THE SLAYERS.
"Oh, look at this!" a pink-haired girl chimed, her big doe green eyes twinkling, as she settled a newspaper on the coffee table in front of her. The action caused her colleagues to switch their attention on her, subtle eyes scrutinizing the first page of the morning paper.
They were surprised to see you, their main target, bending down in the middle of the park as you puked on Muzan Kibutsuji's shoes. Was it intentional? Judging by your expression, it did not look like you had planned that. You were clearly embarrassed and Muzan seemed to be slightly perplexed, as he helped you up.
Apparently, he had made his first move. He had made the world see him as a caring man and he had just set up a basis for your relationship to develop under the sunlight.
"Did he poison her on purpose to make her barf?" Basilisk flatly asked, furrowing his brows as he poured himself a glass of cognac.
"He doesn't need to poison her to make her do it..." Whirlwind bitterly retorted, averting his eyes from the newspaper in irritation. You were still beautiful, too kind and loving to be stained by Muzan, or someone like him anyway. Maybe, you had saved your soul when two broke up, but you were ending up selling it to the devil himself now.
Unacceptable. It was sick. He was sick of it.
"Ah, come on, he is hot! There's no need to lie about it" Desire replied, cocking her head to the side as she blushed a little at the sight of the Politician and his charming smile. It was just in her nature. There was a reason why she was always sent to seduce men, after all. She knew how to play her cards right and she was a siren herself.
Basilisk's upper lip twitched and he turned around not to face them, his feet feathing against the polished marble floor of the majestic Ubuyashiki's basement. It irked him how deeply she could upset him with her frivolous comments. She made him lose his composure easily and that was illogical.
In the corner of the room, Belladonna brushed her lips against Wave's jaw. Her purple eyes half-lidded as she sighed at his lack of reaction. No matter how hard she tried to pull the strings of his heart, he never let her in, he never gave her more than a night together. Even among the bedsheets, though, he always seemed cold, distant, as if he was just fulfilling a duty.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked him, shifting her position to straddle his lap.
The dark-haired man rested his hands on her hips, his grip tightening a little to keep her in place. His body was there, sitting on the leather sofa, letting Shinobu distract him a bit, but his mind was far away. His mind was pestered with imagines of the time you two spent together during the past years.
"Nothing. — he shortly replied, his ocean blue eyes flicking up to meet her sharp gaze — I should be the one to ask you that. Get off. Are you a nymphomaniac?" he said, causing her to scoff and jump back on her feet.
She knew he thought about someone else. She knew he was thinking about another girl, even when he reached his climax into her. Who was she? Who was that girl and how could she be better than her? She did not deserve his attention. Why could he not love her? If that girl was a problem, she was going to get rid of her.
You, the girl who bewitched him, was destined to fall by her hand. Or so she thought.
"Funny how your head was buried between my legs last night and now you accuse me of being a pervert" she fired back, whipping her head to the side and hastily leaving the living room. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor echoed through the room and caught the eyes of the other Slayers. There was tension in the air, the typical atsmosphere of anticipation that took breaths away during an incoming meeting.
Shinobu ignored them, her tiny hand resting on the hilt of her katana hanging on her left hip. She was too agitated to take part to the reunion. Their Master had not arrived yet and the Head of their organization was not around either. She would have called sick, making sure to send the comunication before the meeting started.
As she crossed the room, a gust of wind on her left whipped her face, causing her purple bangs to sway around her visage. She froze solid, her eyes widening even so slightly as his intense cologne pierced her nostrils. No one wore that essence, no one was that fast and capable of masterly covering up his presence. The sharpe edge of the sword punctured the tender flesh of her throat and she swallowed forcefully, not daring to move a single muscle.
"Are you already leaving, Kocho Shinobu?" he asked softly, calling her by her full name despite their strict rule to communicate by using their code names.
Silence took ever the entire room. No one spoke and she could swear the only audible sound was her heavy breath.
"No" she merely replied, closing her eyes as she awaited for him to remove the blade from her neck and he did, glancing down at her with a friendly smile. It was genuine, nevertheless. Everybody feared him for his lethality, but Sun was not a bad person. He could easily switch from his cold, apparently stern attitude at work, to the caring and lively one of his true nature in a nick of time.
As Shinobu turned back around and bowed her head as a sign of respect, he gestured for her to join her comrades again and strode towards the coffee table to grasp the newspaper and showing it to his subordinates.
"The photos are authentic. I was there. He had probably made up a plan to make their encounter seem a coincidence but he did not harm her in any way" the man said, inspecting the photo for a several seconds, before folding the paper and handing it back to a blushing Desire.
"How do you know that?" the pink-haired girl asked, leaning forwards and biting her lower lip in curiosity. Her shirt was barely containing her prosperous breasts and her actions made everyone fear the button was going to pop open and hit someone's eye.
"What a cat in heat..." Shinobu commented under her breath, shooting a scornful glance at her colleague.
Luckily, no one had heard her and Yoriichi smiled at the boisterous female slayer "She got a panic attack. Now, I need to have a word with Whirlwind. You are all dismissed. I will make sure to contact you later for more details about our next moves" he instructed them, darting his eyes on Sanemi as he grimaced at the tall man's request.
Murmurs spread around, as everybody left the room without objection and the two men stared intensely into each others eyes. The white-haired slayer knew exactly what his Captain wanted to talk about. The matter had left him wide-awake all night long. He was not in the mood to talk about it, but he did not have much of a choice in the matter.
"He told you about yesterday, didn't he?" Yoriichi started, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black trousers as he watched Sanemi loll his head back against the backrest in distress.
"Yeah, he did" he tiredly replied, his violet irises clouding over as he darted his eyes on the white ceiling.
"If you want to take some days off, it's fine".
"No. I wouldn't rest anyway. I better focus on this shit and on killing people. It's the only thing I am good at" Sanemi stated, his raspy voice holding a bitter undertone that left no room for doubts. He was on the verge of going on a killing spree. A failure, he felt like a failure. Every single time someone needed him, he was not there, he never made it in time.
"Don't say that and I am hereby forced to order you to desist from whatever you are thinking of doing now" Yoriichi calmly said, his deep maroon eyes almost boring holes into Sanemi's ones. He could see the scenery playing on the other slayer's mind. Blood, blood staining his clothes as he tried to avenge the poeple he lost, the people he could not protect in the past.
But they both knew that the hand holding a blade on Muzan's neck was always going to be Yoriichi's one.
No one else could do it.
"Fuck off" Sanemi retorted, trying to stand up from the couch but Yoriichi pushed him back with a simple shove of his hand.
"It's a suicidal mission and I won't let you do that out of rage" the Head of the Slayer firmly asserted, the volume of his voice high now as it boomed through the silent living room.
"Why? Why do you care about me? I am a shitty brother and I have been an even worse lover! I never do anything right! Let me do something good for once, let me do it! Let me kill each every fucking Moon until I can die by his hand. I promise I will do it. Just... Just let me try!" Sanemi Shinazugawa snapped in the end, tears burning in his eyes as he let his emotions out for ones.
His eyes were bloodshot and Yoriichi could smell the dispair and sorrow in his words. Out of everyone, Whirlwind was the only Slayer who had never cried or showed a shred of empathy in front of the dead bodies of an enemy or a colleague. He had not said a single word, when he broke into the headquarters in the dead of the night, holding Kanae's body in his arms.
His tears were not there. His heart too. Long forgotten under a sheet of ice, forgotten because crying only meant being weak and let the enemy win.
"Since Peony is gone, you haven't been the same. Her death has damaged you" Yoriichi observed, sitting next to him and propping his forearms on his knees as he stared at an indefinite point ahead of him.
He could not stop blaming himself for all of this. If that night he had not failed, Muzan would have been dead and no tears were going to be spilled anymore. Regrets and remorses devoured him from the inside both day and night.
"Not as much as her absence did" Sanemi uttered then, running his calloused fingers through his spiky, white hair as he tried to take back some control.
And, although none of them dared to say that name, they both knew Sanemi Shinazugawa was talking about you. The silence that follower spoke volumes.
♚
You were laying face down on the pillow, secured between the luxurious walls of your bedroom. You did not have the guts to face Muzan and the others after your small performance yesterday. Your phone was blowing up with notifications from people you knew, asking questions and trying to understand what exactly had happened between you and the high-flying politician.
You had opted from turning them off, eventually. You could not answer anyway and seeing those pictures was truly embarrassing. You were supposed to have dinner with him that night, but you were not really in the mood for it and you almost felt guilty about your behavior. Muzan had not acted hostile towards you, not even when he was forced to throw his shoes in the trash can and send Kokushibo to buy him a new pair, as you two waited in the car.
You had pretended to be asleep then, barely answering his questions about how you were feeling and if you needed something.
"I am forever going to be remembered as the vomiting First Lady" you breathed out, rolling over the bed as you realized that hiding away forever was not going to erase the folk memory.
Therefore, you jumped on your feet and got ready to go out. After you were done wearing your shoes, you hesitantly opened the door of your room and walked down the corridor. You were supposed to buy yourself something for the night. Muzan had told you there was not a budget for your shopping sprees and that you could pick anything you liked. You felt like a spoiled brat and it pained you a little bit, but a simple expensive dress would have not made him cry for days on his bank account.
As you walked into the living room, you spotted Kokushibo and two people you had never seen before. One of them was a beautiful girl around your age, her long, dark eyelashes jarred against her straight, long white hair tied up in a high ponytail. Her irises were green, matching with the tips of her hair.
Could she possibly be Daki? Was it her the girl your soon to be husband favored before you?
Next to her, there was a man with a dark brown bob and some fuchsia strands decorating the back of his head. His eyes were almost enchanting, a bright turquoise shade that captivated your gaze. A bizarre couple, indeed and you cleared your throat to catch their attention.
"Hi..." you greeted them, folding your arms against your chest as you felt their gazes trailing on you immediately.
Kokushibo, who was polishing his katana, straightened his back and sheathed the shiny blade back into its scabber as soon as you opened your mouth. He was impeccable as per usual.
"Daki, Enmu, she's—" he said, but he was cut off by the resentful sigh of the sixth in command.
You did not fail to notice how she narrowed her green eyes at you and scowled, eyeing you up and down as if you were the cause of the climate change. There was no doubt about it. She hated you. It was hate at first sight!
"Muzan's new branded toy. I suppose he needs to check his sight... It's clearly deteriorated" Daki snippily said, pursuing her lips in contempt.
If she had chose violence, then you were not going to disappoint her. You were not offended. How could you be when all she was good at was probably just pleasuring men? Therefore, you smiled faintly and let her words sink in.
"If am correct, you must be his hole. Sorry, I meant to say that you were his hole. Nice to meet you" you blurted out, not even considering your choice of words as you stared daggers at her.
Enmu giggled and clasped his hand over his mouth as the girl stiffened and walked up towards you. She did not seem much of a threat and you felt confident enough to stand tall in front of her. What could she even do? You would have loved to see her try to lay a finger on you. Kokushibo would have probably chopped her manicured hand off, before she even had time to raise her fist.
You two did not share another word. Actually, you had silently agreed to throw hands. She tried to reach for her the whip on her belt, but Kokushibo stepped in between you two and shielded you from the raging, self-proclaimed prom queen about to hit you.
"Apologize" the first in command lowly said, not even glancing at Daki as he rested his hand on the hilt of his katana.
The girl scoffed and took a step back, before turning around and leaving the room without a word. You did not expect much from her and, honestly, it was about time that you two met and tried to get at each others throats. Nakime had truly made you hate her even before you had the chance to cross paths.
Yet, why did you hate her so much? She had all the reasons to loath you. But what about you? Muzan had agreed to court you, but he was not in love with you yet and, although you were slowly and inevitably falling into the web he was weaving around you, could you honestly tell you loved him? Things were changing. Your feelings were changing, nurtured among strawberries, kisses and glances that lingered into your eyes for longer than you expected.
"My, my... I think I haven't seen her that upset since Douma accidentally set fire to her Gucci bag" Enmu chimed in, propping his chin on the palm of his hand as he eyed you in sympathy.
You glanced at him, a small smile curling your lips as you relaxed a bit and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear "How did it even happen?" you curiously asked, only to be left speechless by his answer.
"Oh, the thing was that Douma and I had chosen her bedroom for experimenting wax playing! A thing lead to another and the flame of the candle—..." he never got to finish his story, because Kokushibo grasped your wrist and interjected.
"Enough. You need to buy a dress" he punctuated, causing a yelp to leave your lips as you started to laugh for the first time after the messy scene at the park. Enmu. You liked Enmu.
As you stumbled out of the living room, a blushing Kokushibo dragging you down the corridor, you did not lose your chance to shout a reply at the Seventh in command "Enmu, let's go out for lunch tomorrow! I need details!".
Kokushibo sighed, pushing the metallic button of the elevator as he pinched the bridge of his nose in distress "God, have mercy..." he uttered, realizing that, out of all the things he had done for Muzan, dealing with you was probably the hardest task ever.
Maybe, as you strolled by his side at the mall, trying on various dresses, asking for advices, he could think of a good way to cheer you up at the restaurant too. Why? Because you would have been forced to attend the dinner with Kokushibo.
You had not heard your phone buzz in your purse, you were too busy struggling to unzip a dress, but your fiancé had just sent you a message.
MUZAN: I can't attend our dinner. I promise I'll make it up to you this weekend. The reservation is still valid, have fun with Kokushibo.