should be.

“Mui!” you greet animatedly, sitting a bit too close to him than others would dare. And there's that nickname again, too. Muichiro wouldn't hesitate to beat up anyone who'd dare call him by such an endearing nickname, and yet here you are, the exception.

You raise your hands to stretch, letting them slowly sink down to rest at the backrest of the seat. It's cheesy — extremely so — and Muichiro blinks at you as he feels your arm settle near his shoulders.

“Nice day today, isn't it?” you strike up a conversation. “Even the sky today is really pretty.”

“Yeah,” he replies a few seconds later. Prompted by your words, his head tilts up to watch the heavens blow the winds to a distant place.

“Any interesting cloud-shapes today?” you ask. Taking the opportunity, you slide closer to the Pillar and rest your head against his. Your excuse will be so that you can see everything from his angle. That's believable enough, right? The smell of peppermint and spring grass clings to him, hazy and refreshing.

Muichiro gives you a side-eye, surprised. “I saw a cloud that looked like a bird earlier, I think.”

“Aww, what a shame,” you pout in mock disappointment. Your head drops down to rest fully against his shoulder. “I would have really liked to see that with you.”

He hums, kicking his feet leisurely against air. That's so impossibly endearing. “There aren't many clouds right now.”

You pout. Sky-gazing isn't really your hobby, but admittedly, it can be quite interesting and fun at times, and getting to spend more time with Muichiro is always a bonus. You sit up straight, garnering Muichiro's attention back to you.

You smile at him. “Hey, Mui, wanna do something else today? I think we deserve some kind of treat, especially after today's training, don't you think?”

Muichiro stares at you for a while, head tilted to the side. Finally, he shakes his head and returns back to the empty sky. A lone bird casts a dark shadow against the cerulean expanse.

“I'm fine here,” he says.

“Aww, really?” you sigh. “You really love just watching the sky, huh. But I guess that's really one of the things I just love about you.”

Absently, you gather a few strands of his hair and twirl it around your forefinger. Mint fades to black, disappears, and reappearing between the gaps of black. Muichiro's gaze drifts back to you.

“Huh?”

You smile at him. “I said, I really love a lot of things about you, Mui.”

A long pause.

“You're doing that thing again,” Muichiro accuses, eyes entranced by the strands of his hair wrapped around your finger.

You hum, leaning in closer until you feel his breath fan against your skin. You smile at him when he finally raises his gaze to meet with yours. A blank look settles within those pale irises, and yet Muichiro's mouth parts with shock at your sudden proximity.

“What thing is it, Mui?” you ask coyly. Your other hand raises to brush his hair away from his face, and Muichiro's breath catches when your fingers brush his cheek. You grin triumphantly at his reaction, though on the outside, your face remains fixed on that innocent expression: all wide-eyed and confused frown and pursed lips.

“That . . . thing.” he frowns, thinking hard. You use your thumb to flatten the creases on his brow, and Muichiro nearly goes cross-eyed trying to look up at it. You giggle. “Flirting?”

Oh? He knows about that? Muichiro blinks at you, waiting for a confirmation that he remembers right. You coo at how cute he looks like.

“I don't know,” you admit. “Am I?”

Muichiro frowns, frustrated. He does this adorable thing where his cheeks puff up and his lips pout, a cutesy version of anger, you suppose. You engulf him in a hug before he can protest, laughing and squeezing him hard. You think you cut off his air supply for a bit, but Muichiro doesn't really complain.

“Ah, you're so cute, Mui,” you sigh. “How are you so cute?”

He shrugs. That's even more adorable than if he actually answered! You squeeze him again, just overwhelmed at his preciousness, before reluctantly letting go. Muichiro pouts at the loss of your warmth, but then, as if remembering something, he snaps to attention.

“You didn't answer my question,” he accuses.

“What question, Mui?”

He falls silent. Another frown. Muichiro's gaze is directed upwards, to the sky he loves so much, though his eyes are unseeing. He's thinking too hard again. You want to hug him again, concern prickling.

So you do. You hug him again, and this time, Muichiro eagerly leans into your arms, nuzzling his nose against the crook of your neck. You giggle, ticklish, and Muichiro seemingly draws some kind of pleasure from that, as he hums and does it again.

“Mui!” you shriek, trying to pull away and failing when his arms tighten around your waist. “Stop that! It tickles!”

“But I like hearing you laugh,” Muichiro claims in the most deadpan of voices, sounding both confused and protesting at the same time. Your heart crashes before jumping back again with a vengeance and you bury your head in his hair, groaning as Muichiro happily nuzzles back against your neck. What a natural flirt. That's just really, really unfair.

Chapter Text

Aoi usually wakes earlier than the sun does. It's ingrained into her very bones since her training as a Demon Slayer began, and even more reinforced by her time as a medic in the Butterfly Estate. And yet today, Aoi opens her eyes to late sunlight streaming through the windows, illuminating her room with a bright, warm glow.

She stares leisurely at the light for a while, left unwound by a good night's sleep and the daze of the first seconds of wakefulness. It almost feels peaceful.

Until she remembers where she is.

Aoi sits upright in a flash, eyes widening as she turns outside. It looks about afternoon already; the sun is too high above, and the world has been awake and buzzing for hours now.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

Stumbling away from her bed, she dresses quickly in her uniform, barely sparing a look at her bed head before slamming the door open. She's so stupid! How could she have fallen asleep so long? There's never any rest for the residents of the makeshift hospital that the Estate has somehow turned into; immense guilt floods Aoi at the thought of slacking off while everyone else works hard in her stead.

That's just so irresponsible of her!

Aoi marches through the hallways, intent on meeting Shinobu in her office so she can ask for her daily routine schedule and maybe apologize for sleeping in so late. As she turns the corner, a trio of colorful girls bump into her. Aoi's eyes widen as she stumbles back to avoid colliding.

The trio's eyes widen. “Aoi!” Naho shrieks, arms wide open to engulf the older girl into a hug. Her friends join in, and Aoi's left blinking confusedly at the sudden affection. She pats their heads each and smiles to herself.

“Good afternoon,” she says, wincing. They must have been looking for her, and there she was, just lazing off. “How are things?”

“Oh, wonderfully!” Sumi cheers. “Shinobu and Kanao are in the kitchen, baking —”

Naho and Kiyo harshly hushes their friend, a finger against their lips. Sumi shuts up fast, covering her mouth with both hands sheepishly. A meek 'i'm sorry' comes, muffled.

Aoi raises a brow. “Baking?”

Kiyo aggressively shakes her head, smiling innocently up at her. “It's nothing!” she chirps, taking Aoi's hand and leading her away from Shinobu's office and, incidentally, the kitchen. “We were just about to come fetch you! I'm so glad you're awake now!”

Aoi bites her lip. “Yeah, sorry about that. I overslept.”

“That's good!” Naho pipes in.

“You're getting the rest you need!” Sumi adds.

“You always work so hard, after all!” Kiyo says.

“I'm fine,” Aoi says. “I'll be fine. More importantly, where are you leading me?”

“To Tanjiro and his friends' room!” Kiyo exclaims. “They've been making Shinobu really mad this morning.”

“What?”

Naho nods. “Zenitsu kept stealing sweets!”

“And Inosuke kept sneaking off outside!”

Aoi sighs. As expected of those troublemakers. They stop in front of a door, the one that hides the most rambunctious trio inside. Even from here, Aoi can hear sounds of arguments and yelling. Naho, Sumi and Kiyo don't scamper off as they usually do after doing their task. They've been really attached to Tanjiro and his friends, and Aoi can't hide how glad she is about that. The door creaks open, and all the noise that slips past suddenly stills. Aoi peers inside.

The usual scene: Zenitsu and Inosuke are arguing heatedly while Tanjiro helplessly tries to mediate between them. Aoi clears her throat expectantly, and almsot comically, they all turn her heads toward her.

She crosses her arm across her chest. A scolding is ready on her tongue, except she is interrupted before she can even spit fire on her possibly two most annoying patients ever.

“Aoi!” Zenitsu sings, scrambling off his bed to glide to her. A dopey smile rests on his lips. “Happy —”

“Shhh!” the trio of girls interrupt.

Zenitsu stops in the middle of the room, blinking at the girls. “Wait, huh? Don't tell me —”

“Aoi!” Tanjiro interrupts him too. The boy flashes her a bright smile. “I'm glad to see you today! How was your sleep?”

Even her patients noticed her tardiness. She winces, but gets interrupted yet again when she tries to speak.

“Stupid Hinitsu!” Inosuke rumbles, pointing accusingly at Zenitsu, who's still standing at the middle of the room. “You almost ruined the plan!”

“Ha?” Irritated, Zenitsu turns to his friend. “Me? How was I supposed to know the cake —”

“Zenitsu!” Sumi shrieks. “Please don't spoil the plan!”

“But you just spoiled that there's a plan!” Kiyo points out.

Wait, huh?

Confusion immediately spreads and makes a mess. Previous calm atmosphere ruined, Aoi can do nothing but stand by the door and watch as her friends argue about a plan and a cake and surprises. She's left completely in the dark.

A sigh. “Oh my, oh my,” a familiar voice says. “They've become quite a mess, haven't they?”

Aoi whips her head to the side, where Shinobu smiles at her primly. Surprised, she backs a few steps before bending at the waist to bow at her.

“Sh–Shinobu!” she yelps. “I'm sorry! I'll deal with them right now!”

“There's no need for that,” the Pillar chuckles, walking past her and patting her head. Aoi flushes.

“Hello hello!” Shinobu greets in a louder voice, garnering everyone's attention. All the fighting dies down immediately, and Aoi can't see it from her place, but she's almost sure there's a scary smile placed on Shinobu's lips. Zenitsu gulps.

From the doorway, Kanao peeks in hesitantly, as if fighting a great force just to do so. Aoi smiles at her, and Kanao flushes and squeaks, pulling back outside again in embarrassment. Aoi frowns and pulls her back inside, and though Kanao acts as if it's against her orders and she shouldn't, the smile she gives Aoi is one of gratefulness.

Shinobu's just wrapping her speech up. The two pairs of trios in the room look appropriately condescended, offering an apology to each other before turning to apologize to Aoi.

“Well, then,” Shinobu chimes, satisfied as she claps her hands. “Now that's settled nicely, yes? Aoi, have you had your breakfast, yet?”

Aoi stammers. “Um, I don't need to it. I'll get straight to my patients for today, Shinobu. I'm all right!”

Shinobu almost frowns, before remembering herself and putting on another smile instead. That's even scarier than if she'd just straight up got mad.

“Oh my, that won't do at all,” she sighs, taking hold of Aoi's arm and leading her outside the room. Her touch is gentle even though her words turn sharp. “You of all people must know the importance of a good meal, yes?”

Behind them trails everyone else. Kanao shuffles to Aoi’s side, head down though Aoi spies hints of a smile being kept from blooming on her lips. Zenitsu and Inosuke are arguing again, though this time they’re whispering, rather than yelling, much to Aoi’s relief. She turns back to Shinobu.

“Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” Shinobu replies, laughter tinkling like bells. “As long as you don’t ever neglect yourself again, all right?”

“I won’t.”

Shinobu squeezes her arm as they near the kitchen and dining room. There’s a teasing lilt in her voice, that familiar tone where she’s flaunting knowledge that those around her clearly doesn’t know. “Well, good thing we prepared for this then, no?” she says as they stop in front of the door.

“Happy birthday!” Inosuke exclaims, before whooping in triumph as if he’s won some sort of competition. He turns to his friends. “Ha! I said it first! I beat you all!”

“I . . . um . . . what . . .?” Aoi turns around to stare at him weirdly. Whose birthday was it today? Was she forgetting something?

Zenitsu frowns. “No, you stupid boar-head! It’s not about who says it first!”

“You’re just sore that you lost!”

“I did not –”

Shinobu sighs and smiles fondly at them before opening the door and stepping to the side to let Aoi in first. She blinks stupidly at the scene that greets her in the kitchen. A festive mood is set by the colorful banners and ribbons hanging from the ceiling, a kaleidoscope of light filtering through the open windows, as refracted by the glass butterflies clinking with every breeze. On the table, a cake sits, surrounded by dozens of sweets and other aesthetic-looking meals.

“Happy birthday, Aoi!” Naho, Sumi and Kiyo greets, all of them running over to crush her in another hug. Aoi stumbles back from the force of their group hug and looks up, still confused. It’s her birthday? Since when? It must have completely slipped her mind or something, but then –

Tears fill her eyes at the realization. They remembered. They remembered her birthday. It’s such a small and stupid thing to cry about, but there she is, sobbing as she kneels down to properly engulf the girls into a hug, burying her head in Naho’s shoulder as her shoulder’s shake.

Immediately, everyone panics, flitting around her in worry. She hears snippets of questions: did we do something wrong? Why are you crying? Are you hurt? Do you not like the cake? Is it the decor? Did the stupid boar make you cringe so hard that you just had to cry?

Aoi can’t help but let out a small laugh. She raises her head and catches Shinobu’s eye. The older girl smiles gently at her, knowing, and Aoi smiles back. She sniffs and wipes her tears away, half-laughing, half-sobbing.

“I’m just, really happy,” she admits sheepishly. “I didn’t expect this at all. I – I’m . . . Thank you, everyone. I’m really happy.”

The girls coo, embracing her again. After a while, Tanjiro, Zenitsu and Insouke joins in, turning them into a mess of limbs and laughter in the floor. Kanao shifts nervously behind Shinobu, looking on jealously at the group hug. Aoi frees a hand and beckons to her, and after some persuading from Shinobu, Kanao shyly kneels beside her friend and wraps her arms around her.

Aoi has to fight another barrage of tears. Shinobu watches them all quietly, and for once, her smile is happy. She walks over to the table, and slices the cake, calling out: “Well, then. If you’re all happy just laying there on the floor, I guess I’ll just take all these food for myself. How lovely!”

Inosuke and Zenitsu immediately pulls away from the group hug, already debating on who would get first dibs on the cake.

“But Aoi’s supposed to get first dibs!” Naho protests.

“Yeah! ‘Cuz she’s the birthday girl!”

“Please stop being greedy pigs for a bit,” Kiyo begs rather cutely. The offense that should have been taken is discarded in favor of being speechless over the young girl’s words, and Shinobu giggles at the dumbfounded expressions on Inosuke and Zenitsu’s faces.

Kanao and Tanjiro help her stand up. Aoi sends them a grateful smile, walking over towards the cake. A single candle rests on top of it, decorated with butterflies reminiscent of the butterfly hairpin on Kanao’s hair – Kanae’s motif. Shinobu takes a match to light it up.

Aoi closes her eyes and breathes out a prayer to the gods and to Kanae. Then, she opens her eyes and blows the candles out.

Chapter Text

Above the monochrome streets drenched in rain and glittering puddles, the moon sits primly. It has waned into a silver crescent, barely casting light at all, but whenever it does, sparks of gems and moonlight flicker like stars on earth. It's quiet outside, save for the occasional humming of the crickets or an errant truck driving through the neighborhood, and the air is lovely: not too cold and not too warm — a perfect night to sleep through and get a good rest from.

Unfortunately, the gods say no to that and interrupt your slumber with a harsh ringing right next to your ear. You jump out of bed, startled, your heart attempting to escape from the confines of your ribcage. Adrenaline creeps in at first, driven wild by instincts and wariness of the dark. But your phone keeps ringing, drawing your attention to it as you narrow your eyes at the culprit of your rude awakening.

God. It's, like, 1 AM. Who in their right mind would bother you when you're asleep? Do they want a death sentence or what?

Grumpy, you snatch your phone from your bedside table, clicking it open and flinching away from the harsh light that greets you. You groan and flop back to bed, hiding your face in your pillow as you wait for the ache in your eyes to fade, blindly trying to accept the call.

But the call ends abruptly. You've dawdled too much. It's silent again for a while, and you're starting to think that maybe you can get back to sleep when your phone starts ringing again with vengeance.

You sigh and squint your eyes to reduce the glare and swipe to accept the call.

“Hello?”

The voice that replies is meek. “Y/N?”

You hum tiredly. “Do you know what time it is? This better be important, or you're gonna get it tomorrow at school.”

The sound of shuffling. Muichiro blows a slow breath out. “I can't sleep.”

“And?”

“I called you because I can't fall asleep,” he repeats. More shuffling sounds come from his side, before a sigh rings out as bedsprings creak. You're guessing he sat up in frustration. He's probably pouting now, too, that adorable brat.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Might be a bit too harsh, but getting ripped out of sleep does that to you. He'll forgive you tomorrow. Hopefully.

“I dunno,” he says.

“Then why did you call?”

“I dunno,” he says again.

Gods. Your eyes are closed. You just want to doze off again. Still, you find yourself offering, “Want me to come over, Mui?”

You can't see him, but you know Muichiro well enough to imagine how he must have perked up with that. Eyes brightening, lips pulling into a smile that tries too hard to be restrained, cheeks flushing the tiniest hint of rose. Basically like a kid on Christmas, finding his favorite toy amidst a mountain of gifts.

“Really? You will?” Muichiro sounds a bit too excited. He clears his throat, suddenly shy, and tries again. “I mean, um, you don't have to bother yourself so much for me . . .”

Yeah, you can just tell he's hoping you don't buy into that lie. You yawn and sit up, huffing exasperatedly as you get up. The floor is cool beneath your feet, and that shocks some wakefulness into your system.

“I'll be there in a few,” you mumble and end the call. You're still a bit miffed that he disturbed your sleep, but concern wins out and forces you to hurry your steps to his house. Muichiro lives only a few houses down yours. You don't bother changing from your sleepwear and just march outside.

Muichiro opens the door as soon as you knock the first time 'round. As usual, he's wearing clothes way too bigger than his small frame; they hang like drapes over his shoulders as he bounces up and down and grins up at you.

“Y/N! You're here! I've been waiting for you!” he says, beaming as he tugs you inside and shuts the door. You watch as he locks it before he turns to you and wraps his arms around your shoulder, nuzzling against your neck and sighing. You hug him back in reflex, hands raising to weave between dark strands. Muichiro purrs in contentment, almost feline-like in his affectionate burst.

“Thanks for coming,” he mumbles against your skin. “I really couldn't sleep at all.”

You stifle another yawn. “Want me to tuck you in and sing you to sleep?” you half-joke. Drowsiness makes everything so addled and hazy.

Muichiro pulls away slightly to look up at you with wide eyes. “Will you?”

Seriously? You almost laugh, but the vulnerable look in his eye makes you think twice. So you nod instead, and Muichiro smiles fondly at you, a faint shimmer of adoration coloring the soft edges of his cheeks with blush. He tugs you up the stairs and into his room, keeping on tiptoes so as not to wake his parents or Yuichiro up. When you reach his room, you chuckle as he gives a sigh of relief at not getting caught.

“Why couldn't you sleep?” you ask, whisper-soft as Muichiro pads to his bed. Long sleeves trail past his knees, brushing mint-stained strands with every swish. Muichiro shrugs as he sits down and fiddles absently with his hair.

“Nightmare?”

He shakes his head. You pat his shoulder to tell him to lay down, and he does so obediently. Carefully, you tuck his blankets around him and plant a kiss on his forehead. Muichiro smiles at you.

You perch on the edge of the bed closest to his side, drawing your fingers against his hair soothingly. Muichiro's eyes flutter shut as you hum a lullaby. The repetitive motion almost lulls you to sleep as well, but you manage to catch yourself every time.

Muichiro's breathing is even and steady by the time your song ends. You take a moment to make sure he's really fallen asleep and, smiling fondly at the boy, you lean down and kiss his brow again. Right. Time to leave and sleep too. You have school early tomorrow.

And yet, before you can leave the room, Muichiro speaks up again. “You're leaving already?”

You pause, hand on the doorknob, and turn back. He's sitting up, looking at you with the saddest puppy dog eyes. A frown tugs at the corners of his lips, intensifying as his gaze drifts down to his hands. The blanket bunches around his restless fingers.

“I thought you were asleep,” you say.

“Sorry.” Muichiro ducks his head. “Um, thanks for coming over. Have a good night.”

You think he's shooing you away. Probably. You march up back to his bed and huff. “No can do. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep, Mui. Don't worry about it.”

Big claim. You'll probably fall asleep faster than him at this rate, to be honest. You stifle another yawn snd watch as pale eyes flick over to you. The faint light speckles moondust on his irises.

“Really?”

You hum and gently nudge his shoulder to lay back down. The blanket is warm in your hands from his body heat. “Of course.”

Muichiro's silent for a while, laying on his side to face you. He's clearly thinking of something; you wait patiently for him.

“Y/N,” he calls out tentatively. You hum a question. “Can you — will you cuddle with me?”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Muichiro's looking at you unashamedly, as if asking you to cuddle isn't a huge deal. Maybe not for him. He's been rather affectionate and touchy ever since befriending some new students. But still, you're not as bold nor brazen as him, and the suggestion makes you flush.

“I sleep better when I have something to cuddle with,” he explains. “But Yuichiro took my stuffed toy earlier 'cuz he got mad at me.”

Huh. He sleeps with a stuffed toy. That's rather adorable even though it seems childish to do so at his age. Swallowing through the heavy pounding of your heart, you agree hesitantly, and Muichiro grants you another bright smile to combat the dark night away.

Covers lifted, expectant eyes on you: you slide inside and Muichiro lets the blanket fall down between you both. You're stiff, frozen still by nervousness as he shifts closer to you and wraps his arms around your waist. His head comes to rest on your chest, and Muichiro coos in wonder, nuzzling against you comfortably.

“You're really soft and warm,” he mumbles. His leg comes around your thigh to trap you against him. “So much comfier than my pillows and stuffed toy.”

You're certain he can hear your heart rattle helplessly in your chest, rhythm torn asunder by how adorable he's acting and by the gentle heat that emanates from his skin. Hesitantly, you wrap your hand around his shoulder, while your free hand goes to brush his hair away from his face. You're gifted by another satisfied purr as Muichiro cuddles you even tighter.

Well. You probably won't be sleeping anytime soon. At least Muichiro falls easily asleep now.

Chapter Text

Warm water laps at your chest, bubbling and bouncing back into waves with your every movement. Steam rises and hazes your surroundings into a lucid dream as Muichiro turns to meet your eyes. He’s sunk down to his lips, blowing out air bubbles every now and then childishly and watching them float away.

You chuckle, stretching your limbs as the water lazily washes against the tides. “Having fun, Mui?”

He nods slowly. That’s good. He’s the one who’d initially expressed interest to hike up the mountain and soak in the hot springs in the area, after all, though he did forget in the middle of the trek. Muichiro cups his hand and leisurely splashes water around. Some droplets make it to you, and you raise your hand to shield yourself from it.

Muichiro stares at you. His eyes are blank, quietly seeking yours out. He’s very nonchalant, so that’s why it comes as a surprise when he turns to you, raises his cupped hands, and slaps the water towards you.

You shriek and fall back, flinching against the wave of water coming your way. You fail to defend yourself, however, and end up soaked in water. You wipe at your face and gawk at Muichiro, betrayed. He blinks at you, a small smile on his lips, and prepares for another attack.

Not on your watch, he won’t.

You forego his little trick in favour of just crudely splashing water at him, everywhere. You hear a little yelp as you bombard the boy with water, padding backward in preparation for his counterattack. When it doesn’t come, you pause your attack to look at him.

He’s not even there. A tap on your shoulder comes, and you turn around reflexively, only to be greeted with a faceful of warm water. Muichiro grins slyly as you splutter and protest, engulfing you into a bear hug while you try to recover from his surprise attack.

“That was cheating!” you complain, wiping at your face once again. You’re all wet now.

But Muichiro’s positively drenched. Still, he chuckles briefly and rests his chin against your abdomen to look up at you. His hair sticks to the sides of his cheeks and trails into the water behind him, a waterfall of mint green and obsidian like a nymph’s veil.

“You lost,” he mumbles, reaching up to catch a stray droplet falling from your chin.

“You cheated,” you say back. The two of you drift back to the shores, and you sigh in relief once you feel the edges of the pool hit your back. Muichiro pouts at you before submerging the lower part of his face back to the water.

“You cheated,” you say again, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t give me that look. I won.”

Muichiro keeps his puppy-face on, staring up at you with wide eyes hidden partially by thick lashes. He blows bubbles at you, and the feeling of them bursting against your stomach is tickling.

“You cheated.”

Muichiro starts nuzzling against you cutely, smushing his cheek against every bit of skin he can reach. It’s cute until he starts tickling you in earnest, and you squeal and laugh and try desperately to get away from his iron grip. He doesn’t stop until you give in.

“Fine!” you exclaim between bursts of laughter. Your hands rest against his shoulders, half-heartedly trying to pull him away from you. Not that it stops Muichiro. You’re trapped between the edge of the pool and his affection. “Fine! Mui, stop it! I give up! You win, just – stop that! Mui!”

Muichiro grins triumphantly. You’re out of breath when he finally disentangles from you and wades over to sit by your side. Nature picks up and creates a harmony to make up for the silence that settles between you two as you try to get your breathing back evenly. The ghost of Muichiro’s hands still haunt your skin, overheated by the spring and the warmth of his skin pressed against yours.

He nestles against your side contentedly. Gaze drawn upward; the sky is a seductress he always falls for. You satisfy yourself with watching him quietly. The light plays against his skin wonderfully, a mesh of light and dark against pale skin trailing up to cast a radiant light to the pale of his eyes.

Muichiro raises his hand. Through the foliage hiding the springs from sight, the sunlight shines on his wrinkled fingers. He looks at it as if amazed, twisting and turning his hand around to see it from every angle. You cover his hand with yours, and he looks up, as if only remembering your presence there.

“My fingers are pruning up,” he says. He sounds incredibly proud of himself for remembering that word.

“Mine too,” you say, splaying both your hands side-by-side. You laugh, tangling your pinkies together. “See? We match!”

Muichiro stares at your hands for a while, a brief sort of wonder crossing his eyes. The smile on his lips is gentle and small – you would have completely missed it had you not been watching him closely, entranced by the subtle shift of mint to aqua hues of his irises.

“We match,” he repeats. “That means we belong with each other, right?”

The words send an electric shock through your veins, heart jumping before pounding against your chest loudly. You breathe out a laugh, surprised at the blunt edge Muichiro manages to put on words so lovely as his.

“Y/N?” he prompts when you don’t answer. Those pretty, pretty eyes shift to meet yours.

You smile at him, helplessly entranced like a fool in love. Maybe you are a fool in love. “Yeah,” you say. “I guess.”

He frowns, a look of genuine distress on his face. “You guess?” he asks, biting his lip.

“I’m sure,” you hurry to remedy your mistake. You intertwine your fingers together, squeezing his hand comfortingly. He looks really upset. “There’s no one else that can match me like you do, Mui.”

Muichiro peers up at you from underneath his bangs, eyes wide and bright. “Really?”

He’s significantly perked up at that. You laugh, relieved and plant a kiss on his forehead. “Really,” you confirm. “I could look all around the world and I won’t be able to find anyone half as amazing as you.”

Muichiro takes the compliment eagerly, relishing in your pampering and flattering like a child would. He hides his head in the crook of your neck and brushes his lips against your collarbone into a gentle kiss. The imprint of his smile burns against your skin, mingling with the heat from the steam rising and the warmth of Muichiro pressing against your side.

“You’re the only one I’ll match with too,” he coos against your neck.

You smile, resting your head against his. The pale sun flickers in between the leaves, scattering prisms across the lake, in between errant shadows that never stay still. A picturesque scene of serenity. You sigh happily. “That makes me really glad, Mui.”

Chapter Text

There’s an empty space in the place where Giyuu hung his haori last night.

He stands there, dumbfounded for a while, before his mind snaps back and he straightens. His haori. Gone. Memories flood his sight, ghosts and terror – losing his haori, of all things. It feels like a betrayal. Like he’s deliberately turning his back on the people who mattered so much to him. It’s not – it’s not like that at all, but Giyuu’s chest clenches in panic either way.

He doesn’t let himself get the time to take a breath. He almost upturns the whole house in his desperation to get back underneath the safe confines of his dreaded misery and self-hatred. It’s a symbol of his sadness, the fuel which forces him to open his eyes every morning, if only to suffer once again, as he should for always letting those that matter slip past his fingers.

He throws open your shared room’s door with uncharacteristic harshness. His heart’s pounding. His haori, his haori, his haori. He’s already on his knees and begging for Sabito and Tsutako’s forgiveness in his mind, on the verge of tears and hysteria.

“Y/N, have you seen my —”

His voice cuts off. His heart jumps in his throat.

“Oh.”

He’s stunned, rendered speechless when you turn around to face him. Wide-eyed and flushed bright, as if you’ve been caught red-handed. You cross your arms across your chest, drawing his haori closer to you as you stammer for excuses. His first instinct is to tear the cloth away from you, drag you away from the darkness and wretchedness that that haori brings with it – you’re too precious and pure to be tainted by his sorrow and failures. You shouldn’t be bearing that on your shoulders. That’s Giyuu’s punishment, holy and just retribution to reprimand his weakness.

But then the sleeve falls off your shoulder, and Giyuu’s struck by how small you seem, wrapped in his haori. It’s too big for you; you can barely even reach the ends of the sleeves and the edge fall around the middle of your thighs like a dress. You look so . . . vulnerable. Like someone he should – could protect, and your eyes are so soulful when you look up to gaze at him.

You’re still speaking. Giyuu doesn’t hear.

It takes him a while to stop the trembling of his hands enough to let go of the door. Calm, like the ocean, he tells himself, but it’s too hard to be calm when you’re standing there in the middle of the room, shrouded in his colors and grief and affection. Like this, Giyuu almost thinks you’re his – his to love, his to cherish, his to keep safe until his last breath. Giyuu’s haori is a burden on his shoulders, a heavy reminder, but on you, it’s a symbol of security and home.

The heaviness in his heart disappears.

He doesn’t remember walking, doesn’t remember moving and taking you into his arms. Either way, the next thing he knows, your arms wrap around his waist, gripping his uniform tightly as he holds you close. His heart pounds in his chest.

“Sorry,” you squeak. “I just, um, wanted to try it out? I’m sorry I didn’t even ask for permission!”

Giyuu buries his face in your hair and takes in the scent of spring and fresh blooms. He could cry, right now. It feels safe enough to cry, to let loose, to be vulnerable. There’s no other place in the world that can make him feel as safe as he does now.

“Keep it,” he manages to say, through the emotions clogging his throat. You fall silent, waiting, and Giyuu just holds you tighter. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

You pull back. “But Giyuu –”

He rests a finger against your lips. “Please?”

Please, because the burden he’s been carrying is so heavy and he’s been bearing it for so long, and he’s tired, always, except for the times when he’s with you and he feels lighter than air; free. You raise your hand to hold his, and Giyuu has never appreciated how well your hands fit together than right now, at this moment here.

He doesn’t need words. Not anymore. Not when you look at him so gently and kindly and so softly. You smile and squeeze his hands, and Giyuu knows he’s understood here.

“Mm,” you hum. You press the lightest flutter of a kiss against his knuckles and rest your cheek against it. So tender, this moment. Giyuu would go through hell and back just to preserve this moment forever. “If you say so. But you'll be without a haori today . . .”

Giyuu shakes his head, but that doesn't stop you from worrying. You gnaw at your lip before an idea hits you, and you giggle. It's the sweetest soung he'll ever hear.

“Let’s switch haoris for today, Giyuu.” You wink. “I’ll get you the pink and flowery haori to wear to your meeting today.”

Giyuu blinks and shrugs.

You burst out laughing. There’s a mischievous spark in your eye that Giyuu can’t understand, but he figures it’s all meaningless anyway when you pull him back into another hug. You rest your ear against his chest and sigh, still chuckling. Giyuu hugs you back eagerly.

“Hey, Giyuu,” you say after you’ve calmed down. “Thanks.”

He hums a question, idly combing through your hair. He feels you melt against his touch, and it makes his heart flutter to see how much trust you put in him.

“For trusting me with this,” you say. “I know it means a lot to you. And I’m sorry again for just taking it without telling you earlier.”

This time, it’s Giyuu who pulls back to look you in the eye. “It’s fine,” he says. Thank you, too. His hand drifts down to the collar of his haori, calloused fingers tracing the worn down patterned cloth. He leans in to kiss your temple, and he can’t suppress a smile when you pay him back with a kiss on his cheek.

Chapter Text

The coin catches the light, throwing off sparkled diamond speckles as it jumps through the air and falls into Kanao's open palm. She slaps it against her wrist, and hesitates.

Her hand trembles.

The Estate is quiet; all noises seem like a distant memory from where Kanao stands, hidden in the garden as she torments herself with the image of you and Aoi, having fun. Having fun. Fun. She stares at her hands for a long while.

Heads, and she goes over, and, and, something. She doesn't know. But heads, and Kanao will listen to the erratic beating of her heart and go to you, all frenzy and glassy eyes and hurt on the tip of her tongue.

She lifts her hand.

Tails.

Kanao bites her lip. Heads or tails, she asked, and fate has decided. In the back of her mind, a stray thought knocks, questioning, questioning. That can't be right. She doesn't want it to be right. A burst of laughter comes, drawing her attention from the coin to you.

You look really happy. Kanao tries to tell herself she's happy for you. She is. She is. She should be.

Kanao walks away. She manages to avoid you all day.

Not that it's hard. You aren't even looking for her. You're too busy having fun with Aoi, and Kanao swears it's fine, she's fine, and she's so happy that you two are getting along so well. But her smile is drained, and no amount of pepping herself up can restore the cheer she feels only with you.

She looks down at her coin. It stares back as if gloating. Kanao shoves it inside her drawer and winces at her harsh treatment of Kanae's gift to her. She should leave it. She wants to. It feels too mocking and a sign of her failure and a sign of her weakness and Kanao doesn't want to be reminded of that right now —

No. She can't do it. She goes back and takes the coin, even though it burns through her pockets and digs against her very soul. It's comforting, at the very least, even if it hurts.

As if the gods are mocking her, Kanao bumps into you as soon as she leaves her room. She yelps and stumbles back, almost in a hurry to get back to her safe haven, where her skin doesn't burn where it touches yours. You hold her hand, stabilizing her, though it only serves to throw Kanao's balance out the window.

“Kanao! Sorry, I didn't see you there!”

Of course, you didn't. The thought is unbidden, incredibly bitter. You were probably lost in your own thoughts, thinking about Aoi.

She tells herself she's happy for you. Again.

She nods. There's nothing left to say, though Kanao feels the urge to speak.

You take the reigns. A hand rests bashfully against your neck, an adorable display of hesitance that leaves Kanao's throat dry. “Um, while you're here . . . I was wondering if you were free today?”

Don't. Don't give her hope like that, please. Unconsciously, her hand goes to her coin; she takes it out and flips before she can think about it. Force of habit. Kanao winces.

She thought she was getting better at this, too.

Your eyes are on her. Kanao misses her coin, and it clatters to the ground, breaking the tentative silence. You lean down to pick it up, and all Kanao can think about is how you and Aoi must always be having so much fun.

That makes sense too. Kanao's not very fun to be around.

Her coin is in your hands. She looks at you, waiting for you to give it back. Her skin itches. The coin twists and turns in your hands, glinting in the fair light.

“Um, m–my coin,” she breathes out. Her heart shivers and her skin feels terribly clammy. “Please.”

“Hm?” you ask. “Oh, this? Right, sorry.”

Kanao doesn't even wait for you to properly hand it over. She snatches her coin from your hand and flicks it upward. It falls too slowly, and Kanao's trembling by the time it clatters on her palm. She has no question on her lips, but the cool of the coin on her skin is a comfort, nonetheless.

She opens her palm.

Heads.

There it is, a reflection of the past. The question she'd asked yesterday flashes back, rings in her ears like chimes, and Kanao bites her lip, staring wide-eyed at the coin as if it will reveal itself as a fake and bring her the answer she now wants.

But, she wanted this yesterday, yes?

Say it. Say it. Say it. Say yes.

She pinches her eyes shut and shakes her head. You would have more fun with Aoi today, won't you?

“Kanao?” A cool hand grazes her cheek, and Kanao jerks, startled. She doesn't know whether she wants to lean into your touch or shy away from it. “Hey, is everything all right?”

She opens her mouth. Her lips are dry. She gulps and tries again.

Her heart is pounding. “Um. Y–You and Aoi, y–yesterday. You were having fun.”

A statement, an accusation. Kanao wants to look away from your eyes, but she can't bear to do so. Too many contradictions — too much, too much. Her coin can't solve the swirling feelings in her heart.

You smile, confused. Why does that hurt? “Yeah. I was helping Aoi out with her chores. She's a fun person to be with.”

“Do you,” her voice is meek, “Do you like her?”

You hum thoughtfully. Your hand is still on her cheek. Why is it still on her cheek? Do you have any idea how you make her feel? Kanao's so confused. She wants to throw herself into your arms and never let go: she wants to kiss you and hug you and spend time with you. She wants to push you away and slap you and cry because of you. Your hand is so comforting — isn't that supposed to be for Aoi?

“She's a great friend,” you say finally. “But there's someone else I like.”

Her heart sinks. That's even more awful. It's Shinobu, isn't it? Kanao understands. Shinobu's sweet and kind and pretty and graceful and smart. Of course, you'd fall for her. Who wouldn't?

She tries to tell herself she's happy for you.

She is. She is.

She should be.

She licks her lips. “Ah, is it Shinobu-san? I–I'm sure she'd like you too.”

“Wha—?” You shake your head. “Shinobu-san? Where did that come from?”

Her gaze falls to the floor and she shrugs. She pulls at her sleeves. She should go. Probably. Definitely. Kanao can't bring herself to go.

“If there's anyone I like,” you blurt out. “It's you, Kanao.”

“Oh.” Kanao's happy for you —

Her eyes widen. You stare away with an embarrassed flush darkening your ears red. Kanao holds her breath, and she doesn't know why she's waiting for the inevitable 'ha, jokes on you' because this is a joke, right?

But then you look at her, and all doubt falls away. “M-Me? Are you sure?”

You take her hands from where they press against her pounding heart. Her palms are clammy and trembling, and they feel so small compared to your hands.

“Y-Yeah,” you say. “And, uh, Aoi told me to try to ask you out today, so that was why I was asking . . . I mean, it's fine, of course, if you're busy, or don't like me that way —”

Kanao forgoes the decision of the coin in favor of wrapping her arms around your neck. She hides her face in your shoulder. Her skin feels so hot and cold at the same time, and she shivers when you return her hug.

“Is that a yes?” you ask hesitantly.

Kanao nods, still hiding. She's sure you can see how brightly she's blushing now, though.

Chapter Text

Muichirou hopes terribly that this is a dream, and he's only hallucinating your hunched figure bent over the training dummies in the backyard of his Estate. The sun barely risen, a wooden sword in your hands, the Corps' uniform on your back; he hopes for your sake he's dreaming.

You breathe in, and strike.

Muichirou's by your side in an instant, holding out his hand to catch your blade and steady you before you can hurt yourself. Your movements are familiar, engraved deep into your bones through exhaustive training, but your limbs are sluggish and tired, rendering everything ineffective, and at worst, harmful to yourself.

“Are you training? Is this even training?” he asks. Wide eyes snap to meet his, and Muichirou frowns at the exhausted sheen of your skin. “Your forms are all wrong and you're obviously tired. Go back inside and rest.”

“Mui . . .” you say. Breathless, your hand rests against your chest and you wince as you breathe in deeply. “Good morning. And I'm sorry. I'll do better.”

“No, you're not,” he says. You tug on your sword, but Muichirou grips the wooden blade tighter. “Go back inside and rest.”

“I'm fine, though.”

“You're not.”

“I am.”

“You're going to just get yourself killed by exhaustion at this rate,” he points out. “You need to go and rest.”

“But I'm really fine,” you insist, and Muichirou wonders how much of a fool you believe him to be if you think he'll fall for your blatant lies. “Please. I need to get stronger. I can't skip training today.”

Brows furrowed, the inklings of annoyance stirred up, Muichirou huffs. Normally, he'd admire your drive, but today, it merely serves to drive him insane. “You're being stubborn. Stop it.”

“If you can do it, then why can't I?” you rebut, lips pursing. “Let go, Mui.”

“You can't even pull your sword from me.” Accentuating his point, Muichirou leaves only two fingers to hold the blade. Shaky arms still can't even summon the strength needed to wrench it from his grasp. You're panting. Frustrated and defeated, you let out a cry as tears prick at your eyes.

“Just let me train more,” you insist. “I'm all right. I can still train.”

“No.” This is just stupid. Just last night, you were burning with sickness. Now, you insist you're well? Just go back and rest already.

“Muichirou. Please.” You're getting frustrated as well. Your tears overflow, and they threaten to spill past your eyes. “Just let me do this, please.”

He does not let go of your sword. Pale eyes meet yours, and a standstill hangs in the air as you try to persuade him with your eyes. It does not work, of course, because Muichirou knows better than be swayed by you when you're shivering like a lost leaf in the breeze, and when your face is red with only the slightest exertion. It's just plain stupidity to let you train, and Muichirou is not stupid.

“You're even weaker than you normally are today,” he tries to explain. “It's useless to train.”

Heartbreak looks exquisite and painful on you when your eyes widen and your tears finally fall. You look away first, but Muichirou doesn't know whether to feel triumphant or sad.

You're silent for a long while. He dares not disturb the silence.

“I just wanna be strong like you, too,” you finally say. “Why can't I do even that? I just want to be able to protect you, too.”

Muichirou softens, washed down by guilt at the sight of your tears. He takes your training sword from your trembling hands and steps near to cup your flushed cheeks in his hands. So warm — too warm. He stares at you, mesmerized for a while by the splashes of rainbows trapped within your tears before he wiped it all off with his thumbs.

“I know,” he says, chest heavy. “I know.”

Fragile glass: you crack and break down in front of him, hands weakly clenching into fists while you avert your gaze from him to the ground. Muichirou watches quietly, and his heart flutters like a broken songbird at the sigh of you so . . . sad and tired. He feels so helpless. He just wants to kiss your tears away and hold you and protect you — anything, as long as he'll be assured of your smile again in the end.

Muichirou tugs you into his arms, tucking your head into the crook of his neck comfortingly. You feel so small, somehow, here in his arms like this. You shiver and cry and your hands grip the back of his clothes like he's your lifeline and you're drowning, and Muichirou hates that he can do nothing. Nothing but hold you tighter and wish he could do more for you.

“I'm sorry. You've been working so hard,” he finally says. His hand goes up to brush your hair from your face, hoping that the repetitive action will calm you down as it calms him. He sways from side to side, a mockery of a dance, to an unheard song that weaves in with the breezes and the beating of your hearts intertwined. “But that's enough for today, all right? Let me take care of you, please.”

Please, because that's all he can do.

You cry harder, shoulders shaking from the force of your sobs, but you still manage a weak 'okay,' muffled by his clothes and your stuttering breaths. You pull back and hide from his searching gaze to wipe at your cheeks harshly. Muichirou touches your wrist to stop you and kisses your tears away instead, with all the gentleness of a fluttering butterfly's wings. He is calm, he is soft, he is tender: everything that you need and deserve from him right now.

Chapter Text

Muichirou has a hazy recollection of a dream — no, really, more of a habit than a dream. An instinct? He stops whatever he's doing at random throughout the day and turns to his side, almost as if expecting something: a head pat, a hug, a presence by his side.

There's nothing there, however.

He thinks he has a clue on what brought on this feeling. It's you. Must be. Has to be. His gut tells him it's you. You're familiar in the way his own name is to him: he rarely says it, and yet, if someone else said it, Muichirou knows for certain that that name is his. And with you . . . you are not by his side, but every time he sees you, he is sure that you should be by his side.

But you always run away before he can even talk to you.

Today, he manages to catch you before you can leave, blocking your escape and forcing you to confront him. He doesn't know why he should, or what for, only that he should, because something feels wrong — something is missing, and it relates to you.

“You . . .” he starts, wracking his mind to remember your name. He's sure he knows you. “You're . . .”

“L/N Y/N,” you offer helpfully. Your wrap your arms across your waist and shift uncomfortably, and Muichirou only nods absently as his eyes are drawn to the way you're hugging yourself. He remembers warmth around him: a pleasant surprise that feels like a bright summer day spent nestled at home.

“Right,” he says. “Are you avoiding me?”

You jump, wincing, and Muichirou hones in on your reaction more than the little nod of your head as an answer. You look away, shoulders hunching, and Muichirou tilts his head to the side.

“Why?” he asks, relieved that his instincts were right this time, and this sense of wrongness stems from you and your absence from his side. He cannot truly remember you being by his side; his memories are at best hazy and dreamy, and yet, he remembers a soothing aura that can only come from you.

“Ah. I, um, I thought you were mad at me for being too annoying. I'm sorry,” you say, flushing pink as your gaze lands on everything — everything but him. He tries to seek out your eyes, but you refuse, and Muichirou feels an inkling of annoyance at that, though he doesn't understand why.

He frowns. “I'm . . . mad?”

Your eyes snap up to meet his. Finally. Muichirou feels smug, for some reason: his chest warms pleasantly. “W–Wait, you really are?”

“I am?” he repeats, confused. But what's there to be mad about? Introspection fuels the uncertainty creeping up his skin, and so he shuts down that line of thinking before he gets lost once again.

He blinks, and you're bowed down low in front of him. “I'm so sorry for troubling you, Tokitou-sama! I really wasn't thinking of how I was disturbing you! I apologize from the bottom of my heart!” you yelp, and there is something extremely wrong with your words, but Muichirou still, frustratingly enough, can't figure out what it is that's been bothering him.

“But . . . what did you do?” he asks. He has half a mind to leave you be and go off; he's wasting his time, after all, dilly-dallying here when he could be training. And yet, his feet are rooted to the ground, and as if plucked like harps, his heart protests at the thought of leaving you.

You peer up at him hesitantly. Muichirou decides he really likes it when you're looking at him and only him. “Um, hug . . . you?”

Your face is flushed unhealthily red. Muichirou steps forward and rests his hand against his knee to be at eye-level with you. A muffled sound of surprise escapes your pursed lips as your eyes widen.

“Hug me?” he asks, placing a hand against your forehead. He frowns. “You're really hot.”

“I'm fine,” you squeak. “I'm fine!”

Muichirou stares at you thoughtfully for a while, hand still resting on your forehead. Your eyes are pinched close and your breath stutters when he lets his hand fall down your cheek and to the side of your neck, and Muichirou doesn't think he's ever been captivated by anything as much as he is with you right now. He hopes he won't forget today, though that is merely a child's dream.

A memory resurfaces hazily: soft cotton on his back, chilly air on hot skin, frailty. Someone kisses his brow before replacing it with a wet cloth, and Muichirou remembers the feeling of relief and comfort.

Huh.

On a whim, he leans forward and kisses your brow. Your eyes flutter open, shocked, as you stare at Muichirou with wide eyes. A shaky hand goes up to hold the place he kissed, as if to trap the imprint of the memory against your skin longer.

“T–Tokitou-sama?” you ask. Muichirou thinks your face has reddened even more, but is that even possible? Has your fever gotten worse?

Oh. Right. “Don't call me that,” he says. “I don't like it.”

“Huh?” you ask, dazed and blinking rapidly. “Oh. Um. Ah — M-Muichirou-kun?”

That doesn't sound right, either, but Muichirou decides to let it pass.

“You should go to Kochou,” he says, standing back upright. He holds a hand to help you up, and hesitantly, you take it. Your hand is warm, and Muichirou would be comforted by that if that didn't mean that you had a fever. He nods at you as you scamper off, watching your back retreat from him quietly.

Ah. He's forgetting something. He calls out your name, and his heart jumps again when you turn to look at him.

“You're always welcome to hug me,” he says. “I don't think I'm mad.”

He takes great pleasure in watching you fumble helplessly as your mouth opens to try and grab words from thin air. Your hands go up to clasp your cheeks, then hide your face, before finally resting over your lips. Muichirou thinks he really should be worried for your health right now instead of admiring how cute you look, but then you breathe out and march back towards him. He cocks his head to the side in confusion.

Your arms come up to tug him to your chest. Muichirou's eyes widen as his head rests against the place where your heart is pounding against your skin. You're very comfortably warm, and he raises his hand to return the hug, but you're gone before he can.

“Please forgive me for that, Mui-chan!” you yell back, running off to the distance. Mui-chan. Sounds better than Tokitou-sama, he thinks, as he raises his hand to where his heart seems to want to beat out of his chest.

Muichirou thinks he might be having a fever too.

Chapter Text

Where peace lingers in the few seconds between wakefulness and sleep, nightmares and terror linger in Mitsuri's. Beneath her lids lay pastel-tinted monsters, enveloped by a warm summer breeze that never fails to bring with it a faint scent of nostalgic loneliness. She shifts in bed, eyes closed, skin searching for a press of warmth to cuddle with against the cold air. She finds nothing, and when her eyes open, she finds no one there.

Of course, there is no one there. She closes her eyes again.

She is alone and she is lonely; the singing morning light creeps in through her room and tells her good morning, and she falls back into dreams. There, even if the company is unpleasant, at least she is not alone.

(how do you love her?)

Mitsuri is in love with Shinobu the way Shinobu is in love with the memory of her sister. With an almost holy reverence, struck by lightning and rainbows and radiance every time she crosses her mind. Mitsuri treasures every glimpse she gets of Shinobu: that frown of concentration, those shrewd eyes, the way her hair tangles down her shoulders every morning, a cup of tea in hand, when she's too lazy to face the day just yet.

Shinobu is in love with Mitsuri the way Shinobu is in love with herself, she thinks. Loves her like she loves the moon pulling ocean tides to itself: from a distance, like admiration; nostalgic, for a time that could have been. If only is the most painful combination of words to ever be spoken, because if only never happens — too good to be true, mumbled between sleepy sighs even when sleep eludes and the night is warm.

(why do you love her?)

Now that Mitsuri thinks about it, Shinobu was always smiling.

It was always so painful to behold. She remembers seeing thorns around her visage like the hazy crown of the persecuted, taunted, haunted, vengeful. Mitsuri blinks, and the image is gone and only Shinobu remains with that lovely smile on her face and her eyes crinkled at the corners. Her lips are sugar-glazed with vinegar and bitter wine, so heartless in her words, sometimes, and yet too beautiful to be real, all the while.

It's like, there's a deceptive edge in her smiles, as if she isn't really trying to smile — she just wants to fool others into thinking that she's smiling.

Sadness comes in many different forms, she thinks. Sometimes, it comes in the form of a smile.

“Mitsuri, are you all right?” and her voice lilts into something graceful, something ethereal. Concern looks flawless, sprinkled on her words to hang in the open air between them.

“I'm fine! Good!” Mitsuri replies, and smiles, as if she does not want to rip out her heart and crack it open and read it like a book; let the honey of her own blood wash away Shinobu's sins into a springtime wonderland. Maybe, then, Shinobu would have felt lighter than air, and Mitsuri thinks she wouldn't really mind dying if it meant she lived in her place instead.

She wonders if Shinobu ever truly smiled after all.

(can you still love her?)

She doesn't learn of her death until the middle of the night, woken from a restless nightmare that croons as it grips her chin with poison-laced fingernails and laughs, laughs, laughs: your loved ones are gone, they are mine now, never yours, never to be found again, mine mine mine mine —

Sweat clings to her skin. No one else is awake. Mitsuri stands on trembling knees, dizziness spiraling. When she could not sleep, she used to lie outside and watch the stars fade to morning mist. Shinobu would find her and click her tongue in disapproval but stays with her anyway.

No one comes for her this time.

A purple butterfly flutters in her sight. Delirious with unfounded hope and ripe bitterness on her tongue, Mitsuri raises a finger for it to perch on, but the butterfly merely flies off in fright.

Her heaving exhale is almost, almost a laugh, but it crashes and burns and careens into a wail instead. Aoi finds her, a reprimand on her lips, but stays and sits by her side anyway.

“She's gone,” she says.

“I know,” she mumbles back. The night lightens. “I'm sorry.” Sorry that life is unfair, sorry that she failed to protect her, sorry that she's useless, powerless, helpless still. It hurts, this love — it has always hurt. Sometimes, Mitsuri thinks she'd like to stop loving Shinobu, even for a day, and just breathe, but even thinking about that hurts, too, so she doesn't.

(until when will you love her?)

Mitsuri keeps the handkerchief Shinobu gave her. A remembrance of sorts. Once upon a time, it smelled of wisteria blooms and spring, bathed in gentle sunlight and lilting laughter. Now, it rests in her room, a haunting memory. A memento of grief dyed in love.

Shinobu, she finds herself wondering. Have I hugged you enough? Have I kissed you and held your hand and laughed with you and talked with you enough? Have I made you feel loved enough?

Those questions will never be answered now, she supposes. But she will love Shinobu until those unspoken promises are fulfilled, until the day when her broken heart does not hang around her neck like a noose. She will spend her days waiting for her and her eternity craving for her warmth until fate decides it is kind enough to let them meet again.

(do you still love her?)

The answer is an irrevocable, unapologetic yes, even if it goes unsaid, even if the question of reciprocation will forever remain unanswered, even if Mitsuri spends the rest of her life waking up to cold sheets and a lonely heart. Yes, yes, yes, because her heart does not know anything else but loving Shinobu.

Mitsuri tangles a wreath of white roses and lavenders in her hands and gently rests it above her grave. She smiles. The pain tries to take it away, but she holds steadily on to Shinobu's warmth and memory, and breathes out.

So, after all this: will you still love her, and Mitsuri doesn't have any words to speak, but she thinks the ache in her heart is answer enough. Trembling fists clench above her chest; her head dips to hide crystal tears because Shinobu never liked crying. The whispering wind calms, the world goes silent, and lets her cry the last of her tears.

Chapter Text

The night sky outside paints the ceiling of Tanjirou's room a dark indigo. Lilac swatches and pale moonlight swirls within those inky depths, blurring and mixing, tracing the stardust that litters the sky. Almost like constellations, except messier and less refined, so lazy and lethargic to reach out in concinnity to one another.

He sighs, shifts. Nezuko sleeps soundly beside him, and for a while, Tanjirou envies his sister's ability to fall asleep so easily, and in such long tangents too. It feels like an eternity when he closes his eyes, and yet the moon does not even shift from its position in the sky when he awakens, and the familiar weariness in his bones don't go away either.

There is a word for this, he thinks idly. This restlessness, this tiredness, the itch in his limbs to pace and prowl and never stop moving, despite his body's own demands to give in to sleep.

Ah. Maybe moving around will help tire him out.

Gently, he untangles Nezuko's arms around his waist and sits up. A frown mars her brow, and Tanjirou smooths it over with a finger before smiling fondly and leaning down to kiss her cheek. She turns her back to him, grumbling beneath her muzzle. He chuckles and stands up. His muscles protest: familiar aches, familiar pains.

The floor is cold. He opens the door to his room and leaves with but a backward glance towards Nezuko. He has no direction, no destination, and yet, inevitably, he likes to think, he ends up in front of your door. To a subconscious desire, a craving to see you and bathe in your presence, he follows blindly.

A sliver of light catches and spreads through the floor and up your sleeping form as Tanjirou opens the door. Your back turned to him, breaths deep as you fall into wonder and dreams; he hesitates, noting the soundness of your rest, unwilling to disturb you for selfish reasons. A familiar scent like home invades his senses, immediately taking the weight off his shoulders, and Tanjirou tells himself that should be enough for tonight.

And yet, he finds himself frozen in place. If he says his feet moved on their own, towards your side, would that just be him shifting the blame from him to fate, perhaps? Tanjirou kneels beside you, hand ghosting atop your cheek to brush your hair away. Moonlight filters through the open windows, hazy and ethereal, and its effect is the illusion of a sleeping angel curled on the bed.

You hum. “Tanji?”

His heart jumps from his chest, hand withdrawing, face burning with embarrassment. Your lashes flutter, as if unwilling yet to part from your slumber, and open to meet his eyes. You yawn. It's contagious.

“S–Sorry!” he squeaks. “I didn't mean to wake you up.”

“What're you doing here?” you mumble. You turn to fully face him, and Tanjirou can't help but to lean in closer, if only to see you clearly.

Should he? It feels like burdening you needlessly to speak, and yet, something about your gaze makes it feel like he can be vulnerable, and it wouldn't be a problem for you.

Still, he averts his eyes. “I . . . I couldn't sleep.”

“Oh.” Tempted to peek from the corner of his eyes to see your expression, Tanjirou's gratified to find the pinch of concern in your frown, though he never wants to be the cause of anything but smiles and laughter. Your arms open, beckoning him in. “Come here.”

He should be ashamed of how eager he is to be in your embrace. Warm arms wrap around his shoulders, a hand tucking him in beneath your chin, and he's overwhelmed by the scent of home and security, like a blanket of nostalgia and sweet reminiscence of family. A hand brushes through his scalp, and he thinks the press of warmth atop his head is a kiss. Tanjirou shifts closer to you, and yawning, you tug him in.

“Was it a nightmare?”

He shakes his head. “I just couldn't sleep.”

You make a noise, as if empathy, pathos, and Tanjirou hurts to think that you've experienced this kind of agitated fatigue. You start to hum a song, and Tanjirou holds his breath as notes and lyrics float through the calm night sky. You sing a song of loneliness and haunting evenings bathed in dusky colors and empty sunsets, and though the lullaby is broken by yawns, it's the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

“Close your eyes, Tanji,” you murmur. A kiss is pressed against his brow before you pull him back against your chest once again. Your song continues again, a siren's lament, and Tanjirou falls asleep to the sound of your heartbeat, beating in time to the tune of your song. Harmony. The night stills and turns tranquil here in your arms, a soothing envelope to take his worries and turn them into sweeping tides of warmth and contentment.

Chapter Text

Zenitsu wakes with a start, to wide eyes searching frantically around the room for threats, to a fading touch of warmth in his chest, opening a gaping hole for nightmares to come over and rip his heart to shreds. The world spins in its axis, and Zenitsu raises a shaky hand to where his heart beats erratically — seeking for proof he is still alive, coming up with nothing but battered bones and bruised skin and dead leaves gathered like dust underneath his chest.

He wants to cry. His chest hurts. The night sky does not care and continues to twinkle its gems brazenly, as if bragging about its carefree nature to anyone who looks. It's cold. How cold. How absolutely, terribly cold. Somehow, a spectral breeze wafts in, and not even his haori and blankets can stave it off. He wants his gramps to come over and scold him for not sleeping yet. He wants Kaigaku to shout at him for being annoying from his room. He wants noise: heartbeats, footsteps, leaves crunching — anything but this long-suffering silence that keeps crawling on and on and on and on.

He wants to not feel so lonely. It's terrifying. The stillness laughs and mocks him, almost as if he's the only one left alive, left alone, left unwanted and shunned and —

No. He can't take this. He doesn't want to take this anymore. Goosebumps crawl up his arms, the cold creeping like a lover's death kiss, and Zenitsu yelps in terror, swatting his arms as if that would push away the sensation. It does not, of course, and Zenitsu trembles with fright.

Falling and stumbling multiple times, he manages to untangle the blankets from his feet, slamming the door open. The sound echoes for miles; Zenitsu holds his ear, looking around for anyone, anything to reassure him that he is not alone again. It's so quiet. Zenitsu's never heard silence this loud.

He staggers over to your room. It hurts his ears when the door opens, creaking and shivering like old wood caught in a hailstorm. Your room is heavy with shadows and darkness. Seconds drag painfully against Zenitsu's skin as he waits impatiently for his sight to adjust because he can't see you, can't feel you, can't hear you through the pounding of his heart and he's still so terrified and —

A gentle touch on his shoulder. Zenitsu screams and stumbles back, hitting the door as he tries to yell for help. Intruder? Demon? Oh, gods, anything, anything but that. He doesn't even want to think of what that entails.

“Zenitsu?” A voice pierces through the fog. “Hey, Zeni, calm down. It's me.”

It takes him a while to connect the dots. “Y–Y/N?”

Your sound is a song that Zenitsu has engraved in his heart. The notes, the harmony, the dissonance, and the lyrics. He knows it all, would recognize it, even in sleep. Relief comes in the form of tears.

“Y/N!” he cries. “You —You're alive!”

Something shifts in your eyes, a sort of understanding, that eureka moment when puzzle pieces come together and a cloth lifts to reveal a mystery solved. It dissolves to sympathy that turns your sound erratic and sad, understanding sunken deep from repeated experience. Nightmare. You don't bother with words.

You tug him into your arms, and eagerly, he melts into your touch. Tears feel like brands marked on his cheeks as he lets himself wail like a child, burying his head in your chest as if that would hide him from the scary monsters in his dreams. Comfort: it is when your hand rubs circles on his back, when you murmur sweet nothings in his ear, when your heart is beating steadily, calming his own heart down with your eternal calm.

You start to sway, left and right, left and right. The repetition lulls him to sleep, though he struggles to keep his eyes open. Beneath his lids lie devastation and icy loneliness and fears and death and terror, and Zenitsu does not want to deal with that yet, not when your embrace is this warm and nice and soft. Almost like how home feels, if home were a person and he, a tired traveler coming back.

“Wanna sleep with me tonight?” you murmur, breath brushing against his skin. He shivers. The innuendo is not lost on him, even through his dazed mind, but right now, Zenitsu can't even think of saying anything that might cause you to part from him in exasperation. So he nods and clings to your arm like a lifeline as you tug him over to your bed.

Settling in feels natural; bodies meld together perfectly, as if home really is found in each other's arm. Zenitsu places his ear above your chest, right next to your beating heart once again. His position.

“You should sleep for now,” you say, skimming a good night's kiss on his brow.

Zenitsu whimpers and holds you tighter. “I don't wanna fall asleep again. I'll die.”

If he's truly unlucky, he won't die — he'll watch each and everyone he cares for die, and he'll be alone again, and he'll be lost again, and he'll be helpless again. You pull away, and even the slightest distance makes Zenitsu snap his eyes towards you in panic. You hush him with a tender smile.

“Hey,” you say. Fingers dance across his cheeks like strands of moonlight. “I'm here, all right? I'll fight off your nightmares for you tonight, so trust in me, yeah?”

He sniffs. “Y–You will?”

“I will. I'll make sure you get nothing but sweet dreams tonight.” And that's a lie because you can't control his dreams at all, but the mere gesture, the thought behind your words, it all serves to make him cry harder, heart wrenched by your sincerity and thoughtfulness. Your kisses flutter like butterfly wings across his face, light as a breeze and yet heat skims and remains burning on his cheeks even after you've gone.

His grip on your clothes tightens. Hesitance is sticky, won't go away, and mingled with a lingering sense of fear, it trickles down his spine languidly.

“You'll be here when I wake up?” he asks again.

The crescent moon is shaped like your smile, Zenitsu muses. Beautiful and serene. “Always.”

Chapter Text

You step outside and into the engawa, and though your footsteps are silent, Inosuke's ears are alert, senses set aflame as he registers your presence in his vicinity. The world is still and faded, and you shine like a beacon in the midst of it all.

This, here, is always the most frustrating, yet loveliest, of moments. Where his soul is alive and buzzing, and at the same time lulled to calmness by the mere sight of your profile. He's painfully aware of you, of your yawns, the sleepy slant of your lids, the tangle of your hair ruffled by the blanket around your shoulders. Your eyes lift, meet his, and Inosuke thinks no other pair of eyes can capture the glory of the night sky in its depths than yours.

“Hey.” You sit beside him. “What are you doing outside? Can't sleep?”

He bristles. “Of course, I can! I just chose not to!”

You hum, an almost condescending sort of right, dredged lowly and dragged out for mockery's purposes. It grates at his nerves — he would sleep if he wanted to. Of course, he would. The fact that sleep does not beckon to him tonight lays no bearing to that. Caught on a whim, he pushes the pack of nuts he's scavenged into your hands and watches you brighten up like the sun has decided to rise early.

“Oh,” you say. A glimmer of light remains trapped within your eyes. Inosuke can't look away. “Nuts? For me?”

He huffs and crosses his arms across his chest. The night breeze is humid and warm, growing cold where it grazes against the sweat on his skin. The cold does not affect him — it does not, it cannot, but still, he finds himself shifting closer to your side. It's not for warmth. Why would it be, when he's plenty warm himself?

That's right. He's doing it for you. Can't have his most trusted follower get sick, after all. Excuses, excuses, he thinks, but then you smile and wrap your blanket around his shoulders, and all thoughts flee except for the sudden pounding of his heart and your shared heat creeping deep into his bones.

You crack open a nut and pop it into your mouth. The crunching sound echoes in the deep twilight.

“This is good,” you marvel, a certain childlike glow of amazement curling in your words. “I never ate anything like this before. Thank you, Inosuke.”

He grumbles something unintelligible underneath his breath and lets it suffice as an answer, lest you dig deeper and find the stain of heat on his cheeks. He's thankful for the cover of his mask, otherwise, he would have long been suffering from bashful teasing and laughter. He grabs a nut from your hand and cracks it open with his teeth; the resounding crack is a distraction from his sweaty palms and the fuzzy feeling in his chest.

“Inosuke.” You speak suddenly, startling the delicate balance of stillness and tranquility. Inosuke snaps to attention but it dissolves to mist when he finds you looking straight at him already. “You know, your hair has the same color of a lake when it's nighttime.”

He blinks.

You giggle. “Nothing. I just thought of it now. It makes me happy when I see stuff that makes me think of you.”

“Huh?”

You sigh and lean against him, head resting against his shoulder. “Was just on my mind. There's this story once of a fox who asked a prince to tame him —”

“Impossible!” he interrupts. You tilt your head to look at him. “Foxes don't ask people to tame them!”

You chuckle. “It's a story for a reason, Inosuke.”

He doesn't say anything for that, not when words were never his specialty: somehow he gets the feeling that this moment is precious and fragile, and it will last forever as long as he doesn't ruin it. You fall back against him like tides to the moon, and begrudgingly — and eagerly — Inosuke welcomes you back into his arms.

“The prince goes to tame the fox, and they grow really, really close,” you continue. “The fox, who once hated wheat fields grew to love them for their color, because they had the same golden hue that the prince's hair has.”

That's stupid, but he doesn't say it. Inosuke hangs on to your every word, and though your speech is nothing musical, it serves as a lullaby that urges his eyes to close. Your voice beckons the day's exhaustion to tug on his weary limbs, and though he tries to stay awake — he can not fall asleep before you, absolutely not — Inosuke falls under.

“When it was time for the prince to go, the fox was very sad. But even though it was inevitable and painful to part, the fox said that everything is worth it, because now, he has the golden wheat fields to remember the prince by.” You smile up at the moon, before starting at the sudden weight atop your head. Peering up, Inosuke's fast asleep, face the most relaxed that you've ever seen. You smile and chuckle.

“You didn't even hear the rest of the story.”

Gently, you untangle yourself from him and let him rest his head atop your thighs. He grumbles a bit, wakened by the sudden shift, but you hush him with a comforting hand on his arm, and he stills, nuzzling against you as if starved for contact. You take his boar mask from his head to make him as comfortable as can be.

The engawa is rough and it is uncomfortable; you take the blanket from your shoulders and fix it atop his figure, leaning down to kiss his brow goodnight.

“Like the prince is special and unique for the fox, you're special and unique to me, too,” you tell him. He does not hear, but you smile anyway and wait until the sun rises to give birth to a new dawn, fingers tangled in Inosuke's dark locks as you brush his hair away.

Chapter Text

A panoramic view spans from the horizon in the distance, flaunting a fiery play of light and shadow against the setting sun. It sets the world aflame in the most spectacular of ways, and stunned, Mitsuri takes a moment to pause and breathe in the crisp air. The world moves around her, dizzyingly fast — almost romantic in the way the breezes envelope her body like long lost lovers reuniting.

“Y/N!” she exclaims. Her heart shivers, partly fear, partly wonder, as she leans over the railings that separate the grassy cliff and empty air. The city lights beneath her look so small. “Come here, look at this! The city looks so gorgeous!”

You linger behind, hesitant. Dullness swirls in your irises, darkened where your brows are furrowed. You're just the cutest when you look like that! So concentrated and focused and — oh! Mitsuri would really like to hug you and pinch your cheeks right now!

You smile. “I'm fine. You go ahead. I'm good here.”

Mitsuri frowns, concern prickling. You shift underneath her gaze. “Y/N, are you all right?”

She leaves her spot to return to your side, tilting her head to meet your eyes. Your cheeks flush dark on her proximity — ah, how cute! — and Mitsuri grins at you. She offers her hand, like a prince charming in a romantic dance, except there is no music and the ballroom is the earth and the chandeliers consist of twinkling lights from the distant city.

“I'll make sure you won't fall!” she proclaims. “Please? It's really pretty out there! I wanna share it with you!”

You are no match for her wiles. Of course not — Mitsuri knows you all too well, and she'd feel guilty for being so . . . so manipulative and dirty, if the prize was anything but your warm hand grasping hers, lightly at first, and the clutching her hand with an intensity to rival the gravity of the earth. You draw near to her, and Mitsuri snakes her hand up so it wraps around your arm instead.

You don't pull away. Mitsuri brightens at that, and you look away. The flames of the sky reflect the flush in your face.

“Okay,” you mumble. “All right.”

Mitsuri squeals in happiness and wraps her other arm around you in a giddy hug. She pulls away before you can fully reciprocate and drags you over to the railings.

“I'm so glad!” she exclaims. “Look, look! See that spot over there? I think that's the park where we first met! See? It looks so small and cute, right?”

Her bubbliness must be infectious. Either way, you lean against her side and peer at the little prick of greenery Mitsuri's pointing to, a bashful smile on your face. Mitsuri can't help but coo at just how adorable you are.

“I see it,” you say. A laugh dances in the breeze, light and airy. “That's . . . cute.”

She flushes madly at your agreement, heart set aflutter by pure, inexplicable happiness. “Yeah! We should go there later! What do you think?”

You nod slowly. You're still leaning against her, a hand braced her arm as you tilt your head up to the sky.

“Looks like it might rain though.”

“Oh.” The sky wasn't that dark earlier, was it? Mitsuri had been too lost in the highlights of the city twinkling like gems to notice, really, but now, it grumbles and blows at leaves to shiver in the wind, as if asking for undeniable attention. “Oh no. Should we go? I don't want to catch the rain, we might get sick . . .”

This is her fault! Oh, if only she'd scheduled this outing better, or even just brought an umbrella! Now the day's destroyed, because of her! Stupid — she's so stupid —

You touch her hand. Mitsuri snaps out of it.

“I have an umbrella,” you say lightly. You peer into her very soul, and as if reading her thoughts like words spilled on ink, you smile gently. “We can share. The day's not ruined yet —”

You cut off with a squeak. Mitsuri launches herself at you into a bear hug, wrapping her arms around your neck with all her might and affection. You stay still, frozen in shock, and Mitsuri feels your heartbeat stutter against hers before you raise your hands to embrace her back.

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're so amazing! Thank you!” Mitsuri tries to pull back to gaze at you, but your arms refuse to budge where they are pulling her back into your chest. Mitsuri happily obliges. “You're so prepared for everything! That's so cool!”

You hum an affirmative, muffled by her clothes and stifled by your embarrassment. You rest your head on her shoulder, hiding, hiding, hiding — as adorable as always, but Mitsuri thinks she'd really like to see your face right now.

The earth stills. Rain falls.

Mitsuri disentangles from you, cupping her hands above your head to prevent you from getting wet as you take out your umbrella. The problem arises immediately when it opens and you find the perimeter too small to properly shield both of you.

“Oh! Please, take it for yourself!” Mitsuri exclaims, stepping out. You follow her, hand stretched out to hide her underneath the umbrella as well. “Um, I don't want you getting wet because of me!”

“Don't worry about me,” you assure. “We can . . . We can share?”

“But it's —”

Your voice jumps to a squeak. “We can cuddle?”

Mitsuri blinks at you, face heating up.

Oh! That's so . . . Mitsuri's so touched! You're so kind, willing to share your umbrella with her and cuddle with her so you both won't get wet! That's such an excellent idea; Mitsuri's getting shivers just from how much you care! She nods eagerly and takes the umbrella from your hand, wrapping her arm around your waist to draw you close. The flush on your cheek darkens.

“Is this good?” she asks brightly. “Thank you so much! I swear I'll pay you back sometime for this!”

“No need,” you say. Your eyes are firmly stuck on the distant horizon, where the sun has already set. The moon and stars hidden by clouds, the city lights splay their colors on you, and Mitsuri's heart jumps. “I'm good here.”

And your hand reaches up to hold hers, under the guise of helping to keep the umbrella steady against the wind. Mitsuri has never felt so happy before.

Chapter Text

Tanjirou’s infamous for wild and romantic gestures that he somehow remains so nonchalant about. You remember a time where he brought you to a lovely forest glade of pink blossoms and orange swatches, a bouquet of pure white roses held in his outstretched hand to be offered to you. It was your birthday and, he said with a smile, this place made him think of you.

To this date, you don’t think he’s realized how utterly head over heels you are for him, just from that.

His surprises are more-or-less pleasantly welcomed and embraced. You’re usually delighted with everything Tanjirou does and says – really, everything about him never fails to push you deeper into love every day. And yet –

“Hey, Y/N? I was thinking, how many children do you want to have?”

Tanjirou props himself on his elbow, watching you with wide eyes. Too earnest, too bright; the sun creeps in from the window behind him and favors him with a blinding light.

You stare.

And stare.

And stare.

Tanjirou grows self-conscious after a while. His cheeks blush with the color of autumn as his hand drapes across his neck, shy all of a sudden. He looks so adorable, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to even coo at that. His words circle your mind on an endless loop.

You can’t find your voice.

“Um, you don't have to answer right now?” he squeaks. Tanjirou pushes himself up to sit properly, hands fidgeting, restless, as he clears his throat. “It was just a random thought.”

You weren't even thinking of having kids yet, much less how many. It never crossed your mind that Tanjirou might want children. Then again, flashes of his bright grin while handling children: that soothing aura, caring and protective and warm. You should have guessed he would want it.

But . . .

“Kids?” You prop yourself up the bed. “Aren’t we, you know, still too young to think of that?”

He blinks and tilts his head to the side. Dark eyes follow your movements as his hand falls to wrap around yours. Holding hands is so natural, and Tanjiro smiles brightly when you squeeze his hand back.

“Ah, are we?” he asks. “I dunno. My parents had me when they were around our age now . . . so I thought . . .” His head ducks down. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable! Please forget this ever happened! I won’t bring it up again!”

“No, no, it's all right!” you exclaim, reaching out to grab his hands. You smile at him when he looks up, and his shoulders slant in relief. “I'm not uncomfortable at all! Just . . . taken aback?”

“Oh.” He takes a deep breath, and his exhale comes with another wide grin. “Oh. I'm so glad.”

You chuckle and peck his lips, watching as his cheeks bloom with color. Years and years of this, and he's still as lovely as ever.

“But now, I'm curious,” you continue. “How many kids would you want to have, Tanji?”

He perks up. “I was thinking of maybe three? I'd like to have a boy as our firstborn, too, but a girl would be amazing too! I wouldn't mind any gender, really, but I thought it would be nice to have an elder brother for everyone else?”

He smiles softly at the distance, squeezing your hands. His eyes are the eyes of a boy reminiscing about his past, though today, he snaps out of it fairly quickly, and focuses his attention on you, and only you.

You pale. Three? Isn't that a lot? You were thinking of having only one, now that he brought it up. Maybe two — maybe. And Tanjirou wants three?

His brow furrows in concern. “Um, Y/N? Are you all right?”

“Yeah?” You're left spinning out of axis, dazed. “Why do you want three kids, though?”

He chuckles hesitantly. You narrow your eyes at that. Wariness trickles at your senses, rather unwilling now to be surprised. You're only 18 this year, for God's sake! Three kids — too daunting!

“Actually,” he admits, words dragged out as if shy. “I'd really like six, but I thought you might not agree, so I lessened it.”

Your heart stops beating, turning your skin cold and sweaty. Six. Six! You can barely imagine the horror of raising that household would be! Too much chaos, too many people — dear gods you might collapse of exhaustion just thinking about it.

But Tanjirou doesn't even seem to be phased by the idea. You're sure he thought of practicality by now. You hope. He pushes on. “My parents raised all six of us so amazingly! I really want to be like them and make you all happy, too! I'm sure we can do that!”

That's rather wholesome and pure — nothing else to expect from your Tanjiro, of course — but you're still dreading the thought.

“Um, three . . .” you manage out. “Three, please?”

“Three kids?” he clarifies. You give him a shaky nod, and you really don't know how he manages to smile even wider than before. His eyes are pinched closed from the magnitude of his grin. “Ah — that's so gracious of you! Thank you!”

Gracious? You suppose so? Tanjiro engulfs you in a bear hug, arms clutching you to his chest tightly as he laughs happily. His joy is infectious, sending warm tingles up your arms as he chases the cold away with his touch.

“Thank you, Y/N!” he repeats, kissing your temple.

You hum, closing your eyes. Tanjirou's going to be doing all the household chores. You don't even want to think about that. You close your eyes and burrow deep into his hug.

“If you really want six, though,” you mumble. “We can adopt three more. I don't think I'll be able to birth you all six.”

Tanjirou has tears in his eyes when you pull away. He sniffs and wipes them off, but the grin remains. You smile back and kiss his cheek.

You wonder how happy he's still going to be when he finds out he'll be stuck doing household chores for the rest of his life. He probably won't mind, really, but still. You sigh.

Chapter Text

A death sentence hangs on your head.

Mere minutes ago, Mitsuri and Obanai have lovingly placed their kid on your arms with promises of we'll only be gone for a while! and make her cry and I'll gut you, before leaving you alone with Aiko, their kid, and Giyuu.

Now, Aiko's crying.

And you're going to die.

You don't even know what you did! She just woke up and burst out crying, and now you kind of want to cry to because you don't want your cause of death to be a snakey midget who went blind with revenge for making his princess cry. That's just . . . so anticlimactic.

Giyuu takes mercy on you, taking Aiko from your hands. You give her up eagerly and pout up at the heavens, starting to plot excuses upon excuses on how to escape Iguro's fiery rage. Aiko's wails resound in the house.

Wait.

No, they don't.

You peer over at her. Aiko's no longer crying — that was fast. And, Giyuu's smiling too. Faintly, but it's still there. Aiko giggles, hands raising up to him, and Giyuu lowers his head so she can reach his chin. She shrieks in delight.

Oh.

You tuck your knees to your chest and watch in wonder as the baby calms down. Giyuu doesn't even do anything special: merely carries the baby in his arms and sways lightly. His eyes are tender and soft.

Warmth bubbles in your chest, tugging a smile up your lips.

“You know, I think you'd make a great father.”

Giyuu's head snaps up to look at you. His brow is furrowed, lips parted in shock as his eyes search your face for any sign of jesting. You smile back at him, and his face pales.

He hands Aiko over to you. You scramble back in fright, as if he holds in his hand a terrible curse. It might be, honestly. Aiko's a sweet child, but if she cries in your arms again . . . You don't want to think about it.

“Giyuu!” you whine, huffing. “Do you really want Iguro to kill me that badly?”

He looks at you strangely. “He won't . . .”

“He will!” You pout. “I don't wanna die yet! I wanna marry you and have your babies! I don't wanna get killed by a midget! Keep her!”

Giyuu blinks. Slowly, he returns to cuddling Aiko close to his chest. The child gurgles happily. You sigh in relief.

“You're really good with kids, huh,” you continue eagerly. “Oh, I remember how you took care of Tanjiro and his friends too! You've been showing signs of being a good dad since day one! See?”

Giyuu's getting overwhelmed. You can see it in the bloom of pink on his pale cheeks, the stoic facade broken in favor of embarrassment. He swallows and looks away from your bright-eyed gaze.

“I'm not.”

“But you are!” you insist. You crawl your way back to his side and lean against his arm, raising a hand to brush against Aiko's cheek. She giggles and coos. “See? She's so happy with you!”

You can't help but imagine him with your kid. Would they be a girl or a boy? Dark-haired like him? Oh, you'd love it if your kid had his eyes. His eyes are so beautiful. Really, though, you're fairly certain any kid of his would be as beautiful as him.

Giyuu notices you staring and shies away again. “What?”

You giggle. “Nothing,” you sing. “Just wondering how our future kid would look like.”

Abruptly, he turns his back on you. You burst out laughing. Giyuu's turns away from you when you try to peek at his expression, on and on until he spins a full circle, and you can't breathe from laughing too much. Even Aiko's loving it.

“How many kids would you like, Giyuu?” you pester. He's still trying to hide his face from you. “Ooh, I'd like 10!”

Finally, his head snaps towards you. All color has drained from his face. “10?”

Finally! Giyuu bites his lip as your smile brightens even more. You nod eagerly. “Yeah! Wouldn't that be fun? Oh! We could adopt more if I can't handle any more! I wanna have at least five more if we do that!”

Giyuu's stare cuts deep into your soul. You can feel the judgment, the disagreement.

“Come on, Giyuu,” you whine. “That'd be so fun!”

“Fun,” he repeats with a deadpan expression.

“Fun!” you agree. “You're having fun with Aiko, right?”

Hesitantly, he nods.

“Then you'll have even more fun when you have to take care of 14 more! Right? The more the merrier!”

Giyuu shoots you a withering look and doesn't even bother replying. You can't hold your laughter back anymore. Giyuu and Aiko stare at you weirdly, and even that is too funny for you.

It takes you a while to calm down, though even then, you're still wracked with shivers and breathless chuckles. Giyuu reaches over and hands you a cup of water, which you gratefully accept.

“But seriously, though,” you say, still laughing. “Would you like to have kids with me?”

He averts his eyes and holds Aiko closer to him. You really can't help but think of a future where it's your child he's holding.

“Maybe,” he mumbles.

Oh! You perk up at that. “How many?”

He's wary now. “One.”

“Aww.” You pout. “How about five?”

Giyuu gets up, and goes out into the engawa, almost stumbling in his haste to get away from you. You laugh again.

Chapter Text

Genya's been acting uncharacteristically weird since he woke up. At first, yes, there were the tears you've expected: you've won the war with minimal losses — you've won, you've won, you've won! But then you entered the room, and instead of the warm welcome you've expected, he turned cherry red and refused to look you in the eye.

He still won't look at you.

There's a problem, you think, hinted in the way he keeps glancing at you, turns redder than before, and looks away again. You're stuck in this uncomfortable routine, intensified by the awkward silence and your growing concern and hurt.

“Genya?” You break the silence, and he flinches. You bite your lip. “Is something the — ?”

“Nothing!” he interrupts. “It's nothing! I'm thinking of nothing! Really!”

Right.

“Genya . . .” you trail off, squeezing his fingers. “That's obviously a lie. If something's bothering you, please tell me? I want to help you, but I can't do that if you won't tell me.”

When words fail to form on his tongue, Genya returns to silence, though the conflict raging in his mind is revealed by his pale knuckles and bitten lips drawing blood. Wind flutters by and blows the curtains in, enveloping you with a cool, calming wind. Your eyes drift outside in instinct at that, and when you turn back, his eyes are on you.

“Y/N!” he bursts suddenly. His skin takes on the hue of apple blossoms. “Please start a family with me!”

“Sure. Anything for you,” you say, automatic, eager to help. But then Genya's eyes widen as if surprised by your answer, and your mind fully registers his request. Your face blanks. “Wait, what?”

The excited gleam in Genya's smile disappears. “Um, what?”

“What?” you repeat.

“What what?”

You stare at each other. As always, Genya loses, averting his eyes from yours as the red in his face intensifies. He purses his lips and fidgets, free hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Um, Y–Y/N?” he asks, sneaking glances at you before snapping his gaze away just as fast. “Are you all right?”

“What,” you say again.

“What?”

He's starting to get concerned, though his palm is sweaty underneath your touch. You've been together for a bit now, but it seems like he still hasn't gotten over his easily flustered nature with you. It could also be because you've been staring at him for so long, too, you suppose.

“Start . . . a family?” you finally manage. Genya nods slowly. “What — What brought this on? Isn't it a bit sudden?”

A hand raises to brush his hair, sun-dipped strands dancing and bunching in his fingers. Genya looks anywhere but at you. “Um, I just remembered . . . back at that fight with the Upper Moon One, my big brother told me . . . that I should, um, should have made a family instead, and I was thinking that maybe you and I, uh, you know? Do that . . . thing.”

His squeak at the end of his sentence might be the most adorable thing ever. Still, you cup his cheek with your palm to urge him to look at you. His skin's too flushed.

Your lips curve into a grin. “That thing?”

He nods. “That thing.”

“What thing?” Your hand ghosts down to rest by the crook of his neck, thumb atop the spot where his heartbeat jumps from his skin.

He swallows harshly. “Thing. You know. That?”

“I don't know,” you say, and laugh when Genya pulls away from you to groan and hide his face in his palms. You decide to take mercy on the poor soul and stop teasing. For now.

“But seriously, though,” he says, muffled. “Will you, um, think about it?”

The lighthearted atmosphere drains away. “Genya. Hey, Genya, look at me, please?” It takes him a minute to recover and do so, and you smile comfortingly when he does. “I'm not going to agree unless you swear to me you're not just doing this for your brother. I don't care what he wants. You're who matters to me.”

He smiles back at you, resting his hand atop yours. His heartbeat is so erratic underneath your touch. “I swear. Nemi just made me think about it. I wouldn't ask something like this of you if I didn't actually want it for myself.”

You sigh in relief. There's that, at least. “I'm glad, then.”

And the conversation ends there. Aoi bursts in and tells you visitation hours are over, and you depart with a kiss on his forehead and promises of returning tomorrow. Genya opens his mouth as if to protest, but gives it up and nods sullenly, letting Aoi guide you away for the night.

The next morning, you're back by his side before the sun has even risen. He wakes up to find you hunched in your seat, yawning and barely awake.

“Morning,” you say. “I got a bit too excited to sleep last night.”

He's still groggy from sleep, you can see. His eyes are closed and he mumbles his answers, and though he's a bit grumpy and unintelligible, it's the cutest sight you've ever seen in your life. You chuckle underneath your breath.

“Hey, Genya,” you say. “About yesterday . . .”

He perks up a bit at that. “Hm?”

Huh. You've practiced this last night, almost rigorously, dreamed of million of scenarios on how you'd go about this, and still, your heart races at the thought. Genya rubs his eye and peers at you curiously.

“Y/N . . . ?” he prompts in between yawns. “What about it?”

Well. Nothing to do but to just do it. Hands trembling, you take the kanzashi you've bought yesterday, a pretty little thing dotted by golden and purple flowers that match the color of his eyes and hair. Genya looks at it curiously, then drags his gaze up at you, uncomprehending.

All practice goes out of the window. “Please take me as your spouse, Genya!”

Your head ducked down, eyes pinched shut as you offer the hairpin to him, you wait with bated breath for an answer that takes too long. Impatient, you steal a glance at him only to find him burying his head in a pillow.

“Um. Did you fall asleep?” you ask. Dear gods, you don't want to have to repeat that later, if he did fall asleep now.

“No,” Genya groans. “And yes!”

You frown. “No? Yes?”

He doesn't move for a bit. Then, he raises his head, and reveals his flushed face, though he doesn't meet your eyes. His lips are pinched in embarrassment as he hugs the pillow to his chest.

“I'm not asleep,” he clarifies. His voice turns squeaky. “And . . . yes. Um. Please marry me too?”

“I'm the one who asked first,” you huff, laughing. “And turn around. Lemme put this in your hair!”

Genya looks dubiously at you but turns around anyway. Giggling, you stick the kanzashi in between strands of his hair, leaving it hanging awkwardly as you climb back down to your seat. Genya raises his hand to secure it and flushes even more.

You kiss his cheek before whispering in his ear: “We can do the thing and have as many kids as you want after we're married.”

You think you just killed your future husband to be with embarrassment.

Chapter Text

“The water lilies are blooming really prettily this year.”

A quiet plop, and the water ripples with rhythmic waves, disturbing the rest of the floating blooms. Muichirou steps closer to your side to watch the pond, thoughtfully nodding his agreement. The boy is reticent as always, barely there, frosted over like mist in the clouds. He shivers like a visage.

“I wonder . . .” you trail off, reaching out to the pond to take one into your hands. The lilies remain out of reach, however; stubborn, you huff and push forward, fingertips barely stabilizing your weight into dry ground.

Muichirou tugs you back. The rope around his wrist burns, a mark identical to the growing rash around your own skin. You flinch and yelp as the rope forces you back into safety. Your wrist hurts; you hover a gentle hand over it.

Muichirou looks up at the sky as you protest. “It's almost night,” he says. “Shouldn't you be going back now?”

“I'm a grown-up now.” You pout, a flush staining your cheeks as indignation rises. “I can stay out late if I wanna.”

“No, you're not,” he says. “You're barely 15.”

“You're 14,” you rebut. “I'm a grown-up compared to you!”

Muichirou merely blinks, a lazy motion that flutters his lashes in the wind. “I've lived for hundreds of years,” he reminds you. You fall silent.

The earth is silent as he leans down and takes your hand, thumb grazing against your reddened skin. Heartbeat stuttering, your breath catches in your throat as you watch him raise your hand to his lips and kiss. It's strangely nostalgic in the way autumn feels like home when leaves fade with the color of Ginko leaves.

Muichirou is always quiet in those times, a fond and sad silence that washes over like a gentle tide. He holds a leaf in his hands and watches the wind steal it away.

“Sorry,” he says. He's still looking at your wrist, a mournful expression wreathed on his face.

“Thank you,” you say in turn. You prop yourself on your knees and wrap your arms around him. Muichirou smells like fresh grass and summer haze cut deeply into clothes like fine thread, comforting though barely there. You bury your face in his shoulder. “You saved me.”

Tense shoulders relax. Hands settle around your back, light at first, then crushing, as Muichirou pulls you to his chest tightly. He does not speak because words are always too easily tangled with thorned rosebushes, beautified though they say nothing at all, so he settles for holding you closer as long as the sinking sun will allow.

Sand seconds; they drip from his cupped hands no matter how hard he tries to keep them away from himself. Muichirou sighs and pulls away despite your protests.

“It's getting late,” he tells you, pulling you up to your feet. The rope that holds you to him dangles between your fingertips. “The demons come out at night.”

A spectral cold brushes against your spine, in tune with the low hum of his voice back-dropped by a sudden silence in the forest.

“But, you'll protect me, won't you?” you ask, peering up at your friend.

Muichirou hesitates. His footsteps hasten, letting the rope tug you forward to him. “You should hurry. You're not safe here.”

You direct a pout at the back of his head for ignoring your question. It really can't be put to words, but Muichirou excludes this aura around him, a feeling of safety and warmth that you've ever only felt around him. You don't think it matters whether or not he answers your question — it rings true that he will protect you when it matters, despite his silence.

But as the silence grows thicker, so does your curiosity bloom. The sunset flickers above your heads, hidden by the foliage and mist.

“Hey, Mui, where do you go when I'm not here? Do you live anywhere?”

“Doesn't matter,” he replies shortly. “Come on, hurry. I don't want you here after dark.”

“But —” you trip over a stray branch. Pale arms settle on your shoulders, steadying you. “But, you'll protect me, right?”

Muichirou frowns. “Stop being so careless.”

He starts to turn away, but you pull at the rope with all your might. It hurts. Muichirou turns to glare at you. “You'll protect me, right?”

A standstill: you raise your chin and meet his glare evenly, stubbornly, even as the evening air pricks at your exposed skin. The sky grows dimmer and dimmer, until Muichirou's eyes are all you can see. You drown in those mint depths.

He looks away first. “Y/N,” he says, quiet as the wind. “Please come with me. I can't lose you again this time.”

You tilt your head. “Mui?”

Lose you again? Wha —?

He takes your hand this time and urges you forward, unhearing of the questions and protests that spill from your mouth. In the near distance, the forest parts, and you can see the lights of your village twinkle in the dark like stars.

“Muichirou!” you huff. “Slow down!”

He doesn't stop until you're out of the forest. He pushes you out, and only the pull of the rope stops you from falling. His feet remain planted on the forest floor, an inextricable barrier between your world and his. He could step forward and never look back, but he does not, merely content to fulfill himself with your daily visits.

He stares at you for a while, wishful thinking on the tips of his fingers like stardust as he reaches out to touch you. He pauses at the last second, and lets his hand fall.

“Mui . . . ?”

“Go home,” he says shortly. “Sleep for eight hours, all right?”

You nod. “And eat a lot and don't forget to pray before bedtime. I know! I remember!”

He smiles a little, but it fades away in a blink. “Thank you.”

A delicate balance hangs in the air, frozen and charged. Muichirou looks at you, eyes searching yours for something you don't know.

“Y/N,” he says suddenly. “Do you remember yet?”

You tilt your head to the side. The moon has risen without your notice, though the clouds haze it away from sight. “Remember what?”

“The Corps,” he bursts out. “You and me? My dea —” Muichirou sighs, exasperated. “Nothing. Forget it. Doesn't matter.”

“But, it matters to you,” you say. “It matters to me, too.”

He doesn't reply to that. “Go home.”

Rejection. It stings, like ice grasping your heart. You puff out your cheeks at him, but you can't really argue when he gives you that sorrowful and nostalgic look once again.

You bite your tongue.

“Um, Mui?” You raise your hand, drawing his eyes from your face to the rope that connects you two.

“Oh. Right.” But he doesn't unfasten the rope. Instead, his gaze is back at you, an almost pleading look in the furrow of his brow. He looks reluctant to part though he was the one urging the day to end already, just minutes ago. He bites his lip. “You'll . . . You'll come back and meet me again tomorrow, right?”

You brighten up. The glow of the firelight behind you paints his skin red. “Of course! I'll continue pestering you until I'm old and then I'll ask to be buried here, so I can pester you after death too!”

You expect a grimace at your words, but instead, Muichirou grants you a rare smile, the soft kind, where his eyes crinkle at the sides and overflow with warm happiness.

“Close your eyes, then,” he says. You nod, turning your back to him and closing your eyes. A pressure against your cheek; the tension on the rope loosens, and your eyes flutter open, a hand cupping your cheek to trap the warmth of his kiss against your skin. He's nowhere to be found.

You sigh. The rope on your hand dangles like a promise.

Chapter Text

Precipitation dangles in the air like wind chimes swaying in the breeze. They roll fragile, heavy, threatening rain with every lightning that strikes the earth with bright white sparks. Giyuu ambles beside you, footsteps dragging, shoulders hunched. He’s lost in his own world, oblivious to your lingering glances and your hands brushing together.

His hand is warm. You’d like to hold it, if he’d let you.

“Giyuu?”

Dark eyes meet yours.

“Are you all right?”

Giyuu merely grunts and looks ahead again. You can’t help but worry when he’s being like this: so reclusive and somber and out of your reach. On a whim, you reach forward and tangle your hand with his, and it earns you a surprised look from him.

You don’t speak at all. He holds your hand with a loose grip.

A second ticks soundlessly, and then rain falls, and as if the heavens are breathing out a sigh, thunder rumbles in the distance. You start and yelp, tipping your head to look up at the sky. A haori blocks your view, sewn in half to pair mismatched designs in juxtaposition to one another.

“Giyuu?”

He looks away. “Sorry.”

The rain soaks in through his haori, however. Water drips down strands of his hair, sticking to his forehead, dancing on his lashes as he looks regretfully down at you. Cold droplets crawl down your back.

“It’s all right,” you laugh. You hold his outstretched arms and tug them down, but he won’t budge. “It’s just rain. It’s fun to walk in the rain every now and then, no?”

His frown digs deeper. “You’ll get sick.”

“So will you,” you counter. “Let’s take care of each other when that happens?”

Giyuu is quiet again for a bit. “Sorry.”

His haori is useless at this point, but still, he keeps it above your head. He tries to tug you off to shelter; stubborn, you cross your arms across your chest and jut your lip out at him.

“Y/N –”

“Tell me what’s been bothering you, Giyuu,” you say. Your uniform staves off the worse of the rain, but some droplets still manage to find their way in, stealing the warmth of your skin until you’re shivering. “Please?”

“It’s nothing,” he insists, giving up on his quasi-umbrella and draping it across his shoulders. “You’ll get sick.”

“Is it because of the mission?”

The earth drains of all sound, monochrome clouds sucking all life from the surroundings. An expression of surprise; a blink, words trapped on his throat – Giyuu looks away again. He likes to look away and look away and look away, always hiding.

“Hey, it’s not like I got hurt too badly,” you try to comfort him. “It’s not your fault at all. You actually saved me, in fact.”

Shinobu’s medicine works wonders. You’ve barely felt a smidge of pain whilst walking, barely remembered the wound on your leg. But now, Giyuu’s staring at it, hands clenched, and you’re painfully aware of the sensation of cool steel piercing through skin and muscle once again.

“It’s not your fault at all, Giyuu,” you repeat. He does not believe you: you see it in his shadowed eyes.

Sighing, you draw close to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He tenses underneath your touch, hands resting on your shoulders as if to push you away. You persist and hug him tighter, however, until Giyuu gives up and returns your embrace.

He’s warm.

“I’m all right, Giyuu,” you murmur against his clothes. “You won’t lose me. I promised you, right?”

More than friends, barely lovers, blooming into a sort-of courting period where teases of what might be shies away with every gentle touches you exchange. You breathe in; the smell of iron and blood remains near.

Giyuu speaks, and the words sound strained. “You’ll die, too, if you’re near me.”

You pull back to look at him in confusion. Giyuu’s gaze is drawn to the side, to the far distance, to the horizon. You can’t follow his thoughts, so you settle for looking at him until he notices and looks back.

He does not. Not yet. “Everyone dies when they get too near.”

“But you protected me,” you say. Giyuu hears but does not listen, the age-old weariness of the same empty comforts whispered in the wind. He gazes at you curiously.

“You protected me, Giyuu,” you repeat before he can argue. You lift your hand to cup his cheek, and it’s warm despite the cold wind and rain. “You won’t let me die. I won’t let myself die either. I love you too much to leave you alone.”

He stills. Eyes seek out yours, wide and puzzled and so desperately lonely. You smile at him.

“I love you, Giyuu.”

Giyuu takes a moment to take in your words, though they’ve long been due. You’ve played around those three words for so long now that telling him that you love him seems so inevitable now, like destiny, like fate.

“Y/N, you don’t understand –”

You stand on your tiptoes, tilt his head down, and meet his lips for a kiss. A snapshot: Giyuu’s eyes widen, his heart underneath your fingertips where they rest on his chest. He holds his breath as you taste him, and there’s a finally there, somewhere, along with fireworks and butterflies and sparks, but all there is in this moment is you and Giyuu, and the rain that falls eternal.

You pull away after a second that drags on and on to eternity. Giyuu’s cheeks are stained red, and his hands drift up to touch his lips, moments after you’ve separated.

His eyes seek yours for a question he does not voice.

“You won’t lose me, Giyuu,” you swear. His heart flutters in his chest, matching your own thundering pulse. Your lips tingle.

Giyuu’s face crumples, but you barely see it before he tucks you into his arms and buries his head in your air, breathing you in, keeping you close. You rest your head in his shoulder and close your eyes.

The scent of blood remains, but the rain will wash it off soon enough.

Chapter Text

The dojo of the Butterfly Estate is empty: the door is shut tightly, windows block the outside. Light is distant, and it splays on the floor like teardrops after the rain. There's nothing but heavy breathing, the sound of wood scraping wood — a heavy thud, and Muichirou's by your side within the blink of an eye.

“Y/N? Are you all right?” His hand ghosts from your shoulder to your back, fingers pulling your hair away from your face. A silence of gritted teeth and annoyed sighs — you slap his hands off and stumble away, unwilling to look at him. Muichirou's hand stings.

“Y/N . . . ?”

“Go away!” you cry. “Why are you still here? Aren't you supposed to be training or something?”

Your shoulders hunch, trembling, fragile. Muichirou does not dare to approach you again.

“You're my responsibility,” he says simply. “I have to be —”

“Get someone new to be responsible to, then,” you snap. “Just leave me alone already.”

Muichirou blinks and sighs. He rights your fallen crutches and stands up. You shy away from his gaze, but your tears collect in the ground beneath you, and it's as good of a revelation as any. You're crying. No — you're trying to hide your tears again.

The sun can't reach you when you're like this.

“Try again,” he says.

Shaky breaths, the kind where one shivers from the weight of the tears they're trying to keep in. You're silent for a while, save for quiet whimpers that escape.

“Y/N,” he repeats. “Try again.”

“I don't want to!” When your head snaps up to glare at him, your eyes are red. You wipe at your cheeks, and Muichirou stoops down to hold your wrist. You're being too harsh on yourself again.

You snatch your hand away.

“You have to.”

You glare at him. Muichirou supposes it's a sign you're giving up when tears pool in your eyes again, and this time, you make no move to even blink them away.

“Just go already, dammit! I don't want to do this anymore! I'm tired, Mui.” A sob. You flick your gaze away as if unable to hold the weight of his stare anymore. “I'm so tired of this.”

“But you can't give up,” he bursts out. Muichirou rests the crutches behind him and kneels in front of you. He cups your cheek in his hands and urges you to look at him. You don't pull away this time, but your tears spill again, over his fingers and down the floor.

It's so heartbreaking to see you giving up.

“You can't give up yet,” he says again, a hitch interrupting his monotone. Nails dig crescent moons against his palm: a stinging pain. “You can't!”

You sniff. Your lashes are adorned with jeweled tears. “It's not like I'm gonna die if I don't do this. Just let me rest already. I don't wanna do this anymore. Please.”

“But . . . why are you giving up?” he insists. “It's just been a few days. You can do it.”

“If you're so sure, then why don't you try doing it instead of me?” Muichirou can see the fruits of frustration on your face. It feels like you've aged so much in just a few days. His hands leave your face to the back of your head, tugging you to his chest into a hug.

Your hands remain limp by your sides. That doesn't matter. Muichirou holds you with all his strength. He doesn't know what to say. The words won't come, but the pressure to break this silence mounts and mounts until he physically itches to say something.

But . . . what to say?

“I can't do it, Mui,” you whisper. “I'm too weak. I can't. I don't wanna do it anymore. I'm so tired.”

The words are imprinted on his skin, engraved by your shivered breaths and shaky exhales. Muichirou buries his face in your hair. The dojo echoes every sound until you're both drowned in the screaming silence.

“Y/N —”

“Just let me give up already,” you sigh. Your head rests against his chest, and Muichirou hopes you find comfort in the tune of his heart beating. Let the sound ground you like yours does to him.

“But . . .” The right words never come when they are needed. “You can't give up yet!”

A tired sigh. “But why not? Would it be such a bother if you had to wheel me around our whole lives?”

It kind of would, but Muichirou thinks he wouldn't mind. But you just absolutely can't give up yet. He won't let you, not if he can help it.

“Because I'm here to help you out,” he says. It's these times when he wishes he was someone else: maybe someone like Tanjirou with his endless patience and right words, or Rengoku with his boundless optimism and infectious joy. Really, anyone but himself, who has nothing but bumbling words and derailing thoughts and sleeves that trail too long and get drenched in tears and sweat and blood.

The room echoes your frustration.

“Please don't give up yet,” Muichirou mumbles. “Let me help you.”

“But I'm tired.”

“I know.” He hugs you tighter.

“I don't think I can do it anymore.”

“You can. I'll be with you.”

“I fell again today.”

“That's all right. You can fall as much as you need to. I'll help pick you back up again.”

Muichirou sags in relief when he feels you return his hug, finally. Your grip is loose, barely holding onto the back of his clothes at all, but it's there, he feels it, and he feels the urge to cry with you. He understands how frustrating it is to fail again and again. He wishes you didn't have to experience it.

And all he can do, once again, is to hold you like this until your tears run out. You pull back, eyes downcast, tear tracks shining on your cheeks.

Muichirou reaches out to grab the bottle of water he'd dropped earlier and hands it to you. Everything is silent. The world outside this room does not exist.

“Help me up?” you ask quietly. Muichirou nods, standing up and letting you rest against his side until your crutches are safely in your grip again. Your fists shake. Your face is red. You look exhausted, but Muichirou thinks your eyes look determined.

The sun will reach you again, one day, he thinks. This time, he walks beside you.

Chapter Text

Sunlight kisses dust motes dancing in the air, casting light onto their performance and shine. They spin languidly; Muichiro raises a hand and watches them scatter away from his skin.

The classroom is buzzing. Sleepiness tugs at every student's lids, yawns permeate, lazy conversations barely coherent as they wait for the teacher to come in and start the day. The sun hides behind a cloud, and though it hurts his eyes to look at it, Muichiro raises his chin and does so anyway. There's never anything to do.

Laughter rings out.

The door slams open, shut, and then life injects into the drab classroom. Monochrome grey and blue fade into pastelled blues and white-washed cream. Stiffness descends into Muichiro's bones, his heartbeat rattling in his chest like a songbird aflutter. He keeps his eyes strictly on the sky above, even as you draw nearer to where he sits. Your fragrance fills the room and Muichiro thinks of spring descending, scattering, blooming. Just your perfume makes him lightheaded, dizzy enough to raise a blush on his cheeks.

Still, Muichiro does not dare to look at you.

It's hard to resist the pull of your magnetism, however. The ring of your voice echoes in the crevices of his heart, rushing through his blood to heat up his skin. Muichiro hears your laugh, and it's the most perfect thing he's ever heard.

He looks down. His notebook is scribbled and scratched over with heart-shaped lead. He doesn't remember drawing them but, with a shy glance around, Muichiro covers his notebook with his arm and writes your name and his inside the heart.

His heart jumps. A shaky thumb traces the outline of his heart as he tries not to imagine what it must be like to hold your hand. Your hand must be soft, he thinks. His pen taps an erratic beat on his table.

Here he goes again, spiraling into madness while your teasing laughter echoes from the seat beside him. Muichiro chances a peek at your profile, and you're looking away, talking to one of your friends. How lovely it would be to have you as a friend. You tuck your hair behind your ear, and Muichiro finds himself captivated by that one motion, the flick of your wrist, the shine of your hair.

His headphones are still playing. Idly, he raises the volume until the music drowns you out. It doesn't help though. His heart pounds a tune that beats only for you. You're everywhere; he can't escape.

Muichiro stares at your names in his notebook. With a sigh, he closes it and holds it to his chest. His face won't stop burning. This is hopeless.

“Tokito-kun?”

He raises his head and almost falls when your eyes meet his. His heart stops, before resuming its pounding beat. Your smile gleams in the sunlight.

“Are you all right?” He removes his headphones and stares at you dumbly. You chuckle awkwardly. “Um, I've been calling for you about five times now.”

Muichiro can't think outside of the butterflies in his stomach. His skin tingles with heat as he nods and looks away from your searing gaze.

“Oh,” you say. “Well, ah. You're looking a little flushed. Are you feeling all right?”

He is? Muichiro raises a hand to cup his cheek. He wonders what it'd feel like to cup your cheek, and the thought flusters him even more. He nods again: he wants you to keep talking to him and he wants you to stop talking to him so he can get himself in order. Light hazes his vision, turning the scene into a dream.

You smile at him. “If you're sure. Just ask me for help if you need anything or something, all right?”

He nods again. His throat is too dry for words. You lean over and pat his head, chuckling, and Muichiro peers at you wide-eyed. The warmth of your hand remains long after you've pulled away.

He's still hugging his notebook. The little conversation ends, and Muichiro is left staring at your profile as you move on to other things. His throat is dry. He swallows and tries to gather words to talk to you more, lead disappointment painting his insides at his inability to talk to you at all. He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth.

You rest your chin against your palm and sigh, pursing your lips. Never mind. Muichiro turns away faster than he can tell you he likes you a lot, but then again, he'd never know because he can never gather the courage to even say hi.

The bell rings. The teacher walks in, routine starts, but all Muichiro can think about is the doodle of hearts in his notebook. Your name carves into the pages, digs deep until he can feel it branded against his chest.

He wonders when you'll talk to him again.

Chapter Text

Grass leaves scratch against the coarse forest floor, a dewy tune resounding low beyond the hum and chirp of the woods all around you. A shadow flits overhead; an eagle cries. The sounds are relentless, scattering and overflowing and breathing life into the forest.

Muichirou squeezes your hand, nuzzling his cheek against your arm in an attempt to calm you down. The boulder behind your back is rough and sun-kissed, but Muichirou is soft: all flitting fingers and hushed murmurs and hand-crafted lullabies stitched together into a comforting blanket. He coaxes for you to lift your head, to look back at him and for your heart to calm, but all that remains of your world is the cold creeping up your chest: the panic, the hesitation, the crawling, crawling dread.

You hiccup, another sob leaving your pinched lips as Muichirou rubs soothing circles down your back. It's been hours since you got separated from the group and got lost in the winding paths and lumbering trees. The sun is already half-asleep, the sky a mesh of golden haze and scarlet clouds, and the moon hangs neatly in the middle of it all.

“It'll be all right,” Muichirou mumbles. “They'll find us.”

“But what if they don't and we end up dying here without anyone ever finding us?” you snap. You wince and rub your eyes with your sleeve, harsh enough to hurt. Muichirou frowns and holds your arm to stop you. “Sorry. That was harsh.”

His touch is incredibly gentle as he wipes your tears away with his own sleeve. “That's fine. It was my fault we're here in the first place.”

You shake your head. “Not your fault.”

You go as if to bury your head back into your arms, but Muichirou is faster, tugging you to his chest before you can hide again. You squeak in surprise, shoulders tensing and untensing before you melt into the hug. Muichirou shifts until you're in a comfortable position, with you resting between his legs, ear on his chest where his heartbeat rings clear. Deft fingers untangle your updo, letting your hair down before combing through the strands.

The motion is calming. You bury your head in his shirt and let out a shaky sigh. Your tears are running out, but the suffocating fear of being lost and dying alone won't leave you just yet.

At least Muichirou's with you, you think, but you don't know whether that's a good or a bad thing.

“Sorry,” he says. “Shouldn't have dragged you with me to explore alone.”

You don't reply to that. “How long do you think until they find us?”

A shrug. You count his heartbeats until your own matches his (one, two, three, four); you tilt your head up and graze your lips against his collarbone before returning to your position. His pulse jumps beneath your fingertips.

Outwardly, however, Muichirou seems unaffected. He tilts his head up to watch the wind brush away the clouds with a hazy fervor, painting the sky with abstract shapes and crystallized imagines. The wind picks up and raises dried leaves from the ground. It is autumn: fire graces everywhere. He buries you in his oversized jacket and rests his chin atop your head.

Your stomach growls. You flush in embarrassment, but Muichirou doesn't even try to make fun of you for it. “You hungry?”

“A bit,” you mumble. “I'll be fine.”

Shuffling. You pull away to watch him curiously as he searches through his pockets before coming up triumphantly with a Snickers bar. He waves it in front of your face enticingly.

You shake your head, giggling, and push his hand away. “You're probably hungry too,” you protest. “It's my fault for not saving some food for myself.”

Muichiro stares at you. “Take it.”

“No, you take it.”

“No, you take it.”

“No, you.”

Your stomach grumbles again. A sly smirk graces Muichirou's lips, as if taking that as a sign that he has won. He unwraps the bar and places it on your lips, smearing the chocolate like lipstick. You frown at him, pinching your lips together.

Muichirou matches your deadpan stare. “Eat.”

You shake your head. Chocolate smears on your cheek. Muichirou carefully wipes it away with his thumb and licks the chocolate off his finger. You flush brighter and open your mouth to speak, but Muichirou only uses the opportunity to shove the bar inside your mouth.

He smiles at you cutely. “Eat it.”

You huff and glare at him, biting off a part before handing it back to him. The cards reverse: Muichirou stifles his laughter and purses his lips close, pushing the chocolate bar back to you. The wind whips around you and disturbs the calm nest of rusted leaves around.

You chew on the chocolate inside your mouth. “Mui, you have to eat, too. Who knows how long we'll be stuck here until they find us?”

If they ever find you, but you banish the thought with another petulant glare directed to Muichirou. He sighs in defeat and opens his mouth expectantly.

“Good boy,” you tease, patting his head as you feed him the bar. Muichirou snorts. His stare is intense, and self-conscious, you peer back at him.

“Mui . . . ?”

He leans forward, hands grabbing the back of your head to pull you close. You close your eyes instinctively as your lips meet, a gentle wave of electricity warming your chest with a sudden burst of affection for the boy. You hum into the kiss contentedly, parting your lips when he licks at your lower lip.

Sweetness explodes in your tongue. You open your eyes in surprise as Muichirou forces the chocolate bar to your mouth, pecking your lips one last time before pulling away and covering your mouth with a hand.

Your protests are muffled. Muichirou grins at you. “Eat it.”

You shake your head, trying to pry his hand away, but he's leagues stronger than you are, so you fail miserably at that. You give up after a few minutes, sighing as you chew on the chocolate. Muichirou's grin doesn't let up, even as you glare and glare and glare at him.

He takes his hand away when you finally swallow. “Bastard,” you sigh.

“Love you, too.” Eye-roll. You only notice the dark of the sky when the moon reflects brightly on his eyes. You squeak and throw yourself into his arms, shivering as the sounds of the forest merge with the sounds of the night, crescendoing into a harmony of noise and nature. Muichirou laughs teasingly as he wraps you up in his jacket again.

You curl in fetal position, and Muichirou tries his best to cover your whole body up with his jacket. The air has turned cool, the shadows have extinguished the fire of the leaves with dust and nightmares. The rustling no longer sounds calming.

“Mui?” you ask, voice small. “They'll find us, right?”

“Mm.” He kisses the top of your head. “You should sleep. I'll wake you up when they find us.”

“I'm not sleeping in the forest,” you say, but even then, his words bring a sense of drowsiness to your heavy lids, drowning the fear with something more mellow: a subtle flush of warmth as you huddle closer to Muichirou's chest.

“Sleep.”

“No.”

“Sleep.”

“No.”

A sigh. “Fine. Suit yourself,” but he starts combing your hair again, humming that strange lullaby of broken words and tune, a soft song to match the steady beat of his heart. Drowsiness hits like a freight train, drawing a yawn from your lips while Muichirou sings you to sleep.

The world fades out. There is the sensation of his fingers on your hair, a soft pressure on your brow, and then nothing.

Chapter Text

Muichiro takes care to wipe away the blood that has splattered against his skin as thoroughly as he can as he stumbles down the snowy path to where your home is. The smell of iron snakes around his figure like incense, held captive by the blood that has dried on his hair, on his clothes, and Muichiro doesn't know why, but he thinks he'd like to look at least presentable to the person he's going to meet.

He stops in his tracks. (who was he to meet again? oyakata-sama? but this path is not familiar to him the way the path to oyakata-sama's mansion is. it winds long and harsh and only muscle memory — longing — keeps him here.)

Ah. Whatever. His skin is frozen. Muichiro clenches his fist and watches ice crystals break and shatter and reflect faded rainbows before falling.

The snow continues falling. Muichiro lets his feet lead him to wherever it wants to go, mindless. He's shivering and his sleeves are drenched and dried and he feels disgusting and hollow and empty again, and apparently, his soul craves for the warmth of a home because the path winds and the fog parts to reveal a quaint little house streaked with the white of winter. Muichiro lingers for a while by the gate, head tilted as he wonders what's special in this house, before hesitantly raising his fist and knocking on the door.

His knuckles hurt — no. He can't feel them at all. (but they hurt.)

A muted voice yells something, shuffling, and then the door opens. Muichiro blinks up at you and watches your eyes brighten as they lay on his figure. Your actions are hurried, excited, as you open the gate and let him in. Muichiro starts when you take his hand to guide him inside the house.

Your hand is warm, he thinks dizzily. It kind of feels like it can thaw away all the ice that has crept up his spine. You draw him inside, close the door against the snow howling to get inside, and almost instantly, heat pools and sticks to Muichiro's skin.

“I'm so glad you're back,” you sigh, turning around to wrap him in a hug. You smell like firewood and hearths, an earthy scent (the forest, home), but you pull away too quickly before Muichiro can name the sensation that loosens up his muscles and pulls his heavy lids downwards at your touch. He yawns. “I was afraid when the snowstorm hit. I thought you could have been hurt or stranded or something.”

Muichiro shrugs. (he does not even know you, despite the hints of comfort and familiarity in your actions.) “The sky was cloudy. It looks ugly.”

“It is?” You pat his head in sympathy. The deeper into the house you lead him, the heavier his footfalls become. “I'm sorry about that. I'll take you star-gazing after the snowstorm, how about that?”

He nods, mildly interested at the offer. Your fingers beat a small rhythm against his wrist as if calling his attention, but you leave his side when Muichiro looks up.

“You smell like blood,” you say, opening a drawer. You move as if stuck in a waterfall, though you bite your lip every other step you take, a hand coming up to support your hip. “Did you get into another fight?”

“Dunno.”

You hum. “I hope the demon wasn't very strong. Who accompanied you today?”

Did anyone accompany him? Muichiro struggles to piece the fragments of reality together, but either way, the sense of loneliness stains each puzzle piece. It only disappeared here, when your hand reached out for him.

The taste of ambrosia melts in his tongue. It tastes like blood.

“Mui?” You turn around, a piece of cloth on your hands, an embarrassed expression on your face. “Oh, and um, your clothes haven't dried up yet, so you can wear my clothes for now, if you don't mind.”

Muichiro shrugs again. “Aren't you wearing my clothes right now?” he asks, but takes the sleepwear from your hands anyway. You flush and raise your hands to your collar, where the buttons on his uniform are unbuttoned.

“I'll take it off if you want,” you squeak. “It just felt more comfortable?”

He does not really care. “My skin is itchy.”

Your lashes flutter and catch the light as you blink at him rapidly. Your lips draw into a slight giggle as you move forward to ruffle his hair. Muichiro winces.

“I'll warm up the bath for you?” you offer. “You can stay here for a bit.”

But Muichiro grabs the edge of your sleeve before you can leave. He looks up at you expectantly.

“Oh, all right,” you sigh, chuckling. “Come with me, then.”

“Will you wash my hair?” he asks. (it's a faint memory and it feels like a dream, hazy and ephemeral and maybe just a little bit too sweet for reality.) You hum and tilt your head, brushing your hair away from your neck, and Muichiro's gaze is drawn to the juncture where your shoulder meets your neck.

He swallows.

(the taste of ambrosia — blood —)

“Sure thing,” you say, squeezing his fingers. Muichiro sighs in relief at that. He doesn't remember why.

Bath is a quiet affair. Muichiro sinks down the water until the bubbles reach his pursed lips, your hands on his hair, the water turned pink, the smell of lilacs. You sing under your breath, and though Muichiro strains his ears to hear it, he can't understand your words well.

“I was thinking,” you start. “Do you remember Nezuko, Mui?”

He does not, but he tips his head in acknowledgment anyway.

“Well, I was thinking, what if we, you know.” Your voice dips to a low whisper, almost drowned by the water in his ears. “What if, well, when my wounds heal, I carry you on my back around too? It's just a suggestion though!”

Muichiro just shrugs again. He doesn't understand but figures it must be all right when your smile blooms like flowers in your lips.

“It would be nice to be together all day like that, no?” you say. “You can sleep during the day to get your energy back, too.”

But Muichiro doesn't get his energy through sleeping. He turns to you, curious, but you merely stare back, wide eyes earnest.

(the taste of —)

“Mui?”

The man he had eaten earlier is not enough. Hunger still swirls in his stomach, and you look tempting, he thinks. Muichiro swallows harshly and looks away again dipping his head below the water to rid himself of your smell.

It just doesn't seem proper, for some reason, to think of you like food. His stomach turns violently.

“Hey, Mui, are you all right?”

(your voice echoes as if from miles away. his lungs burn — oh. he's underwater.)

He resurfaces with a gasp, to concerned eyes peering at him. Your scent has mixed with the perfumed bath. It's both dizzying and intoxicating and maybe this is what the fall from heaven feels like, except Muichiro's biting his lip until blood is drawn and until the temptation to sink his teeth into your skin abates.

“Mui —”

“I'm sleepy,” he says. The water has become lukewarm. “I don't wanna stay here.”

You're silent for a while. A sigh, and then a warm towel wraps around his shoulders, careful not to let it soak the water from the bath. Muichiro sits up properly and lets you dry his hair.

Your clothes smell like you. It sinks into his shoulders like soap.

“Do you, um, want anything?” you ask hesitantly. “Food? Or um —”

“Sleep,” he repeats. Muichiro blinks up at you and holds his breath. He should take you and wrap his hands around your throat and cover your mouth with a hand just to feel your scream against his skin. He doesn't, for some reason. You smile at him gently.

“Of course,” you say, and Muichiro drifts to your side like a magnet, nudging his head against your arm. You chuckle endearingly and hug him to your side.

His stomach growls. That man was not enough. You sit him in your futon while you set out to turn off the lights. His uniform fits you well.

Discretely, Muichiro covers his nose and breathes in. The candle blows off.

“Mui?” you ask. He waits until you've slipped underneath the blanket before joining in. His mouth waters when you wrap your arms around him and pull him to your chest. You hesitate.

Muichiro waits. Your heart beats in his ear, gentle and strong.

“Promise me you haven't . . .” you trail off. You bury your face in his hair and breathe out a shaky sigh. “No, of course, you haven't. Right?”

He doesn't know who you are, does not have a tie to you, but still, his chest weighs heavy. Is this guilt? Is this hunger? Muichiro kisses your collarbone, on the verge of falling down a deep chasm when his teeth grazes skin. You hold your breath.

He doesn't bite. Muichiro snuggles against you, even as he longs to let his nails pierce your flesh, let your blood seep through his clothes and mouth. You sigh in relief.

He swallows back the bitter taste in his tongue, and closes his eyes.

Chapter Text

The stillness in the air pounds like a drumbeat. It pulses to the beat of your heart, climbing up your skin and forcing its way down to the back of your throat like a vice, unbearably hot and heavy and so, so, so wretchedly uncomfortable.

The temari jingles. Laughter rings out. Hinaki and Nichika are playing outside; one of them hums a lullaby that echoes into the night.

If you didn't look too close, you can almost delude yourself into thinking that this, this is a normal family.

Your husband's hand is cold in yours. You squeeze his fingers and watch the moonlight bleed out the color of his skin into silver.

“Are you well, love?” you ask quietly. A washbowl rests to your side, the cloth draped over the side dripping droplets of water down the floor. You take it and wrangle the water with one hand as best as you can, laying it atop his forehead after. Kagaya closes his eyes and smiles beatifically. It looks painful.

“I will be fine,” he says. A mere whisper; it runs wild in the echoes of the night. “I am certain . . . After tonight, everything will be fine again.”

You hum thoughtfully. Your heart turns like a clock, mechanical, a slave to fate. You dare not tell him anything.

“I wonder . . .” Kagaya starts. “How does the sky look tonight, Y/N?”

Eyes cast above. “The moon is full and the sky is clear from clouds. The stars are in full view. It's very beautiful, love.”

“Is that so?” A mild laugh can be heard. The temari falls to the ground. The game starts again.

“Number one, one night passes. Oh, so busy, busy.”

“I wish I can see it for the last time.”

Kagaya hides it well, but there is a lingering bitterness snaking around his wistful words. His sight has long been stolen from him, and since then, he's quietly mourned not being able to see the sky again with you. You raise your hand and bring his knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss against the diseased skin stretched over porcelain bones.

“We should go and see the sky again some other time,” you say lightly. Unsaid: in another time, one far kinder than here where you've been placed.

Kagaya nods. He shifts to look at your general direction, and smiles.

“He's here.”

A long shadow blocks the moonlight. You look up.

Plum red eyes stare back.

“It's finally nice to meet you, Kibutsuji Muzan,” Kagaya says casually.

A chuckle flits in your ear, honey-thick and suave. Muzan's jacket rests precariously on his shoulders, and the wind picks up, as if trying to steal it away. The sleeves whip around him uselessly.

“Well,” he says. “You sure look terrible, Ubuyashiki.”

“Number two, the two leafed-pine,

Put the decorations up on the pine, on the pine.”

If you do not look too closely, you can still delude yourself into dreaming that this is a normal family. Your twins have not stopped playing, and their laughter mingles with the song.

“Kibutsuji.” You incline your head, a mockery of respect. “As much of a pleasure it is to finally meet you, I'm afraid you have come to the wrong place.”

Both men turn to look at you. You avoid Kagaya's gaze and keep your eyes on Muzan. He raises a delicate eyebrow, amused.

“Oh?” He looks intrigued. “Do tell me then: where should I be at?”

“At the mountain of wysteria blooms,” you tell him. Kagaya makes a stifled noise at the back of his throat. “Where your blue spider lily blooms.”

The atmosphere darkens. Your heart stills, as if afraid to beat when Muzan steps forward menacingly. His red eyes glow unnaturally.

“Oh? You're telling me you, a mere mortal, have found the thing I have been looking for for centuries? How amusing.”

“Y/N . . .” Kagaya says. His palm lays flat on the floor, struggling to bear his weight as he tries to sit up. You press a hand on his chest to stop him.

“This path you are taking . . .” you start. “If you try to take Nezuko, you will be cornered by the Pillars and all other Demon Slayers. Won't taking the blue spider lily be more favorable to you?”

“Colors, colors,

The threefold pine.”

The wind rustles. “Curious, curious,” Muzan hums, regarding you from head to toe. Your sweat is cold, burning through your skin like acid. “Tell me, what is your motive here, for lying so blatantly to me?”

You raise your chin. “I am not lying. Let my family live, and I will show you the way.”

Muzan stares you down. Your hands are shaking, but you are resolute. Tonight will not be the night where your husband dies.

A malicious grin sweeps the shadows. “Lead the way.”

“Y/N —”

You lean down and press a kiss against his bandaged forehead. Kagaya claws at your arm weakly, trying to keep you with him. Gently, you take his hand and lay it down.

Your chest is heavy. “We'll go see the sky again, some other time, love.”

Hinaki and Nichika look up as you step outside. Their sleeves flow like waves in the evening breeze, and Hinaki holds the temari to her chest with a sorrowful look. You incline your head to them.

They will take care of everything for you now.

The hike up is silent. You're highly aware of Muzan's eyes on the back of your neck, as chilling as ice dripping down your spine. Above you, wysteria flutters down to the ground with every soft breeze, and you hear his disgusted grunts every time a petal grazes his coat. You've steered him towards the path where the trees are thin to gain his trust, and it seems to be working, though you can only hope that the flowers are doing their job to weaken him enough for the Pillars to be able to kill him.

You look up. The pale moon smiles down.

“It's near the peak,” you say. Sweat drips down your forehead, both from the exertion and the anticipation. You take a deep breath — the air here is thin. “You will honor our agreement, yes?”

Muzan chuckles. “I am a man of my word.”

You don't quite trust that, and you can tell he knows. Not that it matters. He will never be able to touch your family after this. Never again.

You reach the apex of the mountain. Here, everything is surreal: the world rests underneath your feet, slumbering and small, and so, so beautiful. It still feels like a dream.

You want to cry.

His gaze roams around the space. You watch him patiently, watch his features shift from irritation, watch it curl into anger.

Red eyes snap towards you, slitted pupils dilated. Muzan stalks towards you like a stalker to its cornered prey. “Have you gone mad? Do you truly seek to trick me with such blatant lies? For what reason? You are aware I will not spare you nor your family for wasting my time, yes?”

You fish the detonator from your kimono. Your hands are shaking, your heart is in overdrive, every instinct screaming at you to run, run, run. You force your feet to stay still, raising your chin to look down at him.

Your lips curve into a terrified, manic grin. “Go to hell, Muzan! You'll never get what you want! The Demon Slayers will never let you as long as we breathe!”

Cold hands wrap around your throat. “And that is supposed to make me feel afraid? To make me fear for my life?”

He squeezes. You choke, hands coming up to grip his on instinct. You watch his eyes fall on the detonator in your hands.

You grin at him. “Goodbye, Muzan.”

(goodbye, everyone. we'll meet again some time.)

A crow flies in the middle of the night, dark feathers blending in with the night sky. It has an urgent message brimming at the tip of its beak, but its missive is easily ignored. The explosion in the distance serves as warning enough.

Hinaki helps his father sit up, the bandages that you had painstakingly wrapped around his head falling down. Kagaya's eye bleeds, his breath stuttering in his chest as the explosion rocks the mansion.

Hinaki closes her eyes. There is no time to cry.

“Y/N —” Kagaya gasps out, coughs rattling his chest. “Was this her plan all along?”

Nichika wrangles the water off the cloth from the water basin. Her sleeves are wet. “Father, please lay down again. You must rest.”

But Kagaya's eyes are wide open. He gazes into the distance where the explosion originated from, and though he is unseeing, Hinaki sees the reflection of the flames in his eyes.

She wants to cry. In the dark, she finds her twin's hands, and she squeezes hard, finding small relief when her sister squeezes back.

“Mother wanted us to live,” she says. She must be calm now. “Please rest, Father. Leave this to everyone else.”

“You've done your job until now,” Nichika continues. Her hand is gentle as she wipes away the blood dripping down their father's cheek. “Please rest.”

They are silent. A crow caws and lands on their engawa. “The Pillars have arrived!” it squawks. “The final battle has started!”

Goosebumps race up his arms. Hinaki and Nichika finally manage to beckon him to lay back down the futon, working efficiently to make him as comfortable as possible. His eyes close. Another loss. The absence screams at them.

“Kiriya will assure our victory tonight,” Hinaki says.

“Everyone will make sure to avenge everyone who died.”

Kagaya sighs. “Yes. Tonight will be the night where Muzan will be killed.”

Empty, comforting words. The silence screams.

Chapter Text

A thin strip of light drenches the basement with fire from the sunset outside. People chatting, birds chirping, life moving — Muichiro steps inside, and all of it silences to a halt. The sound of a heartbeat like a metronome resounds.

He smiles cheerfully at you, a tray of food and a glass of water on his hands. He's still clad in his uniform, the sweat and toil of the day dried on his skin like scars and blood. He ignores the tiredness of his body, however, and sets the tray aside to kneel in front of you.

(nothing else matters but you.)

“Hi,” he greets, tilting his head to meet your eyes. Distant; you gaze on a horizon you can't see. “How've you been? I brought you some food. It's your favorite! I remembered this time! Aren't you proud of me?”

No answer. Sand trickles down the hourglass, a clock chimes, somewhere. The shadows make your face look haggard, but Muichiro thinks you're still the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

“Y/N?” he prompts. “Oh, I'm so dumb. Do you want me to feed you? I'd untie you from here, but I don't think Yui would appreciate that very much.”

Still no answer. That's all right. Muichiro can speak for both of you. He gingerly picks up some food using the chopsticks, a cupped hand underneath to catch anything that falls, and moves it to your lips.

You move your head to the side.

Muichiro can hear his heart break all over again. He swallows against the wave of emotions. “Hey, Y/N. You should eat, please.”

You don't respond.

“Y/N?”

( — silence.)

Muichiro drops the chopsticks on the plate and leans toward you, hands resting on your lap as he attempts to meet your eyes. You refuse, a silent show of rebellion, even as your stomach growls in protest. You've refused to eat anything for a few days now since you've started staying with the twins. Muichiro doesn't know what to do anymore.

“Hey, are you still mad at me?” Muichiro asks. “Don't be mad at me. I'm sorry. Hey, Y/N. Listen to me. I'm sorry.”

You

will

not

respond.

(why won't you respond?)

His hands clutch blindly at your clothes, growing desperate as he presses himself harder against you in an attempt to catch your attention. It doesn't work — why won't it work?

(look at him, dammit.)

“Y/N,” he says again, again and again like a mantra. “Y/N, please look at me. Hey, Y/N. Look — Look at me. Don't you love me anymore?”

(say something, anything; he'd take anything other than this blank silence — please.)

“Do you really hate me that much?” he asks, on the verge of hysteria, down the cliff of madness. Tears lick at his feet, growing heavy, climbing, climbing, climbing until they reach up to wrap around his throat in a chokehold. He tries to catch your eye, but your gaze is too far away. “Please, Y/N! I'll do anything you want! I'll kill myself if you want! Just, please, don't hate me! Y/N, please.”

It doesn't work. You're too far away, and Muichiro tries to shake you awake, tries to call out your name. He prays to the Gods and Buddha, to you, but nothing works. His vision blurs, and tears as hot as blood drip down his cheeks as he feels his heart break down into fragments. This is painful — painful. Why? Weren't you supposed to bring him happiness? He was supposed to be happy when he finally had you. Then why are you like this? So, so . . . unresponsive and cold and — and —

Dead.

He can't stand it. He can't stand it, he can't stand it, he can't. This isn't you. Gods, give him back his Y/N. No matter how hard he holds on to you, your eyes remain frustratingly empty.

(and after everything he's done, too . . . he can't, just can't lose you too. he just can't.)

“Muichiro.”

The voice snaps like a whip through the haze of tears. Muichiro stiffens and looks back to where Yuichiro stands, arms crossed over his chest as he looks down on you both.

Muichiro sniffs and wipes at his eyes. “She's still not doing anything, Yui! What do we do? What —”

“Just give her some time.” His voice softens (like a feather, like the devil on your shoulder, like a siren with glinting teeth.) “Let's leave her alone for now. She should be better when morning comes.”

“But —”

A switch flickers: life breathes into your dull eyes. A sharp gasp is drawn from your lips, and Muichiro snaps his head back to you, delighted at the expression that crosses your face.

(horror. absolute, abject horror.)

“D–Don't leave me alone, please,” you squeak, struggling against your binds. Your eyes are round with terror; the light outside bounces off of your irises and pales them into white. “Anything but that, please. Not again, please!”

Muichiro turns to you, chest warming at the sound of your voice. (sweet, sweet lullaby — a blood-curdling scream.) “Y/N! You're all right!”

You shake your head frantically. Muichiro rests his hand against your arm to calm you down. Your skin is red from the friction scratched by the ropes wrapped around your wrists and legs. He winces in sympathy.

“Please, don't leave me alone here again,” you gasp. “I'll do anything! Please!”

Slow and steady: Yuichiro's footsteps strike like thunder as he ambles towards you, drawing suspense like a skilled actor on a stage, dramaturgy. He wipes your tears away and sighs pitifully. You flinch.

“You haven't been good at all.” He clicks his tongue, expression darkening. “How do you think we'll grant you your wishes if you're still being a brat?”

You shake your head, whimpering. (Muichiro will never admit this out loud, but your cries bring a sense of schadenfreude in his chest — he wants to cry and he wants to hug you until your breath is stolen and your tears are diamonds and your lips are cold.)

“Then eat,” Yuichiro snaps. “If you don't finish that whole plate, you're staying here alone for the rest of the month.”

That's unfair, Muichiro knows. There's too much food on the plate, especially for someone who hasn't eaten in almost a week. You swallow harshly, still crying, and nod.

Muichiro grins at you, patting your head. Your hair is in tangles, and you squeak in pain when he starts combing through the strands.

“You'll eat now, Y/N?” he asks.

You nod. Your eyes are downcast.

(look

at

him.)

Muichiro bends over to peer into your eyes, marveling the way you flinch back, pupils dilating in fear. Your breath warms his skin.

“Hey, Y/N,” he murmurs, fingers dancing across your cheek. “You're not mad at me anymore, right? You love me too, right?”

And he sounds so pitiful and so depressed and so needy and so desperate. He clings onto your every word, your stuttering breaths (and that lovely, lovely point where your pulse beats out from your neck; he eyes it like a vampire hungry for blood.) Your eyes dart from side-to-side as if seeking escape.

Yuichiro clicks his tongue again. You jump.

“She's clearly not disciplined enough yet,” he says. Muichiro turns back to him. “Come on, let's leave her alone.”

You're still breaking his heart. This isn't how this was supposed to go. This isn't how this is supposed to go! You're supposed to love him and love Yuichiro and love them madly, desperately until you're suffocating under the burden of your love because you can't breathe without them. This isn't how this is supposed to go.

“But, Yui —”

“I love you!” you burst out. “I love you both! I love you, I love you, I love you! Please don't leave me here! I hate it here! Let me go! Please, I'll do anything, I swear, just don't leave me here alone, Yui, Mui, please!”

Yuichiro speaks up before Muichiro can even begin to verbalize the zipping electricity running through his veins, scattering warmth through his chest. This! This is how it's supposed to be like: you making him so happy he might as well have died and gone to heaven.

“Too late,” Yuichiro says. “You say that as soon as you're asked — no, as soon as we enter. You don't hesitate in saying that.”

“I'm sorry! Please forgive me, I'm sorry!”

Your screams fade in the background. “But Yui, at least she said it!”

“Too late,” he says shortly. “Leave her alone, and just put the food near her. If she wants to eat, she can lick it up the plate or something.”

Isn't that too harsh? but Muichiro never voices it. He sighs and does as his twin ordered, patting your head comfortingly once again.

“Don't leave me, Mui,” you beg. “Please. I don't wanna be here anymore.”

He kisses your forehead and smiles at you. “It's only for a bit more,” he reassures. “If you love us, you'll endure it, right?”

Your face crumples. Muichiro pretends not to hear your screams and pleas as he closes the door to the basement behind him.

Chapter Text

Your palms are aching.

The sun is scorching hot today; it soaks through the black of your uniform and through the sweat coating your body to burn your skin with an unholy fire. It's so uncomfortable to stand here, your hair and clothes clinging to your body like a second skin. The grip of your katana digs against your palms.

Kyojuro stands a few ways from you, grin still bright as ever. He seems unaffected by the heat. “That's it!” he booms. “Now, try swinging your sword from that position!”

Mitsuri kicks her feet from the ground and perks up, hands slapping against her cheeks as she squeals. “Oh! I remember that move! It's when you go schwing and badum and then dudun on your enemies, right, Rengoku? Ah, it was so cool when you did that! So amazing!”

Kyojuro stares at her curiously for a bit. Unfazed as always, he laughs and nods at his former tsuguko. “Indeed! Mastering this move is the first step in mastering this Breath! This is highly crucial in your growth, Y/N! Do your best!”

Mitsuri's cheeks flush. “Do your best, Y/N! You're already doing amazing!”

You nod and huff. Your chest is aching and you really want nothing more but to go home and relax in the low shade, maybe soak in some cold water for a bath, but with these two mentoring and cheering you, you certainly can't take a break just yet.

A pair of arms wrap around your waist.

You startle, shifting in your feet to strike at the person in instinct. The scent of fresh grass and mint invades your senses, calm and relaxing — it's enough to make you lower your guard.

“Muichiro?” you question. The boy hums, resting his face against your back, preventing you from moving too much. You flush in embarrassment. You're terribly sweaty and disgusting right now — it's definitely not a good time for a hug!

“Ah, Tokito my boy!” Kyojuro exclaims when he sights the boy clinging to your form. “Lovely day today, no? What brings you to my Estate?”

Mitsuri squeals and hushes her friend. “Maybe he's here to visit Y/N,” she whispers conspiratorially, eyes glinting with excitement. A hand falls down to grip at her chest as her smile widens. “So cute! Did Muichiro miss Y/N too much?”

Muichiro promptly ignores his fellow Pillars. He nuzzles his cheek against your back, arms tightening around your waist.

“You weren't there when I woke up,” he mumbles against your clothes. You can feel the beginnings of a pout imprinted on your back. “Did you have to leave so early?”

You sigh. “I was training, Mui. I need to get stronger.”

“Go back home with me,” he pleads, peeking from around your shoulder to give you a puppy-dog look. “You've trained enough.”

Mitsuri claps her hands together, feet swinging wildly from her seat at the engawa. “He did miss Y/N!”

“It has been five hours since we started training!” Kyojuro pipes in. You turn to him, and he smiles back at you. “You've earned yourself a break, Y/N! Go rest with Tokito for a while!”

“Yes!” Mitsuri nods aggressively. “Oh, I know the perfect place for you to eat lunch at before you go home! Down the street to the right, there's a lovely hill perfect for a picnic!”

You shoot a look of protest at the Pillars. “But, Rengoku, Kanroji, I'm not tired yet —”

“Y/N,” Muichiro whines. He tugs at your uniform and frowns as you turn around. You reach out on instinct to smooth over the creases on his brow. “Go home with me.”

“But, Mui —”

He wraps his arms around you again, this time nuzzling against your chest. Your skin heats up even more. “Go home with me,” he repeats, pronouncing each syllable slowly. He looks up at you with wide eyes.

Mitsuri fans herself with her hands. “Muichiro and Y/N are so cute,” she sighs to Kyojuro, voice low so as to not alert the couple to her fawning. “Watching them makes my heart burst!”

Kyojuro nods. “Agreed! They both make a good couple, certainly!”

Kyojuro is the worst at discretion. His booming voice reaches your ears and you flush madly. It's so hot, and your friends are not helping at all. You need an icy bath after this.

You stammer a protest. “I–It's not — We're not —”

Muichiro rests his chin on your abdomen and stares up at you, pouting. His arms are still wrapped around your waist, trapping your hands to your side, and he looks at you so pitifully that you just have to cave in, even though you planned on training the whole day.

Damn Muichiro and his charms. You sigh in surrender. He perks up.

“I'll be taking a break now, then, teacher,” you say, and Muichiro gifts you with the brightest smile ever, enough to make the sun's glare seem dim compared to the shine of his grin. You smile at him and wiggle your arms away from his hug to ruffle his head.

Mitsuri muffles another squeal with her palms, and Rengoku waves at you as you leave his Estate, Muichiro still clinging to your side, lovingly nuzzling his cheek against your arm.

“Have fun, Y/N, Tokito!” he calls out.

Muichiro has always been like this: so clingy and needy for your attention that he interrupts any and every meeting you have with either friends or colleagues and does all he can to make you look at him and only him. He better thank the gods and Buddha that he has a cute smile that takes off the edge of your irritation at him every time he barges in on you and your friends.

But it's still a bit annoying.

Like now. Muichiro sits behind you, chin resting on your shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around your abdomen, bored eyes lazily counting the clouds in the sky. Uzui had originally pulled you out of your training for an "urgent mission," and of course, Muichiro trailed behind despite Uzui's best efforts to distract him from you.

The "urgent mission" turned out to be an intervention for Obanai. You're sitting cross-legged underneath a cherry blossom, hidden from the public eye, face to face with the flustered Snake Pillar and Kaburamaru winding around his neck and down his arm.

“See,” Uzui is saying, “You two are already close. You just have to drop hints every now and then that you like her! I suggest buying her diamonds and jewels and writing songs about everything you love about her. Make it flamboyant and romantic, and Kanroji will be pudding in your hands in no time at all!”

You nod absently. You still have no idea why Uzui dragged you to help him out, of all people. Muichiro hums a lullaby in your ear, tracing random patterns against your skin that's light enough to tickle. You stifle your laughter.

Obanai groans and scrubs his face with a hand. “I know how to deal with my own problems without you two butting into my business,” he hisses. “So piss off already.”

He'd apparently been tricked by the "urgent mission" lie that Uzui had employed to bait you in as well and isn’t taking it well.

Uzui shakes his head. “No, no, no. You obviously need our help if you've been pining for Kanroji for years and haven't made it past the friendship phase! Right, Y/N?”

You and Muichiro perk up at the mention of your name.

“Right . . .” you say hesitantly. “I suppose so.”

Uzui grins at you before turning to Obanai. “See? Even Y/N agrees!”

Muichiro yawns. “Just stop being a coward and tell her already, stupid.”

The surroundings still. There's a beat of a second where the world takes a deep breath in anticipation. Obanai and Uzui stare at Muichiro, who has gone back to watching the clouds. A tick mark appears on Obanai's forehead.

“What did you say, brat?” he asks in a low voice, a threat enveloped in the glare of his eyes.

Muichiro's gaze turns back to them. “I said, stop being a coward and just confess. And stop stealing my Y/N away just to make her listen to you be a wimp.”

Uzui snorts. Obanai turns to him, a finger pointed rudely at his chest. “Don't you dare laugh. It's you who pulled us here to listen to your stupid ramblings.”

Uzui raises an eyebrow, mildly offended. “Excuse me? You had better be thanking me and Y/N for taking pity on you and trying to help!”

“I wasn't asking for help!”

Muichiro sighs and nuzzles against your neck. “Can we go home, Y/N?”

“No.” You flick his forehead, frowning. Muichiro winces and pouts at you. “You started an argument. You had better resolve it first or I'm not talking to you for the rest of the day.”

His eyes widen in panic as his hands grasp for purchase in your clothes. “But Y/N —”

“No buts.” You try to wiggle out of his embrace, but Muichiro only tightens his grip on you even more.

“But it's not my fault Iguro's a coward!” Muichiro cries out.

The two Pillars arguing abruptly stop, turning to Muichiro, one with a look of fury and one with a look of amusement. Muichiro keeps his eyes on you and does his best to act as cute as humanly possible to melt your heart like normal.

You're not having it.

And neither is Obanai, it seems.

He shoves his finger at your chest. Well, at Muichiro, really, but given that he's hiding behind you, it appears as if he's berating you instead.

“You obnoxious little brat,” Obanai hisses. “I should cut your tongue off, you needy, clingy bastard. Do you even have a life outside of clinging to Y/N like a leech?”

“Iguro!” you gasp. “That's not very nice of you to say!”

“Fuck off,” Muichiro says, flicking his middle finger up at the older Pillar. “At least I actually have someone to cling to because I'm not a coward like you.”

Uzui bursts out laughing again. Muichiro goes back to nuzzling against you, lashes fluttering as he coos at you. Obanai flushes red and gets up, as if aiming to hit Muichiro. Uzui catches him and holds him back.

Uzui winks at you, still laughing. The sight of the petite Snake Pillar struggling against his huge frame while throwing out insults is a bit comical.

“You should hide your boyfriend from Iguro for a couple of days,” he suggests, raising his voice to be heard over Obanai’s barrage of insults. “Iggy here is jealous.”

“I am not jealous. Let go of me or I’ll cut you into pieces and feed you to your precious rats, you ass.”

You frown. Getting up, Muichiro has to let go of you for a bit to stand up and you use that opportunity to walk away first, putting some space between you and Muichiro. You tip an imaginary hat to Uzui as Muichiro blinks at the sudden space between you.

“Hey, Y/N —” he begins, raising his arms for a hug.

“Nu-uh,” you say, glaring at him. Muichiro freezes. “Not today, buddy. You've crossed a line right there. I'm angry at you.”

Muichiro looks like he's been punched in the gut. “But –”

You duck away from him when he tries to hug you again. You have to admit, it’s adorable, and a little heart-breaking when he blinks down at his outstretched arms, as if questioning why his arms are still empty.

You have to try your best to ignore him for now, though. Insulting Obanai like that was really uncalled for, even if it was hilarious and rather true.

The third strike comes one high noon. Wood clashes against wood, grunts and curses fly in the air as Giyuu and Sanemi spar in the Water Estate. You’re sitting by the shades, idly snacking on some of the ohagi that Sanemi had bribed you with to make you referee in their fight. You’ve been stuck in here for a while now, unable to leave as Sanemi repeatedly taunts Giyuu for another fight, unwilling to accept a draw.

You just want to go home.

Their wooden swords break. Again. You sigh. “Another draw.”

“Fuck?” Sanemi spits; distaste drips from his glare, overflowing. “Another one! Stop being so damned annoying and just fuck off already, Tomioka!”

That’s Sanemi’s language for “let’s do a rematch, Tomioka!” You oblige and throw over a pair of wooden swords to the pair. You shoot Giyuu a helpless, pleading look, but he just stares back with blank eyes, unable to read the look in your eyes.

You sigh again. This is getting ridiculous. Sanemi picks up his sword and raises it towards Giyuu.

The scent of fresh grass and mint comes first, and then arms wrap around your waist. It's Muichiro. Again. He rests his chin on your shoulder.

“I'm still mad at you,” you say lightly, keeping your eyes on the duo sparring in front of you. Gale rustles the trees, but Giyuu moves fluidly in between attacks to strike Sanemi in the chest.

“I'm sorry,” Muichiro mumbles. His tone takes on a childish quality, and you can just tell he's giving you those infamous puppy-dog eyes of his. “I won't do it again?”

“Mm.”

The stalemate comes quicker this time. The sound of wood cracking rings out; for a while, the only sounds in the clearing are the boys' panting and the chirp of birds singing.

“Another draw —”

“Goddammit!” Sanemi throws down the hilt of the sword and turns to you. “Another one!”

“Shinazugawa, don't you think —”

“The hell?” Muichiro interrupts you. “Are they really that dumb that they need you to tell them who won while they spar?”

You don't know whether that was meant for your ears only, but either way, Sanemi hears it. His glare turns to Muichiro.

“What the fuck did you say?”

You cover Muichiro's mouth before he can speak. “Nothing, Shinazugawa!” you say brightly. “Um, here are your new swords! Do your best!”

Muichiro wrenches your hand from his mouth. “I said, are you so dumb that you have to take Y/N from me just to tell you how much you suck at fighting?”

Oh. God. Sanemi's expression darkens. Muichiro only pokes his tongue out mockingly at him, clutching you to his chest tighter. Sanemi's veins pop.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. You're screwed.

“Um, Shinazugawa, we can talk about this peacefully —”

“Peacefully, my ass,” he snaps. “I'm gonna kill you, you little brat —!”

You tug Muichiro's arms away from your waist and run, pulling him along the way. Sounds of pursuit follow closely behind, but Muichiro doesn't seem to mind.

“Will you go home with me now?” he asks you hopefully.

“No!” you pant, looking behind you in terror. Sanemi's right at your heels. You squeak and will your legs to run faster. “We need to hide from Shinazugawa first!”

“And then we'll cuddle at home?”

“ Now's not the time for this, Mui!”

The Butterfly Estate is quiet and calm, a perfect escape from the madness that Muichiro inevitably casts into the world. Butterflies flit around, and when the sunlight hits their wings, they cast colorful patterns on the floor.

Shinobu sighs. “Tokito, will you please stop pissing everyone off?”

Muichiro blinks at her, tilting his head to the side in question. Strands of dark hair fall and tickle his eyes, clashing against pale mint, and your hands twitch, habit singing at you to lean over and tuck his hair beneath his ear.

Stay strong, Y/N. Not yet, not yet. You’re supposed to be angry at him.

“Go away, Kocho,” he says. “Stop hiding Y/N.”

From your position behind Shinobu, you can see her fists clench in annoyance, before smoothing over and calming in less than a second. She chuckles and pours tea for the four of you instead. “I’m afraid the choice lands on Y/N for that one.”

She, Himejima, Muichiro, and you are alone at her engawa, having been summoned by Oyakata-sama for a lesson after several Pillars have apparently been pissed off by Muichiro today. Outside, the garden blooms in the sunlight, but in here, the shadows cast a sorrowful tone on the frown in Muichiro’s face.

“Namu Amida Butsu,” Himejima murmurs, head bowing as his prayer beads rattle around his hands. “Kocho is right, Muichiro. It is wiser to keep the peace than sow discord.”

Muichiro ignores them both. He peers over Shinobu’s shoulder at you and juts his lip out. “But I just wanna hug Y/N.”

Shinobu pushes a cup of tea to everyone, carefully handing another to you. “There’s a time and place for everything, Tokito.”

Finally, Muichiro turns to her. “But Y/N’s always busy!”

“But you wanna hug me 24/7!”

“Because I like hugging you!” His eyes drift downward, shoulders hunching. “You're all warm and stuff and you make me feel nice and safe when I hug you. Why's that so bad?”

Himejima cries harder. “Ah, you poor children,” he mumbles. “So blinded by infatuation.”

Shinobu places a hand on her chest. Her expression is mildly shocked, but still, she smiles tenderly at Muichiro. “Oh my, Tokito, I didn't know you felt so strongly for Y/N. There's nothing wrong with that at all, but as I said before, there's a time and place for everything. And it isn't worth it pissing everyone off just to get to hug Y/N, no?”

“But they keep stealing her from me,” he whines.

“They're not stealing me from you, Mui,” you sigh. “They're my friends too. I love hanging out with them as much as I love hanging out with you.”

“But —” his lower lip quivers. Muichiro looks as if he's almost about to cry. “Don't you like hugging me, Y/N?”

“It's not that,” you protest. “I love it when you're giving me hugs! Sometimes, it's just a bit . . . you know.”

“Stifling?” Shinobu offers.

You nod.

Muichiro blinks. “What's that?”

“It's when you don't give your partner space to herself, Tokito,” she explains.

“Oh.” His eyes wander outside, lost in thought. He snaps back at you in alarm. “Does that mean you hate me, Y/N?”

“No!” you exclaim, shocked that he'd even think of that. “I could never, Mui! I'd just prefer it if you didn't, you know, cling to me all the time and make everyone angry at you and stuff.”

“Oh,” he says again.

Prayer beads rub against each other. Himejima's presence is exigent. “You should apologize to everyone and make things right, Muichiro.”

Shinobu nods. Muichiro turns to you, and you flash him a smile in return.

“You won't be mad at me if I do that?”

You shake your head. “I'm not mad at you, Mui. But if it makes you feel better, I'll sleep over your Estate tonight and cuddle you to sleep if you apologize. How's that?”

He brightens, almost stumbling on his pants as he stands up. Shinobu chuckles at his eagerness. “I'm on it!”

Muichiro pauses before he can step out of the house. He turns to you with wide eyes. “Can I get one last hug?”

You chuckle and raise your hands. He crashes into your arms eagerly, nuzzling his face against your neck. You wrap your arms around his back tightly.

“Ah, young love,” Himejima mumbles. “What a wonder. Namu Amida Butsu.”

Shinobu hides a smile. “Indeed, what a wonder.”

Chapter Text

In your mind's eye, a pendulum swings. It is weighed heavy with promise rings dangling at the edge of a rope, blown by the wind and the ticking of time. Left, right, left, right: on and on it goes. It's your only source of entertainment here, trapped in these drab, grey walls.

Your salvation. You count the seconds with every swing, and watch them turn to minutes, to hours; and watch the world go on with you stuck in time.

Muichirou steps forward. The light barely hits him, and like this, he looks evil, like an antagonist. Deranged. Mad. You're scared. A mad Muichirou never meant anything good. His question has echoed and your answer slapped him to sobriety, but now, his words are sharper than knives.

“You . . . love . . . someone else?” He's quiet, and his eyes glint maliciously in the dim light. A stuttered, manic laugh rasps out of his cold lips. “Someone . . . other than me?”

You lean back as far as you can, whimpering. The room is cold. So cold. Muichirou's footsteps crack like gunshots in the silence. “I —”

“That's so hurtful, Y/N,” he says softly. “I've loved you all my life, and you didn't even think of giving me the same courtesy?” A hand grasps at his clothes tightly, right above his chest. “That hurts. That hurts so much. I . . . Y/N, why? Why are you hurting me like this? Why?”

There are tears in his eyes. “M–Muichirou —”

“He doesn't deserve you,” he rambles. The unhinged look in his eye sends a spike through your chest. “No one else can deserve you. You're too good for them. Don't you see that? You're too perfect for those incompetent, stupid assholes! Why don't you see that?”

“I see it! I'm sorry, I won't do it again!” you burst out. You need to get away from here. Now. The ropes dig against your wrists; they burn like hellfire on your skin. Get out, get out, get out! Now!

Muichirou stares at you. You don't like that stare, you don't like that stare, you don't like it! “You promise?”

“I promise! I promise I won't!”

He doesn't believe you. Doubt makes those pale eyes dull. “You love me, right, Y/N?”

“I do! I love you, Mui!” You need to get out. Your eyes dart around for something, anything that can help you escape, but the room's completely barren. There is only you, him, and the light bulb that swings erratically above your head. Muichirou looks deranged with every shift of the light across his features.

You can't move at all. The ropes are too tight.

He sighs in happiness. “I'm glad to hear that.”

A thumb grazes your cheek. You flinch away from his touch, but Muichirou only tightens his grip on your chin. Your tears overflow. You just want out.

“Aww, don't cry, Y/N,” he murmurs, wiping your tears away. His touch burns. “Don't worry, I'll make it all all right.”

Your heart jumps. You peer at him hopefully. Does that mean —

His hands wrap around your throat.

Your eyes widen in fear as his face draws nearer to you. He kisses you and squeezes your throat and mumbles words of love and devotion and forever in your ear, but all you can focus on is the distant static buzzing in your ear. Your limbs jerk as you gasp for air, lungs screaming in protest as Muichirou laughs and laughs and squeezes harder.

“I don't believe you! I don't want you looking at anyone else!” he lashes out. “You're hurting me when you look at someone else! Stop hurting me — you're not supposed to hurt me!”

You can't breathe. You can't breathe.

Panic kicks in; you flail around uselessly, blindly seeking for escape. Your head feels like it's about to explode — you can't see. It's dark. You can't hear anything but your heartbeat, blood; there's ringing there, somewhere. Muichirou's heaving breaths. You can't breathe.

You can't breathe.

You don't want to die! You don't want to die, you don't want to die, you don't!

Ink stains your vision. You're dead. You're dead — you don't want to die —

A blink; it all fades away. You gasp for air and your head swims and it's painful and it's still dark. You think, afterlife? — are you dead? — but the sensation of cloth rubbing against your cheek, a trembling heartbeat, the strands of hair tickle your arms; you must be alive. Death is not this painful. Hot tears fall to your cheeks.

You're alive . . . ?

Muichirou's shoulders shake above you. He's crying? Your throat hurts. Everything hurts. You squeeze your eyes shut, but the ringing never stops.

But you're alive.

“I'm sorry!” Muichirou squeaks, voice muffled by your hair. His arms wrap around your shoulders. He is crying. You cough weakly into his clothes, and it feels like lava snaking down your throat. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please, don't be mad at me — I didn't mean it!”

You're alive.

You're alive.

You're alive.

He didn't kill you. He . . . spared your life.

You sob in relief, burying your head in his clothes as hot tears force their way down your cheeks. You're alive! It feels like a miracle: you were staring Death in the eye — you held his hand and stepped into the dark and you were falling, falling, falling into an abyss and then suddenly you're not and you're alive and Muichirou spared your life and you're alive.

He continues muttering apologies to your hair, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he cries. It feels too distant; feels like you're submerged in water, still drowning, but at least the water in your ears mute your surroundings. There is warmth, and then it's cold; your wrists and ankles are freed and then soft cotton wraps you up in comfort. He's carried you upstairs to his room.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he continues to mumble like a prayer. The sound of water dripping, splashing, and then a gentle, soothing warmth wipes at your face. You flinch away in instinctual fear.

Muichirou hesitates for only a second before returning to wiping your face with the cloth. Your eyes drift to his, but he doesn't meet your gaze. His hand trembles, but his touch is so, unbelievably soft that you want to cry.

You want to go home. You just want to go home.

But his touch is so gentle. And kind.

You don't even realize you're crying again until you feel him wiping your tears away. You look up to find wide, terrified eyes staring back at you.

“A–Are you still hurt?” he asks in a panic. His eyes glisten in the light. It must be afternoon, you muse hazily. Orange and gold suit him well. “Do you need anything? I – I'll do anything, just please stop crying!”

You shake your head and reach out to touch his hand — ah, you've been freed from your binds. Your wrists still burn, but you're free. Your shoulders shake from the force of your tears.

Muichirou panics even more, but you smile at him, and though your pathetic comfort is shaky, his fears lift: shoulders slant, a sigh of relief escapes his parted lips as his face crumples. His hair shadows his expression, but the little sobs that escape his lips clue you in on the turmoil in his mind.

You should look away. You should ignore him and curl into your own little ball and maybe cry, too, and dream of a better reality than being stuck here with this monster of a boy with wide eyes and innocent smile and blood-stained hands. Your throat screams at you, your close encounter with death by his hand screams at you. But still, your trembling hand rests atop his.

The words claw their way out like lava. “It's all right.”

Watery eyes snap towards you. He blinks, and his lip trembles as if trying to hold back another cry. He sniffs. “I should get you some water.”

You flush and shyly nod, looking away from him. Muichirou lingers for a while, letting the warmth of your palm seep in through his skin until he becomes as warm as you. Maybe that's what this is all about: he just wants you so much that he wants you to be his and for you to be him, until any space between you two has dissipated.

You're tired. He leaves and returns with a glass of water, helping you up to take a sip. It feels like honeyed ambrosia to your parched throat, easing the remaining pain until you return to the real world and the press of his hands on you becomes too painfully real.

You're both silent again as he wipes your face and your arms. It feels like a balm against your skin, and he takes extra care when he reaches your inflamed wrists. You want to cry.

Why is he being so nice now, when he took you away from your friends and family and just tried to kill you.

But he's being so kind. But he didn't actually kill you.

He touches your cheek to draw your attention back to him, and his palm is blessedly warm. You lean unconsciously towards his touch, desperate for something alive to hold onto. Your brush with death lingers heavy in your mind, a spectral cool in your spine like ice. It's so scary. His smile is the brighter than even sunlight, and like a religion, you find yourself craving for that salvation.

You swallow and look away. Your throat aches and screams and your body wants nothing but to leave this place and never look back; Muichirou kisses your forehead and the notion becomes too slippery to hold onto for long.

Muichirou treats you kindly the next day. And the next. And the next. And the next. He holds you gently and cuddles with you in the night and gives you baths and smiles at you with that bright, bright, happy smile, like you're the only one who could ever make him so happy. His kisses are like ice, but gradually, you think they'll melt one day.

You're still trapped in his room, but you are technically free. Your wrists and ankles are unbound, the doors are unlocked. Muichirou goes to school every day, and you are free, if you think about it. One step outside the door and you're free to leave and never come back.

You don't leave.

The pendulum is still swinging. His house is frighteningly empty when he's not around; the shadows scream at you and the floorboards creak under the weight of ghosts, and outside, a car honks, and you jump in surprise.

The real world. The outside world. You turn towards the windows, fingers itching to pull those curtains back and let the sunlight hit your face. It feels like it has been years since you last saw anyone but Muichirou and your own haggard reflection in the mirror. You shudder. The loneliness grins.

You shouldn't. He'll get angry. You shouldn't make him angry.

The door clicks open. You jump and turn around, heart in your throat like a criminal caught red-handed, but Muichirou doesn't seem suspicious. He greets you with a bright smile.

“Y/N!” His face is flushed. Did he run home? “I missed you!”

Your heart skips a beat at that. It's relief, relief, you tell yourself, as you open your arms to welcome him in. Muichirou laughs and throws himself into your arms, hard enough to throw both of you back into the bed. His laugh is like a kid's: so carefree and sprinkled with pure, unadulterated joy as he nuzzles against your neck before sighing in happiness.

“I'm so happy you're here,” he says. There's an underlying threat there, you think. Or maybe you're overthinking, and he's really just glad. You probably are. Maybe. You don't know.

“Where else would I be at except with you?”

Practiced words. As long as Muichirou is happy, then you are safe. You have to keep him happy and satisfied with you, and you'll be all right.

Muichirou grins up at you. “Right!” He nods eagerly. “No one else would love you like I do, right?”

Right, but the words catch in your throat. Muichirou goes back to nuzzling against your neck, uncaring of your response. Not when his arms around you are tight like a vice.

“Today was so boring,” he mumbles. “Everyone at school is so dumb and incompetent. I can't stand them. I missed you so much while I was at school.”

Just don't make him mad, and he'll still treat you like this, like someone precious and perfect. Just keep him happy.

“I missed you, too,” you say quietly, carding your hands through his hair. Muichirou hums happily at that, legs swinging up and down childishly as he props himself on his elbows.

His face shines. “Oh! But it wasn't all bad today! Guess what happened?”

“What?”

“Guess.”

And his lips curve into a frown. You panic, mind kicking into overdrive, thoughts racing past. Guess? How? So many things could have happened and you don't know where to start but oh God you have to guess —

Fingers lift your lips up into a forced smile. Muichirou's still frowning as he forces you to smile. Your face is frozen, but you hold that smile.

“Stop that,” he says. “That's not your smile. Smile better.”

You want to cry. Not again, not again, not again. You take a shuddering breath and try to erase your panicked thoughts with happier ones, smooth out the remnants of your frown.

A stiff silence where Muichirou examines your smile, and your heart stops beating. Finally, he nods in satisfaction, and the relief that crashes in is so thick that it drags you underneath its rocky waves.

Your limbs are still tense. It takes conscious effort to unwind them.

You're shaking.

Muichiro kisses your cheek and smiles sweetly at you. It's sickeningly sweet, like chocolates rotten, spoiled, turned bitter. His touch is warm but you are cold.

“Love you, Y/N,” he tells you, and searches your eyes for the answer he looks forward to.

Just don't make him angry, you think. He has seeped away all your warmth, but now that you are cold, you need his heat even more.

You lick your lips. Outside, someone shrieks in laughter, but here, everything is muted save for the mint eyes staring at you. You smile back, your heart leaps, and it feels like relief and it feels like infatuation; as long as he is happy, you are happy and safe. Maybe. Hopefully. You don't know.

“I love you too, Mui.”

Chapter Text

In the darkness beneath his closed lids, the world comes alive. The smell of fresh grass and rain hangs low, dancing with the cool mist that sticks to his skin with his every move. A strike of lightning; the skies grumble lowly, thunder booms. The sound travels deep underground and shakes the earth with its vibrations. Muichirou holds his breath – rain falls.

Icy. His skin turns cold. He shivers.

He doesn’t let it deter him. Muichirou tightens his grip on his katana and breathes in: the sharp sting of metal, old wood, the rain, the mist, the grass, the morning dew. Even without his sight, he can visualize exactly where everything stands. He readies a stance and sets to attack the wooden dummy.

Footsteps crunch on the forest floor. The falling rain stops, though the sound still crashes all around him. There’s a sliver of warmth within the peace you’ve brought with you that slants his shoulders in undeniable relief.

Muichirou opens his eyes. Raindrops cling to his lashes like tears; he brushes them away using his sleeve and turns around. “What are you doing out here?”

You’re trembling. The hem of your kimono is drenched, clinging to your ankles like a second skin as you hold the umbrella with both your hands. Muichirou sheathes his katana and takes the umbrella from you, frowning when the icy rain darkens your clothes even more.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” you explain. The gray sheen of the sky reflects on your skin. You look even more sick; Muichirou reaches up to touch your forehead, but all he feels is the wintry cold.

“Go back,” he says. “You’ll get even sicker.”

“You’ll get sick, too, though,” you point out. The wind picks up and almost steals the umbrella from Muichirou’s hands. He holds onto it with both hands. “Come home with me, Mui.”

“But –”

You interrupt him with a coughing fit that rattles deep into the bones. Muichirou panics, drawing near to you and rubbing circles on your back as you hunch over in pain. He can barely hear you over the howling wind, but he can feel you trembling beneath his hands, and it’s more graphic of an experience than he wanted to have.

He sighs. “Fine. Let’s go home.”

You hurry to the safety of your home, slamming the door behind you before the wind can follow inside. The relief is immediate; the sounds are muted here, the cold is less oppressive. He squeezes a sleeve and watches the water drip down.

“I’ll go get changed,” you mumble, shivering uncontrollably in your soaked clothes. Muichirou steps forward before you can go and wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face on your shoulder before taking a heaving breath.

“Mui?”

“Stop doing dumb shit like going out in the rain,” he huffs, letting you go. You blink at him. “I’ll heat some soup and get changed after you.”

Muichirou barely avoids setting the house on fire while reheating the soup. He sets it aside for a bit while he changes into comfortable clothes, merely taking a towel to dry his hair before going to your room.

You’re sitting on your futon, watching the rain fall outside. A low lullaby fills the room, dancing in the air with each beat of your fingers against the tatami mat. He clears his throat to announce his presence, and you give him a smile in greeting.

He pushes the bowl of soup towards you. “Eat.”

You purse your lips and tuck your knees against your chest, lashes aflutter while you yawn. Outside the window, the storm rages on. “But I’m full.”

“What did you eat?”

The following silence is answer enough. Muichirou picks up the spoon and scoops some of the soup in it before tapping your lips with the tip. You pout at him and lean away. He sighs.

“You have to eat,” he says, frowning.

“Later?” you plead, widening your eyes at him. He doesn’t budge. “Mui, I’m really not hungry.”

“But you have to eat.”

“But I don’t wanna.”

Rain pours harder, knocking on the walls and window of the house like notes to a discordant melody. Muichirou doesn’t like rain. He really doesn’t like it. The ground’s too slippery and the mist fogs everything and the lightning and thunder strikes a hazy recollection in his dreams – too many sad things happen when even the skies are crying.

The spoon falls to the bowl, splashing droplets of soup over the rim. He sighs and lowers his gaze to the floor.

“Mui?”

“I just don’t want you to die, too,” he mumbles, fists clenching and unclenching. The sheets crumple in his grasp. Lightning flashes and blinds him for a second.

“Wha –” A pause. Your hand hovers over his comfortingly. So warm, too warm. “Mui, it’s just a simple cold. I’m not going to die from this.”

“That’s what my mom said, too. Look where that got her,” he retorts. A little too sharply, a little too harshly. Muichirou winces as he realizes his mistake. “I’m sorry, that was –”

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him near to you. His eyes widen, instinctively pushing you away, but you only tighten your hold on him. Even through the layers and layers of clothing, you’re still too warm. Muichirou can feel you shivering, your rattling breaths; he closes his eyes at the painful familiarity of this scene, but that only serves to sharpen the memories more.

“Sorry,” you mumble against his hair. Tender fingers card through his hair while the sound of your heartbeat drowns out the sound of the rain. “I wasn’t thinking about you at all.”

“You shouldn’t,” he sighs. He gives in and returns your hug, careful not to spill the soup over as he adjusts his position to be nearer to you. The faint scent of medicine lingers around you. It’s sickening, but Muichirou would rather be this near to you and be assured of your wellbeing than be away from the painful memories. He pulls away to look you in the eye. “Promise me you’ll eat when you’re hungry, though, right?”

You smile and brush his bangs away from his forehead and give him a lingering kiss. “I’ll eat a bit now. I think I can do it.”

He perks up at that. “Really? You will?”

You nod and chuckle. Muichirou can’t help but to lean forward and kiss your cheek, hurriedly pulling away to take the bowl of soup in his hands again. It’s gone lukewarm. You touch his arm before he can leave to reheat it, however.

“It’s all right,” you say, smiling. There’s a faint flush on your face. “You don’t have to.”

Muichirou stares at you hesitantly, but you continue tugging on his sleeve until he gives in and sits beside you once again. He scoops a spoonful of soup and turns to you.

You flush deeper. “I can feed myself, Mui.”

“No.”

You open your mouth, pausing as if at a lost. “N-No?”

He sets his eyes on you, determined. “You’ll get tired. I’ll do it for you.”

“But –” Flustered, you cover your face, but Muichirou tugs them away using his other hand. Your expression looks terribly mortified: you close your eyes and open your mouth.

Muichirou smiles at you, relieved, and pats your hair. You turn to him, surprised, but he doesn’t say anything else, only taking another spoonful of soup to feed you again. You eat obediently until you’re full. Muichirou presses a kiss on your forehead before getting up to clean the dishes.

You tug on his sleeve again before he can leave. A sleepy yawn escapes your lips as you peer up at him. “Don’t go,” you mumble. “Stay with me ‘til I fall asleep.”

He turns to the half-empty bowl on his hands and sighs, putting it aside to kneel beside you. A fond warmth ghosts through his chest, watching you settle down underneath the sheets. He tucks you in and places a kiss on your forehead, breathing out a chuckle when you giggle in response.

“I wanna cuddle with you,” you sigh. “The weather’s so perfect too.”

“I can cuddle with you,” he offers. It’s been days since he’s last cuddled with you –

“No.”

He exaggerates his disappointment, curving his lips into a frown and slanting his shoulders down. You laugh again, a hand coming out of the blanket to tap his nose.

“When I’m better,” you promise. “I’ll cuddle you until you’re sick of me.”

“That’s impossible,” he says, poking his tongue out at you. “I’d never get sick of you.”

Outside, another lightning strike illuminates the dreary morning. Muichirou flinches, but you intertwine your hand with his, squeezing his fingers comfortingly. You close your eyes, and there’s a smile on your lips that Muichirou falls in love with all over again. The air is cold but he feels warm enough by your side.

Chapter Text

"You do understand, don't you? I'm only keeping you here to make sure you're safe."

Silence.

You stop polishing your blade and pout at Mui's direction. He's glaring at you, tired eyes dull and unfocused. Still beautiful. He can't be anything but beautiful.

"Mui," you drawl out. He doesn't reply. Your frown digs deeper. "Mui? Talk to me, please?"

He doesn't. You sigh and cast a glance at your sword. Ah, whatever. Muichiro's more important. You stand and walk towards him. He doesn't even lift his head, merely stares at some point in the distance.

He's in that place again. That place you can't reach.

Irritation surges through you, biting and lashing until blood drips from your clenched fists. Why does he insist on being away from you, if not physically, then mentally?

(calm down)

You sigh, pinching your eyes shut and breathing in deep. Calm down, calm down. You need patience. Being angry won't solve anything.

(so, calm down)

He's always been like this, ethereal and untethered, drifting in and out of reality and daydreams, floating in a world known only by him. He hasn't changed. He isn't ignoring you out of spite. He has no reason to spite you.

You kneel in front of him, seeking to meet his gaze. He's staring off into the distance. He wasn't staring at you. You don't know if you feel disappointed or relieved. You wonder what he's thinking.

You sigh again, this time fondly instead of exasperated. You rest a palm against his cheek, brushing a thumb underneath his eye. Muichiro snaps awake, blinking rapidly and staring at you, as if trying to remember where he was.

You smile at him. "Mui —"

"Shut up," he says acidly. "I don't want to hear any more bullshit from you, Y/N."

Y/N. Y/N. He remembers your name. Despite the harsh tone he uses, your heart swells with joy. Your name sounds so lovely from his lips.

"But —"

"How many times did your mother bump your head when you were young?" he asks. "I don't remember you being this stupid."

Don't.

Just, don't.

(you take in a breath, and breathe out a smile frozen to your upturned lips)

"Either you let me out, or you shut up," Muichiro continues.

You sigh, fingers trailing down to rest at the crook of his neck. You press your thumb against the heartbeat fluttering there.

"You don't understand, Mui. I just want to keep you safe —"

He lashes out. "Safe? Safe from what? For fuck's sake, you killed Tanjiro. My friend. For what? If anything, you're the danger here!"

"He wanted to take you from me! Of course, he had to be eliminated!"

"Eliminated? He was my fucking friend. He wasn't taking me from anyone."

He was. He was. You remember it, vividly. The gazes, the lingering touches, the proximity, the heat, the lies upon lies, plotting and manipulation. Mui, your poor Mui. He had fallen for that demon's trap, became infatuated with his charms. You need to help him. You need to save him.

He swallows. You feel it beneath your fingers. When he speaks again, his voice trembles. "Why did you kill him? He was my friend. Don't you care about that?"

"I care about you," you answer, automatically. "You're the only one I care about, Mui."

Tears spill over, dripping down his chin and your fingers. "What happened to you? You didn't use to be like this. What — what changed? The Y/N I know wouldn't hurt a fly. She wouldn't even think of harming anyone, let alone murder someone in cold blood! Who are you?"

"It's still me, Mui. I'm still your Y/N. Always."

But he shakes his head, hair drooping. "No. You're not. I don't recognize you anymore. You're not the Y/N I love."

And lightning strikes your veins, of elation and tingling shock. He loved you? He loved you! Even if his eyes glaze over or glare at you, he's already proclaimed his love for you.

"I'm still her, Mui. I—"

"You're not. You're a monster. You're lower than demons. I hate you. I hate you!"

No. He loves you. He just said he loves you.

(he's just in shock, just mourning. that's all right. you'll understand him, for now.

soon, he'll learn to disregard others' worth again, he'll learn to depend on you and love you as all-consuming and deeply and unconditional as you do him)

You lean forward and press a kiss against his brow, ignoring the way he flinches backward and tries to escape your grip. He'll come to his senses, just give him time, you remind yourself.

So, you swallow back the anger that thrums beneath your skin and smile at him. "It's almost time to eat, Mui. What do you wanna have for lunch?"

He stares at you dumbfoundedly, tears still dripping from his cheeks. Then he shakes his head and looks away from you. "Just — just leave me alone already. *Go away."*

No. It's not that you don't trust him, because you do, with your life and heart, you trust him. But, leaving him alone is recipe for disaster: you won't be able to protect him if anyone, miraculously, finds him. You have to protect him.

But —

You sigh. "Fine. I'll cook something up and then I'll be back, all right?"

He doesn't reply. Just nods and keeps his gaze stubbornly away from you.

"You'll come back to your senses, Mui. You'll see what I did was necessary. I did it for us."

He doesn't acknowledge your words.

"You'll love me again. I'll make sure of it."

His gaze is blanked out.

"I love you."

Silence.

Chapter Text

“I can’t keep pretending to be you.”

The season is autumn, when leaves catch fire and burn red-orange, to rust and ashes. From outside the open window, a waft of air breezes by, blowing the curtains in, bringing with it a comforting earthy musk coated with the sharp cool of impending winter. It’s the perfect day to hide in the library and curl up with a book and a warm cup of tea, away from the hubbub and bustle of the castle.

At least, it was, until Yuichiro decided to ruin it for him.

Muichiro doesn’t bother looking up at his brother. He flips the page of his book.

“Then don’t,” he replies.
“Let her go home.”

An exasperated sigh. Muichiro can feel his glare on him, searing hot and annoyed, but it’s all distant, like gazing at a mirror. He finds he can’t care too much, not when he holds a world in his hands and the autumn breeze is lovely and cool.

“You know I can’t do that,” he grouses. “We need this alliance to work, so just get up your ass already and meet her like a proper fucking fiancé, or I swear to God –”

Muichiro takes a sip of his tea. It’s lukewarm, and without the heat to burn his tongue, bitterness takes over instead. He scrunches his nose in disgust.

“Muichiro! Are you even listening to me?”

“No.”

Yuichiro makes a sound in the back of his throat, something caught between a groan and a curse. Muichiro raises his book and hides an amused smile, though it quickly vanishes when Yuichiro stomps over and snatches his book from him.

He glares up at his brother. Pale eyes glare back.

“Give it back.”

“Not until you listen to me and be a proper fiancé to Y/N.”

God. Muichiro can feel the earliest hints of a headache bloom. “Why don’t you be her fiancé instead? You get along better with her, anyway.”

Yuichiro huffs. “Because you’re the one Father betrothed to her, not me.”

“Then tell them you wanna marry her instead of me.”

The logic is so painfully simple even a toddler can see it. He doesn’t understand why Yuichiro’s so hung up about it.

Before one of them can speak, however, the door clicks open, and dainty footsteps echo in the room. Muichiro peers curiously at his twin’s back. A swish of gown and light perfume like incense creeps in and floods the air with the scent of spring. His heart jumps in response and plays an erratic rhythm on his wrist. He looks away.

“Muichiro! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

It’s you. Muichiro sighs as Yuichiro turns to look at you. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Prince Yuichiro,” she greets. “How lovely to see you both here.”

“You got the names switched up again,” Muichiro mutters, sitting up straight to grab his book from Yuichiro’s hands. Yuichiro barely spares him a glare. “I’m Yuichiro.”

“Right,” you say cheerily. Muichiro doesn’t care enough to try to decode the tinge of disappointment in your tone. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

He hums and stands up. “I’ll leave you two now. Good day.”

“Mui – Yui,” Yuichiro sighs, but Muichiro doesn’t let him finish the end of his sentence. The door closes with a slam behind him.

It’s not as if Muichiro hates you. Quite the opposite, in fact – you’re one of the few people he can actually tolerate being around. He just can’t pinpoint why he feels so warm and uncomfortably comfortable in your presence. It’s mind-numbing, and, if he’s perfectly honest, terrifying. To think he would be so willing to relax in the company of someone other than his family – practically a stranger.

He doesn’t like it.

Muichiro prefers his safety and security, enveloped by a loneliness masquerading as tranquillity. But with you in the picture, the balance feels unequivocally disrupted.

He sighs. The wind whips. You are, once again, in front of him, dress curling around your figure before snapping off with the breeze. Your eyes are mysterious, and Muichiro has a niggling suspicion that you can see through his facade as easily as he reads his books.

He doesn’t understand you at all. “Muichiro’s in the garden.”

“I know,” you say. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“I don’t.”

“That’s all right. You don’t have to talk.”

You perch beside him and rest your back against the tree, curling beneath the flickering shadows. Muichiro can’t focus on his book anymore, not with you so near to him that he can feel your heat, even through the layers of clothing. It’s enough to stave away the cool.

His face feels warm.

You are silent for a while. Muichiro listens, but all he hears is the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“Do you hate me?”

The immediate answer on his tongue is no, but you plow on before he can tell you that.

“If I bother you so much, I can always call it off, you know?” Your smile is sad. “I’m sure we can find some other way that doesn’t involve marrying each other.”

“Why are you bringing this up with me?” he asks instead.

You start, lips parting before curving into another self-deprecating smile. You laugh. He doesn’t like that laugh. “Right. I’m sorry, Yuichiro. Can we start over?”

Muichiro gives you a curious look. You ignore him.

“I’d like to be friends,” you say. “When I do get married to your brother, we’d have to live together, and I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us.”

It’s his turn to be silent. A stray leaf falls in between the pages of his book; it crumbles when he picks it up.

“I don’t hate you,” he murmurs.

Your head bows. “I’m glad to hear that,” but you don’t sound like you believe him.

“I don’t,” he insists.

“You already said that.”

The conversation tapers off awkwardly. Muichiro shifts and bounces the book on his lap, tapping his fingers on the spine. He can’t bring himself to even try to pretend to read when his body’s thrumming with restless energy that he has no way of letting loose.

The movements draw your eyes to him. “What are you reading?”

He raises the cover of the book to show you. Your eyes widen. “A history book? How unexpected!”

Muichiro hums, fishing through the pages for his bookmark. Your eyes are still on him, and it feels uncomfortable in the way that he likes being the center of your attention.

Curious, curious, curious. You’re interfering with his head a bit too much.

“Is that origami?” Your voice is hushed.

Muichiro pauses to stare at you. You’re leaning towards him – too close –  staring at the little handmade bookmark he’d created when he was bored. He shifts away from you and immediately regrets it when the cold comes back to nip at his skin.

“Yeah.”

Your eyes sparkle. “May I see it?”

Wordlessly, he hands it over. You’re like a child, looking at the bookmark in wonder, twisting and turning it around in your hands like a treasure. Adorable, almost. The dim skies can’t cast any shadows on your smile.

“How cute,” you fawn. “The craftsmanship is amazing!”

It’s just paper. “Keep it,” he says.

You look up in surprise. “Really? But you’re using it.”

“I have a lot of those.”

He doesn’t miss the way you open your mouth, as if to ask something, before changing your mind and smiling at the origami in your hands, instead.

“Thank you,” you say. “I’ll treasure this.”

“Yeah.”

The wind picks up. You hold the origami to your chest to protect it, closing your eyes against the dust that the wind disturbs. When it calms down, your hair is in disarray, but you’re still smiling, cheeks flushed.

“Maybe I can show them to you some time,” he suggests before he can think about it too hard. “My origami, I mean.”

He’s fumbling with his words. Embarrassed, Muichiro ducks down and hides his face with his hair.

Your face brightens even more. “I’d love that.”

You smile at him, and Muichiro disregards the trembling of his heart and smiles back.

It’s been silent around the castle for a while now. It’s unsettling; the walls are drained of color, the fire of autumn has dulled into a grayscale void that rustles annoyingly from the windows. For some reason, the silence screams louder when he sits down to read a book, and the chill settles in deeper even when he wraps himself in his duvets, so near the hearth that the fire singes his fingertips whenever he tries to warm himself up.

Muichiro doesn’t get it until he asks Yuichiro about it.

“Y/N’s . . . gone?”

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. His brain tells him relief is what he should feel – finally, his name is unbound by a farce of an engagement. He’s free to be himself again and be free.

And yet, his heart aches.

“Kidnapped,” Yuichiro continues, and any pitiful attempts to quell the protests of his heart slams to a stop.

His eyes widen as he whips his head around to look at his brother. His face is pinched in worry, hands wringing while he paced back and forth. The true epitome of a good, worried fiancé. His nails are bitten to the nub.

“Kidnapped,” Muichiro repeats. “Since when?”

“A few days ago.” Yuichiro stops and glares at him. “You’d know if you cared.”

The words strike through his chest. But he does care. Muichiro doesn’t want to care, but he does. He really does. Muichiro doesn’t bother replying to Yuichiro’s accusations, and the boy continues pacing once again.

“Diplomats are bargaining with the kidnappers now,” Yuichiro continues, as if oblivious to the pain he just caused. “They should be able to get her back in a few more days.

But the days stretch on to eternity now that Muichiro’s painfully aware of your haunting absence. It’s now, when he’s alone again, that he misses how you almost always seem to find him and make the world a bit warmer.

It sinks under his skin like an itch he can’t scratch. Kidnapped. You could be in danger right now – you could be dead for all he knows, Muichiro just can’t sit still.

He can’t. It’s impossible – not when even his dreams have turned into horrible, horrible nightmares where his mind taunts him of what could have happened to you.

The days couldn’t go any slower than this.

Your homecoming is met with cheers and hurrahs from the citizens of the Kingdom, a grand parade that marches on from the city gates to the castle. Muichiro stands impatiently beside his father and brother, anxiously looking out the windows for a hint of you.

When the doors finally open, at first, he thinks you are a ghost, unreal, a figment of his imagination. Maybe he’s gone crazy from the lack of sleep and stress. But then you smile at him, and it doesn’t matter anymore whether you are real or not. All that matters is that you’re here with him.

He stumbles towards you at first, hesitant steps hastening to a jog until he’s in your arms. You step back from the weight, chest rumbling as you return his hug.

You’re really warm. It feels nice. Muichiro hides his face in the crook of your shoulder as his eyes begin to prick with heat.

“Don’t disappear again like that,” he mumbles against your neck. You shiver. “I don’t like it when you’re gone.”

You chuckle. “I’ll try my hardest not to get kidnapped again.”

He pulls away from you, and his vision is blurry. Still, he glares at you. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Warm hands cup his cheeks, thumbs brush underneath his eyes as Muichiro sniffs and blinks back tears. Tears. He’s crying. Crying. He lowers his head to hide, but you coax him to look at you.

Your expression is kind. “It’s all right. I’m here now . . .” you hesitate. “Muichiro.”

Muichiro doesn’t bother keeping up the facade with his brother. He nods and throws himself in your arms again, losing himself in your warmth. A faint scent of grass leaves and flowers linger around you, like springtime, like coming home.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you say.

He hums. “I don’t like it when you’re gone,” he repeats.

“Me neither.”

“So don’t go away again.”

“I won’t.”

He pauses. It feels like there’s still so much things to say, but the moment is interrupted when his Father and Yuichiro approach, relief thick in their expressions. Muichiro reluctantly lets you go, but you catch his hand before he can go to far.

“I still want to see your origami collection later,” you say, smiling, before you release his hand and turn to the rest of his family. Muichiro looks down at his hand and bites his lip, another wave of warmth wrapping him up like a blanket.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll be waiting.”

Chapter Text

Warm breaths graze your skin, warming your neck in soft intervals as the creeping warmth of the sun gently beckons you to wake. Birds sing outside, and distantly, you can hear life crawl back into the slumbering city, but you only groan, still unwilling for the day to start just yet. Your bed cradles you like a lullaby beckoning sleep, but the sun is persistent and glares right in your eyes, even when you pinch them shut.

You must have forgotten to close the blinds last night. You sigh and attempt to turn around to escape the light, but the arm around your waist clenches before you can, as if afraid you will leave. Muichirou buries his face deeper into your chest, snuggling against you. His eyes are still closed, but you can tell he's awake.

Your lips tug into a fond smile. “Mui, can I turn around, please?”

He's silent for a while. “No.”

“Please?”

He yawns. “Don't leave me yet,” he whines pitifully, pulling away just enough to shoot you a pout. “I'll be cold.”

“I'm not leaving,” you reassure, pinching his cheek. He winces adorably, one eye squinting at you. You chuckle and let go, pressing a kiss against the reddened skin. “Just turning around.”

He frowns. You smooth out the crease with your thumb, smiling at him and pressing a kiss on his forehead before flipping around. Muichirou hesitantly lays back down, blinking up at you with wide eyes as if waiting for instructions on what to do. You take his arms and wrap them around your waist.

“There,” you say, securing his hold on you. “Still cuddling, yeah?”

Muichirou makes a curious sound in the back of his throat before pressing his cheek against your back. He snuggles closer to you, restlessly shifting around until he can find a comfortable position. You try to remain patient.

A minute in and Muichirou sits and huffs in frustration. “I don't like it.”

“Hm?” You turn around and shield your eyes from the sun. The light explodes all around him in a burst of rainbow and color, brightening the mint in his hair and eyes. His lashes flutter against his cheeks, and he looks so much like an angel that you can't help but stare in awe.

Your angel. Your chest warms.

“I can't hear your heart like this,” he whines. “Turn back around.”

“But, Mui,” you whine back. His brow furrows. “I can't sleep with the sun right in my eyes.”

A simple solution probably would be to just stop being lazy and sit up to draw the blinds shut, but your body feels entirely too heavy to even entertain the thought for too long. It feels like sacrilege to leave your bed so early when it's tempting you to go back to the throes of sleep. It's not like you can rely on Muichirou for that, either; he's even lazier than you.

Muichirou huffs. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning cutely, he fumbles towards you, awkwardly trying to change your positions so you're against the wall and he's facing the windows. You open your mouth to protest, but he's already settling down, nuzzling his face against your neck before peppering butterfly kisses along your collar.

“Mui —” you pause. You don't really know what to say.

Muichirou finally settles in, resting his ear against your chest and cooing in delight when he has your heartbeat to lull him back to sleep. You chuckle and draw him closer to you, skin alight wherever his skin touches yours. It's such a pleasant feeling, so warm and lovely and safe. Overwhelmed by a burst of affection and adoration, you squeeze him tight and sigh happily, planting a kiss on the top of his head. He lets out a small 'oomph.'

You let him go immediately. “Sorry. Didn't mean to squeeze too hard.”

He groans. His voice is muffled by your clothes when he speaks, and you shiver at the vibrations against your skin. “No. Do it again. I like it when you hug me.”

Oh. Oh. You have to stop yourself from squealing. He's just too cute! You have no words to describe how endearing and adorable he just is without even trying. Muichirou peers up at you with wide eyes still hazy from sleep, hair ruffled and spread over the sheets like a curtain, and your heart stops from the tsunami of emotions that flit through your chest. You smile down at him and brush his bangs away to press a kiss on his forehead. He smiles bashfully and hides his face from you again.

You chuckle and rest your chin atop his head. Your adorable angel.

“Sing me to sleep?” he mumbles against your neck. He squeezes you lightly and throws a leg over your thigh, persistent in his attempts to be ever-closer to you. You coo at his antics.

“Sure. Any song in particular?”

He falls silent, thinking, lashes brushing against your skin as he blinks rapidly. You comb through his hair, gently unraveling the tangled strands. Muichirou sighs in appreciation.

“That song you always sing,” he decides. “I forgot the title.”

“The one about saying goodbyes?” you ask.

Muichirou shrugs. Chuckling, you hum the song under your breath for him, and he nods eagerly.

“But it's a sad song,” you say, amused. His hair is completely untangled by now, but you continue to run your hands through it. The white pillows are streaked with black and mint, fanned out like dandelion wisps.

“It sounds nice.”

“But it's a sad song.”

“But it sounds nice.” Muichirou pauses. “I like it. As long as you don't leave me, I like it.”

You bury your face in his hair. Your favorite song is a sad one, of nostalgic recollections and the loneliness that haunts a regretful goodbye. Of looking up at the sky and wondering whether the other person is looking at the same sky that you do, desperately holding onto a sliver of happy memories now that only pain remains. You squeeze Muichirou tighter.

You don't want him to relate to the song.

“I'll never leave you, Mui,” you tell him.

He looks up at you. “Promise?”

You smile at him and peck the tip of his nose. He blinks at you, cheeks flushed with the lightest hint of pink.

“Promise.”

He grins brightly. That alone is enough to ward away the somber air that has settled in, easily replacing it with a light atmosphere. Muichirou snuggles back against your chest and impatiently waits for you to sing. You chuckle.

Your favorite song is a sad song, but you feel Muichirou smile when you finally sing.

Chapter Text

If petals could bleed, they would be the cherry blossoms crumpling beneath Giyuu's feet. Lost in a sea of red, he could do nothing but fall — fall and hope the inevitable landing didn't hurt as much as letting go.

(letting go, he says, wandering down the path he and you used to take, except without the lingering warmth of brief touches and shy glances)

Lazy music blasts through his headphones, a ruse set on the lowest setting to stave away any who'd dare come near him. He's alert, searching, listening for excited footfalls that try too hard to be silent. He almost tenses, because it's usually time when you'd sneak up on him and try to surprise him with a hug and ghostly kisses. In the wake of this memory, your absence rings even hollower.

Sabito'd slap him, if he saw Giyuu's state of disarray, he muses. A concerned tint in his pale eyes, hidden by furrowed brows and a stern scowl, of harsh words and harsher realities.

("she broke up with you already. stop it.")

Or maybe he'd be kinder, with a softly regretful sigh and the serene silence of companionship. Would he help Giyuu get you back? Would he tell him to forget about you; your memories, your supposed future — you?

Giyuu stops by the playground, bustling with rowdy children and shrill laughter and playful shrieks. Evening come, this place will be empty, and the scene will turn into the place where he first found the courage to bare his heart for you to read. His eyes land on the swingset, and there is a phantom warmth on his hands from pushing you, heart fluttering faster with every tinkling laughter, the smell of spring and freshly-bloomed carnations: you, you, you.

(you, you, you. everything you, until his senses burst and fill with nothing but you —)

Drown in it. Bask in it. There's nothing else to do.

Sometimes, he sees you around. Your smile lights the heavens above — as usual. Giyuu can't help but turn away, before his eyes meet yours.

(why do you look happy? why aren't you as broken as him?

why did you leave?)

He daydreams of gentle afternoons by your side, of past memories and the inevitable hurt. The pain in his chest blossoms, a void too crippling, too all-encompassing, too much, too much. He wants to call out your name, shake your shoulders and ask why.

(why, why, why?)

But he can't. He can't, he can't, he won't. Giyuu's first priority will always be your happiness, and how can he barge in to your life again, when you're already smiling so brightly like this? Without him.

He doesn't think he's ever seen you smile so brightly with him.

Chapter Text

Love me? Love me not. Love me? Love me not.

The letter is filled to the brim with fallen petals like confetti on a wedding march. Brown and wilting, they slip past your fingertips and into the floor, soaking in the tears of regret dripping down your skin.

Wilt. Wilt. Wilt.

(what a tragically beautiful word. it implies something good was here, once – wilted)

Love me?

Giyuu’s handwriting greets you, flowy and elegant as waves crashing onto rocky shore with tear stains like raindrops from the sky blurring the ink. Dear, Y/N, it says. This letter will most likely never reach you, and yet I find myself having the urge to tell you every ugly feeling swirling in my chest. You and I know that will never happen, and so, I must settle for a meager letter.

I hope you are well.

Love me not.

You grip trembles. Regret? Grief? Sadness, guilt? Satin and silk shifts beneath your skin, reveals bruises on your flesh shaped like petals off of roses. You pass a cool hand over the marks, and wince bitterly.

It’s been a long time since we’ve spent meaningful time together. You’re either always too busy, or I’m too busy, and our worlds never touch. I missed you. I missed you a lot. I miss you a lot. The days we were together were the brightest days of my life. I’m truly grateful to you for granting me such happy days. I’ll always treasure them.

(the burning you feel; it is sorrow)

When we first met, I remember thinking, this is it; this is the one I’ll cherish forever. It’s laughable. I wanted to love you forever, and yet I couldn’t love you enough to keep you just mine. I can’t even blame you. I wouldn’t settle for just me either. I have too many flaws, too many defects to be able to treat you as you deserve.

Love me?

Your heart aches and pangs, calls out. The past, it grasps desperately; where is the past, where pain and sadness did not exist? You would go back, if you could. But time only knows the way forward, and, swept by the waves, all that remains with you are bruises and shards of brittle glass pieces shaped like your heart. Do you beat, do you live, you poor heart?

No. It remains still. Dead, in the guise of being alive.

That man you were with . . . Are you happy with him? I hope he makes you happy. I’m sorry I couldn’t make you happy.

Tears blur your vision. You want to scream, run away. Find him, find him, find him —

(and then what? beg for forgiveness? too late; the damage's done, and kisses and hugs and i-love-you's won't fix it)

But still, I have to ask you something. I’m afraid of the answer, and I’ll never even know it. Still . . . Y/N,

Did you ever love me?

The paper crumbles in your hands.

Forever yours,
Giyuu.

Love me not.

Chapter Text

The falling powder snow serves as the perfect backdrop for the sound of humming. It anchors Giyuu back into reality, tethers him like a heavy brick to the hot dampness staining his cheeks, lining his hands, soaking his clothes.

(red. red, everywhere. it takes over)

Tsutako's voice wavers and falters, along with her grip on Giyuu's hand. Still, she continues to hum, unintelligible words of comfort that used to lull Giyuu into the throes of sleep. Sleep, she tells him quietly, smiling. I'll be here in the morning, dove.

And then he looks her in the eye, and blanches at the swirling emotions within the rocky shores of her irises. A growing chasm rapidly expands between the two as her eyes grow dimmer and dimmer, and soon, it'll be uncrossable, and her, unreachable. Still, she sings.

(sleep, sleep, sleep. your big sis will protect you from the monsters)

"B-Big Sis?" His voice is shaky. The song will draw close to its inevitable end, and Giyuu dreads the silence that will come with it. He clutches at her hand tighter. Cold. Tsutako didn't use to be this cold. She was always so warm.

Her smile is pained, and she coughs in the middle of the lullaby. Red. More red, darker than the crimson kimono she favors so much. And she continues singing, as tears drip down her cheek and into the pool of blood beneath her.

Blood?

(ah, this red is blood. spilled, tasted, gone. it's the metallic flavor on his tongue, divine and honeyed as ambrosia to the consuming hunger on his stomach)

He raises her hand and presses it against his cheek. He's trembling, and Tsutako's eyes are halfway closed. He has a sinking feeling in his chest; if she closes her eyes, it will be the last time he will ever see her again.

"Big Sis . . ." he breathes out, eyed wide. "H-hey, d-don't fall asleep, yet. H-hey. Please."

(stop singing; it sounds too much like goodbye, a script for departure, lyrics for farewell)

Flashes of memory drift like music notes. Dark eyes made round with terror, a harried voice: Giyuu, go hide, somewhere he can't get you!

Pain. Hunger. Nothingness —

Waking up to the most soothing of lullabies sung in honor of a death mourned while living. Tsutako's voice is lovely: soft and lilting and elegant as a dove. He almost feels comforted by the song she's singing.

She stops. Too sudden. It takes Giyuu a moment to process the stark silence, the crickets of the night, the fall, the end. Snow falls quietly in lament, barely makes a ripple on the pool of blood the siblings are on. Giyuu stares at Tsutako, at her closed eyes, at the gentle smile on her face, the red against her pale skin.

"Big Sis?"

No response.

(big sis? hey, wake up. this isn't funny. wake up, please)

It hits harsh, like a turbulent tempest ripping at his skin. The sky falls and the earth tilts, and Giyuu leans over Tsutako to shake her awake, laughter ready at the tip of his tongue for the prank this undoubtedly is. She'll open her eyes and surprise him, and they'll laugh and go back inside the house where the hearth is burning and the comfort is overflowing.

Her head tilts, reveals torn off flesh and blood and pale bone peeking from beneath skin. He freezes at the sight. Horrible. Horrible. Hunger stirs anew. He should want to vomit at the sight.

"Big Sis?" he asks again, voice tiny. "T-this isn't funny anymore! Let's go back inside already. Come on, Big Sis."

Tsutako still doesn't respond. She smiles and smiles with her eyes closed and cheeks pale and lips blue, and doesn't respond.

(she'll never respond. never smile brightly again or sing him to sleep again or take him into her arms like a protective halo ever again —)

He screams her name, desperately now. The moon stares sadly at the tragedy, and the stars weep in sorrow, but all the grief in the world can't make his sister wake up again. Fear gives way to sorrow, to the burning sensation on his lungs. It hurts badly, the hunger, the pain.

No one hears. He calls her name, again and again, and begs the gods for mercy never given. He screams until his throat runs dry and his tears shake his frame uncontrollably. Big Sis, Big Sis, Big Sis, he weeps. Don't leave me all alone, Big Sis!

Even knowing that his own hands were the monsters she had sworn to protect him against, he pleads for salvation. Prayers go unheard, until they fade to silence in the arms of despair.

(and, like a fallen spring, he presses his lips against glass, and wishes for sweeter delicacies than the blood on his tongue)

Chapter Text

Because the past is too sweet to be forgotten so easily, Giyuu can remember his time with you clearly. The way he reminisces is often too detailed and too realistic that sometimes, the lines between past and present blur in his mind, and he reaches out to you, to a phantom you, only to crash in the realization that you aren't by his side anymore.

He remembers the cold of that day, the casual cruelty which he wields to push you away, and your gentle insistence, of his worth, his strength, his validity. He remembers the contrast of your heat against the cold of his skin, the press of your forehead against his back, your arms around him in quiet comfort.

He hears you say again, the words he has repeated to his self in mantra. "You're not alone, Giyuu. I'm here for you. You don't ever have to bear your burdens alone again." And he remembers the tears of that day, a hot relief and silent gratitude, as he clutches onto you like a lifeline he so desperately needed.

Even now, he feels your presence, sees you in all he does. The sun is as bright as your smile, the grass is as green as your eyes; the way you hum your lullabies to help him sleep, the way you comb his hair to ground him when his mind turns against him. Giyuu remembers it all. Yours is a constant warmth by his side, a constant reassurance, a home he can return to whenever he is tired.

(and he's exhausted, to the point where he can't even move his limbs if he tried, and so he stares at the sky, at the glare of the heavens, because there's no home for him to return to —

not anymore)

He remembers the heat of that day, the tight grip he has on your hand because he's always afraid that he will lose you, and your tender reassurance, of your love, of your passion, of your desire to stay by his side for all eternity. He remembers the pounding of his heart, the flush in his face, and the lovely smile you gave him.

He hears himself say again, heartfelt words that you repeat to him every second you could. "I love you. I love you so much. I don't know what I would do if I lost you." And he remembers your kiss, gentle and sweet, as you exchange oaths of love and dedication beneath the starlit skies.

There is nothing left to do, he thinks, but drown. Drown in memories of you, drown in the past and his tears, because he is alone once again, and after the soothing affection you've pressed onto him, he's forgotten how to be lonely. He shifts in bed, with only the moonlight to accompany his sleep, and nightmares to greet his awakenings. Spring has set to sleep, he muses, and winter has come. He doesn't even know whether this blizzard will ever let up - whether he wants it to let up.

(because it's his fault you're gone, and he should suffer for it. of course he knew, knew that his hands could do nothing but destroy, but still, he managed to lie to himself as an excuse to hold you in his arms)

Your grave stands alone, beneath the sakura tree behind his house. He doesn't know why he had this built, doesn't know why there's a mark for your deathbed when there is not even a body that rests underneath. Still, he lays flowers for you every day, in your memory, because memories are all his has now, and sits beside you. He can spend years here, beside you, as he's promised all those years ago. He can spend years beside you, because there is nothing else for him to do other than to reminisce: reminisce and drown.

And he says, "Please come home. I miss you," and only the wind can hear his pleas, because you're gone, and you aren't at someplace where you can return to him at will. Still, he longs for you, longs to hold you in his arms again and never let go, longs to hear you laugh again and bask in the knowledge that you're safe, you're alive, and you're beside him.

But you're gone, and there's really nothing he can do about it. So he closes his eyes, and remembers the shape of your smile, the warmth of your hand branded against his own, and dreams of softer moments and kinder times.

(he is a homeless wanderer, set adrift by your absence, and he's searching, far and wide, for a glimpse of the warmth that you've showed him during your brief time together

but he's lost)

Chapter Text

Giyuu rarely falls. Life has taught him resilience, strength — survival of the fittest. The world, he has learned, is cruel and harsh, and it is not a place for weak knees, nor the gentle flutter of eyelashes, nor the sharp gasp of breath as hearts beat faster.

No. Perhaps in another world, a kinder world, he would let himself fall. But nor here, not yet. For now, he wields his blade as he must, and marches head on into the arms of death every time the sun sinks into the horizon.

(soft as a breath, you come)

Giyuu's eyes widen. Elegant as a swan gliding through a lake, bright as a clear summer sky, warm as the sun's rays. You walk through the land with a smile as the sea of blood parts before you. Untainted, unsoiled — innocent. You live as if the world is good, the world is kind and nice; as if it is the place for stuttering heartbeats and dry throats and warm hands.

Too good to be true, a part of him says. And then you smile at him, and all doubts and worries flee from his mind, until all that remains is the euphoric glow of happiness that Giyuu inevitably feels while in your presence. Nothing but warmth; something he thought he would never experience again, long ago.

Love? He tastes the word on his tongue, turns it over and over until it feels as familiar as a second skin. Love? He turns to gaze at you, watch the sunlight glisten over your skin and cast your figure into a scenery with its warm glow. Love?

(yes; love)

Heart heavy and fluttering, throat dry; he takes a deep breath and gathers all the courage he can. Slaying demons has never been as hard as this, Giyuu thinks, staring into your wide eyes. Anticipation. The wind holds its breath.

"Tomioka," you finally say. The words are sad, the tone is sad, and your eyes are averted from his. "I —"

No. He gets it. He understands. Of course he does. Your world is vastly different from his. Where you were made to bask in the sunlight and live freely, happily, he was made to wallow in the shadows and wander in the night. Your worlds never touched, and he was stupid enough to think they did.

Giyuu closes his eyes, and sighs. He watches the sky drift, and wonders if Tsutako and Sabito are watching him. Are you there, are you listening? Can they tell him why he was made to be so unloved, so unhappy, so miserable? Why his world is not one where such euphoric emotions belong?

(he grips his blade and doesn't look back; he has a job to fulfill —

it tastes bitter on his tongue)

Chapter Text

Imagination, Giyuu thinks, is an opponent far greater than any demon he's ever faced. It haunts him at his sleep, creeps in when he's vulnerable, slithers in and speaks, in a sultry whisper: what if, what if, what if?

(what if you left because you hated him? what if you're gone because of him? what if, what if, what if you were dead?)

He grits his teeth and tries to ignore that nagging voice, that lazy simper and smug grin, and the despairing hopelessness that sinks into his skin with every day that goes by that you haven't returned. No news, his crow squawks, his shoulders deflate, and the cycle will continue every day.

(what if you'll never return? what if you're hurt? what if you found a place to belong, away from him, and are happy?

he misses the way autumn colors your cheeks peach, paler than the sunlight filtering through decaying branches —

come back)

And so, Giyuu drowns. His thoughts swallow him whole, crashing into his mind like waves of a turbulent ocean. His hands grip his sword with motions practiced diligently through the years, a form perfected enough without the guidance of consciousness, and he thinks.

(what if, what if, what if —)

Hot breath tickles his ear.

Giyuu jumps, sword flashing on reflex, and barely glances off of the skin of a pale neck. Demon, he narrows his eyes. So distracted, he let a demon get so near to him. Disgraceful.

He readies himself to attack, but then pale eyes meet his, inked black with red bloodier than spilled innocence on cement, and all thoughts halt and fade.

(y/n . . . ?)

In the silence that reigns, a songbird hums: dear wolf, why are your eyes so wide?

To see you better, love.

Dear wolf, why are your hands too big?

To hug you better, love.

Dear wolf, why are your teeth so sharp?

( — silence)

You lunge. Giyuu barely manages to parry your attacks and catch his breath, stolen still by the sheer radiance that is you. And yet, and yet, and yet —

"Y/N!" he finally manages to gasp out, in between brutal attacks and flesh shredded open. Bloodthirsty eyes meet his. "I-it's you!"

(you. it's you. what is it that defines you)

You bare your teeth at him and the number tattooed on your eyes makes him falter. Six, it says. You are Number Six, of the Upper Moons that grace the land with vitriol and anguish.

(you. it's you. who are you?)

Lips turn into an upturned smirk, and blood drips from your lip. A sly tongue licks it all up.

"Who's that?" you scoff. "I'm not some pathetic human being anymore. I'm better now!"

Giyuu blocks the strike too late, and you manage to land a hit, opening a wide gash across his forehead. Giyuu can't mind, not when he falters for words, when his chest scrambles with emotions too harsh to comprehend.

"But — but, why?" (you were a pillar, the embodiment of strength and kindness and sunshine, gifted by gods and the bearer of his heart — why?)

A simple answer that breaks his heart. "Isn't it still obvious? I hated you all! I wanted you all to die! Go to hell! You're all trash!" Eyes that resemble his love's golden glaze meet his, and this time, there are tears budding within your eyes. "You killed my family! How dare you! You let that kid's sister go, and not mine? My family would never hurt anyone like that either! I hate you! I've always hated you!"

The image of you, lovely beneath the shade of cherry blossoms, burns. He can't hear anything beyond the ringing of his ears, as metal kisses skin. I hate you, you shriek. Go die!

Who are you? You are not the one Giyuu loves. This, this is a demon, hateful, with only the intention to hurt and kill. This is not the person Giyuu fell in love with. This is a stranger who wears your face and speaks with your voice and holds the same passion you hold, but this is not you.

No. Can't be.

(burn, tear it down, all down. until the earth cries blood)

"But I —"

"No!" you shriek. "Shut up! Just die already! I even became a demon so I could kill you! Go die!"

No. Can't be.

Can't be.

The person Giyuu loves would never —

(you are gone, are you not. in your place is a monster, laid waste by the terrible emotions in your heart)

"Y/N . . ."

Too many things to say. Sorry, please come back, I miss you, sorry, I love you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. But you are a demon now; it's too late for second chances or a happy future. You have chosen your path, dreadful as it may be, and he must choose his.

(were you not happy? why were you not happy? giyuu would have given the world to make you happy)

I'm sorry, sorry, sorry.

He can't even feel hatred. Only sorrow remains, as he readies his sword and strikes for the kill.

Chapter Text

He escapes to the middle of the night to see the sun of his life. In between flitting shadows and twisting lights, behind closed doors and away from prying eyes, your love blossoms like a flower in bloom, teased by the light of day yet never brave enough to face the scorching heat.

(often times, giyuu wonders how life will play out if only he'd find the strength to claim you as his

or perhaps it's the danger and the thrill of being caught that makes him stick around. he doesn't know)

You wait for him in the usual spot, by the clearing in the woods where the moon's silver rays reflect light against the shallow waters of a pond. Giyuu stands still as branches part to reveal you. You are a scenery in your own right, he muses, watching the light play across the expanse of your skin, while the gentle wind brushes your hair away from your face.

Giyuu can watch you for all eternity without tiring, content to merely gaze from afar, the way the most precious masterpieces are admired from a distance. But he must have made a sound because you startle and turn around, and your  eyes meet his.

His breath escapes his lungs. Beautiful.

(it's not the thrill that makes him stay, he thinks. it's you)

"Giyuu!" you breathe out. A smile breaks the calm serene of your face, and Giyuu has forgotten how to do anything but stare, mesmerized. You jump to your feet, footsteps crunching against grass, and run to him, wrapping your arms around his waist tightly.

"You're alive," you murmur against his clothes. "Thank God."

And Giyuu can do nothing but flush the brightest shade of red and pull you closer to him, as his heartbeat jumps erratically between his ears.

(a solemn silence descends. he can tell there's something weighing heavy in your mind, like an instinct)

Finally, you speak. "I was so scared today. You were late, and some Slayer somehow found my hiding place early this morning. I thought they'd found out and hurt you or something."

Giyuu's arms tighten around your shoulders as he tenses from the news. "They . . . found you? Who? Are you hurt? Do you need anything —?"

"I'm fine." You pull back, smiling at his concern, and cup his cheeks in your palms. "I managed to escape just fine."

He sighs in relief, and melts into your touch like a starved man craving for attention. He closes his eyes and basks in your huddle of warmth for a while as the moon beams quietly down.

(the stillness breaks under the weight of unspoken words)

"Y/N?" Giyuu prompts after you've been silent for a while.

"Yes, dear?"

"What's on your mind?" He pulls you in and lets your ear rest against his chest, above the spit where his heart beats strongly. For you, he wants to say, but his throat runs dry.

"I . . ." you hesitate. "Giyuu, I — we —" You take a deep breath, and try again, your own heartbeat pounding loudly in your ears. "Giyuu, I can't live like this anymore."

The world stills in suspense, hung in nervous anticipation. Giyuu's heart drops, and your words will determine next whether it will fall and break and shatter into a million little pieces, never to be whole again.

"I'm sorry," you breathe out, shaking. "I just can't. I know it's selfish of me, but . . ."

(the words of the end —?)

"We should probably stop meeting each other like this." You close your eyes, and drift to the beat of his heart. "The next time you meet me, I . . . you — you should see me as just another demon to kill. It's, it's for the best."

(watch his tears sparkle like waterfalls in the sunlight, his heart glisten like broken glass in the moonlight.

no, gods, please don't take this one thing from him)

"No!" he says in pure terror, and clutches you tighter to him, as if he can prevent you from leaving if only he'd hold on tighter. "Y/N, no. Please. I can't lose you, too."

He can't. Just can't. He'll break. It will end him, to not have anyone to return to after a long day's work. Even behind closed doors, even under the shadows, even hiding from the others' eyes. He'll take anything you give him; a traitor to humanity and a slave to the pitfalls of his heart.

"Giyuu," you say quietly, expression hidden. "Please let go of me."

"No! Y/N, please. Think about this more. I-I'm sure we can make it work —"

(tsutako, in a gleam of red, disappearing. sabito, in the gloom of lavender-infused darkness, never to be seen again.

you — awash in the silver of starlight . . . he won't lose you. he can't. not anymore)

"It's for the best, Giyuu. Let go of me!" Your voice hides a tinge of desperation, and the tiniest cracks of heartbreak braiding through. Why can't he see, that you're doing everything for his sake? Everything you do has always been for him.

"No." He's trembling. "I can't lose you, Y/N. I can't. Please."

Unbidden tears trickle down your cheek to soak his clothes. You'll give in, if he continues like this, and you absolutely can't. He's in danger, every time you meet, and you can't bear the thought of getting caught and Giyuu paying for your own weakness.

"Giyuu," you whisper. "Giyuu."

(his name is like the most delectable of feasts, the sweetest of candies and the most beautiful rose of all)

He doesn't reply for a while, and holds you tight enough to cut your breathing. He's crying, and it breaks your heart to know it's because of you. A necessary cruelty, you delude yourself, and sob harder against his chest.

"I don't want to lose you, Y/N," he says finally.

Seconds that pass for eternities. "I don't wanna lose you either."

Giyuu sags in relief at the confession, burying his face in your hair. Is this hopeless? Are you destined to be star-crossed lovers, touching for a point in time before parting unwillingly?

(big sis, sabito, he pleads the heavens for any who would listen. what should he do?

follow your heart, giyuu)

Ah. He sees it. Tsutako's kind smile. Sabito's gruff voice. Follow your heart, Giyuu. Always.

(is that the answer; the path he should take?)

"Y/N," he says suddenly, voice burning with intensity. He speaks in a low manner, urgent in the way his words are spat out harriedly. "Run away with me."

You stiffen and turn to him. Blue eyes swirling with the depths of a rocky ocean, all the force of the waves of the sea crashing down; he stares at you like you are the world.

"Giyuu? What are you talking about?"

As if making up his mind, Giyuu's eyes pierce into yours. "Run away with me. Far away. Where we can settle down peacefully and not worry about getting caught. Where no one knows who we are do we can be free. Y/N, run away with me."

"Where would we even go? There's no place here where the Corps can't go —"

"We'll live in the forest. Or by the seas. Or outside this country. I don't care." He takes your hands and presses a kiss against them. "As long as we're together, we'll be fine."

(this liquid courage flowing like steel through his veins — normal giyuu would never think to say such heartfelt words so straightforwardly.

it's funny how almost losing everything he cares about can do to a man)

"W-What about the Corps? Your friends? Y-You can't —"

"I don't care," he interrupts. "They'll understand, someday."

"I . . ." You scramble your mind for a reason to decline, to refuse, but Giyuu holds your hands like the most precious of diamonds, and he looks at you with so much reverence and love that it brings tears to your eyes. "Giyuu, I . . ."

He holds his breath.

A sob breaks free from your chest, but your lips stretch into a painfully happy smile as the flutters in your stomach flutter. "Yes, Giyuu. Take me with you."

Chapter Text

This is nice, you decide, watching the sun break into the horizon, nestled against a soothing warmth by your side. You sigh, close your eyes, and bask in the serenity of the moment. It's been a while since you've felt so secure, so loved.

Yes. This is nice.

But you're pushing it. In an hour — no, minutes, really, the sun will have crept into the land, illuminating the shadows and burning all impurities with a holy rage. You shouldn't stay. You can't stay.

In fact, you really shouldn't have come in the first place.

Muichiro stirs when he feels you move, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You end up in an awkward position: half sitting up, dragged down by Muichiro's limbs around you.

There's a tug in your heart — the feeling of your body betraying your basest instincts, keeping you in place through winding, unseen strings around your limbs. It drags you back to sleep, this attachment.

"Muichiro," you whisper, gently tugging at the boy's arms. He doesn't budge, even snuggles closer to your warmth.

You try again. "Mui, it's almost morning. I have to go." There is both a sense of urgency in your voice, as well as the deep-seated longing to stay, stay and burn, for all you care. This moment is too precious to let go of, to disturb, and you think you'll happily go out with a smile if it means you can bask in this sense of serenity a bit more.

He blinks up at you and yawns. A lazy hand grasps at your cheek, almost misses but you catch it and rest your face against it. "I don't want you to go," he mumbles.

You press harder against his palm and close your eyes, inhaling the mild scent of pine and forest in his clothes. You can't find any words to say, so you don't speak at all.

"Y/N?" he asks, quietly. Muichiro's looking outside, at the rising sun. You follow his gaze. It's been too long since you've let yourself watch the wonder of a sunrise. The urge to flee, to hide, rises in you. Primal. You force yourself to stay still. You need to stay, you need to go. Your head hurts.

"Yeah?"

Muichiro's hand falls and he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you down into a hug. He buries his head in your chest. He's like a child sometimes. You smile as you brush his hair away from his face. It's so easy to forget he's one of the strongest Pillars of the Demon Slayers when he acts like this.

Ah. Yes. Your smile falls. Your hand stills. He is a Pillar. You are not. You are not even human. You are a demon. The reminder hits you like a ton of bricks, twisting your insides bitter with vinegar and absinthe. It leaves a bad aftertaste on your tongue.

"When will we be able to walk around in the daylight again?" he asks, innocently, voice muffled by your shirt.

The sun is rising steadily. You bury your face in his hair, and don't reply. You can't.

"It's just that, I really miss being able to hang out with you normally," he continues. "And sometimes, I look at Tanjiro and his sister, and think, why can't that be us? I'm really envious that they can be together all the time. Just like we used to, before . . . you know."

There's really no answer to that. He lets the silence fester, before speaking again. "Maybe I can plead your case to Oyakata-sama, too. I'll have Tanjiro vouch for you. And Shinazugawa-san. He was your instructor before you became a demon, right? He has to know you won't hurt anyone. Maybe Kanroji-san would help, too. What do you think?"

The sun. The sun. The sun. You tighten your arms around him, until you're pretty sure you're suffocating him, but Muichiro doesn't complain.

There's a boulder in your throat. You can't reply. Or else you'll cry, because Muichiro, your Muichiro, is too nice, too naive, too blinded by his affection for you to see clearly. You are not Nezuko. She is a freak of nature, an abnormality. You are not. You have eaten and devoured human flesh for sustenance. You continue to eat and devour human flesh for strength. Can't he smell the rotting flesh on your tongue? Can't he see the disgusting stains of blood on your skin? You are not like Nezuko, no matter how much you want to, and Muichiro doesn't want to see that.

Your eyes burn.

"Y/N?" Muichiro prompts.

You sniff and close your eyes tightly. "That sounds like a plan," you say, half-heartedly.

He pulls back from your hug to flash you a bright smile. Then he sees your pinched expression, and his features draw down in concern.

"Y/N? Are you crying?" He runs the back of his hand down your cheek, catches the slight tears that fall. You gather him in your arms again, if only so you can hide your sadness.

"I'm fine," you tell him, pressing a kiss against his hair. "Really."

He isn't convinced. "Why are you crying? Are you sad?"

"I'm not."

"Then, why?"

He won't let it go. You sigh and stare into the distance. The sun. The sun. The sun. Your instincts scream at you to go, though Muichiro's arms are heavy around your waist.

"I'm crying because I'm happy." What a lame excuse.

"You always say that," Muichiro accuses. "I don't believe you."

You swallow. "But it's the truth."

He pulls back again and regards you with a sad look. After a beat, he says in a soft voice, "I wish you'd trust me more."

That tone, it tugs at your heart. You turn back to him. "I do trust you, Mui. With all my heart. I trust you with my life."

"Not enough, apparently," he says, searching your eyes. You don't know what he's looking for. "You never trust me with your heart."

And you're tired of lying, so you fall silent. Taking this as a sign of agreement, Muichiro sighs and pulls away completely, sitting up. Your skin craves for his warmth almost instantly, but only the cool, morning air remains to brush against you. You shiver.

"The sun's almost completely up," he says. That voice. Familiar. The one he uses with strangers and people he dislikes. Dismissive. That hurts, for some reason, and you deserve this pain in your chest. You've basically been treating him the same way, acting as if he's a child that can't take the horrors of reality, constantly pushing away his efforts to help you.

You sigh and sit up as well. "I'll be going, then."

He doesn't turn around, though his shoulders stiffen. There is an unspoken tension in the air, and it makes you uneasy to leave with such unresolved conflict between you two. But this problem had been long-standing, simmering beneath the surface and hidden by soft touches and silent company. It's boiled over and spilled now.

You wonder if you'll return tonight. If he wants you to return tonight.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't turn around when you press a kiss against his hair and flee, away from your problems and from the sun's scorching glaze.

Maybe you'll sleep alone tonight, for the first time in a while.

Chapter Text

"You're going to get sick, too, if you keep doing that."

Hinatsuru keeps her eyes trained on the basin of water before her, carefully squeezing out all the excess water from the rag in her hands.

Suma cries harder and clutches harder onto Tengen's neck. "But — but Tengen-sama's sick! Sick! He's suffering, Hina! We have to do something!"

Tengen groans and turns to her, smothering her in his arms. A loving way to shut someone up. Suma squeaks, but her voice is muffled.

Makio snorts.

"Makio! Stop being so mean to me!"

Hinatsuru sighs. It seems being crushed by Tengen's arms won't stop Suma's whining. She stands up and walks toward the futon where the two lays.

She taps Tengen's shoulder. "Tengen-sama? It's time to replace the cloth in your forehead."

He hums and turns in the bed again. Suma, comically, follows his body as he shifts, still clinging tightly against his neck. Tengen cracks open one red eye and regards Hinatsuru with a calculating gaze.

Hinatsuru tries not to squirm. Even sick and flushed as he is, for some ungodly reason, her husband still looks hot. It's unfair. A gift, yes, but nonetheless unfair.

Surprisingly, Tengen obliges silently and closes his eyes. Hina hesitates for a beat before leaning down and replacing the cloth with the new one. Before she leaves the bedside, she presses a kiss against Tengen's cheek. He sighs and smiles, but his eyes remain closed.

Hinatsuru's worried. Is he that sick, that he's acting so out of character? What's wrong? Maybe they should consult a doctor now?

Makio flips a page in the book she's been reading. Without looking up, she says, "Hina, you're overthinking again."

Ah. She is?

Hinatsuru shoots her a chastised look, but Makio doesn't look up. "It's just the flu. Tengen-sama'll be back to being as flamboyant as ever in no time. Don't worry too much."

"Sorry," Hinatsuru says. She dips the used rag onto the water and lets it float. "You're right, Makio."

Suma wails again. "But — but what if he doesn't? What if Tengen-sama —"

"Shut up, Suma. Jesus. It's just the flu. No one dies from the fucking flu. Get over it." Makio, always, impatient and blunt. "And keep it down, will ya," she adds. "Tengen-sama's trying to sleep."

Tengen doesn't respond. He rests an arm against his eyes and pretends to be already asleep. Suma sniffs and nuzzles against his neck. "Meanie Makio. Meanie!"

Hinatsuru sighs and walks over to the duo on the bed again. She shoots Makio a look, one that the latter huffs at. "Rude as she may be, Makio has a point. We should let Tengen-sama rest."

She sets off to disentangle Suma's arms around Tengen's neck. The girl tightens her grip, however. She looks at Hinatsuru with wide eyes.

"Hina," she drags out. "What if something bad happens to him if we let him out of sight? What if — what if —"

"What if nothing," Makio interrupts. She's beside Hinatsuru in a blink, gripping her fingers in a reassuring squeeze. "Nothing's gonna happen, Suma. Jesus. I'm married to a bunch of worrywarts."

Tengen bursts out laughing at that. He peeks at Makio from beneath his arm. "Are you calling me a worrywart, too, Makio?"

Suma perks up at his voice and cries again. "Tengen-sama!"

Hinatsuru chuckles. Makio shakes her head, smirking. "Honestly, yes. You're the most flamboyant worrywart ever, though," she adds as an afterthought.

Hinatsuru disentangles her hand from Makio and turns to Suma, tugging at the girl's shoulders. "I agree with Makio. With all due respect." She stifles a laugh. "Now, now, Suma. Don't suffocate Tengen-sama or we'll really have problems."

Tengen pouts. "Ganged upon by my own wives! How cruel and heartless!"

Hinatsuru finally manages to take away the weeping girl from Tengen. Suma wails in her ear, and she winces. "Don't listen to them, Tengen-sama! You're the most amazing, flamboyant man ever! Makio's just being mean and influencing Hina!" She cries again into Hinatsuru's shoulder. "Don't fall into the dark side, Hinatsuru-chan!"

Hinatsuru does something between a sigh and a laugh and pats Suma's hair. "There, there. Quiet now."

"There's my girl, Suma!" Tengen beams. "Doesn't desert me when I need her. You should both be like her."

Makio and Hinatsuru exchange gazes. "No thanks," Makio denies, voice filled with incredulous laughter. She slips past her two wives to peck Tengen's brow. "We'll be taking Suma now. Try to take advantage of the silence and rest, Tengen-sama."

He hums and covers his eyes again. "Love you all," he mumbles.

Hinatsuru feels warm. Always. Even after years have passed, being with her loved ones always makes her feel giddy. "We love you, too, Tengen-sama," she says.

Makio nods and tugs at her hand to lead her away from the room, Suma still clinging onto her neck like a baby.

"Get well soon, Tengen-sama!" Suma cries out. "Please don't die on us!"

"I told you already, he's not dying!"

"Hina! Makio's being mean again! Help me!"

Hinatsuru sighs and shakes her head.

Chapter Text

It's raining today.

You stand by the edge of the building, raindrops tickling your shoes as you look up at the gloomy skies. You stay still, eyes closed, a small smile tugging on your lips that spreads on to Muichirou's face. You always did like the rain, he muses, standing next to you. Seeing you look so content makes him feel light.

“I got the umbrella,” he says.

You smile at him. “Thank you.”

The umbrella flicks open with a smooth swish casting a protective shadow over him as if he steps out of the safety of the building. He turns to you and extends an arm, making sure to keep you dry.

“Guess this ruins our plans for today, huh,” you sigh. The streets are flooded almost instantly, and cherry blossoms float idly across the muddy surfaces. Muichirou steps on a puddle and watches his reflection shatter before turning to you.

He blinks. His hold on you tightens. “Do you want to go home now?”

You shake your head with a small smile. “Not really. I still wanna spend all of today with you.”

“Yeah,” he echoes. Your eyes reflect the springtime beauty. “Me too.”

It's almost evening, however. Before the clouds have covered the sky with this bleak darkness, the heavens were pink and orange with dying sunlight. Soon, it'll be time to go, and Muichirou wants to wrangle each second he can get with you before the day ends and you have to leave.

“Let's just walk around for a bit?” you offer, leaning towards him for warmth. Muichirou's heart skips a beat at the feel of your warmth against him, even through the layers of clothes. “Or we can stay somewhere until the rain abates, too, if you want.”

“Walking around is fine.”

You retrace the steps your memories took, skipping over puddles of rain like children; laughing, because the silence that will come if you don't laugh will haunt you like a regret.

“Hey, Mui,” you say. “Let's stop by the old playground?”

You don't even have to wait for his answer because Muichirou will follow you to the ends of the world if he could. You squeeze his hand as you take the lead, the tip of the umbrella barely grazing your head.

“Wow, so many memories here,” you chuckle. Rust coats the place like a quilt, dried leaves and branches and dust scattered all over the once lively place. “I remember us meeting up here back when you were an emo loner.”

“I wasn't an emo loner,” he replies automatically, cringing at his past self when he used to carelessly throw away people with little regard for their feelings. He was kind of an emo loner — not that he'd ever admit that to you.

“Say that again and maybe it'll come true, Mr. Emo Loner,” you hum, taking your hand away from him and stepping out into the open. Muichirou tries to hide you underneath his umbrella, but you only shake your head at him, smiling.

He looks up. The skies are gloomy, but the rain has stopped. The umbrella is useless now.

“It's so nice to be here one last time,” you sigh. Muichirou frowns. “Gives me so much nostalgia.”

“Yeah.”

The swing creaks when you lower yourself into one of the seats. Muichirou holds his breath, tense, ready to catch you if you fall, but the swing holds up. You turn to him expectantly.

“Come sit with me, Mui!” you beckon, pulling yourself back before letting go. The swing hangs so low down the ground that you have to tuck your legs back lest your momentum gets halted. Muichirou doesn't trust the way the swing creaks at all.

You smile at him when he finally sits beside you, still where you are brimming with life and vibrancy. Your giggles echo through the lonely playground as Muichirou contents himself with watching the wind play with your hair.

It strikes him here, at this moment, that he might never see you again.

It's been at the forefront of his mind since the day you told him you'd be moving out of the city for college, far away where he can't visit you anytime he wanted. But now, here in this old playground, it hits so much harder.

He might never see you again.

Suddenly, it's hard to breathe.

“Hey, Y/N,” he starts. “Will you forget about me?”

You skid your shoes against the ground. “Hm? What do you mean? Of course, I won't! What kinda question is that?”

He kicks away the leaves nearby, dusted gold in the sunset. Freshly fallen cherry blossoms are swallowed by the old grime and dirt.

“You know.” Muichirou grips the chains connecting his seat and tries to ignore his embarrassment. You're staring at him, and it's messing with his mind. “You're moving out tomorrow and we won't see each other again and stuff.”

“So? I won't forget about my best friend just because we'll be living in different cities!”

The comfort that should have been there falls flat. It doesn't reach. He doesn't believe you.

As if masochism has taken hold, he presses you for answers he doesn't want to hear. “But you'll be having new friends and stuff.”

“Well, yeah,” you chuckle hesitantly. “And so will you.”

But he doesn't want that. He doesn't want new friends. He wants you. He wants those lazy days of doing nothing, those happy days, those stressful days — all of it. All of it with you. He wants it all back. He doesn't want anything new, he only wants you.

But you'll be going away tomorrow and he'll be left here all alone with nothing. You'll be leaving him here with nothing and the thought of being lonely again brings a despairing, heavy feeling at the pit of his stomach.

He doesn't want to be alone again.

“Hey.” You laugh, and it tinkles like the rainbow shards reflecting on the tears on your cheeks. Your smile is so sad but your hands are warm against his cheeks as you wipe his tears away with your thumb. “Don't cry. I won't forget you at all. And it's not like we won't ever see each other again. We'll can video call and stuff, yeah? And we can plan dates when we can go visit each other! Right?”

Right, but it doesn't change the fact that nothing will be the same anymore. He won't be able to see you first thing in the morning, he won't be walking to school with you anymore. No more sleepovers and study dates, no more hanging out at the park after class, nothing. He'll have no one to ask for notes  anymore for classes he slept through, no one to ask for help in an assignment, no one to bother when he's hungry and forgot his lunch, no one. Sure, he'll be able to see you through video chats, but it just isn't the same, and it doesn't deny the fact that one day, the two of you will just grow apart until nothing remains but a slight nostalgia.

One day, nothing but a distant, fading memory of a childhood happiness will connect you two, and when that inevitably happens, Muichirou doesn't know what he'll do anymore. You'll grow apart, and there's nothing he'll be able to do about it.

Warm lips kiss his forehead. His eyes widen as his heart jumps to his throat. Your warmth lingers long after you've pulled away and he raises a hand to trap the sensation against his skin.

He's going to miss this. He's going to miss you so much.

Your cheeks are stained with orange blush. It's the sunset, claiming you as its own. When night falls, you'll be gone and he'll surely be cold again.

“Mui.” You lift your hand, pinky outstretched to him. He stares at you. “How about this: pinky promise we won't forget each other, no matter what?”

“Promise,” he blurts out, tangling his pinky with yours. You chuckle.

“Good,” you breathe out. “See? Now we're bound by a promise. We can't break it, all right?”

It's a small relief, but it's a relief nonetheless. Muichirou swallows through the ball of tangled emotions in his throat to smile at you, even though his stomach feels heavy.

The time for goodbyes is drawing close.

“Y/N,” he starts, but hesitates. How does he say it — how does he explain the myriad of emotions that run through his veins at the mere sight of you? How does he tell you how much he cares about you, how grateful he is that you've saved him from that abysmal fate of wandering absently through the world without remembering what it was like to feel human? Time is running out, it'll be dark soon, and he has to tell you his feelings before he's too late.

But he doesn't know how.

It feels so hopeless all over again.

You touch his hand. Muichirou snaps out of it, glassy eyes meeting yours. Your gaze is kind and patient like always, and his chest aches at the thought of not being able to see you again.

This is so silly. He'll see you again. Just not as much as before, but he'll see you again. It's not the end of the world even if his heart screams that it is.

“What is it, Mui?”

His throat is dry. “I — I —”

Your stare is captivating like a black hole, sucking him in until all that's left is darkness and you. Muichirou has never been particularly eloquent, but he can't find his words at all when you're looking at him so intently like that.

He looks away. “Thank you for being my friend.”

A stunned silence and then you're laughing again. Muichirou peeks at you: head thrown back, cheeks red, eyes squinted in mirth. A cherry blossom lands on your hair. Muichirou leans over and brushes it away, and your laughter falters when he gets too close.

“Thank you for being my friend too,” you tease, chuckling. “Mr. Emo Loner turned Mysterious and Genius Heartthrob.”

That draws an unwilling smile from him. “I'm serious,” Muichirou whines to you. He softens, serious. “I'm really lucky I met you. I don't know where I'd be right now without you.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Because of you, he can look up to a brighter future now. Because of you, he isn't lost in the clouds anymore.

Because of you, he feels alive again.

He's crying again, choked up with emotion. It really isn't like him to be so emotional, but something about the sight of you in this old playground with him, framed by rain-drenched cherry blossoms and sunset makes him so sentimental that it hurts. You sigh and take him into your arms, the chains from the swing clinking against each other while you murmur comforting nonsense in his ear.

You stay like that for a while. Your uniform is soaked in tears and crumpled by his fists, but you don't seem to mind. Gentle fingers run through his hair; it's supposed to be comforting, but it just amplifies his dread that soon, he won't have you comforting him like this.

He just doesn't want to move on. He wants time to stop so he can stay in this moment with you forever.

“I love you,” he mumbles, burying his face in your shoulder.

You kiss his temple. “I love you, too, Mui.”

Maybe you think he means it as a friend, or maybe you do return his feelings, but either way, it doesn't matter. Your hug is tender and warm while his grasp on you is desperate and tight; Muichirou closes his eyes and waits for his pounding heartbeat to match yours once again, like it always has.

Your phone rings. Muichirou just buries his face in your shoulder deeper.

“Is it time to go?”

You sigh. “Yeah. Time to go.”

He feels so heavy. Goodbyes are so commonplace and natural — the way of the world is that goodbyes are as plentiful as hellos, and yet, Muichirou doesn't want to say it at all. He grips your hand while you walk out the playground, holding on until you reach the hill where you part ways. An old cherry blossom tree stands here, and it blooms so beautifully over such a heartbreaking moment.

The silence is fragile.

Muichirou really, really doesn't want to let go. He's afraid to let go. There's so much regret, so much he hasn't done with you yet, so many things to say, too little time. He doesn't want to let go yet.

“So, I guess this is it,” you say but make no move to disentangle your hand in his.

Muichirou doesn't say anything.

“Thank you for today,” you add. “No — thank you for everything. It was really great being with you.”

Don't say it like that. It makes the final goodbyes even heavier. Realer. Muichirou hates it.

“I'm going to miss you,” you murmur, “so freaking much.”

“Me too.” His voice cracks. He hates this so much.

Seconds tick by, relentless. Finally, you sigh and turn to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him in. Your hug steals the breath from his lungs, but he doesn't mind it one bit.

“Stay safe, all right?” he mumbles into your hair, returning your hug with as much force as he can muster. “Call me or text me when you get there tomorrow.”

“I will,” and even you're crying now too. Your shoulders are wracked with sobs. “I don't wanna say goodbye to you.”

It pains his heart to do so, but Muichirou pulls away from you first. He wipes your tears away with his thumb and presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Then don't.”

You try for a smile. “See you again sometime?”

It feels like drowning. “See you again sometime.”

The streets are still damp from the rain, but the skies are clear now. Muichirou watches you walk away before starting the heavy trudge back home.

He looks back.

You're already looking at him. You smile, and the sight is so beautiful he could have mistaken it for a dream. His heart is broken but his chest is warm as he smiles back at you for the last time.

Chapter Text

• At first, he doesn't really notice nor does he care. He can barely remember your name on a good day, much less remember your age or your height. He sees you, and there's maybe a faint tingle of recognition in his mind before the wind blows it all away.
• He does remember, however, your hugs. It just feels different. Whenever someone hugs him — usually Rengoku or Kanroji — he's always the small spoon, the one being protected. But when you're in his arms and you tuck your head in the crook of his neck, he feels strong. Like you're depending on him to protect you while you're vulnerable, and it makes him feel so weirdly pleasant that he can't get enough of it.
• He also has this distant smugness when you turn to him for help in reaching something high up. He's always getting teased by the other taller Pillars about being small that being the taller one for once gives him an ego boost.
• Not that it matters. He'll forget about it, anyway: the butterflies, the warmth, the insistent feeling in his chest that urges him to close his eyes and smile and just bask in the moments with you. Yeah, he'll forget, anyway, so why bother showing anything?
• The tune changes once he regains his memories and personality. It's all normal until he sees you again, and as if the bottle he's kept all his emotions in have cracked, his cheeks explode with warmth. Just seeing you brings too many emotions that he has to abort the mission and run away when your eyes meet his.
• The next time you meet again, he stares at you and, ignoring the nervous fluttering in his stomach, pats your head.
• “You're so small.”
• Muichirou doesn't even know why he said that. You blink up at him, stunned, before a flush of red coats your cheeks in embarrassed indignation. He watches you splutter in response, and he can't help but think that that's so cute. He pats your head again absently and smiles at you before pinching your cheek and walking off.
• You shrug it off as nothing, but that's probably one of your greatest mistakes. The next time you see each other, Muichirou automatically pats your head like a child — he acts so angelic, but behind closed doors, he's snickering at you because you're so small. Doesn't matter if you're shorter by a hair's breadth or you can barely reach his shoulder; he's going to make fun of you about it.
• He doesn't know why he does it. I mean, he does — it's because you look so damned adorable that he wants to pinch your cheeks — but he doesn't know why he cares. See, it's just height. No big deal. Shinobu's the smallest of the Pillars, and she's an amazing fighter. It's not like height matters.
• That's what he says to himself. And others. When someone dares comment on your stature, he glares at them so hard they'll probably have nightmares.
• “If you have time to look at Y/N then you have time to train. Get to work before I beat your ass.”
• No one teases his Y/N about it besides him. He gets irritated so easily even though you assure him it's just harmless fun. He wants you to allow no one else but him to tease you about it — he wants to be special, dammit.
• You tease him about that. He's just so cute when he gets jealous. Even more so because he's so oblivious that he's jealous. He just sulks and gets confused over why he's sulking, and it takes you having to worm your way into his arms and hug him before he can feel better.
• He loves snuggling with you. Lazy afternoons when the sun is too hot, underneath the shade of a huge tree, idly folding paper cranes. He loves it when you curl up against him or even lay your head in his lap for a quick nap. He'd ask you for an actual cuddle if his heart didn't threaten to combust whenever he thought about it.
• He uses you as a headrest. It's probably his goal to be as annoying as possible to you, or maybe he's just really happy to not be the smallest one (sans Shinobu, but Muichirou would never dare tease her about her height anyway). He comes out of nowhere and wraps his arms around you before resting his chin atop your head, smugly grinning when you react.
• One time you got annoyed at him and his antics. He pouted at you and, as expected, everything was back to normal. You just can't resist those eyes. Muichirou abuses the hell out of this and often does cutesy things to make you goo in his hands.
• Muichirou really, really, really just likes getting a rise out of you. Maybe. He doesn't understand that much why, but he supposes it's because you look so cute when you're all flustered and pouty about your height. When he learned you were older than him, he started calling you nee-san while blatantly flaunting his height to you just to see you fume.
• He must be a sadist, he thinks. But you just give the most entertaining reactions that he can't help it.
• (He's definitely in love, but Uzui's having the time of his life watching the two of you bumble like idiots to intervene. Maybe Kanroji will tell Muichirou what love is, one day, when she finally has enough. Not yet, though.)
• You just wait until you have your growth spurt. Then you can tease him about his height until he gets his own growth spurt. Then you just either have to run away or resign yourself to your fate of having one Tokitou Muichirou constantly poking fun of you because he doesn't know how to handle his own little crush.

Chapter Text

• Zenitsu meets you deep in the woods, with tear tracks on your cheeks mirroring his own despaired cries. He's in the middle of trying to escape from his Gramps, a duffel bag in hand and his training blade in the other. He stops in his tracks and stares at you, mesmerized at first glance, even as you sniff and tremble and cry.
• He approaches you, acting as valiant and brave and dashing as he can, wiping his own tears from his cheeks. You turn to him and hug him in reflex, and though it isn't the first time he's ever been hugged, Zenitsu can feel his soul leave his body anyway.
• Your story is simple: you were looking for your friend that got lost in the woods and got frightened by the approaching dusk. There are stories about demons who eat humans in this forest and, overcame by fear, you stood there and trembled in fear helplessly.
• Demon. Here.
• A demon.
• Here.
• Zenitsu could die. He thought he was safe from Gramps if he tried to lose him in the forest, but no, this forest had to be haunted by a demon. Of course, he did. What rotten luck. He wants to cry again.
• But then he looks at your tear-stained face, and stops himself. No. Being a wimp won't do! He needs to help you! No time to cry!
• So he makes a big promise to kill the demon so you'll be safe, and Zenitsu feels incredibly guilty for lying (him? kill a demon? kaigaku would laugh) but you look at him with wide, hopeful eyes, and Zenitsu thinks, he might as well try.
• Anything to make your tears go away.
• He encounters the demon a few ways away from you, and the moment is so terrifying; the demon tells him step by step how he'll be ripped to pieces and then savored slowly, and Zenitsu has his sword drawn, but he can't stop shaking enough to actually strike.
• He's such a failure. He hopes you'll be safe, that maybe he'll be a good enough meal for this demon to not hunt for more food tonight. He hopes you can find your friend and return home safely.
• Everything blacks out.
• When he comes to, the demon is dead and there is blood on his haori and blade and he's shaking. He frantically searches around for whoever killed the demon — what a kind person they must have been, to kill the demon for him and not steal his sword!
• He finds no one nearby, however, and a bit disappointed, he retraces his steps to where you are hiding. He proudly boasts about 'his' accomplishment, “The demon is dead! I killed it!”
• You stare at him in shock. The tears dry from your face, and then you smile, and Zenitsu loses his breath all over again.
• Your smile is really, really, really beautiful. It's just perfect, brightens up the world like nothing can. Not even the sun can compare.
• If only you can keep smiling like that . . . Zenitsu thinks everything might actually be all right.
• But then a man approaches and that lovely, lovely smile of yours fades from his sight to be directed at that other man — you shine brighter than when he first saw you, than when he'd just claimed to save you, and suddenly, everything clicks.
• That man . . . he's probably your fiancee, huh? Makes sense, really. You both look so happy and relieved to be with one another.
• Zenitsu's already giving up. This is a lost cause, another heartbreak — really, at this rate, it feels like he's crossing off things in a list: get heartbroken by a girl, check; get lied to by a girl, check; get used by a girl, check.
• It's not a surprise anymore. Maybe he's really destined to be sad and lonely. Maybe. He doesn't know anymore. He's just suddenly so tired and so cold. The two of you turn to him and thank him, but all he hears is static, and the beat of your heart that only increased when you laid eyes on this man.
• It hurts, but he smiles anyway and sends you off. Zenitsu watches your back recede in complete and utter silence; something breaks, and it sounds like thunder crashing against the earth.
• No.
• No, no, no, no, no. No.
• Do over. This isn't how it was supposed to go. He's tired of this. This isn't how things were supposed to go.
• He was supposed to save you and you were supposed to fall into his arms and thank him profusely and fall in love with him and marry him and then maybe have kids with him and live with him. He was supposed to make you the happiest person ever.
• Granted, he knows he isn't as handsome as that other man, or tall, or brave, or suave, or rich, or anything, but he tries. Isn't that enough? He's tried so hard even though everything's so scary and all he wants is to curl up in a ball and die — he's still here and he's still trying.
• Wasn't there a saying like that? That if you tried hard enough, you'll get rewarded? If so, then why is the only reward Zenitsu ever gets is heartbreak? Isn't he trying hard enough?
• Maybe not. But if there's anything Zenitsu knows well, it's persevering.
• Or not. Zenitsu likes to think he's a good person, a hard-working and inspiring savior like his Gramps, but everyone can see through the lies he tells himself. The only thing extraordinary about him is his hair and his impressive record of heartbreaks. Nothing else. Gramps comes by and scolds him again for trying to run, and this time, Zenitsu is silent as he takes it all in.
• The next day, when he goes into town to buy supplies, the town is abuzz. Zenitsu deliberately slows his steps to eavesdrop.
• “A man has been killed last night.”
• “Yeah! How frightening! I heard the body was mangled and sliced to pieces too — like some sort of monster killed him.”
• A lowered voice, the snap of a fan.“Yuki-chan says it's a demon.”
• The conversations continue, but Zenitsu's heard enough. He shops quickly and runs to his Gramps house, shivers on his skin breathing a spectral cold down his spine. Demons? Here? He's terrified beyond rational thought — he can almost feel teeth on the back of his neck, the gore, the pain, death.
• He doesn't want to die! Not yet! He's not even married yet!
• But then he sees you crying behind a tree, and he halts, stumbling over his feet as he stares at you. Even crying, you look beautiful, and the sight alone is enough to seep away the fear from his system, leaving nothing but a pleasantly thrumming feeling that fills his whole body with warmth.
• Ah . . . He should approach you. You're probably scared of the demon, huh? He gets it — he's scared too, but maybe Zenitsu can quell his fear so he can protect you. After all, that's what he has been training for, right?
• You look up. Your eyes meet his, and he has a heart attack. Your expression is sad, incredibly so, but you muster a little smile and a wave when you recognize him. Zenitsu's heart blooms.
• You remember him! Granted, you only met yesterday, but the fact that you haven't pushed him away or cringed in disgust at the sight of him makes his heart leap with joy. And you smiled at him too! And waved at him like you wanted to see him!
• Are you, perhaps, in love with him too? It had to be, right? No one would be this kind and lovely if they weren't in love, right?
• You! In love with him! A dream come true, really.
• Zenitsu smiles back and lifts his hand in a wave, poised to run over to you and propose to you this instant. He mustn't let go of a gem like you, after all!
• Zenitsu has taken one step towards you before he stops once again. A boy peeks out from behind the tree you were resting against. His first instinct is to take you away because who the hell is that, but then you smile at him, and it's faint and teary and fragile, but you're still smiling at someone else.
• Your smile, it's really beautiful. Even though it's directed at another man.
• That's right. Zenitsu's just not the kind of guy whom people like you smile at like that. He expects to feel the usual depression, but instead, a wave of deep anger settles in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't know to whom it's directed.
• Not enough. Still not enough. He goes home and sulks.
• You're in love with him and some guy is trying to steal you away! This is so maddening, so frustrating, and so terrifying. What if he does manage to steal you away? What then? He can't have that!
• The next day, Kaigaku wakes him up. His voice booms through the house, arguing with Gramps about how a demon is in town and they should kill it before it claims a third victim. Zenitsu pales.
• Another one. The demon has killed another one.
• He wants to run away now, to someplace safe. He wants to go home.
• Gramps slaps his head in rebuke and sends him to town to investigate. Zenitsu unwillingly drags his feet over, but he immediately brightens up upon sighting you. You're slumped by a store, and there's a wave of gossip trailing your wake though everyone seems to be avoiding you. You don't seem to mind — your downcast eyes are dull and lined with purple rings.
• “Y/N . . . I heard she's cursed. Everyone who's been around her has been dropping like flies lately.”
• “Oh my. Well, best to avoid her now lest we die too.”
• “Yes, yes. I already told my Kiyo-kun to steer clear of that woman from now on. She's so scary.”
• Zenitsu glares at the gossip-mongers and, worried, he steps inside your bubble, and listens to the gasps as the townspeople murmur about the two of you.
• “U–Um, Y/N? Are you all right?”
• He hates that his voice is too high, too squeaky, absolutely loathes that he's such a nervous mess in front of you, unlike those suave, cool men you hang around with that make you smile. Why can't he be more like them?
• You turn to him, and the dead look in your eye makes him shiver. But even then, your sound is incredibly, incredibly kind, like a harmonious symphony meant for his ears only.
• Except, “Please leave me alone.”
• Get rejected blatantly by a girl, check.
• This doesn't make sense. The world swims and cries and spins harshly out of orbit. You're crying again, eyes glimmering with tears as you walk away. Distantly, he hears conversations shift and turn on him, pitying his heartbreak like an exhibit, and he runs away.
• This doesn't make sense.
• It doesn't make sense.
• Why were you so cold? The Y/N he knows and love isn't this cold. You're warm and nice and your smile brightens up the world so much that the sun is jealous of you! What happened?
• A chill of dread down his spine: are you . . . Have you fallen out of love with him? Did some man take your feelings for Zenitsu? Is that it? Do you hate him now? Are you not in love with him anymore?
• He feels cold and hot at the same time. Rage bubbles from beneath his skin like lava, uncontrollable and just ready to explode.
• He can't stand this.
• But it's not like he can do anything. He's useless, after all. Weird and pathetic and weak and useless. He can't do anything — he won't. He's too weak-willed and cowardly for that.
• He sleeps fitfully for the night. For the first time in a while, he dreams: you are looking at him and your eyes are wide and glassy and your hair is a mess and your lips are painted as red as blood. You are crying — no, laughing. You ask him why, but Zenitsu wakes before he can answer your question.
• The next day, Gramps sends a messenger crow to the Corps to send a Demon Slayer to the town. “There's been another kill,” Jigoro sighs. “A woman, this time. It really might be a demon, and I'm sure as hell not letting that thing kill another one.”
• Zenitsu nods quietly as Kaigaku protests that he could have killed the demon easily on his own. Usual banter, as if life goes on. He excuses himself early from the table and goes to his room.
• His sword is still stained with blood. He should clean that soon, he muses, but for now, he'll wallow in his misery, and cry.

Chapter Text

The world is warm.

Sunlight filters through the leaves, brightening up your path as you hike up the mountain. The place is painfully familiar, as if the mountain was frozen in time when you left, buried in the sand, forgotten, and your return hails with it the coming of spring with every step up. The forest is alive, the earth is lush with moss and grass; the sun on your back, Muichirou's hand in yours — it's almost as if nothing has changed.

Almost.

The forest parts right before you reach the peak. You sigh in relief as Muichirou stops in front of you, aching legs burning for respite. You've been walking since the crack of dawn, barely stopping for anything less than a true emergency, and you are utterly exhausted. Even Muichirou is a bit breathless, sweat glistening as it drips down his cheek to his neck, soaked up by his uniform.

You're first to break the silence. “We're home.”

He squeezes your hand but looks anywhere but you. “Yeah,” he says. “Home.”

Your first order of business is to fix his broken home. There are remnants from his fight with that demon scattered all over the clearing: that bloodstain on the ground, the broken hinges where the door used to be, the chipped ax. They're painful to look at, as if mocking you by forcing you to remember that night when the last scraps of your home fell apart.

You clean those up first and bury the makeshift weapons. The bloodstain gets buried too. You hope the earth reclaims it with grass and spring and flowers and beautiful things so you never have to be reminded of painful memories again.

That's a lie, a plain lie, but you take what you can get.

Muichirou is standing by the entrance, staring emptily at the inside of the house. His gaze is locked on the spot where Yuichirou laid dying all those years ago. You swallow and look away.

Bloodstains. The memories spill like blood, and it is all over the house.

“You clean the kitchen and I'll tidy things up over here?” you offer, hand grasping his tightly as if to ground him to reality. Muichirou's gaze snaps to you, and he offers you a soft smile.

“Thanks.”

Muichirou pointedly avoids the place where Yuichirou laid dying as he bustles around the kitchen, tidying up the cobwebs dusting the corners with trapped, silvery sunlight. You busy yourself with your own chores, wiping the sweat from your forehead as the scorching sun continues to shine bright outside.

There are so many memories here, trapped in these four walls. You open it like a photo album, and every little object peaks in you an intense nostalgia that only grows worse with every snippet of memory invoked. You pick up a notebook, dusted with age, and you don't know whether to smile or cry.

Muichirou peeks at you from behind your shoulder. He huffs out a sigh, lips curving up. “Ah, that.”

You hum, flipping through the pages. Crude drawings and messy kanji litter the paper. You stop at one page in particular: there is a drawing of a family here, a family of four, and added in the side, you. Your hand feathers over the picture.

“Nii-san drew that, didn't he?” Muichirou mumbles.

He did. Yuichirou had always been the more artistic one, whenever he let himself indulge. “Yeah.”

There are tears crawling up your throat. You can't stop looking, even though your chest feels emptier the longer you look.

His absence is screaming at you.

Muichirou snorts. You turn to him, surprised, but there's a sad smile on his face that betrays his real thoughts.

He says, “Can't believe I thought those shitty stick figures were amazing,” and the house explodes in laughter that sounds a bit too desperate to be genuine, but at least the lonely silence has vanished.

You visit the graves next.

There are three stones that mark where the Tokitous now sleep, behind the home where you all lived in once. You keep your eyes on Muichirou as he kneels in front of Yuichirou's grave, incense and flowers gripped tightly in his hands. You kneel beside him, though you can only hope your presence offers a bit of solace to him.

A breeze whips by, gentle and calm. It feels like Yuichirou's hands on your cheeks, pale eyes strict and determined as they stared into yours. You can't do anything if you're dead, so go live.

You smile at the ground. Maybe if you're smiling, you can pretend that you've moved on and you're not sad anymore and that you're happy.

“Y/N,” Muichirou says. You glance over at him but his eyes are trained on his family's graves. The shadows twirl and dance across his cheeks as the wind rustles the trees, and suddenly, he looks so tired and weary.

“Hm?”

Those pale eyes turn to you, wide with hope, glassy with tears. You lean over to hold his hand in yours. “Promise me, when it's all over, you'll come live with me here, okay?”

You stare at him, and your heart wrenches at the crack in his voice and the desperate way he holds on to you like a lifeline. You brush the back of your hand against his cheek before wrapping your arms around him into a hug.

“Yeah,” and this is a comforting lie, but you hope he doesn't notice. Life is never a guarantee as long as Muzan lives, and as Pillars, you are supposed to be the shields, the ones who carry the Corps in their backs.

Your future is not guaranteed.

 You bury your face in his shoulder. “I will, Mui.”

He wrests away from you to meet your eyes. “Promise me?”

It hurts. You smile and the wind breezes past and the forest howls a sad song. “I promise, Mui. If not in this life, then in the next. I promise to spend all my lives with you.”

And he smiles, that smile that makes every pain and suffering that you've had to endure to be here in this moment with him worth it. He cups your cheek and presses a light kiss on your lips before nuzzling back against your chest.

“If you're making that kind of promise, you've gotta promise to love me in our next lives, too,” he huffs, pouting up at you “You can't just spend all your lives with me and then love someone else.”

Just with that, the tense atmosphere is broken. Your laugh sounds like the first break of spring after a long winter, and it feels relieving to laugh so freely again.

“Sure,” you promise, tangling your pinky finger with his. “I promise to love you in this life to the next, until our souls are no longer reborn, and even after then.”

There's something to be said about crowded malls and overexcited friends who leave you stranded in the middle of said mall. You hate them.

You sigh and stick your hands in your pockets, idly wandering the mall, letting your feet take you wherever it may lead you. People bump into you without so much as an apology — everything today is just out to get you. Your temper spikes with each passing moment.

You grit your teeth. You just want to go home. But then your friend might cause drama about you leaving her alone without a car in the mall and you'd rather spare your future self the headache.

A hand taps your shoulder. You spin around.

“What?” you snap. “Fuck off and leave me alone.”

Surprise colors the boy's face before annoyance takes hold, darkening mint eyes with shadows. He glares at you, shoving a wallet into your chest. You catch it before it falls, staring at the leather surface in surprise.

“Jesus, can a bit of courtesy kill you?” he snaps back, flinging his ponytail back. “Sorry for giving you back the wallet you dropped.”

You open your mouth, maybe to apologize, but all that comes is a clipped and sarcastic, “Gee, thanks.”

The boy swipes his bangs from his face, as if about to snap back at you. But before he can do so, another voice rings out.

“Nii-san!” Another boy, the exact same replica of the one before you, except his hair is loose and falls gracefully down his back like an inky waterfall. His eyes are mirrors, and when you stare at him, you see yourself in his embrace.

You blink, and the image falls away.

“She started it!” the ponytailed one points at you. You frown. How rude.

The other one peers curiously at you. Here you are again, with a strange memory of a recollection: deja vu. His eyes are kind, eyebrows slanted downwards, and his smile is crooked and shy.

“Sorry about my twin here,” he says, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck.

“Are you even listening to me? I said she started it!”

The boy pouts. “But nii-san. You're always the one starting fights.”

The older one blusters.“How dare you? All of those were well-deserved, so shut up about that already!”

You take a step back and watch the twins. Their fight is comical, garnering stares from a few passers-by as they argue back-and-forth about childhood fights. You raise your hand to your chest, where your heart sings an erratic lullaby, wrenched by a pain centuries-old and scarred over.

You know them — no. You knew them, once. Once upon a dream.

Or maybe you're just going crazy.

The younger one turns to you. “Um, sorry again if my brother bothered you or something.”

“It's all right,” you find yourself saying. The irritation twisted around your neck like a noose loosens, and you find yourself more melancholic than mad. “I'm sorry for being a bitch.”

The one with the ponytail huffs and crosses his arms. “I told you she started it.”

“Nii-san!”

“My name is Y/N,” you interrupt. Both twins turn to face you, and there is an inscrutable expression on both their faces; you can't read them to save your life. “Can we start over?”

You extend a hand in offering. The younger one brightens up and takes your hand, and you wonder at the gentle warmth of his palm in yours. “I'm Muichirou! That grumpy one is Yuichirou! Nice to meet you, Y/N!”

Yuichirou rolls his eyes heavenward. “Keep talking like I'm not here and I'll tell mom and dad you ate all the cookies last night.”

Muichirou turns to him, horror draped in his face. “You wouldn't!”

“Wouldn't I?”

You giggle. The twins look back at you again, but you only shake your head at them. There's an urge to cry and wrap your arms around them — it's so weird and you cannot explain it, but it's there. You wrap your arms around your waist to prevent yourself from doing anything embarrassing.

Muichirou blinks at you and takes your hand. His smile is familiar and novel all at once, and it brightens his whole face like stardust and moonlight have graced him with their light.

“Wanna grab some ice cream with us?” he asks. “It's nii-san's treat as an apology.”

“Oi, what? I didn't agree to this! Stop putting words in my mouth,” Yuichirou sighs.

Muichirou pokes his tongue at him.

You laugh and wipe your eyes. “Sure. That'll be good.”

Chapter Text

Insistent beats ring out across your empty house, drawing you stumbling out of your room as if under a spell. Your blanket snakes along your calf treacherously, and you trip. A loud thud echoes, and the knocking stops for a second before resuming. Cursing, you disentangle yourself from the mess and hurry downstairs.

You open the door breathlessly, and what little air you have on your lungs gets stolen again. Yuichirou stands on your porch, hands tucked firmly in his pockets. He wears his usual scowl like a glass crown, mint eyes dull with annoyance as he pushes past you as if he owned your place.

Rude. You take it back. Your breath is not stolen anymore. Not by him.

“Took you long enough,” he sighs, bending down to untie his shoelaces. You close the door behind you and roll your eyes. Your hands sting.

“Apologies, Your Highness,” you mutter. “Won't happen again.”

If he noticed your blatant sarcasm, he doesn't comment on it. He examines your pristine living room curiously, and for a second, you are extremely glad you decided to clean the room up, too.

He glances at you.

“Your hand,” he starts. “What happened to that?”

You blink and look down; you've been unconsciously thumbing across your palm where the skin is red and throbbing. You bite your lip and hide them.

“Just some minor accident.” You shrug. Yuichirou narrows his eyes. “Nothing too bad, really.”

“That sound earlier . . . You tripped, didn't you,” and he doesn't even give you the benefit of the doubt. He states it as fact, and though it is fact, you still feel the flush of embarrassment creep up your face.

“So what if I did?”

“Clumsy ass,” he snarks, snatching your hand to him and inspecting the carpet burns on your palms. You wince when he pokes the tender skin.

“If you didn't bulldoze my door and threatened to wake the whole neighborhood up, then I wouldn't have panicked and tripped.”

He clicks his tongue and rummages through his bag, coming up with a bottle of alcohol. He pours it over your palm haphazardly and you hiss at the pain. “Careful!”

“If you don't want to be hurt, then try something called being careful next time, idiot,” he snaps back, and though his words are harsh, his touch lightens to a feather's graze. He raises your palms to his lips and blows on them, soothing the burns with cool air as the alcohol dries.

“Y–Yui —?” you stammer. You try to pull away, but he holds your wrist to keep you steady. “What the heck —”

“If you don't stop, I'm going to leave these to fester and rot and get infected.”

You pause, alarmed. Then: “Wait. That won't happen. These are just carpet burns.”

“I'll make it happen if you don't stop squirming!”

You huff in annoyance and reluctantly do as you're told, holding your breath as Yuichirou continues to blow on your hands. You try to act casual, though your eyes are inextricably drawn to the boy hunched over you. You've never been this close to him, and you find yourself drawn to the sun cascading off his cheek, the curve of his lashes, the crystal fractals of seafoam blue and grass green on his irises when he looks up at you —

“What?”

You yelp and snatch your hands away from his, cheeks hot from the embarrassment of getting caught staring.

“Nothing! Let's go to my room already!”

You hope he didn't notice the apple blush on your cheeks, risen before you can persuade yourself that you are not affected. He is a friend and friends do not blush when their friend touches their hand. No. They don't.

Yuichirou clicks his tongue as soon as you open your door. “Messy.”

“No, it's not.” You scoop up your blanket into your arms and frown at him. “My room's probably cleaner than yours.”

He snorts. “Everyone knows you clean your room for a visitor so they don't think you're a slug. I don't believe your room's this clean all the time.”

There is no lie in his words, but you still feel offended. “Of course, it is! I'm actually a decent and sanitary human being, unlike you pig.”

Yuichirou rolls his eyes heavenward and sighs dramatically, flopping into your bed with a loud groan. His hair spreads in a halo across your bed, dancing like grass in the wind when he tips his head up.

“That's so fucking creepy,” he comments.

“Huh?” You look up from struggling to fold your blanket. “What is?”

He points up to where dozens of your stuffed toys and plushies rest comfortably atop your bed. Your face twists in irritation and embarrassment.

“How dare you call my plushies creepy!” you huff. You take a pillow and throw it at his face, muffling his protest. Yuichirou sits up and glares at you, harshly throwing the pillow back at you. You manage to catch it and you poke your tongue out at him in triumph.

He rolls his eyes again. His hair is in tangles; he runs a hand through it and grumbles profanities when it gets stuck. You snicker.

“Fuck off,” he snarks.

“This is my room,” you remind him. “You fuck off.”

“You were the one who begged me to tutor you, idiot. You fuck off.”

The little spat ends in a stalemate. Of course, it does. You can never stay angry at him, even in play-pretend, and he never has enough venom to spite you with. You give up your efforts with the blanket and set it aside, plopping down in your bed and waiting for him.

He draws close. Your bare arm brushes against the cotton of his sleeve as he lays on his stomach, legs pointed up. His book is full of scratches and notes in hastily scribbled blue ink and doodles in half circles and polygons, snapshots of the personality tucked tightly beneath his snark and bite. Yuichirou stops on a certain page, and you groan at the sight of the lesson.

“Forget it, I'm failing Math. I'll just practice my begging in front of the mirror now —”

He reaches up to flick your forehead. “We haven't even started yet, genius.”

“I can already see my life flashing before my eyes,” you wail dramatically. “Ooh, five years from now, I get to live in a carton box for a whole week before the landlady kicks me out. That's nice.”

Yuichirou lets his head drop to his book. He reaches out blindly to the side before grabbing a plushie, tucking it to his chest and resting his chin on its head like a pillow.

You stare.

“What?” he snaps, brows furrowing as he glances at you.

“Nothing,” you sing. A secret smile pulls at your lips and the urge to tease him rises anew, but you hold your tongue. For now.

He shoots you a weird look before pushing the book to you. He taps the page. “So, polynomial functions —”

You snicker. He stops, gives you a judgemental look, but you are barely fazed.

“What?” he repeats.

You shake your head and pretend to examine the book before you even though the letters and numbers do not make a tinge of sense to you.

“It's just that,” you pause. “I thought my plushies were creepy.”

Yuichirou freezes comically, and the surprise on his eyes when he finds himself hugging one of your plushies in his arms is both precious and hilarious. He blinks rapidly as if he can't believe he's holding a plushie.

He doesn't let go though. “They are.”

“Sure,” you drawl. Yuichirou narrows his eyes.

“They're fucking creepy.”

“Mmhm.”

“And childish.”

“Yep.”

“I don't know why anyone would like them.”

“Of course.”

Pride maybe, because he doesn't like being wrong on anything, even if he's painfully contradicting himself, but Yuichirou cuddles the plushie even tighter to his chest that you almost feel jealous of the little toy for being able to get that close to him. Lucky toy. You wish you were the one getting cuddled.

“The lesson,” Yuichirou emphasizes, snapping you away from your embarrassing thoughts. He's glaring at you, annoyed, and you only send a cheeky grin at him.

“Right, sorry,” you apologize, and smirk. “You can take that one home with you if you like. I don't mind.”

Yuichirou throws the damned plushie at your face.

Chapter Text

• Befriending Muichirou is probably one of the hardest things you've ever had to do in your life. He's very slippery — blink, and then he's gone, lost to the clouds and the creases on his paper airplanes as the wind snatches it from his fingers. It flies, and carries with it his drifting thoughts and daydreams.
• Put it short: you are not beneficial to him. There's no benefit to spending time with you, so he does not bother to waste his precious time and often leaves you hanging and alone with harsh words and a blank gaze.
• That's fine. You think. It's not as if befriending him is an absolute top priority — you can live without him. He's always being a brat and always so single-minded and focused and prioritizes his job like life is an objective experience he has to wade through unwillingly. You don't need him if he doesn't want to treat you right.
• And you're doing just fine ignoring the annoying Mist Pillar, but then you see him alone, one day. He's always alone, of course, but there's something melancholic in his heavy aura today. Shoulders slumped, head tipped up; his katana rested on his shoulder like a crutch while pale fingers absently drew circles on the sheathe. He's always alone, but you've never seen him look more alone than right then and there.
• Against better judgment, you walk towards him and sit beside him. Unlike what you've expected, he doesn't shy away from you, doesn't recoil in disgust or spit insults at you for daring to go near him. In fact, he barely reacts at all, oblivious to your presence even though you sit close enough to be burnt by his searing warmth.
• “What are you looking at?”
• “. . . the clouds.” Duh.
• Even his voice is different. Somehow mellow and deep and distantly nostalgic all at the same time, he murmurs his answer in an almost dream-like state. The clink of his nails against the wood of his sheathe fills the silence, and when you lean back and try to see the sky from his perspective, you're awash by a sudden wave of calm.
• Yeah, this is nice.
• You always find him like this, sprawled underneath the shade of a tree, eyes directed upwards while the sun raced across the horizon. Whenever he isn't training, he's watching the clouds — it always bothered you, that someone could just lay in the same spot for hours on end with nothing to distract them from their thoughts but the passing clouds, but here, you think you get the appeal.
• But that doesn't mean Muichirou does.
• He berates you for joining him again the next day: “If you have time to laze around, you can use it to train instead,” because of course he's thinking about work, still. You're annoyed, obviously, at the blatant rejection of your company, but instead of moping, you childishly, purposefully annoy him by training your swings right then and there, depriving him of his solitude and silence.
• Petty, but you feel satisfied when Muichirou lowers his eyes to look at you. He opens his mouth, and you're thinking of the worse, but all he says is: “Try widening your stance before you swing.”
• You try it, and it surprisingly helps you regain balance easier. You turn to thank him for the tip, but he's already lost in the clouds.
• Oh well.
• When you join him on the grass after a few hours of training, he doesn't push you away anymore.
• That's when your friendship with him blooms. He starts letting you train with him in the early mornings and lounge more on the grass afterward, and he's always so expressionless, but you think you see the care in his actions when he helps you train. He doesn't have to, but for some reason, he does. And when he shares his hiding spots with you, that's when you know you've cracked the guy.
• He's not very open at all. In fact, he treats you only slightly better than the rest of his colleagues that sometimes, you just have to wonder whether you're truly friends with him or if he just finds you mildly tolerable enough to be around with.
• At least he remembers your name.
• Things change after his visit to the Swordsmiths' Village. All of a sudden, Muichirou has done a complete personality reversal; as if the sun has finally shone down on the mist, Muichirou greets you with a big smile when you come to visit him in the Butterfly Estate.
• Kanroji recounts the story gleefully when prompted, and she's how you found out about the events in the Village. Muichirou's more reclusive about it and only shares the necessary details like a job report even though you probe and probe and probe him for more.
• “Doesn't matter,” he says, sharpening the creases on his latest origami as you lounge in his Estate. “I regained my memories and that's what's important.”
• Muichirou, you learn, is a scary person to deal with. He has this charm around him that glitters and sparkles and takes down your defenses until you find yourself buried in regret later on, wondering what possessed you to indulge him yet again on one of his chaotic sprees.
• Chaotic describes him well. Childish and careless, for another. He likes dragging you off to market stalls and looking over the shiny jewels or pendants or whatever catches his wandering eye. And then he'd give you the most heart-melting pout you've ever seen, and you just *have* to buy whatever he asks for to make him happy.
• You spoil him too much.
• In return, he spoils you, too.
• He's more than a little affectionate. Random hugs surprise you throughout the day, and he occasionally invites you out for picnics too, laying his head on your lap and demanding for head pats. It's like a necessity for him, to receive and give affection.
• His blatant bias is infamous among the Corps. Everyone knows to treat you like royalty lest they want to bring down Muichirou's wrath upon them. Everyone's significantly nicer to you, hoping you'd put in a good word for them among the Pillars, but they are also pointedly not as nice to you when in the Muichirou's presence, so as to not make him jealous that you're spending more time with others rather than him.
• Needless to say, everyone else tiptoes a fine line when it comes to interacting with you.
• Everyone's saying you get off lighter when training with him because he's constantly asking you if you're tired or if you want to rest and eat with him out, but in truth, he's actually much, much harsher with you. His strikes are harder, he's faster, and definitely rougher with you than anyone else. He makes up for it by treating you out as lavishly as possible, though, and people only see that instead of the many bruises you got from him.
• 'He doesn't like it, but you both have a job to do,' is what you tell yourself to calm yourself down, whenever you trip and fall to the ground, and instead of helping you up, Muichirou only snickers and makes fun of you before asking you if you're okay while laughing.
• Insufferable.
• He knows the best spots to have apology picnics on, though, so all's forgiven.

Chapter Text

Even the heavens are gloomy today. The wind that sifts through your hair chills your skin, and even as you clutch at your mug of tea, it doesn’t really warm your fingers. At early morning, just before the sun breaks into the horizon, the sky is grey and dull, and you can’t see the colors that the sky blushes whenever the sun arises. Still, you sit, alone in your perch, chained by routine, tied down by loneliness.

(you look up, and the clouds are too far stretched above to even form shapes, and recollection for you today takes the form of an ache of longing in your chest)

You take a sip of your tea. It’s already lukewarm, and you sigh at the bitter taste in your tongue. Any time soon, it will rain, and you hate how the world always seems hell-bent on taking away what little comforts you have. Either way, you wait outside, look up at the sky, and watch. There is nothing to see here, but the inside of your house is too lonely, too loud, and better to linger outside where it’s cold but alive than to wallow in self-pity inside.

(soft as a whisper, he arrives)

You startle, because he always comes unexpected, always comes unbidden. One moment, he’s gone, and the next, he’s huddled against you, face hidden in your shoulder, arms hung loosely around you. There’s a faint smell of blood that accompanies his presence, and you panic, because you don’t know whether that blood is his or someone else’s. You try to push him away, to let you assess the state of his welfare, but Muichiro stays firmly glued to your side.

"Mui," you say. "Let me see you."

No response. He only clings to you tighter, buries his head in the crook of your neck harder. There is a feeling of foreboding, of the unsettling feeling that something has gone wrong, but you can’t pinpoint it yet. You return his hug, though your position is awkward at best, uncomfortable at the least. But Muichiro only acts this desperate for contact whenever something troubles him, and you can’t deny him your comfort when he needs you the most.

(though, you can do with words, with what happened, how you can help, but you settle for brushing his hair down his back. he shivers beneath your fingers, but he’s relaxing, bit by bit, in your arms)

There’s a silence; the whole world holds its breath. And then rain falls, sudden and harsh, and droplets trickle down the roof and splash your skin with a withering chill. The wind blows harsher too, and the result is a cold that laps at your flesh where it doesn’t touch Muichiro’s. You try to keep him warm, but you can’t really move your hands because his arms around you tighten whenever he thinks you’re going to leave.

You try again, to coax him from your embrace, if only for a little while. "Mui, do you wanna go inside? It’s warmer and we can be a bit more comfortable."

But he shakes his head, looks up at you with wide eyes, as if truly afraid you’re going to leave him alone. You pat his head, though that doesn’t seem to reassure him very much.

(what comforts him? clouds, animals, the sunrise, a summer breeze — what can you do to help, dammit, because you feel helpless and your soul hurts seeing him look so lost and scared)

"Do you need me to do anything?" you ask again. "Do you want to talk about whatever happened? I’m here for you, love."

You feel your clothes bunch and crumple in his fists before he loosens his hold. Muichiro shakes his head again, and his gaze is directed outside, into the horizon, into the unseen. As always, you try to follow his distant eyes, but you fail, again, because you don’t even know where he goes when he’s in a state where he doesn’t want to be bothered.

(and you want to follow him, desperately, to the ends of the world, but you can’t do anything, can’t follow him anywhere when he’s the one who’s resisting, who’s pushing you away)

But then he’s looking at you, and the change is too abrupt. He’s looking at you; not through you, not behind you, not anywhere but at you. There’s a sensation in your chest, but it’s inexplicable, and you really just want to bask in the feeling than to overthink about it.

Finally, Muichiro speaks. “Just smile. I really need you to smile right now.”

(the tired tone he uses to speak breaks your heart, and every fiber of your being wants to weep for him, for the tears he refuses to shed, but you swallow those emotions)

So, you smile at him. You know well the one he loves, a gentle tilt, a caring warmth; the smile where your eyes crinkle at the sides when you’re genuinely, fully happy that all inhibitions are let loose. It’s fake at first, your smile, but his knuckles brush against your cheek in wonder, eyes wide as he drinks you in, and your smile turns sincere.

He presses his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, breaths you in. You follow suit and fall against him, offering him your warmth and unwavering support whenever his other comforts leave him. You stay that way, until the rain stops and the first rays of the sun creep over the horizon, and finally warms your cold limbs.

Chapter Text

All you know is that flowers as bright as the sun greet your eyes every day. The smell of fresh leaves and dew, sweetly pollenated flowers and nature permeates the room. If you close your eyes, you can almost dream of a lovely valley of vividly painted sunflowers swaying in the wind.

(but, you don't know such a place)

You ask the kakushi that pass by the place, the nurses and aides. They look at you with pitiful eyes and shake their heads. It's nothing to worry about, Aoi tells you. Forget about those.

But the flowers remain. Each day, you notice the subtle differences that mark a fresh sunflower placed by your bedside before the sun rises. This one is taller than yesterday's flower; that one's leaves are different; there's five more petals in today's flower than yesterday's. Days bleed into each other when you're stuck in a hospital bed, daydreaming memories that remain stubbornly out of reach. The only thing to distract you from the drab place are the flowers.

"Who brings these?"

"Someone irrelevant," Strained smiles, pity-laden gazes. "You don't have to dwell on it. We'll have it taken out if it bothers you that much —"

"No!" Even you flinch at the vehemence of your voice. The girls taking care of you stare wide-eyed. You look away and mumble, "Please don't take them away."

So they don't, and the sunflowers continue to haunt your dreams.

One night, one sweet twilight covered by thick clouds of silver and silk, you learn the identity of your secret friend. He has wide eyes and hair to his hips, flowing like an inky waterfall splashing seafoam blue in the ends. He grips the sunflowers to his chest tightly, that the stems crumple and curve.

"It's you," you breathe out. He doesn't say anything, just stays frozen, stunned to silence. You take this chance to drink him in, to carve his features to your mind so you won't forget, the way you've forgotten everything else.

He opens his mouth, blubbers incoherently, and gives up. You watch him, as he carefully steps to your bedside and places the flowers inside the vase. Then, silent as the night, he turns to leave.

Panic grips your heart — will you see him again? "Wait!" you cry out.

He freezes, turns to you. Doesn't say anything.

You're lost within the depths of his eyes. "You . . ." you swallow the boulder in your throat. Speaking seems to be so hard right now. "You're the one . . . who's been giving me these flowers?"

Hesitantly, he nods. Still doesn't speak.

"Thank you," you say.

He nods.

Silence.

You turn your eyes down, playing with the sheets around your legs. What to say, what to say? As if sensing the lack of words in your tongue, the stranger turns again to the door and takes a step away.

Shit — "Um, won't you stay?"

He directs his gaze at you, solemn and heavy. You see the hidden question in his eyes: why?

Why, indeed. Quickly, quickly, find the words! You try to make sense of the jumbled letters in your mind, to find the words that will make him stay. You sense it, this truth that resonates deep in your heart: this stranger, this man — he is a key, a huge part in your memories. Perhaps talking with him will shake your mind enough to help you remember. Perhaps not. Either way, the need to bask in his presence remains strong.

"I wanted to thank you, for giving me flowers every day!" you blurt out. "I really, really appreciate them!"

Shit. You are an idiot. You suffer in the ensuing silence.

Then, he speaks, in a soft whisper, "You — you have no idea who I am, do you?" And you can hear the break in his voice, the hurt and the ache, the misery. The resignation.

You bite your lip. Suddenly, the night air is too humid, too uncomfortable, like a vice that wraps around your chest until you suffocate. His eyes are too intense: you can't bear to look at them anymore.

"No," you admit, and watch the pain bloom on his face.  Silver moonlight reflects the gleam in his eye. "I'm pretty sure I should, but I don't. So, please! Please, stay and talk to me. I want to remember. I really do."

He stares at you, lips pinched into a straight line. Then he leaves, quick and harried, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Mister!" you shout after him, but he's not listening.

The next day, you wake up to the flowers on your stand, crumpled and wilting. The day after that, their petals are shrivelled, curled into themselves. The next, Aoi has taken away the wilted flowers, leaving your room bare and dull.

"Where is he?"

"Who?" Aoi asks, not looking at you. She scrubs at the floor, diligent and efficient.

"You know, the one who's been giving me flowers." His figure is burned to your mind. "Long hair? Pale? Kinda short? Baby-faced?"

Aoi bites her lip and continues cleaning up your room. "Sorry," she lets out. "I don't know anyone like that. Maybe you were just dreaming that?"

No. You didn't. You're sure you hadn't.

But days pass, and your room remains painfully bare. Your sunshine hasn't peeked from the clouds, and everything seems to be cast in shadows.

Who is he? You haven't dreamt him up. You're sure.

You are.

Really.

He doesn't show up, anymore. You close your eyes and try to remember, the way his hair tumbled gracefully across his back, the way his fingers had clutched the flowers. Eyes. Mint. Like fresh spring and seafoam. Then — then, nothing.

Days pass. You forget. Again.

Even as mint eyes haunt you in your sleep. You forget.

Chapter Text

The day's dim, the sun clouded over while moisture clings to the streets and hazes the city with mist. You wonder briefly if you should be resting at such a time, when demons are afforded such shelter from the sun to crawl through the busy streets as a predator. The night had been fairly busy, with low-ranked demons springing from the depths of hell to disrupt the daily lives of those who live in your Prefecture.

Sparing barely a thought for the wretched creatures, you've slain them as easily as slicing through tofu. Still. The sleepless days and busy nights and harsh training with the lower-ranked Slayers have drained you of energy, and you've barely pulled out your futon from your cupboard before falling asleep atop it.

It's probably near afternoon, from the minimal light that passes through your windows, when you are stirred awake. You groan and roll to your back, set to glare at whoever decided to disrupt your slumber. You are met with wide eyes, guilt-stricken as a deer caught in headlights.

"Mui?" you mumble blearily, rubbing your eyes. The boy hums in acknowledgment and sits back, watching you. "What're you doing? Did you need something?"

He hesitates, eyes sliding towards the door. He plays with his hair, contemplating his words carefully. Finally, he says, meekly, "I wanted to sleep with you."

You blink. Oh. Muichiro avoids your eyes, flushing pink with his shoulders hunched, as if awaiting beratement. Despite your lingering annoyance at having been awoken, you can't help but smile at the sight. Ah. Well — you look down at your figure, laid down haphazardly above your futon; you should sleep properly anyway.

You yawn and fix yourself to lay beneath the blankets. "Come on, then," you say, and beckon to the boy.

He perks up and practically jumps onto your bed, arms wrapping around your waist and head resting on your chest. You chuckle sleepily and fix the blankets to cover both of you. Muichiro nuzzles happily against your chest and sighs, eyes fluttering shut.

"Oh, right," he says. Muichiro shifts to rest his chin atop your collar and stare at you. You think he's frowning, by the way his eyes seem genuinely apologetic. It really looks like he's just pouting up at you, like a lost puppy. "Sorry I woke you up. I didn't mean to disrupt your sleep."

You hum and pull him near, resting your chin against his hair as he lays back down properly. "It's all right, Mui."

You're such a sucker for him, anyway, that you can't really stay mad at him. Especially not when he acts so adorably childish like this. You press a kiss against his head, and you feel his lips twist into a smile before sleep claims you once again.

"Good night, Y/N."

"G'night, Mui."

Chapter Text

Her hands are still as warm and gentle as he remembers, gliding down his arms with a feather's touch, just as flitting and mild. He should know this, this delicate, fragile balance between them two; tiptoeing the fine line between beauty and destruction — Akaza closes his eyes and pulls her closer in, closer still.

“Hakuji,” she breathes out. The air she breathes tickles his shoulder. “Hakuji.”

Her name has no words, no letters, nothing but a faint grip on saltwater. His memory is scarred and fragmented and pieced on bloody glass shards that never seem to fit, but she doesn't seem to mind. He tries to tell her to go away, don't come close because his hands know nothing but conflict and pain. She knows he's lying when he doesn't let go.

“My Hakuji,” she says again, a bittersweet smile twisted on her pale lips. Snowflakes dance in her eyes, a will-o-wisp in the dark night that flickers with the embers of the chandeliers above. “I missed you so much.”

But he's a monster.

Warm hands, gentle as he remembers, graze his cheeks. She smiles, and the memory of her name is almost within reach.

“I've been waiting, all this time, for you.”

But he's a monster.

“I love you.”

Silence. Their footsteps drag on across the empty floor, the wind sways, ethereal music plays. Her heartbeat rings loud, and his is silent, and he thinks, if he holds her close enough, tight enough — if he never lets go, maybe she can fill the empty void in his chest with the sound of her tinkling laughter.

Her name is —

“This doesn't have to be the end, just yet, you know,” she says. Akaza turns to her in question, but her eyes are directed outside.

The sun is rising. He ignores the ancient fear of the sun to watch: the golden burn, the pink sky, the clouds part to reveal light, and for the first time in an eternity, he sees the sun.

“Next time, we'll make sure to be happy,” the girl says. Akaza looks down at her again, and he forgets how to breathe when the first rays of the sun break through the horizon to wake the flowered petals in her eyes. Like the first spring after the snow; Akaza cups her cheek with all the gentleness he can, and draws her eyes back to him.

Her name —

She smiles at him, a high flush dust her cheeks, and Akaza thinks she looks lively, alive, wonderful. She holds his hand closer to her cheek, and he tries to warn her again not to get to close, but she never minds his cautions and warnings, never thinks about the pain he's caused, only the love he's brought. His skin breaks into goosebumps.

Her name.

“Koyuki.”

Her eyes brighten. Cherry blossoms and tulips and lotuses bloom, and when she laughs, the whole world buzzes with joy.

“Hakuji,” she murmurs. “Welcome back. I missed you.”

“Koyuki,” he repeats. The golden sun glazes her back with colors brimming with life. His mouth is dry, heartbeat pounding in his ears, tempo unraveled by the heat swarming in his veins. “I — I'm —”

She presses a finger on his lips. “It's okay. You don't have to say sorry.”

Her hands are back on his cheeks, and she wipes his tears — tears? — away with a sympathetic look on her face. This must be what mercy, salvation, looks like; all flitting warmth and sunlight and mingled breaths scattering in the wind.

“But I —” failed you, forgot you, disrespected you —

“It doesn't matter. None of it matters now.” Koyuki wraps her arms around his waist and sighs happily. His heartbeat matches hers, and belatedly, he notices the warmth he feels, his heart, her. He holds her tighter, and pinches his eyes shut. “All that matters is you're here with me.”

“Koyuki.” He chokes on regret and salt and winter-ice, but slowly, he's melting, coming home. “Yeah. That's all that matters now.”

She looks up to smile at him again, and he lets her springtime wash away the remnants of snow on his skin with her warmth.

“Next time,” she says.

“Next time,” he repeats, and holds her close. Her hands are still as warm and gentle as he remembers, closing over his as the daylight breaks. “I'll make sure to find you and protect you properly.”

She giggles. “That's not necessary.” She looks down, and her eyes glaze with a memory far away. “All I want is to spend my life with you, and maybe see the fireworks with you one more time.”

That he can do. Hakuji presses a kiss against her knuckles, like a knight to his Lady, and sighs out his promise. “Next time then. I'll make sure to find you and take you to see the fireworks.”

“Together?”

The sun sparkles in her eyes. Hakuji smiles. “Together.”

Chapter Text

The Master's garden was beautiful.

Dusk remained in the shallow droplets of water that trickled down thin leaves and into the well-worn pebbled ground, and they reflected the rolls of clouds that floated above. The day was blue and it felt mellow and lethargic, it moved slow and Muichirou moved slowly with it.

A sudden arm fell around his shoulders, snapping him out of his trance. A pale cape fluttered, and the solar rays imprinted in its depths winked; the man grinned at him brightly.

“Glad to see you here today, Tokitou my boy!” he exclaimed. His arm felt heavy around Muichirou's shoulders, but Muichirou kept quiet. “How are you doing?”

“All right,” he mumbled, and touched his broken wrist. He winced at the sharp pain that zipped through his chest. “I can still fight.”

The man ruffled his hair. “I'm glad to hear that!”

Muichirou nodded absently. Fingers of light crept in from behind the clouds, and they stole Muichirou's attention again.

“Rengoku! Tokitou! Yoohoo!” A girl stood on tiptoes and beckoned to them with a light smile. A bell tinkled, and she closed her eyes as her smile widened. “What are you doing over there? The Kamados should be here any second now!”

“Kamados,” Muichirou repeated. He had half a mind to ask who that is, but the clouds rolled past, and he forgot what he was even thinking about.

“Of course!” Rengoku called back. “I apologize for loitering! Tokitou my boy, let's go!”

Rengoku led him to where the other Pillars gathered, and there was an uncharacteristic lack of expression on his face. He didn't smile and he didn't frown, he just was. Muichirou cocked his head, and those fiery eyes turned to him.

“What?”

His smile was back, and he shook his head aggressively like a dog. “I'm sorry, it's nothing, Tokitou my boy! Did I worry you?”

“What is it?” he insisted, frowning when he didn't answer Muichirou's question before.

“I heard!” he boomed, “That the Kamados were two Demon Slayers who were traveling with a demon!”

“Indeed,” the girl said. She rubbed a strand of dark hair in between her fingers and sighed. “I sent the kakushi to patch them up a bit first before coming here, but it seems that they're running quite a bit late.”

“To travel as Demon Slayers with a demon in tow . . . I expect maximum flamboyance from these siblings!”

A bird flew past. It screeched a battle cry and tucked its wings before falling, and Muichirou watched it as his colleagues started talking among themselves. The bird disappeared into the horizon, but the imprint of its shadow lingered long after it had gone.

“Oh my, here they are, finally.”

He looked down again. A kakushi sat hunched over a boy and a girl, a pinch in his brow and annoyance on his tone. The boy was asleep, but even so, he held you protectively. You struggled to sit, and ultimately failed with a light wince.

“Wake up!” the kakushi said. The boy groaned, and you trembled in his arms. “How long are you gonna be sleeping for, huh? The Pillars are here; show some respect!”

Your eyes met his.

Charcoal, he thought idly, and blinked when you did. Embers and fire. There were red flecks that circled your irises, and they looked so achingly familiar that Muichirou could not help but feel nostalgic for a past he did not have.

“Pillars?” you mumbled. “Oni-san, wha —?”

Y/N, he learned your name from one of his colleagues, and he twisted and turned the name until it engraved in his brain. Kamado Y/N. You looked up at him with teary lashes and pleas for your missing sister resting on your tongue, and Muichirou thought of dried grass sparking and catching on fire.

In the end, somewhere between the haze of time and the blink of an eye, you left with your family, and the garden turned silent. The Master started the meeting on firelight and genteel smiles, but Muichirou could not stop looking in the direction you left.

Kochou, he repeated the name in his mind, and pushed the gate open.

After the Pillar Meeting last night, Rengoku had caught onto his broken wrist and insisted he visited the Butterfly Estate to heal as soon as he could. It was daylight and Muichirou had bags underneath his eyes, he yawned as he stepped in to find a medic.

Kochou, he reminded himself. Her name is Kochou. Just ask for her and get back home to sleep.

Butterflies fluttered past him to the flowering vines that crept up the fences. Muichirou paused in his steps to watch the butterfly's wings reflect sunlight and cast rainbow-hued shadows, before a footstep crunched, and it flew away in fright.

He turned around.

“Oh,” he said. “It's you.”

You stood there with wide eyes, a blanket hanging from your arm, half-folded. Your eyes were as pretty as he remembered, as pretty and nostalgic as fire crackling in the hearth, laughter in the table, a pair of warm arms. He couldn't pinpoint where exactly, but it felt like he'd seen your eyes a million times before.

“You were in the meeting yesterday,” you said, and your eyes widened even more. “Um, Tokitou, right? You're a Pillar.”

He nodded. “Kamado.”

You smiled, then, and the drowsiness fled from Muichirou as he basked in your warm smile. “Ah, that's my last name. It'd be confusing of you kept calling me that, so please call me by my first name!”

Your first name — “Y/N.”

“Yep, that's me! It's nice to meet you again, Tokitou!”

He frowned. That felt wrong. “Call me by my first name, too.”

“Your first name?”

“Muichirou.”

You fell silent, and your lips shaped his name. He stared curiously as your face turned from tentative to joyful. You grinned. “Right! Muichirou! It's nice to make your acquaintance! Let's be friends!”

Friends? Before Muichirou could respond, another voice called out. “Y/N? Who are you talking to . . . ?” Blue eyes widened, pigtails whipped in the wind. “Oh! Tokitou! I didn't know you were here! Are you looking for Shinobu?”

He blinked. “I forgot.”

The girl sighed. “Let me lead you to her office. Y/N, would you mind taking over my part for a bit, too? I'll be back soon.”

“Sure, Aoi! No problem!” You nodded cheerfully, and raised your hand in farewell. “See you around, Muichirou!”

The swordsmith's village wasn't too big, but somehow, Muichirou still found himself lost in his tracks within the village's depths.

“I was pretty sure it was around here,” Kanroji mused, eyes darting around the area as her lips pursed. “Um, maybe we should ask someone . . . ? Ah, I'm sorry for getting us lost!”

Muichirou looked away. The village was so busy, sparks flew and fire crackled. He watched a man dip a sword in the fire, and it came out a flaming red.

“Maybe we should ask someone,” Kanroji repeated, but then flushed brightly. “But they're all so busy, it would be a shame to distract them. Oh, what to do, what to do. What do you think, Muichirou?”

He shrugged. “I don't really care either way.”

“Kanroji! Muichirou!”

He turned around to find you waving at him from a distance. Kanroji squealed beside him and waved back, and her hand in his insisted Muichirou to stay put and wait for you to catch up with them.

You panted when you finally reached them. “Hello! It's so nice to see you both here! And Muichirou! I didn't know you were here, too!”

He stared blankly at you. Your smile faltered.

“Um . . .” Kanroji nervously played with the ends of her hair, and her cheeks flushed with the color of spring. “Our Muichirou here forgets easily —”

“Y/N,” he said.

You and Kanroji blinked at him.

“Your name is Y/N, isn't it?” he repeated, annoyed at the lack of an answer.

You brightened. “Yes! That's me! I'm so glad you remember! It's been a while since we last saw each other, right?”

“Your name . . .” he mumbled. “I've always remembered you.”

Kanroji's eyes widened, and she squealed into her hand as a flush rose up your cheeks. She provided a much-needed distraction from the sudden fire that raged in Muichirou's chest at the sight of your soft smile, but Kanroji only coughed and waves her hands.

“Um! Sorry! P–Please ignore me! I just remembered, I have someplace to go! Right, I do! Why don't you two search for the food stores around here, instead?”

Kanroji stood back and let you take her place beside Muichirou, and you took his arm to lead him down the street. “Oh, of course! The food stores are just a bit ways ahead! My brother and I were just there yesterday!”

Muichirou hummed and let you lead him deeper into the village, nodding along to your words and food recommendations. The swordsmiths bustled on around you endlessly and threatened to steal his attention again, but then you laughed, and Muichirou couldn't remember ever wanting to look away from you.

Your eyes looked like home.

Chapter Text

• It doesn't really register to Muichirou, the difference between being blind, and well, not being blind. It doesn't seem to bother Himejima, after all — he's fought beside the Pillar many times before, and he remains to be one of the most skilled fighters Muichirou has ever seen.
• So it doesn't really bother him when you became a Pillar, as well. You bowed down to the Master and spoke to everyone else formally and a just a bit shyly. Muichirou turned to you in curiosity, but you never seemed to meet his gaze.
• Doesn't matter. It's not like he's directly affected. As long as you do your job properly, it's not Muichirou's business to interfere.
• It's not until he sees you lumbering around clumsily and running into things one day that he grows concerned. Your lips pursed in concern, and your hands ghosted across the floor warily, as if searching for something. Muichirou stands back for a bit, watching.
• “Your katana is a bit to the right,” he says after a while, and you startle, the back of your hand hitting the sheathe of your sword. Muichirou frowns. “You're easily startled.”
• “I didn't notice you there,” you explain, but that does nothing to alleviate Muichirou's concern.
• He forgets a few hours later though.
• It's not until he's assigned to go on a mission with you that he remembers how seemingly incompetent you are. For the first time, Muichirou sees blindness as a disability, and helps you out with pinched brows.
• How dreary. He probably could have done and finished this mission three times over were he alone.
• And then he senses the Lower Moon behind you, but before he can move to attack, your blade is already out, and the demon's neck is already cut. The disintegrating head rolls to Muichirou's feet, and he stares at you, mildly surprised.
• Your expression twists in disgust. “Demon presences are always so icky.”
• Never mind, he supposes, as he takes your arm and leads you out of the woods. You thank him gracefully, and he merely shrugs in return, already forgetting that you can't see him at all.
• From then on, he takes an interest in you. You're sorely different from Himejima in that you're so deadly in the field, but so docile — and even clumsy — in everyday life. It can be annoying sometimes, yes, but Muichirou can't help but find it endearing when you ask him for help finding stuff.
• When you two finally started dating, Muichirou gets a bit more forward, curiously letting his hands trace the contours of your face and lightly ghost over your closed eyes while he lays on your lap.
• “What's it like, being blind?” he asked you one time, and you told him that it's like closing your eyes, except there is nothing there, not even darkness — just a distinct lack of anything at all. He didn't understand, of course he didn't, but you merely smiled at him and kissed his fingertips, and told him not to worry about it anymore.
• He tried walking around with his eyes closed for a period of time after that. You got concerned, hearing him run into something every few seconds, but he remained insistent on experiencing what you experience and continued on for the whole day. Eventually, you had to contact Shinobu, and she scolded him for being so stupid and worrying you unnecessarily.
• Muichirou didn't let go of you for the whole evening, comforting you with countless apologies and shy kisses peppering your collarbone and neck. You didn't bother telling him you forgave him, not when he nuzzled you so affectionately and delicately like glass.
• He has a new appreciation for you now, and though he remains blank and expressionless, he looks forward to missions where the two of you are paired together, if only to marvel at your ease in navigating the dusty streets of Japan in steady pursuit of demons.
• There's a certain humor in watching you slay demons. Glazed with a burst of affection and even a hint of jealousy, he hangs back and lets you deal the finishing blow, and the glint of blood and moonlight on your sword as you smile in satisfaction at a job well done is a sight he tries to ingrain deep into his mind. He doesn't want to forget that.
• Either way, he enjoys it when you hold his hand and rely on him to lead you out of the forest and to your home. It makes him feel nice and tingly and warm inside, this contradiction: you look so fierce and terrifying, the literal personification of Death itself, when you are facing a demon, and yet here you are, asking him for help.
• The vulnerability, your open, honest vulnerability, he loves it. It's interesting, and it makes him feel special, because you'd *never* dare show this side of you to anyone else. Only him.
• He likes pampering you after every mission, catering to your every need like an attentive puppy. He preens at any thanks and headpats you give him, and it's probably the most endearing thing ever.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Muichirou thinks.

Aimless thoughts that flit from cloud to cloud, sometimes pointless as wondering what the taste of blood was, one time, when pleasure and pain and euphoria and depression still wrapped around his body like a friend. Sometimes, he asks questions that will never be answered; pointlessly deep questions like why and how and what and who.

Sometimes, he forgets. Most of the time, he thinks it's better that way.

Sometimes, he doesn't.

“Enjoying your food there, Muichirou?”

Blood dapples the pale snow pink. It's everywhere: on his clothes, on his skin, on his tongue, and it burns wherever it touches him. He can feel it slide down his throat like lava, except lava would be more painful, maybe.

At least it will feel like something.

Muichirou merely hums and shifts, sucking on the man's hand until his cheeks hollow and the blood drains out. It tastes like sludge. No, it tastes like clouds. No, too dull. It tastes like puke.

Too disgusting.

A hand pats his head before his companion stands up. Muichirou keeps his eyes on his food. His eyes were wide open in death and he stares at Muichirou soullessly even after. He thinks he's supposed to feel something here: maybe guilt, maybe shame, maybe a deep regret. He tears off a piece of skin and continues to eat.

“Are you really still eating that man?” Kanroji sighs. “He tastes too bland. Let's find someone else, Muichirou! The night is young!”

He looks up at her. Slitted green eyes sparkle in the city lights, and she circles on her feet like a ballerina, arms spread and mouth open. She tastes the snow on her lips, and sighs happily.

“It's so pretty out here tonight, isn't it?” she giggles. “Do you want to come with me to the city square? There'll be a lot of people in there that we can lure out!”

He turns back to his food. Blood speckles and rot, the smell of iron, and the distinct feeling of a faraway emotion shaped like pity. Muichirou shrugs and wipes his chin with his sleeve, ignoring the twist of his stomach at the sight of the moonlight reflecting off of the man's torn skin.

“I'm not hungry,” he says, but gets up anyway and lets Kanroji pull him into her embrace. Her hands are cold on his cheeks but her gaze is almost tender and motherly as she wipes his face clean.

“No?” she pouts. “Ah, don't tell me you're on a diet, Muichirou! You should be eating lots, especially since you're at the age where boys get all tall and buff and stuff!”

He's been stuck in this age for decades. It barely matters what he eats or does not eat, and food tastes nauseatingly bland either way. Mundane. So mundane. Everything is so grey.

He's tired.

Kanroji tuts and grabs his hand, marching off into the lights in search of new prey. Muichirou lets himself get dragged away. A pair of eyes burn through his skin, but when he looks back, only the dead man's eyes are staring at him. He looks away.

Too dull. It's too cold to care. He raises his scarf to his lips, and loses himself in a sea of thoughts.

Muichirou doesn't like it when he thinks. His thoughts often go to scary places, unwanted places, unnecessary places that he'd rather never face at all like who is he, or even better yet, why is he still here?

He doesn't like it when he thinks.

And yet, nowadays, that's all he ever seems to do.

Think, think, think. The pendulum of the clock swings eternally, and brings with it a reminder of every painful trickle of time. Time is moving, and he thinks, if he stays still, stays silent, stays there, maybe it will bury him in its sands too.

No such luck. His heart beats, his lungs breathe, and he thinks.

There is no escape.

“Well, Muichirou?” Kanroji prompts, hand over her eyes like she's shielding her eyes from the glare of artificial lights. She draws close to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, and Muichirou thinks there should be warmth there. The falling snow laughs. “See anyone particularly interesting?”

Her eyes are too vivid. Inhumane, unnaturally so — happy, he thinks. She looks happy. Winter brushes her cheeks with apple blossom flush and life, like the stain of blood lipstick on her lips. She looks alive.

There's nothing eye-catching in the streets. Busy, busy, as if no one has noticed that the day has turned into night already. Muichirou meets gazes with a few drunkards across the street, lounging on a hidden alleyway devoid of light, and they glare back as if they are the predators and he is the prey.

He turns away.

“I'm not hungry.”

Kanroji doesn't listen. She eyes a particular person, tongue darting out to wet her lips. It ruins her immaculate blood lipstick; Muichirou reaches up to wipe the excess red from her cheek, and Kanroji blinks in surprise.

Muichirou stuffs his hands on his pockets. “It was smudged.”

She squeals and throws her arms around his neck, cheeks flushed as she squishes his face against her chest. “You're so cute, Muichirou! Thank you!”

He hums.

He looks up. The moon is covered by silver clouds, thin threads like glitter falling down with the snow. Slender fingers of light peek through every now and then, and Muichirou sees stars.

His gaze lands on you.

Shadowed by the night, you are nothing but a speck of darkness in a whole canvass of black paint. Snow drifts around your figure mellowly, and Muichirou doesn't know why, but he thinks you look lonely.

“Eh, Muichirou?” Kanroji asks. “Where are you going?”

Ah. He stops on his tracks. Kanroji's looking at him curiously, eyes agleam with curiosity and energy. She bounces on her feet as if eager to follow, but Muichirou only turns his back on her.

“Up there,” he says, and only the crack of snow underneath his feet accompanies him.

It's cold.

The wind is harsh this high up, and it howls its demands to steal him away. He pushes his scarf to his nose and steps forward into the rooftop.

Quietly loud. He hears nothing but static, white noise, and his feet lead him to stand beside you on the edge of the railing, but still, he hears nothing but the empty, chilling silence.

It takes you a while before you notice him.

“Oh,” you blink, and your hair flutters in the wind, the very core of earth pulling you away from the safety of the floor. “I didn't notice you get here.”

He hums. Shrugging feels so heavy, any action feels so dreary. He looks down and sees the earth curve, the people live, time move on. Winter paints a new sleet, a clean slate, and he watches people trample over it with mud and dirt.

“What are you doing here?” he asks instead.

You pause. He waits.

“I'm going to jump.”

“Oh.” If you fall, no one will catch you, and you will die and it will hurt but you will be dead. He thinks that might be the point anyway. “Why?”

“To get this over with,” you say. The wind whips harsher and harsher still. You shiver, and idly, Muichirou wonders what it feels like to be so deathly cold. “I don't want to be here anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because,” and you sound desperate, like you want him to save you, like you want to step off and never look back but you know this is the fate you have chosen for yourself and there is no backing down. Not anymore. You lick your lips, and try again. “Because, I'm tired.”

Ah. That's familiar. It's like looking through the glass and seeing himself peering back.

He looks down again. This high, Muichirou can almost delude himself into thinking he's above the world. Nothing new underneath the sun, they said, and maybe that is true, but if he went up, higher than the sun, maybe he'll be able to escape this monotony. The sense of restless, empty energy, the feeling of being lost — losing something precious, something you cannot recover.

And if not, maybe the sun's rays will scorch him up and suffocate him and burn him to a crisp instead.

At least he'd feel something.

He murmurs a little, “I see.”

A sort of kinship sparks like bonfire, flames panning out between you two, sharing the ghost of a warmth long gone. The silence stretches on, but Muichirou finds he doesn't mind quite that much.

“What about you?” You break the silence with a dagger. Muichirou watches it crumble and crack. “Why are you here?”

He shrugs. The question burns slowly like mild poison, then Muichirou breathes and it feels like fire on his lungs. It pounds along his heartbeat and into his skull. Why are you here?

Huh, he muses, and stares down at his palms. It's not silent anymore, and if he closed his eyes, he thinks he can hear his heart thrum slowly, his blood swish through his veins.

It's not silent anymore.

He turns to you wordlessly. Your eyes are pitch black in the night; Muichirou looks into the abyss, and his reflection gazes back.

“Are you Death?” you ask quietly.

The roar of traffic sounds from below. Light whizzes by, and for a moment, Muichirou sees hell.

“No,” he replies. The moon is gone again. Blink of an eye.

“Are you going to stop me?”

A pause. “No.”

The city buzzes. Someone screams. Up here, the noise doesn't reach.

It's silent again. Muichirou sighs, and thinks.

The sky is beautiful tonight.

He wonders if you've found an escape.

Chapter Text

you find him underwater, swaddled with floating petals and rainbow sparkles winking in the water. his reflection sways with the breeze, and the waves lapping at his uniform seem to take away the solidity of his presence.

you halt in your steps. muichirou does not seem to have noticed you, as he continues to scoop up the water and create ripples in the still lake. he doesn't seem to be taking a bath, nor is he taking a swim — in fact, there is a sort of dazed cluelessness in his face that makes you think he doesn't quite know how he find himself in that position either, so entangled by water lotuses and flower roots.

"muichirou!" you call out. he snaps his eyes to you, and there is almost no distinction between the blue of his eyes and the blue of the sky spilled in the lake around him. "i've been looking all over for you! what are you doing there? you'll get sick if you stay in the water!"

his head tilts to the side, and his hair scatters across the water. he does not seem to have heard you — or maybe he heard, but he does not comprehend, because he only stares at you blankly, before turning back to the flower floating gently in the water, clasped between his cupped hands.

"muichirou," you sigh, and step to the very edge of the bank. "come on, let's get you dried up and let's go home. i'll brew you some tea to keep you warm."

still, he is quiet as the earth. it seems as if he's ignoring you, but then, without warning, his hand shoots up and grabs your wrist. he pulls you towards the water, towards him, effortlessly, splashing flower petals everywhere with your squeak.

muichirou, as usual, catches you. he barely seems bothered, even as he blinks away the droplets of water on his lashes and stares curiously at you. you curse and shove your hair back beneath your ear, and huff at him.

"mui!" you scowl. "what was that for? now, i'm all wet, too!"

he does not answer your protests, and only hooks the flower he had been protecting in his hands behind your ear. you blink at him in surprise, and the smile he shows you is sweet and soft and melts your heart like ice.

"i knew it," he mumbles, eyes lidded as he gazes at you with something that almost looks like pride. "it suits you."

your hands fly up to cup the stem of the flower, and you barely remember how it looked like in his hands, but you marvel at the softness of the petals, and the sparkle of your reflection in his eyes. he tugs you in, kisses your brow, and sighs as he lays his chin atop your head. the silence swallows you whole as the lake stills to a quiet hush around you. the sound of his heartbeat in your ear keeps you warm.

Chapter Text

• Kyoujurou's regular routine consists of such: wake up at the crack of dawn, cook breakfast, make sure Senjurou is prepared for his classes, drive to work, go home, eat dinner, sleep. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.
• It's a routine that has worked so well throughout the years, so when you came along, it felt so sudden, and with just one smile, you ruined his perfectly meticulous routine.
• Whereas before, he slept at 10 PM sharp regardless of work, nowadays, he sleeps just when the sun is climbing up the horizon again, doing nothing but talk with you all night on the phone. He felt like a schoolboy with a crush, yes, and he would feel like a zombie in the morning, but it was always so worth it just to be the last one to bid you good night just before you slept.
• It was always part of his routine to prepare lunches for both him and Senjurou, but since you and Kyoujurou started talking, he frequently slept in and only had time to prepare Senjurou's. Upon learning this, you started preparing lunch for him as well.
• Another one: Kyoujurou used to head straight home after work to take care of chores and dinner, but nowadays, he finds himself lingering just a few more minutes in the school, talking to you. Even if you were both too busy to talk, just being near you is enough to make him so unbelievably happy that even Senjurou notices his smile is always a tad bit brighter.
• Of course, Kyoujurou responds to all these sudden variances from his routine the way he responds to everything else: with enthusiasm and passion. He tries to adjust his time to include you into it, and by the time you started dating, you were an entrenched part of his day that he couldn't even remember a time when you weren't there.
• He'll probably try to convince you to move in with him after a while. His apartment's pretty big, and well, closer to the school, so it'd be more convenient, right? Plus, he'll get to wake up beside you every morning and fall asleep to your smile every night — it sounds like heaven to him.
• Even if you don't move in with him, however, you're still over at his so much that it's basically your home, too. Whenever Kyoujurou has to work overtime or stay at the school longer than usual, you usually go home to his and keep Senjurou company until he gets home.
• He loves it whenever he sees you getting along with Senjurou. Nothing makes him happier than seeing two of the people he loves most with each other — it's almost as if you're really a part of his family! That future becomes so clear that Kyoujurou can't help but think of marrying you every time.
• Kyoujurou also adores it when you stay over for dinner. It's so lovely, cooking with you. It's probably one of his favorite activities to date. Even though you're both usually just silent, the proximity, the seamless coordination you two have sends his heart aflutter.
• Kyoujurou always tries to be the strong one. He has to be, for his dad and Senjurou, for his friends, for his students; it's almost second nature for him to be the strong pillar everyone can lean onto. But even he gets tired, and whenever that happens, you're always there for him. He appreciates you so much during those days, because even just you being there, the fact that you're willing to be *his* support overwhelms him until he's brimming with affection for you.
• Random dates? Random dates. Kyoujurou is very spontaneous — the two of you barely have any planned dates at all. One time, he was going home from work, and he saw a little cotton candy stand by the park. He went home and took you to the park just to eat cotton candy and watch the sunset merge into the evening sky with him. Anything he thinks that might be fun, he'll want to share it with you.
• During weekends when you're both off-work, if he's not pulling you out into some weird date idea he had, you'll both be curled on the sofa, his head on your shoulder, watching a movie. Sometimes, Senjurou joins you two, when he's done with his homework. Sometimes, you and Kyoujurou teach him lessons he didn't understand. Either way, Kyoujurou's sure to spend as much time with you as possible while he has the time.
• You were extremely nervous the first time Kyoujurou introduced you to his father. Shinjurou was strict and stern, and stared at you with an intimidating frown the whole time he snapped questions at you. Kyoujurou helped deflect a few of his rude questions and held your hand the entire time as you tried to answer as best and honestly as you could, praying to the gods that he doesn't dislike you.
• When the time came to go home, Shinjurou had softened a bit to you. You think. He wasn't frowning anymore, at least, and he'd kind of accepted you into the family (as much as, "Yeah, yeah, whatever," can be interpreted as acceptance).
• That was a terrifying ordeal, but then Kyoujurou grinned at you and cheered in relief, and really, you wouldn't mind going through all of that again just to see him smile so brightly.
• He probably talks about kids a lot. Or just married life in general. Stuff like, "When we get married," or "When we get kids, I'll —” and then a long, cheesy paragraph about how he'll do everything in his power to make sure you and your future children would be happy and well-cared for.
• Cup his cheeks in your hands and tell him that just him being him makes you happy, and so will your future children, and watch him grin with a rare blush on his cheeks. It's all so far in the future, these plans, of course. Kyoujurou plans to work hard and give you a steady, stable life as best as he can, but he can certainly dream that you're already his.

Chapter Text

coming home felt like stepping into a picture frame and letting the faded sepia seep into your skin and bones. it never mattered if it wasn't your home, or if this home was never home at all — always, it felt like sepia, a monotone of nostalgic reds and browns and watery, faint smiles burned into your memory.

the mountain was strangely quiet as you hiked up the trail to muichirou's home. birds chirped and a waterfall rained down, somewhere; a tree branch snapped and the leaves swayed, but somehow, it all felt muted. like maybe you were drowning underwater and dreamt of woodlands, or perhaps more likely, like you were living in a nightmare and woke up, finally, to an era of peace.

it felt light. nice. the sun shone and mixed with the mist and dew, and its warmth felt as kind as ever on your skin.

muichirou felt the same, you thought. most of the time, you couldn't really read him or the complex emotions he weaved behind his calm eyes, but with every step he took, he seemed to become a new person, shredding the parts of him that were a warrior and in turn, wearing the smile of a child instead. he looked relieved, eager, and even though his exhaustion caught up with him and dripped sweat down his brow, he never stopped walking.

he huffed a breath. you squeezed his hand.

"want to take a break, mui?" you asked. you were in better shape than he was — he'd only been awake for a day after having fallen into a coma for a week after the final battle, after all, while you had the same whole week to recover your stamina. still, he shook his head stubbornly, and took a deep breath. the stub of his left arm reached up to wipe at his forehead.

you helped him wipe his sweat off. "i'm good," he said, smiling at you in gratitude. even his smile had become lighter; more teeth, more happiness, squinted eyes and full-blown laughter trapped behind lips. "i just wanna get home already."

you sighed. "if you're too tired, we should take a break. or i can carry you, maybe . . ."

he shook his head again, but this time said nothing. the forest barely seemed affected by your noise, and it continued to hum its own little song, stuck in a world of its own.

you found his father and brother first, chopping down wood by the edges of a clearing. the falling tree alerted you to it, and as soon as muichirou heard the sound, his hand disentangled from yours to run to where the sound originated from.

"dad!" he called out, disappearing behind tree trunks and fern. "dad! nii-san? i'm home!"

you followed from a distance. where muichirou grew up here, you did not; the earth didn't know you and the soles of your feet stomped on the ground and did not glide gracefully like muichirou seemed to do. you cursed and stumbled, your way through the rocky path where muichirou disappeared to.

the scene that greeted you was heartwarming. an older man kneeled down and wrapped muichirou in his arms, along with his twin, and their shoulders shook as they cried.

you hung back again, and watched the reunion from afar. muichirou had his face buried in his father's clothes, hand clutching onto his sleeve as he cried. they were talking, but all you could hear was the relief on their voices.

"welcome back," the mountain, the trees, the air whispered to him. he smiled back and cried.

finally, after a while, the family disentangled from each other. muichirou's eyes sought yours out, and he beckoned to you to come forward. his action caused his family to turn to you as well, and you shifted in your feet self-consciously.

"who's that?" his twin asked.

"y/n," he said, frowning at his twin. "i told you about her in one of my letters, remember? i said i was bringing her home today, too."

when he got tired of you lingering by the woods, muichirou walked towards you and held your hand, tugging you out from the shadows and into the clearing. the sun shone down here more than in the shade, though the sunrise made sure the greens and browns drained out in favor of light pinks and orange.

"did you?" his dad chuckled uneasily. "i . . . might have forgotten."

"that's because you're old," his twin said. "i keep telling you to stop working and let me handle it, but you just won't listen, so now you're senile."

"nii-san!" muichirou huffed, but his dad laughed, and you couldn't help but to chuckle, too. he sighed. "anyway, y/n, this is my dad, and that's yuichirou, my older twin."

"it's nice to meet you." you bowed your head low. their stares felt searing on the back of your head and razed to the ground any sort of composure you could have had. facing muzan again was almost a better choice than being faced with muichirou's family's disapproval.

a shuffled sound, you looked up to find his father bowed down in front of you, too. you glanced at muichirou for help, but he offered nothing.

"it's nice to meet you, too!" he said, smiling cheerfully. where the twins eyes were like glass and seafoam, their dad's eyes were like amber and fire, screaming loud and captivating and terribly, terribly kind. there was an aura of kindness and patience that emanated from him, you couldn't really pinpoint why, but he felt like a person you could trust. "thank you for taking care of mui."

"dad," muichirou whined. *"i'm* the one who's supposed to protect her —"

"who's the one who lost an arm and leg between you two?" yuichirou snapped.

"you did!" muichirou rebutted.

you chuckled again. their dad sighed, and turned to you. he was still smiling, and you thought you knew now where muichirou got his charming smile. it was contagious, and you found yourself smiling back, though shyly. your heart felt like it would burst out of your chest.

"you must be tired, huh?" he said, wiping his hands on the front of his clothes before patting your head. his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and the smell of woods and greenery clung to him like smoke as he started gathering the wood to bring home. you went to help him, but he shook his head at you with a gentle laugh. "have the two of you even eaten breakfast yet?"

"no," muichirou said, ending his argument with his twin. he drifted closer to you and found your hand without even looking. it felt so natural, holding his hand; you smiled at the ground. "is mom back home? i miss her cooking."

"yeah," yuichirou said. he drew nearer and helped his dad pack up. he inclined his head to you in acknowledgement and, startled, you bowed your head again. "i'm starving, too."

their house wasn't too far off from the clearing. the boys talked to themselves while you listened absently and admired the nature around you instead. muichirou held his brother's hand so you held his sleeve, and though he tried to include you in the conversation, you felt like a shy kid, hiding behind him, responding only in hums and nods and smiles.

you reached their house in mere minutes. it was a moderately sized thing, well-kept and worn at the same time. you could see traces of life carved in those walls, and even if you had not arrived with the tokitous, you would be able to feel the warmth of the home just from seeing it.

just in time, their mother stepped out of the house, a basin full of water balanced on her arms. muichirou brightens.

"mom!"

she halted in her steps and stared, as if unbelieving at first, and had half a mind to put the basin down in the ground, before she rushed forward and embraced her son as well. muichirou let go of your hand to return her hug, and so close, you can see the slant of her shoulders slope down with relief as muichirou patted her back to calm her down.

"you're home," she sobbed against his shoulder. "thank the gods."

"i'm home," he confirmed, and she pulled back to share a teary smile and kiss his forehead. you shifted and stepped back; the scene was so intimate and you couldn't shake off the feeling of intruding, the sense of stepping in at the wrong moment, eyes staring judgmentally at you though no one is looking at you.

a stray twig snapped. you flinched and looked down in surprise.

"where are you going?" yuichirou asked.

everyone turned to look at you. you burned in embarrassment and opened your mouth to speak, but only a small squeak escaped.

a hand closed around yours. your eyes snapped up to meet muichirou's as he tugged you gently to meet his mom. you lowered your head in respect.

"mom, y/n, my wife," muichirou introduced. you turned to him in shock.

"huh? wait, n–no —" you fumbled, stepping back again, but muichirou's hand in yours prevented you from going too far. your cheeks burned, and your hand waved around helplessly. "i'm not — we're not —"

"yet," he corrected.

that isn't any better at all.

she giggled, and a pair of warm arms circled your shoulders. you stiffened, but that does not seem to deter mrs. tokitou from hugging you like her own child. your eyes met with muichirou's, and the gaze that fell on you was so soft it could have melted any trace of hesitation or nervousness from your chest.

slowly, you raised your hands and hugged her back.

it felt so foreign, but not unwelcome, hugging her. it felt warm, like sunrays glazing over your skin, and when she pulled back to smile at you, that warmth dripped down your chest to light your heart with a soft glow.

"it's nice to meet you," she said, and looked back at her family. they smiled at you, and for the first time since arriving, the butterflies in your stomach dissolved into mist. "and welcome to the family."

Chapter Text

Half of the time, Muichirou does not know what love is.

It gets too glorified, he thinks; he turns his head, and he hears a song about love; he swivels around, and finds a heavily made-up maiden take a man's hand in love. There's too many sides, too many meanings to it — Kanroji tells him she loves him, she tells him she loves everyone, but what makes love special if she can feel it for everyone?

Muichirou thinks he loves a lot, too. He loves Oyakata-sama like a samurai loves his pride. He loves Rengoku like a child loves his toys. He loves Ginko like a boy loves his only friend in the world.

And, Uzui said, with a wink and a flitting snort and mischievous glint set on ruby eyes, he loves you like a man loves his soulmate.

Soulmate, he wonders curiously, and tilts his head to stare at you. The sun sparkles and frays over your lashes like beads scattering over the curve of your cheek. There is a rainbow behind you and the sky is clear, but his gaze never falters from your profile and up to the sky.

Soulmate, he repeats in his head, but the thought does not have a destination to land on, and so it lingers haplessly in the front of his mind and echoes along the corners. It stays there until Muichirou finds a home for it to rest on, repeating, repeating, ever-repeating.

He takes a bite of his rice ball. The slight taste of miso coats his tongue like butter, and his eyes widen and his heart flutters unexpectedly at a wandering thought — did you remember, perhaps, that Muichirou loved miso?

His hand raises to his chest as if he could take away the fluttered sensation and throw it away like trash. It's distracting, heady, like he can't breathe properly around your presence because he's too busy admiring you, but he can't breathe without your presence either, because he's too busy missing your warmth.

He chews quietly. Three rice balls sit on the plate between the two of you, curling with the smoke from the tea that you've prepared for after training. His chest never stops buzzing with an emotion he can't decipher just yet.

Your hair is red in the sun, he realizes belatedly. It's not very obvious, not really something life-changing, and yet Muichirou still feels disappointed at himself for not noticing it earlier. When you shift, dark strands part to reveal gold, and they glint in the light like treasure.

"Mui?"

He blinks. Curiosity swirls in your eyes, though your lips never part to voice your question. He thinks he can understand it, anyway, from the flush on your face, but still, he reaches up and grasps a strand of your hair in his fingers.

"Your hair," he says, and marvels at the sensation of individual hair strands falling from his hands. "It's red."

You hum. "Red?"

He nods. "In the sun. It's kinda like Rengoku's, but prettier."

Your flush darkens. It's so adorable that Muichirou can't help but to stare.

"It is, huh?" you murmur, examining your own hair in the sun. An eye closes and your brow furrows, the facade of seriousness kept up and forcing a smile out of his lips.

He breathes out, half-sigh, half-something else, like bowing in front of a temple in worship. "It's really pretty."

You hum again, but the response that he receives comes in the form of proximity. His breath stops completely when you lean in close, and Muichirou always feels cold but the warmth of your breath ghosting over his cheek is somehow the warmest he's ever been.

You take a strand of his hair, and hold it up to the light, as well. "Your hair is red, too, see?"

He blinks. His heart stutters, and he wonders absently if someone had replaced the blood in your veins for ichor and the humanity in you for something more divine, like a god's. Looking at you sometimes feel like looking directly at the sun; too beautiful and bright and blinding.

Soulmate, Uzui had said. Muichirou is never sure about love half the time — he is even more unsure about soulmates. He sees love everywhere: between brothers, between subordinate and master, between friends, between lovers. He's seen love, but he's never really experienced the love between soulmates.

But maybe this is it, he thinks, drowning in a soft wave of warmth from the brightness of your smile. You hold up your hair to his and laugh at the matching shade of orange in your hair, and maybe love is not being able to take his eyes off of you. Maybe love is the fire spreading through his chest at the sound of your laughter. Maybe love is the smile on his face whenever he catches even a glimpse of you.

"See?" you ask. "We match, too!"

"Yeah," he says. His cheeks burn and he can't stop smiling. "Hey, Y/N."

"Hm?"

There is a rainbow behind you. It had just rained recently and the streets were still damp from the rain. Puddles formed and splashed broken reflections everywhere, but Muichirou's attention is only ever directed at you.

"I think," he starts, breathes out, and lets his hand rest atop yours. "I love you."