Second Person POV:

You let out a soft groan as you feel your world going horizontal. A falling sensation overcomes you, and your body goes limp. Your formerly black vision becomes starry, as if you had stood up too fast. Wind whooshes past your ears, slowly becoming white noise in the midst of the overwhelming silence.

Suddenly, you feel as though you are being stabbed in the chest. Still blind, your body hits a hard surface with a loud 'thump', causing the wind to be knocked out of you and you to go unconscious yet again.

You didn't know what was happening, or where you were, or what kind of a life changing deal you had just made with a creature...or even omnipotent being you didn't know.

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Your vision fills with red, and you soon realize that it was simply your eyelids covering your sleeping eyes. You scrunch your eyebrows together, causing a subconscious tear to escape from the corner of your eye, running down the side of your cheek and dripping onto your hair like an eager child waiting to play. Your hair, which was sprawled out like (short/long/nonexistent) octopus tentacles behind your head, decorated your pillow with swirling patterns of (H/C) hair. 

You slowly become aware of the warm apricity of the morning sun streaming in through the opened curtains within the confines of your waking place, peeking through the windows and spreading its warmth to you.

Speaking of...where even were you? You shift under the blanket you do not remember placing yourself under, letting out a quiet, almost unintelligible, groan as you prop your arms up to your sides. 

Your memories of minutes, hours, and days before come flooding back to you, along with a scratching in your throat. You bring your hand up to your mouth as you let out a small cough, followed by a series of louder and louder coughs, which in turn transformed into gagging, spitting out a river of red blood accompanied by a plethora of the spindly blue petals of an all-too familiar flower. 

These were the petals of the flower in one of the paintings Douma had chosen to display on one of the the many walls of the cult for all to see as a beautiful work of art. He had not informed you before that you had been staring at the famous Blue Spider Lily, or you would have searched for it far, far quicker than you had.

A teenage boy, one who donned unmistakeable platinum violet hair, dashed into the room, holding a metal pail in his hands. Without thinking, he slid the bucket onto your lap. You grasp your hands around the sides, your knuckles turning pale as you retch into the pail, splattering the insides in red and blue. 

After a few minutes of this, you finally stop coughing. Feeling extremely lightheaded, you sigh, propping your arms up behind you once more. 

You study the boy in front of you for a moment, recognizing him as the boy Douma saved from one of the Lower Moons when they had infiltrated the temple. You had not seen the event in person, but you had been told by Douma what had happened.

Enji hands you a glass of water, and you cleanse your mouth from the unpleasant, metallic taste of the blood staining your tongue.

"Are you...okay, (Y/N)-sama?" Enji asks timidly, his worry for your well-being written all across his face. In response, you grant him a solemn yet slightly wobbly nod of your head. You inhale a deep breath as he hands you a tissue, wiping your face clean of the blood and mucus it had been smeared with. 

Eventually, after several minutes of silence and deep breathing to calm yourself down, you speak. 

"I am alright." You answer Enji. He nods, awkwardly looking around the room. He contemplates what he was going to say, exhaling and deciding to simply say it.

"(Y/N)-sama?" Enji asks after a moment.

"Yes?" 

The boy thinks for yet another moment. "D-do...do you have Hanahaki?" He blurts. Your head snaps towards him, your expression faltering. You realize that he had indeed seen you heaving into the pail, given he was the one to provide it to you in the first place. 

You place a mask of sadness over your face, nodding mournfully. 

"I apologize you have to see me like this, Enji-kun. It is a tragic tale of heartbreak to have Hanahaki, you see." Your voice lowers to a murmur, as if you were speaking under your breath and he coincidentally heard you.

"No, no no!" Enji panics, shaking his head rapidly. "M-maybe I...maybe I can help you! Who...who is the person you...you love? Maybe I can help them reciprocate!" He asks, eager to help. It was a little endearing how happy the boy was to help you.

You hesitate. "Douma." You admit, slightly embarrassed at actually admitting it out loud. However, you could take this as a chance to know Douma better personally, both for your own benefit, and for the twisted yet mandatory entertainment of the omnipotent eye creature, which you had decided to call Uchuu, meaning universal. 

Enji's eyes widen and a mischievous grin spreads across his face. "I knew it!" He cheers himself on. 

You sigh. "Mhmmm." You reply flatly. 

"Do you want an award?" You grumble sarcastically, heat rising to your ears.

Enji flushes. "Sorry." He mumbles in return. You roll your eyes, waving off his action as nothing.

"So...how would you help me?" You continue, removing the bucket from your lap and shifting your position on the futon, which you assumed was Enji's, so that you were sitting on your legs.

Enji smiles once more. 

"You'll see." He says in a cheeky, singsong voice.

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"(Y/N)!" Douma shouts in shock, bounding over to you before he even registered his own actions. He was still woozy due to the sheer amount of Muzan's blood he had received only seconds beforehand. 

He reaches his arms out in front of him in an attempt to catch you as you fall. Your body simply slips through his hands, landing on the wooden floor in piles of swiftly disintegrating dust. Douma repeatedly tries to pick up the dust in his hands, his breathing quickening, his eyes already wide with shock and confusion.

"Wh-what...?" He breathes, overwhelmed with emotions he had yet to even discover the meaning of. A warm heat washes all over his body, and he knew it wasn't normal. Demons didn't warm. 

He reaches out and picks up the fading fragments of dusty particles on the floor, each piece slipping through his fingers or disappearing on his hands. 

"(Y/N)." Douma says. 

"(Y/N)." Douma repeats. 

"(Y/-" 

"Upper Two." He heard Muzan's disapproving voice from the platform above him, but his ears were ringing and his heartbeat was thumping in his head too loudly to even comprehend that Muzan had said anything in the first place. 

Hot, salty water gathered in Douma's wide, rainbow eyes. 

"Upper Two, this behavior is absolutely disgraceful. I'll keep you alive solely for your accomplishments. Nakime!" Muzan snaps, and he was suddenly in his temple once more. 

This didn't calm him at all. Douma kneaded his hands into the soft fabric of his bean bag, bringing his knees to his chest. His eyes were wide and he focused on nothing, staring into space. His face was pale, and he looked as though he had been told he only had a day left to live.

Douma slowly rests his chin on top of his knees. Outwardly, he seemed to be calm, but he was hyperventilating. He couldn't focus on anything around him, his vision swirling with unusual blurriness and a wet sensation. 

The room was dead silent save for the occasional sniffle.

Thoughts were whirling around in his mind a million miles a minute, filled with qualms of his lack of affection towards (Y/N), his inability to stop Muzan from harming (Y/N), and even his regret of killing the slayers - the event that lead to this in the first place.

He wished he had spent more time with her. He really wished he was brave enough to tell her how he believed he felt, even if it was only the tiniest bit of affection he could give.

Douma's sharp blue nails dug into his beige hakama pants, staining them with his red blood seeping into the fabric.

He had no idea why he was feeling so emotional. After all, he was the feared Uppermoon Two, the one  known for being one of the most ruthless, apathetic demons to ever exist. Why was he feeling this way? He didn't like it one bit.

He didn't know what was happening, why it was happening, or what he was going to do. All he knew was that all of these unknown feelings were unpleasant ones. There were several feelings in particular that he was familiar with, much to his chagrin.

He was shocked. He was scared. He was alone.

The hot tears, the droplets he so desperately had tried to calm, slowly trickled down his pale cheeks.

Word Count: 1550