Tanjiro and Giyu

The morning in Tokyo is warm.

The sun shining on the windows of the buildings. Glistening and somehow annoying, sneaking through the small openings of the blinds of his window.

Once in a while, when I wake up, I find myself crying.

Tanjiro has sat up, struggling a little with the still numb weight of his body. His bare legs curl up and his back curves slightly forward. His fingers touch his right cheekbone. It is wet. With remnants of the involuntary tears that have come at some point in the night and that he can feel remain pooled in his vermilion eyes as he blinks.

I can't remember the dream I had.

Giyu has his bare feet on the cold surface of the floor of his own apartment across town. The collar of his pajama top is disheveled. It reveals a little more of the skin of his collarbones and neck. His messy hair falls around his shoulders. His shorter locks tickle his cheeks. Some are wet with tears, as are his fingertips.

He lowers his hand. He watches it carefully for a couple of breaths, taking in unconformably the familiar heavy feeling in his chest.

But...

But...

The feeling of loss lingers long after I wake up.

Tanjiro shakes his head trying to push it away.

He decides to ignore how it clings stubbornly to his heart so he can start the day as usual.

His feet direct him to the kitchen. There are plates and a couple of dry wooden chopsticks piled up on the side of the sink from the night before, the rubber gloves he used to wash them are hanging over it next to a couple of white hand towels swaying in the breeze coming in through the window Tanjiro opens before opening the fridge and bending down slightly to look for the leftover takoyaki from dinner.

He eats with parsimony while seated. He chews and savors the chopped pieces of octopus in each portion that he puts in his mouth with the chopsticks.

On any other occasion he would be moving his feet rhythmically to the music from his phone connected to the speakers on one of the shelves, but today he is in no mood for it. His face has involuntarily turned to the window, to the clear blue sky where a few planes fly overhead from time to time. Today he sees it as clear as he has ever seen it.

The wind that blows through the apartment is cool, it causes a shivering sensation in his body and Tanjiro can't help but think that it's sad somehow, lonely, but maybe it's just his ideas.

Giyu is standing in front of the mirror that has been left damp from the bath he took. His arms are folded back as his fingers twist the lock of jet hair that falls down his back in a low ponytail.

It doesn't take him long to leave his apartment after that. With his briefcase in hand, listening to the dull thud of the metal door behind him as it closes.

The city is as busy as ever. With the usual bustle of cars on the streets. The murmur of footsteps of people walking around him. The imperceptible whistling of the spring wind. The rattle of trains that increases the closer he gets to the station.

I'm always searching for something, for someone.

As he boards the train, Giyu is pushed to one side of the wagon by the crowd of people who are also there to get to wherever they have to get to. He stays in place, near the door and the small caution sign taped to the door glass.

His eyes scan the cityscape outside. The crowded platforms, the iron pillars of the station and the tracks of the other trains on the ground, but for some reason he finds himself paying more attention to the whole group of people waiting for the train on the opposite platform, moving his eyes back and forth between all the unfamiliar faces there, hoping to find... whatever it is his mind and heart are searching so hard and desperately for.

That feeling consumes me and I think of that day.

Tanjiro also has his dark scarlet gaze fixed on the houses and buildings that open up behind the glass door his body is pressed against, but if he is honest his mind is elsewhere. Lost in memories of eight years ago, when he was a teenager living out his days in a small rural town in the middle of nowhere.

When, one night, lines and brushstrokes of the most beautiful shades of purple and blue sky were painted in the sky. The shimmering trail, a long hair of striking colors crossed the night sky.

That day, when the stars were falling.

Giyu had seen it too. He had been dragged to the rooftop of his apartment building by Sabito. He was the most excited of the two, so he didn't hesitate to force Giyu to watch it together. He remembers that he didn't really feel like going out to feel the cold autumn air getting into his bones just to see a comet, but now he can safely say that it was one of the most magical nights of his life.

It was like...

Like seeing something out of a dream.

Tanjiro had seen it at the autumn festival in Itomori, the small town where he grew up. He doesn't remember exactly what happened before that, he only knows that his friends had joined him and that they had strolled through the meadow by the roadside, yet the image of the comet has been stored in detail in his head. It has burned itself into the back of his eyes with fire never to disappear.

Nothing more, nothing less.

For both of them, the memory is beautiful and, at the same time, suffocating. A bittersweet feeling in their mouths that they can't explain, but embrace anyway. As if it were something important. Something they must keep deep in their chest.

Something that has led them to look up on the other side of the train window, only to feel the air run out and the heart lose its rhythm.

Than a spectacular view.

Than a spectacular view.