Kimetsu One-shots

Living Life in Color(sanegiyuu)

Some say life is nothing without love. Some believe love is the driving force behind every person's actions, and that without some kind of love one won't live as fulfilling a life as they could. Love can come in many different forms, in the form of an older sibling's love for their younger siblings, a parent's love for their child, a love between close friends, romantic love. However, in a world such as the one that occupies Sanemi Shinazugawa, romantic love has always loomed over him.

Some say life is nothing without romantic love, because without romantic love there is no color. From the moment you're born in a world like this, your vision is nothing but hues of black and white and gray. You'll never see the color of your hair or eyes, nor the color of the sky or grass. Some believe the world is bleak without color, but in Sanemi's opinion, it's never been that bad. Sure, he's never seen the color of his baby brother's eyes or the color of his mother's favorite flower. He's never seen the color of his father's favorite jacket or his youngest siblings' toys. But to him those things were superfluous. Irrelevant. He didn't need to see the color to see them, and he's navigated through all his twenty-one years of life with the same philosophy.

Because color is fluctuating, and fleeting. It comes and goes with the budding and wilting of love, something as unreliable as romantic love itself. He wasn't opposed to love, but he had no interest in going looking for it.

Sanemi was sure he'd never experience color, or if he did it wouldn't be for long, but he didn't mind that too much. He had his family, as well as some good albeit noisy friends. He was content to live as he was, studying his ass off during the week for his engineering degree and working at his family friend's bakery on the weekends.
The Kamado Bakery belonged to family friends of the Shinazugawa's, who'd met through Sanemi's closest younger brother Genya and their eldest Tanjiro. Kie Kamado was particularly close with his mother, and he'd been working in her bakery since high school, so much so that it was almost a second home among the freshly made dough and sticky cookie icing.

And that's where he stood, behind the counter on a dreary Saturday morning. It had rained the night before, the air moist with perspiration as Sanemi tied his old faded gray apron around his waist and got ready to open up the store, preparing for the morning rush. Tanjiro nor Genya were working that day, both off with their friends, so today it was just him and the Kamado's second eldest, Nezuko, until his coworker and friend showed up for her afternoon shift. The morning rush is always hell in Sanemi's opinion, but Nezuko is efficient as they make their way through the long line, and by the time the last customer leaves Shinobu is arriving for her shift, greeting them.

By the time two o'clock rolls around, Sanemi is counting the minutes until he can leave at three, bored out of his brain as he stands behind the counter and recounts the number of slightly darker gray floor tiles underneath him. Shinobu and Nezuko are in the back, making more pastries for the late afternoon rush they'll be expecting at some point. Mid-afternoon is always the slowest, so they always take the time to make more baked goods in between. Still, in all his years working at the bakery Sanemi never really cared to learn how the more fancy goods were made, knowing they'd never be as well made as the Kamado's themselves. Sometimes he swore they infused their cakes with drugs, they were that good.

By the time he's at floor tile number 31, he hears the small bell above the door ring. Perking up, he straightens his shirt as he'd been slouching, opening his mouth to recite the usual greeting, however it dies on his tongue as he stares ahead of him.

Sanemi instantly decides that the man in front of him is no ordinary man, rather he's most likely a god. Or a hallucination. Either works, because Sanemi doesn't think he's ever seen someone so beautiful. The man in front of him dons a long skirt that reaches his ankles, a pair of wedges strapped to his feet. He has on a shoulderless white frilly top tucked into the skirt, and his dark hair is let loose, cascading down his shoulder like a waterfall, with two low-hanging earrings attached to his lobes. His smile is small, but irrevocably there, and Sanemi swears he may faint, mind going blank at the sight of him.