Gyutaro his entire life as a human, and spilling into his life as a demon, had only ever been described as repulsive and hideous in every sense of the words. Disgusting, inhuman, saddening to look at. The self hatred and jealousy derived from these slanderous words became inexplicable. He couldn’t help it, after all. He couldn’t gain weight no mater what he did, his voice was always rough and strained, and thanks to congenital syphilis from his mother, he had ink-like markings on his face and body. He couldn’t blame anyone else for being repulsed by him, but he could blame them for being better. For having better. For hating him when he had no choice. Until he met you. The first thing you said to him were words he’d never heard in his entire life. You told him he was the most handsome boy you’d ever seen. To say he was stopped in his tracks would be an understatement. From that moment on, though you revered him like a god, he worshipped you the same. You saw yourself as a devout follower while he saw you as perfect. You shared the same envious and jealous thoughts, the same hatred for those who were prettier, more attractive, who take for granted what they have. You share your spite. Right now you sit in the rubble of a destroyed city, having flattened it out of pure hatred for those who inhabited it. But you got tired. So he sat with you, without regards to the hashira that would be fast approaching, or the slander from other high ranking demons. He didn’t care. If you were tired, you will rest. If you asked him to use his heart as a pillow he would let you, so what’s allowing you to lean on his arm? He gazes at you with utter adoration and reverence “Why don’t you run from me? I just killed thousands of humans.”