Work Text:
the moon detests my breath
and the stars fear me so.
curses drape me in hushes
as the skies whisper all they know.
Voiceless echoes resonate deep within Akaza's soul – a jarring emptiness marred with crippled memories that have no ills in sending its vessel into a quiet hysterics. There is no silence in an otherwise occupied being, somehow deprived yet somewhat fulfilled in a way that never makes sense.
His eyes adorn the letters that have shaped his entire life, gazing tirelessly upon the slumbering sky. He eyes but a canvas of pale darkness that speaks to his existence in mockery and he nearly laughs at its irony.
Even the moon and the stars detest him, hiding from him as though they know what he is: a creature scorned by the sun and unworthy of even a glance from heavenly bodies. The skies seem to whisper to one another in haste; why must the winds bless the cursed? What worth is there to share beauty to one that tears it with its greedy fingers? Who deserves to be kissed by the light on lips that turn the other way?
What gives you the right – you, who are wrong?
"I knew I would find you here." A soft voice startles Akaza out of his trance. His chest tightens with quivering emotions that have no place making themselves known to him, yet he follows its relentless tremors in the manner of furrowed brows straightening in restless peace. He attempts to swallow a scoff, even as his marked eyes have given a temporary farewell to the sky.
Kamado Tanjirou stands beside him atop the roof Akaza is currently sitting on, his slitted rubies fixing him with a gentle gaze that does nothing to contradict his delicate countenance. His red marks litter across his body in curved edges, checkered haori flowing along the long burgundy strands that have laid against his back. His hanafuda earrings sway with everything else, chiming along the sound of his daintiness. His lips form a smile that only he could ever pull – and it is strange, how Akaza seems to falter at the sight of him simply being there with him.
He does not grace Tanjirou a reply, for the other demon – the word never sounded right – knows how he is by now.
"I heard they are to release fireworks tonight," Tanjirou says in that honeyed voice of his as he finds his place beside an Akaza who turns his head away, "I figured I shall watch them with you." Akaza clenches his fists, face scrunching at the notion.
"You have better things to do, Kamado," he seethes, albeit lacking its usual hostility that he finds he could never truly direct at Tanjirou. The other have always delivered him into a stupor that Akaza never liked; a stupor that has him reeling at the intensity of the want to be entwined with that he could never attain. It reminds him of wistfully looking back at the rising sun as his feet sought the comfort of the shadows; it reminds him of the moon and the stars hiding from him, and the winds barely touching him.
Tanjirou reminds him of what he cannot have.
Akaza hates it.
"It is with you that I have found time to spare, Akaza," Tanjirou chuckles, not unkindly, as he only ever does, "surely you would not mind some company?" he asks, a slight teasing lightening up his tone that makes Akaza click his tongue in feigned annoyance (when all there ever was is dread – dread of having to chase what he cannot gain once again). "Suit yourself," he snaps.
He sees Tanjirou beaming at the corner of his eyes, his shoulders rising for a bit with his hands clasping together in delight.
Stupid. Tanjirou is stupid. He is strange – a demon, yet filled with gyrations only ever found in pointless humane joys.
He's beautiful.
"Thank you," Tanjirou murmurs. Akaza is silent thereafter, trying to ignore his traitorous thoughts that lead him to the fact that the clouds started to move, parting like curtains draped upon the moon that has decided to peek. He tries to ignore that the stars have at last sparkled, that the winds started to twirl, and the skies have quieted into singing instead. Tanjirou's mindless hums duet the sounds of the suddenly youthful night as they await the fireworks to paint the sky. He hums, oblivious to the world that bends itself to embrace him.
He tries to ignore, yet his eyes are unsatisfied with pining that he is dragged instead to swallow a lungful of the serene image Tanjirou makes.
This, it seems, is not unnoticed by Tanjirou. The burgundy-haired man meets him in the eyes and smiles at him, eyes crinkling into crescent moons that allow his long lashes to rest upon his rosey cheeks.
Akaza looks at him and thinks of how Tanjirou has become a constant in his life filled with fighting and devouring. He thinks of how Tanjirou contours him with timeliness, always there when all else is senseless, always there when all else is meaningless, and he just wonders—
"Akaza?"
Akaza cannot help himself. "Why do you always know where I am?" he questions when the silence nearly filled the space between them. He blinks at Tanjirou in time to see the man wilt ever so slightly. Akaza knows his question is pointless, for a demon possesses qualities that can aid them in faultless detections, and for Tanjirou who has a portion of Muzan's powers, it is an easy feat for him to find Akaza.
It is the fact that Tanjirou always follows regardless that makes him ask, but could never quite word properly.
"You are not so hard to find."
"But why?" Why do you look for me? He wishes to say. Why are you always here? He could not scream.
Tanjirou looks saddened, yet his lips never stop smiling. "Did you not want me to?"
Akaza growls, barely withholding himself from slamming his fists on the roof. He scrutinizes Tanjirou's face, devoid of answers yet expressing words Akaza cannot read. It's frustrating, how even this Akaza cannot chase.
"Forget it." He turns away—
—only to sharply turn back when Tanjirou's careful hands grab his arm.
"What are you doing?" his voice lowers in unprecedented warning, even as his resolve to escape wanes. He watches as Tanjirou's deft fingers – callouses from swordsmanship long gone – trail the lines of his tattoos. He nearly loses his balance, chest and stomach swirling with unnamed feelings that clog his throat shut. Tanjirou runs his hands over his tattoos that bear olden forgotten stories with such attention and gentleness as though he grapples with woven fabric he would regret to crumple with the wrong grip.
Akaza is at a loss for words, still to the vulnerability that's threatening to spill from his chest onto his heaving. A part of him wishes to wrench his arm out of Tanjirou's hands, if only to protect himself from his senses blaring at him to avoid a fruitless swim. Another part of him, that inevitably wins, desires nothing more than to be held and to drown in the barest hints of water to quench his thirst.
"They must have hurt," Tanjirou murmurs ruefully about the criminal tattoos and Akaza closes his eyes, the kindness before him melting him in a way that oversteps the line he has drawn for himself. He longs to indulge, but knows better.
"It hardly matters. I don't remember—"
The whole world seems to freeze then.
"...why are you kissing them?"
Tanjirou's lips are caressing Akaza's tattoos, his eyes closed in complete focus as he pours his devotion into every touch that runs a shiver down Akaza's spine. Tanjirou is tender in his loving placements, unaware that in Akaza's chest, where his heart lays, is an overwhelmed dam that trembles with awakened passion.
Tanjirou kisses one line, and another, until his lips rest down on Akaza's wrist. In such wordless actions, he has managed to deliver his sincerity that this time, Akaza can never be mistaken.
So when he opens his eyes, they too, glisten with the truth.
"Your pain called for me, and I followed the sound of fireworks," Tanjirou utters, gorgeous and benign with his cheek nuzzling into Akaza's palm. Akaza hitches, and his fingers quiver with need to pull him close and bury himself. He is silenced, lost, especially when bared ever so slowly under Tanjirou's sweet mercy.
"You were always in pain, and I never knew why." Tanjirou mutters sadly. "I followed you, and eventually, I knew."
He parts his lips: "Akaza, I have always wanted you too."
Akaza weakens to the sound of him, and if he could breathe, he would have none left to spare.
"You always did chase, but you never stopped to look back, and see–" Tanjirou pauses, pressing yet another kiss on his wrist, "that perhaps you have never needed to chase the skies when you can run to me." Tanjirou grins then, and Akaza is captured entirely, captivated with a deep bottomless ache only Tanjirou can soothe.
Tanjirou knows. He smells the truth.
He whispers in riddles, almost afraid to be figured out: "Have the skies whispered to you too?"
Tanjirou's smile lightens, as bright as the sun. "Never. I have always known it from you."
Akaza runs, he runs to Tanjirou. His lips devour the sunlight that sears his tongue in the shared fervent want and relief, crying out for the yearning well-met as Tanjirou's fingers encase themselves over the same tattoos he had pecked. He kisses Akaza back with a smile on his face, ever so sweet, pliant, generous with warmth, and Akaza thinks that nothing belonging to the skies can ever compare to this.
Voiced echoes resonate deep within Akaza's soul – a jarring knowingness marred with renewed memories that have no qualms in laying space for more to come. There is no more silence in an otherwise occupied being, no longer deprived, and now fulfilled in a way that is beginning to see sense.
His eyes that adorn the letters that have shaped his entire life gaze tirelessly into a myriad of Kamado Tanjirou engulfing his entire being, enthralling him into a life where mere letters alone will never shape him once more.
It is a life that tells him the moon and the stars may detest him all they wish, that they may hide as much as they want or deign to glance, as long as they know who he is: that he is one who is loved by the sun and worthy of kisses upon his tattooed body. The skies may whisper now to one another in surprise, or begrudging acceptance, so long as they know: the cursed is blessed with winds; now what worth is there to tear away the beauty it holds with greedy fingers? Who may intervene, if they deserved to be kissed by the light that coaxed them to meet its beckoning lips?
What gives us the right – we, who are wrong?
The fireworks are shot to the sky, varying colors blazing with vigor and dancing to the overjoyed shouts of the people below.
Akaza is right where he belongs.
but the sun swallows me
in its unrepentant warmth;
though i am unworthy,
i am free from harm.