Take My Hand [OneShot] Rengoku Kyojuro × Reader

Little flame

I'm starving.

Hunger forms into a creature in your stomach, clawing the walls of your organs, ripping the flesh away. You can't please it. There's nowhere to go.

Nowhere to go.

It's-

So dark. Not a ray of light. No Sun, no Moon. A flame of fire, a smile of-

What? What am I talking about?

What smile?

Kyoju-

I'm starving.

Shadows crawl into your mind and soak your thoughts until you can't hear them. You still fight against the blood you received, yet the turn is complete.

What was it? That name-

I'M STARVING.

You huddle yourself up in the corner and bite your arm. The sharp teeth get stuck in your flesh, which struggles to close the wound.

Blood fills your mouth, drenches your tongue, and pollutes your palate. It tastes like mold and poison, burning down your nerves.

You are so angry that you start laughing. The crackle drowns in a deep growl as hunger mauls your stomach.

Your bright, red eyes find the puddle of blood spreading under you from your hurt arm.

It's the same crimson color and scent as the one you need.

But it can't ease your starving.

And you hide deeper in the darkness not to see what you have become.

Searching for who you were, but there's still no light to guide your way out. It all smells like death.

There was a name.

Once.

I can't-

WHY DOES IT HURT SO MUCH?!

I have to find something to eat. I must grow stronger before the shadows win. Whatever it takes, I don't want to die. I don't want to die, DON'T MAKE ME DIE.

Why am I laughing?

Why isn't there anything anymore? Anyone? Why is everything gone? Who was I? Why do I have to starve at this place, and why can't I leave it?

Muzan.

It's not him. There was someone else.

Another life. Another world and another name.

Someone without darkness.

.

.

.

A few weeks earlier

You stop mixing the herbs when you hear steps from the garden. You throw down the plate, running through the corridors to meet the newcomer.

Your bare feet make almost no noise on the tatami as you run, but as soon as you reach the door, the young man looks at you right away.

You turn pale when you see blood dripping down his uniform, but he smiles mildly. Eyes wide open, clearer than the sky.

You hurry closer and try to offer him a hand to help him inside, but you fall back as the man bows, his movement fast and polite.

When he straightens his back again, you blink with confusion as his smile turns even wider.