𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃...
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𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 - 𝐲𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
... the age of demons has fallen, and it's up to Yushiro and (Y/N) to carry the demon slayers' m...
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~仕始める~
Yushiro was obsessed with you.
He wanted to hug you from behind while you scrubbed the halls of the engawa. He wanted to kiss your head when you napped while watching television. He wanted to sketch you, paint you, to hold you in his memory and his canvas for centuries to come.
He'd been obsessed with you for over a century now, he had nobody else to depend on except you. You were so important to him, he had no idea what to do with this growing warmth inside his stomach whenever he saw you.
The last few months, he was no stranger to the sound of his own sobs. The way he had painted Tamayo was shifted and distorted into something bloody and disgustingly inaccurate. For a few weeks he'd spend countless nights of nothing but crying, trying so hard to remember her beautiful features.
Her round eyes, her soft cheekbones, her slanted chin, her perfect brows.
He could no longer look at previous paintings, there was a rising bile in his stomach just at the thought of it. Instead, Yushiro looked at you. How you'd gaze into the thicket of ferns and tall pine trees, which had now turned into a bustling city. You could no longer look at the stars, the city lights had blinded them.
You stood next to him, both on the porch with acrylic and oil palettes within your fingers. You treated the canvas so delicately, similar to how you would pet Chachamaru during the endless days. The said animal lay next to Yushiro, his eyes closed in a content sleep. It was all they did it would seem like, sleeping.
Silence between your two was usually comfortable, but there was something unnerving. Winter nights were never pleasant, the consistent pale puffs of air escaping your mouth. The tip of your nose and cheeks visibly red from the bitter nip of the cold. Unconsciously, he studied your profile. His fingers began to lose the feeling in themselves as he held the dull pencil against a textured canvas.
"Are you cold? I just wanted to get a feel for the colors I needed." warm puffs of air fell out of your mouth as you spoke, your gaze unwavering from your palette.
