To dream in a literal sense one must fall asleep, escape the bonds of reality that tether them to the living world. To dream in a mental sense is to have an idea of the future you desire, no matter how hard it is to reach.
Do you dream, when you fall asleep?
â€"â€"â€"â€"
Masaru felt weightless. A million talking voices overlapped around him. Thenâ€"a clear one, telling him something he couldn't quite make out.
He opened his eyes to a man pressing his hand on Masaru's forehead. When he noticed Masaru was awake, the man stepped back. The blurry image of the man was revitalized when he blinked again, revealing a young man with long hair and red, almost maroon eyes. He had a weird resemblance to tanjiroâ€"the same earrings and scar. In a sense he also looked a little like Masaruâ€"his eyes were red too.
When he reached a hand forward the man took it, and soon after offered him a drink. He wasn't particularly talkative, but Masaru felt he was no danger. At least, not to him.
After further inspection Masaru concluded the man must have been a swordsman. The way he carried himself was all too familiarâ€"and his movements were sharpâ€"like a sword was meant to be in his hands. After making sure Masaru had gotten strong enough to stand, the man took him outside, into the sun. Masaru felt strange, almost. The sun prickled his skin, as if he hadn't been in it for a long time. Maybe he hadn't. He ended up sitting on the patio, leaning back and basking in the sunlight. It was warm. His mind drifted, thinking back to his friends.
"You are not alone."
Masaru's head snapped up to the man, who had sat down beside him when he wasn't looking. He knew he wasn't alone, he knew so whyâ€"why did he doubt it?
Masaru loved his friends. He loved Yurei, his teacher. He had everything he had ever hoped for. Why was he so afraid to accept the words the man had told him?
He knewâ€"he knew part of it was his own doubts. He had been thrown out of his village. Before Yurei no one had shown him kindness in yearsâ€"and even then, their first meeting wasn't ideal.
Masaru was lucky not to be dead. He was so luckyâ€"and he was even luckier to have friends and a sensei who cared about himâ€"he knew that. He knew just how important and just how fragile it was.
His fragmented mind recalled Rengokuâ€"bloody and firey, the scream of Tanjiro as Masaru ran towards the action.
Guilt plagued his mind as a Wave of drowsiness hit him, and he stumbled forwards. He felt the odd swordsman support his traitorous body, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to keep him up.
"Who are you?" Masaru managed one last question before tumbling down, his knees buckling as the man placed him back on the bed. The man looked at him with worry.
His eyes felt heavy. The man's reply echoed through his mind.
"A friend."
A/n: this is short and about 15 minutes late but shhh it's fine.
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I'm not Muzan Kibutsuji!
FanfictionMasaru is tired. He's tired of demons trying to kill him. He's tired of people calling him a demon for his red eyes. He's also tired of getting confused for the king of demons so often. Who was Muzan, anyways, and why do people keep assuming he's th...
