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“To love someone long-term is to attend a thousand funerals of the people they used to be.”
— Heidi Priebe
A man with greying temples stands in front of Kyojuro, tall and wiry, blocking his view of the flock of birds settling on the window ledge. If only he could have something fresh to quench his parched throat.
“You are taking this surprisingly well,” says the doctor, raising his brow.
Kyojuro laughs. “I’m glad I’m giving you such an impression.”
With an accident as severe as his, he got off lucky: no scratches or broken arms, no impairment to his brain function. The only thing he lost is a year’s worth of his memories.
It could be worse.
“Is it too early to ask when I can get back to work?”
“Rengoku-san,” the doctor says, trying, and failing, to keep the bafflement from his voice.
“It would be a waste to spend so much time out of commission. I feel fine. More than fine, in fact!”
The doctor sighs like Kyojuro has inflicted an enormous headache on him, tucking his clipboard underneath his arm.
“Which is not to say I don’t understand the gravity of the situation,” he amends, when the man’s eyebrow twitches. “I need to think about supporting my family.”
His expression loosens. Whether it’s out of pity or empathy, Kyojuro can’t tell.
“Before we decide on a concrete timeline, we’ll have you return in about four-weeks time for a checkup. Does that sound good?”
Kyojuro nods, turning this information over in his head. Four-weeks. He can work with that. And really, when was the last time he took a vacation?
The doctor leaves soon after, allowing Senjuro inside. Kyojuro’s tongue is a sheet of sandpaper in his mouth.
Thirteen months is a short amount of time in the grand scheme of things. That’s what he keeps repeating to himself. Thirteen months, it’s only thirteen months. But Senjuro feels like a looming, omnipotent reminder that a lot can happen in a single year.
Relax. He’s just your kid brother.
“You should head home soon, don’t you think? It’s rather boring to spend all your time in a bleak hospital room.”
“I think you’re the one who’s bored here,” Senjuro jokes. Kyojuro is still getting used to how deep his voice is. “Besides, I’m waiting for someone.”
“A friend?”
“Yes. I mean…sort of? He’s, um, here to see you.”
Kyojuro glances at the green jacket slung across the bedside chair. Two days have passed since he woke up and besides the hospital staff, the only other person to visit him is Senjuro.
Yet the jacket remains abandoned.
He catches the sleeve between his fingers, feeling the soft wool against his skin. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit intrigued by who the owner could be.
Someone knocks on the door. His heart jumps at the sound, against his will.
Kyojuro blinks.
Then he blinks some more.
“Kamado-shounen?”
He looks…he looks…it’s difficult to find the words to capture this feeling he’s been paralysed with. Because he remembers it like it was yesterday—because it was yesterday to him—that Tanjiro approached him in the staff room, requesting an extension for his assignment. He remembers noting how strange his inability to stand still was. How his eyes kept darting around the room without so much as a glance in Kyojuro’s direction, rocking back and forth on his feet. Now he’s here, and he no longer looks like a student in an ill-fitting uniform. His hair is longer, curling pleasantly at the nape, wearing a sweatshirt that hugs his shoulders in a way that makes his mouth drier than it already is. Tanjiro’s smile is cryptic, an expression that doesn’t match his kind face. Kyojuro never struck him as the type to be so guarded.
“Hi,” Tanjiro says, clutching a paper bag tightly to his chest.
Kyojuro swallows thickly. “What are you doing here?”
His smile falters by a fraction, just enough for Kyojuro to notice. For some odd reason he looks to Senjuro for help.
Senjuro clears his throat. “Tanjiro is…”
The door swings open.
“Nii-san, why didn’t you just wait for me at the lobby?” says the intruder, who looks an awful lot like his student. “I had to disturb the nurses to find this room.” He turns the corner to stand next to Tanjiro, and it all clicks to Kyojuro.
“I almost didn’t recognize you.” Kyojuro grins. “You’re taller than your brother now!”
Takeo blanches. “You—you remember me?” Then he openly winces. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Don’t worry so much,” Kyojuro assures. If anything, he feels charmed. The boy is the only one to be so blunt about his amnesia. Everyone else seems to treat the issue like a landmine ready to explode. “And to answer your question, I’ve seen you and Senjuro interacting at school.”
He never told Senjuro, but on the days he picked him up from school, he used to linger in the car whenever he caught them speaking. It was his way of trying to sustain whatever casual magic had granted his shy, lonely brother a friend his age. To think that this friendship ended up lasting so long that even Tanjiro is friends with Senjuro, Kyojuro could pass out from the relief.
“I got you something,” Tanjiro says. Without asking, he opens the bed tray for Kyojuro and unpacks the containers he brought. His mouth instantly waters at the sight. Steaming rice and soy-glazed chicken with broccoli and carrots cut into star-shaped flowers.
Tanjiro’s eyes gleam expectantly. “What do you think?”
“Kamado. This is…”
Excessive.
Far too generous.
Crossing a few dozen of the boundaries that should be maintained between student and teacher.
Kyojuro takes a generous bite and—wow. It tastes just as good as it looks. “I could kiss your hands in gratitude,” he says over a mouthful.
He expects the statement to land as a joke, waiting for a grin to split the indecipherable look on the boy’s face. Tanjiro’s eyes drop to the jacket splayed on his lap instead, lingering there. “I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon with another meal, okay?”
Rengoku stops chewing on his food. “That is unnecessary.”
There’s another container of peeled orange slices, just the way he likes them, with a plastic toothpick sticking out.
All of this makes him think, What happened here? Because this feels too thoughtful to just be a ‘meal of condolence’. But who was he to say? He doesn’t know Tanjiro well enough to judge the lengths he would go for simple kindness.
“I’m in the area, so it’s no trouble.” Tanjiro’s smile is so sweet, he almost believes him.
***
Over the course of his stay, Kyojuro gets several visitors, mainly from Kimetsu Academy, students and teachers alike, along with his former college-mates. He even recognizes most of them.
“You are impossible to get a hold of, you know that?” Uzui says, with a flair of drama. “Do you know how many people I had to call to know which hospital you’re staying at?”
“You could have just contacted me.”
“A little difficult when your phone is smashed into smithereens, don’t you think?”
Kyojuro snorts.
Uzui sits down at the foot of the bed. “So,” he says, scratching his eyebrow. “How much do you know?”
He tries not to let any bitterness seep into his voice. “As much as everyone is willing.”
Kyojuro hates the searching looks on people’s faces, the scrutiny when they come and wish him a speedy recovery. Not knowing what to say or how to approach him, what information they can disclose or keep to themselves. For years he honed his mental strength to the level that it is now. All of that just for people to treat him like he’s made of glass, as if words alone are enough to break his spirit.
“Alright then.” Uzui nods. Without preamble, he goes, “I quit Kimetsu Academy.”
Rengoku gawks at him. “Since when?”
“It’s coming up to six months now.” Uzui smiles a little. “Believe it or not, I’ve been meaning to do it for years. You were the one to encourage me to finally make the commitment.”
He didn’t even have an inkling that Uzui was entertaining these thoughts.
“May I ask why?”
“A lot of thought went into my decision—I’ll spare you the details—but when it came down to it, I wanted to prioritize my family.”
A few hours later, Kyojuro sits in the backseat of his father’s car, something he hasn’t done since he was twelve years old. He wonders if he’ll ever care about someone enough to upend his life for.
Senjuro is making thoughtless conversation with their father, and it feels natural, as if it were second nature to them. The windows are cracked open just enough to let the cool, night breeze sweep the bangs away from his face. He tries not to think about the fact that their father renewed his license after a decade of not driving. Kyojuro also does his best not to stare. To not map out the new wrinkles underneath his eyes or take notice of how pale his hair has gotten. In spite of the visible markers of age, this is the healthiest he has seen his father in years.
Shinjuro locks eyes with him through the mirror. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m fine,” he replies, still feeling faraway from the present. “Senjuro’s friend packed us enough food for dinner.”
Shinjuro frowns. “What friend?”
“He means Tanjiro,” his brother answers from beside him.
Shinjuro looks at them sharply through the rearview mirror, a tension to his brow.
“You can’t be serious.”
Senjuro chuckles sheepishly. “You know how he is.”
The older man shakes his head, muttering to himself. Eventually, “Tell him to come by the house. I need to have a long conversation with the boy.”
There are many things Kyojuro is trying to not get swept away by. Because he learnt a long time ago how dangerous it is to lose yourself to the thoughts in your head.
His mind wanders to the jacket without an owner.
For days it went abandoned on his bedside, unretrieved. That is until last evening, when Kyojuro had fallen asleep. The jacket disappeared without a trace, as if it were never there.
Oh well.
It’s best not to dwell on things beyond his control.
Kyojuro endeavours to remain as still as possible, not allowing a single muscle in his body to twitch out of place. The marble of traffic lights on the asphalt road follow him all the way home.
***
There is small comfort in knowing his room is the one place that remained exactly as he left it.
Yet he can’t relax. Not completely, anyway. There’s a musty quality in the air, and his bedsheets feel like a vegetable grater against his skin.
Sleeping be damned. He spent enough time at the hospital to accumulate a backlog, in his humble opinion.
He wanders aimlessly to the living room, until he spots a stranger sneaking down the hallway.
“Looking for someone?”
Tanjiro jumps at the sound of his voice. “Rengoku-san,” he stammers. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“Why? It’s my house.”
“I only meant that…I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
“Kamado-shounen.” Maybe it’s cruel for him to do, but he leans in closer, crowding him until Tanjiro’s back hits the wall. A flush appears on the boy’s face, the colour spreading all the way down his collar. Just like at school. He observes him with clinical fascination. “Did you plan the timing of your visit just so you could avoid me?”
“No, that would be ridiculous,” he insists, so blatantly unconvincing.
Kyojuro thinks he’s doing a good job at not appearing too gleeful.
His eyes fall to his earrings.
He doesn’t know why it throws him off so much. That despite the passage of time, despite everything, Kamado Tanjiro is still wearing his hanafuda earrings.
“Nice earrings.”
Tanjiro blinks. Then, as if surged by a swell of confidence, his demeanour shifts. “Are you surprised that I’m still wearing these?”
“Perhaps.”
“You can’t tell me off for wearing them anymore,” he teases.
Kyojuro clears his throat, stepping back. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Tanjiro bursts out laughing and—oh. That sound is a pleasant surprise. It settles like a pool of liquid gold in his stomach, hot and heavy.
He follows him into the kitchen, where Tanjiro goes to grab his belongings. Shinjuro is hunched over the kitchen stool with an empty mug in his hand.
“Don’t forget to eat your medicine, Shinjuro-san.”
“Mind your business, kid.”
Tanjiro moves around the kitchen with the ease of someone who’s memorized the layout. He knows exactly which cabinet to check for his medicine container.
“Oh, piss off. I had it already.” He walks up to Tanjiro and snatches the box from his hand.
Tanjiro doesn’t even bat an eye at his attitude. It’s mindboggling. “I appreciate it, Shinjuro-san.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Shinjuro grumbles.
Tanjiro locks eyes with Kyojuro. His breath catches in his throat, eyes flitting away, as if the interaction they had earlier never even occurred.
“I’ll get going now,” he quickly says. Tanjiro leaves the kitchen, but not without turning back to look at him one more time. “Goodnight, Rengoku-san.”
It didn’t even occur to Kyojuro to wonder what on earth he was doing at his house at such an ungodly hour.
***
Sleep continues to evade him.
Big deal.
He roots around the drawer for his laptop. Better to make use of this time, he thinks, than to waste it away tossing and turning.
It takes a good while for him to find his charger, and even longer for his laptop to start up. When it does, he scoffs to himself.
The same desktop wallpaper, the same password.
If this is a testament to the amount of personal growth he’s done over the past year, it captures a bleak picture.
Kyojuro checks his inbox first. He spends a good amount of time going through each one, making notes of all the changes that occurred, the new teachers, exam timings.
Then, curiously, he checks his personal chat.
At the top of the list, is an unknown contact. Or more accurately, a contact unknown to him.
34 missed calls from ‘♡’
The calls are dated to the day of his accident.
He clicks on the chat mechanically.
Above the string of missed calls, interspersed with concerned texts, is the following message:
hey, something came up at home so i’ll be late.
don’t wait up for me, ok?
i love you.
Minutes pass. His screen dims, plunging him back to the shadows in his room.
He stays like that for an unknown time.
Bravery, courage. Somehow, from somewhere, he gathers enough grace to check his laptop again. Kyojuro reads the message over and over, not daring to scroll further up, his cursor hovering over the message that’s rendered him speechless.
In a rush of impulsivity, he dials the number on his new phone.
The ringtone vibrates against his skull like a snare drum, the pit in his stomach expanding with each passing second. He prays to the heavens that the owner won’t pick up, that it’s not who he thinks it is, because then he would be a fool, a fool for ignoring all the signs that were right—
“Hello?”
He squeezes a fistful of his hair, desperate to not choke on the laughter that threatens to knock out of him.
Kyojuro lets out a careful exhale. Then another one. He keeps breathing, waiting for composure to arrive. It never does.
After the silence drags for another minute, he hears,
“Rengoku-san?”
This time he does laugh. Why does he still insist on calling him that?
“Where are you right now?”
A beat passes. Then comes a shaky exhale.
“I just finished work.”
He clutches his phone tighter. “Send me the location. I’ll meet you there.”
The izakaya is a cramped looking thing. Packed with people, low hanging ceiling lights create a moody atmosphere in the room. The murmur of voices floats above the air like smoke from the smouldering ashtrays. Tanjiro is seated beside the window, staring vacantly at an empty spot on the table. He springs to his feet when Kyojuro approaches him.
Kyojuro keeps his voice upbeat, sliding into the seat in front of him. Anything to prolong the inevitable. “You work here?”
Tanjiro sits down hesitantly. “No, I work at the bakery down the corner. I thought this would be more comfortable.”
The rest of the patrons are middle-aged men, discounting the young couple in the far corner, absorbed in their own little world. Then again, given the timing…
“I went ahead and ordered tea for us, if that’s alright with you.”
“Sure.”
He wracks his brain trying to think of how to broach the subject.
Where should he even begin?
That he feels betrayed, lied to. How he can’t begin to understand what he achieves by deceiving him.
But beyond all that, a dreadful more pervasive thought lurks over the horizon of the storm he’s trying to contain.
“Did I…” The lump in his throat is so large, he has to force the words out. “Did I take advantage of you?”
In his timeline, Tanjiro is a boy six months away from graduating high school. Tanjiro, who is perpetually late to his morning sessions, who still rides his bicycle to school, a social enigma who is friendly even with the janitors. He couldn’t imagine looking at the Tanjiro he knows in such a way.
Tanjiro’s voice is as gentle as a child’s cradle. “You didn’t.”
He reaches forward, and for one, terrifying second, Kyojuro thinks he’s going to link their hands together. He grabs his empty cup and pours him tea. Because unlike him, Tanjiro is a respectful person, mindful of others and their wellbeing. Kyojuro doesn’t move to take the cup.
“You don’t have to lie to me,” he insists. “I know I am your teacher. Was your teacher. So I understand that it would’ve been difficult to say no to me.”
“Rengoku-san.”
“But you don’t have to be afraid to tell me the truth. I can handle it.”
“Rengoku—”
“In fact, I’m begging you to tell me.”
“Kyojuro.”
Tanjiro’s smile is a painful thing to look at, a picture of a lifetime of practice shouldering secret burdens that no one could possibly know the depths of.
Kyojuro didn’t think it would hurt this badly to look at him.
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you would react this way.”
He did not assume, or make a prediction. He knew.
All of a sudden, the restaurant feels too small for this conversation.
“If I didn’t coerce you,” Kyojuro says, “then how did it happen?”
“It was pure chance.”
Tanjiro should look misplaced in such a location among the drunken laughter, and the stench of cigarettes, but he doesn’t. It’s not that his features have changed so drastically, but there’s something about the way he carries himself, the quiet confidence, a gaze that communicates that he can see right through every act and charade Kyojuro can even think of playing. It’s uncanny. How could things change so extensively in such a short amount of time?
“I can’t speak on behalf of you,” Tanjiro goes, “but it felt like a series of events were perfectly slotted together leading up to it. I was going through a rough patch towards the end of school.” Tanjiro folds his hands together, his gaze to the scratched-up surface of the table. Hiding from him. “You were exactly what I needed at the time.”
They exit the izakaya together, out into the vacant street.
Tanjiro shoves his hands in his pockets, seeking warmth from the cold. He didn’t even notice how under-dressed Tanjiro is for the weather, as if he dropped everything to rush here. Kyojuro wants to offer his coat, but he hesitates. It doesn’t feel like they’ve reached that point yet.
“Will you be alright getting home?”
“My house is right around the corner.”
“Do you say that about everything?”
The boy chuckles softly. “You see the bakery over there? That’s my family’s. Our house is in the same building.”
The meeting is over, but neither of them move from the sidewalk, their shoes like cinder blocks glued to the floor.
“I can walk you.” An undercurrent of guilt cuts through his offer.
Tanjiro’s eyebrows droop downwards. “I’ll be fine.”
Something about his face causes his chest to pang with an emotion he can’t name.
He can’t stand to look at him feeling this way.
Kyojuro bolts forward and grabs him by the shoulders. At this proximity, Tanjiro has no choice but to look him straight in the eye.
“Are you doing okay?”
“Huh.” Tanjiro blinks, barely registering his voice.
“I’m still upset that you kept this from me, but it would be unfair if I acted like the only one entitled to having feelings about this. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through—”
A thin streak of tears falls from Tanjiro’s eyes, unbidden.
Concern rushes to his head so fast, he nearly loses balance.
“Sorry.” Tanjiro scrubs the tears from his eyes.
He finds himself saying, softening his voice, “You know, you don’t have to act like everything’s fine.”
It is as if he granted him the permission he was seeking all along. Tanjiro lunges forward at an excruciating force. This is how Kyojuro finds out how easy it is to slot Tanjiro into his arms, how his hair smells like lavender shampoo, the feeling of his shaky breath on his collar bones as Tanjiro sobs with the force of his entire body. Tanjiro’s arms snake over his back, tugging him closer, his forehead pressed into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Kyojuro lets him.
“It’s just that, I’ve been trying so hard to pull it together,” says Tanjiro. “But it’s hard when you’re the person I turn to when things get difficult.”
When Tanjiro looks up at him, stripped bare of all his defences, with tears clinging to his lashes, he looks like the kid from school again.
Kyojuro’s heart does a series of flips.
What have I done?
Shouldn’t he have known better? He does know better. Then why did he go ahead and pursue this relationship? Why would he inflict such a burden on an unassuming boy like Tanjiro?
The boy in front of him loves him, to a point where he can no longer fathom what’s wrong with this relationship.
Now he’s ruined him for anyone else.
“Feeling better?”
Tanjiro pulls back, wiping away the remaining tears. “Yeah,” he says. He lets out a watery laugh. “A lot better, actually.”
“That’s good.” Kyojuro nods stiffly.
The couple from earlier exits the restaurant, their arms linked together, hands shoved into the pockets of each other’s coats. Tanjiro doesn’t pay them any mind. “Call a taxi home. It’s too late to drive back, not when you haven’t slept all day.” He straightens his collar for Kyojuro, smoothing over the wrinkles in his shirt.
Kyojuro doesn’t leave until Tanjiro’s blotchy figure disappears into the entrance of his house.
***
Minutes before the break of dawn, Shinjuro is smoking a cigarette on the front porch, seated on the front steps at the entrance. It seems as if he’s taken to trading liver failure for lung cancer.
“I can smell your judgment wafting all the way here.”
Kyojuro sits on the steps next to him. “I’m surprised. You never smoked before.”
“Hah. You think this is my first time? Your mother made me quit before we had you.”
Shinjuro glances at Kyojuro from the corner of his eye, the acrid smell clinging to his clothes. “Did he finally tell you?”
“You knew.” Nothing can surprise him anymore.
The older man scoffs. “Why do you think I let him roam so freely in my house?”
“And you’re approving of it?”
“Not for a long time, I wasn’t.” He takes another drag before stubbing the cigarette into the silver ashtray. It's halfway full. “That boy of yours is so stubborn, and so irritatingly hard-headed when it comes to you, he practically left me no choice but to approve of him.”
The sun sheds light on the sky, brightening the scenery around them.
“It helps that he’s a good kid at heart. Hard not to like him for that.”
***
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
The words keep flashing in his mind, playing on loop like a billboard he can’t seem to turn off or escape from.
I love you.
I love you.
Tanjiro and his cryptic smile, his tear-stricken face. You were exactly what I needed—
He douses his face with cold water in the bathroom, pressing his fingertips into his eyelids so hard, sparks of pain burst through his skull.
No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to scrub this piece of knowledge from his mind.
***
The strangers in the park march forward at their own rhythm. Everyone seems to be in a hurry these days. He never noticed before. Time has afforded him a chance for introspection, to see the finer details. Easier to drive all this newfound energy outward than to unpack his…thing with Kamado. To name it would be to materialize its existence into the real world, the world he’s standing in now, not the time-capsule in his laptop that burns a hole in his desk each night. The coward’s way. He knows he can’t put it off forever. And so six days of radio silence, broken with another phone call, bringing him here: to the orange smattering of leaves all over the pavement, dull afternoon light slipping past the barren trees.
Maybe he should cut his hair. It feels fitting to do so, to mark this massive shift in the tide he’s being pulled away by.
A light tap on his shoulder demands his attention.
Tanjiro greets him with an awkward smile. It’s a relief that he’s dressed for the weather this time, green jacket zipped all the way up. Just as he suspected. Seeing the jacket again in this setting hollows his chest out. Another reminder that this isn’t just a silly infatuation, nor is it a whirlwind romance. This is a commitment.
He leads them to a bench nestled behind a bush, overlooking a koi pond.
“How have you been, Rengoku-san?”
“You don’t have to keep calling me that.”
“Sorry. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“It is uncomfortable. No, that’s not the correct word for it. In any case, it would be strange if you insisted on calling me that when you’re on a first-name basis with my father.”
Tanjiro tilts his head, earrings jingling with the motion. “You and your thing with names.”
Kyojuro can’t tell if he’s smiling or not. His gaze remains fixed on the pond, watching the fishes glide in the water. No need to confirm it.
“I suppose my first question would be, when did it begin?”
“I guess it started when you offered to give me private lessons after school. My grades weren’t good before, but it became alarmingly worse after my dad died.” Tanjiro chuckles, a wry twist of a thing. “It’s not like I told anyone about it at school. But you were the only one who took pity on me enough to actually ask what was going on.”
“I assume I offered to teach you after school because life at home was too hectic, on top of your responsibilities at the bakery.”
“Y-yeah. That’s exactly it.”
Kyojuro suppresses a sigh. It still feels like the course of action he would take, had he found out today. His own experience of losing a parent at that age has made him too attuned to these things.
“And then? These lessons eventually devolved into a passionate affair?”
The other boy smothers a laugh behind his hand—wait. Laughter?
“You’re looking at it too logically.” Tanjiro’s eyes fill with unbridled amusement. That’s one way to react to his accusation. “Like I said, things just kept piling one on top of the other. We took the same train back home. I started seeing you at Takeo’s school more often. Small moments like that helped me to see a different side of you.” What does that even mean? “Eventually, I confessed to you…and you reciprocated. Miraculously.” Kyojuro doesn’t have to look at Tanjiro to know that the tips of his ears are bright red.
His wording at the restaurant is starting to make sense now. In a situation like that, who wouldn’t catch feelings for an adult who finally cares? He would. Probably. Not that he can imagine himself in such a situation. His only frame of reference is himself, bolting past life’s hurdles all on his own and coming out on the other side, unscathed.
“Miraculously…” Kyojuro mumbles.
It’s not disgust that he feels at himself. It’s not even guilt, not at this moment. A third emotion, one that balances on a ledge above a fifty-feet plunge into the abyss.
None of this explains his side of the equation.
“Let’s set this aside for now,” Kyojuro announces. He feels responsible to release the heavy tension brewing in the air. It’s exhausting, talking about all this. If this is how he feels, Tanjiro must feel it tenfold.
“I haven’t even asked what you’ve been doing since you graduated.”
“I…I’m embarrassed to tell you.”
Kyojuro can’t not look at him for that.
Tanjiro rubs the back of his neck, chuckling lightly. “I’m doing a degree in Elementary Education.”
His lips twitch into a smile. Teaching, huh?
“I wanted to choose something that would allow me to stay close to my family,” he explains, “but I also didn’t want to spend too much time studying. This felt like the right option. ”
This boy with his affinity for people, his capacious heart and an endless supply of patience. Teaching young children. It’s so exceedingly…Tanjiro.
“It suits you.”
Tanjiro looks at him, doe-eyed. “You think so?”
“Mhm. It’s a good choice, an excellent choice. There are not enough young teachers with a heart as compassionate as yours.”
He’s delighted to learn firsthand how radiant Tanjiro’s smile can be.
***
They start seeing each other more after that.
Not as lovers or friends, but as equals.
During the daytime, he and Tanjiro are world-class actors. They play the role of two characters with no history. A blank sheet of paper, and a pen waiting to receive dictation.
“Have I changed since the accident?”
They’re at a cafe this time, much like all their previous encounters. Restaurants, cafés, parks and convenience stores. It’s easier to maintain a careful distance in these impersonal third locations.
“You’re quieter now.”
He laughs heartily. “You must be the first person in my life to accuse me of that.”
“It’s not that you’re quiet per se. I feel like you’re in your head a lot more.”
“That’s a good thing, no? It means I’ve grown wiser. I’m thinking before I speak’, as the adage goes.”
Tanjiro leans back on his chair, looking at him carefully.
“As long as you’re happy with yourself. I like you either way.”
Those words fracture the performance. Reality is a dull wave that crashes over him, drenching him with cold emotion.
A tick gets stuck in his jaw. Selfish. He’s being selfish. And for what? What does he achieve by stringing Tanjiro along? What does he achieve by making him put up with this hot-and-cold dance of his? If anything, it speaks more of Tanjiro’s character. This vicious endurance and complete disregard of his own feelings. He doesn’t say anything in the moments when Kyojuro’s thoughts pull him away from their companionable time. He doesn’t say anything when Kyojuro sits too close to him, an itch he can’t scratch crawling under his skin, a craving he can’t push through with willpower alone, begging for sweet release at the proximity. Not even when Kyojuro calls in the middle of the night, his vision swimming with their old photographs on his tiny laptop screen, he doesn’t say anything at all. Kamado Tanjiro is whatever he wants him to be.
His hand is flat on the table, palm to the ceiling. Inviting him.
“Does your family know?”
No one else would notice this shift in demeanour. That is, no one but Tanjiro.
Tanjiro lowers his gaze. “They do.” He retracts his hand and hides it beneath the table. “They wanted to see you at the hospital, but figured you’d feel too overwhelmed.”
“Can I meet them?”
Tanjiro stares at him for a long while. “Are you sure?”
If he wants to move on with his life, if he wants to attain clarity and acceptance, to stop tormenting this kind person whose grace he is undeserving of, he needs closure.
“You don’t have to force yourself—”
“I want to, Tanjiro.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Alright then.”
***
The first thing that struck him when he entered the Kamado residence was how homely the place looked. Every nook and cranny was oozing with personality. Cute looking stickers are pasted on the shoe-rack, a baseball cap forgotten beside it. Framed pictures of the family lead you down the hallway into the living room. A doll house and scattered blocks and toy cars all over the polka-dot carpet, like a battle of personalities trying to find harmony in their small living space.
Tanjiro’s mother doesn’t seem all that surprised to see him. There’s something familiar about her that tugs at his memory. He thinks he must have seen her at one of the parent-teacher meetings. Only this time, she’s in her day-clothes, a loose dress and a silky bonnet, wispy hair-strands peeking from the edges.
“It’s good to see you, Kyojuro.” She smiles warmly. “You can call me Kie. I won’t respond if you call me Kamado-san, so don’t even think about being polite. Okay?” She straightens one of the throw pillows on the couch and pats the cushion. “Come. Sit.” Then she turns her attention to her son. “Be a dear and heat up the curry over the stove for me.”
Tanjiro lingers for a beat. Looking at Kyojuro. It takes him a second to realise he’s waiting for his approval.
It’s okay, he tries to communicate, smiling lightly. Tanjiro, of course, understands and leaves them alone.
“Feel free to ask me anything you want,” says Kie. “I’m sure you have a lot on your mind.”
He does.
Kyojuro has a million burning questions ready to spring from the tip of his tongue.
“At the same time, if you don’t want to talk about anything, that's also fine by me. Please don’t feel obligated to act a certain way. Just be yourself”
Kie’s sincerity is evident in her face, nothing like the placating smiles from those he encountered at the hospital. This good nature certainly runs in the family.
She fills the conversation with easy chatter about family anecdotes and odd customers from the bakery. Speaking to her, he didn’t think it would be this easy.
Maybe he isn’t so insatiable for answers.
From a distance, the unanimous voices of a girl and a boy reach the living room. “Moooom. We’re hungry!” Quick footsteps march down the staircase. Their voices die down when they see him.
The children appear to be twins, or at the very least, they can’t be more than a year apart.
He should say something, right? It feels like the polite thing to do, given that he’s the adult here.
“Hello there.”
They keep staring at him.
“Hanako. Shigeru,” Kie says, a certain lilt to her voice.
Tears spring to their eyes…and Kyojuro is just the asshole to trump all assholes when it comes to this family, isn’t he?
Kyojuro crouches on the floor in front of them. They don’t cling to him, but they do step closer, and he places a gentle hand on each of their shoulders. “I’m sorry for making you two worry,” he says, with a tenderness he normally reserves for Senjuro. It’s the least he can do.
Shigeru manages to blink away the tears, nodding in reply. Next to him, Hanako sniffles.
“We missed you.”
The innocence of the statement sends an enormous shockwave to his core. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Tanjiro, ever so perceptive, saves him from the flurry of panic building inside him. He hadn’t even noticed him walk into the room.
“Kyojuro-san has a work matter to attend to, so he has to leave now.” It’s a lame lie, but his siblings seem to accept it for what it is. Tanjiro steers them away, whispering something only audible to them. Hanako and Shigeru look back, waving slightly. “See you, Kyojuro…san.”
He can’t bring himself to speak, so he only smiles.
Outside, the sun plummets from the sky, leaving streaks of red and orange fury in its wake. They walk in silence, Kyojuro marching past all the shops and houses at unnecessary speed, and Tanjiro, always a few paces behind him. After they pass a few blocks, he stops on his feet.
“Thank you,” Kyojuro says. “Had you not intervened, I wonder if I could have controlled myself in front of them.”
“I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”
“No, no, no. It’s not you.” He’s on the verge of finding the right words, but they’re determined to evade him.
For the longest time, his life was a small receptacle consisting of just him, Senjuro, and a father who resigned to spend the rest of his life blending in with the furniture. To think that he had all these people who cared this deeply about his well-being, when he hadn’t even known they existed.
He runs his fingers through his hair, frustration mounting. Kyojuro’s completely out of his depth. But he needs to convey this to Tanjiro, to explain himself, to make him understand.
Tanjiro’s eyes soften with affection. “I know.”
As if on cue, the street lights flicker on with the synchronicity of a choir. A car sweeps past them, jostling their clothes. The traffic lights wink at him from the far corner—Red. Orange. Green—and Tanjiro has the backdrop of a glorious sunset fading behind him, fading into oblivion.
It isn’t an explosive moment like summer fireworks, so much as an accumulation of many tiny and inconsequential moments until you reach a point where you can no longer ignore it.
He can't keep the joy from bursting out of him because he finally gets it.
Kyojuro has been stripped of all his memories of their relationship. But the syntax of love clings to his heart like a stubborn vice.
And Tanjiro?
Tanjiro has never looked so captivating.
Kyojuro reaches him and doesn’t stop until he takes his hand. Tanjiro goes rigid with tension. His skin feels rough on his palm, rougher than he expected. He presses Tanjiro’s palm against his face, trapping his hand between his own.
“It’s not by chance,” he says, giddy with happiness. “That I fell in love with you.”
Tanjiro melts.
Fingers curl into soft locks of hair, cradling the back of his head. He ducks in at the same time as Tanjiro tips his head up to kiss him. Their mouths slot together. As simple as breathing. Kyojuro grips his chin, peppering his mouth with quick and shallow kisses. Tanjiro tightens his grip on his hair and pushes his tongue in without him even having to coax his jaw open. It catches him so off-guard, a jolt of electricity zips down his spine to his toes.
“Tanjiro,” Kyojuro mumbles into his lips, just to hold him at bay for a minute.
The itch that’s been setting a fire under his skin for the past few weeks is gone, replaced with something of a far greater magnitude. A feeling of pure want and ecstasy.
Surely, it can’t be normal to feel so strongly for one person.
Tanjiro pulls away. “We don’t have to rush into this.” He rests his hands on his chest, looking at him. “Just tell me. What do you want to do now?”
That’s easy to answer.
“Come home with me.”
***
The bathroom is so quiet, he suspects that Tanjiro can hear the thoughts in his head.
“Are you sure you’re confident in your skill?”
“Very much so.”
“How long have you been doing this for again?”
“Kyojuro.”
“It’s one thing to cut your own hair, and another to cut someone else’s. You must know that.”
“I’ve been cutting my siblings’ hair for years. Does that appease you?”
“For how long?”
“Since middle school.”
“That’s not specific enough! Were you twelve, thirteen—”
“Fourteen years old. Since eighth-grade, okay?” Tanjiro cards his fingers through his hair, gently facing his head away from him. “Now let me finish your haircut.”
Kyojuro sighs, closing his eyes. It is too late to change his mind anyway.
The sound of snipping resumes. Cool air hits the back of his bare neck, all at once. It’s hard not to feel a little hysterical about it.
“I’m done.”
He doesn’t bother to dust away the loose hair from his shirt, ignoring Tanjiro’s protests, as he climbs out of the bathtub to check himself in the mirror.
His shoulder-length hair has remained a constant in his life through thick and thin.
Now, Kyojuro doesn’t recognise his own reflection.
He looks like a version of him he bid farewell to many years ago, and a version of himself he has yet to discover.
“What do you think?” he asks Tanjiro.
A small part of him seeks his approval. Requires it, even.
Tanjiro doesn’t get up from the stool next to the bathtub, scissors still in hand. His eyes gloss over, lips parting against his will.
“You look—good. You look really good.”
Kyojuro looks in the mirror again, smiling at his reflection. He does look good. Of course, he knows that already. But the affirmation still pleases him. He feels ready to take on the world.
Tomorrow, he’ll go to the hospital for his final appointment.
A new life awaits him.
***