If I Could Do You One Right...

A Boy in Man's Clothing

~2nd person P.O.V~

Everyone loves a good underdog story, right? A hero born of tragedy, who rises above all their misfortune. Well what we have here is perhaps the most fortunate demon slayer in the corps. The Demon Slayer Corps is largely comprised few victims of many who survive a demon encounter. Usually suffering the lose of parents, siblings, relatives, friends and such to demons are what lead the unfortunate to the corps. As previously explained, this is not what convicted you of the life of a demon slayer, so what was? What makes Y/n L/n tick?

It was a beautiful night, one you'd hope to share with your fiancé, Haruka. She was a cute, smart, and snarky girl with a mean backhand and some serious body karate going on. Not to mention her eyes that are all the beautiful shades of autumn, and her hair a thick black sea, and so much more. So much, if you thought about her too much you might have to just sneak into her home and tell her about how great she is. Not like you really could think about her much at the moment. As it stands, you are laying on one of the larger branches of the tallest tree you could find. You were a simple creature with simple needs, and one was getting as much height as you could and enjoying the stars. Honestly, with how much you ogle at the cosmos, you'd think you were cheating on Haruka with them.

To be fair, it's not entirely your fault you'd like to run away with the stars. That blame is squarely on Mother's shoulders. Sure the corpses name is Rumi, and shares no blood with you, but you love her to death all the same as any son would love their own blood mothers. Hell, you guys are pretty damn similar too. Reserved, smart mouthed, heads in the clouds, and aggressively blunt. She certainly left her mark on you, having most assume she popped you out herself. Perhaps, the most peculiar example is your love for astronomy. You're mother was and always will be an astronomer, and along with all your other studies she had you do, she'd teach you all she'd learned about the final frontier.

And it mesmerized you to no end. Sure, you weren't aloud into her laboratory when she was gone, but that's what treetops with midnight winds are for. You, like your mother, was a resident of the night, and its air was intoxicating. One thing she'd taught you that wasn't very academic was breathing. As a kid you tired yourself out a lot, so one day Rumi sat you down and got you to meditate for a second. From then on she'd have you meditate between studying, before going to bed, waking up, until you'd learn to just breath on your own. And in this moment, you found breathing in the night's presence made gazing into it that much more riveting. You don't typically use what Mother called "stargazer breathing" because it made your senses too well... sensitive, and the overload really bothered you. Rumi once explained that the reason it isn't common practice is because typically life isn't intensive enough for it to be necessary, so people use less effective breathing for comfortable living. It made sense to you, but none of it changes the euphoria of the chill of witching hours.

To be honest, that was enough. That explains a lot of your life. Rumi was enough blood or no. This village little or no was enough. Your fiancé, more than enough. A epidemic of people going missing? Never came to your doorstep, and that was enough. This branch with it's view of the universe, it was enough.

So what does someone with enough make of someone making a mad dash for your home town? that's where it becomes a little funny, your something of a mischief-maker, prankster, trickster, a master of the slight of hand; another trait Rumi had gifted you. She taught to you to impress a potential spouse and to keep you from getting robbed. Of course, living in such a sleepy town, all you had was the skill of trickery and the unassuming. And tricked you did. Your favorite was scaring your future mother-in-law half to death by making a spider appear in her sleeve. You had been slapped by three women that day, each with only the mightiest of backhands.

Anyhow, having pranked the town for so many years, they've started to pick up on your tricks and that's no fun. All that said, this new-comer was the perfect candidate for some old fashioned bamboozling being that he wouldn't be the wiser. Landing on your feet you eagerly tiptoed to the now hyperventilating stranger. His hair was drenched in his own sweat, and covered in all that he's kicked up in his journey, were you more considerate, more experienced, or perhaps simply less naïve, you'd had asked about the blood.