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Shinazugawa Sanemi never really missed seeing the world in color.
After all, the colors that marked his childhood were not particularly happy. Angry, blue and violet bruises that blossomed beneath his father’s fists. The muddy brown of the dirt perpetually caked into the hem of his youngest sister’s threadbare, hand-me-down yukata. The ominous greenish-gray smog that filled the air on his long walk to work – still a child himself, but working a man’s job to support his family.
That’s not to say he didn’t have at least some positive associations with colors. Chasing the little ones in circles under a clear blue sky, seeing their adoring eyes gaze up at their big brother as if he could do no wrong. The dark, sticky maroon of the mashed red bean paste that his beloved mother prepared just for him, as a part of his favorite treat. Genya’s grinning face and grubby fingers stained pink from watermelon juice on a summer day, the bright green rinds scattered on the ground beside them.
But all of his colorful memories – even the fond ones – became painful around the same time that his vision dulled: the day he killed what had become of his mother.
Vibrant colors, along with any form of happiness, stopped existing in his world, and he figured it was what he deserved. He already knew what the world looked like, and it was unforgiving. The only color that mattered to him was the red of the demon blood that he spilled every night, and there could never be enough of it. That’s how he continued for years.
Until now, a few months shy of his seventeenth birthday, when he finds himself staring intently at the girl by his bedside, wishing he could experience the world with the fullness of colors again, rather than the faded, muddy facsimile he has grown accustomed to.
“Kochou …” Sanemi begins hesitantly.
Kochou Kanae glances up from her notes, surprised to hear her patient’s normally harsh voice sound so soft. “Yes, Shinazugawa-kun?” She responds kindly.
Sanemi flushes, suddenly regretting his impulse, but continues regardless, “Are your eyes blue…or purple?”
Kanae’s brow furrows in confusion as she considers his unexpected question. She opens her mouth to answer but is cut off.
“It’s just– ” Sanemi volunteers, feeling the need to explain himself, “I can’t…tell the difference between colors very well. Haven’t been able to for years.”
Kanae’s face softens, and she places her medical notes down and shifts slightly toward him. “My eyes are pale purple. Like yours, but lighter!”
Sanemi closes his eyes and concentrates – searching his brain, shuffling through his faint memories of purple, to find the right match.
“Like wisteria, then?”
She nods, touched by the comparison. Her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles, he notices.
Sanemi offers a small smile in response, “That’s very fitting for the Flower Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps.”
Kanae giggles, “I suppose it is!” Her eyes dance with warmth. “Are there any other colors you’re curious about? Tomioka-san’s haori, Uzui-san’s nail polish…” she playfully suggests.
Sanemi frowns, considering.
“What about your butterflies?” He reaches up to poke the pin perched on the left side of Kanae’s head, letting his hand brush past her dark hair ever so slightly before quickly dropping back to his side.
Kanae absentmindedly reaches up to where his hand just left, “My hair ornaments?”
“Mhmm,” he murmurs in assent.
A wicked smile crosses her face, and her eyes twinkle in mirth. “My my, Shinazugawa-kun – thinking about me a lot, aren’t you?” She teases with a wink, expecting him to become flustered.
To her surprise, Sanemi unabashedly looks straight into her wisteria-colored eyes and responds with no trace of embarrassment, “Yeah, I guess so.” The tips of his ears turn pink, betraying his earnestness, and her eyes widen. She feels a furious heat creep up her neck and realizes that she is the one getting flustered.
He observes her face, as patches of a blush shade her normally pale cheeks. Before he can stop himself, he reaches up and gently touches her cheekbone with the backside of his right hand.
Kanae freezes and doesn’t dare to take a breath. She has only rarely witnessed the outwardly aggressive man in front of her display such tenderness, and she doesn’t want to scare him away. Her heart beats faster. She unconsciously leans into his touch.
“Wind Pillar-sama, I’ve brought your medi– ” A small girl with pigtails and heavy-laden arms strides purposefully through the open door into the infirmary before stopping abruptly. She takes in the unexpectedly intimate scene in front of her with round eyes then immediately, but gingerly, backs out of the room.
Sanemi jumps away at the intrusion, and the spell is broken. Kanae immediately misses the feeling of his hand against her cheek.
“They’re pink and green,” Kanae whispers faintly, still somewhat dazed. “My hair pins,” she clarifies, tugging at the bottom of a lock of her long hair. “Pink is my favorite color.”
Oh to have a favorite color, Sanemi thinks to himself, his gaze trained on the pair of butterflies in her silky hair. Pink is gentle and feminine and full of life and so very Kanae. The pink of her blush, her favorite sakura tree in the garden outside, her katana glinting in the moonlight, her butterfly hair pins, and – his eyes dip lower – her lips. He hasn’t thought about color for years, and now he’s finding he can’t get enough.
“Are you okay, Shinazugawa-kun?” Kanae ventures, trying to find a rational explanation for his unusual mood. She presses her fingers to his wrist closest to her to feel for his pulse, “Perhaps you lost more blood than I realized.”
Sanemi finds himself smiling softly at her concern, “No, I feel fine…I just…haven’t cared about colors in a while.”
Kanae moves her fingers from his scarred wrist down to his calloused hand, and she grasps it tightly with her own. Her own smile doesn’t waver as she shyly responds, “Well, I’m glad to have brought more color into your life!”
His heart skips a beat.