Darkness.

That was all Tanjiro could feel when consciousness began to seep back into him—thick, suffocating, endless. His body felt heavy, but at the same time… wrong. His pulse raced, yet no heartbeat followed. His throat burned, dry and desperate, a hunger unlike anything he had ever known clawing at him from the inside.

He opened his eyes.

The world swam in sharp, unnatural clarity. The flickering lantern light on the walls painted the room in gold and crimson, and in that light sat a man. Pale, immaculate, terrifying. His presence filled the air, commanding and poisonous, yet mesmerizing.

Muzan Kibutsuji.

Tanjiro’s breath caught, though he didn’t know why. He didn’t remember why. His memories were fractured glass—blurred faces, a snowy mountain, warmth that slipped through his fingers like mist. And then… nothing.

“You’re awake,” Muzan said softly, his voice smooth, almost tender. His red eyes narrowed with fascination as he studied Tanjiro like a masterpiece just completed. “How remarkable. You survived the transformation without breaking.”

Tanjiro tried to sit up, his hands trembling. His nails had grown sharp and black, his skin colder than it should have been. He stared at himself, horror stirring in his gut—but the hunger drowned it out. The scent of blood—sweet, intoxicating—lingered in the air, and he could not stop his mouth from watering.

“What… happened to me?” His voice cracked, low and unfamiliar.

Muzan rose from his seat with effortless grace, stepping closer. The sway of his coat whispered across the wooden floor as he leaned in, his hand brushing Tanjiro’s jaw. Cold fingers, firm and possessive.

“You were dying,” Muzan whispered. “Your fragile body couldn’t withstand the cruelty of this world. But I saved you. I gave you strength… eternity.”

Tanjiro flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. His mind screamed that something was wrong, but the man’s words sank into the hollow emptiness where his memories should have been. Saved me. Gave me strength. Eternity.

“Who… am I?” Tanjiro asked, his voice breaking with confusion.

A faint smile curved Muzan’s lips, cruel and tender all at once. “You are mine,” he said, his thumb grazing Tanjiro’s cheek. “My precious creation. You need no other name, no past. Only me.”

Tanjiro shivered, torn between fear and a strange, reluctant comfort. The hunger inside him clawed violently now, demanding release. Muzan watched him with satisfaction, as if waiting for a fledgling to take its first step.

“Feed,” Muzan commanded softly, gesturing to a covered tray at the bedside. The scent of fresh blood spilled into the air as the lid was lifted.

Tanjiro’s instincts roared. His throat burned, his vision blurred. He wanted—no, needed—it. He reached out, trembling, his humanity screaming somewhere deep inside, but his body obeyed the hunger.

As he drank, Muzan’s hand rested on his shoulder, steadying, controlling. Almost affectionate.

“Yes…” Muzan murmured. “That’s it. You will never be weak again. You will never suffer loss again. With me, you will have everything you need.”

And Tanjiro, his lips stained red, looked up at him with wide, lost eyes—unsure whether the man before him was his savior or his captor.

But one thing was certain.

He belonged to Muzan now.

TO BE CONTINUED

(⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ

Tanjiro awoke again, though he could no longer tell how much time had passed. Night bled endlessly through the windows of the grand estate Muzan kept him in. The air was heavy with the fragrance of blood and flowers, cloying yet intoxicating.

He sat on a futon draped in silk, his fingers brushing the fabric absently. It felt too soft, too luxurious. Wrong. He was used to coarse blankets, the smell of woodsmoke, and the sound of his siblings breathing nearby in the night. But every time he tried to remember their faces, they slipped away into fog.

The door slid open.

Muzan entered with his usual poise, his presence filling the room like shadows pouring in after sunset. He carried a tray, though this time it held not blood, but carefully arranged fruit and tea, as though he meant to play at something ordinary, something almost human.

“You’ve grown quiet,” Muzan observed, his gaze sharp and unreadable. “Does the silence trouble you?”

Tanjiro lowered his eyes. “I… feel like I’ve lost something. But I don’t know what.”

Muzan set the tray aside and knelt before him, tilting Tanjiro’s chin upward with a single finger. “You’ve lost nothing worth keeping,” he whispered. “What I’ve given you is far greater than the fragile illusions of your past.”

The intensity of that gaze made Tanjiro’s chest tighten. Fear, confusion, and something else he couldn’t name twisted inside him. His lips parted, but no words came.

Then, without hesitation, Muzan leaned closer and pressed his lips softly against Tanjiro’s.

It was not a desperate kiss, but a claiming one—measured, deliberate, leaving Tanjiro breathless despite its calmness. Muzan lingered only a moment before pulling back, his expression unreadable.

Tanjiro’s cheeks flushed with heat he did not understand. His body betrayed him, caught between resistance and surrender.

“Why…?” Tanjiro whispered, voice trembling.

“Because you are mine,” Muzan said simply, as though it were the most natural truth in the world. His hand cupped Tanjiro’s face, cold yet oddly gentle. “And I take care of what belongs to me.”

For the first time since awakening, Tanjiro did not feel only fear. There was warmth in Muzan’s presence—a dangerous, suffocating warmth, but warmth nonetheless. It wrapped around him like silk chains, tightening, binding.

Later, Muzan guided him through the gardens under the pale moonlight. The night air was sharp, carrying the fragrance of blooming wisteria kept carefully at bay by invisible barriers. Muzan walked with quiet elegance, his hand brushing Tanjiro’s as though daring him to close the space between them.

Tanjiro’s steps were hesitant, his heart unsteady. He should pull away. He should question everything. But instead, he let his hand linger. Muzan’s faint smile in response made his stomach twist with something that was not quite dread, not quite comfort.

When they returned inside, Muzan drew him close again, brushing another kiss against his temple, almost tender. Tanjiro leaned into it without meaning to, lost in a haze of contradictions.

And Muzan, satisfied, whispered, “You will see soon enough. Eternity is not so unbearable… when you are not alone.”

TO BE CONTINUED

<⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠↗

The nights bled into one another. Time lost its meaning within Muzan’s domain. There was no sunrise for Tanjiro anymore—only the endless silver of the moon and the ever-present hum of hunger beneath his skin.

And yet, there were moments now when hunger was not the loudest voice.

He sat before a mirror, one Muzan had ordered brought into his room. The reflection staring back at him was both familiar and foreign. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, pupils thin like a predator’s. His skin was pale, unearthly, and his once-calloused hands now bore claws meant for tearing.

“I don’t look like myself,” he murmured, almost to the reflection, almost to the silence.

A voice answered anyway. “You look perfect.”

Muzan appeared behind him, his reflection sharp and commanding in the mirror’s glass. He rested a hand lightly on Tanjiro’s shoulder, fingers cold but steadying.

Tanjiro’s gaze flicked between his own reflection and Muzan’s. Theirs was a strange pairing—the predator and the fledgling. And yet… somehow, in the mirror, they looked like they belonged together. That thought unsettled him.

“I feel…” Tanjiro hesitated. “Like I’ve lost something important. Like my heart keeps reaching for something that isn’t there.”

Muzan’s grip tightened subtly, silencing him. His voice was velvet over steel. “You are searching for ghosts. Empty echoes. What you have now is real. What you have now is me.”

Tanjiro turned slightly, looking up at him. “Why me? You could have chosen anyone.”

For the first time, Muzan’s expression softened, though only by degrees. “Because you are strong,” he said. “Even before you became mine, you fought to protect what you loved. That spirit… it is wasted on weakness. But with me, that spirit will thrive.”

Muzan leaned closer, his lips brushing Tanjiro’s hair, then his temple—kisses that were both possessive and strangely tender. Tanjiro’s chest ached, his body torn between comfort and resistance, but he found himself leaning into the touch despite himself.

Later, Muzan led him once more to the garden. Tonight, the moonlight painted the flowers silver, and the stillness was almost peaceful. They walked slowly, Muzan’s hand entwined with his, their steps echoing softly across the stone path.

“Does it frighten you?” Muzan asked suddenly.

Tanjiro blinked. “What?”

“Belonging to me.”

The question struck him harder than it should have. He should have said yes. He should have resisted. But the words that escaped his lips were softer, more uncertain.

“I… don’t know.”

Muzan chuckled low in his throat, the sound dark but pleased. He drew Tanjiro closer, their foreheads nearly touching beneath the pale moonlight. “In time, you won’t question it. In time, you will wonder how you ever lived without me.”

Tanjiro’s lips parted as though to argue, but instead Muzan pressed another kiss against them—slow, unhurried, almost coaxing. And though Tanjiro’s mind screamed against it, his body betrayed him once more, trembling but not pulling away.

When the kiss ended, Muzan whispered against his lips:

“Good. You’re learning.”

TO BE CONTINUED

(⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~