Bleeding red, blooming blue

Everyone in the Rengoku Estate had been asleep for a long time when new rustling joined the chirping of the night crickets and the wind dancing in the garden. The wide door slid open, and the shadow, creeping across the moonlit paper, became flesh and blood. As he made sure he had entered the correct room, the demon crossed the threshold and quietly slid the door shut, cutting the place off from the outside chill. Finally. He found him. He didn’t know whether he had intended for his final attack not to be lethal and to leave a chance for the Corps doctors to bring Rengoku back from the brink of death, or whether all this had been pure coincidence and the sheer luck of his opponent. But he knew he had been truly scared then, in front of the wrecked train. He had been scared of the Hashira’s real strength when the man had almost put him to the dawn. And scared of the mere thought of losing him. Losing something he’d barely had time to savor. It was a mixture of the desire to possess him and the unwillingness to accept that Rengoku could slip away from him. Back to those weaklings, back to those humans. Akaza couldn't allow this to happen. If he didn’t have Rengoku Kyojuro, then no one would. A very simple thought that in an instant deprived the demon of the ability to think clearly and took control of his body. It was like a heat of passion that subsided the moment he saw his arm enchained in the slayer’s chest. A second of confusion passed, and there he was, begging his opponent to change his mind and accept the offer before death dragged him into oblivion. As if he wasn’t the one who had thrown that last punch. As if it wasn’t his fist that had pierced the solar plexus. Akaza didn't know much. But there was no doubt that the relief he felt now at seeing Kyojuro alive was genuine. Without making any noise and with bare feet on the tatami, the demon walked further into the room, stopped in front of the futon, where the body was lying motionless, and sat cross-legged beside it. It took a lot of effort to figure out Rengoku's location. For some reason, Akaza wanted to know where the Flame Hashira had been buried. To give him a proper farewell? No way. To ridicule his foolish devotion to humanity one last time? No, if Akaza were at his grave, laughter would be the last thing to come out of him. Furious growling and blaming which no one would hear - those were the things he would have most likely spat on the dead man hiding from him six feet under. But instead of a grave, Akaza found himself at the bedside of the badly wounded man. The tight bandages on his chest and head were soaked with ointment. The sweet bitterness of sleeping herbs and the specific odor of medicine were wafting from his half-open mouth, following the steady flow of breathing. His thick black eyebrows twitched slightly at the demon’s arrival, but nothing more happened. Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe the skilled slayer picked up the change in the surroundings even from the bottom of his deep sleep. Maybe he sensed him. Akaza wanted to believe the latter. Honestly, he would only be glad if Kyojuro woke up now and saw him. Akaza, in his turn, would see... He wondered what emotion he would see on Kyojuro’s face first. Surprise? Fear? Hatred? Would Kyojuro ask why the demon had come, or would he try to kill him right away, wasting no time? With bare hands, since there was not a hint of a weapon nearby. Those were, of course, only dreams, beautiful dreams in all their great variety. The reality was far more boring. Despite the active treatment in that manor, which was swarmed with other slayers and Hashira who wanted to visit their fellow, and where Akaza could not sneak into because of that reason, the man was still too weak. That’s why he was being fed drugs. Long and deep sleep allowed him to conserve energy and accumulate the strength that the fragile human body needed to recover. It was sickening to see Rengoku like this. However, Akaza felt no guilt for what he had done. He had given the Hashira a choice, and Rengoku had made it. The sight of Rengoku’s debilitated and sleep-poisoned body was truly depressing, but Akaza did not mind it now. He could admire Kyojuro until dawn, enjoying the pictures his imagination was painting in his mind’s eye. One day the sun that had separated them last time wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Akaza had little doubt about that because there was another reason why the current reality suited him so well. Sooner or later, Rengoku Kyojuro would leave his bed... only to realize that his destiny was to stop fighting. Nothing in this world could undo the damage he had experienced, and nothing could polish his skills to its previous perfection. Akaza could tell that now just by looking at the man. The Hashira lost his flame. Neither his lungs, nor his healed bones, nor the saved remains of his internal organs will withstand the stress of his breathing style. A mediocre life support will be the best to hope for. Rengoku was so passionate about his duty. About the value and beauty of human life. About the glorious side of its fading. It was so easy to give such speeches when you were almost at the peak of your powers, with the energy flowing through your veins like a river. But what will happen to this inspiring eloquence when everything you lived and strived for disappears? What will happen if it slips through your fingers like water? It must be unbearable to sink into the suffocating abyss of weakness and helplessness after being at the top of the world. Akaza had no doubt about it: Rengoku would not endure living the rest of his days in such a miserable state. So he will come to the demon. And Akaza will show all his kindness and won’t even gloat about it. Well, maybe just a little bit. The demon smiled at his thoughts. And he smiled at the peaceful face, half hidden by bandages. Who would have thought that everything would turn out so well? In Akaza’s fantasies, Kyojuro was already asking him for his blood. Would he look aside, too ashamed of his desire to regain power? Or would the former slayer surprise the demon by looking straight at him and firmly declaring that he had changed his mind? The latter seemed much more appealing, and a wave of goosebumps ran down his skin, Akaza was full of anticipation. He preferred not to think about such trivialities as Rengoku’s determination to use his strength to protect the weak. Or the fact that, if digging deeper, there were many other scenarios where the Flame Hashira would refuse to cross the line of his principles. For now, Akaza was just relishing the dreams of the night when the dawn could no longer separate them. Ironically, that night - in a ridiculously distorted form - came much faster. Tonight. It was still a long time until dawn, but they were about to be separated anyway. Akaza did not hurry away. He kept his eyes on the sleeping man and pricked up his ears, hoping that the boy in the next room was just taken short in the middle of the night and would not intrude into his brother’s chambers. No. The youngling tried to walk as quietly as possible, but Akaza could hear his little heart fluttering wildly, not to mention the sound of footsteps gradually approaching until they died down right outside the door. Only then did the demon raise his head to stare at the slowly widening doorway and the figure lurking in the darkness of the corridor. When the boy saw two yellow sparks twinkling at him, he flinched. The door froze. Akaza curled his lips into a mocking grin. Curiosity was overflowing. What would Kyojuro's little brother do? Would he run away to call his dad, who was sleeping like a rock in that part of the house filled with an alcohol odor? It would be funny to see the head of the family trying to remain standing while struggling with a severe hangover. However, just as much as the demon found it terribly amusing, it was also insulting to such a worthy opponent like Kyojuro. It was hard to believe they were relatives. What an abominable injustice. The boy did not run away. He did not call for help, nor did he try to escape. Instead, he overcame his stupor and - on shaky legs - entered the room, staring at the night guest sitting too close to Kyojuro. “You are that demon...” he whispered, and it was unclear whether it was a question or a statement. “What demon?” Akaza asked, slightly arching his eyebrow and smiling even wider. He wanted to hear the truth they both knew flew from those lips. Not only to mock and try the younger Rengoku’s nerves but also to remind him that the Upper Moon Three would not tolerate foolish behavior. “The last one my brother fought,” the boy said after a short pause. Unintentionally, Akaza held his breath. He could not figure out what kind of emotions had just gripped him from within at the sound of the words hanging in the air. The last one my brother fought. There was something unsettling in this phrasing. Something that brought all his fantasies to a standstill. Some unhealthy combination of pride and bitterness, possessive self-satisfaction and something so uncomfortable that Akaza couldn’t find a name for, but the word ‘anxiety’ was scratching at the back of his mind. “Why are you here?” the boy asked, interpreting the demon’s silence in his own way. His tone was still nowhere near bold, and his heart kept beating feverishly behind his ribs, but he must have realized that talking to the demon was the only way to save himself. “What do you need?” “These are two absolutely different questions,” Akaza bared his teeth in another grin. The fiery eyes - the same as Kyojuro's - filled with horror when Akaza extended his arm to place his palm over one of the hands resting on the blanket. “I may need one thing,” he gave Rengoku’s fingers a gentle squeeze and pulled his hand towards himself, “but I came here for something completely different.” “What do you mean?” “Hmm, well, let’s see,” Akaza found it amusing to watch this round face turn pale. “I may need your dear brother to become a demon, but I came to end his needless torment. You know, he is quite stubborn, and I don’t want to see his beautiful spirit extinguish under the weight of inevitable fading and age.” The boy exhaled sharply and clenched his fists, but it was not fury that drove him. Akaza could smell the fear coming from him. And that fear was not for himself, but for his brother. It kept him on his feet and prevented him from sinking to the floor. It also kept his eyes wide open so the boy wouldn’t miss the slightest change in the demon’s calm behavior. What is more - and oddly enough - it kept the boy’s mind clear and prudent. Fear for your own life - Akaza had seen this too many times - usually deprived people of any common sense. Interesting. “Or, perhaps,” he approached from another angle, “I came to quietly and peacefully take what is mine, but now I need to kill one little boy who has been careless enough to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.” A brief, barely perceptible movement of the fingers squeezing his palm distracted him, and for a split second all the predatory enthusiasm was gone. Akaza looked down at the Hashira's face, expecting to be met with a fierce glare of gold, but the man was still sleeping. Was it just his mind playing tricks on him or?.. He wanted to push the boy into the embrace of selfishness and make him fear more for his own safety... probably, to write off the entire Rengoku family in his mind and send Kyojuro’s younger brother to the same place he’d thrown their father - to the trash heap of the unworthy. He wanted to make sure that the most important threads connecting Kyojuro to his human life were just some rotten, crumbling ties that would not be so difficult to sever if necessary. He wanted to stir up the same fear in this boy that all invertebrate weaklings were possessed by, but instead... he got into Kyojuro’s ear? “Or, let’s say,” Akaza continued, this time carefully listening to his sensations and watching the sleeping man out of the corner of his eye, “I came just to check the well-being of the opponent I deeply respect… Oh, why are you looking like that? Do you have such a low opinion of your brother's mastery?” “No, it’s just unusual that a demo-” “But the smell of the unhealed wounds is so,” Akaza interrupted, leaning forward slowly and inhaling noisily, the air was soaked with the disgusting stench of medicine, “so overwhelming that the only thing I can think about is how I need to taste a bite. Or swallow him whole. There’s just enough time before dawn, I’ll make it.” With his eyes flashing merrily, he brought Kyojuro's hand to his face and pressed it against his cheek, tilting the head so that his lips touched the rough skin of Rengoku’s palm. All he needed to do was to bare his fangs and sink them into the warm flesh. He could do it right now. He could also rip off any of his limbs, he could tear Rengoku into pieces, small or large, he could undo all the doctors’ efforts and make another hole in his chest, this time a fatal one. He could pull him out of bed and drag him into the darkness of the night, leaving behind fading cries full of despair and pleading. He could fuck him right in front of his brother, and the latter would be unable to stop it. But all these ‘would’ and ‘could’ didn’t count. It was enough for Akaza to just know that it was possible to do anything. If he wanted to. In reality, he usually wanted other things. It was enough for him to know that it was possible to do anything. To know that and to remind himself about that from time to time, especially when playing games with mortals began to amuse him way too much. So much that he started to like those very mortals. He had little idea why he liked Kyojuro’s brother. However, his obvious weakness did not cause the itchy irritation that usually arose when Akaza met someone not even close to being his equal. Maybe it was just some biased judgment. The boy was still very young, but who knows what kind of a slayer he would become with that kind of potential. He was Rengoku's brother, after all. Or maybe… “Stop it!” the boy blurted out in the meantime. He stepped forward. Got out of line. And - the next moment - stumbled back a bit, cautiously, but again - fearing not for himself. His eyes darted from the demon's striped face to his brother. “Shush, be quiet,” Akaza chuckled as he returned Kyojuro’s hand onto the blanket. “We don’t want your father to join our nice party, do we? Believe my experience, the flesh of drunkards tastes the worst of all. Moreover, it’s of no use. I don’t like to stuff myself like that. Especially with such pitiful weaklings.” “Please,” the boy whispered, his lips trembling, his wide eyes wet with tears. “You can kill me, but don’t hurt my family.” Akaza almost laughed out loud, but in the end, only a chuckle escaped his lips. “What’s your name?” “S… Senjuro.” “Chill out, Senjuro,” Akaza said, rising to his feet and with this movement forcing the boy... no, not to recoil. Senjuro only clenched his fists - probably sweating - even tighter. “You’ll need your flame one day. Just tell your brother when he wakes up that my offer is still on the table and that I’ll wait as long as it takes.” He turned around, headed for the door through which he had entered, and, under Senjuro’s watchful eyes full of horror and distrust, left the room, disappearing into the night. The boy will definitely deliver the message to his brother. Akaza was sure about that. What he was not so sure about was Master Muzan’s reaction. Akaza had no idea what the Demon King would do if he found out that the Flame Hashira had survived, devaluing the Upper Moon Three’s mission, which he had failed, even more. However, with Muzan-sama it was always impossible to predict anything. So it wasn't worth trying. It was worth getting back to looking for the damn flower, though. The hope to find it had died decades ago but maybe this time he would be lucky and Muzan-sama would get what he wanted. There was nothing else to do anyway. Just keep searching. Persistently, over and over again, in circles. Sometimes Akaza did feel like he was walking in circles. Sometimes, when he made yet another circle, he found something important. Or someone.