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Sometimes, Nezuko finds herself staying up into the long hours of the night, like she’s waiting for something to happen, it never does, and she loses sleep proving her worries aren’t rational, but it never leaves, and her chest tightens with alertness each time it crosses her mind.
The house she grew up in still stands, exactly as it was before, though, without the people she remembers, there is always the bittersweet feeling of something missing, where she can’t help but think about the days where there were more than four meals to prepare, she tells herself it can’t be helped.
It’s over, Nezuko knows this, but her time spent awake keeps bringing her back to those painful images in her head, unable to fully put to rest her fears of that night, it keeps her from fully moving on.
And sometimes, in the dark, she hears Tanjiro waking abruptly, as if shaken from a bad dream, he sits outside on the engawa in unsettled silence, and Nezuko waits a moment before joining him.
When he notices her stepping outside to stand beside him, he always gently reassures her that he’s fine, apologises for waking her, and tells her to go back to sleep.
He doesn’t fuss when she decides to stay anyway, and though she doesn’t see the moisture shine in his eyes, his uneasy posture is too tense for her to leave it alone. Now that they’re home again, her brother has been appearing more at ease these days, but even so, she knows it can’t be easy for him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go back inside?” He asks her, “at least put on another layer, so you don’t catch a cold.”
Nezuko gives him a pensive look before replying, “your arm aches in the cold too, don’t you want to stay warm? You remember what Kanao said…”
“I’m okay, it’s not giving me trouble now.” Tanjiro replies, smiling helplessly.
Nezuko frowns back, unsatisfied by that answer. It appears they’re at a stalemate.
The wooden boards underneath creak as she sits down beside him, followed by the sounds of the house settling.
Occasionally, against her wishes, she’ll be brought back to that tragedy, when the house becomes too quiet. It’s better to have a home that feels lively, that’s a sentiment she shares with Tanjiro despite the years they spent away.
Though, even with the four of them, loud and energetic as they can be, there are still moments of silence, a stagnant hush that creeps in after the sun sets, much like the fog descending upon the mountain, where all she can think about is the uncomfortable stillness of the house that night, of the hours she remained collapsed in the snow outside, the warmth of Rokuta’s tiny body slipping away in her arms, and gone with it her humanity.
They were already gone, and she had become something else.
And so, she stays up, into the long hours of the night, like she’s waiting for something to happen.
It never does, she knows it won’t happen again, it can’t.
But that doesn’t mean it can’t still linger in the back of their minds.
“Tanjiro?” She asks him finally, “what did you dream about?”
Tanjiro seems to deliberate telling her, going quiet for a few seconds, Nezuko breaks the silence herself.
“Whatever it is, you don’t have to sit outside in the cold alone,” Nezuko reminds him, “I don’t mind keeping you company.”
These kinds of things have to be said with certainty, out loud, or else her elder brother will take on the weight of the world by himself, even if he doesn’t have to.
If she could shoulder his pain alongside her own, if she could ease his troubles somehow, she would.
“Nezuko, do you have nightmares too?” Tanjiro asks, out of nowhere, he doesn’t answer her earlier question, it seems his focus is now on her.
“I’m not getting much sleep either way,” Nezuko replies with an exasperated smile, “why do you think I came out here?”
“So it’s true then,” Tanjiro looks to the ground, “I’m sorry, I should have realised sooner.”
Tanjiro… are you really still blaming yourself?
Nezuko feels at a loss for words, the reassurances are sadly stuck in her throat, usually, she’s not so unsure of what to say, “I think…”
The view of the forest goes on into the darkness, the chill in the air begins to make her restless, it’s quiet again, but Nezuko can hear the wind sailing through the trees, picking up force again, the branches sway, and she concentrates on the fuzzy, indistinct movement, as the silence stretches on longer.
“I think I want to visit Urokodaki-san soon…”
Tanjiro lifts his head looks at her, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards, “That’s a good idea, I’m sure he’d like that, and Giyuu-san too?”
Nezuko agrees, the presence of those two is an ensured comfort for them both, and if her brother can see the lives of those he has protected and kept with him, would it diminish the guilt he carries?
“…I still miss them.” She admits after a pause, gliding her hand across the newly installed engawa’s planks.
It had been well over a year, but the circumstances were not the same as it was when their grandmother and father passed, they couldn’t grieve then, not until it was over, and they could not return to their lives as they were.
She doesn’t fully remember, but she knows it was Tanjiro who dug the graves for their mother and siblings by himself, it was Tanjiro who blamed himself back then too.
Silence creeps in again, but not for long.
“I know,” Tanjiro responds quietly, “I do too.”
There’s no need for elaboration, both understand what the other is saying.
“But they would be proud…” Nezuko says, a little drowsily, but with a stubborn conviction, “you know that.”
From within the house, the distant lull of Inosuke’s snoring can be heard, newly familiar, its steady rhythm begins to lull Nezuko, her head droops until it falls against her brother’s shoulder, where it stays, despite the chill in the air, it’s comforting, and her eyelids are so heavy now, it becomes harder to pay attention.
But despite it all, she can still picture her family’s faces, smiling, welcoming them home, she closes her eyes and begins to drift off, the last thing she remembers is Tanjiro’s warm hand on her shoulder.
When she wakes up the next morning, she finds herself tucked into her futon as daylight filters in through the shoji screens, Zenitsu is still clinging to sleep, judging from the Zenitsu-shaped mound underneath his kakebuton, she thinks she hears Inosuke’s raucous laughter from the other room, followed by Tanjiro’s gentle placating, the house is lively again.
Like how it was before, except it isn’t, not anymore.
But as long as the right people were there, an empty house could become a home again.