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Being paired with the most emotionally distant co-worker is the worst. No laughter like with Tengen, not even good food trips like with Kyojurou. Even the dreamy Muichiro can prove greater company—anyone really, just not him.
Sanemi ran his hands over the tatami mats, palming the rough repetitive texture to hold in his urge to go throw a fit and commit murder—wishing he had separate quarters from Tomioka Giyuu, the man in question. He almost forgot how uncomfortable it is to sleep in the same room as someone he shouldn’t be with.
Not that the Water Hashira did anything to ick him—he was oddly cooperative for the mission so far, in fact.
Giyuu wasn’t speaking much, which he liked. They don’t argue about minor demon kills, which he also liked. You know what? That’s it—he wasn’t being annoying at all. Why is that?
The said hashira breathes quietly next to him, to which Sanemi rolls his eyes. So much for being Wind Hashira; he can barely breathe. Giyuu just smells so much like fresh dew, the ones from atop the mountains so high the crisp air burns his lungs. Raging in its coldness, freezing in its freshness. One inhale, all Sanemi can smell is Giyuu.
It’s honestly suffocating.
A few days ago, Oyakata-sama reasoned that it “has to be them” because everyone else already received assignments. When he asked about taking the task by himself, the Corps leader insisted and gave them the “you might learn the value of camaraderie” trump card. While he respects Kagaya and the Corps’ core values with all his heart, sometimes they just don’t align with his. Kagaya just doesn’t give concrete answers sometimes. He learned from Gyomei to not question it further.
Fuck. He’s not going anywhere with this.
Sanemi shuts his eyes closed, easing the lines of his forehead by massaging it, though it didn’t really go away. Not with the dewy scent Giyuu has. It fills the room he almost had a thought to just roam the woods for the night. Who needs sleep anyway?
He shifted on his futon.
It is not a hidden agenda that the other hashiras had something against this guy. While this grudge vary from one hashira to the other—ranging from Obanai to Muichiro as worst to less worse—it is an established fact that he is not well-liked. Even the Kakushi knows. Even that Tanjiro kid knows. Even Giyuu himself knows.
Right?
Sanemi opened his eyes, hands pausing. The candle lights flicker as wind blew past the open bamboo doors. While the warm orange glow wasn’t extinguished, it did make Sanemi wonder how exactly he knew Giyuu knows. He’s aware, right? He has to know.
The candle glows brighter as the breeze took a sigh. It was almost as if it answered for him.
He shifted uncomfortably in the futon once again, staring at the tatami he subconsciously started to pick. Fearing its ruin, he immediately stopped and palmed them flat as if he never touched them at all, and turned the other way. There, he stared right onto Tomioka Giyuu’s back, who laid on his own futon beside him.
While nobody insulted the hashira to his face (with the obvious exception of Shinobu), they all did talk about him brutally in the open—even if he was literally next to them minding his own mighty business. While it used to tick Sanemi off about how the man walks around like he was better than everyone else, something somewhat changed his mind recently. Perhaps it could be the reason he didn’t protest to Kagaya about their joint mission as hard as he thought he would.
Or at all.
It was because of the Tanjiro kid. The one whose sister he stabbed quite a while ago.
A few weeks ago, while at the Corps headquarters, he ran onto the kid who seemed to be in a frantic search of something he couldn’t care less about.
He saw him again later that afternoon still acting the same way.
He finally got pissed when he’s still frantic by dinner, so he took the time to approach the kid and ask him what in the fuck he was looking for all day.
“Shinazugawa-san! I’m looking for a small container, like a bento box,” Tanjiro said, gesturing the said object’s dimensions with his expressive hands. “It belongs to Giyuu-san. It’s wrapped in a cloth that looks like his haori.”
“Did the bastard lose it?” Sanemi teased, snickering. He somewhat regretted it, but it’s not like he would ever admit that.
“Uh, he dropped it at the field during the Upper Moon attack. Apparently, it was taken to the headquarters by the cleanup crew. I’m personally trusted to come here and retrieve it for him.”
He had so many questions. Upper Moon attack? The fuck does he mean “the” Upper Moon attack? That’s when Sanemi remembered he skipped a hashira meeting due to schedule—he was far down south for a month-long mission. He was gone for one (impromptu) meeting and a hashira dealt with an Upper Moon? What the fuck?
He made a mental note to ask his crow about it later. And also to ask for a new kasugai crow, since the one he had now seemed to not care informing him at all.
He placed a hand on Tanjiro’s shoulder when the brat looked like he’s going to resume his all-day search.
“Stop it there, kid. Can’t he come here and look for it himself? Doesn’t he think of your responsibilities as a slayer of your own?”
The kid glanced down, pensive. “Shinobu-san said he can’t leave the bed for a week so…”
His head drifted off into space for a little bit, barely even noticing Mitsuri’s voice calling Tanjiro over saying she found Giyuu’s box. The kid excused himself politely and ran away, leaving Sanemi to the empty hallway by himself. Somehow, he can’t identify what he felt. It was a myriad of emotions that came all at once, and the only one he can identify was genuine surprise.
A hashira was bedridden? Really? Sanemi had various theories in his head, but all were almost immediately debunked—also by his own head. Shinobu is strictly professional in her work, so he doubted it was only because she wants Giyuu out of commission for longer than he should be. So, was he that injured? Which Upper Moon was it anyway? He shouldn’t skip meetings. Why did he skip the meeting? Does everyone know about the attack except him? Does Obanai know?
Nobody sent him a crow.
That was two months ago. Giyuu’s been back for one.
He had no idea if anyone else noticed, but he is aware that Kagaya seemed to avoid putting the Water Hashira on tedious missions ever since he came back. It was bizarre yet subtle enough for anyone else to miss.
Not Sanemi though—as it bugged him for ages. He doesn’t even know why he noticed.
Or cared.
Staring at Giyuu’s back now, moving steadily with his breathing, he figured he must have been asleep. Under the warm candle light, placed nearby on a porcelain dish, Giyuu’s white sleeping robes look old and unkept though. He looks like shit, Sanemi thought.
A few weeks ago, he went out with Tengen and Obanai to a noodle place Kyojurou told them about. As they were the only ones available, they figured it would be fine to keep the rendezvous to themselves. That night, he finally heard of what happened to Giyuu.
“Ah, Mitsuri can’t come,” Obanai said as they sat down on an empty table. “Rengoku’s at the orchard. Gyomei’s on missions.”
“You haven’t invited anyone else? I’m not saying it’s boring with just us three—we’re already as flashy with just us after all!—but it would be nice to be with everyone.”
“Even to a lowly noodle soup house? Just tell us that you miss your wives and just leave it at that,” Obanai said, voice low. Knowing the guy, it’s probably his default volume. Sanemi immediately looked around subtly to look for the noodle house’s staff. The Serpent Hashira already got them banned from several shops because of his ruthless opinions.
In his own words, it’s just “brutal honesty”. In Tengen’s, it’s called “unflashy rudeness”. For Sanemi, Obanai is simply just fucking rude.
“Yeah?” Tengen responded right as they were served their noodle bowls. Sanemi was the one to thank the cook, a kind yet strict man, while the two continue their conversation. “So? What about Kocho? She eats well.”
“Still treating Tomioka and handling her fair share of work,” Obanai groaned.
Sanemi was slurping, already about to exclaim how good the noodle broth was. He merely swallowed his words along with the best noodles of his life at the mention of Giyuu. He haven’t heard of him for days.
“Ah, and him?” Tengen asked, only catching himself once the words were already spoken.
And so, as casual as the two acted, Sanemi didn’t miss the odd change of atmosphere when Giyuu’s name was brought up. While they usually speak his name ready to place an insult right after, this time they spoke like he was an acquaintance they didn’t hate.
(For some reason, it made Sanemi’s guts turn. Ceasing fire to the hate train now, huh? So that was a thing in civilized conversations.)
“Yeah,” Sanemi finally spoke. All he knew is that the man was injured. He doesn’t even know about the how, why, or when. “How was he?”
Both eyes immediately go to Obanai.
The Serpent Hashira, now separating his chopsticks, immediately raised a brow. Despite half his face covered in bandages, he is one expressive man.
“Why are you two asking me? What am I, his spokesperson or something?”
Tengen swallowed and suddenly brightened, finally tasting what noodle magic Kyojurou was going on and on about. Obanai continued, ignoring them.
“I heard Kocho ordered a new set of bandages and gauze. I don’t know what happened, I just know he almost died,” Obanai finally reveals with great displeasure, “Mitsuri was at the site when it happened. She said she had to pick up each piece of Giyuu’s haori that remained.”
“I…don’t know what to do with that information,” Tengen replied.
Sanemi started, “So you two barely had any idea too?”
Giyuu’s haori was torn?
“I thought you knew shit,” the shorter man said as he gave treats to his snake. He finally turned to his noodle bowl and started blowing on the warm broth.
Bandages? Since when did Shinobu ran out of gauze?
“Hey, Obanai. What even happe—“
It was cut off by Obanai’s loud excited hum—the most delighted he’s ever sounded. It was a rare sight to behold. Sanemi almost forgot about the question he was about to ask.
“It’s…it is delicious…! Kyojurou’s right.”
Tengen laughs and rubs Obanai’s back, saying something about not working his resentful brain too much for processing such joy of life.
Sanemi just decided to drop the question. It’s not like he cares about Giyuu, anyway.
“Let’s send Kyojurou a crow later. He deserves credit.”
“Agreed.”
Slurps follow and nothing more.
While the majority of their noodle-based escapade (which ended with sake, lots and lots of sake) was about their personal lives, what Obanai said about Giyuu managed to stick until his morning hangover.
It really has to be the one thing he’d rather forget.
He finds Giyuu in the annoying dewy smell of fresh morning grass. He finds him even in the water droplets floating on the tea leaves. He finds him in every maroon-colored object he laid his eyes upon.
Sanemi cannot help the curiosity any longer—it claws his insides so much he wants to throw up—so he went to the Butterfly Estate for a quick visit before his patrol. He’d just tell Shinobu or Kanao that he needs to drop the tea leaf containers off. Bullshit excuse, yes, but he had to return them soon anyway.
That day, he didn’t see Giyuu. Not even a glance. However, he did see three things.
One, he saw a familiar half and half haori hanging at the clothesrack outside the mansion. While it was indeed Giyuu’s—no doubt about it—the stitches that ran all over the fabric matched what Obanai said Mitsuri saw. It really was torn apart into pieces. One of Shinobu’s girls must have sewn it back together for the sake of memory. Sanemi wondered what memory it could be that they couldn’t just throw it away.
The second thing he saw was right by the main living area. While he didn’t see it the first time when he entered, he did notice it on his way out. It was a Nichirin blade with a red tip and green hilt, displayed on a stand along with other swords that aren’t as flashy. He immediately recognized it was Giyuu’s, though he wondered why he or Shinobu didn’t keep it near his person. However, he did keep note that the blade and its sheath was a little scratched. Giyuu must have fought as hard as he can—as he should.
Lastly, he saw a small container by the back door where he entered. It was placed near a pillar, wrapped in a half and half haori just like Tanjiro said. This time, he fed into his curiosity and approached the box. Sensing he had no observers, he carefully unwrapped the box of its cloth cover and peeked inside.
It contains a pair of golden rings with an engraved band. The daylight somehow blinded him from reading what the engravings might be, but the rings were surrounded by old letters, pieces of cloth, and other random memorabilia and trinkets he somewhat cannot understand. If his sense of smell is truly trustworthy, there were crumbled ashes of dry flowers inside as well. He immediately covered the box and wrapped it with the cloth neatly, leaving it as he found it. One thing is for sure, it does have the Tomioka family name all over it.
With those three things, he confirmed Giyuu’s prolonged stay at the mansion. While he cannot make out the extent of the injuries—or what injury it could possibly be—he did get the utter seriousness of the scenario. If Kagaya didn’t bother to send crows informing the uninvolved hashiras, it must have meant there are holes they still need to take care of and fix.
(His crow seemed mad when he accused it of mishandling messages. Turns out he wasn’t sent a message at all. He bought his crow a treat as an apology.)
If anything, the only ones who knew of the incident in more concrete detail were Shinobu, Mitsuri, Tanjiro, and Giyuu himself. He could seek out Tanjiro and ask him directly (as asking the hashiras would get him involved in whatever hate train they put Giyuu in), but it wasn’t worth it.
In his defense, it could just be ego talking. He simply doesn’t like things he doesn’t know.
Right?
Giyuu shifted in his futon, letting out a small groan.
Sanemi blinked and straightened, moving as to face the ceiling. Before he knew it, he was picking at the tatami mats again. He wants to glance at his roommate—he really wants to—but he might see something he doesn’t want to see.
“Shinazugawa-san.”
To his surprise, Giyuu spoke. It was low, and his voice was just as condescending as it sounded before. At least that didn’t change.
“What?” he grumbled.
“So you’re awake?”
“…Obviously.” He rolled his eyes, shifting to face the opposite wall instead of Giyuu or the ceiling—which are both as interesting as each other anyway.
“I could sleep or stroll outside if you want to.” His voice was quiet and calm, much like the water he was the pillar of. In essence, he was the perfect representation of his breathing technique.
“What are you talking about?” Sanemi replied. “Do whatever the fuck you want.”
“You can’t sleep because of me, right?”
Sanemi stopped picking the tatami momentarily. He blinked at the wall, thinking of words to throw no matter how meaningless—just to fill the pregnant silence born out of his exposure.
For a second, Sanemi wondered if he can pretend that was the end of the conversation. Maybe he can just sleep it off. The candle started to flicker again as soft midnight breeze blows through. Giyuu sighs when it did.
“Shinazugawa-san, I’d like to tell you something.”
He was so polite. He had always been polite. Sanemi forgot to note of it considering he had always seen Giyuu as a selfish self-centered asshole, but after the incident, he started to be tamer with his words. Was it Giyuu’s doing? Or his? He doesn’t know. In all honesty, he doesn’t want to know at all. He’s getting softer and he doesn’t like it.
Giyuu faces the ceiling, hands clasped together over his torso. His white sleeping robes really looked crinkled, didn’t it? It looks like it needs ironing.
And he had tired eyes, too. Looks like nobody had a wink of sleep so far.
Giyuu was still not moving.
“Are you going to fucking talk or not?”
After a few seconds, Giyuu starts to fiddle with his fingers. “It was about the incident. I heard Oyakata-sama didn’t report to the other hashiras. I have to tell everyone myself.”
Sanemi wouldn’t say this out loud for the sake of his integrity, but it made him uncomfortable realizing that Giyuu had to narrate his own traumatic experience himself. What was Kagaya thinking?
“Hm,” was Sanemi’s only reply. At least he shows he was listening. He doesn’t feel like sleeping anyway.
“Is it really okay to talk about it now? Maybe we should just rest,” Giyuu said.
“You rested too much for a month, is that not enough?” The words spilled out before he can think through them. He saw Giyuu furrow his eyebrows at the statement, though he paid it no mind. Sanemi did, feeling guilt blush from the pits of his stomach. In an attempt to brush the scenario clean, he continued. “Just go talk. I want to know what happened.”
Okay, good job. That’s the most honest he can get.
“Two months ago, I went to my family estate. It was abandoned, as I left it to be, but I just went to pick up some things that was left there. I washed a bento box I got and used it. I lost it during the battle but Mitsuri found it by the Ishikari River.”
Sanemi didn’t comment yet.
“I passed by the Shishido Plaza on my way back from patrol. There was a strong scent of foul mass so I immediately got into action. I saw Lower Moon One and a bunch of human organs.”
Lower Moon One? Which son of a bitch was that again? Sanemi wanted to ask, but he had a feeling he shouldn’t interrupt whatever Giyuu had to say.
This was the cold water to ease his two-month long itching anxiety of being left in the dark. He could use some shutting-up once in a while. This is the answer to the question that kept him up for days.
“And, well, Upper Moon 3 as well. They were already identified on the reports, including their Blood Demon Art and what they possibly look like, but if I didn’t hear about them, I wouldn’t know they were there. The scent was too faint. I still don’t understand how they managed to evade my senses at all,” he said, eyes still closed but completely relaxed. “What gave them away was the scent they left on a beer stall nearby. That’s it.”
It was a wonder Giyuu can actually speak so much. He had a cool deadpan voice—that, everyone knew—but there was a semblance of melancholy and inner guilt that was laced with every vowel he spoke. It was cold and full of repressed anger, but mostly guilt and sadness. As if the world had taken life out of him already.
Sanemi blinked in memory, suddenly remembering who the demons were.
It was Enmu and Akaza, if he remembered correctly. So they attacked Giyuu too?
“I tailed them as they exited the plaza. We reached a high bridge over the river. They finally noticed my presence and whatever spell or blood demon art they used to conceal their identities, it finally wore off. They smell like shit.”
Then, Giyuu paused for a while. For a second, Sanemi feared he fell asleep. However, for a story so important and traumatic, he doubted Giyuu was so calm he could sleep through it.
Still basking in the silence, Sanemi remembered Kyojurou’s reports. Copied in the Flame Hashira’s fine calligraphy, the reports spoke of Enmu’s sleep manipulation abilities as well Akaza’s hand-to-hand combat skills. They are suspected to be members of the 12 Kizuki for quite a few centuries, unreplaced and formidable. It came without saying that they’re extremely strong.
It has been quiet too long.
“So? Then what?”
Giyuu remained silent, but he took another deep breath. He starts fidding with his fingers again, but Sanemi just noticed that he actually wasn’t. He was actually fiddling with the edges of his bandages wrapped around his torso. As it was as white as the shitty robes they were given, he barely noticed in the dim light.
So if those were bandages…
His entire torso was wrapped in them.
Sanemi found himself swallowing in realization. Oh…
“Well, Akaza immediately ran, though I believe it was to tell Kibutsuji or seek more demons to feast. Enmu started to attack me, possibly to buy Akaza time,” he said. “I…It wasn’t great. They seemed to know I was there. They know my personal life. You know, I—“
“So what? That was Lower Moon One,” Sanemi spoke again, remembering how Obanai used to give Tengen shit about killing “only” the “lowly” Upper Moon 6. “Kyojurou said he makes people sleep. If the Tanjiro kid can defeat the spells so easily, so can you.”
Is that counted as a compliment?
Giyuu remained still, much more statuesque than normal. Sanemi feared he must have said something, and yes he did.
“To wake up from the dreams, you need to kill yourself over and over again.”
Sanemi froze.
That wasn’t in the report.
“The first dream I had, I apparently passed out and I dropped my box to the river. I dreamed of….” He seemed to be lost in space for a good second. “….something happy. The happiest one I think. I wasn’t in the Corps at all, and I was living a free life.”
Sanemi listened, an apology stuck in his throat. He shouldn’t have said what he did.
“But I knew something was wrong. I kept doing odd things like looking for my Nichirin sword—which I don’t possess—or looking for Tanjiro when I didn’t even know who he was,” he said as Sanemi starts to get invested. “The wind blew and suddenly, there were eight or so voices. One of them was yours.”
Sanemi was staring now.
“Me.”
“Mhm.”
“…What did I say?”
“You all told me it was a dream. Tengen said I looked decent for once. Rengoku told me I looked happy. Kocho said I need to wake up,” Giyuu replied before looking down at his hands. “…You told me I need to kill myself.”
He blinked.
He did say that once, out of sheer anger. In real life.
“You said, ‘Tomioka. You-”
“I know what I said.” He had to stop him, hands quivering midair as to shut Giyuu up. His own palm rested on the man’s shoulder, a touch he had always itched to reach out for.
Tomioka stares, before his eyes went from Sanemi to his hand.
He knew what he said.
“While the dream seemed real to me, it just reminded me that I was in the Corps, that I wasn’t a kid anymore, and that I was under a demon’s spell,” Giyuu said right before humming—something akin to a sad chuckle. If the candle light lit brighter, Sanemi could witness a faint sign of a smile on his face. “You told me to kill myself so I did. I did what I thought I couldn’t do. I eventually woke up and fought again, and it happened a few more times, but I just kept doing it to the sound of your voice.”
“I…”
“It’s like you killed me and saved me at the same time.”
It was a dream world. It’s not him, it’s just a mirror of his voice. He shouldn’t say sorry.
“I’m sorry.”
The words shook Sanemi to the core.
“That…you know, that you dealt with that. Must have sucked and shit.”
Giyuu was unresponsive for a few seconds until he hummed. He just kept going.
“You know, I didn’t tell anyone about this, Shinazugawa-san. Not even Kocho when she treated my wounds, but I have to admit that I kind of gotten the hang of it. It was something I’m really…..alarmed about. To be able to do it in a dream is already Enmu’s happy favor...”
“You enjoyed…killing yourself?”
Sanemi’s shaking, hands forming into self-controlled fists.
Giyuu shrugged. “You were there watching me the whole time.”
Sanemi doesn’t know what to do with this information. Why does Giyuu trouble him so? Where’s the high and mighty Tomioka every hashira hated? Did he even exist?
Perhaps, deep in his subconscious, he already knew. From the fragile request he made to Tanjiro to retrieve something important to him, to the haori he refused to throw away—there really was a great sense of humanity, love, and honor in a man who initially seemed too full of himself to associate with the rest of them.
“That wasn’t me,” is all Sanemi had to say. “Are you telling me all this to turn tides on me because it won’t work, Tomioka- it’s not me.”
“I know.” Giyuu sounds passive. “It sounds like you though.”
Sanemi took a shaky inhale, already feeling uneasy. He really should have gotten a separate quarters for the night. He is sleeping in the same room with someone who found comfort in the idea of death. And in various ways too. He doesn’t need to know about the details, does he?
“Shinazugawa-san, look. I don’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone, really,” Giyuu said, calm as the waters he represent. “It’s on me for almost giving in.”
“What else happened?” He felt angry now. “Spit it.”
“Akaza came back sooner than I thought. He went back with a couple of canines he claimed to be lower rank demons,” Giyuu sounded unfazed again, voice cool. Sanemi doesn’t like it one bit. “They were to ravage my body to my bones. The blood of a hashira is apparently in high demand as Muzan places higher value on our generation of slayers. That’s…a good thing, isn’t it? He feels threatened.”
No fucking shit.
“They say they even rationed me already. Enmu gets my head and Akaza gets my body, feeding it to the dogs and even leaving some for himself. I don’t mind whatever description they gave. I fought them anyway. I was put into sleep a couple more times, but even Akaza was surprised I get past Enmu’s sleeping spells too quickly. It’s as if it didn’t happen.”
“So…when you get the spell, you kill yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“-How many times?” Why the fuck did he ask-?
“I don’t know?” Giyuu sounded heavy. “Enough to make it…muscle memory?”
“Bullshit, Tomioka,” Sanemi hissed through clenched teeth. However contradictory, Giyuu is smart enough to know what he meant. “Stop it. Shut up. Tell me what happened to you.”
He cracked.
Giyuu heard his voice. That son of a bitch Enmu used his voice to drive Giyuu to suicide. To insanity. To death.
At the end of the day, did it even matter if it’s real or not? If it’s really him inside the dream or not? Driving Giyuu to the brink? Multiple times?
No.
Because Giyuu heard it all the same, thinking it was true. He fully believed everything he heard. He thought, at least at the first time around, that it was real. That he was doing it for real.
In the depths of Sanemi’s heart, the one screaming for compassion—for equity—Sanemi felt like that was on him. Once upon a time, he did utter those words. Not just to Giyuu, but to many who probably had difficulty sleeping at night as well. What difference does it make? He did say it. Giyuu still did it. There is no new ending here.
“I fought hard. My eleventh form worked against Enmu, but not Akaza. He managed to rip my haori to shreds. About it, I…I may have cried on the spot,” he said, palming the white robes he forgot wasn’t his haori. “The owner of half my haori, he died in the Final Selection. The other half is from my sister. I almost lost the last piece of them I have with me.”
He spoke so calmly of it. In Sanemi’s ears, all he can hear are odd memories one shouldn’t be calm about. Was Giyuu always like this or is this just after the incident? Was he always this sad?
“That was a mistake. I was put into deeper sleep and when Mitsuri got there, I was apparently being carried by Enmu while tied to one of the demon canines by rope. If they had fed me to the dogs right then and there, I would have been dead.”
Sanemi kept his eyes on the wall, barely watching his fellow hashira as he spoke. He’s afraid if he looked directly at him, he’d see something he doesn’t want to see.
“I read the reports when I woke up. According to Kocho’s notes, the demon was suspected to have invaded my heart and soul. Something called my spiritual core has to be destroyed,” he said. “Rengoku wrote about it, I think…”
It caught Sanemi’s attention. “Did it?”
“Did it what?” he asked innocently.
“Did it destroy your…spiritual core?”
Giyuu seemed surprised at the question, something he mustn’t have expected. “Kocho said it is not something medical, so…”
Sanemi now had a question forming at the tip of his tongue. He had half a mind to go ask, though he learned the hard way to think through words first.
He took a deep breath.
He was thankful the candle was dim, for he cannot bear Giyuu staring at his face—because if it was brighter, he would. That scares him, and he didn’t know why.
“How do you feel now?” he asked, though it’s not the question he wanted to really ask. He proceeded to hide his fiddling by his sides, where Giyuu cannot see. Here goes nothing. “Do you think you were…destroyed? By the spells? Why is it- does it not plague you? Talking to me right now like it doesn’t matter?”
Because if it was him, it would. He would never admit that but it would. It scares him. It was a nightmare hearing about it and it’s another circle of hell entirely to feel it himself.
The moon glistened past the bamboo walls and told them it’s time to wake up soon. Giyuu answers a few seconds later.
“You’re right. It does not matter,” he agrees, and Sanemi’s breath hitched. ”I barely got out and we learned nothing new about them. I wish I could bring back more information but I didn’t.”
“That not what I- You seriously think you’re a martyr? Who do you think you are?” Sanemi spat out, chest tight in an ache he never felt before. Why is this guy talking about himself like this? Like a flaming edge of a forest to watch in a distance. “You almost died. Do you think if you die, we would honor you because of the information it gave the rest of us?”
“Then what do you think?”
Giyuu suddenly fired back, an unexpected answer to an unexpected question. “Shinazugawa. Do you think I’m destroyed? Am I done for?”
His breath was like his fighting style: raggedy and hoarse. What a mess, he found himself. What a mess, Sanemi. You look like a fool. He and Giyuu are arguing now.
Suddenly, something warm kissed the top of their heads. The moon that shone, seemed to it, was the sun.
Are they done for?
The light drowned in yellows and oranges, and the candle welcomed its warmth with vigor. At this, Sanemi sat up, getting Giyuu’s attention.
“Alright. I’m not doing this.”
“-What?”
“I will no longer ask shit,” Sanemi said, a glimpse of a frown reaching Giyuu’s gaze. He felt him stare, but Sanemi figured letting him stare wouldn’t do any of them harm. “I’d no longer ask and neither would you. Report received. Done?”
Sanemi, sitting up, placed his hands on either side of his futon to support himself. The sun started to rise from the darkness, and he reached for the candle dish. Giyuu also propped himself up, groaning quietly because of his tight bandages, and Sanemi found himself supporting his back as he sat up.
“You just didn’t want to answer my question.”
Gray eyes against deep blue, Sanemi was looking right into Giyuu’s face for the first time. Properly. He looked so tired. Exhausted. And Sanemi only found himself looking at a mirror.
“Fine, what do you think I’d say?” Sanemi hissed, but without bite. “Do you seriously think your death would mean much more than your survival? You know who thinks like that? Cowards. You think there is glory in death?”
Giyuu seemed taken back by his words, despite it being whispered into the air lacking Sanemi’s usual growl. He looked down, in a surrender, or perhaps mere exhaustion.
“You just said no more questions.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Sanemi placed the candle dish between them, but he didn’t blow it out just yet. He slowly lets Giyuu go, now backs to the wall where the sun started to kiss them a good morning, facing the opposite where their shadows lie. They now stared in the silence knowing they haven’t got a wink of sleep and yet had an entire day of hiking to do.
“But I know you wanted to ask more,” Giyuu whispered to the air. “And if you really wanted to, I’d try to answer. I jusy didn’t think you wanted to know about me.”
You wanted to know about me.
Sanemi chuckled, taking the candle dish by his hand and without turning to Giyuu, offered it to the man’s face to blow.
Fuck. Fine, yes he does. This entire time, he wanted to know about Giyuu so bad it hurts. It hurts his pride, his ego, his own conscience—he is crumbling over his own resolve. Everyone seemed to know something he didn’t, even Obanai, and everywhere lies ghosts of Giyuu but never the man himself. It was maddening. His own brain had even came up with a thousand possible images of what that torn haori meant, what the numbers of scratches on his Nichirin meant, his goddamn bento box-
Yes, he wanted to know more. That is not a sin. He wanted to know everything about Tomioka Giyuu it was no longer a Corps-centric desire. He just wanted to see him back in his usual place, standing not far away from everyone sulking like a king that didn’t want to dirty his robes—but never wrapped in bandages like a lost soul never to be retrieved. Because that is not who Giyuu was to him. In his mind, Giyuu is not weak.
He had the best, downright stupidly annoying, defense technique in the hashiras. He would spar with them in the rare occasions Kocho or Gyomei would manage to convince him, and he would just stand there with his 11th form unbothered and untouched by any of their attacks, all with a goddamn poker face on the entire time. He was untouchable. Formidable. For Sanemi, he is a strong opponent and an equal, even if all along, he apparently does not believe that. What horror it was to realize that he is more to Sanemi than he ever was to himself.
But Sanemi couldn’t just say all that. He cannot tell Giyuu to return. He cannot tell that everything he ever said, he never actually meant. He cannot just say he had searched for Giyuu every time he was gone for meetings, or when he visits the Butterfly Mansion. Because that is not allowed.
So instead he just called his name—not ‘Tomioka’, rather a different one that what he heard in the nightmare—and sighed.
“Giyuu,” he called. “Get up.”
At the mention of his name, the hashira breathed in softly and Sanemi had half a mind to glance to watch him blow out the candle, but he didn’t.
From then on, it’s almost as if they agreed on an unwritten rule of ceasefire—Giyuu wouldn’t question him and neither would he. He wouldn’t look and he would never talk.
Maybe, if it worked like that since the beginning, everything could be better.
Giyuu blew the candle out, its gray smoke drifting along the gentle morning breeze, and Sanemi places the dish down. Their crows seemed to be a long way from giving them their agenda, as it was quiet and peaceful outside.
In the big picture, maybe if he was nicer, he would’ve avoided most of the troubles he landed. Much like the alternate scenario wherein he didn’t dislike Kyojurou on the spot, he would have gotten the noodle recommendation sooner. Much like how he would’ve known what the attack was all about if he only asked Tanjiro to tell him, he would have slept more nights.
And much like how he and Giyuu would have been friends if only there wasn’t a big misunderstanding, they could have gotten a full night’s sleep today.
“Let’s go.” He stood, only for Giyuu to grab him by the arm and stop him. He looks back in genuine surprise, the skin where they touch starting to numb yet tingle.
“…What?” Sanemi whispered. The man looks back at him in quiet pleading.
“Will you let me bury my thoughts first?”
Sanemi didn’t have to think his thoughts through this time. It was the most sincere he could get, in the purest form of apology he can speak. His question earlier was answered: it does plague him. It haunts him. He was, in fact, destroyed.
And admitting it is the most difficult step of letting yourself be put back together.
“Go ahead. Bury them as deep as you like,” Sanemi forgave him, also as if to say sorry. He relaxed his arm, and waited until Giyuu lets go of him first. When he did, he kept staring down at him, who looked down in peace. “Bury them as deep as you wanted to.”
From now on, he’s not going to stop him. He is glad he was here. He is glad Giyuu is alive.
Sanemi finally stood up and folded his blanket over the futon. Giyuu kept staring on their shadows on the wall, but when Sanemi glanced, he had a soft smile on his face. Albeit tired, he found himself having the same apologetic expression.
“I’ll go eat,” he said. “You follow suit. We can’t stop to eat on the road.”
Giyuu stops him again, but only by a quiet murmur.
“Thank you for listening.”
Sanemi slid the doors open to the hallway and had one of his feet already outside. Before he could leave Giyuu to himself, he finally lets the last he had to say.
“I’m sorry…about what I said.”
He shuts the door.
As they move out, their uniforms washed and bodies ready to take in the day, Sanemi subtly lets Giyuu lead the way. Something about his comrade getting out of his line of vision right after their early dawn conversation makes him uncomfortable.
Aside from that, the day was easy. He loved the mountains and the colorful vegetation by the roots. The sky was clear but the breeze didn’t make the weather too stuffy. The sun stares down at them as if witness to what happened, but Sanemi paid it no mind. All he knew is that Giyuu blends in with the morning dew.
He also seemed lighter than yesterday, too. Sanemi loved that day; he found himself content when it ended and they found themselves at another lodging. Everything is great. Everything is loved.
There’s just one thing he hates.
He hates how Kagaya is right once again.
Fin.