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There would always be something weird, if not crazy, in the way Kyojuro trusts Akaza. As if he didn't try to kill him so many months ago, destroying one of his eyes, and almost taking his life away. The only reason he didn’t kill him was because the sun was rising, or so he likes to believe. Deep down he never wanted to kill Kyojuro, not even once. They slowly formed a bond uncertain at first, but then it became stronger than anything else.
He trusts Kyojuro, and weirdly enough, Kyojuro trusts him. A demon and a slayer, an Hashira no less. It seems impossible, and yet, that is their reality.
“Kyojuro?” Akaza calls him, savoring how his name rolls on his tongue. So naturally, like he was meant to say his name over and over again.
“Yes, Akaza?” He asks with a smile. He's always smiling, always laughing. The way he says his name is gentle, almost sweet, it makes him feel like he is worthy of those warm and soft feelings. But he rarely feels worthy of them, if he has to be honest.
“How many scars do you have?”
Kyojuro remains silent for a moment, as if was thinking about it, before replying. “I don't know. A lot, probably. Why?”
Years ago, if someone had told him that he would have envied humans, Akaza would have laughed in their faces. Envy humans? Those weak creatures that will die eventually, doomed because of their own fragility? Why envy someone that is so much more fragile than him? He doesn’t have to worry about anything, few things can truly threaten him or his life in any way.
But the truth is he does, in some ways. Almost every human has scars, it doesn’t matter how they hurt themselves. It’s normal to have scars. But Akaza’s skin is perfect, no calluses or scars, nothing but perfection in a body that can be slashed continuously without leaving a trace. If his skin could scar, then Akaza would have proof of his fight against him. Something to cherish when Kyojuro will be nothing but a distant memory.
He closes his eyes for a moment, not wanting to think about what his life would be without him.
“Akaza?” Kyojuro calls him. “Akaza, are you okay?”
“Can I touch them?” Akaza asks tentatively, not really knowing the reason behind his request.
“My scars?”
“Yes,” he nods. “But it's okay if you don't want to. I would never force you to accept.”
Kyojuro gazes at him for a moment, then he nods. “Okay.”
Kyojuro rolls up his sleeve and Akaza sees so many scars that he can barely count them. They are all over his skin, some faint while others more raised, most likely because they were deeper wounds. How can he touch Kyojuro’s scars when he himself inflicted wounds on his body?
“Can I really touch them?”
Kyojuro nods with a smile, always with a smile. “Yes.”
His hands are his weapon. He had always used them to hurt and kill. His hands will always be sticky with blood, no matter how many times he tries to wash it away. So is he really worth it? Are his hands worthy to touch those testimonies of sacrifice and protection? His hands might be soft, but they are not gentle. The softness of his hands it’s not normal, not for someone who uses his fists to fight and destroy.
“Akaza,” Kyojuro calls him, so sweetly that he feels warmth in his chest. That is also something he’s not worthy of. “You can touch them. You can touch me.”
Akaza’s hand slightly trembles as he lays it on Kyojuro’s arm. He has never trembled in his life. His hands have always been steady, but as he touches Kyojuro’s skin, he feels a whirlwind of emotions. Akaza also inflicted wounds on his body. He wonders if he can touch those too, or if perhaps that would be too much.
His fingers caress Kyojuro’s scars with all the gentleness he can master (which is more than he thought he was capable of). There’s a scar that is more raised than the others, and as he caresses it, Akaza’s touch is as light as the wings of a butterfly.
“What happened?” He asks, already knowing the answer. He probably protected someone, no regard for his safety whatsoever.
“My first mission.”
“To protect someone’”
“Yeah,” Kyojuro confirms. “I didn’t really care about my safety at that moment.”
“You never do.”
Kyojuro doesn’t reply because he knows Akaza is right. After all, he never thinks about his safety while protecting others.
Akaza keeps caressing Kyojuro’s scars, lightly and gently. Sometimes he asks about how he got them, but most of the time he stays silent. There’s a scar that looks very recent, and something in him already knows what happened, but he must ask.
“What happened?”
“Oh,” Kyojuro breathes. “During our fight, I ended up hurting myself a lot of times while I was trying to deflect your fists.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Akaza,” Kyojuro says gently. Always kind, always lovely. “We were fighting.”
He bends down slightly and gently kisses the scar. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs against Kyojuro’s skin, before kissing it again.
Akaza looks up at him, and his gaze focuses on the eye-patch covering Kyojuro’s destroyed eye. He lays his hand on his cheek, and then caresses the patch with so much gentleness that it surprises even him. He never thought his touch could be so gentle, so light that he can barely feel it against his fingertips.
He looks at him for a moment, an unspoken question in his gaze, and Kyojuro nods. He lifts the bandage and can see the scars left by his fist. Akaza gently caresses the devastated skin, so carefully that he doubts Kyojuro can feel it — but he can't bring himself to do more than that.
He stares at the scars for a moment longer before kissing them. Do they hurt? Can Kyojuro still feel the throbbing pain he felt that day? There's no way to know, really. Even if he asked him, Kyojuro would surely say that he doesn’t'. So he says the other thing he wants to say, words that always lingered at the tip of his tongue.
“I’m sorry,” Akaza murmurs while covering his eye. “I’m so sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Kyojuro replies. “It’s in the past, and it doesn’t matter anymore. I think that the only thing that matters, Akaza, is the present.” He then rolls up his other sleeve, and gently holds Akaza's wrist and lays his hand on his arm.
Then Akaza kisses the spot under the eye-patch, and he feels Kyojuro’s warm skin against his lips. He caresses his other scars, and tries to be as gentle as possible. He doesn’t remember if wounds can hurt after they scar, so he tries to keep his touch as soft as possible.
“It feels nice,” Kyojuro murmurs. “It feels very nice. Your hands are gentle.”
“My hands are never gentle, Kyojuro.”
“But they are now,” Kyojuro retorts. “You are gentle with me, Akaza.”
His voice soothes something within his chest that reaches his heart; perhaps his touch would have the same effect. He wishes he had scars for Kyojuro to touch. Akaza doesn’t voice his desire because why should he? He doesn’t deserve it. He will never deserve his softness and kindness.
Suddenly, against any logic, Kyojuro holds him. He wraps his arms around him tightly, and Akaza finds himself unable to move or talk. The warmth Akaza feels against his body is something he has never felt before — he doesn’t know how to describe it. How can you give a name to something you never felt before? His life as a demon has always been an endless circle of death and blood. So how can he react to something so soft? So warm?
“Kyo— Kyojuro?” He calls him, and he flinches at how thin his voice is. Nothing but a whisper amid his racing heart.
Kyojuro murmurs something and holds him even tighter. What? Why? Akaza doesn’t understand. Why would someone like Kyojuro embrace him? Kyojuro is like the sun: warm and alive. Akaza is nothing but darkness and coldness.
“Why are you… holding me?” Akaza questions, once again ignoring how thin his voice is.
“I know what you wanted to say. I know that you wish you had scars for me to touch, to soothe them into tenderness,” Kyojuro affirms with no hesitation in his voice. “But Akaza… your whole body is a scar that constantly disappears. You have been slashed so many times.”
I did the same, too. Kyojuro thinks, but decides to keep it to himself. As he said to him before they were fighting, so there's no reason to apologize.
“Even if I did have scars… it wouldn’t be the same. I did things that—”
“I know, Akaza,” Kyojuro says gently, almost lovingly. “But from what you have told me he hurt you, so many times. I constantly think about that, Akaza. I can’t help but think about you getting hurt by him.”
Bits and pieces. That was all he ever told Kyojuro. He never went into details because he really doesn’t need to, and Kyojuro never pressed him to say more than he wanted to say. It was painful to be wounded by Muzan who seemed to enjoy doing it more than anything else. He remembers that one time Muzan slashed him so many times that he lost count of how many wounds he had inflicted on him. Of course he didn’t want to kill him, never that, Akaza was too useful to him. So he would just inflict as much pain as he could, blaming his weakness on the fact that he never ate women.
The pain he felt usually lasted second, but it was often too unbearable, and Muzan attacks were merciless, one after another. So his regeneration struggled to keep up, as if it was unsure which wound should it heal first. Those moments the only thing he could smell was his blood, staining his skin and the floor beneath him. The cold touch of Muzan’s attacks lingering on his flesh for hours on end.
He wonders if Muzan is searching for him now that he broke the bond, or if he already replaced him. He hopes that he replaced him without bothering to find out what happened to him. Does Muzan feel when someone breaks their bond with him? It seems unlikely, because otherwise Muzan would have already found him and possibly killed him. Or maybe he would have already hurt Kyojuro, and that would be even more unbearable for Akaza.
“So accept this for those wounds that leave no trace,” Kyojuro says ever so softly. “Let me soothe those scars.”
“I don’t deserve it, Kyojuro,” Akaza says. “Save this warmth for someone who truly deserves it.”
But the truth is, this warmth is all he ever wanted. Kyojuro is still holding him, and Akaza basks in his warmth. He doesn’t remember how the sun feels on his skin, nor does he remember how warm it was. But in Kyojuro’s arms, Akaza feels like he’s touching the warmth of the sun for the first time in his life. It feels beautiful — it feels overwhelming. He hides his face against Kyojuro’s shoulder wondering how it would feel to spend his nights wrapped in his affection. It would feel so peaceful to simply close his eyes and let himself be lulled by Kyojuro’s sunny presence. But can he dare to hope?
“You do, Akaza,” Kyojuro says as he holds him even tighter. “Don’t treat yourself like that. Don’t be so harsh on yourself. You have suffered enough already, don’t you think?”
Akaza presses his face against Kyojuro's haori. So warm, so impossibly warm.
"Close your eyes, Akaza," Kyojuro says softly, so gently it breaks his heart. His kindness soothes him. "Just let yourself be held, please."
Akaza closes his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. His arms tremble as he wraps them around Kyojuro, as if unsure of what to do. Should he hold him, or would that be too much?
"Hold me as tight as you want, Akaza," he says in a loving whisper. "Don't worry."
He holds Kyojuro tightly, hoping that it doesn't hurt. Then he feels the first tears wet his haori, and after that, the walls he built around himself shatter into tiny pieces at his feet, feeling as if those pieces are cutting his skin and making him bleed.
"I'm here," he murmurs, gently kissing his hair. "Akaza."
The way he says his name makes him want to cry even more, because there is so much love woven into it. Akaza feels as if every single wound is getting soothed by a deep warmth that seems to imprint itself on his skin. It’s as if a breath of fresh air is enveloping him. Held tightly in Kyojuro’s arms, Akaza feels healed.
He clings to Kyojuro even more, fingers clinging to his haori so tightly he fears he might tear it apart. Akaza breathes deeply Kyojuro’s sweet scent.
"From now on, Akaza," Kyojuro begins to say, "I vow to kiss every single wound that will be inflicted upon you. I don't care if they heal in one second."
Kyojuro is unbelievably kind. Why should he kiss or soothe scars that are not even there? If he were human, his body would be covered in scars, and perhaps that's what Kyojuro thinks, too.
"Even if there is no trace of them, I think they are still there, carved into your skin forever,” he murmurs. “It doesn't matter if I can’t see them. I know that they are there.”
Akaza remembers every wound that Muzan has inflicted upon him. They stay in each other's arms for a long time. Akaza keeps his eyes closed, rubbing his face against Kyojuro's shoulder.
"You don’t have to worry, Akaza," Kyojuro says, holding him tightly. "Can I do something?"
"Anything you want," Akaza murmurs.
Kyojuro moves slightly away from him and kisses his forehead. Then he takes his arm and kisses the point where he had cut him during their battle. He takes the other arm and does the same thing. A warmth spreads where Kyojuro kisses him, seeming to radiate throughout his entire body. How warm affection can be?
"Kyojuro?"
"Don’t say anything," he gently shushes him. "Let me do this, please."
He kisses every spot where he had inflicted a wound, remembering that battle as if it were yesterday. He hadn't realized he had hurt him so badly. He knows that during their fight they were nothing but strangers, demon and demon slayer, everything was going how it was supposed to be. What they have built, these soft feelings they share, is thanks to that fateful day.
"There's no reason to feel guilty, Kyojuro," Akaza tells him as if reading his mind. "There’s no trace of those wounds on my body, so don’t worry. Besides, I'm not the one who lost something."
"Neither am I."
"I destroyed one of your eyes, Kyojuro. Nothing will ever change that,” Akaza retorts.
"I'm still here, am I?" Kyojuro says with a tender smile.
He embraces him again, one hand caressing his back gently. Kyojuro's warmth soothes the strange, constant pain in his back. For as long as he can remember, there has always been a dull, almost phantom-like pain that has tormented him. Sometimes the pain was almost unbearable, blinding him to anything else. Those times were the worst, it felt like someone was whipping him so many times that he lost count. But never once he saw wounds, or blood trickling down his back, and never his regeneration took care of it. Akaza has lived with that pain for so long that it has become a part of him. He doesn't know the reason; perhaps it lies in his memories which are still confused and hazy.
Akaza closes his eyes, sighing with relief. It feels strange to him not to have that dull pain tormenting him. That's only a temporary remedy, but it's better than nothing. He wraps his arms around Kyojuro's waist, holding him tightly, hoping to give him the same warmth and comfort he is receiving.
"Staying like this, being in your arms," Kyojuro begins to say, "it feels good."
Akaza breathes deeply, and Kyojuro's sweet scent enters his lungs, giving them something to cherish.
Kyojuro is so warm, a stark contrast to Akaza's colder skin. He feels as if a living flame is holding him.
"You said I lost something, but I don't see it that way," Kyojuro murmurs in his ear. "I haven't lost my life. Also, you are here, Akaza."
"Is that a good thing?"
"Very much so," Kyojuro says, gently kissing his neck. "You mean so much to me, don't you know?" He whispers gently, oh so lovingly. It fills his heart with soft feelings he's not sure he deserves.
"No." Why would someone care about him? How can Kyojuro think about their meeting as a blessing, rather than a curse?
"I love you, Akaza," Kyojuro says.
Love? Kyojuro loves him?
"What's to love about me?" Akaza asks, moving slightly away to gaze at him. "What's to love about someone like me?"
After everything he has done? After all the lives he destroyed? He cannot erase those things.
Kyojuro cups his face, warm fingers against his skin.
"You changed so much, Akaza," he says. "I know nothing can erase what you have done, but we can always do something, as long as we live."
"But..."
"Mortal or immortal, invulnerable or not, it doesn't really matter," he continues. "We can all change. And we are not the same people we were that day, aren't we? We changed so much."
Akaza stares at him as if he couldn't believe his ears.
"We all carry scars, it doesn't matter if they are visible or not," he says. "We carry them in our skin and heart. That doesn't mean we are doomed to wilt. As long as we breathe — we can change. You are risking so much by fighting alongside us, yet you are here. You are ready to fight, to sacrifice yourself to save others."
Kyojuro softly kisses his lips, a touch so light that it blends with the air around them. The same air that carries those words into Akaza's lungs, then nestling against his heart. He loves Kyojuro, loves him so much that he feels like he can't breathe when they are apart.
“You love me?” He asks, voice so weak it is barely a whisper.
“Very much so, Akaza,” he says. “Can you accept my love? Would you let me hold your hand until my last day?’
It feels like his scars, invisible and scattered all over his skin, are being stitched by a thread that sews his body back together. Even though he can still feel his back throbbing painfully, the pain is more manageable.
“I love you.” he murmurs, saying those words carefully and gently.
Akaza takes Kyojuro's hand and holds it tightly, and then he presses their joined hands against his chest, against his heart that is beating fast.
Kyojuro just smiles at him, and somehow that's enough.