Do you want me to leave?

by SenjuroChan

Summary:

He always answered no.

Giyuu misunderstands, forgets, confuses, his mind is a jumbled mess and things don't get better.

Chapter 1: Alone outside

Ridiculous, everything about this is just ridiculous.

Giyuu received the title of Hashira because they didn't have any other choice, he understands that much.

He understands that he's not the strongest, both physically and in ability.

He understands that he's not the easiest to be around, that he's annoyingly weird.

But, if all was lost, broken legs, broken arms, concussed head, exposed organs, he would still have his mask, his hiding, no one able to get a reaction bigger than a furrowed brow out of him.

It was common knowledge, Tomioka Giyuu is emotionless.

Even in the face of death, only his voice may heighten in volume.

 

So why. Why are his eyes burning?

His throat hurts, closing up involuntarily, his whole body shaking with the effort it took to keep it all in.

To not cry.

When is the last time Tomioka Giyuu has cried? For something this ridiculous, at that.

 

He wanted to make gifts, be kind, he's a great cook and baker, and since summer is nearing, he thought it of good taste to give the other Hashira a treat, for their great performance and to motivate them into becoming even better.

There's no actual reason to celebrate, not other than the fact he is fond of summer. Beetles crawling around his house, birds eating from his feeder daily and water finally clearing its reflection after months.

It makes him happy, he just wanted to make others happy, too.

So he did all he could, went above and beyond so no one would feel left out.

He called each person into his estate on different days so he could present them with fresh food.

Firstly, he cooked three different dishes and an abundance of sakura mochi for Kanroji-san, he also made sure to make something, tororo konbu, for Iguro-san on the same day since he does not wish to be more disliked than he already is.

Sadly, he could not make something for Kaburamaru, for he had no idea what to feed a snake. Thankfully, the animal didn't seem angry at the predicament.

Next was Himejima-san, takikomi gohan is one of the easiest dishes to make, so Giyuu chose to couple it with some grilled fish and catnip for the man's cats. This was one of the best-received treats, not only did he cry, but he almost killed Tomioka while hugging out his gratitude.

Rengoku almost didn't let him cook, trying to help every step of the way – as nice as that is, the Flame Hashira is utterly hopeless in the kitchen, so he started to ask to be of use in another way or to at least share his feast.
And in the end, they ate Miso soup together, and Giyuu left all of the sweet potatoes for the other to enjoy.

Tokito-san didn't react badly.
He didn't react at all, simply accepted the plate, ate and gave it back. He did mumble a 'thank you' as he walked away, so that must count as something.

Shinobu accused him of many things before accepting her seat at the table, including that Giyuu didn't like her for not inviting her first for a meal.

He ignored her and they finally ate, she praised him and his skills, then asked if he was planning something malicious with all these invitations.

But at the sight of his burning cheeks, Shinobu seemed to make up her mind about this ordeal, bidding goodbye and thanking him for the food with no more teasing.

The most difficult, ability wise, was Uzui-san. His extravagant taste sure to humble Tomioka.

It isn't exactly a surprise that the most expensive and shiny man to ever exist deems Fugu Sashi as his favorite food.

Pufferfish? Uzui-san really isn't scared of anything.
Having been planning this “surprise” of sorts for over three months, Giyuu made sure he knew what he was doing as he prepared the banquet he was offering the man and his wives.

He studied for two of the three months specifically so he wouldn't kill his coworker, nor his women.

Uzui asked for the gathering to be done in his estate, most likely thinking of how he can get Giyuu to show off some of his cooking – which is very thoughtful of him.

And, even though Giyuu couldn't speak a word to his hosts out of embarrassment, he did his best to exceed their expectations.

He believes it went well enough. If the gasps of wonder and little standing ovation he got at the end of the dinner meant what they seemed.

 

Now.

This is where it starts becoming ridiculous.

The one of those three months he wasn't practicing on pufferfish wasn't spent just spacing out, he was doing the most extensive research he could on what is Shinazugawa's favorite food. It was not quick.

And in the end, he never actually found out the answer, Iguro-san was his savior, kind enough to give him the information as a thank you for their meal.

And after getting each and all Hashira well fed, and taking the most difficult one out of the way, Giyuu put himself against the harshest of challenges.

He'd have to create the best, most perfect, impossible to resist batch of ohagi that he could.

It was almost a week of training his ohagi skills, when he made Kanroji's sweets it helped refine the mochi making.

His muscles burned with how far he went, going on no rest with three different recipes daily, back to back.

Almost as if he needed to hurt himself like this.

But to him, he did.
Kanroji-san – who asked to be called Mitsuri, – stayed with him as he tested out each individual recipe, she gave him pointers on how to get them to taste sweeter, how to force the dough to be sticky enough.

She even taught him how to beat mochi dough her family's way, it was fun. Giyuu had fun.

 

On a friday, he bought a pretty box enveloped in silk, deciding on a color kin to Shinazugawa's muted purple eyes. Getting instructions from Mitsuri-san on how to make a good enough bow to secure it, determined to complete each stage by himself.

Including the gift-giving part.

He held the box with conviction, feeling sure of himself after the many other trials he's had. Then walked towards the Wind Estate, asked for Shinazugawa, looked the man in his eyes while refusing to let his cheeks redden as he stared at his new possible friend.

He pushed his taut arms to offer the box, "I made these for you, Shinazugawa-san." And smiled.

He smiled.

He got himself to smile! He actually showed teeth! He smiled at Shinazugawa!
Unfortunately, the prospect of genuinely smiling definitely got his face red, but he hopes it doesn't make him look too ugly.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? This must be some type of joke to you, huh?!"

"Why the fuck are you giving me this shit?"

"Do I look like I want anything from you?!"

"Get the fuck out before i haul you out myself!"

Maybe it did make him look ugly.

His happiness wasn't enough to sweeten the Ohagi's smell, it seems.

The box hit the ground with an uncomfortable squishing sound.

 

═════════════════

 

Ridiculous.

Tomioka is a Hashira, not the most impressive one, yes. But a Hashira nonetheless. He doesn't get hurt because someone refused his homemade food. He'd never pout because someone refused his friendship.

That's not what a Hashira would do.

Still, here he is, isolated by the edge of a forest, resting his tired body against a tree trunk with his knees drawn to his chest.

If he's crying, that's his problem to deal with, and his only.

It's been years since the last time he's felt like this, like crying was his only solution. Not training his forms, not slaying demons, but crying.

He's sure someone saw him walking down the road, body shaking and eyes glazed over with sadness and overflowing with tears.

That is embarrassing, even if he didn't wear his haori. So many Slayers know his face.

He'd like his haori back now. He'd like to try and remember what his sister's and Sabito's smell were like to comfort himself.

Their hold was blissful when he cried, patting his hair or coaxing him to be brave about it. He can cry, but he should get up and fight one way or another.

Even that, even the last memory from his loved ones was given up for a chance to befriend someone who hates him.

Shinazugawa hates his haori, and he doesn't hide that fact. So Tomioka thought that, by not wearing it, he would overlook the clothing article and focus on the gift.

In the end, it didn't matter.

Now he just misses his family more than ever and has no friends to comfort him through the longing.

Tomioka was a Hashira.

Tomioka was a ruthless killer.

Tomioka was emotionless.

But he doesn't feel like Tomioka, because Tomioka doesn't cry.

He feels like Giyuu.

Giyuu is Tsutako's younger brother.

Giyuu is Sabito's best friend.

Giyuu is Urokodaki's apprentice.

Giyuu cries.

He feels like Giyuu. He didn't think that this sentiment mattered anymore.

Because when Mitsuri-san called him "Giyuu", it was from the exchange of given names they made.

When Ubuyashiki-sama called him Giyuu, it was from a place of parental love, a bond he shared with all slayers.

It's weird. It was just a name. Now, it is him all over again. Who he truly is.

He stares at his hands and sees them much smaller than they actually are. His hair feels softer, the sky seems brighter, his face's skin doesn't pull when he pouts.

Just like little Giyuu.

He wants to be angry, to shout at himself, to burn this sadness away through violence.

But Giyuu was never violent, was he? Little Giyuu likes birds and bugs, he knows how to make flower rings and his favorite color is light blue, he likes playing outside with Tsutako, matching his clothes with his best friend Sabito and helping Urokodaki-sensei in the kitchen.
What a child. Nothing more than a child.

His eyes hurt from the unusual wetness, his head pounds with his anxiety. He feels tired.

Chapter 2: Found you here

As night falls, a light stroll feels comforting to his tiring mind, being as intelligent as he is brings out others' incapabilities with force. It is frustrating.

So, he walks, pace silent and gentle, the trees sway with the wind's kisses, comforting.

No sounds occur, animals having long scurried away at his presence, other demons included.

His many eyes are perceptive of each and all details, from the growing grass to the moving sky, the stars shining as if this were all a dream, such beauty currently missing from the full cities he's been threading about.

Kokushibo's focus shifts from a resting stag beetle to the faint sniffing of a human. Only some steps further he finds a man with his head on his knees and arms underneath his legs, pulling himself in protectively even while asleep, hair sticking in any direction the wind may want it to.

The strangeness of the figure does not take away his attention from the Demon Slayer corp uniform his body is enveloped in. He must be new, letting himself succumb so easily to sleep, now, for such carelessness, he will fall prey to many threats, Kokushibo included.

He is lucky to have been in the Upper Moon's presence, or else he would have been killed by any low ranking demon long ago, the man not even bearing a nichirinto.

What was going through his mind to commit mistakes so easy to bypass? Did he want to be devoured? From the sound of his frayed lungs, that may be a possibility, he has been crying, viciously so.

Ubuyashiki seems to have non-existent skills when it comes to choosing his underlings.

Kokushibo does not know exactly what to do in this scenario, he should have turned the man into a corpse as soon as they were in proximity of one another. But the slayer's position and vulnerability causes intrigue, Kokushibo wants answers, and he can afford more than just that. He'll be waiting until the human wakes from his slumber.

 

═════════════════

 

It is well into the night when the human's breathing starts worsening, becoming more ragged by the minute, that is uncommon for slayers, has he not been taught properly? Does he not know the basics of breathing?

It's just now that Kokushibo paid attention for a second time through the hours they've been together, that the demon noticed a box by the man, not special in its appearance nor contents, it smells like a common human dish.

But the energy adorning the box in itself is unexpected, it feels like failure.

It must have been what caused the human to cry until his awareness subsided. He can almost tell the story, this human must have been rejected by his romantic interest, now the box is left unopened and the sweets uneaten.

That must be sad for a human.

To have your hard work thrown away so easily must be infuriating, hopefully this man's disappearance will cause whoever it was that hurt his feelings to regret it, for this is not an egotistical human.

Of course he is capable of telling apart, would he be deserving of his title if he were not? That is something easy to discern. This man has had his heart torn undeservedly, how pitiful, would he be willing to spill his emotions once again?

Kokushibo is more than interested in the torment taking place, he wants to learn this man's pain.

Ah.

How slow of him. How could a human trust a demon such as he is.

Of course not.

This human may not seem to be that knowledgeable, but if he is alive after the final selection, of course he would know not to trust the enemy.
Something the Upper Moon has never partaken in wholeheartedly is changing his image, it is useless in his tactic. So he may be rusty at it, someone like Lower Moon 1 or Kibutsuji much more talented in this field.

Either way, it was feasible, four of his eyes feel trapped and his hair much shorter than it is respectable to be. As far as he knows, that is exactly how a human is, trapped in their own flesh as they never learn to respect their names and self.

He sits down at an arms length of the man, the box to his left in between the two of them. He reaches a hand out and touches the man's shoulder, not shaking him awake or moving, simply resting his hand on a clothed shoulder as to make awareness of his presence.

It works, the unruly strands of hair almost breaking through the hair tie holding them together as he moves to look up.

The man's eyes are glazed over, he seems confused as to where he exactly is, but the moment he stares at the moon, his eyelids drop closed and brow furrows in disappointment. Not seeming all that interested in whoever it may be that woke him, but he shifts towards the figure anyway.

His eyes are blue and rimmed with a depressing red on the water line, deep eyebags and a mark on his forehead from resting it for too long on harsh uniform fabric.

They stare at each other, the human calm, he ought to truly be suicidal to react like this to such encounter.

"Hello." Comes out of chapped lips, the human blinks twice while fixing his posture against the tree. Kokushibo finds the greeting interesting, it cannot be the disguise.

No, he has not looked approachable ever since centuries ago, he's sure of this fact. The man simply does not care for the unsettling person by his side.

"Hello." He answers, gravelly voice rougher from lack of use.

"I'm sorry, did you have to wake me up? Do you need something?" What an alluring choice of words for a man sounding like he yelled his own lungs out.

Is he questioning Kokushibo's authority over his sleep? His tone does not indicate so. He is apologizing for making Kokushibo stir his rest, as if the stranger couldn't have chosen it for himself.

And if he needs help. That is low in chance, the stranger would be in much more of a panic if that were the case, too much to gently wake him. In a realistic view, they would be dead had it been an emergency in a forest full of demons with the only help being dead to the world.

"I do not."

They stare longer this time, both assessing their situation.

"Do you want Ohagi?"

…

What.

That cannot have been genuine.

It is impossible for this man to not comprehend his aura for what it truly is, he must feel the still air and fear induced to animals' nervous systems. Is he ignoring the alarm in his head begging for him to flee?

"It's okay if you don't. They must have gotten really cold." The human turns to look at his knees once again, apparent that he could drop asleep without much effort.

Kokushibo can't eat cold or warm Ohagi, for he cannot consume human food comfortably, he could eat the human in front of him, if he so pleases to.

Yet, it would not please him to commit such an act, it does not in most cases, it is usually the strength running through his veins that makes the act of devouring so desirable.

He is strong enough. He has eaten more humans than this man must have ever met. He has eaten enough humans.

So, Kokushibo nods, waiting for the man to open the pale box and extend a ball of red bean paste onto his open hand. For some reason not taking one for himself.

He will force it down, it is not the worst thing he has been offered before.
He bites into the sticky red dough, closing his eyes as if capable of savouring the taste.

The atmosphere shifts when he finishes his bite, letting his attention fall back onto the Slayer, finding new tears streaming down his raw face, but they do not seem sad, eyes glistening with something more.

The man opens his mouth twice, not even a squeak coming out, but when he does speak, it is to shakily ask "Did you like it?"

Although he knows being a demon for as long as he has been causing some distancing from human understanding, Kokushibo does not believe he has ever experienced this here scene. There have been no irises to shine such as these deep blue ones do, none that rival the stars up in the sky such as these so audaciously do, nor a person with such dedication to please others, even with a face red from cold and rubbing skin on skin.

It twists his stomach in a way a simple sweet should not be capable of doing.

"Yes. You've done a great job." He answers to the best of his knowledge, the consistency is perfect and the smell pleasant, it would make sense for the dish in itself to taste good.

More tears come out, the man does not try to wipe them as he gulps down saliva, his skin now red with an embarrassed flush.

"What is your name?" Comes out before Kokushibo can properly situate the conversation, he wants to know more, and for once in his regained life, he doesn't feel patient. He wants answers.

"I am Tomioka Giyuu, sir." The slayer, Tomioka, does not even ask his name, as if asking information is a right he does not possess.

"Please refer to me as Kokushibo." Tomioka nods, appearing to be dazed over the interaction.

They sit by each other a while longer, quietness surrounding their forms as a shivering wind once again dances through the night, the moon's position telling it will soon be time to go.

Strangely enough, similar to everything involving this human in particular, walking away as of now feels to be the wrong thing to do.

How will Tomioka get home safe in this state? He is tired, Kokushibo is physically incapable of tiring. The correct decision to make is the polite one, and Tomioka has offered him food, questioned his well being and refrained from asking invasive questions even after being asked one himself. He deserves the minimum, and Kokushibo refined his own being into a gentleman.

Yes, perhaps not for pointless situations. This trait does not cease to matter simply because of who it is directed to.

Mind made up, Kokushibo gets up from his sitting position and offers a hand to Tomioka, who fumbles to put his little treat box back together before accepting the help with a quiet, yet thankful nod.

The human has not spoken a word since receiving the name of Upper Moon One, and as the walk progresses, it becomes increasingly obvious it will stay that way.

 

The demon follows close behind, deliberately making noise with his steps as to affirm the other of his company.

It was a while until they reached an Estate, a lonely one. Familiar.

Tomioka turns to look back at him, puts another Ohagi into his hands and bows deeply, not giving Kokushibo the time to retribute as he all but runs inside the gate and through the door.

Without noticing, the Upper Moon's face slowly went back to its original shape, two sets of eyes opening in what one day would've been shock, involuntarily putting him in danger of the slayer just around the corner.

Tomioka is a quiet man who got his hopes disintegrated, and nonetheless, was capable of finding within his own self to offer, and most likely forgive. Kokushibo felt interest swirl in his pupils, understanding that this one, this human, is more than simple, more than just another, he's to be thought of respectfully.

Kokushibo wants to meet him again, wants to see him cry and refuse to wipe his tears, such an authentic thing he is, doing what he believes is right for the sake of wanting to.

He did not get a treat in return after unknowingly gifting a demon two of his, he did not get love back from his chosen person, he did not get sympathy from people off the road.

Yet, even while looking like he knows all of these facts, he would probably repeat the uncharted kindness all over again.

Chapter 3: Crow, rat, cat

Summary:

Bite, bite, bite, bite,
bite, bite, bite, bite,
Hip, hip, hip, hip,
hip, hip, hip, hip.

- "Bite my Hip" by Bauhaus.

Notes:

I need to stop posting a bunch of things, it's getting a bit difficult to keep up with all of these projects.
But it's so fuuun!!!!! And I've always been the type to make a bunch of wips and work on all of them at the same time.
I have so many outlines for fanfics completely finished, they just need to be polished a bit.
Hopefully you guys can be patient with lil ol' me

Sleep never comes fast or easy, sure he passed out by the forest, but rest had not come whatsoever, eyes burning with a tired vision the moment they opened.

So when he was scouted back to his house just before sunrise, welcomed in by a very worried Kanzaburo, getting to lay down with the thought of being useful, of being interesting enough to be spoken to, and fell into sleep the second his head hit the pillow, of course it was unexpected.

The crow nuzzled up to his neck, making those small snoring sounds only his old man body could, it was cute.

Would he get home safely?

Giyuu should have offered shelter. But remembering that man’s face, the moon shining bright behind him, acting as a halo around the crown of his head.

It was difficult to choose between deity or royalty, any status he may offer could never be enough, never could they compare.

Thinking about it, was that man even real? Who is to say he wasn’t a figment of Giyuu’s exhausted mind.

As if he could ever come up with a savior of that grade. His silhouette like an eidolon. An idea Giyuu is not capable of creating, but, hopefully of appreciating.

 

═════════════════

 

Waking up the next morning is a tad easier than it usually is, even with eyes and heart still bearing a heavy weight, he, for once, doesn't feel like letting it speak over his person. It'll simmer around his throat, but that is to be expected.

That man, Kokushibo, was it?

So refined, and…

Oh, so kind.

They touched hands for a second, it felt like a jolt of… something (excitement, usefulness, exhilaration?) rushed up to his head, had Giyuu blushed? That would be worse than embarrassing, it'd be more than shameful.

Hopefully, Kokushibo-sama didn't focus too much on the ugly look.

Though, the stranger doesn't come off as the kind to take notice of these trivial things. He even accepted Giyuu's cold, badly crafted gift, who on this earth could be so open minded? Even alluding to have taken a liking to the recipe.

Shinazugawa is almost completely wiped from his mind as long hair and piercing eyes write a new feeling in his stomach. He was so gentle, his movements akin to that of a noble, even his features resembling royalty. The unblemished skin, the dark, impossibly long hair and graceful motions, most definitely a born and raised gentleman.

Ah, how Giyuu wants to be perceived the same, be remembered as strikingly sympathetic, as reassuring.

A savior.

It is sad he'll never get to that level, not only is Giyuu a simple minded and emotionless man, but also because he's utterly sure that Kokushibo cannot be human, clearly he's a guiding spirit or at least part of such folklore.

Most of all, he sparked something in Giyuu, a flame that the slayer can't offer to anyone — uncharitably doesn’t want to offer —, that same forgotten sense of bravery, confidence or the like, pushing him to bring forward yet another ohagi.

Giyuu would have never done that had it been someone else.

He started crying over a simple rejection, there's no time where he could've guided others, or even communicated basic information.

When they say "maybe later", he can't help but take it as "never". If they didn't want him now, what would change later? Giyuu will forever be this way, so, he'll forever be taken this way.

This was a show of bravery he was not used to.

 

═════════════════

 

Of course that bravery had not lasted long, it usually never does, but it did leave a pleasant aftertaste as Giyuu walked away to a mission mere hours after his peculiar encounter and fulfilled sleep.

Trees were swaying in the wind, if given the chance, Giyuu can hear the soft hiss of bugs around him, Kanzaburo stretches his wings out, clawing at his mismatched haori.

The discomfort enclosing his throat was no more than that, a sensation. If he were delusional enough, it could feel temporary.

How sad that he couldn’t enjoy much of summer, since he had wasted so long with… with that.

Thinking about it wasn’t very fun.

Fortunately, Giyuu could still re-live the admiration for Kokushibo-sama, was he a fan of summer? It was more feasible that he enjoyed winter, perhaps autumn.

He probably could make the best of the desolating seasons.

He probably could make Giyuu not fear the shorter days, the falling snow. Warmth can be shared through other means, it isn’t exclusively a physical attribute.

Giyuu has no way to prove that Kokushibo-sama wasn’t as cold as a corpse, their short-lived touch wasn’t enough.

And still, his entire body felt warm, blending in with the forest he threaded, a melody of air whistling and Kanzaburo rattling deep in his chest, a winged cat purring.

This is a moment of peace, one where he allows a small smile to bloom, no matter how awkward, it was a smile nonetheless.

 

The mission was sufficiently easy, light-savings were spent getting to the demon sighting and only one or two hours planning what to do about it.

It was a Hashira-level mission, after all.

A rat. Its entire strategy boils down to “bite and hide”, it took half of the fight for Tomioka to catch sight of his adversary.

A simple enemy who didn't even get to eat their game, composed of young children, before their head was rolling around the forest floor.

There were little to no obstacles during the fight, one or two swipes at his head, but it wasn't impressive in any degree. Weirdly enough, for a second, it seemed that there were two bodies undoing.

Which wouldn’t make any sense, he slashed one demon, so only one died.

It was time to scout the rest of the area, who knows what that extra dust meant.

Bite and hide…

 

═════════════════

 

It was only after he was making the journey back home that Giyuu noticed something in his arm. He did not get cut, so it couldn't be an infection.

Pulling back both his haori's and uniform's sleeves, a visibly pulsating vein shot a spark of pain through his body. Kanzaburo attempted to get closer to check it out, but he did not allow it.

What happened? When did this occur? Had he cut his own circulation?

Since there was no way he could've been poisoned, he wasn’t touched. Tomioka would've known so, and as he inspected further, his confusion only grew, no cuts, no bruises, no sign of poisoning, only a darkening vein pulsating disgustingly.

There's not much to do regarding the bruise, he'd go to the Butterfly Mansion and receive treatment there, then go home and rest by himself.

It was not part of his plans at first, a nuisance. At least he could bask in the weather for a while longer.

The walk towards the Manor was okay, his arm mostly numb to any breeze or heat of the summer day, he's felt worse.

Once he got there, it was full to an unknown degree, Tomioka fails to locate mentally a time where this place felt lively. Commonly holding a repressed aura, this is a hospital, after all.

A mission gone right, it appears. Good for these slayers.

Ah, Rengoku-san is here too, a little beat, but his face still lit up in a smile upon catching sight of Tomioka.

They chat, ask questions about their last missions and any wounds to be taken care of, Tomioka doesn't speak of his own for the sake of politeness.

Their conversation is cut short as a flock of little girls, Shinobu's little girls, come in fussing over Rengoku, talking about 'what a horrible state you're in!' and 'it's like you don't want to get better!'

He's hauled back into his room while cackling happily.

Hm.

This all looks urgent, maybe Tomioka shouldn't bother the already overworked staff with an insignificant possible problem, these people are essential for the corporation to work. They are the gears that keep the world turning, Tomioka shouldn't rust them with no reasoning.

So, he doesn't, choosing to quietly stalk away from the Mansion, no one notices him leave, thankfully.

His arm twitches.

Notes:

Hey!
If you want me to explain what happened to Giyuu, the explanation is down here!

The demon he was tasked with killing could separate itself into two, one would distract by "hiding", the other would be doing the attacking, causing people to think it was extremely fast.
The poison in Giyuu's body was supposed to take during the fight, but his slow heartbeat reigned it in.

I hope this clears any confusion... Since this chapter is from Giyuu's point of view, it wouldn't make sense for him to come to this conclusion, but there is no moment in the story where this is brought up again, so I decided to explain everything from the outside!

Chapter 4: Again again again

Summary:

It turns, the world burns, my mind overrun

Notes:

Hey, warning, this chapter is a bit nasty! We've got some blood and self-harm
Also, a buuuuunch of repetition! Like, so much repeating the same words

It is well into the night, the bare Estate that houses Tomioka feels colder than usual, it can be that he's thinking too much about Kokushibo-sama, that man feels warm, he makes Giyuu feel warm (makes him miss said warmth).

He wishes the stranger were here so they could chat or sit in quietness, Giyuu could offer tea and watch the nobility seep through the man's actions, they could speak about their woes and sorrows, attempt to exchange warmth.

Warmth. There's no warmth, his eyes open momentarily, no worries, it must be the cold puddle underneath him.

Puddle? Why is there liquid under his neck?

Feeling sluggish, Giyuu gets up to check the weird sensation on his skin and finds his futon drenched in sweat.

Why was he sweating? It's cold, very cold, he can't stand a minute out of the blanket, but the wet fabric makes him shiver uncomfortably.

Was Giyuu sick? Sick? From what?

It's been long since his body couldn't handle being outside for a night, maybe when he was a kid he'd get sick from this.

And if it was because of his embarrassing little escapade to the forest, he would've become sick during his mission, where extreme physical exertion was not only common but expected, that was certain to cause sickness.

He wasn't sick, the symptoms only started hours after the mission

His arm twitches.

Oh no. He forgot about his arm.

That's why he went to the Manor, right?

Manor, Manor, Manor.

Whose Manor? Butterfly, Manor.

Mansion, Butterfly Mansion. Who is Butterfly? He doesn't need to meet her.

His arm twitches.

Why didn't he go? He said he'd go get help, walk up to the doctor and ask for help, why didn't he?

Why didn't he get to the Manor? He was walking home from the mission

His arm twitches.

Something is burning, what is burning? He's cold. It should be hotter.

He's scratching his skin, the skin of his inner forearm

His arm twitches.

Why is he scratching his skin? Why is it hot?

Because he's scratching his skin, right. That burns.

But he's cold, it needs to be hotter, his arm needs the warmth.

His arm twitches.

He's never fallen sick from staying outside for a night. It burns.

How old is he?

It doesn't matter.

But if no one knows his age, who will care for his bleeding arm?

Bleeding arm? His arm is bleeding?

Looking down, Giyuu sees that, yes, his arm is in fact bleeding, a deep rash covering pale skin, turning to his other hand he finds blood under his nails. Why was he bleeding, again?

His arm twitches.

It's cold, it should be hotter. He starts scratching again and a burning sensation courses through him, it's nice. Finally, it feels warmer in his room.
Is he breathing? Breathe in breathe out.

How does one breathe?

He needs breathing lessons, what was it that he was taught? Sensei told him to.. to...

Sensei? How do you write that? Whose Sensei?

He doesn't go to school. His family doesn't have the money. She doesn't have the money.

Family? What family?

Who?

His arm twitches.

Ts-

Su?

It ends with an "o", right?

What's that? No name ends with an "o".

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Whose name?

Name, name, name name name namenamenamenamename.

Whose name?

Gi- Giiiiii?

Yo? Ends with "o".

Tomi, t-. Omi omi omi. Cold? No cold.

Tsu, tsu, tsu tsu.

It was, something...

"S"? What "s"?

Who?

His arm twitches.

 

═════════════════

 

Two days have passed, the well crafted routine of centuries which he has maintained comes back, and for once, Kokushibo is not satisfied with this outcome.

He has felt a need for entertainment believed to be dead, rotted inside his flesh.

As he devours another civilian, standing amidst carnage and debris of a now destroyed village, his mind wanders far.

Tearful eyes and giving hands come to the front of his thoughts. Tomioka.

He knows where Tomioka lives.

He can go where Tomioka lives.

 

He did.

 

The demon was expecting a surprised hum, an eyebrow raised at the sight of a stranger on your door step, something distinctively human once he was greeted.

Not a man dry heaving in a dark room, drenched in sweat and blood, a devoted kasugai crow attempting to wake him from his daze. That is not distinctively human. It is undeniably demon.

Tomioka has been scratching his arm for the past two minutes that Kokushibo has been watching, ignoring the figure by his open door as puffs of air force their way out of his mouth, he blinks slowly, tiredly.

"Tomioka-san." Kokushibo tries to attract the man's attention, but no change occurs.

If Tomioka continues at this pace, he'll carve too deep into the flesh, the sweat he produces will create a coating of grime, giving the chance for an infection to take place.

Kokushibo walks into the room and sits beside the human’s sullied futon, wondering quietly what may have taken place for Tomioka to end up this deplorable.

It smells of a weakness nestled in lower ranking demons, although not mortal weakness, still dangerous, it is the smell of demon blood art, Tomioka must have gone on mission and encountered an bothersome enemy. No wounds other than the one he's forcing on himself, that is enough of an offense.

Upper Moon One holds the guilty hand and puts it down on Tomioka's stomach, soon the objection comes in the form of a confused whimper, "..c...cold."

Kokushibo does not answer, choosing instead to inspect the gash staining the porcelain of human skin.

Tomioka almost reached his veins, he is obviously delirious and feverish to not even hesitate to this assault.

What a sight, a mind scarce of functionality. Where has he seen this form of torture? It is distinct and alluring, watching the decomposing corpse of what once was human.

Through nourishment or saccharine words.

Poison.

Tomioka was sadly poisoned by a simple minded demon and shall strut an accessory in the form of a violent scar as consequence.

Or not.

Kokushibo rather prefers Tomioka's perfect skin as before, everything about the human is preferable the way it was when they met. Change is not needed, nor sought after.

Eyes bearing unshed tears, pale complexion burning with embarrassment, hair flowing in the wind capture just what this plane of existence has to offer.

Even if his hands were rough from training, they were not to be stained with drying blood. They should be pricked by sewing needles, kitchen knives and the blade of his katana, not slashed by his own nails, his grip so fierce it is certainly bruising his palm.

Poor soul.

Kokushibo does not want the perfect looking human to waste himself so uselessly, and that includes poison hazed, self inflicted wounds.

So, the demon unsheathes Kyokokukamusari enough to cut his forearm with the blade, soon moving to grasp the human's jaw and opening his panting mouth.

"Tomioka-san, you are very sick." It sounds like a try at reasoning, he puts his open wound to the man's mouth and looks as the blood drips down his throat.

He is well aware that Tomioka would despise this, Tomioka is a demon slayer, yet, to survive unscathed, he will need to ingest the blood of an Upper Moon.

It is quite the predicament.

Surely it would hurt his ego, surely it would cause his eyes to water.

Kokushibo wants Giyuu to get his awareness back, to watch the visceral and violating action with widened and horrified eyes.

It is a condemning thing to survive through. Even if Kokushibo won't turn the human, for he prefers it this way, it stays violating.

Tomioka would hate to watch this, definitely prefering to commit suicide than to receive help from a demon.

Tomioka should wake up.

 

But, since he will not get back to himself soon enough, Kokushibo will simply stay by his side, imagining all the possibilities to become hated by Tomioka, it does not seem possible, he is kind, too kind.

He is many things, it seems. Too kind, too little, too quiet.

No wonder his home is stripped of any personality. Kokushibo would not change it if presented with the chance.

The gash on the slayers arm starts slowly closing in a symphony of flesh amending flesh, Tomioka subconsciously drinks the sinful red liquid as one would when enjoying tea, his expression softens and desperate gasping stops, lulling himself into a peaceful sleep instead of the troubled unconscious.

Tomioka needs days of sleep.

It should cause Kokushibo more wonder, how this human over-exerts himself with no second thought.

This could easily evolve into a problem, Tomioka should not live in constant fatigue, he is a simple human, a passing thing that cannot comprehend what it would be to live, and the weariness in his eyes do not help his short span of life.

How would he understand? Tomioka is small compared to his own history, he cannot see the bigger picture of what it means to participate on this earth, for he lives less than what is required.

Perhaps, if he were immortal, he'd understand.

If he were a demon, he would comprehend.

Who can tell, if Kokushibo fed him enough blood, he could be presented with the real beauties of existence, those that won't be limited by the need for rest.

He lays on sweat-stained fabric, his kasugai crow crying his first name quietly, cuddling up to his cheek with relief.

Neither Master or Servant care about the presence of Upper Moon One, no matter how close or assailing it is. They treat him as no more than a shadow, and a clawing in his stomach starts.

Ohagi.

The last he felt so was whilst indulging Tomioka as one would with a child offering a concoction of dirt and sticks on a plate, the Estate is lonely, no kakushi, no other slayers, a glint of red cuts through the room’s still air.

Not hunger.

Watching Tomioka’s violence.

It could not have awakened any emotions, humans are nothing if not violent. A demon is nothing if not a stronger human.

Tomioka would be exceptional as a demon, rather than a human.

What a biased line of thought.

A weak slayer incapable of noticing the second strongest being on this earth, a weak slayer that cannot save himself, what use is that for Lord Muzan as a demon?

This is not about Lord Muzan;

This is about Kokushibo, and he can only see the value of this human, a gem buried into viscera, a jewel made impure and turned into absolute beauty by that same pestilence, a blue diamond.

He could be blessed into a needle-pointed blade, imperceptible, hidden, lethal.

Kokushibo cures his arm completely, leaning closer to Tomioka, hearing his breathing, taking notice of his slowing heartbeat.

The kasugai crow looked up at him, tired eyes and gruff feathers, old. It still hopped up Tomioka’s chest and faintly tapped the tip of its beak underneath his left eye.

It caused the demon to cock his head to the side, squinting lightly.

“What is it?”

It hopped closer, almost slipping off of its master’s shoulder, it wanted to tap his cheek again.

Kokushibo allowed it.

Thank you it must have meant.

Another thing it shares with Tomioka, its near constant silence.

To some extent, it was endearing. How ephemeral both are.

Chapter 5: That, once, it happened

Notes:

I'm sorry this is kind of a short chapter... I haven't been at my best lately, my workload picked significantly since it is the end of the year.
A little bit about me, I am a painter! Have been for veeeery long now! And I sell some of my paintings, my last work was a commission, so I had to take a long break from anything else to focus on finishing it as quickly as possible.
Also, it is finals week, I have a lot on my plate lately, I'm tired and in some pain, other than that, I've completely okay! Happy-go-lucky as ever!

Hope you can enjoy this messy thing, next chapter will be better, I promise

The room is dead cold, his throat and nostrils burn and he has to hold back from sniffling loudly, it was a near unachievable feat to open his eyes at all, the sliver of his home that was visible didn’t tell much.

A hand came up to rest on his forehead, checking his temperature, his blurry sight made Giyuu believe that it was Tsutako, delusional.

No one could be as comforting as she once was, yet, the nails going through his scalp, detangling knots, warmed him.

 

═════════════════

 

Tomioka slowly stirred, eyes blinking amidst thick eyelashes, his offending hand made way to rub his face. Soon he was stretching his arms and spine with low hums, rustling not only himself but his crow, too.

Kokushibo did not try to catch the bird, only watched as they flailed around each other. It was amusing, the growing desperation of Tomioka having to balance a live animal that refused to get off of him.

The demon leaned in, wishing to commit the scene to memory, being in the presence of Tomioka was a pleasure of such magnitude Kokushibo would argue the benefit of a full transformation.

Indecisiveness is not advantageous, still, it is the great deal of what the human makes him feel.

Would it be pleasurable? To break him as a warrior would his horse? Tomioka is not an animal.

He is small, hunched in on himself, eyes are unfocused and untrusting of his surroundings, he depends on the help of others, if he were to be anything, Kokushibo could only compare him to an animal.

Said animal which is under his care.

The thought could make him smile.

That is something bad to think about, isn't it.

But what is a demon if not egotistical and possessive.

Tomioka's veins have amended completely, he mumbles in the throes of wake-induced weariness.

“Good evening, Tomioka.”

The human’s eyes suddenly opened, he attempted to sit up, but lost his balance and could only put his weight on one arm, fortunately, as Kokushibo was sitting on his left side, it was on his unharmed appendage.

They look at each other, once again, Tomioka is no more than a cornered bird, skittish and confused, it amuses the demon to no end, he could see each and every line of thought come together even without relying on his slayer’s mark.

Tomioka gulps, catching sight of his crow, who is not afraid, only glad.

“Guh-” he coughs, scratching his throat, “Good evening, Kokushibo-sama…”

“Giyuu…”

He turns to the soft voice calling to him, giving the outline of a smile towards the crow, his free hand comes up to scratch at black feathers, they inch closer to each other.

“Kanzaburo, good evening.”

Kokushibo watched with interest as the crow’s, Kanzaburo’s, heart beat a little faster at the recognition, as it would towards a dear friend.

Tomioka fully sits up, looking at Kokushibo with a faint flush on his cheeks, his heart has a slow beat, almost inexistent.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t awake to greet you, Kokushibo-sama.”

The demon shakes his head, squinting his visible eyes, “I am the one to ask for your pardon, I walked in without being invited.”

 

A loud gulp made them stare at each other, “I don’t mind.” Was all Tomioka offered.

 

═════════════════

 

It was deep into the night, he still isn’t sure how deep exactly, he and his unexpected guest made light conversation, and Giyuu didn’t know what to feel.

Of course, that deep admiration was strong, but he was beyond confused, not remembering much from the last few hours, or days, if anything.

The best he could recall was from the day he met Kokushibo-sama and backwards.

Thinking of the man caused his blush to deepen, almost stumbling on his next step.

Kokushibo-sama is so kind, he stayed up all night with Giyuu so he wouldn't feel alone, what a giving man he is, only walking away once Giyuu fully slept once again.

Yet, no matter how comfortable these emotions are, there is something looming over him, shielding him from the sun.

Why is Giyuu feeling like this? Is all he can question.

Tomioka Giyuu is a very methodic man, his ways landing him alive after each suicidal mission.

But now, he can't help but feel different, not from others but himself, like his ways have changed, as if his ideas and memories were not really his own.

Reaching the Corps Heart, looking around and encountering his fellow Hashira, he can't help but feel like something is missing. Like there's something he should know.

While they don't pay attention to him, he closes his eyes and recounts every detail about them from memory, in an attempt at getting back into himself.

Kanroji Mitsuri, pink and green hair with light green eyes, average height and superhuman strength. She developed her own breathing style, the Love breathing, she's the Love Hashira.

Iguro Obanai, black hair, blind in one eye, short, a bit weak with a very memorable haori. He has a snake and developed his own breathing style. The Snake Hashira.

Rengoku Kyoujuro, loud, vibrant hair and eyes, powerful and confident, he's the Flame Hashira.

Himejima Gyomei, tall, big stature, blind, personal breathing style, different weapons. Rock Hashira.

Insect Breather. Shinobu.

Uzui Tengen, loud, boisterous presence, two weapons, too big, small for him. Sound Hashira.

Tokito, Mist.

Shizawagemi.

What?

Shinazugawa Sanemi.

He's

He is

He..

Shi

Sa..sane... Sanemi.

Shinazugawa Sanemi, white hair (short or long?), light eyes (blue or purple?), big presence (didn't Giyuu talk about someone like this already?), personal breathing style.

Cruel Hashira.

Wind.
Wind.
Wind.

Shinazugawa Sanemi, Wind Hashira.

 

Giyuu opens his eyes, meditation long broken, what was all that? He knows who his comrades are.

They're not comrades.

…He knows who his coworkers are. He's known some of these people for years now. He knows them, who they are.

His head is hurting, why is Shinazugawa so difficult to remember?

A boy with long black hair walks past Giyuu, not sparing him a glance.

Who is that one?

He knows who he is.

The more his eyes focus, the less Tomioka believes that statement.

He's been sitting under this tree for close to an hour now, and still, any time he tries to remember these people from the top of his head it just doesn't come to him.

Either his head only remembers their names but doesn't supply a title, or it confuses their physical attributes. Honestly, he's known Shinobu for a long while, so he should know that, no, her eyes aren't pink.

"Tokito Muichiro..." He mumbles, eyes heavy even whilst closed. At least he finally recalled who the short one with long hair is.

But isn't that Shinobu? No. Shinobu has short hair, that's right.

 

In the end, this amounted to nothing, only serving to prove his mind is scrambled in unimaginable ways.

What happened to him?

Chapter 6: Unhand

Notes:

This is very unbeta'd, like, I only copied and pasted it here, I don't like to post only one chapter at a time, not with this fanfic, hope it doesn't read horribly, my day is a bit rushed and this is the only time I have to post, so I don't wanna leave you guys hanging.

Also, wish me luck on my math final tomorrow! love you!!!

Tomioka has been suffering through this the whole week, something is wrong, terribly wrong.

While on a mission, he forgot how to perform the Water breathing second form, it didn't immediately cause problems, but it is not ideal to forget your fighting stance while in a fight.

Or when he couldn't hold his chopsticks correctly, even after three tries, hands trembling as if he's never held an utensil in his life.

And as of now, he hasn't spoken a word in two days, since he can't speak without a prominent stutter.

This cannot be happening, how is he forgetting such simple things?

He wants to get help, he needs help, but nothing comes to mind. Tomioka needs immediate help.

The thing is, he can't.

He'd seek help, only if he remembered what caused this. The last thing he remembers was sleeping in the forest, talking to Kokushibo-sama and going home.

And Giyuu prefers to believe he did not go on any missions after that, it would be shameful to not remember something as important as a mission, he won't delve into this theory, it's not like he has any bruises to indicate a fight.

Tomioka opens his eyes with a jolt, his arm twitches.

 

═════════════════

 

A visit to the hospital proved itself mildly useful, three little girls answered Giyuu's questions, apparently they work here, he in fact did show up at the Mansion, but he disappeared before assistance could be offered.

"You looked awfully pale."

He is pale, everyone knows that. Didn't everyone know that?

As it was explained, he looked like a breathing corpse, walking as if his body weighed a whole house and blinking for long seconds before half opening them.

He doesn't remember any of that...

A huff of air comes through his mouth, this is outrageous, isn't he a Hashira? Would any other Hashira forget being in that state? Shameful.

"We'll get Shinobu for you!"

"Yeah, she'll know how to help you!"

The third one just nodded excitedly.

 

He sat in a private room. For some reason, Shinobu, purple butterfly pin, was assisting him.

"What problems did you say you were having, Giyuu-san?"

He opens his mouth to answer, a broken sound comes out, trying again doesn't look useful, but he spits it out, this time not looking Shinobu in the eyes.

"I'm forgetting many things, important or not."

"How so?"

"Uhm." The words once again died in his throat.

What.

No. No, no, no. This cannot be happening.

He rehearsed this speech the whole way up here, this cannot be real, it must be a nightmare.

He knows, he knows what he's here for, he should- he needs to know.

He felt brave enough to confess his troubles. In the end?

Giyuu forget.

"Giyuu-san?" She looks a bit worried now, seeing his nervous lack of answer.

"I- I think I'm forgetting something. Maybe I shouldn't be here, I'm sorry for wasting your time." As Tomioka tries to stand up, Shinobu stops him.

"Giyuu-san, do you remember why you walked here? You came here for a reason."

"I did?"

 

"We will be doing a simple memory exercise to test your brain, okay?" The pigtailed girl said. What a fierce expression she has. Giyuu nods.

They sit in an open room's floor, a small table in between them, three little girls and the doctor by their sides.

On top of the table laid twenty six cards turned upside down, he was asked to try and form pairs.

When he goes to touch a card, his mind blanks.

Tomioka's hand retreats and he seems puzzled, a pained expression forming slowly on his face.

"Take your time." Pigtails says.

He does, breathing heavily as it takes three minutes to stop shaking and two more to search for the pairs.

He failed. Two completely different cards.

"Giyuu-san..." Shinobu says, crouching down to their level and turning one of the cards laying beside the first one he turned. It was a pair.

Then, one of the little girls turned another card beside the other one he chose, another pair.

"Oh." Is all that comes out.

Has he seen this before?

He saw the cards, he laid them on the table, he saw them. He did, he did, he did.

 

═════════════════

 

"May I ask why Giyuu didn't meet with us today?" Ubuyashiki asks, voice as gentle as always.

Shinobu puts herself to speak, forgoing her soothing tone to express the importance of her words, "Tomioka-san has fallen ill. His memory is worsening by the day."

"His memory? Tell me, child, what happened?"

"It was informed to me he came to the Butterfly Mansion, appearing to be sick, but he did not receive treatment and disappeared for two weeks. Once he came back, his memory was working with such failure he couldn't remember a simple card memory game he himself fixed."

A hum reverberates from Master's throat, "anything else?"

"I tried asking, but Tomioka becomes agitated at the prospect of forgetting important things. If anything, he only remembers his name because I keep on saying it."

"Has anyone interacted with Giyuu lately?" He asks openly.

Mitsuri puts her hand up to stop anyone else from speaking before her, concern briefly gone from her expression as she recalls the last month, "Giyuu-san spoke with everyone! He made Iguro and I food, and then he did it for Gyomei, then Kyoujuro, Muichiro, Shinobu, Uzui and lastly Shinazugawa!"

She pointed to each owner of the names as she spoke.

Rengoku and Gyomei both confirmed with a nod, the former beaming, "We ate miso soup!"

"Uhum," Uzui started, "He came up to my Estate and cooked us food, a feast made for a king, truly." He smirked at the memory.

Muichiro shrugged, if they're saying it happened, who is he to deny?

Obanai turned his face away from them, obviously embarrassed at being treated by someone who he's not on good terms with. Or, rather, wasn't on good terms with.

Shinazugawa kept silent.

"And also!" Rengoku starts once again, voice loud and clear, "I met him in the Mansion, he showed up in a horrible state, I questioned myself if he was even conscious as we spoke!" His smile didn't exactly falter, but it strained for a second.

"Did he say anything?" Shinobu inquires.

"Only that he wished me a speedy recovery, he refused to speak about his own reasoning to be there!"

 

═════════════════

 

"Giyuu?" A sliver of light came from the other side of the door.

Shinobu, Rengoku and Mitsuri decided to visit, Mitsuri's resolve to at least check on the Water Hashira was indisputable, Rengoku nodding along in an unseemly spur of quietness.

Giyuu laid on the bed, although he looked healthy physically speaking, the air was heavy, he begged to keep the window and curtains closed, in this summer heat he was slowly rotting.

"We wanted to check in on you, are you okay?" Mitsuri questions, the first one to get by his side.

Giyuu doesn't answer, his mouth opens, but no sound happens, his lip starts quivering and eyebrows knit.

"Ah! No, nonono, you don’t have to speak a word! It's okay, it's okay." She soothes him, petting black matted hair with a comforting touch as one would with a child.

"His speech is worse than yesterday. Much worse." Shinobu offers information, no smile on her face.

"Can you walk, Giyuu-san? Or sit up? I need you to do something."

At a very slow and painful pace, he gets up, sitting position uncomfortable enough for Shinobu to not press about walking.

She puts a piece of wood and paper on his lap, brush coated with ink waiting to be used.

"Can you write your name?"

Nothing happens for a few seconds.

"It's Giyuu, if you don't re... If you don't know." Mitsuri says.

Pale shaking hands start moving, one to hold the paper still and the other to start writing.

Giyuu can't finish the exercise, he started crying after a long beat of thinking, he knows to answer for his name, but doesn't remember how to spell it.

"Giyuu-san, what's your full name?"

That causes a surprised squeak to echo through the room.

"...t...tsu..."

"Tsu?"

"..ends...wih'an..o"

"Ends with an o? Is that it?" Mitsuri somehow understands his rambling.

Giyuu nods, excited to be understood after days of not being able to communicate whatsoever.

"Do you want me to tell you your full name?"

Nod.

"It's Tomioka, Tomioka Giyuu, that's you."

He looks around for a bit, processing the syllables before missing from his mind.

"T...togioma..."

Close enough.

 

═════════════════

 

Their fellow Hashira decided to stay behind and teach Giyuu basic linguistics while Shinobu starts to think of a long term plan. They can't just teach him everything all over again, his title as a Hashira, and demon slayer, shall be revoked if so happens, since he can't even recall being one, much less any breathing forms. This is worrying.

How did he even get like this? Giyuu is one of the most meticulous people she's ever met, he thinks of each and all details possible, no outcome goes unchecked if he can help it. How can he lose himself so viciously?

He was supposed to survive, live a long and powerful life, he can't be this strong and lose it all because of an illness. Giyuu has more to do, more to learn and understand.

Chapter 7: Moonlight in the riverside,

Summary:

"I'd say, see you next time, if I thought there were a next time
Easy conversation, ain't exactly where we're at
It's so strange, deciding, how I feel about you
It ain't like, I ain't used, to going on without you"

- Moonlight on the River, Mac DeMarco

Notes:

Hello my pretty peeps
I went super well on my math test!

My classes are about to end, and I don't really know how to feel about it.
It seems I have made friends? I thought everybody here hated me!
Well, enjoy this chapter. I remember writing this months ago, so pumped to create my first KokuGiyuu work, I am proud of myself for how far I've come this year, I'm grateful I didn't do the bad things I planned on doing.

I'm glad I found something new for myself here, I finally feel more complete, I'm a bit emotional, not because I'm growing or because the year is ending.
But because I am still here, standing tall, I'm proud of me, and of you, too!!!

It has been days of incessant work, that is, if there are people available. Giyuu, who is lying down on his bed, needs far too much attention and care, it is difficult to deliver, given the context they are in.

"...sama..."

Mitsuri looks up from her book, surprised at the unprompted speaking from the sickly patient, "Oh! Giyuu-san, who are you thinking about?"

Whenever possible, her and the butterfly girls have been teaching him little things deemed urgent to know, such as his name, honorifics, greetings and kanji. He never understands in the moment, but with enough repetition the fruits of their work finally show themselves!

Though, it is a bit weird that he chose the term “sama” out of all of the ones they have taught him.

"...Kokushibo." He whispers faintly.

Her mind scrambles to remember who that might be, is this someone a family member? Or maybe a mentor? Either way, she could only come up with a curious, "Who?" As an answer.

"Kokushibo-sama.." He reaches out with tired arms to touch something, fingers twitching, but he's uselessly searching for the ceiling.

"Who's that, Giyuu-san? Is he in the corporation?"

"F..f-r..hng." He huffs out, frustrated with his stuttering.

"Friend? Is that it?"

He nods, not as lively out of embarrassment.

"Aww, you want to meet up with a friend!” Mitsuri’s enthusiasm dims, Giyuu isn’t the type for small talk, it’s difficult to imagine he has friends he’s waiting for, no matter how mean it sounds, even to herself. She knows it’s true.

“It's super sad you can't, Giyuu-san. You're too sick to get out." Mitsuri pets his hair once again, cooing at Tomioka's pouting.

He is very childish now that he has to put up with their coddling, and she can only feel guilty, because she has never seen the man as cute as when he is sick.

Stop thinking that! He is older than you!

And yet, he sulks exactly like her little brother does, she wants to pinch Giyuu’s cheeks and kiss all over his red face! Would he whine as her brother does whenever she acts affectionate in front of people? So cute!

Gosh, you’re going crazy, Mitsuri! Go take a walk, you’re being too much!

Embarrassed at her own thoughts of babying a grown man, Mitsuri got up, leaving her book behind, and scurried away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Giyuu was left alone to think of Kokushibo, wishing that the pink haired lady would, for once, ignore orders and take him to his estate. If he shows interest in going or attempting a different activity, all she says is “We’re not allowed.”

No, he isn’t allowed, she can do whatever she wants, like right now, chair and book forgotten.

What if Kokushibo has been trying to visit him lately while he’s stuck here?

Kanzaburo stays perched on a tree outside his window, if he could call the crow in and ask him to look for that man…

It would be wrong, it would break Kokushibo’s privacy… No matter, guilt simply doesn’t settle over the sentiment.

Oh, how he misses seeing him, having all of his attention turned to Giyuu as if he would ever be important enough to deserve.

It makes longing engrave itself in his chest, thorny vines that cut so deep he can’t help but let out a sigh of pain. Furthermore, it causes a gentle sway in his self-deprecation.

Even if it hurts, drags him under, it feels no gentler than a lull in the air, a ripple in the water, Giyuu can only thank the man causing this pain. After all, to miss someone, you need to have someone in the first place.

What does one do with this kind of suffering? He couldn’t live this torture forever, there must be some way to appease it.

A light tapping outside his window catches him off guard, a black, feathered figure now on the other side of the glass, trying to speak loud enough to be heard.

 

═════════════════

 

Outside her office, things appear to be hectic, there are doors slamming and feet scurrying everywhere.

She wishes to give more notice to it, but it will have to wait. Finding differences in two amnesia diagnoses is difficult, seen as neither patients can communicate exactly what is going on.

And what she can differentiate doesn’t explain anything, Muichiro has a general idea of things, he is in a constant loop of forgetting only to soon remember.

The memories he once had faded and been replaced by what he could make with what was left.

Giyuu, on the other hand, forgot about everything. In general.

From fighting techniques to basic motor functions, he needs constant aid to keep afloat in his own mind.

Every time he takes a bit too long to react to his name, a piece of Shinobu aches.

Suddenly, Shinobu’s office door slammed open, hitting the wall and scaring her out of her far too emotional thoughts.

"Shinobu-san, Giyuu has disappeared from his room!" Sumi cries out as she bursts in, holding onto the door handle, the background was a cacophony of yelling for Giyuu to show up, made up of Kiyo and Naho’s desperate voices.

A distressed sound, that she is not proud of, strikes her vocal chords.

She is up in a millisecond, holding back from using her full speed to check each and every individual square centimeter of the Butterfly Manor, feet barely hitting the ground as all she could find was disappointment.

 

They look everywhere around the Mansion, no closet goes unopened and no room lacks Tomioka's name, the Water Hashira has officially been missing for about two hours, estimated.

First being reported missing at lunch time, and they can only pray that was about the time he disappeared.

His lunch was put on his bedside table, but the covered windows and lack of a Love Hashira, which created a near constant quiet, alluded Naho, so she couldn't have known he wasn't present.

Aoi was the one to discover so, going to feed Giyuu his medicine, when she saw the tray with an untouched meal, she stripped the bed of the blanket, discovering an empty mattress.

They search high and low, the day coming closer and closer to its end.

From two hours it became four, from four it became six, the sun migrating from one side of the sky to the other, further proving their dire situation.

All Shinobu can think about is how, in the state Giyuu is in, he won't be capable of surviving a demon's attack. If he wanders too far, maybe gets himself lost in a forest, they probably won't find his body with life.

Nerve wracking.

 

═════════════════

 

As night approaches faster, more and more people search for Giyuu, Kakushi are warned to keep their eyes peeled, this isn’t a simple scenario.

For Giyuu to vanish into thin air, someone must have helped, and given the way things have been, no one is betting that he wanted to go with them.

Exasperation transforms into hopelessness. He can't be that far, not in that weak state, he couldn't even hold a hashi up correctly, he must be somewhere close by, has to.

It was when Shinobu started losing the grip on her facial expressions that a crow's cawing caught her attention, it yelled "Water Hashira has been found! Wind Estate! Water Hashira is in the Wind Estate!"

Shinobu hasn't run as fast as today any other time in her life, the pain in her muscles distracting her from the tears trying to form in her eyes, there is no denying her fondness for the man, no teasing or bullying can cover up how much she cares, and she'll be long gone before a friend dies while under her hand.

She seems to be the only one fast enough to get there, and as she spots a light blue spot by the forest, a burning pain finally starts to dissipate in her chest, she could feel the air she has been leaving aside since earlier in the day make a comeback.

Shinazugawa is not far away, Shinobu will be owing him a favor for going out of his way to actually warn her of Giyuu's whereabouts, instead of letting him walk right into the hands of death.

After catching her breath and schooling her face, Shinobu takes half a step towards Giyuu, only to be interrupted.

"Don't go." His voice is stern, Shinazugawa doesn't sound angry, but alert. Now, looking better at the man, it can be seen he has a tight grip on his unsheathed katana.

"Shinazugawa, I need to take him back to the Mansion." She reasons, not thinking completely straight

"Fucking stay here." Now he sounded vaguely anguished.

She turned her attention between the man and her patient, taking her own weapon from it's sheath. Before being Giyuu’s friend or caretaker, she was a Hashira.

 

The two of them kept planted in place, in the outskirts of the wind estate training grounds, allowing Giyuu more time to wobble his way closer to the woods, uncaring of his comrades’ fighting stances.

Shinobu doesn't notice once the moon overtakes the sky once and for all, for at the same moment Giyuu caught his foot on nothing, falling forward without giving much attempt at saving himself. But before Shinobu could help, or he could hit the ground, someone else grabbed his unstable body.

 

…Fucking hell…

Two bright eyes illuminated Giyuu's matted hair, his shivering form searching for warmth in his savior’s embrace through nuzzling closer to the rotting being.

Surprisingly enough, instead of immediately massacring the helpless Hashira, it holds him close, letting a human put their whole weight onto it, not that it must be heavy but still.

"God. No." She hears the shaking murmur of her partner.

And his words couldn't explain Shinobu's feelings better.

Gods. Please, anyone in paradise that can listen to their pleading. Kanae, their families, please. No. Not him.

Two glowing, focused eyes, a tall looming stature, feet-reaching hair, katana well secured by a hip. And, of course, the signaling aura.

A high level demon.

This can't be. Not now. Not here. Giyuu has a life, has a chance, he has much to learn and to teach. He has to live. He never even got to think about getting a Tsuguko.

They can't move, no fighting instinct comes, instead, a response she thought was dead washes over her tired muscles, thinking it was reduced to inexistent after years of no use.

The need to flee, run, get out of here, save yourself while the threat is distracted, leave the weaker one behind.

Like prey.

"Kokushibo-sama." Giyuu says, missing any stutter, for once in days speaking clearly.

Shinobu wants to focus on the enemy, but since her victim-like instincts resurfaced her mind wanders to the comfort while uttering this name, how Tomioka spoke longingly of a man as one would a friend.

Is that a friend?

No. Giyuu's health is deteriorating, he is delirious.

"Are you going to fucking kill him or not?! Give him back or just eat him already!" Shinazugawa got part of his confidence back. It changes nothing, shaking hands, blown wide eyes, he's scared.

They both are.

The demon cocks its head, still holding onto Giyuu protectively, resting the human’s forehead on its purple-kimono clad shoulder, "Such a loud personality." The gravelly voice echoes around the open space, making them feel like they're stuck somewhere.

It doesn't say a thing more, grabbing the man still in its hold and settling Giyuu on its arms.

No. She longs to scream, Not like this.

They disappear with just one step, so fast it took less than a blink. Was she even blinking?

 

It was frighteningly long until they regained poise.

With the rustle of leaves they gave chase with new found boldness, looking everywhere as quickly as they could, was no one coming?! Where was everyone?! Uzui could at least try and keep up with them!

No trace of either was left behind. Damn it.

 

═════════════════

 

"Are those your friends, Tomioka?" Kokushibo questions the half awake man, his theory glaringly correct, in the end. Tomioka is in need of uninterrupted sleep, at a minimum of three days.

Which he so graciously lent, through feeding his blood. Now he sees more precaution was to be taken.

His instincts did not disappoint when he sought after Kanzaburo to discover the whereabouts of Tomioka.

A gust of wind is manufactured by his quick hands through the woods to attract the other two slayers away from them, even if comrades of Tomioka, they have made a distasteful first impression, proving themselves as nuisances for he and his human greatly deserved meeting.

A Manor comes into view, the powerful smell of wisteria that lingers on Tomioka telling him this is where he needs to be left at.

The floor dares not creak under their shared weight, Upper Moon One searches for a resting space, any bed will suffice.

Kokushibo walks around the hallways searching for a good place for Tomioka, unsympathetic that his presence awakened multiple others in neighbouring rooms, the only man deserving of a good sleep this night lies in his arms.

The slayer mark is in full use, he catches the heartbeat of lower grade slayers and insects, most rooms being filled with a myriad of beds on each wall.

The demon opens the door to a private one, where the bed is close to the window. This human needs to be looked after by the moon. This way, as Kokushibo places the limp body on the blanket, he will be by his side, even when in sickness.

Speaking of sickness, Tomioka is feverish, after a simple inspection it is proven that his gash continues gone, with no scar in odd of the pale skin, but symptoms of kekkijutsu still making attempts at his fragile body.

Giving blood after last time had the nature of a carnal desire, not a selfless act. Even if it will help Tomioka live.

Laying down on an unmade bed, breathing heavily, clinging to him.

Tomioka is beautiful drinking blood.

He cannot help his yearning, a deep cut once again inflicted onto an arm goes by in a flick. Deliberately forcing his regeneration to stale long enough may be the only down side of this administration.

Adjacent to their last encounter, Tomioka accepts the offer after only a simple tug at his jaw.

It drips down his unfeeling inhuman skin disgustingly, Tomioka shows no care for his demonic figure, dilated pupils covering deep blue, how unfortunate, they have not taken enough care of him, he seems to be in a state worse compared to how he was left.

Kokushibo is well aware of something clawing at his thoughts, it will stay disregarded, for he does not feel like this, it is not of expectation for the second highest demon to feel.

But when something starts tugging at his flesh, he cannot ignore it, Tomioka is biting down on his arm. Biting down.

Dainty and uninjurious teeth sink at tasteless meat, a forgiving bite.

Suchlike Tomioka. Forgiving. To an extent that, If Kokushibo were to try and dislodge the appendage, he could.

It is the thought of resistance that causes something else to jolt up his veins.

The moon feels brighter, blinding.

Tomioka has a redness to his face Kokushibo had not witnessed beforehand.

Blood starts flowing. Which it should not have.

A mistake? Kokushibo is not one to commit mistakes of any level, his planning is immaculate at any and all moments, so how could he allow his blood to come out in a river as it is? Tomioka cannot become a demon.

Tomioka starts coughing at the strong flow.

"Kokushibo-sama?" He chokes out, attempting to focus.

"Tomioka-san." He acknowledges back.

With a confused hum, the human looks around them, blinking the tiredness away, "Where… am I?"

"You are okay. You will be okay." If felt to be truthful enough of a statement.

Sensing that his duty is done, Kokushibo fixes himself to get up and walk away, a shaky grasp to his sleeve stops him.

Their stares clash, and Tomioka’s lack of lucidity is transparent in his look.

After seconds tick by, the human weakens his hold, "I'm sorry." He pleads.

It is a novice each and every time Kokushibo gets another proof of naivety, of genuine pain, "Tell me your woes. I will listen." His features fall back into that of a human's, taking the opportunity of Tomioka's forgetful mind.

"Can…” saliva drips down his chin, “please stay."

Unshed tears lit up by moonlight steal his common sense, blue not as the ocean or sky, but a bruise, deep and impairing.

It certainly disables Kokushibo.

"I'm sorry...I can't be alone and- you are kind, Kokushibo-sama, you are so kind,” the human cries, waterline and lips red he embarrassingly confesses, “you make me happy."

Happy.

What a foreign concept.

To be happy over the bare minimum.

The despair dripping from Tomioka’s voice could be considered indecent, speaking to a being above him as if he had a right to reclaim.

It was delectable.

"Tomioka-san" Kokushibo has not formed a thought before he spoke, thankfully, he is interrupted.

"Giyuu," came as a cough, "please, I beg, call me Giyuu."

"Giyuu."

A smile forms onto chapped lips, Tomioka…

Giyuu's visage should not have changed as it did. Lightened up so easily.

Pliable, limber, to be used.

His lips continue to tremble, he wants to say more.

"Speak, I do not wish for your memory to worsen." Kokushibo reasons, looking forward to hearing that wavering harmony that is this man’s voice.

"Ah… was I sick? My- my mind feels hazy.."

"It does not faze me, you are still sick."

"All I could remember was.. you, I believe."

"Is that so?” Kokushibo rolls out his tongue, intrigued, “Tell me, Giyuu. I would like to listen."

Kokushibo can afford it, can afford to make time for this blank slate of a soul. Genuine.

"I couldn't remember my name,” Giyuu shook his head, huffing, “but I remembered you helping me.”

Blue meets yellow, reveling in the short silence that befell them, “Why are you so kind, Kokushibo-sama?"

Kokushibo will not answer. Giyuu will speak, claim to know and feel the demon, he will tire until sleep consumes him, and the demonic blood flowing through his veins will ensure a long needed rest. But Kokushibo will not answer.

Notes:

Did you like it? Things are going to become a bit emotional from now on, this was the last planned chapter I had, meaning everything from here on out will be.... quite extra......
See u later :3c

Chapter 8: Encased, rotting from the inside

Summary:

The aftermath of emotions.

Notes:

Happy December, peeps!!! Mis chiquistriquis lindos X3

New chapter to y'all, but it's a bit short, sorry :P

That hoarse voice wafted through the night, praising Kokushibo for being, oh so kind to a humble man.

How Giyuu uttered his name, conveying a prayer through four syllables, was unmatched.

Kokushibo was awarded the utmost pleasure of watching over Giyuu as rest came to overtake him.

The man had almost begged him to do so, entrusting his health to Kokushibo, drying tears contrasting against his red complexion. A moment of silence that stretched on.

In the demon’s memory, Giyuu’s low, varmint “friends” continued to be insufferable, but it is to be expected, where are humans if not below demons?

They are slaves to their emotions, wailing for second chances and mercy, it made silencing them all the more satisfying, he has always been a fan of quietude.

Kokushibo has no reason to mince words to express further disgust at the prospect, but it is this very weakness that beguiled him to Giyuu in the first place.

If he were as intolerant as first believed, where would he be now if not beside Giyuu?

It would be unbecoming of him to claim a hypocritical opinion of this caliber.

It does not change the fact he has a rather distinct vision of Giyuu in the eye of his mind.

He lays in bed, snoring quietly, dragging the sheets closer, knitting his eyebrows.

He searches for someone to hold him, Kokushibo offers the back of his hand to his cheeks, caressing as gently as he could muster, ripples of goosebumps follow it, the human nuzzled into the touch.

Kokushibo put his palm over the man’s lips, leaning down, closer, so close he could not see Giyuu’s face correctly, only a blur of pallidness, his lips kissing up into Upper Moon One’s fingers unknowingly.

He longed for more.

They both do.

Kokushibo allowed himself to watch and nothing more, sighing as if he could breath, imagining what it would be like to be caught, a small, delicate slayer and her scarred partner watching in horror as the one they sought to protect is desecrated.

Fantasizing in a childish spur how thrilling it would be.

His other hand trailed the bedding right beside a sleeping body, yearning to sink claws into supple skin, be the demon to scar his human, turning him into a cautionary tale to those far too trusting.

The very tip of his nails scrapped the fabric underneath them until on top of Giyuu’s face, opening his mouth for no real reason, only the need of huffing out a breath that does not exist, noses centimeters from touching, Kokushibo put pressure, mocking his luck.

He, as the second strongest being on this earth, cannot help but be pensive. Kokushibo is not one to have these kinds of thoughts, seeking transient and hedonistic leisures.

Even as he sits down, clamps both hands over the human, he cannot help feel as though these are not his actions, no matter how invigorating it is to spectate over them.

How fast can things change when you have no obligation to society.

Looking down at Giyuu, smelling his sweat, watching the cells working to keep him alive, the thick hairs on his eyebrows and long, thin lashes. His ingenuity, his pursuit to have a body against his own.

“...sama…” Came the muffled whisper, supplications for Kokushibo to indulge.

Cut skin, finger sinew, leave a deplorable amalgamation of flesh and entrails, lick up blood but never consume.

Steps make way towards the room, Giyuu’s comrades must have given up on their pursuit.

He retreats completely, slanting his eyes at the sight of Giyuu twisting and turning in bed, reaching for the comforting discomfort that crowded him, fascinating, how obsessed one’s body can become over the slightest of physical gratification.

He could smile at it, opening the window to make his way beyond the wisteria trees circling the manor, the steps becoming louder, but he need not hurry.

The mind of a demon is an endless maze, and Kokushibo knows so better than anyone, Giyuu is but another name getting lost amidst his thoughts. One he is coming to endear himself to.

 

═════════════════

 

Shinobu held back from slamming the door open, Sanemi following behind her, both catching just as the singular window looking over Giyuu’s bed fell shut with a thud.

And, for the sake of keeping sanity (or semblance of it), she ignores it completely to bee-line towards her patient, acts as if the smell of flowers and clean laundry is still prominent enough.

Sanemi, on the other hand, pried it open again, looking outside for a glimpse, far too hopeful for someone in their situation.

No matter, Giyuu was still safe, fast asleep.

She stares for far longer than needed, taking in his appearance, eyes travelling each curve, his mushed cheeks, sweating forehead, straight nose, he is made of perfect planes.

Shinobu questions herself at the marvel on display. Looking for any excuse possible to stay close, to not look Sanemi in the eyes, afraid of what she might find.

Her entire life has been littered with those who surrounded her acting as if the younger Kocho sister was a beacon of splendor, a wonder to gawk at. So doll-like, delicate and divine.

The only people who never made her feel as though being beautiful was a direct antagonistic trait to being strong were Kanae, who proved that opinion wrong on her own, and Gyomei, who is physically incapable of judging a book by its cover.

Sanemi’s fear-inducing looks only fueled that belief.

Then, at about sixteen years-old, Shinobu became closer to the Water Hashira, a quiet fellow, always in his own head.

An animalistic man, fearing loud noises and skittish around new people.

It was after meeting Tomioka Giyuu that she truthfully understood that Appearances and Brawn can both coexist and matter in their own right.

Her partner situated himself on the other side of the bed, looking down at Tomioka with something that should have been distaste, or hatred.

His hands balled up into fists, he trembled with poorly contained violence.

And there is nothing worse.

A flytrap for the scum of the earth.

Giyuu is cursed, with both power and beauty.

Notes:

Here, some lore because I love you!:

Kokushibo becomes eloquent when he is "nervous" or curious, since he is not used to feeling emotions, it's his way of coping with needing the presence of another close to his, that's why this chapter is so damn difficult to read, my bad for that...

Also, the whole thing of being so beautiful people want to hurt you is based off of the work "Tomie" by Junji Ito, one of my favorite works of his, do NOT let me talk about that woman, I won't shut up EVER

Chapter 9: Night light

Notes:

Hey peeps, first, I would like to apologize for the extremely short chapter.
Second, sorry if I become less active these next weeks, my mind has been elsewhere lately
I haven't been sleeping well, dunno really know why, I should take better care of my health but something has been stopping me.

I've had a falling out and instead of being happy I was finally rid myself of this person, I am only angry.
Mostly because the last time I saw her she made a stupid fucking expression at something I told her and I think people purposefully being annoying deserve to get rocks thrown at them. Stoned, if you will.

Weird, huh.

Enjoy.

Being far away, not constantly hovering over Giyuu, aware and made sure he is healthy, it is torture.

Kokushibo remained stoic throughout the craving, Muzan had spoken face to face with him, asking for a report of the last month.

He lied.

Muzan did not care.

After their conversation, he walked the opposite direction of the hospital housing Giyuu, conscious that the mere thought of engaging would break his resolve.

The home he invaded for nourishment is now covered in blood, the family residing in it nothing but a distant memory of screaming, the neighborhood is awake, fearing the wrath of whatever took six lives away without issue.

It keeps them far, allowing a feast without interruption.

Resting against a wall are paintings, both unfinished and finished, of the man’s wife and children, Kokushibo studied them, took in the faces of those he used as nourishment.

Before he stomped them into the pooling blood at his feet.

The woman, with her dark hair up in a bun, reminded him of Giyuu.

Walking away with the image of massacrated depictions of love, leaving behind dying lights and wails of fear and panic, Kokushibo inanely coquets with the idea of artistry. To the extent of foolishness.

 

“”

 

The air grew colder as he traveled deep into the infinity castle, not yet in his right mind, intoxicated by kindness and drive, upon hearing a singular biwa note, he jumped from an open door and landed in a garden, one adorned with crystal ice structures, most of which depicted flowers.

“Kokushibo-dono~!” Came the enthusiastic greeting of a sickly cold and sweet voice.

Upper Moon One stepped aside in time to avoid a hug from his underling.

It did not deter Douma whatsoever, he fixed his posture, “Kokushibo-dono, what has brought you to my temple? Do you seek a companion?”

“Not from you.”

The choice of words was rather peculiar, but Douma would not look a gift horse in its mouth! He was glad to be accompanied by another demon after being left aside for so long. Finally, he might be making a breakthrough in this whole “comradery” concept.

“What is the motive of your visit, then, friend?” He smiled, toying with his golden fans, incredibly unwise, they are weapons, Kokushibo does not point so out.

“Are you familiarized with art?”

“Oh, my. Yes, yes! What is that you look for? Lessons?”

“Where does your aptitude lie?”

“I am quite the skilled sculptor if I may say.” The false-buddha motioned a closed golden fan around his garden, eyes momentarily closed.

“Why have you chosen to sculpt?”

A purple nail came up to a pouty set of lips, the theatrics causing Kokushibo to doubt his mental state when choosing to search after guidance with Upper Moon Two, of all available.

Perhaps the biwa demon, a skilled musician, or Upper Moon Five, a determined sculptor, were better options. Though, Gyokko would never be of help to capture true beauty, the delusional artist.

“Well. I am quite attracted to how personal yet timeless it is.” Douma answered, looking adoringly at his creations with great pride in his multi-colored eyes, but Kokushibo remained silent, so he beckoned his superior closer, “Here, come, allow me to explain.”

They walked side by side, snow flakes descending from seemingly nowhere, in lieu to Giyuu’s near constant warmth it is bleak and unwelcome. Why would one live somewhere so solemn is beyond his knowledge and patience.

Douma stopped shortly after beginning their stride, he presented with a blithesome smile his presumed masterpiece.

It was a scene of transparent blues and whites, crystals that humbly reflected all light facing them, servant and noble women looked onward, a small portion spoke with each other behind their fans and sleeves, the majority stared on with disbelief, though all statues had their eyes closed.

In the middle of the experience was the only open-eyed character, a young girl sat on the floor. Her short hair made him question her role in this system, whether her parents are still alive or if she is at all endeared to by those around her.

She was situated inside a bed of spider lilies, a singular one shattered in front of her, it seeped red onto the grass underneath.

“This is my favorite and most cherished piece. Quite the looker.” He chuckled humorlessly, “Of course, I could have painted it and have it come out just the same, one with colors and a fitting background, written a poem, prose or song, but how would it compare?”

Douma stepped between the statues, lightly twirling as to not touch any of them while still acting playful, “This way, they exist,” he neared the young girl, tapping the top of her head with a fan, causing a burst of glittering flakes to explode and then glide around her figure, “if you close your eyes, lean closely, you may mistake the wind as their bated breaths.”

They looked at one another, indifferent for each reaction the other had.

“They have more than one dimension, they have insides and skin. For all they know, they are human.”

Kokushibo came closer, inspecting the haunting forms surrounding him, the long hairs, hair pieces, many layers, patterns and jewelry. It glints in the harsh light of far away paper panels.

Truthfully, a masterpiece. Beauty in its purest form.

Yet, Kokushibo is left unimpressed.

A shoulder attempted to bump into his own, he dodged it, “Are you interested in becoming an artist? There is only so much a demon can do before boredom becomes far too much to handle. It comes to all.”

“I have been made an offer.”

A slight hum, almost a musical note, is what answers Kokushibo, “How intriguing. Is there anything I could help with?”

Upon taking in all details deemed necessary, Upper Moon One looks directly at his underling, “How would you preserve a live piece?”

“Such as?”

Kokushibo thought deeply, feeling the faint memory of supple skin underneath his fingertips, “A flower.”

“Well, if you don’t spread it, I’ll be glad to enlighten you, Kokushibo-dono.” They were closer than before, incomparable to the comfort of Giyuu’s ever-accommodating body, “Gift it your blood. Not Lord Muzan’s, but yours.”

Notes:

No extra lore today.