Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tanjirou remembered meeting Higuchi Ayame.

They had met before, of course. A blacksmith couldn't run without coal, and a coal burner had a steady customer in a blacksmith. The Higuchis had always been there, until one day they weren't.

Then again, the Kamados weren't around anymore.

Red, red, red. The destruction of happiness is always followed by the scent of blood.

And there was so much blood that Tanjirou choked on it. It clogged his nose, to the point that he thought it would haunt him until the end of days.

Kaasan. Nezuko. Takeo. Hanako. Shigeru. Rokuta.

All gone. All dead.

Just Tanjirou left.

He didn't know how long he knelt there, cradling Nezuko's cold, cold body against his. Pulled Rokuta into his lap and wept cold, bitter tears over the small, stiffening body.

Nezuko…! Rokuta…!

"Niichan! Niichan, there's still someone here!"

A voice. A girl's voice. Who…?

Hands pulled at his shoulders, trying to tug him away from his younger siblings, but he shook his head and sobbed louder.

No… no! Leave him here, let his body wither away. Let him join his family. Please.

"Tanjirou-san."

"By Amaterasu's flames…"

"Niichan, he's cold. Get help."

"From where? The village…"

"Send a crow out. Quickly."

"Please," Tanjirou croaked, pressing his face to Nezuko's hair. It didn't smell like her. It just smelled like blood. "Please."

Warm hand cupped his cheeks, pulling his head up. He couldn't see past the tears, but he thought he could see blue. Blue, like the sky on a clear day. Blue, like the hidden depths of a cool lake.

"Tanjirou-san," the girl said. "I'm Higuchi Ayame. I'm a Kisatsutai trainee. You need to let go."

Let go? How could he? They were his younger siblings. He was the niichan, the eldest son. He was supposed to protect them. Now that Tousan was gone, he was supposed to protect them.

He failed. He failed and his family was dead.

Tears spilled down his cheeks – hot, then cold. What had he done? While he was sleeping in someone's home, his family…

Another scent. Like charcoal and a rushing stream. Tanjirou turned his gaze to the tall figure, to the piercing blue eyes and the shaggy mass of black hair. On his shoulders was a dark blue haori, seigaiha a stark white against the dark fabric. He had a katana strapped to his right hip.

"No one around," the man reported. "We need to move out soon, though. The Kakushi Butai can take care of it."

The hands on Tanjirou's shoulders tightened. "Even Touchan and Kaachan and the others…?"

The man shook his head grimly. "It's not safe." He looked up at the sky. There was an angry red scar along his neck. "It's cloudy today."

"… I see."

"Ayame…"

"No, I know. I know, Niichan."

A sob left Tanjirou's lips. Niichan… no one else would call him Niichan ever again. No one was left. It was just him.

The grip on his shoulders was painful. He could feel his bones grind, his flesh start to bruise, but it didn't matter. There was too much grief welling in him; if he didn't let it out now, he would burst.

"Stop that," the man said sharply, blue eyes flashing. "Get up. Aren't you a man?"

"Niichan…"

"Shut up, Ayame. I said get the hell up. You're going to lie down and die? Then you should've died with them. But you're not dead yet. So get up. Get up and fight."

"…"

"…"

"The gods left you alive. There has to be a reason for that. You can either let this cripple you, or you can let it make you stronger. You're an older brother, aren't you? An eldest son? Eldest sons endure. So get up and take back what was taken from you."

Tanjirou's breath stuttered in his chest.

Take back…? But they were gone. They were all gone. He would never see them again.

Higuchi Akihiko glared at him. He unsheathed his katana, the blue-edged blade glinting dully in the weak sunlight. He held it in front of him, hands steady.

"I can either cut you down here and let you die as a worthless coward," he growled, "or you can stand up and get revenge for your family. What'll it be?"

Tanjirou turned his gaze forward, to look at the girl he hadn't seen in almost a year. Her presence – her scent – had disappeared from the forge and he'd asked Higuchi-san.

Aya-hime? She's out learning something new. She's always been too big to stay at the forge, may the gods bless her heart. Her and Akihiko both.

Tanjirou found the strength to stand on shaky knees. Anger bubbled up, bursting forth as he looked the man in the eye.

"I won't die a worthless coward," he said.

Training with Urokodaki-san was hard.

It was gruelling. It was taxing. It didn't give him room to wallow in his grief. He had to learn Breath of Water, then he had to learn Total Concentration Breathing. Then he had to cut the boulder.

And somehow, Tanjirou stayed standing through it all.

"Tanjirou."

He turned at the call of his name, harsh expression melting into a warm smile as the scent of suzuran and charcoal tickled his nose.

"Ayame," he greeted back mildly.

They hadn't seen each other in two years. There were always plans to meet up, but they always fell through. Akihiko-san had come by, however. On days he came, training was even tougher. Tanjirou liked it when the Water Hashira came by.

Ayame looked different. Different from the girl he remembered in Okutama. Not all that dissimilar from the girl that found him in his broken home.

Her hair was pulled back into a half-ponytail, inky black strands falling into her eyes. Her eyes were just as piercing as he remembered, but the smile was gentle. She looked comfortable in her white kimono and red hakama, her hand resting with familiarity on the katana strapped to her hip.

"You made it," she commented. Her right hand rose. Fell. "And you cut your hair."

He had. It didn't seem right to keep a ponytail when that part of his life was long gone. He ran a hand over the shortened strands, still unused to the feeling.

"Ah, yes." He swallowed. "I needed a change."

She nodded. She understood. No one else would.

Two girls with white hair and wisteria-patterned kimonos greeted them in the clearing. They informed them of their test, then sent them off with dispassionate words.

Ayame turned to him, concern wrinkling her forehead. "Do you want to stick together?"

Tanjirou hesitated, then shook his head. He had to do this alone. If he couldn't, he wouldn't be able to face Urokodaki-san. Wouldn't be able to look Akihiko-san in the eye.

She frowned, but nodded. It was a relief that she understood. He didn't know what to do if she hadn't.

"Alright. I'll see you at the end of the week."

She disappeared before he could say the same. In a crackle of flames, almost like they burst into life at her feet.

Tanjirou grimaced. He still had a lot of training before he could reach that level.

Asakusa was loud.

It was bright, noisy and smelled of too many things at once. Tanjirou pulled his scarf over his head – not that it did anything to block out the heavy scents that assaulted him. He had to find a way out; find some peace.

He wound through the streets, averting his gaze and keeping his shoulders hunched. Eventually, the solid wall of humanity dissipated, and he could smell clean greenery and bubbling broth.

And underneath it all, suzuran and charcoal.

Blue met red.

Ayame's eyes widened. She choked on a mouthful, waving him over as she tried to regain her composure.

Tanjirou walked over, the fatigue of travelling catching up to him as he sat next to her. The scent of broth made his stomach rumble.

“The udon here is nice,” Ayame commented. A piece of deep-fried tofu floated in her bowl. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled wearily. “Same reason as you, I bet.” They were both Demon Slayers after all.

He turned to the cook and ordered yamakake udon, then slumped in his seat.

Ayame knocked her shoulder against his. "How're you feeling?"

Tanjirou let out a hollow laugh. "Tired."

"Yeah, I get it." She paused. "Niich – Akihiko-nii says you should write back soon. He worries a lot."

Ah. Right. Akihiko-san had written him a letter. He had been meaning to reply, but then he was sent out on his first mission. Tanjirou wanted to harden his heart, but the oni had cried so pitifully over the boy that wasn't her son.

She wasn't even his son, but she had thought he was. And so she'd shed pearlescent tears in the moonlight as Tanjirou cut off her head.

His nose twitched. Blood.

“Are you injured?” he asked worriedly, gaze running over Ayame’s form.

She looked fine. There were no tears in her lavender haori, no blood on her black uniform that he could see. Her exposed skin was free of any wounds…

“Hm? Oh, no.” She waved a hand dismissively. “My ears are mostly okay now.”

That... that wasn’t what he asked. He slowly turned to her with an incredulous look, nearly snorting at the serene smile on her face.

He didn’t know what look was on his face, but her smile warmed. And so did Tanjirou’s cheeks.

“I’ll tell you all about it later?” she suggested. “I should probably meet up with Shirogane soon enough. He’s my Kasugai Crow.”

Tanjirou blinked. He should probably see Matsuemon too, before his crow grew even more annoyed with him. He didn’t know what he had done to earn the crow’s ire; he would’ve stopped doing whatever it was long ago if that had been the case. Maybe that was just his personality. (He hoped not.)

“Oh… but you’re nearly done.”

There were only dregs of soup left in Ayame’s bowl. He hadn’t realised she was such a fast eater.

She smiled. “That’s fine. I could use another bowl. Oji-san, your udon is delicious.”

The udon cook laughed heartily. “It’s rare to see a young girl enjoy my food so vigorously! The next one is on the house!”

“Uwah. Thank you, oji-san.”

The udon was nice, but Tanjirou thought what really made it was the company. There wasn’t a lot they can talk about in front of someone who wasn’t part of the Kisatsutai, so they ended up talking about other, more ridiculous things – like the benefits of ichimatsu versus seigaiha. It was a surprisingly heated discussion, but at the end of it, they both agreed that they were better off with what they already had. It wasn't worth getting into another argument about it.

"Come again," the udon cook called out to them.

They bowed politely and left with cheerful waves.

It was nice to eat with someone else. He had been on the road, following Matsuemon to mission after mission, and the thing Tanjirou hated the most was eating alone. Even when he went to a food stall, he was a lone person in a crowd of pairs or families.

"There was an oni with a flute," said Ayame, struggling to maintain a reasonable volume. "His Blood Demon Art was auditory, and it messed with the signals of the body." She hesitated, then continued, "There were a couple people from our Final Selection. They… didn't make it, but before they died, they managed to send over a message. I managed to rupture my eardrums before the oni could use his flute on me."

There was a moment of silence.

There were a dozen people still standing at the end of Final Selection. It was sad to think that number had dwindled, and so soon as well.

Tanjirou scuffed his foot against the ground. "Are you… okay?"

Ayame didn't turn to him. She kept her gaze forward, blue eyes fixed beyond something he couldn't see.

"Hn," she said. "I guess it just sunk in then. Being part of the Kisatsutai is dangerous. Shishou warned me, and so did Akihiko-nii, but I didn't understand until I was surrounded by dead Demon Slayers." She tilted her face upwards, the sunlight caressing her face. "Be careful out there, okay? I know you probably feel alone, but you're not. Akihiko-nii and I are worried about you."

Tanjirou… didn't know what to say to that. He knew that the Higuchi siblings wrote to him. He thought it was because he was supposed to be Akihiko-san's successor – his tsuguko – but he didn't think Ayame would worry about him too. She was just… being friendly. (She was lonely like him.)

"Are we friends?"

Ayame jerked, finally turning blue, blue eyes to him. "What? Yeah, of course. I mean, if you want to be."

A smile slowly crept along Tanjirou's lips. "Yeah… I'd like that."

A friend. He had a friend. Had he ever had such a thing before?

Their crows found them the moment they left the city. Matsuemon, predictably, went in for the attack, screeching a new heading at the top of his small lungs. Ayame's crow merely settled on her extended forearm and croaked out a new heading – almost completely in the opposite direction.

"Tanjirou. Today was fun," she said. "Let's meet up more when we don't have missions."

Matsuemon paused his assault when Ayame flicked an almond at him. Tanjirou couldn't help but stare, arms still held up to ward off an attack that wasn't coming.

Meet up? She wanted to meet up with him?

Her smile was gentle, gaze soft. Was this what having a friend was like?

He smiled back – naturally, helplessly. There was no other response in the wake of Ayame’s kindness.

"I'd like that," he repeated. "Ayame. I'd like that."

She nodded firmly. A hint of teeth as she grinned. "Alright. I'll write to you. Happy hunting, Tanjirou."

She disappeared with a wave and a crackle.

The next time they met, neither of them were alone.

Tanjirou had run into Hashibira Inosuke while they were in the middle of fighting the temple oni; the boar was as unpredictable as he was feral. He tried to headbutt Tanjirou when they first met, but the redhead had always prided himself in having a hard forehead. Inosuke had gone down like a sack of rice. They'd been stuck together ever since. Inosuke didn't seem to have a Kasugai Crow, after all. It was a miracle he had managed to get to his missions.

Ayame, on the other hand, had met Zenitsu while on the way to one of her missions. She didn’t elaborate how, but the shifting of her scent told him that she was embarrassed by it. The blonde was quiet and a little pathetic, clinging to the back of Ayame's haori like that. But even through all that, Tanjirou could smell the steel-like scent of strength underneath the ozone that made up Zenitsu's scent, almost covered by the gentle scent of kindness.

The four of them converged on the Morimoto residence – an abandoned house in a sleepy town.

The scorpion oni was tough, but they managed to slay him. It took their combined efforts, but Zenitsu had managed to move even when knocked out and Inosuke was a beast when it came to causing damage to the exoskeleton. Ayame had been breath-taking to see too; her flames were red and yellow, filling the air and drawing attention. That had made it possible for him to slice off the oni's head with the ninth kata.

They stood together outside the abandoned garden – a little banged up, but still alive.

"That was lucky," Ayame commented, injecting false cheerfulness into her voice. "I'm kind of hungry now."

"Me too!" Inosuke agreed, scratching at his bare stomach. "Let's get something to eat."

Zenitsu's eyes widened. "How can you guys think about food at a time like this?! We nearly died, ne!"

"Eh." Ayame shrugged. "We're not dead yet.” She turned to Inosuke. “I'm Higuchi Ayame, by the way."

Inosuke planted his hands on his hips and puffed smoke out of his snout. "The name's Hashibira Inosuke, and don't you forget, Wakame!"

"Who's Wakame?"

"You!"

"That's someone else. I'm Ayame. A-ya-me."

Tanjirou chuckled tiredly. "You get used to it…"

Ayame deadpanned. "Don't get used to it, Tanjirou. That's just enabling him."

"Togachi Sakana!"

"Who the hell is that?!"

"Ayame-chan," whispered Zenitsu, "let's just ditch them."

Ayame wavered, then shook her head. "Tanjirou is my friend," she said firmly. "He deserves some civilised company."

Friend. That one word was enough to warm his chest – enough that he could ignore the fierce ache in his ribs. He was lucky to have friends in a world like this.

The four of them were a good team, which was probably why they were frequently sent out on missions together.

The first year of a Demon Slayer was usually spent exclusively on the road. Home was a distant thought on Tanjirou's mind; he was too busy keeping an eye on Inosuke or making sure Zenitsu didn't run away from a mission (again). He was grateful for Ayame, who was both healer and mediator. Tanjirou's siblings had always gotten along rather well, so he had no idea how to handle Inosuke and Zenitsu when they got into their spats.

Then the crow came.

"The Water Hashira, Higuchi Akihiko, is dead!"

They were seventeen, just finishing up their second year as Demon Slayers. Urokodaki-san had wept, the first week Tanjirou had without missions. He'd stayed with his master then, and not long after, Akihiko-san had come by and named him his tsuguko.

And now…

"The Water Hashira, Higuchi Akihiko, has fallen in battle to Upper Two, one of the Twelve Kizuki!"

Twelve Kizuki…

Ayame wasn't with them. She had gone out just before dawn broke, when her crow had given her a frantic message. It had been in Crow, and Tanjirou had just woken up, so he didn't know what was said.

It must have been a call from her brother.

And now her brother was gone.

Fuck, thought Tanjirou. His fingertips felt cold. Zenitsu was calling his name worriedly, but he couldn't hear him. Not past the roaring in his ears.

Fuck, he thought again.

Tanjirou never had an older brother before. He was the eldest son, eldest child of the Kamados. Akihiko-san had taken him in, trained him to take his place. He gave him a room at his estate, even though it wasn’t used often. He'd ruffled his hair when he executed his katas right, laughed when he made a mistake that had him tumbling over himself.

That must have been what having an Aniki felt like.

" – jirou. Tanjirou."

"Fuck," Tanjirou sobbed, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The funeral was three days later. Ayame's eyes were red-rimmed, and her skin was pale, only exacerbated by the mourning kimono she wore. Her hair was pulled into a bun, a blue tama kanzashi holding back the messy locks.

"Tanjirou," she murmured. Her voice was weak. "Zenitsu. Inosuke."

"Ayame-chan," Zenitsu said, muted. "Ayame. I'm so sorry."

Her breath hitched. Her eyes shimmered with tears, but they didn't fall. Tanjirou stumbled forward, then pulled her into his chest. She collapsed against him, body trembling. Her hands rested on his chest, then fisted in his kimono.

The scent of rainy sadness hung over her like perfume.

"I was too late," she whispered hoarsely. "He was… he was the only one standing. He – he fought Upper Two to a standstill, and he…"

Tanjirou shushed her. He didn't have to hear more – didn't want to. It didn't matter if Akihiko-san fought bravely, didn't matter that he'd saved lives. He was gone and Ayame felt alone, and he was here.

The Water tsuguko.

The future Water Hashira.

Tanjirou met Ayame's Shishou for the first time. He hung around her shoulder, his voice loud but muted when she faltered. He kept hand on her shoulder, gold-ringed red eyes watching both her and the other mourners.

So that was the Flame Hashira. He seemed like a good man. He had trained Ayame, after all.

Ayame stopped wearing her lavender haori that day. She stopped using her flame-patterned ribbon in her hair too. It was still tied around her neck, but she left the tama kanzashi in her hair, kept it up in a bun.

"It made N-Niichan sad," she admitted quietly.

It was just the two of them in Akihiko-san's estate. They sat on the engawa, no one to accompany them but the cicadas and the stars. Ayame was huddled in a ball, her brother's haori draped across her shoulders. Tanjirou was next to her, with enough distance that she didn’t feel crowded, but still close enough to touch if he just reached out.

"When he saw my hair up," she clarified. "I used to… used to wear my hair up all the time back home. He said it reminded him of Kaachan."

Tanjirou looked at Ayame. Her eyes were fixed on nothing. She looked sad – smelled sad. A sorrow that hung around her, refusing to dissipate. It clogged his nose, drowning out the gentle scent of suzuran and charcoal.

They were all that was left of Okutama. Kamado Tanjirou and Higuchi Ayame. The last inheritors of broken families.

"Ayame…"

"I don't look like Kaachan. N-Niichan and I, we took after Touchan more. Higuchi hair, as black as charcoal. And blue eyes."

"Ayame, you don't have to – "

"I don't want to forget. Not Kaachan and Touchan. Not Okutama. Not my sisters."

She fisted her hands in Akihiko-san's haori. It was freshly laundered, and the tears were all mended, but Tanjirou thought he could smell the blood that had sunk into the fabric. As if the blood had seeped into the weave itself.

"I don't want to forget. So – so I'll wear my hair up and – and I'll wear Niichan's haori and I'll never take off my sisters' kumihimo cords. Because I don't want to forget."

How could she ever forget? He didn't think that was possible. Tanjirou didn't have anything left of his family but his black and green ichimatsu haori, but he wouldn't forget. Even when he died and drank the elixir of forgetfulness, he would still remember being a Kamado. He would still remember his family. They were etched into his heart, carved into his bones. He didn't think Ayame was any different.

"I won't forget either," he murmured. He reached out and took her cold hand in his. "Not my family. Not Akihiko-san. And not you."

She finally turned to face him. Her eyes shimmered with tears. Spilled down her cheeks like a river of moonlight.

Maybe she didn't want to forget because she was afraid of being forgotten. Tanjirou wouldn't let that happen. Not in this lifetime – not in any lifetime.

"It – " Her breath hitched. "It's so heavy. His haori. It's heavy, but I can't let go."

"Then don't."

He'd help her carry her burden. He'd help her remember and he wouldn't let anybody forget. Not the Water Hashira, Higuchi Akihiko.

He pulled her close and let her cry into his chest. He wished he was taller, broader. He wished he could be her brother, just so he didn't have to hear her cry.

"You're going to be the Water Hashira," she sobbed.

"I won't forget," he repeated. "I won't forget him. So you won't forget him either."

Her grip on his kimono tightened. "Even Hashiras die, Tanjirou."

He knew. They were here and Tanjirou was going to be the Water Hashira and he knew.

"Not me," he found himself promising. "I won't leave you, Ayame. I'd never leave you."

He didn't think he was better than Akihiko-san. He didn't think he could live up to the legacy. But he had to try. Just so Ayame didn't have to cry so bitterly.

Eighteen years old.

It felt like it should have been special, but it wasn't. They went out on missions, fought onis. Tanjirou slayed Lower Four and was promoted to Hashira – the first of his friends. Zenitsu – along with his Aniki, Kaigaku-san – weren't far off reaching Rumble Hashira. Kanao had just made Flower Hashira. Genya was recently promoted too. Inosuke was a Kinoe now, along with Ayame.

It was only a matter of time.

"No! No, no, no!"

Ayame's screams were wretched.

She pressed her hands to Rengoku-san's chest, trying to stem the bleeding that refused to stop. It didn't matter what she did, because Upper One's blade had sliced through everything. Chest, ribs, heart, lungs… it was only a matter of time.

Spit bubbled up Rengoku-san's mouth. He coughed wetly.

"Shishou," she cried, teeth gritted. "Shishou, hang on!"

Bandages unspooled around her fingers, but it was useless. Tanjirou tried to go to her, tried to move, but all he could do was remain kneeling where he was. Too exhausted to twitch. They barely managed to make it to sunrise. It was a miracle.

No, not a miracle. Rengoku-san stood as both sword and shield. The only reason the four of them had survived was because of him.

Another fallen warrior.

The Kisatsutai was built on sacrifices and fallen warriors.

"Ayame." Rengoku-san's voice was weak – devoid of the booming confidence that was so like him. "Ayame. That's enough."

"It's not," she snapped. "The kakushi are on their way! We'll get you to Kanao and Aoi. They'll fix this!"

They couldn’t. The masters of the Butterfly Estate were brilliant, but even they couldn’t fix Rengoku-san. Or maybe they could, but the Flame Hashira wouldn’t last that long. Even Tanjirou could see that, kneeling where he was.

“Not… this time. Not…”

Rengoku-san coughed again. There was blood on his lips, on his chest, pooling onto the ground. Sinking into Ayame’s hakama. It was in the air – the blood that came when happiness was destroyed.

The final words Rengoku-san imparted were beautiful. Words of courage, words of strength.

They were still the words of a dying – dead man.

Ayame went quiet in the aftermath. She still spoke, and she would still smile, but the brightness she used to have had been smothered. Like embers of a dying fire.

Tanjirou was scared. It had barely been a year since Akihiko-san had died. This could break her.

But it was Ayame. She would never break, even under the harshest of conditions. It was why she apprenticed under Rengoku-san, why she was the Flame tsuguko.

And a tsuguko without their Hashira was a Hashira.

This time, they found themselves at Rengoku-san’s estate after the funeral. Inosuke and Zenitsu were fast asleep, but Ayame and Tanjirou weren’t. Unlike last year, they were close; Ayame’s back pressed into Tanjirou’s chest, his legs bracketing her on either side. His arms wound around her waist, clasped hands resting on her abdomen. He could feel every breath she took. (He was so grateful for every breath she took.)

“Thank you,” she whispered into the humid summer night.

Tanjirou blinked, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. When had she gotten so small? It seemed like it was only weeks ago that they stood at the same height. These days, everyone seemed to tower over her – even Inosuke.

He chuckled. “What are you thanking me for? I didn’t do anything.”

She turned in his arms. She slung her legs over his thigh, her eyes meeting his. Blue, like the ocean, or the sky. They gazed up at him with tears clinging to her lashes, bore into his soul. It was almost enough to take his breath away.

(Beautiful, he thought, and felt guilty for it.)

Ayame cupped his cheek. The pads of her fingers and her palm were calloused – the marks of a blacksmith and a swordsman etched into the very skin. His eyelids fluttered shut as he leaned into her touch. It was cool, despite the warm evening.

“You’re here. That’s something.”

It still didn’t feel like enough. He had been there while they were fighting Upper One, but he hadn’t been able to do anything. It was frustrating, because he was the Water Hashira now, but he still wasn’t enough. He had a feeling he wasn’t ever going to be enough.

Her other hand came up to cup his other cheek. She pulled his head down, until their foreheads were touching. He could feel her breaths against his face.

“You’re gonna be the Flame Hashira,” he muttered. He still didn’t open his eyes – too scared of what she’d be able to see there.

He could feel her sigh against his lips. “Yeah. I will be.”

In every era, there was always a Water Hashira and a Flame Hashira. It was their turn now.

“Even Hashiras die,” she whispered.

Not us, he thought. Not you and me. Not us.

He wished she wouldn’t say such words while they were so close. He didn’t want to think about death, not when she was warm and alive in his arms.

He knew it was true. It was why he was a Hashira, why Ayame was going to be one. But he couldn’t believe that it was their story. He wanted to believe they were different.

They had to be different.

No more fallen warriors. No more fallen Hashiras. He didn’t know how he’d survive if the next funeral he attended was one of his friends.

So they would be different.

Not them.

“Oh, Tanjirou.”

Tanjirou looked up from his letter at Ayame’s quiet exhalation. They were at the Water Estate, Zenitsu and Kaigaku lounging about outside while they discussed tsugukos. The new batch of Demon Slayers was rather interesting; maybe one of them would find someone worthy of taking up their title one day.

She reached over to tug a lock of his hair.

“Your hair is getting long,” she commented. “Do you want me to cut it for you?”

Oh. He hadn’t even noticed. He supposed it had been getting in his eyes more. And the last time he was out on a mission, he had even tied it back in a low ponytail.

He rubbed the back of his head and gathered the red strands. He opened his mouth to tell her to help him cut it, then paused.

What… was the point?

His gaze landed on Ayame’s hair – up in a bun, held in place by her blue tama kanzashi.

I don’t want to forget.

Tanjirou had grown from the thirteen-year-old who had lost everything. He was a Demon Slayer, a Hashira. He had grown stronger since then.

“No,” he said slowly. “It’s okay. I think I’ll just grow it out. Like Tousan used to.”

Tousan’s hair had gone down to the waist. It was almost as long as Kaasan’s hair. It had been years since he last saw them, but he still remembered. He couldn’t afford to forget. Not him. He was the only one left to remember them.

Ayame nodded, gaze flitting about.

“It suits you,” she said hurriedly, then quickly left the room.

A bewildered smile touched Tanjirou’s lips. She was probably hoping he had missed her blush, but he hadn’t. embarrassment clung to her scent. He let loose a chuckle, rubbing the back of his head.

That was kind of cute of her.

(The next day, he found a small pack of hair ties on his dining table. There was the faintest hint of suzuran and charcoal.)

Two weeks.

Tanjirou had been gone for two weeks on a mission. It wasn’t a Twelve Kizuki this time, but that was hardly a consolation. He slipped a hand into his haori pocket, lightly gripping the present he had gotten for Ayame’s birthday. She was nineteen now; time seemed to fly by before he realised. In a couple months, he would be nineteen too.

“Oi, oi! It’s Tangorou!”

A sigh slipped from Tanjirou’s lips. Eventually, they curved into a smile.

Inosuke waved frantically, jumping in his excitement. Zenitsu was right next to him, exasperated with his antics. The blonde did raise a hand in greeting. There were bandages wrapped around his wrist and some blood-stained bandages around his head,  but he looked well. Just out of the Butterfly Estate, it seemed.

“Inosuke, Zenitsu,” he called out.

Then he paused. Lifted his nose to the air.

That was…

“Tanjirou!”

He turned at the sound of his name, a grin lighting up his features. He could see her in the distance.

“Ayame,” he breathed.

Her cape fluttered behind her as she ran towards him. Their gazes met and he swore the world stopped for a moment. Tanjirou flung his arms out, ready to catch her – like he always did.

Her laughter floated in the air as she leapt into his arms. He spun, pulling her close even as her arms embraced him back. Her forehead touched his, the laughter softening to quiet chuckles shared in the small space between them.

I missed you.

They didn't have to say it. They already knew. It was in the way he wouldn’t put her down, the way her arm settled comfortably around his neck. Their foreheads still pressed together.

Sometimes, Tanjirou missed the days when they were Mizunotos. When it was just him, Ayame, Inosuke and Zenitsu on the open road, with nothing more than the next mission to look forward to. Now that they were Hashiras, it was rare for them to take missions together. Then they had patrols, which usually brought them to opposite ends of Tokyo.

“Missed you,” he whispered, even though he didn’t have to.

Ayame smiled. It felt like seeing a flower bloom – just for him. “Me too, charcoal boy. Me too.”

“Oh, not again,” Genya grumbled. When did he get here? “Get a room, guys.”

Zenitsu snorted. “You think this is bad? You should’ve seen them when they were younger.”

Ayame sighed. Tanjirou slowly set her on her feet, even though she fit so well in his arms. He never realised how cold he felt when she wasn’t around. He supposed it fit; she was the Flame Hashira, after all.

“We can hear you,” she said drily. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” Zenitsu retorted. He planted his hands on his hips. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“Do you? You sound ridiculous, Zenitsu.”

“Let’s not fight,” Tanjirou interjected. His arm found its way around Ayame’s shoulders naturally. “We’re all here! Let’s head out for dinner tonight!”

It was a minor miracle. The stars must have aligned so their entire generation of Hashiras happened to be free outside of a Hashira meeting.

Kaigaku made a face. “Pass.”

“I’d rather stab my eyeballs than have to sit through dinner with you idiots again,” added Genya.

Tanjirou and Ayame shared a look. They smiled – a little secretive, a little mischievous.

“I’ll get Genya,” she said.

Tanjirou nodded. “Mn. I’ve got Kaigaku then.”

Dragging Genya and Kaigaku to socialise with them was routine at this point. Tanjirou wouldn’t have been overly bothered, but Ayame and Zenitsu had insisted. As long as it made his friends happy, he was more than willing to lend a helping hand.

As he grabbed Kaigaku in a headlock, Tanjirou slipped a hand into his haori pocket. It was empty.

He’d slipped it into her pocket when he lifted her.

He hoped Ayame liked her present.

Tanjirou smelled the suzuran and charcoal even before he opened the door. He still waited for her knock; it embarrassed her when he could tell she was coming.

"Hey," he answered, running a cursory glance over her. Cape and uniform, hair neatly pulled into a bun. "Going on a mission?"

Ayame smiled, clasping her hands behind her back. "Un. Walk me out?"

As if he would ever say no. He left to pull on his haori over his home yukata, then walked her out to the road that would lead her away from Headquarters. He held an arm out to her and she took it, the scent of suzuran heavy in his nose. She drew closer, their steps syncing as they walked.

"Do you think it'll take long?" he asked.

Ayame shrugged. "Probably not. Then again, it's hard to tell." She shot him a sly grin. "Makes you miss the days onis used to announce themselves, ne?"

Tanjirou laughed. "Maybe you do, but I don't."

Onis that announced themselves were either ridiculously strong or overconfident. More often than not, they were Twelve Kizuki.

"It would make it easier," she argued.

Tanjirou hummed.

Those days were long gone. They were twenty-one now, having lived almost half their lives fighting for the Kisatsutai. He remembered being twenty, cold sweat forming whenever he saw her off to a new mission. Akihiko-san was twenty. Rengoku-san too. He hadn't missed the days when worry had clung to her too, like a pungent perfume.

Then their twentieth year passed with both of them still standing. Still meeting up, still getting udon in Asakusa. He couldn't imagine life without Ayame. (He didn't want to.)

"Still." He shrugged uneasily. "Be careful out there."

She leaned into him, all soft smiles and warmth. "Always am, charcoal boy."

He knew that. He knew she was strong, that she could handle anything thrown her way. She was the Flame Hashira, after all, and there was always a Water Hashira and a Flame Hashira. They were a matching set, a complete pair. One without the other just felt incomplete.

"Ah." He stopped walking. "I heard you went to talk to Sabito and Giyuu."

Ayame made a small noise in the back of her throat. "Seems like you have too." She bit her bottom lip contemplatively. "I… still don't understand why you let his oni sister live, but I can't deny that she's different. Only time will tell."

Tanjirou smiled ruefully. "But you still don't regret calling for their execution."

"I'm a Breath of Flame user, after all! I wouldn't be a very good one if I didn't stand by my convictions."

That was the thing he loved about her. Sure, they could clash over it sometimes, but he wouldn't change it. She wouldn't be Ayame if she played along with every ill-thought-out plan he had.

Her gaze darted upwards. So did Tanjirou's.

Ah, it was getting quite late, wasn't it? She should head off soon. She still needed time to scout about before the oni started its hunt.

He tightened his grip on her hand nestled in the crook of his arm. All they ever seemed to do these days was steal small moments with each other. If there was one thing Tanjirou regretted about being a Hashira, it was the time they lost.

"I'll be back before you can miss me," teased Ayame. "Udon after this mission?"

Tanjirou snorted. "We don't always have to get udon, you know."

"But Toyo-san makes the best udon in Tokyo. And he'll be expecting us anyway. It's been too long since we went out together."

It had been a while. There was that issue with Sabito, his sister and Giyuu, then Mount Natagumo. Then he learned the boy with the oni sister had met Kibutsuji, when no other Hashira had. There were patrols and missions in-between… this was probably the longest conversation they had had in a month.

"Alright," he said softly, leaning down to press his forehead to hers. "We'll head out to Asakusa when you get back."

Her cheeks coloured – the softest pink, like sakura petals. Beautiful.

Her gaze darted away. Then her eyes met his. They sparkled like precious gems in the sunlight.

"Alright," she murmured, pressing her soft lips to his cheek. "It's a date."

Tanjirou was too flustered by the barely-there kiss to respond. She was gone with a crackle and a laugh, reappearing at the end of the road to give him a backwards wave. Another burst of flame and Ayame was gone.

Off on another mission.

Tanjirou pressed a hand to his warm cheek. Yes, he thought, let's make it a date this time.

Hm. He should probably hunt down Zenitsu. His friend might have some ideas for that.

Tanjirou blinked back to the present.

It was supposed to be another mission. Just another mission.

So why…

The kumihimo cord he was braiding – blue and green threads – fell from nerveless fingers.

Why…

He felt cold, like he'd been plunged into a cold river. Tossed under a waterfall with the water pounding him down onto the riverbed. He couldn’t breathe; his chest stuttered as he gasped.

Why…?

"The Flame Hashira, Higuchi Ayame, is dead!"

Not us, he thought numbly. It wasn't supposed to be us. We were supposed to be different.

Maybe the crow was lying. Maybe it had the wrong information. This couldn’t be right. (This couldn’t be real.)

"The Flame Hashira, Higuchi Ayame, has fallen in battle to Upper Three, one of the Twelve Kizuki!"

Tanjirou clutched his head, hunched over in his living room. Alone.

Why?

"The Flame Hashira, Higuchi Ayame, is dead!"

He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare. (This was his wretched reality.)

He'd dreamt of Ayame dying. Of course he did; they lived such dangerous lives, and any mission could be their last. But they were Hashiras, so they were strong. They were the strongest in the Kisatsutai!

Even Hashiras die.

Ayame had said it before. When her Akihiko-san died. When Rengoku-san died.

"Higuchi Ayame is dead!"

The half-braided kumihimo cord lay unfinished on the floor. Forgotten. (They held the crushed remains of a hopeful dream.)

Even Hashiras die.

Tanjirou thought it was a reminder. It turned out it was a warning all along.