FAILURE. | rui x reader

xii.

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And that is how you ended up in the tearoom, this time with Douma. You sat awkwardly, as the two demons exchanged with each other, teacup in hand. It was quite an important reason why you're there; the lead towards the flower is finally here, and you might be able to uncover it before anyone else does. The discovery of the flower had suddenly became a competition. 

"Is that all you have to talk to me about?" Muzan looks sharply at Douma. However, just what is the atmosphere right now?

It seems that, Muzan disliked Douma for some reason, you theorized, while tracing circles in the teacup. He looked at Douma with a certain emotion; irritation. Maybe it was similar to your case; there was a lack of fear towards how Douma adresses the man. Instead, he seeks the pain from punishments, and even appears as comedic. "If so, come back if you actually found the flower, stop wasting my time." Muzan continued.

"Oh, but, I may or may not found it already." Douma rested his head in between his two hands, elbows on the table, a mystical expression on his face. "Stop playing around. That withered flower is not of any use, the petals aren't even blue." Muzan pointed his finger to the withered flower in the middle of the table. He was right. The flower's petals were not blue, it was withered, but instead, traces of pink and purple along with the lines of brown (signaling the flower had been dried long time ago) decorated the petals. "What could you say about the color of the flower, except from its name?" Douma coked his head sideways, grinning, his fangs on showcase. The light casted a reflection likened to a halo in his golden strands of hair. It was so lustrous one could mistake the blonde color as silver.

"Are you challenging my knowledge of the flower?" Muzan looked murderous; there was nothing he could do to instill fear to the grinning demon. Douma was unfeeling; he was, as what his followers may say, a god. A hollow being glancing upon the destruction and gladly accepting bloodshed on his wake. That was what Muzan disliked. The fact that his authority did nothing to Douma.

"My goodness, I wouldn't dare-! My loyalty and devotion should go without question, master. I was just insinuating that, perhaps, the color blue had faded into purple when the flower withered. However, due to mistakes on my part, I ask for punishment hurt me as you like, sire." Douma faked an expression of shock, and a disgusting face of fidelity. It was simply amazing how he is able to twist and paint his face with creases and lines, beckoning a specific expression.

Muzan was annoyed and irritated beyond reason, it was quite the look and humorous as well, as he was clutching the teacup, his knuckles turned white. You tried your best to suppress that twitching smile from appearing. Douma seems to know this, as he quickly gazed at you with a knowing look, smile still plastered. You glared back at him.

The cup shattered under the force of Muzan's crushing grip, the tea spilled. The pieces of the teacup flew from the force, causing a shard of porcelain embedded itself on Douma's left eye. A stream of red blood like tears flowed down his cheek. Douma did not even flinch. "Ah, it seems that this cup is quite fragile to touch. My condolences to your prized irises, if I recall, you said it was dear to you." Muzan remarked, making fun of the situation, words twisted as if Douma actually lost his eyes and making it seems that the eyes are an actual being. You were appalled once again, with the emotion Muzan displayed, such a childish attitude. You did not know he would participate in such trivial banter. Muzan forced a smile that does not look genuine.

"It would heal in no time, though I am thoroughly grateful at your concern, master." Douma plucked the shard from his eyes, with no problem. He didn't even wince. You looked away as more blood gushed from the wound. Yet, it was as Douma had said, the wound healed instantly. He wiped the stream of blood with his sleeves.