#soemtimes starting the morning like this isnt a good idea

[xxlady-lunaxx]

🌪️— tw. implied sh, light sui thoughts, him getting guilt derived drunk or smth

He knew it was bad. But it didn’t stop him from buying sake one morning, drinking it until he could barely see his own hand in front of his face. The whiplash of a headache he received the day after only encouraged him. He welcomed the ache. He didn’t complain. How could he? After all—whose fault was it that Genya could no longer live the life he’d deserved? Whose fault was it that Genya was now nothing but a pile of clothes? Who else had failed to save Genya? To care for him and nurture him like he should’ve been. It was Sanemi’s fault. Sanemi had failed. As Genya’s brother, as his last living family member, as a Demon Slayer, as a Hashira. He’d failed as a human being. Because now Sanemi wasn’t quite sure he truly was human. No actual person could possibly even imagine doing what he had done.

He drowned himself in sake. Let the confusion and the pain and the thoughts wash into his body and let it sit as alcohol. Let him think, just for a moment, that everything would be okay. He was in a daze, waiting. For Genya to hold his hand and tell him not to do this. Pry the bottle from his hand, throw it away, and let Genya and all his beautiful, sweet Genyaness overtake him and his senses.

If anything, the sake only made it hurt more. The hope he’d allow himself that maybe he had saved Genya and maybe he would wake up from this terrible dream and Genya was there, smiling and laughing and simply being. The horrible, murderous hope. Hope filled with alcohol, hope filled with delusions. Hope filled with the guilt and the anger and the sorrow and pain that engulfed Sanemi like the overwhelming fear he’d held for his father as a child. And even if he woke up, his head throbbing, realizing that, in fact, nothing was okay. That he was alone with the heavy fault of all but killing his own brother. Even then, he embraced the hope. Because the crushing devastation that followed the hammer of consciousness that broke the thin glass of wishes was just as Sanemi deserved. Less, still. But breaking the bottles with his own hands and watching the sharp pieces pierce his skin, the same pieces that had provided him moments of delusional dreams, felt almost good. It felt nice. To hurt. To get what he deserved. Even as he realized that the only thing that could make up for everything he’d done was for him to have died in place of everyone who had.

It was the constant circle of thoughts like that that had him getting shakily to his feet, pocketing money from his job as a Hashira and lumbering slowly to the nearest liquor store, willing to take whatever they could offer. Let the thoughts consume him. May he rest in pain.

tagging @tomiokagiyuufirststan bc you threatened me into this (/j)