Chapter Text
Tomioka didn’t want to talk.
Well, with his lack of socialization, that didn’t come as a surprise. But, seriously, he didn’t want to talk. Not even to Tanjiro, who typically wouldn’t leave him alone until he got a word out of him.
He felt like he was hanging onto life by a thread. Not that he wanted to hang onto it, anyway.
Tomioka’s vision blurred around the edges, much like it did when he was on the brink of death in the battle. Which… he wasn’t, so he didn’t know why his vision was so hazy. He squinted slightly, staring at himself in the small mirror he had hung up. Or, more accurately, Kanroji-san had hung up.
… Right. Not that it mattered. He folded his hand in his lap, a very subtle twitch in his bottom lip that even he hardly caught. A slow exhale left his mouth, and he pushed himself to his feet. With his one hand and the help of his teeth, he grabbed a scent blocker and peeled it, pressing it to his scent gland. Ubuyashiki had given some to him after he entrusted him with his secondary gender. He didn’t laugh, didn’t give him a look. Just asked Lady Amane to hand him these. They worked. It stung a little.
He turned on his heel and slowly slid open the door, his eyes flicking over his surroundings. Tomioka wasn’t sure how long it’d been since he left his home, much less how long it’d been since he ate. Slowly, his gaze drifted to the meals left by his door. Likely from the Kamado siblings. Too bad he wasn’t hungry.
The sight was sickening.
Graves laid out before him, each adorned with flowers and carved writing of each of the Pillar names. His shoulders quivered, feelings he was never quite sure how to deal with clawing at his heart.
That should’ve been him.
He should be the one laying dead or lost in the vast Infinity Castle. Not his peers, not any of the Corps members lost, not these kids who insisted on riskng their lives based off things no kid should ever experience. He knew that all too well.
The feelings of pure guilt he’d felt after Final Selection had always been… rough. But to think he was yet again another person to survive amongst many more who deserved it..
Wind chipped at his skin, his haori still slightly torn with scratches he never bothered to fix, the right side of him feeling achingly empty. Sure, he’d lost an arm, but was that really enough compared to promising kids and people who were barely adults who’d lost their lives? Iguro-san, Kanroji-san, Kocho-san, Himejima-san, Tokito-san—
“Giyū-san!”
The surprised voice snapped him out of his pathetic state, his head slowly lifting from staring down at the graves, before he could even turn around, he was met with two pairs of arms wrapping intensely around him, followed with sounds of a certain emotion he couldn’t quite detect. Relief, maybe? His gaze flicked down to the two Kamado siblings hugging him. Nezuko looked all too free, and Tanjiro looked all too happy to see him.
“Ah, Tanjiro..” When Kamado met his gaze, he seemed to be beaming. How? How could he be so optimistic so soon after the war? He bit down on his lower lip, gently shrugging the two siblings off. He looked down at the two. Nezuko also seemed to be beaming at the sight of him. Tomioka gently raised his hand and patted her head once, followed by a friendly rub. “Nezuko,” he greeted with a slight nod.
It wasn’t long before the three were sat in front of the graves, Tanjiro chatting his ear off and Nezuko occasionally chirping in. There were likely multiple times he was supposed to respond, but he was too zoned out. He stared right past the two, his gaze focused on the graves. He felt numb. Before, he disliked talking to people. Now, he still did, but knowing he would never be able to talk to said people again had him dwelling on the subject.
No… dwelling wasn’t the right word. He was just… thinking about it. A lingering part of him had him wishing he had indulged in the Hashira meetings, had indulged in conversations he never found appealing. Maybe Kocho was right when she said he’d miss something. He missed the constant chirp of Kanroji’s words, the banter between him and Kocho, even the sly insults from Iguro.
“Tomioka-san?” Tanjiro’s words snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, his pupils dilating as he actually focused on the two in front of him. “Are you alright? I’m catching a huge scent of grief from you.”
Tomioka blinked. Grief was.. the perfect word, actually. It was quite vague, so he wasn’t sure why he didn’t think of that word before. He supposed he never was good at explaining himself. Most of the Hashira died without him being able to explain himself.
His fingers twitched into a fist that restef on his thigh. Before he could say anything, Tanjiro cut him off. “Giyū-san, you look kind of ill..” Tanjiro mused, to which Nezuko nodded. “We’ve seen that you haven’t eaten anything we’ve left you.”
So it was from the two of them.
“Have you eaten?” Nezuko suddenly chirped, her features twisting into concern.
For some reason, Tomioka couldn’t find the will to speak. It felt like he was drowning and he couldn’t find the way to the surface.
“I have.” Is what he settled with. Tanjiro likely smelt the lie from him, but he couldn’t care less. He pushed himself to his feet, glancing to the two, the graves, then the ground. “I’ll be heading off now.”
”But— Giyū-san!”
Tanjiro’s words simply fell on deaf ears because Tomioka quickly fled from the scene. He may have lost an arm, but his legs worked perfectly fine.
The birds chirping outside felt like they were grating on his nerves, and his skin felt like it was on fire. His clothes felt far too tight, and it felt like his head was spinning. He found himself sitting in front of the same mirror as earlier in the day. Or yesterday. Time had become irrelevant to him.
His eye bags were sunken deep into his skull, his skin paler than before. Even his cheeks seemed to be hollowed out. He bit down on his lower lip, which was already red and raw. Tomioka wasn’t sure, but it felt like it had bled a few times.
Tomioka didn’t want to move. He looked down at his left hand, which was shaking immensely. He glanced at himself once more, then looked away. He may have let himself sink into this state, but he wasn’t an idiot. Anyone would be able to tell he looked horrible. How would he not? He was hardly eating, sleeping, nor going outside. Nezuko and Tanjiro had come to stop by, some times together, some times seperately. However, their visits dwindled down prominently.
He brought his trembling left hand up, gently peeling off the scent blocker that no longer worked. He tossed it somewhere—another thing he didn’t care about—and rummaged in his drawer for another one. Of course. He only had a couple left. It wasn’t like these were openly available to the public. And even if they were, he didn’t want to risk getting captured or sold off to get some measly scent blockers. Then again.. he likely didn’t need any. The Corps had already disunited, so he wasn’t in danger of losing his job or anything. He just… didn’t want to be seen as anything worse than he was now.
If it wasn’t obvious by now, anyone who was cursed with ‘Omega’ as their secondary gender didn’t have much luck in this world. Frequently, they were treated as lesser being. The only way to gain respect as an omega is to be engaged to an alpha that was respected. There weren’t many opportunities for omegas. Betas had only recently began to be treated normally by alphas, so that was good. Would’ve been greater if he had been a beta.
No luck there.
Tomioka hadn’t noticed he was gnawing on his lip until blood trickled down his pale face and dripped onto his pants. He looked down at the stain, which was followed by a couple more drops. He released his lip, his tongue flicking out to clean up his lip. Conveniently, there was a towel next to him. He grabbed it and dabbed up the mess, his teeth gritting together in frustration. Suddenly, he slammed his fist down on the table, his shoulders quivering.
Tears slid down the curve of his face, mingling with the blood that he hadn’t yet cleaned. The scent reminded him too much of the battle, of everything he’d lost. Just for another couple moments, he stared at himself. Feelings he didn’t know how to name bubbled up in his gut. One that he could describe was disgust. His hand found itself shoved in his hair, gripping the messy, greasy strands like he wanted to rip them out. Which, he somewhat did.
His gaze wandered to his futon, his gaze blurry. Crawling over to it, he shoved the pillow across the room, which seemed like it was spinning. He snatched the small blade that rested below the pillow, using his teeth to hold the blade while his hand rolled up his pants. Typically, he would’ve performed this act on his arms, but it was hard to do so with only one.
I said I’d quit. He grimaced as he stared down at his scarred thigh. Just once, he thought traitorously.