Archive of Our Own

Shinjuro crept through the dark forest, picking his way back to the footrail. This night had been a long one. He had been sprinting after a demon all night. Finally he had caught up to it, and it had fought with wretched determination. Blood rolled down from a gash on his forehead and into his eyes. No matter how many times he wiped it away, he still couldn't see clearly.

At least the thing was dead. The satisfaction when the creature turned to ash had been enough to drop him to the ground. The tension left his body, and his muscles slackened. He had laid there, eyes closed and chest heaving for an embarrassing amount of time. He could have waited for his crow to bring the kakushi along, but restlessness had eventually gotten him moving again. He wasn't severely injured, just tired, and he could get himself to someone who could take care of him. Besides, there might be more demons about.

Alert, bloodied, this was his state when the hair on the back of his neck rose. He spun, hand to his blade, to see a woman. Her eyes widened with fear, catching a faint glimmer of starlight through the trees. Her hair bounced around her shoulders as she flinched backward. A gasp escaped her. “You're hurt.”

Shinjuro drew back, blinking desperately to clear his eyes. Now that she had surprised him, he couldn't relax again. His skin prickled. But this was just a young woman, probably no older than he was, from what he could make out of her appearance and her voice. “It's nothing.” He tried to smile, but feared it was more of a grimace. “There are… animals out here. Dangerous to be alone.” His gaze swept around them instinctively. He realized, when she took a step back, that his hand was on the hilt or his katana. Though it was hard to let go when he was still on edge, he released it. The show of trust was not enough to bring the young woman to speak, so he asked, “What are you doing out here so late? I could escort you to your home.”

The young woman stepped closer, accepting that he wasn't a danger, now. “I got lost. I would appreciate an escort very much.”

He nodded and they searched for the road together. She was quiet, leaving some distance between them and allowing him to lead. It made traveling together easy. If she walked beside him, he might end up staring as he tried to see her better through his bloody eyes. He was almost embarrassingly aware of her, even without seeing her. He didn't want to make her feel like the stranger helping her was a danger. 

It wasn't long before they stepped out of the trees and onto a road, much to his relief. Even better than a footpath. “I think I can find my way from here,” she murmured.

He glanced back at her. “Even so, it's dark.” The full moon glistened like a saucerful of snow overhead, illuminating them clearly. His eyes finally seemed to clear as he looked back at her, and his other arguments fell short. His lips parted and he stared. Her dark hair reflected moonlight, as did her glistening eyes. Her faintly patterned kimono, some flower pattern in the day, perhaps, covered her body in only blotches, but it couldn't obscure her shape and the elegance of her bearing. Her eyes were sharp and intelligent, their color flaming. Beautiful.

She stepped closer, staring at him. Her hand reached toward his face.

He almost recoiled, but it occurred to him that a respectable young woman had no reason to ever see such a wound. The dark had clearly not prepared her for it, even if she had noticed something amiss. Her hand shook as she lifted it to the cut and, with enough force to make him grunt, poked.

She pulled back, fingers now glistening with blood. The light had left her eyes, and her hand shook. “I'm so sorry.” She backed away, eyes flickering up and around. 

“It's no problem-”

“I should go.” She bowed quickly, hand held rigid beside her, turned, and fled.

To chase her would only intensify her fear, so he let her go. The nerves wrestling in his stomach abated. Now that she was gone, he felt confident that there were no more demons. Undistracted by her presence, he couldn't sense an ounce of bloodlust or malice.

His kasugai crow fluttered down onto his shoulder. It watched the woman run, then tilted its head at him.

He offered it a bashful smile, feeling as if he had been caught doing something wrong.

Shinjuro’s mouth stretched open in a yawn as he patrolled his territory. Weeks had passed. His father was out and about, and he was taking over the hashira’s duties to protect his land. There were no hard borders, but he was reaching the edges of his expected route. At the height of the night, it seemed reasonable to go farther, but after being awake all night, he was tired. The Rengoku family tolerated no demons in their borders, and he couldn’t help but fidget as he looked out far into the woods. There were certainly other places that could use his services.

It’s a waste, he thought. His legs itched for motion. His late-night exhaustion dissolved. He trotted further out on the narrow path.

“It’s you!” a voice said behind him.

Startled, he spun. All over, he felt live with anticipation. But when he saw a woman, he let out a breath, trying and failing to relax. “H-hello, miss. Do I know you?”

She slipped forward and took his hands in her own before tugging him into a patch of moonlight. 

His heart sped up at her touch, and he felt his blood rush. Quiet breaths, he reminded himself. How embarrassing would it be if he started huffing and puffing just because a woman held his hand. He was even more relieved that he managed to keep his composure when he saw her clearly. “It’s you.” That beautiful, mysterious woman. “What are you doing here?” he asked, hoping she couldn’t feel the pickup of his pulse.

She blinked up at him. He sweat under her scrutiny. Slowly, she reached up and traced the fresh scar on his forehead with a single finger. “I… never thanked you,” she murmured. “I am sorry for my indiscretion.”

“You must have been startled.” Her sparkling eyes caught his like a snare. “Traveling alone at night like this- it’s dangerous. Why are you doing it again? Just to see me?” The thought made his cheeks warm. Hopefully she didn’t notice in the dark.

A smile graced her lips. “... What’s your name?”

“Rengoku Shinjuro.” He swelled his chest. “May I ask yours?”

The smile fell. She slowly released his hand. “I should go. You’re right. It’s late. Thank you again.” She dipped her head and backed away.

His chest tightened. “Will I see you again?” he blurted out. He knew he had been rejected, but he couldn’t help it. He had to try again.

She turned her back to him. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Goodnight, Rengoku-san.”

He watched her disappear into the night, his heartbeat slowing and his exhaustion settling in once against. He brushed a hand through his hair. Lingered. With a sigh, he returned to his patrol. He couldn’t help but imagine the feeling of her hand in his as he walked through the night.

The next morning, Shinjuro was summoned out to a location past his patrol route. His stomach dropped. It was too late for a demon to still be present, or for survivors to be found. I knew I should have gone farther. Swallowing his regret, he headed out.

As expected, the demon was nowhere to be found. To his surprise, only one civilian had been killed. An older man who must have stepped out that night. Maybe he was admiring the stars. He had been caught by a demon- described as an animal person by the man’s grandchild- and dragged into the woods. Shinjuro apologized for their loss, and examined the scene. The body had been ripped open at the throat and drained of blood, the remains left behind. Its skin was pale, a contrast with the blood spilled on the ground. His stomach turned at the thought of a child hearing and seeing something so terrible.

“I’ll patrol this neighborhood,” he assured the family. “I promise I will stop this creature.”

He meant it, but it still felt like a hollow reassurance. The death had shaken him. So close to his home, and he had failed to prevent it. His fists curled tight at his side as he walked away from the family, just like the knot constricting his heart.

He patrolled the neighborhood and surrounding town for weeks, splitting his time between them and his usual patrols. He was starting to believe he had scared the demon away. That changed when a scream ripped through the night. He kicked into a sprint, triangulating its source with an ease that came from years of training. The screams turned into wails of grief before he arrived.

He leaped a fence and landed in a yard. A woman laid on the ground, her family surrounding her. Shinjuro circled around to look at her without disturbing them. Her neck was raggedly torn at one side, but her body was less damaged. If not for the pallor of her skin, he might think she could be saved. The blood oozing from her body was still fresh. While the family clutched her close, he pushed down his grief and circled out from the group until he found more blood.

He tracked the blood trail away from the scene. It quickly returned to the woods behind the neighborhood, creeping away from the family. When the blood trail dried up, he followed broken branches and nebulous tracks, but that trail, too, faded. He swore as he was led back into the town and shaken.

When he returned to the scene, the kakushi had arrived. A failure yet again, he slunk into the woods to repeat his investigation. There was nothing he could do for this family. He retraced the trail. Maybe there was something he had missed. But he reached the same point, back in town with no other lead. He was considering trying again when a whimper reached his ears. Goosebumps prickled on his arms as he hurried toward it.

Between a house and a wood pile, he found a crying woman. She was curled forward on her knees, back to him, and shaking with sobs. The sticky tang of blood hung in the air.

His hand went to his blade as he approached. He took slow, intentional breaths, felt the power in his limbs. 

One glance from her stopped him short. 

He recognized the eyes that looked back at him. Blood was covering her face, neck, and chest. Her eyes were teary with fear. “Don't come any closer,” she whimpered. Then, more certainly, she cried, “Stay away!”

His grip tightened on the sword. He felt sick. He had told her not to go out at night. Gaze flickering away from her, he looked through the tiny space for any sign of a demon. He was still looking when he said, “I won't hurt you. I'm here to help.”

“H-help…?”

He slowly returned his eyes to hers. “I know that you're hurt. I and many others can help…”

His words weren't having the intended effect. She hadn't stopped shaking, and she was looking around wildly for an escape. He was standing in the only exit. 

While he had let her go before, he had no intention of doing so again. “Please. Come with me. I'll make sure you don't get hurt again.”

She didn't stop shaking. Didn't stop crying. Only watched him. When he moved forward, she backed away.

Finally, he realized he was still white-knuckling his katana. He let it go, and she stopped backing away. He was able to slowly draw near. He lifted her and took her out from behind the wood pile. 

Her breaths were choppy, and her muscles tense. She kept her arms wrapped tightly around her like they were holding her together. “I-I need to go home,” she managed. “Please, I-”

“I'll take you home.” His skin was still prickling uneasily, but at least she seemed stable enough. He squeezed her lightly, protective. He wanted to save at least one person tonight. Ideally he could do it without the kakushi; she didn't look like she could handle attention from anyone else. “Where do you live?”

He could see her trying to think. The answers just weren't coming together for her. Finally she mumbled ashamedly, “I-I don't know.”

For some reason, he expected a lie, but this felt true. “I'll take you to my home, then.”

The incomprehension on her face made him reassess his bold offer, but he decided he would stand by it. He could care for the wounded, and she seemed to look worse than she felt. He hurried home on foot with her in his arms.

She objected to his care, and he relented. Instead of seeing to her himself, he drew her a bath and borrowed a Yukata from his mother for her to wear. Shinjuro tried not to hover, but every so often, he went to the door of the washroom and knocked gently. 

“I just need more time,” she would answer until, finally, one of his check-ins yielded fruit. She stepped out. Her hair was damp, and the Yukata was just a little too big, baring her neck and much of her shoulders.

He gulped and examined the bandages at her neck and shoulder instead of fixating on her bare skin. They were applied sloppily, without skill. But there was no color of blood leaking through. The way they disappeared under her collar, he couldn't blame her for wanting to maintain her modesty. “I… prepared dinner. You should eat.”

“I can't. After… I just can't,” she said quietly, eyes downcast. “You've done so much for me already. I would just like to rest.”

“Yes, of course. I'm sorry,” he stammered. “This way, please.” He led her toward a guest room. 

As they passed the open shoji doors to the garden, she looked out apprehensively at the fading night. Over the house, the sun was finally rising. 

“Don't worry,” Shinjuro reassured her, “Nothing can get to you here.”

“Thank you, Rengoku-san,” she said, speeding up to walk by his side. 

He stood taller, making himself a barrier between her and the outside. When she took his arm, his whole body lit up like there was water boiling under his skin. He fought to keep still. The feeling was so alien. Shinjuro thought he had seen beautiful women before, but when she touched him, he was almost afraid of the force of his feelings. “May I… ask your name, now?” His voice caught in his throat. 

She blinked up at him, frowning. “It's… you can call me Ruka.”

“Ruka…?”

“Just Ruka,” she murmured. 

Another rejection. Then again, why should she trust me with her full name? It was a strange wall for her to put up, but he would respect it. He slid a door open for her. “Well, Ruka-san. You can stay here until you would like to go. Should I contact your family?”

She was already shaking her head. “You've done enough. Thank you.” She bowed her head and stepped into the room. 

He reached for anything to say to prolong their conversation, but gave up before too long. It was selfish to demand her attention after her ordeal. “Goodnight. You can ask me for anything you need.” He gently shut the door.

After bringing Ruka home, there was no more night for his patrol. He thought it would be a relief, but instead, he was restless into the late morning. With nothing better to do, he prepared breakfast for Ruka and brought her dish to her room. He knocked gently. 

“... Come in,” came her voice from inside.

He opened the door and stepped inside. Kneeling, he placed the plate beside her futon. The curtains had been drawn, and the room was dim. Ruka was buried in her blankets.

“Are you cold or in pain?” He asked, reaching to place a palm on her forehead. 

She cringed and he stopped before touching her. “I-I'm alright.” She turned her face away.

Maybe she was more injured than he expected. It was stupid to think he could care for an injured woman on his own. “I could call a doctor.”

“No, please, just… I just need to rest.”

“You'll need to eat to recover.”

Her voice choked in her throat. “I know, but… I can't.”

“What's wrong?” He felt stupid as soon as the words left his lips. He wasn't surprised when she didn't respond. “I'm sorry. You don't need to tell me anything. Please, rest. I'll leave food here. Just… try to eat.”

Shinjuro stepped out and sighed heavily. Ran his hands down his face. You're so stupid, Shinjuro. What an idiotic question. 

A couple days passed with Shinjuro patrolling at night and checking on her during the day. He found the food he gave her picked at, moved around her bowl or plate, but hardly eaten, and she had little to say, except that perhaps she could go. She didn't seem to have the strength to fight his objections. 

“Ruka-san,” he murmured late one evening. He would have to leave soon on his patrol. “Why won't you eat? You'll get weaker.”

She wouldn't look at him. He hardly expected an answer, but finally, she said, “I'm not hungry.”

“Even so-”

“That woman died.”

He stopped, startled. Since his initial fumble, he avoided talking about that night.

She went on, “It should have been me.” Her chest shuddered with a sob.

“Neither of you deserved to die,” he said, reaching out slowly. When she didn't pull away, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Ruka-san, no one deserves to die.”

“But she died. And I'm still here like this.” She clutched her blanket, knuckles pale.

He took her hand and gently stroked her knuckles, willing her to relax. They felt like warm river stones in his grip. “Please, think of what you have to live for. Surely you have family, or friends who care. They must miss you.”

She just shook her head. Tears gathered in her eyes and she bit her lip.

Shinjuro stumbled over his words, a lump forming in his throat. Idiot. “W-well. I care.” Confidence building, he continued, “I want you to live, Ruka-san. I am certain someday you will make something beautiful. Please eat for my sake.”

Tears dropped onto their joined hands. Ruka's shoulders slumped. After a couple shaky breaths, she nodded. 

He expected the flood of relief, but not the anxiety that followed. She was relying on him, now. Wasn't it cruel to chain her to the life of a demon slayer? Was that why he felt so uncertain?

Her squeezing his hand brought him back to the present. If it kept her alive, at least for now, he had to be good enough. “I'll be back soon.”

That morning, he found Ruka sleeping deep in her blankets and her bowl and plate half empty. He paused to listen to her breathing as he lifted the bowls. It sounded wakeful, too quick for her to truly be sleeping. “Ruka-san?” He waited a moment. She didn't answer, so he stepped out.

Slowly, her energy returned. She sat up to speak with him, and he brought his meals in to eat with her. Sometimes she even smiled. Each time she did, he felt weak with joy.

One day they were eating breakfast, sitting in her room. The curtains were drawn as usual. Even with them drawn, he could tell that the sky had darkened outside. Trumpeting thunder shook the house and, all at once, there was the drumming of rain. 

Ruka's eyes glittered in the candlelight as she looked up. “I didn't realize there was such a storm coming.”

“It is that season.” He picked up a bite of tofu and chewed thoughtfully. “Do you like the rain?” He had struggled to learn much about her. Her perceived responsibility for others spoke to a virtuous character, and slowly she was revealing more about herself: that she had no home or family, and that she traveled often, for example. She complimented his hospitality, and returned it by cleaning the house regardless of his objections. However, he hardly knew her likes, desires, or hobbies. 

“I never used to,” she said. “No… I don't think I liked it much in the past, but… maybe we could go out together?”

“In the rain?” He furrowed his brow.

She looked away. “Not if you don't want to but I… haven't been out much.”

He had invited her out, but she always seemed exhausted on the most beautiful days. When the clouds were thick, she might step into the garden, but she seemed uneasy. He swallowed his surprise to seize the opportunity. “I would love to go out with you. I'll bring an umbrella.” An umbrella wouldn't do much against such a violent storm, but it wasn't as if he could do nothing to protect her.

She smiled at him, the curve of her mouth soft and warm. They both dressed against the weather and met back at the door. As soon as it opened, wet wind slapped their faces. She grasped his arm tight enough to make him yelp and leaned into his side as they stopped out.

Keeping the umbrella above their heads took a concerted effort for Shinjuro. He wrestled against the wind as they walked into the town by his home and, with her at his side, stepped into the first open store they could find.

Ruka breathed in the warm air as Shinjuro shook out his umbrella. This was a store for stationary, and Ruka quietly examined the shelves. 

“Do you write?” He asked her.

“I… haven't in a long while.” She picked up a leather journal and ran a hand down the binding.

“I'll get it for you.” Shinjuro puffed his chest. “It will help you to have something to do. Don't you think so?”

“You don't need to do that.” She looked down at the book sheepishly. 

“But I want you to feel better. It will be good for you. It's nothing, really.”

Ruka picked at the leather. “I see. Thank you.”

A smile spread across his lips; he had a wonderful idea. “Pick out some inks, and a pen, too. I want this journal to be all yours.”

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted like she might object. Seeing the serenity on his face must have convinced her there was no point in arguing. She slipped further into the shop, searching out the supplies she would need.

Once she was out of sight, he carefully opened the door and scurried out into the rain. Just a few buildings down the road was another shop he had decided to visit. He examined his options there and made a careful selection.

When he returned, Ruka was just coming back out with a couple vials of ink in hand. She blinked at his soaked form, and the arms held behind his back. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” He smiled at her, hoping the expression was one that would win her affection. “Did you find everything you need? Is there anywhere else you'd like to go?”

She looked out the front window pensively. “Let's go back once we're done here… I can only accept so many gifts in good conscience.”

He sagged. “I didn't mean to push you.”

“I'm grateful,” she said quickly. “I really am.” Drawing closer, she murmured, “Thank you, Shinjuro-san.”

His cheeks burned. He led them to the table and paid for her selections. The shopkeeper wrapped her journal in wax paper to protect it from the rain. Huddled close under the umbrella, Shinjuro and Ruka returned home.

She retreated to her room. He heard the rustle of the wax paper as she retrieved the journal. Already his gift was going to use! He left her to it and returned with his final gift in the evening, along with dinner. 

As always, he knocked gently at the door. Ruka pulled it open. Her ink has been capped, her pens cleaned. She expected him. As they settled in and he set out their dishes, he also set out a vase with small white buds between them. She watched the pale, rolled petals sway each time his arm brushed against them.

“You… like to dine with flowers?”

Shinjuro scratched the back of his head. “I thought you might like them. I know they don't look like much, but-”

“They bloom at night.” She reached out to touch one of the buds. Her skin looked as pale as the curled petals. Her pupils widened as she tore her gaze away and fixed it on him. “You really got them for me?” His face must have been answer enough, because a faint pink came to her cheeks, and she drew back her hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She was so beautiful, his mind went blank. His lips moved, but only a squeak came from deep in his throat. He mimicked a cough, hoping to cover for the embarrassing sound. Luckily, the sound of sliding doors opening elsewhere in the house distracted them.

Ruka’s face paled.

“Don't worry.” He put a hand over hers. “It's probably just my parents arriving home. I'll go check.”

She didn't look assuaged, but he rose anyway. The sooner he checked on this disturbance, the more easily she would be able to relax. He hurried out into the front room. His father was there, kneeling to help his mother out of her shoes by the door.

“Good evening, Shinjuro. Preparing for your patrols?”

“I was just eating dinner, father, mother. Welcome home.” He nodded to them both.

There was a creek from the direction of Ruka's room. His father straightened, expression serious. He picked up his katana and slipped it back into his belt. The speed at which he had become alert, it was like he had forgotten that Shinjuro might have his own guests.

“Wait, father,” Shinjuro stepped between him and the hall. “I have a guest here. I rescued her.”

His father's ears were pricked, his attention fixed like a hunting predator’s. “A guest…”

Still seated by the door, his mother looked uneasy. Couldn't his father tell that he was scaring her? “She didn't have any family after the attack,” Shinjuro explained. Perhaps not the full picture, but it was true. “I told her she could stay here while she recovered.” His father was stepping past him. Panic rose inside Shinjuro. He hurried to match his father's quick steps, trying to stop him without disrespecting him. “She's scared of a lot of things. Please don't-”

He threw open the door to the guest room.

Ruka's room was empty. Her food was untouched. The flowers were gone. Shinjuro stepped inside and looked around, baffled.

His father frowned. “I had planned to rest, but I've decided to patrol tonight,” he announced.

“I'll join you-”

“No. Stay with your mother.” He took a breath. His expression softened. Ruffling Shinjuro's hair, he said, “I'm sorry. I've been away too long. I didn't mean to scare your friend. I'm sure she just went into town. I'll keep an eye out for her.”

Shinjuro stared up at him. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded.

His father returned the next morning. Ruka did not.

Shinjuro wasn't given any opportunity to mourn his lost friendship. With his father home, he was soon summoned to hunt demons outside of his territory. Days passed, and then weeks before he could even think about returning home. Finally, travel weary and bruised all over, he made his way home. The sun had just set, and he was just starting to let his guard down when-

“Shinjuro-san!” 

He looked back to see Ruka. His heartbeat sped up and his breath caught. She moved at a quick walk to catch up with his restrained gait, and soon she had taken his hand. “I am happy to see you again.”

His skin practically tingled at her firm touch. “I'm happy to see you, too. But less so that you are out after dark again.”

She blinked up at him innocently. “But I missed you, and you work at night, right?”

He opened his mouth. Floundered. His cheeks heated.

“Your gifts were very sweet. Thank you again.”

He hoped his hand wasn't sweating in her grasp. “Y-you're welcome. Did my father scare you? He's a kind man, really.”

“That was… I'm sorry.” She looked away, examining the edge of the road. “He is a slayer, like you, isn't he?”

Shinjuro nodded. His chest swelled with pride. “Yes, so you must understand that he'll protect you.”

“Doesn't it scare you? Fighting and killing demons?”

He thought back to what he had told her in their conversations at his home. That she had accepted what he did as fact was a relief; many thought demons were myth. He hadn't explained exactly what a demon was, though, and he wondered what she was picturing. He was tempted to lie. Women liked bravery, didn't they? But he couldn't stand such dishonesty. “... It's terrifying, but not in the way you think. I've… accepted, mostly, that I will probably die.”

“That's awful,” she murmured. 

“It's worth it,” he said hastily. “It's not what scares me the most. Honestly, I…” he swallowed. “I'm most frightened of failing to save people. It happens too often.”

She dropped his hand. “I see.”

Stopping, he peered back at her. 

“Shinjuro-san,” she brought her hands to her chest, folding them over her heart. “You're a very kind soul.”

Shinjuro smiled, the expression feeling childish when she was so serious. He couldn't help it. Her compliments really struck home.

“You make me want to be a better person.”

“I'm sure that you're a kind person, too.” He reached for her hand again. “Ruka, you're lovely.”

She looked down at his outstretched hand, cheeks a pale pink. “I… don't know what kind of person I am.”

“... Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” He asked her. “Come home with me.” He hadn't meant anything inappropriate by it. Nor had he meant anything overly familiar with the use of her name. He just wanted her to feel welcome. 

She started to reach out. Hesitated. Drew her hand back. Offering him a tiny, disappointed smile, she said, “I can't. But let's meet again Shinjuro-sa- … Shinjuro.”

They did meet again. Often, when he went on missions, he would run into her and they would chat for a leg of the trip. Eventually, she was coming most of the way. He assumed she stayed in a hotel room in the town closest to his assignment. They would meet up again when he was done.

It was one of these trips when he noticed Ruka acting strangely. Her gaze flickered back and forth, not meeting his, and her hands were curled around her parasol awkwardly. 

“Are you alright, Ruka?” he asked. His fingers twitched toward her, but her hands were occupied. There wasn’t an acceptable way to touch her.

Ruka’s muscles bunched under her skin, like she would lunge away. “I-I don’t… I…” She took a deep breath. “I am alright. I’m sorry to worry you. I…”

He craned his neck to get a look at her face. “Your lip-!” He reached out. A bead of deep, dark red had welled up at the swell of her lip. The skin was split. He reached out-

Her hand struck his with a crack.

There was a moment of silence. The night seemed empty. Then he registered the pain. She had struck the side of his hand, and it was already purpling with a bruise. He pulled it to his chest, baffled.

Ruka looked just as shocked. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Shinjuro.”

“No, I didn’t ask if I could touch you,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry-”

“I need to go,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait-” His legs ached to chase her as she spun and fled. He stumbled forward a few steps. But the gracelessness of her retreat, the animal urgency of her hurtling into the woods, made him stop. He didn’t want to see her that way. “Will I see you again?” he called after her.

Ruka didn’t answer.

Shinjuro finished his mission. If she was feeling better, perhaps he could meet her in the closest town. Though he ached- he had been scratched and patched up during his work- he walked around town into the late morning. As the sun rose toward its height in the sky, exhaustion won out. He checked into a hotel and fell asleep.

It was dark by the time he shot awake, skin prickling and heart thrumming.

“It’s me, Shinjuro.” Ruka’s voice came from the dark room.

“Ruka? How did you-?”

“The window.” His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he saw her shape slink toward him. She sat at the end of his bed. “I’m sorry. I hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t mean it.” Perhaps he was dreaming.

“I was scared.”

His pattering heart sunk into his stomach. “I scared you?”

“No- no, Shinjuro,” she said hastily. “I was… I was scared you would get hurt.”

He shifted, feeling the way she weighed down the blankets over his feet. His hand inched toward his sword. This wasn’t the kind of unease it could solve, though. “I’m prepared to get hurt, Ruka. It’s my job to protect people.”

The building creaked softly around them as she sat with that.

“... I wish I was like you, Shinjuro. But if I put others first, I won’t get to see you again.”

“Come on, now. I’m not dying so easily.” Slowly, he pulled his legs beneath his body and leaned forward. At the head of the bed, he was still giving her space, but he was prepared to move if he must. “I promise I’ll come back to you. Or, I’ll meet you. Wherever you want to see me.”

She swallowed. Her voice came out tight. “It’s selfish of me. I don’t deserve you.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I…” The sound died in her throat. He watched her, just a vague form in the dark, shift and knew she was looking right at him.

That was a stupid question. She was no one in his family’s eyes, and her lack of history or even a place of belonging made her an unsuitable companion. His parents tolerated talk of her, but their eyes always narrowed in suspicion. Their words were dismissive, if not derisive. And even worse, if they knew… He couldn’t force her to put it into words. How cruel would that be? “You’re enough to me,” he said. “I-I mean I choose who I like. I like you, Ruka.”

“You don’t know me,” she responded.

His chest throbbed. “I want to know you. Tell me about you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t remember.”

“Then we’ll make memories together. I like spending time with you.”

Ruka let out a short bark of a laugh. “Shinjuro…”

“I mean it!” He leaned forward on his hand and stretched his eyes wide. “Listen to me, Ruka. “You’re one of the people I need to protect. And you’re my- my friend.” His tongue stumbled over the word.

This time Ruka’s chuckle was more sincere, even if it was startled. His name was more tender coming from her mouth. “Shinjuro… May I kiss you?”

“O-oh?” His whole body warmed. “Ah-Alright.”

“Stop me if you want to,” she urged. The bed creaked as she crawled toward him. Her weight shifted on the bed. A hand landed on either side of him.

His eyes had slipped closed as she approached. His heart was pounding hard and fast. As a slayer, he was almost always aware of his breathing. At this moment, it stopped. Ruka’s lips brushed his. The warmth and softness of her skin contrasted with his usual world of callouses and bruises and violence.

Their lips parted, and he inhaled. He had expected a sweet and gentle scent, but her breath was metallic. He knew that scent. It was more familiar to him than most people. He ignored it and cupped her face in one hand. His thumb stroked her cheek and felt warmth and wetness. He turned her face and kissed her cheek, tasted the saltiness of tears.

“I wish I was always who I was when I was with you,” she breathed, sinking against him.

“Then stay with me.”

They were married the following spring, the extravagant flowing layers of Ruka's wedding kimono unable to conceal her swelling belly. She insisted on a night ceremony with hanging lamps and a clear sky above. His hand shook with nerves as he placed the ring on her finger. She smiled and kissed him softly. That evening, they laid together. He curled around her, cradling her body and keeping her as comfortable as he could.

As he stroked her cheek, he found it damp, though. “Are you okay, Ruka?” he murmured.

She shivered. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. This moment is just…” She gently took his hand and kissed it. Her lips enveloped his knuckles, and she nibbled, only to jerk his hand away. “It’s so wonderful.” She tucked it against her belly. Inside, their child kicked, thumping against his hand.

His heart warmed. “Yes. Just feel the strength of the child we made.” He nuzzled her neck, breathed in her scent. “He can’t wait to be born.”

“How are you so sure it’s a boy?” she chuckled. She stroked her stomach. “I had the same feeling.”

Under their hands, the baby kicked as if in agreement.

“The next one can be a girl,” Shinjuro assured her, kissing her neck.

She was quiet for so long, he thought she might have dozed off. But then she murmured, “I love you, Shinjuro.”

“I love you, too, Ruka,” he whispered against her skin.

“Can you… promise me something?”

“Anything.”

Her breaths were slow and deliberate. He fixated on feeling the swell and ebb of her chest. “... Promise you won't put my life before yours. That you'll never let me hurt you.”

He blinked his eyes open. “Ruka-”

“Please.”

Shinjuro walled up the scenario she was building in his mind. He didn't need to see it. “Ask me for something else.”

“ Shinjuro .” Her voice was a growl.

“It would hurt me to choose myself over you. I can't do what you're asking.” Satisfaction tickled his brain for that response. He was too clever for her anxieties to faze him. 

Ruka was not amused. “Take this seriously. If there was ever a time-”

“There won't be. You'll always be safe in my arms.” He squeezed her demonstrably. “And I can protect myself. You shouldn't worry about me.” But it wasn’t truly in his power to promise that. Were his words just empty platitudes? 

She sighed. The moment wasn't ruined, it was cool and delicate. Like a snowflake, their worries hung between them.

Their ceremony was the only time Ruka met his father, and she kept her eyes down and Shinjuro between them. He promised himself that they would get along one day, and she wouldn't be afraid of her new family. Instead, his father died days after their wedding, on a mission. Shinjuro had no choice but to go out and prove himself worthy of the hashira title. If not for Ruka and their child, he wouldn't have chosen to continue living at all.

He had to go. To protect people. To  earn a living for Ruka. He hated leaving her, but she was patient with his work. Most of the time she spent alone in her room, but she tended the house dutifully and walked the grounds in the evenings, his mother reported. It was safe enough, but he wished she would do her wandering during the day. He discovered she enjoyed theater, and so he bought her tickets for every showing he could, as if the performers could keep her company in his absence.

When he returned, he would step lightly through the house and spy on her; often she was writing in her journal in tight, graceful script. Then she would perk up and turn to him with a warm, spreading smile. “Welcome home, Shinjuro.” And he would hurry to kiss her before she pushed herself to her feet.

As her delivery date drew near, he spent more time with her. She admonished him for turning down missions; only her disappointment was enough to drive him away. But each time he left, it was harder. Ruka carried herself with grace, but he could see her discomfort with her current state: a restless twitch in her limbs when he fetched something for her, a frustrated flash in her eyes as she stared down at her full dishes at meals, sometimes waking to shredded bedding and ripped pillows. One evening, he leaned in to kiss her and she drew away.

“Is something wrong, my love?” He asked, swallowing his hurt.

“No, I'm sorry… I've felt nauseous lately. I don't want you to taste it on me.” She looked away from him. “I think I just need space.”

Shinjuro's own stomach turned with worry. Illness? So close to her delivery? “Then you do need a doctor.”

“No.” Her voice was hard. She had refused to see one consistently. At his insistence, she had allowed his mother to help her, especially early on when she was so frequently ill he feared she hadn't digested a single thing. “I'm certain it's normal.”

“So late?”

She offered him a forced smile. “Well, your child is using my stomach for combat practice. Maybe you should take it up with them.”

Shinjuro's cheeks colored. “Ah. I guess so…” He wished he could comfort her, but she had turned her shoulder to him so it would be harder to embrace her. He could tell she didn't want to be touched.

She pressed him to work when his kasugai crow came. He argued that it was too close, but he couldn't match her stubbornness. Regretfully, he set out, eager to return as soon as he could. When he returned sore and tired, her cries rang through the house. He hurried inside, dropping his sheathed blade as he ran. “Ruka-!”

“ Stay out!” Ruka commanded, a furious growl in her voice.

Shinjuro expected she was startled by the speed of his footsteps, only to realize as his mother came around the corner, that Ruka had been talking to her.

“What's going on?” Shinjuro asked, looking his mother over for any indication. 

“She doesn't want to push. I thought I would get the doctor-”

Ruka cried out again. The sound cut to his core. He sprang forward, darted around the corner and pushed the door open-

Blood. There was so much of it, he couldn't make sense of the scene. His beloved looked like she was completely split. Her hands were covered, her chest heaving. She fell back, pulling the blanket over her body. It was immediately soaked in gore. It wasn't until her cries fell silent that he heard the baby wail. 

He stumbled forward and fell to his knees at her side. In the bloody mess of her arms was their son. He waved tiny fists and cried, looking not quite upset, but as baffled as Shinjuro had ever seen a baby look. Ruka guided his face to her breast and brushed blood clots out of his wispy hair. “It's alright, Shinjuro. We're both safe.” Shinjuro couldn't tell if she was shaking or if he was.

Shinjuro's mother rushed in. The alarm on her face faded to shocked relief, but she approached the blanket, anyway. 

Ruka put a hand over it, leaning forward to do so. “It's not as bad as it looks.”

His mother nodded. “I… I'll get more water,” she announced and hurried out.

“Did you know it would be so soon?” Shinjuro asked helplessly. 

“I suspected. I didn't want you to see me like this.” She smiled tiredly, the sweat glistening on her brow.

He shook his head. “You're always perfect, my love.” When he kissed her, he noticed the taste of iron on her lips. Could it be from kissing the baby's head? Had she cut the umbilical cord with her teeth? Maybe that was why there was so much blood. 

His mother brought the water and he gently cleaned off their son. “Kyojuro,” he said to the tiny little boy, holding him up. They had decided on the name ages ago. “You're a strong young man already, aren't you?” Pride thrummed through him, so strong he could hardly feel anything else. 

Kyojuro squirmed and burbled, looking at Shinjuro's eyes with innocent curiosity.

“He's perfect,” Ruka crooned, taking him again and kissing his head. “He's so small. I was afraid I would hurt him.”

“A woman's body knows what to do. It's all natural,” Shinjuro assured her.

She smiled at him in a way that made him wonder if he had said something silly. “Next time I'll be better prepared.”

He blinked at her in surprise. He was willing to accept that he had imagined the worst when he saw her covered in blood, but it didn't mean he wanted to repeat things. His gaze fell to Kyojuro in her arms. The baby had closed his eyes and fallen asleep. Shinjuro felt another rush of warmth. The sensation left him both absolutely defenseless and the most invincible he had ever felt, all at once.

If Ruka wanted more children, he couldn't possibly refuse. 

Shinjuro hadn't expected Ruka to be the kind of mother who hovered over her little one like a dragonfly over its pond. She was up with him whether it was day or night, determined and undaunted by her sleeplessness. She certainly was as restless as ever. When she grew twitchy and went for her evening walks, he always had to take Kyojuro from her, much to her chagrin. He suspected that it was more about habit than any actual forethought on her part. She had careful instructions for when she left the baby with him.

Weaning was another matter. The prospect of feeding him anything but breast milk always brought a frown to her face and a furrow to her brow. Even when his little hands would reach out and seize a pickled vegetable or a bit of fish off one of their plates, she would make Shinjuro pry it- with great effort- from his tiny balled fist.

“He's going to hate me,” Shinjuro grumbled, watching Kyojuro examine his newly emptied palms. 

He looked up at Shinjuro with a question in his eyes and strung together some syllables resembling a question. Grasping Shinjuro's pants, he pulled himself to a stand and thumped his hands against his father's legs.

“You're too little,” Ruka chided, scooping him up.

“Let him try a bit of mashed daikon,” Shinjuro pressed. “That's good for him.”

Ruka leered at Shinjuro. When she didn't want to argue, she simply wouldn't. She bounced Kyojuro instead and turned her back on Shinjuro. 

Usually she could get him giggling and distracted, but their smart little boy knew he was missing out on something, and pursed his lips. “Wa!” He reached out. I want it!

Shinjuro sighed. It was starting to look like Kyojuro would walk before he was allowed to eat.

Much to Shinjuro’s relief, It was Kyojuro who broke that barrier. Shinjuro had overcooked yams and, grumbling, dumped the tray into the garbage. Ruka was out wandering, and Kyojuro, with all his childish bravado, managed to tip the whole bin over. Before Shinjuro had reached him, he was shoveling mushy yams into his mouth.

Ruka walked in on Shinjuro squeezing Kyojuro’s little cheeks and wiping away the mush that dribbled down his chin.

“Kyojuro!” Ruka hurried forward and snatched him up. He smiled cheekily as she examined him. Panic had flashed in her eyes at the sight. Shinjuro watched her look Kyojuro over, her expression growing lighter. Whatever she had feared, she wasn’t finding it. “... Did you like that, Kyojuro?” she asked, sincerely.

He beamed and nodded.

Ruka sagged with relief and hugged him to her chest. “You are so perfect,” she breathed, rocking on her feet. “Such a perfect boy.” That night, she continued her praise and fed him bits of her own dinner. Holding their elated son in her lap, she watched him eat and cooed, “Look at all the food you can enjoy, my sweet boy.” She nuzzled his stuffed cheeks. “Always be grateful for this.”

Kyojuro, little fingers greasy, nodded along and did his best to echo her gratitude.

Shinjuro decided not to tell her that her perfect boy had stolen garbage to eat.

As alert as Ruka had been about food, she was twice as strict about the sun. It may have been, again, her own strange habits that started it, but on this she was vehement. Ruka was a night owl. Kyojuro, too, went along with her schedule. Breakfast was early, dinner was late, and Shinjuro could tell that his son was tired in between. Ruka kept him inside with her, let him nap and only woke him for meals, then brought him out with her at night if Shinjuro didn't insist the boy sleep.

It unsettled him to realize that his bright and boisterous son was practically nocturnal. The boy was surer on his feet everyday, tugging on his father and begging to be trained to fight, but his few beginner lessons were inside, in the larger rooms with plenty of space to practice swinging a practice sword that was much too big.

“What do you say we practice on the grass?” Shinjuro asked, putting a hand up to catch Kyojuro's attention.

Kyojuro lowered the sword, which was longer than he was tall. At such a young age, his balance and strength was phenomenal. “But it's sunny,” he said, tilting his head. 

That was what put it in perspective. Shinjuro started, so taken aback that he couldn't argue. He didn't want to argue it with Ruka, either. He had respected her careful guidance before. She trusted him. He would have to show her to trust his opinion and not just his obedience. He scooped Kyojuro into his arms. 

Kyojuro yelped and clung to his neck as they walked through the house. The practice sword clattered to the floor. “Where we goin?”

“Outside,” Shinjuro said. Before Kyojuro could respond, he stepped into the light. He halted only for a moment at the threshold, and then he was out.

Kyojuro squinted and buried his face in Shinjuro's shoulder. 

“It's fine. Look.”

Hesitantly, Kyojuro lifted his head. He blinked and, eyes still squinted, looked around. Shinjuro felt a heavy storm in his chest subside with a sigh. This didn't have to be complicated.

Kyojuro looked up at the sky. “Where's the stars?” 

“You can't see them because the sun’s too bright.” Shinjuro shielded his eyes when, predictably, Kyojuro tried to look straight at the sun. “You'll hurt your eyes if you look at it, too.” he placed Kyojuro on the grass. 

Kyojuro looked around. He had been outside at night, so this couldn't be too much of a shock. “S’hot,” he said.

Shinjuro chuckled. “You'll get used to it. Let's continue training, right?”

Kyojuro brightened. “Yeah!”

Shinjuro grimaced as he looked down at a Kyojuro, who beamed back up at him. An hour out in the early evening sun, and his face was bright red. “That's enough,” he said. “Let's clean up for dinner.” Guilt and dread gnawed at his stomach. Clearly Ruka has foreseen this.

Kyojuro put up some objection, but he was a good boy. Shinjuro herded him into the house without too much issue.

Ruka had busied herself around the house earlier, but she met them in the bathing room. Her eyes fell on Kyojuro, who practically glowed with sunburn. 

Shinjuro braced for a well-earned tongue lashing.

“What happened?” She said, instead, kneeling and cupping Kyojuro's cheeks.

Shinjuro, who has been careful not to touch the burns, cringed. Kyojuro, who was completely unaware of them until that moment, cringed just as much and jerked away. “Ow! S’hot!”

Ruka sprang back, too, and looked at her hands with wide eyes.

Shinjuro shrunk. “I…” he swallowed. Cleared his throat. “Took him outside.”

Her gaze shot up to him, then to Kyojuro, who was clutching his cheeks and getting crankier. The poor baby didn't know that he was hurting himself by touching his skin. “Hurts…” he whimpered. 

“A sunburn?” Ruka breathed, as if only now remembering the word. She laughed. Shook with relief. “That's all?”

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize he was so sensitive. He must get it from you.” Shinjuro grimaced. Now it sounded like he was blaming her. “I mean, I didn't listen. You never take him out in the sun, so I shouldn't have-”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “He'll be alright.” She said against his lips. Again, the words rang with shock and relief. “Shinjuro, he'll be alright. He's perfect…” And then she returned her attention to Kyojuro, who had used up all his bravery in the face of this new injury and finally started crying. She cooed comfort and praise as she got him ready for his bath.

Shinjuro went slack with relief. A sunburn really wasn't the end of the world. Deep in his mind, he pictured the worst thing Ruka could have imagined. And then he shook the thought from his mind. Crumpled it and threw it away, along with all the other worries he had ever had about her. Thoughts like this were never welcome.

Ruka's second pregnancy hit her with a fury. She couldn't stand the scent of any food, and her enthusiasm for another child was overtaken by a disheartened lethargy. Both he and Kyojuro did their best to comfort her and find something she could keep down. His mother did her best with a number of remedies that had helped her. Nothing worked.

When Ruka realized he was shunning his duties to care for her, she insisted on solitude. While she claimed it helped, he suspected from her twitching and discomfort that she was only claiming as much for his sake. She tossed and turned in bed like there were hot coals beneath her, even during his short visits.

But she didn't seem to be deteriorating, just uncomfortable. She didn't lose weight or grow weak, and her confinement to bed seemed self-imposed. As she always had, Ruka insisted a doctor was unnecessary. Shinjuro was never one to force anything upon her, so he did his best with just family.

Shinjuro returned from a mission one evening to find her gone. He took a breath and located his mother. “Have you seen Ruka?”

His mother offered a worried frown. “She's not in her room?”

He spun and headed straight back out into the night. He extended out from the estate, combing the woods for her. How long had he been gone? Just a few days. Would Ruka have gone far? Had someone or something taken her? The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He gripped his katana. No. That couldn’t be it. There were no demons on Rengoku land. 

A leaf crunched. He spun. Now his heart was beating too quickly to properly hear his surroundings. Keep calm. He struggled to steady his breathing and turned to continue his search. “Ruka! Are you out here!?”

She didn't answer. After hours of searching, he found her anyway, curled up under a tree as much as she could be with her pregnant belly. She looked up, eyes fixing on him as he approached.

“Ruka! Why are you out here? I've been looking for you!” He hurried forward. 

“Stop,” she growled.

He halted, brow furrowing. Was she in pain? Stuck?

“I just needed some space. It's quiet out here…”

“How long have you been gone?”

She looked up into the leafy canopy. “... Not long.”

Shinjuro scowled. “I'm taking you home.” He stepped forward to pick her up, and she stiffened. “It will be okay,” he assured her.

“Shinjuro-”

“Ssh.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to her feet. She was still tense, her body like stone, and her movements slow. Her eyes, glinting with something intense, were fixed ahead. He reached over to brush the hair out of her face. “You'll be more comfortable-”

Crack . Shinjuro cried out. Her hands clung hard to his arm, one above the elbow and one at the wrist. His elbow was twisted, the bone moved out of the way as she bit into the tender flesh. He stopped himself from struggling, slowed his fast, shallow breaths. 

Ruka drew in. A cold ache spread through his arm, and it went numb. She exhaled a shuddering breath without letting go. Then she sucked again.

His vision darkened at the edges. His skin stung and sweat. Blood loss. Shock. He needed to stop her, but it was getting harder and harder to think. This was Ruka. His wife. Mother of his child. Focus . 

He pinched his eyes shut and drew his katana. She was holding his arm straight and completely fixated on his blood. She didn't notice when he shakily laid it flush against the limb, lengthwise, and slipped it between her jaws and his skin. Ribbons of blood slipped down from nicks, and then more serious cuts as he got the blade under her teeth. Then he shoved her away, skin ripping and teeth closing on the blade. 

Once her teeth were out of his skin, she released the blade and stumbled back several steps. She was breathing hard, her mouth open. Guilt wracked his weakening body when he saw the slices at the corners of her mouth and on her lips. He had tried to be careful, but his hand wouldn't stop shaking. 

They stood there, staring at each other. He dropped his katana and wrapped his hand around his broken arm, ignoring the pain so he could keep pressure on the wound and hold it steady. It wasn't the worst pain he had felt. He could keep moving. Get them both home. Wash up and make sure Ruka rested. 

Ruka watched him. Humanity returned to her eyes. Their glow dimmed. She looked down at her bloody chest. Her whole body shook. Tears built up in her eyes.

“Please. Come home, now.” Shinjuro's voice was rough in his throat. His body felt like an object separate from himself. He needed to go back to the familiar. 

The night was absolutely silent. Finally, Ruka nodded. They walked without touching. He wanted to hold her. 

Shinjuro shielded Ruka from his mother's gaze as they returned. He cleaned his wound as best as he could, and his mother wrapped it. His mother knew what to expect of a demon slayer. He let her assumptions bridge the gap between them. His crow returned with yet another mission, and he sent it back with a request for a kakushi doctor. He couldn't leave Ruka alone now. Maybe not until the baby was born. 

The numbness gave way to guilt and pain. Swallowing them as best as he could, he knocked on the bathroom door. “Ruka?”

“Why didn't you kill me?”

The question was enough to overwhelm him with nausea. He sunk to the ground against the door. “You're my wife. I know it was… It was an accident. You didn't mean to do it.”

“But I did.”

“Are you feeling better, now?” He refused to dwell on things that had gone wrong. “Do you think the baby is alright?”

Ruka huffed quietly. The question must have surprised her. “... They've been very active. I should probably get out of the bath.”

“That's it. Why don't you come to bed?”

“Shinjuro…” The apprehension and shame was back in her voice. He stopped himself from interrupting her. From pretending completely that it didn't happen. “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright. As long as you're feeling better. Please, now…” Ruka was a good person. He knew that. She didn't want to hurt anyone. He could no longer depend on shock to excuse his lack of action on this revelation, but he didn't want to move forward. 

He never wanted to move forward. This supposed revelation had come a hundred times, Ruka telling him a hundred different ways. But he didn't want to face it.

“I can't sleep beside you, Shinjuro. You know what I am.”

No. No. Shinjuro swallowed the words. He braced as if for an attack, knowing that the disgust and horror would rise up and destroy him. But it didn't. That was the worst part. He didn't feel like a traitor. Not to humanity. His love for Ruka was untainted. He had seen the pain and helplessness, the overwhelming need in her actions, and all he could feel was remorse.

How many times has he been blind to it when he looked at a demon? How many people had he killed with his own hands? Were they struggling like Ruka? Were they loved- not for who they were before, but for who they had become when they tried to rebuild their broken lives? 

His voice cracked as he whimpered, “I love you, Ruka. This doesn't change anything.”

Silence. Then a door opened farther away- the front door- and a kakushi doctor’s voice called, “Rengoku-sama?”

“Let them tend to you, my love,” Ruka said gently. “Do that for me and I'll go to bed.”

Shinjuro feared returning to his room to find it empty, but as the floorboards creaked underfoot, he heard Ruka’s voice muffled through the door. Slowly, he cracked the door open and peered inside.

“Mommy's feeling much better now,” she soothed, brushing Kyojuro's sleep-tousled hair. Her injuries had healed, and she practically glowed with beauty. 

Kyojuro had crawled onto the blankets and curled up against her chest, wedging himself awkwardly beside her round belly to hug her. Whatever worries the little boy had raised, he was too drowsy to keep them up. He buried his face against her chest, and his breathing slowed. 

Ruka looked up at Shinjuro as he crept inside. She looked soft and warm and human . Wrapping an arm around Kyojuro, Ruka scooched him closer to make room for Shinjuro. Their child let out a small, sleepy mumble, but he melted back into sleep. “He heard the kakushi and got worried, I think. He asked about you, too,” she assured him as if he would be jealous.

Shinjuro watched her hand caressing Kyojuro's head. Her fingers looked delicate, their touch gentle. 

“He's like you,” Ruka said quietly. “Strong, but kind. I'm sure he can live a normal life. He'll be a wonderful demon slayer.”

The statement shocked him into movement. He stumbled forward, feet sticking dumbly to the floor, and remembered only at the last moment to land gently. How can she say that when she's a demon? Why would she want him to be a slayer? His dry lips struggled to form the words. “He gets that from you,” he said, meaning his kindness.

“I know,” she answered, meaning his strength. Her legs curled up toward her belly. “I hope this one is like you, too. That I haven't ruined them.”

Shinjuro put his hand on her side and slid closer. Ruka was tense under his fingers. “You've never ruined anything.”

“You know that's not true.”

“Ruka-” His voice had started to rise above their quiet murmurs.

She was quick to stop him. “The longest I’ve gone without killing someone was when I was pregnant with Kyojuro.”

The wind whistled at the corners of the house. Shinjuro's heart thudded. A cold sweat broke out on his brow.

She traced the damp line of his brow, eyes glowing in the moonlight, before closing her eyes. He did the same, leaning his forehead against hers. “The worst parts of me wish I had killed someone instead of hurting you. But I want to be the woman you see me as. The one who is relieved that no one died for my sake. I want to be the person he sees me as.”

He didn't need to look to know who she was talking about. Kyojuro was still sleeping peacefully between them.

“You… you can't help what you are,” Shinjuro said. 

“These actions are my own, no matter the reason. Please remember that. I'm not innocent.” She kissed his cheek, just under his eye. “Promise me you'll remember.”

How could I forget? He wanted to so badly. Maybe he could wake up tomorrow and convince himself this was all a nightmare. “Yes, my love.”

Shinjuro closed his eyes and slept as if oblivion could erase what he knew was true.

 He told his mother to let Ruka handle her own pregnancy. The sudden shift from Shinjuro and his mother's earlier agreement about their preferences left his mother disgruntled, but she was already resigned to Ruka's private ways.

He used his injured arm as an excuse to avoid slaying or leaving home. He was stuck in the reality he and Ruka had chosen together, not because he wanted to leave it, but because he knew he would have to. Something had changed between them. He tried to make it clear with praise and touch that he thought no different of her. He had always known, in a way, he told her. Not to coddle her, but because it was true.

His affection sapped the life out of her. She looked at him with a dulling expression, her grip on him loosened. It took too long for him to realize that she was seeing his weakness. His willingness to forgive someone who had killed others just because he loved her sickened her. Once he saw it, he knew it was true and that there was nothing he could do to take it back. 

Ruka ran a hand over her round belly, brow furrowed. It was early in the morning, and she sat at the table. She didn't have a plate in front of her; he rarely tried to feed her anymore.

“Is something wrong?” He asked.

“No, they're just… so much quieter than Kyojuro.” She sighed and leaned forward, curling in. “I can still feel them, though. I'm sure it's alright… Can I ask you something?”

Shinjuro grimaced. He stopped and looked down the hall. “I should wake up Kyojuro.”

“I'll still ask if he's here,” she said, smiling apologetically.

“Yes, well, I knew that,” he muttered. “Alright. Ask.”

“After this one is born, can you take them into the sun right away?”

Shinjuro's skin prickled. He imagined Kyojuro's angry red skin. He imagined blisters and ash. “How can you ask me to do that?”

“If they're like you, it will be fine. If they're like me…”

Shinjuro covered his mouth with his hand. Did she hate her own kind so much?

“I wouldn't want a child to live the life I live. You must understand that,” she said patiently. 

“What wrong?” They both startled. Kyojuro was blinking up at them.

Ruka reanimated quickly. “Things have been a little harder for me lately.”

“Cuz of my lil brudder?” He asked, touching her belly.

She smiled. “No, not because of that, Kyojuro. This is something only a big boy could understand.”

“I'm a big boy,” Kyojuro said seriously, clutching her yukata.

Ruka exchanged a glance with Shinjuro. He cleared his throat. “We… we’ll tell you when you're bigger,” he said.

Kyojuro puffed his cheeks. “Daddy, please?”

Ruka reached out and stroked his hair. “Kyojuro, I promise we'll tell you soon. Can you be patient for us?”

Kyojuro pursed his lips and rocked on his feet. He looked to Shinjuro again, knowing that if anyone was going to crack, it was him. When Shinjuro remained firm, he frowned, but hesitantly said, “Yes, mama.”

Shamed by Ruka’s conviction, Shinjuro went out on his next mission. He plunged through the night. Maybe if he moved quickly enough, he wouldn’t see the demon’s faces, hear their cries, or imagine their pain.

Of course, speed meant nothing. He couldn’t outrun reality. As the demon’s body burnt away from his slash, the flames he had always imagined as purifying left him feeling smeared with human ash. This demon’s eyes glinted with humanity before those sparks crumbled into the cold night air. 

Nausea overwhelmed Shinjuro. He leaned his weight on his blade for balance. What if this were Ruka, her skin split by another slayer’s blade? What if it were Kyojuro, changed by something buried deep in his blood?

No. She’s been careful. And Kyojuro will never know. His heart pounded at the possibility. Ruka wanted Kyojuro to be normal. To be a slayer, even. He could never know. Already, Shinjuro would raise his child in a fog of dishonesty. My children. And there was no way to know if their youngest child would be safe from this curse. 

“I need…”

Shinjuro wasn’t sure what he needed. Only his heart was wounded. Only his mind was sick. He turned and dragged his feet back toward town in search of medicine.

Returning home was easier this time. Kyojuro greeted him by bouncing over the grass in the early morning sun and throwing his arms around his legs. Words spilled out of his mouth in an excited and completely inevitable burble.

Shinjuro placed a hand on his head and ruffled his hair. “That's great, Kyojuro. Where is your mother?”

“Her room. But I can't go in,” he pouted. “She won't let anyone.”

Shinjuro plucked him up. Ruka must have had the second baby. He tried to keep his face clear; he felt grounded in the moment by a warmth in his cheeks and a fog in his head. The dread couldn't quite take shape. When his mother greeted him, Shinjuro handed Kyojuro off to her, much to Kyojuro's disappointment. “I'm going to check on Ruka.”

His mother was talking as soon as she saw him, and she pressed her lips together. Her gaze flickered over him. “Maybe you can talk some sense into that woman.” But there was a dubious furrow in her brow. 

Shinjuro nodded anyway and went to the room he shared with her.

The opened door cast light on her form, clutching the baby to her chest. She smiled at him, but there was apprehension in her gaze. Carefully, she rose. Without a word, they walked out toward the courtyard. She stopped in the shade of the door and gently placed the baby in his arms.

The baby had been sleeping, and now his face scrunched, and his eyes blinked open. He looked up at Shinjuro and started to squirm. His mouth curled unhappily. Shinjuro shrunk in his own skin. He wished they could have waited for the baby to wake on his own, or that the child could have stayed asleep. His cries, starting small and then growing into plaintive wails, cracked Shinjuro's battered heart. 

Shinjuro looked back at Ruka. There was a softness to his emotion, dulled by drink, that made this trial possible. But it didn't make it easy. 

Her expression was a stone mask. 

Taking a breath, Shinjuro inches forward. Their baby continued to cry as his skin passed into the direct rays of sunlight. The first touch of warmth was the worst. But nothing happened. Shinjuro stepped forward. Slow. Mechanical. The sun fell on their child's eyes, and he raised his tiny fists in objection. Cradling his neck, Shinjuro held him up in the light.

Behind him, Ruka fell to the ground. She was gasping, laughing in hysterical relief. Shinjuro clutched their son to his chest, swallowing his own tears.

He brought Senjuro back to her, and she hugged him close. The little one's cries quieted as his parents’ held him and each other.

“Be gentle. He's very delicate.” Ruka's words carried the sweetness of her joy.

Kyojuro was blinking down at his brother, expression serious. As his mother had instructed, he sat cross-legged and supported the baby's head in his lap. Senjuro stared up at him with the inquisitive expression of someone seeing something for the first time.

“He's little,” Kyojuro observed, carefully lifting one of his hands. Senjuro grasped his thumb. 

Shinjuro stifled a laugh and stopped himself from pointing out how little Kyojuro was. Somehow, this had all gotten easier.

“He’s just a baby. He'll get bigger,” Ruka assured Kyojuro.

Kyojuro leaned over him in a dainty approximation of a hug. “It's not bad! He can stay small if he wants!”

Senjuro let out a tiny whine, unsure why he was being covered up.

Kyojuro straightened hastily. “M’sorry, Senjuro.” Then, leaning forward in a gesture he certainly learned from his mother, he planted a puckered-lipped kiss right on Senjuro 's forehead. “You're a perfect little brother. Mama said so.”

Ruka stroked Kyojuro's hair. “That's right. You're both perfect.”

Kyojuro beamed up at her, eyes shining. Then to Senjuro, he whispered with all the volume control of a child. “Hear that, Sen-chan? We're both perfect.”

Shinjuro crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around Ruka. The day had left him at ease for the first time in a long while. She must feel the same. “Ruka, my love. There's one more thing.”

She rolled over to face him, blinking curiously. He pulled her close, nestled his face in her neck, and lightly bit down. He didn't want to hurt her; it was just a light pinch. She tensed. When he released her, he kissed the light red mark. “You and I are even,” he murmured, squeezing her gently. 

Ruka shuddered. Tugging away, she brought a hand up to hide her face. “Seriously, Shinjuro…” But there was the slight curve of a smile on her lips. 

Shinjuro spent as much time with his family as he could. He could look at them sober, deciding then and there that his boys would be okay. They were perfect boys, as Ruka was wont to say: strong and smart, but also gentle and kind. His family was perfect.

The missions that dragged him from his home in the night and forced him to kill strangers were different, but with enough alcohol he could almost forget them. As unhappy as that made Ruka- she was quick to catch on- she didn't dwell on it. Their time together was worth too much. 

He was intent, when he was with his family, to say that everything would be alright. In the same way he ignored Ruka's warnings that she was different when they first met, he ignored the signs now. The occasional tremor in her hands, the growing tension in her muscles, the restless walks she took at night. She still held her boys gently. She still kissed Shinjuro tenderly. She still loved them all. To Shinjuro, nothing else mattered.

The illusion was always meant to shatter. 

“Shinjuro, I can't live like this anymore.”

Shinjuro looked up at Ruka under the moonlight. They were in the courtyard, relaxing as if under the summer sun, but the sun was hidden behind the earth and the stars blinked in its stead. He stared at them, hoping she wouldn't repeat herself. 

“I can't. I don't want to hurt anyone again,” she said. She clutched his arm with urgency. “I thought I made peace with it, but… I can feel it. This hunger. I'm afraid I'll lose control of it soon.”

He didn't breathe. Maybe he would wake up and everything would be different.

“ Shinjuro.”

“I hear you.” The words scratched their way out. He couldn't ignore this. He couldn't ignore her.  

“I need to say goodbye to them. And then…” Her grip tightened on him. She was shaking. Slowly, she turned her hand up. Her fingertips were raw- not open wounds, but still healing, the tips pale and fleshy. At first he didn’t know what he was looking at. Then he realized that the only injury that would heal this slowly for her were burns. “Something in me won't let me do it myself.” She closed her fist, swallowed, and blinked her glistening eyes shut. “I… I’m scared. Shinjuro, please…”

 The moment was chasing him. The stars would wink out. The sun would rise. She needed his help. She needed him. And this disgusting act was all he could do for her. Before the moment could catch him, he answered, “I would do anything for you.”

Senjuro’s eyes filled with tears. His nose dripped. Clutching onto his mother, he buried his face in her clothes and cried. He seemed to understand right away what it meant. Illness would take her. She would be gone forever.

Kyojuro swelled his little chest. “You'll get better,” he declared. “And you can come back.”

Shinjuro steadied his breathing as he stared out at the courtyard. The sky was cloudy, the day hot and balmy. He could smell his own anxious sweat.

“I will not come back,” Ruka said firmly. “But that doesn't mean I don't love you. I wish I could live longer, and take care of you until you grow big.” 

“If you try your hardest, you can do it!” Kyojuro insisted. His faith was unfaltering, but he was a good boy. He would listen eventually. 

“What if you drink my blood?” He hadn't meant to say it, but it slipped out in a whisper, leaning over her in bed the next morning. The children were sprawled over her, snoring softly. It wasn't a new idea, but it was an ugly one, and he already knew her answer. 

Her eyes narrowed. They flickered to the boys. Their babies. They would always be babies to him. He wondered, in a glimpse of his own psyche as if he were outside it, if this moment would be the one he saw whenever he looked at them: bellies facing the sky, chests rising and falling slowly. Innocent. Defenseless.

She extricated herself from beneath them and crept out. Apparently a simple ‘no’ wouldn’t be enough. “You know how badly I hurt you.”

“If we were prepared-”

Her expression crumbled for a fraction of a second. “I can't prepare, Shinjuro. I'm not myself when I taste blood. At that moment, you're nothing to me. I'm gone.”  

“If… if I were ready…” The words tasted brittle. They died and curled up in his throat until he choked on them. Stupid. I'm so stupid. He had hurt her again. He could never trade the woman he loved for the pain she was trying to protect him from. She wouldn't allow it.

“I love you,” she murmured, cupping his face in her hands. “Shinjuro, I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt them. Before it's all I can think about, please…”

His head dipped. He buried his face in her neck. “Just a little longer,” he whimpered.

The days didn’t pass like they should have. The sun stalked slowly overhead, watching them, peeking through the windows and the shoji. The nights raced faster and faster.

The first night they had tried, his hands shook too hard to hold the blade confidently.

The second, he had drunk himself to sleep.

The fourth, the blade had been too heavy in his hands, his eyes had misted, and he had sunk to his knees. She held him as he sobbed.

Tonight was their fourth attempt. The moon was a thin crescent. The woods were calm around them. “You won’t hurt me,” Ruka murmured, cradling his katana blade close to her neck. The glinting metal didn’t break her skin, though he had spent hours sharpening it. The sword alone couldn’t kill her; it had to follow his command. “I know that, Shinjuro.”

He nodded. Breathed. Carefully, lest the air catch in his throat.

Ruka stepped closer and cupped his face. “Would it be easier if I looked away?”

“No.” Nothing could make this easier. He blinked his eyes clear and leaned into her touch. The flesh spasmed to be stone hard, crawled beneath her skin, and then softened again. Her grip on him was tighter, but not painful.

“I am sorry. Asking this of you, it was cruel.”

Dread had cooled inside him. This was the night. The last night he saw her. The last night he held her. He could feel the resolve like a dam, holding everything back. Swallowing, he realized it would hold until this was done. “No. You have been nothing but kind. Now you need me.” He sheathed his sword and pulled her close. He squeezed her tight, felt her body against his. It wasn’t the first time he had held her like this, trying to memorize her warmth and familiarity of her form, but more than the other nights, it felt final. He looked into her eyes.

Ruka’s breathing was unsteady. Her pupils had narrowed to slits. For a moment, he thought he had waited too late to really say goodbye. But when she kissed him, it was sweet and gentle. As their lips parted, she brushed the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs. “I love you,” she whispered.

Shinjuro leaned his head against hers. He took one final breath of her scent. “I love you, too.”

They stepped apart. He drew his blade.