⎣Demon Slayer: Yōkai Wife⎤ [雪花] |Kyōjurō Rengoku x Yuki-onna!Reader|

90: Cannot Go on Without You

A/n: TW for suicide attempt. Please don't read if you're triggered by that. Thank you so much!

•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•᪥•

Shinjurō laid sprawled on his side on the sun-warmed slats of the engawa.

He could still hear his younger son crying in the other room. A muffled, keening wail escapes him and Shinjurō could only guess Senjurō had his face buried in a pillow and is wallowing in his own deepen, aching sadness.

Kyōjurō is dead.

The Flame Pillar has fallen.

The wind chime hanging from the roof's eave dances as a gentle breeze caresses it.

It does absolutely nothing to calm him. It made him sick, both body and in his decaying mind as a deep breath leaves him in a slow, practiced exhale.

It was getting harder to breathe calmly as half-lidded, red and gold eyes glanced longingly at an old vintage photo of a man that looked exactly like Shinjurō and in his prime. Beside him is a beautiful dark-haired heavily pregnant woman .

However, Shinjurō's gaze solely lingers on the child next to her; a little flame-haired boy, smiling so happily, so big as in the same imitation of his father's.

It sends a pang of both anger and regret reverberating through his chest. Regardless of the heat from the morning sun, Shinjurō is cold.

Fate had once again spat on him.

She had once again, taunted him and stabbed him in the heart.

First his wife, Ruka...and now, his son.

Both are DEAD.

Yet, Shinjurō only feels nothing...

There is nothing.

Only bitterness.

He anguish only deepens and bleeds into his heart as he crumbles the photo in his hand, before tossing it. Not caring where it lands as he turns his back to it, stomach sick, and reaches for his jug of alcohol.

His only pain killer.

Everyday, Shinjurō sits on the engawa and drinks.

He lies on his futon and drinks.

He's uninterested in anything but the warm, familiar burn from the alcohol coursing down his throat and into his chest.

"What a fucking waste."

───────────

It felt endless.

For Tanjirō, it felt the earth was crumbling beneath him and his quivering legs could not bear the crushing weight on his shoulders any longer as his gaze lingers on the white sheet cover mound that's Kyōjurō's lifeless body.

He, Inosuke, and Zenitsu waited patiently as the Kakushi began their task of "cleaning" the remnants of the aftermath.

The story that'll go to the public goes that the Mugen train had derailed due to mechanical failure of the wheels.