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Chapter Text

Kyojuro braced himself against the nearest tree trunk. His chest heaved as he attempted to get his breath back. Ash and dust settled as the demon disintegrated. Kyojuro should wipe the blood and ash from his blade, but he just needed a moment, just a minute to breathe. 

“That was brilliant!” 

Kyojuro squeezed his eye shut, but pushed off of the tree trunk with one last, deep breath, fighting past the odd tightness in his chest. 

“Your form was amazing, as always,” Akaza praised. 

“As if you actually know anything about sword forms,” Kyojuro said as he turned to face the demon that had become his shadow. 

Akaza’s fanged grin greeted him. “I don’t know how to paint, but I can still realize that a painting is gorgeous.” 

Kyojuro rolled his eye, and flicked the blood from his sword. 

“Long night?” Akaza asked as he pressed closer, taking advantage of the begrudging familiarity that had sprung up between them these past months. 

“No. It’s barely past midnight.” He still had a lot of ground to cover tonight. He might have killed one demon, but because it was so early, he had plenty of time to begin hunting down the next one. 

“When did you last sleep?” Akaza asked, his voice laced with sickly sweet concern. “You seem tired.” 

Kyojuro worked his jaw, and turned away from the demon. He’d long since grown used to Akaza pretending he cared about him. At first, it had bothered him. It had infuriated him. He did not want the care and concern of a monster like Akaza; he did not believe that a monster like Akaza was even capable of care and concern. This was all just a game to him, a way of toying with prey. Or worse, he’d deluded himself into thinking he did care for Kyojuro, which was just viscerally uncomfortable. 

But by now, after nearly a year to get used to Akaza’s nagging presence, he had become little more than an annoyance. He had become something beyond familiar, to the point that Kyojuro found himself more on edge the nights that Akaza did not follow him around. 

However, that was just because if Akaza was with him, obviously he wasn’t out killing innocents to devour. 

“I slept most of today,” Kyojuro answered. “Just like I usually do.” 

Akaza’s eyes narrowed, and he was clearly far from convinced. “That demon was the only one you fought tonight?” 

“Yes, it was.” Kyojuro delicately stepped over the bloodied ashes, ready to move on. There was no point in lingering after he’d killed a demon. 

Akaza hummed, and hurried after him. “Well! Where are we headed next, then?” 

Resigned, Kyojuro told Akaza the next town he intended to investigate, and they walked in that direction together. 

Kyojuro ended his nights far more exhausted than he used to, even in the wake of his and Akaza’s first meeting. 

Breath caught in his lungs in a way it never had before. 

Akaza lounged across the bed, the blankets and sheets tangled around his lower legs. He propped his elbow up, and rested his cheek on his fist as he watched Kyojuro strip the jacket of his uniform off. 

Kyojuro should not allow this, let alone be used to it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about Akaza’s presence anymore, not in earnest. He just went about with his normal routines, and if the demon happened to be there, so be it. He did not have the energy to try and chase Akaza from this inn, and by now, he knew he would not hurt anyone here. He had no real interest in such things. 

“Can you get out of my bed?” Kyojuro requested. “I would like to lay down and sleep!” 

Akaza narrowed his eyes. “This is a bit early for you.” 

“Is it?” It certainly didn’t feel like it. His eyelid was so heavy every blink was a chore, moving his limbs was akin to shifting lead, and he wanted little more than to just lay down and sleep the fatigue away. He felt as if he’d been—Well, as if he’d been fighting with Akaza all night. Few things made him feel so exhausted, made his body feel truly worked to the bone. He always knew he’d get a good night’s rest after Akaza insisted they spar. 

But they had not fought tonight. Kyojuro had traveled. He hadn’t fought at all. He really shouldn’t be this tired. 

Rather than answering his question, Akaza stared at Kyojuro for a moment, before sighing, and rolling out of the bed. 

“Thank you.” Kyojuro flopped into the bed with little grace, his eye slipping closed before his head even hit the pillow. Sleeping with Akaza around was nothing new. This was far from the first time he’d followed him into his inn for the night, or sat next to wherever Kyojuro had set up camp for the night, if he’d chosen to just sleep outside. Sleeping with Akaza around was nothing unusual, nothing that set him on edge. Not anymore. 

Obviously, Akaza wasn’t going to kill him. If he was going to, he’d have done it long ago. There was no point in wasting energy on being paranoid about him. 

He would be gone in the morning, Kyojuro would wake up and get on with his day, and once the sun set, he would likely turn up again. 

It was the routine. It was their routine. 

“Kyojuro…” 

Kyojuro snuggled into the blankets, letting his heavy body relax and sink into unfamiliar bedding. “Hm…?” 

“Never mind,” Akaza said. “It’s nothing.” 

Kyojuro lifted his head from the pillow, to find Akaza looming over him. 

It should have been alarming, to have a demon— Upper Moon Three leaning over Kyojuro while he was trying to sleep, but he merely rolled his eye and let his head fall back against the pillow. “Are you going to stare at me while I sleep again?” he asked, though his voice was muffled against the pillow. 

Akaza hummed, and backed away a few paces. 

Odd. Akaza normally wasn’t so quiet. He talked all the time, any opportunity Kyojuro gave him and then some. 

It almost made Kyojuro want to ask if something was wrong. 

He stopped himself just before he could open his mouth. Why should he care if something was wrong with Akaza? He shouldn’t, and he didn’t. He shouldn’t be this casual with him to begin with, even if Akaza had given him very little choice in the matter. 

“You seem very tired, Kyojuro,” Akaza finally said. “Get plenty of rest.” 

“I’m trying, but someone keeps distracting me,” he said as he closed his eye. 

Floorboards creaked, the blanket shifted ever so slightly, and Kyojuro realized Akaza had sat on the floor and leaned against the bed. 

How ridiculous. He and Akaza should be fighting to the death. They never should have done anything any different. 

And now Akaza stayed with him while he slept. 

Worst of all, Kyojuro no longer worried for his safety or anyone else’s. 

He sighed, before clearing his throat as the breath caught in it. 

“Kyojuro?” Akaza twisted, and grabbed at the side of the bed. 

“I’m fine, Akaza,” Kyojuro assured him. “Just going to sleep.” 

Akaza stayed silent, but didn’t shift from his position, apparently deciding it wasn’t enough to lean against the bed. He needed to watch Kyojuro sleep. 

Yes, he really was ridiculous. 

And still… Kyojuro was able to easily drift off, as if there wasn’t a demon staring at him at all. 

Waking up with a sore throat was new. 

At first, Kyojuro thought he was coming down with a mild illness. That would explain why he was so tired, as well as the tightness in his chest that no amount of total concentration breathing seemed to abate. 

He ignored it for a few days. He didn’t feel ill, not really, just a little off. There was no need to waste time going to a doctor over something that would pass on its own, and definitely no need to bother anyone at the Butterfly Mansion with such things. Soon enough, the mild cold would pass. 

Except it didn’t. 

If anything, the persistent soreness only got worse, as well as the fatigue. 

He found it odd. Unlike any other time in his life that he had a sore throat, it was not accompanied by any sinus issues, not even a runny nose! Not that he wanted to come down with a genuine illness, but what was the point in his body being almost halfway sick? 

Honestly, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Beyond being a minor annoyance, it didn’t hinder him at all. 

No, if anything, Akaza was far more irritating than any sore throat. 

“Are you sick?” the demon asked, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. 

“No,” Kyojuro insisted. “I am fine, Akaza. And even if I was sick, I do not know what you would do about such a thing!” 

Akaza’s lips pulled into a tight frown, and he leaned closer, inserting himself well into Kyojuro’s personal space. “Are you using your breathing techniques?” 

Kyojuro returned the frown. “Yes?” He always used total concentration; he couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t. It was a subconscious thing, something he no longer thought about. It was no different from breathing in general. “Why?” 

Akaza leaned down and closer, so that he was nearly eye level with Kyojuro’s chest. He tilted his head, as if he wanted to rest his ear against Kyojuro. 

He took a step backwards to prevent him from doing that. He wouldn’t put it past Akaza to try and be so overly familiar. 

“Your breathing sounds different,” Akaza said as he stood up to his full height once more. “Not as… deep.” 

“I am breathing no differently from normal,” Kyojuro said with a curt nod. 

Akaza’s eyes narrowed, and Kyojuro knew the demon didn’t believe him. When Akaza got fixated on something, it was difficult to shake him, regardless of how strange and irrational the fixation may be. That much had been made obvious from his incessant pestering of Kyojuro to become a demon. 

Actually, his entire relationship with Kyojuro made it obvious. What demon became so obsessed with a Hashira in such a way? What demon was friendly with one? All in the hopes that he might become a demon himself? 

But then again… what Hashira allowed a demon to interact with them in such a way? 

“You’re sure?” Akaza needled. 

Kyojuro sighed, more than exasperated with the conversation. He resolutely ignored the way his breath hitched with the sigh, but given Akaza’s squint, he’d noticed. 

“Yes,” Kyojuro insisted. “I know how to breathe, Akaza.” 

Akaza hummed, clearly unconvinced, but finally let the topic drop. 

But when Kyojuro found the demon he hunted that night, Akaza lingered close by. He always did when Kyojuro fought, he claimed he liked watching it, but tonight was different. He was closer, watching with an intensity ever so slightly different than he had in the past. He was not a spectator gleaning entertainment. 

He watched like he was waiting to get involved. 

All because he thought something was wrong with Kyojuro’s breathing? Thought he might be sick? 

It almost made Kyojuro indignant. For all of Akaza’s praises of his strength, he was worried he wouldn’t be able to handle himself because of a mild, supposed illness? 

Why was Akaza worried about him at all…? 

Why had Kyojuro allowed them to get close enough that worry could even form? 

He ignored how long it took him to get his breath back after killing the demon, despite it not being a difficult fight at all. 

“Kyojuro…?” Akaza stepped through the ashes of the demon, like they were nothing but dirt to him, and not the remains of someone just like him. “Are you alright?” 

Kyojuro resisted the urge to press a hand to his chest, as if he could push away the tightness in it, and plastered on a smile. “Of course I am! Come on. Let’s move on.” 

Akaza opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of whatever he wanted to say, closed it, and nodded. “Lead the way, then.” 

The sore throat morphed into a maddening tickle, which then developed into a persistent cough. Despite that, no sinus issues had developed, and nothing Kyojuro did helped ease the discomfort in his throat. He thought he might have drank more tea with honey this past week than he had in the entire rest of his life. And though he still had no issues with breathing, an uncomfortable pressure had settled in his chest. 

He was forced to admit he might be sick. 

Regardless! It wasn’t a severe enough illness to keep him from working. It was a hindrance, sure, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He was out towards the fringes of his region now, but once he circled back and was closer to the Butterfly Mansion he would stop by and have Shinobu or one of her assistants take a look at him. Or he would stop at another doctor’s if he had the time. Whichever he got around to first. 

Not today though. He had more traveling to do. He was on the trail of a demon he needed to kill by the end of tonight. As soon as he finished up with these reports, he’d be back on the road. 

He took another sip of his tea, graciously provided by the kind woman who ran the inn he stayed at last night. Unfortunately, it did nothing to soothe the itchiness in his throat, nor the coughing fit he knew was coming on. 

He barely managed to swallow the tea before he began coughing. He hunched over the desk, and pressed his face into the crook of his elbow to cover his mouth. His eye screwed shut as the ragged coughs only made his throat all the more sore, and the tickle became much more tangible, as if something were actually lodged in his throat. 

No. He was coughing something up.  

Shakily, he placed the cup of tea on the desk and braced his free hand against it as the coughing grew more forceful, more painful. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, whatever was stuck in throat, in his chest, sinuses, wherever he hacked it up from, it was not comparable to any mucous, flem, or anything of the sort that he’d ever coughed up before. 

Tears pricked at his eye, and a twinge of panic set in. Between the coughing and whatever his body was attempting to cough up, he could barely catch his breath, only managing to suck in shallow gasps of air between each cough. 

Finally, the building pressure and itchiness in his throat gave, and something thin and—and floral forced its way up his throat and into his mouth. 

Too confused, disgusted, and concerned to worry about finding a tissue, Kyojuro pulled his face from his elbow and quickly spat the thing into the palm of his hand. 

What the hell…? 

His eye went wide as he stared down at the pitiful, saliva coated object in his head. 

A flower petal. A small, pink flower petal. He’d just coughed up a flower petal! 

For a moment, all he could do was stare as he attempted to get his breath back and breathing under control. The room was deathly silent save for his own heaving gasps, and he miserably wiped at his mouth with his sleeve to get rid of the spit on his lips. 

This couldn’t be right. No way in hell was this right! 

There was only one reason anyone would ever cough up a flower. 

Hanahaki disease. 

Kyojuro didn’t have hanahaki. He couldn’t. He didn’t even—How could he have hanahaki if he wasn’t in love with someone? 

His fingers curled around the flower petal. 

Kyojuro didn’t know much about hanahaki. The only person he’d ever personally known who developed it was Obanai, and he’d been far from open about the ordeal. But it only developed if someone could not be forthright with feelings of love, right…? 

So why would Kyojuro develop it? He certainly was not hiding or denying feelings for anyone! 

No, there had to be some other reason. Some other version of it that he just didn’t know about. 

But… it would explain the fatigue, the soreness of his throat, and the tightness in his chest. If flowers had truly begun to develop in his lungs—

He shuddered and crushed the flower petal in his fist. 

Akaza had insisted something hadn’t been right with his breathing. As a demon, had he been able to sense the growth of the flowers? Could he smell them, even through flesh and bone? Or had he simply noticed how they’d already impeded Kyojuro’s breathing? 

It didn’t matter. Akaza had nothing to do with this. 

He jumped to his feet, threw the flower petal away, and hurriedly put his uniform on. The reports could wait. He would kill the demon he tracked, because saving any innocents it might kill was the most important thing, and then he would go straight to the Butterfly Mansion. He needed to speak with Shinobu. 

Whatever had caused this, whatever could fix it, needed to be discussed as soon as possible. 

As a demon slayer, Kyojuro relied on his breathing. If it was hindered, he would not be able to uphold his duties as a Hashira. He could not let this hanahaki, however the hell it had developed, progress any farther. If it became anything more intense than a minor hindrance… 

No, no! It would be fine! Because Kyojuro was certainly not in love with anyone, and Shinobu would have a solution. 

He grabbed his sword and half finished reports, and left the inn in a rush. 

The odd hitches in Kyojuro’s breathing had intensified. 

Akaza had no idea what caused them. As a slayer—a Hashira, at that—Kyojuro’s breathing should be steadier and deeper than any average human. But recently, something had been off about it. 

It was shallower. Barely, barely perceptible. Kyojuro himself hadn’t even seemed to notice the change. He insisted he was fine, traveled and fought as he normally would, despite the fact that he obviously grew tired much more quickly now. And more recently, the odd little hitch of breath had become commonplace. 

Akaza tried getting closer to him, so he could better listen for congestion in his lungs, or perhaps find evidence of an injury Kyojuro was hiding, but the Hashira was always certain to take at least two steps back any time Akaza did so. But sometimes, Akaza was able to listen closely when they shared a room together at an inn and Kyojuro fell asleep. He would lean over Kyojuro’s body, close, but never going so far as to lay his head on him (he would never sleep through that) and while the hitches proved to be even more frequent than Akaza thought, he heard nothing that indicated any kind of lung congestion. No rattle, nothing wet. 

Due to that and Kyojuro’s insistence everything was fine, he tried to leave it alone. It still gnawed at him, because why would Kyojuro’s breathing be hindered if nothing was wrong, but he tried to ignore it. 

It kept getting worse, though. 

And tonight, something had Kyojuro on edge. He was tense, rushed, and his scent had been tainted by a pervasive anxiety. 

“Are you okay?” Akaza demanded as soon as he found the slayer that night. He tried pressing himself to Kyojuro’s side, listening to the concerning way the air moved in his lungs. 

Kyojuro’s smile had never been more strained as he hastily backed away from Akaza. “I’m fine!” he insisted, though the words were too forceful, even for Kyojuro’s normal cadence. 

Akaza’s eyes narrowed, and he grabbed at Kyojuro’s wrist and yanked him close. 

“Akaza—!” 

He pressed his ear to Kyojuro’s chest before the Hashira could push him away. He didn’t care what Kyojuro said tonight. He wasn’t fine, this wasn’t normal, and Akaza needed to do something about it. 

Kyojuro froze as soon as Akaza leaned against his chest, and surprisingly did not immediately shove him away like he’d been expecting. 

Deciding not to question and take advantage of the close proximity he’d been granted, Akaza listened. 

He tried not to let himself be distracted by the strong beat of Kyojuro’s heart, which had ever so slightly increased in pace after Akaza pressed against him, nor with the fact that he was allowed to touch Kyojuro, be so close to him. If Akaza ever tried this, he was vehemently denied. Pushed away, or Kyojuro put distance between them himself. And now, Akaza was not only allowed to touch him, but rest his head against his chest. Feel how warm he was, listen to the beat of his heart, the blood rushing through his veins, the breath in his lungs. 

But the fact that Kyojuro allowed him such a thing was only more proof that something wasn’t right. 

For the first time, Akaza heard something in the slayer’s lungs that should not be there. He had no idea what it was. Even to his sensitive hearing, pressed so close, he could scarcely hear it at all. It didn’t sound like normal congestion, like the result of a respiratory infection. It sounded—It almost sounded like something rustled with the air being pulled in and out of Kyojuro’s lungs, like something shifted with each constriction and expansion of muscle. 

Despite the minute of shocked allowance, Kyojuro wrenched his wrist out of Akaza’s hold, and resolutely shoved him back. “What are you doing?” he demanded. 

“You’re sick,” Akaza said. It was not a question anymore, not something for Kyojuro to confirm or deny. There was something wrong with his lungs, deep in chest, and he was sick.  

Kyojuro… sick! 

That couldn’t be right. Akaza didn’t want it to be right! Kyojuro couldn’t be sick. He was strong, and healthy, and—

Something indignant ignited in Kyojuro’s eye. “No, I’m not!” he insisted, and his lips curled into a smile. 

It wasn’t genuine. Kyojuro smiled a lot, Akaza could tell them apart by now. 

“You are! You need medicine!” Akaza said. “Whatever it is, it’s in your lungs. That means you’ve ignored it for too long. When a sickness gets into your lungs that means—” 

“What?” Kyojuro tilted his head. “You’re not a medical expert, are you, Akaza?” 

Akaza’s mouth snapped shut. 

“It’s not as if you know much about illnesses,” he continued. 

“Anyone would know that,” Akaza argued. 

Did Kyojuro not understand? Why would he be so flippant with his own sickness, especially when it had affected his ability to breathe? Given his reaction, his anxious intensity, he had to acknowledge it, didn’t he? Why would he insist he was fine? 

Kyojuro sighed, before he hurriedly turned away and shoved his face into the crook of his elbow as harsh coughs racked his body. 

“Kyojuro!” Akaza lunged to touch him, some part of him insisting he help Kyojuro sit up straight, despite how little sense it made given he was already standing up. 

How could he say he wasn’t sick…? If he insisted he wasn’t sick, did that mean he hadn’t gone to any kind of doctor? That he had no medicine? 

He needed medicine… 

The coughing fit quickly subsided, though Kyojuro’s chest spasmed a few more times, and Akaza suspected he’d just forced down the coughs. 

Kyojuro heaved a few deep breaths, and straightened his posture. 

Akaza let his hand slip from the slayer’s shoulder before he was shrugged away. “You’re sick,” he said again. 

It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was all his mouth and tongue would supply. You’re sick. You’re sick. You’re sick. 

Kyojuro is sick. He’s sick. Sick, sick, sick, sick. 

“I’m not, and even if I was, it wouldn’t matter,” Kyojuro insisted as he smiled once more. “There’s a demon I need to kill tonight.” He turned and continued down the path, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. 

Like his breath wasn’t still too shallow and hitching in his throat. 

With little else to do, Akaza followed. He had no medicine to give Kyojuro, he didn’t know any doctors to force him to visit, but he could not do nothing.  

At the least, he needed to stay close by Kyojuro’s side, especially if he insisted on continuing to fight. 

What if he had another coughing fit like that in the middle of a battle? What if his lungs seized and hitched and he wasn’t able to use breathing techniques? 

Why would he not acknowledge his illness…? 

Kyojuro smiled over his shoulder. “I’m fine, Akaza. Truly!” 

Akaza did not believe him. 

Shinobu should have known she would be in for an… interesting conversation when Kyojuro turned up at her estate. It wasn’t like the Flame Hashira to stop by so suddenly. Even when he was injured, unless it was something so specific to demons the average doctor wouldn’t be sure of how to handle it, he didn’t often come to her estate. 

So when Kanao came to inform her that Kyojuro had arrived and wanted to see her, she expected to find him bleeding out, torn to pieces, afflicted with some bizarre, horrifying Blood Demon Art, something of that sort. 

Instead, she found him waiting in her office for her. He sat perfectly poised, with his hands resting in his lap, across from her desk. His mouth was pulled into a tight frown, and his brows furrowed in concern. 

As soon as she opened the door, his expression brightened to something she was more familiar with, but she found it odd that he was so intense and upset at all. “Ah! Hello, Shinobu! Thank you for coming to see me!” 

Shinobu returned the smile. “Well! You were here waiting for me! It’s not as if meeting with you was out of my way. If you’re injured, we should go to the infirmary wing, though.” She didn’t notice any injuries, and he did not hold himself as if he were in pain or experiencing stiffness. But perhaps it wasn’t a new injury. Perhaps his injuries courtesy of Upper Moon Three had flared up; that happened on occasion. Though he tried to play it down, Shinobu knew he experienced chronic pain and stiffness due to some of them. 

Kyojuro shook his head. “It’s not an injury.” 

Shinobu hummed, closed the door, and walked over to sit at her desk and face Kyojuro. “What’s the problem, then? I sincerely doubt you’ve come by just for a chat.” 

While it was true that she and Kyojuro had become closer due to his extended state at her estate after his battle with Upper Moon Three, they still weren’t close enough for such casual visits between just the two of them. 

Kyojuro shifted, his gaze dropping. “I’ve been experiencing discomfort in my chest and throat, and yesterday I coughed up a flower petal.” 

Shinobu tilted her head. “Anything else?” 

Kyojuro’s attention shot back to her face, something incredulous burning in his eye. “What do you mean?” 

“You have hanahaki. You know that,” she said. “I don’t understand what you expect me to do about it.” While she would not consider hanahaki to be an overly common illness, everyone certainly knew exactly what it was. Everyone also knew how to cure it. 

Despite what some might believe, Kyojuro was not this stupid. 

“But something must be wrong!” he argued. “I’m not in love with anyone!” 

Or perhaps he was… 

She leveled him with a tired glare. “You are aware that hanahaki forms due to repressed feelings, yes?” 

“Yes! That’s what I mean! How could I develop hanahaki if I’m not in love with anyone?” 

“Kyojuro. Listen to yourself.” 

“I don’t understand what you mean!” 

Shinobu sighed and shook her head. “If you won’t even confront the fact that you love someone at all, of course you developed hanahaki. I’d be more surprised if you didn’t. The denial will only continue to make it worse.” 

“Shinobu—” 

“There’s nothing I can do,” she interrupted as she held her hand up. “I can’t fix hanahaki, I don’t have a cure for hanahaki. Confront the feelings, perhaps have a conversation with the person of your affections, and you should be fine in a few weeks. The flowers will stop growing, and the ones already there will wilt and die. Coughing them up won’t be pleasant, but they’ll stop developing.” 

Kyojuro’s shoulders went stiff. “There must be a different option!” 

“Death.” 

His grimace deepened. 

“I mean, you must know that as well!” she said. It was why so many people were terrified of hanahaki, of the notion of coughing up a flower petal. Technically, it was a terminal illness. Of course, it rarely ended in death. A few bloodied coughing fits leaving someone unable to breathe were often enough to put the fear of god in them. Fear of rejection and embarrassment was no longer a good enough reason to risk such a miserable death, and confessions followed suit. 

It was what happened to Obanai, not all that long ago. Mitsuri might not have returned his affections, but he’d sure as hell confessed them. 

“It’s why you came here, isn’t it?” she asked with a tilt of her head. “You know it’s a serious illness if ignored, so you came to me. I can’t offer you anything different than what you already know. Like I said, I can’t do a thing for you.” 

“I—I know that, but I told you. I am not in love with anyone. I don’t even know—” He cut himself off, ducked his head, and pressed his fist against his mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle a cough. 

Shinobu leaned forward in concern. She might think that Kyojuro was digging this hole himself, was being a bit of an idiot, but she knew how terrifying hanahaki could be. He wasn’t the first slayer to come to her afflicted with it, nor had Obanai been. When you worked a job that more often than not would end with your violent death… Yes, slayers were very adept at hiding from and denying feelings. 

She did not enjoy seeing Kyojuro go through this. She wished there was some way she could help him, some magical cure to this barely understood disease. 

But as she had said, no one could do anything to fix this except Kyojuro himself. 

Shinobu did not even have any guesses about who his feelings might be for. He never interacted with any of their mutual acquaintances differently than anyone else. Of course, it could be someone she’d never even heard of before. 

“I’m fine,” Kyojuro croaked as he let his hand fall back into his lap. 

“If you truly do not know or understand who your feelings are for, you need to figure it out and quickly,” Shinobu said as she got to her feet. “I’m not sure if I believe you or not, but that doesn’t matter. I can’t offer you any advice beyond that.” 

Kyojuro clenched his jaw, but nodded. 

Well, at least he wasn’t going to be as stubborn as he could be. 

“You also need to understand that if you’re already coughing up flowers, it’s going to get worse more quickly,” she said. “It takes the flowers a while to develop in your lungs, but once they do, they don’t slow down. Once you begin coughing them up, most people only have a couple weeks before it develops into a severe case of hanahaki which is going to seriously hinder functioning as normal. So handle this quickly, Kyojuro, before it gets to that point.” 

“I understand.” 

“Good. Because if you let it reach that point, you’ll be contending with the thorns as well.” 

Kyojuro’s eye widened. “There’s really nothing—” 

“No,” she said firmly. “If that’s all you need, I’ll be on my way. You have the power to put an end to this before it gets worse, so do yourself a favor and just do it, Kyojuro.” 

She didn’t give him the chance to reply before she left the office. 

Coughing up flower petals became a normal part of Kyojuro’s morning routine. 

No matter what he did, it felt as if there was a constant tickle in the back of his throat, but it was always worse in the morning after he’d been lying down all night. He woke up in the morning, rolled over and sat up, and within a few moments he’d be hacking up a mouthful of flowers. 

A petal turned to two, then three, then a whole mouthful. One mouthful turned to two, then three, then four. 

He thought Shinobu was exaggerating when she said the hanahaki would progress much more quickly. Maybe she thought that would force him to “confront his feelings” sooner. 

She wasn’t exaggerating. 

It wasn’t just a tickle in his throat anymore, nor a shortness of breath. His lungs had developed a permanent tightness, something he was aware of with each and every breath. 

None of this changed that he still had no idea who the hell he might be in love with. Who did he even interact with often enough for feelings to develop for? He’d never been in love with anyone in his entire life! 

He still wasn’t entirely convinced he was in love with anyone. Despite Shinobu’s insistence that that had to be the case, it just didn’t make sense to him. How could he be in love with someone but be so thoroughly unaware of it? 

However, whether he was or wasn’t in love with someone didn’t really matter. 

With the tightness in his lungs only intensifying by the day, and the coughing fits becoming more and more frequent, he desperately needed to find a solution. 

Total concentration breathing had never felt like more of a chore. Total concentration breathing had never felt like a chore at all! And now it felt like a relief to stop doing it. Kyojuro hadn’t even had to think about performing total concentration breathing for years now. He breathed that way all the time, even while he slept. And for the first time in years, when his chest became so tight it ached and his throat was raw from coughing… 

He stopped. 

It felt wrong. It made Kyojuro’s entire body feel wrong, not just his lungs. 

But he was unsure of what else he could do for any amount of relief. Not even recovering from Akaza’s injuries had felt quite so intense. 

He couldn’t breathe… 

The flowers in his lungs were already strangling him and he couldn’t breathe. 

He had yet to cough up more than petals. How bad would it be, the pain, the tightness, the fatigue, by the time he coughed up full flowers? 

“Aniue…?” Senjuro slid open the bedroom door and peeked his head inside, his brows furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?” 

Kyojuro attempted to smile at him, and opened his mouth to tell him that yes! He was quite fine, when a violent cough interrupted him. He hunched over, tears pricking at his eye, as the soft, choking flowers forced their way up his throat. 

He’d already had five coughing fits this morning, had hacked up a rainbow of flower petals. How…? How were they growing so fast inside him? How were there still more petals inside his lungs? Shouldn’t they have emptied by now? 

“Aniue!” Senjuro rushed to his side, and laid a hand on his back to rub in soft circles. 

“M’fi—Fine—!” Kyojuro managed to choke out in a desperate attempt to calm his brother down. Perhaps it was not the complete truth considering he could scarcely breathe and it felt like his lungs were collapsing in on themselves, but there was nothing Senjuro could do, and there was no need to worry him unnecessarily. 

Senjuro’s frown only deepened as he continued to rub Kyojuro’s back and wait on the coughing fit to subside. 

Kyojuro’s eye went wide as airflow was completely cut off. Instinctively, he grasped at his throat. It was stuck. The flower petal—it was stuck! That had never happened before! 

“Kyojuro!” Senjuro’s fingers curled against his back. 

He couldn’t breathe. Kyojuro couldn’t breathe. Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe—

The pressure in his throat gave, and Kyojuro fell forward with a deep, painful gasp. He hunched over the floor, nails bending as he grasped at it. Strings of saliva dripped from his mouth, and a few lonely petals followed. But that wasn’t it, those petals hadn’t been the mass that lodged in his throat, or the velvety object lingering on the back of his tongue. With one more pitiful cough, a flower tumbled out of his mouth to land on top of the flowers and spit. 

It was blue, petals perky despite being coated in a thin sheen of saliva. 

A flower. There was a flower on the floor, that had just come from inside him, deep within his lungs. 

This couldn’t be right… 

“Aniue…?” Senjuro asked warily, his eyes darting down to the flower. 

Kyojuro snatched the flower up, crushed it in his fist, and got to his feet as quickly as his shaky body would allow. He tossed it in the wastebasket, and pointedly ignored the numerous other wilting petals inside it. “I’m alright!” he assured Senjuro with a smile. “Nothing to worry about.” 

Senjuro opened his mouth, but gave up on whatever he was about to say, and closed it. 

“I’ll be heading back out tonight,” he added. “So let’s be sure to have a good day together before I do, alright?” 

Senjuro’s shoulders slumped with a dejected sigh. “Even though it’s not getting better…? Have you talked to them?” 

“There’s no one to talk to,” Kyojuro said. “We should make breakfast together!” 

“Oh, um, I already made some,” Senjuro said. “It was why I came to get you in the first place, but that was a whole flower. You’ve only been coughing up petals before.” 

It was easy to infer what he meant. It’s getting worse. 

In just a few days, it had already gotten so much worse. 

“I just have some coughing fits every now and then,” Kyojuro said. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

After his little impromptu meeting with Shinobu, she had informed Ubuyashiki of his hanahaki. Kyojuro did not blame her. Such things were important for the master to know after all. But he had suggested Kyojuro take a few days of leave to… take care of the situation. He probably meant to speak with the supposed center of Kyojuro’s affections, confront the person that caused the hanahaki to develop. 

That was not what Kyojuro did. Instead, he had decided to spend a few days at home with his family. However, to be fair, he still had no idea who he might be in love with! How could he love someone and have no idea of who it was? He did not think he was that clueless! 

He hadn’t planned to tell his family about his development of hanahaki. His father would not care, so better to just avoid that conversation, and he did not want to needlessly worry Senjuro. He could pass the coughing off as a mild illness if either of them asked. 

That didn’t work. He hadn’t even lasted a day before he’d been coughing up flower petals in front of Senjuro and been forced to tell him what was going on. He assured his brother everything was fine, that he would deal with it, and there was no need to be concerned, but knowing Senjuro, that hadn’t eased his worries. He could be so anxious, and unlike when he was younger, he was not so quick to completely accept everything that Kyojuro told him. 

But he needed to get back to slayer work. Staying home would not make the hanahaki go away, Kyojuro had no idea how to make it go away. At the least, he needed to keep up with his duties. He was still more than physically capable of it, so there was no point in wasting time at home, even if he did enjoy being able to spend time with Senjuro. 

“If you’re certain,” Senjuro finally said. “Come on, let’s go eat. I made you tea. I hope it helps your throat feel better.” 

“I’m sure it will!” 

Kyojuro coughed up three more flowers throughout the day. Thankfully never more than one at a time; given how painful and tiring coughing up one of them was, he wasn’t sure of how he could handle that. That being said, it was still an exhausting ordeal, and he didn’t understand why this disease was progressing so quickly. 

He could do nothing about it, though, and as he’d told Senjuro, he had his duties to attend to. 

So despite Senjuro’s worried gaze, and parting hug that lingered even longer than normal, Kyojuro left home that night to resume patrolling his region. 

There was no specific demon for him to hunt tonight, but he made his way towards the bigger towns. Demons were more likely to flock to places with a higher population density. Hunting was easier, as was making people disappear without a trace, minimizing the risk of being caught. 

He would travel tonight, and by tomorrow he’d have likely caught onto the trail of a demon to kill. 

He should have expected Akaza to fall into step beside him before the night was over. 

“Good evening, Kyojuro,” he purred as he practically oozed out from the shadows. 

“Hello, Akaza,” Kyojuro greeted. He had long since grown used to the demon appearing out of thin air. It used to set him on edge, but now he fell into step beside Akaza seamlessly and easily. 

Akaza leaned over, his brows furrowed and a frown tugging at his mouth. “You’re still sick. Your breathing sounds even worse than—” 

Kyojuro sighed in exasperation, and held his hand up. “I assured you then that I was fine, and that is still true tonight.” 

Based on Akaza’s flat expression, he did not believe him. 

“I did go to Shinobu and asked her about the cough,” Kyojuro said, hoping that would get Akaza to drop the subject. He certainly didn’t want to discuss hanahaki with Upper Moon Three, considering the topic of his love life went hand in hand with it. A love life he didn’t understand, at that. It was awkward enough having conversations with Shinobu and Senjuro who now believed there was someone in his life he loved and just could not bring himself to confront. What would Akaza do with that assumption? 

Kyojuro did not want to find out. 

“What did she say?” Akaza asked. 

“There was nothing she could do and it would go away eventually,” Kyojuro said. It wasn’t technically a lie, and he shouldn’t care about lying to Akaza anyways. 

(He ignored that a part of him did not like lying to Akaza, even through twisting the words that were said). 

Akaza’s grimace deepened. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” 

“I assure you she does.” 

Akaza stepped around Kyojuro’s body so he could walk on the opposite side, and then back again. His head tilted as he wound around Kyojuro, and he sighed when he realized Akaza was intently listening to his breathing. 

He immediately regretted sighing when his breath hitched and the familiar tickle of a flower petal crawling up his throat began. He did his best to ignore it, swallow it down, refusing to cough up flowers in front of Akaza. 

“You went home for a few nights,” Akaza said. “It’s unusual for you to do that, especially without prior planning. Is it because you’re sick?” 

Kyojuro stared at the demon, and wondered when things had become so casual between them for Akaza to even notice things like that. When had he allowed them to become so close? In fact, he was surprised that Akaza had not turned up at the estate at all during those couple of days, especially if he knew that’s where he was at. 

“What were you doing the past couple of days?” he asked in an attempt to change the subject. 

Akaza’s worried expression morphed into a teasing smile. “I had a meeting with a florist.” 

“What?” Kyojuro demanded. 

Akaza blinked, seemingly taken aback by the sudden harsh tone. “Something against florists?” 

“Why the hell were you meeting with a florist?” There was no way that Akaza knew, right? If he did, he would say so. His favorite thing to do was talk and talk and talk and talk. Why fret over Kyojuro’s sudden illness but not say what it was if he knew? But why the hell would Akaza be going to a florist?

“You know, I do have to do my job on occasion, Kyojuro,” Akaza said. “As much as I would like to spend all my time with you, things don’t work that way.” 

Relief coursed through Kyojuro, his posture relaxing as he realized that whatever the hell Akaza had been doing, it had nothing to do with his own floral problem. Then he frowned. What could Muzan Kibutsuji possibly want with flowers…? 

Akaza did not often talk about what exactly it was he did for Muzan, and Kyojuro had learned that needling got him nowhere. Though given the curses Muzan had in place for his demons, who could really blame Akaza? No, whatever information he got on what Akaza did or Muzan, it had to be something that was offered willingly. 

But florists…? 

It made no damn sense! 

“Are you sure you’re alright…?” Akaza asked again. 

“I’m fine!” he insisted. “We have a lot of ground to cover tonight, so we should get going.” 

Akaza hummed, but still hovered closer than usual throughout the night, while Kyojuro swallowed down pieces of flowers. 

Kyojuro kept up with his duties for another two weeks. 

He spent most of those two weeks exhausted, and with the worrisome pressure in his chest only increasing. Killing demons that wouldn’t have even gotten him to break a sweat left him heaving and gasping for breath now. A sharp pain had begun to stab at his ribs when he forced himself to use total concentration now. The flowers became more common, at least two or three forcing themselves up by the hour, and the putrid smell and taste of flowers constantly assaulted his sinuses and back of his mouth. 

It wasn’t going away. It was getting so much worse. 

It took everything in him to keep from coughing up flowers around Akaza. 

The demon lingered close by, constantly and always, hovering like a concerned mother who couldn’t bear to let a child out of her sight. If Kyojuro had thought he was overbearing before, it was nothing compared to how he acted now. 

The only thing that saved him was the fact that he coughed up far more flowers during the day than night. Kyojuro had no idea why that was, how flowers growing inside his lungs could know anything about the rise and set of the sun, but he could only be grateful. Not only did it keep him from hacking them up around Akaza, but it made things easier for slayer work. He dreaded to think of what might happen if he had a particularly bad coughing fit in the middle of a fight. 

Well… Akaza would jump in to handle it, he supposed. That was why he lingered so close now, wasn’t it? 

Tonight, the sharp pains had intensified. It no longer stabbed and pricked at the inside of Kyojuro’s lungs with total concentration, but when he took a breath at all. 

After tonight, he should go back to Shinobu… He didn’t know what she would do, but she had to know more than he would. Why did breathing hurt so badly? How did hanahaki actually kill you? Was it because the roots of the flowers buried too deeply and decimated the lungs too thoroughly to work properly? Or did so many flowers grow that you merely suffocated? Perhaps a combination of both? 

Kyojuro supposed it didn’t really matter, because he did not fancy dying either way. 

There had to be something to be done. As the days ticked by, Kyojuro had forced himself to consider who he might love. He did not fear rejection! If a conversation would end this, he was more than willing to have one. He just did not understand who he was meant to have one with! Who he was meant to accept. How could he love someone and be so unaware, be so deep in denial that flowers took root inside of him? 

He considered his options, thought of everyone he interacted with on a regular basis. Mitsuri? No. She was something closer to a sibling to him, and he’d never once denied that he cared for her. Tengen? Also no. While they were close, certainly good friends and Tengen could enjoy flirting from time to time, Kyojuro had never returned it and he felt no desire to. Obanai? Similar to Mitsuri. Shinobu? Trying to imagine feelings for her was almost laughable; she was a friend, yes, but anything other than that? Absolutely not. His fellow Hashira, other Corps members he interacted with on even a semi-regular basis, the daughter of one of the Rengoku Estate’s neighbors that he could enjoy chatting with, the man that worked at one of his favorite restaurants and was always happy to give him extra helpings. No, no, no, no. No matter what person he thought of, what person he tried to imagine having feelings for, it never felt right. 

Who else was there…? 

Well, he couldn’t dwell on it tonight. He’d exhausted all the options that made even a little bit of sense to him. Perhaps he should try discussing it with someone else. Maybe Shinobu? She was smart, maybe she could help him make sense of who his feelings might be for. Or Mitsuri! She was something of an expert on romance, right? Or… or Tengen? He certainly asked about Kyojuro’s love life often enough… 

Yes, after he killed the demon he hunted tonight, he would go back to the Butterfly Mansion to ask Shinobu how to better deal with the hanahaki, and then speak with some of them about how he could figure this out. 

With how severe the hanahaki had become, he needed a solution. He could not allow it to progress any further. 

He just had to get through tonight. Perhaps this was all his own fault, and he should not have ignored the problem until it had become so severe, but he hadn’t known what else to do. He needed to perform his duties so long as he was still physically capable. But now that those physical capabilities were dwindling… 

Yes, something must be done. 

A particularly sharp pain in his chest left him wincing as he pressed a hand to it. 

“Kyojuro?” Akaza asked as he stepped closer. 

Kyojuro did not push him away. He had given up on such things as the hanahaki grew worse; he just didn’t have the energy for it. And something about Akaza’s presence did not set him on edge as it once did. In fact, a tiny bit of comfort could be gleaned from him. There was no point in chasing the demon away. 

Kyojuro thought he might have realized that long before this point, it was just only now that he accepted it. 

“I’m fine,” he said. 

Fine. I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine. It felt like that was all he said these days, but what else was he supposed to say to a demon who fussed over him? 

The familiar taste of something pungent and floral crawled up his throat, and Kyojuro knew he didn’t have long before he wouldn’t be able to force the coughing fit and flowers down anymore. 

But they were on the trail of a demon, one close by, and Kyojuro could worry about that after it was dead. 

He quickened his pace, leaving Akaza to rush to catch up. He forced himself to breathe deeply, ignored the stabbing pain that spread with each inhale. He attempted total concentration, but his lungs refused to obey him. 

He could worry about that later, after the demon was dead. 

After tonight, he could worry about it all. 

For tonight, just like he told Akaza, he was fine. 

Chapter Text

Kyojuro’s condition worsened over the days. Even if Akaza did not have the keen senses of a demon to tell him such things through scent and sound, he would have realized it anyways. He was exhausted, every breath ragged, to say nothing of the coughing fits he constantly tried to muffle. 

Nothing Akaza said or did could convince Kyojuro to do anything about the illness that plagued him. 

Kyojuro was a stubborn man. Akaza had learned that the night they met, but he’d never realized he’d be stubborn to his own detriment. He insisted he needed to keep up with his duties as a Hashira, slay demons, but wouldn’t that be easier if he wasn’t sick? Why did he not seek help? Doctors, medicine, and treatments? Humans had advanced a lot in the past few centuries regarding those things. 

What purpose was there in denying it? 

But tonight… 

Something was not right tonight, beyond the issues that had plagued Kyojuro as of late. The odd rustle of his breaths had grown louder, and what had been mild discomfort had morphed to pain. It was obvious in Kyojuro’s pinched expression, and the way his hand came to rest on his ribcage over and over again. 

And still, he insisted he was fine. What could Akaza do about it? He could not even get Kyojuro to talk about the issue with him! 

Perhaps he could start bringing Kyojuro herbs to aid the sickness… Akaza knew a lot about what herbs and natural remedies could help, and he also knew where to find the plants. If Kyojuro insisted on not seeking treatment, Akaza could bring it to him. 

He needed to do something. He could not allow Kyojuro to be sick. 

Yes, tomorrow night he would bring him some herbs. He could not leave to do it tonight, because Kyojuro insisted on fighting demons tonight. He could not be left alone to do that in his condition. Akaza had not had to interfere to prevent him from being injured yet, but he knew the day was coming, that it was inevitable. 

And given how much worse he was tonight… 

He wasn’t using total concentration breathing. Surely he did not have plans to fight a demon without the use of breathing techniques at all? Yes, Kyojuro was a skilled swordsman, but a demon was still a demon, and required certain measures. 

As unsteady as Kyojuro was tonight, Akaza found he did not truly believe he would actually attempt anything he couldn’t handle. 

Kyojuro decided to prove him wrong. 

It was a demon that shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was a demon that Kyojuro should have been able to kill with absolutely no trouble at all. 

But Kyojuro didn’t use Total Concentration breathing. His sword strikes were stilted, and Akaza knew it was due to the pain he was still trying to hide. He just barely managed to dodge wild swipes of the demon’s claws. 

Akaza should get involved. He should kill the demon. Kyojuro was sick. He should not be doing this. He shouldn’t be doing anything except resting and letting Akaza take care of him until he was well again. 

Akaza bounded down from the rooftop he watched from, just as Kyojuro pulled his blade back for another strike. Brilliant flame flickered as he finally forced himself to use his breathing techniques. 

A harsh cough wracked his body as soon as he attempted the breathing technique, and the flames sputtered out. 

“Kyojuro!” Akaza shouted. 

The Hashira stumbled as the coughs continued, each one more grating than the last. His free hand flew up to his throat to grasp at it as his eye widened in utter panic. 

The demon didn’t waste a second, and lunged for Kyojuro with claws outstretched. 

Akaza punched its head into a bloody splatter, ripped its arms off, and kicked it into the wall with enough force its spine shattered before it could touch him. A pathetic demon like that was going to need a moment to regenerate from such harsh injuries, meaning Akaza could focus on what actually mattered. 

Kyojuro’s sword clattered to the ground as his second hand scrabbled at his ribs. He choked and heaved for breath. Saliva dribbled from his open mouth. Despite how hard he tried, the coughing didn’t cease for long enough for him to take even a single breath. 

“Kyojuro!” Akaza caught him just as his knees buckled, and he eased the slayer down to the ground. Akaza placed one of his hands on his back. He leaned Kyojuro forward. The rustling in his lungs had grown so much louder. 

He wasn’t just coughing; he was choking. There was something stuck in his throat. 

Tears streamed from the corner of Kyojuro’s eye, and the hacking turned wet. A speckle of blood dusted his lips, and the dripping saliva took on a reddish hue. 

Panicked horror worked its way up Akaza’s own throat, and he wished Kyojuro were a demon for what felt like the thousandth time. If he was a demon, Akaza could just rip his throat out along with whatever was stuck in it. No, if Kyojuro was a demon, he never would have fallen so ill at all! 

Kyojuro retched, and more blood splattered onto the ground, along with… flower petals? 

Akaza’s eyes went wide. Flower petals. Flowers. There were flowers in Kyojuro’s lungs. 

Hanahaki. Kyojuro had fucking hanahaki! 

Petals turned to full flowers. The petals were crumpled and drooping after being forced up his throat and coated in bloody saliva, but Akaza could recognize them as morning glories. 

He hated that he recognized them. 

This was the rustling in Kyojuro’s lungs. This was why he couldn’t use Total Concentration! 

Why would he lie? Why would he keep this hidden? Why—Why would he—

Two more flowers tumbled out of Kyojuro’s mouth—pink camellias—and the coughing finally, mercifully, ceased. 

Kyojuro heaved in a deep, deep breath, and his entire body slumped as he was finally able to breathe again. 

Akaza supported his weight with one arm, and rubbed gentle circles on his back with his other hand. “Kyojuro…” 

He panted, and shook his head. He couldn’t manage words right now. 

An enraged snarl had Akaza whipping his head around as the other demon finally managed to piece itself back together and stumble towards them.

Akaza bared his teeth, and left Kyojuro’s side just long enough to rip it in half this time. He couldn’t be bothered with the stupid fucking thing right now! Not after Kyojuro had just coughed up bloody flowers! 

He returned to Kyojuro’s side just as he tried forcing himself up on shaking legs. 

Akaza pushed him back down to the ground, and he only worried more when Kyojuro didn’t offer any resistance. 

“The demon—” he gasped. 

“Isn’t fucking going anywhere. It doesn’t have legs,” Akaza growled. “It doesn’t matter right now. Why didn’t you say you have hanahaki? Does the Corps know? Why are you still trying to fight like this?” 

“Because—” Kyojuro coughed, but this one was much more pathetic, and thankfully not the start of another fit. “Because it’s my—” 

“You have hanahaki,” Akaza repeated. “Who are you even—” 

He’d have cut himself off even if Kyojuro hadn’t glared at him. 

For Kyojuro to have hanahaki, he had to be in love with someone. Kyojuro was in love with someone. 

Kyojuro was in love with someone, and so adamantly didn’t want to confront it that he’d made himself sick. 

Akaza grit his teeth as he felt his insides clench. 

“I need to behead it,” Kyojuro insisted, and this time Akaza didn’t stop him as he stumbled to his feet. “I can’t let it kill anyone else.” 

Akaza could do nothing but stare as Kyojuro walked towards the half of the demon that contained its barely regenerated head. 

He didn’t use any breathing techniques when he took its head off. 

Akaza tried not to focus on the fact that his sword barely made it through the demon’s neck, despite how weak it was, how easy it should have been for Kyojuro to behead. 

He shifted his attention back to the sad clump of flowers on the ground. Morning glories and camellias. Did Kyojuro know the names of them? 

As soon as the demon was dead, Kyojuro collapsed against the nearest wall and slid down it. His breathing still hadn’t fully evened out after the coughing fit, and he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

It just smeared most of the blood. 

“You can’t keep doing this,” Akaza said. “If I wasn’t here, this would have gone very poorly for you. You know that.” 

Kyojuro let his head thump back against the wall, and his eye slipped closed. “Of course I know that.” 

“You’ve had hanahaki for weeks. How long have you known?” he demanded. “Why wouldn’t you—Why did you keep saying you were fine!?” 

“Because it has nothing to do with you,” Kyojuro said. “We are enemies. Why would I discuss… this with you?” 

“Enemies.” Akaza couldn’t help but scoff. “At this point, is that truly what we would be considered?” 

Kyojuro sighed, but it was followed by a few shallow coughs. 

“It doesn’t matter.” There was nothing Akaza could do to fix this illness, as much as he fucking hated it. But there was something Kyojuro could do. “Why haven’t you told them?” 

Kyojuro did not seem to be the type to fear rejection. It just didn’t make sense for him to let himself end up in this state because he was afraid someone might not love him. He wasn’t a coward like that! 

And even so… 

How could anyone ever reject him? How could anyone not love Kyojuro? 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kyojuro said. 

“It doesn’t matter? Look at what it’s doing to you!” 

“I know!” 

“So why aren’t you doing anything!?” Akaza spit. “Letting yourself be reduced to this!?” He kneeled down to grab the collar of Kyojuro’s uniform and yanked him close. “You’re letting it ruin you, and for what!? Stubborn pride? Shame? How pathetic.” 

Kyojuro’s expression twisted in indignation, and he shoved Akaza back. “As if you would know anything about this! What do demons know of love?” 

“Clearly I know more than you! I’m not the one with hanahaki!” 

Akaza had never had a damn problem admitting and accepting how he felt. 

That was why Kyojuro was still alive, wasn’t it? Why he had walked away from a fight with an Upper Moon when no one else in over a century had? Why Akaza spent his nights with him, instead of eating or keeping up with his responsibilities for Muzan? Why Akaza fretted over the fact that he was sick and watched his back while he was compromised? 

Kyojuro was lucky Akaza knew how he felt! 

The Hashira’s fighting spirit flared, and Akaza did not think he had seen him so enraged since the night they met. “Do you think I want this?” he demanded. “You think I’m letting this happen?” He shoved himself up and leaned into Akaza’s space. 

Outside of a fight, it was the closest Kyojuro had ever willingly placed himself to Akaza. He could smell the flowers and blood on his breath. 

Kyojuro was this close to him, because Akaza told him he was being a coward for letting his love for another person destroy him. 

How fucking pathetic. 

Sick. 

Akaza couldn’t believe he thought Kyojuro was sick, that he worried for him. 

(He was sick. Akaza still worried). 

“You know how hanahaki works,” Akaza said. “You know you could stop it, but you’ve been hiding it for weeks. Don’t tell me you seriously plan to kill yourself over this person?” 

He wouldn’t allow it. Akaza would find out who it was. If Kyojuro wouldn’t tell him, he’d stalk him until he figured it out. If Kyojuro truly would not confront them, Akaza would force them into it. 

He wouldn’t let Kyojuro die. He certainly wouldn’t let him whither away into something so weak. 

If Kyojuro was going to die, it wouldn’t be like this. 

Kyojuro’s grimace managed to deepen, and he turned his back on Akaza. “Goodbye, Akaza.” 

“Kyojuro!” 

Kyojuro stepped on the morning glories and camellias as he went, smashing the flower petals into the road. 

Akaza didn’t bother to follow him; he knew he wouldn’t be acknowledged. 

With a frustrated snarl, he went in the other direction. 

If he found Kyojuro trying to kill demons tomorrow night, he would drag him back to his estate kicking and screaming. 

“Take a deep breath in,” Shinobu requested. 

Fighting past the discomfort and dull pain in his chest, Kyojuro obeyed. 

Shinobu’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and her eyes narrowed as she adjusted her stethoscope. “And out.” 

Kyojuro let the breath out, and did his best to bite back the cough that threatened to accompany it. 

Shinobu sighed, and moved the stethoscope lower down on his chest, and repeated the process, and then did the same thing on his back. Finally, she set the instrument to the side and crossed her arms. “And you said you coughed up blood last night?” 

Kyojuro’s shoulders slumped, weary and defeated. “Yes.” 

“I’m officially diagnosing you with severe hanahaki,” she said. “I will send word to Oyakata-sama and inform him you are no longer fit for active duty.” 

On instinct, Kyojuro opened his mouth to argue, before quickly closing it. He had expected nothing different from this appointment. Shinobu only confirmed what he already knew, and was going to make sure what he expected actually happened. “Okay.” 

“Honestly, Kyojuro…” She shook her head. “Why did you let it get this bad?” 

“I told you. I don’t even know who I’m supposedly in love with.” And that was the terrifying thing, wasn’t it? Even if Kyojuro wanted to (and he did, he did want to) how was he supposed to confront these feelings and accept them? Talk to the person who was the center of his affections when he could not even discern who they were? 

How could he fix this if he didn’t know? 

“How can you have absolutely no idea?” Shinobu questioned. “You’re not this dense.” 

“This dense?” 

She waved him off. “Have you truly thought about it?” 

“Do you honestly think I haven’t?” 

“And what conclusions have you come to?” 

“None! Obviously! I’ve considered any person that makes even a little bit of sense but I truly am not in love with any of them! I considered Mitsuri, and Tengen, and—well! Every Hashira! Even you! Some of the women that live around the estate that I speak with sometimes. But no one makes any sense!” 

“Well, you must be missing someone,” she said. “If you’ve considered everyone who makes sense, that must mean it’s someone who doesn’t make sense. Feelings can be strange sometimes.” 

Kyojuro clasped his hands together in his lap. “That doesn’t help. If they don’t make sense, how could I even think to consider them?” 

Shinobu’s frown deepened. “Kyojuro, I am doing my best to help you. Who is someone that you spend a lot of time around, but haven’t considered?” 

“I’ve considered everyone!” 

“No, you clearly haven’t,” she said. “There is someone you have not considered who is the right answer, and figuring it out is the only way to keep you alive. So, who in your life, that you see at least somewhat regularly, have you never considered?” 

“Everyone!” he argued. “I don’t even see that many people that regularly! Even my family and other Corps members I only see once every couple weeks because I’m busy with my duties. There—” 

He cut himself off. 

There was one person he saw more regularly than anyone else at this point. There was one person he had spent so many nights with, largely against his will. 

Akaza.

“Ah. You just figured it out, didn’t you? Good.” Shinobu turned on her heel. “Speak with them, confront this, and you can begin your recovery.” 

“I—I didn’t—” 

“I saw it on your face,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder. “The denial will kill you and you don’t have an excuse anymore. Talk to them.” 

She walked out of the room and closed the door before Kyojuro could answer, leaving him sitting alone on the bed with one name racing through his mind. 

Akaza. Akaza. Akaza. 

Akaza.  

That just couldn’t be—there was no way— 

Kyojuro hated Akaza. 

Didn’t he? 

Yes. Yes he did. Of course he hated Akaza! He had to hate Akaza. He hated every time the demon showed up! He hated when Akaza tried to pry conversation from him! He hated—

If he hated Akaza, why didn’t he try to kill him anymore? 

True, that was a very low bar when it came to loving someone, but… 

Kyojuro shot to his feet, and began to restlessly pace the infirmary room Shinobu had left him in. Moving helped, being physically active. It was better than just sitting there and stewing in it. 

This didn’t make any sense! Akaza? Akaza? Of all people, Upper Moon Three!? 

Kyojuro would not deny that Akaza was, objectively speaking, an attractive person. He had pretty features, and his body was—Well, the point was that Kyojuro was not blind! But admitting a person was physically attractive did not equate to love. It had to run deeper than that. Especially for hanahaki to come of it. 

Except, that was what Shinobu, what everyone, meant, wasn’t it? 

To develop hanahaki meant to live in denial, a denial so fierce your body began to rebel. 

Did Kyojuro really…? 

He tried to take a deep breath to ground himself, but it caught in his throat, and resulted in a few flower petals making themselves known. As he threw them away, Kyojuro grit his teeth in frustration. 

What about Akaza was even pleasing beyond his appearance? And even that was tainted by his demonic features. Or at least, it should be… His tattoos and fangs suited him, though Kyojuro could do without the kanji in his eyes. 

He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back on track. 

He supposed that Akaza could be… caring, in his own bizarre, obsessive way. It was why he followed Kyojuro around everywhere. It was why he talked nonstop. He was about the only genuine company Kyojuro got most nights. It was only human to get… attached, wasn’t it? 

He groaned and pressed his hands to his face. Okay. Okay. He did not hate Akaza; he probably should have admitted that to himself a while ago. He should have admitted that the hostility he treated the demon with was an attempt to convince himself that he still hated him. 

But it was just—just an acceptance! An acceptance he was forced to have for the demon that refused to leave him alone! It couldn’t be love! It couldn’t be… 

But who else could it be…? 

Shinobu was right, and Kyojuro hated the sense it made. The demented, awful sense. 

Who else would Kyojuro be so in denial about loving? How could it be anyone except a demon? 

How could it be anyone except Akaza…? 

How could it be anyone except the demon that followed him every night? The demon that Kyojuro looked over his shoulder for, and as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, it wasn’t due to paranoia. 

It was because he wanted to see him. 

Kyojuro groaned and pressed his hands to his face. 

What the hell was he supposed to do? 

If it was really Akaza—If he was really in love with Akaza—

His hands drifted down from his face to his throat. 

He couldn’t love a demon. He just couldn’t. This illness might think he needed to confront these feelings, but the denial wasn’t based in nothing. 

As a Hashira—No, as a human, Kyojuro could not be in love with a demon. Certainly not one like Akaza. 

He had killed hundreds, possibly thousands, and didn’t feel a scrap of remorse over his actions. 

It didn’t matter if Kyojuro had come to enjoy his company, and developed an attachment to the aspects of Akaza’s personality buried deep beneath his demonic exterior. 

He was an Upper Moon, a cannibalistic monster. 

He squeezed his eye shut, and let his arms fall to his sides. 

He would rather die than face that, than accept it. 

And well… His body was going to make sure that happened. 

Well, so be it. What choice did he have? Confess feelings he barely understood to a demon? Akaza would latch onto that and never let go. And never mind him, Kyojuro would never be able to live with himself for this. 

It was a good thing he wasn’t going to have to then, wasn’t it? 

With a shaky breath, ignoring the ever increasing tightness in his chest, Kyojuro left the infirmary. 

Akaza couldn’t help but be surprised when he discovered Kyojuro at his estate the next night. He fully expected the stubborn man to still be out trying to slay demons and nearly getting himself killed. 

If he could be that reasonable, maybe he could be reasonable regarding other things. Like the flowers strangling him from the inside out. 

Kyojuro jumped when Akaza joined him on the engawa outside his room. 

Akaza frowned. Yes, around the Rengoku Estate he was much more careful to keep his demonic presence smothered, to keep quiet, so he didn’t alert anyone else in the house, but Kyojuro must be truly out of it to not notice his approach at all. 

The slayer shot him a wary glance as he sat down next to him. “Leave, Akaza.” 

Akaza tilted his head. “Did you talk to them?” 

“I told you, we are not discussing this.” He took a slow sip from the cup of tea he held, and wrapped the blanket draped over his shoulders tighter. 

Well, at least he was finally acknowledging that he didn’t feel well… It was a bit strange seeing though. 

“What’s in that tea?” Akaza asked as he leaned over to sniff at the air, deciding not to press his first question for now. “There are herbs for a sore throat. Is there at least honey in it? Do you—” 

“Aka—” His name was cut off with a pitiful cough. 

Akaza’s shoulders slumped. Tomorrow night he would bring Kyojuro herbs for his sore throat. They wouldn’t actually do anything for the hanahaki but they could lessen the pain and the discomfort. Akaza could at least manage that much. 

After last night, the anger had faded. Not completely. Akaza was still pissed off that Kyojuro would let this happen, but it had diminished some. 

And left behind mostly worry and concern. 

The coughing subsided, and Kyojuro took another sip of his tea. 

“Why won’t you talk to them?” Akaza shook his head. “I don’t understand.” 

“Why are you here?” 

“To make sure you’re not letting yourself whither away over something as fucking stupid as this,” he said. 

“I never asked you for that. I never asked you for any of this!” 

Akaza frowned. “Asked me for what?” 

Kyojuro huffed and turned his head away. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? Why did you never leave me alone?” 

“I could have killed you the night we met if you preferred,” Akaza teased with a grin, hoping getting a rise out of Kyojuro might alleviate this strange and somber mood that had settled around them. 

Kyojuro’s entire body went stiff. 

Akaza’s smile fell. Well, it had been forced anyway. “I could kill you now,” he said. “Before this kills you. Before you—” 

“What?” Kyojuro challenged. “End up weak and pathetic?” 

Akaza’s mouth snapped shut. 

“If you were going to kill me, you would have done it a long time ago.” 

Akaza couldn’t really argue with that. He wouldn’t argue with that. 

It was why he didn’t have flowers in his own lungs. 

“Why won’t you confront it?” he asked. 

“I don’t want to,” Kyojuro said simply. “I won’t. I can’t.” 

“Why?” 

In response, Kyojuro stood up, stepped into his bedroom, and slammed the shoji shut before Akaza could follow. 

He could rip off the hinges. He could threaten Kyojuro’s family, if he didn’t tell Akaza who this person he loved was and agree to go speak with them. 

He wouldn’t though. 

Of course he wouldn’t. 

He snarled and hopped off the engawa. 

He was going to go find those damned herbs. 

The days were slow and excruciating as they passed. There was nothing to do except feel himself grow sicker and weaker. 

Feel himself creeping closer to death. 

Every breath was a sharp pain now, and couldn’t dream of using Total Concentration even if he wanted to. It was all he could do to shuffle around the estate at this point. 

Senjuro did his best to help, to take care of him, but that only made Kyojuro feel worse. This wasn’t anything Senjuro should have to worry himself with. His little brother didn’t really remember when Ruka was ill. He didn’t remember watching more and more of her fade as the days went by. 

As much as he wished Senjuro had more good memories of Ruka to remember, he thought it might be a blessing in some ways that he was as young as he was when she passed. 

He hated that he was going to live through that because of Kyojuro. 

But what could be done…? Admit he cared for a demon? 

He would rather die with his morals and beliefs intact. 

The longer it went on, the more days that passed and the sicker he became, the angrier the people in his life became. 

He supposed he knew why, but they would never understand. How could they? And how could Kyojuro ever face them if he admitted who the center of his affections was? 

He’d been chewed out by Obanai, who insisted that if he could get over himself and bring himself to admit his feelings for Mitsuri and be rejected then Kyojuro could do the same; he was being a coward. Mitsuri had brought him flowers as a get well present before bawling her eyes out as she realized what she’d done and apologized profusely. She wanted to know why he wouldn’t tell the person, it was okay if it didn’t go anywhere. It was okay to only feel the love himself. Tengen had berated him, insisting whoever it was he loved couldn’t be all that bad, and Kyojuro had to fight back bitter laughter. His father avoided him altogether, and didn’t bother to even look at him if they stumbled across each other in the halls. 

None of these were pleasant interactions, but he thought Shinobu’s conversations with him had probably been the worst. 

She came to the estate twice. The first time was because she had mistakenly believed after she diagnosed him with severe hanahaki he had confessed and was now beginning his recovery. She came to find out how he was doing, and estimate when he could return to active duty. 

He did not think he had ever seen a smile so strained and fake as when she found out that was not the case. 

The second time she came to see him, which was to give an estimation of how much time he had left if this wasn’t taken care of, they had several extremely uncomfortable conversations. 

“At this rate, you probably have a couple weeks until the hanahaki is so severe you’ll be confined to your bed. After that, you’ll only have a couple weeks left to live,” she said after using her stethoscope to listen to his breathing. “At most, I’d say you have two months. I never took you for the type to have a death wish, Kyojuro. I’m disappointed, I have to admit. Of all people, you would not be the one I would think would kill themselves over this.” 

Kyojuro shifted uncomfortably, and refused to meet her gaze. 

Two months. 

He had two months left to live, all because he had developed feelings for Akaza. 

How was that fair…? 

“You know…” Shinobu mused as she began packing up her medical supplies. “I can’t help but wonder what could be so horrible about this person that you are willing to let yourself die. At first I thought perhaps it was because they were a man.” 

Kyojuro’s head snapped up. “How did you know that?” 

Shinobu blinked. “Well! I wasn’t certain, but now I am. I admit, I’m not surprised, but as I was saying, I doubted them being a man would be enough to drive you to this. I could see you developing hanahaki over something such as that, but I don’t think you would let it kill you. The only person who would give you much grief over it would be your father, no? After all, you are the eldest son, and there are expectations.” 

Kyojuro sighed. He wished his only problem was that Akaza was a man. Frankly, he had barely thought about that at all given all the other issues. “I came to terms with the fact that my father would never be satisfied with me or what I did a long time ago.” It didn’t stop him from trying to get through to Shinjuro, but it was something he had accepted. “I could have done everything properly and married a woman from an upstanding family and it still wouldn’t have been good enough for him.” 

Of course, Shinjuro would hate if Kyojuro ever revealed that he preferred men far more, but the point was that he would never be happy with or support any relationship Kyojuro might have attempted. 

Even if the circumstances were normal. 

Shinobu nodded. “I came to the same conclusions, which is why I decided that probably wasn’t the problem. Kyojuro…” Her expression darkened. “You do realize that you being so ashamed of who you love is going to invite certain theories, yes?” 

Kyojuro’s mouth went dry. Had Shinobu figured it out…? How could she!? She might be clever, but not even she was capable of putting those pieces together! 

“Is it someone younger than you?” 

“What? Why would that matter—” Kyojuro grimaced in disgust as he realized what Shinobu meant. “No! Of course not! How could you think—!?” 

“Well, it’s not as if I want to,” she said. “But like I said, you being so ashamed of this, so ashamed you are willing to carry it to the grave, is going to invite certain theories. I didn’t want to, but I also made myself consider the possibility of it being Senjuro.” 

Kyojuro’s skin crawled at the implication. It seemed there were worse options than Akaza… “No,” he said firmly. “No.” He didn’t even want to discuss this further! 

Shinobu hummed. “I believe you, and while I do have to admit it’s a relief, it does make me wonder about how and why you could hate the idea of this person you apparently love so much.” She sighed and shook her head. “But you should be warned that I won’t be the only one who comes to those conclusions. People will talk, you know. It’s something they love doing.” 

Kyojuro worried his lip. Of course, he didn’t want anyone to believe such things about himself, but if Senjuro got dragged into it… 

“If it concerns you so much, you could talk to the right person and put an end to it,” Shinobu suggested with a smile. “You have two months to do it!” 

That made it even worse, didn’t it? Kyojuro had a reputation. It wasn’t something he had ever truly considered before, but it was true. People knew who he was. Not just within the Corps, but even around town. After all, the Rengokus were an old, wealthy family. 

People were going to talk. 

They already were talking. 

While Kyojuro did not go out of his way to tell anyone and everyone he had hanahaki, he was sure word had spread. 

People knew he was dying due to it, and if he suddenly recovered, more rumors and theories were going to spread about who this person of his affections was. 

Even if he confronted the feelings and was honest about them, even if he spoke to Akaza, what would that solve? The people in his life would demand to know who this person was, and if they found out it was a demon… Not just a demon, but an Upper Moon, Kyojuro would be executed for treason. 

Was it not better to just die and take at least some of his dignity with him? Shinobu was right. People would talk, but it wasn’t as if anyone would ever truly know. 

Shinobu’s smile tightened, becoming a strained, fake thing that Kyojuro had seen a lot from her lately. “I doubt I’ve gotten through to you, hm? In that case…” She inclined her head. “It was a pleasure working with you as a Hashira, Kyojuro. I’m sorry to see you go.” 

Unsure of what to say to that, Kyojuro closed his eye and bowed his head in return. He did not look up again until she was gone. 

It had been days, but Akaza still had no idea who the center of Kyojuro’s affections might be. 

He’d hoped it would be obvious. He’d hoped there would be a person that came to visit Kyojuro often, or at least someone who inspired a change in his behavior when they were around, but there had been nothing. He’d had many visitors, but they inspired no significant change in his behaviors. 

All while his symptoms only grew worse. 

“Are the herbs helping?” Akaza asked as he poured Kyojuro a cup of tea. “How does your throat feel?” 

“How do you think?” Kyojuro asked instead of replying. 

His voice had grown raspy over the weeks. He had always been so loud, so enthusiastic. Now his voice was quiet. Between the constant coughing, and the damage caused by the flowers when they were coughed up, it was inevitable. 

Akaza had never paid much attention to hanahaki. He thought he might have recalled Douma going on about it once before, but he tried to tune out most of what Douma said. But after he learned that Kyojuro had it, he listened for more information about it. He heard that as it grew more severe, some people lost their voice altogether. 

He supposed he should be grateful that wasn’t the case for Kyojuro. 

At least not yet. 

He kept thinking—kept hoping, more like, that Kyojuro would come to his senses. That as the illness progressed, he would realize how pointless and stupid and human this was. Surely he would go speak to whatever person this was! 

It was an odd feeling, hoping Kyojuro would confess his love to another person. Demons tended to be selfish and coveting by nature, and Akaza was no different. If he could, he would hoard Kyojuro away all for himself. He would rip the flowers out of his lungs and fix this, and then make sure nothing like this happened ever again. 

But there was nothing Akaza could do to stop this. Even if he forced Kyojuro to become a demon, the flowers would just keep growing, and keep growing. They would choke him over and over, no matter how many times Akaza tore them from his lungs. 

Nothing could fix this except Kyojuro’s own love. 

If it meant saving his life, Akaza would rather he be with someone else. 

It was enraging, it hurt. But at least he could still see that fighting spirit. They could still talk. Maybe they would even fight again one day. 

It made Akaza want to pulverize something into dust, but he would rather Kyojuro be with someone else than be gone. 

Didn’t they realize how lucky they were…? To be loved by Kyojuro Rengoku? How awful and miserable must they be to drive him to this? 

“I’ll bring you some more tomorrow night,” Akaza said as he handed Kyojuro his tea. “They might be helping.” 

Kyojuro grunted, but took a sip from the cup. “Why do you keep coming here?” 

“To see you,” Akaza answered simply. There was no point in lying, and he thought Kyojuro already knew the answer anyway. 

“Why?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

Kyojuro hummed, and slumped further back into his pillows and blankets. “Yes… Why wouldn’t you…” 

Akaza settled down next to the futon and crossed his legs. Kyojuro wouldn’t be awake for much longer. He was exhausted more often than not these days, and wasn’t up for long after the sun set. 

It was fine. Of course, Akaza would like to spend more time with him, but it was to be expected. He spent most of the night watching him, and helping him up and getting him water when he was woken during coughing fits. 

Something about it felt natural. 

Kyojuro’s body began to tremble as he tried to keep a cough down, but it was a battle he quickly lost. Coughs wracked him, and Akaza was quick to steady his shoulders. 

He paid no attention to the flowers that tumbled out of his mouth—lotus flowers and sakura petals and hydrangeas. 

Nor to the blood that stained them or trickled from the side of his mouth. 

It was fine. 

Things would be fine. 

Fine… 

“Here, take a drink,” Akaza encouraged as soon as the coughing began to subside. “Are there any petals stuck?” 

Kyojuro looked up at Akaza, something horribly resigned in his expression, and he shook his head. 

“Alright. Slow sips,” Akaza said as he pressed the cup into Kyojuro’s hands. 

Though he hesitated, Kyojuro obeyed.

Senjuro lingered at the end of the hall that led to his brother’s bedroom. He could hear the faint coughing even from here. 

He wanted to go check on Kyojuro, he knew he should. 

But the sun had gone down, and he knew someone else was in his brother’s room. 

He first noticed it about a week after Kyojuro had to go on a leave due to his… illness. He noticed when the cups of water were still full in the morning, the tea was warm, the bloodied cloths that Kyojuro coughed petals into were cleaned. 

His brother never said anything about it, so despite how much he wanted to ask about whoever visited after everyone else went to bed and took care of Kyojuro, Senjuro never did. 

Sometimes, on rare occasions, he could hear voices, though he could never make out what they were saying. If he ever crept any closer than this, the voices abruptly stopped. 

And if he ever decided to check on Kyojuro, no one was there. 

Senjuro sighed, and turned to go back to his own room. He didn’t want to interrupt whoever might be here with Kyojuro, or make them leave. He didn’t understand why they wouldn’t come visit during the day, or even say hello to Senjuro. All of his brother’s other friends did that. 

He couldn’t help but wonder… 

It was better not to dwell on it. Anytime Senjuro caught himself speculating on who might have caused Kyojuro’s hanahaki, he forced himself to stop. It wouldn’t help, and he doubted anything he said would spur Kyojuro into action. 

Despite how desperately he wanted to fix this. 

Besides, if he ended up being right, and whoever this midnight visitor was happened to be the center of Kyojuro’s affection, it was better not to interrupt them, right? 

Maybe this was finally the night that the truth would be confronted. 

He had to hope that was the case. He didn’t know what he would do if Kyojuro really… 

He would never forgive the person he had fallen in love with if he died. Even if Senjuro never learned who they were. 

And if he did find out who they were, he wondered if he would be brave enough to tell them so. 

At least he could sleep easier knowing someone was there to help Kyojuro if he needed it, especially recently. Despite how he tried to deny it, Kyojuro’s condition was growing worse by the day. Last time she was here, Shinobu warned he would probably end up on bedrest soon… 

He shook his head. Best not to dwell on it. 

Besides, maybe tonight was the night that Kyojuro would talk to this person. Maybe as soon as tomorrow he would be on the mend. 

It was a nice thought, wasn’t it?

Chapter Text

It was rare that Akaza didn’t show up for a night. 

It wasn’t anything Kyojuro worried about. He didn’t like thinking about what Akaza did on the nights he wasn’t here, but he was a demon. An Upper Moon at that. He had to eat. He had to do things for Muzan. 

Of course he wouldn’t spend every night by Kyojuro’s bedside to do inane things like fetch him water and help him up when he had coughing fits. 

He would be back tomorrow night though. 

Until then, he could take care of himself, and try not to think about how used he had grown to Akaza’s company, and how he had begun to depend on him. 

This late, Senjuro had long since gone to bed. Which was fine. Kyojuro didn’t want or expect him to stay up well into the night just to take care of him. That wasn’t fair, and he didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on his younger brother. Senjuro should never have to take care of him at all. 

Which meant when Kyojuro was up too late hacking and coughing, and out of water or tea, he had to drag himself out of bed to get it himself. 

He hated how daunting that was now. 

Breathing didn’t just hurt now; it was agonizing. He didn’t even think it hurt this bad immediately following his first fight with Akaza. And when breathing hurt, everything else became so much harder. He swore he could feel the flowers’ roots digging deeper and deeper into the flesh of his lungs with every shallow breath he took. Sharp pain after sharp pain after sharp pain. 

He grit his teeth as he forced himself to his feet, and pressed his hand against his ribs to steady himself. His limbs felt so weak, his entire body fatigued. But then, that made sense, didn’t it? He couldn’t breathe properly, so his body was weakened. 

He knew it wouldn’t be long before he was unable to force himself out of bed at all. It was a harrowing, terrifying truth to come to terms with. He wasn’t sure he truly had come to terms with it, but there was nothing he could do except wait for it to come. 

He stumbled his way to the kitchen, using the wall to brace himself. He could manage some tea, right? It did at least something to ease the raw, burning pain in his throat. It didn’t get rid of it, Kyojuro didn’t think that was even possible, but for a few seconds after every sip, it soothed it. It was like licking chapped lips in the winter. It didn’t truly help, but the few seconds of relief were hard to resist. 

He could sit down while waiting for the water to boil. It was just a few steps. He could manage tea. He could.

He swallowed back a cough, cringing at the floral taste building in his mouth. 

What a miserable way to die. 

Eventually, he made it to the kitchen, only having to pause and hack up some flowers a couple times. He tried to catch most of them in his hands so he could get rid of them. A few ended up on the floor, and he miserably left them behind. He would apologize to Senjuro in the morning. If he bent down to try and find them in the dark, he was never going to make it to the kitchen to make tea. 

He managed to get some water ready to boil, when his lungs finally rebelled. 

He gripped the edge of the counter as he hunched over with the coughing fit. The pain in his throat intensified with each cough and desperate gulp of air between them. A flower forced its way up. Then another, and another, and another. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t breathe at all. 

Kyojuro tried not to panic; this happened all the time now. 

The flowers choked him from the inside out, soft and suffocating. Blood joined the floral taste. 

His grip slipped, and he fell to his knees as he clutched at his throat. 

The pain in his throat grew sharp, and the familiar panic of choking settled in. 

There was something else in his throat—It wasn’t just the flowers in his throat. It was something stabbing, and hard. More blood than normal burst in Kyojuro’s mouth. Something hot dripped from his nose, and suddenly it felt like it’d been stuffed full of cotton. 

His eye burned, he couldn’t breathe, his entire body shook. 

He wasn’t sure when he ended up curled up on the floor, or when exactly he realized the rough, sharp things cutting up his throat and inside of his mouth were thorns, or when he realized he was finally experiencing a coughing fit horrific enough the flowers were trying to come out of his nose. 

Flowers tickled his face as they collected around his mouth. Pathetic, painful sneezing joined the coughs, and petals and blood were forced from his nose. 

He still couldn’t breathe. His chest felt like it was going to explode, everything was going fuzzy at the edges. 

“Kyojuro?” 

Was he going to die here? Was this finally when he suffocated and died? He’d hoped maybe it would be peaceful, or as peaceful as hanahaki could be. Maybe he just simply wouldn’t be able to breathe anymore, he would just stop while he was asleep. 

He didn’t want to die like this, choking on flowers and blood and thorns. 

“Shit!” Someone yanked him up, and Kyojuro’s head lolled forward. He didn’t have the strength to lift it as flower after miserable flower tumbled out of his mouth. 

A rough hand gripped his chin and forced his head up. 

“Kyojuro—” 

He forced his eye open, but he still couldn’t manage to pull in even a single agonizing breath. 

Though blurred through tears, Kyojuro saw his father, and he was… worried? 

Oh. His father was worried about him. 

Only took him actually dying, didn’t it? 

Something in his throat finally gave, and Kyojuro sucked in a desperate, feverish breath. 

Shinjuro hung his head in relief as Kyojuro panted, and coughed up the last few bloodied flowers. He spit them out, hated the velvety feel of petals on his tongue, now joined by thorns scraping his teeth. 

Once he started to get his breath back, his fingers stopped tingling, and he had the strength to lift his arm, he weakly wiped at his face. He cringed as the mixture of blood, spit, and now snot that he felt. 

Hanahaki was disgusting. The flowers weren’t beautiful, they were smashed and crushed and wet with bodily fluids. Kyojuro felt… gross. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be worried about something like that. He should be worried about the fact that he had almost choked to death, that any day now, he was going to choke to death. 

Perhaps it was because his father had found him. Shinjuro had not paid him the slightest bit of attention ever since his illness had been revealed. That didn’t surprise Kyojuro. Of course, it was… upsetting. He was dying, and his father still didn’t want to… Well, it didn’t matter. It must be hard for him, right? After watching Ruka go through something similar, of course he wouldn’t want to watch it again. 

So why did he suddenly care now? 

Shinjuro regarded Kyojuro as he panted for breath, before standing up with a huff. 

Kyojuro wanted to ask what he was doing. He was probably up this late to get some more sake; it wasn’t unusual for him. But why wouldn’t he just get a bottle and then go back to his room? 

“Don’t get up on your own again,” he said. 

Kyojuro couldn’t argue even if he wanted to. Even the deepest gasps of air he could manage now did little to get his breath back. It would be at least several minutes before he would be able to force out any raspy words. 

Shinjuro was probably right anyway. Movement could worsen the fits. Kyojuro knew that. He just—

He let his eye slip shut, and focused on breathing. The stabbing pains felt worse. Had the coughing fit caused the roots and thorns to dig deeper? 

He didn’t open his eye again until he heard his father shuffling around the kitchen. He twisted his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of what he was doing. He couldn’t get a good look, and he was too tired, in too much pain, to care to figure it out. Maybe he wanted something to eat to go with his sake. 

It wasn’t until Shinjuro kneeled down, and handed Kyojuro a cup of tea, that he realized his father had stayed to finish making him the drink. 

Kyojuro’s eye went wide as he was handed the cup, the warmth of it pleasant against his hand. 

Shinjuro’s grimace never changed, and as soon as he’d handed over the cup, he stood back up. 

“Tha—” Kyojuro tried to say, but the gratitude devolved into a pathetic wheeze. 

Shinjuro glanced over his shoulder, and Kyojuro thought he looked less irritated, and more… sad. 

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking and Shinjuro didn’t want to listen to Kyojuro hack his lungs up during his late night drinking. 

Despite his warning of Kyojuro not trying to do anything alone, Shinjuro didn’t help him back to his room. He left him on the kitchen floor, with a cup of tea. 

Kyojuro stayed there for a while, before he felt okay enough to drag himself back to his room. 

Shinjuro said nothing about the interaction the next day, and little else changed between them. 

Akaza hated the sound of Kyojuro’s breathing now. If it could even be described as breathing. It sounded like something closer to a breeze in foliage than human breaths. How much empty space was actually left in his lungs? It couldn’t be much. How much must it hurt to breathe? How much effort must it take? 

Akaza laid next to Kyojuro, his head pressed against his chest. He didn’t lay his head on him, as much as he wanted to. Breathing was already so hard, Akaza did not want to make it even more difficult by adding extra weight to his chest. Despite that, he needed to stay close. He needed to keep listening to those breaths, make sure they didn’t stop. 

Kyojuro slept most of the time now, they very rarely spoke. That was okay. Well, maybe it wasn’t, but Akaza told himself it was. He needed to focus on Kyojuro’s breathing, he had to make sure it stayed, that it didn’t stop. 

It was pointless. What was he going to do when the breathing inevitably stopped? He couldn’t do anything at all. He would be laying on the floor next to Kyojuro’s too-still body, his head pressed against his side. He would take a breath, and Akaza would realize the next breath was taking too long. What was he supposed to do then? Nothing. He would simply know the exact moment the flowers finished their work. 

He couldn’t do anything else though. 

As soon as the sun set, he came to the Rengoku Estate, and he would stay until he had barely enough time to find somewhere to shelter from the sun. There wasn’t much he could do at this point to actually care for Kyojuro. The herbs were pointless, he wasn’t awake for long enough to drink enough water or tea that Akaza needed to fetch more. 

He still needed to be by his side, though. 

If the person he loved did not even care enough to be with him while he suffered for them, then Akaza would take that role. He wouldn’t leave him alone. 

The less responsive Kyojuro became, the more Akaza pushed his luck. The later he stayed, his gamble with the sun became more dangerous. 

That, coupled with his obsessive focus on counting Kyojuro’s breaths, was what inevitably led to him being caught. 

He knew the sun was rising soon, probably within a half hour. He just told himself one more breath. Listen for one more breath. What if it never came? What if he wasn’t here? He needed to listen for one more breath. 

The door slid open. 

Akaza’s entire body went stiff, and even without looking up, he recognized the light, near silent footsteps of Kyojuro’s little brother. 

“Oh.” 

He should bolt. Obviously the kid would know what he was, and Kyojuro would not appreciate him threatening Senjuro. But if he reported this to the Corps, would he be able to see Kyojuro again…? Would they move him? Would they leave someone to guard him? 

“I guess I should be more surprised, huh?” 

That wasn’t the reaction Akaza expected, and he slowly pushed himself up. 

Senjuro lingered in the doorway, gripping the frame, halfway hiding behind it. Despite the wariness in his body language, none of it was present in his expression. All he offered Akaza was a resigned, tired look. “It explains everything, really.” 

“Not going to run?” 

Senjuro shook his head. “No point. I don’t think you’re going to kill me. You’re here pretty much every night. You would have done it already if you were going to. And well… if you did want to, it wouldn’t matter if I ran or not. It’s not like I could actually get away.” 

Reasonable, Akaza supposed. Sound logic, even if the acceptance of such weakness and absolute defeat wasn’t something he appreciated. 

“I think I knew,” Senjuro continued. “I mean, I didn’t really consider it, but I did think it was so strange. You only came at night, Kyojuro never mentioned any visitors. How could you hear my footsteps from so far away? Why else would he…” His voice wobbled as he trailed off, like he was desperately trying to keep his emotions under control. 

“What are you talking about?” Akaza demanded. 

Senjuro laughed, the sound bitter and broken. “You seriously don’t know? Why else would he decide to kill himself instead of confront it!” 

It took a few seconds for the implication to process, but as soon as it did, Akaza sneered, “That’s not true!” 

Senjuro flinched back at the harsh tone, but steeled himself. Despite the slight tremble in his body, the harsh edge of panicked breathing, he raised his chin. “What else would be true? Aniue wouldn’t be afraid of someone not loving him back. We both know that. Why else would he choose to die if he wasn’t in love with a demon?” 

A deep dread took root in Akaza’s chest, and he looked down at Kyojuro’s body. He was so lifeless. In the past few days, even his fighting spirit had begun to flicker and dim, like it was going out. Like those damned flowers had stolen it, become parasites so absolute they stole the very life from him. 

It wasn’t Akaza’s fault. It couldn’t be. 

He loved Kyojuro. He wanted him to be better, to be stronger. He couldn’t be the reason he had become so weak. 

That he was dying. 

But… But what Senjuro said made sense. How many times had Akaza thought that himself? Kyojuro wouldn’t fear rejection, not to the point that he would let himself die. He wasn’t that type of man. The only thing that could possibly explain why he would do this would be if he was in love with a horrible person, someone he just simply could not accept loving, despite what his body and emotions tried convincing him of. 

And who was more horrible than Upper Moon Three? 

Who else would make sense, if not Akaza? 

I never asked you for that. I never asked you for any of this!

Why can’t you just leave me alone? Why did you never leave me alone?

No. No. No. 

The sun was rising, he could not stay here. But he did not want to leave Kyojuro, he needed to talk to him, they needed to fix this—

Fix what…? Kyojuro had made his decision. His intentions were clear. 

He might love Akaza, but he could not and would not accept it. 

Death was a better option than loving him. 

Akaza ran. He tore open the door leading to the engawa so fiercely he probably damaged it, and he ran. 

He told himself it was because of the sun, he fled from the light. He couldn’t be trapped here. 

He wasn’t running from Kyojuro, he wasn’t running from Senjuro’s accusing expression, and he wasn’t running from these realizations. 

Something deep within him wanted to preen at the knowledge that Kyojuro loved him, all those nights together, he had begun to care. 

Akaza smothered down the pathetic feelings of excitement and pleasure. They didn’t fucking matter. 

Even if Kyojuro loved him, the disgust and hate obviously ran deeper. 

His body began to tremble. 

It was because of the rising sun. 

Of course it was. 

Kyojuro awoke to Senjuro leaning over him. That wasn’t anything unusual. He must be here to check on him, or perhaps try to bring him food, depending on what time it was. He slowly blinked the sleep out of his eye, and opened his mouth to greet his brother, when he stopped himself. 

Senjuro was glaring at him. Glaring! Like he was angry! When was the last time Kyojuro had even seen Senjuro angry? He could not recall, and he had certainly never been angry with Kyojuro himself. 

“Senjuro…?” 

Senjuro sighed, deep and long in a way that Kyojuro could never hope to manage. “You’re being stupid.” 

“Wha—” The shock of the accusation was enough for Kyojuro to shove himself up on his elbow, despite his weakened body’s protests. 

“I should have guessed,” he continued. “I really should have. I’m irritated that I didn't. Maybe if I had, we could have talked about things sooner, and you wouldn’t have had to get this bad.” 

“What are you talking about?” Kyojuro rasped around his aching throat. It was always so much worse in the mornings. “What’s gotten into you?” 

“I don’t want my big brother to die!” he cried. Tears glossed over his eyes, but did nothing to diminish the anger in his expression. “I don’t want you to die and if that—if that means talking about things you don’t want to or upsetting you or making you mad then—Well I don’t care! I’m not letting you die!” 

“Senjuro—” 

“That demon isn’t worth your life!” 

Kyojuro’s elbow gave out, and he collapsed back into his bedding to stare at the ceiling, his eye going wide as he realized what Senjuro meant. 

“Your honor and—and morals aren’t worth your life!” 

“Of course they are,” Kyojuro argued. His voice was agonizingly quiet and weak compared to Senjuro’s. “If you wouldn’t give your life for them, they don’t mean anything.” 

“No!” He bunched up handfuls of his hakama in his fists. “There is nothing honorable about this, about just laying down and deciding to die like this. Maybe I’m too selfish. Maybe I can’t be good like you. But I don’t—I can’t accept that. Loving a demon doesn’t mean you have to die!” 

“He’s a monster, Senjuro,” Kyojuro said. “He—” 

“If that was really true, you wouldn’t love him. I know you wouldn’t. If he’s such a monster, why does he come take care of you every night? Why did he let me live after I saw him? After I yelled at him?” 

“You yelled at him…?” Kyojuro asked, shock overtaking any too-late fear over what Akaza could have done to his little brother all too easily. 

“Of course I yelled at him. This might mostly be your fault, but it’s because of him too.” 

“I—” Blood and flowers forced themselves up with a hacking cough, and Senjuro was quick to help him sit up, supporting him until the fit subsided. 

“I know… I know he’s a demon,” Senjuro said. “I know he’s probably done more awful things than I could think of, things I can’t understand. But… But he has to be more than that, right? He has to be. He loves you too, I think.” 

“That makes it worse,” Kyojuro said. “That means he wants and expects things that I can’t—” 

Senjuro shook his head. “I don’t think so. Like I said, if he was a monster, you wouldn’t love him. If he was a monster, he wouldn’t care about what you wanted and would have taken you all for himself. It’s not like anyone here could actually stop him if he tried.” 

Kyojuro was silent, unable to find an argument for that. 

“And… And even if he does want things… For you to love him, you must want them, too, right?” Senjuro asked, his voice going quieter and quieter. “And like I said, I don’t want you to die. Figuring it all out is better than dying. How is dying better than loving someone, even someone like him? Why can’t you give him a chance? Why can’t you give yourself a chance?” 

Still, Kyojuro could think of nothing to say. How could he look at Senjuro and tell him he wanted to die? How could he pretend that what he said didn’t make sense? 

“At least think about what I’ve said,” Senjuro said as he helped Kyojuro lay back down. “Please… Talk to him. And get some rest. I’ll go make breakfast and bring it to you.” 

Leaving Kyojuro alone to stare at the ceiling, and mull over everything he said. 

Akaza was late tonight, but he still came. Of course he still came. Who was going to bring herbs to soothe a sore throat if he didn’t? Who was going to make sure Kyojuro never ran out of water? Who was going to help him sit up so he didn’t choke even more easily on the thorns and flowers crawling up his throat?

Kyojuro wasn’t sure if he was terrified or relieved that Akaza still came. 

“Oh. You’re still awake,” Akaza said as he stood in the doorway. 

“Yes,” Kyojuro confirmed. “I’ve found I haven’t been able to sleep much today.” It was strange, considering sleeping seemed to be all he was really capable of at this point. But he just hadn’t been able to quiet his racing thoughts. 

Akaza hummed, but got right to work doing his usual routine when he first showed up. He knelt down and leaned in close to listen to Kyojuro’s pitiful attempts to breathe, then checked to make sure he had plenty of water, then turned his attention to the tea, and—

“I don’t think Senjuro has a very high opinion of you,” Kyojuro said. 

Akaza froze, his hand halfway to a teacup. 

“Then again, I think his opinion of you might actually be higher than his opinion of me right now,” he continued. 

Akaza’s hand retreated from the teacup. The silence stretched on when Kyojuro said nothing else, deep and suffocating. 

“Why are you here?” he finally asked. 

Akaza’s eyes practically glowed in the darkness of the room. The moon was but a sliver tonight, leaving very little light at all. Kyojuro wished there was more. He wanted to more clearly see Akaza’s face. 

“I think you already know that.” 

Yes, he did. Kyojuro thought he might have known for a while, even without Senjuro accidentally confirming it. It was part of what had terrified him so much, about these feelings and the flowers that came from them. It might have been easier to confront it, if he thought Akaza would sneer at him for it. 

“Are you angry?” he asked. 

Laughter tore from Akaza’s mouth, harsh and unamused. “I don’t know, Kyojuro. I can’t make sense of anything right now. I think I want to be angry. Doesn’t mean I am.” 

“You didn’t have to come back.” 

“Of course I did!” he snapped. “Unlike you, I’m not afraid of the things I feel, of the things I want!” 

Kyojuro flinched. 

“I’m not the one being suffocated from the inside out because I turned it all inwards.” 

“What else was I supposed to do?” Kyojuro demanded, forcing as much bite as he could manage into the words. “Given what I am, what you are, what the fuck else was I supposed to do? You didn’t give me a choice.” 

“I don’t control how you feel,” Akaza said. “Don’t pin this on me. If I could control how you feel, this never would have happened.” 

“No, I would be a demon already, right by your side, causing death and carnage everywhere we went.” 

“That’s not what I want.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

“No! You have such a god-awful fucking opinion of me.” 

“Well what else am I supposed to have!?” 

“I don’t know! If you hate me so much, why did you fall in love with me!?” Akaza lunged forward, teacups abandoned, to loom over Kyojuro. “What was so terrible about me that fucking killing yourself was better? It can’t just be that I’m a demon. If that was true, you never would have loved me in the first place!” 

Kyojuro let his eye slip closed, and huffed out a pathetic laugh. “There’s something so… human about you, underneath it all. I catch glimpses of it. Maybe if you didn’t bury everything you used to be beneath—beneath all the blood and violence and hate and disdain… I think I love what you used to be—could be—but you won’t ever let yourself be that. The most you can manage is caring for me while I’m sick.” 

“And how do you know that? How do you know what I could be?” Kyojuro felt Akaza pull back once more. “How could you know what I used to be? I don’t even know that!” 

“Why would a demon know how to care for the sick?” Kyojuro asked. “You were a healer, or at the least, you cared about someone enough to do this for them. This knowledge did not automatically appear in your head just for me.” 

“I’m not, I wasn’t,” he insisted. “I didn’t.” 

Kyojuro scoffed. “You’re just proving my point.” 

“Well what does it matter!?” he snarled. “I love you, and you love me, so what the hell else matters!? I don’t want you to die! I don’t—I can’t—” Gentle hands found their way to Kyojuro’s chest, and blankets bunched in their fists. “I don’t want you to die… I don’t want to go through it again. I can’t go through it again… Please…” 

Kyojuro opened his eye to find Akaza leaned over him, his head bowed and eyes screwed shut. 

“I’m not worth dying for.” He shook his head. “I’m not, I’m not, I’m not.” 

“Akaza…” Kyojuro took his hand, forcing his fingers apart to release the blankets from his vice-like grip. 

“Even if you can’t give me a chance, even if it’s just these small pieces of me I don’t understand, just please… please accept it. I don’t want you to die. Please don’t die. Not again,” he whispered. “I’m still not strong enough, I’m still not good enough. I kept trying and trying and trying, but I’m not! You’re still dying…” 

Kyojuro sighed, floral and bloody. 

How is dying better than loving someone, even someone like him? 

His hand trailed up Akaza’s, to his wrist and forearm, before he pulled away to reach towards his face to cup his cheek and jaw. 

Akaza leaned into the touch. 

“I don’t want to die,” he said. “I want to understand why I came to feel this way.” 

Akaza opened his eyes. 

“I cannot and will not pretend I am okay with what you are, what you have done,” he said. “But I would not love someone who couldn’t be better. I could not love what you were and what you could be if it wasn’t there.” 

“I feel so stupid,” Akaza breathed. “Why didn’t I notice…? Why couldn’t I have done more? Why—” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kyojuro interrupted. 

“It does,” he stressed. “You know, I thought about who it could be, who you loved. I kept thinking they must be the worst fucking person, for you to hate loving them so much. And you’re right. But the thing is, I don’t care about what I’ve done. I won’t pretend I feel bad for it. I’m only pissed off with myself because I made you upset, not because I killed anyone.” 

“You’re making this very difficult,” Kyojuro muttered. He wanted to listen to Senjuro. He wanted to figure this out. He wanted to unravel his feelings, understand them instead of bury them. But it was so damn hard when Akaza insisted on digging his heels in like this.

Akaza bared his teeth. “I’m just being honest.” 

“I suppose you’ve never had a problem with that.” 

“I never thought you would.” 

And that was fair, wasn’t it? 

“You realize if I do this, if we try this, I’m going to do everything I can to change your mind,” he said. “You will regret what you’ve done, and I can’t imagine it will be pleasant.” 

“Going to try to fix me, hm?” Akaza asked. 

“It’s the only way I can do this.” 

Akaza nodded, as if this made sense. “If it means you live, then I’ll let you try. I don’t think you’ll have an easy time of it though.” 

Kyojuro huffed, a velvety flower following that he had to spit out. “I’m sorry…” 

Akaza tilted his head. “What for?” 

“I do care about you, Akaza,” he said as he held out the flower. “This proves it. And I… I cannot imagine how it feels, to care about someone and then they do what I’ve done.” 

“I don’t care. I just want you to live. I don’t care about any of it.” There was nothing but earnestness in his voice, in his eyes. Despite the hurt he must be feeling, to him, all that truly mattered was Kyojuro. 

That did not make him feel any better. 

There was so much to untangle, so much to decipher. 

Kyojuro supposed it might help if he wasn’t actively dying. 

“Is that it?” Akaza asked. “Do you feel better?” 

“No,” Kyojuro said. “I don’t think it’s anything so quick.” 

“But what if you still choke? What if the roots in your lungs—” 

He shook his head. “There’s nothing that can be done about it if that happens.” 

“I don’t like that,” Akaza said with a petulant expression. 

For the first time in days, Kyojuro laughed a genuine laugh. It was short, and grating, but he couldn’t help it. Akaza sounded like a child who didn’t get his way! “Well! I can’t do anything about that.” 

Akaza’s eyes narrowed, and with a deep breath, as if to dispel the tension, he returned to what he normally busied himself with. “Do you want fresh tea? It would be better if it was warm. I could add the herbs I brought.” 

“Akaza.” 

“Never mind. I’ll go make more,” he decided. 

“Akaza.” 

“What?” he asked. “What else is there to say? I’m glad… I’m glad you have confronted it, I just hope that’s enough, but it’s not as if much is going to change between us. Even if you want to fix me, make me better.” 

“That’s just another form of denial,” he said. “Do you think that’s wise?” 

“What else are we supposed to do?” 

“I want to know you better.” 

Now Akaza laughed. “There’s not much to know.” 

“I don’t think that’s true.” 

“Maybe when you feel better,” Akaza said. 

Kyojuro hummed. “Alright then.” 

“I’ll get your tea.” 

Kyojuro reached out to grab his wrist before he could get up. “Come here.” He was too weak to pull Akaza down, but the demon leaned down with his movements. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice soft. “We don’t have to.” 

“I want to try,” Kyojuro assured him. 

Akaza nodded, and closed the little distance that remained between them. He pressed his lips against Kyojuro’s, gentle and questioning, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do. It didn’t last long, it was a chaste, simple kiss, but perhaps that was for the best. 

Until they learned where to go from here. 

Still… When Akaza pulled away, Kyojuro swore he breathed a little easier. 

When he coughed up mouthful after mouthful of flowers in the morning, they had wilted. 

“I’m honestly shocked,” Shinobu said once she finished listening to his breathing. “I don’t think most people would have been able to recover at that point, even if they did confront the problem. You’re very lucky.” 

Kyojuro smiled, a bit sheepish. “Everyone has always said I was very stubborn!” 

Shinobu rolled her eyes. “Yes, I don’t doubt that anyone will think otherwise after everything you just pulled. Are you ever going to tell anyone who it was?” 

“Maybe one day,” Kyojuro said. “But not right now.” 

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Not that it matters. Are you still coughing anything up?” she asked. 

“Only every now and then.” The first few days of recovery had been hell. He thought he might have coughed and hacked more than he had during the rest of the illness. The thorns had become brittle, the flowers browning and dead. If anything, that made it all the more disgusting. 

Kyojuro hadn’t cared. That meant they were no longer thriving on his own life. They’d died inside him, now he only had to get them out. No more would grow. 

“And can you use Total Concentration?” 

“Yes!” 

“Good. For the most part, your breathing sounds normal. I think you just have a few stragglers. I’ll let Oyakata-sama know you will be fit for active duty soon, probably within a week or two. You mostly just need to build your stamina back up,” she said. 

“Okay!” he exclaimed. 

Shinobu chuckled. “It’s nice to see this whole experience did little to change you. I am glad you didn’t die.” 

“Thank you, Shinobu!” 

“I’m sure your demon is glad of it as well.” 

It felt like the floor vanished beneath Kyojuro’s feet. There was no way she had figured it out. No way at all! And if she had... “Pardon me?” he forced out. 

“I won’t say anything to anyone else, I trust you know what you’re doing and what you’re getting into,” she said. “But there were only so many options.” She smiled so brightly the corners of her eyes crinkled. 

Kyojuro laughed nervously. “Ah, well…!” 

“Oh do calm down. I doubt anyone else figured it out.” She waved him off. “Like I said, I’ll send word to Oyakata-sama.” 

Akaza bounded down from a tree, landing with a solid thud next to Kyojuro. “Where are we heading tonight?” 

Kyojuro hummed, and tapped his fingers against the hilt of his sword. “A town a few miles south-east of here. It’s suspected that there’s as many as three demons there. Afterwards, I thought perhaps we could get a room at one of the inns. I heard there are good onsen there.” 

Akaza walked close enough their shoulders brushed. “Sounds like a good plan. I’ll get to watch you have a good fight.” 

“Or… you could help?” Kyojuro suggested. 

Akaza laughed. “We’ll see.” He knew Kyojuro would ask every time he fought a demon, that he hoped one day Akaza would help him, and it would be a step towards him being better. And he had considered it a few times, fighting with him instead of against him. 

Maybe one day. Maybe sometime soon. 

But despite how tentative this new thing between them was, Akaza could not and would not go down so easily. It wasn’t in his nature. It was not in Kyojuro’s either. They might love each other, but there was still a fight to be had. 

Kyojuro smiled, exasperated but fond. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“You love me though,” Akaza teased. 

“Yeah…” Kyojuro leaned his head against Akaza’s shoulder. “I do.” He lingered for a moment, before straightening up. “Come on. Let’s go! We’re wasting moonlight.” 

Akaza rolled his eyes and shook his head, but followed after him with a smile.