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It was unusually calm that day. The clouds were moving lethargically across the inky sky; lost in the strange black air that was slowly drowning the town whole. As the wind sang its alluring songs, the fireflies danced on the leaves in rhythm. Perhaps they were trying to reignite the fire which had once been here-passionate, bright and alive.
He too, was once alive. A man, he was young, strong with a beating heart. He wondered if his heart was still beating as he placed his tattooed finger on his chest. Nothing, as expected. The man picked a flower from a bush, lowered himself as he faced the grave in front of him. It was red, the flower that was. Red, just like the blood he had bathed himself in. Red, like an undying cinder, making him choke; burning into his lungs and brain as a grim reminder of who he had just killed. A red spider lily.
How amusing.
The pink-haired man looked at the flower with a pitiful, cold yet bitter gaze. He spoke up.
“How funny, you truly did live up to your word. No one died that night, Kyoujuro. No one except you.”
Tracing the outlines of the petals, Akaza continued.
“I could have saved you, Kyoujuro. You could have lived as a demon, and this battle of ours would have never ended.” The man sighed “I couldn’t understand why-”
Before Akaza could finish his words, the wind roared in silent anger, disturbing the unusual calmness that was once there. The tattooed demon stood up, preparing for any kind of threat to find- Kyoujuro sitting on the grave-on his grave-smiling. It was a warm smile. Yet, he could feel the burn of that same fire blazing in his stomach.
The fire he wished he could hold, could grasp with his cold, bloody hands.
The specter in front of him wore the same uniform with his signature haori draped on his back. He still had that ridiculous hairstyle- golden like the sun as it trickled down with droplets of red at the tip; those weird strange-looking eyebrows; and that same, kind smile. With trembling hands, he reached out but flinched, pulling away as he realized what he was trying to do.
“A demon who can see ghosts.” He laughed in disbelief “Now what, you’re going to haunt me or something?”
Not that he minded having a ghost for a traveling companion, he would just be annoyed that he couldn’t spar with the blond. Well, he couldn't physically fight him, to be exact.
“Grieving over my death?” The ghost still smiled at him yet there was no bite to it.
“Yeah, I am.” Akaza clenched his hand “And? Why are you here, Kyoujuro”
“I wanted to thank you.” He stared at him, confused.
“Why?”
“Because you didn’t turn me when you had your chance.” The fire hashira closed his eyes “I got to die human”
Akaza couldn’t believe what he was hearing. As the air got more tense, he raised his voice.
“Wouldn’t you rather prefer to live? You would rather die, leaving all of those unfulfilled promises of yours behind than to live as a demon? How-”
“I would.”
The air around them was being drowned by the thick silence of the night. He didn’t realize the flower was already been crushed by the clenching of his fist. Akaza dropped it, watching as it slowly crumbled next to his feet. Just like humans do, they born, live, wither and die. Weak, he snarled in disgust.
“Then what, you just die and leave those poor people-”
“Are you afraid to die, Akaza?” The blond cut him off guard. Him, afraid to die?
“Growing old and dying is the beauty of the fleeting creature called a human being, Akaza. Because they grow old, because they die. They are tremendous. Lovable. And precious. what they call 'strength' isn't a word that is used in regards to the body.” Those lines repeated in his head over and over, as if they were a broken melody he couldn't just simply forget.
He stood there in front of the grave, frozen. He didn’t know what to do, how to feel. He wanted to laugh because he was being lectured about the strength of a human and morality by a dead man. Before he could say anything, he felt a hand cupped his face.
“The accepting of death can be a strength, Akaza. I hope you can see it one day.” He gave him a sad smile. The man disappeared within a blink of an eye, leaving nothing but the embers of the lingering touch on his cheek.
How could a hand be so cold and eerie belonged to a person this warm and gentle? The fireflies no longer danced beneath the tall grass, the clouds were no longer present to his eyes. The demon closed his eyes and chuckled dryly to himself.
What it meant to be strong, huh.
He wondered if the other demons could consider the acceptance of death “strength”. It was a tempting offer, perhaps one day he would. The ashes of the flower flew away as the demon disappeared, dragging the night with him as the dawn came.