Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Three weeks. It has been three weeks, and Zenitsu still hasn’t gotten his ass out of bed. Not that Inosuke is worried or anything. The Great Inosuke never worries. It’s just that he’s bored, and Zenitsu is fun to yell at. Zenitsu’s stupid injuries have forced them to stay at the Wisteria House for much longer than Inosuke would have liked, but at least living here meant free food, a warm bed, and as much training as he could handle.

And he has his friends. He’s never had any of those before. Now he has two of them. Three, if he counts Nezuko. She’s fun to play with, and sometimes Inosuke lets her try on his boar mask if she promises to spar with him later. Even though Zenitsu is an idiot weakling, Inosuke was still the first to visit him when he woke up, threatening to punch him if he ever hurt himself again. Then there’s Tanjirou. Tanjirou is Inosuke’s bestest friend. He’s strong — almost as strong as Inosuke — and he’s nice. Inosuke likes nice people, especially when they smile and tell him that he’s good. He likes being good when it’s for Tanjirou. 

In the time before their next mission, Inosuke spends his days training with Tanjirou and his evenings by Zenitsu’s bedside. He brags about all the incredible things he did that day to remind Zenitsu of how amazing he is. Inosuke hates to admit it, but Zenitsu isn’t the worst person to talk to. He has come to realize that Zenitsu knows a lot of things, maybe even more than Tanjirou. That’s why he likes to visit. He can ask whatever questions he likes, and Zenitsu will answer them, even if it comes with an exasperated sigh or a groan of annoyance… which is what he’s currently doing.

“For the last time, Inosuke,” Zenitsu groans, trying to pull his bedsheets up to his chin, but it proved impossible while Inosuke was still sitting at the end of the bed, “broken bones won’t just fix themselves. You have to give them time to heal.”

Inosuke scoffs, picking at the bottom of his mask. Broken bones are nothing. “Why? That just means you’re weak!”

Every time Inosuke had broken his bones, he pushed through it. A good spar and some food would do the trick. As long as he kept walking, no stupid fracture could stop him from being the best. And Zenitsu’s bones were mostly intact with only four or five exceptions. There are more than four or five bones in his body, which means he still has bones that work. So, he has no excuse to be lying in bed!

Inosuke snorts, kicking the bedpost in frustration. Seeing the wince that Zenitsu tries to hide when Inosuke jostles the bed makes him feel bad, but only a little.

It’s just that Inosuke has been bored all day. Tanjirou has been following that stupid old hag’s orders instead of following Inosuke! He’s a terrible underling. And Zenitsu is still in bed like an idiot, a fact that has already been established. Another terrible underling. Inosuke is the best; they should be listening to him.

Inosuke is about to say exactly this when the back of his neck tingles. When he turns to investigate, Tanjirou is standing in the doorway. 

“You’re looking better today,” Tanjirou says to Zenitsu. “How are you feeling?”

Zenitsu shrugs, yanking the blankets that Inosuke had tangled back up over his chest, nearly knocking said boy off the bed. “My lungs have stopped feeling like they’re going to pop every time I take a breath, so I guess that counts as better.”

Tanjirou gives him one of those smiles that could rival the sun. “I’m glad.”

Why does Tanjirou have to give him that smile? It’s not like Zenitsu has done anything impressive. All he’s done is lie in bed. What a dumbass. He doesn’t deserve that look.

“Have you —?” Tanjirou starts, ignoring the stare that Inosuke drills into the side of his head.

“Where have you been all day, huh?” Inosuke accuses, pointing a finger at Tanjirou.

Zenitsu gives him an incredulous look, but Tanjirou just lets out a quiet laugh.

“Calm down, Inosuke,” he says. “I’ve just been helping out to thank Hisa-san for taking care of us.”

Inosuke huffs in annoyance, “What a waste of time.”

“Don’t be rude!” Zenitsu chastises, glaring at him.

Inosuke glares right back, but he’s stopped from making any further comments when Tanjirou puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“I actually came here for you. I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

Inosuke feels like he could take on a thousand demons. Tanjirou needs his help! He can’t stop himself from grinning. Well, if his best friend and favorite underling needs him, he can’t say no, can he? 

“Of course, Gengorou! No need to ask.” Inosuke puffs out his chest with pride. He can feel Zenitsu rolling his eyes behind his back and wants to shriek at him. At least he can be useful! All Zenitsu does is lie in bed! Tanjirou didn’t come for him, did he?

Inosuke flicks Zenitsu on the forehead for daring to undermine him. Zenitsu barely even flinches, and Inosuke wants to do it again just to show him who’s boss. 

Tanjirou sighs, shaking his head as he heads for the door. 

Inosuke is about to offer Zenitsu another flick, but then Tanjirou clears his throat from the doorway and beckons Inosuke to follow him.

Inosuke shoots one more glare at Zenitsu as he walks over to Tanjirou. Zenitsu sticks his tongue out in return, but Inosuke ignores it. He’s above those petty things. 

“Don’t break any more bones while you’re lying in bed, Monitsu,” he shouts over his shoulder as he follows Tanjirou out the door, cutting off Zenitsu’s annoyed reply mid-sentence.

It feels like every time Inosuke talks to Tanjirou or even about Tanjirou, Zenitsu gives him a look. It’s not a bad look, he thinks, but it’s not a good one either. Inosuke can’t figure it out. It just looks kind of annoyed. Or frustrated? Zenitsu is probably jealous of their strength because he’s so weak.

Once Tanjirou closes the door behind them, Inosuke turns to him expectantly. Thinking can wait. What does Tanjirou need him for? Does he want a training partner? Is there a demon to defeat? Inosuke is good at both of those things.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Tanjirou says, smiling in the way that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle as he leads them down the hall.

Tanjirou doesn’t even have to ask. Inosuke is always ready to help his underlings. Especially Tanjirou because Tanjirou is his favorite. And his friend. His best friend. Maybe he should promote him to co-boss.

“I would like you to help me write some letters to the demon slayer corp.”

Inosuke stares at him blankly, some of the excitement leaving him. Write some letters? So there are no demons? No training? Inosuke has never held a calligraphy brush in his life!

“Oh. Okay.” He kicks at the ground with his sandal, trying to keep the disappointment out of his tone.

“Don’t worry,” Tanjirou laughs. “You don’t have to write anything. I just want you to seal the envelopes and put on the stamps, okay?”

“I’m not worried!” Inosuke rushes to say. “I can seal a million stupid envelopes. Just you wait!”

Inosuke’s heart swells when Tanjirou agrees with him. He is suddenly filled with a burst of energy. He dashes partway down the hallway and then runs back to Tanjirou, cackling as he circles around him. 

“Hurry up, Gengorou!” Inosuke headbutts Tanjirou in the back, making him stumble forward a step or two. By the time Tanjirou had righted himself, Inosuke had already made it to their room and was standing in the doorway. First as always! No one can beat him.

Tanjirou sighs, obviously wallowing in his defeat, but he catches up with Inosuke a few seconds later. He heads straight to the small desk in the corner, stopping briefly to check on Nezuko, who was asleep in her box, and to put Inosuke’s pillow back on his futon. Somehow, Inosuke’s bedding ends up in all corners of the room when he sleeps. It’s not his fault though! Blankets are restrictive; he’d prefer to sleep outside in the dirt. It’s comfortable enough for him.

Inosuke scoffs at Tanjirou’s perfectly made futon. Inosuke couldn’t care less how his futon looked as long as he could sleep, but apparently, it was bad manners to leave his blankets all over the place. So, every morning Tanjirou waits for Inosuke to tuck his sheets back into place. It never looks as nice as Tanjirou’s, but Tanjirou still looks delighted each time he walks into the room and both beds are still made.

Inosuke would never figure out all these human customs, but as long as Tanjirou was here, Inosuke was sure he’d be fine. Tanjirou has Inosuke for his incredible strength, and Inosuke has Tanjirou for his knowledge. It’s a good combination. And Zenitsu, he’s whatever. He’s kind of cool… sometimes.

One half-hearted kick to the futon later, Inosuke takes a seat next to Tanjirou, who is sorting through a small stack of pre-written letters.

“Here,” he says when Inosuke sits down, handing him a sheet of stamps. “Put these in the upper-right corner and then use this candle to melt the wax for the seal.”

Inosuke nods. He’s watched Tanjirou do this before; he can definitely figure it out.

It takes a few tries and a few wax sticks later, but Inosuke finally gets the hang of it. The wisteria crest seal is a bit lopsided, but Inosuke doesn’t care. Tanjirou said he did a good job. Sealing and stamping the envelopes doesn’t take as much time as addressing them, so in the downtime between letters, Inosuke watches Tanjirou. 

His brushstrokes are light and fluid, effortlessly dancing across the paper. The ink creates a series of intersecting lines that Inosuke doesn’t know how to decipher. For the first time, Inosuke wishes he could write.

Tanjirou must feel Inosuke’s eyes on him, and he turns to face him. “Yes?”

“How do you do that?” Inosuke asks, pointing at the semi-dry words on the paper.

Tanjirou glances down at the envelope and then back at Inosuke. “I can teach you if you want. We’ve been working for a while.”

Inosuke nods, scooching closer to Tanjirou’s side so he can see. He doesn’t know what to expect because he has no idea how this works. Everything is new. But he stays quiet and pushes down the weird knot in his stomach that always comes from new things as Tanjirou puts a fresh sheet of paper in front of them and hands Inosuke a brush. Inosuke clutches it like a dagger, and Tanjirou laughs, reaching out to correct him.

His hands are warm around Inosuke’s own.

Tanjirou adjusts his grip until his fingers rest ‘correctly’ on the brush. It feels incredibly unnatural. Nobody holds things like this! You can’t stab anything! There’s no strength behind it.

However, Inosuke says none of these things as he waits for Tanjirou to show him how to wield this strange weapon.

Then Tanjirou takes another brush and writes something on the paper. Inosuke leans over his shoulder to get a better look. Oh! This is something he can recognize!

Hashibira Inosuke.

“Your name is made up of the kanji for beak, flat, Italy, of, and help.” Tanjirou writes the corresponding kanji with each word he says.

Inosuke doesn’t bother asking what that means because he’s too busy watching Tanjirou slowly repeat the strokes for each character, stopping after each one to let Inosuke look. Although the meanings of the characters are unfamiliar, Inosuke has seen his name enough times for the picture to be ingrained in his mind.

Tanjirou gently places his hand on Inosuke’s shoulder to get his attention. “Now you try. Follow my strokes.”

Inosuke readies his weapon, waiting for Tanjirou to start. When he finally puts brush to paper, the lines he makes are nothing like the other boy’s. They’re thick and unruly, jagged on the page. By the time Inosuke is finished, his work looks more like a series of black smudges and splatters than his name.

He looks between his writing and Tanjirou’s and his body heats in frustration. It’s just some lines! Why can’t he do as well as Tanjirou? Nobody beats Master Inosuke.

“Hmph,” Inosuke snorts in disdain, crumpling up the evidence of his failure and tossing it across the room. It bounces across the floor until it settles into the corner. The little ball of paper stares a hole through the back of Inosuke’s head when he turns away. “Who needs writing anyway,” he grumbles.

Inosuke has to fight down his anger when Tanjirou covers his mouth to hide a quiet laugh. “Nobody’s perfect the first time, not even me. Come on, let’s try again.”

The scowl Inosuke’s throwing at the ink brush melts into a look of surprise. Not even Tanjirou? Well, that changes things, doesn’t it? If all it takes is practice, then Inosuke will practice until he surpasses the boy beside him.

“Ahaha! Give me another piece of paper, Gonpachirou! I’m gonna write until I’m even better than you!” 

It takes a ridiculous amount of ink, multiple brushes — some more intact than others — and more tries than Inosuke would like to admit for words to finally start appearing on the paper. But when he presents his finished product to Tanjirou and gets a proud smile, a pat on the head, and a “Good job, Inosuke,” in return, he doesn’t remember any of that. Tanjirou is proud of him, and that makes Inosuke’s limbs feel like jelly.

.oOo.

Zenitsu isn’t as impressed as he should be when Inosuke barges in to brag about his incredible work. He just scoffs and says, “It’s only your name. You don’t know how to write anything else.” Like it isn’t a big deal at all. 

What does he know? Inosuke fights the urge to ball up the paper and stuff it down Zenitsu’s stupid throat so he wouldn’t have to hear his incessant griping. Not just anyone can write as well as this. Inosuke bets Zenitsu can’t do much better; he’s never even seen him pick up a brush.

Growing up in the mountains has made Inosuke miss out on a lot of things — he knows this — but he has learned a lot since meeting Tanjirou and Zenitsu, with writing being the newest thing on his list. It makes his blood boil to have his hard work go unrecognized. He’d teach Zenitsu not to underestimate him. He would just have to learn something else.

After gracing Zenitsu’s ears with a frustrated screech, Inosuke runs off to search for Nezuko. He would go to Tanjirou any other time, but for some reason, the thought of surprising him makes Inosuke’s stomach feel all wiggly; like bugs are crawling around inside. So, Nezuko it is. It barely takes a minute to find her, still curled up in her box to avoid the sunlight seeping through the curtains. 

“Nezuko,” Inosuke calls over his shoulder as he adjusts the curtains until the streaks of light cutting through the tatami disappear.

Her head peeks around the side of the box when the last strip of sunlight fades away, being replaced with the soft glow of a candle burning on the desk. Tanjirou must have left it for her.

Nezuko shuffles over to Inosuke, each step bringing her closer to her normal height. She waits for him to speak, her eyes full of questions. It’s not often that Inosuke comes to the demon girl (he would rather spend time with Tanjirou), but he likes her enough to ask for this.

“How do you write Tanjirou’s name?”

She cocks her head; her eyes betray surprise and a hint of warmth like they do whenever someone mentions her brother. The same thing happens to Tanjirou whenever he talks about his little sister.

“Mmm!” she nods, grabbing Inosuke’s arm and dragging him over to the desk.

Inosuke readies himself. Tanjirou would never see it coming.

.oOo.

“Oi, Kentarou!” Inosuke yells, barreling through the hallway until he reaches Tanjirou, who is carrying a tray of food.

Maybe Inosuke isn’t trying hard enough because Tanjirou barely flinches. “Yes?” Tanjirou says, shifting a precarious bowl of rice back into the center of the tray.

Inosuke grins, anticipation making his body tingle as he thrusts a sheet of paper into Tanjirou’s hand. He bounces on his heels as Tanjirou turns it over to read the contents. Inosuke had tried his hardest for this, and he finally has something he can be proud of (and shove in Zenitsu’s face). The blotchy, jagged characters on the page are the result of Nezuko’s unfailing patience and Inosuke’s stubborn nature. 

Tanjirou’s eyes widen when he sees the words, but then his face softens, lips curving into a gentle smile. 

Inosuke's stomach drops when Tanjirou looks at him, holding the paper up for him to see.

“Did you write this?” Tanjirou asks, pointing at the page.

“Yep!” Inosuke says, putting his hands on his hips. “I’m amazing, right?”

Tanjirou laughs, breaking eye contact for a moment to neatly fold the paper and put it in his pocket. When he looks up again, the sincerity in his eyes burns. “Yeah, Inosuke. You are.”

Until now, Inosuke had never thought red could be a good color. Red means blood. Red means death. Red means fire. Prey ripped in half by a ruthless predator, a nasty bite from a demon, a forest engulfed by flames. When Inosuke looks into Tanjirou’s eyes, he doesn’t see those things; he only sees sunlight. A light that envelopes everything in its path, leaving behind safety and warmth.

Inosuke grunts, tugging on the bottom of his mask. He hates that he looks away, scuffing his foot against the floor instead of reminding Tanjirou of how incredible he is, but Tanjirou’s eyes crack him open like an egg until all the gooey, mushy stuff on the inside spills out. If he opens his mouth now, Inosuke isn’t sure he can control what will come out.

“Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”

Inosuke glances up when Tanjirou speaks again. He’s looking at the paper like it’s the most precious thing in the world. The redhead places a hand on the top of Inosuke’s head, gently ruffling the fur that conceals his face. Even though his mask is in the way, Inosuke presses into the touch, and that same warmth washes over him.

It’s cold when Tanjirou pulls away, and Inosuke finds himself missing the feeling of Tanjirou’s hand on his head. It means he’s done a good job. What a great boss he is! Tanjirou should be proud of him.

Inosuke lets out a whooping laugh and grinds his head into Tanjirou’s shoulder — just enough to make him stumble — before he charges down the hallway. 

Take that, Monitsu. 

.oOo.

The next time Inosuke opens the door to his and Tanjirou’s shared room, a slightly crumpled piece of paper is hanging over the desk. Inosuke doesn’t bother to fight back a grin. He runs over to the desk, admiring his handiwork. The page was just how he had left it. Inosuke traces the smudged lines with his fingers, re-familiarizing himself with the new characters. Now, the five words in his repertoire were on display.

Hashibira Inosuke and Kamado Tanjirou.

Chapter Text

Inosuke runs into Tanjirou again on his way to Zenitsu’s room. The sun is just setting, and Inosuke’s stomach is grumbling. People are moving throughout the house, getting ready for dinner. Even though the number of people walking around muddles Inosuke’s senses, Tanjirou’s aura is so strong that he could always pick him out of a crowd if he wanted.

So, Inosuke follows his gut and the smell of tempura and rice to the hallway near the sick bay. Sure enough, Tanjirou is walking down the hall, his arms laden with bowls of warm rice and plates of steaming tempera. Inosuke’s mouth waters as the scent reaches him, and he yearns to swipe a piece from the tray, but Tanjirou notices him first.

“Perfect timing!” he says, handing the tray to Inosuke. “Could you take this to Zenitsu? I have to run back to the kitchen.”

Inosuke nods dumbly, and Tanjirou carefully adjusts the bowls on the tray before handing them over.

“Thanks!” Tanjirou says before rushing off to the kitchen again.

He’s warm.

Inosuke’s hands tingle where Tanjirou’s fingers had brushed over his; his skin pulsing like he had gotten too close to a fire. Inosuke frowns. Did Tanjirou spill something on him when he gave him the tray? When Inosuke inspects his hands, he doesn’t find any evidence of a burn. Whatever. He must have imagined it.

Zenitsu is awake when Inosuke comes in. Inosuke can’t help but feel slightly disappointed. Zenitsu looks like easy prey when he’s asleep, and Inosuke takes pleasure in shouting until he wakes with a shriek of terror. Even though Zenitsu yells that he’s going to have a heart attack one day and Tanjirou gives him chiding looks, Inosuke doesn’t feel bad about it. In fact, it’s hilarious. Okay, maybe Inosuke feels a little bad, but not enough to stop him from doing it. It’s just training; his underlings need to be ready for anything. They can’t whine and cry over interrupted sleep.

“Here,” Inosuke says, putting the tray of food in Zenitsu’s lap.

“Thanks,” replies Zenitsu, to which Inosuke scoffs — he’s just being a good boss; no need to bow down or anything — and digs in. 

Inosuke sits down on the floor next to Zenitsu’s bed and takes off his mask, setting it down next to him. He rests his arms on the mattress and presses one cheek to his elbow so he can look up at Zenitsu. Zenitsu doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, continuing to stuff his face with food.

A loose thread hanging from the side of the duvet catches Inosuke’s eye. He picks at it, flicking the balled-up strings onto the floor as he fiddles with the covers. Zenitsu is still eating. Inosuke is right here!

He huffs, drumming his fingers on the mattress. He glances up at Zenitsu every few seconds, waiting for him to acknowledge him. Nobody ignores Lord Inosuke! “Aren’t you gonna ask me what I did today?” he finally says, scanning Zenitsu’s for any sign of interest.

Zenitsu’s hand stops midway to his mouth, a few crumbs of fried batter falling back onto the plate. Then he gives Inosuke that look that he hates. The one that says, what do you think?

“Ugh, fine.” Zenitsu puts the tempura back on the plate, laying the chopsticks down. “What did you do today?” 

Inosuke grins and picks his head up from his elbow, suddenly filled with energy. “I sparred with Tanjirou, and I won.” He’s beaming; his chest puffed out with pride. The image of Tanjirou’s sweet smile and the echo of “Wow! You were amazing, Inosuke!” flit through his mind and make his grin grow wider.

“Mmm, did you now?” Zenitsu stifles a sigh behind another piece of tempura, and he speaks through a mouthful of crumbs.

Inosuke has a feeling that he’s missing something from Zenitsu’s tone, but he doesn’t care. He’s probably jealous that Inosuke gets to run around and he’s still stuck in bed. Well, Inosuke reconsiders. Zenitsu was never one for physical activity, preferring to lie in the shade and pick at the grass instead of taking up Inosuke’s requests to spar or train. Tch. How boring. Then maybe he’s jealous of being left out.

As much as Inosuke, begrudgingly, likes Zenitsu, he isn’t a great partner. Tanjirou is way better at sparring and stuff like that. And even stuff not like that. He’s just good. Maybe Zenitsu should stop sucking so much and he wouldn’t make that face anymore.

Whatever. Inosuke is proud of himself, so he doesn’t care about Zenitsu’s shitty feelings. “Yep!” he says, grinning.

“Well, isn’t that nice,” Zenitsu replies, digging into the rice with his chopsticks.

Inosuke is about to interrogate him on whatever that’s supposed to mean, but he’s interrupted by the door opening and the familiar pull in his stomach that means Tanjirou is nearby. Inosuke looks up to see Tanjirou gently closing the door behind him with his free hand, the other busy balancing a tray of food. When the door is closed again, Tanjirou walks over to Inosuke and sets the food down next to him.

Inosuke’s mouth is watering. It was hard enough to stop himself from snatching a piece or two from Zenitsu — not like he would miss it that much since all he does is lie around — but now it’s even harder with the food right next to him. He glances over at Tanjirou when he sits down; his leg is just barely brushing Inosuke’s knee. Tanjirou smiles and nods at the tray. 

Inosuke grins, immediately diving for the tempura. The light, crunchy batter melts on his tongue, and he only wishes he had discovered this magical food sooner. It’s not long before everything is completely devoured. Inosuke licks the last crumbs off his fingers while Zenitsu sends him a disgusted look.

Then Inosuke’s stomach lets out a loud rumble, and he looks at it in distaste. What does it want from him now?

Tanjirou stifles a giggle behind his hand. “Here,” he says, dropping his last piece of tempura onto Inosuke’s empty plate.

A rush of giddiness flows through Inosuke’s body as he takes the proffered food. It tastes better than everything he had just eaten. Zenitsu is giving them a weird look that Inosuke catches from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t care enough to punch him for it. Maybe he could get his own damn food if he was able to get out of bed.

But since he can’t, Inosuke will savor this tempura given specially to him. A gift from underling to boss. Or co-boss to co-boss. Inosuke hasn’t decided yet.

.oOo.

“Don’t drop your guard! You’re leaving your head open!” Tanjirou says, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with his free hand, the other holding his sword.

Inosuke grunts, gripping his swords tighter in each hand. They’ve been practicing defense for a while now, and Inosuke is getting tired of it. He has never needed to learn anything like this before. Who needs defense when you can just be better than your opponent? There’s no reason to keep your guard up if you’re just faster than the one you’re fighting. They’ll never land a hit that way. Hand-to-hand combat is fine — Inosuke can block an attack if someone manages to get close to him — but adding a sword is just like adding a safety net. It doesn’t make sense.

Then Tanjirou comes in with another swing, and Inosuke ducks under it, swiveling on his hands and using the momentum to sweep Tanjirou’s legs out from under him when he completes the strike. 

He hits the ground with a little yelp and a loud thunk, his sword stirring up dust from the dry ground as it skitters to a halt.

Inosuke grins, putting his hands on his hips as Tanjirou stands to brush the dirt off his haori. “Hahaha! How d’you like that, Gengorou?”

Tanjirou sighs, “Effective, but that wasn’t the point.”

Really? Tanjirou was just on the ground, his sword nowhere near Inosuke’s skin — how wasn’t that effective? But Inosuke doesn’t wait for Tanjirou to elaborate. He lets out a low growl and charges at his opponent, brandishing his swords.

Tanjirou meets him in the middle. The sound of metal-on-metal echoes in Inosuke’s ears like a call to battle. 

“Inosuke!” Tanjirou yells, blocking the incoming sword when it gets too close to his side. “I thought” — a clang — “we were” — another — “working on defense!”

Inosuke circles Tanjirou as he catches his breath; his swords leave double trails in the dirt where he drags them behind him. A snort. “I don’t care.”

Tanjirou mirrors his steps in tandem, never taking his eyes off Inosuke. His strategy is unmatched — allegedly, he learned from the best. Where Inosuke goes for brute force, Tanjirou steps back and uses his head. Inosuke has to catch him off guard to beat him. So he circles, waiting for an opportunity. Neither makes a move to attack for several minutes, but then Tanjirou lowers his sword.

“What’s wrong? Are you getting tired?” he asks, cocking his head slightly.

Perfect.

Inosuke rushes at him, going in for a clean strike to the torso, but Tanjirou reacts quickly, deflecting the attack with ease. Lucky for Inosuke, however, he has two swords. The second one makes its mark, leaving a shallow slice on Tanjirou’s chest where the tip of the sword had cut through his haori.

A little bit of blood is beginning to seep into the edges of the ripped fabric as Tanjirou shuffles back, gripping his sword more tightly in his hand. Despite the gash in his chest, Tanjirou isn’t fazed in the slightest.

Inosuke freezes, eyes glued to the blood dripping down Tanjirou’s exposed skin. The swords go slack in Inosuke’s grip. Why didn’t he dodge?

Tanjirou is still bleeding when he comes in for the next attack, bringing the weapon down over Inosuke’s head.

“Hgn,” Inosuke grunts. The sword falls from his left hand as he brings his arm up to protect himself. It clatters to the ground, rousing a small cloud of dust around it. After a moment, the scent of blood intensifies, and Inosuke stumbles, instinctively thrusting the tip of his other sword into the earth to stop himself from toppling over. Steadying himself, Inosuke rakes his eyes over Tanjirou’s chest; his wound hasn’t gotten any deeper.

Then Tanjirou gasps, and Inosuke tears his gaze away from the gash in the redhead’s chest. 

The other boy’s eyes are wide with shock. “I’m so sorry!” he exclaims, dropping his weapon to the ground. He pulls Inosuke’s arm down to inspect it. 

Inosuke is about to rip it away from him and reprimand him for his bad defense when something warm dribbles down his arm. He looks down. Oh. So that was his blood. Inosuke had barely felt the blade connect with his skin — it was over too fast.

“Let’s go sit down,” Tanjirou says, pressing a hand to the small of Inosuke’s back to lead him over to the grass. 

Blood is still oozing from the wound in Tanjirou’s chest as they walk over to the sidelines. Inosuke can’t take his eyes off it. He follows Tanjirou quietly, his mind full of complaints but his body compliant.

We were just getting into it! Some stupid cut isn’t going to stop me, and it’s not like Tanjirou called time as soon as he got injured. The wound is still open, but he hasn’t stopped to take care of it.

Inosuke wants to protest, but Tanjirou doesn’t give him the time. As soon as they reach a suitable spot in the shaded part of the training area, Tanjirou forces him to sit, immediately moving to inspect the wound.

“You really should be more careful,” Tanjirou says softly, moving on from the cut to check him for other injuries. He has a few bruises, but nothing worth crying about. He’s strong enough to bear it.

Inosuke only mutters a weak protest before falling silent, allowing Tanjirou to do whatever he deems necessary. That doesn’t mean Inosuke likes it, okay? He just knows that it’ll be more trouble than it’s worth to argue with Tanjirou about something like this. That’s all.

The cut itself is shallow, nothing more than a scratch, but Tanjirou is fussing over him like a child, taking off his haori to wrap it around Inosuke’s arm. He shouldn’t worry like this! Such a minor wound is nothing for Master Inosuke! Tanjirou should be more worried about himself.

“I’ll go get the bandages. Will you be okay here? You’re not feeling faint, are you?” Tanjirou presses the back of his hand to Inosuke’s forehead, checking for who knows what.

Inosuke can only nod, unable to speak.

“Good.” Tanjirou smiles. “I’ll be right back.”

It’s only when Tanjirou returns with the first aid kit that Inosuke finds his voice. “Are you okay?” He forces the words through gritted teeth, trying to be nonchalant, as Tanjirou reaches for the bandages. His stomach clenches as he waits for Tanjirou to respond.

He frowns like he doesn’t know what Inosuke is talking about, so Inosuke points to Tanjirou’s chest. Tanjirou looks down, eyes following Inosuke’s finger.

“Oh, this?” He exhales a light chuckle. “Don’t worry; it’s not bad. I’ll fix it up in a minute.”

Inosuke snorts, hating the way his stomach unclenches with Tanjirou’s words, “You should be more careful! Teaching me how to block and not doing it yourself…”

Tanjirou shakes his head, removing his haori from around Inosuke’s arm. “You should be more careful. I thought we were working on defense.”

“Defense is stupid!”

“Apparently not, or we wouldn’t be doing this right now,” Tanjirou says as he examines the cut.

Inosuke wants to protest, to defend his honor and his fighting skills or something, but Tanjirou’s touch is gentle. He’s looking at Inosuke with those stupidly concerned eyes that make Inosuke feel both like he’s being underestimated and like he’s just stepped into a warm bath.

He stays silent as Tanjirou takes care of him. Tanjirou dips a clean rag into the bowl of warm water next to him, then he wrings it out and folds it into a neat rectangle. Inosuke stares at his arm as Tanjirou takes the utmost care in cleaning the wound. He rubs the cloth around Inosuke’s injury to wipe up the trails of dried blood, careful not to disturb the cut which is already beginning to scab over. His touch is feather-light, so Inosuke only feels the warmth of the rag as Tanjirou gently presses it to the exterior of the wound.

Inosuke watches as Tanjirou cleans him up. His red hair catches the light perfectly; he looks like sunlight. Just like the images on his earrings. It suits him.

Then, Tanjirou reaches for the bandages. Even when he has to look away, he never takes his hand off of Inosuke, as if he’s making sure he doesn’t disappear when he’s not looking. 

He turns back around, finally removing his hand so he can unravel the bandage. The absence of his touch is more jarring than Inosuke had expected. He finds himself wanting to shift closer to him; to press their thighs together; to feel that warmth again — but he doesn’t because Tanjirou is back, gently winding the bandage around his forearm.

“There,” Tanjirou says, securing the end of the bandage. He runs his hand over the linen to ensure he had done a proper job. Then he turns back to the basin and squeezes the excess water and blood out of the dirty rag. He folds it up and drapes it over the side of the washbasin before saying, “All done.”

There were a lot of things Inosuke could have said right then. For example, thanks, or bandage yourself now, you idiot, but instead, he says, “You know I’m not weak for a stupid cut, right? Master Inosuke is still the strongest! I didn’t need your help, Kentarou.”

Tanjirou doesn’t lash out as Inosuke would have. Instead, he smiles, crouching down in front of Inosuke. Inosuke watches him, his eyes never leaving Tanjirou’s. 

Then Tanjirou reaches up to brush Inosuke’s sweaty bangs away from his face. His touch is so soft that Inosuke barely feels his fingers against his skin. “You are strong,” he says, his voice as quiet as the mild breeze blowing through the clearing. He moves his hand down to cup Inosuke’s cheek in his palm, brushing his thumb over the purpling bruise he had earned from yesterday’s fight.

Suddenly, the warm bath Inosuke is immersed in becomes a full-on fire. Heat spreads through his body. The sparks scald him everywhere their skin connects. Inosuke has to get away or else he might combust.

He lets out a startled, “Ah—!” and jerks back. His cheeks are still burning even though Tanjirou’s hand is no longer there.

Tanjirou looks equally startled.

Everything is too much. Inosuke grunts and grabs his mask from its place beside him, shoving it back on his head. Even with it on, it’s still too hot. He needs to go. Right now.

“Inosuke?” Tanjirou questions, concern evident in his stupidly pretty red eyes. “Are you — oof!” He recoils as Inosuke’s head collides with his stomach.

Then Inosuke is running into the woods, head spinning, as Tanjirou stands dumbly in the courtyard. 

It takes several minutes for Inosuke to feel remotely normal again; his breathing evens out, and the heat rescinds from his cheeks. Inosuke sighs, listening to the wind rustling the leaves from his perch in the crook of an oak tree. This just doesn’t make sense. Inosuke leans back, watching the world move upside down as he lets himself dangle from the tree branch. The rough bark digs into the backs of his knees, but he holds on tighter, letting the blood rush to his head again.

That was weird.

It was weird. It was like he’d been out in the heat too long; burned, as if Tanjirou were the sun. Inosuke has never felt like that before.

Inosuke’s eyes widen, and he pulls himself up again, grabbing at the back of his injured arm and twisting it to get a good look at the bandage. Has he been poisoned? He pokes at the wound. It doesn’t sting much, which is good. So, maybe not poison? Tanjirou has never said anything about his sword being poisoned, and of course, Tanjirou is too nice to poison him directly — he could never go against his boss like that. Is there some kind of demon lurking in the shadows with only the wisteria keeping it at bay? No, that can’t be right. Inosuke would have felt it. Was it a fluke fueled by lingering adrenaline? 

Inosuke drops down from the tree and lands on all fours in the dirt. Well, if he can’t figure it out on his own, he’ll just have to ask Tanjirou.

Closing his eyes, Inosuke focuses on the sensations of the world around him. It’s like seeing with his body. He imagines that it’s like being deprived of all but one of your senses. There’s static all around him, but when he searches, he can find anything. In his mind, he follows the spiraling white line that emerges from his navel, drawing him forward. The surrounding life in the forest only creates blips in his mind-map — momentary lights in the grayness — but the auras of the birds and the squirrels aren’t enough to distract him from his target.

Ignoring them, Inosuke soldiers on, honing in on the familiar warmth and blinding light that Tanjirou always exudes. His webs grab hold, and the string pulls taut. Found him. 

An image paints itself in his mind. Tanjirou, getting out of the bath; a towel wrapped around his waist. Water trails down his forearms as he slicks his hair back.

The droplets snake over Tanjirou’s torso, traversing the scabbing wound on his chest every so often. Then Tanjirou reaches for the towel, and Inosuke’s eyes snap open, color flooding his vision. He’s almost shaking, eyes unfocused. A wave of embarrassment crashes over him. That felt private, even though it was no different from when they had taken baths together before. So, why does he feel so tingly?

Inosuke swallows the lump in his throat, waiting for himself to calm down. Then he blinks the fuzziness away and shakes feeling back into his limbs before following his intuition back into civilization.

.oOo.

Tanjirou is folding his haori when Inosuke approaches him, skidding to a halt on the tatami right before they collide. He glances up, startled, but relaxes when he sees Inosuke, though only slightly.  “Oh, you’re back,” he says, tucking his haori under his arm. 

Inosuke stares at him, and Tanjirou frowns. “What happened out there? Did I hurt you by accident?”

Still quiet, Inosuke shakes his head, avoiding Tanjirou’s gaze. “No,” he mumbles, finally managing to get a word out. Didn’t hurt. It was something else.

Tanjirou lets out a sheepish laugh, running a hand through his hair. “A-Anyway, Zenitsu was telling me earlier that…”

Inosuke doesn’t hear the rest of his sentence; he stops listening when Tanjirou’s face morphs into his trademark smile.

Maybe Tanjirou had cut him deeper than he originally thought: there’s a disconnect between his brain and his body. The signals must be misfiring because, looking at Tanjirou, he suddenly can’t speak.

The redhead is still chattering away, unperturbed that Inosuke hasn’t responded. When their eyes meet through the mask, the only thing Inosuke sees is Tanjirou’s anxious expression as he examines Inosuke’s wound. The heat of his hands on Inosuke’s skin, his thumb tracing soft paths along his forearm. He feels it as though it’s happening again. The dizzying effect of Tanjirou’s fingers in his hair. The words that were uttered low enough that they could have been carried away by the wind if Inosuke hadn’t caught them.

His chest hurts.

You are strong.

Something is squeezing him, constricting his throat until he’s struggling to take a breath. He opens his mouth, willing something to come out, but Tanjirou’s voice finally registers.

“—suke? Are you okay?”

“Fine!” manages Inosuke, sounding strained.

Tanjirou’s brows are knitted into a frown, and he cocks his head at Inosuke, scrutinizing him. Inosuke is almost positive that Tanjirou can see right through him — his eyes are an endless river, engulfing Inosuke in their waters. Then Tanjirou reaches out to him, his hand going for Inosuke’s shoulder, and he snaps. He’s dashing off before Tanjirou can get a word out.

His thoughts race as he runs. Nothing like this has ever plagued him before. Not that Inosuke can remember. Maybe something is seriously wrong. 

Wait. Inosuke pauses, thinking. Something like this has plagued him before.  A blurry memory; a feeling. It lies at the edges of his consciousness, but it’s there.

He grins, a weight lifting off his chest, releasing his throat from its bruising grip. Almost on instinct, Inosuke turns to run back to the Wisteria House, already searching for Tanjirou so he can share his discovery. Then he stops, the rushing of thoughts and feelings returning tenfold.

Inosuke can’t bear the thought of facing Tanjirou again, not while he’s dealing with whatever this is, but he needs to talk to someone — to get all this off his chest. Normally, that person would be Tanjirou, but considering that Tanjirou is part of the problem, Inosuke would have to go to someone else. 

Most of the time, Inosuke talks to Tanjirou about things he wouldn’t tell other people. Not even Zenitsu. Tanjirou’s gentle voice and warm, encouraging smile make Inosuke’s insides flutter. It makes him feel like he can say anything. He’s safe when he talks to Tanjirou. But now, something has changed. Instead of spilling all of his thoughts in a bout of vulnerability, Inosuke finds himself unable to speak when Tanjirou looks at him. Maybe Zenitsu can tell him something about that.

It’s time to pay him another visit.

.oOo.

“Pig Assault!” Inosuke bellows, barreling through the door to Zenitsu’s room.

Said boy shrieks in terror as the door bangs open and Inosuke leaps onto the bed. His face goes blank for a second as his soul seemingly returns to his body.

Inosuke snorts, crossing his arms with an air of accomplishment. “I think I finally figured it out.”

Zenitsu frowns at him, straightening out the blankets from where Inosuke had disturbed them. “Figured what out? Is this about the whole ‘poison’ thing? Because I heard you mumbling to yourself earlier while the lovely ladies wheeled me around outside.”

“No! Well, yeah, kind of. But not really!” 

Zenitsu sighs, shakily pushing himself into a sitting position while being careful not to disrupt his injuries. “So, what is it then?”

Inosuke grins, proudly placing both hands on his hips. “I’m allergic.”

“To what?”

“To Tanjirou.” Duh. What else?

Even though the answer is completely obvious, Zenitsu still looks skeptical. “Do you even know what that means?”

He’s demeaning him! He is! What right does he have to talk to his boss like that? After Inosuke had spent so much time with him to make sure he was recovering properly? How rude. Inosuke could punch him. Would punch him. But only when he’s well again.

“Of course, I do!” Inosuke huffs, glaring at the crease between Zenitsu’s brows. “One time, I ate this weird nut I found on the ground, and it made my face all red, and my skin got super itchy. It was kind of hard to breathe, too. I was really small, but I remember being told that I was allergic and shouldn’t eat them anymore.” He points an accusing finger at Zenitsu. “The same thing happens when Tanjirou’s around, so it must be the same!”

Now that he thinks about it, Tanjirou’s presence has been making him feel funny for a while. He has never had such a visceral reaction before today, though. The ghost of Tanjirou’s fingers haunts him — Inosuke shivers at the phantom feeling. It must get worse when Tanjirou touches him for a long time. Just like the nuts.

Grounding himself, Inosuke focuses back on Zenitsu. The blond’s mouth hangs open in quiet surprise. “Oh,” he breathes. “That’s… interesting.”

Inosuke snorts, “Hmph, not really. It’s just annoying. Staying away from nuts is already hard enough.” He pauses, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. “Does that mean I have to stay away from Tanjirou too?” That thought leaves him feeling cold and empty, and he wrings his fingers together, focusing on the pressure instead of the churning in his belly.

Zenitsu flounders to correct him. “No! It’s different when you’re allergic to a person!”

As quickly as that unpleasant ache had flooded him, it dissipates. Inosuke can’t fight back the shaky exhale that leaves him.

“This is something that you can fight off on your own,” Zenitsu continues, a strange glint in his eyes, “but only if you’re strong enough to face him.” 

Inosuke scoffs, “Of course, I am. Nothing can beat me! Not even stupid allergies.”

“I like that enthusiasm.” Zenitsu sends him a weak thumbs-up, the movement evoking a wince when he rotates his shoulder too fast.

“So,” Inosuke starts, shifting into a cross-legged position at the end of the bed, “how do I fix it?”

“Well…” Zenitsu says thoughtfully, taking his time to ponder the question. “You should spend more time with him. Build up a tolerance and whatnot.”

Inosuke mulls it over. A tolerance? Like building his strength?

“Yeah, exactly like that,” Zenitsu says.

Inosuke startles: he’s sure he didn’t say that out loud. Sometimes it feels like Zenitsu’s hearing is a little more than just excellent. 

Zenitsu doesn’t seem to think anything of it, however, because he keeps talking. “It’ll take some time, but if you’re half as strong as you’re convinced you are, then I’m sure you can do it.”

As much as Inosuke hates to admit it, Zenitsu has good ideas on occasion. And it seems like this is one of those occasions. What he said isn’t impossible. He can spend time with Tanjirou — he does that every day! Tanjirou is his favorite, after all.

“Ha ha ha!” Inosuke laughs, springing up from the bed. “Great advice, Tonkatsu! I’m gonna show these dumb allergies who’s boss!”

And with that, he sprints out of the room, his mind whirring with ideas.

Watch out, Tanjirou. Here I come.

Chapter Text

Inosuke doesn’t talk to Tanjirou for the remainder of the afternoon. Not because he’s scared or anything; it’s just that he’s still figuring out how to go about this ‘allergies’ thing. When Zenitsu had confirmed his suspicions, Inosuke had felt like he could take on the world.

That only lasted for a few minutes.

His original plan was to drag Tanjirou to the training grounds again and force him into another sparring match, but as soon as he felt the familiar pull in his stomach that meant Tanjirou was just around the corner, Inosuke booked it in the other direction, mentally punching himself with every step he took.

He hates how weak he is when it comes to this. Allergies are just another enemy he has to overcome, so why does he feel this way? No, Inosuke steels himself. He can do this. Fuck his fight or flight response; he won’t back down.

A plan begins formulating in his mind, and Inosuke spends a few minutes psyching himself up.

When dinnertime finally rolls around, Inosuke bursts into Zenitsu’s room, startling the two boys and one demon inside. Zenitsu is sitting upright in bed — barely — and Tanjirou is sitting cross-legged on the floor, chopsticks frozen halfway to his mouth. Nezuko lets out a small “eep!” and scurries behind Tanjirou’s back. Inosuke sticks his tongue out at her when she peeks at him over Tanjirou’s shoulder.

Tanjirou doesn’t bother to reprimand him; he just sighs and ushers Nezuko back to her spot across from him. She settles down against the bedpost nearest to Zenitsu’s head.

“He finally arrives.” Zenitsu rolls his eyes, righting the empty teacup he had knocked over with the force of his shriek when Inosuke had broken in.

Inosuke crosses his arms. “I get here when I want to. It’s none of your business, Monitsu.”

A soft giggle emanates from below him, and Inosuke shifts his gaze to the boy on the floor — the one he had come here for.

The moment Inosuke locks eyes with Tanjirou, the same fluttery feeling washes over him, and Inosuke forcefully wills away the urge to walk right back through the doorway. Instead, he stomps into the room, mouth clamped shut, and plops down next to Tanjirou.

Tanjirou doesn’t say anything either, the bastard, but his eyes don’t belie his surprise, although he doesn’t move away. On the contrary, he reaches over Inosuke’s leg to pull the tray of food closer to them. The sleeve of his haori trails over Inosuke’s bare thigh as he leans into Inosuke’s personal space. Inosuke wonders if Tanjirou can hear his heart beating a mile a minute because he sure can.

It’s only because Inosuke is determined to see this through that he doesn’t move away. He lets Tanjirou hand him a pair of chopsticks, their fingers brushing as Tanjirou reaches out to him.

Inosuke snatches the utensils from Tanjirou’s open palm like he’s been scorched and stares angrily into the bowl the other boy places in front of him. 

Zenitsu and Tanjirou make small talk during their meal, but Inosuke can’t focus enough to join the conversation: not with Tanjirou’s knee pressed against his leg and his laughter chiming in his ear.

Inosuke doesn’t even have to look up to know that Nezuko’s eyes are searing holes through his skull. After a few tense moments, however, Inosuke raises his head out of sheer curiosity but just as quickly drops it when he spots the fiercely protective glare she’s shooting between himself and her brother. It makes him feel awkward in a way he can’t explain.

Time passes, but Inosuke’s face is still burning, no matter how much food he stuffs into his mouth to avoid thinking about it. He wants to glance up, to know what Tanjirou’s face looks like now, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The thick feeling in his throat intensifies when Tanjirou places a hand on his back — steadying himself as he reaches across Inosuke’s lap again.

Unwelcome snippets of the event Inosuke has dubbed ‘The Bandaging Incident’ flash through his mind again. He tries to push them down, but the memories bubble to the surface, slipping through the cracks of his clasped hands like air escaping underwater.

Tanjirou’s hand is on my knee.

“What’s wrong?” Tanjirou asks.

Everything. Everything is wrong.

Inosuke lets out an ear-splitting screech, smacks his forehead into Tanjirou’s available shoulder, and stands abruptly. The other boy’s hand falls away.

Nope. He’s done. Inosuke ignores the questions raised behind him as he swaggers out of the room. Listen, he doesn’t run away. Only cowards do that. He made an undeniably cool exit. No, he’s not exaggerating to make himself feel better. That’s ridiculous.

Well, that didn’t work, obviously. Maybe he hadn’t taken the right approach. But one failed attempt won’t stop him. He’s Lord Inosuke!

Now, to come up with something better…

.oOo.

That night, Inosuke sets his new plan into motion. After the sun goes down and Tanjirou tucks Nezuko into her weird little cage, Inosuke approaches him. 

Tanjirou is dressed in purple nightclothes, and his checkered haori is folded neatly beside his futon. The air is quiet as Tanjirou slips into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. The moonlight illuminates the room enough that Inosuke can faintly make out his chest rising and falling with every breath.

Inosuke shifts in his bed, turning on his side to peek at Tanjirou. He’s no longer moving, and his breathing has evened out. “Tanjirou?” Inosuke whispers.

“Hmm?” comes the response. “What is it?”

Inosuke remains silent in lieu of voicing his thoughts when Tanjirou opens his eyes, instead waiting for his reply. Slowly, he sits up and gets out of bed. Surely this would cure his allergies once and for all. Trying to make the least noise possible, Inosuke drags his futon across the floor until the edges overlap with Tanjirou’s. He lies down and wordlessly snatches part of Tanjirou’s blanket from him.

“I-Inosuke?” Tanjirou stutters, eyes wide. 

His words tickle Inosuke’s skin as he exhales. Their faces are barely a foot apart, and Inosuke is struggling. Even though Tanjirou is oblivious to his master plan, he doesn’t push Inosuke away. The longer he looks at him, the warmer the blankets get. Or is that just him? Inosuke has no way of knowing.

Tanjirou is quiet for a moment, and Inosuke squints at him. The other boy hasn’t averted his eyes, but there is a faint pinkness to his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

The longer they lie there, the more restless Inosuke feels. After what seems like forever, Inosuke finally responds. “Shut up, Monjirou. I’m sleeping here tonight.”

Then Tanjirou giggles, and Inosuke can breathe again. “Are you cold?” He reaches over Inosuke’s shoulder to drag the other blanket over Inosuke, rolling him up until he looks more like a piece of sushi than a fearsome warrior.

Inosuke glares at him, jerking his head in an attempt to get the hair out of his mouth. Tanjirou laughs again, reaching over to brush the hair out of his face. Although the room is dark, Inosuke could swear that Tanjirou’s eyes were sparkling. Inosuke’s breath sputters like a dying flame.

Tanjirou doesn’t pull his hand back when he’s done; instead, he pats Inosuke on the head like he does whenever Inosuke completes whatever small task Tanjirou has recruited him for. Inosuke wonders if Tanjirou can feel his heartbeat shaking the blankets like a goddamn earthquake.

Their gazes remain locked, and the room is silent. The longer Tanjirou’s hand stays buried in Inosuke’s hair, the warmer he feels. When Tanjirou sends him a smile — one that barely quirks up the corners of his mouth — that same feeling settles into his stomach: insects burrowing through a rotten log.

This isn’t working. Inosuke snorts and gives Tanjirou a sharp kick to the shin. Ignoring Tanjirou’s surprised squeak, he untangles himself from the blanket and turns his back to the boy beside him, willing the burning to fade into simple comfortability.

That morning, Inosuke wakes to Tanjirou’s arm draped over his torso, and he nearly pushes him off in surprise. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and thinks. Tanjirou’s chest is pressed against Inosuke’s back, and it’s not that bad. It’s still warm, but not uncomfortably so. Inosuke’s eyelids are getting heavier, and he lets them flutter shut again.

He sighs, sinking deeper into Tanjirou’s hold. This can be dealt with later.

.oOo.

The next time Inosuke wakes up, he’s cold again. Sniffing, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and pushes himself into a sitting position. Mid-morning sunlight streams through the cracks in the curtains, casting stripes of gold on the tatami.

Even though it has just been one night, Inosuke has forgotten what it feels like to wake up alone. He decides that he doesn’t like it.

When evening falls again, Inosuke disposes of his bedding in the corner of the room and sits down on Tanjirou’s futon. 

The redhead looks at him quizzically from the doorway. 

“Goodnight,” Inosuke grunts, throwing himself down on the blankets.

“Is there something wrong with your bed?” Tanjirou asks, approaching him slowly.

Doesn’t he get it?

“No.” Inosuke pulls the blankets up to his chin, turning to face the wall so he can’t see whatever ridiculous expression Tanjirou is making right now.

But then the blankets shift, and Tanjirou is lying next to him. “I’ll stay here if you want. You don’t have to ask.”

The hair on the back of Inosuke’s neck prickles as Tanjirou whispers the words into his ear. A minor shiver runs through him, though he’s anything but cold. Inosuke only offers a huff in response, which Tanjirou takes as a formal agreement. 

It doesn’t take long for Tanjirou to fall asleep — his breath warm and even on Inosuke’s skin — but Inosuke lies there for what feels like hours before he drifts off. The now-familiar burning sensation refuses to leave him, intensifying every time Tanjirou squeezes him to his chest and buries his face into Inosuke’s hair. No way is he going to give up, though. He’s not a quitter. So, he holds Tanjirou back, trapping the arm Tanjirou was resting on Inosuke’s side between his hand and his stomach. Inosuke covers Tanjirou’s hand with his own, his fingers slotting into the gaps between Tanjirou’s. His hands are kind of pretty.

Ugh. Inosuke scrunches up his nose. His face is getting warm again, and his whole body is hot and tingly. He wants to squirm, but that would rouse the sleeping boy in his arms.

Tanjirou huffs in his sleep, tightening his hold on Inosuke’s waist and burying his head deeper into the crook of Inosuke’s neck. Inosuke is struck by the sudden urge to pat Tanjirou’s head, which he does gently, and the other boy sighs in contentment. Inosuke finds himself smiling shyly, a feather-light feeling in his chest.  

But then his smile drops. This isn’t supposed to happen. The thing is, Inosuke might not hate them anymore — his allergies. In fact, he’s starting to enjoy them. Taking a deep breath, Inosuke closes his eyes again, trying to will away the confusing mix of emotions swirling in his stomach. Either way, Zenitsu will get an earful in the morning; his advice sucks ass.

.oOo.

“Your advice sucks ass!” Inosuke blurts out, pointing an accusatory finger at Zenitsu.

“It doesn’t suck!” Zenitsu throws back after he overcomes his initial shock. “You’re just not trying hard enough!”

Inosuke wants to screech. Instead, he kicks Zenitsu’s bedpost, eliciting a yelp from the injured party. “I am trying! It’s just not working!”

Zenitsu sighs, massaging his temples with his thumbs. “Listen, Inosuke. This isn’t something that’ll go away in a few days. You need to keep trying.”

“But—!”

“Uh uh uh!” Zenitsu waggles a finger at him, stopping Inosuke from explaining his very real issue. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been trying so far, and then we can decide what to do next.”

Inosuke considers this. It doesn’t seem like the worst idea. A good boss should ensure that his underlings are heard. He can comply just this once.

“Fine,” Inosuke spits out, climbing onto the bed and shifting into a cross-legged position. Zenitsu looks at him expectantly as Inosuke figures out where to start.

“Two days ago, I sat next to him during dinner, but my face got hot and tingly whenever he touched me or even smiled at me!”

“Mhmm,” Zenitsu drawls, stroking his chin as he nods. “Go on.”

“And then when that didn’t work, I tried sleeping next to him, but that made everything worse than before!” He emphasizes his point by slamming his fist into the mattress. “So I thought I would just have to tough it out and try it again, but I can’t!”

“Why not?” asks Zenitsu.

Why doesn’t he get it? “Because! Because it’s not helping!” Inosuke cries. It’s so frustrating! He’s trying. He really is. Why doesn’t anything work?

“I see…”

Inosuke folds into himself, speaking to his lap. “I just want it to stop.” He wrings his hands together. “I hate feeling like this! I want to play with him again without these stupid side effects!”

“If you want it to stop so badly, just stay away from him.”

“No! I don’t—!”

Zenitsu cuts in. “Exactly.” Looking Inosuke right in the eyes, he says, “So it happens when he touches you or smiles at you, right?”

Inosuke nods.

“Okay, then maybe you should keep doing things that make him respond like that.”

“But I tried that already!” Inosuke whines, tugging on the bottom of his mask. The familiar texture of the fur grounds him, and he takes a shaky breath to steady himself.

“Like I said before,” Zenitsu continues, “it hasn’t been that long. Keep sleeping with him or something.” He shrugs.

Inosuke is silent for a moment. Keep sleeping with him. He can do that. Even though it makes him feverish and throws his heart rate through the roof, he can do it. Besides, it’s warm in Tanjirou’s bed, and warmth is something he doesn’t take for granted. He was lucky enough to have his boar family to keep him warm as a kid, and then that old man when he found Inosuke by chance, but the mountains aren’t a place where shelter abounds. Inosuke has spent more than a few nights in the cold.

“No problem!” Inosuke shouts, jumping up from the bed. “I can do that!”

Then he’s out the door, running down the hallway to plan his next move.

“Good luck!” Zenitsu calls after him.

Luck? Lord Inosuke doesn’t need luck. He has all the skills in the world.

.oOo.

Things have not gotten better. Inosuke has been sleeping next to Tanjirou for a week now — a week — and nothing has changed. Well, not really. Every time he climbs into Tanjirou’s bed, the aforementioned boy gives him a weird look that Inosuke can’t decipher. It's not bad, at least he doesn’t think so, but it’s different. He hates that he can’t figure out what Tanjirou is thinking when he wraps Inosuke in his covers and pats his head before drifting off for the night.

A jolt of heat spreads over Inosuke’s cheeks at that thought, and he scuffs his toe in the dirt with a frustrated snort. It’s not like he hates sleeping next to Tanjirou; it’s just that it reminds him of how little progress he’s making. Now he can lie next to the other boy without feeling like he’s about to combust, but as soon as Tanjirou pulls him close, it’s the same thing all over again.

If that issue isn’t improving, Inosuke can work on something else. Zenitsu’s advice echoes in his mind: It happens when he touches you or smiles at you, right? Then maybe you should keep doing things that make him respond like that.

Right. He can do that. But Tanjirou is constantly smiling; how is he supposed to get him to do it on purpose? Inosuke plucks a blade of grass from the earth, pulling out the little strings from the middle and flicking them over his shoulder. He’ll think of something. For now, however, he’ll keep training: the dirt is just slippery enough to give him a challenge.

.oOo.

“Tanjirou! Did you do this?” A woman’s voice calls from somewhere down the hallway.

Inosuke stops in his tracks and peeks behind him.

Tanjirou is standing in the middle of the hall, looking sheepish, as one of the head staff members fumes at him. He bows deeply. “My apologies, ma’am. I’ll take care of it right away.”

“Hmph!” she huffs, handing him a mop and a bucket. “You’d better. We can’t have anyone slipping because of your ignorance.”

The woman turns on her heel and stalks off, leaving Tanjirou to dip the mop into the bucket and start wiping the floor on his own.

That’s when Inosuke looks down. Streaks of footprint-shaped mud stain the floor in a trail leading from the door Inosuke had just entered. 

It’s not Tanjirou’s fault that the ground was wet! It wasn’t Inosuke’s fault either! He looks down at his own feet — the bottoms of his sandals are caked with dirt from the time he spent playing outside. Okay, maybe it was his fault that he didn’t put on house slippers, but those things are stupid! Why do you even need shoes inside if you’re just going to go outside later? Floor is floor. It’s not like people go around licking the ground all the time.

But then Tanjirou sighs from the other end of the hall, and a weird heaviness settles in Inosuke’s stomach. Nobody should ever yell at Tanjirou — good people don’t get yelled at.

Inosuke kicks off his muddy shoes, leaving them bottoms up near the wall so he doesn’t track any more dirt through the house, and jogs over to Tanjirou.

He’s sure that Tanjirou knew he was there because he doesn’t flinch when Inosuke comes barreling toward him. “Monjirou,” says Inosuke, rocking on his bare toes, “give me that.”

“Wha—?” Tanjirou starts.

Inosuke stretches out his hand, gesturing at the damp mop. “The wet stick! The mop!”

“Oh, this?” Tanjirou glances down at the handle of the mop that he still isn’t giving to Inosuke. “I’m just cleaning up for the staff. They’ve been busy lately. But Inosuke, you should try to change your shoes before you come inside; it tracks mud everywhere.”

A pang of guilt hits him, twisting his belly into uncomfortable little knots. Since Tanjirou hasn’t offered him the mop, Inosuke snatches it from him and shoves it into the bucket of soapy water. Some of the liquid sloshes over the rim and spills onto the floor.

“I’ll do it!” he insists, nudging Tanjirou out of the way with one of his shoulders. Tanjirou looks like he’s about to protest, but Inosuke kicks him lightly in the ankle, and he goes still.

“I ca— ouch!” Tanjirou squeaks, jumping back in surprise.

Inosuke only glares at him, gripping the mop so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“Umm, okay?” Tanjirou asks more than says, confusion evident in his eyes.

Inosuke ignores the faint flush rising in his cheeks and stares pointedly at the floor. Now… how does he do this? 

The water is for the stick, right? Inosuke dips the end of the mop into the bucket and then pulls it out again, slapping it onto the floor. Yep, that’s a lot of water; the mud is already starting to get washed away. Inosuke grins. He’s good at this!

After swiping the mop across the floor a few times, he looks up at Tanjirou, who’s watching in amusement.

“Inosuke,” he laughs. “You have to wring out the water before you start mopping. Otherwise, it’ll ruin the wood.” Tiptoeing around the puddle of soap and water, Tanjirou approaches Inosuke and takes the mop from his hands to get rid of some extra water.

Inosuke doesn’t see the point. The soap is cleaning it, so doesn’t more soap mean more clean? Whatever, not everything has to make sense.

“Here,” Tanjirou says, handing the mop back to Inosuke, who instinctively holds out his hands to accept it.

Inosuke huffs a thank you and goes back to mopping. He can feel Tanjirou’s eyes on him as he wipes the remaining mud from the floor. Even though he may have gotten Tanjirou in trouble, this is a perfect opportunity to build up his Tanjirou tolerance. He can already imagine Tanjirou’s pleasant countenance and kind smile as he praises Inosuke for doing a great job. 

Inosuke’s lips quirk upward with that thought, and his breath quickens in anticipation. It makes him giddy just thinking about it. He already knows he’s the best, but when Tanjirou says it, everything he could have told himself pales in comparison.

Wait. Inosuke stops mopping for a split second. He’s supposed to be fighting these allergies, not embracing them. A wave of frustration comes over him, and he shoves the mop back into the bucket, barely remembering to squeeze out the excess water before slapping it onto the floor.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” Tanjirou asks, reaching out like he wants to take the mop back again.

Inosuke clutches it to his chest like it’s one of his most prized possessions. “No! I’m the best at mopping! Just stay over there.” He gives a dismissive wave to the nearest wall. “That stupid lady shouldn’t have yelled at you. She’s not your boss,” he grumbles, wiping up the last of the mud from the hardwood.

Tanjirou sighs, but he’s still smiling. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she has a lot to take care of and just doesn’t want anyone getting hurt.”

Inosuke huffs, dropping the mop back into the bucket and crossing his arms. “There. Done.”

Tanjirou’s eyes are sparklier than Inosuke remembers them being, and they’re doing that crinkly thing they do when Tanjirou’s happy. His heart flutters in his chest the longer Tanjirou looks at him.

“Thank you for helping.” Tanjirou reaches out to him, and Inosuke closes his eyes in anticipation. “You are the best at mopping.” Then his hand is in Inosuke’s hair, gently patting him atop the head. “But next time, change your shoes, or you’re asking for punishment,” Tanjirou says, half-joking.

“Uhh,” Inosuke splutters, limbs feeling weak, “I know!” 

Tanjirou laughs again, and Inosuke can’t take it anymore. The praise rings in his mind, filling him with pride, but then he remembers that he’s not supposed to like it. Flustered, he rams his head into Tanjirou’s stomach and runs off in the other direction. He nearly trips over the mop bucket, his foot catching on the rim and spilling its contents all over the freshly-cleaned wood.

“Inosuke!” Tanjirou calls after him with a wheeze. “I actually wanted to ask you something…” His voice trails off, and he sighs, reaching for the mop that had clattered to the floor with the upturning of the bucket.

Tanjirou’s tone is more nervous than exasperated, and it makes Inosuke pause.  Inosuke bites his lip and slowly turns around.

“About these last few nights…” Tanjirou continues when Inosuke meets his gaze. 

Inosuke’s stomach plummets. Has he found out? Does he know about Inosuke’s weakness? Even worse, will he force Inosuke back into his own bed? That can’t happen; sharing a bed with Tanjirou is the only tactic that has put any sort of dent in Inosuke’s allergies.

“I like your bed more than mine.” The words tumble out of Inosuke’s mouth before he can stop them.

Tanjirou gives him an inquisitive look, but his eyes keep flitting away from Inosuke’s the longer the silence stretches.

 A sudden wave of embarrassment crashes over Inosuke, although he can’t explain why. “Whatever, Gengorou,” he hurries to follow up. “I’m gonna… I’m leaving.”

When the sound of water sloshing in the bucket resumes, Inosuke almost turns back to help, but he doesn’t think he can be around Tanjirou for another second before he says something stupid. He’s not sure what that something is, but he can feel the unknown words bubbling up in his throat, and he’s not going to wait to find out. 

Inosuke doesn’t look back until he rounds the corner. Tanjirou’s aura is strong around him, and he knows he’s still cleaning up the second mess that Inosuke had made that day. A sick feeling of guilt settles in Inosuke’s stomach. He was supposed to help Tanjirou, not create more work for him.

It’s fine, he assures himself. Inosuke will find something else to do, and this time he’ll make Tanjirou proud. He’s sure of it.

Chapter Text

Nearly five weeks after the accident that left Zenitsu bedridden, he finally takes his first steps out of bed. He has Tanjirou’s sleeve in a death grip as he wobbles to the door. His legs are trembling like a newborn fawn’s. Of course, he’s stuck with these little walking sticks the staff call crutches, but he’s allowed to spend a few hours out and about. He still tires easily, so he doesn’t stay out for long. Inosuke teases him for his weakness, but he’s always watching Zenitsu from the corner of his eye, ensuring he doesn’t topple over like the weakling he is.

During Zenitsu's allotted active hours, he can usually be found in the gardens admiring the flowers. Sometimes Tanjirou will walk slowly alongside him, engaging him in soft, genial conversation, always smiling. Although Zenitsu is usually the loud type, he listens to Tanjirou quietly, occasionally adding a comment here and there.

Other times, Inosuke will tail Zenitsu as he finds a place to sit outside. At these times, Inosuke talks enough for both of them, so Zenitsu doesn’t have to respond if he doesn’t want to. Even though his concussion is healing, the bright sunlight combined with loud voices must hurt his head. Inosuke sees how he flinches every time he steps outside. So, he tries to be quieter, lowering his voice but continuing the stream of words. A little pain is better than being lonely.

At least he’s healing, however slowly it may be. They haven’t been sent out on a mission since the one that brought them here. Their crows have been unusually quiet lately. Inosuke would have thought the Demon Slayer Corp would at least have some sort of minor demon to take care of, but the trio hasn’t been called to action. Inosuke is itching to fight something. He’s growing tired of just sparring, although Tanjirou is an excellent demon substitute. 

Maybe they’re waiting until Zenitsu is fully healed to utilize their skills again. Now that he thinks about it, the three of them haven’t been sent on separate missions since they joined the Corp. Inosuke is used to fending for himself, but having people to rely on has its benefits. For one, he knows someone is always watching his back, even if he doesn’t need it — he’s the strongest, okay? But still, he guesses it’s nice knowing that there are people ready to protect him if he’s in trouble.

Either way, if Zenitsu doesn’t hurry up and stick his bones back together, Inosuke might just smack Zenitsu’s head against a tree until he forgets about his injuries, and they can leave. It’s not like Inosuke’s actually trapped here, but where would he go if he just up and left? The thought of abandoning Tanjirou and Zenitsu is more bitter than the thought of sitting here for a few more weeks.

So, Inosuke spends his days training and keeping his friends company. In the evenings, when Zenitsu is again banished to bed, Inosuke visits him. Zenitsu’s advice hasn’t changed at all. He just urges Inosuke to try harder. It’s starting to get frustrating.

He’s spending practically all his time with Tanjirou, yet the allergies haven’t relented. He’s still overcome by all the same aches and pains every time Tanjirou touches him. And the worst part? He doesn’t hate the way he feels when Tanjirou praises him. He’s happy when Tanjirou is happy. If getting rid of his allergies means getting rid of that feeling, Inosuke isn’t sure he wants to anymore.

.oOo.

Over the next week, a new influx of injured demon slayers enters the Wisteria House. They’re all in different states of disarray; some have limbs mangled beyond repair, while others have fallen into comas and have to be transported to the sickbay by stretcher, and still, others come through looking more or less okay. It’s enough to push the staff to their limits. Inosuke can barely find enough room to run around with all the people bustling through the hallways. The increasing number of inpatients has thrown everyone into a frenzy.

Since Tanjirou and Inosuke have already recovered, Tanjirou has been feeling guilty for imposing when the hag and the other people in charge have more pressing matters to attend to. So, instead of moping around, Tanjirou insists that they help out. Inosuke will grumble about it, but he’ll still begrudgingly follow Tanjirou while only voicing the occasional complaint.

Due to Tanjirou’s selfless nature, he can’t say no to someone in need, so he ends up being dragged all over the place with barely a minute to acknowledge Inosuke. It’s getting annoying. Inosuke can count the number of times he’s interacted with Tanjirou within the last seven days on one hand. The only time he gets to see him when he’s not working is right before they go to bed, and oftentimes, Tanjirou is too tired to say anything; he just leaves an open space next to him and waits until Inosuke settles down before drifting off.

Inosuke is tired of Tanjirou being tired. He stretches himself too thin. Even the mighty need to rest. That’s why Inosuke has decided to take on one of Tanjirou’s frequent tasks: cooking. He has watched Tanjirou do it enough times that he’s sure he can manage. How hard can a bit of rice be?

“Everybody out!” Inosuke commands to the half-empty kitchen. Two women look up from the stove where a pot of rice is cooking, and a young man startles and glances up, wrist-deep in soapy water.

Nobody is moving — they’re just sending weird looks to each other. What? Are they underestimating him?

Inosuke snorts. “Tanjirou sent me.”

The staff still doesn’t move. What would Tanjirou say?

“Uhh…” Inosuke stalls, thinking. Tanjirou’s kind words echo in his head. “You’ve worked hard today, so we’re taking over.”

They relax and begin gathering their things and washing their hands. “Well, if Tanjirou’s cooking, I’ll leave it to him,” one of the women says under her breath. When they’re done, they give Inosuke a polite bow before heading for the door. 

The man smiles at him. “Thank you for your help.”

Inosuke scoffs, “I don’t need to be thanked.” It’s not for you anyway. A rush of pride flows through him despite his words, but it fades in a matter of seconds.

The man nods sheepishly and ducks out of the room.

Now — Inosuke scrutinizes the kitchen — where to start? He gingerly lifts the pot lid, leaning away when the steam hits him in the face, and pokes the rice with a nearby wooden spoon when it dies down. It’s still hard. Maybe he should leave it for a bit.

While he waits, Inosuke starts pulling out dishware and scattering them all over the table. He can’t remember how many people are here right now, but it’s not like this will feed all of them anyway, so it doesn’t matter. He’s going to need more rice.

After digging around in the cupboard for a few minutes, Inosuke drags a sack of rice into the middle of the room and slaps the other rice cooker onto the stove. Luckily, the logs used to heat the first pot haven’t disintegrated enough to be unusable, so Inosuke can spread the fire to the other half of the stove with no trouble.

Heaving the bag of rice onto his shoulder, Inosuke dumps some of it into the empty pot. It looks kind of dry. The other rice doesn’t need that much water; he can take some of it. After successfully transferring water from one pot to the other, Inosuke steps back and surveys his handiwork. Perfect. Now all he has to do is wait.

.oOo.

Inosuke is midway through forming a misshapen rice ball when someone lets out a panicked shriek.

“Inosuke! What are you doing?”

He could recognize that voice anywhere. Tanjirou? Inosuke turns, hands plastered with stubborn grains of rice and eyebrows knitted in bewilderment.

He doesn’t say anything as Tanjirou rushes past him, grabs a nearby cloth, and yanks the remaining pot off the stove. Black smoke curls into the air and dissipates as it reaches the ceiling.

Then Inosuke snaps out of his confused stupor. “Hey!” he protests, reaching out for the pot. “Put that back, Kentarou!”

But Tanjirou puts himself between Inosuke and the still-smoking rice cooker, preventing the aforementioned boy from continuing his adventures in cooking. “You almost started a fire,” Tanjirou reprimands, voice stern. “If you were hungry, just ask. You can’t go putting others’ lives in danger. Or your own!” Tanjirou wrings his fingers together as he speaks, and Inosuke feels like doing the same. 

This isn’t supposed to happen. Tanjirou is supposed to smile and pat him on the head, telling him how great he is. This isn’t part of the plan.

If it were anyone else, even Zenitsu, Inosuke wouldn’t hesitate to yell back — to match the offender’s tone with a vehemence of his own — but this is Tanjirou, and Inosuke finds himself shrinking back, curling into himself despite how his mind berates him. What kind of underling scolds their boss? it says. Tell him. 

But he can’t tell him: not when Tanjirou looks so… angry. No, not even angry. Disappointed? Scared? So he just stands there, fingers curling and uncurling. The sticky rice squeezes through the gaps in Inosuke’s fingers like a handful of half-dried mud. “I was just trying…” His voice is weaker than he intended, and he can’t finish the sentence. Instead, he frowns, looking at anything but the redhead.

Finally, Tanjirou’s visage softens, and the invisible hand clenched around Inosuke’s heart relinquishes him from its vice grip. “I’m sorry,” Tanjirou sighs, carding a shaky hand through his hair. “You just scared me. I didn’t want you to get hurt, and I lost my temper.”

Inosuke shrugs, setting the blackened, vaguely triangular onigiri he was still holding onto a nearby platter. “S’fine,” he mumbles.

He can finally breathe again. He hates how Tanjirou can do this to him. A few months ago, he had no qualms starting a shouting match with the boy in front of him. Tanjirou would get frustrated with Inosuke’s recklessness and lack of awareness of his surroundings and society and would loudly express his annoyance. Inosuke couldn’t bear how stupid Tanjirou was for keeping his demon sister around and would yell right back. They didn’t click then, but now it’s different. A watered-down version of the voice Tanjirou used to use with him is all it took to tear through his defenses. It’s endlessly infuriating. He had no idea the effects of his allergies could go this far.

Inosuke takes a deep breath. Right, he should still be executing his plan. This is just a minor hitch. “Don’t worry, Kamaboko Gonpachirou!” he starts, filling his voice with false bravado. “I’m going to finish these rice balls so the patients can eat. The Great Inosuke can handle it.”

Tanjirou’s eyes widen marginally, and then a hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “So you were trying to help?”

“Yep! You can go sit down now.” Inosuke points at the empty chair in the corner of the kitchen.

When he reaches for the rice again, Tanjirou rushes to catch his arm. “Let me help you!”

Inosuke doesn’t want to be helped. He wants Tanjirou to rest.

“Please?” Tanjirou asks, and Inosuke’s skin starts to tingle where Tanjirou’s fingers hold him still. “I’m sure you can figure it out on your own, but it’s more fun to have a friend with you. Isn’t it?”

Inosuke nods; the twitchy feeling in his hands makes it hard to concentrate on anything. 

Tanjirou visibly relaxes, letting go of Inosuke’s arm and turning to the stove to scrap the remaining rice. Belatedly, Inosuke registers the word “friend,” and, for some reason, it sits heavily in his stomach. He wonders fleetingly if the fried rice he’d eaten earlier had managed to shapeshift into a collection of pebbles that are now rolling around in his belly.

If it would make Tanjirou happy, Inosuke would let him help. It’s another chance to be close to him after all.

Inosuke watches noiselessly as Tanjirou scrapes the burnt rice into the trash and puts the pots in the washbasin. He grabs the dishrag hanging over the side of the tub and rubs a chunk of soap into the fabric. He works quickly, the suds easily removing the ash from the bottom of the pot as he scrubs.

Tanjirou’s hands move back and forth, knuckles white as he grips the rag, and Inosuke’s eyes follow the movement. His fingers are slender but strong, and Inosuke sees his calloused palms when he adjusts the dishrag, alluding to the hours of hard work he pours into mastering the blade. 

Inosuke suddenly itches to touch those hands, to wipe the suds from his palms and lace their fingers together. It’s such a vivid fantasy that Inosuke can practically feel the weight of Tanjirou’s hand in his, and it makes his heart skip a beat.

Instead of giving in to the mind-numbing burning in his cheeks, Inosuke whacks Tanjirou on the back because he needed to do something with his hands that wasn’t holding Tanjirou’s own.

Tanjirou lets out a squeak of surprise and nearly loses the dishrag in the murky water.

“Ha ha ha!” Inosuke laughs, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Good job, Monjirou!”

Getting over his shock quickly, Tanjirou returns the laugh, although his face spells confusion.

Inosuke stays relatively quiet as Tanjirou finishes washing up and starts taking out new ingredients. He only makes a few comments as Tanjirou washes the rice and measures the water before adding both to the rice cookers. He watches in silence as Tanjirou takes the pots off the heat and beckons Inosuke over to him. The only noise in the kitchen for a few moments is the scraping of a wooden spoon against a pot as Inosuke transfers the rice to a tray, spreading it out so it can cool slightly. Honestly, he doesn’t understand this part, but Tanjirou insists that the rice wouldn’t cooperate if it was too hot to handle, so Inosuke concedes.

Still, the waiting is taking too long, and Inosuke is starting to fidget. He tugs at the bottom of his mask — the familiarity of the coarse hairs dampens the storm in his chest for a second.

Tanjirou seems to notice. “Inosuke,” he says, making the boy look up. “Come help me slice the seaweed.”

Inosuke grins, energy rushing through him at the prospect of having anything to do. “No need to ask! Your boss will take care of it!”

Tanjirou’s laugh is sweet like honeysuckle, and he breaks out into a toothy grin that lights up his eyes. Like rubies, Inosuke thinks. Just looking at him, Inosuke swears he could fly.

Then Tanjirou hands him a pair of scissors, hovering by his side as Inosuke inspects the sheet of seaweed on the cutting board. His first attempt goes badly; he barely gets through an inch of the seaweed before the sheet rips, leaving a jagged slice through the remainder.

Inosuke scuffs his foot on the ground and grips the scissors tighter in his fists. “It’s not working!” He exclaims with a huff of frustration.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Tanjirou offers, moving to Inosuke’s left.

Inosuke stiffens as soon as Tanjirou wraps his fingers over Inosuke’s hands, but Tanjirou coaxes his fingers open. “Don’t hold it with two hands. Just use your left. You’ll have more control like that.” Tanjirou gently adjusts Inosuke’s fingers until he’s satisfied with their position. “There you go. Good.”

Inosuke bites back a crazed laugh as the blood rushes to his head. He feels tingly again, but he doesn’t hate it. “Of course, I’m good.” Inosuke settles on this instead of headbutting Tanjirou in the shoulder.

“Now cut it slowly. Open and closed.”

Tanjirou guides Inosuke’s hand as he attempts to cut the first strip. Inosuke hates how shaky his fingers are, but he manages to remove the first slice, holding it up proudly. “Look at that, Tanjirou! I’m the best!” It’s not a very pretty piece — it’s narrower at the bottom than at the top, and one section is hanging on by a thread — but it’s usable.

But then Tanjirou’s lips part softly in surprise, his eyes locked on Inosuke.

Inosuke frowns at him and wiggles the seaweed strip in front of his face. “Tanjirou?”

“You…” Tanjirou whispers. “You said my name.”

“What? No, I didn’t,” Inosuke insists. He’s clamoring to cover for himself, although he can’t explain why.

“You did! You said ‘Tanjirou.’”

“What are you talking about, Kentarou? I don’t know anyone named Tanjirou!” Inosuke isn’t sure why it’s such a big deal to either of them. Why does it feel like a part of himself has been laid bare as soon as Tanjirou’s name escaped his lips? True, he has trouble remembering names, but they’ve known each other long enough that it’s basically a joke by now. Calling him Kentarou, Monjirou, or even Gonpachirou is a habit. Surely Tanjirou knows that.

“Stop that, Inosuke!” Tanjirou whines with an exasperated sigh. “I still have the writing you gave me.”

Oh, right. The paper. Hashibira Inosuke and Kamado Tanjirou.

Inosuke doesn’t know what to say, so he grunts in response, staring at Tanjirou through his boar mask and waiting for him to reply.

“A-And right now. You said it — twice. That was the first time you’ve ever…” Tanjirou looks down at the counter, a shy smile blooming on his lips. “It made me happy.”

It’s amazing that four little words could have such an effect on Inosuke. It’s as if someone had replaced all his organs with stardust. He wonders if he might be glowing. Does Tanjirou not feel it? His insides are buzzing with a thousand comets; each one ricochets off his skin harder than the last. 

Inosuke is ready to soar.

Not for the first time, Inosuke is grateful for the mask that hides his flushed cheeks and manic grin, but judging by Tanjirou’s fondly exasperated expression, Inosuke is sure he can smell the giddiness on him from a mile away.

Tanjirou’s eyes are still boring into the side of his head, and Inosuke snaps back to reality, clearing his throat. “Whatever, Tanjirou. Show me how to make these things now.”

The redhead nods enthusiastically and prompts Inosuke to finish cutting the seaweed before ushering him over to the rice. That stupid starry-eyed look on his face hasn’t faded, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult for Inosuke to meet his gaze.

This shouldn’t be happening. I need to beat this.

Even if he averts his eyes, Inosuke can’t stop the rush of heat that hits him when Tanjirou rests an arm on his shoulder or touches his waist to guide him to another part of the room. It’s the worst when Tanjirou cups his hands around Inosuke’s when he struggles to shape the onigiri properly, giggling when Inosuke insists that he can do it perfectly fine on his own and then proceeds to hold up his crumbling creation.

Zenitsu hobbles in at some point — probably curious as to what his friends were up to if their loud voices didn’t give it away — but as soon as he sees Inosuke and partially prepared food in the same vicinity, he limps right back out.

After about fifteen minutes, a freshly made batch of onigiri sits proudly on a tray. 

Inosuke grins. “Wanna eat now?”

“We should distribute the food first, then we can eat the leftovers,” Tanjirou says, handing a stack of plates to Inosuke and picking up the tray.

Inosuke huffs in annoyance, “But we worked hard on these.”

“Exactly,” Tanjirou replies. “It brightens people’s day when others think of them.”

Hmm. 

“Fine,” Inosuke scoffs, “but don’t give them all away.”

Tanjirou only laughs, assuring Inosuke that he wouldn’t as he closes the kitchen door behind them.

Once the two boys finish doling out the food, they take the last few pieces to split between themselves and Zenitsu. 

As they approach Zenitsu’s room, Tanjirou speaks up. “It was kind of you to help. I know I’ve been busy lately, so I’m sorry if you were lonely or worried.”

Inosuke’s heart swells with pride at Tanjirou’s compliment, but then his brain catches up with his body. “I wasn’t worried or lonely!” he insists. “I was just bored!” His tone is harsh, but his voice cracks with pent-up emotion because Tanjirou had praised him… again. And it makes him feel the same way it has been for a long time. 

Tanjirou rolls his eyes, but his expression is still warm. “Whatever you say.”

The boys brush past several young women carrying baskets of freshly laundered linens before reaching Zenitsu’s door. Relentless thoughts swirl around in Inosuke’s mind as he blindly follows Tanjirou into the room.

When the door opens, Zenitsu immediately pushes himself up in bed; he’s gotten better at doing it without aggravating his injuries. According to the doctor, his recovery is going smoothly (even if Inosuke disagrees). “Food?” he asks, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Tanjirou nods and lightly presses his free hand against Inosuke’s bare back to nudge him over the threshold.

The feather-light touch nearly makes him stumble, but he sucks in a deep breath and allows Tanjirou to direct him to Zenitsu’s bed.

Tanjirou and Zenitsu chatter idly as the redhead places Zenitsu’s portion in front of him and takes a few pieces of onigiri for himself and Inosuke. Inosuke doesn’t react when Tanjirou hands him a piece of their hard work. His ears feel like they’ve been clogged with cotton.

I don’t know what to do anymore.

“So” — Zenitsu’s annoying voice directed at him breaks through the barrier between Inosuke and the rest of the world — “How are things going? Any new updates?” 

Inosuke wants to punch that stupid smirk right off his face. He knows exactly what he’s doing: trying to expose Inosuke’s weakness right in front of Tanjirou. Inosuke growls under his breath, and Zenitsu flips him off when Tanjirou’s back is turned.

Tanjirou’s eyes flit innocently between Inosuke and Zenitsu. “Is something wrong?” he says to Zenitsu. Then to Inosuke, he says, “I wasn’t sure if something was going on or I was just imagining it. To be honest, I was getting a little worried.” He gives a half-hearted laugh.

Inosuke twists his fingers together in his lap. Worried is exactly the opposite of how he wants Tanjirou to feel. Zenitsu is just making this worse. Inosuke forces out an I’m fine, from behind gritted teeth, but he knows it doesn’t sound convincing.

Zenitsu flippantly waves a hand, recapturing Tanjirou’s attention. “Oh, nothing too serious. Just a new training regimen to target Inosuke’s weak points.”

“I don’t have any weaknesses!” Inosuke exclaims, not hesitating to send a powerful kick to the side of Zenitsu’s mattress, making the boy squeak in surprise.

Tanjirou releases a sigh of relief and nudges Inosuke with his shoulder after his legs are safely tucked beneath him again. “You should have said so!” His smile is blinding. “Everyone has things they need to work on. I’d be happy to help you if you want.”

Zenitsu makes an exaggerated expression of realization and then claps his hands together. “That’s a great idea, Tanjirou! Why don’t you and Inosuke practice together soon? And maybe Inosuke will tell you exactly what he needs to work on.” This last sentence Zenitsu says with his eyes locked onto Inosuke.

Inosuke tries to swallow the lump forming in his throat. What is Zenitsu getting at? There’s no way he’s going to tell Tanjirou about his allergies — not when he’s so conflicted — it’s just proof that he’s not the untouchable boss he makes himself out to be.

Inosuke sends Zenitsu a death glare through his mask, but Tanjirou seems to be sold on the idea.

Tanjirou smiles at him encouragingly and gently pats Inosuke on the back. Inosuke has grown to expect the warmth that blooms beneath Tanjirou’s fingertips, but it doesn’t stop Inosuke’s heart from nearly pounding out of his chest. Tanjirou doesn’t even know what’s wrong, yet he still offers comfort when he senses something is amiss. Inosuke isn’t sure whether that thought makes him want to laugh or cry.

Despite the incessant warnings his brain throws at him, Inosuke leans into the touch. When Tanjirou’s hand falls away, Inosuke stiffens.

It takes every ounce of Inosuke’s self-control not to jump up and run off. Instead, he swallows a mouthful of onigiri and stands up. “I’m gonna go train.”

“O-Oh, okay?” Tanjirou says, confusion evident on his face. “Don’t stay out too late.”

“‘Kay,” Inosuke mumbles, not missing the exasperated expression Zenitsu is making at him. He deliberately controls his pace as he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

As soon as he’s out of Tanjirou’s earshot, Inosuke books it, kicking off his shoes before he makes it outside. Angry tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and Inosuke fervently blinks them away. He keeps running until he’s deep enough in the forest that nobody will hear his cries of defeat and frustration.

Inosuke slumps against a tree trunk, sliding down until he hits the ground. For the first time that day, Inosuke takes off his mask and sets it beside him, heaving a shaking breath as he looks up at the moon. A single tear escapes his eye, painting a shimmering trail down Inosuke’s cheek. He doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

The stars are bright tonight, filling the sky with twinkling light. Inosuke knows what it’s like to have those stars inside of him, and he hates it. He hates that he doesn’t hate it. That he wants Tanjirou to look at him, to smile at him, to touch him. He longs to hear the words Good job, Inosuke, but only from his favorite person. He loves the way those words can make him fly, can make him invincible, but he shouldn’t.

Inosuke’s insides feel empty; all traces of stardust are gone. He still doesn’t understand why this is happening. He’s trying so hard to stop this; he has taken all of Zenitsu’s advice, and it has only made everything worse. And now Zenitsu is teasing him, trying to make him look weak after pretending he wanted to help. 

He doesn’t know what he wants anymore. Maybe Inosuke can push through and get rid of this disease, but if it means he’ll never feel like this again — consumed by this overwhelming happiness — he doesn’t think he has the strength to overcome it.

Chapter Text

And thus commences the Avoid Tanjirou plan. As expected, it doesn’t last long.

It’s around midday the following morning when Inosuke feels a group of people tugging at his senses. He and Tanjirou are lounging in the gardens to keep Zenitsu company, and Zenitsu seems to notice too. A moment later, he hears young voices chattering and laughing, unconcerned with their volume, and the shuffling of sandals through the gravel path. Sure enough, a small group of people emerges from the forest path and heads for the Wisteria House.

The three boys watch them with curiosity. Among them are six or seven children of varying ages. The youngest looks about four or five, while the oldest could be eleven or twelve. Accompanying them are a few older men and women carrying baskets and drawstring bags slung over their shoulders.

They can’t be demon slayers, can they? Their arms are so skinny that any strenuous movement could snap them like twigs, and they aren’t carrying any weapons. Chuuntaro could probably defeat them.

“Demon slayers?” Zenitsu wonders aloud, craning his neck to observe the group from the rock he’s perched on. “No, can’t be.”

Tanjirou shakes his head. “They must be here to help with all the patients.”

At this point, the group has reached the front door. When the littlest one knocks incessantly beneath the Wisteria crest, the hag (Hisa-san, Tanjirou’s voice reminds him) — Hisa-san opens the door. As soon as she lays her eyes on the people before her, a fond smile grows on her wrinkly face.

Then the children flock to her, giggling as she encircles them with her tiny arms. “Grandma!” they chorus, squirming in delight when Hisa presses kisses into their hair.

“Don’t knock her over!” One adult winces, hovering nearby to catch the elderly woman if she falls.

Hisa only laughs, tugging the children closer. “I’m stronger than I look. Besides, I’ve missed you all!”

Next to him, Tanjirou breathes a laugh, a wistful smile on his face.

“Strong. Hah, what a joke,” Inosuke mutters under his breath.

Zenitsu kicks him in the shin with his good leg and shoots him a sharp glare. Whatever. It’s not like he’s wrong.

Another minute full of happy greetings and hugs passes before Hisa ushers them inside.

Inosuke is ready to go back to the conversation they were having about their favorite breathing moves, but Tanjirou is still looking at the empty porch. His eyes have something buried in them that Inosuke can’t decipher.

“Tanjirou?” Inosuke says, prodding the quiet boy on the shoulder.

Just like that, the glazed look in his eyes disappears, and he exhales sharply. “Sorry, just thinking.” Tanjirou unclenches his fists from where they were gripping the folds of his haori and clasps them together in his lap. Taking a deep breath, Tanjirou widens his grin. “So, where were we?”

Inosuke has seen Tanjirou smile more times than he can count. He has seen giddy smiles, toothy smiles, teary smiles, relieved smiles, tender smiles, loving smiles, and those open-mouthed grins Tanjirou gets when he’s gasping for air and shaking with laughter. This one… this one is something else entirely.

Inosuke’s brows knit into a frown, and he glances at Zenitsu, who bites his lip and replies with a minute shrug. This time, the churning in Inosuke’s stomach has nothing to do with his allergies.

.oOo.

“Shion! Tsubaki! Get back here!” A young woman calls, panting. Her white bandana hovers just above her eyes, slipping further and further down her forehead as she chases her children through the hallway, a laundry basket on her hip. Periodically, she stops to fix the cloth before it completely obstructs her vision, tucking her mussed hair back into place. Mio, Inosuke remembers.

Tsubaki giggles, dragging his younger sister by the hand as they escape their mother’s grasp. Inosuke listens to their feet pitter patter down the hall and around the corner.

There are so many people around that it’s getting harder and harder for Inosuke’s internal compass to function. His senses are plugged like a dammed-up river. Inosuke has never liked crowds — they disrupt his mind map and make him twitchy — and the number of people in the vicinity is nearing Inosuke’s limit. Not for the first time, Inosuke toys with the idea of bolting right then and there. But… he guesses he can stay for a while longer. Besides, where would a boss be without his underlings?

“Mom! Shion and Tsubaki broke into the kitchen again!” A girl whines, peeking her head out of the room. Her arms are dripping wet, and a dish rag is slung over her shoulder. She crosses her arms, pouting when Mio sighs and shoos a tired hand at her daughter.

“Ume.” Her father, Chiharu, must have heard the commotion and come to find the source of the noise. He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Your aunties and your cousins are looking for you. Granny said she has another job for you all. Let your siblings be. They’ll have extra cleaning to do later.”

Ume huffs and then scooches away, narrowly missing  Tsubaki and Shion as they come scurrying through the door with sticky fingers and faces, a half-eaten peach in each hand.

Hisa has been running these people ragged from the moment they arrived. The hallways are never empty anymore; they’re constantly filled with thunderous footsteps and high-pitched giggles. Even with the extra hands, Tanjirou has barely had a moment’s rest. He seems tired, but he’s always the first to volunteer when Hisa requests help. He completes the chores more than perfectly, but his eyes are frequently vacant; it’s like he’s not even there.

Every time Ume and her cousin Kaede are tasked with chopping wood and bundling it up, or Shion and Tsubaki are handed clean sheets to lay out in the sick bay, or Tsubaki and his cousin Fuji are supplying the injured with hot meals, Tanjirou is quiet. His eyes sparkle when the little ones cross his path, and he speaks in a soft, gentle voice that comes from years of handling children, but as soon as the kids are out of sight, he gets a distant look on his face. 

Tanjirou’s eyes are incongruously beautiful for someone so strong — like a glistering garnet or a crackling flame — but when he smiles after the kids’ retreating backs, his eyes are dull.

It’s only been a day since the hag’s family arrived, and Inosuke has been trying to forget what happened the other night by distracting himself. He knows he’s postponing the inevitable, but he can’t help it. Every time he starts to think about the confusion between his mind and body, his heart hurts. To avoid the pain, Inosuke has decided he won’t dwell on it now. He’ll proceed like everything is fine. At least, as fine as everything could be, considering this whole mess. He won’t think about Tanjirou and his allergies, even if Tanjirou is merely a foot away. Nope. Allergies? What are those? Inosuke would rather train than ruminate on something as insignificant as an idiotic illness.

So, maybe Inosuke speaks to Tanjirou a little less. Maybe he tries to stay out of Tanjirou’s way. Maybe he tries to force down the part of himself that yearns for Tanjirou’s touch.

Whether it’s working or not is a different story.

.oOo.

Inosuke spends the rest of the day with Zenitsu and pushes all other thoughts to the back of his mind. Whenever Tanjirou comes up to them and asks what they’re doing or tries to sit down next to them, Inosuke fabricates an excuse to leave. 

The first time, he exclaims that he has some very important hunting to do and that the rabbits won’t wait around all day. Tanjirou accepts that excuse easily, sends him off with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and settles down on the porch. The second time, Inosuke barely gets away. He’s in the middle of an intense battle against a haphazardly-made scarecrow when Tanjirou offers to take its place. Inosuke would never refuse a match against Tanjirou of all people, but desperate times call for desperate measures. With a single hack of his left blade, Inosuke slices the head off the training dummy and slings his swords over his back.

“No need. The Great Inosuke has already slain his foe!” Inosuke ignores Tanjirou’s questioning tone as he locks eyes with Zenitsu across the yard.

“Pig assault!” he screeches, sprinting headfirst at the injured boy.

Zenitsu lets out a deafening scream and braces for impact, but Inosuke stops short just in time. “Let’s go, Monitsu! I wanna learn thunder breathing.” He pumps his fist in the air and drags a crying Zenitsu into another training area, completely ignoring his protests and his injuries.

Avoiding Tanjirou proves difficult as dinner rolls around. Ume and Kaede bring out heaping platters of shrimp and vegetable tempura, and Inosuke’s mouth is watering so much that he doesn’t notice where they’re leading him. Eventually, they open the door to Zenitsu’s hospital room and place the tray on his blanketed lap.

Inosuke is beginning to reach out for the first piece when Tanjirou’s voice rings from behind him. “Thank you, girls. Make sure to rest and eat well.” 

Inosuke jumps at the familiar sound and swivels to see Tanjirou dip into a bow.

Kaede giggles, hiding a smile behind her dainty palm. She beckons Ume closer. The girl has a star-struck look in her eyes as she leans closer to her cousin. “Kamado-san is so handsome, isn’t he?” she whispers.

Ume’s face goes red, but she nods. Kaede laughs again, this time looking at Tanjirou, whose cheeks are a faint rosy hue.

Inosuke scoffs. Handsome his ass. Tanjirou has a perfectly normal number of hands. What the hell are these girls talking about? His hands are pretty nice though…

Inosuke looks at Tanjirou again, and the other boy looks away. “T-That’s flattering of you to say,” Tanjirou replies.

“What about me? I’m handsome too? There’s no one more beautiful than me, right?” Zenitsu whines, giving the cousins his best puppy eyes and pout. 

Ume shrugs at him, but Kaede’s eyes widen. It’s obvious that she wasn’t expecting her comment to be overheard by everyone in the room. “S-Sorry!” she squeaks, tugging on her cousin’s arm. “We’ll be going now!” Ume seems to understand the direness of the situation, because her eyes become panicked. The girls scramble out of the room after a meek bow, leaving the boys to their own devices. 

So, handsome equals beautiful? That makes more sense. Tanjirou is nice to look at. The planes of his face are sharp but soft at the same time with prominent cheekbones and a small nose. His eyes are sparkly and bright; they warm everyone they grace with their light.

Inosuke’s fantasy version of Tanjirou fades into the real thing when the redhead beckons him over. There goes his illusion of normalcy. The moment he sees Tanjirou’s face again, every feeling he’s been trying to suppress comes rushing back. 

Inosuke is filtering through excuse after excuse in his mind when Tanjirou hands him a plate of shrimp tempura. “Come sit down.” His voice is quiet and tired, and he speaks with a near sigh.

Inosuke allows Tanjirou to lead him to Zenitsu’s bedside and gently guide him onto the stool. Tanjirou opts to eat while leaning against the nightstand instead of requesting another chair. Typical.

The tempura is delicious as always — that’s one thing that will never change — but Inosuke can’t focus on it. Zenitsu’s bedroom is almost always filled with noise, whether that be from Zenitsu’s shrill protests to his daily medication, Inosuke proudly recounting his best combat sequences that day, or Zenitsu arguing with Tanjirou about letting Nezuko sleep in his room for just one night. Now, the silence is heavy, and Inosuke threatens to crumble under its weight.

He knots his fingers together in his lap, hands slick with grease, and spares a glance at Zenitsu a few feet away. Zenitsu’s brows are knitted into a frown, and he has barely touched his food. He limply drags his chopsticks through his fried rice without thought — the movement almost automatic. Then he meets Inosuke’s eyes.

Inosuke nods in Tanjirou’s direction, where the boy is quietly eating small mouthfuls of tempura. In between each bite, he stops to push the food around on his plate like Zenitsu. What is it with people and wasting food? If they won’t eat it, Inosuke will.

Not today, though. Inosuke pushes down his annoyance and turns back to Zenitsu. The other boy shrugs but doesn’t pull his gaze away from the redhead. He has given up on food at this point, opting to worry his bottom lip between his teeth instead of finishing his meal.

That’s when Tanjirou glances up. “Oh, sorry.” He smiles so widely that his eyes scrunch up into little crescent moons. “Just lost in thought. How’s the food? I know this is your favorite, Inosuke.” If anyone were to overhear this conversation, they wouldn’t think anything of it, but Inosuke hears the tension in Tanjirou’s voice as clear as day.

Inosuke jumps when Tanjirou taps him on the shoulder to get his attention, scrambling back an inch or two. His heart is beating out of his chest: a mixture of lingering surprise and the result of a whirlwind of thoughts.

Tanjirou’s forced smile morphs into a startled expression, and he quickly retracts his hand.

“Yeah,” Inosuke grits out, blindly feeling around the stool until his fingers latch on to familiar fur. Shoving the mask back onto his head, Inosuke finally forces himself to look somewhere else and exhales a shaky breath.

Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore the hurt swirling in Tanjirou’s eyes. It’s worse if he looks at him. Inosuke’s palms are slippery with sweat now. He tries to tune out Zenitsu’s pathetic attempts at conversation, but it makes no difference: all he hears is ringing and muffled speech either way.

Inosuke fiddles with his hands for the rest of the meal. Zenitsu sends him periodic looks, as does Tanjirou, but he pointedly looks away. Inosuke finds himself counting down the seconds until Tanjirou finishes his meal and they’re free to go. The only thing keeping him in his seat right now is the looming thought that if he runs out now, Tanjirou is sure to follow him.

Amid his thoughts, Inosuke finds Zenitsu scrutinizing him, head cocked to the side like he knows exactly what’s running through Inosuke’s mind. If Inosuke thinks loud enough, Zenitsu will hear him. At least, that’s his theory. There have been more than a few times where Zenitsu has responded to something Inosuke is ninety-nine percent sure he hadn’t said aloud.

In the next second, Zenitsu is back to chattering mindlessly about the two eldest girls Hisa had invited into her home. Tanjirou nods when he’s supposed to, but he doesn’t contribute to the conversation.

Finally, Tanjirou stands up, motioning for Zenitsu and Inosuke to hand him their dishes. Inosuke’s skin burns when Tanjirou’s fingers brush against his hand, and he almost drops his plate. Instead, he brings his hand to one of his swords, gripping the hilt until his knuckles whiten.

“I thought I heard something,” he mutters sheepishly.

Tanjirou chuckles, readjusting the plate on the tray he had taken from Zenitsu. Then he addresses Zenitsu. “Get some sleep.”

Zenitsu nods and wishes them both a good night before sinking into the covers and turning over.

“I’m going to bed too,” Inosuke says as soon as they leave the room.

“Oh, you’re not walking to the kitchen with me this time?”

Even with the mask, Tanjirou peers directly into Inosuke’s eyes,  not the shield covering his face. He feels naked, exposed. 

“No,” Inosuke replies, though his mouth waters at the thought of more tempura. He needs to sleep and not think about this anymore because thinking is for morons, and he’s been doing it too much lately. Inosuke is no moron.

Tanjirou shoots him another half-smile and tightens his grip on the tray’s handles. “Okay. I’ll see you later then.”

Inosuke doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t feel any lighter when Tanjirou is out of sight. Still, he drags himself to their shared room and throws himself onto his futon after lugging it across the room. The space between the two beds is like a widening chasm, cracking and crumbling until only a void remains. Where before, all Inosuke had to do was turn over and Tanjirou would be right next to him, now, no matter how much he strains, he can’t reach Tanjirou across the gap.

Everything fucking sucks. Inosuke sends a punch into his pillow. Then another, and another. After his pillow has gotten a thorough beating, Inosuke snatches it off the mattress and covers his face with it. He takes a deep breath and screams all his pent-up frustration into the soft fabric. 

When his lungs finally deflate, he lowers his pillow and blinks the blurriness from his eyes. Nezuko is peeking out of her box, pink eyes wide and filled with concern. She reaches out to him, but Inosuke jerks away when the tips of her long nails graze his arm.

“Don’t touch me,” he growls.

Nezuko shrinks back at his tone and scuttles into her box again. Inosuke can’t fathom how she stays in that thing without break. Hasn’t she slept enough? The last mission took a lot out of her, but she’s a demon. Doesn’t that mean she has faster healing?

Inosuke locks eyes with her again, and she draws her knees closer to her body. For a creature with super-strength, she sure looks feeble. Had he scared her that much? Tanjirou’s disappointed face flashes in Inosuke’s mind. The Tanjirou of his imagination has contempt in his eyes as he shields his little sister with his arm. I trusted you, imaginary Tanjirou says, and Inosuke’s stomach roils.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles into the quasi-darkness.

Nezuko offers a quiet “mmm” in return before she closes the door to her box and settles down again.

Inosuke sighs, falling back onto the futon. He stares at the ceiling, counting the wooden beams that make up the latticework. Silence descends upon them once again, and it’s heavier than before. Inosuke is used to the rustling of his roommate as he gets comfortable under the covers and the soft tip-toeing he does when he’s trying not to wake Inosuke in the middle of the night.

The futon feels wrong beneath him. Inosuke twists his fingers in the blanket. He hasn’t slept alone in his bed since he started solving this mess. Inosuke turns over. Tanjirou’s futon is made up neatly, the covers unrumpled. His pajamas lay folded atop his pillow, untouched.

Inosuke huffs and turns the other way with more force than necessary. Tanjirou can do whatever he wants. He doesn’t need to come back. Inosuke is fine. More than fine!

At three am, Inosuke concludes that he is not fine. He tosses and turns for what feels like hours; he kicks the covers off until they become a scrunched-up mess at the end of the mattress; he even deigns to put on his pajamas, although they still feel stifling. He tugs at the silk nightshirt, willing it to stop squeezing him, and sucks in a breath. Tanjirou’s bed is still empty.

Anxious, Inosuke’s stomach clenches. He can feel the bile rising in his throat. Of course, he’s fine. He’s Tanjirou, for god’s sake. Inosuke’s co-boss (he’s decided). He didn’t earn that title for nothing. Despite the reassurances he throws at himself, Inosuke’s stupid brain won’t stop coming up with a million ways Tanjirou could have died.

“Argh!” Inosuke cries, sitting up. He closes his eyes and searches for Tanjirou’s familiar aura, something he realizes he should have done from the start. He finds Tanjirou on the porch, sitting alone in the moonlight.

Good. He’s alright. Now go to sleep.

Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. Inosuke squeezes his eyes shut, twisting the blanket in his hands. Despite his attempts to clear his mind, his thoughts wander back to the redhead on the stairs. Not even five minutes have passed when Inosuke finally gets out of bed and pads out of the room. If he’s going to lie here and anxiously stare into the darkness instead of getting some much-needed sleep, he should just check on Tanjirou and get it over with. All he needs to do is check, make sure the other boy isn’t dead, and go back to sleep. Then he’ll be content.

The night air is crisp, and the sound of crickets makes the darkness feel a little less eerie. Tanjirou looks up when Inosuke opens the door. His eyes are wet, and he’s twisted his checkered haori into knots. 

Surprise paints Inosuke’s face, quickly followed by concern, and he opens his mouth to say something, to demand that Tanjirou comes to bed soon because Inosuke was cold, but Tanjirou exhales shakily and turns back to face the woods.

Inosuke’s lips part softly as his breath hitches. It’s fine. It’s fine. Tanjirou is fine. He can go now. Inosuke steels himself and heads for the door. No need to worry over this nonsense. All he needed to know was that Tanjirou wasn’t lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and he’s not. So Inosuke is leaving.

He turns toward the door with a sharp pain in his chest. But he only takes about five steps when he hears a sniffle and a muffled whimper. He had just planned to check that Tanjirou was okay and then go back to avoiding him, but something compels him to sit down next to the other boy. He scooches to the edge of the first step and dangles his feet over the side. His toes barely skim the gritty pathway below.

Now that he’s here, Inosuke struggles to find words to comfort the other boy. They both sit in silence for a moment, save for the occasional sniffle, before Inosuke speaks. “Are you… okay?” His voice comes out gravelly and low, well-nigh lost in the nighttime breeze. He’s unused to this.

Tanjirou sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I just needed a minute.” 

That wasn’t a yes. Inosuke grunts, drawing his legs to his chest. “Whatever, Tanjirou. You were taking too long, so I came to find you.”

Tanjirou lets out a weak chuckle that sounds like he has something stuck in his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Inosuke doesn’t know why that response causes him more worry than not knowing if some huge, nasty demon had eaten Tanjirou. He was worried, but Tanjirou didn’t need to know that. Not when he looks like someone told him everybody he loved had been killed.

“Hmph,” Inosuke snorts. “I wasn’t worried.”

Tanjirou doesn’t say anything, he just nods in resignation without looking up at him, and Inosuke’s heart clenches. “Do… you wanna talk about it?” he asks quietly.

The other boy sighs, shrinking into himself and drawing his haori closer to his body. “It’s just… Seeing Hisa’s family: Akari and Hana, Chiharu and Mio, and all their children,  it reminds me of my siblings.”

Oh. So maybe his earlier thought wasn’t too far off.

“You have Nezuko.” Inosuke points out as he shifts into a cross-legged position.

Apparently, that was not the right thing to say because Tanjirou’s bottom lip begins to quiver.

“I barely even have her. One wrong move, and she’ll be lost too.” Tears are glistening in the corners of Tanjirou’s cerise eyes.

Inosuke is starting to panic. He hesitantly lifts his hands, hovering near Tanjirou as the first tear spills over. “Uhh…” he splutters.

“I miss them so much,” Tanjirou whispers. A second tear trails down his cheek. “If I hadn’t stopped that night — if I had just made it back home — mom, Hanako, Takeo, Shigeru, Rokuta… they wouldn’t have died. And Nezuko… she wouldn’t be like this. If I could have stopped Muzan, even for a moment…” Tanjirou has buried his head in his knees, his whole body shaking with uncontrolled sobs. “It should have been me.”

Inosuke’s stomach flips unpleasantly at the thought of Tanjirou offering himself to the demons in exchange for his family’s lives. To ease both himself and Tanjirou, he gingerly rests a hand on Tanjirou’s heaving back, unsure of what else to do. Is he supposed to say something to make him feel better? Everything he’s said so far has only worsened the situation, but each sob emanating from the boy next to him is like a knife to the chest, slicing him open.

The words spill out of him. “What the hell are you talking about?! They died because they were weak! It has nothing to do with you!” he almost shouts.

Tanjirou only cries harder, shrinking into himself as the sobs course through him.

Okay, so that wasn’t the right thing to say. “Sorry,” Inosuke mumbles. If this were him, what would Tanjirou say? Definitely not what Inosuke just did. Just because Tanjirou wasn’t home when Muzan murdered his family doesn’t mean Tanjirou should blame himself for their deaths. Inosuke’s mother was killed by a hunter, and Inosuke never blamed himself. Yes, he was devastated, but he never hated himself for it. 

“It’s not your fault, Tanjirou,” Inosuke tries to reassure him, but the trembles wracking Tanjirou’s body don’t cease. Tanjirou has so many people that matter to him and to whom he matters.

“It’s not like you could have done anything anyway. You didn’t even know how to fight! How could you take on Muzan? He would’ve killed you too, and then Nezuko would be going around killing people instead of being your nice, but kind of weird, demon sister,” Inosuke tries again.

“I know, but—” Tanjirou says, but he’s interrupted when a cough wracks his throat. When the attack ceases, he starts again. “I still feel guilty. Maybe it would’ve been different. But I’ll never know, and I have to live with that guilt and the possibility that I could’ve saved them if I hadn’t been so selfish.” Tanjirou hasn’t lifted his head from Inosuke’s side since he settled there a few minutes ago. Tears still stream down his cheeks, shiny trails marring his unblemished skin.

Inosuke scoffs, “Don’t say that. Who would take care of Nezuko if something happened to you?”

Tanjirou shakes his head, finally raising his gaze to meet Inosuke’s. His face is wet with tears that continue to spill from his pained eyes. “I don’t want to think about it.” He shudders, and another tear escapes him, sliding down his cheek to drip off the bottom of his chin. The droplet soaks into the sleeve of his haori to join the others. “I can’t lose anyone again. I just can’t,” he gasps, using a shaky hand to wipe away some of the overflowing tears.

Inosuke doesn’t know what to say, so he continues to awkwardly rub a hand up and down Tanjirou’s back.

The other boy speaks again. “I’m terrified of getting up one morning to find you dead or to find out that Nezuko was turned to dust in the sunlight streaming through the curtains. And every time I walk into Zenitsu’s room, I’m afraid he won’t wake up.”

Possessed by a sudden urge to do something, Inosuke pulls Tanjirou against his side, allowing the other to lay his head against Inosuke’s shoulder. He doesn’t have a word for the action, but it’s warm and comforting, even as Tanjirou keens into his shoulder. A spark of electricity shoots through him when Tanjirou fists one of his hands into the side of Inosuke’s nightshirt, the other clutching at his thigh, squeezing as if to convince himself that Inosuke was still there.

Inosuke swallows despite the dryness of his mouth. It burns. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Tanjirou’s body is still quaking; Inosuke can feel his hands shaking as he grips the seam of Inosuke’s nightshirt. 

Inosuke promised himself that he would go straight to bed as soon as he knew Tanjirou was alive and well, but here he is, clutching his best friend to his side as he cries. Alive? Check. Well? Not so much. Guess that’s why he’s still here.

“We’re strong. Even Zenitsu, the big baby,” he mutters the half-hearted insult under his breath. “We take care of each other. Kind of like a pack, right?”

Tanjirou nods into Inosuke’s chest.

“My mother died a long time ago, and I was sad too, but I don’t blame myself because there was nothing I could do. I found her near our den, an arrow sticking out of her chest. She was already dead, but I was still alive and well,” Inosuke says. “So don’t be an idiot and say you would’ve rather died, okay? You can be sad, but you still have us, and we’re not going anywhere. I promise.”

The other boy sniffles and rubs at his eyes. His breathing is still erratic, but it’s beginning to slow down.

“It’s okay to cry, Tanjirou,” Inosuke assures him. “It doesn’t make you weak. Isn’t that what you told me?”

Tanjirou gurgles a laugh, sinking deeper into Inosuke’s side, “Yeah, I guess I did say that.” Then he sucks in a breath and releases it in a single, loud puff.

“Let’s go inside before you get sick or something. Zenitsu is always nagging me about that sort of thing,” Inosuke says, gently rubbing a hand over the expanse of Tanjirou’s back.

A fond smile graces Tanjirou’s lips for the first time that night. “Isn’t this usually my job? Taking care of you?”

Blood rises in Inosuke’s cheeks, and he averts his eyes. The fireflies dancing in the moonlight are far more intriguing. Taking care of him. Taking care of him. Why does that make his stomach all fluttery? 

“Who said I couldn’t take care of you, hah?” Inosuke spits out, compensating for his embarrassment with volume.

Tanjirou’s grin hasn’t dissipated. “I’m not complaining.” He unfists his hands from Inosuke’s shirt and leans back. “We can go now. Wouldn’t want you to get sick either.”

Inosuke is pretty sure that means something, but he doesn’t have the energy or the brainpower to decode it, so he grunts in response and helps Tanjirou to his feet. The other boy stumbles as he rises, the weakness of his limbs a result of sitting too long and crying too much. Inosuke steadies him, clutching his arm to prevent him from falling again.

Neither boy says anything as they reenter the house, but even now, Tanjirou clings to Inosuke. His hand migrates from Inosuke’s side to his arm and then to the cuff of his sleeve. Inosuke is hyper-aware of every movement Tanjirou makes.

Tanjirou is still sniffling intermittently when he slips his hand into Inosuke’s and squeezes. Inosuke almost rips his hand away, heart instantly jumping into his throat, but Tanjirou’s grip is steadfast. Inosuke peers over at him. The other boy’s head is down; he looks like he’s barely holding himself together. Inosuke had thought everything would be fine now. They talked, and Tanjirou even laughed! Why is he still upset?

What’s done is done. You can’t bring back the dead. And it’s not like Tanjirou is all alone, either. Nezuko is here. Zenitsu is here. Hell, Inosuke is here! Even though he’s got his own issues, he would still protect Tanjirou with his life. Nothing could ever change that.

Even if he doesn’t understand it, Inosuke hates that Tanjirou is hurting. He hates it more than his fucking allergies, which he is decidedly not dealing with right now. Sleeping will make him feel better. At least, it does for Inosuke. That, or beating stuff into a pulp. Namely, Zenitsu.

Inosuke’s palms are beginning to sweat by the time he and Tanjirou reach their shared room. As soon as they pass the threshold, Inosuke wriggles his fingers out of Tanjirou’s grasp. He wipes his shaky hand on his nightclothes and steps toward his futon, which he had moved several feet away from Tanjirou’s. “Uh, you can sleep now.”

“O-Oh,” Tanjirou says, caught-off guard by the sudden noise. He doesn’t make a move for his bed.

Inosuke frowns. He’s still trying to calm his heart down from the feeling of Tanjirou’s hand in his, but the pinched look on the other boy’s face is more pressing.  Is he still worried? Inosuke walks over to Nezuko’s box and undoes the latch. He swings the door open enough for Nezuko’s sleeping form to be visible. “Look.” Inosuke points at her. “She’s fine. Go lie down.”

Tanjirou’s confused expression morphs into a weak smile. “I know,” he rasps, then clears his throat. “Thanks.”

“Whatever.” Inosuke shuts the door with more force than necessary and moves to sit on his bed. 

Tanjirou continues to stand frozen in his tracks.

Inosuke waves a hand at Tanjirou’s neatly folded pajamas and then gestures at himself. “You’re the one that always forces me to wear this stupid thing — put yours on.”

“Right…” Tanjirou replies absently, reaching for the clothes.

Inosuke’s eyes follow his movements with rapt attention as he shrugs off his outer layer and unfolds the fresh clothing. Then he kicks off his house slippers and sets them at the end of his futon. Tanjirou’s eyes are still blank as he goes to undo the belt at his waist.

Inosuke is sweating. Is it getting hot in here? He tugs at the collar of his lavender nightshirt. His heart starts to pound, and he squirms when Tanjirou unclasps the buckle.

“Um, Inosuke?”

“What?” he blurts before he can think.

Tanjirou looks flustered, hands stilled on his loose belt. “Can you turn around?”

Inosuke swivels around, cheeks burning. “Hurry up, Monjirou.”

Monjirou. He hasn’t uttered that word in a while. For some reason, he feels guilty, but he pushes it down.

Tanjirou must still be out of it because he’s unaware of Inosuke’s slip-up. He just hums in accordance, continuing where he left off.

The room is silent save for the rustling of clothing and the jangle of a belt as Tanjirou changes. Inosuke knows Tanjirou is staring at him because his back is tingling. What was that? Why couldn’t he look away? Another side effect?

“Done,” Tanjirou says before Inosuke can consider it further.

“Good.” Inosuke glances over his shoulder. Tanjirou is already getting into bed, tucking himself into one side of the futon. Inosuke rips his own covers off and dives onto the mattress before throwing the duvet over his head. The room is void of all noise for a few long minutes. Every breath Inosuke takes mingles in the stagnant air when he exhales, making it stuffy and humid almost to the point of discomfort. Yet he doesn’t reemerge.

Then Tanjirou finally speaks. “Why are you so far away?” His voice is small, the confusion and exhaustion evident in his tone. He sounds… hurt.

Inosuke’s heart clenches painfully, and he bites back an involuntary whimper. He has already cheated too much today. He can’t cave again. “Too tired. Go to sleep.” His words are muffled from underneath the blankets. Inosuke squeezes his hands over his ears before Tanjirou’s reply reaches him.

After another long moment, Inosuke releases his hands and shimmies upward until his head pokes out of the covers again. Sparing a glance at Tanjirou, he sees that his back is turned away from Inosuke. Good. Inosuke follows suit.

He tosses and turns for a good fifteen minutes with no luck. Maybe it’s Tanjirou’s restless shifting or the weight of his thoughts, but sleep doesn’t take him. Inosuker lets out an annoyed huff and flips over yet again.

Inosuke is about to take a walk to alleviate this stifling atmosphere when a voice rings out in the darkness.

“Inosuke.” It’s merely a whisper.

“What,” he says gruffly, his tone belying the spike of fear piercing his belly.

“Come here. Please. ”

He’s pleading. Inosuke gets out of bed. Why are you doing this? Go back to sleep. He doesn’t. Inosuke can faintly make out Tanjirou’s doe eyes peering up at him as he approaches. 

He sits down next to the futon. “What’s wrong?”

Tanjirou shakes his head. “Sad. Lonely. I missed… I just wanted…” he trails off. “Can you just hold me?”

When Tanjirou reaches for him, eyes glassy from tears, Inosuke relents. He shuffles backward to drag his futon next to Tanjirou’s, but Tanjirou calls out again.

“No! There’s enough room. Please come back.”

Inosuke grumbles annoyances under his breath, but he complies, sliding in next to Tanjirou. His bed is warmer than Inosuke’s. They aren’t even touching each other, and Inosuke is already on fire.

Tanjirou shudders a breath that tickles the back of Inosuke’s neck, and he twitches. “Sorry,” Tanjirou whispers, leaning his head forward until his forehead is pressed against Inosuke’s back. Immediately, Inosuke turns over, making Tanjirou pull back a little. Their faces are mere inches apart, and Tanjirou’s still-wet eyes are locked on Inosuke’s emerald green ones. Without meaning to, Inosuke’s gaze flits to Tanjirou’s trembling lips. His face is burning now, and he thinks he might suffocate from lack of air.

“Can I?” Tanjirou whispers, reaching for Inosuke’s arm.

Inosuke is nodding before he knows what he’s agreeing to.

Tanjirou lets out a sigh of relief and buries his head into Inosuke’s chest, almost knocking the wind out of him. He firmly wraps his arms around Inosuke’s back as he presses himself closer: closer than they have ever been before. For some reason, Inosuke is disappointed, but for what, he doesn’t know. He wasn’t prepared for sudden enveloping heat, and the longer Tanjirou remains there, the more his stomach flops around like a fish out of water.

Tentatively, Inosuke winds his arms around Tanjirou’s back, securing him in place. It’s so warm. Inosuke never thought he could be this warm.

“Thank you,” Tanjirou murmurs into the crook of Inosuke’s neck, squeezing him tighter. “I needed this.”

Inosuke doesn’t know what to say; doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say without sounding like an idiot, so he only manages a strangled, “Mmm.”

“Not just for this,” Tanjirou continues, “but for earlier. I felt so alone, and you were there when I needed it.” A tear wets the front of Inosuke’s shirt, but he doesn’t push Tanjirou away. Instead, the redhead is the one to pull him closer, hooking his leg over Inosuke’s thigh. His fingers trail over an exposed strip of skin on Inosuke’s side. It almost tickles.

Inosuke stifles a gasp. His belly is writhing with thousands of little silkworms. He’s never touched anybody like this. His skin is on fire, but it’s cozy and safe, and Inosuke never wants to let go. Tears begin to prick at the corners of Inosuke’s eyes, and he rapidly blinks them away. Why does he want to cry now?

Then Inosuke remembers that Tanjirou was talking to him. “S’fine.” He rests his chin atop Tanjirou’s head.

“Why weren’t you asleep?” Tanjirou asks, voice muffled by Inosuke’s shirt.

Inosuke shrugs. “You weren’t back yet. Thought something bad had happened.”

Tanjirou’s grip tightens. “You’re the best. You know that?”

Know that? Inosuke almost scoffs. Of course, he knows that. But the way Tanjirou looks up at him then, dried-tear tracks on his cheeks and a smile filled with emotion, make the words tumble out of him. 

“I was scared. Don’t like it when you’re sad.”

Tanjirou presses his face back into Inosuke’s chest. “Don’t be. I’m here. We all are.”

“Mmm,” Inosuke says again.

“Sleep now,” Tanjirou whispers against Inosuke’s skin, letting his eyelids flutter shut.

Inosuke follows suit. He gives Tanjirou’s head a gentle pat, just like Tanjirou has done for him in the past, and smooths down his hair. Tanjirou sighs gently. 

The two boys have been pressed together for a while, and Inosuke is proud to say that his skin is no longer itchy, and he doesn’t feel like he’s about to combust. Instead, Inosuke has been engulfed by a comfortable warmth. Maybe he’s finally making some progress. An unwanted pang of guilt washes over him, but he clutches Tanjirou tighter in spite of it. That’s an issue for later.

It isn’t long until Tanjirou’s breathing has evened out. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against Inosuke’s body is soothing, and soon, Inosuke finds himself sinking deeper into the promise of sleep.

Chapter Text

Tanjirou seems happier now, if only marginally. If not happier, then at least less pained. Now that Inosuke is privy to Tanjirou’s deepest fears and feelings, he can sense when the grief reappears. When the kids bump into him — carrying fresh linens piled too high for them to see — and apologize in earnest when he drops the food he's holding, Tanjirou retreats into himself and masks his sorrow with a grin. When they return later with fresh gyoza as a peace offering, Tanjirou graciously accepts it before shutting down again. During those times, Tanjirou gravitates to Inosuke’s side. Tanjirou doesn’t even have to say anything because Inosuke finally understands: Tanjirou feels safe next to him. Something Inosuke takes pride in as a boss, and maybe as a friend too.

Tanjirou approaches him later and reminds him that Inosuke is always welcome to Tanjirou’s time: needing help doesn’t make you weak. Inosuke knows this; he asked Zenitsu for help with the whole allergy debacle, for crying out loud. It took Inosuke a while to understand this, though. He admits that he was hard-headed and aloof when they first met. Although he doesn’t feel like much has changed, there must be something different because Tanjirou points it out every so often with a warm smile on his face and the words, “You’ve grown, Inosuke. I’m proud of you,” on his tongue.

It only took an encounter with a monstrous spider demon for Inosuke to realize that having a reliable team to support you will save you grief in the long run. Inosuke learned a lot during that fight and its aftermath, one of those things being how good it feels to cry. Just like needing help doesn’t make you weak, neither does crying — Tanjirou made sure to elucidate that, hand firmly squeezing Inosuke’s shoulder as he peered over Inosuke’s bedside.

With all the effort Tanjirou put into imparting this knowledge to Inosuke, it would be nice for him to follow his own advice. Just like Inosuke isn’t lesser by leaning on Zenitsu for support, Tanjirou isn’t either. He should have told Inosuke that he was feeling sad. If only Inosuke had known sooner, this colossal mess could have been avoided. Any good leader would do for their subordinate what Inosuke had done for Tanjirou. However, Inosuke doesn’t say any of this; the words are held back by an invisible force restricting his throat whenever Tanjirou gets close to him.

Another consequence of his allergies, Inosuke concludes. Ever since the confrontation, Tanjirou has been clingier, frequently seeking Inosuke out. Inosuke is unsure how to feel about it. On one hand, his stomach gets fluttery when Tanjirou approaches him with a tired smile and pained eyes, sticking close to his side until the bad feelings pass, but on the other, the glee that washes over him when Tanjirou turns to him for comfort is almost enough to ignore the guilt embedded deep in his chest. He’s torn between avoiding and embracing it. It’s an unsettling mixture of feelings that slosh around in his belly.

Inosuke is nearly ready to give up and accept that this is never going to go away; that something is seriously wrong with him. He isn’t supposed to like the way Tanjirou makes him feel, and yet, here he is, excited at the mere idea that Tanjirou trusts and likes him enough to desire his protection.

One more day, he tells himself — one more day. One more day, and if nothing has changed, he’s going to call it quits. If he refuses to think about it, he can live with the weight of his failure. Nobody has to know but him. He can tell Zenitsu that he’s cured, that his advice was great (a blatant lie), that he doesn’t need help anymore, and he’ll be fine.

Talking to Tanjirou will be painful, yes, but Inosuke is quite experienced in ignoring things that inconvenience him, so he’ll repress those feelings and tell himself it doesn’t matter until he truly believes it. He’ll go out of his way to stay out of Tanjirou’s. 

His stomach sinks as soon as the thought crosses his mind. Inosuke imagines Tanjirou’s oblivious gaze searing through the skin on his forehead and swiftly suppresses that train of thought before it derails further.

One more day.

.oOo.

“Inosuke!” Zenitsu calls from across the courtyard.

Inosuke turns toward the noise, massaging his forehead with the heel of his hand where he had smacked it into his favorite tree trunk. The day he can successfully hit this tree without repercussion is quickly approaching. Then he can finally challenge Tanjirou to a headbutt match and be confident in his victory.

Zenitsu flags him over, waving awkwardly while keeping one crutch pinned to his side. 

Inosuke complies with a huff, ambling over to Zenitsu’s side. The gravel from the path crunches under his feet. “What, Monitsu,” he says flatly.

Zenitsu rolls his eyes at Inosuke’s tone. “Sorry to interrupt…” — he gestures at the battered tree — “whatever that was.”

“I was training!” Inosuke scoffs. “Not like you could do any better.”

“Of course I —! You know what, not important.” Zenitsu sighs. “I wanted to ask about Tanjirou.”

At the mention of that name, Inosuke straightens up, giving Zenitsu his full attention. He shouldn’t be surprised that Zenitsu had put two and two together, but it hits him nonetheless. “You noticed it too?”

The other boy nods. “I shouldn’t have waited this long to bring it up; he looked awful last week. Fragile, almost. He sounded so sad. It hurt to be around him.”

Zenitsu is about to continue, but Inosuke butts in. “He was sad. But he’s okay now, I think.”

“What happened?”

Inosuke shrugs, suddenly bashful, and toes the pebbles with his sandal. “That day the little brats moved in, he was upset. Comforted him, I guess.”

Zenitsu perks up. “Comforted him? Interesting…” he trails off with a smirk.

Inosuke splutters. There’s something about that look that makes him feel naked. “What do you mean?!”

“Nothing, nothing!” Zenitsu says in a sing-song voice, waving Inosuke off as if he were being ridiculous.

“He just missed his family!” Inosuke blurts out, desperate to wipe that smug look off Zenitsu’s face. “He was crying. I talked to him until he stopped. Then I let him sleep next to me. I think it helped.”

Inosuke leaves out the part where their faces were mere inches from each other, drawing closer like opposite ends of a magnet, and the pooling heat in his belly that came with it, nor does he mention the crushing disappointment over something he doesn’t possess the words for. Logically, it’s only one thing from the litany of side effects Inosuke has experienced, but it feels strangely intimate.

His friend remains silent as he seems to process what Inosuke had revealed. The lack of noise is making Inosuke restless. He wrings his hands together; they’re clammy even though it’s still warm outside.

“I see…” Zenitsu says after an eternity, scrutinizing eyes roaming over Inosuke’s face.

It isn’t loud, but it startles Inosuke, and he snaps his gaze back to Zenitsu. When Zenitsu doesn’t complete his sentence, Inosuke’s anxiety returns tenfold, and he tries to justify himself. “Um! I made progress!”

Zenitsu raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

Why the fuck did I say that? Inosuke admonishes himself. Now he has to explain. “I didn’t feel itchy at all when Tanjirou held me! Well, at first I did. It was kind of weird — I felt really hot and squirmy, but I didn’t move. That’s good, right?” He’s rambling; he knows he is, but he can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “Am I getting better? Please say I am.” The same contrition he feels each time he thinks about losing what he has with Tanjirou returns at full force. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

With every word that spills out of Inosuke’s mouth, the wider Zenitsu’s eyes become.

Once again, Inosuke is grateful for the mask that covers his face because, without it, the embarrassed flush spreading down his neck would be obvious. His heart is pounding, and he knows Zenitsu can hear it. He inhales, counting to five before exhaling again, just like Tanjirou taught him. Is it helping? He can’t tell. 

“That’s…” Zenitsu looks taken aback. He clears his throat, letting his eyelids flutter shut while he collects himself. “Listen, Inosuke. There’s something I haven’t told you.”

Inosuke swears his heart stops for a moment. Is it getting worse? Is he a lost cause, and Zenitsu’s going to abandon him? Would it be better to give up now?

Zenitsu’s mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. “I don’t know how to say this…” He finally manages, voice strained.

Inosuke bites his lip. Maybe this is something he’d rather not hear.

Zenitsu’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he tries to piece the words together. The longer he struggles, the more jittery Inosuke feels. He clenches and unclenches his fists at his side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, powerless to say anything.

“Hey, guys! Are you busy?” a familiar voice sounds from behind them. 

Inosuke turns to see Tanjirou give a genial wave as he approaches them.

“Not busy!” Inosuke rushes to say, taking a step closer to Tanjirou’s side. He could cry from relief.

Tanjirou smiles and reaches out to pat Inosuke on the back. “Mio asked me to hang up the laundry, but I’m done now, and I was wondering if either of you wanted to train with me.”

When Inosuke glances over at Zenitsu, it looks like his soul has just left his body. Then he snaps back to reality and lets out a deep breath. He peers directly into Inosuke’s eyes with an expression that says, this isn’t over, and then looks back at Tanjirou. “We were just chatting, but Inosuke was bashing his head into a tree earlier and probably needs to release some pent-up aggression.”

“I told you, I was training!”

Zenitsu doesn’t deign to acknowledge him, but Tanjirou winces. “And didn’t I tell you not to do that anymore?”

Inosuke snorts, “Whatever.” Yes, he did, but still. Inosuke can’t get better if he doesn’t practice! A hesitant smile tugs at Inosuke’s lips and some of the tension drains out of him. He doesn’t need Zenitsu. Besides, this is his last day. Whatever he was going to say doesn’t matter. It will all be forgotten tomorrow.

Tanjirou sighs, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. Just don’t do it again. We can still spar though. We can work it into your training regimen.”

“Training? What training?” Inosuke frowns, brows furrowing.

Tanjirou tilts his head, puzzled. “You know, the one that you and Zenitsu were talking about last week? I’ve been meaning to ask you about it since then. Maybe I could help.”

Oh, right. The cover-up Zenitsu had pulled out of his ass after he nearly exposed all of Inosuke’s humiliating secrets to the person in question.

Either way, training is better than listening to whatever bomb Zenitsu was about to drop on him. That devastation could be saved for another time. Or better yet, not at all.

“I’ll be the one helping you!” Inosuke puffs out his chest with the words, but the confidence in his tone is merely an illusion.

Tanjirou chuckles, sending Inosuke a soft smile that makes his heart flutter. “Yeah, yeah.”

Zenitsu rolls his eyes at Inosuke with an exasperated sigh. Inosuke is sure he heard that. Zenitsu slowly backtracks to the stone wall lining the flower beds a few feet away. He shifts his crutches to one arm, a small grunt of discomfort escaping his mouth as he gingerly lowers himself onto the stone. His injured leg dangles limply over the front of the wall.

Tanjirou looks like he’s about to say something, reaching out as if to guide Zenitsu into a more comfortable position, but the blond waves him off.

“I’m fine. Go on” — he waves him off, nonchalant in his gesture — “Do your training.”

Inosuke knows Tanjirou’s moral compass is going haywire right now; the idea of abandoning a friend in need makes it stray from due north, but he retracts his hand anyway. “If you’re sure."

Zenitsu only nods in the redhead’s direction.

Huh. Zenitsu has changed. If it were a few months ago, he would have been screaming his head off at the most minor inconvenience, clutching at Tanjirou, Inosuke, or even Nezuko like a lifeline. Now he barely bats an eye at his pain. An unexpected rush of pride floods Inosuke’s body, making him all tingly. He swallows the urge to slap Zenitsu on the back — with no explanation, of course — before returning to Tanjirou’s side, but he really doesn’t feel like talking to him again for a while.

Instead, he keeps those feelings to himself and fights to hold Tanjirou’s gaze. His eyes are so bright; the sunbeams streaming through the trees dance in his irises, an almost fractal-like pattern rippling in their depths.

“Inosuke?”

Inosuke snaps out of his trance, an embarrassed flush rising on his cheeks. Oh, right. He was staring. 

He shouts to cut through the tension, rubbing his palms together in eagerness. “I’m ready!”

Tanjirou’s tinkling laughter resounds as he extends his arm to wrap around Inosuke’s right shoulder and gently tug him off the gravel path and into the grass.

Inosuke’s heart jumps into his throat as soon as Tanjirou’s hand presses into his bare flesh, skin blistering beneath his fingertips. He swallows thickly, but it doesn’t calm the raging storm in his chest.

“Okay!” Tanjirou exclaims cheerily, clapping his hands together.

The spike of heat is gone, but Inosuke’s shoulder is still throbbing. He spares a glance at it, half-expecting to see a mess of angry red welts in the shape of Tanjirou’s hand, but his skin remains unblemished.

Tanjirou continues to speak, and Inosuke tunes back in. “—working on?”

“Huh?”

“I asked what you were working on. With Zenitsu?”

“... Right.” Inosuke squints at Zenitsu from the corner of his eye: he’s watching a butterfly meander through the flowers. Even if he’s not looking, Inosuke knows anything he says will reach him. That thought sends an irrational wave of panic into his stomach. “Just… regular stuff.” He shrugs, hand automatically coming up to tug at the bottom of his mask.

Tanjirou cocks his head in confusion. “I thought you were trying to target your weaknesses? It might help if you told me what they were.” He asks so gently that it doesn’t feel invasive. Still, it pierces through Inosuke like a jagged sword, snagging the deepest parts of himself on the way back out.

It’s you, you idiot.

But when Inosuke meets Tanjirou’s gaze filtered through the eyes of his mask, his expression is open and free of judgment. For a split second, Inosuke considers telling him — explaining his predicament. How sick he is of everything. How he just wants it to be over. How, at the same time, he doesn’t want it to stop. How fucking confused he is.

But he doesn’t. The words are stuck in his throat. His mind supplies him with an opaque version of a scene in which Zenitsu laughs, mocking him for breaking down, losing his drive, and giving in to his allergies. He can see Tanjirou’s disappointed face clearest of all, and that hurts the most. So, he locks those words away, shoving them down until he can barely remember what it was he wanted to say.

Logically, he knows this won’t happen, but it still eats at him. So, instead of answering Tanjirou’s question, he targets Zenitsu. “Can you leave?! You’re being distracting!”

Zenitsu’s mouth falls open as he swivels around to look at Inosuke. “How am I being distracting?! I’m just sitting here!”

“You just are! You’d better leave, or I’ll show you how much harder my head has gotten!” Inosuke brandishes his fist in Zenitsu’s direction, and Zenitsu shields his face protectively, squawking in protest.

“Inosuke…” Tanjirou sighs. “Leave him be. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Inosuke’s heart clenches, but he drops the subject. It’s awkward — standing there in silence — but Inosuke is lost for words. 

Zenitsu has gone back to observing the wildlife, purposefully ignoring everything happening a few feet away.

Then Tanjirou speaks again, voice lower than before. “What’s really going on? I’ve been worried.”

Before Inosuke can conjure up a response, Tanjirou continues, “It’s just… you’ve been avoiding me, I think. And you’ve been acting weird for a while.”

Inosuke’s face blanches, mouth going dry. Does he know? How does he know?

Tanjirou smiles sadly, the light in his eyes dimming. “I… I miss you. Having you with me last night, really with me, was — I don’t know — safe? Comforting? It helped… a lot. I want to help you out too, but I can’t if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” At the end of his speech, Tanjirou averts his eyes, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

It’s like every thought in Inosuke’s mind has suddenly vanished, replaced with the echo of Tanjirou’s voice, repeating like a mantra:  I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

This isn’t supposed to happen. Making Tanjirou worry is the last thing Inosuke wants. “Uh, I… I…” he stutters weakly. The words claw at his throat, urging him to say something, anything. “Zenitsu! It’s Zenitsu!”

Inosuke can feel the blond’s skeptical gaze burning into his back, but he pushes forward, fabricating his story while telling it. “He’s been teaching me real breathing techniques because, you know, I made up my own. Even the Great Inosuke gets tired sometimes!” He forces a peal of laughter from his throat as he puffs up his chest with triumph he doesn’t feel.

Tanjirou deflates, tension leaving his brow. “Thank you for telling me. I’m happy nothing’s wrong.” He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. This time, Inosuke can see the glimmer in his irises.

Relief floods his chest, and Inosuke finally smiles. He didn’t think his excuse would satisfy Tanjirou, but maybe he underestimated his storytelling skills.

“It’s nice to see you and Zenitsu getting along so well.”

Inosuke’s stomach drops. That doesn’t feel right. He scrambles to say something that will rid him of this suffocating feeling. “Getting along? I don’t even like him! You’re still my favorite!”

Tanjirou’s eyes widen, and Inosuke hears the breath catch in his throat. Suddenly, the weight of the words falls over Inosuke, an invisible hand clutching at his neck.

“Ah, I…” Tanjirou stutters, redness crawling across his cheeks and staining his ears crimson. His usually tan limbs are positively pale in comparison.

Inosuke is struggling to keep his heart in his chest where it belongs. What’s going on? Is he sick? Then his belly turns violently. Is Inosuke at fault?

An offended scoff comes from behind the two boys. “What do you mean, ‘Tanjirou’s your favorite?!’ I thought we were best friends!” Zenitsu feigns wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, sniffling with all the dramatics of a practiced actor.

“Shut the fuck up, Monitsu!” Inosuke shouts. He doesn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with this right now; not when Tanjirou might be upset, sick, or who knows what else!

“I’m wounded! Heartbroken! Devastated!” Zenitsu cries, leaning backward and theatrically pressing the back of his hand to his forehead.

“Don’t fight with Zenitsu, Inosuke,” Tanjirou manages, but his gaze doesn’t leave the ground. The redness has begun to spread down his neck, nearly reaching his shoulders.

Inosuke tries, unsuccessfully, to swallow the lump in his throat. The retort bubbles up, but he suppresses it, noting the unreadable expression on Tanjirou’s face. Hesitantly, he reaches out and tugs on the loose fabric of Tanjirou’s sleeve.

“Tanjirou?” He hates how small his voice sounds: so unlike the unshakable figure he aims to be.

The moment Inosuke’s fingers deliver a slight pull to the clothing, Tanjirou jolts, stumbling a step backward and sending a puff of dust into the air. “I—!” he starts. His eyes are blown wide, pupils dilated. He looks like a frightened rabbit.

Inosuke is grasping at straws at this point. “I meant it! Tonkatsu is a dumbass! I like you more!”

Zenitsu’s offended “Hey!” is ignored by the other parties.

Much to Inosuke’s dismay, Tanjirou only becomes more distressed, wringing his fingers together in the folds of his sleeves. His ears are nearly purple. “Umm, thanks,” he mumbles. “I… I… Sorry, I need to… to go. Just remembered something I have to do.” Tanjirou is already backing up when he finishes his sentence.

Inosuke is too stunned to reach out for him, to block his escape and demand an explanation, and then Tanjirou is turning around and speed walking at a pace that borders on a jog up to the front door.

The sound of a latch opening reaches Inosuke’s ears, and then the heavy wooden door creaks open, revealing Kaede, Ume, and Fuji — arms full of damp sheets ready to be hung. Tanjirou barely avoids crashing right into them as he rushes for the entrance.

He steadies himself on Kaede’s shoulder, and she peers up at him, a concerned frown marring her dainty features.

“Kamado-san? Are you okay?”

The other two look just as worried; their faces are a mix of confusion and concern. 

A strained smile forces its way onto Tanjirou’s lips. “Don’t worry about me! I’m just in a bit of a rush.”

Kaede and Ume share a look that Inosuke can’t decrypt from this distance, but little Fuji points at Tanjirou’s flushed cheeks with his free hand. “Your face is red.”

Tanjirou stiffens, grin falling as he glances away. When he turns back, his features are carefully schooled into what would look like a natural smile to anyone else, but Inosuke can see right through the facade. “It’s nothing!” 

Tanjirou pats Fuji on the head and bows to the two older girls. “I’ll be off.” Then he scurries into the Wisteria House without a second look.

The kids stare at the front door for another moment before Fuji shrugs and nudges his sister and cousin towards the clotheslines.

Okay, so maybe Inosuke shouldn’t have reiterated that. But it just doesn’t add up! He would have been elated to have someone acknowledge his greatness (as they should), but Tanjirou looked like he was about to combust. Inosuke has never seen somebody’s face get that dark. Were his words the cause? Or was it…? Was it him?

Suddenly, Zenitsu bursts into laughter.

Inosuke whips around. The blond is clutching his stomach as he gasps for air, practically bent in two as he heaves with mirth. “He really” — wheeze  — “really” — pant — “left, didn’t he?” 

“It’s not funny!” Inosuke insists, stomping his foot in the gravel. His vision is beginning to blur; angry tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

Zenitsu’s laughter subsides into a mixture of hiccups and giggles after a painstakingly long minute in which Inosuke struggles to keep the tears from spilling over. Zenitsu is brushing droplets off his cheeks when he finally looks up at Inosuke. He must really look like shit because, upon seeing his face, Zenitsu shuts up immediately.

“Oh.”

“I don’t get it!” Inosuke cries, frustration threatening to overwhelm him. “I was just talking, and his face got all red! Like mine is when he smiles at me!”

Zenitsu conceals a snort of laughter as a cough, thumping himself on the chest after a few extra hacks for good measure. “He was blushing.”

“Blushing? It has a name?” Inosuke’s stomach lurches in panic. Is that what's been happening to him for so long? His face feels hot whenever Tanjirou is nearby — like all the blood in his body had rushed to his cheeks.

Zenitsu sighs, shaking his head in resignation.

This situation is so familiar. It tugs at the edges of Inosuke’s memory, just out of reach. Inosuke searches for it, replaying the last five minutes in his head over and over again. 

Tanjirou… His face was burning right after Inosuke had said something. But why was it that something?

“You’re strong, Inosuke.”

Oh. That’s it. That was the moment he realized: all those weeks ago.

Is Tanjirou allergic… to him? 

A sick feeling settles in Inosuke’s belly. He thought he was done with this disaster. That was the plan: to call it quits and forget it ever happened. But now he can’t ignore it. It doesn’t matter if Inosuke is fighting a battle with his mind, watching Tanjirou suffer is the last thing he’d ever want. He would rather be forced to suffer double the effects of his condition than have Tanjirou go through the same thing he’s been fighting for so long.

Tanjirou is too good, too kind, to be cursed with this affliction. He doesn’t deserve it.

Ugh. Inosuke would do anything to forget about this right now. Tanjirou’s face — cheeks painted red — flashes before him, and Inosuke knows he can’t avoid it. He’ll help Tanjirou the same way Zenitsu helped him, or tried to, at least. The fact that Inosuke isn’t cured is of no matter. He can push his issues aside and ensure that Tanjirou gets better. That’s what a good boss does, right?

Maybe Zenitsu could give him a push in the right direction. “Monitsu,” he starts.

Zenitsu looks up, waiting for Inosuke to continue.

“I think my allergies are contagious.”

Inosuke is expecting Zenitsu to pat him on the back for solving this mystery, but instead, he just bites his lip, apprehensive.

“Remember how I said I had something to tell you?”

Inosuke tenses. This isn’t what he wants to hear right now. All the trepidation their previous conversation had instilled in him returns at full force; his skin gaining a sickly pallor. “It’s not important,” he says resolutely.

But Zenitsu presses on. “No, it is important. I’ve been keeping something from you.”

Come on. Say something. Say anything.  “It’s the allergies, right?” Don’t give up on me. Please.

Solemnly, Zenitsu nods.

“You… Tanjirou… he… the allergies…” His words come out a jumbled mess.

Inosuke lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His legs feel like jelly. Somehow, Zenitsu had come to the same conclusion but was too afraid to confront him until now. Which, of course, is ridiculous. That thought brings some of the color back into Inosuke’s cheeks. “That doesn’t matter! I  just have to help Tanjirou now: since he’s allergic too!”

“No!” Zenitsu starts, then sighs as he rubs his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Zenitsu!” Inosuke points an accusatory finger at him, a rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Even though your methods didn’t work for me doesn’t mean they won’t work for him! Just you wait, he’ll be better in no time!”

With that, Inosuke scampers off, leaving Zenitsu alone on the garden wall, a half-uttered objection on his lips.

As Inosuke runs, the high wears off, and the resignation sinks in. Inosuke swallows, repeating the same three thoughts over and over until he believes them. 

That’s right. Tanjirou will be better. This time, it’ll be better.

Inhale. 

It’s nothing.

He can do it. Easy. 

It won’t hurt.

Exhale.

Chapter Text

Inosuke steels himself as he prepares for bed. He’s doing this for Tanjirou and nobody else. There are no personal stakes involved. Sharing a bed would be a good first step in exposing Tanjirou to his allergies, even if they had been doing it for weeks already. It’s different now.

Despite his convictions, Inosuke’s stomach curdles at the thought of Tanjirou’s flushed cheeks and the way he high-tailed it out of the courtyard. That wasn’t part of the plan, and now Inosuke has to make accommodations. He lets out a shuddering breath, bracing his arms against the sink. Come on. You’re not weak. Go back out there.

He’s stalled for long enough. Tanjirou was probably already asleep, which would make it harder for him to execute his plan — not that it’s any different from what he’s already been doing, but somehow it feels different.

Last night, Inosuke convinced himself that this was the last time he would sleep with Tanjirou pressed against his side, but here he is, psyching himself up to do just that.

Enough is enough. Inosuke straightens up and forces himself out of the bathroom. His heart races as he approaches their bedroom door. Tanjirou and Nezuko are the only ones behind that door, and Nezuko is undoubtedly tucked away in her box. When he goes in, he can’t ignore Tanjirou. The only reason he and Tanjirou still have their own room is that the injured demon slayers are wary of Nezuko. Now he wishes Zenitsu were here so he wouldn’t feel so awkward. At least then he could play it off as charity work: purely professional.

Inosuke imagines Tanjirou’s arms wrapped around him, breathing deeply into the crook of his neck, and his heart jumps into his throat. Maybe it’s better that Zenitsu is absent.

Inosuke reaches for the door and slides it open. Tanjirou is already lying down, but his eyes flutter open when Inosuke slips inside the room. The moment Inosuke meets Tanjirou’s panicked gaze, anxiety shoots through him. This was a bad idea.

Tanjirou doesn’t waste any time in turning over to face the wall. 

He swallows down the pang of hurt he feels as the redhead pushes him away and stiffens his resolve. If this is Tanjirou’s way of avoiding the problem, then he’s got another thing coming. Inosuke won’t let him down. He’s the boss, right? And Tanjirou is his co-boss. They support each other. Inosuke needs to do this.

Inosuke eyes him, and then his gaze travels to his own futon pulled a few feet away from Tanjirou’s — last night they had been lined up side by side.

He isn’t expecting the way his stomach drops at the sight. He stares at the gap between them, a lump forming in the back of his throat. “Why’d you move the bed?” Inosuke hates the way his voice wavers.

Tanjirou’s shoulders jump up as if Inosuke’s words were a cold hand pressed to the small of his back. So, it was intentional. Inosuke knows enough to recognize that Tanjirou is a shitty liar — his body language gives him away every time.

Inosuke watches him from across the room, willing him to turn around and talk to him. Please.

Then Tanjirou sits up, speaking to the shadows in the corner. “We have more space this way.”

“That never mattered before,” Inosuke retorts. Tanjirou needs to get it together; avoidance isn’t the answer. Inosuke has already tried that, and look where it got him.

“I — You said we were friends. Friends don’t sleep together,” Tanjirou whispers. “Aren’t we? Friends?” Something in his eyes is searching, but Inosuke isn’t sure what for.

“We’re not friends, stupid.”

Wide red eyes lock onto his own for the first time since Inosuke had spoken. 

Inosuke’s heart skips a beat. “It’s different! I already told you that you’re my favorite. How can we be friends? We’re better than friends.”

Tanjirou’s gaze pierces through Inosuke’s racing thoughts, instilling a feeling of urgency in him. “Zenitsu and I are friends, barely; you’re my best friend!” Inosuke exhales, grinning to hide the nerves bundled in his chest.

But then Tanjirou looks away, eyes settling on the desk just past Inosuke’s left arm. “Oh…”

Inosuke smothers the resurgence of the nerves that had just faded away. “Am I not your best friend?”

Tanjirou shakes his head, eyes unfocused. “No, you are.” Before Inosuke can begin to unpack that response, Tanjirou scoots back under the covers and lies down, his back facing Inosuke. “It’s late. I’m going to sleep.”

All this time, Inosuke had thought he was Tanjirou’s favorite person too. Maybe that was just wishful thinking. No, Tanjirou’s probably just tired from dealing with the allergies all day — something that Inosuke is intimately familiar with. Inosuke takes a deep breath to steady himself. He doesn’t need to ruminate on these trivial concerns. He’ll be a good boss; a good friend; a good best friend. He’s going to help whether Tanjirou wants it or not.

Silently, Inosuke pads over to Tanjirou’s curled-up form and roughly peels the blanket away. He’s already halfway under the covers when Tanjirou squeaks in surprise, eyes searching for him in the dark.

“What are you doing?” His voice is uncharacteristically small, a tremble consuming the latter half of his words.

Inosuke snorts, ignoring the way his heart clenches. “Sleeping, obviously. What do you think I’m doing?”

“You have your own bed,” Tanjirou replies, sucking in a breath.

He doesn’t want to go back to his own bed. Why is Tanjirou acting like this? Inosuke bites his lip to stop it from quivering. Rejection shouldn’t hurt this much. He has lived fifteen years of his life without Tanjirou by his side, and now, after a month in Tanjirou’s arms, he’s ready to break down? Get it together, Inosuke. You’re stronger than this.

Inosuke forces himself to conjure up a reply. “It’s cold. Here is warmer.” Then he throws himself back onto the pillow, wrapping the edge of the duvet around his side.

Tanjirou blinks over at him, face unreadable past the hesitance in his slightly parted lips and wandering eyes. Just like earlier, a red flush coats his cheeks and makes the tips of his ears glow. “Fine,” he whispers. “Until you warm up.” Then he’s turning over to face the wall again.

Inosuke resolutely pushes down the momentary glee at the thought of having Tanjirou’s warmth surround him for another night and punches his side of the pillow into an acceptable shape before settling down. He’s faced with a mop of short burgundy hair, and he thanks every god in the universe that he doesn’t have to look into Tanjirou’s eyes right now. One look and he would cave, unsure if he can stop himself from pouring all his insecurities out at Tanjirou’s feet.

Now, how should he do this? The tension in Tanjirou’s shoulders is painfully obvious. He needs to relax. Inosuke raises one of his hands, hovering over Tanjirou’s arm.

Inosuke’s heart is practically beating out of his chest. He internally curses at it. It’s not like he hasn’t done this before. Why is it different now?

Memories of Tanjirou pulling him close — enveloping him in his safe embrace — color his vision. But Tanjirou had never been awake during those moments. This is different. He hadn’t been that enthusiastic a moment ago. What if he pushes Inosuke away? That thought makes Inosuke’s toes curl.

But it’s now or never.

It’s merely the barest of touches, but Tanjirou flinches when Inosuke’s fingers brush against his clothed arm. Tanjirou hasn’t told him to stop, so Inosuke hesitantly lowers the palm of his hand until it is flush with Tanjirou’s arm. 

Tanjirou stiffens but still doesn’t protest. Good. Inosuke can proceed to level two. Closing his eyes, he presses his forehead into the small of Tanjirou’s back and snakes his arms around Tanjirou’s middle like the redhead had done to him many times before.

He smells of rose petals and charcoal. Inosuke exhales slowly. That scent on anyone else would make him wrinkle his nose in disgust, but on Tanjirou, it’s intoxicating.

His belly is starting to feel hot again, but Inosuke ignores it. This isn’t about him. “Go to sleep, Tanjirou, or I’ll beat you up in practice tomorrow.”

The redhead chuckles weakly, finally, finally melting into Inosuke’s embrace, “Keep telling yourself that.”

On any other day, those words would provoke him to no end, but today he can’t find it in himself to care, not when Tanjirou is practically putty beneath his fingers.

Inosuke squeezes his eyes shut and wills his heart to fucking slow down. He tightens his hold around Tanjirou’s stomach. It’ll be better in the morning: better for both of them.

.oOo.

By the time Inosuke wakes, Tanjirou is already gone. Not that his absence is abnormal, as Tanjirou tends to rise even before the sun, but Inosuke’s body is still determined to send him into a fit of nerves. Fleeting thoughts that Tanjirou might have left him completely fight to be heard, but Inosuke pointedly stuffs them into an untouched corner of his mind. After all this effort, he should be eager to conclude the results of his experiment.

Inosuke yawns as he sits up, rubbing the crust from his bleary eyes. It’s rare for him to be anywhere near sluggish in the morning — he’s usually bounding with energy — but maybe all this thinking has tired him out.

Whatever. Inosuke kicks the blanket into a tangled mess at the end of the bed and stands up. He can feel Tanjirou’s presence in the kitchen at the end of the hall, calming some of his anxieties. Renewed, Inosuke grins, scampering over to the door.

He’s about to throw it open but stops short, the unmade futon taunting him from over his shoulder. Inosuke groans, scuffing his foot against the floor. What an inconvenience. He veers around and hastily smooths out the duvet, tossing the pillow somewhere near the head of the bed. Good enough.

Inosuke makes a beeline for the kitchen as soon as he’s through the door. The faint thuds of rhythmic chopping and the buzz of muffled voices grow louder and clearer as Inosuke skulks near the open door. Inosuke raises a stuttering hand to the doorframe, urging himself to peer into the room.

Kaede is giggling, a small knife held clumsily in her hand, while Tanjirou demonstrates beside her. Tanjirou hovers over her as she shaves off another slice of raw carrot. Her pieces are nowhere near as neat and even as those made by Tanjirou’s adept fingers.

Hmph. Inosuke could do better.

“Good job, Kaede! You’re a natural!” Tanjirou praises, beaming at her.

Kaede ducks her head, a bashful smile on her delicate face.

An inexplicable pang of jealousy overwhelms Inosuke. That smile is his. Tanjirou had taught him first. Not some random girl he just met. Inosuke has half a mind to stomp over there and push her out of the way, taking his rightful place at Tanjirou’s side, but the redhead notices him first.

“Oh, Inosuke, you startled me.” Tanjirou laughs awkwardly and then clears his throat, clearly waiting for Inosuke to respond.

Tanjirou certainly seems better than yesterday, doesn’t he? His face is no longer an angry shade of red. Inosuke should be jumping for joy, but he’s still pissed.

“Sorry,” he says flatly, absentmindedly picking at a loose thread dangling from his sleeve. “Guess you were too busy with the kid to notice me.”

Tanjirou frowns at him, and Inosuke feels momentarily guilty, but Tanjirou is speaking again before Inosuke can rectify his mistake. “I was just teaching Kaede how to properly use a knife, that’s all. Uh, do you want to — Wait, why aren’t you dressed?”

“Just woke up. Couldn’t find you,” Inosuke mutters, still ashamed about his unwarranted outburst.

Oh. There it is again. A faint flush roams over the expanse of Tanjirou’s face, and he shifts his gaze at a point over Inosuke’s left shoulder. Fuck. Not cured, then.

Before Inosuke can worry about it further, Tanjirou wheels around and shoves him out the door. “Go get dressed; then I’ll teach you. I won’t have you ruining Hisa-san’s generous gift.” His tone is playful, but the redness in his cheeks hasn’t faded. 

A moment later, the door slides shut, and Inosuke is left with significantly less enthusiasm than he’d had five minutes ago.

Back to the drawing board, it is. Inosuke flips Kaede off through the door for good measure before slinking off.

Unfortunately, Inosuke is fresh out of ideas. He’s tried sleeping next to Tanjirou; he even grabbed him the same way Tanjirou had done to him, but the effects were insignificant. This is harder than he expected.

Inosuke sighs, hooking his legs over a branch of the tree he had taken refuge in and dangles upside down. Tanjirou would surely scold him for getting dirt on his pajama pants, but Inosuke doesn’t really care.

He mulls over the events of the last month, picking apart every little thing he had done in response to the allergies. Then it clicks.

“So it happens when he touches you or smiles at you, right?” Zenitsu’s voice echoes in his head. “Okay, then maybe you should keep doing things that make him respond like that.”

Right. Inosuke drops to the ground, landing on all fours, and books it back to the house. He just has to be nice to Tanjirou, to make him happy. Those things make Inosuke happy; there must be something that makes Tanjirou happy too.

“Nezuko!” Inosuke bellows, slamming the bedroom door open.

Nezuko, likely used to his antics by now, calmly pokes her head out of her box.

Inosuke plops down in front of her, cross-legged. “What does Tanjirou like?”

She cocks her head at him, and Inosuke feels compelled to explain. “Don’t look at me like that, demon girl. Your boss is helping one of his own.” He scooches closer. “Now, tell me.”

Nezuko sighs but considers the question. At least, that’s what Inosuke thinks she’s doing; sometimes, it’s hard to tell. Maybe this is going to be another fruitless endeavor. It’s not like Nezuko can talk, so even though she knows Tanjirou the best (Inosuke comes in at an obvious second, of course), she’s limited in how she can impart that knowledge.

Inosuke is close to waving her off and coming up with something on his own when Nezuko claps her hands.

“You’ve got something?” Inosuke inquires.

Nezuko nods emphatically. “Mmh!” She reaches her arms out to Inosuke, making little grabby hands in his direction.

Confused, Inosuke mirrors the gesture back at her, but Nezuko shakes her head and tugs on his arm.

“Huh?”

Then Nezuko wraps her small limbs around him, and Inosuke finally understands. “He likes the squeezy thing?”

“Mhmm!”

Inosuke claps her on the back, grinning. “Great work, Nezuko!” Then he’s getting up and running through the doorway without a second glance.

Nezuko waves at his retreating figure before clambering back into her box to rest until the sun goes down.

.oOo.

This is great. Better than great. Inosuke has a plan. He talked to Nezuko, changed out of his sleepwear, and is ready to confront Tanjirou again.

As he roams the halls, following the pull of Tanjirou’s aura, his mind wanders. Tanjirou will be awake again. And this time, he’ll have to look into his stupidly mesmerizing eyes. Okay, maybe he needs to practice first. Just then, crackling energy catches his attention. How convenient. The perfect target has arrived.

“Pig assault!” Inosuke yells, charging at Zenitsu, who was hobbling towards the bathroom.

The unsuspecting blond shrieks as Inosuke tackles him to the ground. “Ow! What the fuck, Inosuke?!” He winces, rubbing the unfortunate elbow that had made contact with the tatami. “You’re lucky I didn’t break another bone.”

Inosuke doesn’t respond; instead, he tightens his hold around Zenitsu’s shoulders. Somehow, it feels different than when he does this with Tanjirou. It’s still warm, but it’s not as nice, and his stomach doesn’t feel all wiggly.

Zenitsu struggles in his grasp. “Gross! Get off of me, you idiot!”

Inosuke finally relents, releasing Zenitsu from his iron-like grip. “Don’t be such a baby. I was just practicing.”

“Practicing what?!”

Inosuke shrugs. “I don’t know what it’s called. Nezuko showed me.” He recreates Nezuko’s beckoning fingers, and Zenitsu slaps a hand to his forehead in exasperation.

“You mean a hug?”

“Oh, is that what it is?” Humans really do have names for everything.

“Not whatever you just did. It’s supposed to be nicer than that,” Zenitsu retorts with a scoff.

Inosuke snorts at him. “What do you mean, ‘nicer’?”

Zenitsu wraps his arms around himself, his eyes going starry and unfocused. “It’s a tender embrace! Something saved for people you care about! It’s warm and comforting. Ah, if only Nezuko-chan would hug me like that, I could die happy.” Zenitsu grins to himself, continuing to hug an invisible Nezuko with gusto.

Hmm, that sounds familiar. Phantom fingers ghost over Inosuke’s biceps, sending a tingle shooting through his spine. “Like when Tanjirou squeezes me with his arms when we’re sleeping? But standing up?”

Zenitsu splutters, eyes refocusing on the other boy,  “You’re still doing that?!”

Inosuke’s heart clenches. “What, is it bad? You just said it was nice! For people we care about. I like Tanjirou!”

“Yeah, no shit,” Zenitsu mutters through gritted teeth.

Inosuke brandishes his fist at the blond, who immediately cowers, protecting his fragile skull from the unmatched force of Inosuke’s clenched fingers. “You wanna say that again, moron? Of course, I like him.” I like him more than anyone else. He pushes the thought away and continues. “He’s my co-boss!”

“The bed! I meant sharing the bed!” he squeaks.

Inosuke freezes, sending Zenitsu a condescending look as he lowers his hands. “Weren’t you the one who told me to do that?”

“I mean, yeah, but I didn’t think you were thick-skinned enough to keep doing it.” Zenitsu shrugs minutely, as if afraid that any sudden movement would send Inosuke into a frenzy. And, to be fair, it probably would.

“I’m fine.” Much to Inosuke’s chagrin, his voice wavers. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Zenitsu’s playful demeanor sobers, and something almost sad swims in his eyes. “Come here.”

Hesitant, Inosuke approaches him, unsure of what the thin line of his lips is supposed to indicate. Then Zenitsu is sighing as he pulls Inosuke into his arms.

Inosuke’s body goes rigid. What the hell?

Zenitsu’s frame is nothing like Tanjirou’s. It’s thinner and more fragile but still bears evidence of the battles he went through hell to fight. Despite Inosuke’s stiff posture, Zenitsu doesn’t let go, instead, tightening his hold around Inosuke’s torso. 

“It’s okay if you’re not. You can talk to me. I want to help.”

The breath hitches in Inosuke’s throat, and he blinks back the tears threatening to incriminate him. He exhales, dropping his head onto Zenitsu’s shoulder, and some of the tension in his body finally melts away. It’s warm and comforting, just like Zenitsu had said. It’s not Tanjirou, but it’s close. 

Tanjirou. Right. Inosuke pulls away. “Don’t be stupid, I’m doing great,” he insists.

Zenitsu looks like he wants to retort, still sporting the same pained expression that means he knows — he knows. He knows Inosuke is hurting, even though he shouldn’t be. He knows Inosuke has given up on fighting for himself, even though he’s fighting for Tanjirou. He knows Inosuke doesn’t want Tanjirou to stop, even though he should.

“But thanks, I guess,” Inosuke says with deliberate nonchalance. And before Zenitsu can call out to him, Inosuke is pushing down the lump rising in his throat and making a beeline straight for Tanjirou. It’s now or never.

.oOo.

“Monjirou, get over here!” Inosuke bellows.

Tanjirou jumps, nearly dropping the knife he was using to prepare the rest of the vegetables for today’s meals. “Inosuke! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” 

Now that Tanjirou is in front of him, Inosuke’s mind goes blank. Those crimson eyes stare right through him. It’s too much. He’s already imagining the all-encompassing heat that will bloom wherever their skin connects.

No, this is for Tanjirou’s sake. Nezuko said he likes these things, and Zenitsu explained it as best he could. It’s going to work.

“Close your eyes,” Inosuke demands.

Instead of obeying, Tanjirou’s eyes widen, and he twists his fingers together anxiously. “I, um… why?”

Inosuke is starting to lose his nerve. “Just do it!”

Tanjirou bites his lip, but his eyes flutter shut nonetheless. “This better not be another one of those weird demonstrations of your power. I can’t handle another headbutt to the stomach today. Shion ran into me at full speed earlier and I swear it knocked all the wind out of me.” 

He’s rambling. Is he nervous? Is Inosuke making him nervous?

“Shut up, Tanjirou,” Inosuke huffs, and then he’s grabbing Tanjirou by the sleeves until he stumbles into Inosuke’s chest with a squeak of surprise.

Is it working? Inosuke’s grasp tightens, warmth flooding his body. His knuckles are turning white with the pressure.

Tanjirou lets out a strangled gasp. “What are you… doing? Can’t… breathe…”

Inosuke snaps back to reality,  relinquishing Tanjirou from his vice-like grip and pushing him away like he’s a lump of burning coal, heat traveling from his fingertips to rest atop his cheekbones.

Tanjirou coughs as he straightens out his rumpled haori, a matching flush on his face. “What’s gotten into you?”

Stupid Tanjirou; Inosuke should be the one asking him that! “Nothing.” He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“It’s just, you’ve never hugged me like that before,” Tanjirou says, not meeting Inosuke’s gaze.

A shiver courses through Inosuke’s veins. “Nezuko and Zenitsu taught me! Don’t make it weird! They said it would help.”

The flush dusting Tanjirou’s cheeks deepens, and he ducks his head.

“I’m not making it weird,” Tanjirou insists, waving his hands weakly at Inosuke. His brows are knitted into a confused knot on his forehead.

Inosuke is tempted to smooth out the wrinkle right between Tanjirou’s eyes.

“But what do you mean, ‘help?’”

Oh. “Umm, it’s a secret!” Inosuke blurts out. His heart is pounding against his chest. “I just need to try again.” He dives back into the hug, but Tanjirou takes a few preemptive steps backward, shaking his head, and Inosuke falls face-first into his shoulder.

“Inosuke,” Tanjirou struggles to say, gently pushing at Inosuke’s shoulders. “Whatever it is, I’m fine. Please, let go. You don’t need to —”

“But I want to.” Inosuke worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Tanjirou must hate it, he thinks, belatedly registering Tanjirou’s request: Please, let go.  

But Nezuko and Zenitsu said he would like it. Why would they lie to Inosuke? Despite everything, he doesn’t want to let go. “Is this…” Inosuke trails off, inhaling through his nose before trying again. “Is this… okay?” He awaits Tanjirou’s answer with bated breath. Why is it so hard to ask for what he wants?

Inosuke feels it when Tanjirou’s chest rises and falls with a shaky sigh before he speaks, something wistful in his voice. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Inosuke cranes his neck in an attempt to read Tanjirou’s expression, but the other boy looks away so quickly that Inosuke barely catches the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. It makes Inosuke’s stomach do that fluttery thing he’s learned to hate. His face is burning, and so is Tanjirou’s. Fuck. The flush has extended down his neck now, encroaching on his chest.

He has to pull away before the heat becomes all-encompassing. Untangling his arms from Tanjirou’s waist, he backs up and clears his throat. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re embarrassed. I know how stupid this stuff can be.” Inosuke swallows his discomfort at the reference to his struggles. He’s supposed to be the strongest: wants Tanjirou to think he’s the strongest.

Tanjirou’s eyes grow progressively larger with every word Inosuke utters, but he doesn’t say anything in return.

As soon as the last word is out of his mouth, all the embarrassment hits him at once. “Okay, I’m gonna go find Zenitsu and tell him he’s a little bitch. Bye!” He’s gone before Tanjirou can call out to him.

Inosuke’s heart is pounding. He can’t believe he just said that! Blatantly admitting a weakness isn’t something Inosuke ever imagined himself doing. But he did it for Tanjirou. 

His stomach clenches with fear. What if Inosuke made him feel worse by acknowledging the allergies directly? And before that, he went and hugged him out of nowhere. Inosuke isn’t sure how well that hug worked: Tanjirou was reluctant at first, but then he relaxed. He still seemed relaxed even when his face was on fire, but Inosuke knows he couldn’t be. It always makes Inosuke feel too much when it happens — there’s no way Tanjirou is fine. 

Ugh. He wishes this were over, and he and Tanjirou could go back to playing, sparring, and spending all their time together with no strings attached. He needs advice. Real advice.

.oOo.

“Zenitsu?” Inosuke calls into the blond’s room.

“Hmm?” Zenitsu hums in response, looking up from the journal he was writing in. Huh. Inosuke has never seen that before. He wonders what’s in there, but it’s not worth Zenitsu’s inevitable whining to ask.

Inosuke invites himself in, plopping down at the end of the bed and shifting into a criss-cross position. “I have a question.”

Zenitsu puts down his pen. “Go on.”

“It’s about the hug thing you told me about.”

Sighing, Zenitsu lets his eyes flutter shut momentarily before gesturing at Inosuke to continue.

“I don’t think it worked.” Inosuke wrings his hands together in his lap, not looking Zenitsu in the eye. He feels incompetent. “He tried to push me away at first, then he relaxed, but he was still blushing. He acted so normally though. That’s why I’m so confused!”

Zenitsu considers this, frowning, before placing a hand on Inosuke’s bare shoulder. “Inosuke, you just need to talk to him.”

Inosuke huffs, throwing his hands in the air, “I have talked to him! I told him that he shouldn’t be embarrassed because I know what he’s dealing with, but he didn’t say anything!”

“That’s not talking to him! That’s talking at him! They’re different! Plus, you didn’t make anything clear.” Zenitsu is getting increasingly agitated with every word that comes out of Inosuke’s mouth, and it’s infuriating.

“I don’t get it! What else do you want me to say?” Inosuke bellows.

Zenitsu takes a deep breath and rubs his temples. “You didn’t say anything about the allergies explicitly?”

Inosuke looks down. “...No.”

“Well, then, that’s the problem. If you explain it, I’m sure things will work out.” Zenitsu pats his shoulder again and leans back into the pillows.

“Why would I need to, though? He must already know.”

“Inosuke,” Zenitsu starts, exasperated beyond belief, “How would you know that?”

Inosuke splutters, “I just do!” 

He doesn’t want to dig into his reluctance to explain the situation. Something about opening up about a weakness he failed to overcome is grossly unappealing. Maybe it’s also the fact that Tanjirou would know. He would know that he’s the reason behind Inosuke’s symptoms, and Inosuke is sure he’ll beat himself up over it. A pang of guilt hits Inosuke right in the chest. Inosuke is the reason for Tanjirou’s suffering, too, even if unintentionally. So, no, he doesn’t want to talk about it any more than he already has. If he pushes it down hard enough, he’ll forget about it. As long as Tanjirou is better, he can manage.

“For god’s sake, just kiss him or something! I can’t deal with this anymore!” Zenitsu cries, throwing his hands in the air and letting out a hysterical laugh.

Inosuke is ready to fight back, but then he registers what Zenitsu was trying to tell him. “Kiss?” He cocks his head, curious. 

“Ugh, just smack your faces together! I don’t care anymore!”

Inosuke shrieks in frustration, “I never know what you’re talking about, Zenitsu!”

Zenitsu drops his face into his hands. “Fuck me…” He lifts it up again. “Just, fucking, put your lips on his lips. I don’t know… This is all I’ve got if you won’t talk to him.”

Weird, but doable. “You better not be fucking with me.” Inosuke points an accusatory finger at him as he begins to stand.

Zenitsu mumbles an unintelligible string of sounds and waves Inosuke off.

This is all I’ve got… Inosuke sucks in a breath and then exhales it slowly. This is his last chance; he’s going to make it count.

Chapter Text

Inosuke’s heart is practically beating out of his chest as he stomps through the hallway. This had better work. Tanjirou’s familiar aura leads Inosuke to the front walkway, where the boy is carrying a basket of neatly folded laundry perched on his hip. Inosuke is barely thinking anymore; he’s too preoccupied with the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins, his mind urging him to do it, do it, do it.

Before Tanjirou has time to form a greeting, Inosuke charges at him. “Pig assault!” Their faces smash together. The clack of teeth echoes in Inosuke’s head, muffled by Tanjirou’s strangled “Mmf!” The tangy taste of blood blooms on Inosuke’s tongue, but he can’t tell who it belongs to.

He stumbles back, dizzy and out of breath. He’s burning; he’s burning hotter than he ever has before. The kiss was awful, almost painful, even, but Inosuke still feels like he’s on fire. Whatever Zenitsu thought would happen if Inosuke followed his advice, it definitely wasn’t fucking this!

Inosuke backs up, nearly tripping over his own feet as he drags them through the gravel.

Tanjirou stares back at him, wide-eyed and shocked into silence. His lip is split clean down the middle; his chin stained red from the trail of blood leaking from his mouth.

A sick feeling settles in Inosuke’s stomach. Suddenly, everything is too much. Taking one look at Tanjirou, Inosuke screeches and tears off in the other direction. He barely registers the shellshocked expressions of the faculty and Hisa’s family as he retreats, but he sees enough to hate it — to hate the way they look at him like he’s crazy, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing, or worse, like they know why he did it.

The sound of Inosuke’s sandals slapping against the tatami is amplified in his ringing ears. Finally, he reaches an empty room and slams the door behind him. Panting, Inosuke sinks to the floor, back sliding down the wall.

Somehow, he knows this isn’t what Zenitsu meant when he said to kiss Tanjirou. The moment before their faces touched, a memory flashed in Inosuke’s mind. He and Tanjirou lying in bed together, noses inches apart, breath intermingling. There was a magnetic force between them, urging them closer, closer, until —

Inosuke sucks in a sharp breath. Until what? Maybe he was too brash in his efforts. He never wanted to hurt Tanjirou, but it seems like Inosuke’s kiss affected him, nevertheless. Inosuke could try again, but something about asking Zenitsu to teach him feels… icky. Yeah, he won’t do that.

He ran too fast to see Tanjirou’s reaction, but hopefully, something will have changed. If not, Inosuke will do it right next time.

That same memory intrudes again. This time, Tanjirou’s hand is on his cheek, ruby eyes fluttering shut as he leans in. Inosuke jumps as a shiver runs down his spine and shakes his head to rid himself of the thought. His face is burning. Ugh. Now he’s blushing.

Closing his eyes, Inosuke centers himself. After a moment of counting his breaths the way Tanjirou taught him, he stands up.

No need to try again so soon. He can observe Tanjirou from a distance until he decides the time is right.

.oOo.

Every time Inosuke has gotten close enough to Tanjirou to observe his behavior, his heart drums a war cry in his chest and words elude him. Inosuke is sure Tanjirou knows Inosuke is following him, but he doesn’t try to engage him in conversation. Inosuke supposes that it’s for the best. Despite his obvious fortitude in physical activities, communication seems to be his downfall. Ugh. He hates that word. Downfall. It’s bad enough that he can’t fight off his allergies, but it’s worse not being able to tell Tanjirou about it without making a fool of himself. Tanjirou is strong too; what would he think of Inosuke if he knew?

Inosuke swallows the lump forming in the back of his throat and tries to push the thought away. Focus. 

He spends the rest of the day watching Tanjirou from afar, hiding between the tree branches, quietly tip-toeing around him in the hallways, and ducking into empty rooms when Tanjirou turns around. He knows he’s not sneaky because Tanjirou must be able to smell him, but Inosuke doesn’t care. This is an important operation, and if Tanjirou decides not to talk to him, all the better.

During his stealth mission, Inosuke observed a few things about Tanjirou’s behavior. His eyes are spacey, his movements stiff. He looks like he’s in a near-constant state of thought. He has nearly tripped over his own feet three times and has bumped into Tsubaki and Shion twice in the same hallway. Not good.

That kiss was a terrible idea. Now Inosuke has gone and fucked everything up. He snorts in frustration. When will this be over? He is so sick of it.

The sun has begun to set, which means that Inosuke has been at this for hours already. He can call it a day. After waiting for Tanjirou to return to the gardens, Inosuke stands up from his hiding spot in the brush, dusts off his pants, and shakes the hair out of his eyes. A few leaves flutter onto the ground along with a couple of small twigs.

He’ll be on watch tomorrow.

.oOo.

Awkward is the only word Inosuke can use to describe dinner that night. Muscle memory sends him to Zenitsu’s room upon the ringing of the dinner bell; he doesn’t think of who might be in there.

When he slams the door open, eliciting a shriek from the blond idiot lying in bed, he locks eyes with Tanjirou, who had already been staring at him. The momentary surprise is replaced by tension so thick Inosuke could swim through it. It’s too late to turn back now, though — he’s dug himself too deep. So, he steps through the threshold, blindly reaching behind him for the door handle. His gaze is glued to Tanjirou’s as his fingers scrabble at the door. Upon finding it, Inosuke slides it shut with a tad more force than necessary.

Zenitsu releases another “Eep!” and Tanjirou coughs, ducking his head. Even though they’re no longer looking at each other, Inosuke doesn’t find it any easier to breathe.

“Sorry,” Inosuke mumbles, uncharacteristically quiet. He flicks his eyes up at Zenitsu, who fixes him with an inquisitive look and subtly beckons him closer.

Inosuke obliges, shuffling over to the side of the bed and sitting down a few feet from Tanjirou.

When neither Inosuke nor Tanjirou makes a move to start eating or talking, Zenitsu lets out an awkward chuckle, “Ha ha… ha…” The forced smile falls from his face, and he clears his throat. “So, are you guys going to eat?”

“Right!” Tanjirou says hurriedly, picking up his chopsticks and beginning to dish out the food. It’s tempura, Inosuke’s favorite, but, for some reason, it doesn’t seem nearly as appealing as it used to. “Here.” 

Instinctively, Inosuke reaches out, and Tanjirou places a bowl into his hands. Their fingers brush for the briefest moment, but Tanjirou flinches back, nearly toppling the bowl in his haste. 

“A-Ah, sorry.” His laughter is sheepish. “I must be tired.”

Inosuke huffs in response, skewering his food with the chopsticks Tanjirou handed him. It tastes like nothing.

Zenitsu won’t stop looking at them, head swiveling between the two of them, nervous confusion plastered to his face. He attempts to break the silence again. “What did you two get up to today? I napped for most of the afternoon.”

Inosuke leers at him from the side. He should know exactly what they did. He was the one who suggested it, after all. But instead of voicing that thought, Inosuke only shrugs. “Went outside, I guess.”

“Yeah, I was helping the staff with the laundry since they still have so many patients, but I spent some time in the gardens, too. I found this flower I thought Nezuko would like,” Tanjirou adds.

At the mention of Nezuko, Zenitsu’s eyes go starry, and a lovesick grin spreads across his cheeks. “Ah, my lovely Nezuko… I — I mean, you guys didn’t hang out today?” Zenitsu snaps himself back to reality when Tanjirou’s glare pierces daggers through him.

Suddenly, that glare disappears, and Tanjirou looks away. “N-No… we weren’t… together.” It seems like he’s forcing the words out, his face contorted in a way that almost looks painful.

Zenitsu gives Tanjirou a skeptical look that he doesn’t catch because he’s too busy not looking at either of his friends and then fixes his eyes on Inosuke.

Inosuke wants to punch him. Maybe that would get rid of this suffocating feeling in his lungs. “Don’t look at me, Monitsu. You heard him,” he says instead.

Just as before, the three of them fall into an uncomfortable silence. Inosuke’s skin is beginning to itch the way it does when he’s been sitting for too long. God, the air in here is stifling. He’s going to go crazy if he stays put for another minute. Forcing one more piece of tasteless shrimp down his throat, Inosuke shoves his mask back on his head and stands up. The moment the familiar fur envelops him, he can breathe again. He’s safe: safe from scrutiny, safe from Tanjirou, safe from himself.

Sucking in a delicious breath of air, Inosuke announces, “I’m done,” and scampers out of the room, leaving the others behind without a second thought.

It’s better as soon as he’s outside; the cool evening air dissipates the last of the tension in his body. Inosuke leans back, resting his head against the rough bark of a wisteria tree. The purple blossoms hang low, interrupting the view of the house in the background. If he lies down and looks up at the sky, a smattering of stars peeks through the flowers.

The image of Tanjirou, wide-eyed — frozen like a rabbit in the face of a predator — is seared into Inosuke’s retinas like he had been staring at the sun. The way Tanjirou denied Zenitsu’s insinuations rings in his head. Inosuke both detests and appreciates it. It’s not like Zenitsu wouldn’t get it if Tanjirou had said anything — he was the one who suggested the kiss, after all — but Tanjirou didn’t know that. That being said, Inosuke wasn’t about to tell him, either. Despite the secrets passed between them, this feels too… personal. A private moment only meant for himself and Tanjirou.

The moment plays out in slow motion. He can still feel Tanjirou’s mouth against his. Absent-mindedly, Inosuke chews his bottom lip: it’s tender and swollen. The second he realizes what he’s doing, he sits up. “Agh!” he shouts to the empty garden, angrily ripping out a handful of grass and chucking it at nothing in particular. “This fucking sucks. ”

Too preoccupied with his frustration, Inosuke is startled by a voice ringing out in the din. “Inosuke? Is that you?”

Tanjirou. Inosuke stills, uprooted earth spilling from his slackened grip. “...Yes.” 

This had not been part of the plan. He’s not ready to talk to Tanjirou, to face the inexplicable awkwardness that fills the air when their gazes meet. Inosuke keeps his eyes fixed on his lap even as Tanjirou’s sandals appear before him.

“Can I sit here?” Tanjirou asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Inosuke grunts, unable to string together a coherent response, and Tanjirou takes that as an invitation. Inosuke isn’t sure if he meant it as one or not. He doesn’t know anything anymore.

They sit together silently for a few long moments before Tanjirou speaks. “Can you please look at me?”

Inosuke’s stomach clenches, but he forces his head up. As soon as their eyes meet, Inosuke wants to avert his gaze again, anxiety flooding his veins, but something in Tanjirou’s expression locks him in place.

Tanjirou’s shoulders quiver as he inhales, never taking his eyes off Inosuke. “I need to ask you something important. Can you promise that you’ll answer me honestly?”

The kiss. He wants to know about the kiss. Goddamnit. But Inosuke nods his head anyway. He has never been able to refuse Tanjirou.

“Do you know what you did earlier?” Tanjirou speaks quietly and calmly, but his hands are fisted in the sleeves of his haori.

Hesitantly, Inosuke nods again. “I kissed you.”

Tanjirou’s breath hitches, and he searches Inosuke’s eyes, looking for something he can’t see through the mask. “Do you… know what it means?”

Zenitsu hadn’t told him that, but Inosuke assumes that it’s the same as a hug. Something you do to people you care for. People you like. He likes Tanjirou more than anyone else. Something soft flutters in Inosuke’s stomach, like the wings of a butterfly. He hugs his knees to his chest, hoping the pressure will make the feeling go away. If he opens his mouth now, there’s no telling what will come out.

Then Tanjirou reaches out to him, gently resting his hand over Inosuke’s clasped ones. “It’s okay if you don’t understand. Would it be better if I asked you why you did it?”

Tanjirou’s hand is so warm; it sends the butterflies in Inosuke’s belly into a frenzy. When his eyes refocus on Tanjirou’s, a scene unfolds in his head. Tanjirou slowly removing his mask. Tanjirou brushing the wild hair out of his face. Tanjirou trailing the rough pad of his thumb over his cheekbone. Tanjirou leaning in. Inosuke following suit…

“Zenitsu told me to!” Inosuke blurts out, his heart thumping in his chest, the remnants of his fantasy still clouding his thoughts.

Tanjirou’s hand slips away, and he leans back on his knees. “...Oh.” He can’t seem to sit still, adjusting the folds of his haori with shaking fingers, looking everywhere but at the boy in front of him. He laughs weakly, but it doesn’t conceal the tremble in his voice and the way his eyes are glistening. “That’s… funny.” Tanjirou bites his quivering lip, blinking rapidly.

Inosuke pales. He messed up. Why is Tanjirou upset? He didn’t mean to make him cry. The words pour out of Inosuke’s mouth like water rushing through a broken dam. “I-It wasn’t a joke. He was trying to help! That’s why I hugged you before, too! I just,  I—!”

Tanjirou raises his hand to stop him. “It’s fine; I get it. You don’t need to explain.” He stands up, dusting himself off.

“Wait, don’t leave!” Inosuke begs, grabbing onto the hem of Tanjirou’s haori. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I can—”

Tanjirou bends over and gently detaches Inosuke’s fingers from the fabric. A single teardrop drips from the tip of Tanjirou’s nose, splashing onto the back of Inosuke’s hand. It rolls over his knuckles and drips onto the grass like it was never there.

Tanjirou sniffs, straightening up.

Inosuke can only look up at him, and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. When Tanjirou smiles at him, Inosuke feels sick; there’s no warmth in that expression. The only thing in it is pain. 

“Good night, Inosuke,” Tanjirou says, voice cracking on the last word, and then he’s gone.

Inosuke is cold. He stares at the space in front of him, barely seeing. It’s over. Inosuke’s vision blurs, his breath catching in his throat. Before he can suppress it, a strangled sob escapes his lips. Fuck. Hot tears roll down his cheeks, clinging to the boar hair exposed at the bottom of his mask.

Inosuke doesn’t bother wiping them away; it would be pointless. Something had broken inside him, and he doesn’t know how to fix it — if he can fix it. So, he lies down and closes his eyes, letting the tears wash over him and praying that if he goes to sleep, he’ll wake up and find that it was all a dream.

.oOo.

When Inosuke’s eyes flutter open, the heavy feeling in his chest still weighs him down. Not a dream, then. He sits up slowly, back aching from pressing into a raised tree root. The sun has completely gone down, shrouding the green in darkness. What little moonlight filters through the leaves is barely enough for Inosuke to make out his hand in front of him. Inosuke stands, feeling like his legs are filled with lead, and trudges toward the house. He has walked these paths so often that he doesn’t need light to navigate them. That familiarity, paired with his heightened sense of touch, effortlessly guides him to the front door.

Inosuke tries not to think as he shuffles down the hallway. He’s still aware enough to exchange his sandals for house slippers, but he couldn’t say where his sandals had gone after he took them off.

The lonely hum of crickets through the open window and the repetitive noise of slippers rubbing against the floor are the only sounds that echo through the empty corridor. But even that is muted. Inosuke’s head is fuzzy the way it is when he’s stuck in a throng of people with no clear escape; when things get so overwhelming that it’s easier to block everything out, to close himself off.

He’s reached his room. Inosuke sighs, the tiny sound filling the space around him, but he barely hears it. Muscle memory has him sliding the door open, entering, and closing it behind him. Faint moonlight streams through the open curtains, illuminating the floor below.

Inosuke looks down. A lonesome futon lays on the tatami, bedsheets still slightly rumpled from Inosuke’s carelessness. Tanjirou is nowhere to be seen.  His absence is like a punch to the gut, smacking him right in the solar plexus so hard that it hurts to breathe. On any other day, Inosuke would be tearing through the house to find him, worried that he might have been attacked in the middle of the night, but not today. He can feel Tanjirou’s presence one room over, pressed up against Nezuko’s box. Muffled sniffles emanate through the walls, and Inosuke aches to reach for him. That room is only used for storage, yet Tanjirou had still taken his sister to sleep between the stacks of boxes. 

That hurts more than Inosuke expected. He really fucked up, hadn’t he? He yells in frustration, but his voice breaks, sounding more pathetic than angry. God, he can’t even be mad right.

Inosuke launches his slippers into the corner of the room and falls face-first onto the bed. He’s not crying. He’s not. He squeezes his eyes shut again, trying to ignore the way Tanjirou’s aura pulls at him, taunting him with something he can no longer have. 

It’s not until the sun starts to peek over the horizon that Inosuke drifts off into a fitful sleep.

.oOo.

Inosuke wakes with a clear head but a heavy heart. He takes his time pulling himself out of bed — a departure from his typical morning fervor. Scenes from last night play over and over in his head; Tanjirou’s broken expression, his pained eyes glazed with a thin veneer of indifference that still let some of the hurt through the cracks. Inosuke messed up somewhere during that confrontation, but everything has melded together in a haze of words and flashes of emotion crystal clear in their vividness.

Despite everything, Inosuke hopes that their relationship will return to normal. That Tanjirou will come up to him, smiling brightly, and offer to train with him. They’ll play in the gardens together. They’ll share a room again; beds pushed up against each other as they should be. No more allergies. No more confusion. No more pain.

Holding this wish close to his chest, Inosuke dresses himself and pads into the hallway. It’s already mid-morning, and Hisa directs Chiharu, Mio, Akari, and Hana into different hospital rooms. Some of the patients are leaving today, having recovered enough to go back to their loved ones to heal fully before resuming corps activities. 

Mio escorts a young man sporting a splint on his left leg into a wheelchair near the door. Chiharu follows shortly after with a woman around the same age. She’s walking independently, but the place where her right hand should be is tightly wrapped in gauze. Her long dark hair flutters as she passes by, exposing a neck mottled with angry bruises.

Inosuke shudders. The feeling of having your windpipes crushed beneath an iron grip is not something he likes to remember. He swallows, shaking off the phantom fingers pressing into his throat. Inosuke doesn’t stand by to watch the remaining patients leave the room. He scampers down the hallway and darts into the nearest room.

“Hashibira-san?” a small voice inquires.

Inosuke turns around. Shion is peering up at him, cocking her head in the way little kids do when they want to know something.

It’s only then that Inosuke realizes he’s in the kitchen. Shion’s hands are sticky with rice, and a few unfinished rice balls lay abandoned on the counter. A short wooden stool stands in front of the cabinets.

“Are you hungry?” she asks when Inosuke doesn’t respond, tugging on his pants with her rice-covered fingers. Everything she touches is coated with splotches of translucent residue. Shion points to the counter, grinning. “Kamado-san was teaching me how to make onigiri!” A pause. Then she pouts, her tiny bottom lip sticking out. “But he just left. He said he had something to do. We were almost done, too!”

At the mention of his name, Inosuke’s throat goes dry. Just as Shion had said, traces of Tanjirou’s aura linger in the kitchen, but the thread that ties them together leads elsewhere, just out of reach. An uncomfortable mixture of envy and hurt lodges itself in Inosuke’s throat. Tanjirou had taught that to him first. Inosuke had been so proud of his creation, practically floating on the wings of Tanjirou’s praise — he thought it was special. But Tanjirou doesn’t seem to agree, teaching anyone who asks. Before, Tanjirou would be eager to include Inosuke in his teachings, but now Tanjirou can’t even stand to be in the same room as him.

“Tanjirou has better things to do than stand around in the kitchen teaching stupid kids,” Inosuke grumbles, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He tries to keep the bubbling anger out of his voice, but some of it leaks through.

Shion’s eyes grow shiny, her lips beginning to tremble.

Shit. A crying kid is not what Inosuke needs to deal with right now. “Uh,” he flounders, shaking his head and waving his hands at her. “That’s not what I meant. I meant… um…” Shion peers up at him with large, round eyes. “He has to train! To fight the big, scary monsters. He’s a demon slayer, remember?”

Shion immediately brightens up, clapping her sticky hands together. “I forgot!” Then she grins, “I want to be a demon slayer one day, just like Kamado-san.”

This girl has no idea what she’s asking for. Only the strong can survive. A five-year-old stands no chance against a demon. The only thing they’re good for is bait. Inosuke nearly imparts that train of thought on her, but he envisions her breaking down into inconsolable tears and running to her family, telling them how mean Inosuke had been to her. Tanjirou would glare at him when he found out, taking Shion into his arms and whispering soothing words to her under his breath.

“You’d better get strong, then,” Inosuke says instead, storing that fear in a box and locking it away.

Shion pumps her tiny fist in the air. “I will! I’ll get even stronger than you!”

Inosuke scoffs, “I’m the strongest one around, and Tanjirou is a close second. I’d like to see you try.”

Shion playfully sticks her tongue out at Inosuke, saying something about watching her because she’s going to become the best demon slayer around, but Inosuke barely hears it.

It’s endearing how adamant she is. She reminds Inosuke of himself, in a way. Strong-willed and resilient. Inosuke feels a strange urge to take care of her, to make her a part of his pack. The thought is ridiculous; his pack is big enough already, and Shion wouldn’t take well to living in the mountains or partaking in missions, but she feels like Nezuko — like a little sister.

Inosuke pats her on the shoulder stiffly, unsure how to communicate the odd blanket of warmth encompassing him. He straightens up. “Uh, I could help you finish the onigiri. If you want. I learned from the best.”

Shion nods, beaming up at him. She drags him over to the counter, clambers back onto the stool, and hands Inosuke a blob of rice.

Inosuke guides her hands the way he remembers Tanjirou doing for him, letting her take the reins when she gets the hang of forming the triangles. He wraps his hands around her fingers as she slowly cuts through the sheets of seaweed. In under twenty minutes, the two of them have a plate of onigiri. They aren’t perfect by any means, but Inosuke feels even prouder than he was with his own creations. Shion giggles, trying to push Inosuke’s mask up to shove a piece of onigiri into his grinning mouth. Inosuke doesn’t resist, never able to turn down food. He chews; it’s pretty good.

“I’m going to show Kamado-san!” Shion says, grabbing the plate off the counter. “He’s going to be so impressed.” She tugs on Inosuke’s hand, trying to drag him to the door, but Inosuke doesn’t move. “Aren’t you coming?”

No. No, he’s not coming. Inosuke shakes his head. “I’ve got training to do too. Use your demon-slaying skills to find him yourself.”

That perks Shion back up. “Right! Thanks, Hashibira-san!” She bows — the onigiri wobbles dangerously atop the plate — before scurrying out of the room, a determined grin plastered on her face.

Inosuke sucks in a breath. He had almost forgotten, too absorbed in the cooking. He imagines Tanjirou’s proud smile as Shion presents her hard work to him. He’ll ruffle her hair and tell her she did a good job. Inosuke aches. Why can’t it be him? He wants his best friend back — his favorite person. He swallows, trying to clear his head. It’s no use trying to back Tanjirou into a corner if he doesn’t want to be found. Besides, Inosuke wouldn’t even know what to say.

He sighs, running his fingers through the coarse boar fur sticking out at the bottom of his mask. He’ll try to put it out of his mind for now. He’s had enough thinking for a while.

.oOo.

Inosuke floats through the remainder of the day, barely registering anything around him. He vaguely remembers Hisa-san’s voice, or was it one of her kids? But he answers automatically, not processing the words being spoken to him.

The next few days pass in the same fashion. Inosuke mostly keeps to himself. He wanders through the gardens, absentmindedly kicking pebbles through the dirt, even forcing himself to meditate the way Tanjirou does when he’s stressed. Anything to keep himself from thinking. Inosuke doesn’t think it’s working.

Zenitsu approaches him occasionally, but Inosuke scampers off faster than Zenitsu can hobble after him, leaving the blond with confusion on his pursed lips and a flash of hurt in his eyes. Inosuke has had enough of Zenitsu to last a lifetime. He can’t stand to deal with him right now, even if guilt twists in his stomach at the look on his friend’s face.

Tanjirou still hasn’t said anything to him, either. Inosuke has seen neither hide nor hair of him since the incident. It’s getting frustrating — frustrating because Inosuke doesn’t know how to fix the distance between them. Shouldn’t Tanjirou be over whatever it is by now? It’s not like Inosuke told Tanjirou that he was the one that murdered his family and turned his sister into a demon. Inosuke doesn’t even know what he said! It must have been bad if it made Tanjirou retreat into himself like this, though. Inosuke just wanted to help — wants to help. He truly doesn’t get it. Nobody else understands his feelings except for Tanjirou.

Actually…

“Nezuko?” Inosuke calls out tentatively, gingerly sliding open the door to Tanjirou’s new bedroom. He has no reason to be nervous — Tanjirou is nowhere nearby, his aura only faintly tickling the edges of Inosuke’s mind — but Inosuke feels like an intruder either way. This isn’t his territory anymore. However, sometimes boundaries need to be crossed to win the war.

If Tanjirou won’t talk to him, then Inosuke would go to someone who will. Well, maybe not literally, but someone who might shed some light on the issue at hand. Nobody knows Tanjirou better than Nezuko, Inosuke begrudgingly admits. She’s been there since Tanjirou was merely a piglet, whereas Inosuke met him when he had already grown into a mighty boar. He can learn from Nezuko, and he’ll be the one that knows Tanjirou best, and the unrelenting tightness in his chest will finally disappear.

The sound of nails scrabbling against wood fills the deafening silence in the dim room. A moment later, a lock clicks and Nezuko crawls out of her box, blinking at Inosuke expectantly. Her gaze pierces right through him, eyes filled with a certain heaviness that makes Inosuke feel too seen.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

Nezuko nods and plants herself down on top of Tanjirou’s neatly-made futon. She stares up at Inosuke and pats the space beside her.

He complies, kicking his sandals into the corner of the room before crawling onto the mattress. Now that he’s here, Inosuke doesn’t know what to say. There’s no way he can start with, “Hey, so I did something that made your brother cry, but I don’t know what it was, and now he can’t stand to be around me.” 

A small hand comes to rest on Inosuke’s thigh, long nails lightly grazing his flesh. “Mmm,” Nezuko urges.

Inosuke swallows thickly, staring into his lap at the now-crinkled fabric of the duvet. “I don’t know what to do, Nezuko.” His breaths are measured; in for four, out for eight. Breathe in. Breathe out.

The silence that follows rings in Inosuke’s ears like he’s standing too close to an explosion. The words that spill out next do little to drown out the sirens. “I messed up. I messed up really bad.”

Nezuko hasn’t removed her hand. Instead, she squeezes gently, rubbing a soothing circle on the outside of Inosuke’s leg.

Inosuke’s own hands ball into fists on his knees, his knuckles turning white. “I don’t even know what I did, but Tanjirou… Tanjirou, he —” his voice cracks. “He won’t even look at me.” 

A whimper escapes Inosuke’s trembling lips. He digs his fingers into his kneecaps, fighting the pressure building behind his eyes. In for four, out for eight.

Nezuko clambers into his lap, settling down right in the center. She peels Inosuke’s hands from his legs and guides his arms around her middle. She gently pats the backs of his hands, waiting for him to continue. She’s so small but so warm. So safe. Safe like Tanjirou.

The first tear escapes, soaking into the shoulder of Nezuko’s haori. “I-I can’t figure it out,” Inosuke cries. “I just wanted to help, but I fucked everything up.” He’s shaking now, tears staining his face.

Slowly, as if not to startle him, Nezuko turns around. When their gazes meet, Inosuke averts his eyes. She reaches up and places her palms on his cheeks. Gently, she swipes her thumb under Inosuke’s eyes; his fresh tears glisten on the pads of her fingers.

“I… I wish Zenitsu had never told me about these stupid allergies. Now Tanjirou hates me.”

At that, Nezuko’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Mm, mmm!”

“He doesn’t hate me?” Inosuke sniffs, finding the courage to look at Nezuko again.

She nods. “Mm!”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Nezuko only looks at him as if to say, “You know I can’t tell you.”

Inosuke bites his bottom lip. “Is he upset?”

She nods again.

Although Inosuke already knew he had hurt Tanjirou, discovering that it was the only reason Tanjirou has been avoiding him hurt worse than if he were just mad. “How do I fix it?”

Nezuko blinks but remains silent.

Inosuke exhales a shaky sigh, sniffling loudly.

Nezuko stands, and Inosuke’s eyes track her movement. She reaches down to smooth out his unruly hair and wipes the rest of the tears from his cheeks. The gesture is so kind that Inosuke nearly starts crying again. 

Measured breaths. In for four, out for eight. “I guess you can’t really tell me, anyway.”

“Mm.”

Inosuke sighs and pushes himself to his feet. This is so frustrating! He doesn’t want to figure this out alone! He can’t! Inosuke has never been good at this emotional stuff. He doesn’t know what he expected to gain from this, but Nezuko did the best she could. “Thanks.” He extends an arm to her, intending to pat her on the head, but he falters, unsure whether the gesture would be welcome. Tanjirou hates it whenever someone so much as glances in his sister’s direction.

But then Nezuko is wrapping her tiny arms around Inosuke’s torso. Her head barely comes up to Inosuke’s chest, but the hug is just as comforting as one from someone who can reach his shoulders. She pulls away, giving Inosuke an encouraging, “Mmf!”

Inosuke exhales a deep breath. “Good night, Nezuko.” Then he slips out the door to ruminate once again.

He hasn’t learned anything new from that conversation. Yes, according to Nezuko, Tanjirou doesn’t hate him, which is good, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still avoiding Inosuke. He needs to take it one step at a time and see what tomorrow brings. Maybe something will be different.

.oOo.

Inosuke’s stomach drops when Tanjirou approaches him the next day. He had looked up from the bowl of rice he had been eating in the dining area to see the redhead walking towards him. At first, he glanced around to see if there was anyone around him that Tanjirou might be looking for, but Inosuke was the only significant person in Tanjirou’s trajectory. Inosuke doesn’t know the names of any of the others.

With every step Tanjirou takes, Inosuke’s heart feels lighter. Has he finally been forgiven for his unidentifiable sin? His heart fills with glee at the prospect, lips parting in a grin.

Their eyes meet, sending a jolt of electricity down Inosuke’s spine.

“Good morning,” Tanjirou says, voice even.

Warmth blooms in Inosuke’s chest. “Hi,” is all he can manage.

Tanjirou acknowledges him with a nod before striding past Inosuke’s table to sit at the one behind him. Tanjirou easily inserts himself into the existing conversation, addressing everyone by name. Tanjirou had taken the last empty seat, otherwise, Inosuke would have joined him.

It doesn’t matter though. Nothing can put a damper on Inosuke’s mood right now. He finds himself beaming throughout the entire meal. Tanjirou is already gone by the time Inosuke finishes, but he vows to cross paths with him again today.

It’s not until a few hours later that Inosuke finds Tanjirou again. A taiko drum beats an impressive rhythm in his chest as he bounds up to the redhead. Inosuke grins, practically vibrating with excitement. “Tanjirou! Do you want to play in the river with me? I can catch fish with my bare hands!”

Tanjirou steps back, giving Inosuke a stilted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m busy right now. Surely you can find someone else to play with. Ume and Kaede are wandering through the gardens right now. Go ask them.”

Inosuke’s smile slips. He doesn’t want to play with any stupid girls. He thought things would go back to normal now that Tanjirou is talking to him again.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Tanjirou says, bowing stiffly.

Inosuke watches him go, lips pressed thin. That was odd, but Tanjirou wouldn’t lie, would he? He must have duties to fulfill.

Inosuke waits for him to come back — to talk to him again —  but Tanjirou continues to keep his distance. Not literally, though. Later in the evening, Tanjirou walks up to him, holding a basket of damp linens.

Inosuke is about to crack a joke, maybe lighten the mood with some friendly banter, but Tanjirou pushes the basket into Inosuke’s arms and says, “Hisa-san asked you to hang up the laundry.” His eyes are devoid of all warmth.

Inosuke can’t even protest because Tanjirou is already walking away. He stares down at the offending basket with an empty feeling in his chest. This morning, the thought of Tanjirou approaching himself made him happier than the prospect of defeating an upper moon ever could, but that initial excitement has morphed into a sickly sludge that coats his innards. There’s nothing personal in the way they interact. Tanjirou doesn’t joke around or seek Inosuke out aside from business. It’s like they were never friends at all.

.oOo.

Although Tanjirou has started talking to Inosuke again, he’s still avoiding Zenitsu like the plague. The moment Zenitsu enters the room, Tanjirou makes a swift exit. He has no problem speaking jovially with the kids and the rest of the staff, but the only time he will acknowledge Zenitsu’s existence is when he has to impart orders from Hisa or the doctors, and he speaks curtly, at that.

This dynamic puzzles Inosuke almost more than his own issue. Zenitsu wasn’t involved that night, so why is Tanjirou acting like Zenitsu is a demon that needs to be smited?

Zenitsu seems just as clueless. He shoots Inosuke pleading looks whenever Tanjirou brushes past him, but Inosuke only shrugs in response. He’s not ready to unpack more emotional baggage yet.

It’s not like Inosuke has talked to Zenitsu more in comparison. Inosuke has practically been avoiding everyone, and Zenitsu has surely noticed. The three of them haven’t shared a meal since that night. The kitchen staff gives them confused frowns as they spoon rice and vegetables into their bowls, a few patients separating the boys in line. Tanjirou barely looks at Inosuke after he receives his food. He leads Nezuko by the hand to a secluded table in the corner. Nezuko can’t even eat, but Tanjirou would still rather share a meal with her than with Inosuke or Zenitsu. 

Since Zenitsu is still subject to an early curfew, Hana has been bringing him his dinner for the past few days. Inosuke opts to sit at the closest empty seat in the dining hall, trying to ignore the pairs of eyes boring into the back of his skull.

Sometimes he glances over his shoulder at Tanjirou, and a pang of longing washes over him, but the thought of making meaningless small talk with the other boy curdles the food in Inosuke’s stomach.

Even the kids have noticed. Ume and Kaede whisper to each other in the hallway when Tanjirou acknowledges Inosuke with a slight nod of his head before briskly striding away. Confusion paints Shion’s round face when Tanjirou’s smile drops as soon as Inosuke enters the kitchen; his joy replaced by calculated neutrality.

It’s during these times that Inosuke prays for a demon to attack the Wisteria House, if only for something to do. Maybe he’ll be gravely injured and will be lucky enough to suffer from amnesia so he can start over. Sometimes he catches himself staring into the sky, hoping his dumbass crow will swoop overhead, cawing out a new challenge for Inosuke to undertake. He has no such luck. Wisteria is too effective at repelling demons, and Zenitsu’s shitty leg is still fractured. There’s no way out but through.

.oOo.

The sun has already dipped below the horizon by the time Inosuke heads back to his room. He feels sluggish; instead of air surrounding him, Inosuke walks through a vat of honey, limbs heavy and uncooperative.

His head is staticky: he barely registers Zenitsu and Tanjirou’s presence nearby as he ambles down the hallway. He feels them as blobs of energy rather than fully formed humans. 

Inosuke sighs as he limply shoulders the door open. He hasn’t even taken two full steps through the threshold before the door is slamming shut behind him.

“Fuck!” Inosuke shrieks, stumbling backward. His hands are already up in a guard by the time his vision focuses on his uninvited guest.

Zenitsu, leaning heavily on one crutch, is pointing the other at Inosuke’s chest.

Inosuke ducks, aiming to dart under Zenitsu’s arm, but Zenitsu is surprisingly fast. He blocks Inosuke’s escape route with his free crutch and steps forward, boxing Inosuke into the corner. “No. Not this time.”

Inosuke’s heart is pounding, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “You fucking scared me! What do you want?”

Zenitsu raises an eyebrow at him. “Don’t play with me, Inosuke. You’re not that stupid.”

Inosuke scuffs the ground with his foot and crosses his arms. There’s no avoiding this, it seems. “Just spit it out.”

“If I lower my arm, do you promise not to run?” Zenitsu questions.

Inosuke scoffs, “Fine.”

Zenitsu locks eyes with Inosuke. “I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

“So what? I don’t want to talk to you. Or anybody else. I lived in the mountains for fifteen years; I’m used to isolation.”

Zenitsu sighs. He uses his crutch as an anchor to lower himself to the floor and beckons Inosuke to follow suit.

Inosuke rolls his eyes, but he plops down across from Zenitsu anyway.

“So, are you going to tell me why Tanjirou won’t give me the time of day?” Zenitsu prompts. “And why you won’t look me in the eye?”

This is exactly what Inosuke does not want to talk about. He twists his fingers in his lap, avoiding Zenitsu’s probing gaze. “I dunno…”

“Are you mad at me?” Zenitsu asks meekly.

Inosuke frowns. “No, I just don’t want to talk to anyone.” More like he can’t deal with another confrontation yet.

“Are you mad at Tanjirou?”

“No? Yes? I don’t know!” Inosuke throws his hands up in exasperation. He doesn’t have the vocabulary to describe the whirlpool of emotions tangled up in his heart at the thought of Tanjirou’s avoidance.

Zenitsu gently places his palm on Inosuke’s bare knee. “Can you tell me what happened? Are you two fighting?”

Inosuke pointedly stares at the ground. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Zenitsu’s aggravated exhale is barely audible as he composes himself again. “If you two are fighting, how come he’s mad at me too? What did I do?”

That sentence forces Inosuke’s eyes upward. Zenitsu’s eyes are troubled, and he’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Zenitsu should never have been dragged into this. “You didn’t do anything!” Inosuke cries, fists clenched. “He’s mad at me!”

“Is he? He’s still talking to you.”

“I know he is! But he isn’t! He’s —” Inosuke pauses, overcome by the frustration of being unable to articulate his feelings. He starts again. “It’s like — like he’s speaking to me, but I just as well could be anyone else. And I feel… bad. I feel bad inside when he does that. Maybe it would be better if we went back to being strangers.” Inosuke trails off, his heart sinking with every word. His voice is nothing more than a whisper when he next speaks. “I still don’t know why he won’t talk to you, though. You really didn’t do anything.”

Zenitsu moves slowly as if Inosuke were a wild rabbit, reducing the space between them until their knees are nearly touching. “What did you do?”

“That’s the thing: I don’t know!” Inosuke chokes out.

“Do you want to tell me about what triggered this, then? When it started?”

Inosuke shrugs. “I guess.” He doesn’t particularly want to tell Zenitsu about what happened. It’s embarrassing and makes him feel like crying, and he really doesn’t want to cry again, but maybe Zenitsu will see something that he hasn’t. “Remember when you told me to kiss Tanjirou last week?” Inosuke starts.

Zenitsu’s eyes go wider than Inosuke has ever seen before. “Did you…?”

Inosuke nods, frowning at him. “Why are you so shocked? You told me to.”

“Yeah…” Zenitsu says sheepishly, “but I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

Inosuke fights the urge to start yelling at him. He takes a deep breath. “Well, I did, and now everything sucks.” His hands are starting to get clammy. Inosuke wipes them on his pants, willing his heart to slow down. “That night, he came to talk to me. He asked me if I knew what I did, and I said yes.”

Zenitsu leans closer. “Then what happened?”

Inosuke gulps. “He asked me if I knew what it meant.” He remembers what it felt like. Tanjirou’s eyes penetrating his soul. Inosuke’s heart pounding in his ears. The air thick with tension that Inosuke couldn’t place. “It’s like a hug, isn’t it?” Inosuke asks, pleads. “Why does thinking about it make me feel so… weird? It’s like I’m burning from the inside out.” The words won’t stop coming; Inosuke wishes he could force his mouth shut.

“Uh,” Zenitsu says, looking pained. “It can be like a hug for some people. It depends on who you do it with.”

That doesn’t make things any clearer. Inosuke whines, “But it’s Tanjirou! And you told me to!” 

“I know I did, but —”

“Why do I feel like this? Did Tanjirou not like it? Did he not want me to kiss him? Am I the wrong person?” Inosuke tilts his head toward the ceiling, blinking back his rapidly forming tears.

“No, that’s not it, Inosuke. Just listen.” Zenitsu says softly. “He was probably just confused. Kissing isn’t something you do without a warning.”

“Oh…” Inosuke says, averting his eyes.

“It’s okay. Next time will be better.”

Inosuke looks up at the other boy. “What do you mean, ‘next time’? Tanjirou is upset. With me. ”

“Well, did you answer his question?”

“I didn’t know what to say,” Inosuke replies, twirling the fur of his mask between his thumb and forefinger. “I just said that you told me to.”

Zenitsu winces. “I see.”

“Everything else is fuzzy, but I know I made Tanjirou cry.” Guilt grabs Inosuke by the throat. “I should never make Tanjirou cry. Nobody should.” He chokes out, “I miss when things were easy.”

“So, he stopped talking to you after that?” Zenitsu asks. 

Inosuke nods.

“This explains why Tanjirou’s futon is missing then,” Zenitsu mutters. “And why he’s pissed at me.”

A pang of hurt strikes Inosuke square in the chest, and he looks away. He doesn’t like thinking about it — Tanjirou leaving him, upset. Does Zenitsu hear Tanjirou cry in the middle of the night, too? His hearing is so powerful; he must know.

Zenitsu pats him on the knee. “I think you need to —”

“Actually,” Inosuke hears someone say. The next words come out of his mouth before he realizes he’s the one uttering them. “I think I need to figure it out myself.”

It’s true though, isn’t it? He’s spent so long listening to Zenitsu, and it has brought him nothing but confusion and pain. Maybe blindly taking someone’s advice won’t get him what he wants. Nobody knows what he’s feeling except himself, and the same goes for Tanjirou.

“If that’s what you want,” Zenitsu sighs. “Just don’t drag this out too long. Please.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Inosuke huffs, shooing Zenitsu away with a light kick to the knee.

Slowly, Zenitsu pushes himself to his feet. “Sorry I couldn’t help.”

Inosuke rolls his eyes. “I don’t want your help.”

Zenitsu mutters something under his breath that Inosuke doesn’t catch and shakes his head as he steps out the door, closing it behind him.

As soon as the latch clicks shut, Inosuke scoots back until he’s pressed up against the wall. Something is bugging him; it’s on the tip of his tongue. He’s going to figure this out. 

He replays that night in his head, Zenitsu’s commentary playing along with it. Inosuke sees Tanjirou getting closer, taking one of Inosuke’s hands in his own, something vulnerable but hopeful in his vibrant eyes. Even though that was days ago, Inosuke’s heart instinctually speeds up at the memory.

When did that switch happen? And why is Tanjirou angrier at Zenitsu than at Inosuke when Zenitsu wasn’t even involved?

“Zenitsu told me to!”

Oh. That’s it. The moment those words spilled from Inosuke’s mouth, Tanjirou’s demeanor changed. 

Huh. Even though Inosuke has identified the source of Tanjirou’s hurt, it doesn’t make any more sense to him than before. So the reason Tanjirou is upset is that Inosuke mentioned Zenitsu? So, he’s really upset with Zenitsu, not Inosuke? That doesn’t add up.

Well, it doesn’t matter now. Although the concept is foreign, Inosuke has seen Zenitsu grovel at Tanjirou’s feet enough times to know that people are supposed to say sorry when they hurt someone’s feelings. Inosuke has said the words, “I’m sorry” before, but not in a context like this; not when it matters so much. But now that Inosuke is privy to what he had done to upset Tanrjirou, apologizing seems to be the best course of action. Once he does that, all will be forgiven. Whenever Zenitsu evokes Tanjirou’s wrath by getting a little too close to his sister, Tanjirou never holds a grudge after Zenitsu apologizes. Inosuke hopes this will be the same.

He has to find Tanjirou now.

.oOo.

Inosuke tracks Tanjirou down in the kitchen as he puts away the last of the dinner dishes. “I need to talk to you.”

Tanjirou turns, relaxed features belying the tension radiating from him in waves. “I’m busy. Can it wait—?”

“I’m sorry,” Inosuke says, taking a step forward.

Tanjirou blinks at him blankly. “For what?”

“You know!” Inosuke vaguely waves his hands in the air. Why is this so difficult? “For — For mentioning Zenitsu when we were talking last week. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He averts his eyes, trying not to imagine the look on Tanjirou’s face right now.

“...Oh,” Tanjirou says slowly, setting the damp plate he was holding onto the counter. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

Inosuke frowns, jerking his head up to meet Tanjirou’s gaze again. “But I do! I hurt your feelings! Or Zenitsu did? I can’t tell.” He gestures wildly in an attempt to articulate his thoughts. “You shouldn’t be mad at Zenitsu. He didn’t do anything!”

Tanjirou lets out a scoff under his breath. “Sure.”

“I’m serious! I wouldn’t have mentioned him if I knew it would make you upset.”

“Inosuke, it’s not your fault,” Tanjirou assures, but his voice is strained. “I just — I… never mind. It’s fine. I’m not mad at you.”

The weight on Inosuke’s shoulders slides off, and he straightens up, feeling lighter than he has all week. “Really?”

Tanjirou nods once, turning back to the sink.

Inosuke grins, fighting the urge to run laps around the room. “Okay!” He brusquely claps Tanjirou on the shoulder. “See you later, Tanjirou!”

“Mmm,” Tanjirou affirms softly.

That went better than he had expected, Inosuke thinks as he walks out of the kitchen. Tanjirou isn’t even mad at him! Apologizing really is the cure-all. Inosuke is such a genius for coming up with that. Zenitsu didn’t even have to suggest it. Now Inosuke really is the king of the mountain, Tanjirou at his side once again.

Inosuke beams. He has been waiting for this moment: for everything to go back to normal. This is perfect.

.oOo.

Everything is not perfect.

Even though Inosuke had gone out of his way to apologize to Tanjirou, nothing significant has changed. Inosuke has approached Tanjirou several times, tugging on his arm and asking him to play in the grass with him, but the warm smile Inosuke envisioned is nowhere to be found. Right now, Inosuke is barely on Tanjirou’s radar. He’s not a best friend anymore. Not even a friend.  

The only improvement is Tanjirou’s acknowledgment of Zenitsu. Inosuke saw him shoot the blond a curt nod as they passed each other in the hallway earlier. But no “hello,” no “how are you,” no “I’m sorry.”

Inosuke is fed up with this back and forth. He needs to know the truth.

He finds Tanjirou amongst the flower beds taking a much-needed rest from the duties of the Wisteria House. Inosuke’s stomach clenches at the mere sight of his face. The words cross his lips before Inosuke can compose himself. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Tanjirou looks up, his face the same variation of blank it has been all week. “I am talking to you.”

Inosuke clenches and unclenches his fists. “But you’re not! Not really!” Emotions begin to bubble up in Inosuke’s chest like a gurgling volcano ready to burst.

“What do you want me to say, Inosuke?” Tanjirou asks tiredly. His hands are folded neatly in his lap like Inosuke isn’t falling apart at the seams in front of him.

“I said sorry, didn’t I? Isn’t that enough?” The volcano has erupted, spewing its contents over the expanse of the palace that is Inosuke’s heart. The heat takes away all his inhibitions. Lava burns everything to the ground until all that’s left is the confusion, pain, and guilt that has been building in his core for the past two months. He can’t do this anymore. “I just want all of this to stop! Ever since I found out about this fucking disease, nothing has been the same.”

Tanjirou’s eyes widen, fear sucking the color out of his cheeks. “W-What disease?”

“My allergies!” Inosuke cries, stamping his foot on the ground. “They’re driving me insane! I can barely look at you without feeling like I’m on fire.” 

Tanjirou stares at him, open-mouthed, and Inosuke has to look away. He’s breathing heavily now, the adrenaline rushing through his veins. “I tried to get rid of them. I tried. I tried so hard, but nothing worked. I still feel hot every time you touch me.” Inosuke has avoided broaching the subject for so long, but finally letting it all out is cathartic somehow, even if Tanjirou can’t help him.

“Inosuke, what are you talking about?” Tanjirou asks, incredulous. His brows are knitted, confusion engraved in the lines creasing his forehead. In the depths of Tanjirou’s eyes, a glimmer of hope shines through the darkness.

Why doesn’t Tanjirou get it? “I’m allergic to you!” Hot tears are stinging in Inosuke’s eyes, and he tries to blink them away, but a traitorous droplet escapes the clutches of his lashes. Inosuke itches to brush it away, but his hands are shaking too much for him to control them.

“Allergic? I’m sorry, what? ” Tanjirou asks, baffled and agitated. 

Shame floods through him. He’s weak. So weak. Tanjirou doesn’t even believe him. “You heard me!” Inosuke insists, balling his hands into fists. It’s hard enough to admit his weaknesses without Tanjirou questioning him. He longs for Tanjirou to pull him into his arms, to soothe him with gentle words as he brushes the hair out of Inosuke’s eyes. But Tanjirou does none of those things. He just stands there, staring. 

Inosuke begins to panic. “Don’t look at me like that!” he squawks, pointing a finger at Tanjirou’s face. “You’re allergic too!”

They stare at each other for a moment. A million emotions seem to flash in Tanjirou’s eyes in a matter of seconds, but Inosuke cannot read a single one of them. “Say something,” Inosuke pleads, losing his momentum. Another tear trails down his cheek. Why is he crying? This is so frustrating. He looks away, fixing his gaze on a stack of plates to Tanjirou’s left.

The continued silence is suffocating; it forces the words out of him. “I just wanted to help,” Inosuke whispers. “I tried to get close to you so you’d get used to it. I didn’t want you to be sick like me.” He sniffs. “And I thought it was working until we… until we... kissed.”

Tanjirou’s cheeks redden at the mention of the kiss, and he looks away, still silent.

“But it didn’t,” Inosuke continues. “It fucked everything up, and now…”

“No, it wasn’t that. I just —” Tanjirou stops mid-sentence. Although Inosuke isn’t looking at Tanjirou, he imagines Tanjirou schooling his features as he exhales a soft sigh. “Why don’t you explain from the beginning?” he says. “I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

Okay, Inosuke can do that. He wipes away his tears and refocuses his eyes on Tanjirou’s. “I noticed it a few months ago. Do you remember that day we were sparring, and I accidentally cut you?”

“Umm, I think so?” Tanjirou says, unsure.

“Well, you told me…” Inosuke squirms. It’s awkward to say it out loud; it's like he’s baring a facet of his soul to the boy in front of him. Inosuke can only pray that he’ll accept it and treat it kindly. “You told me I was strong.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot. His heart is pounding. “Then my face got really hot, and I could hear my heart in my ears. At first, I thought it was poison, but then it kept happening. Your smile makes my stomach all fluttery, and I can feel your fingers on my skin even after you’re gone.”

Tanjirou’s eyes are as wide as saucers now. “Inosuke…”

Now that he’s started, Inosuke can’t stop. “Zenitsu told me I had to build up a tolerance if I wanted to beat this thing. But nothing helped.”

“Oh my god, Zenitsu,” Tanjirou whispers through gritted teeth.

Inosuke’s eyes dart up, checking Tanjirou’s reaction. His expression is a mixture of shock and a hint of anger. Inosuke looks away again, heart pounding. “Whatever. Zenitsu’s advice was useless anyway. Besides, I kind of… didn’t hate it after a while. I like it when you smile at me.”

Tanjirou’s mouth forms a little ‘o,’ and Inosuke has to look away again. He feels so naked, and the silence is too loud. “Even though I couldn’t get rid of them, I didn’t want you to be sick. I never want you to be sick. But it looks like we’re stuck with this, aren’t we?” He’s babbling again. He knows he is, but he can’t stop. Inosuke waits with bated breath for Tanjirou’s response.

“So that’s why Zenitsu told you to kiss me?” Tanjirou asks. “Did you…” A pause. “Did you like it?”

Did he? The press of Tanjirou’s lips against his for mere moments is a memory that replays all too often in his mind. Yes, he liked it. Maybe a little too much. Inosuke shrugs, hiding his shaking hands behind his back. “I guess.”

Tanjirou lets out a chuckle, and he covers his mouth with his hand. Another giggle slips out.

Inosuke looks up at him, and a tangle of unnameable feelings socks him right in the gut. “Why are you laughing?” Inosuke whines, frustrated. He hates how his stomach drops and an uncomfortable lump forms in the back of his throat. Tears sting in his eyes again. It shouldn’t hurt like this. Why is Tanjirou making fun of him?

“Oh, don’t cry. I’m sorry,” Tanjirou says, looking guilty. He steps closer, and Inosuke sucks in a breath. Tanjirou’s eyes are gleaming. He reaches up to wipe the tear tracks from Inosuke’s cheeks. His hands are calloused but soft against Inosuke’s skin.

Warmth blooms beneath Tanjirou’s fingers. It feels so good. A tear falls. Then another. And then he’s crying on Tanjirou’s shoulder. Big, heaving sobs wrack his body as he tightens his arms around Tanjirou’s waist, twisting the fabric of Tanjirou’s haori in his fingers. He can’t even care about his snotty nose pressed into Tanjirou’s clothing or how awful he must look right now. He’s missed this so goddamn much. 

Tanjirou shushes him softly. “It’s okay if you liked it. I liked it too.”

Inosuke looks up, the world blurry from the tears staining his vision. “You did?”

Tanjirou’s cheeks are red, but he nods. “Inosuke, do you know what it means to like someone?”

“I like you. You’re my” — Inosuke hiccups — “best friend.”

“Not like that,” Tanjirou sighs. “To like someone more than friends. More than best friends. Call it love, or a crush, or whatever you like.”

“Oh,” Inosuke croaks, voice rough from crying. Another stray tear escapes him. “Like the way parents love each other?”

“Exactly,” Tanjirou says, rubbing Inosuke’s shoulder gently. “What you’re feeling isn’t weird or bad. It’s normal when you like someone. You can’t just get rid of your feelings.”

Inosuke stares at him. His head is spinning. A crush. A crush. He has a crush on Tanjirou. He’s in love with Tanjirou.

“Does… Does that sound right to you?” Tanjirou asks, some of the hesitance returning. “Do you think you like me… like that?”

Inosuke nods then buries his face in Tanjirou’s shoulder again. He can already feel the blood rushing to his head. He’s burning all over, and he can hear his heart in his ears. Why is this so embarrassing if Tanjirou already has everything figured out?

Tanjirou’s arms come up to wrap around his back, and Inosuke squeezes his eyes shut. This is too much.

“So,” Tanjirou picks up where he left off. “You’re not allergic to me, I promise.”

"What?" Inosuke’s head shoots up. “I’m not?”

“You just have a crush. You’re not sick.”

Red hot fury burns in Inosuke’s veins. “Why the hell did Zenitsu fuck with me then? He tricked me!” Oh, he can’t wait to pulverize that little twerp. All those tears for nothing. All the confusion. It could have been avoided if Zenitsu had told him the truth.

“I think he was trying to help, but the joke got out of hand. I don’t think he was trying to hurt you,” Tanjirou assures him, keeping a strong grip on Inosuke’s wrist to prevent him from wriggling out of his hold and charging at the blond. “But he should have told you when it started to go south. That’s why I was so hurt when you mentioned Zenitsu that night. He shouldn’t have played with our feelings. It’s not fair.”

“I’ve been keeping something from you.”

Maybe that’s what Zenitsu really wanted to say at that time. But he’d better watch his back from now on because Inosuke has a few choice words for him the next time they meet.

Wait, our feelings? “Our feelings?” Inosuke asks once he has calmed down. Then it clicks. “You said I was never allergic to you. So, you’re not allergic to me either?”

Tanjirou shakes his head.

“Does that mean you have a crush, too? You… you like me?”

Tanjirou averts his eyes, face flushing pink. “I thought that was obvious,” he mumbles.

Inosuke’s lips split into a grin. He would float away if Tanjirou’s fingers weren’t keeping him tethered.  “Of course, you like me!” Inosuke gloats, gaining confidence with Tanjirou’s confirmation. “I’m the Great Inosuke! Who wouldn’t like me?” 

Tanjirou laughs, really laughs, and Inosuke’s heart soars. It’s been too long since he heard that wonderful sound. “Yes, yes, you’re amazing.” His eyes are shining in a way Inosuke never thought he’d see again. And his joy is directed at him. Nothing could get better than this.

Then Inosuke sobers. “Things are going to go back to normal, right?”

Tanjirou bites his lip, breaking eye contact with Inosuke. “Well…”

Inosuke’s stomach plummets.

“It doesn’t have to be the same.”

“Huh?” Inosuke frowns, wrinkling his nose. “What the hell does that mean?”

Tanjirou lets out a nervous giggle, “I guess what I want to say is… I mean, do you know what people who like each other do?”

Inosuke cocks his head. He doesn’t remember his parents, so he doesn’t know what they did together. He doesn’t know any other couples either, so — oh. “Are we going to get married, then?” he asks. “Isn’t that what Zenitsu wants to do to Nezuko?” Imagine them, married. That thought makes Inosuke’s belly do backflips and makes his fingers get all tingly. He doesn’t exactly know what that entails, but it sounds nice. It sounds like he gets to be with Tanjirou forever. He wouldn’t mind forever.

Instead of agreeing, Tanjirou’s face turns beet red, and he begins to splutter, “That’s too fast!”

“Why? I thought you liked me!”

“I do, but people don’t get married right away,” Tanjirou says, a blush still adorning his cheeks. “We can start slow.” He looks down and reaches out for Inosuke’s hand. When he laces their fingers together, Inosuke’s heart damn near flies out of his chest. “Is this okay?” he asks.

Inosuke nods, too overwhelmed to form a coherent sentence. He’s sure his palms are getting sweaty. What if Tanjirou hates it?

Tanjirou only smiles though, placing his other hand on top of their clasped ones. This time, Inosuke welcomes the warmth that follows. “You’re my special person now.”

“Your favorite?” Inosuke whispers.

“Mhm.”

That confirmation gives him all the energy he needs. Inosuke grins, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’re my favorite too!” He tugs on Tanjirou’s arm. “Will you come play with me now?”

The other boy laughs, and his voice tinkles like wind chimes, “Sure.”

Before Tanjirou can say another word, Inosuke is dragging him out of the kitchen and through the front door. He should have been fighting for this since the start. For those smiles to be reserved just for him. To be able to call Tanjirou his. All the pain, the guilt, the hurt — none of it matters. Now Inosuke has him, and he isn’t letting go.

.oOo.

If Inosuke were asked what he had done for the rest of the day, he couldn’t say. The only thing he can pick out amongst the blur is Tanjirou’s smiling face and the all-encompassing happiness that comes with it. 

Night has already fallen, but it feels like the day is just beginning. He gets to be with Tanjirou every day. Every night.

Inosuke watches in silence as Tanjirou unrolls his futon next to Inosuke’s. The edges of the blankets align perfectly as if they were made as one.

The redhead sits atop the covers when he finishes smoothing them out, looking at Inosuke expectantly. His eyes are so big.

“Why didn’t you bring your little demon sister back in here?” Inosuke asks because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Tanjirou hides his face in his hands. “Don’t ask me that,” he whines. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Why’s it embarrassing?”

“Just—!” Tanjirou starts, lifting his head. A faint blush dusts his cheekbones. “I don’t want her watching us. That’s weird.”

“Why’s it weird?”

“Stop asking questions!” Tanjirou cries, hurriedly lying down and pulling the covers up over his head.

Tanjirou had never had a problem sleeping together when Nezuko was here before; why is it different now?

Then the top of Tanjirou’s head peeks out of the covers. “Inosuke.”

“What?”

He uncovers a corner of the comforter. “You can come here, you know.”

The invitation makes Inosuke’s spine tingle with anticipation. He pads across the floor, leaving wrinkled footprints on the duvet of his own futon before sliding in next to Tanjirou. 

Tanjirou secures the blanket around Inosuke’s shoulders and then retracts his hand. They stare at each other, noses inches apart. The sliver of moonlight shining through the cracked curtains ripples in Tanjirou’s eyes. It’s mesmerizing.

Tanjirou’s breath fans across Inosuke’s lips when he exhales. Can Tanjirou feel Inosuke’s breath too?

A hand presses against his hip, and Inosuke jumps.

“Sorry,” Tanjirou breathes. “Just wanted you to move closer. You can, you know? If you want.”

Tanjirou’s gaze is tearing him apart layer by layer. Inosuke looks away. He wants. With all the grace of a toddler taking their first steps, Inosuke falls into him. His forehead smacks against Tanjirou’s collarbone, eliciting a yelp from the other boy, but once Inosuke has snaked his arms around Tanjirou’s torso, his head slots perfectly into the crook of Tanjirou’s neck. Their stomachs move in tandem as they breathe. The warmth of Tanjirou’s skin seeps through the silk pajamas covering them.

It’s quiet again. Inosuke takes back what he said. It is different somehow. There’s something more intimate about holding Tanjirou close to his chest now than there was before. He feels special. Loved. A rush of affection washes over him, and Inosuke squeezes Tanjirou tighter. A laugh rumbles in Tanjirou’s chest, sending vibrations through Inosuke’s body. A hand tangles in his hair, and another rubs over the expanse of his back. Inosuke shifts closer, breathing deeply against Tanjirou’s skin. His scent hasn’t changed. He still smells like home.

“Hey,” Tanjirou whispers.

Inosuke mumbles a muffled “What?” into Tanjirou’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I avoided you like that. It was immature of me.”

Inosuke pulls away just enough to see Tanjirou’s face.

The other boy continues. “I was trying to protect myself, but I hurt you in the process.” His eyes bore into Inosuke’s.

“It was because of what I said, right?” Inosuke says into the din.

Tanjirou rubs his palm over Inosuke’s side. “I was sad. Really sad. I guess… I guess I hoped — I thought — you liked me after you tried to kiss me. So, when you said it was just because Zenitsu told you to, I kind of… shut down.”

“But I do like you!” Inosuke insists, heart pounding in his chest.

“ Now I know that, but I didn’t then,” Tanjirou continues. “I couldn’t figure out if I was angrier at Zenitsu for playing with my feelings or more upset that you didn’t return them.”

“I’m still mad at Zenitsu, that asshole,” Inosuke grumbles.

Tanjirou gently brushes a lock of hair out of Inosuke’s eyes, his thumb settling on Inosuke’s cheekbone after tucking the unruly strand behind his ear. “You have a right to be mad —  I haven’t forgiven him either — but you need to communicate. Tell him how you feel.”

“He’s got it coming,” Inosuke growls, fists clenching behind Tanjirou’s back.

“Don’t just yell at him,” Tanjirou says. “That won’t get you anywhere. You need to explain how you feel and then let him tell his side of the story, even if it makes you angry.”

Inosuke huffs but concedes anyway. “Okay.”

“Inosuke?” Tanjirou says after a beat of silence, locking his gaze on Inosuke’s. “You have to promise me that you’ll tell me if you don’t understand something or if there’s something bothering you. That way, we won’t have another situation like this. No more taking unsolicited advice from people. Okay?”

“I’ll try,” Inosuke agrees. “But you have to do something for me, too.”

“What’s that?”

Inosuke traces a line along Tanjirou’s side, causing the other boy to curl in on himself when it tickles too much. “You can’t keep everything to yourself. I don’t like it when you’re hurting and I don’t know how to help.”

“I just don’t want to burden anyone,” Tanjirou sighs.

“You’re not!” Inosuke insists. “We want to help. I want to help!”

“Mmm, I’ll do my best.” Tanjirou rubs his thumb along Inosuke’s cheekbone, leaving phantom pressure in its wake. “We have to make compromises if this is going to work, right?”

Inosuke nods. That’s what partners do, isn’t it? They have each other’s backs so they can overcome any problem that stands in their way. Suddenly, he’s overcome with a swell of affection for the boy in his arms. “Can I hug you now?”

Tanjirou’s laughter sings in the darkness. “Of course.”

.oOo.

Early the next morning, Inosuke barges through Zenitsu’s door. 

The blond startles awake, instantly sitting up and on guard like he’s preparing for whatever potential threat has just broken into his room. When he sees Inosuke, he drops his fists. “Inosuke? What the hell, man…”

“I’m mad at you.”

Zenitsu winces, shoulders coming up to his ears. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

Inosuke shuts the door behind him and approaches Zenitsu’s bedside. While he’s pondering how to move forward, Zenitsu makes the decision for him.

“Did Tanjirou tell you?”

“Yes,” Inosuke spits through gritted teeth.

Zenitsu sighs.

Inosuke wants to punch him. “Why would you make shit up?”

“I didn’t make anything up!” Zenitsu cries. “You were the one who decided you were allergic!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me I was wrong?” Deep breaths, Inosuke. In for four, out for eight. Don’t yell at him.

“I don’t know!” Zenitsu says. “I… I just went along with it at first because I thought it was funny. That you didn’t know what a crush was, I mean. But I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” He twists his fingers in the blankets, staring into his lap. “I wanted you two to realize your feelings because it sucks being the third wheel when you guys aren’t even dating.”

Inosuke stares at him in silence. If he says something now, they’re just going to start yelling at each other again, so he lets Zenitsu keep talking.

“To be honest, I thought Tanjirou would have said something sooner. It wasn’t supposed to go on for so long.” He lifts his head, golden irises burning into Inosuke’s green ones. “When I found out how much it was hurting you, I tried to say something, but you kept deflecting, so I never had a chance to get the words out.”

The pained expressions, the tired eyes, the frustration; it all makes sense now. Zenitsu was trying, but Inosuke wasn’t ready to hear the truth. Rationally, that should curb his anger, but the last ugly fibers still cling to him.

Zenitsu looks down again. “And… I was afraid you’d hate me.”

Well, he’s almost right. Inosuke is annoyed and frustrated, sure, but Zenitsu is his friend, as much as Inosuke hates to admit it. He doesn’t think he has it in him to hate the blond, no matter how much of a piss-ant he can be. “Don’t be stupid,” Inosuke grumbles. “I’m just mad, I don’t hate you.”

Zenitsu exhales shakily. “But I hurt you both, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“Just don’t do it again, asshole.” Inosuke punches Zenitsu lightly on the leg. “Or else I’ll beat you up. Got it?” 

Zenitsu chuckles, “Got it.” He makes grabby hands at Inosuke, who instinctively takes a step closer. “Come here.”

“What?”

The other boy doesn’t respond; he just pulls Inosuke into a tight hug, patting him gently on the back.

Tanjirou’s hugs are his favorite, but Zenitsu’s arms might be Inosuke’s second favorite place to be. He’s warm too.

“You’re a good person,” Zenitsu whispers.

Inosuke’s head drops onto Zenitsu’s shoulder, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Of course I am, Monitsu."

He can be mad — that’s fine — but he wouldn’t trade these people for the world. He’s safe. He’s loved. He’s home.

This is family.

.oOo.

The rest of the house is just waking up when Inosuke returns to the bedroom. Tanjirou is sitting up in bed. His hair is sticking up on one side, and his eyes are droopy. He yawns a good morning when he sees Inosuke.

He looks so inviting. Inosuke is suddenly struck with the need to be held. “Can I sit in your lap?” he asks, not making eye contact with the redhead. It’s embarrassing.

“Of course.”

Inosuke spares a glance at him. Tanjirou is beaming, already making space for Inosuke. He clambers into Tanjirou’s lap moments later, settling against Tanjirou’s chest like he’s meant to be there. 

Tanjirou’s arms wind around his waist, hands clasping in front of Inosuke’s stomach. He rests his chin on Inosuke’s shoulder. “Where did you go?”

“Talked to Zenitsu,” Inosuke says, tapping a beat on the back of Tanjirou’s fingers.

Tanjirou hums, “How did it go?”

“Good.”

“Just good?”

“Yeah.”

Tanjirou’s breath tickles Inosuke’s ear. “I talked to him too. Yesterday.”

“You did?” Inosuke twists his head to look Tanjirou in the eye.

“Mhm. I should have done it sooner, but I was so angry. And it was embarrassing to think that Zenitsu would know how much I wanted you to like me and how hurt I was that you didn’t. It’s pathetic, I know, but I was thinking irrationally.”

Inosuke flicks Tanjirou lightly on the forehead. “You’re not pathetic. Being pathetic is for weaklings, and you’re not a weakling. I’ve promoted you from underling to co-boss! I’d never fight alongside a weakling.”

Tanjirou’s resulting laughter rumbles against Inosuke’s back. “Thanks.”

“Are you still mad at him?” Inosuke asks.

“A little, but I’ll get over it. He seemed sincere.”

Inosuke hums in agreement. Silence blankets them for a moment before Inosuke speaks again. “What do we do now?”

Tanjirou straightens up. “Now? Is there something you want to do?”

 A million thoughts rush through his mind all at once. He’s burning again. “Mmm…” He twists around, wrapping his legs around Tanjirou’s waist.

“Wha—?” Tanjirou’s eyes are wide, face flushing the same color as his hair.

Inosuke can’t look at him anymore. He pulls Tanjirou against his chest, draping his head over Tanjirou’s shoulder like Tanjirou had done to him moments earlier. Inosuke feels Tanjirou’s heart racing beneath his shirt, matching the pace of Inosuke’s.

He has been thinking about something for a while, but it was only recently that he let himself stew in it. The thought of it sends his heart into his throat. Inosuke buries his head in the crook of Tanjirou’s neck and mutters something inaudible.

“What was that?” Tanjirou breathes.

Inosuke hugs Tanjirou tighter, fighting the butterflies in his stomach. “I want to kiss you again.” 

The words come out in a rush, but Tanjirou catches them, his breath hitching. “Oh.”

Inosuke tucks his head back into Tanjirou’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. Fuck, this is so embarrassing. He shouldn’t have said anything. What if Tanjirou doesn’t want to?

But then Tanjirou is pushing at his shoulders until Inosuke detaches himself from Tanjirou and sits up again. His legs are still wrapped around Tanjirou’s waist, but his arms lay limply at his sides; he doesn’t know what to do with them.

Tanjirou brings both his hands up to cup Inosuke’s cheeks. Their eyes lock — Inosuke can’t look away no matter how much he wants to. If he was hot before, now he’s burning. One more second is all it will take for him to disintegrate.

“Can I kiss you now? Properly this time?” The pretty flush that clings to Tanjirou’s cheeks has plunged into the neckline of his shirt. Inosuke wonders if his skin is hot too.

Inosuke nods wordlessly. His hands are shaky, heart racing faster than the first time they kissed.

“Okay.” Tanjirou closes his eyes, and Inosuke realizes belatedly that he should do the same. The last thing he sees is Tanjirou leaning in before he feels warmth press gently against his mouth.

Oh.

That was different.

It’s over too fast. The cool air is a stark contrast to the heat of Tanjirou’s lips, and Inosuke immediately misses the feeling of skin against skin. 

Inosuke’s eyes flutter open. 

Tanjirou shifts his gaze when they make eye contact, hesitantly asking, “Was that okay?”

Inosuke’s heart is still beating out of his chest — lightheaded from the dizzying heat — but he grins, taking Tanjirou’s face into his hands this time.

Tanjirou’s eyes flick down to Inosuke’s lips and then back up again. Inosuke can’t help but glance at Tanjirou’s mouth in return. The air is thick with tension once again. That same force is pulling them in, closer and closer. This time, Inosuke doesn’t fight it. He lets his eyes fall shut and presses his lips against Tanjirou’s.

The other boy gasps against Inosuke’s mouth and a spike of heat strikes Inosuke in the gut. He presses closer, tilting his head a little. Their mouths slot together perfectly. Tanjirou’s lips part, and — that feels good.

He’s getting too hot. Inosuke breaks away. When he spares a glance at Tanjirou, his lips are shiny, his face is flushed even redder than before. “Was that good?” Inosuke breathes.

Tanjirou nods mutely.

A wave of pure joy washes over Inosuke, and he stands up, suddenly imbued with giddy energy. He can’t stop himself from running circles around the room, grinning wildly. When he makes eye contact with Tanjirou, his expression is fond.

Inosuke scampers over to him. “Again!” he demands. 

Tanjirou laughs, eyes twinkling, and pulls Inosuke down to plant a soft kiss on his lips.

Inosuke tackles Tanjirou onto his back, laughing, and wraps his arms around him again. He likes Tanjirou so much. He loves him.

Inosuke wouldn’t mind doing this forever.

.oOo.

 A few hours later, a knock sounds on the door. When Tanjirou opens it, Zenitsu stands there, looking sheepish. “Can I come in?”

Tanjirou beckons him forward, and Zenitsu closes the door behind him.

Inosuke squints at him. “Where are your crutches?”

“Oh, I didn’t even notice!” Tanjirou says, glancing at Zenitsu’s injured leg.

Zenitsu shrugs. “Yeah, the doctor said I’m cleared to walk again.”

Tanjirou smiles softly and pats him on the shoulder. An invitation. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Zenitsu awkwardly shuffles a few feet away from Inosuke while Tanjirou follows behind them. He glances between the two. “I guess I wanted to apologize to both of you.”

“Idiot, you’ve already said that,” Inosuke scoffs.

A hesitant smile tugs at the corners of Zenitsu’s lips and some of the anxious tension drains from his body. “Have you sorted everything out now?”

Inosuke and Tanjirou exchange a look; Tanjirou’s hand gently slips into Inosuke’s.

“Yeah,” Tanjirou says with twinkling eyes.

Zenitsu grins.

Tanjirou’s touch is electrifying. It shoots pulses of charge through Inosuke’s skin. “I’m his favorite, too!” He grins wider than he has in a long time and tightens his fingers around Tanjirou’s palm.

When Tanjirou looks at him, his gaze is filled with affection.

“Ew, okay,” Zenitsu interrupts. “I’m gonna leave before you guys start being gross.”

Inosuke flips Zenitsu off while Tanjirou hides a laugh behind his hand. Inosuke keeps his mouth clamped shut lest he blurts out a retort.

Before Zenitsu makes it out the door, something taps against the window. The boys exchange a look. When the incessant pecking doesn’t let up, Tanjirou cautiously approaches the glass, pulling the curtains back just enough to discover the source of the noise.

“Oh!” Tanjirou exclaims.

The pecking stops the moment the curtains are drawn, revealing a black crow perched on the windowsill. It blinks up at Tanjirou, cocking its head as it waits to be let in. 

The window sticks when Tanjirou forces it open, letting out a long, unpleasant screech. The crow hops onto Tanjirou’s shoulder as soon as the crack is wide enough.

“North-northeast! North-northeast! Your next mission is north-northeast,” it caws.

Finally! Inosuke’s blood is rushing with excitement. He’s been cooped up in here for far too long. A good fight is just what he needs.

“The three of you are to go to Mt. Natagumo. Head to Mt. Natagumo!” the crow finishes.

Inosuke has never heard of Mt. Natagumo, but it doesn’t matter. The mountains are his domain. He’ll show whatever demons have decided to take up residence there who’s boss. He and Tanjirou, that’s who. Well, Zenitsu will be there too, but he’s still an underling. Inosuke can only have one co-boss, and co-bosses have each other’s backs. They’ll fight side-by-side, supporting each other.

Inosuke itches to move right now. He grins, slapping Tanjirou and Zenitsu on the back. “Let’s go! Off your asses!” Then he cackles, struck with a burst of energy that sends him running laps around the tiny bedroom.

“Right now?” Zenitsu whines, face pale. “But I just recovered!”

“Don’t be a wimp!” Inosuke says, pointing an accusatory finger at the blond. “Pack up your shit!”

Zenitsu sighs, mumbling something about not wanting to die before he and Nezuko were married — a sentiment that causes Tanjirou to shoot daggers at Zenitsu’s retreating form — as he trudges through the door.

Even after running ten laps, Inosuke is still bubbling with excitement. “Come on!” he says to Tanjirou, nudging him with his shoulder. “Go!”

Tanjirou laughs, patting Inosuke on the arm. “I’ll let Hisa-san know. We should thank her for letting us impose for so long.”

Inosuke huffs but nods, watching Tanjirou don his haori and slide his house slippers on before exiting into the hallway.

A mission is exactly what Inosuke has been wishing for since their stay was extended, but somehow, the thought of leaving saddens him a little. So much has happened in the past two months that never would have otherwise. Inosuke has never had so much time to think, to spend time with the people he cares about; to have time to get to know people enough to care.

His eyes roam around the room — the room that he and Tanjirou have shared for the better part of those two months. They have very few belongings: only the small desk littered with scraps of paper and dried-out ink wells and their nichirin swords resting against the wall, waiting innocently in their sheaths. This room won’t be theirs when those things are removed, but it still feels like home.

Inosuke approaches the desk. Stacks of letters and journals are piled high, covering the expanse of wall behind them. He picks up the first journal, flipping through the pages. Each one is filled from top to bottom with neat characters. Inosuke scans the page. It looks like gibberish to him, except for the numbers at the top indicating the date and the name at the bottom of each entry: Kamado Tanjirou. 

Even the final page is filled to the last line. Inosuke wonders what Tanjirou could have been writing about that needed several notebooks to convey.

Inosuke snaps the book shut. It’s no use trying to decode what he can’t understand. Tanjirou will probably tell him if he asks. He’s supposed to ask now, right? He puts the journal and his curiosity aside and picks up the next item: a creased letter.

Since Inosuke can’t get lost in the words on the page, going through the clutter doesn’t take very long. He puts the journals in a stack at the edge of the desk and the letters next to them. Tanjirou can take them if he wants. Inosuke reaches for the inkwells, chucking the dried ones in the trash. The pens are fine. Probably. Inosuke doesn’t exactly know how they work.

The desk is mostly clear now. Tanjirou will be proud. Inosuke grins, imagining the praise Tanjirou will bestow upon him when he sees Inosuke’s hard work. The fantasy is already beginning to form when a voice rings out right beside him.

“Are you cleaning?”

Inosuke jumps and his knee knocks into the leg of the desk, sending a pen rolling onto the floor and under the desk. Inosuke kicks Tanjirou in the shin lightly. “Don’t do that! I could have punched you!”

Tanjirou laughs, eyes filled with mirth, “Sorry, sorry. Thought you knew I was here.”

“Whatever,” Inosuke grumbles, bending down to search for the lost pen. He swipes his hand across the dusty tatami, feeling around for the missing object. He finds it against the back wall. As he retracts his arm, something crinkles beneath his fingers.

Inosuke frowns, grabbing the offending object along with the pen. When he reemerges, he takes a better look at the thing. It’s a piece of paper slightly crumpled from being stuck between the desk and the floor. He smooths it out, shaking some of the dust onto the floor. Five familiar words stare back at him.

Hashibira Inosuke and Kamado Tanjirou.

This paper… It must have fallen behind the desk after being jostled by the piles of stuff pressed against the wall. Inosuke had almost forgotten about it. He traces the letters with his finger, remembering the pride he felt when he presented his work to the boy beside him. It feels like a lifetime ago.

“I was wondering where that went,” Tanjirou says, leaning against Inosuke’s side. “Here, let me add something.” Tanjirou takes the paper from Inosuke and picks up the pen that Inosuke retrieved. Dipping it in the ink, he scrawls something below Inosuke’s name.

Inosuke peeks over his shoulder. The characters are small, and none of them are familiar. “What’s it say?” he asks.

Tanjirou smiles, handing it back to him. He slides an arm around Inosuke’s stomach, pulling him close as he rests his chin on Inosuke’s shoulder. “My favorite.”

Inosuke’s heart soars. His stomach is all fluttery again, but this time he welcomes the feeling. He pats the other boy’s hands. “You’re my favorite too!”

Tanjirou chuckles, relinquishing Inosuke from his hold. “I’m glad.” He points at the paper. “Do you want me to take that for you?” He reaches for it, but Inosuke snatches it away before Tanjirou gets too close.

“No! It’s mine now!”

Tanjirou’s laughter is like the sun. “Okay, okay. You can keep it.” He retrieves his sword from its place against the wall before returning to the desk to gather the stacks of paper Inosuke had organized into his arms. “Grab your swords and meet me by the front door. Zenitsu is waiting for us.” Then the room is empty again.

Inosuke looks back down at the paper, heart full. Gently, he folds it into a little square and sticks it in his pocket. He’s never going to get rid of this.

.oOo.

“Are you really leaving?” Shion asks tearfully, tugging on the bottom of Tanjirou’s haori.

Tanjirou kneels down. “I have a mission to take care of now.”

Shion’s lip trembles, and Tanjirou wraps her in a hug. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be back.”

“You promise?”

“I’ll do my best.” Tanjirou releases her and stands up again just as Inosuke walks outside. He has Nezuko strapped to his back again, and another sack is attached to the top of the box. It crinkles when he moves. That must be where the paper went.

It seems like the whole house is here to send them off. Hisa stands off to the side with Akari and Hana, while Chiharu is busy wrestling a wad of dirt out of Tsubaki’s hand. Fuji watches from behind Kaede, and Mio is watching over Ume, whose expression is as somber as Kaede’s.

Zenitsu tries to cheer them up with a couple of awkward jokes, but they just look more upset. He gives up after a few meager attempts. “A little help here?” he hisses at Tanjirou.

Tanjirou laughs, approaching the girls. “Don’t worry about me. This is our job,” he assures them.

They nod, faces going red when Tanjirou smiles and pats them on the head as he did Shion.

A pang of jealousy hits Inosuke when Tanjirou touches them, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He wants to step between them. But then Tanjirou is by his side, sending him a smile filled with more warmth than he could ever imagine, and Inosuke forgets all about it.

Tanjirou turns to face Hisa, lowering into a deep bow. “I sincerely thank you for taking care of us for so long. Please let us know if you need assistance in the future. I’m sure we’d all be happy to help.”

Zenitsu follows suit, expressing his own gratitude, to which Hisa laughs, waving them off and saying that this is her job, after all.

“Thanks,” Inosuke says nonchalantly a moment later. He doesn’t have the words to say anything else, but he is thankful in more ways than one.

Zenitsu nudges Inosuke with his elbow a few times until Inosuke drops into a bow too. He’ll never understand these customs, but he doesn’t feel like fighting when they’re finally able to explore again.

Tanjirou taps Inosuke on the back a second later, and Inosuke straightens up. “We should get going before it gets too late.”

After one more bow, the boys turn around, shoes crunching on the loose gravel.

“Wait!” Shion cries out, running over to them. “You’re leaving too?”

Inosuke looks down. Shion’s eyes are filled with tears. “Uh, yes?”

She whimpers.

Shit. What do you do with a crying child? “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“Will you come back too?” she asks.

Inosuke doesn’t know if they will, but that probably isn’t what Shion wants to hear. “You want to be a demon slayer, right?”

She sniffs, “Yeah?”

“The next time I see you, you’d better be strong, okay?”

“Okay!” She balls one of her tiny hands into a fist. “I’ll take you down!”

Warmth floods Inosuke’s chest when she smiles, her enthusiasm returning with full force. He reaches out without thinking and pats her on the head. “Don’t get hurt.”

Shion giggles, latching onto Inosuke’s leg. “I won’t!”

Inosuke freezes, unsure what to do, but she lets go a moment later and runs back to her spot on the front steps next to her brother, who had been reprimanded for the dirt incident. She waves at them, and Inosuke tentatively waves back. He might miss her a little bit.

When Inosuke turns around, he’s met with Tanjirou’s heart-melting smile, and he averts his eyes, cheeks flushing. “What? I was just saying…”

“It’s cute that she likes you,” Tanjirou says.

Inosuke’s stomach flip-flops, and he grabs Zenitsu’s arm instead and starts dragging him down the path. “Let’s go!”

Tanjirou’s laughter floats on the breeze as he catches up to them.

A chorus of goodbyes sounds from the family they had gotten to know so well as they depart. Little Shion keeps waving until they’re merely a speck in the distance and Inosuke can no longer figure out who’s who.

They step onto the dirt road. Tanjirou sighs deeply, breathing in the fresh air. “Are you ready?” he asks them.

As usual, Zenitsu starts to whine, but Inosuke is more than used to ignoring it. He powers through, taking strides double his normal length so Zenitsu will be forced to catch up instead of complaining.

After a while, they settle into a comfortable pace. The sun has almost reached its peak in the sky. Inosuke wonders how long the journey will take. This mission feels like a new chapter of his life. There exists his life before Tanjirou and now with Tanjirou. He hopes there will never be an after.

A hand slides into his own, fingers entwining with his. Inosuke turns his head.

Tanjirou is right next to him, squeezing his hand so tenderly that Inosuke’s heart skips a beat. His smile is blinding.

Inosuke smiles back, still a little shy. Although Tanjirou cannot see it under Inosuke’s mask, he seems to know because his grin gets impossibly brighter. Inosuke could look at him forever.

Zenitsu starts fake gagging, and Inosuke has half a mind to beat him into the dirt, but Tanjirou keeps him grounded, laughing as he rubs his thumb over the back of Inosuke’s hand. He tugs them forward, not letting go of Inosuke’s palm.

Yeah, Inosuke thinks. There’s never going to be an after.