Where The Cherry Blossoms Bloom //Sanegiyuu

Shizuka: Hibiki

As Shinazugawa sat alone, chewing thoughtfully on the ohagi, the letter lingered in his mind. The handwriting, the careful attention to detail—it all felt so strange coming from someone like Tomioka. For a moment, he stared at the red bean paste on his fingers, his thoughts wandering further than he intended.

A memory crept in, uninvited. It was faint at first, but the more he tried to ignore it, the sharper it became.

He saw Genya's face—young, earnest, and desperate for approval. He remembered the clumsy note Genya had once handed him, written in uneven scribbles.

"I'm sorry for always making you mad, nii-chan. I just want to be like you."

Shinazugawa's grip on the ohagi tightened. His chest ached as the memory turned into something sharper, more recent: the sight of Genya's broken body during their final fight against Muzan. His brother had died protecting him, sacrificing everything just to help end the war.

Even now, Shinazugawa could hear Genya's voice faintly, calling him "nii-chan" one last time.

He took another bite of the ohagi, chewing slowly as if the sweetness could distract him. But it only made the ache worse. The red bean paste, something Genya had loved too, felt heavier on his tongue. He set the rest of the ohagi down abruptly, his appetite gone.

"This is so stupid," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

But the truth gnawed at him. Tomioka's letter had stirred something he'd buried after Genya's death. For all his bluster and walls, Shinazugawa couldn't deny that Tomioka's words echoed something painfully familiar.

"I want you to realize that I'm always here for you, through your ups and downs."

His throat tightened, and despite himself, his vision began to blur. He bit his lip, willing the tears back, but the weight of everything he'd lost was too much.

"I couldn't even save you, Genya," he whispered, his voice cracking.

The tears came slowly at first, sliding down his face in warm, silent streaks. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it only grew bigger. His hand trembled as he reached for another piece of ohagi, taking a small bite and letting the sweetness mix with the saltiness of his tears.

For the first time in years, Shinazugawa allowed himself to cry. His shoulders shook as he buried his face in his hands, the sound of his ragged breaths filling the quiet room.

The half-empty basket of ohagi sat on the table, a quiet reminder of the strange, persistent kindness that had broken through his walls.