#bodisattva

Try as he might, he could not still the beating of his heart, thrumming wildly against is ribs.

If he could only muster the words.

His hands, cold and unsteady, held hers as if his very life depended on it. The ice pillar hung his head low, hidden behind a curtain of birch-colored strands. A last, feeble attempt to hide his true face.

He was something wretched, difficult to understand and hard to love— He understood this. He knew he had naught but deceptions and lies to offer.

Yet still...

❝ I... think I love you, Ena...❞

[ for mainverse <3 ]

for a moment, there is a long and pregnant silence between those words and the breath she pulls in. his trembling hands over her stone steady ones almost make her recoil, if only she didn't feel petrified with fear. not of him, or that moment, just... fear of something she never thought she could reach. something she doesn't feel she deserves to obtain. love. love? her, love? the kind that is so soft and pink-cheeked, the kind that nurtures and cares and protects?

ena breathes finally, pulls in a breath, deep through her teeth, a soft sound that is soon exhaled back out. steady. steady. don't think about the doubt — the fear of not being worthy, of not being able to protect him, of not being enough for him. don't think about the chance that one day her thorns will protrude so far from her skin that they bury into his skin, his muscles and nerves and all the way to his heart until she destroys him.

no. instead, she thinks about the ice hashira. they have seen each other at their worst and never flinched away. he has held her when she couldn't stop weeping for her father's wrath, that struck her like a thunderclap. she has held him when he was too haunted to even try to mask his unspoken pains, when he was too afraid to sleep by himself. they have seen each other at their worst moments now, and she...

cries, because she knows he's telling the truth. the tears roll silently down her cheeks. he's telling the truth. he means it — and when that realization sets in, her heart feels light and full all at the same time. her cheeks are warm and her chest aching with the fluttering of her affection for him. and of course, she has never liked him hiding from her, so those stone-steady hands lift from his to cup his cheeks and lift his gaze to her.

"i love you, too,"

ena says, like she is unburdened by the sound as it falls from her tongue, as if she has always wanted to say those words to him and never could out of revulsion for herself.

meme tag bc um. i'm lazy <3 | accepting

little should surprise her by now, yet @bodisattva's offer still catches her off guard, brown eyes finding his and searching. it's habit to want a reason for his kindness, for the hand he's extended out to her. some people are simply nice; it's easy to mirror but difficult to accept. sometimes it makes her stomach twist uncomfortably, one part guilt and one part apprehension, for who's the imposter here? chiyo or douma?

she holds back a sigh. gods, she thinks too much.

" that would be nice, " comes her answer after a quick beat, tone light as chiyo smiles. she doesn't wear her kakushi mask this time -- she was on personal business, after all -- but she doesn't need it to hide her trepidation. she's good enough at that on her own, though it feels silly to be nervous of douma. habits are a hell of a thing.

Nezuko stepped lightly into the meditation room, her socked feet making the tatami creak in that faint, familiar way. She folded her hands before her, the sleeves of her uniform whispering together, eyes never straying from him. For a long moment, she did not sit. Her gaze lingered on his fist—on the bones enclosed within, on the faint hum of spirits that should have clung to them, but instead were muffled, smothered, like breath caught in ice.

When at last she lowered herself onto the waiting mat, she tucked her legs beneath her with grace, back straight, chin lifted. Her eyes gleamed faintly in the dim room, watching the colors shifting and flickering within the once-holy grounds. Flashes of faint golds, embers of grief, shades of crimson where anger lingered in ghosts that followed her everywhere.

"I wanted to talk to you about something personal. I-I have this strange power, Douma-san…" Nezuko began again, voice softer now, as if stepping on fragile ground. "When I look at others, I see them. Auras, feelings… even the spirits that remain when their bodies are gone."

Her gaze fell briefly to his pale hand, then rose again, piercing. "But you…" She tilted her head, lashes lowering just slightly, studying him with a careful calculation that made her appear far older than her years.

"…You have no aura. Almost none." The words hung between them like frost in the air. She leaned forward a fraction, hands clasped over her knees. "Why is that?"

Her tone was not accusatory—it was closer to a child's endless curiosity, as though she had stumbled across a shrine statue and wished to know if it could still breathe.

Continued from here ~ @bodisattva

Everyone's gaze shifted towards the Ice Hashira, and the brunette couldn't help but roll her eyes at his suggestion. However, he did have a point about going alone, but he would not be much help. His appearance was too striking, and working as a patron would have him stick out like a sore thumb. "Douma, you have better chances dressing up as a geshia than a patron," Ayame said that statement in a calm, even tone, watching his reaction as she could see a few grins and some sneers from their fellow hashira.