Chapter Text
Kanao was, objectively speaking, the most beautiful woman in Zenitsu's life. That wasn't to say that she was - well - in in his life, like they were dating or anything, because they've known each other since diapers and that meant seeing each other at their worst or grossest moments.
She was steady, calm, cool-headed, everything that Zenitsu wasn't. She was elegant and beautiful but could also kick someone's ass in a second, something she proves time and time again whenever Zenitsu annoys her to the point she flips him over her shoulder. He's gotten so used to it that he doesn't even wince anymore.
He envied her. They were known to be a pair, the two of them, practically glued at the hip because she hardly talked and he talked too much. That was one of the reasons why they stuck together all these years, he thinks - he spoke for her, spoke her words and silent thoughts because he could never keep his mouth shut and she always did.
Everyone loved Kanao. Honestly, he never blamed anyone for it. She was skilled and talented, a leading figure when it came to swordfighting, her hands thin and nimble to wield a blade. She blossomed into a beautiful woman, and Zenitsu could remember all the love letters she got during their high school years, her locker always overflowing with treats and notes before she silently passed the chocolates to Zenitsu and then dumped everything else.
And he understood, he really did! He got why so many people fell in love with Kanao, because even though she didn't say much, she let her actions speak for her, and what strong actions did she take. It didn't do anything to deter his bitterment with himself, though.
He was always the lag. The ugh. The why is he here?
He was Kanao's only friend and vice versa, but people never understood that where Kanao went, so did Zenitsu. Everyone always moaned and bitched about him, about how whiney he was, how he was never as good as Kanao, how her swordfighting put his archery to shame.
He never blamed her but he wished he could, because maybe that would make everything easier, but she was also the one to silently challenge anyone who said those things in the first place so he loved her for it.
(But she never experienced what he did. She was never the background, the wallflower, the stupid whiney kid who nearly peed his pants during the haunted house part of the school festival. He never got any love letters or words of affection, just harsh criticism and slaps on the wrist for trying to do better and instead messing up.)
The unbalanced nature of their friendship even reached past their hometown and their tiny highschool to their huge university campus and the room that they shared, A-19 of the Butterfly Dorms.
Everyday, Zenitsu would come home from work or class to see a pile of letters inside the box he had stuck outside the door. The box was just one made of cardboard, battered and bruised, and he'd put it right underneath the plaque with their dorm number because he was sick of tripping over piles of letters everytime he wanted to leave his goddamn room. Bitterly, he'd named the stupid box as containment-vessel-of-bullshit.
Today was no exception of this ritual. He stood outside the door, key in hand and eyes and nose itchy from all the flowers he had to sort that day, and he glared dully at the near overflowing box of bullshit by his foot.
He bent down, swiped up the letters with a carelessness that he hoped meant some of them would get crushed, and unlocked the door.
The room was empty - he'd expected it, as Kanao was probably somewhere with the swordfighting club and poking each other with blades or whatever they did in there, so it meant that he had peace and quiet for a good hour or two.
(Not that it wasn't quiet with her there, but at least now he could shuffle through the letters and grumble at them without her pitying expression.)
Zenitsu dumped his bag onto the floor, sat down on his bed, and began to go through the letters. It was a thing that he did - he didn't particularly enjoy looking through Kanao's endless list of admirers, not when it was such a blatant jab at his own lack of affectionate secret admirers, but it was necessary. There were too many creepy people in the world, and after a horrifying incident in grade ten when their history teacher left a disturbing letter in Kanao's locker, it meant Zenitsu took his duty as her best friend/pseudo-brother to make sure there were no stalkers.
Thankfully, their time at uni seemed to fare better than it did during highschool. There weren't any creepy stalkers as of yet, but Zenitsu did take a mental tally on the letters that seemed borderline to make sure he'd keep an eye out for the same handwriting and paper.
Zenitsu shuffled through the letters, ripping them open carelessly and snorting at the words he read. They were all idiots, he thought to himself. For one, they were trying in the first place when Zenitsu knew that Kanao had no such intentions to start a relationship. Secondly, even if she were romantically inclined, she wouldn't like all of the flowery bullshit these people kept throwing at her.
She liked blunt words, no beating around the bush. She hated subtlety and hated secrecy even more, which was why Zenitsu rolled his eyes so many times that his head ached with every signed, your Secret Admirer he saw.
They all mentioned her beauty, he noticed, on every single calligraphed, hand-made letter. How pretty she was, how she didn't compare, and jeeze, thanks, he loved the reminder that he was he was so unattractive that he was more invisible than the air.
So he went through the letters, bored out of his mind with them all but still making sure to look for any creepy stalkers, tossing each piece of paper into the bin after crumbling them into a ball.
Then he stopped.
The paper in his hands, for one, was not grotesquely colored pink or red or whatever like the other letters. It was plain and white, just a simple piece of copy paper, and Zenitsu reluctantly gave points to whoever the sender was. Kanao didn’t like it when money was spent on useless things, especially when that money could be used on more important matters, so Zenitsu was mildly (read: very mildly) impressed.
He rubbed at his wrist, vaguely told himself that he should take it easy for a bit because he’s been over practicing, and then dived into the letter head on.
Dear Sunshine,
I’m sorry to talk to you through a letter like this when I should be working up the courage to speak directly to you, instead. I don’t think I’m very weak-minded, but something about you makes me turn to mush. I can’t think when you’re near me, it’s ridiculous. You are incredible, the way you work and the way you refuse to back down. I admire you so much.
I feel a little embarrassed putting this in that box of yours outside your door. I already saw how full it was, letters from other people no doubt fighting for your attention because I don’t understand how anyone can’t look at you and get drawn in.
Maybe this one - I - can somehow draw you in just like you did to me?
Please remember me,
Peaches
Zenitsu blinked. And then blinked. And blinked again.
“What kind of letter is this,” Zenitsu scoffed to himself, trying to convince his sweaty hands and his bright red face that the whole thing was stupid. If there was one thing Zenitsu prided himself on, it was the fact that he was a pretty good judge when it came to love letters. How could he not be? All these years making sure Kanao wasn’t kidnapped by some creep meant he’s gone through plenty of notes, some that were so good that he was jealous of a person’s writing skills because what the hell.
This letter, however, got everything wrong. For one, the person had written in graphite. Graphite. Where was the calligraphy? The looping letters? The strokes of a brush against a lovely cardstock? There were even smudges and eraser marks over the paper, like the writer had been frantic and erased/written so much that their hand rubbed over every letter to leave behind a wipe of gray.
And the writing, don’t get Zenitsu even started! Why were there no flowery words? Where were the descriptions of Kanao’s eyes, her face, her everything? Why was it so short? Zenitsu could recall dozens of letters that were easily the size of him, maybe even longer, so why was this one on a slightly crumpled piece of paper in pencil with awkward words and even more awkward feelings?
Why, despite all of this, was it the best letter that Zenitsu had ever read?
He brushed his thumb slowly over the name Peaches, like he could try and reveal the person behind all of this, the absolute fiend who wrote such a weird, simple, beautiful letter to Kanao but had Zenitsu’s heart trembling instead of hers. What an absolute villain, he thought sulkingly to himself. How dare they make Zenitsu feel this way?
Please remember me.
Zenitsu lifted the letter above him, squinting at the words. He’d never seen such a weird goodbye, either. Remember them. That’s what the admirer had wanted - not yours forever or your beloved or your Secret Admirer. What an odd request it was, to be remembered. So stupid and so humble.
Zenitsu sat there with the letter in his hands, and suddenly, he wanted to cry. Not that crying for him was a big deal - every day he let loose big globs of gross tears and snot, something he did because it meant scorn but at least that was attention, but these were quiet tears. When he sobbed about homework or howled about presentations, the tears always felt thin and weak, his head hurting like a bitch afterwards, but as he sat there with the stupid letter in his fingers, it felt like he couldn’t see.
The tears were thick and splashed onto his thighs with big drops, clinging to his eyelashes before he blinked slowly and they ran down his face to his chin. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared at the letter, knowing that the words were for Kanao but reading them again anyway. He wondered, dimly, what it was like to be in her shoes. To be admired as a prodigy, to be confident in all his words, to not feel like most days he was nothing but a slug in a desert.
The letter was for Kanao, his best friend, but he carefully folded the letter and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket, only feeling a little guilty for hiding such a wonderful gift from her. Still, the letter hadn’t mentioned her name once, which meant that Zenitsu could read it over and over and pretend that when Peaches said Sunshine, it meant him.
God, he was pathetic.
“Welcome home,” Zenitsu said when the door opened with a soft click and Kanao stepped in, looking as perfect as always without a hair out of place.
She smiled at him and said, quietly, “anything good?”
Zenitsu stared at the pile of ripped up and crumpled letters in the trashcan, felt the note meant for his best friend burning in his pocket and feeling like a thousand tons, before he glanced up at her and said, “no.”
She smiled even more, saccharine sweet but her eyes almost pitying, and she said, “you were always a terrible liar.”
Zenitsu hated this place.
No, not this place.
He hated one, specific person, and that person had the unfortunate(ly cute) name of Kamado Tanjirou.
It was like this - Zenitsu would be eating lunch in the cafeteria, sipping his tea or poking sadly at his limp noodles, and then he’d look up and see Kamado fucking Tanjirou handing out homemade baked goods to every student with a blinding smile on his face. How did Zenitsu know the breads and the tiny cakes were handmade? Because everyone knew that on Friday nights, no one was allowed in the dorm kitchens, especially when the smells of baked goodies and unbelievably delicious breads were being made.
Everyone collectively knew that Kamado Tanjirou was an angel amongst men and could cook like one, to boot.
Zenitsu would watch sullenly for a bit, wish that he was the piece of bread currently in Kamado’s hand, and then he’d get up to throw away his mediocre lunch before wandering off to work.
Zenitsu would be in the library, organizing bookshelves and dominating those who were being loud by smacking them on the head with Anatomy: Twists and Turns before he realizes that Kamado was there, and Zenitsu knew because there was a growing chatter amongst the students as girls and boys huddled around Kamado like a moth to a flame. Zenitsu would stare, wistfully wishing that he could walk up and inspect those earrings for himself, but instead he’d turn away and shuffle to the backroom to text Kanao cat memes.
It went on and on like that, Zenitsu drifting from place to place before having to leave because Kamado was there and Zenitsu couldn’t handle being in the same room as him. Zenitsu hated him - hated his naivete, his kindness, his soft words, his pretty face, his - his -
Okay, so maybe Zenitsu didn’t hate him. Like, at all.
But, see, that was the problem!
Zenitsu was always the first to admit that he was a coward. It wasn’t an opinion, it was a fact, something that he knew everyone associated him with and he’d grown to accept. He wasn’t brave, wasn’t any of that courageous sort, which only made sense for him to run away anytime he caught sight of Kamado and his unfairly gorgeous smile.
Kamado was the type of guy who people worshipped the ground he walked on - he was similar to Kanao in that sense, especially since they both had strings of admirers and were incredibly skilled in swordsmanship, but he was also so different. With Kanao, it was like Zenitsu was dunked in ice. It wasn’t bad, necessarily, but it meant that sometimes, Kanao didn’t speak at all and he’d have to carry the conversation on for the both of them. He didn’t mind, but it did get kind of lonely sometimes when he’d be talking for ten minutes straight and then realize that he’s been speaking to air for the past five minutes.
Kamado was fire. Not the kind that burned, like the scorn that Zenitsu would get from Kaigaku or from his peers in highschool - it was just warm. Soft light of kindness would filter through, hugging Zenitsu in the best way possible, and he probably lost his mind that day he first saw Kamado at uni and thought to himself, I’m fucked.
Zenitsu didn't get all that romance stuff, okay? He tossed himself at girls in highschool because he'd been desperate for attention, even bad attention, but it wasn't worth it when he realized that it made both parties uncomfortable. He loved romcoms, he did, mostly because the characters were unbelievably stupid and the kissing scenes were cringey, but he didn't understand he could look at Kamado and feel like he's been set on fire.
The worst part was that Zenitsu couldn't do anything.
For one, pfft, yeah right. Like Kamado would go for someone as pathetic and lonely as Zenitsu - he was just that kid with the choppy hair and one friend who made bouquets as a way to earn some change. Zenitsu looked average at best, ugly at worst, and he didn't care enough to try to change that, not when his highschool career had been a bust because of how desperate he'd been.
Secondly, everyone wanted Kamado. He was a beacon of sort, or maybe even a witch with dark magic, because that was the only explanation as to how good and kind the kid was. Everyone was drawn to him - the students, the professors, even the hard-hearted Tomioka-sensei in Zenitsu's Advanced English class praised Kamado.
There were a lot of beautiful people at Zenitsu's school, plenty of wonderful students who far surpassed what Zenitsu did or could even ever achieve. He just liked to shoot bows and pick pretty flowers - he wasn't exactly an outstanding choice when it came to dating. Zenitsu doubted that out of everyone in this school, all who were talented and lively and had tons of friends, Kamado would choose him.
No one ever chose Zenitsu, like how he'd never get a single Valentine in his locker or get asked to the school dance or even picked first during sports. It was always him, alone, even with Kanao by his side, because everyone adored her but shunned him.
It was life.
Zenitsu liked to read the letter from Peaches every night before he went to bed. It was pathetic, borderline disgusting, really, with how he traced every letter with his eyes and tried to permanently sear the words into his mind. Peaches like to use strong symbols, Zenitsu thought to himself almost fondly, with broad strokes and sharp angles. The writing was a little sloppy, but that was okay with Zenitsu, because it only felt that much more heartfelt.
And when he read the letter, sometimes he could convince himself that he was Sunshine, not Kanao, who merely smiled and shook her head slowly anytime he caught her reading the little piece of paper.
(And, sometimes, if he thought hard enough, he could even pretend that please remember me, Peaches was replaced by the slightly messy words of love, Kamado Tanjirou.)