Chapter Text
Hangai Akai recognized the silhouette of her older brother; recognized the pitter patter of his feet, the sound his kimono made when ruffled, the way his breathing sounded labored as he limped across the carpet to check the noise outside, and how the moonlight shone brightly through the slit in the door. This was not the first time she was seeing and hearing exactly these things on precisely the same night, but Akai took no comfort in the familiarity; she knew the coming events too well for that. All that was left for her now was bracing herself and preparing herself for the tortuous night to come.
She was not going to try to change anything and fail all over again. Not this time. Not again. Trying and failing, if you knew exactly how, when and at what cost, it was going to end, was no better than not trying at all. And Akai had done enough.
Now, she just wanted her lives (plural, all of them, please) to be over. Once and for all, let it be permanent. Lower her into a shallow grave where she may rest in eternal hell, her flesh and mind burning for the sin of repeated failure.
This life was but a means to an end, her end being the sweet release of death that she found herself longing for in all her waking moments.
It was funny, thought Akai drearily, how different her mindset in this life was compared to the last. Where in the former she had craved the chances to change, improve, anything, really, Akai now only yearned for rest, for time to stop. For her to be free of it all.
In her second life, where she had been born again, for the first time, where she had still clung to the hope that this time, because she had this gift, this newfound knowledge, she would be able to change everything — if she was strong enough — she had ended up only watching her brother while a certain terror filled her two-year-old body. The mindset was so different, but the result would end up being the same. In her second life, this very day she was now reliving for the third time, had been her first but not last failure. Akai had been only two, she was only two now, and the fuzziness, the slight blurriness and overall limited ability to think coherent thoughts that came with that age, had affected her much more then than it did now. Now, despite her age and body, Akai could think organized thoughts, even if she was still not completely free of that sluggish infant mind set. That would pass soon. Or it wouldn't... This time, Akai didn't really care whether or not it did... This time, it might even be better if it didn't. Something to numb the mind wouldn't hurt, would it? Not if she had no intention of trying, anyway.
In this life, Akai was calm and there was no morbid trepidation that engulfed her, no stress induced fever that made her cry and blubber helplessly and not even one attempt of hers to stop what was surely to come. In this life, Akai merely listened quietly to the sound of her older brother being eaten alive outside the family home. She listened, she waited and she died a little inside. Odd, she hadn't thought that possible, but perhaps it was just a warped reflex she had developed; having never properly known her brother in her previous two lives, the fact that the opportunity to get to know him was being snatched from her yet again, could be causing her to feel some indescribable, instinctual pain that made her eyes glisten in the moonlight. Instinct, she repeated — hoping she would soon believe it — it was all only instinct.
And besides, the only tears that rolled down her cheeks were silent ones and she wasn't even sure if those counted; she'd never heard of a two-year-old crying silently before. She'd grown accustomed to wails, but never to silent tears of anguish.
Akai heard her brother whimper, as she had heard him in the lives before. "Not Akai-chan, please – not my Akai-chan!"
The sound of his voice was so familiar. As it had in her last lives, she was sure that his familiar tone would haunt her this time, too.
"Please!"
Even while being eaten alive (and by the whimpers and cries and sobs that continued well to the edge of night, she knew it wasn't a quick and easy death) her elder brother only cried out her name, only pleaded for her and never for himself, almost as if he knew that she was for the third time now listening as her brother was brutally torn apart by the ravenous teeth of a flesh-eating demon.
The whimpers continued and every now and then, she'd hear a soft plead, followed by her name, a ripping sound that rang in her ears and then that same laugh that more so resembled a hiss of a snake. The demon, made obvious by the euphoric sounds he emitted whenever he raised himself up from her brother's flesh long enough to even make sounds other than the occasional grunts, was thoroughly enjoying himself, losing himself in his feast that took the form of her sickly, limping older brother. Akai noticed this even as she continued to experience the slight but perpetual disequilibrium and brain fog that came from straining her undeveloped brain.
The demon taking its sweet time with consuming her brother (in her second life, Akai had made herself suffer by imagining the demon cutting him up and eating him bit by bit; something she certainly wouldn't be doing now), was what saved her in her first, second and now third life, too.
Because by the time her brother let out his last string of cries, his last whimpered "Not Akai-chan!", the sun was already starting to come up. The demon would run for the hills now, and his blood-soaked footprints would then five hours later lead Tanjuro Kamado to their small cottage. Hangai Akai knew the subsequent events well. Tanjuro would look upon her brother's remains, sink down into a position of prayer before burying him and sending him off best he could to the next life.
In both her first and second life, Tanjuro had then found her, and he had taken her, wrapped her up warmly and smiled a pale, pained and already somewhat sickly smile at her. This time, he would find her, too, because this time — and Akai was sure of this – absolutely nothing would be different. She was resigned to her fate.
This time, no matter what words Tanjiro whispered into her ear while he held her tight (somehow, the only thing that really always seemed to change was Tanjiro, how he behaved, how he looked at her and what he said to her), she would not look to change anything. But if it pleased him, she'd still follow him until her planned death.
Hangai Akai had not been born an apathetic person (in her first life, she'd been gentle and kind and sweet – and most notably, she'd let her heart be set on fire by the passion that surrounded her), but by the confounds of her own dire situation, the state of apathy had been thrust upon her, through no fault of her own.
In her second life, she'd been subdued, a quiet little thing throughout all the years, but she'd still felt so strongly that an accusation of her being unfeeling was unheard of.
"Akai-chan, don't be sad, alright?" Tanjiro said, holding her cold hand tightly in his as she stared emotionlessly at a sleeping Nezuko. He had more reason than her to mourn; she knew Nezuko was going to wake up soon, but he was still the one illuminated by the hope of morning while she'd gone cold. "Nezuko-chan will be up again soon, don't worry."
He was looking at her like that again. Akai was afraid he would always look at her like that, but since it was her second life, and she'd lived this path once before, she knew that the ways they'd started to live by in her first life were not an option for her second life. No, in this life, she'd be the older sister who tried and succeeded in taking care of her family. The feelings that she'd allowed in her first life (only towards the end, when his feelings for her didn't waver and she could no longer dismiss them as him only clinging to her as an older sister and mistaking these affections for something akin to love), would not be permitted in this life, no matter how much she'd manage to alter the future.
"I know," she managed wearily, sending Tanjiro a weak smile and giving his hand a short squeeze before she withdrew from him, slowly getting to her feet. She felt his stare against her back, prickly and longing, as she moved across the room to wet the cloth in the now lukewarm water she had prepared for Nezuko. It didn't do anything; warm water, cold water, scolding hot water, ice cold water... nothing would make a difference, but now in her second life, Akai felt comforted by the familiarities she recognized from her first life...
There were so many things that she now in this life would not be able to have and so she would allow herself some rare comforts. Taking care of Nezuko in the way she saw fit was one of those things.
She'd been almost as naïve in her second life as she had been in her first. The only real difference being her eyes. In her first life, when surrounded by Tanjiro, Nezuko, Zenitsu and Inosuke, everyone had told her she had the brightest of eyes, so so pretty. Like the stars, Tanjiro had said to her warmly, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. Like those pretty white flowers that glow in the moonlight, Zenitsu had mumbled, red cheeked and cowering behind Tanjiro who only smiled gently in encouragement (he had always encouraged anyone complimenting her, even though he himself in both lives did more than enough of it on a daily basis). Nezuko hadn't said anything, not verbally, but as was their way, she had when searching for comfort, always drawn close to her and leaned her forehead against Akai's, peering into her gray flashing eyes with her own pretty pink ones. The things Nezuko wordlessly said to her always meant a lot and this action of hers had told her a lot, too. It spelled out to her that in her, in her star flecked eyes, Nezuko found comfort. Her sweet, loveable Nezuko.
And last but certainly not least, Inosuke had loudly and boldly declared that not even the treasure of the mountain (whatever that was, she didn't find out, not in life one and not in life two), could compare to her beautiful, round sparkling eyes. Well, he hadn't said it exactly like that – he tended to be less... eloquent when he screamed his proposals at her, but that had definitely been the gist of it.
Then, in her second life, there was no talk about her bright eyes. She was just as pretty (long, glossy white-blond hair that glittered in just about every light, flashing gray eyes that resembled the eye of a storm and smooth, shimmering skin), but in her second life, she was more of a haunted beauty. Things that normally would make someone appear worn out, on her, were accessories. Instead of dark bags under her eyes from the stress, the crushing fear and the anger in her heart, her eyes took on a reddish hue that only enhanced the whole suffering look of hers in a nice way.
In her second life, unlike her first, it was so that Tanjiro would cup her face, brush the pads of his calloused fingers up and down her cheeks, while telling her she was strong. Now, in her third life, she disagreed. She hadn't been strong; she'd been weak and unable to stop anything.
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She looked up at her best friend's father as he crouched down before her. She didn't cry, didn't move and unlike in her second life, where she had acted a certain way in order to not draw suspicion to herself and some of her odd mannerisms that came from having lived once before with all her memories intact, Akai didn't even attempt to take on the role of a baby left alone in a house without care for many hours. Not this time. This time, she didn't care. She just blankly stared ahead; eyes empty.
Tanjuro took her into his haori, wrapped her up, held her close to his warm chest, all the while quietly murmuring soothing words of comfort. He rocked her backward and forward, trying to shield her from any and all pain. Akai didn't care for the affection, but the embrace of someone she had held dear in two lives before nevertheless caused tears to prick at her eyes. And so, when she snuggled closer into Tanjuro's warmth, even though Akai tried to tell herself it was only her instinct as one so young once again acting up, she allowed some of these instinctual tears to fall. Her fuzzy mind, due to lack of development, she told herself, was wholly at fault.
This, she repeated like a mantra in her head, chanting it over and over, even as Tanjuro travelled forth to what would be her new home, where he would raise her as one of his own, as the eldest of his children. At this moment in time, Tanjiro himself wouldn't be born yet, but from her past lives, Akai knew Kie-san was pregnant already and that it wouldn't be too long now. He'd join her soon and Akai told herself that she didn't care that the last time she'd seen him, she'd died in his arms, that the last time she'd seen him, she'd failed him when her eyes had fluttered shut one last time and that the last time he'd seen her, she'd not spoken a word as he begged and begged her not to leave him.
"It'll be alright," Tanjuro soothed calmly, his voice as stable now as she'd always known it. She knew it wouldn't be, but she let him tell her that it would be. His fingers comfortingly fiddled with the cloth around her tiny shoulders as they trudged down the snowy path and finally left the area where the scent of blood had permeated the cool air. As he carried her, he lifted the cloth slightly, revealing what was engrained there; her name, in red letters, sewn into the cloth by her now dead older brother.
"Hangai Akai," he said slowly, looking down at her. She stared up at him, eyes dreary and on the verge of fluttering shut. He tried to smile at her, rearranging her position to shelter her more from the cold.
His broken smile was indicative of him welcoming her into his house, his family.
And she really was welcome, this time in the same way she had been the other two times. Akai hated it. She wanted repulsion; she deserved their disgust.
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In her second life, Akai had at first spent every waking moment after her brother's death working towards two things: prolonging the life of Tanjuro Kamado, her father figure, and later preventing the deaths of the rest of the Kamado family at the hands of Kibutsuji Muzan. Shortly put: Akai had failed at both her endeavors. With Tanjuro, she had worked to be a good daughter, one who cared for him, one who made sure he was in good health and one who insisted he did less of the things that drained him of his energy.
But Akai had only really bought him two months of additional life. The aftermath of this had been terrible. As the eldest, even if she wasn't his real daughter and even though she had and would always remain Hangai Akai and not Kamado Akai, she had the most vivid, enduring memories of Tanjuro from all the children. When the time of his death had come around the second time, she had hated herself so very much for making Kie care for the mental repercussions of her failure, but she hadn't been able stop herself; she had been powerless, weak. She was always weak. But there, in her second life, instead of helping or bringing about a good change, all the effort had ended up amounting to her being a burden. It was pathetic.
She had been pathetic.
That had been her second failure in her second life and the first time during her second life that Akai had been plunged into a deep depression because of it. Again, first time, not last time.
Her bones grew weak, her body frail, her hair thin and her skin deathly pale and sickly. Following the days of Tanjuro's second death, Akai was but a shell of a girl. With time, and with Kie's loving motherly embrace, the hands she brushed through Akai's hair every night before bed, the warm blankets she used to warm her from the outside in until, as Kie-san put it, her very own Akai-chan would smile for her again — she had been able to recover. Because of Kie-san, because of Tanjiro's hand squeezes, because of Nezuko-chan's light touches that the younger girl loved to sprinkle her face in, and because her whole family loved her dearly, Akai really did end up smiling again. Smiling enough so that she now in turn could do the same to the family who had lost their actual husband and father.
But even if she had ended up coming away from that with her smile still halfway intact, the message this sent her was all too clear: despite years of effort, there were some things Akai wouldn't be able to change, no matter how hard she tried to.
That was an important lesson she learned, one she had not heeded in her second life, even though the death of her siblings and mother had ended up being one of those unchangeable things. Had she delayed the dreadful happening? Yes, but six months of additional life meant next to nothing in the grand scheme of things. By hording her entire family off to a trip during the time she calculated Kibutsuji Muzan would arrive, Akai had hoped that had been it. But because she was a cautious girl who had been ready to do everything for her family's continued survival, she hadn't dropped her guard in the weeks or even months that followed. Whenever Tanjiro, or any of her siblings or even mother would go out, she would either accompany them herself (in the worry that the demon Muzan might stumble upon them all alone in the woods), leaving Tanjiro home to make sure there was someone left at the house (and here, she would cry and scream until they promised her that while any one of them was gone, no one else would leave the house and that Tanjiro would stay with them at all times), or Akai would stay home herself at the house, sending Tanjiro off with whoever had business in the outside.
Kie-san had been confused and troubled by her behavior, but after a late-night visit where the then fifteen-year-old Akai come crying to her in the middle of the night, rendered terrified and helpless by her nightmares and unwavering paranoia, there had been this unspoken agreement in the family that whatever helped soothe Akai, was something everyone would deem a manageable sacrifice. Tanjiro especially, who Akai suspected had actually listened to her cries of fright to his mother, had then joined her in her firm protectiveness. What the reason for it exactly was, he hadn't been sure, but despite being younger than Akai, he was who his father had designated the man of the house, and if his Akai thought there could be danger, it was only his duty to make sure that danger never reached his family. It was together that the two of them had held off the inevitable for another six months.
But it had been no use.
It had ended up happening anyway on the day Akai fell sick with a dangerously high fever, she had lost her consciousness and had no longer been able to impose on her family her strict rules. Tanjiro, in turn, had been forced to rush Akai into the village to seek medical help in the fear that she might actually die. And, like clockwork, the moment the two of them were out of the vicinity, Kibutsuji Muzan had happened upon their humble abode. That had been the end of that.
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Now, Akai knew, from incidents such as these as well as the ones that followed after, that changing the natural course of events was not something that she could ever achieve. So, in this life, in her third and hopefully final one, Akai grew up without saying a word. She was five before she spoke her first word, seven when she uttered her first proper sentence.
In her second life, to show her determination, Akai had sat in front of the mirror and cut off her waist length hair, ignoring the cries and whines of her siblings who wondered why she would ever do such a thing. In this life, however, now at age eight, where in her second life she had emancipated herself in a way by cutting off the burdensome curtains of silk, Akai only stared at the mirror and did not lift a finger.
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"Onee-chan!" Takeo Kamado cried out, waddling towards the older girl sitting in the snow. His small voice, full of barely concealed excitement, made Akai look up quietly.
He sped up a bit, his small toddler legs working hard to keep him balanced. When he reached Akai, he miscalculated and instead of landing in her arms, he landed in the soft snow. There was a pause. He looked up, bringing his face up from the snow, a pout on his face. For a moment, it looked like he might cry, but then, relaxing his scrunched-up face, he seemed to change his mind in favor of stumbling to his feet and taking one more step in order to land in Akai's arms. She caught him easily, arranging him on her lap so that his little body touched no snow.
"Onee-chan!" he repeated again, reaching up his little hands to fist some of her soft hair. She let it happen, even when he tugged at the strands, only quietly staring back at Takeo. Even in this life, where she spoke little and focused more than anything on her duties, everyone held such great affection for her. There was no need for her to act overly friendly or helpful like she had in her first by pure survival instinct... There was no need because in each of her lifetimes, they had all loved every version of her in their own way. This one was no exception.
Gently, Akai ran two fingers over his smooth cheek, silently comforting him. "What is it?" she asked quietly. In this life, she would not talk in a voice over a whisper. Takeo snuggled into her hand at her words.
"No-th-ing..." he said, breathing contentedly, his little stutter reminding her of his young age. He would lose it in the years to come.
"Nothing," she echoed back, cradling him closer to her chest to keep him warm.
She heard the sound of practiced, quiet footsteps against the snow and looked up to see Tanjiro. He looked young, he was young, but in this life, somehow, he had been forced to grow up much faster than he had in her previous lives. She briefly wondered how that had happened. In her first life, although she worked to always do her part, the tasks that came with living so far out were ones that fell on the two of them equally, despite the fact that she was older. He was the firstborn son, after all, and it had been expected of him to help support the family in the ways he could as soon as he could walk. In her second life, however, where Akai had been indefinitely more aware of her surroundings, smarter and stronger as well, she had tried to change that, taking more burdens on herself, and allowing him to longer enjoy the life of a carefree child.
Now, while Akai talked, smiled and hugged less, she had taken up more work still, often reducing herself in ways that left her sitting for hours on end, knitting till her fingers were bloody and raw, collecting firewood until strands of her hair were frozen against her cheeks and assisting Kie-san with finding proper winter storage for the food even at times when the ground was hard and cold and she had to spend hours to even make a dent with the shovel they owned. But her subdued and ever working presence seemed to have had the opposite effect; Kamado Tanjiro instead of living his days freely vowed to make himself catch up to her, so that he now worked himself to the bone even as a young child despite the fact that he didn't need to.
Akai only quietly mourned for his lost childhood, knowing that the smiles he wore were no less genuine in this life than they had been in the last two.
She looked at Tanjiro while he watched her quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"What is it?" she asked again, and this time the question was directed to the oldest Kamado sibling.
He only shook his head at her, still smiling slightly with something warm swimming in eyes. "Nothing, Akai-chan," he told her, readjusting his grip on the laundry basked as he stumbled on, in search of his mother.
Nothing.
Akai closed her eyes and wondered how long she would be able to enjoy this nothing.
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A cold breeze blew through the woods, mussing up her long white-blond hair that she hadn't bothered to brush in a while. Usually, Kie-san saw to it that her hair was well cared for, but because she was pregnant again, she had little energy and Akai was left to her duties, caring little for things such as appearance.
She would brush out Nezuko's hair, even braid it should she ask, but she would not apply the same care to herself. There was no reason to, she told herself, bending down slowly to pick up some of the already cut up pieces of firewood that lay scattered around the forest path. Takeo had been told to pick up the firewood, but knowing that he was going to be blessed with a little brother within the next hours, he had been careless and had dropped half the pile on the way.
No one really cared. Everyone was at home, huddled around the fire and the lady doctor who had come for Kie-san. But Akai had witnessed the birth two times before and she was not needed and would care for the fire instead. To keep her family warm and to not deny anyone the joy of seeing little Shigeru take his first breath of air in this world.
Akai focused her eyes on a log in the distance. A good luck charm had caught on the piece of wood and fallen to the ground with it. She recognized it immediately: in both her first and second life, this had been a gift from Takeo, a token of his love and appreciation, one he had spent hours on. Sharpening the wood with a knife, meticulously wrapping red cloth around it and stringing the pearls on one after the other; it glinted prettily in the light.
She stared at it blankly. Little changes like this were common, something which made them all the more heartbreaking. If change was so easy to acquire – why? Why could she not achieve anything? Why did it always end in her failure? She had sworn to ward off these thoughts in this life, but Akai couldn't help that they sometimes washed over her nevertheless. If this charm now was found by her in the woods where she hadn't found it in her past lives, why could everything else not change as well?
The first tear since the night of her brother's death rolled down unexpectedly. Akai hadn't even cried as a toddler, not when Tanjiro had accidently poured boiling water over her calf, not when she'd stumbled and landed on some sharp rocks that left her with long jagged scratches all over her tiny body and not even had she cried after tumbling down into down into the treacherous, icy waters of the nearby river. But now, staring at a good luck charm made with red string, Akai felt her eyes glisten. Slowly, she reached up her cold hand, touching her fingers to the sole wet tear. She was surprised when the tears didn't stop and Akai soon found herself crying, really crying. Not those same silent tears that she remembered from her days after her brother's death, but real, actual sobs that wracked against her chest, forcing her to her knees. She sank down next to a tree, directly in front of the little good luck charm and the tears kept at it, rolling down her cheeks and falling down into the white snow. She reached out her hand and fisted the charm, running her fingers over the smooth surface.
Another sob bubbled up in her chest and Akai chocked as she tried to regain her calm, composed demeaner.
Nothing.
She wanted nothing, to feel nothing, to be nothing, because surely that would be better than all she was feeling now. If only, if only she could root herself to the ground here, become a tree that trembled in the snowy wind. Maybe as a tree that trembles in the wind, she would bare her family sweet fruits to make them smile. Maybe she would be able to make a difference like that.
"Akai," she heard her name on the wind and lifted her head from her arms, looking up into the eyes of her father figure who crouched down beside her, his firm hands finding her shoulders.
Akai choked and tried to hide her tear-stained cheeks. But it was no use and so she whimpered freely. "Otou-san," she cried.
She felt Tanjuro freeze slightly. This was the first time in all three lives that she had dared to call him father. He gave her shoulders a squeeze; his smile gentle as the wind ruffled his hair. "My strong child," he said to her.
But it wasn't true, so she shook her head.
He pulled her into his arms. "Dear Akai-chan."
She hiccupped. "I'm losing always, Otou-san."
He wouldn't understand, she knew that well, but she let her Otou-san shield her from the cold winds as he had done on the same day he found her.
"Akai-chan. Don't grow up so quickly."
"—But, Otou-san – I..." She started, yet what was supposed to follow was instead lost in the tremors.
"Hush now. You're shivering, let us head back. Takeo can take care of the wood he missed in the morning. Let us go meet your little brother."
Her Otou-san had missed the birth of his son to check up on her. The thought made her sobs wrack against her chest more strongly than before; she felt her cries in her entire being.
Her father said no more, but his strong hand at her back as he gently lifted her into the air was enough. He was telling her, yet again, that it was all alright. And that if it wasn't, it at least would be.
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She woke up in a cold sweat that same night, gasping and choking. But when she looked around, she wasn't alone. Sitting beside her on her bed, Tanjiro smiled down at her gently. Akai knew immediately that his father had tasked him with making sure she was alright during the night. His own duty lay with his exhausted wife and newborn, and he had told his eldest son that his lay with Akai.
Soft finger tips grazed her forehead. Gently, he pushed her back down on the bed, not saying a word. Tears trailed down her cheeks yet again, almost as if it were a common occurrence now, something she was used to, as Tanjiro softly tucked her loose strands of hair behind her ears. Gingerly, he rubbed the pads of his fingers under her wet cheeks, drying her tears.
"Tanjiro," she whispered weakly.
He looked at her and his own eyes welled with tears. "Akai-chan," he finally confirmed, nodding strongly.
It would be best if she died now, she thought, as she stared at Tanjiro with wide terrified eyes, it would be easiest if she died now... But she wanted to feel the comfort of her family for a little time longer. She'd have time for death later, lots of it.
In the darkness, as if he could hear or feel her thoughts, as if they pained him as much as they did her, Tanjiro's hand found her own and he held onto it so tightly in a way that spelled out just how important it was for him that she recovered soon. How important she was to everyone and how they longed for her happiness.
But no matter how she tried, she couldn't give them exactly that. It hurt. Yet another failure.
Tanjiro continued watching over her with a hurting gaze and when she finally fell asleep, he remained by her side, as a friend, as a brother and as whatever else he felt for the girl lying with tear tracks in the futon beside him.
I'll stay with you, so don't cry —he repeated it, again and again, and he was ready to continue for hours, saying the same words all night. He held her beside him, and finally, he noticed that his Akai had stopped twitching. He stayed awake watching out for her, and it was as if her calm sleep regenerated him, too. And then, when every so often he felt the tremors, he felt tired, as well, as though his well-being was connected to hers.
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Akai grew sickly in this life in a way she hadn't in the ones before. Instead of letting her sorrows out, she kept them hidden within until she could no longer sleep at night and she could no longer walk properly during the day. Her depression cancelled out her eyes so that for a while, she saw the world only with a blurred gaze, her sadness numbed her sense of smell so that she could no longer find comfort in the warm foods Kie-san brought her and last, but not least, the pain in her chest clogged up her ears so that the sounds of the world, the chirping birds, the rustling trees and the cries of joy from her siblings were but faint whispers. Akai, at age twelve, with her old mind intact, felt that she was dying. There was nothing she had to do, she thought, because her death would find her earlier in this life, through no extra effort of her own.
If she was lucky enough, she'd maybe even manage to die before it was her Otou-san's turn to go.
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Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl with white hair and sad, seafoam gray eyes, born in the storm and raised in the calm, and her sadness, he realized early on, was the damage in the world he wanted to spend his life rectifying. She was there before he was born, but she was not a sister bound to him by blood. His Otou-san called her his heart sister. And he loved her as a little baby, looking up and staring into her gray eyes, reaching up his chubby fingers to grasp at her soft hair, and he loved her as he grew up, the two of them taking charge to take care of their family.
If he was lucky, his Kaa-chan told him, laughing freely, she would stay with them forever and they'd continue this pattern of life for the rest of theirs.
Akai-chan who worked diligently, suffered silently and loved loudly through her actions, was a treasure. They wished she would be their forever.
But all that would only work if his Akai-chan was happy.
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In their winter, there were those rare months when the sun came out but it was still cold outside the doors of their home. Those times, Kamado Tanjiro realized, were Akai-chan's favorites. During those times, the cold didn't matter, not to her, because everything felt light and fresh and walking outside, despite the biting cold wasn't a problem. The sun was out, a sun with teeth, but a sun nevertheless that warmed their faces and worked to wake up the sleeping world.
Akai-chan liked being outside during this time of the year, playing her koto. The world listened in whenever she played and he stopped working, too, when the melancholy tune of her danmono rose higher in the air, as if flying towards the clouds in tendrils of smoke. Sweet, sweet, sweet and sad, so sad. Nezuko-chan beside him paused her ministrations on her kimono as well, raising her head with a smile as the sound floated towards them. Sweet, sweet... His throat began to feel thick, tears pricking at his eyes as he gently set the wood down beside the burning fire, reaching out a hand to Nezuko-chan. He led them towards the clearing in front of the house where he knew they would find Akai-chan.
And there she was, he thought as he looked at her with wide eyes. The only sound was that coming from the instrument Akai was playing; all other sounds ceased or faded into the background, obscured by the sheer sweetness of her melodies. His mouth parted slightly, but the silence continued on, even as Nezuko-chan squeezed his hand, looking up at him with a small, happy smile. No one said a word, but his heart did the talking for him, beating so loudly and quickly that he was afraid Akai might hear it even with the physical distance separating them.
Moments passed; how many, he didn't know. Hours and minutes and seconds, he didn't know, all he knew was that he had to tattoo this particular image of Akai in his mind. He wanted to remember her forever this way. He thought of her cold skin; her star flecked, grayish eyes, her white-blond hair, so smooth and cool to the touch; her soft, small hands that played her koto; the dark blue kimono she wore in the winter; her tiny, melodious voice that was never raised and that at this point, he suspected he would never hear above a whisper... Just Akai. All of her. The good that tasted of the sad and the sad that tasted of the good.
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There were many more moments that Tanjiro in the course of their shared childhood wanted to imprint in the back of his mind. Akai in the rain was one of those, because she loved the rain, and sometimes, he'd see her as she paused in whatever she was doing and went outside to stay a bit in the rain. All alone, and she would never do it when someone was with her. She'd sometimes go out even during a storm and what she would do, was this: open her arms, as if greeting something or someone, and raising herself up on her tippy toes as she let herself be caught by the falling rain drops. He never told her beautiful she looked like that, her wet hair sticking to her face, but his Okaa-san often did, when she joined him, simply watching, with bright, fond eyes, as Akai stood in the pouring rain, shining and breathtaking.
But it was also during one of those times, as Akai stood drenched in the rain while his mother watched her lovingly, that his father came home and collapsed on the snow before he could make it to the door. His mother told him that it had happened while he had been out for the coal.
And she told him, too, how Akai had let out a cry, running immediately to his Otou-san's side, not bending a stem of grass as she passed across their little garden in quick, graceful steps to help him to his feet again.
Tanjiro wished he had been there.
After that, his father remained in bed, no longer strong enough to leave the house; and Akai, she remained inside during the rain, no longer happy enough to venture out.
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One lone, silent tear spilled from her eye, ran down her hollow cheek and splattered onto her midnight blue Kimono sprinkled with periwinkle blue. Instinctively, like the big brother he was to near everyone else in the house, he took Akai in his arms and held her against his chest, feeling the way her whole body trembled. No more tears fell but she trembled and trembled and trembled. Hoping to soothe her, he used his right hand to caress her soft, white hair. He waited for her to stop trembling but time passed and her trembling continued.
"Otou-san will be alright," he told her, his hand fiddling her hair again.
She looked up at him then, peering up into his eyes, and the look in her eyes told him that she didn't believe him. Tanjiro didn't know what to think, so he pulled her closer and gestured for Nezuko, who was hiding behind the door, watching them, to join the two of them.
When she did, he held them all close. "Otou-san will be alright," he repeated softly.
Nezuko nodded softly, hesitantly at him, saying nothing.
Akai didn't move an inch, her stare empty as she looked at something in the distance that he was sure wasn't actually there.
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His Otou-san ended up not being alright.
He was eleven when he passed, Akai was thirteen.
He grieved and listened to his Otou-san's wishes to take care of everyone. When his Otou-san died, Akai left the house and spent the day by the river, silently swinging his Otou-san's old Katana. Then, after hours, when she came back and told him quietly that she was going to make a warm soup for everyone, he stopped her and he sat down on the floor. There, he bandaged all her cuts that had come from a day spent swinging a Katana, gently took her bruised knuckles with one hand and wrapped the other around her shoulder to pull her into a tight hug. He didn't let her go.
Soon, while still caught in their embrace, he heard the titter tatter of Nezuko's feet against the floorboards.
Not making a sound, she joined them, snuggling into Akai's side. There, she stayed, until Takeo plumped down beside the three of them, too, and opened his arms, a loud cry leaving his lips.
Not much later, the whole Kamado family had joined in on the hug, even his Okaa-san with little, crying baby Rokuto.
How long they stayed in that embrace, clutching at each other, not daring to look into anyone's eyes, Tanjiro didn't know. All he knew, was that when what seemed like hours had passed, Akai was the first to stand and he watched her as she walked away towards the kitchen.
She made soup for all of them, and then, one after the other, she tucked all of them into bed.
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Three months later, with the help of various rare treats, such as fresh fruit, the world slowly went back to normal, and the sad changes Tanjiro had noticed in his younger siblings were starting to become less noticeable again. There was a path to recovery for everyone. Maybe he was wrong, but for once, Tanjiro felt like that was true for Akai also.
He was glad.
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She carefully sliced the rare ananas fruit into equal portions and spread them on the bowl evenly. As she fluttered through the room, preparing glasses and clearing away the old table cloth, she swayed from side to side, her quiet voice singing a soft song. Tanjiro, his hand frozen on the doorknob, listened and watched through the slid open window as if frozen, completely transfixed. Yet another day to remember, because while there was still this permeant sense of sadness that surrounded Akai, she seemed to have found some lovely happiness in that same sadness.
He remembered the light of the sun, the precise angle even, the smell that he now associated with the end of summer, and the sound of her soft song. Everything about that day, but mostly her, was engraved in his memory. She looked fragile, delicate in her beauty, and in the way her soft skin gleamed, her ever messy hair shimmered and her lithe form moved. In appearance, she was the soft snow that shone in the morning hours, somehow as sad as she was lovely. Lovely and sad, as Akai usually was.
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He thought about wanting to kiss her cheek, but when he thought that, he wasn't actually thinking of kissing her cheek: he was just thinking about thinking of wanting kiss her cheek. Akai's eyes — a shifting, swirling gray color that always binds him to the spot — found his.
He exhaled softly and smiled gently. "Happy Birthday, Akai-chan."
"No." Akai's voice was so loud that startled him slightly. Now, it wasn't actually loud, in fact, had it been anyone else, he would have said it more so resembled a whisper, but since it was Akai, he regarded it as loud and felt the need to take a step back. "Akai-chan?"
She wasn't answering him, but she was staring at him so intently that he knew something had to be wrong.
Tanjiro made a move to touch her, reaching out a comforting hand to place it on her shoulder. He gave her a soft squeeze, tilting his head sideways, still regarding her warmly. "What is it?"
At the sound of his voice, Akai jerked backward, out of his reach. "Not happy," she whispered.
She didn't look at him, her wide, disoriented and terrified gaze fixated on the floor. This time, reaching out both hands, he secured her shoulders with his touch, keeping her firmly in place.
"Akai-chan," he called her name, his tone so familiar and brotherly. Please say something.
She didn't.
"Why?" His voice was a bare whispering as his hands found her face, soft and firm, his calloused fingertips skimming her warm forehead, the hollows of her cheeks, the edge of her jaw.
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When Tanjiro was thirteen and Akai was fifteen, something changed. Since his birthday, the day where he had last seen her smile, Akai seemed to be engulfed in some sort of perpetual depression that prohibited her from uttering even the simplest of sentences. For a whole year, Akai, who in her fourteenth year had turned slightly sickly again, did not speak a single word. And every day, as she raised herself up from her futon before even the earliest birds went tweet-tweet, and only a whisper of sunlight was seen creeping over the rolling hills, Tanjiro would notice Akai's eyes.
Always swollen, before she went out to fetch the pale of water and flushed her red-rimmed eyes, thinking that no one would notice that she had spent a good part of the night crying alone. But he noticed, he noticed and he suffered as the one who was meant to take care of everyone.
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The sound of her soft, fearful sobs permeated the air through the thin door. All his siblings and his worried mother, too, gathered outside the family bedroom, watching through a crack as Akai-chan broke down, tried to pull herself together again by squeezing her eyes shut, counting to ten... and then fell apart again, heavy sobs wracking against her chest more violently than before. What befell her, he didn't know, no one did. Rokuto started to cry in Nezuko's arms and hearing that, Tanjiro watched with a heavy heart as Akai immediately started rubbing at her eyes, trying to erase the traces and sounds of her misery in order to spare his siblings. Placing his hand on Rokuto's head and giving him a comforting head ruffle, Tanjiro carefully and quietly stepped inside the room, eyes briefly locking with his Otou-san's and Nezuko-chan's before he slid the door shut behind him again. They had understood the look in his eyes and would take the rest of the family out for some fresh air while he tried to comfort Akai-chan alone. She tried to pull herself together, make herself look strong and resilient when he walked in and approached her futon. Slowly, he crouched down in front of her, and without any words, he reached his hand out to the back of her head to push her forehead against his.
He stayed like that, holding her trembling form against him.
All she was now a tree trembling in the calm before the storm. Any day now, the storm would be upon them, she was sure.
And Akai, as so often before, was right.