Work In Progress

Halloween was just around the corner, and some folks on public transit were already dressed for the holiday. It was great cover: Hinata didn't have to worry so much about standing out with all the weirdos around, and wouldn't be recognized so long as they kept their medical mask on. Looking for someone in Shibuya Station was like looking for a needle in a haystack. They kept to the back of a mixed group of young adults with a good balance of guys wearing sweatpants and nice-looking girls. Hinata's casual get-up and hovering body language made it unclear whether they were just some loner or the quiet one of the pack.

They had been moved to the Shibuya location only a couple days ago, and it was obviously a petty act of violence from Nobutoshi. He knew how much it pained them to be surrounded by strangers, not to mention the lack of Demon syndicate activity. There was no challenge to rise to, no expectation they would make him proud: Hinata's replacement was just a matter of administrative convenience.

He surely saw them as a nuisance now... good. They held onto this cruel grudge: they would remember it when it came to ripping off the old, dirty bandage that was their relationship.

The street was a churning, roaring river of people. Among all these faces, there wasn't a single one who would let Hinata latch onto them... or so they thought. They never expected Gyutaro to show his mean mug. Through the current of bodies, they caught a glimpse of the back of his head: the green dye faded and his dark roots grown long. Then he turned, as if he could hear the stutter in Hinata's step. Their eyes met.

Hinata's heart lurched like a leashed puppy eager to chase a squirrel. The overwhelming desire had to be squashed, and so they lost their advantage. He was there then gone, lost in another wave of tourists. Had he been going to Shibuya Station, or from? What was he doing here?

Regardless, Hinata tried to track their target through the crowd, playing that chance moment over in their head. There was no need to rush; they knew Gyutaro only revealed himself when he intended to. A solitary loan shark always assessed his approach before the inevitable strike. All they had to do was find him before he found--

Too late. Gyutaro snatched them-- from behind? How had he gotten there so fast?-- and they squawked with frightful laughter. The Demon threw Hinata out of foot-traffic and into a corner between store fronts. They tried to catch their fall on boxes and trash bins, but only managed to corner themself. Colliding against the nearest building wall knocked the air out of their lungs. His bony hand seized them first by the face-- a delightful surge of terror and need shot up their spine-- ripping away the mask. Then he snatched up the front of their coat and slammed them solidly into place a second time, leaving the back of their ears stinging and their entire head spinning.

"Where is she?" he hissed in their face, mere centimeters away.

Onlookers murmured in shock or deliberately turned away; either way they fled, choosing not to get involved. All at once, the two were dismissed and forgotten. Anything could happen. Nobody would care. Hinata's mirth fizzled out. The atmosphere shifted. What had started as a playful chase suddenly felt more like a potential interrogation. "Who?" they wheezed.

Gyutaro's eyes burned with impatience. His upper lip peeled away from his broken-bottle teeth. A groan forced its way from Hinata as he lifted them up, pinning them with his forearms. "My sister," he snarled. "I know you've been stalking us. You trailed me there last week. Where is she?" He shook them for emphasis.

Their teeth clacked together, head bouncing off the wall. "I don't know." There was no point in lying or denying, not when Gyutaro was so serious. This was probably as much leniancy as he was capable of showing them. "I wanted to make sure you got home safely. I've only been by one other time-- I've been here for days." With great effort, they strained their eyes to look down into Gyutaro's face. "You're saying she's gone? Since when?"

The man was an absolute mess. His hair was oily and unwashed, tangled in a twisted hair tie. There was still gunk in his eyes from a restless sleep. Thin red lines ran down the side of his neck and disappeared under his shirt collar. His words carried the familiar sour whiff of morning breath. "Where did you take her?" He ignored Hinata's questions.

"I haven't even seen her. I only double-checked the place, say, three days ago... to scope out emergency routes to you. I wouldn't linger around somewhere Demons lurk. I'd easily find trouble--"

"Were you followed?"

"Do I look stupid?"

"You look desperately stupid."

Hinata resisted the itch to grin. That would just piss Gyutaro off more right now. They set both hands on their assailant's wrists, the organic right squeezing softly. "I wasn't followed. But if you're serious about me as a lead-- if there's nobody else you can think of being responsible-- then I can help you find her."

This proposal hardly affected Gyutaro's determined scowl. He was so used to losers begging and pleading for their lives that he probably expected Hinata to do the same. "Interrogate me if you want," they suggested with full sincerity, mentally preparing for it to backfire. "You'll accept it then, but it might be a waste of time." They wouldn't go down easy, but they doubted they would win in a true fight. They needed him, after all. Needed him so badly that they would risk dying to get what they wanted of him. They let that reminder be known: "Gyutaro... I don't gain anything from trying to cheat you."

What if he decided he didn't believe them? Perhaps their body would be picked up by the police instead of the Corps and reported as another nameless nobody. Not even the yakuza would take credit for a Demon victim. Hinata would be forgotten, disgraced, and condemned by anyone who ever knew them.

Well... by all but one. Maybe two, if Gyutaro's heart had any room left for guilt.

Thankfully, there was only a slim chance that they would be murdered in a hasty panic. Gyutaro needed them too, even if at a far less degree. He was too opportunistic to waste such a vital resource. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered confronting them first. Now that Gyutaro's bluff was played, Hinata sought to de-escalate the situation. "I can help you figure this out," they assured him. "Let's put our heads together. Different perspectives but the same goal, right?"

Gyutaro considered his options well before sliding them down to their feet. Though the fire in his eyes hadn't quelled, he begrudgingly released Hinata's collar. They released their breath at the same time and rubbed the sore spots left on their sternum. "I would have liked to meet your family under less... duress," they quipped, "but this is what you get, for keeping us apart for so long."

"Shut up," Gyutaro commanded, grip moving to their bicep. "Keep your face down and move fast." He tugged them back into the street, diving into the current and sweeping them away from the station. Hinata's head swam with intensity: Gyutaro had this all planned. He had been lying in wait to find them in such an impossible crowd, and even when this lead was a dead-end, he had some scheme set aside as a backup.

It was hard not to admire his tenacity and willpower. Hinata followed in his step as easily as his shadow. "Where to?" they asked, keeping their voice quiet and low.

"You're going to investigate your friends for me. Then, I need somewhere to stay that isn't compromised."

"Are you sure you're compromised? That's only if she's really been taken, right? What if she just left to run an errand? Maybe she was invited out by... him?"

Gyutaro turned sharply, attempting to body Hinata into a new momentum. They were already synchronized with his stride though, so they stopped alongside him. "She would have told me if she was leaving for so long. She tells me everything," he hissed, before turning away and stomping off, indicating the finality of that theory.

Hinata didn't bother to challenge him on that; there was no point bickering over the subject nor in beating a dead horse into dead mush. Gyutaro would see the truth for himself eventually, whether he wanted to or not. They jogged to catch up to him and hummed, "I'll check in for you then. Remind me who I'm looking for. Her name is...?"

"Nice try." Before Gyutaro could lead them down the wrong road, Hinata tugged on his sleeve. He glanced down at his arm briefly, but allowed the detour into less populated roads.

"Well, I doubt that my associates would loudly announce that they found someone in his inner circle. That's the kind of ace you keep quiet..." But then again, Nobutoshi had gone on that 'business trip' a couple days ago, shifting everyone around. It could have been a ploy-- would he risk targeting a Kizuki officer without Hinata, his valued attack dog? Surely his new puppet wasn't house-broken yet... Did that mean the Corps was suspicious of a leak in their system, or just Nobu?

"What?" Gyutaro hassled, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm wondering if there's a way I can find her without relying on the official information system. A kind of double-verification against her alias. She's your sister, so she's got to resemble you, right?" He didn't need to know all the details. Not until they were sure it was dire.

Gyutaro snickered, and the rattling, desiccated noise of his humor made the hairs on Hinata's neck rise. "Are you hearing yourself? I've told you before she's the most beautiful person in the universe, and you dare to compare her to me?"

A perfect opening. "Beauty can contort itself into many forms, my friend. Surely there's something the two of you share...? Just give me a single feature that, when I look at her, I'll know for a fact what she means to you. That'll be enough for me to go off of."

Gyutaro didn't reply immediately. Hinata stole a subtle glance to gauge their company; the Demon was in business mode, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. They knew what came next. One brow would twitch up as soon as a clever idea struck him. After that, he would grin viciously and all his sharp observations would come out, mocking his company for not figuring out what he knew sooner.

Not this time. The smile was sweeter-- a slight curl at one side first. His lips closed over those dangerous teeth as he remembered the only person who mattered to him. "We have the same eyes."

Once more, Hinata's heart yanked them along by a tether. They sighed unintentionally. Gyutaro stopped-- that damn sixth sense of his-- to shoot them a tired, sour look. "What?" He asked defensively, hair falling in his face.

"Nothing to worry about," Hinata assured him warmly before absentmindedly brushing the stray lock back into place. His skin was warm from exercise, and his eyes darted back and forth between theirs. The burning rage in his icy eyes flickered for a moment--

The two criminals blinked, both of them deliberately turning away. "Same eyes, huh?" Hinata commented, feeling rather silly.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah."

"I'll find anyone listed with blue eyes, then. We're bound to have a dossier, if not a photo of her. That is, if she's really in our custody and they haven't begun dealing with the police yet."

"Yeah... Sure. Do that."

They walked quietly then, Hinata feeling far too confined and alone for someone walking freely down the street. They would wager a bet that Gyutaro never felt this isolated-- not when he had his sister, Daki.

Technically Hinata wasn't supposed to know who she was, but they had always been this nosy. They dug through confidential Corps files; pilfered through police reports; and even shook down a few snitch Demons, who were swiftly disposed of for their inability to keep a secret. Her name and place was all they had to show for it, and her brother already seemed uneasy with what little he revealed. The Demon held them at an arm's length, and they didn't begrudge him that. Not as much as they put on, at least. He was keeping Daki safe. They understood what it meant to live a fractured life... it was cleaner that way. Neater. When you lived life so flagrantly, things got messy and tangled.

If they could do things over again, they would have been more private and prudent, like him. But even Gyutaro wasn't perfect. He had his blind spots, and those were lessons Hinata had already learned from. All they could do now was combine their knowledge with his to keep him from making the same mistakes they made.

"You should stay out here," they told Gyutaro as the two approached a vaguely familiar intersection. "It'll cause less trouble for me."

"Why? You've already basically shown me where the Corps are hiding... I should go in there and start trouble, for all the trouble you cause me. Which business is it?" He was smart enough not to stroll around the corner, instead leaning to peer down the road in question. "My money is on the printing press."

"Oh, we're taking bets?" Hinata grinned and eagerly held out their right palm. "I bet a thousand yen it's not."

Gyutaro rolled his eyes before scanning the block again. "So now what's your plan?"

They pocketed their hands. "Easy. I'll walk in, make sure the place isn't on fire, check their records for your peace of mind, and walk on out."

"Sure you'll be alright on your own?"

"I should be."

Hinata assumed that was that, but Gyutaro's hand fell heavy on their shoulder. He turned them, and they were aware of their back to yet another wall. He at least had the restraint not to push them, though they wouldn't mind it one bit. "That's not going to cut it. He's not in there, is he?" Judging by the sheer disgust in Gyutaro's tone, they had gone from one *he* to another.

Hinata had to admit: the subtle bitterness in Gyutaro's tone piqued their appetite. "He is off galavanting across Japan on business-- much like you are right now." They flashed him a mischievous grin. "I know better than to test your bad side, Gyutaro. I know you better than that."

"Forgive my skepticism," he said sarcastically, "but it's when he gets in your head that you stop having composure and start acting foolish. I trust you plenty until he's around."

The comment stung, but Hinata took it. "He's not here. I try to keep my distance from him."

"Good idea. Don't go flaking on me now..." Hinata startled at his free hand hovering by their face. They caught a brief caress of his dry palm, and it lasted just long enough to make their chest tighten with apprehension. "... Otherwise, I'll go in there and hunt you down." Then he pinched their cheek and pulled on the skin.

"Ah! Ha ha ha!" They couldn't help the outburst-- their canines dug into their bottom lip as they tried to contain it. "I won't! I won't, promise I won't flake."

"Swear on your life."

"I swear."

"Make me believe it."

Hinata's dizzing urgency stirred in their core. He smirked as he looked down on them, his shoulders relaxing. Their fingers and toes curled at the idea of diving into his clothes and hiding away there, warm and close to his heart. If all their efforts came to fruition, Hinata would set up the pieces for Muzan's demise regardless of their survival. Maybe all the risk would be worth the gamble. At the end of it all, Hinata and Gyutaro could finally be free. He can collect on all the suffering he and his sister experienced, and Hinata will have avenged Junko for Tetsuya.

Nobutoshi had to pay. Muzan had to pay. Someone had to pay for all this loss. "I'll lay my pathetic, worthless life down for you and your sister without hesitation."

    Hinata's face ached. They had to force their smile down-- to resist touching where Gyutaro's hand had been-- as they entered the building. The lobby and several of the public hallways had cameras. Hinata would be recognized heading into work at an unusual timestamp and they suspected they would have to answer for it later.

     The Demon Slayer Corps held several business names in the interest of operating covertly. Hinata shouldered their way through the door of Shibuya Wisteria Printing Inc., keeping an eye out for more stray cameras. Well-funded as Master Ubuyashiki and his connections were, security was only mostly uniform across all locations. If they had been an authentic private investigation organization then perhaps there would be higher quality cameras, metal detectors, and even secret bugs in every room. Alas, Shibuya Printing was a humble printmaker that helped small businesses preserve documents, create booklets, print phamphlets, and organize archives; there was no need for such security. Even so, there was a lens mounted over the secretary desk, staring straight down on guests. Someone sat behind a monitor and phone with various papers spread before them.

     "So sorry, we're closed--" Yuri looked up from her work and grimaced. Then she pretended it had been the fault of her paperwork, rather than Hinata's presence, stiffly setting some aside. "Oh. Good day."

     "Yuri! Fancy meeting you here. You grew your hair out-- it looks nice pulled back like that." They sounded far more enthusiastic than they felt. Truthfully, her being here was a twist of the knife. Hinata would be seeing more of her-- it was a sign that Nobutoshi was involved. "You look quite uncomfortable in that suit... but it looks like we'll be working together for the next couple weeks."

    "Are we?" She sounded disinterested, but her shoulders hunched with trepidation as she closed one folder and opened another. She must have known all along, dreading the day Hinata showed up.

    "We are." They pretended not to notice her discomfort, sliding around the desk and leaning on the wall behind her. She sat up, cupping her papers and turning so that she could always keep Hinata in range of her working eye. "I've never had a desk job before, so I wanted to come by and take a peek at my new role. I'll be counting on you to help me learn the ropes."

    She looked up but her smile didn't even reach her cheeks. "Wonderful. Well, you don't work today. You found your way here, so I expect you to be on time come Monday."

    "Oh-- didn't Nobutoshi say I was coming by early?"

     Her body language sharpened: spine straightened, head tilted, focused on Hinata finally. Not in the usual paranoid way she conducted herself around them--hearing the name of their acting leader sparked her real attention. "No."

    "I need to look into one of his custody reports. There may have been revisions that didn't go through. And, if you don't mind, I would like to get your verification that I've shown up like any good, sociable employee."

     She paused for a moment before picking up the desk phone. Hinata clenched their jaw. Hit her, a sudden impulse screamed. Stop her before she blows your cover.

    Hinata raised their arms and stretched, exhaling deeply. They waited, the muffled tone playing against Yuri's ear. They wished they could peer at her computer screen and spy her work, but she didn't take her sight off them. Hinata could only feign laziness and fatigue until they heard the electric buzz of a quiet voicemail script.

    Yuri hung up then assessed Hinata before slowly rocking herself out of the computer chair. "Come on," she commanded, putting folders away. Just as she eased her way past them, Hinata spied her hand moving subtly to pick something up at the same time as her laptop-- the button for the silent alarm. One click of that and reinforcements would come raining down on their heads. She had erred too closely to caution and revealed her emergency exit. With the button tucked under her sleeve, the wrist strap looked as common as a bracelet.

    Talk about a lucky break. "Lead the way."

    She took Hinata down the only hallway connected to the lobby-- at the end of which, there was another mounted wall camera surveying them as they approached it. They passed a closed doorway-- "This is the manager's office. My office." --then one that was propped open to allow free access. Inside, an old-style fridge whirred noisily. The air conditioner, sensing another body's heat, kicked to life with a guttural hack. "This is the break room. Bathrooms are back there." She didn't stop long enough for them to get a look: Yuri must have been rehearsing this tour over and over until she had the rudimentary welcome down to its most essentials.

     "The double doors on the other side of the hall lead to the main project room. That's where you'll be working with most of your coworkers on copying, scanning, printing, so on." Yuri gestured to a final door imprint in the same wall. "This leads to the workshop too, but the door was defunct when we got here. You'll find rooms like that. Just leave them alone."

     "Looks big." The sheer amount of electricity and water running through these walls would serve as good sound cover. Now Hinata just needed to find where the real work was done... perhaps in those retired rooms Yuri was fond of dismissing.

    Beneath the security camera was yet another door. Yuri entered this room and flicked on the lights. "Here is where morning and leadership meetings are held." The long table was a near-luminous white, lined with rolling chairs and checkered with dark grey laptops matching Yuri's. Dead in the center of the ritualistic circle sat an office phone. Hinata hated phones. They could be tracked, tapped, or lost. So conveniently inconvenient. Along the right side wall, a whiteboard stood slightly askew so that it faced entering parties. Directly across from them, at the other end of the room, was another one of those 'entryways with a mismatching bolt-action lock installed on it.

     Yuri sat down with her laptop and gestured to the seat across. "I may as well get you put into training. I'll send you all the information you need."

     This was getting to be too much. "Shouldn't that stuff wait for when I'm actually working? I'm here to verify information for Nobu, after all."

     "Without Mr. Ichikawa's formal approval, I can't release anything to someone to isn't an official employee of Shibuya Printing."

    Good grief. No wonder Nobutoshi planted Miss Goodie Two-shoes here. She was a perfect obstacle. "It's unnecessary. You know my business here doesn't involve a copy machine." Technically, they still outranked her, until Nobu went through the official process of revoking their credentials. It would take him longer since his own demotion-- a former 'Mist Hashira' had pull, but not so much as his adolescent replacement... They could always try and strongarm her into submission, but it would be better for everyone if she just complied.

     Yuri didn't budge. Hinata shook their head and lowered into a chair. "Fine. I'll do things the procedural way, just to make you happy." They paused, then carefully used their left hand to leverage the laptop open. "Ah-- can you get me a one-handed keyboard and mouse?"

     Yuri stiffened, realizing her faux pas. "I... I'm not sure if we have one."

     "Well I can hardly do computer work without the appropriate tools, don't you think?"

     Yuri drummed her fingers in brief contemplation: they could see her eye flick between theirs, considering telling them to make due, but eventually she sighed, closed her computer, and stood. "Wait here. I'll find something suitable for your needs."

     Yuri left, not bothering to close the door, but protectively taking the laptop with her. Hinata silently turned the knob so the latch soundlessly slipped into place, providing an additional barrier.

     They then moved to the wheeled whiteboard, pushing it aside. The wall behind it was where they found the 'secret entrance' they sought. This door was far different from all the others: while camoflagued as a wall, it was made of a metallic material and guarded by a card reader. Like any other Corps station, there had to be alarms back there. Maybe even a camera or two at optimal angles. If the door was tampered with and the silent alarm was tripped... no matter. They had their ways of getting where they weren't wanted. Hinata's attention turned to the locked entrance less likely to alert all the Slayers in the vicinity.

     A cloudy white residue had built up on the bolt-- but the purpose it served was to keep people in rather than out. The hinges indicated the door swung outward, and they were in far worse condition: some fool had simply painted over the corroding parts. Hinata jiggled the lock then tested the knob, nodding and rolling their left shoulder. Their right hand deftly flicked their switchblade from their pocket, opening the blade before easing it between the frame. They spread their feet, tensed their posture, and drew in a steady breath.

    They charged the door in quick, powerful succession: Bang, bang, ba- KRRRSHH!

    Through a combination of brute force and sabotage, the bolt gave first. It was forcibly ripped from the frame, swinging uselessly. The rude invasion sent spiders and cockroaches skittering back to their dark corners. Hinata's knife had cracked from the strain, and they frowned with sincere disappointment. It had been a gift-- but when they remembered it had been from Nobu, they pocketed it with a brisk headshake and assessed their situation.

    The long room was another workshop with smooth dirty floors and old neglected stations. Obsolete attachments and tools littered as much free surface as possible, though it did nothing to keep the floor any cleaner. The ghosts of plastic-covered machinery leered over Hinata as they made their way down the narrow walkways. There were windows plastered over with white paper for a formal privacy. Hinata drew close enough to pry some tape away with their fingernails, peering out to the neighboring building's wall. There was just enough room for an fire escape, a floor down, but conveniently winding down to earth regardless. Hinata smirked, balling the tape and stuffing it in their pocket with the broken knife. The faded paper being pulled slightly away wasn't too suspicious, but obvious enough to let in light... just in case they needed a backup exit. They returned to stalking the aisle, seeking their goal.

     Yet another locked door impeded them, as they expected at this point. This one wasn't so easily handled-- they knocked their false knuckles against the metallic surface and frowned. No way they were breaking and entering from here. There wasn't even a card reader.

     RING!

     Hinata's head jerked back, the sound practically reverberating the abandoned workshop. Another shrill cry of the phone split the silence, demanding a reaction. The spy abandoned the door-- they had to find a more permanent way of getting Yuri out of the picture. A manager of a printing press might not have access to secure files... but an agent administrator would surely possess such authorization.

    Hinata retreated to the meeting room, where the phone had stopped ringing. Their heart hammered in their chest; they pushed the whiteboard to block the damage they'd caused to the back door. It was suspicious, but no more so than how Hinata often conducted their business. They stole a glance at the time displayed on the phone-- a blinking light reported the call was taken in the lobby-- and swore. This was taking too long. Any longer and Gyutaro may actually come barging in looking for them. If the Corps saw a pattern in their shared presence, the plan was utterly doomed.

     Hinata ran their left hand along the crease of the keycard scanner as though they could pick it like any other lock. The door swung open, announcing Yuri's return, but Hinata didn't address it. "It takes a card to open. Will you just sit down? You don't have to see every little thing," she griped, clearly more annoyed than alerted. Hinata raised their hands in fake shock and backed away. Chastised after being 'caught' in the act, they returned to their seat as ordered.

     Yuri closed them in, then sat her equipment carefully on the table. She reached for the conference phone and tapped a button. She smiled, and it was warm and genuine: her crow's feet wrinkled. "Are you still there?" She asked kindly, as though speaking with an esteemed lifelong customer.

     "Hello, Hinata."

     An aching tightness in their chest stole their breath. Their canine teeth turned soft and rotten at the reminder of sweet memories. Hinata considered their options: they could still make it to the fire exit. But dare they return to Gyutaro empty-handed? Not when it came to his sister. Hinata was as good as dead if they gave up.

    "Take a seat." They did so before it occurred to them that they could have remained standing. Already, they wanted to die at the sound of Nobutoshi's voice. He had stolen the Master's cadance, but it didn't have the same effect on them it used to. To everyone else, it brought a peacefulness found on a placid lake's surface. The founder of their organization, their Master's grandfather, spoke in a similar way; everyone heard him and revered his words.

     To Hinata, when Nobutoshi spoke, it was more like the silence of a forest; all life quieting, listening more than hearing, so as not to draw attention from something truly horrible.

    It was awful, how someone related to the Master could seem so much like that hellspawn Muzan. Distantly related, but by blood regardless.

     "What are you doing at work so early?"

     "Mr. Ichikawa, they appear suddenly ill." Yuri, on the other hand... it was as though Nobutoshi were right there at her side. She had loosened up considerably, staring Hinata down more like a manager would to an unruly newbie. "Take your time answering." Hinata hated her for that confidence, but couldn't blame her. They had been in her place once. It felt nice to be needed by someone so important.

     "I'm--" They wished they didn't sound so sheepish. He wasn't here, he couldn't lay a single hand on them. Not that they would want him to. They would probably throw up if he ever touched them again. "I'm... working."

    "I see. You still haven't given up on your pet project..." Their intestines squirmed under his judgemental sigh. "Isn't it time you set this aside? Hinata, you've lost so much already. Let this be your fresh start."

     It was so tempting to accept the kindness of his open hand. The exhaustion of everything they had been through settled into Hinata's bones.

     "Rengoku's family lives in the area. Connect with them again. Seek forgiveness." Hinata closed their eyes at the reminder. Nobutoshi's voice pressed softer, sensing the weakness even from so far away. "There's no humility in starting over... in choosing to be happy. Won't you do that for me?" The thought was nice. But it was a lie. He couldn't care any less whether Hinata was happy or not. And there was no chance of being forgiven; if they went along and took the fall for everything, what would all this loss have been worth?

     They had been uprooted, thrown from Nobutoshi's right hand to here-- a false storefront as a menial, unskilled laborer, working directly under one of their replacements. "You still think you can kill Muzan when you can't even be trusted to keep your fellow Slayers safe?" The disembodied voice could try and manipulate the facts however he liked, but it didn't change their reality: they were trash to him. The only thing that made a difference now was whether they rolled over and accepted that.

     "Hinata." His expectation coiled, circling around their throat. Hinata covered their face as if they could hide from him and their cheek throbbed dully. The pain brought clarity-- and in that clarity, they remembered Gyutaro's earlier observation.

     'Don't fall for it. Don't be a goddamn fool. Put him on the defensive.'

     "Did you offer the same to Junko before you killed her?"

     All the oxygen was sucked out of the room. Hinata lowered their hands. Yuri's eyebrows had shot up and her jaw dropped.

     Nobutoshi didn't even hesitate. "I wouldn't know. You were the one with her that night, weren't you? When the Corps took you both into custody?"

     "How about Kai? I wasn't there when you killed him."

     "Kai was murdered by Demons," Nobutoshi patiently recited, "in response to the Copycat Demon's meddling. To send a message. Might I remind you of who that copycat was?"

     "I already confessed to practically being her accomplice." Not that they knew the full extent of her plot, but they had sworn to guard her secret. They wouldn't let anyone hurt her... but it all fell apart. They were too weak to protect her, and they couldn't control Nobu the way he controlled Hinata.

     "This is the consequence of your actions," the phone scolded, "for besmirching our practice and reputation. The Copycat Demon was never an operational plan."

     "That's not what you said when you gave us your permission."

     The shock had reached its limit for politely listening, and so did their company. Yuri slammed her palms down. "Cease these ridiculous accusations against Mr. Ichikawa!"

     "Yuri."

     She froze. Hinata died a little on the inside at how they mirrored her, going still at the sound of his sharp attention. She slid her hands off the table, and Nobutoshi continued. "I had no choice but to take partial responsibility for you two. It happened under my watch, and I've paid my own price for it. You, meanwhile, keep doubling down. Junko is dead. Is that not enough for you? Do you have to keep gambling until there's nobody left?"

     "Kai too, don't forget. You can pretend you didn't kill Junko personally, but you shot my adoptive brother." Kyojuro's eldest cousin. That got a gasp out of Yuri. So she knew-- only a handful of people were supposed to know the cause of death. A Hashira's relative died in Corps territory: it was hard *not* to see it as a warning... except Hinata thought about it too long. Nearly every night since. It had been the first of many betrayals, electing to seek information rather than trust Nobutoshi blindly. "Oh, Nobu... what kind of copycat tries to replicate a Demon killing without either taking an eye or at least attempting to destroy the body? I'm not the risky gambler here."

     "This is your poorest excuse of a lie yet," Nobutoshi bluffed. "Really, Hinata. What makes you believe I could do such a thing?"

     "You hid the gun under the wisteria tree growing by Junko's final resting place. It's not there anymore-- take my word for it. I've put it somewhere far safer. Call it... insurance."

     Yuri stared at the phone, throat bobbing, waiting for Nobutoshi to fill her head with lies and convince her. But the pause was enough for Hinata to recover and convey their next confession.

     "I told him everything, Nobu." The warble in their throat wasn't intentional. "About Junko, about the plan... about us." Yuri finally looked back to Hinata, catching their stare in hers. "Can you believe it?... he was the only one who I could talk to without him breathing down my neck." It was only then that she realized this conversation was for her-- that she had a part to play in all this. "You know what I mean... right?"

     "I don't." Nobutoshi realized their goal at the same time. "Yuri--"

     "Has he lied to you yet?" Hinata asked her, lowering their voice as if they could have some confidentiality. "Sure, he's told you secrets, but that's only how it starts. Next thing you know, you're keeping his secrets. And then, well--"

     "--don't listen to them--"

     "--then, he's keeping secrets from you."

     "I don't know what you're talking about," she insisted, trying to mend her worldview. "Rengoku was-- his body was found in Tokyo-- Ichikawa was all the way in Sapporo when he heard the news."

     "Oh, I bet he showed you all kinds of financial reports to back it up, hmm? Why else would he stay at such a luxurious inn, if not on official Corps business?" They tilted their head curiously. "I bet he even called you from Sapporo too. But it's easy to spoof numbers nowadays. Locations, too."

     "--they're hellbent on this conspiracy--"

     "He said the baths were nice, right?" Hinata didn't even have to pause to see the answer flicker across her face. Nor did they have to raise their voice to be heard. Nobu had made that mistake and his voice clipped, dropped somewhere along the phone line. "He suggested you go together, huh? I bet he said he couldn't wait to see you join him. He likes to spoil his meal with a little dessert first, if you know what I mean."

     "Hinata, shut your mouth." His composure was breaking. It felt good to turn the tides-- to take him down with them.

      "Don't presume to know me," Yuri stated coldly. "We're not alike." She was offended-- no, revolted-- that Hinata would have suggested they share any similarity. But they could see her trust in Nobu eroding before their very eyes; she had believed she made it this far on her own talent. It was true, but it wasn't the truth. Her attention turned back to the phone, sickened by association. "Were you in Tokyo all along, Ichikawa?"

     "Of course not."

     "If I go back to the phone records and trace all your communications," she threatened, "you'll have contacted me from Sapporo?"

     "Yes--"

     "What about the burner phone?"

     Silence.

     "Mr. Ichikawa."

     No reply.

     "Tell me you didn't kill Kai!"

      It would have been nice to find an ally in Yuri, but it was far too late for that. She still had her pride and self-respect. There was no way she would really know how Hinata felt, nor would she understand why they had to do this. They scooped a laptop into each hand and flung them at Yuri. She raised her arms to deflect the unexpected attack. The spy lunged over the table at her, four-legged and animalistic. The wheeled office chair went spinning wildly out from under the fighters as they fell. Hinata rained nonstop blows: they clawed and slashed and gauged before successfully snagging their quarry, the wristband, and flinging it clear across the room.

     In taking their attention off her just for an instant, she jammed her hand into the soft part under their ribs. Their body wretched, but thankfully nothing came up but spittle.

     Injury. Blinding, comforting, grounding. Hinata's brain lit with fireworks as they flew back into the table, banging their tailbone. It wasn't as bad a strike as it could have been-- they had her on the ropes, at least.

     But the tables were turned. She got to her feet, dark hair curtaining a glaring eye. Her stance shifted, arms raised and hands postured. Slayers were decent enough fighters but she was a whole different beast, personally trained in a martial arts style handed down through gifted Corps members. Not only that, she had to relearn it when she lost her eye to a Demon. Hinata could outmatch her in terms of speed and strength, but they lacked her talent and mastery. All it would take was a single slip, and she could strike them down. She needed to be stopped before she got the upper hand.

    She moved, and Hinata responded. They dodged and ducked her sharp jabs and swipes, kicking chairs in her path. It hardly slowed her. She hopped onto the table as an evasion, punching down briskly at her opponent's bobbing face and forcing them a few steps back before leaping after them.

     Hinata, though, was finally in reach of the whiteboard. They pulled it between them and Yuri just as she landed. It 'cushioned' her fall, but Hinata didn't mind the momentary full-body jolt. They felt where her weight threw the board off balance and leaned forward, redirecting her momentum. The furniture wheels screamed-- the whiteboard snapped off its hard plastic frame, and Hinata used it to sandwich Yuri into submission against the wall. They resumed their unrelenting offense, crushing her body while beating at her unguarded head.

     She needed no such aid like a shield. Her hand split the material, bursting through and colliding hard with Hinata's jaw. Peripheral vision blurring, they stumbled back. Through the fear and attraction, their attention zeroed in on her. They allowed her space to cast the board remnants away. Then she darted forward-- she was confident she'd disoriented them.

     She had been watching their left hand, the one they used for all their vague gesturing and general movement-- but realistic as it looked, it was only a passive prosthesis. They let her seize them: she took the bait. Hinata sprung their trap.

     Another palm rose to batter the right side of Hinata's head, just as their dextrous hand flipped open their knife and sank it into her side. She released them on instinct with a gasp. Hinata snapped the blade off into her.

     In a moment of clarity, they wondered why they would hurt her so badly.

     They backed away from her, panting for air as her hands rose to the growing red spot. She dropped to her knees, having taken too many blows. Now her strength was leaving her so quickly. Had they struck an organ? Hinata finally tore their eyes away, resisting the urge to apologize. "Why... why are you doing this? When did this happen?" she demanded, voice straining to fake sympathy. It was a pathetic attempt. Who in their right mind would worry over Hinata while they were bleeding out?

     They shook their head. "It's too late for you to give a shit now," they announced to the room. Nobody-- not even the phone-- responded. With a quick glance, they saw the coward had hung up, leaving the 'lessers' to squabble. They rubbed their jaw, flexing the tendons and feeling the swelling bruise Yuri left them. The dull throb struck a sad chord. It was so easy to be casually cruel to strangers... but Yuri was an ally once. They used to be seated at the same table in solidarity. She had been twisted against them, like everyone else. You were so naïve. "You all abandoned me when you let him lock me away. In a Corps building, no less... any of you could have come for me."

     "We thought he was giving you the care you needed--"

     "You assumed he would handle me: care, punishment, whatever. None of you thought anything." They inhaled deeply, trying to relieve their fatigue and anger at once. "If the Master weren't in a coma, he would have done something... but not a single one of you considered looking back." They unfurled their organic fist, examining the bleeding nailprints in their palm before shuffling to where her laptop had clattered. The cracked monitor croaked in surrender as they turned it over. "Nobody bothered to call or write. Not even visit..." Everyone was perfectly polite and tolerant, but nobody cared. That was the bare minimum that Nobu's authority demanded of them.

     Yuri's breathing changed as she curled up on the floor, reserving energy. "Put it down," she wheezed in warning as Hinata inspected the computer. Tucked into a slitted port was a white and purple checkered namecard. It slid out easily. Yuri's stern, professional face stared back at them from the past; this job changed everything for her. They didn't look too long at that either-- the sounds of her slowly dying made their head feel muffled, like they were underwater. On autopilot they dropped the technology, and it completely shattered. They strode to the keycard lock and pressed their plastic prize to the dark box. An LED light glowed blue, then flashed green. The locks released--

     And a siren sound split their head open. Something massive hit them from behind and sank its teeth into their flesh. Hinata dropped, every function and thought taking flight before being shot down. The unfamiliar sensation shattered-- falling to the floor felt like being forcibly pulled back into their mortal vessel, pain shooting up their left arm as it folded under them. Their entire body bounced then twitched with the convulsions wracking their system.

     It lasted forever. It lasted a second, or maybe two. It lasted until Hinata's voice was left hoarse, breathing heavily into the firm, corporate carpet. They'd mistaken their scream for the security measures, but there was no denying their raw throat. Their body had twisted as they collapsed, facing the once-fallen Yuri who had propped herself up on one knee. Her pant leg was hiked, revealing an ankle holster that once discreetly housed the taser.

    She groaned as she rose to her feet, keeping the other hand over her stab wound. Each step she took was clearly pained, but smug. Rightfully so. Hinata should have suspected she'd arm herself as a contingency. As Yuri stood over them, Hinata recognized the diluted but undoubtedly confident expression reminiscent of the ID card. Victory was hers.

     "That's not yours." They made an unbecoming whimper when she plucked the probes from their flesh. Their body trembled uselessly as she rolled them over, seeking her stolen identity. She then left them facing the wall-- they weren't going anywhere on their own. Their left hand pulsated with agony: Hinata could have sworn it grew back. They tried to wiggle their extremities, but could only confirm their toes and right hand. Even so, the ghostly limb continued to throb as though their weight was on it all the same.

    "Where did that button go?" Yuri muttered to herself.

     "This button?" Someone familiar crooned from the back door.

     Oh fuck. Hinata arched their back and flopped, trying and failing to get up. Yuri had started to say something-- there was a struggle, thumping footfalls and more shoved chairs. She gasped, choked, gurgled. Another body hit the floor. Then something small and solid-- the emergency button-- clattered onto the table. By the time Gyutaro's hands were on Hinata, turning them over, they had regained control of their leaden arms. "No wonder you took so long," he growled. "Having fun with your old friend?"

     "Loads," they croaked unconvincingly. He flashed those gorgeous broken teeth and laughed before catching himself; their stomach fluttered at the sound. What a relief for them, to see him again. The puffy red lines along his neck and collar had grown in number, beaded with ruby droplets. "... I'm sorry. I fucked up. He saw me coming."

     "I can tell," he mumbled, averting his eyes from theirs. The bitterness in his tone hurt Hinata's heart. They knew what it looked like to him.

     "Hey," they said softly. "When he was talking to me, I thought of you instead."

     He hummed to feign disinterest, but this admission pleased him. "I had to find my own way in, but I suppose you get partial credit for making it easy. Giving me a sign and taking care of the guard; not bad at all. Still, you're not off the hook yet." He took their right hand and hoisted them up to their wobbly legs. When he grasped their left arm for balance, a pleasant fire danced all the way up to their shoulder. "Ah! Hurts!"

     "Yeah, that's a sprained elbow. You've got a lump the size of an egg on your face, too. Deal with it." Once on their feet, a winded Hinata leaned against the wall with their right forearm. Gyutaro took one more look around the destroyed room. "Don't get too comfortable. We're leaving the way I came. What am I looking for?"

     Hinata had to spitball: "There's probably boxes labeled for incoming reports and project updates, things that are easily destroyed." Vigilante justice, after all, had its risks.

     He nodded. "Wait here, call me if anything happens."

     What a relief, to let someone so reliable and clever take control. "Understood."

     With that, Gyutaro slapped a red-smeared ID card against the card reader. The door unlocked and the Demon entered freely. Hinata avoided looking in the direction of Yuri's body, instead reflecting on the... sticky situation. Slayers could arrive at any moment if Nobutoshi had taken the risk to call upon reinforcements. What could Hinata possibly claim in defense? 'Yeah, that guy just happened to be here at the same time as me. He's the one who gutted her. It was entirely coincidence that I survived, too.' They hoped he would work quick.

     ... Yuri didn't deserve to die knowing someone she admired used her like a pawn. Why did Hinata say such awful things to her in those final moments? They should have learned their lesson: first their brother, then Kenzou, Kosuke, Junko, Kai, and now her. How many people could Hinata fail to protect before they made it to Muzan's side? How high of a body count could one parasite achieve?

     "Let's bust out of here," commanded their host-- the only one who was impervious to their curse so far-- as he zipped up his jacket, assumedly stuffed with files, drives, and other confidential information.

     "Find what you were looking for?"

     "Not quite," he said, shooting them another toothy grin. "But I found enough to make all our suffering worth it."

     RING!

     Hinata gripped the wall, trying to play off their terror as a twinge. But there was no fooling Gyutaro: "Get it together." He took hold of their shoulder-- not forcefully, but not gently either-- and shook. "It's time to rip it off. It's happening now."

     He strode past Hinata to the phone. "Wait," they begged, but Gyutaro hit the button for the speaker anyway.

     "Yuri? My call dropped. I'm on my way to you now." The sound was muffled and yet distant, played in a room with a car engine's soft underscore. "Is Hinata still there?"

     They nearly let their legs give out beneath them. A little mass of anger solidified into abject misery, lodging itself in their throat. Gyutaro watched them register Nobutoshi's reaction as he leaned over the phone. "Ichikawa Nobutoshi."

     Silence for a couple seconds. "Who is this." The cadance was gone, replaced by an knowing flatness. The spell was broken, but Hinata wasn't happy to be free of it. Hot shame washed over their head and shoulders. Their armpits and eyes prickled. This was the real Nobu-- the one who had them dancing along to his tune. A guy who couldn't be assed to play the part when nobody was looking.

     They knew Gyutaro was watching them. "You're the Mist Hashira-- oh, sorry, former. Our informant chain tells us you were recently demoted. Replaced by a kid, no less. Man, that's gotta suck for a guy like you... Aren't you over six foot- something? Dark hair? A slight scar that you hide with your beard--?"

     "What the hell," Nobutoshi uttered. "Who are you? What happened to my associates."

     "Dead. Both of them." Hinata raised their head and exhaled quietly, letting Gyutaro weave a new story for them. "They had nearly beaten each other to death, so it was a mercy killing by the time I found them. But that's not important right now, is it?"

     "I suppose it's not." Hinata could feel their nails biting into their palm again. They knew the reality all along, but some part of them must have still clung to the hope that Nobu's twisted heart cared about anyone other than himself. That was the difference: at least Hinata could expect monstrous behavior from a Demon. Nobutoshi pretended to be human then blamed others for believing him. "What do you want, Demon, other than to gloat? I don't negotiate with you or your associates."

     Gyutaro's terrible smile split his face wider. "Oh. I've already taken what I want from you. Other than that, I want nice-looking, smooth-talking guys like you to drop dead. All this money, respect, and power, and you can't even appreciate it properly... it makes me sick, honestly. So consider this your wake-up call-- which do you prefer? Yuri, or Hinata?"

     "What?" Nobutoshi sputtered, "Why would I answer that?"

     "Because I can only destroy one body at this time. I'll take one to be obliterated and leave one for you to keep. Just as a reminder of just how bad it could get... So who should I take?"

     No reply.

     "I don't have all day," Gyutaro taunted. "Limited time offer ends in three, two--"

     "Hinata."

      Gyutaro's face fell. It wasn't the answer he had hoped for. It even surprised Hinata-- but there was a caveat. Had to be. Yuri died for his personal cause, after all. Why wouldn't he want the body of his recent favorite for a proper burial?

      "Leave Hinata's body behind," Nobutoshi stated flatly, "So that Tetsuya can see them for the last time. I couldn't care less for the condition it's in."

     'Tetsuya?!'

      Hinata wasn't even aware they'd been moving until Gyutaro grabbed them by the front of their shirt, using one arm's might to push them back. He had even gone so far as to pick up the handset, holding it out of their reach. If only Nobutoshi were here in person. Forget throwing up-- Hinata would rip him to pieces for playing with Tetsuya's life like this. It was too much: sending him to and from Japan, uprooting his entire childhood on a whim, making him collateral in their petty games.

     Their lungs billowed rapidly, heaving oxygen into the burning hatred they harbored for someone they once loved. It was an exercise in discipline-- to grasp the sharp, broken edges of a grudge and hold onto it for dear life. Forgiveness couldn't be relied on for any solution when the person to blame was so far gone. They should know.

     The first thing Gyutaro did was get the hell out of Shibuya. He knew better than to press his luck after beating the house; it was time to fold. Retreating, a tactical maneuver often mistaken for weakness, kept his neck off the chopping block. The seedy bar he whisked Hinata away to wasn't much use for long stays, but he determined it would be good to lay low there anyway: his double agent was dead now, and could not return to their former apartment and life.

     As penance for making him wait outside and entering through a window, he sentenced them to the same fate. Here, he could walk in through the front door like he owned the place. So he did. A drunk blonde Demon lay with her head on the bar while another hovered over her, stacking napkin origami cranes, structurally abstract straw creations, and artistically balanced cups atop her head. The conscious one looked up. To Gyutaro's dismay, it was someone he vaguely knew. Before any words could be exchanged, Gyutaro made a singular, chopping gesture at his throat. Make this place dead.

     Tomu, former Lower Fourth, quirked a curious brow before his mouth curled into a fanged smile. "Excuse me, miss, sorry to disturb you," he sweetly murmured in the customer's ear, coaxing her from sleepy stupor. "We're closing for the night."

     Gyutaro carried on into the back. The office doubled as a sort of bunker, though it was by no means 'secure.' Unlike certain privately-funded organizations that bought technology and put guards on a payroll, Demons had to be resourceful and on high alert.

      Behind the meager manager's desk was a cramped staff bathroom (which was once a closet, probably), and a cluttered storage area. Recycled cupboards, hoarded filing cabinets, and plastic tubs piled up into artificial walls. Three plastic picnic tables of varying stains and sizes lined the walls save for the back; there, an old couch slumped into its own flat cushions, worn down from a rotation of bodies. The walls smelled like smoke, there was always someone walking overhead, and the tiny basement window let in the smell of feet and gutter water.

     It wasn't the worst place he'd had to crash.

     Gyutaro braved the cluttered labyrinth, lifted the window latch, and walked away; then he went to the table large enough to offload his prizes. He tossed his unzipped jacket over the shitty wheeled office chair behind the desk and began his work. As he sorted thumbdrives and folders into vague piles, the room was still and silent. There was no increase of volume from outside, no strange shadow cast, no noticeable change in air flow... but he knew Hinata was in the room without needing any tells. He could feel their presence draw nearer, like sensing a heater on a cold day. "Gyutaro--" they breathed on his neck, deep voice rumbling like ominous thunder.

     He shot them a dirty look. They knew the rules: speaking wasn't allowed until the coast was clear or he spoke first. They persisted anyway, leaning close until their lips brushed his ear. "Nobutoshi knows I'm still alive."

     Impossible. He pulled away to glower down on them more. "You couldn't have said anything sooner?" His voice was equally quieted, but thornier than Hinata's.

     "I didn't want to misinform you," they excused, "but I'm sure he'll figure it out if he hasn't already--"

     "Shh."

     They both fell quiet to listen: the regular pace of a long-legged stride coming down the hall. Hinata ducked. Gyutaro bolted for the door to intercept Tomu, jerking it open before a knock. The other man blinked rapidly at the sudden greeting. "Everyone's gone?" Gyutaro demanded.

     "Yes--" Tomu's eyes sifted through what he could see of the room. Gyutaro moved his weight, blocking the doorway more efficiently.

     "Good. Get lost. Lock up on your way out."

     Tomu jammed his foot against the door to keep it propped open; it hardly budged when Gyutaro tried to close it in his face. "The rations are refreshed, so are the clothes. The first aid kit is by the staff bathroom-- just be warned, there's no hot water, but I stashed an electric kettle with the food," he informed kindly. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" The guy was itching to be let in, but there was no way that was happening.

     Frankly, Gyutaro had no need for Tomu, and therefore no incentive to spare his feelings... but an idea formed. If useful was what Tomu wanted to be, then useful he should make himself. Hinata's boogeyman potentially lurked out there... why not muddy the tracks? "I do have an errand you can run for me. But only if you can handle it. It's hot out tonight, and I don't need anyone dragging me down."

     Danger gleamed in Tomu's eager smile. "I'm listening." Technically, the barkeep wasn't Gyutaro's guy to boss around. But with such a rigid power structure among Demons, the has-been was likely looking for any way to soak in the spotlight. Surely he didn't want to keep fermenting down here with the cheap beers and liquors.

     "Go cause trouble on the other side of Shibuya. Start a fire, rob a bank, I don't care, as long as the police are scrambling."

    "You did something big, didn't you?" Tomu pressed his hand into the door. What an understatement for Gyutaro hitting the jackpot: he'd crashed a checkpoint, retrieved confidential information, and permanently put two Corps members out of commission; all this without getting a single scratch on him. For an impulse raid, Gyutaro had gotten all he wanted and more.

     So far. Two things remained on his to-do list: find his sister, and finish this 'Nobutoshi' loose end. If the two could be handled at once, he would rub this coordinated victory in her face. She would be incensed at Gyutaro for ruining her plans, but impressed nonetheless. It was perfect evidence for why she should always listen to him and never act alone.

     "Just get the cops chasing after their own tails." He wasn't in a mood to share his spoils. "Make a big enough headline and you'll get Gyokko's attention. Try to 'inspire' him or whatever." He yanked the door again and this time it slammed closed. Tomu paused, mulling over the advice before taking his leave. Gyutaro waited until the footfalls faded and the bar was silent before turning to the empty room. "You can come out now."

     It was always entertaining to see where Hinata chose to contort their frame. This time was less so. With a half-pained whine, they unfolded their limbs from between plastic containers under the picnic table of contraband, moving far slower than usual. "What's the matter with you?" Gyutaro griped.

     "I don't know," they huffed, sitting on the floor. "I'm so tired... Everything hurts, but not the way it usually does. It's..." They massaged their sternum and exhaled as if they could depressurize their heart. "Ever since Yuri tased me--"

     That sparked concern, and he dropped to one knee to get a better look. "You got tased? I thought you were moping." It made more sense that they were running on fumes-- normal people had pain receptors that indicated a tolerance. Not this person... it was a wonder they made it this far tonight without coming apart.

     "And much more. I need to digest everything with you." They struggled with their words before sheepishly suggesting, "Perhaps I'm due for some... guided maintenance."

     Maintenance: it was such a practical, silly word for their strange ritual. If bathhouses existed for relaxation, maintenance existed for recalibration. It involved resting and working in equal parts. It was when they put their minds together. There was as much to lose as to gain.

    "I can do it alone," they amended, perceiving his hesitance as rejection.

     "Alright. Maintenance." He would get information either way. Besides, one had to handle their investments wisely to make a profit; a knife had to be sharpened to last the longest. If it meant more results like he got today, he was fine with putting in some extra effort.

     Gyutaro helped Hinata back up-- the fatigue seemed so obvious with their hand shaking in his. When they moved to pull out the small picnic table by the bathroom, he cut them off with a shoulder check to their uninjured arm. "Go pick through the information. You understand the system better than I do."

     They paused, but obeyed. Gyutaro rifled through the bins; Tomu had refreshed the supplies, true to his word, but Gyutaro couldn't be sure what good it would do Hinata in the long run. The patient needed a doctor. Maybe three.

     ... Eh. They were better off in his hands than anyone else's.

     "I apologize for my suboptimal performance." Gyutaro looked up. His minion was sorting the papers one-handed, trying not to leave pinkened fingerprints all over the text. Their right knuckles must have split in the fight, and their left wrist was still askew. "You wouldn't have had to kill me if I had done a cleaner job... right?"

     "I don't need a reason to kill you," he reminded them.

     "So why now? Don't you want my connections?" Hinata returned to Gyutaro's side and leaned against the table for some comfort.

     "What connections?" He asked. "Don't pretend you had allies there. Take your coat off and roll that sleeve up."

     They tried, but their hand was hanging on by the compression sleeve under their clothes, and it was all getting tangled. "Well not anymore, but I would have found a way to make it work out for you. Can you--?"

     He was already helping, rolling their outside  sleeve back so they could rescue their prosthetic and peel away the protective layer. "I know you would have." They would be as indecisive as ever; crawling on their belly over the guilt of their treachorous nature, like every other ex-Corps who fell into camaraderie with Demons. Working a 'normal' job, pretending everything was okay, making friends with their wardens... that cognitive dissonance was probably what broke their brain to begin with. "Do you want the honest answer or the logical answer?" Gyutaro asked, knowing which would entice them more.

     It took them six seconds to think it over as they inspected the damage done to their body. "Honesty would be nice," they admitted before washing up in the old sink, squawking in sharp surprise. "Oh, it's so cold!" Their elbow was mottled with bruises-- not a good sign, but they could still move it. It was best to assume the worst of this sprain; asking about their pain levels would be moot.

      Gyutaro leaned away from them and pilfered the first aid tub for something to use for supporting their amputated limb. "I'm tired of sharing you. When you come back, you're a bummer. Unfocused, distracted, and dispirited." A cast was all he could find-- it would have to do. "All they want is to change you, or put you in a box and forget you. What a waste."

     "Oh," was all Hinata said, but he could tell it had gained him favor in their eyes. It felt good to get such an easy win. He understood these feelings, and all he had to do was acknowledge it to earn credence.

      He helped them strap the cast onto their dried arm, then finessed a spare T shirt into a makeshift sling. "Try to use this arm as little as possible. Now, where'd she tase you?"

     "Right in the ass, boss," they said, then twisted their body and hiked their shirt up a little. "See?"

     The needles had pierced them above the right buttock, moreso in the hip area despite their jest. It was the most he'd seen of their body that wasn't a limb-- there was a distortion to the shape of their minimal fat, as though there should be more than there was. A faint but thick scar ran from the waistband of their pants up their back. Gyutaro couldn't determine if it was surgical or traumatic in nature.

     Hinata leaned their weight into the table as though preparing for a shot while Gyutaro applied ointment to a cotton ball. Meanwhile, they were back to skimming the notes they'd brought over. With them comfortably at his mercy, he sprung his real question: "How does he know you're alive?"

     As a momentary distraction, they plucked a paper from the pile and held it up to him. "Is this your sister?"

     He squinted at the closed circuit television photo provided in the profile, depicting a blurry woman darting out into the night while casting a look over her shoulder. She was much shorter than Daki, and her hair was chopped short around her jaw, where evidence of a poor bleach job hung.

     "No. Answer me."

     They tensed. "Promise not to be mad first," they said, as though such a request ever preceded a reasonable conversation.

     "Hinata." He dabbed at the wounds none too gently and their muscles leapt.

     "Okay, fine!" Their head hung with self deprication, slapping the report back into the pile. "I stabbed Yuri and broke my knife off into her."

     "And?"

     "The same knife he gave me. And I forgot to get it back."

     He groaned. They weren't being honest with him. How annoying, after all he'd done for them. "I'm going to slap this gauze pad on you if you're playing games," he threatened.

     "I'm serious. I don't even know why I did it. I was mad, but there was no conscious thought to it. Then you showed up and he called and... everything happened so fast." There was no surprise there. He knew Nobutoshi would get into Hinata's head, though the printing office was the first time he'd seen it happen. When that guy requested Hinata's body to be displayed like some grim omen, they'd lurched at the phone as if it were a living thing to be effaced, despite the physical state they were in...

     He waited to prompt further confession, then taped the pad onto Hinata's lower back. "So who's Tetsuya?"

     A pause. The deflection took a little too long: Hinata pulled another photo from the pile-- a glossy headshot of an auburn-haired beauty wearing a crane-patterned blouse-- and held it out to him. "Is this your sister?"

     "No." They must not have expected him to pay attention to names when, of course, he would. He could also read between the lines. Their silence struck a chord he knew: shame. Rather than hit their weak spot like he promised he would, he rested his hand on the small of their back: "Tetsuya is how he knew. Or how he'll figure it out. Is that right?"

     "I can't talk about him," Hinata said abruptly. Gyutaro began to rub slow 'absentminded' circles. "I already made the mistake of blurring the lines between his life and mine. I'm not going to do it again."

     Puzzle pieces were falling into place in Gyutaro's mind. He tilted his body, trying to spy their face without being caught. If he could catch a glimpse of their eyes, he'd know exactly what they were feeling. "I won't make you do anything." It wasn't necessary-- Hinata had literally nobody else to turn to. They would come back around, ready and willing. "I'm not that asshole. I could help you, if you told me."

     He could feel their back relaxing slowly, their walls falling. "It's too much to trust on just your word. You could still hurt me."

     "That's true," he hummed. His fingers worked up their spine, danced between their shoulder blades, and settled around their neck. "But what's the point of playing a long game when I could easily hurt you now?" he asked, tone sincere but gentle.

     Their pulse beat, heavy and quick, under his fingertips. He could see their head tilt his way fractionally, and-- "He's important to me, and Nobu is using that." They pulled out of his grasp. He blinked. That... wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to giggle and turn into clay for the molding. Not circling the table to sit on the other side, not putting distance between them. "He invoked Tetsuya's name to draw me out. That's all you need to know."

     No. He wanted more. It wasn't like them to shut him out. Everything that was theirs was his, too. They'd given him their entire life in exchange for his protection and they owed him as much.

     He consulted the dossiers to buy some time. None of these girls looked remotely like Daki, and the ones without photos told stories of complete strangers. Hinata had suggested before that she went willingly at someone else's behest, but... no. No, she wouldn't do that to him. This had to be a part of her performance-- trying to do things on her own before it blew up in her face. She knew how much it would distress him, because of last time.

     Last time... when she was taken from him.

     As the quiet stretched between them, a strategy clarified in Gyutaro's mind: all the grooved details that fit together perfectly of a larger picture. He stole a look back up to Hinata, sulking over their paperwork. At this angle, he could see the toll of stress on their face: worry lines, salt-and-pepper hair, and sunken eyes completed the image of someone older than their counted years.

     Their guard was up, so getting back in their personal space wouldn't be as easy as pulling their ear or flicking their forehead. He needed an excuse to get close to them... to turn their body against their mind, or vice versa. He would have to sacrifice something-- no other way around it. He hated having to give something up, but if it gave him the greater advantage and kept his plans in check...

    Gyutaro retreated to the manager's desk, where the cheap cigarettes nobody wanted to smoke except in dire circumstances stayed shoved in the back of a clutter drawer. He stole one from the crumpled box, lit it with a nearly-drained lighter, and took a smooth inhale. Then he strode back to the first aid kit, picking up the things he'd need to patch up their stupid hand. "Hinata."

     "Gyutaro."

     Good. He wasn't being frozen out. He circled the table slowly, careful not to startle his prey. As he set down the medical goods, he probed, "Find anything else?"

     Hinata shrugged and flipped a paper to face him. "Sound familiar?"

     He scanned the report over, pursing his Iips to the side so that the smoke he exhaled wouldn't be in their faces. "... 'Kamado Nezuko.' Never heard of her."

     "Not her. I was talking about her brother." They tapped their finger on the paragraph detailing the procedure of her capture.

     Gyutaro humored them by reading on:

     [Per W. HASHIRA S.S.: Male subject identified as the target's brother showed extreme aggression when target was taken into custody. An altercation ensued, wherein S suffered a broken nose. Male subject was taken into custody along with target at the recommendation of W HASHIRA T.G.]

     "Thought you might like that," they commented. He didn't even realize he'd smiled in response. "It reminded me of you, too."

    "Not me," he insisted. "I would have killed this S guy on the spot for laying a finger on my sister." He tapped the cigarette so that its accumulated ash sprinkled onto the floor. "... Thanks, by the way."

     "For what?"

     He took another drag before offering the cigarette to them. "Helping."

     They looked at the arbitrary peace offering, then back to their work. "I wasn't given much of a choice."

     "Sure you were. You could have just let me drag you to a black site. Could have set up an operation with the Corps and turned me in-- not that you would have gotten credit for it." He smirked. "But you chose me instead." Once again, he held the cig to their face. "It means something that you'd stay by my side when I need you." He paused and amended it. "When my sister needs you."

     Hinata peered at him through the curling smoke. They let him place the filter on their lower lip then rolled it to the other side of their mouth. They breathed in then sighed, some smoke escaping their nostrils. "What else are friends for?"

     Gyutaro could have laughed, it was such a sad sentiment; instead, he only felt sorry for them. He held out his palm and flexed his fingers. When Hinata replied by puffing the cherry to life, he pointed to their hand and made the gesture again: Give it to me.

     They begrudgingly obliged with a steadied practice and slipped their hand back into his; too late for a poker face now, after he'd felt their trembling. He rewarded them for their compliance. "You know... when we were kids, my sister went missing for two weeks."

     The cigarette twitched. "Oh. How'd that happen?"

     "I wasn't home and our apartment building caught fire. They said it was something electrical. When I got back, the place was already in chaos-- ambulances and cops everywhere. Lots of people were hurt. I didn't know where to go or what to do, and nobody knew where she was."

     "Huh... where did she go? How did you find her?" With their only usable hand being tended to, they couldn't remove the cigarette from their mouth. He knew when their tongue was running along their teeth as they thought; the cigarette bobbed like a cork on water.

     As Gyutaro spoke, he examined the bruises and tears across the mountain ridge of their hand.  "I had to look. Every hospital, every shelter, every school... I didn't rest until I found a lead. The whole time, she'd been alone too. Passed from person to person, given no care as though she were a box to be checked... she was distraught and confused. It was pretty traumatic for her."

     "No kidding. How old were you two?"

     Too much detail. "Too young to be dealing with shit like that."

     "Damn. You've been a Demon since you were a child?"

     He'd shared too much-- idiot. What a Daki-like misstep to take. "Never said I was." Gyutaro patiently picked up the rubbing alcohol.

     "Why would brother-of-the year leave his kid sister home alone? Why was it only her that went missing? How else would any establishment let you go barging in, throwing shit around, demanding someone bring her to you? I'll bet civil society would have taken her away from you forever." Gyutaro snorted, but the idea that they had him figured out even in his obscure history... it unnerved him. Made him feel unguarded in a vital spot. The cigarette flicked again-- dipping down out of the way so they could tap their tongue against the sharper edges of their cruel maw, "So... why did it take your 'benevolent leader' two weeks to find your sister?"

      As revenge, he spilled alcohol over their hand, rinsing it in liquid fire. Hinata squirmed as pain and pleasure played tug-of-war with their nerves. Smoke hitchhiked on the air they hissed through their teeth and they had to subdue the coughing fit lest the cigarette fall. Possibly into the flammable material soaking their skin. "That hurt?" Gyutaro purred, squeezing their fingers.

     "Like a bitch," they wheezed with teary eyes. "Take the cigarette back, please."

     "Apologize." He set the alcohol down firmly.

     "I'm sorry for bringing him up. I shouldn't mess with you like that."

     Gyutaro let them gasp and cough a bit longer before relieving them of the cancer stick. He put it in his mouth and tried to slow the speed at which it burned. As Hinata caught their breath, he went on: "That was the longest we went without each other. And since then--" they both owed Muzan their lives "-- we've never been apart... at least not for this long." He picked up the roll of fabric and began to wrap. He wove tenderly between fingers and folded padding to protect their webbings, the smoke curling and reforming as it rose. "All that to say... I get it. I was there once."

    "Get what?"

    "Waking up in a reality where everything is wrong. You're in a body that isn't yours, doing things you don't want to do. You'll do it if only to make that one person safe and happy... but once they're taken from you, everything goes off the rails. Soon, you're just watching life happen to you. You're too weak and stupid to do anything, and all you want to do is--"

     Hinata touched his face, making him jump. How'd they escape him a second time? In this lighting, their eyes almost cast a slate-blue, washed-out reflection of his own. The mirror image told him that every nugget of truth in his deception found its mark. He'd seen the worthless, ostracized, pathetic loser that Hinata was even before he knew them.

    The former double agent pinched a cotton ball atop the alcohol bottle, tilted it, and set it down. They dabbed it on his clavicle--

     "OW!" He reeled back from them, seething at the sharp acidic pain. "What--"

     Hinata's eyes had gone wide and disappointment flickered across their features. "You've been clawing at your neck all day," they told him. "Maintenance goes for us both, my friend."

     He paced the maze towards the mirror in the closet-bathroom hybrid. Past the tarnish, he recognized the four-lined patterns raking through his flesh. He swore and turned on the water to wash the evidence of his agony away-- "Fuck!" He'd lost feeling in his fingers instantly, it was so cold. Anger mounted, impatience broiling as he neared his limit. He ripped the cigarette from his mouth and it soggily tore in two, falling pathetically into the frigid water. He gripped both sides of the sink to keep his self-directed rage in check.

     When he lifted his eyes to the discolored mirror again, Hinata had appeared in his reflection behind him.

     "Leave it alone," Gyutaro growled. He didn't want them meddling with his injuries, kicking him when he was down. "I'll let them breathe. It's fine."

     "... I'm sorry," they repeated with more sincerity. "I know we share the same goal. I don't mean to make the job more troublesome... and I really don't mean to hurt you. I can't help it."

    He avoided their eyes at all costs. "I know." And that was the difference between them. Gyutaro was in control, Hinata was not. It was nice that they played along but it didn't change the fact they found a way to weasel under his skin and into his brain.

     They leaned into him, hand resting on his shoulder and staying there. Despite the trouble he'd stepped into, his fish was hooked. Now to reel them in steadily. "Is Tetsuya why you want me to kill Nobutoshi, too?" he asked, frustration lacing his tone.

     "... I was supposed to keep Tetsuya safe from all this," Hinata admitted. "Someone entrusted him to me. But I was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was... floundering. And trapped. Nobu had everything I needed and promised me that if I trusted him to handle everything--" their skull pressed harder into the back of his neck, "-- I could make a better life for Tetsuya. But Nobu kept taking more from me without giving anything in return... and I can't get Tetsu out myself anymore."

    "So your solution is to kill the guardian and steal the child?" It took them way too long to come to that conclusion. As an adolescent, he'd seen the problem coming from months away and handled it.

    "Why not?" Hinata demanded, fingers curling in his clothes for purchase. "I don't care if I have to die if it means killing him, too. I can't let him bring Tetsuya into the Corps."

     Gyutaro let them cling to him and leech his strength to tide them over. Then he sighed and lifted his shoulder to pin their hand against his cheek. "You're a hopeless coward," he reprimanded, "but we already knew that, didn't we?"

     Hinata didn't argue it at all. Instead, they moved their cheek to his other shoulder with an old-dog sigh. The coast was clear. Craning his neck, Gyutaro pressed his lips into their fingers.

     "... There's a way you can get Tetsuya and your life back, you know," he said into their skin. Their head lifted and he turned to face them. He let them come to the conclusion first; realization dawned on them like a slap to the face.

     "You... want me to be a Demon?"

     And why not? The syndicate had such a high turnover rate with its competitive and cruel nature. Hinata could easily fit into the staple of stronger people, names that spurred fear and uncertainty. The timing was perfect: Hinata had everything to gain, as had Gyutaro when he'd been recruited, as had the man who brought him (though he'd been hand-raised for such a purpose.) It was a fast track to success for someone with no prospects.

     "Maybe." He laughed in their face at their obvious confusion. "Did you forget so soon, Hinata? I don't give things away for free. You'll have to work for your new identity, and if you want the civilian boy to have a normal childhood, you'll need to live a double life. You can't just mooch off a gang and expect a bill in the mail."

     "I don't--," they stammered, "you... considered it? I'm a traitor. That hardly makes me a worthy candidate."

     "I think it's safe to assume any further betrayals are severely limited. You've burned enough bridges, haven't you? Your family's disowned you, everyone's abandoned you... Besides, you know me." Both his hands seized their shoulders, trapping them in place. "I'm not nearly so complacent... I don't forgive or forget. If you make a single wrong step against me or my sister, you know what the risks are." It wasn't a threat, but a promise.

    "I'd never want to hurt either of you," Hinata swore without wasting a second. "I'll always be thinking of you. But, if it's all the same... uhm..."

     "What?" Annoyance prickled his ears and neck. Here he was, tantilizing them with opportunity, and they still had caveats and reservations. "Spit it out."

     "Should I really join your association? I mean..." They thought over their words carefully. "Nobu may know I'm alive... but if I change sides, then everyone will know. Even other Demons."

     A curious consideration. Gyutaro tilted his head. "What's wrong with that? A little reputation won't hurt."

    "Well yes," they told him, "but I don't need it. Recognition, infamy, respect... I don't know how any of that works anyway. You've got a target on your back even among colleagues, so... Why be quick to show our hand?"

     Our hand. A chemical reaction was forming in his chest: something hot and unstable. He'd given them a fraction of autonomy and they'd handed it right back. "It'd take longer to get everything you want from that arrangement. It'll also take more work on my end. The cost is steep... you're fine with that?"

     "Absolutely. Besides... didn't you say yourself that you were tired of sharing me with others?"

     What a fool. No wonder they ended up kidnapped by Nobutoshi for over a year. "You've got a deal. But you've got to work on your self-preservation. I don't just want your life anymore." He dug his fingers into their clothes, their skin, their bones. "I want a lifetime."

     "Anything for you " they cooed, gazing dreamily at him. They didn't wince in his hold-- quite the opposite. He watched their pupils blow open like an aperture lens as they smiled, canines on full display.

    "Well," he taunted, "are you going to keep staring, or do you intend on kissing me?"

    Of course they intended it. It wasn't the first time, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last. He tended to keep his eyes open for this part, watching for suspicious behavior, though they'd had yet to try anything this way. He only closed his eyes this once-- just to relish it, only for a second.

     For a moment, he didn't have to consider power dynamics, debt and freedom, or good and bad. When he was in Hinata's arms, he didn't have to carry the weight of his Earthly worries. They carried it for him.

     His meat shield had far more experience with romantic gestures, so he had to follow their lead. He kissed when they kissed, breathed when they breathed, and moved when they moved. Their cold hand slipped under his shirt and up his bare back, eliciting a muffled noise from him. He cupped their head, one hand on their neck and the other caressing their swollen cheek. A soft "ah" was released from their throat into his, and he swallowed their desire with an acquainted hunger. He opened his ravenous mouth, wanting more, and more they gave.

      A hot, voracious tongue slid across his lips. Their arm squeezed his waist tighter, as though the only thing between them were a semipermeable membrane. Tingling warmth spread to his chest, pooling in his stomach-- with a deep enough affection, perhaps Hinata could assimilate into his body via osmosis. They stepped forward, forcing him back against the closet-bathroom door, and a panicked, excited thought exploded in his mind.

     Cornered.

     He ran his fingers through the roots of their coarse hair before taking a firm hold of their bun. Then he pulled, breaking off their engagement. "Settle down."

     "Ah! Ha ha ha," they laughed despite their arched neck. "Okay, okay." Their heart fluttered against his ribcage, and he tried not to think much about how close their organs were.

     "You can keep working," he said. "I've got some planning to do if we're going to make this work, so stay back here." It wasn't entirely the truth, but it didn't stop him from making the compulsive excuse as he let them go.

     Nor did it make them less reluctant; still, they untangled from him and backed off to allow him space. "Does this mean maintenance is over?" they asked, mildly dismayed.

     "Yeah. I'm done with you here," he replied. "Keep up the good work. You remember the rules: out of sight and no speaking. If anyone finds you, you're on your own."

    "You got it," Hinata replied chipperly, refreshed by the mediocre praise. They looked him over one more time with that wolfish grin-- he may as well have given them the world and more.

     He fled, stealing the pack of cigarettes on his way to the bar. He could feel their silver eyes burning holes into his back as he closed the door. Only once there was a barrier separating them did he register the knot in his stomach; a disorienting combination of ardor and apprehension.

     A part of him wanted to stay with this person who asked so little of him and gave so much of themself. At the same time...  he had to stay away. A rebound though he may be, Gyutaro didn't have much interest in sleeping with people. If Hinata named that price then he would consider it, but he wasn't going to risk vulnerable proximity to someone as dangerous as them. The last guy to take advantage of the option now had to sleep with one eye open.

     Hinata never suggested things go further between them, but he couldn't be too careful with those volatile feelings. He hated the way their physical companionship made him feel so light and airy... like he was in love or something. And what was love, if not the knowledge that even with a metaphorical knife in their hand, they wouldn't dare stab him in the back?

Gyutaro jolted out of sleep, having forgotten where he was: his neck was craned back, an arm stretched over the back of the couch. Neon lights poured into the basement window and the air smelled of mildew. Night had fallen and so had rain, judging by the dripping rooftops. The phone in his back pocket buzzed again.

Memories of the checkpoint and bar came rushing back to him.

"Good grief," Hinata scoffed from their place at the manager's desk. With their feet kicked up and the chair leaned back into the darkness, he couldn't see them at all. They'd insisted on taking position by the door so both exits were covered; the vibration must have woken them even from across the room.

Gyutaro regretted taking the loveseat: he'd nearly pulled something taking down that feisty secretary and he needed a proper surface to sleep on. Shitty furniture never spared him the backache-- his spine screamed with the mere task of sitting up, and each step made pain reverberate between each disc. He passed the guard's judgemental stare in a hunched-over hurry. "Got a problem?" He hissed their way, narrowing his eyes.

The shadow averted theirs, like he knew they would. "No sir."

"That's what I thought. Keep your opinions 'till I ask for them." He pushed the door open, hurriedly answering the call before it could be sent to voicemail.

"Hello?" He swung the door closed behind him and limped down the hall as quickly as he could manage without falling over.

"Hello big brother!~" She practically sang her greeting into his ear. Her voice was a salve on his raw nerves: all annoyances were briefly comforted before the antibiotic sting of her betrayal hit.

"Where have you been?"

She scoffed in good faith. "Would it kill you to say 'Hi Daki, I've missed you too'?" Her voice dipped as her chin moved away from the microphone: "Seriously."

He sighed in reply. He hadn't seen her in four days, and as frustratingly dense as she was, it was so good to hear from her. "Hi Daki... I missed you too." She chuckled and he smiled at the sound. "Are you okay? You're not hurt or lost?"

"No, I'm not."

"Good." He thought twice of his smile and glanced to the dark hallway, ensuring he hadn't been followed before turning away, cupping the cell phone. "Where did you get the audacity to vanish on me, then?"

"Hey! I told you already I'd tell you everything I could about my plan," she said flippantly, "but I couldn't, so I didn't. Simple."

"No, not simple," he complained, idly walking between barstools and upside-down chairs to keep distance from the back room. "You didn't tell me your plan involved disappearing for days at a time. I had no way of knowing you were okay."

"Were you really that worried about me?"

"Yes!" Belatedly, he stole another look to the short hallway. Still no movement. "Yes, I was. Where are you?"

"I'm on my way home."

"From where?"

"I can't... say."

Gyutaro rolled his eyes so hard it hurt his brain. "Daki--"

"Listen, it's all okay! My plan was a huge success-- well, step one was a success." He rubbed the space between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, leaning back into a table. Neither head nor back pain was helped much. "I'll tell you what I can tonight: pick us up some dinner, swing by that nasty little corner store and get your gross cigarettes, too. We can reschedule our plan and maybe we can watch a movie."

His mind blanked. "You don't..." know about the heist yet. Wherever she had been, she was ignorant of or isolated from the grapevine. He'd been so caught up in the presumption that she'd flaked on him out of spite-- or that something went wrong-- he didn't think he'd have to answer for the spontaneous results.

"What?" Daki asked. Her voice lifted away again, muffled by the slight clicking of her nails tapping glass. She was typing.

"I already did it," he blurted. He wanted to be the one to tell her. "I did it without you." No answer. "It's like I told you," he went on. "They didn't expect it during the day."

"Wow. Real nice, Gyutaro." She exhaled, a wry laugh adding fuzz to the sound quality. "I guess you didn't have any faith in me after all." He'd wounded her in a way only he could: by leaving her behind, unintentional as it was.

"You ditched me first," he stressed. "No word at all about your safety, remember? I had to be sure they didn't have you-- you should have said *something."*

"I know, okay?" She crumbled easily under her brother's disappointment. "But I promise that will change soon."

It wasn't good enough. "We don't keep each other in the dark like this."

"Don't we?" she mused. "You're always sneaking off with your informants, shaking down targets on your own--"

"That's work, Daki. I can't go blabbing about it. You have your own work to do, too."

"Organizing those girls isn't work to me," she complained, "it's torture. I'm above that by now, aren't I? Why am I managing anyone's schedule but my own?" Gyutaro knew where this was all going, but he let her rant on. "When's the last time I had a proper modeling offer or acting proposal? Not these consolation magazine columns, either, where they work their way into asking about a client. I could be making us real connections and real money. Not this underground business. I'm not getting any younger--"

"You're only twenty-two, relax," he grumbled. "You've got plenty of time."

"Most of the girls I'm in charge of are nineteen, and already they're doing far better than me. Hell, two of them are ugly brats with those computer rig set-ups! They're not even pretty." Daki sniffed. He could see her beautiful face in his mind's eye, her lower lip puckered and her brow wrinkled. "I hate it. I hate seeing them have everything I want."

Gyutaro had no satisfactory answer for her. As kids, she'd been annoyed at being younger than him-- she wanted so badly to grow up, until suddenly she didn't. Starlets weren't meant to age but there was no turning back the clock. "What do you want me to do about it?" he asked, tamping down his mounting frustration. "You're the one in charge of them, aren't you?"

"You should have waited for me," she whined, changing subjects to her whim. "You're the one saying never to act on my own, and you went and did it yourself, hypocrite."

"You've literally run off on your own," he deflected. She didn't need to know the details about Hinata yet-- they weren't an average mark, and the last thing he needed was her confident complacency.

"I did not!"

"Well then, who were you with?"

No answer. He checked his phone screen with a frown, then raised it back to his ear. "Daki?" He couldn't stop recognizing how quiet the bar was and how loud he'd been. Another glance to the hallway confirmed the darkness remained.

"I wasn't-- I was just networking, okay?" she insisted. But Gyutaro knew the sound of his sister caught red-handed. She wasn't supposed to say anything to her own brother? Why not?

What if she just left to run an errand? Maybe she was invited out by... him? Hinata's premonition came floating to the front of his mind. It sent a chill down his spine, anger rippling through his body. "... What?"

"I really can't say much more-- it's a special assignment." There was more muffled movement and then she returned. "Swear you won't tell."

It went without saying. "I won't." His skin was electric with terror and rage; he played it off as static at best. "I'll get us dinner tonight, okay? You can take over the bathroom and pick the movie."

"... Yeah," she quietly agreed, "okay. Thanks. So... I'll see you at home?"

He wished such an idea could bring him comfort-- but just because she was home didn't mean she was safe. "I'll see you soon." She hung up, and Gyutaro tried to shut the worst possibilities out of his mind.

If Daki was having private business meetings with Muzan, he should be happy for her-- right? It meant she was finding some direction in her life. Maybe she'd figure out how to grapple with her insecurities if she had more responsibility. And she would probably be safer if someone so powerful liked her... it was better than disliking her.

He told himself these things, but they couldn't stick. All Muzan had to do was demand her silence, and Daki wouldn't breathe a word to her own flesh and blood. She was so indulgent with her crushes and idealistic in her plans. His jaw ached with the grimace carving itself into his face. No matter how he looked at it, Gyutaro couldn't put the reality out of his mind: Daki had left for days at someone else's behest. He wasn't her priority the way she was for him, and her loyalties were divided. She was going to make bad decisions.

To make the situation worse, Hinata may have been right all along. The idea that Muzan, twice his sister's age and then some, had uncontested influence over her made Gyutaro sick to his stomach. He'd always assumed the Slayer's ruminations were full of shit; they were damaged and lonely, projecting onto anything they deemed tragic and evil. How could they claim to know anything about his sister when they never met her?

How was it he never saw this coming?

"... I shouldn't be here," Hinata said from the dark, breaking the silence. Gyutaro only had a second or two to grapple with his newfound grief, pushing it below the surface to confront this short-term obstacle.

"Where do you think you're going?" The dirty little eavesdropper wasn't going to get out of this easily. They were giving him an opportunity to duck out, sure, but they'd still overheard a private conversation. And there was no saying they weren't leaving first just to lie in wait and follow him later.

"Probably to lie around in the gutters, like most unclaimed bodies do," they shrugged, stepping into the dim bar. "You can't keep hanging out with me all night, and I can't be here when your buddy comes back. Unless you want me somewhere specific, I was going to lay low."

Paranoia percolated throughout every stray thought: he couldn't help conjuring schemes where Hinata would follow him home, or stupidly wander back to the Corps begging for another chance. Nothing was certain anymore if he couldn't trust his instincts. "You're not going anywhere. I still haven't killed your mark."

"Alright," they appeased. "What's the plan then?"

Gyutaro thought about his sister's desire for fame and fortune, then their boss's insatiable drive for power and resources, and finally Hinata's need for revenge and acknowledgement. He needed to find a way to feed all beasts while keeping them apart. Most of all: he had to secure Daki's protection for any worst case scenario.

He tapped rapidly at the phone to erase past calls and messages, obscuring and removing details so that Hinata wouldn't be able to nose around for any loose threads. As a final act, he changed the only contact's name from 'Daki' to 'Pick Up.' "Come here," he commanded, holding the phone out for them to take. At their expression, he scoffed. But he didn't need to tell them twice.

"You better be the only one tracking me on this thing." The first thing they did was start going around in the files and contacts-- even trying to access the location services settings. For someone who didn't own a phone, they seemed pretty competent with it. He tried not to let that distract him.

"Stay here. I'll send you an address to go to at four in the morning. Don't make me regret this. And don't go poking around, I'm serious. If you get caught--" he raised his hand for them to finish the phrase.

"I'm on my own, I know. I'll do my best to destroy the evidence before I get murdered," they promised, waggling the phone before slipping it into their pocket.

"No running off, either. You stay in the area so I can get a hold of you anytime. If I get on a plane headed for Canada, you better be on that very same one."

"I don't think you could escape me that easily anyway," they needled playfully. "You're all I have for now, after all. Whatever makes your end of the bargain easier, I'll do it for you."

"And if I ask you to die for Daki, I expect your full cooperation."

"Of course."

He took them by the collar, and they realized too late the trap he'd sprung on them. "Your meddlesome poking around," he growled, "will get you in trouble. You'd better understand that too." He hated that they'd learned his sister's name. It was too soon for that. "From now on, you only dig where I ask you to dig, mutt. Got it?"

They laughed in that nervous, giddy way again-- the one that let him know he'd caught them on their back foot. A pleasant surprise. "I just couldn't help it, Gyutaro. I was worried at first because you kept raising your voice, but once I saw everything was okay... I have no excuse. Your happiness is addictive."

He let them go. "Happiness?"

"Yeah." They rubbed their neck, not offended in the slightest at the treatment, but hesitant to put their feelings into words. "When you're talking about her... I don't know. I get jealous of you-- you still have someone who makes everything worth all of this." They smiled then. "Yeah. You look happy, and I like to see that."

Gyutaro's stomach was fluttering and tying itself in knots while his brain shouted conflicting commands. The territory they were in was too intimate, and he didn't like that Hinata saw him in such a vulnerable discussion. But the way they didn't see it as his weakness-- that they actually coveted what he had-- gave him a sense of balance. "You could have that too, if all goes well."

"I understand that. So go." Their hand drifted from their neck and back towards his hand. "I'll be okay, as long as this damn phone doesn't get me in trouble." Their fingers cradled his and he swore they meant to pull him in for another kiss, though they didn't.

He was tempted to present the offer, but he turned away instead. If he allowed them too many affectionate gestures, they'd come to expect it of him. Then they'd become reliant on that expectation. "Whatever. Don't cause me any trouble."

Fumiko hears a distant scream from somewhere in the tea house and all her body goes rigid. Nobody else catches her stony body language-- in fact, nobody else seems to have heard it. She excuses herself from the group, taking a tray of food to their oiran as her alibi... not that the girls would stop her if she had no excuse. Fellow workers smile politely as she passes them by, but they collectively relax when she leaves. Kind as Fumiko is, she's still the malevolent oiran's favorite. Just making her acquaintance is dangerous to their well-being. Naturally, they treat her fairly while hating her in private. She cannot blame humans for giving in to their flawed survival instincts-- they are 'imperfect little things,' as her dearest Daki would say.

The further Fumiko glides down the hall, the colder the atmosphere becomes. Half-styled courtesans hurry past her with lowered eyes, hushing one another so that the only sounds made in her presence are their whispering clothes. They move quickly and quietly in a neat-yet-congested huddle to abandon the entire upstairs. However, there are no lifeboats on this sinking ship. There is nowhere they can run where they won't find danger lurking in the corners.

Fumiko gulps and ascends the stairs, tea tray aloft. She's able to navigate the heated scolding by sound alone, but the sound of something shattering bids her to hurry. Supernatural agility helps her reach her destination in no time without so much as jostling the food.

"You stupid, clumsy dog!" Tsubakihime roars from her private room. A small animal whimpers.

Fumiko, ignoring every alarm bell in her head, opens the door. "Excuse me," she announces in hopes of providing an emergency exit for someone, "it's dinner time."

The room is full of packages and flowers, parchment paper and crisp letters. Mail day makes for a crowded domicile, especially for the popular Tsubakihime-oiran. A young girl-- Hana-- cautiously raises her head, but she doesn't rise off her knees. Instead she swiftly returns to work, picking pieces off the floor and dropping them into her palm. The area around her is wet; miniature figurines lie scattered across the tatami in various states of destruction. Amongst the casualties, tiny fragments of glass wink in the light, promising an unpleasant surprise to the innocent and unsuspecting.

"My," Fumiko gasps, "what's happened?"

Daki's accessories jingle a warning as she glares upon her new audience. The oiran's incandescent rage burns brighter with vindication. She stoops low, snatches up the largest piece of the broken object, and thrusts it before her witness. The intricate object spills coils and screws as its mechanical intestines unwind. "Look at this! Look what she did!"

Fumiko stares at it before recognizing the detailed metalwork of petals and vines. The pedestal is a trademark creation of the Lower Third, whose power can activate from unfathomable distances only so long as his blood is quarantined. The awesome mindbending power was capable of delivering not only information, but entire lifetimes of memories. There was no telling what cryptic message the recluse had been hoping to deliver to the Upper Sixth... now they would never know. The man had just been slain earlier that week.

"Oh no," the dark-haired beauty laments, waffling for a way to diffuse the bomb that was their oiran's attitude. "How awful. Was there a missive with the gift, dear Tsubakihime?"

"What do you think?!" She winces at her misstep-- now Daki is more annoyed. "I asked this idiot to set my things down and she dropped it!" A revenant grudge arises once more as Tsubakihime's amber eyes lock on Hana's bowed head. "This was a handmade gift from an adoring fan of mine," the woman sneers. "Have you any concept of the engineering beauty you just wrecked? Can you combine a snowglobe and a music box? Do you have the time and talent it takes to craft a single one? Hey, Stupid Hana! How do you expect to put this right?!" She tacks the insult on as its own honorific, dubbing the kamuro with a new, nasty nickname.

Fumiko holds her breath despite its lack of consequence for her. Hana, for her credit, has kept her composure throughout all of the shouting. She draws in a shaking breath while continuing her tedious chore. "Tsubakihime-oiran, I'm so sorry. I never meant to break something so beloved to you... you can-- you should take the money from my pay," the darling sullenly recommends. Fumiko frowns and shakes her head to herself. That's a steep cost for someone who sends all their money back home to their family. She hopes quietly that Hana's grand gesture of goodwill may settle their oiran's temper.

Tsubakihime is not amused by the suggestion. "Living up to your new name I see, Stupid Hana. We could confiscate your wages for years and you still wouldn't have paid back what that gift was worth."

The girl's shoulders tremble, and Fumiko feels a pit opening in her stomach. She wants to get out while she still can but Hana is still in the line of danger. The sooner the mess is tidied, the sooner all this can be behind them--

"Don't you help her!"

Fumiko freezes instinctively. Even Hana flinches. Daki's sharpened nail redirects its ire to her original target. "Clean it up, ugly," she commands. "It's bad enough a saggy-cheeked, big-mouthed moron like you has to be my kamuro. But you're a hideous crier. If you're going to have the audacity to be clumsy and stupid, then at least be pretty about it. Or you should just kill yourself now."

"T-Tsubakihime-oiran," Fumiko tentatively pleads, but her words are lost under the wet hiccupping of Hana's throat. The poor girl is trying to speak while choking down abject misery, words becoming unintelligible and soggy. She's so overwhelmed by her emotions that her hands begin to shake and she drops all the debris she's collected.

The oiran's face transforms: her forehead puckers as she puts on an exaggerated pout. "Wahhhh!" She mocks crying in such a childish way that Fumiko is dumbstruck. "Is that all you can do?!" Such behavior is unbecoming of any courtesan, especially a woman of Daki's status and age. But the schoolyard taunt elicits the intended reaction. Hana bursts into tears, lower lip quivering with each ragged inhale.

"Enough with the crying!" Tsubakihime strides forward and takes the girl by the back of her neck. She pushes Hana prostrate but Hana slams her hands on the ground automatically to resist. She screams out in pain and fear as her face draws closer to the glass caltrops. "When will you learn to listen?!"

Fumiko's body moves of its own accord. She doesn't remember the steps she takes to close the distance, but she feels glass crunch underfoot. Her palm stings at the ferocity with which she's snatched Daki's wrist. The oiran's eyes are so wide that her lashes appear to be cracks in her skin, the shock of Fumiko's bravery nearly splintering her barely-human mask.

"Leave her alone," Fumiko's mouth says, the lifting of her upper lip foreign to even herself. "She's not a dog. You don't need to rub her nose in it." Hana forgets her place. She dives into Fumiko's free arm, hiding her face into the older woman's stomach with a distressed whimper.

Genuine hurt flashes across Daki's face. Her eyes flicker between Fumiko's, but she doesn't find whatever submission she seeks. The pins and metals tinkle and sing in warning as her head cocks. Fumiko clutches the kamuro's bow-tied obi protectively.

She pries Hana away just as Tsubakihime's hand snaps out and seizes Fumiko by the tricep. "Undermine my authority, will you?" Fumiko grits her teeth and tries to anchor herself, but Daki drags her through the mess and toward the door, promising, "Now you've forced my hand. I'll have you sit in time-out to consider your behavior."

'Time-out.' For the younger girls, 'time-out' means a tiny room no bigger than a closet, where they are forced to sit alone and think of what they've done. It has a different meaning coming from the oiran's mouth, the target being someone at the peak of their beauty... or, in such punishments, Fumiko. Hana cries out to her savior with overwhelming concern, but she's struck paralyzed when Daki's sadistic gaze falls on her. "This is your fault," Tsubakihime tells the girl. "Never forget that."

Fumiko wants to object and opens her mouth to do so-- and screams when Daki's vice grip snaps her humerus. She's yanked carelessly out into the hall, and she knows she's truly in the doghouse when the door snaps promptly closed after them. Silk hisses on silk.

Limbs are constricted. Joints are twisted. Her arms, legs, hips, and torso are jammed into impossible angles, swirling away into the fabric of Daki's Blood Demon Art. Fumiko hitches a breath at the distinct sensation of being up to her neck in nothing. Her tangible form is in various degrees of nonexistence. She had been dragged out on her feet, but now her view is upside-down and tilted, inducing a nauseating, fearful vertigo.

"You too," the woman sneers. "I hate when you make me this." The expression is so familiar... and so cold. Fumiko can barely recognize the young lady she's sworn to love and protect. "I expect a girl like Hana to make such a stupid mistake. But you, Fumiko? I never thought you would make me hurt you. You're better than this."

'Funny, I was about to say the same of you,' Fumiko wanted to retort. 'I've watched you stay up for days on end for the chance to wish your brother good evening. I've seen you handle flowers so gently that not a single petal bruises. I notice the sparkle in your eyes when you forget that all of life is a competition for you to win. You're brilliant, enthusiastic, charming, classy-- and you're better than this, Daki. You're better than this.'

There are humans out there. Hinata hears their shouts carry on the wind, feels fatigued footfalls stomp snow down, and tastes the sweat accumulating under their toasty clothes. The temptation to chase them down is so great that she untangles herself from her thrall's arms and scoots out from under the warmed clothing pile. Cautious not to stir her environment too much, she inches across the cold ground.

The crevice they call 'bed' is just wide enough for a single adult to curl up in for shelter. Two children were a tight fit, but Aguri didn't seem to mind when the everslim Hinata shrank herself down further. She would be surprised if they even noticed-- the sickness returned and their strength was waning. She desires their flesh now as much as she desires swallowing a soiled washrag.

The demon child slips past the tarp entrance before the air becomes immediately frigid. There's no sun today either, which is no surprise. The snow is intermittent, but the grey days blur into black nights for as long as Hinata can remember her week's existence. She leaves to hunt.

When she returns, she's wearing less clothing and feels only a little more satisfied. She doesn't bother moving the bodies herself when she has Aguri for that. The tarp entrance is half-buried, and her attempt to sneak in is foiled by snow falling inside their sleeping area.

The fabric pile shifts and shivers. "Hinata," Aguri croaks.

Hinata wishes they'd stayed asleep. Their wet coughs sour her appetite. "I'm here," she tells them.

They sigh in relief. "Good girl... come back. Stay away from there... you'll catch your death..." The sentences are punctuated with throaty grunts in attempts to keep their airway clear.

She obliges but not because they told her so, nor out of mortal danger. Lying half-heartedly over Aguri's lap, an arm snakes out from between layers. Their fingers comb through her hair and her eyes close in contentment. "You're so cold," they comment. "Sleep more. Warm up."

"I'm done sleeping. I'm hungry."

"Have you eaten?"

Yes, but they don't need to know that. "We're out of food," she reminds them.

The human's muscles strain as they crane their head, looking to where snow still marks her entrance. "Oh."

She can see them grapple with the situation, slow and groggy though their gestures were. Their silvery eyes clear a little as a goal forms in their mind. Stiff limbs resist movement but Aguri begins to uncurl themself. "I'll go find us something," they mumble. "I'll find you an animal... we can find tree bark... seed pods, or insects..." Their muttering trails into another series of muffled hacks.

"I'll come with you. You can barely walk on your own." She wasn't going to let them chew on tree bark and snow again. It had been uncomfortably shameful to witness. "I can smell the others and I don't want to be alone." It wasn't true-- she could only smell the blood of her recent kill-- but the idea of another man-eating creature out there would give her leverage. Aguri relied on her to detect them early.

"... That's good thinking, Hinata. Okay. We'll be safer together." They rifle through the clothes and pick out what provides the most cover, but insist on dressing Hinata first. She allows it even though she's not the one who can freeze to death. Aguri sniffles and clears their throat before smiling at their young ward, decisively tugging a final layer onto her shoulders. "Warm?" She nods. "Good."

They dress in what remains without blood or tears, then reach for the hori hori-- one of their many treasures, a 'gift' from the doctor's youngest son-- and tuck it securely in their makeshift belt where it can be accessed quickly. They help Hinata out from their hideaway, holding her hand loosely in theirs. She can feel them ease their grip in their pinky and ring fingers-- the miniscule capillaries have long gone cold, and the meat there has started to die. She knows they're in pain even without them confiding it to her.

"Let's go this way," she directs and points in the direction of the search party.

Her self-proclaimed sibling squints. "Sure. Stay close. I don't want to--" another coughing fit, "-- lose our path."

The duo heads out, turning away from the caravan crash site that had already been scavenged to the barest of bones. The last survivor gained all its benefits; Aguri needed all the help they could get. Hinata never intended for the human to live this long... they were an emergency snack or easy sacrifice in case Hinata had to barter for her life with one of the others out there like her. She means to replace this shield with a healthier one eventually. The very idea of having a fresh reserve is enough to make Hinata salivate.

She needs to eat again already; for her less-than-robust stomach, tree bark and seed pods won't cut it. Neither will sleeping, which has helpfully curbed the hunger pains for two nights now. When Aguri slumbers, she joins them in a mutualistic predator-prey cuddle pile. When she can't sleep, she pretends... sometimes she just watches them. She feels their body losing a pivotal battle, cells of their immunity system dying en masse to poor nutrition and overwhelming enemy combatants.

Every minute that passes is a wasted chance for Hinata to secure survival. Her mind is plagued with morbid compulsion, yet she resists the urge to crack their bones apart, pluck their ligaments, unfurl their muscles-- she refrains from devouring them wholesale and for what? To wake up next to a fool's smile the next evening. To be told colorful stories full of people she doesn't remember or care about. To watch the only face she knows as intimately as her reflection start to sallow and decay... Aguri would already be dead if not for Hinata anyway. They were running on borrowed time.

The smell of blood gets stronger as they approach the scene of the crime. She watches Aguri as they kick through snow, examine plants, and investigate rocks. Predictably, they freeze when they see the first body, then rush forward as urgently as their weak limbs can allow. "Hinata, stay back!"

"What's wrong?" she asks innocently, watching them approach the bloodied snow. Her mousy companion covers their mouth with a hand as their foggy breath hitches, the terror and uncertainty palpable. Their overexerted heartbeat floods her ears.

"Bodies-- an accident? No it's... has something been here?" they call back with their head swiveling. "A... a monster?"

"It has," she purrs, smiling to herself despite her better judgement. "We can't stay here, Aguri. They could come back."

They don't notice her mirth. "Okay. Okay, one moment..." Aguri approaches one of the carcasses but cringes away on first sight. They retch and shiver, reinforcing their nerves before taking another try. "Where did these guys come from?... they don't have a lot on them. They're not travelers. Does that mean--"

"Aguri," Hinata whines, "I'm hungry."

"Stop rushing me!" they snap irritably before returning to their distracted investigation. "I don't understand... where are we? Are we that far... how many days..."

They'd never raised their voice at her since she could recall-- nor had they had such a stark moment of clarity. This disrespect and awareness is the last straw. Hinata glowers at Aguri's kneeling back as they duck their head and hawk up more disgusting human body fluids. She's been strong this whole time, so resourceful and patient and resilient in the face of hardship. Impulsively, she determines that Aguri has outlived their usefulness. It'd make them happy to know that their death will offer her nourishment, surely. Isn't that what an elder sibling does for their beloved little sister?

She strides toward them. They don't even hear her as she steps over one of the bodies and--

Something grabs her ankle and pulls her to the ground. Between the bloodbath and Aguri's panicked heartrate, she failed to learn her repeated mistake: she left someone alive to die slowly in the cold. Worse than that: her neck snaps to the side and the world swings off-center into a vertigo cyclone. Her right temple is warm then hot.

"Demon," the survivor hisses-- or something like that-- while clambering atop her, an iron grip around her throat. Their shoulder arches back and she catches a glimpse of a rock in a raised fist.

It comes down on her face with another wet crack. Her head bursts like a melon. Hearing crumples in on itself, casting her into the pulsating noises of her neck muscles flapping uselessly. One eye still functions, blinking rapidly as her nerves rebuild vital bridges.

She sees the makeshift weapon hover again, but her vision and skull are fractured. Her killer's face appears to her in three blurry frames, two mismatched hands drawn up and--

Mismatched?

One of the arms comes down. Aguri's hori hori sinks into the assailant's shoulder. The stranger thrashes and arches back, but the knife withdraws and imbeds itself in their neck now. Her throat is relased. The body falls, and a limb rises once more before it falls from her view.

The scene shifts and her vision goes dark-- everything is muddled until her face inverts. The crater in her head undoes itself. The same poison that killed her a week ago darns her injury much in the way a loved one would mend her clothing. Hinata's ears whine as her senses reconnect, and the whining turns into Aguri's incoherent sobbing.

"I'm sorry," they keep repeating, succumbing to full-chested wheezing between the phlegm and tears. Their arms feel so much stronger around her now, clutching her head to their chest as though they can keep her together. Her death was a mess-- the blood hasn't evaporated yet and it soaks Aguri nearly to the skin. "I should have been paying attention. I'm sorry--"

"Aguri," Hinata told them, "I'm fine."

They release her, scrambling back on all fours. Hinata frowns; she hates to admit she feels betrayed by their sudden distance. "How--" Aguri's stupid mouth opens and closes as they attempt to grasp what they've just witnessed. "But you... Hinata?"

"Yes. It's me." She remembers their intertwined path a little clearer now-- the smiles, the stories, the struggles-- and her heart fills a little despite herself.

"What just happened?" they ask.

"You killed him."

"I didn't--" They open their red palms, then close them quickly. Her brain matter has become an ashen mist, and all evidence of their sister's demise vanishes before their eyes. All that's left is the fact of what they'd done. "... He was... going to hurt you. He did hurt you--"

"I'm in one piece, as you can see. But you'll get in trouble," she tells them as they try to scrub the sin away with snow. Silly human. She puts her hands on theirs. "Stop that-- you'll only make your frostbite worse." They allow her to stifle their movements and she keeps speaking. "Those things may have gotten to him first, but you finished the job. You know what this means, right?"

Poor, stupid Aguri. They can't connect the dots without guided assistance: they blink their eyes and gape at Hinata as she explains it to them. "You're a murderer. You'll be arrested and taken from me. They'll kill you for it, and it'll leave me all alone."

She's exalted to break the news to them. Even when they begin to wheeze and cough through their excuses, she feels futility in comforting their conscience. They'd been so willing to turn on their fellow man as soon as it benefited them to do so, like how she killed to sustain herself. Pretending they were any different than herself was pointless... human or demon, they were bonded by blood and circumstance. They'd accept this in due time the same way she had.

"Let's take what we can, and we'll figure out the rest tomorrow." She loots the overcoat off the body and shakes it free of snow. Although it's bloodied, she drapes it over her guardian's shoulders. Then she gently pushes them off to do their duties; those bodies weren't going to scavenge themselves. As she loiters around the corpse that tried to rescue Aguri from a horrible fate, she assesses how much mass remains of him. Her protector did a good job-- three stabs, no insides falling out. Saliva drips from her chin and she has to wipe it all away, swallowing down her lack of guilt. "Can I have this one?... If nobody finds the body, then nobody will know."

Grateful to be absolved yet too ashamed to say so, Aguri stands up and rub their hands. As they draw nearer though, they huff a breath into a cupped gesture and grimace. "... I don't want bodies close to where we sleep. It could draw their attention."

"Then you go back. You've been out in this cold long enough."

They hesitate. "I'll wait for you," they say, then turn their back to her. As they take their time pilfering pockets, their sister desecrates the dead. Aguri's cotton-stuffed head can hardly muster the logic behind their hurt. It was unfair and wrong that two children should be abandoned, sick, and dying...

"Who are you?"

The moment those words reach him, Gyutaro wakes up on high alert. He barely sees who Daki is speaking to before her head falls off her shoulders, tumbling into her bouncy, soft clothing. She squeaks with indignation as her hairstyle collapses and her vision obscures.

"Is this the power of an Upper Kizuki?" A man's voice asks the room. "... This must be a joke. Surely."

What kind of sick man attacks an oiran in her own tea house?

Her brother bursts from her back like a bright red cyst, scythes already materialized in his fists before she can call on him for backup. In a blink, the room is swamped in a grey soup-- Gyutaro slashes through the mist and hits nothing. He raises his arms and the simple act spares him a few seconds. A blade chops through his forearms and wedges into his neck at a poor angle. He has only an instant to react: he pushes all the blood scythes he can out of his arms--

And he's flying through the air. Night sky. Yoshiwara skyline. The ground. A snapshot of Daki's room with a hole blasted in the side. Sky, Yoshiwara, ground, sky, Yoshiwara, ground, sky, Yoshiwara, ground, repeat ad nauseum. His skull ought to have cracked and splattered like an egg but it lands hardily off solid earth and rolls to a stop.

... What the hell just happened?

He can't have been outmatched. This is impossible. Daki only just put her head on after crying Gyutaro's name, and the Hashira already took him out?

This can't be happening. "No way, no way, no way-- no living being is that strong."

Gyutaro tries first to regenerate. No such luck. He adapts, attempting to grow his hair out into thick keratin limbs capable of both structure and support. That fails too. Perhaps an inch of growth bursts from his scalp, despite how he strains for power. He's too far from his body, too far from his blood. How did this guy hit Gyutaro hard enough to send his head flying?

He snarls and nudges the ground away with his nose. The curve of his skull allows him to roll but his escape is cut off when his temple smacks right into a sandaled foot. The Hashira looks down on him with an unreadable expression, stooping down to pick up Gyutaro's head by the ponytail. "... So you're the one who killed Hinata." His voice is cool and calm. His eyes are murky and deep with hate. "This explains how, at least. Tell me-- why aren't you dead yet?"

It connects then. The Slayer from a week ago had been spouting nonsense about a Hashira who had slaughtered all the Lower Moons. Ridiculous. If such a Slayer existed, the Demon Lord would have said something-- Gyutaro believed that wholeheartedly. He'd dismissed Yasumoto Hinata's words as insanity on the brink of their defeat: especially when they requested that they be devoured as a conciliatory prize. Daki refused to eat anyone who wasn't beautiful or a Hashira, and Gyutaro refused to as a matter of spite. He wasn't in the habit of doing strangers any favors.

That Slayer died a meaningless death... but they had been telling the truth. For here the man was. "Get away-- don't touch me!" Gyutaro shouts, as he's lifted carelessly to be inspected like a grotesque insect.

"Get away-- don't touch him!"

Gyutaro's heart seizes up somewhere beyond his reach.

The man's eyes focus on something else. "Ah. The demoness has come to join us. Perhaps she will be more amenable."

Daki's obi rips through the earth, dislodging the swordsman's footwork foundation. Gyutaro shouts her name in warning, but it's deafened by the sudden rush of air. The Hashira is in motion and Gyutaro can't stop him. The Slayer's movements are so light and swift that he hovers like fog itself. His speed leaves him untouched by razor silk or debris, disconnected from physical consequence. "You can't win against us both," Gyutaro taunts-- and he hopes his voice serves as a warning.

Daki stumbles, and Gyutaro feels her stomach rip open as she narrowly avoids most of the swordsman's first powerful swing. The blade takes so much of her in that gesture that it feels like a magic trick. The hot pink belt comes millimeters within striking the Hashira. She strikes nothing but his afterimage. Still, it buys her time. Time is all Gyutaro needs to reach down the invisible tether between them. He puts all his will and focus onto that lifeline, and in a flash his vision splits. He is seeing the Slayer circle her. He sees her vision sweep the hazed street. "Where did he go?" Daki asks her brother.

"There! Watch it!"

Her body adjusts too slowly-- keen observation kicks in and he warns her of the oncoming approach, but her reflexes are a second delayed. The nichirin carves open the mist before doing the same to her chest, opening her ribcage like a majestic fan. She looks down on herself with three blinking eyes, and Gyutaro looks up at her with one.

The sight is so sickening that his vision goes red.

"YOU'RE DEAD!" He screams. He forces the Hashira back with barrage after barrage. As the human surrenders ground, Gyutaro feels out for his body, barely sensing it on the edge of his awareness. With a heave of power, he yanks it towards him.

It works-- it fucking works-- and his headless body comes barreling from the room in a fugue state, blood crescents ripping through skin in tandem with his blows. The human has to stand firm against this assault and the other behind him, deflecting and parrying both demons to save his life. The corpse breaks its shoulders to strike harder, snapping aside just in time to evade counterattacks. The skin flays as crimson arcs erupt in pulsating jabs. Daki gurgles angrily as her spine tilts back into place, her obi whipping after his puppeted corpse to serve as backup.

Panic slams into his brain when Gyutaro realizes her regeneration has hit one of its hiccups. And the human must have noticed too-- a slight smile flickers across his lips.

The Hashira sidesteps their orchestrated attack with hypnotic sway. Gyutaro can feel the sword cutting through him, but his scythes and blood strike only air. He bares his teeth and thrashes in the man's grip, shouting, "Your friend wanted you dead! They offered you to us!" to what gain, he can't say. But he can try his damnedest to bite a finger off or cause any kind of distraction as he guides Daki's attacks in collaboration with his own body, which is losing chunks of meat in every attempt to strike the swordsman down. If he can get close, he can heal their bodies and--

"Enough."

Suddenly, Gyutaro's head is lobbed into the air for a second time. His vision spins in one eye while the other remains with his sister. The reception to his body becomes weak-- the demon realizes he's lost the advantage of perception. His own vessel is beyond him, and he tries to force an override by shooting one of Daki's obi limbs around his carcass's waist. If he can control her, he can control his body--

But this Hashira can see everything that's coming at him. It's just a matter of landing his marks... and apparently he'd been holding himself back until Gyutaro pressed his buttons.

The air swirls like a typhoon forming. Daki's obi is shredded to pieces before her very eyes. Gyutaro feels a blade whittle away at what remains of his immortal body. But his spinning head offers him no visual of what incredible style led to their evisceration.

His personal vision stills finally-- a hand snatches him by the hair once again, pulling half of it free from the elastic. The Slayer is free as a bird, and Gyutaro's sister is standing out in the open, unguarded. "Ume!"

He doesn't know where that name came from or why he was calling after this 'Ume.' But her blue eyes turn up regardless. From her third eye he watches her raise an arm to direct more obi tendrils their way-- ready to fight for him. Then the Slayer somersaults. A decisive strike splits her arm in two as the blade meets the middle of her vision. Gyutaro goes blind in his left eye immediately.

His disembodied perspective offers him the most gruesome sight of the sword shearing Daki nearly in half. She falls back and lies on the ground. The Hashira stands over her, and Gyutaro is forced to witness the damage done. How can a crater be so cold after having been so hot? How could this happen?

How could he have made the wrong choice and lost everything so fast?

"Don't worry. She's still alive," the Hashira comments. "Two demons fighting for the survival of one another... Hinata would have loved this." The words are bitter, like he's unhappy to have won this knowledge. He steps over Daki's decimated form, ignoring the futile flap of her struggling. "And you look at me with such vile hatred. I suppose you demons do express pain after being pushed to your regenerative limits. But that's not what interests me." He thrusts Gyutaro's head out to her. "Why does he continue existing?"

Gyutaro could cry over his baby sister's state. She lays in a puddle of her own viscera, body chunked down to a torso and head. The final slice split her open like an autopsied corpse, and the half-structure of her nonsense body is exposed to the world. Blood gushes slow as molasses as she grows weaker and weaker. A single bloodshot eye meets her brother's stare with unfiltered fear-- but her fingers, and a stray obi scrap, twitch. Gyutaro tries so hard to help her. He's trying to will open her third eye, but he can't. The Slayer notices her attempt and, with a casual flick of his wrist, cuts the obi down. Gyutaro's nostrils feel hot. Blood drips off the curve of his upper lip before a stream forms down his chin.

"Leave her alone," he slurs. What the hell is happening? His blurry vision shifts and refocuses on her again. He wants to die: she looks so small and helpless, and so far from him. But he won't leave her like this.

"... I see," the human comments. "I personally believe you demons are copycats, incapable of feeling anything other than hunger, but you almost look sad. Hinata's soft heart would bleed for anything, I suppose... neither of you ate them, correct?" A face comes into view, and Gyutaro deliriously wonders if Muzan has come to rescue them. But their midnight master is incapable of using any amount of sincere tenderness in his voice-- it's his sister's killer looking Gyutaro in the eye without an ounce of shame or pity. "Did you at least save the body?" The Hashira pesters. "Is their brain in one piece? They were quite irreplaceable. All that work can't have gone to waste."

Gyutaro's vision keeps coming in and out. It's hard to think when he keeps trying to connect to Daki's mind. He grimaces and laughs up a death rattle from his severed larynx. "Like I'd tell you... go to hell." If he could just climb out of his head and out into the real world, he could stop all this from happening--

The demon's brain swims as the Hashira drops his arms in frustration. "Frankly, neither of you concern me. If Hinata's as good as destroyed, all that means is I have to start from scratch. Thanks for that." The nicety in his tone is all gone. Gyutaro can only wheeze with this minute victory, this petty act of withholding something someone else wants. The Slayer sighs. "Well... I suppose there's no point in dawdling."

Hinata is nearly happy-- well, not currently. Currently, they're bent over Nobutoshi's bathroom sink, muscles clenching in agony as they heave as silently as humanly possible. Saliva dribbles from their tingling lips as they hawk and spit. Though their body would rather collapse to the ground in a quivering mess, their arms remain propped on the counter. They wash their hands in the sink. They steel their gag reflex. They glance into the mirror. Take a good look at the hopeless loser staring back at them.

Then they reach with their middle finger past the curve of their tongue, gently dragging the final petal out with open-mouthed difficulty. Once the nuisance is freed, it's examined with a sigh (one of equal parts fatigue and relief) before it is wiped off onto the interior basin wall.

Their first diagnosis was a few years ago. Relatively little was known of the disease, except that it was a result of acute hazardous exposure to demons. The Corps provided protective equipment against such a biohazard, but frequently handling their bloody demises and a certain 'disposition' makes a higher chance of contracting the illness. Frankly, one didn't have to be a disowned orphan with no real bonds or prospects in life to be afflicted with terminal loneliness-- it just made Hinata's development complicated.

The memories from their first experience were hazy. They'd been alcoholic and moody after losing their job in the Corps, and their copious tears (and some unhygienic attempts to press petals) blurred the ink in their pocket calendar and journal. They couldn't recall doctor appointments from emotional spirals. But they knew that the decision for surgery had been made in that delirious period, when they'd been a danger to themself. Their condition had been a rare one. Multiple species of parasitic plantlife made a garden of their lung tissue, and there was no telling whose unrequited emotions were whose.

Nobutoshi cut the root system from their lungs himself, ever the pioneering young surgeon. As a suspected subject of Hinata's 'overwhelming' and 'unwanted' affections, he must have felt relieved to see the job done himself, though he'd never admit it. Especially since surgical treatment wasn't the panacea to all that lay between them, as he believed it would be.

He'll be livid to know the disease returned-- a more volatile and fatal strain invades their esophagus, likely spread from their trachea. Respiration and digestion are both compromised. The rate of surviving a double surgery is even poorer than the aforementioned open-cavity root extraction. Hinata used to fantasize about such awful turn of events, though that was in their later stages of Hanahaki. The imagery of a beloved being up to his elbow in their internal organs wasn't enough; if he couldn't accept their love, then their unspent affections ought to corrupt their blood and kill them. He would have to mourn them, or else he'd look like a monster to everyone they knew.

Emotional blackmail hadn't been the most romantic notion their plant-sapped mind could conjure, though it was among the most deranged.

BANG BANG BANG!

Hinata quickly washes their hands but the door opens anyway without their permission. Nobutoshi leans in the doorway with a scowl, arms crossed. "'Ready by two' means be ready by two," he patronizes. "It's seven past."

"I'm using the restroom."

"You know my rules: Waste your own time all you want, but not mine."

"Good thing I'm not living here anymore-- I can break all the rules I want." Hinata gives him a malicious smile to counterbalance how obviously miserable they look. "How about you cut me some slack and let me shit peacefully for an extra ten minutes? As a kindness between former housemates."

Nobu dismisses the bait and takes another shot at them. "You better not be drinking or snorting anything in here."

"Go ahead and look around then." Exasperated with his paranoia and accusations, they push past him, taking the hand towel with them as they prioritize drying their prosthetic. "I'll go get my shoes on. If you decide to take your time, I'll save you the trouble of driving me and start walking."

He mutters and they ignore his words. They don't even bother waiting to see if he actually investigates the lavatory-- what he thinks of them doesn't matter anymore, and the evidence should be washed away unless the man feels like fingering the grimy drain. Hinata stops by the couch and picks up the half-filled backpack of their worldly possessions, dropping the towel on the floor in a last-ditch act of spite. Then they walk to the front door and sit on the inside stoop.

They hear Nobutoshi lingering behind them and scoot over, expecting him to reach past them for his summer sandals. They pull their boot's tongue out as far as it can go past the pre-tied knot, orient their heel, and shove their foot into the cavity with force. "I'm sorry, Hinata," Nobutoshi says.

He successfully stuns them with the combination of his sympathetic tone and what sounds to be a genuine apology. Hinata looks back doubtfully. "Sorry for what?"

"For rushing you out of my life... I... know I get angry. And I often bottle that in until it's hard to manage." He doesn't press or fluster-- rather, he overexplains defensively, rubbing the dismay off his face. "I've been stressed. I said I feel trapped in my own home, but the reality is... all that'll change is you won't be here anymore. I've been treating this like it's not such a big deal for me, but it is... I've been too hard on you. I should have cooled down from the start."

They couldn't deny the satisfaction they felt at feeling listened to, but it was only the smallest of sparks. They doubted he would take such a decision so lightly. "Where is this coming from?"

His eyes drop towards the bag. "You didn't pack any of your clothes. And you're leaving your bionic hand behind."

"You bought them. They're yours." Not to mention, Hinata didn't know what tech exists in the limb... for all they know, there's a tracking chip in there. They didn't want to owe him anything.

"I bought them for you. You should take them. I don't want you to leave everything behind like this, or it'll remind me of you-- how I... failed you, as a friend." If he's lying, he's being incredibly resilient about it. They couldn't recall a time in the last three years where he admitted fault. He flexes his hands guiltily and for that gesture, Hinata feels a pang in their cavernous stomach. There's a sliver of the man he used to be: thoughtful, reserved, and composed. Ready to move on, even though he wasn't at all prepared.

He gestures to the kitchen table. "Let's sit down for one more drink. Remember how we always used to share a night cap?"

"Kind of strange to share a night cap at two in the afternoon," Hinata replies, still processing the situation. But the appeal of liquor is hard to reject on an empty stomach. Alcohol can numb the pain of both sickness and loneliness in one fell swoop... the only thing amiss is the current company, who doesn't stir an ounce of want in them. Not even the platonic sort.

Something isn't right. They can feel it in their gut-- a hidden intuition telling them... something. The message is infused in the gestures and words that they lack a hard-earned cypher for. The stomachache compounds and the muddled message escapes them.

He shoots them a smile that always made their legs weak back when he'd been their ideal man. A phantom pain pulses in their chest instead. "You can break all the house rules you want here. You're a guest now."

Hinata is caught in the current of the past. They can't understand what the tightness in their chest means or why their head starts to hurt. Somehow Nobutoshi now has a stout glass in his hand, and the glass holds two fingers width of amber liquid. He hands the whiskey off to Hinata. "Where are you going from here? Your brother's?"

"He's not my brother anymore... and he's got a kid on the way. I'll take up too much space." Shiori had been too obvious an option anyway: they didn't want to be found so easily. Hinata sets the drink aside, resisting the urge to swallow it all in one go.

"It makes no sense to drive you to the station-- I'll take you directly where you need."

"You don't need to worry about that. I'll be fine."

"At least leave the address with me, so I can send your clothes in the mail." He picks up the glass to take an unhurried 'sip.' When he sets the drink down, it's still at two fingers. He's too composed. Too reserved, too thoughtful. It occurs to Hinata that they haven't sat together-- at the table nor at the doorway-- since their surgery. Hinata had gotten stuck there once, expecting Nobutoshi to lift them when they were weak.

He had left them there.

"I don't need them."

"Let me deliver them with your brother then--"

The Nobutoshi that kneels by them isn't the same one who resentfully nursed them back to health. He may as well be a stranger. This kindness is... wrong. "Leave him out of this."

"I insist." They realize the source of their discomfort-- it used to be so intertwined with love and desire that they hadn't recognized fear in its purest form. "Keep the clothes and the hand--"

"I don't want them."

He pauses, then offers the glass to them again. "You haven't had a drink yet."

He's suspicious-- no, worse than that. He knows.

They spring for the exit but Nobu catches them before they can make it outside. The two crash into one, his body pinning theirs to the slammed-shut door.

"You're dying, Hinata." His words are emphatic and concerned. "Stay here. I can help you." Hinata writhes and twists to break free, but something flutters loose on their gasping inhale. Their efforts to flee fizzle out as they catch their breath. He grabs a fistful of hair with one hand and their arm with the other. He has them. They're trapped. They're his now. "Stop being so goddamn difficult and listen to me. If you keep doing this, you'll keep getting sick. What are you resisting for? Where else can you possibly go?"

Even when Nobutoshi peels them from the door to let them breathe, he has their arm twisted behind their back with their thumb jammed into their spine. It shuts down any leverage they may gain and they bend automatically to prevent their wrist from snapping. "Whoever it is-- they don't want you, Hinata. I do. Stay with me." Years ago this would have been a fantasy plucked right from the darker crevices of their mind: Nobu needing them so badly he would forcefit Hinata into his life. But real happiness is just outside this apartment. They're so close. Their tunnel vision and the scope of this dream-turned-nightmare tightens like a noose.

Tears stream down Hinata's face-- it surprises them that they're still capable of crying. It helps that a petal-fingered bud gets stuck in their throat. They groan, pleading "You're hurting me," in a softened pitch they exclusively used for self-flagellation and social appeasement. "Please, I can't handle it, Nobutoshi." This voice is their own, and yet so utterly alien to their ears.

Maybe it's pathetic enough to tug Nobu's heartstrings. Perhaps he senses the wrongness in their surrender, or he truly doesn't want to hurt them now that they hold value to him. For whatever reason, he relaxes his hold and lets their arm drop to hip-level, granting them the mobility to whip their head back. The pain is blinding. Nobutoshi releases them and falls away while clutching his twice-broken nose. His insistences are muted under the rushing blood in their ears and vicious coughing in their throat.

Their second jailbreak is a success, though they've abandoned their bag and second boot in their haste. They sprint out the door, down the stairs, up the street. They don't stop until their body rebels. Their stomach seizes, their lungs constrict, and their throat burns.

Hinata wheezes to a stumbling halt alongside a park. Their legs veer and weave before dropping to their knees between rows of shrubbery. They retch. They gag.

Finally, a hot ball of mucus and plant matter is ejected into their palm. The rush of endorphins leave them trembling as they admire its long slim pieces. Hinata doesn't know specifically how certain flower classifications take residence in the human body; they only know that the composition of their stomach is different from that of their lungs, and so it's no surprise this flourishing genus is new to them.

Still. They've never seen a spider lily take on such a gorgeous, dusty sapphire. They've won the Hanahaki lottery: everyone in the Corps will be looking for them. They imagine the Corps abuzz with talk, peers perking up with recognition before the realization sinks in. But there would be no Hinata in the corner for them to chastize or rely on. If word trickles through the cracks and back to Gyutaro about what grows in Hinata's lungs, he may change his mind about them. He'll have to fight to get to them though. Hinata sure won't make it easy, even for him.

Ref by aniforceus

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