For once, his awareness returns to him slowly, almost like through a fog. It's a luxury none had been able to afford for a very long time now.

But he is alive. And that is..

Well. It is something.

Stars burn in his throat as he exhales ashes and brimstone.

It feels a lot like dying and a lot like being reborn.

With it comes a crushing weight of loneliness and guilt that keeps pressing down on him.

And yet, in spite of that, he smiles.

The emotions threaten to overwhelm and suffocate him; and all he can do is greedily gasp for air, choking and trying to drag it past the ashes that are closing up his throat. He hardly even notices the sticky wetness of tears falling from his eyes, as they slide down his temples and into his hair. Doesn't feel how they slowly halt their descent, more so because of the freezing cold than any effort to conceal them on his part.

And as he lies there on the cold, hard ground, feeling raw and exhausted; and feeling his eyes burn as his eyelashes stick and clump together between slow blinks..

..even so, he continues smiling.

As his vision slowly focuses, he sees stars twinkle down at him, unconcerned and cold. From his limited angle the moon casts unnatural shadows, making everything appear almost dreamlike. Even the smells are strangely muted.

If a demon attacked him now he doesn't know if he could defend himself. (He would. There's no choice.) He's so tired. (But aware. Always so aware.) He gives a slow blink. (He can't smell any demons nearby.) A lone snowflake gets caught in his eyelashes. (There is no one around for miles.)

He doesn't know where he is. It doesn't really matter.

'You're on borrowed time.' A voice whispers to him. 'Never forget that.' He wouldn't. Of course, he wouldn't. He can't.

His chest continues to rise and fall. That, especially, seems like a dream. His heartbeat has slowed down, and detachedly he wonders if the heart is borrowed too.

He doesn't know.

It hurts so fiercely, it burns. Like a living pyre within his ribcage.

He lies in the snow for what feels like hours, his clothes slowly collecting snowflakes and letting them melt into the fabric.

A couple land on his face, near his eyes, on his lips. He's cold enough that they don't melt immediately and is lucid enough to realize that that should worry him more than it does.

Curiously, he lets his tongue trace his lips and taste the tiny flakes. They taste like prinpicks of cold and nothingness and numbness.

That about sums up how he feels too.

Eventually he forces himself to move. He twitches his fingers, tries to bend his toes. His heart may not be his own, but that does not make him immune to hypothermia. Probably. Wouldn't that be nice?

He needs to move. Because if he doesn't... well. His lips draw into a self-deprecating smirk. If he doesn't, then it soon won't matter whether his time is borrowed or not.

Heaving himself to his feet is a task that's easier than he ever imagined. His body feels lighter than a feather and his capabilities don't seem to have diminished at all.

'Strange. But good.' He nods resolutely, wrapping his numbed fingertips around the hilt of his blade and making sure it's secure.

'One foot in front of the other..' his sister's voice hums melodically in his head. 'One in front of the other..'

He nods in acknowledgement.

He takes a step, and another, and another until they flow together like water, like wind. He senses a great vastness in front of him but doesn't stop even as he runs straight for the cliff.

Step..

Step..

Jump.

He releases a breath, shuddering and visible, in the cold night and his heart thumps louder.

He always did love to fly.

Or, as close, as one could get to it anyway.

'It's 'falling' only if you don't know how to land', Shinobu had once told him with a smile on her lips and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes; her haori fluttering around her like butterly wings, right before she had gone and pushed him off a roof as a 'learning experience'.

He hadn't been able to sleep for a week after that, in fear she'd come after him again.

He misses her. He misses many people.

But as the wind rushes past his ears, and ground approaches faster than before, Tanjirou smiles.

He feels alive.