Work Text:
Sanemi awoke with a sickish numbness whirling in his stomach. Like a boiling hot spring, it bubbled up eagerly the longer the light pried his eyes open, eventually finding itself coursing through his lungs and up to his throat. This fluid of emptiness hardened, forming a lump, and no amount of dry swallowing could force it from its place.
His body reacted before his mind and heart; it took a little too long for him to remember why he woke up with such an ugly feeling. Or maybe he was just trying to forget and suppress? He’d much prefer for his reality to have been that he’d slept through the day he’d been trying to avoid, and where he was now was the day after, and he could proceed with things as he normally did.
Yet the longer Sanemi spent in the waking world, the more the true state of things made itself apparent, with the chirping of distant birds and the slight chill of the morning air seeping in through the door he hadn't closed all the way.
It was January 7th. He was sure of it. There’s no reason it wouldn’t be.
Sanemi sat up without so much as a groan, without an irritated rubbing of the neck he slept on wrong, without a shifting expression. He made no attempt at emotion, and he didn’t try to look anywhere; his gaze ended up wherever his head had positioned itself. Blankly, he stared at nothing with worn–down, glazed eyes. Half of him was dazed and not present, and the other half didn’t seem to exist at all. These two ugly, barren halves sloppily melting together made him the personification of emptiness — one that would make even Gaia’s deepest abyss envious.
The half of Sanemi that was somewhat there came to a small conclusion about his current state. The more he moved and responded to being awake, the more he would be assailed by thoughts. If he didn’t react, if he remained idle where he was, then nothing more would try to confuse him, or hurt him, or show him things he didn’t want to think about.
What kind of cowardly thinking was that? Sanemi wasn’t sure. He was only half there, after all.
If it were truly up to him, Sanemi would have collapsed back on his futon and retreated into slumber by now. He was exhausted enough, and his body practically begged for it — it was entirely possible. But, that’s no way to celebrate your baby brother’s birthday.
“I’m hurt, Nemi,” said a voice that wasn’t his own.
Or maybe it was? This voice that deceived him into believing otherwise, created by him as a way of coping by pretending to be someone else’s.
Perhaps Sanemi had finally lost it.
At that, he threw the covers off of himself and forced himself to start the day.
Sanemi’s body seemed to move on its own. His brain wasn’t there, and it wasn’t telling him to do anything. Like some undead creature — too lifeless to be even a demon — Sanemi operated. He fixed his hair half-heartedly, changed his clothes, filled his bag with random things, and stumbled out of the entrance of the Wind Estate. Every time he left its doors, he pondered moving elsewhere. But the place was still comfortable, and it was provided to him by the Master he missed each and every day. There really was no good and worthy reason to leave it in pursuit of something “better” — which he knew would be nothing — so he continued to live there in solitude. He left its grounds without wondering about it any further.
As consciousness descended on him furthermore, Sanemi double-checked his bag and his person to ensure he was carrying money. Seeing as his initial groggy and dazed state was replaced by general dissociation, he didn’t really react to the fact his sword was amongst the things he had collected. He must have grabbed it on instinct, he thought, but it’s not like it was an inconvenience. After all, a book Giyuu had lent him was in his bag, alongside a scarf — two other things he didn’t need on this trip. Sanemi just chalked it up to whatever was wrong with his head. As long as he had the money, it didn’t really matter. He’d just put the stuff back when he returned home.
Sanemi blinked, and then he was in town meandering down the street. Everything blurred together and became insignificant and unnoteworthy to him until he found the vendor he realized he was looking for. He was a kind older man Sanemi had bought from before, who grew his own fruits and sometimes had a cup of matcha prepared for his frequent and loyal customer.
The man always had watermelon, something Sanemi had never bought until now.
It was a brief exchange.
“Mornin’, Shinazugawa! Always great to see your face. What’ll it be today?” piped the vendor with his usual smiling face.
“...Mornin’. Just a slice of this,” Sanemi responded, deadpan.
“Oh? Trying something new?”
“Uh…” Sanemi didn’t actually know how to respond to that. It would be a whole other deal if he tried explaining, and being met with condolences was something he’d rather not deal with. An awkward situation on top of detachment was never good, so he just said, “Yes.”
Sanemi planted the money on the table, took the neatly wrapped slice without making eye contact, and bid a short goodbye.
He couldn’t register anything.
He didn’t realize how disengaged he really was until his eyes finally focused on something — the watermelon in his hands.
…Why was he holding watermelon, again?
Right, right. To bring to the grave. That's where he was visiting today.
Wait, what was he going to do with it?
Did he really plan on eating it? Or was he just going to leave it there?
Wait, of course he’d eat it after leaving it as an offering for some time. That’s how these things go. Obviously, the one he was offering it to couldn’t eat it, and it would be a waste to just leave it to rot. That vendor probably worked hard to grow it, and Sanemi had never wasted food from him before.
But he wasn’t even hungry. He didn’t eat watermelon these days — not like he did that much to begin with. Now, the thought of it began to make him terribly sick. Should he just deliver it to the Kamado household?
No. That would be weird. He didn’t want to be caught showing up and delivering a single slice of uneaten watermelon. Today was not a day he wanted to answer the incessant questions of children.
Why did he buy this, again?
Sanemi was kind of impressed with himself that he remembered the way to the grave in this state, considering it wasn’t located in any conventional graveyard. His brother didn’t have a body to cremate or bury, so Sanemi buried some of his things in a pleasant place instead — a place that could be all his own. He figured it wasn’t enough to make up for everything, but it was at least a gift he could still give. He deserved that much.
Sanemi briefly thought about his fellow Hashira who had met similar fates. Shinobu, who had sacrificed her body to take down Upper Moon Two, had had her torn haori and other cherished belongings buried in a lovely area of the Butterfly Estate that was visited and tended to constantly. Muichiro, whose body had been diced apart by Upper Moon One and needed to be left behind, also had had some of his belongings buried in an area just for him. Sanemi remembered Tanjiro, Kotetsu, and Kanamori arranging for it, as the Mist Hashira had no surviving family to take care of it for him.
There was somewhat of a stark contrast between Shinobu’s and Muichiro’s funerals. Shinobu’s had been overflowing with love, tears, and celebrations of her life and accomplishments from all the girls in her care. Then there was Muichiro’s, who only had a few in attendance, yet whose quiet ceremony was just as fond and full of warm memories.
Sanemi thought that maybe he should have attended Muichiro’s service. It didn’t sit right with him, how lonesome it was for a boy his age who had contributed so much; for someone he sparred with and talked to every now and then. Now that he thought about it, Giyuu had gone to the service as well, hadn’t he? Despite the two not speaking to each other much, as far as Sanemi was concerned, it was still the right thing to do to pay respects to a fellow Hashira. Giyuu had gone to Shinobu’s, too. Mitsuri and Obanai’s, Gyomei’s — he’d gone to all of them, while Sanemi resigned without a good reason.
Where did his brother fall? Did Sanemi celebrate him like the girls of the Butterfly Estate did Shinobu? Or humbly remember him in quietude like Muichiro’s companions? He didn’t tell anyone when he was laying his brother to rest, so the service — if you could even call it that — was attended only by him. Why did he do things that way? His brother had friends who clearly loved him far more than Sanemi who had asked him about this very event so that they could be present. Keeping that moment to himself, he who had treated his brother so harshly in the name of failed protection, wasn’t right. He knew that, and still, he’d done things the way that he had.
As Sanemi sat in front of his little brother’s headstone, knowing no body or ashes were beneath it, he thought about all of these things. Absent-mindedly, his hand moved and scrubbed the dust and dirt from its figure. He didn’t remember getting water or something to clean the stone with, but here he was with those things on his person, performing everything typical of a grave cleaning.
Wasn’t he doing just fine the day before?
Didn’t he give himself some kind of pep talk?
He didn’t remember yesterday at all. In fact, it got to a point where he couldn’t recall any sort of real experience he had anymore. The only thing on his mind was the day his baby brother took his first steps.
Sanemi sat and stared. He stared, and he stared, and soon, the concept of time faded from his perception.
His mind replayed to him memories — memories of holding his baby brother for the first time, memories of shielding him from shattered dinnerware, memories of his attempts at curing Sanemi’s fever, memories of laughter in spite of horrid experiences, memories of a shattered promise.
Memories of his first, and greatest, failure.
“Nemi, please,” said that voice again.
Did Sanemi pity himself?
What an awful way to go about this day, thinking only of himself.
It didn’t feel wrong, his next actions. But it didn’t feel right, either. Maybe he just didn’t feel anything anymore. All rational thought had drained like the color in his face. His hand found the handle of his unsheathed sword, which lay out in the open because apparently, he had unpacked things a little too messily.
With a blink, he acted on unbearable heaviness, and the side of the blade kissed his neck.
Grief was weird.
“Nemi, stop!”
“Nemi…!”
The voice became panicked. Sanemi drowned it out, but it kept calling to him more frantically than ever before.
It didn’t matter right now. He’d apologize soon enough, anyway.
“...Nemi!”
“...Sa…”
“Sanemi!”
Sanemi’s eyes shot open. That voice wasn’t his, and neither was it his brother’s.
The blade had pressed into him enough to draw blood. The way it trailed down his neck, past his collarbone, and seeped uncomfortably under the clothing it lightly stained made him shudder.
He realized, only now, what he was doing.
Before he could react, his wrist was grabbed, and he let the sword be pulled from his grasp and tossed away from the scene. His thoughts couldn’t keep up with how fast things were happening, but they were existent and trying, which was more than what they were some seconds ago.
“Sanemi… I’m sorry, Mr. Shinazugawa, what are you doing?!” Tanjiro met his eyes with fear and confusion colored in his own. The grip he had on his shoulders only strengthened the longer Sanemi took to respond.
“Uh… Just Sanemi’s fine,” he choked out, responding to the less urgent matter, sparking further perplexity in Tanjiro’s eyes and causing an equally addled reaction from Sanemi.
“Mr. Shinazugawa! You’re bleeding! What happened?” a voice he immediately recognized as Nezuko’s exclaimed. The sound of her rushing to find something and dropping all of her things echoed throughout the small glade where they were all gathered. She turned his body towards her, dabbing the wound and cleaning the trailing blood with a cloth she had lightly soaked with some of the water Sanemi had collected.
He felt Tanjiro’s processing, anxious gaze digging into the back of his neck, burning like the wound Nezuko was now tending to. Sanemi still hadn’t answered his question.
Sanemi wondered if he could avoid it entirely with an inquiry of his own. After all, today was not a day he wanted to answer the incessant questions of children.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“Well, today's"— a name was spoken, but it quickly slipped through the cracks of Sanemi's memory —"’s birthday, so we wanted to do something to celebrate it." Tanjiro explained, his expression softening yet remaining stern. “But, Mr. Sanemi, that doesn’t answer my question. What were you trying to do?”
His head pulsed when Tanjiro spoke that unknown name, and it further dizzied him.
Or, maybe he did know that name, and his mind subconsciously chose not to perceive it, blocking it out as if to protect Sanemi from whatever damage it feared hearing it would cause.
Whatever the case, thinking about it didn’t make things any clearer.
Nezuko, who hadn’t seen the situation like Tanjiro had, gave her brother an inquisitive look before turning back to Sanemi with a far more worried look in her eyes as his question soaked in her mind.
There really was no dancing around it, was there? But, to be honest…
“...I don’t really know,” Sanemi muttered blankly, knowing how uncharacteristic this all was for him now that he saw Tanjiro and Nezuko’s frantic reactions. “I don’t really know what I was thinkin’. I…”
As his senses came back to him bit by bit, Sanemi found himself looking to the sky. It was a lot warmer than it had been when he’d gotten here, and the slight cold of the early evening air bit into his skin.
“How long have I been here?” he asked himself.
Tanjiro and Nezuko exchange a look.
“Mr. Shinazugawa, are you okay?”
Sanemi looked at Nezuko. Something about her voice, her face, her demeanor, something about her got through to him, and he responded to her properly.
“...No, I’m not.”
There was vulnerability in Sanemi’s hushed voice, and he despised it. It tasted as bitter as the tears that crept down his face, and it stung his throat like the wound that would have cut into it. To be reduced to such a fragile existence in front of Tanjiro and Nezuko went beyond embarrassing — it was dishonorable.
Then, his body shook, and he was in Tanjiro’s arms. Nezuko quickly followed suit, and Sanemi sat there through a few beats of silence as he registered their embraces. He was about to say something, but Tanjiro spoke first:
“We all loved” — that name again — “very much, but I knew… I knew you loved him most of all.”
That broke something inside Sanemi. It was something that had been trying to break all day. The heaviness bearing down on him that fused with his body finally cracked him completely.
There was a small part of him that guessed he was probably going to regret this later, but that didn’t stop him from letting everything out. The breeze carried his wailing through the gaps in the trees and leaves, and they certainly must have reached the heavens.
Genya would have turned seventeen today.
“I’m hurt, Nemi,” said Genya.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Sanemi apologized, something he knew he’d always do when the day came for them to reunite — though he understood today wasn't that day. He wasn't dead, and part of him was disappointed about it.
“No. You don’t understand,” said Genya.
“I do,” Sanemi fought back. He didn’t want to hear any of it. “Couldn’t do anything for you, not even on your day.”
“Stop. That’s not what I mean. I’m hurt because—”
“‘Cause your brother’s shitty and useless.”
“Can you shut up and stop interrupting me?!”
Genya took a breath, backtracking his volume but not his tone. “I’m hurt because you aren’t going about today like any other day! I don’t care about being honored or any of that crap! The one thing I didn’t want was for today to make you feel horrible!”
Was he crying? Did Sanemi make his little brother cry again?
“I just want you to live happily, dammit! So why would you try to take your life like that?!”
Sanemi’s downcast gaze took note of how Genya’s legs collapsed and he fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands. It got him to look up. “I can forgive you for a lot of things, but I would never forgive that…”
Some things never change, do they? But, Sanemi can’t pretend like comforting him wasn’t something he missed. Even if this was in his own head, he decided to entertain it. What more can he do?
He didn’t typically daydream about these things, though, lest he consider himself insane. Maybe some part of it was real, but as much as he wanted to celebrate such a fantastically dumb possibility, that wasn’t his main concern right now. Sanemi shuffled over and pulled his little brother close. He was hesitant, but the figure he embraced didn’t feel any different from a living and breathing person. It didn’t feel any different from Genya.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. Your big brother’s sorry.”
“That’s not enough.” Genya pulled himself away from Sanemi’s hug, but not so much that he was completely out of his arms. There was enough space between them now that their eyes could finally meet properly.
He really didn’t look any different from the last time Sanemi saw him healthy.
“You need to promise me to live out the rest of your days as happily as you possibly can. So many of us can’t do that,” Genya said. “Do it for us if you can’t do it for yourself, but please, try to do it for yourself too.”
Sanemi felt conviction as he looked at Genya, his ant-sized pupils now widened and wobbling with emotion, and his tiny brows furrowed in desperation.
Live happily. A tall order for the man who had lost everything to be happy about. He was about to tell Genya how impossible that was now, when his baby brother gave his arm a gentle, childish squeeze.
A squeeze he often gave when he shrank into his Nemi's embrace to hide from their father's destructive voice.
It hit Sanemi like a wave, his doubts and pessimism washing away with it, replaced by the hope of being in this moment a little longer, even if it was futile.
“Promise me,” Genya repeated, determined, frustrated at Sanemi’s hesitancy and the lack of a response.
Sanemi was notoriously bad at keeping promises, and Genya of all people knew this well. Yet, the words still spilled out like knocked-over tea. Genuine and true.
“Okay. I promise.”
Genya’s expression finally relaxed, and, wordlessly, he became enveloped in the light of his own smile.
Sanemi awoke to a splitting headache. Unlike this morning, he let himself groan.
It felt like he had truly come back to reality. Things were feeling a little more real now.
He began to make sense of his surroundings. He was lying down, and he was oddly comfortable — likely due to, at least in part, Nezuko's haori blanketing him. His head was relaxed upon something soft, too, and from the corner of his eye, he could make out the familiar green, checkered pattern of Tanjiro's haori. The sky had darkened a little more as the sun began its early setting stages. He had certainly been here a long time, disconnected from reality and staring at this stone thinking only of early childhood memories.
Tanjiro and Nezuko themselves were faced towards Genya's grave, idly chatting while they lit incense. His headstone had been a little more decorated, and Sanemi noticed that the watermelon he bought was placed neatly against it alongside… a full one? Did they really lug something like that all this way? What dedicated kids, he thought.
It didn't take them too long to be alerted to his now awakened presence.
“Mr. Sanemi! You're awake!” Tanjiro sighed with relief, shuffling over and hovering over him with Nezuko following close behind.
Sanemi groaned again as he sat up, holding his mercilessly pounding head. His eyes were achingly dry, which meant closing them tightly brought an unpleasant sting. “What happened?” he asked once he’d come to terms with the discomfort.
“You cried for a while, and then you just passed out. We didn't know what to do, so we covered you and waited for you to wake up,” Nezuko explained, bowing slightly as she took back her haori that Sanemi had handed to her.
“Ah,” Sanemi said, the color of embarrassment returning to his cheeks. “I'm sorry for worrying you like that. Haven't been in my right mind today.”
“You don't need to apologize. I'm sure today's been hard,” Tanjiro spoke.
“No. That’s not an excuse. What happened earlier… I shouldn't've threatened my life like that.” Sanemi rubbed the incision on his neck, which had been lovingly wrapped up by Nezuko, assumingly, in the time he wasn’t conscious. “I still don’t really know what happened, but if it weren't for you, I probably would’ve gone through with it. I'm sorry.”
Tanjiro didn't speak for a bit, perhaps due to the fact that humble apologizing wasn't typical of Sanemi’s vocabulary. Sanemi could see that part of Tanjiro wanted to continue scolding him for attempting such a thing, but with a smile, Tanjiro swallowed those thoughts and instead chose to speak with gentle relief and sympathy.
“It’s alright,” Tanjiro assured with that unbearable kindness of his. “I may not understand completely, but I can smell how genuine you’re being now, so I won’t pry about it any further. Don’t do anything like that again, though. A lot of people would be sad if you died.”
“I… yeah.” Sanemi’s voice dropped, recalling the way his little brother yelled at him for a silent moment before managing a chuckle as his gaze found the grave. “I think Genya would get mad at me.”
Tanjiro’s face lit up with further relief and joy. For Sanemi to even be able to mention Genya was already a huge step in the right direction! “Haha, he always had a temper like that, didn’t he?”
“Oh, that’s not even half of it. That kid always had to win.” Sanemi scooted over and adjusted his position, completing the small semi-circle of people around the grave. “He had such a hard time whenever I told him to let one of our younger siblings beat him in races and games. The stink eye I’d get for the rest of the day’s still seared in the back of my mind.”
“Aww, but he still did it anyway!” Nezuko chimed, her eyes sparkling as a result of both adoration and the tears that slowly welled up in them. “He always had such a kind heart. Tanjiro, he always asked about me every time you guys saw each other, right?”
“He did! It was always one of the first things he said to me.”
Sanemi watched the two for a bit as they talked, Tanjiro telling Nezuko short tales of other exchanges he’d had with Genya and Genya’s quirks, while Nezuko spent time trying to recall her scattered memories of him.
Sanemi had really missed a lot in his years of being a shitty brother, and it was a thought he didn’t realize he mumbled aloud until the two voices quieted themselves in response, turning their attention to listen. Unsure of how to recover from such a slipup, Sanemi simply chose to continue the thought as though he’d intended to speak it the entire time. “You guys’ll have to fill me in more.”
The children smiled, and Nezuko looked just like Genya. Sanemi smiled, too.
A thought lingered in the back of his mind — kind in concept, but perhaps selfish in the grand scheme of things. He wasn’t sure if it was something he should offer, especially when today wasn’t his, and neither was it theirs.
Then, his brother’s words echo, which by themselves likely wouldn’t have done anything. But as a result, something resounded in Sanemi’s heart at that moment. Something that encouraged him; his own being urging himself, telling himself that this was okay, that this is what Genya would have wanted.
This is what he wants.
And what Sanemi wants is to be happy.
“How about I treat you both for dinner?”
The question came naturally. Almost too naturally.
Tanjiro seemed a bit unsure and startled by this sudden act of generosity from someone he used to dislike for his harsh demeanor and cruel tongue, while Nezuko beamed at the thought of getting to have dinner with Mr. Shinazugawa.
But it was only an instinctive thought for the Sun Breather based on now obsolete impressions. That all too familiar, kind smile bloomed back on his face without further delay. “That does sound wonderful. Thank you, Mr. Sanemi.”
That wasn’t as hard as Sanemi thought it would be.
“By the way, I've been meaning to ask…” The Wind Hashira’s tone shifted slightly as his attention turned to the watermelon that sat relaxed against his brother's memorial. “You guys brought a full watermelon?”
Nezuko immediately flushed. “I-I was thinking with my stomach… we were fully planning on splitting the watermelon after we offered it, but now that you're treating us to dinner, it…” Her attention followed Sanemi's as her shoulders sank in embarrassment. “...seems like a stupid idea now.”
“Don't stress.” Sanemi reached out with his hand, patting Nezuko's head assuredly in a warm act of comfort the girl had grown accustomed to receiving from him. “We’ll eat what we can, and then you can take home whatever’s left over.”
At that moment, Nezuko's smile returned to her.
The next moments gave Sanemi a somewhat fairytale-like closure after a confusing and disorienting day. The three of them prayed at Genya's grave, and Sanemi broke down in tears again. The pain from the way his composure had crumbled away earlier lingered in his throat and threatened to resurface if he went on like this any longer, but he managed to keep himself steady enough to choke out endless apologies and “I miss you"s and authentic, doubtless promises to live a life he would be happy about.
It was terribly, terribly vulnerable.
Tanjiro rubbed circles on his back while Sanemi wept through stifled sobs, and when Sanemi finished and sat up to take a breath, Nezuko embraced him tightly as she failed to fight tears of her own. For someone who only had brief memories of him, she truly mourned Genya like he was her best friend. All things considered, it wasn't too long ago when Sanemi had plunged a sword through her, and now here she was, hugging him and crying bubbly tears into his chest.
“I think Genya would want you to be happy, Mr. Sanemi,” Tanjiro spoke, echoing awfully familiar sentiments, and the Wind Hashira wondered if it was this boy that had been talking to him in his sleep instead of the one he thought he saw. “He'd want the same for all of us, so let's do our best together. For him, and for everyone else.”
They enjoyed the watermelon in the late demon slayer’s honor and, as the ex-Hashira had predicted, had leftovers to spare. Despite ceaseless pleas, Sanemi urged the children to take what was left. More color returned to his face through the blood vessel outline that cropped up on his temple, and he raised that oh-so-familiar impatient voice — all signs his usual self was resurfacing, something he was secretly just as relieved about as Tanjiro was. Nezuko was far more insistent than her brother; stubbornness must run in the family, he supposed, but the thought drifted out of his mind with the sigh he exhaled before he told them, “C'mon now, before it gets too dark.”
Sanemi took them to a noodle place in town, passing again by the vendor he purchased from earlier, who seemed comforted by his best customer’s renewed vigor and energy.
It was at the noodle place that they ran into Giyuu. With a smile, he greeted them, wishing Genya a happy birthday. A fire lit in Sanemi's chest, moved that the Water Hashira had remembered, though he’d never tell him such a thing. Was Giyuu making efforts like this for everyone?
“We're celebrating him today, so why don't you join us?” Tanjiro beamed, excitement at the idea of Giyuu’s presence shimmering in his eyes.
“That's only if Shinazugawa is alright with it,” Giyuu said, passing him a knowing look.
If this were a year prior, Sanemi would find himself annoyed at the prospect of the Tomioka that he hated joining them for a pleasant meal, and would have denied him vehemently. Yet, that feeling didn't overtake him this time — this current feeling in his heart, this desire for happiness, made sure it didn't.
“Yeah, sure. I'm not paying for you, though.”
“Fine by me.” Giyuu smiled, and in his voice there was not one hint of passive-aggressiveness or snark. Just contentment and understanding.
The four of them sat, talked, ate, laughed, and shared stories; some about the events of the past weeks, most about Genya. In peace. In bliss. In happiness. Sanemi returned that book Giyuu had lent him, giving his thoughts and asking for the next in the series.
When it came time for them to part ways, Nezuko made a brief comment about how cold the air was and how she wished she dressed a little warmer. Sanemi gave her the scarf, trying not to think about how cosmic this coincidence might be while telling her she can keep it.
By the time Sanemi waved the three of them goodbye, the sun had set completely and night had fallen. Without the threat of demons, walking home at night no longer called for one’s guard to be up, but Sanemi kept his hand on the handle of his sword anyway.
As he walked, he thought.
With his mind as clear as ever, he decided the encounter with Genya might not have been a real visitation. It was a mere dream, but a dream of importance nonetheless. A dream he perhaps needed to have. His inner conscience must have taken the form of the only thing Sanemi would listen to in that moment.
If he went on believing in things such as ghostly encounters, how would he ever grow? Though that in itself may not be harmful for those more spiritual than he, listening only to the words of the dead does not bring true progress, and there are things Sanemi needs to learn and decide of his own volition.
A living person must take charge of their own life. Those who have passed on can be reminders, but they cannot dictate what is not theirs, and a living person cannot depend on them completely. Sanemi must take that charge if he is to live that happy life he wanted for himself. The happy life he promised to live not just for Genya, but now for Muichiro, for Shinobu, for Obanai, for Mitsuri, for Gyomei, for Kyojuro, for Kanae, for Master and his family, and for his Ma and siblings. For all the people who gave their lives so that Sanemi could do just that.
As Sanemi curled into his futon, taken over not by disconnection but by peace, he let his mind wander, and he thought about pleasant memories once again.
He thought about the day he first held his baby brother, his first steps, his pouting, his laugh, and his voice. All things he reminisced on earlier, but now bathed in a far fonder light rather than constricted by melancholy like it had been before.
As he drifted off to sleep, he heard a voice; clear as day, as freshly cleaned glass, as Genya’s smile from his dream.
“I’m happy. Thank you, Nemi.”
And even though Sanemi decided not to live with a reliance on the assurances of a ghost, he answered back anyway.
“Goodnight, Genya. Happy birthday.”