![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
notturnitotitle inspired by lisa's homura.
Tsugikuni Yoriichi’s existence is an unwanted, worthless one.
Everything good that he has come across and touched will burn—crumble into ember-dotted ashes. The way paper feeds fire.
His caring mother had succumbed to that terrible illness in his childhood. His bright wife, Uta, and his newborn child had been killed in the hands of demons without even a chance to run away.
And now, his kind brother—kind, stubborn Michikatsu, who had once given him the first gift of his life, lent his ears for Yoriichi's heartfelt thoughts during moonless nights, and most importantly, gave up the Tsugikuni clan for Yoriichi's comradeship—has betrayed them all. His kind brother has become the monster who killed Oyakata-sama, the demon who robbed a family from its master, and the traitor who has joined Muzan among the ranks of those very same demons.
Tsugikuni Yoriichi is useless, unable to prevent those tragedies from taking place. The only good thing he can do to atone for that is to kill Kibutsuji Muzan, or to die trying.
That is all he is good for. And even then, his ability is more a source of misfortune than kind grace. Just as he thought he would earn his place amongst other humans with his swordsmanship, he is expulsed instead from the Demon Slayer Corps.
And Yoriichi finds himself truly alone, for the first time in a long while.
It shouldn’t have bothered him, truly. He has known this taste of solitude since birth, since the escapade from his childhood home, since Uta’s death.
All he truly needs is three warm meals a day. Some occasional soaks. Clear sky, at times. To stroll along a gurgling stream. Basking in the loud bustle of a flourishing human town. To meander the path as he follows along the clouds, sometimes.
Yet… why does the first thing that comes to his mind, as he looks up to the wispy clouds rolling across the sky, is the warm meal served by the Kamado family?
Of Suyako’s bright voice as she piles more rice into his bowl, once she hears the gurgle of Yoriichi’s stomach. Sumire’s peals of laughter when she finds herself crawling into Yoriichi’s lap.
The weight of Sumiyoshi’s gentle eyes, as he gazes upon Yoriichi from across the room.
The images come unbidden to his mind’s eye.
He should not have indulged. He should not have thought. He and the Kamado family are but only passing travelers in each other’s lives. A chance meeting brought together by the demons.
Finding his brother is his absolute priority now. Kind Michikatsu, who in his unfathomable actions has also cast Yoriichi away. Whose head he must now cut off.
Sudden pressure seizes his chest, as though his ribcage is wadded full with cotton. And it stops Yoriichi in his tracks.
Gently, he places his hand on his chest, over his heart. One beat, two, then three. The way he often notices Michikatsu attempt to calm himself, whenever he came back frustrated and short-tempered, having failed in polishing a new technique for his Breathing.
The pressure alleviates, but Yoriichi cannot find himself to keep moving.
All these years, all his observations of Michikatsu. All those days spent watching Michikatsu come into the decisive, beautiful swordsmanship that suits him. Those nights they spent in comfortable silence, basking in each other's presence.
And yet. And still.
Perhaps Yoriichi has never truly known his brother, after all. That is his failure.
…
Tsugikuni Yoriichi’s existence is an unwanted, worthless one. The only good thing he can do to atone for that is to kill Kibutsuji Muzan, or to die trying.
Yet Kamado Sumiyoshi seems to see something more within him.
The thought finally spurs him to take further steps, and before he knows it, he finds himself standing in front of the Kamado family’s house.
It's small, sturdy. Enclosed by the juts of tall trees that fracture the rays of the harsh noon sun. Easily is the house superimposed with memories of Yoriichi's old home. His home with Uta.
Yoriichi lowers his gaze.
In their last conversation, he told Sumiyoshi that his story was not one worth passing on. But perhaps… Sumiyoshi would listen to him. For a while. And then, he will leave, so that they will not be burned into ashes as well.
When Sumiyoshi finally returns, Sumire in his embrace, Yoriichi is steadier. Stone-like in resolve.
He hears them first before he sees them, Sumiyoshi's cheerful and exasperated voice interspersed by Sumire's babbles, and Yoriichi braces himself though he knows not what for, but… everything remains the same. Sumiyoshi’s wide smile when he finally sees Yoriichi within line of sight. His loud and warm exclaim. "Ah, Yoriichi-san! You've returned! It's Yoriichi-san!"
Perhaps it is also why the words come out without hesitance or difficulties, when they sit together at the veranda.
They are but facts; a composite of Yoriichi’s failures. Death after death, one inability after another— the list composes itself. The death of his mother, the death of Uta and his child. The death of Oyakata-sama, and the death of Michikatsu’s humanity. His inability to kill Kibutsuji Muzan, nor even to steel his heart and finish off Muzan’s former subordinate Tamayo.
The stream of Yoriichi's life is thus so, punctuated by inevitable failures, each flow followed by a deeper ebb.
He continues on despite hearing the hitch in Sumiyoshi’s breath, knowing the way Sumiyoshi’s blood vessels dilate as the tear glands in his eyes swell with unshed tears.
The sky is still so vividly blue after Yoriichi finishes speaking.
Then, he holds Sumire up against the sky.
Such a bright laughter that comes out of her. Such wide, toothy grin. It startles him so. Perhaps that’s what his child would have looked like, had they lived.
At the realization, Yoriichi’s breathing stills.
Unlike the previous pressure, this time pain jolts his chest, wringing like a noose, suffocating despite the fettle of his body’s machinery. The sight of the blue sky, the plainness of Sumire’s happiness— it fractures him, beyond physical functioning. Less beautiful than the sunlight through the foliage of trees around the Kamado's home, Yoriichi splinters apart beneath sorrow of a lifetime.
He crumbles down. For the first time ever, his tears fall. Like the rain, they seem unstoppable.
Even after Suyako comes home and sees his state, then tries to coax his tears away with her warm words, with her warm hand snug on the top of Yoriichi’s head. Even after Sumiyoshi gets to his feet from his seat on the veranda, then kneels down by Yoriichi’s side, his words coming out gentle yet firm.
“Yoriichi-san, come. Let’s get you inside.
“Let Suyako cook and I’ll draw the bath for you. Here, I’ll take Sumire.
“Come. Hold my hand.”
And even after an equally warm hand, calloused from woodcutting and charcoal-making, holds him, guiding him past the threshold into their home—
The warmth that lingers wherever Suyako and Sumiyoshi touch brings out within him such an ache, that tears still drip down his cheeks as he waits for the bath to be drawn.
Once the water fills up, Yoriichi lets himself be undressed.
Through the haze of distant memories, he remembers reacting the same way, when his mother once bathed him. Just as though the child he once was, Yoriichi lets Sumiyoshi remove his haori, pull off his obi. He lets his hakama fall to the ground, then lets Sumiyoshi carefully peel off socks from both of his feet.
Even with blurry vision, Sumiyoshi’s attentive care shines through.
Folding the clothes that Yoriichi had been wearing. Guiding Yoriichi by hand to enter the wooden tub. Pouring water in gentle amounts over Yoriichi’s shoulders to accustom him to the heat. Holding his hand as Sumiyoshi gently runs a small towel along his arm.
Such gentleness can be reserved for him, still. After everything. Despite everything.
He starts crying again for some unknown reason, his chest tight and his lungs squeezed around his aching heart, until he is left light-headed and dizzy and hollow from it, and then, Sumiyoshi’s hand comes up to wipe away the tears that form.
“My apologies, Sumiyoshi,” Yoriichi tries to say, in between short, narrow breaths. He can surely dry his own tears, yet he can’t bring himself to. His entire body feels as though a lacking blade, rusted and beyond repair. And Sumiyoshi’s touch brings him such reprieve. “I… don’t know how to stop them. These tears.” For all the control and knowledge he has over such matter, this is the one area he is uninitiated in.
“You do not need to apologize, Yoriichi-san,” Sumiyoshi quietly says. “Nor do you need to stop these tears. You… have not cried in a long while, have you?”
“I have never cried before, Sumiyoshi.”
Sumiyoshi pauses. Tears once again pool by his kind eyes, gathering as though the delta of a river. Yet he explains just as well to Yoriichi, through the hoarseness of his voice, “Just as you cannot help but to smile, you cannot help but to cry. Especially if you need to mourn for each parting in your life.”
Yoriichi trains his sight at the way Sumiyoshi’s lungs constrict when he takes a shuddering breath. The way his facial muscles tighten their spindles and then relax again, as Sumiyoshi looks up to him. There is a smile trained on his face, despite his tears.
“I’ll ask Suyako to bring you some change of clothes, Yoriichi-san.”
The yukata for Yoriichi’s change of clothes is made from a thick material, the very same one the Kamado family uses for their own clothes, on account that they live on a mountain that snows mercilessly, long even before wintertime.
What surprises Yoriichi is how it fits, even the inner robes, as though tailored for his personal use. While they do not smell of mildew, his garment does not seem to have been made recently. And in any case, Sumiyoshi and Suyako would not have known that Yoriichi would come back to them.
As Yoriichi rubs the neat, orderly stitches that line his hems, another small memory arrives in his mind.
… Uta used to stitch his clothes the same way.
When Yoriichi emerges from the bath, he spots Suyako, arms full of a large basin soaking chestnuts. Her eyes brighten at the sight of him.
“Oh! I’m so glad, it fits you very well, Yoriichi-san! We’ve kept the robes for a while and we weren’t even sure if you would come back to use it! Anyway, help me peel the chestnuts for our dinner? Today’s menu is chestnut rice, sweet and filling!”
As Suyako grins from ear to ear, Yoriichi silently takes the basin from her hands, each thumping of his heart beating with slight pangs. All the blood is flowing into his chest, so mysterious the warmth welling up, all the ache and sweetness filling him within.
After a while, Suyako asks him, in between paring the chestnut skins.
“You know, Yoriichi-san, why don’t you stay with us?”
Yoriichi’s hand falters, a split-second vulnerability that would not be tolerable in a battle. But Suyako does not notice, and she continues on, “You know, you won’t be imposing at all! We have all the space for you and the children, and you will get hot, warm meals three times a day. You can soak up after work with Sumiyoshi. But most importantly, I think it’ll be nice, won’t it? To have a place that you can return to, and call home.”
A place to return to, and call home. With Sumiyoshi and Suyako, and the children.
The ache his blood has brought to his chest seems to crawl up, stuffing his throat, rendering his tongue tied. He cannot bring himself to say anything, not even to thank her. Warmth pools again behind his eyes, around his sockets, within the cavity of his chest.
This time, Suyako notices his silence, turning towards him when he does not answer. And her eyes turn wide.
For a while she remains stunned seeing whatever expression Yoriichi must have had on his face, before she finally smiles at him. It is such a bright, gentle smile.
Suyako then reaches out to his face, her thumb swiping at the corner of Yoriichi’s right eye.
“Anyway, think about it, ‘kay?” She releases her hold, still smiling up. “But no matter what, we will always welcome you here, Yoriichi-san.”
Her touch left a lingering warmth, and if Yoriichi closes his eyes, it’s as though Suyako and Sumiyoshi both had never left him.
He spends the night, of course. The Kamado family’s hospitality will not allow him otherwise. And this time, he is not allocated to their guest room. Instead, Suyako drags Yoriichi’s futon next to the children’s, with her and Sumiyoshi’s bedding on the other side of the room.
Everyone’s bellies are full from Suyako’s wonderful cooking, and even Yoriichi somehow ate four more bowls of the chestnut rice. The Kamado become fast asleep, and before sleep claims his wake as well, Yoriichi turns toward them, and cannot help but remember—
My dream was to live a quiet life with my family. A small house was fine. I wanted to sleep with our futons side by side. A distance where I could see the faces of my loved ones. A distance close enough to immediately grab their hands if I reached out.
His brother, though indulged him by arranging their futons in the same chambers, always slept facing away from Yoriichi, willing only to reveal the back of his head to him, his dark-red hair flowing unbound on the tatami. Yoriichi always wanted to reach out and hold Michikatsu's hand, but they were always blistered and raw, a proof of his indomitable will in the training area. A simple touch would be enough to wake him.
He shouldn't have held back, that time, no matter how grumpy and disgruntled Michikatsu would be.
But now Yoriichi sees, with the aid of moonlight, Sumiyoshi and Suyako’s sleeping faces. Then, their children. Five hearts beat in differing rhythms within this room. Each inhale and exhale a different pattern.
Silently, Yoriichi reaches out— taking Sumire’s small hand into his. The pulse of her heartbeat bleeds into Yoriichi’s own palm. Thump, thump. He has crossed the distance between them within half the beat.
Yoriichi releases his hold, and turns toward the ceiling.
He closes his eyes.
Eyes are gateways. Yoriichi’s eyes enable him to enter the see-through world of human bodies. He sees the skeletons beneath the transparent membrane of human skin. The tightening of spindle red muscles when one prepares to dash. The troughs of human organs.
Sumiyoshi’s eyes, however…
Whenever Sumiyoshi meets his eyes… it’s as though Sumiyoshi sees through him, instead of the other way around. To Sumiyoshi, Yoriichi is not the human incarnation of an unappeased tatarigami. He does not see the burning curse everyone claims Yoriichi is.
What Sumiyoshi sees, perhaps, is the lonely child unwanted by his father, who runs away trailing the path of clouds in the sky.
And Yoriichi knows, just as sure as he knows the sun rises from the east, that Sumiyoshi will be willing to gather that Yoriichi into his arms, uncaring whether Yoriichi will burn him. Perhaps he will even quip that no charcoal-makers are afraid of fire.
Then, Sumiyoshi will caress his cheek, and as those eyes that Yoriichi adores so much gaze into him, he will say that everything will be alright.
It’s okay, Yoriichi, everything will be alright.
That is why he cannot stay.
Forgive him, Suyako; for there are demons in this beautiful world, this beautiful world that has Sumiyoshi and Suyako and their children within it, the Kamado family will never be truly safe.
Nevertheless, for as long as Yoriichi lives, he will protect them.
When he leaves, he gives Sumiyoshi his earrings, and with it, his hopes and dreams of the future—just as his mother had left him with. All omamori function the same way.
As Sumiyoshi holds onto his earrings with glassy eyes, Yoriichi watches the way his face dawns in realization— then in the grief of a parting. And when Yoriichi apologetically turns towards Suyako, she immediately wipes her tears away, giving him a brave yet watery smile.
That is Yoriichi’s answer.
Whilst demons remain roaming the world, whilst Kibutsuji Muzan’s evil remain unvanquished, and whilst Michikatsu remains dishonorable in his existence, Yoriichi cannot be at peace. Nothing can ever absolve him from the sin of letting those lives slip past his grasp.
But knowing that, at the very least, one person lives on because of him. That an entire family will live on without knowing the grief of death’s parting until far ahead in the future—
“Yoriichi-san! We… are the lives you protected!”
It feels that Sumiyoshi and Suyako’s existences cleanse the sin of his worthless one. Especially when Sumiyoshi looks at Yoriichi with those sincere eyes of his, with kind tears streaming down his face, with his flaming heart beating in determination within his ribcage.
“You are not a man of no worth. I will pass on the breath of the sun and your earrings to my descendants. I promise you!”
… yes. If Sumiyoshi is willing to remember him… it makes it all worth it. It’s more than enough for Yoriichi.
Farewell, Kamado Sumiyoshi.
Tsugikuni Yoriichi brings the dazzling sun with him even in the darkest night of mankind, but the sun never seems to shine on him, throughout his entire life.
O Gods… how can such a good man suffer? Why does fate treat him so unkindly, when he has been so good to many others?
After Yoriichi is gone, Sumiyoshi takes to wearing his earrings. The townsfolk below the mountain praise his new looks, but only Suyako knows the full depths of meaning behind it. Whenever he catches Suyako’s sad gaze pinned on them, Sumiyoshi knows this so.
As time passes by, talks of the town pass more frightening tales of demons. Humans butchered; people disappearing in their travels; death after death. Though also, albeit less frequently, tales of the slayers who had vanquished them, and had saved the ones they could.
But none of those slayers are Sumiyoshi’s Yoriichi.
He never did return, afterwards.
And yet, there are so many things Sumiyoshi still wishes to tell him, even as seasons drift by and Sumiyoshi’s hands can no longer carry as much firewood as he once could. Do you know, Yoriichi-san, that we named our second son after you? Do you know how the children have grown up? That Sumire has found a husband now? That Suyako always prepares chestnut rice for our dinner, since you’ve always liked it, even if you have not said so?
That we miss you, and that we will always think of you?
Sumiyoshi should have done more. He should have said something, in their last meeting, back when Yoriichi had confided his entire life in him.
He should have said, “You are cherished, Tsugikuni Yoriichi. You come into this world scorned, despised, envied after. But you are also adored. You are, also, loved.”
To love is to behold. To not look away, and carve in your heart what scene has touched your soul and pass it on, so that your love will never die.
Sumiyoshi doesn’t know how to pick up a sword. But he sees.
He remembers.
And he dances.
To the gods up high in their celestial realm of Takamagahara, to any of them who is willing to listen, Sumiyoshi pleads, every year, feet burning a solar dance atop dark, snowy mountain plains.
“This kagura, is my plaint to the gods for you, Yoriichi-san. So may the sun shine upon you, no matter what path you tread.
“I only wish that, at the end of that road, you may finally find peace.”
Every performance of the Fire God kagura, every single passing down of its steps, is a line completed of the stanzas within Sumiyoshi’s prayer.
I pray the Gods my plea to hear
Sumiyoshi adjusts Sumire’s hand, as she trods clumsily through the stance of the first movement.
If this dance should please their heart
Hands and legs of generations of the Kamado family, dancing a fiery kagura amidst falling snow. Over and over.
May I be allowed sun to steer
Kamado Tanjuro, burning with life, as he moves with an agility that does not belong to an ailing man.
May peace be granted in his part
And finally.
Kamado Tanjiro forces his battered body through the perfected motions of Sun Breathing, the slashes of his sword flaring brilliant afterimages as though the rays of the midday sun. Until the thirteenth form is finally complete at the first pink cloud glimpse of daybreak.
Until he has finally invocated the sun to shine upon them, vanquishing all the darkness of the world.
“Nothing else shelters grief better than memory.
It’s my father way of saying,
even in your absence, you will be cared
by me.”
— Lemons, Noor Unnahar
Notes:
thank you for reading until this far!
full disclosure: this fic is heavily inspired by beecalm's kny fic those who touch the sun, but i wanted to lean more on the literal use of kagura to invoke gods being the thirteenth form of sun breathing. in any case, this fic wouldn't exist without those who touch the sun, so please do check beecalm's works out!
i wanted to close this year by gifting a fic for myself on my birthday, but due to work i ended up posting it a day (two days actually) later. nevertheless this is for the other sad ot3 sumiyoshi/yoriichi/suyako enjoyers like me. hope we will all survive this scene animated. i also like to think that this "missing scene" can explain how yoriichi can shed his tears at the sight of kokushibo, as he finally allows himself to feel and cry.
if you're interested in reading more about the bts of this fic: you can read my tumblr post here! happy holidays!!
edit 10/02/2025: i just realized that the timeline on this is a little bit distorted. lol sorry about that
edit 10/02/2025: i just realized that the timeline on this is a little bit distorted. lol sorry about that
2nd edit 20/12/2025: ive been bugged by the ways i can improve this fic (need to add more michikatsu to it). edited. no one comment on the prayerverse please
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}