𝑅𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑀𝑒 [ ObaMitsu fanfic/ R-(MA)] Kimetsu No Yaiba

Chapter 79 - Venomous Oath

Chapter Song: Linkin Park - "Sesson"
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The night was deep and still, the faint hum of the distant city muffled by the thick walls of their new home. Moonlight poured through the window, draping the room in silver, its soft glow tracing the curves of Mitsuri's bare body beneath the crumpled sheets. Her pink-and-green hair fanned out across the pillow, her face serene, softened by the weight of sleep and the intimacy they had shared.

Obanai stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze fixed on her, his chest tight with emotions he couldn't name. She looked so delicate in the moonlight, as if the world itself might shatter her if he weren't there to protect her. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, not from anger but from the ache of loving her so deeply it frightened him.

Moving closer, he let his hand brush the edge of the sheets, his throat tightening as he took in the rise and fall of her chest. She was everything good in his life, the one bright, unwavering light in the darkness he couldn't escape. Yet, as he watched her sleep so peacefully, a quiet sadness stirred in him—an unshakable fear that this happiness might be fleeting.

"I'll protect you," he murmured, the words so soft they disappeared into the quiet of the room. "Always."

As much as he wanted to climb back into bed and pull her close, sleep wasn't something Obanai could afford—not tonight.

The room was heavy with quiet, the soft rhythm of Mitsuri's breathing the only sound against the thick stillness. He moved across the floor, his bare feet silent on the cool wooden boards, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. The muscles in his back tensed and shifted under the faint moonlight as he crouched beside his duffle bag. With practiced calm, he reached inside, fingers brushing over cold steel before pulling out his gun. The weight of it was familiar, grounding, a silent promise to keep her safe.

Obanai's thumb ran slowly over the surface, a ritual of reassurance, ensuring the safety was off before he stood. His grip was steady—calm, lethal. He moved into the living room like a shadow, his presence as controlled and quiet as his breathing. Pulling back the curtain just enough to see, his mismatched eyes swept the street below. Shibuya's late-night quiet stretched out before him, broken only by the occasional headlights sweeping past, but Obanai didn't trust stillness. The absence of Doma didn't mean the bastard wasn't lurking.

He let the curtain fall back into place and turned, his gaze sharp, dissecting the space. This was their home now—her sanctuary—and he'd sooner let the world burn than allow anything to threaten it. A home should be safe, but safety was an illusion he wouldn't be caught believing.

His attention shifted to the couch, his eyes narrowing as he crouched to test the clearance beneath. It would do. With careful precision, he slid the gun into place, hidden yet close enough to draw at a moment's notice. He stayed there a beat longer, fingers hovering as if testing the readiness of his defenses.

Standing again, he moved toward the front door. The deadbolt was locked. The chain secure. Still, he pressed his palm against the doorframe, his jaw tight. No cracks. No signs of weakness.

Satisfied for now, Obanai turned back to the bedroom, his steps measured and silent. The sight of Mitsuri waiting there—soft and unknowing beneath the pale sheets—made his chest tighten. She was everything he wasn't: light, warmth, something good. He couldn't give her peace, but he could give her safety.

And as long as he breathed, no one would ever take that from her.

As Obanai entered the room, the sight of Mitsuri stole his breath, as it always did. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, her lips parted slightly in the soft vulnerability of sleep. Bathed in the silver glow of moonlight, she looked ethereal, her pink-and-green hair scattered across the pillow like a halo. She was everything good in his life, blissfully unaware of the storm raging in his mind.

He moved silently to the edge of the bed, lowering himself until the mattress dipped under his weight. The cold light of the moon carved shadows across his face, his mismatched eyes fixed on the window, scanning the darkness beyond it. In his hand, the gun felt heavy, its metallic weight anchoring him to a grim reality: his love for Mitsuri came with a promise—and he would spill blood to keep it.

Obanai wasn't foolish enough to believe Doma was finished. Restraining orders and police reports wouldn't stop someone like him. Doma was a shadow, patient and calculating. But Obanai was darker. He was the blade hidden in that shadow, the predator lurking in silence, waiting for the moment to strike.

His fingers tightened around the handle of the gun, his knuckles whitening as his mind wandered to the worst possibilities. He could already feel the sharp edge of his fury—the kind that turned his love into something raw, almost unbearable. If Doma so much as stepped near Mitsuri again, Obanai would end it. No hesitation. No mercy.

His gaze softened as he turned to look at her again. Even in her stillness, she was light and warmth, the only softness he allowed himself to have. She didn't need to know how far he would go, the darkness he harbored just beneath the surface. She deserved peace, and he would carry the weight of everything else.

Setting the gun down on the bedside table, he placed it within easy reach but out of her view. He leaned back slightly, his body tense, his eyes still on the window. There would be no rest for him tonight, not while uncertainty loomed.

As the night stretched on, Obanai made a silent, unshakable promise:

Nothing will harm her. Not while I'm still breathing.
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