(\'.'/)

soy de Chile.

[nicol-chan]

Zenitsu Hashira (Alternate Universe) "Which of the other Hashira should I continue with? Trivia (With drawing included)

Tengen Uzui

shinobu

Mitsuri

Tomioka

Sanemi

Rengoku

 Gyōmei Himejima

Muichirō Tokito

Obanai Iguro

Voting ended onMay 20, 2025

[nicol-chan]

Lo que tengo de momento. Lo voy a pasar a digital más tarde.

Noooo. MI niño 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Debió dolor como la putada eso.

[nicol-chan]

I may be working on a comic of the Zenitsu's :>

Haslo haslo haslo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[nicol-chan]

"Finally got it done. I really wanted to draw them too. Hope you enjoy it!"

🥰🥰🥰☺️☺️☺️🤗🤗🤗🤗

@tired-writer-in-progress @flamink

[nicol-chan]

Zenitsu Hashira. (Alternate Universe)--Tokito.

Single part

The air smelled of incense and pressure. It was the Hashira meeting. The first one for the new Thunder Pillar.

Tokito Muichiro was there, as always: without expectations, without persistent thoughts. His memories were barely loose threads in a thick fog. In front of the rest, a blond boy stepped forward.

Small.

Not so much in height —though he was— but in presence. As if trying to make himself invisible. His hands were trembling. He didn’t speak.

He only stretched out his arms clumsily. His hands in a pleading gesture… as if apologizing for existing. His lips were tightly pressed, as if holding back tears. Muichiro looked at him without saying anything. He was blond. Very blond. As if someone had caught the sun with their hands and placed it on his head.

He didn’t know why, but he liked that.

It wasn’t a rational idea. It didn’t make sense. What sense did it make that the color of something would provoke a pleasant feeling? Was it aesthetically pleasing? Or did it simply remind him of something? He didn’t know what.

Nor why.

—Are you… the new Hashira? —he asked emotionlessly, in a low and flat voice. The boy looked at him with soaked eyes. His face tensed as if he were about to cry harder, but he just nodded.

—Y-yes… I’m Zenitsu… I’m sorry… It’s just… I got really emotional.

Muichiro blinked.

Zenitsu.

The name meant nothing to him. It didn’t provoke any image. Any emotion. Like a blank space.

—You cry too much —he said.

It wasn’t mockery. It was an observation.

Zenitsu nodded again. His smile was tense, vulnerable. Muichiro thought he looked like a small animal trying to seem stronger than it was.

That too… he liked. Strange. Zenitsu stayed silent for a moment. Then he spoke in a firmer voice, though still soft:

—Don’t worry, I can fight. I’m fast. Though… I do cry a lot. But… I’m useful, really. You’re Tokito-kun, right?

Muichiro didn’t respond. He turned halfway and went back to his place. His brain repeated the name. Zenitsu. Zenitsu. Zenitsu.

It sounded like a soft hum. Like the breeze over the leaves.

***************************************************

The sun fell softly through the branches of the nearby forest, filtering warm light over the small clearing. Training had ended a while ago, but Tanjiro was still there, sitting on the grass, carefully folding a piece of paper with an almost ceremonial concentration.

Muichiro watched him in silence, legs crossed and his head slightly tilted.

—Is it always this easy for you to do this? —he asked suddenly, breaking the silence with his soft voice, barely a whisper. Tanjiro looked up. His face wore that usual expression, a mix of calm surprise and sincere attention.

—Making planes?

Muichiro shook his head.

—No. Talking. Laughing. Being kind… to anyone. Even when they haven’t earned it. Tanjiro stopped folding his plane for a second and looked at him more closely.

—Well, it’s not like they have to earn it. Sometimes… people are difficult because of things we can’t see. I don’t like thinking I have to wait for them to be perfect before I treat them well. Muichiro lowered his gaze to the crooked plane in his hand. Thinking about the boy who cried a lot.

—I wasn’t kind to Zenitsu —he said suddenly, without looking up—When I met him, he was crying in front of everyone. He seemed like… nothing. Or no. That’s not exactly it. I just didn’t know what to do with someone like him. And I told him so. As if it didn’t matter.

Tanjiro stayed silent, but he didn’t judge. He just listened. And that, somehow, made it easier.

—Now that I remember everything… I don’t like how I treated him. He was kind to me. He always has been, even when I was just a sharp edge. Sometimes I wish I had your ease for… getting close. For saying: “I’m sorry.” But I don’t know how to do that without sounding… fake. Or clumsy.

Tanjiro smiled, gently, as if he already knew Muichiro was closer to doing it than he himself believed.

—Saying what you just said is already a good start —he replied— If you tell him like that, honestly… Zenitsu will understand. He always understands more than he seems to.

Muichiro nodded silently, and after a pause, murmured seriously:

—Besides, I guess you know him well. He always looks for you…

—Tanjirōoo!!

They both looked up. It was Zenitsu, of course. He came running down the path like a yellow whirlwind, his eyes completely soaked and his voice breaking in a sharp sob. It looked like a tragedy was chasing him… or maybe just his emotions, which often caught up to him before his own steps did.

—Rengoku-san wants to convince me to train the younger ones! I don’t want to, Tanjiro!! I can’t do that!! They’re going to hate me, I’m going to yell at them, and then they’re going to cry, and I’ll cry too, and it’s going to be a total disaster with snot and everythinggg!

He dropped to his knees in front of them, grabbing Tanjiro’s uniform as if it could save him from being swallowed by the earth. Muichiro watched him without moving. He didn’t say anything. But he was looking.

Tanjiro, instead of comforting him as he often did, simply tilted his head and smiled softly. His eyes shone with a new kind of excitement.

—Train with you? —he said with a sincere smile, almost like a child—. Zenitsu, it would be an honor!

Zenitsu blinked. He looked at him like he didn’t understand what he had just heard.

—A what?

—An honor —Tanjiro repeated, more serious this time—You’re incredible. Fast, strong, and… very brave. Even if you don’t see it.

Zenitsu pressed his lips together and shook his head while wiping his nose with his sleeve.

—But I already said no! Forehead-boy! I’m not qualified for that, I don’t know how to train anyone, and everyone’s going to expect me to be like Tengen-san and Mitsuri-chan, and I’m going to mess it all up, and the best thing for everyone is for me to stay away. I already told Lady Aname!!

Muichiro lowered his gaze, his fingers slowly pressing one of the edges of the paper he was holding. The memory came, clear as a reflection in water.

That day, Lady Aname, with her gentle voice and constant kindness, had given them the task of training the lower-ranked recruits. It was important, as a war with Muzan felt near. They needed their experience, their example. Zenitsu had stayed quiet until she mentioned his name.

Then he burst into tears.

—I can’t do it! I’m not like them! I’m not good with people! I’ll just get everyone hurt! They’ll laugh at me! I’ll mess everything up!! All of it!!

Aname-sama had tried to calm him, with measured words and patience, but in the end… she gave in. She told him it was okay. That he didn’t have to do it if he didn’t feel ready. But Muichiro had noticed. It wasn’t that he wasn’t ready. It was that he didn’t believe he could do it. He didn’t trust in his own worth.

Muichiro had thought then that if his mentor —that man who had taught him so much without ever needing to raise his voice— had been there, he would have known how to speak to him. He would’ve found the words Zenitsu needed to hear. He would have made that frightened boy feel brave… even if only for a moment.

And now, seeing Tanjiro looking at him with that brightness in his eyes, he understood that he wasn’t the only one who saw what Zenitsu couldn’t see in himself.

—You can train —he said without raising his voice much—. And you won’t ruin anything. Zenitsu looked at him, surprised. His eyes were still wet, but wider. As if he wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.

Muichiro held his gaze. No dramatics. No embellishments. Just the truth, spoken with the same ease as breathing. —If you train the way you fight… everyone will learn something valuable. Even if you don’t say it with words.

Zenitsu stayed silent. For the first time since he’d come running, he wasn’t crying. Tanjiro stood with a kind smile, calmly gathering his things. Muichiro stood up too. He would’ve helped Zenitsu, but letting himself be pulled along by Tanjiro, he ended up standing as well.

—I have to go. The next training session is with another Hashira —he said, giving Zenitsu one last look— Take care, okay? Think about it. Inosuke and I would love to learn from you. Zenitsu nodded weakly, his eyes still glassy, making an effort to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall again.

Muichiro, who had been quietly observing, dropped the paper plane at his side and fixed his gaze on Zenitsu. His blond hair still caught attention, but what really held Muichiro’s eyes was the uniform the boy was wearing.

It was short, too short for a man, and Muichiro understood why some people had mistaken him for a girl. He vaguely remembered hearing Zenitsu complain to Tengen about that. That he’d gotten more attention from men than from women. Without looking away, Muichiro commented in a low voice, almost indifferent:

—Your uniform is longer now than when I first met you.

Zenitsu snorted, letting out a small, sad smile, but spoke with an unexpected calm:

—Tengen-san talked to the tailor so the pants would be longer… but not so long that they get in the way when I fight demons, since if they’re too long, they start to wear out and the fabric gets caught on branches. I could end up naked in a fight… I don’t want that. Muichiro nodded slightly, recognizing in that explanation the mix of care and pragmatism that surrounded Zenitsu.

Zenitsu stayed quiet for a moment, looking down. Then, slowly, he turned his face toward Muichiro. He looked at him with some hesitation, as if trying to figure out a small riddle he couldn’t quite solve.

—Your sound has changed —he said suddenly, squinting— It doesn’t sound so foggy anymore. Like a day full of mist.

Muichiro looked at him, surprised, blinking. He didn’t know how to respond to that. But before he could say anything, Zenitsu leaned in a little, getting too close for his comfort. His face was very close. Too close.

Muichiro felt heat rise to his face, almost instinctively. Why was he getting so close?

Zenitsu didn’t seem to have any boundaries with personal space. Although, thinking about it, it made sense. He was always hiding behind Tengen, he and Mitsuri often ate together and he received her hugs with enthusiasm, he clung to Tomioka without hesitation, napped near

Rengoku and Himejima, even when Sanemi yelled at him, Zenitsu would grab his arm if he was particularly happy or excited. Maybe he simply didn’t know any other way to connect.

Muichiro lowered his gaze, uncomfortable but curious about the new feeling that simple gesture left him with.

—What… sound? —he asked in a low voice, without looking him in the eyes. Zenitsu tilted his head, as if it were obvious.

—Before… you were like a dry branch in the middle of winter. Crisp. Distant. Now… it’s different. More like a falling leaf. Still soft… but not so cold.

Muichiro didn’t respond. His cheeks were burning and he didn’t know how to stop it.

“Why are you like this?” he thought. But he didn’t say it. Maybe because, deep down, it didn’t bother him as much as he thought.

Zenitsu leaned in a little more, as if trying to find something on Muichiro’s face. His expression was no longer tearful, but completely curious. Muichiro didn’t move, but he felt his breathing becoming slower, more careful. It was strange. The heat in his cheeks wouldn’t go away.

And then, like a blade slicing through the atmosphere:

—Get away from my master, you indecent brat!

The sharp, angry shout startled both of them. Zenitsu gave a small jump back, more from reflex than real fear.

From a nearby tree, Ginko descended with all the pomp and fury of a tiny feathered empress.

She fluttered in front of Zenitsu, puffing her wings and shaking her small body with indignation. —You’re noisy, impulsive, and have not the slightest dignity! You are not worthy of being so close to someone as special as my master!

—Eh!? —Zenitsu threw his arms up, offended—. What do you have against me, you crazy chicken?! We were just talking!

—You called him by his name without permission! You got close as if you were his equal! You are an emotional hazard!!

—WH-WH-WHAT DO YOU MEAN EMOTIONAL HAZARD?!?! —Zenitsu shouted, cheeks red with rage—. I’m a Hashira!! I can slice demons into pieces with a single breath!! Don’t talk to me like I’m an insect!

Then, with an even louder shriek, a small golden ball came down like lightning from the sky.

—PIU PIU PIU!! —Chuntaro, Zenitsu’s sparrow, landed right between them with his chest puffed and feathers bristling like a warrior about to duel.

Zenitsu looked at him in astonishment, as did Muichiro. Chuntaro began chirping fiercely at

Ginko, flapping his wings with vigor, making small defiant hops. Ginko, far from intimidated, puffed out her black chest with equal determination and stepped forward with offensive dignity.

The two birds engaged in such a heated argument that their screeches sounded like tiny echoes of an epic battle. Beaks moving, little feet scratching the ground, feathers waving like banners.

Muichiro and Zenitsu watched them in complete silence.

One with a face of disbelief, and the other surprised, but still with red cheeks. Finally, Zenitsu sighed.

—…What kind of karma do I have…?

Zenitsu’s complaint hung in the air among Chuntaro’s shrieks, as he continued fiercely confronting Ginko the crow, who looked at him with absolute indignation as if he had just insulted her lineage.

Muichiro watched it all for a few more seconds. The sparrow screeching like a war trumpet, wings flapping with more energy than he thought possible in such a small bird. His crow, offended to the core, huffing with her wings and letting out long, dramatic caws. And suddenly… he laughed. Not a light exhale. Not a gentle smile. A real laugh.

His chest trembled slightly with the sound, soft but sincere, as if something inside him had loosened. Far from mocking, it was a clean laugh. Natural. His face, for a moment, lit up in a different way.

—Your sparrow… —he managed to say between another small laugh—... is challenging a bird three times his size.

Zenitsu looked at him as if he had seen a miracle.

—…Are you laughing?

—Yes —Muichiro nodded, lowering his gaze a little, almost as if he was surprised by himself too—It’s funny.

Zenitsu blinked, still incredulous. Then he looked over at the two animals. Chuntaro was now circling the crow, as if provoking her to fight with all his tiny might.

—…Yeah, I guess it is.

Ginko cawed furiously again.

—Insolent brat, control your vulgar feathered creature!

—YOU started it!! —Zenitsu shouted, throwing his hands to the sky. Muichiro laughed again. This time a little louder.

And while the sparrow and the crow continued their unusual territorial war, for the first time in a long while, Muichiro’s world felt less covered in fog. Clearer. Lighter. As if the sun had slipped through the trees, just like the golden hair of that boy who cried so

much, and who was now there… arguing with a crow.

And for some reason, that too… he liked.

****************************************

Curiosities:

He finds it amusing how Zenitsu reacts with his entire body. He covers his face, rolls around, crouches, jumps. As if he didn’t know how to regulate his emotions. He’s so expressive that sometimes Muichiro feels he could read him with his eyes closed.

He’s surprised by how much Zenitsu trusts others, even when they yell at him. Zenitsu holds no grudges. Muichiro does. Or used to. He finds it hard to understand how someone who has suffered so much can still hope to be loved. It seems… admirable. Painfully beautiful.

Since they started talking more, Zenitsu began treating him like a younger brother. He offers him food, complains that he needs to eat more or he’ll stay small… even though they’re about the same height. Muichiro thought that if Yūichirō were alive, he would’ve scolded Zenitsu for crying so much, for complaining, for making noise even while sleeping… But then he would’ve accepted him. Because Zenitsu is a whirlwind of emotion, but never harmful. And within that whirlwind, Muichiro feels at peace.

*He finds it fascinating how Zenitsu can go from absolute panic to unshakable courage. As if he had an invisible switch that no one else knows how to use.

[flamink]

@nicol-chan @tired-writer-in-progress our zens~

And some differences hahaah

[nicol-chan]

I love him

[divineluckfuckoff]

@nicol-chan (left) & @flamink(right)'s Zenitsus bcs I was bored

[nicol-chan]

🥰🥰🥰

[divineluckfuckoff]

@nicol-chan (left) & @flamink(right)'s Zenitsus bcs I was bored

[nicol-chan]

Dibujillo

[nicol-chan]

Zenitsu Hashira. (Alternate Universe)--Tomioka.

Single part

Zenitsu Agatsuma. Thunder Hashira. And yet… he trembled.

It wasn’t that he had been seen fighting. Zenitsu rarely fought in the presence of others. He always seemed to disappear before the direct clash and return after the battle, covered in someone else’s blood, but with trembling hands.

Reports described him as a demon slayer as fast as lightning, a human thunderbolt who left no room for his enemies. But Tomioka hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

Only the aftermath. The trembling. The silence. The emotional exhaustion.

His steps were unsteady. His voice fluctuated between a tremble and a shout. He wore fear like a second skin. And even so, he was still there.

Sitting among them. With the Pillars' buttons. With that nervous smile that seemed to ask for permission to exist. And worst of all… was that everyone accepted him.

Mitsuri treated him like a younger brother, always worried about whether he ate well or stayed warm. Tengen —as flamboyant as he was— would throw him pieces of fruit and make lighthearted jokes, as if he were a fellow actor. And Zenitsu, without fail, would hide behind him every time Sanemi raised his voice, which only irritated the Wind Pillar further. But even Sanemi, when shouting at him with his usual harshness, seemed to acknowledge his presence. To acknowledge him as one of their own.

Zenitsu was not excluded. Not like him.

Every time Tomioka went to the Butterfly Mansion to treat his wounds, he saw him there. Zenitsu helped carry bandages, held bowls of water, tried to comfort the younger ones. Sometimes he stuttered, sometimes his eyes looked tearful, but he didn’t back away. He didn’t run from the wounded bodies or the cries.

He stayed. Why was that wrong? Because it reflected him.

Because seeing him there, with the title of Hashira, forced Tomioka to look at himself. To remember all the times he had doubted. All the times he had asked himself if he truly deserved that name, that place, that sword. And then, inevitably, he thought:

“Was he also a mistake?”

“Was he put here by accident… like me?”

It wasn’t contempt. Tomioka rarely felt contempt. It was fear.

If Zenitsu didn’t deserve to be there… then neither did he. And that idea tore him apart more than he was willing to admit. He said nothing. He just looked at him, impassive. The conversation came like a crack in the silence.

Tomioka, seated in the infirmary of the Butterfly Mansion, silently observed the garden. There, Zenitsu was kneeling, picking up sheets that the wind had blown away. Every time a girl from the mansion approached to help him, he would apologize, laughing awkwardly, though he kept trying to help.

—That boy… is too soft —murmured Tomioka, more to himself than to Shinobu. She didn’t look up at first. She finished wrapping the bandage on his arm, and only then spoke, in a calm tone, without her usual sarcasm.

—Does that make him less worthy?

Tomioka didn’t reply. There was something about Zenitsu that made him uncomfortable. Not because he was bad. But because… he reminded him too much of himself. Shinobu, as if sensing it, set the bandage aside and looked directly at him.

—Tomioka-san. Did you know Zenitsu was promoted to Hashira shortly after his master took his own life?

Tomioka raised his eyebrows slightly. He didn’t know. Shinobu continued, without drama, but with a clarity that hurt.

—Jigoro Kuwajima was his master. He committed suicide after learning that his best student, Kaigaku, had become a demon by his own will. Zenitsu had no intention of rising in rank. He hadn’t even become an official slayer when that happened. She paused for a moment, as if unsure whether to go on.

—Zenitsu trained alone, after his master fell. He forced himself to stay on the path and began hunting demons on his own. By the time he finally took the selection exam, he had already killed several. When he received his sword, he didn’t seek power. He only wanted to avenge his master. Tomioka looked down, tense.

—He killed Kaigaku, who by coincidence happened to be a Lower Moon. —said Shinobu—. Not for glory. Not for rank. He went after him knowing it would be a fight to the death… because he couldn’t allow his master’s name to be stained by a traitor. A silence settled between them. Outside, Zenitsu tripped again and ended up with dirt on his face. The girls laughed softly. So did he.

—Then why is he still like that? —Tomioka whispered—. Why didn’t he change?

—Because that’s his heart. He didn’t stop being who he was. He didn’t turn cynical. He didn’t stop crying. He didn’t stop being afraid. Many of us hardened. But he didn’t. And still, he kept going.

And finally, with a strange sweetness in her voice, Shinobu concluded:

—That he remains himself, after all that… is precisely what makes him worthy of being a Hashira.

Tomioka didn’t reply. But something inside him, an old and painful suspicion, began to waver.

The sunset dyed the corridors of the Demon Slayer headquarters orange. Tomioka walked silently down the hallway connecting the Hashira meeting area with the inner garden. A recent report spoke of a mid-rank demon who had been escaping the extermination corps for weeks. He had volunteered to take care of it… but, to his annoyance, Ubuyashiki-Sama had assigned Zenitsu Agatsuma, the Thunder Hashira, as his partner.

Tomioka found him waiting in the garden, sitting on his heels. He was perfectly dressed in his yellow haori, hands clasped, watching a butterfly that had landed on a flower. His expression was strangely calm.

—Tomioka-San —Zenitsu said, standing up abruptly.— Thank you for coming. Tomioka didn’t answer immediately. He observed him from the doorway.

“So obviously fragile…”, he thought. He had never said it out loud. But his silence had already made it clear.

— I wasn’t the one who decided this —he finally said, without approaching.— I have nothing to add.

Zenitsu forced a smile. Although his posture was calm, his shoulders barely trembled. Tomioka noticed.

—Is there something wrong with me…? —Zenitsu asked suddenly, barely audible, without looking at him—…

Tomioka barely frowned.

—I don’t make hasty judgments —he replied, almost automatically.

—But you think I shouldn’t be a Hashira. That I don’t deserve to be in this position.

Silence was his answer. A silence so cold it hurt more than a statement. Zenitsu’s eyes filled with restrained tears and he forced a sad smile. This time, he kept silent. Said nothing. Finally, in a low voice, almost trembling but clear, he said:

—I’m here because I want my master to be proud of me. Because Lord Ubuyashiki trusted me… and I can’t betray that trust. Even if sometimes I don’t trust myself, they did. And that’s enough for me to keep moving forward.

Tomioka clenched his fists. A memory exploded in his mind. Sabito, covered in blood, still smiling at him as he faded away.

“Why wasn’t I the one who died…?”

—It’s not about fear —Tomioka said, almost a whisper.— Not everyone who fears is weak… But I can’t understand how someone who cries in the halls can be a Pillar of the Demon Slayers.

Zenitsu looked at him calmly. Although his eyes were wet, his voice did not tremble.

—Maybe you’ll never understand. But even with all that fear… I’m still here. And that says something, doesn’t it?

He bowed his head, as if offering a soft nod, without sarcasm or submission. Just a sign of respect.

—Thank you for coming. Even if you don’t believe in me yet… And without another word, he turned around and walked down the garden path, leaving Tomioka alone among the shadows stretched by the sunset.

*****************************

The forest smoked. The trees, blackened by the strike of lightning, creaked as the fire died under the fine rain beginning to fall. The demon’s body lay charred, reduced to ashes beside the rock where it had tried to devour a girl.

Tomioka watched silently the figure of Zenitsu standing among the remains. It had been a matter of seconds. One. A single movement.

Zenitsu had not screamed. He had not cried. He had not shrunk back in fear. He simply vanished, like a lightning bolt. And appeared again when it was all over. But now, standing before what was left of the enemy, Zenitsu did not seem victorious. He stood with his back turned, shoulders slightly slumped.

—He regrets it —he murmured.

Tomioka frowned. He did not understand.

—Who?

—The demon —Zenitsu said without looking at him—. I could hear it...There was a heavy silence between them.—That doesn’t justify it —Zenitsu continued, in a soft voice—. I just… heard it. Sometimes I wish I didn’t. Because it hurts. But if I ignore it… it wouldn’t be fair. To anyone.

Tomioka looked at him for a long moment. That boy who once seemed weak, crying, fragile… Now appeared to carry a weight even he didn’t know how to hold. A weight not born from the fight, but from everything he felt. And Tomioka began, for the first time, to understand something. Zenitsu was not a Hashira despite his tears. He was one because of them.

That sensitivity he had mistaken for fragility was, in truth, a kind of strength that could not be measured with swords.

—You risked yourself to protect that girl —Tomioka finally said—. I could have intervened, but… it wasn’t necessary.

Zenitsu lowered his gaze, as if unsure whether it was a compliment or a criticism.

—Thank you for accompanying me —he whispered—. I know it wasn’t necessary, but I’m glad you were here.

He turned to leave, his steps soft on the wet earth. But before walking away completely, Tomioka spoke.

—You’re right. I don’t understand many things… But now I understand why Lord Ubuyashiki trusts you.

Zenitsu stopped. Just for a moment. Said nothing. But his shoulders no longer trembled. And when he resumed his steps, Tomioka noticed he did so with more resolve.

************************

Tomioka stood there, motionless. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel completely sure of his own judgment.

The Hashira barracks were quieter than usual. A gentle breeze carried the scent of freshly brewed tea, and a chorus of cicadas filled the air with summery sounds.

Zenitsu sat on the porch, legs crossed, a small tray resting on his lap. He held a piece of sweet potato dessert that Mitsuri had given him and ate it slowly, as if chewing too fast might ruin the afternoon.

Tomioka stayed at a respectful distance, watching him with the same intensity one uses when looking at a stone on the path that might be a sleeping animal.

Zenitsu blinked. He waited for him to speak. Nothing. Tomioka seemed to hesitate… then, without a word, he approached stiffly and… sat down beside him. But not in the solemn silence he was used to. With visible awkwardness, he pulled out a small package wrapped in cloth and placed it between them.

— I made this this morning — he said, almost whispering — It’s not… it’s not much. But I thought…

He stopped himself. Zenitsu looked at him with wide, surprised eyes. He carefully opened the package. Inside were some sweet rice balls filled with plum. Clumsily shaped, a little uneven.

— You made these? — he asked, as if he couldn’t believe it.

Tomioka nodded without looking at him.

— They’re not poisonous.

— I didn’t think they were! — Zenitsu said quickly, with a nervous smile.

There was a silence. A comfortable silence, this time. Zenitsu took one and tasted it. His cheeks brightened just a little.

— It’s good… — he said, almost as if talking to himself.

Tomioka didn’t know what to say. He had brought that gift just because he read in a book — probably one Shinobu had left for him strategically — that sharing food was a way to show appreciation.

But the sparkle in Zenitsu’s eyes caught him off guard.

— Thank you — said Zenitsu with a shy smile — Sometimes I think you don’t really like me, but… this makes me think maybe that’s not quite true.

Tomioka looked down. It was easier to fight against the waning moons than to respond to that. Finally, he murmured:

— I don’t mind noisy people. It’s just… I have trouble understanding them.

Zenitsu laughed quietly. Then he offered one of his sweet potato treats.

— Want to try? Mitsuri says sharing desserts makes friendship grow faster.

Tomioka hesitated. Then took a small piece. He chewed with an almost solemn slowness. Zenitsu watched him expectantly.

— …It’s okay — said Tomioka.

— Only “okay”?! Tomioka-san, that’s the most you’re going to say! — Zenitsu laughed again, more relaxed.

They spent a few minutes like that, sharing bites and soft breezes. Then, without looking at him, Zenitsu murmured:

— Sometimes… I hear your sound.

Tomioka blinked.

— My sound?

— Yes. We all have one, you know? Yours is melancholic. It sounds like a stream of water unsure whether it’s flowing toward the sea or into nothingness. And… it sounds full of doubt.

Tomioka stayed still, as if those words had reached deeper than expected. Then, in a low voice, he confessed:

— I shouldn’t be here.

Zenitsu looked at him, confused.

— When I took the hunter exam, my best friend died fighting. I… I just survived. Not because of skill. Because of luck. He fought, he screamed… and I… passed. I passed because they didn’t find me. I passed because I hid.

Zenitsu was silent for a few seconds.

— I don’t believe that — he finally said, with an uncommon seriousness for him. Tomioka lifted his gaze.

— Your sound… it sounds strong. Not like Tengen’s, or Gyomei’s, or Mitsuri-chan’s. But it’s strong all the same. Because it persists.

He turned to him, with the clearest expression Tomioka had ever seen on him.

— Not all of us are equally strong. Not all of us were born to stand out. But we all have something to offer. You are here. You are still here. That is strength too.

Tomioka clenched his fist slightly. Zenitsu lowered his gaze to the rice balls.

— Sometimes I also think that… maybe Kaigaku should have been the Hashira. He was more serious, stronger, more determined… he had everything to make it. And I… I was just the clumsy one hiding in the trees.

A pause.

— But when I feel that way, I think of my grandfather. How he always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. And then I remember that being here isn’t about deserving it… it’s about honoring those who loved me.

Tomioka looked at him for a long moment.

For the first time, not like a talking stone, nor like a whirlwind of screams. He looked at him as an equal.

And in that instant, beneath the soft afternoon sun, they were no longer just two Hashira sitting and eating sweets.

They were a young man who needed to be heard, and a man who, little by little, was beginning to allow himself to be understood.

*********************

Curiosities:

The first time Zenitsu hugged him without warning, Tomioka froze. The second time, he patted him on the back. The third, he returned the hug. They didn’t say anything.

Tomioka doesn’t understand how Zenitsu can trip over the same step three times… in five minutes. Even more puzzling: how he can dodge five demons.

When Tomioka is eating alone, Zenitsu always sits next to him without saying a word. Sometimes he talks about his day, sometimes they just eat in silence. Tomioka doesn’t say it, but… if Zenitsu doesn’t show up, he loses a bit of his appetite.

Tomioka doesn’t know how to react when Zenitsu cries over small things. Once he comforted him with a “It wasn’t that bad,” and Zenitsu cried even more… but this time out of tenderness. Now he just hands him a handkerchief.

**********************************************

I'm not that good at English, so if there's any mistake, sorry.

[flamink]

@freshie-owo fanart for chapter 17~💜

"He writhes under Tengen’s touch, limbs flailing, laughing and laughing and laughing.

Tengen can’t help it. He laughs, too."

I can't help but just imagine Zenitsu having brought the spark of life back into Tengen's eyes with his birth, only to take it with him and disappearing. I just can't help but imagine the kind of expression Tengen must have made then, having Zenitsu laughing by his administrations instead of being deathly afraid of his touch. To have the final piece of his heart beginning to accept him must have been the most exhilarating feeling in the world.

Suma don't play about her baby she fucking TOSSED HIM TO THE OTHER STREET(LITERALLY). Honestly I love how for her gentleness and whining, she does not hesitate to charge because she knew she could K.O. this man in an instant. Once again, Zenitsu sharing similarity with one of his mothers. 'Weak' until his family is involved.

Next chapter prediction Tengen does not play about his baby either he just got him back he ain't about to let ANYBODY come in and be a roadblock to his dream of a peaceful life with his family let this man murder a hoe/silly

[flamink]

@freshie-owo fanart for chapter 17~💜

"He writhes under Tengen’s touch, limbs flailing, laughing and laughing and laughing.

Tengen can’t help it. He laughs, too."

I can't help but just imagine Zenitsu having brought the spark of life back into Tengen's eyes with his birth, only to take it with him and disappearing. I just can't help but imagine the kind of expression Tengen must have made then, having Zenitsu laughing by his administrations instead of being deathly afraid of his touch. To have the final piece of his heart beginning to accept him must have been the most exhilarating feeling in the world.

Suma don't play about her baby she fucking TOSSED HIM TO THE OTHER STREET(LITERALLY). Honestly I love how for her gentleness and whining, she does not hesitate to charge because she knew she could K.O. this man in an instant. Once again, Zenitsu sharing similarity with one of his mothers. 'Weak' until his family is involved.

Next chapter prediction Tengen does not play about his baby either he just got him back he ain't about to let ANYBODY come in and be a roadblock to his dream of a peaceful life with his family let this man murder a hoe/silly

[kimetsu-confession]

idk why ppl keep assuming zenitsu got groomed when thats probably not the case at all. from canon material, we know that he was abandoned by his parents without a name, engaged seven times, and was put in debt before meeting jigoro. we also get the information that the ex-fiances talked behind his back, tricked him, used him as a slave, robbed him, and didn't let him hold their hands... so why would they groom him if they didnt let him touch them? sure, we can say that hes groomed because of the detail that he knew what the red light district is but remember that hes canonically a city boy, so of course hes gonna know what that place is.

Confession 60.

[autisticzenitsu]

"Probably not the case at all"

"engaged seven times, and was put in debt before meeting jigoro. we also get the information that the ex-fiances talked behind his back, tricked him, used him as a slave, robbed him, and didn't let him hold their hands.."

>says he wasn't groomed

>goes on to describe literal grooming

Anyway. It's literally canon Zenitsu was groomed by his exes. Grooming does not have to be sexual for it to be grooming. Additionally all but like one of his exes were adults. The one who wasn't was about Aoi's age and Zenitsu would've been significantly younger when he "dated" her. It's still gross and abusive for his exes to agree to date him at all even if they weren't intimate with him.

People don't point out he was groomed because he knows what a red light district is. People point out he was groomed because his exes were significantly older than him.

[zezerozen]

Cooked em

[flamink]

"He had forgotten for a moment.Zenitsu was a Hashira.He was one of them.Despite everything.Despite looking like a lost child.

Despite trembling and crying and seeking shelter behind others.

He had gotten there with hands stained by decisions none of them wanted to make.

He had killed his superior."

"Maybe… seeing Kamado fight for his sister, maybe that hope had touched him more than he himself understood."

@nicol-chan ! Part 1 of Tengen and Zenitsu wua

Much love! I enjoy your AU very much

[nicol-chan]

😍😍😍😍It sounds so good to you, and using those words in my writing makes it even better. Because those were the very words I wanted to convey Zenitsu's pain.

🥺🥺🥺🥺

[nicol-chan]

"¿Sabes? Mi Zenitsu y tú no son tan diferentes."

"¿Eso crees?"

Es un wip pero mi AU Aoi conoce a tu AU Zenitsu :>

Mi niño ... Creo Aoi estaría algo enternecida al ver mi Zenitsu, ya que le recordaría como era Zenitsu antes. Pero también al ver a pesar del dolor aun es capas de ser el mismo.

aun que también creo que mi Zenitsu se pondría avergonzado y rojo ya que escucharía los sentimiento de Aoi cuando habla de su Zenitsu,

[flamink]

Por puro coincidente, justo momento que voy a postear esto me dio un follow! Jejejeje

@nicol-chan si me encanto su diseño de Zenitsu! El y Mitsuri son los cuties del equipo jajajaja

[nicol-chan]

AAAA FDIOS ESTÁ HERMOSO. HERMOSO. ME ENCANTÓ.

[nicol-chan]

Zenitsu Hashira. (Alternate Universe)

Part Second

His wives weren't responding.

Nothing since they had been sent on a mission to the Red District. And for someone like him, used to being in control, uncertainty was a slow poison.

Oyakata-sama, with his serene tone, had given him permission to act.

—Do not face this alone. Choose wisely whom you will take with you.

And so, Tengen prepared himself.

His first choice was quick: Aoi Kanzaki.

She was capable, discreet, had been trained by Shinobu. But the moment he suggested she come, the girl turned pale.

—T-Tengen-sama… I don't want to… please…

She tried to mask her fear with politeness, but Tengen had a good ear, and the tremble in her voice was as clear as thunder on a moonless night.

For a moment, the shinobi trained to see others as pieces felt tempted to insist. But something inside him... stopped. And as if summoned, that voice cut through him.

—Don't do it! Tengen-san—Tengen might've found it amusing that the boy dared use his name so casually. But he was worried about his wives, and could only look at him with irritation. The Hashira. The second youngest. The most emotional. And, lately, the hardest to deal with.

—Don't take her! —he repeated, eyes glossy, posture tense—. Aoi is a Demon Slayer, yes, but she's also a healer. She's here to save us when we come back half-dead. Tengen narrowed his eyes. There was arrogance in his words… and yet, they didn’t ring false. They were desperate. Human. Like everything that came out of that boy who cried easily, but didn’t back down when it mattered.

—Stay out of what doesn’t concern you, Zenitsu —he said in a low tone, more exasperated than threatening.

And yet, he glanced sideways at him.

Zenitsu was still pale, with dark circles. The wound from the battle against the Upper Moon still affected him, though he hid it well. Rengoku had told him everything: how the boy had thrown himself into the fight without hesitation, how they fought side by side when things became unsustainable.

And, despite everything, here he was. Standing. Defending a girl who could barely raise her voice. Once again putting himself between others and danger.

He’d already done it with the Kamado siblings.

And on the Train, he fought until he passed out to make sure no one else died.

Tengen had barely opened his mouth to scold Zenitsu when Tanjiro and Inosuke appeared suddenly, like actors entering before their cue. Tanjiro firmly asked to go with him, and

Inosuke, yelling like a possessed boar, promised they'd kick asses and find his wives.

Tengen looked at them for a moment, somewhere between exasperated and… touched. Three brats—one injured, one with a will of steel, and the third roaring like a beast. He didn’t know if it was luck or madness.

And yet…

Zenitsu with the tears held back.

For a second, he thought of refusing. Of taking Aoi anyway.

But when his eyes returned to Zenitsu —with his hands clenched, lips trembling—, something inside him gave way. He was tired. Worried. And yes, guilty.

Because even though he was a Hashira, even though he was a shinobi, he couldn’t help but feel there was something cruel in using those who didn’t want to be there.

Tengen accepted and told them that the three of them would go with him, but warned that if they made noise, ruined the mission, or cried too much in public, he would leave them dressed as oiran and tied up in a brothel until someone rescued them. And when Zenitsu lowered his head, with a barely audible sob,

Tengen clicked his tongue.

Talking strategy with a trio of impulsive teenagers was not Tengen Uzui’s ideal definition of elegance. Even less so when one of them —a Hashira, no less— looked like he’d sucked on a lemon since he started talking about his wives.

Tengen unfolded a map of the Red Light District, marking the entertainment houses where his wives had been infiltrated.

—The Tokito House. The Kyogoku. And the Ogimoto. My wives infiltrated each one of them, but they have stopped sending information for days. We will split up. You will go disguised and work on gathering intel.

Then, he noticed Zenitsu’s gaze fixed on him. Furrowed brow, eyes narrowed. And not because of the strategy.

—Did you say… wives? —the boy asked, with a mixture of bewilderment and offense that almost made Tengen laugh.

—Three —repeated Tengen with a triumphant air.

The Hashira blinked. Then did it again, as if hoping he would correct himself.

But no. Tengen smiled with all the shine of his eccentricity.

—If you had accepted any of my many dinner invitations, you would’ve known that a while ago —he added dramatically.

Zenitsu murmured something, not looking at him.

A sour grumble, almost inaudible… to anyone but someone like Tengen.

—Three… Three… You can’t be that handsome, strong, brilliant, and on top of that have three wives… That’s hogging… I give up. —The boy seemed to be throwing a tantrum —Why keep trying? If someone like Tengen-sama already has triple of what one could dream of… And here I am, keeping a promise not to marry to honor my grandfather… and I don’t even have anyone to break it with.

Tengen, who wanted to be serious, couldn’t help but laugh. Still laughing, he leaned toward him and ruffled his hair.

Tanjiro watched them closely, and for a moment it seemed he was going to intervene to say something, but then he smiled warmly. Inosuke, meanwhile, was already crouched, sniffing the ground like an animal, eating the scraps that had fallen.

The group set off toward the district. And that’s when he noticed it.

Zenitsu’s face was red to the ears. His eyes were fixed on the ground and his hands covering his ears.

—What’s wrong now, Bright Hashira? Did someone else’s makeup scare you? —Tengen asked with a half smile, unable to resist teasing him.

Zenitsu trembled slightly, still covering himself.

—My ear… doesn’t just pick up sounds —he whispered—. I hear emotions. Desires. Intentions. Here… everything is confusing. My head burns… I’m trying to concentrate to listen to the demon… but I didn’t regulate my ability well.

Tengen stood still for a moment.

That caught him by surprise.

An ear like that… even more refined than his. He hadn’t expected it.

He gave him a different look. Not mocking. Not annoyed. But one of true respect. But since it wasn’t his style to give compliments, he just clicked his tongue.

—Then you go first —he said sarcastically—. If you can hear that much, I want detailed reports on who’s lying with their eyelashes and who really keeps secrets. Zenitsu looked at him as if he didn’t know whether he was serious.

Then came the fun part. The disguise.

Tengen dragged them to one of the contact houses that still owed him favors. They sat in front of the mirrors and the transformation began.

Tanjiro was easy. He stayed still, smiling, not saying a word while they painted him. Inosuke squirmed, protesting that he wanted to eat.

And then…

Zenitsu.

—No. Not even dead. —he said, pushing the brush away— I’ll do my own makeup! —What kind of diva are you? —Tengen growled— Let someone with experience do it, bright boy!

—You’re going to make me ugly on purpose! With those horrible colors! I have dignity! —the blond snapped, puffing his cheeks— I know how to put on makeup without looking like a snotty ghost. Look at how you left Tanjiro and Inosuke! Tanjiro tried to mediate, as always.

—Surely you can do it well, Zenitsu… but if you draw too much attention, we won’t be able to… —Tanjiro tried to reason with him.

—MAKING ME UGLY DRAWS MORE ATTENTION!! —Zenitsu shouted, on the verge of tears— People will wonder why the three of us look like someone threw makeup on our faces.

Tengen put a hand to his face.

—This isn’t a beauty contest, brat, it’s an infiltration mission!

—Then don’t ruin my face!

Finally, Tengen raised both hands as if surrendering.

—Do whatever you want. Put on your own makeup. But if a single person suspects because of you, I’ll have you selling sweets at the entrance while we work.

Zenitsu huffed, crossed his arms, and began to do his makeup with the skill of someone who clearly had practice… which worried Tengen for reasons he decided not to explore.

Tanjiro sighed. Inosuke was eating everything in his path.

And Tengen… well, Tengen felt exhausted, yes. But between worrying about his wives and the chaos with these kids, there was something else.

Tengen watched them one by one, arms crossed and the serious expression of a theater director seeing his cast for the first time.

Tanjiro and Inosuke… well, he wouldn’t lie to himself. He had purposely done a bad job with their makeup. Inosuke looked like broken porcelain. Tanjiro was… too neat, too obvious. They didn’t want to draw attention for the wrong reasons. A touch of sloppiness here and there was more armor than mistake.

But Zenitsu…

Zenitsu was another problem. Since he had done his own makeup, that was the problem. He wasn’t outrageously beautiful, nor did he have sharp eyes or the brutal magnetism of a courtesan.

But there was something about him.

An honest warmth, perhaps.

And when he walked, even nervous, eyes followed him.

House owners, hostesses, even some assistants… they didn’t see him as just a “girl.” They saw him as an investment.

Tengen stayed close, arms crossed, eyes scrutinizing every gesture.

And then Zenitsu approached him, lips tight and a slight tremor in his hands. But when he spoke, his voice was determined.

—I heard a sound… almost imperceptible —he said seriously— Very faint, almost asleep, like when a demon holds itself back for a long time. It’s coming from that house —he pointed to one half a block away, the Kyogoku House.

Tengen squinted.

—And you think you’ll infiltrate there alone? —he asked, raising an eyebrow. Zenitsu nodded.

—I can say my skills are cooking, cleaning… although I hate it… —he added with a pout— I also know how to play the shamisen. Professionally. Tengen stared at him. The boy, all nerves and complaints, had just put on a serious face in the heart of the Red District.

—Play the shamisen? —Tengen repeated, half amused— What’s next? You’re going to sell yourself alone? Maybe you’ll get a good price.

Zenitsu puffed his cheeks indignantly.

—I’m not saying that! But knowing you, you’d probably sell me as a cleaner!

—You could get a good sum —Tengen joked, elbowing him— Limited edition bright Hashira. We accept payments in silk kimonos.

The tantrum was seconds from exploding. Zenitsu started trembling, his mouth twisted in a grimace of protest.

But before he could blow up…

—Oh, wow… what a special doll we have here —said a soft voice, powdered with years of authority.

The owner of the Kyogoku House was approaching with elegant steps, calculating eyes, and a smile too sweet to be real.

—This boy… how much does he cost? —she asked Tengen bluntly. Tengen tilted his head.

—Excuse me?

—I want to buy his temporary contract. One month. Maybe two if he keeps that little face. You said he plays shamisen? And cooks?

Tengen clenched his jaw.

This wasn’t a real sale, of course. Just a façade. But still, something burned a little inside him. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or the fact he was already worried about his wives enough to also worry about a crying Hashira with more expression than half the district.

—He’s yours —he finally said, without much enthusiasm. He shouldn’t feel guilty, right? Wasn’t he doing what the boy wanted?

—…Prioritize your life…

The words slipped out on their own, when Zenitsu looked at him and gave a small watery smile, because of course, the boy was already about to cry. He turned away. But Tengen heard him murmur.

—Trust me

As he watched him walk away, with his back straight, Tengen ran a hand through his hair. He’s a Hashira.

He forced himself to look at Tanjiro and Inosuke, who were waiting discreetly a few meters away.

—You two, with me. Don’t stray a step.

************************

Nothing. Not a single sign.

Not from his wives.

Not from the demon.

Not from Zenitsu.

Missions were like that, especially the ones involving strong demons, you lose brothers in war… it was normal in this job…

So why was guilt tearing him apart?

"You took the boy’s life, just like your brothers’"

He looked up at the sky, unable to stop himself from clenching his fists.

He told Tanjiro and Inosuke that the mission was cancelled, and that they had to return. He wasn’t going to risk more lives.

But just when he was planning to force his way into the house where Zenitsu had disappeared, one of the attendants handed him a letter folded in two.

With a hand-painted flower in one corner.

He opened it immediately.

Tengen-san:

I'm fine. I've been playing the shamisen every night. They say I have talent, but I don't like being looked at too much. The lady of the house says I’m useful. She made me learn to serve tea. She made me cook. She made me sweep. She made me clean walls. She made me fold kimonos. I think I’m learning domestic hell. But she says if I play shamisen every night, I won’t have to learn servant trades.

Tengen raised an eyebrow. That damn kid… even in a letter, he sounded like he was making a quiet fuss. He kept reading.

I already know who the demon is. It’s not that hard. When I enter a place, everything tightens. Like a string tuned to its limit. It’s a woman who changes her voice. Her footsteps don’t sound like the others’. I hear her smile when no one is laughing. The house adores her. And fears her.

Tengen let out a sigh. Of course he heard it.

I know she has your wives. Or at least one of them. But I haven’t been able to confirm anything. She’s angry with me. She’s watching me. Yesterday she hit me because I defended a girl. She says I make too much noise. That I distract the clients.

There, Tengen stopped breathing for a second.

I have a plan. Tomorrow I’ll let her ‘choose’ me. Let her kidnap me. She won’t hurt me at first. She just wants to make me disappear because I draw attention. If she does it, she’ll take me to the place where she hides everything. And then we can rescue your wives.

Trust me.

Respectfully — Zenitsu

Tengen closed the letter slowly.

The paper trembled a little in his fingers, though he wouldn’t admit it.

Part of him wanted to run and pull him out of there. Grab him by the ears, yell at him that he was a Hashira, not bait. That he was supposed to give orders, not sacrifice himself with handwritten letters.

That crybaby brat.

The one who sobbed when Sanemi scolded him.

The one who cried because his sparrow pulled his hair.

Now he was offering himself as bait with a calm that was terrifying.

—Shit —muttered Tengen, looking at the letter like it had spat on him—. He’s rubbing off on me. He’s making me sentimental.

He folded the paper carefully. Tucked it into the folds of his clothes. He turned to Tanjiro, who was watching him from the corner with an attentive expression.

—News from Zenitsu? —he asked.

—Yes —Tengen replied—. He has a plan.

Tanjiro nodded, serene, as if he had expected that from him.

Tengen sighed. He was no longer sure if the world had gone crazy, or if Zenitsu had simply grown brave.

********************************

The edge of the poison climbed up his arm like liquid fire. Gyutaro moved like a pest given form, resentful, alive. Tengen panted. His vision trembled.

The sickle almost caught his hand when, at the last second, a yellow flash tore through the air like lightning.

He was going to lose the arm. Or his life. Or both. And then… An explosion! A thunder that didn’t come from the sky.

—DON’T TOUCH TENGEN-SAN!

A golden light, a figure silhouetted by it.

Zenitsu.

The screechy kid. The one who always trembled.

Now he had a limp in one leg and his face covered in dirt and blood, but his sword cut like fear had never existed.

They fought. No time to speak. Only to cut. Gyutaro roared. Daki screamed. And the Five blades spun in a desperate dance. Until, for an instant, everything stopped. Two heads rolled to the ground.

Tengen fell.

Everything smelled of iron, dust… and ash.

Tengen could barely breathe. The poison coiled inside him like a snake of fire, pulsing with every heartbeat. The tips of his fingers were already numb. The whole world tilted sideways.

And then he heard footsteps. Uneven, staggering. A dry sob cutting through the night.

—Tengen… Tengen-sama…!

It was hard to turn his neck, but he managed. He saw him approaching: golden boy. Zenitsu.

Dragging his injured leg, robe stained, eyes shining with pain. He dropped clumsily beside him, grabbing his hand, with an expression that hurt more than any poison.

—Don’t die too…! —his voice shook, yet he didn’t lower it—. Not you! Not you too!

Tengen tried to speak, but his throat only let out a dry grunt. Zenitsu looked at him like he was losing something sacred. Like he couldn’t bear to watch someone else leave in front of him.

—I always told you no when you invited me to eat… —he muttered through tears—. That I was busy, that I was sleepy, that my head hurt… I lied. I was scared… Zenitsu’s fingers gripped his tightly.

—I didn’t want to get more attached. I’m not strong, I can’t protect the people I care about. And you’re… brilliant. You’re unbearable, loud, flamboyant…

Tengen felt a pull in his chest. Not from the poison. From guilt.

Guilt at seeing Zenitsu like this, kneeling and broken, begging him to live. He didn’t want to cause him that. Not him. Not the boy who had already lost so much. Who was just starting to believe he could love without being abandoned.

—Zenitsu… —he tried to say, but his voice broke. He swallowed venom and air—. I didn’t

want… you to cry for me.

—Just live! Take me to eat that ridiculous shiny ramen you said was the best! Take me with you, even if you’re loud! Just… don’t go too!

Tengen felt his eyes clouding. His skin growing cold. He couldn’t hold Zenitsu’s gaze anymore.

The poison was winning.

His pulse felt farther and farther away.

Then… something warm burst in the air.

A soft orange light. The smell of blood vanished, replaced by something alive. Nezuko appeared from the shadows. Her flames danced over Tengen’s body, not burning — cleansing. Purifying. It felt like the pain was being ripped out by its roots.

Tengen gasped. The pressure in his chest eased. His hands regained sensation. The poison… was retreating.

Zenitsu froze. Tears still streamed down his face, but his eyes, for the first time in minutes, shone with a spark of hope.

—Nezuko… —he whispered, barely believing it.

Tengen barely managed to turn his head toward her. He couldn’t speak, but he looked at her with gratitude. Then his eyes returned to Zenitsu. The firelight reflected on his face, dusty and tear-stained.

—I guess… we still have that meal pending —he whispered, trying to smile. Zenitsu laughed through his sobs, lowering his head like he couldn’t contain the emotion. And amid ash, night, and embers that didn’t burn, Tengen thought that living — even wounded, even tired — was worth it.

***************************************************

Curiosities:

• Tengen started lowering his voice because of (or thanks to) Zenitsu.

He would never admit it out loud, but after seeing Zenitsu cover his ears and tremble at hearing arguments or shouting...

• He hides behind Tengen when someone yells at him, but throws himself forward if someone hurts Tanjiro. Contradictory and irritably endearing.

• When he cooks, he screams every time the oil splashes. Tengen can’t concentrate with all the “AAAH!”

• He discovered that Zenitsu wears makeup, because the girls at the Butterfly Mansion do his makeup and hair… Tengen also found out that many of the rookie hunters mistake Zenitsu for a girl.

• Tengen always had to drag Zenitsu to train. The boy said he “wasn’t that strong” or “would get hurt.” But one serious fight was enough for him to leave Zenitsu behind in speed. The worst part: after winning, Zenitsu would come up with a thousand excuses not to train again.

• From day one, his uniform seemed flashy… even by Tengen’s standards. When he tried to suggest something more sober, Zenitsu complained for half an hour about how much the clothes tore during training.

• He had to threaten — with total elegance, of course — the uniform officer to get Zenitsu’s pants made a bit longer. Zenitsu never said it, but he hated how short they were. (This was after the Red Light District.)

• Once, while eating under some trees, Zenitsu made flower crowns for his three wives… and for himself. He didn’t wear his, but he didn’t take it off when Zenitsu placed it on him.

• The three wives quickly grew fond of him. Hinatsuru spoke to him with a tenderness she didn’t even show him. Makio yelled at him… but made him sweets. And Suma said Zenitsu was like a “little shining bird.” Tengen suspected they were adopting him.

• When his wives hugged him for too long, Tengen watched them closely. Not out of jealousy. Just… caution. Not that he would mind if they ended up adding a new member to the family.

++++++++++++++++

I think… this is very long, but I wanted it to convey how Tengen gradually grew fond of Zenitsu.