Title: Chachamaru's daily routine
A/N: For the Demons and Love II Zine, which was sadly cancelled! I still stand by that Yushiro was done dirty at the end, as fun as it is to play with the angst of his ending.
Summary: The world outside had changed. From tinted windows, Chachamaru watched as horseless carriages roared through crowded streets, the city as bright as the sun. In this new world, there were no demons. The distances between people had shrunk to nothing and you could have anything you wanted with the click of a button.
Well, almost anything. It had been centuries, and still Yushiro refused to do anything but look at the past. Chachamaru didn't know what to do.
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Chachamaru woke up a few hours before midnight. Not that she'd be able to tell by sound alone; in the modern world, the stars lived on the ground, the people never slept, and it was as loud now as it was at noon. Yawning, she stretched in her soft cat-bed, her back arching as she pulled all her cricks.
The master bedroom was dark. Softly padding across a plush carpet, Chachamaru delicately wrapped her jaws around a small, golden cord. A sharp yank and she drew the curtains back, allowing the bright streetlights to flood the room. Yushiro groaned and rolled over on the bed, covering his eyes with a hand.
For all that the world had changed, the house hadn't. When Yushiro had finally been forced out of Tamayo's derelict home and into a more modern house, he'd wasted no time arranging the interior of his bedroom to look identical to the one he'd left behind. It was similar enough that even Chachamaru would sometimes forget that a hundred years had passed, that Tamayo's scent couldn't be on the blankets.
Yet it was Yushiro on the bed, not Tamayo. When he didn't get up, she didn't hesitate before jumping on the blankets, stalking over to his head, and nipping his ear.
He swatted at her. When she nimbly dodged his clumsy attack, he cracked an eye open and glared. "Why do you do this every day?"
Chachamaru scrunched her nose, her lips curling slightly to reveal her fangs.
"Seriously, it's not like I have to wake up at the same time every day." Yushiro closed his eye again. "I don't even need to get up."
She batted his cheeks, extending her claws just enough to scratch his skin. It was important to keep a schedule, after all. Even if he didn't need to be anywhere. Especially if he didn't have to be anywhere. From all of her research on the internet, routines were healthy.
But for all that society had changed, for all of the technology that had been developed, there was nothing to translate animal to human. Her words were just meows to him, an annoying, meaningless sound. Chachamaru stuck to physical language; Yushiro never failed to understand what her scratches and bites meant.
He was a brat, after all, and there was only one way to treat those.
"Ouuch!" He sat up, rubbing his cheek. Shooting her another glare, he rolled off the bed. "Fine, fine, I'll go already."
Chachamaru meowed approvingly. Delicately, she sprang off the bed and headed to the kitchen. The house was a big one, almost the size of a mansion. With an art room, a library, a study, five bedrooms, and an entertainment room, they were ready for anything. Every door in the house had a cat flap, allowing her easy exit and entry to any of its numerous rooms. Even the art room, despite all of Yushiro's grumbling and complaining, wasn't off-limits.
The only problem was that the house was too big for two. Dust settled in the unused rooms, and half the house felt like a mausoleum, just waiting to be used. Still, there were few ways to guarantee privacy in the modern era and a place like this offered security through the tall fences surrounding the house.
Besides, Yushiro always needed more room for his paintings. Chachamaru sat down in the hallway, peering up at the paintings hung along the wall. Every inch of space was filled, the portraits carefully arranged on the wall to provide maximum coverage. There were dozens of Tamayos smiling down at her: young Tamayo, happy Tamayo, sad Tamayo, angry Tamayo. Each detail was impeccable, whether it was her hair or her smile or even the collar on her kimono.
Yet those weren't the paintings Chachamaru liked to look at every morning. No, the ones she loved were the series of portraits on the demon slayers. They were earlier paintings, ones when Yushiro was still sentimental enough to paint them. On the right side of the hall were the surviving pillars, Giyuu and Sanemi, surrounded by the various girls of the butterfly estate. Her ears twitched at the memory; they'd always given her extra snacks and scratched her ears.
On the left were a wizened Inosuke and Zenitsu. Grey peppered their hair, wrinkles lining their eyes, and Zenitsu smiled wearily as Inosuke smirked haughtily. They'd both lived long lives. Chachamaru had learned to like them, though she had been grateful when the blonde's waterworks had finally stopped.
Finally, Chachamaru looked at the middle of the hall. Directly in front of her were Tanjirou and Nezuko, looking only five years older than when they'd first met. They half-hugged as they brightly smiled. They were forever young, and forever together. When the marks had finally consumed their lives, they'd died minutes from one another. Death couldn't keep them apart a second time. She hoped they met their family again.
"What're you doing?" Yushiro muttered as he shuffled down the hallway. Even as he passed by the portraits, he didn't look at them, his eyes trained instead on the Tamayo hung just above the doorway at the far end of the hallway.
Rude. She swiped the bottom of his pants, annoyed. He'd always been so rude. Chachamaru couldn't understand sometimes why Tamayo had saved him.
Pay attention to your friends, she growled, her ears flattening as she headbutted his feet.
It was always Tamayo these days. Yushiro should be painting his other friends too, should be remembering their names and faces and stories instead of letting himself forget.
"You can get your own breakfast," Yushiro grumbled, once again misunderstanding her attacks. As he stepped into the kitchen, he glanced at her. "It'd be quicker that way too."
Despite his words, he pulled out a bag of blood from the fridge. After checking the date, he poured it into her bowl. "Happy now?"
Not really, but she could use the nourishment. Battles weren't fought on an empty stomach, after all. Eagerly, she lapped up her breakfast, the blood coating her whiskers as she strained for every last drop. The people of this era were healthy in a way they hadn't been in the past and their well-fed bodies gave their blood a fuller, richer taste. Even better, it was so much easier to steal blood now. Yushiro had enough connections to slip into hospitals, carefully selecting a few packets here and there so that no one would miss them.
Speaking of which, there should be another delivery today. Yushiro's lecture would have to wait till after. After giving her bowl one last lick, Chachamaru headed to the front door. Delicately, she opened the flap, observing the darkness with a practiced eye. A cool summer breeze wafted in, ruffling her fur. Secure that it was truly night, she crept out of the house and onto the front step.
It was even louder out here. Her ears turned to several directions as she listened to their horseless carriages race by. The metal beasts honked and roared, their riders somehow safe inside their bellies. People walked the streets, chatting excitedly as they walked in and out of pools of light. The fence around their home wasn't tall enough to keep out all the distractions that filled their neighbourhood. It certainly wasn't enough to keep out the smog.
In this world, there was nothing to fear in the dark. The demons were nothing more than children's stories, told to keep the young ones in line. The only monsters left were the human kind.
The door creaked open behind her, and Chachamaru glanced over her shoulder in surprise. Blearily, Yushiro stepped out. "It's summer," he murmured.
She snorted. It was about time he noticed.
"Let's get the mail." Ignoring her curious stare, Yushiro slowly strolled to the front gate, his hands in his pockets.
How utterly rare. Chachamaru flicked her tail back and forth, considering it. He almost never came out. It was to pick up a package, she was certain, but this was a special opportunity and she wasn't going to waste it. Quickly, Chachamaru scampered down the steps after him, her claws clicking against the pebbled pathway in her haste.
Yushiro didn't notice. Or maybe he just didn't care. As she caught up, he pushed open the right gate. Unlike the front door, it slid silently on its hinges and a pool of light bathed them in its golden glow as they stepped through. Chachamaru's nose tickled from the air; the smog was always worse near the roads thanks to those metal beasts.
If the city had been distracting from the front door, it was impossible to resist here, in the thick of it all. There were so many sights and smells—the clothing, the food, the life of it all. The city never slept and these years night sometimes felt like day. Part of her missed the countryside, the quiet of their past when everything was cleaner, simpler, smaller.
The rest of her was utterly intrigued. Where did the road turn? What was beyond the buildings? Chachamaru turned to Yushiro. Somehow, he was impervious to the charms before them, his gaze focused as he rifled through their mailbox. At his feet were two boxes: the blood sample, and whatever he was expecting.
Impatiently, she tugged on the hem of his pants, not caring if she ruined them.
"What?" he asked absentmindedly, flipping through their bills and spam.
Let's go. She tugged again, insistent. There's so much to see. It could even help with his paintings, if he needed an excuse.
"I already fed you." Yushiro picked up the boxes now. "You're not getting more."
On another day, it would have been nice to see him finally help with the delivery, instead of Chachamaru having to carefully drag the whole box back to the house. Today, though, it was a nuisance. Irritated, she climbed up his leg, not bothering to retract her sharp claws.
"What—that hurts, you stupid cat." Yushiro shook his leg, the boxes perched precariously in his hands. He'd never been good at repelling her and Chachamaru leapt off his chest and onto the box. Glaring up at her, he growled, "What was that for?"
Chachamaru wrinkled her nose, pulling back her lips into a sneer. Look around you.
They stood there for a long moment, snarling at one another, before Yushiro shook his head. "You only ever listened to Tamayo. Why am I doing this?"
Tamayo listened, Chachamaru huffed.
Unfortunately, Yushiro was still a moron, and he didn't take the hint. Without so much as a glance at the street, he returned to the mansion.
It was futile, really. She couldn't force him to be interested in the world, couldn't force him to walk down the street or even just step out of the house. His eyes were only on his memories, only on the ghost he couldn't let go of. Even this trip outside was just to grab new paints. Chachamaru could smell the oil and acrylic from within the box, the scent that coated Yushiro's hands permanently. No matter how much he painted, Tamayo wouldn't come back to life. His friends wouldn't return to him. The world would keep moving, leaving him further and further behind.
If only someone would save him. Could save him. But they had no one else here, just each other, and Chachamaru was not enough to change him. A hundred years had taught her that much.
She glanced at the streets before he stepped inside. It'd be a long time before they could explore this world together, if ever.
The only ones he'd listen to were dead, after all.
