Archive of Our Own

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

   It had been several years since Tanjiro last woke to the sound of a piano. 

   Once upon a time, it had been routine: he would ease into wakefulness alongside the sun and smile as a soft, trilling melody floated through the halls of their old mountain home. He would pull himself from his bed, wrap himself in a robe or blanket, then pad down to the music room to find his father sitting at his beautiful grand piano, fingers tapping out that lovely tune and gentle voice rising just above it to greet Tanjiro. But that hadn’t been the case for years, not since they moved across the country, into this city. Not since Father’s illness progressed so far as to prolong his sleep and weaken his hands. 

   And yet, that slow and warm morning, Tanjiro heard piano once more, drifting into his room in an unfamiliar song. 

   For a minute, he had to wonder if it was Takeo playing—but, no, it couldn’t be. Though he was learning the instrument in their father’s stead, he was still too shy to play in front of others, let alone so early in the morning. Who then? Tanjiro pushed his off comforter and slipped from his bed, snatching a cardigan from his desk chair before stepping into the hall. The house was silent other than the music, held still with everyone else’s continued slumber, so Tanjiro walked as quietly as he could into the living room, where he immediately found his answer. 

   Genya wasn’t asleep on the pull-out couch as expected; rather, a few paces further, inside the curtained sunroom, he sat upon the old piano’s bench, head bowed as he played out that unfamiliar melody. His fingers, long and mesmerizing, rolled reverently across the ivory keys, bending over one another or stretching out to press certain cords. Tanjiro moved into the room, remaining quiet, so he could get a glimpse at his shrouded features: closed eyes, relaxed brow, and a mouth just parted enough to breathe accompanying lyrics. He looked peaceful, and stunning, and Tanjiro’s chest ached to see him. 

   “Good morning,” he called when that strain in his heart grew too much. He stepped over to take Genya’s side, smiling as Genya snapped to look up at him. Embarrassed flush turned his face red and scent sour. 

   “Oh, uh…” he whisked his hands from the piano keys, twisting on the bench as if to stand. “Morning.”

   Tanjiro pointed to the space beside him before Genya could decide to remove himself, silently asking permission to sit. Thankfully, Genya allowed it, and scooted to provide him more room. 

   “That was a beautiful song,” Tanjiro said as he settled, tugging his cardigan tighter across himself. His heart thrummed heavily against his ribs, flooding his veins with warmth, but it wasn’t enough to stop the inevitable shivers as he sat so close to his friend. Genya’s presence always seemed to wrack his nerves like nothing else. Tanjiro loved it as much as it ruined him. “I didn’t know you could play.” 

   Genya shifted again, turning back to the piano and draping his left hand over an unheard chord. “Uh, yeah,” he said softly, refusing now to look away from the keys. “My neighbor pays me to play—or, kinda, I guess. She gives me money and lessons. B-but I also do chores for her, and stuff,” he added hurriedly, “so I’m not like…freeloading.” 

   “She must be a good teacher,” Tanjiro said. A grin tugged at his mouth, humored by Genya’s nervousness, though he tried his best to contain it. 

   “She is,” Genya murmured in reply, still not looking up. 

   “Will you keep playing for me? You didn’t finish the song.”

   Genya hesitated. His left hand lifted, twitching away in what Tanjiro thought was sure to be denial—but then it relaxed again, and his right hand found its position, and he began to play. 

   The tune continued in its sweet swells and arpeggios, gentle and somewhat forlorn, but Tanjiro admittedly struggled to listen. His attention, rather, remained captivated on its meister: Genya, whose expression had eased once more, eyes still open to watch his playing but softened in that way Tanjiro loved to see. His breaths evened out and his scent returned to its usual smell, all earth and sweetness and that other, undeniable scent of a feeling Tanjiro couldn’t yet name but was certain he shared. Without really meaning to, he leaned against Genya’s arm as he continued to play; Genya, thankfully, did not pull away—even as his hands came slowly to a stop, even as the song found its end, he didn’t pull away. 

   “Thank you,” Tanjiro whispered when Genya’s hands coiled in his lap once more. He leaned closer against his arm, taking a daring chance and bowing his head against his shoulder. Once again, Genya didn’t move. Tanjiro’s heart thrummed. “That was beautiful.”

   “It’s my mom’s favorite,” Genya told him. “I usually only play for her.”

   “I’m sure she loves that.”

   “She does.”

   They fell into silence then, not quite awkward in the sleeping house, but enough to make Tanjiro worry if Genya could hear his pounding heart. He could certainly hear it, rushing in his ears like a heady drum, only growing louder as he continued to lean against Genya and inhale the scent of him. When Genya’s hands began to twitch, sliding minutely across his lap and towards Tanjiro’s, nearly every other noise was shut out behind the exhilaration. Tanjiro swallowed thickly, and began to move his hand to match, though he didn’t actually go so far as to touch him, even if he sorely wanted to. 

   “Tanjiro…” Genya murmured. Tanjiro did his best to catch his breath and reply. 

   “Yeah?” 

   “You, uh…” Genya paused, then cleared his throat. His hand stopped moving. His scent turned a little sad. “Why do you have a piano anyway?” He asked, though Tanjiro was mostly certain that wasn’t what he originally planned to say. “I didn’t know you played either.”

   “I don’t,” Tanjiro answered, keeping his tone light and easy despite the twinging of his heart. “Takeo is learning, but this was our dad’s piano.”

   Genya went rigid beneath Tanjiro’s head. “Oh,” he whispered. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry—”

   “Don’t be,” Tanjiro interrupted. “I’m sure he would love to hear you play. He used to play for us all of the time. He composed too.” He hesitated then, lifting his gaze to the packet of music positioned on the stand, exactly where it had remained ever since Father placed it there. He really didn’t need to mention it, but…he lifted a hand, trembling, and gingerly grabbed it. 

   “This was the last piece he composed,” he told Genya, holding it over for him to see. “He wrote it for us, before he died. He could barely play anymore, but he made sure to play it for us anyway.” 

   Genya accepted the sheet music with the same tenderness that held it aloft, his own fingers shaking as he flipped open the front to show the handwritten music within, inscribed beneath the scrawling words: Piano Solo No. 4, Requiem Æternam enim Pater. Reading those words again, seeing the notes and measures…Tanjiro had to look away, it almost became too much. He could still remember the sound of the music, the way Father had looked so serene while pressing his weakened fingers into well-practiced keys. Aside from the pallor of his face and the gauntness of his figure, Tanjiro nearly forgot he was sick to begin with. He nearly forgot what requiem æternam even meant. 

   “Your dad sounds like such a good guy,” Tanjiro heard Genya say, reminding him of where he currently sat, and with whom. He peeked back at Genya’s hands, where he was carefully closing the sheet music again and replacing it upon the piano’s stand. He folded his fingers together again after that, setting them in his lap as if to contain their wandering, though Tanjiro desperately wished they would wander over to him. 

   “He was,” Tanjiro answered quietly. “I miss him a lot.”

   “I’m glad,” Genya said, then immediately jolted, jostling Tanjiro so much he had to pick his head up. “I mean—not glad that he’s gone,” he quickly corrected, face red from where Tanjiro could see, “just that, you know, he was good enough to miss. I don’t think I’d miss my dad if he ever…” Genya exhaled, then shrugged. “I dunno. I’m sorry.”

   Tanjiro nodded slowly, sitting up to better see Genya, even though it meant separating himself from him. “It’s okay,” he said, and Genya finally peeked at him again. “I’m also glad he was good. And I’m sorry about your dad, so sorry.” 

   Genya’s brow furrowed and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, surely thinking of all the reasons Tanjiro shouldn’t be sorry. Tanjiro knew every reason would be ridiculous. He probably thought he deserved the abuse, that it was righteous and vindicated. He didn't understand how wrong he was. 

   “Thanks,” he muttered after a couple beats of silence. The word sounded hollow. Tanjiro felt sick. 

   “Of course,” he answered anyway, and gave Genya a smile. Slowly, Genya returned it. 

   The moment dissipated with the sound of an opening door, however. They both swiveled in place to stare out of the sun room, towards the hallway where, soon enough, Tanjiro’s mom appeared. She spotted them almost immediately, a gentle grin gracing her features as she moved over to meet them. Genya, for some reason, decided that meant he ought to move over too, and he scooted away from Tanjiro, nearly removing himself from the bench all together. Tanjiro bit his tongue to pretend he didn’t care, though that tension in his chest twisted like a vise at the new space. 

   “Good morning, boys,” Mom said as she approached, to which they both echoed their own greetings. Her eyes landed on Genya. “I thought I heard someone playing before. You’re very talented, Genya.”

   Genya, once again red in the face, bowed his head sheepishly. “Thank you,” he murmured. 

   His mom hummed her own response, then turned back to Tanjiro. Her head tilted and her grin softened apologetically. “Could you help with Nezuko?” She asked. “She’s struggling a lot this morning, and I need to get the other kids up too.”

   “Yeah, no problem!” Tanjiro assured, already on his feet. He hesitated before leaving though, twisting in place to look back at Genya. Genya, in turn, had lifted his head just enough to see Tanjiro, studying him through his lashes, almost expectantly. Tanjiro swallowed his heartbeat as best as he could, and took the chance to reach out and touch his shoulder, just slightly. Genya exhaled when he did. 

   “See you in a bit,” Tanjiro all but whispered, sharing one more smile. Once again, Genya returned it, giving Tanjiro just enough warmth to remove himself and walk away. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊⋆☾⋆₊‧⁺˖⋆

   Watching Tanjiro leave shouldn’t have bothered Genya. He had watched him depart plenty of times before—he practically had his back memorized—but it still hurt, every time. Genya bit his tongue to avoid saying this, digging his teeth into the muscle until he tasted blood and still only relenting when Tanjiro disappeared into the hall, no longer taunting Genya’s sight with his shrinking figure. He sighed, then looked up. 

   Kie Kamado hadn’t left yet, even though she herself had said that she needed to wake up the kids; rather, she stood there and watched Genya in his quiet rapture, a gentle curve to her brow that matched her soft smile, a smile almost identical to Tanjiro’s. Genya’s chest went tight all of a sudden, embarrassed and mildly horrified. Kie didn’t seem to mind. 

   “You’re welcome to play here whenever you wish,” she said when Genya froze, maybe thinking that his mortification lied there, which wasn’t an unwelcome misunderstanding. “This house has been without music too long.”

   Since their dad died, Genya figured, unable to stop himself from glancing at the piano again, to that packet of sheet music Tanjiro had allowed him to see. He had tried to imagine the notes while reading it before, tapping them out in his head, but he wondered what that song would sound like in full. He wondered how much the family wished to hear it again. 

   He glanced back at Kie and swallowed. “Uh, Mrs. Kamado?” He started nervously, despite her eyes still being locked on him. She nodded for him to continue anyway, allowing him the small formality. “Could I copy this music? I’d like to learn how to play it, if that’s okay with you…”

   “I have a printed copy already you can borrow,” Kie immediately answered. Her eyes lit up a little at Genya’s request. He hoped that meant he was doing the right thing. “I can grab it for you before you leave.”

   Genya bowed his head. “I’d really appreciate that,” he said. 

   “And I appreciate you wanting to learn it.” Kie touched his shoulder, coaxing him to peek up again, then crouched to meet his eyes. Her smile remained, as did that light in her gaze, but she failed to hide the new pinch in her brow, the one that contained some sorrow Genya could never really understand. “It means a lot to me,” she continued gently, “as it will to the kids too. You can hold onto the copy until you’ve learned it, and after that, I hope you feel safe enough here to play it for all of us.”

   Genya didn’t quite know how to answer that. He didn’t know how to tell her that of course he’d play it for them, that this house was almost the only place he felt safe, that it was the only place he dared to call home and mean it too. He didn’t know how to thank her. So, he just nodded. Luckily, that was enough for Kie. She stood up again. 

   “I’ll go grab it now,” she said, and made to leave. Before she did, though, she turned around one more time, facing Genya with that tilt to her head he always saw on Tanjiro. 

   “You know,” she started slowly, “when I first met my husband, I couldn’t believe that he had feelings for me, not like I did for him. He was so kind to everyone, and I couldn’t find it in myself to believe I was any different. He would do things though, things I later learned were his way of showing affection: stuff like holding onto my arm, asking me to sing for him, or just to stay over a little longer…” she hummed, then shook her head. “Well, my point is, you should watch for those things too. Tanjiro is a lot like his father, especially in the way he shows his affection and interest. Just…keep that in mind.”

   If Genya didn’t know how to answer before, he was definitely out of words now. He could only stare at Kie, well aware that his face must be tomato-red with how it burned, waiting for her to either say something more or leave him be. In the end, she chose the latter, finally making her way back to the hall with only another humming note for farewell. Genya watched her disappear just as he had watched Tanjiro, then sighed and slumped in place, trying hard to not dwell on her words. 

   Still…she must have meant something by them, yes? It was a weird thing to tell him if she wasn’t trying to hint at something, trying to reveal some secret feelings Tanjiro harbored for him…but, no, that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Tanjiro didn’t like Genya, not like that. He didn’t want Genya. 

   At least, not like Genya wanted him. 

   Whatever. He was thinking too much about this anyway. He sighed and rubbed his face to rid himself of that blush (it almost definitely didn’t work) then stood from the piano bench. He needed to get ready for school, as much as he didn’t want to. It was the last day of the year. Just one more day, and he’d be free for summer break, left to spend all the time he wished daydreaming about his dear friend and the relationship that would never be. 

   ~

   School wasn’t much of a hassle, to Genya’s relief. Though his teachers were insistent on the point of don’t slack off just because school is out, they didn’t enforce much work during actual class, giving him plenty of time to relax (or, rather, attempt to). He did actually work in art class, however, carefully packaging his first finished painting and continuing work on his second—or, at least, as much work as he could manage with Nezuko now sitting down next to him. 

   He hid the painting-in-progress quickly when she appeared, too shy to let her see it yet—and immediately distracted anyway when he saw her face. She had looked exhausted that morning, with dark bags under her half-lidded eyes and a worrying sluggishness to her posture, but now she looked practically asleep, dropping into her seat with a prolonged sigh. 

   “Second good morning,” she murmured before placing her head rather harshly on the desk. Genya winced, reached out for her, hesitated, then followed through and squeezed her shoulder, bending down into her peripherals. 

   “Are you okay?” He asked, trying to keep his worried tone contained, as he knew she hated it. Though, to be fair, it wasn’t really his fault that she caused him so much concern, and he wasn’t even that overbearing. 

   “I’m fine,” Nezuko promised, probably lying, and picked her head up a mite. She wore her mask that day, so Genya could only see her eyes, but they crinkled at the corners in—Genya assumed—a weary smile. “Just tired. I have an appointment with my doctor later.”

   Genya frowned. ‘Just tired’ and ‘appointment with doctor’ were not good phrases to hear from Nezuko, as Genya had long since learned. The fact that she lied about it didn’t bode well either. 

   “What time?” He asked her, because he knew she wouldn’t want him to call her out. 

   “At lunch,” she replied. “I’ll have to leave early.”

   “You’re not coming to Tanjiro’s ballet tonight?”

   “No, sadly.” Nezuko shook her head, then fixed Genya with a hopeful—if slightly wry—look. “Think you can manage on your own?”

   Genya definitely could. It wouldn’t be the first time he went without her—she had left school early before, and had her own fair share of dance classes to attend—but it was the first time Genya found himself almost…grateful for it. Which was seriously fucked up, obviously. He shouldn’t be grateful that Nezuko was sick and had to leave. That was gross, and selfish. 

   And yet…

   “I’ll be fine,” he told her, giving her a hopefully reassuring smile. “I can’t speak for Tanjiro, though.”

   Nezuko laughed quietly, which served as some consolation, and made Genya feel a little better about her lying back down on the desk. “I’m sure he’ll be okay,” she said as she draped her temple down, eyelids fluttering closed in obvious exhaustion. “Would you mind waking me if Mr. Uzui needs me?” She murmured. “Or when class lets out? I just need a little nap…”

   “Yeah, no problem.” Genya said, and squeezed her shoulder again. He rubbed his thumb over the joint then pulled away to fix the collar of her jacket. Can’t let her get cold. “Rest up, Nezuko.”

   “Thanks, Genya,” she whispered, then slumped, probably already halfway asleep. Genya turned back to his painting. 

   He really shouldn’t feel so giddy. Even as he tried to ignore it, he felt his heart skipping, his stomach fluttering in ridiculous yearning and hands starting to shake around his poised paintbrush. He could already imagine Tanjiro that afternoon, in that wide studio once again, gaze locked on his reflection as he balanced and spun and leapt on his toes. Stunning and incredible; ethereal like a fairy or some other creature of myth; glowing only for Genya to see, to study and to draw, hoping to immortalize him in the only way he knew how, and growing incessantly frustrated as those pencil and pen lines refused to capture his true essence. The paint had done a fair job so far in rendering that beauty, in depicting the masterpiece that Genya saw in him, but even its thick acrylics could not truly depict just how fantastic he was. At this point, he had grown rather convinced that nothing could, the same way no photo or painting could honestly represent the sun’s blaze: Tanjiro was simply too divine. 

   And his sister is sick next to you, Genya’s brain told him, rudely, very nearly botching his painting. He withdrew his still trembling hand and sighed, casting a glance to Nezuko, who looked fully asleep now, passed out on their shared desk. From the corner of his eye, he swore he saw their teacher looking too, a thick crease in his perfect brow—but when Genya actually looked up, he had turned away, giving his attention to some questioning student. Genya sighed again and resumed his painting. 

   Nezuko wouldn’t want him to stall and procrastinate on her behalf, especially if it regarded Tanjiro (which it did), so he tried to focus on that instead of his worry. She’d love the painting if he got the guts to show her. She might waggle her brow and giggle and say stuff that Genya half wanted to believe meant his feelings were reciprocated, but she would never get upset at him, he was certain of that. So, he kept working. 

   Besides, it was nice to see Tanjiro’s face again, even if he was only a painting. 

   ~

   Lunch was even more informal than Genya’s classes had been. He saw hoards of students filing off campus as he made his way towards the cafeteria, all of them either deciding they’d earned a treat or that they were done with the day entirely. Genya couldn’t blame them, and honestly would have been down to disappear for a meal as well, but Tanjiro and the others were waiting for him already, so he left to meet them. 

   They all seemed to be in high spirits when he made it there, even Nezuko, who was managing to keep her head off the table now. She still leaned heavily against Zenitsu for support, but he could hear her laughter as she engaged in whatever conversation they’d found themselves in. She was the first to notice Genya too, waving him over with more fervor than he’d seen in her that morning. 

   “Hope y'all aren’t having too much fun without me,” he said as he made it to the table, plopping his backpack beneath the seat before sliding into his spot. Nezuko giggled, but it was Tanjiro who responded. 

   “We would never,” he said solemnly, bumping against Genya’s shoulder and making his heart skip five million beats. When Genya looked at him, he was all smiles and pink cheeks and bright eyes. Gorgeous. 

   “Appreciated,” Genya replied, unable to contain the smile that stretched across his face to return Tanjiro’s. He considered leaning against him, maybe even going so far as to grab his hand (that idea turned his mouth dry), but then Inosuke started talking again, and he decided against action. At least they were sitting together. That was enough for Genya, or so he told himself. 

   Tanjiro kept nudging against him anyway, satiating that wanting part of Genya’s brain that always longed to touch him. He acted casual—accidentally knocking his hand against Genya’s arm or rocking his leg to the side so their knees could touch—but Genya could see his quick peripheral peeks every time he did it, that blush in his face only spreading and his giggles sounding more nervous the more he did it. Genya thought that was adorable. Tanjiro was always adorable, in an inexplicable way that only he could be. Genya considered telling him this, maybe hooking a finger through his and leaning in to whisper into his ear; he dreamed of the way Tanjiro’s breath might catch, how he may clutch tighter to Genya as he spoke those flirtatious words; he yearned to experience it all, especially how those pink cheeks would deepen to a lovely red to compliment his gemstone eyes. Adorable, and beautiful. 

   In the end, he did not do any of that. Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t, not anymore. Or, maybe he could, and he was just too scared. He was terrified to be honest—terrified of losing Tanjiro again, of driving that rift between them once more, but so far this time that it couldn’t be rebridged. He didn’t think he could cope with that. He barely even coped the first time, after last December, and that one fateful night, and all his following mistakes and regrets…no. Genya could accept his feelings, but he couldn’t act on them. Not unless he knew for certain. Not unless he had proof they were returned. 

   Luckily—or, more befitting, unluckily—Nezuko provided him with a distraction from his thoughts, standing and ushering the table into silence to address their new companion: her homeroom teacher and one of their art teacher’s wives, Mrs. Suma Uzui. 

   “Your mom is here,” she told Nezuko, smiling to hide the obvious worry in her eyes. A quick glance around the table showed everyone else held that same look, even Nezuko, though she brushed it off with her typical bravery. 

   “Just one minute,” she asked quietly, and Mrs. Suma nodded, stepping back to allow her the moment. 

   Genya watched silently as Inosuke and Zenitsu, originally sitting at each of her sides, stood to wrap her in a double hug. Inosuke buried his face into her shoulder, probably trying to smother the tears Genya had seen gathering in his eyes, but Zenitsu didn’t bother; he grabbed her jaw and kissed her cheeks and faced her solidly, stoic despite the tears tracking from his own eyes. 

   “Be honest to your doctor,” he said firmly, “be brave, remember we love you, and tell me how it goes, okay?”

   “Okay,” Nezuko agreed, though her voice cracked on the word. She released her hold on Zenitsu, waited for Inosuke to unlatch himself, then circled the table to Tanjiro, who practically leapt from his seat to pull her into a crushing hug. 

   “Keep me updated,” Genya heard him murmur, his arms tightening to clutch her closer. 

   “I will,” Nezuko whispered in reply. “I’ll be okay.”

   Tanjiro didn’t respond to that. He just stepped back, nodded, and dried his face. Nezuko turned to Genya, her eyes crinkling in a suggested smile. 

   “Watch over him for me, please,” she said, then left it at that, turning away to leave at Mrs. Suma’s side. Genya wished he had stood to hug her as well as he watched her walk off, but it was too late. Besides, when Tanjiro plopped down again, he immediately leaned into Genya’s side, forgoing all previous hesitancy to fully grab onto his arm and squeeze. Genya happily (if a bit dizzily) returned the gesture, tying a light-touch arm behind his waist to hold him closer and pressing his cheek against his wavy hair. He caught a faint whiff of citrus while so close, overriding the absolute overwhelm of holding onto Tanjiro’s waist. It smelled nice. It smelled like him. 

   “You gonna be okay?” He murmured, refusing to lift his head to speak, as awkward as it felt while pressed against his skull. Tanjiro didn’t mind either way, also not moving away as he slowly replied. 

   “As long as you’re here,” he whispered, “I will be.”

   Genya could do that. He could do that for the rest of his life, if Tanjiro would allow him. He could do that after death too. He would break every rule of every afterlife just to do that, just to stay there for him. Always for him. Always for his Tanjiro. 

   ~

   Genya didn’t pay attention during the rest of school, which admittedly didn’t matter, though he did feel a small twinge of guilt at his distraction. After all, it wasn’t exactly the most academic diversion. 

   He stayed caught up on Tanjiro, on the pressure of his body against his side, the warmth of his hands around his arm and the softness of his hair beneath his cheek…everything, really. Even the sound of his voice as he bid Nezuko farewell. Everything. 

   Tanjiro often captivated him, to be fair. He had continuously snagged Genya’s attention even before he dared to call him friend. He was enchanting like that, so singular and distinct that Genya had no choice but to look and admire. Every part of him was perfect and beautiful and awe-inspiring. Not like Genya, who barely felt okay enough in his skin to be seen near him. 

   In his own opinion, Genya was far too crass to be put beside Tanjiro. He was tall, almost abnormally so, and made of all the same harsh lines as his father. He had his eyes and his nose and his sneer. He had his voice. Like his father, Genya was too cruel, too loud, and too damaged to be placed alongside Tanjiro—not Tanjiro: wonderful, angelic Tanjiro, who was so soft and so kind and so warm. His scar spoke of love and selflessness; Genya’s all spoke of hatred. 

   And still, despite all of this, despite knowing that he endangered that lovely light every time he was near, Genya didn’t want to leave. Tanjiro had asked him to stay, and Genya wanted to obey. Selfish as it was, he wanted to blend with that beauty, he wanted to be seen beside Tanjiro, for everyone to cast their eyes about and find a pair, not a god and his lowly tagalong. Those feelings he refused to confess swelled at the idea, overwhelmed and wanting at the prospect. He dreamed about it, more often than he cared to admit. To be honest, most nights he fantasized about it to fall asleep. Tanjiro did that for him, providing him just as much peace as he did agita. It was part of why Genya cared for him so much, or so he assumed: no one else could put an ease to Genya’s heart quite like Tanjiro Kamado. 

   Again, all things he swore he’d never say, though the words burned on his tongue as he gathered his backpack and left his last class of the day—of the year, he quickly reminded himself. It was officially the first summer break he would spend with a friend. He wondered what Tanjiro would do during their time off. Did he like the beach? Would he invite Genya along? Could Genya watch him grin and sprint through the ocean and laugh away all the worries of the world? He wanted to, more than Tanjiro could ever know. He wanted to watch him for the rest of his days, until his body fell to rot and his soul drifted away, and he wanted to watch even then. 

   He certainly watched Tanjiro now, stepping inside the massive dance building. Even while he approached, he could see into the wide windows of the ballet studio, peering through to find Tanjiro there. As expected, his gaze locked raptly onto his reflection, mouth moving in words Genya could not hear, probably some conversation about posture and such with his teacher. He looked so elegant, though he would deny Genya if he said that out loud. He never gave himself much credit for his talent. No matter the compliment he received, he would find some counter argument, some point as to why he wasn’t deserving of praise. Oh, my form was bad or it’s such a basic move, nothing special. Ridiculous lies, as Genya often combated. He was incredible, powerful, and Genya adored that. He adored everything about Tanjiro. 

   His adoration didn’t stop his palms from sweating and heart from skipping, most unfortunately, so it was with those ailments that Genya swallowed a breath and marched as casually as possible to greet him. 

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

   “But how can you be sure?” Miss Kanroji prodded, poking Tanjiro’s hip to open the joint before she fixed him with a pout. “Maybe your friend was mistaken.”

   Tanjiro sighed. “I doubt he was, he rarely is,” he replied. “Besides, Genya just doesn’t…I don’t know, he doesn't, like, show it, I guess. Like, he doesn’t show interest in me, not like that.”

   “‘He doesn’t show it’,” Miss Kanroji repeated, tone dry and eyes narrowed. “Tanjiro, I’ve seen it plain as day—and I hardly get to see him!”

   Tanjiro lowered to his flat feet, sighing again and turning to face her. “How though—?” he started to ask, desperate for her guidance in his troubles, but he stopped short when the studio door opened. 

   “Hey,” came Genya’s luring voice, and Tanjiro whipped around to see him, “need a spot?”

   Tanjiro didn’t answer. His tongue froze in his mouth, all possible responses going dry in a shock of warm want. Genya looked casual despite his unexpected question, smiling softly and only briefly stopping at the wall to put down his backpack and a covered canvas. His eyes stayed on Tanjiro the entire time, watching him in that gentle way he always seemed to do, the look that made Tanjiro’s veins all jittery with excitement and desire. They turned that way now, skipping and stuttering and making his face hot, but if Genya could tell, he clearly didn’t care. He stepped forward, still smiling. 

   “We do need a spotter!” Miss Kanroji exclaimed when Tanjiro remained silent, startling him just enough to look back at her. She was lying, after all. They weren’t working on anything that needed a spotter. A panicked part of Tanjiro’s brain wondered if she said that just to tease him; when she winked slyly his way, that part grew entirely convinced of the fact. 

   He wondered if he had enough time to run away…

   “Cool, just show me how it’s done,” Genya replied easily, voice light and breezy and steps so sure of themselves as he made his way over, still smiling down at Tanjiro as if he had no idea what that look did to him. To be fair, he probably didn’t. It wasn’t like Tanjiro ever told him ‘hey, I really like it when you look at me that way, and actually, I just really like you in general—can we kiss?’. Yeah…he never really planned to say that. At least, not so crassly. 

   Maybe he should have, though. Maybe, if he was so brutally, awkwardly honest, Genya would give him more time before he stood behind him, even just one second longer to catch his breath. But he didn’t, and so Genya also didn’t; he followed Miss Kanroji’s instructions obediently, expression rapt in the mirror, moving behind Tanjiro as she dictated, then bending onto one knee when she realized just how discrepant their heights were. His hands, moments later, landed on Tanjiro’s hips, similar to how his arm had stretched at lunch. The difference this time, though, was the fact that Tanjiro gasped, betraying his racing heart and putting a stall to Genya’s movements, though Miss Kanroji only giggled. 

   In his semi-knelt position, Genya’s head landed about the same height as Tanjiro’s, so when he leaned forward to whisper, “Are you okay?”, he did so directly into his ear. Tanjiro shivered, unprepared for the heat of his breath against his ear and skull. He turned shakily to see Genya. 

   He really shouldn’t have. 

   Their faces landed so close together that, if Tanjiro were just a little dumber, he could have easily kissed him. He wasn’t dumber, thankfully, retaining just enough intelligence and clarity to refrain. He remembered well enough what had happened the last time he tried, the way he had almost lost Genya entirely, and he wasn’t too keen to repeat such an offense. So, he swallowed and tucked back his chin, forcing on a hopefully easygoing smile and meeting Genya’s eyes, which seemed just a little wider than before, shining above red cheeks. 

   “Yeah,” he breathed, “all good. You’re good.”

   “Am I?” Genya murmured. The arch of his brow suggested the quip as a joke, but his gaze was falling, dropping from Tanjiro’s to crawl down his face before landing at the space between them—or, rather, the lack thereof. He exhaled through his nose, his breath just shaky enough to convince Tanjiro that maybe he wasn’t the only one so wracked by their closeness. 

   Tanjiro didn’t get to answer his question either way, be it a joke or not: Miss Kanroji clapped once for his attention and he snapped to look at her, trying valiantly to pretend he hadn’t seen her wink again. 

   “We’ll work on your pirouettes,” she said, which seemed a little much. Tanjiro could manage a piqué no problem, but pirouettes were a different matter. He was still so wobbly and borderline uncoordinated, in need of a spotter…ah. 

   “You can let him turn on his own, Genya,” the plotting Miss Kanroji continued to instruct. “Just catch him when he slows, or if he starts to tilt—oh, and grab a little higher up, at the bottom of his ribcage.”

   “Got it,” Genya said, his confident tone a stark contrast to Tanjiro’s nerves. His hands already started to loosen, giving Tanjiro free range of movement—but Tanjiro stopped him quickly, placing his own hands—tiny in comparison—over Genya’s to pin him there. It was ridiculous, a decision made in the sudden desire for him to keep holding, but he was too late to stop it. He turned to the mirror. Genya stared through it. He looked beautiful. 

   “Just…” Tanjiro swallowed to soothe his apparently dry throat, failing to catch his breath as Genya continued to stare at him. “Just give me a moment to prep,” he managed haltingly, “please.”

   Genya nodded. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He murmured, once again tickling Tanjiro’s ear and destroying his composure. “I know after earlier…”

   After Nezuko's departure, Tanjiro figured he meant. Which was fair. He had certainly been worried for her, unable to stop those awful thoughts that haunted him, the ones that played his father’s fate on repeat—but Nezuko was okay, and not the source of his destruction, obviously. She and his mom had already texted him earlier, updating him on appointment status and any new revelations, which were none. It was simply a bad flare up day, no degeneration to her heart or cells, nor any change to her actual illness, at least as far as they could tell. Everything was okay. She would be okay. Tanjiro, however, might not be, not if Genya kept looking at him like that. Not if he couldn't manage that confession that now sat on the tip of his tongue, craving the release of being known, of Genya knowing. 

   But even if he could find it within himself to confess, now was most certainly not the time. He swallowed, throat still too dry, and nodded, forcing himself to push onto his toes, if just to do something. 

   “Yeah, I’m okay,” he promised, smiling a little to stamp the assurance. Genya smiled to match, so sweet and pretty. “Are you ready?”

   Genya hummed, his head tilting forward so the noise reverberated against Tanjiro’s skull, nearly taking his balance alongside his sensibility. “Ready, your highness,” he practically purred. Tanjiro wanted to melt. 

   “Okay,” he exhaled, then got into position, stubbornly refusing to meet Miss Kanroji’s all-knowing eyes. 

   ~

   Genya walked Tanjiro home that afternoon, taking his side the moment he learned his mom wouldn’t be able to pick him up. She and Nezuko were still detained at the doctor’s office, going over future appointments and medication refills, so Tanjiro took the sidewalk home, and Genya took his side along it. Tanjiro loved that. 

   He loved how chivalrous Genya was, whether it be as a joke or genuinely. The way he bowed Tanjiro inside the doors he held, the way he offered an aiding hand or even called him your highness…Tanjiro adored it. It made him feel treasured, in a way. It even almost made him feel confident enough to confess, though the gumption often faded soon after, so he never actually followed through. Obviously. If he had, they wouldn’t be friends anymore, though if that was because they would be boyfriends or simply not talking was not a further matter Tanjiro wished to discover. He couldn’t take that chance, not after nearly losing him already. 

   As it was, he focused on enjoying Genya’s friendly company. They didn’t talk much for most of the walk, though Tanjiro struck up an actual conversation as they entered his neighborhood. He turned to Genya and pointed at the covered canvas he'd been carrying since lunch, waiting until Genya met his inquisitive stare before speaking. 

   “So, are you going to tell me what’s under there,” he decided to say, “or will I have to guess?” 

   Genya chuckled. The noise made Tanjiro’s heart soar. “Why don’t you guess,” he quipped wryly, winking at Tanjiro and making his face hot. “Just for my amusement.”

   Tanjiro snorted, though it was mostly to hide how desperately he wanted to just kiss him already. “Okay, let’s see,” he drawled, tapping his chin in mock thought and humming over the thud of his heart. “Is it…a portrait?”

   “Yes, actually,” Genya said, sounding genuinely impressed. Tanjiro grinned. 

   “Okay…is it someone I know?”

   “Quite well, I imagine.”

   “Is it you?” 

   Genya laughed again, and again Tanjiro’s heart took flight into a sunset of dreams and desires. “Uh, no,” he said. “I’ll never draw myself, probably. Guess again.”

   “That’s a shame,” Tanjiro clipped, pouting and making sure Genya saw it before he continued. “Well then, is it Nezuko?”

   “Close.”

   Tanjiro snapped once. “Hanako?” He guessed, and there came an admissive grin on Genya’s beautiful face. 

   “Bingo,” he affirmed, and winked at Tanjiro again. Tanjiro went faint. 

   “One point for Tanjiro,” he said, certain he sounded on the verge of passing out. If he did, Genya didn’t worry. 

   “Kinda surprised you didn’t guess yourself,” he said instead, almost pointedly, fixing his gaze to the concrete sidewalk as if to avoid looking at Tanjiro. His ears were flushed pink. Tanjiro smiled at that, though he mimicked Genya’s pose, studying the sidewalk instead of his pretty profile. 

   “Didn’t really occur to me,” he admitted. “I guess I figured that, if you’re using a canvas, it’d be someone more worth the material.”

   Genya’s feet came to a stop. Tanjiro had half a second to notice, and frown, before his hand shot out too, grabbing onto Tanjiro’s bicep and tugging him back. Tanjiro, suddenly hot all over and caught completely (and delightfully) off guard, stumbled and snapped to look at him. Genya frowned. 

   “What do you mean by that?” He demanded. He spoke sharply, in a way Tanjiro hadn’t heard for several months now, but he didn’t sound or smell angry. If anything, he seemed dumbfounded, and a little offended. 

   Tanjiro shrugged his unprepared response, grinning awkwardly and trying to breathe as he met Genya’s piercing eyes. “I just…” he shrugged again, unhelpfully. Genya narrowed his gaze. “I don’t know, I guess I just…didn’t think you’d want to draw me.”

   Not since I hurt you, he finished in his head, swallowing the acrid pain of the memory, of that night and the awful months after. Genya only furrowed his brow. 

   “I already draw you,” he said. “You know this. I’ve given you some.”

   “Yeah, from your sketchbook,” Tanjiro countered, feeling a little ridiculous about this whole discussion. “That’s a canvas. I just don’t think I’m worth that material.”

   Genya’s dumbfounded expression shifted, morphing into outright disbelief. It would’ve honestly been hilarious if Tanjiro’s nerves weren’t so shot, trying to figure out exactly what the problem was here. His arguments were perfectly sound, at least to him. Sketching was one thing, but spending the time and money on an actual painting? That was a different matter entirely, better reserved for a worthy model, like one of his beloved sisters. He would, in all truth, love if Genya did decide to paint him, but he would never ask for it, just as he would never confess those immeasurable, unending feelings. It was solid logic, even if Genya clearly disagreed. 

   “Don’t say that about yourself,” he eventually chose to say, a little softer than before. His grip on Tanjiro eased and his thumb rubbed slightly over his arm, sending a swath of electricity through his veins. Tanjiro barely bit his tongue in time to stop himself from shivering. “You’re worth a thousand canvases, okay? Don’t say you’re not.”

   “Okay,” Tanjiro mutely replied. He didn’t think he could manage to say anything else. He could understand the sentiment, at least, that fervent insistence on worthiness. He’d tried to share it with Genya many times, trying to convince him how deserving of life and love he was; ironic then, that it was turned back to Tanjiro now. He wondered if that meant something, maybe about that talk he’d been having with Miss Kanroji, about the way Genya showed his interest…but even if it was, Tanjiro didn’t want to get into that now. He…needed more time. And proof. 

   They were walking onward again anyway, resuming silent positions beside one another to finish the trek down to Tanjiro’s house. He bit his tongue all the while, sending sideways glances to Genya, who had yet to remove that flabbergasted furrow to his brow—not that Tanjiro was really complaining. It was cute. He liked it. As confusing as it was, he liked Genya’s upset too: the way that he cared, sure, but particularly the way he looked, and spoke, and held onto Tanjiro. Firm and unyielding, yet never controlling; just enough pressure to keep Tanjiro there but not enough to imprison him; stern, and caring. It was a raw and honest strength that inspired (and allured) Tanjiro, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Could he get Genya to do that again, he wondered? Would he catch onto Tanjiro’s secret plan if he tried? Would he indulge him anyway? Could Tanjiro antagonize him enough to do more, to go further? Well, maybe not the last part, but everything else…he already yearned for it. A shame then, that they arrived at his house, now bound to separate. 

   “Uh, well,” he started, clearing his throat and coming to a slow stop, trying to dawdle as much as possible. He pivoted on the sidewalk to see Genya. Genya scuffed his feet and smiled shyly. So handsome. “This is me.”

   Genya’s smile twitched at one corner, almost starting to smirk as he chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, I thought it looked familiar,” he mused. 

   “Me too,” Tanjiro replied. Could he get away with urging him inside? He desperately wanted to, but Genya was looking over his shoulder, clearly with the intent to head on to his own home. 

   He held out the canvas before he left though, offering it to Tanjiro with that same, shy smile. “Can you give this to Hanako?” He asked, timid and sweet. 

   Tanjiro nodded, prepared to admit defeat in a battle he never waged, reaching out to grab the portrait…then hesitating. He met Genya’s eyes, veins rushing with a sudden onslaught of adrenaline fueled courage. 

   “Why don’t you give it to her yourself?” He suggested, retracting his hands in that same message. “I’m sure she would love that. And you can stay for dinner, and the whole night too—unless your family is expecting you…?”

   Genya fit his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on the skin and glancing behind himself again. He was sure to say no, he usually did on second nights. He never let himself stay longer than one at a time, no matter how tumultuous his own house became. Tanjiro held a breath, trying to prepare himself for the rejection—but, in a wonderful moment of surprise, Genya exhaled through his nose and nodded once. 

   “Yeah, I’d like that,” he said softly, almost breathlessly, his smile coming a little easier when he met Tanjiro’s eyes again. “Assuming it’s not a problem for you…?”

   “You’re never a problem,” Tanjiro assured, then grabbed for his wrist, latching onto him in a potentially significant error of judgement. Considering the fact that Genya didn’t pull away, though, he figured the grip was permitted, and tugged him onwards. “Come on, I’ll make you soba.” 

   Genya laughed, that same, hearty laugh that always made Tanjiro want to collapse in his arms, and he followed along. “Should’ve started with that,” he joked. Tanjiro giggled. 

   “I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he said, winked, then pulled Genya inside before he could disappear again. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊⋆☾⋆₊‧⁺˖⋆

   The kids rushed Genya and Tanjiro the moment they stepped inside, charging forwards with different exclamations of surprise and joy. Genya nearly lost his footing when Shigeru and Hanako crashed into his legs, wrapping him in hugs that threatened to buckle his knees. He crouched down to their height as soon as able, not too keen to fall flat on his face. 

   “Hey, I made you something,” he told Hanako, poking her shoulder and carefully passing her the canvas. Though it was still covered, her eyes lit up like a spark, a smile stretching into her already swelled cheeks. “Remember when I promised I would paint you one day?”

   “Yeah!” Hanako cried, then hurriedly tore off the loose covering, revealing the painting he had, indeed, made of her. 

   In his own, maybe self-deprecating opinion, it wasn’t really his best work. He was still new to painting as a medium and struggled to find the right techniques that worked for him, but it still turned out okay in the end. In Hanako’s shining eyes, though, it was clearly a masterpiece. She covered her grinning mouth with one polite hand as she began to giggle, bouncing on her toes and admiring the portrait with intense concentration. 

   “I love it!” She squealed, refusing to look away from her image. “You made me look so pretty!”

   Genya shrugged. “I only paint what I see,” he said, and tucked back some of her falling hair. The touch seemed to finally snag her attention again, and she held the canvas aside to throw a new hug around his shoulders. 

   “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She babbled, squeezing him tightly. He returned the tiny embrace happily, grinning over her shoulder. “It’s perfect! I’m going to go hang it up right now!”

   “Can I help?” Shigeru asked, still standing patiently beside the two of them. 

   Hanako nodded when she pulled away, then grabbed his hand with the one that previously held Genya. “Yeah, come on!” She said and tugged him along with her, bolting to her room to, presumably, mount the painting. Genya stood, chuckling as he watched them disappear—and turning hot in the face when he noticed Tanjiro watching him in turn. 

   “Told you,” he mouthed, grinning slyly. Genya snorted and waved him off, ducking his head to hopefully hide the blush he was sure spread across his face. It almost definitely didn’t work—what, with Tanjiro being an entire head shorter than him—but Tanjiro allowed him the illusion anyway. 

   “I’m going to start dinner,” he announced to the two remaining siblings: Takeo and Rokuta. “How does soba sound to everyone?”

   Rokuta immediately began to clap, but Takeo stepped smoothly forward, patting Tanjiro’s shoulder and attempting a…smolder, maybe? It was certainly a face that got Genya nearly laughing, and by the look of it, Tanjiro too. 

   “Don’t worry about that, big bro,” he drawled, continuing to pat his shoulder. “I’ll make dinner for everyone! You and Genya go hang out, enjoy each other. Start your summer vacay off right, y’know?”

   Tanjiro raised an eyebrow. “You sure?” He asked cautiously. “We’ll have a lot of time in the future—”

   “Nah, nah,” Takeo interrupted, and waved away his words, still doing that maybe-smolder. “I gotchu! You kids enjoy yourselves.” He glanced backwards, towards where Genya stood, and winked gaudily. Genya blinked back, his face turning warm again for some reason. 

   “O…kay…” Tanjiro agreed, though when he looked up at Genya again, he didn’t seem too upset over the idea. Genya certainly wasn’t upset. Time alone with Tanjiro sounded like a dream—a mildly terrifying and heart attack inducing one, but a dream nonetheless. “Just, uh, get me if you need help—”

   “Not necessary!” Takeo chirped, then actually started shoving Tanjiro down the hall. Rokuta—looking a little confused but enthusiastic nonetheless—grabbed Genya’s hand to urge him along, only releasing his itty grip when he and Tanjiro had been successfully hauled into his room. 

   “Have fun!” Takeo shouted before booking it out again, carrying a giggling Rokuta under one arm and slamming the door behind him. Tanjiro snorted. 

   “Well then,” he said, still suppressing his amused grin. He looked at Genya, who looked back, trying very hard to not pass out when he saw that pretty gaze. Tanjiro looked just as dizzy at least, biting his bottom lip, his eyes flicking between Genya’s. He always looked especially stunning while awkward—probably because he rarely was, typically so confident and sure of himself. Genya admired that. He admired everything about Tanjiro. “Want to, uh, watch a movie?”

   “That new Star Wars movie is streaming,” Genya answered. “It’s the next one on our roster.”

   Tanjiro had already fetched his laptop before Genya could finish speaking. He plugged in the cord, draped it to his bed, then plopped down at the pillows, patting the spot next to him in an obvious message. Genya obliged. 

   He had seen the movie a couple weeks before, to be frank. He and his entire family had gone to the theater for a rare outing, which proved useful now, as Genya failed to actually pay attention this time through. To be fair, it wasn’t his fault Tanjiro looked so adorable while so focused; it was only natural that Genya studied his enraptured profile with just as much fervor and care as he devoted to the screen. 

   Tanjiro didn’t notice his obsession anyway. Takeo darted in halfway through the movie, passing them two bowls of soba and informing them that Nezuko had returned (and immediately fallen asleep) before bolting out again, but even in that distraction, Tanjiro didn’t catch Genya’s stare on him. They finished the movie while eating in that same one-sided ignorance, but Tanjiro set his bowl aside and turned in place upon the movie’s end, immediately divulging every thought and opinion he’d built up while watching. 

   Genya was happy to listen to him yap, just as he’d been happy to watch. He nodded his agreements and shared his own insight to certain ideas, but mostly he just soaked in his voice. Only when they were interrupted again by Hanako and Shigeru did he even think to blink, doing so in a startle of excitable children and dry eyes. 

   “Genya!” Hanako chirped upon her arrival, skipping around the bed to his side with Shigeru trailing dutifully behind her. She grinned, batted her eyes, then pulled a plate of fresh cookies from behind her back. “Here you go!” She said, pressing the plate into Genya’s hands. “Momma let me bake cookies to thank you! She said the painting is really pretty too!”

   “Oh, thank you,” Genya said, and accepted the treat. There seemed to be a complete dozen piled there, all still steaming a delicious aroma. He grinned at Hanako, then carefully set the cookies aside to slip off the bed and hug her. “That was really kind of you.”

   Hanako squeezed him back tightly. “Thank you for the painting,” she whispered in his ear. 

   Shigeru, still standing patiently behind her, poked Genya’s arm so he’d look at him. He offered up a large glass of milk, smiling shyly. 

   “I like eating cookies with milk,” he explained in his little voice, “so I brought you milk, so if you like that too you can have some.”

   “Thank you,” Genya said again. He took the glass from Shigeru, then set it on Tanjiro’s nightstand to usher him inside the hug. “You’re both very sweet.”

   “You’re welcome,” Shigeru said softly. He pulled away as Hanako added, “Enjoy the cookies!”, then they both darted from the room, hand-in-hand and giggling. The door closed behind them, and Genya stood. 

   “They all missed you while you were gone,” Tanjiro said as Genya settled onto the bed once again. “They love you a lot.”

   Genya hummed, choosing a cookie and biting into it—soft and warm and deliciously sweet. He smiled to himself, only briefly sharing the look with Tanjiro before focusing on his treat again. “They’ll get over it soon enough,” he promised through another mouthful of delectable cookie. 

   Tanjiro didn’t answer right away, giving Genya a moment to finish eating and take a drink of milk. Only once he set down the glass again did Tanjiro reach out, gingerly touching his hand to catch his attention. Genya glanced at him. Tanjiro frowned back. 

   “What do you mean?” He whispered, his tone suddenly strained and solemn. Genya swallowed. His heart began to beat heavily, thudding hard against his ribs in some unknown anxiety. 

   “I dunno,” he murmured in reply. “I just mean…I mean, I won’t stay interesting for forever. They’ll get bored of me soon enough.” He shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

   He tried focusing back on the cookies then, only growing more anxious in Tanjiro’s continued silence. He didn’t really think it was a big deal—he never imagined he’d be appreciated for even this long—but the way Tanjiro reacted made him second guess that. 

   “Did you…” Tanjiro paused, visibly swallowing when Genya peeked his way again. His eyes shimmered, as if he were trying not to cry. Genya’s throat closed up. “Did you think I would get bored of you?” 

   Genya couldn’t answer at first. He still had some cookie in his mouth, but it had turned dry with his seizing throat, and took him a while to finish chewing and gulp down. Tanjiro watched him all the while, his ruby eyes glittering sadly, studying Genya’s face in the wait. 

   “I mean, kinda,” Genya admitted when he cleared his mouth. “I dunno, I just…figured I was new, y’know? And that you’d, like, get used to me, I guess.”

   Tanjiro’s brow furrowed to complete his forlornly worried look. Genya swallowed air that felt too hot for his lungs. “That’s not true,” Tanjiro whispered. “It really isn’t, Gen.” His gaze flickered, glancing briefly away before lifting up to Genya’s face again, somehow even darker, even wetter. “Did your dad teach you that?”

   And my brother, Genya thought bitterly, though he didn’t say it out loud. It was mostly Sanemi’s doing, as was. Dad had always been angry, and hateful, and just all around dreadful; Sanemi had been the one to teach Genya that those foreign expressions of care and affection were conditional, that his care and affection was conditional, and that Genya was simply incapable of keeping up with those conditions. He could cling to the requirements for a while, but eventually he would fail, and he would be discarded. It was bound to happen with everyone in his life, as Sanemi had drilled into him for years: his other siblings, his neighbors, and any friends he might somehow scrounge up in his piteous existence. It was a fitting, if desolate, fate. 

   But, again, he didn’t tell this to Tanjiro. He just mutely nodded. Tanjiro bit his lip. Genya hung his head. 

   He shouldn’t have said anything to begin with. He should have just kept his big mouth shut, but he was Genya, and what Genya did best was fucking it all up. Sanemi was right. They were having such a good time and Genya had ruined it all, just like he always did, blundering the perfect moment with his pathetic words and—

   “I hate him.” 

   Genya froze. He picked his head up again, honestly half thinking he’d imagined Tanjiro’s voice, soft as it was—but, no. Tanjiro was still looking at him, his mouth set in a firm line and that furrow in his brow pinching down into his lovely eyes. He met Genya’s surprised gaze with a solid one of his own, and kept speaking. 

   “I don’t like hating,” he said, just as quiet as before, “I don’t do ‘hate’, but,” he shookhis head, “I hate your dad.”

   Genya nodded slowly, his mouth and throat dry, his heart still hammering. “Yeah,” he croaked, “me too.”

   “I just don’t get him,” Tanjiro continued, voice turning a little hysterical, pitching upwards where he had previously held it flat. “I don’t get how he can look at you and think you deserve that, I don’t—I’m not going to bore of you, Genya, I never will—and your father—don’t listen to him, okay? He’s not—you’re worth so much more than that, you’re so important to me, and I can’t understand how anyone could think differently—I mean, just look at you! I-I don’t—” 

   His words started to dissolve then, falling apart into that same repetition with tears finally spilling from his eyes, and Genya couldn’t say anything to soothe him. He couldn’t say anything at all—his throat was too tight, mouth too dry, chest too heavy with his own suppressed tears, leaving him to uselessly gape at Tanjiro as he spoke. So, he stopped watching: he lurched forwards, grabbed his shoulders, and yanked him into a hug. 

   He wasn’t quite sure if the embrace was more for his benefit or Tanjiro’s, he just knew it needed to happen. He buried his face into the crook between Tanjiro’s neck and shoulder, clutching so tight to the back of his shirt that he was sure he wrinkled the fabric, maybe permanently. Tanjiro’s own hands hesitated before landing gently over Genya’s back, and he turned his head, his mouth brushing ever so slightly against his skull and making him shiver. 

   “Gen?” Tanjiro murmured, his breaths oddly heavy. “Are you—?”

   “Just let me have this,” Genya interrupted, and he clung tighter, pulling him impossibly closer.

   Tanjiro didn’t argue. Genya’s words must have been enough, because he returned the hug in full, clutching him as close as Genya did, bowing his head just like him too. He inhaled deeply against his shirt, and Genya had the distinct thought that, just maybe, he was trying to breathe in his scent. Genya wished he had as keen a nose as him, if just so he could do the same. He wanted to know everything Tanjiro smelled of, to the most intricate details. He wanted to find those comparisons and hoard them all, so he could keep that scent with him wherever he went. 

   Even better, he just wanted to keep Tanjiro. He never wanted to let go again. He didn’t want to live a life where he was distant, where Genya didn’t have the honor of calling him his. He wanted to be able to hug him like this whenever he wished, he wanted to learn the smell and feel of him better than his own body and mind. He wanted Tanjiro. He wanted him desperately, pathetically, vitally. He wanted him. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted him. 

   He didn't want to let go. 

-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-

   How long could Tanjiro hold Genya here, he wondered, before he decided it inappropriate and released him again? If he could, he would keep him there, bound in his arms, for the rest of eternity. Tanjiro liked having Genya close. He liked being able to squeeze him and smell him and feel his racing heart beat through his ribs. He especially loved that, how quickly his heart thrummed; it always made him feel better about his own dizzying pulse. 

   But despite Tanjiro’s wish, Genya lifted and twisted his head, turning to speak in his ear. 

   “I should probably go to bed too,” he murmured, not pulling away from the hug, yet clearly suggesting he ought to. Tanjiro bit his lip and held him closer. 

   “You don’t have to,” he mumbled into Genya’s shirt, wishing his throat wouldn’t squeeze with more tears. “You can stay here tonight, with me.”

   It was a long stated plea, an offer he had been extending since Genya’s first night in the house, and one that was never accepted. He clung onto Genya while he awaited the sure-to-come refusal, hoping against hope that maybe the embrace would convince him to stay. Maybe if he held Genya tightly enough, he would forget he could leave, and Tanjiro could keep him the whole night, maybe even forever too—but that was greedy and immature and definitely overstepping his boundaries, so Tanjiro began to ease his grip, regrettably separating himself. 

   He only stopped when Genya’s arms turned taut around him, pinning him against his chest and stealing his breath. Then came his unexpected reply. 

   “Okay,” Genya whispered. “What side do you sleep on?”

   Tanjiro nearly forgot how to answer. His thoughts diffused and his heart ceased beating, but through it all he started to smile. He pressed his brow against Genya again and exhaled, content, eager, and only remembering to speak when Genya squeezed him a little. 

   “Uh, the right,” he managed to say. “I sleep on the right, if that’s okay with you.”

   “Of course it is,” Genya murmured, then finally broke the embrace—though, he only pulled away enough to see Tanjiro’s face and smile, so it wasn’t too heartbreaking. “Do you mind if I change first though?”

   Oh, right. They never had gotten undressed after school, had they? Tanjiro nodded and leaned further away, taking the initiative and sadly ending the hug. He stepped off the bed and stood aside, hating every second of leaving Genya behind. 

   “Go ahead, I should too,” he said. He grabbed his desired pajamas from his dresser and stepped towards the door, trying to walk backwards to keep looking at Genya. “You can have the room, I’ll change in the bathroom.”

   Genya was off the bed too in a flash. He snatched his own pajamas—freshly washed by Tanjiro’s mom, awaiting his next stay atop the desk—and met Tanjiro’s side, taking his shoulders and literally steering him away from the door. 

   “Don’t be ridiculous,” he fussed, going so far as to move Tanjiro halfway across the room. “I’ll use the bathroom, I’m the guest.”

   “Exactly, you’re the guest, so you should get the room to change.” Tanjiro grinned. Genya narrowed his eyes. His scent turned sweeter, amused and playful and so, so delicious. 

   “Beat me in a fight, and I’ll consider it,” he wagered, though there were no actual stakes behind his words. Tanjiro giggled. He always loved when Genya got a little teasing. He felt lucky, special to hear it, like he was the only one Genya trusted to let see that side of him, the side he so often hid from everyone else. It made him love him even more. 

   “You know, I probably could,” Tanjiro retorted, leaning into that same jest with the same lack of actual intent, just the desire to play along. “I’ll take out your knees first, get you on my level. Even the playing field, as they say.”

   Genya laughed, a rich and lovely sound. “Harsh,” he drawled, his smile stretching into a proper smirk. 

   Tanjiro shrugged. “Thems the breaks. Literally.”

   “I’ll just have to take out your legs too. You ballerinas are too strong.”

   “Caught onto that, did you?” 

   “Just today, in fact.”

   Tanjiro laughed. Genya chuckled along. It sounded like heaven. He never wanted it to end.

   He wanted to continue the banter too. He wanted to hear more of those giggles, to earn more of those jokes, but, as he unfortunately remembered as Genya shook his head and backed away to leave: getting changed for bed was still very much a thing they needed to do. 

   He’ll return soon, Tanjiro reminded himself, waving farewell to Genya when he slipped out and closed the door. Just get changed. He’ll be back soon. And, this time, he’ll stay. 

   His heart leapt at that thought. Genya said yes. He was spending the night with Tanjiro, beside Tanjiro, in the same bed. He had dreamt of this moment since the first time he extended the gesture, envisioning the mattress dipping under Genya’s weight and the tug of the blanket over both their shoulders, and now it was really happening. He pulled on his pajamas, then stared at the left side of the bed, where Genya would soon lay. Would he let Tanjiro cuddle him? Oh, how he would love that, being allowed to wrap himself around Genya and hold him there. His arms already tingled at the idea, yearning to feel the fabric of his shirt, the skin of his hands, the pressure of his chest. Maybe he could ask permission, ask if he would like it too; then again, maybe he was still too frightened, still not ready. 

   Genya reappeared then anyway, so Tanjiro put the thought aside. He gestured for Genya to get in bed first, feigning busyness with his curtains and door and lamp to watch him slowly move. He didn’t seem or smell nervous—maybe a little jittery, but definitely not afraid. Overall, it smelled more like excitement to Tanjiro, which lit his chest aflame with a similar sentiment. Watching Genya fluff the pillow and twitch back the covers only made that warmth grow, until Tanjiro felt as though he may explode like a firework if he kept staring. He turned to fiddle with something again to avoid doing that. 

   “You getting in?” Genya asked, voice meek, as Tanjiro toyed listlessly at a tassel on his lamp shade. He glanced over to see the shy smile sent his way, and only barely remembered to breathe afterwards. 

   “Uh, yeah,” he did remember to answer, shuffling to his mattress and kneeling atop it. He tried to find a speed between hasty and lethargic, hoping to achieve an equilibrium of casual, but as he very swiftly ducked under the covers and pulled them tight, he grew quite convinced he had ended up looking desperate. He grinned—face burning—up at Genya, who propped himself up on one hand; Genya—bright red—grinned back. 

   “You laying down?” Tanjiro whispered, trying to recreate that easy wit they had so recently shared. Genya’s face flushed redder at his words, and he hurried to oblige, scooting down under the covers quicker than even Tanjiro had climbed within. How cute. 

   There was an awkward lapse then, a wide moment in the dark and quiet room where neither one of them dared to neither move nor speak. The air thickened with stifled breaths and buzzed with the passing static between them and weighed on the comforter until Tanjiro felt as though he’d faint. He pinched his tongue gently in his teeth while the stagnant silence persisted, trying to figure a way to break it, to puncture its hull with a quipping comment or sweet admission—but in the end, Genya beat him to it with four tender, shaking words. 

   “It smells like you,” was all he whispered, his breath trembling like his voice and urging Tanjiro’s head to turn and see him. Genya turned as well, their eyes met, and the strain suddenly shattered, melting as they did into the mattress, each curling to face the other better. 

   “What does?” Tanjiro murmured as he landed on his side, drifting one hand to place loosely in the remaining space between them, inching subtly towards Genya. 

   Genya twitched to mimic, his own fingers shifting across the sheets to meet Tanjiro’s. It made his lungs warm, and his ribs ache. “The pillow,” he answered quietly. “And the blanket.”

   “Makes sense,” Tanjiro said. “What do I smell like?”

   Genya hummed and dipped his face into the pillow. His eyelids fluttered halfway closed and a serene smile pulled at his mouth as he inhaled, drawing in one, long breath before peeking through his lashes again. “Dunno,” was his reply, “but I like it. It smells good.”

   How exactly, again, was he meant to stay sane with this? “I like how you smell too.” 

   Genya snorted. “Oh, yeah?” He raised one eyebrow, his sweet smile twisting into an almost-smirk. “What do I smell like?”

   “Sugar water and freshly rained soil,” Tanjiro said immediately, which seemed to surprise him a little. “Also a dash of charcoal, metal, and blood.” 

   Genya’s humored brow lowered at that last note and his playful smirk dissipated, each creasing and folding into a not-so-pleased expression. “Charming,” he muttered, and his fingers on the sheets began to curl inwards, as if to remove them entirely. 

   Tanjiro darted to stop the movement. He laced his own small fingers between Genya’s long ones and held them there, waiting until Genya’s cheeks flushed red and his gaze flicked up before he responded. 

   “It is,” he said, though he almost couldn’t hear his own voice over the rush of blood in his ears. “It’s you.”

   Genya didn’t deny him the words, at least. His expression twisted just a little further, but he let it go with a sigh, relaxing into the mattress and tucking his knees up under the blanket, so close that Tanjiro could almost feel them. It was an exhilarating experience, realizing just how near Genya lied. He began to think of his question again, pondering over all the different ways he could ask to hold and cuddle him, but once again Genya spoke before he could breach the subject. 

   “Tanjiro…” he started slowly, drawing out every syllable of his name in that way Tanjiro adored. It always sounded like he didn’t want the word to end, like he hoped to memorize the shape of the letters, in the same way Tanjiro memorized his scent. 

   “Genya,” he responded, attempting a similar drawl of his name. It was such a lovely name, after all, and he truly did love to say it. He loved having a reason to say it. He loved that Genya had stayed. 

   Genya paused for a moment longer, looking between Tanjiro’s eyes with a thin pinch to his mouth, maybe still contemplating his thoughts. His breaths came shaky again, a sound that would be worrying under different circumstances, but now just made Tanjiro want to scoot closer, until he could feel the trembling air against his face. Maybe even in his own lungs. Maybe he could ask. Maybe Genya would ask. 

   “You…” Genya exhaled with that tantalizing tremor, though he took a second to steel his breath and voice before solidly meeting Tanjiro’s eyes and finishing: “You’re my best friend.”

   The disappointment hit Tanjiro like a stone. 

   He didn’t really know what he expected Genya to say, but he did know what he wanted him to say: it was what Tanjiro wanted to say too, what he’d been wanting to say for months. He shouldn’t have played with the idea, he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, but…he couldn’t help it. 

   And he despised how upset he felt at the cherished words he heard. He loved to hear them, of course he did! All he wanted was to be a safe place for Genya, to be someone he could trust and rely on and care for—he just wanted all of things in a different way, in a way Genya probably didn’t desire himself. And that had to be okay. If Tanjiro truly wanted to keep Genya in his life—he did—he would have to be okay with just being friends—no, better, best friends—so he pulled on a smile and squeezed Genya’s fingers and pushed away that empty pit of neglected want. 

   “Best friends?” He repeated, feigning incredulity just to see that amused light spark in Genya’s eyes. “What happened to great friends graduation?”

   “Double promotion,” Genya replied smoothly. “You’re getting a pay raise too.”

   “I’m getting paid?!”

   “Yup. You’ve upgraded to three free hugs an hour.”

   “What was it before?”

   “One hug.”

   “Wow.” Tanjiro giggled. “Best job ever.”

   “What can I say, I’m a great employer,” Genya laughed. He squeezed Tanjiro’s fingers in return, which made him all dizzy, before nestling his head in the pillow and exhaling deeply. The playfulness seeped from his expression with that breath, until all that was left was the sincerity of his words. “I mean it though,” he murmured, thickening that candor until Tanjiro could practically taste it. “You really are my best friend. I hope you know that.”

   Tanjiro smiled, and took a chance: he shifted across the mattress, until his knees hit Genya’s and their joined hands pressed against his chest, knuckles slotting between his ribs to feel the heavy beat of his heart—or, at least, Tanjiro hoped Genya could feel it. He wanted him to understand just how dear that admission remained to him, even if he sorely wished it would go beyond friends. 

   “You’re my best friend too,” he whispered, smiling wider when Genya’s fingers extended and nudged against his chest. “You mean the world to me, Gen.”

   Genya didn’t reply to that, but Tanjiro didn’t really need him to. That returned smile was enough; that soft glimmer in his eye was enough; just knowing he felt safe enough to lie there, in Tanjiro’s bed, and tell him such a vulnerable thing was enough. At least, it mostly was. For now. 

   He took another chance. 

   “Genya,” he cautiously approached, bumping their knees together as he shifted even closer, “can I…I mean, I’d like to…if you’re comfortable with it, could we—?”

   Genya’s hand unlaced from Tanjiro’s before he could keep stuttering, lifting to cradle his shoulder, then urging against him. “C’mere,” he whispered, and that really was enough, all Tanjiro needed to finally shut that space between them and curl up close. 

   Slipping his arms around Genya’s torso, slotting their knees together, feeling Genya wrap over his shoulders and under his waist…it felt like fitting two puzzle pieces together, a perfect click of combination that proved, for all the world, that they were meant to be like this: Tanjiro was built to clutch onto and wind around Genya and Genya was made to encompass and enfold him in turn. Even their heartbeats, both loud and erratic, synced up as they settled into the new position, as if they had each been yearning for this moment and now they were complete. It was better than Tanjiro had imagined in all his many daydreams. Genya was warm, and solid, and smelled so very nice. It was perfect. He was perfect, and while so entwined with him, Tanjiro felt perfect too. 

   “Goodnight, Genya,” he said once they both settled, burying his face in Genya’s chest like he’d always dreamed. 

   In return, Genya squeezed his shoulders, the hand against his waist twisting to flatten over his spine. Safe, and almost possessive. Tanjiro never wanted the touch to leave. 

   “Night, Tani,” Genya murmured, then sank into the mattress. 

   Tanjiro wasn’t as quick to relax. He lied there, perfectly still, listening to Genya’s pulse slow down and his breaths even out, listening to him fall peacefully asleep. Only when he ceased responding to Tanjiro’s twitches did he dare to look up again, tucking back his chin to see that slumbering face, just to see it, just for a moment. 

   Genya had always looked so serene while asleep—not that Tanjiro often stared at him while he slept, but he had admittedly done so enough times to fall in love with said expression, though somehow, now, it looked even better than any time before. His mouth had a slight curl at the corners, like he’d fallen asleep smiling, and his tousled hair framed his skull like a halo of shadow, as if he truly were some roguish prince from a fairytale. A part of Tanjiro wanted to reach up and comb his fingers through those locks, twist them around his knuckles, maybe trace down over that scar on his cheek, or the one under his chin, or maybe even dance across those black hoops over his lip and through his ears. To be honest, if he could have removed his arm from its position around Genya, he likely would have done every one of those things; but, as it remained, he could not remove himself, nor did he actually desire to, so he left the admiration for his eyes alone. 

   Eventually though, even looking became overwhelming, so Tanjiro ducked his head back down, nuzzling against Genya’s chest and inhaling that beloved scent until it was the only air in his lungs. Oh, how he wished it would stay this way. He so desperately wanted to fall asleep like this every night, to breathe in the smell of Genya until he became drunk on it, to cling to his body and feel the touch returned wherever it dared to land—his shoulders, spine, waist, legs, face…Tanjiro didn’t care, not as long as it was Genya holding him. His dear, darling Genya. His best friend; his first love. 

   His love. 

   He exhaled, and pressed an airy kiss to Genya’s ribs. 

   “Genya?” He murmured, not expecting a reply, but wanting to say his name all the same. 

   Another breath. Another kiss. 

   “I am so completely in love with you. I want you to know that.”

   But Genya was soundly asleep, so he could not hear Tanjiro’s words, and maybe that was for the better. 

   Then again, maybe not. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊⋆☾⋆₊‧⁺˖⋆

   When Genya woke up at three in the morning, the only thing that surprised him was that he had fallen asleep at all. He had been so intent on staying awake, on fully appreciating Tanjiro’s warmth and company and mellowing in just how safe he felt—but, apparently, he had simply been too comforted, and had fallen asleep. 

   Tanjiro remained in his arms, at least. Genya found him still snuggled there as he tried to move. His breaths were soft, his arms were light, and that citrusy smell once again tickled at his nose. Genya adored every sensation, but he still mourned the conversations they lost when he’d fallen asleep. Another time, he told himself. Next time, because he had also decided to do this again. He wanted to spend every night like this now, with Tanjiro in his arms. He’d give anything to have it. He’d give anything to have him. 

   Genya tucked his chin off of Tanjiro’s head to see him and his lovely face. His eyes were closed, clearly asleep, but his mouth had fallen slightly ajar, allowing room for a thin line of drool to track onto the pillow below. Genya snorted, only barely containing a proper laugh, and carefully removed his hand from Tanjiro’s back to wipe it away. 

   “Of course you drool,” he murmured, teasing. “Can’t be all-perfect, now can you?”

   Tanjiro didn’t respond—obviously, he was, in fact, asleep—but Genya didn’t necessarily want him to. 

   Maybe it was strange, or maybe even outright creepy, but it felt…nice to have this moment, just a small amount of time where he could stare at Tanjiro and not worry about being caught. He didn’t need to hide the way he traced his features, attempting to memorize every line and dot, nor how he toyed with the ends of his hair and searched for that smell again. Lemon, maybe, or possibly grapefruit? No, definitely lemon. And something else, something crisp and fresh and familiar, like clean laundry. Was that it then? Lemons and clean laundry? It sounded right, it smelled right: a warm, sunny combination of nostalgic scents. Perfect for Tanjiro, the brightest and dreamiest person Genya knew. He ought to bottle up that smell and put it in a perfume, or candle. Some way to keep it close, and constant. 

   “You really do smell good, y’know?” Genya muttered to his friend, shifting downwards in the bed so he was closer to eye level—or, would be, if he wasn’t asleep. As he was, however, asleep, he neither met Genya’s eyes nor answered him. He didn’t even stir, despite being spoken to, as if unbothered by Genya’s voice. If that were the case…

   Genya sighed. “Can I tell you something?” He asked. (No answer). “Your mom said something this morning, about how you’re similar to your dad, and how he acted with her in comparison to you and me, and how I should keep an eye out for that stuff with you, and I…I need to know what she meant by that.”

   Still no reaction. Genya kept talking. 

   “The thing is,” he said, “I have an idea what she meant, and I just…really need to know if it’s true, because…”

   Was he seriously doing this? Was he seriously about to confess his feelings—feelings that still confused him, that he was still terrified to admit aloud—to a sleeping Tanjiro? Again, asleep? It was ridiculous, utterly preposterous, a total folly of a decision and just flat out weird…right? Genya felt like it should be, he felt like he should be embarrassed, but…

   The words came anyway. 

   “I like you, Tani,” Genya told him. He pretended Tanjiro’s eyes were open and fixed on him, his attention rapt and smile wide, absorbing every word he said and loving them too. He pretended he didn’t want that reality to be true, that he didn’t want this to be an honest confession. “I like you a lot. I think I’m actually kinda in love with you.”

   Tanjiro shifted then, and Genya froze, every muscle in his body snapping taut as Tanjiro exhaled and scooted closer and curled his fingers tighter in Genya’s shirt…but didn’t wake up. He stayed fast asleep, seemingly content with just being nearer. Genya released the breath he held and relaxed again, bowing his head on Tanjiro’s and flattening a hand against the small of his back, holding him tight and close against his chest. In a way, it felt like it had always meant to be like this, like Genya was specially crafted to hold Tanjiro in his arms. A part of him hoped that was true; the rest of him was terrified to acknowledge that it probably wasn’t. 

   “Can you just give me a sign?” Genya whispered, closing his eyes. Tanjiro hummed sweetly in his sleep, almost like an approval. Genya smiled, and allowed himself the fantasy. 

   “Think you can do that?” He mused. “I just need something little, anything to show you feel the same. I’m happy to be your friend even if you don’t, but if you do…just show me, okay? Before I lose my mind and tell you the truth anyway.”

   As expected, he received no response, which was fine. He wasn’t ready; this had to be enough for now. Maybe his words would carry into Tanjiro’s dreams, and he’d get the sign he asked for soon enough. Or, maybe not. Maybe they were heard by nothing and no one alike and Genya had just admitted the biggest feelings of his life to the lonely void. Maybe that was better. Maybe it was maddening. 

   God, he really didn’t know. All of this, all these feelings and desires…they were still so new, so fragile, and Genya still didn’t know how to sit with them and be okay. He’d come so far already, as daunting as that journey had been, but still…he didn’t want to break them, he didn’t want to fumble and destroy the preciousness of their existence, not when they were held for someone so dear, for Tanjiro. If he could, he would keep them safe and contained, locked in his heart to never be known by anyone else, lest they be beaten and shattered. But, as he knew, containment could only last so long. Eventually, whether he permitted them or not, those feelings would grow too big and too strong and he would have no choice but to release them. And when—definitely a when, no chance of if—that day came, Genya had to be okay with the outcome, no matter what it may be. Friends or more than, it would be up to Tanjiro to decide. Genya could only accept. 

   But that was for the future—a future likely far nearer than he’d admit, but still not for now. Genya didn’t need to think about it now. Now, all he needed to think about was just how soft Tanjiro was in his arms, just how warm and comfortable it was to hold him so close. For now, Genya just needed to think of him and the peace of his embrace until he fell asleep again, content in his stifled desires and the friendship he so cherished.