૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა

it's close to five in the morning when your door violently slides open and he stumbles into your room, hand slamming against the wooden doorframe. his fingers claw at the wood, digging in desperately just to keep his knees from buckling under his own weight while he breathes unevenly, the light emanating from the candles on your side making him flinch and groan like a frightened animal.

you startle, dropping the cloth you’ve been mending. "gyutaro?!”

lucky for him, sleep has been the last thing on your mind tonight. you're still in your kakushi under robe, hunched over your uniform and cleaning the stains left behind from yesterday’s cleanup. a lower rank demon had left a carnage of blood and debris just outside your village, and you’ve worked long into the night scrubbing the last of it off your clothes.

you stand quickly, your heart missing a beat because gyutaro would never, ever risk coming to you this close to sunrise under normal circumstances. you close the distance and reach out, pressing your palms against his cheek.

"what are you doing here!? the sun is about to rise, you shouldn't be—"

“get your filthy hands off me!" he snarls, jerking his face away so violently he stumbles. he winces at the volume of his own voice, his jaw tightening as a fresh wave of pain strikes him. he glares at you through bloodshot eyes, lips curling into a snarl. "don't touch me.”

you flinch, taking an instinctive step back. "I…” you swallow nervously, looking him up and down. “gyutaro, you can barely stand.”

"shut up! just... shut up.” he hunches over. “...it hurts." he continues, the words slurring slightly as he struggles to keep himself upright. “my goddamn head…it won't stop.”

you frown. from the brief contact you managed to catch before he pulled away, his skin had indeed felt clammy and a little too warm under your palm. slowly, keeping your movements entirely visible so you don't startle him, you lift your hand back up.

"may I..? so I can check for a fever."

gyutaro glares at your hand, his chest heaving with ragged breaths like he’s ready to snap at you again - but the sheer exhaustion of fighting the pain wins out. with a resentful click of his tongue he jerks his chin in a barely perceptible nod before looking away as you gently press your knuckles against his forehead.

"where does it hurt?" you ask softly, withdrawing. he's warm, but nothing alarming.

gyutaro hisses at the question, the heel of his palm coming to press hard into his eye socket. his nails dig deep into his brows until crimson wells under his fingertips, but you’re quick to catch his wrist and pry his hand away before he can tear himself open and stain your carpet with demon blood. you cup his face again, forcing his frantic eyes to meet yours so you can check his pupils. gyutaro leans into your touch for a split second before trying to pull himself away again in vain, his eyes fluttering close as he tries to focus through the relentless throbbing in his skull.

“this looks like a bad migraine." you observe, brushing your thumb along the ridge of his cheekbone, a soft stroke meant to ground him.

"no." his eyes dart to yours, frantic. his tone sharpens, panic rising like bile. “demons don't get headaches, you stupid girl. we don't get sick like you pathetic humans do! don't lump me in with your kind."

the sight of him twists something deep in your chest. your gaze drifts around the room looking for anything that might help, when a realization suddenly dawns on you.

because he caught you off guard, you didn't get the chance to properly cover his scent. the layer of burnt wood ash, herbs and powders you usually scatter around so carefully whenever he visits - tonight, none of it is in place. not even a single remaining trace of ash from last time.

if anyone passes close enough to your door, if any demon slayer with a keen nose or good intuition happens to walk by…

“fuck…” your hands shake as you scramble toward your small chest of drawers, yanking it open and fumbling through the contents. vials clink softly as you shove them aside, looking for incense, candles or dried herbs - anything that might help mask his scent.

you move on instinct now, scattering whatever you find across the floor near the door and onto the windowsill. you look back over your shoulder, trying to keep both you and himself from freaking out. "...did you— did you share your vision with daki longer than usual today?” you ask, forcing a steady tone even as your heart hammers. “you always say how much of a toll that takes on you, if you were looking through her eyes for hours then—”

“no! no, no, no, you don’t fucking get it, do you?! it's him." he snarls. “it has to be.” he stumbles back a step, clutching at his head again. his eyes flick weakly around the room, every shadow suddenly suspicious. “he's punishing me… fryin’ my brain from the inside out ‘cause I’ve gotten soft.” his eyes cut toward you, bloodshot and furious. “this… this is all your fault! I haven’t slaughtered enough of you worthless little insects and now he’s making me pay for it.”

you close the distance again, reaching out to hold his face firmly in between your palms. if it were anyone else, he would have torn them to pieces for even daring to step into his personal space.

“listen to me. no one is punishing you, gyutaro.” you say, searching his eyes. “you're not burning up and your skin is regenerating just fine. I know you think demons don't get migraines, but you aren't just any ordinary demon, are you? think about it." your voice softens. "you share a body with your sister and you constantly have to split your own vision to watch over her. it makes sense that all that strain is finally catching up to you." you wrap your arms around his neck, catching him off guard. "it’ll pass. you just have to rest, okay? I wish I could do more and fix it for you, but there's nothing I can give you. my herbs don't do anything for a body like yours. I heal humans, not demons.”

gyutaro lets out a sound that’s half a snarl, half a pained whine. he stiffens when you hug him, his arms staying stubbornly at his sides as he fights the urge to either collapse or tear your throat out - until his forehead finally drops heavily against your shoulder.

"dumb... stupid human.” he rasps into your neck, his voice trembling. "if you tell anyone... if you think you're better than me because of this... i'll slice you into a thousand little pieces."

"I won't tell anyone, and I don't think i'm better than you." you promise, your hand sliding up to comb through his tangled, greasy green and black hair. "just come lie down with me for a bit, okay? you're overwhelmed. you need rest."

you lift his chin gently, guiding his face up toward yours to press a slow, careful kiss to the center of his brow right where the pain throbs. his skin is grimy beneath your lips, streaked with dust and sweat and the stubborn greasy sheen he always carries after nights spent lurking through alleys and filth-ridden streets, but you've long since stopped flinching from his hygiene and smell.

gyutaro exhales a shockingly small sound as he folds into you, his nails clutching the fabric of your clothes, wrinkling and staining it with dark smears you’ll have to scrub out in the morning.

you guide him toward your futon, each step more unsteady than the last as he leans more of his weight against you. the moment he feels the soft cushions beneath him, his resistance finally gives way - his forehead pressing deep into the crook of your neck as gravity pulls him down with you.

his arms slip around your waist and you lean over him to reach the bedside candle, blowing it out with one quick breath and plunging the room into complete darkness.

for a long minute, the only sound your hear is the shallow rasp of his breathing against your neck, making you assume he’s already drifted off to sleep.

but then gyutaro breaks the silence.

"...daki's an idiot without me." he mumbles. "she can't do anything right on her own, this stupid brat. if somethin’ happens to me— if any of those damn pillars lay a hand on her because I'm lying here... I'll take every single person in this village down with me. i'll slaughter every last one of 'em.”

your hand slides from his hair to the back of his neck, rubbing in slow, reassuring circles. “that won't happen.” you murmur, pressing your cheek against his temple. “give it a few hours and you'll be back on your feet. you’ll walk out of here when it passes, and you’ll go right back to your sister. just close your eyes and rest now.”

gyutaro’s breathing slowly but surely evens out as your fingers comb through his filthy hair. the dull, pulsating ache in his head is still very much there - his eyes remaining stubbornly open for a long time, pupils darting toward the shadows at every microscopic creak of the room. but the gentle repetitive stroke of your fingers against his scalp eventually act like an anchor, the tension slowly bleeding out of his body. his grip on your waist loosens just enough that his nails stop threatening to tear through the fabric, his forehead staying tucked safely against your throat.

you feel the exact moment exhaustion drags him under, his weight settling more heavily on top of you until he goes completely slack.

you hold still, listening to the slow inhale and exhale of his breathing. despite how late it is, you don’t dare close your eyes. your hand remains in his hair for the next hour or so, stroking faintly enough so that you don't wake him but with enough firmness to help ease the lingering pain in his skull.

and somewhere past the shutters, the sky begins to clear.

carefully, you slip one arm from beneath gyutaro’s head and ease out from under him, sliding a pillow into the space where your chest had been. you crouch beside the futon for a moment, watching him and pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. in the darkness he looks almost entirely human again, his lips parted slightly, long lashes resting against grimy cheekbones. you can't help but reach out to sweep your thumb gently beneath his eye.

but then a faint ray of sunshine touches the edge of the curtain, and your heart leaps into your throat.

if you don’t do something now, he’ll burn.

you push yourself up and cross the room swiftly, grabbing the heavy curtains and dragging them completely shut with a sharp tug of both hands, overlapping the thick fabric until not a single thread of light can slip into the room. you double check the corners, pressing the material flat against the wooden frames with your palms to make absolutely sure - and it's only when the room is cast back into a pure pitch black that you allow yourself to breathe, returning to his side and lowering your exhausted body back onto the futon.

you brush a stray strand of tangled hair away from his closed eyes and settle close to him, wrapping your arm back over his thin waist.

for a brief moment you're just relieved that he's safe, but it isn't long before the reality of your situation hits.

while the sun isn't a problem anymore… there's an upper moon sleeping soundly in your bed.

in a few hours, the safe house will be awake. there'll be fellow kakushis moving back and forth just outside your room, and you could be called away for first aid or cleanup duties on nearby battlefields.

by some divine miracle, you'll have to get through the entire day with gyutaro hidden inside this room, kept out of the sunlight and out of sight while making sure his scent stays covered well enough that nobody suspects a thing.

the thought sits heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe. you press a little closer to him, trying to find comfort in the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

gyutaro's arm tightens protectively around your waist, and for now... it’s enough to keep you from spiraling.