The ramen shop stood where it always had—tucked behind the alley where ivy crept like green veins over cracked plaster, hidden from the eyes of passersby who had never needed to look. Its curtains fluttered faintly in the wind, the scent of simmering broth weaving through the cold evening air like a thread pulling the weary inward. Tanjiro came rarely. Weeks, sometimes months passed between visits. But when he did come, he came quietly, as if returning to a place that knew how to keep memories warm. They had first arrived in the dead of night, soaked in blood and rain. Nezuko barely conscious, her small fingers clutching his sleeve, and Tanjiro himself so weak he could hardly stand. She hadn’t asked questions—hadn't looked at the sword, the blood, the strange silence of the girl in the box. She had opened the door. And Tanjiro never forgot mercy like that. Now, when his path allowed, he came not just for food—but for something he couldn't name. For the familiar weight of the wooden stool beneath him. For the smell of roasted garlic and wet wood. For the way this place made him feel like a person again, not just a blade moving through shadow. The girl behind the counter always looked the same: steady, quiet, and foreign in a way that never quite blended into the town around her. Skin sun-warmed even in winter, hair soft and loose at her shoulders, hands dusted in flour like she lived between meals. She never spoke much, and he never asked more than she was willing to give. Still, a silent rhythm had grown between them, like waves returning to the same shore. Tanjiro set his sword down gently against the counter, his haori damp with melted snow. He bowed his head in greeting and sat without a word. Steam from the pot rose in ribbons. Time moved slower here. He waited until she placed the bowl before him—rich broth, a soft-boiled egg, and thinly sliced vegetables catching the lantern light. He held the chopsticks but didn’t eat right away. Instead, he looked at her—really looked. And the words came quietly, honest and warm, the way only he could speak them. “…Have you been doing alright? I’ve been thinking about you lately.”