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It starts with a single yellow petal.
Giyuu stares at it, nestled so innocently in his palm. He'd coughed once, and when he'd pulled his hand away, it had been there. There's an unfamiliar tickle in the back of his throat, like something's caught there, but Giyuu shoves it aside in favor of letting the petal fall to the ground.
It changes nothing. There is no time for fickle affairs of the heart in the life of a Hashira, no room to allow someone else into the space left cold and empty by the absence of loved ones long lost.
The bitter taste of flowers in his mouth says otherwise.
Pillars never falter. Giyuu never wavers.
But even the most unrelenting ice melts in the heat of the sun, and Rengoku shines even brighter than any star in the sky. Giyuu's never been good with words, unlike the other man, but that doesn't seem to matter to Rengoku - he's happy to chatter his ear off about the most mundane of things, and Giyuu is content to listen, warmed by the fact that Rengoku cares enough to spend his time on someone like him.
He may be socially awkward, but he's not dumb. He knows what he feels is love, but has never been able to bring himself to say the words aloud. What use is there in confessing? Rengoku is too good of a man to lead him on, but Giyuu almost wishes he would, if only for the chance at pretending his feelings could reach someone, for once. Something dark and vicious curls around his lungs, Giyuu spluttering for air as he leans heavily against the wall, one hand clapped over his mouth to muffle the fit of wheezing.
They flutter to the floor like snowflakes, little pinpricks of yellow speckled in damning red.
Shinobu finds out eventually, because it's Shinobu, and the woman is too observant for her own good. He barely has time to crush the yellow petals between his fingers before she's standing beside him, head cocked to the side and with that same slight smile on her lips as always.
"Tomioka-san, are you alright? You seem to be a bit paler than usual."
As if she has any right to talk about looking pale, when she herself sometimes appears white as a sheet, moves like a ghost for how quiet she is. Giyuu's expression is carefully schooled into one of utmost neutrality, fist still clenched tightly around the petals in his hand.
"I'm fine." Dark eyes avert themselves from her searching gaze, knowing she's far more persistent than to leave it at that - and if given enough time, she'll figure it out eventually.
Her smile doesn't budge, though one eye does twitch a little. "Is that so? If you're not feeling well in any way, it's not good to keep it to yourself. Come see me if you need to, alright?"
"Okay."
She eyes him for a moment longer, seemingly unconvinced, but lets him go after that. He's never been so thankful to be left alone, because another series of coughs wracks him shortly after, a fistful of golden yellow spilling from his lips, dark crimson smudged across his palm when he pulls it back to survey the damage.
It's fine. Giyuu's known for a long time now that his feelings will never be reciprocated. This is just confirmation of his earlier suspicions. What they have now is enough for him - how can he hope to touch the sun, much less cradle it close in his hands?
It happens again, after taking out a demon he was dispatched to handle.
It's been getting harder to breathe lately, his strength and stamina are beginning to wane. No longer can he hunt demons with the same effortless ease as before, and as if they can sense his weakness, they taunt him with promises of death at their hands, dance just outside of his blade's reach no matter how furiously or quickly he swings. He's slowing down, winded far more easily by a mere fraction of the exertion he's accustomed to putting in.
(Rengoku, in contrast, seems to be doing exceptionally well, and holds hopes for defeating an Upper Rank. Giyuu has no doubt he'll be able to do it.)
He's about to settle down for the night when a fit of coughing overtakes him again, sharp and piercing. Forced to lean against the doorway of his room, fingers digging into the wood hard enough to for his knuckles to turn white, Giyuu raises a hand and peels a single petal off of his tongue as soon as it passes. Bright yellow. They lie scattered across the floor, stained with droplets of red, and Giyuu doesn't have the strength to begin cleaning them up.
They're sunflowers.
Dragging himself to another Hashira meeting has never felt like such a chore, every inch of his body sore and leaden from the lack of sleep the night before - he'd nearly choked on another handful of golden petals that night, struggling to draw in even a single breath without coughing. His ribs still ache even now from the strain.
It's worth it, though, for blindingly bright smile that Rengoku greets him with, clapping him on the shoulder so hard that Giyuu nearly stumbles, wheezing. Icy panic floods his veins as one cough turns into an entire string of gasping breaths, Giyuu clamping a hand tight over his mouth and swallowing down the silken petals before they can make their way up his throat. Rengoku's smile never wavers, but there's concern in his overly loud voice as he peers at Giyuu, staring so intensely that he's almost certain he's been found out.
"Tomioka!"
His heart is beating so loudly that it's threatening to burst right out of his ribcage. Giyuu clears his throat, wincing at the metallic tang of blood on his tongue, and pulls his hand away to speak. "What?"
Rengoku points to something on his uniform, eyebrows raised in owlish curiosity. "Do you have sunflowers at home?"
Giyuu glances down at himself, terror gluing his throat shut for a brief, paralyzing moment. A single petal rests on the arm of his sleeve, and he shakes it off hastily. Rengoku's already given him an out, without knowing it, and he'll take what he can get.
"Ah. They were given to me as a gift for eliminating a demon in the area." He wrenches his jaw shut after that, watches as Rengoku's expression lights up. Something lurches in his chest as Rengoku beams at him, seemingly oblivious to the lie.
"I see! They're my favorite flowers, actually - don't you just think they're beautiful?"
Giyuu's not sure if he wants to scream or cry. "They are," he croaks, wishing he could bring himself to say all the things he's locked away - you look even more beautiful, I like looking at you more than I like looking at sunflowers, I love you, I always have.
For a moment, Rengoku's expression softens into something indescribable, something so unexpectedly tender that it makes Giyuu's heart swoop low in his chest. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but then thinks better of it and closes his mouth again.
"Well then, take care, Tomioka! I wish you all the best in taking care of the flowers! If you need advice in caring for them, you can always ask me!" Rengoku booms, patting him briskly on the shoulder and sweeping past him, flame-patterned haori fluttering in his wake. Giyuu remains frozen in place, absentmindedly touching the spot where Rengoku's hand had landed.
It's warm.
The next time he ends up arriving early to a Hashira meeting, he doesn't make it five minutes into conversation with her before the coughing starts, and Shinobu promptly whisks him to the Butterfly Mansion despite his protests.
"You're not well," she insists, and Giyuu really doesn't have the energy to respond when she marches him into a ward and sits him down for a full examination. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide the bloodied petals that burst from him with each racking wheeze, Shinobu's small hands patting reassuringly at his back and offering tissues - somewhere in the background, Giyuu vaguely registers the clinking of a cup as it's filled with water and pressed into his trembling hands.
His throat stings, but not as much as his pride does when Shinobu looks at him with those eyes of hers, uncharacteristically gentle and full of pity - it grates on his nerves, to be viewed as anything less than what he already thinks of himself, but he also knows that if not for Shinobu he would've collapsed in front of Rengoku and the others, and he'd rather perish than entertain the possibility of Rengoku seeing him like this.
"Who is it?" Her voice is quiet, almost sympathetic.
She doesn't need to know. No one does, but she's already seen him cough up flower petals and seen the shade of vivid gold they are - it doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together.
"It's Rengoku-san, isn't it?"
He nods, so slowly he's not sure whether she even notices it, but surely she does, if her next question is any indication.
"How long?"
Giyuu takes a deep shuddering breath, lets it wash out of him with a heavy sigh and feels the weight on his shoulders lift just the tiniest bit. "I don't know," he confesses, "I just know he doesn't feel the same way about me, and that's why this is happening."
Shinobu studies him for so long that Giyuu feels like an insect pinned helplessly beneath her gaze, shifting uncomfortably in his seat until she speaks again.
"You'll die, you know."
Another nod. Giyuu's no fool, he'd seen the signs and looked up what they'd meant long before Shinobu had even caught on - or maybe she's known for longer than he thinks, if she's treating him like this now.
A contemplative hum, Shinobu tapping her fingers against the wood of the desk beside her, still staring at the fallen petals.
"There's a procedure I read about once," she begins, "to remove the flowers for good, but you'll lose all memories and feelings regarding the person you love. It's risky, but it's the only known cure for hanahaki."
Giyuu knows about that, too. "No," he says firmly, and Shinobu glances at him in astonishment, sizing him up as if trying to tell whether he's serious or not. "No, I'm not doing it."
"But-"
"I don't want to forget, Shinobu," and the words come out as a barely audible whisper, cracking in the middle. "I can't. I'd rather die than forget him, so please, just leave me be. I've made my choice, and I don't intend on changing my mind."
It's fine this way - no one else has to get hurt but himself, and he'll continue to serve as a Hashira until the disease prevents him from doing even that. Being a Hashira already means risking his life every time he steps out to do battle, but if he can save one more wretched soul, then maybe, just maybe one day he'll prove himself worthy to win Rengoku's heart of gold.
In light of that, what is death but a means to achieve the impossible?
They sit like that for several long moments, Giyuu closing his eyes against the unwanted heat prickling beneath his eyelids, hating the way he's had to lay himself bare and the fact that he's never wanted more in this moment than to cry.
"... If that's your wish, I suppose it would be wrong of me to insist." She's upset with him, he can read it in the stiff lines of her posture and the abrupt way she pushes her chair back to get up.
It's only after she leaves him and the girls have cleaned up the loose petals that Giyuu allows himself to slump brokenly in his seat. Buries his face in his hands, and doesn't move until that particular itch returns, clawing at the back of his throat until he's gasping for air and choking on something far thicker than the usual handful of petals. It burns, tastes bitter as poison under his tongue, and it doesn't stop until he's heaved up a yellow and brown mass, the petals streaked with blood.
A single sunflower.
Giyuu stares at it numbly, until the colors blur together in a mess of bright yellow and red, and he's not sure whether he's coughed up a flower or the remnants of his cold, broken heart.
There's only so long he can pretend things are alright, though, when even the slightest exertion seems to set him off. At some point, he's had to extend his apologies to Ubayashiki and very reluctantly request a leave of absence. Those unseeing eyes had stared right through Giyuu, as if seeing something he couldn't, before smiling sadly at him and wishing him all the best.
He can't help but feel like the man knows something that Giyuu's not privy to, and the thought doesn't settle well with him.
Shinobu's tried to talk him into staying at the Butterfly Mansion more than once, but he's turned her down each time - Giyuu has no desire to be at her mercy, nor does he wish to risk being seen by anyone else in this pitiable state. If this love is to be the death of him, he'll hold it close to his heart and keep it that way, if only to make sure it doesn't drag anyone else down. The last thing Giyuu needs is to be a burden to others.
These days it seems he can barely muster the strength to even get out of bed. A small packet of powdered medicine lies beside him, alongside a cup of tea long gone cold.
"To ease the pain a little," Shinobu had told him, fixing him with such a stern look that he'd had no choice but to accept the tiny package, wrapped in purple and tied with a slender ribbon.
"I told you," he sighed, voice hoarse from the constant bouts of coughing. "I -"
"-won't undergo the procedure. Yes, I know," she cut him off perfectly with a shake of her head, disapproval clear in her eyes. "And I won't tell the others, either, since you've made your choice, but if you ever change your mind..."
"I won't."
"...just let me know."
The time in between each fit is getting shorter and shorter. Soon, he knows, he won't be able to draw breath without breaking out into wheezing.
Today marks the third Hashira meeting he's missed in a row. Shinobu has been sworn to secrecy, and the others haven't seen enough of him to know the truth of what's going on - at least, he hopes not. Giyuu reaches out to pour himself a fresh dose of the medicinal powder, only for his breath to hitch dangerously on a wet, racking cough that stains the futon with droplets of bright red.
It won't stop. Giyuu doubles over, clawing at his chest and throat as each agonizing cough scrapes at his lungs, gasping wetly for breath. Something solid catches in his throat, and Giyuu makes a strangled noise, digs his fingers into his own mouth just to drag out a clump of drenched red and yellow. It falls onto the futon with a sickening wet sound, breaths coming knife-sharp and shallow. The metallic taste of his own blood is familiar to him by now, but it doesn't stop Giyuu from spitting out the coppery fluid gathering in his mouth, wincing at the rawness of his throat and the tightness in his chest.
Full bloom. Time is running out.
He could confess, but it would do him no good - Rengoku is a good man, too good a man to burden the likes of himself with. He's not about to make the same mistake as Icarus, but if he can't touch the sun, then he can at the very least admire it from afar and content himself with basking in its warmth for the rest of his remaining days.
It's all he really deserves.
If not for the fact that these flowers are slowly but surely killing him, he might actually be able to admire them. Bright as the sun they're named for and standing tall in the face of adversity, seeking the sun wherever it goes - a symbol of courage, to brave through the worst of nights to see the rising sun again. To those who have dedicated their lives to fighting for each new day that breaks across the horizon, is there any better epitome of hope?
He's taken to sitting on the porch and watching the clouds go by, too weak to do much else beyond that. Even breathing is in itself a chore, and half the time accompanied by fits of wheezing that scatter flakes of bloodstained gold across the floor.
"You're dying, you know."
"I know."
"You still won't reconsider?"
"No."
A weary sigh. He doesn't blame her. They've had this conversation too many times for him to count, by now.
"You don't have to suffer like this, Tomioka. You can still live, if we act swiftly."
"That's enough, Kochou. There's no need to lie. It's too late for me."
Her hand twitches, as if she's considering slapping him. The veins in her forehead stand out starkly against her pale complexion.
"There's still a chance of you surviving. I know what I'm doing."
"So do I. Leave me be, Kochou. I'm tired."
He's always tired, nowadays. Exhaustion settles in his bones like an old lover, companion to the familiar stabbing pain that's made itself at home in his lungs. Shinobu's been coming over more often lately, the tight knit of her brows and the stiffness of her smile speak volumes about the state he's in - but there's only so much medicine can do for a broken heart, and more often than not she nags at him to take better care of himself, though her nagging has gotten more gentle nowadays.
It's fine. He likes to think he's done an okay job at best of protecting people from demons. The lifespan of a Hashira is measured not in years, but in the number of demons they kill, and Giyuu's lost count over time. He's done what he could, the rest is up to Tanjirou and his friends, as well as the rest of the Hashiras. Dying like this isn't such a bad way to go compared to being dismembered or eaten by a demon.
Giyuu's fine with this.
Except he's not, really. He's never going to see Rengoku's smile again, never going to hear him laugh like they're young and carefree again, in the way that only the guileless can be. Never again will Giyuu get the chance to quietly admire the way he looks while wreathed in sunlight, drenched in gold and shining so brightly that he looks like an angel at first glance. There will be no cheerful greeting, no invitations to share a meal together, no more goodbyes uttered - once again Giyuu is left with an hollow emptiness in the space where his heart should be, and the flowers are ever eager to fill that void.
He's not okay. It's never been okay, tears him open from the inside and taints every breath with agonizing pain - since when did he decide this was fine? All his life he's been forced to move on from losing the things he loves the most, and the one time he can't let go, fate finds a way to intervene. It's cruel, but that's life for you.
By the time he realizes he's crying, the flowers blooming in his lungs have emerged in a burst of vivid crimson and yellow, the stems scraping the back of his throat until it closes up completely. A horrible gurgling noise, blood spilling past his cupped hands and staining his kimono in wet splotches.
This time he brings up what feels like an entire field of sunflowers, still hauntingly beautiful even when drenched in his own blood. They litter the floor, sodden petals sticking to the wood and leaving behind streaks of red when his hand brushes over them, shaking too badly to even begin gathering them as he normally does.
At some point he'd ended up on his side, wheezing raggedly like a punctured balloon, air trickling rapidly from his lungs with every torturous breath. From here, he can just barely make out the last rays of sunlight beginning to dim over the horizon, pinks and oranges fading into the gentle lilac of dusk.
Ah, he muses, fingers closing around the center of the sunflower nearest to him, you'd have looked so beautiful in the sunset.
Come morning, Kyoujurou's footsteps echo through the heavy silence enveloping the Water Pillar Estate.
"Tomioka-san?" He calls, but there is no answer save the cawing of a lonesome crow, and he does not stop to wonder why Giyuu hasn't come out to greet him, not when the smell of blood reaches his nose.
He's well acquainted with the metallic reek of blood, as well as the lingering presence of demons, but there is no sign of the latter here, only an ominous silence coupled with the ever-present rank of death. No demons had set foot here, he knows, so why...?
Quickening his footsteps, he hurries inside, only to be greeted with the sickly sweet smell of medicine, just barely masking the stench of illness. He's known for awhile that Giyuu hasn't been well, but no one seems to know what is plaguing him save for Shinobu, and she won't look him in the eyes. A part of him recoils at the thought of Giyuu slowly wasting away within these four lonesome walls, tormented by something Kyoujurou doesn't know the name of.
Then he rounds the corner to the porch, and everything is red and gold and blue, so blue it hurts to look at. Something soft gives way beneath his feet. A whole sunflower, its petals dyed scarlet with blood. For a moment, he can almost imagine Giyuu sleeping peacefully amidst a field of sunflowers, even though they're not in season just yet, and the wooden floor is stained with dark patches of red.
"...Giyuu?"
He's just sleeping. He has to be. Has to be resting, but there's no telltale rise and fall of his chest, and his bloodstained fingers are cold as ice, curled around the very blossom that Kyoujurou loves - even if the sight of them now brings nothing but pain, constricted into an unmovable knot in between his ribs. They tell a story far beyond any words could, of a love unrequited and a heart torn in two.
Was he wrong, then? The little secret glances, the stares with all the depth and weight of an ocean, the fleeting touches exchanged under the pretense of friendliness - had those all meant nothing? He'd always thought there was something unspoken between them, an intimacy born between two soldiers bearing their own crosses, but as he stares at the scattered petals and the unhappy curve of his lips, forever frozen in time, Kyoujurou's forced to admit that maybe, just maybe he was wrong.
And it hurts to think that he was never the one in Giyuu's heart, but not as much as it hurts to know that he couldn't possibly have protected Giyuu from this, just like how he couldn't protect his mother from sickness, or his father from alcoholism.
By the time he's surfaced from beneath the suffocating fog of grief, Giyuu's been laid to rest with the rest of Oyakata-sama's children, with nothing but a simple gravestone to mark his passing. Rengoku doesn't cry, if only because he has to be strong for the rest of them - always has been, for there are things the Pillars must support even in the face of loss. When he's alone, however, he kneels by the ground and leaves a single sunflower over of Giyuu's grave, the cheery yellow at odds with the dreary grey slab of stone.
Something catches in the back of his throat, the faintest of tickling sensations. Rengoku coughs, and tiny petals flutter loose. Forget-me-nots.
Blue for true love. White for "don't forget me".
"As if I could ever forget you," he murmurs, fingers caressing the headstone tenderly, tracing along the etched grooves of his name as one would caress a lover's cheek.
The petals scatter as he coughs again, catches the flowers in the palm of his hand, leaves them on Giyuu's grave - white, and yellow, and blue.