Archive of Our Own

Kyojurou twisted in his bed so that he could look at the night sky through the window.  

His attitude toward the hospital bed (that had taken up what would likely be a permanent residence in his home) changed depending on the time of day.  When he rose in the morning and retired at night, he was grateful for its presence, as it allowed him to move from his wheelchair to get in and out of bed without assistance.  But during the hours that he actually lay in it, he longed for the grounding feeling of the floor beneath his futon.  

He wondered if he would ever sleep on a futon again.  He didn’t want to rely on his father or brother for help getting in and out of it. But he might accept help from someone who shared his room, someone who he shared everything with… someone who loved him–

He cut off the thought, reaching up to press his temple near the eye that had been lost, as he seemed to hold tension there now.  For most of his life, Kyojurou had no experience with tension that didn’t occur in its proper place.  It was right that it should exist in his arms and core when he swung his sword, or in his legs as he ran at full speed across the countryside.  But now it sprung up in all sorts of disconnected places in his body that had nothing to do with the application of effort – his temples, his throat, inside his chest. 

He couldn’t sleep, in fact, he hadn’t slept in three days. He was exhausted, and his surviving eye ached to close, but his mind and heart were too troubled to allow him to rest.  

“You look unwell, brother,” Senjurou had remarked at breakfast that morning, the worry etched between his brows. 

“I am fine,” he replied reflexively, picking at his food.

He’d looked up to see his brother and his father share a look, but he hadn’t had it in him to assuage their concern, which he was self aware enough to know was probably concerning in and of itself.  

He’d pulled away from the table in his wheelchair, leaving them without another word, and returned to his room, where he sat for most of the day staring out of the open door, his eye unfocused, until it was time to go back to the bed again.

***

Over two months had passed since Kyojurou and Hakuji started taking walks together at night.  Or more accurately, Hakuji walked as he pushed him in his wheelchair, a thing that Kyojurou accepted graciously as a fact of his life.  He found he didn’t mind so much, being cared for by others.  He knew it was a circle – he’d fought and nearly died to protect the world, and, now, he needed the help and care of others – and that accepting it with grace was part of how he honored their support.  

When they finished walking they’d often sit together on the engawa of his family’s home, chatting about life.  Kyojurou shared far more about himself than Hakuji, who, when he did speak, talked mostly about Tomioka with fond exasperation, and also his mysteriously contentious relationship with Urokodaki-san, that he was determined to set to rights.  But he was rather evasive about his past, which Kyojurou took note of, but didn’t push – he simply enjoyed their time together, and hoped they’d have enough of it to get past whatever was holding Hakuji back. 

“When I was young, I often overslept!” Kyojurou had explained to Hakuji one evening as they sat together. “I slept so deeply, and had such long, vivid dreams about food and friends and places I wanted to visit.  And then, when my mother came to wake me, I’d still have the taste of the food I’d been eating on my tongue!  Or it seemed like I could still smell the sweet scent of flowers clinging to me! ” 

A few moments of comfortable silence passed, during which Kyojurou grew pensive.  He’d looked at Hakuji for a few moments, weighing whether or not what he was about to share was too intimate, but he wanted to tell him about his life.  And his mother was still very much a part of him.

“Since she died, I’ve had many dreams when I’ve caught glimpses of my mother,” he began thoughtfully. “Sometimes she peeks out at me from behind a street vendor, or looks down on me from a second story window. Sometimes I find her in a garden walking ahead of me on a path, and it seems like she’s moving at a leisurely pace, but for some reason I can’t ever seem to catch up to her.”  

Hakuji had regarded him gently, simply nodding his head.  What Kyojurou wanted to say was too difficult to admit out loud, which was that he longed more than anything to be able to talk with her, even if it was only in his dreams.  

He wanted to tell her about what it was like to watch Senjurou grow up, and what a fine young man he was becoming, and about how they’d become more than brothers–they were also the best of friends.  He wanted to reassure her about his father, and that even though it had been difficult for many years, he still loved him deeply, and believed in him, and that he’d shown up for him and Senjurou and the Corps when it counted.  

“Do you dream of the past, Hakuji?” Kyojurou had asked, not wanting to dwell too long on things that made him feel melancholy.  

Hakuji had frowned, perhaps in concentration or concern, but then he shrugged.  “I don’t really remember my dreams very much anymore.  I did when I was younger, but at some point long ago I stopped. Since I was injured during the Final Battle, I find that my sleep is rather thin, and when I do dream, they are often nightmares and they startle me awake.”

Kyojurou had nodded in understanding, though he didn’t say anything at first.  But then he murmured, “I also have nightmares now.  I never did in the past, but ever since that day….”

Kyojurou had grown quiet then.  He didn’t feel like explaining that after he’d spent many hours trapped in the dark during the Final Battle, crushed beneath what felt like an insurmountable pile of rubble, he’d started having nightmares for the first time in his life.  Kyojurou wasn’t one to accept defeat or to doubt. But in the deep, airless pitch-black, when his body was a snarl of pain and he could feel the blood running out of him, slipping along his scalp and down his back, dripping off his fingertips – he’d contemplated his death for the first time, and his heart stuttered, his throat gripping tight as he wondered to himself –

How have I been a Demon Slayer, a Hashira, and known that death was possible every night, and yet I’ve never really thought about actually dying?

It truly was a puzzle, one that, mercifully, he hadn’t needed to dwell on for too terribly long alone in the dark, because he could hear people calling his name and digging, and after a time he was extracted from his tomb.  What came after was quite unpleasantly painful – during the hours after his rescue, and then throughout the months of recovery.  

Through it all he was incredibly grateful – to the people who pulled him out of that hellish place, to Kanzaki and the Kakushi and the others who worked to put his body back together, and then, of course, to his dear friends who rallied around him. To Senjurou, who brought light and cheer every time he saw his sweet face.  To his father, who sat stoically by his bedside, rarely abandoning his post as he watched over him. Kyojurou felt grateful that he’d lived to see his father recover, and begin to rebuild what he’d once seemed so hellbent on taking apart during his illness.  

Still, something in him changed after that dark existential reckoning he’d experienced when he was still buried alive. Kyojurou had always known what to do when he was faced with a problem, because he was a person of a certain kind of conviction — he knew how to do the right thing for others – which had made him an excellent Hashira, mostly because he rarely took himself into account when he made decisions.  And while he still operated in much the same way, something fundamental within him had shifted after the war, after he’d lost his leg and his eye – after his experience in the dark that day.  

Part of him wondered if the shift was selfish, but another, somehow older part of him – that he didn’t recall having before – knew it wasn’t.  The shift was this – he wanted something in his life that was just for him, that was not about sacrifice or heroism or conviction in his calling.  

And he’d believed he found what he was looking for on the day he met Hakuji. 

(Kyojurou had had a hard time taking his eyes off of him as they sat at the Kamado’s table that day, though he tried not to be too obvious about it.  He’d been struck by his beauty, the unusual pink lashes that framed his eyes, somehow making him appear more innocent than he suspected he was.  He’d appeared distracted, and a little overwhelmed, biting his lip and looking at Tomioka repeatedly, his brow furrowed, and Kyojurou couldn’t be certain if he was looking to give or receive reassurance.  But then in the next breath he’d smile, giving Tomioka a fierce look with his pale, blue eyes that sparkled with something wicked.  And then he’d shift again unexpectedly, his gaze softening when he spoke to Senjurou, so Kyojurou perceived something kind in him, a gentleness that balanced his intensity. 

And even though Kyojurou’s body still ached from his injuries, and he’d had a challenging morning battling the pain that sometimes knifed through a leg that no longer existed, he’d felt something warm and bright bloom inside of him, and he’d been enraptured.  So he tried to focus on his food, which, for him, was never really that hard, in order to keep himself from staring.  

But when Hakuji had returned his gaze and held it, that bloom felt more like a lightning strike.) 

That was, until three nights ago.  

They’d been seated side by side, and there had been a comfortable lull in the conversation.  Hakuji had been looking up into the night sky, his gaze distant and content.  Kyojurou had yet to give voice to the thing that had been growing within him since he’d first laid eyes on him, and with each meeting, it grew harder and harder to hold it inside.  For what had started as a warm bloom and a flash of lightning had grown into a vast, lush field of vibrant flowers gilded by the bright glow of an insistent sunrise, one that felt entirely inevitable.  

And he wanted so desperately to have the thing that was just for him. 

He wanted Hakuji.  

Kyojurou was always brave, and he understood that his courage needed to be called upon most when he was afraid.  

(No one would ever believe that Kyojurou felt afraid – by word and action, he was always forthright and decisive – but he understood the power of fear, and he used it to make himself stronger when he fought.)

And so Kyojurou called upon his courage, because he was afraid to do the next thing, so much so that he swallowed involuntarily, and when he raised his hand a fraction off of the floor, it shook slightly.  But he moved his hand to close the short distance between them, and placed it gently over Hakuji’s hand, which was pressed to the wooden floor of the engawa . 

Kyojurou watched out of the corner of his eye as Hakuji closed his eyes, and he sighed.  His thumb came up over the top of Kyojurou’s hand, and pressed down, clutching lightly.  

Kyojurou’s heart soared, and he was about to clasp his hand tighter, when Hakuji spoke.

“Kyojurou,” he murmured, and his voice was strange, smaller, like he was choking back emotion.

Kyojurou froze, but he didn’t let go of his hand.  

“I wonder sometimes about your spirit,” Hakuji continued, turning his head to look at him. The edges of his eyes shone, but his expression was deeply serious.  “I wonder what Giyuu sees. I imagine that it must be an enormous blaze around you, keeping everyone you care for warm. And I–” 

His voice caught and a single tear trailed down his face, and Kyojurou moved to chase it away with the fingers of his free hand, but Hakuji flinched away, releasing his hand, leaving a cold thumbprint on his flesh.  

“I want so desperately to stand in the guard of your spirit,” he said with such longing.  “But I am not worthy of it. There are many things I have to tell you.”

Hakuji looked terribly afraid, and Kyojurou’s instinct was to reach out, to place his hand on his shoulder, to cup his cheek, and to tell him that it would be alright, that whatever it was he’d understand, and that he was here to help him bear it.  

But, as it turned out, what Hakuji needed to tell him was not at all a thing that could be easily understood.  

And Kyojurou had yet to know if he could bear it.

“I will understand if you cannot accept it,” Hakuji had said when he finished telling him his terrible truth, getting up. Kyojurou had expected him to leave immediately, as he’d not said one word during Hakuji’s entire explanation, and had, in fact, sat in frozen, dismayed silence.  But Hakuji had bent down and gently gathered Kyojurou into his arms, lifting him to place him back into his chair, before taking his leave without another word. 

After that he lay in his damned bed that he hated for three nights, wrestling with that truth.

That the young man he’d been falling in love with was not at all what he’d thought.  

A former demon.  An Upper Moon for two hundred years. A henchman of the demon king.

Tomioka’s murderer.  His maker.  

Now a human – and, by his own admission, at the cost of Tomioka’s chance to regain his humanity. 

Hakuji, who was full of contradictions, who was sensitive and sentimental (especially with regard to Tomioka), who was curious and inquisitive to the point of being meddlesome, who was energetic and constantly in motion, but then thoughtful and deeply contemplative, who was wise and forthright, but then also sought out his thoughts and opinions, who had a sharp wit, but then showed kindness and gentleness to his family, his friends… to strangers….

But he had once been the thing that Kyojurou had grown up learning to hate!  He’d been the thing he’d been trained to slay, and had slain, hundreds of times over, the thing he’d been willing to die to protect other people from, the thing that had almost destroyed him.      

And yet Kyojurou could not stop thinking about the feel of his arms as he cradled him for a few moments before setting him down in his wheelchair. Kyojurou had been so stunned by Hakuji’s revelations he’d been unable to respond one way or the other – to strike out at him in anger, or wrench free in disgust.  

And he’d felt both of those things.  

But then there was the gentleness of his arms, the willingness to risk rejection, the sheer vulnerability of his entire confession.  

And now, on the third night, staring out into the dark, a heavy tear fell from his eye, running into his hair at his temple.  He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye and held it there.

He thought back to their conversation from weeks earlier about dreams, and he was suddenly overcome by the desire to see his mother, even if it was just in a dream.  There were a million things Kyojurou wanted to talk to his mother about, big and small.  But now, he longed desperately for her counsel, because for the first time in his life, Kyojurou wasn’t sure what to do.  

How could he make his peace with Hakuji’s history?  How could he unravel the tangle of emotion that he felt for him?  

He wrestled with it for another hour, until finally, completely exhausted, he slipped away into unconsciousness.

***

He is lying on a futon, and he’s confused, because he’s doused in full sunlight, and he doesn’t recognize the ceiling.

And also – he can see everything quite clearly!!!  And he isn’t sure why that is a surprise, but it is, and it is amazing!  

The door to his room slides open, and he hears her light footsteps as she comes into his room.

“It’s time to wake up, sleepy head.” Her voice is so soft, like always, and he can hear the smile in it. 

“Mother! Good morning!”

“Look at how awake you are today, Kyojurou!” She laughs, and the sound is pure joy, like the tinkling of bells, and Kyojurou’s heart bursts to hear it. 

He rolls over and stands up (another revelation, but again, he doesn’t know why) and he faces her.  He is small, so it is easy to throw himself into her arms.  

She is warmth and safety and love and home and it seems like he hasn’t felt this in forever!  

(Except, recently, maybe he's starting to feel something like it…)

He holds onto her tight, presses his face into her kimono, and breathes in the scent of sun-warmed cloth and green herbs and yuzu.  When she leans back slightly, he doesn’t let her go.  He never, ever wants to let her go!  

“What is it, Kyojurou?” she asks gently, holding the back of his head to clutch him tighter. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Kyojurou wants to say no, because he doesn’t remember a nightmare, and yet, he isn’t entirely sure.

“Why don’t we sit in the sun on the engawa for a little while, hmm?  I find sitting in the sun always chases away bad dreams.”  

They move out into the sun, and though the air is balmy, there is a pleasant breeze.  When they sit on the wood paneling, it has already begun to gather heat even though it is only midmorning. Kyojurou presses his hand to the floor, relishing the burn.  

“You are very quiet this morning, son.  What’s troubling you?”

Kyojurou isn’t sure, but he does feel troubled.  He struggles for a few moments, trying hard to remember what it is that he’s been concerned about, because he knows that he’s wanted to talk to her about it.  He is sure that she will have an answer!

“Is this about your father?” his mother asks gravely.

Kyojurou looks up and sees her serious expression, but also her uncertainty.  

He doesn’t reply.

Is it about his father?

Kyojurou doesn’t move, because he really isn’t sure if it is about his father.  He knows he’s been ill for most of Kyojurou’s life, and that whatever it is that he is sick with, it is getting worse.  He’s done many things in the past that were confusing, and worried his mother, and occasionally he seemed to frighten her. 

“Your father battles his own demons, and they are not the kind that you can slay with a Nichrin blade, I’m afraid.  I want you to know that even though I worry for him and he sometimes scares me with his recklessness with his own life, I still love him quite desperately.”

“Why?” Kyojurou asks, and some part of him knows that it is very uncharacteristic of him to question his mother, but he needs to press, needs to understand how she could love a man who sometimes seems so determined to face the dark.  

“I love him for many reasons.  One of them is because of how hard he fights against his nature. Every day.  I love him for his past self, and I love him for his future self, and I savor the days when I have him the way he was before he became so afraid.”  

“Afraid?” 

“Of losing you. Of the violent legacy of his family.  He is not afraid to go out and do the work himself, but the thought of you doing it? He can’t face it, and in his blind terror, he misses the fact that there is a choice to be made.”  

“A choice?”

His mother smiles at him sadly.

“The Rengoku line is old, and yes, there has always been a Flame Hashira. But, the lineage doesn’t run only to your father.”

She pauses, giving him a moment to think. 

“There are cousins!” Kyojurou exclaims. “There are still distant cousins!”

“Yes,” she says softly. “Now, I think it is very likely that it will be you, my darling son, because you are so strong and brave. You burn the brightest of them all, just like your father did when he was young. 

“Still, you have a choice. If you are eager for it, no one will ever question that it should be you, and even though I will worry for you, I will also be very proud.” 

Clouds move swiftly overhead, and suddenly something shifts, as heavy and consequential as a hammer to a blade, and it seems as though Kyojurou has grown, because now he looks down at his mother.

“But I am the Flame Hashira,” he murmurs. “At least I was… and Father became like a shadow.”

“When you entered the Corps, your father was so ill and blinded by his fear, that somehow he forgot there was ever a choice. And that, ultimately, that choice was yours.  He became consumed by the thought that he’d doomed you and brought his legacy down upon you like a curse.  

“And I wasn’t there to remind him of the choice – which was always yours and yours alone – and also, to help him keep hope.  He was always his own worst enemy, and he made terrible choices that did irrevocable harm to himself, and to you and your brother,” she finishes sadly.  She looks to the sky, which grows darker. 

“I would have always made the choice to be the Flame Hashira. I would never have done anything differently,” Kyojurou says definitively.  

She turns to him then, and her eyes lock with his, and it seems as though she is saying something that is more than what comes out of her mouth.  

“I know that, son.  And I am very proud of you for it.  But you must understand something quite important.

“Some people are given nothing but terrible choices.  Life can be cruel, and there is no rhyme or reason for it, and things happen and people can end up stumbling, blundering down a path, and they make the worst choices they can make – they bring wrath and ruin down upon others and themselves because it is all that they know.  And then they end up standing before an uncaring and cruel god that they don’t understand, who offers no judgment but still exacts a heavy price for their sins… and those sins beget more sins… and so on until they are utterly ruined.”  

The sky turns black, and Kyojurou tucks close to his mother, offering his protection.  

“What can be done for them?” he asks, and he has a strong intuition that they aren’t speaking about his father anymore.

“Well, to begin, they must do the work themselves.  They must do what they can to be better.  But it also helps if someone gives them a chance, if they have someone who can be a friend, to stand by them as they move forward.  Even though your father’s situation was not as fraught as what others have faced, it still caused him pain, and when I was with him, he found a friend in me to help him see the light, to stay on the path.  It was hard on him when I had to leave him, and he lost his way, which will always be his burden to bear.  But he did find his way again, and ultimately, he did the right thing for his sons.  

“And it is important for you to understand that our relationship was never one-sided!  I benefited greatly from being his wife!  I was loved, deeply , by a man who was brave enough to share his tender heart with me. And, despite his fears, he gave me two beautiful sons, even though he was ambivalent about what it might mean for him to have children.  He did that for me .  To find someone who is capable of being that vulnerable is a very rare thing in the world we live in.  I cherish his trust in me.”

Light begins to filter through the dark in beautiful, clean sun beams.  

But somehow Kyojurou knows his time is becoming short, and so he turns to his mother, and he reaches out to clutch both of her hands.  

“What should I do, mother?!” he begs.  “Tell me what I should do!”  

She reaches up and takes his face in her hands.  “You already know, son.  You got the best of both of us.  A tender heart and the courage to do anything.  Perhaps it is enough to love a person who has faltered terribly , but who is trying their best.  Trust me–”

***

Kyojurou woke suddenly to the morning light, and he’s stunned by the dream.  Every moment was perfectly clear in his memory and he fixed it in his mind, holding onto it.  Tears streamed down his face.  

“Father! Senjurou!” he called, pulling himself up in his bed.  

They both arrived at the door at the same time, a look of concern on each of their faces.  

“I need to go to Mt. Sagiri right away!  I need to get to Urokodaki-san’s house as soon as possible,” he said, bracing himself on the bed and lowering himself into the waiting chair.  

“What’s happened?” his father asked, one hand on Senjurou’s shoulder, the other pressed to his heart.  

Kyojurou searched for the words, but he realized he didn’t have any.  Yet.   He would find them during the journey.  The way up the mountain would be difficult, but with his father and brother’s help, he’d make his way to Hakuji, of that he was sure.  

“I had a dream…” he said softly, looking from one of them to the other.  The relief he felt was staggering.  “And I know now what I have to do.”

***

Akaza moved through the kata fluidly without thinking – 

sliding step punch – sliding step punch – pivot turn side kick – backward pivot – reset – step lunging palm strike – step front kick – step pivot spinning kick–

And on it went.  It felt good to move, and his body had regained much of its former strength.  (Well, his human strength anyway.)  And as his balance and agility improved, he found he could lose himself in movements that he’d forgotten for a long time, that had somehow managed to live hidden in his body throughout his centuries-long life.  

The kata ended when his foot connected, solid and flat, against the trunk of a tree.  The bark there was worn away, the wood smooth, as he’d been using the tree as a target for months. A small crack had begun to form there as well, but he paid it no mind.  

He’d always been good at breaking things. 

He began again, forcing himself to think of nothing else, allowing the movement of his body to be a meditation.  It was a thing that he’d learned from Keizo-sensei so long ago, but which had been lost to him while he’d been a demon.  

(And if he was being honest with himself, it had actually been lost the moment that he found his sensei and beloved Koyuki dead.  But if he allowed himself to think on such things for too long, he felt self loathing bubble up like hot acid to the surface of his heart, and it became pretty damn hard to think about anything else.  

Which did no one any good.  And he wanted to be good – it was the thing he wanted to be more than anything else.)  

He repeated the kata again and again until he exhausted himself. He rested in a crouch, the sweat running down his back, and turned his face up to look at the sky that peaked through the tops of the trees.  One remnant of his time as a demon was being able to judge time just by looking at the quality of the light.  Even though he’d only been able to see it from standing inside of a cave, he’d learned it as a matter of survival.  

He judged that it was getting close to the evening meal, which he had no intention of eating, as his appetite had been off for the past week.  Ever since he’d seen Kyojurou. Ever since he told him–

He shook his head and got to his feet.  

Best not to dwell on it.   

He began to walk back to the house, wishing that his offspring was there, and not just Urokodaki-san.  Though things continued to thaw between them, the progress was glacial, and this past week it had been particularly difficult to bear.  

As he neared the house, he paused, straining to hear something coming up the path from the village.  He had a moment of irrational hope that it might be his offspring, but that was ridiculous, as Giyuu moved noiselessly and the gait he heard was strange.  

And then all at once Kyojurou rounded the corner, heaving himself to a standstill on his crutches, soaked with sweat from his exertion from ascending the mountain.

“Kyojurou,” Akaza choked, an electric mixture of shock and joy blazing through his limbs. For a few moments he couldn’t speak, he could only stare at him.  But then–

“Did you climb up the mountain on your crutches?” he asked absurdly, as it was fairly obvious that that was exactly what he’d just done.  

“Yes! It was not so hard, it is only a few kilometers, and it is a well worn path. But I need to send a crow to the village to let Senjurou know that I’ve arrived or he will worry himself ragged!”

Akaza nodded vacantly, taking a few hesitant steps in his direction.  He was afraid to blink, concerned that this was a hallucination of some kind brought on by his exhaustion after practicing his katas, and the state of mind that he’d been in since the last time they’d seen one another. Akaza’s eyes skated over him, checking to make sure that he was, in fact, fine.  He knew that he’d been regaining strength using some form of rehabilitation training that he learned from his time in the Demon Slayer Corps, but Akaza still felt unsure.  

“...Why didn’t you let Senjurou come with you?” Akaza asked, the desire to reach out and help overwhelming him, but he held himself back.  Kyojurou might not want him to come closer or try to help, and the thought of the possibility of his rejection helped him to maintain control.  

“I wanted to talk to you alone.  And I wanted to see if I could do it myself!  It was good to push myself a little!  Sitting in the chair can be quite boring,” Kyojurou said with a small, self conscious smile, as though he knew he’d done a risky thing, but he didn’t really care.  

Akaza felt frustrated with Kyojurou’s lack of self interest, recognizing it as a trait of many Demon Slayers, and it reminded him of another former Hashira that he knew quite well. He took a few more steps toward him, and he finally gave in to the thing that he’d been avoiding, which was to look him in the eye.

Akaza had been unable to do so during his confession, and certainly not after, and it was a thing that he longed to do and dreaded in equal measure.  

Kyojurou’s single eye burned into him as it always did, though Akaza was unsure of the reason why.  He no longer had the ability to read spirits after all, so he couldn’t know the man’s intentions, and even though a part of him could not imagine that he’d walk up a mountain on crutches to tell him that he was hated, he refused to give in to hope, as doing so had led him to heartbreak many times. 

So he stood still and waited, and he imagined that his own spirit burned uneasily, waiting for rejection, or worse, denouncement.  He preferred to be struck down with a blade than face Kyojurou’s condemnation.  

But then Kyojurou spoke, and his voice was different, the quality of it soft and earnest.

“I will not pretend that the things in your past don’t disturb me, Hakuji.  And while in some ways we were soldiers on opposite sides of a war that neither of us started, I think we can both agree that it is far more complicated than that.”  He paused and held his gaze steadily.

Well that is a rather massive understatement, Akaza thought exasperatedly, but he kept it to himself for now.  Instead he struggled to control his fear and uncertainty, and he longed so desperately for his old ability to read spirits, because what was happening?!  Was he about to be forgiven or damned?  It seemed like forgiveness was far too much to ask for – to have been absolved of his crimes by his own offspring was a gift beyond his comprehension.  To ask the same of the man he was in love with was surely too much to request from an uncaring universe? 

Kyojurou continued.    

“But your actions after being untethered from Kibutsuji Muzan, as well as who you are now to so many people – including Tomioka – it seems as though you are an entirely different person.  And I am not interested in passing judgment on your former life.  That is for the gods to decide!”

Kyojurou moved forward a few more steps, closing the distance between them.  Akaza’s heart beat like a bird desperate to escape the cage of his chest, and he could do nothing but stand helpless before him.  Kyojurou leaned into his crutch so that he could reach up and gently brush his fingers along Akaza’s cheek, who startled slightly when his fingers came away wet, as he hadn’t realized that tears had fallen from his eyes.  

“I’ve only ever known you as Hakuji, a man who clearly loves his chosen family quite fiercely.  Who manages to make Tomioka smile on a regular basis, a thing that defies belief!” Kyojurou barked a light laugh, before he went on. “I even heard him chuckle!  I shouldn’t tell you this, but many members of the Demon Slayer Corps had bets about whether or not he was even capable of such a thing! I think anyone who can make Tomioka laugh must surely be rather extraordinary!” 

Akaza frowned a little, feeling a surge of protectiveness for his offspring, who had been so terribly misunderstood by so many, but he found he still couldn’t move or speak.  

Kyojurou tilted his head to the side slightly, and he regarded Akaza gently, his eye changing from its usual intensity to liquid warmth as it skated across his face. It made Akaza wonder if he knew what he was feeling, if perhaps Kyojurou had his own special form of perception.  

And then he spoke in the softest tone Akaza had yet to hear come from his mouth. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a person who lives in the moment. Being with you, here and now, during this lifetime, is a thing that I want more than anything.  I don’t know how long I may have, the Mark is certainly a concern.  So, for however long I’m here, I don’t want to be parted from you.” 

Kyojurou fixed him with a determined gaze. 

Akaza was shocked, and he stood frozen and unsure, which was a rather new thing for him. 

Kyojurou leaned further into the crutch, and reached up to grip Akaza’s shoulder.  His hand felt warm and strong and reassuring.  And before Akaza knew it, he was being drawn into an embrace.  

At first, Akaza had absolutely no idea what to do!  

(When he’d picked Kyojurou up that night to put him back into his wheelchair after his terrible confession, it had been borne of a very old, very human drive – that you don’t leave someone who is ill or weak in a situation where they can’t help themselves.  He’d done it without thinking, though he’d certainly felt a lot – the weight of him in his arms, the fact that his body temperature was slightly higher than his own, the feel of him against his chest, the proximity of their hearts.  The way the beat of his own heart quickened, and his throat gripped tight and burned with the tears that threatened. And then the emptiness of his arms once he’d left him safely in his place. A place that was certainly not with him.  

No one had ever been safe in his care.)

But now he found himself pressed to Kyojurou, who could only wrap one arm around him, as he held himself steady using his other arm on his crutch.  And perhaps it was that fact, that Kyojurou had placed himself in a rather vulnerable situation, standing on one foot with only one crutch to steady himself, that Akaza was able to find the courage to draw his arms up, to gather Kyojurou closer to him.  

They stood holding onto one another for many moments, and Akaza was sure that his heart was going to break right out of his chest, it was beating so hard.  He settled his chin on Kyojurou’s shoulder and he pulled him closer, taking on the weight of him so that he didn’t need to lean so heavily on his crutches.  

Caregiving and receiving was the only physical intimacy Akaza had ever experienced as a human, in his first life or now.  An embrace such as this was not something he’d ever experienced as a human, and he could feel both the strength and the frailty in Kyojurou’s body as he held him.  

He tucked his face into the crook of his neck and breathed deep. Kyojurou smelled of clean sweat and forest air.

Akaza took another breath and closed his eyes, sighing with relief.

“What is it?” Kyojurou asked, and Akaza could feel the vibration of his voice against his chest.

Akaza squeezed him a little tighter before he pulled back slightly to look at him.  He studied his face for a few moments, taking in smaller details that were lost from further away. His surviving eye, so intense from a distance, was in fact much more complex up close – the bright color of it was a warm amber tone flecked with gold, that shifted to copper and finally crimson.  There were exactly four lashes near the corner of his eye that were slightly longer than the others. 

Akaza smiled as he admitted, “I have no memory from my human life of ever being embraced in such a way, Kyojurou. So this is a human first for me.”

Kyojurou blinked, and Akaza saw something sad flit across his expression, along with what may have been a question, but whatever it was, he didn’t ask it.  Instead, he chuckled.

“Well, let’s hope then that it is the beginning of many human firsts.” Kyojurou smiled, his brow curved with gentle warmth, and Akaza felt like a fire burst to life in his heart, even as his cheeks grew warm.  

(If Giyuu was here – which thankfully, for the moment anyway, he was not – he’d have many questions about why Akaza was blushing so much, given how frequently and easily Akaza chided him about his own innocence pertaining to matters of the heart.  

And then Akaza would have had to explain it to him–

That as tender and sweet as his love for Koyuki had been, it had been innocent. And at no point during his time as a demon – both for obvious reasons, and also for some that were not so obvious to anyone other than his offspring, in whom he’d confided – had he ever experienced anything that had touched his heart, as he’d been lost to himself due to the demon curse, but also jaded and world-worn, and so, he had never been in love like this.)  

Akaza leaned closer to Kyojurou, pressing the side of his face to his, and he pulled his arms more tightly around his body.  He felt Kyojurou lean into him, pressing their hearts closer together.  

“This is a perfect first,” Akaza sighed again, and he felt grateful that for some reason, the universe had blessed him twice – the first time with his offspring, and now, with Kyojurou.

“I am glad that you feel that way,” Kyojurou murmured, pulling back slightly, and, aligning their noses, he tilted his head slightly and leaned in until their lips were just barely separated. When he spoke, he was so close that Akaza felt his words as a whisper against his mouth. 

“Forgive me,” Kyojurou said, his tone low and lightly teasing. “But I’ve never been very good at patience.”

And then he closed the scant distance between them and pressed his lips gently to Akaza’s. 

Akaza, who had also never (ever) been known for his patience, wasted no time in kissing him back. Some new part of him that had not existed before cracked open, and he felt a jumble of gratitude and awe at how delightful and unexpected his third life was turning out to be. And even though he knew that he probably didn’t deserve it, he was learning to accept it as a gift.  Because he too knew this lifetime was finite.

“Kyojurou,” he said a little bit breathlessly when they broke their first kiss.  He pulled back to find Kyojurou regarding him expectantly.  Just looking into his eye overwhelmed him, so many things fell out of his mouth all at once.  

“... We need to send the crow.  And also, Giyuu has a perfectly fine sense of humor. And now that you know why Urokodaki-san doesn’t like me, can you and Senjurou please stay to share our evening meal? I need a break from his staring with that mask that I am convinced is hiding a very cantankerous old face, and also his incessant grunting in my general direction. Usually Giyuu is a good buffer, but he’s been gone for two weeks, and I am pretty sure I’m slowly destroying a tree.”  

Kyojurou’s expression had become more and more amused as Akaza’s rant went on, so that by the end he was smiling broadly.  “Destroying a tree?” he asked incredulously.  

“I haven’t been human for very long – maybe six months – I don’t know, I haven’t gotten used to keeping track of time yet, and practicing my katas seems to help with feeling bad about things.  I’ve been using the tree as a target, and I think it’s starting to crack a little.  I should probably pick a bigger tree.  And–"

Kyojurou began to laugh heartily.  

“I don’t think I’ve heard you speak so much about yourself! But, of course!  As long as it is alright with Urokodaki-san, we can stay for dinner.  Although, I must tell you that I have it on good authority from my father that he has a perfectly pleasant face beneath that mask – kind, even!  Still, if he’s giving you a hard time, I am happy to be your shield for the evening.  Eating and talking are things I love to do, after all!”

Akaza felt relieved, but it was more than that, and he gazed at Kyojurou for several moments before he found the words.  “I know this must have been a difficult decision.  What swayed you to make this choice?”

Kyojurou smiled, and he swallowed involuntarily before he spoke with barely contained emotion in his voice. “I dreamt of my mother, and she set me straight on some things.  I’ve missed her so much, and talking to her was something I wanted for a long time.  And apparently there were things she had to tell me that I needed to hear!”  

Akaza was unsure of how to respond to that, as such human things always made him feel out of his depth, but Kyojurou looked truly happy and content.  

“And I’m relieved,” Kyojurou said seriously, pulling Akaza to him once more, “Now that I’m here with you, I can’t imagine making any other choice.”

Akaza smiled with the barest hint of wickedness, and said, “... Well, as I sometimes say to Giyuu… life without me would be even more unbearable.”  

Kyojurou chuckled and leaned in to kiss him, but not before murmuring softly, “I agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment.”