Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Hey! Where the hell is Muzan?”

This wasn’t the first time that this question echoed through the halls of the house, and it was undoubtedly not going to be the last. It wasn’t unusual for them to lose track of the owner of their home, despite his bold and demanding presence, and his absence tended to manifest itself at the most inconvenient of times. Whether in mercy or malice, he had a nasty tendency of vanishing exactly when he was needed.

When Gyutaro turned the corner to peek into the living room with sweat beading on his forehead, Akaza was sure that this was no different. 

Before he could offer a response or follow the flash of intrigue that came with the expression on his friend’s face, Doma chimed in. 

“He’s at the library,” he replied easily, not glancing away from his phone. He rested his head against one arm of the couch, his feet propped up on the other, and his thumbs flew across the keyboard with effortless speed. Despite his quick answer, Akaza knew better than to believe it was Muzan he was messaging with such enthusiasm. 

Gyutaro groaned. “ Still ? Does he think that he’s going to find the answers to all of life’s problems stuck in a book at-- what time is it?”

“About midnight,” Doma answered. He shifted, tucking his knees in and rolling onto his side, giving Akaza a glimpse of his screen as he did so. The flash of skin he saw had him quickly averting his gaze, equally out of respect for the girl on the other end as irritation at his friend’s antics. 

Of course Doma would be soliciting those kinds of pictures while they were searching for Muzan. Of course . 

Ignoring his friend’s perversions, Akaza gave Gyutaro a sympathetic half-shrug. “You know how he is. He’s gonna work himself until he passes out and one of us is gonna have to go pick him up so the librarians don’t get on his case in the morning.” 

It had become something of a routine by then. Whether it was the library or the lab, when Muzan dedicated himself to research for the night, he rarely ever returned of his own accord. He had a passion for it-- a drive that he easily lost himself to-- and Akaza could count on one hand the number of times he’d returned home voluntarily afterward. More often than not, one of the remaining housemates had to venture out in the middle of the night to track him down and carry him back to his own bed, only to start the cycle over again at his next whim. 

It had become a far more frequent occurrence lately than when they had first moved in together, but when he thought of the trash cans filled with bloody tissues and the seemingly endless supply of empty medication bottles, he couldn’t find the heart to blame him. 

Neither could Gyutaro, if the resigned sigh said anything. There was still anxiety etched deep into his face, but surrender in his eyes as the elephant in the room loomed over them. “You’ve got a point. Damn it…” 

“I’ll go get him in an hour or two.” Doma gave a light wave of his hand, dismissing their concerns. “You know that if we show up too early, he’ll get annoyed.”

It was true; the last time Akaza had been unfortunate enough to arrive while Muzan was still conscious, he’d been chastised for rushing his research and forced to do titrations . He didn’t even understand what the hell titrations were , but the results he’d gotten hadn’t pleased his friend. Who knew that there were such distinct interpretations of different shades of pink!? 

Gyutaro rubbed a hand over his face. “He’s gonna be annoyed, anyway,” he lamented. “Ume and Rui got into his makeup and it’s… not pretty.” 

Ah. So that was the issue that had him sweating bullets. Understandably so, too. The products that Muzan used were of high quality, professional grade, and priced to reflect that. He didn’t do his face often in an effort to draw their lives out as much as possible, saving it for special occasions and taking exceptional care of each one in the interim. 

The whims of a couple of children who didn’t know how to handle adult makeup and had no qualms about using it recklessly hardly constituted a special occasion . 

“ Oh ?” Doma perked up. Finally, he put his phone aside and sat up, eyes shining with a grating amalgamation of intrigue and amusement. The scandal was more interesting than whatever girl he was flirting with, it seemed. “How did they manage something like that? Especially with you watching them.”

Gyutaro put his hands up in exasperation. “They’re thirteen! I didn’t think they needed to be babysat, much less told not to go into Muzan’s fancy makeup !”

“You obviously thought wrong.” Doma swung his legs over the couch and popped up to his feet, clapping his hands together with a grin. “Well then! Let’s take a look at the damage, shall we? Where are the little troublemakers? How bad is it? How broke are you gonna be once he finds out and makes you cough up the cash for it?”

Gyutaro blanched at the questions and Akaza’s heart went out to him. It was cruel to remind him of the impending consequences, but he wasn't wrong . If the makeup was in rough enough shape, then Muzan’s displeasure would compound upon his frustration and exhaustion and he’d be backed into a corner. They all knew that the poor guy couldn’t afford to replace it all right away, so it would hang over him until he finally paid it off; not only that, but he would be actively and loudly moping about it the entire time. 

Pursing his lips, Akaza got to his feet as well. “I’m sure it can’t be that bad. They’re not babies. It’ll probably be an easy fix and he won’t even notice.” Not that he knew much about fixing damaged makeup, but, really, how difficult could it be? There were internet tutorials if common sense failed. 

Then again, internet tutorials were probably what had gotten them damaged in the first place… 

“Guess you’ll have to come see for yourself,” Gyutaro replied, voice on the verge of cracking. The guy always sounded so stressed out (not without reason), but it was especially apparent in that moment. 

He led the two of them through the house and back towards the master bathroom, where Muzan kept his belongings. Even before they saw the damage, two young voices carried out into the hall to paint a picture for them. 

"Hold still! I can't get a clean line if you keep squirming like that!'

"I can't help it! It feels like you're gonna poke my eye out!"

"Don't be such a baby! And quit scrunching your face up!"

When they stopped at the entryway to the bathroom, the scene was about what Akaza had expected. Numerous products were scattered across the countertop and floor, some left open and many much messier than Muzan would have dared to leave them. Ume’s phone was resting on the floor, paused on a beauty tutorial. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub was Rui, whose eyes were squeezed shut to defend against the advances of a (much too sharp) eyeliner pencil. Alas, Ume held his face firmly in place, leaving no room to escape. 

Internally, Akaza winced. No wonder the poor guy was squirming. She did look like she was about to poke his eye out. 

“Hey now!” Gyutaro rushed over and carefully pulled his sister’s arm back, creating space between Rui’s eye and the sharpened stake. “I don’t think you’re supposed to use it like a dagger, you know? It’s dangerous, and it’s gotta hurt to have his eye jabbed like that. Don’t you think before you do things?”

“I wasn’t hurting him!” Ume protested, lips pursing into a frown as she pulled her arm free. Fortunately, she heeded her brother’s warning (or at least had the sense not to try again right in front of him) and didn’t return to her previous task. Rui’s relief as he opened his eyes was palpable. “The pencil has to be this sharp to get thin, clean lines! I saw it!”

“On the internet?” Akaza asked unnecessarily; the paused video up on her phone was confirmation enough.

Ume threw him a look over her shoulder. “So what if it was?” 

In other words: yes . 

Akaza sighed. “You know, if you want to learn how to use makeup that badly, you could just ask Muzan to show you.”

“Or me!” Doma chimed in, looking much more pleased than the situation warranted. “I would love to teach you how to doll yourself up. You’ll be drawing all the boys’ eyes by the time we’re done!”

Gyutaro’s lip curled as he fixed Doma with a look of pure disgust, but Ume spoke up before he could say anything to put him back in his place. 

“All of your makeup looks like costume makeup-” Ouch . “-and Muzan’s never around anymore, anyway, so when am I supposed to ask him for help?”

“That doesn’t mean that you can run around using his stuff without permission,” Gyutaro scolded. “Come on, you know how expensive this stuff is…” 

“So?” She looked back at her brother, frown deepening. “It’s not like he ever uses it. He only ever does his face when there’s some presentation or whatever for his research. He doesn’t go on dates or anything.”

“You know why he doesn’t date, Ume!” 

She winced at the explanation, and a heavy weight settled across all of their shoulders in a moment of silent reflection.

Yes, they all were very well aware of why Muzan refused to date, even when he was easily the most eligible of them all. Between his naturally dashing appearance that toed the line between handsome and delicate, his cultivated charisma, and his family’s fortune, he could easily land a partner if he so chose. No one there doubted that. Unfortunately, there was one thing holding him back, and it was the elephant in the room every time someone so much as brushed upon the topic. 

The prognosis.

None of them liked thinking about it, Muzan least of all, preferring to go about their days pretending that their friend wasn’t constantly walking a tightrope between life and death. It wasn’t possible to ignore entirely, however; it manifested itself throughout the house in the ghosts that illness left behind. They ran through tissues and painkillers faster than any household should, the freezer was stocked with lazy meals reserved for when he didn’t have the strength to cook, and the harrowing sound of lungs trying to hack up their own life force acted as their morning alarm. The countless medications he took helped to numb the pain and manage the worst symptoms, but even the most potent of drugs weren’t enough to wash away the lingering reminders that Muzan was sick. 

No, that Muzan… probably wouldn’t live to see the next year; wouldn’t hit twenty without a miracle. 

Such a reminder was enough to sober even Doma into silence, if only for a moment. 

Rui was the one who broke through the suffocating weight by placing a hand gently on Ume’s arm. “Come on. Let’s clean up.”

Ume pouted, though her upset was far less severe than when the adults had been admonishing her. “But your eyeliner…”

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “What you did already looks good. You can practice with the eyeliner again later.” He gestured to his face with a reassuring smile, but the urgency in his eyes was apparent to those who looked. Letting her back near his eyes with that dagger was the last thing he wanted, and what better way to avoid it than to praise her efforts and call it a night? 

Clever kid. 

And, honestly, overreach aside, what she had done to Rui’s face really wasn’t half bad. She needed practice, clearly, but it didn’t look terrible . It was a decent job for an amateur like herself. If nothing else, it was better than anything the boy could have done on his own. 

After studying Rui’s face for a moment, Ume’s displeased expression slowly softened into a warmer one. “It did turn out pretty good, huh? You actually look somewhat pretty now,” she hummed. “Alright. Fine. Let’s get this cleaned up.”

“And please try to do a good job,” Gyutaro insisted. “Maybe then he won’t realize you were messing with it.” And then he wouldn’t have to pay to replace them… 

Deciding that he’d seen what needed to be seen (and knowing that he’d be no help in the cleanup aspect), Akaza retreated back to the living room to return to his important task of scrolling mindlessly through social media. 

There were still a few hours left before someone would have to go and retrieve Muzan from the library. He might as well take advantage of the remaining calm to relax before things got noisy . 

It was only one in the morning when there was a knock on the door. 

Doma had joined him in the living room almost immediately after he’d left-- “I’m not going to be much help with fixing fancy makeup like that.” -- and Gyutaro had followed suit about twenty minutes later, satisfied that the kids were cleaning the makeup they’d tampered with efficiently. They sat in silence, for the most part, each of them captivated by their own devices. As Akaza entertained himself with random pictures and articles that caught his interest, he was sure that Doma was soliciting more obscene pictures from poor women who thought they stood a chance and Gyutaro was researching exactly how much he’d owe if Muzan was dissatisfied with the kids’ cleaning job. There was nothing to say, and nothing to do except wait. 

Even though Doma had stated that he would be the one to venture out and pick up Muzan when the time came, it was more of a pleasantry than anything. Ultimately, it would come down to whichever one of them grew bored of this waiting game first and chose going out in the middle of the night over numbing his mind. 

Sometimes, Kokushibo would come out of his room and volunteer to do it for them. Those were Akaza’s favorite nights-- not out of any distaste for his friend, but it was exhausting to track him down in the middle of the night--  but as the clock ticked on, he doubted this would be one of them. 

But then there was a knock on the door, and it came much earlier than anyone had even considered leaving. 

The three men looked at one another, each of them carrying the same unspoken question of who? When none of them leaped to give an explanation or answer the door, it became apparent that none of them were expecting visitors at that hour. 

Akaza’s brow furrowed slightly as he distantly wondered if this was their first paranormal experience in the (supposedly haunted) house, but a second set of knocks on the door brought him back to reality. He rose to his feet and went to the door, his guard building up as he walked. Anyone could be there, waiting for him to answer, and it didn’t necessarily have to be someone kind. 

Could it be someone who finally connected the dots between Akaza’s past and his new life? Had someone leaked Ume’s picture online again and this was someone coming to threaten her? Did one of the cultists finally succeed in tracking Doma down? 

Of course, there was an equal chance that it was someone benevolent; Ubuyashiki Kagaya coming to check up on them, for example. The man was endlessly kind, but he couldn’t fathom a reason why he would be visiting them at such a late hour. 

It was better to be prepared for the worst. The last time Akaza had let his guard down…

“ Ah! Hello!”

The man who greeted Akaza on the other side of the door was someone that he had never seen before; he was sure that he would remember meeting someone with such distinct features. His eyes were a striking blue and his chin-length dark hair turned pink at the ends, save for two little blue tassels that rested on his shoulders. He was pale-- nearly as pale as Muzan-- and wore a smile that didn’t seem quite happy , but strained.

It took the man shifting something in his arms for him to realize why that was. 

His arms were looped around someone’s legs, holding them up, and a set of limp arms dangled down his front. Tucked into the crook of his neck was the person’s face, and while it was mostly hidden, one look at the accompanying black curls gave Akaza everything he needed to identify him. 

Muzan . 

Before anyone had the sense to go and collect him, he’d found his way home unconscious on a stranger’s back. He must only be a stranger to Akaza, though; there was no way that Muzan would drop his guard enough to sleep around someone he didn’t fully trust, much less let them carry him in such an embarrassing fashion. 

Unless he was hurt…? 

No. If he’d been hurt, then he would have been taken to the hospital rather than carried home, yes? This had to be a friend of Muzan’s they had yet to meet, which was… odd. Akaza didn’t realize he had friends outside of them. He never spoke of anyone else. 

The man’s tense smile wavered slightly. “Do you mind letting us in? He’s not as light as he looks…” 

Recovering his senses, Akaza nodded and stepped aside, allowing the strange man entry and shutting the door behind him. 

“ Who is it? ” Gyutaro called from the living room. 

“Good question,” Akaza replied, still unsure what to make of the man carrying their friend. “But Muzan’s home.” 

“ Huh!?”

“Muzan’s home!”

“And Muzan’s heavy ,” the man reminded, adjusting his grip on Muzan’s thighs once again. “Is there somewhere I could set him down? I’d hate to wake him from whatever lovely dream he’s having.”

Oh. Right. A part of Akaza was reluctant to allow a stranger further into the house, much less into Muzan’s room, but he’d already mentally established that this must be someone that Muzan trusted. Nothing else made sense. So it was okay to trust him, too, wasn’t it? The only other options were to try and take his friend and carry him on his own, which risked him getting jostled and waking up, or having him deposited on the couch, where Doma was doubtlessly still lounging. Not wanting to deal with the headache of being scolded or whined at, taking the man to Muzan’s bedroom was the most sensible choice. 

“Yeah. Follow me this way.” Akaza gestured to him before walking deeper into the house, guiding him towards the master bedroom. When they walked past the living room, he felt two pairs of eyes on them and heard a ‘ Whoa, hold on!’ and ‘Who’s that!?’ , but didn’t stop to acknowledge them. 

If they were so damn curious, they could’ve gotten the door themselves. 

He guided the man to Muzan’s bed, pointedly ignoring any existing clue to his condition in the hopes that the stranger wouldn’t notice. Muzan wasn’t especially forthcoming about his ailments, so he doubted that he’d shared that private piece of his life with someone whose name they’d never heard. Akaza kept him distracted by helping him ease his friend down onto his bed, exercising great caution to avoid waking him. 

He had no idea how to explain any of this to Muzan if he woke up grumpy and confused. It was best to let him sleep.

Once Muzan was resting comfortably on his back, the man who had been carrying him rolled the strain out of his shoulders and Akaza took a step back. He expected their visitor to do the same, allowing him to segue into leading him back into the living room and learning more about who , exactly, he was , only to find that the man had gotten closer to his sleeping friend instead.

Akaza’s defenses went up as he saw him reach out, his hand nearly touching Muzan’s cheek, still flushed from being wedged into his neck. 

“He’s such a deep sleeper. He didn’t wake up once while I walked him home. I hope whatever dream he’s having is wonderful,” the man hummed, gently brushing away a stray curl that had fallen into Muzan’s face. He let it fall off to the side and smiled softly, those blue eyes holding some of the most potent adoration that Akaza had ever seen. 

Oh. Oh no . 

Akaza could see the reality of the situation unfolding right before his eyes, and all it did was beg more questions. Muzan would never date someone; he had made that explicitly clear long ago. His reasoning was solid, and none of them thought to push the matter (none of them with sense , at least). Muzan did not date. They were lucky that Muzan permitted himself to have friends . 

Obviously, this man hadn’t gotten the memo judging by the hearts all but floating in his eyes. 

Was Akaza going to have to be the one to break it to him…?

He cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing the man’s attention away from Muzan’s sleeping form. “We should head back out. Don’t wanna wake him up by talking too much, and I have some questions for you.”

The man’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Oh, of course. We can’t have that.” Despite his agreement, some of the shine left his eyes as he started moving away from Muzan. 

Damn. Akaza wondered if Muzan knew about this…

Unfortunately, neither of them got anywhere near the bedroom door before--

“ Oh, Akaza! What are you doing, inviting strange men into the house? So naughty! ”

Doma burst into the room with a shit-eating grin and Gyutaro on his heels. He flopped down shamelessly on the foot of the bed, making the mattress bounce as he beamed up at them.

“But then, you’ve always had a preference for men, haven’t you?”

 In his sleep, Muzan’s brow furrowed, but he did not stir. 

That unconscious flicker of displeasure alone was enough to make Akaza’s temper flare. Scowling, he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him up, making the bed shake more in the process. 

“You idiot!” he scolded, getting into Doma’s face. “What makes you think that you can jump on his bed while he’s sleeping like that!?” 

“Oh my. It looks like I hit a nerve.” Doma put his hands up in a placating gesture, but made no move to shake Akaza’s grip. “There’s no need to get all worked up. Look: Sleeping Beauty’s still snoozing away.”

“That’s not the point ,” Akaza hissed. “It’s disrespectful!” And if there was one thing he couldn’t stand for, it was insolence against the person who’d given him a new chance at life. He wouldn’t allow it. Not even from a friend. 

“ Guys .” Gyutaro stood just inside the doorway and frowned at them, glancing anxiously between the sleeping man and his bickering friends. “Cut it out or you will wake him up!”

If there was anyone invested in keeping Muzan asleep, it was Gyutaro, whose wallet’s future still awaited judgment. A well-rested Muzan was much more likely to be lenient in the assessment of his damaged belongings than one that was rudely awakened by noisy roommates. 

Akaza gritted his teeth. Selfish motive aside, he wasn’t wrong . If they kept on like this, they were sure to wake Muzan prematurely, and then everyone present would be the subject of his exhausted wrath. Besides, they had a guest-- a guest who was still nameless, at that-- and fighting in front of him was impolite. One glance at said guest showed that he was unperturbed, however, but rather watching the conflict with mild curiosity. 

What an odd guy. 

Slowly, Akaza released a long breath and began to loosen his grip on Doma’s shirt…

“That’s it, Akaza,” Doma praised, voice almost condescendingly pleasant. “No need to start such a silly fight. Just let it go.”

…Then again, maybe it was okay to be rude once in a while. The crack of his fist against Doma’s nose was too tempting to pass up. 

Muzan would have to forgive him later. 

Akaza’s knuckles collided with Doma’s face, the force behind his punch sending him flying out of his grip and falling back onto the bed. The mattress bounced much more violently than before and Gyutaro cursed in the doorway, but Akaza couldn’t find the nerve to regret it. As he stood above his victim, he shook the harsh impact off of his hand and watched him push himself up into a sitting position again. 

There was something about Doma that was so satisfyingly punchable , especially when he grated on his last nerve. Showing this amount of disrespect to their sleeping friend was unacceptable; he deserved that blow and any others coming his way. 

“ What the hell are you doing in my room?”

Ah . Maybe he could scrape together some regret, after all. 

Muzan sat at the head of the bed, looking less than pleased. His face was still flushed, the warmth of close contact having yet to fade from unusually pale skin, and his hair was mussed from a brutal combination of stress and rest. Strands of it stuck up, his curls stringy, and he admittedly looked like a mess. Clearly, he was exhausted, having worked himself past the threshold of fatigue, and he looked it, too. 

If it wasn’t for the wicked blade he had sharpened his tired eyes into cutting through each of them like a dagger, there might have been something endearing about his sleepy state; instead, Akaza was left with a sickening twist of dread in his stomach. 

“ Dumbasses…” Gyutaro hissed. 

Immediately, Akaza stepped back from the bed. “Muzan, I’m sorry, I-”

“We were just messing around!” Doma chimed in, ever-so-helpfully. Rather than hop off of the bed and give their friend the distance he obviously needed, he crossed his legs and settled down, content to be exactly where he was. Redness blossomed on his face where Akaza had struck him, but he still had the nerve to beam and continue disrespecting the sanctity of Muzan’s space. 

Internally, Akaza fumed. He hoped it bruised. 

Muzan’s lip curled indignantly as he fixed his humbling glare onto Doma exclusively. “And just why are you messing around in my room?” 

Seemingly unperturbed, all but immune to Muzan’s anger, Doma gestured behind Akaza. “I was just so curious to learn about this new friend of yours! It’s not often you bring someone home! Or-- maybe I should say that he brought you home?”

That answer caught Muzan off guard, confusion leaking into his hard expression before he followed Doma’s gesture across the room. The moment he laid eyes on the stranger, Akaza swore that his face became impossibly paler as his eyes widened. He sat up straighter, offense washed away and replaced by a defensive startle. 

“Enmu? What are you doing here?” he asked, expression pinching in bewilderment. 

The strange man’s-- Enmu’s demeanor shifted immediately upon being addressed by Muzan. Where he had originally been watching the conflict with all of the investment of a casual spectator, he then perked up and wore a dreamy smile. The shine in his eyes returned, adoration all but swimming in them as he clapped his hands together over his heart. 

“I was keeping you company during your studies, remember?” he explained, his voice adopting a certain wistful tone. “But, oh, you fell asleep, and the thought of waking you just broke my heart. I thought it would be best to take you home, myself!”

Muzan blinked. “You- How did you know where to go?”

“I heard rumors that you lived in the Demon House with a handful of other eccentrics,” Enmu replied easily. “I took a chance and turned out to be right.”

The Demon House . If there was one thing that people loved, it was superstition and spooky stories. All it took was one person’s overactive imagination to establish rumors that would spread into haunted gut feelings and paranoia. The idea that this old house was haunted and once possessed by demons ran rampant through the area, decreasing the value of the house and making it more of a landmark than a home to most. The fact that anyone lived there was unthinkable and likely sparked rumors about the inhabitants, as well. 

Akaza didn’t buy a single word of it, but he had no problem with the stories. If living in a so-called ‘ haunted house’ kept his own demons away, then he would encourage the spread of such rumors, himself. Even so, there was something almost insulting about being referred to as eccentric by a man like this. 

Muzan didn’t seem any more pleased by this answer than he would have been by an admission of stalking, but there were no accusations he could hurl to counteract the vulnerability he was faced with. He pursed his lips and chose a different avenue, seemingly searching for a way to redirect his frustrations not only at being woken up, but being caught in such a vulnerable position. “I didn’t realize that you had a car.”

Enmu shook his head. “I don’t! I carried you on my back all the way home!”

At that, Muzan’s eyes widened, the pretense of irritation vanishing in an instant, replaced instead by a magnificent shade of red that had nothing to do with the lingering heat of skin contact. It was enough to catch Akaza by surprise as well. The reddest he’d ever seen Muzan was while he was in the midst of a coughing fit, never triggered by someone else’s actions. 

Just who was this Enmu who held enough power to throw Muzan for a loop? 

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife when Muzan opened his mouth to speak. “You dared to-”

“ This way, this way! They’re all in Muzan’s room!”

Ume’s voice rang through the house, shattering the tension like glass. All eyes turned towards the door as the girl rushed in, eyes glittering with excitement. She gestured impatiently down the hall, ushering her partner in crime forward.

Gyutaro frowned. “Ume… What are you doing ? You should’ve been asleep by now…”

“You’ll see!” she chimed insistently. She turned to dismiss her brother’s concerns but did a double take upon noticing the new face in the room. Within seconds, her guard went up-- it was heartbreaking to see how quickly a girl her age had trained herself to defend herself against unfamiliar men-- and she shifted closer to Gyutaro. 

Despite the headache she’d surely caused him that night, Gyutaro didn’t hesitate to accept her closeness and angled himself in front of her protectively. Whether he perceived the man as a threat or not, he never failed to be his sister’s first line of defense when her nerves spiked. It was admirable, in a way; Akaza appreciated the ability to protect loved ones with such unshakeable ferocity. 

“...Who’s that?” Ume asked, directing her question towards her brother rather than the stranger. 

“Relax. Honestly. I wouldn’t let someone in the house that could hurt you, you know? He’s just a friend of Muzan’s,” Gyutaro answered, putting his hand on her hand and giving her a soothing pat. 

Just a friend . Right. Akaza could see as clear as day that friends wasn’t what Enmu had in mind. He wondered if he knew just how lucky he was to have that much; surely, if he did, he wouldn’t dare hope for more. 

Before anything more could be said, a new presence at the door stole their attention away. Where Akaza had expected Rui to appear, as he was often the partner (or, rather, the subject) of Ume’s mischief, someone much… taller took his place. 

Taller, older, and leagues more intimidating. 

Seeing Kokushibo outside of his room was rare. He didn’t enjoy socializing, preferring to keep to himself and tending to isolate himself in the process. Those handful of times he ventured out to collect Muzan composed the majority of the times Akaza had interacted with him despite the fact that they resided in the same building. Save for Muzan himself, he had been established in the house for the longest, and every subsequent roommate had learned to leave him to his own devices (with the important exception of Doma, who didn’t seem to understand how to mind his own business). 

Needless to say, to see that Ume had dragged him out of his room in the middle of the night came as a shock; almost as much of one as the state he presented himself to them in. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gyutaro grow pale enough to rival Muzan’s own complexion and, honestly, Akaza didn’t blame him for the reaction. 

There was no other way to respond to the sight of Kokushibo standing in the doorway with his face covered in Muzan’s expensive makeup. 

Dark red lipstick coated his lips, a gloss overtop making them shine. A botched attempt at contouring made his cheekbones appear much higher and sharper than they truly were and thin brows were filled in with a pencil. Long lashes scraped the inside of thick glasses and fanned out to almost block the dark shadow on either eyelid. Wings peeked out on either corner, precisely filled in (undoubtedly with that viciously sharp pencil from before) and relatively even. It was the work of someone who needed practice, but had an eye for what she was doing, presented on what was arguably the worst possible model. 

They looked at Kokushibo, stunned, with the exception of Doma’s open, toothy grin.  

Kokushibo looked at them, impassive. 

For a suffocating moment, silence reigned. 

Eventually, Kokushibo turned his attention directly to Muzan, passing over Doma’s childish excitement. They locked eyes, their expressions mutually unreadable, before the former finally broke the silence with his deep, resonant timber. 

“Am I… pretty?” 

Doma’s jaw dropped, his grin growing until it nearly split his face in two as he clasped his hands together in delight-- he was enjoying this far too much-- but Kokushibo paid him no mind, instead focusing on Muzan. 

Seconds ticked by without an outward reaction, as if Muzan could hardly process what he was seeing. To be fair, it was rather surreal… It wouldn’t have surprised Akaza if the man had to actively convince himself that he wasn’t still dreaming; that he wouldn’t wake with a start back in the library where he’d have to peel a textbook off of his face and recover his dignity in solitude. 

He blinked once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

The scene before him remained just as absurd as it had been originally presented, with Enmu standing in his room and Kokushibo’s face done up with his own beauty products. 

Eventually, Muzan drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. He bowed his head and rubbed at his temples, as if warding off an impending headache. When he finally raised his head again, Akaza swore that he had never seen him look more thoroughly drained. 

“You’re stunning , Kokushibo,” he answered, his tone toeing the line of amusement and exasperation.The weakest of smiles tugged on his lips, so faint it almost looked pained, as if it hurt him to admit that he found humor in the absurdity of it all. 

 “Just stunning .”