YOU'RE GENYA SHINAZUGAWA.

It's been years. Several, Maybe? You've lost track. Along with lost count of the tired scars along your tough skin. They seem to grow in numbers as you get older.

Did your brother's multiply like this, too?

Speaking of him, You hadn't thought of him recently. You were young, when it all happened. Hurt. Scared. You found yourself patronizing your experience into the late hours of the night. Dreading on the things that you said, The things that he said.

Had it ever bothered him like it bothered you? Or was he truly as mangled & gnarled as those scars perceived him to be?

Finding yourself prepared for yet another mission, your allies supporting you relentlessly as you tucked your uniformed top into your leather-bound waistband,

You wondered if his scars hurt as much as yours did.

You wondered if it was a game he was playing, by now. A childish one. To see who could last the longest at the hands of their merciful traumas,

You couldn't quite remember when you stopped playing.

Maybe it was the day he said you were no longer his brother, Maybe it was the morning where he walked past your training stance with a scoff, & a distasteful click of his tongue,

Did it truly matter anymore?

You swallowed, Running the calloused pads of your fingers over the tough skin of your uprisen, facial scar.

No, It didn't.

"Tanjiro! Wait up for me!" You called out. Gathering your shoes in between the twine of your fingers,

&--

"Shinazugawa,"

That thick voice of venom & grittle bit through the kind air, splintering any hope of peace you had left for the day's mission.

"A word?"

No. Not a word. You weren't sure there was even one you could form, or offer him, on his behalf,

You had been so much happier, Sanemi's hand was thick, & heavy on your shoulder. As if it were intentional, his dangerous fingers burrowing into the sensitive, clothed scars along your shoulder.

"Im good, man." You called out, & rolled your shoulder.

"What? You've been wanting to talk for years?"

"Got tired."