Beautiful

Chapter 2

It's not confirmed or denied that Muzan can harvest and grow and nurture a child. Just because she can create a demon doesn't mean she can make a child. It's been a few days in the corner. Her hours a spent watching Yoriichi leave and come back. She hasn't made an attempt to leave.

She just sits there while the sun is up, and roams around the house while he's away at night. He doesn't trust her to sit still.

But she knows if she leaves, he'll find her again. There's no escaping the nose of a bloodhound, he has her down, knows where she'd go if given the chance, who'd she call and how quickly he could kill them.

"So what? Doesn't make me a house wife." She'd say each night for the first three days since he's had her. He hasn't touched her all together. He's given her the space to be alone in her corner. She became furniture in his home, nothing but a carpet on the floor during the day.

"I'm not a house wife." She says while she stirs the pot again, adding in a few more carrots for a much fuller look. It feels wrong to leave the rest of it on the table." I'm bored anyway. I have nothing else to do." She mumbles to herself, hair feet patting against the floor as she walked around the kitchen to find anything else to add. She's sure Yoriichi must be good at cooking, given the amount of things he had in the kitchen to use.

The night was filled with scents of the stew being boiling, the pot being opened every half hour for a stir or maybe to add something more or better. She's insecure, finding what she thinks he'll like and second guessing, adding something else to please him.

"I'm not a house wife." She says again out loud, needing her ears to hear what she's saying. Deep down praise is all she's doing it for, the attention from him.Being told she's a good demon who's cooking good food and is useful. For once her word isn't absolute, it's dependent on a higher being. She has been controlled, she has been herded.

The door slides open, and clanks shut once it slides back. She knows it's morning, she's back in her corner, the only one that doesn't harm her.

He doesn't acknowledge her. Setting his sword down on the table and leaving it there. If he wanted to, he could move faster then her. If he wanted to, he could draw it faster then she could lunge.

But, the sun was also up, and there was nothing she could do.

Muzan doesn't look at him, but she also doesn't growl or go defensive. She keeps her head down and crosses her legs under her, quickly pulling the kimono back over her shoulder to hide her skin from him.

He stinks of demon blood. Her creation killed by his sword. Many, many demons went silent last night. She hadn't shared any form of her location with any demons, even the moons as they scream for her guidance and whereabouts. Both worry, fear, and possible happiness away from control.

She just listens to each connection go dark until it falls to nothingness. But she knows when it's him. When the hottest blade touches portions of her cells, she knows. She remembers what he's capable of.

He walks into the kitchen, and she hears the pot open. She almost crawls into the sunlight to see his face. She wants to see him taste it. Be joyous with her; be proud of her.

He comes from the kitchen walking past her to the table. He had nothing in his hands, eyes closed as he pulls the string from his hair. He takes his sword from the table and sets it on the floor.

He's back in the kitchen, and those nerves beat hard with every step he takes.

"Why did you make this?" He inspected the stew, carefully bringing the label up and smelling the stew. It was still hot.

"I was bored." Muzan supplied a response after a few moments of silence.

He doesn't answer. But the ladle is touching the stew and being moved to a bowl. He taste it and hums. Her eyes go wide as he comes back with a bowl only for himself, a spoon and a pair of chopsticks. He sits down on his knees and eats.