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Sumiko, hands red and raw from scrubbing, leans back from the wooden tub brimming with laundry and sighs heavily. In her periphery, she watches Nezuko stop and do the same. Ever since Sumiko lost vision in her right eye, following the battle against Muzan, Nezuko always makes sure to stay on Sumiko’s left side. She can’t put into words how much she appreciates the gesture. She wishes Zenitsu would do the same. She pretends it doesn’t bother her, but she scares much more easily now than ever before; whenever Zenitsu suddenly appears from her right, every muscle in her body tenses, the way it used to before a fight.
But Zenitsu… doesn’t do much of anything anymore, really. He’s either in his room or at the table for mealtime, but even then, it’s like his mind is somewhere far away. He used to confess his undying love to Sumiko regularly; now, every breath and smile, every spoken word seems to be more and more forced.
“What’s wrong, Sumiko?” Nezuko asks, brushing a stray hair out of Sumiko’s face.
Sumiko’s shoulders slump. Things have been like this for months now. Every time Nezuko asks Sumiko if she’s okay, she says she is. Right now, it’s impossible to pretend.
“I… don’t know,” Sumiko admits softly, rubbing her calloused hands together. “Actually, I’m worried about Zenitsu. I’m worried, but…”
Hurt?
Nezuko shuffles closer, pressing her shoulder against Sumiko’s. Sumiko leans into her warmth, eyes fluttering. “But?”
“He seems different, but I don’t think anything has actually changed. I can tell he’s sad, Nezuko. He’s sad and angry. But…” Sumiko’s voice wobbles and breaks. “He won’t talk to me.”
Nezuko pulls Sumiko into her arms and runs her fingers through her sister’s auburn hair. It’s soft and messy, like always, and smells faintly of pine, snow, and camellias. She lets her sister cry in her arms, and holds close the tears she knows she’s been biting back for months now. When Sumiko calms down, Nezuko starts–slow, gentle. “You’re like our father, Sumiko. You endure… quiet, and alone.” She tightens her grip around Sumiko’s quivering shoulders. “And I know you have your reasons. But… we worry about you. Maybe it’s the same with Zenitsu. Maybe, like you, he hasn’t learned how to rely on others yet. You always did everything, Sumiko. You took on so much responsibility just because you… you were the eldest.” Nezuko bites her lip, blinking away her own tears. “But I don’t think Zenitsu has ever had anyone to rely on him. I don’t know what he’s lost, but I can tell he’s grieving. The way he’s acting… it reminds me of our mother, when our father passed away.”
Sumiko stills. That’s right. How could she have forgotten? When their father passed away, their mother went to bed earlier and slept in later, but was always exhausted. She hardly ate. She was like this for months, and for months, Sumiko took it upon herself to do the laundry, to cook and clean and take care of her younger siblings. She remembers Nezuko helping, especially with caring for their sister and brothers.
“She didn’t stay that way forever,” Nezuko continues. “She came back to us when she was ready. I think… that maybe Zenitsu just isn’t ready yet.”
“I’m so selfish,” Sumiko starts, but before she can continue, Nezuko pulls away–just enough to cup Sumiko’s cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet.
“No, Sumiko! You’re not selfish. You’re human. It’s okay to be worried, but I can tell you feel hurt, too. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
A shuddering breath crashes between Sumiko’s lips. She buries her face in the space between her sister’s neck and shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut, though that does nothing to stop her overflowing tears from pouring down her face.
“Thank you, Nezuko.” Sumiko squeezes her sister like letting go means she’ll lose her. “Thank you.”
All she can think, in this moment, is how thankful she is to have her sister back.
But who does Zenitsu have?
Nezuko is incredible. Like Sumiko, she’s beautiful, smart, and incredibly kind; she’s perceptive, too. Even Zenitsu couldn’t put his own actions into words, much less understand what in the world he was doing, practically ignoring Sumiko when he’d begged the Kamado siblings to let him live with them. Ideally, he would’ve confessed to Sumiko–for real, this time. It wouldn’t be for show. It would be sincere, maybe somewhere quiet, with just the two of them. He’d make her feel the way she deserved: seen, appreciated, loved.
And yet, all he’s been doing is laying around, staring blankly at the ceiling. When he’s not doing that, he’s either sleeping or eating. He’s already lost some muscle tone. As he looks down at the hands holding the haori he’d forgotten to give Sumiko for washing, his hands are much thinner than they ever were before.
He walks back down the hallway. His haori doesn’t need to be washed. If it does, he should be able to do it himself, instead of making Sumiko do everything for him. He’s useless, isn’t he? Useless to Sumiko, useless to Gramps, useless to Kaigaku…
The sugi floors are cold as Zenitsu drags his feet back to his room. Grieving. Is that what this looks like? He can’t help but laugh at himself. If he’s grieving, then he’s doing it in the most pathetic way possible. As always.
He lays down. He cradles his haori, all he has left of Gramps, and stares at the ceiling until it warps from his tears. He hasn’t been able to cry for months. Is that what grieving’s like? Dry and wet and cold and warm in the worst ways, at the worst times? He wants it to stop. He wishes he would stop, and just grow up–be a better man, a better friend… someone Sumiko deserves.
But he’ll never be that man. That friend.
Sumiko deserves better.
He won’t talk to me…
Zenitsu’s chest tightens. Sumiko’s voice has never sounded like that before, like shattered porcelain–so fragile and easily broken. And it’s because of him.
I’m worried about Zenitsu.
He won’t talk to me…
“Be careful, Sumiko!” Nezuko’s voice carries through the door.
Zenitsu jolts. He fell asleep! He flings his haori aside and frantically crawls to his bedroom door, flinging it open. “Nezuko!”
Nezuko whips around, rosy eyes wide. “Zenitsu!” She hops over, smiling bright. Zenitsu doesn’t deserve either of the Kamados. “You’re awake! Good afternoon, sleepyhead!”
“Yeah, you too, Nezuko,” Zenitsu sputters. “Where’s Sumiko going?”
Nezuko tilts her head with a tilted brow. “She’s visiting the village.” She crouches in front of him, smiling with understanding that, again, Zenitsu doesn’t deserve. “She’s like a jack-of-all-trades for them now, remember? She helps out every other day.”
Zenitsu’s shoulders collapse. He should’ve talked to her before she left.
“So, it’s my turn to cook dinner,” Nezuko continues, but her words are lost to the roaring in Zenitsu’s ears.
He should’ve been there for her, just like he should’ve been there for Gramps.
“What do you want to eat?”
Or maybe he shouldn’t be here, like he never should’ve been with Gramps. Maybe then, Sumiko would be happy. Maybe then, Gramps would be alive.
“Zenitsu.”
Zenitsu snaps out of his thoughts as Nezuko’s hands fall onto his shoulders. He snaps his head back, looking up to see tears clinging to Nezuko’s eyelashes.
“Zenitsu, I’m–we–are really worried about you! You don’t have to talk to us about what’s on your mind until you’re ready, but…” A single tear slips down her cheek, falls from her trembling chin. “At least tell us how we can be here for you!”
Zenitsu can’t believe it. He made another girl cry. He straightens, hands flying to Nezuko’s, and gently removing them from his shoulders to instead cradle them in his own. “Please don’t cry, Nezuko! I’m fine, really! So please, please don’t cry for me! You should be smiling and happy!”
But Nezuko keeps crying, her shoulders jerking with every sob she stifles. Her heartbeat sounds so heavy. It must be weighed from all the worry she has for himself and Sumiko. He lowers his head; he can only imagine how pathetic he must look right now. “I’m sorry, Nezuko. That’s… a lie. But you’re right. I’m not… I’m not ready to face it.”
Nezuko moves their hands, holding Zenitsu’s in the warmth of her own. “That’s… that’s okay, Zenitsu. You don’t have to face it right now. But at least face us. And then we can face it together!”
Zenitsu freezes.
He won’t talk to me…
He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve them or their home; doesn’t deserve their kindness, their forgiveness, and yet…
“Thank you, Nezuko,” Zenitsu says. He lowers her hands, reverently, before jumping to his feet. “I’ll eat whatever you and Sumiko feed me. So, please… make something delicious for yourself and Sumiko.”
Confusion flits across Nezuko’s face.
But when she sees the resolve in Zenitsu’s eyes, it clicks.
“I’m going after her.”
Whenever happiness is destroyed, it’s always followed by the scent of blood. That thought haunted Sumiko’s every step before, as she followed this same path down the mountain to sell another batch of charcoal. As she disappears into the snow, she hears echoes of her siblings' protests behind her, like she’s been taken back to that day.
That day she lost everything.
Zenitsu hears the way Sumiko’s heart falters and sinks. It falls like rain but echoes like thunder in his ears, urging him to run faster despite the gelid air slicing through him. Not only that, but there’s another sound. One that frightens him, because it’s the howl and roar of an approaching storm.
It starts just when Zenitsu finally finds her. Thick, fluffy flakes drift from an ash-gray sky as Zenitsu skids down the last of the mountain’s slope and latches onto Sumiko’s arm. “Sumiko!”
Sumiko turns with a yelp. Oh, crap! He did it again! He should’ve approached her from her left, not from her right! “Sumiko, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Zenitsu sputters between gasps of air.
“Zenitsu,” Sumiko starts, clearly shaken, but there’s also concern in her eyes. “What are you doing, Zenitsu? You’re barely wearing anything!” She grabs the boy’s shoulders, shaking him. “Are you out of your mind?”
Zenitsu stills.
What?
“Hey!” Zenitsu points at Sumiko. “You know, I ran all the way down that hill just to talk to you! And this is how you greet me?!”
Her heart skips a beat. He hears it, he hears it! But seconds later, as her expression falls and she moves her hands to tenderly cup his, he hears her heart sink again. “...I appreciate that, Zenitsu. But it’s so cold outside.” She lifts his hands and breathes on them, trying to warm them up. They’re purple-red and numb, but electricity still zaps up Zenitsu’s arms. “You could get sick.”
“Sumiko,” he starts, all the warmth and raw emotion he’s been holding back for months suddenly surfacing, “I need to talk to you. Now.” He grabs her arms and pulls her close, his voice desperate. “I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve…” I should’ve done so much more for you.
Sumiko’s heart is racing alongside his. He never wants this moment to end, just holding her in his arms, their warmth coalescing. When her arms wrap around him, he brings her impossibly close, and he knows he’s made his decision: no matter what, he’ll be a better man, a better friend, a better everything for Sumiko. And one day he’ll face this storm inside of him. One day–
An icy bluster nearly knocks them over. Zenitsu instinctively turns so his back takes the brunt of it, but he glances over his shoulder at the darkening sky. “It’s going to storm really bad, Sumiko,” he says, pulling away just enough so she can see the fear in his eyes. “Like, really bad! We need to get back to Nezuko.”
“But, Zenitsu–”
“No buts! What are you, crazy? Actually, yes, you are crazy! Crazy for even coming down the mountain in this weather in the first place!”
“But it was sunny when I left!”
“I don’t want to hear it! We’re going home, right now!” Zenitsu scoops Sumiko into his arms, fully intending to carry her all the way back up the mountain.
And, despite her protests, he does just that.
It’s a white-out by time they’re stumbling into the Kamado residence, shivering but giggling because of how ridiculous they look, red and purple and blue from the relentless cold. Warm spices perfume the air; Sumiko, still warming Zenitsu’s hands with her own, follows the scent into the kitchen, where Nezuko already has three plates made.
“Welcome home,” she says, and Sumiko thinks about the morning Nezuko survived the sun, and she wants to cry at how perfect this moment feels.
It doesn’t last.
After they’ve warmed up and changed into dryer clothes, they settle down for dinner. Zenitsu compliments Nezuko’s cooking every other minute, and Nezuko–patient as ever–responds with that bright smile of hers and her trademark, “Ya think so?” Zenitsu even offers to clean up, but the moment he’s done, he’s back in his room.
Nezuko finishes hanging up the laundry.
And Sumiko is alone, again.
She sits by the window, cradling a steaming cup of chamomile tea. The smell used to calm her. Now, it just makes her sad. Because every day, she seems to lose something precious.
“Sumiko Kamado is now a demon!”
Sumiko’s head jerks to the side. It’s hot, so hot–
But suddenly, it stops.
It stops, and all that’s left is this bone-deep hunger.
Hunger for blood.
She lunges at her sister, sinks her fangs into her shoulder, and the sweet taste of her blood floods her mouth–
Sumiko wakes with a gasp, the bitter tang of copper lingering on her tongue. She slaps a hand over her mouth, swallowing mouthfuls of saliva and bile. She feels sick to her stomach.
Beside her, Nezuko is sound asleep. With a shaky hand, Sumiko draws back the sleeve of her sister’s kimono, revealing the scarred skin beneath, the damage Sumiko dealt to her own flesh and blood when she turned into a demon.
In the kitchen, Sumiko heaves into the sink. Nothing but bile comes out, and her stomach is left twisting. She braces herself against the counter; every shaky breath crashes between wobbling lips.
Then, Zenitsu’s door opens.
“Good morning, Sumiko~” he sings, and something inside of Sumiko just breaks, because there’s not a single ounce of his joy that smells genuine.
Zenitsu stops in the doorway, all the breath whooshing from his lungs.
“Please stop, Zenitsu,” Sumiko whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. “Please stop pretending to be happy. Please stop pretending that you’re okay.”
“Sumiko,” Zenitsu whispers, stepping closer.
Slowly, shakily, Sumiko turns around, tears pouring down her cheeks. “I’m not going to pretend anymore either, Zenitsu. I’m tired, and I’m scared. I’ve been waiting for you, but I… I can’t tell… I don’t know…” She buries her face in her hands.
Zenitsu closes the space between them in the blink of an eye. He pries her hands away from her face, tenderly cups her chin with one hand, then gently wipes away her tears with the other. “No, no! Please don’t cry, Sumiko. Please, please don’t…” His breath stutters. A single tear rolls down his cheek, tracing the lines left behind by Kaigaku’s Blood Demon Art. “Please don’t cry because of me.”
“I don’t know what to do, Zenitsu. I don’t know how to make this easier for you.”
“I don’t want you to make things easier for me!” he exclaims, now grabbing her shoulders. He presses his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. “I just want you. But you deserve better than me.”
“I don’t care what I deserve, Zenitsu. I want you too.” More tears blur her vision, overflowing alongside the hurt and love swelling in her chest. “I just want you.”
Zenitsu should apologize. He should, but his eyes are drawn to her lips, his heart drawn to the steady beat of hers.
Sumiko leans closer, then again as Zenitsu starts to pull away. Their lips collide in a clumsy kiss that’s all teeth, until they find a more natural rhythm, one just for the two of them. They part only to catch their breath, their foreheads still pressed together, their fingers still intertwined.
“I don’t know… who I am, or what I’ll do, if I’m not trying to be better,” Zenitsu admits through a breathy whisper.
“Just be you,” Sumiko whispers back. “And I’ll just be me. We’ll figure this out together.”
This time, Zenitsu pulls Sumiko into his arms.
He breathes in her scent, listens to the song of her heart, and in this moment, he chooses her.
And he’ll choose her again and again, in all their brokenness.