Blossoming Fissure | Tanjirou Kamado

7. The simplicity of a paradise

In the funeral they held for Aya's dad, Tanjirou had done nothing but think about his family.

Him, Inosuke and Zenitsu had hugged Aya's mother one by one, although Inosuke didn't know why they had to or even the reason for the puffy eyes on the relatives. (Tanjirou had believed to smell slightly of salty water that hadn't come from Zenitsu for once, but from under the mask, but he would never know if that smell came from Inosuke or his own tears, never to be spilled.)

One of Oyakata-sama's children had gone to Makoto's funeral, too.

Kiriya, she had said, had attended on her father's stead to offer their condolences to Aya's mother and grandmother. She had looked confused at the lack of people, maybe she had believed that the funeral of someone who her father told her to attend would be of someone more important (more loved). But in that room, apart from the small shrine, the brazier and the ashes, it was only the family, Tanjirou, Nezuko, Zenitsu, Inosuke and the residents of the Butterfly Estate.

Sweat had soaked Kanao's forehead when going up to the only Iwamotos left and, just like Shinobu had taught her, offering her condolences along with a hug. Aoi had been more resolved and had shook their hands, offering a basket of freshly baked goods for comfort. Kaede had bursted out laughing.

Otherwise, Shinobu chatting in whispers with Kaede and Kaori in a corner, the trio of girls that were strangely quiet (although they shouldn't have, they already knew what death was) no one else attended the funeral.

Makoto Iwamoto had been nothing but a fool, and this was the proof.

Although Tanjirou knew that shouldn't be like that, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd end up the same. If the people he helped with such eagerness would remember him once the news of his death reached their ears, if there would be people hoping he'd have a safe trip to the other shore. Or maybe he wouldn't have a funeral at all.

Maybe everyone around him turned bitter and horrendous just like the people around Makoto had, and Tanjirou would end up being bid farewell by no one and buried because of the nuisance his corpse in the middle of the road was instead of out of love for him and his fire.

Sometimes, Tanjirou guessed, the gods were merciless. Just like they had been with him all his life.

Yuu had been tense all the time he had spent in the room, with the smell of ashes on his nostrils. Kaori had assured him that he could rest and that had made him nearly run out of the room, but he didn't run fast enough for Tanjirou not to smell his pulsing panic, one that had been dormant for a long time, or the way he nervously fidgeted with his fingers behind his back.

Having to witness the incineration had already been too much for him.

Unlike Yuu, Tanjirou was more discreet.

Nezuko had been the only one to notice, but because she was holding his hand, the one that trembled at the memory.

It had been exactly like that, how they clutched to one another once he buried the corpses of his family. Nezuko didn't remember any prayer because she was a demon, and even if she had, she wouldn't have been able to mutter them. So Tanjirou's voice was the only one heard, in the silence on the mountain and in between the snowy trees, praying for the souls of the family he had loved and treasured.

He hadn't been able to give them a worthy funeral, as much as he had wanted, as much as he had lamented. He hadn't been able to give them anything more than a grave of earth just like how, when they were alive, he hadn't been able to give them more than some pitiful handfuls of rice instead of pretty kimonos or comfortable futons. And what kind of big brother did that turn him into? He remembered wondering that time and time again, now during nighttime and tucked in bed, staring at Aya's haori that was, clean and folded, on the bed next to his.