Archive of Our Own

Sheathing his sword, Rengoku cast a relieved smile at the disintegrating, decapitated demon. He kept a hand on the hilt, abruptly freezing in his tracks and instinctively tightening his grip. All too soon the outskirts he was surrounded by grew silent. The fluttering leaves of trees quivered, but were quieted down, the twittering coos of birds and the occasional calls of wild animals were stopped painfully short. The thick haze of a fog buffeted the forest around him, the stillness setting Rengoku further on edge.

The silence quickly spilled into a deathly crushing sensation, as if every organ in his body was violently pressed down and destroyed. That aura was overwhelming, snatching the breath in his lungs and replacing it with water, shackling his ankles with a heavy weight, forcing him to drown. It, without question, caused the hairs on the back of Rengoku’s neck to rise, every inch of his body thrown into the freezing deadly cold of winter.

Then, that static, pulsing air withered into nothing. A signal. It was a signal he would recognize time and time again. Rengoku’s hand loosened its grip on his sword, his lips quirking into a soft smile. Faint wind currents whipped behind him, his only warning. Going against his learned instincts, Rengoku did not bother to turn.

Within a blink, strong, ice cold arms found Rengoku’s sides, a body pressing against his back. The hold was delicate, for good reason, the person tempering their destructive power lest they crush Rengoku without even thinking. Their hands lightly dug into Rengoku’s haori, breathtakingly gentle yet wishing for true skin to skin contact. Rengoku felt the person’s exhale whittle past his ear, slightly making him squirm. A soft, utterly delighted laugh left the person’s lips and their voice crackled into the air.

“Kyojuro.” Akaza softly crooned, reverent and barely able to tame his feverish joy.

Rengoku huffed out a quiet breath from his nose, easily leaning into Akaza’s touch and baring his throat. The simple display of trust caused Akaza to practically vibrate, growling rumbles bleeding from his chest and rising to his mouth. It was strangely like a house cat's purr, a habit Akaza only recently began to display, the noise akin to a thunderbolt leading up for a strike; shuffling about in the clouds. Akaza said nothing more, not wasting his breath with an ‘I’ve missed you,’ when his actions could clearly scream louder.

Akaza’s hands glided away from their hold, skating across Rengoku’s clothes to play with the red tipped ends of his hair. Unmistakably fragile, Akaza leashed his towering strength, looping a finger in between a golden-red strand, smiling into Rengoku’s shoulder and nudging his cheek against it as though he was a cat. He continued on, dark blue inked fingers carefully, adoringly combing through Rengoku’s hair, frozen lips lightly pressing against the shell of Rengoku’s ear. Akaza kept him close, without threats, without caging the Pillar, hands roaming everywhere he could possibly reach with the dizzying desire to simply touch him.

Akaza laced their fingers together. Without fail, it left Rengoku curious and a little saddened, how hungry Akaza was for touch, as if he never received it in his life and was now compensating for it. Greedily indulging in it the same way a child would crave freedom and lose it all upon tasting temptation. It could be that Rengoku allowed for this, he was comfortable; an utterly strange word to use for a demon, with Akaza, safe. Thus, letting Akaza run wild, letting those icy, crimson stained hands flit across his body and reside there. Those hands, which previously had maimed him, torn him asunder with just the mere brush of his knuckles, now treating Rengoku with maddeningly tender care. Akaza, truly, held the weight of a life in his hands, a life he nearly snuffed out and grew to cup a weak little flame in his palms, uncaring of preserving strength and sneering at delicate weakness - thinking of only embracing the fire he intently chased after.

Kyojuro, Kyojuro, Kyojuro.

Ever since Rengoku’s own name fell from his lips during their very first encounter, Akaza barreled through Rengoku’s boundaries, calling him by his given name as though they were close, the more his name fluttered from that mania tinged, reedy soft voice, the more Akaza enjoyed it. As if the flames on his tongue tasted cloyingly sweet. Rengoku hated it, oh, he hated it, feeling disgust crawl along his skin and seeping under like spindly, long-legged spiders.

Many did not call him Kyojuro, respecting his family name and title much more, seeing only Flame Pillar. A bridge they could never cross and it stung, admittedly, that his fellow Pillars did not call him by his given name. He supposed it was his fault to begin with, being approachable yet hiding away in a steep, sky high tower. Rengoku ironically, distastefully, got what he wanted in the form of an exceedingly violent, very talkative demon.

The times Rengoku’s given name would be used, were with his family. His father, who once laughed and called his name in joy, pride in his mirrored eyes, a smile on his face. It was strange, Rengoku guessed, to think of those times not just with yearning or nostalgia, but to feel off put and unsettled. Too used to the present. Of his father rightfully wallowing in his grief, deterring Rengoku at every turn, spitting his name as if Rengoku was equal to a stain on his shoe. The hollow anger filling his father’s throat, every ‘don’t bother, Kyojuro,’ ‘you’ll fail, Kyojuro,’ and mere months ago; hobbling into the Butterfly Estate in critical condition, laying bedridden for what looked like an eternity, a putrid, confusing mix of jittery fear of losing his own child and scorn for Rengoku just barely surviving, ‘you’re a disgrace, you should have died, Kyojuro.’

Senjuro, though, his dear brother. Always, always, looked up to him, always smiled in that soft, painfully timid way of his whenever Rengoku made it safely to the house. Always fussed over him, as if he was the eldest, cooking meals if Rengoku felt too drained to do so; confidently rebutting any sign of Rengoku’s guilt with an ‘I love you, anuie. Let me take care of you, too. You always work so hard.’

Senjuro was allowed to be quiet, to be a mere shadow, and as much as Rengoku wanted that, wished to burn low with a sunset; yearned to have a quiet, uncluttered mind, he could never be envious of his brother. Nor could he relent from fulfilling his purpose - to protect. If he had, it would be little Senjuro to take the brunt of his father’s agony, if he had, if he ever dared to be selfish, Senjuro could never be safe in that house, he could never have the confidence, the trust to whisper his fears, his hurt, the litanies of ‘how can I help Father? Please don’t go again, anuie, I love you, I love you. I’m sorry Father said that to you, it’s not true! It’s not, I know it isn’t,’ to him. If he was that cruel, Rengoku could and would never forgive himself.

Now, it was Akaza to savor Rengoku’s name as though it was divine. At first, hearing it from a demon felt like a pinched nerve. Hearing his own name from his would be murderer was horrific, the way the creature said it was absolutely unsettling. While Rengoku elected to ignore Akaza’s calls throughout the battle, it still caused a shiver to run down his spine. The outrage and offense gradually bled into a bone-deep weariness, correcting Akaza at every turn, to which, the pest decidedly ignored.

Then, they were here.

Here, where Rengoku’s greatest enemy and the mark of his own blinding failure became his secret lover, the moon their only witness to such travesty.

“Akaza.” Rengoku greeted, his voice hushed.

Months ago, this could not have been possible, Rengoku closing the distance between them with just the call of Akaza’s name. He never allowed for Akaza’s name to fall from his lips, using the demon’s demented title as a shield, a line in the sand, to deter the creature. Clearly, it did not work, the silver tongued demon incredibly hellbent on existing in the same space Rengoku was.

That same place, regardless of the possible dangers it might have posed, being the Butterfly Estate. Right in the medical ward, during the night when Aoi and the other nurses long finished their shift. It was unnerving, half-awake, half-aware, seeing that thing bearing down at him in the dark, the demon that was so close to killing him swept in shadows, his glowing eyes all on him. Rengoku could still remember the terror clinging to his throat, his chest, without a sword by his side, incapable of even walking. Rengoku was half convinced the demon was an apparition, a nightmare, as Upper Moon Three simply stood still like a sentry. When the floorboard just barely creaked under the demon’s feet, dread filled Rengoku’s stomach in the realization that, no, no this was no dream.

Upper Moon Three arrived with the same argument, the same mindless chatter. Rengoku clung to his morals, weak as he was, his very life in the hands of the same demon that sought to end it. Rengoku remembered the flicker of irritation that ran across the demon’s face, only now understanding the way his smile began to strain at the corners as if it was ready to twitch into a frown, how his eyes ever so faintly narrowed in distaste. He recalled the demon’s next words, some sort of twisted bargaining chip.

A smile flashed across Akaza’s face, then, small and light, and still so unnervingly inhuman. As though he was trying on a mask to appear casual and polite, to appear human. He carelessly splayed out his hands, shrugging as his fangs glinted in the night.

“There’s so many heartbeats in the next room, Kyojuro,” Rengoku shuddered at Akaza’s casual tone, that awful creature veiling his threat, “and each of them are all asleep,” Akaza’s smile grew and Rengoku felt caged, “you’re weak, Flame Pillar, you can’t stop me if I-”

The fury running hot in his veins purged the stone cold fear bleeding into his heart. Rengoku took a part of hell, glaring the demon down and instantly sat up. His hand clenched around a sword that was not there. A wave of anguish quickly followed, a brittle feeling overtaking him. Sharp needles pierced his chest, growing harsher around his solar plexus and spreading dull to thrashing violent aches across his stomach. Rengoku sucked up the pained yelp clinging to his throat, half-curling into his wound on reflex. Horror filled him at the hot tears lining his eye, frustrated, angry, terrified. The coughing started, dry, too loud and tearing his throat apart with scalding burns. Spasms rattled his body and they would not stop, agony breaking him from the inside and rising to his skin. He could hardly breathe and when his own body granted him mercy, a sliver of air, bile tickled at the back of his throat, threatening to spill.

The sheer panic Rengoku felt was only amplified by the monster watching him. Silently eyeing him and Rengoku shamefully wished to run, to run far away. It was a surprise, Akaza knocking him out of Rengoku’s rising stupor, that fear. He had expected Akaza to look gleeful at Rengoku’s obvious terror, the pain screaming across his body, but the demon had strangely looked discomforted. Uneasy. Pink brows scrunching down, a frown flitting over pale lips. He kept clenching and unclenching his hands, releasing a low, strangled hiss.

Akaza sneered and glanced away, crossing his arms, “Lay the hell back down, it was an empty threat and you’re in no shape to fight.”

Rengoku did not, remaining sitting up and glowering at the demon. Akaza huffed, muttering a froth of swears as he carefully, slowly crept across the room - closer to him.

“Kyojuro,” Akaza’s voice rolled out firm, a pinch agitated, “you can’t protect the weak if you reopen your wounds, don’t be a fool. Lay. Down.”

“What do you plan to do?” Rengoku did not hesitate to ask, suspicion on his tongue.

Akaza had the gall to look virtually unimpressed, ignoring Rengoku’s demand. He spared a glance at the wooden nightstand, carefully pulling out the drawer. Akaza smiled again, and Rengoku had been scared to know that expression was far more natural, relief budding on the demon’s lips. The demon snatched up the medical supplies inside in a surprisingly tender grip, immediately turning to Rengoku. With the medical supplies in hand, something washed over Upper Moon Three. Yellow-orange eyes dimming from their intensity, patient and almost somber, as if the creature was seeing someone else. Akaza pressed his lips together, sweeping his lowering gaze to the supplies in his hands, then to Rengoku.

“Lay down,” Upper Moon Three murmured, that soft voice no longer put upon, genuinely quiet and requesting instead of vehemently demanding, “I’ll take care of you, I don’t mind it.”

The purely human expression on the demon’s face both gave Rengoku pause but a deep sense of dread. The words, too, discomforted him. They were no longer uncanny and deceiving the attempt to act human, the look in Akaza’s eyes akin to a fog, lost to whatever was dragging him away. Rengoku sat still, keeping his mouth shut, lest Akaza’s odd trance shattered. This was a startlingly new behavior that Rengoku wished to document, to keep in the forefront and to do that, he had to comply. To a demon. Keeping eye contact, Rengoku slowly settled back on the bed. While the demon did smile, it was quick and rather calm, fluttering into a light frown.

Rengoku watched the Upper Moon Three mentally check over the supplies, eyeing his hands as he set them down on the nightstand one by one. The beast in human form, the thing that maimed him and nearly left him for dead, went by his word, first pressing an icy cold palm onto his forehead; brows briefly pinching. It was intriguing, worrying, to see a high ranked demon working through the motions of caretaking. Seeing a fresh white cloth loosely clutched in his hands, sinking into the water basin left behind a mere hour ago, deathly gray-blue hands firmly twisting the cloth to remove excess water, those same hands ever so gently placing the cloth atop Rengoku’s forehead. How the demon caught his eye, questioning, as those unnerving eyes slid to his injuries hidden away. Hesitating, Rengoku nodded. Rengoku’s own heartbeat sounded loud in his ears the closer Akaza’s hands crept to his near fatal injuries.

Rengoku wanted to close his eyes, wanted to stop breathing, yet, he remained still as Akaza delicately pulled away his yukata, exposing skin. Akaza did not prod, did nothing of the sort that suggested he would look pleased at the slowly healing wounds, or even disgusted by the weakness he inflicted on him. The concentrated expression on his face briefly faltered, strangely seeming pained as he carefully unspooled the crimson stained white bandage wraps, cleaning off the fresh blood, pressing down to try and halt any more bleeding. Slathering his fingers in ointment and softly dragging the concoction onto his skin. It was thorough, Akaza’s handiwork, as though he did this before. As though he was used to nursing an ill or injured person. And he did it without chatter, no mockery, no proposals. But, along with the shuffling noises and reworking new wrappings, Akaza began to idly hum in the darkened, silent space of the medical ward.

Akaza’s humming was slow, melodic. It sounded like it could easily lull Rengoku into sleeping and the dark of the room was not helping. This calm, patient side of Akaza, this caring side of a demon was exposed, and Rengoku could only stare, gobsmacked. It frightened him, really, left Rengoku stumbling to figure out if this was some ploy to endear him, if this was his poor attempt to cajole Rengoku into becoming a demon. Yet, the creature kept his focus on his task, continuing to hum. Wanting answers, Rengoku bit the bullet, peering up at Upper Moon Three.

“For what reason are you doing this?”

With Rengoku’s question flitting in the air, charged and pointed, the haze enveloping Akaza shattered like glass. His fingers twitched as they drew away from Rengoku’s plain white yukata, brows scrunching down as he belatedly blinked. That small, fractured moment vanished with Akaza’s disguise of a smile, chilling instead of casual, pitiless instead of polite.

“So we can fight again, Kyojuro.” Akaza easily replied, fixation clouding his gaze and pairing with a too eager smile.

With that, Akaza vanished within a breath.

Akaza did not leave him alone after that, and in one moment in time, the demon appeared once more in the Butterfly Estate when Rengoku was suffering from a fever. His memories were still fuzzy, disoriented and listless and he could only recall the snow battering against the window across from him. The uncomfortable blazing heat and the freezing chills racking his body when he tried to rip off the blankets. His head pounded, hotter than his Flame Breathing. Rengoku had thought, with a thundering heavy heart, he saw his mother. Standing across from him, untouchable, unreachable, staring right at him. Without thought, he called for her, begging in distress.

Rengoku felt a comforting, cold wet cloth atop his forehead, sheets carefully being pulled away and his blanket replaced with something thinner. Then, an equally cold hand resting in his, heavy and unblemished. Undeniably strong and stocky. Chilly fingertips grazed his, falling away like snow. And Akaza was gone.

A small, perplexing comfort. Rengoku hated he was grateful for it. But, it was those flickers of humanity that caused Rengoku to stagger, it was seeing Akaza’s true smile for the very first time that stole the breath from his lungs. It was how awed the demon was by falling snow, holding out his palms and merely watching snowflakes fall into his hands and melt away. It was Akaza’s genuine, purely human feelings that gradually caused Rengoku to fall. It was another near death match disguised as a spar, then a row of actual sparring matches that lit the wildfire, Rengoku managing to pin the demon into the forest floor beneath him and Akaza’s eyes flaring with an intense yearning. It was that slow, terribly satisfied smirk that Rengoku so desperately wanted to rip off, and the whispered, reverent words, “Fight me, Kyojuro,” that forced Rengoku’s hand.

Rengoku had foolishly, impulsively kissed Akaza. The utter disbelief on the demon’s face filled Rengoku with pure spite, only for Akaza to yank the powertrip right from the Pillar’s hands, kissing him right back, surprisingly sweet.

It should have never happened, it was not supposed to happen, yet, Rengoku was terrifyingly the happiest he had ever been, being with Akaza.

It was a common occurrence, the chance of Akaza ambushing Rengoku into a sparring match. The feeling was second nature, reading which greeting Rengoku would receive, the adoring call of his name and a hug, or an all too giddy, sharp “Kyojuro!” before activating his Blood Demon Art. If it was a quiet moment between them, Akaza’s amber eyes would dim, crinkled and soft, a little pleased smile on his face, and if it opened with a battle, he had the exact same blissful, almost unhinged gleam in his eyes.

Rengoku snapped his gaze up, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, face pink from exertion. His lungs were stoked by the fading embers of his Flame Breathing. He swallowed, staring up at the demon pinning him down the forest floor. Akaza smiled down at him, razor sharp and still impressed. He let out a few airy chuckles, amber eyes keeping Rengoku firmly in place more than the hands by his head. Amber eyes glowed as intense as a snowstorm, brimming with pure hunger.

“Kyojuro.” Akaza whispered, awe leaving his lips.

A shiver ran down Rengoku’s spine. Akaza leaned in closer, his lips ghosting against Rengoku’s ear.

“Let me indulge in my victory.”

Despite the flames seeping under his cheeks, Rengoku opened his mouth to retort.

“Your victory? Did you forget you yielded to me?”

Akaza’s eyes crinkled, delighted, “Oh, Kyojuro, I know you’re not a fool,” Akaza’s left hand withdrew from the forest floor, watching Rengoku track the finger inching towards his chin and cupping it, “I’m taking my fill of you, one way or another. You’re my prize, don’t you think?”

“You’re earning your prize, I believe.”

Akaza huffed out a laugh, “Haven’t I already?”

Rengoku actually wanted to squirm, feeling his heart beat loudly out from his chest. When Rengoku opened his mouth, Akaza immediately dove down for a kiss. Fueled by adrenaline, Akaza hungrily kissed him, uncaring about the chill of his tongue, seeking to possess the man beneath him. Rengoku let himself smile and dug his fingers into soft pink hair, blunt nails scratching against his scalp and tugging. A growl rumbled from Akaza’s throat, distinctly inhuman, his fingers carving deep lines into the dirt. The demon swiftly moved his left hand, keeping Rengoku’s pinned to the forest floor.

Rengoku could feel his own body flaring with blood red warmth, kissing the demon back without restraint, fire building in his lungs. Akaza was only encouraged by this, his warming tongue swirling against Rengoku’s, leaving the man breathless. Akaza slowly pulled away, not before faintly nipping at the Flame Pillar’s bottom lip, a pleased, nearly smug smirk resting on the demon’s lips.

“Look at you,” Akaza praised, his soft voice reaching a gravely low pitch, “all undone for me. What a beautiful sight.”

Rengoku did not look away. He swallowed thickly, smiling up at Akaza.

“You are, as well.”

Akaza could well hand out praise, grinning all the while, yet he failed to accept an earnest compliment. Gray cheeks darkened, nearly flaring pink under the moonlight, a fanged mouth popping open. He then made a face, eyes thinned into a fine edge, brows scrunching down, and for a moment, he looked like he would fight Rengoku on it. He certainly could, but Rengoku would throw compliments at Akaza’s feet in retaliation.

“So you say.” Akaza evenly replied, doubtful.

“I do!”

Akaza smiled something sweet, his lips twitching as his eyes trailed down to Rengoku’s bared throat. His eyes glowed again and he instinctively ran his tongue over his upper lip, hungry. An index finger slowly glided down piping hot skin, tracing a line down Rengoku’s jugular. Akaza locked eyes with him, intently questioning, holding himself back. Rengoku jerked his head into a nod, yet Akaza did not even budge, clenching his teeth.

“Yes,” Rengoku let out a soft laugh, “as long as I can do the same.”

Akaza grinned, sinful. Feral.

“I’ll make sure your marks last, Kyojuro. It’s such a pity you’ll have to hide mine.”

“Ah, but you’ll be the only one to see them, won’t you?”

Akaza looked absolutely thrilled at that, a low and deep chuckle flitting from his lips. Instinct gradually overtook Akaza in the way he began to fixate on Rengoku’s neck, the line of saliva oozing down his chin. His fangs poked out from his heady smile, glowing amber eyes lowering. Lips lightly pressed against Rengoku’s skin, slowly kissing a line down his throat and leaving a wet trail in the demon’s wake. Rengoku flinched at the first touch, trying to swallow his gasp. Akaza made a dissatisfied noise and Rengoku shivered at the breath dancing across his neck. Undeterred, Akaza moved on from featherlight kisses to scorching hot, painfully measured drags of his tongue. Rengoku’s eye snapped open as he clenched a fist.

Rengoku, despite being a Demon slayer, a Pillar, squirmed from underneath Akaza. He grew more and more dazed, distantly noting Akaza could certainly hear his blood rushing. That Akaza’s inherent instincts would steadily boil over the more Rengoku acted as his prey. Instead, Akaza teased him, leaving nips across Rengoku’s neck, getting closer and closer to his pulse point.

Rengoku must have been going mad, trusting a demon, allowing a demon this close.

“Come on, Kyojuro, what happened to that handsome voice of yours? I want to hear you.”

Rengoku flushed red, flames scorching beneath his skin.

“You can’t stay quiet for long.” Akaza teased, a knowing, blissful note to his voice.

“You can’t, either!” Rengoku scrambled to reply.

Akaza hummed, neither agreeing or disagreeing, smiling rather cutely at Rengoku. That was, until, his smile sharpened; a darkly satisfied gleam cutting across his eyes at the flurry of reddened marks on Rengoku’s neck. Rengoku’s heart thundered in his chest, the white pupil of his eye dilating as he watched Akaza’s tongue graze the tip of his fangs. A deep rooted desire ran amok in Akaza’s blood, yet he did not blindly race to devour Rengoku, the demon carefully lowering his head and burying it against Rengoku’s neck. With a jolt, Rengoku felt Akaza’s mouth open, leaving a hot press against his skin, his fangs faintly poking at thin flesh. A would be threatening rumble left Akaza’s lips, a growl scratching at his throat, sending a shudder through Rengoku.

Akaza only barely bit down, hard enough to break skin. Little pinpricks of pain skated across Rengoku’s neck, his eye scrunching close and his mouth hanging open around a hissed cry.

“Ah- Akaza-”

Akaza smirked against Rengoku’s neck, only for it to promptly drop. He could sense that crushing dread seep into his bones, the way the hairs along his arms instantly rose, Akaza’s unbridled killing intent so potent Rengoku felt like gagging. The noise that left Akaza’s lips was virtually unrecognizable, so much more than a threat and decidedly inhuman. Akaza’s cloying presence nearly masked the aura of another, terribly weaker. Wide-eyed, Rengoku turned his head, meeting the hungry, near mindless eyes of a demon.

Rengoku distantly wondered what it may have looked like. Demons did not often pin their victims and usually went for their necks immediately. If it were any other demon, Rengoku would have never entertained this, and given Akaza’s record, all the Upper Moon might have done would be simply ending his life. It may have looked like Akaza was playing with his ‘food.’

In mild fascination, Rengoku watched the lesser demon attempt to size up Akaza. The musty green-skinned demon rising from its crouch and standing at its full height; a hunch in its back. It bared its teeth, unnaturally bright, electric blue eyes tracked onto Rengoku’s neck. The demon already began to salivate at the scent of blood in the air, in turn, making Akaza sneer in disgust. Akaza shifted from above him, moving from keeping Rengoku pinned to shielding him.

“I haven’t devoured a human in so long,” the demon drawled, deaf to the warning growl slipping past Akaza’s lips, “you don’t mind sharing, do you? I’ll be sure to leave you with half, I promise!”

The noise Akaza made was akin to an apex predator. Lethal.

“I don’t share my meals.”

Akaza’s voice lost its soft, crooning tones entirely. It was nothing like their first encounter, Akaza’s voice sharpened like a blade, balancing an unhinged air with placid politeness, only dipping low with a threat on his tongue. He still managed to sound human, but this- this caused Rengoku to genuinely freeze in place, terrified.

“What,” the demon asked, dumbfounded and Rengoku was morbidly waiting for the demon to misstep and lose its life, “why not?! It’s not like you’re doing anything with that slab of meat.”

Ah.

That demon will surely end its own life.

“Something as weak as you doesn’t deserve even a drop of this man’s blood,” Rengoku could practically feel the dark rumbling residing in Akaza’s chest, the anger bubbling from underneath his cold skin and running hot, “and this slab of meat is mine.”

“Yours,” the demon screamed, outraged, “this is my territory! All you’re going to do is play with your damn food! If you’re so willing to give up the chance to eat it, I’ll take that human.”

“Play? How foolish of you. I’ll savor every cry, every drop of blood that spills from his body, every call of my name like it’s my last meal. You can never indulge in temptation.”

Rengoku’s face burned, red staining the tips of his ears, his heart pumping more blood. He shivered from head to toe, barely breathing. For a brief second, Akaza caught his stare, desire quickly eroding the wretched fury carved into his face. Rengoku knew Akaza was using his words as a deft blade, of the same quality, tinged with the same roiling hunger, but swinging with a completely different intention. A different meaning. Akaza referred to Rengoku as a meal, talking over him as if he was not even there, but the nameless demon was not privy to the respect laced behind Akaza’s rage, how devouring meant indulging in equal measure.

With a stuttering inhale, Rengoku watched the cutting words wash over the demon. The creature growled and steadily scrunched its eyes nearly closed in contempt. Seeking a death wish, the demon burst forward, fingers spread out and crooked; sharp black claws on display. It was so much slower than Akaza, Rengoku easily keeping track of the demon, his eye flicking to the pink haired demon in question.

Rengoku preferred the gleeful, almost crazed smiles and sniggering laughter that would flash on Akaza’s face. Not this dreadfully silent, blank-eyed rage engulfing him, with how his mouth briefly twisted and tore into a snarl, only to fall faintly open, neutral. Akaza quickly rose to his feet, sickening shadows whipping around him.

Within a blink, a tensed deathly pale fist cracked into the other demon’s skull, chunks of flesh and heavy blood splatter swarming ice cold skin. Crimson glistened under the moon and Rengoku could not look away. The top half of the demon’s head was destroyed in an instant, nerve endings struggling to reknit. The demon let out a hollow yell, its now obvious hunger making it harder for it to regenerate. It blindly scrambled forward, hands flailing out. Akaza’s shoulders were still set high to his neck, shaking and the pink haired demon merely glanced at Rengoku’s sword, expectant.

Rengoku unsheathed his infernal blade, a quickdraw of a shing crying out in the dark. The flicker of a flame bloomed in his lungs and he hissed hot air out from his clenched teeth. His fists gripped tight around the hilt of his sword, taking a single half-step and immediately closing the distance between the demon and him. Flames crackled and roared along Rengoku’s red-black sword, slicing through the demon’s neck with ease. The demon’s body fell with a heavy thud, wisps of air bluffing from the impact.

Whipping his head towards Akaza, Rengoku stared wide-eyed at Akaza’s bloodsoaked arm. The sight, the dripping blood, the all too vindictive, perverse gleam in those vividly glowing eyes, Akaza’s razor thin, pleased smile, should not have stirred this heat in the Pillar’s body. The flutter of praise about to leave Akaza’s lips should not have made Rengoku’s knees feel like buckling.

“Ah,” Akaza’s voice was still stoked low, gravel scratching harshly at his throat; Rengoku felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple, “I’ve missed that anger of yours. So glorious, Kyojuro.”

Rengoku’s throat bobbed and hellish flames cauterized his body. Without thought, Rengoku lunged forward and barreled into Akaza. Akaza greedily eyed him, letting himself stagger and fall back onto the forest floor. Rengoku stabbed his sword into the ground, just a mere hair away from Akaza’s head. The demon below him grinned as if Rengoku himself brought him salvation, huffing out faint laughs.

Akaza’s gaze slid to Rengoku’s sword, raising a curious brow.

“I told you, any mark you paint on my body will last, and your sword,” Akaza’s eyelids lowered, a whole body shiver overtaking him, “is a fine brand.”

Rengoku’s brows quirked down, the corners of his lips pinching. When silence became the Flame Pillar’s answer, Akaza only continued, breathless.

“Possess me, Kyojuro,” Akaza practically pleaded, amber eyes widening as he slowly licked his lips, “come on, come on, there is no other blade I trust, show me your strength, Kyojuro! Show me what it means to be yours-!”

“If you quiet down, I just might,” Rengoku replied, his lips curling into an amused smile once Akaza perked up like an attentive puppy, “I won’t use my sword.”

Akaza pouted.

“I have no need of it,” Rengoku placed a scalding kiss onto Akaza’s neck, failing to keep his smile contained at the noise fluttering from the demon’s mouth, “not for you.”

Akaza, Upper Moon Three, whined. Rengoku coughed up a laugh. A gray-blue hand tightly bunched the back of Rengoku’s haori between its fingers and Akaza tilted his head back, baring his throat.

Rengoku eyed Akaza’s neck, wondering if this was how demons felt, to be offered a meal so enticing, the selfish want running through his bloodstream. Eager to take and take without so much as a thought and drink from demented euphoria.

It was the worshiping, breathless call of Rengoku’s given name that shattered his resolve. The Flame Pillar plucked a golden-red apple and sunk his teeth into that same flesh hard enough to leave a bruise on tattooed gray skin. Hinged on the filthy noise escaping Akaza’s lips, Rengoku mindlessly sucked a mark on the discolored skin, involuntarily making Akaza jolt. Rengoku leaned back, feeling unbelievably smug.

“Allow me to reclaim my victory, Akaza.”

A giddy, bottomless pit of surging desire crackled in Akaza’s eyes, adoration filling amber eyes with deep, dark yellow ochre.

“You need no invitation to take what’s already yours,” Akaza smiled, a hazy, exhilarated little thing, “we have until dawn, Kyojuro.”

Rengoku only distantly heard the swarming, muffled chatter of passersby, dozens, hundreds of footsteps evenly clambering by. Still as a sinking stone in water, Rengoku stared down the steaming bowl of food in front of him, his chopsticks loosely held over his food. He had been eating just under a few moments ago, his joyful shouts tasting sour on his tongue.

The soft crimson red lamplight above Rengoku’s head flickered, a little moth mindlessly fluttering towards it and taking to crawling along the rounded paper. Yearning to get closer, to burn in the blinding face of the light.

Rengoku swallowed up his weary sigh, the dark chasm in his mind growing and growing. His heart felt larger in his chest. Heavy, as though the organ was filled with lead and wrapped in stone cold cement.

So long as Rengoku continued prancing about with Upper Moon Three, he would be aware of just what he was. A failure, a failure wildly chasing down the path his father took, spitting on the graves of the fallen. Of the people he knew. His father was right, hurt, angry and frustrated as Rengoku was, his father was right about him. A failure of a Pillar. Destined to crumble under the weight of his own sword, of his own choices. He forsaken his duty the moment Rengoku did not think of refusing Akaza, of killing him the very second he was able to wield a sword again. A pathetic, backstabbing performance.

What would Senjuro think of him? If he knew, what would he have said, what will he say? He would no doubt scorn him, because, how ever in the world could Rengoku love the very same man that almost tore him apart, that nearly ripped Senjuro away from his own brother? Rengoku remembered, barely being able to open his eyes, to hear clearly, sensing the sun filtering through billowing white curtains. Senjuro had been there, constantly, day to day to visit. To take care of him while Rengoku lay helplessly bedridden. Rengoku could tell Senjuro was crying, a soft hand marked with a few callouses tightly holding his - an attempt to keep Rengoku close. To keep him from slipping away.

The Pillars, too. Rengoku barely wanted to think on it, but he knew. He’d be executed for numerous counts, each one deserved. The people he mourned with, the people he trained with, ate with, there would be no going back from his betrayal. With a violent pang in his heart, Rengoku realized Oyakata-sama would be gravely disappointed in him. His opinion mattered far more, it would hurt so much more as, after his mother’s death, the concept of a loving, understanding father fell to ash, Oyakata-sama became the person he gradually latched onto. For something as simple as a smile, for praise, for anything remotely warm, fatherly. Would Oyakata-sama be angry? Would he have that brief, barely noticeable scorn in his voice, in his eyes as if he was speaking of Muzan?

Rengoku’s smile abruptly froze on his lips. The core of his chest trembled, a shiver snaking through his skin.

What would his mother think?

Rengoku felt his throat tighten, a lump easily forming.

What would she think, if she saw this creature in place of the son she raised? Something so vile and incapable of listening to the simplest of requests.

What would-

A hand was waved in front of Rengoku’s face, the quick motion and glint of a gold ring catching his attention. As best he could, Rengoku faced the person next to him with a wide, sunny smile he did not feel. Tengen’s maroon eyes narrowed a touch and he loosened his posture, bringing his outstretched hand to his chin.

A pool of shame boiled in Rengoku’s stomach. Tengen had invited him to an evening out, yanking him this way and that, speeding through the darkening city streets with a grand smile and boisterous chatter.

If Tengen could hear a pin drop within a cacophony of bustling noise, or the sound of a twittering bird from miles away, he could surely hear each and every thought in Rengoku’s head. Even now, Rengoku was a burden.

“I apologize!” Rengoku shouted, the sheepish cheer in his voice forced.

I apologize for going against the Corps’ code.

I apologize for being a disappointment.

I apologize-

With the slightest quirk of Tengen’s brows and a dismissive wave of his free hand, the Sound Pillar leaned his head back and let out a ragged sigh. Looking unbothered, Tengen turned his head to stare at Rengoku, the beads of his distinct headband jingling. Something scrutinizing flashed in his eyes, Tengen barreling over and ignoring what he must have wished to say, opting to voice a different thought.

“You’re in love, aren’t you?”

Rengoku froze, feeling the color drain from his face. The chopsticks in between his fingers felt brittle and he easily snapped them apart without meaning to.

He was.

He was in love. With a murderer, with a demon, no less. A high ranking one, which, no doubt, had a score of victims. A demon which killed every single Pillar before him, a monster that nearly slaughtered Rengoku. Without restraint, without remorse, a twisted sense of respect lighting kanji-engraved eyes on fire.

Rengoku could actively feel his heart thumping against his chest. The brutal beginnings of a headache, a dull ache piercing through one side of his head. His hands faintly trembled, the corner of his lips starting to twist into a frown. This putrid sickness settled in his stomach, dreadfully cold.

Hadn’t Tengen lost people close to him, his own blood, each of his family members unwillingly scrambling after power? Were Rengoku and he not friends? Were they not close enough to each other? Hiding the truth was what Rengoku was proficient in, but didn’t Tengen deserve honesty?

Still, Rengoku forced a smile back on his face, his lips feeling stiff and weighted. Tengen noticed, keeping quiet of his observations with a pursed lip, frowning almost worriedly at Rengoku. The concern stung.

“I won’t ask,” Tengen said in a soft voice, trying to ease Rengoku. He then quirked his lips into a teasing smile, chuckling at him, “Yet, of course! But I can see it on your face, you’re really happy aren’t you? Real happy, hell, I’ve never seen you smile like that before and you smile a lot!”

A light frown eroded Tengen’s smile, his voice growing softer, “You smile a lot,” Tengen’s expression briefly turned troubled, evident by the furrow in his brows and the paper thin line of his mouth, “but you’ve always had this sound to you- it’s none of my business but I’m glad whoever you love is flashy enough to ease that sound.”

There was a stark weight to Rengoku’s shoulders, a miserable, clawing regret tearing through his flesh. Rengoku swallowed, glancing away from Tengen’s eyes and wishing to curl into a ball.

“Thank you.” Rengoku stiffly replied, his voice worn out.

Rengoku grimaced, scratching his cheek as he choked out a laugh.

“Thank you!” Rengoku repeated, brighter.

There was a beat of silence and Rengoku filled it, the Flame Pillar catching Tengen’s minor wince of discomfort.

“I am,” Rengoku hesitated, staring at the steam wafting from his food, “in love. Happy as well.”

An absolutely blinding grin overtook Tengen’s face, his eyes glowing bright under the golden lamplight. He laughed and yanked Rengoku by his shoulder, laughing harder at the startled noise leaving Rengoku’s mouth. The taller man crushed the Flame Pillar into a bruising yet warm side hug. His grin shifted into a searching, cat-like smile, eyes faintly narrowed and aiming to tease.

“Tell me all about it,” noticing Rengoku’s rebounding apprehension, Tengen lightly pat him on the shoulder and shrugged, “or don’t! Silence is very flamboyant, Rengoku!”

A faint smile pulled at Rengoku’s lips, amused. Tengen’s hand left the Flame Pillar’s shoulder.

“It would not be fair to you, I think,” Rengoku answered, withering slightly in the face of Tengen’s calculating frown, “but he is something. He is always eager to fight, no matter where I am but he is considerate enough to hold back or spar at all if I am injured. If he does not greet me with a spar, then he holds me without saying a word, ah,” pink began to rise on his cheeks and Rengoku flicked his gaze away, “he always looks so happy just upon seeing me and I am impressed at the level of self-control he wields with me,” Rengoku flustered a bit more, trying to beat down his embarrassed smile, “he is incredibly strong, yet he is able to temper it and embrace me. And. Um. He- he is very handsome.”

But, he was a demon. A demon putting on a balancing act of cruel and warmly sentimental. A creature willing to walk on a burning tightrope.

“Look at that flashy smile,” Tengen cheered, his own faltering just a little as his excited voice calmed into a smooth, nearly mystified tone, “I noticed you carry a different sound sometimes,” Tengen tilted his head some, refining his thoughts, “no, it’s more like that sound is hidden under yours. You’re resonating with him, isn’t that cute?”

Rengoku felt sick.

‘You’re resonating with him.’

How would Tengen feel if Rengoku were to tell him the truth? That the person he fell for was Upper Moon Three? That his very being, his soul was synced to man-eating monster? That Upper Moon Three felt the very same? How disgraceful was it, a Pillar genuinely in love with a demon? Worse, a bloodthirsty demon capable of thought, capable of compassion and obsession of equal measure.

Perhaps Tengen would gut him on the spot. Perhaps Rengoku would be left to bleed out and struggle to breathe. A quick, painless death did not suit him. An honorable death was no longer his future, not if his mother-

Tengen cleared his throat, snagging Rengoku’s attention. A worrying look of realization flickered across his face, a grim line overtaking his dazzling grin.

“It’s a tragic type of love, isn’t it? Forbidden? Ah,” Tengen groaned, his fingers twitching around his chopsticks, “your heart is giving me a headache, Rengoku.”

Rengoku opened and closed his mouth. He sat eerily still, his rolling mind coming to a loud stop. He breathed in a brittle sigh, clasping his hands so tight his knuckles bled white. A long stretch of silence poured into the air and Rengoku squeezed his eye shut, wishing to drill his fingers into his temples.

“I’m sorry,” Rengoku hollowly voiced, “it- it is. Forbidden. It’s,” there was a riptide of red hot flaring panic eating at him, “it’s a- the demon. Upper Moon Three.”

I’m sorry, Father, I’m sorry I cannot ease your pain. I’m sorry for being a failure of a swordsman, for being worthless. I am sorry I cannot make your favorite meals, I am sorry for smiling so much, for not coming home enough.

I’m sorry, Mother, please, I’m-

Tengen’s clinking beads and the abrupt and comforting, heavy weight of his hand on Rengoku’s shoulder drew him out of his painful thoughts. Feeling like a lost child, Rengoku turned to Tengen. Tengen’s face was unreadable, entirely still, only for it to drop with the tight press of a prolonged blink. Rengoku distantly wondered just what expression he had been making for Tengen’s face to shift so quickly.

“You could have gone worse.” Tengen casually amended, half-shrugging as a thoughtful, careless frown graced his face, but Rengoku had.

“No- no, this is so much more- I apologize, I ap-”

Tengen shook his head, pressing his fingers into Rengoku’s shoulder before pulling away. He finally rubbed at his temples, a soft, tired groan leaving his lips.

“Hey,” Tengen called, firm, “Kyojuro, listen. I won’t vouch for you, but I won’t tattle, either. You made a choice, is it something I agree with or even like? Hell no, but I can at least trust the demon’s sound. If he saw you as lesser or prey, then that sound would never be so deeply wound with your own. His sound is strange, for a demon, usually it’s ungodly loud and not at all flashy, but,” Tengen’s eyebrows scrunched, his voice just barely a murmur and more for himself to hear, “falling snow and fireworks.”

Tengen clicked his tongue as if he cared nothing for the statement he just made, grinning from ear to ear, “Why don’t we have another get together,” his grin grew half-teasing, half deathly serious, “let’s invite your friend next time!”

Rengoku snapped his gaze towards Tengen, disbelieving, “I- thank you, yes, we should.”

Rengoku knew Tengen had questions and he deserved answers. It paralyzed him, but after the trouble Rengoku put Tengen through, it was only right.

There was no question of it, how the flames in Rengoku’s heart were stoked by Akaza, how he felt about the demon. He did love him, no longer baffled by the fragility Akaza would offer, in the simple, love-filled gestures Akaza would commit to; lacing their fingers together, planting kisses wherever he could reach. Each encounter they kept hidden away filled Rengoku with awe, awe, and a distinct crushing regret. Guilt.

Rengoku Kyojuro was born strong to protect, he was born to a sickly mother that gave him his purpose. A wonderful, loving mother. He was trampling on the oath he made to her, spitting on her grave and knocking the headstone down, wasn’t he? He dearly loved Akaza, but- he deeply feared, anxiously wondered if his mother would think him a failure. An awful, backstabbing child. He was already nothing in the eyes of his father, and he had accepted that with a strained smile. Rengoku understood, that soul crushing grief weighed heavily upon his father, throwing vicious words and objects on his worst days, and refusing to eat and locking himself away on his bad ones. Rengoku had to be strong, had to remain smiling, but always, the thought of his mother crept into the back of his mind.

Rengoku already went behind his fellow Pillars’ backs, having this relationship with an Upper Moon, the Upper Moon that almost took his life. He long since accepted, internalized, perhaps, that he was a failure of a Pillar, that he would crumble to ash like his father told him. Rengoku couldn’t bear the thought that he was a worthless son, that he stained that honor, but he knew that he was steadily going down that road.

His mother would despise him.

Rengoku was unafraid to die, because he knew death would lead him to his mother. But. If he continued this thing with Upper Moon Three, he wouldn’t-

Rengoku’s heart caught in his throat.

He would never be able to see her.

Rengoku jolted at the light touch to his shoulder, his clustered thoughts turning into murmurs. The world around him shuttered into focus and he forced himself to smile, feeling hollow. He stared ahead, his eye pinned to the golden light blooming from a wooden nightstand lamp. It lit up the room and Rengoku chased after the aged floorboards, the cream white walls; a thin spider webbed crack running through the paint, the rain faintly pitter-pattering against glass. He clenched his fingers over the bedsheets he sat on, blatantly trying to avoid that golden eyed stare.

“Kyojuro,” Akaza called from beside him, and without looking Rengoku could tell the demon was narrowing his eyes, “Kyojuro.”

Rengoku drew his shoulders up. His heart wanted to shatter at how Akaza made no move to touch him, knowing the Pillar did not want to be touched.

“What’s wrong?” Akaza bluntly asked, almost making Rengoku flinch.

Rengoku sighed, and with Akaza’s eyes boring into him, he slowly bit the bullet. Rengoku turned to the demon and he wished he hadn’t. He had expected confusion to flicker across Akaza’s face, or something virtually unreadable. Something inhuman.

Akaza, instead, looked concerned. His eyebrows were faintly pinched down, slightly narrowed golden eyes studying him, lips framed by a light, paper thin frown. It was that look that caused Rengoku’s defenses to crumble. His throat tightened and at the first sign of tears bubbling hot, he harshly closed his eyes. Rengoku jerked away from Akaza’s line of sight, even if it was in vain with him being so close. He wanted to run, feeling his tears wet his lashes, knowing someone was watching him cry.

It had been years since he cried, and Rengoku hated it - he was a Pillar. He had to keep his smile, for Senjuro, for his father, for the Corps. Rengoku could not spare time to be vulnerable, let alone in front of someone else. Someone, who on principle, devalued and despised weak people. Someone who Rengoku cared for, Akaza could not see him like this.

Rengoku felt a ripple of shivers cascade down his back. He struggled to open his mouth, hiding away his grimace. His cheeks burned and his head was steadily starting to ache.

“I apologize,” Rengoku nearly failed to say, his throat filling with acid and stuttering around the words, “I’m- I’m sorry,” he shuddered out a sigh, unable to even glance at Akaza, “I can’t-”

A whimper was punched out of Rengoku’s throat and he swallowed, forcing himself to continue, “I am afraid, Akaza. I want this- you and I to continue, but I fear dishonoring my mother. I am supposed to protect, that is what I was born for - what my mother taught me. I’m terrified that when I die, I will not see her and I wonder if I’m- if- I am a failure, if my mother-”

Rengoku stopped himself. He had to, he couldn’t bear to imagine it, what his mother would say. He crossed his arms, fingers digging tight into the sleeves of his uniform. The silence unnerved him, heavy and dark, and Rengoku was afraid if that sheer quiet meant Akaza did not understand. If it meant Akaza did not care. Rengoku drew in a stuttering, hiccupped breath, mechanically turning his head to face the demon.

Akaza’s face hurt Rengoku’s heart, his expression unreadable, other than the tightness in his frown and the slightly pinched eyebrows. He was deathly silent, watching Rengoku. Something flickered off in his golden-orange eyes and his eyes slowly lost their ethereal glow. The prodding blank look was cast aside as he blinked, eyes faintly widening, mouth slack. For the first time since they met, Akaza’s gaze skirted away from him. His uncanny eyes turned glassy, the soft light of the room capturing a thin, glistening line of tears. The demon was quiet for a little longer, that odd blip in expression fluttering away so fast Rengoku nearly thought he was imagining it.

Akaza rounded his gaze back on Rengoku, slowly, as if he was trying not to startle him. His frown became much lighter, yet the corners were still gravely pinched. The seconds ticked by and Akaza breathed out, despite having no reason to do so.

“I’m sorry.” Akaza said, his voice squeezing around the words, not a shred of malice on his tongue.

It was a murmur, Akaza’s voice. It was only two words, just two words, but it was not simply an apology. His voice was choked up and weak, and Rengoku never, never in his life heard the words ‘I’m sorry’ mean ‘I understand.’ Genuine pain was laced in Akaza’s throat, ancient and still. Entirely understanding a human being for the first time, on a deeply personal level.

Akaza’s fingers twitched and searched Rengoku, his gaze delicate instead of intense. He tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips.

“What was she like?” Akaza asked after several more moments of silence.

Rengoku’s mouth fell open. Stunned. He blinked, removing his hands from his arms, resting his right hand against the bedsheet. Akaza inched his own closer, just a hair away from holding Rengoku’s. The demon hesitated but Rengoku did not, reaching for his hand and holding it. Akaza’s hand was freezing cold and the clashing melting point of Rengoku’s own ran across his skin, yet, it gave him comfort.

Unbidden, Rengoku began to smile. It wasn’t like his bright, blooming grins, softer and somber but no less warm.

“She was an amazing mother,” Rengoku started with a whisper, “she was gentle, wise, with us. She taught me so much that I am grateful for, and even when she grew sick and bedridden, she remained strong in her morals. My mother could no longer walk on her own and she still made an effort to hold me, to smile at Senjuro and play shogi with him,” a frown tugged at his face, “I was not there when she passed,” strangely, Akaza sucked in a warped breath at that, “and the very last time I spoke her, saw her, I still remember. I remember talking to her about my training, how I wanted to use my strength to protect.”

Rengoku wrung his hands together, staring at them. A teardrop landed on his skin, faintly dribbling in between his fingers.

“My mother,” Rengoku paused, his heart lurching, “could not speak. She could only smile at me.”

Akaza squeezed his hand, silent once more. He idly rubbed his thumb against the back of Rengoku’s hand, sighing. Looking at him, Rengoku caught the sight of rolling, drying tears on a deathly pale face. Akaza did not even seem to notice, too focused on Rengoku to pay any mind.

“If she was that type of mother, then, I think you’re alright, Kyojuro.”

Rengoku froze, breath catching in his throat. That was what caused his tears to fall harder. Akaza looked as alarmed as a deer in headlights, fumbling with his hands as if he did not know what to do with them. After a moment, Akaza pulled him forward, not quite in a hug. With a collapsed inhale, Rengoku rested his forehead on Akaza’s shoulder.

Rengoku felt the icy brush of a soft hand in his hair, the sensation gliding away with the distant ringing sounds of a wind chime.

Without fail, Akaza always felt disoriented upon being summoned in the Infinity Castle, the single chord of a biwa lasting in his ears. He quickly adjusted to his surroundings, the spiraling walls and floors swirling together. Akaza crept closer, keeping his footsteps just light enough for him to hear. He forced down a grimace, his mind pawing at that beloved little flame lighting up the darkened spaces of his head. Instead of cupping that light in between his palms, he snuffed it out with the crush of his fist, embers withering away into ash.

Akaza bore no thought to that little bonfire, locking it far, far away. It had no place in the Infinity Castle. Not where he could reach.

Trudging down the warping halls and clenching a fist, Akaza unfortunately spotted Douma. The soft golden glow shoji lamps hung above him, making him look like some mockery of a holy figure, near transparent shadows crowding half of his body. He hid that stupid ass, irriating smile behind his fan, thick black eyebrows faintly creeping up into his bangs. His rainbow eyes made the first mistake of locking onto his, Akaza already feeling a prickle of anger at the blaring pitch black kanji gleaming back at him. With an equally annoying, put upon delighted laugh, Douma snapped his fan closed.

Douma offered Akaza an open mouthed smile, beckoning him over as if Akaza was a bumbling lost puppy. Akaza sneered, stalking over to him and crossing his arms.

“Ah! You’re here early, Akaza-dono,” Douma cheered, tittering out another grand laugh that grated on Akaza’s ears, “how great!”

Akaza’s brows quirked, teeth gritting behind his closed lips. His eyes narrowed to a fine edge and he already felt like kicking Douma’s head off. Flaring hot rage simmered in his bloodstream as he watched Douma’s eyes shimmer in surprise, the fucker putting the extra mile to bring a pale clawed hand over his open mouth.

“I have something to discuss with you,” Douma happily exclaimed, his grin morphing back into a light smile, a frigid tone slithering into his voice, “won’t you spare a few minutes of your time? I think you’ll find this,” Douma’s lips pressed together, his eyes flicking away and briefly catching onto one of the lamps, “very important.”

Douma slapped an ugly, bubbly smile back on his face, eyes crinkled, faint laugh lines breaking past his pristine skin. Akaza wanted to leave.

“We have so much to catch up on!”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Akaza growled out.

Douma blinked, half-blank faced, half-surprised.

“Okay,” Douma chirped, recovering easily, “we can have this conversation in the hall if you’d like!”

Icy mist slithered out of the seam of Douma’s closed mouth, fanning like smoke. Akaza narrowed his eyes, willing himself not to breathe.

“Your memories are quite interesting, Akaza-dono,” Douma praised, lowering his voice, his tone akin to a swarming deadly blizzard, “and that handsome man! What was his name-”

Akaza shot forward, snarling. The floorboards didn’t so much as creak, rapid air currents disturbing the still smog of the castle. Akaza slammed Douma into a wall, lunging for the bastard’s neck. His hand squeezed around a deathly pale neck, veins bulging and pulsing against the skin of his forearm. Unthreatened, a look of puzzlement flooded Douma’s rainbow eyes and the man rose his hands up in surrender.

“I see I’ve caught your attention,” tilting his head, Douma hummed and cast his gaze upwards, pretending to think, “the name, the name, oh, I guess it doesn’t matter! He sure is a beautiful creature,” Douma smiled brightly, “and a fine quarry for someone as strong as you!”

A painfully low growl caught in Akaza’s throat, harsh enough to tear at his vocal chords. Blue fingers crushed the neck it was latched onto, Akaza fuming.

“He is no quarry.”

A flicker of satisfaction bled through Douma’s eyes and within the blink of a lamplight, it shattered back into a cheery, hazy look.

“My mistake!”

Douma’s smile twisted and Akaza’s shoulders tensed as a result. His hand twitched, faltering in its death grip.

“I miscalculated so that must mean your little flame is more than just prey, no? Then again, you did just confirm it.”

Akaza’s lungs locked up in his chest.

“Hm,” Douma clicked his tongue, eyeing Akaza judgmentally before shrugging, “what a strange choice. I prefer women,” Douma ignored the look of contempt he received, “you know, delicate, breakable little things, ah, so sweet especially when-” a wave of nausea flooded Akaza’s body and Douma picked up on that too, “sorry, sorry! I got carried away!”

“Ah, you wouldn’t mind if I devoured that flame alongside you, would you? Can you imagine what he must taste like, you have, haven’t you? The way he will cry for you, would he scream? Beg? He would look so striking, covered in his own blood, taken by you, won’t he? Maybe he would savor his very last moments and praise-” Douma’s voice sputtered into a strangled noise, Akaza increasing the pressure on his neck, “ah- ghk, Akaza-dono, you’re squeezing pretty hard, I was just kidding!”

There was an abrupt flash of fair skinned, calloused hands reaching from behind Akaza, bloodied and marked by three pitch black tattoos. The moment they closed in on his eyes, they vanished, leaving Akaza with a mangled, overwhelming need to protect. It bled out of his body the same way his rage did, mingling with the instinctive and mindless desire to guard what was his.

Akaza could feel it both bubbling over his flesh, a flimsy, foolish promise to protect, to give his life for one single human he’d outlive. The rage in his heart that sparked into a catastrophic wildfire, the rapidfire chant of kill kill kill the creature in front of him for daring to make a move into his territory. To dare to even think, voicing laying a claim on something already marked by him. He was blind, Akaza knew he was blind to the facts - Douma was stronger, Douma could break him before Akaza could even land a hit. Akaza was inferior, but he did not care. He did not think past the thick haze of anger he felt.

Akaza clenched his free hand into a fist, Douma tracking it with a particular glint in his eyes. It was the same look a cat would give to an unconcerned, unaware mouse. Air hissed along Akaza’s fist, snapping it forward within a blink.

Just before Akaza’s knuckles could even crush Douma’s head straight in, Douma rolled his neck and set his shoulders back. A slightly open mouth frown marred his face, eyelids lowering. The color of fire bled through each silver-blonde strand, familiar, enchanting gold gleaming under the breathing lampshades, ruby red flames crackling at the ends. Sunkissed skin washed away that undead pallor and that endlessly beautiful sunrise stared back at him, intense.

Darkened clouds swept over that sunrise, filling a red-orange eye with fear. Akaza’s eyes grew wide and he stopped dead in his tracks. The man before him crumpled, a wobbling frown chasing away his smile, brows drawn down and twitching. Color drained from his face and Akaza felt a terrifying, soul-crushing ache in his chest.

“Akaza-!” Rengoku whispered under his breath, his deep voice frail and heartbreakingly small.

Akaza felt like a moth caught and strangled by a web of string. His heart fractured in his chest and he took a weak breath, his fist trembling. Akaza felt ice flooding his insides, frosty mist mingling into his blood, icicles stabbing through his lungs and rapidly freezing it over.

Akaza felt ice.

No.

Douma’s Blood Demon Art-!

A chilled fog left Akaza’s lips and he watched, immobilized, Douma picking apart something in his mind. The moment passed and his lips stretched into a smile. Too wide. Too hollow. It was disgustingly unnatural, not at all like the blissful sunshine on Kyojuro’s lips and Akaza felt queasy, felt like squirming in the face of this piss poor, godawful mockery.

Douma’s smile was too thin, in that annoying floaty, bland way to ever match Kyojuro’s. And Akaza gradually began to know each and every one that budded on the Flame Pillar’s lips, he began to seek out each one as if they measured up to sprawling treasure. There was the one he wore while eating, joyful to the heavens, his lips speckled with stray rice and his cheek bulging from food as he grinned from ear to ear. The one where he was genuinely upset, yet denied it, his smile flaking and straining around the corners before tightening. The soft, sweet ones, nostalgia and pride on his lips as he spoke on and on and on about his brother, his smile getting as real as the rising sun and painfully delicate. The put upon ones Akaza admittedly hated, like Kyojuro was so busy convincing himself he had to cut away the overhanging clouds above him and trap the sun in a jar for everyone to see.

Looking at Douma made Akaza wonder if any human felt that way, staring at Akaza, realizing his smiles were just as unsettling. He winced, desperate to get the fuck away from Douma’s stitched together black sun of a grin.

“Ah,” Douma bemoaned, sounding vaguely disappointed, “I thought I’d get you to smile back at me for once,” Akaza felt exactly like a caged animal, wanting to tear Douma’s throat out and remaining strangled by confusion at the sound of Kyojuro’s voice leaving the bastard’s lips, “how sad! Then again, I’ve never seen you look so uncomfortable before, it sure is interesting that you can never hide a thing!”

The sun was drained away by deep crimson and silver-blonde hair, Douma reverting back to his actual appearance. An eerie, clustered together and heavy snowfall cascaded his pale face, a deathly grim frown on Douma’s lips. His brows quirked, almost in irritation and because he could, Douma yanked Akaza forward. Douma gave him no choice, not even to breathe and the taller man curled into Akaza, arms caging around his back. His clawed nails were lined against Akaza’s nape, a mimicry of an embrace and a swift execution in the making. He couldn’t do anything but feel a cloud of ice whittle past his ear, Douma’s equally cold, intense voice rattling his eardrums.

“What will you do when he discovers this? What can you do, Akaza?”

Akaza could not even flinch, but he knew Douma felt his mind scrambling, screaming for an answer. Desperate to fight a battle he could never win. To keep Kyojuro safe, to protect him, kill for him.

He could do nothing. Nothing against his maker. Even if-

Douma hummed, lightly pushing Akaza away to sidestep the wall he was crushed into. Akaza still couldn’t speak, forced to watch Douma’s retreating back, his mind whirling with questions.

If Douma was going to kill his Pillar, if Douma would rat Akaza out to him, why the hell did Douma warn him? What was Douma going to do with his secret, hold it over his head, make him that bastard’s pet as blackmail, what-

Douma turned to face him, drawing his closed fan up to his lips. He faintly smiled and his rainbow eyes glowed in the dark as they crinkled. The ice in Akaza’s veins broke then, only having that churning hailstorm in his body for less than half a minute.

Tengen elected not to say anything as he and Rengoku trudged through the forest, hearing the heroic chorus of Rengoku’s own sound fizzle and play out of tune at random intervals. The poor guy was very un-flamboyant in his worry, silently frothing at the mouth in vicious anxiety.

Moonlight glimmered down onto the treetops, spilling through the very silent and very unnerving leaves. His hearing was sharp enough to detect even the slightest sound, and Tengen found pure silence extremely uncomfortable. The forests were not known to be this still. Narrowing his eyes, he spared a glance to Rengoku and-

There it was.

Tengen heard how Rengoku’s expression shifted before he saw it, that distinct chorus slowing to a quiet, calm song, a ripple of a strange guitar seeping beneath the surface; an electric yearning cry. Then, he saw that smile on Rengoku’s face, the same look his wives had for each other, for him. How Rengoku’s blazing wide eye curved, crinkling at the edges and shifting into a soft candlelight.

There was also the heavy presence eating at Tengen’s chest. Cloying, sickening. The noises screaming into his ears, horrendous and distinctly demonic. That same guitar blared, demanding to be heard and Tengen felt the aggressive cry rattle through his head. So. Unflashy. The chanting, too, terribly off putting, melding from a chorus of shouts to unrecognizable, spine-chilling words.

It was immediately cut short, not before the guitar settled down, almost confused as to what the hell was happening.

In the blink of an eye, Upper Moon Three was before them. The grossly flashy demon spared Tengen a glance, uncanny eyes faintly narrowing and a blip of noise resounded in Tengen’s eardrums. Another perplexed note, which, in turn, got Tengen confused. He would have thought the demon would have sounded suspicious and acted accordingly, going in for a kill without a shred of hesitation. All the thing did was look oddly disappointed, briefly frowning at Tengen as if he was the problem here.

Upper Moon Three easily slid its gaze away, staring straight ahead at Rengoku, a light, pleased and confused smile on his lips. The chords of the guitar fizzled, growing softer and softer, switching to that beautiful, flashy triumphant chorus, contaminating, resonating with that awful unknown chanting. Without looking away, the demon drew a navy blue finger and rudely pointed to Tengen.

“Why is he here, Kyojuro?”

Tengen had to resolutely keep a straight face. It called him Kyojuro and Rengoku didn’t bother to correct the demon. Rengoku slapped a brighter smile on his face, perking up to explain.

“This is Tengen! He is my friend.”

The demon blinked. Once. Twice. It shrugged. Not a shred of tension resided along the demon’s skin, as if it didn’t see Tengen as a threat, as if it simply didn’t care at all. It definitely looked that way, with how its stare remained on Rengoku. With fixation, probably, but things like betrayal or anger did not scream within the demon’s demented, nasty sound.

Rengoku said the demon liked to fight. Is it not going to bother?

“I don’t care, then. I came here for you.”

A retort burned on Tengen’s tongue. He kept it caged. His duty here was to watch, to observe if that demon really had no ill intent, killing intent towards Rengoku. If it actually gave a shit. If it turned out they made goo-goo eyes at each other, then, well, he’d probably learn how to deal with this without maiming Rengoku for his idiocy and the demon for its un-flamboyant behavior.

It all hinged on their respective sounds. What he heard would never lie.

“As you usually do!” Rengoku chirped.

The demon huffed a breath from its nose, uncaring of the other Pillar and having the full confidence to walk up to Rengoku. It clasped a gray, blue dipped hand into Rengoku’s, pulling the man forward in an attempt to distance him from Tengen. Faintly laughing, Rengoku allowed it. With a pinched lip, the demon let go and dove a hand into its pants pocket. The pink haired demon pulled out two objects, setting them in its palms and curling its fingers around them.

“Here. Stop fighting with your hair out.”

The demon unfurled its fingers, revealing a glinting hair pin and a bottle of sword oil. The base of the pin was a stark black, made with wood. Orange-red metal flared under the moon in the shape of a roiling flame, connected by smaller gold pluffs of fire; each in a line. The flame hairpin was surprisingly intricate, with its differing shades of red and orange, the carvings at the ends resembling flickers of fire. Intricate and stupidly on the nose, forcing Tengen to keep the quirk of a smile off his lips.

Tengen really had to beat down his smile when Rengoku’s sound bloomed to life, a gentle delight hushing the grand chorus, searing pops of fireworks and the faint noise of falling snow rising to meet the bolero of fire. A purely human sound.

This was going to give Tengen a headache.

Tengen knew he was intruding on a private moment, given how the demon simply stood there, quiet and Rengoku freezing, posture going rigid.

“I can leave.” Tengen plainly said.

Like hell was he going to leave.

A sharp wail of a guitar greeted his ears; aggressive, then a frantic, choppy chorus from Rengoku. Wonderful. Tengen heard the demon mutter up a hurricane of curses, then huff aloud and he distinctly realized the demon was going to make this Tengen’s problem.

The demon side stepped from Rengoku and alarm bells screamed in Tengen’s head once the creature sidled behind the Flame Pillar. Rengoku, obviously, had no qualms with this because of course he didn’t. Tengen caught a faint smile on his face, the man still breathing easy around the demon. The demon pocketed the sword oil, offering a low hum from its throat.

Tengen heard before he saw. The demon’s sound underwent another change, the guitar entirely phasing out and replaced by blasts of fireworks and a quiet roar of falling snow. Ink blue fingers glided through golden-red locks and never in Tengen’s life did he see a demon capable of such a painfully sweet gesture. The look in the demon’s kanji-engraved eyes, mirroring the human thrumming of its musical score. Tengen stood, eyebrows climbing higher and higher, a crippling sense of awe and turbulent shock flooding his body.

Wind chimes.

Tengen heard wind chimes twinkle and delicately clang against glass, the barest hint of fluttering paper.

As the demon reverently slid his fingers through Rengoku’s hair, starting from the crimson ends and up the gold strands, Rengoku’s sound shifted, too. Rengoku still held strong to that chorus, but it was put on a low simmer, sounding more like a lullaby than anything else. The chorus steadily became paired with the demon’s sound, Akaza’s true sound - distant cheers of fireworks and snowfall. Suzu bells rang across the blips of silence the chorus left, surging along the other instruments.

Akaza loosely fisted Rengoku’s hair, a happy noise ringing out from his song, wicked hands pooling fiery strands into a messy bun with the exact same amount of adoration Tengen had for his wives, the exact same feeling of gratitude, coming home to them after a taxing mission and being able to fully relax by just seeing them. Rengoku mirrored it, the chorus and blaring instruments dying down to only this - the sweet resounding calls of a wind chime.

Akaza carefully sunk the hairpin into Rengoku’s pinned up hair, the demon’s lips quirking into an absolutely love-filled smile. Even with an audience watching, Akaza indulged in the man before him, softly laughing as he held him. Rengoku halfheartedly batted Akaza’s arm away, not that Akaza cared, clearly, his eyes crinkled along the corners. Tengen picked up on Rengoku’s whispered, “Thank you.”

Tengen’s hearing would never lie, and while he was steadily growing less pissed and filling his brain up with more questions he’d probably never get answers to, there was no denying the truth before him. For better, or for worse, Rengoku loved Akaza and vice versa. Rengoku certainly could have gone worse.

At least this was fine gossip material for his wives. And it was a fine secret to keep locked away, Tengen guessed.

In the near pitch black dark of a Butterfly Estate room, Akaza sunk into Rengoku’s side, dreadfully silent. Rengoku watched the demon blankly stare ahead at the low blooming yellow light of the floor lamp. The pink haired demon frowned, the tips of his fangs breaking the skin of his bottom lip.

After another long breath of silence, Akaza hunched over himself, glancing away. He sighed, nervously wringing his hands together before tightly holding them over his lap.

“I think,” Akaza drew in a harsh breath, the whispered words scratchy and already squeezed thin, “I think I need to die.”

Rengoku sat up straighter, his eye flaring wide open. Words sprang on his tongue, but he dutifully held them back.

“Why?” Rengoku asked instead, the neutral, questioning tone of his voice beginning to rip apart.

“I think,” Akaza repeated, not sounding entirely present, “I’ve always waited to. Wanted to. I became so strong,” the word he revered was spat out like a curse, “that no one could ever hope to kill me. You were the closest. Of course you were. I,” Akaza slid his gaze back to Rengoku and it dearly hurt to see a frown on the demon’s face, solemn and silent, “I know. You’ll be rather displeased with me, won’t you? Someone so strong being fallible over a death wish.”

Quieter, Akaza hesitating to admit, “Someone you care for saying these things.”

It did hurt.

Rengoku felt. Irrationally angry. He wished to fight Akaza on this, because- because how could he say such things? Giving up was not in Akaza’s nature, being apathetic for his own life, his current, sole wish to die- Rengoku could not understand.

Did Akaza hold regrets?

Was it his past? Was it resurfacing?

Was Akaza waiting for someone, just as Rengoku was waiting for his mother?

Why did Akaza wish to die?

Rengoku washed away the cluttered questions, placing a hand on Akaza’s shoulder.

“I am upset,” Rengoku continued, staring at a wilting, cornered Akaza, “I may not understand, but I have no choice but to respect it.”

There was still a weight to Akaza’s shoulders.

“I was initially going to ask you tonight, if you wished to turn back to a human,” Rengoku said, a fleeting hope tangled in his voice, “the offer is still-”

Akaza’s brows quirked, troubled. He resolutely shook his head.

“I think I lost my second chance a while ago, Kyojuro. And. Whoever I was as a human, dies with me.”

Rain pelted the window next to them.

“I’m sorry.” Akaza offered into the dark, unsure.

Rengoku reached for Akaza’s hand, resting his palm over the back of Akaza’s left. He struggled to breathe, just a bit, a hole settling in his heart despite Akaza still sitting next to him. Alive.

Rengoku kept his tears back as best he could, shakily smiling for the both of them. He cleared his throat, nearly choking.

“It is alright,” Rengoku’s smile bled with melancholy, a watercolor sunset brimming in his remaining eye, “I have another request, then.”

Akaza turned to Rengoku, amber eyes glassy and no longer glowing.

“If we ever see each other again in the next life, can you promise we can start over as friends?”

Akaza took in a fractured breath, a fog of loose recollection swarming the demon. He blinked, once, twice, and the cloudy look in his eyes faded. With a tired sigh, the pink haired demon collapsed into Rengoku’s lap and blearily stared up at him.

“Rather bold of you to say if,” Akaza weakly smiled, “I don’t think I’m good. At keeping promises, but I like the sound of that, Kyojuro.”

Breathing heavy and battered by an onslaught, Akaza watched the scene before him. A fragile roar broke through the ruins of the Infinity Fortress, patchwork of winding, broken shoji doors and dusty, wrecked floorboards scattered along the stench of corpses. Signature black jackets torn and dyed crimson, sunborne blades a swift, short swan song. His own clothes were ripped, his pink haori lost to the battle, vicious claw marks shredding through his dove white pants.

Akaza watched with a withering smile, that stupid, patient, overly kind brat jet forward, stringing along the Pillars and decapitating Muzan. The last flares of Akaza’s Blood Demon Art showered across the broken up ceiling, blue shockwaves dissipating into fireworks.

There was a deep rooted pang in Akaza’s heart, squeezing it so hard it felt like the organ would rupture. He could acutely feel it, the bloodied strings connecting him to Muzan’s will snapping as if they were flimsy. Weak little things. A wave of agony he deserved flooded his body and his vision warped with a too bright red light, flames licking at the corners. His left hand twitched, his blue dipped fingertips falling away into ash. His hearing was steadily fading, overtaken by dull droning rings and blips of distorted speech.

Too weak to support himself, Akaza crashed to the floor, kneeling. An alarmed shout rang out from behind him, urgent, terrified, but muffled. Akaza’s vision blurred as he struggled to turn his head, catching the sight of the sun-

That beautiful, unending flame, Rengoku Kyojuro.

Akaza smiled, despite tasting bitter ash on his tongue, forever thankful. His gaze skittered to the busted anklet wrapped around Rengoku’s left ankle and he was barely able to laugh. Akaza’s eyelids fluttered, a pure white light fizzling behind his eyes and-

In the distance, three people waited for him. Three people he left forgotten, haunting the back of Akaza’s mind like phantoms. Pinned by the rising sun, his father and Keizo stared straight at him, his father’s sickly yet terribly loving smile making Akaza- Aka-

Ha-

-his heart painfully ache.

Keizo grinned from ear to ear, setting a firm, calloused hand on Koyuki’s shoulder. The girl- his wife had little diamonds clinging to her eyes, liquid crystals falling down her cheeks.

Akaza cried, blindly reaching out with a failing, fading hand. Hakuji was finally, properly laid to rest.

I’m home.

Hakuji long since checked out from the two hour hell hole he was trapped in, a bit dramatic, but wow was the professor boring. Boring and boastful, rattling on and on about a subject he couldn’t give less than a shit about. Facing his cheap and worn out laptop, in the corner of his eyes he saw the elderly man hobble around as he spoke to the class, lazily gesturing. Hakuji’s eyes flicked to the three tabs he had open and clicked away from his half-baked essay.

Hakuji lightly frowned, briefly messing with the dyed soft pink strands in his pitch black hair, side-eyeing the professor before clicking on the first tab. ‘1915 Mugen train crash - Wikipedia.’

Hakuji wasn’t even sure why the hell he bothered to look up train crashes, it wasn’t a down the rabbit hole search, either, but lately, images would stain the back of his mind and slip away the next. A flash of a midnight sky bearing down at him, hunks of black metal warping and creaking as it fell. Weird shit like that and Hakuji could never explain it.

Hakuji watched the page reload, the little icon for the Wikipedia link morphing into a chugging, looping circle. Tension weirdly began to prickle in his knuckles. Skin deep stabs sliced through his fingers, a shudder running through his arms, and he clenched them to ward off any incoming cramps. To get rid of the crushing weight keeping his hands rigid and way too tight.

The page finally loaded after what Hakuji felt was an entire century, a sea of black text swimming along a searing white background. The tension in his hands only rose when the picture in the sidebar fully clicked into place. Hakuji paid no mind to the words, eyes set on the faded brownish-tan photograph, his gaze flicking to the blurb below - ‘Sight of the train crash in 1915. Photographed by ufotable.’ The train in question was ancient, teetered over like a dilapidated tower and spilling along the ground. The snippet of railroad shown was still intact, but the other carts of the train were no longer lit up, glass and other material left shattered on the forest floor. Heaps of coal were gutted from the train and covered up a part of the ground.

Hakuji didn’t know why he felt exhilarated. Antsy at a train crash, his heart storming the rest of his body with the burning need to get up, do something, run a lap or box. He felt like fighting, he wanted, craved fighting like it was water. There was another sensation seeping into his heart, ringing in his ears and invading his line of sight. Hakuji thought he heard the shink of singing metal, the roar of flames curling into his eardrums. An aged black train lurched onto its side, smoke billowing, green leaves fluttering off numerous trees.

The image gradually left Hakuji’s mind as he blinked. His head violently hurt. Hakuji rubbed at his temples like it would actually help. It didn’t and his headache grew the more he stared straight ahead at the train crash. He hastily closed the tab, feeling a sharp object run him through, right in his chest. Instead of wincing or brushing it off like normal, Hakuji felt himself grin, lips stretched wide and all, a shiver passing over his body. Yearning. Or a glass cup brimming with overflowing water. That’s how he felt.

Hakuji’s eyes slid to the second tab. It was some website for a museum, littered with Taisho period history and authentic setpieces. Hakuji rapidly pressed the down arrow key, scrolling down and down to the ‘Historical Taisho period Weaponry.’ Hakuji’s breath caught in his throat once the page stopped at a large scale photograph. The photo was bordered with a thin golden line, the page background a dark, deep scarlet. It was a clear shot of a pristine and glimmering display case, a sword housed inside of it.

His heart stuttered in his chest at the aged katana before his eyes. The material of the hilt was weathered, the white wrappings frayed at the edges and yellowed. It was rusted over, the infernal blade chipped and scratched in random places. The orange-red flame guard made him jittery, the only part of the sword remaining crisp and polished, orange metal reflecting light and glimmering.

This random sword, for some reason, hurt to look at.

Hakuji didn’t know why his heart was violently set ablaze. He closed the tab.

Hakuji didn’t even want to look at the last tab. His burning, sobbing heart compelled him to. With a clenched jaw, he clicked on the final tab, already grimacing. A photo of a faded and yellowed parchment paper greeted him, dark blue inked characters scrawling across the page. It was a strange choice, the writer picking blue over black. A transcript was provided and Hakuji thoughtlessly read it.

‘1943年12月 (1943 December, Exact Day Unknown).

Hello my friend,

It has been a long time, hasn’t it? Since [illegible] was defeated. Though I am grateful, thoroughly grateful of your decision to fight alongside me, I do not think I can ever forget; and selfishly, never forgive, the sight of you slipping through my fingers. I cannot ask why, I cannot bargain with a ghost, it has been twenty years since, yet I still feel ungodly hurt by your loss. I cling to that promise the same way I cling to the memory of my mother, I still hope we can truly meet again.

All [illegible] crumbled to ash upon our victory, or most, I believe Yu-[?] is still alive. I cannot be as selfish as to ask why did you have to die, why could you not have become [?] again, when our first meeting - you constantly badgered me to reject my humanity. Did you feel the chance of morality was undeserved? Were you waiting for your loved ones, too?

You left almost nothing behind but I still have those pink beads. I still have your name carved into my heart. I have you in my memories and I always will. I still mourn you, despite those precious memories.

When winter falls away and spring comes again, I yearn to see the swaying cherry blossoms - something to remind me of you. Is that why you stared so longingly at the fireworks? Were they a memento left for you? I believe I understand fully, now.

I hope to see you soon, [name unknown].

Set your heart ablaze-’

The sound of a door flinging open stopped Hakuji from reading, thundering footsteps slowing down to an even pace. Hakuji flicked his head up, watching the poor idiot who arrived late, the student pressing a hand to the door and breathing a little hard. The young man grinned at the professor, sheepish, his cheeks stained pink from exertion. Snow melted into his golden-red hair, scattering onto the shoulders of his brown-black coat.

“I apologize for being late! I had to make sure my-”

The professor cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow as he held his hand up, “It doesn’t matter, you’re interrupting class. Find a seat, please.”

Hakuji heard a muffled groan from his left. Blondie remained cheerful, but the minute shift in his posture proved he was, at least, aware of the professor’s bullshit and annoyed by it. The guy was new to the course, joined a week into the class for the same reason everyone else was - to fulfill a requirement. The blonde’s eyes swept across the classroom, twin sunrises sparking upon finding an empty seat. Hakuji frowned, his eyes tracking the blonde walking closer and closer to his table.

Hakuji’s vision warped and he was sure he was seeing double. The blonde’s coat vanished into thin air, morphing into a distinct haori, the white material bleeding a hazy, soft orange and ending with blood red flames. A black-brown uniform was underneath, and that rusted sword was sheathed by his hip. He strangely wanted to cry, seeing a smile bloom on the man’s face.

Hakuji could feel hot tears bead along his eyes, how his heart stuttered, the way his fingers twitched. The man looked-

‘If we ever see each other again-’

Hakuji blinked and squeezed his eyes shut. Rubbed at them, wiping away the spots of tears onto the cuffs of his dark pink hoodie. The blonde’s traditional wear faded from his vision and the more the blonde kept looking at him, the more Hakuji felt- cornered? A rising feeling of deja vu.

Hakuji felt words burning high in his throat, constricting under the weight. He wanted to reach out, take the blonde’s hand in his, hold him, beg for forgiveness that wasn’t earned. But. It would be creepy of Hakuji, for him to touch the blonde as if they were-

‘-can you promise we can start over as friends?’

Something clicked into place. Something ancient turned the winding, creaking key and opened the groaning stone double doors.

Hakuji’s eyes steadily widened, his lips forming a name he held close to his heart. Chills swept down Akaza’s back and he was pinned by the flickering, relit bonfire before him.

“Do you mind if I sat next to you?” Kyojuro asked.