Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Enough!”

The previous silence of the forest is now hounded with gasping breaths and tortured groans. The sun has nearly set, but enjoying its beauty while trying to keep himself intact is outside of his capability.

His muscles ache violently, his body shaking in a desperate way to cope with the fatigue eating away at him. It hurts, it burns—his lungs too, burning so fiercely that if he had no sense in him, he would think they’re actually on fire.

Such delicate things inside his chest when it comes to their limit being pushed past their usual bounds.

And that’s exactly Uzui’s motive. That’s what training under a Hashira is meant to achieve.

Bounds being crossed at every turn, deviating one’s self from what normal humans are capable of.

“You’re all done for the day. Second day of training starts first thing in the morning. As soon as the sun rises I want everyone’s asses lined up outside,” Uzui announces, the collective and fatigued groans he receives very obviously striking a nerve with him. “Oh? How selfish of me. No wonder you all sound so displeased. We’ll meet before the sun rises.”

Cries of agony turn into dreadful, dreadful silence.

“Dismissed.”

Uzui turns to leave, and Zenitsu falls to his knees, his palms digging into the rough soil. Sweat beads off his face and onto the ground, certain most of it’s his tears.

Today has been unbearable and it’s only the first training session of the first Hashira. Unbearable will eventually be what he yearns for in comparison to what’s to come. If he makes it out alive.

The only thing he can do is pray for the pain to ease, and then afterwards, pray for the strength needed to endure tomorrow and every day after.

After washing himself thoroughly of all the sweat, dirt, and tears—and filling his stomach with as much food as possible, he finally has the chance to lay down on his futon and get a few hours of sleep in before hell begins anew.

The sheets are soft, practically begging for him to fall asleep and never wake up. Never waking up again sounds blissful. No more demons, no more training, no more of that attractive angry man yelling at him–

His face scrunches, eyebrows pinching together. 

Again with this.

He understands it's been a while since he's seen him during their little adventure in the red light district. And he understands that he’s changed quite a bit since the last time they were together; white silvery hair let down, his yukata loosely wrapped around his body, that cocky grin plastered on his face—his stomach may have flipped over more than a few times.

Somehow, he's managed to keep his vile thoughts shoved deep inside the crevices of his mind the entirety of the day. But now that he's alone in his room, they’ve come out to play again.

This isn't what he needs right now. Training is currently his main priority and he doesn't need any petty distractions. His sudden attraction to Uzui, to an older married man, to the former sound Hashira that carries himself with more arrogance than a noble, is naive. Delusional.

...

Maybe taking a short walk would do him good.

He's tired to his core but he knows laying here thinking about Uzui is only going to end up with his hand moving south and he'll have to clean himself up regardless.

He slowly slides the shoji shut and looks down both hallways, each dim and equally ominous. He chooses left.

The house is impressively large, obviously to accommodate all the demon slayers during their training. But it's also annoying. His memory isn't his strong suit so he's careful not to stray too far within the entangled and interconnecting hallways. Even if he had all the time in the world to stay here, he’s still not confident he could remember the entire place by heart.

It's not like he's planning to stay here for more than a week. 

Though based off of today, he doesn’t think the choice is up to him.

As he gives a heavy sigh, not wanting to think about his imminent future, he comes to the end of the hall, and before he even turns the corner, his ears perk up.

A soft thud.

He tries to ignore it. It's not that late and many people get restless during the night.

But then his ears pick up the sound of moaning and he feels his heart drop.

His mind instantly goes to the darkest scenario imaginable.

Someone is getting eaten by a demon and no one in the entire house is hearing this?

Tears start to prick the corner of his eyes, his knees shaking in the shadows of the hallway. He doesn’t even have his sword with him—not like he's actually planning to go in and kill the demon and be the hero of the night.

He stands there, leaning against the wall for support. Tonight is the night he’s going to die a painful, cruel death. He says this every time but he’s confident this is the end for him.

And it wouldn’t have to be the end if he wasn’t moving toward his death like a suicidal idiot. Every step has him wondering what the hell he’s doing, why he’s not running to get someone more capable, someone like Uzui.

Maybe curiosity truly is more powerful than fear, enough to not even fear death itself.

He's mindful of his feet, stepping as close as he can to the wall to prevent any creaks from alerting the demon. But his heart wildly beating against his chest is louder than any creak he could possibly draw out. His hand comes up to cover his mouth and nose, trying to quiet himself into nonexistence.

After a few more brave steps, convincing himself he’ll get help after he bears witness to it first, his ears pick up another moan, long and high-pitched, and that’s when his brain finally processes it. 

He relaxes, relief washing over him.

Those are…moans of pleasure. Someone's having sex.

He makes a face in disgust but he takes a hesitant step before continuing forward in an attempt to get closer, which says a lot more about him than anything. There’s no fear holding back his curiosity now.

He presses his ear against the wall and a deep, raspy moan penetrates his eardrums. His eyes go wide. He’d know that voice anywhere. Even if his hearing was taken from him completely, he’d still be able to recognize it from the vibrations alone.

He’s patiently waiting to hear Uzui’s voice again until this time, there’s a few other voices that accompany him—female ones. 

His wives.

The walls of the house are thick. The more explicit sounds aren’t audible but the sounds coming out of their mouths are, and they're obscene, the collective cacophony of them sending it straight to his groin. 

His hand settles on his stomach, contemplating if moving his yukata aside and touching himself would result in losing respect for himself entirely. There's a lot of things he's done in the past that he's not proud of but this would definitely leave a gaping hole in his pride.

Inevitably (as if he has no choice in the matter), his hand slips down and he feels his dick through the fabric. He's half hard already. 

One of his wives cries out his name and his face heats up, immediately taking back that initial thick wall statement. The sound of wet skin slapping against each other hits his ears and his legs are shaking for completely different reasons now. He slides down the wall and lets his knees gently touch the floor, sitting on his ankles, abandoning all his morals.

Just this once. 

He moves his yukata aside and slips his hand in his fundoshi, his breath hitching once his hand wraps around his dick. It feels hot under his fingertips, lightly throbbing and already eager with the bit of cum leaking out.

He rubs a bit of it between his fingers before pumping himself, his palm gliding with better ease.

The sounds of pleasure on the other side of the wall only get louder and he times his strokes with each moan and thrust he hears. And worst of all, each stroke of his dick isn’t to the beautiful sounds of the women crying in pleasure, but to the man giving it. 

He wants to hear him. He wants his voice to be clear as day, right in his ear, as he fucks into him instead of his wives. 

“Please…louder. I want to hear you,” he whispers, his voice shaking.

The gods must have been eavesdropping on him as well and were generous enough to adhere to his wish because the wall reverberates with nothing but the sound of harsher thrusts and Uzui’s thick, raspy moans. He brings up his other hand to rub at his hardened nipple through the fabric. It all feels like too much and too little at the same time. His body is burning up but the air around him is cold and desolate.

'Is that better?'

Zenitsu nods, his ear pressed against the wood, rubbing so hard it’s hot and red from the irritation.

“Yes, yes,” he breathes.

'I want to hear you too.'

He’s in mid-stroke when realization sets in. He feels his heart drop to his stomach first, then nausea hits him so hard he feels like he’s about to pass out. 

Did he really get so horny that he forgot that Uzui is the (former) sound Hashira? Did he completely neglect this information out of pure stupidity and carelessness? His hearing is exceptional but Uzui’s is levels above. A leaf could fall from a tree on the other side of the forest and he would hear it.

There’s no way that comment just now wasn’t directed toward him. It felt too clear, too in his face. A part of his brain’s trying to convince him that it’s purely coincidental, to calm his nerves before he vomits all over the floor, but his gut tells him otherwise. 

Fear envelops him and the initial numbing shock fades. He lets go of his dick and tucks himself in before slowly standing up, backing away from the wall.

He eventually makes it back to his room. Light illuminates the space around him and it’s like everything that just happened within the past few minutes finally clicks.  

He just jacked off to one of the Hashiras having sex with his wives like some kind of sick nutcase and he was heard the entire time. Mortified doesn’t even begin to express how humiliated his soul feels. And he knows he’s been given a merciful outcome because another student could’ve easily been roaming the halls during his little pleasure session. Then he really would’ve been humbled.

The walls of his own room give him a sense of reassurance, a sense of protection, until his brain gives him something else to cry about—training is in a few hours and he has to face him in all his perverted glory. 

His heart starts to race at all the possibilities that could transpire. Is he going to shame him in front of everyone? Is he going to train him until he drops dead? Is he going to torture him? Is that even allowed?

His back slides down the shoji, his knees weak for the third time tonight. Not going isn’t an option. He’d only make it worse for himself. He’d be labeled a coward that can’t even own up to his sick actions, and rightfully so.

Bringing his knees up to his chest, he cries until he runs out of tears, the only thing he’s left with is a headache and dread in his heart.

Chapter Text

Zenitsu stirs in his sleep, his eyelids heavy as he nuzzles his face deeper into the soft pillow. He's been shifting in and out of unconsciousness for a while, partially aware of his reluctance to get out of bed but not having the physical energy to actually get up.

It's not his fault the bed is unusually more comfortable than he last remembers. He may be on Hashira ground but the futon they've all been given is far from luxurious and decently comfortable at best. But right now, it feels like he’s on a cloud, cushioned and cozy. It could be the exhaustion talking but he genuinely feels light, every painful ache in his body no longer a hindrance that keeps him awake.

He's more drowsy than awake, but he still has the conscious to feel suspicious. Something nags at him, daunting him until it finally clicks.

…Oh yeah, he thinks. This isn't my room.

His eyelids no longer feel heavy and his heart beats like a hunted rabbit.

He lifts his head off the pillow and takes in his surroundings. The strong arms that were wrapped around him last night are gone, along with all the warmth of his body. Uzui has been gone for some time now if he’s already begun to feel the chill of the morning.

Gone somewhere Zenitsu should also be–

Shit.

He throws the sheets off of him and looks for his uniform first. Not here. That should’ve been obvious but his head still can’t wrap around the fact that he slept in Uzui’s room, not his.

He gets up and sprints out, slowing down a bit to figure out how to navigate between the corridors. The path from the entrance of the building to his room has already been burned into his memory after two days of being here. But he didn't think he’d ever need to memorize his way from Uzui's room to his own.

Eventually, he reaches his room with what he thinks is pure luck and slams the shoji shut, scrambling to take off the yukata that Uzui gave him and put on his black uniform. The sun is barely peeking from the horizon but it's just the right amount of illumination to give him the rush of anxiety he needs to ignore his relatively sore muscles and throbbing asshole. He knows everything from last night will settle in and hit him when he gets outside and sees Uzui.

And for the most part, it does.

Everyone has already left, the only one standing alone out in the courtyard is Uzui.

Never in his life has he felt so many emotions all at once. His emotions are always intense and exaggerated, but most importantly distinct. Right now, there's no distinction. They’re all jumbled together in a chaotic state inside his chest but he has no time to distinguish them.

The soil grinds beneath his shoes and it gets louder the closer he gets to Uzui. It's deafening to his own ears.

"You're late," he says. "Again."

Even though he expects it, he still jumps. Thousands of mornings could pass and he still wouldn’t be able to handle Uzui's boisterous voice in contrast to the quiet dawn.

"You didn't wake me up," he counters.

That's the least he could've done. Just nudged him a bit before telling him to get his ass up.

Uzui finally turns, walking his way toward Zenitsu. "It's my responsibility to wake you up?"

He stands in front of him, their positions painfully similar to last night’s confrontation about his little eavesdropping. His heart instantly races at their proximity.

Uzui glares, a thin eyebrow raised in a sort of fed-up exasperation. He leans in, putting emphasis into every word like a sharpened knife. "Give me one good reason why I should be nice to you."

What he says is a painful reminder of what kind of relationship they have. Zenitsu is neither a friend, nor a lover to him. And Uzui is a stranger, an asshole, a Hashira that's supposed to train his sorry ass until he manages to show some type of worth in his skills before sending him off to the next training ground.

Zenitsu tries putting on a manly facade but there’s a strange ache in his heart, feeling like a naive child for thinking he actually meant anything to Uzui.

"So what's my punishment now?" he asks, mentally cursing at himself for letting his voice shake. "The mountain again?"

Uzui straightens up, looking down at him.

"No. You're free to go with your little friends."

He freezes. Those aren't the words he was expecting. For a second, he almost believes he’s kind enough to let him go without any consequences, but he grounds himself to the more realistic world as soon as he hears that impish pitch to his tone.

His shoulders slump.

"What's the catch?"

Without looking, his eyes glued to the bare chest displayed in all its glory, he hears that obnoxiously smug tone he was waiting for.

"Not taking the bait that easily huh?" he asks. Uzui walks past him, Zenitsu somehow knowing not to move from his position. He hears something being picked up from the wooden engawa and then footsteps retreating toward him. "Here."

The thunderous vibrations he feels from the earth beneath him sends a chill down his spine. Right at his feet, there's a set of weights that look and sound heavier than his entire body.

"These, go around your ankles," he says, his voice the slightest bit deeper with his next threat. "And whatever you do. Don't take them off."

Dread fills his heart to the brim as he begins to question his place on this earth. Others were born to live but he was born to survive. He thinks this is as worse as it could get, until his naivety slowly strips itself away with each of Uzui's little deceptive acts.

His eyes go wide. "You didn't wake me up on purpose."

Uzui gives him a light gasp, solely for his own amusement.

"'What ever could you be talking about?" he says, sarcasm seeping between a set of lips slowly curving into a smile. "I would never."

“I would never.”

That man is a sadist. He enjoys seeing Zenitsu suffer in every way possible. Even the cruelty of demons is less contriving than him.

Dying might be an exaggeration but death feels like it’s knocking at his door and he’s barely half way there. Starving crows picking at his corpse is more likely to happen than reaching the end.

What really bothers him the most is that this could’ve been entirely avoided. He would’ve kept up with the other demon slayers, but these weights around his ankles feel like he’s biting off more than he can chew. The sheer weight of them forces his feet to drag against the soil, making him leave a trail behind every step.

He wipes the sweat off his forehead, his feet coming to a stop out of exhaustion. A few hours have gone by. He doesn't know how many exactly but the sun is high up, nearly at its peak, probably noon.

He curses under his heaving breath. Noon is where he should be by the mountain, running his way up, so the rest of the afternoon and evening is spent running down and back to the training grounds.

The weights have delayed his time by so much, it’s ridiculous.

His ass slams against the ground and his body immediately untenses. It feels nice to finally be able to sit down and relax, but at a certain point even that’s not enough, to which he settles for laying down on the ground completely.

Dirtying his uniform be damned. He can make a pillow out of leaves and use the dirt as a blanket if he wants to.

Taking a break for even a few seconds is risky, but he doesn't care. The burning in his lungs is brutal and he can sense a headache coming on.

He focuses on his breathing as he lets his mind drift, a good time to finally process everything that's happened.

He thinks about Uzui and nothing but Uzui. His feelings toward him are generally the same as before, and he's certain of them as well. Zenitsu likes him more than he's willing to admit and he wants to get closer to him. The problem is the feelings Uzui has for him in return.

The man definitely has feelings for Zenitsu, he just can't tell if they're feelings of affinity or pure hatred.

He thinks about how he subtly told Zenitsu last night that he didn't mind if he stayed the night. How he wrapped his arms around his waist and cuddled him to sleep in his wife's yukata that he gave him.

Then, this morning, Uzui's gaze held nothing but disdain at the sight of him.

A few small and kind gestures after endless amounts of teasing and insults, packed with his own little creative ideas to torment him for his own amusement — doesn't mean shit. He knows he's just being a naive child again, pining for a married man that would never look twice at his quick fuck from the other day. Wishful thinking is all it is in the end.

These thoughts eat at his heart and it takes a handful of wet tears sliding down the side of his face and onto his ears to realize he's crying.

He's crying. Over a man undoubtedly toying with his body and emotions.

“I’m so stupid,” he quietly mutters.

The tears and self-loathing can wait until nightfall though, when a sudden shout from the distance startles him back to reality.

"Hey!"

He abruptly sits up. He wipes his tears with his sleeve and sniffs all the mucus right back into his nose.

Down the path is only a handful of demon slayers, a few faces that he recognizes. It's a little past noon and some are in such good physical shape they're already coming down from the mountain. He genuinely thinks he can't handle this anymore. One more failure shoved into his face and he might actually weep himself to death.

The sound of shuffling feet grows louder until they come to a stop.

"What happened?! Are you okay?"

He looks up at them from his position on the ground. It takes him a second to respond, a bit flustered at all the eyes suddenly on him.

"Y-Yeah! I was just taking a break!"

"That's a relief, we thought you might've passed out or something."

"Nope, I'm all good," he says, giving them an awkward laugh.

He thinks they'll leave him alone now that their worries have been alleviated, until one of them stretches their hand out. He reluctantly grabs it but holds in his annoyed groan. Why couldn't they just have kept running and ignore his limp body on the ground so he could've continued he's self-loathing session? Why are they being so nice to him and caring more about his well-being than Uzui?

"He actually let you off the hook?" he asks, elaborating a bit when he sees Zenitsu's confused expression. "You know, since you were late this morning."

"Oh, uh, not really," he answers, looking down at his ankle weights. "He gave me these… they're pretty heavy."

They all make a face, some making noises of disapproval and understanding. Too bad none of them know how much of a hindrance it actually is.

"Why don't you just take them off?" the dark haired one says nonchalantly. "Put them on the ground right here, and on your way back, just pick them back up."

Now that, catches him off guard.

"I…I don't know if that's a good idea…"

"Sure it is, I mean, it’s a whole lot better than being stuck out here the whole day.”

The guy next to him smacks him in the chest. "Are you crazy? What if he gets caught? Uzui-sensei’'s gonna kill him."

"Wha- how's he gonna find out? We're in the middle of nowhere, c'mon!"

"Don't listen to him, you'll get into even more trouble if you pull something as stupid as that."

They start to bicker amongst each other and his patience has finally become too thin for him to endure another second of their presence. Zenitsu clears his throat, getting their attention.

"Yeah, I don't really think I have the guts for that," he says, rubbing at his nape. "You guys should get going though. Don't worry about me."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"If you say so…" one of them says. "'Good luck Zenitsu-san."

They all give him a sympathetic look before patting him on the back and making their way down the path again. He sees them off with his mouth agape, watching them run until they disappear into the forest.

Zenitsu-san.

Uzui has never uttered his name and Zenitsu hasn’t said a word to the others since he set foot here. Yet they knew his name and treated him like an old friend, worrying over his health and even suggesting ways to ease his struggles.

He shakes his head, catching himself before he gets all emotional again. Basic human decency shouldn’t leave him feeling so sentimental, he thought he learned his lesson by now.

He sighs, his head turning in the direction of the mountain that he has yet to ascend.

The other’s words ring in his ears, reminding him of his clever idea to ditch the weights right here and now.

His face scrunches, rubbing at his palms.

Damn it.

He hates himself for actually considering it. Nothing good would come out of it besides a temporary relief. He knows he’d only be cheating himself…not to mention Uzui’s threat. He knows it’s insane for Uzui to be able to hear him all the way out into the deep forest, but the nagging feeling his anxiety gives him says otherwise.

Ultimately, it’s not Uzui or guilt that forces him to keep the weights on — it’s the fear of demons eating him alive once the sun goes down that forces him to take them off.

The lack of immense weight dragging him down feels liberating. His ankles can finally breathe again after hours of being strangled, and he feels no remorse as he flings them below a nearby tree. Every tree and shrub look practically identical so he doesn't even bother with visual memorization. He just prays and hopes he spots them on his way back.

He stretches out his muscles, enjoying the effortless feel of his legs before heading on back to the path.

Luck has never been on his side. The face he makes upon seeing the weights still under the same tree is a clear indicator of that. A melancholic happiness overwhelms him as he grabs them, no sign that anyone else has touched them.

They're heavy in his hands as he lifts them up and down, observing the way his biceps flex. Carrying them in his arms would tire him out faster than simply putting them back around his ankles, he thinks.

The hot sun is beaming down on him and he's drenched in sweat. He doesn't want to carry them nor put them around his ankles. He just wants to throw them on the ground, come back to Uzui empty handed, and tell him to fuck off, right in his stupid face.

He puts them on with the most annoyed grumble he can possibly make and starts jogging down the path toward the training ground.

By the time he gets back, the sun has almost set with only a few more minutes of light to spare.

The days change but the physical agony his body undergoes is always the same. He's overcome the soreness, his muscles finally getting used to the strenuous endurance. But the burning in his lungs and the lightheadedness can’t seem to go away.

"If someone saw you right now they'd think I made you run around the entire country," Uzui jokes. "It doesn't look like you're doing the concentrated breathing either."

He takes a bit to respond, Uzui's voice from above almost completely drowned out by his own heavy breathing.

"I am–" he manages to say, almost choking on the next inhale. "Doing the breathing."

"Then you're definitely not doing it correctly."

His position on his hands and knees just feeds Uzui's assertion that he is indeed not doing it correctly. He's been drained to the core and he has the excessive weights to blame, but even he knows if he did the concentrated breathing the right way it might have eased some of his pains an ample amount.

He thought he perfected it with Shinobu back then but apparently not.

Uzui crouches down. "So, how was it?"

He looks up, confused. Zenitsu switches his position to sit down on his ass, his hands keeping him propped up from behind.

"Huh? Horrible, what else?!"

He stares at the older man in front of him, annoyed at his audacity for asking such an obvious question, but like clockwork, he recognizes that familiar taunting tone in his voice. His hands in the dirt form into fists as blood loudly bumps through his ears. Uzui didn't ask to strike up a conversation. He asked so he can lead it up to his next statement.

"Really? I'm surprised you're complaining," he says, his eyes on the weights. "After all, you took them off, even when I specifically told you not to."

How. How could he possibly know that — his little joke from the other day that Uzui can hear a leaf fall in the forest was all that it was, a simple joke. There's no way he could've heard Zenitsu taking off the weights kilometers upon kilometers of distance between them. The logical side of him knows he should argue against his assumption and stand his ground, but it doesn't convince him enough in time. His anxiety takes over and envelopes any rational thought.

"How… how did you find out?" he asks, his voice shaking.

Uzui's lips curve upward, and he watches it in slow motion, knowing he’s been given a shovel to dig his own grave.

"Never did," he whispers. "I lied."

It's one thing after another, he thinks. His heart rate eases for some reason, maybe in resignation, a way of surrendering to his perpetual misfortune. His arms give out and he lets himself fall backwards with a loud thud. The sky is dark and he can see every star that his eyes allow. It's a peaceful void, unlike the disarray down here.

"Do I get another punishment?"

His voice doesn't even sound concerned anymore.

"Again with the punishment," he hears him say, with a heavy tint of annoyance. "I'm starting to think you're doing this on purpose."

His eyebrows furrow. "I'm not."

"I spanked you once and now it's all you think about."

"No it's not!" he yells, sitting upright again. "That has nothing to do with it!"

He props his head on the palm of his hand. "Then what does it have to do with?"

"Nothing. I just didn't mean it that way!"

"But that's where your mind was floating toward," he accuses, his amusement fading quicker than it came. "Anyway, mind telling me why the hell you took off the weights?"

"...I only took them off when I was running on the mountain," he explains, his self-consciousness making it hard to swallow. "When I came back down, I grabbed them and ran back here with them on."

"You took them off near the mountain? Could’ve just saved your ass if you lied."

Zenitsu softly shrugs, frustrated at his own stupidity. "I got scared. I thought you could still hear me."

"Well, I'm flattered you think my hearing is that amazing," he says, sounding a bit weirded out. "But I'm still human."

"And yet you still found out."

From the few days he's spent under Uzui's guidance, he's picked up on just how expressive he can be with him. Not that he knows how expressive he is with anyone else, especially with his wives. But around Zenitsu, his face ranges anywhere from furious, amused, baffled, to dismayed — and in such a short period of time too. That has to count for something.

"I didn't use some special technique, you're just an idiot," he says curtly. "If you're gonna lie, or do anything as a matter of fact, you need to go through with it. That's your problem, you give up too easily. If you kept up the lie I would've believed you."

"But if you found out, I would've been in more trouble."

"And if I didn't, we wouldn't even be talking right now."

That’s a lie. That’s a goddamn lie because he knows Uzui would’ve just heard his heart beating out of his chest the moment the words escaped his lips and the punishment would’ve been just as severe, if not worse. He wants to speak up, will himself to say what he really thinks, but there's no point in fighting him about it. There never is.

"How about this," he starts. "Every time you succeed at something, you get a reward."

Zenitsu raises an eyebrow. "If I succeed?"

"Punishment is too easy for you to get and it's lost all meaning thanks to you."

"Oh great, I'll never get a single reward then," he scoffs.

His words were clearly a mistake that he wasn't aware of making. Uzui face turns grim, putting fear directly down Zenitsu’s spine.

"And that's where you fall short," he says, keeping his voice low. “You've already assumed and now fully believe you'll fail, without even trying. You're a miserable little thing."

Tears well up in his eyes as Uzui lets him ravel in the silence of his words.

"It's easy for someone like you to say that," he mutters, his head hanging down. "I don't assume, I know."

"You don't know shit," he spits. "You're telling me you're some kind of god or something? You can predict what happens in the future?"

"I can predict from experience, you asshole!" he yells, as much as his crumbling voice can allow as tears begin to fall. "I've failed at every single thing I've ever tried to do in my life. You can't tell me about what I've gone through!"

Even with a warning, he wouldn't be able to brace himself as Uzui grabs him by the uniform and stands up, yanking him from the ground like an already dying flower being ripped from the soil.

"You failed yourself when you took off those weights," he seethes. "You're improving without realizing, and you'd improve more if you stopped half-assing every little thing that scares you.”

Tears hide his vision as a veil, the last few moments of Uzui's face a blur as he drops him onto the ground and walks off.

He lets himself cry, a quiet cry that only resounds that of resignation. His heart aches, but for different reasons.

A few minutes pass, maybe more. New tears stain old dried ones on his reddened cheeks as he picks himself up, each step without purpose. He makes it inside and the duration of his time spent on cleaning and feeding himself, he has no recollection of. His body works relative to his essential needs, but beyond that, his mind is somewhere else.

He crawls into his futon and covers himself up with the blanket. It should be comforting but it isn't, irritation and restlessness eating away at him.

Uzui should be the last thing on his mind but his head is filled with that man to an unhealthy level. He doesn't know what to think or feel about him anymore. He has affected him so harshly, so extensively, he's pried into Zenitsu's heart with his bare hands. And if lust is all it is, he could abate that desire with his own hand until the time finally comes to leave this place.

But it's not. Love is not the answer either, but more of a longing hunger for affection that's been absent throughout his life. Now he craves it more than ever, and for the wrong person.

Zenitsu takes a deep breath. Just when he had doubts this morning about Uzui, that icy gaze staring at him with hostility — now shows concern, and so do his words. They were the words of a teacher who cared enough to yell at him and get his shit together.

As if that could make up for the rest of the horrible things he’s done and said.

Another deep breath. His credulity is clouding his senses, but at the very least, he's aware of it.

He'll take whatever glimpses of Uzui's rare tenderness he can get, but he knows to keep his distance until he leaves.

When he wakes up, the room is still enveloped in darkness. The window gives no sign of the morning either.

If he only slept an hour, so be it. He refuses to be late a third day in a row.

He stretches out his body before languidly rolling over and crawling his way toward the closet. He gets up and starts smacking the wall in the process of finding the opening and when he does, he grabs the only other article of clothing he really has — his uniform. He puts it on and looks for his shoes next.

He glances at the window again and still sees no light.

This extra time in the morning does wonders, he thinks. These past few mornings he hasn't gotten the chance to go to the communal bathroom and freshen up a bit. So he does just that, taking his time before heading out.

When he gets outside, the chilly air enters his lungs and he's greeted with only a handful of other demon slayers just as miserable and tired. They're earlier than him, making him wonder if they've even slept.

As he approaches them, familiar faces begin to sprout from yesterday's encounter.

"Someone’s early for once."

Zenitsu awkwardly nods.

"How did it go?" the other asks. "Did you actually take off the weights like this idiot told you to?"

He hesitates. They wait for an answer and he wants to give them one, but he doesn't know which. Telling the truth wouldn't result in any consequences, nothing bad could come from it. They would probably praise him for having the guts to do it, it was their idea anyway. But if he were to lie and say he never took them off, clutched onto his pain until he reached the very end, they'd praise him for his perseverance and determination.

Lying for a few measly compliments is pathetic and he knows it.

"Uh, no... I didn't."

"What?! You made it up the mountain with them?!"

"Did you make it back in time? You didn't have to fight off any demons did you?"

He gives them all a nervous smile. "Yeah I made it back in time. No demon fighting for me.”

They all stare at him in awe and guilt immediately eats away at him.

"You're amazing, you know that?"

"If that was us we would've never made it out."

The loudest of the bunch that has initiated all the conversations, and possible future ones, gives him a firm pat on the back. They're all so supportive and kind toward a woeful liar with no shame. They don't deserve his dishonesty but he can't take back what's already been said.

The conversation dies down as more gather around. The first hint of light from the sky appears and as does Uzui, not a minute later. Everyone quickly gets into their position at the sight of him and Zenitsu is almost at a loss with the lack of familiarity with this routine.

Uzui walks up with his arms behind his back, scanning the line for anyone missing.

"I suggest everyone savor these next few days," he begins. "Next week, your finishing time is cut down in half. I want everyone back here by noon."

No one has the guts to groan or complain, but he sees shoulders slump and heads hang low from his peripheral.

It doesn't seem like there's anything else to be said or done, until Uzui walks up to him, the hand behind his back revealing the ankle weights. He drops them on the ground and everyone visibly winces at the loud bang.

"Dismissed."

Zenitsu stares down at them as the shuffle of dozens of feet temporarily drowns out his thoughts. He's left alone in the courtyard, every demon slayer set out to begin their training and Uzui already back inside, apparently not in the mood to talk or tease. It's just him and his burning hatred towards the object that's the source of all his current misery.

He puts them on with as much attitude as he possibly can and doesn't waste time on running out on the path. He takes it slow, in no rush to keep up with the others in the front when he knows he'll lose sight of them within the next few minutes anyway. It's actually upsetting seeing himself being left behind with each heavy step.

Hours pass by and the amount of sweat his uniform is soaked in is disgusting. The blazing heat of the sun has been relentless all morning but he sees some hope at the dark incoming clouds looming over the treetops.

As he approaches the mountain, it begins to stretch into the afternoon. Most of the demon slayers have already passed him, if not all of them.

There's not a chance he can make it back in time at this rate. Either a repeat of yesterday happens or he takes the risk of not returning before night falls. And the longer he stands here trying to decide what to do, the more valuable time he wastes.

Just like Uzui said, he can get away with it if he doesn’t rat himself out.

And it'd be dumb of him not to take the opportunity and lie to him properly this time, wouldn’t it?

Except not seizing the opportunity is his speciality, and his feet move on their own.

Up the mountain and down, and the sun begins to set.

Now is when an anxious feeling starts to dwell deep inside his gut, fattening itself up the more the horizon darkens. It's a race against the clock to get back to safety and no amount of encouraging lies can convince himself he's not going to be dead by the end of the night.

Darkness surround him and the only sound he can hear is his heart pounding in his chest and blood rushing through his ears. It's a matter of survival now and he genuinely, genuinely, doesn't have the strength nor will to live when it feels like his body has been pushed past his limit twice over.

If a demon popped up right now he wonders if he’d actually surrender and let himself be killed. He has no sword, no type of weapon to defend himself. Maybe if he took off his weights and flung them at the demon it'd knock them out just enough for him to escape. It’s laughable but that’s the only thing between life and death.

As his feet drag against the soil, he starts to feel droplets hitting his skin and sliding down his face.

What starts as a drizzle evolves into pouring rain. He'd tell himself it can't get any worse than this, that this is what the pinnacle of misery is, but at the very least, there’s still a bright little flame that can lead him home — the pouring rain hides both his scent and sound, conditions that'll make it much harder for a demon to track him.

He reminds himself of that repeatedly.

Until that repetition is powerless and stripped of its ability.

And his eyes fall on a black silhouette that looks all too similar to a demon.

Fuck.

If the rain cooled him down, the sight of the demon has frozen him entirely. Goosebumps run across his cold, drenched arms and the deluge of fear is so intense he has to take a few steps toward a nearby tree to lean against so his trembling legs beneath him don’t give out.

The heap of thick leaves and bushes obscures him from the demon’s sight, enough to see their broad, towering form. It’s dark but he can make out their large stature and long fiery red hair, but not any distinct details. Especially if they're a moon demon or not.

Like the saying goes. Ignorance is bliss and he’s definitely not sticking around to find out.

He slowly takes a few steps back, moving farther away until he can safely move around them and find a way back on the trail. It seems to be working but half way in, he loses sight of them.

‘They were right there, I swear they were right there! Oh god, oh god, oh god.’

Panic seizes any and all movements, his breath caught in his throat as fear starts to rise in his chest. Losing composure prompts an early death, so he tries to calm down, talking and soothing himself until his trembling lessens.

He crouches, as low as he can with the weights still tightly wrapped around his ankles, moving the remainder of the way around the trail. Eventually, he sets his foot back on muddy soil with no sign of the demon.

After a minute or so of walking, he gives it the benefit of the doubt that the demon left and found themselves a different prey. Even with their strong senses, the chances of the demon actually noticing him would’ve been slim.

“You attract what you fear, mm?”

The hoarse voice tickles his ear from behind and he falls forward, his knees giving out immediately. He scrambles, his nails and feet digging into the thick mud in a desperate attempt to escape, but the demon has his hand wrapped around his ankle before he can get far. He harshly twists his ankle, flipping him over on his back and forcing them to meet eye to eye.

“You look surprised,” he says, sharp teeth in full display with a hellish grin. “What? You thought the rain would mask your scent? You reek of anxiety, kid. No way you could’ve just walked past me like that, are you joking?”

He kneels down, sniffing him up as his eyes search him.

“And no sword, huh? I usually like my food to put up a fight, but I’m too hungry to be picky right now.”

He physically can’t stop shaking. The thought of his life ending right here and now, the demon ripping into his flesh with his teeth, has bile rising to his throat.

“Please...please,” he cries, his heart beating so hard it feels like his ribcage is about to shatter. “Please don’t kill me... I’ll do anything! Just don’t kill me!”

He stands back up, his eyes glazed over with a murderous lust. No amount of pleading to convince him otherwise is going to work. Zenitsu is about to accept his death, succumbing to the thought of leaving this world and the few people he cares about behind, until he risks everything at the last moment.

He literally has nothing to lose.

Without hesitation, he swiftly rips off the ankle weights and with as much force as his exhausted body can muster, throws them at his face and runs. Whether that did anything or not doesn’t matter. He runs and doesn’t look back.

He’s light on his feet as he crosses the forest, crying for this immutable agony to be laid to rest already. He wants all of this to stop, the feelings of fear and exhaustion right now so violent it’s almost unbearable. He could’ve ended it all if he just let the demon kill him, but the human’s innate desire to survive prevails.

His mind and body have disconnected between consciousness and reality somewhere along the way. His muscles intuitively do all the work to get him back to safety, a searing acidic burn running through each fiber but he refuses to stop.

Not until he sees the house, not until he sees Uzui’s face.

But it doesn’t seem like he’ll ever get to see him again.

The trees are suddenly horizontal and it doesn’t dawn on him that he’s on the ground until a few seconds after.

Even with the rain beating down on him, he can still hear the demon’s heavy, ravenous breathing.

He struggles to keep his eyes open, a throbbing pain circling around his head, swaying him as if he's out at sea.

Black spots begin to cloud his vision, and little by little, darkness consumes him whole.

The quiet and mellow tapping of the light rain on the roof above him calms him. He wishes it could go on like this forever, he’s always been fond of the sound of rain and all the comfort it brings.

But the rough downpour soon takes over and he’s reminded of what, or whom, is still out there.

It’s pitch dark out now, the reassurance of the sun no longer present.

The young boy should be back by now. No matter how much he cries or groans in pain, he still manages to come back before nightfall. But he hasn’t. An hour has passed and his ears still haven’t picked up on any signs of him.

As he sits at the edge of the engawa, he hears a pair of footsteps from behind him, but they’re not the ones to ease his worry.

She moves to his side, sitting down on her ankles. He notices the lantern and sword she’s placed in between them and he already knows what she wants from him.

She stays quiet but she can’t hold out for long. If something bothers her, she’ll make sure Uzui is well aware of it.

“Can you hear him?”

“No, Hinatsuru,” he answers. He can sense her piercing gaze from his peripheral, his answer clearly not satisfying her, and with his next one only disappointing her even more. “He needs to come back on his own.”

Uzui hears her take a deep breath before it’s drowned out by the powerful strike of thunder that ungraciously rattles the entire house. The irony of it all is definitely on her side.

“Your stubbornness is going to get him killed.”

He turns to her, a pang of guilt strums at his heart as he’s met with a face that begs for mercy.

Hinatsuru has always possessed more kindness, more empathy and love than anyone he’s ever known. The cruelity of this world hardens even the kindest of people, yet she’s shown that means little to her. Her approach is always gentle and patient, unconditionally so. It’s what he admires most about her.

It’s still not enough to convince him, however.

“His incompetence is going to get him killed.”

“He’s a child!” she argues. “Work him as harshly as you wish during training, but leaving him to die in the hands of a demon in the middle of a storm, weaponless, is cruel even by your standards.”

“Hinatsuru-”

“Please don’t lose your humanity, Tengen.”

She stares back at him with that face she always makes when she’s angry. Thin eyebrows pinched together, her lips turned over into a frown, an intensity in her eyes so vibrant it could replace the full moon in the night sky and no one would notice.

She turns to look out into the forest, her expression unwavering. After a minute of silence, she gets up to go back inside, but leaves the lantern and sword by his side.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering why he ever told her about that brat. The night after his little misstep, he mentioned it to Hinatsuru in passing, nothing more than a way to ridicule his perverted endeavor.

But Hinatsuru thought it was the funniest thing she’s ever heard and called him all types of endearing names. Even Makio and Suma were taken back at first, flustered but forgiving nonetheless.

Their hasty acceptance confused him beyond belief. He was expecting reactions of disgust, calling him a creepy pervert, literally anything that encompasses a normal reaction to this sort of thing.

Though it looks like a lot of actions can be excused when you're a cute child.

How incredibly bothersome.

The storm picks up even more as lightning lights up the sky.

If the kid found shelter somewhere, Uzui has no qualm he’d be fine. It’s the demons he’s more worried about.

He hops off the engawa and stares into the hollow darkness between the trees. He wonders what the brat is thinking about right now. What he’s doing to keep himself alive. He’s probably getting torn into pieces by a demon right now while Uzui’s standing here carefree, dawdling with time.

He sighs, taking a step forward into the pouring rain.

The heavens are certainly not benevolent tonight.

Time feels stagnant yet rapid.

As if he’s been wandering through the woods for ages, mindlessly searching through the illusive void for someone he’ll never find. He can only pick up so much when thunder and rain are hounding his eardrums.

Staying on the path is wiser than digressing into unknown territory, especially under the circumstances that he’s in. But he can’t shake the feeling that he’s out there. If a demon attacked him, it would more than likely have forced the kid to stray from the path.

The problem is, straying from the path himself when he doesn’t know where he exactly deviated is meaningless at best, suicidal at worst.

He keeps walking, his body drenched from head to toe, impatiently waiting for a distant scream or any sign that could lead him to the boy — but it’s futile, he’s getting more and more angry the longer he roams. Even with all this noise, he knows nothing can rival that little brat’s ear-splitting screaming. So why–

He bends down, bringing the lantern closer to illuminate the embedded footprints in the ground. They’re fresh but relatively big for a child’s size, leading off the path and into the uncharted forest.

The chances of it being a demon are more than likely.

He doesn’t see any other footprints but it doesn’t matter. The sign of a demon always leads to an unlucky victim.

He ventures toward the tracks, picking up his pace as he goes. The demon couldn’t have gone too far, not when that brat is on the other end of his hunt. He probably managed to outrun him a short distance before passing out from fatigue or fear and got caught.

That’s what he wants to believe and surely enough, he gets his answer.

From what the dark allows him to see, he finds the kid slumped against a tree, his limp body motionless and his uniform shredded. He can’t tell how severe his injuries are, but he can hear his faint breathing and his heart pumping.

He’s alive, but no amount of healthy vitals can calm his nerves snapping in half, one by one.

There’s such a heavy animosity in his own heart, and it’s so loud, so violent, yet he doesn’t understand why. He doesn’t understand but he sees what’s across from the boy — a demon coming into sight with his battered and bruised form slowly limping toward him.

Did… the boy do that to him? There’s no way he did. He’s seen first hand how strong he is when he’s unconscious, but even a Hashira without a sword is useless when faced with a demon.

He places the lantern down on the ground. It doesn’t seem like he’s noticed Uzui and he’d like to keep it that way. He circles around to get directly behind him as he quietly unsheathes his sword, appreciating the extra coverage the rain gives him.

Patience is the only way he can get closer to him without getting caught, so he tries to pace himself and not rush. Each step the demon takes, he takes two, cautious and measured. He follows until he finally stops in front of the kid, standing there without moving.

Even if the kid is dead, the demon should be pouncing on the opportunity to feast on his body. Yet he’s not.

“You really think I wouldn’t notice you right behind me?”

The demon’s deep, raspy voice reverberates loud and clear even in the midst of this roaring storm.

Uzui curses under his breath. Confidence is on his side, seeing how deteriorated his body is. But one never knows when it comes to demons. The physical damage they’ve endured could mean nothing to their unending stamina and sheer strength.

“You smell different,” he says, turning around as he crinkles his nose. “Hashira, huh?”

The demon’s words pass right through him, abiding it no attention as he grips the sword tighter and plants his feet to the ground, steading himself. He keeps his guard up, no matter the injuries inflicted on him.

“Hey, it’s pretty rude to ignore someone while they’re trying to talk to you,” he sneers. “You Hashira and your cocky attitudes, thinking you’re too above all of us to even answer me.”

Ignoring him only riles him up but Uzui doesn’t budge. The demon’s anger can fuel his body so much until it blinds him and leads him to his own death. Uzui can only hope of that once his wounded body begins to move from a slow stride to running full speed at him, claws and teeth generously bared.

Uzui dodges him but not enough to stop his claws from skimming his upper arm. Blood soaks his sleeve as the demon turns on his heel for a second strike. He lunges at him, Uzui perceiving his movements to be hasty and careless, but it’s far from that. As he swings his sword, the demon ducks and uses the split second window to take Uzui out from under his feet.

His body slams against the ground, knocking the air right out of his lungs. The brief shock gives the demon enough time to sneak through another opening and crawl on top of him. One hand around his throat and the other raised, claws ready to rip him in pieces.

“Was I mistaken? You’re not nearly as powerful as a Hashira,” he gloats, the hand around his throat getting tighter and tighter. “How disappointing.”

Just a second ago, he was hoping the demon’s anger would be his downfall, but now he feels his own effusive hatred growing. Though he’ll be damned if he actually escorts himself into the afterlife over a demon.

He reaches for his sword that he knows fell somewhere nearby, as subtle as he can without drawing his attention. His finger comes into contact with the hilt and he nudges it a bit toward him, preparing for the right moment.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to give you and that little runt a slow and painful death.”

Darkness slowly starts to consume his vision from the prolonged constriction on his breathing and he decides he’s waited far too long.

“Over my dead body,” he chokes out, managing to squeeze out the last bit of air in him.

The demon’s smile falls, annoyance replacing that egoistical expression on his face. As his hand comes down to strike, Uzui gets a hold of his sword and with all the strength in his arm, slices his head clean off.

It slides off his neck and hits the ground with a thud, rolling right next to him.

He throws his body off him and gets back up.

Death certainly doesn’t waste time in taking what belongs to it. Dark ashes disperse in the air as his body and head slowly begin to disappear. The sight of it gradually perishing isn’t Uzui’s first, and definitely not his last, so he doesn’t entertain the insignificance of death and gets to where he needs to be.

The boy is still perched up against the tree, wounded and appearing lifeless. He walks over to him and kneels down, stunned at how much blood he’s covered in.

Anxiety is not something he’s familiar with, but he feels a nervous weight starting to form in his chest.

He lightly slaps him on the cheek.

No answer.

He slaps him harder just for good measure but he doesn’t even flinch, completely out cold.

Uzui closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath. He tries to not think of the worst. They just need to get to Hinatsuru and everything’ll be fine. He refuses to let the boy die.

He sheaths his sword and carefully takes him in his arms, finding his way to the small flame of the lantern.

The rain is relentless, even now. He knows his way back but getting there is going to take longer than he initially thought. Between the boy in his arms, the mud underneath his every step, and the rain pouring down on their heads, he’s sick and over with everything that’s happened tonight. He just wants to curl up beside Hinatsuru and fall asleep to the sound of the storm in the comfort of their futon, with the boy in his own room and out of his hair.

But they all have a very long night ahead of them.

The walk back to the house feels like an eternity. Not a second of their little journey had the storm settled down. If anything it got worse, and when they finally returned, he’s greeted with his precious Hinatsuru anxiously sitting on the engawa.

She gasps once she sees the condition they’re in, her small hands coming up to cover her mouth.

“Hurry, get inside,” she says, sliding the shoji open. “I’ll prepare everything.”

He follows her lead as water drips from their clothes, soaking the wooden floor. They make it to the bathroom and the rest of the night is just as exhausting.

They undress him, bathe him, and tend to his wounds. He begins to look better bit by bit, and eventually, they make it back to Uzui’s room.

“We need to take him to a doctor,” she says, putting a damp towel on his forehead.

Hinatsuru has done her best tonight but there’s only so much she can do. The shallow surface has been dealt with but she’s not a doctor by any means.

The boy is sleeping under the covers, his wounds cleaned and bandaged up. But the deep lacerations, possible broken bones, and the now alarming fever he has isn’t something they can fix on their own.

Uzui sits down against the wall, finally getting a break. “I’ll take him tomorrow,” he says, his reply getting an instant reaction from her. “What’s with the surprised face?”

She shrugs, keeping her eyes on the boy. “You didn’t want to save him the first time. Didn’t expect you to be so willing the second.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s nothing to say. But even with his deliberate silence, she refuses to lay it to rest.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Hinatsuru,” he sighs, honestly too tired to continue, especially with the way this conversation is headed. “You should get some rest.”

She frowns, but doesn’t bother him any further and changes the subject instead.

“How strong was this demon exactly?”

“Strong enough,” he says. “He beat the demon up pretty good before I got there though.”

“He what?!” she asks, stunned as her eyes widen. “And without a sword? Are you sure?”

Uzui shrugs but quickly regrets it. His hand moves to his injured arm, clutching at it until the pain subsides a little. Hinatsuru bandaged it up fairly well but he should really let the doctor see it tomorrow as well.

“Don’t believe me?”

Her mouth opens but nothing comes out. She can’t make sense of it and he doesn’t blame her. It’s been at the back of his mind since he first laid eyes on the demon. Maybe he used his hands, maybe he picked up a branch, maybe he even found another sword laying around — whatever it was, it was the boy that injured the demon, not anyone else, and he can’t seem to shake off that judgment. Something deep in his bones has convinced Uzui it was him.

This kid has no idea how strong he is, yet he’s living his life right now thinking he’s lesser than dirt. How annoying.

The rest of the night is spent in silence, both of them watching over the boy but dozing off every now and then at the sound of the soft rain outside. He vaguely remembers seeing Hinatsuru awake and replacing the towel on his forehead, but he quickly fell back asleep for the rest of the night.

“Tengen.”

A soft voice and a small nudge by the shoulder wakes him up. “Mm.”

“It’s morning, wake up.”

He wakes up to see Hinatsuru hovering over him. Her face carries more concern than it ever did last night, and he knows whatever it is, it can’t be good.

“How is he?”

She shakes her head. He sits up, seeing for himself.

“There’s strange markings all over his body. His fever has gotten worse but this is scaring me even more,” she explains, uncovering the boy a bit to show the designs of black ink staining his entire arm. “This is blood demon art, isn’t it.”

Uzui follows the strange lines up his arm. They look dark and embedded into his skin, as if branded into him. And then his face. He has a fever, his cheeks burning bright red from his body trying to fight whatever it is that’s inside him.

Though what he initially thought was the weather that made him sick, is probably not the reason anymore.

“He’s gotten so much worse, just over night,” she says, her hand combing through his blonde hair. “You have to go now. Please. I need him back here alive and healthy.”

Uzui watches as her hand comes down from his hair to cup his reddened cheek, her thumb brushing against his soft skin.

“I will,” he says. “I promise.”

She gives him a warm smile despite her watery eyes. Though her tears aren’t from defeat, but natural concern, just like a mother would with her young.

A promise is a promise, he thinks, and the sooner they leave the sooner they’ll come back.

He stands up and leaves the boy in Hinatsuru’s care while he sends off his students to training. A few seem to notice the disappearance of their friend, but they don’t ask. Even if they had the guts to speak up, Uzui would have no intention of telling them anyway.

Everything carries on as usual and when he returns, he sees the boy finally sitting up. He’s half conscious, barely able to hold himself up.

“Ready?”

Hinatsuru nods. “Ready.”

Uzui hooks his sword onto his yukata and with the help of his wife, carefully gets the boy on his back. As soon as they come into contact, he feels the intense heat emanate through his clothes. Hinatsuru’s right, he really did get worse over night.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to pack anything?”

“It’s only a few hours, we’ll be fine.”

He gives her a kiss on the forehead before making his way out, Hinatsuru seeing them off as they part ways.

The bright and sunny morning doesn’t have a cloud in the sky compared to how it was yesterday. Though a false sense of security has never done anyone good. He maintains a quick, steady pace even if a storm should never come.

About an hour in, his body’s still going strong but his mind is slowly dwindling into boredom.

Nature is beautiful, but it’s also fairly nice when you can exchange a few words with someone at the same time.

It takes about another half hour until the boy wakes up. His face nuzzles into his neck, the brightness probably too much for his eyes right now.

“Someone’s finally awake.”

Silence follows for a long while so he doesn’t try to bother him a second time, until he hears his quiet whiny voice struggle to speak.

“I don’t feel good, Uzui-san.”

Arms wrap tighter around his neck, as much strength as his weak little limbs can gather.

Uzui slows down his pace, almost to a near stop. There’s something familiar in his chest, something he hasn’t felt for a very long time. It’s an itch that he can’t scratch, sparks of electricity running down his back. And his mind tries to recuperate the only way it knows how to.

“Yeah, didn’t expect you to be all cheerful,” he says, clearing his throat. “We’ll be at the village in a couple hours.”

“Mm.”

“The doctor you’re going to see is amazing. He’s been taking care of me since I was a baby,” he says. “Old age has caught up to him but he’s still as flamboyant as always.”

“Mm.”

“We might stop by my house after if you’re feeling up for it. It’s up a small mountain next to the village. I’m sure Suma and Makio have something prepared to eat since Hinatsuru isn’t home. It’s not the best but it’s better than my cooking.”

He’s not even sure the boy is listening to what he’s saying, he’s probably been rambling to himself this entire time like an idiot. The boy obviously needs rest, he can barely keep his head up let alone carry a conversation right now.

Though he makes one last comment before drifting back to sleep.

“I’d like that,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

Their conversation ends there and Uzui thinks it’s for the best. His need to socialize can be put on hold until later — he needs some time to himself to figure out what the hell all those sensations and feelings were just a moment ago. He put them aside so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch them, but now with nothing else to do, his mind will wander regardless.

It feels like he’s crossed a line, completely involuntarily.

His feelings toward the boy should at least either be nonexistent or lustful at most. He’ll tease and fuck him to his heart’s content, but that’s all he’ll concede until it’s time for him to move on to the next Hashira. If he strays from that, he’s walking into complicated territory that he has no business exploring.

Terribly unfortunate for him though. He looked up to find himself somehow dead center of that territory.

A deep sigh turns into a low grumble.

He assumed a paternal feeling of wanting to care, love, and nurse someone back to health would be reserved for his future children that his wives would one day give him. Not for some annoying snot-nosed brat.

Yet this brat’s frail voice against his ear and delicate arms around his neck is all it took to melt his heart.

A soft and malleable thing now, enough to scare him half to death, his worry accumulates without a shield to protect him.

These mushy feelings won’t stop, he knows himself better than anyone. They’ll just keep coming until it’ll eventually spiral out of control.

And when exactly that moment will be, he doesn’t know, but he’s terrified.

Mid-day arrives before his village finally comes into view. He crosses over a stream, the wooden planks of the small bridge creaking underneath his feet, and within a few minutes, he’s right at the doorstep of the place he calls home.

It’s as lively and beautiful as always, but the admiration has to wait. He takes a few shortcuts and makes his way through alleyways until he reaches the doctor’s house.

Opening the shoji, he’s instantly greeted by a young woman at the front desk.

“Good afternoon, how-Oh! Tengen-san!”

“Kiku-chan, can you call Yamanaka-sensei for me?”

Her face falls, her eyes falling onto the boy on his back as she picks up on the urgency in his voice.

“Come, I’ll give you a room.”

She leads them down a corridor that he’s all too familiar with. They make a right and take the first room to the left. As he places him on the bed, Kiku has already shut the shoji and gone to bring Yamanaka.

The few minutes they spend in silence feels like a dreadful eternity. There’s even more markings on his face and body than he last remembered from this morning — large twisted coils of dark ink giving birth to smaller branching ones. It’s unnerving the longer he stares, but thankfully the shoji opens back up.

The old man’s eyes fall on the boy lying on the bed, his face turning grim at the markings.

“What happened? I want all the details.”

He asks for answers but doesn’t waste any time in the meanwhile, already beside his bed and checking his wounds.

“He fought a demon last night,” Uzui explains. “Other than the deep wounds, he has… these markings all over his body. And I’m not sure if it’s the blood demon art giving him the fever or…”

Besides the obvious, he doesn’t have any other information to offer. If there’s any questions, he’ll answer to the best of his ability, but for now, he patiently waits as he watches Yamanaka examine him.

“The wounds aren’t a problem.”

“But the blood demon art is,” Uzui finishes.

“Normally, without the blood demon art, wounds this severe always give rise to a fever. But after seeing a blood demon art and its effects, similar to this a few years back…”

“You’re familiar with this? You can treat it?”

Yamanaka sighs, taking the stethoscope out his ears.

“I have medication left over from a while back that another doctor gave me. It treats a blood demon art that I remember looked very similar to this.”

“Then-”

“But… assuming it can be treatable solely on the basis that they look similar, isn’t wise judgement.”

Uzui doesn’t need any medical knowledge to know what he’s saying is true. But looking over at the boy, he can’t help but ask for alternatives.

“Is there another option?”

“The only other option would be traveling to another village,” he says. “There’s a village south from here that I’m fairly certain has the medicine in possession that you need. It’s from the doctor I just mentioned. But it’s more than a day’s worth trip from here.”

“A day’s worth…” he repeats.

“Both are a high risk,” he continues, giving him a sympathetic look. “If his health has deteriorated this much within a night, waiting another could kill him. Yet being hasty and carelessly giving medicine for another illness could worsen his condition.”

“It’s a matter of time versus luck.”

He solemnly nods. “In better words,” he says, sighing again. “Tengen, what am I going to do with you, huh? You’ve put me in quite a predicament, I haven’t been this perplexed in ages!”

In the midst of all the stress, he’s still able to bring out a light chuckle from Uzui.

“I’ve been giving you something to worry about since I was young.”

“And now this little one came along and did me the favor of giving you something to worry about,” he prods. The topic switches back to the boy and their lighthearted conversation comes to a halt.

Uzui can see, behind those obnoxiously large and silly glasses, the intensity in his eyes. He’s debating on his next answer, knowing a life depends on it.

“From a physician’s standpoint…despite the risks both options carry, I have to say giving him the medicine is the safer option. Though you can still go to the village if you think he has a higher chance of survival that way, I won’t stop you.”

Uzui scoffs almost instantly. “As if I’d never go against your word. I’m staying here and taking my chances with someone I trust.”

Right now he’s in the hands of someone he trusts. Taking the boy in this dire state to some far off village when he has Yamanaka right in front of him is asinine. He doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if the boy died in his arms midway.

Yamanaka smiles, his eye wrinkles appearing out of pure elation. “Medicine it is then.”

The rest of the afternoon is spent with the boy. Yamanaka injects the medicine into his arm, a dark lilac mixture that terrifies him just as equally, and immediately starts working on his wounds. He undoes all his bandages and treats his scrapes, lacerations, and everything that Uzui and Hinatsuru tried to fix up.

But as he works, there’s no signs of the boy’s marks receding. They’re just as long and branched out as they were before, but he gives it the benefit of the doubt, just to spare himself the worry.

That still doesn’t stop him from asking.

“How long does it take for the medicine to start working?”

“It already has. I assume you’re worried about the markings... they shouldn't disappear until a few hours have passed,” he says, his attention focused on the boy’s half sutured arm. “That’s if it works.”

He doesn’t answer with any encouragement nor disagreement. He stays quiet, letting him concentrate. What’s done has been done and they can’t change it. He can speculate and worry all he wants, but the only thing they can do is wait and hope for the better outcome.

As he finishes stitching him up, Kiku opens the shoji.

“Yamanaka-sensei, there’s another patient that just came in, I brought them to room three.”

“I’ll be right there, Kiku-chan,” he answers, cleaning everything up as he prepares to leave. “Looks like I’m already off.”

“Thank you.”

“No need for thanks, Tengen,” he says, giving him a smile as he gets up. “I’ll be back to check up on him, but if you need anything, let Kiku-chan or I know, alright?”

He leaves the two of them alone as he tends to his other patients.

Uzui takes a seat on the chair that Yamanaka sat in, right next to the boy. He doesn’t have anything beneficial to give like a doctor, but support is all he can offer and he can only hope it makes a difference, even in the slightest.

He watches as his small face scrunches up, his cheeks still fairly red. Despite being knocked out cold, he can feel all the aches and pains the blood demon art is putting him under. It’s hurting him so much and Uzui can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel.

He leans over, brings his hand up to touch him but stops himself. Those thoughts he had earlier begin to orchestrate inside his head, reminding him of how his feelings will eventually spiral out of control.

He wonders if that time is now.

If he’s learned anything throughout his life, it’s that humans can’t control what they desire. He allows himself to gently run his hand through his hair, soft and golden locks threading between his fingers. It exposes his forehead, Uzui musing how charming his features are.

How did he become so soft for this boy in a matter of hours? Their time together at the red light district was not long ago, but he remembers how different it all was. It felt so distant, so disconnected — they were strangers who only harbored simple feelings of mutual hatred and annoyance.

His hand comes down to his face, brushing against his hot cheek.

It’s infuriating. All of this.

What exactly does he think he’ll gain from developing an attachment to him? Nothing that’ll be worth the risk, especially in this forsaken world.

He takes his hand back just in time for Kiku to come in. She’s in and out of the room a couple of times throughout the evening, bringing in several bowls of food for the both of them and asking if Uzui needs a spare room to sleep in.

Yamanaka eventually comes in as well for another check up, and despite the markings still prevalent on his skin, they seem to be slowly fading. That’s enough to reassure them into a decent night’s sleep.

He leans back in his chair, his arms crossed as he watches the boy sleep.

The dead silence in the room helps his ears hone in on every noise his body makes, voluntary and involuntary. His blood pumps with every strong heart beat, and behind every breath there’s a pair of strong lungs to support him. He can feel the resonance inside him and it’s so much more healthier and vibrant than last night.

The medicine is definitely working the way it’s supposed to, but he won’t be satisfied until the boy is back to splitting his eardrums with his obnoxious screams. Until then, he keeps an eye open for any changes or signs that lead in the wrong direction.

Time slowly passes as he continues to watch over his tiny form curled up on his side. His gaze smoothes over his relaxed features — no more furrowed eyebrows, no more shallow breaths — the medicine has eased the pain and truthfully, Uzui couldn’t be more relieved.

Gradually, his body begins to catch up on the exhaustion from last night. He closes his eyes and tells himself it’s just for a minute, but it feels too good to resist. The room is quiet, save for the boy and the collective rhythm of reverberations emitting from him. It calms him enough to doze off completely.

Throughout the night, he wakes up and falls back asleep in the chair multiple times, each time finding the boy in the same state. Everything is fine until the fourth time he wakes up and sees him practically squirming in bed.

His eyes are wide open now as he leans over to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, but all the question does is make him nuzzle into the blanket, covering his face as much as he can. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

The boy doesn’t budge until he feels the blanket about to be ripped off of him.

“It hurts.”

He places his hand over his forehead and feels for his temperature. He still has a fever. Though he’s not burning up as harshly as before, it may just be him finally regaining a bit of consciousness after so long. He takes his mumbling and groaning over the previous unresponsiveness as a good sign.

Uzui awkwardly rubs his back, unsure of how to relieve his pain. Yamanaka said continual discomfort is inevitable until he’s completely healed, but he has medication to numb the pain if it gets to be too much. He’s about to get up and find Kiku, until the boy lowers the blanket and uncovers his face.

The boy’s face is flushed red, his eyes glazed over with that little pout that he loves so much.

It’s the same face that’s begging to be fucked, eerily similar to their first time together.

But the circumstances of this situation are not the same. Far from it.

He knows this, so he chooses to listen to his head rather than his cock. And what his head tells him is to go find Kiku so he can give the boy medication to relieve his pain.

Hesitantly, he gets up and goes to find her. He’s barely out the room before he sees her walking down the hall.

“Kiku-chan,” he whispers.

She turns, surprised to see the man still up as she walks toward him.

“Tengen-san?” she whispers. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s tossing and turning in bed. Do you have the pain medication you mentioned earlier?”

“Of course, I’ll go get it.”

He goes back into the room and not longer after, she comes in with the medication in a small glass for him to drink. For some reason, he fully expects Kiku to tell him to give the medication to the boy, and even more concerning, feels disappointed when she’s the one to do it.

The boy lays back down, a few tears falling onto the pillow.

“The medication is incredibly strong, so he should fall asleep in no time,” she says. “Don’t worry too much, you should get some sleep.”

Kiku wishes him goodnight and closes the shoji on the way out.

Uzui heeds her kind words but he can’t physically stop himself from worrying, not until the boy comfortably falls asleep.

He’s not sure how much time passes but certainly enough for the medication to start working. Yet it doesn’t feel like it’s done much.

He’s still tightly curled up, whining in bed with no other way to alleviate the pain.

Well. There is a way to alleviate the pain, he thinks.

His cock feels tingly at just the thought of it but he’s adamant on suppressing his feelings tonight.

He’s adamant… until he slowly persuades himself into thinking the boy can benefit from this too. A little pleasure to take away the pain, is all.

That’s what he tells himself as he reaches for his blanket and slowly moves his way under it, cursing Yamanaka for not having a normal futon once the bed starts creaking under his heavy weight. He settles down right behind him and wraps his arm around his waist, pulling him in tight.

A low humming noise escapes his throat and the realization of how this boy has him entirely and completely whipped, hits him a little too hard. These carnal sensations he’s feeling right now shouldn't be warranted but they are. They're so vulgar and so intense, it has him wondering what about him makes Uzui react like this.

His mouth hovers over his nape, his lips grazing his soft skin until he wills himself to softly kiss up his neck, going up to kiss and lick the very ear that decided to eavesdrop and start this entire mess.

He comes back down, dragging his lips across his neck until he finds the perfect sweet spot to bite into. His mouth is delicate at first, considerate of all the pain that the boy has endured these past twenty-four hours. But just like everything else that concerns their intimate touching, he can’t control himself.

He gently sinks his teeth into his tender skin, biting hard enough to hurt but not to break skin. All he gets in response is a weak squirm, still not a peep. The boy is maybe half awake, conscious enough to still feel the aching pain but not enough to be self aware of his surroundings. He frowns.

Having his way with him isn’t any fun if he’s just going to fuck a lifeless doll.

He’ll get a response from him one way or another. He’ll make sure of it.

He releases his grip around his waist and moves his hand south, sneaking his way underneath his yukata and pushing down his fundoshi to his thighs. His hand gets busy with the boy’s cock while his mouth sucks and bites deep into his nape with every intention of leaving a mark.

The extra sting works, the boy whining in his hold.

He mumbles something incoherent between his cries and his hands move in a vain attempt to stop whatever’s being done to him. But the boy’s distress only fuels Uzui. No matter how much he tries to convince himself, this feels like nothing more than a fun game of nourishing his libido while seeing how much, and how long, the boy is going to resist before giving in. Easing his pain is only a bonus.

Uzui continues with his relentless teasing, enjoying all the faint tugging and pushing the boy is doing to get rid of the hand toying with his cock. The more he touches him, the more he can sense his growing frustration.

“Hm? What is it?”

The boy whimpers, struggling to complete his sentence.

“W..What are you... doing?” he mumbles, his voice broken and confused.

Uzui gives the boy’s neck a rest and nuzzles his face into his hair instead, letting out a deep exhale. There’s never been a moment where his frightened, unsteady voice hasn’t either made Uzui want to throw him off a cliff or fuck him until he passes out from underneath him. Tonight, it’s the latter.

“Helping you forget about the pain,” he answers softly.

He moves back a little to give the kid some room and rolls him over on his back.

There isn’t much protest from the boy until he takes off the covers completely and unties his yukata. Cold air exposes feverish skin and his hands quickly try to cover himself up to regain that comforting warmth. Uzui swats his hands away despite the little woeful whines.

He takes a good look at him and makes note of the markings. They’re still there, but they’ve faded a considerable amount since the afternoon, so at the very least, he can fuck him with a calm heart.

His arm slips under to wrap around his waist while the other settles on his hip. Uzui muses himself with the boy’s upper half first, kissing his collarbone and chest and loving every bit of him on his tongue. Each lick and kiss earns him a soft moan, his little mewls only coaxing him to keep going.

He takes his time before his tongue reaches his nipple. The pretty noises coming out of his mouth don't stop, but his hands are contradictory, and they push against Uzui’s shoulders.

They can only push so much though, giving up rather quickly and resorting to softly digging his nails into his skin. Uzui enjoys the subtle feeling as he sucks on his bruising nipple, rolling it between his teeth in the way the boy likes so much.

His nails dig harder, painting his chest and biceps with red, painful marks that sting even long after he tires and loosens his grip. Uzui decorates bruises all over him in return, leaving dark hues down to his ribs and tummy.

He gives him a few light kisses as he arrives just above the navel, but that's as far as his mouth goes, and blonde eyebrows are quick to furrow at the sudden pause.

Finding something in the room to lube them up shouldn't be too much of a hassle, so he gets up and searches through the closets until he finds, what he thinks and hopes, is a bottle filled with an oily substance.

He walks back and gets on the bed, the boy already covered up and laying on his side. How cute of him to think this is over.

He spreads his legs open and for a brief moment, he genuinely believes the boy will comply without putting up a fight. It's not much of a fight though, but enough to annoy him with the reminder of his lack of ability with the one hand he’s got.

At first, he thinks it’s manageable — until he starts kicking.

He catches one leg, but then the other whacks him. And in the midst of wishing he could just tie him up, he remembers that he actually can.

How effective it’ll actually be, he’s not sure. But it’s worth a try.

He undoes the thin obi from his own yukata and with a little effort, takes both his legs and places them on his shoulder. He forces him to stay still while his hand starts working on tying his legs together. With the help of his mouth, he ties the obi around his lower thighs to keep him still.

If it doesn’t restrict his movements enough, he’ll just have to tighten it even harder.

Though it doesn’t look like the boy has any fight left in him. He’s settling down, but the incessant whining has an energy of its own.

He begins to cry, thick tears welling up and clouding his eyes as his bottom lip quivers, just like a baby.

He smears the oil on his fingers and watches him closely to see which it’s going to be; loud cries for help or quiet sobs of defeat. Either route is fine with him. He has no intention of stopping anyway.

Eager to be inside him, he takes his legs off his shoulders and uses his forearm to bend his legs toward his stomach, fully exposing his ass. He rubs at his hole, moving in gentle circles to tease him before slowly inserting one in.

It’s tight, too much for even a single finger. Gradually filling him up is going to feel outright euphoric by the end of the night.

He pushes in more, wiggling around to get him used to the intrusion. Before inserting a second one, he lets him have a taste of what real pleasure feels like and curls his finger.

Uzui watches the boy’s mouth fall slack open, a desperate and overdue moan filling the quiet room. He inserts a second finger while he’s still on his little high, massaging the same spot over and over again until it has the boy writhing in his grasp.

“S-Stop,” he cries.

Uzui lets out a moan of his own, his cock getting harder at the first plea out of his little mouth.

He takes out his fingers completely and lathers them in more oil, this time inserting a third. A slow and steady pace was initially his aim, to appreciate every touch and sensation between them tonight. But he’s reached a certain point quicker than he thought he would and he can’t restrain himself. Doesn’t want to. He wants to devour him whole, fill him up, and then tear him apart.

He pulls in and out, scissors him, stretches him in every way possible. The sound of his slick fingers aggressively fucking into his wet hole doesn’t help either — he can feel himself leaking onto the sheets.

Temptation has him hurrying as he sneaks in a fourth finger, fucking him harder and quicker and leaving him a whimpering mess, his hands squeezing the life out of the pillow underneath his head.

A string of somber begging leaves his lips, asking for Uzui to stop. He gives him a few more thrusts and ends it, not because he asked but because he physically can’t tolerate the throbbing between his legs anymore, his cock pleading for some kind of friction or pressure.

He adjusts his legs back on to his shoulder and positions his cock right at his entrance, giving his knee a kiss. The boy’s eyes are half lidded, seemingly distant but still brimming with tears. Even in the low light he can see how reddened his cheeks still are.

He realizes he might just not remember any of this tonight, or maybe he will. All it’ll be are vague and blurry memories of being manhandled and fucked into the bed against his will. If he manages to eventually put two and two together, he’ll get to endlessly tease him about it and watch his reaction unfold.

He hugs the boy’s legs, pulling him in closer as he starts to fill him up. It’s not until Uzui’s halfway in that he starts sobbing, his little hands grasping at Uzui’s forearm wrapped around his thighs.

“S-Stop – please,” he wails, tears spilling onto the pillow.

He pulls out the slightest bit before slamming into him, his sobbing turning into an echoing choked out moan. Uzui lets out a rough groan along with him, placing his cheek against the boy’s knee as he closes his eyes. The sensation was a little too sudden and sharp, even for him.

“Why should I stop?” he murmurs, his hand caressing his soft thigh as he slowly begins to roll his hips into him. “You don't like how this feels?”

At this point, talking to him is solely for his own entertainment. All he gets as a response is moaning and crying, but it’s music to his ears.

He puts his full weight on him, bending his legs until his knees touch his chest. He slams into him harder, making sure he bruises him enough that even if he doesn’t remember all of this, he’ll still have his insides aching in the morning. He wants it to hurt, to ache, to throb, he wants him to feel it so far in that not even his organs are unscathed.

He bends him enough that they’re face to face. The brat’s words are incomprehensible as he pounds into him, bawling his eyes out and moaning louder than he’s ever heard him. Uzui nestles his face in the crook of his neck, hearing nothing but their breathy moans and the harsh slapping of skin on skin.

If someone didn’t hear them before, they’re certainly hearing it now.

They know this brat is screaming with pleasure because of him and only him. The thought of anyone else filling him up, fucking him and pleasing him so sweetly makes him lose his composure.

“You have no idea how you make me feel,” he breathes into his ear, his voice rough and worn out. “I could bury myself inside you for the rest of my life if I could.”

The brat practically mewls in his ear and Uzui eats it up, relishing in every noise he makes for him, every noise pushing him closer to release.

He shuts his eyes as he savors the feeling of cum building up inside him, the stimulation between his legs becoming too much to handle. His hips start thrusting erratically, lacking any type of rhythm as he finally comes undone and spills himself into the boy.

He feels delirious. Their first time felt amazing but now, it feels like his body has overstimulated itself far too quickly. His jaw falls open, crudely moaning until he rides out the last bit of pleasure before it dies down, his hips slowly coming to a stop.

He gives himself a minute before he moves back and slides his cock out, his legs finally able to unbend.

“You alright kid?” he asks, giving his thigh a light slap.

He looks better than alright, he thinks. The boy’s eyes flutter closed and his whole body is limp, finally untensing after so many hours.

He unties the obi around his thighs and sets it aside to see red marks on his soft skin in a thin line, and once his legs spread open, he sees cum all over his stomach. He came without being touched. Neglecting his cock is definitely on Uzui’s part, but unfortunately for the boy, it gives him a very lewd and indecent idea. Something he knows he won’t be very fond of doing.

Or at least, something that’ll become a guilty pleasure and he won’t outwardly express his affinity towards. Hell knows this kid has a dirty conscience, Uzui’s just giving him that extra push.

He gets off the bed and looks through all the drawers and closets again for a cloth to clean themselves with. He throws it into the trash as soon as he finishes, the boy already fast asleep.

He does him the favor of covering him back up and putting the covers on him, deciding to not get in bed with him and just sit back in his seat.

There’s not a hint of pain on his face anymore. His muscles are relaxed, no scrunched up eyebrows or pout, and the markings look considerably more faint than they did before. Yamanaka’s going to be overjoyed when he sees him in the morning.

Well, overjoyed and flustered once he sees other markings that popped up during the night.

He closes his eyes and crosses his arms, getting as comfortable as one can get in a hard wooden chair.

Tomorrow’s going to be an interesting day.

Chapter Text

There’s a strange domain he exists in, a place where he can’t seem to get a hold of his consciousness.

He has a vague awareness that he’s awake yet he can’t get himself to open his eyes or move any part of his body, as if he’s forever stuck in a dream with no way out. And like clockwork, a horrible wave of fear immediately washes over him where his anxiety conceives the worst possible outcome.

Maybe he can’t wake up because he’s...

No.

No. No. No. No.

He’s not dead, he can’t be dead, there’s no way. He has to be alive; he can feel vague and dull aches on his body, he’s conscious of his own thoughts, his anxiety is so overt it’s almost suffocating—those are signs of life.

An obscure amount of time passes and he dreads that he might truly be wrong, until slowly, he can feel himself detaching from whatever void he’s enveloped in. 

His anxiety doesn’t calm down but he still tries to put all that energy elsewhere, focusing it specifically to his fingers and toes, the small movements somehow working. It feels like his whole body is just heavy, so he takes it slow, and a light buzzing numbness coats his limbs for a bit before fading until he feels the soft sheets beneath his finger tips, his body feeling lighter.

Little by little, he regains himself enough to groan in pain.

He feels groggy and disgusting and all those aches from before are no longer vague, but acute pains that practically rip into him. Instinctively, he rolls onto his side so he can curl up on himself and alleviate the pain, but he only comes to regret it. Nausea sets in so strongly he wishes he just stayed in whatever weird coma he was in.

Why the hell is he feeling like this? 

His face scrunches up and someone in the room seems to notice.

“You’re up.”

The man’s voice sounds tired but he recognizes it instantly—Uzui.

Excitement overtakes him and he opens his eyes, only to have another regret added to the list. His vision sways and the nausea comes at him full force. He knows his pain tolerance is lower than average but his head is spinning and the impending sense of vomit coming up his throat is somehow worse than the pain. 

He lets out another groan and Uzui is quick to soothe him.

“Take it easy, it’s still in your system,” he says. “Focus on your breathing.”

If he didn’t feel like the embodiment of death right now, he’d give Uzui a good laugh. It hasn’t even been a minute since he’s woken up and he’s already hearing instructions on how to conduct his breathing.

He can’t seem to escape that phrase, but with how calming Uzui’s presence sounds, he allows himself to relax and ride out whatever’s inside him. After a few minutes of concentrated breathing, the nausea eases enough to open his eyes.  

And when they adjust, he finally sees Uzui.

Zenitsu takes him in. He’s sitting on a chair next to the bed and he’s wearing his yukata, but only from the waist down. His upper body is bare, save for the bandages wrapped around his arm and shoulder. 

He’s injured. Why’s he injured?

His eyebrows knit together in worry and he tries to say something, to call out his name. But all that comes out is a strained croak and he can barely recognize his own voice.

Uzui leans forward with a sigh. “I said to take it easy.”

His hand reaches out to brush through his hair, making sure to be gentle. Every touch takes away the pain and nausea, little by little, until he slowly begins to doze off again.

It’s strange, he thinks, how Uzui could never know how calming his presence can be, how safe and protected he feels from something so small.

Just when sleep is about to fully take him, the door creaks open.

“Tengen-san you shouldn’t be using your arm.”

Zenitsu takes a sharp, but quiet breath in, a bit startled. Maybe Uzui’s presence made him feel a little too lax.

“Yamanaka-sensei treated it well. I’ll be fine.”

“He would’ve treated it even better if you told us the second you came in, you know,” she says, her voice stern but soft.

“I had more important things to worry about,” he clarifies, his fingers still combing through his hair.

He opens his eye just a bit, enough to peek at the unfamiliar woman.

“He’s lucky to have you,” she says to Uzui, her warm smile making Zenitsu nuzzle his face into the pillow, trying to quiet his beating heart. “How’s he doing?”

Uzui takes his hand away, and if Zenitsu had the energy, he would’ve told him to keep going. 

“He didn’t look too good when he woke up but he seems to be doing better now.”

“It might just be the side effects of the medicine. Yamanaka-sensei said it’s not something to worry about.”

“That’s good,” he says. “He’s a strong little runt anyway, I plan on taking him with me today.”

Zenitsu groans internally.

Take me where? And does it have to be today? I can barely turn on my side without wanting to die, leaving this bed shouldn’t even be an option!

“I don’t know if Yamanaka-sensei would even allow him to leave.”

Yeah! There we go. A sensible person.

“I’ll convince him.”

No!

Zenitsu gives up on the internal fight with himself. He’s not sure where he is, who this person is, or what even happened. All he knows is that he’s in more pain than he can handle, and whatever the cause of the pain is—

Vague memories resurface in a strange, sudden flash.

There was a demon after him. 

He was in the woods, soaked from the rain and running through the darkness, trying to escape. The demon caught him and he tried to fight back but…

He gasps and his eyes open, the visions becoming too real and too tangible, all too quickly. He remembers the fear he felt while being chased and the very brief pain in his head before hitting the ground. Everything went black and now he’s here, in the comfort of this room, Uzui’s hand brushing through his hair again and consoling him with quiet whispers that sound like they only exist for Zenitsu and no one else.

“It’s alright, I’m here.”

He knows he’s here. He knows that as long as he’s by his side, Uzui would never let anything bad happen to him. 

Affirming these thoughts over and over again helps him and the conversation that Uzui and the woman are having gradually becomes a background noise for him to fall asleep to. He eventually starts dozing off again, their voices comforting and soothing. He dreams of nothing, a different kind of darkness accompanying him this time.

When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is the silence of the room. He’s alone, their voices and presence no longer bringing him comfort.

He carefully rolls over on his back, facing the light brown wood of the ceiling as he winches. The pain has diminished significantly, and his nausea has gone away completely. He feels better. Nowhere near feeling good but at least better. He slowly peels himself from the warm bed and he can literally feel all the pressure in his head shift in a thick wave.

He gives himself a minute to adjust before taking everything in.

Light pours out from the window to his right, sunlight drooping in and illuminating the room. There’s a large wooden cabinet across from him with a few glass windows showing various medical supplies stacked inside, a large mirror to the right of the cabinet, and a nightstand and chair next to the bed. It's a very bare yet strangely cozy doctor’s room.

The thought of being taken care of by a doctor puts his mind at ease. He’s thankful he’s not bleeding to death in some deep part of the forest, but another desolate and miserable part of him wishes he was.

His shoulders slump. 

Why must every horrible thing have to happen to him? Why does it feel like he’s the only one dealing with bullshit constantly ? His grandfather always told him it’s because of the negative energy he gives off to the world, and that negative energy attracts other negative things to him in return. Of course, that phrase always fell to deaf ears because he found it ridiculous. He’s giving off negative energy because the world is so negative to him in the first place.

‘Try to be more positive,’ his grandfather always said. ‘A positive outlook will go a long way. Much more than a negative one.’

Zenitsu, from the bottom of his heart, truly loves him more than anyone else in the world. But the things he said always felt like a jab to his entire existence.

The more he thinks about it the more frustrated he gets, and now, he’s reached that certain point that he often comes by where he forces himself into an even worse mood than when he started.

He moves the blanket aside and attempts to get off the bed. There’s a weird soreness in his bones that feels like it’s eating away at him, similar to the first sign of winter sickness that he hates. He gets his feet on the floor and pushes himself up. The first few steps aren’t bad, but by the time he gets to the mirror, his legs are a wobbling mess.

What he sees in the mirror is exactly what he expected.

There’s bandages on his forehead and chin, and a nasty black eye to compliment them. He shifts his yukata to the side, only to be greeted with more bandages wrapped around his ribcage.

He looks worn out and lifeless, as if he’s lived a hundred years worth of grief.

Is this what his grandfather imagined he’d turn out like? Did this image of him ever cross his mind?

Thinking positively is far beyond delusional. The only ‘positive thinking’ he can come up with is that he should be grateful for being alive. There’s someone in this world that cares about him enough to risk their own life for him and now he’s standing here in this room, breathing and alive. He should be grateful to Uzui, groveling at his feet for saving such a pathetic person in the first place.

There’s nothing to be proud of and nothing to be happy about. He only lives to repay his debt to Uzui. In what way, he’s not sure. But he’s not leaving this world without repaying him first.

He’s about to turn, done with his fair share of self-loathing, until he notices dark bruises on his neck. He tilts his head and brushes his fingers over them before pressing down. It doesn’t hurt. His eyebrows furrow, a sense of dread slowly creeping over him. 

They’re not bruises, he’s sure of that. They look too similar to the ones Uzui gave him the night they…did those things.

His heart starts to race, his mind trying to get ahead and calm him down but he’s already halfway across toward the finish line. They appear too dark and fresh for them to be from that night, they’re without a doubt recent, but he can’t make sense of why and how they got there.

He gets closer to the mirror as he keeps touching his neck. Maybe it’s a type of shallow bruising. Those are possible, he’s had those before...just not in such a weird position like this. The uneasiness in his chest grows but he convinces himself that it’s not something to be worrying about right now, especially with all the other injuries that need taking care of.

He decides to put it aside for now and go back to his bed, not wanting anyone to walk in on him.

And he’s right about that. 

The door opens as soon as he slips under the cover.

“Oh, you’re finally up. How are you feeling?”

Uzui closes the door behind him and instead of his usual spot on the chair, he moves to sit next to Zenitsu on the bed.

“Feeling better,” he answers, not sure if that’s entirely the truth but with Uzui sitting so close to him like this, he’d like to think it is.

“Do you think you’ll be good enough to come to my place? It’s right outside the village,” he says, and before he can answer, he gives him an offer. “I’ll carry you the entire way there.”

Internally, Zenitsu’s beaming. The thought of being in Uzui’s home and spending the day with his wives makes him more giddy than he’d like to admit. Even the guilt that tries to infest his mind quickly gets buried underneath his overjoyed thoughts.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine. When are we going?”

“Well, whenever you’re ready, but I’d like to get there sooner than later.”

Zenitsu nods. “We can leave now then.”

“Good,” he says, and Zenitsu waits for him to leave, thinking he’s said all he needs to. But his hand finds its way to his, gently resting it over Zenitsu’s, and it’s suddenly a bit harder for him to breathe. “Do you remember anything from the past few days?”

It’s not really fair of Uzui to hold his hand and immediately ask a question right after, he thinks. Zenitsu tries to avert his eyes elsewhere but the warmth of his hand is too distracting, he can barely find the words to answer him.

“Um, no–” his thumb gently brushes the top of his hand. “I mean, yes, kind of. I remember the night the demon attacked me.”

“Anything else?”

He looks at him with worry, wondering if there’s anything else of the same importance that he needs to remember.

“No, not really.”

“That’s a shame,” he says, his hand leaving to cup Zenitsu’s chin. “You’ll remember soon enough.”

He wants to ask why it’s a shame, his mind reeling at all the possibilities because literally nothing good could’ve come out from these past few days. Between a demon almost killing him and these wounds, he doesn’t want to remember a single thing. 

But his thoughts are cut off as he feels Uzui’s lips on his own. He freezes for a moment, a bit stunned at the man’s abrupt eagerness for physical affection but not stunned enough to protest. 

His mouth begins to move, mirroring Uzui’s slow and languid movement. Both their lips are rougher than usual, yet Uzui still manages to make the kiss feel soft somehow. It’s such a warm and tingly contrast to the dull ache of his wounds, and each nip and bite only entices him, making him crave more, making him want to indulge himself, to intoxicate his body with Uzui’s scent and touch. 

And as if Uzui could hear his thoughts, he slips in his tongue and brings their slow and gentle kiss even closer. Zenitsu sighs into the kiss, a little too turned on by how impatient and hungry Uzui is starting to get. His impatience only grows as he pushes Zenitsu’s back against the bed, his hands instinctively coming up to place themselves on his chest as leverage. 

He’s squished between the bed and Uzui’s towering form and as nice and healing as his touches feel, he’s too overwhelmed to appreciate any of them right now. Uzui’s mouth moves to his neck, his wet tongue meeting his warm skin. Zenitsu closes his eyes in an attempt to convince himself that he just needs time to adjust, but when he feels teeth gently pressing down on his skin, it’s then that he realizes he can’t hold back anymore. 

“What if someone, ah, someone walks in–” he manages to say, trying to give him some kind of excuse to stop or at least slow down. But Uzui doesn’t let up, letting Zenitsu’s frustration grow. “U-Uzui-san, stop, please–” 

An excuse nor a plea works to free himself of Uzui’s grasp and foggy memories arise from those familiar, begging words. 

Hazy touches are shared between them as they make love with one another. Uzui’s mouth explores every bit of his exposed skin and he ravages his body, whispering sweet words in his ear as pain turns to pleasure.

Zenitsu’s face contorts, a dense ball of anxiety festering in his chest as he begins to panic at the flashing images in his head. They’re memories with nothing attached to them; no specific time or day he can remember, no event or conversation leading up to it. They’re nothing more than vague pieces of imagery floating in the dark—and it’s not until he remembers the next set of words that he finally brings those pieces together.

“You have no idea how you make me feel. I could bury myself inside you for the rest of my life if I could.”

Uzui freely roams his stilled, unmoving body.

The wet tongue on his neck feels like sandpaper against his skin and the gentle hand on his waist feels like a death-grip.

Those words weren’t spoken during their first night together. They never left his lips that night.

He tries to get a hold of himself before all his assumptions drive him to a full blown melt down. Getting an answer is his only priority right now, he needs to know before his thoughts swallow him whole.

But begging him isn’t an option when he won’t listen, so he resorts to using what little strength he has to push him away. “Get off me!”

The small hands on his chest are barely enough to budge him but it’s still enough to make him pause. “What’s wrong?”

Zenitsu balls his hands into fists, his knuckles turning whiter by the second.

“Did you...” his voice shakes and he can barely get out what he wants to say, but he forces himself to finish the sentence, for his own sake. “...Did you touch me last night?”

He’s not sure why but he expects Uzui to deny it. Since the moment they’ve met, nothing that Uzui has said or done should lead him to believe that he wouldn’t do such a thing. Yet, for whatever reason, he still foolishly anticipates that single word of denial. 

Too bad he never hears it.

“Ah, so you remember.”

Zenitsu freezes, unable to breathe.

The nausea from before doesn’t even compare to how violent it feels this time. 

‘Ah, so you remember.’

“You’re lying.”

Uzui tilts his head, the tips of his silver hair tickling his cheeks.

“I’m not,” he says, too casual for Zenitsu to handle. “I touched you here,” his fingers skim his collarbone and move over his nipple, every touch bringing back the memories bit by bit. “Here,” his hand goes further down, brushing in between his legs, the cloth hardly acting as a barrier. “And here.”  

His heart hammers against his chest and his lungs burn like they’re about to be charred to the core, and he still can’t bring himself to breathe.

A strained and barely audible ‘why’ escapes from his mouth somehow, and Uzui graciously answers.

“You were crying even when Kiku-chan gave you the medication to numb the pain,” he says, as if any explanation could ever be justifiable. “I thought fucking you would distract you from the pain, and it did.”

The whiplash he’s getting from every new piece of information feels like it’s going to kill him more than anything else. It makes him wonder how it’s even possible to feel completely numb but so profoundly in pain, all at the same time. Every limb is buzzing, trying to find some sensation to cling to while simultaneously making him feel like he’s burning alive.

“You raped me,” he whispers.

Annunciating it makes it so much worse, like he’s bringing it to life, and Uzui purposefully gives him the final blow and pours salt over his wound.

“It’s not rape if you liked it.”

Zenitsu’s hand comes up to cover his mouth, tears starting to form in his eyes.

“I didn’t… I didn’t like it,” he whispers.

Uzui leans in, wrapping his arm around his waist and pushing the tiny hand against his chest until his face is buried in the crook of his neck. Too close, is all he can think, he’s too close. “All those cute little moans you were making for me would beg to differ.”

If Uzui was expecting to get a reaction out of him, then he got his wish. Tears finally spill down his cheeks as he whimpers. He feels revolted in his own skin, wanting to break open and crawl out and never look back.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, the sound of his deep voice against his ear making his tears flow out faster. “You sounded just like that.”

He knows every noise only turns on the man above him more, yet he can’t do anything to hold back the involuntary cries from escaping his quivering lips. His head feels frantic and he’s one more cry away from passing out until he hears the beautiful sound of a knock on the door.

Uzui stops, letting out a deathly annoyed sigh. 

As the door opens, he leans back up, retracting his arm and putting the back of his hand on Zenitsu’s forehead instead.

“Oh! You’re up!” says the man in elation. “How are you feeling Zenitsu-san?”

“Not bad, just a slight fever,” Uzui answers for him while Zenitsu wipes his tears away, burying himself deeper under the blanket. “And he just woke up from a bad nightmare.”

“As long as he’s awake and well, there’s no need to worry too much. Though I recommend a few days of rest to fully heal.”

Zenitsu watches Uzui and the subtle way his face changes; that sly, confident grin that reeks of knowing he’ll get his way, only noticeable to Zenitsu.

“Would a few days of rest at my house be alright?” he asks, all the color draining from Zenitsu’s face despite knowing what was to come. “If anything happens, I’ll make sure to bring him back.”

The man crosses his arms, who Zenitsu presumes is the doctor. He can almost feel himself sprout back to life as he waits for him to reprimand Uzui.

“If I didn’t need more beds for the new patients coming in I would’ve lectured you till the end of time for asking me such a question,” he says begrudgingly, shaking his head. “I don’t want him taking a single step, you hear me?”

And that miniscule feeling of hope gets trampled back to naught.

“Of course, I’ll be carrying him the entire way there.”

“Good. I’ll get you the extra medicine you need then.”

The doctor leaves the room, closing the door on his way out. Fear envelopes him instantly.

“Now where were we–”

Zenitsu doesn’t give him the chance to touch him. He smacks his approaching hand away, bearing the pain from his wounds as he sits up and moves back as far as possible. 

“Don’t touch me,” he hisses.   

And to his surprise, Uzui takes his hand back.

It’s a small feat but he can feel a sliver of dignity resurface, no matter how loosely he’s hanging on that thread.

“One second you’re begging for me to be inside you, the next second you don’t want me touching you.”

Zenitsu’s expression hardens.

All that pent up fear and panic he had a moment ago tilts into a lethal type of anger, so much that it feels like he can physically wield it to beat this man to a pulp. “I don’t want you touching me cause you raped me,” he says in exasperation.

He rolls his eyes. “You’ll get over it in a few days.”

“As if, you piece of shit!”

The conversation feels like it can go back and forth forever, but the doctor thankfully comes in as the mediator and puts an end to it, oblivious to the whole thing.

“Alright. I’m giving you this medicine for the next few days. There’s three bottles in here which means three days of rest at the very least ,” he says, a small knitted bag in his hands. “I don’t want him doing any type of training or exerting too much energy. You got that, Tengen?”

“Got it, sensei.”

“And if he doesn’t improve within those three days despite taking the medicine, I want you back here instantly. Got it?”

“Yes, got it,” he repeats.

“Good,” he says, handing over the bag to Uzui and turning to Zenitsu. “I have another patient to attend to so I’ll be on my way. It was a pleasure to meet you, Zenitsu-san. But as a doctor, I hope I don’t have to see you again.”

Despite how cruel the morning has been to him, Zenitsu manages to crack a bit of a smile at the kind doctor. They part ways, each expressing their gratitude for his help before he takes his leave. 

But as he closes the door, the room shifts toward that dreadful realization that it’s just the two of them alone in the room again.

“Well, are you ready to leave?” he asks, dangling the bag in front of his face.

His first instinct is to tell him no, to lay here in bed and ask the kind doctor if he can stay the next few days under his roof. But he knows that’s barely an option. He can’t avoid this forever.

The thought of Uzui carrying him on his back, no—the thought of their bodies even touching makes him want to gouge his eyes out.

Without saying a word, he moves the blanket off himself and grabs the bag as a reticent answer. Uzui takes the hint, turning around and helping Zenitsu climb on.

Closing the space between them feels abhorrent on a completely different level. His chest presses onto his back as his arms wrap around his neck and any day before this he would’ve swooned at the intense, emanating heat being shared between them. But now, the heat feels like nothing more than fire burning his skin off.

Uzui hoists him up, Zenitsu wincing at the sudden pain shooting through his body. He hooks his arms under his legs and heads for the door. 

The entire way there, Zenitsu doesn’t say a word.

Uzui tries to create some kind of conversation at first, baiting him with mundane topics like mentioning how nice the weather is or asking if he's hungry. Zenitsu doesn’t respond. He lays his head on his own shoulder, refusing any type of skin contact, and ignores every bit of attempt at small talk.

Instead, he directs his attention to his surroundings. The small but lively village is left behind as they walk on the dirt path, entering the beautiful verdant forest. The awkward silence is replaced with the embrace of nature as chirping birds fill the forest with their lovely songs and the sun’s warmth seeps between the leaves of the trees. 

It’s such a stark difference from the night before.

So much fear, anxiety, and pain suffocating him in the darkness all at once. Even now, it’s hard to believe it was real—and that he survived it. 

Zenitsu frowns. 

Yeah, he survived because of this big bastard carrying him right now. 

He thinks about how grateful he would’ve been to him, how indebted he’d be and how he’d do everything in his power to repay him, whatever his request may be. But he can’t possibly know what could’ve been when Uzui had to go and ruin everything. Not even a simple thank you will ever leave his lips.

Zenitsu’s frown deepens even more.

It was preventable. If Uzui hadn’t acted upon whatever sick thoughts he was having and used him like some doll, everything could’ve been perfect. 

He buries his face into his elbow, hating the way these thoughts are starting to tug at his heart.

Perfect never seemed attainable to begin with. He’s not sure where he got that word from or when he started using it, but his naivete has shown itself more than he’d ever like to admit. 

The false serenity of the forest slowly begins to dissolve as the ground becomes steeper. He lifts his head up, his thoughts put on a hold as they climb up a small hill, quickly reaching what Zenitsu presumes is Uzui’s home. 

It’s fairly large, the two story house entirely constructed from dark wood, reminding him a little too much of the building back at the training grounds. Although the house itself gives an eerie aura, the fact that his wives occupy it gives it a warm and comfortable feeling.

Uzui walks the perimeter of the house and as they approach the back, a beautiful garden comes into view. Endless bundles of flowers color the garden alongside fresh fruits and vegetables, and right near the garden a small creek flows with fresh, cool water. 

Even Zenitsu is taken back by its beauty.

“Suma!” he calls out, walking on the narrow stone path. “Makio!”

A soft voice emerges from the bed of flora. “Tengen?” And not a second later, a face as lovely as the flowers pops up to greet them. “Tengen!”

Suma places the basket down and runs over, slowing down in her tracks as she stops in front of Uzui, her eyes wide.

“What... happened?” she asks, her hands slowly coming up to cover her mouth. 

He’s already seen his broken complexion in the mirror, he doesn’t need an outside source reminding him of his unsightly appearance.

“It’s a long story. We can talk about it over breakfast.”

Suma nods, but her reluctance is obvious. “O-Okay, I’ll let Makio-chan know to prepare the food.” 

She goes back to get the basket as Uzui turns and makes his way to the engawa, gently placing him down. Suma goes back inside with her basket full of fruits and vegetables, and leaves the two of them alone. 

Uzui turns to him. “You haven’t said a word the entire walk.”

His jaw clenches, mustering up the angriest glare he can give. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Uzui takes a few steps forward, as if he wasn’t already close enough before, and his hand moves to cup his chin, forcing Zenitsu to look up at him.

“Why not?” he asks, tilting his head. 

His words drip with a tone so sardonic it leaves a sour taste in his mouth, and the expression on his face is condescending enough to make Zenitsu want to beat him into a bloody mess. Nothing about him feels genuine.

He smacks his hand away, keeping eye contact despite his tears threatening to fall.

“You already know why.” 

“No actually, I don't. You wanna refresh my memory a bit?” he asks, pretending to wait for an answer. When he obviously doesn’t get one, he puts on another one of his acts. “Ah wait, last night, now I remember. You’re still mad about that?”

Zenitsu stays quiet, trying to remain grounded. He refuses to give him a response, no matter how tempting it is to feed into his deranged taunting.

Uzui stares down at him. “Well, I suppose it’s only been this morning since you found out. The wound’s still a bit fresh, right kiddo?”

The tension is there, growing silently but quickly. It’s too uncomfortable, enough to make Zenitsu want to break it for the sake of normalcy. Almost. 

Uzui beats him to it.

“Fine, suit yourself.”

And just like that, he gives him what he wants. He walks away and leaves Zenitsu alone without pushing onto him any further.

The relief he feels from finally getting some space is more than he could ask for, like a breath of fresh air after being cooped up in a small, locked up room. And yet, it makes him absolutely furious because he knows it’s nothing but bullshit. He’s only fooling around to test the waters, and playing nice isn’t going to work, not in a million years.

That bastard is severely underestimating his boundless hatred for him. 

He swallows. 

That’s if he keeps his distance. 

Zenitsu feels a very dangerous type of dread enveloping him. He’s already having doubtful thoughts about his own capabilities when Uzui hasn’t even left his sight for more than a few seconds. 

Ideally, Uzui would need to keep his hands to himself and give him the silent treatment until they finally part ways and never see each other again. No doubts, no mixed feelings, no poorly made decisions. It’s how Zenitsu would hope for the next few days, or weeks, to pass by. But he knows that’s easier said than done.

He looks down at his hands, curling them into fists and then letting go. 

This doesn’t feel real. It’s such a new feeling, one that makes him feel like his feet don’t touch that ground and his whole body feels cold and numb, like he’s not in his own body, and it scares him. Hell, the night the demon chased him felt more real than now. 

His lip starts to quiver, his eyes taking in every vibrant color from the garden.

Tears spill, not sure why the beauty that’s been cultivated by the lovely women living in this house isn’t making him feel better. He wants the warmth and color to bleed into him, to wash away the dull gray that’s poisoned his insides and make him feel something other than this indescribable sadness. 

It’s not fair, he thinks. The world has many wonderful things to offer yet he can’t appreciate any of it, not when he’s too preoccupied with everything that’s happened these past few days. 

He lets the tears stain his face, feeling too exhausted to wipe them away. A slight breeze blows against his wet face and that somehow incites him to let more tears flow.

By the time the shoji opens behind him, his tears have already dried up.

“The food is almost done, Zenitsu-chan.”

He turns, the sweet voice belonging to Suma. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Okay,” she says, standing nervously behind the shoji. “Um, do you need help? I can get Tengen.”

“No, no,” he shakes his head, putting his hand up in defense. “It’s fine. I can walk.”

“Are you sure?”

He gives his answer with an attempt to stand up. The bag of medicine occupies one hand while the other uses all its strength to pull himself up, and he does, sluggishly, his legs wobbling from fatigue and barely managing to hold his entire body up right. It’s just a few steps to get inside, he tells himself, but not even two steps in and he loses his balance.

Suma grabs him just as he’s about to fall, catching him before his knees hit the wooden floor. She drapes his arm over her shoulder and wraps her arm around his waist.

Zenitsu feels heat rise to his cheeks, suddenly panicking. “Y-You don’t have to-”

“It’s okay, I got you,” she says, her tone soothing enough to silence all his protests.

In his current condition, help isn’t considered a choice. But the more he receives it, the more frustrated he becomes with himself. It’s a deadly cycle that he’s never really left, but just this once, he’ll allow it. Arguing against Suma would be more rude than just accepting her offer to help. And he’d be an idiot to not accept it from a beautiful woman anyway.

They steadily make their way inside. Zenitsu tries his best to lean on Suma as little as possible while Suma on the other hand candidly holds on to him tight, patiently guiding him with each step and never once letting him falter. 

The delicious scent of food grows stronger and it becomes his only incentive to reach his destination once the pain starts feeling unbearable. Though it’s not long before they make it to where Uzui and Makio reside—the overly large room they’re in acting as both a kitchen and dining room, Uzui leisurely sitting on the floor with plates already set up on the table, watching Makio prepare the fresh and delicious breakfast. The shoji door is wide open, letting all the natural light in through the mass of green leaves of the forest and setting a comforting atmosphere that almost reminds him of home.

He makes eye contact with Uzui, that comfort vanishing.

Makio whistles from the kitchen. “Oh boy, you really weren’t kidding when you said it was bad.”

“Makio!” she chides. 

Blaming either of them for their reaction would be silly. He’s already seen what he looks like in the mirror; pale skin emphasizing bruises and wounds, a limp that leads to concern brewing amongst anyone close enough to see. It’s how he currently presents himself, he can’t change that. He just wishes he wasn’t perceivable to begin with, is all.

Suma’s kind enough to help him sit him down by the low-rise table, gently lowering him until he’s comfortably on the mat before going back to Makio’s side in the kitchen. At the very least, he’s glad no one makes any further comments.

“Don’t worry, Zenitsu-san,” she says. “You’ll heal right up after I stuff you with my cooking.”

“Our cooking,” Suma corrects her.

Her remark is the catalyst of their bickering and he doesn’t mind it, nor does he pay attention to it, all of it becoming white noise in the presence of the man he despises most, sitting in front of him and deeming him unworthy of even a single glance.

A soft scowl paints his face, secretly hoping Uzui sees from the corner of his eye.

What delusions has this bastard put together to think that the silent treatment is the best alternative? Does he think it’ll make Zenitsu break first, so he doesn’t have to lift a pretty little finger? That’s most likely the case, but to Zenitsu, that’s narcissism in its laziest form. If Uzui truly wanted to get his way, he should’ve just taken him by force. Keeping his distance just makes it all the more easier for Zenitsu.

Idiot. 

Figuring out Uzui’s intentions is easy, he’s hardly an enigma. Though that doesn’t ease the foul tension in the room any more than it causes him distress. His fingers fidget underneath the table, occasionally fixating his attention on the soft knit fabric of his yukata to distract himself from a greater evil, a greater idiot.

His self-doubt begins once more. It just continually festers inside his mind until Uzui sits in front of him, reminding him to dig deeper so it can resurface.

Uzui’s lazy effort to keep his distance and break him down with the silent treatment is not as silly as Zenitsu makes it out to be. He can ridicule his plan all he wants but an abysmal understanding of what Uzui is doing sets into his soul and he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. Uzui has him right where he wants him.

“Food is ready!”

Makio and Suma begin moving around the table and placing down the food, bringing him away from his thoughts. He sits there quietly until they finally sit down, Makio next to Uzui and Suma next to Zenitsu.

“Thank you,” he says, nervous despite knowing Uzui’s eyes aren’t even on him. “For all of this.”

“Oh it’s nothing, Zenitsu-san,” says Makio.

Suma nods. “Tengen told us everything that happened. You deserve all the food you need to gain your strength back.”

Zenitsu can’t hold their gaze. He feels his heart swell, unsure how to properly respond to their kindness other than a curt nod.

Like always, they say their thanks and begin to eat.

Normally, breakfast is light since he’s never had much of an appetite so early in the day. A small meal to get him through the morning would always suffice. But after what feels like a few days of not eating amidst all the chaos, he’s more than happy to devour all the food until his stomach aches—minding his manners while doing so, of course.

They talk amongst each other about mundane things; drama concerning people he doesn’t know, future errands they need to run, chores that have to be finished. It doesn't interest Zenitsu and he tunes them out. Not that he doesn’t care what the lovely ladies have to say, he just doesn’t want to hear anything that involves Uzui. He only tunes back in when Makio and Suma include him in the conversation a few times. They ask about his length of stay for one of the questions and he remorsefully tells them an entire three days of rest was ordered by the doctor. 

He expects them to give any reaction other than authentic joy, so when they do in fact happily accept his stay, he’s bewildered.

“Zenitsu-chan gets to stay with us for three days!” she says, lightly clapping her hands in the cutest way possible.

Makio scolds her instantly. “Don’t chew with your mouth full!”

They start to bicker again and Zenitsu can’t help the smile forming on his face. Staying here was inevitable due to his injuries, but at least Makio and Suma are making it bearable enough to last him all three nights. He thought he’d just be cooped up in some room to avoid Uzui and pass the time, but he knows these two are going to make him feel right at home. At least he hopes they can.

When they finish their breakfast, Zenitsu offers to help with the dishes but he gets turned down immediately, followed by a ‘are you insane?!’ from Makio who orders him to not move a muscle under any circumstances and to take his medicine in the meanwhile. 

With a voice as stern as hers, he has no room to argue. He opens one of the bottles with a pop and chugs the dark purple liquid until the very last drop. It’s not the worst taste in the world, but he can’t help but make a face, especially when drinking it right after eating a delicious meal.

When they’re finished cleaning the dishes, Makio takes herself outside to do laundry, while Suma insists on showing Zenitsu the room he’ll be staying in for the next few days.

She helps him up, taking the medicine bag in her hand, and leads him out. 

After several minutes of the two of them waddling their way to their destination, they reach a room on the second floor. As soon as they enter, Zenitsu’s in awe of how spacious and fancy it is.

“This is one of our spare rooms,” she says with a smile.

“One of your spare rooms?!”

“Mhm. You’ll be staying here until you’re all healed up.”

He begins to thank her but she brushes him off, showing him where the extra clothes are, explaining where he can find the bathroom, and everything in between. Feeling overwhelmed, the only thing he can do is regress back to thanking her again.

“You don’t have to keep thanking us, Zenitsu-chan. You’re practically family,” she says, her smile quickly replacing itself with a confused expression. “Well I don’t think a husband and his wives are considered a family yet. Not until they have kids, right? But there’s so much of us now, we’re practically as big as one!”

Zenitsu stands there, disoriented at her sudden monologue. All he wanted was for her to accept his gratitude. He’s not sure how to respond to this though. He’s not even sure what she means.

He hopes there isn’t a wrong answer to her question. “Um. I don’t think it matters?”

Her smile comes back, but slightly more mischievous as her eyes dart to his neck, giving him a wink. “Good. You’re family now which means everything here belongs to you. So saying thank you to your own belongings would be weird, wouldn’t it?”

Zenitsu finally understands.

His hand flies up to cover the bruises on his neck, completely forgetting they were there.

“Wha–No! It’s not what it looks like please don’t think–”

“Mhm, please don’t think what?” she says, draping his arm over her shoulder and walking him out the room. “Tengen never gave any of us marks as dark as those before!”

Suma gushes about how cute they look together without pause. Her face lights up as she talks about made-up reveries concerning their relationship and the more she continues, the less heart Zenitsu has to tell her the truth, to tell her that he hates Uzui with every part of his soul. 

She sounds so happy for him; he wishes he could think the same.

They reach the bottom of the stairs and make they’re way down the hall, Zenitsu still trying his best to somehow interject himself in between her rambling knowing it’s all in vain. And when they reach the outside and see Makio, he knows he can’t dig himself out of this anymore.

“In your face, I was right!” she yells across the backyard, making Zenitsu physically recoil.

They get down from the engawa and walk to where Makio is, a large wooden basket full of dirty clothes perched up on the side of her hip while she watches them with an annoyed expression until they finally reach her.

“Why are you yelling?!” she asks, unironically yelling at her.

“Cause I was right!”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” she says, rolling her eyes as she places the basket down near the stream of water. “Sorry I didn’t want to assume something as serious as that, you idiot.”

Suma sits him down on a large enough rock to rest on while they begin their chit-chatting and laundry.

“Well it doesn't matter, Zenitsu-chan is a part of the family now,” she says, picking up a random piece of clothing and sticking her tongue out.

Makio ignores her and turns to Zenitsu, her smile sincere. “Well congrats on catching Uzui’s attention. It’ll be fun to have another wife around.”

Zenitsu feels his blood run cold. 

Suma suggesting they’re together was uncomfortable but Makio outright saying he’s Uzui’s wife has the insides of his stomach twisting and knotting. He feels sick.

“Uzui’s never been in a relationship with anyone besides us, so he must be pretty serious about you,” she continues. “But I have to admit, I’m pretty mad at him for not telling us about you.”

“Well he has been pretty busy with the whole training thing, maybe he just couldn’t find the chance,” Suma adds.

The more their conversation drags on the tighter his chest feels. Their voices become disoriented and blurry and he drowns them out in order to better ground himself.

He’s not Uzui’s wife. They’re not in love.  

Neither of them know a single thing that’s transpired between them. They’re not aware of Uzui’s ugly and vile actions last night, using him as a temporary sex toy for his selfish enjoyment, nor his conniving little scheme to keep silent until he can strike at the right moment and attempt to claim him a second time.

Zenitsu means nothing to Uzui, at least not in any way that matters.

The thought alone of putting that into coherent sentences without sounding like a madman is exhausting. But he knows he’s only using that as an excuse. Neither Suma or Makio would ever dismiss him, no matter how unintelligible he comes across. 

He just doesn’t want to be the reason for the rift between their relationship. His feelings be damned, he’d be more distraught at witnessing Uzui and his wives separate on behalf of his impulsive and spiteful mouth.

His mind is reeling, annoyingly overwhelmed at his own convoluted thoughts jumping from one thing to another, too enclosed by his own thoughts that he almost doesn’t hear the heavy footsteps in the distance.

His ears perk up.

Uzui’s coming his way and Zenitsu involuntarily tenses.

He can only imagine how panicked he looks from the way Makio glances at him in concern. She doesn’t have time to ask before he’s joined their little circle, asking his own question of whether or not they need help with the laundry.

The tightness in his chest never seems to go away. 

If it’s not anxiety, it’s violent anger.

He gets up, ignoring the way his legs shake, and walks away. There’s no way in hell he’s going to just sit here and willingly play Uzui’s game. He knows what he’s trying to do. He understands it’s Uzui’s house and seeing each other is inevitable, but this man has never done laundry in his life. At the very least, he could make this all less apparent.

Makio and Suma call out to him but he keeps trudging forward. The anger overpowers his pain, numbing him from the backyard, up the stairs, and to his room.

His muscles feel like they’re going to tear from the sudden unsupported outburst, but he couldn’t care less. In this room, he feels as safe as one could possibly get within the confines of his rapist’s own home.

Yet he’s not safe from the person that poses an even bigger threat; himself.

The large mirror in the corner of the room has been on his mind since he saw it. He eyes it, questioning if it’s really worth knowing, if it’s really worth fanning the flames to bring forth a virulent inferno that can’t be tamed.

At that moment, he thinks it does. 

He walks over and unties his yukata, again with that strange hope in his heart that maybe Uzui didn’t do it. Maybe his memories played tricks on him and he didn’t touch him down there, was courteous enough to stop at his neck.

Oh how wrong he is every single time.

He holds his breath. He finally sees the catastrophe, what he didn’t get to see early this morning because he put his trust into Uzui and thought better of him.

Dark bruises align his inner thighs, showing just how unforgiving and heartless he was that night, only thinking of how he can ruin him for his own pleasure and hunger.

Everything becomes more vivid the more he stares at his defiled body; from the way Uzui’s face was buried between his thighs, to the feeling of the bed roughly swaying from each thrust.

His legs give out, hitting the floor.

He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t sob into his hands and beg for time to rewind.

He crawls his way toward the futon, suddenly feeling very tired.

The dark hole in his heart feels like it’s going to swallow him whole, but his body is telling him he needs to nap first before that happens.

When he wakes up, it’s completely dark. 

For a second, he thinks that hole in his heart really did swallow him into some kind of void, but he remembers falling asleep after a wave of fatigue suddenly hitting him, urging him to get the rest he needed.

He’s sure it was just his body’s way of shutting itself down before Zenitsu quite literally died from heartache.

He slowly sits up, the deep-seated grogginess in his bones leaving him grumpy and dazed, making him wonder how long he’s been asleep to feel this shitty and what time it is exactly. It’s not like he has to be up at a certain hour. His training has been put on hold and he has the next few days to focus on healing and resting. 

He's just curious, is all. How could he not be when there’s a strong, delicious aroma permeating the room.

He pursues his curiosity by getting up, tying his yukata back up once he feels a breeze on certain unnecessary areas, and walks over to the window to slide it open. The light from the nearly full moon illuminates the room, easing his fear of a demon coming in just a tad bit, and he can see a tasty, albeit cold, wooden tray of food next to his futon.

He slept through both lunch and dinner. He looks at the clock. It's a little past midnight. 

His empty stomach gives a plea with a noise that ripples through the silence of the room. The last time he ate was early in the morning. Too many hours have passed since then. He wastes no time in sitting back down on the futon, placing the wooden tray of food on his lap, and begins to eat. 

With every bite he takes, he thinks about how undeserving he is of Makio and Suma’s kindness. 

They probably came into his room, rightfully concerned, to check if he was doing okay after he rudely stormed off this morning and saw he was asleep. And they were still considerate enough to bring him food. 

They didn’t have to, but they did.

He wipes the tears away, swallowing the mouth full of rice and meat. 

They’re so kind, so thoughtful, it makes every burden a tad bit more bearable, giving him a little room to breathe in between Uzui’s suffocation. 

That’s why they don’t need to know about what happened between Uzui and him. They don’t deserve to hear such a disheartening facet. It’s the least he can do. For the next two days he just has to be careful of showing his disdain around Uzui and pretend he’s ‘one of the wives’

A shudder migrates up his spine.

He definitely doesn’t think he can manage it to that extent. The former is much more doable.

He finishes the rest of his meal and sets it to the side. 

That abrupt drowsiness from earlier today still seems to be lingering in his body as he feels it slowly creep its way back up. He’s happy to oblige and sleep for however long his body wants, but right now, he needs to find the bathroom before knocking out.

He gets up and closes the window, then along with the shoji behind him. The hallway’s dim, just visible enough to find his way to the bathroom that Suma was courteous enough to explain to him where it is. 

His steps are quiet and soft, like they should be for someone roaming the house in the middle of the night. 

But what he notices is the drastic change the medicine has done to his body. His injuries still hurt like hell but he can walk relatively well and he doesn’t feel as physically drained as before. The medicine really eased all the strain his body has been under, and it’s only the first dose.

He sighs in relief. At least some things are going right.

Another turn and he notices two doors down the hall, one a little closer than the other, and remembers Suma telling him it’s the first door on the left. 

But he’s barely near the door before he hears an all too familiar sound. 

It’s like he’s been physically brought back to the first night. His need to use the restroom in the middle of the night, the long and dim hallway, the vulgar sounds of pleasure echoing so loud it escapes the confines of the bedroom and right into his sensitive ears.

His heart sinks, and sinks, and keeps sinking, so uncontrollably that he almost bursts out laughing.

What are the odds that he’d be in this exact scenario a second time? This feels entirely too sadistic and comical for it to be real.

But thinking that the universe is merciful and has good humor would be asking for too much. His only semblance of peace he holds is that out of everything, he has control over the last remaining piece, the same one that ignited the situation last time.

Well, not entirely.

He can’t help his body’s natural reaction; heat rises to his cheeks and falls between his legs, getting aroused too quickly and too suddenly. It’s tempting, the thought of bringing his hand down and wrapping it around his cock to pleasure himself to the sounds of Uzui and his wives having intimate sex, again.

But he knows Uzui is listening. And he knows to keep moving.

The moaning shifts from loud to somewhat muffled once he slides the shoji shut.

His hands shake, frustration gradually building the more they tremble. He empties his bladder, suppressing his intrusive thoughts to prevent him from getting any harder, and gets back into the hallway. 

He takes in a deep breath.

He can’t linger for more than a few seconds without letting Uzui win, so he keeps walking. He keeps walking, even though his heart aches for more reasons than he can possibly count. But he reminds himself that the satisfaction of being in control and keeping his distance is much more fulfilling.

He eventually finds his way back to his room, his head is spinning, wanting nothing more than his thoughts to just shut up. It’s past midnight and he’s slowly moving toward that feeling of fatigue that almost seems unnatural with how quickly it puts him to sleep.

The soft futon calls for him and he crawls his way under, forcibly shutting his eyes tight and ignoring how fast his heart is beating.

Every part of him is craving Uzui and he’s frantically trying to ward off those irrational desires like a child cowering in fear under the blanket, hoping the scary monster will eventually go away once enough time passes.

Why does his heart hurt so much right now? Why does he feel a tug, wishing that it could’ve been him? Why does his body completely go against what he wishes?

He doesn’t dare look above the covers despite knowing what’s there. It will go away. It has to.

The aching around his heart grows into a sort of dull, humming feeling, constantly there as a reminder, a warning. 

But he falls asleep, his last thoughts before drifting away are the ones advocating for himself, hoping he’s strong enough to not give into temptation.

“Zenitsu-chan?”

The soft voice is accompanied by a nudge to his arm as he begins to stir.

He’s tired. He doesn’t know how many hours he’s slept but he’s so tired. All he wants is to be left alone to sleep but even if he was given an eternity to do so, it still wouldn’t be enough.

He lets out a lazy ‘mmh’ to let the voice know he’s awake.

“See, I told you he isn’t dead,” she whispers harshly.

This time, a different voice. 

“But he was asleep for so long, we had to wake him up!”

“Suma, it’s probably just the medicine making him tired, stop overreacting!”

The familiar bickering is hard to ignore. He just barely opens his eyes before he sees a pretty face hovering over him, a little too close for comfort.

“Good morning sleepy head!” Suma says cheerfully.

“Morning,” he says lazily, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he mumbles.

“Good,” Makio interjects. “We have breakfast downstairs, get your butt up and let’s go eat.”

Zenitsu doesn’t move.

There’s nothing on his face that could’ve given anything away, or at least he hopes so, but Makio intuitively seems to pick up on something and she’s quick to give an alternative on top of it, a response that he’ll like.

“Uzui’s not here right now, so it’s pretty lonely eating breakfast with just Suma,” she says, getting up. “The food’s going to get cold, come on.”

He sits up, a bit more keen on going downstairs.

“Can I get ready first?”

“Of course you can, Zenitsu-chan. Do you need any help?”

“No, no it’s okay,” he says, putting his hand up. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure..”

The medicine, quite literally, worked wonders. Though Suma doesn’t look convinced enough to stop bothering him.

“Are you really, really su-”

“Suma! He said he doesn’t need help, knock it off!”

“Fine,” she huffs. “We’ll be waiting for you downstairs, okay?”

She gives him a kiss on the cheek, something light and quick, and while the shoji clicks shut, Zenitsu has no intention of moving when there’s waves and waves of blood rushing to his head, making him practically unfunctional.

Suma kissed him. Her soft lips were on his cheek.

His face hits the pillow and he rolls back and forth on the futon, his squeals muffled but loud, until he calms down and lays on his back, staring at the ceiling.

For a long time, he hasn’t felt his heart swell this big.

And when he does actually get up to start his day; washing his face, brushing his teeth, taking his medicine, putting on a new yukata and slippers—he realizes how delightfully addicting that feeling is. 

Though it’s not a feeling he can have often, since he has no aim to stay in their little family. But even so, it still makes him crack a smile, the idea of barging in and stealing all his wives a little too funny.

Before he leaves the room, he notices the tray of food he ate last night is nowhere to be found. For a second, he thinks he might’ve just imagined it. But the taste is still in his mouth, even after having brushed his teeth, and he knows he has to give his thanks.

When he gets downstairs, his pain minimal, Makio and Suma are sitting down by the table, the food untouched while they chat.   

“Right here, Zenitsu-chan,” she says, patting the seat next to her.

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

The breakfast laid out on the table looks delicious and his stomach growls in response. They say their thanks and begin eating, mouthfuls of rice, fish, and soup filling his belly. 

Suma starts off their meal with light conversation and Zenitsu easily joins in, their conversation flowing from personal interests to light hearted jokes. He slips in his gratitude for last night and they both wave him off, telling him it’s the least they can do.

They continue talking, topics surrounding Uzui get unavoidably brought up a few times and each time he tries putting on an act that doesn’t entirely show his contempt against the man. 

But he’s not alone. Makio gets up on the stage and helps him act out his little performance. Suma asks a question about Uzui and Makio is quick to redirect it into something else, whether it leads into a new topic or answering the question herself. Zenitsu’s silently grateful, even though he’s internally beating himself up over not being able to hide it from her.

But he’s satisfied. With the meal and with how everything’s been going this morning.

Uzui’s presence is undeniable, and with him gone, it feels like he’s finally allowed to live.

It’s liberating.

Breakfast continues for some time until their talking dies down and they have to clean up. Zenitsu offers to help with the dishes for the second day in a row and obviously, he gets another scolding from Makio that he needs to be resting, not working. 

That only becomes harder to listen to when they both start doing separate chores; Makio leaving to pick some vegetables from the backyard and Suma staying inside to scrub the floors.

He sits there, in the same seat he ate breakfast in, watching Suma circle around him on the floor. Her hair’s kept tidy in a bandana to keep it from falling in her face and she’s wearing an apron, the strings tightly tied behind her waist. 

“I’m sorry that you can’t help Zenitsu-chan, it must be boring just watching me clean,” she says, wringing the dirty cloth over the water bucket.

Watching Suma do literally anything, even if she was doing nothing, is a privilege and an honor. He could watch her all day, every day, and he would never get tired of it. Boring is the least suitable word.

He obviously doesn’t say that. He already feels guilty enough for sitting on his ass while she works, that kind of praise isn’t the right praise to be saying right now.

“A little,” he yawns, barely able to keep his eyelids open. 

“Aw it’s okay, in just a few more days you’ll be back to training. Then it won’t be so boring.”

Zenitsu makes a face, to which Suma instinctively laughs at. 

“You’re not looking forward to it, are you?” 

“No, not really.”

“Why not? You’re super strong, all that training is probably a breeze for you.”

His eyebrows fly up, a burst of energy surging through him for a moment.

“Says who?” 

“Says me,” she says, her scrubbing coming to a stop as she looks at him sternly. “All of us, actually.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“What?! You’re being silly, Zenitsu-chan. I would never lie. Well not that I could in the first place, Tengen and Makio make fun of me for being a really bad liar, even though I think I do a pretty good job at it. But that doesn’t matter right now!” she says, forgetting she ran off on a tangent. “I’m not lying, you’re super strong. The fight with the upper moon demons proved that, so I don’t wanna hear you badmouthing yourself!”

Suma has never looked angrier. No, more like displeased or frustrated—he doesn’t think Suma could ever portray the textbook definition of angry. It doesn’t suit her anyway.

“The upper moon demons…? I didn’t even do anything in that fight,” he says, truly confused.

Suma frowns. “If you weren’t there to help, who knows what would’ve happened. Even Tengen said so.”

Uzui has somehow managed to squeeze his way into the conversation once again. It’s getting old. He hasn’t seen him all morning but he’s sure heard enough about him. 

He’s beginning to get frustrated. Not with Suma though, he would never. But the longer the conversation continues, the more convoluted it becomes with topics and things that he doesn’t want to hear about. 

“What does he know?” he scoffs, temporarily forgetting he’s supposed to act like they’re on good terms.

She puts the cloth back into the bucket, letting it soak up all the water.

“Well, he’s a Hashira for a reason. I think he knows more than anyone when it comes to demons and fighting. He saw you fighting that night and said he knew you had the potential to become a Hashira yourself.”

He has no words. He hasn’t heard a joke as good as this one in a really long time.

His name and the title Hashira in the same sentence don’t belong, they’re as different as oil and water, a natural partition that shouldn’t be disrupted. 

And for it to be Uzui saying that out of all people makes it all the more hilarious. He almost wants to talk to the man to ask him why he’s spewing this nonsense. 

Suma lays her hands flat on her lap, the expression on her face indiscernible, like she’s thinking of what to say next. 

Zenitsu beats her to it.

“I think I’m going to go outside and see what Makio-chan is doing.”

 “O-Okay. Yeah. You look very tired. Maybe getting some fresh air will help.”

He feels bad. Suma probably thinks she’s at fault and it tugs at his heart. His anger and confusion is misdirected but there’s no way of her knowing that without telling her the truth. And he can’t do that.

He gets up and walks out onto the engawa and circles his way around the house to the backyard. 

He yawns again, rubbing at his eye.

Even the hard wooden floor is starting to look comfy. The warm sun and the light breeze aren’t helping his sleepiness either.

He pushes through and tells himself some small-talk with Makio will help him wake up.

When he reaches the back, he sees Makio crouched down in the garden, plucking onions, carrots, and other vegetables and placing them in her almost-full basket.

His first instinct is to ask, “Can I help?”

Makio looks up, sighing to fake annoyance.

“You’re too kind for your own good, you know that?” she says. “Just because you feel a little better doesn’t mean you can start doing every chore around the house.”

“Yeah, but-”

She puts a hand up.

“Don’t wanna hear it. Tengen said Yamanaka-sensei wants you resting the entire three days, so no means no,” she argues. “Besides, I'm almost done.”

He huffs. “Fine.”

Makio is incredibly assertive, much more so than Suma and Hinatsuru, he notes.

“Speaking of Tengen…” she starts, Zenitsu immediately feeling a rush of dread. “I’m guessing you two aren’t really together, huh?”

Coming to Makio was a mistake. There’s not a bone in his body that can gather the energy and talent to convince her otherwise.

“I…” he still tries. “We are.”

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

Zenitsu sighs. There’s no point. There hasn’t been a point for a while now. “Myself.”

“Took you long enough.”

Out of curiosity, he asks, “Was it that obvious?”

Makio presses her lips together, repressing a smile, or laugh, either one already giving him the answer.

“Your reaction to us teasing you yesterday said it all,” she says, tugging on a carrot. “Suma’s too much of an idiot to put two and two together though, she’s still clueless.”

“Please don’t tell her,” he says quickly. He refuses to let Suma know about any of this. He understands it’s a lie with a tremendous amount of weight to it, but after seeing how happy she got from learning that he’s a part of the ‘family’, he doesn’t have it in him to tell her the truth.

“I won’t. But mind telling me what’s going on? I hate to assume, but the marks all over your neck tell a different story.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

What little energy he has left in his system is quite honestly being used to keep him standing upright. It’s not even being used for survival, just purely for staying awake and on his two feet. Explaining to Makio why is out of the question. 

Makio sighs. “If it’s over some dumb argument, you’ll get over it. You’re still young so it probably seems like the end of the world, but it’s not,” she says. “From time to time, Tengen and the three of us can get into some pretty intense arguments. But at the end of the day, we know we love each other and we move past it.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It has everything to do with you. You two love each other too much to have an argument split you apart.”

Resentment inflames his entire nervous system. He actually reconsiders telling her the truth, just for the sake of not having that word associated with Uzui and him again.

“I don’t love him.”

“Well Tengen sure does.” 

Pure disgust paints his face and Makio just giggles.

“What’s with that face? I’m being serious. He couldn’t stop talking about you last night,” she says, still smiling. “Well, he could’ve, but Suma was instigating and you know how much both of them like to blab.”

Hearing that Uzui was talking about him fondly doesn’t surprise him as much as the realization that he was talking about him last night specifically. Because last night he heard them having sex. Uzui was talking about him at some point, whether it was before, during, or after sex.

“What did he say?” he blurts out.

Makio smirks. “Oh, you’re curious? Are you sure about that? If you’re trying to stay mad at him, then I should probably keep quiet–”

“Never mind.” He regrets it just as quickly as he asked.

“I’m only teasing! You can’t stay mad at him forever.”

“What if I want to stay mad at him?”

“I don’t think you do.”

“I do!”

“Then why were you so curious to know what he said?”

Zenitsu doesn’t have an answer for that. Not for Makio, nor for himself.

“Well, it doesn’t matter, I wasn’t going to tell you anyway,” she says, getting up with the basket in tow. “I think it’s something you’d have to hear from Tengen directly. It feels wrong of me to tell you.”

Zenitsu wonders if he would ever hear it; praise and fond words coming out of Uzui Tengen’s mouth. It doesn’t seem unrealistic. But it’s more about if he’d allow himself to even hear it.

The answer comes quickly to him.

“Alright, let’s go wash these a bit and then we can start cooking,” she beckons, walking out the garden.

“Cooking? We just ate breakfast.”

“Food doesn’t just magically appear, Zenitsu-san. I have to prepare this for later.”

They stop by the stream and he watches her rinse the dirt covered vegetables before they go back inside. 

She places the basket in the kitchen while Zenitsu sits at the table, noticing Suma has long since finished cleaning, leaving the floor polished and dried. 

After some time, his fatigue emerges again and he can’t stop himself from laying his head down on the table. He uses his arms as a pillow, snuggling his face deeper into the little nest he’s made, until Makio’s voice startles him.

“Come here,” is all she says. He groans, sluggishly getting up to see her placing a small onion and a knife on a wooden board. “Chop the onions for me.”

He yawns wide, starting to get sheepish at his fatigue.

“I thought I couldn’t do any work?”

“Chopping up an onion won’t kill you…and you look like you’re about to fall asleep if I don’t give you something to do.”

He begins cutting, each chop having a certain precision and gentleness to it, subconsciously wanting to please Makio. After he finishes with one, she quickly hands him another, a quiet and content smile on her face that’s contagious enough to make Zenitsu suppress a smile of his own.

When he’s done chopping the onions, he’s onto the carrots, and then mushrooms. Idle conversation is exchanged while they both busy themselves with separate parts of the meal. When he finishes cutting the vegetables, he asks if he can help in any other way. He’d prefer not to fall asleep and drool all over the table, but Makio assures him that there’s nothing left for him to do.

So with nothing else left to keep him awake, he runs his mouth.

Time passes by rather quick. Makio likes to tease Suma for being chatty but Makio is no different. Their conversation flows from one topic into the next almost effortlessly. At one point, she even asks how his friends are doing; Inosuke, Tanjiro, and that cute little demon sister of his. He tells her they’re doing well but it reminds him that it’s only a speculation. Between all the chaos and training, he hasn’t met with them for a while now. He can only hope, he thinks.

After what seems like hours, an aroma begins to enclose the kitchen until it moves to the rest of the house, luring in Suma.

“It smells lovely in here!” she says, walking in loud and cheery, as always.

“Yeah, no thanks to you.”

She freezes, mouth agape as her hands land on her hips. “I was busy cleaning the entire house, what do you mean no thanks to me! I always help-”

“I was kidding, take a joke you idiot!”

He half expects them to start fighting but Suma just sticks her tongue out and shifts her attention to Zenitsu.

“You look better Zenitsu-chan, did you have fun with Makio?”

“Mhm,” he nods, unaware of the smile on his face. “I helped Makio-san a bit.”

“That’s wonderful!” she says, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she passes by. “I’ll go ahead and set up the table.”

Heat rises to his face like second nature, but he doesn’t have enough time to make a proper fool of himself because he hears an unwanted guest near the house. Uzui walks through the door not a minute later, uttering the same sentence as Suma.

“It smells delicious in here.”

Zenitsu tenses, his high spirits dying down into a confined silence. Uzui rounds the corner and stands behind Makio, wrapping an arm around her waist and giving her a kiss on the head.

“Only because Zenitsu helped,” she comments.

“Is that so?” he bends down and gives her another kiss on the neck, absentmindedly. “I can’t wait to eat then.”

Zenitsu eyes the knife on the counter, itching to launch it at him. 

“Sit down and relax, we’ll be done soon.”

She slips out of his hold and gives him a kiss on the cheek, occupying herself with the last bit of remaining work.

For one brief moment, their eyes meet. Whether it was intentional or not, he doesn’t think or dwell on it long enough to care. 

They eventually sit down at the table. They eat and chat and clean up afterwards–Zenitsu once again denied, making him wonder how he was even allowed to help with the food, but not cleaning the dishes.

It’s another simple and uneventful meal, and when everyone kind of disperses and does their own thing, he takes it as an opportunity to go upstairs and take a long needed nap. Even if he wanted to stay awake and be productive, he can’t put up much of a fight against the food coma he’s slowly slipping into.

He curls up in the sheets, his tummy full and his thoughts empty.

He feels content as he falls asleep even with all the light illuminating the room.

When he wakes up, hours later, he’s in a cold sweat, the room much darker.

He throws the sheets off of him, taking in a sharp breath, his heart hammering in fear of a danger that solely exists in his head. 

He can’t pinpoint what his dream–no, nightmare, was exactly. It was blotches and pieces of eerie figures and indiscernible landscapes that begin to vanish the harder he tries to remember. Not like he would gain anything if he did remember. Ignorance is bliss most of the time.

He’s craving the presence of others around him, so he gets up, going downstairs to see what Makio and Suma are doing.

He finds them all in the living room, sitting down and talking with tea on the table. Uzui is here, unfortunately.

“Zenitsu-chan, you’re awake! How did you sleep?”

Suma notices him first, absolutely ecstatic to see him. He wishes he could have someone greet him with this much enthusiasm and love for the rest of his miserable life. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so miserable.

“Fine,” he mumbles, awkwardly sitting next to Suma on the floor.

She doesn’t ask if he wants tea. She just takes the extra cup that she already had laid out for him and pours him some, the pungent smell of green tea hitting his nose. As hot as the tea is, he doesn’t think it can be any warmer than how his heart feels right now.

“Hey, what do you think about eating out for tonight?” Makio speaks up. “You know, take a break from cooking at home and just head down to the village and pick a nice restaurant to eat in.”

He gets excited. “I’d like that.”

“Are you sure? Home cooked meals are always better, especially when you're sick. We can always stay home,” say Suma.

Zenitsu shakes his head. “No, no. I wanna go.”

He just hopes Uzui isn’t going.

“Alright then. Tengen, when do you want to go?”

He’s going.

“Whenever you three feel hungry.”

“I guess we can go in a bit. We don’t have to rush.”

They talk some more, Zenitsu quietly sipping on his hot tea. They mention Hinatsuru and all the students back at the training ground at some point, making Zenitsu wonder if that’s where Uzui was this morning, checking up on his wife to see if she’s doing well on her own.

A newfound guilt eats away at him. Another thing on his to-do list; apologize to Hinatsuru when he gets back.

Zenitsu finishes his tea, pushing the guilt aside and shyly letting Suma know that he’s finished.

They head on out and he’s filled with excitement for some reason. Perhaps it’s just a simple change of scenery from the past two days just being stuck in the house and alternating between sleeping and eating. Even though this time it’s eating at a restaurant, but he likes to think it’s different.

He’s genuinely looking forward to having a good night out until his mind infests itself with unwanted thoughts and fear shoots right through him.

It’s night.

The fraction of moonlight that’s seeping between the tree tops shines on the sword that's attached to Uzui’s hip, and panic envelopes him.

He comes to a stop, watching everyone walk into the dark forest in front of him. His heart starts to race, not knowing what to do or what to say, until he blurts out, “What if a demon attacks us?”

Makio and Suma turn to him, confused at his paranoia until realization sets in.

“Shit, how could we forget,” curses Makio. “I’m sorry Zenitsu-san we can go back if you want, we don’t have to go, it’s not a big deal.”

“Mhm, we can go home. I didn’t want to eat out anyway,” adds Suma.

Their comforting words calm him slightly, only for Uzui’s words to exacerbate his anxiety tenfold. 

“Do you really think a flimsy wooden house could keep a demon away?” Uzui speaks up, his back still turned.

“Tengen…” Suma says quietly.

“I’m being serious. After the sun sets, what difference does it make? Staying inside the house is nothing more than a façade for the weak.”

This time it’s Makio. “Tengen!” 

Uzui turns, staring at him down, but not in a way that he expected.

“You weren’t attacked by that demon because you were out in the forest. You were attacked because it was a demon and that’s what they were created to do. Plain and simple. Nothing can protect you more than your own strength.” His words garner no response. “Now, are we ready to leave?”

Makio and Suma stare at him disbelief, only to be more shocked at Zenitsu’s response.

“He’s right.”

“What! No he’s not. Zenitsu-san, if you’re still scared-”

“I’m not scared!”

Makio winces at her poor choice of words. Zenitsu desperately wants to apologize for raising his voice but he can’t, not right now at least.

“We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t have to repeat himself for Uzui to keep walking, and he appreciates that.

Makio and Suma follow behind him, quietly sharing glances with each other. Zenitsu can feel their eyes on him, but he doesn’t mind. He understands their concern and confusion, he’s a bit shocked at his own response too. Uzui putting him on the spot like that was a direct hit to his ego, and with the way he confronted him, he doesn’t think there was an option to back down either.

But most importantly, Uzui’s right. 

Even in his own head, he grimaces at the notion of agreeing with him. Though having it in reverse and arguing with him that he’s a proud coward would have been much worse.

He makes a face, the darkness of the woods politely hiding it.

The rest of the way there is walked in silence, until they see bright lights from the village ahead that brings up everyone’s mood, the awkwardness thankfully dissipating.

More and more people begin to walk past, Zenitsu taking everything in, noting how lively it is and loving every second of it. He appreciates company more than anything and he’s enjoying this significantly more than the eerie solitude of the forest.

And then it dawns on him. Why are there so many people out at night like this? Why is no one fearful of the demons lurking about? If he was in the city it’d be a different story. It’s extremely populated and demons aren’t as common because of that. But here? It’s still a fairly large village, he supposes. Not to mention a Hashira lives nearby. That seems plenty enough reason for people’s apprehension to stay at bay.

They finally stop in front of a restaurant. Inside, the dim orange and red lightning gives it an intimidating and refined aura, even with all the obnoxious drunkards scattered about.

“Oh, Uzui-sama, good evening!” a girl bows, fitted in a beautiful dark red kimono.

“Table for four.”

She smiles, sincere. “Right this way.”

Zenitsu looks around confused, wondering where the hell they’re going to sit when the whole place is packed like sardines. But to his surprise, she leads them to the back of the restaurant, through a wide doorway.

He brushes past the fancy noren and sees a much more secluded section, quiet and with fewer people around. It even looks like it’s designated for more notable people.

He rolls his eyes. 

The title of Hashira is honorable and worth the special treatment. He just doesn’t think Uzui is deserving of it.

The girl sits them down at a table and gives them menus. It’s obvious the three of them have come here to eat often, so he tries not to feel bad when he takes longer to order.

When the food arrives, they leave behind the gossip to stuff their faces. And as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, the food is much tastier than Makio and Suma’s cooking. He’s sure he’s only thinking that because it’s all he’s eaten since getting here. A home cooked meal is still a home cooked meal. But he’s undoubtedly impressed with how good everything is.

And based on how much sake is being consumed by everyone in the restaurant, he can guess it’s also very good.

“Zenitsu-chan, do you want some?” she asks, pouring him a glass without waiting for a response.

He reaches for the glass, eager to feel tipsy and giddy tonight on top of already feeling rather happy with how the night is going.

But that desire to feel at the top of the world is ripped away when Uzui grabs the glass from him.

“I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“Aw, why not?” Suma pouts. “I want Zenitsu-chan to have fun too.”

He pours the sake into Suma’s empty glass.

“He’s taking strong medicine, he shouldn’t be drinking.”

Suma cringes. “Oh…”

“We’re a couple of morons tonight, huh?” says Makio, appearing in disbelief of herself.

It puts a sour mood on Zenitsu, enough to make him pout too. It’s not the end of the world, nor is he on top of it like he preferred, but the fact that Uzui is missing out on the fun as well somehow makes him feel better.

He’s not drinking. Zenitsu notices that right away.

That by itself makes him feel more safe than anything else.

Not like he expected a Hashira to act so recklessly. He hates him but he doesn’t think that lowly of his intelligence.

He mentally scoffs. Well, who knows what he’s capable of at this point. 

The further the night goes on, the more Suma and Makio get drunk. 

He doesn’t mind. He likes the sound of their voices filling up the awkward space that ironically enough, Uzui seems to be purposefully leaving. His responses are seldom and short, only ever answering if he’s brought into the conversation, keeping his mouth occupied with the food in front of him. 

After a while, he appears less interested and more distracted.

The restaurant is far too loud for his sigh to be audible to anyone besides Uzui. He knows he hears him, clear as day, and when his eyes flicker to Zenitsu, it confirms his suspicions. 

Sitting there, he contemplates if he should be the first to speak up. Lose the very game that he started. It’s awfully tempting, but his pride is spared on behalf of Uzui doing the dirty work for him. 

“You hear it too?”

Zenitsu freezes, not expecting him to say something so foreboding.

“What?”

Uzui raises an eyebrow. “The demon,” he clarifies. “It’s been circling the village for a while.”

His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach. 

His ears perk up, trying to alienate the demon’s sound from literally everything else around him. It takes him a few seconds, but he hears it, faint and a fair distance away from the village. 

It’s not his fault he didn’t hear it until now. Maybe if he intended to drown his night in paranoia and keep his focus on demons the entirety of their dinner, he would’ve caught on earlier, but he knows he can’t beat himself up, can’t compare himself to Uzui, of all people.

But it still stings.

“Why hasn’t it attacked yet?”

He shrugs. “Does it matter?”

Zenitsu frowns. “It probably knows we’re here. What if it’s waiting to attack us on our way home?”

Uzui takes a bite of the meat in front of him before placing his chopsticks down, glancing at Suma and Makio next to him, loudly talking to their heart's content.

“You think it’s specifically attacking us? I’m flattered, but I doubt it,” he says, getting up. “It’s probably finding out a way to attack the village, so either way, it interrupted our night.”

Uzui walks away, leaving Zenitsu at the table with his wives, his mind confused and erratic with the night unfolding in front of him. Something tells him to move, to get up from where he’s sitting and join Uzui on his little excursion out in the woods. He tries to find reasoning in his instinct, like he always does with these kinds of things. But that’s all that it is, an instinct. His grandfather told him to never question something as fundamental as that.

He gets up as well, leaving the food and his wives behind. 

Uzui’s already outside when he reaches him.

“What the hell are you doing? Go back inside!”

His mind draws a blank. What the hell is he doing?

“I’m coming with you.”

Uzui’s expression quickly changes from disbelief to outright anger.

“No you’re not. Stay with Makio and Suma.”

Uzui turns to leave and Zenitsu scrambles to get his words out.

“They’re stronger than you think, they don’t need my protection!”

“I know what my wives are capable of. It’s you I’m worried about!” he turns, almost yelling.

His lips press tight, pain crawling deep into his chest.

He doesn’t want to hear concern out of Uzui’s mouth. It’s sugary and sweet and it makes his insides flutter in a way that’s all too familiar and he hates it because he knows he’s a piece of shit–a capable one, too. He doesn’t need to be doing this. But that persistent nagging tells him to keep at Uzui’s side.

“I’ll stay out of the way.”

Uzui holds his gaze. Villagers pass by, old and young, some whispering, others giving discreet glances. He starts to feel the discomfort of all their attention on them.

“You have no sword and you’re still healing."

"So?"

"Do you want to die?”

“No," he says sternly. "But you don’t care, so why does it matter?”

Uzui cocks his head, letting out a laugh. “I care more than you think you damn brat,” he says, his voice laced with something Zenitsu can’t pinpoint. “But fine, since you think I don’t care, I’ll play the role. Do what you want.”

And that he does, wasting no time as he falls in step with Uzui while making sure to maintain his distance.

They walk through the village with purpose, in bleak contrast to the locals that appear untroubled, taking their routinely stroll for the night.

Oh how he wishes to be one of these people right now.

When they make it to the outskirts of the village, the dark murkiness of the forest greets him and the severity of the situation only dawns on him then. The darkness may not allow him to see anything but his ears surely grant him the ability to hear every sound known to man, and he really wishes that was the case right now.

The forest ahead only carries complete and utter silence, devoid of any and all life; except for the horrid sound bleeding out from the only source capable of that—a demon.

There’s no hesitancy in Uzui’s footsteps as he continues forward. No fear striking his heart and leaving him uncertain or concern swimming in his mind and having to look over his shoulder to ask if Zenitsu still wishes to join him. There’s none of that. 

Each step is closer to what he thinks, if not for Uzui, is another sweet and familiar embrace with death, mirroring the previous night like it’s the mockery of the century.

His heart thrums against his chest, almost masking the invasive sound of the demon just a few meters away.

Uzui stops in front of him, Zenitsu almost bumping into him.

“You mind coming out so I can kill you?”

He almost shrieks. Even if he was given a millennia to build the courage to speak like that to a demon, he’d still ask for a thousand years more. 

A body peers out from behind a tree, politely answering his request.

“I expected nothing less from a Hashira.”

What Zenitsu expects, his poor naive heart, is a demon a bit less terrifying in nature to calm his jittery nerves. But the demon’s appearance sends him into hysteria and the desire to invent time travel so he can go back in time and talk himself out of doing this is very high.

Black, slicked back hair falls down to the demon’s bare feet. Their face is white and sunken in, accentuating their yellow irises—ghastly but beautiful, a sight that he can’t behold for more than a few seconds without harsh shivers rolling down his spine.

Fear paralyzes him to the ground. He can’t run, even if he wanted to.

A thick fog begins to surround them, slithering between the trees and confining them, forcing them together. With Uzui only centimeters away, his fingers reach out instinctively, desperately wanting to grab at the back of his yukata and pull him in, seeking his comfort even when he said he’d never want it.

“Hold your breath,” he warns, the calmness in his voice a steady anchor. “No matter what happens, don’t breathe it in.”

Zenitsu listens, taking in a deep breath, and the demon smiles.

“Do what you will, but know it means nothing, Hashira.”

They take a step forward and before Zenitsu can even process what happens, he braces himself as a heavy gust of pressurized wind hits him. 

He looks up between the dirt in his eyes to see Uzui far away, the demon’s hands wrapped around his sword, holding him back as blood trickles down their forearms. 

He stares in awe at what it means to be a Hashira, dominating the demon without letting them act first.

Hope wells up inside him but his hastiness has never gotten him far. 

“You can barely strike me down. How pathetic.”

The demon’s sound changes into something more perverse. It’s an imminent warning that tells him to retreat unless he wants to die. And as soon as he sees the demon’s claws grow double their size, he runs.

He hides behind a tree, a spectator now rather than the warrior he initially made himself out to be. What was he thinking? Was he truly worried about Uzui? Disbelief clouds his thoughts in a time where it shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. Uzui can handle a lowly demon—it’s degrading to think he can’t. It’s a miracle that he ever allowed him to come with.

The sound of metal clanking against nails leaves him too anxious to stay in the dark. He builds up the courage to peer out from the tree, but the second he does, Uzui’s sword goes flying and lands only a few meters away from him.

Instincts take over reasoning and within an instant, he persuades himself to move forward.

He crawls over, his heartbeat frantic and his lungs begging for air—something that really makes him regret not training on his breathing technique more.

He’s centimeters away from the sword, nearly within reach before he sees flowy white fabric at the hilt of the sword. He looks up and his heart drops.

At that moment, Zenitsu doesn’t think about getting injured or even dying. Uzui’s hand is wrapped around the demon’s throat long before he can think about his own demise. 

“Don’t you dare touch him.”

The demon smirks, and then vanishes, only leaving a thick layer of fog behind.

Zenitsu’s more startled at how furious Uzui sounds rather than the fact that he spoke at all. The initial shock passes, and then a new one sets in.

He’s breathing in the mist. 

Uzui picks up the sword and looks over at Zenitsu frantically waving his hands around toward his mouth. He shakes his head almost apologetically.

“The demon’s right, holding our breath is pointless.”

Zenitsu freezes, his eyes widening.

The demon attacks before he can say anything else, though it’s not like it’d be wise to continue their one-sided conversation. Uzui falters, only slightly, but his worry grows. He looks out of breath and somewhat fatigued, as if he’s been fighting an upper moon demon rather than this lowly one.

His heart pounds, trying to remain calm.

He realizes once he slowly begins feeling lightheaded himself. The poison’s seeping into their skin—holding in their breath really is meaningless.

Zenitsu backs up against the tree again, putting his trust into Uzui as he watches him fight, but failing. Every time he swings, the demon vanishes. Every time he tries to keep up, the demon only goes faster.

It’s not until Uzui staggers that Zenitsu feels like crying.

He falls to his knees, his hand on the ground and not around his sword anymore.

The demon appears, right behind Uzui with their claws outstretched and ready to dig into his flesh, and Zenitsu runs toward him, leaving everything behind besides pure instinct to protect him. He gets in between the two, his hands up, shielding a now unresponsive body on the ground.

“Please! Don’t hurt him!”

An amused expression adorns their face.

His shaky hands come down from their prior bravery and slowly cover his mouth, the demon’s grin widening at his attempt to salvage his last chance of survival.

He can feel the poison affecting him tenfold now; scared at how his vision sways, unable to focus, while his muscles weaken, unable to even sit upright.

“Oh, why not? I want to kill him,” they say, walking towards him until they’re barely an arm's length away. “May I? Pretty please?”

He feels himself resign, his hands coming undone almost involuntary. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I...I don’t want him to die..”

“That’s all? I say I want him to die and you tell me you want him to live? Doesn’t that seem a bit superficial to say as a human?” they ask, crouching down until they’re eye level. “Don’t tell me he’s some stranger, I’ll get very upset.”

Zenitsu shakes his head and thinks about leaving it at that, but a subtle flash of anger passes through their eyes and he thinks otherwise.

“He’s my sensei. We’ve known each other…only for a little bit…but he...trains me and…” he wants to get the words out but he’s breathless, his heart hammering too hard against his chest to properly function. 

They watch him, waiting for more. 

“That’s it?” they ask, their question preceding an inevitable death sentence.

Zenitsu cries. He hangs his head, his lip quivering as he lets tears fall because he never thought he’d confess his feelings about the man he loves and hates the most, to a demon.

“I hate him…I hate him so much…he hurt me and I hate him for that,” he says quietly. “But…I hate myself more for still wanting to be with him.”

The demon hums, twirling their hair between their fingers. “You hate him but not enough to want him dead, but do you love him enough to keep him alive?”

Zenitsu looks up, his mind drawing a blank. He doesn’t understand. He repeats their question again and again but his head is too foggy and filled with poison to digest anything anymore. His nose aches from the congestion and his heart’s still hammering in his chest, but he tries to set aside the uncomfortable distractions and open his mouth, in hopes of finding an answer.

That hope vanishes immediately. It leaves behind a bare, unfiltered instinct that echoes the very nature of his breathing.

They disappear right before his eyes and he turns, knows to whip his body around and protect Uzui in some way.

But he also knows there can only be one way, and it’s not enough.

His eyes widen, lunging toward Uzui’s body.

“Don’t!” 

Blood splatters, a deep red coating his face as everything feels like it’s coming to a halt.

Bile rises to his throat. Claw marks run across Uzui’s chest, extending farther than they are deep, but they’re still wounds that need care and attention and Zenitsu simply can’t give him that. He can’t. He’s frozen in place, wanting nothing more than to leave his body, for his soul to be placed somewhere that isn’t here. 

He’s so sick and tired of dealing with demons and death like it’s some bedtime routine. So absolutely sick and down right tired of all this bullshit . Yet he feels helpless. So small and useless and destined to suffer until the very end, no different from a nameless civilian that’s succumbed to a cruel death and long been forgotten.

His anger is short-lived.

The poison has already seeped into his lungs and seated itself as the host. It doesn’t feel like something he can fight anymore. 

And as his body tells him he’s giving up, the only one he can think about is Uzui.

The man that has caused him more grief and sorrow than he’s ever known. The man that he should be cursing and wishing the worst upon.

But here he is, berating himself for not being strong enough to save him, berating himself for tagging along and being a nuisance that lead to both their deaths, berating himself for thinking about the last moments of his life wondering what could've been. 

Slowly, everything begins to fade into darkness, and the last thing he feels is the remains of regret. 

All he can think about is how familiar it feels.

Not to the extent of equating it to the night prior, but it undeniably coincides, and that’s all it really takes to send him into a panic.

A hand brushes through his hair, softly running their fingers between his blond locks, quietly reminding him that it’s different this time. Whatever past troubles he had, they hold no influence on his current self. He’s safe and sound, completely and genuinely.

“Zenitsu-san…?”

The voice is soft, like they're afraid they’ll hurt him if they speak too loud.

He opens his eyes, blinking away the blurriness until he sees Makio next to his bed side. He mumbles her name, or at least he thinks he does, prompting her to sit up straighter, relief clear on her face as she goes to ask, “How’re you feeling?”

Could be worse, he wants to answer. But he shrugs, the lack of intense pain making him more curious about other things.

“What happened?”

Makio looks over to Suma beside her, then to the other side of the bed, silently giving the initiative over to Uzui. 

“The demon we fought last night wasn’t as deadly as they made themselves out to be. They knocked us out but that’s all, no poison or anything lethal laced in it,” he explains, letting out a sigh. “Just an annoying bastard is all they were.”

Uzui’s clarification definitely eases most of his worries from last night. He’s not sure if it’s just a placebo, but knowing that none of what he inhaled truly hurt him makes his body ache less. Though he can’t say the same for Uzui. His eyes flicker down to the gauze wrapped around his chest, hidden underneath his yukata, reminding him of the demon’s cruelty that he failed to prevent — another injury that he indirectly caused.

And if the wound is as painful as it looks, Uzui’s doing a good job of hiding it.

“I should probably tell Yamanaka-sensei you’re awake–”

The door opens, Uzui stopping mid-sentence.

“Zenitsu-san! My dear, how are you feeling?”

The doctor’s presence instantly brightens his mood. He sits up a bit and gives him a fairly weak smile, trying to look presentable in hopes of easing the doctor’s concern. 

“I’m feeling okay.”

“Well, that’s a relief to hear, but I still want to check just to make sure. Not that I don’t believe you, of course, but I’m a doctor, it’s kind of my job,” he says, returning his smile but then turning sour when he addresses the rest. “Now, if everyone would be so kind as to give my patient some privacy while I check up on him, I would really appreciate it.”

Makio and Suma nod, bowing before heading out the room. Uzui bows as well, following behind his wives.

“Don’t think you’re free to go after this.”

Uzui turns, his defensiveness a little too apparent. “Sensei, I already apologized–”

“Yet I haven’t given you a proper scolding,” he says. “Just not in front of Zenitsu-san.”

Zenitsu cracks a real smile, like he always does when the doctor is around. Uzui leaves and the doctor takes his time to check on him, examining his physical health but also taking the time to check up on him mentally. 

Zenitsu kicks all his emotions and secrets under the rug despite his kindness. What was closed off before is locked up now, preferring to keep things the way they’ve always been, private and unknown to the public eye.

He still appreciates his unselfish concern, he thinks, laying back down and submerging himself in the silence. He rolls over on his side, his mind reeling. There’s something that bothers him, more deeply than the trauma of simply having to deal with another terrifying demon. He closes his eyes, wondering how he’s alive and well and feeling the early morning light on his skin when last night, their situation proved everything but favorable. 

Uzui passed out in front of his eyes, and Zenitsu followed not too long after. Yet morning has come and the demon is dead. He’d call it a miracle, but he realizes Makio and Suma could’ve easily came to their rescue, drunk and all. 

Like always with his overthinking, his frustration builds up and he feels trapped with no answers, just more questions and more reasons to worry.

He curls up on himself, closing himself to the world, until someone barges in.

And who else, other than Uzui.

Zenitsu feels his jaw involuntarily clench, knowing a bad headache is looming over him if he stays longer than needed.

Uzui sits down on the chair in front of him, obscuring the sunlight coming in through the window like an unwelcomed eclipse that’s more of a nuisance than anything else. He pulls the blanket closer, covering just enough of his face to peek at Uzui.

He lets himself stare at the man in front of him, taking him in like he hasn’t seen him every minute of the day from sunrise to sunset. 

He closes his eyes again, ignoring him in an attempt to make him leave.

But his presence is so loud it’s too infuriating to ignore.

“Don’t you need to be yelled at somewhere else?” he asks, knowing full well that he already got yelled at. 

Uzui ignores him. All he gets from him is a resigned sigh that sounds too convoluted with his own thoughts, and Zenitsu can’t bring himself to care. He just wants him out of this room.

“I’d like to thank you.”

His brain freezes. Words blurt out his mouth before he can even process Uzui’s. 

“Excuse me?”

Uzui looks up, his face not giving away any signs of deceit. “For saving me.”

Zenitsu sits up, stares at him, and as unintelligently as he can, utters out a loud, “Huh?! ”

Uzui continues, visibly annoyed now. “Last night. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead. What’s there not to get you damn brat?”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” he asks. He tries to wrap his head around what he’s trying to say, but none of it makes sense, like he’s somehow missed not just several chapters, but the entire book. And Uzui has the audacity of getting mad at him? “I fell asleep right after you did, I wasn’t the one who saved us!”

“So who killed the demon? A wild animal? Some merchant passing by?” he asks. “Picked up my sword and suddenly realized their potential as a demon slayer and killed the damn thing?”

“That’s not what I’m saying either!” he argues, feeling helpless. “I don’t know what happened, I don’t have an explanation for it, but I know I didn’t kill the demon in my sleep! I can barely do that when I’m awake!”

Zenitsu’s visibly upset and he knows Uzui sees it, yet he persists, but with more composure.

“You did it in your sleep and you can do it while you’re awake, a million times over and better.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Everything that comes out of your mouth is either to tease me or insult me,” he says. “So why should I listen to you?”

“Concerning your training or powers, when exactly have I lied to you for my own amusement?” he asks, sounding almost disappointed. Uzui sighs what feels like for the hundredth time this morning. “Forget it, I’ve said my thanks. Just rest up for now, we’re leaving soon.”

And just as quickly as he came in, he leaves without giving Zenitsu a chance to argue back. With how upset he’s feeling right now though, he’d rather be left alone anyway.

For all his hatred he’s amassed toward Uzui, and all the promises he’s told himself that he’d never want to get close to him again, he sure felt a horrible sense of self-betrayal the moment the conversation started to spiral. 

Uzui thanked him, sounded and looked wholly sincere. He expressed genuine gratitude and praised his supposed strength, which isn’t a first, but Zenitsu’s quick dismissal of both led their first somewhat real conversation into a screaming match.

Every conversation with Uzui feels surreal on its own, this one as well, but now he longs for it to have gone differently.

He knows that’s not a possible outcome though. In order for that to have happened, he himself would have to willingly allow it.

And with how this all played out, it’s clear he’s not willing to open up to Uzui yet.

He lays on his side again, every thought and feeling eating away at him until it’s time to leave.

When they’re finally back at the house, he goes upstairs to have some time for himself. He appreciates Suma and Makio’s company, but their concern over last night was too overwhelming for him. None of what happened last night was their fault, but they insisted that it was, that they could’ve helped in some way if they weren’t selfishly drinking to their heart’s content in the comfort of the restaurant.

In the midst of insisting that it wasn’t their fault, it slowly dawned on him that they were in the restaurant the entire time. Neither of them killed the demon.

He eventually drifts off to sleep without really meaning to, the residual from the demon’s fog not fully having left his body. He doesn’t fight it, knowing he has to let it naturally leave his system, but he can’t help think that this is all his life has been reduced to lately. Endless sleep consuming his days. Wasting his time curled up in bed, nothing more, nothing less.

He wakes up later on in the day, heavy sunlight still illuminating the room. 

It’s quiet and still, the isolation he craved for early in the morning now no longer wanted. He takes his medicine and goes downstairs in the hopes of only finding Makio and Suma, but he finds them, plus one more.

“You forgot to buy the meat?!” she yells. “We were just in the village and nothing rang a bell?!”

“This is why you don’t tell me to remember things!”

“Well if I don’t tell you to do the simplest thing, what else is left for you to do?!”

“Tengeeeeeen, tell Makio to stop yelling at me!” she cries.

Uzui sighs, in no rush to come to her defense.

“I won’t stop yelling at you until you go buy the meat,” Makio orders before turning, finding him by the doorway. “Oh! Zenitsu-san, you’re awake…sorry for all the yelling.”

Suma lights up. “Zenitsu-chan! Do you wanna come with me?”

“Are you joking, after what happened yesterday?! He needs to stay here and rest, you’re going by yourself!”

“Aw but I don’t wanna go alone!” she whines, turning to Uzui. “Tengen?”

“He’s even more injured!”

“It’s fine, I can manage,” he says, knowing he doesn’t have much of a choice. He gets up, letting out an old man grunt as Suma practically bounces off the walls.

“Yay! We’ll be back quick, okay?”

“If you’re not back in an hour I’m beating the shit out of you.”

Suma ignores her, giving Zenitsu a kiss on the cheek as she walks out with Uzui in tow and leaving the two alone.

“Mind helping me start the food?”

There’s a delay in his step as he goes over to help, his hand pressed against his warm cheek, still feeling Suma’s soft lips lingering on his skin.

They come back home an hour later.

Makio finishes up cooking while Sums sets up the table, Zenitsu sitting the rest of it out and simply observing on behalf of Makio’s orders to rest.

They eat breakfast, wash dishes, and then somewhat disperse afterwards, everyone doing their own thing as the morning passes and continues into the afternoon.

He’s lying down on his futon, thinking about nothing and everything all at once, when he hears the shoji open. 

“Zenitsu-chaaan, are you busy?”

He sits up, finding her entrance a bit abrupt. “Not really. I mean no, I’m not, why?”

“Makio is running the bath right now so I came to ask if you’d like to join us?” 

His eyebrows fly up.

It’s true he’s in need of a bath, since he’s just now realizing he’s gone two days without cleaning himself, maybe more. But he’d prefer to do it in the privacy of his own eyes.

“Um…I-uh, I-I’ll take a bath later.”

“Eh? Why would you bathe all by yourself?” His alternative sounds like an excuse to her ears and she quickly turns mischievous. “Is someone shy?”

It’s a group activity with beautiful women that’s too invasive for his liking. Shy is an understatement.

“A little,” he says honestly.

“Aw there’s nothing to be shy about!” she insists. “Makio’s waiting, come on.”

She closes the shoji, Zenitsu unable to hold back a deep sigh. 

Suma isn’t giving him a choice and neither is Makio most likely.

He’s not that opposed to the idea of bathing with them. Naturally, a part of him is excited to join. But the initial discomfort is what he doesn’t want to go through…but he doesn’t want Suma coming in a second time either.

He gets up and tries to prepare himself, but he can feel his cheeks slowly getting redder by the second and by the time he reaches the bathroom, it feels like he’s running a fever.

“Zenitsu-chan!”

Bare skin meets his eyes and delight overtakes him.

“Wow, I’m surprised you agreed,” Makio comments. He’s surprised as well but he can’t tell her that right now. He’s too busy trying his best not to pass out, and the heat in the room isn’t helping. “Alright, clothes off stinky boy.”

Makio, the sweet and lovely woman that she is, walks over and begins undressing him and Zenitsu freezes. All the protests in his head never make it past his lips, he just lets the garments slide off and accepts the humbling experience of having Makio and Suma see him fully nude.

Suma takes his hand and pulls him to sit on the small wooden stool. She sits on the stool behind him and starts pouring water over his head and scrubbing him with soap immediately. 

Makio sits next to him, gently lathering her body with water and soap.

“Your bruises and cuts are almost gone,” Suma notes. Zenitsu hums in agreement, still not composed enough to speak, as he looks down at his body and notices how rapidly he’s healed. The medicine worked like a charm.

The repetitive, circulating motions and the heat of the water are a heavenly combination, so much that his mind was courteous enough to block out Uzui walking in.

A deep sigh leaves his body. There’s never a moment that he can truly feel like it’s his. Every time he thinks so, it’s inevitably ruined. 

“Tengeeeeen, you liar,” Suma sings. “You said you didn’t want to bathe.”

“Changed my mind.”

“How are you supposed to even bathe with all those bandages on you?” Makio asks.

He shrugs. “I won’t go in then. I’ll just scrub myself clean.”

He strips down, a sight he’s more than familiar with now but still makes his stomach feel weird, and as he walks over, Suma gives him an offer that makes Zenitsu’s heart drop.

“Here, you do Zenitsu-chan and I’ll do Makio-chan.”

He doesn’t move. His body stiffens, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Makio gives him a look, wanting to know if he has his consent—and obviously he doesn’t, but the alternative would be causing a scene. His hopes entirely depend on Uzui politely declining his wife but he can’t even get that.

He sits behind Zenitsu and pulls on his stool, dragging him closer as he traps him between his legs. 

Somehow, he expected him to do that. He doesn’t know if that says more about Uzui or himself, but the shock isn’t there, if that’s what Uzui was going for. Their proximity on the other hand, is something he can’t get accustomed to. 

Uzui takes the brush and begins cleaning his upper back, shoulders, and arms. He slowly moves down, gently scrubbing his lower back until he moves to the front, cleaning his collarbone, then down his chest and stomach. He then leans forward, his chest lightly touching his bare back as he moves the brush down his thigh. 

Zenitsu doesn't move. He’s frozen in panic but he wants to see to what extent Uzui’s willing to instigate. 

He rubs at the other thigh, the motions almost mindless and uncaring. It convinces him, only slightly, that he can handle this, that he can remain calm and aloof and what Uzui is doing right now isn’t entirely awful or ill-behaved. But a strong arm wraps around his waist and presses him against an even stronger chest and his attitude changes entirely. 

It feels like he’s being swallowed whole.

Uzui continues scrubbing his legs, going all the way down to his ankles and feet. He comes back up to his knees, and Zenitsu already knows his intentions before his hand even gets in between his thighs.

His breath begins to shallow out and he feels his cock twitch, desperately wanting to close his legs shut so Uzui doesn’t get any closer.

But he never does. He pours water over him, Uzui’s voice against his ear snapping him out of his little daydream.

“Done.”

Uzui separates from him entirely and despite the hot steam surrounding the room, it’s not nearly warm enough as Uzui pressed against him.

He shyly turns to his right, forgetful of the fact that there are other people in the room.

They don’t seem to have been paying attention, or he hopes. 

Suma’s too busy cleaning Makio and as soon as she’s done, she hopes on over to scrub Uzui, Makio taking his hand and leading him to the large bath.

The hot water feels delightfully soothing as he submerges his entire body, his skin responding with elated goosebumps and all his muscles relaxing. Physically, he feels safe and warm and content. He would take being spoiled like this over fighting for his survival in the woods any day.

His gratitude is a constant repeat in his head, as if the gods will somehow spite him if he doesn’t. Because he’s grateful, truly, but there’s a man sitting in front of him on the opposite side of the room that has wronged him beyond reprieve, and yet, his animosity towards him is slipping too quickly for his liking, and he’s upset. He’s embarrassed and frustrated and so disappointed in himself he can’t even appreciate the small blessings around them that should garner his attention.

His silence lingers, lifting his mouth out of the water only when spoken to, then goes right back down to submerge himself in his own thoughts. Uzui eventually leaves, and it’s not until Suma joins them in the tub, that he becomes more talkative.

They stay like that for a while, until their hands and feet start to prune, letting them know they’ve been in the water for too long. They dry themselves off, and of course, Suma’s adamant on patting him dry while Makio yells at her that she’s babying him too much. It ends up in Makio’s favor, but he can’t help smile to himself at the thought of Makio just an hour prior helping him take his clothes off like a child. 

The rest of the day passes fairly quickly and he’s not sure if he’s happy about that. During lunch, Makio makes a comment about today being his last day before he has to go back to training. And then during dinner, Suma makes the same comment but with salty tears and tight hugs this time.

They’ve been wonderful to him these past three days. He wants to stay longer with them, to spend the rest of his days helping around the house and enjoying the little things in life, just like anyone else should.

But he has duties to fulfill and expectations to live up to. And there’s no better way than to do them with the man he allegedly hates.

Chapter Text

The sky is painted a dark gray, thick and heavy clouds looming over the world below. There’s a storm approaching. Zenitsu can feel its intensity, the distant sound of thunder powerful even from here.

He doesn’t have anything to his name; the medicine bottles are empty and of no use to him anymore, his yukata that he’s wearing isn’t even his and though he promised he’d return it one day, he’s been repeatedly denied and told to keep it. The only thing that’s his is the food in his belly that Makio and Suma were kind enough to cook for him early in the morning.

His face falls, shivering at the warm wind that smells of rain.

“Stay safe, okay?”

Makio hugs him, a tight and reassuring hug that makes him feel so safe and so at peace that if he were given the option, he’d never let go. He hugs her until they both simultaneously drift apart.

Suma’s standing right next to Makio, and as he turns to her, tears well up instantly in her eyes.

“Zenitsu-chaaaan!”

She throws herself at him and gives him a hug that’s much tighter than Makio’s, but just as reassuring.

“Please don’t forget us,” she wails, her face nuzzling into his neck. “When you finish your training, you’ll come live with us, right?”

He can’t seem to hold back his own tears. The thought of never seeing Makio or Suma again hasn’t crossed his mind until now. But he doesn’t know if he’d allow himself to come back here.

Maybe in the far future, when demons have vanished from this world and they can peacefully start a family, with little ones running around the house and yard, either helping with chores or causing amok, Zenitsu will stop by for a visit, maybe for some tea, and congratulate them on their new life.

He’ll make small talk with Uzui, but keep his distance. He’ll think about all that he’s done, and what he shouldn’t have, and then they’ll say their goodbyes, Zenitsu promising to return one day but both knowing that’s a lie.

He tries to not think so negatively though, not in Suma’s presence at least.

“I’m…I’m not sure. We’ll see,” he says quietly.

He waits for Makio to scold Suma for her imprudent words, but it never comes.

“Alright, come on,” says Uzui, rather impatiently. “We have to leave, we’re already late as is.”

Her sniffles are loud against his ear and when she finally pulls away, she gives her pinky. “Promise you’ll come back.”

He wraps his pinky around hers, holding it for as long as he can, wanting to tuck this memory in a safe place.

“I’ve never seen someone so dramatic,” Makio mutters.

Zenitsu cracks a smile at her comment, until Uzui’s voice booms from a distance.

“I’m leaving!”

His pinky lets go of Suma’s and he turns on his heel, running toward Uzui, who’s already a fair distance ahead. He hears Suma and Makio wishing him luck and he wants to turn around, to tell them thank you, but he keeps his gaze forward, at the man who’s suddenly his teacher again.

The tree tops sway above him and the air begins to feel damp. The forest is silent, birds and every little creature in hiding.

He walks alongside Uzui, maybe a few steps behind, just so he isn’t right next to him. But Uzui suddenly comes to a stop and the words out of his mouth are not what he expects,

“Alright, your training starts now.”

Zenitsu stares at the path in front of him, then back at Uzui.

“...What?”

“Your training,” he repeats. “Starts now. Run.”

His mind races instead of his feet. He wonders how long of a run it is back to the training grounds. He thinks about the mountain that all the other demon slayers are running up right now, wondering if he has to run it today as well. Will Uzui really make him put in double the effort, just to spite him?

He wonders for an awfully long time, it actually surprises him when Uzui doesn’t yell.

Still, making him repeat himself a third time isn’t what he’s aiming for.

He begins with a light jog, gradually picking up the pace the farther they go.

Everything feels fine at first. Physically, he’s managing this better than he thought he would. There’s no aches or pains, only a lingering fatigue that he can’t seem to shake off recently—but he tries being nice to himself as he remembers the amount of demons that have sucked the soul out of him these past few nights.

When he reaches what he thinks is maybe fifteen minutes in, his lungs start to burn and his legs begin to ache. Breathing becomes more difficult as the minutes pass, when it should be second nature to him at this point. But he just feels like how he felt at the very beginning of his training, and that’s when everything spirals and he no longer wants to be nice to himself.

One step forward, five steps back.

His frustration with himself grows so much that it can’t be contained to just one thing. It branches out until it forms a tree, but it’s rotting and dying and he doesn’t know what he can do to stop it.

Uzui’s keeping a steady pace behind him, and Zenitsu can feel his eyes on him, his mind not taking a liking to that and forcing his run to become stiff and awkward.

He shouldn’t be feeling like this. Uzui’s gaze shouldn’t matter, because that means he cares about his opinions and cares about him in his entirety.

He doesn’t care about him. He doesn’t want to.

Not when he crosses boundaries, or takes things that aren’t his, or manipulates him at every chance he gets.

His face scrunches.

…Not when he tells him encouraging words, or when he continuously tries to convince him that he’s strong, or when he says things like ‘don’t you dare touch him’ to the face of a demon that has already won.

The ache in his heart is unbearable. Why.

He tries to take deeper breaths, let more air inside his lungs, but the harder he tries the more shallow they become.

Why. Why. Why.

Why did he have to go and do something he shouldn’t have? Why did he have to hurt him like this?

He needs to rest. His hands and feet begin to numb and his throat’s too tight, the world around him starting to warp and tilt.

He slows down to an eventual stop and he puts his hands on his knees, begging for his anxiety to go away, or at least lessen enough for him to be able to run again. But the numbness only spreads, and he has no choice other than to take a seat under a tree.

He looks up, daring to face Uzui.

He expects him to say something—to yell at him to get back up or tease him for taking a break so early into the run—but he says nothing. He’s met with silence; the trees loudly swaying above him the only thing to be heard.

He curls his knees up to his chest and buries his face into his arms, no longer able to restrain his tears.

“Are you actually tired or are you just moping?” he asks. No response. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

A roll of thunder stretches across the sky, nearby and roaring with power.

It’s a strong one, he thinks. The storm feels energetic and restless, one he hasn’t encountered for a long while.

Another rumble and the earth trembles below his feet, a shiver running down his spine at the feeling of electricity dispersing through the ground.

He’s always been fond of storms. There’s always a specific formula that it follows; the sudden rise in temperature, the expansion of the surrounding air making way for lightning to strike and giving that low, rumbling thunder that he loves so much. But right now, he's not in tune with the world around him as he's thrown off balance, feeling uneasy and scared in the face of chaos.

He hears Uzui take a deep breath, followed by heavy footsteps. Zenitsu flinches, but he never comes near him. Uzui walks away instead, sitting down under a tree across from him.

“You have five minutes to collect yourself.”

“Just leave me here.”

“What? So you can stay our here in the woods all by yourself until night falls? What then?” he prods, insinuating his demise until he outright says it. “Hinatsuru would have my head if she finds out I left you to die again.”

Everything is still.

The heart in his chest slows and the rumbling of the thunder wanes. Zenitsu slowly brings his head up, his words not sitting right with him.

“...Again?”

Uzui just looks at him, the indifference on his face almost nauseating.

“What? You really think I came to rescue you on my own that first night?” he says, his next words quieter, more hesitant, like he’s reluctant to even say them. “If it wasn’t for Hinatsuru, you’d be dead.”

A deafening crack splits the air between them, abandoning the previous slow rumble for complete disorder, something that can unleash all its bridled fury.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Uzui raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

He feels droplets of water on his skin.

“You’re insane,” he says, low and exasperated. “You’re actually insane.” His heart viciously pounds against his chest. Fear tries to rule over him once again, but his anger has been festering inside him far longer. “You touched me and raped me and used me. You had your way with me, and I let you. You say things that make it seem like you actually like me, and I listened to you. But now you’re telling me that you don’t give a shit about me, that if it wasn’t for Hinatsuru-chan, you would’ve left me to die.”

The more he tries to understand Uzui, the less his actions and words make sense.

He stands up on wobbly legs, his entire body shaking with so much anger it makes him feel sick.

I’m gonna throw up. I’m gonna throw up, I can’t do this.

“You’re the reason I’m losing my mind…you’re the reason my life has been hell…”

Uzui stays silent, aloof and uninterested, like this entire conversation is inconveniencing him.

Water begins pouring from the sky, but not even the rain can extinguish the fire inside him right now.

“And here you go again! Staying quiet and thinking you have the upper hand here, waiting for me to talk myself into thinking I’m the one wrong here, that I deserve this! But you’re the one that’s wrong here! It always has been!”

“Are you done?” he calmly asks.

Anger and sadness crush his heart so violently he thinks he might retch blood.

Anger prevails first though, before the sadness can envelope him, because that nonchalant attitude of his—not even the blood thirsty demons themselves—has the ability to single handedly make him work hard enough to become a Hashira, just so he can be powerful enough to kill him with his bare hands.

“No! I’m not done!” he yells over the downpour. “I won’t be done until I have answers!”

There’s a flash of lightning, bright and silent before his eardrums ache at the crackling sound of a thunderclap ripping the sky open, little shockwaves swimming across his skin.

“So demanding,” he says. “You’re worse than my wives.”

“Good,” he says immediately. “I demand answers.”

His eyes burn holes into his, refusing to back down.

“Fine,” he sighs, standing up to his full height. “What would you like me to answer then?”

The rain is unforgiving. They’re soaked to the bone.

Zenitsu breathes, trying to clear his head to make room for him to think. There’s been so many unanswered questions floating in the back of his mind for days, but he’d be damned if he just stood here in silence.

He starts with the one that lit the fire.

"Why didn't you save me that first night?"

He scrutinizes every part of Uzui, from the way he moves to the way he sounds. Under his gaze, he tells himself there's no room for his manipulation anymore.

"Because I was a stubborn idiot,” he answers, the sound of rain and thunder filling the silence in between until he speaks again. “I couldn't bring myself to admit that it was wrong of me to give you those weights. I believed in you so much I almost killed you."

He’s lying. He’s fucking lying, he has to be.

“Believed in me? Believed what exactly?”

“I believed in your strength.”

His face falls. All that bitter rage he was carrying disappears. It leaves nothing behind but weak knees that threaten to give out from under him.

“Aren’t you tired of lying? Just…just stop it already,” he says, almost begging. “You always feed me these lies that make no sense, calling me strong and saying I was the one that killed the demon that night. That’s a lie. It’s all lies—why do you keep lying?!”

He’s breathless, feeling like every word is taking a piece of his life.

He’s tired, so unbelievably tired he can’t handle this anymore. All he asks is for Uzui to spare him the truth, just for once in his life, and he’ll never inconvenience him ever again.

But Uzui seems adamant on living up to that stubborn idiot title he gave himself.

His expression turns dark, suddenly angry, like he has any right to be.

“You can curse me and hate me all you want but the one thing you can’t accuse me of is lying to you about your strength. I've never lied, and never will.”

“You’re lying–”

“You fought a demon head on—no, you fought two demons—killed them, and won. None of that is a lie.”

Zenitsu stands there, stunned at having to listen to a madman’s rambling.

“You’re lying,” he says, his soft protest drowned out by the rain.

“No matter what I say or do, you won’t believe me, and that’s fine,” he says. “But trust me when I say that you’ll see it for yourself one day.”

Zenitsu’s quiet. He doesn’t know what else to be, besides quiet. He’ll never believe him, nor will he ever trust him.

He’s terrified of how tempting it is though.

“Next question.”

Zenitsu’s still several steps behind while Uzui’s up ahead, waiting for him to catch up. But he can’t bring himself to step forward. It feels like nothing’s been answered or resolved and the question he wants to ask next is not something he wants to hear anymore.

His voice is a whisper, a fragile and soft thing that can’t possibly compete with the storm around it.

He doesn’t want to hear his answer. He can’t.

Don’t say it, don’t say it–

“Why did you rape me?”

Uzui’s face never changes. It lacks that cocky, smug expression that he always wears, the one he fully expected him to have. But it’s not there, and he feels himself panicking, suddenly being brought back to that first night.

‘Even when I can hear you, when I think I know what you’ll do or what you want, I’m always wrong somehow.’

He didn’t understand Uzui’s frustration back then, didn’t get why he was so adamant on figuring him out. Zenitsu understands now.

“I need to ask permission to take what’s already mine?”

His heart doesn’t skip a beat. It stops entirely.

He stares, and stares, and stares, waiting for this nightmare to be over. But the rain on his cold skin is harsh.

Zenitsu shakes his head.

“I’m...I’m not...’ He’s dizzy. Lightheaded. “I’m not yours.”

“You’re entirely mine.”

He says it without any mirth. A completely serious face.

If he wasn’t so terrified right now he’d laugh. Instead, he cries.

“If I’m yours, why did you hurt me?” he asks. “You don’t hurt things that are yours.”

“I’ve told you before, the demon’s poison was hurting you. I wanted you to feel something else other than pain.”

Zenitsu shakes his head again, getting angry now.

“That’s not why you did it! That’s just an excuse!”

His gaze never falters. Tears and rain blur his vision, like a veil that wants to hide his eyes, to protect him and all his innocence, but he doesn’t need it. Not right now.

Zenitsu gives him one last chance. “Tell me now, before I hate you more than I already do.”

Lightning strikes the ground, the thunder reverberating something deep in his chest.

A sigh, low and resigned.

“You caught me,” he says, slowly putting his arms up in defeat. “I’ll tell you why—because you’ve made me realize that no matter how much I repress my feelings for you, I can’t help myself.”

The rain never stops. It feels like it could go on forever. He looks up, at the light gray sky that’s weeping all the same.

“Next question.”

An uncomfortable shiver runs up his spine. His hands are cold. They’re pink and aching and he wishes he could bring his anger back, to feel warm again. But that flame has long been extinguished by the rain.

There’s nothing inside him now, abandoned and forgotten and left to crave warmth from another soul.

He’s not aware of Uzui’s walking toward him until he’s right in front of him, barely a width apart.

“I said, next question.”

He’s so close.

His warmth, his smell, his sound. Everything that’s his. It’s all within reach.

“You don’t regret it?” he asks. His voice cracks. “Not a single second of it?”

Uzui brings his hand up to take his chin between his fingers (they’re warm, even in this storm he’s warm).

But Zenitsu knows. He knows what he’s going to say, like he’s spent an entire lifetime with him.

“No, not a single second of it,” he repeats. “I would bury myself inside you for the rest of my life if I could, remember?”

He cries, soft and quiet little sounds that have no fight left in them anymore.

“Would you do it again?”

“In a heartbeat.”

The rain comforts him, hides every part of his soul that aches and hurts even though it was the one that put out the flame. All that’s left are ashes, scattered and gray and longing to be given a shape, a home, scooped up and placed somewhere safe where they can be laid to rest.

Another question comes to mind, but this time it’s not for Uzui, but for himself.

“Would I let him do it again?”

The rain washes away his tears but Uzui’s thumb still brushes his cheek, warding away his sorrow like he’s the only one allowed to comfort him.

“Any other questions?”

Zenitsu softly shakes his head. His body and soul have long since resigned, before his mind could even notice.

“No,” he whispers. “No more questions.”

“Are we ready to leave then?”

His voice sounds so gentle, so kind and caring and Zenitsu’s heart suddenly aches.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

He turns and stares down the muddied path in front of him, wondering why he’s being reminded of it now.

He can’t remember if he ever consciously heard it these past three days, or if he willingly ignored it for the sake of his well being.

They’re human, they’re destined to change as time passes; the people they meet, the hardships they endure, the love they find—it changes them.

But their souls never do. The sound of their souls never waver. Much like the soothing sound of water flowing down a stream or the echo of birds singing high above the treetops, it’s something that has always been, always existed, an unspoken principle of their being.

And just like those very things, Uzui’s sound stayed the same.

A warm, low vibration that soothes his little heart, like he’s brought down the sun from the sky to hold it near his chest.

It has never changed, not once since the day he’s met him, and neither has his desire to remain beside it.

The rain seems to ease a bit, the ferocity it once had slowly fading.

With one hesitant foot forward, he begins walking on the path, until he returns to the light jog from before.

His soaking wet clothes weigh him down, but so does the thought of his heart still longing for Uzui.

If there’s one thing he’s learned about himself on this run, it’s that he’s entirely too much in his own head.

He’s well aware of this, it’s just that he’s never been interrupted this relentlessly in such a short period of time.

“You’re distracted again,” Uzui scolds, and then, “Your breathing’s uneven!”

His yelling means little when the only thing he can hear is blood pounding in his ears.

The sun is shining and the warmth has dried his clothes up, but still.

“I know!” he yells. Even a simple response to him still feels strange.

“If you know, why haven’t you corrected your breathing yet?!”

Zenitsu manages to slip out an annoyed sigh in between his labored breathing. He desperately wants to talk back to him so Uzui can at least know he’s being more annoying than helpful, but starting an argument would be meaningless at best.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, leave it for later!”

Oh the irony of the same man his thoughts are being swarmed with, yelling at him to postpone them for later. Maybe he’d be able to clear his mind enough to breathe properly if he wasn't berating him so much.

Zenitsu frowns, balling his hands up into fists.

He tries to cease all, if not most, of his thoughts about Uzui. He tells himself it’s only temporary, that he’ll get to whatever thoughts and scenarios he wishes to rummage through in a few hours. What’s important right now is to stay in the moment and just breathe.

After a few minutes, he manages to get somewhere.

It’s not perfect, but his breathing becomes more rhythmic and consistent, and it’s enough to shut Uzui up.

What he can’t seem to do is maintain it. That’s where ability lacks.

There’s several times where he thinks Uzui’s going to chew him out, but he stays quiet, content with Zenitsu’s effort, and they make it back way earlier than he thought they would.

The training grounds come into view and he’s more than relieved at the thought of finally being able to rest.

He’s also more than happy to be seeing Hinatsuru.

They’re barely past the walls before she sprints toward them, her attention and concern focused only on one individual.

“Zenitsu-san!” She launches herself into his arms and pulls him into a hug. She squeezes him tight, swaying them both before letting go, and then grabbing his shoulders with a shake that’s a little too aggressive. “Are you alright? How are your wounds? What happened?!”

“Um, I…y-yes?” he stammers out, a vain attempt to answer everything at once.

“I’m doing good too, honey. Thanks for worrying.”

Hinatsuru glares at Uzui but her face quickly softens. “Obviously I know you’re okay.”

The conversation momentarily shifts away from him, and like a spoiled child, feels genuinely upset. He might've worn his heart too plainly on his sleeve because he quickly feels a soft and delicate hand take his own, squeezing it in reassurance.

“How was it handling all those brats? Did you have any trouble?”

“Of course not,” she waves him off. “You’ve already told me enough about their training, I knew what I was doing”

“That’s my girl.”

Zenitsu looks away, something tugging at his heart. The words are bad enough alone, he doesn't need to see the fondness in Uzui’s face as he says it.

“They’re going to be happy to finally see you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have me back.”

Hinatsuru laughs, and turns to Zenitsu. “Maybe not, but I know they’ll definitely be happy to see Zenitsu-san back.”

He swivels his head back to her and blinks. Who’s they? He doesn’t have time to ask before Uzui’s already talking.

“They’ll be happy to see him tomorrow morning,” he corrects. “He already finished his training for the day so he’s going to rest.”

Hinatsuru stares at him, stunned.

“You had him run all the way here?”

“Of course.”

She frowns, subconsciously giving Zenitsu’s hand another light squeeze.

“His wounds aren’t a joke, he should still be resting.”

“The doctor said he’d be back to normal after three days. If he said it’s fine, then there’s no need to worry,” he explains. “Besides, we got attacked by another demon the other day and he’s doing better than most people.”

A pause, and then–

“What?!”

He can still hear her high-pitched yell in his head.

The scolding that Hinatsuru gave to Uzui was satisfying.

None of it really outweighs what he’s gone through these past few days though. Maybe it lessened it by a fraction. Put a smile on his face for a bit. But the wounds are still permanently there, no remedy in the world that could possibly heal them.

The last few days were torturous, and he thinks Hinatsuru picked up on it fairly well. It’s why he expects her to come to his room knocking, maybe to check up on him once more.

But the one who knocks isn’t Hinatsuru.

He gets up, as slow as possible, in hopes of the demon behind the door running out of patience and leaving. But he’s still there, looming outside his room, waiting ever so patiently.

Zenitsu opens the shoji, not bothering with any form of greeting.

“What?” he bites.

Uzui hums out a low whistle. “Someone’s still upset. I thought we made up?”

“I don’t recall that happening. What do you want?”

He deflates at his response, dropping his teasing tone. “Hinatsuru’s inviting you to join us in the onsen.”

Excitement is quick to fill the gaping void in his heart, but the mention of Hinatsuru’s name on its own has his chest burning in anger instead.

“No.”

Uzui raises an eyebrow.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, louder and more confident.

“And why not? I thought a little pervert like you would take any opportunity to bathe with my wife.”

He has half a mind to slam the shoji shut in his face.

“I’m not a pervert,” he says through gritted teeth. “And I’m not going if only Hinatsuru-chan wants me to go.”

Uzui crosses his arms and leans against the frame, a devilish grin plastered on his face and suddenly, his gaze is too overwhelming for him. He really contemplates slamming the shoji now.

“I didn't think you’d value my opinion so much.”

“I don't,” he quick to say.

“So why do you care if I want you there or not? Is Hinatsuru not enough?”

His teasing has become straight up evil. Relentless.

Everything from his relaxed and nonchalant posture to his deliberately provoking words, it reeks of that cockiness he despises.

But then, he never acts like this towards his wives, or the kind doctor back in the village, or to the other Hashiras, or to any ordinary civilian. Even the other demon slayers get some type of respect.

He knows he does it to get under his skin, to get a rise out of him and watch him unfold, he literally admitted to finding it fun–

…

Oh.

It’s been in front of his face all this time, hasn’t it?

Yet he’s never bothered to act on it.

After so many years, his grandfather’s words come back to him, needing them now more than ever.

You’re too reactive, he’d scold. Stop giving the bullies what they want!

He would lecture him until he started crying, then he would lecture him even more for crying, tidal waves of Hashira blood coursing through his veins until the calm waters of his grandfatherly instincts took over and he comforted him, cupping his chubby cheeks with his hands and saying ‘put that quick reactiveness into your sword, not your emotions’.

He was too eager to let his negative emotions get the better of him back then, and he still is, but he still gives it a try, out of nothing but pure desperation.

“Say you want me to come and I will.”

He watches as that cockiness changes into something more, something in between the lines of shock and a sort of…pleased excitement.

Uzui bends down.

“I would be delighted if you came.”

Too close, too close, too close.

He can feel his warm breath tickle his ear, and it feels like he’s short circuiting.

“I-I’ll get my things,” and he finally slams the shoji shut.

He tries to convince himself that he’s safe behind thin walls, that Uzui can’t possibly hear the way his heart skipped a painful beat at how close he was.

He takes his time getting fresh clothes, pretending to rummage through the closet like he’s gathering articles of clothing to layer up for the winter. He doesn't expect Uzui to be an idiot but when his voice projects behind the shoji, he still jumps.

“I’m not going anywhere until you’re done.”

Zenitsu makes a face, peeved at the fact that his ridiculous stalling didn’t work.

He opens the shoji, his sour face still very much out on display for Uzui to see.

“Don’t give me that face, it’s not the communal one you brats use,” he explains. “You need me to show you, come on.”

With his clothes in his hands, he closes the shoji and follows Uzui.

The hallways they walk through are none that he’s ever taken, or even thought of ever taking. It’s an unspoken rule that anything that’s not his room or the communal areas for the students is off limits.

And he can see why. That rule holds true as they approach a large, colorful shoji, unfit for anyone else besides a Hashira.

Uzui slides it open, revealing a beautiful onsen, secluded and spacious.

Right as he steps in, Hinatsuru greets him.

“You came!”

She’s sitting by the wash area, already fully naked with her hair down and slicked back, drenched in water.

The heat in his cheeks hasn’t even fully left from a minute ago, and now it’s multiplied, the voice inside his head repeatedly telling him he’s not a pervert, no matter what Uzui says.

“I didn’t think you’d agree, but I’m glad you did,” she says. “Come on, let's get you cleaned.”

She taps on the stool next to her, beckoning him to come over and sit.

Nudity shouldn’t be anything new to him, it’s the same story as it was yesterday with Makio and Suma, yet his hands still shake when he undresses himself, his head foggy and dizzy from both the steam and the blood rushing toward his face.

He sits down, eyes averted from Hinatsuru.

The wood is cold against his bare bottom and he thinks that’s the only thing that’s going to make him shiver until Uzui takes a seat and sits down right behind him.

He scrubs his back, gentle brush strokes moving in circular motions from his shoulders, all the way down to his tailbone.

It’s a repeat from yesterday yet it feels so much more different, more intimate, a wall slowly crumbling until there’s nothing but rubble at his feet. And he should dread it, should be angry and scared and scrambling to piece it back together. But he doesn’t. He watches each piece fall with a thud, promising he’ll pick up the next one, and the next one, and…

Uzui moves to the front of his torso, and he thinks this is where their bodies press against each other, chest to back. And he waits for his other arm to wrap around his waist to pull him closer, for his hair to tickle his shoulder as he leans over him, scrubbing him from head to toe and all Zenitsu can do is relish in his care, sinking into his hold until he’s just a pliant puddle in his arms and–

“Is he all done?”

Zenitsu’s eyes open, almost jolting at the sound of her voice. His thoughts are his own, for no one but him, yet shame burns him alive from the inside.

“Yeah, why?”

“So I can take him with me in the onsen, silly.”

He looks over to Hinatsuru, his eyes on her face and only her face, as she gets up from the stool and takes his hand into hers, gently prying him away from Uzui.

“I guess I’ll just clean myself with the one hand that I have then.”

Hinatsuru doesn’t even turn back when she says, “You kill demons with one hand, you can clean yourself just fine.”

They get in the water, leaving behind a grumpy Uzui to wash himself on his own.

“Is it okay if we left Tengen? I wanted to talk to you alone.”

Zenitsu’s mind is still reeling from his own unsolicited thoughts he had just now. Distancing himself from Uzui is more than okay.

“But…he can still hear us,” he reminds her, only to have her wave him off.

“He can eavesdrop all he wants, as long as he doesn’t interrupt. More importantly, how are you feeling?” she asks, a small frown on her face. “I was a bit all over the place when I first saw you earlier in the day, I don’t think I gave you a fair chance to respond.”

Zenitsu sinks deeper into the hot water until it covers his chin. He sits there for a moment, letting himself feel rather than think.

“I’m…okay,” he says carefully.

Maybe it’s the heat doing wonders for his tense muscles or the fact that he’s here right now instead of being all alone in his room, but he’s content. Distracted.

Hinatsuru nods, though he can tell it did little to ease her worries.

“It’s also okay if you’re not. Training under a Hashira while being attacked by a demon twice isn’t something to be taken lightly,” she says, pausing to take a glance at Uzui. “I feel like it’s something that Tengen’s not understanding. I think…I think he’s just very harsh, particularly on you.”

His eyes drift to Uzui as well, and his mind to this morning. He knows why. Uzui made sure to engrave the reasoning into his head. But he asks anyway, as if a million people telling it to his face would change anything. Hinatsuru saying it won’t change it either.

“Why me?”

She turns to him and her eyes soften, a smile so warm and genuine he almost doesn’t need a million people to convince him.

“Because you’re incredibly strong, and you have the potential to become even stronger. But I also believe you also need to be given time to rest in order for that to happen.”

“I’ve rested enough these past three days,” he counters.

“Which would’ve maybe been enough if you didn’t get attacked by another demon the other day.”

Hinatsuru is right, he wholeheartedly agrees with her but he can’t bring himself to admit it. Despite all his whining and complaining, he’s never been lenient with himself, never allowed a moment of rest because he doesn’t think he deserves it.

He feels her hand beneath the water, intertwining their fingers together as she stares ahead, maybe at Uzui, or maybe at nothing in particular.

His cheeks are red, but he can just blame it on the heat.

“I think Tengen forgets that everyone grows under different conditions. Some flowers need a lot of water, while others need very little. But many are under the impression that all flowers need lots of water, so the one flower that only needs very little, that thrives under the heat of the sun will die.”

Zenitsu slowly slides further down, until his nose just barely touches the water.

Another thing Hinatsuru is right about but he refuses to admit it. Accepting that he’s an outlier isn’t something he’s ready for, but she’s looking at him now, worry evident on her face and he has to come up from the water to console her.

“Does that make sense? I feel like I’m just spewing a bunch of nonsense at you.”

“N-No, it’s not that! I agree… I just,” he hesitates, feeling her hand gently squeeze his. “I just wish I wasn’t the flower that dies from being over-watered.”

“I don’t think you will. Tengen is a very stubborn man that has his own way of thinking, but even he knows when change is necessary.” Zenitsu gives her a look at the idea of Uzui genuinely changing for the better and she laughs. “I just realized I’m stressing you out more than helping you relax. I’m sorry.”

“No, no it’s okay, I needed this. Thank you,” he reassures her. The last thing he needs is Hinatsuru believing her efforts were in vain. “And thank you for inviting me here.”

“Aw, there's no need to thank me. Like I said, you deserve some rest. Besides, I’m not the one you should be thanking, Tengen was the one who thought of it first.”

Zenitsu’s face drops. “You mean…”

The absolute nerve of him. Not even a full day has gone by since he yelled at him this morning for constantly lying. What else has he lied about? How far back does it go?

He looks over to Uzui, his back turned to them, away from his consequences.

He’s feeling bold again.

“All he does is lie.”

Hinatsuru looks at him, a bit shocked. “What do you mean?”

“He said you invited me,” he says. His heart races, and he knows Uzui can hear it, but he persists. “Why do you think he lied, Hinatsuru-chan?”

Hinatsuru’s eyebrows fly up.

“That’s unusual of him,” she says. She presses her lips together, trying not to smile. “Oh he must really have it bad for you.”

“You think so?”

“Never doubt a woman’s intuition, Zenitsu-san,” she says, her smile almost turning into a fit of giggles. “Look, he’s coming over as soon as we started talking about you.”

He delves back into the water, finding comfort in it as he watches Uzui walk toward them.

An obvious silence follows his arrival as he gets into the water.

“As soon as I come here, you two stop talking.”

They glance at each other, both weirdly in a playful mood. Zenitsu lets Hinatsuru takes the reins though.

“Obviously we were talking about you.”

“And what were you saying about me?”

Hinatsuru scoffs. “You already know, don’t play dumb.”

“No I don’t actually. I think I got water stuck in both my ears,” he says, sticking a finger in his ear and pretending to unclog it.

She sticks her tongue out (Suma has rubbed off on her it seems). “Not telling. That defeats the whole purpose of gossip.”

Zenitsu silently watches them go back and forth, a weird and tight feeling in his chest starting to form. He’s no stranger to it, but the longing ache that plagues his heart is a jealousy he’s never felt before.

Hinatsuru comes closer, pulling him out of that dark corner in his mind and bridges the gap between them to whispers in his ear.

“Let’s pretend like we’re talking about him.”

Zenitsu smiles despite all the aching, because Hinatsuru is next to him, with the cutest and most giddy smile he’s ever seen and it’s contagious, the sight alone so addicting how could he not follow along with her playfulness?

He brings his hand up and whispers in her ear, “We should actually talk about him.”

Not a second after, he earns a splash of water to the face.

He fully expects it and has no intention of fighting Uzui, but Hinatsuru does, and it somehow ends up with all three of them splashing each other with hot water — Hinatsuru retaliates on behalf of Zenitsu, Uzui splashes both of them at the same time as a way to provoke, and then Hinatsuru convinces Zenitsu to double attack him, both of them on either side soaking him until their arms get tired.

Their fun eventually wanes and they simmer down, the hot warm seeping to their bones, their muscles fully relaxed and happy.

They’re all leaning their backs against a rocky ledge, eyes closed and silently enjoying the bit of free time they have away from their usual duties. Zenitsu almost falls asleep, wishing he could stay like this forever, until Hinatsuru speaks up.

“Zenitsu-san,” she calls for him quietly. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.”

His eyes flutter open. He should’ve known the peace he’s been given tonight was short-lived, a fleeting moment that does nothing but mock him.

He still asks though, makes her repeat it just for the sake of hearing it. Maybe there’s an off chance he heard her wrong.

“You’re leaving?”

She turns to him, easily finding his hand beneath the water again.

“Mm. I have to get back home.”

“When will you be back?” he’s quick to ask.

“I’m not sure, not for a while I think. I can’t be moving back and forth like this anymore, Makio and Suma need help around the house,” she explains, and then, “Though I hate to say this, as much as I’d love to see you again, I hope to see you training under the next Hashira by the time I come back.”

Her words sound awfully similar to the doctor’s back in the village; an endless cycle as a demon slayer. People wish nothing but the best for him, and in the same breath, tell him they dearly hope their paths never cross, or if they do, it’s on better terms.

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“We’ll see each other again, I promise.” Promises mean nothing in this world but he likes to think Hinatsuru’s word is different. “And besides, you have Tengen.”

He freely makes a face since Uzui’s in his own world, eyes closed and unaware of what they're doing.

Hinatsuru giggles. “You better go easy on him, you hear me?”

“I’ll break him in half,” he says immediately.

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

Hinatsuru huffs. “Maybe you didn’t actually hear our conversation earlier.”

Without even looking at her, he says, “I know my student, Hinatsuru.”

He hears it, the way her chest almost simmers in displeasure, flat and monotone. If he weren’t here right now, she’d give him an ear-full like she did this morning, maybe even worse. Instead, she turns to Zenitsu.

“If he gives you a hard time, just give him a good kick in between the legs for me.”

The image itself is amusing but he gives her a hesitant nod, his mind entirely elsewhere, still repeating those few words, latching onto them like the desperate and starved idiot that he is.

It’s silly and he tells himself it’s nothing, because he doesn’t want it to be anything. He closed off his heart to Uzui this morning, when he uttered the words, ‘you’re entirely mine’, so he has the ability to do the same now, when Uzui confidently announced he knows his student to his own wife.

But then it becomes hard to swallow, thousands of little thorns pricking his throat and threatening to spill tears.

It has a hold on him like this the entire time they’re in the onsen, and when Hinatsuru invites him to sleep over in their room (gently demands actually, not invite), he simply nods, because he knows if he opens his mouth, he’ll cry, and he won’t be able to stop.

He enters their room like a newborn kitten, all wary and cautious as he watches them move around; Uzui taking out an extra duvet and pillows, Hinatsuru asking him which yukata he prefers to sleep in, Uzui telling him where the bathroom is and to go wash up before bed.

He listens, taking his time in the bathroom to collect himself. He splashes cold water on his face, trying to get rid of that weird sensation that he dislikes, the one that overtakes his entire body and makes it seem like he’s not physically present.

When he walks out, he sees an empty spot in the middle of the futon, right in between Uzui and Hinatsuru.

His immediate reaction is avoidance. He’s ready to make the excuse that he prefers sleeping on the ends, so he doesn't have to wake anyone up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.

But before he can politely ask to switch, Hinatsuru pats the empty space, beckoning him to join them.

He can't bring himself to say anything, so he stands there, watching Uzui lying on the futon with his arms folded behind his head and his eyes closed. Unbothered and pretty is all that comes to mind, along with the incessant reminder that he has to lie next to him.

He stiffens. The night they slept together is vivid again and he remembers all the different ways he made him feel whole, held him in his arms like he was always meant to be there.

He also remembers the night he raped him, and all the different ways he made him feel scared, helpless, ripped into a million pieces.

He wonders what he’ll feel tonight. If Uzui will make him feel like that first night, or if that bridge has long been burned.

The way he falls asleep is much different from the way he wakes up.

It was nothing short of awkward. He laid in the middle, all three of them keeping their distance—Uzui out of pure indifference and Hinatsuru simply wanting to give him space.

He fell asleep with everyone’s hands to themselves, and now he wakes up as a literal sandwich.

He’s squished, completely enveloped between two warm bodies with all their limbs intertwined.

Hinatsuru’s spooning him from behind, her face nuzzled into his neck and her arms wrapped around his stomach, one of her legs thrown over his waist, quite literally using him like a body pillow.

Suma and Makio’s sleeping habits are unknown to him (and he wishes he could one day know them) but Hinatsuru’s are beyond endearing to him.

She’s clearly very touchy in her sleep. Much like Tanjirou, who Zenitsu had his fair share of cuddling with when they were together, she’s poised and respectful but naturally, she seeks out a body to pull close and cuddle with, despite her wishes to remain distant last night for the sake of Zenitsu’s comfort.

He doesn’t mind at all. It’s not like Uzui’s any better.

His arm is slung over both of them, pulling in Hinatsuru closer by her back while Zenitsu’s face becomes buried in Uzui’s chest, his whole body pressed up against him. He’s pretty sure Uzui’s leg is also thrown over his waist too, it would explain the lack of feeling in his own legs from the sheer weight.

It’s a bit suffocating, even a little uncomfortable. But he doesn’t mind.

The amount of warmth and love that’s being poured into his heart right now outweighs everything else. The world could end and he’d still feel safe in his arms.

Safe, he thinks. What a strange word. Uzui isn’t someone who he should feel safe with. Yet his eyes begin to close, allowing himself to melt into his arms and drift off to sleep again.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep but he knows it’s not enough.

Cold air hits his chest and he instinctively reaches out, desperately wanting back that warmth so he can go back to sleep, but finds nothing.

“Shit,” he hears him mutter, then a bit of shuffling. “Wake up, we’re late.”

He doesn’t need to be told that. Zenitsu stirs on his own, the sound of Uzui’s morning voice forcing him awake. It’s raspy, deeper than its usual tone. It’s what his wives get to hear every morning and he’s in shambles before the sun can even peak from the horizon.

Zenitsu sits up but Uzui is already out of the room, the shoji left ajar.

Hinatsuru stirs next to him.

“He already left?” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. She sits up, a tired smile on her face. “Good morning, Zenitsu-san. How are you feeling?”

If hearts in his eyes could physically manifest, they’d do so right now, big and plump from the sight of Hinatsuru still drowsy from sleep. Her face is puffy and her hair is messy and she couldn’t look more adorable.

“Um, better,” he croaks.

“You look better,” she says softly. “I was so worried yesterday, I wasn’t sure how to cheer you up.”

He tries not to visibly slump, but the sudden reminder that his outward appearance is perceived by other people makes him uncomfortable. He becomes forgetful to things like this when he’s so caught up in his own head, and he can’t imagine how he looked yesterday, doesn’t even want to know.

“It was nothing. I was just tired.” It’s a poor attempt at an excuse and Hinatsuru gives him a knowing look. “Really.”

“Well, whether you were just tired or not,” she says, leaning in to cup his face. “I’m glad you’re feeling better now.”

She kisses him on the cheek, her lips soft and pretty and Zenitsu feels faint, his eyes wide and his face burning red.

“Now go before you get in trouble with Tengen.”

He nods furiously, letting out a strange noise from the back of his throat as some kind of response. He gets up to leave, suddenly remembering that this is the last time he’ll see Hinatsuru for a long while before closing the shoji.

Another farewell passes, and he allows himself to dwell on it for a bit while he goes to his room to get dressed and freshen up.

Once he gets outside, the light of dawn has already seeped in from the horizon. Uzui’s outside in the courtyard alone, and when he turns, something wells up inside him, maybe pride or something similar to that.

Uzui looks like he normally does, but when he gets closer, he can see how drowsy he appears, still sleepy and dazed, like he just woke from the best sleep he’s ever gotten.

“Same as always,” he says roughly, clearing his throat. “Except I want you here by noon.”

Oh yeah. He forgot about the time constraint, it’s already been a week.

“Okay,” he says, his speech just as languid. “Um, what about the weights?”

He quickly dismisses him. “You've just fully healed. Don't push yourself.”

Zenitsu gives him a weird look. Did Hinatsuru really convince him last night to go easy on him? What happened to breaking him in half? Uzui isn't a stranger to the concept of changing an opinion, especially when it comes to his wives, but his way of thinking is still more rigid than most people.

Proving his own worth comes first though and he can’t settle for less even if he tried. Self-sabotage is his strong suit.

“No, I can handle it,” he blurts out.

Uzui sighs. He can see wrinkles forming in place of the smooth and relaxed face he had a second ago.

“Do you have a death wish or something? Listen to your superiors for once, you little shit. Get back here by noon and I’ll decide if you can have the weights. And this isn’t up for debate. Dismissed.”

He walks past him, leaving no room for further arguments.

Zenitsu lets out an annoyed grumble but begins his run anyway. He has no right to be upset. Uzui is doing him a favor by preventing another repeat of that night. His frustration with himself shouldn’t lead to his demise and he gets that. But starting a few paces back makes the anger inside his chest fester into something nasty.

He shakes it off. As long as he’s on this run, his breathing and everything in his surroundings are the only two things he’s allowed to focus on. Anything else, and he’s not coming back by noon.

He stops for a minute or two to stretch out his muscles properly, then he’s on his way again, changing from a fast paced jog to a run. He tries to maintain it, slowing down the slightest bit to catch his breath at certain times but never stopping completely.

He eventually makes it to the mountain and he looks up, already knowing every ache and pain that’s about to show itself on his body once he starts going up. A loud sigh that turns into a defeated moan escapes his lips. His pride and ego are on the line. Proving his worth and convincing Uzui he’s improved enough to have the weights back are also on the line.

Concentrate. Breathe.

He catches himself every time he slips, but ‘every time’ is too often than not. Having to start over and correct his breathing is exhausting, taking a generous amount of energy from him simply because he’s overthinking.

Half way in, a ray of hope shines over him. He hears a hoard of footsteps up ahead, breathless and tired just as he is, and he sprints, running to catch up until he sees four black uniforms, familiar and welcoming.

The sound of his own footsteps seems to reach their ears and they glance back, shock riddled all over their faces.

“Zenitsu-san!?”

He almost slams into them from how abruptly they stop.

“You’re alive?!”

One of them is a bit more enthusiastic than the rest, practically screaming at him as he runs into him for a hug.

Zenitsu gets flustered immediately, not opposed to affection but not expecting it either. A second later, one of the others is prying him off.

“Will you behave?!” he scolds, turning to Zenitsu. “We thought you died, are you okay?”

“Yeah, what happened? Uzui-sensei didn’t tell us anything.”

Zenitsu tries to catch his breath, conscious of the amount of eyes on him.

“Um, well,” he begins, rubbing his neck. “I…I didn’t make it back in time. And a demon almost killed me. That’s really it.”

The unison ‘what?!’ pierces his ears before a clamor of worrisome shouts are thrown at him.

“It’s fine, really! Uzui-san saved me and took me to the doctor, so I’m all good now!”

They all stare at him, wide-eyed and in disbelief.

“That’s...insane.”

“How strong was it?”

“Uzui-sensei really came to rescue you?”

“There’s not a scratch on you, how did you heal so quickly?”

A surge of questions are given to him left and right until it becomes an incomprehensible mess. He's too overwhelmed to answer.

“Alright that’s enough stop bothering him, if he wants to he can explain it later. Now move it, I don't feel like getting killed by Uzui-sensei just for being a few minutes late.”

A hand finds Zenitsu’s lower back, the boy gently pushing him forward as everyone whines.

Elation fills him so thoroughly he almost forgot what they’re objective was.

He runs with them, side by side, with people he can possibly consider as friends. In less than a moment, a tide has risen, the loneliness that’s been smoldering his desolate heart for so long washed away without any pull or tug.

They were so nice from the very beginning, he remembers, yet he’s been so caught up with Uzui he hasn’t even thought about finding friends in the other demon slayers.

Regret and frustration shouldn’t come to him so easily, but he swats them away in favor of thinking about the positive.

But as the mountain becomes steeper and his breathing starts to get heavier, thinking about anything at all isn’t feasible. A blurry image of the training grounds forms in his head, as a simplistic way to let his brain know what his end goal is, and he chases that.

They eventually pass a large group, and then another, each one staring in shock at the newest addition to their team before hollering in excitement or whispering words of relief. Either way, his cheeks burn with happiness.

Eventually, they reach all the way up the mountain and back, with the sun almost at its peak.

“We’re gonna have to pick up the pace,” one of them says. “Zenitsu-san, you’re probably still recovering, but can you handle a faster pace?”

No, he can’t. But there’s no way in hell he’s about to say that. Disappointing his (possibly) new friends isn’t an option.

“Y-Yeah! I’ll be fine, don’t worry!”

“Kay! If you need us to slow down, just tell us!”

The fact that he even bothered to ask him and consider his condition makes his heart soar.

His body couldn’t be faring worse though.

The only reason he makes it back is because of the others. Fear of disappointing them and having to tell them to slow down or stop altogether was his only source of motivation.

Now that he’s back at the training grounds, the euphoric feeling of coming back to Uzui with the sun at its highest point in the sky is rewarding, it’s more than he could ask for.

Uzui gets off the engawa and walks over to them.

“You’ve all managed to get here by noon,” he states. No compliments or praise. “Same time tomorrow. Dismissed.”

No one moves a muscle. Eyes slowly avert to one another, waiting for the bravest to speak on behalf of everyone else.

“...That’s it? We have the rest of the day off?”

Uzui raises an eyebrow. “You want more?”

“No!” The unisonal scream is astounding.

One of them even gets on his knees in front of him, his head slamming the soil a bit too hard.

“No! Uzui-sensei, he's an idiot that spoke out of place, please forgive him!”

Uzui rolls his eyes. “Get out of my face.”

Everyone quickly scrambles to get inside, no one dumb enough to wait around to get more than they asked for.

Except Zenitsu.

He’s still on the ground, in his usual position since he’s come to this place; on all fours, his limbs shaking and his lungs heaving.

Uzui walks up to him, hears those heavy footsteps coming closer to him despite the blood pounding in his ears. He crouches down right in front of him, watching him intently until he finally speaks.

“Well, you’re out of shape, and your breathing is still off,” he says, without filtering his words. “But you came back on time. So I’ll give you that.”

He doesn’t sound disappointed. Just unimpressed.

To Zenitsu, there’s no difference between the two, so he tries, so desperately to keep his tears in and his pride intact because he’s not who he used to be anymore. He’s not a crybaby, or someone that gives up easily, or someone that complains and whines about every little thing.

His nails dig into the dirt, knowing he’s being hasty and reckless.

“Tomorrow,” he starts, wondering if he can even finish. “Can I…can I get the weights?”

He bites down on his lip, staring at the wet droplets on the soil. Uzui’s taking an awfully long time to respond.

“No. Give it another day.”

The dense feeling in the pit of his stomach is so brutal, he’s surprised he doesn’t vomit all over himself when it drops.

He shuts his eyes tight, holding off on having a full blown melt down until he hears Uzui walk back inside, followed by the click of a shoji. He falls on his back, appreciating the bright blue sky instead of that usual darkness that accompanies him after every run. But all turns sour under his eyes, no matter how pleasantly sweet it is.

He drapes an arm over his face, hiding himself from the world and all its deceiving benevolence.

He should go back inside, wash himself from the sweat and filth, fill his stomach with food so he can repeat it all again tomorrow. But he doesn’t have the strength to get up and do all that.

“Um, Zenitsu-san? Are you okay?”

He sits up faster than lightning can strike the ground, almost breaking his poor back.

“Wha–”

“Did something happen?”

One of the boys from the group earlier. His head is tilted to the side, his eyebrows pinched together in worry. Zenitsu wipes the tears away, flustered at being found like this.

“No, no. Nothing happened. I’m just really tired,” he says quickly, waving his hands frantically then giving a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Mm,” is all he replies with, worry never leaving his face. “Would you like to join us in the onsen?”

The invitation calms him down, a thorough distraction that’s very much needed.

“Yeah…yeah that’d be nice.”

The boy is kind enough to give him a hand, pulling him up to his feet.

They make their way inside, each stopping in their respective rooms to get the clothes they need. Zenitsu makes sure there’s no longer any…markings on his body from a few days ago, most of them gone except for a few very faded ones between his thighs that no one should really notice otherwise.

They finally reach the communal onsen and there, he’s greeted with new and familiar faces, all with eager expressions begging for a juicy story to be told.

The boy who kindly brought him in tells him to ignore them and to wash himself first before anything, saying they can wait a few more measly minutes. He does so, then dips into the water with the rest, everyone patiently waiting for him to begin.

Zenitsu starts from the beginning, nervous and a bit all over the place as he explains. He’s not a good story teller by any means. Nor is he a pathological liar, so remembering to take out certain details has him stumbling over his words a few times. They don’t seem to notice though, all of them too preoccupied with how thrilling and shocking his story is.

He lets them bombard him with questions afterwards, trying to answer all of them to the best of his ability.

“That’s terrifying. I’m glad Uzui-sensei was there to save you.”

“What exactly happened that day though? You were doing so well, even with the weights.”

He almost forgot that he lied to them the morning after.

“I guess I just wasn’t feeling good that day,” he says, unable to stop himself from slumping deeper into the water. He doesn’t feel like coming up with some calculated lie. He’s exhausted, beyond sick and tired of lying and thinking.

“Yeah, we understand. We can’t give our all every single day,” he says. “Uzui-sensei expects too much. He doesn’t see how much we’re struggling.”

Zenitsu furrows his eyebrows. “What are you talking about, you guys have always been farther ahead than everyone else since day one. You guys are amazing.”

One of them laughs. “Hah! Yeah right. We’re just good at running on some days, give or take. Don’t flatter us.”

The other nods. “We wish to be as strong as you one day.”

He stares like a chicken without a head, patiently waiting for someone in the group to let him in on the joke. It never comes.

“Me? I’m not…strong,” he says incredulously. “Nowhere near as strong as you guys think I am.”

“What are you talking about? Tanjirou-san and you are stronger than all of us combined! We could never go up against a moon demon and survive. Let alone win.”

“Don’t forget about boar-head!” the most enthusiastic one shouts. Of course it’d be him. “Inosuke-sama is amazing.”

Zenitsu's thoughts are drowned out by their excited chatter for the rest of their time spent in the onsen. They eat afterwards, filling themselves up with delicious food but still leaving room for dinner. He finally gets their names before they part ways to their own rooms to rest, and he’s overjoyed, getting to put names to faces.

But as he comes down from his high, sliding the shoji closed as the deafening silence consumes him, his thoughts begin to swim back up.

Nothing makes sense to him. Uzui feeding him lies is one thing, but having an entire group of demon slayers that he can now consider friends, lying to his face, is undoubtedly absurd. But then he thinks about earlier today, and the unimpressed tone behind Uzui’s voice. A simple run had him on his knees, heaving like a man knocking on death’s door.

But then, then, he thinks about yesterday and the way Uzui acted, swearing up and down that Zenitsu is strong like no other and trying to convince him that he’ll eventually see it for himself one day.

It’s all a jumbled mess inside his head that he can’t piece together and frustrated is no longer a word that’s enough to describe what he’s feeling.

His thoughts eventually settle, purely out of mental exhaustion and the desire to preserve his sanity.

Zenitsu gets dressed with his eyes closed, his eyelids practically sealed together. He actually got a good night's sleep. The entire day was spent leisurely and he even went to bed early under the assumption he’d wake up early as well.

He’s beginning to think he’s just not a morning person.

When he makes it outside, he lines himself up with the rest, shoulder to shoulder. Uzui comes out not a second later, and a wave of relief hits him so hard his legs feel like noodles for the first few minutes of the run.

The rest of the track up the mountain isn’t any better, neither is it going down. His friends support him the entirety of the run, but take them away and there’s not a chance he could make it back by noon.

He arrives at the training grounds at the designated time, just like everyone else. But he falls to his knees, head pounding and lungs burning, a message loud and clear for the man that crouches down in front of him, disappointment evident on his face today.

Shame clouds every bit of his soul at being told he’s not ready for the weights, that he needs to focus on his breathing for the absolute billionth time if he wants to move forward.

Even as he falls into a routine with the other demon slayers, happily bathing in the onsen and eating a nice warm meal afterwards, he still has to reside in the solitude of his own room at the end of the day.

He weeps his little heart out, sitting on the floor, back against the shoji and his knees pulled up to his chest. He couldn’t even make it to the futon.

Uzui’s face is burned in his memory. Pity and disappointment outlined his face, like he was having second thoughts about ever praising his strength. Zenitsu doesn’t fault him, he knows he’s barely skimming by, performing below average when it's consistent and exceptional results that are needed in order to pass to the next Hashira.

The anger he harbors toward himself is unmatched, but it pales in comparison to the ache his heart feels toward Uzui.

He’s distant, impartial to Zenitsu and all his failures and achievements. It's different from the silent treatment, where it was merely a response born out of animosity and frustration that could possibly heal with time. Now, Uzui has stopped acknowledging him all together out of pure disinterest and Zenitsu’s nothing more than another one of his students.

Another sob breaks free from his throat, and he hugs himself tighter.

He wants Uzui. He wants him back.

The incessant teasing, the snide remarks, the self-assured cocky attitude. He wants it all back, tenfold, because they’re no different from each other, because he’s realizes that no matter how much he represses his feelings for Uzui, he can’t help himself.

He can hate him all he wants, curse his name and all that come before him, but he can’t defy his heart anymore. Each time he resists it hurts. Every part of his body hurts and aches and cries, begging to be soothed and kissed, warmed under the sun and held in its arms.

It’s chosen Uzui and it’ll chase after him to the ends of the earth if it means being with him, if it means hurting Zenitsu.

Pressure pounds against his head, letting him know he’s been indulging himself in his misery far too long.

He crawls over to the futon and slips under the covers, fatigue consuming him so quickly he doesn’t remember falling asleep.

When he wakes up, he’s somehow faring worse than before. His head is killing him, and while he can easily ignore the throbbing against his skull, he can’t ignore the throbbing between his legs.

He buries his face into his pillow and lets out a suffocated whine. This can’t be happening right now. He has no energy to be dealing with his unruly hormones, he'd rather be spending the last few hours before sunrise sleeping, not jacking off.

His hand finds its way down anyway, knowing that releasing himself is the only way he can get some rest.

Cold fingers wrap around his heat, and he shivers, not realizing just how hard he is. He starts off slow, gently squeezing and massaging himself to get some precum out, just enough to get him slippery. Once his palm glides a bit better, he starts stroking, deciding on quick and shallow pumps to get it over with as quick as possible.

But it’s not that easy. Nothing ever is. He thinks about Uzui (because when is he not the reason behind all his agony and lust) and he slows down, his poor brain suffering through a massive headache yet insisting Zenitsu to fulfill his fantasies, the ones that have been long overdue.

He mutters a string of curse words.

There’s nothing he can do to stop himself from imagining Uzui on top of him, his towering form pressing him up against the futon and whispering into his ear, telling him what a good boy he’ll be if he came for him. He turns his head to the side, exposing his neck and thinking about how deeply he wants Uzui to mark him; his mouth sucking on his skin until it's purple and his teeth sinking into him until he draws blood.

He belongs to him, doesn’t he? He’s Uzui’s, completely and entirely his. He should leave his neck a bruised and bloody mess. He should devour his body and leave not even the bones lest someone else eats them.

The feeling of his hand isn’t enough anymore. His thoughts are filthy, vile. He needs more, craves the very man himself but he can’t have him, another cruel act by the universe.

He sits up, positioning himself on his knees and undoing his yukata, then grabbing an extra pillow and shoving it in between his thighs. He starts rolling his hips, digging his cock into the fabric and almost mewling at the sensation.

He’s hot. His face is burning, embarrassment zipping down his spine but he couldn’t care less. His palms press down on the pillow, right where Uzui’s lower abdomen would be, rising and falling with each labored breath and he whines, his thighs instinctively pressing together at the thought of riding his cock and watching him come undone beneath him.

His hand comes up to cover his mouth, only to drop it a second later, remembering how desperate Uzui was to draw out every moan from him, watched that man literally lose himself at the sight of Zenitsu whimpering his name over and over again.

He bites down on his lip, the lust between his legs becoming so thick he could cry.

The thought of Uzui bursting through the door at this very moment to fuck him without his consent isn't a nightmare anymore, but a craving, a very real and bitter hunger that he welcomes with open arms.

Uzui pins him down, fucks him to his hearts content until Zenitsu passes out, his lifeless body rocking against each thrust and filling his insides, just like that very night.

‘Would you do it again?’

‘In a heartbeat.’

He gasps, his cock leaking onto the pillow as his hips frantically move and stutter without a rhythm, panting like a dog in heat.

Uzui. Uzui. Uzui–

He’s going insane. Completely and utterly insane.

Every little hump he gives his pillow is another slip into madness until he can’t hold it in anymore, the tension finally breaking and ripping him apart. He comes with his thighs shaking and his stomach tightening, cum spilling over the entire length of the pillow and Uzui’s name on his lips.

A few more gentle rolls of his hips and he’s emptied himself, coming down from his high and having to witness the mess he’s made.

He just came without touching himself. Dry humped his pillow like a horny teenager.

He sits there, breathless, his body burning hot while shame eats him alive.

He takes the pillow and moves it far away from him, getting under the covers with no intention of cleaning himself up. He tries to go back to sleep, fatigue gnawing at him, reminding him of his training in a few hours.

But he can’t calm himself enough to do that. Uzui has seeped into every crevice of his mind. Even in the privacy of his own room, he’s humiliated him, devoured him, deprived him of all his autonomy.

So he does what he knows best, and cries, until sleep consumes when it’s much too late.

Chapter Text

His joints creak when he wakes up, ache when he gets dressed.

There’s only a handful of demon slayers lined up as he steps outside, their pleasantly surprised faces making him believe he should be proud of himself too. But the bags under his eyes and the feeling of vomit rising in his throat from the lack of sleep worries him more.

The rest of the demon slayers along with Uzui come outside, and Zenitsu can’t look at him, knows that he knows. So he keeps his head down to avoid his gaze as he says his usual instructions before dismissing them.

It’s just as horrible as he expects it to be.

He visibly struggles the first half, his friends giving him words of encouragement every so often to keep his spirits high. But they can only do so much, and he begins to lag behind, each step putting distance between them until he can’t keep up anymore.

They’re kind though, more than they should be.

They insist Zenitsu to take a quick break so he can even out his breathing, refusing to leave him behind. But with enough convincing, they listen to his pleas. Because after all, he’s just having an off day. Everyone gets those. His struggles should be his own, especially if punishment by the hands of a former Hashira is involved.

With the promise that he’ll do better tomorrow, they move on ahead. And it hurts. He’s the one that forced them to leave him yet it still hurts.

Though it begins to hurt less the more he continues to run. He’s lost track of how many times he’s taken a break, how many times his hands have been on his knees, begging for the air to soothe his searing lungs.

Sweat drips down his face and he looks up, the sky an ugly gray. There’s no storm that accompanies the bleakness of the sky, no thunder in the distance that he can hear, and though his nose isn’t as keen as Tanjirou’s, there’s no scent of rain in the air.

It feels like an act of mercy but he’s not eager to accept it when it’s apparent that he’s undeserving of a single ray of sunshine in the midst of his already clouded heart. He’s not even allowed to have the sun as a clock. It could be hours past noon and he wouldn't know.

The rest of the way back is utterly miserable and when he finally arrives, dread fills him to the brim at the sight of Uzui.

He wants to turn back. He wants to be anywhere but here so he doesn’t have to face him. At the very least, he should salvage a little more dignity. But he’s shaking, his muscles too fatigued to keep him upright and he falls in front of his feet, his head dizzy and ready to faint.

Uzui says nothing, does nothing. He can feel his gaze on him, and for the very first time, he’s unsure of the sound humming in his chest.

He hears him sigh, and then he turns on his heel.

Zenitsu’s heart drops.

"W-Wait…please…” His plea is quiet, too weak for someone like Uzui to care. But he stops anyway, lending his ear out of pity.

“What?”

An opportunity to speak. Zenitsu sits on his ankles, his hands balled up into fists in his lap. He can’t mull over his words for too long before Uzui’s generosity runs out, but he’s unsure of what to say now that he’s listening.

A million thoughts go by yet he can’t bring himself to say what he actually wants.

"I…I need help. I can't...no matter how hard I try, I can't improve."

Not improving isn’t even accurate, he’s literally regressing. He bites his tongue though.

Uzui turns, his loud footsteps never failing to make him flinch. He stands in front of him, but Zenitsu makes no moves to look up. He stares down at the ground, waiting for that baritone voice of his to scare him into meeting his gaze.

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” he asks. He’s a lot more ticked off than he lets on. “You’re breathing is off. Nothing more, nothing less. Correct it and you’ll improve enough to get the hell out of here.”

"I'm trying,” he says meekly. “I…I’m breathing but–”

“No you’re not,” he cuts him off. “You’re a pathetic excuse of a demon slayer if you think that’s breathing.” His words sting. They prick his skin and make him bleed and he bites down on his lip to ease the pain but it’s unbearable. “You need to calm down and focus, you're too distracted.”

Tears drop onto his lap. His vision is blurry again.

"How can I when you're the one distracting me."

Uzui crouches down in front of Zenitsu and it startles him, his face suddenly too close.

“I've been out of your hair ever since I've had my way with you. There’s no reason you should be distracted.”

This is it, he thinks. This is where he’d like to put an end to it.

“...No reason to be distracted?” He feels his throat tighten just as he lets the words leave his lips, but he pushes, raising his voice and forcing himself to finish. “You dense bastard! I have every reason to be distracted! What happened to being yours? What happened to that huh?! How could you say that to my face and then act like…like I’m nothing to you.”

That last bit fades into a murmur, quiet and fragile compared to Uzui’s boisterous temper.

“I could say the same fuckin’ thing. You hate my guts, what happened to that, huh? I’ve given you space just like you wanted, shouldn’t you be happy?”

“No!” he says without hesitation. “I’m not!”

"So what do you want then? Use your words, Agatsuma."

He wipes his tears, only to realize it’s beginning to rain. The sky tends to cry alongside him it seems.

"I'm yours. Do whatever you want with me."

Uzui stays silent, and Zenitsu can tell by the way he’s scrutinizing all his features that he’s listening deep inside his chest, searching for anything that sounds remotely like fear and regret.

"That's not something you should be saying so freely,” he says calmly. His hand comes up, cupping his chin with his fingers. “You understand that, don’t you?”

The moment Uzui touches him, electricity runs through his body, so deeply and viscerally it makes him shudder. And he knows Uzui sees it, knows from the way his eyes quickly flick down to Zenitsu’s lips, desperately needing to see him take in that quiet gasp.

Without missing a beat, he says, “I understand.”

Uzui stares at him cautiously.

“Can I ask why the sudden change of heart?”

My heart never changed, he wants to say. But he’s only come to realize that now, expecting Uzui to understand the intricately tangled mess inside his chest as well would be unfair. Instead, he keeps it simple.

“How am I supposed to know why my heart chose you?”

Shock has never looked more strange on him. His lips part, like he’s going to say something to that very abrupt confession, but he doesn’t.

He lets go of his chin, his face pensive as he stands up. "Meet me in my room tonight."

Zenitsu holds his breath, watching him walk away. But no matter how much distance Uzui puts between them, he can’t hide the sound of his own heart, not from Zenitsu.

He sits there for a while longer, feeling the light drizzle of rain on his skin as he replays that rhythmic thumping in his head, memorizing the way it skipped a beat somewhere in the middle.

Eventually, he gets up to go through his usual routine for the day.

He’s nervous. Even now, after giving what might just be a full blown confession earlier, he’s nervous.

He stands in front of the shoji, reminiscent of the night he came to his room to receive his punishment. It feels like ages since then, so the wide stretch of time apart has him reverting back to old habits.

Finally gathering the courage, he brings a hand up to knock. Uzui calls him in.

“Sit.”

He slides the shoji shut and does as he’s told, sitting down on his ankles with his hands in his lap, a fair distance away from Uzui.

Awkwardness settles in the air, at least for Zenitsu (it’s always for Zenitsu), and he becomes restless, fidgeting with his hands and eager to fill it with his rambling until Uzui finally speaks.

“Your breathing is shallow. You’re nervous.”

Zenitsu blinks, taken back by his bluntness. He assumes he’s saying that so he can go on to correct it. That’s what he’s implying, right? He takes in a deep breath, trying to loosen up a bit and calm his nerves, but when he’s seated in front of Uzui like this, it’s futile. Every breath he takes is just shaky and labored, a complete mess.

He sighs. “I can still hear your heart pounding against your chest.”

Zenitsu frowns. He’s getting annoyed. Is he really just going to have to sit here and have all of his flaws pointed out?

“It always does that,” he defends himself.

"You're shaking."

His fidgeting comes to a stop, keeping his hands firmly in place. "I…I always shake."

"You're crying."

He sniffs, wiping his snot with his sleeve. He had no intention of crying until Uzui started being nitpicky.

"I cry over everything, shut up!" he whines. "Stop being mean and just fuck me already."

A wave of disbelief washes over Uzui's features and if Zenitsu wasn't so ticked off, he'd be eating his words in embarrassment right about now.

"You teenagers and your hormones,” he complains. “I'm not fucking you.”

“Then why am I here?!”

“So I can help you with your breathing, you brat. Come here.”

His eyebrows pinch together, a hesitant look on his face as he cautiously gets up and walks closer to him, until he’s within his reach.

Uzui rolls his eyes. “Sit.” And yanks him down.

His back is pressed against Uzui’s chest, his body nestled in between his legs.

“I want you to breathe,” he says, laying his palm flat on Zenitsu’s chest. “The right way.”

Heat swarms his insides and he has to bite his tongue. He can’t be serious. Concentrating on his breathing like this is cruel. It's already bad enough being scrutinized in the same room as him, but this?

He feels like he’s overheating, unsure if it’s his anxiety or the intense heat Uzui’s body is emitting, but he begins to fidget alongside slow and deep breaths.

“Hands on my thighs.”

His voice penetrates the silence and Zenitsu stiffens, debating on turning around to give him a glare for scaring him. But again, he does what he’s told and puts his little hands on his thighs, and his heart races, Uzui surely being able to not only hear, but feel it under his palm.

Taking away his ability to fidget doesn't help. He’s breathing, but it’s still unsteady and awry. It doesn't feel right. Breathing like this while fighting a demon would have him killed instantly.

Uzui speaks again, but he doesn't startle him this time. It’s more soothing.

“Relax your muscles. You're too tense.”

Obediently, though a bit peeved at him for having to walk him through this, he relaxes his muscles, bringing his shoulders down and unclenching his jaw, both he wasn’t even aware of being so tense.

It helps a little. He notices the difference, but Uzui doesn’t stop there.

“Close your eyes,” he says quietly. “But don't let your mind wander.”

That’s easier said than done.

He’s hyper aware of every body part, focusing on all the different ways Uzui is touching him.

His back is on fire, a bead of sweat running down his spine. And his legs barely have enough room to sit criss-cross, Uzui’s thighs pressing against him so he’s all squished in between them. And his hand. That overly large hand of his on his chest feels like it's burning right through his rib cage.

He’s been swallowed whole by him, enveloped in every way possible.

How can he not let his mind wander?

Uzui’s index finger taps him on the chest.

“What did I just say?” His voice is still gentle, but Zenitsu can tell it's losing some of its patience.

He quickly closes his eyes, putting in more effort despite the circumstances.

But it’s hard. He thinks about fidgeting, thinks about Uzui and his warmth, thinks about how poorly he did today. It’s never ending, but his thoughts eventually slow down with the desire to actually concentrate.

Time passes, minutes go by. He’s not sure for how long since he doesn’t keep track, his focus entirely on his breathing and nothing else. Uzui’s presence eventually calms him, his touch no longer burning but soothing, nursing all his troubles until he’s pliant in his hold.

This goes on for as long as Uzui wants it to. Zenitsu’s not that much of an idiot to stop and ask if they're done. He breathes, slow and deep, until Uzui is satisfied.

“Good,” he says. He takes his hand off his chest and if Zenitsu wasn’t so deeply concentrated on his breathing he would’ve outright whined. “Keep breathing like this tomorrow. You should do much better than you did today.”

It’s a simple statement, one that’s very much true. He’s just not sure if he can uphold its expectations.

“I…I don't think I can,” he admits.

His hands are drawn to each other like magnets and he takes them off his thighs, fidgeting with them with the notion that Uzui’s going to get mad.

“Why not?” he asks, sounding more curious than angry.

“I’m still distracted.”

Uzui’s arms snake their way around Zenitsu’s waist, pulling him in tighter, as if their proximity before wasn’t enough to satiate him, and nuzzles his face into his neck.

"And why is that?"

His voice is playful, a type of slyness to it that lets Zenitsu know there’s a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips without having to see his face. He’s nervous, shaking in his arms like the breathing exercise from before did nothing to mitigate his anxiety.

Softly, he says, "I want you to fuck me."

His face is painted a bright red, but Uzui’s quick to make it a thousand shades darker.

"Look at you, such a big boy now, using your words to tell me what you want,” he praises, placing a kiss on his nape that has Zenitsu letting out a quiet gasp. “But I’m not fucking you. You haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

Disappointment crawls over him before he can stop himself from asking.

“If…if tomorrow I–”

“I'll decide tomorrow if you deserve it.” It’s a sound argument. Uzui’s his teacher, his mentor, the man that knows his student best. But he’s playing the role a little too well, acting distant, colder than what Zenitsu needs right now, which is warmth and affection. “For now, you need to rest. It’s getting late.”

And now he’s kicking him out.

He’d be damned if he allows him to say it first though.

“Can I leave?”

Uzui’s wraps his arms around his waist a bit more tighter, his intentions rather clear.

“No,” he says simply. “You're sleeping here tonight.”

Zenitsu freezes, unsure of what to say or do when both their demands align. Uzui obviously takes his silence as compliance and swoops him in his arms, moving the sheets around and placing the extra pillow right next to his own. Fatigue usually sets in early, enough to prevent him from even fighting against it. But he lies in Uzui's arms, cuddled into his embrace as his fingers drag along the curve of his spine.

He doesn't want to fall asleep. A part of him is enjoying this too much, the optimistic side of him wanting to stay awake and feel the way his stomach flutters at the light touches the entire night. The other part of him is scared. He wants to go back to the safety of his own room, away from Uzui and all the potential possibilities of being raped again.

He tells himself that this is what he wanted. He willingly came here on his own accord, which means he still has some sort of trust in Uzui.

Or maybe, he's waiting for his desires from last night to come true.

Sleep takes him before he can decide.

When Zenitsu wakes up, it’s through the hands of Uzui—or through his foot.

He nudges him more harshly than he’d like, his toes digging into his lower back.

“Mmm.”

“Don’t ‘mmm’ me, wake up.”

He buries his face deeper into the pillow. “I’m tired,” he mumbles.

“Whatever. Not my problem if you’re late.”

At that, he begins to stir until he sits up, groggy and eyelids barely able to keep themselves open.

He watches Uzui get dressed in his usual simple attire, it slowly dawning on him that he slept with him last night.

He blinks. A warm and fluttering feeling settles in his stomach.

“Oi, quit staring and go to your room to get dressed. I’m being serious, you brat.”

He throws the covers off and stumbles on his way out the shoji. By the time he freshens up in the bathroom, gets dressed, and goes outside, he has enough seconds to spare to stand in line with the other demon slayers before Uzui dismisses him.

Zenitsu turns to start running with the rest of the demon slayers, but Uzui’s voice stops him, low and deep enough for only him to hear.

“Agatsuma.”

He stills, watching the others run down the path while he’s stuck in place, listening to Uzui’s footsteps walking closer to him. A large hand touches his shoulder, strands of white hair brushing against his cheek.

“Focus on your breathing and make it back here on time,” he orders, bringing his voice down to a whisper as he leans into his ear. “I can’t have my way with you if you’re not improving as my student.”

Zenitsu nods, unable to stop the shiver from running up his spine. He takes his hand off his shoulder, and without saying another word or looking back, he takes it as his cue to begin running.

He reminds himself to concentrate on his breathing and nothing else. When he catches up to his friends and they make light conversation, his mind stresses the importance of taking slow and deep breaths. When he starts trekking up the mountain, Uzui’s advice rings in his ears to relax his muscles and not let his mind wander.

It does wonders, definitely not living up to that idealistic expectation he has in his head, but he comes back with the other demon slayers this time; a bit breathless yet not completely winded, and he’s standing on his two feet.

He’s not exactly proud. Just content. Maybe a bit happy that he’s improved from yesterday.

As upset as it makes him the longer he thinks about it, he’s entirely dependent on Uzui. His opinion matters the most right now, it alone deciding whether he should be celebrating his achievement today.

All the demon slayers waddle their way inside with quiet groans and sweaty foreheads. Zenitsu trails behind his friends, not wanting to look too suspicious by waiting around by himself.

He passes by Uzui and the man leans down, a quiet murmur that’s for him, and only him.

“My room tonight.”

The unbridled joy ricocheting inside his chest is boundless, but he forces himself to restrain it. His friends turn around, beckoning him to hurry along so they can all rid themselves of their sweaty uniforms, so he pretends like he doesn’t hear anything, holding his breath instead and hoping his face isn’t too red.

Routinely things like bathing and eating with friends are a necessity, a comfort. They should be prioritized and cherished and he does exactly that, making comments here and there that has them laughing and smiling while his thoughts about Uzui obscenely fucking him pervade every corner of his mind.

When he gets to his room, it’s no better. Entitlement and greed deter him from pleasuring himself, saving his lust for Uzui’s touch. But he thinks too highly of his tenacity. One throbbing and leaking cock later, he spills all over his hand, and from there, he only wants more.

He debates on fingering himself but quickly realizes that he’s not in any possession of lube. He sits tight, letting time pass until he thinks it’s late enough to leave.

Once he makes his way over to his room, the lack of hesitancy in his knock is apparent. Uzui doesn’t tease him about his eagerness at least, the man himself is just as antsy—he gives him an order before Zenitsu can even close the shoji.

“Come.”

Confidence leaves as quickly as it came. There’s something about having the shoji shut behind him and the silence suddenly amplifying that strips him bare every single time, his timid nature catching up to him once he’s in Uzui’s presence.

He tries to resist the very essence of his being and does something he could only dream of.

He walks over to him slowly, but instead of kneeling down on the futon and keeping his distance, he tests the waters.

Shaky arms wrap around his neck while weak thighs press against his waist, sitting himself on his lap and selfishly taking what he desperately needed yesterday.

Uzui stares at him all the while, his arms circling his waist and his lips parted in surprise, but not at all opposed to Zenitsu taking the initiative. He should be making a teasing comment by now, poking at his hastiness and calling him a horny teenager. But the lack of commentary is stirring Zenitsu on, and he thinks Uzui might be catching on.

He coaxes him, his lips hovering over his, tempting him to initiate the kiss first.

“Well?”

Their breaths mingle and their noses touch, a distance that was never there to begin with; Zenitsu would be a coward not to close the gap.

He closes his eyes and leans in, the little noise at the back of his throat surprising him as soon as he feels the soft press of Uzui’s lips.

Even when he’s given control he’s startled by his own doing.

He continues to kiss him, his movements slowly becoming less assured the longer he focuses on it, until he’s too conscious of himself. He’s only ever kissed once in his life and it was Uzui who took the lead. Without his guidance, he has nothing to mimic.

“Don’t overthink it.”

Uzui nips at his bottom lip.

“I-I don’t know–” he gives it a nice tug before sucking on it “–what I’m doing.”

He feels drowsy, the heat between his legs rising as Uzui’s lips become more impatient.

“You don’t need to, just have confidence.”

“I don’t have any,” he whines.

Uzui presses their lips together one more time before pulling away.

“You had it when you first came in,” he says, his hand rubbing circles on his lower back. “I’d like you to have it for the rest of the night as well.”

His eyes are half-lidded, trying to focus on what he’s saying but his hand distracts him, the butterflies in his lower tummy fluttering at the tenderness.

“Why?”

“Because I have something else in mind for you tonight,” he admits.

Zenitsu pouts at that.

“Does that mean you’re…” not fucking me? Is what he wants to say, but he’s too out of it right now to be so bold. “...I thought I deserved it.”

Uzui kisses his pout away, his lips gently pressing onto his but only for a moment.

“I’m still burying my cock inside you, don’t let that pretty little head of yours worry about that.”

His body moves on his own, his back arching into his touch and his thighs pressing together around his waist, taking a very obvious affinity to Uzui’s words.

“Oh, which part of that did you like?”

He only gets a glimpse of the widening smirk on his face before he hides into the crook of his neck.

“Neither! Don't say stuff like that,” he whines.

“Do you like it when I talk about my cock inside you? Or when I compliment you?”

Zenitsu shakes his head. “I’m not telling you!” It’s both.

“Why not?” he asks, taking his hand off his back. “I need to know for tonight.”

Zenitsu furrows his eyebrows, wishing he had told Uzui how much he likes his lower back being rubbed so he’d know to continue. But he gets distracted, taking notice of something else.

“What’s so special about tonight?” he asks, his voice muffled.

He feels Uzui’s hand slide between them to undo his yukata.

“You’ll see. Just relax for me, okay?”

Uzui has been acting strange, coming off amiable; his tone soothing and his teasing entirely playful. He still flinches when he hears a bottle opening somewhere behind him though, and tenses when his hand brushes his yukata away to move his hand down to his ass.

The cold feeling of lube touches his entrance and he squeaks, tightening his hold around his neck as his finger rubs the tight ring of muscle. He teases him, massaging the rim until he decides to slip his middle finger in, and his breath hitches.

He’s not sure how it went the first time. Maybe it stung more, if not just as bad as it does now and he just doesn’t remember. But Uzui slowly wiggles his way in, letting the lube glide his finger in little by little.

He reaches past his knuckle, his walls only slightly stinging and leading Zenitsu to believe that he’s a big boy, that he can handle a bit of discomfort, only for Uzui to drag his finger all the way in before impatiently shoving in a second finger.

Zenitsu squirms, his toes curling and thighs tightening. It’s just two fingers, two large and slicked fingers with nails painted a pretty mismatched color, scissoring him and spreading him open without taking any of his pain into consideration.

He complains at every little ache and pain, but it all ends the same–with his warm reddened cheeks pressed against his shoulder, barely able to keep his eyes open. Drowsy and dazed, his hips give a light twitch, a small roll in Uzui’s lap that lets him know he’s enjoying this just as much as him.

Uzui’s hard, he can feel his bulge through the fabric as his own cock brushes against it.

He lets his eyes close, spoiling himself with a bit of daydreaming, delusions that surround the thoughts of Uzui and how little effort Zenitsu has to put into turning him on. He’s kept to himself, hands and mouth respectfully away from Uzui’s cock yet he can feel it between their stomachs, swollen and thick and Zenitsu can’t comprehend how he’s the cause of all this man’s hunger.

His little reveries almost lull him to sleep until he jolts; a third finger trying to wiggle its way in.

“Such a tight little hole. I can barely fit half my fingers inside you.”

Uzui pulls out before Zenitsu can voice his discomfort, but he pulls out all three at once, a demanding whine leaving his throat and making him realize he hates the feeling of emptiness more than the feeling of pain. But he hears him with the lube bottle behind him and patiently waits until he feels three fingers pushing in again.

Instinctively, his muscles clench around him. He breathes a hiss through his teeth as his fingers glide all the way into him, trying to relax in his hold, just like Uzui told him to. But it hurts, and he’s getting warmer as the seconds go by, the heat between them feeling uncomfortable.

He imagines Uzui would be the perfect person to cuddle with in the winter. Collecting firewood would only be an afterthought when his body heat could keep him warm even in the coldest of nights. But right now, in the heart of summer, on a particularly humid night, the heat is unwanted.

Sweat forms on his forehead in little beads that threaten to fall, and his underarms feel wet, his entire body begging to at least take off his yukata to cool himself down. He doesn’t want to though. His yukata feels safe, a thin piece of clothing but a barrier nonetheless.

Uzui’s neediness to have every part of Zenitsu enveloped in his embrace is very much endearing, but it becomes unbearable all too quickly.

He leans back a little, his hands giving a small push against Uzui’s chest.

“I…I wanna take this off,” he says breathlessly, quick to give his reasoning as if obligated. “It’s too hot.”

Uzui lessens his grip on his waist, a silent answer that Zenitsu appreciates at first, until he notices his silence is an excuse to follow his movement. He focuses on delicate hands, a deep but subtle inhale as they gently move the yukata off his shoulders, letting the fabric slide down his back.

Zenitsu can feel himself shake, all the muscles in his stomach tightening. The man in front of him holds his gaze, no different than the eyes of a hungry wolf, sharp and penetrating.

A strange thought calls to him, bringing him back to his time in the red light district; their hair hideously pinned up and their makeup entirely too extravagant. It was more ridiculous than anything remotely serious, Uzui’s heartless plan to sell them as courtesans leading him to believe he’d have to let any and every man have his way with him, seducing them with his body and charm like the good girl he was supposed to be.

None of that ever came to be. But as he continues putting on this little show for Uzui, moving his arms behind his back, pulling at the sleeves and exposing more skin—skin that feels like it’s running a fever from how intensely it burns—his mind has already decided to fulfill the role.

His yukata falls behind him on the futon, every bit of him exposed. And Uzui seems more than delighted, his mouth latching onto his nape, all while slyly putting in a fourth finger.

A whimper escapes him without meaning to. It sounds restless, hungry for more of an appetite than Uzui’s giving him. Scraps is what it feels like to his pulsating heat between his legs.

“What is it? Does it hurt?”

Uzui’s mouth is next to his jaw, lips brushing against warm skin.

“No...no, just...” He never seems to be good with his words when it comes to Uzui. Full sentences never managing to form when he’s around him. A roll of his hips and a mumbledhurry is all that he gets.

“I haven’t been inside you for a while, be patient.”

Zenitsu’s entire face scrunches together in confusion, then maybe softens a bit, and then goes back to full blown confusion because he realizes Uzui really doesn’t ever make any sense. He came to terms with that during their arguement, but it’s still jarring to him. One moment he’s being raped and the next moment he’s being scolded and told to be patient for his own comfort.

“No,” he says more sternly. Another roll of his hips. “Now.”

He keeps fingering him, ignoring his demands until he rolls his hips again, and again, and–

“I’ll rip you apart,” he says. Not a teasing remark but a genuine warning.

Before, Zenitsu might’ve taken it to heart and listened. Now, that means little to him.

“What if I want you to rip me apart.”

Uzui lets out a breathy laugh, and his stomach flips. It’s nothing like how he usually makes him feel. Pretty lips on his neck and long fingers deep inside him are something Zenitsu craves, something he willingly chases after because the pleasure he feels is too good to live without.

But what he felt right now wasn’t pleasure. It’s so far removed from something as simple as lust, a hunger that can easily be satisfied with a night of sex. His laugh, deep and charming, sunk into the pit of his stomach and made him feel so light, so dazed with the realization that he wants to hear it again, for the rest of his life.

“You say things like that without knowing what you do to me.” He says it sweetly against his neck, each word coated in the thickest layer of honey. “But fine, if you think you can handle it.”

He takes his fingers out, sounding nasty and lewd despite knowing much worse sounds are about to fill the room.

Zenitsu stays put. He feels Uzui’s hand sliding between them as he unties his yukata, slipping it off his shoulders and down his arms. He waits for him to initiate the first move, the one where he gets flipped over and pushed down into the futon, but it never comes. That same hand is placed on his chest instead, forcing Zenitsu to release his tight hold around his neck while the distance between them grows.

He misses the warmth despite complaining about all its discomfort, but the view of Uzui laying down underneath him is a first and he refuses to be shy about it. He’s selfish with what he takes, eyes glazing over every bit of exposed skin like its the last he’ll ever get to see it.

Uzui notices, a devilish tinge to his features.

“I’m all yours,” he says, and suddenly, Zenitsu’s all to aware of how his thighs straddle his waist. “Ride me the same way you fucked your pillow the other night.”

The look of horror on his face is fuel to the fire that Uzui constantly keeps burning. His mouth is curved into a smirk, elated at his reaction.

“You...you heard me.”

“Of course I did. Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

No, he was very well aware that Uzui knew. Even while he rutted against his pillow like an animal, he moaned Uzui’s name because he knew he was listening, had every intention to have him hear his desperation. His shock is more aimed toward the fact that this man is actually making him recreate it, like listening to it all wasn’t enough.

“I’m making your dream come true. I think I deserve a thank you.”

“A thank you for eavesdropping on me?!” he asks exasperated. He can’t help but shift the blame.

“I guess we're even now.”

His folds his arms behind his head, like he’s on a relaxing day at the beach and not teasing one of his students to death.

Zenitsu swallows, despising how sudden the silence can be sometimes, lingering. He avoids his gaze, staring down at the cock lying on his lower stomach. It’s thick and pretty and his thoughts swarm in a frantic loop that he can’t seem to get out of.

The same cock that he’s staring at right now, the same pulsating pleasure that he takes in his hand, is the same one that raped him. His cock was inside him, unknowingly. Fucking into him and pumping lust into this man’s veins, while he slept and ached in bed, wishing for relief but not in the way it was given to him.

And despite all that, he’s here. Missing the way his little hand wraps around him. Itching to have it inside him again, like he’s completely forgiven for everything that he’s done.

Zenitsu breathes. The embarrassment of having Uzui watch him as he rides him is unmatched, but deep down, he’s more than happy with the outcome. He’s been given full control, the reins graciously placed in his hands.

The way he lifts his hips up and scoots a bit forward is awkward, so unbelievably embarrassing for some reason when he knows it shouldn’t be. Uzui’s watching him so intently, his eyes half-lidded and staring at him like he’s the only one in the world right now.

His blush deepens, flushing a red deeper than the darkest of blood.

One hand guides his dick to his entrance, while the other hand is on Uzui’s stomach, keeping him steady.

Another deep breath in, and he moves his hips down. He stretches around the tip, the burning sensation making him hiss but he keeps pushing, little by little until the head pops in nicely. An exhale. The pain is bearable, he thinks. But his assumption leads him to think he’s capable of more than he actually is.

He pushes himself further down, getting to feel all the pleasures of his impatience, only to let out a strained whimper at the back of his throat a second later like a wounded animal. He freezes, wincing at the sudden surge of pain between his legs.

Uzui’s quick to place his hand on his lower back, rubbing it in small soothing circles.

“Take it easy, no need to rush.” Zenitsu bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut and prompting Uzui to coo at him. “Shh, it’s okay.”

His voice is low, a touch of gentleness to it in hopes of easing some of his pain and it does. Of course it does. How could a voice as rough and baritone as his, turn into something so soft and sweet, not ease all of it away?

Both his hands come to rest on his stomach as he leans forward. He tries again, but allows himself to move slowly, to be a bit more patient. Tight muscles contract under his fingertips, and he’s reminded that he’s the one that leads.

He’s mindful of his body this time. Listening to what it wants, what it can handle. He slides down his length as long as it feels good, then swims back up when it doesn’t. He repeats it. Up, down, up again, and then down, fucking himself onto him until the slick sound of his cock moving inside him comes to a stop.

Imagination can only do so much, he thinks. A soft pillow between his legs could never replicate the heavy feeling of being completely and utterly filled to the brim, his thighs straddling a thick and sturdy waist.

He remembers how he ached to feel Uzui breathe underneath him, and it’s so much more he could ask for, his palms rising and falling together with his strong chest.

“There you go,” he purrs, his hand slithering its way to his thigh. “You look so pretty sitting on my cock.”

An embarrassingly pleased noise comes out of his mouth as his thigh’s given a light squeeze.

Zenitsu’s not an idiot. The sight of his muscles flexing, stretching along his bicep and all the way down to his forearm, grabs his attention in an instant, leaving a dryness in his mouth that he can’t get rid of. Half-lidded eyes trail over his body, following every dip of soft muscle. Memorizing his favorite curves.

Uzui’s broad and freakishly large. Intimidating. His roughness accentuated by his size.

But having him pinned underneath like this, the wolf that’s been hunting and preying on him for so long doesn’t look as scary anymore.

He decides that he likes him better like this.

“What’s got you so distracted, Agatsuma?”

A startled whine, short and to the point. That’s what he gives Uzui as an answer.

The security he once had is out of reach. He can’t bury his face into the crook of Uzui’s neck, hide his embarrassment and the redness of his cheeks like before. Being out in the open like this has his anxiety flaring, but he doesn’t close his eyes, just averts them to somewhere Uzui can’t follow.

“N-Nothing...just...nothing.”

“I’m sure it has to be something,” he says. Another squeeze, but this time his thumb presses into the meat of his inner thigh, lightly massaging it. “How does it feel like having me underneath? Better than you imagined?”

The notion that he’d be in control tonight simply from being on top has him more frustrated than anything. He holds his breath to prevent more unwanted noises from leaving his mouth and places his hand on top of Uzui’s.

Though his intentions to pry him off are immediately forgotten. He feels his veins protrude against his palm, leading up to his wrist, right where Zenitsu’s fingertips lay.

“Please don’t…” he tries, hoping his plea will be heard because he has no intention of actually doing it himself.

“Don’t what?”

Zenitsu doesn’t hear him. His eyes are on his hand, suddenly noticing the shine glistening around his fingers, wet and slippery against his skin.

He’s turned on. Far too much for his own good.

His attention shifts to another wetness rubbing against him; the tip of his cock brush against his tummy, moving to the rhythm of his labored breathing that seems to be getting more erratic by the minute.

Uzui notices, is always there for an extra nudge to break him when he’s already by the edge. His hold on his thigh is firm as he gives a small thrust upwards, and then he gets what he wants.

Zenitsu whines, lets his head fall forward, chin almost touching collarbone.

“You’re not telling me what you want. All I hear is cute little moans that tell me I should keep going.”

Before he can do it again, he pushes down on his waist with both hands. He’s surprised when his voice comes out steady.

“Stop talking.”

“Why should I? I finally have you to myself after so long, I’ll talk all I want.” he argues. “Now start bouncing.”

Without even thinking, he leans forward, bringing his hand up to cover Uzui’s mouth.

His eyes go wide, too shocked at his command to start bouncing to care if he’s being disrespectful. Uzui’s comments tonight have been ridiculous, increasingly worse this past minute or so. But he remembers his words from earlier, how he needs to know which way to tease him because tonight’s apparently special.

Now he knows why.

“I...I want you to listen to me,” he starts, frustrated at how shaky and weak he sounds for someone that wants to be taken seriously. “I don’t want you touching me.” Uzui narrows his eyes, like an annoyed cat being told what to do. But he does what he’s told and takes his hand off his thigh. “And...and don’t speak. You can. I mean–just stop saying those things, it’s embarrassing.” And then for safe measures, “Please.”

He’s hesitant to take his hand off, but Uzui listened to him so he feels like it’s only right to do the same. When he does and leans back, he doesn’t look nearly as annoyed.

“Okay.”

Zenitsu’s face scrunches in confusion.

“Okay?”

Uzui quirks an eyebrow. “You told me to listen, so I am.”

He brings his arm back to his original position, tucked behind his head and away from soft thighs, like proof that he’s being genuine.

Zenitsu’s not sure how to handle that—Uzui’s willingness to submit so easily. It’s out of character for someone like him, yet he listened, obliged to Zenitsu's not-so-nice demands. He knows to hide his astonishment though, to collect himself before his patience runs thin and he takes it all back.

He wants to be on his best behavior. So he focuses on making Uzui feel good, his hands pushing down on firm abs to lift himself up, adopting a slow and steady rhythm.

Without the usual teasing commentary, his ears happily perk up at every indecent noise between them. Each one is somehow louder than the last, and he swears it’s worse on the way down. He breathes through his nose, not trusting his mouth to behave as he completely sits, the wet sound of skin touching making his insides flip in every direction.

He’s big. Entirely too big. Zenitsu can finally admit that.

Being fucked and having to fuck himself onto his dick are apparently wildly different things. Worlds apart. Sweat forms at his temples, feeling himself getting overheated again.

It should be a sin to have this large of a man inside him. Underneath him. Yet he wouldn’t give this up for anything else, because there’s nothing that his insides can’t feel, doesn’t need Uzui to be vocal to know what he likes.

His cock pulsates, the rhythmic beat of his heart pumping too steady and calm for Zenitsu’s liking. And then it dawns on him, that he’s not as sane as he thought he was.

He rolls his hips, blunt nails digging into Uzui’s stomach. His cheeks flush so violently it leaves him dizzy, thinking about how he’s too self-conscious to be doing something so vulgar. But he does it again, and again. Repeating it until he feels his cock twitch inside him, veins pulsing with blood against his walls.

He can’t hold off anymore. He sneaks a glance toward the man below him, and he almost chokes on the air that he’s breathing.

Uzui’s staring at him like there’s literal hearts manifesting around him. Infatuated with his view of Zenitsu.

And he stares right back, unwavering, because he can’t wrap his head around it. He wants so desperately to understand his reasoning, but he can’t possibly focus on something as complicated as Uzui’s fascination with him. Not when his hips are rolling faster, his hands climbing their way up higher until they’re pressed against his chest.

Uzui doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t tease him.

Telling him to keep his comments to himself was honestly for the better. He’s not sure he’d be able to handle whatever’s going inside his head right now.

But it doesn’t really matter in the end. He follows his hand, watches as it comes up from behind his head and drops down in between Zenitsu’s legs, breaking his promise.

His thumb brush against his tip, scooping up some of his cum to put it in his mouth before sucking on it.

Zenitsu almost shrieks. His bouncing coming to a stop.

“Why would you do that?! I told you to keep your hand to yourself!”

Purposefully making it worse, his thumb comes out of his mouth with a pop.

“I’ve already told you that can’t control myself around you, didn’t I?”

His words coupled with a voice that sounds like it’s trying everything to keep itself from pinning him down makes him light-headed. He tries to breath, to force more oxygen into his lungs but it’s too shallow, too shaky to make him feel better.

He begins rolling his hips again as he whines, not caring how high-pitched and pathetic and needy he sounds. The dense lust pooling below his navel is driving him insane. And his mind isn’t much help, prodding him to reach down and wrap his hand around his dick to ease the awful feeling,

A few pumps is all he manages to get in before Uzui grabs his hand.

“Ah-ah. You came without your hand, I want you to do the same.”

His jaw drops, his eyes wide. It takes him a second to respond. “You heard that too?!”

“You thought I could hear you taking off the weights by the mountain but you didn't think I’d hear you in the same house?”

Uzui gives him a disapproving look, like he’s stupid, and he doesn’t blame him, a pout forming on his face.

“I’m not thinking straight.”

“That makes two of us.”

He could’ve just stopped there. Said what he needed to in some vague sense instead of grabbing Zenitsu’s hand and bringing it to his mouth, laying his tongue flat on his palm and licking.

The disgust on his face grows, watching as his fingers get sucked into his mouth, licking every bit of cum off of each digit. It clicks in his head about half-way in.

“S-Stop it!” He tries to pry him off but his tugs weaken rather quick, knowing better than to waste his energy. “Stop, I’m being serious! Uzui-san!”

A particularly hard suck on his index fingers elicits a whine, his tongue swirling around to make sure he’s all clean.

“You taste delicious. Next time I’ll have you sit on my face.”

The speed of his own mind engraving that image into his head is uncalled for, too explicit in every aspect for him to not scream.

“You’re insane, I’m not doing that!”

“You think you have a choice?” he asks calmly. “Whatever you do, it’s only because I let you.”

All the sweat on his body cools, his skin cold and damp. A violent shiver runs down his spine as he inhales, but doesn’t let it out.

His words suddenly scare him, because fundamentally, they are absolutely true. They’re a reminder of what he’s capable of, something that he’s already proven to him once and won’t hesitate to do again. A simple threat. Uzui can do whatever he pleases to him, have him pinned down and used like a doll until he’s unconscious, and Zenitsu could have no say.

He knows this.

He walked into the lion’s den, knowing all that’ll be left of him is bones.

He has no one to blame but himself, but even then, he barely has remorse.

The tremors in his hands never lessen. They shake, pathetic and scared, as he places them on his chest. He rides him, slowly bringing himself back to that slow pace he had before, until he’s bouncing again, fucking onto him with the knowledge that it’s only because he’s allowed to.

And he can’t bring himself to care, or convince himself that this isn’t okay. He’s too far gone for that now.

Uzui moves his hand. Again. Whether he’s trying to provoke him or there was actually some honestly when he said he can’t control himself, he doesn’t know. But he follows his movement, this time bracing himself as his thumb and index finger come to twist at his nipple.

No, fuck. please. don’t, don’t-

“So cute.”

He moans, cute and whiny, just the way Uzui likes it. For a moment, he thinks about slapping his hand away and reminding him of their agreement from earlier. But he’s doubtful of his willingness to listen to him anymore.

Zenitsu sighs, but not out of annoyance—Uzui seems to have a talent for drawing out content sounds from him, even when he should be very annoyed.

Uzui thumbs at his sensitive bud, coarse fingers massaging in gentle, light circles. Its blissful, such a small and insignificant touch yet it drives him up the wall, even courteous to alternate his teasing.

He feels lucid, his judgement incoherent. Chasing after that euphoria is the only way he can give his existence meaning right now.

And he moves; more aggressively, more quickly, giving chase to it but failing.

The longer he’s sits on top of him, the worse his thighs burn. He whines, teeming with frustration because the dull numbing ache spreads down the entirety of his legs, unable to feel his lower half and forcing himself to slow down.

He’s close. So close he can feel how hard and swollen he is yet he can’t do it anymore.

Relief calls for him, tells him to give Uzui the reins instead but he’s hesitant, unsure about the potential of being under him. How his mind and body would react to it.

He’s not given any time to dwell on it though. Uzui is perceptive as ever.

“Want some help?”

Zenitsu just nods, unsure of the specifics but needing whatever Uzui’s about to give him. His hand grabs at his waist tight and he feels his legs shift a bit, the pads of his feet flat on the futon.

“Ready?”

A weaker nod, with much weaker hands on his chest. Uzui takes it as yes, and lifts his hips up, slamming into him harder than Zenitsu could ever manage on his own.

And it’s perfect. Completely and utterly perfect. His cock forces out a gasp, meeting that sensitive wall that has his toes curling and back arching, his sweaty palms pressing into his chest. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. A piece of his sanity is stripped from him, and Uzui goes on to take away more.

It’s one thrust upwards after another. Each one closer to making his whimpers turn into full blown moans, but he restrains himself, closing his eyes and letting his nails dig into the soft flesh of his muscles.

A bead of sweat drops down from his temple, onto his sternum. His cock is almost entirely out, besides the tip, and Uzui kindly asks, “I wanna hear you moan my name like you did the other night, can you do that for me?”

Zenitsu makes the mistake of looking up.

The first thought he has is that he’s beautiful. Gorgeous. Not a flaw on his face, even with a scar running down his eye. His lips are slightly parted, his breathing on the heavier side. And then his second thought is what really ties everything together—the hint of pink on his cheeks.

Uzui’s blushing. There’s a rush of blood under his skin, a response he can’t hide, nor control. And he feels strange, suddenly feeling like he’s not supposed to be here, not supposed to be seeing the man he used to hate underneath him with a blush on his face that seems to be deepening by the second.

He doesn’t think he can say no to him.

His hips picks up the pace again, his cock burying itself into the wet and sloppy heat of his insides. He lets himself go, freeing himself of every thought and worry and reminds himself of how good he felt rutting against his pillow the other night, and now, how amazing Uzui actually feels between his thighs.

“Uzui-san.” He pleads, the quiet moan of his name escapes his lips. The first one of many after what feels like so long. “Faster, please...please–”

Without fail, Uzui bathes in the delightful sounds that he asked him for, the spark he needed to ignite the flame.

He fucks him so hard it’s almost painful, swearing that if he had the time to look down, he’d see his cock protruding from his stomach. But he’s too delirious to care about pain and how he’s going to feel afterwards. It feels perfect. The angle is perfect. Everything about this right now is more than he could ask for.

He moans Uzui’s name again, and again, until his slurred, blabbering words are drowned out by the echoing of soaking wet skin slapping against each other. Every thrust rattles him, shakes him from the bottom up. His cock bounces just as aggressively as him, except it’s swollen and leaking, each bounce making it throb so brutally he whimpers.

Uzui’s grip on hip tightens, and he’s sure his whimpers aren’t whimpers anymore. He’s crying, tears and sweat and cum joining altogether on Uzui’s chest and he can’t help himself, hoping for his forgiveness at the end of this.

“Fuck. Agatsuma–”

He’s not sure who tips over the edge first.

Uzui’s thrusts lose their rhythm, but Zenitsu holds his breath all together. He comes with his eyes closed, his mind dizzy and swaying and feeling like he’s been inebriated with too much sake for his own good. His jaw falls, all his pleasure breaking open like a dam and spilling hot, white cum between them as Uzui fucks him.

Uzui spills inside him with a deep guttural moan. Milks him dry until he’s far overstimulated and spent.

He slows down, his movement coming to a stop and Zenitsu shakes. His entire body feels weak, his arms trembling as they give in and he collapses on top of Uzui.

There’s too many liquids between them. Inside him. The cum and sweat sticking to his overly warm body and making him internally squirm.

But he lies on his chest, his breathing heavy and head drowsy with sleep. He hears Uzui beneath him, his heart pumping in quick rhythmic beats, still beating strong. And he feels his chest expand with each inhale, Zenitsu moving along with him, like he’s out at sea, each wave lulling him to sleep.

He trusts Uzui to clean him up, slipping in and out of consciousness to feel bits and pieces of what he’s doing. His cock slides out first and an emptiness consumes him. But he’s satiated, so he doesn’t fuss over it. He rolls them over, and this is where he yawns, too weak to fight the comfort of soft sheets against his worn out body.

A wet cloth runs over his skin at some point, maybe inside him too. The last thoughts he has before drifting off is how nice and cool it feels against his hot skin, then how warm he feels afterwards—something enveloping him whole, keeping him close and safe, hidden away like a gem.

The embrace from last night bleeds into the early morning.

Uzui wakes him up, in a kinder manner than the few times he’s done before. A simple kiss to his ear. Gentle words disguised as a hushed command. His arms unwrap from his body, letting the chilly air stir him awake.

He sits up, bleary eyes watching Uzui get ready.

“I’m starting to think you’re not a morning person.”

He isn’t. Zenitsu came to that same conclusion a while ago.

But mornings like these are different, he thinks. Comparing them doesn’t seem fair.

All the aching and creaking he felt deep in his bones the night before have waned, soothed by sleeping like a baby in Uzui’s arms. He wants to tell him this. Needs to, because it’s important that he knows this for some reason. But his muscles are too slack right now, body lightly swaying, fighting to stay awake.

Curling into the sheets and burying his face into the pillow sounds divine right now, much more satisfying than pushing his body to its limits under the scorching sun.

He’s heavily considering it until Uzui drapes a piece of clothing on his lap and walks out without making another comment.

Zenitsu rubs at his eyes. Blinks a few times.

It takes him another moment to realize he’s been left alone. Increasingly more late as the seconds tick by.

He scrambles to get out the room, then swivels back once the cold air really hits him and grabs the yukata, throwing it on and running back to his room.

Outside, he barely makes it in time. Another morning of shuffling footsteps instead of the calming silence and the quiet chattering of his friends that dawn brings him.

Uzui’s gaze is on him, and he knows he has something to say, so he plants his feet to the ground and waits for him to walk over. It’s just a few seconds, but he’s anxious, urgently wanting to have a head start like the rest of his friends.

“You’ll get your weights tomorrow,” Uzui begins, and Zenitsu’s face lights up. “If you’re early and breathing the way you should be.”

He nods, like a dog wagging it’s tail in joy. Maybe he shouldn’t be so visibly happy to hear that. Tomorrow, he’ll have a much different, sour reaction to heavy weights being dropped at his feet. But as of right now, he doesn’t care. After feeling stagnant for the longest, there’s a physical trophy to be won that’ll show his improvement.

Uzui dismisses him and he turns, sprinting to catch up to his friends.

It’s not too long before he falls into step with the rest. Deep, calm breaths driving him forward. Small talk here and there distracting him from the blazing sun. He falters a bit on the way back, the continuous non-stop running for literal hours taking a toll on him but the promise of the weights keeps him afloat.

When he arrives, he’s under better conditions than he’s ever been. There’s sweat coming out of every pour of his body, the humidity suffocating him more than usual. But out of all the demon slayers around him, Uzui has his sight set on him, every bit of his attention (that should be evenly distributed amongst all his students like a well-behaved teacher) is directed towards him.

The weary bodies scattered around his peripheral are set aside, crystalline tunnel vision taking over to watch the man walk over to him like they’re the only ones here.

An excess amount of eyes are on them, following their movement like hawks and Zenitsu tenses up, as if staying still will prevent him from being perceived.

Uzui leans down next to his ear, flashing a smirk that lets him know that he’s well aware of the atmosphere he’s purposefully created.

“You’ve satisfied my expectations,” he says, the deep rumble of his voice just low enough for Zenitsu to hear. “I think you deserve something special tonight.”

He turns, speaking to the rest of the demon slayers in his usual fierce and rough volume and leaving Zenitsu behind him, cheeks a bright cherry-red.

No one’s listening. Dozens of young, curious eyes too intrigued at the sudden exchange to lend their ears to something as boring as a routinely dismissal.

The tension dies down seconds after as they all go back inside. Zenitsu hasn’t recovered, even as he heads to his room to cool down a bit before heading to the onsen. His plump cheeks still have a tint of color to them. A light pink but drenched in humiliation.

The conversations he has with his friends plays out somewhat normal, a bit awkward at first with eyes that don’t exactly meet his. But they don’t ask. The topic of what happened prior is never brought up, even when he thinks the moment’s about to come and he has to conjure up some nonsensical excuse on the spot.

Uneasiness trickles into a greater pool of worry, but he casts it aside for later.

Night comes and he finds himself in Uzui’s room again.

He’s silenced before he can voice his indignation at his stunt from earlier, ravished in ways he’s never been before.

Hungry kisses and forceful bites pepper their way down his body. There’s still care in the way he marks him though, tenderness that he allows to slip between each wound. A cool palette of the darkest blue and purple hues is painted on his pale skin, and he thinks Uzui might stop somewhere, the sight of bruised and devoured inner thighs deterring him into a path of mercy.

That path is never found, nor sought after.

For the very first time, Uzui’s mouth finds its way around his cock, an entirely new feeling altogether as he squirms, thighs clenching, trying to figure out how to handle the overwhelming sensation of pure wet heat wrapped around him like this.

Navigating Uzui’s comments on top of it doesn’t help.

He doesn’t appreciate the remarks concerning his size, muttered breaths of just how cute and tiny he is, how he can fit his entire length in his mouth and how much more pleasurable that must be for him.

He’s not wrong. But when he comes a few seconds later, annoyance is engraved on his features. An immediate defiance that Uzui couldn’t care less about because the man already has his sights set on something else.

True to his word, Uzui forces him to sit on his face.

Zenitsu doesn’t just let it happen without resistance though. Several minutes pass by of the most patient and coercive tone out of Uzui that he’s ever seen. And it works.

He comes again with his hands fisted in Uzui’s hair, the obscene moans below him becoming more muffled the tighter his thighs squeeze his face. A few shy rolls of his hips to ride out the last bit of pleasure and he taps out. Fatigue and shame settling into him so deeply and thoroughly he flops back down on the futon.

Sleep overtakes him, his droopy eyelids more persuasive than the coaxing being whispered in his ear.

If Uzui wants to take him apart further he shows no signs of resistance. There’s a few kisses here and there that leads him to believe he’s going to take what he wants.

He’s not sure he ever does.

Uzui tucks his fangs in for a moment, wraps his sturdy arms around his waist and presses his warm chest against him like he always does (there’s an order in his movement, a routine that accompanies their sleep every night).

The days that pass aren’t left unscathed, however.

He improves at a steady but quick pace, the weights comfortably and permanently wrapped around his ankles as he was promised, and he’s duly rewarded for it.

Every night is the same as the last; Uzui taking him apart and devouring him piece by piece. Bruises and love bites become embedded into his skin. Dark and high in contrast, too obvious to hide anymore so he dives in deeper and no longer finds himself in the onsen with his friends, but in the privacy of Uzui’s lavish one instead.

There’s a loneliness somewhere in his heart at first. The abandonment of a routine with dear friends to adopt a new one creating an unpleasant isolation.

He’s never been good with change.

But then Uzui says words that are laced with something saccharine. Intoxicating. Addictive in the worse sense imaginable.

“You’re mine. You’re all mine.” Uzui’s on him, inside him, everywhere all at once. His lips finds his. Gentle, yet frantic and lacking patience. “Even when you leave here, you’re still mine.” He nips at his bottom lip, hasty in his plea to be let in. “I don’t want you looking at anyone else—neither a Hashira nor that Kamado boy, do I make myself clear?”

Uzui’s greed ventures to every crevice that exists inside him, suffocating Zenitsu as he reels at his possessiveness, a sharp gasp directly inhaled into his lungs at the mention of Tanjirou.

He’s dizzy, his head spinning like he’s out at sea, tumultuous waves carrying him from one corner of the sea to the next. He tries to steady himself. Swallowing down bits of air in between hungry lips but even then, it feels like he’s barely keeping afloat.

The weight of his words drag him down, all the way to the bottom of the sea.

Here, there’s only Uzui.

Their bodies woven together, fingers entangled in between heads of hair. He’s being pounded into, fucked relentlessly and without rhythm. The only thing he can do is throw his head back as he gasps and whines, Uzui’s teeth and tongue painting what’s left of the delicate skin of his throat.

Nails dig into sweaty shoulder blades and he comes. Back arched and toes curled. Pleasure spilling out of him until there’s nothing left of him.

Silence overtakes the room and before he knows it, he’s clean and dozing off, warmly wrapped around arms that feel like they’re never going to let go.

He still tries to ask though, blinking away the drowsiness to abate his curiosity.

"How’d you know I like Tanjirou?"

A simple question. Yet it brings out a deep contrast of Uzui’s sound thrumming inside his chest. From calm and baritone to something more distorted and high-pitched.

"Why are you asking me like you don't already know?"

There’s a specific annoyance in his voice. Coercing him to try just a little harder to remember all the different ways he was apparent with his puppy love. And he does, the sound of his own heart beating like a war drum whenever his friend brushed his hand against his or stared at him for a second too long becomes the reminder he needed.

He was painfully loud with his infatuation with Tanjirou, an obvious, innocent, and youthful love that’s entirely too one-sided for him to ever actually take initiative.

“Would you be mad if I told him?” he asks suddenly.

The gentle hand running circles on his back comes to a stop, and Zenitsu stiffens, feeling the way Uzui tenses beneath him.

“No,” he says. And then adds. “It wouldn’t work out.”

His eyebrows pinch together.

“And how would you know that?”

He keeps his voice light, but an accusing tone lies beneath his question. The thought of Uzui coming to his own conclusions about whether Tanjirou would reciprocate his feelings makes his blood boil.

“He’s too busy trying to get into the water Hashira’s pants.”

Zenitsu blinks. A moment passes by and he lifts his head a bit, trying to get a good look at Uzui’s face to see if he’s fucking with him.

He’s completely serious.

“Tomioka-san?!” he almost yells.

“I know, I was shocked too,” he snorts.

Zenitsu comfortably lies his head back down on his chest but he’s still reeling. Not once has he ever noticed any signs of his friend’s affinity toward the water Hashira. Tanjirou would bring him up occasionally and his face would light up with admiration for the man. But the fact that it goes far past admiration and reaches into romantic territory?

He frowns, his face scrunched up and mind swarming. His desire to be destructive is immediate.

“I like Nezuko-chan–”

“Don’t even think about it.”

His command is stern. A rigidness that should thwart him from being temperamental.

“Why not?”

“You’re mine.”

There it is. That same phrase Uzui has been repeating for days.

Except it harbors something else inside it now. Greed. Jealously. A possessive resonance that’s now imbued into the sound thrumming inside him and it makes Zenitsu falter.

“...Didn’t you say you’re in an open relationship with your wives?”

“And?”

“Shouldn’t that apply to me too?”

“It should,” he says. “But it doesn’t.”

It’s hard to swallow. Getting past Uzui’s bluntness is always a challenge.

“Why not?”

“I lied.”

That’s not a first. Zenitsu is no stranger to it—it’s just the casualness of the delivery that gets to him.

He sits up.

“...What?”

Uzui sighs, his hand still warm and pressed against Zenitsu’s lower back. He doesn’t move, watching the older man lie there, staring at the ceiling before his gaze finally settles to where it’s supposed to be.

“I lied that first night. Neither me, nor my wives are allowed to be with anyone else. We made that rule when we first got together.”

Zenitsu quietly inhales, shock numbing his fingertips at the implication.

“You lied?...Why? Why did you break that rule?”

“Sometimes you have to break the rules to get what you want.”

He’s the exception to the rule. Something sacred broken in the pursuit of another.

He can’t handle hearing that.

“You should’ve asked your wives first,” he deflects. It’s all he can say but Uzui laughs in response, scooping him back into his arms.

“They like you, so I knew there wouldn’t be a problem.” No. Of course there wouldn’t be a problem. Such simplicity in his way of thinking, Zenitsu can only dream of. “I don’t regret it a single bit, it all turned out fine in the end, didn’t it?”

Yes. Maybe it did. He’s not too sure.

Uzui falls asleep first, lightly snoring in his ear while he stays awake.

The wound of revelation is all too fresh for sleep to consume him. Endless thoughts of how he’s the object of all this man’s desires, how he strategized and schemed to get what he wanted, hunted and stalked until his prey finally laid in his arms.

It turned out fine in the end though.

It somehow always does.

“No more biting,” he demands. “Or leaving bruises.”

He shifts on the wooden stool, attentive to the way Uzui momentarily stops scrubbing his back, then continues.

“Why not?” he asks, sounding displeased. “You don’t have to bathe with me if you don’t want to.”

Zenitsu holds back a sigh, knowing the outcome was just going to produce a fussy and jealous Uzui.

“Of course I want to. I just. I miss my friends,” he admits. “I can’t let them see me like this.”

“Again, why not?”

If spending an increasingly high amount of time together has taught him anything, it’s that he has very little patience while Uzui likes to be persistent. Counting down from ten to calm down is something he’s adopted these past few days but moments like these, where it feels like Uzui is being oblivious on purpose but he actually isn’t, is where he breaks.

“Do you know how crazy I’d look after not bathing with them for so many days and just joining them all bruised like this?! How the hell would I explain this to them?”

He appreciated the simplicity at first. No fabricated lies to his friends that needed explaining as to why he’s not bathing with them—he’s far too ahead of them to just wait around in his own sweat for so long. But now that they’re improving just as quickly as him, he has no excuse.

“Simple, you tell them we fuck every night and move on.”

He swivels his head around, just enough to give him a glare. “I’d look even crazier!”

“Only you think that,” he retorts.

Zenitsu can feel his well amassed patience quickly slipping. “No, I’m not. Everyone’ll think that. You just don’t care enough about anyone’s opinion.”

“See, you’re finally getting it.”

“That’s easy for you to say!”

The puddle of water beneath him no longer touches his feet. It takes him a second to realize Uzui has an arm wrapped around his waist, carrying him all the way into the onsen like a sack of potatoes.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

Uzui’s grip turns lax, so he takes the opportunity to swim away from him, just enough to keep a fair distance. Even after explicitly telling him to not leave any marks on him, he doesn’t trust him to keep his tongue and teeth to himself.

“You’re insanely strong. You can afford to not care about people’s opinions.”

“What does strength have to do with anything?” he asks, sounding all too fed up. “Are you implying that if you were stronger, you’d beat your classmates into submission?”

“No.”

“So what’s your point? Constantly valuing people’s opinion of you is a sign of weakness. Are you implying you’re weak?

Zenitsu pauses, watching Uzui’s face slowly contort into a nasty glare as he utters a quiet ‘yes’.

He lowers himself further down into the water, the steaming water helping to cover his face.

“I’ve been thinking about letting you pass.”

Zenitsu perks up, a bit taken back at the sudden change in topic.

“Are you serious?”

“I’ve already told you, I’d never joke about your-”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts. He’s heard him say it one too many times. “I just...I don’t think I’m ready.”

Uzui’s takes a moment to respond, probably trying to not let his anger boil over if the deep exhale is anything to go by. “You have no problem fussing over your classmates’ opinion of you over something stupidly small but then you don’t listen to someone’s opinion you should value?”

Zenitsu pouts.

“You know I’m right, stop pouting.”

“I never said you were wrong. And I am valuing someone’s opinion that matters,” he argues. “More than yours.”

It comes off a bit harsher than he intended and he cringes, not blaming Uzui as he obviously takes offense.

“Who?”

“My grandfather,” he says quickly.

“...And what did he tell you?”

Uzui’s face softens, and Zenitsu comes to realize it’s the first time he’s talked about his family to him.

“Don’t practice until you get it right, practice until you can’t get it wrong,” he explains happily, a giddy feeling rising in his chest. “He always told me that, and I’ve always listened. I don’t wanna stop now.”

He swears he can see a slight smile on Uzui’s face, and the next words out of his mouth is praise he’d never thought he’d hear.

“Your grandfather is wise,” he says, leaning back and closing his eyes. “Get stronger to protect him. I can tell he really cares for you.”

The lecture he was about to have is gone, replaced with a moment more personal, something he’d be willing to share with Uzui more often.

His training reaches its end for the day, his friends and other demon slayers long left behind while he’s already near the courtyard.

Uzui come into view, his arms behind his back and face passive.

When he stands before him, it’s on his two stable feet, feeling a bit winded but his stature straight and sturdy.

“Take off the weights.” There’s no hesitation in the way he bends down and slips them off, holding them in his hands in front of him as he looks at Uzui, curious about where to put them or what to do next. “Come.”

A simple command that he’s grown accustomed to hearing when he enters Uzui’s room late at night. It’s strange when he says it out in the open, like it’s something taboo only meant for his ears, the most intimate and wild sex imaginable that follows after and not a simple word that’s in everyone’s vocabulary.

His stomach feels funny but he trails behind Uzui like an innocent little duckling, oblivious to his surroundings.

Uzui stops near the engawa with Zenitsu right at his heel. He’s about to ask him what they’re doing until Uzui turns, grabbing him by his uniform and roughly dragging him next to the wooden edge. He drops the weights, a hefty amount of kilos just shy of breaking all his toes.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Giving you your reward.”

Zenitsu looks up at him, eyes wide. He can’t be serious.

“Here?!”

“You’re mine. You said I can do whatever I want with you,” he says matter-of-factly. “So bend over for me.”

Leaning to the side, he peeks over Uzui and stares down the beaten path for any black uniforms to come to his rescue. He doesn’t see, nor hear anyone.

“But…there’s still others coming…what if–”

“They see?” he asks, a gentle hand cupping his chin and a tilt of his head that’s a little too condescending. “I’ll fuck you harder then. Give them a show they’ll never forget.”

His knees become weak far too quickly and they almost give out from under him.

“Are you crazy?!”

“Do you really have to ask? Strip.”

Another command that belongs in the confines of the bedroom that Uzui has happily brought to the outside world. If he had the guts, he’d make a joke and say his decision to fuck one of his students with the potential of the other demon slayers bearing witness to it is more insane than his ill-conceived plan to rape him.

His thoughts and body seem to be at odds however.

The thought of getting caught with Uzui’s cock shoved so deeply inside him with an entire audience scares him to death. But his hands are already on his belt, undoing the buckle and turning around, his bare ass on display as his pants and fundoshi bunch up at his ankles.

He bends over the engawa, blunt wood digging into his ribs. Despite the sun’s heat, the slight breeze has him shivering. He’s too exposed.

“Good boy.”

As restricted as the clothes around his ankles are, Uzui still gives him a light kick with his foot, spreading his legs just a fraction more. He hears him undoing his yukata, and not a second later, the sound of a bottle being opened before it’s carelessly tossed on the engawa. It rolls, hitting the wall.

A slick and warm finger glides up against his hole, generously coating and teasing it until he slips in a finger. Zenitsu flinches, his breath stunted and ragged, unable to keep up with the amount of heat rising to his face.

He feels light-headed. Unwell. Yet Uzui takes his sweet time. Each finger that slips in is playful but meticulous, thoroughly stretching his tight walls so he’s all nice and prepared for his cock but loving the feeling of his tight ass around him all the same.

His middle and ring finger are knuckle-deep, curling and uncurling, Zenitsu knowing all too well what he’s trying to do but still being wholly unprepared when it happens.

Thick fingers find that perfect little bundle of nerves, and he gasps, pushing his hips back onto his hand as a whiny moan escapes his lips.

Uzui isn't too modest with his mouth either. Low and taut curses spill under his breath.

His impatience has him slipping a third finger in, and it’s just as slick as the others, but this time the burning ache shows itself. Uzui’s fingering slowly becomes more aggressive, forcing him to bite down on his lip and swallow every pained whimper.

But then he finds his way back to that sensitive wall, heady pleasure quickly accompanying pain, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore.

“Can you come for me like this, Agatsuma?” And then an offer that’s too good to be true. “I’ll be nice and let you finish on my hand.”

Zenitsu believes him. There’s no reason not to. That same restless voice, that same wavering tone—he’s well acquainted with Uzui’s way of showing he’s slipping, so he should seize the opportunity he’s been given without taking his generosity for granted.

A few more moments will go by. Both their pleasures will build up until they can’t hold it off, and this’ll all be done and over with.

His heart paces, almost too quickly for it to be healthy.

“N-No. I…” he shakes his head, an unspoken don’t want to, is lost to his embarrassment.

“No?” he asks, with a tinge of surprise. “You want my cock inside you?”

He aggressively nods, his bottom lip a bruised and swollen mess.

“I gave you a chance and you ruined it,” he taunts. “I knew it. You’re really that desperate to have your little friends see me fuck you, huh? Fine.”

All he gets is a few more pumps to stretch him out until he takes his fingers away completely.

Zenitsu lets out a shaky breath, resting his forehead on the engawa. His legs are shaking, fear consuming him as he strains his ears to hear any footsteps in the distance. There’s still nothing.

But…the wet and sloppy sound of Uzui fingering him momentarily had him distracted. Maybe they hid behind trees or bushes while he was in his own head.

He doesn’t rule that out, and tries to hear any whispering.

Again, there’s nothing.

Paranoia has him by the throat and its grip only gets tighter when he feels a wet tip press against his entrance.

The thickness doesn’t compare to his fingers. It never does. The head pushes past the tight ring of muscle, his walls clenching around his cock and welcoming every vein and pulse as he keeps pushing in. Uzui’s hand finally comes up to hold his hip, large and damp fingers digging into his skin.

Regret will soon join his paranoia if they’re caught, a lovely duo that would undoubtedly end him.

But in this instant, what he’s feeling at this very moment, is the only thing that matters. He wants Uzui, has him already, and he doesn’t want to let go.

Even his own instincts that always tell him to tread cautiously betray him, and he lets out a hushed whine, high-pitched and needy.

Uzui’s slow with his hips. He pushes in and out, each time seeping himself deeper than the last, as if to let him get used to his girth. Zenitsu would call him a gentleman for being so thoughtful but he knows he’s doing this on purpose, fully intending to get caught.

He can hear how unsteady his breathing is though, how shaky his hand is. Uzui can barely keep it together.

Deviously, he wiggles his hips.

“Uzui-san,” he mewls, heat rising toward his already reddened cheeks. He buries his face into his arms. “Please…please, I-I want you inside me.”

Pretty, filed nails sink into his flesh, reaching bone, and it's the only warning he gets before a shocked gasp pours out of his mouth.

Uzui snaps his hips forward, ramming his cock all the way in and filling him tip to base. Zenitsu sees stars, colorful little orbs painting his vision as he shuts his eyes, tears staining his face.

The pain crawls up his spine but he ignores it, savoring the heat pooling between his legs instead. His cock is hot and heavy inside him, throbbing, aching, and Zenitsu can feel every bit of it, so deeply and intimately it’s intoxicating.

Little huffs of air slowly fade into quiet moans as Uzui leans down, pressing his chest to his back.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

His voice is sultry in his ear, breathless and resigned. And it scares him, how much he’s the reason for Uzui falling apart each time, weakening at the seams all because of a few moans and pleas.

He indulges in it anyway, not one to shy away from instances like these.

“Uzui-san,” he moans, his name almost natural on his tongue. “Move already.”

Zenitsu waits for him to move back, to feel the slow drag of his cock and maybe another slam of his hips, but he gets nothing.

“Agatsuma, behave.”

A simple warning. He should heed it, but his voice is stern, not threatening, so it doesn’t deter him as much as it should.

“I am,” he whines.

Uzui bites his earlobe, giving it a rough tug before letting go. Zenitsu’s hand flies up, cupping his ear.

“What a manipulative little brat you've become,” he says. Were it anyone else, they would’ve easily overlooked the pridefulness in his voice. “Do you really think I don't know what you're doing?”

“I…I’m not doing anything.”

“Yeah?”

The next thing he knows, there’s a hand wrapped around his dick and Uzui starts pumping, almost mercilessly. Zenitsu draws in a sharp breath, panic rising in his chest.

“No! No, please–stop!” He’s begging, choking on a cry as his hand tries to pry off Uzui’s. “I told you I’m not doing anything! Uzui-san!”

Pleasure climbs up his legs like an animal, digging its claws into his flesh until they buck underneath the painful lust that accumulates between his legs. He feels his dick swell in his hand, far too sensitive to prevent the cum from leaking out.

Zenitsu bites down on his bottom lip with so much force, he’s sure he’s drawn blood this time.

“You swear you’re not teasing me so I’ll come inside you faster?”

Zenitsu whimpers, his small hand barely able to fully wrap around his wrist. He knows Uzui can hear the way his heart pounds against his chest, trying his best to hide from his ears but having nowhere to run. Still, he tries.

“I swear!”

Uzui’s hand slows, giving his length a nice squeeze before stopping altogether.

“You’re shit at lying, Agatsuma,” he says, placing a kiss on his jawline. “But I’ll believe you.”

He finally releases his hand, bringing it back onto his hip.

If pleasure itself could speak, it’d be on its knees crying, begging for Uzui to wrap his hand around his dick again, unsympathetic to all the reasons why that shouldn’t happen.

He unclenches his jaw, skin practically stuck to his teeth as he lets go of his bottom lip.

Uzui’s hips start moving, and a wave of relief washes over him, leaving him a bit shaken at his poor attempt to tease the man.

This is as close to mercy he’ll ever be given by Uzui, he thinks. But once he feels his cock sliding out of him, a slow and deliberate drag that brings him to his senses, he wonders how any of this is merciful.

He should’ve taken Uzui’s offer and came with his fingers inside him. He should’ve let Uzui’s anger run rampant and came with his hand wrapped around his dick. But he refused what would’ve saved him twice from having the other demon slayers seeing him fucked and manhandled by their teacher.

It’s almost as if Uzui’s right. He wants to be caught.

His eyes widen, like the revelation’s some kind of shock to him when he already knew his own intentions the second he undid his belt and pulled down his pants.

Who the hell is he trying to fool? He’s embarrassing. No dignity or shame running through his veins.

Another drag of his cock, the fat tip pushing into him and making his insides stretch so wide it actually convinces him that he’s completely justified, his actions wholeheartedly rational.

Uzui sighs behind him, standing upright again, his warm chest no longer pressed against him and though Zenitsu instantly misses the contact, he won’t miss the amount of sweat accumulating on his back. Even with the shade of the roof above him, he’s a sweaty, damp mess.

He begins fucking him, a slow and steady pace but fucking him nonetheless. Zenitsu matches his breathing with each roll of his hips, inhaling when he moves in, exhaling when he pulls out. It has a pacifying effect on him, but once Uzui’s cock presses against that smooth and sensitive spot, it does little to calm him.

Electricity fires through him, sprouting little sparks of energy to every crevice of his body and he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, his jaw falling slack and letting out the most lewd moan from his mouth. A simple nudge of his tip is all it took for him to melt onto the engawa.

And the devil that Uzui is, he makes sure to repeat it as many times as he needs to until Zenitsu is a sobbing mess, but not before playing around with him first.

He abandons any kind of pace. His cock is still nestled deeply inside him, hips adhered to his ass and filling him up until he swears he can feel Uzui’s cock in his belly, then decides to pull out half-way, leaving him just the perfect amount of empty to have him feeling desperate and agitated.

And then the worst comes, his cock pulling out completely while his hand leaves his hip to hold the base of his cock and playfully rub his cum-smeared tip on his entrance, teasing and toying with him like they have all the time in the world.

Zenitsu whines, not strong enough to hold back from wiggling his hips again, hoping and praying that Uzui doesn’t get angry again.

He doesn’t make any show of it if he is. If anything, he grants his wish and slides his cock back in, almost hissing at the sudden stretch.

And then he’s back to fucking him again, his strange teasing seemingly satisfied as the sound of skin lightly slapping together fills the space around them. He bathes in the sensation, completely intoxicated from the way he rocks back and forth with each thrust, gasps leaving his throat in rhythmic little ah, ah, ah’s that drown out any possible sounds of footsteps nearby.

He feels cum leaking from his slit, and he makes the mistake of feeding his curiosity by looking down, seeing how pink and swollen his cock rests between his legs, gently pressing against his lower tummy.

He stares down at himself until tears form, confused as to why he’s suddenly crying and thinking maybe he’s overwhelmed or the severity of his actions are finally catching up to him. But then thinks it doesn’t matter. Trying to piece together his emotions never led him anywhere.

“If only you could see yourself right now,” he says, low and breathless. “Your little friends would do anything to be in your position.”

Zenitsu whimpers at the mention of his friends, at all the other other demon slayers seeing him right now, their chests burning with jealousy and legs shaking with desire, every part of them wishing they could be in Zenitsu’s place.

He can’t imagine that.

“N-No…they wouldn’t–”

Uzui mixes in a particularly hard thrust in the midst of all his soft and evenly paced ones, before leaning down again next to his ear.

“I hear more than you’ll ever know,” he says quietly, almost like a threat. “You’re not the only brat here that wants me inside them.”

His heart sinks.

That thought never crossed his mind until now, the concept of others viewing Uzui anything other than a Hashira or teacher is almost foreign to him. He’s never heard anyone speak about him in any other way besides negatively, criticizing his harshness and apathy. He’s never even heard anyone’s sound change, that constant fearful buzzing in their chests always present.

He’s not lying though. Has no reason to be. Zenitsu has been too caught up in his head to be sure of anything.

“You’re lying.”

The words are out of his mouth before he realizes, and a menacing tone finds it way on Uzui’s tongue.

“Oh? You wanna find out?”

His heart sinks deeper, further down until it feels like it’s reached his intestines, twisting and writhing.

He swears he can hear footsteps in the distance. Rhythmic stomping against the soil that seems to be getting louder by the smallest fraction.

“No! No no no I’m sorry.” He’s crying, his throat and chest tightening. “Uzui-san, please...I’m sorry–don’t–”

Uzui doesn’t listen, nor care.

Skin slaps against skin, the sound already so obscene yet Zenitsu adds to it, wailing as his cock slams into him mercilessly. He can feel his eyes roll back, the faint sound of footsteps drowned out by the wet sounds of sex.

The chance of being caught is high, too likely for him to remain calm.

Panic sets in while pleasure has long settled inside him, his heart violently pulsing with every single person’s face in mind, realization in their features that their friend is getting pounded into.

He gasps and moans, clawing at the wood beneath his fingertips. Uzui almost laughs.

“Any louder and they’ll hear you, Agatsuma. I thought you didn’t wanna get caught?”

“I don’t! I don’t, I don’t–”

“So then why the hell are you screaming?” he chides, but there’s a lack of force behind his bite. “Do you want them to know you’re mine? Is that it? Make them see who you really belong to?”

Zenitsu’s desire to nod his head, to tell him that yes, he does want all of that to happen, is so vehement he has to slap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from moaning that answer.

Some sick and twisted part of him wants even more than that, wants them to see how good he’s being fucked right now, Uzui slipping in a praise, calling him a good boy in front of them, taunting them with a command that they can’t refuse and forcing them to stand there and watch until they’re both finished.

Zenitsu whimpers, wondering when he’s crossed such a thick line. Teetering on the border between self preservation, a sense of respect for himself, to now disregarding and abandoning every fiber of his being and throwing himself in the jaws of a wolf, happily letting himself dangle between his teeth in front of all his other prey.

The lust between his legs is so heavy his cock physically aches.

Precum coats his tip, a pleasurable type of pain shooting through him every single instance that Uzui’s cock slams into him. He’s desperate to wrap a hand around himself and relieve the discomfort. An easy way out. But he holds off, prolongs his own suffering until he’s a crying mess.

Uzui’s deep moans behind him, edging near literal growls, has him feeling like he’s spiraling into a madness he doesn’t think he can ever get himself out of. He closes his eyes, deprives himself of his sight to heighten his other senses–closes them so tight he sees stars and nebulas in the black inked void–and lets everything crash into him all at once.

He holds his breath, hears his heartbeat quicken from the way it pulsates in his ears, falling in sync to the rhythm of each and every one of Uzui’s thrusts. It’s wet, so loud and sloppy there’s not a chance he can tell if anyone’s here right now, watching Zenitsu near his climax.

He bites down on his lip, only to gasp a second later, his jaw falling open as Uzui curses, his cum spilling into him. Warmth floods his insides, thick and heavy and almost like it’s never-ending with the way it fills him up, too much for him to completely hold.

Zenitsu wails, nails digging into wood as pleasure finally arrives in a rising tide, higher and higher until he feels like he’s drowning. He finally comes, untouched and swollen, his entire body shivering as cum eagerly spills out of him.

Uzui does him the favor to keep going until he milks every last bit of cum out of him, every last whimper and whine. His hips come to a stop when Zenitsu quiets, still in his hold. He pulls out, his cock sliding out and replacing that delicious fullness with a sore emptiness that Zenitsu has begin to loathe.

He leans in, his voice eerily too composed, too quickly. “I suggest taking your leave if you don’t want you friends seeing the mess I’ve made out of you,” he says. “Or stay, I don’t mind that either.”

A hard slap to his ass wakes him up, almost making his legs give out.

His eyes widen. The vulgar feeling of cum literally oozing out of his asshole and leaking down his inner thigh has him wanting to disappear, vanish into thin air.

Uzui’s walking in the other direction, composed and ready to greet the rest of his students.

Zenitsu on the other hand, is the complete opposite of composed.

He scrambles to lift all his clothes up, his hands shaking so violently he almost curses out loud when he can’t get his belt to click.

The collective panting behind him feels too nearby, like they’re breathing down his neck. But he refuses to turn. Even if they’re right at his heel, he keeps his back to them, his mind entirely on the situation in front of him.

He talks himself through it, deciding that the weights are his last priority, if at all. Uzui always leaves them on the engawa somewhere before handing them over to him in the morning, so he picks them up from the ground and places them up top.

His eyes widen. A brief glimpse of his cum splattered on the ground and a bit on the underside of the engawa finds its way into his peripheral when he bends down, but he ignores it. There’s nothing he can do about it now, can’t possibly clean it up when he hears Uzui’s voice behind him, talking directly to the crowd of demon slayers with eyes that are very much following him.

He thinks about sprinting inside, with stiff and awkward limbs that can barely keep him up. But he sees the bottle of lube against the wall, the one that Uzui carelessly tossed and left for anyone’s curiosity to take and examine, to leave them wondering who it could possibly belong to.

With burning red cheeks and a heartbeat that’s all too brisk for his health, he jumps on top of the engawa and snatches it. He runs inside, runs through the halls, runs straight to his room.

It’s not until his back slides down the shoji and he sits on the floor, the warm, gooey feeling of cum making everything finally sink in.

He needs to clean himself immediately, and waiting for Uzui doesn’t seem like an answer for him right now.

No one asks.

Everyone comes flooding in, some too tired to speak while others still have the energy to run their mouths and complain how exhausted they are.

Zenitsu sinks further into the hot water, his eyes half-lidded at the heat wrapping around his fatigued muscles. He watches as they all clean themselves from an entire morning’s worth of sweat and soil before walking over to where he is.

A handful of compliments are thrown his way once they get into the water. Their excitement pours out in kind words and encouragement, letting him know how proud they are of him while also praising themselves for catching up enough for them all to bathe together once more.

Still, no comments about seeing him by the engawa today. Their eyes are sincere and surely are their sounds, transparent little vibrations that calm him, even if only a little.

Keeping his composure intact is easy. Until his mind travels to what Uzui said earlier, that he’s not the only one interested in Uzui, his movements suddenly becoming unnatural and stiff, overly conscious of every part of his body.

It’s the reasoning he uses when a painful sensation makes itself known, noticing somewhere during his time eating with his friends.

Each time the fabric of his yukata brushed against his skin, right by his hip, he had to restrain himself from hissing with a mouthful of rice. The food was too delicious to focus on something like a minor injury, but as he walks back to his room, there’s a quickness in his step, eager to know how he’s gotten injured when he hasn’t done anything to warrant such a thing.

Illogically, he thinks maybe a wound has resurfaced from one of the demons prior, as if that’s not ridiculous and only there to distract him from the sneaking suspicion of what it really is.

He opens his yukata, and sees a large bruise on his hip in the outline of Uzui’s hand.

He slipped up. Electricity, as hot and exhilarating as it could possibly be in its natural state, shoots down to his dick like a current.

It’s possessive. Temporary, but a mark nonetheless. Something that lets the world know that Uzui Tengen was too enamored to care about something as stupid as tenderness when he was trying not to lose himself inside his favorite student.

The next few decisions don’t feel real, like he’s not the one making them. But they’re his. From opening the bottle that he’s still in possession of, to lying down on his futon and spreading his legs, to small lubed up fingers shoved up his ass—they’re all his.

He presses his fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside him, a repeated and frantic little motion, back and forth, yet it’s so loud, the entire room filled with squelching sounds that has his face blistering red.

He comes to the thought of everyone in the onsen seeing the bruise on his hip, Zenitsu still oblivious while everyone steals jealous glances, knowing that large of a handprint can only belong to one man and one man only.

The handprint soon fades, only to be replaced by more bruises, more marks. He doesn’t bother to keep track anymore, nor does he care to scold the man for his indecency. Each night they spend together, another few are added; between his thighs, on his stomach, down his neck and lining his collarbone.

Some are given as rewards, others have no relation, a desire tainted with nothing but lust.

Tonight is a mix of the two.

He’s made Uzui proud; those are his own words. After he came back with minimal signs of fatigue, the weights around his ankles no longer a hinderance but a consolation, Uzui deemed his breathing technique perfect enough to pull him into his room again.

They exchange warmth between their bodies, sharing every kind of touch from harsh to gentle and everything in between until he thinks they’re both satiated, only to roll on his back and realize Uzui isn’t.

He’s enveloped again, smothered in heat and lust as he writhes beneath him.

“No matter how many times I fuck you, you’re still so tight.”

And sensitive, Zenitsu wants to add. This is going to be their third time having sex in one night and he feels disoriented, letting out a whiny cry as Uzui’s tip starts pushing into him, half-hard.

“That’s it,” he purrs, his voice resembling a man in bliss. “You like that, huh?”

Uzui has not once let up on the dirty talk and Zenitsu has not once gotten used to it. He buries his face into his neck, unable to stop his breathing from turning shallow.

“Just–shut up,” he strains to say, a noise at the back of his throat coming up as Uzui pushes in. There’s too much blood rushing to his face for him to think straight. “Stop talking. Please.”

“You don’t like it when I talk?”

Gentle yet hurt, an obvious combination that he likes to play with. Zenitsu gives a small shake of his head anyway, knowing it only spurs Uzui on even more.

“Why not?”

It’s a simple question, but he can hear the cockiness in his voice, the smirk spreading across his lips. Uzui relishes in these little moments where he can taunt and tease to his heart’s content, eliciting just the right responses to get himself off.

Zenitsu shivers as Uzui begins to pull out. “I just–don’t.”

“That’s a shame,” he says, edging toward a flirty tone. “I love your voice.” He pushes in again, adopting a steady rhythm. “It’s gentle and sweet. It reminds me of Suma’s.”

The comparison makes him latch on tighter, hoping for calm waters in the midst of an unsteady sea.

He doesn’t want to fall in, get swept up by the waves, never to return again. But that’s easier said than done. And the only saving grace he has is weak and unconvincing pleas that have Uzui’s hips digging in harder, more shallow.

“Every little noise you make, every time you say my name, it drives me insane.”

Zenitsu shakes his head, a futile attempt to rid himself clean of the filth coming out of Uzui’s mouth.

“Stop, please.”

“Those words, you moaned them, just like that,” his voice reverberates. “You were begging and crying for me to stop.”

In that moment, it clicks. Uzui imagination has taken a different turn, indulging himself in memories (the best he’s ever had) while he’s reminded of the worst night of his life.

“You’ll never get rid of me, Agatsuma. Even if you try running away, I’ll hunt you down to the ends of this earth to find you.”

Zenitsu holds his breath, feeling himself come undone as he tries to calm his beating heart—a naive little thing filled with excitement and hope in place of what should be bitter resentment.

‘Promise?’

He doesn’t know if he catches himself, or lets himself fall.

There’s only the softness of Uzui’s lips on his forehead and the sound of elation buzzing in his chest. And he’s warm, swaddled between the futon and Uzui, comforted somewhere between infatuation and possession.

Guilt has long seeped from his bones and all is left is an unconditional desire, a desperate longing.

They stay like that for a bit, breathless, unmoving.

Uzui’s the first to disrupt the calm, pulling out and quick to clean them both up. Helping is out of the question, Zenitsu has learned it’s not his role in the matter. So he lets himself lie there, his eyes following every movement until Uzui’s under the sheets.

“Come here.”

He scoots over, curling into Uzui’s embrace. It feels too natural, he’s not sure when that’s become a thing.

His melts into his arms, a comfortable silence in the air as they wind down.

And then Uzui says the words that neither of them want to hear.

“You’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

Zenitsu tenses.

He’s known for a few days now, aware of the little hints and praises Uzui has been dropping yet he still chose to be willfully ignorant to ease the inevitable. But avoidance isn’t an option anymore, he knows this decision is final.

Accepting it doesn’t change the way his chest aches though. The thought of moving on and leaving Uzui behind, every memory, whether good or bad, fills him with the same type of dread he felt when he left home. And his heart beats, young and fearful, unsure why until the words come out of his mouth.

"How do I sound like to you?"

The question comes as a surprise, even to himself. It’s been buried underneath layers of grieving, but the thought of this being their last night together is his incentive to ask, detaching himself of the idea that he might regret hearing Uzui’s actual feelings.

“Hm?”

Zenitsu frowns, wondering if he’s too drowsy with sleep to answer. He places his hand over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under his palm.

"Everyone has their own sound,” he explains, his voice unsure and shaky. “I wanna know how I sound like to you.”

There isn’t an immediate response. Uzui takes his time, his fingers lightly drawing circles on Zenitsu’s back.

"Like a little hummingbird,” he mumbles at first, taking a moment to himself in between. "Always anxious, always finding a reason to be scared,” he continues, softly and quietly. “And for that, I want to protect you, even if I know you’re strong enough to do so on your own.”

His cheeks are wet before he realizes.

Uzui eventually falls asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling while Zenitsu cries, wondering how this man has taken a place in his heart. How he’s allowed him to make a home in every crevice of his being.

And he’s not sure if he can ever go back.

The thought of leaving him behind makes his stomach turn.

He’s attached himself to Uzui, tightly wound to his side. And if he were to die, a part of him would die alongside him.

There isn’t much to pack.

His clothes and a handful of essential items go inside his bag, and his sword is at it’s rightful place, hooked and ready on his belt. His room looks bare, cleaned for the next demon slayer to make it theirs. He may not know them, but he wishes them luck and safety as he closes the shoji behind him.

Outside, the sun is well past the horizon, his friends waiting for him, eager to set foot toward a new Hashira.

Uzui is here to see them off. And as the warm sun beams on his skin, he realizes this is it.

“Took you long enough, I thought I was never getting rid of you brats” he says, as heartwarming as it can sound from him. “I better not hear from Mitsuri that you’re slacking off. I’m letting you all pass for a reason, so don’t embarrass me.”

Everyone responds in unison, giving their thanks as they bow.

“Dismissed.”

They raise their heads, all suppressing an excited smile. All except for one.

Zenitsu is the last to walk past him, their eyes meeting for a brief second, and then it’s gone, a fleeting moment lost to time.

He faces forward, watching his friends shuffle their feet and picking up the pace once they move past the entrance.

Their voices are light with joy, filled with relief and excitement and he’s unable to undermine them when he feels just the same. The fact that he passed the first Hashira and he’s currently on his way to the second has his heart soaring.

But he doesn’t fault himself when he also wishes for that fleeting moment to come back. He’s with his friends, yet he feels like his heart is only soaring from how empty it is, each beat echoing into a hollowness he’d never wish upon anyone.

He comes to an abrupt stop, his friends instantly noticing the missing sound of footsteps.

“Ah–I’m sorry,” he says, feigning a surprised tone. “I think I forgot something. I’ll be right back.”

Without giving them the chance to respond, he starts running back, his heart racing along with him. There’s a million things he’d like to tell Uzui, and a million and one promises he’d like to make.

But when he finally stands in front of him, every word escapes him.

“This better be good, Agatsuma.”

He takes a good look at Uzui, engraving this into his memory.

He wants to tell him that he’ll miss him. That he cares and longs for him, despite all the ways he’s wronged him. He wants him to know that he hates this world for being so cruel and taking away the people in his life. But he’s never been poetic, especially in such short, passing moments like these.

“Don’t die before I get back,” he says. “Or I won’t forgive you.”

Uzui’s face scrunches in confusion, then a mild anger that he knows is only a brief flame.

“Huh?! You came back just to tell me that?! As if, you brat!” he raises his voice, but there’s no genuine malice behind it. “Knowing you, you’ll die thinking about me instead of saving yourself.” He sighs, uncrossing his arms as his face softens. “I’d say the same for you, I won’t forgive you if you die. I trained you well, so I want you to come back to me even stronger, got it?”

He takes a second too long to answer, so Uzui takes a step forward. Then another. Until he’s leaning down, a pair of lips pressing against his forehead.

Zenitsu feels his body relax, the gentleness of the kiss the closure that he desperately needed.

“Now get out of my face. Your friends are waiting.”

He’s probably smiling like an idiot right now but he doesn’t care. He nods, turning on his heel and running toward his friends with a new fullness to his heart.

He eventually catches up, all of them standing around and talking at the spot he left them.

They’re on their way to the next Hashira, unsure how long the journey is ahead. But they all agree that Uzui trained them well enough to reach their next destination without much of a sweat.

The thought of Uzui lingers for the rest of the day, and he’s sure it’ll linger for a very long time.

Until they meet again.

On a chilly, early dawn. In a world with no demons.