Muzan owed you a mahoosive mountain of explanations.
And you carried plenty of beans to spill, too.
Your husband dragged your stumbling form by the collar, pulling you from the courtyard and tossing you into his room, shutting the doors behind him as if to avoid any eavesdropping even though the mansion halls echoed with emptiness.
Flopping onto the tatami mat, you risked a glance up at your husband's face.
He looked bewildered.
Muzan's long body leaned against the wall with crossed arms, his large and plum-colored eyes staring down at you through a narrowed gaze.
In past incidents when Muzan had trapped you for answers like this, he certainly knew how to play with your body in all the right ways.
Despite his heavy and drug-like appeal, you had been able to keep your secrets sealed.
Yet, with all your cards laid on the table now, there wasn't much to hide anymore.
During any other moment, you would've inched away from this emotionally unstable atmosphere by slipping in a terrible joke or blabbering about both nothing and anything to occupy the silence.
Now, however, you certainly didn't want to mess with the thunder clouds in the room by uttering the wrong words.
"If you think that feeling me up this time around will get you answers, it won't."
Despite your attempt to sound threatening, your voice emerged as quivers like a newly hatched duckling.
The demon's typical, coldhearted visage relaxed slightly as you finally broke through his carefully composed mask.
Those charismatic lips of his were twisted into an uneven line.
He was curious as to how you mustered the courage to snap back.
"Oo. You're so scary," Muzan mocked, teasingly stretching his slender fingers. "Want to know how I can really make you scream in your sleep tonight?"
His tone is playful, quite a reassurance that he would not treat you differently after experiencing both you and himself in your most vulnerable states.
You rolled your eyes. "Don't even start."
As you half-scoffed at the offer, mumbling about how his proposal was too ridiculous (although very, very tempting), something changes between you two.
Something...important.
You can vividly recall the furious, hot, and bitter feelings from your wedding day, the feelings that made you want to make out and slap him at the same time.
Those very feelings were pouring over you again, but missing that anger component.
That rage had vanished, save for the little flame that still recognized your husband as a dangerous, egoistic demon lord.
As he sighed and relaxed, your husband's eyelids lowered heavily over his crimson orbs that electrified with a fiery intensity.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he whispered. His gaze was suddenly intent, locked on you. "This is so strange for me, not knowing what passes your mind since I can only understand those with my blood."
You looked down at your hands. "Anything you're curious about?"
Muzan pushed the back of his head against the wall, his voice composed.
"How do you know about my identity?"
Exhaling, you slumped into a more comfortable position.
"When Douma brought me to his mansion," you began, "he told me about some Kokushibo person, about the blue spider lily, and then about..."
You hesitated, unreasonably scared to reveal the obvious rest.
"Well? Go on," Muzan's gentle lullaby voice coaxed.
"About you. That you're the demon king."
You realized you were whispering.
While you couldn't look at his face now, you heard his knuckles tighten convulsively around the fabric by his sleeves.
Your husband went silent.
"Why?" he asked after a minute, still calm. "Why didn't you tell someone—literally anyone—about my identity? At least, you should've reported me to that demon slayer immediately."
"I was scared at first," you admitted softly. "I didn't know what you would do to me—or Giyuu—if you knew that I was aware of your facade. I eventually told him out of guilt." A pause. "But, if I think about this again, who or what you are doesn't matter."
"It. Doesn't. Matter?"
His sudden change in tone made you look up.
You caught small flashes and hints as Muzan's expression moved through the murky weight of the silent darkness.
A harsh zing then entered his voice. "But I'm a monster. You're a human married to a demon!"
"Correct."
"You're still supposed to hate me," he started, his tone as sharp as his face. "You're supposed to be disgusted at me, be afraid of me. Anyone in their right mind would run away from me. Doesn't 'us' bother you?"
You took a deep breath.
"No," you whispered. "That doesn't bother me. You said you would be a different person. For me, yeah?"
Muzan, eyes closed, placed a hand over his face.
He muttered something to himself before saying, "Look. If I'm honest, I'm not sure that I can be 'a different person.' I've been alive for over a thousand years, killing and nothing else. I've had centuries to renew myself. I've never changed, and I don't think I can change. That's because I'm a beast, I'm a criminal."
Truthfully, you were a little disappointed.
Muzan surely did not have faith in himself.
He had clearly never even thought about change, never even thought about being anything other than a man-eating machine.
And, frankly, you didn't know how much to believe in him, either.
Nonetheless, you smiled in encouragement.
But he frowned.
"You're missing the point," Muzan interjected, slightly annoyed as though you should've already known whatever 'point' he was referring to.
Lips pouted, you tilted your head.
"Huh?"
Hand falling from his face, the demon scrutinized you with watchful eyes, and you didn't miss the way he tried to sneak a glance at your abdomen.
"I've killed you before, and I might just kill you again."
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My other big secret is that, ever since the beginning, I rarely picture Muzan when I write.
I imagine another guy, and you can try guessing who.
