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Chapter Text

Kyojuro didn’t know why he was still alive.

At long last, Death had faced him. Death had manifested, offered its hand, and reached for Kyojuro, only to withdraw and disappear into the breaking morning.

A slight breeze drifted through the open door, and as Kyojuro sighed, the cool night air was flavoured with wisteria. His limbs continued to burn as his body knit itself back together, and the stinging across his face was easy to ignore but persistent enough to chase away his hopes of sleep.

Kyojuro didn’t wish for death, although his habit of jumping into danger without thought might convince people of the contrary. He was just confused. While he couldn’t understand why Death turned from him, why he walked away broken and bloody but alive, he also couldn’t understand why Death turned from him.

There was a rustle and the creak of feet on the engawa. If he kept his eye closed, Kyojuro could almost pretend it was just Senjuro checking up on him, worried by his slow recovery.

But it wasn’t. It hadn’t been the last time either. Or the time before.

Kyojuro didn’t open his eye until he heard water sloshing beside his head. The demon was wringing water from the rag Senjuro had left behind, kneeling on the floor, too close for comfort.

It smiled when it noticed him staring.

“I was wondering how long you’d keep up the charade, Kyojuro.”

Perhaps it was appropriate that Upper Moon Three addressed him by his first name, despite how the sound of it made his toes curl. Death held no regard for formalities. Why should it be anything less than intimate?

Then again, if this demon would have him dead, why was it so determined to keep him alive? Blue fingers reached to pull back the saturated bandages over his eye and wipe the wound clean with a dexterity of experience his brother lacked.

“I have begun to wonder the same thing,” Kyojuro replied, lying motionless as the demon lifted his head to remove the blood-sodden fabric.

Upper Moon Three chuckled as it reached for the roll of fresh gauze. “This is hardly a charade, Kyojuro. You are meant for better things than this.” Its touch wasn’t merely skilled but tender in the way Kocho’s hadn’t been. When it secured a bandage, Kyojuro never needed to tug it a little looser.

It hesitated after finishing, hand trailing down and ghosting over the outline of Kyojuro’s ribcage, so feather-light that the fractures were bothered only by his own breathing. “A sickbed isn’t where you belong. For a demon, a broken rib wouldn’t keep them down for a second, let alone weeks.”

“So you’ve said.” Kyojuro didn’t bother to keep the exasperation from his voice, but Upper Moon Three didn’t acknowledge it.

“You don’t have to be here; you shouldn’t be here. If only you’d say—”

“No,” Kyojuro interrupted. “There is no point in asking. I will never say yes.”

Kyojuro would sooner embrace Death like the old friend it was before stooping to such a level.

The demon was unfazed, that serene smile still plastered across its face. It pulled away and, after a moment, finally rose to its feet. Kyojuro watched as it returned to the open door and then stopped, turning back to meet his gaze.

“Don’t die, Kyojuro.”

What right did it have to say that to him? Kyojuro might have laughed, but something about the way it said those words sucked any malice from his thoughts.

It wasn’t an order, but it wasn’t a request either.

“If I live, Demon, it will not be for you.”

Upper Moon Three nodded and left.

Death visited Kyojuro for the first time as a child, motionless by his mother’s bedside as the final breath left her lips and his father crumbled to ash beside him.

It draped a sheet over her still form and patted him on the shoulder.

And then it never left.

He was hardly unique in this respect. That was just a fact of life for anyone who associated themselves with the Demon Slayer Corps.

You can see it in the way their eyes steel when they retreat too far into their thoughts; the lines of grief painting their faces from a parade of funerals; the way their fingers flex for a sword when there’s no danger for miles.

They are all haunted by the spectre of death and always will be.

That was why Kyojuro smiled. If someone is smiling, then surely there must be hope. Even as he waded through the blood of civilians he couldn’t protect, trampled upon the corpses of the comrades who couldn’t follow him on his climb to the rank of Pillar, he would force a smile.

In the hope that, if he shines bright enough, someone may see and be able to sleep at night.

And yet, he didn’t smile as he fought Upper Moon Three for the umpteenth time.

There was no need to, no one to benefit from it. Besides, the demon smiled enough for them both.

It would shout praise with each clash; for his strength, his technique, his breathing. Its face split in two when Kyojuro took a risky move, blade whisking past its neck. Once, he landed that hit and it giggled.

And yet, the demon went easy on him. Kyojuro could see how it left itself open, how it never aimed for his vitals and purposefully missed the swings carrying too much force. He knew the demon was holding back, if only because he walked from their battles largely unscathed.

After all this, it still wouldn’t kill him.

“You’re tired, Kyojuro,” it called out as Kyojuro put distance between them to readjust his grip on his sword.

His breaths came heavy, and he could feel the uncomfortable slick of sweat down his back. “Of course I am. You’re a formidable opponent.”

The demon preened under the comment, although Kyojuro hardly meant it to be a compliment. “As are you. If you had my stamina, you might even surpass me.” It held out its hand. “Join me, Kyojuro. Become a demon.”

Kyojuro sighed and sheathed his sword. 

They were finished.

“I will not!”

He wiped his brow with his sleeve and pushed back his hair. Loose strands fell back into his face but didn’t glue to his forehead, instead fluttering in the breeze. Kyojuro closed his eye and appreciated the cool air on his skin, controlling his breathing until it returned to normal.

When he opened it, Upper Moon Three was standing only a foot from him. It did that a lot, and Kyojuro didn’t even jump now, but he scowled.

The demon cocked its head. “Why do you frown so much, Kyojuro?”

“Why is that any of your concern, Demon?”

“You smile for everyone else.” It wasn’t surprising to learn Upper Moon Three watched him. It reached out and ran a thumb along his jaw. “I like your smile. It’s… bright.”

Kyojuro swatted its hand away. “You give me no reason to.”

The demon pouted. “You don’t enjoy our fights?”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

Kyojuro rolled his eye. He turned to try and find the path he had been following before the demon showed up. He was only on patrol, but he was still neglecting his work. Occupying an upper moon should count as work; if it was here, it wasn’t out killing innocents. But it felt less like a viable excuse with each passing encounter.

“Why should I? This isn’t sport for me; it’s exhausting. And I don’t usually jump at the chance to spend time with murderers.”

“But you’re so good at fighting. And you’re even getting better! You’ve improved so much in only these weeks. Imagine your progress over an eternity.” Upper Moon Three followed him as he attempted to leave. “And fights to the death are one thing, but I have to eat.”

“Demons can’t starve to death.” Kyojuro didn’t look at the demon, but his gaze hardened. He’d faced final selection, come against the hoard of demons without prey, and they were alive, if frenzied. And Nezuko had never once drawn human blood. “If you chose to, you could stop eating.”

“Hmm, I guess. But it isn’t pleasant.”

Kyojuro didn’t bother responding. Whether something is pleasant or not is irrelevant where morality is concerned. He didn’t look back, but the second pair of footsteps continued to pad along behind him.

“If I stopped eating, would that make you happy?”

Kyojuro jerked to a halt.

“What?”

“If I stopped.” Upper Moon Three raised its eyebrows. “Would you smile then?”

Kyojuro furrowed his brow. He couldn’t understand what the demon wanted from him. And why did it want whatever it was so badly? But he couldn’t say no, could he? Even if the demon was lying through its teeth. If there was a chance it could reduce the number of victims…

“I don’t know. That isn’t a reason to smile. It’s the absence of a reason to frown.”

“True,” the demon agreed, crossing its arms and looking skyward. “But it would be a start, right?”

Kyojuro sighed. “Yes, I suppose it would.”

“Hmm, but I don’t really get anything out of it. Except for being hungry, which is pretty miserable.”

Kyojuro panicked for a moment, wondering what the demon would have him do in exchange. He didn’t think he’d be able to decline anything with human lives on the line, at least within reason. But then the demon shrugged.

“Well, as long as we can continue fighting, I don’t mind. It’s for you, after all. Oh, but it would be nice if you stopped calling me ‘Demon’ all the time. I have a name.”

Kyojuro blinked, mouth agape. As he stared, the clouds painting over the sky parted, and the moon highlighted their clearing. It shone in the demon’s eyes, obscuring the kanji slashed across them. 

For a moment, Kyojuro couldn’t believe such innocent anticipation could belong to a monster.

And that it could be directed at him.

“But… why?”

“Because it’s my name. And being called ‘Demon’ feels dehumanising — or, well, you know what I mean.”

“That’s not what I—” He snapped his mouth shut. “Very well, De— I mean, Akaza. If that is all you would ask of me.”

The demon, Akaza, chuckled. Its expression — his expression, Kyojuro supposed — pulled up into a smirk. “Don’t tempt me, Kyojuro.”

“I shall not!”

“A shame.” Akaza looked out over the horizon, looking past the trees to something Kyojuro couldn’t see. “I should go.” He stretched his arms over his head before letting them swing down.

And then, as it always did, Akaza’s face dropped into something uncharacteristic. Something blank. Something desperate.

“Don’t die, Kyojuro.”

“I have no intention of doing so.”

Akaza nodded and finally left Kyojuro to his work.

Perhaps Kyojuro had been wrong.

Death would not take him as Akaza. The thing that killed him would not smile at him, would not praise him. It certainly wouldn’t beg for his continued survival. Death may have been without malice, but apparently, fate was cruel.

He would have preferred falling to something as formidable as Upper Moon Three. Better that than some random demon cowering in the forest and lashing out in a panic.

Kyojuro ducked as it swiped, large claws, an acrid green, safely passing over his head. He dodged to the side as its other hand followed from underneath. He pivoted and pushed off to swing his blade.

And his foot baulked under the force.

He crumpled to the floor and rolled away, rebalancing himself on his knee.

Kyojuro had stepped on something earlier, piercing through his sandal. It hadn’t hurt much, but he hadn’t realised he was already in the demon’s territory then.

He flexed his fingers, and his left hand barely responded. The demon had grazed his shoulder at the start of the fight, and he was rapidly losing feeling in it.

The demon lunged again and missed by a margin, but it was getting closer. Kyojuro could feel his limbs grow sluggish, and he was worried his brain would start to slow too. He needed to finish this fight quickly, but this thing was so slippery it was proving easier said than done.

He was the Flame Pillar. If he fell to something like this, it would haunt his spirit into the next life.

He dodged again, and the demon tripped on a rogue corpse. The singed holes in the young woman’s black uniform were rimmed green.

Kyojuro pushed off with his uninjured leg. His sword arced up and, with a scream, one of the demon’s arms fell to the ground. He let his momentum carry him until he faced its back. He adapted the easiest stance he knew, readjusting his grip and…

Was suddenly faced with a very familiar fist.

The demon gargled but couldn’t talk for the arm punched clean through its skull, jaw dangling by a sliver of skin as blood rained to the ground.

Kyojuro scowled and brought his sword up anyway, slicing through both the arm and the demon’s neck in one motion before falling to his knees. “I didn’t need your help.”

“I know,” Akaza agreed, kicking the demon’s body to the side as it decomposed. His arm regrew in an instant, and he stretched as if testing it. “But I was growing bored. And a coward such as this doesn’t deserve to waste so much of your time.”

Kyojuro wasn’t sure how to respond, to the demon’s words nor the sneer that pulled at his lips. Not that it mattered. The gash across his upper arm was almost entirely numb, and the sensation was spreading up his neck, his tongue increasingly heavy in his mouth.

It hadn’t felt quite so perilous in the middle of the fight, but Kyojuro hadn’t realised the effects of the demon’s art would linger past its death. He’d been infected by demon blood arts in the past, but he usually recovered by this point.

He breathed deeply, trying to flush the toxin from his system. But would he do it before he lost the function of his lungs? His heart?

“I thought I told you not to die, Kyojuro?”

Kyojuro jolted. He’d almost forgotten Akaza was there.

He was crouched down, face level with Kyojuro’s, one hand reaching out to touch his injured shoulder. Kyojuro looked down and saw Akaza running his thumb over the length of the gash. It should have shot with pain, but he felt nothing, not even the sensation of flesh passing over flesh.

Akaza’s thumb came away stained in blood, but Kyojuro knew it wasn’t all his.

In a panic, he scrambled away, as far as he could when half of his body wasn’t responding. He tried to shout. Only garbled sounds escaped his numb mouth, but the betrayal of their fragile trust rang clear.

Akaza frowned. “Do you really think that little of me?” He sighed and pushed back to his feet. “I wouldn’t turn you without your consent, I’ve told you.”

Kyojuro just glared. And then he winced as the familiar sting of severed nerves slowly returned to his shoulder.

“You’d need a lot more blood than that, I promise.” Akaza’s promises didn’t hold much water, but Kyojuro couldn’t help the part of him that believed it. By that point, he’d spent countless nights in Akaza’s company, and it was clear lying wasn’t in his nature.

He didn’t back off further as Akaza approached again, hands held out placatingly. “Just enough to neutralise the poison. That’s all.”

Sure enough, not just pain but feeling and movement quickly returned to Kyojuro’s shoulder. And it wasn’t just his arm; his toes began to tingle too, his ankle throbbing.

“You could have warned me.”

“Sorry.” Akaza grinned and sat down beside Kyojuro, crossing his legs. “But you would have said no.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have done it?”

“And risk your life? Never.”

Akaza spoke as if Kyojuro’s life meant more than it should. As if he mattered more than the people lying dead around them in various states of decay.

Akaza then leant back, reaching for the robe of the nearest body and ripped a strip from the hem.

“You shouldn’t disrespect the dead like that,” Kyojuro said, watching as Akaza stretched the fabric.

“They’re not using it.” Akaza then tugged at Kyojuro’s sleeve. “Besides, I doubt their spirit would mind it if it’s to patch the one who avenged them.”

Kyojuro sighed but obediently shrugged off the outer layer of his uniform so Akaza could bandage his wound. There was only so much his breathing could do, after all. The demon was so skilled at this and, not for the first time, Kyojuro wondered why. Why were hands designed to take life so efficient at restoring it, and so caring as they went?

“There.” Akaza patted the makeshift bandage, admiring his handiwork. “How does that feel?”

Kyojuro rotated his shoulder in the socket. The gash twinged and tugged with the movement, but the pain was dulled and the bandage didn’t move. “Comfortable.”

He looked around the clearing, barren and decayed, grass brown and brittle at the centre and the bark of the trees weeping with a luminous substance. He counted four bodies and countless more bones. Two of them were corps members.

Life in this place would take a lot of time to heal.

Kyojuro rose to his feet and started to gather the bodies, lying them side by side in the centre of the clearing.

“What are you doing?” Akaza asked. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, watching as Kyojuro set the third, a middle-aged man, beside the first two.

“Letting them rest in dignity until the Kakushi arrive.”

“What?”

Kyojuro rolled his eye and walked past Akaza to the final victim. It was a slayer, a girl who was much, much too young for this kind of fate. “Members of the corps. They won’t arrive for a few hours at least, and I believe it’s wrong to leave these people in this position until such a time.” They wouldn’t come until he sent his crow, but Kaname refused to approach when Akaza was around. Kyojuro couldn’t blame him.

Once finished, Kyojuro knelt beside them, taking care with his ankle, and lowered his head.

He heard a shift behind him, and soon Akaza’s footsteps stopped at his side.

“Why do you mourn people you don’t know?”

“I don’t. Not really.”

Akaza tensed beside him, surprised. “Not something I expected to hear from you, of all people.”

Kyojuro opened his eye and looked up at Akaza. Confusion and amusement were written across his face, and, in the presence of the dead, it seemed uncouth. Kyojuro frowned.

“I don’t expect a demon to understand.”

He turned back and lowered his head again, but this silence was short-lived too. 

Akaza dropped to the ground. “Try me.”

Kyojuro sighed. He wouldn’t be getting his silence until Akaza was satisfied.

“I don’t mourn the departed. There’s no point. Life is beautiful, but it must end, and I like to believe that end is peaceful. So, I don’t mourn for those that are lost; I mourn for those that have lost.”

Akaza nodded and, after a beat, asked, “And the people who have no one left?”

Kyojuro looked skyward, at the night patterned with the silhouettes of fluttering leaves. “The passing of a human life is always a loss. The world mourns each of us in its own way. It remembers the hole we leave behind.”

Kyojuro waited for Akaza to say anything further. When he didn’t, Kyojuro returned to paying his respects, conscious of the quiet figure beside him. When he eventually lifted his head, Akaza hadn’t moved, staring across the clearing and into the trees.

He didn’t feel like waiting for Akaza to think through whatever he was stuck on and stood up, unsteady on his injured foot. He took a step and hissed in pain.

“Careful.” In an instant, Akaza was at his elbow, holding him steady.

“I’m fine,” Kyojuro insisted, pushing the demon away. “I’ve walked off worse than this.”

Akaza didn’t respond but hovered at Kyojuro’s side as he left the clearing, finding his way out of the trees and back to the path. In the clear sky overhead, Kyojuro could see Kaname circling, darting away once he noticed Kyojuro wasn’t alone.

“Kyojuro?”

“Hmm?” Kyojuro turned.

Akaza held his gaze for a moment as if choosing his words.

“Join me, please, become a demon.”

Kyojuro narrowed his eye. It was not like Akaza to beg. “I will not.”

Akaza didn’t look surprised, but for once, he did look sad. He usually shrugged off Kyojuro’s rejections with a jab about him wasting an opportunity or a patient smile. 

The downturn of his lips now betrayed something more than mere disappointment.

“The hole you would leave behind in my world would be cavernous. If you join me, it might be filled forever.”

Kyojuro’s mouth hung open slightly. But then he shook his head.

“For you, maybe. To me, becoming a demon would be as good as dying, if not worse. The corps, my friends, my family will still have lost me. They will still mourn. I would never do that to them.”

Akaza blinked at him.

The moment dragged on as Kyojuro waited for Akaza to act, and with each second, it seemed more and more likely he wouldn’t.

Then he sighed. “Don’t die, Kyojuro.”

Kyojuro felt a need to be reassuring. Something about the way Akaza looked at him reminded Kyojuro of his brother when he left home. Wishing for his good health, anticipating his return, and hoping they will see each other again. He is never able to say he will. To promise such a thing would be impossible. There’s no guarantee he’ll live long enough, as much as he might want to.

With Senjuro, he nods. He smiles. Where there’s a smile, there’s hope, and he deflects the well wishes back at him.

But there’s no need to cushion it with Akaza.

“I’ll try.”

Akaza nodded.

And then he left.

He never asked Kyojuro to become a demon again.

Chapter Text

Why couldn’t he get this to look right?

Kyojuro tugged a little on the bandage, readjusting its position so it laid flat against the curve of muscle. But when he looked back over it, he’d only twisted up everything else.

He grunted and undid it all again.

“It’s okay, Rengoku. It doesn’t need to be perfect.”

“If it’s twisted like this, it’ll chafe, and you’ll develop blisters.”

Kanroji sighed, shifting her position on the grassy bank she was sitting on while Kyojuro attempted to redress her leg.

“The Wisteria House isn’t far. I’ll be alright.”

“No, no, I can do this!”

The two of them had first applied the bandages once the fight ended. It shouldn’t have been a difficult fight, and it wasn’t, not with two Pillars present. But the thing had been slippery, and when Kyojuro jumped one of its attacks, the follow-through had caught Kanroji’s calf.

It looked fine at the time, far from perfect, but serviceable. At least, Kyojuro had thought so. But as they found their way to the nearest Wisteria House so Kanroji could get proper medical attention, the bandages started falling apart.

He didn’t know why this was so difficult. Kyojuro had always considered himself passable at first-aid; he applied it to himself more than enough.

The difference was he now had a new benchmark.

He’d witnessed first-hand the fine balance between how secure and comfortable a dressing could be. And by this point, Kyojuro had seen the method of achieving such a balance more times than he was willing to admit. So why couldn’t he recreate it?

A demon was better at this than he was.

He fumbled with the gauze, clenching his jaw as it twisted again and folded upon itself. What was he doing wrong? It shouldn't be this hard, it’s just a bandage!

Kyojuro grumbled, tongue poking out between his lips, and he struggled to flatten the bandages out. How did he do it again? Kyojuro could have sworn that he doubled back like this, and then he—

“Who’s this ‘he’?”

Kyojuro startled and looked up at Kanroji.

“Sorry?”

“You were mumbling about a ‘he.’ Is it someone I know?”

Had he been complaining out loud? Kyojuro laughed, embarrassment tinting his ears pink. “My apologies, it’s nothing important.” He paused, pulling a little on the gauze. There was no point in keeping it from her. “I was just comparing my method to Akaza’s.”

Kanroji’s brow furrowed. “To… Oh. Oh. Upper Moon Three?”

“Yes!” He’d forgotten it was odd to call the demon by his name, but like so much else, Kyojuro had grown used to it. “He has a talent for these things. It is strange! I was trying to recreate his work, and I seem to be failing.”

“R-right.” Kanroji chuckled. “I’d forgotten about… that.” She began wringing her hands. “It wouldn’t be great if he showed up now, would it? While I’m injured. You don’t — you don’t think he will, will he?”

Kyojuro shook his head firmly. “He will not. I can assure you of that.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely! He never shows up unless I’m alone. Unfortunately, he’s a lot smarter than that.”

Kanroji nodded, finally uncurling and letting her hands rest again in her lap. “That’s a relief. If he did show up, we’d have to seize the advantage, injured or not.”

Kyojuro opened his mouth to agree, but paused.

He would kill Akaza, given the chance. He would. It was his duty to do so. But the idea didn’t sit well, the words clinging to his tongue like treacle to a wooden spoon.

“Yes, quite right,” he eventually said, nodding stiffly. “If only he’d give us the opportunity.”

“You hesitated.”

“Did I?”

“Rengoku,” she said pointedly. “Are you okay? The demon isn’t doing anything to you, is it?”

“Not at all!” He dismissed how unnatural it felt to hear Akaza referred to as an ‘it’ again. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t convinced. “Really? You should tell us if this is getting dangerous.”

“Yes, really.” He shook his head and returned to securing the bandage. “I appreciate your concern, truly, but you needn’t worry about this. It’s been a long time since I felt threatened by his presence. The opposite, in fact! That’s how I know he’s such an adept nurse.”

She didn’t reply, although Kyojuro couldn’t say why. He didn’t feel brave enough to look up and gauge her reaction.

After a lot of fiddling with them, Kyojuro eventually cut his losses and aimed to make sure the bandages didn’t fall off before they found someone more skilled at this than him. He tied them off and helped Kanroji to her feet, insisting she leaned on him as they walked. After a pretence of protest, she wrapped her hands around his arm and limped across the uneven dirt road.

Kyojuro looked up to Kaname and Urara, Kanroji’s crow, circling above them, dark silhouettes against the moonlight. They were drifting in the direction of their destination, one darting ahead while the other kept the two of them in eyesight.

“It isn’t just me, is it?” Kanroji suddenly asked.

Kyojuro turned to her. “Is what just you?”

“Your demon.”

His demon?

“It is strange, isn’t it? I’ve never heard of a demon protecting humans before. Not altruistically. At least, not until Nezuko. But I understand why she’s like that. An Upper Moon, though? Why? What does he want?”

Before Kyojuro could think to hold it in, he let out a long, bone-tired sigh. “I wish I knew.”

Kanroji frowned, biting at her lip. “It is altruistic, right?”

“Yes, yes,” Kyojuro said. “And it’s almost worse. I might understand if he wanted something from me, but he doesn’t. And everything he does contradicts itself.”

She patted him on the arm. “Sounds like you’ve been stewing on this one.”

“I suppose it’s just — it doesn’t make sense. I’ve been trying to figure out what he wants, and I have nothing.” Kyojuro ran a hand through his hair. “He tried to kill me but then changed his mind? Suddenly, he’s cleaning my wounds, changing my dressings, and laying wet towels on my head. And for months, he was hounding me about becoming a demon, but a couple of weeks ago, he just stopped out of the blue. Not to mention the hypocrisy of getting all upset when I get hurt only to turn around a demand fights I inevitably walk away from with bruises he made.”

Somewhere in the haze of his frustration, a voice reminded him of how Akaza always pulled his punches in those fights. If Akaza really wanted to hurt Kyojuro, he would just do it. And more than that, they’d become increasingly infrequent. It wasn’t unusual for Akaza to show up and simply fall into step with him, content to join Kyojuro wherever his work led him.

But admitting that would weaken his point.

Beside him, Kanroji nodded along with his rant, although her expression had lifted from her earlier concern into something closer to bemusement. “It sounds like he can’t figure out what he wants from all this.”

“Exactly,” Kyojuro stressed, pointing at her for emphasis. “That’s exactly what it is. And it gets weirder. He’s started mothering me. Moreso than Senjuro. He always asks if I’ve slept and pouts if I haven’t, and then he demands to know if I’ve eaten yet.”

“Well, have you usually?”

He grimaced. “N-no, but that’s not the point. It’s a bit rich, an Upper Moon asking a Pillar if he’s eaten anything.”

Again, Kyojuro remembered Akaza’s promise to stop eating. He still didn’t know what to think of it, but had concluded it was another tactic to make Kyojuro lower his guard.

“And just last week, he coerced me into taking a bath! He insisted on fighting and then herded me into a hot spring.”

Kanroji snorted, one of her hands flying up to cover her mouth but doing nothing to muffle the sound.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, waving her hand around. “But it’s almost cute. No, no I mean—” she jumped to correct herself when Kyojuro made a face as if he’d swallowed a lemon whole. “It’s all so normal, you know? And you’re so mad about it.”

“What’s normal about any of this?” he asked.

“Maybe it’s just me,” Kanroji started, trying and failing to hide how funny she found it, “but this is all pretty standard behaviour for a person looking after someone they care about. Making sure you’re well-rested and fed and clean. Patching you up when you’re hurt, seeking out your company. It sounds like he… well, likes you. Y’know?” She giggled then, a familiar dreamy look seeping into her smile. “If he started bringing you gifts, I might even mistake it for a courtship. That is if we weren’t talking about an Upper Moon.”

Kyojuro choked.

His brain stuttered to a halt, refusing to acknowledge the insanity of what she was suggesting. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he spluttered, voice hiking in pitch. “He’s not — he definitely doesn’t — I don’t even think he’s capable of that.”

She laughed at him.

It wasn’t helpful.

Kyojuro was scrambling for a meaningful argument to this. He reached out for something reasonable, throwing his hands to the wind hoping that a rebuttal might magically appear. All that came back were memories of endless words of praise, gentle fingers trailing along his jaw, and the empty hope in Akaza’s eyes as he told Kyojuro to live another day.

His face only flushed further.

So, perhaps it wasn’t noble of him, but Kyojuro resorted to the only thing he could think of to steer the conversation as far from this topic as possible.

“It’s not like you have any room to talk. If this is enough for me to be courting a demon, you and Iguro might as well be married.”

He knew he’d hit the mark as she began to whistle like a boiling kettle. Kanroji’s face blossomed a red to rival his own, hands latching into a death grip on Kyojuro’s arm and shaking him. “You can’t do that. That’s not fair!” She shook her head rapidly, pigtails swinging back and forth, battering against Kyojuro’s back. “This isn’t about me. You’re so mean, I thought we were friends.”

“So did I!” Kyojuro returned.

She stuck her tongue out at him before devolving into more giggles. Once they subsided, her hand lifted back to her mouth, fingers pulling at her bottom lip. “Although, you aren’t… you aren’t being serious, are you? Do you really think he — I mean, maybe it’s silly, but—”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Yes but, I never really know and it’s all just… Come on, humour me?”

Kyojuro rolled his eye. He could say this until he was blue in the face, he knew it wouldn’t make any difference. “I have known Iguro for years, and I have complete confidence that he is hopelessly enamoured with you.”

Perhaps he was wasting breath, but nothing was quite so precious to him as the look of pure jubilance that lit up Kanroji’s face. These moments were so rare, and the people he allowed himself to consider friends rarer still. Every second with her was made to be treasured, and if it meant seeing her this happy, he’d say anything, and he’d say it a thousand times.

Before Kanroji could find enough composure to respond, they were interrupted by a crow landing on a low branch that swayed above their heads.

“Urara,” Kanroji greeted with a smile.

“Lady Mitsuri,” the crow nodded to her mistress. “We have almost arrived. The entrance is well hidden, so I ask you to follow us inside.” Urara’s voice was as shrill as any other Kasugai crow, but maintained a delicate femininity to it uncharacteristic of even most female crows. She moved with that same quality, wings beating with an air of grace and punctuated by the rippling of her headdress.

Some slayers said crows come to reflect their charges after working with them for long enough. Kyojuro had never put much stake in that, considering how unlike him Kaname was. But Urara mimicked Kanroji so thoroughly he wondered if there was an active effort behind it.

They watched Urara take off again and lead them a little further down the path to the outskirts of a large village.

The village was a mass of irregular shapes outlined in the crisp moonlight. The points of roofs broke through the canopy of trees lining the perimeter of the settlement, lending it a private, enclosed air, but isolating anyone following the path that passed it by.

Kyojuro watched Kaname circle and land on a hedgerow up ahead, resting under the amber foliage of a tree trying to merge with the bushes surrounding it. He rustled his wings and waited, watching them expectantly as Kyojuro helped Kanroji the final few feet to the entrance. A small gate was nestled in the hedges, non-descript to any passers-by but, emblazoned with the kanji for Wisteria, was a beacon of safety and a full stomach to any member of the corps.

He pushed the gate forward and helped Kanroji to hop up the small stone steps immediately beyond it. The steps opened onto a garden that could have been pulled straight from an impressionist painting. The gravel path carved a straight line through the lawn of tall grass, dotted with whatever flowers were still hanging on as autumn grew colder and darker. Red leaves climbed into the night sky around them, reflecting from the glow of lanterns lining the path up to the house, its walls covered in climbing wisteria blossoms that continued to flower and perfume the air even out of season.

If Kyojuro had to leave Kanroji anywhere, he was glad it was here. It was a shame he wouldn’t be staying too, but his priority was returning to his territory.

One of the house’s attendants met them in the modest doorway, bowing her greetings and letting them know that Kanroji’s room would be ready momentarily. She then shuffled off to find someone who could tend to the mess of bandages still clutching to Kanroji’s leg, assuring Kyojuro that she’d call a doctor at first sunlight.

Kanroji didn’t follow, hovering in the entrance, leaning against the doorframe. “Thank you for helping me tonight,” she said, bowing her head as far as she could without toppling over. “I’ll need to thank you properly sometime. If you ever stopped by for a visit, I could treat you to tea! Obanai bought me this gorgeous tea set a while ago. I haven’t used it yet, I’m worried I’ll break it, but it would be perfect for a special occasion.”

“It would be!” he agreed.

“Oh, and I recently harvested the hives. It’s my biggest yield yet, the bees have all been thriving recently, and it really shows in the taste. You could even take some home to share with Senjuro. I’d love for him to try some too. And, of course, I’d pick up some good quality tea. Not that the stuff I usually drink isn’t good enough, but I wouldn’t want—”

“Kanroji,” Kyojuro said, cutting her off.

“Right.” She looked at her feet, fingers fidgeting against the doorframe. “Sorry.”

He sighed, but it held no irritation. She’d always been hopeless at farewells. “I’d love to join you for tea,” he said, and he meant it. He could think of few things he’d rather do. But he didn’t say that he would.

She nodded. “I’ll write to you later, once I’ve been treated. I hope you’ll write back?”

“If I’m able to.”

“Right.”

Kanroji’s eyes were still trained on her feet, mouth squished into a conflicted frown. So Kyojuro shook his head and lifted a hand to pat under her chin. “Come now,” he said. “It’s bad form to say goodbye without a smile.”

As she raised her head to look at him, Kyojuro pasted a giant grin onto his face. After a moment, her own expression lifted. It was nowhere near as bright as his own, but the corners of her mouth curled up, small dimples indenting her cheeks, and her eyes crinkled with a genuine happiness Kyojuro was determined to commit to memory.

“There it is!” He clapped her on the shoulder. “It’s been a pleasure seeing you tonight, and I pray I’ll have the privilege of doing so again.”

“Yes!” she returned, forcing her countenance a little brighter. “I hope it’s soon.” She bowed again. “Goodbye.”

Kyojuro returned the gesture and turned to leave back through the garden. But he’d only reached halfway down the path before he was called back.

“Rengoku!” Kanroji waved at him from the door before yelling. “And please be careful around Upper Moon Three. No matter how much he dotes on you, he’s still a demon!”

The only response Kyojuro could conjure was a short burst of surprised laughter, and he was glad that from this far away, she couldn’t see how his ears burned once again. “I will!” It was one thing he could promise her. Then he waved in return and finally left.

Taking a deep breath of open air beyond the gate was like drinking a glass of water after a particularly sweet dessert. The cosy, heady fragrance of the garden hadn’t been noticeable while inside it, but now, facing the expanse of rice fields stretching in front of him, it all started to drain from him. The lingering warmth washed from his skin like playground chalk off of stone.

He looked up to see Kaname staring back down at him, not having moved from his perch on the hedge. “Would you stay for a little, to make sure she’s settled in?” he asked. “I know the way.”

Kaname looked dubious but nodded and retreated back into the blanket of the wisteria house.

And so he had nothing left but to move forward.

Without Kanroji by his side, her weight pulling on his arm and her presence distracting him, the night returned to the barren silence Kyojuro knew so well.

The emptiness of night had always been a beautiful thing to Kyojuro: the peace which settled in the absence of fear and commotion. It was a space devoid of ‘what if’s he didn’t like to think about. The isolation was a solace, freedom from reminders of what he stood to lose.

But now he just felt alone.

He was so used to having a presence at his side that its absence was stark. And it wasn’t Kanroji he was missing.

Kyojuro’s face scrunched up. Perhaps Kanroji was right to worry. He wasn’t being careful enough around Akaza. He’d started adapting to him. And, as much as he hated to admit it, the rest hadn’t been nonsense either. Her implications had been absurd, obviously, but she had a point about how mundane Akaza’s behaviour appeared under a particular light.

Despite all appearances, Kyojuro wasn’t oblivious to the emotions of people around him. His blunt personality masked an adequate sensitivity, even if he wasn’t the most tactful. He wasn’t so ignorant as to believe Akaza didn’t have some kind of interest in him. Only, he’d always assumed it had to do with his strength more than anything. Akaza wasn’t exactly subtle about wanting Kyojuro to ‘fight him for eternity’ or whatever. Why he chose Kyojuro, only Akaza knew.

But he’d never considered anything beyond that, let alone authentic affection. Kyojuro had always believed demons incapable of such emotions. The human they had once been destroyed as the demon assumed their form and took their place.

Of course, Nezuko disproved that. Her love not only for her brother but all of humankind was nigh overwhelming. But then, even if demons had the ability to care, if Akaza had the ability to care, then why would he choose to care for Kyojuro?

It always seemed to come back to this. Why Kyojuro? Why had Akaza spared him? Why did he do all of this? It plagued him in the same way as why he had walked from tonight’s fight unscathed while Kanroji left it limping. With her natural grace, and his natural lack of it, logic dictated the reverse outcome. And yet here he was, wondering what he’d done to deserve this.

Kyojuro broke the crest of a hill, and a new expanse of woodland swallowed the rice fields below him, expanding all the way to the horizon, beyond which was his destination. He turned back, the village he’d just left behind a shadowy mass retreating into the distance. There was no sign of Kaname yet, and Kyojuro almost found himself wishing he would hurry up. Although his concern for his former pupil won over his selfish desire for company.

And he was back to square one again.

It was troubling that he’d grown this accustomed to the presence of a demon. But, if Kyojuro was honest with himself, it had been a while since he actively disliked Akaza’s company. He hadn’t lied to Kanroji when he told her he felt safe with the demon, and talking to him had even become somewhat enjoyable.

Akaza was carefree and ceaselessly upbeat in a different way from how Kyojuro presented himself. He was so unburdened by any mortal concern that he brushed off anything threatening to dampen his mood and maintained a somewhat unconventional optimism. He didn’t carry the same steel demon slayers did. At least he didn’t around Kyojuro.

It had been more than a little annoying initially, but he had started growing on Kyojuro. When he wasn’t being pushy, Akaza could be a fun conversationalist. He was shockingly intelligent at times and funny when he wanted to be. And Kyojuro would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the demon’s endless praise.

Now that he thought about it, it was hardly surprising that he’d hesitated at the thought of killing Akaza. He would do so if given the chance. Kyojuro was confident of that. But he couldn’t deny that he’d miss Akaza if he were gone. He missed him at that very moment, even though it was a selfish feeling. The desire for a body at his side, a voice in his ear.

The empty space was hard to ignore, and Kyojuro knew it was pointless to deny that he wished it were filled.

And then it was.

“Finally, I thought she’d never leave.”

Kyojuro blinked and turned to the demon who had appeared next to him. He held his arms akimbo, staring in the same direction Kyojuro had been.

“Who?” Kyojuro asked, happy to slip into conversation as if Akaza had been there all along.

“That girl,” Akaza said, brow furrowed and mouth twisted. “Hogging you to herself all night. What gives her the right? That’s meant to be my job.”

“Have you been following us all night?”

“And now it’s almost sunrise! It’s not fair.” Akaza continued complaining, not even acknowledging that Kyojuro had said anything. “Who does she think she is, huh? Then again, she did look strong. Not as strong as me, of course, but probably…” Akaza looked sideways at Kyojuro, examining him head to foot and seeing something visible only to him. And then his expression darkened, a sneer pulling at his lip but eyes flashing with intrigue. “Is she a Pillar?”

Kyojuro knew that look. Akaza was jealous. Of him.

That was distressing; who knew what such an ugly emotion would draw from Akaza, of all people. However, any attempt to beat such a thing down was overpowered by pride as Kyojuro straightened up, shoulders pulling back and arms folding over his chest.

“Yes, she is,” he said, tone curt. “A brilliant one.” If Akaza was going to brush over people he didn’t perceive as strong, Kyojuro would make certain his student wasn’t one of them. “She rose through the ranks quicker than I did; it only took a year. And she developed her own breathing technique fresh out of final selection.”

“Oh really?” Akaza raised an eyebrow, but his expression remained stony.

It only served to rattle Kyojuro further. “Yes, really. She has far exceeded my teaching. I couldn’t be more proud of her.”

“Huh? Wait, wait, wait. You’re her teacher?”

“I was.”

“Oh!” And at once, all of Akaza’s sharp edges smoothed over, a relaxed grin replacing the shadow that had descended across his face. “Well, no wonder. I should have guessed.” He chuckled at a joke Kyojuro wasn’t privy to, instead watching on in deflated confusion. “But still, did she have to hang around for so long?”

Kyojuro sighed. The whiplash Akaza put him through couldn’t be good for his health. “She was injured. I wasn’t going to leave a dear friend to drag herself to the nearest medic.” He turned back down the hill, continuing his journey and expecting Akaza to trail along.

He did, and it didn’t stop his complaining. “I guess,” Akaza said. “But when you went into that village, I was worried you wouldn’t come out again.”

He had considered it. And despite the comfortable pace of Akaza’s footsteps beside him, Kyojuro wondered if he regretted his decision. He would have been free of this whining.

“You could have waited until tomorrow.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Why’s that?” Kyojuro looked at Akaza to watch for his reaction but stalled, frowning. He hadn’t noticed it until they’d started moving, but Akaza was walking with a strange sluggishness. His shoulders were slumped and his feet moved with phantom weight, as if they were harder to pull from the ground.

It was subtle; if Kyojuro didn’t spend such an inordinate amount of time with Akaza he wouldn’t have noticed it. It was easy enough to dismiss, but it wasn’t a look he was used to seeing on the demon.

Before he could comment on it though, Akaza was perking up and darting forward to block Kyojuro’s path. “Because I wanted to give you this.”

He held out his hand to show it was fisted around a bundle of assorted plants. Kyojuro hadn’t realised Akaza was holding anything before it pushed in his face, and perhaps that was for the best because he recoiled at the sight of it.

“I-Is that so?” His mouth stretched into a taut smile. Aside from the fact that it appeared Akaza had brought him a fistful of weeds and dirt, brown dust fluttering to the ground as his hand moved, Kanroji’s words were now rattling in his head with the volume of a brass band.

Kyojuro swallowed, throat dry, and raised a hand to push Akaza’s down and away from him. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but I’m quite alright.” And then, because he was a coward, Kyojuro tried to flee, shouldering past Akaza and trying to continue down the path.

“Hey, Kyo, stop!” Akaza called after him, jogging to keep up with his brisk pace. “You didn’t even look at them.”

“Really, it’s okay.”

“Come on, please?” Akaza insisted, and his hand clamped down on Kyojuro’s shoulder, forcing him to turn around with the absurd strength Kyojuro sometimes forgot he possessed. “They’re herbs. I found them last night and I thought you could use them. Like these.” He pointed to a yellow grass with a broad stem and a long flower with small blue petals. “These two reduce muscle pain. And this one,” he pointed to another grass that looked only slightly different to the first, “gives basic pain relief if you infuse it in tea. And chewing on this root is meant to aid sleep, and it’s supposedly quite sweet too, although I wouldn’t know.”

Akaza’s voice grew in desperation as he spoke, rapidly looking between the plants and Kyojuro to gauge his reaction. It almost sounded pathetic, the way his voice wobbled with apprehension, bracing himself for rejection. It was even more alien an expression on him than the earlier lethargy.

Kyojuro had been ready for him to be upset, but he had expected anger and offence. Not this despair, like Kyojuro had just spat on something he’d poured his heart into.

And… well, he kind of had.

So, against his better judgement, Kyojuro held out his hand. “Okay, I’ll take them.” Akaza wasted no time stuffing them into his hands, continuing to explain the various health properties of the different plants. Kyojuro wilted a little under the puppy-like exuberance that Akaza exploded with. He picked through the grasses and roots in his hand, trying to appreciate what Akaza was telling him about them all. And briefly wondered how he knew any of it in the first place.

But, ultimately, he was drawn back to the question of why.

What was the point of all this?

“Akaza,” he said, interrupting the demon’s babbling.

“Hmm?”

Kyojuro ran his thumb over a blade of grass. “Why did you spare my life at the Infinity Train?”

Akaza blinked. “You already know the answer to that, Kyojuro.”

“Perhaps.” Kyojuro looked up, meeting his confused gaze. “But humour me. Tell me again.”

He shrugged. “Because I didn’t want you to die. Why else?”

Kyojuro rolled his eye. “Yes, but why?”

Akaza’s face bunched up, like he hadn’t thought to consider this before. “Well, I wanted to see you again. To fight you, to see you grow stronger. That would have been difficult if you were dead.”

“No.” Kyojuro wouldn’t accept that. He shook his head and stood his ground. “That can’t be it. What about everything else? Tending to my wounds, following me around, getting antsy about my friends. And now this?” he said, holding up Akaza’s gift. “I don’t get it.”

Kanroji had provided an easy answer, but it was just that. It was easy. In what world could this be that simple?

“What do you stand to gain? Why would you do any of this? I can’t—”

“Because I care about you.”

Kyojuro’s words died on his tongue.

“You make me happy. It’s not complicated.” Akaza lifted his hand to idly scratch at his temple. “I’ll admit, I’m not used to this stuff; it’s all kinda new to me. But is it that strange to want to take care of someone who makes me happy? To see you happy too? To see you healthy and alive?”

He spoke with so little concern, so little bravado. As if this were all simple fact. As if it were obvious. And, maybe it was, but still…

Akaza continued to stare at him, waiting for an answer.

“W-well, no. I suppose it… it’s not that strange, but…”

But you aren’t supposed to say it out loud.

Kyojuro knew that people loved and cared about him. He knew he was surrounded by people who wanted to see him return, who dreaded that day he’d die, probably young. But when was the last time he’d heard it? They were called unspoken feelings for a reason. Saying them made them tangible. Saying them birthed something that could be taken away.

And Akaza just… said it.

While he tended to run a bit hot, hearing that made Kyojuro feel uncomfortably warm, even in the open autumn air. His clothes suddenly had a presence on his skin, a weight against his body, and he had to fight back the urge to fiddle with the eyepatch digging into his scalp.

But, at the same time, it filled Kyojuro with a pleasant buzz. It was reminiscent of the swell of ego he indulged in whenever Akaza praised his strength or his discipline, but it was soothing rather than emboldening. And familiar, like picking up an old safety blanket you hadn’t seen since you were six.

This wasn’t good, was it?

But it was nice.

Still, though, Akaza was watching him, waiting for him to continue, and Kyojuro just couldn’t find anything to say. He should rebuke all of this, but enough of him didn’t want to that it stayed the impulse, made him hold his tongue for a second longer, hoping that if he stalled enough, he could hold onto this without having to question it.

And then he was startled by a fluttering of wings and the pressure of claws against his shoulder.

“Kaname,” he said, holding his arm up so the disgruntled bird could find a better purchase. He puffed his feathers out indignantly, offended that Kyojuro hadn’t noticed his approach and been ready for him. Despite not having the facial features to do so, Kaname had mastered the art of the disgruntled frown. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Kaname clicked his beak, unsatisfied with the excuse. But no excuse was ever enough for this bird, so Kyojuro paid it little mind. Instead, he held his hand to Kaname’s beak, fingers splayed for easy access.

The crow didn’t move immediately, first throwing Akaza a dirty look. At some point, he’d realised that Akaza wouldn’t be going away any time soon and decided he wasn’t so much of a threat that it meant he could forego his duty. For his part, Akaza had never given Kaname much mind, unconcerned with his constant circling far above their heads.

Right then, though, he was levelling Kaname’s glare with one of his own.

“Well?” Kyojuro prompted, distracting both of them.

Kaname turned back and nipped once at Kyojuro’s middle finger, and then at his pinkie. The signal for a safe situation. It usually referred to the absence of demons ahead, but he assumed this meant Kanroji was settled in. Then he pecked at the skin between Kyojuro’s thumb and index finger, asking if he would need guidance home.

“I don’t think so,” Kyojuro said. “I know where I am.”

Kaname nodded and promptly took off, Kyojuro throwing his arm to help. He watched Kaname dart into the looming dawn, the night sky paling from dark indigos to violet and orange.

Kyojuro felt more than he saw Akaza jump. “Shit,” he hissed, head tilted up. His eyebrows had disappeared into this hairline, eyes wide with alarm. “Is it that late?”

Perhaps Akaza had good reason to panic, but something as ordinary as losing track of time, this innocent shock as it caught up with him, was disarming to Kyojuro. Like this, Kyojuro might have mistaken Akaza for a young man like any other.

And it was funny. How rare it was to see Akaza so completely off guard.

Kyojuro laughed.

Akaza’s head snapped back to look at him.

“Sorry,” he said offhandedly, thinking he’d offended the demon.

But then Akaza’s surprise melted into something that couldn’t be called anything less than pure adoration. It was so unbearably fond, and Kyojuro didn’t even think Akaza was aware of it.

And, inevitably, it dropped again into solemnity, but the smile never left his lips. “Don’t die, Kyojuro.”

He gulped. “I’ll try,” Kyojuro said, voice so weak he couldn’t be sure Akaza even heard it.

He at least understood, nodding and darting off to find protection from the morning.

Kyojuro couldn’t move, as if the plants in his hand had wrapped around his limbs and taken root in the path beneath him. But instead of trapping him in place, they almost blanketed him, such that he didn’t want to move even if he could.

Since when did goodbyes feel like this?

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d left someone behind and felt anything less than bereft. This wasn’t like leaving Kanroji had been. Or turning from his brother when he left home. Tearing his eyes from their faces and dropping all hope of seeing them again like sand from his hands, not bothering to give it the opportunity to fall through his fingers.

Kyojuro could still feel the weight of Akaza’s gaze on him, his words echoing in his head. There didn’t seem to be a point in saying goodbye to Akaza. He’d be back whether Kyojuro liked it or not. And, while that used to be a threat, now it was just… a fact.

At last, Kyojuro turned. The world was already returning to life, the sun peeking over the horizon. He closed his eye and took a deep breath, feeling the strength of the morning sunlight across his face.

And he continued his journey home.

Chapter Text

Kyojuro rolled up his sleeves before dropping the shirt into the washbasin. He had to steel himself before plunging his hands in after it. The frigid water clawed up his arms and between his fingers, sloshing over the sides of the tub. He clenched his teeth through the discomfort, the slight breeze harsh against his wet forearms, and dragged the cloth up and down the washboard.

The wisteria house attendants had offered to do his laundry for him — offered is probably an understatement — but Kyojuro refused to listen. By that point, they’d already provided so much for him: food, a bed, a bath, spare clothes. It seemed rude to make them do his laundry while they were at it. Especially when he was idle and unhurt, waiting on his next orders.

Kaname had been missing since dawn, and there wasn’t much Kyojuro could do until he returned. Having chores to busy himself with was a welcome distraction.

He pulled the shirt out and wrung it in his hands, sudsy water splashing back out of the basin and across his feet. Perhaps not everything needed to be done with his particular brand of gusto.

He paused.

The flapping of wings filled the air and Kaname landed on the fence in front of Kyojuro in a flurry of feathers.

“There you are!” he said, a smile splitting his face. “You took a while.”

Kaname bristled and shook his leg in Kyojuro’s direction. Attached to it was a long piece of paper rolled into a tube. It looked bulky, at least for Kaname to handle.

“Sorry about that.” His was likely the only crow in the corps that regularly carried letters instead of spoken instructions. While Kyojuro knew it wasn’t his fault, he always felt the need to apologise for the inconvenience.

But he was distracted from his appeasements when he noticed the letter tied with black string.

He hummed, lips pressing together.

Kyojuro hesitated, clenching the shirt between his fingers. Eventually, he threw it aside and wiped his hands dry on his leg before reaching for the letter. It was solid and heavier than Kyojuro had been expecting, the paper wrapped around something long and thin.

He pulled at the string, and the whole thing fell apart, a pair of ornate chopsticks slipping from his hands, clattering against each other and landing in the mud at Kyojuro’s feet.

The tension drained from him all at once. With the reveal out of the way, Kyojuro took a deep sigh, the inhale rattling in his ribs like the whistling of air through a hollow tree. The chopsticks stared up at him from the muck, smears of brown across the painted wood accusing him of his disrespect.

But Kyojuro couldn’t move.

A chill swept across him as Death patted him on the back, consoling but merciless.

He wanted to turn around and yell, to ask what made him different? Why did Death stand at Kyojuro’s shoulder, watching and never taking, while better people than him were squashed like daisies under its foot? So many people deserved so much more than him, were so much more than he could hope to be, yet he was still standing.

But he didn’t do that. Of course, not. There was nothing behind him.

He bent over and pulled the chopsticks out of the mud, wiping them clean on his leg. Red carvings curled up the ends, small leaves wrapping around the polished wood. Simple but elegant, they weren’t the sort of thing you expected the son of a rice farmer to carry, but Taisuke had them anyway. He’d told Kyojuro a hundred stories of how he got a hold of them, all contradictory, but that had never mattered.

Taisuke had been an excellent slayer, possessing a natural talent Kyojuro had always lacked. The man had saved Kyojuro’s life countless times, and seeing him turn up to a fight was always a comfort. The only reason Kyojuro had risen to Pillar while he plateaued as a Kinoe was the lack of a spot for him to fill.

He was a better fighter than Kyojuro, a better slayer, and a better man.

And now Kyojuro held his will in one hand and a parting gift in the other.

He was startled by an impatient squawk. Kyojuro looked down at the letter and noticed his next orders were also tied up in the will, directing him north.

That’s right, he was supposed to be used to this. He was supposed to be numb to it by now. You couldn’t afford anything more than that, or you’d risk falling apart.

He knew that from experience.

Kyojuro clamped his fist around the chopsticks and nodded to the bird. “I’ll go get changed.” He snatched his damp shirt up and went back inside. It was cold, but at least it was clean.

The demon’s body slumped to the ground, its head dropping from its shoulders and bouncing through the grass. Anger carved sharp grooves into its face, mouth wildly flapping in angry shouts and curses.

Kyojuro didn’t hear it. He watched its body decompose, ash cascading over itself and blowing away in the harsh autumn breeze.

It was almost sad, watching it float away into nothing. The only trace it left of its existence was the pain it wrought in its wake.

The demon’s cries cut out as its throat crumbled to dust, its pain and regret hanging in the air. He had come to admit that Kamado had a point when he said demons were pitiful creatures. At least the world would remember its passing, enough to fill the space it left behind, even if Kyojuro would forget about it in a night or two.

Soon enough, he was alone again.

There weren’t even any bodies. This demon was either young or a lousy hunter, and the silence pressed hard on the barren clearing. There was nothing around save for a few midsized rocks. An ideal fighting arena, for sure, but distractingly isolated.

He didn’t even know where his crow was.

Kyojuro stretched, huffed and took a seat on the nearest rock. He didn’t want to take off just yet, and besides, he was tired from travelling all day. He deserved five minutes to sit down, surely?

The night was starless and murky. The moon poked out behind a thin cloud, providing enough light for Kyojuro to see, but gave the sky the appearance of used dishwater. Kyojuro leaned his head into his hand and listened to the overwhelming amount of nothing around him; the trees too far away to even hear them whispering.

When he looked down, he saw a chopstick.

He was absentmindedly twirling it between his fingers the way Taisuke had taught him years ago. It was a trick he still used to entertain Senjuro at dinner. He’d only had them for a couple of days but had quickly gotten into the habit of pulling them out when he needed something to do with his hands.

Kyojuro hadn’t seen anyone close to him since receiving them. No one but Kaname, but they were far from the reach of the corps out here, and he was often absent, fetching new orders.

He wrapped his fist around the chopstick.

All of a sudden, he had the urge to go home. It rose up from his stomach like a plume of smoke, filling his skin like a balloon and welling behind his eye. He felt vulnerable, open and weak as he dreamt of home like a child missing his mother. Or, rather, his brother.

It wasn’t specifically Senjuro, although at that moment he would have given anything to see his soft smile or even the slight pinch in his brow when Kyojuro returned a little too beaten up. He would have taken anyone familiar. Right then, he might have even accepted his father.

He buried his face in his other hand, fingers clawing into the edge of his hairline, the painful scraping against his scalp a needed distraction as he tried to calm himself down. 

Snap.

Kyojuro jumped to his feet, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword and pushing the handguard from the lip of its sheath. He scanned the treeline, looking for his intruder.

“Really, Kyojuro, I thought we were past this by now.”

“Akaza!”

The demon broke into the moonlight, and any panic Kyojuro had felt melted away. He surged forward, the oomph returning to his step. It occurred to Kyojuro how strange it was that he’d heard Akaza’s approach when the demon usually delighted in suddenly appearing when he was least expected. But amid his relief, he didn’t care to examine it.

“It’s been a while,” he said, holding his hands out in greeting. “I was starting to wonder where you’d gone.”

Akaza’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, I was — I mean, I couldn’t…” He trailed off, and his surprise softened into a small smile. “I didn’t think you’d be so happy to see me.”

“What makes you think I am?”

“Look at yourself.” Akaza reached up and curled his fingers against Kyojuro’s cheek, running a blue thumb beneath the curve of his bottom lip. “You could blind a man with a smile like that.”

Kyojuro opened his mouth to protest but then closed it again. Now that he mentioned it, Akaza was right. Kyojuro was happy to see him.

Maybe that wasn’t the right way to put it. Seeing Akaza emerge from the trees had felt like curling up under the futon in his room after weeks at work. He didn’t even bother to bat Akaza’s hand away, the chill touch of another’s skin against his own like the answer to a prayer he didn’t know he’d made.

He knew it was the isolation speaking, the grief and need for human contact overriding his better judgement. But Kyojuro also knew that it wouldn’t have been the same from anyone that wasn’t Akaza.

From anyone else, it would have been a fleeting moment of joy, one he had to treasure and make count. Akaza was something to return to instead of something to covet. He was comfortable. Secure. Inevitable.

Akaza may not have been the place he should look for that kind of security, but he was the only place Kyojuro could find it.  

Kyojuro relaxed and let the grin return to his face. He turned his cheek into the touch, savouring the contact. “Hmm… yes. I am glad to see you. I enjoy your company.”

Akaza’s breath caught in his throat, hand holding rigid, and Kyojuro rolled his eye. The demon was so easy to please, but seeing his face light up like the sun and his whole body vibrate with glee was more heartening than it had any right to be. Sometimes, Kyojuro liked to be reminded that he was wanted.

And so did Akaza, apparently.

The rest of the night passed much like any other in Akaza’s company. He resumed patrol in Kaname’s absence, and Akaza matched him step for step, the two of them trading conversation like they had been born to do so.

The only difference was that Kyojuro was now aware of the warmth pooling in his ribs. It had the weight of sand and the peace of glowing embers in the hearth at the end of a meal.

It persisted as they said goodbye. When Akaza turned to him and said, “Don’t die,” with a hopeful gravity, Kyojuro replied, “I’ll try,” and meant it. He would try, because as long as he was alive, Akaza would eventually come back.

The sun rose, and Kyojuro was alone once again.

But it wouldn’t be forever.

Chapter Text

A sharp rustling of leaves broke the silence.

Kyojuro spun around, scanning the undergrowth beside him, searching for movement. The only sight that greeted him was the swaying of foliage in the harsh winter wind, but Kyojuro continued to watch, alert with dumb hope.

A racoon darted out from beneath the nearest bush and skittered by Kyojuro’s feet, disappearing into the tall grass on the other side of the path.

Kyojuro sighed.

Nothing.

He shouldn’t have been so disappointed, but the emptiness of night in the country, not even a village for miles, left him wanting for company.

He forged ahead.

The isolation was familiar, but the lack of anxiety wasn’t. Of course, Kyojuro was anxious about plenty of things. He was currently at work after all, following Kaname’s directions and trying not to lose sight of him overhead. Who knew when he’d next stumble into danger? Or how long before his duty demanded he walk into it headfirst?

But the absence of this particular anxiety was… new. Replaced with a foreign confidence that Kyojuro didn’t quite know what to make of but welcomed all the same.

Akaza hadn’t been around in almost three weeks, his longest absence by half, and Kyojuro was beginning to wonder where he was. But he didn’t question whether he would come back. Because he would. It was a matter of when he’d show his face again.

But Kyojuro had never been a patient person.

He squinted against the oncoming breeze. It blew over the fields of wild grass sprawling out across the horizon like waves over the ocean, the tree branches overhead creaking under its force. The nights were only growing colder as the days tipped into December, and the warm underclothes Kyojuro dug out of storage didn’t stem the flow of feeling away from his fingertips.

He picked up the pace, hoping the movement might tame the aggressive pink spreading across his skin. Slayers weren’t meant to wear gloves if they could avoid them to prevent from interfering with their swordsmanship. But Kyojuro was pretty sure keeping his fingers from falling off was also a priority. His flames were only illusory after all; he wished they were real.

With a loud crunch, something much larger than a racoon stumbled out of the brush.

And crashed right into Kyojuro.

He rolled into the grass and scrambled to his feet, frigid dew spraying into the air and drenching the back of his uniform. Kyojuro’s sword flew from its sheath and pointed at his assailant, steady in his hands despite the way his heart was flooding every inch of him with adrenaline.

The heap of person that had barrelled into him groaned and stumbled as it pushed itself up onto wobbly legs. The figure uncurled, and Kyojuro realised who it was with a jolt.

“Akaza?”

Akaza jumped, turning to face Kyojuro. Or he tried to, at least, he overshot by an inch. “Finally,” he said, a smile that was attempting to be broad and boisterous splitting his face. “Have you been avoiding me or something, Kyojuro? You’re so difficult to find nowadays.”

Kyojuro couldn’t help thinking that he wasn’t the problem.

Akaza straightened up but swayed in place. His eyes were unfocused, finding Kyojuro by nothing but his bright appearance, and rimmed with deep bags that only seemed to grow worse as he rubbed at his face. His pale skin was almost papery white, tinged to a ghoulish green under the moonlight and did nothing to hide the obvious strain his muscles were under to keep himself upright.

Upper Moon Three, a tower of merciless, unending power, looked… ill.

A pit seemed to open in Kyojuro’s stomach, everything inside falling through and new, slimy things replacing it.

“Sorry I took a while, got a bit lost. But I found you! Y’know, I think— I think I went way too far north at one point. I don’t know how; my sense of direction is usually flawless. Oh well, sorry to keep you wai—”

“Akaza.” Kyojuro stepped forward to grip Akaza’s shoulders. The demon flinched under his touch, but Kyojuro held firm, keeping him from his precarious swaying. “What happened to you?”

Akaza’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Nothing, obviously.” His focus drifted again, eyes glazing over with something Kyojuro couldn’t read, and his throat bobbed as he gulped.

“What are you—?” Kyojuro tightened his grip. “You look like death.” Maybe not in the way Kyojuro had once seen him, but Akaza was now one strong breeze away from falling to pieces. “I didn’t know demons could get sick.”

“Eh?” Akaza shook his head and pushed Kyojuro away from him, still deceptively strong in spite of everything. “Of course we can’t get sick. Seriously.” He scoffed as if this was something to make light of, as if Kyojuro was being overdramatic. “It’s just the starvation.”

Kyojuro blinked. “The what?”

Akaza waved his hand in dismissal and redirected it to wipe at the corner of his mouth. “S’nothing,” he said, words slurring like his tongue was too heavy to work properly. “I’m fine.” He stepped back and staggered as he lost his balance. “See? Fine. I’m just ti—” He was interrupted by a loud yawn. “Jus’ tired. Tha’sall.” The smile pulled at his face again, somehow shining with joy. “But now I’ve found you. I didn’t want you to worry, so here I am!”

“I wasn’t worried,” Kyojuro said, sounding very worried.

Akaza laughed a little too loud, and it seemed to shake his very foundation. “You make such a fuss about everything.” He flung his arms out, widening his stance, thinking it made him look sturdier. “I promise, I’m fine.”

And he promptly passed out.

Kyojuro leapt forward to catch Akaza, twisting to cushion the fall with his own body. He collapsed with a grunt, arms tightly wrapped around the demon’s unconscious form. He lay there and caught his breath, knocked out of him by the shock more than the effort.

It took a moment for Kyojuro to process the position he was in.

He sat up and stared at Akaza, felt the weight of his body in his arms and watched the soft rise and fall of his chest. He was still alive, at least.

“Akaza?” he asked, breath hitching in anticipation of the demon’s sudden awakening. “Akaza?” he tried again, louder. He shook Akaza’s shoulders, hoping it might jerk him awake. But the dread from earlier only doubled as Akaza flopped in his arms, not so much as twitching as he shook with more force.

This was wrong. Worms spread from Kyojuro’s stomach through his body, slithering through his limbs and setting his shoulders with a slimy force.

Akaza lay defenceless before him. Open to attack, vulnerable in a way Kyojuro had never thought possible. This looming threat of unbeatable, unrelenting strength now lay crumpled in Kyojuro’s arms. Entirely at his mercy.

Kyojuro steeled. He lifted his hands from where they curled around Akaza’s shoulders and rose to his feet. His fingers quivered and reached toward his sword.

This was his chance, wasn’t it?

This was his duty.

Akaza could wake up any second. He was Upper Moon Three, something like this wouldn’t keep him out for long, surely? This was the opening he’d been trying to make for months.

When Upper Moon Three had started following Kyojuro around, he had reported it to The Master immediately. They had seen the golden opportunity to finally tip the balance in their favour, to rob Kibutsuji of one of his strongest soldiers, the fourth strongest demon in existence.

And every effort proved pointless.

Kyojuro wasn’t strong enough to defeat Akaza alone, and he didn’t show up if Kyojuro was in company. He seemed to have a sense for Pillars, able to scarper long before they were close enough to be a threat. He knew now that Akaza was far from stupid, just headstrong and persistent, so it wasn’t surprising. It hadn’t taken long for Kyojuro to give up on that goal and consider himself lucky he was still alive, even if he couldn’t comprehend why.

But now, here it was. Victory was in his grasp.

He drew his sword, holding it over Akaza’s neck.

This was it. He would finally be free of this monster attached to his heel. Free of the constant badgering from his colleagues about the demon following him around. Free of the confusing calm that washed over him whenever he saw Akaza’s face.

Kyojuro clenched the hilt until his knuckles burned white, the red blade dull in the moonless night, and lifted it over his head to cleave it down. One blow, with all his power, and it would be over.

He just… he just had to swing it down.

He didn’t even need to look.

One slice.

How many had come before this? How many demons had he decapitated? Dozens, at least. He was on his way to do this very thing when Akaza interrupted him.

It would be easy.

And this one was unconscious.

It was an Upper Moon. He’d killed a Lower Moon to take his position as a Pillar. This should be familiar territory.

He just had to kill it. One measly demon. So, why was he hesitating? Kyojuro would be a hero. He would be a force that shifts history forever. He just had to deal with this monster before it woke up.

Before… he woke up.

Kyojuro let out the breath he was holding as his sword dropped to this side.

Who was he kidding? He couldn’t do this. How could he? To Akaza, of all people, who lit up at the mere sight of him. Who never had an unkind word for him. Who helped shape Kyojuro into something stronger than he had believed himself capable of. Who cared for Kyojuro enough to crawl to him with the last dregs of his strength so he wouldn’t worry.

How could he slay the only force in his life that chased away the dread of an ever-looming fate?

He didn’t know why Akaza was any of these things, why he singled out Kyojuro as worthy of living over every other victim who had crossed his path. But that didn’t matter. He couldn’t do something like that to someone who needed him for once as much as he needed them.

Kyojuro sheathed his sword and knelt once again. He lifted Akaza’s head from the mud and set it in his lap. Like this, lying lifeless on a dirt road, Akaza could have been as ordinary as anyone else. Just another human Kyojuro had sworn to protect.

He held no duty to Akaza; his duty was to the weak.

Yet he chose to protect him anyway.

Kyojuro felt confident this wouldn’t last long, making it easier to stomach his questionable behaviour. He could protect Akaza for the short time he would be unconscious and then get on with his life, ignoring this minor blip in his sanity.

He was tempted to wait in place. Anticipation was electric in his bones as he watched Akaza, expecting him to wake up any second. Just another minute and his eyes would flicker open, a teasing jab on his tongue before he even thought to sit up. Something about how Kyojuro was overreacting.

Because that’s precisely what he was doing.

Akaza would be fine. He’d be up and at it any moment now. That didn’t stop Kyojuro from glancing at the sky every five seconds, worried that he’d realise five hours had suddenly passed and the sun was rising.

This wouldn’t last until daybreak, but he couldn’t banish the ‘what if.’ If Akaza was still like this when the sun rose, he’d be dead regardless of Kyojuro’s actions. Should he intervene? Surely it was worse to actively protect Akaza than to merely refrain from killing him? And it’s not like it would be necessary, right?

Kyojuro stood up and, with a lot of difficulty, heaved Akaza onto his back.

He was being an idiot.

He adjusted his grip under the bend of Akaza’s knees, shrugged his shoulders until the demon’s arms hung limp but secure around his neck, and trudged on.

There had to be some form of shelter around here, right? Some cave or abandoned structure that he could leave Akaza in. Even a covered hole in the ground would be enough. How did demons find shelter every night? Where did Akaza usually wait out his days? Kyojuro had never received a straight answer from him when he asked but now wished he had pushed. 

Kyojuro startled at the flapping of wings.

Kaname dropped into the path, blocking his way and glaring up at him.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Kyojuro said. “I just need to find somewhere to put him, and then I’ll get back to work.”

Kaname didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.

“I can’t just leave him.”

Kaname ruffled his feathers.

“Fine, I don’t want to leave him. Happy?”

The bird did not look happy.

Kyojuro huffed and walked on, ignoring the stab of regret as he felt Kaname panic under his feet, scrambling to get out of the way. He knew this was wrong, he didn’t need his crow reinforcing the message. It didn’t change anything.

He didn’t stop at the squawks either, as they lifted into the air and circled around him. If Kaname didn’t detest speaking he could only imagine the vitriol that would be spewing from his beak. Kaname tried swooping at him, but Kyojuro refused to pay attention. He needed to find somewhere to leave Akaza, and then he could get on with his night.

The commotion overhead disappeared after a while. Kyojuro assumed Kaname had given up, that he’d be back once Kyojuro had found a bit of common sense. Kyojuro sure wished he’d find some. Worst case scenario, he was reporting this back to the Ubuyashiki estate. He didn’t know how he’d ever explain this. He couldn’t justify himself to a bird; how was he meant to justify it to his colleagues?

But then Kaname returned. He circled briefly before landing on Akaza’s back, where Kyojuro couldn’t see him. He tugged on Kyojuro’s hair and took off again, flying over the tree line.

The signal to follow.

Kyojuro furrowed his brow but followed his crow anyway.

He picked his way through the overgrown roots of trees, flinching at every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves. He couldn’t decide if it would be worse to be caught like this by a civilian or a demon.

It wasn’t long until he emerged in front of a hut, mauled and abandoned, but still mostly intact. The walls sagged beneath the weight of the roof, rotting wood bending under the stones holding down the thatch. But it was solid and, as Kyojuro ducked through the small door, taking care not to smack Akaza’s head into the doorframe, it was almost pitch black inside.

Kaname landed a moment later on the sill of the nearest window, waiting for a reaction.

Kyojuro broke into a smile. “Thank you.”

Kaname nodded.

In the night, Kyojuro couldn’t tell which direction was east, so he picked one of the two windows at random and set Akaza under it. It’s not like it would matter, but it would put Kyojuro’s mind at ease, restless as it was proving to be. He would return to check this place before the sun rose, but he didn’t want to risk returning to a pile of ash.

Which wasn’t going to happen. But still, if.

He disentangled himself from Akaza and, after a moment of deliberation, pulled the cloak from his shoulders, folding it under the demon’s neck.

Kaname bristled and shot him an unimpressed look. Kyojuro just shrugged. It’s not like he could explain this. It would be an excuse to return, at least.

“Okay, let’s continue,” he said, rising to his feet and marching back through the doorway. He paused to set the unhinged door securely over the opening in the wall, mustering nothing more than an eye roll in reaction to himself.

He had a job to do. Justifying his actions could wait until morning.

Kyojuro returned as the sun threatened to rise over the horizon, sweaty and panting with exertion despite the bitter cold of an early winter morning. Kaname had hurried the best he could to their destination, but it was farther out than Kyojuro had anticipated, and the fight took longer than he would have liked.

His uniform was untouched, as was the nature of the material, but he couldn’t say the same for the skin beneath it. He was bruised and tender, a shallow but nasty cut along his collar bone soaking into his white undershirt. Still, Kyojuro pulled himself towards the small house, thatch roof weighed down by slabs of stone and walls crumbling under the strain of their own age.

He was overreacting. He knew he was. He’d walk in, and the place would be empty, save for maybe his cloak.

But seeing the deep blues of night stain with reds and yellows had shot panic down Kyojuro’s spine, and he’d sprinted the rest of the way back. Just to make sure. He couldn’t be too safe when Akaza’s life was on the line.

He passed over the threshold, ducking under the small doorframe and peered into the darkness of the room.

There, under the window, was Akaza. Still lying prone, unmoving aside from his faint breathing.

Kyojuro stared.

Perhaps his paranoia hadn’t been unfounded after all.

He glanced around the small room, searching for the creep of sunlight across the floor. With a start, he realised he’d placed Akaza under the wrong window and sprang forward to fix it.

It wouldn’t matter if Akaza got a little banged up as Kyojuro moved him, but he took care to move the demon without hurting him. Even if injury would wake him up, Kyojuro didn’t feel any more comfortable doing that than killing him.

He laid Akaza down, making sure the folded-up cloak supported his neck correctly and settled beside him. Waiting for… something.

Kyojuro hadn’t let himself think this far ahead. After telling himself so many times this wouldn’t happen, he didn’t know what to do now that it had. Akaza was safe, for now, so there wasn’t much he could think to do other than let him wake up on his own.

He folded his legs under himself, the cold earthen floor sapping the warmth from his limbs, and watched.

Nothing had changed. If it weren’t for his breathing, Kyojuro might have mistaken Akaza for a corpse. No twitching, no mumbling, no shifting in his sleep. The ghoulish tinge to his skin was even more pronounced in the cold light of the morning, seeping through the cracks in the door and over the sill of the window above them.

Cultural lore sometimes claimed demons, or what they misunderstood demons as, really were dead. Corpses haunted by their living souls, forced to sustain themselves on the lives of the people unfortunate enough to cross their paths or else wither away.

Would Akaza just fade away if he stayed like this? Unable to eat? The life draining from him until he was an empty shell?

Kyojuro clenched his teeth. He was trying to think his way into a panic, and he wouldn’t let it work. Demons didn’t work like that; the countless trapped on Mount Fujikasane were enough proof. Not to mention Nezuko.

He paused.

Nezuko slept a lot, didn’t she? He’d asked Kamado about it once, during the visits he’d received since they met over the summer, and he’d said that was how she regained strength in the absence of human flesh.

Akaza had said this was a result of starvation…

Kyojuro put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, the shrill note echoing around the dark room. Moments later, Kaname landed on the window sill, blinking at him expectantly.

“I need you to take a letter to Kamado Tanjiro. You remember him, right?”

Kaname nodded, tracking the movement as Kyojuro pulled a small roll of paper and a pencil from inside his uniform. He laid it on the nearest wall and scribbled a note asking for details on Nezuko’s sleeping habits.

Kamado was more aware than anyone that Akaza was still following him; aside from Hashibira, he was the only person who knew what Kyojuro’s predicament entailed. He asked about it whenever they crossed paths, eyes shining with worry and doubt whenever Kyojuro tried to assuage his fears. But he didn’t know if the boy would connect the dots, and what he’d do with the information if he did.

If Kyojuro could trust anyone with this, it would be Kamado. Regardless, he took care to be vague in the letter. He hoped it wasn’t too invasive a question to ask.

“Thank you for this,” Kyojuro said as he tied the note around Kaname’s leg. “And try to keep your head down, okay? Don’t return to headquarters. I can’t take on any jobs if this continues.”

Kaname ruffled his feathers but didn’t bother glaring. He took off and disappeared into the rising sun. Who knew when he’d be back. Kyojuro hoped it would be soon.

It wasn’t until Kaname had disappeared from view that it really dawned on Kyojuro what he’d said. Apparently, on his list of priorities, keeping a demon safe meant more than his slaying duties.

Kyojuro slumped against the nearest wall. It was more out of habit that his hand sought out the chopstick still nestled inside his uniform, pulling it free and absentmindedly twirling it between his fingers. He left the other one at home; it was bad enough that he didn’t keep this one somewhere safe.

His eye tracked the red filigree engraved into the wood as it spun around and around.

He chewed on his lip.

When had Akaza become a priority?

It had been a while since Kyojuro was forced to admit that he liked Akaza’s company, that seeing him brought a comfort he didn’t fully understand. But he’d always thought it was a selfish and convenient thing, or he’d justified it as such. Akaza was around anyway, Kyojuro never had to go out of his way for him. So enjoying his presence was, if morally dubious, harmless.

It had never crossed his mind that it could evolve into affection.

Although that was foolish on his part, they went hand in hand.

That same affection ate away at him now, and continued to do so as the sun tracked across the sky. It was affection fuelling the worry and impending doubt that jerked him awake when he dozed off. Each time scrambling to make sure Akaza was still there, that he was still breathing and alive, followed by a rush of confusion and guilt for feeling that way in the first place.

The sun had begun to set by the time Kyojuro felt his stomach grumble.

Kaname still hadn’t returned and, as he realised he’d forgotten to restock his rations, Kyojuro felt his absence acutely.

Well, at least he wasn’t alone in his hunger.

He was still unsure whether he should trust what Akaza had said about starvation. Kyojuro liked to think he could tell when Akaza was lying, but it was just so hard to believe.

No matter what Akaza said, would he really stop eating altogether to make Kyojuro happy? Especially when this was the result? Did Akaza know this is what starvation would do to him? Render him weak and vulnerable, at the mercy of his enemy. And this was the best-case scenario. Kyojuro dreaded to think what might have happened if Akaza had fallen unconscious when they weren’t together.

Akaza seemed convinced he would walk it off, so maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he’d expected something else, something more violent and ravenous. But was reducing himself even to that worth it? All for him? For Kyojuro?

The idea was ludicrous.

But then again, if it was true, Kyojuro wouldn’t have to feel bad for caring, would he?

He groaned and smacked his head against the wall, the brittle wood creaking and the roof making a distinctly unpleasant sound. He couldn’t knock the thoughts from his brain, but the sharp pain was at least a decent distraction.

His stomach grumbled again, the bubbling emptiness vibrating across his gut.

Kyojuro curled up and let his body topple over, his arm squished between himself and the dirt. He tapped the end of the chopstick on the hard earth beneath him, the dull thuds reverberating through the ground to his temple. Behind the blur of wood, he could see Akaza’s still form. It was even darker down there, shadowed from what little moonlight still found its way inside the dark space.

It wasn’t long until sleep started to tug on Kyojuro’s eyelids again.

He couldn’t fall asleep. Sleeping in the middle of the woods was a surefire way to run into a demon. But there was only so much effort he could put up after a day of fitful rest and frantic, panicked thoughts.

Kyojuro didn’t wake up until sunlight hit his eye.

And again, Akaza was there.

Unmoving.

Almost lifeless.

Kyojuro pushed himself upright and propped his chin up on his knee. He hadn’t expected to be here this long. Akaza was meant to be awake by now. He should have been awake before sunrise yesterday.

Except, he had nothing to support that. The only reason it wasn’t supposed to be this way was that Kyojuro didn’t want it to be. He wanted to get on with his life without worrying about the well-being of a monster. He wanted to let this stay another strange occurrence he could write off as ‘weird demon stuff.’

He wanted Akaza to be awake, talking with him, touching him like he was something precious, smiling at him the way that made Kyojuro feel wanted.

If he was being realistic, there was nothing to say Akaza would ever wake up. People didn’t always wake up from comas; who was to say this was any different?

Kyojuro leant forward to adjust the fold of his cloak under Akaza’s neck. He hadn’t moved, but the action made Kyojuro feel like he was doing something. And doing something would maybe help him ignore the fresh pang of terror that flooded through him as the thought crossed his mind.

He thought he’d numbed himself to loss by now. Nothing good in his life was permanent. Everything would disappear eventually, whether it was demon related or not.

Perhaps he was naïve to consider such an achievement possible, but still. All this effort to protect himself from hurt, from breaking to pieces again and again.

His friends coped by latching onto a limited few and trusting them to live on. If you could ground yourself, hold onto a single rock while the world whipped and crashed around you, all the loss in the world could be overcome eventually. But Kyojuro knew what it looked like when that rock fell too, how you float adrift and lose yourself.

But had closing himself off entirely been worth it?

Akaza had only wormed his way through because Kyojuro couldn’t see the danger in trusting something immortal to return to him.

And here Akaza was. Looking very mortal.

A squawk shook Kyojuro from his spiral.

Kaname didn’t bother landing on the sill, instead settling next to Kyojuro. He held out his leg, a bulky note tied to it, and stared up at him, his look now absent of the earlier judgement and scorn.

He didn’t know if he preferred this new pity.

Kyojuro pulled the note free and unrolled it over the floor, revealing Kamado’s surprisingly neat handwriting inside.

It started with the usual well-wishes, the hope for his continued safety and an affirmation that he likewise was faring well. While obviously curious about the reason for Kyojuro’s question, he withheld from asking for details before answering.

The letter confirmed Kyojuro’s suspicions. While Kamado insisted it was just a theory, he believed Nezuko regained strength through sleep instead of consumption. And she had to sleep a lot to make up for it. In fact, she’d slept for a year and a half after she was first turned.

Kyojuro blinked down at the small slip of paper. It continued with some details and hope that this request wasn’t a suggestion of something worse, but Kyojuro barely even skimmed it, locked onto those five words.

A year and a half?

He gulped and glanced at the demon, prone on the floor, sleeping soundly. Could this really last that long? He didn’t have that long. Ignoring the pressing need to return to his work, The Master had already predicted their conflict would come to a head in the near future.

Would this take Akaza out of the picture? Probably, and that couldn’t be a bad thing. But Kyojuro knew that he wouldn’t be able to protect him for so long without help, and all the help he could look for would jump to killing Akaza instead.

Kyojuro wouldn’t blame them. He blamed himself for not wanting him dead, but he refused to do anything that would put Akaza in the way of a nichirin blade other than his own.

However, if Kamado’s letter made one thing clear, it was that waiting it out like this wasn’t feasible.

But what else could he do? Leaving Akaza here was risky. There was no telling who or what would stumble across him, and if the building collapsed, Akaza could be exposed to the sun. And Kyojuro couldn’t just abandon his demon slaying duties. He may have lost track of his sanity, but he still had enough of it to know that would never happen.

He didn’t have anywhere safer to keep Akaza, nowhere more secure. Excluding his home, of course, but that was out of the question…

Kyojuro turned the slip of paper between his fingers, thinking. Was it out of the question? Akaza would be safe in his room, and he wouldn’t have to tell anyone.

No. No, he couldn’t do that. Harbouring Akaza in his room would put his family in danger. What if he woke up while Kyojuro was away, ravenous instead of loopy and jumped on the first available food source? He couldn’t even blame Akaza if that happened; there would be no one at fault but himself.  

But then again, he wasn’t giving Akaza enough credit. He was an Upper Moon, the more powerful a demon was, the more control they had over themselves. Akaza had let himself faint from hunger before moving to eat someone, even Kyojuro himself. That had to mean something, right?

He was making excuses. The bottom line was that he’d be lying to his brother, who he cared to protect more than anyone else. He’d be throwing him in the way of danger for his own selfish fear of losing something precious, even when keeping it was impossible.

Was it really that dangerous, though? If Kamado was right, if Akaza was regaining energy through sleep, surely he wouldn’t be violent upon waking up?

That was just speculation though! Was he really trying to talk himself into this? Was he so determined that he’d reason himself into something this monumentally reckless? And all for what? A demon? An Upper Moon? For something he should have killed days ago? Months ago.

Was this really what he’d been reduced to?

Was he that desperate?

…Yes.

Apparently so.

As much as he tried to tell himself otherwise, Akaza had become much more to him than those things. It was incredible what a person could look past in the face of comfort. But that wasn’t even true either. This whole situation proved that Akaza was trying to be more than that, even if it wasn’t for the right reasons.

Kyojuro sighed and tugged at his hair.

Who was he kidding?

He wanted one thing: to keep the people he cared about safe. And Akaza was one of those people. Somehow, he’d become so important to Kyojuro that he struggled to weigh the worth of his life against his own flesh and blood.

Kyojuro wanted to believe in Akaza. He wanted to believe he was better than anyone, even himself, gave him credit for. That he could control himself, that he was worth all of this trouble and conflict.

He had the whole day to talk himself out of this. He had until nightfall to convince himself how bad an idea it was. But by that point, Kyojuro had resigned himself to his own weakness.

No matter how awful, it was his only option.

Chapter Text

Kyojuro paused for the first time in five hours as he finally reached the gate of the Rengoku estate. He squinted up at his home, raising a hand to protect against the early morning sun peaking over the sloped roof. It glared against the bleached walls and the glass in the door, but as he felt the uneven path beneath his sandals and tasted the out-of-season wisteria in the air, Kyojuro almost let himself relax.

He grasped the high wall surrounding the property as his legs threatened to give out, refusing to show such weakness when Kaname was watching him expectantly from the entrance. The bird looked smug, waiting for Kyojuro to keel over and prove his persistent protests right.

Kyojuro refused to give him the satisfaction.

He braced himself before launching from the wall, hoping the added momentum would carry him the distance his feet couldn’t.

“I told you I could do it,” Kyojuro muttered to his crow as he finally reached the front door and wrenched it open, the smack of wood against wood echoing across the empty street behind him.

Kaname didn’t flinch, just levelling a disgruntled look at his slayer.

Kyojuro rolled his eye and huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah.” He shook his head and removed his shoes. “Take the night off. Something tells me I won’t be fit for work.”

He didn’t wait for a response, closing the door and dragging himself into the house. It was warmer inside than he’d expected; the doors pulled shut against the chill, blocking the sparkling frost that dusted the garden from view.

That boded well, at least. This way, it wouldn’t matter if he’d left a door open or if Senjuro had insisted on airing his room out. Which he shouldn’t have, he said he wouldn’t. Kyojuro made him promise and Senjuro wasn’t the type to go back on his promises. Right? Yes, Kyojuro raised him better than that. If he couldn’t trust Senjuro, then who could he trust? But he also trusted his brother’s fervent desire to be helpful, and Kyojuro didn’t think he could even get angry over it. He was hardly subtle in how agitated he’d been lately, but stepping out of the house was a nightmare and he’d been away for days, he just needed to get to end this godforsaken hallway and make sure that—

“Brother?”

Kyojuro jumped so hard he flew several inches into the air.

“Senjuro!” he yelled back, mostly out of surprise, but when he turned around to see his brother poking his head around a wall, he tried to pass it off as his usual gusto.

From the look on Senjuro’s face, he guessed he hadn’t nailed it.

“Welcome home,” Senjuro replied, stepping out into the hallway. He was holding a book and his fingers curled against the cover as he debated approaching. “It’s been a while since you were gone for so long.”

“Yes, I know!” God, did he know. “Took me quite beyond my territory, but a Pillar must go where they are required. I’m home now, though!” Kyojuro didn’t feel the need to add what it took to get home as fast as he did. He was away long enough when he went on basic patrol. His mind hadn’t sat still since he left a few days ago.

Senjuro twisted the book in his hands before closing the gap between them, the furrow of his brow growing deeper with each step. “Are you sure you should be here?” he asked. Once close enough, he lifted an arm to poke at the clumsy dressing on Kyojuro’s right forearm. “Maybe you should go see Miss Kocho.”

He jerked away from Senjuro’s touch and tried to cover his antsy behaviour with a laugh. “Nonsense! I’m fine.” He wasn’t, and they both knew it. But ‘I’m fine’ never meant that anyway. “I needn’t bother her with any of this. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Then at least let me redress it,” Senjuro tried to insist. He reached to chase Kyojuro’s arm but seemed to think better of it. As much as Kyojuro would love to sit down with his brother and let him fuss over his injuries until sunset, he couldn’t just yet. Not until he knew everything was okay.

“No, really, I can handle it. It doesn’t even hurt.” That was a flagrant lie, but it was healing. It wasn’t even bleeding anymore. “Honestly, it’s nothing you need to worry ab—”

“No, Brother,” Senjuro interrupted him. “You aren’t okay, and I can’t just keep brushing it off.” He crossed his arms and levelled Kyojuro with a stony glare. “Have you looked at yourself? You look like you’re about to collapse.”

Kyojuro shook his head. He didn’t feel good putting Senjuro through this, but it was only temporary. He would fix this soon, and they could return to business as usual. “I promise you, I’m fine. Just tired.”

And he paused, letting his own words register.

Remembering what happened the last time he’d heard them.

He sighed and finally dropped the bravado, letting the exhaustion seep into his body. Still, he kept a tired smile on his face.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m not okay. I haven’t slept or eaten in over a day, actually.” He snorted at the appalled look that crossed Senjuro’s face. “I know. But really. Right now, all I need is sleep. A lot of it. And after that, you can do what you like with me.”

Senjuro narrowed his eyes, unconvinced, but eventually he nodded. “Okay. But you can’t work tonight.”

Kyojuro laughed, full of his usual spirit, and reached out to muss Senjuro’s hair. “I had no intention of doing so.”

“Good. But… are you sure I can’t help? Do you need clean bedsheets? I haven’t changed yours in a while. Or maybe something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Kyojuro wasn’t hungry. In fact, hunger was the furthest thing from his mind; his stomach was writhing with slimy worms screaming at him to make sure everything is okay. But he’d never been able to say no to that hopeful look in Senjuro’s eyes.

“Absolutely famished.”

“Alright, I’ll get some broth. I’ll prepare something more substantial after you wake up.”

And, looking a lot more like himself, Senjuro darted off to the kitchen. Kyojuro watched him, holding onto the warm pride that bubbled in his chest at the sight, before setting his jaw and turning, finally rounding the corner to his bedroom.

It was dark inside, the faint glow of midmorning sunlight seeping through the open door. The room was untouched, his haphazardly folded futon bundled in the corner and the small desk still scattered with letters.

Kyojuro took a deep breath, letting the musty stink from the room cement the feeling of being back home. He slid the door shut behind him, switched on a light, and made for the large storage closet at the back where his futon was supposed to live.

He could barely see, but sure enough, Akaza was still there, exactly as he had left him. Kyojuro bent down, holding his hand over the demon’s mouth and felt soft puffs of breath against his skin.

And he dissolved.

His legs gave out, and Kyojuro dropped to his knees with a thud. His hands bunched up in the fabric of his uniform, blunt nails scratching over his thighs.

The ooze of paranoia that had been coating his guts and clogging his throat at last receded, hiding away with the knowledge that everything was okay; nothing had happened. Akaza was alive, Senjuro was alive, and Kyojuro was home again to ensure it stayed that way. Although the idea that he could do anything like this was laughable.

Kyojuro yawned, stretching his back and appreciating the quiver of his muscles as they got their long-deserved break. He shut the closet door before rising to get changed out of his mess of a uniform.

Stripping himself of his dirty uniform and replacing it with the caress of clean laundry would have been bliss if it weren’t tainted by the waves of nausea flooding his system. He had to stop to take deep breaths, willing it away until he could concentrate on what he was doing without the threat of bile rising in his throat.

The smell of the room didn’t help. He hadn’t aired it out since he’d first brought Akaza there a few weeks ago. Combined with his renewed habitation of the space, the smell had built up fast. Maybe he should open the doors once night fell, once everyone else was asleep, and it was safe to do so.

There was a knock at the door. Kyojuro didn’t move. It took a moment for him to register the sound at all. Once he did, he rose to meet Senjuro in the hallway. Kyojuro had asked his brother not to enter of his own accord, no matter what. He hadn’t figured out a way to explain why he was so precious about his privacy suddenly, so he hadn’t given Senjuro a reason. It was a testament to Senjuro’s trust in him that he did so anyway.

The air outside was fresher and helped to clear Kyojuro’s head, mingling with the sweet scent of miso broth in Senjuro’s hands.

“It’s leftover from dinner last night. I made a lot, and it was only me eating, so…”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” Kyojuro said, cutting off Senjuro’s thought before it dived into more unpleasant territory. He lifted the bowl to his lips and had to stamp down the urge to gag as he did so. It had been a while since he was so tired that food repulsed him, but he didn’t want Senjuro to worry more than he already had.

Senjuro nodded, relief settling over his features. “I hope you sleep well. I’m happy you’re home.”

Kyojuro tilted his head, hand tightening over the bowl before he turned to put it down. He then reached forward and trapped his brother in a tight hug, earning a small yelp in return. “I’m sorry I worried you,” he said. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

Senjuro stayed limp for a moment before small arms wrapped around Kyojuro’s back. “Me too.”

Since all this had happened, Kyojuro had questioned his distance from the people he cared for. In that moment, he was reminded that he wasn’t the only one being hurt by it.

With a final squeeze, Kyojuro stood back and stumbled, catching himself by planting his hands on Senjuro’s shoulders. “I’d best get some sleep before I knock us both over,” he said with a chuckle.

Senjuro bid he sleep well again before leaving Kyojuro to hole himself back up in his room. He bent over to pick up the bowl he’d put down, lifting it back to his nose to smell it.

The nausea returned.

Kyojuro sat down and tried to make himself drink more of the soup, knowing it would be better for him in the long run. His gut felt empty and continued to grumble in protest every few minutes. Still, Kyojuro could only stomach so much before the feeling that he was about to puke grew overwhelming.

He put the bowl aside and pulled the futon from the corner, flattening it out and placing it closer to the closet than was perhaps sane. It had become a habit, setting his bed next to Akaza. That way, he could almost pretend it was normal, just two people getting some much-needed sleep.

The bedding was far from clean, but it was soft and familiar as Kyojuro settled on top of it. He didn’t climb under the covers, instead pulling his knees up to his chest and deliberating.

Eventually, he pulled the door back open and stared down at Akaza.

He reached out, letting his fingers ghost over the bend of Akaza’s collarbone, gooseflesh rising across his arms at the smooth, cold skin under his touch. He wasn’t aware of when it started, but Kyojuro did this more and more now, every night he spent by Akaza’s side. His hand inevitably sought the reassurance that he was still there, that he hadn’t yet withered away.

There was such comfort in the curve of Akaza’s flesh, the warmth of his deep, even breaths against Kyojuro’s palm, the solidity of his presence at his side. It smoothed over the panic, the concern gnawing away at him slowly. With this reminder, it was enough to let him ignore this weakness of his own. To convince himself that it was temporary, that it would blow over and everything could go back to normal.

But like a drug, it grew less and less effective every night. With each reminder of Akaza’s vulnerability, this image of an unstoppable force looking so still, he couldn’t quite believe what he told himself. It was uncanny. He knew this was Akaza, but it felt like he shouldn’t be. Like an exact sculpture of his likeness.

He couldn’t imagine the look on Akaza’s face if he knew Kyojuro could see him like this. See him as anything less than strong and all-powerful. To see his weaknesses, to see him as human. The idea might have been funny if Kyojuro wasn’t doubtful he’d get to see it.

But then, as Kyojuro was halfway to brushing a stray lock of hair from Akaza’s face, he realised that wasn’t quite right.

How many times had Kyojuro looked at Akaza and had the air sucked from his lungs at the image of a person like any other? And the longer they spent together, those moments had grown more frequent. Akaza had once been human. Kyojuro had always known, but now what had once been uncomfortable reminders of that origin were an intrinsic part of the Akaza that Kyojuro had come to know.

His startled shock as lost time caught up with him. Quiet sorrow at the prospect of grief. Patient expectation as he waited for Kyojuro to figure out how to respond to whatever outlandish thing he’d said.

The small, fond smiles he didn’t seem to be aware of. The ones Kyojuro had been too afraid to question.

But it was more than that. Kyojuro snatched his hand back as he realised his own behaviour mimicked Akaza’s. All the uninvited touches, stolen whenever he could get away with it. The invasion of his personal space, staying as close as he was allowed, that distance growing smaller and smaller each night.

Every time his façade shattered and he asked that Kyojuro return to him.

Akaza was vulnerable with him. It had never made sense; Kyojuro could never understand why Akaza would choose him to be human around. But in the end, it was precisely these vulnerabilities that Kyojuro had come to crave and cherish.

Kyojuro’s breath hitched and his eyes stung, tears rapidly blurring his vision and pooling in the socket beneath his eyepatch.

It wasn’t fair.

Akaza had let him live. Picked Kyojuro out of centuries of slayers and told him he was special, that he mattered. Told him not to die, only to turn around and topple over trying to make Kyojuro happy?

Hypocrite. What was the point in asking Kyojuro to live if he wasn’t there to greet him on his return?

Akaza was supposed to be immortal. He was supposed to return no matter what. He couldn’t have a deathbed. He couldn’t leave Kyojuro scrambling to return to his side for fear that he’d crumble to ash in his absence. 

He wasn’t allowed to die. Not yet. Not now. Not before Kyojuro could figure out what any of this meant or why it had happened. Before he could get his answers, shake them from Akaza’s lips so he could understand why a demon of all things had forced Kyojuro to allow himself to feel again.

Akaza couldn’t leave him before knowing that Kyojuro would mourn him, that he’d leave behind a hole Kyojuro had never had the courage to let anyone else fill.

Kyojuro scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand, only succeeding in smearing tears and snot everywhere. He took a shaky breath and stood to find something he could dry his face with, trying to hold down the grieving sobs that would tell Senjuro something was wrong.

He rose to unsteady feet and shuffled forward in the low light.

His foot caught on his bedsheet.

Kyojuro flailed as his feet swept from under him, reaching for something steady. He connected with his desk, hand thwacking against the wood and wrist buckling under the force. Kyojuro gasped in pain, the gash on his arm ripping back open as he crashed to the floor, a shower of things clattering around him.

Once everything was still again, he forced himself to sit up and take deep breaths, his body shuddering with each inhale. He cradled his arm in front of him, watching as the already dirty bandages started to blossom red, the dark stain quickly saturating and glittering in the lamplight.

Great, as if things couldn’t get any worse.

The silence stretched on as Kyojuro waited for the sound of footsteps, for the concerned voice of his brother in the wake of the noise, but nothing came. Senjuro must not have heard. That was one good thing, at least.

He looked around the room, wiping his face again with his good hand, sniffling loudly. His fall had made a mess of the room, unanswered letters from the corps were scattered across the floor, and his writing utensils had joined them. Thankfully his inkpot was sealed.

Then there were the various keepsakes from his fallen allies. He could only hope that none of them were broken.

Kyojuro flexed the fingers on his right hand, feeling the tender skin on his arm pull taught. It hurt like hell. It hadn’t been this bad when he sustained it. He had fresh bandages somewhere, although he might need to fetch water to wash the wound first. Blood was trickling freely down his arm and pooling in his hand. He still hadn’t improved at dressing wounds; it had been more of a blessing than he cared to admit that Akaza was so gifted at it.

He laughed mirthlessly. How much easier everything would be if Akaza were awake. He wouldn’t be here in the first place, sleep deprived, emotional, starving…

Kyojuro looked at Akaza, lifeless on the floor, and became acutely aware of his bleeding injury. Of the blood collecting in his palm. Akaza was like this because he was hungry, right? That’s what he’d said, anyway.

The idea that occurred to Kyojuro was insane.

But… he was desperate.

Instead of patching himself up, Kyojuro carefully picked his way back over to the closet and sat again by Akaza’s side. He slid closer until his knees touched Akaza’s shoulder, leaning close and trying not to drip over everything.

He reached his hand out to Akaza’s face and hesitated. He faltered, fingers curling shut as he questioned what he was doing. He didn’t even know if this would help. If there was a chance, though…

Kyojuro reached out and eased Akaza’s mouth open, gulping as he watched sharp teeth part beneath his fingers. These were teeth built for rending flesh from bone, and here Kyojuro was holding out an offering. He should have felt like a lamb throwing himself into the wolf’s jaws. But the only image he could conjure was these fangs glinting under the moonlight as Akaza grinned at him, wide and dangerous but somehow holding no threat. He could only think about never seeing that grin again.

The blood tickled from Kyojuro’s hand, down his fingers and splashed against the demon’s face. He had to hold his elbow at an awkward angle to direct the flow correctly, and all the while, his arm throbbed and begged to be tended to.

Red drops splattered Akaza’s cheeks, stained his teeth and washed across his tongue. And Kyojuro waited. He watched, expecting, hoping something would happen. After a while, he lowered his elbow and lifted the back of Akaza’s neck with his other hand, hoping gravity might do the rest of the job.

Kyojuro sat with bated breath, watching to see if Akaza’s eyelids would flutter open or if the muscles in his jaw would twitch. Something had to happen, right? Akaza was a demon. If this didn’t help, what would?

But no.

Seconds passed.

Then minutes.

Nothing.

Kyojuro sighed and sat back. He wiped the stray blood from Akaza’s face, pushing his mouth shut again, and willed away the creeping emptiness in his stomach.

He couldn’t stay like this all day. He needed sleep.

Kyojuro stood, holding his throbbing arm to his chest and moved to fetch the spare bandages. He found them in the top drawer of his dresser and took more care wrapping his arm up than he had before, first wiping away the excess blood. Washing the wound could wait until he woke up. He didn’t want to risk running into his brother, or god forbid his father, while he looked like this.

It still hurt when he was done, but it felt firm enough. He pulled at the knot he’d made, loosening it a little. How did Akaza always get it perfect the first time? Practice, he supposed, not that he could fathom on what. At the very least, it was tolerable.

He then gathered the fallen items, collecting the papers into a messy stack but taking time to arrange the mementoes as they had been before. After turning the lamp off, Kyojuro crawled under his covers and tried to get comfortable.

He stared at Akaza through the open door of the closet, waiting to see him flinch or even blink.

Still, nothing.

He turned over, burrowing further into his sheets and hoping that if he couldn’t see Akaza, he could pretend he wasn’t there. But not a minute had passed before he flipped back. Kyojuro could feel the weight of Akaza’s presence beside him, impossible to ignore.

Distance had caused him nothing but pain and conflict up to now, though. And it wasn’t like he could be any more pathetic. So, seeking the comfort he knew he shouldn’t want, Kyojuro edged closer to Akaza’s side, turning his back and letting himself be assured by the knowledge that, even if he wasn’t awake, Akaza was here. He was safe for the time being.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to let him fall asleep.

Kyojuro awoke to black.

This wasn’t unusual, his room was always dark nowadays. In a way, Kyojuro had come to find it comforting. There was an absence of the general hubbub of his neighbourhood or Senjuro’s housekeeping too, so he assumed night had fallen while he was out.

He’d abandoned his futon entirely in his sleep, and the railing of the closet door stuck into his shoulder, the tatami mats sinking under his weight on either side. Kyojuro shifted to relieve the pressure and ran his hands over his face. Exhaustion still pulled at his eyelids, but the empty ache in his stomach was at last too great to ignore. Perhaps he could stomach the broth this time, even if it would be stone cold.

Before he got up, Kyojuro turned to look where he assumed Akaza was still lying beside him. He couldn’t see much in the darkness, but he could feel the demon’s presence. To think it had once been so threatening.

Kyojuro reached out to make contact as usual, reminding himself Akaza was still there.

His fingers met the cool flesh of Akaza’s arm, brushing down across his bicep.

And he felt the muscle contract.

Kyojuro held still, breath catching in his throat.

Had he imagined it?

Was he still asleep?

He listened to the silence of the room, waiting for something, anything to—

“Urgh.”

Wide awake, Kyojuro scrambled to his knees and leaned over Akaza, trying to make out the shape of him. “Akaza?”

“Wha—” The demon started to move, an arm raising, his whole torso shifting like an ancient engine slowly being revived. “Kyojuro?” he asked, voice raspy from disuse. “Why are you… where are we?”

Kyojuro didn’t bother answering. He pulled back to switch on a light, squinting as it flared to life. As he adjusted to the brightness, the first thing he saw was Akaza pushing himself upright.

His hair stuck up at weird angles from where he’d been lying on the floor. Akaza’s face screwed up against the light, rubbing his hand at bleary eyes.

He looked dishevelled and tired and grumpy.

And awake.

Kyojuro had to choke back a sob, hand flying to cover his mouth.

“Whoa, hey,” Akaza said, startled. “What’s wro—” He was cut off by a grunt as Kyojuro slammed into him, clamping his arms around Akaza’s neck and burying his face in his shoulder.

He tried to control his breathing, blinking back tears as he kept the overpowering emotion at bay.

Akaza sat under him, ramrod straight, hands hanging limp in the air as he tried to figure out what to do with them. Eventually, they landed on Kyojuro’s back, one running tentatively up and down his spine as if Akaza thought he would blow up at the wrong move. Kyojuro clung tighter, clenching his jaw and waiting until he felt he wouldn’t crumple into another mess.

“You’re alive,” he said once he was confident he could utter something intelligible.

“I— huh?” Akaza’s hand stopped moving. “That was in question?”

“I don’t know!” Kyojuro shook his head, feeling the fabric of Akaza’s vest scrub across his forehead. “What was I supposed to think? You just collapsed.”

“I did?”

Kyojuro sat back, resting on his knees and drinking in the sight of Akaza being conscious. The demon was dumbstruck, jaw hanging open, and Kyojuro couldn’t stop the smile from pulling at his mouth nor the quiet laugh that came with it. Not that he wanted to. He reached forward to cup Akaza’s face in his hands, revelling in the movement of muscle beneath them.

“But now you’re awake.”

Akaza’s jaw fell slack. “Yeah, I guess I am.” His lips quirked up, matching Kyojuro’s. “I didn’t think you’d care so much.”

“Of course, I cared.” Kyojuro scoffed. “You passed out. What kind of demon just passes out? In front of a Pillar!” He pulled back again, feeling himself grow hysterical. “I didn’t know what was going on, if you were in danger or— or dying. And then you didn’t wake up. I mean, what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just leave you there. I didn’t know how long this was going to last. I didn’t even know this could happen to demons.”

Akaza scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, me neither. But I don’t know what I would have done if I did.”

With a reminder that this happened because of what Akaza had done to himself, Kyojuro’s face finally dropped into a scowl. “What the heck were you thinking, anyway?”

Akaza blinked. “Eh?”

“This is all your fault. What did you think would happen if you starved yourself?” He folded his arms across his chest. “Do you know how scared I was? I had no idea what to do, if I could do anything. I’ve been keeping you in my bedroom, without telling my brother, and I didn’t know if you’d ever wake up.” Kyojuro’s fingers dug into his arms, clutching at the thin fabric of his kimono.

“And what would have happened if I wasn’t there? You were completely defenceless. What if you’d passed out in the middle of a field? You would have just crumbled to nothing. I’d never see you again and never know why—” Kyojuro’s voice cracked and he stopped. He took a deep breath before forcing the tension from his arms.

He must have looked pathetic, and Kyojuro was acutely aware that he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch, feeling even more vulnerable than usual. He sniffled and wiped roughly at his eye.

But Akaza’s only reaction was to cock his head to the side, a look of innocent confusion on his face. “You already know why I did it, Kyojuro. I did it for you.”

And there it was. That same infuriating answer.

“But why?”

“Because you said it would make you happy. That if I did, you’d smile at me.” Akaza broke back into a smile of his own. “And now you do. Well, not right this second, but you were a moment ago.”

“B-but…” How could Akaza talk about all of this as if it were so obvious? How could that be all that mattered to him? And why… “Why me? Of all people?”

Akaza just looked more confused. “Why not you?”

Kyojuro gaped. “Because… because! How long have you lived? How many people have you killed? And you choose to spare me?” Kyojuro gestured down at himself, movements erratic. “You trail me around all night. You want me to be happy and alive and whatever. I don’t get it. What makes me different? I’m just some worthless human. I’m not all these wonderful things you seem to think I am. I’m not talented or chosen or perfect. I can’t do anything right. I’m a joke of a slayer. I’m only alive right now because you let me live! So why do you insist I’m worth any of this?”

A quiet blanketed the room, the only sound was Kyojuro’s ragged breath as he sat and watched Akaza’s stunned expression. He held firm, meeting the demon’s gaze and steeling himself for the moment Akaza would realise he was right.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, Kyojuro watched as a look of utter heartbreak spread across Akaza’s face.

“…Do you really believe that about yourself?”

Kyojuro opened his mouth to reply, but closed it. He couldn’t say anything to that.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Akaza said, leaning forward. “You aren’t worthless. You’re incredible. You have strength and skill equal to mine, and sometimes I wonder how something as beautiful as you can exist. And you’re loyal, so committed to your morals that you’re almost pig-headed. And—”

Kyojuro gulped and tried to draw back, shaking his head. But Akaza grabbed his chin, holding him still.

“Stop it. You refusing to acknowledge your brilliance won’t make me wrong.” Akaza’s brow furrowed, eyes glinting with earnest determination. “I let you live because I could tell just by looking at you that you were worth moving the earth for. Your spirit burns with a willpower I’ve never seen before, and I couldn’t help wanting to see it burn brighter. So bright I can’t even look at it.

“Anything I have done that made you happy has been worth it, and I will keep doing whatever it takes to keep you that way.”

It was too much. Kyojuro shoved Akaza away from him and stumbled back over his futon. “No, I’m not—” His hands bunched in the bedsheets beneath him. “I’m not special. There are tens of thousands of people just like me. Better than me. People worth so much more than me die all the time, but I’m still here? Why do I get to see another day? Why should I get to live?”

“Because I want you to.”

Kyojuro froze.

“Humans die. It happens. Strong, weak, you all go eventually. But I want you to live, because you are special. You’re special to me. So, if you need a reason, isn’t that enough?”

Again, words failed him. The way Akaza could just say these things knocked the air from Kyojuro’s lungs, left him scrambling for some sort of response.

The silence stretched as Akaza waited for Kyojuro to say something, until he realised nothing was coming. He huffed and shifted, crossing his legs under him, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“Okay, how about this. Why did you spare me?”

Kyojuro didn’t answer. He didn’t even move. So Akaza elaborated.

“You’re a Pillar, Kyojuro. Surely, you’ve killed dozens, if not hundreds of demons before. So why, when you had a demon at your mercy, an upper moon even, did you let me live?”

He’d been grappling with this answer since he’d made the decision. And really, it came down to one thing.

“Because… I didn’t want you to die.” He felt foolish just saying it, and his face started to sear red at the smug grin that sprang to Akaza’s mouth. “I didn’t want to lose you, even if it was wrong.”

Akaza reached forward and clasped Kyojuro’s hands in his own, tugging him closer. “Exactly.” He ran his thumb over Kyojuro’s knuckles, tracing the rise and fall of his skin. And by now, Kyojuro couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty for enjoying how it felt. “And why me, over every other demon? What makes me different?”

“That I couldn’t kill you.”

The demon laughed, loud and genuine. “True, but y’know. More than that?”

Kyojuro scowled. Now Akaza was just fishing for compliments. But, in truth, Akaza was different, at least in Kyojuro’s life.

He’d never had someone he could count on to always be there, no one he felt safe placing that burden on. Akaza was safe; losing him had never felt like a possibility. Until now, anyway.

And then there was this. Akaza made Kyojuro feel like he was worth something. Being with him made Kyojuro feel strong and worthwhile. Like he was enough, he didn’t need to be something better to justify his space in the world. Akaza believed all of this and, somehow, that meant Kyojuro could too.

He knew his peers would never understand, it wasn’t something he could explain. At least not well. And maybe that was the point Akaza was trying to make.

At last, Kyojuro slumped, looking down at their entwined hands. 

He was trying to turn something simple into something more complicated than it had to be. Searching for answers that didn’t exist, didn’t need to exist, the space he wanted them to occupy controlling his life. Maybe he was all the things Akaza believed he was, and maybe he was none of them. But did that matter?

Fighting this, questioning why he was cared about, why someone would look at him and want him to live, was pointless. He didn’t need to understand all of this.

Someone cared about him; they wanted him to see him happy. A lot of people did, actually. And Akaza was right. If that wasn’t enough, what would be?

Kyojuro felt a smile finally tug at his lips, a weak one, but it was real.

“The difference is that you’re the only demon that makes me happy.” He chuckled as Akaza’s face dusted red. “And it isn’t that strange to want to take care of something that makes me happy.”

“No, it isn’t,” Akaza agreed. He then tugged on Kyojuro’s hand until his bandaged arm hung between them. It looked worse now than it did when he was sleep deprived. “Although I wish you’d take care of yourself, too.”

“I do look after myself.”

As if to rub it in, that was when his stomach chose to loudly protest its emptiness.

Akaza raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare try and lecture me about my eating habits.”

The demon snickered, pulling Kyojuro’s hand closer until the stained fabric brushed against his cheek. “Let me fix this up,” he said, poking at the now loose dressing, “and I won’t say a word.”

Kyojuro didn’t reply, instead bending his wrist until his fingers could thread through the choppy hair behind Akaza’s ear. Despite his own behaviour, Akaza startled at the touch, eyes widening. Kyojuro laughed and pulled his arm free, letting his hand trail down the demon’s neck as he did, delighting in the gulp he felt under his touch.

“I’ll go get the bandages.”

“It is brisk,” Akaza said, throwing the doors open and jumping into the garden.

Kyojuro trailed behind and had to agree. His room hadn’t been warm, but the early morning was frigid, and as he stepped down onto the gravel, the fresh frost crunched under his sandals.

Impervious to the cold, Akaza stretched in the fresh air, reaching his arms up and twisting his spine to a point where Kyojuro would be worried if he wasn’t dealing with an immortal demon.

Except… he didn’t feel quite so immortal anymore.

Akaza hadn’t been the only hungry one, as he had to restrain himself not to point out while he forced Kyojuro to finish his cold soup. But solving Kyojuro’s hunger was much easier than figuring out how to keep Akaza from collapsing again.

As it stood, they just didn’t know what to do. Kyojuro wasn’t about to open himself up as a drive-by blood bank. And Akaza wasn’t like Nezuko; he didn’t have the luxury of sleeping all day, knowing he was safe. Kyojuro could hardly keep him in his room forever. Besides, who knew how Kibutsuji would react if he knew that Akaza was starving himself; Akaza had been reluctant to say anything on the matter.

Kyojuro chewed on his lip as he watched, pulling his thin clothes tighter around himself.

Really, he didn’t know what would happen from there at all. He had Akaza back, but it was hard to figure out what that meant.

For the time being though, watching Akaza relish the night air and complain about how stiff his back felt was enough. He was awake now, and until a few hours ago Kyojuro hadn’t known if he’d even see that again.

This would all be more enjoyable if it weren’t for the impending sunrise.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Kyojuro asked. As many times as Akaza insisted he would be fine, the last time he’d been told that, this happened. “You’re not still tired?”

Akaza rolled his eyes, but his expression didn’t dampen. “Do I look tired?” he asked, throwing his arms out and gesturing to himself. “I haven’t felt this awake in months. Y’know, when I come back, we should fight again. It’s been forever.”

Kyojuro’s fingers tightened around his kimono, the cloth straining under the force.

When I come back.

He said it like it was a certainty.

And Kyojuro hated that it had stopped being one.

Hearing those words once again felt like the touch of death was wrapping around his shoulder, reminding him of everything he had to lose. Of the fragility of life, the risk of caring. The security of knowing Akaza would return was apparently a luxury reserved for a version of him that didn’t want him to come back.

But caring was risk.

Death hung over everything and threatened to take it away in an instant. And Kyojuro had tried to strip it of that power by being ready for it. Never letting himself expect a return, never looking forward to the next time. You can’t dash a hope that never existed.

Now, though, he’d tasted that anticipation. He’d allowed himself to want, and it seemed such a tragic thing to let that feeling go.

He wondered how Akaza dealt with all this. Kyojuro has human. He was mortal. It took much less than a sword and a skilled wielder to take him out.

And then, as if answering his thoughts, Akaza assumed that ever-so-familiar gravitas, a blank but meaningful air. He dealt with it the only way he could. He hoped. And he trusted that Kyojuro would try to see another day. That he’d try to live.

Because Akaza wanted him to live.

And that was more than enough of a reason.

Akaza opened his mouth to speak, but Kyojuro interrupted him. “Wait.”

Kyojuro wanted to trust Akaza to come back too. Trust that he would try.

So he shook the grasp from his shoulder and stepped forward.

Akaza’s eyebrows rose, watching Kyojuro’s approach until they were standing toe to toe. He looked up slightly to meet Kyojuro’s gaze, waiting for whatever came next. “Yes?”

Kyojuro hesitated and looked down at Akaza’s expectant expression, at the sharp slant of his nose, the flutter of heavy eyelashes, and the bizarre marks staining his skin. And Kyojuro wanted to see it again. And he needed Akaza to know that.

So Kyojuro kissed him.

It was brief and rough, Kyojuro’s hand lifting to Akaza’s neck only to tug him close enough.

Then he pulled back and said, “Don’t die, Akaza.”

The demon was rooted to the spot, jaw hanging open as he let what happened dawn on him. It lasted long enough that Kyojuro began to doubt whether it had been the right thing to do. But before he got much further than that, there were hands in his hair and a mouth on his and Kyojuro was melting under the touch.

It was needy and a little desperate, but it was also warm and happy. Kyojuro could feel Akaza’s smile against his lips.

There was cold when they parted but also the cool comfort of hands against his neck, and the solidity of Akaza’s waist under his palms.

Akaza pulled until their foreheads met, looked at him with eyes that crinkled under the force of his grin, and he said the only two words Kyojuro could ever need to hear.

“I won’t.”