When the Light Fades: Hashiras Comforting You When You Give up
⚠️Warnings: depression, suicidal thoughts, alcohol abuse, self-harm(emotional and physical exhaustion), starvation
Note: Based on this request: "Hiii your story is so gooddd!!! can i request about demon slayer man found out about self harm or suicidal thoughts? If its too sensitive for you , you can decline it dont worry.."
⚠️Read responsibly!⚠️
The wind off the cliff was colder than usual. It carried the smell of rain and pine, sharp and clean, like the word had been scrubbed empty. You sat at the edge, legs swinging freely, eyes on the river far below.
It felt so peaceful for once, recklessly so.
You plucked a pebble and tossed it out, watching it disappear and counted in your head how many seconds before it hit anything.
Giyuu saw you from the trail- a dark shape against the pale moonlit sky, you were too close to the drop. His chest tightened before his mind caught up.
He didn’t call out right away. He just walked closer, steps soft against the ground. You didn’t turn until he was near enough that his shadow fell over you.
“Giyuu,” you murmured, smiling faintly. “You scared me.”
He didn’t answer right away. He stopped a few feet away, eyes fixated on where you sat. “You shouldn’t sit there,” he said. The words came flat, too quiet, but there was a strain underneath. A tension he couldn’t hide.
You tilted your head, a breeze sweeping strands of hair across your face. “It’s so peaceful,” you said. “You can see everything from here. It’s like…” your voice softened. “It’s like the world stops for a second.”
He followed your gaze but didn’t really see it- just the outline of your body against the drop, how your thighs barely grazed the cliff’s edge, how your hands gripped the final border.
“Move back,” he said.
You smiled a little, teasing. “You always sound so serious.”
“Because you’re too close, you’re being reckless.” he replied, sharper this time.
You blinked, surprised by the edge in his voice. “It’s just a cliff. I’m fine. I’ve been through far worse than a fall, you know?”
He exhaled slowly, but the air left his lungs tight. “You’re not fine when you keep saying things like that.”
You frowned. “Like what?”
“Like you don’t care what happens to you.”
You raise a brow, “You think I’m going to just… slip?”
“I think you stopped caring if you do.”
Your lips parted. You wanted to deny it, but the look in his eyes- steady, soft, full of something you didn’t recognize- made the words dissolve in your throat.
He slowly stepped closer, his haori catching the wind. For a second, you thought he might grab your arm. But instead, his hand hovered near, waiting, open and patient.
You swallowed. “You worry too much.”
He hesitated, then said quietly, “Apparently I don’t worry enough.”
Something about the way he said it- fragilely, like it cost him to admit- it made your chest ache. You turned your gaze back to the river, blinking hard.
“You’ll catch me if I fall, won’t you?”
He stepped closer, “Don’t joke about that.”
You chuckled softly, but your voice wavered when you said, “I wasn’t.”
When you finally reached out and placed your hand in his, his fingers curled around yours instantly, not pulling- just anchoring.
He guided you away from the ledge, every step slow, like he was afraid you might vanish if he moved too fast.
When you finally felt the grass between your sandals, you spoke, voice small. “You can let go now.”
“Okay,” he said, but didn’t.
You almost smiled at that- almost. The tension in your chest was still thick, the kind that wouldn’t dissolve no matter how deep you breathed. “I wasn’t trying to…” you trailed, shaking your head. “I just wanted to feel calm.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead he reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His knuckled lingered there a second too long. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said at last. “I’ve… felt that too.”
You finally looked up at him. “But you’re still here,” you said quietly.
He nodded. “Because I realized something. If I go, it wont make anything better. It wont change what hurts. If anything, it will cause more pain to others.”
His eyes were steady, blue like the river below- deep, sad, but calm.
“You’re not weak for feeling like this,” his gaze flickering down to your joined hands. “You don’t have to stay here alone anymore.,” he muttered.
You looked up, half smiling. "Then what? You'll sit with me instead?"
"If that's what you need." His tone was calm, but his eyes- those impossible deep, gentle eyes- said everything he couldn't.
You turned away before he could see your blush, muttering something about him being dramatic. He only hummed in reply, quiet and unreadable, standing beside you not letting go.
It was barely sunrise when you headed to his home. The mountain air was always chill against your skin but you climbed anyway- the small string of prayer beads clutched tightly in your hand.
He had given them to you weeks ago-pressed them into your palm when you said you couldn’t sleep. When you confessed that your thoughts had turned against you. “They help me ground myself,” he said softly. But they hadn’t helped. If anything, the silence around them had made it worse.
When you reached the top, your breath was uneven. The courtyard was still, faint wisps of incense came from the small alter nearby. He was kneeling there, shoulders straight and still, with the faintest mist dampening his hair.
“Gyomei,” you called quietly, your voice carrying across the wood.
He turned toward you, head tilting slightly, as if he was listening to your footsteps. “You’ve come early,” he said, voice low and calm as always.
You stepped closer, “I…came to return these.” You held the beads out, their surface slick with the sweat of your palm. “I thought they’d help me clear my mind, but they didn’t. I can’t-“ your throat tightened- “I can’t quiet it.”
He didn’t move to take them right away. “You sound tired,” he said softly.
“I am,” you murmured, your eyes dropping to the ground. “Tired of waking up. Tired of fighting. Tired of pretending it’s gonna get better.”
A long pause stretched between you, only the faint chirps of birds spoke between you.
Finally, Gyomei rose. The motion was silent, but you felt the shift in the air, the weigh of his presence. When he stood before you, he was immense. Impossibly stead in a way that made you intimidated.
He extended a hand. “May I hold them?”
You nodded, placing the beads in his palm. They looked small in his hand.
“Do you remember why I gave these to you?” He asked gently.
You hesitated. “Because they help you.”
He shook his head, his blind gaze lifting toward the warmth of the sun. “Because the reminded me of the weight I carry, and that I am still strong enough to bear it.”
You swallowed hard, voice breaking. “I don’t think I am.”
Hs hand rose slowly until his fingers brushed your shoulder and you froze, the calloused weight was grounding. "Then let me carry it for you for a while," he said softly.
Tears welled in your eyes, "I don't deserve that."
"You deserve peace," he said simply. "Even if you cannot feel it yet."
"You shook your head, shoulders trembling. "You don't understand-"
"I do." His voice broke then, just slightly. "I have stood where you stand now. When I lost everyone I loved, I thought the world had ended. But the world keeps turning. Slowly. Softly. It waits for us to return."
Your breath came out uneven. "You really think there's still something left in me worth saving?"
"I know there is." he whispered.
And then you broke- shaking. He gathered you into his arms, one hand resting between your shoulder blades, the other cradling your head like something sacred.
His comfort made you break down more, sobbing against his chest as you felt the weight of it all drench you.
He lowered his head down and spoke softly. “Then stop trying to endure it,” he said, "Breathe through it. Let it move through you. Even the strongest will exhaust themselves eventually.”
Tears burned behind your eyes, “I’m so tired, Gyomei. I don’t want to keep fighting anymore.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Then do not fight,” he said simply. “There is no victory in denying pain. Sit with it. See it. Offer it compassion instead of resistance.”
He pressed the beads back into your hand, curling your fingers around them. His hand stayed there for a long time, warmth ensuring you.
“Stay here,” he murmured. “Breathe. Feel the air. You are still part of this world."
You nodded weakly, voice shaking. "I'll try."
"That's all I ask."
He hadn’t seen you in months.
At first, he told himself it was fine- missions came and went, schedules collided, but when even Senjuro's letters came back unopened, a quiet unease began to gnaw at him. And when the other slayers mentioned not seeing you, he knew something was wrong.
He didn't expect the smell.
When he slid open the shoji, the sharp sting of sake and ash met him like a slap. Empty bottles littered the floor, one toppled over onto the tatami, soaking into old reports and mission papers. You sat before the fire, your figure dim and distant, eyes vacant, lips pressed tight around whatever thought kept you still.
He froze in the doorway. You had never drunk before. Not once.
"(Y/n)," he said softly, inviting himself inside. His voice was still gentle but the usual brightness gone. "Are you- ...you shouldn't-"
You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze. "You shouldn't be here."
He didn't stop moving until he was crouched down beside you, his haori brushed broken glass. "And you shouldn't be doing this," he said simply, patient.
Your laugh came out sharp and bitter- unrecognizable to him. "Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do, Rengoku. I've earned the right to stop caring."
He glanced around the room- the scattered reports, the dusty surfaces, the faint smell of smoke- and something inside of him cracked. This was the same atmosphere that haunted his father's room, the same quiet decay of someone burning alive in grief.
"Give me the bottle," he said, quieter now, but his tone left no room for argument.
You pulled it closer, knuckles white around the neck of the glass. "No."
"(Y/n)."
When he reached for it, you yanked back- too fast and hard. The bottle slipped and shattered against the floor. The sound was piercing. A sharp sting bloomed in your palm, blood welling up where a shard had sliced you.
"Damn it-" you hissed, clutching your hand, but Kyojuro was already moving.
He grabbed your wrist, using his own palm to put pressure around the wound until he could find some bandage. "Enough," he said, not angry but steady.
You glared at him with teary eyes. "You can't possibly understand. You've never failed, Kyojuro. Never. You're always parading with a smile, with something to be proud of. You don't know what it's like to see children die screaming and wonder why you got to live instead."
His jaw tightened as well as his grip. At first, his instinct was to defend himself, to speak of the blood he’s seen, the comrades he’d buried. But as he looked at you- your trembling figure, the broken spirit in your eyes- something shifted. This wasn’t about fairness. It wasn’t even about pain. It was about weight. Weight he’d been strong enough to bear, but one that had finally crushed you.
He realized that his optimism must have felt cruel to someone who’s drowning.
"You're right... I haven't failed a mission. But I've watched people destroy themselves after surviving one." His thumb brushed your pulse to ground you. "I won't watch you do the same.” He gently placed a finger under your chin to make you look at him. “You think giving up will end the pain, but it doesn’t. It just passes it to someone else… to me, to Senjuro, to anyone who loves you.”
You tried to speak, but your voice broke instead. The first sob slipped out ungracefully, followed by more. He caught you before you fell, arms wrapping around you in a desperate but gentle hold.
"Cry," he whispered against your head. "Scream if you must. Beat me if you must. But you will not disappear."
He stayed until your shaking slowed. Then with the patience of someone who'd done this before, he heloed you to your feet. "Come," he said quietly. "You'll bathe. Then I'll take you out to eat, you feel frail."
You wanted to protest but he already eased you up and guided you down the hall, hand still wrapped around yours that bled earlier.
"Why are you doing this?" you whispered.
"Because I know what it looks like when someone gives up," he said. "I watch it happen to my father every day. I couldn't stop him... but I can stop you."
His tone softened. "You matter to me. And I won't let grief turn you into something you're not."
The training grounds are always empty by evening, slayers gone for patrol with their crows fading overhead. You sat at the edge of the engawa, a bowl of untouched rice cooling in your lap. It had been days since you'd last eaten, but the thought of forcing it down made your stomach twist.
You poked at it with your chopsticks, then set them aside entirely.
A quiet voice came from behind you. "You've lost weight."
You stiffened. "Obanai."
He stood a few feet away, his usual posture straight and rigid, bandages neat around his face. Kaburamaru wound lazily around his shoulder, flicking his tongue out at the scent of food.
"Your uniform's loose," he added, stepping closer. "Your blade arm's weaker. You can barely lift your sword without shaking."
You didn't look at him, "I'm just tired."
"You're not tired." His tone cut clean through the dusk. "You're starving yourself."
That made you lift your head- barely. "I'm not."
"You are," he said, pointing a finger at you. "Don't lie."
The words landed harder than you expected. You pressed your lips together, looking down at the bowl again. "I just don't feel hungry lately."
"That's not an excuse," he said. "You need strength to fight, and right now, you look like you'd collapse if the wind blew too hard."
You tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. "Don't exaggerate."
He didn't smile, however. "I'm not."
Silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable. Kaburamaru slithered down his arm, curling around his wrist, his tongue flicking toward you curiously.
Obanai's gaze didn't waver. "Are you dumb?"
Your eyes snapped up, offended. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." His voice rose just slightly. "You think the Corps can afford to lose another because you decided to stop taking care of yourself?
You gaped at him. "Why do you care?"
He stepped closer, his tone dropping. “You’re a Kinoe. Almost a Hashira. Act like one. You didn’t crawl your way through hell just to die because you forgot how to eat.”
You scoffed. “You say that like you don’t do the same. When was the last time you finished a full meal?”
“That’s different,” he said.
“Of course it is.” You gave a bitter laugh. “When it’s you, it’s discipline, but when it’s me, it’s weakness.”
He didnt’ answer immediately. He stepped closer instead, his sandals stopping just in front of you. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter- not gentle, but tight, as if he were forcing it through gritted teeth.
“Because I know what I’m doing to myself,” he said. “You don’t.”
You frowned, confused, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve already made peace with what I am,” he said simply. “You haven’t.”
That struck something in you. You looked away but he didn’t stop.
“We’re not the same,” he went on, his tone softening. “You don’t deserve to tear yourself apart just because the world tried to.”
You exhaled shakily, staring down at the untouched rice again. “You’re making it sound so simple.”
“It isn’t,” he said, crouching down to your level. His eyes lifted to meet yours. “But eating something is.”
You gave a small humorous laugh. “You’re bad at this.”
He shrugged lightly. “So I’ve been told.”
For a moment, the silence between you stretched- not hostile but heavy with things neither of you knew how to say. Kaburamaru slithered down his sleeve and flicked his tongue against your skin.
Obanai’s eyes followed the movement. “He likes you.”
You snorted softly, “Probably just the smell of food.”
“Maybe,” he said, leaning closer.
The closeness startled you. He held your gaze long enough to make your pulse quicken before looking away again.
Then, he stood- reaching forward to grip your rice bowl to push it towards you. “Eat.”
You rolled your eyes but finally lifted the chopsticks, taking a small bite. You swallowed, glaring at him. “Are you happy now?”
“Ask me after you finish the bowl,” he replied turning away.
The house was too quiet for a home that pulsed with laughter and life. The wives were out for the morning market, and Tengen’s hand stilled in the middle of the task he wasn’t meant to be doing.
He hadn’t gone rifling. He’s just meant to fix the hinge on your vanity drawer, one of those little things he always promised to get around to. But when it stuck, when he tugged it open, the jewelry box inside had shifted. And an envelope, thin and folded, slipped loose.
At first, he smiled. You used to always leave little notes for him around the house to find. But when he picked it up he noticed the yellowing edges, the ink blots through the parchment. He opened it up and froze before finishing the first line.
The paper trembled in his hand as he read it.
It wasn’t dramatic nor poetic- just plain words. You wrote about exhaustion, about silence, about feeling like a shadow in your own home. You said you didn’t blame anyone. You just wanted peace.
By the time he reached the end, his chest had gone hollow. He read it again, slower, his thumb tracing the edge of the page, as if touching it could undo whatever had been written.
He didn’t call the others. Didn’t make a scene. He waited until the house was quiet and found you alone, folding laundry near the engawa.
“Hey,” he said, voice low enough to make you look up.
You smile faintly. “Hey yourself.”
He held up the letter, “What’s this?”
The color drained from your face. The towel in your hands slipped.
“Tengen-sama- where did you- “
“Your jewelry box.” His tone wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t playful either. “You wanna tell me why I read something that sounds like you’re saying goodbye?”
You stood frozen for a moment, jaw trembling. Then you turned away. “That’s not-” you started, voice cracking, “it’s old. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Old or not, you wrote it.” he took a slow step forward, expression unreadable. “You said you wanted to disappear.”
“It was months ago.” You lifted your hands helplessly, trying to breathe. “I-I forgot it was even there.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s not an answer.”
Your throat tightened. “I don’t have to give you one.”
Tengen exhaled slowly, but there was something steady under the calm. “You do when it’s about this.”
You crossed your arms defensive. “I was lost, all right? I felt like I was disappearing.”
His tone softened, but his jaw clenched. “Disappearing?”
You nodded weakly. “You were all so full of life. I tried to keep up, but every time I laughed it felt like it belonged to someone else. I wasn’t angry. Just… tired. Like I’d become a decoration in my own home.”
He went still and the silence stretched. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you always look happy,” you whispered. “and I didn’t want to ruin that. I thought it was better to just fade quietly than to be a burden.”
His eyes darkened, the letter crumpling slightly in his hand. “You really think I wouldn’t notice if you disappeared?”
You swallowed. “You would’ve kept going. You always do.”
His jaw tightened. “Not without you.”
He stepped closer then, slow but certain, and skimmed the paper. “Tell me why you kept it. Why not throw it away? Were you saving it?”
Your lips parted. “No-I-“ you stuttered, the lie collapsing. “Sometimes. When it gets too much, I still feel that way.”
His shoulders eased with a slow breath, kneeling before you, placing the letter on the wooden floor. “Next time you write something like that,” he whispered, “don’t hide it in a drawer. Give it to me.”
Tears blurred your vision, “You’d hate reading that.”
“Maybe, but I’d rather face your pain than never know it existed.”
He then picked up your letter, smoothing the creases with his thumb before passing it to you. “Go on,” he said quietly. “Tear it. Let it go.”
You hesitated, then met his eyes- and tore it down the middle. The sound was small but final.
His shoulders eased, “Promise me,” he said.
You nodded, voice barely above a breath. “I promise.”
Your breathing stung with the tang of blood and cold air. You'd gone too far ahead again- swinging like you were trying to erase something, not kill it. The demon's head was already gone, yet you slashed again, and again, breath heaving, hands trembling from exhaustion.
Sanemi's voice cracked through the chaos. "Enough!"
You barely had time to turn before his hand caught your wrist mid-swing. The impact jolted your arm, sword clanking uselessly to the ground. His grip was bruising, breath ragged.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" he barked. "You could've gotten yourself torn apart!"
You blinked, startled. You stared at the fading demon then scoffed weakly. "Relax. I handled it."
"Handled it?" His voice rose, raw and disbelieving. "You're covered in blood, your blade's in two, and you think this is handling it?"
You turned away, shoulders stiff. "It doesn't matter."
Something in his chest went cold. "The hell it doesn't."
You started to walk, but he yanked you back, not hard enough to hurt, but enough that you felt his calloused fingers tremble around your wrist.
"Stop," he muttered. "Just stop for a damn second."
You sighed, not meeting his eyes. "What's gotten into you lately? You're acting like-"
"Like what?" he snapped, too fast. The silence that followed was heavy, too heavy. His jaw flexed as he forced the rest out quieter. "Like I give a damn?"
Your breath caught. Your voice came out more defensive than you meant to, "Do you?"
"Obviously." His tone dropped to something rougher, almost hoarse. "You think I'm gonna let you throw yourself at danger like you've got nothing left to lose?"
You blinked hard, a shaky laugh escaping. "You're reading into it, Sanemi. I just did my job."
He stepped closer, so close that your breath hitched. “Don’t lie to me,” he said softly. So unlike his usual bite that it made you freeze.
When you didn’t answer, he swore under his breath and let go, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked away, the muscles in his jaw tight. “You scare the shit out of me, you know that?”
You blinked, startled by his words, by the way his voice cracked around them. “I- what?”
He exhaled through his nose, rough. “Forget it.”
“No” you pressed, confused. “What do you mean.”
“Nothing.” He bit out. Then, quieter, “Just… stop making me chase after you like this.”
Your lips parted, the faintest tremor running through your fingers. “I didn’t know you cared that much.”
He scoffed, looking anywhere but at you. “Yeah, well. You don’t know a lotta things.”
The wind shifted, brushing between you. His hand twitched again, like he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t. So instead, he muttered, “You’re not dying on my watch. Got it?”
You nodded faintly, and he stepped back at last- face hard, eyes softer than he’s ever let you see.
“Good,” he said roughly, turning toward the path. “Now quit staring and move your damn feet.”
You followed, shaking your head about his temper- but you couldn’t shake the way his voice had sounded when he said you scared him.
And he couldn’t shake the image of your blood on the ground.
—
Note: Why do I always write a drama episode with Tengen? I swear.
