Chapter Text
Zenitsu
“Zenitsu?” It’s nothing but a whisper, breathed into the moonlit night so soft it would pass for a mere gust of wind to anyone. Anyone with normal hearing, anyone but me.
Like every night, I wonder if the reason why he says my name so quietly is because he wants to make sure I’m the only one who hears. I wonder if he does it on purpose.
I hope he does.
“Yes?” I whisper back.
It’s barely noticeable really, but there it is, a tiny, little intake of breath from his end of the room. Then a rustle of his futon, his bare toes brushing along the lining, his heartbeat picking up . . . a combination of sounds so enticing it makes me recall just how perfect he looks tangled in his blanket, nothing on him but his chequered haori splayed beneath his body, and I want to curse, or—or cry, because I know. I have seen this side of him no one else has ever seen, where his walls come down and he’s stripped of his defenses. Where he’s wide open, bare and touchable. I know, and sometimes, I wish I didn’t, because then I could just go back to how things were before.
Before I met Kamado Tanjiro.
Before I touched him.
Before I kissed him.
If only I had listened to my instincts telling me this guy is dangerous to get close to. I would have stayed far, far away from him. Permanently. Okay, maybe not permanently, because have you seen those eyes? That smile? How he always says your name as if you’re something precious? Exactly. The person who can stay away from Kamado Tanjiro for an extended period of time has yet to be born.
“I’m sorry,” he says. By the tone of his voice, I can tell he means it. “Did I wake you?”
I know he’s looking at me from across the room, can feel the way his vermillion-colored eyes rove over the side of my face. I turn onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. It’s a pathetic attempt to put off eye contact with him, because it’s always, always, what does me in.
And he knows, because he laughs this knowing, sheepish laugh of his and says, “You really meant it when you said you wouldn’t look at me anymore, huh?”
“Can you blame me?” I say, and I swear I don’t mean to, but it comes out pouting anyway. “You know very well what happens every time I do.”
He laughs. His legs move across the futon again. It’s a hot August night, so I can’t help but wonder if Tanjiro sleeps in the nude like he did when we stayed at the Wisteria Mansion. Which doesn’t help my case of Not Thinking About Tanjiro Naked Anymore one bit. It’s been four days, seven hours and twenty-two minutes since I promised myself (and him) to End Things. Not that I’m counting, because Tomioka says that would be beyond pathetic. Alright, so this might be my fourth attempt at Ending Things, but this time, I mean it. No, I do. I feel it already, how these days, I can look at Tanjiro without the instantaneous physical urge to touch him. How I only blush a perfectly normal amount when he slumps into my lap after another day of arduous training as opposed to the embarrassing shade of scarlet I had going on.
It’s not a massive amount of progress, but I’m taking it one step at a time, which means the small wins along the way? I get to celebrate. In fact, I am quite certain we’re moving into solid best friend territory, no matter what Inosuke says every time he catches me looking at Tanjiro during a weak moment. Yes, there are those, too. But truth be told, I have never made it this far. Four days, that’s definitely a success that means something. Fourth time’s the charm.
“I want to see your eyes,” Tanjiro says, and you know what, maybe I’m not supposed to win this after all. Not when he keeps making this so hard, again. “Will you let me?”
I sigh, because him asking for something is my primary weakness. It’s how he does it, this kind, solemn and utterly disarming way he has. There’s no universe in which I could ever tell Kamado Tanjiro no, which is precisely the root of my problem.
When I turn around and my eyes connect with his in an instant, an involuntary sigh escapes me, because why—why does the effect he has on me never change?
“God,” he says, his hand fisting in the sheets. “I miss you.” He bites his lip, and even in the dim light, I manage to pick up the faint traces of red in his eyes that seem to be glowing a little brighter whenever he looks at me. “I miss you so much.”
And this is where I get mad, because hasn’t it been four days, seven hours and twenty-two minutes since I knelt before him under the cherry blossoms in the backyard, crying my eyes out despite all my promises not to, telling him I was ready to End Things for good? For us?
“Why?” I ask, and it doesn’t matter how much I want to punish him by taking my eyes off of his, I can’t. “Why are you making this so hard for me?”
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I understand why it’s necessary and I’ve been trying to respect your wishes, really, it’s just . . . difficult for me to—see you and know I can’t . . . I can’t touch you.”
“You can touch me,” I respond, “the way you used to touch me. Before things got . . . messy.” Before I got blind drunk on warm sake and kissed you senseless at the lantern festival in Yoshiwara.
Tanjiro suddenly sits up in his futon and for a long, panicked second, I think he is going to cross the distance and—and just—
But he calms down and stares at his lap instead. “But what if I want more, Zenitsu? What happens then?”
As if I don’t want more, I think, as if I don’t want more all the time.
“You unlearn it,” I say. “You’re extraordinary when it comes to learning new things. Surely you can find a way to reverse engineer the process.”
I ignore the sting of tears that idea leaves me with. It’s not like I didn’t know this would be hard as hell; it’s my fourth time trying after all. Surprise: It never gets easier.
“You . . . are really serious this time then.” It’s not a question, which makes it easier for me to not tearfully yell “no” and collapse into his waiting arms like the last time we got this far. I should be strong and unflinching. I should say “yes!”, should proudly declare “I’m serious about going back to being friends, Tanjiro!”. So why is a stiff nod all I can manage?
There is a long pause where he doesn’t make a sound. And then, “Wow. This hurts.”
Tanjiro laughs a sad laugh that has my throat close up in response. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve used Thunder Breathing to cross the room in a nanosecond and straddle his lap to shove him back into his futon. He gasps in surprise when he hits the floor, but instead of going on the defensive like any good Demon Slayer would do, he just exhales and relaxes his muscles, leaving himself wide open. I don’t want that, because when he’s like this—soft, pliant, with his large hands curled around my bare thighs at his sides—it makes this entire thing so much harder. I want him to fight back.
“Tanjiro.” His name leaves me on an electrically charged breath of air that breaks against his lips. The subsequent tingles have him shiver against me. “How dare you torment me like this? You know exactly why it has to be this way. I’m doing this for us.”
It’s his turn to catch me by surprise. I stand no chance of seeing it coming when his hands move from my thighs to my ribcage and he flips us around. Now I’m the one under him, which only incites me more, because despite how hard I try to avoid constantly ending up here, it’s exactly where I always want to be.
“I know,” he says, defeated, and then sinks down onto his elbows. Suddenly his face is just a finger’s breadth from mine, his mouth so close I can smell the dango we swiped from the kitchen after dinner on his lips.
God, I think, how easy it would be to just kiss him now.
He meets my gaze once more before he tucks his face into my neck and inhales, long and deep, his lips resting against my jugular.
“Please,” he says quietly. A million goosebumps pebble my skin when his warm breath kisses my skin. “Just give me this one last time?”
I’ve said it before: nothing makes me as weak as Tanjiro pleading with me. And he doesn’t even know it. Saying no is not a real possibility. Not with how tempting it sounds, one last time.
Maybe this is what has been missing in attempts one through three of Ending Things, maybe this is exactly what we need to make this work.
One last time.