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It had been a while since Aizetsu had had a rest. Well, a proper one at least—a deserved one. The odd nap between missions here and there, days where he'd drift between the plane of conscious and not, only to be greeted with the screeching of that pesky kasugai crow of his, alerting him yet again of another lowly demon to be rid of.
Genya hadn't a clue how he did it, it was as if he had become one himself, with his deathly pale skin and sunken, dark eyes. Yet his voice was still so soft, warm, the moments where he'd lay his chin on Genya's shoulder, breathing his scent in and taking pause, feeling those shaky, shallow breaths forced from his lungs, undoubtedly aching from overuse.
Still, he was relentless, only taking brief moments to himself, to sharpen his katana or mention something in passing before taking leave once more, he was like a damn wandering merchant with his persistence.
Yet, to Genya's surprise (but not shock), he finds the man leant against a crudely put together table, head propped atop arms that visibly tremble, beads of sweat rolling down his temple and lips quiver when the eyes twitch, body restless from so long being deprived of proper rest.
It was pitiful, he was like a kicked puppy so vulnerable like this, yet Genya's heart throbs with something—pain? Upset twisting in his gut. It had been so long, not just since Genya had seen him, especially in a state so weak, but even now he couldn't rest well. He could see right through him, how, even as his eyes flutter closed, his subconscious screams at him, how it was all but natural for a slayer of the likes of his status to choose to rest when there were far more pressing matters.
Protect. He needed to protect. Protect what little he had left, protect himself and what was his—what little family he had left, Genya. It was all for him. For all the days and nights he spent away, some days Genya wondering if he were anything more than a shadow, he would feel hands cupping his sides so timidly as if he'd shatter with any more pressure, how breathe is hot against his ear, making his cheeks flush.
He wishes there was more to be done. Wishes he could accompany him, soothe his pain just a bit and relieve him some. Alas, it wasn't realistic—not plausible with their gap in power, Genya would for certain be mauled, or at least exhausted by the time the moon had set and sun risen. He wasn't disciplined well enough—Aizetsu hadn't the time, the pressure on the corps was oppressive, the brunt of it falling onto him since Rengoku's untimely passing at the hand of an upper moon.
Failure was to be ridiculed, he could not risk being perceived as weak. Genya, despite how direly he wanted, could not be his priority.
He shudders and eyes flick open with a shaky gasp when gently hands tug at his haori, almost reaching for his sword's sheath before taking pause. Those hands were unlike a demon's—gentle, they carried an attentiveness only known to him by one other.
"Sorry" Genya bites his lip, silence hanging thick in the air, besides Aizetsu's breathless pants.
"Genya, I could've—"
"I know" He pauses, before sighing and placing the cloth down, though not over Aizetsu's back as typical, but resting beside him, neatly folded. "But, you didn't."
"Genya, you know I cant-"
"Let me speak" He tugs a chair aside, it would be seen as disrespectful to any others, but Aizetsu let this slide—he had been presenting worrying symptoms lately.
"You don't look well." His eyes rolls over his features, putting emphasis on his point.
"I'm.. Just tired" he croaks, voice raspy and throat dry.
"I don't need to be told that" Genya retorts, taking it all in—he was a far cry from the man he had known before, well polished, spoke softly yet sternly, formal, sweet. Now, his hair was messy, his face sunken in to the point of his cheek bones jutting out at awkward angles, only exacerbating his already skeletal appearance.
His eyes darkened with redness and wetted themselves, lids heavy yet forced to be peeled open to appear not so.
"You need sleep" it wasn't like the typical suggestion Genya would throw his way, this sounded... cold. So different from Genya's usual composure, as if he hadn't a choice in the matter.
"You know I can't do that, Genya" He bites his cracked lips, running tongue over them to wet them.
"I have to-"
"Protect me?" His brows furrow. "You can barely stand, if a low ranked demon comes here, I can fend for myself. If a higher rank, we're both dead. You can't protect anybody like this.
"Genya-" he tries to stand, to move quickly, precisely as he always had, just to prove his point, but he feels his knees buckle beneath him and fail under his weight, only to fall against Genya, who cradles him and drags slender fingers through his matted hair. He felt pathetic like this, held so tenderly in a younger man's arms and spoken to so softly, yet he didn't hate how his cheeks warm.
In fact, the rough fingertips dragging against his dark skin felt so kind compared to what he had endured recently, and he was left stunned, purring against him and keening for just a bit more. He wanted more, deserved far more. But he couldn't—not yet at least, not with the threat still present.
"Just a bit" it comes out timid now, almost regretful for his previous tone. "Just rest your eyes for a moment at least. Please?" He coos desperately.
Huh. Just a bit. A little while. Maybe.
Maybe he could entertain that notion, even if just briefly.
"I'm sorry" he croaks as if mourning, blue eyes hiding behind lashes as he leans into his tsuguko. "I just- I just want you to be.. safe." He mutters, throat dry and words slurred. Genya cradles his head, resting him against full chest. His heart aches for him—he had lost everything, mind racing to recount how that man previously so dark and brooding, how his resolve crumbles when telling the story of returning to find his brothers mauled, violated beyond repair, not even able to whisper a goodbye to them.
How he was greeted by his father, snarling and hissing and rushing towards him with teeth bared and a resentful grimace unlike before, throat still between his jaws, he had killed them, like it was nothing.
He had lost it all, even having to beat his own father with a wooden pole to save himself, and even the thought of losing Genya, of who'm was the only semblance of family he had, made his gut churn and twist with dread.
"I know" he ghosts a kiss over his damp forehead "But... You know you can't go on like this."
"I'm... sorry.. sorry for not being there, sorry fo-" he's hushed when Genya wraps him up tighter, knocking the air from his lungs.
"You're already miserable enough," Genya groans "You don't need to remember any of that right now. None of it matters. You're going to pass out." He rolls palms over back, spine protruding just barely, moving to his collar that was a stark contrast from before, where he was well fed. He knows why Hashira eat so desperately now.
"Let's go to bed" his voice softens, rolling thumb pads over skin, to no protest as he drags Aizetsu with him. He hadn't the energy to fight, laid boneless against Genya, eyes fluttering open and shut as if drifting in and out of sleep, eyes rolling back in his head almost.
"You've been through so much," he sighs, pressing Aizetsu into the futon, wriggling in beside him and nuzzling up, savouring the moment like the most precious of gifts, as it truly was. "You deserve this" he coos praises, hoping to make him drift off smoothly, to make it known that resting wasn't a sin.
"I love you" he coos, pressing a kiss to his cheek, to no response. That was okay. Sweet words murmured in the night could wait until after the battle was won.
As for now, Genya was content with the little things Aizetsu did to show his affection.