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Scars are made of lingering memories, every one bringing with it a new feeling. Through dead nerves, Tanjirou gains emotion; instead of the sensation of touch, he remembers why he can’t. The nerves never heal, but tissue comes back stronger.
His hands, in particular, hold something indescribable—an overwhelming sentiment of pain and guilt and triumph all at once. Whenever he picks up a blade, he is reminded of his purpose. The pressure is familiar even without the feeling of rough grip fabric against his fingers. Branded on his palms are his vows to protect people, to make sure no one ends up like him or his family or the multitude of corpses that he’s seen.
He begins to notice others' scars as well.
It would be difficult to find someone without some level of injury aftermath in the Demon Slaying Corps, though the meanings behind them vary as the ways they were obtained. Some wear scars proudly, flaunting the achievement of escaping death once again, others hide them under clothes like failings.
Tanjirou has never been ashamed of his scars, always open with how he acquired them and kindly explaining the narratives behind each mark. Most don’t have the same honesty.
He learns more about his friends through every imperfection.
Zenitsu has more scars from punishment than battle—earned for slacking off mostly, but he looks at them with a somber fondness that Tanjirou doesn’t ask about. He understands it anyway, the way that wounds heal whether you want them to or not.
The mark on his forehead stays a reminder him of easier times, when burns were the most pressing injuries he had to deal with. He almost wishes it was raw again, when it stung and ached but was earned through protecting his family. Despite Zenitsu’s constant laziness, Tanjirou finds his scars a point of admirable resilience.
Inosuke doesn’t have many scars, at least comparatively. His skin is thick and tough, gradually roughened from work to the point where a blade might get stuck without him even noticing. Tanjirou can’t tell if it’s a benefit or not. Nevertheless, it prevents the majority of cuts from developing into wounds.
The scars Inosuke does boast, however, are put on display as proof of his fortitude. A finger jabs over raised tissue, speaking in bold tones about his victories in an ever barking voice. Tanjirou patiently listens in response, praise coming naturally when Inosuke pauses for approval. In that, he’s willing to give as much as people want to take.
Scars hold double meanings for some, as well. Not only is the physical present, but mental mnemonics lie just underneath.
Kanao doesn't have scars from battle, though violence all the same. Pressure lacerations from bruising and heavy burn marks scattered on the delicate skin of her forearms. She doesn’t even spare a glance while taking off her coat, completely unbothered as she usually is. Tanjirou stares, probably insensitively, feeling sadness and grief in her stead.
Kanao’s demeanor is almost always pleasant, in a deliberate way to cover the lack of anything under it. Maybe he’s overstepping when he tells her to follow her heart, and maybe it’s selfish to expose someone to the pain that comes with feeling. Still, Tanjirou grasps her hands and shares his joy with Kanao, hoping to impart the richness of his own happiness onto her.
Genya wears his scars to impress, imitating his brother in a way that’s too obvious to ignore; constantly seeking approval from the one person who doesn’t want to give it. Always wanting to be viewed as an equal, as more, he rushes ahead brashly to add to his repertoire.
Tanjirou shares the burden by matching Genya’s pace and backing him up, splitting the pains of battle between the two. And during the times when he wants to stew alone and let the skin pucker into fissures, Tanjirou drags him back to the Butterfly Estate to heal. He refuses to let the loneliness of nights without companionship sink into Genya anymore.
Nezuko’s skin no longer scars.
It leaves a piece of himself hollow, empty bones picked apart. Even the ones she had obtained during childhood fade with her regenerative ability, smooth skin taking the place of history.
Tanjirou tears up when he notices the scar on her leg is gone. Nezuko had gotten it while playing in the river, back when they were surrounded by family that pulled her out and smiled to shush away her tears. Now, people could barely look in her direction without having disgust painted on their faces.
Tanjirou can only see it as her childhood disappearing—like the last dregs of her humanity are draining away with memories. Even so, she tackles him into a hug with a distressed whine, reminding him she’s still the person he remembers, physically or not.
Be strong, he chastises himself, and blinks away the glassy film developing on his eyes.
Tomioka doesn’t have many visible scars.
Tanjirou knows they’re hidden, at times catching glances of marred white under the strands of Tomioka’s hair. He seals reminders of past and pain, in a way Tanjirou can’t help but recklessly unearth until the dam bursts and washes away whatever is left.
He has always been able to empathize to the point where he could feel other’s aching scars rip open with fresh pain. With Tomioka, he doesn’t need to—because Tanjirou knows, knows every intimate anguish and grievance that sits across Tomioka’s skin as a reminder of his failings.
Despite that, Tanjirou doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t even know if he has the audacity to say he does. With the way Tomioka buries it until he forgets what caused it in the first place, Tanjirou can’t say he knows what it’s like. However, he thinks he knows why scars develop in spite of it all, gently reminding Tomioka of his connection to the people they’re associated with. For a moment Tanjirou thinks he’s been too presumptuous, but Tomioka’s calm scent comes back once more, soothing like water over a burn.
Together, they forge ahead amidst the memoirs of the past and carry wills penned onto their skin. Their relationship is built gradually, on the solid foundation of trust at every turn that continues to shock Tanjirou to the core.
Tomioka would give his life for him. Tanjirou refuses to take it. So:
“Stay with me, forever,” he begs, curling his fingers delicately under Tomioka’s hand and resting his thumb on his knuckles. Tanjirou adjusts the arm supporting Tomioka’s shoulders, draping his body over Tanjirou’s folded legs. Tomioka had once called Tanjirou’s hands gentle, despite the tough calluses that adorned his fingers and lack of tactility in his touch. An offhand compliment from someone as taciturn as him had felt like an immeasurable victory. Recalling it at that moment causes prickling tears to crowd Tanjirou’s eyes, and he realizes he’s known for a while.
His request is selfish, downright rude, and as abrupt as a struck match. A feeling of shame bubbles up—not for his feelings, never for his feelings, but for being so candid. The circumstances were less than favorable, though the fringes of battle slowly begin to die off while the wounded are collected. It just reminds him that Tomioka shouldn’t have gotten injured in the first place, if not for defending Tanjirou when his breaths ran out.
Still, his mouth sets into a determined, nearly-grim, line and he watches the other man’s reaction earnestly. Tanjirou’s almost deterred by the shock on his face, yet the grip on Tomioka—no, Giyuu’s hand stays firm. The proposition sounds banal, but the meaning tacitly grows into more; to love and be loved.
Through a moment of silence, the sounds of fighting fade into the background.
“Okay,” a simple, concise, and practical word, no less sweet to Tanjirou’s ears. With it Giyuu entrusts Tanjirou to protect his heart, securely lacing their hands palm to palm. On equal terms.
“Okay,” Tanjirou parrots back, almost disbelieving and halfway to passing out. His head drops in relief when his body realizes he's not stressed anymore, adrenaline leaving his system and wear shaking his muscles.
“Okay,” he whispers once more like a lifeline, holding Giyuu closer despite his fatigue.
Years down the line, through countless battles and quiet moments and times they’ve tasted death, their marks become a final test to succeed. Tanjirou knows whether or not they do, they will stay together—as unfaltering as the scars on their skin.