Art is not mine!! 🚫
A once delicate heart, as calm as the ocean now sit, still in the chest of the stone faced male. As he lay unconscious on the hard wood floors of his estate, Blood seeping from his wound. Slowly loosing his sense of reality, he...
Chapter 001 Recap ; Giyuu gets invited to an outing with the rest of the hashira. Standing at the door he decides to leave, but before he gets the chance Mitsuri drags him inside. To prevent and problems, he says he'll go to a different spring and relax in isolation.
꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷
A few minutes passed as the ravenette had relaxed in the water. He had untied his hair as well, he didn't usually do this as he reminded himself of Sabito. But it was an outing he supposed. So what could be the harm?
꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷
It was around at least an hour before he got out, proceeding to put a towel around his waist. One of the reasons he had hesitated going with the other hashiras were the scars and scabs along his arms and thighs.
He certainly didn't want to be commented on those, because it was obvious a demon couldn't have done that with such accuracy. It was too set up. Which wasn't to far from the truth either.
As he began to walk back to the changing rooms, lines with lockers of clothes of hashira. He noticed everyone else still chatting in the other spring not to far from the room he was headed too.
All he had to do was get to the room without being called out by any of the others, which granted should have been easy. If Sanemi was in the spring everyone else. But he wasn't.
꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷
The blue eyed hashira had started unlocking the door to where his belongings were. Unknowing Sanemi was on his way to leave.
As the door opened, Giyuu's gaze was now on the white haired male. He hadn't realized his arms were exposed for the whole word to see. Hell, who would when the person who hates you most is literally in a room with you to get dressed.
He then turned his attention back to the belongings in the locker. Pulling out his slayer uniform, he hadn't had time to change from missions. That's originally why he had considered coming. He was stressed out and needed somewhere to unwind.
Sanemi was approaching the ravenette with a bit of concerned but still angry expression. He had saw them. ‘Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.’ The other had thought hastily, of an excuse if that was why he was approaching him for.
The stronger male grabbed the shorter ones wrist angrily, but still handled him with care? “The fuck is this Tomioka.” The scarred man said with anger yet worry laced in his tone.
“Ah, yes. I actually can't remember what happened. Might have been a demon? I do not recall. Thanks for the concern though.” His tone as empty as his eyes. Sanemi wasn't an idiot, he knew that. But at least now he couldn't ask me what happened. Cause ‘I don't recall.’
The others face flushed(In embarrassment.), He wasn't about to be told he was concerned for a emotionless freak like him. “I wasn't concerned for you freak. I was just curious.” The taller then let out of the others arm, a crimson red stained on his hand. He hadn't expected to grab it that hard.
The other felt a warm liquid running down in wrist. Landing on the floor with a *drip* He looked at his wrist, apparently Sanemi had grabbed his wrist too hard. And reopened the wounds.
“Oh, how unfortunate. I guess I should go patch these up.” The other was practically unfazed by this turn of events. He hadn't expected it no, but it wasn't impossible. He just has to get home and stop the bleeding.
The lavender eyed male, was still in a state of shock as the other had said something about how it was unfortunate or something. He had gone over to his locker. Wiping the blood on his white towel. ‘Whoever was cleaning these towels, I'm sorry—’ He thought to himself. Continuing to get dressed in a grey yukata.
After the other was dressed, he began to walk out of the room. His wrist messily wrapped up in a piece of cloth from the towel. He had ripped it to stop drawing attention to the blood.
꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷
He said his farewells to the hashiras, or well to Mitsuri and Shinobu. And then left, on the way home he had checked the makeshift bandage. Seeing a faint red on the cloth, he knew it would bleed through but he was sure he wrapped it at least 2 times?
He would have to wrap it up better when he got to estate.
꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷
He sat against the wall of his estate. His makeshift bandage removed. The bleeding had slowed down too, but it hadn't stopped completely. He felt bad for ruining the mood of Sanemi. He was doing— however he is usually doing when he wasn't around. Yet he had gotten all worried over him.
He looked on the counter, a small knife in the corner with dried blood from 2 days ago. He promised himself he wouldn't, but— it hurts to think about them. So bad. So fucking bad.
He slowly got up, shuffling over to the counter. He was wearing a maroon yukata, so it shouldn't make that much of be a difference in color.?
Although he didn't want to ruin the gift Mitsuri gave him on his birthday. The only gift he got on his birthday to be exact. He figured he'd just roll up his sleeves until the bleeding dried.
He then began to reach for the pointed object, taking a firm grasp on the hilt. He then brought it over to his arm, hovering over his already bleeding scars.
The feeling of the cold metal against his skin, it felt like a burden being lifted from his responsibility. He didn't feel as worried, or stressed. Just, numb.
After a few more minutes, the skin on his wrist was shredded. He felt dizzy, and his sleeves had already began falling. His blood trailing down the kitchen all the way up to his room.
His room was upstairs, a few doors to the right. He was slowly starting to lose his balance. He had felt light-headed. He had never did it this much. Not once in his time of doing this had he shredded his wrist. It was dripping down on his hard wood floors.
He made up to his room, taking deep breaths. While leaning against his wall, he was again slowly falling unconscious.
He lay against the wall of his bedroom, his wrists leaking the crimson blood which he saw often. Just then he began to hear footsteps up his stairs. He couldn't move though. He was awake but it was pitch black. He couldn't move his arms. They were to weak by now.
The footsteps were getting louder as they grew closer. He just knew his blood was everywhere by now. He wondered who would even be checking in on him.
He mentally sighed, before being out cold. Not hearing. Not seeing. Not moving.
꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶˚.꒷
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