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Inosuke Hashibira was brash, an energetic moron that put action and adventure before thought. His intuition guided him towards danger, brandishing a cry of war before bowling himself into an army of foes. His mindless attitude gave him a large temper and an aggravating volume for his vocal cords, a frown constantly destroying his feminine features whenever his odd boar mask was absent from his head. Surprisingly he had little scars tattooing his exposed chest, in spite of all the constant needs there were to cure the injuries earned with each selfless and selfish deed.
At the moment, the Demon Slayer’s condition was because of his expected idiocy, his previous training brawl with Tanjiro and Zenitsu earning him another collapse against the ground.
When Aoi had been approached by Tanjiro the redhead was practically in guilty tears, such a caring man, contradictory to his temperamental and cowardly comrades. He said that Inosuke had grown too overconfident and ended their playtime session with his eyeballs rolling back into his skull, a fair outcome to a fairly harsh blow against his forehead. Again.
Zenitsu had been snorting, though the large bruise swelling his left eyelid made him much more of a clown. Without any more comments Aoi had reassured them of her care, and finished up with laundry duties before approaching Inosuke’s lax body as it lay back in the infirmary.
Respectfully the pair had left his mask over his head, and tucked him under the cool blankets, only exposing his neck and the perspiration shining off his collar bones. With an eye roll, Aoi joined the bedside, pulling a chair next to his bed and pulling it closer. His body emanated the scent of his bitter sweat, and she could see the stain on the blanket from where it connected to his armpits. His breathing was steady, his arms at his sides beneath the covers, his chest rising and falling without much haste, already confirming his safer condition.
According to Tanjiro, the blow was on his forehead, but Aoi was somewhat hesitant on sliding off the wild man’s mask without his consent. But at the same time, her drive for accomplishing her task just brought her to comply. She wanted to retain a more dependable reputation after all, more so with her own cowardice continuing to haunt her.
She carefully maneuvered herself until she was cupping the furry head, ready to pull off the mask in a gentler means to maintain his urge to rest. But just as she started lifting it he stirred, a grunt muffled by his mask breaking free as his hand sailed to his chest. Aoi slammed her teeth to her bottom lip as air tempted to spit out from her lungs, and she tensed up, numbing her grip on his mask.
But Inosuke stayed quiet, instead began to snore louder as his body melted against the cushions again.
Internally she sighed in relief. Then Aoi began moving again, carefully adjusting his mask until his blue split ends brushed against her wrists. The outline of his jawline almost kissed the fabric of her sleeves, and Aoi had to rearrange her hold in order to prevent connection.
Then he acted again, and this time, he moved with a growl.
Aoi stifled a yelp as his hand snapped and slammed its grip around one of her hands, and he tugged her downwards towards him. She let a croak slip past her lips as she tried keeping her chest away from his, but she anticipated the Demon Slayer’s angry, accusatory shouts ready to bust her eardrums in the next second. She wrinkled her nose, prepared to suffer through his inevitable, expected rage.
It didn’t come.
He still snored. He was still asleep.
Awed, Aoi blinked, allowing for her panic to calm itself. His fingers against her wrist were still packed with iron strength, and she knew there was no wiggling it out from him. Her other hand carried her weight at the other end of the mattress, at the other side of his body. Her legs slanted against the edge of the bed, only one of her feet stuck to the floor as the other fought to keep her balance. She sucked in air, unsure of her next move.
She was trapped, aware that any option for movement would wake him up either way. Tugging her wrist away from his hand would only lead his habits to pummel her, and allowing her body to crash against him would only wake him up to the assumption of an ambush. She was likely going to have to fight back if he ever did try attacking her, or wait until anyone else inside the Butterfly Mansion was going to pass by and notice her predicament.
She wanted to groan in absolute exasperation. Why did it have to be Inosuke injured again?
Then he stirred once more, and this time Aoi was ready for action. He yanked her hand with a moan, and she clenched her teeth as she stumbled towards him. At this point his arm was diagonal against his opposite shoulder, and her face rested just under his. From the movement his mask had started removing itself thankfully, and she could see a hint of his longer lashes as the muscles around his eyes discreetly twitched. His mouth was pressed. Whatever he was dreaming about, it had an unnerving tension to it.
Then his other hand rose, cupping her arm and pinning her. Even she was beginning to grow anxious the closer she got to his face, and the temptation to just break away harshly, rush to the door, and slam it shut in his face was beginning to fuel her adrenaline. She would help cure his bruise when he was aware of his own physical issue, which was still a product of his own misjudgment anyway. Then he’d have to be obedient, whether he likes it or not.
His hold on her slackened, and for once since she ever encountered him, a gentleness traced his fingers as they hugged against her skin. It was almost alien how this was, how somebody who built his exterior over braindead superiority could wind up like…this.
“Who…are you?” he whispered, his tone hoarse, but it was unbelievably pure, drenched with a distant, melancholic curiosity that left his voice innocent and docile.
It shocked her. Inosuke was only once ever depressed, and it left him as a scratchy-sounding, limp, broken boy who just lay silently on his bed. But over time his energy filtered back into his system, and all his silent reflections were reduced into ashes as new flames burned his troublemaking veins. And yet as he lay here, with conflict crossing his peaceful outline, she sensed that perhaps there was more to the wild Demon Slayer than she might’ve anticipated. Maybe he really did just wear a mask to occupy whatever puzzle brewed inside that thick skull of his, but for now she could only let her enigmatic knowledge take the best of her.
His nostrils enlarged, and his mouth peeled for a breathy sigh, and then his emerald attention revealed itself before resting on her, before leaving his face nonchalant. And to add to her surprise, he didn’t fight her, nor did he unleash a mighty yell that would send her flying to the other end of the room. Instead, a faint frown ruined his brow, and his grip on her almost loosened entirely.
“…What are you doing?” he grumbled.
First, she blinked. Then, she let her own glower ink her expression, overtake any surprise she gained from the experience. “Your friends said you got injured during training. I just came here to check on you. Tch.” She let herself pause as she finally pulled herself free from him, in which he wordlessly permitted without any further reaction. As she straightened up and rearranged her uniform, she let her timbre gain a small softness when talking again. “Did you dream?”
He shoved the blanket off his chest. “I don’t remember,” he stated with finality, sitting up and pulling the boar off his head. He glared at her as the huge, red bump exposed itself beneath his matted bangs. “If you’re going to look at Gonpachiro’s headbutt bruise just do it now. This is super lame.”
Her irritation fizzled inside her, but she swallowed it in order to maintain composure as she stepped towards him.
She had only begun studying his lump before he murmured, “If I said anything weird, it’s nothing. Got it?” It was a hard command, and a threat lay within his syllables. There was a hinted, barely existing flash of embarrassment that flickered in his eyes before he looked towards the door, starting to pile up with his noisy, worried friends and the three young sweethearts of the Butterfly Mansion.
Lowly, she made sure only Inosuke would understand her. “Yes.”
As the rest of them caught up with them, there was a ghost of gratitude that nearly pulled his lips to an invisible smile, only replaced by his anger as he bombarded Tanjiro and Zenitsu with his normal, rageful complaints. Still, Aoi held this moment with a grain of salt. She had a feeling that whatever this interaction was may end up being the catalyst for something larger in the future, and she and Inosuke had to be prepared.