'He deceived my sight. He manipulated his own blood flow and disrupted my attack. Surprises upon surprises. And yet. Not a blade has found my throat. Deceptions. Distractions. Once understood they all become meaningless.'
Independent private roleplay blog for đđđđđđđđđđ đđđđđđđđđ / đđđđđđđđđ of đ¶đđđđđđ đđ đđđđđ. My portrayal is based on the anime and manga and includes headcanons derived from said source material. This blog features content that might be triggering to others: death, violence, cannibalism, murder simply because of the canon nature of this muse. Mun is open to writing with minors but will not ship with them. This blog will also include untagged manga spoilers, please be aware of this. Mun is 19+ she/her, time zone is CEST , penname is mimi <3
It had been a rough day - a skirmish between their troup and that of another daimyo's had resulted in a few men injured...though his little lord had led their men well as the other party had come out of it with three men less than they had arrived with. Now the men were too tired to undergo the trek back to the lands owned by the Tsugikuni clan and had as such settled on making an impromptu camp amidst heavy trees that covered up enough to ensure those injured could rest without fear - whilst some men had agreed to stand guard.
Although Masatomo was often one to insist on overseeing the night ans staying awake to assess any potential danger, this very evening saw him taking care of something much more important.
Katsumi had not slept in three days. To Masatomo's and Yoshiharu's great despair, the little lord was well-versed in enduring many a day without sufficient sleep or food - the latter a problem in on itself given the lord's ridiculous tendency to eat very little compared to what his body tended to require - something they were working on and closely monitored. Masatomo could not say he understood why his little lord never managed to eat as much as he should, it was a matter Yoshiharu and Kazuhira were much more gentle about - but he could understand that urge to stay awake. Sometimes it was a matter of pride. Of pride in one's quality of a warrior. That did not make it any less foolish of his little lord to push himself like that - ensuring everyone of his subordinates was well and those injured were cared for - and as such over the evening fire Yoshiharu and Masatomo had exchanged glances that spoke of their plan to finally make the stubborn samurai rest now that his task had been fulfilled.
Masatomo found the little one standing closeby to the injured men, maroon eyes looking at them with a quiet sadness swimming in his eyed due to his inability to prevent them coming to any harm. It was an expression many of Katsumi's men were well-aware of. Lord Ryouga's compassion a steady companion in every single interacting with the little lord. The martial instructor stepped closer until his head found its eyeline on the other's neck, having to crane his neck up to look at the younger one: "My lord..." as expected, Katsumi's head turned towards the source of the older man's voice, subtly expressive eyes softening at the sight that awaited them. It was a reaction that still caused a shocking warmth in Masatomo's heart that threatened to disarm him if he was not careful. He had never had a wife or children of his own. Had never seen a need for either when the sword and the many other ways of a samurai's combat prowess had held his attention for years. And then Katamori had presented a twenty-five year old samurai instructor with one of the smallest three year olds Masatomo had ever laid his eyes on and told him to 'teach Michikatsu. He is old enough now.'. Back then the little boy with enormous overwhelmed eyes and shy demeanour had made the martial specialist do a double take - and even 13 years later that same tiny child still held that effect on him against all odds.
Ryouga's features morphed into a confused little frown - eyebrows drawing together in a soft manner even as that underlying warmth did not abate from maroon eyes - that were now less prominent in size but still just as devastating: "Yes, Masatomo?" That deep resonant baritone had only been an addition three years ago. It would be something the old grouchy samurai might never get used to. To have his little boy sound every bit like the powerful man he had become.
"Sleep. Now." Impatient and without room to argue, Masatomo cut to the chase. It was without question that no one else would have ever talked to lord Ryouga like this and yet Masatomo was not most people.
There was a certain resistance in Katsumi's gaze as his deference to his father figure wrestled with his unwillingness to do so. A window in time Masatomo was all too happy and shameless to blatantly make use of: "It is time, little one." A soft little rosy hue appeared on the lord's cheeks and the small nod that followed was utterly predictable. Masatomo did not wait, simply held his hand out expectantly and with a raise of an eyebrow that dared the other to resist- which Katsumi did not, intertwining their fingers and trailing after Masatomo as the older man moved towards the matts and blankets on the floor where he stood still, staring at Katsumi with that unrelenting gaze he had wielded during many hours of training. That gaze apparently still wielded some sense of power as Katsumi wordlessly lowered himself onto the make-shift point of rest with an inherent elegance to his movements. "Good." Masatomo did not wait long before he too, lowered himself, knees reminding him of his slow but steady aging - stiff - as he finally laid there next to the other with a quiet grunt.
Then, Masatomo inched closer: "On your back." The command still natural, Katsumi not even registering his following of it. Only then did Masatomo use his strength to heave himself above the enormous samurai that used to be no taller than his knees, carefully dropping himself right on top of Katsumi's sturdy frame. His own eyes softening when strong arms snuck around his waist to rest upon his back. Masatomo's eyes softening at the gesture, own hands moving to briefly run through Katsumi's hair when a brief kiss on his cheek found him. There sas a reason for this of course. They had learned early on that the constant business of the camps were not the best at helping the young lord sleep and that grounding him within their presence was a large help. It did not negate however...that there was something calming...about holding his little affectionate boy even after all those years, his own eyes sliding shut as Katsumi's breath evened out as the minutes passed by. He would not need to be vigilant for this one night. The others would hold the watch...he only needed to make sure little Katsumi caught the rest he and his deep eyebags needed.
- Michikatsu had three different instructors: Masatomo, Kazuhira and Yoshiharu. Masatomo was his martial instructor who schooled him in all things weaponry, horsemanship, battlefield discipline, swordsmanship. Kazuhira taught him how to manage the estate, resources, finances, correspondence, etiquette, other administrative duties whereas Yoshiharu taught him strategy, Chinese learning, political thought, poetry and literature, mathematics, reading, writing, philosophy, ethics, and the cultural arts.
- Michikatsu also received education from a monk from the nearby temple regarding Bhuddist doctrine, Chinese texts, calligraphy and meditation although he is less significant than the other three in terms of impact on Michikatsu's life.
- Masatomo first meets Michikatsu when the other is three. His father (Katamori) makes Michikatsu start as soon as he is able to hold a sword for a longer time. Katamori himself trains Michikatsu in terms of endurance-> letting him go without food and sleep for days to build up a resistance to it in preparation for long campaigns. Masatomo is unmarried and without children and not the warmest person to be around due to his sternness. However, something about the tiny heir with his big vulnerable eyes and quiet nature is quick to melt his heart. Over the many years of training he develops a deep soft spot for Michikatsu to the point that he considers him to be his child. Michikatsu's quietly physically affectionate nature means that he often finds himself on the receiving end of being hugged. When Katsumi becomes clan head at age 12 and a samurai at age 13, Masatomo is one of his subordinates who joins him on his campaigns. (He is also the instructor who underestimated yoriichi and got injured by Yoriichi's strikes when the twins were seven. Michikatsu was very shocked when that happened and the first thing he did was make sure Masatomo was okay before he went to drill Yoriichi about how precisely he had accomplished that)
- yoshiharu is Michikatsu's primary instructor who has worked closely with Michikatsu ever since Michikatsu is three to four years old. He is deeply aware of Michikatsu's intellect and helped give his brilliance direction and frameworks to blossom. He has a wife and two children. He is incredibly fond of Michikatsu and refers to him as 'little lord' even when Katsumi is 17. He is also the victim of Katsumi's brand of affection. He also accompanies Katsumi on campaigns once Katsumi becomes a samurai.
- Kazuhira is Michikatsu's teacher when it comes to things such as diplomacy, conversing with other lords and his daimyo (Michikatsu is a landowning lord of a small but substantial clan with up to 30-40 subordinates. He has sworn loyalty to a daimyo. There are other landowning lords who have sworn loyalty to the same daimyo. Especially those relations Katsumi is focused on maintaining) after his mothers death, his father declined in health more and more so Michikatsu slowly took over more and more clan head duties with the support of his three instructors until his father passed away shortly after michikatsu got married at the age of 12. Kazuhira remains at the residence supporting Michikatsu's wife in running the household and political correspondence whenever Katsumi is on campaigns.
- Michikatsu and his wife are not romantically involved. They were around the same age when their arranged marriage was legitimised. They do not have romantic feelings for one another. They procreated but both were severely uncomfortable with it. They sleep in separate rooms too. Katsumi is uncomfortable with even touching her hand. They care about one another and bear no ill-will for one another but they act more like colleagues than anything else. Katsumi values her insight and skill and that she is the mother of his children, whom he very much does adore.
- Kazuhira, masatomo and yoshiharu were the dominant influence in Michikatsu's life. Katamori was a constant point of pressure and discomfort, his mother Akeno was well-meaning but was always surrounded by Yoriichi and never got to really see Michikatsu because of Michikatsu's busy schedule and Akeno and Katamori spent excessively too much time fighting which made both twins feel profoundly unsafe. Although Yoriichi considers their mother to be a mother figure, the only people Michikatsu really considers in a parental like light are Masatomo, Kazuhira and Yoshiharu. Which makes it more devastating to know that Yoshiharu and Masatomo were present when the demon attacked their encampment and they both died that night. Katsumi never forgave himself for having been unable to save his men and two of his parental figures and it is partially the reason for that deep jealousy boiling in his stomach that wants all of Yoriichu's strength - his flawlessness- to be his. He returns to the estate with the fabrics of his two parental figures and hands them to kazuhira. He informs him about what happened and that he cannot forgive himself for what happened and that he will be taking his leave. He also asks Kazuhira to support his wife in her duties and asks him to tell everyone that katsumi died to avoid bringing a damper onto the clan's reputation. Kazuhira is aware that Katsumi is acting irrationally but he does not stop him. Katsumi leaves with Yoriichi, leaving behind 'Katsumi' and becoming 'michikatsu' once more because the memories are too painful for him to keep his adult name.
- Nobody knows about the three men who raised Michikatsu. Although they do not keep any secrets, Muzan also does not know about them. Because it is far too painful for Kokushibo to even think about. He cannot bear to unpack it.
It is the remnant of a legacy left behind, that bring the ancient being to wander these desolate paths, sandy ground interacting with the soles of their feet in a soundless convergence. The destination one they had always known to exist, the location not having changed all those centuries later. It had been a place the moon breather had stayed away from, not seeking to eliminate one of the last off-springs of what had marked the golden age of demon slayers. Back then...he had not chased those who breathed, had left them to their own devices unless they sought to disrupt the moon's.
The only exception... being the reason, why he was here on this very night.
The sun. Those who used it had been hunted down by themself and the progenitor of demonkind, until every last trace had dissipated from this very earth.
Or it should have been at least.
Asakusa...had resulted in a return of those hanafuda earrings... it had awakened memories within the demon king that had prompted to other to call for him, finding equilibrium only once drawn into strong arms. The memories of that fated night...Kokushibo knew, could never abate. The demon king had been marked, in mind and body - by those burning scars. So any attempt at awakening Yoriichi's work...could not be permitted.
He had known...about the collections kept within the flame pillars residence. Enjuro...had been close...to Yoriichi. Had wanted to capture the accomplishments of their generation... he had not stuck around to find out what would have become of such promises...but there was nothing to be left to chance...when it came to the safety of the demon lord.
Centuries ago...the flame pillar had told him he would always be welcome within these walls... it was time...to collect that promise...
The demon remains standing outside, content to reside in front of the gates. He would not break into these halls if it could be avoided, set on respecting the selfhood of the man he had walked beside for seven years. He can hear the heavy thud of a heart in panic, and a thick swallowing noise.
It appeared...that his presence would not go unnoticed for particularly long.
Good.
Small movement catches the upper rank's eye, six yellow irises trailing down and down until they land upon the small frame...of a child.
It is young, hair bearing the typical resemblance of the Rengoku's. The tiny presence of the child... is emphasised by the difficulty it seems to have breathing. Through the see through world, the moon breather can make out this one's difficulty with breathing styles. Lungs more fragile than Yoriichi would have recommended. And yet the child stands its ground, fists balled... they speak of a quiet but determined courage.
The words that leave the little one's lips echo through his mind, the term of endearment akin to a strike to his chest.
Aniue.
Where had he gotten that old-fashioned word from. Such a formal word for one's older brother... the former samurai had only heard one person ever make use of it...
It was too much information to process. Its little presence, the name...the visible bruising... it clenched his heart together painfully...and brought back memories he both had tried his hardest to forget and knew would never be able to.
The child was near tears. Although he had not come here with the intention of causing harm, that sight alone coming from the defenseless little thing would have negated any desire to end this visit in pain.
It is foolish, and yet he cannot prevent himself from lowering his tall frame up until the other no longer has to crane his neck to stare into his eyes. Though he would have had no trouble reverting to a more human appearance for the sake of the child, Kokushibo also did not desire to somehow lie about the true nature of his being.
"I have not come here...to raise my blade...little one..." six eyes soften, the urge to reach out and soothe is overwhelming, coursing through his body with a deep intensity. Yet he holds no wish to frighten a child with touch from a stranger. "You need not be brave...no harm will befall you..." It is the only promise he can make. As he is not one to vow things he cannot maintain. His deep resonant baritone having adopted a softer cadence, rumbling within his chest.
He listens quietly as the child replies. So there was a head of house...and an older brother - though the brother in question was at present absent. He was most likely a slayer - judging by the fact that the child had at first assumed Kokushibo's presence had been motivated by his older sibling. Fascinating. A head of house who failed to keep up his obligations... and his duties instead being shared by his off-spring. how nostalgic.
Though not one to dwell upon the nature of their own origins, the scene he had unwittingly become witness to, left a bitter taste in their mouth.
The implication was also registered - the inability of the head of house to defend the estate. Though such a fact was already made clear by the fact that the child had not even attempted to call for him. As though there was no trust in the fact that he would receive protection from the man supposedly his guardian. Fists clenched at the thought, body roiling with a low - but steadily rising - simmering anger. Something Kokushibo was aware would influence his presence in the world. As such desperate times called for desperate measures - for they had no intention of scaring the child. They clamped down upon their own aura, hard. Gathering all of it and keeping it strictly within the lines of their body. It was not a natural state for them, especially when their feelings were so dominating and intense. They had never quite achieved Yoriichi's zen-like calm, Yoriichi's inner peace of letting sensations pass and flow through his body. No, Kokushibo needed to consciously gather their natural presence - that was usually present as a softly waning and waxing broth of prowess in the world around them - and stuff it into their very body. It was a rather constricting feeling...but in this moment it was far more preferable to scaring the other's delicate constitution.
Kokushibo continued silently following the other: "I see..." the factoid only acknowledged and not divulged further -already struggling to contain his feelings from the world as he was. Though they did not manifest in any destructive manner towards others, the pressure his emotions exuded was not something he wished to subject the child to.
Though it was rather difficult...with the admission that the child was well and truly alone...with the head of house... who in the world had allowed for such a thing... a man who could not even partake in his orders...could not reliably care for another.
hands fist in the pleats of hakama in a vain attempt to hide his trembling. fresh tears fill waterline and so he keeps his gaze downward as he sucks in a shuddering breath.
is his brother... okay with this ?
this demonâ are they taunting him ? asking if the flame hashira of all people would be fine to leave his family like this to demons? it would be well within the bounds of some of the wrongdoings he'd been told of ; of senseless cruelty and games played with the mind. senjuro wasn't sure if he was the cause of delaying the inevitable, but he almost wished it'd been... over at the gate. this walk of dread was agonizing.
â ... aniue is... is strong ... and the strong have to protect the weak. â he mumbled at last, still not lifting his eyes. it was easy to traverse the estate without looking, he was used to this. â th-there... there are people that need him more.. â
more than himself in this very moment? his heart aches fiercely at the very thought. his brother would be utterly devastated. his tears fall, shoulders shaking, and he can't quite suppress the sob that sticks in his throat. he wipes at his face but it does little to staunch the flood. â aniue says ... i'm strong too so... â
â he hated that it simply wasn't true.
they come to a stop in front of double doors that he fumbles to slide open and reveal a sitting room, minding his manners yet still and stepping to the side to allow the other inside first.
â you can.. stay here while i prepare the tea. i, um, won't be long. â there's a brief pause as he wrings his hands. â a-and i won't send for a-anyone. â he meant it. senjuro wouldn't dare bring anyone else here.
It appeared their last line of questioning had touched upon a sensitive topic - judging by the way the child struggled with breathing evenly and had turned his face towards the floor.
The moon waits until the child answers, six eyes quietly dissecting the information offered. His older brother was strong then... and based on the fact that the Rengoku family had carried forth the breath of Enjuro for centuries...it was not improbable to assume...that the child's older brother was perhaps one of the hashira... the detail did not negate the fact that apparently that older brother prioritised the lives of the many...over the safety of his own sibling. They could not claim to wield the moral high ground but to leave a skittish child alone within such a big house without supervision and an incapitated parent...did not seem particularly sensible.
Then, the child succumbs to a sob, Kokushibo's discomfort remaining planted firmly within their stomach. The words of that brother... sounded far more like an excuse...to not have to worry. It was a tactic Kokushibo could never bring himself to bond with. He had fussed over his younger brother despite that very man being the strongest person to wander the lands. Even those he had left behind... he had not done without accountability.
That flame hashira...could only hope to never cross paths with them...
Six eyes observe as the child struggles to operate the door, leaving it uncommented to grant the small thing the time to compose itself.
Tall frame slightly bends in the process of walking into the room - making note of the other's impeccable manners in the process. The demon moon takes the other's invitation to dwell within this room to heart, powerful frame elegantly sitting down in their favoured seiza position, though their katana remained clasped onto their frame.
The other's comment was reacted to with a hum: "It is...appreciated. For it is my duty...to eliminate those...that raise their blades... against that man..." Yellow irises shifted to glance at the child, the implication obvious. Any demon slayers sent to this very place would not be able to walk away from it.
unnecessary though the warning is, it successfully strikes fear further into his heart. head bobs overly so in understanding and senjuro all but flees the room to stumble further down the hall. against that man...?
it was much easier to breathe without the towering figure looming above, hiccuping as he made his way to the kitchens. he splashed water on his face and gulped some down for good measure but it only made his stomach swim with nausea and nerves. what was senjuro going to do ? and what exactly was the demon here for ? the dread mounted with every passing moment.
could he run ? .... no, of course not. there was no way senjuro would be able to gather his father up without having to answer questions he did not wish to. the possibility of his father desiring to fight was high and he would never back down from a demon no matter their strengthâ that did not consider whether or not he would make it that far in the plan. senjuro wouldn't be able to get to the other side of the house without being found out.
slowly, he grabs every thing he needs to make tea. its easy to do, and almost soothing. he follows the motions without giving too much thought to it; boiling water, measuring into cups, carefully steeping leaves, straining them... the entire process takes a few minutes. by the time he's done, his heart has quelled it's hammering for the moment.
... at least until he returns to the sitting room. â ââ th-thank... thank you for waiting. â he had hoped there wouldn't be anyone at all, tray shaking slightly as he steps in with it. so, something was wanted specifically from him then...
he sits it down on the table between them and with trembling hand, he pours them both a cup. although with how his stomach turns, he didn't think he'd he drinking anything at all. â may i... may i ask why you're here if it's not to .... â he couldn't bring himself to finish.
The child is quick to nod and stumble out of the room. Oh. Had his attempt at a warning been taken as a threat? It took a second to consider whether the way he had phrased it had been the issue... he had merely wanted to reassure the child that it was best no slayer come near the premise given his duties...and had not desired to cause upset...but it was still a child he had been talking to. Children were delicate things. They should not be exposed to such violence. But he could not have lied either... it was a conundrum. Six eyes droop, akin to a cat saddened by a little fawn finding its claws to be intimidating. The yellow irises large with quiet disappointment in themselves.
Minutes pass, as Kokushibo begins contemplating the potential location for the records. Though they do not plan on ransacking the place witbout the little child's knowledge, it is still a more efficient way to pass their time instead of mulling over past mistakes. No matter how upsetting. Hands clenching into the fabric of black hakama pants.
Then, the door once more slides open. The child had returned. And it was even more shaky than previously. Oh no. The little thing seems so unsure, it stutters and has trouble holding its little tray. Six eyes watch as the child sits down and pours them both a cup, large and soft: "It was not...my intention to frighten you...child. I did not wish...to lie... however... I have upset you. I apologise." Their frame bends forwards ever so slightly, eyes in particular looking rather forlorn and downtrodden.
Only then, do they answer the other's inquiry: "There is...information...that needs to be acquired..." They avoid causing further panic by specifying: "not Ubuyashiki's location... what I seek...is more ancient than such..."
Psh psh Michikatsu is actually a very community-oriented person. He likes being around people. He likes socialising with those he considers part of his community. He's very empathetic and he likes using it to make the people around him happy. Demonhood sadly caused a deep isolation minus Muzan. He does not relate to most of the demon moons, he has to kill slayers, he withdraws from civilisation as it increasingly becomes foreign to him. Muzan didn't demand it of him but Kokushibo just got a lot more reclusive. He is however...still a community creature at heart who seeks connection and finds fulfillment through connection. Hence why he tries to recruit muichiro to become a demon and why he is touched that muichiro is his descendant and why he decides to offer Kaigaku demonhood (alongside recognising his potential) he seeks connection. It's why I don't think he's the type to kill civilians :> he's more likely to talk with them - unless they run away pff or try to attack him. He also likes taking his time with killing slayers a lot of the time when they catch his attention because he is a community creature at heart. It wasn't obvious but it did affect his mental health in quiet ways and made him feel restricted that he couldn't use his empathy in that wide way he used to before demonhood.
Michikatsu was close with his subordinates - they protected him with their life when the demon attacked their encampment. Michikatsu was also close with the original line up of the hashira. Especially the wind hashira. But most of them died due to the mark...which is why when muzan asks him about his relation to the living hashiras he says that 'they are colleagues'. He does not connect with them the way he did with the original line up because their loss is too big.
That moment when everyone thinks Kokushibo is this super scary stabby demon but no actually, that is a scary, stabby maine coon. If he likes you, he will give you hugs and let you play with his hair. Though he only craves pets from Muzan pff
Muzan-sama had only mentioned the newest recruit in passing. Upper moon six had been replaced by ...a cult leader. His lordship had talked about the impression the other had left upon him many years ago when the demon king had sought to turn...Douma? Into a demon. As it was, the description had not stuck to Kokushibo enough to remember many details of. Kokushibo had been rather preoccupied with scouting the lands for Ubuyashiki's countless safe houses and headquarters - he had infiltrated two of them this year, copying correspondence and records that were tied to the corps without its inhabitants being none the wiser. He had also been interlocked in combat with those few slayers who deigned to come closer and put their skills to the test. Their fall inevitable despite their commendable courage. Training had also taken up much of his time... whatever spare moments to use had been spent within the company of the progenitor of demonkind.
Kokushibo did not really tend to come across those lower ranked than him outside of formal meetings, his presence within the infinity fortress usually constrained to his training rooms and Muzan-sama's quarters. Especially ever since Muzan-sama had acquired that plush western style mattress - the way one could sink into its soft feathery give was a matter they enjoyed greatly studying.
As such it was with a certain unexpectedness that Kokushibo found themselves standing across the blonde haired demon within one of the corridors of the infinity fortress. Kokushibo had been on their way back from Muzan-sama's quarters - his black spiky mane still more ruffled than usual from their previous nap although they had tied it back into its usual high ponytail. Muzan-sama would simply need to brush it the next time the demon king had time - until then it could remain like this. Six eyes quietly scrutinise the other's attire and demeanour: "You...must be ...douma..." deep resonant baritone resounding through the halls without any overt expression.
The expression that blossomed on his face was not just the polite gesture of a courteous man; it was a deep, radiant contentment that seemed to still the very air around them. It was a smile that illuminated his eyes, eyes that had witnessed the rise and fall of ages, now softened into a gaze filled with pure, uncomplicated affection. In this cozy, sunlit room, the burdens of life appeared to dissipate, leaving only the warmth of a living heartbeat against his thigh.
He experienced a wave of quiet joy, a lightness in his chest akin to the first breath of spring after a winter that felt eternal. To be cherished, not for his might or his legacy, but simply for the warmth of his lap and the reliability of his touch, was a luxury he had never dared to hope for.
He gazed down at him, and for a brief moment, the line between the present and the distant past faded. He didnât see a pet; he perceived a soul that had navigated its way back to him through a maze of fate and rebirth. The joy he felt was an ache, a sweet tension that tugged at his heart, anchoring him in the tangible reality of the modern world.Â
HE WAS HAPPY, NOT THE FLEETING JOY OF A TASK ACCOMPLISHED, BUT A PROFOUND, ROOTED TRANQUILITY THAT REASSURED HIM THAT, DESPITE EVERYTHING, THE WORLD REMAINED A REALM OF STUNNING BEAUTY.
Then the thought didnât come as a sudden urge, but as a gradual, shimmering ache that synchronised with the rhythmic purring of the cat.Â
He glanced at the open shoji screen, where the garden called with its lush greenery and the allure of the wild, and then he turned his gaze back to the russet fur resting across his legs.Â
The notion of the front door clicking shut, of the lock turning and the outside world becoming merely a place to visit, felt like the only thing that could genuinely complete the structure of his peace. He pondered whether it was selfish to wish to anchor a creature born for the wind, but the longing was there, quiet and persistent, resonating in the very marrow of his bones.
The human wore his happiness rather openly. It was something the feline somehow knew had not been common all those years ago. Instead of delving deeper into such complicated feelings as his soul was inclined to do, the maine coon instead buried its face once more in the human's lap, claws gently kneading fhe fabric in a quiet expression of comfort. His little purrs resounding through the room.
He could not explain what had drawn him all those months ago... he could simply not let go of how right it felt to be close, how predominant the instinct was to keep this one safe. He was a creature belonging to the wild, not something to be owned. And yet he had found himself drawn to the sad looking human again and again.
Perhaps that was the reason why when the other posed his question, the cat actually contemplated it.
Stay. It was a word that contradicted with the constant itch for freedom, for open fields, open paths. Would he have to be constricted to those four stiffling walls for the rest of his days if he accepted? He could not imagine a scarier destiny.
Maroon eyes glanced upwards towards the human. It was not a no...but not an assent either. His hesitation and trepidation obvious.
He sought not to react towards those lackluster words apart from a delicate frown that marred his features, fists clenched together at the sheer appalling nature the other demonstrated in that very moment.
It was not too difficult... to understand why Akaza often found himself irritated by the second upper rank. There was very little that slumbered beneath the surface of the cult leader - unlike the demon king whose plum red eyes concealed endless riches. Thinking about those elegant hands coursing through his spiky mane proved rather productive in calming his heart and temperament in such moments where douma demonstrated his inherent lack and laziness.
"How appropriate...of you." Yellow irises gazed at the other from the corner of his eyes, not even deigning the demon moon with his full regard. The air around Kokushibo had shifted, not only bearing the demeanour of the ancient samurai...but carrying that eternal darkness that was their lordship as well, opinions blending together into one, demeanour mixing with a certain ease that bordered on eerie: "You think yourself amusing that you have forgotten your place... it is tragic." One could not tell whether the demon king's essence had chosen to speak through Kokushibo or whether they had merged...it could only be felt that in that very moment, the demon king's darkness and Kokushibo's thick and unrelenting presence pressed upon the world - and upon douma without mercy.
Though of course possession was not within the realm of Muzan-sama's abilities. It was simply the demon king's current presence within the infinity fortress and the fact that Muzan-sama had been paying attention to Kokushibo's irritation - commenting about douma's foolishness within the privacy of Kokushibo's mind.
Confusion. The six eyed creature is unsure of how it got here. Lying on the ground within a house, colourful tie holding his black spiky mane together. If he could blink, he would. It can barely remember that it used to be more than a stuffed toy - though even that memory is faint, something fundamental feels as though it had been taken from him. It hurts. He feels empty, powerless as he holds no control over his body and the world looks so large like this.
izuku can't help but blink as he entered his dorm room to find a discarded plush on the floor.
he definitely didn't own one of these. sure, he had some all might plushies (one from when he was a kid, and one from a collector's edition that sat on his bed). he'd never seen the person it was based from either, assuming it was a hero of some sort.
a quick google from his phone of, "six eyed hero" pulled no results. the question is how it even got into his room in the first place. sighing and idly wondering if it was a prank from one of his classmates, izuku picked up the plush and dusted it off with his sleeve. "you can sit on my desk for now." talking to a plush toy wasn't the most weird thing that happened today. "i'll ask if you belong to any of my classmates later." he had homework to do. for now, he sets the plush down by his laptop, turning it so the toy could at least look out into the room...the repeating smiling face of all might to do. sighing and sitting at his desk, opening the laptop and pulling out some paper to start making an essay plan, completely unaware to what was in his room.
he also can't shake the feeling he recognises it from...something. maybe a villain from an all might tv show?
It was a strange sensation...being picked up out of nowhere... and being cleaned by a fabric. Although he cannot blink, he still retains his sight and hearing- and he can make out the voice of a small teenager that mentions a desk...and classmates. How strange. Where precisely was he? He did not remember much of what he used to be...but he knows this to be unfamiliar.
It filled his stomach with discomfort - did he even still have one of those? Did it matter? He could feel a certain nausea in that region regardless - to be manhandled and twisted without the opportunity to move. The whole situation was made worse by the room he is presented with.
Strong tones of yellow and red attack his eyes and make his body vibrate ever so slightly. He cannot frown...and as such that jittery discomfort within him erupts in a different manner. A tiny crescent moon shoots through the room landing on one of the many posters - not ripping it in half, simply staying clutched to it.
Oh. He could still do that..then. it was good. He was not entirely defenseless... although he hadn't meant to damage anything. How rude of him.
The night marked the ever-repeating circle of those man-eating creatures searching for nourishment whenever safe from the burning gaze of the sun - as well as the start of his duties that set to protect humans from a demon-led demise. This very evening marked his third year as one of the pillars of the corps he had joined at the age of seventeen. His twentieth birthday having passed merely two months ago. He could not proclaim to have kept record of the amount of immortal creatures that fallen to his blade in that time...though the number was likely higher than the humans that had been slayn by his hand during his days of serving amidst the tumultuous wars that plagued the sengoku era.
It was a calmer night than usual - the area he had been designated to keep watch of was large and always rather filled with hungry creature's - encompassing some more mountainous regions as well due to his up-bringing's familiarity with colder climates. The moon pillar travelled by foot - silently switching from ground to branches, to uneven terrain with a speed the human eye would have trouble perceiving, maroon eyes keenly studying his surroundings for a potential need to draw his blade.
After such a long time spent traversing the same premise, there were very few corners Michikatsu was unfamiliar with.
As such, when he came across a desolate clearing close to one of the nearby settlements, he had little difficulty spotting a demonic entity nearby...and one that appeared to be eager to devour a human. Michikatsu did not waste any time - the human had likely already seen the demon, so to try to avoid detection would not be necessary.
Moon breathing, first form: dark moon evening palace.
Within the span of seconds, the demon's head and neck found themselves parted, its remains disintegrating into ashes after a precise clean cut of his sun-embeshed katana.
Only once the demon had been taken care of, did Michikatsu sheathe his katana once more and shift to take in the person standing there. Maroon eyes made note of the strange features the other had. They were much unlike the features he had grown up around, japan's isolationist nature a great factor in his unfamiliarity with those not from these lands. It made one wonder...what had brought this stranger here...: "Are you alright...?" Deep resonant baritone echoed through the clearing, stable though he found himself unsure whether the other could understand him. He had had very little experience in such matters.
Aziraphale had never visited this part of the world before. Before the agreement his duties kept him largely confined to the West. At first, he had still been hesitant to go far, even if a miracle could have him in the right place in an instant. While he occasionally does use miracles to make his own life easier, he remains a little weary about using them in situations he isn't supposed to be in. Upstairs can always check the records. Therefore, he prefers to travel the human way. Undetected. But the agreement has gone unnoticed for nearly a full century, and the angel is hardly concerned that something will go wrong during this little vacation.
That is, until rumours of demons stalking the night reach his ears. There was only one demon supposed to be stalking the night (and days), and if all was going according to plan that one was currently performing a blessing in Northern Ireland. So whoever or whatever was doing Hell's bidding in this part of the world was, at the very least, unauthorised to be there. Perhaps his being out here would yet prove usefull.
He had gathered what he could from locals in the surrounding villages, but aside from a few heartfelt warnings not to leave the safety of his lodgings at night, the stories were hardly coherent (and they certainly didn't make sense). Despite the fact that he originally had no intention of staying here for more than a single day, he feels obligated to extend his visit. If there are truly demons about in this part of the world, it is his duty to smite them, and if he can't, report back to Heaven so they could take appropriate measures against them. Did Crowley know about this? Given the gruesome killings, he somehow very much doubts it.
At first, nothing much happens, though the village is eerily quiet as soon as the sun begins to set. Walking around at the outskirts of the settlement, the angel is starting to believe that perhaps these people have simply fallen for a clever trick to keep them in their beds at night. It won't be the first time that humans are mistaken in the nature of their trouble. But as he considers that possibility, the sound of something LARGE moving quickly draws his attention to a nearby clearing.
Though his eyesight is decent, even at night, it takes him a few seconds to make sense of what he is seeing. Or rather, he can't quite make sense of it, other than that it's decidedly not human, angelic, or demonic in nature. But the creature has clearly spotted him, so the question of its nature is put on hold momentarily as Aziraphale takes a step back, trying to determine whether he should attempt to deter it by miracle or whether he should simply flee. A few powerful strokes of his wongs would surely give him an advantage, but he is close enough to the village to have someone notice, if only they were looking in the right direction.
Before he can spring to action, another figure emerges from the shadows, sprinting towards the 'demon' so quickly the movement seems hardly human, even if it's corporation certainly appears to be so. Within a matter of seconds, the creature is turned to dust and before him stands a young man, sheating his weapon.
"I - yes, of course", he replies to the question of his wellbeing, glancing past the stranger to the spot where, moments before, he had slain that thing. Walking down the rocky slope separating them, he seems more concerned not to trip in the dark than with what he'd just witnessed, even if it was certainly strange.
"Excuse me.... but...what was that - that thing you just...?"
He remains silent, maroon eyes continuing to observe the stranger with a quiet attentiveness. It is a relief when the white-haired man answers in Japanese. There would be no issues in understanding each other then. That was good. Even better so that the other did not appear injured. It would have been difficult to communicate otherwise. The man appeared distracted - his gaze straying to the place where the demon had dwelled mere seconds ago. Why was that? It was not difficult to gleam that the man was not from around here. Was this perhaps his very first encounter with a man-eating creature? It was not unlikely. Most people did not come across one - and lived to tell the tale after all.
The moon pillar does not interrupt the silence as the other draws closer - walking with a certain caution. Something about the way the man moved...struck him as odd. It was a far cry from how self-assured most slayers tended to walk. Even civilians didn't care too much about maintaining their balance. Perhaps this man simply possessed a certain carefulness that most people didn't bother with. There was nothing wrong with that, but it did beg to question what a cautious man like this had been doing in the woods at nighttime...
Once the man had reached him, Michikatsu experienced the common occurrence of having to look down. His 190 centimeters of height a fact that led to sticking out like a sore thumb amidst crowds. The man's eyes were blue and possessed a certain earnest quality- an impression only emphasised by the way he fought for the right words. This one was not prone to deceipt, how interesting. He spoke without attempt to sound sophisticated and appeared to instead inhabit his emotions to the fullest. There was something strangely endearing about it.
"It is dangerous... to be on your own... during nighttime..." a soft frown marred his delicate features. "Where is it...that you wished to go...?" He could not let the other be on his way all alone in the dark. It would be beyond foolhardy.
Only then did he specify: "That... was a demon. Had it been left to its own devices...it would have eaten you." There was very little sense in sugar-coating the truth. Although Michikatsu had the rather keen impression that this man's gentle disposition would find such truths shocking. It took his own sense of manners to curb his instinct of reaching out to soothe but he managed, eyes instead watching the other carefully for his reaction.
Michikatsu's mind and soul looks like... a path in nature, surrounded by trees and mountains and lakes during nighttime, with the moon in the sky, and gentle fog everywhere. And his thoughts are often impressions, feelings, yes also words but they're not in one place. They're everywhere and nowhere. You have to really immerse yourself in the mindscape to receive them. He is all of it. The mountains, the lakes, the moon, the fog, the trees, the path that does not know where it will lead but is never ending.
When kokushibo lost his will to fight the trees were being chopped by some cruel entity, the lakes started bubbling, condensing into the air as the moon sunk and the sun rose, the fog evaporated, the mountains started crumbling and the path reached an endpoint.
Kokushibo is defined by continuing despite everything. It is only natural, that in his dying moments...that path would at last decide it does not want to continue. Because the path is not one long-winded straightforward thing. It winds through trees, through caves, through mountains - it is a long walk, an eternal walk. So when that ends...it does not seem natural. Like something beautiful that was never meant to decay, did.
@divineiichor just so Muzan knows what his husband's mind looks like pff
The summer sun shone brightly across the fields. He was not usually awake during the early hours of the day - instead usually sleeping until midday after a long night spent hunting the creatures that plagued the night. But Yoriichi had requested his presence at the training grounds and as such he had arrived without complaint - though his features were marred into a frown - both a result of his disgruntlement due to the lack of rest and because of something else entirely.
The sun stood on the horizon, shining brightly in the morning hour, eager to greet the world anew. Its shine was blinding and something the moon pillar preferred to avoid, partially due to the mounting headache that tended to appear when underneath its shrill light for too long- and partially because...
choo
A dainty little sneeze escaped his straight and delicate nose, the sound almost timid in stark contrast of his height and muscular form.
How demeaning. To find oneself so perpetually affected by something as constant and natural as the sun.
He stood completely still, the morning sunlight glinting off the hilt of his sword, and a small, genuine smile graced his lips. To an outsider, the Moon Pillar embodied terrifying precision and icy authority, but in this fleeting, instinctive moment, he resembled a startled kitten. It was a charming display of human vulnerability, one that he found far more enchanting than any flawlessly executed sword technique.
HE DIDN'T LAUGH, HE SELDOM DID, BUT THE WARMTH IN HIS GAZE CONVEYED A PROFOUND, QUIET AFFECTION THAT BRIDGED THE GAP BETWEEN THEM.
"The morning air feels especially crisp today," he commented, his voice a soft, soothing melody that seemed to blend with the gentle rustle of the nearby bamboo. He made no move to offer a handkerchief or a word of solace; he simply occupied the space with his brother, cherishing the small, unplanned crack in the armor of the man who relentlessly pursued perfection.
THESE FLAWS WERE THE ONLY THINGS THAT TRULY MATTERED, THE DELICATE THREADS OF HUMANITY THAT TETHERED A WARRIOR TO THE EARTH.
Before the Moon Pillar could regain his composure or smooth his expression back into a mask of stoic indifference, he glided forward with a motion so fluid it barely disturbed the air. With a lightness of touch that belied the strength in his fingers, he reached out and pinched his brother's cheek. It was a playful, fleeting gesture, a sudden burst of whimsy that felt entirely out of place in the rigid realm of the Demon Slayer Corps, yet it felt perfectly right between the two of them.
He should not have been surprised at the fact that Yoriichi chose this exact moments of all moments to make his appearance - and yet his shoulders moved ever so slightly at the sudden soft spoken baritone making its presence known in the world. The statement itself was not suspicious content wise...though Michikatsu held no illusions that the other had not heard what had just transpired. Yoriichi's hearing was far too advanced for such foolish hopes.
Yoriichi's eyes carried a certain warmth that caused a certain feeling of disconnect within the moon breather's stomach, unsettled by that expression of feeling for he could not understand its origins.
Before Michikatsu could even begin to formulate a response, the other's hand had found his cheek without permission, squeezing flesh without a warning. The action caused for Michikatsu to instinctively draw back, body having always been wary of surprise touches. Maroon eyes blinked slowly as he attempted to calm his heart down from its brief spike, eyebrows marring into a gentle frown. It was just Yoriichi, no one else. Still, it did not negate the fact that he found discomfort in such spontaneous things.
The gesture had derived him of the ability to return the expression of happiness at the sight of him at this very moment and he was not prone to saying things he did not mean. As such he cut straight to the case: "What has made you summon me...Yoriichi?" Deep resonant baritone as steady as ever, though the rings under his eyes revealed the depth of his lack of sleep.
The summer sun shone brightly across the fields. He was not usually awake during the early hours of the day - instead usually sleeping until midday after a long night spent hunting the creatures that plagued the night. But Yoriichi had requested his presence at the training grounds and as such he had arrived without complaint - though his features were marred into a frown - both a result of his disgruntlement due to the lack of rest and because of something else entirely.
The sun stood on the horizon, shining brightly in the morning hour, eager to greet the world anew. Its shine was blinding and something the moon pillar preferred to avoid, partially due to the mounting headache that tended to appear when underneath its shrill light for too long- and partially because...
choo
A dainty little sneeze escaped his straight and delicate nose, the sound almost timid in stark contrast of his height and muscular form.
How demeaning. To find oneself so perpetually affected by something as constant and natural as the sun.
He stood completely still, the morning sunlight glinting off the hilt of his sword, and a small, genuine smile graced his lips. To an outsider, the Moon Pillar embodied terrifying precision and icy authority, but in this fleeting, instinctive moment, he resembled a startled kitten. It was a charming display of human vulnerability, one that he found far more enchanting than any flawlessly executed sword technique.
HE DIDN'T LAUGH, HE SELDOM DID, BUT THE WARMTH IN HIS GAZE CONVEYED A PROFOUND, QUIET AFFECTION THAT BRIDGED THE GAP BETWEEN THEM.
"The morning air feels especially crisp today," he commented, his voice a soft, soothing melody that seemed to blend with the gentle rustle of the nearby bamboo. He made no move to offer a handkerchief or a word of solace; he simply occupied the space with his brother, cherishing the small, unplanned crack in the armor of the man who relentlessly pursued perfection.
THESE FLAWS WERE THE ONLY THINGS THAT TRULY MATTERED, THE DELICATE THREADS OF HUMANITY THAT TETHERED A WARRIOR TO THE EARTH.
Before the Moon Pillar could regain his composure or smooth his expression back into a mask of stoic indifference, he glided forward with a motion so fluid it barely disturbed the air. With a lightness of touch that belied the strength in his fingers, he reached out and pinched his brother's cheek. It was a playful, fleeting gesture, a sudden burst of whimsy that felt entirely out of place in the rigid realm of the Demon Slayer Corps, yet it felt perfectly right between the two of them.
He should not have been surprised at the fact that Yoriichi chose this exact moments of all moments to make his appearance - and yet his shoulders moved ever so slightly at the sudden soft spoken baritone making its presence known in the world. The statement itself was not suspicious content wise...though Michikatsu held no illusions that the other had not heard what had just transpired. Yoriichi's hearing was far too advanced for such foolish hopes.
Yoriichi's eyes carried a certain warmth that caused a certain feeling of disconnect within the moon breather's stomach, unsettled by that expression of feeling for he could not understand its origins.
Before Michikatsu could even begin to formulate a response, the other's hand had found his cheek without permission, squeezing flesh without a warning. The action caused for Michikatsu to instinctively draw back, body having always been wary of surprise touches. Maroon eyes blinked slowly as he attempted to calm his heart down from its brief spike, eyebrows marring into a gentle frown. It was just Yoriichi, no one else. Still, it did not negate the fact that he found discomfort in such spontaneous things.
The gesture had derived him of the ability to return the expression of happiness at the sight of him at this very moment and he was not prone to saying things he did not mean. As such he cut straight to the case: "What has made you summon me...Yoriichi?" Deep resonant baritone as steady as ever, though the rings under his eyes revealed the depth of his lack of sleep.
He became a statue of flesh and warmth, his presence shifting from a companion in motion to a silent sanctuary. He did not speak, nor did he attempt to brush away the stray tear that tracked a glistening path down Michikatsuâs cheek; instead, he simply existed in the space between breaths, listening.
He listened to the ragged, uneven cadence of Michikatsuâs respiration, the way it hitched with the effort of holding back a flood, and the soft, wet friction of a sniffle that sounded, to his ears, like the crumbling of a great wall.
He listened to the internal symphony of his brother, the erratic thrum of a heart burdened by a thousand ghosts, the tension in the muscles of a hand that had forgotten how to be held without a weapon in its grip.
âI donât like when you speak like this.â
He whispered, his voice a steady anchor against the tide of Michikatsuâs distress. He didn't argue the logic; he didn't need to. He simply absorbed the weight of the words, the jagged edges of âit does not negate the outcomeâ, and felt them vibrate through their joined hands. To Michikatsu, the math of a life taken was a simple, immutable sum, a ledger written in blood that could never be balanced.
But as he listened to the fragile crack in his brother's baritone, he felt his own heart bleed for him. It was a visceral ache, a mirroring of the sorrow that Michikatsu had tried so hard to armor himself against for decades.
As he watched the tear carve a silver trail through the moonlight, and in that small, glistening drop, he saw the entirety of his brother's struggle. He saw the pride that had become a prison and the duty that had become a shroud. To call such kindness âempirically unfoundedâ was Michikatsuâs way of clinging to the cold comfort of facts, because the alternative, that he was loved despite his sins, was a truth far more terrifying to face than any demonâs blade.
So he didn't offer a rebuttal. Instead, he stepped closer, closing the remaining sliver of space until their chests nearly brushed. He shifted his grip, sliding his hand upward to cup the back of Michikatsuâs neck, his palm warm and firm. He exerted a gentle, guiding pressure, coaxing Michikatsuâs head to lean forward until their foreheads rested against one another.
IT WAS A POSITION OF TOTAL VULNERABILITY, A SHARED SILENCE THAT SPOKE OF THINGS FAR OLDER THAN THE TITLES OF HASHIRA OR THE BURDENS OF THE SWORD.
The silence stretched, filled only by the distant, rhythmic call of a night bird and the soft, shuddering exhales of a man who had forgotten how to be held. He closed his eyes, letting his own inner warmth radiate outward, an invisible cloak meant to shield his brother from the biting chill of his own guilt. He could feel the tremor in Michikatsuâs frame, the way the man seemed to be unraveling thread by thread under the steady heat of his presence.
"The outcome is a shadow." He murmured, his voice vibrating against the bridge of Michikatsu's nose.
"But the hand that acts is the substance. You speak of the blood on the ground, brother, but I see the heart that beats beneath the armor. If the world is a ledger of losses, then let us be the ones to stop counting for a while."
As Yoriichi ceased to walk, so did he. Steps drawing up short right next to Yoriichi's own. Although he could not summarise why, he understood why Yoriichi had stopped in his tracks. The deep emotions present in this very moment had become too heavy for Yoriichi to leave unaddressed. Had it been the moon pillars tears that had set him off? Had it been his words? Perhaps, perhaps it had been a combination of both. How well did he know Yoriichi anyhow...with that blank face of his and confusing actions such as looking at him with warmth...or smiling when there was no reason to smile, or being disconnected from the world around them whilst also cherishing it at the same time. In the end, who truly knew Yoriichi? Who could truly pull that infuriating man back down to earth where the rest of the mortals existed? It certainly was not Michikatsu. It had never been. Gods knew he had tried. But he didn't play as big of a role in Yoriichi's life as he would like. He was not needed, Yoriichi could handle himself. Yoriichi was a man without any flaws whatsoever. And Michikatsu had never had a place at his side. They both knew this to be the truth. So why did Yoriichi keep pretending otherwise. Why did Yoriichi let him? Why had Yoriichi allowed him to bring him home tonight? Yoriichi had never needed protection. They both knew that. Why had Yoriichi indulged him like that? Was it because he pitied his older brother? The older brother who had no need to be one because Yoriichi was stronger. The older brother who could not help himself regardless because being used as a tool to fill and soothe the empty spaces of other people was all that he knew and to not have any cracks to mend or wounds to mend made him doubt he had any reason to be held in high regard at all?
It made no sense. Yoriichi made no sense. He never had. Why was Michikatsu still allowed to be here...when there was nothing Yoriichi could need from him? Nothing he could contribute of value?
The other's words - uttered in a gentle whisper - were received with a slight but steady shake of his head.
He had not killed out of wish. He had not done what he did because he derived some sense of pleasure out of it. He had done so because the people whom had depended on him had needed for him to fill that hole, to mend that crack. And he would have done so - again and again. And it did not negate the action itself because it had been a choice. A choice to fill that hole, to protect those crying for help. It had been his choice. And it had been unforgivable. That was simply how things were. Sometimes the choices one was faced with were both terrible but it was still a decision that one had made. It was wrong, to refuse to live with the consequences, with the weight they carried.
It was only the feel of the other's strong body against his that made Michikatsu look up, silent tears having continued to trail down his cheeks, eyes glassy. He did not have much time to register the other's gaze until his forehead found itself pressed against Yoriichi's own. The tingling sensation of Yoriichi's breath upon his skin caused for a surprised little gasp to escape his lips - much alike to a huff - though he remained otherwise silent.
The outcome... as a shadow of one's actions...once more Yoriichi stressed that intentions mattered... and then he proceeded to throw away all forms of moral judgements in favour of dwelling within this moment. Effectively drawing a closing line to their discussion with the same firmness as he slayed the man-eating creature's that grazed these lands. Had Yoriichi determined a conversation too hurtful, too harmful to maintain? Hurtful...for whom?
"You refuse...to concede... and yet you can only... repeat yourself. You should not... put this much faith in me, Yoriichi. It is dangerous." There were a great many things he could say. Things that revealed the depth of what he truly understood, the degree to which he had glimpsed the other's heart, the many places within his soul that did not quite fit... and yet...
His nose pressed itself against Yoriichi's cheek, free hand finding the other's red haori and sinking his fingers into it, as though holding on for dear life as the tears continued to roll.
And yet...: "What makes you think...you know my heart..."
