Chapter Text
Muichiro stirred, his eyelids fluttering as though he had been unconscious for an eternity.
The faint morning light ahead of him filtered through the sheer curtains, casting pale stripes across the ceiling. He blinked, squinting slightly; his head felt heavy and hazy, as though he’d drunk himself senseless the night before.
And, right away, he realised something was wrong around him. In fact, not just something—a great many things were wrong around him.
To begin with, the ceiling he was staring at didn’t seem familiar. Nor did the dove-grey walls, nor the rustic furniture, nor even the faint scent in the air—something like lavender and warm linen—belong to anywhere in his memories that he could call home.
He sat up slowly, the duvet slipping from his shoulders. The cool cotton brushed against his skin. His gaze travelled across the space, which was definitely not his. Not his room, nor his brother’s room, which he would sometimes go to just to keep him company. There were no piles of old textbooks, no guitar leaning against the radiator, no half-peeled Arsenal poster threatening to come off the wall.
He felt his mind snap fully awake, brushing away any remnants of sleep.
Where on earth am I?
Before the thought had fully formed, he felt something small and warm bump into him, as though he’d suddenly regained his sense of touch.
‘Dad!’
His eyes widened, arms rigid at his sides. Had he heard that right?
Looking down, he saw a little boy, no older than four, with black hair and striking turquoise eyes, clinging to him like a small koala.
Muichiro stared.
The boy was the spitting image of him. The same messy fringe, the same eyes, even the way his nose scrunched when he smiled.
What on earth…?
The boy snuggled further under Muichiro’s arm, looking up at him with those big turquoise eyes and a bright smile.
‘Papa said I should let you sleep a bit longer, but I missed you loads, Dad!’
Dad? He pulled a face, utterly incredulous.
What in God’s name is going on?
He tensed completely at the contact. He wanted to pull away, yet he didn’t push the boy; something inside him told him not to, but his voice came out unsteady.
‘Sorry, mate, but… who are you?’
He frowned immediately upon hearing himself. What’s wrong with his voice? If that was even his voice…
The boy pulled back just enough to frown, looking at him as though it were obvious. ‘It’s me, Haru. You’re being really silly again, Dad.’
But before he could say anything else, he heard heavy footsteps approaching.
‘Haru, we agreed you’d let him sleep in, didn’t we?’
As he looked up quickly, Muichiro felt as though the ground had vanished beneath his feet.
Standing before him was none other than Kamado Tanjiro, one of the final-year students at Kensington Park School, the private school near Queen’s Gate where he himself studied.
Only… he was older. His hair, once short, was now slightly longer, enough to tie into a small ponytail. His jaw was more defined, more angular; and yet, those incredibly warm eyes remained the same, holding everything they looked at.
Muichiro couldn’t move. He didn’t even understand what was happening. Even though he felt awake—quite abruptly, in fact—he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still dreaming.
Tanjiro walked over as though he were in his own home, crouched beside the bed, reached out and brushed his thumb against Muichiro’s cheek.
‘Morning, love,’ he said, looking at him with such tenderness that, at any moment, the recipient of it might well combust, and then he kissed him.
It was only a peck, but Muichiro felt it like a shock running through his entire body, making him recoil so quickly he nearly knocked his head against the boy’s. He exasperated.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?!’
Tanjiro blinked, frowning. ‘Mui…?’
‘Don’t call me that!’ He shoved him back.
Everything was wrong.
He moved the boy aside, out of his way, and jumped out of bed, staggering, nearly tripping over a thick rug—the sort you’d probably nick from a shop on Kensington Church Street—and ran towards the door that led from the bedroom to what seemed to be the loo.
He slammed the door shut behind him, gripped the edge of the sink he spotted, and looked up.
But the reflection staring back at him wasn’t exactly his. I mean, it was him—unmistakably him—but older than he was used to recognising. His hair, once short, was now, ironically, longer. His jaw more defined; even his height seemed to have changed, not by much, but by a noticeable few centimetres for someone who used to be 1.60. But it was him, or perhaps a version of him.
He barely had time to process any of that before he noticed Tanjiro appearing behind him in the mirror.
Muichiro turned sharply, his back to the sink, cornered, fists clenched against the porcelain.
‘What do you want with me? And why are you calling me Mui?! My name is Mei!’
Tanjiro’s expression shifted; something darker flickered in his eyes.
‘“Mei?”’ He cleared his throat. ‘I… I’m not quite following what you mean, Muichiro. You haven’t answered to that name…’ he began carefully, as though handling something volatile. And wasn’t that exactly what he was? From the outside, he’d seem completely unhinged. ‘…for a very long time.’
Muichiro’s chest rose and fell far too quickly, panic and anxiety vibrating beneath his skin, seeping into every fibre of his being.
How would he know that?
He scanned the space again: the brass taps, the glass bottles lined neatly along a wall-mounted shelf, the folded toilet paper.
None of it belonged to him. And then something crucial hit him. How had he only just remembered that? Was he really that stupid?
‘Where is Yuichiro?’
Tanjiro grimaced, clearly distressed by what was happening to the younger boy. If none of his attempts to reach him were working, what else could he even do? Muichiro, on the other hand, looked anything but satisfied, irritation flaring even more at the lack of a proper answer.
‘I asked you a question—where is my brother?!’
‘He’s alright. He lives in Camden now and comes round on Sundays. I can ring him, if you’d like,’ he offered, raising his hands slightly, trying once more to calm him down.
This time, Muichiro didn’t lash out like before. He seemed more restrained now, trying to organise his thoughts, to make sense of what he’d just been told.
Camden?
Didn’t we live in Westminster? So what the hell would he be doing all the way over there?
He let out a sharp breath, bringing his hands up to his mouth in disbelief.
‘My God… this isn’t real,’ he muttered, backing towards the mirror, pressing his palms once more against the cold porcelain. ‘You’re lying!’ he accused.
Tanjiro allowed himself a cautious step forward—not too much, not enough to invade the space of something feral and unpredictable.
‘Muichiro, I swear I’m not. I can prove it, just—’
‘No! I don’t want to hear it! Let me out!’
Tanjiro moved quickly, blocking the door with his own body.
‘Muichiro, wait. You’re not well—’
‘Let me out!’
His voice broke.
A small sob slipped from Haru as he tugged at the hem of Tanjiro’s shirt. That alone made Muichiro register his presence in the room.
He watched the boy squeeze his eyes shut, as if trying not to cry–and failing.
And something inside him twisted in response.
He didn’t want to frighten him. But he had. Even so.
‘Dad… did I do something wrong?’
A knot formed in his throat.
That look…
Even if this was madness, even if it was some twisted dream stitched together from scattered threads, he didn’t want to be the kind of person who made a child sound like that.
Even if the child was a stranger, something in him insisted he shouldn’t scare him.
He drew in a long, shaky breath, closing his eyes tightly for a moment. When he opened them again, his voice came out much softer.
‘I just need a moment to breathe. That’s all, alright?’
Tanjiro hesitated before stepping aside. It wasn’t that he wanted to trap him in there, but he did want to keep things contained, to talk, to steady the situation. Tanjiro might be kind, but he isn’t a mind reader, and his patience, however strong, isn’t endless.
Muichiro brushed past him, nearly stumbling, his bare feet hitting the cold floor. The strange feeling of being in someone else’s house wrapped around him like a blanket.
He needed to think, to remember, or to figure something out. Because none of this made sense. Even if, say, he’d been kidnapped or something—why the hell wouldn’t he remember that?
And as he walked down the corridor, it felt like one of those nightmares where you grope along the walls, waiting to wake up—but you don’t. Only everything was far too clear to be a dream, so was it really one? Every sensation pulled him towards reality: when the boy had hugged him, when he felt his hand brush against those unfamiliar surfaces, when he had kissed him… he grimaced at the last part.
He shook his head, trying to dispel it, focusing instead on how the tiles felt like slabs of ice beneath his feet.
Despite how beautiful the house was, everything felt unnervingly still.
Haru… that boy who looked far too much like him had been left behind, wide-eyed, stubborn tears slipping free as the other man comforted him.
Muichiro tried to ignore the guilt rising in his throat. He had left the boy like that. He knew he had.
He’s not mine.
The words repeated in his mind like a self-soothing mantra against the guilt pressing down on him, but they didn’t quite fit. It was like forcing a puzzle piece into the wrong space.
He passed doors he didn’t recognise, catching glimpses of polished, meticulously arranged furniture.
His fingers trailed along the wall, feeling the smooth, matte paint. A faint scent of jasmine reed diffusers drifted through the air, and somewhere, a sash window rattled softly in the breeze.
These sensations were so simple, yet felt overwhelmingly real.
He wanted—desperately—to believe all of this was something his mind had conjured. But it wasn’t.
He reached what appeared to be the sitting room. The dark leather sofa, the telly mounted on the wall, the houseplants clustered in ceramic pots, all of it made that clear. Along the kitchen counter, a row of matching mugs stood neatly beside a tall flask.
Photographs.
He stopped when he noticed them, stepping closer, curiosity pulling him in.
Three frames decorated the counter. Simple. Black wood. Nothing ostentatious.
In the first, he saw himself. Older, yes, but younger than he was now, with the same hair, though tied back. Beside him stood Tanjiro, smiling, his right arm draped over Muichiro’s shoulder. Behind them, through the glass, a garden: stone paving, neatly trimmed box hedges. Beyond that, rows of brick terraced houses typical of West London, those old Victorian builds with painted sills. Part of a sign peeked through: “Holland & Barrett”.
He tilted his head, confused.
He didn’t remember that photo.
In the second, Yuichiro stood beside him, arms crossed, wearing that same don’t bother me expression. But he looked well. A bit older than the last time Muichiro had seen him—or had he?
Now they looked more alike than ever.
Relief and confusion tangled inside him at the sight of his twin.
In the third frame, he held the child in his arms, the boy beaming as though he were having the best day of his life. Muichiro’s shirt bore a logo: “Daunt Books”.
That was a bookshop, wasn’t it?
One in Chelsea?
Maybe Marylebone?
What the hell—?
He pressed his palms against his head. ‘Oh God, is this actually happening?’ he muttered, exasperated.
‘It is, Muichiro.’
He turned far too quickly and nearly lost his balance.
Tanjiro stood in the corridor, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
He didn’t look angry, nor like he meant him any harm. If anything, he looked… worried. Or perhaps just exhausted.
The frustration hit Muichiro square in the chest.
‘Stop acting like this is normal!’ He pointed sharply at the photos. ‘How the hell am I—someone who’s sixteen—here?! And why is there a child calling me his father? I’ve never had children, and I’ve never even thought about it! I… I…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I shouldn’t be… that boy’s father.’
The words tumbled out, as though they didn’t belong in his mouth.
Tanjiro sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
‘You really don’t remember anything?’
Muichiro opened his mouth to snap back what, to him, was obvious—but nothing came out.
Because, deep down, he knew.
He truly didn’t remember anything.
And that wasn’t normal.
‘I’m losing my mind…’ he murmured, pressing both hands to his head. ‘I’ve completely lost it. I know I have.’
‘You haven’t.’
A flicker of anger sparked in Muichiro, sharp replies right on the tip of his tongue.
Tanjiro’s calm only made it worse.
‘Then explain it to me! Why did I wake up like this?! I should be at school! I should be—’
His chest rose and fell rapidly, his anxiety climbing higher and higher.
‘Where is my house?’ His voice dropped. ‘Where is my room? Where are my parents…?’
The silence that followed made his skin prickle.
Tanjiro made no move to answer; he looked just as uncertain as Muichiro felt—especially at that last question.
And that was when Muichiro felt it.
Fear.
Tanjiro looked away, unable to hold his gaze.
Muichiro found himself taking a step forward.
‘What happened?’
Tanjiro’s lips tightened, his eyes filled with something Muichiro couldn’t quite read.
His limbs began to feel numb as the panic surged; his mind spiralled towards the worst possible conclusions. If he’d had any less restraint, he might have thrown himself out of a window already.
‘Tanjiro!’
Tanjiro ran a hand through his hair, visibly shaken.
‘Mui… it’s a lot, alright? You’ve only just woken up like this. I can’t tell you everything all at once.’
Muichiro clenched his fists. His heart pounded like a drum.
Something terrible had happened.
He could see it in Tanjiro’s eyes.
The hollow feeling inside him spread even further.
The missing memories hurt—because, no matter what had happened…
He didn’t remember.
He didn’t remember his own story.
The chaos had settled over the house.
Muichiro paced back and forth, restless, breathing in short, gasping bursts. His hands trembled, anxiously fiddling with his own fingers. His chest felt tight, as if someone had wrapped a cord around his ribs and pulled hard.
None of it made sense, even though he was already more resigned than before to the fact that this was now his reality.
And now the place was full of strange people.
Well… they weren’t exactly strangers. But they might as well have been, in his opinion.
On one side was Yuichiro, his twin brother, by the sofa, arms crossed, with that naturally irritable expression of his—even more intense now.
On the other, Nezuko, Tanjiro’s sister, was wandering around the kitchen, fiddling with the kettle, probably just trying to keep herself busy in the face of the tension.
But it was all too much for him; it made him feel even more overwhelmed than before.
Muichiro wanted to shout, to lash out and run off like a madman, but no sound came out and his legs wouldn’t move.
‘What the hell is he doing now?’ Yuichiro snapped, clear irritation in his voice.
Tanjiro leaned back against the sofa, tired. ‘I told you, Yui, he woke up like this. He said he doesn’t remember anything.’
Yuichiro narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you mean, “doesn’t remember anything”?’
Muichiro stopped abruptly when he heard his brother’s voice reach him, aware of their eyes on him. He turned to Yuichiro and, for a moment, the panic faltered.
It was comforting to see his twin there and alive. Someone he had always been so close to and who, despite his usual sharpness, was a comforting presence that always made him feel safe, just like now.
But whenever he noticed his appearance, he realised that this Yuichiro didn’t belong to any place in his memories.
Another jolt.
‘You’re different…’
Yuichiro raised an eyebrow at that. ‘Different how?’
Muichiro ran a hand through his hair. His head was spinning so much he wouldn’t be surprised if he got a migraine later.
‘I saw you… yesterday, before going to sleep. We went to school, came back… got sorted and then stayed in your room playing video games until I fell asleep, and now I’m here.’
And that, in fact, was the clearest thing in his mind.
He felt uneasy when he saw them exchanging quick glances.
Until Yui turned back to him, looking at him so intensely it felt like he might implode.
‘Mui… we don’t live together and we don’t study anymore.’
Muichiro shook his head vehemently. He was sure of what he had lived. He wasn’t mad… or was he? No. He knew he wasn’t. These people were the mad ones.
‘No… that’s not right. How do you not remember, Yui? I was with you! I woke up in my room, went to class with you, we came back home and—’
And in the end it would all be a joke, right? They would say it was a prank, Yui would go back to annoying him like always for being so stupid as to believe something so absurd, then they would go home, see their parents and everything would go back to normal, right?
Wrong.
‘Muichiro, that didn’t happen, I know that—’ Yuichiro tried again, only to be cut off abruptly.
‘Wait,’ Muichiro interrupted, raising a hand, as if remembering something very important. ‘I’ll repeat the same question I asked him,’ he said, gesturing towards Tanjiro. ‘Why are all of you calling me that?’
Yuichiro tilted his head. ‘Calling you what?’
Tanjiro sighed, closing his eyes, already knowing where this was going.
‘That, “Muichiro”. Saying it as if I were… as if I were a boy.’ He clenched his fists, hating himself more with every word that slipped out. ‘I am… I am Mei.’
And, as if it were a cloud of toxic gas, everyone, without exception, pulled a face of confusion. Even Muichiro himself didn’t escape.
‘Mei…?’ Nezuko’s soft voice repeated what he had said. He hadn’t even noticed her approaching.
Muichiro nodded slightly, eyes lowered. ‘Yes. Mei Tokito. I am… a girl, aren’t I? Yui’s younger twin.’
A lie. But only to himself.
But if they saw who he really was… would he be safe? Alright, they had been treating him normally and respecting his space so far, even if with a certain level of caution. But what if it was just a way to make him expose himself so they could stab him in the back?
That theory didn’t make any sense if he stopped to think rationally, but a little devil voice in his head kept feeding him doubt. It was too good to be true, so good it felt too easy to be a trap.
Fear overshadowed the clear truth in front of him.
‘And are you sure about that?’ Tanjiro asked.
A question that struck him straight in the heart, mentally and morally. He knew he wasn’t, and that man seemed to know it too.
His pulse throbbed loudly in his ears, almost deafening him.
‘I… I think so. I don’t know! It’s how I’ve always seen myself. It’s how I saw myself yesterday, it’s how I saw myself every other day of my life, so why are you all acting as if I were someone else? Especially you, Yuichiro?’ He pointed accusingly at his older brother, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was accusing him of.
Yuichiro’s mouth twisted. ‘For God’s sake, Mei—’ he stopped himself. These twins might differ in many ways, but when it came to sharp-tongued remarks… ‘Muichiro. We’ve had this conversation countless times. Stop talking rubbish.’
‘No!’ Muichiro exclaimed, holding that same intensity in his gaze that had been fixed on him. ‘You haven’t spoken to me! I don’t know who you are!’
At that moment, just as Yuichiro was about to shout back and the Kamado siblings were preparing to step in to break up a possible fight at any second, light footsteps were heard coming from the corridor, making way for Haru, clutching a frog plush, heading towards a certain person who always had the best lap reserved for him.
‘Dad, I want cuddles!’
Muichiro turned, completely rigid, unable to react at first.
The boy was running towards him, arms raised, expecting to be picked up and held.
And the lack of reaction from his father—which was unusual, considering he would always scoop him up straight away, claiming he was his big baby—made Haru frown, tilting his head.
'Dad?'
Muichiro’s heart began to race, his body snapping back into awareness as he heard him call again.
No, I’m not a father! I can’t be a father. How could I be someone’s father if I’m a woman?
Or…
That was what he had always been told, and what he was meant to be.
Wasn’t it?
But it had never felt right.
So why cling to it now?
Well, that’s when the little devil voice comes back, whispering in his ear, because it’s safer, because it’s what’s meant to be followed.
Because telling the truth feels like stepping off a cliff.
‘Take him away…’
Everyone immediately tensed, ready to remove the boy. They didn’t know what Muichiro, in this state of mental instability, might do.
Haru’s brows drew together at his words, as though he might cry at any moment at his father’s lack of gentleness. After all, the father he loved so much was acting so cold and harsh with him—so unlike what he was used to… his little mind could only grasp at one explanation: that it must be his fault. Had he done something wrong? Had he made Dad cross?
‘Take him away!’ Muichiro’s voice broke, overtaken by panic. He stepped back as if cornered. ‘I don’t know who he is! I don’t know any of you!’
Haru’s lip trembled, his eyes glistening; he was definitely going to cry now. And Muichiro didn’t know how to respond to that without reacting negatively.
Tanjiro moved quickly, lifting him gently. The boy wrapped his arms around his father’s neck the moment he was picked up, crying. ‘It’s alright, Haru. You’re alright, my love. It’s alright…’
But it wasn’t.
Muichiro couldn’t breathe, his panic now stopping him from controlling his own lungs. If it hadn’t been for Yuichiro holding him back quickly, while Tanjiro carried the boy off to who knows where, he didn’t know what he might have done in sheer desperation at the feeling of suffocating.
Now he was sitting, hunched on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, hands trembling.
Nezuko placed a cup of tea in front of him. He took it without looking, far calmer than before—after Yuichiro had set him straight—but still somewhat dazed.
Haru was no longer there; apparently, Tanjiro had left him upstairs, distracted with his toys. Now only the four adults remained.
No one spoke at first, all waiting for a reaction from him, but Muichiro simply stared at the floor, unfocused. Trapped in his own thoughts, in the limitations imposed on him and his fears.
Until Tanjiro gently broke the silence, drawing him back to reality. ‘If I may ask again, could you confirm your name?’
Muichiro nodded, still stunned. ‘Mei Tokito.’
Yuichiro clicked his tongue impatiently, but Tanjiro carried on regardless.
‘And how old are you, Mei?’
‘Sixteen… seventeen in August.’
Tanjiro glanced at Yuichiro. The older brother rolled his eyes in response.
Muichiro looked away.
That age was etched into his mind. The last time Mei had felt, in some way, “right”.
Tanjiro leaned forward slightly.
‘You said you were at school yesterday?’
Muichiro nodded again, letting the words spill out like a programmed machine. ‘Yes… actually, I’ve been going every day, but since today would be the weekend, Yui and I stayed up playing.’
Nezuko gently interjected. ‘You said you remember being sixteen. If that’s the case, we were already studying at Kensington Park School together. Do you remember me?’
‘A bit… not much, but you’re in my class. We don’t talk much.’ He began fiddling with the cup in his hands.
‘And me? Do you remember me?’ Tanjiro added.
Muichiro murmured, ‘Just someone a year older than me at school, maybe.’
Well, that wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. He did remember Tanjiro; they’d spoken a few times, but nothing particularly important. The odd conversation here, a laugh there, him introducing him to his friends. And he’d only met him because of Nezuko; they hadn’t been that close at the time, but occasionally they’d worked together, which led to getting to know each other’s families.
Yuichiro scoffed. ‘This is ridiculous. You’re twenty-four, Muichiro. You have a child, and you’re married.’
Muichiro glared at him; he hated it when Yuichiro spoke to him like that, even if it did prove effective at times. Perhaps it was just typical sibling stubbornness.
‘You’re Haru’s father,’ Yuichiro said flatly, unmoved by the glare he was receiving. ‘You’re married to Tanjiro.’
Muichiro set the cup down with a sharp clatter on the table in front of him, nearly spilling the untouched liquid inside, ready to go on the defensive over anything his brother might say. ‘No, that’s not possible.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because…!’
He couldn’t say it.
Yuichiro mocked his lack of answer. ‘Your way of handling “surprises” is impressive. And here I was thinking this prickly attitude of yours came after Haru was born…’
Muichiro let out a frustrated grunt, rising abruptly, completely beside himself. ‘Stop talking rubbish! Apparently, you’re the one who hasn’t changed, with that petty attitude of yours!’ he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Yuichiro stood up as well, while Tanjiro stepped between them. He knew they wouldn’t actually hit each other or anything like that, but it was never good when they argued; Yuichiro had a tendency to be too harsh, and Muichiro, though milder, was not far behind. Not to mention, there was a very perceptive little one upstairs.
‘Hey, none of that, alright?’ he warned, looking at each of them, before addressing the younger twin more directly. ‘I understand this is very difficult for you, Muichiro. But it’s difficult for us as well. We want to understand you, but for that, you need to stop coming at us like this. None of this is our fault, we just want to help.’
Despite his words, he made sure to say it as gently as possible; if he matched the tone he was being given, things would only escalate. The situation wasn’t anyone’s fault, as he himself had said, but Muichiro needed a reality check—and to realise this wasn’t the way to treat people who were only trying to understand him.
It was no wonder the younger boy seemed embarrassed as he listened. Under different circumstances, Tanjiro would already have pulled him into an embrace, but he held back; one wrong move could spark a conflict he had no desire to deal with. It wasn’t easy seeing his husband—the person he shared his life with—seem so lost within himself.
‘Muichiro,’ Yui began, though his tone was no longer aggressive or harsh. ‘If you doubt our word so much, why don’t you see for yourself?’ he suggested, gesturing with his chin towards one of the doors along the corridor, which he assumed was the downstairs loo.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Why not see it with his own eyes? That was what he would do now.
So, he pulled away from the group without offering any explanation.
Yuichiro raised a hand, stepping forward. ‘Wait, you idiot, don’t go on your own!’
But he was no longer listening.
When he finally reached the door, his hands were trembling so badly they felt bare against heavy snow. He turned the handle and stepped inside, locking it behind him.
But he didn’t move at first.
Until he gathered enough courage, after a brief breathing exercise, he looked up, and the mirror looked back.
He lifted the hem of his shirt, only to be met with two scars catching the light. They weren’t large; on the contrary, they were just two pale lines curving across his chest, almost invisible, yet still visible—and unbearably real.
He traced them with trembling fingers, wanting to feel them, only to be met with a faint roughness.
And before he realised it, he was crying like a child.
And not because he was sad or regretful about anything.
But because, for the first time, he felt himself. He felt proud of himself and, in a way, happy with this new version of who he was.
Was this what freedom meant?
This surgery wasn’t what defined him as a man or not, far from it. But seeing it, and every change within himself, felt like an acknowledgement of a reality he had refused for so long.
Or a reality he had been blindfolded from, so he wouldn’t recognise it.
And now it was there, right before his eyes, clear as daylight. Like someone lost, finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.
I did this for myself.
Didn’t I?
Yes, you did. Now, instead of the little devil, it was a little angel whispering for him to listen.
He slid down the cold wall, knees drawn to his chest, hands covering his face. The floor felt steady when nothing else did.
He wanted to speak, wanted to express everything he was feeling, no matter how confusing it all seemed inside him, but the words wouldn’t come.
They were caught between memories he couldn’t access.
And he wasn’t ready to look for them either.
Because forgetting was safe, and remembering meant bleeding in places that had already healed.
The click of the door opening was immediately heard by the four people in the room.
Then they saw Muichiro step out, his shirt already back on, but his face still damp and flushed—all the more noticeable against his naturally pale skin.
As he reached the sitting room, he noticed all eyes were on him, making him shrink into himself, embarrassed. He must have looked a right mess.
Tanjiro stood up at once.
‘Are you alright?’ Tanjiro asked, his voice gentle.
Muichiro opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Instead, he pulled a face, the same one Haru had made earlier, clearly on the verge of crying again.
He even felt the ground give way beneath his feet. His knees buckled.
But before he could hit the floor, Tanjiro caught him firmly.
Muichiro flinched at the touch. He was freezing. He felt dizzy; he just wanted to lie down and sleep for days on end.
‘Don’t… don’t touch me…’ he whispered, between sobs.
But Tanjiro didn’t let go. He knelt beside him, trying to support him.
That was when a child’s voice cut through the chaos.
‘Dad? Are you sad?’
He opened his eyes slightly at the call, turning his head to look. There, at the edge of the room, in his pyjamas, hair tousled and eyes wide with sleep, stood Haru.
Small and fragile.
The boy looked at him, so confused and frightened.
‘Dad… what happened?’
The boy called him that, with such love and certainty, so sure that he was his father… the realisation only brought more tears. But he didn’t even know what feeling was causing them. Everything inside him felt so clouded.
And yet, he pulled away.
‘I… I’m not…’ he began, but his voice broke.
He couldn’t.
He didn’t want to hurt that child.
Haru stepped closer, hesitant. Tanjiro gently held him back, stopping him from getting any nearer.
‘Hey, love… why didn’t you stay in your room?’
The boy pouted sadly. ‘I couldn’t, papa… I felt really sad and lonely. I wanted daddy to give me cuddles… and I heard dad and uncle Yui talking really loudly as well. Dad looks sad…’
It was impossible not to feel their hearts grow heavy at the child’s innocent words.
‘It’s alright, Haru,’ the redhead said, gently tucking his fringe behind his ear. ‘Dad’s just not feeling very well, alright? He needs a bit of rest, but he’ll be fine soon.’
‘Do you… do you think dad’s poorly?’ Haru’s eyes filled with tears again.
Nezuko crouched beside her nephew, wrapping her arms around him. ‘Just a little, my love. Let’s give him some space to breathe, alright?’
Haru nodded slowly, though reluctantly.
But his eyes never left Muichiro.
Muichiro bit his lip hard, trying not to cry again. He was trembling, cold and frightened.
He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, it was Yui this time.
‘Breathe,’ he murmured. ‘Just breathe, you idiot.’ But despite the harsh words, his touch was gentle and careful.
Muichiro let out a quick, weak, breathless laugh, almost against his own will. That was so typical of Yuichiro, even in moments like this. It hardly seemed as though they’d been at each other’s throats minutes ago.
Tanjiro turned to him. ‘Do you want me to take you back to the bedroom?’
Muichiro sniffed, wiping his face with his hand, shaking his head slightly. ‘Yes…’
He got up on his own, refusing any help; he already felt humiliated enough. Even so, Tanjiro and Yui stayed close, ready to steady him if needed.
Muichiro looked at Haru again.
‘I… I’m sorry for frightening you…’ he folded his arms, shrinking into himself. ‘I just need a bit of time, alright?’
Haru nodded, his head resting on Nezuko’s shoulder, sniffling softly as she rocked him.
‘Okay…’
The boy’s eyes were sad, but understanding despite his age, as if he knew something serious was happening, even if he didn’t fully understand what.
Muichiro walked away with a heavy heart and went up the stairs, Tanjiro by his side.
Back in the bedroom, he sat on the bed, staring into nothing, feeling so numb he hadn’t the faintest idea what to do; not a single thought crossed his mind now.
He remained silent for quite a while.
And Tanjiro, in turn, stayed quiet as well, giving him space so that, when he wished, of his own accord, he could speak. He considered leaving him alone, but given Muichiro’s state, it didn’t seem like a good idea—unless Muichiro himself asked for it.
After some time, Muichiro turned to him, looking somewhat regretful. ‘I’m sorry for taking it out on you. Like you said, none of you have anything to do with what’s happening to me… but I don’t understand what’s going on, so I reacted badly. I really am sorry.’
‘I know, you don’t need to apologise,’ the redhead replied gently. ‘But know that I’m here. All of us are. Until you remember, or even if you never do, alright?’
Muichiro closed his eyes. ‘I wish I could believe that…’
‘You will.’
Silence again.
Faint sounds drifted up from downstairs, Nezuko soothing Haru and Yuichiro, typically, grumbling about something.
Life…
Muichiro pulled the duvet over his legs and wrapped his arms around himself, resting his chin on his knees.
He still wasn’t ready for this new life, that much was certain.
But he was beginning to hear his own voice again.