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There’s a cool wind rustling the leaves overhead as Muichiro sits on the ground beneath the willow tree, watching the surface of the pond ripple. The air smells clean, almost vaguely aquatic, with the scent of wet bamboo in the distance at the outskirts of the forest. When he looks up, the sun is behind a cloud, as it has been for the past half hour, and it casts a comforting shade over the surroundings.
It’s been a tiring few weeks. It was a miracle that he managed to survive the severe injuries he sustained in the Infinity Castle, but somehow he awoke in a pristine bed with only one arm left and an unfamiliar girl monitoring him, who called for the others as soon as she noticed he was awake. He had been in a coma for a while, and even after he woke up, they recommended he stay in bed to recuperate.
However, he’s been feeling better for a few days, and it doesn’t take too much energy to wander out to the gardens and sit beneath a tree to watch clouds pass by in the calm sky. He’s comfortable here, with the pleasant weather and the loose clothing that has always been convenient to wear. The initial return of his memories was a harsh flash of overstimulation, caught up in the chaos of the fight, but now a peaceful haze has settled over his mind again like an old friend, his memories slotting back into their original places like the intricate branches of a tree.
He can see Giyuu before he hears the rustle of his footsteps against the grass. The Water Hashira tends to stick to himself, but their eyes meet and it’s clear that Giyuu is heading here on purpose.
Giyuu’s carrying a tray laden with a ceramic pot and two cups, and when he reaches Muichiro, he kneels, lowering the tray to the ground in a fluid movement. Without any explanation, he pours the tea into the cups. The scent of green tea rises into the air, warm and fragrant. Along with it, there’s the familiar scent of the Water Hashira; a hint of soap, and beneath it, the earth after rain.
“What is this?” Muichiro asks.
“Tanjiro’s been on my case about being more social,” Giyuu says shortly.
“And you listened to him?”
“You know how persistent he is.”
He does know. “Then why me?”
“You’d rather have me talk to Shinazugawa?” he says pointedly, and it’s a good point.
Muichiro reaches out for the cup closest to him and takes a sip. It tastes like sitting inside on a rainy day, staring out of the window with Yuichiro as they watch raindrops chase each other down the glass, betting on which ones would reach the bottom first. This memory comes slowly, wandering to him at a leisurely pace. It does not bombard him like the memories in the Infinity Castle, frantic to make their way towards a boy who might have died before he could rediscover them. Today, he is sitting under this tree, sipping tea, and he can afford to ponder over the memory like a pure, white bird landing on his windowsill.
Once, he had thought that Giyuu was like a decorative object, and it still fits. He’s a marble statue, face expressionless as he stares ahead, the rhythm of his breathing barely discernible at all. Never wavering, never crumbling. Pillars don’t crumble.
“They tell me you showed a lot of favoritism towards Tanjiro,” Giyuu comments. “During their training.”
“Who’s they?”
“Zenitsu. Inosuke. They said you called his coordination perfect, and let him move onto the next mansion in only five days.”
“So what if I did? He completed his training well.”
“You smiled at him, but threatened the others and called them incompetent nincompoops.”
“You’re one to talk, Tomioka. Assuring the master that you’d commit seppuku for the sake of Tanjiro and his sister, protecting him—he got to you more than anyone.”
Giyuu pauses at that. He bows his head to take a sip of his tea, and as he raises the cup to his lips, the scent wafts through the air again, soft and light. “He’s a good kid. He’s protected us both.”
“As we’ve protected him.”
“To some extent.”
“Don’t blame yourself for it,” he says, because he knows Giyuu well. “Many of the corps were lost, but we’re alive and Muzan is dead because of their sacrifices. It’s the price of victory.”
“I should have done more.”
“I should have, too. I don't regret risking my life for my comrades. I only wish I could have carried it through and sacrificed myself for their sakes so that so many children wouldn’t have lost their lives.”
“You’re a child, too,” Giyuu says evenly.
“You’re practically one as well.” He gulps down more of his tea. “If Tanjiro heard us talking like this, he would be furious.”
To his surprise, the corners of Giyuu’s lips faintly quirk up. “Giyuu-san, you’re worth more than you think, you need to make the most of the gift you’ve been given.”
Muichiro joins in. “Muichiro-kun, I believe in you. You can do anything when you set your mind to it.”
It’s odd, having a conversation with Giyuu. Ordinarily, the Water Hashira rarely talks at all, much less has an extended conversation with anyone, so it’s unfamiliar to be chatting to him as if it’s a daily activity. However, it’s rather pleasant. It’s been a while since Muichiro’s has a calm conversation like this, without worrying that they were wasting valuable training time or about to be ambushed.
The wind sweeps around the gardens again, leaving behind the scent of the fresh, cool air. A gecko skims over the dewdrops on the damp grass, and the tendrils of a similarly shaped cloud drift across the sky like a celestial echo.
“You fought well, Muichiro,” Giyuu says, glancing over at him.
It comes as a surprise. Even after the fight was over and they were putting themselves back together, no one had sought out Muichiro to congratulate him on defeating an upper moon by himself, on surviving Upper Moon 1, on being fourteen, fourteen and alive. Mostly, he’s stuck to himself, sitting in the garden and watching the sky, letting a comfortable mist envelop his mind and carry away all the pain of the past.
“Gyokko was immature,” Muichiro says. “When I insulted him, he lost his composure.”
“Not only that. You were the first to turn your sword red. Even after Upper Moon 1 stabbed you, you continued to fight. They defeated him because of you.”
“You fought well, too.”
“Not well enough,” he says with a glance at the remaining half of his right arm.
Muichiro is not amused. He looks pointedly at the absence of his own left arm, and Giyuu has the decency to look slightly apologetic. Between the two of them, they only have a single pair of arms left. Same boat, same ocean. The waves are coming slower now.
It’s not a topic he cares to linger on, so he gazes at the landscape ahead of them again. In his mind, the serene mist comes and goes in waves. It glides ahead in slow motion, drenching his thoughts, dulling them until a soft mist seems to fall over his vision, too. The wind rustles the leaves of the tree again, and a bird flies by to land on a nearby branch. It ruffles its wings, hopping on a single foot.
“What was that bird again?” Muichiro muses.
He looks over at the bird, which is ruffling its feathers again. “Sparrow.”
A beat passes. The wind jostles the willow tree’s leaves, and the halo of branches over their heads shifts slowly with the motion of it. A frog leaps across the pond, landing effortlessly on a lilypad. Under the surface, fish are swimming around, pale orange, dotted with white patches. They send little splashes up to the surface of the water, creating delicate drops on the aquatic plants surrounding the pond.
His gaze darts sideways to appraise Giyuu, who is still watching the bird. When the bird lifts off into flight, he looks upward at the sky. It’s nice, to have someone beside him who will share this solitude and bathe in the comfortable silence without pushing for more. Muichiro was born to be happy, and he thinks he might get a better chance at it now that they have time. It wouldn’t be so bad if it would come from sharing these peaceful moments with his friends. He hasn’t talked to Giyuu often, but he would like to.
“It’s not so bad,” Giyuu comments. “This cloud-watching thing of yours.”
He looks at him. “Yeah?”
“I think I could get used to it.”
Muichiro smiles. Another spiral of green tea steam curls in the air, and evaporates into the serene chill of the breeze.