[ ONESHOTS ]

[ Inosuke ]

Another angst chapter because the last one starring Zenitsu was good to write, it's like venting but for other people (aka theyre the two characters who make me the saddest)
INCLUDES;
- angst with no comfort
- he's so confused by people
- feeling alone
- before becoming a demon slayer
- self-blame
- he gets a little better right at the end
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It was cold. Of all the nights being outside, living without a roof over his head, this night was what he'd consider cold.

Worn-out and tough palms were a pale purple from being placed on the icy ground for too long, so he reluctantly got up on his two legs and worked his way down his mountain to get his blood pumping.

He'd never had to speak to anyone besides himself and his pack, but he knew talking was a struggle. He couldn't form the right words to match what he was feeling, no matter how hard he tried, and he didn't know if he'd ever find the right words.

The most he knew about other people, things who looked too much like him, was that they could talk better than he could, and they didn't live outside like he did. They slept in little boxes made with tree wood, with weird fragile doors and more than three people always living inside.

He couldn't even picture living with another person, with how he'd listen in to others conversations to learn how to word things better but always hear a sick whine in their voices. Complaining, he heard them call it.

They'd always complain about their jobs or their housemates, never once considering how other people felt. It was confusing, especially since he and his pack communicated about everything together, be it not verbally.

He can't remember the last time he touched another person, but he knew a part of him wanted what the townspeople had. He remembers watching men wrap their arms around women's waists, hugging them close from behind while they laugh about something.

He wanted to feel the warmth of skin, skin far softer than the kind he had. He felt his chest go heavy as his breath grew quieter. What would other people call what he was feeling now? He'd heard things like 'happy' and people saying someone looked 'down'? Was this feeling down?

He couldn't quite grasp the concept, so he let it be. He wished he knew what it was like to grow in a little box like everyone else did, what it'd be like to have someone to hold or to grow with. He felt his cold hand touch his shoulder without his notice, pulling it away quickly before he let himself think about it.

He thought about the smaller people in the villages he'd seen, 'kids' he'd heard people his size call them. Was he ever that small? And he always saw taller people surrounding the smaller ones, what did that mean? Now that he was bigger did he need to find a kid and watch over it?

He mulled over the thought in his head and decided no, he wouldn't waste time on something as useless as a small person. But he wondered if a big person ever took care of him. Someone who would hold him and feed him. He could almost remember a woman looking at him, crying, but he let the image slip before he could process it.

He slammed his fist against the tree beside him. What did he do to make someone turn away from him? He tries to look back at the image but he can't, he strains his brain and finds nothing. He was so confused.

He felt the bark from the tree stuck to his hand with frost, freezing onto his cold fist. He took it as note to work his way down the mountain for warmth.

Even though he knew he wasn't like everyone else, he didn't speak well or live in a box and he never held a conversation with anyone his whole life- he knew he was smart. He never complained and he always did as instructed from his pack. He found solace in that knowledge as he slid down a hill into a warmer area.

One day he'd meet another person, someone just like him, and he'd be able to hold conversation and feel happy. But just for that moment, he'd sit down at the base of the mountain and wait out the last days of winter in the subtle warmth of the village.