Work Text:
On the morning of Sanemi’s twenty-first birthday, Genya asks his brother what his plans for the day are.
“Gonna stay home,” Sanemi answers without hesitation and gulps down half his bowl of miso soup immediately afterwards.
Genya frowns. “Nii-chan, it’s okay. I’m not a kid anymore, I can stay home alone for a couple of hours; you shouldn’t hold back on celebrating with your friends because of me.”
“I ain’t holding back on nothing,” his brother says, grabbing at Genya’s plate of grilled fish to pick out the bones despite Genya’s protests that he could do it himself. “We’re going to celebrate together cause you’re my brother and my little brother is always gonna be my top priority.”
Genya’s chest warms but a part of him wonders if Sanemi’s adamant desire for a quiet celebration with just the two of them has anything to do with him startling awake last night, gasping and wheezing. Genya wonders if it has anything to do with the raw, broken way Sanemi had called out Genya’s name after he awoke that made Genya’s heart seize with empathetic agony. He wonders if it has anything to do with how Sanemi had reached out to hold Genya’s hand in his own shaking one, his breathing tight, like he’s clenched his teeth together to force himself not to scream. Or sob. Or both.
(Genya wonders if it has anything to do with how, even though they live in a two bedroom apartment and there is clearly a room labeled as Genya’s room where he has all his school books and homework and souvenirs from trips with his friends and school photos, Sanemi and him still share a room when they sleep because while Sanemi will never admit it, Genya knows his Nii-chan always sleeps better when he can hear there's someone else in the same room with him.)
But Genya, who had pretended to be asleep during the whole thing, continues to feign ignorance for Sanemi’s sake.
“Then I’ll get the cake after school,” he offers. “What kind do you want, Nii-chan?”
Tanjiro laughs when Genya tells him over lunch that Sanemi doesn’t want a cake for his birthday and how he threatened to not talk to Genya if Genya even thought of getting him a present.
“Then how about some ohagi?” Tanjiro suggests with a surefire, sunshine smile. “I’ll make them fresh in the bakery after school and you can tell Sanemi-san that they’re a congratulatory birthday gift from the Kamado bakery and you’re delivering them on our behalf.”
Tanjiro winks and Genya smiles, wondering where he’d be without a friend like Kamado Tanjiro.
Sanemi is scowling something fierce when Genya shows him the Kamado bakery bag with the ohagi inside but he doesn’t yell. He just grumbles a little and tells Genya to go wash up while he prepares dinner.
“Nii-chan, no!” Genya gently pushes Sanemi away from the kitchen, directing him towards the living room instead. “It’s your birthday – you go rest. I’ll make dinner.”
“You just got back from school,” Sanemi protests, planting his feet on the border between the living room and the kitchen. “You’re probably tired as hell. It’s my day off so I’ve done nothing but rest; I’ll take care of dinner.”
Genya shakes his head. Just today, he won’t let himself budge.
(“Thank you God,” Sanemi had whispered when his hands had stopped shaking, his breaths no longer coming out like he was trying to hold back a stampede in his lungs; even then, he still hadn’t let go of Genya’s hand. “Thank you for not taking away Genya this time.”
On the cusp of sleep, Genya wondered why it felt like his body was crumbling apart, why he felt the overwhelming urge to grip Sanemi’s hand in return and tell him sorry and that he wasn’t going anywhere this time.)
“Nii-chan, I want to,” he says, soft and quiet because these are the moments Sanemi hears him the clearest.
(“I’m scared Nii-chan,” Genya had sobbed before their younger siblings and their mother’s graves. He was eight and small, with a face full of fresh scars that he’d carry for the rest of his life. “We’re all alone now.”
Sanemi had hugged him, tight and fierce with more strength than a thirteen-year-old boy should be able to muster but Sanemi mustered that strength because if it was for Genya’s sake, he’d slice the sun and moon in half and grab a star with his bare hands if it made Genya smile.
“You’ve got me,” Sanemi had whispered into Genya’s hair and if Genya had felt the wetness of Sanemi’s tears against his temples and down his cheeks, he doesn’t mention them and lets their tears meld together.
“We’ve still got each other, Genya.”)
“You’ve always taken care of me, so let me at least make your birthday dinner.” Genya smiles, holds up the Kamado bakery bag higher. “And then we can have ohagi for dessert.”
Sanemi huffs, fondly exasperated but there is something else in the way that his eyes soften a little around the edges and in the way that he smiles that soften the linings of the scars on his face so he looks younger than his age that makes Genya thinks that Sanemi’s just a little sad in the same way someone is saddened by an ache that has scabbed over but never fully healed so the wound beneath is always fresh.
“Alright, I get it. Dinner’s all yours, Genya.”
And Genya smiles, the happiest that he’s felt all day.
(Crumbling away into nothingness, Genya closes his eyes and smiles, the happiest he's felt since his mother became a demon. In the end, he was able to protect the one thing that mattered.
"Live, 'Nemi," the dust whispers in Sanemi's ears but grief drowns out everything but Sanemi's own screams.
Someday, he'll hear it.
Someday.)