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"Kyojuro."
His voice is soft, matching his hand as he shakes the resting form beneath the blanket. Kyojuro stirs, his eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows knitted.
"Kyojuro, wake up."
Kyojuro grunts, unhappy, pulling the blanket over his head like a stubborn child. Akaza sighs. He really can’t blame him, not when he’s in this situation.
The escape attempts have been happening less and less often, until Kyojuro stopped trying entirely, choosing instead to claim one of the endless rooms in the fortress as his own. Kyojuro sleeps more, talks less, until Akaza learns how to tell whether or not he’s actually asleep on the futon Akaza had brought for him.
It’s a blessing, in some way. At the very least, Akaza wouldn’t come back to the fortress to Kyojuro having his legs cut off or the wound in his stomach reopened.
Right now, Kyojuro isn’t asleep. His breath is too steady, his body too still. At best, Kyojuro moves a lot in his sleep. At worst, he would cry and scream at the nightmares that would come to haunt him.
Akaza still finds it odd—demons don’t dream. He supposes it’s because Kyojuro still has humanity left in him, despite everything. Perhaps Kyojuro is right in that strength holds little regard to the body. Akaza doubts Kyojuro would hold on so tightly to humanity if he was as weak as his body might suggest. It was vexing at a glance, now, he only admires him the more for that.
He resorts to rubbing Kyojuro’s arm up and down through the blanket, squeezing comfortably.
“I know you’re not asleep.”
No answer. Only expected. At least, not for a while. Kyojuro eventually sighs and pulls the blanket down, turning on his back so he can meet Akaza in the eyes.
“We’re going out tonight, Kyojuro.”
—
"Looks like your lovely little hashira is alive, after all!"
But Akaza doesn't hear him. Douma's voice sounds like it was underwater, blurred like droplets of ink in a clear glass, tainting the water. Instead, Akaza's focus draws his eyes like a magnet to the mangled body by Douma's feet, blood sizzling and skin inflamed, writhing like a worm under the sun.
“I was so curious since he never left your mind, so I’ve been watching him from a distance!” Yet Douma keeps prattling on, fanning himself with his golden fan that’s way too beautiful for someone so disgusting like him. “I was going to wait a little longer, it was just so precious watching him struggle about his days. But you know me, Akaza-dono.”
The fan is lowered, revealing a grin cold as a blizzard that sends shivers even down Akaza’s spine.
“I just couldn’t help myself!”
Kyojuro’s scream echoes through the endless halls.
—
Akaza’s endlessly grateful that he has enough of Kyojuro’s trust for Kyojuro to let him take him out of the fortress.
The few times they’ve gone out together was for a mission. Akaza is Muzan’s errand boy first and a murderer second, with his primary mission being to gather info about the blue spider lily, so it's easy to bring Kyojuro along under the guise of training. With the way their first meeting went, Kyojuro was surprised when he found out about the lack of violence Akaza’s primary mission requires.
This time, it’s different. So rather than being bare chest, he took the effort to put on a light blue yukata, shifting to hide his demon marks and cracked glass for eyes. The pink of his hair fading to black to the roots.
He catches Kyojuro staring. It could be the shadows of the forest around them, but Akaza could swear Kyojuro’s cheeks were a hint darker.
Kyojuro lets him hold his hand, guiding him through the trees.
“This way, Kyojuro,” he says, “It’s not far.”
—
"This is what you want, right?" Kyojuro snarls, fists clenched until the knuckles are white, yet so warm with the blood on the grayish skin. "This is what you want, isn't it?!"
Akaza's beneath him, ribs pressured by Kyojuro's whole weight. His face weaves itself back together, skull fragments cracking back to place, until he could speak again.
"No," he replies, so empty, allowing Kyojuro as he rains down blind rage towards him. "Not like this."
"SHUT UP!" Kyojuro all but shrieks.
And his face was caved in once again, all the hurt and anger channeled to Kyojuro's fist, burning with his newfound, demonic strength. It's desperate, Akaza could tell, not in any way calculated, unlike his attempts to escape, just raw, venomous anger as he breaks Akaza's skull into pieces again and again.
"Shut up—" His voice cracks. Akaza couldn't see, not when his eyes haven't healed from the assault. But Akaza could feel something warm dripping to his face.
"Shut up."
When he can see again, tears rain down upon Kyojuro's face, down to Akaza's own. The attacks have stopped, as Kyojuro claws at his own face with his bloody hands.
"Was there ever any other way?"
No. Akaza knows this now, as he lets Kyojuro sobs and sobs on top of him, that Kyojuro would rather die a thousand deaths than be a demon, caged like an animal for a freak circus, slowly losing himself as his memories chip away like chalk.
But the choice was made for him.
—
He could feel Kyojuro squeezing his hand tighter as they walk through the small town brimming with warm lights. People pass on and about around them, not so much that it’s crowded, but there are a good amount of kids and family at this time of night. The tremor in Kyojuro’s hand is hard to miss, and so is the heavy breathing he struggles to slow.
It’s only expected that Kyojuro’s so nervous around so many people. Their smell could be intoxicating to a demon who hasn’t eaten since he was first turned, let alone one whose body had taken so much damage in so little time.
Yet Kyojuro perseveres.
It’s a ridiculous dedication, Akaza thinks, but not one he could mock anymore. He only squeezes Kyojuro’s hand back, a lame attempt at comfort, then tugs at that same hand so Kyojuro wouldn’t be separated from him and get himself lost. The sudden change of speed, at least, seems to take Kyojuro’s mind off his hunger for now.
Akaza speedwalks on the road between the line of buildings, fast enough that Kyojuro has to put effort to catch up, but not too fast that they couldn’t enjoy the passing scenery. Kyojuro needs it, he supposes, new views for refreshment to keep his mind healthy, preventing his mind from reaching its breaking point, even for an inch.
It’s the least Akaza could do.
Kyojuro has his eyes around the environment, now, feasting on the bright lights and lively people like he wouldn’t know when he could see them again. The knit between his brows loosen, with the frown thawing like ice, like the warmth of the town has brought him back to life. It may be just an illusion of the light, yet Akaza drinks in the way Kyojuro’s eye glimmers ever so slightly.
Akaza leads him to an open space, tables and seats set up around the circular area under the night, each table decorated with a red parasol with intricate patterns. Kyojuro follows Akaza further like a duckling, sitting across of him when Akaza finds himself a seat.
Kyojuro taps his thighs absently, unsure what to do with himself, unsure if he should do anything at all.
"What do you want, Kyojuro?”
The question only further confuses him, it looks like, eyes wide as he tilts his head, brows knitted together.
"Haven't you ever gone to an outdoor restaurant?" Akaza tackles the confusion with his own, raising a brow. "We're getting food. Unless you want me to pick for you."
Things don't seem to register in Kyojuro's head. Akaza wonders if he lost more than his memories. "I… Uh… Sure."
“It’s not human flesh, Kyojuro,” Akaza reassures him, taking a menu from a waiter who gives him a weird look. She speedwalks as soon as she took his order. He couldn’t care less. “I wouldn’t trick you like Upper Two.”
Kyojuro keeps his head low, staring at his thighs like he was ashamed of himself. Knowing him, he likely is. Akaza knows for certain that Kyojuro’s nose is being assaulted by the entrancing smell of fresh humans all around. Akaza knows. He can smell it, too.
When his order arrives at last, Kyojuro's head perks up as the smell overpowers the flesh he so dreads. Akaza watches as Kyojuro lifts his head to the table, to the steaming hot pot served in the middle of it.
"I know it won't do much for your hunger," Akaza starts, handing Kyojuro the bowl and chopsticks. "But your tongue still works, right? I figured you must miss human food."
The tiniest gasp escapes Kyojuro's mouth, and Akaza is unsure what to make of that. Nor is he sure what to do when Kyojuro put a hand over his mouth.
"Why?" He asks, muffled, voice trembling. "I'm your prisoner."
"To those bastards, maybe. I'm not them," Akaza replies, unexpectedly easy as he takes scallops and mushrooms to his bowl. "We were equals when we fought and we're equals now. I want to treat you a little, so let this make it clear that you're not."
Before Kyojuro could reply, halted by the tangled wires in his head, Akaza takes the liberty to put the thin slices of meat in Kyojuro's bowl, alongside the cabbages and udon that came with them, dousing them with the broth.
And he hands it to Kyojuro. The bowl feels warm on his palm, perhaps it would be too hot if he were still human.
"I don't know what you like. If you want something else, anything else, just tell me."
Kyojuro stares at him, then to the bowl, hand hesitantly reaching to hold it like it would explode in his face. He lets the steam obscure his face further under the parasol, and Akaza turns his eyes back to his own bowl for the sake of Kyojuro's comfort.
Privacy isn't something Kyojuro could afford in the fortress, after all.
The broth is practically still burning. Akaza once again couldn't care less as he digs in, while Kyojuro slowly lifts up the meat to his lips, blowing for the heat to go until a comfortable degree.
Kyojuro chews slowly. Akaza can't take his eyes off him, as he swallows and the tiniest noise escapes his throat.
Kyojuro's bottom lip quivers, and he lowers his head with a heavy exhale.
"Kyojuro?"
"...It's delicious." His voice wavers, breaking at the edge. And he covers his eyes with a hand to hide the tears Akaza knows are coming. "It's really delicious."
—
"I was the Flame Hashira, discharged after my injuries in my last mission on the mugen train. The Kamado siblings, Agatsuma, and Hashibira were with me on the train."
Akaza listens, staying still as a statue just outside of Kyojuro's room, as he talks and talks and talks.
"I have a brother waiting for me at home. Senjuro. He's so small and gentle and always so patient as he tends to me. He protected me with his colorless sword when Upper Moon Two came to our home and took me."
Is he talking to himself?
Akaza listens, and learns about Kyojuro's life more than he probably should. He learns about his mother, who had told him to use his strength responsibly, protect the weak. About his father, how Kyojuro always tried to get him back on his feet. About his former student, now a Hashira like he is and how she's such a wonderful slayer, and how she taught Senjuro so many wonderful things, from tasty recipes to self confidence. How it was always a good day when she came to visit.
Day by day it keeps happening: Kyojuro repeating these things to himself, and Akaza listens, until Kyojuro's words are blurred by tears, eventually breaking down to messy sobs.
Like he was trying to remind himself. Like he was trying so desperately to clutch on what little humanity he has remains.
"I have a… I have a- a broth- sibling?"
Akaza blinks, wondering why Kyojuro stutters way too quickly today.
"His name is— her name? I—"
His voice breaks.
"I can't remember."
That moment Akaza doesn't think, only sliding the shoji door open with an automatic quality. Kyojuro flinches, staring at him with shock in his wide eyes, ready to defend himself.
"You have a brother," Akaza reminds him. "His name is Senjuro."
—
Kyojuro eats slowly, occasionally accompanied by tears. Akaza doesn't comment, instead filling between the quiet with small complaints about inconvenient things he stumbled across his intel-gathering when he was out alone, as always.
Kyojuro doesn't end up eating a lot, Akaza supposes it's only expected. Kyojuro did catch some kids staring at them from a distance, and takes the initiative to invite them over to their table.
Akaza doesn't speak, but he watches as the corner of Kyojuro's lips are pulled to a smile, letting the kids eat up what remains of the hot pot.
They stay even as the kids leave, thanking them profusely for the meal. As the crowd thins out and the lights are turned off one by one, until it's just the two of them under the red parasol. No words, no touches, only drinking in the comfortable silence under the light of the stars.
“We used to make hot pots every winter,” Kyojuro starts, his voice laced so heavily with nostalgia. “It’s always just… the three of us. Me, and... and… and we always make sure to make extra snacks, because—”
He cuts his own sentence short, that faint glimmer in his eyes dimming, and Akaza catches the grim realization behind Kyojuro’s eyes, that he had forgotten so much.
“You used to make hot pots every winter,” Akaza continues for him, hand reaching out to grab Kyojuro’s hand, squeezing. “It was always the three of you. You, Senjuro, and Mitsuri, because your father never bothered to show up. Mitsuri always brought extra meat among other things, so you and Senjuro made her a lot of sakura mochi as a thanks. They sometimes went to the kitchen as soon as you were done, making recipes you never heard before, and they never let you help past the cutting board before your cooking was abysmal.”
Kyojuro hiccups, shoulders shaking, and Akaza worries that he might start crying again. As it goes, though, it only gets clearer that Kyojuro is laughing, messier by the second, until Kyojuro snorts and puts a hand over his mouth, like to excuse himself.
Akaza’s face turns warm.
“Hey, that’s mean,” he says in response, but there’s no hurt in his voice. “I can whip a meal up fine. It’s bare minimum, though… They’re something else entirely.”
I miss them , Kyojuro doesn’t need to say. It’s written so clearly in his eyes.
“...I’ve told you this before,” it’s a statement, but Kyojuro’s tone is uncertain, knowing that his memories aren’t all that reliable anymore.
“You have, and I’m willing to hear you tell it all over again,” Akaza assures him. With those words he spoke, he feels like someone else. “And I’ll always remind you the next time, and the next time after that.”
It makes him wonder, what changed? What made him stop seeing tears as a repulsive sign of weakness? What made him see Kyojuro, all vulnerable and isolated from the rest of the world, and think that he has to take care of him? Stay close to him and fulfill his needs?
He doesn’t need an answer. Not now, not when Kyojuro smiles so warmly in response, for the first time since he was dragged to the fortress. It washes Akaza over with a gentle feeling like a summer breeze, despite how brittle it is.
He wants to protect that fragile thing.
He finds himself wondering if it’s how the gentle morning sun feels to humans. Greeting their wake every day, offering its color to the gentle blue sky to molt the path they walk on. He forgets more than Kyojuro does, that one thing is certain.
Ah.
The sun.
“Dawn is coming,” Akaza reminds him with a heavy heart. “We need to go back.”
And Kyojuro clams back up just like that. Surprise washes over his features, before his face turns so cold once again, reminded of the lonely solitary waiting for him at the fortress. He hangs his head, pulls his hand from under Akaza's, fingers closed around one another on his thighs.
“I want to stay here."
He's so quiet. Akaza almost couldn't hear him, and his gaze on him softens. It's not pity that he feels, which Akaza himself is surprised about, but something deeper. Something forgotten in the depth of his—
It's easy to put a hand on Kyojuro's shoulder. Easy to run a hand up and down his back. Easy to pull Kyojuro to his shoulder as his arms squeezes around him, inhaling the scent of his sweat.
It's easy to let Kyojuro stain his shoulder with his tears, letting him grab and claw on his back as he sobs and wails.
"I'll find the cure for you, Kyojuro."
Like he'd done all this before.
—
"I'll cure you for sure," he tells her, letting her lean against his shoulder, holding her steady with an arm around her back. "You'll get to watch them up close someday."
Her blossom eyes glimmer like morning dew, looking out to the distant fireworks blooming in the faraway sky. In red, orange, lighting up the night sky to rival the stars.
"No matter how long it takes."
—
Dawn spreads.
It reminds Akaza of their first meeting, they were in each other's arms too, in some ways. And just like then, Kyojuro keeps Akaza in his place. Except Akaza lets him, this time.
He lets him as his cries quiet down, letting him breathe uneven breaths against his neck. He lets Kyojuro as he holds him still as the sun rises, until it leaves charred marks from its kisses on their skin.
Kyojuro must've missed the sun, Akaza figures as much.
A strum of a biwa brings them back to the fortress.