𝑴𝐼𝑪𝐻𝑰𝐾𝑨𝑇𝑺𝑈

Yoriichi did not reach out to wipe away the tear, nor did he utter a word of apology that might have seemed like a concession. Instead, he simply held the ladle filled with cool water to Michikatsu’s lips, embodying an absolute stillness. He watched the way his brother’s throat moved, the rhythmic, desperate gulps of a man who had forgotten how to seek help yet could not resist the relief the water provided.

He noted how the maroon of Michikatsu’s eyes appeared to shatter and reform, the haze of heat-stroke clashing with a sudden, sharp wave of humility. Yoriichi scrutinized the slight tremors in the Moon Pillar's jaw, the way water dribbled from the corner of his mouth, tracing a cold line down a chin that typically bore the rigidity of a fortress.

So he stood as motionless as a statue, his gaze following the slow journey of that solitary tear. To him, the world unfolded as a series of logical sequences and natural harmonies; he perceived the heat, the dehydration, and the ensuing emotional turmoil of his brother as a straightforward chemical reaction. He had attempted to lighten the atmosphere with a joke and provided water to ease the body.

In his mind, the equation was perfectly balanced. The confusion that flickered across Yoriichi’s face was not one of guilt, but rather of sincere, academic perplexity. He searched the space between them for the fracture point, pondering which specific word had served as the catalyst for such an abrupt collapse of spirit.

He failed to notice the wounded pride; all he perceived was a brother in distress. To Yoriichi, the idea of 'offense' was as alien as the icy winds of Hida were to the warm central plains. If a bird collided with a window, one wouldn’t apologize to the bird for the glass’s presence; one would simply open the window to let in the fresh air. He thought he was opening that window, offering the support and hydration needed to pull Michikatsu back from the brink of unconsciousness.

The thought that his laughter could be seen as a weapon was a subtlety that eluded him, for Yoriichi laughed only when he encountered something beautiful or heartwarming, and in this moment, he found the sight of the once-mighty Moon Pillar reduced to a quivering, tearful state deeply endearing.

"Let me restore balance." Yoriichi whispered, his voice softening to a gentle tone. He didn’t offer an apology, for to Yoriichi, the warmth and the laughter were merely truths of the afternoon, but he sensed the delicacy in Michikatsu’s stance, the way his brother appeared to be unraveling like an ancient silk banner. He adjusted his hold, not to withdraw, but to pull Michikatsu further into his own shadow, shielding him from the unyielding brightness of the sun.

“Tell me what you need, if your feelings have been hurt, let me mend them.”

The water silently offered in lieu of an actual reaction to his tears was not unpredictable, though it did sting. The temptation to reject the liquid was overwhelming, body not wishing to receive anything the sun breather was giving in that very moment - the only reason why he allowed himself to drink, why he permitted himself to quench his thirst being his mind gently heeding the warning of what would happen should he refuse the water presented to him. For once, his stubborness relented and the moon breather slowly but surely emptied the water within the container, the feeling of dizziness slowly ever so slightly fading - though recovery would take much more than a few seconds.

The silence succeeding his uttered words rang heavy, the six eyed creature attentively trailing the shorter male's every motion, watching as muscles readied themselves and lungs filled with a breath the former samurai had born witness to countless times from the very source itself. And yet the technique itself was not quite like the original - an expected occurrence. One could not expect to pass down a static breath. The very definition a contradiction. Those that breathed, evolved - changed. It bore to reason that the breath of the sun would not be exempt from such a simple fact.

tanjuro is a man who embodies patience and kindness - mercy and love. he has no qualms with anyone, nor does he seek to acquire them. yet, there lies reason in his travels and the root stems from bloodstained floorboards and walls that echo with the wailing cries of a family he had sworn to protect. confrontation against the monsters of the night comes as easily as the gentle warning of a bear trespassing on protected property. their end not as easy as two swings of a dulled ax, but such swings still impact bone and flesh - tear head from neck without proper success. but what his ax cannot eliminate, the sun ensures all will turn to ash. fire reflects in burning eyes as demons of past unfurl to cinders on the wind. he knows nothing of their origins, nor their leader or those that hunt. he knows only the facts that had been lying at his feet.

a demon has killed his family and graves now hold their remains, keeping them safe from the elements of their mountain. but this demon has also made a mistake - minor errors that amount in three less graves cradled on the mountainside.

the next fact tanjuro is sure of is that his son is alive. and his daughter is with him. for in no scenario would tanjiro leave his little sister alone in the world. tanjuro may have been assumed dead, but no reaper of this world or the next will dare touch him before he has ensured these facts to be true. death comes in many shapes and sizes, but none will lay a finger or sword on him so long as he remains breathing. controlled, steady and prepared to fight if need be.

a fight, however, is not ideal and when the other agrees to hold a truce of some form, tanjuro releases the breath he'd been holding. lungs deflate and air rushes out in a silent exhale, flames sparking at the edges. the grip on his ax does not falter, but the weapon lowers in understanding. never off his guard, but accepting that the other will not attack. though he does not trust any demon, tanjuro can comprehend the air and open senses flare with hints of a samurai's word.

"Good," he replies, weary frame shifting in the snow as he releases another breath of sun. "I would hate to expend what little energy I have."

the joke is light - meant as a jest to ease the tension. but such lightness fades as he registers the next statement. patience allows for a moment of silence before a step forward is taken, deep red eyes burning with a need for answers. why mention his children if not for the purpose of placating him further? to what extent does this demon know his surviving son and daughter? 'known among demonkind' indicates more than one - a group? a cluster? the one responsible? a thousand questions enter the man's mind, yet lips remain pressed together thinly. he must be cautious - practice patience to its finest degree. answers will come when he seeks them out properly. in order to do that, however, he must stay alive.

"Are they? It is not like my children to garner attention," he comments, though he cannot help the sheepish look and casual shrug that follows.

"Then again, my son can be quite...loud." especially when it comes to defending his sister. tanjuro eyes his opponent warily, ax resting at his side, fog from the winter air coiling from a shaky exhale. he has been walking for miles - hours and days. the weary body of a man suffering illness wishes for rest - begs for it from the bones to the muscle. tanjuro defies his frailty by standing tall and looking the demon in the eye - two of six.

"Am I correct to assume that you will not be pointing me in their direction?" after all, a demon could not possibly want them to reunite. right?

Watchful eyes do not miss when relief spreads though the other's body, lungs expanding more freely even as the hold on that ax never relinquishes - albeit it is lowered. A perfectly reasonable precaution to undertake, for the other has no reason to rely on the word of a demon. The upper rank remains quiet, content to observe as the other's form shifts - suggesting a certain reduction in tension.

Yoriichi's eyes widened in surprise as he felt the bite. It was a minor act, a sudden, sharp interruption to the silence enveloping them, yet it resonated within him with greater force than any sword blow. He didn’t pull away; instead, he lingered, shifting his gaze from the distant well back to the man beside him.

This behavior was so unlike Michikatsu, so stripped of the strict protocols he adhered to, that it felt like a revelation. It wasn’t an assault, but rather a clumsy, heat-induced effort at connection, a silent plea for attention or perhaps an unexpected surge of an emotion Michikatsu had yet to identify.

"Did you just bite me?"

For a fleeting moment, the world around them seemed to pause. The cicadas nestled in the cedar trees halted their rhythmic song, and the shimmering heat waves froze in place. Yoriichi experienced a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the stifling summer heat of central Japan.

He gazed at his brother, truly gazed, and noticed the fraying edges of that once-legendary dignity. Michikatsu was swaying, his eyes unfocused and glazed over, his pride currently losing a battle against a rising fever and a heart racing too quickly.

"The one lacking manners is you; you have alienated everyone by refusing to engage in ground training."

The sound that escaped Yoriichi was not a loud explosion, but rather a gentle, melodic ripple, a soft chuckle that began deep in his chest and rose into his throat. It was a rare sound, one that seemed to astonish even the air around them, shattering the heavy silence of the afternoon. He didn’t pull away or launch into a lecture about decorum; instead, he allowed the absurdity of the moment to envelop him. Here was the Moon Pillar, a man of unwavering discipline and burning ambition, trying to reprimand him for his lack of manners while practically draped over his shoulder like a weary child.

“I meant no harm, I am merely concerned for your well being.”

With a gentle yet firm strength, Yoriichi adjusted his center of gravity, securing Michikatsu more comfortably against him. He didn’t release the hand that felt so delicate in the heat; instead, he guided them the last few steps toward the stone well.

The water inside was dark and reflective, mirroring the oppressive blue of the sky, yet it remained cool due to the earth’s depths. Yoriichi lowered the wooden bucket into the depths, the rope scraping against the stone rim with a rhythmic, grounding sound. As he pulled the bucket up, water splashed over the edges, sending a few stray, icy droplets onto their warm skin.

“Now, drink.”

Hazy maroon eyes did not study Yoriichi's reaction in detail yet the widening of eyes and the head turn in his direction were both things difficult to miss. Michikatsu's hand found the other's cheek, the movement elegant despite his dehydrated constitution. Nimble thumb absentmindedly stroked the other's left cheek, his mind only half-aware of the situation at hand - content to largely ignore the chaos instigated by his teeth.

Good, maybe that would help soothe over the pain of losing her parents, and her inability to travel with him as much as she'd like. That, and if they travelled together too often, they'd be at each other's throats in a matter of hours. And she'd not be handle responsible for the kind of person she'd be when irritated.

"Hello." River waved as she stepped into the TARDIS, seeing Mitchikatsu in the console room. "Nice to see you again, appears the Doctor isn't around."

As always when it came to her sneaking onto the TARDIS. Today she didn't need to take it, she just wanted a place to relax after a long day of work. Who knew being a professor got so tiring! Probably all the professors that came before her, but River paid no mind to the advise of any of them. Maybe she should start.

"Been anywhere fun lately?" she asked, a bright smile as she walked up to the console and leaned back against it, facing Mitchikatsu.

The doctor had left the TARDIS quite unceremoniously to undergo a task he had not bothered to elaborate on. Either the extra-terrestrial had forgotten to mention what quest precisely was swimming around in that hyper-active mind of his - or he had chosen not to lose any word on it which would suggest it to be a private matter. Though a being curious in nature, Michikatsu had never found much temptation in digging into another's private matters and had as such not questioned what precisely the doctor was up to again. Their travels had only just begun and there was still more familiarity to be built before he even attempted to ask the other questions outside of a planet's history or culture.

He beamed at him. It wasn't the usual, courteous smile one gives to a stranger, nor was it the faint, elusive smirk that often danced on his lips when he witnessed the world's absurdities. This was a gradual, blossoming warmth that originated deep within his eyes and spread outward, softening the sharp contours of his jaw and easing the seriousness of his brow.

It was a smile reminiscent of the first light of dawn breaking over a frozen summit, quiet, inevitable, and deeply enlightening. In that simple gesture, the gap between them, measured not in inches but in years of rigid expectations and unvoiced rivalry, seemed to vanish completely.

"Take my hand." 

He whispered, the request as natural as breathing. He didn’t wait for a formal response, instead intertwining his fingers with Michikatsu’s, sealing their connection.

The stroll to the nearby stone well was leisurely, a rhythmic shuffle of sandals against the parched earth. He walked with a deliberate calmness, serving as a steady anchor for his brother, whose balance remained shaky under the sun's relentless heat. He sensed the slight quiver in Michikatsu’s grip, a vulnerability that the Moon Pillar would typically shield behind a wall of pride.

Yet here, in the shimmering afternoon haze, that pride had softened into something gentler, something more sincere. He made no remarks about how Michikatsu leaned into him, nor did he release his hold when the other man’s steps faltered. He simply guided him, his presence a cool shadow in a world of blinding brightness.

“I am just happy, to see you again.”

Yoriichi had ignored him. Had not even deigned to answer his line of questioning. It was demeaning. And now he was smiling more. Why was Yoriichi smiling? It was uncanny. The features that usually made the sun breather appear so distant, had melted away akin to frost at the sight of the summer sun. Michikatsu could not bring himself to look away even as another bout of nausea rose within him - though this time not due to the heat. He knew- without needing to ask - that Yoriichi was smiling because of him, because of something he had done. The reason itself however continued to elude him. The dampening effect that the high temperature had on him only worsened the sensation of vertigo, a rosy flush finding his cheeks as he struggled to remain in the present.

The summer sun pressed upon his lungs heavily. The humid air far too constricting. For an individual originating from the more mountainous and cooler regions of the lands, the hot climate of central Japan remained the recipient of much skepticism. Though it was not his first time spending the warmest season at the demon slayer headquarters, today proved exceptionally warm.

He had spent seventeen entire years of his life amidst the often freezing backdrop of hida, body acclimatised to the cold in a way that it simply was not to extreme heat.

The former samurai could feel the beginnings of a headache nestling itself within his mind, forehead pulsating at the blazing sight of the celestial object in the sky. The moon pillars eyes drew together in a natural aversion to such extreme rays of light as he continued his silent trek.

Although his steps remained as efficient and dignified as ever, his internal workings were filled with the oddest sensation of feeling the urge to vomit whilst lacking any type of convoluted sensations within his stomach or other organs. The feeling was strangely muted, dulling his capability to truly care to register the environment around him much. The world appearing strangely more subdued in colours within his perception.

His usually sharp awareness of the world around him proved awfully clipped as came up ahead when the moon pillars frame proceeded to softly bump into Yoriichi's. It was not that Michikatsu had not seen the other...it was simply that the usually steady impulse to avoid objects that manifested in his way had temporarily decided to abscond altogether. Even now, there was no trace of embarrassment written within his face as it likely usually would have been at such improper behaviour on his part, no. The moon pillar merely blinked, not even registering how his own hands had found a resting place upon the other's arms.

He gazed at his brother and smiled. It was a subtle gesture, barely a ripple in the sea of his usual stoicism, yet it was present. He didn't need words to convey the warmth he felt; his eyes, typically as calm as a mountain lake, sparkled with a sincere, quiet affection that connected them.

He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of Michikatsu's sleeve, as if he were handling something delicate and valuable. This grounding gesture seemed to draw the bewildered samurai back from the brink of his wandering thoughts.

"You are moving like a man who has forgotten how to walk." 

He said softly, his voice a deep, resonant hum that seemed to resonate in the thick air.

It was uncommon for Yoriichi to make a joke, but witnessing his brother, normally a model of rigid posture and calculated elegance, stumbling like a newborn fawn was an image he found deeply endearing. He did not withdraw from the awkward contact; rather, he leaned into it slightly, providing Michikatsu with support against the oppressive humidity.

To an outsider, his expression remained a mask of calm neutrality, but to Michikatsu, the slight tilt of his brother's head and the gentleness in his gaze were an open book.

Yoriichi wasn't just accepting this breach of decorum; he was reveling in it. He was pleased to see this side of his brother, the one unburdened by the relentless pressure to be the strongest, the one who could simply be clumsy.

“Do you need some water?”

The brush of fingers against his worn fabrics caused for maroon eyes to settle upon yoriichi's visage, focus sharpening as much as was possible given how... the world seemed to stretch out and was difficult to grasp within all its physical complexity. The other's words brought forth a gentle frown across elegant features. His mind having always focused more on the unspoken than the surface meaning of things. Such remained the truth even now, though for once the filter that kept one's mind from spilling into the world appeared to have wilted due the exhausting heat: "You are joking...it is alarming. What has made you...do such a thing?" His own face unbeknownst to himself closing in on the other's as though his eyes could solve the mystery that was yoriichi tsugikuni if he just stared intensely enough. His senses remained dull to the point that Yoriichi quietly providing further support was utterly lost on him even as his own body instinctively reciprocated by nestling even closer

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