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Part One: Mori
Tanjiro didn’t like the hospital. He didn’t want to dislike it—the doctors really were trying their best and the nurses were all so kind—but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like how the chemicals stung his nose. He didn’t like how the floors reflected the white lights so much. He really didn’t like that weird, lingering stench that made his stomach turn.
He didn’t like knowing his dad was going to die.
But he shouldn’t think about that, not now. Now, he had a surprise for his dad, held excitedly in his hands as he walked the familiar path to his room.
Dad had only returned to the hospital (his semi-permanent residence for the past two years) four days prior, the evening after he took Tanjiro out for…well, there’d been some issue, so he returned, so Tanjiro took that familiar path, refusing to think of anything besides his surprise.
His father’s attending doctor was in the room when Tanjiro arrived. She stood by his bedside, knuckles flushed white from her grip on her clipboard as she talked in low tones. Her brow was furrowed and mouth pouted which, combined with how softly she spoke, made Tanjiro all too sure that her news was not good news. And yet, his dad sat and listened, smiling gently at her and nodding calmly along to her words.
“Thank you,” he said in a normal tone once she finished. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, but it had been doing that for the last couple months already. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
His doctor’s pout turned into a full frown. She began to say something else, shaking her head, but his father cut her off.
“It’s alright,” he assured her. “You’ve done what you could, and I am grateful. But if you wouldn’t mind—” and he turned his head, finding Tanjiro where he peeked inside, leaning slyly around the door frame, “—I’d like to have some time with my son.”
His doctor snapped to look up, her eyes widening when she also noticed Tanjiro. “Oh, hello,” she called, quickly fixing her expression and waving Tanjiro inside. “Sorry about that, kiddo. Your father and I were just—”
“It’s okay!” Tanjiro interrupted, and stepped into the room. Truth be told, he just didn’t want to hear what they were talking about. He had a bad enough feeling as was, and it was easier to remain ignorant.
The doctor, luckily, didn’t press him. Maybe she understood. “Well, I’ll leave you two,” she said simply. She bowed her head to Tanjiro’s dad, then Tanjiro himself. “I’m just a button press away if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Father said with a smile.
Tanjiro bowed his head too. “Thank you!” He repeated, then watched her leave, waiting for the door to close behind her.
“Come here,” Dad said at the sound of the latch, apparently waiting for the same. Tanjiro turned to see him ushering forwards, onto the bed. He immediately obeyed the beckon and crawled beside him. Father wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “How are you, my son?”
“I’m good,” Tanjiro answered, and once again turned from his anxiousness. He would not allow bad feelings to spoil his time with his father. Readjusting on the bed, he instead laid the folder he’d brought across his father’s lap. “I have something to show you!” He said, then flipped it open.
Inside, meticulously organized and deliberately sectioned, were all of his portfolio photos. His first portfolio photos, to be exact. Father’s face lit up immediately, warm and bright.
“Oh, my,” he whispered, and reached out to grab one, but his hands—once strong and steady, capable of playing the most beautiful music Tanjiro had ever heard—shook too terribly. He couldn’t grab ahold of a photo, fingers trembling and expression growing tight as he tried again and again and failed again and again. Eventually, when he exhaled in a weird sort of frustrated, rattling way, Tanjiro moved in, pulling the photos free and laying them across the blankets.
“Here,” he murmured, and quickly wiped away the worry he was certain shone on his face when Father leaned over to kiss his brow.
“Thank you, son,” he said gently, either not noticing Tanjiro’s agitation or deciding to not point it out. He gestured to the pictures. “Would you show me?”
Tanjiro obliged happily. He shifted again so they could sit side-by-side and flipped slowly through the photos. He talked idly through each one, if just to overwrite the beeping machines, telling a story about the picture or just something that had happened. He mentioned how his ballet instructor had agreed to teach him pointe—his father cheered and congratulated him—then how they would be performing Alice in Wonderland that fall—his father said he was excited and certain it would be fun for Tanjiro. Tanjiro agreed.
Dad sat and admired every photo and listened to his every story with those continued comments. He even asked to keep a picture of Tanjiro dancing as Fritz at one point, to which Tanjiro responded by folding and tucking it neatly into his gown pocket. His dad thanked him and leaned ever-so-slightly against Tanjiro, still watching and listening…but every few minutes his breathing would falter again, distracting Tanjiro with an ever growing wave of concern. At one point, when he began to nod off, Tanjiro gave up pretending and spun to face him.
“Are you okay?” He asked, frowning when Father blinked blearily to attention. “You don’t sound or smell normal. Should I get your doctor?”
“No,” Father muttered and shook his head. He lifted a shaking hand to rest on Tanjiro’s shoulder and squeezed—or tried to. The pressure barely changed. Tanjiro swallowed. “I’m okay, son.”
“Are you sure?” Tanjiro insisted. “Really, I can ask—”
But he just shook his head again and smiled weakly. “I want this time with you,” he said, simple and honest, so Tanjiro relented. “How about you turn around?” His dad suggested further. “Your hair is still tied up. Let me take it down for you.”
Tanjiro reached up to touch the bun in mention, slicked back and pinned strictly in place for his ballet class that morning. He had another to go to that afternoon so he hadn’t unraveled it yet, and really should keep it intact…
“Okay,” he said, smiling and nodding and doing as Father said: he sat forward and turned around, so his father could reach the pins and ties. His hands landed there after a couple seconds of silence, uncharacteristically cold and trembling horribly, but Tanjiro refused to comment on it again. It was fine. He was fine, like he’d said. His breathing was fine. His smell was fine. Everything was fine.
And soon enough, it really felt fine. Dad had once done this everyday. He’d sit Tanjiro on the ground then plop on the couch behind him, methodically removing the pins that held his hair in place and combing the product out. He always asked Tanjiro how class had been that day; if he had learned anything new; if he had been casted in the upcoming performance; if he had anything on his mind; anything and everything, really. And Tanjiro loved that time. He loved this time. He loved feeling his dad’s fingers in his hair once again (no matter how weak and shaky). He loved sitting beside him and talking idly about everything (no matter how unusual his breath sounded). He loved being with his father in general (no matter how strong that smell grew).
That awful smell that permeated the entire hospital.
…That smell?
That smell.
The moment he noticed it, almost like it was the action that sealed his fate, Father’s hands stalled and slipped. They dropped from Tanjiro’s hair and to his own lap with one of those scary exhales and a shifting of the pillows. Tanjiro whipped around. Father’s eyes fluttered closed.
“Dad?” Tanjiro demanded, quickly grabbing his shoulders and squeezing. His dad’s eyelids opened briefly, showing dull eyes momentarily highlighted by a shivering smile…then they closed again and he relaxed in Tanjiro’s grip.
Tanjiro panicked. Heart tripping, lungs seizing, he released one of Dad’s shoulders to fumble for his bed remote, searching hopelessly for that red call button—but it was wedged beneath him, trapped by his slumped figure, tight enough to make Tanjiro struggle as he tried to yank it free.
“You’ll be okay, daddy, okay?” Tanjiro gasped, more desperate for himself to hear the words but unable to settle for his thoughts. “Just hang in there. You’ll be okay, okay? You’ll be okay.”
Another rattling exhale. Father went limp. The monitor stopped beeping.
It held out one tone.
Just one note.
Damningly monotone.
Perfectly still.
Too still.
“Daddy?” Tanjiro croaked—or maybe he did. Did he? He couldn’t feel his body. He saw his hand squeeze his dad’s shoulder, trying to shift him upwards; he only collapsed further at the attempt. “Dad, wake up.”
But that singular note didn’t stutter and that smell practically exploded in the room—that awful, sweetly rotten smell that Tanjiro could not name, would not name. Because it wasn’t true. His father wasn’t gone. He just…he just needed a little encouragement!
“Daddy, you’re okay!” Tanjiro sobbed—was he crying?—and leaned closer to shake his father. Father didn't respond. Somewhere, surely so far away, a door opened and footsteps thundered inside a room. But not their room. Because they were fine. Dad would be fine. “You just need to wake up, okay?!”
Big hands grabbed Tanjiro’s arms, hands that weren’t his dad’s. He whipped around to see a nurse holding him—and hauling him backwards. Away from his father. No!
“No—wait!” He cried, writhing in that grip to free himself, but the nurse wouldn’t relent. He just kept dragging Tanjiro, expression tight and eyes latched on the departing bed. “Wait, please! Please, I need to—please—Daddy, wake up!”
Other nurses swarmed where Tanjiro left, where he was ripped away from. They moved Father to lie on his back, frantically pressing buttons on monitors, lining heavy hands up to compress his chest—CPR?! Why did they need that?! Dad wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be!
“Don’t hurt him!” Tanjiro screamed. “You’ll hurt him—don’t hurt him!”
He kicked to keep himself there, still fighting uselessly against the nurse that restrained him; still crying as Father’s room shrunk away; sobbing as he saw the attending doctor shake her head and write something on her clipboard; relenting as the nurses backed away; collapsing as Dad didn’t get up.
Because Tanjiro knew what the smell was. He had known it since first ever walking into a hospital. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what it meant. He had known it as it had worsened on Father, as it had melded into his usual scent and made its home there. As it took him—took him from Tanjiro and his mom and his little siblings. He knew it and he hated it. He hated its name, its godawful name:
Death.
His dad was dead.
The nurse that had pulled Tanjiro away let him lean against his legs—as he had apparently knelt down behind him for that sole purpose. He rubbed his thumbs on Tanjiro’s shoulders and sat there quietly, maybe waiting for him to move on his own or maybe just waiting for him to break into hysterics again. Maybe waiting for nothing. Tanjiro closed his eyes, then turned and opened them again, facing him with a hopefully mature expression, one that hid the tears still boiling in his eyes.
“What time is it?” He asked.
The nurse’s brow creased for a moment before he seemed to understand. “It was eleven forty-four,” he answered quietly.
“Thank you,” Tanjiro murmured, and turned around again.
11:44 on April the fourth, he thought, memorizing that date, ingraining it into every cell of his body and mind.
April 4th, 11:44.
11.44 4/4.
The fourth day of the fourth month, forty-four minutes after eleven.
The death of Tanjuro Kamado.
Part Two: Testamentum
Kie had spent months preparing for her husband’s death. It did nothing to soften the loss.
During the entire hurried drive over to the hospital, she sobbed. Thick tears rolled from her face and pooled on her lap as she tried to blink them free, focusing on the road before her to keep herself from completely collapsing against the wheel. Had Tanjiro watched? she wondered. She knew her son had also been trying to prepare, though she doubted he was ready for the moment either. And the younger ones…Rokuta, who could barely understand his father’s illness in the first place…what were they to do?
The hospital loomed before her but barely registered in Kie’s mind as she haphazardly parked and dashed inside. The chemically clean smell barely bothered her nose. Even as the desk staff provided verbal instruction, directing her through the path she already had well memorized, she hardly processed it. Tanjiro, was her thought, her first order of business. My son. Where is my son?
And there he was, right where she feared he would be: the nurse station outside of—what once had been—his father’s room. He sat primly behind the desk, perched on a nurse’s chair with a cup of what seemed to be cold tea cradled in his gentle hands. He wore a small, placid smile, but his usually bright eyes had gone dull, staring off into empty air, lost and unfocused. Kie’s approach to the desk garnered the attention of the staff—all of them bustled to greet her and summon paperwork—but her son did not turn, not until she too wandered behind the desk and knelt beside him.
Even there, perched at his level with a strained smile that ached in her jaw, he had a moment where that look remained, his glassy stare falling to her face and yet not seeing it. Her throat tightened with regrowing tears that she bit back, and she reached out to comb a hand through his hair—his loose hair, she noticed, free from its uniform bun. He blinked at the touch. Light flicked in his eyes. His hands went taut around the long forgotten tea cup, and there he finally awoke.
“Mom,” he whispered, quiet but emphatic, and leaned forward. He released one side of the cup to grab her shoulder and squeeze, frowning in that gently sweet way he always did when concerned. “Are you okay? Has the Doctor spoken to you yet?”
“Only briefly,” Kie told him, and brushed back more of his hair. “Are you okay, honey?”
Did you watch? She wanted to ask.
“I’m…” Tanjiro’s eyes flickered again. His gaze trailed from her face to float hazily through the air, tracing lines Kie couldn’t see and breaking those tears free from her eyes. She wiped them away before he could see, but he didn’t look all too aware when meeting her face again anyway. “I left my pictures in there,” he murmured. “Daddy kept one.”
Kie tried to keep smiling, but with her cries barely contained and that dazed, far-off look in her son’s eyes…she couldn’t anymore. Her face fell. Tanjiro didn’t even blink. She broke down.
“Mom?” Tanjiro asked as she dropped her head to his knees. His hand rested gently over her hair, but he didn’t move otherwise, once again too lost in his mind to do anything but basic actions. She wondered if that was why he said daddy just before. He hadn’t called Tanjuro that in years, just as he hadn’t gotten this way in years. Neither since Tanjuro’s first heart attack. Since the doctors first delivered his life sentence.
A life sentence now called due.
Sitting up just enough to see him again, Kie grabbed her son by the arms and pulled him forward. He responded limply to her beckon, wordlessly slipping from the chair and to where she directed: right into her arms, so she could wrap them around him and clutch him tight. Her beautiful son, so much like her beautiful husband, who barely had the wherewithal in himself to feel sad. He had watched, she knew that now. He’d been there at that moment, just as he had been there when his father first collapsed with a failing heart. What did it smell like to him, she wondered? Would he tell her one day? Would he even remember?
“You’ll be okay,” she promised him when her throat opened up enough to speak. His own arms—mirrored weakly around her torso—tightened slightly at her words. “It’ll all be okay, my love.”
“He won’t get to see Alice in Wonderland,” Tanjiro mumbled.
Kie sobbed harder.
~~~
All of Kie’s children cried through their father’s funeral—all, that is, except Tanjiro.
There were tears in his eyes, yes, and several times Kie saw him dab them away with the handkerchief she gave him, but that was all. He didn’t burst into hysterics like Rokuta (whom he picked up and cradled immediately afterwards); he didn’t cling to Kie like Shigeru and Hanako, or cry into anyone’s shoulders, like Takeo did to Nezuko, and Nezuko to Kie. Instead, he soothed and assured them all—Kie included—and sat calmly through the given speeches and sorrowful remarks. His demeanor only changed when it came time for the viewing.
He loitered at the back of their family, so he could be the last to approach, waiting with his bland smile as each of the kids bid their farewells. When he finally took his turn, he reached inside his suit coat first, and tugged out a manila folder. Kie’s heart dropped like a stone.
“Here you go, daddy,” he whispered—just barely loud enough for her to hear—and leaned over the casket’s edge. “You can keep all of them.” Then, with his sweet, delicate hands, he lifted one of Tanjuro’s arms and slid the folder into his grasp, draping his hand back in its original position with only a slight twinge to his expression. He nodded once, lingered a second more, then stepped away, scooping Rokuta into his arms again as he did. Rokuta sniffled and buried his face into his shoulder immediately afterwards, the shoulder that Kie lightly touched to guide him towards her.
“Honey?” She murmured to catch his attention. He blinked up at her, that same, empty smile on his face, but no light to his eyes. “Were those your pictures?”
Tanjiro nodded numbly. “Daddy wanted to keep one,” he replied. He spoke too evenly, Kie thought, for the sheer tragedy of his words, but she knew too that there was no other tone he could take. He wasn’t there, not really, and that hurt more than the grief-laden chapel they currently stood inside.
“Okay, honey,” Kie said, unable to bring herself to utter anything else. Tanjiro just nodded again at her words and continued walking, moving out of the way to join his siblings. Kie bit her tongue to keep the sobs at bay as she watched him go, but the pain only did so much to restrain, and soon enough she lost herself to the tears.
If only her husband were still with them. He would know what to do, and if nothing else, he could soothe the worst of Kie’s worst worries while they worked to find their son and bring him back. But, no. He laid inside that casket at the front of the room, being shut inside by the bearers in preparation of the burial. He was dead, so Kie was alone.
And she didn’t know what to do.
~~~
Tanjuro had always been much better at calm preparation than Kie. It was a fact about him that drew her so close to begin with: she relied on his steadfastness and constant peace, and she didn't know how she was meant to live without it, especially now, opening that box he had put together and placing every present on the living room coffee table.
It had been important to him, he once told her, that each child receive a final gift from him, paired with a letter he handwrote specifically for each one. The items were simpler for the little ones—a quilt Tanjuro’s mother had made for Rokuta, his father’s gold pocket watch for Shigeru—but they got more specific for the older kids. He had bought a fine set of acrylics for Hanako and a massive encyclopedia on botany for Takeo. Nezuko was set to receive a brand new sewing machine, the one she had eyed for ages that past Christmas, and Tanjiro, their dear first born, would be gifted his hanafuda earrings, the heirlooms passed down for generations.
The kids themselves gathered in the living room with the same teary eyes Kie found herself continually drying. The house had been so quiet those past couple weeks, only dampened further since they watched their father’s casket lower into the ground. Tanjiro in particular still struggled to pick himself up: he functioned normally, helping care for the kids and cook meals and clean the house, but Kie couldn’t find that light in his eyes. She couldn’t find him anymore, and it shattered her heart.
He wasn’t even aware of it, she knew. He picked up Rokuta and placed him in his lap with a placid expression, tucking Takeo under his arm and facing Kie blandly. She wondered if he saw her right then, or if it was all fog in his mind. Nezuko, the darling, seemed just as concerned as Kie about him, constantly trying to reignite that warmth he shared with everyone, but even she came up fruitless. She met Kie’s eyes from the couch, Hanako and Shigeru curled up with her, and frowned. Kie smiled to assure her, but it felt hollow on her face.
All her emotions felt hollow.
“Your father left some presents for you,” she started once they had all settled. Shigeru began to sniffle and cry at her words, so Hanako and Nezuko pulled him in tight. Rokuta turned his head into Tanjiro’s shoulder. Tanjiro just kept staring.
The energy stayed dulled and sorrowful as she delivered each item: wrapping Rokuta in that quilt, tucking the pocket watch into Shigeru’s shorts, setting Hanako’s acrylics with her easel and slipping Takeo’s book at the front of his collection, per his ask. Nezuko brought her sewing machine to her room before returning, then took her brothers from Tanjiro to allow him his turn. He slipped from the couch quickly enough and knelt beside Kie, but he wasn’t seeing anything—he just kept that basic smile on his face and looked up at her wordlessly.
She held out the box for him in the same silence he offered. It was small and plain, made of dark wood and padded with yellow cotton, created solely for the simple purpose of holding those earrings. Tanjiro took the box with steady hands and opened it slowly. For a handful of minutes, he just stared at them, the two carved rising suns that he had seen in his father’s ears for years. There was one moment as he stared that Kie swore she could see a flicker of light come to life in his eyes again, but it dissipated quicker than she could be sure. He closed the box and lifted his head, still smiling.
“Thank you,” he said softly, “but daddy already gave me earrings.”
Kie couldn’t find a reply. She knew exactly what he meant, but she didn’t know how to reply to that. She looked at the earrings in mention, the little golden hoops in those piercings barely two years old, and she tried to breathe. He had been so excited when receiving them, all bright smiles and giggles as Tanjuro made a promise to him: These are just temporary, he had said, crouching to Tanjiro’s level and holding his hands tightly. When you turn eighteen, I’ll give you mine, and then you can wear them until you have a son.
But Tanjiro wasn’t eighteen yet. He wasn’t even thirteen. And he needed his dad.
“How about you hold onto those,” Kie finally decided to say, and reached out to close his fingers over the box, “and you can put them in when you’re ready, okay?”
Tanjiro didn’t say anything else; he just nodded and slipped the box gingerly inside his pocket, standing afterwards to take Rokuta from Nezuko once more. She allowed him, but she frowned the whole time.
“Did you want to read our letters together?” She asked him as he sat. He turned his placid smile on her.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll wait.”
Until I’m ready, Kie knew he meant to finish. She just hoped that would be soon. She missed her son.
~~~
“I’m worried about him,” Kie said. The words were tight in her throat, cutting against the sobs that threatened to take her over at any second. She took a sip of tea at the pain, though it did little to alleviate it. “I don’t know what to do, either. He just…loses himself. I can’t even help him find his way back.”
Sakonji shook his head slowly. His own cup of tea sat in front of him, untouched. That wasn’t unusual for him: he always wore a mask around her and others, and always refrained from lifting it. And yet, for some reason, he still made himself tea.
“He’s a strong kid, Kie,” he promised steadily. “He’ll come back.”
Kie took a tissue and dried her eyes.
He was so patient with her, and she was so grateful. He’d been listening to her sorrow for months, allowing her to come over when the nights got too long just to rant or sob. On several occasions he came over as well, quietly watching over the children so she could spend nights in the hospital or drive hours for a potential new treatment—all acts that came up fruitless. Her husband still died, and now she was more lost than ever.
“You know, he was so excited.” She sniffled and blew her nose, tossing the tissue before grabbing a new one and taking another drink of tea. “He had just gotten his first set of portfolio photos, and he went to show them to Tanjuro. That’s why he was there on…you know…that day. But do you know where those photos are now?” Sakonji shook his head. Kie dabbed the tissue at her eyes. “In his grave. He put the entire folder into his casket at the wake.”
“There will be other copies,” Sakonji assured, but Kie just sighed.
“I know,” she whispered, “and I’m sure he knows that too, somewhere in his mind. It’s just…I mean, he hasn’t even gone to ballet since. He barely even leaves the house. His friends come over sometimes, but even they can’t get him to do much. He hardly even talks anymore. And he cut his hair short—did you see that?”
“I did.”
“He’s never cut it so short before! But I think it was the last thing Tanjuro touched. How awful is that? I mean, he’s just so…empty. I don’t know what to do.”
Sakonji let her words stew for a couple minutes, simply staying silent and allowing her to breathe. Eventually, after she had discarded another two tissues, he adjusted in his chair and exhaled.
“One of my grandkids was much the same,” he started quietly. “He lost his whole family at a young age and lived in a psychiatric ward for a couple months after. By the time I started fostering him, he’d become despondent, rarely talking or expressing any emotion. It took him a long time to open up.”
“But what do I do now?” Kie asked, desperate.
“To be with him is all you can do,” he answered. “Only he can see into his mind, so he’s the only one that can find his way back. You can only stand by his side and wait for him to come to.”
Kie shook her head, soiling yet another tissue with her tears and tossing it away. “That’s torture,” she whispered.
Sakonji hummed, the tone mournful. “That is being a parent.”
“I can’t do this without Tanjuro. How am I supposed to do anything without him?”
“It’s a different kind of hell,” Sakonji nodded in agreement, “but we do it for them. You can do it, Kie. You are strong, too. You will persevere.”
“It’s too much.”
“It is.” Scooting his cup of tea aside first, Sakonji stretched his arm across the table and grabbed Kie’s fingers within his own. He squeezed them once, then inclined his head towards her. “It will hurt, and it will not let up for years, if ever, but you can do it. And if you ever need a reminder of that fact,” he squeezed her hand again, “I am just three doors down.”
“Thank you,” Kie murmured, unable to make herself speak any louder than that as more tears spilled free and clogged her throat. She didn’t bother wiping them away any longer, though; she let them fall, pooling on the table for herself, and her children, and her beloved husband.
Part Three: Memento
The kitchen was a mess of noise and ingredients, the kids shouting and laughing as dinner was prepared, so loud and tumultuous that Tanjiro couldn’t think. He chopped vegetables and replied to persistent questions and comments as calmly as he could, but soon enough his skull began to buzz, his eyes unfocusing and muscles growing stiff as it just continued. He ought to step away and take a breather, to get his head back on right—but they were already running behind and his mom had enough on her shoulders as was. He couldn’t leave her to do this on her own. Even if his bones felt like they would vibrate from his skin, he had to stay. He had to be strong for his family, just like his father had asked of him.
But then Shigeru, who had been jumping up and down and all around, tripped on his way around the table and tumbled into Tanjiro’s legs, dislodging his stance and very nearly the knife in his hand, and before he could even think to relax himself, before he could take a breath and choose any other course of action, he snapped.
“Be careful!” He shouted, slamming the knife against the cutting board before crouching and picking up Shigeru. He had already pulled him into his arms and fussed his shirt back into place before he realized how quiet the kitchen had become. He glanced around. The rest of his family—his mom, his little siblings, even Shigeru in his grip—all stared back at him, wearing a mixture of expressions that ranged from vague shock to deep rooted disbelief, and like a foul chord that arrived too late, shame struck Tanjiro in the gut and lodged itself there.
“I’m…sorry—” he started to say, to whisper, terrified of speaking any louder than a breath, but Shigeru cut him off by leaning into him and wrapping him in a hug. He squeezed with all his strength and nuzzled his forehead against Tanjiro’s shoulder—a sweet gesture Tanjiro wasn’t sure he deserved.
“I’ll be careful,” he promised quietly. Tanjiro closed his eyes and squeezed him back, swallowing down the tightness in his chest and nausea in his throat.
A couple beats later, warm hands landed over Tanjiro’s, prying his arms open to take Shigeru from him. He opened his eyes again to see his sister, Nezuko, gently transferring their brother and smiling softly at Tanjiro.
“How about you take a walk? You’re really stressed,” she said, then pressed something into his hand—the portable radio their neighbor, Mr. Urokodaki, had given them for emergencies. “Take this to be safe,” she said when he looked at her quizzically, “and just take some time to breathe, okay?”
Tanjiro wanted to deny her. He still had vegetables to chop to finish dinner and he definitely didn’t want to bother Mr. Urokodaki—but everyone still stared at him in that sad, surprised sort of way and the shame was still clutched tightly in his stomach, so he sighed and relented.
“Okay,” he murmured, clipping the radio onto his belt and stepping from the kitchen. “I’ll be back soon.” Then he fetched a coat, tied on his shoes, and left.
The shame followed him the entire way. He wandered the streets and sidewalks, rhythmically wreathed in yellow lamp lights and silently taking in the city’s ambiance, but that shame stayed with him. It coiled through his intestines and dug into his lungs and seeped inside his heart, chilling the blood that ran through his veins and suffocating the steady breaths he attempted to take. He had never shouted at his siblings before—he wasn’t sure he had ever shouted at all—and it made him sick to think about. It made him sick to know he was failing.
God, he had been trying so hard and still he failed. What did his father think of him, watching him from beyond? Was he watching him? Tanjiro tried to find comfort in that idea, but now it just made that shame so much worse. Father had asked him to be strong for the family. He had, correctly, told him that they’d need his strength, his kindness that had now passed from their lives, and what had Tanjiro done instead? Snapped. Yelled. At his little brother who was simply having some fun.
Tanjiro was glad the kids could enjoy themselves again, of course he was. It had been over two months since their father had…he was glad they could be happy again. He also envied them for it. Try as he might, Tanjiro just couldn’t feel anything anymore, nothing outside of mild irritation and constant exhaustion. Everything had turned numb, and it was only getting worse. He thought of talking to his mom about it every now and then, of sharing how lost and tired and empty he felt—but she was lost and tired too, so he couldn’t burden her with that. Tanjiro needed to be strong.
A pity then, that he was so weak.
The gentle lap of water against a shore tugged Tanjiro slowly from his thoughts, giving him a brief moment of genuine confusion as he noticed how quiet his surroundings had become before he actually saw them—and immediately began to panic.
He was at Hermione Park—not a bad place on its own, but one that sat several miles away from home. It took almost a half an hour to drive too, which left one question for Tanjiro to ask: how long had he been walking?
His hand flew to the radio on instinct, draping over the call button, though he refrained from actually pressing. He really didn’t want to bother Mr. Urokodaki just because he had wandered too far. His phone still sat in his back pocket as another option, but that would mean calling his mom, and therefore burdening and worrying her. He couldn’t do that either. Was he seriously about to walk all the way back, then?
Maybe he could take a break before resorting to that. It wasn’t too cold outside, chilled only by a slight sea-brought wind, so it wasn’t as if he were in any physical danger. Besides, the park was quiet and calm and really quite dear to Tanjiro; a quick sit down wouldn’t do him any harm.
So, that settled it. Tanjiro wandered along the pond’s edge, following the shore to that little red bridge he knew crossed over it. He walked lightly atop the bridge, his steps silent so as to not disturb the peace of the park. He couldn’t fail on that account too. Once at the middle, he lowered himself carefully to the wooden planks and fit his legs between the rails so his feet dangled over the water, just as he had done those many weeks ago.
Sitting here, alone and in the dark…it didn’t feel as nice as before. Granted, that conversation hadn’t been nice at all, but at least Dad was there. They’d stopped by the ice cream parlor across the street before winding their way into the isolated park, intending to share the private moment together, only a couple days before he’d been forced to return to the hospital. He’d sat down with a little aid from Tanjiro and the rail, then passed him his cone of pistachio ice cream once he’d sat as well. Only then did Father speak.
“Tanjiro,” he said in that gentle way he always spoke his name, “I need to talk to you about my illness.”
Tanjiro perked up—once in warm sunlight and bright company, now amidst stars and loneliness. “Did the doctors find out what’s wrong?” He asked, already knowing the answer but desperate to be proven wrong.
Dad shook his head sadly, though that sweet smile never faded from his face. “No, son, and they’ve done all they can. There’s no more medicines or treatments to try. I need to tell you that it’s almost time for me to go, and that I have some things to ask of you before I do.”
“What are they?” Tanjiro asked, though he would rather scream that’s not fair for the entire world to hear. Maybe he should. He still could.
“First,” his father continued, licking up some of his own cherry ice cream and turning to smile across the pond and into the sunny sky, “I want you to know how proud of you I am. You are an incredible boy, Tanjiro, and I am so lucky to have been your father. I love you so much, and I know you will go on to become a great man who does great things.”
Tanjiro turned away as well, watching the stars flicker in the pond. He didn’t have any ice cream now to buffer his dad’s words; he only had the chill of the nighttime air and the ache of the wood beneath him.
“I love you too, dad,” he whispered.
“I’m going to ask you to be strong for our family, okay?” Dad said. When this had happened before, he had reached out and taken Tanjiro’s hand in his own trembling fingers; now, Tanjiro was left cold. “Your little brothers and sisters will need you. You will all need each other.”
There started the tears for Tanjiro. He originally stopped eating his ice cream and began to dry his face as he listened to Father talk. This time, he let them fall to his lap, uninhibited.
“I’m trying,” he croaked—words he had never uttered the first time, “but I’m so tired, daddy. I miss you so much—”
But his dad wasn’t done. Hadn’t he been done before? Tanjiro turned to see him—or where he once was—in confusion, certain the conversation had ended there—but, no. Dad kept talking.
“I am also going to ask you to not pretend to be strong,” were his words, forgotten by Tanjiro. “You will need them just as much as they will need you, and that is not a bad thing. Do not hide your tears, my son. Let yourself grieve. After all,” he faced Tanjiro again and that smile grew, stretching genuinely with a small hum that sang like the warmth of the sun, “grief is simply the price we pay for love, and I know how much you love me.”
“I do,” Tanjiro breathed. “I really do.”
And he began to sob.
The tears already flowing down his face doubled and blurred his vision as the cries squeezed his throat and wracked his lungs. He bent over himself, clutching his stomach that churned violently with that earlier shame, now flooded with everything else, everything that had been so numb. Sorrow and anger and grief and pain all rushed into his chest and bones as a dizzying torrent that only made the tears so much worse. He could hear his wretched breaths and spasming hiccups as if they were someone else’s, echoing in his ears as a reminder of how much it hurt. It hurt to remember his father and it hurt to miss him and it hurt to finally feel all those awful feelings. Why had they been so shut out before? Why had he closed this all off, only to fall victim to its violent growth?
Why did he forget that conversation?
Dad had been right. Of course he was. Tanjiro needed his family. He couldn’t do this alone, why had he been trying? Laughter bubbled up through the tears, breaking the sound of his sobs and soothing those awful emotions that tore up his insides. The noise was more appalled than humored, but it felt nice to let out. It had the same warmth as his father did, that same sun-like presence that melted the ice of Tanjiro’s grief. Why had he been so silly to hide that away? Oh, how he must have worried his mom, closing himself off so persistently, hardly even existing anymore.
That would be it, he decided. No more of the hiding and smothering. It hurt, yes, and Tanjiro thought it may never not hurt again, but that was okay. Grief is the price we pay for love. And he really loved his dad. He’d never stop loving him.
He unclipped the radio from his belt and pressed the button.
“Mr. Urokodaki? It’s Tanjiro. I have a favor to ask…”
~
The kitchen lights were off and the living room dim when Tanjiro arrived back home. He stepped inside as quietly as he could, painfully aware that the kids must be in bed by this point and hopeful to not to wake them. He slipped off his shoes with silent care and padded inside, planning to get a drink of water before finding his mom, but she found him first.
Her arms wrapped around him with a sigh of his name before he even saw her step from the hall. He giggled softly and happily returned the embrace, twisting in her grasp to tie his arms around her torso. She squeezed him tighter at the returned gesture and kissed his head.
“Are you okay?” She whispered, her tone a little panicked. “You were gone so long, and then Sakonji called to let me know he was picking you up—what were you even doing so far out?”
Tanjiro hummed and buried his face in her neck, his tears returning once more to soil her shirt. “I don’t really know,” he murmured, “but I’m okay now—I mean, I’m really, really sad and tired, and a little cold, but I’m okay.”
His mom pulled away from the hug to cup his face in her warm hands. She cradled his head and tilted it side-to-side as if inspecting him for any wounds. He allowed her the assurance, simply smiling, his tears still falling the entire time.
“I’m sorry you’re sad, my love,” she whispered, though a grin began to break across her face, “but I’m also very glad you are.”
Tanjiro nodded in her palms. “Me too,” he murmured, then leaned into her arms again, silently asking for another hug. She gave it to him without complaint.
“Mom?” He mumbled after a couple minutes in that silence.
“Yes?”
He nuzzled closer into her. “Can we pierce my ears again?” He asked. “I’m ready to put Dad’s earrings in, but I don’t want to stop wearing these ones.”
His mom shifted to place another kiss to the side of his head, pressing firmly into his hair so he could hear her deep breath in and sighing exhale. “Of course, honey,” she said. He felt her smile twitch against his skull. “We’ll go tomorrow. And afterwards, how about we visit his graveyard?”
Tanjiro nodded, though his tears worsened at the suggestion, his heart straining with the idea of seeing his grave: that freshly carved stone and upturned dirt. But that was okay. His heart could ache all it wanted, so long as he felt it.
“Let’s stop at the florist first,” he said. His mom squeezed him tighter.
“Sounds lovely,” she agreed.