Chapter Text
So this is how his life ends. On a day so bright it must be attracting the crowds, the slit of sky Goro can spy from the high cast window of his cell so blue it could be taken from a fantasy. The brick is already starting to heat with the bright autumnal sunshine, sweat beginning to soak his soiled shirt, but no matter. He’ll be gone from here before it’s fully risen, there’s no time to care for appearances.
It would be freeing if he wasn’t about to be executed.
Publicly, he assumes. Shido does love a spectacle, and a failed coup is sure to bring the masses. Part of Goro feels he should be more distraught at painstaking plans for revenge lost, but he accepted his role long ago. Destroy Shido or die trying.
His head aches, the lack of food and only the barest sips of water over the past few days causing the world to fluctuate in its solidity. He’s not even sure how much time had passed, only his shitty excuse for a father informing him of his sentence allowing him to know the end is nigh.
Twenty-two years he’s managed, seven under Shido’s will, and his one chance failed. Perhaps someone else will take up the mantle. Perhaps not. It’s no longer his to care about.
When they come for him, they’re not gentle. Goro has to be dragged from his cell, partly as he refuses to go quietly and partly as he’s so drained, walking is a challenge. He lands a few scratches and bites before he’s punched for his troubles, blood dripping from his nose as he’s forced out of the jail, and up to the newly built platform. He’s immediately chained to a wooden post, the guards leaving him the moment the locks click shut.
He can see for miles. The aeons of green, red and brown, separating their cult, for want of a better word, from the city proper, the skyline just about visible on such a clear sky. It truly is a beautiful morning, the crowds below quiet and nervous as Shido moves forward.
Goro’s not alone on the platform. Three other men stand similarly chained, one openly weeping, the others as terrified into silence. Goro however just stares at the man he failed to kill, a hush reining with every step forward he takes.
He gives Goro a hard look as he approaches, not bothering to spare the others a glance, before he turns to face his audience.
“Today is a dark day for our town. Not a day of mourning, but triumph. Our people remain safe, no thanks to these men who stand before you,” he says, voice rising with magical amplification.
Goro strains his neck to face the others. He doesn’t recognise any of these people, rage burning through for the first time since his capture. He worked alone, or with the bribery of officials close to Shido, those who he can just make out in the crowd. These men are no one, and make a perfect scapegoat.
Bile fills his mouth, but there’s nothing he can do. This is how Shido operates, after all.
“To think my only son turned traitor. I can do nothing but promise you I will do better, do more to protect this city. Starting with today's sacrifice.”
Goro stiffens at the word. The other men start to cry out, yell of their innocence while a cold horror creeps upwards from Goro’s toes. He’d assumed they’d be executed publicly as a reminder to all of Shido’s dictatorial powers, not sacrificed.
There hasn’t been a human sacrifice in decades. Their town is under demonic protection and favour so of course, Shido’s cult offers food, creations and the more insidious offerings such as talents and memories. But no blood has ever been spilt.
This seems to stir the crowd too, a whispering snaking forth. Goro can’t tell if they’re for or against such a measure, for he is entirely focused on Shido, who is now casting his hand across the platform, runes curling into the wood.
“It is with a heavy heart that I do as such,” Shido calls, stilling the people with one syllable, “but the safety of us is paramount. Therefore, these lives will be forfeit for the sake of our own protection.”
“No,” Goro growls, not loud enough to carry, but so much Shido glances back at him, the summoning circles almost complete.
“This is the path you’ve chosen, my son,” he says, a picture of grief that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I am sorry I failed you. But there is no mercy when you try to destroy our town.”
And with that, he casts the final rune of the circle, and the magic flares into completion.
Immediately, the world darkens. Goro starts to struggle, fruitless as it is, dark clouds forming overhead. A charge filters through as he twists his wrists against iron, feeling his hair turn static as the magic builds.
He doesn't care about dying. Of throwing his pathetic excuse of an existence away in an attempt at doing something worthwhile. But he absolutely will not give his life to benefit Shido’s cause.
To his left, there is a shriek, before something darts out, a hand made of claws too numerous to count shreds the first man to pieces. Blood splatters, a gurgling and crunching echoing all around, the crowd starting to cry out at what Goro’s sure is a gruesome end.
“I won’t do this. You can’t have my life you piece of shit,” he hisses, even as something wet splatters his cheek and the darkness continues to roll in,
He’s scared now. Scared for a death which leeches out his life force, feeds it into the magic of this town and gives Shido even more power. He’d give his entire self to restart, to prevent him from gaining the upper hand. Snarling, braying sounds reach his ears, as if the demons are circling from all directions. Anger surges once more, his shoulders straining, head pounding as they close in-
My my, what a conundrum you’re in, beautiful.
The world stops.
The noises, the pressure of the spell, Goro’s very breath seems to stopper in his lungs. All except the shadows which press in, suffocatingly close so he can feel it brush against his skin. He closes his eyes, shuddering at the sensation, like feathers brushed too soft, painfully electrifying.
Such a thirst for vengeance, a will so strong I heard it across worlds. I’ve never seen a human echo my own thoughts so vividly.
Goro swallows, remembering how to speak. “Who are you?”
He swears he can feel the darkness smile. Your saviour. Or your doom. I wonder, pretty human, if you’re willing to make a bargain with me?
A bargain with a demon. For that is what this presence must be, there’s no doubt about it. Goro’s spent his whole life being warned against conversing too much with the beings that grant protection and favour, their whims so changing.
But he has little choice now.
“Name your terms,” he says.
Be my bride. Or die here.
“What?” Goro splutters, the ridiculousness of the statement expelling all fear. “Your bride ? Are you a fool?”
The demon laughs, windchimes in a bitter winter, his body leaning into the sound as much as it cowers away. Goro belatedly realises calling a demon a fool is probably not his smartest move.
I like you even more now. But that is my offer, and I take no counters. I will depart from this world and leave these petty shadows to devour you, or I shall take you with me as my bride. The choice is yours: the bride price, or blood price.
It's not much of one. Be a demon's...bride, he can barely stomach the notion, or die and fuel Shido’s magic. Neither are outcomes he wishes for, but the lesser of two evils…
“Fine. I’ll go with you,” he says, gritting his teeth.
A warmth emanates, soothing his frayed edges for a second until Goro remembers himself and fights against it. It’s clear this demon is pleased, which could be good or bad for him. But existing on means he has another chance at killing his father. Perhaps, he could even find a way to use this demon for his own ends.
Sealed with a kiss.
Goro has no time to react to the words when something pierces through his lip, a cry escaping at the suddenness. Copper floods his mouth, which he attempts to swallow down until a softness replaces it.
It takes a moment to realise he’s being kissed. It hurts, his lip having been ruptured, and yet it’s...nice, sweet in a way with just how warm it feels. Without thinking, he kisses back, unsure of how such things work with a lack of physical manifestation, but feels how the demon seems to purr in response, pressing him closer to its phantom apparition.
As abruptly as it starts, it ends. Goro’s cold once more, lip throbbing; leaving behind a taste of metal and forest frosts, with an undercurrent of spiced summer nights.
The darkness parts, and just in time for Goro to see eyes, a tarnished silver in the gloom, delighted and enticing in the way they seem to embody such power, yet still tinged with something lighter, as if all of this a game.
Goro’s intrigued. That is, until with a crack, the world releases, blinding him for a moment as the colour aches. Even as his eyes adjust, he hears the screams, managing to open them to see a glorious look of horror on Shido’s face.
Normally he’d be elated, except he too can see the fixation of the gaze. Wings. Dark feathered things which originate behind him, casting out so high he can barely see the tips of them. The demon behind him must be huge, and judging by the way people are fleeing, no one else is willing to stick around to see what will happen.
There’s a clang and Goro’s arms are released from the chains. He hisses, bringing his hands in front of him to inspect his skin. Blood and grime greets him, although he doesn’t have time to catalogue them before he’s hoisted backwards.
The wings cave forward, something wrapping around his waist as Shido’s fear is replaced with anger. He opens his mouth as if to speak when that newly familiar laugher echoes, almost deafening at such close quarters.
“See ya,” the demon calls, his voice a melodic baritone that settles in Goro’s chest.
He has time to meet Shido’s eyes, unable to stop his smirk from forming. “Fuck you,” he yells, unsure if it reaches, doesn’t care with the way the demon laughs again before he’s spinning backwards.
Goro makes a frankly embarrassing noise of surprise, hands scabbling for purchase where he connects with the demon, clinging to the embrace. Hues swirl sickeningly, a dizzying confusion blurring the wonder of escape before all falls to darkness.
His head pounds. That’s all he’s aware of initially, a throbbing pain that pulls him reluctantly towards consciousness. He’s heavily braced by something comfortable, far more so than he remembers being in his life.
Goro knows he should move, should open his eyes but the hows of making that occur are lost to him. He luxuriates in nothingness for a moment before the sound of words reaches him.
“-Oracle should know by now. I think she’s tried summoning me at least twice.”
“Yes well, you vanished without a word and returned with a bride, what did you think would happen!”
“Please stop calling him that. What you’ve brought back is an extremely malnourished human, who should now be your first priority!”
Three voices. One familiar, the two others unidentifiable. They seem to be close, arguing almost over him if his sense of direction is true. And yet, he still can’t muster the urge to open his eyes.
“He is my bride, we sealed it with a kiss... so should I make coffee?”
There’s a sound of high frustration. “Water, Akira! Humans need water!”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I always forget that.”
This conversation is annoying. So annoying that Goro’s able to wrench himself forward into consciousness, eyes peeling back like sandpaper. “Please...shut up,” he says, his voice so rough he barely recognises it.
There’s absolute, blissful silence for a moment, before the sound of multiple people talking reaches his ears.
“What did I just say?” he snaps, blinking until his eyes water enough to clear his vision.
What swims into view is a canopy, the type which garnishes extremely fancy four poster beds. It’s deep crimson, heavy looking velvet and lush in a way that Goro’s not seen in his life. As he stares, someone pops into his eyeline, his body jolting.
She’s beautiful. Hair a sunshine blonde, styled in entirely symmetrically ringlets, blue eyes crystalline as an imagined sea. She smiles, a radiance blooming on her face, an intricate white lace top showing off her collarbones, skin as smooth as can be.
She’s so stunning she looks almost eerie, the smile showing teeth which almost glow. “Hi! How are you feeling? We’ll get you some water,” she says, pointedly looking over her shoulder.
She leans over then, placing perfectly manicured hands under his shoulders to help raise him. He goes smoothly; despite her dainty look she’s incredibly strong.
Which would make sense after all, seeing as she’s most likely a demon.
“Are you comfortable?” she says, after he’s been settled amongst what feels like a multitude of pillows, his tired body extremely grateful for the support.
“Here, this will help,” calls a voice from his right, the only one he recognised.
Goro turns slowly, partly out of necessity, and partly to brace himself. The first thing he sees is a glass tumbler, solid and patterned so exquisitely, the carving reflecting the light across the matching red bedspread. The second is a hand, pale with dark black nails, before he tips his vision upwards.
“You,” Goro says, as soon as he meets the eyes.
Gunmetal with a silver tint, they seem to sparkle at the recollection, a smile stretching across the man’s face. His age is hard to tell, but Goro would swear they must be similar in years, as well as height, although he’s stooped over. His hair is a mess, curled closely in some places, sticking up in others. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt, has a silver band on one wrist and two black chords on the other, the only addition to his otherwise plain appearance.
He’s ordinary. So forgetful that if Goro were to pass him in the street he’d never look twice. And yet, there’s a magnitude around him, power and secrecy that makes Goro want to garner all he can with every second of his existence.
“Do you need me to help you drink?” he says, with a tone which immediately makes Goro want to strike his face with the glass.
“No,” he says shortly, taking it with frustratingly shaking hands and managing to lift it.
Water does help, instantly renewing some clarity as he drains half the glass before handing it back.
“Told you so,” the woman replies, Goro’s attention turning back to her. “I’m Ann, it’s nice to meet you,” she says.
That’s not a demon name, he thinks to himself, only to belatedly realise she called the other Akira. “I’m Goro Akechi,” he says, unable to pass up pleasantries.
“Goro. A nice name,” says Akira, Goro switching sides again to glare.
“And who are you? Really,” he says, and Akira opens his mouth as if to answer.
“Hey, don’t be so rude, he just saved you,” says a cat, who jumps on the bed as he speaks, causing Goro to embarrassingly yelp and almost fall onto the floor.
“Morgana,” Akira chides, sitting down on the mattress, much to Goro’s horror, although the bed is apparently huge considering he can do so comfortably.
The black cat lashes its tail, glaring at Goro. But after a moment, he too twirls once before settling down near Goro’s legs.
“Sorry if we scared you. You can call me Akira. That’s the name I go by in this form,” he says, taking up Goro’s hand from where it’s still gripping the bedspread.
His hands are unmarred, a stark difference to what he recalls. “How long have I been asleep?”
However, it’s Ann who ends up answering his question.
“Only a few hours in human time. The demonic plane works differently, it may take time for you to get used to it,” Ann says, crossing to the other side of the bed, standing near Akira.
It gives Goro the ability to see the rest of the room. It’s larger than any he’s ever stayed in, but fairly bare. There’s a desk on the opposite side of the room, under huge bay windows, sun streaming in. He can’t see what’s beyond them though, a mist seeming to obscure whatever is creating the light. The room is painted white, with a crown moulding detailing flowers near the ceiling, crossing all walls. It’s beautiful, but in no way homely.
“I suppose the demonic plane is my home now,” he says slowly, trying to get his mind around all that’s occurred.
“Primarily, but you’re free to journey to the human world whenever you like. Once you’re recovered, I’ll show you how,” Akira says, squeezing his hand.
“What?” Goro says.
Akira frowns. “Did you think I’d keep you locked up here? I’m sure you’ll miss a lot of things from your plane. It takes some practice learning how to travel, but you’ll be fine.”
That’s...more freedom than he expects. The two demon’s smile back at him, emanating power but still looking like peers he could have been working with. It makes him uneasy. There must be a catch.
“What do I...do here?” he says.
Ann and Akira exchange glances. “Maybe you should rest up first,” Ann says, Akira nodding. “Plus, I guess preparing for the wedding will be a priority.”
She visibly brightens at the idea, while Goro’s stomach sinks with nausea. “Wedding,” he repeats.
“That’s not really what demons call it, but the binding ceremony will happen at the blood moon. That’s....three months from now human time,” Akira says, checking with Ann who nods.
Three months. In three months a lot can happen. He’d assumed he’d be unable to leave this demon’s side, but with such freedom and hours ahead, there is potential. He could persuade them to target Shido, to act on his vengeance fully and finally.
He could find a way to escape.
For all the comforts and niceties, these two are still demons. A contract is hard to break out of but not impossible. Demons can be bound and bribed, and if anyone can do so, it’s him. He’s confident in his investigation skills, and there must be something in this world to aid him.
For now though, he’ll need to play nice. His stomach rolls slightly; he’s spent many years putting on a smile while hiding away his true motivations. He doesn’t revel in doing so again, but at least these demons seem to not be too put off by him snarling frustrations.
“I need to go, but I’ll come by and see you soon. I go to the human plane a lot, so call if you wanna go together!” Ann says, waving him off as if they’re friends arranging to meet for lunch.
All entirely bizarre. Goro knows about demons, in the abstract way most people do. They’re part of a suite of deities and powers which interact on occasion with the human world. But he’s never spent time researching or pondering the names of those who exist on other planes; demonic, celestial or otherwise.
The room appears oppressively silent in the wake of Ann’s departure, Morgana staring unblinkingly up at him.
“I didn’t know demons like cats,” he says, as a method to break the quiet, only for Morgana to hiss and sit up.
Akira chuckles, lifting Goro’s hand. Considering he’s so adamant on touching him, Goro has to twist, half leaning on one side to ensure he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Morgana’s a familiar, not a cat,” Akira says, before drawing Goro’s hand to his lip, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
Any retort fades from his mind, lost in the sensation of lips on his skin. His hand sparks, wired with a foreign sensitivity that isn’t necessarily unpleasant, but is too much to lean into. Akira grins as he lowers Goro’s hand, some equilibrium established, and mortifyingly enough he realises his face has heated.
He snatches his hand back, turning away. Akira’s presence still burns against him, so close to another for the first time in...years, it must be. He doesn’t remember the last time he even touched someone, since usually wore gloves in his old life.
“If you’re going to act like this, I’m leaving,” Morgana mutters, stretching his back before prowling off the bed and managing to disappear through the door without opening it.
Goro just stares at the space, wondering if the transference between realms has affected his mind, only to start when Akira suddenly rests his head on Goro’s shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he says, bucking him off without thinking.
Akira makes a wounded noise and looks back at him, before sighing. “You’re really not cuddly are you? A shame.”
“No, I am not cuddly,” Goro says.
There’s something seriously wrong with this demon. There has to be, and yet Akira just smiles and stands, stretching his back as he does, much like Morgana before him. His body moves in a graceful arch that Goro can’t look away from, managing to avert his eyes at the last second.
“I’ll let you rest. If you need something just call,” Akira says, then somehow ducks in, places a kiss on Goro’s cheek, and is waving from the door before he’s registered the audacity.
Akira closes it with a soft click, leaving Goro alone in the room. He flops back, breathing in the strange air, slightly sweeter than what he’s used to.
“How the hell am I meant to call him?” he says to himself, receiving no answer and adding it to the tally of strange things that are now his existence.
Goro stretches out as much time as he can in convalescing, firstly as it gives him time to observe Akira, and secondly to plan his next move. It doesn’t take him more than a day to get back on his feet, but the oddity of the place puts him on edge.
The demonic plane, or what he can see from the window once Akira shows him how to will it into a visual of the outside, it less fire and brimstone and more warm hued. Twin suns scorch the sky, one a brilliant scarlet, the other a peach tone, the world forever cast in a glow between the two. Buildings, of which there are just as many as in the human world, are far more jagged in their construction, made of something akin to obsidian that is utterly magic proof, and appears to be sturdier than any mineral Goro’s encountered.
Akira’s home is practically a castle. He explains it’s shared with several others, but apart from Ann and Morgana, he doesn’t meet anyone else during his first few days. After deciding he can no longer stand sitting in the same room, he walks out, only to find Akira standing patiently in the threshold and scaring the shit out of him.
“Would you like a tour of the gardens?” he says, as if Goro hadn’t been two seconds from punching him in the face.
The gardens, though, capture his interest. Flora is hardly what he’d expect of the demon world, and yet outside are such things, as well as streams, although the water runs a deep green rather than blue, and animals of various species both familiar and unfamiliar. Goro’s first excursion outside has him marvelling as his assumptions are thrown out of the window.
“Have you never seen roses before?” Akira says, watching as Goro leads them through the rose garden.
“Not like this,” he says, utterly distracted by the hugeness of the flower.
They must be double the size of roses he’s used to, all of them a hue so dark, light seems to leach from around them. They’re curated to grow in spirals around impressively large arches, leading onwards into what looks almost like a maze of the things, dark flowers stark against the current deep yellow daylight.
With their sharp, large thorns glinting and the deepness of the petals, they should look like a nightmare creation, full of poison and hurt. But Goro’s stunned by them; something about their resilience and potency is strangely beautiful, poetry found in viciousness.
He stands under the first archway and just watches, wondering how so many of them came to bloom so perfectly in one place, when a snap from behind has him turning. He’s met with the sight of Akira holding out a plucked rose, the thorns shaven away.
“For you, my bride to be,” he says, tongue rolling over the sentiment, as if savouring the word on his tongue, grinning as he bows.
It might be mocking, teasing at best but Goro snatches the flower anyway. It’s better not to waste it.
And when he comes back from the bathroom later that night, it’s been set in an opalescent vase, the cut flower filling the room with a heady sweetness that lasts for days.
It’s hard though, to get a grip on Akira. He teases, winks and touches Goro so casually, as if they’ve known each other for years rather than a week. Yet Goro can’t pry any substance from him, and finds conversation for more than an hour frustrating. He often wanders away in a huff, yells whatever curse is on his tongue and demands he not be followed.
He always ends up back in his room. The castle twists strangely; he discovers an art gallery, with paintings that swirl so vastly he has to stagger back out. He ventures into an empty music room, instruments covered with dusty white cloth, and finds an impressive rooftop greenhouse, more akin to a jungle than a common vegetable patch.
On the tenth day anniversary of his arrival, Goro finds the library.
Akira’s been gone for a few days, so he’s been tailed by Morgana. It’s helpful in the way that the cat has prevented him from becoming truly lost in the gardens, but the familiar is even more annoying than the demons, telling him when to eat, when to sleep, what might possibly kill him unawares.
But when Ann arrives, she steals Morgana’s attention enough for Goro to make his way into unfamiliar corridors, ultimately arriving at a set of double doors, which are truly dull compared to some of the ornate entrances of the castle.
What hides behind it is incredible. The smell alerts him first; parchment and ink, crinkled with time that melds into a heavy, comforting scent reminding Goro of long afternoons in autumn. The dust which captures the light sparkles piece by piece, ever present in each patch of illumination.
The floor beneath his feet is made of polished oak-like wood, combining with the orange hued light from huge windows near the back of the room. Shelves are of the same wood, curving around in strange ways, creating a path through to the windows at the back, ensuring light reaches but does not destroy the occupants of the room.
The walls are filled with books. Tome upon tome, Goro’s head cranes upwards to see the full spectrum. He’s never seen so many books in one place, ladders poised at regular intervals to help one reach the top shelves. They stretch out in clusters with the oddly placed shelving, so he has to weave around to see the magnificent scale.
There are reading tables, in the same wood as the shelves near the windows, Tiffany lamps casting rainbows on surfaces, clearly needed when the suns depart. But for now, everything sits in a quiet radiation of light, the room empty other than himself and the folios.
There’s a hush which falls over his steps as he moves around, as if the essence of a library is instilled in the structure. Shido was never one for books unless they contained spells, and then more for show than usage. These seem to vary in topic without sense; human history, magic of course, many in languages he cannot read.
If there’s anywhere which can help him escape, this is it.
Goro returns the next day, starting to categorise the books. It takes him a few hours before he finds some about demons, mostly a history of their plane and their relationship with the human world. Summons of course, are the way most demons are pulled into the human plane, Goro’s seen and performed it enough times.
But the summons he’s seen are simple; calling a demon who can bless a town, add protection, or bring forth the right kind of weather. There’s any number who can do that, lower beasts and forms which skulk in the shadows between realms.
Summoning a specific, high level demon requires a true name. As does a binding. Not only that, but the true name has to be rune form, rather than human language, which is why so many bindings and summonings go wrong when the runes aren’t precise. And a specific sacrifice or lure that appeals to the demon completes it.
Which makes it harder. Technically, if Goro knew Akira’s real name, he could set up a binding and demand they break the contract. But demons go by thousands of names in multiple languages; the chances of Goro discovering the right one in three months is almost impossible.
“Damn it,” he hisses, gripping his hair and dropping his head onto the desk.
“Ah, the curse of one down on inspiration. I know such a feeling well.”
Goro lifts his head slowly at the voice, muscles locking as he is suddenly not alone at the table. Before him sits another unfairly beautiful person, ethereally long lashes that catch in the light, blue tinted hair swept to the side as he stares at Goro unblinkingly.
“Who are you?” Goro says, a little caught out by the radiance.
“My apologies, we haven’t been introduced. I’m Yusuke,” he says, reaching out a slender hand, which Goro takes without knowing why. His grip is firm, skin incredibly soft.
Goro has to snatch his hand back, clearing his throat. He’s been alone in the library for the morning, and is sure no one has entered behind him. How Yusuke came to be at his table in less than a second, he doesn’t know.
“Akira will be back momentarily,” Yusuke says, sending a fire of frustration through Goro’s limbs.
He snaps the book shut and stands. “I don’t need looking after,” he says, storming away to the shelf where he’d taken the book from.
A scrambling follows him, Goro again wondering how the hell he got in without alerting Goro. he almost yelps as he turns to the doors, finding Yusuke in front of him.
“Would you stop doing that?” Goro says.
“Stop what? I’ve clearly offended you, and I’m deeply sorry,” he says, bowing low, a hand touching his heart like a fairy-tale prince. Goro’s heart half stutters, mentally berating himself for such ridiculousness.
Yusuke rises before Goro can formulate a reply. “I merely wished to meet you, as I hadn’t realised you’d been alone these past days. Remiss of us, it must be difficult adjusting to a world so different to your own.”
Once again, Goro is left bemused. Not since he was child has anyone cared so much of how he spends his time, or contemplated how he might feel. Vaguely, he can recall his mother asking him how school was, what he learned, telling her in detail about each Featherman episode. But that was so long ago, he may well have imagined it.
“I see you found the library, I didn’t know you liked books.”
Goro sighs, turning to find Akira too standing there. It seems like no one’s bothering to use doors today.
“Akira, good to see you well,” Yusuke says, moving past Goro to hug him, such a human display of affection.
“Hey, Yusuke. I’m glad you’ve met,” he says, looking between them.
“Yes, Goro is excellent company,” Yusuke replies.
“We didn’t even speak-wait, how long were you watching me?” Goro says, alarm coursing through.
There was nothing in the books which could be taken out of context, but he doesn’t want to alert any of them. However, Yusuke simply hands him a piece of paper, seemingly from nowhere.
It’s a pencil sketch of him. Captured with a hand on his chin, staring down at the pages of a book, utterly enraptured by the lines. The sunlight offers a background, Yusuke having sketched the direction of it, framing the piece nicely.
“I’m almost jealous,” Akira says, pulling Goro away from the drawing.
“Excuse me?” he says, noticing Yusuke has vanished. He needs to put a bell on these damn demons.
Akira steps forward, the silver in his eyes more prominent this time of day. His eyes are lined, a perfect dark flick framing the edges, his nails now dark french manicure with red tips. His hair is still as wild though, dressed in a casual grey long sleeve top this time, once again a combination of stunning nothingness.
His grin is irritating though. “I heard your heartbeat pick up when Yusuke looked at you. It’s okay, it happens to the best of us.”
Goro feels his anger rise, only for Akira to step forward, right into his space reaching out a hand to touch Goro’s check.
It’s warm. Hot even, he’s not sure a touch should be this burning. Akira’s lips quirk up, his eyes seem to glimmer as Goro’s rooted to the spot, unsure and unnerved by what’s happening. It’s...good, he thinks, to be seen.
He hasn’t been noticed in years, not in a good way. To Shido he was part of an image, for the town officials, a person to suck up to. No one has ever cared enough to observe him since his mother died, and it’s alarming how much he leans into it.
“It speeds up more when I’m close to you though,” Akira says, breaking the spell.
“Don’t be ridiculous, and don’t touch me so casually,” he snaps, and Akira backs away, the smile fixed in place.
“Sorry. But really, if I’d known you liked reading, I’d have shown you the library earlier. Is there anything I can help you find?” he says.
In truth Goro hasn’t had time to read in years but, Akira is delighted to show him to a section of fantasy books, even giving him a few recommendations. Goro takes them with him back to his room, Akira accompanying him all the while.
“Where have you been?” Goro says by way of conversation.
“So you did miss me,” Akira says, Goro letting the door shut on him.
“It’s a normal thing to ask when someone vanishes without a word,” Goro says.
“Is that why you were researching demons in the library?” Akira says as he pushes the door open.
Goro pauses as he places the books down carefully on the desk. When he faces Akira, he seems relaxed, as if it’s a perfectly natural thing to do. And he probably is; after all, Goro’s human not a demon, so what would he know?
“If you have questions, you can ask me. Why don’t we go onto the balcony?” he says, not waiting for Goro to reply before moving across to the room.
Goro hadn’t even noticed his windows opened onto a balcony, but they do; an expansive half circle that’s more than enough space for the ornate curling metallic bench and table which come into sight as they step out.
Akira takes a seat, gesturing for Goro to join him. Goro does, leaving a decisive amount of space between them, which for once Akira doesn’t breach. Instead, he looks out at the sun, almost as if he’s steadying himself before turning back to Goro.
“I was challenged. It happens semi-regularly. That and the occasional summons are usually what takes me away from here. Although I do sometimes go to the human realm to see a friend,” he says.
“Challenged? Who challenged you?” Goro asks. After the display in his hometown, he can’t think of anything so foolish.
Akira’s smile turns to a grin, a flicker of the danger Goro’s felt on first meeting rattling across his skin. He doesn’t waver though, just exists in the power surge. “Other demons usually. I handled it.”
Goro can imagine what that means, and it casts a new light on Akira. He’s always had an undercurrent, but he definitely enjoys these challenges. Goro can understand that; he always did relish in taking his town officials off their pedestals.
“My turn to ask a question. Why fantasy books?” Akira says.
Goro’s not expecting the turnabout. He debates lying, but if Akira can hear his heartbeat, there’s all sorts of tells he could display. “Ah, my mother liked them. As a child she’d read to me about magic, real and unreal, fantasy worlds and heroes. It stuck.”
Akira’s face has softened, that previous sharpness dulled. “We can go visit her, if you like?”
It hurts. Not as freshly as it once did, but still the pain is there. Will probably always be. “She’s dead.”
Goro stares at him, feels his armour protrude in waiting for the usual pity, but instead all he sees is sadness. There’s a catch in Akira’s voice when he says; “And your father tried to sacrifice you?”
Technically I did try to kill him first, Goro thinks but just nods, the phantom pain of speaking of his mother still echoing.
Akira’s hand on his is a shock, a light touch that almost stings in its unexpectedness. Once again though, the touch is a balm, a glow within that makes him magnetised to its wake. Akira waits though, until Goro doesn’t pull away, before lifting it slowly to his lips.
“I’m glad you chose the bride price, Goro,” he says, pressing a firm kiss to his knuckles.
“And how many people have you said that to?” he says, unsure where the bile rising in his chest comes from.
Akira raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t let go of Goro’s hand. “Just you. We can only bind ourselves to another once.”
Why me? he almost asks, a wavering filling his chest, but he doesn’t dare speak it. Instead he inhales and feels the rattle in his lungs as a grounding mechanism. “Then tell me your real name. Akira can’t be it. Why do you all appear as humans?”
It’s many questions in one, but Goro’s mind seems to have overrun its capacity for singular thought. At his words, Akira finally lets go of his hand, albeit in a gentle manner.
“All demons were humans once. I prefer this form. A lot of us do. Our true forms use a lot of power so we tend to use them for specific circumstances. As for my name, what’s wrong with Akira? You don’t like it?” he says, leaning forwards and grinning.
Goro doesn’t bother replying to that, just glares until Akira laughs and shakes his head. “I have many names, old and new. Akira works just fine, though.”
It seems this is all he’ll be able to get without pressing, and there’s no way to do it without causing suspicion. He’ll just have to find another way to figure out Akira’s true name, and to threaten him into letting him go.
Although...he has no idea what he’d do after that. His revenge on Shido failed once, and he’s not foolish enough to think he’ll be able to just waltz into town again. Goro has no other family, no connections outside of the town that tried to sacrifice him. He hasn’t even lived anywhere else.
But the alternative is becoming a demon bride, and that still makes his skin crawl. His time so far has been...nothing like he imagined it, but he hasn’t fully been bound to Akira yet. Who knows what the demon will do after that ceremony?
There’s all sorts of tales of humans being subject to demonic will. Of demons feeding on their blood, bones and souls to sustain their own dark will, destroying their minds and making them torture their own families, or using them as bed slaves. None of which Goro’s seen from the time he’s here, but who knows what this binding ceremony will do to him?
“Goro?”
He looks up, realising Akira’s been speaking for some time. “My apologies, I didn’t hear that.”
Akira looks as if he’s about to question more, but settles with a strained smile. “I asked if you wanted to go back to the human plane tomorrow. You’re probably bored by now.”
An odd idea that he’d be bored of vast gardens of dark roses and a never ending supply of books, but he’s not going to admit that. So instead he nods, wondering if there will be a way to gain a foothold on escape by leaving this realm.
“Why not?” he says, trying to ignore the way his stomach fizzes at the joy on Akira’s face.
I’ll escape soon, he reminds himself. Even if the idea is not a total comfort.