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kizukiapologist · 9 months ago

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The Appeal of Broken Things

Summary: Kyogai finds his solitary existence disrupted by a mysterious visitor who leaves behind heartfelt gifts and whispered words that echo through his ancient halls. Now he must decide between gaining back his rank or mulling the possibility of opening up to someone for the first time in centuries.

A/N: I thought it'd be fucking cute if Kyogai exchanged letters with a human, with his emotions spiraling into chaos as he starts developing feelings. Hence, this piece was born! Inspired by a human!Kyogai character sheet!!

WARNINGS: 18+ ❦ Eventual smut ❦ sick!reader ❦ artistic couple dynamic ❦ Dark romance ❦ Canon typical violence ❦ minor original characters because reader needs friends ❦ Part 1/3 ❦ AO3

III

The scent of human flesh fills his lungs. Someone has trespassed on his property yet again. Kyogai takes a deep breath. Well, at least this time it's not a total waste: it's a marechi. The blood scent becomes stronger as the drum demon moves through the hall. Sweet bordering on cloying, far too strong. Such a quality ought to be equivalent to devouring more than a hundred, no, even two hundred humans' worth.

When he steps into the room, he catches a glimpse of the marechi running away from his house through the sliding door she left ajar. Kyogai is about to jump after her when he notices the bunch of papers on the floor.

His sharp, demonic eyes scrutinize them: it is one of his stories. Shocked, Kyogai realizes there's a small note alongside it, written with paper from his desk and old ink. He picks it up, holding it carefully between black, pointy nails.

“Your story lightened my night like the fireflies at the river, glowing on my way home. Thank you."

That is enough to freeze him in place. When was the last time someone said something nearly kind about his writing? Perhaps more than two lifetimes. He stands there, staring at the note in astonishment for an instant before setting his sight on the forest, where he can still see her silhouette running in the distance.

Only half a heartbeat. That's all he needs to engulf her. However, for some reason beyond his comprehension, Kyogai lets her go. He looks at the little note again and rereads it. What- what did she mean by that?

It isn't until two weeks later that the same scent hits his nose. It comes again from the old writing room. Kyogai arrives in a drumbeat. The human hasn't entered his house, but he can see her silhouette through the thin paper of the sliding door as she opens it, casting a string of sunlight across the dark room. Kyogai holds his breath. Unsure of what to do, he remains as still as he can, bent in the darkest corner.

Falteringly, she sneaks a box wrapped in a handkerchief and places it on the floor. It has a red rose attached to it by a knot on the top. Her hand trembles slightly as she quickly pulls away. She moves afar, slower this time, staggering over the grass for what he can hear. Was she wounded? Kyogai cocks his head, senses attuned. Nothing smelled like spilled blood. Marechi blood—a fortune's worth.

His gaze descends upon the box, curiosity piqued, yet, he can only stare at it. Could this be a trap from Demon Slayers? It's a more likely possibility than a stranger simply being kind to someone they've never met.

Your story lightened my night like the fireflies at the river.

With a knot in his stomach, he motions forward. His sharp nails undo the top knot. Before opening the box, Kyogai contemplates the red rose between his fingers as if it’s something that shouldn’t exist there, and a sense inside him warns that such a delicate thing should never be meant for someone like him.

The bento box contains a few rice balls, wrapped in thick, green leaves and a few papers with beautiful illustrations of– Kyogai’s breath runs short: It’s his tale. These are illustrations from a story he wrote back in his human days. There’s a note attached to them.

“Your story inspired me to draw again! I hadn’t read something so touching in a while. I loved every bit of it. If it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, could I read more of your work?

If your answer is yes, please put the story inside this box and leave it in front of the lateral door that I so rudely invaded that rainy day, and today. A friend of mine is a lumberjack by profession and works in the area. He will pass on our messages, since due to a certain physical condition it is difficult for me to go myself so often.

I say goodbye for now, grateful and waiting for your thoughtful response.”

The letter ends with a signature of her name, and Kyogai's breath runs so short he nearly chokes. A tickle takes over his chest. This is beyond absurd, he knows it and still- still his blood swirls in his stomach like it hasn’t done in centuries.

III

The drum demon has read the letter so many times that he unintentionally learned it by heart. His whole body flutters when a male human walks around the area, looking for a box that's never been there, not even once, and yet, he doesn't stop coming around. She must insist, Kyogai supposes. She must press for the man to keep returning, yearning as much as he does. But fear spreads through his veins faster than fondness, and he worries she'll hate the next thing she reads.

Kyogai notices miserably how much this short interaction means to him, to the extent that he's doing everything within his power to keep it from crumbling. Pathetic. Just as Muzan thinks of him. Just as his editor thought of him. Just as he is: disappointing, and unworthy.

His nails dig into his palms as he stands in his writing room, drawing blood. With a final glance at the dying rose over the desk, Kyogai calls himself back to reality. He ought to stop wasting time on this. He needs to be stronger. Wasn't his wish to once again belong to the demonic moon corps? Hurry, hurry, hurry. He needs to devour this Marechi the next time she comes around. This dream of writing is trash.

Your story inspired me to draw again!

Trash?

I hadn’t read something so touching in a while.

No.

The editor was mistaken, it wasn’t trash; at least not to her. The following morning, he watches from a safe spot in the dark halls of his house as the lumberjack takes the box with two stories for her.

III

"I liked your illustrations. The colors are accurate," you read.

The box rests on the futon beside you, open, with wild flowers peeking out on top of a bunch of handwritten papers.

“Wow, truly a writer worthy of admiration,” your friend Ren retorts, scoffing.

You gape, furrowing your brows, offended. “Shut up, he must be nervous.”

Ren gives you a teasing glance. “Right. Because you know him from reading his tales.”

"Of course! That's how I knew you were a rough, big-headed twink. The wood you bring has splintered edges. It's called deducing," you tell him, grinning. “Besides, you assured me that you would pass by without disturbing him, didn't you, Ren?”

“I did.”

You pull out the flowers before taking a deep breath of them, enjoying the aroma. “Mmm, see? No reason why he would be upset.”

“So nervous it is. Awkward maybe?” he adds, gazing at the small bouquet carefully put together.

You smile. “Yeah, that too.”

III

Kyogai contains the urge to throw himself into the side room as soon as the lumberjack's scent becomes present. The sun casts his shadow over the door as he approaches to place the box in front of it. Then, steps back, shielded by the morning rays as he runs back towards the forest. As soon as his scent dissipates slightly, Kyogai slides the door to retrieve the box, uncaring about the sun scorching his hands.

This time the illustrations are larger. Equally beautiful, delicate, and harmonious. The paper still retains some hints of her sweet fragrance. Sadly, the note accompanying them this time is a bit less extensive:

"My illustrations are only accurate because you do a great job of storytelling. I loved both stories, as much as the flowers. Thank you very much for trusting me to share your writings. The two drawings I sent try to summarize the story to provide a general idea of what they’re about. Do you like them? If so, it would be an honor if you decide to include them at the time of their publication.

I hope to hear from you soon, with affection,"

With affection, she wrote right before her name. With affection. For him? Kyogai’s stomach jumped. Demons don't have a beating heart, yet, he could swear his fluttered a beat. His writing has finally been recognized! Excited about that, and dizzy on the bits of her scent on the paper, he writes back.

III

"I wouldn't think of publishing them. I tried before, but they weren't well received. My editor said they lacked beauty and fragility. Time after time. I believed it for a while, so I preferred to stop trying... at least until now. I think you may have brought me hope.

P.S. I am glad you liked the flowers."

“Well, that’s something.” Ren says after you finish reading.

“Yes, something nice! And he sent more, look!”

You hold them in front of his face. He barely has a chance to take a look before you drive them to your nose, with a foolish smile on your face. “Oh, Ren, I want to meet him! Do you think it’s right for me to invite him over? Is it too soon? Do you think he’ll think I’m too daring?”

Ren laughed shortly, whole-heartedly. “Hey, take it easy. You don’t even know his name yet. Besides, your feet… they've been aching these days haven't they?”

Your gaze falls. “I’ve been feeling better. And I can ask his name on the next exchange of messages.” you retort.

Ren grimaces, “I don’t know… you’ve refused to consider all your mother’s suggestions on other prospects, and suddenly you want to give the first step for a man you’ve never seen?”

You take a deep breath, head falling back as you attempt to speak your mind correctly.

“I thought I was young enough to live a life of my own first. But now I’m already too old to be unmarried, and I haven’t received any proposals, not even for a date in a whole year. No one wants an old, malfunctioning woman as a wife,” you muttered.

Ren winced, struggling to phrase something comforting.

“I might not find a good prospect before my youth fades. I’m becoming a burden to my parents… but now, I have found someone who likes my art, and hasn’t said it's unfitting or nonsense, not even once. And he has sent flowers, twice!” You reach for his hand, tenderly taking it between yours. “Please support me on this.”

He squeezes your hand back, sighing. “We should buy a present for him. I shall deliver it along with your next letter. Some writing aid, maybe?”

You smile from ear to ear. “You’re my best friend, Ren! Thank you!”

III

It’s almost sunset when Kyogai smells the lumberjack at his door. This time, instead of leaving the box outside, he knocks. Kyogai tenses. He doesn’t respond. The human knocks again. Under different circumstances, the drum demon would not have hesitated to kill him for daring to disturb his home, for invading his territory. However, this time, Kyogai only listens.

"Sir, are you home?"

He remains silent. The human smells a little like her. That, for some reason, irritates him.

"I'll leave this here, with your permission."

Once the human leaves, he retrieves the box. Upon opening it, he finds a fairly large inkwell, as well as a new brush. He examines it with delicious surprise before opening the letter.

"Clearly, that editor lacked good judgment! I mustn't take the credit, however. It's not my opinion what makes you worthy, but yourself alone. Perhaps with time you'll gather the confidence to try again. I think it would be an excellent idea! Hope this little present is of help.

By the way, you know my name, but I don't know yours. I would love for you to tell me in person, if requesting such a thing isn’t unacceptable in your eyes. Would you like to come for tea tomorrow?

affectionately,"

Below her name was the detailed address of the house. His insides twisted and turned, devouring one another.

III

"The box is here," Ren's voice reaches you suddenly, hurried and agitated. "I didn't go get it, but it's here!"

He reaches where you are cutting vegetables, almost slipping. Behind him, his wife enters, with one hand on her belly and the other holding Teruco, their youngest of three children, soon to be four.

"Auntie, auntie," Ren's two children affectionately chirp. They come in right behind their mother. "Is it true you're going to get engaged soon?"

You can't evade the blush that quickly rises to your face. You look at your friend with a wry smile.

"I'm sorry, the word got out," he says, shrugging.

You look at the little ones with a smile. "If all goes well, maybe so. But keep it a secret, I don't want to scare him off before he even has a chance to come."

They exchange an amused glance.

"Now go play, and don't get into trouble. Your mother has enough with the baby on the way," you turn to her, "Hello, Saya. You didn't have to walk all the way here, I could have passed by your home."

"Don't be silly, we had to know the truth. You know how Ren is with gossip," she says, sitting down with her husband's help.

The man grimaces. They both laugh. Little Truco runs to catch up with her brothers.

"So, will you see him for the first time today?" Saya asks, once seated and comfortable.

"I hope so. I sent an invitation but-"

"You already have a response, or at least you should," says your friend, who pulls the box from inside his Yukata. "That's what I was trying to tell you. It was at the door! He must have brought it this time."

Your heart skips a beat. If he only sent the box, it couldn't be good. You take it with both hands before sitting down. The wood feels damp, and upon removing the lid, there are no flowers inside. Oh no. Maybe he saw you through the window and got discouraged. A lump forms in your throat, anticipating rejection.

After a deep breath, you read aloud:

"You are too kind. Although I appreciate the invitation, and I would like to attend, I will not be able to do so. I also suffer from a physical condition. It is a rare and not very pleasant disease to look at. Additionally, tea hurts me, as do some other foods. However, I would like to keep in touch, if that's okay with you.

Warm regards, Kyogai."

Your sigh is so heavy it's hard to let it out. An uncomfortable silence falls over the table.

"Why don't you go see him?" Saya probes. "They say love can blossom at first sight."

"Yes, it's true! I can lend you my horse."

"I don't know... Would it be proper to go without a chaperone? I don't know many people here to confide in, and I can't ask it of you, not with the baby's birth so near. Besides, what if he doesn't want to see me? I don't want to make him uncomfortable."

Ren looks away. His wife reaches out across the table to grasp your hand.

"Go. The chaperone thing doesn't matter. He'll probably prefer it that way. Besides, you can trust that we'll protect your reputation if anyone tries to start any negative rumors."

You squeeze her hand back. Your eyes well up. "Thank you."

III

"I don't think I could find you unpleasant even if I tried. I think you understand me well, and I think I can come to understand you too. I'll come to visit you soon. We can talk about whatever comes to mind! I'm very excited to meet you,

affectionately,"

There is a rose in the box again. He takes it as gently as he can. It has been a long time since Kyogai ceased being a human, but have women always been this bold? It doesn’t matter. The only remarkable thing here is that she seems determined to force her way into his world.

A decision needs to be made. Killing her would suffice to stop whatever nonsense this small affair has been. If a couple of letters not longer than a page can be called that. Letting her in... letting her in would mean that he’s a weak demon. Unworthy of the rank Muzan ripped him off, and he’ll have to hide from her sight, and be careful she doesn’t wander around too much. And surely she’ll ask for more of his work to read, and Kyogai doesn’t have anything interesting stored anymore.

Letting her in would mean she’d surely come around once, twice, and thrice again. Her scent would float around, brushing his nose with that exquisite fragrance of hers. And she’ll say something gentle and encouraging. And maybe, they’ll read to one another some of the books he hasn’t touched in decades. And perhaps, the drum house would become a bit warmer. And-

He stops. Shaking his head as he clenches his jaw. Shit, shit, shit. He shouldn’t want such a thing so bad.

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