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Things after the Final Battle and the defeat of the Progenitor of Demons have been hectic, but Douma doesn't quite mind. Ever since training to become a demon slayer, his life has always been as chaotic and disorderly as now. The main difference is the fact that almost all the slayers are either in a coma or dead and demons have been wiped from the face of the earth. Even though Yoriichi almost became the progenitor’s successor, they were successful in registering the cure on time, finding the traces of Yoriichi’s soul, and pulling him out of his hold. It was enough for one day, but he and the others opted to lick their own wounds before beginning the long and difficult journey to normality.
Douma throws his head back with a sigh, feeling the irritable urge to return to the open courtyard of the Hantengu mansion. However, he has no purpose in staying in the training grounds of the mansion, and he's gotten tired of sparring with a grieving kid no older than he is. The family had been more than happy to continue housing the rest of the injured slayers who survived the fight, and while it is clear Karaku and Zohakuten will never smile the way they used to, they've been faring well.
How bothersome. Douma lost his own share of friends in the final battle as well, but he's never quite great at comforting people. In fact, he'd rather stay distant than try to be someone's solace. He doesn't have the emotional capacity for that, something he's long accepted. So, he opts to excuse himself from the courtyard, returning to the smell of gauze and medicine in the air.
There, he runs into Karaku, who exited Yoriichi, Hakuji, and Sabito’s shared room with a roll of bandages. There was no smile of the sort on Karaku’s face, but Douma wouldn't act surprised; his brothers did sacrifice their lives to kill the demon king, leaving him and Zohakuten behind. Douma wonders if Karaku faults them for it.
Karaku looks up, and Douma is met with emerald green eyes attempting to hold himself together. He gives Douma a plastic, perfunctory smile, but it's clear it pains him to act normal. “Oh, Douma! You're done with physical exercises for today?”
Douma smiles, iridescent eyes swirling with nothingness. If Karaku wishes to pretend that Aizetsu is replacing the bandages of the currently injured slayers, then he will pretend that everything is the same old song as well. “Good morning, Karaku- kun! I finished sparring with Zoha- chan, so I am now returning to my room!”
Karaku's eye twitched at the affectionate term Douma called his only living brother left, but he trudged on. He can't be Urogi or Sekido, who will get outraged by Douma's lack of decency. “Okay, whatever you want. Are your wounds healing well?”
Douma tilts his head, his smile widening. “Yes, they're healing well! I got out of the coma faster than the rest, didn't I?” He wasn't lying; he had a few lacerations in his arms and legs, but nothing healing and medication could handle. And though Karaku is a worse nurse than Aizetsu or Urogi had ever been, he can at least see that he's trying.
Karaku rolls his eyes. “Still, you have to take it easy, Douma. You're still shaken, I can feel it.”
Douma tries not to jump at the way Karaku could see through him, despite his low emotional intelligence. He and Karaku were one and the same, sometimes; Karaku could derive pleasure from pain, and he's considered a strange one for it. Douma could not feel anything other than a gentle, flowing buzz. It makes him somewhat envious of the other slayers, who all have displayed frantic emotions on the battlefield, or recalling a traumatic event. Even Yoriichi's impassive face scrunches at the slight mention of marriage and wives.
He wonders if he'll truly feel the gravity of the situation, of almost dying, but it is to be expected that his mortality would be tested by the Progenitor.
It wouldn't do him well if he were still unafraid of the imitation of a god.
“When is breakfast ready?” Douma asks instead, changing the subject. Thinking about the final battle makes him inadequate and easily frustrated. He was not the same person he'd been a year prior when this all started. He's quite shaken by the admission as well; nothing seems to have stayed the same over the course of this year. Not even his interests.
Karaku hums. “I haven't gotten into that yet, but I'm sure Kaigaku is in the kitchen preparing food. You should join him— he needs some more hands.”
Ah, Kaigaku. He's gotten quite the animosity from Yoriichi after stabbing Michikatsu in his trial. He's not particularly fond of the former Rumbling Hashira either, due to his brusque and often aggressive attitude. After the death of Zenitsu in the Infinity Fortress, however, Douma notices a change of tune within the young man. He is sure that he didn't like the young man either after the harsh training he put him through, but that's beside the point. Being given a chance at life means he must also give the volatile Rumble Hashira a chance.
Knowing his way around the kitchen, due to being one of the only inhabitants left in this once loud and rowdy mansion, he finds Kaigaku, his back turned as he faces the stove. It looks oddly domestic, seeing the hot-tempered man be the one responsible for the food of the staff and injured living in the mansion, so Douma did not feel on guard as he had been. Especially since both their swords are no longer attached to their hips.
“Inadama- sama!” He sings the term in an obnoxiously loud tone, one he knows will piss a lot of people off. Unfortunately, Sabito, Yoriichi, and Hakuji are currently indisposed and are not there to discipline him.
Kaigaku jolts at the loud voice, turning his head at Douma. He grits his teeth, glaring at the intruder. “What the hell do you want?”
He shrugs, a cheeky smile pulling his face. “I'm here to help you with breakfast! It must be hard having to cook for the injured slayers with no assistance.”
The Rumble Hashira snorts derisively. “I'm fine. I bet you set the damn kitchen on fire.”
Douma lets out an affronted gasp. “I would never! I'll have you know I was the one who cooked for Yoriichi- kun when the two of us were on a mission! That boy can barely boil water!” Apparently, Yoriichi had made an input. It was his late wife and Michikatsu who was good at cooking food. There was also a mention of Michikatsu having a wife who was also a great cook, so it's not like Yoriichi has his hands full with cooking.
Kaigaku’s face scrunches at the mention of the younger Tsugikuni, but he grunts and moves aside, meaning that he is completely convinced of Douma's cooking capabilities.
“Make one wrong move and I'm kicking you out of my kitchen,” he growls.
“But Inadama- sama, this is Karaku and Zohakuten’s kitchen!”
“Shut the hell up or I'm burning your face in the stove.”
Muttering how cruel Kaigaku truly is to his junior, Douma gets ready to work. He doesn't have to make food for Yoriichi, Hakuji, or Sabito yet due to the almost life-threatening injuries they've received. They've been out for a few weeks; Douma woke up a week after the battle concluded with nothing but a migraine. He's worried for Yoriichi's condition, after almost becoming the next successor for the demon king crap. Douma almost thought everything would have all gone to waste if that had happened.
So far, outside of the comatose survivors, only he, Karaku, Zohakuten, Kaigaku, and Ume are in working conditions. Douma's heart warms at the mention of his pseudo-sister— when he broke the news of Gyutaro’s death to her, she was inconsolable for days. He's glad she's trying to do better, even if it's because of him.
“Do you think Ume- chan will like tonkatsu with udon?” He asks particularly no one, but Kaigaku lets out a grunt that probably means he doesn't give a shit.
The two of them work in silence, an eerie sound in such a noisy home. Douma can't help but miss Karaku and Sekido’s bickering, Aizetsu’s frantic cries as he tries to heal everyone, and Urogi’s laughter twinkling down the hall. It's just… silence. It makes Douma more melancholic than normal.
He feels a presence intrude over the tranquility of the Hantengu mansion, and he knows Kaigaku senses it approaching the kitchen as he hears the Hashira let out a grunt. Douma, knowing it is not such a hostile presence, discounting Zohakuten's attempts of a fight, doesn't pay it any mind. It will probably walk away, whatever this presence is.
“Excuse me.” A soft, firm voice startles the bustling around the kitchen, and Douma and Kaigaku turn to look at who has spoken. It sounded quite like a calm, professional Aizetsu, or perhaps Yuichiro calming down, but it wasn't them because they were both dead.
The boy in the hallway looks so much like Yoriichi that Douma almost runs out of the kitchen and embraces his friend, but there are subtle differences. Firstly, the hakama this boy wore was purple in color, and his eyes also bore the same purple hue, like the lavender of an eclipse. His hair was also tied the same way as Yoriichi's, but his is longer and has purple hues at the ending strands. The way he carries himself is different from Yoriichi— it is as if he has nothing to lose, proud of himself but on the verge of suspicion.
Kaigaku gurgles in surprise at the silhouette of the now-human Michikatsu Tsugikuni, who'd been cured of being a demon immediately after the final battle. He'd taken a few setbacks to the cure administered to him because of his profound need to help his brother quell demonic urges, but his yelling and knocking common sense into his brother had been detrimental to the purification process. It was the most emotion Douma had seen on the young man's face, but he didn't get to admire it as he hauled Yoriichi off to first aid.
The lack of six eyes was unnerving; they always stared at him with… not really malice, but something of interest. Seeing it replaced by eyebrows and eye markings around his eyes was disconcerting, but not so much as the thin line of his lips, no longer needing the muzzle.
“Ah, Michikatsu- san!” Douma calls, approaching the older twin of Yoriichi. From the way his fist clenches and he raises a brow at the silver-haired boy, he did not take to having his name spoken with such an affectionate term. Douma gives him his bachelor-winning smile, but Michikatsu glares at him further. “What brings you here to the estate? As far as I know, you were sharing homes with the Rengokus!”
Michikatsu takes a step back as Douma approaches, trepidation evident in his expression. He wonders how much the former demon remembers because he certainly remembers his younger brother and being able to form words and even chores, but he wonders if he remembers all the experiences he had accumulated with him.
(He hopes so.)
“Who told you my name?” He asks, his voice filled with animosity. Douma silently clicks his tongue. So the memories still aren't returning at a faster rate. How disappointing.
“Yoriichi did!” He exclaims, trying to hide his disappointment with a brush of a hand. His eyes spark in realization. “You're here to check upon his condition, are you not?”
“... Yes, I am.” Ooh, so formal. While Douma misses the cute, tiny, and charming demon who managed to capture the hearts of everyone, he is quite interested in getting to know the real Michikatsu. He's quite tall and slender too, his height the same as his brother, just a few inches taller than he is. He's interesting already.
“Oh, if that's the case, follow me! I check upon our currently comatose residents here from time to time!” Douma beckons him to follow him, and, while it is clear that he has some reservations about following a stranger, his need to see his brother is stronger as he walks alongside him.
The walk to Yoriichi's room was not long, but Douma wanted to get to know him more. Especially since Michikatsu had promised, in his demonic state, that he'd marry him when he returned to being a human. However, he's not sure he's able to keep that vow with how Michikatsu often sends glares along his general direction.
“So… do you remember who I am?” He asks the most basic question proliferating through his brain, awkwardly looking to the side.
A deep rumble. Douma's heart skips a beat. “You're… the weirdo always hanging out outside my box, even when my brother has told you many times to leave me alone.” There is a slight irritation tinged in his voice, but an appreciative tone as well. That's a green flag for anything.
Douma laughs, a breeze intruding in the wind. “A weirdo, you say? How rude.”
“It's how I'm going to describe you now,” the older Tsugikuni twin tells him. His face softens a little. “But… I appreciate it. I thought I would go insane if my sole companion was my brother.”
Douma snorts at that. “I am flattered you considered me as an additional company.”
The two of them make it in front of Yoriichi's room, with Douma opening the door. “He still has yet to wake up, but I believe finally having his brother around him will ease his consciousness a little.”
Michikatsu looks at Douma with an indiscernible expression. “You have been… taking care of my brother?”
He nods, smiling. “I change his bandages every time Karaku- san is occupied with something. How about you try it when it is time to replace them next time?”
Michikatsu shares one tentative look at the now open door, letting the light stream in and cast light onto the brightly lit room. There was the smell of bandages and gauze everywhere, even some hint of blood Douma could not get rid of, but it was not anything too bad. There, lying on the first bed to the door, was the younger twin Tsugikuni, looking as if he were a corpse saved from cremation. Michikatsu makes a beeline for his twin, and Douma softly tells him there is a chair he could sit on to watch over his brother.
He decides to follow him, wondering if he could have some more time talking to the other man. He is not much older than he is, a boy at the meager age of sixteen, and gone was the infantile attitude he carried when he’d been a demon. His posture was poised and regal, almost as if he were a government official than a humble peasant boy living in the mountains, looking at his brother with blank eyes.
Or, at least, what others may think are blank eyes.
Douma chuckles, and Michikatsu looks up to glare at him. “What is… so humorous?”
Did he talk like that before he became a demon? Douma thinks endearingly, but he waves his hand dismissively.
“You and your brother are very much alike,” Douma states as he sits next to Michikatsu. To his surprise, the taller boy did not push him away, despite not being fond of the fact that he’d addressed him informally. “You do not feel with your face, but rather, your eyes. It’s amazing, seeing the same impassive face ebbed with the eyes of someone who cares too much about your brother. You two are admirable.”
Michikatsu’s eyes shine at the compliment, but his face is still stolid. “... Thank you for the compliments. Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are…”
“Like the rainbows, we get it,” Douma says with a scoff. It is where he got his surname, Nijiro from. He did not have a name, and when he escaped that damn cult, he opted to forge his own path.
Michikatsu looks slightly embarrassed. It is quite cute, how flustered he gets. “Yes… I have never seen anything like it. You are… breathtaking.”
Douma wishes he has his fan now so he could cover his blushing face. He’s heard so many praises like this before, but the older Tsugikuni twin seems incredibly sincere. “Oh my, you’re quite the charmer! Is that how you enchanted the girls in your village?”
At the mention of women, Michikatsu’s face falls, and he looks down, clenching his hakama. “I… had a wife in the village. She’d given birth to a child already when… he came and ruined everything.”
Oh, right. It wasn’t only Yoriichi who had a spouse when the entire thing happened. Douma wondered why they’d married so early, but seeing as it is a personal issue, he chose not to explore it. “My condolences. I should be more careful with my words.” It sounded so practiced, but it was not the first time he’s had to apologize for his bluntness.
“She was… her name was Hayami. She was given to me by my father before he ran off to pursue… whatever he wanted.” Douma can smell the hint of bitterness within his aura, and he knows that is another issue he’ll have to tackle later on. “Uta, the wife of Yoriichi, was simply just a woman he fell in love with. I was jealous he chose to be in love, while I was trapped in a marriage that is only by status. While it did give me a child, being by her side… made me empty. I love her… yet I do not love her enough… I will miss her… but I am free of the contracts of the marriage that binds us both.”
Douma waits for him to gather his words, his eyes on Yoriichi’s comatose face. His face was filled with scars, both old and new, while his hair was a mess behind him. There is a bandage covering the side of his face, and he knows Michikatsu feels frustration seeing his brother in such a state.
“Once Yoriichi has awoken… I plan to return… to the mountain we once called home. We will clean and assume a proper burial of our family… not one that was rushed and filled with urgency.”
“I can help,” Douma volunteers instinctively, smile on his face. Michikatsu’s face scrunches in what looks to be disgust, and he wonders what he did wrong.
“Is this… a ploy to persuade me to agree to that… farcical marriage proposal you offered me?”
Douma’s face pales, but his smile is intact. Ah, so he does remember it.
He shrugs, giving Michikatsu a coy expression. “Perhaps. I mean, I’ve wanted to see who you truly are without the demonic features, and right now… I’m pleased with what I’ve found.”
Michikatsu raises a brow, and Douma, laughably, remembers he did not have brows when he’d been a demon, due to his head filled with six eyes. “You would… accept me for who I am? I am not… so innocent or… naive as my demonic form had been. I have seen… carnage and vices as much as you have.”
“Eh, we’ve all seen a lot of disturbing shit, Michikatsu- kun!” Douma tells him reassuringly, hoping that he truly is giving him a chance. “I know it is so soon after your wife’s death, but… I want to court you. I don’t know if we’ll get married along the way, but you’re way too cute to pass up.”
The corners of Michikatsu’s lips quirk up, not a smile, like the absolute sunny beam Douma is projecting, but it is enough. “Hm… I will let you court me… once Yoriichi wakes up. But for now… are you interested in friendship as an initial setup?”
He laughs, “Of course I am! I barely know who you are and only know stories from what Yoriichi could tell us! It’s not enough for me to get to know who you are!”
Michikatsu hums. “I suppose… that’s true.”
Douma leans on his chair, inclining his head upwards with a gleeful smile. He can’t believe it… he gets the chance to earn the friendship of Michikatsu Tsugikuni!
He knows that the journey to love is a long, prickly road, but gods, Douma is so ready to swim into it.