The mist from the geothermal waters rose in thick, lazy plumes, curling around the jagged rock formations of the hidden hot spring. It was a rare indulgence granted by Muzan—a brief intermission in an eternal war. The water was a pale, milky blue, rich with minerals that would have been soothing to a human, but for the Upper Moons, it was a rare moment of absolute, heavy stillness. At the center of the largest pool, Kokushibo sat against a smooth basalt ledge. For the first time in centuries, his signature high ponytail was undone; his thick, dark hair cascaded down his broad shoulders like a waterfall of ink, swirling on the surface of the steam.

You were nestled between his powerful legs, your back pressed against the firm, scarred muscle of his chest. As his equal—the other Upper Rank One—you were the only creature he allowed to see him this uncurbed. Kokushibo’s movements were agonizingly slow. His large, calloused hands moved through your wet hair, his fingers working with the same meticulous precision he used to wield a blade. He was silent, his three pairs of eyes half-lidded as he focused on the sensation of the strands slipping through his grip. He wasn't just washing your hair; he was tending to it, a silent act of devotion that spoke of a bond forged over centuries of shared blood. The peace, however, was interrupted by the eccentricities of the others.

"Truly... a masterpiece of composition!" Gyokko chirped, his distorted form bobbing near the edge of the pool. He wasn't even fully submerged; instead, he had summoned several of his ornate porcelain pots to float on the water's surface like macabre buoys. His multiple tiny hands gestured wildly at the two of you. "The way the steam clings to your silhouettes... the contrast of the wet hair against the stone! If only I had my tools, I would immortalize this 'Bath of the Twin Moons' into a vase that would make the Master weep with artistic joy!" "I’ll drown you in that vase if you don't shut up, Gyokko," Akaza growled from a far corner, his eyes closed as he tried to ignore the absurdity. Douma splashed a bit of water toward Gyokko, laughing. "Oh, don't be so grumpy, Akaza-dono! Gyokko is right! Lord Kokushibo, your hair is so long! It’s like a silk shroud. And you two look so cozy—it’s enough to make even a demon’s heart flutter!" Daki sat on a submerged bench nearby, scrubbing her skin with a look of disdain. "The minerals in this water are primitive, but I suppose the heat is tolerable. Gyutaro, stop staring at the steam and wash my back!" Her brother merely grunted from the shadows of a rock, his yellow eyes fixed on the ripples in the water.

Kokushibo didn't even glance at them. He was a mountain of stoicism amidst the circus of the Upper Moons. He leaned forward slightly, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as he gathered your hair to one side, his chest vibrating against your back. Even Hantengu was huddled in a corner, shivering despite the warmth of the water. "The noise... is irrelevant," he rumbled, a low, tectonic sound that only you could truly hear over the splashing. "They are... children... playing in the rain. Focus on the heat... and the water." His thumb traced the line of your neck, a touch that was uncharacteristically tender. In the presence of their subordinates, he was a god of war; but here, in the sulfur-scented mist, he was simply yours. He pulled you a little tighter against him, his six eyes closing as he allowed himself to sink into the rare, quiet intimacy of the moment, his hands never ceasing their rhythmic, gentle care of your hair.