Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If there was one thing that Shinazugawa Genya had decided about being a Demon Slayer, it was that he hated missions in the mountains. The roads and paths were all either exhaustingly steep or pants-shittingly downhill, and it was always dense forest as far as the eye could see. Genya didn’t like the woods, probably a consequence of growing up in a city. They were somehow both too quiet and too loud, full of sounds, sights and smells that his brain always took an extra stomach-clenching moment to understand. 

Studying under Himejima and months of missions had, whether he liked it or not, helped him develop some passable wilderness skills. Unfortunately, no amount of knowledge could stop the mountains from being The Mountains, or stop Genya from being Genya.

“Stupid fucking mountain,” Genya growled as he trudged through thick, blowing snow that melted down his collar as soon as it landed on him. “Stupid fucking snow. Stupid fucking mission. Fucking stupid.”

Pulling a scarf up over his mouth and nose, he strained to see a path ahead through the darkness. He’d left the safehouse at the base of the mountain early that evening with a plan to spend the night searching for the demon reportedly prowling the area. The snow had started falling around midnight, but a fruitless search had left him anxious to find his mark, and so he’d pressed on.

Squeezing between close-growing trees, Genya thought back to being sent out on his mission. He’d stood tense and impatient on Himejima’s steps while his Master had prayed for him, asking the gods to send guidance for his temper, his rashness, and, ugh, his stubbornness.  

So much for that. By the time he’d realized how badly the wind and snow had picked up, he’d been way too far out to reliably find his way back. He'd been wandering the mountain since then, hoping he'd find a clue that would lead him back to where he'd started. Shuffling around a particularly large tree trunk, Genya chewed the inside of his cheek.

He was lost, in a blizzard, at night, on the side of a fucking mountain.

What the hell was he supposed to do here?

The snow underneath him suddenly gave way, collapsing into a hidden hollow in the tree roots, and as he fell Genya scrambled to grab for nearby tree branches, hissing as bark cut into his palms. The thin light from the night sky filtered down through the blowing snow, bouncing off the flakes and giving the world a hazy, out-of-time feel, and for a moment Genya felt dizzy as he lost track of which way was up and which was down. Using the collection of branches around him to pull himself back up onto what he hoped was solid ground, Genya wondered if the demon was hiding somewhere, just out of view, watching him. Waiting for him to lose his footing.

Waiting to pounce. 

Shaking out his scraped, stinging hands, Genya tried to clear his thoughts.

He hadn’t turned back when he should have, and wandering around like this was only going to exhaust him, or worse. Okay. That just meant he had to find some shelter and wait out the rest of the storm. He’d make his way back to the safehouse after the snow let up, regroup, and then find that damned demon before it could find him.

If there was one thing Genya was used to doing, it was pushing forward even when things seemed hopeless. Wiping the blood from his already-healing palms on his pants, Genya chose a direction and started walking.

He’d find a way to not freeze to death like an idiot. 

He could do this. 

---

After another 20 minutes or so of searching, ‘not freezing to death like an idiot’ became a much more realistic outcome when Genya found the cave. From across a small clearing, he could just make out the dark, narrow crack in a short cliff face, almost completely obscured by a giant, partially-collapsed pine tree, its thick roots still clinging to the top of the rock wall.  

Moving as stealthily as he could through the snow towards the pitch-black entrance, Genya drew his gun, loaded it, and reached into his bag for a torch. Pressed against the rock wall, finger on the trigger, Genya sucked in a deep, steadying breath. In one motion he struck the torch against the rocks, lighting it with a hiss and a flash of orange, and stepped into the darkness. 

“Anything in here?” He shouted, brandishing his gun.

A beat. 

Genya let out the breath he'd been holding as he was met with resounding silence and stepped fully into the cave, marvelling at just how quiet it was out of the wind. He held his torch aloft; the cave was a craggy, wedge-shaped hole, nearly twice his height at the entrance and tapering into shadow towards the back. Cracks criss-crossed the ceiling and walls, but nothing shifted when Genya prodded at them with his sword. Semi-confident that he wasn’t in danger of being trapped in an imminent cave-in, he dropped his pack and pulled out the kindling and firewood he’d taken from the safehouse’s stores. 

Once he had a small, utilitarian fire crackling in the middle of the cave floor, Genya took his torch to inspect its shadowy depths. As he reached the very back, he couldn’t hold back a gasp of excitement as his torchlight revealed an ancient, bleached tree trunk, lying on the ground directly underneath an especially large crack in the ceiling. Genya figured it must have fallen down into the cliff, somehow, and some maze of cracks had led it here. He tested the wood and felt more than a little giddy as it snapped under his fingers, bone-dry.

Maybe things were turning around; maybe he’d survive the night after all. 

With that cheery thought, Genya unsheathed his blade and got to work. 

---

An hour or so later, Genya felt something like satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on his makeshift camp.

He’d broken down the ancient trunk at the back of the cave into a neat stack of firewood, and he’d used some of it to built his small fire up into a warm, healthy blaze. The wind and snow were being kept out by two oiled tarps he’d stretched across the mouth of the cave, secured to the branches of the overhanging pine, and already the cave was warm enough that he couldn't see his breath anymore. 

Genya checked the large, flat rocks he’d rolled from the side of the cave to just in front of the fire, and felt the heat radiating off of them. Stripping down to his underclothes, Genya laid his damp yukata and uniform across the rocks, and watched steam begin curling off of them almost immediately. 

Satisfied that he’d taken care of everything he could, Genya unrolled his sleeping bag on the other side of the fire and collapsed onto it, weary and sore but safe from the elements. He could finally rest.

As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly. Genya thought of the bag of deer jerky Himejima had given him to put in his pack, and sighed.

He was hungry, but he couldn’t eat now, not when he was running on the last shard of demon horn he’d been holding onto. If this mountain demon ended up being strong, he needed to be stronger. 

Or at the very least, he needed to be strong enough to get into close quarters with it. 

Genya sighed again, and crawled into his sleeping bag. 

The sounds of the mountain storm weren’t doing much to relax him, but Genya knew he’d drop off eventually if he laid there for long enough. His stomach growled again, but he paid it no mind; he had plenty of practice falling asleep hungry. In fact, the faster he fell asleep, the less time he’d need to spend thinking about it. 

Mumbling the sutra that Himejima had taught him, Genya closed his eyes.

Scratch. 

Genya’s eyes flew open. In an instant his entire body was tense, buzzing with a rush of adrenaline. How long had he been out? What was that sound? Had it come from inside the cave? Genya held his breath, ears straining.

At first, all he heard was the muffled sound of the wind outside. And then—

Scratch, scratch. 

—Outside. Whatever it was, it was scratching against the tarps with what sounded like claws. Silent as the grave, Genya picked up his blade and his gun, rolled out of his sleeping bag, and crept towards the mouth of the cave. 

So the demon thought it would fuck with him, huh? Well, it had another thing coming. Genya braced his gun against his sword to steady his aim. He held back a laugh, but allowed himself a grin. 

This mission was turning around!

“Die!” He shouted as he fired through the tarp, and was rewarded with the wet splatter of impact and a yowl of pain. Genya threw aside the remainder of the tarp and ran out sword-first, ready to slash the injured demon’s neck.

He stumbled as his sword hit thin air. 

What!

A rush of panic slammed into him as Genya whipped his head back and forth, trying to find the demon. There was a splatter of dark blood on the ground, so where was—

There. 

Genya fired again, the crack of the gunshot echoing through the clearing, but this time the demon half-hidden in the trees knew what to expect. It ducked away from the bullet, and in a flash of pink, black, and orange it took off into the woods.

“Get back here!” Genya shouted, and scooped a handful of bloody snow into his mouth as he gave chase into the storm.

---

Genya ran through the blizzard in his underclothes, gun holstered and brandishing his sword. There was a cliff face to his left and a steep drop to his right, and as he ran, snow-covered twigs and rocks dug into his socked feet. Genya clenched his empty fist; he was beyond frustrated. Beyond angry. Beyond furious. 

The demon loped gracefully ahead of him, staying —as it had been for their entire chase— just out of reach. It had weaved effortlessly in and out of the trees as he’d fired at it, avoiding every one of his shots, and now Genya was out of ammo, breathing hard, and seething. Drool flecked off his chin as he snarled. 

Forget his sword; he’d tear that demon apart when he caught it. He’d rip it limb from limb, and as he let out a wordless howl of rage Genya promised to savour every bite. 

Up ahead the demon darted left, disappearing into a crevice in the cliff face with supernatural ease. Genya scrabbled hard to try and match its speed on the turn, his feet and empty hand stinging as sharp rocks ripped into them. He gripped his sword in a white-knuckled fist, hissing, and hoped the demon had backed itself into a corner.

Sliding around the rocky bend, Genya stopped short.

The crevice opened up into a small hollow in the cliff. The pocket was mostly sheltered from the howling wind and snow, and the sudden absence of sound made it feel like Genya’s ears were stuffed full of cotton. 

The demon was nowhere to be seen. Instead, lying motionless on the ground, was a person. They were on their side, facing away from Genya, and covered in dirt and pebbles. The snow underneath them was stained red. 

Genya blinked, and crept forward. 

The stranger didn’t stir as he approached, but up close Genya could see the shallow rise and fall of their chest. Their left arm draped across their body in a way that looked distinctly wrong, and Genya noted the sleeve of a Demon Slayer uniform peeking out from underneath the stranger’s green and black checkered haori. Genya looked up at the cliffs surrounding them, and clocked splotches of red along one of the rocky walls. Whoever this Slayer was, they must have fallen from the top. A large wooden box lay nearby, looking much less beat up than the person on the ground. Maybe they’d shielded it on the way down?

“Sheesh,” Genya breathed as he crouched down to investigate further. As he did, the person on the ground let out a moan. 

“Nezu…ko?” They whispered, voice hoarse, and Genya’s heart sank. 

Oh fuck, not him. 

Kamado Tanjiro rolled over, blinked up at him with hazy, unfocused eyes, and sat up. He grunted in pain as he tried to put pressure on his bad arm, swayed, and then stretched his other arm out towards the box.

Genya stared down at him in furious disbelief. 

Fucking fuck, of course that annoying shithead Kamado would be here, of course he’d be the person to throw Genya off the demon’s trail. And of course, of fucking course, Kamado Fucking Tanjiro was still alive despite having apparently bounced all the way down a cliff in the middle of a blizzard, on the side of a goddamn mountain. 

Some people are born lucky, Genya thought venomously. He wiped the drool off his chin and tried to keep the growl out of his voice. 

“Kamado. What happened here? Where’s the demon? Pink kimono, black and orange hair.”

Kamado blinked at him. 

“Shi…na…zugawa…. Gen…ya?” He whispered through blue-tinged lips, and Genya’s eyes went wide. What was with the familiarity? They hadn’t exchanged words since the other swordsman had broken his fucking arm, and he certainly didn’t remember giving out his name during that circus. 

“Shut up,” Genya snapped in response, scanning the area for any sign as to where the demon had gotten to. It could be anywhere, watching, waiting. Maybe it had even left Kamado here as bait. 

They needed to move.

“Can you walk?” Genya asked, and was treated to the world’s saddest comedy routine as Kamado tried to get up, wobbled, and fell over.

“Y-yes,” Kamado replied anyway, left arm swinging uselessly as he tried again to stand. Genya pinched the bridge of his nose. Kamado had obviously been knocked senseless in addition to whatever else was wrong with him, but Genya couldn’t deal with any of it until they were back in the relative safety of his camp. 

He watched Kamado try and fail again to get up. He’d have to carry him, he realized with a jolt of queasy trepidation. 

Genya didn’t like the idea of having anybody on his back, pressed up close, touching him. The thought of that person being Kamado —who’d stopped trying to get up in favour of staring at him with glassy eyes— was a special sort of hell.

Genya wished there was another option. There wasn’t. 

He sighed explosively. 

“We need to get out of here. I’m camped nearby. If you can’t walk, I’m carrying you.” 

After waiting a beat to see if Kamado would suddenly, miraculously be able to stand, Genya leaned over and picked the other swordsman up, draping Kamado across his back in a way that he hoped wouldn’t make his bad arm worse. He waited for Kamado to protest, to maybe start spouting some heroic ‘I-can-do-it!’ crap, but the other swordsman stayed silent. 

Genya hoped he’d passed back out. The quieter he was, the easier it would be to pretend he was literally anybody else. 

He hiked Kamado up higher onto his back with a muscle memory that sent one quick, painful jolt through his heart, and turned to make his way out of the hollow. He hadn’t even finished taking his first step when Kamado went stiff as a board, uninjured hand digging painfully into Genya’s shoulder. 

“Wait!” he gasped, and as Genya whipped his head around to tell Kamado to shut the fuck up and stop moving, the other slayer’s good arm shot past his face, hand outstretched and clawing at the air.

Right. The box. 

Genya didn’t have friends in the Corps, didn’t have friends in general, but he paid attention to what Demon Slayers talked about. The gossip mill was rich, and if there was one thing he’d heard about Kamado Tanjiro —and oh, did he hear a lot about Kamado Tanjiro— it was that he didn’t go anywhere without that damned box. 

Growling low and steady in the back of his throat, Genya stomped over and picked the box up by what looked like a shoulder strap. By the time he had it balanced against his side, Kamado was still and silent; it seemed like he might actually be unconscious this time. 

Thank the gods.

Holding out his sword in a defensive form, Genya made his way to the mouth of the hollow. The minute he stepped beyond its protective stone walls, wind howled in his ears and snow pelted him mercilessly. Genya started to chant the sutra. 

He’d get back to the cave. He wouldn’t let either of them freeze to death. He’d eradicate the demon. He’d prove himself. 

Squaring his shoulders, Genya set off.

Chapter Text

Armed with his sword, an empty gun, a box, and an unconscious Kamado Tanjiro, Genya trudged back towards his camp through the blizzard. 

It fucking sucked. 

Kamado, as it turned out, was a heavy little fucker, and his added weight sank them deep into the snow whenever Genya lost his footing. The box, though featherlight, was bulky and awkward to carry, and Genya was struggling to both hold it and keep up a proper defensive guard.

As his muscles screamed and the wind howled around them, Genya wished that he’d had more demon to eat than just that handful of bloody snow. Kocho could chide him all she wanted, make as many passive aggressive comments about his ‘reliance on dangerously volatile biology that we don’t fully understand’ as she liked, but Genya knew that if they made it out of this blizzard alive, it would be thanks to the demon blood in his system.

Genya stumbled as his foot caught on a buried tree root. His toes were completely numb, and the exposed skin of his arms and chest was starting to feel similarly. In the heat of the chase Genya had barely registered that he’d run out of the cave in his underclothes and socks, and that choice was catching up with him in the worst way. Too exhausted to beat himself up about it, Genya hoped distantly that his regenerative abilities would take care of it and focussed on putting one frozen foot in front of the other.  

“Ne…zu…ko,” Kamado whispered, head bobbing against Genya’s shoulder, voice small and cracked. If Genya’d had any energy to spare, he would shudder. 

On top of everything else, he had to deal with Kamado Fucking Tanjiro draped across his back, breathing and mumbling all over him. Even as he tried to avoid pitfalls and scan the trees for the demon, Kamado's shallow breath in his ear was the one thing he couldn’t stop focussing on. 

“I don’t know who that is,” Genya growled, mostly just to get some of his frustration out, and then his bleary eyes fell on a clearing up ahead. At the far end of it was a short cliff and a large, nearly-fallen pine tree.

The cave!

Genya stumbled through the entrance, nearly crying with relief as he hit the warmth of the fire, still crackling merrily despite the wind blowing through the shotgun-sprayed tarps. He dragged himself towards the fire, dropped the box, and put Kamado down as gently as he could on his rumpled sleeping bag.

The moment he landed on the thin fabric, Kamado’s eyes snapped open. Without wasting a beat he started scrambling his good arm around frantically. 

Genya didn’t know what else he’d been expecting. “Cut that out, your box is right here,” he snapped tiredly, and dragged the wooden box closer to the other swordsman. 

Kamado blinked, and grabbed the strap of the box. To Genya’s confused horror, his red eyes filled with tears.

“Th-thank you,” Kamado gasped, firelight shining off the tears sliding down his pale cheeks, and Genya turned sharply towards the mouth of the cave.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve gotta fix the door, don't move.”

Genya stomped over to the remains of the tarps, trying to itch his feet as his body regenerated frostbitten skin. His cheeks prickled uncomfortably as blood rushed to them, and Genya hoped the flush wouldn’t make it around the back of his neck where Kamado could see.

He could handle gratitude well enough, normally. Victims of demon attacks —the ones he managed to save, at least— often showered him with thanks and tears. He didn’t like it, but he understood their position well enough to be able to bow, say nothing, and leave. 

Kamado, though? His thanks? His tears? Genya didn’t know what to do with them. Didn’t know what he wanted to do with them. 

Because the thing was, Genya hated Kamado Tanjiro. Had hated him ever since he’d played dashing hero at the end of their Final Selection and broken his arm. The memory of hitting that girl twisted his guts into knots these days, but what hadn’t changed was the fact that he couldn’t stand the swordsman sitting on his sleeping bag.

Genya hated how much Kamado’s name popped up in the Corps gossip mill, Demon Slayers of all ranks discussing his explosion onto the scene with a mixture of awe and disbelief. He hated that he wasn’t allowed to just forget that Kamado existed, how often he had to hear about the other swordsman’s accomplishments.

But what Genya especially hated was that somehow, Kamado Fucking Tanjiro had an in with the Hashira. He’d been on the mission that killed the Flame Pillar, and rumour had it that he’d even been summoned to a full Hashira meeting. 

Envy, black and bitter, clung to the back of Genya’s throat. He tied the tarps together with more force than was necessary, thoughts racing. 

We’re from the same Final Selection. How’s he so strong already that he’s meeting and working with the Hashira? It must be a trick, somehow. Has he met you, Sanemi? If he'd died out in the blizzard, would you care? If Kamado was your brother instead, would you respect him? Acknowledge him? 

Forgive him?

Genya realized he'd been staring blankly at the tarps, the last knot gripped tightly in his fists, and shook his head. Getting distracted wasn’t going to get either of them through their now-shared ordeal. Trying to quiet his mind, Genya turned and strode back to his impromptu patient.

Now that they were in a place of relative safety and ample light, Genya got his first proper look at him. In the flickering firelight, Kamado…didn’t look good. In the time since Genya had gone to fix the tarps he’d started shivering uncontrollably, his uniform and haori dark with melted snow and clinging to his scratched skin. His left arm hung limply at his side, and from the dip in his shoulder Genya guessed it must be dislocated. Kamado’s eyes were glassy as he stared distantly into the fire, and he still hadn’t let go of the box strap. 

Kamado must really have been born lucky, because as far as Genya could tell, his injuries were all manageable. His scratches all looked shallow and easy enough to clean and bandage, and while re-socketing his shoulder would be unpleasant, it was doable. Genya could handle all of that, no problem. 

No, it was the shivering and glassy eyes that were setting off alarm bells in Genya’s brain, that had his heartbeat kicking up and his stomach going icy with dread. Kamado was showing definite signs of hypothermia, and thanks to his fucking wilderness training, Genya knew exactly what needed to be done to help him. What he needed to do.

The most important thing to do for somebody experiencing hypothermia was to make sure they were warm and dry. Kamado’s clothes were soaked, and with his arm and the haziness in his eyes he obviously wasn't in any condition to take them off himself. Genya stared at the collar button of Kamado’s jacket, heart hammering. Carrying Kamado back here had been bad enough, but stripping him? No way. Absolutely no fucking way. 

There had to be a line!

But really, what else was there to do? He was all Kamado had until the blizzard let up and he could get the other swordsman to proper medical care. Genya watched Kamado shiver on his sleeping bag, pale and bloodied and gripping the box strap like it was the only thing keeping him conscious, and became aware of a new, unnerving thought pushing its way insistently to the forefront of his mind. 

He wanted to take care of him. 

Genya’s mouth flattened into a tight, uneasy line. Wanting to care for the hurt and the weak wasn’t new to him —and Kamado certainly looked pitiful enough that it wasn’t that surprising of a feeling to have— but Genya hadn’t really felt that way about another person since…he honestly couldn’t really remember when. Maybe not since the night that everything happened. 

He hadn’t really thought about it before now, but trying to reach Sanemi hadn’t left him with much space to care about the people around him. It was…weird, to realize. Apparently that was over now, though, because he sure seemed to care a whole lot about Kamado, as much as he didn’t want to. It complicated his hatred for the other swordsman, made it feel like there were too many thoughts in his brain. Crouching down in front of him, Genya felt the unmistakable rush of heat running up his neck and flooding his face as embarrassment, frustration, and softness warred for dominance. He hoped Kamado wouldn’t say anything about it.

“Your uniform’s soaked. It’s gotta go.” Trying to keep his head down and focus, Genya reached out to start undoing Kamado’s jacket. As soon as his fingers brushed the fabric of his collar, the other swordsman startled.

“Hold still, would you?” Genya snapped, and even though his voice sounded weak to his ears, Kamado did as he was told. From the way the back of his neck prickled as he undid the buttons, Genya knew he was being watched. 

Jacket undone, Genya crawled beside him and started the process of getting Kamado out of his haori and uniform, trying to keep his bad arm as still as possible. It involved a lot of leaning against, over, and around the other swordsman, bracing him in ways that felt uncomfortably like holding him. Genya's bare arms stung with cold any time he inadvertently touched Kamado’s skin. 

“Th-th-th-thanks,” Kamado chattered out as Genya moved his jacket and haori to the drying rocks next to his own uniform, and Genya ignored him in favour of crouching down to rummage through his pack for a strip of fabric. Now that Kamado was shirtless, he should take care of his arm before he got the other swordsman out of his pants.

Genya froze mid-rummage. 

Fuck. That wasn’t. No. No.

He shook his head violently to try and banish the unfortunate turn of phrase back to whatever dark, shameful pit it had come from, and redoubled his efforts until he found a piece of an old uniform long enough to turn into a sling. Genya gave himself a moment to breathe before turning back around. 

Kamado was staring right at him, eyes wide and shining in the firelight. Genya’s eyes flickered to his pants, and he wished for the gods to sink him into the ground right then and there. 

When the earth didn’t swallow him whole, Genya walked back over and knelt down in front of Kamado with a grim look. Thankfully, he couldn’t focus on whatever weird thoughts his brain was kicking around, because it was time for the tricky part. 

It wasn’t that Genya didn’t know how to pop a shoulder back into its socket. He’d re-located plenty of joints in his life; they’d just all happened to be his own. He hoped it worked the same way on another person. 

“I have to pop your arm back in,” Genya said without fanfare, studying Kamado’s limp arm, trying to figure out the direction he’d need to pull it. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch for a second, but that’ll be it. Try to relax.”  

Kamado nodded, and when he glanced up, Genya was glad to see understanding in his hazy eyes. He shuffled in close and took hold of Kamado’s bad arm, feeling the cold of his skin, the tremors running through his body. Kamado’s unsteady breath puffed across his cheek as Genya focussed on what he was about to do. 

“Take a deep breath,” Genya warned, and Kamado complied. When he heard the other swordsman exhale, Genya pulled his arm firmly forwards. Kamado’s shoulder popped back into place with an audible clunk, and with a pained shout he pitched forward, crashing hard into Genya’s chest and nearly bowling them both over. 

Kamado was heavy in his lap and against his chest, face buried in the junction between his shoulder and neck as he gasped in air, and Genya stopped breathing.  

He hated being close to people, hated being touched. He shrank away from Kocho’s prodding fingers during checkups, kept his arms crossed tightly when the Butterfly Estate girls fluttered around him, and stood back from his Master when they trained. The press of Kamado’s shivering body against his, the hot, wet heave of his breath against his neck, was awful.

It was awful because of how much he didn’t hate it. 

He. The opposite of hated it.

Genya’s world tilted, shifted, and rearranged to incorporate that horrible new fact. His brain buzzed like it was full of wasps. Kamado was still in his lap.

“Fuck offa me, I’ve still gotta wrap it,” he choked out, and Kamado uncurled himself with a small, pained groan. Working on autopilot, Genya looped the fabric around Kamado’s arm and shoulder, fixing everything firmly in place, and got the hell back. 

He tried not to think about how acutely he felt Kamado’s absence. He tried not to think about anything at all.

Kamado turned a warm, tired smile on him, face flushed from the pain of having his shoulder returned forcefully to its socket, and now that Genya knew what his mouth felt like against his skin, he could barely look at it. 

“Th-th-that f-f-feels a l-lot better, th-thank you,” Kamado said, voice overflowing with gratitude, and if Genya had known just how insane the other swordsman was going to end up making him feel, he’d have left him in the fucking snow. 

Thankfully, Kamado had just given him the out that he desperately needed.

“Yeah, I bet having a fucked up arm set right feels good,” Genya snapped, and there it was, the steady, dependable anger at Kamado as he remembered the crunch of his bones in the other’s grip. He could drown every uncomfortable, unwanted thought and feeling in that anger, toss it all in a sack and throw it into the ocean of his rage. It was already that much easier to fix the other swordsman with a fierce glare. 

Kamado looked confused for only a moment before understanding crossed his face.

“I-i-if you’re t-talking about wh-when I broke your arm, y-y-y-you d-d-d-dessserved i-i-it,” he shot back, somehow sounding confident despite the chattering of his teeth. Genya opened his mouth to let Kamado know exactly what he thought of that, but before he could, a particularly violent shiver ripped through the other swordsman. Kamado let out a small, surprised sound, eyes going wide, and Genya’s dependable anger drained away as the reality of the situation flooded back in. 

“Shit, c’mere,” he hissed, reaching past the other swordsman to grab the top edges of the sleeping bag, wrapping them tightly around Kamado’s bare shoulders and chest. Kamado’s legs stuck out, framed by his makeshift shawl, and Genya got the distinct sense that the universe was mocking him.

Genya lowered his gaze to the other swordsman’s pants, doing his damndest to beat down the nerves that threatened to freeze him up. 

“Gotta get these off, too.” His voice shook. Fuck.

They were just pants, he told himself. They were soaked, so they needed to come off. It was medically necessary, Kocho would say if she were here. His Master would be disappointed in him if he gave up. He needed to get it over with and just finish stripping Kamado, already.

Genya reached out with shaking hands, and reminded himself again that they were seriously just fucking pants.  

His finger made contact with the top button of Kamado’s pants, and nothing bad happened. Bolstered, Genya took hold of it with both hands. As he did, his knuckles brushed against Kamado’s stomach, and Kamado gasped out a high, breathy sound unlike any Genya had ever heard before. 

“Ah!”

Genya froze.

Aside from the howling of the wind outside and the crackling of the fire, the cave was silent. 

Genya stared at the other swordsman’s bare chest without really seeing it. He was never going to be able to un-hear that sound. He needed to move his hands, but he couldn’t risk it; if he did, Kamado might make another. Kamado was going to die frozen in pants, probably, because at this point there was nothing Genya could do. 

“Um.” 

Kamado’s voice floated down from somewhere above him. Unwittingly, Genya’s eyes snapped up to his face. 

Kamado looked as mortified as he felt, hunched up like he was trying to disappear into the sleeping bag. Genya hadn’t been aware that was an emotion the other swordsman could experience, and it made him feel curiously relieved. There was something comforting in knowing he wasn’t the only one suffering through this, that Kamado was also probably wishing he was anywhere else, doing anything else, than sitting half-naked with Genya’s hands on his pants. Slowly, Genya let go and sat back.

They stared at each other, and Genya felt like they’d reached a new level of understanding. It was very, very low. But it was there. He sighed heavily, apologetically.

“...they’re wet, Kamado, they really need to come off. Sorry.” 

Kamado gulped loudly, mouth wobbling strangely, and maybe they hadn’t reached an understanding after all, actually, because after all that, Kamado Fucking Tanjiro did maybe the worst thing he could have done in their situation. He smiled, reached out his good arm, and put a cold, quivering hand on Genya’s bare shoulder. Kamado’s touch burned in spite of the chill, and as his fingers pressed into Genya's skin, some deep-down part of him sat up and purred. 

“T-Tanjiro, please c-call m-me Tanjiro,” the other swordsman said gently, eyes and smile full of nothing but soft soft soft, and that was too fucking much. Genya ripped himself out of Kamado’s grasp and scrambled away to a safe, safe distance.

“Stop– stop being so familiar!” He exploded, facing the wall so that Tanjiro– Kamado– whoever he was couldn’t see his face. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t die! Just, make this easy for me! Please!” 

The cave was silent again. 

“…S-sorry,” Tanjiro finally whispered, and great, now on top of everything else he was sad. Genya’s stomach churned.

A shuffling sound behind him had Genya glaring doggedly over his shoulder. Tanjiro was trying to kick off his pants while staying wrapped in the sleeping bag, with less than optimal results. It was—

cute

—pathetic. It was pathetic. He wasn’t going to get anywhere wriggling around like that. If anything, the idiot would probably end up landing wrong and popping his arm back out of its socket. It probably wouldn’t even stop him if he did, because based on everything he’d seen from and heard about the other swordsman, Genya could confidently say that Kamado Tanjiro was too stubborn for his own good. 

Well, that was something they had in common. Squaring his shoulders, Genya turned and marched towards the other swordsman. Tanjiro blinked at him.

“G-Genya, w-wha-”

Without a word, Genya reached down and popped the buttons on Tanjiro’s pants, yanked them off so fast that Tanjiro yelped in surprise, and cocooned him so tightly in the sleeping bag that only his surprised face was peeking out. 

Done. 

Genya fled to the drying rocks, heart pounding. 

“There,” he said, and slapped the pants on the rocks with enough force that the wet splat echoed around the cave. “Now get fucking warm already.”

“Th-thanks, G-Genya.” Tanjiro sounded equal parts embarrassed and grateful, and Genya was happy to never talk about it ever again. 

“Don’t mention it. Seriously,” he sighed, and went to grab another log from the back of the cave. 

The wood pile he’d stacked earlier had collapsed. 

Figured. 

Chapter Text

Sitting back down by the fire, shoulders sore from re-stacking wood, Genya stretched his arms and took a moment to breathe. Tanjiro was cocooned in the sleeping bag on the other side of the flames, still, silent, and rolled over so he was facing the wall. 

Genya was immensely relieved about it. After all of that, he was ready for things to settle the hell down already. 

Thankfully, ‘settling the hell down’ seemed to be off to a good start. The blizzard was still raging outside, but now the sound only emphasized how warm and dry the cave was by comparison. Mixed with the hypnotic crackle of the fire, Genya had to remind himself that there was still a world beyond the confines of his camp. 

Well. Their camp, now. Technically.

Whatever. The important thing was, the world outside was still a very real place that he couldn’t ignore, because it contained a very real demon that knew where they were holed up. Even if he was starting to slump and his eyes wanted to close, he needed to be ready for the worst. 

And so, less than enthusiastically, Genya grabbed his uniform from the drying rocks and pulled it back on, shivering as the damp fabric slid across his skin. It wasn’t cold, at least, and a bit of discomfort would keep him that much more awake and alert. The last of the demon blood in his system had gone to healing his frostbite, so running around outside half-naked again was out of the question, anyway. 

Dressed and only mildly uncomfortable, Genya glanced over at Tanjiro. With how still he was, Genya figured the other swordsman must be asleep. That was a good thing, right?

Genya watched him for a bit, felt weird about it, and pivoted away. 

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, now that Tanjiro’s medical emergencies were handled. Leaning back on his hands, Genya stared into the fire and let his mind wander. 

Where had that damn demon gone? Maybe it got spooked by having two Demon Slayers around, or it was waiting out the blizzard to hunt them again. Tanjiro’s smile. How far from the safehouse had he gotten in the storm? And when would the snow let up? Tanjiro’s eyes in the firelight. How many bullets did he have left? Tanjiro in his lap. He was hungry. Tanjiro’s mouth. 

That…definitely wasn’t going to work. 

Taking the long way around the fire so that he wasn’t passing by Tanjiro, Genya grabbed his pack and retrieved the cloth bag that held his gun cleaning tools. Back at his spot by the fire, Genya got to work disassembling his gun, cleaning every piece thoroughly before reassembling and finally reloading it. The mechanisms shifted and clicked smoothly as he slipped the bullets into place and closed it up with a snap. 

After a moment of thought, he unsheathed his sword and gave it a good clean, too.

Genya got up, put everything away, sat back down, remembered the sound Tanjiro had made while being stripped, and stood back up. There were still more things to do, he was sure. He checked his pack to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be. He tightened the knots holding the tarps together. He checked Tanjiro’s clothing on the drying rocks. He got another log for the fire.

As it turned out, there weren’t actually that many things that needed doing. Genya gnawed the inside of his cheek. 

After a pause, he pulled out his small pot, cooking stand, a bag of tea, and a chipped cup. He didn’t want to eat —if he ended up facing off with the demon, things would work better on an empty stomach— but tea had never caused him any problems. 

Genya glanced back down into his pack, eyes landing on the second cup nestled there. Maybe Tanjiro would want some? Hot tea was good for somebody recovering from hypothermia, probably. He debated asking, but realizing he’d need to wake the other swordsman up to find out had the words dead on his tongue.

Genya picked up the cup anyways. Tanjiro might wake up while he was making it, and if he did, well, it couldn’t hurt to pour him a cup. Just in case. 

Genya made his way to the front of the cave with the pot and braved the blizzard for just long enough to pack it full of snow, then retreated to set it over the fire. As the snow melted and began to steam, Genya added a few careful pinches of tea to each of the cups, and once the water began to boil, he poured it over the leaves. 

Instantly, the cave filled with a spicy, earthy aroma, and Genya was transported to the middle of the herb patch Himejima had let him start, surrounded by rich, dark earth and green, growing things. He took a sip, and his eyes fluttered closed as warmth spread through his body. For the first time that night, Genya felt at peace. 

Tanjiro exploded into a loud fit of chattering and Genya nearly spilled tea all over himself. 

Holding the cup out to avoid splashing freshly-boiled liquid in his lap, Genya stared at the hunched pile of fabric, startled. 

What was that? 

He shuffled around the fire to investigate. As he got closer, Genya watched the fabric of the sleeping bag pull taut as the other swordsman curled up more tightly. 

That…didn’t seem good. 

“Tanjiro?” He whispered, not sure if he should risk speaking louder in case Tanjiro was still asleep. The other swordsman was still for so long that Genya was ready to chalk his sudden chattering up to a vivid hallucination and go back to his spot, but then, slowly, Tanjiro rolled over to face the fire. 

He was wrapped up so that only the top half of his face was visible, but even so, Genya could see how pale and waxy his skin was in the firelight, how sunken his eyes looked, how even as his forehead creased with concentration and he curled in on himself to try and stay still, he shook silently with waves of tremors. 

Something like fear curled up cold in Genya’s stomach.

“Are you okay?” He asked abruptly, holding out the cup with a stiff arm. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing, since whatever was wrong with Tanjiro didn’t look like it would be solved with tea, but it felt good to have something between him and the other swordsman.

“I-I’m f-f-f-f-f-fine,” Tanjiro shivered out, moving the fabric away from his face to plaster on a wan smile. Genya figured it was supposed to look easygoing, but the effect was closer to a rictus grin.

“You look like shit,” he said flatly, both because it was true and because his brain was starting to buzz. Had Tanjiro been like this the whole time, sick but pretending not to be? 

What was the point?

Tanjiro tried to laugh it off, and even if Genya didn’t know what that normally sounded like, he could still tell it was all wrong. “I-I’m r-r-really f-f-f-fine! Y-you don’t n-n-need to w-worry about m-m-m-me!”

Tanjiro reached an arm out of the sleeping bag to take the cup of tea Genya was still holding out, hand shaking so hard that his fingers nearly blurred. Genya snatched the cup back, trying to avoid adding ‘scalded’ to Tanjiro’s list of injuries for the night, and Tanjiro’s outstretched fingers landed on Genya’s wrist instead. 

His eyes widened.

“You’re still freezing!” Genya exclaimed as Tanjiro withdrew his hand, looking frustrated. “Why didn’t you say something?!” 

Tanjiro looked away, and Genya tried to reign in anger that tasted exactly like worry. 

“I d-didn’t w-w-want t-to trouble y-you a-a-any m-m-m-more,” Tanjiro mumbled, face flushing sickly as he pulled the sleeping bag back up so only his dull eyes were visible. “Y-y-you’ve a-a-a-already done s-s-so m-much for m-me. I d-d-didn’t w-w-want t-to n-need m-more f-f-from y-you.”

He looked miserable, and Genya’s anger fizzled away. 

Watching Tanjiro shiver, resolutely avoiding his gaze, he kinda thought he understood.

Every other Demon Slayer seemed to have a story about a time that the great Kamado Tanjiro had helped them, shouldered their burdens, stood up for them, protected them. Before tonight, Genya had chalked it up to exaggeration, because there was no way one person could actually be that impressive, that good. In those moments, he’d always resolutely ignored the memory of the Wisteria grove at the base of Mount Fujikasane. 

He thought about it now. Without the regular filter of seething anger at Kamado Fucking Tanjiro, Genya could admit that Tanjiro had been nothing short of heroic that day, mouth set seriously and eyes clear with intent as he put himself between Genya and that little girl. 

He could also admit now that he’d been the bad guy that day, exhausted and angry and willing to do anything to make it to Sanemi, up to and including shaking answers out of a kid. It was never something he’d been proud of, and the more that he learned how to sit and think from Himejima, the more it kept him up at night. For the first time, Genya thought he might be grateful to Tanjiro for stopping him. 

So Tanjiro had even helped him, like he’d helped so many others. But, for all of the stories he’d heard, Genya couldn’t think of a single one where someone else stepped in to help Kamado Tanjiro himself. 

He understood not wanting to be a burden. He really, really did. And so, he tried to choose his next words carefully.

“If it makes you feel better, you can take this as me repaying you for that time after the Final Selection.” Genya couldn’t look Tanjiro in the eye, but his voice was steady. “You didn’t have to break my arm, but. Thanks. For stopping me from doing something worse. I owe you, so just…let me help you? Please.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment. Tanjiro shifted in the sleeping bag and poked his nose out of the fabric.

“Y-y-you s-s-smell r-regretful,” he said in a small voice. Genya had no idea what that meant, but before he could ask, Tanjiro was curling away from him and letting out a long, shivering breath. “O-okay. D-d-do i-it.”

Genya blinked.

Oh. Right.

He needed to help, now. 

Genya swallowed convulsively, throat suddenly bone-dry. He’d been so focussed on getting Tanjiro to agree to letting him help that he’d forgotten what helping actually meant, in this situation. 

There was only one more way to treat hypothermia, and from the way that Tanjiro was so resolutely turned away, they both knew it: skin-to-skin contact, warming up the victim with one’s own body heat. The thought of being wrapped up with Tanjiro in the sleeping bag, pressed together, touching all over, had Genya briefly worried that he might throw up as his stomach jumped into his throat.

He couldn’t back out now, though; Tanjiro needed this. Heart thudding in his chest and the back of his neck prickling with sweat, Genya started unbuttoning his uniform.

Tanjiro looked back over his shoulder, and his eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. “Y-y-you r-really don’t n-need to t-t-take o—”

“—My uniform’s still wet, and skin-to-skin contact is gonna warm you up the fastest.” Genya barely recognized the words as his own, but it sounded like him, so he guessed he must be saying them. Tanjiro was still staring at him, and Genya tried not to balk. “I’ll keep my underclothes on, how’s that?” 

Tanjiro looked at him for a long moment, then nodded and rolled back over. Back in his underclothes —good riddance to his uniform, he thought a bit hysterically, it was damp and uncomfortable and this was much better, actually— Genya unwrapped Tanjiro as unobtrusively as possible, swallowed his stomach back down to where it belonged, and squirmed in behind the other swordsman.

It was like getting into bed with an icebox. “Fuck, you’re cold!” Genya hissed as Tanjiro’s frozen skin pressed against his, sharp jolts prickling through him at every point of contact. Immediately, Tanjiro shuffled forward, straining against the fabric of the sleeping bag so they were barely touching.

“Y-you don’t h-h-have to get cl-closer, if you’re n-not c-c-comfortable, I-I’ll be o-okay,” Tanjiro said quickly, placatingly. The tone grated at Genya as he realized he was thoroughly fucking sick of Tanjiro not letting himself be helped, of the fact that he’d missed what was going on for so long, of the way he kept messing all of this up. The swirling pool of emotions sitting heavy in his chest flared hot as, predictably, anger won out. 

“You weren’t okay before, and you’re not okay now, so just let me fucking help you already!”

If Genya hadn’t already committed to being Tanjiro’s personal heater, he’d have fled the heavy silence that followed. 

Lying in his sleeping bag, watching Tanjiro’s tense, shivering back, Genya felt stupid. Overwhelmingly stupid. He shouldn’t have snapped. He wished he hadn’t snapped. What he wanted to do was pull Tanjiro closer, warm him up, find the perfect words to get rid of the unhappy tension in the air, but there was nothing in his brain. 

“...S-sorry you h-have to d-do th-this,” Tanjiro shuddered out miserably, and shuffled backwards so that he was pressed lightly into Genya’s front. 

Genya blinked, and tried to speak gently.

“Look, Tanjiro, don’t apologize, it’s fine. Sorry I yelled.” He’d definitely landed closer to monotone, but he watched Tanjiro’s shoulder muscles relax, anyway. “I’m gonna put my arm around you, if that’s okay?” 

Genya felt Tanjiro stiffen back up for just a moment before he nodded. Tentative but trying not to act like it, Genya wrapped his arm around Tanjiro’s side, taking care to avoid the sling. Tanjiro’s cold back curled lightly against his chest, the frozen backs of his legs brushed his thighs. Icy toes tickled his shins. 

It…wasn’t actually that bad, especially as he got used to the cold against his skin. There was a part of him that was very aware of Tanjiro’s body against his, but he could ignore it easily enough. Tanjiro was still only just brushing against him, though, not pressed in to take full advantage of his body heat. Genya tightened the arm around him just slightly, a silent request, a silent invitation. 

Tanjiro let out a shaky breath, and shuffled firmly back into Genya. Like this, he could feel every shift Tanjiro made, every shiver that ran through him, every curve and dip of his body pressed flush against him. 

It was…harder, to ignore that now, but Genya managed. He looked over Tanjiro’s shoulder at the fire, and tried to focus on anything unrelated to the fact that he was spooning Kamado Fucking Tanjiro in his own damn sleeping bag. It was the only way he was going to stay sane.

They laid together in silence, the firelight casting deep shadows across Tanjiro’s shoulders, and then Tanjiro spoke up. “W-would i-it be alright if we t-talked? I’m sh-sh-shivering t-too h-hard t-to s-s-sleep, and I w-want to get t-to kn-know you b-better.”

Genya blinked in surprise; he’d figured Tanjiro would want to just stay quiet and pretend this wasn’t happening, like he was doing. “Oh. Uh. Sure, yeah. What…d’you wanna talk about?”

“W-w-why d-did you b-become a De-Demon S-sss-layer?” Tanjiro asked immediately, and of course Kamado Fucking Tanjiro would go for the most invasive question he could first. Genya wanted to tell him it was none of his fucking business, but bit back the impulse. Snapping at Tanjiro felt bad.

“I don’t really, uh, wanna talk about that,” he mumbled out instead, and Tanjiro nodded. 

“O-okay, I’m s-s-sorry f-for a-a-asking so di-directly.” His voice was warm, and Genya’s shoulders relaxed a touch. “Y-y-you s-s-ssee, m-m-my sister N-Nezuko was t-trans-transformed into a d-d-demon, and I-I’m trying to f-f-find a w-way to turn her b-b-back…”

---

And so they laid there, pressed against one another, and made what turned out to be surprisingly easy conversation. It took exactly two complete sentences from Genya to pull Tanjiro out of his misery, which in turn encouraged Genya to keep talking. Their conversation stayed surface-level, covering training and slaying and Tanjiro’s network of ridiculous-sounding friends, but it was nice.

Surprisingly so. 

Somehow, Kamado Tanjiro was both exactly and nothing like Genya’d thought he was. He was a loud, heroic, nosy do-gooder, sure, but he was also funny, and kind, and smart, and thoughtful. Most surprisingly, he seemed to find Genya just as impressive and interesting as he was. 

Slowly but surely, Tanjiro’s shivering started to die down, and Genya felt the heat returning to him. Once he’d determined Tanjiro was no longer in danger of splashing them both, Genya reached over his shoulder and grabbed the forgotten cup of tea he’d brought with him. He handed it to Tanjiro, and helped him take short sips. 

“This is d-delicious!” Tanjiro gasped, eyes wide and voice full of wonder like he was eating some sort of foreign delicacy. “W-what sort of tea is th-this?” 

Genya side-eyed him as he helped him sit up to drink more comfortably. The tea was good, sure, but he didn’t think it was worth that much excitement. Still, if Tanjiro liked it… “It’s just green tea with some herbs from my garden, nothing special. I can give you some if you want, I’ve got lots.” 

Tanjiro looked over his shoulder at him, eyes wide with honest-to-god awe. “Wait, your garden? You really g-grew these? Amazing!”

Genya shrugged a shoulder, equally warmed and self-conscious at the praise. “I did. Plants aren’t that hard, you’ve just gotta be consistent and pay attention to them. More often than not, they’ll tell you what they need,” he explained, and resumed working his thumbs into Tanjiro’s back. 

Three or four conversation topics back, Tanjiro had made an offhand comment about how his shoulders were cramped up from shivering, and Genya had followed that statement through to what felt like its logical conclusion. Tanjiro hadn’t asked him to stop, and so he’d just…kept going. It felt almost normal, now, having his hands on the other swordsman, running his fingers firmly over his skin and relaxing his muscles. 

Genya was distantly aware that this probably wasn’t the way two people who barely knew each other would normally be acting when forced into a hypothermic survival situation, but neither of them had said anything about it, and he wasn’t about to start now. He pressed a thumb gently into a knot near Tanjiro’s neck.

“I’ve never been very g-good with plants, so I admire your skill,” Tanjiro confessed, sipping his tea and making happy sounds as Genya massaged his back. “That’s really relaxing, thank you. How do you know how to do th-that?” 

Genya wasn’t about to tell Tanjiro about digging the knots out of his mother’s back after she’d worked and taken care of children all day and night. “Can’t remember. You must be worn out, after all that shivering.” He ran his thumbs along Tanjiro’s shoulder muscles, and felt warm as the other swordsman let out another satisfied sigh. 

Tanjiro twisted to look back over his shoulder again, meeting his eye. “Hey, Genya? I’m getting kinda tired. Could we lie back down?” 

“Sure. C’mere.” Tanjiro turned back around and wiggled back into him, and Genya noted that the back of his neck was pink. He mulled that over as he reached around Tanjiro’s waist to hold him close.

“This is n-nice,” Tanjiro said quietly, sweetly. A handful of hours ago, if Kamado Fucking Tanjiro had said that to him in this sort of compromising position, Genya would have been horrified. Now, he just felt shy.

“...Yeah. Focus on feeling better, okay?” he mumbled, and Tanjiro nodded again. Close like this, his hair brushed up against Genya’s face, and he got a noseful of Kamado Tanjiro: pine, sweat, and a hint of woodsmoke. 

From there, their conversation slipped into comfortable, sleepy silence. Tanjiro’s breathing evened out, and soon enough, he was snoring lightly. Genya propped his cheek up on his palm and watched the fire over the other swordsman’s shoulder.

Now that Tanjiro was asleep, Genya could safely admit to himself that, as they’d laid there talking and being close, the way he felt about the other swordsman had…changed. He could admit that he wanted to keep getting to know him, and that he was trying very hard not to feel disappointed as Tanjiro snored away.

It was a selfish thought, he knew. Rest was going to help Tanjiro finally feel better, and as Genya yawned he remembered that he was also exhausted. He tried to get comfortable without jostling Tanjiro too much, and settled with his chin resting gently on top of Tanjiro’s head. His breathing deepened, and he was wreathed in the smell of the other swordsman. 

Genya closed his eyes and dreamed of fire, warm and inviting.

---

An unknowable amount of time later, Genya blinked awake, groggy and stiff, and wondered where he was. He was in his sleeping bag, a fire was crackling somewhere, and he was holding something warm and solid and…moving? He smelled pine, sweat, and woodsmoke, and the night trickled back into his brain.

As he remembered —the blizzard, the cave, the demon, Tanjiro— Genya realized what had woken him. 

Against his front, Tanjiro had started to shake again.

“Tanjiro…?” Genya mumbled, voice slurred with sleep, and Tanjiro gasped in an unmistakably wet breath.

“S-sorry for waking you, I’m okay, you can go back to sleep,” Tanjiro wobbled, but Genya could feel the way that his back muscles strained as Tanjiro curled in on himself, shaking as he tried to cry silently. 

“What’s wrong?” Genya blinked hard, trying to wake himself up faster. He tightened his arm around Tanjiro’s waist, aiming for comfort, and froze as a sob burst out of the other swordsman. 

Genya felt wretched. “Should I go?” he asked, tensing to roll out of the sleeping bag as quickly as he could, and then shook with the force of Tanjiro shaking his head.

“Please don’t,” he sniffled, voice cracking with the strain of holding back his tears. Slowly, Genya nodded.

“...Okay. I’m staying.” He tightened his arm again, trying to hold Tanjiro with his whole body. Tanjiro shook as he tried to stay quiet, and Genya’s stomach clenched. “Also, um…it’s alright. If you need to cry.” 

That was all Tanjiro seemed to need; he pressed himself back, weeping loudly, and Genya bowed his body around the other swordsman, pushing his knees into the backs of Tanjiro’s own, folding them together securely. Careful to avoid the sling, Genya rubbed around his shoulder in slow, circular strokes. 

They stayed like that for a while, until Tanjiro’s weeping softened to crying, and then petered out to the occasional hiccup. Genya didn’t stop rubbing his back until Tanjiro’s good hand peeked up over his bad shoulder, fingers stretched out, seeking. Acting on an instinct he didn’t know he had, Genya scooped his other arm underneath Tanjiro, gently pulled his good arm back down, and took hold of his hand, bending their arms so their interlaced fingers rested against Tanjiro’s chest, directly over his heart. 

Tanjiro squeezed his hand like it was a lifeline.

“I had a dream,” he whispered, voice thick, and Genya nodded into Tanjiro’s hair. He knew all about dreams that ended in tears. “It wasn’t a bad dream, not at all, but when I woke up…” he trailed off, and Genya squeezed back. 

“I understand.” He really, really did. 

“Thank you,” Tanjiro said simply, and in the long silence that followed, Genya couldn’t help but focus on the feeling of having his arms fully wrapped around the other swordsman, of Tanjiro’s hand in his, the contrast of rough callus and smooth skin against his fingers and palm. As the silence stretched, Tanjiro’s thumb started to rub slowly across his knuckles, back and forth, running across the peaks and valleys of his finger bones, over and over until the only thing Genya was aware of was the feeling of a rough thumbpad sliding rhythmically over his skin, of Tanjiro against him, solid and warm and pressed in so, so tightly.

Tanjiro spoke up.

“It really is nice to be held like this, Genya.” 

Genya felt more than heard the change in his tone. The way that Tanjiro said his name, maybe, quiet and a bit husky, seemed to finally acknowledge the something going on between them, the something that Genya had been trying not to focus on. The world, already just the two of them in the cave, shrank to the soft confines of the sleeping bag. Genya tightened his arm around Tanjiro’s waist.

“It’s nice holding you like this, Tanjiro.” His voice was rough as he buried his face in Tanjiro’s hair, partially so that the other swordsman couldn’t turn around to see the expression on his face, and partially to see what Tanjiro would do. Tanjiro’s response was to hiss out a breath and push back into him, tilting his head so that Genya’s face was suddenly brushing the side of his neck. 

Genya stared down at the smooth brown skin Tanjiro was presenting to him, offering him, entranced and breathing shakily. As his breath fanned out over Tanjiro’s neck, the other swordsman shuddered against him, hard.

Genya felt the shake through his entire body, and suddenly a voice in his mind was speaking up urgently. Was this a good idea, whatever this was? Very suddenly, Genya wasn’t sure about the path they were going down, wasn’t sure about the precipice they seemed to be teetering at the edge of. His stomach flopped, his brain threw the brakes on his body, and Genya wished they were back having easy conversations and ignoring quiet, unacknowledged somethings. 

He let go of Tanjiro’s hand and backpedaled. 

“What were you dreaming about?” Genya asked abruptly, voice louder than he meant it to be. Before he had a chance to kick himself for how clumsily he’d fumbled that, to start to worry about what Tanjiro might think, Tanjiro rolled over to face him.

“It was a memory. From another time I got caught in a blizzard, actually.” Tanjiro’s voice was light, sounding for all the world like they’d been having a completely normal conversation, but his cheeks were flushed and he was giving Genya a smile that, despite his puffy eyes and red nose, was distinctly charming. “My family were charcoal burners, and I’d been out chopping wood when the snow started. I got lost on the way home, and caught a chill. When I finally made it back, all of my siblings piled into a futon with me, mom made tea, and dad told us stories of our ancestors.”  

Even as his heart raced, Genya couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds idyllic,” he said earnestly, and Tanjiro beamed, and had his smile always been so dazzling? Genya felt distinctly dazzled, and it had words tumbling out of his mouth. “Sorry this blizzard hasn’t been as nice of a time. I’m not good at stories. But at least the tea was good?”

Tanjiro laughed easily. “Earlier tonight, I fell off a cliff. Since then, I’ve been able to drink delicious tea and get to know the very interesting person who rescued me. That sounds pretty nice to me!” Tanjiro’s eyes scrunched up as he smiled. “And I’ve liked your stories so far.” 

Genya wasn’t so afraid anymore, not when he was bathing in the warm spotlight of Kamado Tanjiro’s smile. Feeling bold, he put his arm around Tanjiro’s back and pulled him closer, watching in real time as Tanjiro’s bright eyes widened and his face flushed a dark, enticing pink. 

Maybe… maybe it was okay, to explore this something. Genya wanted to, and from the way that Tanjiro smiled almost shyly back at him, he figured he wasn’t alone in that thought.

Genya jerked his head off to the side then, because even if he’d gotten through his panic, it was daunting meeting Tanjiro’s gaze up close like this. “Glad to hear that. And for the record, you’re interesting, too. I don’t have any more fun stories, though, so I hope you’re satisfied with what you got.” Facing the other swordsman seemed to be causing all of his emotions to take front and center, because Genya couldn’t help the next words that tumbled bitterly out of his mouth. “Not a lot of nice stuff has happened to me, sorry.”

Tanjiro hummed, and Genya startled as a hand brushed against his arm, slid over his shoulder, and gently cupped his cheek, holding him like he was something fragile and precious. He swallowed loudly, and let Tanjiro guide him so that they were face-to-face. Tanjiro’s expression was gentle, cheeks still dusted pink, and Genya couldn’t look away.

“Not every story needs to be happy, Genya. If there’s something you want to talk about, pretty or not, I want to listen.” 

Genya didn’t like to think about his past, and he certainly didn’t talk about it. It was easier to keep it all locked away, to just focus on his goal of getting stronger, of proving himself worthy, of apologizing. But. Tanjiro was right there, holding him, meeting his gaze with clear eyes, and for the first time in years, Genya felt safe enough to be soft.

He took a breath.

“My mother was a really small woman…”

Chapter Text

Wrapped up in the sleeping bag, Tanjiro’s hand on his cheek and the storm still raging outside, Genya told his story. 

He tried sticking to the barebones facts, at first, but then Tanjiro guided him into a one-armed hug and everything started to pour out of him. His awful father; his incredible mother and brother; his beloved siblings; the waking nightmare of losing everything and everyone in an instant. Clawing his way into the Demon Slayer Corps —working so hard— only to have his entire world fall out from under him, again, as Sanemi turned his back. Finally, hesitant but unable to stem the flow of his words, being cornered by a demon and discovering something strange, something unnatural, something useful, maybe the first advantage he’d ever been given in his life. 

Through it all, Tanjiro held him close, carding his good hand through his hair, gently picking out knots and tangles. Chin pressed into Tanjiro’s shoulder, Genya sighed shakily and tried to wipe discreetly at his eyes. 

He’d never told anybody his story before. Not his Master, not Kocho, no one. It was…

It was…

Painful. Overwhelming. Freeing. He felt hollowed out, scraped raw and stinging, but also impossibly light, like crushing rocks had been rolled off his shoulders. Tanjiro’s touch was like cool water running over a burn, soothing and grounding all at once. 

“I need to become a Hashira so that he’ll accept me, and so I can apologize properly.” Genya’s voice was hoarse as it squeezed around the lump in his throat, and Tanjiro’s hand slid from his hair down to his back. 

“You’ve got my full support,” he said firmly, pressing Genya tenderly to his chest. “You’re going to become a Hashira, Shinazugawa Genya, I know it!”

Genya swallowed thickly. Nobody had ever just believed in him like that before, so simply and immediately and wholeheartedly. His knee-jerk reaction was to try and find the trick, to figure out Tanjiro’s angle, to doubt, but the sheer confidence in Tanjiro’s voice, the warmth of the skin against his cheek, pushed it all away. Tears that had been threatening to fall throughout his story broke free as Genya pressed his face into Tanjiro’s shoulder, light as a feather. 

“Thanks,” he choked out, and Tanjiro held him tighter. 

“You’re welcome, Genya.”

As Genya sniffled away quietly, Tanjiro started smoothing his good hand over his hair again, a firm, steady pressure across his scalp, neck, and shoulders that relaxed him more and more with every stroke. Genya’s head lolled into the junction of Tanjiro’s shoulder and neck, wet cheek pressed against the other swordsman’s skin, blissed out.

“So how does eating demons work, anyways?” Tanjiro asked eventually, blunt fingers rubbing circles at the base of Genya’s skull. Blinking somewhat back to reality, Genya shrugged easily. 

“Dunno, it just does. Something about the way I’m built absorbs demonic power. I get stronger, my wounds heal, I regenerate. Kocho explained it once, but I couldn’t make sense of anything she was saying.” He thought of the Insect Hashira’s lectures, caustic, angry words delivered in soft, cheerful tones. “However it works, she doesn’t like it. She reminds me every time I see her.” 

“I’m sure she’s just worried about your health,” Tanjiro chided gently, and Genya considered the thought. Kocho’s small, frustrated smile flashed across his mind, and he searched it for any hints of concern. He wanted to dismiss the idea that the Insect Hashira saw him as anything more than a freakish nuisance outright, but once again, Tanjiro’s Tanjiro-ness was giving him pause. 

“You really think so?” 

Tanjiro’s voice was full of his specific brand of unshakeable certainty as he nodded, cheek brushing against Genya’s ear. “I do! Especially since you can’t use Breathing. Shinobu-san cares for all of us, and you’re no exception, Genya. I bet she’s so hard on you because she cares so much!”

Their conversation was officially veering into uncomfortable territory, and Genya felt his cheeks flush. “If you say so,” he muttered into Tanjiro’s neck, and hoped that would be the end of it.

Tanjiro paused for a moment, and then let out a thoughtful hum. “Hey, when we find this mountain demon, would you show me your transformation?” 

“What?!” Genya jerked up to give Tanjiro an incredulous look. “You want to see me turn into a demon?!”

“Yes!” 

Genya didn’t know what to do with that. He was used to Kocho’s barely-veiled distaste and his Master’s grave resignation, to hiding his abilities from other members of the Demon Slayer Corps at all costs. Hell, making sure other people didn’t see him do it was the entire reason he took solo missions; if faced with his demonic form, it would be completely understandable for the average Slayer to swing first, ask questions never. 

In the flickering firelight, Tanjiro was beaming up at him like Genya was going to show him something special and exciting. Like he was something special and exciting. 

It was suddenly very difficult to meet the other swordsman’s eyes.

“...Okay,” Genya said to the cave floor. “If I need to eat the demon, I guess you’ll see it happen. But, um, as a warning, it can get kind of…” He thought about the rush of adrenaline, the surge of power, the loss of control. “...intense. I don’t want you to get hurt, or anything.” 

Genya glanced back up to see if Tanjiro had come to his senses yet. No luck, the other swordsman didn’t seem deterred at all; if anything, his smile had gotten brighter.

“I’m not worried about that at all!” He proclaimed, and there it was again, Tanjiro’s immediate, unwavering belief in him. Genya didn’t know what he’d done to earn that sort of confidence, that sort of trust, but there was a part of him —a very, very small part, but it was there and getting louder by the moment— that was starting to wonder if there was something that Tanjiro saw in him that was worthy of it. 

“Alright then.” Still, no matter how cautiously optimistic he was feeling about Tanjiro having a front row seat to his transformation, Genya had to be truthful with him. “Seriously though, you’re gonna be better off if I don’t have to. I mean, do you really want to watch me pull my fangs out afterwards? It’s gross.” 

“Only if I get to keep one!” Tanjiro chirped, beaming up at him, and Genya’s brain short-circuited. 

Hearing something so batshit insane should not be fucking charming him, but it was.  

“What is wrong with you!?” He exclaimed, and Tanjiro was laughing, and his warm hand was squeezing Genya’s bicep, pulling him in close, and Genya was breathless as he let himself be pulled. The air between them seemed to rush away and Genya realized how easy it would be to finally close the last bit of distance between them, that he only needed to bend down, and started doing just that—

It was at this moment that the universe threw the Demon Slayers a curveball. 

You see, when Genya had found the cave that had become their sanctuary in the storm, he’d noted that the walls and ceiling were covered in cracks, some large enough that small tree trunks had been able to pass through. What he hadn’t considered —and why would he, things had been rapidly approaching life-or-death severity, it wasn’t like he’d had much of a choice— was that these cracks might lead to places beyond the top of the cliff. 

They did, in fact, lead elsewhere. The cracks extended far back into the dark earth, connecting to other cracks and crevices and caves in a narrow, winding network. It was through this network that the demon prowling the mountain travelled during times of strife, such as when it had realized that not one, but two Demon Slayers were after it in the blizzard. Over the many long hours of the night it had been navigating the cracks, squeezing past sharp rocks and stubborn roots, growing more and more ravenous, until it had caught the delicious scent of humans nearby.

In the same moment that Genya was leaning down, preparing to close the distance between him and Tanjiro, the demon reached its destination.

—only to freeze as Tanjiro’s face flashed from laughter to panic. Scratching broke out above them, and Genya whipped his head up to see a demon squeezing its way through a crack in the ceiling, claws out, tongue lolling, screeching in delight as it prepared to drop directly on top of them. 

Adrenaline flooded him as Tanjiro started to kick wildly, trying to get out of the sleeping bag. The demon was here the demon was here it would be on them in less than a second he needed his sword he needed his gun fuck fuck fuck—

Before he could grab for either, Tanjiro’s wooden box exploded in a hail of woodchips and holy fucking shit the original demon that Genya had chased through the night was there, flying through the air in a flash of pink kimono and black-and-orange hair. It slammed into the mountain demon, sending them both careening into the rock wall, and the cave exploded with sound as the demons snapped and snarled and fought like wild dogs. 

“Nezuko, be careful!” Tanjiro shouted, trying to scrabble one-handed out of the sleeping bag, and wait, that was Nezuko, the demon sister from Tanjiro’s stories? She’d been in the box the entire time?!

Nezuko, growling behind her gag, raked sharp claws across the mountain demon’s face, splashing the rocky floor in dark blood as it howled in pain. Tanjiro shouted to her, hopelessly tangled up in the fabric. 

Without wasting another second, Genya reached around the other swordsman’s flailing arms and grabbed the smooth wooden handle of his gun.

“Tanjiro, duck!” 

When Tanjiro didn’t duck, Genya shoved his head out of the way, cocked his gun, and pointed it at the pair of grappling demons. Nezuko —Tanjiro’s sister, a demon, the thing that killed his family, the thing he and every other Demon Slayer had sworn to lay down their lives to destroy— gave him a small wave and grabbed the mountain demon by the arms. 

She hauled it up, held it still, and stepped to the side. Genya lined up his shot, took a breath, and pulled the trigger.

BANG. 

It was over before the mountain demon ever knew what hit it; one surprised eyeball landed with a wet splat against the back wall as its head exploded in a shower of blood, already crumbling to ash. Within seconds, the mountain demon was no more. 

For one brief moment, everything was still, silent but for the crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside. Then, Genya was knocked backwards as Tanjiro squirmed out from under him and took the whole sleeping bag with him to half-run, half-hop towards his sister. 

“Nezuko, are you okay?! Are you injured? I’m sorry you had to save me, I should have noticed the demon earlier!” Tanjiro babbled, fluttering his good hand over his sister’s head and face, checking her for injuries while she made what sounded like generally positive sounds behind her gag. 

Genya sat himself back up and tried to understand the fever dream in front of him. 

“That’s Nezuko?” he wheezed. When Tanjiro looked back over his shoulder at him, Genya thought he looked cagey.

“Um. Yes.” Tanjiro’s mouth twisted up strangely. “I…I thought you’d already met.” 

Genya blinked. “You…thought we’d already met?” 

“...Yes.” Tanjiro’s voice was strained, and his bulging eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. “I thought. She was the one who led you to me. And you knew. That she was in the box?” 

Genya frowned. “Tanjiro, you’re a really shitty liar.” 

He wasn’t surprised, really; Kamado Tanjiro had ‘truthful’ written all over him.  

As Tanjiro’s sweaty face scrunched up even more and he started stuttering and stumbling over his words, Genya’s eyes fell to Nezuko. She seemed to have come out of her fight with the mountain demon unscathed, and was smoothing down her hair as she watched her brother implode. Genya zeroed in on a round, ragged hole in the left arm of her kimono, just above the elbow. The edges of the rip were stained dark red. 

His stomach went icy as he remembered the crack of the gunshot through the tarps, the demonic howl of pain, the splatter of dark blood in the snow that—

That he’d—

Oh, gods. 

“Mmph!”

Genya’s eyes snapped up to meet her gaze. Nezuko —Tanjiro’s little sister, the single most important person in the other swordsman’s world— cocked her head at him, and pointed at the hole in her kimono. 

“Mmph?” 

Genya remembered wanting to tear her apart with his bare hands, his vicious glee as he’d chased her through the snow. He clapped a hand to his mouth as he remembered what her blood tasted like.

“I’m sorry!” He said from behind shaking fingers.

“What are you sorry for?” 

His voice seemed to have snapped Tanjiro out of his panic. His eyes went to his sister, to the obvious bullet hole in her kimono, and he looked back at Genya, brow furrowed. “Did something happen?” he asked, and to Genya’s nauseated horror, his voice held a note of suspicion.

Genya swallowed convulsively as the seconds ticked by. What was he supposed to say? ‘Sorry, Tanjiro, I thought your sister was the mountain demon so I shot her and tried to eat her’? He wouldn’t be surprised if Tanjiro cut his head off right then and there, Demon Slayer Corps rules be damned. Even if he didn’t, Tanjiro would never want anything to do with him ever again, and Genya couldn’t even blame him. 

As the unbearable silence continued to fill the room, Tanjiro’s brow furrowed more deeply and Genya’s chest clenched as panic, self-loathing, and something like heartbreak drowned him from the inside-out.

Then, Nezuko stepped forward. 

“Mmph!” 

She patted Tanjiro’s arm, drawing his attention to the hole in her kimono, and made a few gestures that Genya could make neither heads nor tails of. Tanjiro didn’t seem like he understood either, but before he could ask, she turned and started walking towards the fire. 

Genya tried not to cower as she approached, shrinking in stature as she went, limbs shortening and face rounding out until she stood in front of him as a tiny child. 

Without a sound, Nezuko raised her arms. 

Not sure what else to do, Genya picked her up.

Nezuko held his face in two baby-soft hands, pink, demonic eyes staring directly into his own, and turned his face sharply towards Tanjiro. She ‘mmph’d pointedly, and Genya remembered what it felt like to have a parcel of her demonic power thrumming through him, lending him the strength he needed to push through the elements and carry the other swordsman back to the cave.

Without it, he might have succumbed to the blizzard before he even reached the hollow where Tanjiro had fallen. 

Without it, Tanjiro would have died alone in the snow. 

Nezuko turned him back to face her, and stared seriously into his eyes.

“Mmph.”

Genya nodded slowly, and hoped that she understood everything he couldn’t say.

Nezuko closed her eyes and patted his cheeks, babbling happily behind the muzzle, and that seemed to be that. 

“...Genya?”

Genya’s attention snapped back over Nezuko’s shoulder. Tanjiro was standing where she’d left him, halfway-wrapped in the sleeping bag, watching them with an unreadable expression.

Genya’s shoulders tensed up immediately. “Tanjiro, please believe me, I thought she was the mountain demon, I would never have hurt Nezuko if I’d known who she was, I swear—”

“—I know.” Tanjiro’s voice was soft, and Genya’s mouth snapped shut. “I know you wouldn’t. Nezuko wouldn’t trust you, otherwise. And I can smell your sincerity.”

Genya wasn’t really sure what to say to that, didn’t know what he could say, but Nezuko was starting to squirm in his arms, and the part of him that would always be an elder brother kicked in. He readjusted her to a more comfortable hold against his chest, the way he used to do when his siblings would get squabbly, and Nezuko nuzzled happily into his shoulder. She let out one small, contented sigh, curled a hand around his thumb, and promptly fell asleep. 

Tiny snores filled the cave, and after a beat, Tanjiro chuckled.

“She doesn’t usually get comfortable with others like that so quickly,” he mused, and Genya’s chest started to untwist at the undeniable warmth in the other swordsman’s voice. “I…I’m glad she forgave you. And I’m sorry I lied.”

“Me too. And apology accepted,” Genya said quietly, watching the sleeping face of the demon in his arms, feeling the squeeze of her soft fingers wrapped tightly around his thumb. His eyes flickered back up to meet Tanjiro’s. “Uh, is this normal, by the way? Her getting tiny and falling asleep, I mean?”

“Oh!” Tanjiro shuffled back across the cave floor, plopped down next to the fire, and put a tender hand on his sister’s head. “It is. We think it’s her way of getting her strength back instead of eating humans. She slept for a whole two years, once!”

“That’s pretty incredible.” Genya looked down at the tiny, pale face of Tanjiro’s sister, snoring and dead to the world. She looked like she could probably sleep anywhere, right now, but Genya shuffled over to the drying rocks and grabbed his now-dry uniform, arranged it into a quasi-bed, and folded Nezuko carefully into it. It was familiar, second-nature, and his heart warmed just as much as it hurt as he pulled the makeshift blankets up to her chin. 

“There, now at least she’ll be comfortable until we can get the box fixed,” he said, standing up to inspect the hole that Nezuko had broken through the box. “Maybe we can wrap it in the tarps when the blizzard lets up? That should keep any light out.” 

“I think…I think that’ll work, yes.”

Tanjiro’s voice was quiet again, and when Genya looked back over his shoulder and their eyes met in the firelight, one quick, bright jolt struck through him. Now that the adrenaline had faded from his system and the cave was theirs once more, he remembered what had been happening before the demon appeared. What he’d been just moments away from doing.

Without another word, he turned and re-joined Tanjiro by the fire. They sat side-by-side, Tanjiro wrapped in the sleeping bag and Genya with his legs crossed.

“So, were you ever going to tell me she was in the box?” Genya asked, because they really couldn’t just ignore that. Tanjiro looked off to the side, cheeks reddening.

“I was! I was just, trying to find the right time. At first I was so confused, and I didn’t want there to be any sort of misunderstanding because I wasn’t thinking straight. But then, when I was feeling better, and we were getting to know each other…” Tanjiro sounded embarrassed, if endearingly earnest. “I liked that it was just us. I didn’t want to share you.”

Genya blinked, took in the way that Tanjiro was solidly avoiding his gaze, hunched up with his cheeks puffed out, and burst out laughing.

Who knew that the great Kamado Tanjiro could be selfish.

When he was done wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, Genya looked back at the other swordsman. Tanjiro didn’t look upset at being laughed at; on the contrary, the other swordsman was watching him with a soft smile.  

“You have a lovely laugh,” Tanjiro said sweetly, and Genya had never been called lovely before; he was surprised to find that he liked it quite a lot, actually. He clutched his hands together, and couldn’t stand the distance between them any longer.

Genya turned to the other swordsman at the same moment that Tanjiro was turning to him, and they spoke at the exact same time. 

“–Should I come back–!”

“–Do you want to–!”

They both stopped short, blinked at their equally red faces, and laughed. Feeling loose and light and electric, Genya crawled gratefully back into the sleeping bag, and Tanjiro let out another laugh as he pulled the fabric securely up around their shoulders. 

“Wouldn’t want you getting chilled again,” Genya said, and then heaved out a breath as Tanjiro threw himself into his chest. This time, instead of locking up, Genya went with the motion, rolling gently onto his back as Tanjiro draped across his front, warm and solid and so close that Genya could pick out all of the individual colours in his irises. 

“I don’t need to worry about that with you keeping me warm!” Tanjiro laughed, and Genya’s eyes followed the movement of his mouth, entranced by the shape of it, of his teeth and lips and tongue. 

“Are you always this clingy?” He mumbled, and that wasn’t what he wanted to say, not at all, but he didn’t know how to put words to what he actually wanted to say, what he actually wanted to do.

Instead of being offended, Tanjiro gave him a challenging look. “Do you want me to be less clingy?” he asked, and Genya narrowed his eyes at the other swordsman, following his lead out of the mental quagmire he was stuck in. 

“No.” He wrapped an arm around Tanjiro, hand finding the dip at the small of the other swordsman’s back, heart pounding. “I don’t.”

“I’m glad.” Tanjiro’s face was close enough that Genya could feel the puff of his breath against his lips. “I’m glad you like the way that I am. Because I like you a lot.”

Something about the way that Tanjiro spoke made everything so simple; Genya liked him, Tanjiro liked him back, it was as easy as that. Without thinking about it, Genya propped himself up on an elbow and pressed their mouths together. 

The kiss was chaste, more a touching of lips than anything else, but when his brain caught up to his body, Genya jolted back. 

“Sorry, sorry, was that okay?!” He gasped, trying to get a handle on himself and on his heart, which was trying to beat its way out of his ribcage. 

Tanjiro, wide-eyed and red-cheeked, nodded quickly. “Y-yes, that was okay!” He exclaimed, sounding just as stunned as Genya felt, and with how their chests were pressed together, he could tell that Tanjiro’s heart was beating just as quickly as his own.

Genya swallowed. “Then can–” His voice cut out, and so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Sorry. Then, um, can I, again?”

Tanjiro, still red-cheeked and wide-eyed and heart pounding hard against Genya’s chest, gave him a smile that was almost determined. 

“Yes.”

Genya nodded, put a shaking hand to the back of Tanjiro’s head, and pulled him in. Their second kiss was more enthusiastic, if clumsy and disjointed, an obvious first attempt on both their parts, but after a few moments Tanjiro’s lips were moving with his instead of against them, and they were finding a rhythm, and Genya closed his eyes and tightened his hands in Tanjiro’s hair, at the small of his back. Kissing Kamado Tanjiro was incredible, and Genya wanted more; he opened his mouth, just a bit, and with a short swipe of his tongue, he learned that Kamado Tanjiro tasted incredible, too. Tanjiro hummed into his mouth, a low, pleased sound, and so Genya did it again, and again, and again. Tanjiro melted against him, parted his own lips, and Genya’s universe sparked and expanded and exploded as Kamado Tanjiro tasted him right back. 

This time, they were breathing heavily when they pulled apart. Taking in Tanjiro’s bright eyes, red cheeks and red lips, Genya’s chest felt like an entire fireworks show was going off inside. 

“I’m so glad I got to know you,” he burst out, raw and breathless, and Tanjiro gave him a smile that was absolutely brilliant. 

“I’m glad I got to know you!” He exclaimed, and the firelight reflecting in his eyes made it look like Tanjiro was lit from within. “I’m so glad you found me, Genya.” 

“Thank Nezuko,” he replied, because he was too overwhelmed to say much else, and Tanjiro was laughing as he swooped back in, and Genya closed his eyes. 

Outside, completely unbeknownst to the Demon Slayers in the cave, the blizzard was starting to lighten up.

An Epilogue (A Day Or So Later)

Insect Hashira Kocho Shinobu looked up from the charts on her desk with her customary smile as Aoi stepped through the doorway of her office. The morning sun shone brightly in through the windows, already working to melt away the remnants of the early Spring snowstorm that blanketed the yard and frosted the window panes.

“Ah, Aoi-san, how were mid-morning rounds?” Shinobu asked, closing the folder in front of her. As usual, Aoi stiffened her spine, clasped her hands behind her back, and reported on their patients with the same concise precision as a soldier reporting to their commanding officer. It was something Shinobu appreciated about her.

“No changes to any of our current patients, Shinobu-sama. I changed the bandages on Sato-san’s leg —the swelling has gone down nicely— and delivered medications with no major issues. Oh, and also, Kamado Tanjiro arrived earlier this morning.” Aoi’s mouth twitched and her eyes narrowed just slightly. “He had a fall in the mountains nearby, and suffered both hypothermia and a dislocated shoulder.”

Shinobu’s eyebrows raised. “That sounds like it could be potentially serious,” she said, although the description of Tanjiro’s injuries didn’t seem to match the expression on her fellow medic’s face. 

Aoi looked off to the side. “He seems alright. He received, as he called it, ‘top medical care’ before coming to the Butterfly Estate, and said he’s here to make sure that Nezuko is alright. I got him into a bath and a bed and told him that you would want to examine him anyways, no matter the quality of treatment he received.” Her mouth pressed into a flat line. “They’re in Room B2, East Wing. I suggest knocking before entering.”

Shinobu nodded, and stood up. “Thank you for the report, Aoi-san, and for your hard work as always. I’ll go and clear him now. You’re dismissed.”

Aoi bowed and turned smarty out of the room, and Shinobu heard her marching industriously towards the laundry room. The Insect Hashira gathered the files on her desk into a neat pile, pulled on her haori, and stepped into the bright hallways of her manor. 

She hadn’t expected much out of the morning beyond catching up on paperwork, but now she walked with purpose. Even if Kamado Tanjiro didn’t seem to be in any sort of emergency state, whatever could make Aoi look that uncomfortable seemed much more interesting than her files.

Turning the corner towards the East Wing, Shinobu passed Kiyo, Sumi and Naho, all bustling in the other direction with their heads pressed together. They greeted her cheerily, then returned to whispering amongst themselves. As she passed, Shinobu caught pieces of their conversation.

“–not so scary after all–”

“–so cute–!”

“–any solo rooms free? We should definitely–”

The three disappeared around the corner, giggling and planning, and Shinobu paused to watch them go. 

The morning was growing more and more curious by the moment, it seemed. 

When she finally made it to the East Wing, Shinobu immediately recognized the distinctive sound of Kamado Tanjiro’s laughter echoing down the hallway. The second laugh that joined his, however, was a mystery. As far as she knew, Tanjiro was the only patient in Room B2, East Wing. Perhaps Nezuko had learned to laugh? She didn’t think that was it; the laughter sounded far too masculine to be the younger Kamado sibling.

With a short knock on the door of Room B2, Shinobu stepped in. 

“Kamado-kun— and Shinazugawa-san!” 

Tanjiro, dressed in a set of crisp white pyjamas and with his left arm in a sling, gave her a sunny smile from his hospital bed. Genya, also wearing hospital pyjamas, was standing in front of the window next to the bed, hands on his hips. His back was to her, but Shinobu noted that the back of his neck was bright red.

“Aoi-san told me you’d arrived recently after some trouble in the mountains. Although she didn’t mention you, Shinazugawa-san.”

Curious, indeed.

“That’s because I’m fine,” Genya grumbled as Shinobu walked into the room and sat in the chair next to Tanjiro’s bed. “Tanjiro’s the one who got hurt and needs checking out.”

“I’m fine, Shinobu-san, Genya took really good care of me!” Tanjiro exclaimed, eyes twinkling as he looked over at his companion adoringly. “He was wonderful.”

“Stop it,” Genya mumbled to the window, and Shinobu wondered what exactly she was seeing, here. As far as she knew, the younger Shinazugawa actively disliked Kamado Tanjiro —he grumbled and growled about the other swordsman often enough during his check-ups— but it seemed that things had changed. 

Artfully not mentioning it, Shinobu carefully unwrapped Tanjiro’s sling and examined his shoulder, testing it for pain, swelling, and range of motion. It moved beautifully, and although there was some bruising she’d expected to see, she found no evidence of torn muscles or chipped bone.

“You said that Shinazugawa-san took care of this?” she asked, and Tanjiro nodded proudly. Shinobu looked up to the window, where Genya had turned partially towards the bed, face mostly back to its normal colour. “You did a good job,” she told him, and her smile softened as the receding flush rushed back up his neck.

“...Great,” he said, eyes on the ground, and Shinobu figured that would be that. Then, Tanjiro leaned forward.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” he asked softly, and Shinobu watched a string of emotions flicker across the taller swordsman’s face before he met her eyes again.

“Um…thank you, Kocho-san. For the praise. And for always looking after me,” he said, voice softer than she’d ever heard it. Shinobu was too shocked to school her expression as her mouth popped open in a tiny ‘o’.

“Oh!” She exclaimed. “Well, you’re very welcome, Genya-kun. All that I want is for you to be safe and healthy, so I’m happy to keep looking after you.” 

Genya gave her a small, sweet smile, and Shinobu returned it with one of her own; a real one. Between them, Tanjiro beamed.

Warm in her chest, the Insect Hashira returned to her task at hand. She checked Tanjiro’s larger scratches for dirt and infection and consulted his chart, asking questions to clarify and elaborate on the brief notes Aoi had written down. Tanjiro answered readily, telling her about being on a mission in the mountains, getting caught in a blizzard, falling off a cliff and being rescued. 

“After the blizzard let up, we realized how close we were to the Butterfly Estate and decided to come right here!” He explained while she wrote her own notes. As Tanjiro told his story, Genya sat down quietly on the side of the bed, offering clarifying details as needed. Shinobu noted that at some point his hand snuck under the blanket, suspiciously close to the covered lump of Tanjiro’s good arm.

“I’m glad that you thought to come here,” she said, not mentioning what she suspected was some covert hand-holding. “Your injuries are healing well, and as long as you aren’t experiencing any intense pain in your shoulder, you can keep your sling off.” Shinobu glanced back down at the chart. “The only thing that’s worrying me a bit is that, based on when the blizzard ended, it shouldn’t have taken you as much time as it did to reach the estate. Are you sure your legs are alright?”

Tanjiro’s eyes bugged out of his skull, and his cheeks flushed deep red. Before he could say anything, Genya spoke up. 

“Tanjiro went through a lot during the storm, and we didn’t want to exhaust him. So we took our time walking down,” he explained easily, and although Shinobu guessed that was probably a bold-faced lie, she let it be. Tanjiro was just fine, and that was all she needed to know.

She closed Tanjiro’s chart and stood up. “Thank you, both of you, for telling me about what happened. I’d like to keep you here for the rest of the day to let you rest, Kamado-kun. Genya-kun, same to you; you’re welcome to take any of the beds in this room. I’ll send someone along with some more tea and rice balls. Take care, you two.”

“Take care, Shinobu-san!” Tanjiro called after her as Shinobu walked to the door. She waved to them, stepped out, closed the door, paused for a moment, and yes, there were the sounds of rustling sheets and quiet laughter as the two swordsmen presumably returned to their previous sleeping arrangement. 

Smiling to herself, the Insect Hashira made a note to avoid sending new patients to Room B2, East Wing, and started the walk back to her office.

Perhaps she ought to say something to the Love Hashira; Mitsuri would, hah, love to know about this interesting new development. Then again, maybe not. With how taken she was with the Serpent Hashira, it was likely to quickly get back to the Wind Hashira, and nobody needed to deal with the level of dramatics that could cause, least of all Genya and Tanjiro. 

Truth be told, based on what she’d just seen, Shinobu didn’t imagine it would be long before this new relationship made its way into the Corps Gossip Mill and to the ears of Shinazugawa Sanemi. But she would keep it to herself for now, anyway. 

Still, imagining the look on the Wind Hashira’s face upon learning that his much-denied younger brother was involved with Kamado Tanjiro had Shinobu laughing all the way back to her files.   

---

Lying side-by-side in the hospital bed, wrapped in soft sheets and the smell of fresh laundry, Genya and Tanjiro wasted no time getting back to what they’d been doing before the Insect Hashira knocked on their hospital room door. Genya laughed as Tanjiro surged forward to pepper his face with kisses.

“Are you trying to kiss my lips off or something?” He griped toothlessly, pulling Tanjiro closer to him and tangling their legs together under the sheets. “You haven’t given my face a break since we left the cave!”

“You’re far too kissable not to try!” Tanjiro gave him another kiss for good measure, and the smell of pine and woodsmoke was joined by soap as the other swordsman’s damp hair tickled his face. “Anyways, are you saying that you’d like me to stop?”

Genya cupped his cheek and gave him a look that made Tanjiro flush pink. “Not at all,” he confirmed, and gave the other swordsman a kiss on the nose for good measure. “I definitely do not want you to stop.”

After a moment, the moonstruck look on Tanjiro’s face shifted into something more mischievous. “I won’t, then. We’ll need to be careful, though, we don’t want to exhaust me,” he chirped, voice full of sweet concern that didn’t match the smile on his face.

Genya gave him a flat look. “I’m sorry, did you have a better answer? Last I checked, you were too busy trying to blow our cover.” 

Tanjiro put a hand to his own cheek, shaking his head. “Not at all! It’s just that, while you were talking with Shinobu-san, all I could think of was how careful you were about not exhausting me while we were heading down the mountain!” 

Genya felt his face flushing hot as Tanjiro continued, still giving him that sweet smile. “You didn’t exhaust me against that tree, or by those boulders, or that snowbank, or at any other point. And you definitely weren’t exhausting me outside the gates of the Butterfly Estate when poor Aoi—”

“Oh, shut it, you!” 

Genya pulled the blankets over Tanjiro’s head as he dissolved into laughter. After a moment spent collecting himself, Genya joined Tanjiro under the sheets, entering a world of soft fabric and diffused sunlight and Kamado Tanjiro’s smile. 

“I’m so glad we’re back in civilization,” Genya sighed, sinking his head gratefully into the hospital pillow. “This bed beats the hell out of a cave floor and my shitty sleeping bag.”

“I’m thankful, too.” Tanjiro said earnestly, taking a deep sniff of the sleeve of his pyjamas. “Everything’s so clean!”

“That bath was life changing.”

“Hot food, don’t forget about hot food!”

“I haven’t! Rice balls have never tasted so good!”

“So good!”

Genya sighed happily, warm and fed and clean and in no danger of freezing to death or being eaten by a demon. He put his arm around Tanjiro. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said quietly, and Tanjiro wriggled forward into his chest.

“It’s all thanks to you. I was telling Shinobu-san the truth, Genya, you took good care of me.”

Genya held him tightly, burying his face in Tanjiro’s hair. “You know,” he said after a moment, “I’m glad we’re out of there, but…it wasn’t all bad in the cave, right? It was private, at least.”

Tanjiro nodded against him. “It was ours.”

Genya smiled. 

“Exactly.”

Another Epilogue (The Final One)

You may be wondering how the rest of the story goes. 

Tanjiro and Genya remained inseparable —and, in Aoi’s opinion, insufferable— for three days at the Butterfly Estate, until Genya was sent off on another mission and Tanjiro interrupted an attempted kidnapping by one Uzui Tengen, Sound Hashira. Busy as they were with their individual missions, Tanjiro and Genya met up and wrote to each other as frequently as they could, oftentimes sending stacks of letters so thick that their crows had trouble delivering them. 

As Shinobu had correctly guessed, word of their relationship spread quickly through the Demon Slayer Corps gossip mill. Opinions were generally positive, with most Slayers impressed that Kamado Tanjiro had managed to tame the scary guy with the gun, and glad that the two of them had found some happiness amidst the hardships of their world. The only notable exceptions were Shinazugawa Sanemi, who was furious but unable to do anything about it without un-denouncing his brother, and Agatsuma Zenitsu, who was beside himself with jealousy when faced with any happiness, anywhere, anytime. 

By the time of the final battle against Muzan, Kamado Tanjiro and Shinazugawa Genya were a well-known and established pair. Their reunion on the battlefield —Tanjiro, barely conscious and propped up by those around him, crying out as Genya, bloodied and sporting a brand-new scar, limped towards him from a pile of rubble— moved many of the surviving members of the Demon Slayer Corps to tears. Even Sanemi managed a wheezed ‘guess that ain’t so bad’ before passing back out.

Afterwards, Tanjiro, Nezuko, Zenitsu, Inosuke and Genya —who, though he’d begun reconciling with his brother, didn’t necessarily want to live with him— went to the Kamado household together, ready to begin their lives anew. The house in the mountain was filled with joy and laughter and good times, but as soon as they were able to, Genya and Tanjiro began searching the mountain for a space to build a small cabin, a place for them to go when the household was just a bit too crowded.

Slowly but surely, the same as they had done in a cave, during a blizzard, on the side of a mountain long ago, they made a place all their own.

–-FIN–-