Chapter Text
Shinjurou rubs his chin, brow furrowed in total concentration. Nothing has ever been more important than what he does in this next moment.
With a steady hand that contradicts all of the tension in his heart, he raises his hand. Picking up his next Go piece, he places it on the board and zeroes in on Kokushibou’s expression, searching like a man combing the ocean floor for any sign of strain from his clearly brilliant move.
But Kokushibou isn’t even looking at the board.
“Love, can you at least pretend like I’m a challenge?” Shinjurou sighs, but his lips quirk into a smile while he does.
Kokushibou’s attention snaps back to his lover across from him, eyes wide in shock as his mind gets pulled back from wherever it had wandered off to, carried away like a leaf on a stream.
“Apologies, I…have been thinking about…something very important.”
Shinjurou hums. “More important than Go? I gotta hear this.” Leaning on his elbow, Shinjurou looks up at Kokushibou, a gentle smile warming his face as he no doubt stares like a lovesick fool at the demon across from him.
‘I suppose I am a lovesick fool.’ And as downright disgustingly sappy that thought is, Shinjurou can’t find himself upset about it.
To think, just last year he and Kokushibou had the largest fight of their relationship, one that nearly split them apart and destroyed a sizable portion of the land around the Mist estate. But time passes quickly, especially when the days seem more like a dream than your reality. Waking in your lover’s arms, bonding, training, and parenting your sons—including giving them relationship advice that you may or may not be qualified to give—is a heaven Shinjurou never thought he’d have, and after so many months, the nagging thought of ‘this will all come crashing down eventually’ has started to dissipate. This truly is starting to feel like the rest of his life.
Across from him, Kokushibou breathes deep, hands clenching the sleeve of a deep burgundy yukata, his claws nearly shredding the fabric. He glances behind Shinjurou’s shoulder before giving a brief nod.
‘Oh, he’s talking to Yoriichi? Is it that serious?’
Shinjurou straightens, reaching across the table to hold Kokushibou’s hand as he feels the energy in the room shift. “Is everything okay?” he asks, brow furrowing as he sees the lines of tension building between Kokushibou’s eyes.
“Yes…I have just recently come…to a decision.” Kokushibou speaks, putting on his facade of indifference in a vain attempt to hide his own anxiety.
“Okay?” Shinjurou tilts his head slightly when Kokushibou holds his tongue. He can see Kokushibou’s internal arguments played out along his face, every sideways glance, every nervous bite of his lip; Shinjurou reads the fear in between the lines.
“Whatever it is, I won’t be mad.”
“No, I do not think…you’ll be upset with the decision. It…is more my fear…of the outcome.”
“Well whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” Shinjurou smiles. “But you gotta tell me what it is first.”
Kokushibou looks at Shinjurou, squeezing his hand as he takes a fortifying breath through his nose. Closing his eyes, he straightens as he breathes out, “I have decided…to take the cure.”
‘The cure? What… Oh!’
“Oh!” Shinjurou exclaims, shooting across the table to settle down beside Kokushibou. “When did you decide that?” he asks, pulling one of Kokushibou’s hands into his own.
“I have been thinking about it…since Senjurou’s birthday,” Kokushibou admits, an uncharacteristic shyness in his voice. “In only a year…he has grown so much and…it has made me acutely aware of…how time passes for humans.”
And Senjurou really has grown. In just a year, he’s shot up a few inches, beginning to catch up to his older brother. Instead of his head reaching Kyojurou’s shoulder, now it’s his chin, as well as his voice cracking more and more often, and—as much as Senjurou hates when it gets pointed out—on the very edge of his chin are the slightest wisps of hair.
All clear indications of just how fast things progress in so little time. And it seems that Kokushibou is worried about just how little time they have left.
“Is that part of what you’re afraid of? Time?”
“Part of it, I suppose… I fear how much I will change. It has…been many centuries since I was human…since I could feel the sun on my skin…or feel the passage of time…but every day I remain a demon…and you remain a human is another day…I lose with you in the future. Another day…that your lives tick on…while mine stays stagnant.”
Kokushibou looks up at Shinjurou gripping his hand like a vice. “I fear that if I wait…that your death marches closer…while mine stays affixed in the far…future.”
Shinjurou’s grip tightens. For all of the slayers, the promise of a future is still new, even almost two years after the eradication of Muzan, and Shinjurou is no exception. Ever since Ruka passed, his own death was something that had loomed over his shoulder like a shadowy beast, always present but just out of his line of sight. After a while, it had felt like a welcome companion, a steady weight he had grown accustomed to and that he could find refuge in in his lowest moments, that one day, after everything, he would die and be with Ruka again. Him leaving his sons behind had been a surety. As a Hashira and a father, it’s only natural that his sons would one day bury him so the thought of leaving them behind, while bitter, was unavoidable.
But then Kyojurou almost died.
The horrid, acidic burn in his lungs when he realized he might have to bury his son is a feeling he will never forget. There is nothing more horrific than a parent having to bury their child, and it was nearly Shinjuoru’s reality. But now, the threats to his sons’ lives—the major threat to his own—is gone. Now, the only thing that threatens their lives is the indomitable march of time and the decay of health.
Shinjurou’s advancing age had been a new gift that he never felt entitled to, but in relation to Kokushibou it hadn’t quite crossed his mind much. Even the concept of him taking the cure and becoming human once more was foreign, more of an amorphous possibility than an inevitable outcome.
Shinjurou shifts to rise to his knees in front of Kokushibou. He reaches up and cradles Kokushibou’s face between his hands, Kokushibou closing his lower eyes so Shinjurou’s fingers can rest gently against his cheeks. Kokushibou watches Shinjurou through a haze of confusion, allowing the soft touch without complaint.
Shinjurou moves Kokushibou’s head side to side, inspecting every curve, every angle of his face. He rubs a single finger along Kokushibou’s hairline, following down the bridge of his nose, brushing over his lips, and finally settling back to its spot on Kokushibou’s jaw.
“Yup,” he chirps, leaning forward to press a kiss to the slightly upturned tip of Kokushibou’s nose. “You’ll be just as beautiful without the extra eyes as you are with them.”
Kokushibou’s rich baritone laugh echoes in the space, his cheeks becoming dusted pink. “Well…I’m glad that I will stay…to your standards.”
“Kokushibou,” Shinjurou speaks without a hint of insincerity, his heart feeling as if it will burst from his chest with the sheer magnitude of his feelings for the demon—soon to be human man—across from him. “I’ll love you no matter what you look like.”
Kokushibou’s eyes begin to mist, a gentle smile softening his face as he reaches up to lay his hand over Shinjurou’s.
“I look forward to growing old with you, love,” Shinjurou whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to Kokushibou’s lips, his own eyes growing teary.
“And I, with you, my dearest.” Kokushibou pulls Shinjurou closer, firmly planting his lips on Shinjurou’s own as the two indulge in one another. The kiss carries no heat, no expectation of any further action, just the pure intimacy of sharing a soft moment with one another.
When the two finally release, Shinjurou rests his head against Kokushibou’s. “So when do you want to take the cure?”
“I’m…not certain. I would like to tell…the boys before I do.” Kokushibou directs his gaze to their laps, pulling one of Shinjurou’s down so that he can toy with his fingers mindlessly.
“Okay, do you know how you want to do it?”
“Perhaps…all at once.”
“So at dinner?”
Kokushibou nods.
“Okay, do you want to do it today or wait a while? I know that Senjurou’s having Tanjirou and his boyfriend over, so we could always wait.”
“He is dating…Genya, correct?” Shinjurou answers with a nod. “The boy is helping…Douma with his rehabilitation. I…believe he should know… He can tell Douma that I will also…be taking the cure.”
Shinjurou sits back slightly, surprised by the news. “Oh, I didn't know he had taken the cure.”
“Yes. I believe he is…the first…or one of the first. I do not know…whether Gyutaro and Daki have.”
“Okay, then we’ll do it tonight.” Shinjurou smiles, squeezing Kokushibou’s hand and raising it to his lips.
* * * *
Senjurou isn’t sure why exactly Shinjurou requested Koushibou’s childhood meal for dinner—or why he has to keep it a secret—but Senjurou is nothing if not adaptable, especially in the kitchen.
With a total of eight people coming to visit—and one being Kyojurou—he has a lot of food to prepare. On the bright side, Muichirou, Akaza, and Kokushibou are helping him cook before Genya and Tanjirou arrive.
As much as he appreciates the help, Kokushibou helping them cook makes it a little hard to keep his surprise meal a secret, and that's not even mentioning how Akaza keeps sneaking pieces of food, sips of broth, and little fingerfuls of rice as soon as either of them turn their back.
‘I swear, us figuring out he could eat food was the worst mistake we ever made.’ Senjurou thinks as he, once again, smacks Akaza’s hand out of the pot as Muichirou continues to stir it.
“It still needs to simmer! It’s not done yet,” he scolds, arms crossed as he looks at Akaza, fully taking advantage of his new height to level the playing field somewhat. Even if Akaza is still a number of inches taller. “Go fluff the rice, instead.”
“Okay, pipsqueak,” Akaza teases, spurring a roll of Senjurou’s eyes as the two return to their tasks, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables a steady backdrop to the last bit of their cooking.
“And Muichirou, please , if you see him sneaking bits of food, try and stop him.”
Muichiro only shrugs, smirking as he finishes stirring and removes the pot from over the irori to place Kokushibou’s surprise dinner on it instead. “It’s funny.”
Senjurou swears he is never letting the two of them help cook ever again.
“The gyoza are done,” Kokushibou calls, stepping away from the counter to reveal perfectly plated beef gyoza, complete with garnishes and a small side dish containing sauce.
‘At least someone else is helpful in the kitchen.’
“Oh, wow! Kokushibou-san, these look wonderful!” Senjurou praises as he walks over to take a deep whiff. “And they smell incredible too.” He turns to Kokushibou with a beaming smile.
Kokushibou looks down at Senjurou, answering the boy with a smile as well. “I believe…everything is almost done.” Kokushibou wipes his hands on the towel that hangs from his shoulder, dropping it onto the counter as he makes his way to the hallway. “I’ll go retrieve Shinjurou.”
Without waiting for a response, he disappears around the corner.
“Okay!” Senjurou calls after him.
Looking around the kitchen, he can see the majority of the terrifying amount of food is plated and ready. All that remains is Kokushibou’s surprise soup as it finishes simmering.
“Your boyfriends are here,” Akaza interrupts, casting a sideways glance at Senjurou with a smirk. Akaza is always the first to know whenever guests arrive, his sense for fighting spirits announcing their arrival before anyone else even knows they’ve entered town.
Senjurou scowls at Akaza as his face blushes furiously. “We’re telling everyone today, so shush.”
“Wait, Senjurou,” Akaza whispers, pausing mid-mince of some garlic and grabbing Senjurou’s attention before he can finally leave the room. “I guarantee Kyojurou’s gonna say it’s Tengen fault.”
Senjurou doesn’t even bother to hide his eye roll. “No he won’t.”
“Yes he will, watch.”
“He absolutely will,” Muichirou interrupts, moving to sit at the two tables that have been pushed side by side to make space for all eight of them.
“Just because Uzui-san’s the only example of someone with multiple partners he knows doesn’t mean he’s gonna bring him up.”
Akaza shrugs. “I don’t know, if there’s one thing he loves to point out it’s a pattern.”
Senjurou frowns. “It doesn’t even make sense, I barely see Uzui-san.”
“I don’t think you need to see Uzui-san often to get his influence.” Muichirou speaks, picking at dirt under his nail. “He’s extremely concentrated.”
Akaza points triumphantly at Muichirou. “See! He gets it.”
“Gets what?” Kyojurou asks as he enters the kitchen, but his focus immediately shifts to the plates of food that are scattered around the room. Taking a deep breath of the swirling aromas of home-cooked meals, he goes and takes his seat across from Muichirou at the table, all previous conversation forgotten at the promise of food.
“Nothing, Aniue.” Senjurou glares at his two adoptive brothers before he steps out of the room, finally able to greet his boyfriends as he ignores their muffled chuckles.
The timing works out well as in the next moment, the two boys knock on the door frame just as Senjurou reaches it. In his excitement, he flings the door open, a loud crack resounding in the space from the force of the shoji slamming open.
“You’re here!” Senjurou yells, throwing his arms around both Genya and Tanjirou’s shoulders.
In tandem, the two wrap their arms around him, Tanjirou pressing a kiss to Senjurou’s cheek as Genya presses one to the top of his head.
Despite Senjurou’s—and Tanjirou’s—growth spurts, Genya remains the tallest of the three of them and, if his current growth continues, he may even match Kokushibou in the future.
“I missed you!” Tanjirou smiles, squeezing the youngest Rengoku tight as Genya steps back. The minute Genya is aside, Tanjirou begins to lift Senjurou off his feet and swing him back and forth. “It’s been so long!”
Senjurou laughs as he feels his legs fly behind him. It truly has been so long since he last saw Tanjirou. The two exchange letters constantly, never more than a few days between each one, but Tanjirou’s home being situated high in the mountains—and both him and Senjurou playing vital roles in the running of their households—means that they rarely see one another in person.
This dinner is as much about telling Senjurou’s family about their relationship as it is the culmination of weeks of planning via letters coming to fruition.
Tanjirou finally places Senjurou back on the ground, the two resting their foreheads on one another.
“Okay, my turn,” Genya growls, the two turning to him as a mischievous smile splits his face, rapidly approaching his boyfriends.
“Wait, wait, Genya no, Senjurou might be di—” Before Tanjirou can finish, Genya wraps both of the two in a bear hug and lifts them off the ground, violently shaking them as he nuzzles his face into their necks, the barest hint of a purr rumbling from his chest.
Genya purring was definitely not something that Senjurou or Tanjirou had expected when they had all started dating, but it wasn’t something they minded. In fact, Senjurou thought it was the sweetest thing in the world. Anytime the three of them were together and in physical contact, Genya would start to purr. It wasn’t as audible or clear as the demons’ purring, but it had a distinctly rough, human edge to it that just made it feel so Genya.
Apparently, Genya himself didn’t even know he could do it until the first time the three of them had cuddled together and they all heard the odd rumbling sound. After several minutes of confused searching for a bug, or some kind of mechanical equipment that may be making the sound, they had settled back together, only for the sound to start again. Senjurou’s ashamed to admit it took them twice more before they figured out it was Genya making the noise.
“Oh.” Kokushibou’s voice startles the three out of the bubble of affection that had formed around them.
Immediately, the three scramble apart from one another, Genya’s face burning deep red as his mouth snaps shut, Tanjirou bowing deeply and asking for forgiveness for their behavior, and Senjurou stuck floundering.
He had been meaning to tell Kokushibou at the same time he told Aniue and his father, but apparently the gods didn’t have that in their cards.
“I-I can explain!” Senjurou stammers, taking a step forward and pushing Tanjirou behind him. “It’s—”
“You do not need to explain…little one. You are more than…welcome to have more than a single…partner. I was simply…surprised.” Kokushibou takes a step forward, ruffling Senjurou’s hair as he smiles down at the boy. “It is no concern…of mine. As long as they…make you happy…and treat you well.”
The last part of his sentence is punctuated with a heavy glare at Tanjirou. Senjurou isn’t that surprised by the behavior only being directed at Tanjirou. When it comes to Genya, Kokushibou seems to let a lot of things slide, even things that he wouldn’t allow from most others. Initially, this attitude was reserved for Senjurou and Muichirou, but after months of Genya visiting, it’s started to apply to him as well.
At first, Senjurou assumed it was Kokushibu’s way of expressing guilt for hurting Muichirou and Genya, but he makes the same provisions for Senjurou and Kokushibou never physically hurt him. The closest he ever did was his presence causing Senjurou to lose consciousness, but he doubts Kokushibou even knows that happened. And either way, Senjurou doesn’t blame Kokushibou. He knows it wasn’t on purpose, nor was it done with a particular intent to cause harm. It was just Kokushibou losing control a little bit in an intense emotional moment. An extremely human thing to do.
The only remaining explanation is that Kokushibou is actually fond of Genya, and as odd as it may seem, having one of his paternal figures approve of and even like one of his boyfriends lightens something in Senjurou’s chest. It loosens the tight grip of anxiety that constantly plagues his heart, this part of his life feeling just a little bit easier.
But Genya is only half of the equation.
This is actually the first time that Tanjirou and Kokushibou have ever met in a formal capacity. The only times Tanjirou ever visited, Kokushibou was away or was with his father the entire time, two droplets of rain rolling down the same windowpane but narrowly avoiding one another by mere millimeters.
“Yes, Kokushibou-san.” Senjurou nods, smiling at the man who has become his second father. “They do treat me well.”
Kokushibou nods, greeting Genya with a nod before turning around and walking inside. “Good. Dinner…is ready.”
Tanjirou, Genya, and Senjurou stare after Kokushibou as he disappears into the kitchen, astounded expressions on all of their faces.
“Well, I think that went quite well as far as first impressions go!” Tanjirou chirps, his usual optimism shining through.
“Tanijrou, he barely acknowledged us except when he threatened you.” Genya crosses his arms, his face beginning to cool and return to a normal shade now that Kokushibou had left.
“Maybe, but that just means I have the entire dinner to convince him to like me.” Tanjirou turns to the two with a beaming smile, grabbing both their hands and pulling them to the kitchen. “Come on! Let’s get some dinner.”
As they round the corner, Tanjirou drops their hands and—though he puts on a brave face—Senjurou can see a crease form between his brows. It’s his least favorite part about keeping this secret. On the rare occasion Tanjirou visited, they would cuddle in Senjurou’s room and exchange quick kisses, but they always had to be on alert, constantly listening for Shinjurou, Kokushibou, or Kyojurou.
As Senjurou feels Tanjirou’s hand slip from his own, his heart aches at the loss, immediately reaching for Genya’s hand in a search for a moment of comfort. Tanjirou walks in ahead of them, but Senjurou stalls in the doorway.
It’s as if a wall has formed before him, blocking his entry. If he steps through, that’s it, he has to tell them. It’s not as if he thinks they won’t accept them all, or tell them to get out or anything like that—he knows how loving and accepting they are of what makes Senjurou happy—but something in his mind whispers. It tells him that this will be the exception, that despite all of their behavior pointing towards them wanting the best for him, this admission and opening up will be the final straw.
Genya squeezes his hand, drawing Senjurou’s attention back to the present. When Senjurou turns, it’s to see a gentle smile and eyes brimming with patience and love.
“We’ll be fine,” Genya whispers, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the crown of Senjurou’s head.
With a shaky nod, the two enter the kitchen.
Everyone else has already taken their spot around the table, Shinjurou at the head of the table with Kokushibou directly to his right. Across from Kokushibou sits Muichirou, and beside him sits Kyojuoru and Akaza. Tanjirou’s taken the seat beside Kokushibou, leaving the other head of the table empty, and a single seat next to him.
Everyone exchanges greetings and Genya goes to take the spot beside Tanjirou, but at the last minute, Senjurou slips around him and sits on the cushion.
“What are you doing?” Genya whispers, an air of agitation in his voice.
“I wanna sit between you and Tanjirou.”
“I don’t wanna sit at the head of the table! I have to stare at your father, and I don't even know if he likes me!”
“My father’s not that bad anymore, and besides he doesn’t hate you.”
“Not hating is a whole lot different from liking.”
Senjurou rolls his eyes. ‘Why are so many of the people I know so dramatic?’
“Genya,” Senjurou smiles, grabbing one of Genya’s hands and massaging his knuckles. “You’ll be fine. And besides, I’d really like to sit between you two.” he smiles, looking up at Genya through his lashes.
Predictably, Genya’s cheeks begin to flush as he stammers, “Uh…o-okay.” and immediately collapses onto the cushion.
“Now that everyone’s here, let’s dig in!” Kyojurou calls the minute Genya sits down.
A chorus of ‘Itadakimasu’ floats through the room as they all begin to eat.
Well, Kyojurou, Shinjurou, and Akaza begin to pile their bowls with food, practically inhaling it all as soon as it touches the rice while Muichirou, Genya, and Tanjirou pick things at a much more leisurely pace, taking reasonable bites in between sips of tea or water.
Kokushibou and Senjurou both sit with nearly empty plates and hardly touch their food.
Senjurou’s stomach roils, swirling and protesting against the thought of food.
For the first few minutes, everyone’s too enraptured in their food to speak and Senjurou both rejoices and curses the universe for making it so.
He wants to both rip the bandage off and just get this whole thing over with, but another part of him clings desperately to the ‘before.’ Once he speaks, there’s no going back, and fear of causing a disruption to their new system that had only just settled down rears its ugly head. Senjurou had always known it wasn’t his fault that Shinjurou began to drink but he still felt guilty for never even remembering his mother, and even now almost a full two years after Shinjurou first cleaned up, he still holds some fear that he may do the wrong thing. That one wrong step may be what breaks it all.
He’s gotten better at fighting the voice off, telling it that it’s not true. He’s gotten so good at it, that often the voice is completely silent, only ever making an appearance when he’s particularly stressed.
‘Like now,’ he thinks bitterly.
As if he could hear Senjurou’s very thoughts, his father speaks.
“So, is there any particular reason you two decided to come by?” He nods his head towards the corner of the table that Tanjirou and Genya have found themselves at.
Senjurou feels his spine go rigid in time with Genya’s. Both exchange harried glances as Tanjirou places a hand on Senjurou’s leg under the table.
“Actually, Shinjurou-san, yes!” He smiles, turning to Senjurou with an open expression. His eyes pools of sympathy, and though he knows how badly they both want to tell the truth, he also understands that Senjurou’s—quite frankly—terrified.
“Well…” Senjurou speaks, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I wanted everyone to come because…um.”
Senjurou begins to feel sweat on his brow, the anxiety boiling in his chest as he glances around at the faces of his family, faces that may turn sour the very next moment. He tries desperately to not hyperventilate, but the constricting feeling in his chest is starting to make it hard.
He feels a cool, smooth hand slide over his own on the table, putting a gentle pressure on the back of his hand. Senjuro follows the hand up to Genya’s smiling face as he gives him a nod. When Senjurou turns to Tanjirou, he is greeted just the same.
Taking a heavy breath, Senjurou steels his resolve. “You know how I’m dating Genya?”
Kyojurou and Shinjurou nod while the rest at the table watches with full knowledge of where the conversation shall go.
“Well…I’m also dating Tanjirou. I’m…I’m dating both of them.”
Beside him, Tanjirou nods furiously, hand rising to take Senjurou’s own. “I’m so proud of you.” He whispers as he places a gentle kiss to Senjurou’s knuckles.
When Senjurou turns to his father and brother, their resemblance is uncanny. Both of their brows have flown to their hairlines, jaws parted slightly as they look between the three teens.
It’s Shinjurou who speaks first. “Oh. Okay.” He blinks, clearly still processing it all. “How long have you all…” Shinjurou motions with a free hand towards where they all hold hands, the question clearly his best attempt at trying to understand it all.
Genya clears his throat, taking mercy on Senjurou. “Tanjirou and I got together first, and then I met Senjurou at the Butterfly Estate after the final battle, and Tanjirou and I both had a crush on him, so we sort of just,” Genya shrugs, eyes flitting between his boyfriends. “Ended up together.”
The table shakes with the force of Kyojurou’s hands slamming down as he leans forward on his knees. Senjurou flinches slightly, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he takes a steady breath and opens to see the worried expression on his father’s face.
“Kyojurou, don’t slam the table,” Kokushibou admonishes the eldest son.
“Sorry, but you’ve been dating Tanjirou for almost two years and never told me?!” Kyojurou shouts, but it’s not angry, instead it almost sounds…hurt. As if Senjurou not telling him was worse than anything he had to say. Senjurou had grown up with nobody to confide in, even keeping any heartfelt conversations with his brother to a minimum for fear of overburdening him. Now that everything has settled—the worst plague on humanity gone and his family well on their way to healed—he still can’t quite fight off that feeling of being a burden. Even if in this particular instance, he hadn’t intended to keep it a secret.
“Yes,” Senjurou winces, “but it wasn’t a conscious decision not to tell you! It just…never came up.” He deflates, realizing how flimsy his explanation sounds now that he speaks it aloud.
Kyojurou looks at Senjurou with almost heartbreak and Senjurou hates it. He hates that any of his actions have driven his brother to such pain, that him being too frightened, too cowardly to say anything led them here.
“Senjurou, did you think I wouldn’t approve? I’m best friends with Tengen and he has three wives!”
Around Kyojurou’s body, Akaza and Muichirou both lean over the table, smirks on their faces as they catch eyes with Senjurou, Akaza prompting a subtle high-five from Muichirou.
Senjurou frowns at them, resolving to scold them later, but their light-hearted move does help to break the tension somewhat. “It’s not that, Aniue. It’s just that it genuinely never came up, and you all knew that I was dating Genya already, and Tanjirou barely visits so it didn’t come up, and then months had gone by, and then a year, and then too much time went by to say anything.” Senjurou begins to pick at his nails, feeling the slight sting as he digs into the skin surrounding them. WIthout a word, his boyfriends both grab one hand and gently guide them back down, a practiced routine that the three have engaged in countless times before.
Shinjurou heaves a heavy sigh, but it carries no aggravation. Instead, it sounds like pain, though Senjurou can only guess as to its cause. “Senjurou, I don’t care whether or not you have two boyfriends. I just care that you’re happy and they don’t treat you badly, and if you love both of them and they both love you, then,” Shinjurou looks at his son, a heartfelt smile as his eyes travel to where the three’s hands remain intertwined. “Then I think that’s perfect.”
Senjurou feels a tearful chuckle burst from himself, a hand rising to wipe away the moisture that threatens to spill. “Don’t worry, father. They treat me very well.”
Genya nods furiously, his mohawk bouncing back and forth with the motion. “Yeah! I’d sooner stab myself than hurt Senjurou!”
“That…won’t be necessary,” Kokushibou speaks, a single hand raised placatingly at the boys. Despite his monotonous tone and largely stoic face, when Senjurou catches his eyes, they’re glowing with warmth, a wordless reassurance that breaks the final thread of strain that had been tying the whole anxious night together.
“Yeah, that’s a bit extreme kid, fuck,” Akaza says as he reaches for the gyoza that remains out of reach.
Kyojurou half heartedly slaps Akaza’s arm, pursing his lips. “Don’t curse at the table,” Kyojurou scolds.
“Yeah, that’s really fucking rude, Akaza,” Shinjurou deadpans, returning to his own plate but head shooting up a second later.
“Wait, were Kyojurou and I the only ones who didn’t know?” Shinjurou asks, neck cracking as he turns to look at Kokushibou.
Kokushibou only shrugs slightly in response, his shoulders moving up the slightest inch. “I found out…when they arrived today”
Muichirou snorts as he moves some pieces of green pepper around his plate. “I knew they liked each other before they did.”
“I can literally hear them talk to each other whenever they’re here, so yeah.”
“Wait, you can?” Tanjirou asks, a line of worry forming between his brows.
“No, can we go back, what the hell do you mean you knew we liked each other before we did?” Genya leans forward.
“Genya, you are the least subtle person when it comes to crushes I’ve ever met.”
“That’s not true, how am I not subtle?!”
Tanjirou smiles at Genya, reaching across the table to guide Genya back to his seat. “Genya, your entire face goes red anytime you find something Senjurou or I do cute.”
“No I don’t!” Genya tries to argue, but the tinting of his cheeks undermines his point completely.
“I feel like we’re getting off topic here,” Kyojurou tries to interrupt, his attempts at grabbing some more rice from the other end of the table thwarted by the back and forth of the other dinner guests.
The younger boys continue to argue, only stopping when Kokushibou pointedly taps the table with the tip of his claw. The gentle tack-tack echoes in the space, drawing everyone's attention and prompting Genya and Muichirou to settle into their seats. “I agree. And since…we are making announcements…I also have one to share.”
Kokushibou turns to Shinjurou, the latter reaching forth to take his hand and give him an encouraging smile.
“What is it, Kokushibou-san?” Senjurou asks, brows drawn down.
‘I can’t think what Kokushibou-san could possibly be announcing. He and Muichirou already pretty much live with us so it’s not that. But, what else is there?’
Kokushibou closes his upper and lower eyes as he takes a breath, looking around the table, eyes lingering on Senjurou’s for a moment, his smile widening as his face begins to glow with pride.
WIth a final breath, Kokushibou speaks. “I have decided to take the cure…and become human.”
For a moment, it’s as if the world had been encased in snow, every sound diminished as an overwhelming silence presses on them all.
And then, clamorous voices. Kyojurou springs to his feet, mouth spread wide in a cheek-aching smile as he shouts. “That’s wonderful!”
“Congratulations, that must’ve been a very hard decision!” Tanjirou bursts forth.
“Yeah, congrats,” Genya smiles. While before it was clear how petrified of the demon he was, his well-wish is genuine. Repeated exposure to the demon—and catching him cuddling with Shinjurou and overall acting like a cat perched in their beloved owner’s lap—softened his fear to almost nothing. Instead, all he carries is the same fear he feels towards Shinjurou: the fear of your partner's parents.
Senjurou feels his own mouth burst into a grin, gasping as he straightens in his seat. “Really? You’re really gonna take the cure?”
Kokushibou nods. “I have…thought about it for a long time. Seeing…you grow so quickly…made me realize how little time…I truly have with you all. And the longer…I remain a demon…the longer I may…live beyond your time.”
Senjurou can feel his heart sink, touched by the sentiment, but rudely reminded of just how different their lives truly could be. Senjuro looks at his father, takes in the lovestruck eyes, the gentle angle of his once constantly furrowed brow, and the slight tilt to his mouth, and he looks at Kokushibou. His face, still unmarred by age, without a wrinkle or crease in sight. Despite his height, his facial features only look a few years older than Kyojurou’s.
Senjurou feels his mind stutter at that. If Kokushibou were to delay turning human, the gap between their years would only grow, as would the likelihood of his father passing before Kokushibou does, and while the thought of his father dying isn’t one Senjurou likes to ponder, Senjurou has seen a parent collapse under the weight of grief once before, has witnessed its aftermath for over a decade and saw the scars it can leave. It’s not something he wants to experience again.
While Kokushibou doesn’t strike Senjurou as the kind to wallow in his grief, just looking at how the two of them behave with one another only reinforces how devastating Shinjurou’s loss will be for Kokushibou. Any chance to lessen the time they have to be apart is one Senjurou can’t find himself minding they take.
From the other end of the table, Muichirou sniffs, face turned down towards the table as tears trickle from his eyes.
“Muichirou…what’s wrong?” Kokushibou’s hand flies across the table, gently stroking the top of Muichirou’s head as he gently tilts it up until the two lock eyes.
“Nothing.” He sniffs. “I look forward to kicking your ass in the sun sometime.”
“Oh…my child,” Kokushibou coos, rising from his seat and walking around the table to draw the boy into a hug, guiding Muichirou’s head to his shoulder as the boy cries.
Senjurou feels a sting in his own eyes from the emotional display. Even after gaining his memories, Muichirou isn’t one to cry very easily, preferring to express himself not with tears but with cutting wit and redirected questions. For Muichirou to openly cry serves as testament to how important this decision truly is.
Senjurou looks around the table at his family, sees their tender expressions and feels a tear pour down his cheek.
Akaza scratches at his neck, his other arm stretching behind him. “Well, if you’re finally taking the cure, I might as well too.” He yawns, trying to slip the admission in while everyone’s distracted.
Kyojurou whips around, leaning forward until his face is centimeters away from Akaza’s, his face beaming as his eyes flit around Akaza’s face. “Really?!” His hands fly up, cradling Akaza’s face.
“Why now?” Kokushibou asks, combing through Muichirou’s hair as the boy’s crying slows.
“Honestly? You were the only reason I stayed a demon. I had to be strong enough to put up a fight if you ever flipped out.”
“Akaza…” Kyojurou breathes and then begins to pepper his face with kisses.
‘So they’re both… I’m getting them both.’
Senjurou feels the tears pour, cheeks aching from how wide he smiles. In just one dinner, not only is his relationship welcomed, but he gets to start a new—entirely human—life with his complete family.
Tanjirou pulls Senjurou to him, pulling the silently weeping boy into his side and rubbing his arm up and down. He doesn’t look at Senjurou, simply allowing his actions to reassure him. Genya slides up beside them both, wrapping his long arms around them both and resting his head atop Senjurou’s despite the odd angle it puts his neck into.
“By the way,” Genya interrupts, “Douma told us he’s just as strong as a human as he was as a demon. He just can’t do the weird ice shit anymore, but he can still cut a boulder in half with his fans if he really wants to.”
“What?!” Akaza shouts, springing to his feet. “Shinobu never fucking told me that!”
“Does Douma often want to cut boulders in half with his fans?” Tanjirou asks, only getting a shrug from Genya in response. “He’s a weird guy,” he mumbles.
Kyojurou places a hand on Akaza’s shoulder, tugging him back down onto the cushion. “Knowing Shinobu, I wouldn’t be surprised if she did that on purpose!” He laughs, but his eyes are wet with tears despite his steady voice.
Senjurou can’t even begin to imagine what Kyojurou must be feeling right now. After years of being separated by the sun, of never being able to go train in the day, of living their life between sunset and shadows, he’ll be able to love Akaza completely. Share a sunrise, a dessert, fall asleep without having to triple check that every shutter is closed tight lest he wake up with an armful of ash. All things that had seemed like far off luxuries are now within reach.
“Then we shall do it…together,” Kokushibou declares, locking eyes with Akaza as the two exchange rare smiles with one another.
“Yeah.” Akaza nods. “Together.”
Everyone at the table wipes their eyes, Kokushibou returning to his spot from before as they all start to continue eating, a tender energy in the atmosphere.
As Senjurou looks around at the table, he notices that Kokushibou’s eyes are lingering on a particular pot. One that had somehow been moved towards Senjurou’s end. The pot with his childhood soup.
“Kokushibou-san,” Senjurou calls, “Would you like some soup?”
Kokushibou nods, lips working in a smile.
Despite them all discovering that demons could eat—and Akaza being more than happy to see what stays down, which is surprisingly a lot—Kokushibou never indulged. He would eat a few bites here and there, only really eating human food when it was offered to him and never seeking it out on his own. But this dish is a special case.
Kokushibou nods and Senjurou motions for his bowl, filling it with a hearty serving before handing it back to him.
With bated breath, they all watch as Kokushibou’s spoon dips into the broth and rises—as if in slow motion—to his lips.
The sound of Kokushibou drinking rings like the banging of a drum in Senjurou’s ears, who is waiting for any kind of response. Senjurou has cooked many meals in his life, but none has had as much significance as this one, none of them have meant as much to the one eating it as this one. None that he has tried as hard to perfect as this one.
Kokushibou closes all of his eyes, a gentle hum rumbles from his chest.
“Well?” Senjurou squeaks, hands tight as they all wait for Kokushibou’s answer.
Kokushibou’s eyes open, turning to Senjurou, looking almost misty, clouded by moisture as he smiles at Senjurou. “It tastes perfect,” he whispers, a single tear rolling down his cheek.
Shinjurou leans forward, wiping around it away and placing a kiss where it sat on his cheek.
Everyone turns away, giving the two lovers a facsimile of privacy at the table.
When they hear Shinjurou settle back down after whispered words, the eating begins again.
“Hey Shinjurou, pass the beef katsu.”
Shinjurou grabs the plate that sits before him, handing it to the demon wordlessly as the conversations around them all resume.
Akaza grabs the plate and immediately starts piling pieces on his own. “Thanks, Dad.”
As easily as the conversations resumed, they end, but Akaza continues on, oblivious to the shift around him.
“What did you say?” Genya cackles, a smirk splitting his face.
“I said, thanks?” Akaza looks at Genya as if he decided to take after Kokushibou and grow two extra sets of eyes.
“You just called Shinjurou Dad.” Muichirou snorts, he and Genya beginning to snicker.
Akaza flushes, his face borrowing from his hair and beginning to pink. “No I didn’t! You’re delusional.”
Kyojurou raises a hand to his own mouth, trying to muffle his laughter. “Akaza, you did, we all heard you!”
“You definitely did Akaza-san.” Tanjirou nods.
Akaza’s face darkens, brows burrowing down in embarrassment.
“That’s so sweet, you see Shinjurou as your dad,” Muichirou teases voice oozing with sarcasm.
“No, it is!” Tanjirou protests, directing his attention to Akaza. “It just goes to show how much you’ve all grown closer! I think it’s wonderful.”
“Shut the fuck up, brat, or I’ll give you a new scar.”
“Hey, hey, let’s calm down.” Shinjurou raises his arms placatingly, motioning for them all to settle. “Let’s just forget about it.”
“Thank you!” Akaza humphs.
“You’re welcome.” Shinjurou goes to take a sip of his tea, casting a side-long glance at Akaza as the cup hovers before his mouth. “Son.”
The table explodes in laughter, Kokushibou himself shaking with barely restrained amusement while Akaza fumes, getting ready to rise to his feet.
“I’m leaving.”
“Stop being dramatic.” Kyojurou rolls his eyes, pulling Akaza back down for the second time that night. “I think it’s very sweet that you called him Dad.” Kyojurou runs his hand along Akaza’s forearm, fingers tracing the line that runs parallel down it as he looks at Akaza through his lashes.
Immediately, all offense and fight leaves Akaza. “Really?”
“Yup,” he answers, the P making an audible pop as the two begin to coo and flirt with one another.
Muichirou rolls his eyes, pretending to gag as he turns to Genya and asks about his gunslinging.
Genya’s eyes light up, his arms dropping from around Tanjirou and Senjurou as he starts gesticulating wildly, talking a mile a minute at the captive audience.
Senjurou just watches, heart and chest blooming with warmth and love for his boyfriends, for the family that he’s blessed enough to have built, and he smiles.
* * * *
The rest of dinner passes as all dinners should: easy conversation that flows between them all, laughter shared, and an ease that settles upon them all. The time passes far too quickly, but Kokushibou begins to feel his eyes ache, the stimuli beginning to exceed his capabilities to handle at once.
As the table starts to be cleared for dessert, Kokushibou tells Shinjurou he’ll be outside for a moment and slips away to the engawa.
He doesn’t want to feel completely alone, still desperate to feel that connection to his newfound family; he just needs a minute to settle himself before he returns. He walks a few paces down the engawa until the clamoring of voices becomes a subtle melody in his ears, words becoming notes, and tone becoming the sweeping highs and lows of a symphony. When he finds that sweet spot, he sits down.
Kokushibou hears the shoji slide open and closed behind him, feeling the presence of the Kamado boy come closer and take a seat on his left.
‘So much for a break.’ He mourns the loss of his moment of solitude, but as the seconds tick by, the boy remains silent. He doesn’t greet him, doesn’t speak a word, just joins him in a moment of shared silence and breathing in the cool night air.
Kokushibou had heard about the boy with the Hanafuda Earrings. The demon slayer who had risen the ranks and preserved his brother’s breathing forms, though how they became a dance is slightly lost to him. To think that the only remnant of his brother’s perfected breathing would lay in the hands of a family of charcoal burners.
Somehow, Kokushibou thinks Yoriichi would like that.
“If it makes you feel better, Nezuko says she doesn’t remember if the transformation was painful or not.”
‘Ah. That’s what this is about.’
Kokushibou is no stranger to pain—physical or otherwise—but this young boy seems to think that it’s pain which drives his hesitancy. That Kokushibou’s fear how the transformation may hurt. He almost has to laugh. He wishes that’s all it was.
“It is not pain that I fear… I have known pain for centuries…it is how things may change.” Kokushibou speaks, his voice clear and crisp as a winter flurry.
Tanjirou hums, considering. “I suppose that makes sense!”
The two once more fall into silence, but something that Kokushibou heard has been bothering him, one of his major fears about taking the cure that has stopped him for so long. And the one who may hold the answer sits beside him. Now seems as good a time as any.
“I have heard…that your sister forgot her time as a demon.”
Tanijrou nods. “Yeah, she remembers the broad strokes: who people are, how she felt about them, and major things, but she forgot pretty much everything else.”
Kokushibou doesn’t respond, his focus directed on the empty courtyard before him, watching how the light of the moon bathes the grass and dirt, filtering through the trees as it dapples the ground. His brain hums on an unpleasant note.
‘She forgot everything else.’
Kokushibou feels his nails dig into the wood beneath him, the wood creaking and beginning to splinter under the force.
“Is that what you’re worried about? Forgetting?”
Kokushibou feels entirely thrown off kilter by this young boy's ability to burrow down to the root of what’s bothering him. It’s deeply unsettling, especially considering how much effort Kokushibou puts into keeping those very things held close to his chest. It’s not too dissimilar to how he feels with Shinjurou, though the boy seems to be far more gentle in his handling. However, Shinjurou has earned that right, earned the key to his innermost workings and thoughts. This boy has not.
“I think you’ll be fine.” Tanjirou speaks with all the certainty that Kokushibou doesn’t have. “Nezuko was never like other demons. After Kibutsuji turned her, it was like she became a little kid again—she couldn’t even talk. And Genya was telling me that Douma’s exactly the same mentally after taking the cure.”
Kokushibou nods again, but the reassurance does settle his anxiety. For a demon like Nezuko, demonhood was only ever a prison, something forced upon her that she had been trying to get rid of. But Kokushibou wasn’t—isn’t—like her. Demonhood was a choice for him, and one he made willingly. So much of his life—of who he has become—is directly tied to his experiences as a demon. To lose that, the good and the bad, would be like losing who he is. It’d be losing the life he has only just made for himself.
As much as the thought pains him, he may have to reach out to Douma and ask how much he remembers.
“Senjurou also mentioned you’re Yoriichi’s brother?” Tanjirou interjects, breaking the thoughtful silence that had fallen.
Kokushibou feels himself stiffen. “Yes. I am.” Kokushibou no longer fears mentions of his brother, but recently, it’s as if Yoriichi has been pulling back, appearing less frequently and for shorter periods of time. Somehow, it’s begun to feel like a goodbye.
“I’ve been meaning to give you this, and I wanted to give it in person, but things have been so busy this past year with adjusting to everything back home I haven’t had the time!” Tanjirou rubs the back of his neck, laughing as he raises a hand to his ear.
Kokushibou raises a brow as he watches the boy take off one of his hanafuda earrings. “Here.”
Tanjirou extends his hand, the charm that has evaded and haunted him for nearly five centuries presented by a small, battle-rough hand before him. “You get one and I get one!”
Kokushibou stares, hardly believing his eyes. With a shaky hand he reaches for it, stopping as it hovers over Tanjirou’s.
“Why?” Kokushibou shakily breathes out, an ache in his head as he looks up at the teen responsible for the fall of the Demon King. This slayer, this child who was instrumental in his current position, is presenting him with an object that he hardly understands the significance of.
“I understand how important keeping family with you is, especially those we’ve lost.” Tanjirou smiles as he reaches up with his other hand to grasp the earring that still dangles from his left ear. “My father gave me these earrings; besides my memories, they’re the only thing I have from him. So they mean a lot to me too.” Tanjirou turns to Kokushibou with a gentle, understanding smile. “But they belonged to your brother. You deserve to have them too. It’s perfect that there’s two! I get one, and you get one.”
Tanjirou sticks his hand out more insistently, raising it slightly so it sits directly below Kokushibou’s clawed hand.
Kokushibou gently grabs the earring, his claws scraping against the charm slightly as he picks it up and brings it in front of his face, watching how it dangles before him.
Images from his childhood flash before him. His mother giving Yoriichi these charms, Yoriichi speaking to him for the first time, crying tears of joy over his brother communicating with him, all of the toys and games he snuck to his brothers dilapidated room so the two of them could play. The hours spent training together, watching how they swung in the wind, every clack of the earrings against Yoriichi’s neck as he wielded his blade with incomparable power, the easy afternoons eating lunch on the engawa with their fellow slayers.
Kokushibou feels something warm trickle down his face, a saltiness to the air indicative of tears he is unable to stop.
Turning his face away from the boy, he places the earring with the flute pieces inside his kimono, feeling his heartbeat against them.
“Thank you,” Kokushibou mumbles, face remaining turned away to prevent Tanjirou from seeing his tears.
“Of course, Kokushibou-san.”
WIthout a word, Tanjirou rises to his feet. “By the way, tell Yoriichi I hope he found some peace in the afterlife.”
Kokushibou feels a rock in his throat, his tears beginning to pour faster. “Yes…I believe he did.”
From his periphery, Kokushibou sees Tanjirou nod and turn back to return to the kitchen. “Oh! And welcome to humanity!” he calls, voice nauseatingly cheerful.
Kokushibou can’t help but huff a laugh as he smiles into the darkness of the courtyard to the backdrop of Tanjirou’s receding footsteps.
The next moment, he hears and feels Shinjurou approach him.
With an audible groan, he collapses beside the demon, dropping his head onto Kokushibou’s shoulder. Kokushibou’s hand rises to play with Shinjurou’s hair as he wills his tears to stop.
“Fuck, I forget I’m not in my thirties anymore.”
Kokushibou smirks. “Having trouble…keeping up?”
With a groan, Shinjurou burrows his head further into Kokushibou’s shoulder as the two begin to chuckle.
* * * *
From the far end of the courtyard, shrouded in shadow, Yoriichi sits, watching his brother and his lover embrace one another.
Yoriichi has considered himself a failure for most of his life, never shying away from stating his inability to protect any of the things he loved, of his failure to eradicate Muzan Kibutusji, his failure to protect his brother, his failure to keep his beloved Uta and child alive.
When he first awoke as a spirit, once the confusion wore off, he felt cheated. After all this time, all these long decades, he had been waiting to meet Uta and their child in the afterlife, able to live out a brief stay before being reincarnated and hopefully meet one another again.
Instead, he found himself back on earth, standing exactly where his body had been buried, now sixty years younger. Miraculously, it seemed as if only a few weeks had passed since he died fighting his brother, the soil of his grave still fresh. At first, he wandered around looking for someone, anyone, trying to find someone who could explain what happened but found little success. On occasion, babies and small children in rural villages would babble at him, reaching their small fat hands towards him as he smiled down, extending his own finger to try and feel their grip, only to phase right through it.
It was horrifically lonely.
His first proper destination was the Kamado’s’. It had been many decades since he last visited, but seeing as there wasn’t much else to do, he wandered their way. When he finally found them, Sumire was well in her late sixties with a family of her own running around. In her arms she held a grandchild, a toddler no older than three. As he approached them, he sat beside them, speaking about how lovely her family is, how lucky she is to live such a beautiful life.
“I don’t know if you remember me,” he said. “You were only a child when I left, but I am Yoriichi. Or atleast, I was.”
“Yorii-chii,” the toddler spoke, a single hand reaching towards him.
“What did you say?” Sumire had blurted, adjusting the child in her arms so she could look into his eyes. “How do you know that name?”
“He’s right there.” The baby pointed to where Yoriichi had sat.
Sumire had simply stared in the direction her grandchild pointed, confusion on her face before it fell. “Oh…oh I’m so sorry,” she had mumbled, eyes beginning to tear.
“It is not your fault.” Yoriichi spoke, unsure if she could even hear him, but the words were spoken more for him than anyone else.
As her tears began to fall, Yoriichi rose, resting a hand on her shoulder as he looked down at her and the beautiful family that she had raised. To his shock, Sumire jolted when his hand made contact, hand flying up to where it sat. And Yoriichi…he felt it. After wandering for who knows how long—months at least—he finally felt someone's touch.
He remembers feeling hope for the first time in quite a while. Tears of his own stung his eyes as he started to think. Perhaps it had to be someone he met in life, or who had seen him before. He felt hope for seeing his brother again.
With a tearful smile, he departed into the forest once more, Sumire’s prayer for him to find peace echoing behind him.
Yoriichi lost track of time after that. As a spirit, the constraints of it fuzz and blur. You exist outside of the strict parameters of day and night, beginning and ending; all that you are exists in another layer superimposed upon the physical one. He wandered paths he remembered from his life, back to his childhood home, to the estate he and Michikatsu shared, interspersed with aimless wandering across Japan. By pure chance, he finds himself in the new Demon Slayer Headquarters.
Despite being ostracized and kicked out for his brother’s betrayal and his own failure to kill Tamayo, he never felt any animosity towards the slayers, remaining fully devoted to their cause but operating on his own. Demon slaying was the only thing he could do now, so he would continue to do it. As soon as Michikatsu became a demon, he slaughtered Ubuyashiki and every other sunbreather. As a defensive measure—immediately after Yoriichi was expelled from the Corps—they moved the headquarters, employing a complex series of trails and shifting guards to protect its location and never informing their ex-member of its new one.
Yoriichi thanks the gods for giving him this one piece of luck.
As a spirit, he can’t interact with any physical objects, and he hadn’t been—he supposes resurrected isn’t the proper word, but it's the best he could find—resurrected with a sword in hand, so despite running into a few demons wandering the trails, he couldn’t interact with them at all.
For some time, he remained at the headquarters, listening in for any information. Why exactly he did so, he’s still not certain. It’s not as if he could go out and protect people, or even help on missions. It took quite a while before his next step became clear.
Amongst the slayers were whispers of the six-eyed samurai, Upper Moon One, a ferocious demon who used breaths like the slayers did and could end your life before you even knew he was there.
Michikatsu.
He knew instinctively his next step was to find his brother. If he could interact with those he met while alive, his brother would surely see him, and now that Yoriichi was functionally unkillable, perhaps he could help him see the error of his ways, given that he couldn’t kill him.
But that isn’t how things happened.
Lead after lead, dead end after dead end, he searched for his brother all coming up with nothing. Until finally, while following one of the Hashira on a mission, he found him.
He looked exactly as Yoriichi remembered him when he died. His six eyes, the same purple and black kimono, the exact same monstrous sword in his hands. In the next breath, the Hashira he followed was cut down without remorse, an entire life gone in the blink of an eye, ended by his own brother.
He had tried to call for him, ran after him and reached for his arm, but just as he was about to make contact, it was as if an impenetrable force pushed him back, his hands prevented from touching him.
‘You.’ He had heard Muzan’s voice echo in his mind, taunting him as he was prevented from even brushing his hand against his own brother.
‘He belongs to me now. And you will never get him back.’
But despite Muzan’s grandiose promises, he was never able to keep Yoriichi from following Michikatsu. No matter how much Yoriichi yelled, spoke, or attempted to strike his brother, Michikatsu—or Kokushibou, as he had become known as—remained completely unaware of his presence.
But now that Yoriichi had found him, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. For centuries, he forced himself to watch as Kokushibou slaughtered hundreds, then thousands, all in the name of Muzan. And piece by piece, he began to see parts of his brother slip away. At first, it was hardly noticeable, where before his eyes may linger on a certain plant that grew in their garden or the pattern of a kimono their mother wore, his eyes stuttered by, and then began to pass over them completely. Whether it was Muzan’s influence or Kokushibou’s own growing distance from humanity, Yoriichi didn’t know. All he knew was that as time passed on, so too did the brother he knew.
The only piece of hope he held onto was the flute.
After all those years, Kokushibou had kept his flute, kept it tucked away in his kimono and stuck with him the entire time, never once putting it down. Even through the bloodshed, through the seemingly forgotten memories, the flute remained, as did Kokushibou’s painful expression whenever he glanced at it.
On that fateful morning when the sun rose and Muzan finally perished, Yoriichi thought that he would finally be put to rest. Standing beside his brother, the two stared towards the rising sun, one planted in the sun as the other withers in the shade. But that day was only the beginning.
From then on, Kokushibou had changed. The glances at plants and kimono started again, the mournful gazes at certain buildings grew and grew, becoming more frequent. But so did his smiles, his relationship with their descendant—they had a descendant! —grew and if Yoriichi indulged himself enough, he could almost pretend that the three of them were living together, the final remaining members of a doomed bloodline all under one roof.
When Kokushibou began to explore the woods, Yoriichi rejoiced. No longer was he simply marching onward, but he was marching with purpose , taking in the world around him, marking plants, running his fingers along the rough bark of trees and staring at the sky.
When they stumbled across the garden, Yoriichi ran ahead, fascinated by what may lay in the tattered ruins,when suddenly he felt a pull in his chest, like someone had strung a rope to his heart and was tugging with all their might. It was unlike anything he had felt before, the sudden urge to act , to find the problem and fix it sang in his bones. The next moment he found himself standing on the surface of the lake he had just been looking at and facing his brother.
He hadn’t been expecting Kokushibou to be able to see him.
Until that moment, Yoriichi hadn’t considered that things might have changed since Muzan’s death; he had simply resigned himself to being permanently cut off from his brother. But Kokushibou saw him, and though he was enraged, this meant things were changing.
It hurt that it took nearly five centuries, and he tried to tell his brother how sorry he was for not trying again sooner, tried to apologize for not being enough to prevent this all from happening, but the next moment, he felt a fatigue he hadn’t known in his entire life. It was as if weights had sunk into his very being and dragged him down.
When he next spoke, Kokushibou couldn’t hear him.
From that day forward though, if he focused hard enough, he could get Kokushibou to see him, but the following hours—or perhaps days, Yoriichi isn’t sure—he would find himself barely able to move, completely stuck wherever he had found himself before he collapsed to his knees. It was far easier to get Kokushibou to feel his touch. Without any effort or strain, he could run his hand against Kokushibou’s, guide him as he pulled weeds. If he put the slightest bit of energy behind it, he could even get him to hear him. Only a few words here and there, but it could be done nonetheless.
After so long, he could finally appear to Kokushibou at will with minimal strain.
It’s too bad as soon as he masters it, it’s time for him to leave.
The second he has the thought, he feels another presence behind him.
WIthout turning, he addresses the fellow spirit. “You must be Ruka.”
“You must be Yoriichi.”
Yoriichi turns to see an impeccably dressed woman, hair tied neatly back, kimono perfectly tied, and deep red eyes that mirrored his own. Her lips held a kindness Kokushibo had only ever seen a Mother give to her children.
“Indeed I am.” He smiles back.
Ruka walks up to stand beside Yoriichi, the two watching Kokushibou and Shinjurou on the engawa.
The two are completely enraptured in one another, whispering sweet words to the other and smiles on their faces that tell of a softness Yoriichi has never seen on his brother.
Finally, Yoriichi gets to see him trust someone, let himself be cared for without fear of the cost. His brother can live a human life, can see the beauty that a finite life with a family full of love can offer. Yoriichi feels a smile creep onto his face as tears begin to trickle down his cheek.
Ruka places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come, it’s time to go. I can only stay here long enough to bring you with me.” Her calm, resolute voice soothes Yoriichi, but he still feels anxiety in his heart. He looks at his brother and the man he loves, hesitancy lining his shoulders.
“They’ll be okay.” Ruka slides her hand down to Yoriichi’s, turning the man to him. “I promise.”
With a final glance at Kokushibou and Shinjurou, Yoriichi nods and the two move onward.
Yoriichi allows the light before him to shine and settle in his bones.
The last thing he thinks echoes in his heart, a final source of peace that he will carry with him through the afterlife.
‘He finally has a good life.’
* * * *
Through the open shoji, the rest of Kokushibou’s makeshift family begin to pour out, overlapping voices echoing in the courtyard.
Immediately, Kyojurou and Akaza begin to gather wood for a bonfire, the rest of the boys gathering kindling as Tanjirou points out which ones would work best.
Kokushibou feels Shinjurou’s arm wrap around his waist, coming to rest on his hip and pulling him closer.
“Thank you,” Shinjuro mumbles, voice becoming hazy with drowsiness.
“For what?” Kokushibou asks, watching as Tanjirou and Akaza begin to argue over the best way to stack the logs.
Against his shoulder, Kokushibo feels Shinjurou shrug. “Just…everything I guess. You helped bring Senjurou out of himself, you’ve filled a gap that I don’t think Kyojurou even knew was missing, and,” Shinjurou turns his head so he can face Kokushibou, chin resting on his shoulder as he smiles up at the demon. “You taught me I could love again. I don’t say it enough so, thank you.”
Within those two simple wounds, Kokushibou can hear their true meaning clear as day: I Love You.
Kokushibou wraps his own arm around Shinjurou, the arm pressed between their bodies moving to Shinjurou’s thigh as Kokushibou leans his head down to rest on top of his. “No…thank you. Thank you…for teaching me that I could love…at all.”
I Love You.
The two watch as their sons and their partners finally get their humble little fire going, the embers starting to fly up into the star-speckled sky. Akaza and Kyojurou begin to do some odd dance around the fire, their gentle laughter swirling in the air while Muichiro and Genya rip up grass to toss into the coals. Tanjirou and Senjurou sit on either side of Genya, animatedly talking as the three of them all lean on one another, their own laughter harmonizing with Akaza and Kyojurou’s.
In this single snapshot of time, Kokushibou sees the wonders of a human life he had never seen before. He can feel how every second ticks away, marching unendingly closer to its end, and yet the joy that pours from them all hangs in the air, joviality a warming blanket upon them all.
‘Perhaps I’m okay with this being my final lifetime.’
Against his shoulder, Kokushibou feels Shinjurou burrow further into his side, placing a single kiss against his cheek and then settling back and closing his eyes, giving into the enticing pull of sleep. Kokushibou looks at the way his lashes brush his cheeks, the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle from countless smiles and laughter, the lines of a lifetime emblazoned in his skin. Kokushibou feels the warmth in his heart, the full feeling of comfort he gets when wrapped in this man’s embrace, that someway, somehow, it was all worth it because it brought him here. With him.
‘Yes,’ Kokushibou thinks with a smile. ‘I think it shall be my best one.’