Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He loathed the smile of his therapists.

The room clouded heavily, a smell of bitter coffee infiltrating his nostrils, unpleasantly.

The man sat before him, a leg hooked over the other. A ticking clock babbling in repetition, an endless ‘click’ that made the room spiral in numbers and sounds. A tight space, it wasn’t huge, it was quaint.

Therapy, once biweekly, a routine that zipped by. A man with fiery colored hair, tied up and brushed over his face, his jaw nicely cut. The faintest of scars on his left cheek, the skin healed long ago. His eyebrows shaped symmetrical, but otherwise wildly. His eyes bright, far too wide for the mood of the session, a red and orange color glinted in them, unique for this world. To top it off, it was that smile, that damn smile—-wide and cheerful as if he wasn’t dealing with some edgy hormonal teenager, one that that glared at him each session.

The man cleared his throat, glancing to the clock once again. Their sessions limited with the typical sixty minute mark, often times dismissed early from the inevitable evasion of the teenager. Genya Shinazugawa, a ‘misguided’ labeled boy, uncomfortably seated in the man’s chair, the furniture stiffly cramping up his long legs. Knees pulled up, an attempt to lean back, though the table settled between them blocked him.

“So, Genya!” The man started, his voice teetering between a roar and a chirp. “do you ever think about a specific memory? Something that stays with you, something that crosses your mind often?”

Genya grimaced, finding his question painfully stupid, it was an attempt to fill the lingering silence of an unwilling patient. That bitter smell of coffee pulsed within his skull, seeping into the cavities of his brain, enough to cause a headache. “Not really.”

‘Mr. Rengoku’ nodded pensively, his smile widening nearly too joyful about his reply. “Hmm!” He hummed, “It’s okay if you don’t have one. But sometimes, memories can help us understand why we react the way we do. Just curious.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The man didn’t falter, he never did. The corners of his mouth twitched, tugging into a bigger grin. Entirely too forced, though he could tell he was masking just a hint of genuine amusement. It had to be scrutinizing, the adults always did that, strangely peered at him like he was a feral kitten, full of pity and curiosity.

“I just think it’s important to be in touch with those memories, even if they’re tough. You’re here for a reason, Genya. I want to help, that’s all.”

He’s sure it’s the script of any other therapist. Another attempt to pick him apart, open himself up just for them to nod like idiots, pointing out his flaws, why he was the way he is- why he makes mistakes- why he snaps. “Help?” He innocently inquired, “With what, exactly? What’s there to help?”

The man tapped on his notebook, “Maybe just to make things a little easier. To help you see things differently.”

And Genya couldn’t help it, he rolled his eyes painfully unamused. What bright colors would he begin to see? The sky remained that murky blue, his mornings were an annoying obstacle, and his evenings worse. His routine frequented a hindrance, the gloomy shade of his world. The muted colors of his home, the occasional shout or crashing vase, children bickering and giggling behind muffled walls.

“Yeah, sure.” He dismissed, waving a hand over, “I’ll just magically see everything differently. Like flipping a switch.”

The coffee cup remained untouched, the smell still overwhelming the room. Genya could barely hear Kyojuro from his seat, chatting away like an animated toon character. “—-ize. But it starts with letting yourself feel.”

“Feeling’s overrated.”

Rengoku clicked his tongue, nodding his head from side to side. “Maybe. But feeling is how you start to heal.”

“Healing’s for people who don’t know how to survive.” He casually snapped.

The clock clicked again, a repetitive ‘tick tick tick tick’, one after another turning louder after another. The room only seemed to get more crowded, that bitter scent of coffee swirled around him. There was a table settled between them, tilted a few mere inches to the side——not in the slightest perfect. Something about it itched at Genya, a phantom craving climbing from his throat- and he’s sure that- there’s a pleasant distraction that could have satisfied that urge.

Genya glanced to the clock, his foot tapping insistently. Cold, too cold, and long, too long. The clock barely twitched an inch, and this session was prolonging its awkwardness. Rengoku spoke again, leaning back on his seat.“Surviving is important too, but healing lets you live.”

“Maybe living isn’t that great either.”

Genya bit back his words, the admission flared an unstable tremble in his chest. Regret flooded him, but he remained still, glancing to the man searching for any signs of concern. It was a mistake to say something so risky, a therapist would likely shove him into some mental institution—-but—Rengoku didn’t flinch, he somberly nodded again, considering his next actions.

Instead of writing in his notes, he closed the journal interlocking his hands together, “But you’re still here. That counts for something, right?”

Slightly relieved, Genya stiffly breathed out, “Yeah. Here.”

“One step at a time, Genya. That’s all.”

“One step. . .whatever.” He shrugged back.

The man chuckled, still entertained by the teen’s general attitude. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

“I don’t need anyone.”

The room remained misty, that bitter smell flummoxed his senses. A bitter, steel scent of black coffee.

Rengoku smiled at him, like any other adult usually would, and Genya—loathed the smile of his therapist.

A murky shade of blue, darker and muted blending in together; the distant sun hidden behind those gray clouds looming over the town so slowly.

Genya walked out of the building with his usual scowl, unimpressed by the hour he was forced to commit to. The town buzzed with life, cars zooming down the street, vandalizes street signs ignored despite their commands. A dark aroma lured him out, the ashy cigarette trail filled him with a pleasant shiver, familiar with the effects of a tool so distracting.

A dark car with jagged wounds spread across the car doors remained parked in front of him. Illuminated by a flickering lamppost, his sibling seated in the drivers seat leaned back. Genya swallowed, his hands stuffed into his pockets, one hand fumbling with the pack of gum he replaced hours ago. There was no incentive for him to enjoy the drive home, and regardless he approached the door opening it with a grunt.

“Thanks for picking me up,” Genya muttered, settling in the passenger side.

Sanemi shifted the gear, the car purred after the headlights brightening the dimming road. “Don’t thank me. Ma made me.”

Hm.

Genya shifted, already knowing the seat was wrong. It was too far forward, the headrest sunk in, his legs cramped up—someone else had been here. He absently reached to the side, tugging the small pedal, stealing a glance to his older brother. Sanemi, casually driving with a single hand on the wheel, his eye-leads lowered with an easy to recognize exhaustion. His clothes wrinkled, the buttons of his dress shirt opened up almost skimpily, his toned chest opened for the world to see after a long shift at the mechanics.

Genya looked away, “Yeah, figures.”

“How was it?”

“Same shit.” No surprise there, Genya shrugged it off eyeing the passing street signs, trees pulling in the opposite direction, the sun dipping lower into oblivion. The car had that ‘new’ smell to it, neatly tidied up by the only women who cared about them. “He asks stupid questions, I give stupid answers, and we both pretend it’s productive.”

Sanemi clicked his tongue, removing his foot from the gas. “Sounds about right. They still think talkin’ about your feelings is gonna fix you?”

The car decreases its speed, coming to a slow stop by the blurry red of a stoplight. The round illumination nearly glaring, an annoying color painting them wildly.

“Guess so.” They never spoke about the real issue, they struggled to touch the root of the issue. If it weren’t for the courts, or maybe the pill bottle rolled on the floor-he wouldn’t be here. Then again, it was the strange fascination that allured him, he couldn’t recall why that memory brought him comfort— it shouldn’t- but it did. The light switched green, the car thrusting forward immediately, “. . .He asked if there was a memory I think about a lot.”

“And?”

“And I told him no.”

They turned to the left, the car growled in reluctance. Sanemi slightly frowned but didn’t immediately respond.

Two more stop signs, and he finally spoke again. “Bet that’s a fuckin’ lie.”

Genya’s lip twitched, but he stayed quiet.

The road grew broad, near to the bridge he frequented often. A broken thing it was, vandalized, and slightly chipped on the old cement, but otherwise useful. Descending beneath the shitty thing, was an almost dried lake, the water not deep enough to break anyone’s fall, the ripples a dark ugly brown color, dirty and useless. Genya’s eyes wandered over, eyeing it once again, his gaze catching a figure crossing the street, away from the bridge.

The car conveniently slowed again, a stop sign allowing him to judge from afar. It was a bit, shorter than him, a hood draped over his head—muted colors of green and black. His pants cuffed with thick socks peeking out of his worn sneakers. As if feeling his gaze, the boy lifted his head, a glint showing just a glimpse of his dark red eyes- or were they pink? The gaze locked with his, nearly curiously, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed him too.

Genya blinked.

The car rolled ahead, an empty road gracing its presence.

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

Genya shook his head, “Nothin’.”

Chapter Text

A teenager’s life is anything but casual, in the coming years of high school whether you were a freshmen or senior—there was just a hint of drama or hormonal tension. A looming nervousness that accompanied the nearing school days after a short weekend.

And as it was-a routine, Genya trudged into the kitchen after a slow awakening. His shadow dragged behind him, his eyelids heavier than usual after a night of staying up. The saliva in his mouth rotted onto his tongue, a murky feeling lodged in the back of his throat thickly. The teenage boy with tussled hair, disheveled and not completely there, entered the room eyeing the bustling space.

A littered kitchen with scampering children, little girls and boys chattering animatedly with childlike wonder. The cabinets were slightly askew, tilted open; the sink was filled to the brim yet to be cleared. Genya walked through, mumbling lowly, a hoarse rasp rumbling deep within his throat, his gaze roamed the chaotic area searching for his plate of breakfast. The counter had ingredients scattered, an opened carton of eggs, a cup of orange juice left to the side, and a single burnt toast poking out from the toaster.

He grimaced, glancing away to the others. Sanemi wasn’t in sight, and he could catch a quick glimpse of his mother scurrying around the room with her work apron draped over her forearm. Keys jingled on her other hand, calling the kids out for school. He quickly realized- or so- remembered, his routine. There was no plate for him, there never usually was. He blinked, more unimpressed with himself rather than the situation, his younger siblings quickly fled the scene and out of the house. The front door shutting with a click that cracked his skull, a ‘click’ that repeated almost reminiscent of that ticking sound from his sessions.

The click echoed once last before everything stilled. A car engine purred out, muffled by the confinements of the house.

Genya blinked, considering the time again-7:43 am- so little time before school began. Seemingly enough, being forgotten didn’t sting as much today, he had that excuse to simply skip without consequences- other than his already struggling grades. That, and he would survive another day of avoiding kaigaku’s tempting influence. Suffocating within the silence, he spun around and grabbed the toast before returning to his room. What’s the point, why exist if they didn’t even notice him?

A routine.

Skipping school wasn’t the best choice to make if the idea is to become a scholar— walk down that grand stage with a diploma in hand. Dreams like that were bound to dismiss, he learned long ago that it was not possible, not for him at least. Genya skipped all of the hygienic requirements, his tooth brush had gone missing so long ago, showered when he could if the others hadn’t used up all of the water, and as it seemed- today was his lucky day. With the little motivation, he took a shower. With some warm water, he basked under the cascade of comforting liquid, there was just a hint of selfishness in the action of it.

It was a lengthy hour, when passed—Genya stepped out of the bathroom with damped hair eyeing the ruined mess of the home. Something picked at him, the clicking echoed, and he noticed every inconsistency. His jaw locked, chewing the inside of his cheek as he glanced around, unsure what to do with himself.

There were socks tossed around, the rug cramped up between the couches, the faint view of the kitchen was still a chaotic scene.

For a moment, there was a pause. It was generally noisy, so much clutter that should overwhelm him. He visualized his mother, with a tired expression bending over and picking up the entire place. Her eyelids would be heavy, a still faint smile plastered despite the chaos. Something gross filled his lungs, an awkward heaviness that tugged at him.

In seconds, his sleeves rolled up cuffed to his elbows where the dust and random germs stick to his skin. With the extra free time, he moved about- bags of trash, piles of random clothes and organized any inconvenience. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his mother, or maybe the boredom that picked at him, the action felt two-sided.

Why was he really doing this?

Did he want his efforts to be recognized?

Genya shook it off pulling the trash bag from its prison, holding up with a slight grin as his muscles just slightly flexed. A moment of pride, he puffed his chest up approaching the front door when it suddenly flew open. He froze stunned, his pride turning into immediate confusion—-there his mother rushed inside, her eyes darting around. The woman muttered incoherently, brushing right past him snatching something from the cabinet he just dusted.

Genya blinked.

The resilient woman continued on, looking around the room once again. Her head turned in each direction, yet to notice the declutter. Her clothes were slightly stained, a worn jacket with stringy sleeves around her wrist. Her hair, her skin fair but forehead lined in wrinkles due to age and stress. Then her hair, usually silky, was put up, black and brushed. Genya stood still, awkwardly gripping the trash bag, watching her as if sure she’d notice him soon—-when another minute passed his cleared his throat, “. . .Ma?”

“Hm?” She hummed quickly, sparing him a glance where a glint of affection gleamed in her tired gaze. “Oh, Genya, you’re still here?

In which it was said so casually, not a hint of surprise in her voice. He swallowed again, slowly nodding- almost shyly. “Yeah. Uh, I—cleaned up.

Easily distracted, she turned to her bag, checking the pockets slightly more frantic. It was almost like she reminded herself to be in a rush, still checking her bag. Genya’s arm twitched, lowering from its raised position-earning a noncommittally mumble, “Oh, that’s good. Thank you, sweetheart.

Genya hesitated, gripping the trash bag tighter. “. . .You forgot something?

“Mm, just my notepad. I swear, my memory’s getting worse.” Which was fair, two jobs, and seven children was a tasking nightmare itself. She blinked, finally noticing the missing item, “Ah—there it is.” She snatched it from the counter, tucking it under her arm.

A notepad—-ah—The notepad had been tucked by the books, he knew that’s where he had left it after organizing. A hint of pride swelled again, faintly grinning, seeking acknowledgment. “You seemed pretty panicked.”

There was a pause, where she chuckled tiredly. That tired look showed itself again, a phantom smile plastered on her face, gentle and readable. For a second, he wondered if she was sorry for him, strange for her son to question her emotions. Had she been that obvious, when did she allow herself to be so open about that? Trying to dismiss it, she reached over ruffling his hair as she brushes past him again.

“It’s nothing serious. Just work things.

“You’re in a rush”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Always”

His grip tightened, his concern overshadowing the familiar sting in his chest. “. . .You ate, right?”

Shizu laughed lightly, carding his hair from his forehead. Leaning closer, Genya held his breath, pressing his lips tight together hoping that she wouldn’t notice the scent of his unbrushed teeth. A shy blush dusted his cheeks, for her lips pressed his temple in an affectionate reminder that she was his mother, “You worry too much, sweetie.

Genya’s face twitches—was that an answer?

Putting space between them, she checked her watch, barely noticing his silence. “I have to go, okay? Be good.”

The sting returned, taking power over the brief relief. He swallowed, voice quieter glancing down, “. . .Right.”

Already halfway out the door, and tossing a quick smile over her shoulder. “Love you!” She cheered densely.

The door clicked again, closing as intended. The click rang once, twice maybe three times before he replied, “Yeah.” A pitiful quiet whisper, standing still in the lonesome house with his damped hair and trash bag in hand—a sinking isolation.

He loved his mother.

Appreciated her, but the heaviness in his chest pressed impossibly tighter.

Had she even realized he was supposed to be at school?

He gave up midway, leaving the kitchen partially messy.

There was that nagging feeling that told him there was no point, would anyone even notice that the kitchen was clean if not for his words? He supposed it was a mere feeling of hopelessness, or was it helplessness? He couldn’t tell anymore, but the phantom discomfort in his throat picked and picked. The kind of craving that made everything worse and better at the same time. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point he took a nap on the floor of his room, when he awoke it’d only been two hours— what a real nuisance.

Though there was so much to do, so little of him cared for it. The cravings picked at him again, amplifying the rotting in his mouth, he desperately needed a new tooth brush, and admittedly, he had the cash for it. Regardless, in times like these, he preferred to save his money for the more necessary requirements.

The window propped open in a matter of seconds, Genya peering out of the space with a shitty grin. He swiped his pack of cigarettes, down on his last one the lighter on his left flicked on. A yellow flame dancing on its tiny perch, burning the tip of his relief. Greedily, he leaned out of the window, puffing out the smoke in smoked rings. The nicotine filling his lungs slowly. He recalled picking the habit after a failed experiment with pills, the memory still heavily embarrassing and equally satisfying. There was just a hint of guilt, the medical professionals that handled him, and his mother with the hefty bill after.

Genya shuddered, taking another long drag from the cigarette. His chest relieving in a lighter manner. A good ‘friend’ (if that what you can call it) from school supplied him with the packs, for the price of some cash, not that he knew how he did it- he just assumed he was good friends with the seller. He was a minor after all, it’s not exactly legal to sell nicotine products to teens. At least a seller would care if they lost a costumer-unlike his family.

There was a creak, the door from behind swinging open—-“Oi—-“ the voice was gruff, low and annoyed with a hint of weary. “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Genya jerks, nearly dropping the cigarette as he whips around. His heart lurches, and he fumbles to stub it out on the windowsill, but Sanemi’s already storming toward him.

“Shit—it’s not what it looks like—”

His older brother loomed over, despite being shorter than him. “Oh, really?” His eyes glinted with a familiar fury, reminiscent of the day they found him sprawled out on the floor with a hazy gaze. Sanemi snatched the cigarette from Genya’s fingers with a disgusted look, examining the burning end before crushing it out between his fingers like it’s nothing. “Because it looks like you’re being a dumbass.”

Genya scowls, swiping at Sanemi’s hand, but Sanemi shoves his shoulder in return.

The shove stunned him for a moment. Panic clogged his throat-not from the push itself, but from the way it echoed a memory, his father's voice booming so loud it reached him from the other room.

“Tch—why do you care?” Genya glared, brushing his chest off. “Ain’t like it’s your lungs.”

He tosses the crumpled cigarette into the trash, then ruffled Genya’s hair—roughly, but not unkind. “Where the hell did you even get those?”

“None of your business.”

That was the wrong answer. “Like hell it ain’t. The fuck are you doin’ wasting your money on this shit?”

Genya grits his teeth, swiping at the pack, but Sanemi yanks it out of reach.

The words threaten to spill out, a demand for it to be given back, where Sanemi quickly silenced him with a hand. “No.” He glared, nostrils flaring. “Jesus, Genya. First, you’re skipping school, now you’re pickin’ up this habit? What’s next? You gonna start drinkin’ too? Maybe I’ll find you in some alley next time?”

The words hit harder than they should. Genya’s jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists. The only person to care and it’s his older brother who compared him to the man they’d were estranged to. He never explicitly said it either, he just ‘implied’ and it was with a lengthy amount of venom.

Genya’s glare grew fiercer, “You don’t know shit.”

Sanemi scoffs, shaking his head. “I know you’re being an idiot.” He steps closer, voice lowering. “You think this fixes anything? You think this makes shit better?”

Genya looks away, exhaling through his nose. His fingers twitch by his side, like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

With little amount to fight, Sanemi stepped away. “Mom would lose her damn mind if she saw you like this.”

That gets him. A small flinch, barely noticeable, but Sanemi catches it. His throat tightened as something ugly curled in his gut, anger, guilt, maybe all three. If she ever gave a damn in the first place, would he even be like this?"

Sanemi sighed, turning away, disappointment weighing heavy in his voice., “Seriously, what’s going on with you?”

And it’s so strange.

What a joke, if the woman ever took the time to notice how bad he’d been struggling- so how is this his fault? What’s wrong with him?

It’s not even like they’d give a fuck if he just vanished, in fact they’d be overjoyed. One less nuisance to waste money on, right?

A liability that would simply get sent to the hospital over his ugly decisions.

Well.

His last pack was evidentially confiscated.

He slipped out of the home, popping in his listening devices for the distraction that is his music. Music loud enough that should burst his eardrums, he set his phone to his playlist. The time between noon and evening. The sun was sinking, the sky still murky in color, dark orange and lighter blue awkwardly mixing together as if unsure.

The phantom craving picked in his throat, calling out in his head. It called- and it called—- the only thing worthy of his time. He walked around the convenience store a few times. Circling it nervously, eyeing behind the counter. Many different choices, a few bitcoin and all, cigarettes or vapes- in retrospect a vape is easier to hide. He hasn’t tried one, they’re not real, not like a cigarette.

Ah fuck it.

Genya had 25 dollars to spare, head held high trying to appear confident; the teenager entered with a strained grin.

The cashier receptive to his presence, nodded at him. “Hey, man. What can I getcha?”

The environment was ‘eh’ at best, the store strangely greasy. The floors glared shiny, the tiles marked with the occasional shoe print, specks of checkered black and white branding. He glanced around, before to the man again, quickly noting that the shelves were stocked to the brim.

Feigning nonchalance, he leaned against the counter. “Yeah, uh. . . one of those—”, he pointed vaguely at the display behind the cashier. “The blue one.”

The cashier, a lanky guy with dark circles under his eyes, barely glanced at him before reaching for the vape. “You got ID?”

Genya’s stomach flipped, but he forced a smirk. How did Inosuke figure do this, the boy was always so brazen he couldn’t imagine himself- simply demanding a vape and paying it off casually, if not him then maybe it’d been kaigaku. “C’mon, man. You really need it?”

The cashier gave him a look—one that lingered just long enough to make Genya sweat—before exhaling dramatically. “Tch. Alright, fine. That’ll be twenty.”

Relief flooded him. He shoved a crumpled twenty and a five across the counter, fingers tapping anxiously as the cashier took his time.

The guy bagged the vape, slid it toward him. The bag crinkled loudly, too big for the little thing being sold. A mere carton shape, handling a boxy vape, the tip pointing like half a chimney. A giddiness filled his chest, replacing tight concern. The cashier’s hand lingered the box, clearly eyeing the wild glint in the teenagers eyes, casually yanking it back.

“Kidding.” The guy snorted, stuffing the vape behind the counter. “No ID, no sale.”

The snort was offensive enough, but salt to the wound the man’s other hand dragged over the cash—hovering a mere second as he swiped it clean.

Genya’s eyes widened, panic flaring up his throat searingly. “The fuck? You just took my money—”

“Yeah, and I’m keepin’ it. Call it a dumbass tax.”

Genya’s hands curled into fists. “That’s fucking illegal.” Even saying it, the words playing back he realized a little too late, just how childish he sounded.

The cashier grinned, leaning lazily on the counter. “And what? You gonna call the cops? Lemme guess—you’re, what, fifteen? Sixteen? Lil’ baby wants his nicotine fix?” He clicked his tongue. “Go home, kid.”

Genya’s face burned with humiliation, but before he could spit something back, the guy was already waving him off.

“Out. Now.”

And just like that, he was back on the sidewalk. Twenty-five dollars poorer, lungs still aching for relief, and the phantom craving clawing harder than ever.

He should have put more of a fight, still outed the man for ripping him off. It could have been the begrudging respect that shut him up, humbling to be put in his place by some unhappy man possibly in his twenties-dealing with a tall edgy teen. Genya stiffly crossed the streets, not bothering to check his sides. A part of him still wondered if he should return and give it a fight. Still—somehow he couldn’t will himself to. The clawing urge tightened in his throat, a gross lump deep within. His tongue licked over his teeth, poking into the surprisingly sharp tip of his canines.

He could have purchased something better, maybe something for the building plaque on his teeth. A fix for the worsening problem in his mouth, or perhaps even a fucking guide on how to live this life. Something ugly flamed in him, burning like a searing confusion.

Genya blinked, the wind sharply breezing past his wide eyes, and he’d been so utterly disassociated he hadn’t even realized they began to sting. The wind sharply breezed by again, this time forcing a few stray tears down his cheeks. “The fuck-?”The blur of his vision was worse, stumbling aimlessly into where it felt right to be. Genya trudged away, farther away from the same convenience store that just injured his ego.

“Fuckin asshole. . .”

His voice failed to fight the wind, lost on the street, the boy aggressively smacked the streetlight’s ‘walk’ button. He waited a moment, impatient as the stoplight rang ‘wait’ and then ‘wait’ where he did the opposite of that. His fingers insistently plunged at the button over and over, the red sign halting his resolve. Abiding by the law, he continued to stand there like a fool—-why was he even waiting?

No one would wait for this, no one would wait for him?

And in the eery calm of the world sang to life, a voice broke through his focus. Familiar and comforting for a second, before his chest tightened anxiously. He glanced around, that voice chuckling through his sanity he zeroed in on the convenience store again—an older male with dark makeup he’d seen before— hopping out of an extremely decorated car. The car itself wasn’t the problem, it was the complicated blends of sweet and bitter aroma that blew his way. Music dully throbbed from the cars exterior, the sound of a guitar beautifully utilized in a hard, heavy riff.

Zenitsu’s older brother slammed his way into the store, in which Genya’s eyes widened—-not needing to be seen now. He shook it off, and spun the other way around, sprinting off towards the bridge he frequented when it was too loud.

The guitars squeaky screams faded distant from behind, Genya made a sharp turn his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Stupid, stupid, he muttered on putting distance between he and the store. Tense memories filled his mind, his throat squeezing at the phantom taste, dizziness and faint panic clawed around his lungs— like he was suffocating. Dying, but they wouldn’t let him.

He groaned, gasping a sigh of relief upon arriving at his bridge. Still worn, the cement chipped from its aging surfaces. The streetlight nearby flickered dimly, barely visible. By muscle memory, he leaned against an unstable railing, familiar with the area.

His vision momentarily sharpened, darting around his surroundings surprised. The sun dipped long ago now, the moon replaced its job leaving him isolated in the dark. Standing by the bridge, the journey made was something he wasn’t sure off. Genya swallows thickly, the rotting flushing down his throat as he turned to the railing again. His gaze narrowing down to the murky lake far below, a hallow whistle mingled with the rushing water.

It was so low, so far, and so quiet.

He wasn’t trying to get here, yet he found himself in the wrong place. Isolated in the daze of night, his shadow long spread throughout the floor. Even then, a part of it wasn’t sure if it was so bad that he ended up—here. Wrong place, right time?

He pursed his lips leaning over the railing, letting the curiosity consume him. A dangerous thought he entertained often times, but never enough to leave him standing here. The far below looked alluring, or so- it felt like a peaceful place to end in.

“I’d probably pass out half way down.”

He thought there was a study of that. Someone should die before they ever actually touch the floor. That adrenaline, fear and inadequacy; their last thoughts before quiet, pitch black. If anything, it was Sanemi who told him that. Ironically enough, at a time like this, it seemed most comforting.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Originally, Genya jumped partially terrified of being caught like this. If someone he knew caught him now, he couldn’t imagine that it would turn out good for him. They’d tell his therapist, or worst admit him into some psyche ward, trapped and labeled unfit to care of himself.

He spun around his palms sweaty with an iron grip on the railing. He hadn’t heard anyone come up, it could’ve been the loud wind or his distracted thoughts. Already, scowling he glared at the speaker. “The fuck—?”

A boy, shorter than him- as expected- stood awkwardly. He was skinny, his face partially shadowed by the hood over his head. Thick strands of hair flicked out of it, color of a dark black- or maybe red? He couldn’t tell, the lamppost would have done its job, but it’d been months now since it was first broken. The faintest of a glint gleamed in the boys eyes, and they were wide, an unreadable haze walled over them. His clothing was thick, a hoodie with muted green colors, two thin strings draped over his chest.

Unfazed, stepping up beside him, before he rested his forearms on the railing. He had to have been a teenager; maybe a little younger than him? His pants were a darker color than his hoodie, thick socks outlined from under the baggy jeans. “That you’d pass out halfway down.” Said the stranger, his voice a little more cheerful than it should be, “Some people do, yeah, but not always. It depends on how fast you’re falling. Your body doesn’t always have time to shut down.”

Genya continued to stare, warily studying the boy like he’d push him at any second. Still trying to make sense of it, he looked around searching for another bystander. Because honestly—-who the hell starts a conversation like this?

“. . .Are you serious?”

The other shrugged, eyes still on the water. “Just saying. If you’re gonna think about it, might as well have the facts right.”

“I wasn’t—” his voice broke, bristling at the awkward exchange. “Whatever. Who even are you?”

Finally looking at him, his lips formed a smile. It wasn’t too annoying, it was quaint, small, maybe even cute. Smiling, smiling like they’ve been talking this whole time. “Tanjiro.”

Genya blank, a name so foreign. This guy’s acting way too familiar. It’s weird. “. . .Okay?”

Then Tanjiro blank, his wide eyes boring into him intently. The interaction was asking too much of him, but Tanjiro’s pushy demeanor threw him off- in a sense that he wasn’t sure how to handle it. Tanjiro, blank again, clearly struggling to keep eye contact he pulled his hood off, his fingers barely brushing over his eyelashes.

It became apparent that Tanjiro had long hair, not girly long, but long enough to stick it up in a small ponytail. His hair was curly, his bangs short but still trailing over his eyes. A pair of earrings dangled from each ear, symbols he couldn’t see yet. It was strange, and somehow that still didn’t feel right. There was another word that fit the stranger, and while he could substitute ‘weirdo’, ‘creeper’—- he tried something cliche, like maybe ‘loser’ but even that wouldn’t do it justice.

And Tanjiro shifted under the scrutiny, leaning forward with a tilted head. “And you?”

Genya clicked his tongue, debating whether to answer. But the guy already knows his face, so what’s the point in lying? “Genya.” He wasn’t expecting Tanjiro to remember it either, this would have to be a one time occurrence.

It was just a name, but Tanjiro softened. There was something sweet in such a minor reaction, he took it in like a treasure. Soft, like he’s committing it to memory. “Genya.” He nodded once, meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you.”

Genya snorted, voice edged. “Yeah. Real great first impression.”

The wind breezed sharply, flicking the ear rings from his face, gracefully falling back into place. The other blink, grinning now, like Genya just said something funny. “Could be worse.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? How?”

“I could’ve pretended not to see you and walked right past.” Then, he paused, contemplating whether or not it would be right to say. Tanjiro absently glanced over the railing, sighing at the far view. “But that didn’t feel right.”

It surprised him, though it really shouldn’t have. In the isolation of the night, streets eerily empty, and the bridge an inviting grave, Tanjiro reminded him why he came here. Would anyone have noticed him, stopped him if he stepped over the unstable metal? A voice calling out, urging him not to end the thread of his short life. Would it have been his mother, would she have realized he wasn’t at the house? Something ugly picked at him again, replacing the craving urges in his throat, but a phantom guilt. Maybe she’d realize a little late how her second eldest child missed school, cleaned the house for her, and tried to organize it to her liking?

It felt, gross. He had thought of ending it all, over a few bad days, and it just felt so right. Genya stayed stiff, his throat closing around nothing, and for a second, he forgets how fucking cold it is out here.

“. . .I wasn’t gonna do anything.”

Tanjiro glanced back at the water, nodding like he believed him. “I know.” He smiled, again. “But it’s a little lonely, isn’t it?”

He swallowed again, drowning under the uncomfortable tension. His fingers twitch against the railing. “. . .Shut up.”

“I can.” He paused again, letting it linger a little longer than the previous ones. Genya skulked back, bothered by the boys head tilt. It’d been like he was trying to appear cute, look like a lost puppy seeking the answers of the world. “Or you could talk instead.”

He scoffs, turning his head away. “About what?”

There was no response. Tanjiro stayed quiet, the silence itself explanation enough.

About this?

He felt vulnerable, left standing there by a stranger who he didn’t know. His life story given, if he walked by would he have been taken by the low stern of the river beneath? Like a fish, the body would have sank nestling into the soaked dirt. Is that what should have become of him? Another corpse for authorities to find, once they’d realize another teenage boy vanished from view.

It saddened him, he imagined his dear mother. The woman’s distraught expression, her faint smile broken into a permanent frown. What of the siblings he grew to stand behind, would they scatter in confusion to the thought their older brother in an autopsy report? There was the mistake of people who thought of suicide as a selfish act, then those who thought it was generally ‘edgy’ even after it was done. If not tragic, what else is suicide? Is it some action based on the unfortunate circumstances of life?

Was he selfish even now, an outsider to the family, distant from his older brother who saw him as a nuisance?

“Shit, fine.” Reluctance. With more honesty, or sincerity he looked into the horizon. speaking, but more like he’s talking to himself rather than to the stranger beside him. “Well. . .if I uh—I died. Who would I have died being?”

Tanjiro let out a thoughtful hum, as if mulling it over. “That’s a good question. Who?”

“No one, idiot.”

“That’s not true, though.”

“Yes, it is.” Genya’s jaw tightened, “No one’s even noticed if I’ve gone missing. No one—”

“—-But who’s the no one in front of me?”

And it felt casual, like an easy question for someone so confused. His breath catches, something uneasy curling in his stomach “What?”

The stranger leaned against the railing, looking at him like he’s genuinely interested in someone interesting—-like he’s trying to figure him out. His eyes twinkling with something real, still smiling. “What’s his favorite food?” And he assumed that’s the only question left for him—but he didn’t stop.

“Hobby?”

“What’s the weird thing he’d defend no matter what?”

“What’s the thing he’s always dreamt of doing? What are his goals, ambitions, dealbreakers?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The venom spat out, glaring him down for questions so personal, questions he couldn’t immediately answer—or didn’t know how to.

Tanjiro shrugged, light but steady. “I mean, there’s certainly more to you than just ‘no one’—right?”

Genya felt the heat rise to his face, irritation flaring because this is stupid. It’s stupid. But his chest feels tight, and he can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t feel like choking on something thick and miserable. “This isn’t a fucking movie.”

Tanjiro’s simple smile tugged into a grin, like he was expecting that answer. “If someone made a movie about you, who’d be casted as you? What would be the theme? What’s the ending?”

Genya twitched, shoving himself from the railing completely turning to him, “I—what the fuck?”

And despite the disbelief in Genya’s face, Tanjiro laughed a little. A tame chuckle slipping from his throat, but there’s no mockery in it. Just warmth. “I’m serious. You get to decide that, y’know.”

It felt cruel to ask about his movie ending, especially as they stood on the bridge he nearly jumped off. Truth was, he just didn’t know. He didn’t believe in his own strength, not strong enough to talk himself out of a suicide attempt- but not noticeable enough to be helped. He clicked his tongue, looking back at the water, heart hammering painfully.

“You’re a freak.” Genya mustered, weakly.

“Maybe.”

He considered snapping at Tanjiro. Calling him out for the absurd act of questioning someone’s suicide reason. No normal person would stop, stop and act so familiar with a damn stranger, and then ask them about their movie ending, so casually- it’s stupid. Utterly idiotic, and the worst part, Genya felt just an inch of begrudging respect for someone so weird. If it was him, he’d just walk by and awkwardly forget about it—-maybe even just try to.

Tanjiro’s voice hesitated again, still eyeing him with so much inquisitive energy. a second longer, and he tried again. “What’s something you want to be better at?”

“What?”

“Something you want to be better at. Anything.” He’d heard it the first time, but it could’ve been the immediate responses that crossed his mind that made him nervous. That, and the fact that Tanjiro was still asking him so many questions.

But. With an attempt to be genuine Genya licked his teeth. Recalling the rotten taste he typically awoke with, his tongue trailed under his shaped canines—-a reason to smile like all of those around him- something he didn’t want to hide.

And he knew what it was, one good thing he wants.

“I’d have white teeth.”

There’s a pause. A beat where the words linger between them.

Tanjiro smiles, wide and bright, like they’ve just agreed on something important. “That’s a good one.” He dared step closer, looking up at him with a hand held out, easy, familiar, like they’ve known each other longer than just these few minutes. “Let’s be friends.”

Genya stared at the offered hand, then at Tanjiro’s face. He scowls, but it’s weaker now, like something in his chest is caving in. “You’re seriously the weirdest guy I’ve ever met.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to shake my hand. I’ll still be here.” Chirped Tanjiro.

Genya doesn’t move. The wind stings his eyes again, or maybe it’s not the wind this time. He swallows hard, gripping the railing. His hands feel empty, and he basked in the absurdity.

There they were, a stranger and he standing like they’ve known each other since forever. Meeting for the first time again, Tanjiro sincerely smiled up at him, and Genya stood there with a new handful of issues.

Who was he?

Chapter Text

The world kept spinning, at least that’s what he told himself days later

He avoided the bridge after the interaction, though he had to admit something about the exchange with Tanjiro left Genya with a new feeling. A strange lingering warmth that bothered him, and he tried not to replay the conversation. Yet somehow, the boys questions frequented his day to day routine.

His ceiling deadpanned at him, a popcorn roofing that knew of his messy situation. The night he returned, no one batted an eye. Sanemi took overtime at his job, while his mother prepped a late dinner for the others. Sumi and Teiko at some point scurried up to him, bugging him endlessly about his guitar. It’d always been a firm no, though the childlike wonder in their eyes were bright. The instrument hung on a stand by the wall, dark purple and black gleaming expensively, white dust piled on the body. The stem was narrow, hard strings that were out of tune for the longest time now. He hadn’t picked the instrument up in months, the idea of playing seemed so foreign.

Genya willed himself out of bed, sitting up with an audible, long, long groan. His eyes half-lidded, and hair more tousled than usual. “Mnnnn. . .” He glanced to the time, catching a glimpse of the clothes he sat out for the day. Drooped over his desk, the surface was cluttered with random trash and homework assignments that were long overdue. He is quickly reminded of the impending school day, in which he desperately needs. If he missed anymore school days, the prissy principles would deny him credit, and he couldn’t mess up another year.

The alarm clock in his muted room blank ‘7:38’, red digital letters blinking in a bright beam. Boring into his character teasingly, as if maiming him with truth, ‘schools starts soon silly!’—- in a matter of seconds he scrambled out of bed nearly flying downstairs. The house was utterly silent, the living room a cluttered mess, and the kitchen thoroughly used, evident of the children that ran around minutes before. He approached the curtains, spreading a fold open with a sigh. The driveway was empty, not a sign of life but the tire tracks of those rushed mornings. Genya chewed on his lip, ripping the skin off in deep thought.

Again, right they forgot him again.

He thought of just skipping again, a whole new future set for him- Skip drop out and then complete some stupid extra work to get through adult life. The idea didn’t seem, terrible, he knew a few people that were able to thrive off of that.

Then again, he couldn’t run the risk of getting tossed out. . .Knowing Sanemi, he would have his head, and then throw him out as punishment. He shut his eyes, considering his next options.

He can’t take the bus. . .he couldn’t walk, it’s too far. Genya sighed out loud, reluctantly opening his phone to the next best contact in mind. His fingers swiped down to screen, eyeing the profile picture of a blonde teen with a nervous smile. His untrimmed nails clicked the screen, a reminder of his grooming habits as they clicked.

Genya: Yo, can you give me a ride? My family. . .forgot me again.

The message went through, he wasn’t expecting a quick response. Though, the immediate vibration made him scoff.

Zenitsu: You sure you can’t ask them? -_-

Genya twitched; his eyes narrowed on the apathetic response. He expected a ‘sorry to hear that’ and not some annoyed half assed response. His fingers flew, the clicks turning more aggressive: They’re busy. Just help me out. I can’t fall behind on school again.

.
.
.

A speech bubble popped up, vanishing and then appearing as if Zenitsu were hesitating.

Zenitsu: Fine. I’ll be there in 10.

Genya let out a sigh of relieve, rushing up his room with a new change of clothes. The bathroom mirror gawked at him, washing his face after dramatically fitting into a hoodie. His hair slightly tousled, but his general look disheveled. If he continued to go with heavy eye bags, the other groups would begin to label him as emo.

Tch.

In a matter of minutes, there was a loud honk. ‘BEEP BEEEP BEEEP’ blaring in quick successions, rushing him out with little time to waste.

Not sparing another thought about the house, he slammed the door shut stumbling over his porch. His torn backpack lazily slung over his shoulder, rushing to the car he made a hard stop. Double taking at the driver seat, careful anxiety bubbles up. Shit. Hesitating into the car, he slides in. The memory of an old mentor figure, the now twenty year old with dark black hair and marks under his eyes. A leather jacket, and thick aroma of unique cologne. Kaigaku glanced over, his sunglasses glinting a sharp glare seemingly greeting him. The dude looked effortlessly cool, even doing something as minimal as adjusting the rearview mirror.

Genya hadn’t really spoken to him, not in a while- their conversations trailed awkwardly if not for the forced discussions, of which was those offering a mercy drag, or selling some hardcore drug like opioids. He hesitated, glancing to the passenger side where Zenitsu sat with folded arms. Already annoyed by the circumstances, the blondie had his own set of grievances about he and Kaigaku’s friendship—or mentorship. Whatever you called it.

“Oh, it’s you today?”

Kaigaku glances at him with a lazy, knowing smirk. “Yeah, who else would it be? You’re lucky I’m even giving you a ride, kid. Zenitsu can’t be bothered to do anything right.”

The car filled with the radios music preference. Kaigaku absently turning it up, a heavy guitar riff beautifully filling the silence.

Zenitsu frowned, “Can you not, Kaigaku? You’re acting like you’re the only one who can drive.”

The man clicked his tongue, pressing the gas as he held the wheel with a single hand. His lips remained in an easy smile, abnormally calm even in the worst of moments.

“You’re just mad ‘cause you’re not as good at it as I am, Zen. Don’t be so sour.” He casts a sideways glance at Genya, “Besides, I thought you liked the music, Genya. It’s the kind of thing that gets into your blood, doesn’t it? You used to talk about the old days like it was everything.”

“Yeah, I guess. . .”

He brushed it off, tried to keep casual. His electric guitar remained untouched, months breezed by the apprehension left behind following his hospitalization.

Kaigaku’s gaze lingered, studying him even as the car roamed down the streets. Smoothly driving, the car was clean and tidy. Genya always thought the vehicle was nice, many modifications later and it was something he wish he could drive. The engine purred effortlessly, whilst the wheels appeared newly installed. He assumed that’s why his mind wondered, that he cared more about the vehicle rather than the awkward tension between he and Kaigaku.

“You don’t have to act all distant, Genya.”

Genya blinked, stifling a shudder. Shrugging him off again, hoping he understood his unease since the accident. “You know where your roots are. You’ll come around again. Metal’s always waiting for you.” Kaigaku pauses, pretty blue eyes glinting, “You don’t just forget something like that. Not unless you’re scared of it.”

“I’m not scared.” He almost blurted, his voice sharp with edge. “I just. . .don’t go to concerts anymore. It’s. . .whatever.”

“It’s all good.”

The car purred out, driving under a tunnel with yellow lights. The sun vanished from view, leaving the car colder. He adjusted his seating again, unsure if he should have just walked and taken the tardy. Overall, being around Kaigaku felt risky, the man usually offered him a quick fix of drugs- but he took it to another level. Genya feigned disinterest most of the time, despite the nagging curiosity that pulled at him. Zenitsu had a bad relationship with the man, and he grew to learn that he and Kaigaku shouldn’t be around each other.

“But I mean, We all go through phases. You’ll find your way back.” The other spoke, catching his gaze again. “And—-you know I’m here if you want to talk about it. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten,” he smirked at him, “I’ve got your back.”

It didn’t feel sincere, though it sounded like it. Kaigaku had proven to be a good mentor for the metal scene, wether is was showing him the next best metal bands, or intruding him into a new genre of rock—-but when it came to the heavy topics he’s proven to flee. Genya’s jaw locked, glancing to the nearing figure of the school.

“Or maybe you’re too busy trying to pretend you’ve changed.”

Genya split his lip, a canine tipping into the bottom of his mouth.

“Can you stop messing with him?” Zenitsu snapped, irritation laced in his voice.

Appreciating Zenitsu, Genya spoke right after. “And I’m not pretending. . .”

There was an awkward pause, in which Genya narrowed his eyes to the window eyeing the reflection of the drivers seat. He licked over his now bleeding lip, a flare of irritation spikes within. “Relax, Zenitsu. I’m just getting Genya to open up.” The man spoke, his voice utterly calm despite his tightening grip on the wheel.

“You know, if you need something, you can always come to me. I’m not like these other guys who just talk a big game, all that fake bullshit I know you love to hate, Genya.” The car turned into the school parking lot, the school police car roving by watchfully. “So, if you want to hang out, we can get back to the old ways.

Something tugged from within, a familiar softness- maybe a reluctant warmth that dared rear its head. “Yeah. . .maybe.”

“Stop, Kaigaku.”

Kaigaku smiled sweetly, a winning grin with a clean white gleam. He felt all conflicted emotions at once, envy, confusion and frustration. He learned not to trust kaigaku as he use to, he grew familiar with the toxic behavior of the siblings- but not of his manipulation.

“What? Just giving the kid some advice. Gotta look out for the younger ones, right?”

There it was again, inserting himself as some sort of mentor, brother, or parental figure. It aggravated something inside Genya a deep personal exasperation, that he would assume himself so important. They pull into the school parking lot. Genya shifts uncomfortably, gripping his backpack strap. Zenitsu grips the door handle, squirming like he can’t wait to get out. Kaigaku, however, takes his time, still leaned against the wheel whistling to the tune of drums and violent squeals of a guitar’s pulled strings.

The car came to a slow eventual stop, the man purposely prolonging it: easing into the suspense. Genya quickly left, shutting the car with a stumble. A string uneven on one side,he fumbled with them fixing his attire, in which Kaigaku eyed intently. “Man, you look like you’re about to bolt. Relax, kid. No one’s gonna eat you alive in there.

Genya scowled, handing him an effortless glare. “I ain’t nervous.”

“Yeah, sure.” He hung an arm out of the window, mockingly waving him off, “Just saying, you never used to be the type to keep your head down.

The door shuddered with a hard slam, Kaigaku immediately looked over, his lips flopping open as if he was going to shout at him, but beaten to the punch the other spoke first, “Oh my god, can you stop psychoanalyzing him?” Zenitsu scolded walking around the car, the man’s grip tightened on the wheel, the annoyance simmering off from such a small gesture. Genya stepped back imagining that he’d run him over. “Just drop us off and move on with your life.

Expecting an argument, Genya awkwardly looked away, “Alright, alright,” the other said, surprisingly calm for someone who usually threatened punches. “don’t get your panties in a twist, Zen. I’m just trying to reconnect with an old friend.”

Genya twitched again, frustration crept back in. “We’re not friends.”

“If you say so, tough guy.”

Zenitsu is already a few steps ahead, arms crossed tightly. Kaigaku watches them from the driver’s seat, sunglasses reflecting the bright schoolyard. Though the moment seemed to calm, his emotions blended together uncomfortably—it was in the matter his guard raised high with the idiot side of him just wondering- maybe they could be friends again. Maybe.

Kaigaku whistled out, hands on the wheeel again, “Don’t be a stranger, yeah? You know where to find me.”

“Whatever.”

Kaigaku chuckles, revs the engine, and pulls out of the parking lot. As the car vanished by the turn, something in Genya smoothened out- utterly relieved. He sharply sighs, like he’s been holding his breath. Zenitsu turns on him immediately.

The school day finally, finally began—“You cannot keep getting in his car.”

Genya blinked, slightly bristling, “I needed a ride, dude. It’s not that deep.

They neared into the school premises, side by side as students crowded around them. Leaning close, Zenitsu hissed out, his teeth a white gleam that Genya caught quickly, a hint of envy flashed in his face. “It is that deep! He’s messing with you! And you’re just letting him!

He tenses up, jaw locking turning his face away. Containing any possibility of his morning breath noticeable, “I’m not letting him do shit.

A force of chaotic energy loomed over, and before Zenitsu can argue back, it cut between them.

“HEY, SHITHEADS!” Yelled the boy who probably could be a girl, but truly, was just a boy with a feminine pretty face. Inosuke shoved between the students, his shirt popped open with purpose. Nevermind the broken dress code, the boys rough housing itself should have sent him to the office. He rushed over to them with monster stomps, throwing an arm around Genya’s shoulder.

Effectively pulled into a headlock, Genya twitched his mouth flopping open.

“Where the hell have you been, huh?!” Inosuke exclaimed, still roughhousing him. “Thought you died!”

The contact makes him recoil, his arm elbowing into the boys ribs attempting to push at him. “Get the fuck off me, you dumbass!”

Inosuke didn’t flinch. “Nah, man, I’m happy to see you! Thought maybe you finally bailed on this dump of a school!”

Genya hissed again, his skin shuddering in painful discomfort. Inosuke’s eagerness was a damn curse, he wasn’t even sure how he ever befriended the bastard. Their first meeting, he recalled, began when he shamefully assumed Insouke was a girl in the wrong changing room. The awkward revelation it was when he tried to warn the ‘damsel in distress’, and just got Inosuke to spin around chest beaming, causing Genya to scream and shut his eyes- expecting anything but a manly torso.

Zenitsu sighed, side-eyeing the two even as Inosuke ruffled Genya’s mowhaked hair. “If he keeps hanging around Kaigaku, maybe he will.”

Inosuke huffed, perking up, eyes gleaming. “Kaigaku?” It was said almost amused, “You hanging out with that snake again?”

Genya grumbled, pulling away from Inosuke’s grip. “I’m not hanging out with him, alright?” The idea was overall idiotic, he wasn’t easily fooled into befriending the one who suggested he take whatever it was he took. “I just needed a ride.”

“Uh-huh. Next thing I know, you’re back to screaming about some shitty band and punching dudes in the pit.”

Genya rolled his eyes, but his fingers twitch slightly at the mention of it. That couldn’t have been so long ago, right? He faintly recalled those days, chatting the most in months of some band with the most gorgeous of instrumentals. Something sad tugged at him again, a heavy reminder daring him to risk his current calmness.

“That ain’t happening.”

Inosuke mocking cackled, elbowing Zenitsu brashly. “You hear that? “That ain’t happening.” Sounds like he’s trying to convince himself!”

Zenitsu flatly groaned, rubbing his temple. “That’s what I’ve been saying, but he doesn’t listen.”

Genya shoves them both, muttering under his breath as they make their way inside. The day hasn’t even started, and he’s already exhausted—and if that didn’t drive him insane, the lack of nicotine would. And worse of all—-it was only Monday.

Tuesday morning the routine began again, his mind was a haziness that lacked control. No real sense of direction, he couldn’t recall the previous day-not when his mind buzzed absently and his mind picked and picked— endlessly. That purring static grew louder each period, it’d been enough for him to pass by the day and then home. Where he trudged to, slouched and back hunched all the way into his room, then flopped onto his bed where he slept until the next day. Not a knock, or concerned family member peered into his wrecked room, questioning if the second eldest had yet to eat dinner.

That routine.

That quiet chaos of his life looped like a never ending battle, and Genya zoomed by it like he’d nearly splat to his death. He hadn’t even recalled it, his Monday was now just a blur except for the phantom migraine still throbbing in his skull. He’d been lucky enough to fade into the background, Zenitsu and Inosuke didn’t bother him, they knew him too well than to poke at the bear. Although it was pleasantly sweet, unfortunately, not everyone graced him with same quietness.

“Utterly disgraceful.”

If it wasn’t the volume of her voice that pissed him off, it was the animated way she moved around. Gripping his uncompleted assignments with dramatic flair, it was enough to make him twitch. There was no one else to blame, he didn’t do the homework and now he was facing the wrath of his teacher. It didn’t lessen his irritation, a dull throbbing behind his eyes and metallic taste to his gums from the amount of picking.

He tried not to let the last class overwhelm him, but the lack of enthusiasm made it hard for him to enjoy it. All of it for that fact, he was displeased with his school life-it was unbearable to attend when it meant everyone hated him for not being enough. Passing looks meant he was being scrutinized, and he already received enough of that from his brother. That distant, angry, look in his eyes always made him tense and nervous. Reminiscent of the man that ran their life’s before. To be seen as the only fuck up in the family, and then the delinquent in high school.

The woman, her skin littered with occasional moles slammed the papers down the desk. “This is the third time you’ve fallen behind, and frankly, I’ve had enough. You can’t keep skipping assignments and expect to pass this class!”

Genya’s eyes reluctantly followed up, his eyelids were heavy, but not enough to sleep on the spot. Despite appearing stressed, the teacher had noticeably white, white teeth; and he bet if she smiled it would twinkle. Something about that picked at him, his tongue rubbing over his canines a sharp bitter taste that added to his discomfort. Grazing his gums, his fingers twitched—-sensitive and slightly swollen from their mistreatment. It stung.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I even bother with you, Genya,” he almost rolled his eyes biting back another snarky remark. If it was such a burden to scold him, then why do it? He was entertaining the class with his misery, standing there, taking his educators lecturing. “You can’t just keep slacking off and expect things to work out.”

“Right, I get it.” He smacked his lips, mouthing her off with a hand. “I’m a lost cause, blah blah blah. You really don’t have to rub it in.”

The woman’s expression contorted into a softer irritation, latching onto a sort of faith. Genya’s self-deprecation wasn’t amiss, she didn’t take it as him mocking her, but as insecurity. “I’m not saying you’re a lost cause,” there was a complicated pause. “But if you don’t get your shit together, that’s exactly what you’ll become. You think I want to be the one telling you this? Huh?”

There was a reflection. A glint of pity, a soft hue of warm light- in her eyes-it pissed him off. There was no point in sympathizing with him now, not after making an example of him, another clown show for the class.

“Guess not.” He growled through his teeth, gritting together worsening the sting in his gums. Though he knows it’s unhealthy, it felt a little too satisfying to not grind down. The pain wasn’t bad, it felt strangely ticklish.

“You have to do better, Genya.”

Don’t he know it.

“I don’t know what it is that’s stopping you, but you need to pull yourself together. This is your future, you’re messing up.”

But he knew that. It was smacked into his brain, perhaps every second of his life.

A lack of response reinforced the teacher’s exhaustion. She looked him up and down, sighing in defeat. That was good, she’d stop barking his ear off. Dismissing him, she gestured him away muttering off about how ‘disappointed; she was. He didn’t catch it, he had already walked off to his seat, ignoring the stares of amusement. Lazily, he slumped into his seat glaring at the outside. At the beaming sunlight, Genya’s eyes adjusted slowly.

A slow affect washed over him, descending on his skin. A warm blanket shone on him, and like a heavy hand the sun tried to lull his eyelids shut. He wanted to nap, that was the highlight of this class, the effortless manner the sun had in relaxing him cooly. Light, and weak his head soothed in relief, the exhaustion curling at his temples.

Movement.

His vision hazed blurry, drawing away to the movement. The fence trembled, almost distracting him from the figure that trailed outside of the perimeter. A boy, shorter than he, wearing a muted green hoodie. He was draped in something muted—pale green, soft, the kind of fabric that looked worn and comfortable. A long, colorful cloth was folded over his arm, its edges catching in the breeze, the colors bleeding into the sunlight like watercolor. Dark pants, black nonslip shoes, but somehow he didn’t look dull. He looked—

Serene.

As if feeling his eyes on him, he looked up.

The sun hit at just the right moment, throwing warm highlights into his dark red hair, setting a glow into his skin. The air around him looked hazy, golden, like the kind of soft light photographers waited all day to capture. And his eyes—

Tanjiro.

Crimson, bright and rare.

Genya’s body reacted before his brain did, heat rushing up his neck as his head snapped away. He gaped at the classroom clock, suddenly very interested in the slow-moving minute hand. Questions sprang in mind, more than he’d ever ask in school. Why was he here? Did he not have school, or was he just like him? Maybe he’s a drop out like kaigaku, but why was he around his school? Was he a stalker? How-how did he even see him?

A side glance. The fence was empty now.

Something heavy lingered in his chest, even after.

School in experience was dreadful. The long eight hours went by terribly slowly, but when it ended—it all faded into the background. Easily forgotten, Genya knew better than to get excited for school in the new day.

Genya found himself in the conflicted spot that was his sheepishness, frustration and all at once stress. The school day began with its pacing issues, but the classes itself? Along with the teacher scrutiny, and frequent buzzing in his ears, that loud sound that was forever coming- a high pitch squeal that only came when he’d been without the fix.

Third period, it was now Wednesday, how the time slipped from his fingers. From his left Zenitsu endlessly rambled about a girl he deemed more gorgeous than the last. The seat in front of him, sat Inosuke, whom picked at his teeth, listening to Zenitsu with minimal effort appearing— disinterested at best.

“No, but listen, this one’s different. Like, really different. She’s got these long lashes, and her hair? All silky and perfect, like some kind of fairy tale princess—”

“Tch. Weak.”

The two were his friends, perhaps his only friends at this point. Other than the minimal times he spoke to the twins a few grades under, and the ladies he couldn’t look in the eyes, he was always bad about talking to the girls. His gaze flicked to the time, then his paper, which was completely empty. He forgot what the assignment was at that point, and his mind latched to any distraction that made itself known—such as the silly rambling of his two friends.

“Would you shut up and let me finish?! You don’t get it, man. She’s not just pretty. She’s got this grace, like she’s floating when she walks. And when she looks at you—”

“She ever fought a bear?” Countered Inosuke, pointing a finger at his direction looking utterly serious for a moment.

Zenitsu’s eye twitched, “Wha— why would she fight a bear?!”

He chuckled, “If she hasn’t, then she’s weak. End of story.”

”You——you are actually impossible.”

“And you fall in love with every girl who breathes near you.”

The clock still ticked, repeating in that same pattern. Only so much before the class would end, hopefully. In the occasional case he attended school, the routine changed frequently—head home, or maybe find someone who could buy him a pack of cigarettes. An adult preferably, someone with money— but who’s buying him that? It didn’t change the fact that his money was stolen, scammed by the piece of shit cashier. Genya frowned, staring into the distance, asking for money was out of the question—-they’d ask why he wanted what he did. Sanemi would make him work for it, . .so would the nearby family—Inosuke’s family——however?

“That’s not—ugh, forget it. You’re too much of a dumbass to understand love.”

The women in that family were all but innocent, really they scared him- maybe even flustered him. Inosuke’s past on where he was brought up from always flummoxed him, but he knew he wasn’t biological to the kocho family. They’d pay him for some chores if asked, surely. If it could dim the buzzing in his skull, it might just make him last. Just enough that he wouldn’t need to visit the bridge again, enough that he wouldn’t see of him. That stranger that echoed in his brain, picking at him curiously—of Tanjiro. . .perhaps walking the perimeter of his school.

“And you’re too much of a dumbass to understand fighting.”

Right, the bridge. Tanjiro’s unforgettable presence irked him, recalling him now felt just-awkward. The guy appeared out of nowhere, a late night walk talking him out of leaping off, and injury to insult? He asked him to be his friend. They spoke for maybe ten minutes, how could he smile all friendly, asking to be friends? He didn’t even know where he came from, or his age, what school he went to.

It’s a small town, he would’ve known if there was a new student. Anyone would have whispered about it, started a rumor, and maybe label them something incredulous. Genya saw it as an awkward initiating, the first glimpses caught of him would be enough to label him as weird—or freaky. Genya’s first impression was annoyance, but by the end of it, he wondered on. A strange heaviness, like maybe he left a part of him behind that day.

Zenitsu elbowed him, earning a grunt but spoke nonetheless. “Genya, back me up here!”

Despite the gruff handling, Genya stayed still-gazing at his desk like it was the most interesting thing ever. Silent. Barely reacting, they both blank, maybe a little startled.

The blondie raised an eyebrow; “Uh. Hello? Earth to Genya?”

Inosuke roughly chuckled, an elbow on the blondie’s shoulder. “Did you lose more brain cells?”

What did he lose, what had left he behind? It lingered on, Genya disliked it but refused to show it.

“Oh! Wait, I know what’s up.” Zenitsu’s sudden expression pulled him out of his slump, a little more aware of the discussion. “You missed, like, three days of school! Did your dumb ass finally get expelled?”

Inosuke wiggled his brows. “Or die?”

He paused, zeroing in on his empty papers. The narrowing distance of that lake beneath the bridge vividly plastered in his mind. A troublesome memory he couldn’t get rid off, and that heaviness returned. It felt weird—-to label his visit as a survival experience. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was all that.

Plainly, he shrugged. “Couldn’t go.”

The two boys blank again, flummoxed by his casual response. So they glanced to each other again, searching for a response there. Genya had always been so elusive, the important parts of himself tightly locked away if pressed on, he’d bare his teeth. Inosuke was aware of how to push his buttons, and Zenitsu how to spiral that anxiety. Defensive, they’d tease and treat him as any other friend—but Genya didn’t know how to act under attention. Given by the wrong people, he’d twitch skittishly seeking an escape.

“That’s it?” Zenitsu huffed, leaning towards his desk catching a glimpse of the empty piece of paper. “Just ‘couldn’t go’?”

“Yeah.”

Inosuke raised an eyebrow, entertained by the mystery of to. “Sounds fake.”

“Man, you’re being weird.” The clock ticked furthermore, and Zenitsu took note of the time. The distance in his friend’s eyes intrigued him, the lavender hues of his irises. His sclera’s typically red from a lack of sleep. Even then, this was different, he seemed lost. “Wait.” He’d try to lighten the mood, catch his attention. “You didn’t, like, secretly run off with a girl, did you?”

Inosuke snorted at such a ridiculous suggestion, “No way.”

“No.” He scoffed, unimpressed by such an absurd comment.

Zenitsu’s frown twitched, “Didn’t even hesitate. . .damn, you really are hopeless.”

Girls were out of the question, every single notion of woman- romance- was foreign. He much preferred to keep it far away from him, how could he fathom the idea his parents failed to make sense off. Love—he meant. Love was skewered, and it’s just him. It wasn’t a bad thing, it was just bad for him. From the sting of his father’s hands, to the quiver a shaky scream could cause him.

“Genya, the lone wolf.” Inosuke purred out, chuckling lowly as he always did. It didn’t hurt any less, but strangely enough he wondered of Tanjiro again. Was it lonely to be seen, given a chance to explain the details of his somber life? Spoken to despite the situation, the new boy in town had to notice him—-when he didn’t want to be. Inosuke dramatically flailed over the desk, “No girls, no fun, no brains.”

But what about the new boy in town?

Genya rolled his eyes, sparing a mere glance. It was annoying enough, but thinking about Tanjiro began to fill him with achy conflict. But then, after a pause, almost like an afterthought he looked over to them. “No new students?”

Zenitsu stared at him blankly, smiling like an idiot. “Huh?”

His eye twitched, slightly raising a voice. “Since I was gone. We get any?”

Inosuke groaned with a frown. “Why do you care?”

Ignoring him, Zenitsu looked away thinking for a second. After a lingering hum, his eyes squinted and then he perked up. “Nope!” He gestured his hand away, waving it dismissively. “Pretty sure I would’ve heard if we did.”

Hm. Genya turned back to his paper, the heaviness lightening in his chest. It could’ve been relief, avoiding that he ever had to confront the curiosity. Nodding slowly, his pencil tightened around the pencil, the end chewed from toying with his gums. He possibly didn’t see right that day, the lack of nicotine just messing with his brain.

“Right. Thought so.”

Though. It didn’t matter he supposed. Tanjiro was just the new boy in town, someone in The background he’d pass without ever noticing, and maybe the second time, Tanjiro wouldn’t see him either.

The clock ticked, that buzzing in his ear flatlining into a long high note.

Then the bell rang.

In the quiet peacefulness, his world eased on the way home—or it should have been but there was that nagging urge to keep aware of his surroundings.

He’d seen him again.

The stranger from the bridge. Lazily boring at the outside, he had been distracted with a plethora of tight questions forced in his ribcage. His throat was tense at the time, and his eyes drier than usual, but that phantom headache—it never went away. Regardless of the class, ignorant to the questions laid on a piece of paper, he continued to gaze at the open world behind the glass window. Bright rays of sun, smiling with a kiss of genuine affection for the earth, blessing him with the blooming flowers he’d hope to soon see.

And the had been movement—again.

Behind the fence, he caught the strange boy trotting down happily. His smile plastered on his face, carrying that strange piece of clothing on his arm, and then his clothes still muted. There Tanjiro pranced again, casually trailing beside his school for the third day of that week—why?

The walk home was easy. Admittedly uneasy, his eyes wondered awaiting for that strange boy to show up at any moment. Again, he questioned if it was a stalker situation- but perhaps that was his mind spiraling.

Genya with his hands hidden in his pocket, and flimsy earbuds stuffed in his ears. The instrumental of the song sang loudly, a guitar purring above the drum set mingled with a piano in the background. The hoodie pulled over his head, a lingering exhaustion followed him, even after. Originally, he thought of visiting the kocho family, but knowing Inosuke, his big mouth would out him as the smoker he was. Unfortunately, that meant he was on his way to the house. The song still blazed in his ears, causing his limbs to twitch along in rhythm.

The street narrowed, the trees on the sidewalks planted without rhyme or reason. A faint stench of rotting trash hung in the air, bags torn open and spilling onto the pavement. Garbage bins stood outside, some rusted and streaked with dried food stains. The city had long since stopped sending trucks to this neighborhood, so the trash rarely made it to the dump. Lawns were cluttered with discarded furniture, fenced in by lopsided beams that barely held together. Ah, yes home sweet home. . .

His home peeked from the corner, standing tall perhaps one of the cleanest houses in the street. He guessed that was one of the good things between his shitty life and how it looked. He quickly noticed the busy drive way. A heavy ache picked at his chest, tightening near his ribs. Approaching the door, his fingers faltered over the handle, hesitation scrambling in his head. ‘Just go somewhere else, sneak in from the window—-just don’t go inside.’ It’s not like violence awaited him, but the daily routine made it harder to live through each day.

“Ah shit. . .” He sighed, carefully opening the door slipping inside smoothly, especially for someone of his size. There was a loud snoring, a growled heavy sound that filled over his now lowered music. Glancing over, laid Sanemi on the couch—deep asleep his arms crossed over his chest. In the kitchen, he noticed the lights turned on with the whispered giggles of Sumi and Hiroshi. The music purred to a quiet end, blending into the next song—Genya found his motivation again. He walked over, peering into the kitchen. The table stacked with bags of groceries.

Oh.

He eyed his siblings, the lighting in the room more of a headache than before. His throat tight, with his jaw locking. Genya watched as they pulled out necessities—soap, toilet paper, a loaf of bread. They’d gone out in the time he walked home, though he wished they’d ask him if he wanted anything. He didn’t even know what he would’ve asked for. Maybe just a damn toothbrush?

The boy and girl didn’t notice him, innocent to his struggles their eyes were wide with wonder. Excitedly organizing the bundle of treats, he found himself conflicted again. Sumi, and Hiroshi plotting how they’d ask their mom for more sweets. At such innocence, Genya sighed. They were cute, still full of hope he himself was envious off. Even then, they were his siblings.

Not another breath, he turned away exiting the room. Their voices blurred in the background his stomach emptying of any hope for relaxation. Maybe tomorow would be better.

But

. . .no—-no. It would be the same shit.

It became apparent to him that there was a pattern. From his forgotten self, left to beg for a ride to the rotting hiss in his gums- a routine he was adjusted to. However, when it came to the smallest of changes, the little details that were hard to miss? It picked at him, like a mosquito bite in the most of inconvenient places. This itch irked, and echoed like a needy bitch in heat. Genya was irritated as is, but the questions arising over and over again discouraged him immensely.

His routine was fucked.

He knew it by the flare of heat in his chest, heavy eyelids and slow movements down the stairs. The joints in his legs ached, screamed and hissed in retaliation—-his TMJ clicked and clicked the destructive act of grinding his teeth together boosted all senses awake. The quietness of the house picked at him more than usual, but the absence of his family fueled a sense of resentment. A dark, ugly weight settled on his shoulders, though it wasn’t enough to hide once tossing his backpack into Kaigaku’s car.

That shadow followed him from the ride into school, no conversation was made—the occasional gargled groan from Genya said enough.

Thursday, was not the day. By second period he snatched sunglasses from Zenitsu’s bag and wore them proudly. There was little protest from the blondie, but Genya’s slow and deliberate palm-to- face-dragging spoke volumes. Like a fly insistently cleaning their face, Genya occasionally rubbed his face, pinched his nose bridge, and spat at the passing trash cans with rotting saliva he was keenly aware of. His soured mood was made obvious to his two friends, though very adjusted to his mood swings they chose not to be a bother. But even then, nothing could stop that everlasting static, it’d been like he was standing on the edge of a waterfall, trembling and shivering with anticipation that meant he’d die by his human resolve.

Genya sat in his last period, glaring at an empty paper. The assignment was clear, but he sat and stared unamused by the simple questions. The teacher gave no grace, even if she knew he was struggling she couldn’t care less and smacked an extra worksheet to his handful workload. The question waited patiently, beneath it was a large text box for him, awaiting for his perception of the world around him.

“If kindness goes unnoticed, does its impact still hold value? How does this question challenge our understanding of the role of kindness in society?”

In which he’s meant to answer in complete thoughtful sentences, to such a simple question Genya had no understanding of how to answer it. Though a little odd for the subject being. The words grew fuzzy, blurring together in unreadable sentences, tilting the borrowed sunglasses he squinted his eyes. The words appeared cleaner, easier for his cluttered mind to comprehend. Helpful but not, he gripped the pencil tighter—just thinking in itself hurt his head. Kindness is usually what people use to get what they want, he’s only ever kind when he needs someone to return the sweet behavior.

“Five more minutes.” Mrs. Cunningham announced, leaning over her desk with too much pride. Her smile was passive slightly tense from the corners, nothing real behind that expression. Her teeth glimmered brightly, white as the day before, the woman always kept up with appearances. That looming bitterness loomed over, dragging his eyelids shut with a heavy exhale.

Fucked.

Genya glanced back to his paper, sloppily scribbling still struggling to read the sentence. Giving it a second longer, he started with something insignificant, ‘Who cares?’ A part of him felt blissful, somehow refreshed by such a blunt statement.

The pencil kissed the paper again. His thoughts audible, scratching and hissing of the moving tip. With a dotted press, his hands glazed away from his unkept handwriting.

‘If no one sees it, then what difference does it make? People act nice when they want something—recognition, payback, or just to feel good about themselves. Kindness ain’t some magic thing that fixes shit. If you’re kind in the dark and no one knows, it’s like it never happened. People want proof, something they can see. Otherwise, it’s just wasted effort.’

Strangely enough, a hint of pride bloomed amongst the bitterness. His eyes glinting just slightly amused by his own honesty, as if he could prove a point by trying to answer such a cliche question. Some people are kind, but in this world is it not that they act kindly for their own benefit? He glanced to the clock, a mere two minutes had passed since the woman’s words. Genya loathed it, all trace of light weight in his chest dissipated, forming a frown on his face. His expression quickly shadowed by the peering sun, the clouds loomed away coloring the field brightly. The yellow grass illuminated in a much unhealthier light, trees surrounded around the schools perimeter where the fence would be. Genya’s brain ticked again, throbbing as he adjusted to the brightness outside.

Boring down, his gaze descended onto the perimeter again. Movement, behind the caging walls moved the boy from the bridge again. There that same messy, dark red haired boy walked, his strange earrings dangled from his earlobes, and that same scar covered the left of his forehead. Genya blank again, zeroing in on Tanjiro; studying his possible stalker with a new curiosity. The boy’s gait was awkward, slightly upbeat but obviously weak, his trotting was a careful pacing; the faintest of winces on his relaxed smile. Genya tilted his head, leaning his cheek against his hand, waiting for something more- something different- whether it was for his amusement or satisfaction.

Tanjiro paused, the vibrant, flowing cloth still draped over his arm, its fabric gathering in soft folds against his knee as he crouched. His hand extended, fingers brushing gently toward a lone dandelion swaying in the breeze. His isolated presence swayed his emotions, intently watching them both; the boy and his flower. Such simplicity left him wondering, Genya raised a brow imagining himself over there, crouched down hovering his calloused hands over the insignificant floral. His thumb twitching as he carefully runs a thumb on a single petal, lithe and frail, but dependent on his permission to live. Genya grunted in acknowledgment, now wondering if that’s what it was.

And then, almost too pleased with himself; Tanjiro’s lips smoothed into a softer smile, springing up to his feet he walked on. His shadow stretched behind him, his back finally turned to him his hoodie and jeans seemingly stained and dirty. His shoes were untied, and thick socks peered from the cuff of his jeans.

He sighed, absently nuzzling into his palm enthralled by this boy’s way of life. The heaviness returned, but duller a little less overwhelming than what the shadow whispered it to be. A high pitched squeal violated his ears, earning Genya’s startled gasp that he even flinched straight up. His heart drummed loudly for only a few seconds, before it slowed, fading into soft thumps.

Shit.

His phone labeled over the time, Friday—3:27–pm. His cracked screen awkwardly reflected over his face, his appearance much more tidy than the previous days. His hair brushed more neatly not a single knot or awkward strand sticking out. His clothes weren’t creased, they’d been prepared the day before, meticulously ironed just to make the impression he planned to make. His eyelids were adorned, decorated in faint black eyeliner, just to imply the vibes he needed to imply.

The school stood tall, looming over him as time persisted by. Hidden by the surrounding trees, he basked in the refreshed air, lips cracked but mouth dry.

That damn routine.

.
.
.

The routine in which he felt compelled to skip his last class. It threw him out of sorts, and now he was impatiently waiting, eager to get his life back on track. He stood there, constantly peering from this hiding spot. Waiting, and waiting—and it’s not a lot of time that’s passed. It was enough that his mind scrambled for memories, from the night before where he scrambled around, filled with a strange amount of energy to the next morning—where Inosuke and Zenitsu bickered as per usual. In that time, his foot insistingly tapped against the floor, pencil shoved in his mouth pressing against his achy gums.

“‘M gonna handle something.”He licked over his teeth, gauging whether or not his canines were easy to wiggle, “so don’t expect me to show up for ninth.”

Ominously stated, Zenitsu and Inosuke both gawked at him, intrigued. All questions were left unanswered, and all attempts to receive his attention were dismissed quickly until the next bell— and until now. So he waited by the forest, fussing over his looks, reasonings and sanity. It was for safety, if this stranger was the stalker he believed him to be, then he had to put a stop to it.

“Kay, . .shit okay. . .” Genya brushed through his hair, straightened up against the tree, and then a sigh.

His palms felt sweaty, clammy despite the mild breeze. He imagined it long ago, the interaction where he waited in this specific spot. His stomach churning as he replayed the script, though his exterior was composed every tired nerve frayed on edge. His routine was ruined, but that’s fine; he’d just have to get through it his one obstacle and hope it didn’t frequent his intrigued mind as much as it had been. Dealing with a stalker wasn’t such a bad idea, and if anything he needed a refresher not the extremist sort of violence, but just to tap back into his rough ‘tuff’ personality.

He shifted on his leg, the crack of a twig quick to reach his ears, the silence still enveloping like an empty presence. The school walls seemed far more oppressive, reminding him of his misdeeds, like skipping class. The seconds ticked once again, and there was the softest of gasps. Suddenly and surprised, he snapped over—

“Hey, you?” Almost like he was startled, or confused that voice croaked questioningly.

He choked, his legs buckling. Tanjiro stood there, hugging that colorful cloth on his arm. Staring at him, in which he couldn’t stop himself from reacting. His hand shot out, gripping at the boy’s collar; Genya stumbled forward slamming him against the chain-link fence. Purely instinctual, the anxiety spiked up his throat, hissing unfamiliar with this change of pacing. With a sharp inhale, he hardened his gaze, straining his voice into assertion.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, huh? You following me around?” His voice growled roughly, lowered an octave as if to hover much much more intimidating.

A pause, in which he forced his eyes on the teenager. Tanjiro, flushed against the fence his eyes wide, in shock and a slow realization. His lips parted, hanging open and then shut closed. Scrambling for words, the sun gleamed over his crimson colored eyes. Like gentle confusion, Genya gave grace by allowing him to process—-whilst he notes the smaller details, Tanjiro had all the features of patient person. His hair was disheveled, though it could’ve been from the wind’s constant assault. The faintest of heaviness lingered beneath those eyes, but his lips were plush and glossy, which is strange—especially for a guy.

Genya’s forearm continued to dig him against the fence, firmer than what was necessary. Tanjiro didn’t show a hint of struggle, or fight, he just accepted the awkward position. Between soft gasps, Tanjiro’s gaze flickered on him, studying him before he blank again.

His face lit up, as if it made so much sense—Like—oh.

“Wait.” From a shy quietness, he slightly pushed against his grip. “You’re. . .Genya!”

Chirped, his name was said with an uncomfortable amount of ‘positivity’. It left Genya shuddering, his eye twitching. “Oh, yeah. Who else would I be?” Genya muttered, his face flushing slightly, though immediately shaken off.“I’m talking about you, What are you doing here?”

“I’m heading home,” Tanjiro said simply, his tone warm and unbothered, like he didn’t even mind being shoved into a fence by some guy he barely knew.

Genya shot him a disbelieving look. “Yeah, no shit. I—” He paused, his words jumbling awkwardly. The act was starting to wear thin, his usual bravado slowly slipping away. This guy was too casual, it annoyed him that they weren’t brawling on the floor leaving one another bloodied and bruised—not when that’s what he expected of his possible stalker.

Tanjiro blank again, his eyes widening just slightly. “I wasn’t following you!” He nudged against Genya’s weight, though not nearly strong enough to push him off. “I walk here every d-“

“Yeah you don’t say, conveniently after we talke-“

“By the bridge?”

Genya’s scowl turned ugly, he yanked him forward shoving him against the fence again. Tanjiro audibly gasped, the air slowly squeezed out of him like a dog’s chew toy, somehow confused though it was obvious that he was creeping the other out.

The boy winced, his lips cracking into a nervous smile. His hands scrambled up, gesturing in quick surrender hoping to diffuse the situation. “oh-okok!” A stifled squeak slipped from his lips, “it looks suspicious but-!”

“No!” Genya barked, invading his space. In his tough boy act, he grit his teeth tightly causing his jaw a wave of discomfort. “Listen here you fucking freak.” Closing the space between them, Genya dismissed how intimate the interaction might have looked. Tanjiro’s body stiffened, skulking back pressing closer into the fence. Stumbling for his words, Genya zeroed in on a hint of fear, any sign that Tanjiro was scared of him, but the boy’s eyes flickered away. He was much smaller than him, much weaker, and less inclined to fight back. Tanjiro was pliant, too pliant. Previously fixated on his eyes, they tore down his nose, then glanced to his mouth.

A pause, Genya felt his body freeze, for Tanjiro looked to his teeth again. Gawking at the worn out state, the boy’s nose slightly scrunched up. Could he smell him? The question echoed again, and Genya jumped, his body violently lurching away as a hand flew to cover his mouth. Fuck, his expression fell into utter mortification as he defensively squared his shoulders.

“What?” He hissed, fist clenched tightly. “What are you looking at?”

Tanjiro’s expression blanked, that gentle confusion still stuck on him annoyingly so. Raw humiliation vibrated from Genya, the scent filling the air between them that his nose twitched again. Genya wasn’t seeing that, he registered every little thing as judgment. His mouth flopped open, a flirt of words lodged up in throat slammed into his palm—and Tanjiro spoke first—stepping closer like an idiot prey.

“You. . .” He gestured, his crimsons eyes glimmering strangely fascinated. Genya stepped back “-have real sharp teeth!” Tanjiro chirped after, his voice filling with that same positivity that irked him. They say to expect the unexpected, but what do you when the boy you planned to pummel starts invading your space trying to play dentist and poke into your mouth? Tanjiro pointed at his face, gesturing to his own teeth.

“I mean-!” Tanjiro’s lips formed a bright smile. His teeth gleamed, tinted into its purest color, white. They were well kept, he didn’t see any plaque build up, nor were his gums an injured red. Utterly envious, Genya’s glare morphed into a fiercer dislike. Tanjiro brushed it off, his smile turned into something meek. “It’s kinda cool. Like a wolf’s teeth or something. You’ve gotta have the coolest smile out there.”

Smile? Genya’s eye twitched at the idea. His mouth closely shut, hands still hovered over his mouth refraining letting the other find his blind spots. Smiling, it seemed foreign now, the idea of pulling his lips into a smile felt awkward, like an edgy teenager stuck in their room worried about aging with smile lines.

“Don’t be stupid.” He growled straightening up in an attempt to regain his composure.

“you’ve got this. . .intense personality.” Tanjiro stepped closer, intently leaning forward as if they’d been friends for years. He endearingly enough, tilted his head too puppy like for a guy. “I bet you’d have the coolest grin if you took care of it.”

The slight jab didn’t go unnoticed. Genya’s hand lowered inhaling deeply, “Dude, fuck you.”

The teen’s facials fell again, his earrings failing to the winds current. Realizing the other didn’t find him flattering, Tanjiro stepped back shuffling his arms behind his back. “I just think you’d look way cooler with a shining smile. Don’t want those sharp teeth to go bad or anything.” He smiled again, this time more cautious, eyes gentle. “We made an agreement.”

Genya twitched again, a low rumble building up in his throat. It annoyed him to no end, that this boy was assuming himself to be liked to such an extent- when it was far from to. Tanjiro still seemed so meek, unbothered, relaxed even as he looked over him with obvious malicious intent.

Then with those pure eyes, innocent to a tee, he hummed at him. “You’ll live, right?”

It wasn’t like he had truly wanted to die—just a fleeting thought, there and gone, a whisper in his mind that never took root. Still, the memory lingered, enough to make his fist unclench, his shoulders sag under the weight of something nameless. Humiliation crept up his spine, burning in his chest, because looking back, it felt almost ridiculous. Overcome with emotion one night, he’d entertained the idea—only to return home an hour later to silence. No one had asked where he’d been. No one had noticed. No one had cared.

And yet, here was this boy, a stranger, caring more than his own mother ever had.

And now he was being asked to live—to keep going in a life that felt empty, joyless. Maybe just for now. Maybe forever.

“I think it’s important, y’know? To take care of the little things. Like your teeth. I mean, it’d be hard to keep that grin shining without—”

It didn’t make sense to him.

Genya shifted uncomfortably. Tanjiro’s gentle, oblivious rambling made him feel like an idiot, even if Tanjiro wasn’t exactly saying anything judgmental. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that Tanjiro was saying all the right things but not quite understanding the why behind it.

“Yeah, well don’t worry about it,” Genya muttered, looking away again, his posture rigid as he pushed past the discomfort. The faintest hint of shame lingered behind his words, but he forced himself to swallow it down. His arms folded, chin up and body evasive, “it doesn’t concern you.”

Concern.

Said like it was something out of his control.

Tanjiro tilted his head. From anger to quiet breathing, he mulled over the interaction. Genya could tell, the other was quiet and staring at him like the answer would be found there. Glancing back, he foretold the sympathizing pitiful gaze, crimson eyes soft with concern over something that didn’t affect him. Tanjiro stayed without words, though he should have turned around and walked away, he remained still and let him bask in his shame.

Out of. His. control.

“Alright.”

Such confidence roared in his voice, Tanjiro casually stepped forward once again. With an outstretched hand, he grasped Genya’s arm tugging him with a force so unexpected. The pull spiked panic, Genya stumbled along nearly tripping over Tanjiro himself. His mouth flopped open—-Genya’s face contorted into a mix of confusion, panic, and annoyance. “Oi—where the hell are you taking me?! Let go, freak!”

“Nope! You pinned me first, so now it’s my turn.” Tanjiro purred out, his grip tightening on him. Like iron and cement all at once, Genya tugged and squirmed for his freedom, growling through out it before pressing on Tanjiro angrily.

“That ain’t how that works! Let go!”

Between the two, Tanjiro looked insane as he dragged the freakishly tall teenager across the street, abiding by the law as he trailed on the crosswalks painted lines.

“We’re almost there. Stop struggling, you’re gonna trip again.”

Genya stumbled again, the threatening shadow of his school vanishing from view. “Trip my ass—where even is there?! The hell do you think you’re doing—”

“Hum hum!”

“I swear to—Where the fuckare we even going!”

The hell?

His gut squirmed terribly uncomfortably, his finger tips twitching with his wrist throbbing in a dull pain. A million things ran through his mind, but absently rubbing over the faint sting on his arm wasn’t enough to make him daze out his shock. Standing there, wide eyed and unwilling, stood he—Genya Shinazugawa- in the dental isle of a CVS. The shelves decorated and hung with different products, some ADA approved and others recommended for other reasons. The isle ranged from child designed tooth brushes, and then electric brushes, way too colorful for something so insignificant. It was all too humbling and shocking, Genya with gritted teeth and slouched posture looked away.

And by luck, like a mother Tanjiro peered over the products, a small basket resting in his elbow. His hair was still disheveled, and looking at him pulled strange feelings from him—like anger and annoyance boiled and blended together into a pot of violent rage. The scent of clean, clean, clean wrapped around him, squeezing something anxious in his chest.

And nearly too casually, he glanced at him. “Do you want soft or medium bristles?”

Great, Genya twitched stepping forward forebodingly. “I don’t want bristles.”

Tanjiro hummed back, “That’s not an option.”

The sass went unheard, but otherwise imagined. “The hell does that even mean?”

The store sang with cliche 2000’s music, a variety of singers he heard on the radio many times sang their songs. That, and the occasional ‘ding ding’ of a new costumer entering, and squeaks of carts with rusty wheels. After a second, Tanjiro turned to him proudly presenting two different styled brushes. “Soft is better for sensitive gums, but medium gets rid of plaque better. Oh! They have charcoal bristles too!”

Katy Perry hummed in the background—California girls something something—blurring into the headache forming behind his eyes. Genya shooed the throbbing, his head playing tricks on him even now, trying to win his dignity back. “The hell does that even mean?”

“It helps with stains.” Tanjiro purred out, smiling too confident in his knowledge.

Shit, he felt his eye twitched—-this little bitch. Genya bristled, his fists clenching stepping forward grabbing his sleeve. “I don’t got stains.”

Tanjiro didn’t flinch, his eyes trailed over the labels. “Mmm.” All as he barely looked up, flipping a toothpaste tube in his hand. He hummed out, his hair messily slicked back, his white dress shirt untucked and smudged with random grease stains. Genya squinted his view on him, studying him for the missed details. Shorter, and thinner than he, his complexion was tan but his clothes disheveled slightly messy. Genya had to wonder why, where did he come from to look like that? His jeans weren’t as messy, but his shoes were black, nonslip, with the mistake fashion choice of long thick socks indented beneath the denim material.

After another second, he frowned at him. “Don’t ‘mhm’ me.”

The annoyingly, calm, stranger lit up. Snatching a small container of dental floss, he held it up body language brimming with an odd joy. “What about floss?”

Genya scoffed, releasing Tanjiro’s sleeve. “I don’t need floss, dumbass.” Contrary to what many dentists would say, he dare not accept anything this guy offers. There was a strange discomfort in Tanjiro’s way of manner, how gentle his movements were, his personality a weird puzzle he couldn’t solve—but his smile—-what an annoyance of -soft, soft, soft. It was annoying to witness, but worse to tolerate.

Going blank, Tanjiro tilted his head—curious, soft, like a damn puppy. Always prying, always asking. “Everyone needs floss.”

Genya scowled again, lowering his voice into a wolfish growl. “Quit acting like my dentist.”

“I’d make a great dentist.” The other replied half-offendedly.

“You’d make a great pain in my ass.”

Tanjiro didn’t immediately reply, the silence stretched on between them with Katy Perry belting a high-note. At the end of the isle was a cart rolling by, pushed by a woman in her late thirties clearly on a grocery run. As Genya stood there, waiting for another jab, Tanjiro began to tap his foot to the melody—-his expression impassive and patient. He thought of punching the creep, but he knew attempting so again might just make him feel shitty, he imagined the other easily forgiving and soft about it.

Another second rolled by, that Tanjiro lowly hummed to the song’s ‘California girls ar—‘ in which his hand hovered over the bottled products. Genya’s eye twitched again, his mouth flopping open before Tanjiro pulled liquid container out. “What about mouthwash?”

Genya stepped back, shoving his face into his hands, “Oh my fucking God.”

Amidst Genya’s loss of sanity, Tanjiro glanced over his haul of dental hygiene goods. Counting them up, and checking the prices once more before he clicked his tongue, nodding his head as if having a conversation with himself. “This is perfect. . .now,” Then a pause, Genya curiously peered from his fingers unnerved by the sudden hesitation in speaking. “let’s go pay.”

With such dreaded words, he shot straight up baffled by the finality of his stance. Tanjiro, still smiling, didn’t wait another second, he spun around and headed straight to the line. “like hell we are-we ain’t paying for shit!”

He replied with a slip to his step, too casual as the taller teen stomped behind him. “You’re right. I’m paying.”

Genya’s panic spiked, “That’s not what I—quit walking, dammit—!”

Employees noticed, he noticed. He noticed them noticing him, and it looped over. His face began to grow warm, a wave of heat enveloping his skin, his voice trialing into something quieter, trying to. “Come on, Genya. We’re already here.”

“The hell we are!” He hissed in a hushed tone, trying to pry the items from his hands, “Put that shit back!”

Tanjiro snatched the basket aside, spinning around with a half-serious-half teasing expression. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Like hell I will—stop smilin’! You look like a damn cult leader.”

As if trying to appear angelic, he shrugged Genya off, batting his eyelashes. “A kind and generous cult leader.” Only after, he reached over, elevating his height by the raise of his heels. Genya blank, his lips twitching before Tanjiro booped center of his nose, his touch leaving a slight warmth on his face.

Casually after, Tanjiro spun back around stepping forward as the line began to shorten. Proud, and confident but a damn idiot, Genya was frozen processing what had just happened. He gaped at the shorter teen, his untrimmed nails biting into his palms, jaw locked intensely realizing now that this teen, had a knack for pushing his buttons. Academic wise, his peers dare not aggravate him; he had that ‘delinquent’ reputation something he didn’t really mind. Not anymore at least, he grew adjusted to the labels placed on him despite being on the quieter end.

“I’ll deck you.”

Tanjiro still indifferent, now looked over the sweets selection. He reached out between chocolates or hard candies. “Mmm, you keep saying that, but you haven’t yet.”

Genya grabbed His wrist, halting it from even picking. Leaning over him, his voice lowered into a shaky hiss. “I will.”

The threat blurted nearly serious, like a promise he planned to fulfill. Tanjiro slightly perked up, turning his attention on him, innocent gleam in his crimson eyes clearly understanding how pissed off he was making him. Instead of complying, Tanjiro’s already annoying smile widened into a cheeky grin.

“Okay, but after I pay.”

The line shortened, Tanjiro shifted from side to side greeting the cashier with a nod. The woman in uniform, neatly compressed clothes and anxious smile. Genya bristled once again, still gripping Tanjiro’s wrist. “You—fuckin’—quit movin’! I ain’t a damn charity case!”

He sat the shopping basket on the counter, humming over Genya’s voice as a new song blared in the store intercom. “You’re right, you’re my friend. Friends buy each other things.”

Friend.

Friend?

It echoed uncomfortably, utterly strange for someone he didn’t truly know. Genya’s mouth went dry, panic rising as the cashier began to scan the items, albeit hurriedly. “The fuck kinda logic—?!” The items scanned quickly—‘Beep, beep, bee-‘ the monitor continued racking up a higher price per item. His cheeks darkened in color, “I ain’t your friend!”

Tanjiro waved him off, shaking genya’s loose grip off as he searched his pockets. “You keep saying that, too.”

Genya twitched, his elbow jerking to the side causing a cup of pens to knock over. “Because it’s true, dumbass!”

And the poor cashier flinched, her eyes nervously darting between the two. “. . .Is this separate or together?”

“IT’S NOTHING—”

Tanjiro waved him off, again. This time with a thick wallet, leather and clearly worn with rips and old grease stains. “Together. He’s just shy.”

“I’M NOT SHY—!”

Before he knew it, Tanjiro was handed a receipt. $15.36 labeled at the end of the many labels and small texts, the bag of dental goodies hugged his wrist. Genya’s mouth hung low, lured out of the way as they two exited the store as if this was the most normal thing ever. Strange anger boiled in his throat, but a heavy dullness weighted down his chest. Especially as Tanjiro walked out with that same innocent grin, stuffing the receipt into his pocket, holding out the bag for -him- him? The short-tempered, angsty teenager that nearly pummeled him based on theories he wasn’t even sure off?

The wind whispered by, feather light touch on his skin it distracted him from the reality of the stranger and he. The sun was pleasantly warm, casting clear shadows on the floor of the surprisingly smooth sidewalks. Flowers bloomed from the lines of each block, the street strangely quiet despite school being over, but it didn’t make him feel foggy. Fixated on the plastic bag, awaiting his acceptance, Genya tore his gaze away. It wasn’t deserved, he walked past Tanjiro scowling at whatever this complicated emotion was rooting in his throat.

The boy squeaked, quickly jogging behind him. His footsteps were quiet, practically cat-like despite his urgency. "Hey, I don't mind buying it for you. Really, it's fine."

Genya remained focused on the road ahead, storming over the white painted lines of a crosswalk, "I don't need your charity,"

Tanjiro stumbled behind, “But friends-“

"I'm not your fucking friend!"

His voice shadowed in the streets, an echo that didn’t last longer than the third wave. Utterly aware, they both froze in the street. Genya huffing violently, turning to him perhaps hoping that he was gone by then, it was to be expected, that the supposed act of kindness went dismissed. Tanjiro, this stranger would realize he wasn’t worth it, or that it was silly to be so persistent. Yet, there it was. Tanjiro stood innocently, staring up at him without the pity or concern-more like he waiting for him to let it out. He wasn’t frowning, nor was he smiling—he was studying him. Genya could tell by the flicker of those crimson eyes, narrowing over him ever so slightly, narrowing on the details he wished to keep hidden.

He didn’t enjoy it, he’d prefer that annoying smile rather than that—vulnerable offer.

Tanjiro hesitantly stepped forward. “Okay fine, but you’re taking th-“

"I didn't ask for it, and I sure as hell don't want it." he had scoffed, throwing his hands up exasperated.

Tanjiro huffed back, shoving his hand out bag in hand. “But you need it!”

“Yeah well everyone needs more than what they can’t have!

“But you can have a friend!”

Genya twitched, his scowl faltering into a defeated sigh. It felt like something he’d have to wonder about hours later, trapped in the isolation of his room aware of the texture of his bedsheets. Staring at his ceiling, he’d ponder endlessly about what it meant to have something, something more personal or real. That meant he existed in this lonely world, to someone else. Like a mere flower lost in the field.

A car began to purr from a distance, nearing ever so slightly. The two boy’s moved away, stopping by the sidewalk, evading their eyes as the vehicle rolled by. Tanjiro shifted, stepping to the side circling around the taller teen. “Why is that such a shock to you?”

Genya rolled his eyes, “Because shit like that doesn’t happen. Not to me.”

Tanjiro’s expression softened, “Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong places.”

Genya let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? And you think this is the right place?” He gestured vaguely between them, as if the idea itself was ridiculous.

“I think. . .I wanna be.”

Genya stared. His fingers twitched at his sides. His mouth opened, then shut again.

“. . . You’re serious?”

Tanjiro nodded.

“Even if I don’t want you to be?”

“Do you really not want me to be?”

Genya’s throat tightened. He scowled, kicking a loose pebble down the sidewalk. “I—” He stopped, frustrated. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Genya inhaled sharply. “You don’t even know me.”

Tanjiro just smiled, gentle but unwavering. “I told you. I wanna.”

Genya clenched his jaw, shoulders tense like he was fighting something invisible. The wind picked up again, cool against his skin.

“Give me the damn bag.”

Chapter Text

Meeting Tanjiro was an issue itself, befriending him was another matter. That’s not to say he’s buddy buddy with the stranger, if anything extremely cautious. The strange interaction with him nudged him to consider his life choices, wondering why he was there, and what he was doing with his life? Rewind a few months before, and you’d assume he was the coolest bassist (or guitarist) to play in random locations. A nomadic musician perhaps, but now—oh- now it was anything but that. His life was never ending in boredom, a looped routine of shameful sighs, lengthy walks, and isolated conversations.

And it’s now that he recalls it, forcing his specific life to play by his specific rules. The weekend blurred by, not without the awkward moments between he and his family, another attempt made to find some work with his older brother. That’s not to say he didn’t ask more than once, for he asked four times, twice per day. Saturday morning, settled between his many siblings he remembered asking.

Tentative, and with his eyes evasive. ‘Sanemi?’ He’d inquire patiently, waiting to be acknowledged by the other who would be downing a bitter black coffee. Sanemi’s scarred hands gripped the cracked mug, tilting his head up with furrowed brows as he devoured the energizer. Patience, having Sanemi as an older brother requires a certain amount of patience, for the man was hot tempered, and took offense to anything that breathed the wrong way at him.

“Sanemi. . .?”

Sanemi turned rigidly, his shoulders raising as if taking a deep breath. Turning his eyes on him, he deadpanned at him before grunting back, inviting him to make his request.

With such an intense gaze, Genya glanced away immediately sheepish. “Can I—uh, can I come with you today? To work?”

Tensely, the other studied his younger sibling closely. The cup hovered over his lips, eyes narrowing on the teenager who sat stiffly wedged between Sumi and Shuya. His nose crinkled above the bridge, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Why?”

Genya straightened up, cautiously handing him a feigned smile. “I just—I wanna do something,” he gestured between them. Though, it’d been weeks since Sanemi let him make some cash, he hoped he was comfortable enough now. “Get outta here. Make some cash.”

Sanemi deadpanned, deliberately pressing the cup down pensively pondering. There was hesitation in his eyes, shaded with disapproval rather than acceptance. “Since when do you care about makin’ money?”

He expected as much, Sanemi had always been so stern about him, scrutinizing him for his choices whether they were good or bad. “Since now, I guess. What, I can’t work?”

“Not with me, you can’t.” Scoffed Sanemi, leaning against the counter.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Sanemi waved him off, “Means I don’t want you taggin’ along.”

“Why not?”

Genya leaned forward, his gaze sharpening into something defensive and fierce. Starting an argument in the early crack of dawn was no good, he knew better but his pride was worse. Sanemi scowled, awkwardly shifting against the counter, his back straightening just enough to cast a shadow over his face, staring him down.

“You really gotta ask?”

Not knowing any better, Genya narrowed on him looking him up and down. “Yeah. I do.”

The siblings around them glanced over, childlike stares too telling of a nosey group. Genya didn’t tear his eyes away, but Sanemi kept stiff his jaw tightening biting back words children shouldn’t hear. “You ain’t—” Sanemi shut his eyes, his voice hissing out lowly. “It’s just not a good idea.”

Genya huffed out a bitter laugh, leaning against his seat with crossed arms. “Right. ‘Cause everything I do is a bad idea, huh?”

It was easy to remember the past, and the mistakes that lied in it—nothing should be dismissed- Sanemi knew to well. Genya still missed it, the strangely soft look of his older brother’s face when he gave him comfort he needed, yearned for the relationship that was family. And instead of saying something sweet, soft or gentle the other just shrugged him off, “I didn’t say that.”

Actions speak louder than words, that’s the saying right? Genya hesitated, the words lodging up, his younger sibling, Sumi nudging her face against his forearm. A quiet hum sang out between them sudden quietness that felt tense with secrets. He’d been so focused on an escape he hadn’t thought of how inappropriate the conversation was. His eyes darted to the kitchen stove, where his mother was silently cooking breakfast with a distant somber expression.

His chest filled heavily, he awkwardly rubbed a hand over his face, dragging his eyelids before mumbling. “But that’s what you meant.”

“Drop it, Genya.”

Genya twitched, “Whatever.”

Sunday however, he could not recall.

He knew his memory blanked out when his alarm blared loudly, a high pitched ring that had startled him with a heavy thud. Now, eating the floor and a leg still on the edge of his bed, Genya groaned out loud, his limbs hissing in resistance as his head throbbed dully, yet to completely awake. There, unmoving and stiff he closed his eyes gauging how easy it would be to slumber off again, hoping for an inevitable quietness. Sunday did not come to him easily, it was distant and difficult to recall—something lost with the speed of those routining days.

By the end of it however, he groaned completely flopping to the ground, his carpet reeking of spilled coke and old vomit he flippantly cleaned. The smell revolted his body up, his eyes fluttering as he rubbed his face. His skin tingled, fingertips dragging across his face adjusted to the oily texture of his skin. Genya grimaced, quickly discomforted by his own body. The boy questioned what the hell was happening, a hand reaching for the phone charging by his bed only then did he realize it was Monday morning, 7:24 am. A long dreadful anxiety filled his gut, terribly anxious to think of the day awaiting him.

“Shit, . .fuck I want to skip so bad. . .” Dragging a hand through his hair, and chewing his lip his teeth hissed at the slightest gust of wind. The nagging sensation on his skin flaring into his mouth, intensely aware of the rotten taste within. “Ugh. . .fuck, my mouth tastes like ass. . .”

Stumbling, Genya dragged himself to his feet forwards the bathroom. His door promptly shut behind him, house buzzed with familiar rushing and scattering. He grumbled, that faint headache continues to ache behind his weary eyes. The scattered desire pulled at his taste buds, a ruined palate yearning for a bitter relief.

“Need. . .water. . .” He groaned into the room, his words echoing within the hallow walls. The bathroom is humid, almost slick from the many showers his siblings rushed in the mornings before school. The walls damp, toilet seat shut, and the mirror—fogged up. The walls in on themselves, leaving him to grimace at the heavy heat.

Another low groan, the growl descending into the bowl of the sink. He flippantly smacks the faucet lever up, flooding his mouth with water, washing the rot out. His tongue rims the separation of his teeth and gums, plaque, soft yet uncomfortably thick. It’s enough to make him sigh out loud, swishing the liquids before spitting out like a heavy torrent. It remained unhelpful, his mouth flared still drowning in that awkward ickiness.

Eyeing the mirror, Genya wiped the blur away giving himself another look around. His facials were drooped, eyes red and hair disheveled, his skin was greasy, lips cracked. The perfect image of a teenager who didn’t know about self care, there was little to care about anyways. Doubt lingered, a change of appearance would do nothing in his favor, perhaps a small comment, but otherwise quickly dismissed. Behind the mirror, peered a hint of a plastic bag, stuffed into the cabinet—nearly forgotten.

His eyes squint, and he hesitates. Conjuring an image, reluctant and sweet; that boy with those crimson eyes seemingly soft and innocent gazing at him. It’s nearly too trusting, but he stands there like a taunting memory urging him to ‘do his best!’ And it does nothing but annoy the hell out of him.

Then he quickly recalls it. . .the way Tanjiro’s features lit up proudly, impressed by his goal, to smile with a gleaming white smirk. Taunting, something he could present to the world and not be seen as trashy. The annoyance flared again but he groans snatching the bag from its confinement—the mirror slapped shut as he tears the products open. Toothbrush freed, it pops out into his hands, the handle anything but an unmanly color. The toothpaste purchased was next, squeezed free. Rushed, Genya inhales sharply drawing a short line of paste on the bristles. And then——

Hesitation—he hesitates holding it before his mouth as if it might burn him. His grip tightens, that fleeting self doubt returns, what’s the point? He struggles with memory, unsure when the last time was that he’d brushed, he wonders on. The bristled press against his teeth, the water cool against them in which he flinches hissing at the discomfort.

A growl—Genya grits his teeth together forcing the bristles and scrubbing like woman doing laundry, his grip keeps firm and his chest rises after each inhale.

His mouth flares. Like a mint gone wrong, the paste bubbles into a mix of saliva and decay—all senses squealed not use to this sensation. His eyes water, suddenly dry and alive.

Another movement, and he gags— “fuck-“ he growls gagging once again.

Behind him, leaning against the door a soft voice speaks out. Teiko, his petite sibling leans against the frame. “You’re doing it wrong.” She says, arms folded with a crease uniform fitting snug around her frame. Her hair is brushed, pulled up nicely, her eyes are a pretty purple, much like his own lavender eyes—-and her smile? Nearly spoiled.

Genya scowls, tooth brush in his mouth surprised that the girl was still hanging around rather than in the car. “Tch—what?”

“You’re supposed to go in circles, not stab your gums like that.”

It’s said so matter-of-factly- so sassy for a young girl with no problems in the world. His shoulders sag, slowly and steadily he turned to look at her. His mouth foams with the brashly brushed substance, appearing nearly rabid—Sumi blank at him.

He breathed out awkwardly, flinching. “I’m not stabbing—what the hell do you want?”

Teiko sheepishly laughs, pointing at her own teeth. “Your gums are bleeding.”

Genya twitches, looking her up and down. “No they’re not—” to prove a point, he pulls the brush out, glances into the mirror, and then promptly sees red. The brush is slightly colored with a pale tint, and hints of red blending together. He stared, his eyes widening. “. . .fuck.”

Naturally, the younger sibling giggles making her amusement clear. “Told you.”

Teiko was usually a sweetheart, he recalled her as kind though spoiled. She was the first girl to be born into the family, naturally Genya faced some jealousy—a little girl was bound to receive more attention than he’d ever get.

“Why’re you even watching me?” He grumbled still hunched over the sink.

She shrugs at him, pushing herself off the frame. “You never brush. It’s weird. I wanted to see if you’d actually do it.”

He looks away, “Just felt like it, alright?” It hadn’t been a lie, the impulse only appeared because stupid Tanjiro maimed it in his head, that annoying smile still cheering him on so proudly.

“I didn’t say anything.” Teiko looks him over once more, her head craned just to look up at him. Genya was so tall, a little broad but otherwise thinning from a lack of food. His face looked pale, and she much preferred him in his darker skin tone. Appearing healthier, and happier. She sighs, walking over, reaching up to adjust his wrist. “Like this. Gentle. You gotta brush the back, too.”

Genya considered yanking his arm away, the touch is feather light and gentle—shuddering he slouched his eyes turning watery from the mint sensation. As urged, he moved gentler more automatic directing to his gums. “I am bein’ gentle. . .”

Teiko deadpanned, “You look like you’re fighting it.”

Fighting he was, Genya gripped the sink twitching through out his own torture. The teenager dared shove to the back of his mouth, brushing his molars with a violent gasp. Like an injured cat, Genya groaned squeezing his eyes shut as every damn nerve flared in resistance- burning. Scraping against the film, the brush caresses down his tongue and that does it. Genya hisses, causing Teiko to flinch and chuckle some. The movements were passionate, rough perhaps a little startling—Genya loathed it the dizzy nausea that closed in his throat a bubbling stiffness confuses every sense.

He didn’t struggle as much, not like this. Previously, it wasn’t so damn painful to scrub. Genya inhales the faucets waterfall, swishing his mouth whilst water floods him. Gargled ‘grgrgkk!’ And hissed ‘spwat!’ Repeating as if it’ll make the pain lessen.

.
.
.

His eyes snapped, and he wiped his dripping mouth occasionally twitching like he’d been to war. Steadily, Genya turns to Teiko dazed and recovering.

She stares, her smile passive. “You look better already.”

He blinks at her, then the mirror. “. . .Shut up.”

It was certainly refreshing.

Monday began reluctantly, it’s a damn miracle it started at all. From stumbling out of his room, to picking at his teeth in Kaigaku’s car. The drive to school had been awkward, his mind had been too occupied for him to realized the siblings were arguing. Kaigaku and Zenitsu bickering about whatever they argue about, Genya was relishing in the polished feel of his teeth. His tongue ran over them constantly, tainted with a faint taste of iron. The taste didn’t bother him, but fuck, his mouth hasn’t felt this good in months.

In the first class, Genya blankly sat strangely peaceful despite the pacing urges in the back of his head. A phantom voice urging him to fuck up his life some more, seated and complacent the buzzing withered into an onslaught of thoughts.

What now?

He’s brushed his teeth, does he keep doing it until he’s earned a winning smile? Even then what’s after said smile, would it mean his goals were finished and only then he couldn’t off himself? The teenager tapped against the desk, lazily filling in answers to homework that’d been due weeks ago. The answers drifted in the page, all pertaining to historical references he somewhat knew. The headache throbbed regardless, his life was the same misery. What then, what’s the point?

“Yeah well, that asshole took my money so now I don’t have crap to eat.”

Genya squinted his eyes, words on the page blurring into obscurity, Zenitsu’s voice loud and clear. He was irritated, though he couldn’t recall why anymore. Zenitsu was an anxious boy with an easy life, family that cared for him, a proper roof and stable environment. His grandfather was a man loaded with cash so any grief from him meant nothing.

Zenitsu, chirped outloud, his voice echoing within his hazy mind. “I swear, if grandpa doesn’t intervene soon— Inosuke, back me up here!”

“we should beat him up—-but nooo—”

Scandalized, the blondie hisses back. “that’s my brother idiot! I can’t fight kaigaku!”

“Tch.” The pitch of his tone rings eerily, Genya flinches—snapping his attention towards them with a fierce frown. His paper partially scribbled, but otherwise blank. “Both of you shut up. I’m trying to work.”

They froze. Both teenage boys, chaotic in their own ways went still—their heads comically creak towards him. Zenitsu’s lips twitched, and Inosuke’s brow raised. Processing, they remained silent for a few more seconds glancing down and then up. Genya’s facials fall into a thick deadpan, seeing the words in their eyes ‘no way’, evident and clear. They expected so little of him, and he expects the same of them.

“You?” Zenitsu chuckled, hiding his face into his yellow sleeve. Genya scoffs outloud, groaning and hunching over his paper. Though done with the conversation, the boy continues to snicker. “Doing homework? Who are you and what have you done with Genya?”

The desk thuds, Inosuke slaps the surface once, twice three times before pointing at him accusatory. “He’s got brainworms. Look at his face, he’s all weird today.”

They’re the only two he can halfway stand—one’s a loud stray mutt, and the other’s an even louder, hopelessly horny mess of a teenager. These two, the only two friends he truly had, not including the stranger who labeled himself as his friend. Tanjiro—still undecided on him— was weird and quieter; makes Genya nervous. “I swear to god—”

Zenitsu shakes his head at him, tutting his fingers like a condescending parent. His mannerisms were untamable, Zenitsu carried himself like some god—better than everyone else. “We’re just saying! If you needed help, you could’ve said something instead of biting your pencil like a caveman.”

Inosuke nodded, quick to scramble into his torn backpack persistently yanking papers from weeks ago. “Yeah, I already finished this junk!” nearby students glanced over, grimacing at the boys enthusiastic speech. “Want mine?”

Genya was not amused. His paper remained unfinished, drowning behind the many other late assignments stumbling to trail behind Inosuke and Zenitsu. That nagging bitterness enveloped his throat, defensive that they’d think he needs their help. The occasional time he skipped school, the two teens always had copies of their work prepared—handed to him despite his reluctance to receive it. No matter the help, Genya passed his classes by the end of those six weeks.

“No. I don’t need your pity.”

Inosuke glances to Zenitsu, his smile twitching wider. The same game as before, they’re adjusted to the ‘go away’ attitude Genya gave. They quietly laugh, pulling out old rustled papers forcing the help regardless. “It’s not pity, it’s called being nice, dumbass.”

Genya rolled his eyes. “I don’t need ‘nice.’”

“Well we don’t need your crusty attitude, but here we are.” Inosuke taunts, roughly stacking the papers together—promptly standing up with a ‘screech’ earning more bothered looks. Rather than embarrassment, Zenitsu giggles waving the other students away, dismissing Genya’s glare completely use to the routine—Genya will growl like a feral dog- all annoyed as they give him their old assignments.

Those old papers, schoolwork from the many days he missed ended up stacked on his desk—-a reluctant push to just accept the help. Genya stares for a moment, but decides against shoving them away. He offers an odd nod, acknowledging the pushy behavior as not-agitating. “Whatever. Just shut up already.”

Preoccupied, his mind turned into a maze, the kind that busied with obstacles and confusing layouts. The many assignments he rushed, not including the additional chores teachers would demand by Friday. It was dragging, expectingly weighing him down, shoulders slouched and his eyebrows knitted together—the environment quickly reminds him of why he needed that hazy relief.

The damn building was too loud, too chaotic—too much. Everyone laughed with false sincerity, the halls crowded full of students rushing to their next classes, trailing a thick scent of sweaty humid body odor. Not that it was his right to judge, he’s had his own faults with a lack of deodorant but—-fuck— it made his skin crawl uncomfortably. Like a string of moments, he blurred it into a single memory, unmemorable. Though there were many attempts to stand out, certain teachers feigned empathy asking him to participate in class, another asked him if he was fine.

And naturally—he brushed them off.

Towards the last damn class. Genya had been over it, his head rested upon the desk, a low vibration buzzed in his frontal lobe. The clock was ticking endlessly, he counted minutes before his mind slipped away. Lazily, his eyes narrowed back to the window a broad view of the outside. Sun bright and high, admittedly he glanced once or twice before, anticipating. The fence trailed a path away, thinning into the forest like an enveloping hug. The exit, just a path, just a trail someone would walk through.

And—nothing yet. Perhaps it was too early, or too late- but it doesn’t concern him.

Sempiternal, until that damn bell rang. The second that screechy sound echoed, he was out of his seat slinging the backpack over his shoulder. Zenitsu was quick to follow, always rushing towards the door, where Inosuke would eventually appear.

Nearly out, Genya inhaled deeply—

“Genya Shinazugawa.”

Fuck.

He took a step back, gazing at the nearly crossed threshold. An empty space, freedom just ahead, a few mere steps required. Zenitsu stands outside glaring at him as if annoyed, impatiently tapping a foot. Genya shrugs, dismissing him as he turns around with a strained smile.

The teacher, her white teeth and fair appearance stands tall. Her dress is fitted around her frame, warm colors of a modest educator. Her expression however, scolds him passively, narrowed on him picking him apart recalling every mistake he’d ever made in that room. “If you’re done sleeping through this class, I’d like you to try again. This time, from the heart.” She offers a piece of paper, familiar old, . .there’s a glimpse of a doodled skull in the corner of the page—-his eye twitches. “What does kindness mean to you?”

“Huh?” Genya gawked, gripping the paper as the question echoes-annoyance recent in his head. He dares look up to her, then away. Only she would plague him with such an unnecessary task, the woman cared so much for perfection it drove him up the wall. Trudging back to the threshold, he heaves a long heavy sigh. “I already did it. . .”

“Yes.” She continued, indifferently turning to her desk. “And what you wrote was barely a sentence. You can do better.”

“Tch, can’t you just take it?” Genya snaps.

“Not until you answer the question properly.” She curtly nodded.

Throughout the bickering, Zenitsu alternated between them chuckling at the drama. Close enough that he nudged Genya lowering into a whisper. “Dude, just write something. Say it’s like, helping old ladies cross the street. Classic.”

Genya scoffs, stuffing the paper into a pocket. “You write it for me, then.”

Zenitsu elbows him again, scooting aside as Inosuke stomped down the hall towards them. “I did write mine! You could’ve just copied it before class like a normal lazy person.”

“I wasn’t in the mood for your handwriting hieroglyphics.” He growled back, caressing his temple flinching under another hard throb.

Inosuke grins widely, “Write ‘punching your friends builds character.’ I dare you.”

They shared different looks, each unimpressed. At once, the teenagers stepped away. That collected, demanding voice began again. “I want your voice, Shinazugawa. Not your friend’s.”

They freeze, pausing before glancing to Genya for his reaction.

“Tch. . .” Genya huffed, dragging a slow stiff hand through his greasy hair. The paper burned a hole in his pocket, another shitty chore due by expectations. There waited the question, that damn kindness question—-answered in thick messy writing—a realistic response, thank you. Answered in cynical, ‘everyone’s just selfish blah blah blah’, and what was that woman expecting? Some selfless response with ‘genuineness sincerity’?

Zenitsu sighed, shaking his head. Running a hand over his backpack strap. “You coming, or are you writing a novel?”

Genya blank his mouth dry as Zenitsu stood there, expectingly, like their walks home were the most casual thing ever. They were his friend’s, albeit annoyingly so, no matter his gruff attitude or rocky reputation, and still he storms over. “Why’re you even waiting? I didn’t ask you to.”

Inosuke with his arms held behind his head, shirt worn open presenting his taut body. Not toned like a gym rat, but enough to notice he worked out. “You’re slow. We’d leave you if you weren’t so weird.”

“You don’t have to ask, man. We’re your friends.”

Genya frowned, glaring a mean hole into the exit. Their laughter echoing louder than the chatting groups, brimming with confidence no teenager should have, Genya rolled his eyes taking two distant steps, Inosuke proclaims challenges to some seniors, arm wrestling bullshit that caused Zenitsu to groan. Idiots around him, he picks up the pace, anger swarming dully in his locked chest—-faintly recalling the woman’s voice.

That damn paper. What a joke. His nostrils flare, annoyed and hard. He answered it like a scholar, what the fuck was he supposed to say? That people are kind at heart, without sin, creatures that dare never hurt anyone? It was damn honest, the kind response would have been truth, and the truth was—humanity is awful, flawed, undeserving of the good. She preferred a fantasy, something prettier—-fake.

Tiles beneath him gleamed a yellow glare, flickering school lights wearing out as the halls thinned. Who could answer such a stupid question truthfully anyways?

Genya shoves the heavy school doors open, eyes squeezing shut just as the natural breeze tosses his hair across his face. Red, crimson. . .the natural scent halts him. Only a strange boy with crimson eyes could answer that, a nagging feeling whispering—he—he’d have the real reply.

Genya blank, his mouth falling open. Of course, at a time like this it occurred to him. Unafraid of the unknown, inviting danger like it couldn’t kill him. Yes— that dumbass would have all of the insight he lacked, all of shitty kindness that accepts his sharp edges.

What would he write? he thought, scowling.

Probably something too damn nice.

In the middle of the path, cars beeping and students loitering Genya blank. That boy, strange peaceful boy, he’d contribute something interesting, and as much as his legs refused, he walked forward straying from his two friend’s.

Maybe. . .?

“Wait upppp poker face!”

Left to right, he scans—- it’s a small town it shouldn’t be so hard to track down this guy. Both loudmouths join his side, forcefully linking their arms through his.

Genya recoils, skin shuddering as their body’s sandwich him between them. “I’m not your damn poker face, Zenitsu.” He hissed, shaking them off with a rough yank.

Inosuke huffs, unresponsive to the violent reaction. “stop acting so serious. Lighten up a bit!”

The teenager grumbles back, a low mean growl much like a wounded dog. His gaze insistently studied the ground. The streets are busy with leaving students, crosswalks used constantly the school itself remains tall shadowing over them gloomily. Retracing steps, the thin path of the fence perks him up, darting his eyes there. Genya picks up pace, briskly shoulder bumping any obstacle, likely to be a distracted girl, not that he cares. The sun glares over his vision, blinding and agitating his already tired eyes, another low groan and he holds a hand over his face.

Zenitsu trots up, tapping his forearm with pointed jabs. “No, seriously, where are you going? You can’t just ditch us in the middle of a conversation, Genya!”

Genya tugs his arm free, eyes scanning the crowd—his gaze darting through the groups of students moving about. His mind buzzes, and he freezes for a second, squinting.

“I swear, I saw him. . .”

Inosuke snorts, raising a brow to Zenitsu. “Who? What are you talking about?”

Genya’s eyes flicker to the side, locking onto someone in the distance. The familiar red hair, gentle and quiet but not unnoticeable. That glimpse of red shuffles away, vanishing behind a building, familiarly leading to the CVS he was dragged days before.

Genya blinks.

“Bye.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, already taking off before Zenitsu and Inosuke can react. His footsteps echo as he moves faster, weaving through the crowd, fleeing like he didn’t have time.

The blondie’s voice can be heard, loud—-always inquiring. “Hey! What’s your problem, man?!”

Delayed, he stumbled towards the end of the sidewalk ignoring any rational thought, this wasn’t part of the routine—it wasn’t like him—yet he took this detour just to ask that boy a question. Genya almost laughs at the obscurity, sprinting across the road zeroing in on the red. Red hair, gleaming sun-kissed, back turned to him casually walking down, like any other person.

Genya twitched biting his tongue, sputtering in pace. Those school noises buzzed in the back, and he stood there mouth flopping like a fish on land.

Shit

What was he doing? Why the hell did his legs move faster than his brain? This was so dumb.

The other hadn’t noticed, strolling ahead utterly calm. So peaceful, low melodic notes hummed out, only heard as he closed proximity. Tranquil, it sings without embarrassment, it’s something out of an old book he read. His hair is tied up, a short curly ponytail, and earrings dangling from his ears. Much shorter than he, but still so confident. Genya squinted, forcing out a word—any word—like it might make this feel less stupid.

“Oi.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again, rougher. “You. Redhead.”

Real smooth.

There was a slight pause, but no real stop. The boy continued to pace away, Lost in his own damn world, causal as if someone wasn’t trying to grab his attention. Genya twitches, startled by his aloof behavior. He expected something else, perhaps him immediately jumping to give him all of his attention? The night at the bridge, Tanjiro had been so receptive and talkative, keeping their conversation lengthy-and then the incident when they met again was awkward with confusion.

How would this one go, would Tanjiro pretend he never existed? Brush him aside, assuming that he was only there to ask for money.

Genya grimaces, clearing his throat with hard growl. The grainy sound is not enough to catch Tanjiro’s attention. The buzzing loudness fades into the back, a car zooms by and their shadows follow closely. Still, Tanjiro hummed that stupid sweet tune too cheerfully and oblivious. Flowers bloom in the cracks of the sidewalks, quaint fragile daisies peer from below, beaming at the reassuring sun. Much like a mother, the sun lays a heavy blanket, reliant and perfect.

Genya clicks his tongue, finger tips twitching as one by one ‘cracks’ by his thumbs. He bites back another sigh, shooting out latching onto Tanjiro’s shoulder with a firm grip “I’m talking to you, dipshit!”

A stop. The boy paused, glancing back. Those red eyes, almost a cherry color, blinked once, calm as ever. Genya froze, suddenly feeling like he was made of heat and embarrassment.

“I mean—uhh.” Genya’s eye twitched, yanking his arm back— scratching the back of his neck. “I forgot your name, it’s—shit—it’s Tan-something, right?”

The boy tilted his head, same puppy dog tilt all innocent and confused. “Tanjiro?”

“Yeah! Yeah. That.”

Suddenly, it was really really hot. Sweaty hot, Genya could feel a slickness building on his nape, breathing a little forced failing to appear casual. A second longer, and the silence pulled just as he tugged through his hair—-gripping the locks like it’ll pull the awkward out of him.

“I, uh, I just. . .had a question.” He looks away, evasive kind of gaze. “You’re smart, right?”

Tanjiro smiled right after, a glimmer of soft in those knowing eyes. The wind breezes like a whisper, not mocking but a meaning behind it, for how it strangely caressing those locks away. It was only days ago he was shouting growling at him, barking his ear off like a pesky nuisance—-all the signs of someone who didn’t want to be spoken to. Genya could see the wheels turning in the boy’s head, studying him closely before ever turning to him.

“Okay. What’s up?”

Genya winced, mumbling, “You ever. . .get assigned those dumb questions about like. . .what kindness means? Or—is that just my teacher being obsessed with ruining lives?”

Tanjiro blinked. “Kindness?”

“Yeah. Like. What the hell would you even write for that?”

A pause.

Then Tanjiro laughs softly, the sound gentle. Not mean. Not pitying. Just. . .light.

Genya, tense and sweating, stared at him like he was the one who made the situation weird.

Tanjiro cleared his throat, shifting on a side aware of their surroundings. “Wanna go somewhere a little quieter first?”

“Uh,” Genya shrugs, “I guess?”

The building was endless. Many shelves and organized, coded with author names. The front desk was busy with a line of people, despite the busy room; the library fell short of noise. Quiet, and still. He hadn’t seen a library in years, not even while passing, and he stood in one flummoxed.

Beside him oh so indifferently hummed Tanjiro, approaching a spacious round table. Settling on a seat, with a quiet sigh, clothes slightly stained with grease, his hair slicked back now—and his eyes a pretty crimson color but hinted with a weary tiredness. A vague darkness beneath them, only noticed now as Genya watches him from that same spot, no backpack no uniform, no school material following. Where does Tanjiro even come from, did the boy skip school?

Between the odd stares and Tanjiro’s beaming expression, Genya’s feet resisted every thought that screamed ‘Oh what fun, the library let’s stay!’ A single step, and he flinched. “You have. . .to be shitting me.”

Patiently waiting, Tanjiro gestured to the seat next to him. “hm? You don’t like the library?”

“Do I like—?” He scoffs, gruffly sliding the backpack onto the table with an audible, offensive ‘thud! A wave of annoyed murmurs followed, library folk clearly unwelcoming of Genya’s loud presence. Without much thought, he slams his hands against the table, leaning down with firm eye contact. “what, you have to search the definition of kindness???”

Tanjiro raised a brow, flickering at Genya’s large calloused hands. Slightly scarred, his veins phantomly trailed beneath his skin, but noticeable. “Oh no, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m helping you.” Tanjiro hums

“I don’t need your help!” He hissed back.

“Shhh,” the boy sighs, nudging the chair once again. The folk around sent glares at the two, an old lady shaking her lips utterly offended. The librarian herself is muttering about them to the little boy in line. Tanjiro offers an apologetic smile, gesturing to the seat with a little more enthusiasm. “you’re ruining the atmosphere.”

“This is fucking stupid. . .” Genya growls, refusing to sit down.

Stupid, but unfortunate. Tanjiro remains still, expecting him to sit down and take his help. Then it occurs to him, this was purely his own fault. Legs with their own mind, Genya scrambled to ask for Tanjiro’s help and now he had it— naturally these were the consequences of his actions. Hostage in a library he swore never existed before that day, with a very eager stalker-whatever he was- coaching him on basic human decency.

Genya inhales through his nose, a slow deliberate inhale- before promptly yanking the paper and slapping it down the table “There. Fuckin’ look. It’s a dumb question anyway.”

Said dumb question —-lays flat and wrinkled on the flat surface. Viewed with a lean, Tanjiro hums a low somber tune his lashes dark and long—-almost too pretty for a guy. Aimlessly, Genya searched his features, still standing, still cautious, but curious. His lips were glossy, not cracked like his own, and his sleeves were cuffed faint scares tracing over his knuckles and his hair messily sprawled out. This wasn’t the view of a kid who left school, it was nearly reminiscent of Sanemi’s weary self after a day at the workshop. All stiff, injured and sweaty, but not as enthusiastic.

‘If kindness goes unnoticed, does its impact still hold value? How does this question challenge our understanding of the role of kindness in society?’ Though crossed out in red pen, beside it another note scribbled ‘what does kindness mean to you?’ Written in neat cursive, obviously from a teacher.

The boy hums lowly, thoughtfully tapping on the paper. “Define kindness, huh?” Genya shifts from side to side, alternating between each leg. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, impatiently waiting for a response. A second later, and Tanjiro finally glances back. “Well. . .kindness is when someone notices you’re having a bad day and doesn’t say anything about it—just sits next to you anyway.”

Genya deadpanned, not impressed in the slightest. “That’s not even an answer. That’s like. . .a memory.”

“It still counts.” He shrugged back, nudging the work back .

“Tch. . .”

That scent of aging books festered bitterly slow. Tanjiro is still deep in thought, considering the answers Genya needs. Squinted eyes with a heavy drag, Tanjiro’s lashes fluttered clearly lagging from a lack of energy. A quiet soft sigh fall from his lips, an echo to Genya’s chest. He thought of his mother at the moment, her tired but fulfilled sighs heard in the solace kitchen painted by the setting sun. “Kindness doesn’t always have to be a grand gesture. Sometimes it’s small, and quiet. It’s. . .showing up. Being there.”

Genya fixates awkwardly, barely recognizing the words. His bones weaken, his knees buckling that he found himself stiffly sitting down. “You mean like pity.”

“No,” Tanjiro said without hesitation, teasingly grinning like he knew he’d say that. “Not pity. It’s noticing someone, even if they don’t want you to. Even if they tell you to go away.” He tilted his head, smiling knowingly. “But staying anyway.”

Genya squinted. “So. Stubbornness.”

Tanjiro blinked, leaning forward resting his chin on his palm, a faint glint of amusement gleams across the crimson. “Maybe a little.”

There was a beat of silence. Genya glanced around—at the people reading, the woman still glaring, the boy in line now tugging at the librarian’s sleeve. Everything in here was still, but Tanjiro somehow made the air feel full. Steady. Unbearably patient. Tanjiro’s eyes are still intent on him, perched closely, almost searching.

Why? And he wonders, what’s he searching for? He shifts just enough to steal a glimpse, fixating on the features of his face. Like he were taking his appearance slowly—-and then to his mouth. His lips feel dry, his fingers twitching, self-conscious. He quickly presses his hand to his mouth, unsure why the sudden thought of whether his teeth are okay is making him nervous. Tanjiro doesn’t ask, but there’s something in his eyes that makes Genya feel like he’s being quietly, subtly assessed

“Fine,” Genya muttered, grabbing the pen off the table. He scribbled something down. “What else?”

“Kindness is friendship,” Tanjiro chuckled, relaxing approvingly. “Not the fake kind. The kind that. . .doesn’t ask for anything back. Just wants you to feel okay.”

Genya paused, pen hovering over the page.

“And. . . ?” he muttered.

Another pause, Tanjiro reminiscing some more. “Hm. . .and. . .” His voice trails off, nuzzling into his palm with a muffled mumble. Genya wondered if he was getting annoyed now, out of answers leaving him underwhelmed. The boy’s fingers thud once more, “what do you think?”

Genya frowns. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

His grip tightens, the page unfinished. “Flip it back on me.”

Tanjiro shakes his head, relentless. “I’m just curious.”

“No you’re not.” The bickering continues, Genya countering with another frown, glaring at the work like it killed his mother. “You’re trying to get me to do the work.”

In agreement, Tanjiro’s stupid soft eyes twinkle. Hints of shooting stars spring across, nodding his chin back at the paper with a childish mien. “Technically, it is your assignment.” he gently reminds, shoulders slumping once relaxed.

“Tch.” And it’s the reluctance he carries, knuckles hard, and wrist loose. Genya presses against the paper, the tip slightly crumbling waiting impatiently before ever moving an inch. Kindness was an intricate question for the hopeful people, dreams that awaited successful futures. He knew what to say, or what it was the teacher wanted to hear—but it didn’t stand out to him like it should have. Kindness is when he doesn’t exhale smoke in front of little kids, or averts his eyes when climbing the stairs behind a girl in a skirt.

“Fine.” In Tanjiro’s case, kindness is sitting there despite his rough attitude—maybe. “I guess. . .it’s when someone’s not a total asshole for no reason.”

The boy taps his chin, still leaning against his palm. “That’s a start.” Another smile, again. “What if they are a jerk, but still kind?”

Ah—- that was targeted, he traced him with his eyes. Catching the vague twitch in his nose, his demeanor almost motherly, claiming to see something that wasn’t there. “That’s just confusing.”

“People can be both.” Tanjiro chuckles.

“That sounds fake.”

But he writes it anyways, scrawling hurriedly. The backpack slumps, the zipper drawing open leaving an open view of the many crumpled worksheets inside. The backpack itself was adorned with pins and band patches ironed into the material. An otherwise plain black backpack, decorated into an expressive adoration for intense music. Skulls and instruments placed randomly, band names ‘slipknot’ and what not gleamed proudly. Genya felt Tanjiro study him, quiet but questioning, not deterring the topic just yet.

With a final ‘humf’ he drops the pencil and jumps up. The seat squeals with a ‘rrrrrrr’, ignored as Genya shoves the paper into his bag, collecting all of his belongings. Tanjiro doesn’t flinch, just observes him entertained by the boy’s eagerness to rush off.

“Great, I’ll fuck off now.”

Tanjiro hums, glancing back to the backpack, referencing towards the many unfinished assignments. “anything else?”

Genya stiffens, shouldering the bag. “Um, nope.”

A hum, a long patient hum where he checks him up and down. A cocky lean, resting against his seat, Tanjiro draws out the silence, leaving the air awkward with tension.

“Are you sure?”

Genya blanks, suddenly feeling the weight on his shoulder——-

Tanjiro smirks, nodding towards the backpack.
Genya doesn’t move. Just grips the strap tighter, like maybe if he holds it hard enough, he won’t have to open it again.

But he’s not done, is he?

The next day that buzzing purred dully.

The cravings for drugs didn’t scream like a neglected child-no-when he awoke it was graceful. Drowning in his blankets, not like when he awoke drenched in sweat in his day clothes. Exhausted and heavy with anxious duties he yet to accomplish. Strangely enough, Genya woke up filled with a dizzy lightness in his chest, his wrists tingled, fingertips sizzled and if anything it was his whole body that shuddered with a difference. New, new new new.

The routine slipped, and he trudged with a clear head. In that morning everything was done differently, clean clothes were thrown on, a tank top and flannel paired over it, his pants were baggy but ironed and smooth. The knots in his hair tugged, brushing them free into a tamed manner. His shoes were tied, and teeth brushed—-the act itself a battle he nearly lost. Retching and shuddering, earning giggles from Teiko and Sumi, the little girls fond of their older brother making such a fuss over something as simple as that.

Wide eyed, soft, he entered his first classroom plotting down his seat. Time didn’t limp like an injured cat, it wasn’t endless nor was it taunting. Seated there, he wondered again—what all did he do that morning? Did he already forgetful; because he sure as hell feels okay.

It occurred after the library, that awkward walk home. Trying to recall if he was missing something else, struggling to think as Tanjiro chatted away about something—-something he couldn’t remember anymore. Absently, Genya reached into his backpack, brushing over a pin his fingers drag out a stack of papers. Even and organized together, creased with old wounds but otherwise intact. Each class, he’d be caught up in each class.

He blinks. How? Wait how? Is he okay, is he going to get jumped?

The sun glares through the blinds of the classroom, the educator is writing something on the board—and the classroom isn’t a disgusting yellow blinding headache.

“Holy shit Genya!”

Nevermind.

“What?” The tranquil peace vanished, his thoughts startling into defensive walls built with bricks of irritation. Turning with a lazy frown, his expression is all of— ‘please shut the fuck up.

“What’s all this? Whats all—-“ Zenitsu gestures at him, leaning closer fixating on any small detail. “this, all this.”

Genya scooted further away, dragging a finger over his finished work. “What are you talking about?”

The two loudmouths squint, inching closer and closer. Inosuke sniffed the air, waving his nose in Genya’s space, whilst Zenitsu reached picking at his tamed hair. They poked at him like he were some labrat, noticing every insignificant difference in his appearance. Genya scoffed, rolling his eyes with a hard shove, demanding his personal space back not caring much for their offense.

“You’re clean.” Inosuke snapped.

Zenitsu comments after. “He’s brushed. His hair is brushed.”

“You smell like—soap.”

“It’s freaking me out. Is this a prank? Are you trying to get sympathy votes? Are you dying?”

Genya deadpanned. Unimpressed as the two squirmed within their seats, muttering without ending. The class filled with the other students, he catches a glimpse of the teacher picking homework up, slowly making way towards them. Something giddy festered in his core, an annoying ticklish sensation deeply unfamiliar. The workload wouldn’t stop from there, he knew that even after today it might just stack, his confidence remained unreliable—-work ethic just as the same.

Only thanks to Kamado. . .Genya leaned against his palm clicking his tongue pensively. Tanjiro urged him to try, not like he sat at that library willingly, they bickered at a constant misunderstandings constantly replied to with patient answers. That boy, Tanjiro had those tragic eyes to him, occasionally gleaming with hope and other times too studying, very watchful, willing to wait. No matter the faint eye bags, nor the permanent smile on his round face. Genya would catch glimpses of it as well, motherly, brotherly—-familiar. It felt like something he’d known his entire life for.

“Stop fucking around, everything’s fine-don’t know why you’re freaking out.” Genya bites the inside of his mouth, thinking once more. Hovering, a shadow casted over the top paper a phone number written down for his convenience. Tanjiro offered his number, he hadn’t punched it in- it felt too fresh to do that.

The blondie hissed back, “Because you’re not normal!”

Inosuke nods passionately, “Maybe he is dying. Maybe it’s his bucket list. ‘Look presentable once before I perish.’”

“I’m not gonna die. I just—” he pauses, frowning. Another memory, Tanjiro waving him goodbye after the ‘study session’, waiting until he turned around. He didn’t even wave back, he just grumbled and walked off. the wind breezes briskly. “—got some stuff done.”

Zenitsu flinches, slumping back in his desk. “That’s worse. Who made you?”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Was it the counselor?”

Words seared a heat in his throat, all unkind and snappy. Genya sharply inhales, holding the breath, restraining back another violent response. The headaches always worsened with those two, but today he didn’t want to curse anyone out. It wasn’t necessary, there wasn’t a reason to be angry.

He looked back, the two boy’s are wide eyed sat there, scooted forward. Their expressions are curious, Zenitsu’s leg bumping insistently, and Inosuke’s squirming. He wondered where this fear was days ago, when he had missed school. If they were so concerned about him offing himself, then. . .

But that doesn’t matter. No.

The slightest bit of genuine concern glinted across their facial’s, nothing fake nor teased. Zenitsu wasn’t smiling, he was tightlipped whilst the other was scowling like the spook itself was a burden. They care, he thought. That’s why they’re asking.

Because they care—-such as the many times before. When they had offered their assignments so that he could copy, or when they jumped to cover his ass when he was stoned out of his mind. He recalls it now, Tanjiro’s words. ‘Kindness is friendship,’ Tanjiro had stated, nodding his head with a confident tone. Those dark long lashes fluttering, the glimmer in his crimson colors, pale skin dusting in a slight red. ‘Not the fake kind. The kind that. . .doesn’t ask for anything back. Just wants you to feel okay.’

Ah.

Genya sighs, easing into the desk. An odd awkwardness nagged in his lungs, suffocating in his airways with a fog. He didn’t like how much sense Tanjiro’s words made now— cautious and embarrassed, in his quietest most personal way, his voice rumbles out. “Thanks. . .”

Then a beat, the clock’s ticking an audible repetition once, twice and, furthermore. Under the silence, Genya turns away mumbling another incoherent sentence, nudging his stack to the corner of his desk. Their gawking eyes jabbing holes at him, shocked as if he committed a damn crime.

“WHAT?!”

He flinched.

“EW!”

He sighed.

Zenitsu scrambled closer, yanking at his sleeve. “Did you hit your head? !” Then, as if trying to jump on his lap Zenitsu leans over. “Did you see something? Who did this to you?”

Inosuke follows by example, shaking his desk violent enough to grow a crowd. Many other students grumbled about them, whispered complaints of the class clowns—or delinquents. “Don’t thank me! I didn’t do anything!”

Jesus Christ man—Genya leans away gritting his teeth. This was his fault, he should have expected them to react so fucking weirdly about a damn ‘thank you’, fussing loud enough to be glared at like pests by the other folk. “I know you didn’t.”

“Oh my god.” Zenitsu sighs, jabbing hard at his arm, “You’re too calm. You’re gonna kill yourself, aren’t you?! You’re saying thank you like someone who wrote a note and everything—”

Genya growls a scoff, smacking at the boy’s sweaty hand. “I’m not.” Defensively snapped, he glances away, blinking away the bridge from his mind. Memories of his desired flight rewinding annoyingly so. “Jesus. Calm down.”

“Are you on suicide watch??“

“I brushed my hair and now I’m your greatest tragedy?”

“Don’t joke about this, Genya! You don’t do gratitude! You do grunting and sock stench and rage!”

Genya dryly and tired shut his eyes, feeling eight hours of his sleep draining. Dull thuds following down to their desk, the teacher raising an expectingly eyebrow at them. Genya lowered his head shooing them away, “I swear to god, I’m not gonna kill myself. I just. . .feel a little better today. Okay?”

Zenitsu squeals, yanking at his sleeve. “But why?!”

Slapping the desk again—“Yeah! What made you feel better?! You don’t just wake up and start acting like a—like a—”

“A person with hygiene!”

Genya rubs his eyelids.“You two are like gnats.”

He grabs his pen like a weapon and points it at them with a flat glare. “I feel better. That’s all. Stop making it weird.”

Zenitsu opens his mouth again, but this time—

“Enough.”

The voice is sharp and practiced. All three boys jolt in their seats.

Their teacher, a young woman with a permanent frown and a tone that always sounded two seconds from retiring, has finally turned from the whiteboard. Her marker is still in hand, but her stare cuts sharper than chalk ever could.

She nudges her glasses, glaring at the three whom she learned to be pesky mustangs. “Is there a reason your desks are performing gymnastics, Mr. Hashibira?”

Inosuke blinks.

“I’m checking for termites.”

“Sit.”

Zenitsu blushes, “We were just—”

She clears her throat, ignoring the boy. “And Mr. Shinazugawa?”

He meets her eyes, shoulders tense—but she just hums softly, almost. . .approvingly.

“You’ve finished your work, good job.”

A pause. A quiet snicker from someone in the back.

“. . .Thanks.”

She nods, turns back to the board.

Just as he does. staring at a new piece of a paper— just another worksheet he had to fulfill. Brashly done, the nagging desires didn’t weigh on him. A part of him didn’t feel completely lost without the faint buzzing of nicotine blurring in his mind, with a clean-er mouth his instincts warned him off the blend. A burnt relief would not quell well with his minty taste buds.

Ugh

Doubt, a copious amount of doubt settled around him. A full night of sleep, and seated in his class not drowning under a door load felt disgustingly clear. His mind wasn’t hazy, and worst of all it drew back to him, Tanjiro. Genya pinched the bridge of his nose, dragging his hand up down his hair.

Fuck.

What the fuck is up with that boy?

Did he have a life, why’d he spend hours at the library just to help him catch up on work? It lingered, and it makes him wonder—was it for favors? Was he stacking up on his vulnerability before he’d jump him, ask him for money? No one is ever simply kind—-but now he was left questioning himself into insanity.

Cherry colored eyes, glinting in the sunlight eagerly studying on him as he gruffly scribbled down, pissed off but reluctant to move away. The boy’s presence irked, him—how he gazed at him, his smile patient and voice stupidly soft. Not minding, not caring, he had no fucking clue.

Oh that strange boy, how Tanjiro hadn’t flinched when he snapped at him. Casually replying with a shrug, like they hadn’t been glared at by the many people in the library. The skies cleared, enough that it was a warm comfort, a criticism here and there—-snapping and insulting—- and Tanjiro just chuckles.

“I don’t get what your deal is.”

He recalled huffing.

And annoyingly so, Tanjiro’s words echoed in his head, “I want to learn more about you,” he had said so casually. Had he even learned anything yet? What could he possibly say to that? “Learn more about you. . .” He always acted so ‘sincere’ and he wondered if it was real, always asking questions with no ulterior motive—just an earnest curiosity about him.

Ughggghg.

And to piss him off.

He wanted to learn more too.

Chapter Text

He recalls it, the first time he arrived

Sadness has always smelled strangely familiar, much alike the gloomy forest thick with muddy puddles, and weeping leaves. The trees loom from above, tall and comforting, like a kiss of air. An exchange between they and the lungs. The aroma is thick, a damp decay faint but the moss is an earthy reassurance. It flees into his throat constricting his body tense, no matter the stillness in the air—-it doesn’t matter—it’s always been so difficult to breathe a life of chaos.

Sadness, he expected. The many abandoned children cried with questions, and many houses slanted with depressive symptoms, empty walls and dark halls brimming with dissatisfaction. These houses, he understood to be ‘home’, in addition to his changing case workers, usually an apathetic woman who long ago lost faith in the system. It had always been a critic of who was being hired, the children he knew would be wilted, but it was always abnormal for a youth advocate to hurt for their assignments.

He remembers the low hum of the moving car, vaguely vibrating beneath his planted feet. A child friendly song played from the radio, lyrics cheerfully sang out uplifting speeches. Cliche as it is, Tanjiro let his head fall towards the passenger-side glass sighing softly almost at ease. The geography is lush and green, standing tall, layered like Christmas trees. He maps along the road of what is understood, his previous ‘home’ was in a plain region, boring and lonely only accompanied by the foster siblings he parented.

Then came the town, dim with hopeless energy. Buildings looked tired. They were slumped, peeling with muddy paint and flickered with useless signs, long given up on impressing anyone. No, it wasn’t ruined it was just unfinished. Their vehicle passes an old bridge, something he could visit later on. Tanjiro flinches, the car jumps from a sudden hole in the road, causing the driver to curse out loud. Quickly scolded by lady in the passenger side. A soft spoken woman in her early twenties, long and lengthy hair; very well maintained. She was lithe and kind; treated him too fragile. It wasn’t as flippant as his previous social workers handled him, but this woman was kind, careful.

Behind her cloudy eyes, lavender and distant. They were beautiful, and sad.

And it was odd.

Tanjiro remembers being tired yawning out loud, whilst rubbing his weary eyes much adapted to this ‘new adjustment. The warble echoed from his mouth, only earning him miss kocho’s uneasy questions.

“Tired?” She had inquired, glancing to the rear view mirror. Her lips a glossy faint pink, tinted with makeup, enhancing beauty that was already there.

“A little. . .” He didn’t take his eyes off the view, he remembered seeing a little racoon scurrying within a trash bin tucked in an alley. It brought out a chuckle from him, slumping closer against the seat. “Car rides make me sleepy. . .”

The lady lightly laughed, just audible over the hum of the road. “Mm. . .I used to get carsick when I was your age.”

Tanjiro hummed back, a hint of nostalgia emitting from the woman. “I don’t get sick. Just tired. It’s quiet here.”

“That’s good. Quiet can be rare.”

He sighed again, letting his eyes shut as the car vanished into a neighborhood. Busy lawns cluttered with useless furniture, car parts and so on. Internal exhaustion; the words echo silently. Thinking to himself. ‘It won’t be quiet in the house though, right?’ It’s warm in the car, his skin doesn’t shudder or shiver. His heart feels hallow, but his mind is running and his ankles ache. The cars purring eases, wheels turning down slowing upon destination.

Kanae’s voice doesn’t stray far away, she audibly inhales as if bracing herself. “We’re here.”

Tanjiro barely opens his eyes, straightening up once parked. “Already?”

The car door shudders open as she gracefully exits. Tanjiro didn’t move, he remained pliant until she was ready. He could tell she was nervous, hands wrung together, her eyelashes long and dark. He eyed her, tilting his head once she turned to him. Opening the door, with an inviting smile, “Mhm.” She suggests like she’s happy, but in reality she’s sad. “It’s not far from the school. You’ll see it tomorrow.”

He had resisted a laugh, unimpressed as the topic of school arose. He supposed she didn’t look too deeply into his file, or else she’d know. He nods, stepping out fingertips caressing over his jacket, shuddering as a long sleeved shirt hugs his frame beneath the thick fabric—too much but preferable. It’s just too cold. “Will I be the only one?”

“No.”

His gaze fell upon the house, and he remembered it being exciting at first. The lawn was tidy, the grass cut and tucked well. The house stood tall, furnished well and painted in a dark red color, worn and dull in need of a touch up. The windows seemed foggy, the glass itself cracked but tinted. Behind it, partially torn apart the blinds remained closed; like they were half-hazardously covering the secrets of mistreatment.

But it wasn’t inhabitable, he remembers the slight glimmer of hope in his chest, it being almost exciting.

Kanae, the sweet lady nudges him with a tentative hand. Like a feather, it settles on his shoulder urging him on, whilst gripping it very gently—a nervous hold—unsure if this the right choice. “Two others. Boy and girl. One’s a little older than you, I think.”

She thinks? She had said it so quietly, not even feigning confidence. But, he didn’t make a face, his nose only twitches. “Do they fight?”

Kanae pauses, craning her neck as the house looms taller, now standing before the door. Her lips pursed, smudging the tint of gloss she deliberately painted. Tanjiro glances, inhaling the somber sweetness, blooming sheepishness that he didn’t mind—and it’s like she cares.

“They’re good kids.” She nods, knocking on the door.

Tanjiro blinks. His expression blank, even a second after quiet and sheepish. The door unmoving in front of him, but behind it muffled out bickering. A girls voice complaining clearly arguing with someone else, whilst a younger voice, a little boy snarkily replying. Tanjiro remained tight lipped, holding back his tongue daring to glance back at Kanae. The woman wore a thick brown coat, her skirt lengthy and flooring beneath her knees. A very modest outfit, obviously.His gaze fell, and again, she’s wringing her hands together, rigid and sad.

No one opens the door for a few more seconds, the bickering fades before spiking in a sudden thud and laugh. A sigh, Kanae’s shoe tap insistently running out of patience.

Tanjiro had smiled, biting a chuckle as she knocks again with a little more force.

“Now, remember dear.” Her voice turned higher, sweetly strained despite it being oh so clear—she didn’t trust this process. “You contact me if something goes wrong, don’t forget your rights.”

Tanjiro blank, and nodded. That wasn’t the script, perhaps she was new to this. His phone grows heavier in his pocket, aware that there it lay awaiting patiently, for no one particularly.

The screeching bickered, and the door muffled footsteps—— and the door opens.

Kanae beams, “ah, good morning Mr—“

Tanjiro straightened up, his mind vibrating into a quiet silence. The man was tall, and broad, not at all thin or scrawny. He supposed that was a good sign, it could mean there was food in the fridge, more to it than just a home pocketing money form the children they foster. The wind breezes, the car purrs behind him, but he can’t hear it anymore.

The man has grey eyes, his nose is crooked, and the corner of his lip has a healed scar. His gaze remained on kanae, a real respectful man, fixating purely on her words. His clothes are compressed and ironed, a white dress shirt and loose tie, like he’s preparing for a workday out. A working man, that’s good, Tanjiro thinks. He has black slicked hair, half brushed back, slicked and greasy with gel. The man finally acknowledges him, his grey unresponsive eyes studying him only so faintly.

Then he half-smiles, feigning weariness.

The man’s mouth opened, commanding his obedience. He doesn’t recall a name, or a voice— he just remembers hearing ‘come in’ maybe his voice was scratchy, or maybe it was low and smooth.

“Yes sir.” Tanjiro nods, stepping forward once the path cleared. Kanae’s hand, soft feather light and comforting, leaves his back. The warmth even inside didn’t reach far, the heater was on he remembers the hollow air brushing upon his skin. A tv grumbles, unheard as a sugary pop song tunes into the walls. He glances around, catching a glimpse of his social worker handing the man his file. His feet scuffed the entry of the rug, a fluffy dark thing—-weak to muddy shoes.

Then another pause, a girl, with silver bright hair messy—-peeked from the stairs. She had this scowl, pouty lips sewn almost permanently. Her skin was fair, otherwise hidden in the dim light of the house. Her gaze however, was piercing, an opaque endless blue. Icy, much alike her attitude.

Ume. So he learned later.

She didn’t say anything. Just huffed like he’d personally offended her and disappeared back upstairs.

Another second and another appears, a boy much younger than her—maybe eleven or twelve—leaned halfway down the stairs upside-down, his head dangling over the railing like a bat. His eyes were dull but observant, chin rested lazily on the wooden bar.

Rui.

He didn’t speak either. Just watched him, blinking slowly, like trying to decide what kind of animal Tanjiro was. Real pale, skin too white than to tan.

Tanjiro didn’t move. He was used to being looked at.

Used to waiting.

This wasn’t so bad.

By the third day he had settled in, comfortable enough to sneak away with promises to return home a successful man. The walk wasn’t terrible, it was enough to make up for a lack of exercise. Lucky him, he had been seated at an empty table with reused paperwork, applications and documented resumes from the past. The restaurant was bright, not the headache inducing type, but easy on his senses. The table was firm, sturdy not far from the entrance where the hostess podium stiffly stood. Food lingers in the air, soy glaze and lemon cleaners drift faintly, strange but comforting.

A woman approaches. She’s perhaps average height for a lady, very dutiful she walks. The soft, drained taps of her non-slip shoes grew louder with each step. He’d been wearing some jeans, and a thick muted green jacket, socks uncomfortably up to his ankles. He recalled standing to his feet, fixing his posture with a hand held out.

“Kamado?”

“Yes! Good afternoon ma’am.”

Or is it evening? He forgets the difference between them—maybe—-no she’s looking- calm down.

His greet wasn’t lost, the woman glances to the hand a glimmer of interest in her pretty purple eyes—quite familiar of someone else he met. She shakes his hand, firm and understanding, before eventually sitting down. All at once her features enhance, her mannerisms, her scent, her clothes. The uniform, she wears quite well, sleek , black slacks, tucked-in blouse, her sleeves are rolled enough to scream ‘I work hard’. It had his nerves frayed, this woman he had to impress.

Then a glance—-Tanjiro froze. She’s wearing butterfly pins in her hair, once again familiar. Tanjiro’s eyes fell upon the name tag, and it says ‘Kocho’.

Oh wow! Small world , he guessed?

She clears her throat, Tanjiro nods and offers his folder.

Originally, her scent was collected. He couldn’t tell what her attitude was, the lingering aromas of prepared food makes it difficult to tell, but she seemed utterly cheerful. Quietly, Miss Kocho eyes his work with a cheery smile to him, strained up with a twitch, even without his sense of smell he could tell. She was feigning, just like her sister. . .only better at it.

Then.

Her smile twitches. That mask of professional charm, full of warning and sternness—-falters. Her finger pause on the letter of recommendation.

“A manager at another location already vouched for you?” she asks, tone still light but now laced with disbelief. “How old are you?”

Then. Then he catches it; a faint phantom scent of anger. His chest flutters with surprise, maybe. It wasn’t every day someone was offended by his competence. Tentatively, and keeping his amusement to himself he speaks up. “. .Sixteen.”

The paper drops to the desk with a quiet tap.

“Sixteen,” she repeats. Her smile hasn’t moved. “And you’ve been. . .serving tables since. . .?”

“Fourteen.” His voice doesn’t waver, he clarifies. Nostalgia warms over him, appreciating that was the distraction of his youth. The weight of his phone grows heavy in his pocket, waiting patiently.

As it always was.

Shinobu blinks once, slowly.

“I needed to help out,” he says simply.

“And no one flagged this?” she asks the air, not him. “How did you even get hired?”

“The owner was. . .lenient,” Tanjiro says, and it’s true. “He said if I kept quiet, and did the work, it’d be fine.”

And it wasn’t anything terrible, in fact the man found him to be a pest. Annoyed by his constant attempts, a little boy asking for work like it would save him. Tanjiro smiles regardless, watching as she leans back, arms crossing, recommendation letter now limp in her grip.

“You should be in school,” she says firmly. “Making friends, not balancing trays.”

“I’m homeschooled.”

Something sharp flickers in her expression.

Her eyes narrow—not cruelly, but calculating. Then they widen again, like she’s pressing a mask back into place. But the anger, it smells like a bittersweet candy, melting on the tongue.

“. . .Homeschooled.” Her voice softens—not with kindness, but familiarity. She doesn’t ask. He can tell she wants to. “Of course.”

Tanjiro doesn’t say anything, but something clicks in his chest.

The way she tilts her head. The timbre in her voice. That rare, subtle grief trying so hard to stay tucked away—

Kanae’s influence, right there—like she cares.

Like a warm hush, the woman’s ghost breathes over. Her lips move—gentler than she wants to be. And still, she sighs like it’s annoying, flicking through the rest of the paperwork.

“Even if I believed all of this—and I don’t—I can’t let a sixteen-year-old serve without seeing what you’re like first.” She taps nods at the paper, still hesitant even after. “You’ll host. You’ll stay clean. You’ll smile.“

Tanjiro went still, letting his gaze fixate on her. She’s. . .kind, but goodness she’s scary. A smile quickly pulled on his lips, partially relieved but mostly honored his mouth falls open, unsaid words waiting.

She lifts one hand, forestalling him.

“If you do well, I’ll consider—consider—letting you take two server shifts a week.” She leans in slightly. “That’s it. No more.”

“I understand,” Tanjiro replies, that flutter of giddiness swarmed in his chest.

“Good.” Shinobu smiles again. This time, the anger behind her smile has dimmed just a little. “You start tomorrow. Four o’clock.”

“Thank you,” Tanjiro says, giving a small bow.

She squints her eyes at him, suspicious but doesn’t say anything else—not even as he stands.

Scarier than Kanae by far—but not in a bad way. He kind of liked it. It meant she cared, and for some boy she didn’t really know.

The interview had been a mere 10 minutes. The woman had walked him out, endlessly speaking about the job. Tanjiro’s hosted before, but he plays attentive regardless. In her arms she holds his uniform draped over her wrist before handing it to him. It’s a funny little thing, striped and unique, but he’s seen it many times in the previous restaurants. Those funny striped dress shirts, with a long apron pinned with an empty name tag.

“You’ll be trained for two days.” She had said.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Like I said, four O’clock.”

“Of course.”

She gives him another glance, scrutinizing for a second. “Okay. . .ill see you then. Don’t. Be late.”

Then she walked away.

He doesn’t remember leaving. Doesn’t remember how long he walked. The weight of his phone presses against his thigh, the cracked screen already warming up in his pocket. One buzz. No messages.

He ends up at a bridge. Staring over the railing. The water looks low. Still moving, but not enough.

His fingers twitch like they want to check his schedule. Like he should be going somewhere, doing something.

And instead, against the railing, He pulls his phone out and unlocks it.

12/28.

A pink sunset flashes across the screen. He doesn’t remember taking the picture. It looks nice.

Then. He looks up, the entrance of the lake- it’s distant, but the trees looked like they could soak in the sun. Tanjiro smiles regardless, dismissing the sadness that tugs at him. “I’m sure the view is wonderful when the sun rises. . .”

But there was no sunrise, nor a sunset. It’d been dark, and the sky was murky, even then he didn’t mind returning to catch the view if given the chance. In the peace of the moment he crosses the road, flinching as car slowly passes with the most blinding lights he’d ever seen. Enough to make him turn his head, a vehicle with jagged wounds, dented into the car doors. But his gaze catches on a figure, hidden by the glare of the glass—a boy perhaps—a silhouette of long spiky hair, and. . .striking purple eyes gleaming distantly.

Tanjiro only stares, waiting for them to pass. Waiting, and waiting. . .

He blinks. Rubs his lip.

As the water runs, and as that car fades into the distance, the sky now fully dark, he remembers—it’s his third night in a new home. Situated once again with two strange parents, and two quiet, somber children: replacements to the last set of foster siblings he’d had.

He thinks, distantly, of Ume’s sharp voice and Rui’s quiet eyes. How neither of them looked at him this morning, like they expected him to blend into the background. They feigned anger, sure—but what he caught from them wasn’t hate. It was weak. Blue. Sad.

Then sighs, almost annoyed with himself. “Where’s the nearest CVS. . .”

The house had a heater, the ventilation wasn’t broken—per se—- but in the nights where he awoke in his room he did so shaking and stiff. His room was carpeted, the walls painted in grey but his bed was large enough to sprawl out. It was comfortable, and he curls up beneath two blankets sunk into the mattress. The window had black curtains, and dusty blinds, but the room was empty in terms of decorations. He assumed that was his job, which was. . .nice?

Even then.

The cold did not bite at his skin, but the vague scent of burning food did. Logically, that meant his presence was required and so he now handled breakfast whilst two cranky children glared at him with occasional grumbles. His fingertips were numbed from the cold, eyelids heavy from a lack of sleep but his chest buzzed hopefully. Tanjiro hummed, plating two meals of breakfast for the pair—-albeit received with scrutiny.

“Alright. . .here you go, no burnt eggs.” He offered carefully approaching them like they were feral kittens, their gazes trailed after him as if he were a threat. Slow, studying closely for the smallest details.

He stood stiffly in the kitchen, wearing baggy shorts and a sweater for pajamas. Socks trailed high enough to warm the ankles, a pull of fabric enough to shudder the stinging skin hidden. There was A/C even then, the hallow cold feels like a familiar discomfort.

It lingers awkwardly, even as he steps away dusting his hands. Their gazes didn’t move, Ume watched with unsaid annoyance and Rui with dangerous curiosity. The two didn’t speak much, they seemed shy or uninterested—Tanjiro expected their hesitation to his presence. The foster system wasn’t reassuring in terms of who’s staying, who’s leaving, and or who’s running away—-much like in the past he’s seen it occur plenty of times. They originally acted offended when he took over their meal making, tossing burnt eggs out and replacing with something—edible, it was almost cute.

“I didn’t put any of the green stuff in, don’t worry.” Tanjiro said, hovering with peaked interest. “Just plain eggs, toast, and the tiniest bit of pepper. Barely counts.”

Another second pauses. Ume pokes at the eggs, nudging them in different directions, the steam puffs in her face and she scowls, leaning away.

“So you’re slow brained, cause we didn’t ask you to make anything.” She sat with perfect posture, hair tied up without a single strand out of place, her outfit layered with careful precision.

He didn’t mind the attitude in her tone, he figured she wouldn’t be receptive to his attempts to reach out. “I figured it’s better than the charred eggs from before!”

Rui, the boy with black unkept hair and dark blue eyes, cleared his throat—a rasping sound, tight in his chest. He didn’t look up from his plate, and the fork trembled just slightly between his fingers, like it was heavier than it should be. “That was Ume.”

Ume scowled, “Shut up, freak. I wouldn’t make that trash for you if I was dying.”

How harsh—-how awkward. “Now now. . .No judgment.” Tanjiro smiled waving them off with practiced enthusiasm, “I just. . .didn’t want the house to explode before I made it a full week.”

Another pause.

He sniffled once, discreetly. Tanjiro wasn’t sure if it was a cold or the draft that slipped into the room each morning, but the boy always looked a little faded around the edges. Tanjiro shifts from a leg to the other, trying to find something to fill the space. A clock ticked from the other room, the kitchen had been organized and full—many forks and more plates to make use off. The fridge was an empty canvas, but tidy with vegetables and ingredients.

“Is this butter?” Ume had scoffed, flicking it with a nail.

Tanjiro broke a smile even as the butter lands on the table, slowly puddling. “Yes! Real butter, not the weird plasticky one. I triple-checked.”

Rui shakes his head, grimacing. “It’s too much.”

Ah—kids—are really really hard to please. Children in the system usually grew up wrong, plagued with trauma and disorders that the body learned through years of neglect or abuse. These two just seemed unhappy with the situation in general, his chest slightly tightened. Ume wasn’t much younger than him, she was fourteen so around the same age his sister should be. Rui was much younger, twelve years old, the boy stunted with little to say.

They were dissatisfied, he understood why.

“Sorry.” Tanjiro apologizes, more about the situation rather than the eggs. Responsibility tugged at his soul, urging him to put a real effort in. “You don’t have to eat it all. Or any of it, really.”

Ume grudgingly rolls her eyes, a glimpse of the light catches in them. “You cook like a service worker.”

“Goodness. . .” Tanjiro doesn’t flinch, he just chuckles dryly, “Better than cooking like a menace, I guess?”

She gestured the fork at him, still scowling. “Are you gonna stand there and watch us eat?”

“Oh! No, sorry. I’ll just—” He fumbles with a dish towel, wiping down the counter that’s already clean. It hadn’t occurred that he was still hovering, then again he guessed that sitting down would feel like intruding in a space that wasn’t his own yet.

Back turned to them, Tanjiro’s eye twitched—his fingers clenching the rag as he bites back his embarrassment. First impressions, and he looked silly—these kids are never going to like him.

Another sigh, a click of silver—“Why are you kissing ass?”

Tanjiro strained a smile, turning to Rui. “I’m. . .just being nice.”

Ume scoffed, “Nobody just wants to. You want something—“ then she laughs, “you look like you want something.”

Curt and defensive, Ume’s piercing gaze rips a hole through him. THe clock ticked once again, the heat of the stove vanished leaving a hallow shiver between them. Tanjiro leans back, caressing over his wrist. “I want you two to eat something warm.”

Silence. Rui takes a small bite, his expression passive not surprised by his lack of rebuttal to her insult. Ume glares at her plate, stubborn.

“Yeah.” She grabs the plate, promptly shoving the untouched eggs onto the boy’s plate crowding the space. The clock ticks louder than the clatter, and her footsteps storm out leaving the plate uselessly tossed into the sink. Before he can even call her back, she interrupts from the stairs. “I just want you to go away!”

.
.
.

Well.

Tanjiro’s smile twitches, he glances to the boy—who shrugs and continues to slowly, stiffly nibble.

Well.

Servers glared at him from the vestibules, arms folded pens clicking critically, judging him for each choice he made when seating. The guests themselves. . .

Each step felt harder to make, his stomach hoarsely tightens and his mouth is dry.

His feet carry him faster than his thoughts, his smile is practiced into something genuine. “Hello, welcome in!” He greets an old couple, a little old woman with a cane and her older husband whose eyes are squinted from age. “Just two for you?”

Plates clatter in the background, and his system glitches from the podium— back dining room remained ‘dirty/clear’in need of a bussing, and the music is still playing joyfully.

“Oh yes, two is fine.” Says the old woman, her voice drawled out lazily like she couldn’t truly say the words anymore.

He inhaled sharply, “Lovely! If you’ll just follow me!”

His vision frays slightly, he lacks energy and his eyelids urge to fall shut. How long had he been working now? The dim lights seemingly blend, it’s cold in this restaurant, hallow and his body hungers.

It only takes four steps, the woman would never make it far with a cane—it’s in his training to sit these sort of people closest to the entrance. Tanjiro hums along the tune, neatly placing each menu beside them. The hollow cold continues to numb his fingers, the material of the menus don’t bother him. A step back, he takes and a step forward the couple steal.

“Oh no, I don’t want the middle.” The older lady snaps, specks of spit shooting out even with cracked lips. The man shakes his head, squinted eyes narrowed on him like he personally insulted them.

Tanjiro’s smile twitched, his eyebrows knitting together. “Oh.”

Servers glare from the vestibules, the lights paint the building in a golden glow—tables and booths surround in rows, cluttered with dirty dishes. Tanjiro dare look around, pinpointing a single gleaming, wiped booth. “No worries, you can sit here!”

The old couple glance at each other, skeptical expressions with wrinkles folding like judging frogs.

“Hmph.” The woman finally responds, stiffly settling between, her knees trembles and her hand clutches the cane expecting something to go out.

The old man followed, mumbling, “Should’ve stayed home. . .”

Tanjiro slips aside, bowing his head with a smile. “Your server will be with you shortly, you two enjoy!!”

His fingertips are numb.

He chirped, ignoring the entitlement brimming from them—whose nose twitched as he spun around immediately catching a glimpse of the pissy servers. Another steady deep breath, it’s fine, just a busy day—-they’re making money.

The words whispered- once twice, eight more times as guests swarmed in a line by the podium. Their faces impatient, critical of one single hostess that only had so much to offer. The previous aroma of food spun into unpleasant scents of bitterness, like rushed coffee forced out even if not brewed well.

Tanjiro smiled at every corner, gleaming hopeful heavy eyes, “enjoy your meals!” His hand gestures animated, passing the vestibules with clapped hands, nowwrung together as he pitifully mouths at the servers; “I’m sorry!” Only to earn salty glares, it never ends, his focus is unbreaking as he seats section after section.

“Here you go!”

“Yes ma’am, enjoy!”

“Don’t forget the special today, ask your server about it!”

“Have a splendid meal!”

Tanjiro feigns another giggle, nodding another guests with a warm farewell. “You welcome!” His voice cheerfully rang out as he spins on his weak heel. Then—-ah—-in the middle of his hustle mindset, tone deflates, and shoulders square met face to face with Miss Kocho.

“Tanjiro.” She ominously spoke, wearing that same sleek uniform with stern smile. Tanjiro’s fingers twitched, his chest tightening as she looked him up and down, purple eyes narrowing on him with discipline. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

She says. He stands there, just stands awkwardly—as if he’s not slightly swaying, as if he’s too still, as if he’s not sweating from a lack of proper self care-as if he’s not neglecting the needs of his body.

“I’m—no, I’m good!” He gestured away, chest stiffening hard as another guest crowds by the podium. “. . .Just a little rush, that’s all.”

She shook her head. “That little rush includes you seating someone in 214, which hasn’t been bussed in twenty minutes?”

Her stiff smile twitched, so did his nose searching for the annoyance. Tanjiro snapped his eyes over where the table sat by the window, where a couple is seated unaware that the table was greasy and unswept. “I—I thought I saw Murata clearing it!” he blurted back, thorax coiling tighter. “I—ah, I’m sorry, I should’ve double-checked—”

“And you gave table 144 to a server whose section is full. Again.”

Ah—flinch—Tanjiro’s hands wrung together quickly, cheeks flushing nervously hoping not that she would fire him for this. “I thought they’d finished the appetizer! I was trying to balance the walk-ins, but—”

His ankles ache.

“Tanjiro.” The manager snapped curtly, her cold gaze drops on him searching for a brief moment. A glint of sympathy passes through the purple, and her firm composure softens. “Breathe.”

“Right.” He forced it, originally— lowering his shoulders and awkwardly shaking himself off. “Yes. Breathing. I am. I’m breathing. Sorry.”

Shinobu shook her head, “Look at me.”

Ahh—fired—-they’re going fire him. Tanjiro flinched, his palms pressing together as he willed eye contact. “. . .Yes?”

Restaurant music buzzed back, and Shinobu cooly urged him away with a gentle pat to his shoulder. “You are not responsible for single-handedly saving the shift.” She almost whispered. Her aroma descending into concern, more like she’s worried over a wounded animal. “Let us help you. Delegate.”

Tanjiro bit his bottom lip, surprised by the attitude change, she’d been so stern with him at the interview. Servers passed them, and others sent strange looks. “But everyone already looks mad at me. I didn’t want to make it worse—”

“They’re mad because they care.” She stops by the pathway, black and white tiles checkering in old fashion. “If they didn’t, they’d already be in the alley smoking.”

His hands lost tension, caressing over his skin. Glancing between the sat dining room and her. “. . .Right. Okay. I’ll slow down. I’ll ask for help.”

Music returned, previously muffled tunes back in with reassuring tunes. The woman’s scent lingered almost sweetly, something gentle in the purple hues of her gaze studied him more. Tanjiro swallowed the awkwardness, his own words faintly echoing like a promise he couldn’t keep.

Another second, Shinobu sighs folding his uniform cuffs properly, touch featherlight, maybe motherly. “Good. Now fix your apron. You look like you ran through a wind tunnel.”

Tanjiro looked down, a sheepish chuckle falling from his lips. “Heh. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” She huffed, spinning him around sending forward to the podium. “Just hydrate. And for the love of all that is holy, don’t seat anyone in 214 again until I say so.”

Tanjiro had nodded, stomach oddly fluttery with gratitude. “Understood, Miss Kocho. Thank you.”

For all of her stern composure, she helped him through out the shift. His nerves frayed, it’d only been his third week there and he fit in squarely. Typically, there should have been another hostess to help, but instead said host called out leaving him in the rush.

Naturally it had him frazzled—but by the end of the shift the air cleared of that humid thick annoyed scent. Tanjiro had been cleared to go, seven hours of work and the sky cleared. Of clouds but mixed with murky blends of a setting sun and rising moon. Tanjiro walked, and he did for a while his mind easing down after the rush with running thoughts.

Murata, a man in his early twenties with sheepish energy had been easy on him when complaining about the sweating. He was slightly timid, and his eyes were twitchy, likely from exertion. Then there was Makomo, she was a sweet woman, another server who lightly scolded him. There was a friendly energy about her, like someone who’d do well in pediatrics.

Tanjiro sighed.

He pulled out his cracked phone that buzzed with notifications like the news, the weather, and text messages from previous homes with late replies—his eyes searched again glancing back to the pink background. Nothing. So he sighed again, the device suddenly heavier in his hand rather than in his pocket.

“. . .I should stop by the CVS again.”

Ume might glare at him less if he continued to offer sweets. Then again, the girl didn’t seem too convinced that he had anything good to offer. Rui on the other hand was willing to take, whilst keeping his distance. Tanjiro turned a corner, a street signed awkwardly bent arches over the sidewalk—graffiti and stickers slapped over the yellow paint. A breeze of wind whistled past, enclosing him with a cold shiver. Tanjiro’s eyes fluttered shut, his fingers caress the thick sleeves of his jacket, still hollowly cold.

“I probably look gross. . .”

His clothes were heavy. Grease stains awkwardly splattered around his work shirt.

“Or tired. . .”

The bridge appears closer, nearing by each paced step. Those aged cracks and withered railing waiting where they’ve always been, his gaze fixates forward—-squinting.

Ah

A boy.

Tanjiro paused, his steps faltering just by the entrance.

A boy, a teenager— perhaps a little older than him. Hunched over the railing gazing at the water beneath, his mouth opens like he’s speaking to himself, but it’s too quiet for Tanjiro to hear. This teenager dimly light by the streetlights had strange Mohawk-like hair, head buzzed from the sides and his face structured sharply. All he could think was, Oh goodness, Tanjiro adjusted his clothes unsure whether to approach or walk around, this boy had an angry, angry pensive expression. Baggy clothes, forearms resting against the rusted railing.

Crap. . .

The wind whispers, and Tanjiro walks. The wind hushes again, and he catches it.

Sadness has a smell of a lonely rainy forest, anger is bitter like rusty screws reluctantly tightened into walls. Mixed together, any emotion like that is hard to read. His nose twitched, and an ugly sense of desire infiltrated his nostrils, but it became clear to him that this boy, was unhappy.

.
.
.

Tanjiro chewed his lip, cautioning forward.

Slumped, as an ugly weak laugh fell from his lips, hoarse and tired. Tanjiro glanced, and through shadowed he caught the scar that tore from the boys cheek to the other side.

"I'd probably pass out half way down."

Tanjiro froze, his feet planting like they were glued to the dirt.

Ah, suicide— that was the scent—or so it should have been. Suicide smelled like unmotivated growth, wilted plants in a garden surrounded by a forest of bamboo. This was a thought, a consideration like he was coming to terms with the idea of wanting to die, for this scent was of a lonely flower living on so little water, insignificant and mere. This boy fit the description, not too far—-dressed brashly for the weather and pale from the dim light. Already perishing before an actual death.

So, languidly he turned towards the railing mouth falling open wordless. Not a sound came, but his lips warmed by his breath, a quiet whisper before he straightened up.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

He didn’t think too deeply about it, but it startled the boy enough that he jumped sharply turning towards him like he was an assaulter.

A limp ‘The fuck’ growled out, glaring him down. Tanjiro craned his neck, stepping back with a mere thought, and, damn this boy. . .is really tall. Square face shaped, a real handsome jawline, his eyes wide, eyelashes dark and luscious, nearly appearing like eyeliner. He was being sized up, studied while gripping the metal beside.

It was. . .a fierce kind of first impression, looked straight out of a punk group.

And—now he felt awkward, the silence that only
occurs an after bad news. "That you'd pass out halfway down." Tanjiro murmured, refusing to look away. "Some people do, yeah, but not always. It depends on how fast you're falling. Your body doesn't always have time to . . . “ he shrugs, “shut down."

His suggestions seemed meaningless, as the teenager glowered at him before looking away, searching.

Then another second and he scoffed, ". . .Are you serious?"

And oooh. . .Tanjiro’s ears burned, his voice was low and deep but gravelly like dirt and rocks. His chest awkwardly tingled, and so he looked away, towards the water below feigning casualness. "Just saying. If you're gonna think about it, might as well have the facts right."

Perhaps that was too sassy. . . ?

"I wasn't—" his voice broke, bristling with a purr. "Whatever. Who even are you?"

Huh. . .

That was quick.

To his question, he felt strangely light again. It would be nice to make a friend again, someone utterly new but rude—not relating to the system, not at all—-someone who might know what he needs. It could’ve been that, or the odd sense of duty that he always felt when he moved homes.

“Tanjiro.” His name felt easy to say, smiling even as he introduces himself.

“Okay?” The other scoffed, a glint flashing his lavender colored eyes. Real pretty.

He stared longer than enough, fixating on the elusive way they burned passionately, this boy was strangely expressive—punk look with a traumatic scar and rare gaze. He blank maybe once or twice before eventually waiting for common courtesy, pulling the hoodie off he leans forward—appearing smaller maybe sweeter. the other was yet to introduce himself, staring stun, like he didn’t know how to.

“And you?”

So he clicks, and his tongue pops. “Genya.”

Oh, Tanjiro nods repeating it quietly like it was a gift. “Genya. . .nice to meet you.”

Genya snorted, edged like a sharp knife he turned away all dismissively. “Yeah. Real great first impression."

But it was! He just met the boy, and it has his chest light! Tanjiro found himself thoroughly concerned without the baggage. Saddness he expected at every corner, he could handle it, even here. And for a first impression, Tanjiro didn’t mind chatting the teenager up, for in the interaction, perhaps thirty minutes he learned enough about Genya.

He was. . .brash and angry, the smell was hidden beneath a pile of bitter sadness, but the symptoms screamed. His fists were littered with old bruises, knuckles faintly red and fingernails bloody from nail biting or skin pulling. His lips were utterly dry cracked even, and clothes flippantly thrown on with the faintest of ‘old’.

“Could be worse.” He hummed like a song.

"Yeah? How?"

Genya was also. . .real awkward—-struggled to hold eye contact. Legs shift, but his feet tap insistently murmurs of a nervous tick that tries to lax the body. For someone as tall as he, intimidating, he proves to be shyer than ‘cool’. Tanjiro assumes there’s nothing for him to prove, right there—just another suicidal teenager that adds to numbers and statistics.

"I could've pretended not to see you and walked right past."

.
.
.

Genya also had earrings, nothing glamorous--just simple. Black and small, paired with another but smaller just above. Tanjiro exhales unable to help it, that’s so cool. There was more Genya, staring distantly believing himself to be alone.

"But that didn't feel right."

Again. The boy whipped his head away, trying to dismiss any form of pity, cheeks puffing out. "l wasn't gonna do anything."

He somewhat knew that, then again Tanjiro couldn’t shrug off his concern. People say that when they don’t want to ask for help, too proud to be seen weak, pathetic. It was a sad way of living, Tanjiro couldn’t imagine being stuck like that, because then again; is it really living? This town seems dead, these streets moaned like ghostly entries, and the roads sizzle beneath the raging sun. Tanjiro, another stranger in the crowd plays hero, like he knows it all.

The wind breezes between their thoughts, Genya growls through each word he has to say. How Tanjiro needs to mind his business to then rolling his eyes at him for suggesting therapist talk. There was a reputation to him, known for being annoyingly persistent, speaking too much like he knows it all-but he doesn’t, when has Tanjiro cared about that?

As this conversations descends—-he had asked “who are you?”

And Genya replied with nothing, that he was nothing.

Nothing is an absence of something, much alike the dark and light.

"What's the weirdest thing you’d defend no matter what?"

Genya scowled, uncomfortable. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Tanjiro didn’t really know either, the questions felt right to ask. Something about it felt easy, that it wasn’t forced out of his lungs tugging on the bones of his throat where his skeleton connected to his brain. Words exited easily, as he spoke inquiries, he thought back to Ume and Rui. Where Ume frowns like a pouty child, and Rui read literature with his sickness stifling coughs, that would annoy his foster sibling. They, struggled a lot like his previous ones, children with emotional problems—but with Genya it was a fresh view.

He hums, “In your movie, what’s the ending?” Tanjiro asked, gesturing towards the bottom, where rushing water hissed like a warning. “You get to decide that you know.”

"You're a freak." Genya growled back, biting with a want to injure.

Maybe.

Then almost like a last thought, he stepped back fixating on his face again, studying the pretty glimmer of that lavender hue. "What's something you want to be better at?"

"What?" Snapped Genya, his voice faltering weakly into nothing, taken aback by a recycled question only asked more sincerely.

"Something you want to be better at.” He urged again, his fingers wringing together genuinely patient for an answer. “Anything."

The water rushes again, the wind is hushed. A somber silence drifts around them, Tanjiro doesn’t mind it though it shudders on his skin, not reciprocated by Genya who stiffens like a statue. Understanding is learned, he sees it in the way Genya genuinely ponders an answer.

And then a sigh, puffing in a cloud. Genya licks over his teeth. "I'd have white teeth."

There's a pause. A beat where the words linger between them.

The implication cuts deep—real and raw. Genya can’t smile proudly, not yet. Not when he’s standing there, exposed. Stripped down to who he really is. There’s no pretense left. And Genya—Genya stares like he’s daring him to look away. Furious. Cornered. His eyes burn with something feral and bitter, and in them, Tanjiro can hear it clear as words:

I’m disgusting. What the fuck would you know?

That hatred simmers, not just for the world—but for himself. The hate is there, but Tanjiro just stares with a giddy smile, widening slowly somehow inspired.

"That's a good one." He whispered, still astonished. Slowly, his hand moved without much thought, he simply offers it with a need—to learn more. "Let's be friends."

And Genya, doesn’t move.

That’s familiar isn’t it?

A turn, he continues to descend into the cluttered neighborhood.

“Goodness it’s so cold. . .”

It always starts like that, the moon high in the sky so gentle on him. The light illuminating just enough, and Tanjiro sees the path, hears the silence and feels cold. He had a jacket, and despite that, his skin shivers heavily hallow. The summer might be nearing, but the warm days lacked just that—warmth.

So it’s just him and the lonely moon, surrounded by the outstanding stars who glimmer so dully in this isolated town. Tired buildings, and empty streets, for the roads slumped with occasional potholes. Tanjiro walks in these nights, strangely calm and heavy. Each step stings, the joints in his ankle ache and the skin beneath his sock hiss. Fingertips fainted dull, like he couldn’t feel them.

Then a sigh—-the clean wary house looms over him growing in size as he walks down the path. Quiet—the lights were out and the windows are blinded. He steps up, staring at the plain door his palms hold around the handle with a turn. Then a shuffle, the knob doesn’t turn it clicks with resistance; locked shut.

Tanjiro wiggles again, and the heat flushes in face now panicking. Oh crap—-he’s locked out—he’s not even late? What time had it been anyways, he’d been warned before but. . .his phone is yanked out illuminating with the time.

11:40

His heart plummets, “ah! Oh damn, I am late!”

Tanjiro chews his lips raw, shifting leg from leg unsure if he should knock gently or ring the bell. Both are so noisy, it’s bound to piss someone off, he shouldn’t have spoken to Genya on that bridge but he couldn’t help how curious he was, so so concerned.

Shoot shoot

The door wiggles back, clicking with ominous force. Tanjiro shudders, straightening up with a nervous smile.

Shoot!

Swung open, the house opens with that weary man crowding the entrance. Tall, broad shoulders and wrinkled dress shirt nothing simpatico, Tanjiro felt himself shrink wringing his hands together.

“. . .You know what time it is?”

“I—yeah.” He nods, fingertips dully twitching as the man grows in size. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you know what time it is?”

His mouth faltered, Tanjiro glanced towards his phone again the sunset background momentarily reassuring. His chest tightening uncomfortably, “. . .Eleven forty.”

The man, whose name he had yet to learn sniffs grossly, the faintest of hawking rumbles in his throat. “Eleven forty. Hm.” The door opens a little more. He leans against the frame, the hall light casting shadows over his tired face. “And what did I say happens after eleven?”

Ah—his voice is gravely almost hoarse his smell bitter and annoyed laced with the vaguest hint of alcohol. Tanjiro shudders, “. . .That the door stays locked.”

“Right. That’s what I said.”

Again, silence for a second. The man looks him over, squinting like he’s looking for something more to point out. His grey eyes are critical, steady on his form, his skin dry chin deadly with a growing stubble.

“You didn’t text. You didn’t call.”

“I didn’t mean to lose track of time—”

The man pushes off the hinges, stepping forward, the moons glare glinting on his face.“That’s the second time this week. And it’s only Tuesday.”

Tuesday.

Right that was the rule—- these parents were more critical about rules. Unlike his previous homes, usually they didn’t care if you came back alive or dead, not if you appeared disposable. These ones commanded with order at certain times, even the man’s wife, a tired woman who easily caught sickness. They two set a curfew, that he shouldn’t be out longer than eleven, especially on weekdays—not that he had school, but that detail seemed dismissed.

“This isn’t a hotel.” No it wasn’t, Tanjiro nods in agreement in order to please. “You don’t just come and go.” The door slams exposed, where he stands aside. “Get in.”

Tanjiro steps in quickly, murmuring another apology.

The adult scoffs a grumble, Tanjiro catches a glimpse of the neat living room; a bottle of whiskey unopened tempted on the glass table. “You keep breaking rules, you’ll end up back in holding. I don’t care what your last caseworker told you—this house runs on boundaries. Structure. You get that?”

Tanjiro bites his tongue, spinning with a bow. “. . .Yes, sir.”

A strangled pause forms. His grip tightens on his phone out of bad habit, possessive over an item that wouldn’t live much longer. “Good.” Said his foster father, tone barely softening yet cold. “Try again tomorrow. But don’t make a habit of this. I’m not here to babysit.”

Tanjiro nods, shoulders hunched, quietly slipping off his shoes.

No lights flicker, he remains clouded in the dark of the empty house. The moon hanging high, his wrists tingling, buzzing even-where he can’t help but compare this man and his own father. what she might say to a man like this, what’d they’d think. That aroma of bitter agitation vanishes, knocking his senses into alarm.

“. . .Fridge has leftovers. Don’t go banging around.” Pause. “And lock the door behind you. I’m not getting up again.”

He walks away, his shadow retreating into the kitchen. The sound of a chair scraping quietly follows.

This man, isn’t cruel—he seems troubled. He smells unsatisfied, awkward, like he wanted to be more than a replacement man. As he stands there, weak and achy, he sympathizes with the pained man. Nothing abusive he hasn’t shown aggression, though he shouldn’t assume it won’t happen, anything could change really. Tanjiro blank, fixating at the kitchen entrance where there was food.

His stomach aches, but he doesn’t move.

Nezuko would urge him to eat, and even then he can’t find the will to. The phone buzzes in his palm, and it startles him as it’s suddenly hot hot.

Finally, and eventually, he moves warily ascending the stairs towards his room. Glancing back to the bottle of whiskey before it cuts from his vision, now a foreboding memory.

Cold.

He glances to the hall of the other rooms, the second floor spacious for three children with their own rooms. Tanjiro acknowledges it, slipping into his own shivering as that hallow chill breezes against him. The scent of every noticed trait drains from his chest, and he shakily stumbles towards his bed quick to hug the pillows while his limbs sigh in agonizing relief.

Cold, but safe—-different and not so bad. Nezuko pouts in the back of his head, unimpressed by a lack of self care, his body eats itself and she glares at him with those cute young eyes. Pink, the prettiest pink color there ever existed, her face so puffy and round and her hair sometimes wild but otherwise unique and silky.

That expression isn’t lost on him, his eyelids flutter shut smiling at those distant memories. His young sister scolding him, her older brother for prioritizing her—the only family he had left.

‘Big brother you should eat first!’

Tanjiro chuckles, nuzzling into the pillow.

How could he not prioritize her. . .

A pause.

In the hush of the room, between the faint hum of the fridge downstairs and the creak of the pipes, something else flickers to life.

A tune. Not out loud. Not quite.

It breathes into him like memory—warm, quiet, careful. Her voice, back when it was smaller, chiming like bells in the summer heat. Somewhere distant, in a life left behind. The defensive way she’d get, confused and frustrated that case workers pointed out how different the color of their eyes were. His red, real vibrant, and hers pink real soft, real gentle.

Hush, hush…
Baby rabbit on the hillside. . .
Why are your eyes so red. . .?

The lyrics whisper in the hollow behind his chest, echoing in the cold, in the dark. He swallows, burying his face deeper into the pillow, where the faint scent of detergent doesn’t quite mask the ache in his limbs or the sting in his ankles.

When I was small. . .mother ate the fruit of the red tree. . .
And that’s why my eyes are red.

Her voice fades in the lull, like a closing door.

Tanjiro’s fingers curl around the corner of the pillow. His lips twitch, trembling.

She used to hum that to herself when she couldn’t sleep. And he would always listen, pretending to be asleep already. Sometimes, he joined in. Most nights, he just watched her and felt warm.

His stomach curls again, tight and empty.

“. . .I miss you,” he whispers to no one. The phone is still warm in his hand, heavy like a stone.

And because it’s all he can do, he types out a message to that broken number, the one that won’t ever deliver.

“I made it to a new place. You’d like the moon here.”

Send.

The phone screen fades to black.

He turns onto his side, arms curled around himself like a question. The cold presses in close. The house remains quiet.

And the lullaby lingers in his head like a promise he hasn’t learned how to let go of yet.

Chapter Text

A faint sound of hushed air flows through the vents. The entrance of it clasped into his ceiling, another hallow breeze caresses across his face, too familiar it makes him shudder uncomfortably. A thread of imagination interlocks within the air, and he can smell the dream’s of his foster members, all innocent and sweet, almost childlike.

Though the blankets weigh heavily on his drowsy limbs, his skin numbed from his toes towards his hands. A dull and empty feeling should lay there in his chest, but there swam a frightened little boy in a sea of snow, gasping for air as he vacantly gazes at the pale sky. Crickets sang, and the fridge lowly hummed from downstairs, hauntingly loud. His thoughts spiraled, was his blood running, or did his body lack iron, why does his body go numb when warmth should envelope him, even beneath these blankets.

That’s dramatic thinking.

It’s just cold.

Tanjiro blinked, his eyes stung and only then did he realize he hadn’t moved in hours.

The A/C didn’t help, something about it upset him. It should be warm, but no it’s cold, twisting his veins into tied coils leaving his fingertips blue. So he shudders, and stiffly rolls to his side, cheek sinking into the plush pillow. Shuddering again, Takeo trembles beside him, cheeks pale and hair a fiery color like his own.

“Hey, . .” Tanjiro sheepishly chuckled, scooting towards him offering the blankets with a nudge. “Don’t be stubborn. Come closer, or you’ll freeze to death.”

Takeo smiles, lips cracked but gradually twitching. “Tch, You’re just like. . .papa.”

The younger sibling cuddles close regardless, nuzzling where he perceives the warmth is. Tanjiro’s eyes flutter once or twice, wrapping his arms around the small body.

It’s not as scary anymore. . .the feeling of home washes over him easing his shivering body.

His lashes shut, and his vision adjusted once more, Takeo was gone. In a moment of peace, Tanjiro’s chest, previously filled with familiar warmth cracked slowly and dreadfully, like glass on an iced lake, his arms tightening around the pillow held to his chest.

It started with shaky sigh.

He hadn’t thought much of the previous night, he was adjusted to the freezing nights—brushing his teeth when the moon rose. Standing before a foggy mirror, drowsily stepping aside as Rui takes his medication with trembling hands. Ume never said a word, but he could smell how annoyed she was, restless. They weren’t okay either.

So. He had to fix it.

Waving his arms like a lunatic flagging down aliens, Tanjiro shivered; he was colder now than when he started. The stool beneath him groaned, and he swayed, teeth clenched. “If I don’t fix this, she’s gonna wake up blue,” he muttered, knees knocking together as he jiggled the vent again.

The metal grille was clamped tight to the ceiling, screwed in so hard it barely budged under his fingers. The hollow duct whispered softly—not cold, just air.

It was cold- everywhere.

Tanjiro was no good at maintenance, but he figured something must be broken. The thermostat insisted it was lukewarm, but the nights had only gotten colder. He’d been there almost a month now, and what finally pushed him to act was seeing the others shivering every night.

He’d brought it up to their foster father once—a man with weary grey eyes and a smell of rot—who’d just waved him off. “Waste of time,” he’d muttered.

So Tanjiro started checking the rooms.

Rui’s was unexpectedly messy for someone so tidy. Ume’s was the opposite—minimal, each item placed with intention. Her belongings were arranged on a small pink desk: a Rubik’s cube, a fake flower, a few scattered memories.

The stool creaked again—he nearly lost balance. Then a footstep— another—-

“Tanjiro sweetheart, come down and take these two-“ her voice was careful, slurring slightly from a lack of sleep and more of a lack of movement. The woman, their foster mother stepped by the room where her eyes widened upon—that.

She stops short, blinking at the sight of him on the stool. He sees the processing in her cold gaze, green emerald eyes stoney like they belonged in a museum. Much like her appearance, she was a thin woman with short wavy hair. Freckles dotted along her cheeks, eyes slightly sunken, but her face was round. “. . .you are. . .in Ume’s room.” Her tone wavered between astonishment snd disbelief—he wasn’t sure if she was angry, he could never tell.

“I—I was just checking the vent.” He blurted quickly, sheepish even. “It’s. . .um. It’s been really cold lately. I thought maybe something was blocking it—”

“Mm.” She shook her head, not moving a limb despite his body screaming that she would—for such a still woman her opinions and aura was utterly unpredictable. At times, he could smell a heavy amount of anger from her- in which she never acted out—- just calmly swore anyone off. Those emerald eyes of her’s flicker on him, and he followed her gaze down stepping off the stool with an apologetic bow. “That’s not your job though, is it?”

No.

Yes.

Either answer is meaningless, he didn’t care what she thought. As the eldest son, Tanjiro Kamado, had responsibilities. But her smile, lacking parental sincerity had him tense, scolding like he’d just stolen food off the counter.

He bites his tongue regardless, and answers as she may prefer. “No, ma’am.” I just. . .I thought maybe I could help.”

A beat. She stares. The green glint in her face hints at the real emotions she hides, for a moment its approval then it’s doubt. That pause stretches—just long enough to grow uneasy.

The woman; who’s name he couldn’t exactly remember, laughed. A real gentle, small laugh, almost fond. “You’re a little fixer, huh?” Her voice was still gentle, luring him over with forgotten promises. “Always poking around. You’ve been in all their rooms already, haven’t you?”

Ah

Amusement steams from her shoulders, a giddy lightness laces into the air. The confusing attempts to read her unravel, and he catches her smell of ‘amusement’, that she’s entertained by his actions. The woman sighed, real quiet, brushing hair away from her face with a strange expression, mouth twitching into a soft smile, like she’s recalling a good memory.

Uneasy, Tanjiro caresses an arm over his wrist as he steps forward. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked. I just didn’t want Rui or Ume to keep waking up cold.”

“They’re not your responsibility, sweetheart.” She said with a tilted head, sweetheart purrs a warm sensation in his ribs.

“Maybe not. . .” He murmured, “But someone should notice when they’re freezing.”

She exhales slowly. Something in her face flickers—pride? annoyance? It’s not clear. She’s just not easy to read, and it should drive him insane- it does a little- but not enough to desperately reach out. Behind her, a figure shuffled small pair of hands latching to the woman’s sleeve. Ume, the girl with such an angry attitude blank into the room, mouth falling open in offense.

“What the hell are you doing——“

“Take them to the library. They’ve been cooped up long enough.” The woman intercepts sternly, “And stay out of the vents, darling. You’re not here to fix things.”

.
.
.

He had swallowed and nodded, forming a weak smile—it clashed with his schedule but he could make it work.

Painfully awkward—internally muttering scoldings as he walked the younger two out of the house. Stiffly and silent, they trailed like adopted ducklings tired little somber things. A sniffle here and there, along with pissy mutterings. The walk was fine, directions to the library were imprinted in his memory as he constantly visited due to his lack of ‘attending school.’ The problem caught in a meeting he had with Kanae, that sweet lady in disbelief almost offended that he hadn’t told her that he wasn’t in school.

Surprisingly enough, she hadn’t been angry just worried.

The library doors swooped open eerily silently, Tanjiro holds the door open as the shorter two walk in. The building itself was meek, real quaint atmosphere. The entrance tries to appear Greek, decorated with historical figures and ‘artifacts’—real awkward statues perched by the windows scattered with handprints. Another sniffle, wet and pitiful, only muffled after as Rui holds his sleeve up to his nose.

Petrichor scents invaded his nostrils, the dreadful heaviness damped on his face washed off like the sigh he dispels. They advanced forward, he gestures to a table and the two reluctantly sit down.

Another sniffle.

“Here—-“ Tanjiro mumbled out, reaching into his coat pocket and holding out a folded tissue. “You can take it, I don’t mind.”

Rui blinked at it. His fingers hesitated before he accepted it with a soft, “. . .thank you.”

He nods again, glancing around pausing as a librarian waves at him. The ladies there were sweet, left him crackers to eat after an unplanned nap. “So, you two need literature on what school subjects? I can definitely find something to help you with.”

Ume scoffs, “you don’t even go to school.”

Tanjiro blinks, smile faltering. “That’s. . .true. But I still know how to find stuff. The decimal system didn’t leave my brain or anything.”

Rui softly, like offering a peace branch. “Do you know pie?”

Tanjiro blinks relieved. “Pi?” He stood up pointing towards the bookshelves with material all of math—“Like the math kind? Yeah. Kinda. Three-point-one-four-something-something. I can find a workbook for it!”

He quickly trotted away, climbing up the ladder hands caressing the spines of different books. Each larger than the last, he settled on a book titled ‘PI and its equations.’ The younger two settle beneath, craned necks staring at him like they were watching plane.

“This one!” He called out with a wince, quick to lower his voice once his voice echoed, his mouth unexpectedly dry seeing how high he’d been.

The boy dully tilts his head, sparing a glance before nodding. Tanjiro’s knees wobbled again, trembling, his grip tightened on the shelve.

Ume, the poor girl scowled with folded arms. “You’re not our tutor.”

“No, I know!” He shakily cried, heart thumping louder just as he continued to search for other material. The more time spent up there, the more unsteady he felt and it’s a shame not either of the two thought of holding the ladder still—for his sake. “J—j—Just figured since I’m her-here.”

“You’re here a lot.”

It was muttered, but he heard it—loud and clear pissed off and with feigned indifference. She still loathed his presence, even if they’d been living under the same roof for days. “It’s warm um—-and—-Quiet.” He squeaked out, lungs thinning into useless raisins as the steps tremble. “Nobody bothers me.”

“Except when you’re snooping.” She muttered back.

Tanjiro pauses, sighing but not annoyed. If a stranger searched through his things he’d be weirded out as well, it’s fair that she had an issue with his poking and prodding. “I wasn’t trying to snoop. I just noticed the vent wasn’t—”

“It’s always cold. Get used to it.”

“My nose always gets worse in winter. . .” Rui whispered, clearly trying to be apart of the discussion.

He glances down, biting his lip,“ Th—-That’s not okay though.”

“Nothing here is ‘okay!’”

The girl, Ume kicks the latter with a fierce growl.

A squeak, Tanjiro gasped in a huff as the be piece that held him slammed out of balance. His eyes go wide, and scrambling he flails back falling with the grace of an airborne possum. Books tip out of order, just as Tanjiro hits the ground with a thud a successions of ‘ahs!’ And ‘oofs!’ Follow, one by one breaking fall on Tanjiro.

.
.
.

He laid there for a moment, twitching randomly.

Ume and Rui stared boredly, glowering at the lump of books. A lady quietly asks if they’re okay, but Ume waves her off and Rui reluctantly kneels down to help. Slowly, he peeled books off the wounded teenager, mumbling off.

Tanjiro winces, still half-buried in books and damaged dignity. “I really thought I had that ladder. . .”

“You didn’t.” Rui muttered.

ah-children they come in many shapes or forms- these two are pricklier than a damn cactus from the desert. He bit his tongue sitting rigidly, a hand quickly adjusts the cuffs of his pants that dare ride up.

“Math really is dangerous. . .”

Rui softly, brushes dust off Tanjiro’s sleeve. “You fell weird.”

“. . .Yeah, I do that.”

He stretches up, rubbing the back of his neck. Rui shifts to help, while Ume stands nearby, arms folded tightly. Still, trying to fill the space. The petrichor smell has always been alleviating, easy on his chest lighter on his heart. For all the reassurance it is, Ume had more anger than her face could express, sure she had frowns and scowls but a light behind her eyes burned fiercely, a story of her own she told with personality.

So again, his chest tightens tensely, familiar warmth dreads into his lungs. Almost faint, almost old, but it’s there, and it’s going to get louder.

Tanjiro rolls a shoulder, tracing a hand over a book cover. “My sister used to shove me off things all the time. Once she tackled me straight into a ditch ’cause I stole her steamed bun.”

Such a strange admission, especially for a meal he couldn’t recall anymore.

“That sounds. . .dangerous.” Rui bored again, stacking the books with a distant flicker in his distant gaze. Strange how two foster siblings can share eye colors of the same color, though they are unique in their own ways. Vibrant, dull, hazy but full, a mist that clouds before the sun.

That warmth burned tighter, painful memories may sting but it’s easier when your body remembers that pouring snow. “It was. She’s strong. And sweet in her own way.” Much like nezuko, when she glared him down scolding him, her older brother on keeping faithful. “Kind of like. . .I dunno, Ume a little, maybe.”

The air shifts. Rui blinks. Ume doesn’t look at him, but her arms uncross and go rigid at her sides.

She’s utterly silent, gorgeous graceful hair brushed down her head, “Don’t say that.” Her tone vanished into something ebony, fist clenched and feet shifting.

“Huh?”

“Don’t compare me to your sister.” She hissed in a raised voice, more expressive than what a slap could say.

A pause. Not aggressive—just flat, and deeply uneasy. Tanjiro’s smile falters, unsure an ugly furious mist bites at his nose, hard to think—hard to breathe.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. . .”

Ume stomped her foot sharper now, like snapping twine. “You don’t know me. So don’t pretend you do.”

Rui watches the floor. Tanjiro swallows, lips parting like he wants to apologize, but then he catches himself. Instead—

“Right. Sorry.”

Ume looks away, arms crossed again but looser now—like the moment’s passed but not forgotten. Rui slowly begins stacking books back into order. It’s drowning in a bitter confusion, there’s not another second and Ume bites another huff quickly storming off

He watched as she strides angrily, vanishing from the library as the front doors echo haunting, Tanjiro doesn’t panic yet—though he wanted to, he can’t imagine she’ll wander far.

Rui stood up, wiping his runny nose. “She doesn’t like when people bring him up.”

Tanjiro glances, the dots not quite connected—but something in his chest folds inward, just a bit. He looks back to the ladder like it might offer answers. It doesn’t.

“Bring. . .who?”

“Her brother.” He mumbled off.

“Oh.” Tanjiro croaked pathetically, a sudden realization collapses on him again. He never considers that, his problem, trying to replace someone in these kids lives.

He is not a mother, nor a father not even a brother, he hasn’t been one a while.

A lesson in itself, Tanjiro avoided stepping around the girls shoes. He knew what her glares meant, each time he entered the room she’d scoff and storm away, anger following right behind her. Rui didn’t hiss at him for breathing, though he’d understand why it he did. He’d been scolded before for that, overstepping and playing elder to someone else. There was boundaries he needed to respect, he for Ume it was not replacing someone, it wouldn’t be fair when he barely knew the girl.

A sigh, it’d been a warm Friday morning. Underwhelming in guests, it left him aching when he’d been stationed by the podium waiting for the front doors to open with new costumers. If lucky enough, the servers would pop their heads out and ask for help quick to notice a lack of joy on his face—their aromas spiked in giddiness whenever he worked. Eyes mirroring a thought, ‘Tanjiro’s working today, perfect!’ In which he’d happily oblige, for they knew him as a working boy.

Back and forth, his body alternated between tables that required assistance, though not a lot, it was enough. Food lingered around his senses, causing an empty ache to flare harsher in his belly, he’d replace it with a smile. “Who had the salmon!”

Multitasking between that, and steering the occasional guests alongside wiping bussed tables, his hands remained busy. A slowing descent, he stumbled back towards the window where the grill and servers chattered about something, wide smiles and at ease. Tanjiro awkwardly settled by, dropping off the platter as he searched for something else to run, keep busy.

Goto, a man who enjoyed secrets bumps hips with him. “Drop the rush kid, there’s nothing else for you to do, so chill.” He spoke, wearing a face mask, not because he’s sick. Right after, he turned to the grill where one of the cooks shoved a platter out. “Anyways, Order 18!" He gruffly shouted, “Pork katsu, no onions— where's that going?"

"Table six," Tanjiro murmured before anyone else could answer. He grabbed the plate automatically, wiping the edge with a cloth the way Makomo had taught him.

Goto rolled his eyes, taking plate out of his hands. “You’re way too eager to work, you know that? We could be closing early and you’d still be scrubbing menus like it’s penance.”

He wanted to wince, previous assumptions of his work status stained. “Sorry.”

Murata leaned beside him, short black hair brushed back. Real ordinary looking guy, someone you’d expect to see in the background. “Not sorry enough. I’ve seen you re-wipe tables after I cleaned them. Rude.”

“I just like staying warm. That’s all.” He meekly replied, stumbling back against the counter—seemingly enough all servers crowded the kitchen oddly curious to make conversation with him. Is chest awkwardly tightened, the lights are bright and the floors shine from grease and possibly sweat.

“Warm?” The first huffed.

“The A/C. . .” Hesitance, lips dry as it’s considered—what—-his foster home? Should they be aware of his situation? “Um, at my place. It doesn’t work. Hasn’t for a while. It’s always cold there.”

Kitchen aromas lay thickly, humid from the hot day. The servers glanced then look away, sharing their own conversations completely ignoring the fact that he was there. Tanjiro’s cheeks puffed, squinting his eyes suspiciously. From the day he worked there, they treated him strangely not condescending, but fragile like he were a child. He assumed, maybe Shinobu spoke first of him—he didn’t think he looked too young he was sixteen years old, he looked tired if anything.

Murata shrugs him off, brushing bangs out of his face. “Man, you’re backwards. Everyone else’s praying for the cold.”

Yeah, most people do when the temperatures change, Tanjiro refrained from sighing at him. His finger brush over his apron, fixing the creases forming from slouching. “I don’t mind the heat.” Which was true, the heat made him feel full if anything, comforting in most times, like his body was alive. “It feels. . .real. Like I exist.”

The males glance at each other again, Murata straining an awkward, fake smile. “Philosopher now, are we?”

“Maybe a little.”

A hum, sweet and gentle; Makomo slips between them settling a coffee pot down. Teal eyes analyze him in a second, in which Tanjiro stiffened quick to straighten up. She tilts her head regardless, already aware of his weary state. “Hey, Tanjiro. You good?”

“Yeah.” His mouth moved first, but the ache in his body spoke otherwise. The guilt from Ume’s words had long settled in his chest, and the dread of sleeping another night cold made it hard to be happy. “Just. . .stomach’s a little empty. That’s all.”

Makomo blinks, looking him up and down again. “Go snack. There’s leftover karaage in the back fridge. You’ll pass out if you keep running around like this.”

Tanjiro shook his head, waving her off even if the concern was appreciated. “I’m okay. Really.”

“You’re not gonna win a medal for starving quietly.” Goto scoffed, patting his back with an urging shove.

He stumbles.

Caressing a hand over his wrist where it felt hollow, looking from his shoulder as they shoo him away. He recalls it when previous coworkers did the same, usually adults who cared for him in their own distant way. The manager at his last job, how he appreciated him, had tolerated his discomfort and allowed him to work- especially at such a young age. Most of the employees took care of him, like any human being with a lost child-but he was not a child—he was the eldest son.

He still is. Just not to his current siblings, but to someone else, someone important.

“I’m gonna take the garbage out.”

The three deadpanned, mumbling off to each other before relenting and turning back to work. Tanjiro shook his head, turning the corner not looking back. Goto’s voice calls out once more, suggesting peace in both ways.

“Don’t stay out too long. You’ll miss the thrill of standing still!”

So he didn’t.

His shift ends four hours later, the busy rush he build for himself ended, but it buzzes in the back of his mind. Fog cloudy in his mind, it follows like mist in a dewy morning. The heaviness pulls at his eyelids, lulling him so calmly. The time drools between his fingers, building a pain in his joints, like an aging dove with wings that can no longer hold it up.

He turns a corner, slipping between the narrow path, a forest and run away fence. The bars feel prison like as he trails beside it, his shoulders loosely shudder with a sigh, an earthy moss settles on his skin warmly.

Mnnnnn

He hums out loud, dragging his phone against his chest, firmly pressing it against his ribs. “Oh Nezuko, you’d love these walks.”

Her hand in his, the chats they’d have and it could seem like that may speak for hours, days, just until the stars bloom like flowers from a field. She’d have enough to say, how each flower may be the same color, length, vibrant but be unique in its own way.

The wind nudged through the trees like breath, and Tanjiro imagined her beside him, pointing at wildflowers breaking through cracks in the fence. She’d ask about the roses again—why some grew thornless, others not. Why one bloomed late. He could almost hear her say, “They’re all still roses, aren’t they?”

He smiled, lips curling at the memory, then dipped his head low to avoid a stray branch. His foot scuffed over loose gravel.

Faint amongst the mud and sap—-but that unwilling life, oxidized anger mingles through. It’s familiar. Tanjiro’s nose point up, tracing behind an invisible trail of an angry aroma. The path continued, and before long the shadow of that building looms over him. A school, that same building that provided a cool shade after his walks home, Tanjiro’s belly coils warmly his gaze snapping on a window.

Genya.

That’s his name. That boy he’d seen a few times, brooding and slouching like a character from a game. And strangely enough, no Genya-not there by that window, in that class, staring off into space with an angry expression.

His nose twitches, the middle of his face burns as that bitter anger turns into an anxious slap. He stops short off walking, his foot heavy on an insignificant twig, a crunch—-and then a gasp. Tanjiro’s mouth flops open.

Smushed against a tree, breathing sharply like madman stood Genya.

He tries to look over him once more, his eyes visibly widening “he-hey y-“

By a clawed hand, his voice chirped a startled squawk, a shot hand; firmly grips at his collar tossing him against prison fence.

thMPH!

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, huh?

Tanjiro sharply gasped,—-panic settling in his limbs going completely rigid. The air flies from his lungs, pressed impossibly firmer. The impact is almost familiar, reminiscent of the many times picked fights with him; typically a scrawny boy with a bad temper.

“Wait!”

Genya hissed, slamming his forearm into his chest. ”you following me around?” He stepped closer, glaring fiercely. It delayed Tanjiro to properly see the other, heart thumping deeply in his chest.

Tanjiro exhaled slowly, wincing as a sharp bite of cologne hit his nose. It was the kind that tried too hard—cheap, but pretending to be expensive. He swallowed the startled shiver it brought, forcing himself into calm submission. His shoulders relaxed; his face smoothed into something casual, unreadable.

But Genya didn’t let up. He stayed pressed close, one hand still firm against Tanjiro’s chest, warm with sweat. Up this close, Genya looked completely different in the sunlight—wilder, almost. His hair was longer than Tanjiro remembered, the sides buzzed in a clean undercut that made him look like he’d walked out of a metal band photo shoot.

He was dressed for the part too: dark jacket thrown over a ripped T-shirt, the fabric clinging to lean muscle beneath. Tanjiro blinked once, then twice, finally tilting his head to take in his full height. Tall. Much taller than he remembered.

And his eyes—Tanjiro couldn’t help but notice—were outlined in heavy eyeliner, smoky and sharp. It made them look even wider, more intense.

He gulped, attempting to disarm from him he nudges. “Y-you’re. . .Genya.”

“Oh, yeah?” Genya grunts back, eye twitching like a ticking time bomb. This boy spoke through gritted teeth, a low rumble purrs from his throat buzzing a warmth in Tanjiro’s chest. “Who else would I be?”

He hesitated.

“I’m talking to you,” he snarls. “What are you doing here?!”

“I’m heading home—!”

“Not shit.”

He awkwardly smiled, inhaling once more. He thought expressing resistance would alarm the other more, for he smelled more nervous than angry. A faint trace of rot following after each spoken word. “I wasn’t following you!”

Genya met his gaze, momentarily trapped there before it flicked away nervously. His mouth flops open, but nothing comes out the first time—fumbling awkwardly. There was an obvious mask Genya wore, an act he played fairly quietly. It wasn’t amusing, not really, if anything it picked at Tanjiro, wondering why the other was the way he was.

“Right after-“ he finally sputtered out.

Tanjiro’s head tilted, brow soft. “The bridge?”

The boy stiffened. His grip on Tanjiro’s collar yanked tight again, sudden, defensive, like Tanjiro had gotten too close to something unspoken. He shoved, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to warn.

Tanjiro stumbled, half-catching himself on the fence. “Wait, wait—”

Then he saw them.

Not entirely bared, not in a snarl, but just enough in the press of Genya’s lips—those teeth. Sharp, yellow. Uneven. Too pointed to be ordinary.

Tanjiro blinked. His mind latched onto the detail, filing it gently with the rest of Genya’s contradictions. The punk clothes. The buzzed sides. The nervous glances. The shove that didn’t bruise. Those teeth, sharp like a stray dog’s, but not unkind.

Teeth. . .

Genya’s jaw locked tight, sensing the stare before Tanjiro even spoke.

“What?” he snapped, voice low and rough. His fist curled at his side, knuckles taut. “What are you looking at?”

Tanjiro, unfazed, leaned in just slightly—eyes bright with something like wonder, not fear. “You. . .have real sharp teeth.”

The air between them stilled. Genya flinched, shoulders drawing up. His hand half-covered his mouth, a twitch of embarrassment he didn’t manage to hide in time. His body folded inward a bit, like the comment had found its mark in a place too soft to armor properly.

Tanjiro didn’t laugh. Didn’t pull away. He just blinked slowly, like he was cataloging it for safekeeping. Like it was. . .interesting.

“. . .Cool,” he added under his breath, barely audible.

And Genya, who heard it anyway, looked away again—this time so fast it might’ve hurt his neck.

The microwave hummed in a low tenor, phantomly illuminated as his meal warmed. His stomach dully rumbled, empty though it’s been fed a few crackers through out the day. Hot pockets sizzled with a low squeal, only mere seconds left as he pensively awaits for the beeps.

Had hadn’t expected his meeting with Genya to go as it did, truthfully speaking he enjoyed it a lot more than he imagined. Something about the interaction made him feel at peace, the chaos in his life was never ending, he’d been pinned and nearly punch—but the anxious way that boy had acted filled him with curiosity. Stiff, but aware—-self conscious but in the way a bully was. The pretty gleam of those lavender eyes enthralled him sure, but he couldn’t help but wonder what a smile like his would look like.

Steam fogged as he plates his dinner, flushing in his face. Tanjiro sighs taking a long-winded seat; eyes shut tightly muttering a low prayer.

Thank you for the meal

His eyes fluttered open, and a smile formed on his face.

Nezuko sat in front of him, not speaking just yet, hand on her chin with a soft glow in her features. She was older than the last time they’d seen each other. Perhaps taller, cheeks warm and eyes sincere. Her scent was lost, somewhere far away, he didn’t bother searching for her aroma—it only served as a painful reminder. This girl wasn’t real, she wasn’t warm, her body lacked a natural smell.

Her pink gaze looks him up and down once again. Slowly studying him, for a moment she almost looks real. “You’re smiling like you got away with something.”

His hands still around the pizza, fingers twitching as her voice burns a hole in his heart. “Huh? Am I?”

The girl tilts her head, long silky hair adorned with a bow slips past her shoulders. “You are. You’ve got that “I made a decision and no one can stop me” face.

She’d said it with a bop to the head, taunting rather teasingly. Older she appeared, the maturity shown in her voice tugged uncomfortably at him. He imagined her still thin, still petite but healthy, her skin wasn’t pale, and she could speak. It might have been wrong to consider a mute girl with a voice, but only he knew what her voice was, and he knew it was the prettiest thing he ever heard.

Tanjiro swallowed thickly, throat uncomfortably tight. “. . I offered to take him to CVS.”

“CVS?” She’d ask, familiar of a girl who’d follow her older brother through the isles with a mere five dollars to spare.

He nods, chuckling under his breath. “For toothpaste. And floss. Maybe a travel kit.”

Albeit with more force than he thought— the teenager had been so stubborn. Real angry, he imagine his attempt to offer help had felt insulting to Genya. In that isle, Tanjiro considered the many products while Genya growled and huffed, real pissed off that he left him, drag him there. Speaking truthfully, it was the funnest thing he’d done in days.

Nezuko blinks. “That’s how you flirt now?

He flushes, eyes visibly widening. “It wasn’t flirting! I just. . I noticed. His teeth are really sharp. Not in a bad way. They’re just—“ his voice trailed off, hands wildly flying to wave off. “Wild. And I realized he probably doesn’t have a toothbrush. Or maybe he does, but—

Sweetly, she leaned closer, just like how their mother use to when she was listening to the endless ramble of her many children. Nezuko hummed quietly, a beautiful tune that buzzes in his ears. “You just wanted to make sure.”

Food waited patiently, steaming and thick—Tanjiro’s eyes fixate on her, quivering as the tightness in his throat worsens. “Yeah.”

Half-lidded, she leans away relaxing into the seat. “You’ve always done that. Found little ways to take care of people. Even the ones who growl at you.”

“He didn’t growl—“

She smiles, pointing at him. “He pinned you to a fence, didn’t he?”

Recalling the second meeting, he supposed it was only common sense to avoid people as unpredictable as Genya. He’d shoved him, accused him stalking him all to some speculation, in addition the boy smelled of old cigarettes and bad breath. It didn’t matter to him, he saw the boy for his unique features, hidden personality traits—like the callouses in his fingertips, or the punk-ish way he dressed.

Contemplative, Tanjiro sheepishly shrugs “Lightly.”

”sure.” His sister taps the table, “So? Did he go with you?”

A pause.

The events after felt a little muddier. The wild beating is his heart vibrated against his ribs, thumping as if it wanted to escape. His hand had been firm, tugging and dragging the tall boy down the street whilst swearing out loud. Harsh insults thrown around, that burnt cigarette scent followed, hidden by the amount of heavy cologne sprayed.

He grinned regardless, bringing the hot pocket to his mouth. “Yeah. I dragged him in.”

His sister gasped, “You dragged him?”

“Literally.” He snorted, eyes widening with a glimmer. “By the sleeve. He kept saying he didn’t need anything. But he didn’t stop me, either.”

Nezuko whistled back, tapping her fingers against the table once more. “That’s a yes in boy language.”

Especially considering his willingness to follow, he wasn’t keeping him hostage—-it was a firm ‘in going to help you’ and Genya acted like the perfect victim. Just mouthed off, and stayed still—real flustered though he tried not to show it. Tanjiro couldn’t help but sigh. That fierce expression, gritted teeth and permanent frown. A single strand of long hair flicking over his face, emphasizing the wildness of his appearance.

He laughed, nibbling thoughtfully as the memory warms him again. “He looked so offended when I grabbed the whitening toothpaste. Like I’d insulted his entire bloodline”

“Maybe you did. Oral hygiene is sacred to some.”

“He kept trying to shove the stuff back on the shelf. Wouldn’t let me pay, either. Got real defensive. . .” His voice trails off.

He and Genya, in that CVS, it could have been the funnest he’d had in weeks. The chaos in his life had always been that, he doesn’t know why it’s never been seen as a spiral of negativity—Genya should have made him feel annoying. Instead, it made him thrilled, not that he could explain it. It could have been the way Genya’s lavender eyes glinted, a small light, like a flickering lightbulb that was yet to be changed.

But still; Something about him felt familiar—like it was right.

“Said he wasn’t a charity case.”

Nezuko hums, “And?

Shaking the fog off, Tanjiro sat up taking another passionate bite. “Called me an asshole. But, like. . .under his breath. Like he didn’t want me to hear it too clearly. He let me walk with him after.”

The clock ticks, and his stomach strains deep in his belly. The empty aches, his body is weaker from a lack of nutrients, even as he feeds it struggles to catch up either lost time. Tanjiro shifts in his seat, the buzzing is quieter not as sharp, or painful, careful bites he takes nibble after nibble.

“That’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?” She tilts her head, eyeing him.

“That he was gonna let me be his friend. Maybe not say it out loud.” He looked down, a soft giddiness blooming. “But I could tell. His shoulder stopped tensing every time I got too close.”

“Progress.”

It was only their second time meeting, truth was Genya’s assumption was amusing. He’d seen the teenager from afar in that little classroom, but never thought much of it. He hoped to see him more in the future, but up close—Genya had so much to show and it was only hidden beneath a layer of hesitance. Sad as it is, it brought a thrill to him. The highlight of their meeting could have been the ending, walking only so far before forcing the bag of dental products into Genya’s hands.

How the boy scowled and glared at him.

But it was his words that struck him somber.

“Because shit like that doesn’t happen.” His voice was gravel, low, growled but his face softened in such a sincere way—“not to me.”

Tanjiro takes another bite, humming into it as he winces from the heat, stringy cheese pulled before snapping in half. “California Girls was playing when we walked in.” A sigh, “but I don’t know . . .if you’ve ever heard the song”

She laughs regardless, a brow raised. “That song?”

“Yeah. Katy Perry. All neon and synth and sunshine.” There’s a thump upstairs, followed by an annoyed groan—the sound possibly pertains to Ume. Tanjiro dismisses it, brushing a hand across his sleeve, tugging up. “ He winced so hard you’d think he got shot. Said it was “corporate noise pollution.”

Nezuko’s eyes flicker, the food first then away. “And you still dragged him in?”

“That’s when I knew I had to. Anyone who looks that pained over a pop song probably needs a toothbrush.” He didn’t mean it rudely either, he could tell from the unhealthy state of his teeth the boy lacked hygiene. “And maybe a hug.”

Though—he couldn’t really imagine a day where Genya would allow for a hug. Judging by his skittish behavior, when he had him pinned the close contact seemed to irk him. Tanjiro smiled, wiping the crumbs on his mouth. It was honestly cute, recalling it made his chest flutter with amusement.

“So. . .is it a crush?”

He blinks, quietly, chewing.

The giddiness fluttered there, but it didn’t feel like a crush. Not in the way you look at someone and desire nothing, and everything all at once. Gazing, and wishing they’d speak forever more by just being themselves. The way your fingertips might twitch, longing to touch the warmth of who you love. That they’re real, and understand you, held like you’re the last precious thing in the world.

He supposed, he was just excited to befriend someone so unpredictable, not relating to the foster system. It was in his field, but distant.

“. . .I think I just like being around him. Even when he smells like cigarettes and bad choices.

Nezuko stared, her face pensive as he takes in his words. Hesitation, lips quivering like she wasn’t sure what to say first. Hesitation hadn’t noticed it until then, but her nails were long. Almost cat like, like they could gash someone’s eye out. After a minute, she finally sighed, “He let you walk with him. That’s enough for now.”

“Yeah. . .”

A pause, he looks down. Enough for now, that echos longer than he hoped. It sticks to him, and he wonders if he’s selfish for the many times he’s wished for more. Along the foster family, he keeps the parents at arms length, and temps to bond with the children. Ume, nothing like Nezuko nor any of his other sisters rightfully snapped at him; trying to be a sibling she didn’t need.

Rui was more quiet, but the pale look of his face flashes memories. Blue cold memories.

And Nezuko’s presence comforts him more than anyone else had in months. Loose shoulders, and his meal is completely consumed. Now, years later as he imagines her, older and warmer his sister sits with him.

But they’d long separated, urged in the opposite direction where their paths may not meet.

“I miss you. . .”

Another pause,

“Nezuko?”

He looked up, and she was gone, an empty chair left in her place.

He didn’t see Genya again for a little after that.

A few days had passed, and he groaned awake dragging himself out of his cold bed. Heavy blankets fall from his shoulders. The vent is whispering shallowly, hushed breezes caress his skin. It’s a hallow feeling, and it brings a wave of discomfort, in addition to exhaustion, Tanjiro wearily stumbles.

5:24 am.

The joints in his limbs hiss, his eyelids try to shut again but he refuses. “Mnnn. . .my alarm didn’t. . .” Tanjiro brushes hair out of his face forcing himself up for a day of work—his shift starts in a two hours, enough time to accomplish enough. In routine, he washed his face, brushed his teeth, eventually prepared he skipped downstairs towards the kitchen.

The children didn’t eat unless the adults were around, he learned they put work first, children last—as sad it was. He poked his head in, eyes searching the dimly lit kitchen quick to straighten up.

The man, his foster father sat scrolling his phone as a bottle of alcohol sat patiently. The lid was closed, the bottle full, and luckily enough the plastic was still wrapped on the throat of it. Tanjiro didn’t move, he hesitated by the entrance glancing towards the fridge. Even as he waited, the man didn’t notice him, not yet he was deep in thought a pensive look in his tired face. His stubble had grown into a shady chin. A thick brown jacket was thrown over his shoulders, short messy hair barely brushed.

His legs lazily sprawl underneath the table. There’s a black band decorated on his finger, not his ring, but pointer finger.

Tanjiro shakes himself off, casually entering the room, “good morning, sir.”

The man doesn’t look up right away. His thumb drags across the phone screen, then stops. “Morning,” he mutters flatly.

Tanjiro doesn’t think much of the noncommittal answer, just awkwardly nods, hands busying with collecting ingredients and lunch boxes. He moved quickly, not to make too much sound and not to take so much space. From behind, the man’s gaze tore into him, studying closely—it was uncomfortable he wish he knew what the man was thinking. He was too distant, too impossible to speak to.

Bread slides nearly heavenly into the toaster, a low red light blooms around it working its way into the core. Tanjiro peers before turning away, and grabbing yellow cheese slices, along with mayonnaise, and eggs. His lips twitch as the clink of a glass bottle echoes behind him, the man voices following after. “Heard from your foster mother you were snooping around.”

He pauses, confused for a second—it’d been days since that had occurred, he wondered why it was important now. He waits before turning. “Oh. . .it’s just the ven—”

“Sure, sure.” The man meets his gaze same grey eyes scrutinizing him in that feigned weariness. “It’s cold or whatever. Always a reason with you.”

Tanjiro blinks, stiff against the counter, refusing to let his eyes flick to the alcoholic beverage. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

The windows peer the slightest of a rising sun, warm colors peak with an unearthly amount of insignificance. Just as his words were, for the man remained impassive, smelled annoyed—his lips appeared to be permanently frowned. He studies him, he can tell its searching—not just surface level inquires—full analyzing with his nails clicking one after one on the table, brows knitted and slight grimace.

Another second, and he scoffs turning his head away at the same time. “You’re strange.”

“Strange how?” Tanjiro replies.

He shrugs him off. Staring offf at the wall, refusing to look at him again. “You’re just so. . .nice.” The word fell uselessly from his lips. “Always smiling. Making meals. Helping kids that ain’t yours. You’re not mad at anything. Never complain. It’s unnatural.”

The toaster dings, the bread jumps with a heavy scent. Tanjiro doesn’t move, not yet. “I just think if something needs to be done—”

“Bull.”

Tanjiro snaps his mouth shut.

A loud screech, the man shoves his chair out standing with a tired glare, unexpected from someone so passive looking. “That’s what adults say. You’re a kid. You got no family, no parents. You should be pissed. Mean. Something.”

He swallowed, “That’s not true. I have a sister.”

“Clearly not.”

Tanjiro froze, his hands stall from picking at his sleeve. Warm and quiet, the air grew thick burden, his esophagus tightened and his lungs filled with dark heaviness. He stood unsure what to say, what he could say, though the bread cooked behind him the man stood there his shadow reaching his feet.

Tanjiro blinks, and the other scoffs.

“It takes nothing to be a good person.” The words blurted, Tanjiro’s mouth open twitching as he wanted to ramble any other counter.

“Yeah?” And for the first time, the foster father touches the alcohol bottle—snatching it from the table with a low growl. “Tell me how long that lasts.”

He proceeded to storm off, vanishing into the pantry—to drink or not Tanjiro remained frozen, just a little frightened.

And angry.

“I have a sister. . .”

The second time he crossed paths with Genya, it’d been by surprised—sure the last times were starting as well—but this time, Genya pursued him. Not with threats, or loud growls but seemingly shy, in the middle of the sidewalk as he made his way home after another early shift.

It happened so suddenly, his mind dulled in pensive thought, wondering endlessly with a familiar hum purring from his throat. A tune that dips into a somber forgetfulness, only for it to sweeten into a gentle sigh. Amidst his careful singing, it’d been interrupted to unexpectedly—the yank of his shoulder and a firm “I’m talking to you shitnead!”

Somehow so polite. He had turned around and gaped where Genya, that same Shinazugawa that tried to fight him, that spoke to himself in that bridge. Lavender eyes awkward, and cheeks slightly flushed, cautiously asking him advice on-crazy enough-. . .a school problem.

It was And somehow—he thought the best place for them to chat was the library.

Entering, his eyes drifted around sacred room, the air thick and warm with knowledge. Time and age swarmed around him, he inhaled the dusty scent his shoulders loosening by such a comforting feeling. The doors shut behind him, and he trotted over to a free desk, waving at the librarians who welcomed him happily. eating himself down with a shy smile. Distant murmurs and quiet voices whispered out, there was a faint clacking of a keyboard, and a muffled sneeze quickly after.

“Hm. . .it’s so ca-“

He froze—Genya stiffly stood by the large doors, wide eyes slowly scanning the area with the slightest of twitches in his movements. Tanjiro straightened up, handing him a proud smile. The other didn’t smile back, his reluctant expression turned into a glare.

“You have to be shitting me.” Genya had growled.

Tanjiro tilts his head, “hm, you don’t like the library?”

Do I like—-“ Genya’s fists clench by his sides. Comedically enough, the teenager stormed over his footsteps following loud muffled thumps that tried to be heavy. Tanjiro doesn’t flinch, the boy’s emotional smell is annoyed and uncomfortable but even as he slams his palms down the table leaning with an attempt to appear intimidating—he just blinks. “What, you have to search the definition of kindness!?”

He means a dictionary, and if he went that route he could spin the answer to be poetic. Unfortunately, as Genya stood there with a low growl still purring from his throat it didn’t seem like he’d make sense with it. Tanjiro sighed skimming the boy once more, his hands his clothes and the interesting decor of his backpack. “Oh no, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Genya scoffed, “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m helping you.” He hums back.

“I don’t need your help!” Genya shouted, his voice echoing into the air like a villainizing distraction.

Said voice chambered back, Tanjiro winced under the many new gazes on them, a few offended whispers from the other ladies who long ago muttered about Genya. Perhaps calling him a delinquent, but their aged expressions spoke utter disdain, a lack of understanding for someone they didn’t know. It wasn’t fair, they didn’t know that the boy was considering suicide only a few weeks ago, alone and isolated by the world, his family. So a weak smile pulled on his lips, apologetic but to the ladies but to Genya.

“Fuckin. . .” Genya grumbled out, it’d been another painful few seconds of refusing to sit down high shoulders and skittish shifting. Before long, he finally dug into his backpack yanking a single paper out—slightly crumpled and smudged. “There!” And there it was, his school work flippantly answered with notes from a teacher written in the corner. “Fuckin look, it’s a dumb question anyway!”

So he looked, unsure if he should laugh or scold Genya—so loud but funny. Tanjiro had leaned over, cautiously tugging it closer with the pad of his finger. Scanning the page and its contents, originally curious about Genya’s answer. As expected, it wasn’t the sweet answer most teachers would expect —it was nihilistic and depressive. The teacher had scolded him in red ink, right in the corner—-it probably didn’t make Genya any happier about the situation.

“What does kindness mean. . .”

Kindness means the true purpose of the soul, but that’s not poetic nor a good answer. Tanjiro refrained from grimacing, mulling the idea over.

Kindness. . .

Kindness. . . ?

It’s best to relate it back to Genya, explain it in a way that a boy who’s never seen kindness could understand. That seemed like the right path, “kindness is. . . When—“ he looks up, and Genya is now seated, staring at him less angrily—-just more shy and soft. The wild stylization of his hair sulks, a single strand curling over his sharp nose. “Someone notices you’re having a bad day and doesn’t say anything, just sits next to you anyway.”

Genya deadpans- doesn’t gleam with a life changing expression—-his frown instead, deepens. “That’s not even an answer that’s like a memory.”

Fair. . .

Tanjiro barely breathed, reigning the urge to flush in embarrassment—-shoot- was he trying to sound poetic again? Dismissing it—he nudged the paper back over. “It uh. Still counts. . .”

“Tch”

Not convinced—it occurred to him that he couldn’t expect Genya to understand it by some vague reply, it needed to be more specific. He considers the situation once more, lowly humming. Kindness would be grace, it would be understanding, like patience, he imagined kindness could be the elderly being curious rather than judgmental in Genya’s appearance; at the same time it could have been Genya’s silence and respect for the library and the people in it.

Another sigh, it’s real dim, dull even but Genya smells like smoke and. . .mint, a little cleaner than the last time they met. Then he wonders of the first time they met, and a pause. “. . .Kindness doesn’t always have to be a grand gesture.” Tanjiro gestures, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear resisting the urge to bite his lip. “Sometimes it’s small, and quiet. It’s. . .showing up. Being there.”

Genya squints his eyes, skeptical at but otherwise relaxes at a simpler answer. “You mean pity?”

“No.” He huffed unable to not smile at him. “Not pity. It’s noticing someone, even if they don’t want you to. Even if they tell you to go away, but staying anyway.”

“So. . .Stubbornness?” The boy drawled out.

Tanjiro blinked, leaning forward resting his chin on his palm, a faint glint of amusement gleams across his crimson hues. “Maybe a little.”

Genya stops to think about it, and as he does Tanjiro lets his gaze flicker pinpointing the features on his square face. He originally remembered seeing the boy real broad, maybe a little dirty, but with sharp traits—-what stood out to him was the scar on his face aged and healed but otherwise a real prevalent trait on his face. It didn’t make him look any less, if anything more interesting.

But the mint scent had his eyes tracing to Genya’s teeth. Fixating closely, even as the other mutters silently thinking his words over. Canines, he catches a glimpse of those sharp teeth and can’t help but smile, it became evident to him that Genya was brushing his teeth, purely by the scent of fluoride and flossing. . .

Oh that’s good news.

The moment diminishes, Genya puts a hand over his mouth huffing out “fine, what else?” Dismissively, not calling him out for his behavior.

“Kindness is friendship,” Tanjiro chuckled, relaxing approvingly. “Not the fake kind. The kind that. . .doesn’t ask for anything back. Just wants you to feel okay.”

Genya paused, pen hovering over the page.
“And. . . ?” he muttered.

.
.
.

And. . .he wants more depth rather than something so surface level. The library is once again the highlight of his day, he had worked before this and cooked before that—and still somehow the sun would remain in the sky for another seven second hours. Strangely enough, he feels warmed by that, grateful that he was spending it with a nervous boy who struggled with his mental health.

Books are flipped open, and the librarian is murmuring to someone, possibly a child, what is kindness to them? What is kindness to those out of the library, what does it mean to someone like Ume?

Then a tick—-

“What. . .” He galloped his fingertips against the table, “what do you think?”

To the question, Genya seemed startled, his eyes visibly widening. It takes him more than a second to answer, pencil twitching in his grasp, “don’t do that. . .”

“Do what?” He smiled back.

“Flip it back on me.”

Tanjiro chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m just curious.”

Would it be so wrong anyways?

Genya purses his lips, cracked and dry possibly from the cigarettes he could smoke. He looked away, finally studying the decorated backpack, the bag itself looked firm slightly fraying at the straps and a rip forming on the hanger. Then again, there were pins adorned expressively some patches ironed into the fabric, real colorful. Bands, all probable punk or rock like were branded there, in which he only heard a few snippets of them from previous foster homes.

Then he noticed the many crumpled papers peeking from the bag, and it occurred again—ah—this might not be the only school work he has to catch up on. Tanjiro grins, lazily drifting back to Genya who glares at his paper before huffing out loud.

“Fine!” Genya straightened up, uncharacteristically so, his scarred cheeks flushing in a faint pink. “I guess. . .its when someone’s not a total asshole for no. . .reason.”

Tanjiro almost giggled, but the bubbling giddiness rumbled deeply in his throat, something light and ticklish swarming. “That’s a good one,” he takes a deep breath biting back a big smile, “what if they’re a jerk, but still kind.”

Endearingly enough, Genya’s nose twitches his mouth pursed again as if he’s genuinely thinking of an answer. “That. . .sounds confusing. . .”

“People can be both,” Tanjiro snickered back.

“Yeah, sounds fake. . .” He rolled his eyes, scribbling roughly. His hands are large, possibly bigger than his—but he’s writing an answer down-albeit very rushed like he’s rushing to be done with this meeting.

His smile just slightly falters, a dreadful awkwardness tugs his chest. He didn’t want to return yet, if anything he wanted to talk to Genya more. Regardless of his looks and personality, Tanjiro selfishly desires to make a friend out of him. Nezuko would urge it as well, she always encouraged more than his constant hovering. But that was his flaw, he thought too deeply of other people.

Genya sprang up, dusting himself off muttering something dismissive. He’s looking towards the exit, his hand reaching to his belongings. Tanjiro slightly just panics, gaze zeroing on the boys backpack—he’s leaving- or so he plans to leave.

“Wait wait—“ He blurted grabbing the backpack with a strained, mortified smile. What was he doing? He can’t hold Genya hostage, not when he’s so eager to run off. “Don’t you need more help? I’m available all day!”

The punk-Teenager blinks, raising a brow at him clearly startled. His hand hovers, rather useless at that, Tanjiro is holding onto the backpack with a flush of red on his face.

A glance, averting his eyes once more taking in the library once more. Then almost reluctantly his hand falls uselessly to his side “You’re like a damn stray cat, I feed you once and now you won’t leave.”

Tanjiro’s smile widened on his face, maybe a little shy. “So that means we’re friends now?”

Genya glares, but he doesn’t step away—he sits down. “No. I don’t know. Just lower your voice.”

Chapter Text

The car ride felt unmoving, an effortless ride that drove for so long. In a spam of ten minutes, not a single pothole was hit, nor had he been startled out of the haze that his mind was in. The roads to their town had always been so shitty, irregular and often times dangerous to any worn out tire, but with his mother driving—-the experience was hypnotic, unlike his brother who speed through just to get rid of him. With wandering eyes, his gaze fixated toward the muddy skies, dark clouds looming over ahead like a foreboding warning.

The radio hummed, so did the car, the interior was more tidy, hard to compare the two when one was infinitely safer than the other—Sanemi just did his work and then lounged at home.

Still leaned against the car window, he catches a glimpse of his mother’s expression. Her face pensive, lips pursed and brows knotted worriedly, her eyes were that pretty color blue, a little rare in the family. The woman was a small lady, fragile he thought, he’d grown larger than her; he could tower over her and feel guilty about it. They hadn’t spoken a single word, maybe muttered something when the ride started, otherwise there wasn’t a lot to talk about—-it was hard to when she hesitated too much and he tics as an effort to reassure the wild cravings in his mouth.

Once, twice, his foot thuds against the floor, a very specific rhythm. He sighs, mouth frosted and gums sensitive, still unadjusted to brushing his teeth after the months without it. Finally, the car halted by that one stoplight, before eventually allowed to turn and pull into the parking lot.

A sigh.

“Cool,” Genya reached for the handle, scowling at the god forsaken building, painted nicely with that sign displayed in the clean lawn. ‘We accept most insurances!’ He huffed, exiting with an awkward shuffle, stumbling out of the car for a lack of leg space. “Thanks, ma.“

Shizu sighs, quieter than his, but relishing in the sound of her son expressing gratitude. She smiles, relieved at first, “oh, sweetheart don’t thank me.”

Genya awkwardly holds the door open, “right. . .”

She hesitates again, much alike the entire car ride, “just be a good boy, talk to the nice man, okay?”

“. . .” Genya’s finger twitched against the car window, tapping once, twice. “. . .Right.”

Her vision fixates on him again, he can tell she’s studying him, trying to see something beyond a misbehaving child. Unsure if she asked of the right thing, she seemed more aware of the distance between them, but the concern must have vanished the second he left her sight.

The wind breezed sharply, tree’s hissing along the sudden violence in the sky. She flinches, a few stray leaves swoop into the car. He’s not sure why that annoyed him so much, but it felt like an interference, snatching attention that he already lacked.

“Okay, . .if I’m not done with Teiko’s dental appointment by the time your session’s over—-“ she looked away, “—just call your brother, . .”

She spoke without finality, mouth still parted open like she was trying to force something else out, something that wasn’t there. In a last attempt to reach out, she reached over brushing her fingers against the tied string of his hoodie, she tugs them undone, gently patting over his chest a second later. “okay?”

Genya blinked, still half-turned. She smoothed the seam like it mattered. Like that touch could hold him in place. He clicks his tongue, glancing away as if he were considering it before shrugging. “Sure, Ma.”

Then shut, the door smacked into place, impatience and disinterest Genya had walked away from the car. An uncomfortable disappointment settled in his chest, maybe it was the poor planning, or desire for more, more more—always wanting something different to happen rather than the usual last to be cared for. Genya had smiled with a strained laugh, even as he walked towards the doors, dismissing what it meant.

As it always was, he entered— told the front lady his name. Waited. Then waited to be called in, it was all so tedious, really, he loathed these mandated therapy sessions, them being paid by insurance was the only good part of it. It was utterly boring, he planned in advance what he’d do after, like. . .not call his brother, like instead—he’d walk home stewing in bitter emotions he didn’t want to express.

Then his name would be called, ushered in with Rengoku standing tall by his decorated door. Dramatic fire colored hair, and bushy eyebrows——too joyful to be speaking to some juvenile teenager.

“Good afternoon, Genya!” Rengoku greets, causing the lady to squeak, startled. “Right on time! Come in, come in—have a seat wherever you like.” Genya frowned, quickly unimpressed by the level of energy this man has placed in him. “The chair by the window’s been catching a nice bit of sun lately.”

Upon entering, the damn chair had been drowning in sunlight, a little fluffed pillow placed in the center, nearly delicately. The room, as he remembered was quaint, a little small with a table in the middle, not adjusted for the length of his legs. That clock ticked insistently, maybe louder than the last time. He grimaced with a wince.

“Too bright.” He huffed but sat down, eyes squinted as a tuff of loose hair rolled over his face.

“Fair enough.” Rengoku didn’t flinch, just shut the door, and turned towards a small speaker tapping a button, running water hums louder from the little box. Left dismissed, turning towards the blinds; lowering them shut with a dim haze left in the room. “Lighting’s a personal thing. . .”

The clock ticks, reminiscent of noises that echoed weeks ago. It’d been. . .only a few weeks, strangely more confusing than the days that lead to his first therapy session. Tick, tick tick, his eyelids dragged shut, tick tick tick, his wrists buzzed and then an odd tingle bloomed in his throat. He thought back to his mother, the aching in his gums and the same cravings that mingled somewhere in the back of his mind, disguised as a hazy maze.

He could hear Kyojuro sigh, finally taking a seat himself, it wasn’t tired or anything, just hopeful, it was almost replicated by the sound Tanjiro had made in the library. A soft exhale of relief, only after completing all of his assignments.

He let his eyes open, Rengoku’s expression bright. “You look a little winded.” He stated, rather than asked. “Busy day?”

He looked away. Studying the room again, “No.”

“Ah. Then I suppose you’re just brooding handsomely today.”

He snorts, sparing a glance of judgement. “We done yet?”

“Not even close. I haven’t asked you about your week.” Which was true—the man had yet to learn anything about him, any new information that is. Rengoku scooted forward, hands braced on his lap, the journal tucked aside, but not forgotten. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing worth saying.”

His feet shuffled aside, tap, tap, tap— they lean towards the left; there’s a shelf, decorated with some stress toys. Some slime filled balls, meant to be squeezed and smacked around, there was also a sandbox with a small rake to drag across the surface. The shelf didn’t entice him really, Rengoku thought pensively, while he let the time slip past his fingers. The clock ticks, each hand rotates and he searches for something else to entertain his mind with. There are. . .photo frames on the walls, awkwardly hung, but in the corner is a computer dimly lit and personally adorned. Unlike the frames along the wall, they weren’t pictures of a family but instead of beautiful places.

But in that desk, was a picture of one young girl—-sweet delicate but fierce with determination. He had to imagine she meant something to the specialist, she was the only photo there with a human presence. Inhuman pink eyes, and lengthy hair with a bow clipped to it.

It occurred to him, that he hadn’t noticed that before. Despite having visited countless times before.

Tap, tap——one foot after the other, is it a tic, or is it of means to distract him? He couldn’t remember which of the two it was, sometimes he thought it was that useless tool, butterfly tapping, other times it was memories. A rhythm maybe, or. . .a counter to the desires of his lacking receptors.

“Mmm.“ Kyojuro hums thoughtfully, mimicking the taps with his fingers, once, twice on the armrest. “That. . .rhythm is familiar. You do that when you’re restless.”

Familiarity, Genya’s shoulders hunch. The man’s tone gave strange wariness, too common like a concerned docter. Genya eyes the desk, then the bookshelves, then the clock. Anywhere. More than once.

“Have the cravings gotten worse?”

There it was.

“I don’t want anything.” He huffed back, leaning into his palm.

“That’s not the same as not needing it.”

“Don’t analyze me.” The words spat suddenly, and the mint freshness disappears from his breath. “I already hate being here.”

Rengoku nods, his foot catches the rhythm, assuming the beat of a song only Genya could know. “You’ve come back. That’s something.”

Tap

Tap

Genya looks more annoyed, defensive, walls closing—not that they ever opened.

It had been the same at the bookstore, library whatever—-scowling with growing hesitance. He remembers it vividly, though it’d been a few days that it happened. The quiet atmosphere of the library, buzzing still fluttered around his head, how Tanjiro’s finger had tapped the question, it was math. Real damn confusing. Even as he attempted to remember the material, it wasn’t coming back, those lessons were weeks ago, maybe a month?

Polynomials.

Tanjiro hummed, leaning close—lacking respect for his personal space. “Ahhh, it’s pretty confusing isn’t it?” At the moment, he hadn’t smiled. His dark lashes fluttering, the vibrant hues of his crimson eyes dully gleamed. “No worries, let me find you a book!”

And he did. Genya wasn’t even sure how he knew where to look. Like, who even reads math books for fun? Lecture books weren’t really in the fantasy or manga section. But somehow, Tanjiro came back with one, flipping to a chapter and sitting beside him like it was the most normal thing in the world?

Once. . .twice, tap tap tap. . .

Tanjiro had never accused him of being dumb, or a lazy loser—-even as they worked the countless assignments. Still, he was frowning the entire time, grumbling and scoffing as the work continued, as Tanjiro urged him on, defensive walls held high.

“Just asking.”

He perked up, just barely—the buzzing flatlined. He finally looked towards the other, his therapist who continued to patiently wait. “That rhythm you’re tapping—was that something you wrote?”

Genya swallowed, “No. It’s nothing. Just a habit.”

Rengoku leaned back, relaxed against the cushion. “Nothing’s still something.”

He loathed the connection between something, and nothing—disliked how this man smiled as if he were on the verge of something new. It bothered him till no end. Genya had sighed, and rolled his eyes, bracing for whatever accusation he assumed of him. “Here we go. . .”

“Does playing feel worse now?” Kyojuro started, tilting his head more annoying than curious.

“The guitar—-“

Genya shut his eyes.

“does it bring something back?”

He scoffs, an exhausted, bitter growl.

“. . .You stopped after your overd—-?”

“I stopped ‘cause I wanted to!” Genya snapped, slicing through the man’s words, his fingertips numbing and itching. They could have strummed, could have pulled, plucked the cords of his vocals, and he’d still bleed out a talentless song. Fierce, and angry, he glared at Rengoku. “People quit stuff all the time.”

.
.
.

The clock ticked, but it doesn’t echo. It just clicks. Over, and over. And maybe, it never was an echo, just repetition.

Stiff.

Rengoku nods, reaching his journal more like it was an afterthought. “Are you ashamed, of what it links to, or being yourself?”

He hisses, scowling at the question—-unnecessary as is. It’s invasive, pulls something ugly out of his nails, makes him examine the calluses on his fingertips, the scarred skin healed with lessons.“I just—I don’t want to hear it. About the guitar. Or anything.”

“Alright.”

Genya waits for a follow-up, a theory, a “let’s unpack that.”

But it never comes.

Just the ticking.

And Rengoku’s foot still tapping along to his rhythm.

“How about we move on now, let’s talk about your friends?”

Well.

The sky had cleared a little after the session, though Genya couldn’t remember a single thing Rengoku had said.

His legs hurt from walking, but he didn’t stop.

Didn’t want to go home yet, didn’t want to sit somewhere quiet either. So he kept moving. And somewhere between ignoring the ache in his spine and checking if his phone still had battery, he realized he was being followed.

Not subtly.

Plastic bag rustling, humming, footsteps way too light to match the heavy silence around them. Tanjiro Kamado. Apparently set on walking the same direction. And. Somehow unshakable, a damn hindrance everywhere he went.

“You don’t have to trail me,” Genya muttered.

“I’m not trailing,” Tanjiro said brightly. “I’m just walking.”

Genya shot him a sideways glare. “Coincidentally. Same street. Same pace.”

Tanjiro gave a smile like it wasn’t his fault. “Coincidences happen.”

“Turn around.”

“Too late. Now we’re walking buddies.”

Genya groaned and shoved his hands deeper into his jacket. But he didn’t stop walking. And Tanjiro didn’t fall behind.

“What’re you doing walking around, where’d you come from?”

He still hadn’t responded.

.
.
.

He wasn’t sure how he even lured the leech over, he’d been walking for ten minutes now and Tanjiro at some point, joined. Same strange clothes, like it were a uniform, though stained with random grease splatters, he also—just by a glance noticed his hair was up in a small ponytail. Just as spared, Tanjiro caught his gaze and smiled. He always did. “You look like someone kicked your lunch into a gutter.”

Genya turned a corner, narrowing on the suddenly, sunny path. “I look like I’m not in the mood.”

A pause, the wind blows between it. Only a second later, did he realize he snapped. Only for a moment he felt guilt, fingertips twitching again, rubbing each over the callouses; dents in the skin, made from a previous passion. There’s a dull ache tugging at his taste buds faint toothpaste smooth over his taste pallets.

But in the pause, silence stretched between them—- and Tanjiro still followed him, quietly and gently asking. “Was. . .today not a good day?”

So he grunts. Tanjiro barely blinked.

It was warm, the sky glowered on him like a heavy blanket. Still, he refused to entertain a conversation with someone he deemed a stalker weeks ago. It clearly picked at Tanjiro, who matched his pace despite being shorter than him, his strange earrings visibly dangle as he made each step, hair bobbing along. The city whispers hopefully, there are cars rolling by the street, and the butterflies flutter at a distance where the grass festers. It’s dulling his senses, something awkward lulls over his head, like he’s wrapped in a fuzzy fog, unable to feel real.

“You don’t talk a lot.”

Genya blinks, slightly startled—there’s a pest still stalking him, and he hasn’t left his side. “I don’t have a lot to say.”

Tanjiro trots forward, spinning on his heel to his next side. Real strange behavior, it had Genya scowling deeper though it didn’t last. “Then let me ask stuff.” The other asked too cheerfully. “You just nod or grunt. . . Orthrow me in the river.”

“Tempting.” Genya huffed back, catching the slight tease at the last words.

“Okay. First question.”

Genya shot him a side glare but didn’t interrupt.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Redhead inquired, the sun forms a halo over his unnatural hair color. Sharp, and slightly alluring the hues of his face gleam—almost embarrassingly eye catching.

“Sure,” He huffed back, hands still buried inside his pockets.

“Yeah, that’s good!” Tanjiro beamed, expression actually glowing. “Okay, your turn.”

He stumbled, just enough to express surprise again. Twenty questions. . .when did he agree to that? He’s willing to answer a few curiosities, but to play a game with some guy he barely knew, it was all too awkward. Genya sighed, recalling how Rengoku handled him during therapy, asking him endless inquires with a hopeful smile, just like Tanjiro was, but annoying. Maybe it was the undertones of therapy, a slight invasive edge to it—-because it was the man’s job, to cut him open and study his brain chemistry.

Okay then. . .he narrows on Tanjiro again. Just slightly quickening his pace, as shrubbery slowly overtook the sidewalk. “What kind of person buys a stranger a toothbrush?”

Then, there—Tanjiro lit up once again, his smile widening before crashing. Just as he, Tanjiro kicked an uneven slab of sidewalk. “That’s not a question, that’s sarcasm!”

Genya shrugs, the path narrowing in the distance. “Still counts. Your turn.”

“Mnnn. . .okay.” Tanjiro murmured, adjusting the bag around his elbow. “What kind of music do you like?”

Genya’s pace falters, his chest coiling tightly. Damn, it was constantly the memory sprang. Him on a stage, not singing, or holding a guitar, just placed there without a purpose. He didn’t answer right away, no need to panic, Tanjiro had asked what his music taste was, not if he liked to play.

“. . .Used to like punk-rock.”

The boy hummed thoughtfully, “Used to?”

He didn’t respond. And cleverly enough, Tanjiro didn’t press. Just nodded. “I think you’d like some of the stuff I’ve collected. I could, uh—bring a playlist?”

“Don’t.” He barked, stopping short of stepping on a dandelion, his hair waving along as a breeze of air whips past.

Tanjiro halted, turning around. He thought he’d push, or ask more, his facials had been blank. Hs just stared at him a second longer, and then smiled. “Got it.” He snaps his fingers. “No playlists. You hate fun.”

Huh. . .clicking his tongue, Genya rolled his eyes, but with less agitation, less armor, more tired. Between awkward, and strained the two shared a silent understanding. Even then, the redhead got over it quickly, already leaning forward with that stupid patient expression. He looked real innocent at the moment, like he wasn’t trying to unravel him, and his past. People like this were dangerous, he recalled it then, the slow way they worm into your life and learn gradually.

Still, the boy with greasy clothes, and messy hair waited. Genya exhaled, tapping his foot wavering between tolerating Tanjiro more or shooing him off. He sighed, proceeding forward, “Fine. What school do you go to?”

“None!” Tanjiro chirped answering too quickly, trailing his pace again. “How often do you wear makeup?”

Genya blinked, caught off guard.

“I—I don’t wear makeup.”

“Eyeliner.” Tanjiro chuckles, swiping a finger over his lashes.

Genya scoffed his face heating up just slightly, sputtering awkwardly. “That’s—not often?!”

He skips in front of him, throwing a charming wink. “You should embrace it more. You look handsome wi—”

“What do you do for school.” He snapped.

“Homeschool!” Tanjiro replied faster, Genya grits his teeth. “What are your hobbies!”

That’s on purpose, he’s doing that on purpose. Genya’s mouth flopped open, breathless for a moment as they approached that same bridge they first met at. Tanjiro replied quickly, had a joyous tone each time as well, it was like he rushed to get to the next question without letting him wonder. In addition, he wasn’t mysterious as a person, not really, he acted like a puppy yipped around too naively.

But Tanjiro was being sketchy, when it was an attempt to learn.

“None.” His arms crossed, out of his pockets internally aware of the railing at the bridge. “Why do you keep dodging my questions?”

Tanjiro shrugs, spinning the bag on his wrist. “Because you answer like you’re being interrogated.”

He grumbles, “Maybe your questions feel like one.”

Just as he expected, Tanjiro tilted his head, same puppy dog innocence in his constant curiosity. “Do you like your toothbrush?”

A wince, tongue rubbing over sore gums—-Genya squinted. Deadpanned, his cheeks heating up boldly.

“Do you.”

He beams with a hop, stopping by the bridge entrance. “Yes!! I brush everyday!.”

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.
.

A sigh.

“Gold star.”

Tanjiro giggled like he’d won, humming proudly, following deeper into the bridge. There’s a moment of clarity that passes between them, careful, cautious. Then, more casually—with a calm tone.

“. . .Do you smoke?”

A cigarette’s weight settles between his fingers, familiar, and heavy; no matter the useless thing it was, it was hard not to feel it there. He stopped walking, but he didn’t stumble he just stood there, stunned. An ugly anger flared in his throat, meaningless excuses spiral—partially reasoning with himself, why he smoked, why it was good, why it mattered! More importantly, a number of lies, ideas? Tanjiro immediately sensed his anger, for his expression had turned apologetic.

But Sanemi was staring at him, his mind imagined it vividly. Big brother glaring with a fierce amount of disappointment, shouting words at him he couldn’t understand.

Quietly, Genya drawled out. “What kind of question is that?”

“I was just—”

A scoff. “You think I’m some burnout or something?”

His voice curled, bitter and too fast. He shifted back, eyes hard again. The space around him turned tight, like the bridge had shrunk beneath them.

Tanjiro didn’t look away in shame, even when he should have, no normal person asks a question like that so casually. It’s offensive to those who do, or don’t. Genya’s jaw tightened, refusing to look away as two crimson eyes gazed back, the words ‘I’m sorry’ crossing them, though he was yet to verbally say it. Without nativity, just innocence, Tanjiro shook his head.

“I don’t.”

Simple. Quiet. Not defensive. And Genya finally turned away.

Tanjiro didn’t push. Let the wind do the talking.

A long silence, they both studied the view of that bridge. The lake hissed below, and the leaves rustle by each gust, Genya could still hear his hearts angry beating, thudding in his head. Sunlight turns more orange, the smallest hints of an ending day is nearing, Tanjiro noticed it and walks towards it. Resting his hands on the shitty metal railing, leaning on it with too much faith.

He hums, it’s quieter, more careful. “. . .Last question.”

Genya scowled, flatly snapping. “What.”

The redhead spared a glance, looking past his shoulder. “How’d you get your scar?”

It didn’t feel like a question, he reached to touch his face, tracing the healed skin from an accident. Most people would say it’s his biggest feature. The first thing they noticed about him after his height. He knew he wasn’t the most attractive guy, but the insecurity remained— Genya could recall always feeling envious and inspired by Sanemi, who proudly displayed his scars like trophies. Not at all insecure

“. . .it’s non of your business.”

A beat, like Tanjiro is perfectly okay with that response.

.
.
.

A low miserable groan rumbled in his gut, purring out loud. grrrk.

Genya twitched, holding his hungry stomach.
For a tall guy, his appetite always lacked, whether it was due to the money issues, or being constantly forgotten. His stomach ached, and his throat closed, he couldn’t remember when he last ate. Looking back up. Tanjiro is grinning, like he’d known all along.

He pulled something out of his bag without even looking. “Here. . .”

A wrapped sandwich, covered neatly. Red and white checkered branding, somehow making it look more appealing. He grimaced, eyeing it like it might be laced with something heavy.

"Don't make that face.” Tanjiro urged forward again, “It's just a sandwich. You don't even have to say thank you."

'Wasn't gonna." He countered with a sigh, supporting his arms on the railing—an audible ‘creak’ following after. Ominous, and haunting but not at all alarming. Genya glanced towards the sandwich again, held gently, smaller hands seemingly untouched, not at all rough—-waited. He reluctantly snatches it.

And far too pleased with himself, Tanjiro hums "Good."

The wrap crinkles, undone by his movements. Genya tore it open, the bread is toasted with a slight brown hue, mayo, . .and, turkey. He brought it towards his nose, the smell reminiscent of some nearby gas station.

“. . .It's got, like. Real turkey in it."

It’s quiet for a few seconds, that on edge craving pulls in his gut. Quickly after, he bites into the sandwich, eyelids fluttering shut. Satisfaction, it didn’t taste processed, or premade like instant ramen noodles, he couldn’t even recall the last time he ate something warm.

Between bites, he huffed out. “. . .Why’re you even out here?”

“Mm.” Tanjiro walked his fingers across the metal, entertained with the little he has. “Didn’t wanna go home yet.” a pause, then softer, “Kind of like you, I guess.”

Another large bite, ripping it apart with a mouthful. “. . .Huh.”

Tanjiro shrugs, adjusting the bag and it swings heavily. “The house I stay at is always full, but it’s quiet, wrong sometimes.”

The wording stood out to him, deliberately spoken. The house he stayed at? What—-is he the tragic new kid in town, forced to live with an uncle? The somber tone picked at him, and it felt strangely annoying. Genya raised a brow, considering it suspicious. “. . .You live with your parents?”

“. . .No.” Tanjiro replied simply, leaning over the metal, looking down.

A longer pause. Genya glances sideways.

It wasn’t uncommon. Most of his friends had pasts painted with some shade of sadness. Inosuke had grown up without a mother and father, taken in by the Kochos somewhere along the way. Zenitsu had been handed off to his grandfather when his family couldn’t afford to keep him. And then there was Genya himself — one of too many kids in a house missing a father, which, truthfully, had been for the better. The struggle hadn’t stopped there.

His mother, kind as she was, worked herself thin trying to keep them afloat. But even the sweetest people could forget things.

He clicks his tongue, “Divorced or dead?”

“Both.” The redhead chirped, shuffling on his feet he kicks a pebble off the edge. “Kind of. I live in a foster home.”

Genya stops chewing. Just looks at him. “Oh.” Foster homes startled him, the idea of it—-or what it could have meant for his family. At a time, he recalled when CPS had been called on them and the terrifying feeling it was to be taken from his mama. The woman stood tall, quivering shimmering eyes, but kept so still as she proclaimed her duties as a mother. He couldn’t recall what happened after, but years later he lived under that same roof.

Then he thought of Inosuke, who spoke vaguely about being a runaway from the system before taken in by Kanae.

Almost like sensing his discomfort, Tanjiro straightened up. “It’s fine. It’s not bad or anything. I got. . .a room. Food. Foster siblings, kind of. Ume’s difficult, Rui barely talks.”

Genya looks away, a spiral of questions forming—right—foster siblings. . .if Tanjiro was new could he assume he’s jumped around a few times? Then again, Genya didn’t know anything about how it worked, his fingers loosened on the sandwich, half eaten now.

“. . .So the toothbrush thing was, like. . charity?”

“No.” The boy laughed, slightly teasing. ”It was care.”

A beat of quiet passed between them. Genya glanced at Tanjiro again—cautious, uncertain.

Now that he thought about it, he’d never met a guy like him. Gentle, soft-spoken, and not in the fake way other boys feigned to be. Tanjiro wasn’t faking with that desperate, shallow kind of masculinity Genya had grown used to. He didn’t hide behind it. And who even said things like that? It was care. No one talked like that. Not even his closest friends.

Not even Sanemi.

“. . .That room of yours. You got your own space?”

A powerful, beautiful beam of light painted on Tanjiro. The sun continued to descend, but as it did a gorgeous pink and orange formed in the distance. “Sort of. It’s small. It gets real cold at night. But I have a window, and a floor that doesn’t creak.”

Genya’s foot taps again—once twice—suddenly aware how soon he’d be at home. “. . .That’s something.”

“It is.”

A breeze rolls through again. Genya finishes the last bite of the sandwich, balling up the wrapper roughly.

Another tap, done in a specific rhythm. It doesn’t stop, and then it dawns on him just how weird he is. Tanjiro gave him a piece of his history, real easily too, like it costed nothing. Dangerous, just as he was warned before, this kind of person is too naive, too trusting.

So, deliberately Genya turned his back on the sun still leaning against the barrier, “I live with family. But I don’t think they’d notice if I vanished for a few days.”

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.
.

Shit. Fuck. Why did he say that?

Genya’s eye twitched, arms crossing tighter against his chest—an uncomfortable annoyance pours into him. Why did he say that, he was just bitching about how weird Tanjiro was for being so vulnerable?

And. Tanjiro looks devastated for a second, no longer smiling. . .real touched by his admission. “. . .That sounds lonely.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, slightly cringing. “Guess it is.”

Another pause. Then—

“. . .you should send me a text when you’re bored, so we’re not both lonely?”

Shit.

Genya twitched, “I don’t know man, I honestly lost your number that. . .first time. . .”

“no worries, give me your phone!” He beams, holding his hand out.

Another beat. Kamado doesn’t look devastated anymore, he’s smiling again, bright and excited.

Genya snorts.

The next morning followed equally as boring, though he didn’t ache the way he did at night. Usually, he had sharp pains in his stomach from lack of eating, only later resolved with a quick cigarette, anything to avoid wincing from the emptiness.

Ahhhhh. . .

He dragged himself out his room, heavy eyes and tussled hair. The door shuts with a slam, a low tremble following him into the bathroom, and lucky him: it’s empty. Genya groaned regardless, snatching his shitty CVS toothbrush and squeezed a generous amount of paste on the bristles. Once, he turned to glare at his reflection, a man stood there, seemingly dead and a little pale, his clothes were wrinkled, and a fierce anger gleamed in his two lavender eyes.

Fucking Kamado and his selfless acts, be it as it is—-the weirdo gave advice on oral hygiene. Shit like, don’t drink sodas throughout the day.

“—-it breaks down the enamel of your teeth!”

Or

“Make sure to always purchase toothpaste that has fluoride. It remineralizes y-“

Yeah yeah whatever.

The bathroom groaned and gagged with sound, the faucet ran for a near ten minutes—the hissing of rough scrubbing audibly beneath it. A little after Genya stood in the kitchen entrance, deadpanned expression, frowning with a now clean smile. His tongue rubbed under the gums, a polished smooth feeling followed after it.

“Did your appointment go okay?”

He jumped, gaze snapping towards his mother. The small woman hummed, both hands busy with a skillet and spatula, mixing eggs together as they cooked. The kitchen was surprisingly neat, his siblings moved about organizing their plates in rows whilst patiently waiting for their breakfast. Shuya and Koto were wiggling in the same seat, trying to shove each other off, in passionate competition. Sumi ignored it sweetly, pouring herself a cup of orange juice. The others were yet to be seen, but quick to be heard.

Genya blinks, mouth flopping open, then shutting. The steady atmosphere was strangely unique, he stood in a clean kitchen with somewhat behaved children. His mother wasn’t rushing breakfast either, she had this warm smile on her face as hair flowed past her shoulders. He had to assume she wasn’t working the day maybe, or something good happened?

“You didn’t call anyone to pick you up.” She glances over, reaching for a plate past him.

Genya swallowed, cautioning deeper into the kitchen. “Was fine. . .” He reaches for a chair stiffly tugging it out, “ didn’t wanna be a burden.”

Shizu huffs, scooping eggs onto each plate. “You’re not a burden, sweetheart.”

Though she said it, she didn’t look him in the eye for emphasize. She continued to mother his other siblings, the ones that were there—whilst handing more than one conversation. Teiko had barely passed by, just greeted them while holding his swollen cheek. The disappointment reared its head, even if he should’ve been grateful, relieved even. His dear mother wasn’t stretching herself thin between a million responsibilities, and still. Selfish, selfish — wanting more from someone who already gave too much. The thought itched just beneath his molars, pressed harder when she didn’t meet his eye.

Shizu wipes her brow, “you’ve never been a bu-“

“He’s not a burden, huh?” A low, raspy voice growled out; Genya perked up, immediately tensing up as Sanemi entered with an invasive stretch of arms, arm flexing beneath his work uniform, as he groans louder than should be permitted. “Then why are we walking on eggshells?”

“No one was even talking to you.” Genya glares, mood easily souring. The elder catches it, and grins.

“You were talking loud enough,” Sanemi said, brushing past to grab a mug. Casual, and proud, as if his only personality trait was to just pick on him. “Always with the pity party.”

Anger flared, embarrassed and prideful—a number of reasons jump. Fists tightly clenched, throat awkwardly tightening with controlled emotion. He wanted to shout, snap at him, that it wasn’t a damn act, that he wasn’t some little broken thing, that he was more than a few past mistakes. “Least I don’t make every room worse when I walk in.”

A thick tension spread, everyone looked between them, bracing for another quiet argument. Shizu, shakes her head attempting to de-escalate. “I was just wo—-“

“He’s fine.” Sanemi scoffs, gesturing an arm at him. “He walked, didn’t he? Don’t make it a thing.”

Genya scowled, shoving the seat back, earning a startled yelp from Koto. “No one was making it a thing ‘til you opened your mouth.”

Sanemi sat his mug down, narrowing his eyes. “Then close yours.”

“Boys.”

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.
.

They stayed quiet for another second, a fan fussed in the background—there’s a running shower and a TV turned on. The world around him continued, and he was pissed off over the jabs his older brother gave weekly—-it felt utterly suffocating. His appetite went to shit, a deep breath- once—-twice—- the anger burns in his throat and it spreads to his face. He wanted to cry, it never happened, but the urge stings in his eyes. Body coiled tightly, helplessly alone.

Almost coincidental a car growls outside, followed by a few familiar honks. No one moves, but the front door rattles with heavy punches.

BANGBANGBANGBANG!

Genya winces—-getting his teeth in annoyance—who the hell could be banging on the door so early in th——

“TENYAAAAAAAA!! WE’RE HERE FOR YOUR SOUL!!”

Fucking. Great. Genya deadpanned, his shoulders sag and he leans forward. Inosuke’s voice continued to screech from outside, raspy broken vocal cords breaks all tension, and he’s not sure whether or not to be grateful or angry. The young ones chuckle amongst each other, and Sanemi just scoffs.

A beat— then-“We’re literally just going to the gas station!”

Zenitsu. . .

“TEMPURA!”

Ugh.

“Please come with us so he doesn’t kill someone over spicy Doritos,” Zenitsu begged, already peeling Inosuke off the doorframe.

Genya blinked at them. Blinked at his mom. Then at Sanemi.

“Better than staying here,” he muttered, quietly not caring for the somber look on his mother’s face. “Be back later,” he called behind him, already halfway out the door.

In a sleek black car he sat with a bitter frown, if he’d known who the driver was, he would’ve rejected the offer—but he has shit friends with shit IQ’s.

The vehicle drove smoothly, glided across the street like it was nothing, avoiding all potholes, all dips—it was effortlessly cool and haunting. The aroma was woodsy, the interior neat and tidy, the A/C was blaring cool wind at his face. Useless as it was, the windows were rolled down, Kaigaku drove with one arm and the other hangs outside. Zenitsu sat in the passenger seat, he always did, poking his head outside with a mischievous grin.

“I’ve got fifty dollars to splurge, so we can go all out!”

He had said, though Genya long ago dismissed him. His gaze glued to the passing buildings, daring to steal glimpses of the adult. Sleek black sunglasses, and collared wrists. A few piercings littered his face, but not excessively—Kaigaku always thought it was important to space them out properly. His skin shudders, recalling his own, long ago taken out and healed.

He doesn’t get a sigh in before Inosuke elbows him, hard. “Aye, what’s your deal stop brooding!”

A twitch. “not. Brooding, actually.”

Zenitsu twists to look at them, “come on Gen, I’m gonna buy you something too!” A pause, and then he sheepishly laughs. “Something reasonable.”

Genya licks under his lips, still glaring at the outside. “Fuck. You.”

“Tch.” Kaigaku reprimanded, Genya shuffled in his seat, foot tapping once, familiar melody strums in his mind. The quiet burn of the man’s voice makes his stomach feel wrong, he fights the urge to gag. “Real grateful, Shinazugawa.”

The car turns on a stoplight, real drawn out, purposely slowed down. His legs shift again, skin beading with sweat, fingertips flicking on the door. “Didn’t ask to be here.

Both friends give each other a look. Awkward, and uncomfortable, the blondie laughs. “He’s just hangry! We’ll get snacks, maybe something salty to match your mood?

He doesn’t respond, just watches as the car finally pulls into a gas station. A neon sign dimly flickered, bright colors beam as they roll beside a pump. It’s different from the last one he visited, his pride bruised after being robbed by that prick cashier. There’s a homeless man asleep by the ice slot, covered in a blanket and dirty. The engine cuts without another word, a click follows—each door unlocked simultaneously. He grimaces.

Zenitsu’s out first, hopping over the door like he’s in a music video. “I’m getting chips and maybe a slushie. What color you want, Inosuke?!”

“BLUE!” Inosuke howls, already halfway out the other side. “And MEAT!”

Genya doesn’t move.

He reaches.

Click.

He tugs the handle. Nothing.

Stiff, Genya’s jaw tightened watching as his friend’s vanished into the store, rendering him alone. Car aroma thickens, and he feels it lump in his throat. Then—a whistle, sharp and smug “Doors locked.”

He spares a glance, tired. “Why.”

His fingers tap on the wheel, mimicking his own—quiet thuds of regulation. Kaigaku caught it before Genya even realized. Alternating, butterfly taps, maybe. Or that one stupid song only the two of them ever knew. Kaigaku’s glasses flash in the mirror, his sharp eyes just out of sight behind the lens, but locked on him all the same.

“Still mad at me?”

Another twitch, uncomfortable, but he strains an end to the nervous tics. “What do you think”

“Relax, would you?” A fly buzzes outside his window, a flick of embers reflect on the glass—-kaigaku toys with a lighter on a free hand, off and on. “Thought we could talk.”

“About what.” He hisses lowly.

“You being pissy,” a pause in which he clicks his tongue, “Look, what happened back then—it wasn’t on me. You were the one popping whatever I gave you.”

Lights danced around, the floor shook, he remembers it. People jumping in their unique attire, screams and cackles of joy—a bar in the corner. He had a few piercings, his body was broader.

Genya’s jaw tensed. “You knew what it was.”

“I told you it was strong. You didn’t have to take the whole thing.” Kaigaku’s voice was flat now, defensive with a lazy shrug. “You act like I held you down and forced it down your throat.”

A dam of shame breaks, the ache his stomach recoils, the lack of a meal waters in his mouth. And it’s rotting. Past mistakes are melting on his tongue, dissolving into the fucked up places he stumbled upon, if only they weren’t so relaxing.

He hissed again, shaking his head vehemently. “You watched me pass out.”

The man snorts, relaxing against the seat. “You needed to feel something. I gave you that.”

Something flashed in Genya’s eyes. Fury. Guilt. Fear. The only thing anyone could feel after collapsing with heavy gasps, body burning, the terrifying loss of consciousness in each limb. How hot, and cold his body could feel at once, turning away from him, slowly- slowly—-.

He yanked the door handle again—locked. Still.

Kaigaku didn’t look at him this time. “You still itching for something? I’ve got some tabs. Clean ones, even. No mix.” Another cruel pause, drawing out memories, his mama wide eyed shaking as they haul him into an ambulance. “Or do you wanna cry about it some more.”

Genya’s lip curled, the same way Sanemi’s did after being told the truth. “Go to hell.”

“Whatever, Shinazugawa. You’re still the same brat. All bark, no—”

Genya slammed a fist against the door. “Let me out.”

Kaigaku met his eyes. A silent stare-down.

Then—with a shrug—he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, fished one free, offered it flippantly. Hand held back, shaking it like he were a dog. Chained and bound to whimper to its owner, Genya’s eyes widened, intensely fixating on the stick. “You still smoke?”

Ah

He gawked, studying relief—-but shuddered. Strange as it was, the fear spun softer. Annoyance, like aging wine corked improperly, and evidently not satisfactory—like being suicidal but bungee jumping instead. Like, Tanjiro on a bridge pestering his personal life, and causally asking him if he smoked, as if he were a burnout.

Genya hesitated. Just for a second.

And it convinced him enough—he snatches it as if to end the conversation itself. Frustrated, boots hit the pavement and the door slams shut. He doesn’t look back, just sprints over, fumbling his lighter out with rushed skittishness. His thumbs miss the first times, he trips over the side walk, but recovers. “Fuck-“another attempt, and a hot red flick awakens, beautiful, alluring the little flame dances. That shitty cigarette tilts its way in his lips, and he cooks the tip where it began to sizzle.

It hits right away. Quiet. For the first time in hours. That damned buzzing eases in an instant, his eyes flutter and he relaxes by the door. Still guilt ridden, ashamed but otherwise pleased.

A cough—- smoke pours out of his mouth—-he waves it off.

‘Do you smoke?’

He freezes. He imagines Tanjiro next to him, giving him that dumb expression. It’s not pity, it’s not even judgement just selfishly curious, maybe worse than understanding. Like he already knew.

Genya almost hears it, calm and patient voice.

“Will that help you breathe?”

Shit.

The dull ember in the cigarette burns piece by piece, but he’s visualizing the red of Tanjiro’s eyes. Glimmering, sun kissed—sometimes they looked pink other times they were bloody red-that could be up to imagination but he can see it now. Because, of course he’d ask him that, not even smug or cocky just real. Disturbingly so, easing each inhale, he doesn’t gasp to finish the cigarette, just slumps against the wall and sigh, smoke huffs out of his nose.

A ding, Inosuke shoves the doors open holding a stick of turkey up. A ashy stench immediately hits the boy, his nose scrunches up and he gives him a look. “. . .Thought you quit those.”

Genya doesn’t look at him. “I did.”

Inosuke waits, then shrugs slightly, shifting closer. “That snake piss you off that bad, huh?”

Genya inhales again, exhales out the side of his mouth. Ugly anger burns in his throat again, body shivering merely remembering the offered pill, small—-‘supposedly’ harmless fun. “Pisses me off by breathing.”

Inosuke sits down on the curb next to him, snagging a generous bite. A second longer, the two can faintly hear Zenitsu singing to the stories radio. Inosuke sighs.“. . .You good?”

Genya after a beat, nods. “Yeah.”

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.
.

Tanjiro’s memory lingered, his wide smile just there—Genya draws another breath. Kaigaku’s car is still parked by the pump, patiently waiting for three ungrateful brats. He finds himself glancing toward Inosuke again, hesitating.

“Hey—-“ he clears his throat, “. . .You remember anything? From the system?”

“What-“ inosuke snorted looking over his shoulder. “like the homes?”

Genya grunts, then nods.

Inosuke shrugged. “Not really. Just bits. I bit a guy once. He was yelling a lot.”

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Genya doesn’t say anything back, lets himself distract as a cigarette quiets the itching beneath his skin.

“I don’t really think about that stuff anymore. Wasn’t worth it. Got picked up early by the crazy moms.”

They both chuckle.

Early morning was always so busy.

For a hostess it might be annoying, but a server it’s stressing. Not if you’re Tanjiro Kamado, carrying two trays on difference hands, with an insane skill to balance heavy plates and glasses effortlessly. Shinobu had sighed as she watched from the sidelines, waiting by the podium with a concerned impatience. The floor was chaotic, and somehow it relied on Tanjiro’s ability to serve despite being so young. It made her uncomfortable, but she chose not to comment on it.

Food is thick in the air, and the tables are busy with patrons. The low hiss of rollerblades purred, only soon by the selective few who felt like they could handle them. Her attention followed as the redhead glides down the floor, cleverly placing four beverages on the table, then returning towards the vestibules.

Hm

In that second a blur of blue zooms past her, and she jumps immediately chasing after it—oh how she forgets to stay on guard with that boy.

“Inosuke!” She skids past Tanjiro, who flattened himself against the wall as she furiously chases. “This is not your playground, go home!”

Tanjiro blinked, slowly peeling himself off and entering the kitchen cautiously, expecting someone else to barrel past him. When that did not happen, he sighed and grabbed a smaller tray for his drink order, settling beside Goto. Still a little startled, and maybe even more curious. “Who’s Inosuke, a dishwasher?”

Goto doesn’t look up, grunts as his face mask sucks inside from his breathing. The man is rolling silverware, grabbing, drying and organizing the utensils. “Shinobu’s kid.”

That made Tanjiro pause, hands mid fill. Dr Pepper squeaks and bubbles, droplets of water form around the glass.

“Her what?”

“Feral little thing,” the server flatly replied, boredly stacking his plentiful chores onto a clear bucket. He’s casual, doesn’t even seem bother to the fact that a boy with the energy of a boar ran around like he owned the place. “Not hers by blood, she fostered him a while back and never gave him back.”

Tanjiro’s mouth parted, but he didn’t say anything—just stared at him. Fascinating really, it somehow made the kocho’s look more heavenly. He remembers Kanae’s voice, real sweet and somber, especially for a caseworker. And now. Shinobu, so young and stern with rolled up sleeves, chasing after a teenager. What a difference in dynamic, though he can’t say he’s not amused— it makes them look more approachable.

Huh!

He smiled to himself, then slipped into the floor. Easily gliding across his section, though his body faintly trembled with exertion blisters flared at his ankles, adding a flare of sting with each step—louder than the pain just above. Though his calves numbed long, but his chest fluttery with busy buzzing. Some tables had left, only requiring bussing-but by a glance he catches glimpses of cash waiting for him.

That’s not the highlight of his job, it was always a nice feeling but truly, he found comfort in the repetition—smiles, trays, nods and thank you. A child might scream, but he’d coo at the little babies who stared at him without a thought behind their eyes. In addition, he had the pleasure of wiping spilled drinks, or refilling drinks. It was fine. He stayed busy. It was much more tasking than hosting for sure, but there wasn’t comparing the two—they can both equally be mentally draining.

Between delivering meals, and taking orders the atmosphere switched along the music. The songs switched to joyous beats, and whiney voices—hyper pop instrumentals blared appealing to the children. The sort of song that would make seniors roll their eyes, or have Genya covering his ears in displeasure.

Tanjiro winced.

Back in the kitchen, waiting on his food runner, he pulled out his notepad—just something to fidget with—and tapped his pen absently against the counter. Glancing towards the time, for he’d only been there five hours and managed to rack up over hundred dollars. He sighed, slightly victoriously drumming his pen in a specific tune.

Tap. Pause. Tap tap.

The rhythm was instinctual. Something his ears picked up from his meetings with Genya, who always bounced his leg and drummed a specific beat. He wasn’t sure whether or not it was a nervous tick, or a mannerism—which he was seemingly copying. The previous chat with Genya had sent him into a study, listening to loud—-violating instrumentals and screams of passion—-it surely wasn’t his thing, but it did fascinate him.

Honestly, he preferred something a little softer on the ears—but some had lyrics that did peak his interest. He hummed, a song, Savior by rise against. ‘Save you boy—-‘ and something along the lines, but he felt like he fits better as the voice in the back accompanying the main singer. ‘Woah-oh-ohoh—‘ that’s pretty easy to pull off, right?

Tick tick- pause- tick—-

The pattern didn’t match, so he supposed he had the wrong song in mind. But he kept drumming and rubbing his weary eyes as he recalls the way Genya ticked, slouched on the bridge as if he hoped no one would notice he was alive. Persistently, and cooly he played furthermore.

He mumbled under his breath, still humming Savior, missing half the lyrics but catching just enough to fake confidence.

“—I don’t hate you boy, I just wanna sa—”

“He liked that one.”

Tanjiro jumped.

That—-feral thing—Inosuke invaded a step closer, huge emerald eyes bore into his soul. Tanjiro’s heel smacked against the prep counter, an embarrassing warmth rushes to his face—girl—boy? Tanjiro swallowed thickly, his heart leaping up his throat, still partially startled by the silent stalking.

“Hey pretty’s eyes, you smell like weird mint!” The boy sneered with an accusatory pointed finger, he had short hair with blue tips. His voice had a natural loud roar to it, slightly husky even. “You’re not supposed to sing that song unless you get it.”

Tanjiro blinked, then blinked again.

“. . .Hi?”

The stranger leaned even closer. “Do you get it?”

“I think I’m trying to?” Tanjiro offered, unsure if he was about to get punched or adopted. He tried to shuffle away maybe ask for help, but Inosuke was nearly pressing against him, causing his eyes confusion. This boy- was a boy—- though he admittedly looked. . .delicate? A pause, then sheepishly he laughs. “You know Genya?”

“Obviously.” The boy scoffed—-still unmoving. “He likes Rise Against. I only told him about it once but then he played it, like, every week until I got sick of it. It’s boring now.”

Tanjiro tilted his head. “It’s kind of stuck in my head.”

“Huh.” The stranger squinted, thoughtful, somehow. “You new? You tap like Genya.”

Tanjiro tries to straighten up, just to respond—a server passes— Inosuke huffs again. Maybe a little offended, though he hadn’t uttered word. “Anyway, if you’re gonna copy his rhythm, do it right. It goes—” with a flick of knuckles, he drummed aggressively, maybe not completely right but it’s on beat, sharp, erratic like a challenge.

Tanjiro’s brows lifted in surprise. “That’s. . .faster than I thought.”

“Because he speeds it up when he’s mad.” Inosuke poked him in the forehead—-visibly perked up then did it a few more times each with more force. “He’s mad a lot.”

Tanjiro opened his mouth to ask something—maybe why Inosuke was jabbing his forehead so intently—when suddenly—

“Inosuke!” A feminine, forbidding voice slices through. Shinobu stomps from the corner of the large fridge, her hair was half-falling out of its bun, and she held what seemed to be a rolled-up apron like a weapon. A force to reckon with as it seemed, for Inosuke immediately perked up.

Hissing like a cornered cat, he spun and charged away. “Gotta go!”

He dodged as the boy launched over a stack of trays with alarming grace, sprinting toward the exit like he’d done it a thousand times. Real flexible, impressive, maybe confusing too.

“Don’t jump the prep counter again!” Shinobu barked, already giving chase. “This is a workplace, not your personal jungle gym—!”

The kitchen door flapped once. Twice. Gone.

Silence.

Tanjiro stood blinking, still clutching his pen, mouth slightly open.

“. . .Huh.”

Goto didn’t look up from scrubbing a pan. “He does that at least twice a week.”

Tanjiro smiled faintly to himself, finally moving to grab his tray. His ears still burned.

“Nice eyes,” he muttered. Then snorted, shaking his head. “Weird mint.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes in the far away, he is held gently, grounded by a shuddering coldness that hurts. It bites, it always did in the onslaught of snow. Each step is taken as if he had a broken bone, tumbling into the thick white, he could never see past the blizzard. Like a stubborn wall, his voice echoes unreaching, a gasp burns down his lungs but for all it was, his young cries don’t make it past his lips. He was in the far away, and everyone he ever loved waited without expecting him. Despite his isolation, he had one to admire, dream off in the endless nights.

The cold seizes his body, stiffening the joints in his limbs. It aches terrifyingly tight, coiling in motive movements a dehumanizing feeling that it tears a hoarse whimper from his frosted throat. Whatever comfort means isn’t cured with a hug around himself, his fingertips are blue and his body quivers violently. It didn’t occur until later when he blinks tears away they’re nearly glassy, hardening by the freezing temperatures.

He blinks, then blinks again.

It’s. . .

It’s quiet. It’s not cold anymore.

And ah. . .

He was in a room, arms enveloped around himself though his skin shivered with goosebumps. Tanjiro slowly dragged his gaze around, neck strained as if his head were too heavy for his small body. The space was small, a playroom, walls painted in bright colors of pink and blue, a rainbow trails in front of him, there are animals drawn around as well. A rug of a cartoon city is laid beneath him, Nezuko is sitting a few inches away from him, wiggling a tiger plushie and raven to kiss, absolutely adorable. She wore a long sleeved shirt, paired with a jacket designed to look like a sheep. Cute.

A blanket was heavily worn over his shoulders; seemingly useless as his body was wrecked with occasional twitching. His fingertips numbed with no feeling, he hasn’t felt anything from them in years now. Not that he had lived long. Tanjiro smiled regardless, and shuffled off the chair his legs dangled from. “Nezuko. . .” Whispered Tanjiro crawling next to her with an easy expression.

The girl hums in response, offering the tiger acknowledging her older brother. “The tiger goes rawr, hm?”

Her speech is awkward, like the words are just as young as she is. Still, it’s precious to him and he find himself settling closer to her, brushing along the tiger plushie. “What about meow like a nice kitty?”

Startled wide pink eyes gape at him, reasoning his thinking with the comprehension only a 6 year old has. “Mmm. . .maybe, that sounds nice.” She presses the tiger’s head into Tanjiro’s arm. “But he has sharp teeth. So. He bites.”

Another flip, his stomach tightens uncomfortably endeared. It’s almost enough to forget the constant ache soaked in his body, relief dulls his senses Tanjiro allows the plushie to ‘nibble’ on him, adjusting his hand over the fuzzy striped head. “Yeah?”

Meekly, Nezuko shrugs pulling it close to her chest. “And scratches. . .” Innocence is a delicate thing, a trait children grow up with and eventually lose. The delicacy it is tugs at him daily, a constant concern that grew root after all that was lost. But—-he was in the distance, alone in a playroom where Nezuko and he would be placed in a new home, overwhelmed with hesitance. No adult was kind like his parents; no adult could ever substitute them. Now it was he, the eldest Kamado of the family who was responsible for his own, Nezuko a sweet girl he dearly loved.

Muffled footsteps echoed in the hall, papers flipping alongside some careful chatting. Tanjiro spares a hard glare at the door, daring the usual adult that spoke with too much caution to enter. “Only if they’re scared. . .” He mumbled seconds later, glancing back caressing her cheek.

Nezuko hummed again, nuzzling against his palm stiffening, realizing as he held there. Steadily she touched over his hand, tracing over his knuckles towards his nails. “You’re freezing. . .”

Tanjiro’s removed his hands with a faltered smile, wiggling his fingers like claws. “It’s ‘cause I’m a snow-cat.”

She blinked at him, for she wasn’t completely dense. The girl hums once more, shrugging it off. “I don’t like snow.” Her voice goes quiet. “It makes my tummy hurt.”

He twitches, still smiling, but it wavers slightly. “Me too.”

The playroom door opens, a man with a soft spoken voice reassures a little boy into the room. He doesn’t acknowledge them, just nudges him forward before backing out of the room, shutting the door with dreadful finality. Bitterness bubbles within him, adjusted to this flippant behavior that the case workers presented, sorry glances, then casual dismissals—-Tanjiro can’t help but dislike them, and their unwillingness to provide some true help.

Tanjiro looked away from the other boy, turned back to Nezuko brushing a hair out of her face. “We’ll be warm soon, okay? The next house will be really sunny. You’ll see.”

Nezuko chuckles, a real weak sound—-then hums.

He blinks once, the precious tune echoing—he blinks again.

And quiet. The tune disappears.

And he’s no longer in that room, his body has grown along the years. His limbs have stretched and his eyes grow more weary with restless nights. Heavy blankets lack the insulated warmth, they’re freezing and body shivers violently. It’s tight in his chest heavy thundering pounding against his ribcage, like it were imprisoning his determined heart. Dreams can be so confusing, dreams can be stories for the future—dreams can be punishments the brain creates when reminded of the past.

Open hand, Tanjiro smacks his palm towards his chest ripping the blankets off with a stuttered gasp. The skull echoed of the vibrations from his drumming heart, he wasn’t sure what part of that dream terrified him, he wasn’t even sure if it was a memory, it just felt too real, like mania wrapped in plastic sweetness.

Another grasp, his legs swing off the bed pushing against the floor with a stumble, Tanjiro holds his head with one hand, hissing disoriented. Ventilation as helpful as it should be, hisses cold unwavering air nearly ending his blood circulation. If that were even possible. His bedroom door shuts with a firm thud, drawing deep profound breaths counting each inhale with strained resolve. You’re fine, it’s okay, you’re fine. . .You’re fine. . . He leans against a wall gasping in small puffs now, the tremors in his body weaken. The comfort of his clothes help his senses return, a T-shirt and thick sweatpants bunched up to his knees, his long socks were meant to hug over his calves though they seemed to be folded around his blistered ankles.

“It’s fine. . .” He shivered once again, rubbing a hand over his face, his skin dry and icy. There’s a dull blue light illuminating from the wall, a thermostat built there in the hallway. Tanjiro skulked back staring at it, his mouth parted open with the last of his irregular gasps. Looking between the end of the hall, then back towards the light. Hesitation. . . He——He shouldn’t touch the thermostat, not when the man of the house made it obscenely clear to leave it alone.

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Another harsh quiver crawled through his body; Tanjiro brushed it off and reached—-his fingers brush over the button—a harsh sound muffled down. A wet cough. Not from his own, the sick sound calls deeper into the house. He perked up, blinking at the hall letting his eyes adjust to the dark. . .except it’s not dark.

Barely concealed, the bathroom door is closed with the light on inside. His stomach flips anxiously, panic still recent in his body. Another cough tore into the air, clear with phlegm and discomfort. Tanjiro chewed his lip all the way over, shoving the cuffs of his sweatpants down to his ankles before knocking on the door.

“Hello. . .Rui is that you?”

The coughing continues — wet, raw, ugly. A beat passes. Then Rui’s voice answers, barely above a whisper.

“I’m—okay.”

It tugs at his lips, such a pitiful weak voice, his heart tightens almost endeared. Determined he didn’t dare move away, instead reached for the knob worriedly. “You don’t sound okay. . .” He turns his wrist, “Can I come in?”

Silence replied, thick with caution and maybe embarrassment. Tanjiro knew Rui for being meek and quiet, though his eyes followed him almost searching, constantly. He wished the boy would just ask him what was on his mind, to reach out and bond without overstepping just as he did before. Another wet sniffle, clearly stifled then- another cough. Tanjiro hesitates, but pushes forward cracking the door open — slow enough to give Rui time to protest. He doesn’t.

Inside: Rui is curled over the sink, blood smeared under his nose, his small hand trembling as he grips the edge of the counter. His legs look weak, like they might give out. A sharp panic startles him forward, rushing over steady but careful, especially not to spook the young boy. ”Hey—hey, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

He slips an arm around Rui’s shoulders and guides him gently to sit on the edge of the tub. Rui shivers, hugging himself, seemingly just as cold as he. For a moment, he swallowed the nervous lump in his throat, a real heavy discomfort nearly choking him up. Rui with his spider like hair. Shivering with such pale skin he almost confuses it for blue, and that only panicked him more.

Rui sniffled, rubbing his nose smearing blood against his lips. “I think I hit it. . .when I fell asleep. The pillow.”

The red at Rui’s chin—it’s almost too familiar. Not from illness, not always. Repeated nights in other homes, different siblings, he awoke late at night tending to wounds of bruises and split lips. It was nature to help, he had to—though regret blossomed where his mind wandered. An old anger flared from his throat, where he shouted at any adult who raised an arm to his dear sister, and another, where his head met another and left them stumbling back with a bruised forehead.

He clears his throat, “That happens sometimes. Your nosebleeds are tricky, huh?” He reaches for a towel, tapping his index beneath Rui’s chin. “Tilt your head a little, there you go. . .”

He presses the towel gently under Rui’s nose, keeping his voice calm, gentle. Dabbing across the mess, the boy’s eyes are shivering, completely trained on him, his mouth parted open with a small stolen gasp. Happy aromas hummed between them, almost too weak to catch, but not for Tanjiro—Rui leans into his towel.

“There. . .thats a little bit better no-“

Cue the bathroom door creaking open— Ume trips back in with a small plastic bag of ice and a bottle of nose spray. She freezes the second she sees Tanjiro kneeling beside Rui.

She looks between them, her head snapping from side to side as if personally offended by what she was seeing. An eyelid twitches, and they could audibly hear her grip tightening on the spray. “I got it.”

He swallowed, offering a cautious smile. “I know. I just—he sounded bad. I thought maybe—”

“No one asked for your help.”

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Between her fierce glare, and Rui’s deflating mood; Tanjiro wrangles the conflict in his hands. He hasn’t forgotten the incident at the library, seemingly so, Ume held a firm grudge against it as well—she avoided him at every chance. Stormed out of any room he entered, and gave him dirty looks that screamed ‘I hate you’, and somberly so, he completely understood why. The girl didn’t appreciate being coddled by someone older than her, it sent the wrong message.

“I’m not trying to take anything from you.” He stares at her, and blinks glancing back at Rui. Most foster homes required you to find a place to fit into, if you didn’t fit the puzzle piece then you’re best being moved homes. He shouldn’t assume every child wants comfort, to be listened to like it were a found family trope. Tanjiro steps aside, hands wrung behind his back. “tell me what to do.”

Ume frowns, her mouth pressed thin. She kneels beside Rui from the other side, handing him the spray with a muttered instruction. He sniffles but listens.

The space felt just a little too crowded—and somehow, Tanjiro still felt like the smallest thing in it. He rubbed his hands over his pockets, eyes lowering to his feet. His green socks shifted as his toes fidgeted, quiet against the floor. “I want. . .you to tell me what is best.”

A wary glance, like she’s trying to dismiss him but his words don’t let her. Tanjiro doesn’t move away, but it’s not invasive—or so he tries not to be insecure no matter how much her silence stiffens him. She’s thorough tilting rui’s face around without a gentle touch, he wants to believe she cares but she almost treats him like a burden, or something she quickly wants to get rid off. He wonders why she’s even trying.

Finally: “He needs to rest. carry him.”

And he obeys, scooping the boy up with ease lead by Ume right into his room. The room is once again, strangely untidy, but he doesn’t comment on. Evading each random obstacle; socks, shoes, toys—he tucks him into his bed. Palming across the cold bedsheets, they’re anything but warm for them all—he chewed his tongue keeping the complaint to himself. Glancing back to Rui, the child’s eyes quiver on him again, wide but tired— and maybe a little excited.

He pats his head, and promptly leaves gently closing the door. Ume is leaning against the wall, waiting for him, though he’s not sure why. By the tightness in her expression, it’s obvious she has more to say, lectures or scoldings—but she’s not happy. Admittedly so, he thought that Ume was so pretty, white snow hair, and piercing cold gaze—and maybe that’s why she always made him feel so uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry if I gave the wrong idea.” Bowed Tanjiro. “I. . .im not trying to replace any-“

“You gave it regardless.” She snaps whisking hair off her shoulders. “I have one older brother, and that’s enough.”

He blinks, straightening up by instinct. For all of her protective walls, and heavy guards he didn’t think she’d bring him up so casually—-it was the risk he imagined, that she would yell at him for even daring to elude to her elder sibling.

“You’re right.” Replied Tanjiro already a few steps ahead towards her room, lead by a silent urge. Without finality, memories loop around his throat, choked words that his body attempts to keep down. “I have my younger sister and she’s enough for me as well. . .” But the confession comes out, and it sounds softer than he intends, hands wrung together, his body still cold riddled with goosebumps.

Ume stares at him. Her lips twitch, like she wants to say something cruel, but it doesn’t come out.

“Ye. . .yeah well is she around?” The floorboards creaked, a step forward then another backwards, instinctually remorseful for a lack of empathy. “Cause she’s not: so you better not be looking for her in m—“

“I’m not.” It’s not enough to echo, but his voice clipped through her offense, blurted and firm. It’s not cruel, or upset. Her lashing out didn’t upset him, standing there he stares at a girl who is scared and impatient god knows she’ll require patience. “No one could ever replace her. I’m looking for her, waiting.”

“Waiting’s stupid,” she mutters quickly, caressing her elbow childishly. “People don’t come back just ‘cause you wait.”

“I still have to try.”

“You’ll just disappoint yourself.”

What a strange thing to say, Tanjiro lets it sit as his body drags down the wall. Collapsing down with crossed arms. He imagined she’d been let down more than once, ultimately disappointed it ached something in his heart. He wondered, if Nezuko felt the same way wherever she was.

Tanjiro’s voice softens. “Do you feel that way about your brother?”

Her mouth presses into a tight line, reluctantly sitting. She somehow sounded defeated, her aroma thins into annoyance and Tanjiro just slightly shuffles away to provide space.

“You miss him.”

She frowns, pouting. “He wasn’t perfect, okay? He messed up a lot. Got himself kicked out.” Her hands wave around wildly, gesturing at nothing. Pretty white hair spills past her shoulders, typically brushed and tamed. The usually pale complexion of her face darkened pink, still puffed out in a fainter pout. She didnt look any less graceful, just more childish. “Thought he was so cool—running around with his gross music and stupid friends. But he—he always came back for me. Every time.”

His knees draw towards his chest, hugging his legs to himself as he nods. “Until he—-“

“No.” She clipped quickly, “Don’t you dare say he gave up because——-“ she stops. A disturbing silence lingers between them now, it didn’t seem right to speak it felt like the moment of silence given to someone who should be honored. Ume’s lips thin, chewing inside her cheek quietly disturbed. “The thing about us is we fight together, . .two is better than one. . .you know?”

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Tanjiro tilted his head slightly, resting his cheek against the curve of his knee. Perhaps it was admiration that blossomed warmly in his stomach, only an occasional feeling in a place like this—but still—he found himself smiling appreciative of her sincere honesty: though it was a little wounded.

“What’s his name?”

She immediately perks up, her mouth flopped open wihtout an uttered word. Her body hesitates first before the name is hauled out in a simple whisper.

“Gyutaro. . .”

Tanjiro nodded, echoing the name—committing it to memory, an important relic for their bond. If it even was there—regardless of Tanjiro scoots closer.

“You said he listened to weird music?”

She scoffs, like a laugh.

After that decided to play detective; if he desired to be accepted by Ume then he had a new role.

Amongst the busy clinking and chatter of a busy restaurant; The weight in his pocket was just a phone, but it tugged at him like guilt. Atypical behavior for Tanjiro, where he’d otherwise focus on the guests in his section. Another steady day, early Sunday with hungry folk parading into the dining room; especially after church. The guests tend to be generous enough to tip more than five dollars, and as sweet as it is he finds himself conflicted.

Like clockwork— Tanjiro skids between tables, and the kitchen. The wheels of his rollerblades hiss to a stop his hands balancing trays full of different meals.

Then—-promptly after rolled back in the kitchen, just to slump against a counter top with a loud sigh. Goto the server assistant grunted back in agreement, a nod to exhaustion. Tanjiro wasn’t annoyed or anything, a little uncomfortable maybe; but his mind concerned with different aspects. He thought of searching for Gyutaro; and then selfishly desired a real bond with Genya. . .who didn’t even seem interested in a conversation.

Between drafted messages, and his awkward relationship at home—he found himself very busy. Tanjiro peeked at his phone again. Just to look. Just in case.

Still left on read—-His phone disappointingly dry.

‘Are you free to chat? Maybe ^^???’

Real pathetic stuff, he must sound desperate. His thumb flicked down the lack of conversation. Many green messages on his end, different greetings, different questions in a span of a few weeks. All left on read, honestly he thought Genya would be like that: avoidant and prone to dismiss him. It should embarrass him, but Tanjiro just found himself mildly annoyed.

He tucked the phone away, but his thoughts didn’t follow.

Goto, that mysterious masked cranky man smacked two bowls onto a tray without looking up. Typically; he was a server but as it seemed they took him off the floor. “I ever tell you you sigh too much?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m just. . .thinking.”

He grunts, snatching a hanging ticket from above, his brown eyes skimming across the listing. “Thinking’s a dangerous hobby around here. You want to last long, you either stop that, or get really good at pretending you didn’t see anything.”

Tanjiro offered a tired smile, yet to get offended by the man’s dry words. “How long have you been working here, Goto?”

Someone from the grill line shoved a tray forward with half plated steak and steak fries; real flippant attitude. Goto doesn’t seemed bothered whatsoever, just tosses some plastic cups and pours a golden colored dipping sauce. “Long enough to know who’s gonna cry in the walk-in fridge by week’s end. You’ve lasted five, though, so maybe you’re tougher than you look.”

It wasn’t cruel, not really; He just had a way of acting that was both two faced and amusing. The kind of guy to scold you and then turn around and grumble about it, as if not entirely satisfied. Real unprofessional and useless especially as a server, but Tanjiro rather appreciated that the man didn’t treat him like a child. Many times before he was dismissed with a pat to the head, viewed at with sympathetic eyes. How could someone his age understand the real struggles of an adult drowning in finance issues? Likely not— though it makes his pursue for Gyutaro the more important, wondering. . .where was the man now if he’d been kicked out?

Tanjiro considered a few different options from then, his following conversations with Ume typically ended with her dismissive grumbles and embarrassed glares.

But—- it seemed that the town had a certain demographic for music—

He chewed his lip, rolling his foot back and forth on the wheels. “Hey, can I ask you something weird?”

“That wasn’t weird already?”

Sarcasm again; Tanjiro blinks but scoots just a little closer. “I’ve been listening to this band. Rammstein? They’re kind of intense.”

So he was told; Ume explained the band as some band Gyutaro occasionally listened to. She had confessed it that night Rui bled; and it opened a few opportunities for him that Ume kept rejecting.

Goto snorted. “German guys? Yeah, they’re loud.”

Tanjiro lit up, nodding his head enthusiastically. Yes—yes it was quite startling actually; he didn’t prepare for the discomfort of being growled at and seduced by a very well played guitar. He could recall listening to the music with occasional flinches, and scrunched expressions. Between shouted German words, and unrecognizable lyrics he knew it had to mean something. . .that somehow, he could get to Gyutaro with it.

“Yeah. . .” He awkwardly shrugged it off, letting his gaze drag back over. “But I was more interested in the genre?”

“That’s what you’re stuck on?” Goto snorted, plating eggs. “People like that? They’re all in the same scene anyway. Punk, metal, goth, noise, whatever. Same energy, just different haircuts.”

Tanjiro frowned. “Really?”

Goto shrugged. “I dunno, man. I ain’t an expert. They all hang out in the same spots, dress the same, yell about the same things. You see one, you see the rest.”

That stuck. Tanjiro chewed his cheek, thoughtful. He had thought of Genya, but the dull sadness in his lavender eyes made him reconsider. Still; it wasn’t a failure of an idea, Goto’s words made the path forward seem clearer. “So. .would you say if I was looking for someone they might be there?”

Goto stopped his constant moving—-just sighed again; real loud and clear—he wasn’t up to entertain the conversation anymore.

The man’s irritation served as warning, Tanjiro squeaked something apologetically then shoved himself off the counter. Goto was a man with little patience as it seemed, he skated out of the kitchen back into the dining room empty handed. His section was likely needy for attention, rolling back out a few tables had costumers perked up with thirsty expressions, despite being gone for five minutes. Tanjiro winced but quickly moved, reaching for the abandoned pitcher on an empty table.

He made his rounds, offered sweet apologies and chipper inquiries. Whether or not the food was well, or if he could provide any other assistance etc etc. The thrill quickly ended, a sharp turn down his section he caught eye of Shinobu at the hostess stand, her expression soft and happy despite that angry aroma to her. Turning his gaze a little to the right and he inhales sharply, turning his back and seeking refuge in the kitchen.

Not here…not here not here!

“Kamado!”

He shudders, stopping at a halt. Shinobu’s voice continues to shout from across the restaurant; “Kanae would like to speak to you!”

Tanjiro’s shoulders deflate, but he spins and approaches with a strained smile. The pitcher is left abandoned by another empty table. Shinobu hums not sorry at all, and Kanae has that stern disappointed look on her face, her hair is beautifully long and energy tamed. There’s another figure behind her, but he doesn’t dare look away when Shinobu is assessing their conversation like an overly protective mama duck.

“Oh child, didn’t we already discussed this?” She started, a hand reached over already fixing the wrinkles in his uniform. “No fifteen year old should be stressing at a restaurant. . .”

He glances away, awkwardly. Not exactly disappointed, just surprised that someone originally skittish about his case, was forgetful of important information. Tanjiro laughed awkwardly, brushing his hair behind his ear. “Sixteen, actually.”

Kanae gave him a look. “Sixteen is still a child.”

“I like working,” he tried, softer now. “I mean it. I don’t mind it here. It keeps me focused.”

“Focused on what?”

Tanjiro hesitated, smile faltering. “Just. . .being useful.”

Kanae sighed, her expression tightening for a moment. “You’re not meant to prove your worth through labor, Tanjiro. You’re already worth something. Even if you’re just sitting down. Even if you’re in a classroom instead of a breakneck service shift.”

“That’s nice of you to say.” He dipped his head, then grinned to play it off. “But I’m fine, I study before and after work. . .”

She continued to stare at him, not moving away from the conversation. Coincidentally, beside her Inosuke poked his head out grinning at him with a criminal level of mischief. It was a little amusing, but it brought his mind back to his first issues. Strange as it was to get it from such a strange boy; he turned back to Kanae and cleared his throat. “Actually. . .I have a question.” He’d ask this sort of thing before, in different ages and different times; he was always dismissed, but maybe Kanae could prove herself much more different from other case workers.

He shifted slightly, bracing for disappointment before he even asked. “Is it possible to find out if siblings—like, if someone’s brother or sister—are still in the system? Or, like, if they’ve aged out?”

Kanae’s expression changed instantly. Not in a cruel way. Just tightened, stilled—like the question had bumped into something sore.

“Tanjiro. . .” She said his name like a caution. “You know that kind of search isn’t encouraged.”

He blinked, familiar with that tone. Back in a time where he looked up at the adults, in a small useless body when he’d ask the same sort of question. His throat tightens, awkward. . .maybe annoyed. “I’m not—It’s not for me,” he added quickly. “I mean, it’s not about Nezuko. I wasn’t trying to break protocol, I promise.”

Kanae blinked, visibly thrown.

“It’s not about your sister?”

If it was almost frustrating, if it was about his sister, he shouldn’t be shut down so quickly. Every excuse echoed in the back of his head, an itchy bothersome burn, daring to turn into attitude. “No. It’s for someone else. Just. . . someone I’m worried about.”

She made a face, her lips pursing tight clearly not use to this sort of situation. The lack of urgency or confidence in her answers picked at him, slightly concerning Tanjiro wonder’s how she’s even a case worker, she clearly doesn’t enjoy her job, but there was a hint of sadness in her natural aroma each time. “That makes it even trickier.”

She sighed, touching her fingertips to her temple. Shinobu—who had been pretending not to listen—raised an eyebrow but didn’t interject.

“I understand why you’re asking. But there are reasons those files are sealed. Confidentiality laws. Safety concerns. Even if I wanted to help you, Tanjiro, I’m not allowed to go digging through placement histories for every kid who’s ever mentioned a sibling.”

“But what if they want to be found?” His voice was quiet, too earnest. “What if someone’s just waiting? Hoping?”

Kanae didn’t answer for a moment. Her face turned thoughtful, but her eyes stayed tired.

He can feel the impatience of his guests, people awaiting on tables to be served furthermore. It didn’t seem to matter at the moment, he still thought of Ume who seemed bothered each time he asked more questions about Gyutaro. The girl quickly caught onto what he was trying to do. Seemingly so, she didn’t want him in her business and kept putting her foot down but Tanjiro wasn’t known for obeying easily—-he was a stubborn mule. So it was his mission to use this to fulfill his purpose in this new town.

Kanae sighs, patting his arm that same way an adult would to a toddler. “That’s not how the system works. It’s not built for hope. It’s built for safety. And even that’s a gamble.” Then, gently—almost apologetically—she added, “Don’t get yourself into trouble chasing things that might not want to be found.”

Tanjiro looked down, biting the inside of his cheek. He didn’t respond right away, not trusting himself to speak without sounding frustrated.

“If this is about Nezuko, or if you’re feeling lost—”

“It’s not,” he cut in quickly, then softened. “I promise. It’s really not.”

She gave him a long, knowing look but didn’t press further.

“Then my answer stands.” She stepped back a bit, brushing invisible lint off her sleeves.

It stretches terribly awkward, but he should’ve known to expect that. Shinobu clears her throat, and he takes a step away, “I have to go run food, I’ll see you later Miss Kanae.”

He doesn’t wait, he rolls away his chest tight. It wasn’t her fault the system was the way it is; but it doesn’t stop that bitter feeling fester within him. Despite the displeasure, he deeply inhales it away as it’s a useless emotion to focus on when the search wasn’t over. Tanjiro rolled back into the kitchen, nearly bumping into Murata, another presence stomping behind him: stalking. Judging by the dark, devious aura he contained a sigh and grabbed a tray, checking the ticket.

Goto mutters something at him, and Tanjiro nods quickly skidding out of the kitchen. There’s no avoiding his new friend—er so he hoped they were at least acquainted. Despite rolling forward, Inosuke trailed right behind him pulling on the strings of his apron.

“You a new kid in town or something?”

An exhausted chuckle, the handsy touch wasn’t bothersome whatsoever, if anything a little endearing. “I mean, in a way yeah, but I have been here for maybe three months n-”

Inosuke huffs snatching a single fry from a plate. ”three months? And you’ve known Genya since then?”

A pause, Tanjiro glances at the stolen fry. Inosuke doesn’t chase deeper in the section, casually chomps the potato down with a smug grin, knowing well he can’t argue back as he serves meals to his table. Tanjiro hums, offering smiles at the table a small family of three, the mother of the toddler appears intimidating, but otherwise sweetly compliments his servicing skills. The child, a cute little thing babbles incoherently reaching for the miniature dinosaur shaped nuggets.

He spun and approach Inosuke again with a curious grin, carrying the empty tray on his shoulder. “We talk sometimes.”

The boy, pretty face and fair skin tilts his head, pursuing him too closely. Tanjiro doesn’t shake him off, not as he snatches the tray and shoves it on the counter, backing him against to it. “Tch. . .what about Kanae?” He growled strangely possessively, reeking of something accusatory.

“I. . .” His voice trailed off, leaning further away as Inosuke continues to study on him. First impressions had been awkward in the town, every person he met either hated him or studied him closely. Tanjiro shuddered, another sheepish chuckle escapes him as Inosuke sniffs up his arm. “Hnn. . .I was assigned to her when I moved.”

Inosuke perks up, grabbed his shoulders. “So you’re a foster kid?”

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Tanjiro smiles, lips twitching because honestly—Inosuke was a breath of fresh air. This pretty boy lacked self awareness, in a charming scary way. Blue tipped hair, with strong emerald colored eyes; and seemingly enough worked out. Broad, and dressed in a simple unbuttoned flannel and black sweatpants. Not a care for decency, showed off his slightly toned chest. A real strange teenager, unpredictable and unique. Murata in the corner of his eye, just rolls a finger over his ear. crazy

Tanjiro shrugs containing a laugh, “Yeah.”

Inosuke huffs, once again accusatory. “You’re not special, just so you know. She works with a lot of kids.”

Humming, Tanjiro slips away quick to run food. “I never said I was!”

They both emerge from the back, guests glance just to see Tanjiro being chased by the animalistic boy. Shinobu, with her badge tried to ignore Inosuke’s roaring voice; an honest hindrance to the restaurant peace. The regulars knew of her adoptive child, so did the servers but no one ever thought of complaining. Surprising as it is; she still scolded or chased him out to keep some tranquility. The restaurant still buzzed with chatter, clean tables, and constant purr of singing in the background.

Wheeling around tables, more warm inquires but accompanied by ‘surprised’ thank yous from personal tips. Inosuke’s pace quickened, side stepping and deftly yanked another fry. “Alright! Fine—then——what’s your deal with Genya?”

“Huh?” He replied swatting him away.

An old man’s cane rolls onto the floor, tipped as Inosuke toppled it with a quick pass. Not looking back, he gulps the fresh food, “You know—Are you two friends?”

Playing keep away, Tanjiro thoughtfully considered it. The awkward arguments, and read messages remind him of how unreachable Genya is, it somehow made sense when thinking of Genya’s look. Tall, broad and angry guy, supposedly into punk-are those sort of people naturally avoidant? For all of their expressive songs, and unique fashion one assumes they had a lot to say, but not. . .Genya. “. . .I’d like to be.”

“Pfft!” Tanjiro flinched, letting out a startled squeak having to yank the tray again just to evade another attempt to steal fries. Inosuke jumps, and reaches regardless. “Good luck!”

He pouts, kicking forward soaring between the tables hurriedly sliding dinner to a party of two, rushing a casual ‘you enjoy!’ Not unkind, but somewhat entertained, even as he returned to the orginal menace that was stealing from the company. “Why do you say that?”

Ominously, Inosuke pointed a finger at him, surprisingly not accusatory—-he jabs at his forehead once, then twice, “cus you’re all soft! That’s like oil and um—-“ he looks away, but Tanjiro bites back another laugh. Concerningly so, he can tell the cogwheels are turning in his head. “. . .bah! Whatever—-Genya doesn’t respond to little things you gotta catch his attention.”

He blinks, pushing past the flapping doors purposely holding it open for Inosuke. “That doesn’t sound friend—-“

“Nah nah!” Another jab, and honestly Tanjiro thought of headbutting Inosuke for a second. The boar boy snickers a real hoarse evil laugh, rolling his sleeves up, “You want him to talk? Piss him off.”

“Pff what?”

Completely serious, Inosuke drags to the grill counter. “The only way to really get him going is by offending him.” He shrugs, steals another fry— “purposely act dumb! You’ve got a dumb pretty face, you’d look better yelling misinformation!”

Tanjiro blinks, slightly blushes only in a way someone who shouldn’t be flattered would “w-well. . .I don’t want him to hate me.”

“He won’t!” Inosuke proudly cackles, “He’ll just yell. That’s Genya talkin’. He loves yellin’.”

.

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“Huh. . .”

Genya was the kind of angry guy to argue with you; probably. He seemed more vulnerable the last time they spoke as well, sensitive and tender when bringing up smoking, but willing to express a lonely sadness. He could still recall the sunset colors in his lavender eyes, a mere gleam of shyness that was almost cute. Tanjiro thought it was precious, maybe honored that he spoke to him even after offending him. Genya was kinda patient, sure—could easily blow a fuse-but otherwise willing enough to give him his phone number! Even. . .if he refused to text back.

“That actually sounds helpful. . .” Tanjiro smiled, grasping Inosuke’s hands and gripped them tightly—partially because he had already been eyeing another side of fresh fries. “Thank you for the advice Insouke!”

Inosuke stares, a slow wheeze barely audible deep in his throat hurries out of him. “Y. . .yeah!” He snorts, “You better thank me I dont give assume advice to just to anyone!”

Goto from nearby rolled his eyes, . .no one should listen to someone like Inosuke.

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But Tanjiro might.

Tanjiro chewed on his lip, walking down the warm sidewalk after a long day of work. It’d only been a day later since Inosuke climbed all over him like an overly curious dog. Strange as he was, Tanjiro didn’t mind how energetic Inosuke was even if it intruded in his workspace. Goto had at some point praised Tanjiro for keeping Inosuke busy, and calm at the same time—-though he didn’t feel like Inosuke was that all ‘calm’.

But, he hadn’t seen Inosuke that day for work, and maybe that was a good thing. However, now he was approaching the library with an insulated bag that carried his lunch and extras. Fumbling with his phone in hand, typing out whatever he thought made sense. And well. . .Genya. . .was a terrible person to text, damn near impossible to reach out to.

‘Hey I’m at the library.’

Delete.

‘You think we could talk?:DD’

Delete.

‘Sorry if I’m annoying you’

Delete.

‘Hey please text me back I know all you do is sleep and skip school!!!’

Delete delete.Deletedelete

Tanjiro frowned at his phone, sighing out loud straining a smile into the library. The doors shove open, and he slips inside with a shy wave. The librarian hums at him, and a few of the regular college students spared him a glance. The atmosphere takes the emotion out of him, and he slouches in defeat, a little sheepish to be getting so worked up over a lack of reply. What can you say to someone like Genya? Avoidant, quiet and quick tempered, the portrait of someone unapproachable. He doubted Genya wanted to seem that way anyways, he wore a frown like it was permanent, spoke in that low rough voice to catch people off guard.

At a table, Tanjiro pulls a chair out, hidden behind a filled bookshelf comfortable to blend in a sea of literature masterpieces. Then promptly squints at his phone again, imagining that it was Ume texting Genya for him.

He clears his throat, straightening up bracing for something; different.

‘I’m at the library if you want to actually get your school work done, since we both know you’re failing your classes.’

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‘(:’

Huh, Tanjiro stares then chuckled out loud. It was a little on the nose for a girl who looked sweet but acted bratty—but he could really see it coming from her. Glancing away, he considered it. . .then hovered his thumb over the send button. Genya could get annoyed, but. . .but if he didn’t respond then it wouldn’t make a difference, he tried.

Send.

His eyes widened. Oh no. He really just—

Slammed the phone down like it betrayed him.

A fluttery excitement soured in his hands and sprang up. By adrenaline, he found himself by the bookshelves looking between titles only to pull out an array of thick books filled with school material. Algebra, history, non fiction literature, he waddled back and forth with them, stiffly setting them down without a disturbing sound. Now stacked on the table, Tanjiro cracks his knuckles and clears his throat.

He’s procrastinated on this far too long. . .busy with work, and wandering around the quiet town. There was a journal, full of previous lectures he’d told himself, reviewing he was caught up in algebra and history though he polish up on literature itself—-his pencil twirled once, twice as he skimmed the pages before turning to an empty page. He’d been fine in understanding the many requirements and choices when narrating different essays. Informative, persuasive, or argumentative though he’s not sure if he’s learning to argue or learning the difference between them.

His fingertips graze the page numb and cold, while his foot shifted towards the leg of the seat, pressing against it with a wince. The library can manage to be comforting and alarming depending if the silence felt haunting. He leans forward just to check his phone, which had not vibrated.

A sigh fell from him before he could even catch it, the sound was pitiful and maybe dramatic. Genya didn’t owe him anything, it wasn’t even that serious but after the build up of their strange friendship. . .it wouldn’t hurt to hope for a response.

He looked back down at the page, willing himself to actually focus this time—ethos, pathos, logos. . .Something about exigence. Then it descended into math explanations, so on, so on.

Buzz.

His eyes widened, hand shot out swiping the phone right off.

Genya: Yeah sure whatever. Where in the library

His stomach flipped.

Tanjiro didn’t reply right away. That would be suspicious. The mere reply made his hand feel useless, thumbs twiddling in circles He needed to play it cool, but he didn’t want to lose Genya’s attention. Internally, Ume was a miracle even if she had an angry personality. Inosuke’s advice was both helpful, and alarming—-does Genya only respond to negativity? That seems so sad, he wondered if that’s all he could understand.

He opened the message, hesitates for more than five seconds. ‘Near the back shelves, it’s a little hidden but I’m sure you have working eyes.’

He hoped he wasn’t overdoing—likely not?

He set the phone facedown again and stared at the wall. He was so excited he felt nauseous. There was nothing normal about it, just an awkward meet up with a boy who possibly smoked. It thrilled him more that he was getting away with being a little petty, for all of his joyous behavior and polite smiles

In a spam of fifteen minutes, Tanjiro scribbled somewhat neat notes, simplified or over explained so that his mind may understand it. Algebra was a little more difficult to understand but otherwise fun when it’s easy. He managed to get a full page, while consistently glancing over to the corner then back to the empty seat—-but when the doors opened with a rough grunt; he shuddered straight up. Tanjiro smiled proudly, shifting his seat a little closer to the empty one, invitingly patting it like a soccer mom.

Genya showed up with an unmistakable sort of presence, not dramatic like a storm cloud but heavy and thrilling. He wore a dark hoodie with a few messy rips in them, Tanjiro gawked and imagined that it was something the boy just threw on. His hair was brushed. Slightly sleek with a greasy sheen, and his eyes looked red possibly from a lack of sleep. Tanjiro’s eyes followed the entire walk, unapologetically smiling at him. It quickly became obvious that Genya wasn’t in a good mood, eyes half-lidded with disinterest, and a barely-there lip curl like even the paperbacks offended him.

“It’s good to see you!” He chirped unusually loud, that it caused Genya to lowly hiss at him—flushing in embarrassment. Tanjiro skulked back, clearing his throat, “sorry! Um—take a seat, I saved it for you. . .”

He doesn’t immediately move, his cheek twitches a hand firm over the strap of his decorated backpack. The tall teenager was always so hard to read, the growl of his voice was an exchange of confusion and awe. Genya was tall, taller than him which was typically uncommon. Genya without all his layers looked like he could—no—should be broad. In truth he seemed slightly scrawny, he could tell food was an issue with him, especially his surprise to consuming ‘real turkey’.

Lucky him, Tanjiro hummed and pats the seat once more. Letting his gaze flicker to the bag of prepared food.

“Tch.”

Tanjiro straightened up again, humming in response with inquiry. Genya stared, taking in the strange scene before him, suddenly his table felt cluttered, the stacks of educational books and a bag with snacks. . .and his journal with a ramble of algebraic notes. “I didn’t think you were actually serious.” Genya plainly said, to which Tanjiro sheepishly chuckled, moving the objects around attempting to make it look neater.

“Uhmmm——“ he cleared his throat, tucking his chewed up mechanical pencil in the middle of his journal darting his eyes on Genya’s unimpressed expression. “About what?”

“School.” Genya sighed, his shoulders deflating. His school bag slumps with a loud ‘umf’, still it made Tanjiro feel lighter, eagerly nodding his head as Genya gestured his hand over him, absently yanking some wrinkled worksheets. “Studying. This whole—thing.” His eyes flick over the mountain of books once more. “You’re like. . .a walking school supply section.”

Hope bloomed in his chest; seated still and patient he realized Genya wasn’t completely frowning anymore—not the same way he was when originally entering the building. “Well, yeah! I am taking this seriously. You should too, y’know. . .Not that I’m judging.”

“Sounds like judging.”

“No, no—more like hopeful concern.” He chirped like it was a counter, wiggling in his seat positively certain this could go well, in his favor, get closer to Genya get closer to Ume.

Genya sniffed dismissively, inching his chair away from Tanjiro. “I don’t need your hope, Kamado.”

A pause—Tanjiro tries to smile, fingertips drawing over the paper of his journal. Genya was still distant, tight lipped, and curt with irritable glances. He thought Genya might say something else, or ask him a question but nothing else came from him. He dragged a hand back through his hair, a heavy sigh following after. Glaring at some algebraic equations, the paper smudged unreasonably awkwardly. Tanjiro hums back, adjusting his pencil tapping it against the table.

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Seemed like they both had their struggles, he wasn’t stupid, he just didn’t go to school. Which in turn, meant he was behind other teens his age. Rui didn’t understand Pi, Ume didn’t get the significance of school—-quite bored of what the future may hold, she only went due to given instructions though she never said from who; but he assumed from her elder brother.

Between them was a stack of books and a distance he’ll try to break—and it was up to Genya whether or not he’d let him. Lateral to his palm, grazed the journal lines unfinished thoughts rambling into neater thoughts of what it meant to ‘distribute property’. The aroma of annoyance, hiding a quiet layer of smoke Genya squirmed most, disruptive in his own way unlike the studious college students who moved only after understanding an entire page.

Their scratching moved in unison, an uneven rhythm Tanjiro couldn’t match even if he tried. His hand writing was neat, not elegant—but it was easy to read and followed a pattern whilst Genya’s appeared like he was trying to get charged with homicide on all school work. It wasn’t unappealing, but it was fitting in a charming way. The thought itself brought a grin to his face strangely proud that he was so aware of his brazen personality only noticed if you fixated on how angry he writes. Carefully he stole a glance on the backpack, Tanjiro’s eyes just slightly widened—it looked much rougher than last time! Rips, tears, a new type of stain—-a few pins poked out like weapons!

Tanjiro quickly glanced back to Genya, unsure if he should tease him or scold him, how could there be two new holes in the pockets? Sure, he had considered that Genya would be. . .not so gentle about his school supplies but all it takes is to wear the bag and resource it. Genya hunched like his spine weighed heavier than his body mass. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek while solving a problem, the eraser tapping a steady, irritated beat. Ah, familiar, Tanjiro quickly identifies it. He didn’t notice Tanjiro watching. Or if he did, he didn’t say anything.

Still here, and still close. . .Tanjiro looks away then back again.

It made something fizzy and uncertain churn in his chest. It was nice. It was maddening. Something in his mind told him to reach out, palm the shaved sides of his head, feel around just curious to know if it felt nice.

Coincidentally enough, Genya scratched his head, from the corner of his eye side eyed him—-just for a second. Tanjiro jolted, not embarrassed enough to block out how the other grunted under his breath. Like he had caught him staring.

Staring, admiring him like he was a museum of lost relics. studying too closely, outlining the small features realizing, he has a nice jaw. . . Another pause. Genya shifted. Tanjiro didn’t look this time—didn’t need to. He could feel him glancing back.

For a while it continued like that.

Stolen looks. The uncomfortable shuffle of being too aware of each other’s presence in a place so quiet, where they had nothing else to overthink about. A shuffle under the table, Genya’s boot knocking onto Tanjiro’s shoes, or the awkward rustle of Tanjiro’s sleeve reaching for another highlighter. In which—he’d quickly realized he’s overused pink therefore he grabs the blue and mixes them together. . .making purple.

Eventually, Tanjiro leaned back, stretched, then tapped his pencil against his chin. Lazily studying Mr. Broody. Still hunched over, tapping a song with his pencil—the black jacket was lazily thrown on, his jeans had rips but were a dark blue, baggy. His face formed angrily, a small frown and a slight hooked nose. . .his eyes were lowered but eyelashes gorgeous.

“You ever listen to music while you do this stuff?”

A noncommittal grunt.

He tried again, a little more casual, not looking at him this time.

“So. . .what part’s giving you trouble again?”

Genya inhales, gesturing aggressively down. “Fractions. And whatever the hell this ‘exponents’ garbage is.”

Hope all over again, Tanjiro visibly lit up with a wide smile. “Oh, okay! That’s not too bad. You just gotta treat ‘em like puzzles.” He offered kindly, already flipping the algebraic book open, searching the chapters. “Numbers are like. . .little polite creatures. They wanna work with you.”

Expecting a deadpan, Genya flatly stared at him. “That is the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Thanks, I try.“ He smiled through the beat of silence, a finger marked over chapter of fractions. Genya still hasn’t looked away, and Tanjiro had to keep his smile small cautiously walking his fingertips over to the middle of them. “. . .what do you listen to while you study?”

Genya blinks at him, raising a brow at his hand—-“What?”

“Music. You said you did right?” He clarified retreating his arm, “I tried silence, but my brain gets kinda too loud.”

Which was true, he couldn’t imagine sitting in the loud silence surrounded by the hum of a turned on fan, the whispers of someone in the distance and the memories that followed if you let your mind wander away.

“I don’t really study.” A shrug, Genya sniffs again lips twitching in vague carelessness.

And just like that—Stone walled, being replied to so dryly lessened his chances. Genya has already looked away, aggressively erasing over what was probably ‘parentheses three x minus two parentheses equals suck my dick.’ Tanjiro squinted at him, chewing his lip in what was confused frustration.

“Right. . .yeah, forgot you were a proud academic outlaw.” The words trailed off, much like his confidence. “I listen. . .to music when I study. . .” He croaked out, taking one last glimpse—

“Mnn.”

Genya barely twitched, just hummed almost like he hadn’t heard him.

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Tanjiro huffed at no one, just huffed. He didnt like to pout, it was childish to be so offended by a lack of conversation—-but it’s disheartening to try the gentle route only to be shut down. Genya, socially, was worse than when texting him—which was never. The social interaction was barely an interaction, deader than the notifications on his phone—which rarely pang with weather updates and reminders on his calendar. It was already alarming to know Genya reacted to negativity, easy to upset and fast to argue, like a defensive cat.

It didn’t help that now—Inosuke’s advice echoed temptingly. That blue haired boy with a pretty face, and chaotic energy smelling on him, whilst stealing food—-giving advice that he swore was sabotage. Tanjiro pushes deeper into his palm, leaned against it pensively. Inosuke without being asked claimed his best chances to bond with Genya, would be to ‘piss him off’, not exactly friendly; maybe not even safe. Nothing about Genya gave him the impression that he wanted to speak, he wanted to be left alone but selfishly he had a mission.

Words smudged together, most of it being how to remove the x of an equation. Tanjiro stared at it, cautiously clearing his throat. “I’ve been trying out new stuff, though. . .” He had whispered, noting that Genya’s hands stilled. He exhaled, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Music, I mean. I listened to this one song a few days ago. . .Think it was called. . .Savior?”

Frozen, he thought he heard nothing—-the librarians clacking seemingly disappeared and the shuffling of shoes stopped. Tanjiro slightly adjusts to catch Genya’s face, zeroing in on the vague, unmistakable twitch in his eyebrow.

The teenager’s eyes squint, yet to look at him. “. . .Rise Against?”

It was whispered wistfully, echoed like a familiar saying. Tanjiro blinks, slightly straightening up attaching to his inquiry.

“Yeah! That one. It was kinda angry, but in a really cool way.” Tanjiro felt the sheepishness warm his cheeks, bouncing his leg in a slow careful rhythm. Familiarly, Inosuke’s wicked grin flashed in his head, urging for him to possibly get punched. “I liked it a lot. Rock music’s fun.”

Time stilled again, quieter than the first one. Still chewing on his lip he glanced, his hand stammering over the page. Genya stares at him like he just confessed to a crime. Squinting at him, accusatory, offended.

“Punk rock.”

Oh

Tanjiro blinks, tilting his head. “Oh?”

To reiterate his point, Genya lowers his head closer. “There’s a difference.”

Toeing between condescending and annoyed, Genya’s voice slipped lower. Not enough to be a warning but definitely not kind. Tanjiro kept dense, as a light hope flutters behind his ribcage. Mimicking the boy’s mein, inching closer. “Really? I thought it was just, like, guitars and yelling.”

a sharp inhale. Genya’s spine straightens. Anger flares around him, spicy and hard to breathe in—Tanjiro braces himself despite holding back a smile. The boy’s hair looks slightly untamed, his hand is tight around the pencil and he’s finally looking at him, not past him-not around him—Genya is glaring directly at him with that previous fierce passion that only gleamed when something sincere was about to happen. Suddenly, the library disappeared, and it was just them two, and the differences between rock and punk.

“Punk is about message.” He huffed, slapping the pencil down without much noise. “It’s got roots, history—ideology. Rock is corporate, sanitized. You don’t confuse the two unless you wanna get decked.”

“Huh.” Tanjiro nodded slowly, clicking his tongue purposely drawing it out, feigning a lack of understanding. Truthfully, even as Genya filled the air with anger, Tanjiro held it closely. “So. . .what’s the real difference, then?”

A twitch. Close to unheard, a low choked squeak tore out of Genya, blinking once twice then slamming a hand down. “Okay, first of all—punk came out of a reaction. Late 70s, anti-establishment, do-it-yourself energy. Rock was already mainstream by then.” He paused; sharply inhaling hesitating, but unapologetically loud. “Punk said screw the rules. No solos. No polish. Just—pure noise and truth.”

Someone coughed in the background, possibly listening in on the conversation. Tanjiro tapped a finger on the table, fascinated by Genya’s range of expression when pissed off. His brows furrowed in a way that made his eyes look wider without them bulging, when speaking through his teeth he gritted that which showed the sharp slope of his canines. Catching a glimpse of his them, they looked just slightly lighter—like he truly had been brushing his teeth. And the scar still drawn across his face, making him appear prettier than what his memories have.

“Wow.”

Genya’s ears steamed at his simple response, mistaking his plainness for misunderstanding. Tanjiro could see the light flicker behind Genya’s eyes, his shoulders slightly deflating gesturing his hand at an invisible object. “You’ve got hardcore, crust punk, riot grrrl, straight-edge—there’s branches and politics and real shit behind it. It’s not just music. It’s a scene.”

Tanjiro nods solemnly, biting his lip to hide a smile.

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He cleared his throat, humming back once again, drawing a little cat on paper. Then quietly murmuring only loud enough for Genya to hear; “Next you’ll tell me goth and emo aren’t the same either.”

Slam! Tanjiro physically jumped skulking back, a second after Genya’s palms slapped against the table. Leaning over towards him, towering like a giant.

“ARE YOU—”

“Shhh!” The librarian across the room hissed, causing only Tanjiro to flinch.

“They’re nothing alike!” He snapped completely disregarding the librarian, palm glued to the table. “God, emo’s from post-hardcore and Midwest twinkle stuff. Goth has post-punk roots. Entirely different fashion. You can’t just—just mash them together like some kind of mall playlist!”

Tanjiro stared, considering his next few words. Mouth flopping open once, shuts, then flops open again. Inosuke urged that he didn’t back out, to get closer to Genya he needed to really push him, he imagined it was successful if it meant they were friends.

Quieter, trying to invest without the anger, Tanjiro palms his cheek. “You know, I don’t even think I know what scene means.”

From anger to horror, Genya’s facials fell. The audible gulp of Genya swallowing the lump in his throat follows, lips dry and brain suddenly empty. Comically, Tanjiro draws the whiskers of his cat with ease while his feet tap excitedly under the table. Discrete and pleased.

Genya swallowed again, adam’s apple bobbing. “You—you don’t know what scene means?”

“Like. . .a movie scene?” He muttered into his hand.

Another sigh. Stalked by a jarring silence, peace settling between them. Tanjiro is back in the library, surrounded by bookshelves, knowledge passed down from people who poured their hearts with words.

“Jesus Christ.”

Tanjiro doesn’t look up, hand stills on the page. He appreciates the doodle that looks back at him, a simple cat that grins widely. That was him, he imagined he was the cat, proud and cocky. Tanjiro traced the lead over the ear, hand trapped as Genya’s slams his journal shut. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it frightened Tanjiro to squeak.

“Get up.”

“What—why—”

“We’re finding books.” Genya snapped, brushing his shoulder off already walking off. “If I’m gonna sit here while you desecrate everything I love, you’re at least gonna educate yourself.”

Scrambling to follow, Tanjiro stumbles beside him smiling without restraint. “I wasn’t desecrating! I was. . .engaging.”

Another grumble, “while drawing a fucking cat.”

A step ahead, Genya strode forward shoulders squared and steps calculated, though he doubted Genya knew how to search for his desired literature. His shadow followed into the denser part of the library, shelves dusted with age, many books untouched by a crowd of disinterested readers. Genya’s hoodie swayed moving, leading with purpose—or at least the illusion of it. Something curious sparked in him, for Genya moved as if he belonged there, skimming through book titles, anything below the torso and above, thanks to his height. Comparing it to the first time he’d seen him there, he’d been so stiff and defensive, enemies to atmosphere of the building.

A little more at ease, Tanjiro trailed like a duckling feigning that he was searching as well. Finger thoughtfully taps on his chin, humming along. They reached a section after a turn, Genya nods as the tittles turn more expressive rather than poetic, he turned to Tanjiro pointing towards the other shelf.

“Okay—“ Genya looked him up and down, double taking—something distant in his face softens, as if he were meeting him again for the first time, this time less annoyed. Tanjiro tried to dim his smile, tilting his head patiently. The boy’s mouth twitched, pursing together seemingly cautious—then a cough. “Go. . .go over there, Look for anything that says ‘subculture’ or ‘music history.’ If it’s got a mohawk or a protest sign on the cover, grab it.”

The shelve loomed intimidatingly, the section looked too bright for the said topic. Funny titles, and food references. Tanjiro nods his head over, “What about this section?”

Genya spares a glance, immediately rolling his eyes. “That’s the cooking aisle. Unless punk is suddenly a sandwich, no.”

Tanjiro innocently ganders his gaze away, playing it off like it was a funny joke.

The expression given after wasn’t amused, the teenager frowned then turned away grumbling to himself. Tanjiro’s teeth tugged on his bottom lip, sheepishly trotting towards a different column. A few more steps away, and he catches the last of his friends’ grievances.

“God help me if he comes back with a Taylor Swift biography.”

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He had never seen an array of so many books dedicated to the history of music, he expected something about classical or the renaissance era but he didn’t imagine punk rock was so important to history. Not in the way schools taught about hippies in the movement to protest against the Vietnam war, . .he guessed it made sense. He supposed that people listen to punk now without considering how important its roots are. Tanjiro read up and down, still sporting a morsel amount of embarrassment in his chest.

The previous explanation from Genya told him enough, he was passionate about it but clearly hesitant. When he spoke about music, something tragic laced in his voice, it was a strong smell that never left his mind. Tanjiro had been heavily aware it, especially the long walk along the bridge; he’d been so defensive towards the idea of even looking through it together and now he’s managed to lure Genya into studying history together.

Titles greeted him, expressive and confident. urban art, that painted a picture, youth rebellion, definitely on topic. Tanjiro gnawed on his lip, walking further away, picky for a book that pulled him close. In the corner of his vision, Genya’s figure disappears behind another shelf. The titles themselves were good enough, but he didn’t want to flippantly grab whatever, especially if it meant disappointing Genya. In the distant Genya’s heavy footsteps scuffle on the floor, and then a grunt, likely reaching for a book. Tanjiro blinks, craning his neck up, a pause as he zeros in on a thick book with unique format. “ooh—what’s this one?”

And from somewhere across the aisle, Genya poked his head over, attention easily grabbed.

“What?”

Tanjiro sighs. “I think I found one but it’s kinda. . .tall. . .” pulling up on his toes, fingers brushing the spine of a thick, black-and-white book titled Scenes from the Underground. His jeans ride up, the cuffs catching over his long socks uncomfortably bunching up. Tanjiro shudders, slightly alarmed by it but chews it down, reassured that they concealed his calves.“C’mon. . .just a little—”

Fast on his feet, Genya appears behind him. He commanded lowly, impolite but not rude. “Move.”

“Wait, I almost got—”

“Move.” He repeats already stepping in, chest nearly brushing Tanjiro’s back, arm stretching easily past his shoulder to pluck the book from the shelf. It startled him frozen, Tanjiro smushed himself against the shelf, inching his way out as Genya nonchalantly loomed over him.

“Ah—! You—wow, okay, you’re tall.” He had to blurt, stumbling out of the boy’s way, brushing his pants down, feet shaking his jean cuffs where they belonged.

Not at all bothered Genya glances down faint shadows casting on his sharp face; deadpan. “Yeah, no shit.” Then hands him the book, only studying it for a few seconds. “Here. Don’t drop it. It probably weighs more than your entire personality.”

Insults aside, Genya turned back toward the study table, shoulders squared like nothing happened. He didn’t seem to notice the flush creeping up his neck or the way he tugged at his hoodie, awkward in his own skin. Tanjiro hugged the book to his chest — thick, weighty, almost precious now. He thought Genya might keep walking, maybe disappear behind the shelves again, but he was eager for this now.

They sat down with a shared thud. Genya scraped his chair far too close, like personal space was a myth— his knee bumped Tanjiro’s, and he didn’t apologize. Tanjiro pursed his lips, unsure if he should say anything.

“Okay, look—” Genya muttered, flipping the book open with a practiced hand. His finger slapped against the bolded header, already mid-rant. “This one’s got a section on early UK stuff. The Sex Pistols? Total industry plants. Like, they sucked—technically. But that wasn’t the point. It was about making people mad. That’s what made it punk.”

Being this close, Tanjiro nodded along his talking points, nose twitching as a musk of cheap cologne and cigarette ash bloomed around his senses. It wasn’t suffocating, but it was hard to ignore. Shoulder to shoulder, he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding a breath not until Genya gave him a hard nudge, reminding him to respond.

“Ah—“ a strained laugh, “Wait. . .so they were bad on purpose?”

Genya scowled, tapping insistently over the sentence that vaguely described who the ‘sex pistols’ were. “They were bad and on purpose. Big difference. And then you had the Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, Minor Threat—all different coasts, different goals, but same fuck-the-system kind of thing.”

The book itself was unique, it wasn’t like a history book it had photos and lengthy paragraphs that detailed the early life of such passionate individuals with loud voices. Genya grips the next page, his knee bounces for a few seconds impatient—-waiting to flip the page. “You really know all this stuff. . .”

He flips it right after.

“I used to, I mean—before.” Genya huffed trailing off, tongue clicking. “It’s just. . .it mattered, you know?” Soothingly low his voice turned like syrup, a little less sharp and even embarrassed. “People needed something loud enough to scream over the silence. It wasn’t pretty, but it was honest.”

He nods, letting Genya sit with that. The subtlest of admissions, the boy meant more to that than what was said—Tanjiro heard it. Between the silence, he narrowed on the sentences, rise to fame and popularity between punk bands, the purpose of the movements themselves. Plenty protests, and a right to expression. Recalling it now, Genya had proven to be different at times, he wore makeup-eyeliner- or so he’s sure he does. The pins on his backpack were bold in statement; but that tragic past he refused to show still stood out.

He understood that, it made sense. Tanjiro straightened up reaching for the bag with prepared food. Genya audibly growled behind him, taking it as disinterest. It was almost amusing how irritable Genya was as he rambled the ethics of punk rock. Tanjiro pretended to not notice, offering a wrapped sandwich that he made earlier in the morning.

“Here.”

“What?” Genya scowled, skulking back trying to evade the sandwich like it were a bag of drugs.

Gauging him, Tanjiro urged it closer not pulling away, though by now he should’ve stopped pushing. “I made extras. . .Peanut butter and banana. Kind of weird, but good.”

His tone was sharp, but not biting—Genya looked at him the way a dog might eye a stranger holding food: skeptical, suspicious, maybe even a little tempted. “You brought sandwiches to the library?”

“I always bring food.” The offer remained, he didn’t rescind his hand. It felt warm there, wistful of the morning calm, humming to himself smearing ingredients on the soft bread. He remembered that Ume had insulted him for it, and Rui lingered asking innocent questions peering from his shoulder, sweet and shy. “You talk a lot more when you’re mad, and I figured if I was gonna make you mad, I should at least feed you.”

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.
.

Genya gawked, his eyebrow twitching. “That’s manipulative.”

Though Genya growled, it didn’t push Tanjiro away. “Only a little,” he murmured in return, careful. Beside him, Genya’s hands twitched on the page, knee still bouncing in a steady, anxious rhythm—like he hadn’t decided whether to stay or bolt.

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.

A short pause, Genya licked over his teeth seemingly exasperated. A second after, and he snatched the sandwich, flipping the paper just as quickly. Tanjiro’s hand dropped to the table, heart souring proudly in his chest; as a round of applause from his internal audience roars. Stealing a glance Genya had torn the paper open, refusing to at him deeply embarrassed. . . And all over nothing! Tanjiro wanted to shake the teenager aggressively, reason with him, understand why he’s so distrusting.

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.
.

Well. Tanjiro didn’t push again after that, just leaned over the book feigning that he was reading where Genya’s finger ghosted. A cart wheeled in the distance of the library, there’s a clock ticking somewhere and he’s not sure how much time has passed anymore. It could have been thirty minutes now, maybe an hour- and truly he wouldn’t mind it; he was really enjoying this moment.

“. . .Did you know punk basically died in the ’90s? Like, real punk. . .” Genya whispered utterly soft. The grit of his voice turned wet, originally like syrup but not sticky, it didn’t growl rudely. The tension in his body eased, his shoulders weren’t squared even against him, and unexpectedly. Genya takes a bite of the sandwich, savoring it without a show. “. . .People sold out, labels watered it down. Then you get these mall punk bands and—” the gentle calm of his expression vanished as it came, his usual frown returns but as a grimace. “—don’t even say Green Day. I’ll walk out.”

Tanjiro blinks, smile twitching wider. Fascinated, he laughed. “I wasn’t going to!”

The boy shakes his head, swallowing another large bite. Throat bobbing working to stifle a pleased grunt, clearly, moved by his sandwiches. Tanjiro tilts his head, not too obvious, but trying to commit Genya’s face to memory. “Mnn—-Pop-punk isn’t real punk. It’s like. . .soda with no fizz.” He swallowed with a gulp, wagging the sandwich towards Tanjro. “Just sugar and noise. You can feel when someone means what they’re screaming. You know.”

He made a face. Squinting and brows raised.

Tanjiro eagerly nodded.

Then he looked away, cheeks dusting again. Sleeve gruffly swiped on his mouth, the sandwich somehow devoured within seconds. Now, the fixation was purely on the book flipping towards the next load of information, the page titled in white outlined letters. There was a strange symbol next to the title; a circle lined in cross and layered by another line. Genya carefully inhaled, foot bumping over Tanjiro’s. “. . .You ever hear of Crass?”

Tanjiro shakes his head slowly. “No. . .should I have?”

“They were anarcho-punk. Real anti-war. Real anti-everything.” A shudder, a colder breeze brushed between them. Their study notes forgotten and shoved away; the intimidating feel of the library felt tranquil now that it wasn’t him fussing over delivered messages. Genya, for his gruff attitude wasn’t hard to talk to, it was somewhat entertaining. “They didn’t just play shows. They published zines. Made posters. Started their own squat. Their own way of living.”

His speech dies off, scent appearing nostalgic.

“Music was just. . .part of it.”

Sensing something deeper there, Tanjiro leans closer towards the book. “That’s. . .kinda amazing.”

Genya doesn’t immediately respond, merely stares down at the page, unblinking. “People like that. . .they don’t get remembered right. They get flattened into logos, merch, whatever sells. No one talks about what they were actually mad about. What they lost.” he doesn’t look up.
“. . .What they tried to protect.”

Tanjiro watches him, letting the silence stretch, heartbeat soft in his ears. Deep into the discussion, it’d be perfect to ask about other bands, System of a Down, slip in Ramstein then eventually push to know about other people like him. He could say it now. Could mention them. Could ask about Gyutaro. But—

“. . .You wanna read that part out loud?”

Genya perked up, startled. “What?”

Tanjiro nods, resting his chin in his hand. “I like the way you explain things. It’s easier to understand. Makes me wanna learn more.”

His pretty lavender eyes narrowed. His frown twitches, the muscles in his face can’t decide if they want to soften for him again, scrutinized by a simple urge to relax.

“. . .whatever just take this seriously. . .”

Tanjiro inched closer, beaming proudly.

“Of course.”

Chapter Text

The mobile device vibrated with a hard buzz against the counter.

No one picked it up the first time, the screen lit up with two messages awaiting. Along the air of the foster home was a song, whispered in regulated melodies. False drumming, and the munching of a granola bar. It wasn’t breakfast, but it would do for him.

His phone buzzed once more, and Tanjiro snatched it up his reflection disappearing as the screen illuminated into frame.

Genya:you ask too many questions.

Genya’s texts came usually after ten minutes of being left on read, like he’d seen it, forgot to reply and then realized it later. It was sweet that he put the effort to respond, an improvement to the previous dead conversations.

Freezing, the ventilation blasted cool air in the space. A shuddering cold breeze freezes around the three, enough to make Tanjiro think of dead bodies. No matter the complaints or concerns given, the man chose to torture them with the A/C, preferring to live like a man under constant heatstroke. Despite that he managed, and so did the other two. Early morning another day added to his stay—and unfortunately it was another day without Nezuko. But. . .he could manage, Tanjiro was getting familiar with the town first before he could plan to start rebelling and sneaking out like a troubled kid. Except he wasn’t, he was clever. . .at least that’s what he told himself.

Passing the kitchen threshold Tanjiro hummed the tune he’d been looping for hours now. Ume and Rui barely glanced from the living room table, instead focused on the piles of homework from school. He grinned, settling on the couch bringing his knees to his chest, leaning towards the armrest.

Ume’s eyes flicker, bracing for something stupid.

Tanjiro smiles back doesn’t immediately say anything, just relaxes his thumbs dancing across his phone screen. Replying to a text, for he’d been texting Genya for a few days since the library.

Tanjiro:I think I get it, but I don’t get why emo and goths hate each other. . ?

The message went through, delivered for a few seconds then it changed, quickly. It wasn’t prolonged or avoidant, and that brought a smug grin on Tanjiro’s face, rather pleased. It would be another few minutes before Genya would reply, knowing this he sat the phone against his thigh. Ume moved in the corner of his eyes, her pen scribbled efficiently without mistakes,

"So. . .” Drawn out, he wiggled closer immaturely innocent. “was—uh was Gyutaro more into leather or denim?"

Visibly the girl deadpanned, her icy blue eyes gleaming along the suns gleam past the blinds, which usually would be shut for privacy concerns. Mostly the man’s, and not anyone else’s. Ume’s pen stilled over the page, blue ink staining into the margins seemingly writing an essay.

"Why are you like this."

Tanjiro perked up, legs crossing. "I'm trying to understand! Like did he dress a certain way? Grunge? Did he only like rammestein? Erm— "he gestures vaguely, like that explains everything, but if anything it’d help identifying the kind of person Gyutaro is. The days he had to talk to Genya, he learned enough about scene differences and so on, the rest was left to Ume to explain. But her expression remained unimpressed, barely reacting as Tanjiro offered a sheepish smile. "It could be helpful."

The pen glided past the lines, her handwriting was a cursive neat touch expressive and unique, real easy to read- you might even think the girl came out of a college. Tanjiro blinked, uneasy in the silence. Then again, coming from someone like her. . .maybe it wasn’t silence at all. His fingertips dragged over his socks, soft thick leg warmers, real comfortable used daily, didn’t tug when pulling on his skin. Then, before he could mope, Ume pulled back tugging hair behind her ear

"You ask more questions about my brother than I do."

"Maybe you should.” Tanjiro blurted, thrilled to not have been insulted. Though it ended just as quickly, Ume huffed at him exasperated by the lack of boundaries, nonexistent because if something seems worth it, why give up? “He’s gotta be out there somewhere, just like my sis—“

"Don't do that." Winter steel sliced his voice, all bitter and cold Tanjiro’s thought stuttered half spoken.

“Ume come on. . .“ Tanjiro tried again.

Not meeting his eyes, a distinct purring of her pen scrawled on, completely dismissive. Like it didn’t bother her even when it did. “It’s pathetic to keep chasing someone who doesn’t want to be found.”

Detachment was a distinct note, difficult to catch—not if you don’t understand the tragedies a child can experience. Tanjiro studied the features of her youthful face, still beautiful, still striking and distant. The girl kept appearances, that she was naturally angry and defensive, that if she spared you a glance, no she didn’t. Tanjiro caressed the cuffs of his sweatpants, saddened that she could think like that of her elder brother, and it was squeezing something uncomfortable in his heart. “What if he’s chasing you and you’re running faster?”

“Then he’s not my brother, he’s a slow loser.”

Warm lighting narrowed over her fair complexion, illuminating her devastatingly peaceful—though ruined by the comedy of her words. A smile broke on Tanjiro’s face, slightly relieved that she wasn’t taking his pushiness too seriously. She had a history of a quick temper quick to blow up on him, and run him away. Not alike Rui, who watched them both with curious, empty eyes.

Their conversation reached a temporary end, the dull tapping of Rui’s pencil breaks through— uneven, almost musical. Tanjiro’s eyes flicker that way, but Ume doesn’t react. Just as he thought to check, his phone buzzed over his thighs in short rhythm. His fingers flicked over the notifications, the chat fills the screen with a generous amount of texts from Genya.

Genya: they both suck
Genya: goths think they invented sadness
Genya: emos think eyeliner is a personality
Genya: both are full of shit

Dry, or not- Genya found how to find the middle ground of expressive and dead. His responses were purely opinionated, and he’s sure anyone who heard him say that would have a problem with him. That’s why Genya was so fun to talk to, but occasionally hard to find predictable. After all; Genya also wore eyeliner, so was he really any better? The texting bubble idled a little longer, vanishing then appearing again before finally disappearing. Hah.

Small at first, Tanjiro’s smile widened unapologetically amused. “Wow. Very diplomatic.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He blurted turning the phone off without replying. His mouth ached, the corners twitched and ahhh—-Though Ume wasn’t staring at him, Tanjiro felt sheepish suddenly aware that he’d been smiling over a few texts. As if to redeem himself, he lazily stretched his legs, words yawning out casually. “Do you think Gyutaro’s scared?”

“Stop.” She finally looks at him full-on now, hair spilling past her shoulders. “Don’t try to fix him in your head just because you think it’ll fix something in you.”

His limbs flopped, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t say that.”

Critically, as always, she glared with the full force of her eyes. “You don’t have to. It’s all over your ugly face.”

Ouch.

The air hums from the overworked A/C vent above. Whispers of something unsaid, air ghosts his skin and without caring. Instinctively, Tanjiro pulls his socks up slightly higher on his calves barely brushing posterior of his legs. Though faint, the memories of his bare legs bring something difficult, hazy and clouded in risk. Glancing over, the bat like boy is gazing at him with wide eyes. Empty at first, hollow like the pale color of his skin; then glimmered vaguely. The quiet stars of his soul peered through the windows of his face, he’d seen that look many times before. Somber. . .

Strange as he was, Rui watched first, processing the idea of a hopeful family. He always seemed grateful when seeing something slightly different, to Rui it was unexpected, and that was precious in the way a child is innocent. Tanjiro wryly smiled at him, tapping his knee. “I don’t think it’ll fix me, but it would give me hope.”

The pen clatters, purposely abandoned as Ume exhales tiredly. “Gyutaro is difficult, a lot of issues.” Another sigh, deeper this time. “He’s my brother, and I’m angry that he hasn’t reached out, but. . .searching for him could make things worse.”

Ah—-Realistically, her point was truth. He doesn’t know Gyutaro, facts were told vaguely, possibly just rumors or memory. In the same way legends can be retold, fables or historical tales of the past—sometimes a story of war, and others of swords—-you can never be sure if that’s the truth. If Gyutaro wasn’t the perfect being, then let it be but the elder deserved to seek out his sister, just as she deserves to know where her family is.

The front door creaks open. Keys jingle. Heels click in sharp staccato across the floor.

Her figure had zipped right towards the door, she barely noticed the three of them there before poking her head back into the house. Black leggings, and a modest blouse paired with a long thin cardigan, the woman pointed at them.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge.”

“Don’t touch the thermostat.”

“Rui, take your meds.”

She didn’t spend more than a minute on them, listed down her requests seemingly bothered by the job itself. Rui shifted and nodded his head, Ume barely shifted, but Tanjiro had perked up and waved warmly. “Have a good shift!”

She wasted no more seconds. No response. Just the dull slam of the door behind her. Ume doesn’t even blink. Rui’s pencil tapping stops for just a second, then resumes. Disappointedly careless, the lack of her presence dawned a realization. Not that they chose to think about it.

“God, it’s not even four. . .” Ume muttered.

Tanjiro watches then glances back, “she’s always so hard to understand.”

The two kids shrug it off. Adjusted to the quiet chaos, like their guardians dismissive attitude meant nothing to children without parents. It brought a bitter feeling in his mouth, rotting with unsaid words, which would die there. Tanjiro sank deeper into the couch studying the two causal kids, hoping that at some point they’d show more than disinterest.

The moment doesn’t last.

Only a second later, another door opens. Heavier footsteps. Something heavy smacks against the wall, then the rustle of heavy blunt objects muffled on. Neither children looked this time, except for Tanjiro, less familiar with the routine the family had in the mornings. He had turned his body, gawking from the seat as the man progressed down the stairs towards the kitchen, wearing his office attire surprisingly clean and pressed. In the man’s hand was the toolbox that he’d used to check the A/C after their nagging, though it seemed useless now.

Swinging the fridge open, the man’s body tensed up. Tanjiro didn’t know much of him, if anything he preferred it that way—so it made his behavior the more interesting. Background noise of the studious two blurred behind him, narrowing as the man’s arms twitched—as if they were restraining something back. Then finally, he slammed the door shut, already grumbling “Un-fucking-believable.” He turned towards the pantry doors, roughly ransacking into it. “Not even a sandwich.”

He rummages loudly. A pocket knifes drops. Then the box —a sharp clatter across floor. Bright gleams of the same objects catch his gaze, it. . steals his breath——-stutters something in his brain.

“Seriously? Every goddamn time—”

The anger wasn’t concealed, it arose into the air thick and heavy. It set enough alarm bells for Tanjiro automatically rise, crossing to help. Without crowding him, he kneels, gawking at the mess before him, then hesitates. Unsure, he moves to gather the blades. A whisper beckoned it, excusing it that it would be fine, that he could touch them. . .seeing them up close now brought something heavy. They were new, not rusted seemingly untouched, the light glared on the surface of the raw material. Tanjiro’s eyes fixated, fingers twitched on his sides momentarily mesmerized.

“Jesus. I swear I’ll go to work starving.”

His shadow loomed, over his form completely engulfing him.

“Next time I’ll just eat the fucking electricity bill.”

He reaches out, tentative with on hand. It lingers near the box, eyes fixed on the clean tip. His thumb brushes his sock absentmindedly. Hovering closer, his hand was swatted with a less than gentle smack, startling him out of his trance. Shooed off, the male foster’s words didn’t reach his ears, he had spoken—evidentially not happy. His brows were furrowed down, grey eyes sunken and tired, the stubble was now gone, clearly shaved. Tanjiro had blinked, thought of reasoning or apologizing, but didn’t.

“Back off, damn it.” He snapped louder, nearly hitting him with the wave of his arm. “You think I want blood on the carpet?”

Tanjiro draws his hand back. Doesn’t say anything. Just breathes. Before he could react, the man had already collected the blades and tucked them in the box—-muttering lowly barely loud enough for Tanjiro to hear.

“Always the cold ones that act weird. . .”

He stomps to the front door, yanks it open.

“And take those socks off. You look ridiculous.”

And it was over. The door slammed for the second time that day, leaving him still there. On his knees with an empty brain that buzzed like a broken TV.

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He didn’t understand where the feeling came from, but it festered like a parasite. An iron taste bloomed on his tongue, likely from the insistent gnawing of his bottom lip. Accidental, unaware. Shaken off, Tanjiro rose to his feet brushing his knees off, the walk towards the couch felt strangely humbling. A rosy pink dusted in his face, like he was embarrassed to even live.

After sinking into the couch, Rui hoarsely chirped. “I don’t think you look ridiculous.” A beat passes. “But they are kind of fuzzy.”

“Like girl socks.” Ume dryly adds.

Tanjiro turned away, suddenly shy. “They’re leg warmers. . .”

“Sure they are.”

Tanjiro sighs into the cushions. Shuddering. Quiet. Unwilling to face the tension of what just happened. Nothing happened. It ended up being nothing. No one else asked or pushed, that was reason enough to forget it, quickly dismissed the second his phone buzzed again. He straightened up, reading it just as quickly as it occurred.

Genya: you left me on read

Ah.

His gaze flickered an inch above, Genya’s message was left on seen for a few minutes now. And now he was being called out on it, ironically so, as if he hadn’t been left on read countless times before. Gawking at it, a shy warmth took root where it ached in his chest, healing whatever now ailed him. Processing it, he thought of how cute that was. Someone’s impatient. . .

Suddenly, he looked at the girl. “Do yall have a mall here?”

Ume paused, then nodded. “Obviously, place is lame so I—“

“Perfect!” Tanjiro leapt from the couch, thanked her without letting her insult him then disappeared upstairs.

Naturally they looked at each other, Rui and Ume, with sighs of agreement.

Weirdo.

His phone buzzed again, once twice— enough times to quicken the pace of his step. Baggy jeans and a casual white T-shirt paired with a muted green flannel, the outfit was simple though strange for the weather. Warm and sunny, the sun beamed over him without a cloud in sight. He didn’t mind the heat not that it made a difference for him, his fingertips danced numbly on the phone screen yet to recognize a warmth his digits forgot. Gnawing on his bottom lip Tanjiro trotted cross the street, walking the path towards Genya’s given location- shocking really.

Tanjiro proceeded forward, pretending not to notice another text of impatience. Genya asking him where he was, before complaining about not sleeping in—as if it weren’t three pm, more than enough time left for him to have slept in. Tanjiro inhaled solemnly, drawing in confidence just to impress Genya that day. Originally the teenager acted oddly about the invitation. He didn’t ask him out or anything, just asked for a tour of the mall. . .which is a simple task.

Though he huffed and puffed with messages like, ‘why would I do that’, then agreed to wait for him at the CVS. In last attempts to fix his appearance now eyeing the familiar building tucked in the quiet town, he touched over his earrings then tightened his short ponytail. The application of his music app was already opened in an awaiting tab, cleverly organized with the intentions of bringing Gyutaro up in the conversation. He approached the building then peered over to the side catching Genya’s figure leaned against the wall his expression dead as per usual.

“There you are!” Beamed Tanjiro, hurrying over with a shy wave. “Have you been waiting long?”

Slouched with crossed arms, Genya spared him a glance. “Felt like it.”

“Sorry. . .I got a little turned around. These streets all look the same.” His lack of response set the mood almost immediately, Tanjiro shuffled closer absently caressing his sleeve. The wind breezed past them causing them both to shudder, somehow reminding them that it’d been days since they’d last seen each other in person. It wasn’t negative, but for Tanjiro it felt a reset on the progress of their friendship. The teenage boy was closed off, quiet and seemingly irritated. He hasn’t even greeted him, just acknowledged that he existed.

It was always a strange contrast how different he acted between texting and in person.

“Didn’t think finding CVS was that hard. You live here now, right?” Quietly spoken, the gentle tiredness of his voice barely reached his ears. Not something Genya presented this early on in the conversation, their last meeting in the library ended with that same feeling. Genya without a frown, spoke endlessly about the discourse and rough patches of bands who argued originality, old rock and classic rock

Tanjiro glanced away, brushing hair out of his face again. “not very long. . .thats why I asked you to show me the mall.”

Genya grunts, pushing himself off the wall, an aroma clings from him. Stepping into the sunlight, the teenager is wearing dark jeans with more than enough rips and holes plainly paired with a black baggy T-shirt, like he just dug it out of his closet. They walked after and Tanjiro followed behind him, stealing quick glances fixating on the small details that he hadn’t seen before. His forearms weren’t defined though they looked like they could be, and his skin was littered with the occasional scar old with history, and honestly he thought of asking about it.

Another sigh, the silence lingered awkwardly. Tanjiro followed purposely matching Genya’s step, though it required more effort to the change of height. He noticed, strange at first, but didn’t comment just huffed not unkindly. “Honestly, figured you’d get lost, and I had nothing better to do. . .”

“That’s kinda sweet you know. . .”

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Pause—-both boys twitched in unison. Tanjiro’s eyes slightly widened, internally sputtering in awed confusion. That was too eager; not as casual as he hoped. What followed wasn’t an insult or quick scolding, just the rhythm of their footsteps following.

They approach the end of the sidewalk, the hot road mostly empty but the crosswalk paint was peeled and rubbed off almost gone. With age the traffic light itself swayed and creaked as the wind breezed by, the sign that flashed a ‘HALT’ hand symbol glared from the other side of the street. Tanjiro blinked turning towards the button only to be intercepted by Genya, who mashed it effortlessly. Arm pressed into the pole, stiff there blocking Tanjiro’s path his nose twitches sniffing the natural aroma of sweat and. . .well smoke. Warmth radiated off his skin, alluring he found himself trailing his eyes up his arm towards his face.

Genya’s gaze fixated ahead on the sign, reluctant to accept the compliment. The pretty slope of his nose traces down his sharp jawline, carved by the gods themselves—though that’s dramatic thinking. His arm falls limp back to his side, the boy manages to mutter out far too delayed. “Don’t read into it. I was bored. That’s all.”

Huh. . .Tanjiro nodded not accounting for the rough grit of his tone. “Right. Of course.” In the pause a car sped by, a simple forgettable blur “Still nice of you though.”

The sign blinks green.

“Stop trying to make it sentimental.” Genya grunted.

Tanjiro deadpanned, rolling his eyes. It didn’t annoy him, it just tired him out how someone could be so hard to talk to. In addition, it made him want to get the other to just open up again, the same way he had in the library. Initially closed up and tense, but eventually calmed into passionate conversation. Lengthy rants of information Tanjiro couldn’t completely digest, but he absolutely tried to connect with Genya, if only it brought the boy to smirk—-anything really! He wished he could catch even a reluctant shy smile.

Nothing else was said as they passed one block, Genya didn’t add to the conversation just lead with purpose, hands shoved into his pockets stonewalling him, hard. Tanjiro occasionally picked up pace fidgeting with his phone, struggling to cut through the tension. This was never hard for him, it shouldn’t be——yet he was absolutely struggling.

They walked a bit longer. A large figure peered from the trees that circled an area which seemed to form a parking lot. The mall sign is faint in the distance, and it nudged him to hurry up. He cleared his throat once, stealing a glance and nothing, Genya doesn’t even flinch. Damn. . .Tanjiro drew in a deep breath quietly unlocks his phone. Pshh. . . no matter. He swipes over to his music app bumping elbows with the boy.

“I was gonna ask you something. Music-related.” Casually spoke Tanjiro, right after waving his phone as if to stop Genya from shooing him away. “I’m still trying to understand differences in the songs. . .uh—pierce the veil? Are they. . .rock?”

Genya scoffs without hesitation. Without offense or anger which was usually a given—so arms folded over his chest he replies. “Rock-adjacent. Post-hardcore. Emo shit.”

Yes! A smile full of suns beamed on him, Tanjiro nodded quickly looking up caching his lavender depths. “So not punk!”

“Absolutely not punk.” He plainly replied.

Though there were many lessons they didn’t come to mind, information not retained Tanjiro kept note of the huff. Huff. Huff, absolutely not punk, Genya had purposely expressed disappointment for even considering it punk. Tanjiro’s confidence began to rise convinced this was his perfect opportunity, by the end of their hangout he’d know how to get to Gyutaro whilst sharing laughs with Genya.

“Okay, okay, that’s what I thought. Just checking. . .” Tanjiro thumbed up his screen. Skimming creators and song titles, specifically looking for whatever sounded most sick. “What about. . .System of a Down?”

“Nu metal.” Was the response, Genya didn’t miss a beat just tilted his head and nodded. “Overplayed. Not punk either. People confuse screaming with punk.” A sigh, “It’s not the same.”

Tanjiro laughs making mental note of that. “Right, right. So screaming isn’t punk. Got it.” He scrolls on phone. “What about M. . .Mindless self. . .indulgence Shut Me Up?”

A huff. Again, Tanjiro perked up deciding whether or not it was good or bad. With the tousling wind, Genya palmed his hair down brows lifted begrudgingly impressed. Not completely negative, a spark of hope soured in his chest dismissing previous insecurity.

“That one’s. . .okay” Genya side eyed him, pensive then careless. “Still chaotic as hell. you’d have to be okay with a lot of their controversies though.”

That made him stiff, even made a face. It never occurred to him that the songs with violent lyrics, had meanings behind them that came from somewhere—in addition likely mirrored the actions of the singers themselves. Tanjiro’s smile fell; horror dawning on him that even Genya brought it to his attention. No wonder the lyrics were so. . .colorful. Catching his unease, Genya patted his shoulder without reassuring him—it was probably taunting.

“Depends who you ask. People either love ’em or hate ’em. No in-between.”

“So—“ shaky and hoarse, Tanjiro clutched to his chest phone tightly gripped. “So you’re saying I should. . .pretend I never added them to my playlist?”

Like a joke. Genya just grins.

“This is why I needed a guide.” He told himself, quietly removing the songs from his playlist. Pausing then sighing, realizing he’d have to deep dive certain songs if it meant they carried controversy. He looked up at the sky, hoping the heavens could give him a reason not to die out of embarrassment—and evidently nothing came of it. Sheepishly quiet, Tanjiro croaked, “Music’s a battlefield.”

“You’re such a loser.” Genya snickered.

It wasn’t a laugh, nor was the grin the smile he wanted but it would do. Better than when Genya silently lead him like an owner to a dog, Tanjiro sighed a little exhausted. His calves itched from the walk and sweat of his socks, uncomfortably tight around where it ached. “Loser with taste.”he pointedly muttered, then tried again. “Like Savior, you like that one too right? Punk rock song?”

It was said emphasizing both titles, specifically aware of Genya’s defensive nature when it came to the genres. Catching it Genya nodded in acknowledgment, corner of his lips barely twitching. “I’ll give you that one.”

Crossing into the parking lot the mall stood tall, wide and welcoming with an entrance that was kindly retro, unapologetically stuck in the past. A large sign, decorated with blue LEDS around it flickering dully, weak without maintenance but judging from the filled parking spots the mall wasn’t a complete dead land, unlike the town streets. Genya sniffed unimpressed, but for Tanjiro it was a sight worth remembering. From town to town, the malls were a small boring place, forgettable with nothing to offer.

“Whoa. . .it’s bigger than I thought.” Tanjiro gasped, wide eyed as the sigh flickers again.

“Why’d you think it’d be small?”

This wasn’t the first quiet town, Genya’s question wasn’t really important. Tanjiro knew he didn’t care for an answer, so when looking past his shoulder the town that he saw was a quiet land with lonely traffic lights. Cars occasionally passed, and sometimes you crossed paths with someone like Genya. Other times you play detective and look for a girls elder brother because it feels like therapy for the empty space in your body, lacking a warmth that steals feeling from your fingertips. But because you miss your sister.

“I don’t know. Your town felt small.” Said casually, Tanjiro didn’t show the sudden ache that squeezed around his thorax. “I thought the mall would match your vibe. Cranky and underwhelming.”

Genya swung the door wide enough for both do them to slip through, an aroma of clothes and new shoes fills his nostrils. “Bold, considering I’m the reason you’re not lost right now.”

Inside the building was tall, huge and spacious, the two boys walked in with opposite reactions. Unsurprisingly enough Genya was relaxed unimpressed, whilst Tanjiro beamed reading out the store names. Some were of casual needs, basic clothes, shirts, jackets, a few others just for entertainment. The floor was a dark grey but gleaming clean, and the lights were a sensory friendly yellowish color. Tanjiro struggled to remember the last time he’d been at a mall, usually he avoided it due to keeping his money saved.

A family of three passed them, then a few other teenagers with their friend groups. All girls, giggling over something funny, probably. Scanning the stores, nothing satisfactory pulled him in yet. The town appeared to have a ‘crowd’, so he assumed there’d be a store for this perfect occasion. Instead, traveling deeper he was faced with cowboy boots, and cheap dupes that fed into consumerism. Genya beside him grumbled in disinterest, blindly following now as it were Tanjiro’s choice in where they went.

Even so his smile began to falter, not as intrigued.

But a glare, the alluring wink of a refracting light earned his attention. Tanjiro turned his attention over, pausing as a store with an expressive jagged font urged him in. A CD store, tinted windows but accompanied by a poster of different artists.

Ah.

Tanjiro cooly eyed Genya, slipping his phone into a pocket as he leads them there. “You think they have anything. . .Rammstein?”

“huh?” Genya’s brow knit together, visibly startled by the name. Once seeing the store, the boy scoffed with a shrug, answering with unsaid words ‘obviously, what a stupid question’. Though he didn’t say anything on the referenced band, which is unfortunate for Tanjiro. He shrugged again, “CD’s . . .I guess-“

“Zines?” Chirped Tanjiro in a sing-song tune.

By the entrance bins were labeled with genres organized from A-Z, band names or single artists, the walls were painted a muted velvet color. Vinyl discs hung on the wall, there were posters and he’s sure one of them was about green day with the infamous white fist and bleeding heart pinned like a grenade. Quieter, behind him Genya growled.

“Zines aren’t sold at CD stores.”

Snp!

By the snap of his fingers, Tanjiro spun away gingerly leading away. “oh wells! Let’s looks somewhere else”

“Dude what?”

Abandoned goals and thrill, the mall lined up with different stores, one with bathroom essentials and even candles. Tanjiro noticed a spike in irritation again, the smell lingered closely Genya’s warmth radiated beside him. In internal bickering, he wondered again when it’d be best to bring up Rammstein. Chewing his tongue, he turned to his phone scrolling absently.

The playlist descended nearly reaching an end. His thumb stopped on a label, straining another wide smile. “okay! I have this song Paralyzer by finger eleven I really like that one!”

“Huh?” The other gruffly blurted, looking lost now, eyes slightly widening half listening. Strange, Tanjiro thought though he’s not sure what changed in the two minutes that he was grinning to now startled. Genya shook his head, ”-uh— wait the Canadians??”

The song he caught by some online recommendations on a forum, originally taking a listen to it left him bopping his head to the tune and cynicism of playing at a club. Redeeming his interest the song dove into a romantic undertone; at least that’s how Tanjiro interpreted. “does that matter?” He waved the phone, earrings tousling against his neck. “I like the lyrics! The singer is basically saying tha-“

A sweaty heat pressed against his face, Genya’s palm seals over his lips effectively shutting his next ramble.

“I know what the songs about just-“ Tanjiro went blank, gaze flicks down then up, fixating on the confusion in his face. Genya’s dark lashes fluttered as he looked around coming up with the words of his annoyance. His hand. . .was big, it covered his mouth but his thumb caressed over his cheek beneath his eyes. The impulsive side of him thought of licking his palm, just to be funny— but Genya spoke first. “what’s the point of this?”

Ah. . .

Truthfully it was three things at once, it was a choice between searching for Gyutaro and befriending Genya. At the same time it was about finding hope in the idea itself, as it reminds him of his sister’s importance. That he missed her, that she was lost family. Tanjiro stiffly waited, chest tighter again.

Genya glares expectingly, impatient for answer. It’s almost funny, he twisted away at every nearby touched seemed to hate it, but could handle it fine if it were his choice. This is the closest they’ve really been, not including the time in the library. The shoulder touching. Well to Genya’s impatience. Tanjiro deadpanned, free hand gestures at the one on his mouth-clearly preventing him from speaking. A couple walked by, pointed and giggled, another family whispered amongst themselves. They definitely looked weird there, like that.

Just as quick, Genya yanked his arm away face flushing bright red. Easily flustered, the embarrassment doesn’t go away Tanjiro held back a laugh as he wiped his mouth.

“God.” He had hissed out, glaring like it were his fault. “Don’t just let people touch your face like that.”

“Maybe I trust you——“

A beat passes, full of regret. It’s barely noticeable, a flash of fear plastered in Genya’s face, his nose crinkled and his mouth parted open, the lights faintly illuminated him from above but the scar was his best feature. The mall lights switch above them, and from the distance there’s a smell of cooking food, and baked cookies. Which helps in no way in fixing the tension. Genya with pink ears, scoffs and turns away, walking ahead toward the next row of stores.

“I’m not trying to be weird!” Tanjiro squawked running beside him, “Just curious. Music is like. . .coded language, right? I wanna understand what it’s saying.”

“You overthink everything.”

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“Paralyzer isn’t deep. Guy’s just awkward at clubs.”

He huffs exasperated, waving his arms hoping it would click for Genya. “And in love!” The two twitched at the mere word, Genya scowls slightly cringing at the interpretation picking up his pace, which Tanjiro only matches. “but uh- relatable. . . .n—-Not that I’ve ever been to a club!”

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That makes Genya snort, a low quiet chuckle. The only contribution given after their strange bickering, even as they traveled down the path of tiled and cheap dupes of typically expensive clothes, their conversation died out. Tanjiro was still trying to figure out how to bring the conversation back music.

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The area of the food court itself was a large space, LEDS buzzed vividly in long beams. Hidden on the ceiling that occasionally hung with advertisements of a jewelry store. Tables lined up with buyers, people who enjoyed their meals chatted away. The options were a rang of fast food, and Thai options, then just general junk —like fries loaded with cheese. The smell wafted over him, tugging at the empty ache in his stomach.

Genya didn’t even glance at the food court just kept walking without budging. Tanjiro thought anyone would stop to at least look around, but instead Genya barely acknowledged its existence. Still, judging by the boys body he was slightly thin tall, pale even—-someone like Genya should look different. Something in him believed it firmly, that Genya could be strong and fit, tall but broad—-not pale. He’s not sure why it felt so familiar like that. His hand reached out before he could stop himself, just tugs on Genya shirt urging his stop.

“Hey, let’s grab something to eat.”

The other had grimaced at his hand, catching it with slight offense.

Tanjiro sheepishly smiled, “I’m hungry, and I’m gonna guess you haven’t had a meal.”

Gruffly, Genya muttered then sighed. “Fine fine, just don’t expect me to order for you.”

With that they turned to the court, Tanjiro now leading with a giddy smile.

Usually.

He wouldn’t let himself be caught dead like this. The mall is the local spot for finding any kind of item that fits a description, tucked stores could satisfy the closet desire. Basic clothes, maybe clean esthetics, or cater to those who dressed alternative. In his case, the last time he’d been at the mall goes to the previous year. He had no money to splurge there, he had friends sure, but they loved to shop in the smaller areas with less people. He didn’t mind that, Zenitsu was an anxious guy in public, and Inosuke was generally chaotic.

So now, being there was weird for him. The tension in his chest was tight at first, bracing for something bad to happen, older memories of shopping with Kaigaku and his friends. Then things were easier, and now he was spending it with Tanjiro Kamado uneasy as the tightness softened by coincidence. The first time it happened he forgot about it, or he tried to. Now it was different, troubling in the way that when he thought about him: it pissed him off. The quietness of his home was driving him crazy, so when Tanjiro invited him out and he agreed.

Cause why the fuck not?

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The pretzel was gone before he even realized.

The urges in his body demanded it—not because it was good—though yeah, fine it was decent. Meals weren’t promised to him, typically by being forgotten or by his own dismissal. And really, he didn’t remember chewing but mustard and dough sat familiarly on his tastebuds. The pretzel was soft and chewy and long gone, devoured the second it was in his hands. Now left in its place, was a crumpled napkin. In front of him, sat Tanjiro still halfway through his. Of course, why wouldn’t he be?

The guy ate like it deserved to be savored. A simple pretzel that came from a teenager, he ate in small bites like he had all the time in world. Not that he could be impatient, the boy had paid for his shit—fed him again just as he had before the first two times. It was just so strange, it confused him in a way that was only frustrating. Genya stared at the at the glint of salt on Tanjiro’s lips, trying to reason his glare as being bothered by getting crumbs on his shirt but when Tanjiro barely just shifted he looked away. Fast.

And without realizing, he glanced back to catch him still oblivious. The redhead swung his legs beneath the seat, feet tilted up because he wasn’t anything small. His back was straight, chin tilted, and watched people pass like a kid at a zoo. Not just that, but he smiled at everyone that looked at him. Too sweet, especially for someone who was just suggesting shut me up as a song to listen to. Strange for the passive guy to listen to the song that advocates for violence.

God. He was too comfortable.

This wasn’t his comfortable, it shouldn’t be. Genya hated how easy this was for Tanjiro, but does he get that? Is it done on purpose? To make him feel like they’d done this dozen times before, like it was normal to hang out with someone and call them sweet after being stonewalled? How sane was it to say you trust someone after they’ve palmed your mouth with less than friendly gestures. It should’ve been weird, seen awkward, but the tension in his shoulders fades. Something loosening, even though he kept trying to reel it back in.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. Still tasted mustard. “You done worshipping that thing?”

Tanjiro blinked at him, mouth full of pretzel. He chewed quickly and smiled. “Almost.”

Genya rolled his eyes but didn’t move to leave. He leaned back against the seat, foot tapping against the tile. Every few seconds, Tanjiro looked over at him with that dumb, glowing face. Dressed plainly, his skin was tanner than last time, and those damn earrings dangled from his ears. It was stupid.

But eventually, finally, Tanjiro stood up and tossed their trash away, even took the napkin from his hands. Just as he thought he would, eager little shit. Tanjiro lingered only for a few seconds, before they both began walking off. He lead a few steps ahead, hands swinging by his sides like the pretzel magically charged him up.

Flannel, and jeans, basic like he said. Genya followed reluctantly, hands Stuffed in his pockets, eyes drifting—then snapping back every time the idiot tilted his head like a golden retriever. Just as he thought the bit was over, smiling like a dork Tanjiro pulled out his phone again.

“So. . .” He drawled out—oh no—“I know you told me not to bring up Green Day but. . .” Tanjiro asked, glancing over his shoulder with that hopeful tilt in his voice.

A squint. Green Day wasn’t necessarily bad, Zenitsu would reason that they had some great songs. Not his taste, though he thought it was silly of himself to have not realized Green Day meant ‘a day smoking pot’, then again what else could it mean?

“Great.” Genya curtly blurted, shaking his hands out of his pockets. “Fine, which album.”

Tanjiro blinked. “Uh. American Idiot?”

Not impressed, Genya let out the eightieth scoff of that day, enough to power a wind turbine. “Mainstream as hell.” He unapologetically states, peering past his shoulder just to eye the album itself jogging his memory on how mediocre they were. “Everyone’s first punk album. Doesn’t count.”

“Does so!” Tanjiro beamed, not offended in the slightest. “I liked Holiday! And that one that’s like—‘Don’t wanna be an American idiot!’”

“You mean American Idiot?” Genya deadpanned.

Tanjiro didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that one.”

There it was again, that quick redemption paired with a joyous smile. Tanjiro was already scrolling to the next song, skipping teenage dirtbag as if that wasn’t absolutely insane. Genya narrowed his eyes, plucking the phone from his hands, reaching his arm over him. It was too easy, which was concerning but he couldn’t care less, Tanjiro barely reacted and quietly chuckled. Dude must be a ray of innocence if he wasn’t panicking at the thought of him taking his phone. Then again, the whole ‘I trust you’ crap must’ve been true, for in no way would he let anyone snoop through his phone.

The scroll revealed a playlist messier than Tanjiro’s personality. Genre roulette—some painfully on-brand, some just dumb. But when My Chem, Linkin Park, and Get Scared showed up. . .Genya bit back a scoff. Guess someone had been cramming. And begrudgingly he had to respect that, just. . .he wondered what was the end goal?

Then came the next one, the song cover of a woman in silver.

“What about Metallica?” Tanjiro chirped, stalking closer his hair brushed his arm eliciting a sharp shiver. “That counts as punk—right?”

Genya didn’t respond. Just stopped walking, hand tightening on the phone. The shudder didn’t even stand out, he just blinked shocked.

Tanjiro turned to look at him. “. . .What?”

“You did not just say Metallica is punk.”

“I asked,” Tanjiro defended with a sheepish shrug, holding his hands up. “I didn’t say it with confidence!”

“That’s metal, Kamado. Heavy metal. Hard rock. Big difference.”

Tanjiro huffed. “I’m learning.”

“It’s—in the damn name! Metallica” he shook his head pinching the bridge of his nose. “Good lord.”

They continued down the tiled path of the mall’s second wing, past the vague scent of candles and cheap perfume. The entire time Genya grumbled and huffed, on a rant of what the fuck man, admittedly riled up by such an idiotic statement. It didn’t help that Tanjiro was just laughing it off apologizing with mumbles, but that wasn’t enough. Hell no. A flash of black and red caught Tanjiro’s eye, for the boy stiffened for a moment.

“Hot Topic!” he gasped, immediately speeding toward it like a cartoon character pulled by scent trails.

A blink.

Genya faltered, repeating it under his breath. Hot. Topic. The infamous overpriced store with cheap material and less than worthy quality items, the store that meant something but lost it to cater to anime fans and try hards. Hot. Topic?

Genya’s arm shot out and yanked him back by the collar.

“Absolutely not.”

Tanjiro sputtered, choking out as he collided into Genya’s chest. It nearly made him freeze up, inhaling sharply, too close—Tanjiro looked up his red eyes distant. “Wha—? Why?!”

Too close, Genya stepped away brushing himself off as if Tanjiro was germs itself. “You don’t need more weird long socks,” he snapped, tugging the flannel at Tanjiro’s waist with vague irritation. “And shopping there’s poser shit.”

A twitch. Tanjiro’s smile stalled mid-bloom, buffering like a system glitch. Just from that. Genya raised a brow. If he’d managed to offend him already—good. Mission accomplished. Not that he’d ever apologize. He cleared his throat, brushing his knuckles against his own jaw like it was nothing. He hadn’t said anything wrong.

“I like my socks.” Tanjiro sputtered, tearing his eyes away. Sounding real pitiful, defensive.

Weird.

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The boy folded his arms, not exactly angry but the change of behavior went from beaming to suddenly quiet and feigning indifference. Tanjiro fidgeted with his sleeve, quieter in that sore way someone that happy could be. “they’re comfortable. . .”

Right. Genya stared off into the distance, tapping a digit over the bottom of Tanjiro’s phone. At least he’s passionate about his appreciation for the socks, it didn’t help the sudden awkward feeling between them. A kid was gawking at Genya, not a thought behind his green eyes while Tanjiro continued to squirm beside him. Ugh. . . .

He kinda felt. . .erh—he felt a certain way.

Errrrgehegehghggggggggggggg

“Alright fine.” He exhaled shoving the phone into Tanjiro’s chest. Hurrying forward slightly sheepish. “You wanna learn, I’ll show you a real store. One that doesn’t sell fake chains and anime crop tops next to Misfits hoodies.”

Tanjiro perked up instantly, the empty distance in his eyes vanished. Eerily so. “Wait—seriously? Like, a real punk store?” Another chirp, jogging to catch up. “That has, like. . .authenticity?”

He avoided glancing over, scratched his cheek. “Has, like, shit you don’t deserve yet, but yeah.”

“I’ll behave.” Kamado hummed.

“Doubt that.”

An anxious lump formed in his throat. The CD store was a mere tug to the past, but it wasn’t his store, or what use to be his. In the sense that it was a safe place, the area you could spend hours at and wouldn’t get tired off. Sharing it with someone like Tanjiro felt like wearing baggy pants without a belt. If not that, then the familiar return would hurt more than when he left it. That, and people change, spaces change—if it turned into something else it might piss him off. Like he missed out on a real experience and he’d been left behind.

Should he teach of punk manners? Clarify the rules, what to do, and not do? Genya popped a knuckle, bracing for a greeting. Act normal, confident carry that behavior other people praised him for, be a—-cocky bastard. The mall was large in size, approaching closer felt like it took hours.

“Um. . .”

Oh great.

Tanjiro nudged him, red hair curling over his face messily. “you think they have anything. . . Rammstein?”

That’s the second time he’s brought that damn band up. Causally, but insisting. The undertone of something false picked at him, Tanjiro’s eyes wandered away and his fingers twitched nervously. Weird behavior, something a poser would push just to fit in. Genya folds his arms, tongue clicking.

“I don’t get it, they’re overrated as hell what about them do you like?”

Full of suspicion just as he thought, Tanjiro froze—froze—like he’d been caught sneaking food in class. Utterly obvious that he was playing fan, his supposed interest nothing real. His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. His eyes darted away to some kiosk selling scented hand soap.

“I—uh. Their lyrics?” he tried.“They’re. . .intense? But meaningful. And, and Du Hast is kinda iconic. . .”

Genya blinked, mouth pressing into a thin line. “Du Hast? Bro, they repeat like two lines for the whole song.”

“I like the sound!” Tanjiro insisted, defensively puffing his cheeks, rather childishly. “It’s like—gritty! Real! And the, um, the energy. . .”

Genya stopped walking altogether. “Energy,” he repeated flatly. Catching the store in the near distant, a new change of posters for rookie bands plastered the tinted window. It’s expressive, unique-just how he liked it- just how he left it. His frown twitched, slightly more relaxed. “Okay. What else?”

Tanjiro hesitated too long. His fingers fidget around his phone like it might bail him out. Though there no coming back from this, it would be likely that he digs this hole deeper. Honestly though, Genya was interested in seeing how it would turn out.

“Um. . .Rein Raus.”

Pause.

Rein. Raus?

Genya’s eyebrow twitched. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

Genya turned toward him full, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Tanjiro stood stiff, blinking incredulously with strands of hair poking out, his shoes were untied now. The perfect image of a guilty teenage boy.

“You’re telling me your second favorite Rammstein song,” he said slowly, “is literally the one that’s just about sex. Like, very obviously. Hard fucking. Just—‘in, out, in, out.’ Over and over.”

Another pause. Full of mortification. The information processes before him, he can see the cogwheels spinning in Tanjiro’s head, wrapped in cobwebs and slow in age. Genya nearly pitied him, cringing at the situation itself. It’s not Tanjiro’s fault he didn’t speak German, but it was common sense to translate the songs when sang like sex music. Another minute passes, and suddenly Tanjiro inhaled sharply, a heavy gasp.

His face lit up like a damn stoplight. “I didn’t know that!!”

Genya scoffed.

“I thought it was like—symbolic or something! You know, emotional metaphor! I don’t speak German!”

Genya stared, dumbfounded.

Tanjiro covered his face with both hands. “I just—I liked the vocals! I didn’t know he was saying all that!!”

The boy spiraled into a desperate attempt to cover up for his mistakes. Hands wave wildly, straining the saddest smile he’d ever seen someone muster.

“It’s- um—the way it’s sang you know?” A cough, drags his fingers through his hair. “Like it’s just soothing in a way, how can someone n-not feel thrilled with a voice like that! You- um-“

Now that he considered it. Tanjiro kept shifting from side to side, stammering and stumbling over his words. The worst part was over, but he was only getting redder the more he reasoned. He wasn’t judging him for enjoying the song, he was judging him for feigning he did especially with a personality so sweet and innocent. The blush in his cheeks darkened, and each word linked back to the voice.

“The words—but it’s- smooth and-!!”

And that’s when it hit him.

The. . .voice. The. Voice. Nooo not the lyrics, the singer. Genya snorted.

“Oh. I see.”

Tanjiro went still, shutting up with a wide eyed look that begged for mercy. The menacing purr of his voice purposely lingered, relishing in the sudden power he held over Tanjiro. The fear was so clear in those red eyes, bordering between his options; does he run or take it with pride?

“You’ve got a thing for the voice, huh?” Genya drawled out lowly, tilting his head up.

Another wince, Tanjiro’s mouth flops like a fish on land. Brows knitting together just as baffled, “H—-huuuuh?????”

To which, Genya whistles out loud shaking his head like a stern father. “Is that your type in men?” He probably shouldn’t have said that, but the moment was too good to not comment on it. Even when Tanjiro hissed, acting as if it were physically hurting him. “The ones that got that rasp in their voice? Hm?”

“You—I—no.” His face burned hotter. “No, I’m not. We’re moving on. Is that the store?” Without waiting, he spun on his heel and stormed off hoping for reprieve in the retreat.

Something predatory ignited in him right after, the fleeing of Tanjiro made him want to chase. The boy’s figure tense with embarrassment stalked stiffly, it looked weak. easy, Genya chuckled. The crowds weren’t overwhelming on this wing of the mall, but he didn’t care if people gave them odd looks. Genya jogged over, perching an elbow on his shoulder, leaning closely to his cheek, not accounting for personal space.

“Yeah you like the lyrics huh ? ‘Rein. Raus.’” He taunted in a mock growl, rasping the ends of his vocals. “In. Out. In. Out.”

Tanjiro choked elbowing him by instinct, “Stop that!! People can hear you—I just thought—I mean—I liked the song, I didn’t know it was—”

“About fucking. Loudly. Repeatedly.”

Tanjiro whipped around with a glare sharp enough to cut, but the color in his face betrayed him—he was still mortified, still reeling. Even as he yanked open the store door and disappeared inside, Genya could hear him muttering something like “unbelievable” under his breath.

Genya followed, hands stuffed in his pockets, grinning like a bastard.

He didn’t usually get the upper hand in conversations—wasn’t built for it. But something about watching Tanjiro unravel, flushed and babbling, lit a fuse in his chest. Not just because it was funny. But because he hadn’t known someone could look like that when they were flustered. All red ears and twitchy fingers. The little voice that lived off praise and adrenaline creeps behind, how he’d genuinely found amusement in that. Quieter, more concerning, he’d thought Tanjiro’s behavior was cute, in a way.

Oh

Fuck. Genya shook his head, brushing whatever shiver just crawled up his skin. Nothing seemed more appealing than a shower now, something about washing off heaviness. It occurred to him he stood by the entrance of the store, a glimpse of Tanjiro’s hair slipped inside probably still recovering. Genya thought of calling him back, his mouth parted but nothing comes out. It’s like a teenagers room, it’s messy in that cozy way, specifically organized without being clean. It’s real familiar.

Nothing really changed, just a few of the displays and the music is shuffled. Hesitating, Genya took two steps forward, but the smell of that old incense makes him flinch. patchouli, a smell someone lit months ago and couldn’t get rid off after, its striking in comparison to the worn leather and dusty like blend. There are traces of that lifestyle still, changed just to appeal to certain audiences, but band tees hang on a painted wall. There are painted deep, moody reds and purples, cracked a little in the corners from age, with peeling posters layered like sediment.

Cautioning inside his hand hovers over the disc filled bins, gawking like a child in lego land. The cashier peers from the back, swinging the curtain that was used as a door. They catch each other’s gaze and the man lights up. He’s also familiar, Genya swallowed thickly awkwardly waving.

“Well shit—Genya Shinazugawa? Thought you dropped off the face of the earth.”

Genya stiffly, rubs the back of his neck.
“Yeah.” His knuckle bumps the counter, misplaced then. “Just, y’know. Showing the newbie around.”

The man, a young adult noticed Tanjiro. Studied him for a few seconds, deciding whether or not he was worthy to shop there. The redhead peers closely at the locked glass case that held rare cassettes. Dusty but loved, and. . .clearly gatekept.

Finally the man with too much lace on his arms leans forward dropping his voice conspiratorially. “Newbie, huh? You corruptin’ this one too?”

Tanjiro doesn’t hear. Hums to himself already over the teasing from before, though there was still a faint blush in his cheeks. Genya deadpanned then shook his head, “wanted a tour.”

“Hah! That’s worse. Voluntary corruption.” He pats Genya’s shoulder, laughing through the admission. Tanjiro shuffled towards the pins, plucking one with the well known Radiohead creep cover. The two shifted, Genya didn’t chuckle like the man head in that teasing condescending way, Genya chewed the inside of his cheek. It’s cliche, but the curious greed in the act felt. . . Real. “Kid’s cute though. Better taste than you did when you first came in.”

Another shiver, Genya scoffed snapping to glare at him. “Shut up, man.”

“Glad to see you.” He shrugged noncommittal leaned towards the counter, casual for the conversation between employee and costumer. “Your brother came by a few weeks back, actually. Just stood near the Slipknot display and glared at the wall for like five minutes. I thought we were getting robbed.”

Ah.

Ah?

Genya skulked back, eyes narrowing at the thought. His sibling had a past with he music, sure but he vowed to loathe it after the overdose. It was hard to imagine him near music like this again, didn’t even let him use the aux on car rides. Strict punk, it was almost sad to see. He often compared it to a bird stripped of its wings, removing something as natural as that. Then again, it might be selfish to think it was just because of the incident. It had spiraled, and the eldest sibling failed to lead. Genya knew it was that. Sanemi bitched about it endlessly, scolded him for being around snakes with drug addictions, then foolishly labels him as one of them.

It was cruel. .

“. . .Sanemi?”

“Same scowl, different haircut.” The other gestures vaguely, “Didn’t say a word, just asked if you’d been around. I told him I hadn’t seen you in months.”

A pause, searching for subtle words. Looks at him a little longer, taking in the absolutely ‘normal’ view of him.

“Glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah.” Genya flatly replied shoves himself off the counter. “Thanks.”

Tanjiro wanders a few feet off, fingers brushing over CDs, glancing over his shoulder every now and then. The tall shadow didn’t move him away, just pointed at the display of pot-hardcore section deciding. That’s the one, the one he prefers to listen to.

“Do you have a favorite band that’s, like, underrated?”

“Why?” Replied Genya, brow raised and bells going off.

.
.
.

Half shrugging, unaware of how loaded the question is. He could give him the history and information of it all, but the personal experience isn’t easily accessible. Genya felt the need to make that obvious, but Tanjiro gentle mannerisms made him think otherwise.

“Just curious. I wanna hear more of what you like. Not what the internet tells me’s good.”

There, sweet and patient. Tanjiro didn’t fuss, just suggested the idea then let it pass. Genya doesn’t respond, avoids his eyes.

The tension in his shoulders had faded.

An exhausting weight followed him home. The colors of the sky blended awkwardly, the sunset was orange and yellow, strangely angry and not as beautiful as pink and blue ones are. The clear sky is an open canvas, Genya couldn’t even gaze at it the walk home. Hands were stuffed in his pockets, and head faced down as spiral of thoughts fills his head.

Different or new the situation changed a feeling tight in his chest. The heat had him beading with sweat, he was aware of the slick annoyances in his armpits. The tree’s of his neighborhood crowd over the sidewalk in thick shadows, loose leaves piled in the cracks of the cement. Grimacing, Genya glared at the nearing figure of his home. The other buildings themselves looked chaotic, peeled paint and cluttered. One was fenced with metal, a small scrappy dog yips his heart out even when passing.

His phone vibrates, Genya spares a glance and unsurprisingly it’s from Tanjiro. ‘Did you get home fine?’ He rolls his eyes, begrudgingly amused.

Eventually though, he reached his home past the van, to the door. A hovering hand on the knob, and just a pause. A whole day spend at the library, his belly full and mouth tingly. He’d spoken song titles he hasn’t heard in months, speaking them felt insignificant. It’s not that they don’t mean anything to him anymore, far from it. Song like that were meant to be debated and adored, and the shameful side of him treated them like they were nothing. Nostalgic,only in the way that hurts him.

He pushes through; door swinging open. The house is just as messy as it was before, toys are scattered, and the floor crowds with kids shoes. Typical. He slams the door shut, passing the living room. Two of his siblings are seated at the table, two cups of orange juice filled halfway.

Teiko shuffles closer to Hiroshi, finger drawling over the square of free space. The homework was elementary, easy stuff, and the eldest sister helped. The girl wore a simple sweater, a necklace dangles from her neck. “No, no—you’re multiplying the distributive part too early again.”

The boy, with short hair like his but tufted in his head just pouted. Glared at the paper like he wanted to rip it apart. “I hate this.”

“I’m home.” Genya muttered, waiting to be acknowledged.

In a bratty streak, Hiroshi replied flatly. “Took your time.”

Damn punk. The kid was the same age as his sister had too much sass to be rude, recalling it though, he had soccer practice after school. In turn, his school work was being finished so late into the day.

“Jesus, I walked in a second ago.”

His sister glances, “There’s curry.”

“Not hungry.”

Promptly after, approached his room. The door firmly shut, as he typically left it. It creaks open into his room; where a mess he didn’t recall making waits. Clothes on the floor. Smell of sweat and something sweet from last week’s laundry. Ugh, great, Genya dragged fingers through his hair, the dread suffocates in his chest. The bed was piled in the blankets he slept with, the desk was cluttered with chewed penciled and old trinkets. There’s a few picture frames faced down, photos of whatever memory he thought of decorating with.

Suddenly motivated, He grabs the basket, pauses, nudging into his shoulder tentatively sniffing. A wince, he tosses in a hoodie. Peels off his shirt. Obviously it’s replaced with something more comfortable, before heading to the laundry room. Another sibling passes him, and they don’t speak—it didn’t take long for him to reach the humid area, briskly moving to shove his haul into the machine.

In the middle of it, his pocket crinkles. Plastic wrap, he knows what it is but facing it was a burden itself.

Under his breath, he huffed. “. . seriously.”

He reaches in.

It’s got Tanjiro laced around it, the supposedly meaningless item glinted from the light above. It’s the pin. SLIPKNOT. Recalling the last of the store, Tanjiro and the cashier joked about his purchase, a simple SOAD band tee and the pin. Silver and scratched, not new. Not a novelty. Likely given and sold again with those intentions. He turns it in his fingers.

“Fucking Custer.”

The name tastes sour-sweet. His fingers twitch. At the same time, the old dents in his digits press on the needle, calluses from his guitar playing days. Other hand slides into his pocket, instinctive—a.thumb hooks behind his lighter, presses the edge of his pack. An echo of that teasing growl, followed by a breathy laugh. It’s weird, the vibrant colors of Tanjiro’s eyes are easy for him recall, red but sometimes pink. It depended on the lighting, his attention.

“No.” He’d blurted, shaking his head with a scoff. To shake it off, he fills detergent into the compartment, mashing it on after on the necessary setting. The machine purred first, then sloshed with liquid. Visibly the clothes can be seen growing damp, a clear view of the inside he noticed his reflection after. Messy hair brushed back with the occasional knot. His skin is clear, and eyes are droopy with exhaustion.

Ah.

The door creaks.

He doesn’t get to greet, in the door entrance Sanemi stares with that expression that screamed judgment. The young adult clearly returned from workshop, his uniform screening ‘I’m a bitchy mechanic, I won’t scam you but will scare you.’ Genya straightened up, adjusting weight against the wall.

“You smell like pretzels.”

Wow. What a way to greet! Sanemi spoke plainly, but his bug eyes narrowed on him studying every new detail about him. The man reeks of oil and gas, with crossed arms his fingers are stained in black. Picture perfect, he just looked like a model citizen!

Genya shrugged, “I don’t.”

“Where were you?”

“. . .mall.”

“Hm.”

That should’ve been the end of the conversation, should have bored Sanemi. Instead, he lingered and hovered with that intimidating presence that made it hard to breathe in. White haired, wide eyes and broad. Sanemi looked healthy, tan, and thick in muscles. It wasn’t enough to make him feel envious, usually Genya wondered how they were even related. Sometimes the snow color of his hair was too rare of a concept, but if they shared one thing now, it was their scars. Physical or mental, they both smiled when their father left.

That had to mean to something, even now, right?

A fly buzzed around them, the silence was loud. Genya quietly inhales, pulling the pin out without meeting Sanemi’s gaze. “You dropped this. Or whatever.”

The other didn’t move, just stared at it. His extended arm locked stiffly unmoving because even the stupid side of him hoped. . .that Sanemi hadn’t completely given up on him. Sure the thing was beat up, scratched to hell—-But familiar. Sanemi’s familiar. The purpose of gifting it was to cause some sort of emotional reaction, somehow mend their shaky relationship and make them best friends again.

“. . .where’d you get it.” The elder slowly asked. Stepped closer, but refused to grab it. Wouldn’t dare, he treated the offer itself like sin itself.

Genya thickly swallowed, cautiously looked over.“Store.”

.
.
.

Sanemi’s brow twitched cruelly distant. The heat of the room clung to him, but the spiral of thoughts swarmed back. A bitter, heavy and hot aching flared in his throat. Swallowing it down made no difference, Genya’s arm was starting to ache and the sudden offense in his brother’s mannerism was frustrating him. Scowling, like the pin was going to place a curse on them, his fists twitched just slightly tighter.

Why?

Angry over that? How could is own attempts to be kind leave him so pissed off?

“You went back?” Growled Sanemi, quietly and slowly.

“Yeah.”

“Are you fucking serious—did you go alone?”

Genya exhaled—a strained tired laugh. In an instant Sanemi stalked forward, slapping his arm away. It wasn’t rough, but it might as well be, the hint of aggression was enough to make him pull away—side stepping eyeing the exit—just get out- leave- leave it’s not worth it— he hates you.

“Im——-I’m not an idiot.” Genya croaked.

Genya stepped back on instinct. His shoulder burned where Sanemi had touched him. “Don’t play cute with me—“ the words hissed immediately, fingers digging into his shoulder keeping him planted without escape. “who were you with?”

“I said drop it.” Genya restrained a shout, his tone clips colder. That heat bubbles hotter within his body. Spiraling between frustration and fear.

“God damn it—listen to me Genya, I’m not doing this again.” Another blur of the moment, Genya flinched. He could have--or should’ve prepared for Sanemi’s outburst, should have known he’d be yanked by the collar, close in proximity. Should’ve expected to be treated like scum of the earth, it’s a startling sadness—forgetting that they were siblings. That he was his younger brother. But no, Sanemi glared, jostling his grip. “You better not hanging out with that snake again.”

Genya drew in a deep breath, narrowed eyes holding a semblance of patience. “What snake.”

“You know damn well who.” Sanemi snarled, specks of spit hitting his brother’s face. “Kaigaku.”

“Jesus Christ!” Genya snapped, pulling back hard enough to break the grip. The pin audibly falls to the ground, clicking between them. No one moves to pick it up, no one notices—Genya sharply exhaled, “are you serious?”

“Don’t give me that!” Hissed Sanemi, shaking his head vehemently. “Don’t act like I’m paranoid.”

“You are paranoid! I said mall, not hell.”

“You say shit like that and still expect me not to check. You think I don’t know how fast this happens?”He stepped closer again, not grabbing this time—but the air between them pulsed like a live wire. “One bad day, one bad song—”

Genya scoffs.“You think a song is gonna make me relapse?”

“I think that store did.”

“You’re insane.”

A slam, and Genya physically jumped. Sanemi’s fist slammed into the dryer, hard enough for the door to pop open eerily slow. “I’ve seen insane. I dragged insane out of your lungs with my hands.” He had to remind. Genya felt the fight drain out him, just recalled the originally funny feeling then nothing. Those hospital lights, and Sanemi’s face of utter fear, wide eyes with a mouth that spoke——probably yelled. But Genya never heard it, he’s not sure he could’ve. “Don’t pretend you’ve got this under control.”

Then he thought of his mother. That poor woman, frantic with him then the doctors. Ushered away my his brother, wiping tears from her pretty face. Hoarsely, Genya managed out in a whisper. “I wasn’t with him.”

“. . .then who?”

That’s all that mattered now, huh? Genya stared him down, thinking of every damn thing he could say. And all of it didn’t matter, at the end of the day he’s the troubled teenager that overdosed on drugs. The kid that smoked, the failure of the family. Genya exhales. Doesn’t answer, turns away and slams the door shut.

Sanemi probably yelled about that, but it blurred alongside the frustrating sting of his eyes.