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Chapter Text

Giyuu slits his wrists to the sound of rain on his window and fire in his hearth.

Halfway through his second wrist, the blade stops. The blood drips. He doesn't want to do this anymore. This happens, sometimes. Never so extreme, but, he has these moments; when he would take a back seat in his own mind, let the weight in his chest pull him under.

Usually it would mean picking up his sword blade first, ignoring the hilt and slicing his fingers in a feigned accident. Usually it meant letting the boiling water from his tea slosh over his fingers, knowing it would burn. Usually the injuries weren't severe, nothing to draw attention, nothing to seek aid for, nothing premeditated.

And this wasn't– premeditated, that is. It was just...

Rain beating against the glass, his haori hanging by the fire, watching the steam flow. He'd been in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, twitching when he pulled a bruised muscle. He'd lost the people he'd been trying to save. The demon appearing behind him and taking their heads off in the blink of an eye. Only one out of four had survived.

The demon was dead. The son was traumatised. And Giyuu was moving his blade to the carrots behind his hand and just... stopped. Hovered. Wrists bare with his clothes drying. And it's not– it's not a thought he's had before. Never purposefully hurt himself. Not as punishment, not to cope.

One minute he was staring, thoughts empty but sinking, then he was trying to shake himself out of it, walking to the next room to check his haori, knife still in hand. He watched the steam, watched the fire, watched the rain. Stood there for five– ten minutes. Not thinking. Just feeling.

Depression was a rotten thing, but the only feeling truly alive in Giyuu's chest. It blended with the guilt, the shame, the bone deep tiredness that never left. Insecurity laced through. He tried not to let it show, tried not to think how moldy his insides felt. Tried to live up to his promise to Sabito.

Then he got like this. Unfocused. Stuck. Like he was wading his way through muddy waters. He touched the tip of his blade to the cautery on his wrist, absently curious. He dragged the blade down once, light, tickling the skin, then back up. Then he pressed down. The pain should've been a shock. Should've been enough. It normally was. But tonight. Tonight his bruises ached. Tonight another little boy was without his parents, without his elder sister. Tonight someone else had learned that demons existed the hard way. The way Giyuu had.

He hadn't been enough to save them.

If Sabito had been alive–

If he had become the water hashira–

Well. Muzan would probably be dead by now. Maybe it's unrealistic, but, no other hashira had single handedly slain every demon but one during the selection. No other hashira had saved everyone on the mountain. Giyuu certainly hadn't.

The blood pooled out and Giyuu dragged the blade down, down. Still pressing into his skin.

When his second wrist is halfway to becoming as bloody as the first, he stops. Stares. Uncomprehending at his skin, his own violence. He wants to drop the knife. He wants to be shocked, horrified. But he keeps staring, knife arm shaking. The blood hits the floor in a way that's going to stain, a way that Giyuu can't clean. It's what makes him break eye contact with his wrist, what makes him refocus on the floor.

How is he going to get the stain out? He can't ask for help. They'll want to know why.

He can't ask.

His arm is shaking.

He drops the knife.

He's bleeding out. He, Giyuu, is bleeding out. If he dies here– if he dies– that will be the end. Another hashira dead. A dirty stain on the water hashira's line. A physical stain in the water hashira's mansion. No more fighting demons. No more searching for reasons to climb out of bed everyday. No more forcing himself to eat, to feel, to suffer through the motions of life. He needs only two fingers to count those who might truly mourn him.

Dying means rest. Dying means being done.

Dying here means dying alone.

It means breaking his promise to Sabito.

That makes him move, makes him search for his first aid kit, looking for a needle and thread, bandages for after. It's hard, doing this one handed and weak, arms still trembling. He's halfway through stitching his first wrist when his vision becomes spotty.

He controls his breathing, focuses, powers through.

He isn't using the right stitch, he knows that. Doesn't have enough bandages for the morning when he'll undoubtedly have to clean his wounds.

Urokodaki had taught him the right stitch, he just can't remember right now. Dizzy with blood loss. He remembers Tsutako hemming his yukata for him. Remembers watching pale, delicate hands stitch a pattern into folded fabric.

His attempt is ugly, but it stops the bleeding. He rinses he wrists in the well outside, getting drowned in the rain, dries himself off with a towel when he's back inside, finishes bandaging his wrists.

His arms still shake, his hairs still damp. He tidies his mess, folds his dry haori and blows out the lantern. Leaves the fire dwindling.

When he lays on his futon to sleep, he can still see the blood on the floor.

*

There are still vegetables on the table.

Giyuu sees them after he finishes his morning workout, comes back from his wash. He looks at the carrots and ignores the bloody cloth in his peripheral. He needs more bandages. Needs to eat to get him to the butterfly house to get more bandages. Needs to dodge Shinobu when he gets there.

He doesn't have the strength to go to the village. Doesn't have the will.

He puts his mismatched haori on, after carefully folding his uniform sleeves up to his elbow. The haori will hide the damage, but the sleeves are too tight for comfort on raw skin.

He eats. Mixes the leftovers vegetables he managed to cut into a rice bowl. Eats it standing, looking out over the veranda at the light mist covering the ground. The grass is still wet from rain. He thinks, briefly, of Tokito, the mist hashira. He's only fourteen. Doesn't remember his past, only cares about killing demons.

Giyuu thinks he envies him.

The walk to the butterfly mansion is slow. Not because of the wrists but the bruises, twinging everytime he stepped. They would be his excuse for going. For asking for a restock of supplies while he was there. Shinobo and her teasing would be hard enough to deal with already. Giyuu never sought help unless he had to. Bruises like this is something he would never usually get help for.

He knew she would say something. He just hoped it wasn't about how disliked he was again.

A little girl is at the front, hanging sheets, black hair in pigtails. She turns to look at him, sharp, like he's done something wrong just by being here. Quickly rearranges her face when she sees Giyuu, and bows.

"Master Tomioka," She says, "Good morning."

"...Morning."

"Did you need master Shinobo?"

He hesitates, before shaking his head. "Not really. I need treatment, for bruises. You don't need to bother her."

The girl looks back up, searches Giyuu for any signs of weakness. Wipes her hands on her white apron before instructing him to follow her. The butterfly mansion is only one wing larger then the water estate, but it feels so much bigger still. There are more people walking the halls. More laughter heard through the walls. More life.

She leads him to the familiar medical wing, eyes focused on the wall of cabinets at the end, she doesn't stop to acknowledge any of the patients in the beds. Foolishly, Giyuu assumes that means he won't have to either.

"Mr Giyuu!"

Giyuu is wrong.

Tanjiro sits up on crisp linen sheets, beaming at him. One leg is propped on the bed in full cast. He hurts to look at, honestly. Shining more like a star then a person, but Giyuu tries anyway. Tanjiro was amongst the two he counted last night. It'd be rude not to look at the person who helped save his life, even if he didn't know it.

"Tanjiro," He greets, casting a quick glance to the other beds for any sign of his annoying friends, or little sister, to find them empty. He can't deny his relief.

"Mr Giyuu," The boy says again, smiling like he's truly been made happier by his presence, "It's so good to see you! I didn't know you were here, I would've come up to your estate to spend time with you!"

So earnest. Giyuu shifts his gaze to Tanjiro's foot, and tries not to feel sick. Tanjiro would smell the blood, if he went. Tanjiro would ask. He would worry. Giyuu didn't deserve his worry. "You're injured," He notes.

Tanjiro looks down at his foot like he honestly had forgotten it was there. "Oh! Yeah, I got tossed down a cliff by this demon. He crawled on all fours on his back, it was really creepy. Inosuke kept copying him so he tried to throw him but missed and got me instead," He says, still so cheerful.

"What about you, Mr Giyuu, are you okay?"

Giyuu closes his eyes, breif, tries to think of something that wouldn't turn his stomach sour to say. It was hard to look at Tanjiro and lie. Hard to look at Tanjiro in general, truly. But, something about the pure honesty on his face, the sheer depth of his empathy and earnestness, made lying impossible to Giyuu.

He's saved from answering by the girls return. Tanjiro greets her by name, and Aoi spares him a glance before pushing ointment into Giyuu's hand.

"Would you like some assistance in applying, master Giyuu?" She asked, "Or a check over? Master Shinobu will likely insist when she hears you're here,"

Giyuu tries not to grimace. That's the very thing he's trying to avoid. "No. Thank you. Do you have any spare bandages? I've been meaning to go the village and restock, but with the bruises," He trails off.

Aoi squints, "Are you injured anywhere else?"

Giyuu avoids looking at Tanjiro when he shakes his head, "No. It's just a restock. For emergencies, when I'm out."

She studies him again. Looking an awful lot like Shinobu without the fake smile. "I'll fetch you some. Do you need anything else, master?"

He shakes his head again, and she whirls away on her heel.

Tanjiro sits up straighter, leans forward, big eyes filled with concern, "You're injured, Mr Giyuu?"

"Bruises," Giyuu reiterates, "Nothing severe. Just aches. I got tossed around, too."

"Really? Huh, guess that's something we have in common," He says, still smiling. "Hey, Mr Giyuu, would it be alright if I came to your estate later? For a spar? I swear I won't be a bother, I've just missed training with another water hashira around."

Guilts churns. "No, sorry." He can't even look at Tanjiro, knows what kind of bile will creep up his throat if he sees the kids dropped expression. It wouldn't have bothered him before, or if it was anyone else. But Tanjiro cares, openly and honestly, aching in it's familiarity.

Giyuu waits until Aoi has returned and the bandages are in his hand before his adds, slightly regretful, "...Maybe some other time,"

The kid visibly perks, chirps a – "I'm looking forward to it!" – at Giyuu's back as he leaves.

Giyuu doesn't say goodbye.

Freedom is in sight when Shinobu pounces. He can see the damp, swaying grass through the open door when a false, cheerful voice says, "Oh, Tomioka!"

Fuck.

He stops, but does not turn. Shinobu is not deterred in the slightest, footsteps walking towards him leisurely. The footsteps aren't alone, a second set follows, heavier, uneven like the person is limping.

"Tomioka!"

Double fuck.

Shinobu is one thing, Rengoku is another. He was far too much like Tanjiro, even if Giyuu wasn't as close. True care and cheerfulness that made Giyuu's self contained rot all that more obvious.

"Are you injured, Tomioka?" Shinobu asks, sickly sweet. Giyuu refuses to turn.

"Bruises. Aoi gave me ointment."

"Oh? You came to seek help willingly? Really, Tomioka? Are you sure you're not dying?"

Total concentration breathing did not require nearly as much concentration as Giyuu would like right now, and his eyes darted for something to focus on that wasn't the two people behind him.

"It is good that you know when to see treatment!" Rengoku declares, "Well done, Tomioka!"

He inhales, exhales. "Thanks."

"Are you making your way to the meeting now, Tomioka?" Shinobu asks, in a way that says she already knows the answer.

Giyuu twitches. "Meeting?"

"Indeed! Our crows have just informed us of one being called! We can walk together, Tomioka!"

He goes to decline, so he can walk alone, partly so he can re-bandage his arm on the way, entirely so he doesn't have to deal with Shinobu's double edged words, when she cuts in, "I'm afraid he'll have to, Rengoku. With your hip as it is, and your insistence on attending, I simply won't be able to carry you if you collapse,"

...Giyuu doesn't know how, but he's absolutely certain she planned this. He has no proof, no real reason for this thought, but he's entirely certain of it. She simply sounds far too smug for it not to be true.

"Aha, excellent!"

Fuck his life.

Chapter Text

Ubuyashiki's mansion is in sight when Rengoku finally buckles under his own weight. The man was walking between them when he twitched, foot slipping on the gravel as he trips forward.

Giyuu catches his arm before he can fall, loops it around his own neck and places his other arm on the flame hashira's back. Shinobo is at his side in an instant, though she doesn't move to grab him like Giyuu, instead she tilts Rengoku's head up, examines his face.

Giyuu only relaxes when she does.

"Too much, Rengoku?" She asks, light but teasing.

"Not at all!" He protests, "I merely slipped. Nothing to worry about!"

Shinobu raises a brow, sharp, eyes flicking to Giyuu. He grimaces but says nothing.

"Well. Let's hope Tomioka agrees, seeing as he's your crutch from here on out," Rengoku opens his mouth, already bracing himself to move, but Shinobu is quicker, "Doctors orders."

Her tone leaves no room for argument.

"Ah," He relents, looking to the man in question. "Apologies, Tomioka! It seems I overexerted myself! I hope I will not be a hindrance on your own injuries!"

"It's fine," He mutters, even as Rengoku's other arm grips his wrist, unintentionally digging into his poorly done stitches. He hopes they hold. They need to hold. He'll re-do them when he gets back to his estate, it should be easier now he's not so weak.

"Just bruises, right, Tomioka?" Shinobu asks. Just waiting for a weakness she can pounce on.

He hums an affirmative, eyes ahead. The sooner they get to the mansion, the sooner the meeting can be over and he can leave again. Rengoku is strong, and his grip is no different. Shoddy stitching job or not, Giyuu will have to re-do them anyway after this.

When the veranda comes into view, so do the other hashira, already waiting. Standing in the doorway is Ubuyashiki, his wife Amane standing next to him, hands on his arm. When she sees Giyuu, she looks startled. Surprise crosses her face only to quickly be replaced by a small smile. She leans closer to her husband, whispering the news of their arrival into his ear. Ubuyashiki's pensive expression twists to something more pleased, more relieved.

Uzui jogs to greet them, grinning, he says, "Rengoku! There you are. And here I thought that busted hip of yours would mean you weren't coming," He looks at Shinobu, then at Giyuu, still holding Rengoku's weight, and whistles. "It might be more surprising that Tomioka is here, though. Always the last to arrive and first to leave, right?"

Giyuu slides his eyes past him, focuses on the clearing where everyone else is gathered instead.

"Tengen!" The flame hashira cheers, "Nothing could keep me from seeing the master! Tomioka was visiting the butterfly estate as well, so we walked together!"

"More hauled, in Tomioka's case," Shinobu added dryly.

"Indeed! He has been most kind in lending his aid!"

Discomfort prickled with their attention, so Giyuu focuses on not looking. "Do you know why this meeting was called?" He asks instead.

Uzui shakes his head, "Nope. It was sudden, too. The masters been pretty sombre looking since I got here. He wouldn't say anything until everyone was here."

"I see," Shinobu says, eyes sliding past him. She studies the master like she might read the reason why in his profile, but must come up short, because she refocuses on them. "Have you been on any missions recently, Tomioka? Tengen? Anything that turned up something unusual?"

Uzui tells them he'd just finished recovering himself and that he'd be heading off after, Giyuu adds, "I had a mission, but it wasn't unusual. The demon was tough, but not one of the moons."

The sound hashira makes an interested noise, "You get injured, Tomioka? That why you were at the butterfly house? I can take Rengoku, if you want."

"It's fine," He says, "Just bruises."

His arm trembles again.

With a raised brow, Uzui grins, "Yeah? Bruises that Rengoku is digging into right now, I'll bet. Must be bad if you went to one of us willingly."

Rengoku jolts. "Am I? Apologies, Tomioka!"

He shrugs, careful of Rengoku's hip as he passes him to Uzui, "It's fine," He repeats. "Your injuries were worse. It's just bruises."

Giyuu's arm is twinging. The dirty bandages feel more damp against his skin, and Giyuu adjusts his haori sleeve subtly, hoping no blood stains came through.

A blonde head suddenly bows to Giyuu, making him tense. "I am in your debt!"

"...No."

"Yes! I am in your debt!"

"That's not necessary."

"I am in your debt!"

"Stop. It's fine."

"If ever you need aid, come to me! For I am in your debt!"

Foolishly, Giyuu looks to Shinobu for help, only for her to laugh in his face. "Sounds like he's in your debt, Tomioka."

"It's unnecessary," He insists, "Let's get to the meeting."

"In a hurry?"

Giyuu starts walking forward, "I want to get back and tend to my bruises."

"Ah," Uzui says, falling into step beside him. "Hate being idle, too? I know the feeling. Still. No harm in relaxing every now and then. What do you do to relax, Tomioka?"

"Be socially awkward?" Shinobu suggests, "Make as many people dislike him as possible?"

Giyuu walks faster.

Mitsuri and Iguro stand together, Mitsuri calls out a greeting to them when she spots them, a bright smile on her face. Iguro scowls. Sanemi stands between them and Himejima, also scowling. But he adds a special glare when he sees Giyuu. He sees his mouth open, ready to say something to him, but gets cut off by the master.

"Giyuu Tomioka,"

Giyuu twitches. The master is gazing towards them, eyes unfocused, but his voice is clear. Giyuu bows, deep, "Master," He greets.

"Come closer," He asks, holding out his hands.

The other hashira are looking at him. Staring. Giyuu doesn't have to turn to see that Sanemi is seething. Raging at Giyuu's perceived special treatment. Bile crawls up his throat even as he does as the master asks.

He thinks through the last few days, weeks. Comes up blank for any reason the master would speak to him especially. No reason for him to call the hashira meeting at all. If Giyuu hadn't seen Tanjiro with his own eyes not even half an hour ago, he would think something had happend with him. Knowing him, it was still a possibility, but.

When be reaches the master, his hands are still extended. Giyuu sneaks a glance at Amane, and her gaze is soft, encouraging. Carefully, Giyuu gives him his hands, and wills the master not to move his fingers down further beneath his haori.

The master ignores his will.

Giyuu stiffens, heart beating out his chest and dread curling around his spine. He stops looking at Amane, but doesn't dare to look at anyone else. His eyes drop between the couple. He can't breathe.

Ubuyashiki's fingers touch the edge on his bandages, and his brow dips. "Ah," He says. "Half right, then."

"Master?" Mitsuri calls, "Is something wrong?"

The other hashira are still standing back, watching. Shinobu is the closest, but even she'll have to strain to hear what they say if Giyuu and the master speak softly.

"I had a vision," Ubuyashiki says, still gazing down at him, hands still holding his wrists, gentle. "Blessedly, only half came true. Giyuu,"

Giyuu's whole body wants to tremble, but he holds it still, forces his head up. Looking into Ubuyashiki's white eyes is like looking into stained glass. Giyuu doesn't like his reflection.

The master smiles at him, "I am very glad that my vision was wrong. I am very glad that the reason I called this meeting does not exist."

"I didn't know your visions could be wrong," Iguro says thoughtfully.

"Rarely," The master agrees, "And only with my own interference. This is an exception. I am glad,"

"What changed?" Sanemi asks, sharp. "What does it have to do with Tomioka? Did he change it?"

"Indeed." Ubuyashiki lifts his head, gazing above Giyuu. "I thought I was calling to announce the death of a hashira. I was wrong. I am grateful."

Mitsuri's squeak is overshadowed by Rengoku's inhale. "You thought Tomioka was dead? Why?"

Shinobu asks, "I thought you said the demon only gave you bruises, did you lie? That's a foolish thing to do."

Giyuu's throat is clogged up like a sewage pipe, so he chokes on his next words, "It did. The demon didn't break my skin."

"Then how–"

The master kneels, his wife aiding him. Silence falls amongst the hashira. Ubuyashiki is still holding his hands.

His voice is quieter when he speaks, his face at the same height as Giyuu. "I am immensely grateful you changed your mind. Please, know that, Giyuu."

Whatever thread of hope that Giyuu had about the master not knowing what he did last night is gone. Panic grips his senses. He wants to yank his hands from the other, wants to run. But he does no such a thing. He stays, grits his teeth and stays.

Why would he have a vision of that?

He swallows, says nothing.

Ubuyashiki speaks again, voice still scarcely above a whisper. Giyuu appreciates the attempt at privacy, even as several sets of eyes attempt to pierce his back. "If I may ask, I would like to know why you changed your mind,"

Giyuu's hands shake. "What– what did you see?" He rasps.

When Ubuyashiki squeezes his hands, that's gentle too. "You did not stitch yourself up, in my dream. A tragedy that did not carry on to the waking world."

So he saw everything else, then. Giyuu does not shiver, does not climb out of his own skin. He stares at the ground beneath their arms and says nothing.

"Whatever your reasons for staying, I am glad. I cherish all my children Giyuu, and you are amongst them. You are precious, and far more loved then you know."

Bile. Bile wants to come out of his mouth. He swallows. "I counted," He whispers, still hoarse. Still too quiet for the others to hear.

He counted his promises. To Sabito. To Tanjiro. To Urokodaki. Counted the people who would mourn him. Five reasons on one hand, was far better then none.

Ubuyashiki let's go of his wrist, catches his fingers, smiles once more. "Good. Count every day, please, Giyuu. Count me among them. You are a blessing. Do not forget,"

Sabito was a blessing. Tsutako was a blessing. Tanjiro is a blessing. Nezuko, the other hashira, the children Urokodaki lost, the children in the corps. They're blessings.

Giyuu doesn't know how to count himself among them. He can't.

Gently, the master touches his finger to Giyuu's forehead, "Do not let your guilt spell your end. You are worth far more then that."

If he doesn't leave now, Giyuu will break down.

But the master does. Amane helps him stand, helps him step back. His bids his farewells to the others with a smile, assures them. And only when his back is turned, disappearing through the open door, do the other hashira speak.

"What," Sanemi asks, "Was that about?"

"Are you okay, Tomioka?" Mitsuri frets, "Did something happen last night?"

Giyuu ignores them, turns, intends to leave immediately, go back to his estate and fix himself up while the shame eats at him. He made the master worry. Forced him out of bed while he should've been recovering. It's unforgivable.

Uzui is staring at him. His smile is gone, his arm around Rengoku is far tenser then necessary. The sound hashira–

The sound hashira–

The sound hashira had just heard everything, hadn't he?

There's no other word for it, Giyuu flees.

Chapter Text

There's a crossroads two lanes from Giyuu's house. The left takes him back to the estate. Back to the empty rooms and blood-stained floor.

The right takes him to the wind pillars estate.

Giyuu goes right.

He doesn't know why. Can't say what possesses him to do so. His arms need to be re-stitched, and he planned to do it alone, but. But.

He really doesn't want to.

Logically, that means he should go to Shinobu. She's his best bet. She seems to enjoy talking to him, even if it's only to tease, and she has by far the most medical knowledge. She would fix him up in no time, and, logically, he should leave the wind hashira estate steps, where he's been sitting for the last twenty minutes, and go to her.

He does not.

He waits, instead. Runs his fingers absently under the haori, over the dirty bandages. Tries not to think or feel. Either one could make him sink again, and that was what got him into this mess in the first place.

There are noises behind him, in the estate. It's not as loud as the insect pillars, but louder then his own. Sanemi, he knows, takes students. Punching dummies, he calls them. He also has staff, unlike Giyuu, to take care of the house and grounds.

He could have staff, he thinks, looking at the stone steps. It might make him less lonely, but, Urokodaki taught him to care for his home and ground himself, even if he had done a poor job as of late. The estate had once been Urokodaki's, and after living there for a few years, Giyuu can see why the man moved to a small shack on the mountains.

It feels like spitting on his teachings, taking a short cut like that.

There are footsteps on the gravel path, and Sanemi stops in front of him.

For a moment, he doesn't speak.

Then– "What the fuck are you doing here, Tomioka?"

Giyuu looks up, squinting against the sun. "Do you know how to stitch wounds?"

"What?"

He mimes the action. "Stitch wounds?'

Sanemi's eye twitches, "I know what stitches are. Why the fuck are you here for that? Go to Kocho, you freak."

He should, shouldn't he.

"Do you know how?" He asks again.

The wind hashira steps up to the level before the one Giyuu is sitting on, and he feels an ache in the back of his neck begin to form as he tilts his head back further.

"Why are you coming to me for this shit? We're not friends, Tomioka."

They aren't, are they.

"Do you know how?" He repeats for the third time.

Sanemi exhales, sharp. Anger lines every part of his body. But he hasn't threatened to kill Giyuu yet, which is progress, he thinks.

He exhales again. "Not in a way that's pretty," He says, frank. Which isn't surprising, given his own appearance. "Fuck off and go to Kocho,"

Giyuu reaches into his pocket, pulls out the bandages, and says, "I can't do it myself."

"That's why you go to Kocho, not me."

He doesn't want to go to Shinobu. She's too much for him, especially today.

He hesitates on what to say. Words rarely come to him on good days. Anger and defiance come easier, especially if it's to protect someone else, but that won't help him here. Not with Sanemi. Maybe that's why he came.

"Tanjiro's there. His leg is broken."

Sanemi stills. Stares down at him.

Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the kid. But, it held truth. Tanjiro was the absolute last person he ever wanted to find out, never mind the other hashira's. Sanemi had never liked him for some reason. But it was the only thing he could say that made sense.

"Kamado," Sanemi says. "You don't–" He grimaces, practically growls. He looks like he's getting angrier, but Giyuu doesn't try to move.

"...Fine." He agrees, looking away from him, already going to the door. "Fine," He repeats, and, despite agreeing, he still looks pissed. "Come on."

Giyuu stands, goes to follow, but Sanemi is frozen at the half open gate door. He looks like he's thinking, so Giyuu doesn't speak.

"Tell me something first," He instructs, not turning. "Was Tengen telling the truth?"

Ah. He thinks. Uzui told. He expected that. He goes over his conversation with the master in his head, picks out every incriminating part and grimaces.

"What did he say?"

The wind pillar twitches. "You can't guess? Why the fuck did you run, then?"

Giyuu breathes out, careful. "I can guess."

"And?"

"...It wasn't... premeditated."

Sanemi turns, fury in his face. "The fuck does that mean? Did you try to kill yourself or not?"

The wording makes him flinch, makes him want to flee. But Sanemi's gaze pins him down. He wants to look away but can't. Sanemi wouldn't allow it. It's almost comforting, to know he can't hide. To know Sanemi will say what he actually thinks. To know he will be cruel instead of kind. It's bearable.

"I did. It wasn't.." The defense dies. "I didn't... think it through."

"No shit," Sanemi spits, finally opening the gate and marching through, expecting Giyuu to follow.

And he does. Across the grounds and up another set of steps, past some trainees who hastily bow, who Sanemi ignores. Follows until halfway across the mansion, where Sanemi opens a set of doors, slams them shut once Giyuu is inside, and immediately turns to rummage through a cabinet on the wall.

The room is relatively small, with one window opposite a futon. The cabinets take up the wall opposite the door, and under the window is a chair and table, adorned with a bowl and clean cloth.

This must be his medical room.

Sanemi turns back around, a box in his hands, filled with more medical supplies then Giyuu's own. He eyes him, before grunting. "I don't see any open wounds, Tomioka. Take something off and show me what I'm working with, here. If I see any guts spilling out, I'm dragging you to Kocho myself,"

That was fair. Though, Giyuu wished part of that sentence had been said in a different context.

Carefully, he removes his haori. Lifting the edges of the sleeves so no blood gets on the precious fabric. Tsutako's side would fair better, given it's colour, but Sabito's would show any stain far too much.

The man before him stiffens as he carefully folds, placing it gently on the futon before facing him again, arms bare.

The bandages are disgusting.

"Did you change these this morning?" He asks, after a beat.

Giyuu shakes his head, "Ran out of bandages. Went to Shinobu for more. Had to help with Rengoku,"

"Fucking idiot," He says, staring at his arms. "You fucking idiot, Tomioka. What the fuck is wrong with you? Sit down, it's rhetorical."

He's glad, because he had absolutely no idea how to answer. Giyuu sits beside his haori, displaying his arms palms up.

Sanemi kneels before him, placing the box beside his feet before yelling through the door for someone to fetch a clean bowl of water, soap and towels.

"Shinobu didn't ask what the bandages were for? Really?" He questions, taking Giyuu's worst arm in a firm grip, not enough to be painful, and begins unraveling his mess.

"Aoi helped, not Shinobu. I told her it was for my travel supply," Giyuu confesses, grimacing at the gore on his arm. He'd bled through the stitches, and some had come out under Rengoku's grip. Not enough to bleed out from, but the damage was undeniable.

Sanemi says nothing, stares down at Giyuu's arm like he still can't believe what he's seeing.

"...You're a real fucking mess, you know that? This entire time– the entire time I've known you, I always thought you acted like that because you thought you were better then us. I wasn't fucking right at all, was I?" He holds Giyuu's own wrist up for him, like he doesn't already know what's there. "This certainly isn't what I'd call full of yourself behaviour."

"I never thought I was better then you," Giyuu says, softer then he means to. "I... never thought I deserved to be a hashira. I– I feel like a place holder until the real one comes along." He'd hoped that would be Tanjiro, but, it seems he's destined for bigger things.

"That's fucking stupid," Sanemi declares, "That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard. I don't like you, Tomioka, never have. But even I know you're supposed to be a hashira. I don't care what bullshit you've got in your head, you've got to see that. You created an eleventh form. You saw that truth in that fucking Kamado kid and his sister long before we did. You're an unpleasant bastard on the best of days, Tomioka, but you're every bit as worthy as being an hashira as the rest of us,"

Giyuu grimaces. "I'm not. I failed final selection."

"If you'd failed final selection, idiot, you'd be dead. You don't look dead to me," Sanemi's lip curls, "Despite your best efforts."

He shakes his head, "I was unconscious during most of it, every demon but one was taken care of by one slayer. He was the only one who died that year,"

Sanemi pauses, thoughtful. "The miracle year. That was just before mine. I always heard that had been your year, but I thought you were the one to kill all the demons."

A bitter sort of amusement rises in Giyuu's chest. That assumption likely hadn't helped Sanemi's dislike for him. "I got taken out by the first demon I came across. Other slayers had to carry me to the other side. Sabito was the one who saved me, who killed the other demons. He saved all of us, really."

The wind hashira blinks at him. "...You're kidding. The first one? You didn't even kill it?" A pause, then, "It sounds like you knew him."

Giyuu's eyes dart to his haori on instinct, and Sanemi's follows. He debates on whether to speak or not. On whether to confess. He had felt there was no point in saying what he thought before this. Had never confided in anyone before. Likely how he ended up in this situation.

"...He was my best friend." He confesses, "We were trained by the same man, who took me in after my family died. Was killed. He... would have been a far better hashira. Was already a far better student."

"Was that ugly haori his?"

Giyuu tilts his head, "The patterned half. The red was my sisters."

Sanemi's breath ghosts his fingers when he sighs, and Giyuu twitches, looking back to him.

Sanemi is still looking at his haori.

"You... had a sister? Was she younger?"

"Older."

Sanemi scoffs. "Of course. Should've known you were the youngest, you act like it."

Giyuu doesn't know how to reply, so he looks back to his haori, finds Sanemi's hand running down the carefully sewn split.

"You joined them together. Your sister and your friends haori's. Even though it's ugly," Sanemi looks like he's doesn't know what to do with his face. It's twitching. "You wear this every day."

"Of course."

The wind hashira shakes his head, scoffs, laughs. "Of course," He copies. "You- you fucking idiot. Why didn't you ever say any of that? Wouldn't have thought you were such an obnoxious asshole if you ever fucking said something, you know,"

Giyuu looks out the window. "I don't like talking."

"I noticed."

Chapter Text

They sit like that for a while, Giyuu with his eyes across the room and Sanemi still looking at his haori, still holding his wrist. Eventually, a knock at the door forces him to his feet, to collect the bowl and towels he had requested, and he goes to place them on top of the haori but stops before Giyuu can protest, and moves them to the other side instead.

It brings a strange feeling to his stomach.

When he kneels back down, between Giyuu's legs, he gathers both his wrists this time. Carefully wiping them down with a damp cloth until his mangled stitching job is made clear.

"This is shitty," Sanemi says, tapping the wound, "Why- why would you do this?"

Giyuu's brow furrows, "I couldn't remember the correct way. Too dizzy. This was all I could do,"

Sanemi makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like frustration. "I don't mean your shitty stitching, Tomioka. Why'd you try to kill yourself? Why– why do that? I thought you were smarter then that,"

He had hoped he wouldn't ask. Despite everything about Sanemi's personality pointing to the opposite, Giyuu still thought he could get away from it. The questions.

Sanemi taps his knee, hard. "Hey. I asked you a question, asshole. Why'd you do it?"

"It wasn't premeditated."

"You said that before. Still don't know what it means. You tried to kill yourself. Doesn't matter if you planned it or not,"

"I..." Giyuu closes his mouth, grimaces. "I... get like it, sometimes. I... stop caring."

Sanemi zeros in on him, "This has happend before? What do you mean you 'stop caring'?"

Giyuu shook his head, "Not– not like this. I've never tried to kill myself before. I just– stop caring about whether I get hurt or not. Not for long, there's just these moments... I can usually bring myself back before I hurt myself too bad, but,"

"Not this time," Sanemi finishes. He removes the rest of Giyuu's stitches, bringing the box up to search for his own, he says, "You said you stopped caring when you got hurt. Did you stop caring whether you lived or died too?"

Giyuu shrugs. "I guess."

"You fucking– you guess? How much does this happen?"

Giyuu breaks eye contact.

"Hey, look at me asshole, is it often? All the time? Some of the time?"

"...Some."

"You fucking liar," Sanemi says, flicking face, making him flinch. It was one of the kindest touches he had ever given him, barring the way he held his wrists.

"I don't count."

"You can't fucking estimate, either?"

Hands grip Giyuu's chin, forcing him to look down. Sanemi is practically grounding his teeth, even as he carefully stitches him up. "Tell me I'm not doing this for nothing, Tomioka. Tell me you're not gonna do this again,"

"I told the master I wouldn't," Giyuu responds, ignoring the heat of Sanemi's fingers, the warmth rising in his cheeks.

"Okay, tell me you won't. Look me in the fucking eyes and promise me you'll never get like this again."

...Sanemi's face is scarred, and his gaze is intense. Sharp as he stares at him, studies him, doesn't let him hide. "I can't promise that," Giyuu admits, "But I won't let it get this bad again."

The wind hashira snarls, "That's not good enough. You didn't plan to do this, either. What happens if stop caring again? I know there's no one else on your estate. How long do you think it would take someone to find you? How long dead do you think you'll be?" He's still studying Giyuu. He must see something, despite Giyuu's best attempts to hide, because his voice softens when he says, "It'd probably be the Kamado kid, right? Tanjiro?"

...Low blow. Giyuu curls his hands into fists, knuckles whitening. Tanjiro's lost so much. For whatever reason, he cares about Giyuu, looks up to him. He would never forgive himself if he was the reason the kid cried.

Sanemi snorts, "That's what I thought. Having a younger brother fucking sucks, doesn't it?"

Giyuu twitches. Brother? Tanjiro isn't– Giyuu wasn't–

"I don't know what you're talking about,"

Sanemi is definitely laughing at him. "Sure. Gonna let him be the one to find you, Tomioka?"

"It won't come down to that,"

"I bet you would've said the same thing this time yesterday,"

...Giyuu can't deny that.

He lifts his gaze from Sanemi, regardless of the grip on his chin, "This isn't something that can just be fixed, Shinazugawa. I've been like this for years."

Sanemi tugs him down again, frowning. "And you didn't fucking tell anyone?"

"There was no point."

"No– no point?! You fucking–" He exhales sharply.

His grip tightens as he finishes stitching. He was right about not being as neat as Shinobu would have, but the job was certainly better then what Giyuu himself had done.

He doesn't let go when he's finished. Sanemi instead tugs on Giyuu's hands, pulling him down kneeling on the floor in front of him. Giyuu 'oomfs' when his knees hit the floor. Awkward, he looks back down at his hands when faced with his closeness to the other hashira.

Sanemi does not look all that more comfortable, but continues regardless. "Stay here."

Giyuu looks up, "What?"

"Stay here. With– at the wind estate. So I can keep an eye on you. Until you're safe."

"Why would you offer me that?" He asks, bewildered. "You hate me. Something like that- it would take months, Shinazugawa. Years. It doesn't just– get better."

"I know that," Sanemi says, annoyed. "But it's better then you being dead, Tomioka. And it's not like you we won't take missions, you wouldn't be trapped here. Just– just so you don't kill yourself, alright?"

Giyuu frowns, "I don't want to be anybodies burden, Shinazugawa. I can handle this,"

"Evidently you can't, actually. And you wouldn't be-" He makes a frustrated noise. "You're not a burden, Giyuu. I just don't want you fucking dead."

Giyuu jolts.

Sanemi's face changes colour, white to pink, and he grits his teeth. "I'm not forcing you. I'm just– it's an offer, alright?"

"You– you called me Giyuu?"

Sanemi is the one to break eye contact now, "Sorry. Slipped."

"...It's fine." He tilts his head at him. "You.. want me to stay?"

The wind hashira's jaw clenches, grinds. He nods.

"That's a big offer, Shinazugawa. One I can't pay you back for. One you may end up regretting."

"We're short enough as it is. A hashira not dying is a good enough reward for me. My offer stands, Tomioka. You can't be more annoying to me then you already were, anyway. You can only go up from here,"

Giyuu just stares. Thinking. Feeling. The two things he had been trying not to do.

Giyuu wasn't lying about not wanting to be a burden, but Sanemi seemed certain. Sanemi, who hates him, is willing to go this far not to see him dead at his own hand.

It's... bizarre. Almost unbelievable. More shocking then any pain.

He didn't want to die, he has always known that. He just wished, sometimes, that he hadn't been the one to survive. Survivors guilt, Urokodaki had called it. And sometimes, the guilt twisted into the sinking feeling, the hopelessness, the carelessness. Never towards others. Always inwards.

In a way, his self imposed isolation from the other hashira had been just another form of picking up his nichirin sword blade first.

"Tanjiro would visit," He says, slowly, watching Sanemi's face. "He likes to train with other water users."

Sanemi's eye twitches. "Sure. I'd love to pummel the little shit."

Tanjiro will be delighted, Giyuu thinks dryly. It will take him all of five minutes before he has Sanemi wrapped around his little finger.

Giyuu breathes in, out.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Stop fucking asking."

"...Okay, Sanemi. I'll stay."

The wind hashira stops breathing, chokes, startles Giyuu, but stops him from apologising by waving his hand. "Fine– it's fine– that's, it's fine."

Sanemi slaps his knees, standing. "Great. I'll tell them to make you a room." He stops at the door, pausing for a moment, looks back at Giyuu, "The other hashira... they're gonna want to talk to you. I think some of them even went to your estate. Want me to kick them out if they come?"

Right, the others. Giyuu had forgotten about them. "You would do that?" He asks.

Sanemi grins, wild and manic. "For fun? Hell yeah, it'd be a gift. I love telling people to fuck off."

Giyuu– smiles. Small. "I noticed."

Sanemi stops, startled. Stares at him. "...Didn't know you could do that, Tomioka."

"What?"

"Nothing."

He leaves, and Giyuu watches him go, still sitting on the floor where he left him.

This... was not how he expected today to go. Not what he intended at all. He hopes Shinobu doesn't blab to Tanjiro about what happend, above all else.

He doubts she would. But, worry gnaws at him.

Giyuu sighs, leaning his head back against the bed frame. His arms still throbbed, even if they did not shake. It was barely midday, and yet so much had happend. Giyuu wanted to sleep for a week, a month, a year.

He doubts Sanemi would let him.

Despite it all, that thought makes him smile.

Chapter Text

Giyuu looks a lot more god than human, like this. More angel than man. More hashira than fraud. The issue, Sanemi thinks, is convincing him of that.

His black hair is loose, after. Tie between his teeth as he gathers it, while Sanemi is still wiping sweat from his face. He pretends he isn't watching him, watching the way lips briefly wrap around fingers when he draws the string out, ties his hair up.

Sanemi is a good liar.

This does not help him.

Giyuu's eyes are big and blue, as wide and expansive as the clear and stormy sky, as deep and endless as the raging sea. Sanemi sometimes stops to think of how fucked he is, that he fell so quickly. That he never thought to stop, instead surged forward into these new feelings head first.

He's been living with Sanemi for two weeks at the wind estate. Four missions between them since has left plenty of time to spar, to clash blades and workout any idleness the break has left them.

Sanemi thinks he's getting better. It took almost the entire first week of Giyuu being here before he saw the blankness take him, for lack of a better word. Making tea on the stove, gathering leaves in the cups, he'd picked up the kettle, paused, and poured right over his fingers.

He thinks he screamed. Not Giyuu, Sanemi. He'd seen the pause, the empty expression. But hadn't thought– hadn't realised– just what it was that was happening.

Sanemi had destroyed the kettle, and Giyuu had apologised.

He wishes he'd stop doing that.

There hadn't been an incident like that since. Sanemi re-bandages his wrists everyday, seeing as Giyuu still refuses to see Kocho. Refuses to see any hashira that isn't Sanemi, really.

(Sanemi isn't pleased, no matter how many traitorous thoughts track across his mind.)

He hasn't said as much, but it's lined in every crease of his body when the crows bring letters from them, visible panic in the corner of his eyes when Sanemi brings it up, verbal in his hesitance when they come knocking.

It's Sanemi's own fault they know where he is. Iguro had made an off hand comment about how Mitsuri kept fretting Giyuu might have tried again somewhere more secluded, and Sanemi had blurted.

Of course, Iguro had rushed at the chance to comfort the love hashira with this information, Sanemi had been a fool to think otherwise.

Giyuu wasn't upset. Wasn't really much of anything when Sanemi confessed.

That made him feel worse.

He thinks that's the worst part of Giyuu living here. He now knows what he's really like, how much he can really talk, how pretty that deep voice can be, how eye-catching his smile can really be when he deigns to show it. Before, Sanemi lived in ignorant bliss, so unaware of the trapdoor of who Giyuu really was, primed to trip and fall for him.

Still quiet, still careful. But funny. Kind. Irritating in the way he could fluster Sanemi with just a tilt of his head, just a twitch of lips, a string in his teeth.

Giyuu is staring at him, hair up, white shirt his only cover up. Sanemi isn't sure if the cloth was more modest than being shirtless, honestly. Before, the answer would be obvious. Now... Giyuu had a way of making the short V neckline and sweat stains look downright sinful.

"What?" Sanemi snaps. Doesn't regret it, because Giyuu never reacts to his anger. Seems to prefer it, honestly. The masochist.

Giyuu exhales through his nose, quiet. Sanemi catches it anyway. It'd be a cold day in hell, he thinks, when he isn't paying the other hasira enough attention to catch every little detail of what he does.

"Again?" He asks, quiet, clear.

Sanemi goes to agree, already reaching for his sword. There's only one thing he enjoys more then a good spar, and that's getting Giyuu to sweat enough he finally takes his top off. His haori was already gone, hanging carefully over the head of a training dummy.

Not even turning into a demon could get rid of the memory from the day Giyuu told him about why he cares so much for the ugly thing. Why he fixed it up, time and time again, with such reverence.

Sometimes Sanemi thinks he can still feel the phantom touch of Giyuu's hands in his, can still see what he looks like with Sanemi between his legs.

A student runs up to them, and Sanemi whirls, finally taking his eyes off Giyuu. The kid gulps with Sanemi's sword to his throat, and makes him grin.

Smiling without humour, he asks, "Didn't I tell you not to interrupt us when we're sparring?" Means to say, not to interrupt me, but the meaning is the same.

They're practically one and the same, these days.

The kid shakes. "There's– sorry, sir, but there's a hashira at the gate!"

"And there's two in here. I told you, we're not accepting guests." There he goes again, showing his heart on his sleeve.

"But–"

"Not even Iguro."

"But he's so big, and–"

"Not even Tengen."

"But it's the stone hashira! I've never seen him down here before, it must be important!" The student claps his hands over his ears immediately after finishing speaking, trying to protect himself from Sanemi's inevitable wrath, no doubt.

The wrath doesn't come.

Have no doubt, Sanemi's mouth is open and he's ready, ready to drag the little shit by his ears straight to the training ground, where he can throw a wooden blade at him and force him to fight for his life between both he and Giyuu.

...Maybe just him.

But Giyuu's hand is on his shoulder, a rare touch, and Sanemi shuts his mouth, surprised. A little flushed, too. "Tomioka?"

"Himejima is down here?" He asks the student, who nods, ears still hidden.

Giyuu looks at him, and Sanemi looks back, brow raised. He's gotten good at reading his face, but he's not infallible at it. He knows what his silence could mean, but it's surprising. The only visitors Giyuu had received without looking like he regretted his birth since being here was the Kamado kids. Tanjiro and the demon girl, Nezuko. Who still didn't like him. Sanemi didn't mind, the feeling was mutual.

The heat that had arose, however, when the girl regressed to nothing more then a toddler, and Giyuu had swept her up, awkward, but still sweet, made any amount of interacting with demons more then worth it.

This– crush, or whatever, was getting frankly embarrassing. Sanemi wasn't sure he would recover. Or if he wanted to.

(He thought of no graves, of no brothers seeking his attention, he swears.)

"...Can he come in?"

"You want him to?" Sanemi asks, gruff. Resolute in his decision to ignore Giyuu's hand on his bare shoulder.

Giyuu removes it anyway, much to his deep regret, and nods once.

Sanemi sighs, drawn out and irritated. He tells the kid to let the human giant in, before looking back to the water hashira. Hesitates, then, "You sure?"

If Giyuu wavers in his decision, it doesn't show. "I can't hide forever. Even, behind you."

Sanemi snorts. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're plenty good at hiding, you've done it for years. Hell," He says, flicking Giyuu's forehead, making him blink. "You're doing it right now."

The barest twitch of lips, down, has Sanemi's heart stuttering in his stupid, foolish chest.

"I'm trying not to." Giyuu says, bland. He catches Sanemi's eye, hesitates, and Sanemi doesn't move. If he does, it might scare off whatever words Giyuu's trying to find.

"...I'm trying not to, with you."

He's trying to kill him. He's trying to kill Sanemi, he has to be. He should kill him first, while he still can. But he's frozen by the warmth in Giyuu's eyes, even as he breaks contact, awkward.

Giyuu does this, sometimes. It's annoying as hell but Sanemi doesn't dare tell him to stop. These little drops of affection, verbal or otherwise,  are Sanemi's only hope that Giyuu feels the same as him.

The footsteps are quiet, almost silent, but Sanemi still hears them. Twitches before turning around, then cranes his head.

Himejima, the tall bastard. Bows to them. Out of respect or so they can see his face through the clouds and identify him, Sanemi doesn't know. What he does know, is that Giyuu stiffens just the slightest bit at his shoulder.

He tries not to overreact.

He goes on the defensive anyway.

"Something you need?" Sanemi asks, sharp. "Don't usually see you down here with us normal folk."

Giyuu nudges him the slightest bit, a silent reprimand.

"Usually not," Himejima agrees. "Greetings, Shinazugawa, Tomioka. How are you fairing?"

Sanemi shrugs, "Fine. Sparring, killing demons, the usual. What brings you to my humble abode?" It's rhetorical. Sanemi hasn't has as many hashira try to visit him in his life as he has since Giyuu has been here.

Sure enough, Himejima replies, "I hoped to talk."

Sanemi snorts, ugly. "Surely not with little old me?"

"With you both,"

"Oh?"

He glances back at Giyuu, finds him already looking. His expression is easier to read now, at least. Confusion, resignation, faint suspicion and overall, a very unwilling willingness to hear Himejima out.

...Sanemi is so fucked.

He grunts, swivelling back to the stone hashira. "Fine," He says, "On one condition."

"A condition?" He asks, unrelated tears beginning to pour.

Giyuu shifts beside him, and from the corner of his eye, Sanemi can see almost blatant curiosity. Well, blatant for Giyuu.

"A spar. You don't have to win, nobody does. But it'll be me and you versus Tomioka–"

"Sanemi." Giyuu says, flat, deadpan expression aimed his way with the slightest tilt. He knows where this is going.

Sanemi powers on past the fluttering in his chest, "You just have to get him to use one move. I'll be helping,"

Himejima bows his head, brows furrowed. "A move? What is it's nature?"

"Eleventh form. No idea. He calls it 'dead calm'."

"You don't need to do that," Giyuu cuts in. "Ignore him, he's obsessed."

"I find myself quite curious." Himejima admits. "Why that one in particular?"

Sanemi grins, only mildly manic. "Because it's the one he made. This idiot who thinks he shouldn't be a hashira,"

Giyuu exhales, sharp, annoyed. Sanemi grins wider.

"Indeed? I'd heard of your feat. You refuse to show it?"

"It's not that," He says, "I simply don't have a reason to use it when we spar."

"No matter what I throw at you, too."

Giyuu blinks, and says nothing.

"Can I ask what is required for the move, before I agree?"

Sanemi opens his mouth to say not to bother, because Giyuu won't tell, no matter how much Sanemi asks, but Giyuu speaks first. "Onslaught."

A wide eyed stare and blatant annoyance do not deter Giyuu in the slightest, he doesn't so much as glance at him. Sanemi stares anyway.

"Onslaught?" Himejima repeats, thoughtful. "I believe we can manage that, Shinazugawa."

"Yeah," Sanemi says, still staring, still annoyed. "I believe we can."

Giyuu still doesn't speak. But Sanemi can read the 'bring it on' in the lines of his face just fine.

Chapter Text

It takes two fucking hours, and by the end of it, Sanemi needs Giyuu to bandage his back, his leg, and his arm. He's panting, sweating buckets, and aches all over. But he's satisfied.

Giyuu's shirt is gone, obliterated. His hair has been scraped into what has got to be the world's ugliest hair bun, his arms shake with strain and there's a big, hideous bruise spanning from his shoulder to lower back.

Himejima is missing his haori, and there's a slight gleam of sweat. Otherwise, he's fine.

Bastard.

Giyuu sits behind Sanemi on the floor, cleaning his wound, and Sanemi has to use total concentration not to melt as rough hands touch his skin, so, so delicately. So soft. Trying so hard not to hurt him, even after the fight.

Himejima breaks the silence, gives Sanemi something else to focus on from where he's sitting opposite him. "That was a good fight. Your form is beautiful, Tomioka. The name is fitting,"

Hands pause at the praise, and hair brushes his upper back from where Giyuu hides, forehead almost touching skin. "...Thank you."

"Can't believe we almost lost," Sanemi snarls. But he isn't angry with them. Only himself, mostly. Giyuu had put his haori back on for the fight, for comfort, maybe. At some point Sanemi had had a clear shot, at the same time Himejima was going for is. It was perfect, just the right time to force Giyuu into a corner, force him to use dead calm.

And yet.

The shot to Giyuu was clear, and although there had been room to dodge, it wouldn't be without damage. To the haori. The stupid, stupid ugly haori. That meant so much to Giyuu, who meant so much to Sanemi.

(Not that he was happy about it.)

He'd swerved at the last second, fumbled their chance, and had immediately kicked himself for it. Giyuu had stopped for nothing more then a heartbeat, breathtaking, looking at Sanemi with eyes so wide, there was no way he hadn't realised what he'd done.

The fight had continued when the heartbeat was done.

Himejima hums, "We may have lost the battle, but we both reached our goal, Shinazugawa. Your style lends well to defense, Tomioka. Your teacher must be proud,"

...An oddly pointed thing to say, Sanemi thinks. Sanemi and Giyuu had been made hashira's around the same time, and he's known no other water hashira, but Himejima has. He's been here the longest, almost a decade.

A forehead touches his back, and Giyuu is well and truly hiding. It shocks Sanemi, the open touch, blatant need of comfort, all in front of Himejima. The Giyuu from two weeks ago would never have done this, wouldn't have even thought of such a thing. Sanemi finds himself needing to look away from the stone hashira, focuses on Giyuu behind him instead.

"Teacher?" He asks.

Giyuu exhales, warm breath fanning his back. "Urokodaki." He answers.

"A brilliant man," Himejima adds, thoughtful. "He's lived the longest of any hashira I've met, former or otherwise. Retired now, is he not? He takes on students, such as Tanjiro Kamado and Tomioka,"

Sanemi grunts. Whatever Urokodaki's skill as a hashira were, it's undeniable his skill as a teacher is just as, if not more, valuable. To produce someone such as Giyuu, and begrudgingly Sanemi can admit, Kamado, is impressive. Most trainers these days just throw anyone to the corps. But these two are the beating hearts of the drive against demons, against Muzan.

And if he trained Giyuu, he must have trained the fabled Sabito as well. The thirteen year old who almost wiped out the demons on the mountain during final selection, saving everyone but himself.

Sanemi finds himself most interested in meeting him.

"Did you know him?" He asks Himejima.

"Indeed. We met briefly." He pauses, "You take after him greatly, I find, Tomioka."

Sanemi searches for whatever double meaning it has, but come up empty. Did he mean quiet? Awkward? Beautiful? A brilliant swordsman? Or an active suicide risk?

"Breifly," Giyuu echos. "He doesn't make good first impressions."

Snorting, Sanemi says, "Neither do you. Is that where you get it from?"

"...I've always been like this."

Hells. He tries to picture it, a young Giyuu, maybe four, sombre eyed and tense tone. Weirdly, the picture comes together easy and clear, though the little Giyuu's eye's aren't right. Not blue enough, almost puprle–

Sanemi shuts that thought down so quick he physically tenses.

In front of him, Himejima inclines his head to a bow, hands pressed and beads beginning to rub together. A prayer. "I wanted to ask you, Tomioka, if you've spoken recently."

"You mean..." Senami trails off. He has no problem saying Giyuu tried to kill himself when it's just the two of them, no problem stating the obvious when he cleaned and stitched the wounds himself. Giyuu had slit his own wrists and then gone on with the day as if nothing had happend. If it wasn't for the masters almost-true vision, Sanemi would never had known. None of them would have.

Giyuu would have gone back to his estate, all alone, with no one none the wiser to what he'd done.

It was a terrible thing Giyuu had tried to do. Sanemi would give anything for him to never do it again. But, he can't deny that in his own, sick and guilty way, that he was grateful he had. He'd never admit it, but without the attempt, Giyuu would never have moved in with him, would never had confided. Sanemi would never have known all these things about him that he's come to lo– like.

It is a secret Sanemi plans to take to his grave.

"No," Comes Giyuu's reply, quiet. "We haven't spoken since I went for final selection," Hesitates, then corrects, "I sent a crow, to ask him to take in Tanjiro and Nezuko, then he sent one to tell me he had, and that he would train him, and that's it."

Final selection, huh? It was because of Sabito, then. Because of Giyuu's guilt. He'd told Sanemi that Sabito was one of the key reasons he stitched himself up after his attempt, but Sanemi doesn't doubt he was one of the reasons he tried in the first place.

"Why do you ask?" His head lifts from Sanemi's skin, and he tries not to miss it. Fails to stop himself from relaxing when Giyuu's shoulder presses into his as he sits beside him, taking his arm to clean the wound there, as well.

"He sent a message to me," Himejima reveals, and Giyuu twitches, "I was unaware he was such a spiritual person,"

"...Spiritual?" He drags the warm, damp cloth over Sanemi's arm, and the slash there that crosses over a preexisting scar. "Somewhat, yes. He– he carved masks for us. Foxes. To ward off evil."

Sanemi very kindly does not think of all the ways that didn't work.

"He believes he received a warning from the spirits. Are you familiar with the cemetery on the mountain where he lives?"

It takes a moment for Giyuu to respond, and his eyes fluttering shut. Expression pained. "Mount Sagiri, yes. It's– the cemetery, it's for his former students. The one's who died during the selection."

"There's enough for a fucking cemetery?" Sanemi asks, shocked.

"Thirteen," Giyuu all but whispers.

"How sad," Himejima says, head bowing once more. "How sad, indeed. A hard life is the one of a demon slayer. A hard thing it must be to prepare others for it."

No fucking shit. Were Giyuu and Kamado the only ones to survive? He's never mentioned anyone else. What the fuck kind of training does Urokodaki give them, that they either die before they become slayers or live far beyond what anyone else could after?

Himejima continues, "He asked for my aid. A spirit told him you were in trouble, on the brink of death. He begged for Urokodaki to stop you. Those exact words. He worries for you, but knows you will not answer his call for anything short of saving another."

Giyuu's thumb sweeps Sanemi's arm, absent. The rag forgotten. Hating the distant look, Sanemi brings a hand to hover above, then cover his. Giyuu blinks. This wasn't something they usually did, but it seems to help.

"I see."

"Was that all you came to say?" Sanemi asks, sharp. Himejima had done nothing wrong, but he knows Giyuu. Knows he'll want a moment after this. A chance to think.

"No. I have something to say to you as well, Shinazugawa. But Tomioka, I have told him you are well and living, and currently receiving care."

Giyuu nods, refocuses on Sanemi's injury, putting the wet cloth away to pat the skin dry, re-examing the split before reaching for the bandages. It's soft, the way Giyuu is acting. Kind in a way he usually tries not to show. Did Urokodaki teach him this? Did he teach any of the thirteen dead children? Kamado was sixteen at his selection, Giyuu thirteen. How did it feel, to train children to kill monsters, only for them to be torn apart before they could save anyone. How did it feel to do it thirteen times, with only two survivors.

Sanemi can't get over it, keeps tripping over the fact. Thirteen dead children. No wonder he's as quiet as Giyuu, enough for Himejima to note.

Did he go to the mountain to retrieve their bodies to bury? Sanemi isn't sure whether to ask.

"Sanemi," Himejima calls. He looks up and away from Giyuu's tender care, back to the stone hashira who continues to speak. "There is something I have to tell you as well. Though you may not like the news."

Fucking fantastic. "Tell me anyway," He orders. The sooner he leaves the sooner Sanemi can talk to Giyuu, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.

"I have taken your younger brother, Genya, as my tsugoku."

Giyuu looks up, quick and surprised. Sanemi tenses, twitches. "You've what."

"He is a promising student. But I believe he is in need of strong guidance. His desperation to kill demons has lead him down an unfortunate path, but one he seems dedicated to follow. I seek to guide him,"

The explanation does not help Sanemi, does not help Sanemi at all. Genya. Genya, that fucking idiot. That stupid child. What was he doing? Hasn't Sanemi already told him to fuck off? He's the one fighting this fight, so Genya doesn't have to. So why does he insist on– on–

A hand beneath his and one on top, Giyuu is trying to comfort him. Caged in, rough pads on his fingers rub into Sanemi's skin.

...Hadn't Genya called him a murderer? Hadn't he hated him? Why throw himself in harms way just for Sanemi's attention. And now Himejima has taken him on, taken him in. This won't help push Genya away from the demon slayer life. This will get him killed.

Sanemi is so angry he's shaking with it.

He's going to–

"Thank you, Himejima. But you should leave." Giyuu says, flat.

The stone hashira nods, once, in farewell. Stands and leaves the room without a second glance, without another word. Good. That's good. Hashira shouldn't fight each other outside of spars, and if he had stayed, Ubuyashiki would be disappointed in what Sanemi planned to do.

What he still plans to do.

How dare he–

"Sanemi."

"What," He spits, unable to look up. He wants to smash something, wants to ring someone's neck, wants to see blood.

Doesn't want it to be Giyuu's. So he let's his hand be lifted, cradled really, to Giyuu's chest. He gets stuck on the sight for a minute, rage at bay, before it comes crashing back down. He snarls, "That little fucking moron. What is he doing?! I told him–"

"It's his decision."

"Like fuck is it–"

"He wants to protect people. The same as you."

"No he fucking doesn't! He just wants my attention–"

"Then give it to him."

Sanemi stops. Giyuu shrugs. "If that's what he wants, give it to him. Won't that help?"

Sanemi twitches. No. "No, I– I can't." He squeezes the hand beneath his own, feels a scar beneath his index finger. "If I do that– he'll just want to stay more. I can't– I can't– I can't lose anyone else, Tomioka. I fucking can't. He needs to stop, he needs to go–"

"Himejima is the strongest hashira," He points out, steady and quiet. "Even if Genya leaves, there's still the possibility of a demon eating him. With Himejima, he'll learn to be stronger."

"Did that help Sabito, learning to be strong?"

Giyuu stills.

Self hatred and shame prickles at Sanemi, and he groans, dropping his head, hunching. With anyone else, he would keep going. Double down. Make it worse. But it's Giyuu, who knows. It's Giyuu, who he's never managed to scare off. It's Giyuu, who's still holding his hand, oh-so gently.

He shouldn't have said that. Shouldn't have thrown Giyuu's pain back in his face when he was only trying to help ease his.

No fucking wonder Genya hated him.

A hand on the back of his skull tips him foward, and he goes, willing and grateful for the silent forgiveness. The hand only stops when Sanemi's forehead meets Giyuu's bare chest, just above their joined hands. He's halfway in the water hashira's lap, and strangely, neither of them seem to mind.

A huff of breath ghosts his hair, the hand on the back of his neck sliding up to card through the white. Sanemi melts.

It's odd, still so odd, that they do this. Comfort each other, live with each other, care about each other. Three weeks ago this would've been unthinkable. He still doesn't know why Giyuu came to him instead of going home alone. Instead of going to one on the other easier, kinder hashira.

He's too scared to ask. Afraid that the question will make Giyuu realise his own mistake. It's stupid, he knows. Giyuu doesn't back down from a decision when he's made it, no matter how stupid, how dangerous.

"Feel better?" Giyuu asks, quiet, a little rough. Sanemi can feel the words in Giyuu's chest when he speaks, can feel the rumble.

"...My back still fucking hurts, bastard."

A laugh, and that's quiet too. "So does mine." He replies, dry. "And you wanted to see dead calm,"

Sanemi grunts. He had, and he was pleased now his wish was fulfilled. Himejima had been right, loathe as he was to admit it right now. The form suited Giyuu beautifully, it made perfect sense for him. It, in itself, was also impressive. Sanemi had no doubt that the move could handle a lot more then what he and the stone hashira had been willing to throw at it.

An onslaught, Giyuu said was needed. He was right.

There's a long pause, though by no means uncomfortable, as Giyuu seems to think. Sanemi doesn't want to think. He's comfortable, in his new favourite place, with Giyuu's hands in his hair, and a satisfied tiredness in his bones.

Still angry, underneath, but that can wait. He won't admit it, but he plans to take Giyuu's advice. Talk to Genya, not yell. They may need a mediator.

"Thank you,"

Sanemi blinks, tilting his head so his chin rests on Giyuu's chest and not his forehead. He gets a view of his chin, the tip of his nose, loose hairs and long lashes. "For what?"

"Dodging my haori. I don't mind, I can mend, but I appreciate it."

"You saw that, huh?"

"...It was obvious."

Course it was. It was the most ungraceful move Sanemi had ever pulled. Stupid heart, fucking up his winning streak. Sanemi snorts,  dropping against Giyuu's chest properly. There was a fire on the other side of the room, and Giyuu made a surprised noise as he was forced back on his elbow. Much more comfortable for Sanemi.

Surprised, Giyuu hovers his hand where Sanemi's head was, so he reaches up, grabs it and brings it back down to where it was.

Giyuu laughs, soft. "Comfortable, Shinazugawa?"

Maybe too comfortable, because he replies, "What happend to Sanemi?"

A pause, then, "I'm allowed?"

"Hasn't stopped you before,"

"I'm asking now,"

He sighs, feeling Giyuu's twitch at the warm air on his chest. "You're allowed."

"...You can call me Giyuu."

"You don't have to offer me that."

"I want to."

There would be a lot to deal with tomorrow, but that was tomorrow Sanemi's problem. Today, he didn't want to move. He lay on top of Giyuu, warm, and knew he would be dreaming of this for weeks after.

Tomorrow he would talk to Genya. Tomorrow he would convince Giyuu to talk to his old teacher. Maybe the other hashira too, but that could wait.

"Okay, Giyuu."

Chapter Text

When the blade comes down, Giyuu flinches.

He can't help it, the strain in his muscles and the tired fog over his brain has robbed him of all higher thinking. Immediately, he recognises his mistake, ducks his head, and blocks with his arms.

It's futile, Sabito just smacks him on the neck instead.

"No flinching," He orders, "You know that doesn't help."

Immovable, even at thirteen. Still, Giyuu whines, "I'm tired. We've been at this for five hours, Sabito. Everything hurts. Can't we take a break now?"

"Demons won't give you a break," Is the reply. The peach haired trainee drops back into a fighting stance, wooden sword held as proudly as a nichirn sword, "Get up and fight."

Giyuu throws leaves in his face.

Sabito splutters, wiping the leaves out of his mouth with the back of his sleeve. His white haori is gone, hung over a branch, leaving him in his oddly patterned, yellow, green, and orange clothes. He looks deeply offended.

"Why would you do that?"

"Surprise attack," Giyuu shrugs. Flops back onto the damp autumn leaves, smells the moss.

"That won't work on a demon,"

"Worked on you."

"I'm not a demon!"

"Are you sure–"

A pile, much bigger than the one Giyuu had thrown, is suddenly dropped on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He gasps, "Ow! How did you even get that many?"

"Easily," Is the haughty reply, even though Giyuu can clearly see Sabito's childish grin, "You could too if you trained more."

"Urokodaki says I need to keep practising the basics,"

"You know the basics," Sabito says, annoyed. "That's not the issue. The issue is you don't believe in them,"

Giyuu huffs, blowing the leaves off his face. "Of course I believe in them. I've seen you, I know they work. I think you're just better at it than I am,"

"Then you just need to work at it more," He offers his hand, and entirely unwilling, Giyuu gives it, let's himself be pulled up.

They're standing close together, but that's hardly a surprise. They've been inseparable for years since meeting. Giyuu doesn't think anything of it as he slumps against Sabito, completely limp, with the sole goal of annoying him.

Irritated, Sabito takes his weight, shakes him, "Stop that. We're not here to play."

"We're never here to play," Giyuu counters, muffled in his shoulder.

"Don't you wanna kill demons?"

"...Yeah,"

"Then pick up your sword!"

Opening one eye, Giyuu looks up at him. Petulant. Pleading. Sabito's eyes are more unusual, prettier. So is his hair. Everybody always tells him so. Giyuu thinks so, too. He likes looking at them, likes them more when they aren't trying to convince his poor, tired body to keep training.

Visibly, he wavers.

Sighs.

"Maybe you can use that as your attack," He suggests, dry, smiling. "Puppy eyes are unusual, but they work."

Giyuu smiles, "On you, yeah. Does that mean we can take a break now?"

"...We can take a break."

Giyuu whoops, throwing his arms up. Immediately regrets it when he feels his elbow twinges and hisses, bringing it back down to rub at the sore spot. Footsteps march up behind him quickly, and Sabito tugs Tsutako's haori to make him turn.

"What hurts?" He asks, carefully taking Giyuu's arm and pushing the sleeve up. There's a bruise mid way up, purple, and swollen.

Giyuu bites his lip, "Happend earlier, I think. When you pushed me because I took too long,"

Grimacing, Sabito brings the elbow closer. "It's incentive."

"It's abuse."

"It is not."

"I have been abused,"

"You have not,"

Giyuu points at him with his good arm, "Abuser!" He declares.

The look Sabito gives him would make a lesser man cry. And, if this was back when they first met, Giyuu would be sobbing. As it was, Giyuu just smiles.

Eventually, Sabito smiles, too.

He runs his thumb over the injury thoughtfully, pressing in, making Giyuu tense. "Sorry. It doesn't look broken or dislocated. Fractured, maybe. Do you want to go see Urokodaki?"

He shakes his head, "He'll make me wrap it,"

"If it's broken, it needs to be," Sabito counters.

"Can't you just kiss it better?"

His face goes pink, "No." He says, looking at the leaves behind Giyuu. "That doesn't work."

"Won't you try?"

"There's no point. It doesn't work."

"...Tsutako said it does."

Sabito eyes him, aware he's being played but unknowing of how to get out of Giyuu's trap. He eyes Giyuu, then his arm, and groans. "Fine. Fine, come here,"

He lifts Giyuu's elbow to his face, pressing a quick, shy kiss to the bruise before dropping the arm just as quick. "There. Now don't ask me again."

Giyuu cheers, "Thank you, Sabito! Look, it's disappearing already!"

Scoffing, Sabito says, "No, it isn't. Stop acting childish."

"I'm serious!" Giyuu lies, "See? It's already nearly gone!"

He sighs. Eyes flickering down to the exposed arm, checking against his will. "Stop. Your stupidity might be infectious,"

Giyuu laughs. "You know, Urokodaki says we can learn to will injuries away soon."

"I might. You'll need to keep practicing–" Giyuu groans, and Sabito tuts, "None of that. You're smart, Giyuu. You can figure this out. With enough practice, you'll catch up to me in no time," He seems to think of something, because he leans in, grinning, and says, "Unless you want to be here all alone while I'm off at final selection? At this rate, I might even be a hahsira before you're a demon slayer,"

Giyuu scoffs, face red, "You're not that far ahead," He denies.

"I don't know," Sabito responds, faux thoughtful, "I'm not the one who still thinks kisses make everything better,"

"I'm willing it away! Unless you think I should have a bruise on my arm forever."

"It won't stay forever,"

"Sabito wants to see my arms marked up forever!" Giyuu yells, turning away and telling the birds, "He hates me! He wants to see my arms bruised and scratched and scarred–"

"Giyuu!"

Giyuu stops, stunned.

Something isn't right.

Sabito wasn't– he wasn't supposed to say that, was he?

What was–

Sabito grips his mismatched haori, pulls him back around. There are bruises on his throat and blood on his sleeves. His own haori is on, and it's stained. Dirt and blood piled on each other. Giyuu freezes.

This wasn't –

"Giyuu, listen to me," He rasps. Rasps, because his neck is broken, lolling wrong to the side. "Don't."

Giyuu blinks, fear in his chest, "Don't? Sabito, what's wrong?"

"Don't do it, promise me, promise me you won't try again!"

"T–try what?"

He reaches up to Sabito's face, meaning to tilt his head back, like it should be. He sees his own sleeve, sees the red, green, and orange pattern that matches Sabito's, and–

That's wrong, too.

He shouldn't– he shouldn't be wearing this yet. He didn't start wearing the joint haori until after Sabito–

After Sabito had–

Giyuu looks up, horrified. Sabito's corpse stares at him, beautiful eyes glassy. His fox mask is hanging around his neck. It's not supposed to be. He didn't wear it while training, it shouldn't be here. Urokodaki had given them the masks for final selection. Sabito shouldn't have this.

"Sabito," Giyuu chokes–

"Remember your promise!" And then he's swinging, hand coming towards Giyuu's face, who braces for impact, waiting–

***

Giyuu is choking. He can't breathe, he's being held down, he can't see anything, he can't–

"Breathe, Tomioka." There's a hand on his back, stroking down. "Breathe. You're fucking waking up everyone,"

He gasps for air, choking on nothing. He clutches Sanemi's shoulders (why was he in his room?) and tries to even out his breathing, tries to get a grip on himself. Tries and tries and tries and fails.

Sanemi doesn't move, just keeps holding him. He's sitting up, sheets twisted into his legs, his face pressed into the wind hashira's shoulder. The only light in the room comes from the moon through his window. And Giyuu breathes.

"Shhh," Sanemi rumbles, not pausing his stroking. "You're okay, just breathe. Can you do that for me, Tomioka?"

"Giyuu," He chokes, "You said you'd call me– Giyuu."

This does make Sanemi stop, and he huffs, dropping his own head to the juncture between Giyuu's shoulder and neck. '"Course," He scoffs, voice rough and deep from sleep, "That's what brings you back. Can't fucking help yourself, can you, Tomi– Giyuu. Always have to correct me."

Giyuu has no idea what he's talking about, so he closes his eyes, rests where he is.

"...Don't tell me you're going back to sleep after that,"

He opens his eyes, "After what?"

"That's rich from the guy screaming the entire estate down," Sanemi says, removing his hand from Giyuu's hair. He tries not to chase it, tries to remember what Sanemi was talking about, instead.

"I was screaming?" He asks, hoarse.

Sanemi lifts head, stares at him, incredulous. "...Yeah, Giyuu, you were screaming. I could hear you from my room. I thought a fucking demon had got in,"

Giyuu blinks, "Sorry."

"Don't fucking apologise." Sanemi snarls. Pauses, "You really don't remember?"

He tries to, he really, really does. But all that comes to mind is his dream, which was more a nightmare. Giyuu regrets that. Dreams of Sabito were sacred, rare. His subconscious rarely allowed him such a thing. If they were all like that, however, his mind might have been doing him a favour.

Sanemi is still watching him, expectant.

"I was– dreaming," He rasps, slumping forward again.

Hesitant, Sanemi guides him back to his shoulder so he can hide. "...'Bout your family?"

"Sabito."

"Ah."

"It wasn't– I usually don't–"

"Giyuu. Breathe."

He inhales, sharp. Holds it as he thinks, before letting it out again. "It was weird," He says.

"Not about his death?"

Giyuu shakes his head, still pressed against him. "I don't dream about that. I didn't see it. It was– we were kids. He was trying to make me train, and I was– I was whining because I was tired. I kept– distracting him. I had this bruise on my elbow, and I was yelling about it–" He chokes off, buries his face.

"...You were a cry baby? Really, Tomioka?"

"Giyuu," He reminds him.

"Cry baby Giyuu."

"That's better."

Sanemi snorts, bringing his hand back to Giyuu's hair, he sighs. "Bastard," He says, and it's fond.

He goes through the breathing techniques Urokodaki taught him. Measures each breath, brings his heart rate back down. Tries to pick apart the meaning of the dream, tries to think when Sabito had ever yelled 'don't' at him before. He comes up empty.

Absently, he rubs the bruised spot from his dream, feels pain and looks down, surprised.

"The bruise–" He says, startled, leaning back.

Sanemi grunts, displeased with the distance. "Bruise? What bruise? When'd you get hurt?"

"My dream.."

Sanemi follows his gaze, frowns. Picks Giyuu's arm up to examine it closer. "You didn't have this earlier," He agrees, apparently an expert on Giyuu's body. And, given the amount he stared at him, he honestly might be.

Giyuu runs a thumb over the injury, honestly bewildered. "I– I think this is the second time in my life I've ever gotten an injury here," He murmurs.

Sanemi agrees with that, too. "Fucking weird spot to get hurt."

It truly was. The inside of his elbow had to be one of the most protected parts of his body. Understandable when he was a kid and prone to rough housing with Sabito, but now? As a grown man? Never.

The wind hashira straightens the arm out, holding it to the moonlight. He seems lost in thought, focusing on the bruise.

Absently, he kisses the mark.

Giyuu may have stopped breathing.

Sanemi continues as if nothing had happend. "What happend in your dream, exactly?"

Giyuu looks back up at him, blinking. "Uh. It was more like a memory. Exactly as I remembered it, then it just– he just– changed. He kept saying 'don't'," He recalls, straining to remember more. "Said to– to remember my promise."

Sanemi meets his gaze, steady. "Your promise." He echoes. Flexes his hand on his arm. "The one that made you stitch yourself up?"

Giyuu startles, looking back down at his arms. Remembers the dream more clearly now he isn't hyperventilating, and– what a shitty coincidence. What a terrible thing to predict.

Sanemi nudges him, "Giyuu?"

"We– in my memory, when I was yelling about my bruise, I was teasing Sabito. I was joking, saying he wanted my bruise to stay forever, that he wanted all my injuries to stay forever, and that he– he wanted my arms to be covered in scars–" He's shaking again.

"And your dream turned," Sanemi says slowly, squeezing his arm gently. "Sabito started saying 'don't' instead, reminded you about your promise," His eyes pin him down, "You can't think what that's about, Giyuu? Really?"

Giyuu swallows, rough.

"...Remember what Himejima said?" Sanemi continues, reluctant. "A spirit yelled at your teacher to help you? Think that had anything to do with it?"

"I– I don't–"

Tears are streaming down his cheeks, and he can't stop shivering, shaking. Senami gathers him into his arms, pulls him onto his lap, tucks him beneath his chin. It was kind, unspeakably kind. Giyuu wasn't sure what he did to deserve it.

Over Sanemi's shoulder, just past his white hair, Giyuu could swear he sees something peach coloured, swaying in the non-existent breeze.

When he turns to look, nobody is there.

***

Dear Master Urokodaki,

I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to write to you. Truth be told, I was ashamed.

Truth be told, I still am.

I know, now, that I should not have been. I've known, always, that you would call me a fool for having such thoughts as I have. I can't help it. The version of me you knew as a child is still the man I am today. Full of grief and guilt.

Himejima told me you contacted him after hearing a spirit speak of my attempt. I'm sorry, Urokodaki. I never meant for you to find out. Truthfully, I never meant to try in the first place. The wrong instincts overtook me that night, and for that, I am truly sorry. I know Himejima assured I was receiving care now, so let me do the same. I am safe and getting better, I believe.

The wind hashira, Shinazugawa Sanemi, has invited me to stay on his estate until I feel better in my own mind. I've been living here since, and I believe it's been helping. He has become adept at noticing when my quieter moments take a wrong turn. He presents himself as cruel, but I find him to be kinder than most. Kind to me. You would appreciate him, I think.

He has extended an offer that I agree with, and will now pass on. If you would be willing, Urokodaki, I would like to have you here. I understand if you are angry with me for my silence all these years. I would agree with you.

The water estate currently sits empty, if you would prefer somewhere familiar and more private. I know you value those things greatly.

If I may confide something to you, I believe a spirit also visited me. I dreamed of Sabito and I as children, up on mount Sagiri. Do you recall us returning one day, my arm bruised and dislocated, leaves in our hair, asking about healing? I dreamed of it, every smell and colour just as I remembered. And when I awoke, my arm was bruised in just the same place, despite not doing anything to warrant an injury the day prior.

It's strange, but I could've swore I felt Sabito's presence. Was it the same for you?

Come if you will, master. I have missed you, and I am sorry.

Sincerely, Tomioka Giyuu.

***

My dearest, Giyuu,

I am on my way.

Sincerely, Urokodaki.

Chapter Text

The blood Giyuu lost that night still stains his wooden floor. A splatter of crimson, stark against the light brown. He places a rug over it. It wouldn't come out, anyway. No matter how hard he had tried.

With Urokodaki coming to visit, coming to see Giyuu after all this time, he thought it was best he came to clean up the water hashira's estate.

It is a difficult task.

Giyuu has never had any caretakers during his tenure, not for the estate, the mansion, or himself. Which may have been what placed him in this position in the first place. The gardens need weeding, the flowers watering, the floors sweeping.

The blood, scrubbing.

Sanemi hadn't liked the idea of Giyuu coming back to the water estate, even if it was just for a week by himself. He had sat stone faced, gripping his water on the steps, as Giyuu told him his plan. He could see his side profile from where he sat beside him, could see the frown and furrow of his brows.

"You're going back?"

Giyuu had studied him, weighing his reaction, "I think I should. Urokodaki shouldn't stay here. He wouldn't like it. He used to live at the water estate, he'll prefer it."

"Right," Sanemi grunted. Tense in his shoulders. "So you're staying there with him. Then what?"

"...Then what?"

Sanemi's jaw twitched, his hand clenched. "You gonna keep staying there? Back at the water estate, I mean."

Giyuu had looked away, then. He had thought, at the time, that this might be the wind hashira's way of shrugging him off, telling him he was too much of a burden. Giyuu had been living there at the wind estate for almost a month, barring missions, and they had been in constant contact.

And if it wasn't Giyuu's imagination, they had gotten closer, too. Physically and emotionally. Sanemi had given him permission to use his name and constantly touched him. His shoulder, his thigh, his arms, his hair, Sanemi had laid claim to it all. It burns, the spot on his elbow that Sanemi had kissed. Days, weeks later, it burns.

"Maybe I should," He'd managed, voice steady. The hurt didn't matter. "I'm not as much as a risk anymore."

The wind hashira's cup had cracked, though he paid it no mind. Giyuu could see the way he ground his teeth, thinking. Manners warring with wants, perhaps. "You said it could take months," He pointed out, "Years even. You said this wasn't the kind of thing people just got over."

He hesitated, "It isn't," Giyuu admitted. "And I'm not... cured. I just, I can't stay here forever."

"Right," Sanemi had ground out. "Guess not." He'd bounced the cracked cup in his hand, considering, before tossing it down the steps. Listening to it clunk on each one. "Right."

Giyuu had watched the cup, watched Sanemi, and realised he may have made a misstep somewhere. He should apologise. "I didn't mean to be a burden," He said, and left it there. He did not feel that it was the right time to say his name.

Sanemi had twitched. Turned, "What?"

"I... apologise if I overstayed my welcome. I understand you were just being kind,"

"What," He repeated. "What the fuck are you talking about, Tomio– Giyuu. Who's telling you that fucking bullshit? Is it one of those fucking kids running around the place? I'll–"

"I just," Giyuu cut in, "Assumed. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising," Sanemi ordered. "Fucking hell, Giyuu. You're not ready to be on your own at all if your heads still doing that to you,"

Soft, Giyuu had reminded him, "Years, Sanemi."

He'd huffed. "I know. That's why I asked when– if you were coming back."

Giyuu blinked, wrong footed. "Do you... want me to?"

"I don't... not want you to."

"What?" Giyuu asked, a tilt to his head.

Sanemi had grumbled beneath his breath, irritated, almost angry. Hands clenched and un-clenched. Teeth continued to grind. It occurred to Giyuu that Sanemi was trying to be honest in a way that made him feel vulnerable, so he didn't speak. Didn't ask again. Waited, patient, instead.

It took a moment, a lot of staring for Giyuu, watching the setting sun warm Sanemi's white hair, before he spoke. "I want– I don't, hate your company. I like sparring with you. And. Knowing you're alive is good, too," He'd snuck a glance at Giyuu, seemed to realise he still didn't get it, because he scoffed at himself. Braced, continued: "I– want you. Here. I, I don't mind that– I don't mind you, Giyuu. You're not a burden to me. You're not a chore. I– I like it. Being around you. Alright?"

...Alright? No, Giyuu had not been alright. In fact, Giyuu had almost been certain he was having a heart attack. Surely, that was the only explanation for the loud beat in his chest, that was the only reason he suddenly could not breathe.

"Alright," He had echoed. "Then I'll come back."

Sanemi had exhaled, soft, and relieved. "Alright."

The memory lingers on Giyuu's mind in the days since he left the wind hashira's estate. All the things that had almost been said haunted him, screaming their what-ifs.

Romantic feelings aren't exactly new to him per-se, he's had fledgling crushes over the years. Sabito, Shinobu, Rengoku. But they've never felt like this. Usually, he'll nip the feelings in the bud, not let them bloom. Usually, he'll avoid the person until he forgets he liked them at all. Living with Sanemi had made that impossible.

It was shocking, still, that the wind hashira reciprocated. He hasn't said as much, but even Giyuu notices when he's being stared at the much. Protected so fiercely, even from friends. The uncharacteristic kindness. The way he could always would find a reason to touch Giyuu.

The fact that his face always turned red when he did.

This part– this part was new. The reciprocation. The person getting kinder when he was around, not meaner. It made being around Sanemi hard to breathe sometimes.

Given that, Giyuu assumed he might feel relieved to retreat to the water hashira estate for a few days. Have the quiet and privacy he valued so much.

The relief hasn't come.

The first day, that was expected. It was a change in routine, in scenery. He expected to feel daunted at the work, lonely without the noise of the wind hashira's estate. And he had. The second day, he thought the peace of relief would come.

It still didn't.

He tried to scrub his blood from the floor, failed. Tried to find weeding meditating, failed. Tried to find dusting soothing, failed. Watering the plants, removing leaves, washing bowls that had been left with rotten vegetables still soaking, and nothing brought him peace.

By the fourth day, when he plans to spend it all washing sheets and stitching tears in his haori, he misses Sanemi like a missing limb.

It's a phantom pain that follows him from the moment he wakes. Through his morning exercise and wash. When he walks to his kitchen, entirely unwilling to cook after days of Sanemi's homely meals, he leaves before entering the doorway, just as he had the day before.

Giyuu doesn't have a big appetite, anyway.

He hunts down the sheets. Finds them in rooms he's never entered, set up for guests he never had. Spends the day washing, drying, and folding. Sets the clean lot by the stacks of letters from the other hashira. He hasn't read them.

Giyuu had found all nine of them, some from the same hashira multiple times, stacked neatly on his window sill outside, right by his front door. Meaning Kanzaburo isn't the one that delivered them. The old crow prefers to drop letters down his chimney, well, and every other inconvenient place. It'd taken him the entire first week to realise Giyuu had moved to the wind estate, and he gave a large earful because of it.

Sanemi suggested putting Kanzaburo out of his misery, seeing him as more hindrance than help. Giyuu refused.

The letters taunted Giyuu whenever he saw them, the reactions from the other hashira written down for his convenience. Their reactions to his weakness, his faults. Their reactions to the knowledge he's had all along: that he's not worthy to be a hashira. Not worthy to stand beside them.

Sanemi may think otherwise, may think that creating an eleventh form was enough, but Giyuu knows otherwise. Knows one reason why isn't enough to stop fifty reasons why not.

By the fifth day by himself at the water estate, Giyuu can feel himself... slipping.

It's the loneliness, he thinks. Nobody here to hold him accountable. Nobody here to shake him when he forgets to eat, when he beats the training dummy until knuckles split, when he picks the nettles that sting knowingly. He's ashamed of himself, honestly. How quickly he slips back into old habits like they're an old friends hand.

Giyuu hadn't realised how bad he used to be until he came back. Doing things on instinct and flinching at the phantom sound of Sanemi's rage.

He'd thought that slitting his own wrist was the closest he'd ever came to true self harm. Truthfully, it was just one amongst a list of many. Not thinking about hurting himself and just doing it didn't negate that he was hurting himself. Oddly.

Aconitum buttercups grew in his garden, beautiful and blue. They sit opposite his bedroom window, and he watches them while he changes. It's raining, pouring down outside. Water beats on the flowers, tipping the petals. Shinobu grew them in her own garden, cultivated them along with many other kinds of poison.

Poison. She'd told him while wrapping his broken arm, that the death the flowers caused was often quick. Heart failure, numbness, paralysis. Ideal for killing yourself, she'd joked. Unaware.

Now, every time he tries to sleep, he sees them. Even now as he turns to tend to his hearth, he can see the blue from the corner of his eye. He hangs his haori to dry above the flames and is hit with a sickening sense of deja vu.

This– this is almost identical to how it was when he tried to kill himself.

For a moment, Giyuu doesn't let go of his haori. Even as it hangs and the heat turns the damp to steam, warming his fingers uncomfortably, he stays. He's afraid, almost, that when he let's go, he'll slip back into the same mindset. Try to break his promise again. Not just to Sabito, but to Sanemi now, too.

He fists the fabric and breathes.

He won't. He can't.

He is in control of his own body. His own mind. He just needs to– distract himself. Keep himself busy and the thoughts at bay.

Trying to think of what to do until he falls asleep, his stomach clenches, rumbles. Giyuu presses a hand there. Right, he hasn't been eating. It wasn't intentional, he just didn't have the appetite. Being in the kitchen made him feel ill, giving to what it was a precursor to before.

He should eat.

Letting go of the haori feels like letting go of a lifeline. Free falling into an abyss. Giyuu concentrates on his breathing as he leaves the room, walks down the open hall. No blue buttercups here, just a view of the well, the rain, and the gate.

Stopping before the kitchen door, he looks across the grounds. He can't will himself to open it. Despite the clench in his stomach, he really isn't hungry. He has no appetite. Knows he should eat, knows Sanemi would be disappointed if he finds out he isn't, but even that thought doesn't make him want to.

There are still knives in the kitchen. One still has blood on it. His blood. His fault.

He should clean it. He should go into the kitchen, make some food, eat, and clean the blood off the knife.

Giyuu sits down. Back to the door, facing the grounds. He feels weak, dizzy almost. Knows, logically, it's from the hunger, but something inside him says it's because he shouldn't be here. At the estate, by himself. Like it's haunting him, or he, it.

He's spent so much of his life alone, preferring it. After Tsutako, after Sabito, the loneliness was better. Safer. He hadn't known just what it was he was missing. Had thrown himself into training, convinced himself of his own unworthiness.

He needs to eat but stays sitting.

It's another form of self-harm, he knows. But. But there's no blood, no injury. Surely it's an improvement? Progress looked like stepping back sometimes, did it not?

Sanemi would slap him for the thought.

He sighs. Does not get up. Stays sitting by the door, trapped between his own thoughts and hunger, and watches the sun rise.

Chapter Text

Kanzaburo's caws wake him before noon, and Giyuu opens his eyes to the sun at full peak and the rain still falling despite it.

Clutched in the crows claws is a small cut of paper, one that Giyuu knows at first glance to be from Ubuyashiki. He sends all the hashira summons the same way. Anxiety tears at Giyuu's stomach before he even unfurls the piece, reads the time of the hashira meeting.

This will be the first one since— well, since he tried to kill himself and everyone found out.

Urokodaki is supposed to come today, also. Should be only a few hours march away. Giyuu just— he just needs to get through the meeting. He needs to ignore the way his stomach is eating itself and go. He won't have to look any of the others in the eye, he never has, he'll just ignore them like he used to.

Nausea creeps up his throat and he shoves it back down.

He has no time for it.

He gets ready. Goes through his morning routine with a pounding head and sense of dread. Studies his healed wrists, the small stitch scars that have turned a pale pink, almost white. Shinobu will want to drag him to the butterfly mansion, he's sure. She'll be certain he wouldn't have let anyone take care of his injuries. Usually, she'd be right.

Luckily, Sanemi is not the kind of person who takes no for an answer.

The thought of Sanemi being there is, honestly, the only reason Giyuu doesn't drag his feet as he sets off, crow cawing above him.

The rain still falls in a steady drizzle, soaking his freshly dried haori.

From the water estate, the Ubuyashiki mansion is a one hour walk. A time he could quarter if he had a reason to rush. The time was the same from all the other estates, except Himejima, who lived on a mountain, a decision he's sure Ubuyashiki made deliberately. Placing himself in the centre of a circle, surrounded by the hashira, meant that not only is he protected, but he's equally close to each of his children.

Giyuu savours the hour while he has it. Ignores the sickness in his chest when he sees the wisteria. It's still raining when he crosses over to the courtyard, meaning the meeting is to be held inside. The delay brings a drop of relief, a delay of the inevitable.

He knows he's being ridiculous, cowardly even. But no matter how hard he reasons with himself, the sinking feelings won't ease.

In the middle of the courtyard stands the mist hashira, Tokito. Fourteen and short, he's unmistakable for any of the others. He wasn't there for the last hashira meeting, Giyuu knows. Sanemi had said he'd been away on a mission.

There's a chance that he doesn't know of the disaster that was the last meeting. And even if he had been told, he would most likely have forgotten.

Giyuu stops a few paces from him, though Tokito doesn't seem to notice. His face is blank, looking upwards at the oncoming rain and storming clouds. His oversized clothes are darkened by the wet, and visibly weighing down his small frame.

He waits a moment, just observing. But the kid seems too lost in his own world to notice Giyuu, so he greets him first. "Tokito," He starts, "You shouldn't stand in the rain."

The kid blinks slowly, tilting his head to the side as he looks back down. He considers Giyuu. "Do I... know you?"

"Tomioka. I'm the water hashira."

"Ah," He says, gaze slipping away from him, "Yes. You're... familiar." He hums, gazing back at the clouds. Giyuu really doesn't want to stand in the pouring rain any longer than he has to, but it doesn't feel right to leave him. Tokito sighs, "I don't like the rain. Do you know why?"

"No."

"Neither do I," He says with a shrug.

"We should get inside," Giyuu tries again. "The rain can make you ill,"

"Maybe that's why I don't like it," Tokito muses. "Maybe it's made me ill before. You..." He looks back to Giyuu, brows furrowed. "You really are familiar. Maybe it's the ugly haori."

Too honest, Giyuu thinks. Shinobu says the same thing, but at least she sounds teasing. Every cruel thing Tokito says, he means wholeheartedly. "It's protecting me from the rain," He points out, "You don't have one."

"I don't. Do you know why?"

"No."

Tokito sighs. Giyuu doesn't have to ask to know he doesn't either. "Maybe you should buy one," He suggests, "Find one in a pattern you like. Or plain."

"But I don't know what I like." Tokito reminds him.

Giyuu looks away. He really is the worst person for this. He and Tokito have never spent any extended time together, and Giyuu was just terrible with children overall. Tanjiro doesn't count. He gets along with demons. Of course, Giyuu would be no exception to his charm.

"You like... clouds?" He offers.

Tokito blinks at him, and it's like the fog has lifted from his eyes, even if for a moment. "That's... true. That's true, I do like clouds! What else?"

Hells. That had been a shot in the dark, and now the kid was looking at Giyuu like he held all the secrets in the universe. Giyuu thinks for a moment, thinks of every time he's ever so much as locked eyes on the boy, and comes up with very little. "Training?"

It was a safe bet, Tokito had become a hashira in two months.

"That's true, too!" The look he was giving Giyuu made him want to squirm.

"I... don't think you're going to find a haori patterned with swords," He says, uncomfortable. "But you can with clouds. My trainer wears one,"

"Does he? Will he give me it?" Tokito asks, stepping closer, eyes wide and clear for the first time since Giyuu has known him.

He thinks for a moment, feeling the rain run down his skin. "No. But he has spares. He gave Tanjiro one. I can ask them if they still have it," He offers.

And Tokito— Tokito smiles. Bright. It changes his face, makes him look younger. Makes Giyuu's heart ache. He's young, far too young for this.

"Really?" He asks, breathless, "You will?"

"I will." He confirms. "Will you come inside now?"

Tokito hums in affirmation. Reaches out to fist a hand in Tsutako's side of Giyuu's haori. Giyuu stares at him, and the kid stares back. Somehow, he doesn't think he'll win this contest. He walks towards the mansion doors, and Tokito follows, still gripping the haori.

Giyuu has no clue what's going on, but can't really summon the energy to ask.

They make it through the door and into the hallway when a loud voice calls out a greeting. Coming in from the rain behind them is Rengoku, his hair still sticking up despite the wet.

Giyuu freezes, even as Tokito turns to face the flame hashira, greets him. He doesn't want to move. He can't. It's one thing facing Sanemi and Tokito, who are cruel as a default and kind with effort. But Rengoku? The kind of person who is kind first and mean as a rarity? The kind of person who makes Giyuu feel sick with guilt, with comparison?

Rengoku is pure with his goodness. Not rotted to his core like Giyuu, constantly weighed down by his faults and regrets.

He can tell the moment Rengoku realises Giyuu is standing behind Tokito because his cheerful greeting falters, even if for a second.

"Tomioka! You're here, how excellent!"

Sincerely, fuck this. Giyuu twitches. "Rengoku."

He hasn't turned around, so the flame hashira comes closer, walks around Giyuu to face him, beaming. "It is good to see you! I came to visit you at your estate, but you weren't there. Have you been busy, Tomioka?"

Giyuu blinks. He doesn't know? Sanemi had all but confessed to letting Giyuu's change of address slip to Iguro. Iguro would most definitely have told Mitsuri, and Giyuu had assumed she would have spread the news to the others. Her old teacher, definitely. It seems he was mistaken.

"I... haven't been staying there," He says, slow. Cautious.

"I noticed!" Rengoku says, looking down at where Tokito holds his haori. "With you, then? I did not know you were close. It is good!"

"I'm not," Giyuu blurts, "He's just..." He looks down at Tokito. Truthfully, he has no idea what the kid is doing still clinging to him.

Tokito doesn't blink. "He's going to show me a cloud haori."

"Ah, indeed? Tomioka certainly has unique taste!" Rengoku says, flame cape still on his shoulders. "If not with him, then whom? You caused quite the stir at the last meeting!"

"Did you?" Tokito asks, absently.

Giyuu wants to run. Wants to be sick. "I... didn't mean to."

Something on Rengoku's face changes, softens. "I know," He says, kind. "It was not from anger that I searched for you, but concern. I am sorry, Tomioka, truly, that you felt you had to hide."

The words wrap around his heart and choke it. "I wasn't," He lies, "I wasn't, I just— I just needed some time."

"And have you taken enough?" Rengoku asks, genuine.

Giyuu closes his eyes, breif. He has to in the face of such kindness, such understanding. "I'm trying to," He says, when he opens them again. "It's..."

"Difficult?" He supplies. "I can only imagine. You are my comrade, Tomioka, and I consider all my comrades my friends. I am sorry if I didn't make that clear before. If ever you feel the need to take some time elsewhere, know that my door is always open,"

He is going to make Giyuu sick. Or start crying. The likelihood of both was about the same right now.

Tokito, his saving grace, tugs his sleeve, "Aren't we supposed to be doing something right now?" He asks, "I feel like we are..."

"Ah yes," Rengoku says, smiling brightly once more. "Ubuyashiki has called us for a monthly meeting, Tokito! I imagine the rest of the hashira's are already gathered and waiting!"

What joy, Giyuu thinks.

Rengoku opens the side door, revealing the usual meeting room, and enters. Calls out a greeting as he takes he usual place. Giyuu is forced to go next, seeing as Tokito is still set on following behind. He ignores every look thrown his way as he walks in, notes that he seems to be here before Sanemi, and ignores Mitsuri's little surprised gasp as he sits, forcing Tokito to let go and do the same.

He does not.

Instead, he stays standing. Frowning slightly as he looks between Giyuu and Mitsuri, who usually sits between them.

"You need to move," He says to her.

Mitsuri blinks, blushing. "Oh? Tokito, I always sit here."

"Yes. But I need to sit here today. I need to remember something, and Tomioka is helping. You need to move."

"Tokito," Shinobu says, a reprimand.

"She doesn't have to sit there," Tokito persists, "There's no real reason for her to."

"Oh, sure!" Mitsuri says, cutting Shinobu off. "I don't mind. If Tomioka and Tokito want to sit together, I see no reason why not!"

Giyuu sighs but says nothing as they swap places, Tokito resuming his grip on his haori. He can feel Shinobu's gaze burning into the side of his skull like a magnifying glass to an ant, and it makes him close his eyes. Opposite him sits Iguro, as always, and he doubts he'd like to be stared at, anyway.

There is a silence over the room that is only broken by Uzui's, "Awkward."

"Tengen."

"Well, it is!"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Rengoku says, jovial. "I, for one, am delighted to see you all again! It is a rarity in our line of work to see our colleagues well and uninjured, is it not? Something to be thankful for!"

Mitsuri smiles, "You're right! Every day we all live is a good one,"

"Sure, but that's not what I'm talking about–"

"Consider there's a reason for the subject change," Iguro buts in.

"–Yeah, no. Personally, I like to talk my issues out. And, I can't help but feel that someone in this room has an issue with me."

Uzui could not be more pointed with his words and stare unless he started poking Giyuu with a stick. He tries to wait it out, the silence. Gives time for somebody else to speak with his eyes still closed, but nobody does. They're waiting, it seems, for him.

He wishes they weren't.

Wishes he had stayed asleep this morning. Wishes he had eaten something last night. Wishes Sanemi was here already.

He sighs through his nose again. "I don't." He says, simple.

"...No? Because, those don't exactly sound like the words of someone who isn't mad," Uzui says, pointed.

Giyuu forces his eyes back open, makes unwanted eye contact with Iguro before fixing his gaze on the floor between them. "I always sound like this."

"He does," Shinobu confirms. Still staring. "He's always been quiet. However, given recent information, that's not a good thing. Are you sure there's nothing more you want to say, Tomioka? It will feel good to get it off your chest,"

What Giyuu wants is for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. However, seeing as that's not going to happen, he'll settle for everyone to just stop talking to him.

So much attention has always made him uncomfortable, has always made him feel sick. And this? What they were talking about? It makes bile crawl up the back of his throat, makes him choke it back down.

Stomach clenching, he tries to desperately to think of a way out of this conversation. Fingers curl into tense fists. Please, he thinks desperately, just drop it.

"Well. Now he looks mad. Good going, Kocho." Uzui says, sarcasm dripping.

"I don't think he wants to talk about this," Mitsuri frets. "Let's discuss something else,"

"We can't ignore it."

"He's not comfortable."

"So? There's never going to be a comfortable time to talk about what he did, not with Tomioka."

"We still shouldn't force him–"

"It'll be good for him to–"

A loud bang, the sound of wood hitting wood, makes Giyuu jump. He twists to look, the same as everybody else, at Sanemi in the doorway. Drenched. The white of his clothes almost lewd in their transparency, to Giyuu, anyway. He looks pissed, like everyone in the room was personally at fault for his state. He looks like one wrong move could make him snap and bite someone's head off.

The relief Giyuu feels at the sight of him is astronomical. It's ridiculous. Borderline embarrassing, honestly.

Sanemi stands in the doorway for a good moment, just looking at everyone. Eye's bouncing from one person to the next until he lands on Giyuu. And though it may just be his imagination, Giyuu swears the wind hashira relaxes ever so slightly when he sees him.

He sits next to Iguro, opposite Shinobu. Grumbling as he wrings out his top. Flicks his hands of the damp water everywhere like a disgruntled cat. Only then does he seem to notice the quiet, tense silence.

"What the fuck are you all looking at?" He snaps.

"Get caught in the storm, Shinazugawa?" Iguro asks, dry.

"I was sparring," He grumbles.

"With the weather?" Uzui cuts in, light. "Even you can't win that fight."

With Genya, Giyuu thinks. Sanemi had planned to have him over while Giyuu was gone. Make a start on fixing their relationship. Though Giyuu had never met Sanemi's younger brother, he had no doubt that if they were even the slightest bit alike, he and Sanemi would have fought through the entire storm. It was only the hashira meeting stopping them. A good thing, really. He hates to think what Sanemi would be like sick.

Sanemi bares his teeth at Uzui. "Don't talk unless you wanna be next."

"I think," Uzui says delicately, "I've started enough fights with hashira today."

"What? Who'd you fight?" Sanemi asks, eyes darting to Giyuu and away again, so fast he almost misses it.

"It wasn't really fight. More Tengen trying to talk and getting shut down," Mitsuri says. "It was nothing. We should move on."

"If they did fight," Tokito muses, "I think Tomioka would win."

"Tomioka–?" Sanemi really does look at him then, and Giyuu meets his gaze. "You argued with Tomioka? What the fuck for?"

"Hey, what do you mean he would win?" Uzui sounds offended, "Do you have so little faith in me, kid?"

"And what do you mean, 'what for', Shinazugawa?" Iguro asks, side eyeing the man in question. "You argue with Tomioka all the time. Don't tell me something has changed."

"I never said that."

"Well," Tokito continues, apparently oblivious, "I just think he'd win, that's all."

"That is so far from an explanation. You know you don't have to butter him up, right? Tokito?"

"I'm not. I just think he would win, that's all."

"It sounds like something has," Cuts through Iguro, "You're being almost... kind, to Tomioka. Something you want to share?"

Iguro, Giyuu knows, was the first to find out Giyuu had moved to the wind estate. Was told by Sanemi himself. He, at the very least, had spread that information to two people, Mitsuri and Himejima. He's baiting Sanemi for reasons Giyuu can't parse. It's unusual, he thinks. They're friends, are they not?

Curious, Shinobu asks, "Has something changed?"

"You think I'd win against Tomioka, right, Kyoujurou?"

"I do not bet against my friends!"

"What does that mean? Is Tomioka your friend? Am I?"

"Indeed!"

"Nothings changed," Sanemi grunts, looking downright flustered. "Stop asking."

"Who here thinks I could win a fight against Tomioka?" Uzui calls out.

"I," Begins Himejima, successfully silencing the room with his deep, booming voice. "Do not. I have had the honor of sparring Tomioka recently, and even two against one, he held. I believe his defensive style would hold against your offensive with much success, Tengen."

Uzui blinks, flabbergasted. "I– you what? Seriously?" He swivels to look at Giyuu, who is equally surprised. He hadn't won that fight against Himejima and Sanemi, it'd ended the moment he used dead calm. He would have lost though, that much was obvious. One and one with Himejima, he would lose. Sanemi was just the icing on the cake.

"Is it you he's been staying with?" Shinobu asks, perfectly pleasant and polite, except for her predators gaze. "I did wonder."

Giyuu furrows his brows and curiously looks at Mitsuri behind Tokito's back. Her face is red, and she has a hand clapped over her mouth, like she has to physically restrain herself from speaking.

"It is not." Himejima responds, and leaves it there.

"You could, oh, I don't know, just ask him," Sanemi suggests, perfectly hostile. "He is right there. Don't tell me you've been speaking over him the entire time,"

"I have not," Shinobu denies, lying.

"...He's been staying with you, has he not, Shinazugawa?"

Giyuu blinks, turning to look at Rengoku. His face is cheerful, if not thoughtful. "It... is not something I expected, but it does make sense. I am glad if right. It is good he found safety with you,"

Across from him, Sanemi tenses.

Shinobu locks onto the expression, her own face showing surprise. "Oh? Is that right? I didn't think that was something you'd offer, Shinazugawa. Given how much you hate him,"

"I don't," Sanemi snaps, "And stop talking about him like he isn't right next to you, Kocho."

Her head tilts. "...Apologies," She turns, looks at Giyuu, and he really wishes she hadn't. "I didn't think you'd go to him over me, Tomioka. I am your friend. Up until now, I was under the impression Shinazugawa was the opposite of that. Did something change?"

Hells. Why was Ubuyashiki taking so long? Giyuu has never wanted a conversation to be more over before in his life. If Shinobu was a shark in bloody waters, then Giyuu was the one bleeding. And dizzy. And hungry. He really should've eaten something.

He wonders, wildly, if passing out would free him from this conversation. Most likely not, knowing her. She'd just wait until he awoke and trap him again. Their peanut gallery did not help.

He blinks at her. She smiles back. The shades are different, but the purple of her eyes reminds him of Sabito. Two very different kinds of dangerous.

"Aren't you going to answer me, Tomioka?"

"...No."

Sanemi snorts.

Shinobu turns back to face the wind hashira, still smiling, peaceable. "Ah. As I thought. I certainly hope he's more open with you, Shinazugawa, or we might end up with a repeat of last month. Bottling your emotions up really isn't healthy, you know."

Giyuu twitches, and someone hisses through their teeth. Sanemi looks murderous.

"That's not funny," He spits.

"I wasn't joking."

"You think everything's a fucking–"

"Silence!" Himejima claps his hands, rocking the room. "The master is here."

Chapter Text

Giyuu honestly thinks he may cry from relief when the master bids his farewells, having spoken of Tanjiro's latest escapades, the demons killed, the slayers lost.

He'd called to Giyuu individually only once, to ask if it was true Urokodaki was coming to visit, and then to ask if he would send him Ubuyashiki's way once here. Giyuu, relieved, had answered with the affirmative.

Never has someone been as relieved as Giyuu was when the meeting had been dismissed. He stood quickly, ready to flee the scene and return to the water estate to wait for Urokodaki to arrive, when a sickening sense of dizziness grips his head.

He grimaces, pressing his hand to the wall beside him as his vision spins. His legs feel weak, and Tokito pulling himself up with Giyuu's sleeve doesn't help.

Giyuu swallows down the feeling of vomit, listening to everyone say their goodbyes. He needs to just– control it. Hide it. It was his own fault he was in this mess, his own fault he was hungry. No need to bother anyone else about it, especially not Sanemi.

Like he had heard his thoughts, the wind hashira walks over to him, eyes narrowed, suspicious. Giyuu realises his mistake quickly, leans away from the wall, and, incidentally, right into Tokito. Who blinks, but says nothing. Just takes his weight with ease.

"Going back to the wind estate, Tomioka?" Shinobu asks, light.

He shakes his head. "No. Urokodaki is expecting me back at the water estate,"

She hums, "Oh?" Glances at Sanemi as he stops to stand next to them. "Are you going with him, then, Shinazugawa? Surely, the walks too long for someone in his state. Can't expect poor Tokito to shoulder his weight all the way there,"

"He's depressed, not injured," Sanemi snaps, too blunt. Too loud.

The faux surprise of Shinobu's face does not help either of them. "Really? And here I was under the impression you were ill, Tomioka. Given your pale complexion, dizziness, and nausea, given the way you keep swallowing. Been spending too much time in the rain?"

Shit. Giyuu avoids Sanemi's stare as best he can, fixing his eyes on the door past Shinobu's shoulder like he can teleport to it through sheer will alone. Alas, he cannot.

"...I like to train in it," He says, dodging the question.

Sanemi's eye twitches. "How long were you out in it last night?"

Giyuu considers lying, considers the veins popping out under Sanemi's skin, and decides the truth may be the best course of action. "A while."

"How long is a fucking while, Giyuu?"

"...Hours."

"Don't pull this shit again."

"I'm not. I just didn't count," No need to when he'd slept outside all night.

"Still can't estimate either, asshole?"

"Oh," Tokito says, "Is that why you told me I would get sick if I did, because you were?"

"Yes," Giyuu lies, "That's exactly why. Come on, the sooner we get to Urokodaki, the sooner you can get your hands on a cloud haori,"

"Giyuu," Shinobu says, surprised. He looks at her, but her gaze is fixed on Sanemi. "You called him Giyuu. Since when were you two on a first name basis?"

"Since none of your business," He all but growls. Pushes past her to Giyuu's other side, gripping his arm. "Come on. If you're sick, I'm not letting you walk by yourself."

"I'm fine," Giyuu insists, feeling the warmth of Sanemi's palm, even through three layers of fabric. "And Tokito is with me."

"For the haori."

"For the haori." He amends.

"You're a liar and Tokito doesn't count, come on."

"Should I be offended?" Tokito asks, airy, though he let's himself be dragged alongside Giyuu out of the Ubuyashiki mansion, down the steps and across the grounds.

The rain has eased to a stop, leaving nothing but the wet grass and damp clothes in it's wake. Gravel crunches underfoot as they cross through the manors gate and begin the trek to the water estate.

Sanemi's grip on his arm hasn't eased, even when Tokito let's go of his haori to trail along behind them, apparently no longer worried of forgetting why he was there. Two crows cawed above them, and neither was Kanzaburo, meaning that they had to be Sanemi's and Tokito's. They sound like they're arguing.

Secretly, Giyuu is glad for Sanemi's grip. The weakness that has overtaken his body leaves him unsure if he can stand on his own, if he should even try.

The wind hashira waits until the Ubuyashiki mansion is no longer in sight to speak. "You're not sick."

Giyuu blinks at him.

Sanemi casts him a glance, let's him see the anger boiling beneath his skin. "You're not sick, Giyuu. You and I both know it. You're not sweating or coughing, so tell me what's really going on. And don't try any of that 'I'm fine' bullshit, beacuse I don't want to hear it,"

...Sanemi knew him too well.

Giyuu looks foward at the path ahead, trys to think of something to say that wouldn't make Sanemi throw him over his shoulder and march him back to the wind hashira estate. As nice as that would be in any other circumstance.

There really isn't anything.

"I forgot to eat," He admits, quiet.

"Forgot? This morning?"

Technically true, and Giyuu could lie again, but. He really doesn't want to, not to Sanemi, not when he had promised.

"...The last few days."

His grip tightens and his exhale is harsh through his nose. "You didn't forget then, did you."

No, he really hadn't. Giyuu wants to close his eyes, wants to hide far, far away, but doesn't. Can't. "Sorry," He says in want of anything else. "I thought it was better."

"Shut the fuck up. How many time do I have to tell you not to apologise?" Snaps Sanemi. "What do you mean, 'better?' Did you think you were getting better, or did you think starving yourself was better than cutting yourself?"

So, blunt. Uncomfortably blunt. He knew Giyuu uncomfortably well. It was ridiculous, really. Not even Sabito had been able to read between the lines like that in such little time of knowing each other. It had taken a year, at least. The fact that Sanemi had beaten that record at all was almost unthinkable, and in such little time was unbelievable.

"The latter."

Sanemi curses, vicious. "Fucking hell, Giyuu. Fucking– christ. I shouldn't have let you leave. I should've gone with you. I should've known–"

"I'm not your responsibility, Sanemi. I'm a grown man."

"Shut up," He growls, "I decide what's my responsibility. And, like it or not, that's you, now. No fucking take backs."

Ridiculous, foolish, hot-head of a man.

Giyuu was absolutely in love with him, and the thought hits him more like a feather than a freight train. Doesn't scare him like it should. Doesn't make him want to curl up in a ball and smack his head until it goes away. Something about it being Sanemi, about this time, makes it different. Easier. Hopeful.

Giyuu says nothing.

The wind hashira exhales, slow. Moves his hand down from Giyuu's forearm to his hand, grips that instead. His face pinkens slightly at his own action, but neither comment.

"Why haven't you been eaten, Giyuu? Is it just a punishment thing?" He questions, low. "You ate plenty with me,"

That's because Sanemi was the one cooking, Giyuu thinks, but does not say. He doesn't want him to feel responsible for the worst parts of him. Not like this.

"There's still blood," He confesses.

"Where? The kitchen? You can't clean it?"

Giyuu shakes his head, swallows around the lump in his throat. "I tried. It won't come up. It's– it's still on the knife I used. And on the floor."

Again, Sanemi swears.

"Okay. Fuck, okay. I'll clean it. I'll find something to get it up. Get you a new knife too, if I have to. That's it? That's why?"

Giyuu shrugs, "It's the main one. It's what I used, in my head, to justify it."

Sanemi sighs. "Well. Getting rid of one is better then none," He squeezes Giyuu's palm, cold in his own hand. "We'll deal with it, alright? That and whatever else your stupid head gives you."

Giyuu can't help but stare at him, at his causal use of 'we'. His blatant acceptance that there is, in fact, something going on between them. Of Giyuu's mental illness. His casual declaration that, yes, Giyuu is sick in the head, but Sanemi wants him anyway, faults and all.

"Where are we going again?" A voice asks behind them, light. "I can't remember..."

He shakes himself out of his stupor, turns and explains, and Tokito hums as he recalls, reaches forward to grip Giyuu's haori again. He's still holding it almost an hour later, when the water estate comes into view.

Kanzaburo sits on his gate, waiting. The sun, finally peaking out behind grey clouds, highlights the crows greying maul, his scratched beak. Sanemi and Tokito's crows land either side of their elder, still bickering. Tokito's crow clearly being the instigater.

Sanemi reaches in front of Giyuu to open the gate before he can, apparently not trusting him with such a task in his state. Or just trying to be polite. He makes it all of three steps inside, hand reaching back for Giyuu to hold onto, before halting to a sudden stop.

Over his shoulder, across the grounds and past the well, sitting on the mansions steps, is Urokodaki.

Red mask, cloud haori, nichirin blade laid across his lap, he looks exactly how Giyuu remembers.

"Oh, that's –" Tokito's words are muffled, Sanemi taking a step back from Giyuu to clap a hand over his mouth.

The teen looks greatly offended.

But Giyuu doesn't care. In front of him, Urokodaki raises his head, noticing them. Noticing him. Giyuu takes a few unsteady steps forward, watching Urokodaki carefully take the blade off his lap and set it aside, standing, and doing the same. His pace, thankfully, is a lot steadier than Giyuu's own. A lot swifter.

He crosses more ground than Giyuu does when he reaches him. And for a moment, Giyuu doesn't know what to say, what to do. So he bows, as deep as his body will let him, barely refraining from kneeling.

For a moment, neither say anything.

"Thank you," Is what Giyuu manages, the words fighting their way up his throat, "For coming." And means a lot more. Thank you for raising me. Thank you for teaching me how to fight. Thank you for believing me with the Kamado kids. Thank you for forgiving me. Thank you for coming.

Hands touch both of his shoulders, breif, before one makes it to the top of his head, the other his neck. Urokodaki pushes him up straight, forces him to look his teacher in the eye, even through the mask.

For a moment, Giyuu can't breathe.

Urokodaki pulls him in, ducking Giyuu's head under his chin like he's thirteen, about to go off for final selection, and not twenty one, a hashira. One hand is still on his neck, the other on his back. Urokodaki's steady presence, easy warmth, wrap around Giyuu, makes him choke on a sob he didn't feel coming.

Urokodaki pats his back gently, like the very action alone could make him fall apart. The unshaved bristles on his chin scratch the top of Giyuu's forehead, and he burrows in deeper, fists the cloud haori fabric, and struggles to breathe past his own emotions. For once, it's relief, not guilt, that has him struggling.

Giyuu only remembers his real father as a cold man, a physician. Traditional and quiet, saying only what was needed. Maybe, if he'd lived longer, Giyuu would have come to know him as something else, but he hadn't. He'd never hugged Giyuu, never like this.

His breath, when he finally takes it, is a ragged thing.

"My boy," Urokodaki says, quiet. His voice is more worn than Giyuu remembers. "Thank you for surviving."

Squeezing his eyes shut makes the tears fall, so he hides in Urokodaki's shoulder.

"I am so proud of you."

The sob that comes this time is more haggard than anything, more tired. Edged with relief as some of the weight in Giyuu's chest, finally, finally, eases. The breaths come easier, his thoughts a little clearer, a little more kind.

He isn't sure how long he stays burrowed. Just that, after a while, he can hear the sound of shuffling on stones, and forces his head up. Wipes his face on Tsutako's side of the haori, and turns to see what's causing the noise.

Tokito is very valiantly attempting to free himself from Sanemi's grasp, who has him in a headlock, mouth still covered. Though Giyuu can't hear him, he can imagine very clearly what Sanemi is whispering to the young teen.

"Who," Urokodaki asks, "Are these two?"

Giyuu glances back af him, then to the pair he came with, and feels himself fighting a smile. "Shinazugawa Sanemi, the wind hashira, and Tokito Muichiro, the mist hashira."

"...I'm going to guess that the one taking care of you is the adult," Urokodaki says, dry. "For my own sake."

"It is."

"Good. Boy! If you want to beat him, plant your feet and use your height to your advantage,"

Sanemi's head snaps up, betrayed, and Tokito pauses for all of a second before doing as instructed. Planting his feet and tipping Sanemi like he's going to force him into the mud. Sanemi jumps back, barely avoiding his fate and relinquishing Tokito in the process.

Tokito sprints foward, stopping barely a handspan from the elder, and gasping– "Where-did-you-get-your-haori-from-and-can-I-have-it?"

Urokodaki tips his head to get a better look at him. "You want my haori?"

"Yes. I like it,"

Glancing at his former student, Giyuu has only a shrug to offer him. "He likes clouds."

"Yes. Can I have it?"

"Manners, idiot!" Sanemi yells, marching up to them, but keeping a respectful distance from Urokodaki. "You can't just demand he give you the clothes off his back,"

Urokodaki pays them no mind, head still tilted, considering Tokito.

"I will make you a deal," He says, "On the day I leave, I will give you my haori. But only if you visit and train with me everyday."

Giyuu casts his former teacher a look, but says nothing.

"Train with you?" Tokito asks, blinking, eyes only now moving from the haori. "I'm a hashira."

"So was I," The elder say, mild. "Do not tell me you are so arrogant as to believe there's nothing more for you to be taught?"

Tokito looks back down at the haori, weighing his options. "Deal." He agrees after a second of contemplation. He turns, calling out to his crow to ask her to remind him to return to fbe water estate once a day, despite her protests.

Then Urokodaki turns to cast his attention to Sanemi, standing beside Giyuu. The weight makes him stiffen.

"You are the wind hashira, no?" He asks. "The one who has taken Giyuu's care upon himself."

"I am."

"Why?"

Sanemi blinks, looking to Giyuu for help. But Giyuu wants the answer, too. Even if he thinks he knows it already. Sanemi's brows furrow, face screws up as he thinks.

"...Because he asked me to." He replies, cautious.

"Why is that?"

Irritated, Sanemi throws him a look. Though it lacks his usual heat. There's an effort here, Giyuu notices, to get along with Urokodaki. For no reason other than he means a lot to Giyuu.

It makes his heart do something strange.

"I don't know. Because he's a masochist, maybe. Ask him."

Tilting ever so slightly, the masks shifts to Giyuu to do just that. He doesn't have to think long about it, has known the answer since he first sat on Sanemi's steps, since he first realised he wanted to be his friend and not his enemy.

"...Honest. It's because you're honest," Giyuu confesses. "You're more... real, to me."

Sanemi blinks, face shifting like he's surprised, like he genuinely had no idea and thought Giyuu didn't either. His face pinkens the slightest bit. "Oh."

Urokodaki makes a sound that might be amused, "Oh." He echos. "Oh."

Chapter Text

Later, when Sanemi is walking Tokito home back to the mist estate, Giyuu and Urokodaki sit across from each other. Two bowls of something warm and delicious smelling Sanemi had insisted on making before he left between them.

Giyuu picks at his, careful not to eat too quickly and make himself sick while Urokodaki lifts his mask, placing a spoonful of food inside.

"The young man," Urokodaki says, "Shinazugawa. He is a good cook,"

Giyuu nods, once, in agreement. He is, though he'll never admit it. Just says Giyuu is especially bad at it, and has a warped sense of what was good or not.

"He cares for you," He continues, "Enough to invite you into his home."

He does. The knowledge still feels odd, even after a month of it being his reality. The fact that someone cared about Giyuu that much, and that it was Sanemi of all people, still surprises him.

"Giyuu," His teacher calls, bringing his attention away from his food and back to the red mask, now firmly back in place. "Tell me something. Tell me why he felt the need to invite you into his home to care for you,"

Giyuu's stomach drops.

"Tell me why he feels the need to escort you home. Why not only the master but the spirits felt the need to tell me you need help." He pauses, considering. Continues on in a softer tone, like it might lessen the weight of his questions. "Why you finally managed to reach out for help. To reach out to me."

...What is he supposed to say? How is he supposed to say it? Giyuu places his own spoon down, appetite now trodden, and thinks. Honesty would be best, but the words won't come. They feel too much like disrespect to Urokodaki, too much like betrayal. Giyuu's faults were a dirty mar on the legacy the former water hashira had handed down to him.

But he couldn't not answer. Not Urokodaki.

Giyuu's haori hangs besides Urokodaki's in the other room, so all he has to do is roll his uniform sleeves up, carefully, to show him the scars. He hands his bare arms to the man who raised him, and resists closing his eyes, even if for a moment.

Urokodaki is silent. Silent at he rolls his sleeves, silent at he presents his arms, and silent as he sees what he's done.

Gently, he moves the bowls aside. Takes one of Giyuu's hand in each of his, and pulls them closer to inspect. His thumb runs down the jagged line where the stitches had been pulled out. Where Sanemi had stitched him back up again.

"You did this?"

Though the words are a question, his tone is not. Giyuu answers regardless.

"Yes."

"You stitched yourself back up again?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

Giyuu blinks, shocked, as Urokodaki wraps his hands around his, a small hug, and presses them to the forehead of the mask. "Thank you," He repeats.

"Thank you?" Echoes Giyuu, "Why are you saying that?"

"Thank you for finding a reason to go on, even when you had a chance not to," Urokodaki answers, "I know this pain, Giyuu. I know how it feels to lose so much that going on without them feels impossible. I raised fifteen children but have only two living. I know how difficult your choice was. Thank you for making this one."

Shell shocked is perhaps too mild a term for how Giyuu feels in light of Urokodaki's words. Disbelief spreads to every corner of his person. It makes sense, of course it makes sense. Who else would know this pain but the man who raised him? The man who lost thirteen children because of a decision he made almost half a century ago.

Still, Giyuu hadn't expected what he said. Any of it. Truthfully, he doesn't know what it was he thought the former hashira would say. Disappointment, perhaps? Anger? Guilt, sadness? Anything but that.

"Oh." Is all Giyuu can say.

"Oh." Urokodaki repeats. "Yes. Oh." And he let's go of Giyuu's hands, let's him draw them back and fold down the sleeves.

"Giyuu," He says after he's done, "Do you know why, exactly, you stitched yourself back together?"

He goes to shake his head but pauses, stopping himself. "I..." He recalls the words he said to the master over a month ago. "I... I counted all the people I thought would mourn me, and... and I didn't want you to go through that again. I didn't want to die breaking my promise to Sabito."

The mask bows as Urokodaki considers his words, his reasons.

"That is good," He says, rough, "But it is not enough,"

"I'm not going to try again. I promised."

"I know you value your promises, Giyuu, but one day, it may not feel like a choice anymore, but an inevitability. You can not simply want to keep living, or need to keep living. You have to like living. You have to like it to really want it, to really need it. You can not have one of those things without the other."

"...Like living?" Giyuu asks, slow. "I..."

He doesn't know if he ever has. Even before Sabito, before Tsutako, he was quiet. Constantly thinking of what he had to do and what he needed to. Rarely of what he liked to. There were times, of course, that he had. But they were far and few between.

"That is the key," Says Urokodaki. "That is your goal. What is it that makes you look forward to each day, Giyuu? What is it you enjoy? Not want to enjoy, not need to do."

Giyuu blinks at his hands folded in his lap. Sifts through his memories of the last few weeks, months, years. Comes up with really only one, consistent, thing.

"I like..." And it flusters him a little, the thought of admitting it to Urokodaki. Something so small, so trivial. But it's all he can think of. All he has to show for Urokodaki's question. Not answering is unthinkable. "Sanemi. I– I like him. And. Spending time with him."

The only thing that shows his surprise is the way Urokodaki leans back, ever so slightly, in his seat. "Ah," He says, "I did suspect. Though, I admit, I didn't think you would tell me."

Giyuu shrugs, embarrassed. "You asked."

"I did. And it is a good start, Giyuu. And good too, that he feels the same."

His head is still bowed, so he hides the pleased expression the words bring a little easier than he might've if it weren't.

"I thought so," He confesses.

"Hmph. And have you told him this?"

Giyuu hesitates, "I think he knows."

"Does he? Have you? Giyuu," He starts, "Do not wait on this. You're hashira, the both of you. You know very well the dangers of the life you lead. You don't want to wake up tomorrow knowing it's too late. Today is all there is. It is your only guarantee in this line of work,"

He was right, Giyuu knows that. And he should– they should– talk about this. Whatever this was. It had been building for a while. But.

"I don't... I don't want to be like this, with him." He says, gesturing vaguely at himself. "I don't want to be incomplete and damaged. I want to be my best. He– he deserves my best."

Urokodaki hums. "It sounds to me like he's helping you achieve that. You are young, Giyuu. Younger than you realise. Fifty years from now, you will still be insisting there is more to you to come, more for you to be. Do not waste your time. Or his."

"...I won't."

***

The moon hangs high in the sky by the time Giyuu is readying himself for bed. Taking off his uniform, changing into his sleep clothes. Listening to the crackle of the fire, paying no mind to the blue buttercups outside his window.

There is a thud outside his door. Then, a knock.

Giyuu pauses, looks at the door in confusion for good minute before finally going and sliding it open. Sanemi, flushed from the cold of the night, still in the damp of his uniform with a bag in one hand, stands there.

"Sanemi?"

The man in question grunts, sliding in past Giyuu without so much as a lick of hesitation. He looks around Giyuu's bedroom, critical, before turning back to face him. "Where is it?"

Giyuu is perhaps a little behind. "Where's what?"

Rolling his eyes, Sanemi says, "The stain, idiot. The one that's worrying you so much. Where is it?"

"...You came all the way back here for that?" He asks. It would have been a two hour walk to the mist hashira estate from Giyuu's, another hour to the wind hashira's estate, where he recalls seeing the bag before, and then an hour on top of that back here. "You must have been walking all day," Giyuu says, slow. Like Sanemi didn't know that already.

Sure enough, Sanemi just rolls his eyes. "No shit. Stop wasting my time and show me it,"

A little helpless, a little flushed, a lot in love, Giyuu moves to the rug on the floor. Kneels to roll it away and show the bloody splatter of a stain he had left behind over a month ago. It's faded, ever so slightly, from Giyuu's own attempts at scrubbing.

It's not massive, but the splatter pattern stretches further than it should from all of Giyuu's moving around after.

Sanemi swears, dropping the bag down before mirroring Giyuu and sitting beside it, a furrow between his brows as he studies the dark mark.

"What'd you try, exactly?" He asks, distracted.

Giyuu knows how he feels, honestly, though he isn't looking at the stain. "Soap and hot water. I tried letting it soak, but it didn't change anything."

The wind hashira hums, running his fingers over the dried blood seeped into the floor. "Yeah, thought so. We'll probably have to sand it down."

"Sand it?"

"Yeah," He says, finally looking up. "Sanding. Scrape a fine layer of wood off and re-stain it later to match the rest."

Giyuu tries to think of a response past the purple of Sanemi's eyes and the knuckles on his hands, or how they felt when they touched his bare skin.

"Won't that leave a mark, as well?" He answers, finally.

Sanemi doesn't look away from him. "Better a scar than a bloody mess, no?"

He is right.

Giyuu watches Sanemi reach into the bag and pull out a rough, thick sheet. He places it flat on the floor, pressing his fingers to the centre before pressing down, hard, and scrubbing at the wood. It is a noisy, unpleasant sound it creates. Grates at Giyuu's ears in all the wrong ways. Sanemi is aggressive in his motions, glaring at the floor like it personally wronged him.

He let's him have at it for a few minutes before finally scrounging the courage to reach out and touch his wrists, as gently as Giyuu's able.

It stops his motions, makes Sanemi look up, confused. "What are you doing?"

"The scrubbing can wait," Giyuu replies. "It's late. We should sleep."

"Kicking me out, Tomioka?"

"It's Giyuu, remember? And no. Obviously."

"Obviously," Sanemi drawls, finally letting go of the noisy sheet. "I think me and you have very different definitions of what's obvious, Giyuu."

That was probably true. Still, he persists, "Do you want to know what Urokodaki helped me realise today?"

Sanemi twitches, "Probaly not, if it's about me. He didn't really seem to approve of your choice in friends,"

"He doesn't make good first impressions," Giyuu reminds him, gentle. Insecurity rarely poked its head with Sanemi, but when it did, it had to be handled with the utmost care.

That does make him snort. "Right," He says, amused, "Like you."

"He does approve. Of you, I mean. He thinks you're a good cook,"

Sanemi looks at his hands, something strangely vulnerable about him, though his words won't reflect it. "Yeah? If he's the one who taught you to cook, it's no wonder both of your tastes are screwed,"

"They're not, and you are," Giyuu counters simply. "Accept the compliment, Sanemi."

A small, rare smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he looks up, looks at Giyuu. "Shut the fuck up," He says.

Make me, Giyuu wants to say, but refrains.

"Do you want to know?" He prompts again.

"Sure. Enlighten me."

Giyuu tries to calm the pounding in his heart before he speaks. Tries and tries and fails. "He helped me realise that– that being around you, makes me grateful to be alive. Makes me like living. I– I've never felt like that before."

Sanemi is still. So so still. He blinks at Giyuu, like he can't believe a word he's just said. "You– what? What the fuck?"

"...I like being alive, around you. You make it all feel... worth it, somehow," Giyuu confesses. "I– I just wanted you to know that."

"I do?" Sanemi repeats, a genuine expression of bewilderment of his face. "You– what are you saying here, Giyuu? Because if you're saying what I think you're saying, you need to mean it. I– I need you to mean it."

"I mean it," He swears. "I thought you knew,"

"You thought I–? How the fuck would I know? You're fucking impossible to read most of the time. Always hiding, and dodging the question–"

"Not," Giyuu interrupts, "From you. I don't hide from you."

Sanemi twitches, like he's been shocked. He stares at Giyuu, who tries to look open for once, honest.

"...No, I guess you don't," He says finally, shifting closer, expression changing. "You... you're sure? About this? About me? You have to be, Giyuu. Swear to me you are. There's no going back from it,"

"I swear," Giyuu says, "You really think I'm just talking to talk?"

"Guess not," He mutters, expression akin to something like wonder. His knees touch Giyuu's, his lips are well within reaching distance. "Me, huh?"

"Thought it was obvious," Giyuu repeats, desperately trying to keep his thoughts on track. "Of course it's you."

"Of course," Sanemi echoes. "You're something else, you know that?"

"So you've said," And there's something desperate to Giyuu's tone that he doesn't recognise. He can't control his own gaze, constantly flicking down to–

"You're staring," Sanemi says, a touch smug, a touched awed. Like be still couldn't believe it. "Something you want, Tomioka?"

"Giyuu," He insists, "Please. You said you'd call me Giyuu,"

"Giyuu," Sanemi says, finally. "Tomioka Giyuu. If there's something you want, take it. It's yours,"

"Mine?"

"Yours, yeah."

He reaches a hand up, slow. Like Sanemi might change his mind at any given moment, and carefully touches his cheek, cups his face. Tilts his chin down, just a touch, so he could get to his lips easier.

Then, Giyuu kisses him.

It's strange, at first. Awkward in its newness, but comfortable nonetheless. Sanemi gives him a second, let's him explore with soft movements, cautious touches, before leaning forward, changing the angle by rising, and pushes foward. Into Giyuu's mouth with confidence strokes, licking his way in, illiciting a sound from the back of his throat.

He smiles against lips, pulling away to give Giyuu a bare second to breathe before coming back again. And again. And again. And again. He leaves Giyuu breathless, dizzy. Hands dig into black hair, pull and tug, and another sound Giyuu didn't know he could make falls out.

Giyuu's own hands slip under fabric, skate across bare skin. Sanemi's inhale is sharp, surprised, but he doesn't stop him. Presses closer, kisses him harder. He traces jagged scars and raised skin, drags nails down down his sides, gets a groan straight into his mouth for his trouble.

When he pulls away, Sanemi's eyes are wild, and he follows Giyuu as he moves back, back towards his bed on the floor. Braces himself either side of his head as he cages him in, kissing and kissing him again. Sanemi moves down to his chin, his neck, his collarbones. Makes a mark in the hollow there, makes Giyuu moan.

Makes himself at home in Giyuu's skin.

And Giyuu lets him. As much as he likes, he thinks, wild with the scrape of Sanemi's teeth, lost in the sound of soft cursing and groans. Whatever he wants, he can have it. Whatever Giyuu has to give is his.

So long as he never stops touching him like this. If he died here, he would die happy. But he doesn't want to. For once, the thought of waking up the next morning does not seem a chore, but something to look forward to.

There will likely be bad days again, regardless of Sanemi's presence, but they seem a little more bearable now. In this moment. With Sanemi on top of him and the heat of his mouth Giyuu's skin.

He never wants to leave.

Chapter Text

His skin is warm, and the scars are rough beneath Giyuu's lips. Tracing every one, careful, with mouth and fingers. Sanemi is sleeping, still, soft snores falling from his lips.

Giyuu has thought about doing this for far longer than is polite. Sanemi's lack of cover on his chest hadn't helped.

When he stirs, sound stopping and breath hitching, Giyuu buries himself Sanemi's neck, pressing as close as he can. He can feel a rumble beneath his ear, something amused and sleepy, and hands come up to card through loose, black hair.

"What're you doing?" He asks, voice rough.

Giyuu doesn't deign to answer, keeps himself hidden away in Sanemi's neck. He's so warm, so comfortable, every harsh line of his body was made to fit Giyuu inside it.

A soft sound like a laugh, and Sanemi tugs on his hair, pulling his face up to look at him. Giyuu blinks, bleary eyed, a little offended. Sanemi is smiling, though. Really, truly smiling. "Look at me, asshole." He murmurs, sees his face and smiles wider, "You look like a cat,"

Scrunching his nose, Giyuu pulls his hair from Sanemi's grasp, flops back down onto his bare chest, and wraps his arms around him. Refusing to be moved again.

Sanemi laughs outright.

Breath ghosts Giyuu's bare back, hands run up and down his sides, and Sanemi pulls himself up into something like a sitting position. A hand cups the back of his head to keep Giyuu close. He hums as he re-tangles his fingers in the strands, thumb sweeping the bruise he left on Giyuu's neck the night before.

"Not a morning person, Tomioka?" He asks, amused.

He makes a sound, tipping closer to Sanemi's neck. There's a scar there, wrapping around to the back of his skull, thin and raised. Giyuu kisses it, gets the barest of shivers in response, and then sets his teeth on the mark.

Sanemi hisses, fingers tightening, sending a pleasant tingle down Giyuu's scalp. "Behave," He says, rough. "I'm not going to be able to look the old man in the eye with a hickey,"

Giyuu removes his mouth, turns to squint at the light coming through the window, the edge of Sanemi's chin. "You wouldn't be able to, anyway. The mask."

Sanemi's breath stutters, "Fucking hell."

A questioning noise pulls from Giyuu's throat, and he lifts his head to look at Sanemi properly, with a curious tilt.

"Your voice," Explains Sanemi, "Thought it couldn't get any deeper than it already was. But– fucking hell," He repeats, "That's ridiculous, you know that?"

Truthfully, Giyuu hadn't noticed. Didn't really pay any attention to how his voice sounded in the mornings. He hums, kissing Sanemi on the lips, just the barest touch, before swaying away again. "You think I have a deep voice?"

Sanemi's attention is a heady thing, fixed on him. Eyes locked, unwavering. "Objective opinion. Don't fish for compliments. I gave you plenty last night, pretty boy."

A shiver skates across Giyuu's skin before he can stop it, and Sanemi's expression is smug, so smug.

Giyuu kisses him again, bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Sanemi pushes up, kisses him harder, licks the blood off Giyuu's tongue, then bites him there. His hand forces Giyuu down, deeper into him. Fisting the strands tighter, so it's painful. He knows how much Giyuu likes it.

When they part, Giyuu is gasping for breath, and Sanemi's chest is heaving beneath his palms.

"You," He rasps, "Are going to pull all my hair out,"

Sanemi snorts. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Fucking masochist,"

No real denial for that, not when there was so much evidence to the contrary, especially last night, so Giyuu doesn't respond. Moves one hand from Sanemi's pec to his throat, rests it there for a moment, a tease, before continuing up, stopping on his chin, thumb on his bottom lip.

Pink lips part, take the thumb between teeth and press down, hard. When Giyuu only blinks, he lets it go, let's him press it to his tongue.

Giyuu can see the heat rising in Sanemi's cheeks, can feel the firmness where he sits, and smiles.

"We should get up. Urokodaki will be making breakfast by now."

Sanemi's eyes narrow, irritated, let's Giyuu slide his thumb out, slow and teasing, before speaking. "Evil bastard." He spits, "Watch tonight, I'll wipe that smirk off your face."

Giyuu climbs off him, entirely unconcerned. Wanders over to his clean clothes folded by the door, has to step over discarded sleep robes, still crumpled on the floor beside Sanemi's.

"Okay." He says, "Want clean clothes?"

Over in the bed, Sanemi stretches, languid. "Probably. Shouldn't really face your teacher in the same creased clothes from yesterday. Especially after sleeping in your room all night. Chances he'll notice?"

A private smile, aimed at the fabric in his hands, and Giyuu responds: "Absolutely. He has a keen sense of smell, like Tanjiro. No use pretending."

Groaning, Sanemi forces himself up, grumbling all the while.

"Can't fucking wait."

***

His fourth mission in over a month comes Giyuu's way via Himejima.

It was perhaps the most time he's had between missions since becoming a demon hunter. Which was no doubt purposeful on Ubuyashiki's account, most likely because of Giyuu's mental state.

The stone hashira had called Giyuu to his estate, crow arriving just as they finished breakfast. Sanemi had gone home, red faced after Urokodaki's interrogation that morning, and promised to return later. Urokodaki had waved Giyuu's apologies off, content to spend his day training Tokito, who arrived as Giyuu left.

Climbing Himejima's mountain was no hardship after years of training on mount Sagiri, a sentiment that the kakushi who was guiding him did not seem to share.

Honestly, the slopes aren't that steep, and Giyuu enjoys the greenery, the smell of fresh air, the easy exercise. When the estate gate appears, the kakushi bows her goodbyes, leaving him to it.

He finds Himejima cross-legged, praying. Red beads clasped between his palms, rolling together. A fire crackles in the distance, out on the grounds. Giyuu can just faintly hear it through the open door, past the mumbles of prayer from the hashira's lips.

"Tomioka," He greets, when the prayers have finished and Giyuu still hasn't spoken. "Thank you for coming."

"Himejima. You called." Giyuu returns, "That's not usual for you."

Himejima acknowledges that with a tilt of his head, "You are correct. However, this situation is not usual within itself. Typically, I would not call for the aid of another hashira for a task such as this. However, I find myself dealing with my own responsibilities and can not go to where I believe I'm needed."

"Demons?" Giyuu asks. "Uppers?" Surely that's the only reason he'd call for a fellow hashira and not send regular demon slayers.

The beads clink when Himejima rubs them again. "Yes, demons. Not an upper, I believe. I already dispatched a demon hunter, but he has not responded in several days, and I am beginning to worry."

As sad as that would be, it is no reason to summon a hashira. Himejima's brows are still furrowed, expression of contemplation still fixed. There's more to this, something more that the hashira is hesitating to say.

"What else?" He prompts.

"The one I dispatched. It was Genya."

...Ah.

Shit.

Sanemi would not be happy to hear this. Devastated, if Himejima's fears are proven true. He already hadn't wanted Genya to go down this path, and Giyuu had been one of the people to persuade him otherwise. Persuaded him to give a relationship with his younger brother a chance again.

There was no doubt in Giyuu's mind that losing Genya would do severe emotional damage to Sanemi's psyche. Irreparable. After losing so much, so many, every sibling beside Genya, it would no doubt be his final straw.

"Usually, I would send another slayer of a similar rank," Continues Himejima, "Perhaps multiple. But given the uniqueness of the situation–"

"I understand," Giyuu cuts in. "Where do I need to go?"

A sigh of what only could be described as relief falls from the stone hashira's lips. He bows his head, "Thank you, Tomioka. I did not know who else to ask that would understand the gravity of the situation,"

If this were any of Tanjiro's other friends, Giyuu would suggest him. But it's Sanemi's younger brother, who he's only just began to bond with again. Giyuu has never met him, knows very little about the boy in question, but knowing how much the people Giyuu cares about care about him, is enough for him to drop everything and go.

Asking Sanemi is out of the question. His panic and fear would translate to nothing but rage, which would help no one.

Himejima relays the location, a two days walk from his estate. If Giyuu rushes, he can cut it down to one. Running will half that. It'll be exhausting, but worth it.

Giyuu sets out immediately. Sanemi and Urokodaki both had ensured his pack had plenty of food and medical supplies, so there was no need to stop. He will be heading north, into snowy, mountainous terrain. Something Giyuu is uniquely equipped to handle, not the Himejima knew that when he assigned him.

Where he grew up wasn't exactly Giyuu's idea of small talk. Especially with other hashira.

He makes it in just under nine hours, the change of wet grass to thick snow a blur in his memories. Hokkaido was a beautiful place, but dangerous. The mountain was surrounded by forests and freezing to walk around, even in proper snow attire.

There are several villages nestled at the base, and Giyuu stops in every one of them, asking about mysterious disappearances, deaths, and any other demon related thing.

He comes up with frustratingly little.

The only substantial rumour comes from an old woman, who lives in a village halfway up the mountain, who tells stories of a God living beneath the snow, who used to demand sacrifices from the people who lived there back when she was a little girl.

It's a typical story for demons. According to her, the sacrifices stopped after a man in black clothes appeared. She recalled seeing a boy in a similar uniform recently, asking for a path to the top.

Genya, it had to be. The why was bugging him. Himejima had said the demon in this area had been travelling from village to village, tormenting the people and killing three from each one. Himejima had described the demon as clever but not strong. Running constantly to avoid detection suggested it didn't have the strength to defend itself from slayers.

It should've been no problem for Genya. And indeed, everyone Giyuu had asked said the boy had seemed uninjured, and by no means in a hurry when he asked for a way up. More like he was curious.

But climbing this mountain wasn't something someone could do just for fun. It was dangerous, the climate harsh. Sanemi had told Giyuu of their upbringing, the village they lived in. It was nothing like his own, nothing to suggest why Genya would think it would be appropriate to do so, knowing his teacher was expecting him.

Giyuu has no choice but to follow.

The mountain is similar in size and steepness to Sagiri, but the lack of trees and snow make it far more difficult to traverse. Giyuu wraps himself in thick fabric, covering his hair, ears, and everything below his eyes. He'd had to purchase a stick from the villagers to keep his grip on the way up.

He moves faster than a typical shepard would, but still frustratingly slow. He couldn't rush, no matter how much he wanted to. One wrong move could spell Giyuu's end. One missed clue could spell Genyas.

Four hours of climbing, and Giyuu finds a cave. It's narrow, meaning he'd have to squeeze in sideways to fit, and he almost dismisses it, but something catches his eye. On the stone, just barely visible before a bend in the passage, is the mark of something red. And wet.

Still wet.

Someone has gone into the cave recently, and they were bleeding.

Chapter Text

It's an awkward fit, uncomfortable in all the wrong ways. At a particularly sharp corner, Giyuu has to stop and empty his pack of everything but the necessities.

The only good news is there is only one path, leaving no doubt about what way he has to take.

It opens up, eventually. After a good forty-five minutes of shuffling and sucking his stomach in every time the stone jutted out. The room is ridiculously large given what Giyuu had to go through to get here. It's cavernous, a small ledge is all Giyuu has to stand on, and there are more narrow holes on the opposite walls. More pathways.

Looking down reveals nothing but darkness. A pitch black that itches at Giyuu. Sticks his hand out, and Giyuu can't even see his own fingers before him.

He can't take more than one step from the hole he came through, can't see any other way down. Whoever came through here, especially injured, would surely have fallen.

Genya might be down there. Dead.

Perhaps Giyuu wasn't actually the best person to ask for this mission, because his first thought it to jump. Jump into the darkness and hope for the best, even though he has no real evidence to Genya being the one to smear his blood, the one to have fallen.

Giyuu takes in a deep, measured breath. Let's it out slowly, and hears a grunt.

His hand flies to the hilt of his nichirn blade, and he strains to listen. It takes a while, a whole five minutes, but he hears it again. Then a scraping sound.

It's coming from below, and the more he listens, the more he's sure he can hear laboured breathing.

He tightens his grip.

It could be a trick. Could be that the demon the old lady had mentioned hadn't truly been killed. Could still be here, biding it's time and praying on lost shepards. Giyuu should say nothing, just in case it is.

It could also be Genya.

Giyuu knows himself well enough to know it's not even a choice for him.

"Hello?" He calls, down into the abyss.

For a moment, there's nothing. No reply, no more grunts, he can't even hear the laboured breaths anymore.

Then there's another scrape. A horrible, grating sound. Like nails on chalk. It makes Giyuu grimace. Makes him feel sick.

"Hello?" It echoes.

...That does not make Giyuu feel better. He twists his face, crouching down as best he can on the small ledge, not easing his grasp on his sword even the slightest bit. "Are you trapped?"

A horrible, choking sound. Like an inhale. Like someone swallowing bones. "Yes!" It rasps. "Yes– I'm trapped!"

Giyuu had hoped hearing it say something else would ease his fears. As it was, his feeling of unease just doubles.

"Tell me your name," He orders, peering down further. He really couldn't see anything. Didn't have the same sense of smell Tanjiro and Urokodaki did, nor the hearing of Uzui. Nothing to tell him that what he's currently talking to is human, or actually there.

A groaning sound, monstrous and painful. It coughs and chokes, makes a hacking noise. Either it's coughing up blood or something far worse Giyuu needs to be ready for.

He slides his blade from its hilt, just the slightest bit, ready.

"Shinazugawa!" It cries, "Shinazugawa Genya!"

Could have plucked the name from Giyuu's brain, but he hasn't called either Shinazugawa brother that internally, only their first names. Could be saying the name of the last person it ate, but Giyuu has never heard of a demon doing that.

"Genya. Sorry, but I need you to tell me your brothers name," Giyuu says.

Scraping. "You're– a demon hunter?"

"Yes. Tomioka. What's your brothers name?"

"Nemi– Sanemi, I mean. His name is Sanemi."

Giyuu exhales, long and slow. Relief floods him. "Genya. Good. You've given your teacher grey hairs, I hope you know that. Where are you? How far down?"

Another choke, one that could be mistaken for a laugh or a sob. "I know– I know. I'm sorry, I'll tell him. I– I don't know how far down. When I– After I was falling, I just stabbed my sword into the rock, I've been trying to pull myself up, but."

But. That was a hard thing to do, required an awful amount of energy and upper body strength. More than most people had. Giyuu remembers learning it under Urokodaki, remembers the wall they had to climb and the sword he broke.

If Giyuu could hear him, hear his breathing, then he shouldn't be too far down. With the right water form, Giyuu could bounce himself back up. He's never tried it with another person, but he doesn't see any other way.

"Do you know which way you're facing?" He asks. Most demon slayers have an excellent internal compass.

Sure enough, "West! I'm on the west wall."

Giyuu turns his head in that direction and pulls his blade fully. "I'm going to grab you," He warns, "When I do, you need to let go of your blade. Do not attempt to pull it out with you."

"Got it!"

He jumps, heart rate spiking as the darkness envelops him. Giyuu hears, just faintly, a gasp of breath while he falls. He casts water wheel, spinning it beneath himself for momentum before rocketing back up. Casts his senses wide, sees a hint of purple cloth under the light of the water, and grabs.

Giyuu has to grab the edge of the ledge to pull them up, one arm around Genya's waist who scrabbles to hold onto him, fingers twisting in the fabric of his haori. He hauls them, pressing close to the wall and setting Genya down beside him, sitting, their feet dangling off the edge.

Quick, rasping breaths come from beside him. Giyuu can only just barely see the outline of the boy beside him, can barely see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"Are you injured?" He asks, after a moment of watching.

He can see Genya attempt to stop hyperventilating, fail, and tip his head back. Swallows, rough. "Just– a little. My hands, mainly. I, uh, think I pulled some stitches in my side from my last fight."

Pressing a hand to Genya's pulse, a touch awkward, he can feel his elevated heart rate. "You're going to go through an adrenaline crash. You'll feel it more then."

The boy stills under his touch. "Oh. Right. Sorry. I, I thought I was gonna die down here." He admits, "Did Himejima send you?"

"He did." Giyuu confirms. "You worried him."

Genya thumps his head back against the stone. "Right. I'll apologise. Thanks for, uh, saving me. I guess." He sounds sheepish, not at all like his brother. "I really did think I was gonna die here."

Giyuu doesn't know how to respond to that, so he doesn't. Keeps watching, makes sure Genya fixes his breathing, checks for any injuries the boy might've missed in his panic.

When he comes up empty, he speaks. "What were you doing here?"

"Uh. Fighting a demon. Was on my way back," He side eyes Giyuu, a touch nervous, a touch defensive. "Didn't Himejima tell you?"

"You killed your demon over a day ago," Giyuu points out, flat. "You stopped sending letters the day before. The demon didn't even make it to the mountain."

Twitches, ducks his head. Now, that reminds Giyuu of Sanemi. "Right." He says, reluctant. "You searched?"

"Yes. Himejima thought you were dead, Genya. He thought he was going to have to tell your brother."

The boy all but flinches, and Giyuu pushes down any regret. It's necessary if he's lying. He needs to understand the weight of what he did. Of what almost happend.

"The demon," He begins. Stops. Chews his cheek as he debates what to say. "I– are you going to tell them what I say?"

"Only if I have to." Giyuu responds, "If you made a mistake during your mission, that's your business. So long as you learn from it. If you did something outside of it to endanger others, I have to."

Genya sighs, reigned. "I didn't, I swear. The demons' ability was to command others to do whatever he said. I thought that when he died, the ability wore off."

"What did it command you to do?" And even as he asks, he feels a curl of dread in his stomach. Because he knows. He already knows. Knows because it was the first thought that came to his head when he saw the ledge.

"Jump off something very high," Is the response, exactly as Giyuu expected. "It wore off the second I did. I couldn't stop myself, before. It was all I could think about. This mountain was the only thing I could think about. And when I saw the passage..."

A horrible dream come true, Giyuu thinks.

He stands, wary of the lack of space, and looks to Genya. "Come on. The sooner we get down this mountain, the sooner we can get your wounds treated. I'll send a crow to Himejima when we're back on solid ground."

Genya groans, but complies, pulling himself up using the wall behind him.

The way down is easier. After squeezing their way back through the narrow passage, Giyuu and Genya were finally able to see light again. An almost blinding amount, in fact. The white was a shock to their eyes, a harsh adjustment.

Giyuu gives up his stick and some of his wraps for Genya, despite the kids' protests. They stumble their way down through the snow, able to follow the path Giyuu took up without any fresh snowfall, and make it back to the base of the mountain just after nightfall.

They find an inn in one of the villages, pay for a double room, and a fresh change of warm clothes for Genya.

When Giyuu pulls off his face wrap and sheds his winter coat, he sees Genya stiffen.

"You're–" He flusters, "You're a hashira!"

Nodding at him, Giyuu replies, "I know. I introduced myself, remember?"

"Right, but–" He turns away, red faced and embarrassed. "I didn't know your name. Just your haori. I didn't realise– why would Himejima send a hashira after me?"

"Because he cares about you," Says Giyuu, "And he didn't want you to die. And he's scared of your brother." Which wasn't technically true, but close enough. It was more Himejima was scared for Sanemi and his mental state than of him.

Genya mumbles something, but Giyuu doesn't hear what. They undress out of wet clothes, and Giyuu pulls out the first aid kit.

Seeing it, Genya quickly says: "That's not necessary. My injuries aren't that bad, don't waste your supplies."

Not even pretending to consider Genya's words, Giyuu keeps unpacking, looking for the bandages and ointment. Gestures for Genya to sit once he finds them, and sighs when he hesitates. "I'm not going to ask twice. Sit."

He sits.

The position Giyuu takes is the same one Sanemi took when he first went to him, the day Sanemi invited him to live at the wind estate. Though both he and Genya sit on the floor. The boys shoulder is pulled out, his hands are blistered and bloody, and the stitches in his side need to be done. His face is frost-bitten with cold sores forming, also.

Giyuu forces the shoulder back in, wraps it, and applies ointment to the sores. Makes a heatpack with a coal and some cloth for his hands before moving to his side. Hesitates, just for a moment, before warning: "I'm not the best at stitching. You'll need to get this re-done when we get back,"

Shifting, Genya says, "It's fine. I heal fast."

Evidently not, actually. Still, the words bring the faintest twitch to Giyuu's lips. "Your brother tells that lie, too. Don't think it works for him either."

The boy looks at him, surprised. "You– you're close with him, Sanemi? But I thought–"

That they didn't get along, most likely. Genya doesn't finish his sentence, but Giyuu doesn't need him to. If Genya had asked around about his brother when he first joined the corps, then that was undoubtedly what he'd heard. That Sanemi hated Giyuu, and vice versa.

It makes Giyuu debate on what to say, how to say it. He and Sanemi had only become truly romantic a few days ago, and clearly Genya hasn't had a chance to be told yet. Truthfully, no one had. Urokodak is the only one outside of the couple to know, and that was because he's living at the water estate.

Still so new, still so precarious with it's fresh label. Giyuu is almost afraid to speak it aloud, in case he ruins it somehow.

So he refrains. "We're... friends. It's new. We didn't get along before."

Genya scratches his scar almost absently, familiar eyes on Giyuu in a way that's blatantly curious. "Yeah," He says, "Must be. I thought he hated you. Almost as much as he hated me."

Pausing his poor stitching job, Giyuu looks up at him. "He didn't hate you."

"Sure acted like he did. I mean, I get it. I don't know if you know what happened, but I was a real asshole–"

"I know." Giyuu cuts through. Genya stops, surprised. "He told me. He doesn't hate you, just doesn't want you to die. He knows he's the reason you joined the demon slayer corps. He thought if he pushed you away, you'd leave."

"Oh," Genya says, blinking. "He told you?"

Giyuu returns to his task. "Yes."

"...I didn't think he told anyone," He continues. "Won't even talk about it with me. Well, we have only just started talking again recently. Which was a surprise." Considers Giyuu for a moment, "...Did... you have anything to do with that?"

He debates saying no. Debates landing the blame at Himejima's feet. It was his visit that prompted their conversation, after all. But. Something about Genya having Sanemi's eyes made lying difficult. Like lying to Tanjiro.

"I said he should," Admits Giyuu, "Told him he would regret it if he didn't."

"And he just– listened?"

Huffs, soft. "No. Lashed out. Slept on it a few days and decided to do it without acknowledging it." The memory honestly has Giyuu fighting a smile. "He doesn't like being wrong. Makes him feel ashamed."

"Huh." Genya says, blinking at him. "Yeah, that sounds like 'Nemi. Didn't know you guys were that close. Thank you, though. I really do– appreciate it," He looks away again, face reddening. Another trait he shares with his brother. Neither can handle being earnest without turning into tomatoes. "That and for saving my life."

"Don't mention it," Giyuu says, "It's our duty. I'd do it for anyone."

The fact that he's Sanemi's little brother doesn't change that.

Chapter Text

He moves away from Genya's side, checks him over again. There are no more visible injuries, and he's not actively hyperventilating again, either, which Giyuu counts as a win. He hands Genya the fresh set of clothes, packs his kit away, and moves for his own clean set.

Turning his back to Genya, Giyuu prepares to get changed when he hears Genya stand and immediately hiss out in pain. He spins back around, finds Genya falling back in his seat, holding his foot.

Eyes narrow, "You have another injury."

A little guilty, Genya confirms, "Yeah, a twisted ankle. I thought it went away. Sorry."

Is this how Sanemi feels when Giyuu keeps apologising? He owes the man an– a something. Maybe not an apology, but some kind of compensation, certainly.

"That's not how injuries work," He chides, pulling the kit back out. "Show me."

"It is for me," The boy grumbles, but does as told. Sticking his foot out reveals a ring of bruises around his ankle, blisters on his heel. Giyuu sincerely hopes the expression he levels at Genya fully conveys how stupid he thinks he is.

"You walked on this." He deadpans.

"Had to." He has the grace to look ashamed.

"No, you didn't. I offered to carry you."

"I didn't want to be a burden."

Scratch compensation, Giyuu owes Sanemi a new house for putting up with his shit.

"The only person you burden with your pain is yourself. Hold still," He orders, slathering everything from ankle to toe in ointment before wrapping it in bandages. A cast would be better, but Giyuu has nothing of the sort on him.

"Thanks," Genya says when he's done. "Sorry, that's the last one, I swear."

Giyuu exhales through his nose, sharp, and says nothing.

"Geez. You look a lot like 'Nemi used to, right now." Remarks Genya, quiet, even as Giyuu turns to finally get dressed. "Are you an older brother, too?"

The words make him pause. The answer should be simple, should be a quick 'no.' But. Giyuu can almost hear Sanemi's voice the day he stitched him up for the first time. Can almost hear his remark about Tanjiro, about how having a little brother sucked, sometimes.

Can almost see the boy clearly, that day he came to see him at the wind estate. He'd gotten the information from his crow, Kanzaburo, and had brought Nezuko along with him.

He'd been worried. Assumed something terrible had happened for Giyuu to need to go live with Sanemi, of all people. His dislike for the hashira was funny, honestly. For Tanjiro, who held kindness in his heart for even the worst of demons, to not be able to forgive Sanemi even an inch for stabbing Nezuko, was borderline hysterical. Especially when he had forgiven Giyuu for the same thing.

It was the first thing to make Giyuu laugh since his attempt. (Which, in turn, had shocked Sanemi enough that he had broken the wooden training sword he'd been holding.)

Tanjiro had asked, of course. When Sanemi had been ordered off on a mission the same day, and the cooking had been left in Giyuu's hands. Well, hand. One had been preoccupied holding Nezuko, who'd regressed to a toddlers age, and seemed to find Giyuu's hair fascinating.

"Mr Giyuu?" He'd begun, "Did... something happen?"

Giyuu had been stirring a bowl of ramen, avoiding eye contact with the knife Tanjiro was using to chop vegetables, and tensed up. "What do you mean?"

"You're living with Mr Shinazugawa," He'd pointed out. "And you're getting along. It's... weird."

It had been, especially in the early days. When they were both so awkward and new. Defensive over even the smallest things.

"It's nothing," He'd lied. "There's some. Damage. At the water estate. Shinazugawa was kind enough to offer me a place here until it's fixed." The lie had just a shred of truth in it. The blood on the floor, that was damage, was it not?

"Oh." Tanjiro had said, looking down at the vegetables. "Are you sure that's all of it, Mr Giyuu? I don't mean to pry, but I'm worried about you. Zenitsu said he heard Miss Shinobu talking about you, and she sounded sad."

The words had twisted Giyuu's heart. He'd had to close his eyes for a moment, desperately trying to squash the thoughts that popped up. Self-deprecating, annoying thoughts that viciously cut through him, angry at the concern he had caused others.

The concern he didn't deserve.

Giyuu had wanted to lie again, had had another on the tip of his tongue, but when he opened his eyes Nezuko had been staring directly at him. Pink eyes wide, pure. Two hands had clapped either side of his face, and fingers attempted to pull a smile on his lips.

At the other side of him, Tanjiro had laughed.

He'd pulled her fingers away, gentle, and patted her head when she pouted. Just as he'd seen Tanjiro do. It'd eased her expression, made her sigh, sleepy and content. And he realised he couldn't lie to them.

"Did you know the master gets visions?" He'd asked, voice rough as he desperately tried to keep it steady, not daring to look Tanjiro's way.

"I think Zenitsu mentioned that. Called it 'magical intuition'," Tanjiro replied, thoughtful. "They're of the future, right?"

"Right. His visions are rarely wrong, so when he got one of a hashira dying, he called a meeting to announce it."

Tanjiro had gasped, letting the knife slip through his fingers. "A hashira–?"

"He was wrong." Giyuu said.

The boy had stared at him, clearly putting the pieces together. "He thought that you were–? But, why? How?"

"I don't know," He'd lied, staring at the noodles. "But he thought I was. It concerned the others. Sanemi told me to live with him until I was no longer at risk, and I agreed."

It was, in his defense, a version of the truth.

"So he's looking after you?" Pressed Tanjiro, "Making sure it doesn't come true?"

"Yes." Giyuu confirmed around the lump in his throat, "That's exactly what he's doing."

"Huh."

They'd returned to preparing food. Tanjiro finished chopping the vegetables and dropped them in the pot, Giyuu stopped stirring and placed the lid on, stepping back to rinse his hands.

"...Mr Giyuu?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad Master Ubuyashiki's vision was wrong," Tanjiro said. So simply. Like it was nothing. Like his fingers weren't wrapped around Giyuu's heart and squeezing. "I really care about you. You've done so much for me, and I look up to you. Every time I use water breathing, I think about you and how effortless you make it look. It makes me want to improve my own skills."

Out of anyone else's mouth, Giyuu could dismiss the words as lies, placating things to make sure he didn't try to commit suicide again. But from Tanjiro, they were honest. He didn't know about the attempt, didn't know what Ubuyashiki had said that day. Giyuu had seen the boys face when he tried to lie, also. It was horrific. And there was nothing but pure, beaming honesty on it now.

"Is that so," He'd managed, staring at his palms. At the edge of the sleeves that hid his scars, not yet healed over.

"Truly, Mr Giyuu. If it wasn't for you, Nezuko and I wouldn't be here right now. I owe you a lot."

"No, you owe me nothing. Everything you have, you earned, Tanjiro. All I want is for you to keep being yourself."

A second sun had appeared in the corner of his vision, Tanjiro beaming at him. "I will! If there's anything I can do to help, please ask! I wasn't lying about caring about you, Mr Giyuu. You, Urokodaki, and Nezuko are all I have left in terms of family, and I don't want to lose anything else. If it's a demon that's after you, I'll help you kill it. Please don't try to protect me by lying. I can defend myself now, I swear."

Giyuu knew that. What he hadn't known was what to do about the tears that threatened to spill, or the way he his hands suddenly shook.

Every word had died in his mouth, but these: "I... care about you too."

So the memory makes Giyuu pause at Genya's question, hesitate around a straightforward answer. If Sanemi were here, he would say 'yes' immediately, wouldn't even give Giyuu time to reply.

"It's... complicated," He settles on, carefully unfolding his top. "But I had an elder sister."

Genya makes an 'oh' sound behind him, clearly understanding. Says nothing else, so Giyuu re-dresses in peace, finally feeling warmth slip back into his bones with help from the fire behind him.

When he turns back around, Genya is dressed too, but he has his head down, chewing on his bottom lip. Hands twisting in the fabric as he debates something.

"Get off your foot," Giyuu instructs. "You'll make it worse for the walk home tomorrow."

Silently, Genya complies. Looking up once to say something before stopping himself again. Giyuu ignores him, going through his pack for food, and then neatly refolding everything. He wanted to set off the next day as early as possible. With Genya in this state, it would take the two day walk to return, possibly another half day just to get him up Himejima's mountain.

They may have to stop at the water estate on the way back. Just to give them both a break. Try as he might, Giyuu couldn't think of any houses bearing the wisteria crest on the route back.

"Mr Tomioka?"

Giyuu twitches. "Just Tomioka."

"Right. Uh. Sorry for asking, but. You have scars on your wrists. Is that– No, sorry. Ignore me."

Oh.

He'd seen them.

Giyuu hadn't even been thinking about it.

He tries to dredge up some sort of feeling, some guilt or shame, maybe dread. Comes up empty-handed. For some reason, Giyuu doesn't care that Genya knows. That he's seen the worst part of him. Maybe it's because of the hashira meeting or because of his discussion with Urokodaki, but shame isn't eating at him for what he did anymore.

Flexing his hand, Giyuu looks down at the scars, visible beneath loose sleeves. They're healing well, all things considered.

"Ask your question." He says, quiet. "I don't mind."

"Oh." And there's shuffling, a physical sign of the kids' surprise. "I mean– I was gonna ask if you had marechi blood, like 'Nemi, but they're not... those kind of scars, are they?"

"No, they're not."

"Right. Sorry. For asking, I mean. Shouldn't have pried."

Genya's sheepishness makes Giyuu feel amused, even if he doesn't show it. "I told you it was fine. You shouldn't apologise needlessly."

Sees, from the corner of his eye, Genya's bowed head. Hands absently picking at his scar, and the slight tremble in them. "Okay, yeah," He says, "I'll try not to. Do you, uh. Do you know Tanjiro? Kamado, I mean."

Giyuu blinks at him, "I do. Why?"

"Right. Just a thought. He says you're his favourite hashira, so. Figured you would."

Warmth curls in Giyuu's stomach, and he feels his expression soften, ever so slightly. "I found him after what happened to his family. Told him to become a demon slayer."

Genya looks up, surprised. "Wait– that was you? I heard that a demon slayer put their neck out for a demon, but I didn't know they were a hashira." And there's something on his face, some expression that Giyuu can't read. "You'd do that? For a demon?"

Tilts his head, "Nezuko hasn't hurt anyone. She fights for humans, not against them. She didn't ask to be turned." Considers Genya for a moment, considers that unreadable expression, and continues. "It's the duty of demon slayers to protect the innocent. Nezuko is innocent, demon blood and all."

He remembers clearly how fiercely she had protected Tanjiro when they first met. Remembers how she turned away from Sanemi's marechi blood in disgust. Remembers going to the butterfly estate to see her and Tanjiro after the Mugen train incident and sitting in her blacked out room, stroking her hair while she slept, happy little noises falling from her mouth. Tanjiro filling him in on what happend, carefully curled at the foot of the bed, hand on his stomach.

They almost hadn't survived. Rengoku almost hadn't survived. It was only due to luck that the sun came up before Akaza could kill him.

"Huh," Genya says, and he's looking at his hands again. His nails. "What about– what about if someone wanted to help fight demons but couldn't, because they weren't strong enough, so they did something, uh. More drastic."

...That didn't sound like what they were just talking about.

Giyuu watches him, silent. He's nervous, eyes flitting from the hashira to his hands. He's radiating guilt in every line of his being. Guilt and desperation.

"Drastic, how?" He asks.

"... Eating demon flesh?"

What the fuck. That's– Giyuu can safely say that that was the last thing he was expecting. Hasn't even heard of someone doing that before. He blinks, trying to shake his surprise off. "Does that change anything?"

Gaze flicks up, vaguely surprised and hopeful. "I mean, yeah. Doubles my strength, speed, durability. Pretty much all my senses. The more I have the stronger I am. I can regenerate, now, too. That's how I was able to help against the upper demon we fought at the sword smith village."

It makes sense, he supposes. Demons make more demons by giving blood to humans. Eating flesh isn't exactly the same, no blood means no demonhood. Giyuu hadn't known it could give you powers while retaining your humanity.

There had to be downsides, besides just eating the flesh. Himejima had mentioned Genya going down a path he didn't approve of in desperation, but Giyuu hadn't expected this.

"Sanemi doesn't know about this, does he?"

Genya ducks his head. "No. Shinobu and Himejima said he wouldn't approve. Not like they were happy about it, either."

"What are the side effects?" Giyuu asks. "The negatives, besides the obvious."

"Uh. None? I can smell blood, but I don't, like, want to eat it or anything. My appearance changes, makes me look like a demon, but it always wears off. Stomach pains, I guess?" He scratches his chin, thoughtful. "That's pretty much it."

It sounds far too good to be true. "Be wary. Just because there aren't any in the short term doesn't mean there won't be in the long," Giyuu warns.

"I know, I know. I just, I wanted to help. I wanted to be with 'Nemi again, and show him I didn't need to be protected anymore."

Giyuu snorts, soft. And backs away, heading for his futon. "You're his little brother. He's always going to protect you, no matter how many upper moons you face."

"You think so?" Genya asks, somewhere behind him. Giyuu had given him the bed closest to the fire. The boy doesn't sound put off, not really. More... hopeful.

Giyuu makes a noise of assent, climbing under the covers to bed down for the night. Of course, he thinks so. Tanjiro could kill Muzan single handedly, and Giyuu still wouldn't be able to watch him fight alone. Would have to step in, no matter the odds.

It is, he can begrudgingly admit, what big brothers do.

Chapter Text

Two days and a lot of walking, stopping, and walking again gets them within sight of the water estate. Genya had started lagging behind over a day ago, foot acting up.

He had explained to Giyuu that the reason he thought it had healed on its own was because of the demon flesh he had consumed. Hadn't realised how much of his strength he had used up trying to climb out of the mountain.

At some point, ignoring the boys protests, Giyuu had decided it would just be easier to carry him on his back. Arms around his neck, face hidden in his hair, embarrassed, Genya had begrudgingly agreed that it made his foot feel better.

He's almost as stubborn as his elder brother, Giyuu had thought, fond.

Giyuu keeps him on his back even when they push through the gate, hearing the sounds of talking, clashing, and yelling. It makes him pause, confused. Urokodaki and Tokito were the last people he had seen in his estate, and neither were loud people. Even if Sanemi had come over, it wasn't like he would yell at them.

He hears a battle cry.

Dread forms. It's the boar boy, isn't it? Urokodaki must have invited Tanjiro and his friends, and now the boar boy was here.

Debates just turning around and leaving for far too long. Genya taps him on the shoulder, "Why'd you stop? Want me to get down?"

No, that wasn't a good idea. The boy had already made his foot far worse with all the walking he'd done. Giyuu sighs, resettles Genya on his back, and walks on. He could just ignore boar-boy. Surely, they would be too distracted to notice him, given all the noise they were making.

"Mr Giyuu!"

He is a fool.

Stops again, sees through the open doors of the training hall Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke, Urokodaki, Tokito and Nezuko. Dusk had fallen a half hour ago, sun already gone, which explained the girls presence.

They were each paired up. Boar vs. blonde boy, Tanjiro vs. Tokito, and Nezuko fiddling with her own hair. Brows furrowed and concentrated. Tanjiro's distraction allowed Tokito to knock him off his feet, not that he seems to care. He bounds forward to Giyuu, smiling, and only stops when he's within arms reach.

"Oh, Genya! What are you doing with Mr Giyuu?" He asks, downright beaming at his friend. "I didn't know you two knew each other,"

Genya lifts his head, reluctant. "Hey, Tanjiro. I got trapped on my last mission. Hurt my foot."

"Oh, no! Are you going to be alright? It's a good thing Mr Giyuu was there," He reaches out, helps Genya off Giyuu's back, and wraps his arms around him for support, "Here, I can take you to the medical room Mr Urokodaki set up."

"...He set up a medical room?" Giyuu asks, slow. "What have you been doing while I was gone, exactly?"

"Oh, well. I came over when I heard you moved back in from the wind estate, so we could train! But Mr Urokodaki said you had a mission, and he didn't know when you would be back, so he offered to train me with Tokito, instead. Inosuke and Zenitsu came looking for me after a while, and he offered to train them, too!" Explains Tanjiro, "I hope you don't mind, but we've been staying here as well. We cleaned up after ourselves, I promise!"

Giyuu looks skyward. Wishes, belatedly, that he had returned home at a later date. Maybe when they were all off on missions. "It's fine." He says. "I don't mind."

Tanjiro bows, sharp enough to make Genya jolt, "Thank you, Mr Giyuu! I promise, we'll continue to be respectful of your home and hospitality!"

"Wait, wait–" Genya gasps, "Hang on. Did you just say– when did Tomioka live at the wind estate?"

His crutch looks at him, surprised. "You didn't know, Genya? Mr Giyuu and your brother are really close friends. Really, really close friends, according to Mr Urokodaki. Which, I'm not sure what he means by that, but I'm guessing he means like me and you?"

Genya's eyes are wide, his face red, and he looks at Giyuu like he's seeing him for the first time. Giyuu looks away immediately, a little warm around the neck.

"Urokodaki shouldn't have said that," He mutters. "Ignore him."

"You're– you're dating my brother?" Genya asks, winded. "You and Sanemi?"

Tanjiro blinks, slow. "Ooooh. Is that what he meant? So, not like me and you. Huh." He looks at Giyuu, tilted. "Is that why he's been coming by every day to see if you're back?"

Genya chokes.

Safety from answering comes in the form of Nezuko, who runs up to Giyuu and jumps, knocking him back a few steps. She nuzzles, happy noises emitting. She's about her regular height today, normal for a fourteen year old. The red tips of her hair are knotted from braiding attempts.

Giyuu puts his hand on her back to hold her, and ignores the two teenage boys. "Nezuko. You're feeling better?"

She makes a happy, assenting noise. Pulling back to clap her hands on his face. Giyuu doesn't flinch.

"That's good," He says, as she tugs his cheeks. "How is your memory?"

A wobbling motion with her head, an aggrieved sigh, and she flops back into his shoulder.

"Not good," He guesses, running his hand down her spine in, what he hopes, are comforting motions. "It's fine. It'll come back when it's ready."

"Hey! You! Water guy!"

And that's his cue. He sets Nezuko down, turns on his heel and walks away.

***

Sanemi comes by later that night. The children are all asleep, Urokodaki had set up beds in the biggest room the estate had, and surprisingly everyone slept there without complaint.

He and Giyuu sit on the veranda, tea between them, when he hears the click of the gate, the crunch of feet on the gravel. Debates for a moment whether it could be Himejima, but Kanzaburo was a slow crow, and wouldn't have made it up the mountain yet. Giyuu also doubted that the man would fetch Genya tonight, knowing he was safe and with his friends.

Genya had spread the news to the other children of his brothers new relationship. Illiciting horror from the blonde, complete disregard from the boar child, and one very slow blink from Tokito. Who later said that he thought they had been together for months.

Nezuko, Giyuu's favourite child, hadn't cared in the slightest. Just sat still, patient, as he braided her hair. It was the only hairstyle he knew how to do, thanks to Tsutako. She'd worn her own hair like it every day, with the exception of a big red bow she loved.

When Sanemi comes into view, Urokodaki stands. Bids him a good night and leaves with his tea. Leaves Giyuu sitting alone when Sanemi finally sees him, irritated expression softening slightly, to something warm. Relieved.

"Finally," He says, marching up to him. "Thought you were going to be gone forever."

"Mission." Giyuu reminds him, heart picking up like a fool with a crush.

Sanemi reaches him, pushes his legs apart so he can stand between them, face level with Giyuu's own. "Mission," He mocks. "I know. Is that all you have to say to me after four days?"

"...Hi," He offers.

The wind hashira's face, twitches, spasms, almost. Finally smiles. "Hi. What the fuck took you so long? You hurt?"

Giyuu shakes his head, leaning in towards Sanemi, towards his warmth. "No. It was a rescue. The demon was already dead."

"That's something," He mutters, pressing his forehead to Giyuu's. "Surprised you didn't find a way to break your leg, regardless. Demon would've probaly fucking resurrected when he saw you, just to spite me."

"Spite you? Not me?" Asks Giyuu, soft. Relishing in being able to touch him again, sliding his hands up Sanemi's corded forearms.

"Masochist," He reminds him, flicking his stomach. "You would've enjoyed it, freak." He sighs, breathing almost directly into Giyuu's mouth and relaxes against him.

Giyuu keeps stroking his arms, his back. Wraps his legs around his waist. "No missions while I was gone?"

Shakes his head. "No. Everybody but me had one, apparently. I've spent every day watching the old man torture the kids. He's inspiring, I'll tell you that much. Learnt some new tricks I'm gonna use on Genya when he gets back."

"I know. He used those tricks on me." Murmurs Giyuu. "And he already is."

Sanemi grunts, pulls back, confused. "What?"

Already missing his warmth, but unable to reach the wind hashira to pull him back, Giyuu continues: "My rescue mission. Genya was trapped. Injured his foot, but he's fine, otherwise. That's what took me so long."

Still. Sanemi is still. Looks at Giyuu, looks at the door behind him, and then back. "Where. Where is he now?"

Giyuu points to the door down the way, and warns, "He's asleep. So is everyone else. You'll wake Zenitsu if you open it."

Fists clench, wants war with wants, and Sanemi deliberates for a good minute before exhaling, long and careful. Stepping back into Giyuu's arms and burying his face.

"Fucking idiot," He grunts. "How's he supposed to be a demon hunter if he keeps getting trapped?"

Giyuu hums, says nothing. Just wraps himself around Sanemi. One hand in his hair, another on his back. Legs around his waist. He feels Sanemi sneak his hands beneath his haori for warmth, feels the tip of his nose bury itself in his collar. Feels the warm breath of air he let's out.

"'Missed you," Sanemi mutters. Giyuu can feel his grip tighten on his back. Embarrassed.

So alike. He and Genya are so alike.

Giyuu presses their foreheads back together. Words aren't his thing, he'll take actions any day. But Sanemi is delicate in his arms right now, showing his soft side. "I missed you, too." He murmurs. "Body heat, especially. I'm cold."

Sanemi snorts into his collar, "Is that all I am to you? A fucking fireplace?"

"A very nice one."

"Oh, sure. A nice one." He snarks, "Would hate to be a shitty one for the great water hashira."

All of Giyuu's hunger, all of his ruin, is contained in this man. And he's buried in his neck, complaining. Cold hands up his shirt, hot breath on his skin.

Giyuu wouldn't change him for the world.

"Are you done?" He asks, amused.

Grumbles into skin but lifts his head, anyway. "Why, you got something better to be doing?"

You, Giyuu thinks, but does not say.

"I was going to go to sleep."

"Don't let me stop you."

"With you."

Sanemi groans, like moving from his place was some great hardship, but does it anyway. Pulls back so Giyuu can stand, and then pushes himself up onto the veranda with ease.

They're standing face-to-face, tea tray between them, already cold. Sanemi pulls him in by his collar, a touch rough, and steals a kiss. Pulls away before Giyuu can kiss him back. So he grabs him by the shoulders and brings him back again, kisses him properly. Breathlessly.

Sanemi smiles against lips. "Greedy," He chides. "Didn't Urokodaki teach you patience?"

"I follow your example." Giyuu responds, flat.

A snort. "You trying to say something? Never heard you complain about my temperament before."

"Not to your face."

Lips twitch, and Sanemi has to look away to hide his grin.

"Bastard," He says. And it's fond, so fond. "Come on. I'm freezing my ass off out here,"

Giyuu follows, as he always does. Always will, where Sanemi is concerned. He sleeps warm, burrowed in strong arms, safe and protected from the outside world.

Tomorrow will bring chaos. Six children under one roof, not at all accustomed to such noise in all the years Giyuu had lived there. It would a change. But, a good one. For once.