Our Halcyon Days || Reader x Tanjiro | RESUME 2022!

* t h i r t y - f i v e *

~ T a n j i r o ~

There is a reason

why people see their life flash before their eyes before dying.

To put it simply,

they are searching for a way to avoid their imminent death,

from every experience

and memory

they have.

At first, Tanjiro saw, all at once, an assortment of jumbled memories, fragmented clumsily together, as if they were puzzle pieces that failed to fit perfectly.

He saw Sabito and Makomo;

Lady Tamayo and Yushiro.

Urokodaki,

Zenitsu,

Inosuke.

Nezuko.

(Y/n).

Then he watched himself grow up alongside his five precious siblings, alongside his beautiful mother and loving father who had both nurtured him with so much attention and care.

In one memory, his father sat cross-legged on the wooden patio, trademark checkered haori draped loosely across his shoulders.

He was as frail-looking as Tanjiro knew him to be. His gentle, tired eyes shone with affection as he looked on.

"Tanjiro," he said.

Tanjiro's heart pounded loudly in his chest.

This was...

His father spoke once more.

One word.

"Breathe."

And that one word settled heavily on the boy's mind.

The earrings his father had passed down to him shifted in the breeze. The man adorned a soft, knowing smile that started a dismal throb in Tanjiro's heart.

"Control your breathing,

and you will become the God of Fire."

The scene warped, leaving him at a loss.

The sunny day was replaced with one of snow. A heavy blanket of it lay over the ground, over the barren tree branches. It flurried down, weaving and spiraling in each flake's lofty descent.

Tanjiro's breath mixed into the air as little white clouds.

He was but a small child now.

Kamado Kie held him in her arms, adjusting his head scarf more snugly around his head.

"Look, Tanjiro," she murmured, her voice alone warm enough to stave off the coldest winter.

"It's your father's kagura dance."

The sound of chimes reached his ears.

Several torches encircled Tanjiro's father, who had donned a brown, orange, and red robe that flowed with him in every movement he made.

His weathered hand flourished a ceremonial sword; several petite bells were clustered around its pommel.

A white cloth with dark symbols painted on cascaded down in front of the man's face.

As if to bless the ears with a rather curious, ethereal melody, the crackling of the torch flames, the chiming bells, and Tanjiro's own beating heart combined as one.