to be needed; to be loved
Author’s Note: this “drabble” somehow turned into a one shot. 😅💘
to be needed; to be loved
Kamado Tanjirou x Reader
Word Count: ~1,000
CW: chronic pain
Emergency Request Fulfilled: i have a chronic pain disorder and i always feel like i need to be hiding it from people. it feels like i'm such a burden just existing, and i feel so stupid when i can't do basic things for myself all because i have a body that apparently wasn't built to exist in this world. so i try not to admit to anyone when the pain gets bad, but god is it hard sometimes to keep up the facade. if it's okay, would you write some tanjirou comfort for a reader in a similar situation? 👉👈
~faqs~
Sometimes, Tanjirou lets things go. He lets go of the scrunch between your brows as you scoot off the couch and shuffle to the kitchen to refill your glass, the familiar hum of your fridge’s water dispenser lasting three, five, ten seconds. He lets go of how you pause once, twice, thrice while folding laundry, your back cracking as you arch and sigh, his own share already neatly put away. He lets go of your sheepish expression when he turns mid-pace—he realizes it’s been a moment since he heard your footsteps—and you’re sitting on a nearby bench, autumn’s breath smoothing the tiredness from your eyes. He lets go of many things, but only for a time.
Because it becomes difficult. Impossible. To let go of your strained voice. To let go of your maximum effort smiles that somehow fade before they reach their pinnacle. How is he supposed to let go when you’re doing your best to hold on?
—
“I’ve got it!” he exclaims, chair scraping the ground as he grabs your plate in a fluid, knowing movement, “You always eat seconds when I cook fresh fish.”
“Of course I do,” you quip, “Because if I don’t, then you eat seconds and thirds… and fourths.”
“But I leave the fifths for you,” he responds warmly.
“Tanjirou, sometimes we don’t make it to thirds.”
With an abashed grin, he sets your plate down, a generous serving of grilled trout wafting hot and delicious to your nose.
“I can catch more this weekend.”
The faintness of your nod doesn’t go unnoticed as the fist around his heart clenches. You know you’re invited. He loves you. Wants to do every mundane and magnificent thing he ever could do — with you. But a day of dampness, squatting, standing, and hiking rarely ends well.
—
“Can’t sleep?”
“TANJIROU?!”
He winces, moonlight revealing his blush as he proceeds to yawn widely.
“I thought you were asleep!” you yelp, “You’ve been facing me with your eyes closed and everything! For hours!”
“Sorry,” he murmurs, your amused glare prompting him to wrap an arm around you to tuck you in closer, “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I’m not frightened,” you huff, “Just, surprised.”
Still drowsy, he pats your head while you burrow into his chest, tentative fingers massaging lightly along your spine.
“So what’s on your mind?”
You stiffen, and he isn’t sure if he’s pressed too hard as your muscles tense, or asked too soon as your breaths deepen.
“How many hours have you been sleeping?”
“Don’t you fall asleep next to me?” you joke awkwardly, forcing your body to relax into his adoration, if only to dispel the worry radiating from him.
And Tanjirou does, usually. Usually, he falls asleep next to you, relinquishing the sinking suspicion that you—on the other hand—don’t fall asleep at all. He lets go of your tired noises in the morning; of your reluctance to get out of bed. He lets go of your nearly pained groans, remembering almost fondly of how indignantly you’d rebutted him when he ventured to ask: Are you okay? Am I not allowed to stretch anymore? And, well, to be fair, Inosuke definitely makes more alarming sounds when he stretches, so…
“You can tell me,” he offers softly You can tell me anything.
There’s nothing to tell.
This pain is unbearable.
I’m exhausted.
I’m fine.
I’m-
You don’t even realize you’re crying until a familiar, calloused palm cups your jaw, a swift thumb wiping away tear after tear as you struggle to understand what exactly is happening.
“You’re the strongest person I know.”
And you laugh. You laugh as you sob because how on earth is the strongest man you’ll ever know saying the silliest sentence you’ll ever hear… to you?
“But I…” his voice catches as he swallows thickly, “I haven’t been strong enough.”
“Tanjirou, that isn’t tr-!”
“I know you’re hurting. Constantly. And I let you.”
“My condition isn’t your fa-!”
“It isn’t,” he frowns, “But my inaction is. I watch you pick yourself up, each and every day, without me.”
“Because I’m not an invalid!” you snap, “And you get that. You respect me.”
“I can respect you and take care of you!” he persists, “Respect is asking you if you need me. Respect is being there even when you don’t. It’s nurturing a relationship where you can need me. Where needing me isn’t an embarrassment. Where building each other up is a blessing.”
“Well maybe I don’t want to be the only one who needs someone!”
Tanjirou falls silent at that. An eerie, aching silence that stifles your tears faster than the tenderness of his touch ever could.
“I need you.”
You blink. He exhales. Your hand reaches for his heart, his palm still hot on your cheek as you seek the steadiness of his pulse.
“I need you,” he repeats, “In sickness and in health. On good days and through terrible weeks. I need all the moments, all the memories, all the I can’t imagine myself doing this, feeling this, being this, with anyone else. I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like needing someone is a hardship. I’m sorry I’ve made it painful to need me.”
Tanjirou.
Oh Tanjirou.
No.
I didn’t.
That isn’t what I-
“Please don’t apologize for me apologizing,” he says ruefully, a sliver of a smile cracking his somberness, “Your chronic pain isn’t a burden. You are not a burden. You’re you. Everybody requires maintenance, but is it really maintenance? Perhaps it’s simply the act—the choice—of loving. Of needing. And it would make me the happiest man alive to be needed by you.”
—
“Need a lift?” Tanjirou offers, ocean foam swirling around his ankles as you meet his reassuring gaze.
“If you insist,” you grin, elbow latching behind his neck as he scoops you into his arms, “I’m feeling a little sore.”
“We can take a bath when we get home,” he replies, sand sinking between his toes, “Although, probably a quick shower first.”
You nod in agreement, “Sounds perfect,” studying his face with a suppressed chuckle.
His eyes narrow, sea spray cold on the back of his calves as he hums curiously, “Something wrong?”
“... yes?”
“Yes…?”
“You totally forgot to wear sunscreen!”
