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The first hours of the night had already passed when Kyojuro closed the door behind him, careful to let the latch touch the wall as softly as possible, and not disturb the other clients there.
He knew the innkeeper would still be awake for a few minutes more, to tidy up forgotten plates and abandoned bottles that lingered empty on the tables. The man had let interrogation cross his face for a second when Kyojuro had entered earlier, eyes falling straight on the sword resting against the flame pillar’s hip, then eyeing the vibrant colours of his haori ̶ extravagant had once said one of his colleague, only to stare back at Kyojuro, perplexed.
A word about the local disappearances of villagers and a generously filled purse left on the counter was all it took for the man to smile an agreeable merchant smile and show Kyojuro the way to his room upstairs.
It was a quiet town, lost in-between two mountains, trapped at the foot of immense hills of trees and where the sun was late to pierce through the green giants that circled human life. In other words, a delectable spot for demons to spend their happy endless existence.
Existence to which Kyojuro had been sent to put an end to, of course.
He set his sword against the headboard and took off his extravagant haori before resting it on the wooden chair that stood in the corner of the room, only piece of furniture that coated the place, along with the bed, a nightstand and an oil lamp. Modest but efficient, Kyojuro wouldn’t need a more sophisticated shelter, he wasn’t planning on sleeping anyway.
A caw broke the silence and reminded him that his companion was waiting for his report, claws scratching the window frame to pass the time as Kyojuro sat on the chair with a smile.
“Just a moment,” he assured as he took the fountain pen in the front pocket of his vest and gathered the few sheets of paper he had collected downstairs, near a pile of worn-out books.
Ink sunk in as he anchored his mission on paper, telling his encounters and kills as concise as possible, with numbers and facts and lives spared. But it was only the first part of what was yet to achieve; Kyojuro hadn’t faced the author of this village's disappearances. It had been lasting for a month, according to several witnesses, a few more according to a group of merry men who had been more interested in the blade that rested sheathed at his side.
The room he was staying at for the night was a more reasonable spot to observe and hear than hidden in-between alleys, warmer than the cold of the upcoming winter outside. He had declined a change of spare clothes from his host, he was ready to stay at the window and wait for the creature to manifest itself.
Kyojuro placed the rolled piece of paper in the crow’s beak before nodding for it to fly away and deliver his progress to the master. A flutter of black wings filled his vision until he saw the bird blend in the night sky, slowly becoming invisible behind the clouds.
It was when he rose from his sit that he felt the sting on the back of his hand, long forgotten since he had entered the village. He recalled with an absent mumble that he had carelessly grazed it against the hard scaly skin of one of the demons he had crossed path with before arriving here.
It was barely a scratch, blood only covering its surface and not even pearling at its edge. He brought the scarred flesh to his lips to suck the red out of the cut, only to pause once his hand met his mouth.
Remaining still for an unnecessary heartbeat, he blinked away the image of yellow eyes staring in awe at his own blood dropping past his teeth.
He could think about it all he wanted, Kyojuro couldn’t put words on what had happened the last time he had crossed swords with Upper Moon Three ̶ Akaza, a laugh whispered at the back of his mind.
And it was perhaps for the best, to let this brief moment nameless, if only his brain would stop replaying the way the demon’s features had lightened with fascination every time he closed his eyes.
With hunger, he reminded himself. Akaza had been drawn to the siren call of human blood, as any demon would have.
Kyojuro stroked the back of his hand swiftly, shortly noting the way the wound appeared darker under the orange light of the oil lamp, before scratching the back of head.
It was going to be a long night. He didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of staying inside, on the lookout for a scream, an unnatural shift in the shadows. As a wanderer, he liked to settle near the entrance of a cave or at the bottom of a tree, ready to jump on his heels and unsheathe his sword at the bare flutter of leaves.
He remained civilised, but Kyojuro had realised he favoured missions in the far-off lands, where silence prevailed on the constant sound of carts and voices. Quite surprising for a vibrant character like himself, he knew.
His near-death experience hadn’t turn him antisocial, but he found the comfort of wilderness much more appealing now. In its sunrises.
And its sunsets, the same taunting voice echoed in his head.
Kyojuro clicked his tongue and shut down any further thought. Innocents were missing in the streets below his window, there was no time for selfish reflexion of the mind.
A sudden heaviness tugged at his senses, pressing against his temples, warning every muscle of his body against the dark presence that abruptly appeared behind the wall.
There it was he thought as he turned around without a sound, but squinted at the window when it opened on its own, in a long and low creak that lingered in the empty room.
The mere supposition of the local monster directly paying him a visit by chance made Kyojuro laugh, but it would have made his mission easier he supposed. Instead, a wave of familiar irritation ̶ too familiar, washed over him when the presence’s heaviness grew stronger, a clear indicator of the demon’s potency, worthy of a hundred of his kin.
He wasn’t even surprised when gleaming yellow eyes detached themselves from the darkness of the street, like playful will-o’-the-wisp curiously eyeing a soul astray.
Somehow, deep within his bones, he knew those eyes had been watching him all the way here, he had just made it a point to ignore their weight on the nape of his neck all along.
“We meet again, Kyojuro,” Akaza greeted like he had done twice already. “I was beginning to think this chattering thing would never go away,” he huffed nonchalantly and laid his chin in his hand, his other elbow supporting his body on the windowsill.
The room was on the first floor, a good four meters above the ground, a mere detail that had nothing of an obstacle, Kyojuro guessed. He only stared silent in return.
“Talking with a dull spadger all day must be absolutely fascinating,” Akaza kept up, drumming abyssal blue fingers against his cheek.
“It is a loyal presence I can rely on,” Kyojuro answered simply, instantly wondering why he indulged the demon with small talk.
Perhaps it was a beneficial compromise, to give way to a little chit chat, in hopes it would miraculously drive Akaza away satisfied, without a fight that would ineluctably cause greater damages than a meeting alone in the woods.
Naive supposition, his brain scolded him.
“I cannot fight with you tonight,” Kyojuro went straight to the point instead of lingering. He turned to properly face his opponent ̶ visitor? “I’m here to stop the villagers from being slaughtered. I need to be careful of-“
“Still dealing with small fry I see,” Akaza interrupted, blowing invisible dust from his nails. “Your superior clearly thinks you’re still as useless as those young recruits of yours.”
He shouldn’t have been affected by the open insult that was purposely said to get a reaction out of him. Yet, Kyojuro’s jaw clenched instantly.
“It is only a proof of his respect regarding my condition,” he uttered, noting the way Akaza’s smile turned cold.
“You’re being belittled, Kyojuro. How can you live at ease when a weakling tells you what to do from his hideout in the shadows? Pathetic,” the demon spat the words with a newfound disgust, chin lifting from his relaxed palm.
Kyojuro tilted his chin up in return. “Doesn’t it apply to you as well?”
Something flared in Akaza’s eyes before his gaze darkened, his signature snicker lower than usual passing his lips. “Your strength would be feared and recognized among demons.”
“I take that your proposal still stands,” Kyojuro retorted.
“I told you. You are worthy,” the words pierced through Kyojuro’s chest and hung up in the air.
“And I told you, I refuse.” Ask me again, and I’ll definitely kill you, he omitted to add, keeping the threat in the corner of his cheek.
Silence fell on them like cold snow, any trace of playfulness wiped away from Akaza’s features as he watched him silently, mouth shut in a thin line yet voicing the blatant disappointment that crept under the demon’s skin.
Akaza was surely as vibrant as him, unable to tame his emotions. The slightest wrinkle of nose or small raise of brow translated nothing but the hubris which animated his every move. It was natural for a being of his kind, he supposed. Demons were free spirits, unbound creatures that only submitted to the law of raw strength, personified by two entities: the sun and the fiercest creature among them.
Voices suddenly erupted outside, passers-by disturbing the quiet of the night at the other end of the main street. It made Kyojuro shift immediately, aware that if Akaza wanted, he could wreak havoc here in an instant. To compensate for his bad mood and make Kyojuro pay for daring to turn him down perhaps. Like a child’s tantrum.
The thought made him think at the speed of light, contemplating his options to limit the potential damages that a fight against Akaza would bring upon the frail town.
As stated, Akaza was as expressive as him, and he was as expressive as Akaza. It was thus without much surprise that his sudden nervousness, visible in every muscle of his contracted face, made the demon recover his smile.
“Drunkards,” Akaza said as his palm leisurely returned to his cheek. “Not the best after-dinner in the world, but better than nothing,” he grinned while staring Kyojuro straight in the eyes.
It was always hard to tell if Akaza was joking or hiding utter seriousness behind his toothy smirk. Kyojuro recalled that night when he had made him doubt of his bloodlust for an entire village but had only eaten a sparrow instead. A strange outcome for that matter. The flame pillar rarely heard of demons contenting themselves with animals. Perhaps it was just for the pleasure of taking a life, whoever it belonged to.
In this very moment, he was unable to predict Akaza’s next move, the alarm ringing louder in his head telling him to do something.
“If it is a fight that you seek,” he spoke as his hand brushed automatically against his hip, only to find the empty spot where his sword should have been. “I’ll grant you one, but not here,” his reason was laughing at him for even trying to bargain with an upper moon.
“Grant me? I’m not here to beg, Kyojuro,” Akaza barked out a laugh. “Your recovery got to your head!”
“Why are you here then?”
“Mere curiosity” Akaza echoed his own words from their last encounter.
The demon shifted his weight and darted his eyes to the side, lips hiked up to reveal sharp canines as he turned slightly toward the street.
Kyojuro didn’t wait further to fully understand Akaza’s intentions, to distinguish a game from a real threat. He jumped without thinking twice, hand reaching for the demon’s collar and yanking him full force inside.
Akaza let himself be pulled through the window with ease until his feet hit the wooden floor of the room and his back was pressed against the wall, Kyojuro’s fists crushing his chest as the light of the oil lamp flickered and weakened to a mere spark.
He grinned wide of course, and Kyojuro could tell now that he had had absolutely no interest in the drunkards below in the first place.
A game it was, then.
The glow of the lamp kept on fading, slowly plunging the room into copper shades until the walls and furniture were swallowed by the night, painted in oceanic blue, as dark as the fearsome depths of the sea. The flame remained, but fought feeble against this underworld.
Still, it allowed Kyojuro to make out the contours of the other’s face, defying Akaza's eyes burning brighter than any light that could have graced the room.
The voices outside were fading as well, men walking their way down the streets unaware of the threat that rested a window above them, until they were only a blurred echo in Kyojuro’s ears.
His wrists were suddenly caged by strong fingers, Akaza grasping the sleeves with the intention of creasing them. Desire of battle set his strange iris alight and Kyojuro stopped himself in time from marvelling at the broken pattern of his eyes, like glass shattered, dangerously sharp.
“See? Your instinct calls for a fight,” Akaza spoke as if he had won a bet, unbearably proud.
“Leave,” Kyojuro asserted as gravely as he could. By the look of Akaza’s snort, the wanted effect was unsuccessful.
“You want it, Kyojuro,” he persisted, the words running up the flame pillar’s spine and clinging onto his shoulders, planting the seeds of a shameful truth into his bones.
Kyojuro did want to fight, yes. The last dual with the third most powerful upper moon had left him oddly euphoric, because he had gotten out alive, again, and because he had been himself again; a swordsman who deserved his title, a warrior who could battle against one of the most dangerous demons of the world and get out unharmed. Not because Akaza wanted him to be, but because he was capable of resisting.
The ache of his scars was not a burden anymore, but a proof of his endurance. Of his worth.
You truly are worthy, had been the words of Akaza that night, when his nails had sunk in Kyojuro’s back, clutching at every inch of skin beneath the fabric of his uniform. And it had burned as if the flames of his haori had set him ablaze.
He pressed harder against Akaza, fists crushing the other as if they could mould the demon’s back into the wall.
The cut on his hand, as artificial as it was, stretched until it cried a trickle of warm blood along his skin, flesh distorted by the iron grip he held Akaza with.
And just like that, yellow eyes dropped to his wrist, almost comically fast, before darting back on him.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re doing this on purpose,” Akaza smiled as he tightened his grip around Kyojuro’s wrists. He returned his attention to the fresh, tiny, wound as if it was a blessed and opulent river.
“I will fight you, but not tonight,” was what Kyojuro said, changing subject and wanting to draw these prying eyes away from his hand.
“Why?” Akaza played along, lingering on the bloodied skin for a second more, as if he was regretting looking away. “You fear for the fate of a mere dozen of villagers?”
“Yes.”
“They don’t deserve your strength.”
“They don’t need to.”
It was spoken softer than he had meant to, but it translated nothing more than the values on which his heart clung to everyday, to save those who couldn’t save themselves. Somehow, in this brief and oddly intimate moment with the enemy he had to get rid of to honour these very values, he wanted Akaza to understand.
He naively looked for a spark of humanity in the eyes of a creature that defined itself as anything but human.
Akaza only stared at him unshaken, as if he was fearing to reveal any bit of emotion through a shift of eyelash.
And then he escaped the slayer’s burning gaze, untying his fingers from Kyojuro’s sleeves to let his palm ̶ unnaturally smooth for someone who fought with bare fists ̶ roam up the skin of his exposed wrist, collecting drops of blood as it ran along the back of Kyojuro's hand.
Ink-blue fingers like samples of the night sky tickled his clenched knuckles, until their warmth left his skin at once. Under the slayer’s puzzled stare, Akaza slowly brought his own palm to his lips, licking the red that smeared his hand and tasting what he had struggled to ignore the night before.
The night before.
Memories came like a fluttering veil upon Kyojuro’s vision, images of Akaza, the third most powerful upper moon, lingering above his chin as if the slayer’s blood had been the sweetest nectar.
“They need to deserve you,” the demon uttered suddenly, voice muffled against the palm he kept close to his lips as if it pained him to part from the scent that now adorned his skin. “They all should.”
Kyojuro watched silent as Akaza returned his hold to the clasped fingers around his vest. He watched as Akaza detached his wounded hand from the material effortlessly, Kyojuro letting his hand being led away without an ounce of resistance, to his own surprise. And he watched as Akaza took this very pliant hand to his chin, running it against his lower lip, than upper lip, than nose.
Kyojuro watched as the other breathed long and slow against his calloused hand, Akaza’s warm breathing kissing his knuckles, phalanxes, nails, only to realise that his own breath was shaking at the back of his throat.
“Akaza,” his voice quivered against his will as he tightened his other fist in the demon’s clothing.
Akaza only grunted in return, the ability to speak drowned by the madding scent of Kyojuro’s wound that seemed to permeate all his senses.
Teeth suddenly grazed the slayer’s skin, scratching against bones more urgently and making Kyojuro tense in a second.
Alert, he brought the hand that rested against Akaza’s vest to the fountain pen that rested in his pocket, and pointed it just under the demon’s jaw as if he unsheathed his sword.
“Beware,” he said gravely, forcing the metallic quill against Akaza’s flesh until it drew blood.
“Of what? I thought you didn’t want to fight tonight,” came in a chuckle. Akaza’s eyes were clouded, and yet he seemed to regain speech just fine, to the slayer’s bewilder.
Kyojuro’s reason dictated him to back away, to stop his body from inching closer, to push the quill into the other’s jugular vein and bleed him dry until the demon’s body couldn’t regenerate.
Akaza’s free hand touched his elbow, fleeting, then pressed along his arm. Adventurous fingers scorched their way to his shoulder and dropped to his ribs. They followed the curves of the bones until they settled on his waist, choosing to anchor themselves here and dig, further and further, almost piercing through the clothes, mirroring the recollection of that night.
Think about the sunrises, his reason was screaming at him, but Kyojuro covered his ears. It was too many orders to follow at once.
The fountain pen fell from his hand and onto the floor, the clang of the tip colliding with wood marking a pulsation among Akaza’s irregular sighs and staining Kyojuro’s sandals with blue ink.
He grasped Akaza’s jaw, shoving his head backward against the wall.
The sunrise was still far away, his heart whispered.
Kyojuro dived willingly into the waves of the night when the last glow of the lamp died, and his forehead fell against Akaza’s own. He swore he saw relief and pleasure blend in the demon’s shattered eyes before he let his eyelid shut for good.
The fingers around his waist were soon replaced by Akaza’s full arm, circling his middle eagerly as if he had just granted the upper moon permission to cross an invisible line.
Beware, he had said as a warning to Akaza, but he began to think it was more a warning to himself.
Beware of what? His heart questioned. Of the fire that ran free under his skin each time flesh met flesh? Of the pleasing shiver that spread across his back as he was pressed closer? Of the way Akaza’s eyes were half-lidded and his lips leisurely tugged into a smile that strangely painted his features in genuine glee?
Kyojuro bit the ounce of regret that flared at the sight. Under the frail light of the moon that managed to momentarily pierce through the clouds, and in this timeless moment inside an inn’s empty room, Akaza looked human.
All of this would disappear with the sunrise, the light would take it away.
His grip around Akaza’s jaw softened just slightly as he angled his face to increase the friction of their foreheads together. It made Akaza exhale, a quiet sound passing his lips and rebounding against Kyojuro’s skin.
He didn’t realise he had spoken the demon’s name out loud until his own name was breathed in return, their noses brushing against each other as they moved in tandem, a desperate need to feel bones through skin possessing both souls.
The moon slid back behind the clouds when their breaths mingled, and Kyojuro really suspected that each of his limbs was ablaze.
The fingers he kept on Akaza’s jaw tightened once again at the same time the arm around his waist did, both of them caging the other in their own way and almost sinking into the wall.
Kyojuro’s wound had dried above his hand, and didn’t leave any trace of red in Akaza’s hair when he brought it to the short pink strands, fingers stretching before clenching and making the demon’s chest tremble with a growl.
It was troubling, how the same euphoria that had taken hold of his senses while fighting the upper moon was now puffing up in his veins, guiding his hands against Akaza’s exposed skin and telling him to seize more.
His wild locks of hair were urgently pushed away from his cheek by Akaza, the latter’s hand roaming all over the side of his face with haste. He let his thumb caress the scar of Kyojuro’s missing eye, with an absurd softness that contrasted with the raw strength of the blow that had abused the skin many nights ago.
The slayer’s lips, bitten and consumed, were suddenly breathing air, to his heart’s disappointment. His eye opened to follow the shape of Akaza’s cheekbone before the mouth he had began to crave for found its way to his neck, the sudden contact causing his voice to waver with a strangled noise.
Akaza’s palm pressed harder through the material of his uniform, and he made it a point to burry his head further in Kyojuro’s neck, the contradictory touches pushing Kyojuro to arch his back as his head unconsciously fell backward, only exposing more muscles to the demon’s greed.
The thought of Akaza tearing his throat open crossed his mind, but he somehow silenced it with a lack of care that would have made him commit seppuku in his youth, perhaps.
Instead of lingering on the absurdity of the situation, he tightened his hold in Akaza’s hair and grasped on the other’s shoulder to keep balance.
The skin of his neck was aching wherever Akaza’s mouth settled, nipped and bit, leaving red buds that would bloom purple tomorrow. Kyojuro listened to the other’s shivering moans that pierced through his neck as the drums in his chest thundered louder, as his nails scraped pale bare skin, as his gaze fell on the abyssal sky through the window.
“Akaza,” he breathed and felt teeth tasting his jaw.
“Yes?” was muttered, almost inaudible. The demon’s own voice leaked irrational want.
“Akaza,” he could only say in return, repeating the name again and again, until he brought their lips back together with a hunger he thought only demons were capable of.
The faint marks above the collar of his uniform in the morning reminded him that it hadn’t been a delirious dream. Unlike last time, he wasn’t left in between day and night, unable to decide if he favoured sunrises or sunsets.
Now, as the orange gleam of the first rays of light pointed at the colours on his skin with an accusing finger, he could only wait for the sun to fade away and leave him be.
When he exited the inn, haori hiding the creases at the back of his vest and sword secured against his hip, he walked to the mountains, under the curious gaze of some, marching toward his next mission.
No demon was haunting the town anymore, Upper Moon Three had made sure of that.
Kyojuro still wondered why he had poked around in a slayer’s concern.
He supposed it was a question he could ask himself tonight.