THE ONES WE LOVE [SHINAZUGAWA SANEMI X READER]
[SUMMARY] Sitting together on the engawa, you think about what could have been and what could be. [PRONOUNS] she/her [GENRE] angst | kind of hurt no comfort? [POV] third person [WORD COUNT] 858 [CONTENT] implied potential past kyojuro x reader | implied potential sanemi x kanae | canonical character deaths | dialogue heavy| spoilers | post-infinity arc
It was odd, sitting on the engawa with her, eating freshly made ohagi. It was domestic, comfortable, and serene, a far cry from the environment he used to live in.
The sky was a deep and dark blue, the only light illuminating the two being the outdoor lamps and the stars. They sat side by side, the plate of ohagi between them, as they stared out into the night.
“Shinazugawa-sama?”
“I’ve told you not to call me that.”
“Were you ever in love?”
The question caught him completely off guard, a piece of rice getting caught in his throat and causing him to cough. She paid him no mind as he tried not to choke.
“I don’t know if the corps allowed time for romance, so I’m curious.” She continued.
With a final cough, Sanemi cleared his throat. “Why?”
“As I said, I’m curious.” He stayed quiet, sensing more words on the tip of her tongue. He didn’t have to wait long. “I think I was.”
“In love?”
“Mmhm.”
Sanemi didn’t say anything, choosing instead to look over at the woman at his side. She hadn’t looked at him, keeping her eyes up and her face neutral. The lamplight dusted her in a soft orange glow.
“Yes.” He said eventually, looking away. The stars twinkled.
“Did she die?”
“Yes."
“I’m sorry.” She hummed. “They tend to do that, don’t they? The ones we love.”
His heart ached in time with the buzz of the cicadas.
“Yes. They do.”
“Did you ever recover from it?”
He wasn’t sure why he was entertaining the depressing conversation, but something about her made him feel safe. Seen, like he could answer her truthfully.
“From her death?”
“From your love.”
He grunted, trying not to think about the flowers that had been planted in the yard.
“I don’t know.”
She hummed, pensive, but didn’t say anything else, giving him the floor to continue or stop.
“Did you?” He kept his gaze on the sky, searching for the moon.
“I don’t think so.” He saw her shoulders sag from the corners of his eyes, a heavy sigh coming from her lips. “I lay awake at night, sometimes, or find myself staring at the candle flames thinking about the what if’s.”
He understood. Gods, did he understand.
“Did he love you?”
It took a minute for her to answer, and when she did, her words were strained. “I’m not sure. I’d like to think so,” For the first time since the conversation had begun, he heard the slightest hint of sadness in her voice. “But I don’t know, and that eats me alive.
“Did she love you?”
He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, the crisp air biting his lungs. Somewhere in the distance, a crow called.
“I think so. I hope so. I don’t know, either.”
They sat in silence for a moment, letting the wind and the sound of summer bugs fill the air.
“Do you think they’d forgive us, if we chose to love someone new?”
Sanemi closed his eyes, letting the cool night air run over his skin.
“I think it’s what they’d want, even if it’s not what we’d want.” Each of his words were measured and carefully chosen.
“Do you think it’s possible for us to love someone else?”
He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her, at seeing the way her hair curled around her cheek and jaw, caressing her skin.
His answer ruminated in his mouth, the words tumbling over teeth and tongue. “I do, if we let ourselves.”
Her reply came quickly, a rushed, soft whisper like she was scared the words would disappear if she didn’t speak them into existence:
“I don’t know if I want to.”
He paused.
“I don’t know if I want to, either.”
Silence fell between them, then. It wasn’t tense, or heavy; everything they’d wanted to say, they’d said. Melancholy rang through the breeze, echoing through the trees and harmonizing with the bugs.
He picked up and ate the last piece of ohagi. Her cooking was truly marvelous; he understood why Kyojuro held her in such high regard, and never seemed to be able to stop himself from complimenting her food, even if no one was there to listen.
“She was beautiful, wasn’t she?” Her voice was a whisper when she spoke again.
Sanemi nodded. “She was.”
Silence descended upon them once again, and after several minutes, she stood and gathered the empty plate.
“He said I was beautiful, once.” She was so quiet that he almost didn’t hear her. “I didn’t believe him then. I wish I had.”
She walked toward the shoji door, pausing for a minute before turning to face him. He remained sitting, twisted in his seat to watch her.
“Goodnight, Sanemi.”
She bowed, and then went into the house, sliding the door shut behind her.
Alone on the engawa, he turned back to look at the sky. The moon appeared from behind a cloud, a sliver of its whole, but still shining brighter than any of the stars.
The cicadas continued to sing, and he let them fill his mind with nothing but noise.