Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was no bright light. No sensation of floating. No out-of-body experience.

Only pain.

And Giyuu.

Sabito lay motionless on the cold ground, his body refusing to obey him. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, warm and sickly, as it pooled beneath his cheek. His vision blurred, but through the haze of agony, he saw it—bright ocean-blue eyes, wide with horror.

No, he wanted to say. Don’t look at me like that.

But no words came.

Somewhere, beyond the ringing in his ears, the sounds of battle still raged. Screams. The clash of blades. The wet, sickening crunch of flesh being torn apart. But none of it mattered anymore.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

His head felt wrong—too heavy, too shattered.

Distantly, he heard the demon’s laughter, felt the ground tremble as it stepped away from his broken body, searching for its next victim.

Giyuu.

He was still alive.

Good.

Sabito had bought them time. The others—Giyuu, the weak ones who wouldn’t have survived on their own—they could still make it.

That was enough.

He let his eyes slip closed.

He had kept his promise.

And yet, in his final moments, as the darkness swallowed him whole, all he could think of were the promises he hadn’t kept.
________________________________

Gyiuu’s Pov:

When Urokodaki handed him the worn leather-bound journal, he had hesitated to take it.

"Sabito would have wanted you to have this."

That was what Urokodaki had said. And Giyuu, fingers trembling, had accepted it without a word.

Now, sitting alone in his quiet home, he let the pages fall open, their edges worn soft from the countless times he had traced them. The ink, though slightly faded, still carried Sabito’s rough, familiar handwriting.
________________________________

*Journal Entry – Day 112 of Training*

I punched Giyuu today. He deserved it.
But I also promised to be his best friend forever, so I guess that means I have to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed before Final Selection.
(Seriously. He needs to work on his footwork.)
________________________________

The sun was beginning to set, casting the training grounds in hues of deep orange and gold. Sabito and Giyuu were alone in the quiet clearing, surrounded by the sound of their steady breathing and the occasional rustle of leaves. The day had been exhausting—an endless series of sparring sessions, technique drills, and lessons. But despite the familiarity of it all, Sabito could tell something was wrong.

Giyuu had barely spoken all day. That wasn’t unusual—Sabito was used to dragging conversations out of him—but this wasn’t just his typical silence. This was something heavier.

His movements were sluggish. His shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. His expression, usually just blank or unreadable, was empty.

Sabito had ignored it at first. Maybe Giyuu just had a bad night. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was sore from training.

But as the day stretched on, and Giyuu continued moving like he was barely there, Sabito knew he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

He frowned, stepping closer.
"Oi, Gyiuu. You in there?"

Giyuu flinched at the sudden noise but barely reacted otherwise. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward Sabito, and that was when Sabito saw it—saw what had been off all day.

His eyes.

They weren’t just tired. They were hollow.

Sabito had seen Giyuu upset before. He had seen frustration, quiet anger, sadness buried beneath layers of silence. But this? This was different.

"What’s going on?" Sabito asked, quieter this time.

Giyuu blinked at him. His lips parted slightly as if he were about to answer, but then he hesitated.

Sabito watched him, waiting, refusing to look away. He had learned by now that Giyuu had a habit of keeping things to himself, locking them away like they couldn’t touch him if he just pretended they weren’t there.

But Sabito wasn’t going to let him do that. Not today.

After a long silence, Giyuu exhaled shakily. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, like the words had been trapped in his throat all day.

"It’s been a year."

Sabito furrowed his brows. "A year since what?"

Giyuu swallowed hard, his fingers curling into fists.

"Since Tsutako died."

Sabito’s breath caught in his chest.

The realization hit him like a strike to the ribs. Of course. He should’ve known. He should’ve remembered. He had heard Giyuu mention her name before, in quiet, fractured sentences—never in full detail, never more than he could bear to say aloud. But Sabito knew enough.

He knew she had died to protect him.

He knew Giyuu had been left alone because of it.

For a moment, Sabito didn’t speak. He just watched Giyuu, watched the way his fingers dug into his palms, how his shoulders curled inward like he was trying to make himself disappear.

And then, so quietly that Sabito almost missed it—

"I should have died instead of her."

Sabito felt something crack inside his chest.

He had heard Giyuu talk down about himself before, had seen glimpses of his self-loathing in the way he flinched at kindness.

But this—this was something else entirely.

Before Sabito even realized what he was doing, his hand had curled into a fist.

And then he swung.

His knuckles connected hard with Giyuu’s stomach.

Giyuu stumbled back, his hand flying to his abdomen as he gasped in surprise. He stared at Sabito, eyes wide, still processing what had just happened.

"What the hell?" he rasped.

Sabito was breathing hard, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. "Don’t you ever say that again."

Giyuu blinked at him, looking almost offended. "Say what?"

Sabito’s grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles white. "That you should have died instead." His voice wavered slightly, but he pushed forward. "You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to sit there and act like your life is worth less than hers just because she made a choice."

Giyuu’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

Sabito’s chest burned, his own anger barely contained. Not at Giyuu—but at the world, at the cruelty of fate, at the fact that someone like him could think so little of himself.

"She saved you," Sabito said, softer this time. "Because she loved you. And you dishonor her every time you act like that sacrifice meant nothing."

Giyuu’s hands trembled. His lips pressed together, his eyes flickering with something—guilt, maybe, or shame.

"I—"

Sabito didn’t let him finish. He stepped forward, grabbing Giyuu by the front of his uniform, forcing him to look at him.

"You are not a waste of space. You are not some mistake that should have been erased." His voice was firm, unyielding. "You’re my best friend, Giyuu. And I swear to the gods, I will never let you say something like that again."

Giyuu stared at him, stunned. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak.

He didn’t know how to respond to something like that.

Didn’t know how to process the fact that someone cared about him that much—enough to be furious on his behalf, enough to fight him over his own self-loathing, enough to hold onto him when he was trying so damn hard to let himself slip away.

Sabito sighed, his voice steady, unwavering.

"Believe me when I say your life is worth something," he said. "Believe me when I tell you that you matter. Because I don’t waste my time on things that don’t."

Giyuu swallowed hard. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to protest, but no words came out.

Sabito exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You don’t have to say anything," he muttered. "Just—" He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, gripping Giyuu’s shoulder firmly.

Giyuu stiffened slightly at the touch, glancing up at him in surprise.

Sabito offered a faint smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers tightened briefly, grounding, steady. "Just don’t forget it, idiot."

Giyuu swallowed hard. He gave a small, hesitant nod.

Sabito studied him for a moment, then exhaled and took a step back, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the conversation.

"Alright, enough of that depressing crap," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "We’ve got training to do, and I’m not going easy on you just because you’re being extra mopey today."

Giyuu huffed quietly, something almost like a ghost of a smile flickering across his lips.

Sabito caught it.

And for the first time that day, the tightness in his chest eased—just a little.

"Come on," he said, nudging Giyuu’s arm before turning toward the training field. "Let’s go, before Urokodaki-sensei decides to throw us both off a mountain for slacking."

Giyuu hesitated, glancing down at his hands, still curled into loose fists. Then, slowly, he exhaled and followed.

________________________________

*Journal Entry – Day 129 of training*
Training was brutal today. I honestly think I might’ve died a little from exhaustion.

Afterward, we just collapsed in the grass and stared at the stars for a while. He didn’t say much, but I didn’t mind.

What’s unfair, though, is how ridiculously pretty he looked under the stars. It’s really not fair for anyone to be that beautiful.
_______________________________

They had spent the day training, exhaustion settling deep into their bones. Now, with nothing but the moonlight and the quiet chirping of cicadas, they sat together in the open field behind their training grounds, side by side, letting the cool night air soothe their aching muscles.

Sabito turned his head, eyes lingering on Giyuu. The silver glow of the moon softened his features, making him look almost ethereal—his dark hair slightly tousled, his sharp eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

Sabito had never been one for poetry, but looking at Giyuu now, he thought even the most beautiful verses would fail to describe him.

Before he realized it, Giyuu’s head tilted to the side, resting against his shoulder. His breathing evened out, his body warm against Sabito’s own.

Sabito stiffened at first, unsure if he should move, but then he exhaled, relaxing. Carefully, he shifted, adjusting Giyuu just slightly so he wouldn’t wake up with a stiff neck. Then, with a tenderness he rarely allowed himself to show, he reached up, fingers ghosting along Giyuu’s cheek.

"I swear I’m going to marry him someday."

_______________________________

*Journal Entry – Day 145 of training*
Giyuu had a nightmare again. He woke up in a panic, shaking. I didn’t ask what it was about—he never tells me.

I just sat with him until he calmed down enough for me to pull him in.

I wish he would talk to me about it. Maybe it would help him ease the pain, even just a little. I hate this. I hate feeling so... helpless. I want to do something, anything to make him feel better, to take away the pain he’s carrying. But I just don’t know how…
_______________________________

Sabito sat in the corner of the room, watching as Giyuu shifted restlessly in his sleep.
He was tossing and turning, his breathing shallow. Sabito hesitated, knowing how much the younger boy hated showing weakness.

But when Giyuu’s voice broke through the silence, loud and trembling, Sabito’s heart stilled.

"Nee-San!," Giyuu screamed, his voice thick with sorrow.

Sabito didn’t hesitate this time. He moved to Giyuu’s side, gently pulling him closer, as if shielding him from his nightmare.

"Shh, shh, I’m here," Sabito murmured softly, his hand pressing gently against Giyuu’s back in a comforting rhythm. "You’re okay. Breathe, Giyuu. Breathe."

Giyuu trembled in his arms, his body still rigid, eyes wide and lost. Sabito could feel his breaths coming in shallow gasps, like the weight of the nightmare still clung to him.

Sabito’s heart ached as he held Giyuu tighter, brushing his fingers through Giyuu’s hair in a slow, calming motion. He didn’t know what to say anymore. Words never seemed to reach him.

But the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a quiet kind of understanding.

"I won’t leave you," Sabito whispered, though he didn’t know if Giyuu could hear him. "I’ll always be here."

Giyuu’s body slowly began to relax, his breath evening out, though Sabito could still feel the tension lingering.

"You're not alone, Giyuu," Sabito added softly, just in case he needed to hear it again.

"You promise?" asked the raven haired boy in his arms.

"I promise."
________________________________

*Journal Entry – Day 181 of training*
Final Selection is almost here and Giyuu’s been quiet—more than usual. He looks worried.
He won’t say it, but I can see it in the way he stares at the trees, like he’s already imagining the worst.

He has nothing to worry about, though.

No way in hell will I let any demon take him away from me.
________________________________

The night air was cold, but neither of them made a move to go inside. They sat side by side, staring at the dark treetops, listening to the wind rustle through the branches.

Giyuu’s hands curled into the fabric of his uniform, his gaze fixed on the ground. He had been quiet all day, his usual silence heavier than normal.

Sabito waited.

Giyuu inhaled like he was about to speak, then hesitated. His fingers tensed against his sleeve.

"…Sabito," he said finally, his voice quiet, unsure. "Have you ever thought about…" He trailed off, as if second-guessing himself.

Sabito tilted his head. "Thought about what?"

Giyuu hesitated again, then exhaled. "…Do you think we’ll make it?"

Sabito blinked, then let out a short, almost amused breath.

"Tch." He scoffed, crossing his arms. "Don’t be stupid. Of course, we’re going to make it."

Giyuu didn’t respond right away. He just kept staring ahead, eyes dark with something heavy—doubt, uncertainty. The same quiet resignation he always carried.

Sabito’s chest tightened.

He reached out, giving Giyuu a light shove on the shoulder. "You really think I’d let anything happen to you?" His voice softened, but only slightly. "You have nothing to worry about."

Giyuu blinked, glancing at him hesitantly.

"I’ll protect you," Sabito said, firmer this time. "No matter what."

Giyuu lowered his gaze. His fingers stilled against his sleeve. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to.

Sabito meant every word.

Chapter Text

The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine, the sky above a dull gray as clouds drift lazily across it. A breeze passes through the trees, rustling the leaves, but Giyuu barely notices. His fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword, his grip firm and precise—just as it should be.

He draws in a breath, steadying himself.

Then he moves.

The blade swings down, cutting through the wood with practiced ease, his movements sharp, relentless and efficient.

His arms burn. His legs ache. His lungs scream for air.

But he doesn’t stop.

He can’t stop.

Again.

He adjusts his grip, forces his body forward, steps into the next strike with everything he has.

Again.

The wooden training post is covered in deep cuts, its surface uneven and splintered from the relentless assault. But Giyuu doesn’t care. He shifts his stance, swings harder—faster.

Again.

His breath is ragged now, each exhale sharp and uneven. His hands tremble while he feels sweat run down his aching body. His vision blurs at the edges.

It doesn’t matter.

Because the moment he stops… The moment he lets himself breathe, the memories will come flooding in.

The scent of blood, thick and suffocating. The sound of bones breaking. The look of panic on Sabito’s face. The way he had looked at Giyuu…

Giyuu clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches. He won’t remember. He won’t let himself.

So he forces his body forward. Forces his mind to go blank.

There is only the sword in his hands, the weight of it grounding him, the repetition of movement keeping him from slipping into that dark, dark place in his mind.

Strike. Step. Breathe.

Strike. Step. Breathe.

He doesn’t know how long he keeps going. Minutes? Hours? Time has become meaningless. He only stops when his legs finally give out beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground as his sword clatters from his grip.

His breath is loud in his ears, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. Sweat drips from his face, stinging his eyes, sliding down his neck. His arms tremble beneath his weight.

Still, he doesn’t move.

He stares down at the dirt, struggling to catch his breath.

This is good.

He’s so exhausted that there’s no room for anything else.

No thoughts. No grief. No ghosts of the past.

Just silence.

And sleep.
_______________________________

No matter how much he tries—no matter how hard he trains, no matter how exhausted he makes himself—Giyuu can never truly escape Sabito.

Because the moment sleep takes him, the past always finds a way in.

At first, it’s just pieces. A flash of pink hair in the corner of his vision. The distant echo of a voice he will never hear again. The phantom warmth of someone standing beside him.

Then come the memories—so sharp and vivid they might as well be real.

A clearing bathed in the golden glow of sunset.
The sound of laughter—bright, full, alive.
A promise, spoken without hesitation.

"You’re my best friend, Giyuu. I’ll always be here."

For a fleeting moment, warmth spreads through his chest. He can almost believe it—almost let himself sink into the comfort of it.

But it never lasts. It never does.

Because warmth bleeds into something colder, sharper.

The golden glow fades, swallowed by shadows. Laughter distorts, warping into ragged, pained breaths. The promise echoes, but now it sounds wrong—like a lie, like something that was never meant to be kept.

And then—

Blood.

It spills across the ground, thick and dark, seeping into the dirt. The air is heavy with the scent of iron. The training grounds vanish, replaced by the nightmare he never truly leaves behind.

Sabito is there, lying motionless. His mask is cracked, his eyes wide with something hollow and final.

The demon’s laughter rings in his ears.

Giyuu tries to move, tries to reach out, but his body refuses to obey.

He’s too late.

Too weak.

Too useless to stop it.

Sabito’s lips part, forming words—but no sound comes out. And then, slowly, the light in his eyes flickers—

And goes out.

Giyuu wakes with a choked gasp.

His breath is uneven, his chest tight, his pulse pounding so hard it hurts. His fingers curl into the sheets, gripping them like they’re the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

It takes a long moment before he can breathe again. Before the phantom scent of blood fades.

It was just a dream. A nightmare, that’s all.

Giyuu turns his head instinctively, expecting to see Sabito lying beside him, his pink hair messy from sleep, his expression peaceful.

But there is no one there.

Just an empty space. Cold. Silent.

"Oh… right."

The realization crashes down on him like a weight, pressing against his chest until it’s hard to breathe.

It wasn’t a dream.

Sabito is gone.

He isn’t lying beside him. He never will be again.

Something in Giyuu cracks. His throat tightens, and before he can stop himself, tears spill down his cheeks. They slip silently onto the pillow, hot against his cold skin. He doesn’t sob, doesn’t make a sound—just lies there, staring at the ceiling as grief carves itself deeper into his bones.

It’s been months. He thought maybe—maybe—the pain would dull, that the ache would fade into something quieter. Something bearable.

But it hasn’t.

And deep down, he knows it never will.
_______________________________

Years later:
Blood drips from his sleeve, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

The fight is over. The demon is dead.

And Giyuu is still standing.

Again.

He exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders. His uniform is soaked in blood—mostly his own, but some of it belongs to the demon.

He should feel something. Relief, maybe. Satisfaction.

But all he feels is tired.

He shifts slightly, testing the extent of his injuries. The wound on his side is deep, but not fatal. The gash along his arm will need stitches, but he can take care of it himself. The cut on his cheek stings, but it’s shallow. Nothing new.

Normally, a demon slayer in his condition would head straight for the Butterfly Mansion.

But Giyuu never does.

He sees the way Shinobu watches him—the way she lingers, like she wants to say something but always stops herself. He sees the exhaustion in her eyes, the subtle way her shoulders sag when she thinks no one is looking.

She’s always tired.

She has enough to deal with. He won’t waste her time.

His wounds aren’t deep enough to be fatal. He’ll be fine. He always is.

And that—that—is what surprises him.

With every mission, every demon slain, every swing of his sword, Giyuu feels like he's pushing his luck, like it's only a matter of time before the blade catches him. But it never does.

He should have died by now.

With the way he fights—with how little he cares for his own safety—it should have happened years ago.

But somehow, he keeps surviving.

Somehow, he keeps walking away from battle without so much as a permanent scar while the people who really deserve to live are taken from this world.

It isn’t fair.

Why me?

Sabito should have been the Water Hashira. He was the one destined to become a Pilar, the one who deserved it. Sabito should have been the one to live, to stand where Giyuu is now, to carry the weight of the title.

He feels like a fraud.

A ghost walking in someone else’s shoes.
_______________________________

Shinobu tied off the last bandage with practiced ease, giving the young slayer in front of her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Be more careful next time, alright?" she said, though she doubted he would. Demon slayers had a terrible habit of throwing themselves into danger, and this one was no exception.

The boy gave a sheepish nod before hurrying off, leaving Shinobu alone in the treatment room. She let out a slow breath, stretching out her stiff shoulders before turning her attention to the stack of medical reports waiting on her desk.

Her gaze skimmed the pages, noting injuries, recoveries, names—until she reached the end.

And, once again, his name wasn’t there.

She set the papers down with a sigh, tapping a finger against the wooden surface.

Tomioka Giyuu never came to the Butterfly Mansion. That was nothing new. But that didn’t mean it didn’t bother her.

It had been weeks since his last mission. Weeks since she had seen so much as a glimpse of him. And yet, not a single report of him receiving treatment. Not even the Kakushi had brought word of him stopping by.

That wasn’t normal.

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. She knew Giyuu well enough to know that if he wasn’t coming, it wasn’t because he had miraculously avoided injury. It was because he didn’t care enough to treat them.

Honestly. The man had the self-preservation instincts of a rock.

But there was no time to dwell on it. She had a Hashira meeting to attend.

With one last glance at the reports, she stood, smoothing out her haori before making her way out the door.

—

By the time she arrived at the Ubuyashiki estate, most of the Hashira were already gathered. She took her place among them, scanning the room with a practiced eye.

One spot remained empty.

Shinobu wasn’t surprised.

"Where’s Tomioka?" Sanemi asked, arms crossed.

"Late, obviously," Obanai added, sounding unimpressed.

Shinobu only smiled. Maybe he finally bled out somewhere. Not that she would ever say that aloud.

Just as the meeting was about to begin, footsteps echoed from the entrance.

Giyuu stepped inside, barely making it on time. His uniform was slightly disheveled, the fabric near his side darkened with something she highly suspected was blood. His face was unreadable, but she knew exhaustion when she saw it.

She let out a quiet sigh. Unbelievable.

The meeting proceeded as usual, but Shinobu barely paid attention. Instead, she waited, biding her time until there was a lull in conversation before tilting her head toward Giyuu.

"Tomioka-san," she said lightly, just loud enough for him to hear. He didn’t turn at first, only acknowledging her once she was right beside him.

"Kochou," he said simply.

She looked him over, noting the way he stood a little too stiff. As if moving too much would hurt. Typical.

"You didn’t come to the Butterfly Mansion after your last mission," she said lightly. "I assume that means you’re perfectly fine and definitely not ignoring a serious injury?"

"I didn’t need treatment," he replied, his tone as flat as ever.

Shinobu raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So if I poke your side right now, you won’t flinch?"

He didn’t answer.

She sighed. "Honestly, Tomioka San, you make my job so much harder than it needs to be."

Still, he didn’t move, just kept staring at the water as if it held the answers to everything.

Shinobu softened, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "You know," she said, more gently this time, "coming to the mansion wouldn’t kill you. We’re there to help, you know. And you’re not as invincible as you think."

"I don’t want to waste your time," he muttered.

Shinobu blinked, then let out a small huff of laughter. "Giyuu, do you really think treating injuries is a waste of my time? That’s literally my job."

He didn’t respond.

She sighed again. There was no getting through to him when he was like this. Still, at least she had confirmed that he was alive and mostly in one piece. That was something.

"Well, if you do decide to stop being difficult, you know where to find me," she said. Then, after a pause, she added, "Try not to bleed out in the meantime."

Sparing one last glance at the raven haired boy, Shinobu turned and headed back toward the Butterfly Mansion.
_______________________________

The Water Estate was silent when Giyuu returned, the dim glow of lanterns casting long shadows against the walls. He closed the door behind him, the familiar scent of rain-dampened wood settling around him like a second skin.

Without thinking, he shrugged off his haori, letting it slide from his shoulders and onto the floor in a crumpled heap. His fingers automatically went to the ties of his uniform, loosening them just enough to pull back the fabric and get a proper look at himself.

It wasn’t the first time he had done this. Wasn’t the first time he had stood here, staring at the mess of bandages wrapped around his body, at the deep stains of red that had seeped through the gauze.

It was, however, the first time he felt something beyond detached acknowledgment.

An odd sensation stirred in his chest—not quite guilt, not quite concern, but something in between. A quiet nudge.

Go.

The Butterfly Mansion was only a short walk away. The medics there would patch him up without question. Kochou, if she saw him, would probably scold him for waiting this long.

Kochou…

His mind flickered back to the meeting, to the way her usual sharp remarks had lacked their usual bite, to the subtle way her shoulders sagged when she thought no one was looking. To the dark circles beneath her eyes, proof of long nights spent tending to others, working herself thin without pause.

Giyuu inhaled slowly, willing the feeling away.

She had enough to deal with.

And he—

He was fine.

Turning away from the mirror, Giyuu moved toward his futon, pushing aside the lingering urge to do anything else.

A few hours of rest. Then he would be on his way to his next mission.

That was all there was to it.

Chapter Text

Warmth.

That was the first thing Sabito felt waking up—the kind of warmth that wasn’t just in the air but seeped into his very bones, wrapping around him like the embrace of an old friend. It was everywhere, woven into the golden light that stretched as far as the eye could see.

The sky was impossibly vast, painted in hues of gold and soft blue. Gentle clouds drifted lazily above, their edges tinged in a soft glow. Below, rolling meadows stretched endlessly, their grass swaying in a breeze that carried the scent of fresh rain and something achingly familiar.

It was beautiful.

Perfect.

A dream.

Sabito took a slow breath, inhaling the crisp, clean air. It filled his lungs easily, effortlessly, as if he had never once struggled for breath, as if pain and exhaustion were distant memories—unreal, insignificant.

His fingers twitched at his sides. He felt weightless. Free.

And yet… something was missing.

The thought crept in like a whisper, unbidden and unsettling.

Something was missing.

No. That wasn’t right.

Someone.

Sabito frowned, his gaze sweeping over the endless fields, searching, though for what, he wasn’t sure. There were others here—he could feel them. Distant figures, blurred by the brilliance of the light, voices soft and warm, laughter carried by the wind. There was no loneliness here. No sorrow.

And yet, an ache bloomed in his chest, a hollow space that no amount of light could fill.

His feet carried him forward, though he didn’t know where he was going. The grass was soft beneath his steps, bending without resistance, as if even the earth here welcomed him.

It would be so easy to let go.

To sink into the warmth of this place, to allow himself to be pulled in, carried away by the light, by the comfort, by the promise of peace.

But he couldn’t.

His steps slowed, then stopped altogether.

Something in him resisted.

Something in him ached.

Why?

His brow furrowed, a strange pressure building in his chest, tightening like a fist around his heart. It didn’t make sense. This place was perfect. Peaceful, safe, warm.

And yet…

Sabito exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

This wasn’t right.

It didn’t feel right.

The warmth, the light, the laughter—it was beautiful, yes, but it was missing something vital, something he couldn’t name, something—

No.

Someone.

His breath caught.

Giyuu.

The name struck him like a lightning bolt, cutting through the golden haze.

Giyuu.

He wasn’t here.

Sabito’s heart clenched painfully, the ache in his chest deepening into something raw, something that burned.

Where was he?

Why wasn’t he—

Oh right… he’s dead.

A quiet chuckle resonated in the vast golden space, carrying warmth and an unmistakable air of wisdom.

Sabito turned sharply, eyes narrowing as he searched for the source of the voice. The air around him shimmered, bending and twisting like ripples in water, until the light itself seemed to take form.

A figure stepped forward.

At first, they appeared indistinct, as if made entirely of the golden light that surrounded them. But as Sabito blinked, their features sharpened. A man—tall, draped in robes that shimmered like the sky at dawn, his presence both calming and unfathomable. His face was kind, yet unreadable, his eyes seeming to hold the weight of eternity.

"You’re quite the restless one," the figure mused, tilting his head slightly as if studying Sabito. "It’s rare to see a soul so hesitant to embrace peace these days."

Sabito stiffened. "I’m not hesitant," he shot back. "I just—" He faltered, his throat tightening around the words.

The being smiled knowingly. "You feel like something is missing."

Sabito swallowed hard. He didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t deny it either.

A quiet hum left the figure, something between thoughtful and amused. "You fought bravely, Sabito. You saved many lives. For that, you have earned your rest." He gestured at the endless fields, the golden sky stretching beyond them. "This is your reward. A peace that will never wane, a world free of pain, loss, and sorrow. You may stay here, reunite with those who have passed, and know only happiness."

Sabito remained silent.

The warmth pressed against him, inviting, comforting. It would be so easy to surrender to it—to allow himself to dissolve into this perfect eternity.

Then why did it feel so heavy?

Why did it feel… wrong?

The deity regarded him for a long moment before speaking again.

"However," he said, "for someone like you—someone who did many sacrifices to save countless others—I can offer an alternative."

Sabito’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and searching.

A gentle smile. "A role with purpose. A path not of rest, but of guardianship."

Sabito’s hands curled into fists. "…What do you mean?"

The being’s expression softened. "You may stay here, in paradise, or…" He lifted a hand, and the golden fields shimmered, bending like a mirage. In the distance, something shifted—a glimpse of the world below.

The land of the living.

Sabito’s breath caught.

Giyuu.

He was there, alone, his face unreadable yet so painfully familiar. His shoulders tense, his eyes shadowed with a grief he tried so hard to conceal. The sight sent a sharp pang through Sabito’s chest.

"You may choose to watch over him," the figure continued, his voice steady. "To become his guardian. His protector from above."

Sabito barely heard him. His eyes were locked on Giyuu—the slight furrow of his brow, the way his hands clenched at his sides.

Alone.

Sabito’s jaw tightened.

He had sworn—sworn—to always protect him.

To never leave him behind.

But then, the figure’s voice grew heavier, interrupting his thoughts. "There is a cost however."

Sabito turned to face him.

"If you take this role, you will never move on," the deity said, his expression unreadable now. "You will remain in the space between—never truly among the living, but never able to reunite with those who have passed."

Sabito’s heart skipped a beat. The weight of the deity’s words settled over him like a heavy cloak. His chest tightened as the implications hit him all at once.

"But… does that mean I’ll never see Urokodaki-sensei again?" Sabito’s voice was strained, the question slipping from his lips before he could stop it. His thoughts drifted to his master—the man who had molded him into the person he had become, the one who had given him purpose when he had none, the one he had come to see as a father figure.

"And… and what about Makomo?" he said thinking of his first ever friend.

The figure’s gaze softened, but there was an undeniable weight in his eyes. He slowly shook his head, as if carrying the sorrow of what he was about to say.

"I'm afraid you would not be able to see them again, my child," the deity said, his voice gentle yet firm.

Sabito's heart tightened.
He had already lost so much—could he bear to lose even the chance to reunite with them?

The deity seemed to sense his turmoil, his gaze softening slightly.

"It’s not an easy choice," he said gently. "If you wish I can give you a bit of time to think it over?" he offered.

A part of him wavered.

But then he looked back at Giyuu.

At the loneliness in his eyes.

At the weight he seemed to carry on his shoulders.

Sabito’s hesitation vanished like mist in the wind.

"There’s no need to think it over," he said, his voice steady. "I’ve already made my decision."

The being chuckled softly, shaking his head in mild amusement. "So certain," he murmured. "I should have expected as much."

Sabito held his gaze, unwavering.

The deity exhaled, a sound that was almost fond. "Very well," he said.

The golden light around them shifted again, brighter now, pulsing in slow, rhythmic waves. Sabito felt something settle deep within his very being—a bond, an unseen tether linking him to the boy he had left behind.

"From this moment forward, you are bound to Giyuu Tomioka as his guardian angel."

Sabito felt the weight of the words settle into his soul, a presence that was neither constricting nor suffocating but undeniable all the same.

"You will walk beside him, though he will never see, nor hear you. A whisper in the wind, a hand at his back. His path will not be easy. Filled with hardships and suffering. But he shall never be truly alone… for you will be there watching over him from above."

Sabito closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

That was all he needed.

"Go now little one," the figure said, lifting a hand.

The golden light flared one last time, swallowing him whole.

And then, he was gone.

___________________________________

The figure remained in the vast expanse of golden light, watching the place where Sabito had stood just moments ago.

A knowing smile tugged at their lips as they murmured, almost to themselves,

"Ah, young love. Such devotion in someone so young… A shame his life was cut short."

With a wave of their hand, the golden light rippled, and the figure turned to walk, the vast expanse shifting around them. "On to the next," they muttered, their voice calm and focused.

Countless threads of fate stretched before them, and with a flick of their fingers, the paths began to shift.

"Always more to do," they whispered, disappearing into the light, leaving the world to continue as it always had.

Chapter Text

Sabito watched from above, arms crossed as he gazed down at the familiar figure moving through the dense forest below. Giyuu was walking alone again, his uniform torn, his expression unreadable, but Sabito could see it—the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders, the way his steps dragged just slightly.

With a sigh, Sabito rubbed a hand down his face. This idiot.

He had been doing everything in his power to protect him, to keep him safe. Nudging his blade just an inch to the left so a fatal strike missed, sending a gust of wind to slow an enemy’s attack, even stirring an uneasy feeling in Giyuu’s chest when danger lurked too close. And yet, despite all of it, Giyuu made it so damn difficult.

Because he didn’t care. Not about himself, at least.

He barely ate, barely slept. He took wounds without hesitation, as if he had nothing to lose, as if his own life meant nothing in comparison to those he protected.

Sabito’s fists clenched.

It’s like he’s trying to get himself killed.

He huffed, shaking his head. Too bad for him—I’m not going to let that happen.
_______________________________________

Sabito had never considered himself the vengeful type. But then again, watching two morons constantly antagonize Giyuu made him reconsider.

Perched unseen in the rafters of the Demon Slayer headquarters, Sabito glared down at Sanemi and Obanai as they muttered to each other, throwing their usual scathing remarks about Giyuu.

"Honestly, does he even feel anything?" Sanemi scoffed, crossing his arms. "Guy’s like a walking corpse."

Obanai hummed in agreement. "Tch. And yet he still thinks he’s better than everyone else. Arrogant bastard, no one even likes him."

Sabito’s eye twitched.

Oh, so that’s how it is?

Fine.
_______________________________________

Sanemi woke up to the soft light of early morning filtering through the cracks in the curtains. He stretched, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from another grueling mission, and groggily climbed out of bed. The first thing on his mind was coffee—strong, black, and enough to shake off the fog in his brain.

He stumbled into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and reached for his favorite coffee mug. The one with the chipped rim and the faded design. He always kept it in the same place—on the left side of the counter, next to the coffee machine.

His fingers brushed over the smooth surface, searching for the familiar handle, but instead all he found was empty space.

It wasn’t there.

"What the hell?" he muttered, blinking and looking again, convinced his sleep-deprived brain was playing tricks on him. He checked the table, then the cabinets, the small dish rack. He even peeked inside the microwave, but it wasn’t there either.

The kitchen was small, so it should’ve been easy to spot the mug if it was just misplaced. He checked the counter one more time, then shot his gaze around the room, a frown tugging at his lips.

No mug.

His pulse quickened, irritation mixing with confusion. He was sure he left it right there, next to the coffee maker.

He slammed the cupboard doors open one by one, rifling through them as if the mug might suddenly appear.

Nothing.

His hands balled into fists as he walked back to the kitchen, grabbed another mug, and went on with his day in a foul mood.
______________________________________

Obanai stirred awake, expecting the familiar weight of Kaburamaru resting against his shoulder. But as he reached up, his fingers met only empty air.

His eyes blinked open, brows knitting together. That was strange. Kaburamaru was always there when he woke up.

Sitting up, he glanced around the room, expecting to see the white serpent curled up somewhere nearby. But the usual spot on his pillow was empty. The faint unease in his chest grew.

"Kaburamaru?" he called softly, getting to his feet.

He moved through the estate, checking the usual places, but there was no sign of him. It wasn’t like Kaburamaru to disappear like this. Where could he have gone?

He checked the hallway, the training grounds, the small garden outside. He even stopped by the kitchen, but there was still no sign of him.

This didn’t make sense. Kaburamaru never disappeared like this.
______________________________________

It wasn’t until later in the evening that he found Kaburamaru.

Obanai had spent the entire day searching, irritation mounting with every passing hour. But as he stepped into the garden, the setting sun casting long shadows over the rocks, he finally spotted a familiar white coil resting atop one of them.

Kaburamaru was completely relaxed, basking in the lingering warmth of the stone. But Obanai’s gaze quickly shifted to what his snake was wrapped around—a mug. Suspiciously similar to the one Sanemi carries with him every morning.

Obanai stared. Kaburamaru stared back, tongue flicking out innocently.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "…Seriously?"

The snake remained silent, maintaining his firm grip on his newfound prize.

Obanai sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, he crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Where did you even find that?"

Kaburamaru flicked his tongue, unbothered. If anything, he seemed quite pleased with himself.

Obanai reached out, only for Kaburamaru to tighten his grip around the mug as if guarding some great treasure.

Obanai sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "You know Sanemi’s going to kill you for this, right?" He paused, eyeing his snake with a deadpan expression. "No—scratch that. He’s going to kill me for this."

Kaburamaru, completely unbothered, didn’t move a muscle. He remained perfectly still, curled up on the warm rock, the mug resting securely beneath him.

Obanai narrowed his eyes. "You're not even going to pretend to feel guilty, huh?"

Silence.

Obanai groaned. He was way too tired for this…
______________________________________

Obanai approached Sanemi’s estate with his usual composed stride, Kaburamaru still stubbornly wrapped around the stolen mug. He had tried prying it free, but the damn snake refused to budge. At this point, bringing the whole mess directly to Sanemi seemed like the only option.

Not that that was going to go over well.

He knocked once before stepping inside without waiting for permission. Sanemi was already seated at the table, arms crossed, scowling before Obanai even said a word.

"The hell do you want?"

Wordlessly, Obanai lifted Kaburamaru, revealing the stolen mug still trapped in the snake’s coils.

Sanemi stared. His expression darkened. "…Is that—" His eye twitched. "Are you kidding me?"

Kaburamaru flicked his tongue lazily.

Obanai crossed his arms. "Before you start yelling, I wasn’t the one who took it."

Sanemi slammed his hands on the table. "Then explain why your damn snake is hoarding it like some kind of treasure?!"

Obanai tilted his head slightly as if thinking it over before eventually shrugging.

Sanemi groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

His glare shifted to Kaburamaru. "What the hell is wrong with you, you creepy little worm?"

Obanai’s expression turned ice-cold.

"…What did you just call him?"

Sanemi scoffed. "You heard me. Your snake is a creepy little worm. And a thief too!"

Obanai’s grip on Kaburamaru tightened. "Well…Maybe if you weren’t such an unbearable jackass all the time, he wouldn’t have taken it."

Sanemi’s eye twitched violently. "Oh, so now this is my fault?"

"I’m just saying," Obanai said smoothly, "if my snake specifically went out of his way to steal from you, maybe you should reflect on that."

Sanemi growled. "Oh, shut the hell up—he probably just took it because he’s a greedy little pest."

Kaburamaru flicked his tongue again.

Obanai exhaled sharply through his nose, glaring down at Kaburamaru, who remained stubbornly coiled around Sanemi’s mug.

With a hand on his hip, Obanai lowered his voice, speaking in a tone that was almost reasonably patient.

"Look… I know he’s a jerk most of the time, but please give him back his mug."

Kaburamaru flicked his tongue and stayed exactly where he was.

Obanai’s eye twitched.

"Kaburamaru," he said, starting to get irritated, "let go."

The snake blinked once not even looking at him.

Sanemi scoffed. "Wow. Great training you’ve got there."

Obanai shot him a look. "You’re welcome to try."

Sanemi clenched his jaw, glaring at Kaburamaru, who was still comfortably settled on the mug, entirely at peace.

"…I hate that snake," Sanemi muttered.
_______________________________________

Sabito watched the scene unfold with barely concealed amusement, arms crossed as he hovered unseen above them.

Obanai stood there, clearly exasperated, while Sanemi looked two seconds away from throwing a punch—not that it would do much to help his mug situation. Kaburamaru, however, remained perfectly still, completely unbothered by the chaos he had caused.

Sabito grinned. Atta boy.

Unseen by either Hashira, he lifted a hand and gave the snake an approving thumbs-up. Kaburamaru, whether by coincidence or secret acknowledgment, flicked his tongue and nestled even tighter around the mug.

Sanemi let out a frustrated growl. "I swear to god, I’ll skin that damn thing—"

Sabito snickered. Oh, this was too good.
_______________________________________

Rewind to a few hours ago:

Sabito watched from his perch as Kaburamaru lazily coiled up beside Obanai, eyes closed in blissful slumber. The snake had been perfectly content, oblivious to the mischievous plot brewing in Sabito’s mind.

Sabito crouched low, inching closer to Kaburamaru, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Hey, Kaburamaru," he whispered, his voice smooth and coaxing. "Wake up. I’ve got an offer for you."

The snake didn’t respond immediately, his tongue flicking lazily in the air, clearly enjoying the comfort of his nap.

"It involves mice." He said tauntingly.

Kaburamaru’s eyes flickered open, and Sabito smiled as the snake’s looked up at him in curiosity.

"I want you to do something for me," Sabito continued, his tone casual. "It involves Sanemi’s favorite coffee mug. You know the one—the one he carries everywhere like it’s his lifeline."

The snake’s tongue flickered again, as though considering the words. Sabito leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I need you to steal it. Just snatch it up when he’s not looking. And in return… I’ll make sure you get all the mice you want. Nice, fat ones, the kind you love."

Kaburamaru’s eyes gleamed with interest, the offer clearly getting his attention.

"You know you want to," Sabito said, the words smooth and enticing. "Go on, Kaburamaru. Do it for the mice. For the fun. For the chaos."

The snake’s coils unwound slowly as Kaburamaru finally slithered off the bed, his body moving with intent. Sabito watched, triumphant.

"Thanks, Kaburamaru. You won’t regret it."

With that, the snake slithered away, intent on completing the task at hand, and Sabito couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, watching the scene unfold.
______________________________________

It wasn’t until the next day that Kaburamaru finally let the poor mug go.

The snake had spent the entire night curled around it like a greedy little dragon, refusing to relinquish his prize. But now, with the soft morning light filtering through the window, the snake’s hunger had gotten the better of him. His coils unwound slightly as he flicked his tongue, sniffing the air restlessly.

The moment Kaburamaru’s coils relaxed enough, Obanai swiftly snatched the mug, quickly retreating a step away.

Kaburamaru didn’t seem to mind however, seemingly distracted by something as he began to slither toward the front door with a sense of purpose.

Obanai raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Where do you think you’re going?"

The snake didn’t answer, slithering faster now, his movements quick and determined. Obanai sighed and followed, his curiosity piqued by Kaburamaru’s sudden sense of urgency.

When they reached the front door, Obanai froze.

Outside, in front of the entrance, was an absurdly large pile of dead mice.

Obanai blinked, momentarily stunned by the sheer number of them. "What the hell…?" he muttered to himself, slowly stepping outside.

Kaburamaru, now ravenous, didn’t seem at all bothered by Obanai’s surprise. His tongue flicked excitedly, and before Obanai could stop him, the snake was diving into the pile, feasting on the tiny rodents.

Obanai watched in silence for a moment before shaking his head in exasperation. "Where did you even find all these?" he muttered. But Kaburamaru was too busy devouring his spoils to respond.

Obanai let out a deep sigh and turned away from the unsettling sight, making his way toward the wind estate with Sanemi’s mug still clenched firmly in his hand.

Maybe after this, he could find Mitsuri. It’d been a while since he spent any time with her, and a distraction seemed like a good idea. She always knew how to make him forget about the chaos around him, and he could use a bit of that right now.

Chapter Text

The sky above was painted with soft hues of pink and orange as the sun began its descent, casting a warm, gentle glow across the horizon. The colors bled together in delicate swirls, as if the day itself were slowly fading into something softer, more peaceful. The pinkish glow reminded Giyuu of Sabito’s peach-colored hair, a shade that had always seemed so vibrant, so full of life, against the otherwise muted world around them. It was strange, how something so simple—a sunset—could stir up so much inside him. But it did. And for a moment, he paused, taking in the view, feeling the weight of the memories and the quiet ache that accompanied them.

Giyuu made his way through the forest, the familiar path guiding him toward the cemetery. His steps were steady, the soft crunch of leaves beneath his feet almost rhythmic.

Today was Sabito’s birthday.

Giyuu's fingers tightened around the small bundle in his hand as he walked. It was a simple thing—nothing extravagant, but it felt significant. A fox-shaped plush, small and soft, its fur a warm shade of amber, like the autumn leaves that had begun to fall. He had seen it earlier that day in a market while he was out on a mission, and though he couldn’t quite explain why, something about it reminded him of Sabito.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Little reminders of Sabito seemed to appear at the most unexpected moments. A flash of peach hair in the wind, a flicker of a smile in a stranger’s face, or even a simple object like this fox plush. It was as if the world, in its quiet way, couldn’t help but pull him back to those memories, to Sabito. And no matter how often it occurred, it never failed to leave a small ache in his chest—one that he had grown used to, but never quite learned how to ignore.

Giyuu reached the cemetery, the stone path leading him past rows of graves, the air heavy with the scent of earth and the quiet murmur of the wind.

When he reached Sabito’s grave, Giyuu paused for a moment. The tombstone stood tall and still, the simple inscription etched into the stone. He knelt down slowly, feeling the weight of the years pressing against his chest. His gaze softened as he carefully placed the fox plush beside the stone, the soft amber fur contrasting with the cold gray surface.

He let his fingers linger for a moment longer before he pulled his hands away. A faint tremor passed through him as he blinked back the growing lump in his throat.

"Happy birthday," Giyuu whispered quietly, his voice barely more than a breath against the silence.

He sat there for a long while, the minutes slipping by unnoticed. Giyuu spoke softly, sharing his thoughts with the wind, with the empty space where Sabito’s presence had once been.

"Maybe it’s foolish, coming back here every year, talking to you like this." Giyuu said, his words lingering in the cool evening air.

"But I—I don’t know how to forget. And honestly I don’t know if I want to."

His voice faltered, the words too heavy for him to carry any longer. A few silent tears traced the path of his cheek, falling quietly onto the earth below. He didn’t try to stop them this time.

"I miss you, Sabito" he whispered, the ache in his chest sharp as a dagger.

_______________________________________

That night, Giyuu returned home with heavy limbs, the weight of the day’s visit still heavy on his chest.

As he lay in bed, the weight of his nightmares settled over him, dragging him deeper into the darkness. The familiar terror took hold, the endless battles, the blood, the emptiness that seemed to echo in his mind. Sabito, no longer there to reach out and ease the storm, could only watch as Giyuu tossed and turned in his sleep.

There was nothing Sabito could do to stop the pain. No comforting words. No presence to calm the restless mind of his best friend.

He could only watch.

It was a cruel kind of absence. The one where you are there, but you are not. The one where all you can do is witness the pain of someone you love, but remain powerless to ease it.

Sabito stayed close, his gaze lingering on Giyuu, wishing for something—anything—that would make the nightmares fade, even for a moment. But it was futile. Giyuu's struggles continued, and Sabito could only feel the sting of frustration and sorrow deep within himself.

_______________________________________

At first, the mission had gone smoothly.

Giyuu had tracked the demon deep into the forest, its presence unmistakable—the scent of blood lingered in the air, and the trees bore the scars of its claws. It wasn’t particularly strong, at least not compared to the demons he had faced before. Its speed was decent, its attacks precise, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

He had the upper hand.

Until he didn’t.

The shift was almost imperceptible at first. A flicker in the demon’s form, a subtle warping of its features. Giyuu barely had time to register the change before he was staring into a face he hadn’t seen in years.

Sabito.

His breath hitched.

It wasn’t just a vague imitation—it was perfect. The sharpness of his eyes, the familiar scowl tugging at his lips, the way his stance was effortlessly confident. Even the way the moonlight hit his peach-colored hair was the same.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

And yet, Giyuu froze.

That moment of hesitation was all it took.

The demon—Sabito—moved, and pain tore through Giyuu’s side before he could react. He staggered back, gripping his sword tighter, but his body wouldn’t move the way it was supposed to.

The illusion didn’t break.

Giyuu’s heart pounded in his chest. He knew it was a trick. Knew that Sabito was gone, that this was nothing more than an illusion meant to toy with him.

But his mind and body weren’t in sync.

Another attack, another wound.

Blood seeped from the gash along his side, but he forced himself to move. He had to end this. The demon took another step forward, still wearing his face, still looking at him with his eyes.

A cruel imitation.

Giyuu’s grip on his sword tightened. He exhaled sharply, forcing his blade forward in one clean, decisive motion.

The demon barely had time to react before its head was severed from its body. A flicker of surprise crossed its face before both head and body collapsed, already beginning to disintegrate.

It was over.

Giyuu let out a shaky breath. The world around him stilled, the only sound left was his own ragged breathing.

Then, his knees buckled.

His vision blurred, darkened at the edges. He barely felt the cold ground as he collapsed, his limbs too heavy to move.

The last thing he saw before the darkness overtook him was the sky, its soft peach and gold hues blending together in a strangely comforting blur, like the fading edges of a dream.

_______________________________________

From above, Sabito watched as Giyuu’s body collapsed against the bloodstained ground, the rising and falling of his chest too shallow for comfort. His fists clenched at his sides, frustration burning beneath his skin like a wildfire.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Sabito had watched over him for years, unseen and unheard, doing everything in his power to keep him safe. And yet… here was.

Bleeding out on the cold earth, his breaths shallow, his body unnervingly still.

Sabito’s fists clenched at his sides, a sharp, bitter frustration settling deep in his chest. He had done everything he could—pushed the limits of what little influence he had left in this world. But in the end, it hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t been enough.

His gaze lingered on Giyuu’s face, pale and slack with exhaustion. Even now, he looked so much like the boy Sabito used to know. The boy who had clung stubbornly to his ideals, who had trained until his hands bled, who had always—always—stood back up, no matter how many times he was knocked down.

But what if, this time, he didn’t?

The thought sent a cold, hollow fear through him.

No, he wouldn’t allow it.

His teeth ground together as he looked up, scanning the darkened forest. There had to be someone nearby—someone who could help. His own power was useless here, his voice nothing more than an echo lost in the wind.

Unless…

Sabito turned his gaze toward the trees, toward the faint flicker of movement in the distance. A figure—small, slight—moving through the underbrush.

His heart leapt.

Shinobu.

She was close—too far to see Giyuu, but near enough that she might sense something was wrong. If he could just—
A soft gust of wind swept through the trees, barely noticeable at first, but enough to catch the edge of Shinobu’s medical pouch. With a slight shift, the pouch’s flap opened, and a small roll of bandages tumbled out, skittering across the ground.

Shinobu barely glanced down, her movements automatic as she reached for the pouch to secure it again. But before she could, the wind picked up, tugging the roll of bandages just out of reach.

She sighed, stepping forward with a slight shake of her head. "Seriously?"

She moved to retrieve it, but the wind continued to carry it further, pulling her off her path, leading her deeper into the trees. Her footsteps quickened as she followed the errant supplies, her patience running thin.

The bandages ceased their movement as the wind finally died down. Shinobu glanced down at the small roll now lying at her feet. With a soft sigh, she bent down, retrieved it, and slipped it back into her pouch without a second thought.

Just as she was about to turn and continue on her way, a figure caught her eye—a form lying motionless nearby, hidden just beyond the thick of the trees. For a moment, she froze, a feeling of unease creeping over her.

Curiosity piqued, she approached cautiously, her shoes crunching softly against the forest floor. Her mind raced—what was this? Another casualty? Was it one of the other Demon Slayers?

As she drew closer, her breath caught in her throat. She knelt beside the figure, her heart pounding in her chest.

It was Gyiuu.

His body was still, his usual composure nowhere to be found, and his skin looked unnaturally pale. His chest rose and fell, but the movement was shallow, faint—too faint. Blood stained his uniform, pooling beneath him.

Shinobu’s heart tightened. She quickly pressed her fingers to his pulse—weak, barely there, but it was still there. He was bleeding out.

Panic surged through her, but she quickly smothered it, her mind snapping into action. She opened her pouch, fingers moving with practiced precision as she retrieved the supplies she needed. Bandages, salves, hemostatic powders—she worked with urgency, applying pressure to the wound as she sought to stop the flow of blood.

Shinobu lifted her head, scanning the darkened forest before letting out a sharp, clear whistle. Moments later, her crow swooped down from the treetops, landing on a nearby branch, waiting.

"Find the nearest Hashira," she instructed, her voice firm despite the tension gripping her chest. "Tell them Tomioka is critically wounded and needs immediate assistance."

The crow gave a quick caw before launching into the night, disappearing beyond the trees. Shinobu didn’t waste another second watching it go—she turned her attention back to Giyuu, pressing harder against his wound.

"What were you even thinking?" she huffed, shaking her head. "Honestly, I know you have a habit of neglecting your well-being, but this is a bit excessive, don’t you think?"

Of course, he didn’t answer.

The night air was cool against her skin, the scent of blood still thick around them. She ignored it, ignored the nagging voice in the back of her mind that wondered what would’ve happened if she hadn’t arrived on time. Instead, she focused on keeping pressure on the wound, on the sound of her own voice filling the space between them.

"Just a little longer," she murmured, her voice softer now. "You’ve always been stubborn, haven’t you, Tomioka? So keep being stubborn and stay alive."

_______________________________________

Unbeknownst to them, a figure lingered in the shadows, watching with a gaze full of quiet desperation. Sabito’s heart ached as he watched Shinobu work, every movement of her hands only deepening the helplessness that gnawed at him.

As Giyuu’s shallow breaths continued, Sabito found himself drawn closer.

Then, in a moment of pure longing, Sabito leaned closer, hovering just beside Giyuu’s unconscious form. His arms reached out, but no matter how desperately he wished, he couldn’t feel the warmth of Giyuu’s body.

He remained there, frozen in a sorrowful stillness, unable to touch the one person who had once meant everything to him. His hands passed through the air, useless, and the desperate ache that bloomed in his chest felt as though it might consume him entirely. There was no warmth, no solid form to hold onto. Only the faint breeze of his existence brushed past the fallen man, the one he had promised to protect, the one he had failed.

The sight of Giyuu like this—pale, still, fragile in a way Sabito had never seen before—made something inside him break. He wanted to tell him to hold on, to stay, to fight. He wanted Giyuu to hear him, to know he wasn’t alone, that Sabito was still here, even if he couldn’t reach him.

A hollow, bitter laugh escaped him. "I’m sorry," he whispered, though the words seemed so small, so powerless in the face of what had happened.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms—not that he could feel it. He couldn't feel anything. Couldn't touch, couldn't help, couldn't do a damn thing except watch as the person he cared for most lay bleeding out on the forest floor.

Frustration burned in his chest, but beneath it, beneath the helplessness, was something deeper. Something raw.

Slowly, Sabito lifted his head, his eyes searching the vast expanse of sky above him. The stars blinked down, distant and indifferent, and for the first time in a long, long time, he let himself plead.

"Please," his voice trembled, barely more than a breath. "Please don’t take him away from me."

Chapter Text

The scent of herbs and medicine filled the air, faint but distinct. Giyuu’s eyes cracked open, the world around him still blurry as he slowly regained consciousness. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar at first—white, pristine, lined with wooden beams.

The Butterfly Mansion.

His body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the lingering ache of his wounds. A dull throb pulsed at his side, wrapped tightly in bandages. The events of the mission flickered through his mind in fragmented pieces—the demon, Sabito’s face, the sharp pain of claws tearing into him. His chest tightened, but before he could dwell too much on it, a voice broke through the quiet.

"Well, look who finally decided to wake up."

Giyuu turned his head slightly, his eyes landing on Shinobu, who sat beside his bed, arms crossed, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

"Good morning, Tomioka," she said, resting her chin in her hand. "How are you feeling? And before you say something vague and unhelpful, let me remind you—you were found half-dead in a forest, so I’d appreciate at least a little honesty."

He blinked slowly, his mind still sluggish from sleep.

"I’m fine."

Shinobu sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment as if summoning patience. "Mm. Yes, of course. Fine. I should have expected that."

She leaned forward slightly, her elbow resting on the edge of his bed as she regarded him with a knowing look. "Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that, considering I found you bleeding out in the middle of a forest."

Giyuu said nothing, only averting his gaze slightly. He could still feel the phantom sting of his wounds beneath the layers of bandages, the weight of exhaustion clinging to his limbs. He had been careless. Hesitated. And it had almost cost him.

Shinobu studied his silence for a moment before exhaling softly. "I do wonder, Tomioka… do you actually try to make my job harder? Or is it just a natural talent of yours?"

Her tone was light, teasing, but there was something else beneath it—a subtle edge of something unreadable. Concern, perhaps. Frustration, maybe.

"You should be more careful," she continued, her fingers tapping idly against the side of his bed. "Your habit of neglecting your well-being is getting out of hand. I know you have some sort of noble streak—throwing yourself into danger like a tragic hero—but at the very least, try not to make a habit of nearly dying on my watch."

Giyuu finally turned his head toward her then, something flickering in his gaze. "...You were worried."

Shinobu’s lips quirked upward, though her eyes narrowed slightly. "Of course I was worried. We are friends are we not?"

She straightened, resting a hand lightly on her hip before adding with a playful lilt, "Besides, who else would have the patience to put up with your endless brooding?"

Giyuu huffed lightly—a small, barely-there sound that might have almost been a laugh if he weren’t still so drained.

Shinobu’s expression softened—just a touch. "I’ll check on you later, Tomioka. Try not to disappear before then, hm?"

And with that, she turned and left, her presence slipping away like the last traces of a fading breeze. Giyuu remained still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, her words lingering in the quiet she left behind _______________________________________

Sabito had been watching for a while now, lingering just above Giyuu’s bed, where the quiet rhythm of his breathing was the only thing keeping Sabito from unraveling.

The moonlight slipped through the open shoji, casting pale silver across the room, highlighting every delicate detail—the slow rise and fall of Giyuu’s chest, the way his lashes fluttered ever so slightly in his sleep.

Sabito sighed softly, hovering closer. "You stubborn idiot. You’re supposed to take care of yourself."

Giyuu looked…fragile like this.

It was a rare sight. Not because he was invincible—Sabito knew better than anyone that Giyuu was far from that—but because he never let himself be seen this way. Vulnerable. Unguarded. As if the weight of everything he carried had finally been set down, if only for a moment.

Sabito’s gaze softened. "You really scared me this time, you know."

He could say the words, whisper them into the quiet of the room, but Giyuu wouldn’t hear him. Not now. Not ever.

Still…Sabito let himself stay, hovering just a little longer.

He wanted to reach out, to shake him, to scold him the way he used to when they were younger. But his hands remained useless, nothing more than air.

At least Giyuu wasn’t alone. Sabito had seen how Shinobu lingered, the way she watched him with something caught between frustration and concern. It was…good. Giyuu needed someone to remind him that he wasn’t just a weapon, but a human being whose life held meaning.

Still, Sabito wasn’t quite ready to leave. Not yet. He lowered himself, hovering just inches above Giyuu, close enough that if he had breath, it would have stirred the loose strands of dark hair against the pillow. Close enough that if he were alive, he could reach out, press a hand against his friend’s forehead, and reassure himself that he was warm. Alive.

Sabito lingered there, his gaze tracing over every detail of Giyuu’s face—the way his dark lashes cast faint shadows against his skin, the barely perceptible furrow in his brow, even in sleep. He looked so much like the boy Sabito had known all those years ago, and yet… he didn’t.

There was something different now—a wariness, a weight that hadn’t been there before.

Sabito exhaled, though it made no sound. "You’re still the same, aren’t you? Always carrying everything alone."
His gaze softened. "At least you made one friend among the Hashira."

It was a small comfort.

He let his eyes rest on the familiar lines of Giyuu's face, feeling a mixture of relief and longing. It was strange—this sense of being so close and yet so impossibly distant.

For a brief moment, Sabito allowed himself to simply be, lingering in this quiet space as he watched over Giyuu, as he had always done. His heart—if it could still be called that—was filled with a deep, aching warmth. Giyuu was here. Alive. Safe. It was all he could ask for.

Time seemed to slow, stretching in that instant, offering him a rare chance to savor the simple comfort of just being near him.

But then, without warning, a strange sensation began to creep over him. At first, it was so faint he almost thought he imagined it. A subtle tug, like the faintest pull on the fabric of his being.

The air grew thicker, and a strange pressure settled in his chest, as though something was calling him—beckoning him away from this moment.

Sabito’s form flickered, his presence shifting as the pull grew stronger. His surroundings began to blur, the edges of Giyuu’s face fading into a haze. The peaceful stillness that had once wrapped around him felt as though it was slipping through his fingers.

Sabito gave Giyuu one final glance, and in an instant, everything around him fractured. His vision blurred, Giyuu's form fading into the distance as Sabito was yanked from the room.

The warmth, the quiet, Giyuu—everything slipped away, fading into the distance.

The sensation was disorienting, a strange mix of weightlessness and pressure that swept him away like a leaf in the wind.

And then, just as quickly, it stopped.

Sabito found himself standing amid a vast, endless expanse of white. A familiar nothingness stretched in all directions, neither warm nor cold, neither bright nor dark. It was eerily still, as if the very concept of time had no meaning here.

He knew this place.

His jaw tightened.

Why was he here?

A shift in the air made him stiffen. It wasn’t a sound, nor a movement, but something deeper—an awareness pressing against the space around him. A presence that had no form yet felt as though it filled everything.

Then, a voice resonated—calm and unwavering.

"Hello, my child."

Sabito’s eyes snapped upward, instinctively drawn to the source of the voice.

It was the same presence he had felt all those years ago, the first moment after his death. The voice that had guided him then, the sensation of warmth and finality, all flooding back in an instant.

"I have heard your pleas," the voice continued, its tone gentle.

Sabito’s thoughts swirled in the silence that followed, his eyes fixed on the formless space around him.

His chest tightened, but he found the courage to speak, as if the presence before him gave him permission to voice the yearning that had lived inside him for so long.

"I want him to see me again," Sabito said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "I want him to hear me… to know I’m still here, still watching over him. I want to be there for him."

The air hung heavy, and for a moment, there was a stillness in the realm around him, as if waiting for an answer.

The voice responded, unhurried but firm. "Your bond with him is strong, but I’m afraid I cannot allow you to interact with him directly, for it goes against the heavenly principles."

Sabito’s heart sank. He had expected this, but that didn’t make the rejection any easier. Still, his voice cracked with desperation as he took a step forward, pleading.

"Please, I’m begging you. Let me be there for him. Let me speak to him. I’ll do anything. I’ll follow any condition. Just... let me reach him."

The formless space seemed to breathe around him, and Sabito could feel the presence before him considering his plea. The weight of the silence grew heavier, suffocating, before the voice answered.

"You ask for a great deal," the voice said softly.

Sabito’s heart sank, but still, he wasn’t ready to give up. His desperation flared, the words tumbling out of him before he could stop them.

"Please… is there any way?

A pause followed, and Sabito felt the weight of the eternity pressing on him. For a moment, he wondered if the voice would leave him to his empty plea, but then the voice spoke again, a hint of warmth beneath the words.

"I cannot allow you to return to him directly," the voice said. "However… there may be a way for you to speak with him once more."

Sabito’s pulse quickened. "What do you mean?"

Finally, the voice returned, softer than before but still resolute. "There is a boy—one who is meant to end the reign of Muzan, the demon king. His future is tied to the world you once lived in, and the survival of many depends on him. He will need guidance."

"You are asking me to guide the boy?" Sabito asked quietly, but there was a fire burning behind his words. “And in return, you will allow me to be with Giyuu?”

The voice was gentle but unwavering. "Yes. You will not return in your physical form. However, you will be visible only to Giyuu and the boy, the one meant to defeat Muzan.

"I’ll do it," Sabito said, his voice firm, though his chest tightened with the weight of the decision. "I’ll help this boy, and I’ll be there for Giyuu. I promise. Whatever it takes."

The voice paused, as if considering his resolve. Then, it responded, "Very well. You will have the chance you seek. Help them, and fulfill your purpose. In the end, you will know when your time is up, and you will have given all you can. That is your path now."

he voice lingered, its presence filling the vast expanse of the void. Sabito felt the pull intensify, as if the universe itself was ready to push him back to where he belonged. But before he could be swept away, a single, lingering question bubbled up from within him.

"The boy," Sabito asked, his voice steady but laced with curiosity, "who is this boy I’m meant to help? How will I know it’s him?"

The silence stretched again, deep and unnerving, before the voice responded.

"You will know him when you see him," it said, a sense of finality in its words. "The boy has a fire within him—a will to protect and to fight, one that will not fade even in the face of the greatest darkness. And his soul—though young, carries a strength that will lead him through the trials ahead."

With that, the pull came back full force, the energy in the air thickening as Sabito’s form began to fade, the world around him darkening once more.

Chapter Text

The morning at the Water Estate unfolded like any other. The steady sounds of the river and the rustling of leaves greeted Giyuu as he moved through his routine. He prepared for the day’s mission, checked his weapons, and spoke briefly with the staff—all familiar tasks that had become second nature to him.

It wasn’t until Kanzaburo’s voice broke the quiet that he paused. "Giyuu," the crow called, landing on his shoulder.

"Yes?" Giyuu responded, turning slightly.

"Birthday," Kanzaburo said, the words falling from his beak as if it were the most casual of greetings.

Giyuu blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. Birthday?

The realization came slowly, settling into his mind like a forgotten memory. Oh… Today was his birthday.

The thought crossed his mind only as a passing, irrelevant fact. He didn’t think about it much—hadn’t for years.

"Thank you, Kanzaburo. That’s... really kind of you," Giyuu murmured, feeling oddly touched despite himself.

It wasn’t that he disliked the idea of birthdays—it was just that, over time, he had stopped seeing the point.

The other Hashira didn’t know, of course. He’d never told them, and there was no real reason to. The idea of being celebrated made him uncomfortable, and besides, there were far more pressing matters to focus on. Demons needed slaying, the Hashira had their duties, and Shinobu had the Butterfly Mansion to oversee. Giyuu couldn’t bring himself to ask for anything more. He wouldn’t want to take away their time.

Oyakata-sama had given him the day off, telling him to take a break and enjoy his birthday. Giyuu had protested, but the master would have none of it.

So, after a long and and surprisingly calm afternoon, Giyuu had decided to go to bed early, letting the quiet of the Water Estate soothe his weary body.

He undressed, washed his face, and laid out his futon, the familiar routine of preparing for rest helping him unwind. Just as he was about to slip beneath the covers however, the faintest flicker of movement outside caught his attention.

His head turned instinctively, eyes narrowing as he peered through the window into the garden.

Giyuu slid into his haori, his fingers brushing against the hilt of his sword, even though he didn’t think he’d need it. His first thought was that it might be a demon, though that seemed unlikely in this part of the estate.

Stepping quietly through the halls, Giyuu made his way to the garden, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The moon hung high above, casting a soft glow over the stone paths. The garden was peaceful, as always—except for the figure standing at its edge, just beyond the lantern's light.

Giyuu froze, his heart skipping a beat. There, standing motionless, was a figure he could never forget.

He blinked, his breath catching in his throat. No, it can’t be...

At first, he thought it was a trick of the moonlight. The wind shifted the trees, their shadows stretching and twisting across the ground. But then, through the gaps in the branches, a faint shimmer of color stood out against the darkness.

Peach-pink.

The exact same shade as…

His eyes narrowed, his grip instinctively tightening. The illusion demon. The one from his last mission.

He had been so sure he’d killed it. His blade had struck its mark, the illusions fading into emptiness, leaving nothing behind but silence.

Giyuu exhaled slowly, his voice quiet but firm.

"…I thought I killed you."

The figure sighed. A familiar, exasperated sound.

"You always did jump to conclusions quite fast didn’t you?"

That voice—

His chest tightened. A chill swept down his spine. Still, his stance remained rigid, guarded. Illusions could mimic anything—voice, form, memory.

But then a detail caught in the corner of his mind.

The sunlight.

Faint as it was, the last golden sliver of it still clung to the edges of the estate, washing the garden in warm hues. The sun hadn't fully vanished yet.

And demons couldn’t exist in sunlight.

Giyuu’s grip on his sword loosened, ever so slightly.

That couldn't be a demon. Not now. Not here.

The figure stood calmly in the soft light. Familiar posture. Familiar presence.

His gaze traced the outline of peach-pink hair catching the fading sun.

Giyuu took a step forward, heart heavy in his chest. "…What are you?"

The figure didn’t respond.

It just stood there, eyes fixed on him, silent and still—too real, too detailed to be a dream… and yet too impossible to be real.

He waited, but nothing came. No answer. No movement. Just that face. That hair. That stance.

Sabito.

Giyuu’s breath caught, something cold curling in his chest.

His fingers curled at his sides.

"Am I… hallucinating?" he muttered under his breath. "Have I finally lost it?"

A bitter thought flickered through him like a blade.

Maybe the people in his village had been right all along. Maybe there was something wrong with him.

Maybe—

"No, Giyuu," the figure said gently.

Giyuu startled.

The voice was so clear. So him.

"I’m real."

His heart stuttered in his chest. He didn’t move, afraid the slightest twitch would shatter the illusion—if that’s what it was.

"Gyiuu, listen to me…You’re not crazy. Not then, not now."

The voice was calm, familiar. Too familiar.

"Sabito…?"

“In the flesh—well, mostly,” Sabito said, with a slight smirk, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "Don’t look at me like that. I know it’s hard to believe."

Giyuu didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just looked—as if trying to memorize a face he never really forgot.

"I get it," Sabito continued gently. "You think you’ve snapped. That your mind’s playing tricks. But I’m really here."

Giyuu stared at him in silence, his heart still caught between disbelief and aching hope. The silence stretched between them like a thread ready to snap.

"Prove it," Giyuu finally said, voice low and guarded. "If you’re really Sabito… prove it."

Sabito’s expression softened, and then—he smiled. That familiar, lopsided smile Giyuu hadn’t seen in years.

"Alright," Sabito said simply.

He stepped forward until he stood right in front of him, close enough for Giyuu to see the warmth in his eyes, the calm in his expression.

Then, holding Giyuu’s gaze—looking straight into those deep, uncertain blue eyes—he said, softly,

"Happy birthday."

Giyuu froze.

Only four people had ever known the date: Oyakata-sama, Urokodaki, his sister… and Sabito.

"How?" Giyuu asked, his voice unsteady.

The warmth in Sabito’s gaze lingered, steady and reassuring. He paused for a moment before replying, his tone gentle.

"After I… after I died, I was given a choice," Sabito began, his voice quiet but firm.

"I could move on, leave this world behind, or I could stay and watch over you."

He exhaled softly, shaking his head slightly. "Obviously I chose to stay— to keep you from getting yourself killed you know? I wasn’t going to let you face this world on your own. Not when you’ve got this habit of throwing yourself into danger like you do."

There was a moment of silence, and then Sabito's voice hardened. "Do you know how exhausting it’s been? Trying to keep you from going too far? Trying to stop you from killing yourself with all that self-sacrifice? I swear, if I weren’t dead I’d have gray hairs by now because of you—"

Giyuu chuckled, a sound that surprised even him. It was a low, quiet laugh, the kind that felt foreign after so many years of silence.

Sabito stopped mid-sentence, his frustration cutting off as he turned to look at Giyuu. The sound of Giyuu's laugh hung in the air, and Sabito couldn't help but pause. He'd never thought he’d hear that again—never thought he’d get to see Giyuu smile again, let alone laugh. It had been years, but there it was. Giyuu's eyes, typically so heavy with the burdens he carried, were now a little softer, more at ease.

For a moment, Sabito stood there, blinking in surprise. Then, despite himself, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He wanted to laugh too, to let out a carefree sound just as Giyuu had done. But instead, he stayed quiet, silently relishing the sight of something he hadn’t seen in so long.

Giyuu stopped laughing after a few seconds, but the warmth in his eyes lingered. It was the kind of expression Sabito hadn’t realized he missed so much until now. The kind that made his heart do summersaults in his chest, even though it had long since stopped beating.

"Alright, alright," Giyuu said, his grin still there, though now tinged with something else. "I suppose I’ve been... a bit reckless."

"A bit? You call that 'a bit'?"

"Okay, maybe a little more than a bit."

"If I could, I’d smack you in the back of the head right now," Sabito shot back.

Giyuu’s grin softened, a quiet laugh escaping him as he looked at Sabito, the usual coolness in his eyes giving way to something warmer. "I deserve it, don’t I?"

Sabito’s expression shifted, the edge of frustration fading as quickly as it appeared on his face. He uncrossed his arms, letting out a breath. "I just... don’t want to see you get hurt. You’re stubborn, but you’re not invincible."

Giyuu’s smile grew just a little, his eyes softening with unspoken gratitude. "I know. I’m... lucky to have you looking out for me."

Sabito paused, his gaze lingering for a moment before he gave a small, nearly imperceptible nod.

"Also..." he added, his voice taking on a stern edge, "I may not be able to smack some sense into you now, but if you pull something that reckless again, you’d better believe I’ll give you a scolding you won’t forget."

Giyuu’s lips twitched upwards slightly, his usual stoic expression softening just enough to show a hint of amusement. "Understood."

Without another word, the two of them turned and walked side by side, their steps in sync as they made their way back to the water estate, the silence between them now a quiet comfort.

______________________________________

As Giyuu lay in his futon, the room bathed in soft moonlight, a rare sense of peace settled over him. For the first time in years, sleep found him without the haunting weight of nightmares. The night passed quietly, and in the stillness, Giyuu finally rested—his heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

Chapter Text

Soft morning light filtered into the room, casting a gentle glow across the floor. Giyuu shifted beneath the covers, blinking slowly as he drifted up from the quiet pull of sleep.

He felt… oddly well-rested.

No stiffness in his chest. No cold sweat clinging to his skin, no nightmares plaguing his mind…

It was quite nice.

With a deep exhale, he pushed himself upright, stretching until his joints gave a soft crack, the comfort of last night’s dream still settling warmly in his chest.

It had felt so vivid—so real.
His gaze, his voice, his presence… none of it carried the usual weight of sorrow or regret that typically filled his dreams. No shadows at the edge of his sight. No sudden pain jolting him awake…

That in itself was unusual.

He wasn’t about to question it too deeply though. Dreams like that were rare, and he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, Giyuu rose and walked through the quiet halls of the Water Estate. The morning air was cool and still, the only sound the soft creak of wood beneath his feet as he made his way toward the kitchen.

He slid the door open—

And came to a full stop.

There, seated at the table with his elbows braced and his gaze locked straight ahead with unnerving focus, was Sabito.

Across from him, perched on the windowsill, Kanzaburou met his stare with equal intensity, unwavering and utterly unmoved.

If a crow could raise a judgmental brow, he would’ve. As it stood, he settled for puffing up just slightly, head tilted in that particular way that made it very clear he was not impressed. At all.

The two of them were so deeply immersed in their silent staring contest that they didn’t even notice Giyuu stepping into the kitchen.

Had he not been so stunned, Giyuu might have found the scene amusing. But as it was, he stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, unable to believe what he was seeing.

His heart skipped, a mix of confusion and disbelief flooding through him. This couldn’t be real.

He blinked hard, trying to clear the fog in his mind, as if the action alone could shatter the strange scene in front of him.

Without thinking, Giyuu pinched his arm hard.

The sharp sting shot through his skin, the pain enough to snap him back to reality. He winced, gritting his teeth, but the image before him remained unchanged.

His mind reeled. The sight of Sabito—so vividly alive, so undeniably real—felt impossible. This has to be a dream, he thought. But no matter how hard he pinched himself, no matter how sharp the sting, the scene before him held firm.

Then, with a quiet gasp, Giyuu felt his breath hitch. A few tears slipped down his cheeks—soft, warm, and unfamiliar—falling for what felt like the first time in years.

The sound, small as it was, broke the trance.

Sabito blinked, head turning at once toward the doorway. Kanzaburou, too, shifted on his perch, feathers rustling faintly as his sharp eyes followed suit.

Their little staring contest forgotten in an instant.

Sabito’s expression shifted the moment he saw him—Giyuu standing there, frozen, eyes wide and glistening.

"Giyuu?" Sabito rose quickly, his voice laced with concern. "What’s wrong? Hey, hey, shhh… please don’t cry…"

But as he crossed the room, Sabito faltered, noting the look on Giyuu’s face—not one of fear or sadness, but something softer. Something overwhelmed and raw and… grateful.

"…Wait," Sabito murmured, his tone lightening. "Are those happy tears?"

Giyuu swallowed hard, choosing not to answer the question. His voice came out rough, unsteady as he breathed, "So it was real? You’re… actually here?"

Sabito gave a small, crooked smile, lifting a hand as if to gesture to himself. "Of course I am. Well… not physically, but you know what I mean."

He tilted his head with a playful arch of his brow. "What, did you think I lied to you yesterday?"

"No—no, nothing like that," Giyuu said quickly, shaking his head. "You know I’ve always trusted you… still do. It’s just…" He hesitated, voice cracking slightly. "Well, I—I thought it was a dream."

Sabito's expression softened completely, and he let out a quiet, breathy laugh. "Oh, Giyuu…"

He stepped forward gently and lifted his hand, reaching out toward Giyuu’s cheek. His fingers hovered for just a moment before brushing forward—

And passed right through.

A shiver ran down Giyuu’s spine at the faint, chilling sensation that followed. He flinched slightly, not in pain, but from the strange, almost ghostly cold of it.

Sabito winced in sympathy, drawing his hand back with an awkward grimace. "Right… no physical body. Forgot about that."

Giyuu exhaled a shaky breath, tears still clinging stubbornly to the corners of his eyes.

Just then, a flutter of wings interrupted the moment as Kanzaburou launched himself from the windowsill. His flight was clumsy at best, his claws barely catching Giyuu’s shoulder as he landed with a soft thud.

"Caw, caw—no cry, no cry…" the crow croaked, rubbing his feathery head affectionately against Giyuu’s damp cheek.

A quiet, surprised laugh escaped Giyuu, the sound muffled as he turned slightly to nuzzle the bird back. One hand rose to gently stroke Kanzaburou’s feathers, the motion tender and grateful. His lips curved into a faint, genuine smile.

The sight warmed something deep in Sabito’s chest.

Giyuu—smiling. Laughing, even. His eyes still a little watery, but brighter than they’d been in years. It was the kind of moment Sabito had longed to see for what felt like forever.

But as Kanzaburou nestled closer with a low, smug-sounding caw, Sabito’s smile faltered just slightly.

"Okay," he muttered under his breath, arms crossed, "that’s just unfair."

Here he was, basically a ghost, intangible, and apparently entirely useless in the comfort department—meanwhile the bird got all the cuddles.

Kanzaburou gave another content little caw and nuzzled even closer into the curve of Giyuu’s neck, feathers fluffing up like he’d just won a contest Sabito didn’t even get to enter.

Sabito squinted. "You’re doing this on purpose," he muttered.

The crow paused, turning his head ever so slightly in Sabito’s direction—just enough to fix him with one glinting, beady eye. The look was smug. Smug and victorious.

Sabito scoffed. "Unbelievable."

He looked at Giyuu again, his gaze lingering as Giyuu’s hand gently stroked Kanzaburou’s back. There was a softness in his eyes, a quiet affection, and a small, unguarded smile that tugged at Sabito’s heart. It reminded him of when they were still kids, training together on the mountain with Urokodaki Sensei.

Shaking his head with a sigh, he muttered, "I get it," throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "You win, featherbrain."

Kanzaburou gave what could only be described as a triumphant caw, ruffling his feathers with a flourish.

Sabito rolled his eyes, but a faint, fond smile tugged at the corner of his mouth anyway.

The room settled into a comfortable silence, with the soft rustling of feathers and Giyuu’s steady breathing filling the air, creating a peaceful calm.

After a few moments, Sabito broke the stillness, his voice light but teasing. "You know… you really haven’t changed all that much these past few years."

Giyuu, still gently patting Kanzaburou, blinked, his brow furrowing in quiet curiosity. "Hmm?"

Sabito grinned. "You’re still the same old crybaby from when we were kids."

Giyuu’s face flushed slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I… I wasn’t that bad," he muttered, his gaze dropping to Kanzaburou as if trying to hide the warmth creeping into his face.

He felt Sabito’s eyes on him and, after a moment, looked up.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, Sabito felt as if he were standing at the edge of a quiet sea—endless, still, and achingly familiar. Giyuu’s gaze held that same soft, patient blue, the kind that had always felt a little like coming home.

"Was I?" Giyuu asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Sabito blinked, the question not quite registering as his thoughts lingered on the endless blue in front of him.

"Huh?" he said, brows furrowing slightly in confusion.

Giyuu’s lips tugged into a faint, amused curve. "I wasn’t that bad, right?"

"Oh—" Sabito’s eyes widened slightly, remembering comment from earlier.

His smile softened, and he shook his head, his voice quiet but sure. "No, you weren’t."

_____________________________________

The warmth lingered between them for a while, wrapping around the silence like a familiar embrace. The world outside seemed to fade—no missions, no demons, no looming weight of responsibility. Just the quiet of the room, the soft rustling of feathers, and the unspoken tether between two souls long separated.

It was almost easy to forget everything else.

Giyuu let his gaze linger on Sabito a moment longer, content in the stillness.

Then—

"Caw!"

The sharp cry shattered the calm that had settled in like a pebble breaking the surface of a still pond.

Giyuu blinked, turning to Kanzaburou, who was now perched indignantly on the table, wings puffed and eyes gleaming with purpose.

"Caw! Meeting! Hashira meeting!"

Giyuu stared at his crow for a long moment before letting out a low sigh and dragging a hand down his face. "Right. I forgot."

Sabito tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eye. "Already back to work, huh? No rest for the recklessly noble."

Giyuu gave him a dry look, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, betraying his fondness.

Kanzaburou let out another impatient caw and flapped his wings. "Go, go, go!"

"Alright," Giyuu muttered, rising from his seat with a quiet stretch. The tranquility had been nice. Short-lived, but nice.

"I’ll be back soon," Giyuu said, his voice soft with something that almost felt like reluctance.

Sabito smirked, arms folding across his chest. "You’d better be."

Giyuu allowed himself one last glance, committing the sight to memory—the quiet light pooling around Sabito, the hint of a smile still resting on his lips.

Then he stepped out into the morning air, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft click as he went on his way.

_____________________________________

By the time Giyuu arrived, the other Hashira were already gathered, their conversations quieting the moment he stepped into view.

Tengen arched a brow, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “You’re on time? Who are you and what have you done with Giyuu?”

Several heads turned—not because of his punctuality, rare as it was.

But because he looked… different.

Kanroji leaned in, blinking. “Wait—he looks happy. Doesn’t he look happy?”

His posture was more at ease, shoulders no longer burdened by invisible weight. There was a lightness to his step, a quiet calm in his presence. And most striking of all—

He held himself differently—straighter, lighter. Like something had finally let go of him. There was something in his eyes—once distant and muted—that now sparkled with a quiet vitality. A flicker of life that had been missing for far too long.

Shinobu, ever the keen observer, was the first to step forward, a teasing edge to her voice. "Well, well… on time and upright. Should I be worried, Tomioka San? Or did your little forest stunt finally knock some sense into that stubborn head of yours?"

Giyuu paused, sensing the genuine concern beneath Shinobu’s teasing. He cleared his throat, and answered as best as he could. "I’m fine, Kocho. I’m…more than fine actually."

Shinobu blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the fact that he’d actually answered her—without deflecting, without falling into his usual quiet. Her eyes widened, just a fraction, surprise flickering across her face in a rare, unguarded moment.

Noticing it, Giyuu felt the corners of his mouth lift—just barely. A faint, fleeting smile tugged at his lips as he took in her expression.

The others seemed to pause for a beat before Kanroji gasped. "Did Giyuu just smile?!"

Tengen raised an eyebrow. "A miracle indeed."

Rengoku nodded. "I’m impressed."

Sanemi rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with an exaggerated scoff. "So what? The bastard can smile. It’s not that impressive. No need to make a big deal out of it."

Before anyone could respond, the doors slid open, and the room instantly quieted. Master Ubuyashiki entered, his presence commanding attention despite his frail appearance.

"Good morning," he greeted calmly.

The Hashira immediately straightened, their conversations fading as they greeted the master. Giyuu, still carrying that quiet warmth in his chest, subtly shifted back into his usual composed stance, waiting for the meeting to begin.

_____________________________________

The meeting passed in its usual rhythm—updates on demon activity, mission reports, strategy adjustments. Giyuu listened attentively, contributing when needed, but otherwise remaining silent.

As soon as Master Ubuyashiki was escorted out and the meeting officially ended, Giyuu barely made it two steps before he was intercepted.

"Hey, hey, Giyuu!" Tengen called out, striding up to him with a grin. "You’ve been oddly... flashy today. Did something happen?" he asked waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Totally!" Mitsuri chimed in, practically bouncing into view with sparkles in her eyes. "You even smiled! Twice! That’s, like, a record!"

"Indeed!" Rengoku boomed, joining the group with his usual brightness. "It’s was quite the sight! Did something joyous happen Tomioka?"

Giyuu paused, blinking at the three of them, who now formed a solid wall of curious energy in front of him.

He considered responding—briefly. Very briefly.

Instead, he simply said, "I have somewhere to be," in a tone that was polite, but very much a dismissal.

And then—he was gone.

One blink, and the spot where he’d stood was suddenly empty.

The three Hashira stared at the space for a moment, as if expecting him to reappear like a puff of smoke.

"Well…" Rengoku broke the silence, a spark of amusement in his voice. "Someone seems to be in a hurry!"

"He’s definitely hiding something," Tengen declared, arms crossed and eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Mark my words—he’s fallen in love. That’s the only explanation for this kind of glow-up. The smile, the look in his eyes—textbook signs."

Mitsuri gasped, eyes sparkling. "I know! What if… what if he adopted a kitten?!”

Tengen and Rengoku both turned to her with synchronized, skeptical stares.

"What?" she said, holding her hands up. "Cats always make me feel better! And Tomioka totally seems like a cat person."

Rengoku hummed thoughtfully. "A noble theory, Kanroji. But I believe it’s something far simpler."

Tengen raised a brow. "Oh?"

"Food," Rengoku said with absolute certainty. "He must have discovered a new dish. A truly exquisite one. That kind of joy can only come from a full belly and a satisfied heart."

Mitsuri nodded with sudden seriousness. "You know what? Good point."

Tengen let out a laugh. "You two are impossible."

Mitsuri crossed her arms, a determined expression on her face "We’ll figure it out eventually."

Tengen chuckled. "He doesn’t stand a chance against us."

Rengoku’s eyes gleamed. "Then let our noble mission begin!"

Mitsuri’s eyes sparkled as she threw her hands into the air. "Operation: Kittens is a go!"

Tengen blinked, raising an eyebrow. "Really, Mitsuri? You’re still on about the kittens theory?"

He huffed, crossing his arms. "When did we even agree on naming the operation 'Kittens'?"

Mitsuri grinned playfully. "Right now, silly!"

The three of them paused for a moment, exchanging glances, then nodded in unison, their expressions oddly serious for what had clearly turned into a dramatic overreaction... but one they were all in for, wholeheartedly.

Chapter Text

"You’re cheating."

Sabito narrowed his eyes at the cards laid out in front of Kanzaburou, who managed to look shockingly smug for a bird—and that was saying something.

"You are absolutely cheating."

CAW.

"Don’t you caw at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about!" Sabito pointed dramatically.

Kanzaburou tilted his head innocently, then extended a wing to daintily flip over the top card from Sabito’s "hand," pecking it down with theatrical slowness.

"No, not that one—play the blue skip! The skip!" Sabito groaned.

The crow blinked once, then let the red three fall into the discard pile.

Sabito let out a strangled noise that sounded vaguely like a kettle boiling. "I know you’re doing this on purpose. I’m not stupid."

The crow responded by drawing four cards for Sabito and dropping them into the "hand" pile, as if daring him to protest further.

Sabito rubbed his temples, or at least mimed the action.

"UNO is a lot harder without a body," he muttered, glowering at the scattered cards like they’d personally betrayed him.

Kanzaburou gave an innocently self-satisfied caw and placed yet another card with a perfectly timed peck.

Sabito shot him a flat look. "Do you even know the rules? Or are you just winging it and letting me suffer?"

Kanzaburou immediately puffed up, feathers flaring indignantly. He gave a sharp caw! and flapped his wings once in protest, beady eyes sending him a nasty look.

Sabito sighed, dragging a hand down his face—though of course, it passed straight through. "This is pathetic. I used to be cool. I had a sword. People respected me. Admired me…"

Kanzaburou gave him a stare so flat, so utterly unimpressed, Sabito could practically hear the sarcastic "Oh Really?" echo in his head.

Sabito glanced at him, lips twitching. "Well Giyuu did anyway…" He sat up a little straighter, smug. "And that’s what really matters, so… Ha!"

Kanzaburou gave an exaggerated blink, then picked up four cards with his beak and very pointedly placed them into Sabito’s hand pile.

Sabito stared. "It was a Draw Two, not four you little menace..."

______________________________________

After his fourth consecutive win, Kanzaburou let out a smug little trill, hopped to the windowsill, tucked his beak beneath one wing—and promptly decided it was nap time.

Sabito leaned back against the wall—or pretended to, at least—arms folded behind his head as he stared blankly at the ceiling.
"This is the worst. I’m bored out of my mind, I’ve been beaten at cards by a bird, and I can’t even do anything useful because I don’t have a physical body. Fantastic."

For a while, he just sat there, watching a lone dust mote drift lazily through a sunbeam, half-hoping Giyuu would return early from the Hashira meeting and save him from his slow descent into boredom-induced madness.

Then it hit him.

He shot upright so fast he nearly phased through the floor. "Wait a second…"

His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing in thought. "Yesterday was…his birthday."

A pause.

"Yesterday was his birthday and I didn’t even get him anything!"

Sabito groaned and smacked his forehead—his palm passed clean through, but the frustration was real.

"Right. Okay. No. Not happening. I am not letting this slide. He deserves better than that. He’s getting a present—a proper one."

He rose—well, floated—with renewed purpose, fists clenched like a man with a mission.

Then he hesitated, confidence wobbling as logic crashed in.

"Wait… I can’t actually buy anything. Or touch anything for that matter."

His gaze shifted to Kanzaburou, still snoring softly on the windowsill, feathers gently rising and falling with each breath.

"Well," Sabito murmured, eyeing the bird thoughtfully, "at least I have an accomplice."

A grin spread across his face as the gears in his head began to spin with dangerous momentum.

"Alright, featherbrain. Nap time’s over. We’ve got a present to prepare!"

Kanzaburou startled awake with a dramatic squawk, blinking groggily as he looked around. His feathers were a bit ruffled from sleep, and he gave a low, irritated caw as he shot Sabito a mildly offended glare.

Sabito crossed his arms and raised a brow. "Don’t look at me like that. This is important."

Kanzaburou clicked his beak, clearly unimpressed, but hopped down from the windowsill all the same, flapping once before landing a bit clumsily beside Sabito.

"Excellent," Sabito said brightly. "Now…First order of business—gift hunting!"

Kanzaburou tilted his head in silence, as if weighing whether this was worth getting involved in or not.

"For Giyuu," Sabito clarified, gesturing vaguely toward the house. "Late birthday present. Obviously."

The crow blinked. Once. Then again. Slowly.

Sabito grinned, already heading for the door. "I knew you’d understand."

Kanzaburou made a rasping sound that might’ve been a sigh—or perhaps an insult—before begrudgingly following him out.

______________________________________

*Later…*

The plan was simple: bake Giyuu a birthday cake.

Sabito couldn’t physically interact with anything himself, but fortunately, he had Kanzaburou—his old, weathered feathered partner in crime.

Their first obstacle was obvious: Giyuu’s fridge was a sad shrine to canned food and emergency rations. No fresh ingredients, no sweet treats, nothing remotely cake-worthy.

Sabito rubbed his ghostly chin. “Well, we can’t exactly bake a cake out of sardines and pickles.” Kanzaburou tilted his head, as if agreeing with the logic. Sabito’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Looks like we’re going on a little raid.”

Without wasting a moment, they slipped out of Giyuu’s quarters and headed straight for Mitsuri’s estate.

The air was crisp, the estate’s garden blooming vividly under the afternoon sun.

Sabito whispered, "Let’s move fast—we need to be finished before the Hashira meeting wraps up."

Kanzaburou nodded and silently slipped inside through a side door left slightly open.

Inside, the kitchen was a whirlwind of pastel colors and fragrant scents. Sabito hovered near the doorway, eyes scanning the counters and shelves.

"Flour, sugar, eggs," he instructed quietly. "Check the spice rack for cinnamon and vanilla extract. Fresh strawberries if you can find them."

Kanzaburou darted between countertops, deftly grasping ingredients in his beak and tucking them into a woven basket Sabito conjured from thin air.

"Don’t forget butter, milk and baking powder," Sabito added, watching carefully.

The bird paused by the dairy section and selected a small jar of cream instead of milk, which Sabito accepted with a nod.

All the while, the kitchen remained peaceful—no sign of Mitsuri returning yet.

With the last item secured, Kanzaburou gave a triumphant caw. Sabito grinned. "Perfect. Now, let’s get out of here before anyone notices."

Sabito carefully led Kanzaburou back toward the exit, eyes darting to ensure the coast was clear.

Kanzaburou flapped his wings softly, balancing the basket as best as he could. As they slipped outside, Sabito couldn’t help but smile. "Not bad for a couple of amateur thieves, huh?"

The crow gave a pleased caw, hopping beside him.

Back in Giyuu’s quarters, Sabito set to work, directing Kanzaburou through every step of the baking process.

"Mix the flour and sugar first, then add the eggs—one at a time," he instructed.

Kanzaburou pecked at the bowl with surprising precision, following Sabito’s voice as his only guide.

"Now, a pinch of cinnamon and the vanilla," Sabito added.

Sabito floated closer, guiding Kanzaburou through the rest of the recipe step by step.

"Soon, we’ll have a cake that tastes like a real celebration. Giyuu deserves that much."

Sweet notes of vanilla and cinnamon soon perfumed the air, filling Sabito with a childlike exitement as he floated silently beside the oven.

_______________________________________

Giyuu’s steps quickened as he made his way back to his estate, rare excitement bubbling in his chest.

Though the Hashira meeting had barely lasted two hours, Giyuu felt like he’d been trapped for days, pacing endlessly through discussions that never seemed to end. His mind kept drifting to Sabito—wondering how he was doing, what he was doing, if he was waiting for him…

Now, finally free, his heart leapt at the thought of seeing Sabito again. The anticipation made his breaths come a little faster, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth despite himself.

Opening the door, he was met with a sudden burst of energy.

Sabito’s translucent form sprang into view, glowing softly in the dim light, while Kanzaburou flapped his wings excitedly, letting out an enthusiastic caw.

"Happy birthday!" they shouted in unison.

Giyuu blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected greeting, but the warmth in his chest only grew stronger.

His eyes immediately fell on the cake resting precariously on the counter—a lopsided, slightly squashed creation that looked like it might topple at any moment.

The frosting was unevenly spread, smeared in places, with a few crumbs poking through the pastel blue icing.

A few stray pieces of eggshell peeked out from the batter, unmistakable signs of a rushed but heartfelt effort.

Brightly colored candles flickered atop it, casting a warm, flickering glow over the mess.

The handwritten message—"happy birthday Gyiuu"—was scrawled in uneven letters, some shaky, others awkwardly large or small, as if penned by a clumsy hand—or wing, in this case…

Despite the flaws, or maybe because of them, Giyuu’s smile deepened, genuine and grateful.

Sabito drifted closer, rubbing the back of his neck with a faintly embarrassed grin.
"I know your birthday was yesterday, and that the cake is… well, let’s just say ‘iffy’ at best, but—"

Giyuu cut him off with a gentle smile, shaking his head.

"It’s… perfect," he whispered, stepping fully inside and reaching out as if to touch Sabito, though he knew the gesture was symbolic.

"I love it. Thank you, both of you. I can’t believe you went to all this trouble."

Kanzaburou gave a proud little caw from his perch on the counter, puffing his chest out as if single-wingedly responsible for the masterpiece.

Sabito huffed a laugh, the embarrassment fading into amusement. "Well, someone had to rescue you from another sad canned dinner. You deserve way better than sardines and beans on your birthday."

Giyuu’s smile twitched wider, his gaze flicking back to the slightly lopsided cake. "It’s still more than I ever expected."

Kanzaburou clicked his beak as if to say you’re welcome, earning a chuckle from Sabito.

"Alright," Sabito said, floating back toward the counter. "Make a wish and blow the candles before it collapses completely."

Giyuu closed his eyes, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows across his face.

For a heartbeat, the world around him faded away, and the only wish that came to mind was to stay by Sabito’s side—no matter what came next.

He exhaled softly, the flames snuffing out, sending that quiet hope drifting into the air.

_______________________________________

The sun was beginning to dip low behind the distant mountains, casting long shadows across the grounds of the Water Estate. Mitsuri, Rengoku, and Tengen moved carefully through the overgrown garden paths, hidden behind a thick wall of dense shrubs and flowering vines. After the Hashira meeting, they had agreed to pay a quiet visit to their water Hashira—curious about the strange glow they’d seen on Giyuu’s face.

Eventually, they crouched behind a low stone wall, their eyes fixed intently on the entrance.

"There he is," Mitsuri whispered, pointing toward the doorway.

Giyuu stood just inside, shifting slightly as if lost in thought. His gaze seemed unfocused, and he muttered softly under his breath.

"He looks like he’s… talking to himself?" Rengoku murmured, concern flickering across his face.

Mitsuri’s eyes widened. "Is he okay? That can’t be a good sign, right?"

Tengen nodded slowly. "Maybe… he’s lonely? Or maybe something’s weighing on his mind."

The three exchanged uneasy glances, the air suddenly growing tense.

Then Giyuu’s eyes sharpened, focusing on a small figure fluttering down onto his shoulder—a black crow, Kanzaburou. Giyuu’s voice softened as he spoke, and the bird responded with a low, knowing caw, tilting its head as if fully understanding.

Mitsuri let out a relieved breath. "Oh. He’s not talking to himself. He’s talking to his crow."

"That’s… good," Rengoku admitted, though the shadow of concern still lingered in his gaze. "Talking to a bird instead of a person isn’t ideal, but it’s still companionship."

Tengen, ever the curious one, pressed forward slightly, trying to catch the faint murmurs between Giyuu and Kanzaburou. "Wait… it sounds like he’s… thanking him?"

Mitsuri and Rengoku leaned in closer.

"He’s… thanking the crow?" Mitsuri said softly, surprise coloring her voice.

Then, just beyond Giyuu on the kitchen counter, Mitsuri spotted something unusual. A small, lopsided mound covered in frosting—what vaguely resembled a cake—sat under a few half-melted candles.

Rengoku’s eyes lit up with excitement as he leaned in closer. "Is that… a birthday cake?!"

Mitsuri’s heart tightened. "He baked this himself?"

The three shared a heavy silence, a mix of pity and understanding settling over them.

Tengen’s voice was low but firm. "Who in their right mind spends their birthday all alone, talking to a crow and baking their own cake?"

Rengoku’s usual fire dimmed to a concerned whisper. "He might be doing okay on the surface, but this… this is unacceptable!"

Mitsuri nodded resolutely, her eyes shining with steady determination. "We have to do something…"

Tengen cracked a sly grin. "Agreed. Operation Kittens just got a serious upgrade—to ‘Operation: Finding the Most Flamboyant Gift Ever.’"

Rengoku laughed, shaking his head. "You’re really terrible at naming things, you know that? If you ever decide to have kids, you should definitely let your wives handle the names."

Tengen threw him a mock glare. "Hey! My names are flashy as hell—can’t say the same for yours."

Rengoku grinned broadly, giving Tengen a friendly clap on the back. "Touché, my friend. Looks like naming isn’t exactly our strong suit."

Mitsuri giggled softly, stepping between them. "You two are hopeless."

Side by side, the three of them set off, a quiet determination settling over them as they disappeared down the winding path of the Water Estate.

Chapter Text

The bustling marketplace was alive with color and noise, merchants shouting over one another as fabrics rippled like waves in the summer breeze. Lanterns swayed gently from shopfronts, casting warm glows over stalls stacked high with silks, ornaments, and trinkets.

Mitsuri, Rengoku, and Tengen strolled side by side, drawing stares wherever they went—three Hashira in full uniform weren’t exactly subtle.

"So," Mitsuri began cheerfully, clasping her hands behind her back, "what should we buy Tomioka-san? It has to be something special. Something that shows him he’s loved!"

"Indeed!" Rengoku boomed, already nodding vigorously. "A gift worthy of his devotion and strength! Perhaps… a pet!”

Mitsuri tilted her head, lips pursed thoughtfully. "But… doesn’t he already have his crow?"

"True," Rengoku admitted, stroking his chin with comically exaggerated seriousness.

"Or," Mitsuri went on, eyes lighting up, "maybe sweets? Everyone loves sweets!"

"Too plain," Tengen cut in smoothly, folding his arms. "Besides, Tomioka isn’t exactly the type to indulge. We need something more flamboyant. Something to rescue him from his tragic lack of style."

Mitsuri blinked. "Lack of style?"

Tengen’s expression was grave, as though he were diagnosing a terminal illness.

"The man looks like he dressed in the dark. That half-and-half tragedy he calls a haori is a crime against fashion. He needs clothes worthy of his station—and his face."

Mitsuri gasped, clutching her cheeks. "You’re right! Tomioka-san is really good looking, but a lot of people don’t notice because his clothes hide it. He deserves something that shows off how handsome he really is!"

Rengoku straightened instantly, eyes ablaze as if Mitsuri’s words had ignited him.

"YES! Clothes! Something that reflects his inner flame!" He boomed, startling a nearby vendor into dropping a basket of plums.

Tengen smirked, clearly satisfied that the others had caught up to his genius. He flicked a jeweled hand in a flourish. "Alright then, follow me. I know just the place."

Mitsuri practically skipped after him, while Rengoku marched at his side like a soldier heading to battle.

The shop Tengen led them to wasn’t large, but it gleamed with quiet luxury. The front window displayed silks in colors so vivid they seemed to glow—sapphire blues, scarlet reds, shimmering ivories. The interior smelled faintly of cedar and lavender, every bolt of cloth carefully arranged like a work of art.

"This," Tengen declared with a flourish, "is where my wives insist I buy anything worth wearing. Their taste is flawless—naturally, because they married me. If Tomioka can’t look good in something from here, then there is truly no hope."

The tailor, a dignified woman with sharp eyes and nimble fingers, greeted Tengen warmly—clearly accustomed to his flamboyant entrances.

Mitsuri skipped happily between Rengoku and Tengen, her eyes sparkling as they swept over bolts of silk in every shade imaginable.

"This one! Look at this one!" she gasped, holding up a length of fabric that shimmered silver when the light struck it. "Wouldn’t Giyuu look so cute in this?"

Rengoku leaned closer, eyes wide and serious, as though the fate of the nation depended on his judgment of the garment. "It is bright!" he declared, voice booming. "But… Tomioka is the type to sink into the shadows. A vibrant color would clash with his solemn flame!"

The Sound Hashira strode forward with confidence, fingers trailing over the luxurious silks until he plucked out a bolt of pale, shimmering blue. Under the lantern light, silver threads caught and glittered like water under moonlight. "This," he said with a grin, "screams understated flair. Still flashy—yet subtle enough that our brooding Water Hashira won’t spontaneously combust from embarrassment."

Mitsuri clapped her hands together, cheeks glowing with excitement. "Oooh, it’s perfect! Like a river flowing under starlight. He’ll look so handsome in it!"

Rengoku’s eyes blazed with approval. "It’s perfect!"

The tailor tied off the parcel with a neat knot, and soon the three Hashira stepped back into the evening bustle, the kimono tucked securely under Tengen’s arm. Lanterns were beginning to glow against the dusk, their light spilling across the street in warm patches of gold.

Rengoku strode forward as though they had just completed a great mission.
"A SUCCESS! Tomioka will be transformed—the world shall finally see the glory within him!"

Tengen snorted, swinging the package over his shoulder with practiced ease. "Calm down buddy, you’ll scare the nearby merchants."

Mitsuri laughed softly at their back-and-forth, her eyes bright as she lingered near every shop they passed. When they came upon a stall draped in yarns, she slowed, caught by the sea of color. Scarlet, emerald, violet, and gold gleamed under the lanterns. And there, nestled in the middle, was a soft bundle of pale blue—nearly identical to the kimono they had just bought.

Her hands flew to her cheeks. "Oh! This one—look, it’s the same color! What if I knitted his crow a little hat to match Tomioka-san’s new kimono?"

She cradled the yarn like a treasure, already imagining it.

Rengoku’s laughter burst out in a wave of warmth, turning the heads of several pedestrians.

"HAAAAH! GENIUS! To see Hashira and crow alike, standing united in matching colors—The world shall weep at their splendor!"

Tengen tipped his head back, chuckling, his earrings clinking faintly as they caught the lantern light. "Sure, why not? They’ll make a flashy duo!"

Mitsuri beamed, hugging the yarn to her chest. "Then I’ll do it!"

With their purchases secured and spirits high, the three Hashira continued down the lantern-lit street, parting ways at the crossroads to return to their respective estates—each already eager to see Tomioka’s reaction to their gift.

_______________________________________

Mitsuri finally arrived at her estate, the soft glow of lanterns lining the path casting gentle patterns on the stone walkway. She practically hummed with excitement as she stepped through the sliding doors, carefully placing the pale blue bundle of yarn on the small table by the window.

"Oh, this is going to be perfect!" she whispered, eyes sparkling. She retrieved her knitting needles from a little pouch and began looping the yarn with practiced fingers, forming neat, even stitches. The yarn slid smoothly between her fingers, the pale blue catching the lantern light like a tiny river.

Her focus was so complete that she almost didn’t hear the faint knock at her door. A moment later, a raspy voice called out, "Mitsuri… may I come in?"

She looked up, smiling brightly. "Oh! Obanai-san! Of course!"

He stepped inside, hands loosely clasped in front of him, posture straight but his eyes betraying a flicker of unease. "I… wondered if you would like to join me for dinner tonight," he said somewhat nervously.

Mitsuri’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she clasped her hands together, bouncing slightly on her heels. "Oh! Obanai-san… that sounds lovely, but I’m… um… really busy right now!" She held up the pale blue yarn with a flourish. "I’m preparing a gift for Tomioka-san!"

Obanai’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his hands twitched involuntarily at his sides.

"A gift… for Tomioka?"

Mitsuri nodded eagerly, her braids swaying. "Yes! It was his birthday recently, and I… I completely missed it. I feel so bad! So I want to make it up to him by giving him something special!"

Obanai tilted his head, a faint tension in his posture easing into something closer to resigned patience. "Ah… I see. Alright then, don’t worry too much about it, though. I’m sure he’ll like whatever you give him."

Mitsuri’s eyes widened, hope and curiosity shining in them. "You think so?"

He blinked, expression stoic. "He better."

Mitsuri tilted her head, puzzled. "What…?"

Obanai’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. "I said I’m sure he will."

Mitsuri blinked for a moment, then her face lit up with a shy, warm smile. "Oh… okay! That’s reassuring!" She returned to her yarn, humming a little tune as she began looping the stitches again, her thoughts already on Tomioka-san’s possible reaction.

Obanai lingered by the doorway for a moment, watching her with quiet, guarded frustration hidden beneath his calm exterior. Once she was fully absorbed, he finally turned and stepped back into the night, muttering softly under his breath, "Damn you Tomioka…"

_______________________________________

The next evening, the trio arrived at Gyiuu’s estate, the pale blue parcel of silk and the neatly knitted crow hat carefully tucked under their arms. Mitsuri practically bounced with excitement, Rengoku’s usual fiery grin blazing across his face, and Tengen’s confident smirk hinting at the anticipation of seeing their plan unfold.

Gyiuu opened the door, his usual calm and unreadable expression firmly in place, though a flicker of surprise passed through his eyes at the sight of the three Hashira.

"Good evening Tomioka," Tengen began, bowing playfully. "We have a little something for you."

Rengoku stepped forward dramatically, presenting the bundle with a flourish.
"A birthday gift!"

Mitsuri held up the crow hat, her braids swaying as she smiled brightly. "And… this little hat! I made it for Kanzaburo to match your new kimono!"

Gyiuu’s eyes softened slightly as he took the silk from Rengoku’s hands, unwrapping it with careful fingers. The pale blue kimono shimmered faintly in the lantern light, silver threads catching like ripples across water.

"It’s…pretty," he murmured, voice low but steady. His gaze lifted slightly, meeting theirs, though still measured and calm.

Mitsuri’s cheeks flushed pink. "So… you like it?"

Tomioka gave a slight nod. "It’s… very thoughtful. Thank you."

His gaze lingered on the kimono and the tiny hat in Mitsuri’s hands. "It… looks expensive, though," he murmured. "You really didn’t have to waste all this money on me."

Mitsuri shook her head, smiling brightly. "Oh, but we wanted to! Plus, it’s not wasted since you like the gift!"

Tomioka let out a soft hum, eyes flicking between the three of them. "…How did you even know it was my birthday recently?"

Rengoku puffed out his chest, voice booming as he responded. "Ah! We, as responsible Hashira, made a… casual visit to your estate yesterday to… check up on you!"

Gyiuu tilted his head slightly, brow furrowed. "Huh… that’s strange. I didn’t see any of you at my estate yesterday."

Tengen’s lips curved into an amused smirk.

"Ah, details, details! Let’s just say we were… discreet observers of sorts. Completely innocent, of course. Naturally, we happened to notice a certain pitiful attempt at birthday cake sitting on your table." He raised an eyebrow dramatically. "And seeing you endure such a tragedy… well, it simply wouldn’t do. A proper gift was clearly in order!"

Mitsuri’s voice bubbled with excitement. "We couldn’t just let you go without a proper celebration! So we got you this!" She held up the pale blue kimono and the tiny hat, beaming.

Tomioka’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression carefully neutral—but his eyes betrayed a quiet mix of surprise and gratitude. "I see…"

From the corner of his vision, he noticed Kanzaburo puffing up indignantly, feathers bristling in visible offense.

"…Pitiful… Pitiful?" a muffled, annoyed voice muttered. Tomioka’s eyes flicked upward, catching the floating form of Sabito. "It was a perfectly acceptable birthday gift, thank you very much!"

Gyiuu’s lips twitched, barely holding back a laugh at the spectacle of his crow and Sabito both fussing over something so trivial.

The little hat Mitsuri held seemed to hold some magic power over Kanzaburo’s pride, though, and for a moment, the tiny bird’s indignation softened into curiosity.

Mitsuri knelt, smiling brightly. "Here, Kanzaburo! This is for you too!"

The hat was small, soft, and pale blue—perfectly matching the kimono Tomioka had just received. Kanzaburo hesitated, chest still puffed out, but eventually allowed her to place it atop his feathers. He ruffled once, then settled, conceding silently that it was acceptable.

Tomioka’s lips curved just slightly, the barest hint of amusement at the sight.

Mitsuri stepped back, her hands clasped in front of her. "Perfect! Now… you have to try on your new kimono, Tomioka-san!"

Tengen immediately agreed, a serious look adorning his face. "Indeed. One does not simply leave such artistry unappreciated. Come, let us see you in it."

Tomioka gave a quiet nod, allowing himself a small sigh. "…Very well."

With gentle guidance, Mitsuri helped him into the kimono. The pale blue fabric shimmered in the light, silver threads tracing subtle, flowing patterns across the material. Kanzaburo hopped closer, inspecting the transformation with a tilt of his head, as if approving the choice in wardrobe.

Mitsuri stepped back, eyes bright. "See? Doesn’t it look wonderful on you?"

Tengen chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "And his crow completes the ensemble. Truly a fashionable pair."

Tomioka’s eyes softened slightly as he regarded them, the faintest hint of a smile lingering on his lips. Despite their boisterous and loud nature, he found that he didn’t mind their presence at all.

Kanzaburo ruffled his feathers, finally settling with the tiny hat in place. His crow, the thoughtful gifts, Sabito and the Hashira’s cheerful energy left Gyiuu quietly content, a rare warmth spreading through him as the evening settled around them.

______________________________________

Sabito lingered just beyond the Hashira’s notice, invisible as always, his eyes drawn to Gyiuu. The new kimono flowed over him like water under moonlight, pale blue threads catching the lantern glow, silver streaks shimmering with every subtle movement. To Sabito, Gyiuu looked almost unreal—beautiful in a quiet, untouchable way, like the reflection of the night sky in a still pond. Every line of his posture, every calm glance, seemed to radiate a gentle strength, a grace that made Sabito’s chest tighten.

He watched the soft curve of Gyiuu’s lips as he spoke to the Hashira gathered before him, the faintest upturn betraying a warmth that only seemed to deepen amidst the boisterous laughter surrounding him.

Kanzaburo, for his part, preened in his little hat, feathers slightly ruffled in smug satisfaction as he met Sabito’s gaze.

A teasing smirk tugged at Sabito’s lips. "You think these matching outfits make you special, huh?" he murmured under his breath, careful that only Kanzaburo could hear. "Well, guess what—the mismatched haori Gyiuu’s been wearing all these years? Half of it’s made from my old haori—the exact same one. So… hah, beat that, bird brain!"

The crow blinked slowly, clearly processing the revelation, while Sabito’s gaze returned to Gyiuu, lingering on that gentle smile, wishing he could somehow freeze the moment and keep it just as it was.

Chapter Text

Sabito drifted through the streets of a small nearby village, hands tucked loosely behind his back. He wasn’t really walking—he didn’t need to—but habit made his movements mimic it anyway, his feet passing soundlessly over the dirt road.

The evening had settled in, and lanterns flickered to life one by one as vendors called out to the last of their customers. Skewers of grilled fish crackled over hot coals, sweet dango was stacked high on trays, steam rising in tempting curls into the cooling air. Sabito slowed, eyes lingering. It looked so ordinary, so alive, and for a moment he almost expected the smells to reach him—charcoal smoke, caramelized sugar, roasting meat.

But nothing came.

No scent, no taste, no warmth. Just the ghost of a memory that left him strangely hollow. He could see it all, but it would never touch him again.

With a quiet exhale, Sabito forced himself onward, letting the chatter of villagers wash through him as though he were nothing but a shadow. Maybe that was why he’d wandered here in the first place—restlessness, killing time while Gyiuu finished his mission against one of the lower moons.

Rounding a corner, his gaze caught on a boy crouched beside a wooden cart, stacking bundles of coal into a crate. His hands were practiced, movements efficient, but there was an ease in the way he hummed softly to himself, light despite the work. Dark hair, tinged red in the lantern glow, framed his face.

Then the boy looked up.

Their eyes met.

Sabito stopped cold, expression furrowing in confusion. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Villagers never looked at him—couldn’t look at him. But this boy… this boy was staring—not past him—but right at him.

For a fleeting moment, Sabito wondered if it was a trick of the light—or if his mind was simply playing tricks on him. Yet the boy’s gaze didn’t waver.

"Hello there, mister! Would you be interested in some charcoal?"
the boy called, his voice cheerful and open, holding a small bundle in his hands.

Sabito blinked, trying to process the boy’s words, his thoughts stumbling over themselves. His eyes widened, a mix of surprise and disbelief settling over him.

"You… you can see me?" he asked cautiously, as if testing the truth of it.

The young merchant chuckled, the sound warm and unbothered, shaking his head slightly. "Of course I can see you, silly. Why wouldn’t I?"

Sabito let out a quiet breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "…Right," he murmured, unsure whether to feel disbelief, amazement, or a little of both.

The boy tilted his head, smiling as he held the small bundle a little closer. "Well, would you like some then? It’s really good for cooking, you know!"

Sabito shook his head politely. "I’m good, thank you. I… don’t have any money on me right now."

The kid’s smile didn’t falter as he replied. "That’s okay! Maybe another time then." He shrugged lightly, still cheerful, and Sabito found himself quietly amused by his easygoing nature.

The boy gave a small wave and started off down the street, weaving between the other merchants and their bustling stalls. His figure gradually faded into the distance, swallowed by the lively crowd, before Sabito could say anything else to him. Sabito lingered for a moment, watching him disappear, a quiet curiosity settling in his chest.

This must be the boy the deity spoke of, he realized, a sense of purpose stirring within him. He scanned the street one last time, hoping for another glimpse, but the boy was nowhere to be seen, already lost in the throng of villagers.

Resigned, Sabito turned away, letting the bustling noise of the market fall behind him as he made his way back to the water estate, the memory of the boy’s cheerful smile staying with him all the way.

_______________________________________

By the time he arrived, the estate was quiet, the air cool and still under the deepening night. He slipped soundlessly through the gate, expecting to find the place empty, only to stop short when he caught sight of someone in the courtyard.

Giyuu.

The swordsman had just returned from his mission, his haori faintly dirtied from battle. His long raven hair—usually tied back in a low ponytail—hung loose around his face and shoulders, strands falling into his eyes in uneven tufts.

Sabito froze mid-step, eyes fixed on him.

It had been quite some time since he’d seen Giyuu with his hair down. The sight caught him off guard, dragging him back to half-faded memories. It was just as messy as it had been when they were kids—always falling into his face no matter how many times he pushed it back—but now… now it had grown past his shoulders, longer and darker, framing his face in a way that made Sabito’s gaze linger involuntarily.

Giyuu’s eyes flicked toward Sabito, noticing the way his attention caught on the loose strands, though he said nothing. He simply ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall back over his shoulders, and remarked, "My hair tie broke mid fight."

He glanced at Sabito once more.
"Could you… hand me the spare one? It should be on the table over there."

Sabito blinked, his mind still lingering on the way Giyuu’s hair cascaded over his shoulders. He nodded slowly, voice barely above a whisper. "Uh… y-yeah, of course."

He stood there for a few minutes, distracted by the dark, flowing strands and the quiet intensity of Giyuu’s gaze. By the time he realized he should move, Giyuu had already settled into a relaxed stance, waiting patiently, and Sabito had to shake himself out of his daze before reaching for the spare elastic.

"Here you go," Sabito said, holding it out.

Giyuu took it, their eyes meeting for a brief moment—his calm blue locking with Sabito’s soft lilac. "Thanks," he murmured, a subtle warmth threading through his otherwise composed voice.

"You know… you actually look pretty good with your hair down," Sabito said, a little hesitantly. "Maybe you should leave it like that more often—it really suits you."

Giyuu tilted his head slightly, humming thoughtfully as he contemplated the spare hair tie in his hand. For a moment, he seemed caught between leaving it loose and tying it back.

After a brief pause however, he let out a quiet sigh and gathered his dark strands, securing them neatly once more, the loose locks settling smoothly over his shoulders.

"I’ll consider it," Giyuu said quietly, his tone calm but carrying a faint hint of amusement. He ran a hand along his hair, as if testing the weight of it, before looking back at Sabito. "How’s your evening been?"

Sabito shifted slightly, thinking about the boy he met at the village earlier. "It… was interesting to say the least," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I ran into a boy while wandering through the streets—a merchant of some kind. He… he could see me, which was… unexpected."

Giyuu’s brow lifted just slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the unusual occurrence. "He could see you?" he asked, his calm tone carrying a note of curiosity.

"Yeah," Sabito replied, nodding. "It was strange, but nice in a way. He was cheerful, and… I don’t know, there was something about him—I think he might be the boy the deity said I should be helping."

Giyuu hummed softly, his eyes drifting briefly as if picturing the scene. "Sounds like an interesting boy," he remarked, before letting his gaze settle back on Sabito.

"What’s his name?" he asked.

Sabito’s shoulders suddenly tensed, a look of realization crossing his face.

"I… I don’t know," he admitted, voice tight. "I forgot to ask him. God… how could I be such a complete idiot? How am I supposed to find him now?"

Giyuu let out a quiet, amused chuckle, raising a hand as if to pat Sabito’s back before remembering he had no physical form and lowering it again. "There, there… don’t berate yourself like that," he said gently. "It happens to the best of us. I’m sure you’ll meet him again someday."

Sabito’s shoulders loosened slightly, offering a small nod. "I hope so," he whispered, a flicker of determination in his eyes.

_______________________________________

The rest of the day slipped by quietly. Sabito settled into the usual rhythm, playing cards with Kanzaburo while Giyuu did his daily training session, moving with measured precision, then stepping into the bath to wash away the sweat and grime of the day’s mission. The estate settled into its familiar evening hush, the air faintly carrying the lavender scent of the shampoo Mitsuri had gifted him earlier that week—after praising his hair and simultaneously lecturing him for neglecting it.

Later in the evening, as Giyuu finished tidying his things and preparing for bed, he paused, his gaze drifting over to Sabito. The soft lamplight flickered across the room, casting a quiet warmth over the familiar space.

"Hey, Sabito," he said slowly. "I’ve been wondering about something for a while now."

He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Since you’re technically not… alive, you don’t need sleep, right?"

Sabito nodded.

"Then why do you always lay down with me if you don’t sleep?" Giyuu asked, tilting his head slightly, curious.

Sabito hesitated, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. "Ah… well, it’s a bit embarrassing, but… mostly I just like being near you."

"Being near me?" Giyuu echoed, almost to himself, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"Well…yeah. Even though I don’t necessarily feel your body heat or anything, just the thought of lying next to you… it puts me at ease."

Giyuu’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, his gaze dropping briefly. "Oh… alright," he murmured.

They stayed still for a few moments, letting the quiet of the estate wrap around them both, before Giyuu spoke up again. "Sabito?"

"Well, aren’t you chatty tonight? What is it, Giyuu?" he replied lazily, a soft hint of amusement in his tone.

Giyuu hesitated, then asked quietly, "Remember how you said you’re my guardian angel?"

"Mhmm," Sabito responded without lifting his gaze from the ceiling beams, sprawled comfortably beside him.

"You didn’t happen to meet… other angels, did you?" Giyuu continued, a faint edge of hope threading through his voice. "Say, maybe… Tsutako nee-san?"

At that, Sabito finally glanced at him, his expression softening into something tinged with pity. "No," he said gently. "I haven’t met any other angels up there, Giyuu. I was stuck in limbo for a while, and then I was sent back down. I never got to heaven… and I probably never will."

Giyuu’s eyes widened, the calm mask faltering as alarm crept into his face. "Wha—What do you mean… you’ll never get to heaven?"

Sabito’s gaze returned to the ceiling, his voice steady but carrying a quiet weight.

"That was part of the deal. A sort of price I had to pay in exchange for being your guardian angel, if you will."

Silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the faint rustle of night air through the shoji. Giyuu’s voice was tighter when he finally spoke. "So… you’ll never get to see your family again?"

"No," Sabito admitted, his lilac eyes dimming slightly. "I probably won’t."

The words struck harder than Giyuu expected. His chest tightened, and he stared at Sabito with wide eyes, the guilt pooling in his expression before spilling out in his voice. "I’m… I’m sorry. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t need to do all this. I mean… maybe if I wasn’t so useless, you wouldn’t even be—"

"Hey." Sabito cut him off, firm but not unkind, his tone leaving no room for doubt. He leaned forward slightly, gaze steady. "My death wasn’t your fault, Giyuu. It was the hand demon’s… and maybe mine too, for being reckless. And as for me not going to heaven—none of that is on you. That was my choice, my decision alone. So don’t you dare start blaming yourself all over again, you hear me?"

Giyuu’s mouth tightened, his eyes shadowed with doubt. For a moment, he looked ready to argue, but the steady sincerity in Sabito’s gaze held him still. There was no anger there, only conviction.

After a pause, Giyuu exhaled quietly and lowered his eyes. "…Alright," he murmured, the word reluctant but genuine.

Sabito’s expression softened, the firmness in his tone giving way to warmth. "Good."

He leaned back slightly, noticing the lingering tension in Giyuu’s shoulders and the subtle fidgeting of his hands. Even after ending their conversation, the weight of their words still pressed on him. Sabito let a small, easy smile tug at his lips and leaned forward just enough to catch Giyuu’s eyes.

"Alright… now, enough of all that depressing stuff," he said, keeping his tone light, almost playful. "Wanna see something cool?"

Giyuu blinked, the faintest flicker of curiosity breaking through his expression. "…Sure," he murmured, voice low, though his posture remained slightly stiff.

Sabito’s lips curved into a small, secretive smile. Then With a fluid motion, he shifted just enough—and suddenly, wings of pure white unfurled from his back.

The feathers stretched gracefully, gleaming softly, catching the subtle shadows in the room. He held them out just far enough for Giyuu to take in their full span, the quiet rustle of feathers barely audible in the stillness.

Giyuu’s eyes widened, his usual composure slipping for a moment. He leaned forward slightly, captivated by the ethereal sight. The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced with an almost childlike awe, his breath catching softly.

"So… what do you think?" Sabito asked, voice tinged with pride. "Pretty cool, right?"

Giyuu’s gaze remained locked on the delicate feathers, his fascination evident. "Everything about you is cool, Sabito," he murmured, almost absentmindedly, as if the words had slipped out without thought.

Realizing what he’d just said, Giyuu’s eyes widened in embarrassment, darting away from Sabito’s gaze.

Sabito’s cheeks warmed slightly, a small, bright smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t sure how it was even possible, considering he technically had no blood so to speak—but oh well. Shrugging off the thought with a sheepish grin, he murmured, "You really think so?"

Giyuu nodded once, eyes still averted, a hint of awkwardness clinging to his posture.

"Thanks!" Sabito said, grinning, the soft glow of his wings reflecting in his lilac eyes. "Good to know you think so highly of me."

For a long while, Giyuu simply watched him—taking in the soft sweep of his peach-colored hair, the delicate spread of his white wings, the gentle curve of his smile, and most of all, his eyes, so brimming with life that, if he ignored the absence of warmth and touch, he could almost believe he was truly alive in his arms.

Eventually, Giyuu’s eyes closed, and a quiet calm settled over him. Sabito remained seated nearby, his soft smile never fading, quietly watching over him as sleep claimed him.

_______________________________________

By the next day, Giyuu’s raven hair lay loose over his shoulders, dark strands drifting gently with each movement.

He went about his day as usual, though there was an unspoken lightness to his steps and a subtle ease in the way he carried himself.

Of course, his change in hairstyle did not go unnoticed.

Mitsuri’s eyes practically sparkled as soon as she saw him. She hurried over, her hands fluttering slightly. "Giyuu… your hair! It’s beautiful!" she exclaimed, her voice full of genuine awe.

Tengen, leaning back with his usual grin, tilted his head thoughtfully. "Huh… that’s a flashy look on you Tomioka. I didn’t think it would suit you, but… I like it."

Even Sanemi froze for a moment, his eyes widening ever so slightly as he took in Giyuu’s hair, just before they set out on their joint mission that evening.

For a fleeting instant, the loose dark strands brought Kanae to mind—soft, flowing, and impossibly serene—and Sanemi’s chest tightened in a way he quickly tried to ignore. He shook his head, scowling lightly at himself for the unexpected comparison.

"Whatever," he muttered, his tone gruff but tinged with something quieter. "Just… make sure it doesn’t get in the way while we’re working."

Giyuu merely inclined his head in acknowledgment, unbothered as they stepped forward together.

…

If anyone asked him why the sudden change, he would insist, with absolute seriousness, that it was because he’d lost his spare hair tie—and had nothing at all to do with Sabito’s comment the night prior. Naturally.

Chapter Text

Sanemi’s POV:

Tomioka’s been acting weird as of late.

Not "oh-he’s-brooding-in-a-corner-again" weird. No—Sanemi was used to that kind of weird. That was normal Tomioka behavior.

But lately…
He’s been smiling.
Talking to people.
Voluntarily hanging out with Uzui of all people.

Something’s definitely wrong with him.

At first, Sanemi thought maybe he’d hit his head too hard on a mission. A few good knocks to the skull could explain a lot of things—like why the man who used to avoid eye contact now suddenly waves at people in the hall. Or why he’s been spotted in the kitchen with Kanroji, apron and all, helping her bake sweets like some domestic housewife.

Sanemi had refused to believe it at first—until he saw it himself.
Tomioka, standing there, covered in flour, sleeves rolled up, listening patiently while Kanroji cheerfully rattled on about sugar ratios and frosting.

It was the most disturbing thing Sanemi had seen in months.

And then—just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, the bastard showed up at his door.

He hadn’t even knocked properly. Just appeared out of nowhere, calm as ever, holding a little wooden box in his hands.

"I heard you like Ohagi," he said simply.

Sanemi stared at the box, then at him, suspicion already prickling at the back of his neck. "You trying to poison me, or what?"

Tomioka blinked once. "No. They’re ohagi."

"Yeah, I can see that. Doesn’t answer the question."

There was the faintest twitch at the corner of Tomioka’s mouth—almost a smile. "I can assure you they are perfectly edible Shinazugawa, Mitsuri said so."

Sanemi didn’t move. He kept staring, waiting for a punchline that never came. Finally, just to get him off his porch, he took the damn box.

They smelled good.

Against his better judgment, he tried one. It was soft, sweet, a little chewy, but over all surprisingly decent.

Sanemi grimaced, chewing slower. "Since when did you know how to cook?" he muttered, glaring at the remaining ohagi like they’d personally betrayed him.

When he looked up, Tomioka was still there—expression calm, but his eyes just barely glimmering with amusement.

"Glad you like it," he said, quiet as ever.
"Mitsuri’s been teaching me how to cook recently."

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Sanemi standing there with his mouth full of rice and his brain short-circuiting.

Since then, it’d become a pattern.
Every couple of weeks, Tomioka would show up again, always with some homemade treat, always with that same quiet look that wasn’t quite a smile but close enough to make Sanemi uneasy.

He told himself he was just tolerating it. That’s all.
It wasn’t like he looked forward to it or anything.

…Except maybe he did.

Just a little.
______________________________________

Sanemi leaned back against the engawa railing outside the Serpent Estate, arms crossed, jaw tight. "I’m telling you, Iguro, something’s wrong with him."

Obanai didn’t even look up from where he was methodically cleaning Kaburamaru’s scales with a soft cloth. "You’ve said that four times now," he said, voice calm and flat as ever. "And yet, you still haven’t explained what this something is."

Sanemi scowled. "I just told you! Tomioka’s acting weird. Smiling at people. Hanging out with Kanroji and Rengoku. Baking. Baking, Iguro! The man who barely speaks to anyone is in the damn kitchen making desserts!"

That got a slow blink from Obanai. "…And this bothers you because?"

"Because it’s creepy!" Sanemi barked. "It’s like watching a crow try to sing opera. Doesn’t make sense. He’s supposed to be gloomy and antisocial and—whatever the hell else he usually is."

Obanai gave a small, unimpressed hum. "So you preferred him miserable?"

"I preferred him predictable!"

Kaburamaru flicked his tongue lazily, clearly uninterested in the drama.

Sanemi ran a hand through his hair, grumbling. "He’s been showing up at my place lately too, bringing me food like I’m some sort of charity case. You should’ve seen him—standing there all calm, ‘I heard you like ohagi,’ like that’s normal behavior."

"That sounds… surprisingly considerate," Obanai said mildly.

"Yeah, that’s the problem!"

Obanai paused in his work, finally glancing up at him. "You realize you’re complaining that someone is being nice to you, right?"

Sanemi glared. "Don’t twist it like that."

Obanai raised a brow. "I’m not twisting anything. You just sound like someone who doesn’t know how to deal with kindness."

Sanemi clicked his tongue, looking away. "That’s not it."

"Then what is it?"

"I don’t know!" he snapped, voice louder than intended. He caught himself, exhaled sharply, and muttered, "He’s just… confusing. A few months ago, I couldn’t stand the guy. Now he’s bringing me food, talking more, Smiling… It’s like he’s figured out how to be human all of a sudden."

Obanai watched him for a long, quiet moment, eyes unreadable behind the edge of his bandages. "And that makes you angry."

Sanemi hesitated, jaw tightening. "It makes me—uneasy."

"That’s one word for it," Obanai murmured. He resumed polishing Kaburamaru, his tone maddeningly casual. "Another word might be interested."

Sanemi’s head whipped toward him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Obanai’s lips curved slightly beneath his bandages. "Nothing, it’s just… You’ve been talking about him an awful lot recently."

Sanemi glared daggers at him. "You think I’ve got a crush or something? Don’t be ridiculous."

Obanai gave a small shrug. "If the uniform fits."

"Shut up."

Kaburamaru tilted his head, tongue flicking toward Sanemi again, as if agreeing with Obanai.

Sanemi pointed at the snake. "Don’t you start."

Obanai looked entirely too pleased with himself. "You’re the one bringing him up, Sanemi. You could’ve been talking about literally anything else, and yet here we are, ten minutes deep into a detailed psychological analysis of Tomioka’s social life."

Sanemi crossed his arms tighter, scowling. "I’m just saying it’s weird, alright? You don’t see me baking cakes with Kanroji."

"No," Obanai said dryly. "You just sit around brooding about Tomioka baking with her."

That earned him a growl. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

"Immensely, it’s not often I get to see you suffer like this."

For a while, the two sat in silence—broken only by Kaburamaru’s soft movements and the faint chirping of crickets.

Finally, Sanemi muttered, "Alright, fine. Maybe you have a point."

Obanai glanced up, eyes glinting with something between amusement and mild surprise. "You think?"

"Don’t push it."

"I’m just saying," Obanai continued smoothly, "if it bothers you this much, maybe you should just talk to him. Figure out what’s really changed."

Sanemi scoffed. "Yeah, right. ‘Hey Tomioka, you’ve been smiling lately and it’s making me lose sleep’—real smooth."

Obanai gave a soft snort. "Maybe leave out that last part."

Sanemi’s lips twitched, a reluctant grin trying—and failing—to surface. "You’re a real smartass, you know that?"

Obanai returned to tending Kaburamaru, though the faintest hint of a smile crept into his eyes. "Comes with the job."

Sanemi huffed, pushing himself off the railing. "Whatever. You’re no help."

"On the contrary," Obanai said. "I just helped you realize you’re halfway in love with Tomioka."

Sanemi froze mid-step, then turned, glaring daggers at him. "Say that again and I’ll feed you to your own damn snake."

Kaburamaru hissed softly in what sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Obanai only hummed, perfectly unbothered. "Bye Sanemi, see you tomorrow at practice."

Sanemi stomped off, muttering curses under his breath, but the faint heat in his chest refused to fade.

Damn it all, maybe the snake was right.
_______________________________________

* A few weeks ago *

Sabito had seen Giyuu do a lot of stupid things over the years.
Charging headfirst into a demon twice his size? Standard.
Skipping meals for two days because he "forgot"? Classic.
But standing in his kitchen, making ohagi for the seventh time this week—all for Shinazugawa Sanemi? That was a new level of idiocy.

He floated just above the counter, arms crossed, watching as Giyuu meticulously shaped another lump of rice. His hands were dusted with flour, his brow faintly furrowed in concentration. The table was lined with failed attempts—misshapen, uneven, one even sporting a burnt patch on the side.

"Okay," Giyuu muttered, adjusting his grip like the rice might explode if he breathed too hard. "That one looks… better."

Sabito drifted closer, hovering beside him. "You’ve said that about the last six," he pointed out.

"This one’s different," Giyuu insisted softly, setting the rice ball down with care.

Sabito folded his arms. "Giyuu, you’re trying to befriend Sanemi Shinazugawa. The man communicates exclusively through yelling and threats. He’s about as approachable as a bear trap. Why are you doing this to yourself?"

Giyuu didn’t answer right away. He reached for the next batch of rice instead, voice quiet but steady. "Rengoku said he likes ohagi. I thought… maybe it would be a good start."

Sabito blinked. "A good start to what? Getting stabbed?"

That earned him the smallest twitch of a smile from Giyuu—the kind that barely counted but still managed to gut Sabito every time. "You exaggerate."

"Do I?" Sabito muttered, following as Giyuu carried the plate of ohagi out to the courtyard. He let out a quiet huff. "You really don’t have a shred of self-preservation, do you?"

Giyuu’s lips curved just slightly, that soft, almost imperceptible smile returning. "You worry too much."

Sabito couldn’t help it—his own lips tugged upward in response. "Well someone has to."

_______________________________________

* Present day *

Sanemi didn’t know when it happened.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment "that bastard" quietly turned into Giyuu in his head, or when the sight of the man standing on his doorstep stopped being irritating and started making his chest feel… weird. Lighter somehow.

He’d tried to shake it off—gods, he tried. He told himself it had to be guilt for being such an ass to him all these years, or maybe pity, or even some kind of respect between colleagues. Anything but what it really was. But then Giyuu had smiled at him one afternoon—soft, unassuming, the kind of smile that barely qualified as one yet somehow managed to knock the air out of his lungs—and handed him another box of ohagi.

And that was it. Something warm and infuriatingly alive had lodged itself under his skin and refused to leave.

That night, he didn’t sleep.

By the third, he was pacing his engawa muttering curses under his breath and glaring at the stars as if they were to blame somehow. His arms were crossed so tight his shoulders ached, but it did nothing to stop the mess in his head. Every time he closed his eyes, Giyuu’s face flashed behind them—calm, quiet, those damn blue eyes watching him with that infuriating gentleness.

It made his stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with anger.

"Shit," he muttered to no one in particular, dragging a hand through his hair. "I’m doomed."

And he was. Completely, utterly doomed.

Somewhere, Obanai was probably smirking under those bandages, the smug bastard. Sanemi could practically hear him saying, ‘I told you so.’

He wanted to punch him. He wanted to punch himself more for being stupid.

By morning, Sanemi had had enough. If he was going to make a fool of himself, he might as well do it properly.

Maybe he was rushing things—hell, he probably was rushing things—but waiting had never done him any favors. He’d held his tongue once when it mattered most, stayed silent until it was too late. And it had cost him more than he cared to remember.

He wasn’t about to make that mistake twice.

_______________________________________

Obanai looked up from his book when Sanemi shoved the door open without so much as a knock.

"Shinazugawa," he drawled, "ever heard of knocking?"

"Shut up," Sanemi snapped automatically. He hovered in the doorway, arms crossed, looking vaguely murderous—but also… weirdly tense.

Obanai’s eyes narrowed a fraction. "You look like you’re about to commit a crime."

"Close enough," Sanemi grumbled. "I need your help."

That got Obanai’s attention. He set his book down slowly, his expression the very picture of suspicion. "Help? From me? The same person you threatened to feed to Kaburamaru two weeks ago?"

"Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.”

Kaburamaru flicked his tongue, clearly amused.

Obanai leaned back, folding his arms. "Alright then. What crisis brings you here?"

Sanemi hesitated—jaw tightening before he forced the words out. "…It’s about Tomioka."

Obanai blinked once. Then again. "Of course it is," he said flatly.

"Don’t start."

Obanai steepled his fingers, expression far too pleased. "Let me guess. You realized I was right and now you have no idea what to do, so you came here for advice."

"…Maybe," Sanemi muttered, crossing his arms even tighter.

Kaburamaru hissed, and it sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Sanemi’s eye twitched. He glared at the snake before leveling his stare at Obanai.
"Alright, enough," Sanemi growled. "Are you gonna help me or not?"

Obanai leaned his chin on his hand, pretending to think. "You know, it’s funny that you’d come to me for this. You could’ve gone to Uzui. He’s actually successful at this sort of thing. Has three wives, and all..."

"Yeah, and I don’t want to hear about any of them," Sanemi said flatly. "You’re the only one I can talk to about this without wanting to bash my head into a wall."

Obanai blinked. For just a second, something softened in his eyes. Then he huffed. "Well… good to know you confide in me so much, I should be flattered really."

Sanemi scowled. "Just—quit the sarcasm and give me something useful."

Obanai sighed, sitting up straighter. "Fine, fine. My advice? Keep it simple. Don’t overthink it. Buy him some flowers or something, then just tell him what you feel."

Sanemi stared at him. "That’s it?"

"That’s it."

"That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

"Probably," Obanai said, deadpan. "But it’s still better than what you’ll come up with on your own."

Sanemi opened his mouth to retort—then stopped, mouth twitching despite himself. A low laugh slipped out, surprising both of them.

"You’re a hypocrite you know that?" he said finally, smirking faintly. "You haven’t even confessed to Kanroji yet have you?"

Obanai froze. "That’s different."

"Sure it is," Sanemi said, turning to leave. "Thanks for the advice, loverboy."

"Don’t call me that," Obanai called after him, but Sanemi was already halfway down the hall.
_______________________________________

* A few days later *
Sanemi stood outside the Water Estate longer than he’d meant to. The place looked exactly like its owner — quiet, detached, and calm in a way that almost felt unnatural.

He exhaled once, then knocked.

Three short raps. Firm. No backing out now.

A moment later, the door slid open.

Giyuu stood there — hair loose again, sleeve cuffs slightly damp like he’d just washed his hands. He blinked once in quiet surprise before finally speaking up.

"Shinazugawa," he said softly. "Hello."

Sanemi swallowed.

"…Sanemi," he corrected, voice rougher than intended. "You can call me Sanemi."

Giyuu’s lips curved — not quite a smile, but close enough to make Sanemi’s heartbeat stutter.

"Alright," he murmured. "Hello, Sanemi."

He looked away, pretending to fix his sleeve, hoping it would hide the heat rising in his face.

"I—uh. Can we talk?"

"Of course," Giyuu said, stepping aside. "Come in."

Sanemi stepped inside.

The interior was… clean. Not sterile, exactly — just sparse. Practical.

A low table. Two cushions. A shelf with only the essentials. The walls were bare, no scrolls or keepsakes, nothing that said someone lived here.

Except—

In the corner by the window, there was a small cushion, a small dish of bird treats, and a deck of UNO cards left mid-shuffle besides a sleeping crow.

Sanemi stared. "…You play cards with your crow?"

Giyuu froze just slightly — not in embarrassment, more like he was choosing his words carefully.

"Ah… something like that," he murmured.

Sanemi let it drop.

Giyuu moved toward the small stove. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked, voice quiet, almost cautious. "I have… chamomile tea. Or water."

Sanemi huffed — a quite laugh escaping him. "That’s it?"

Giyuu rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking aside. "Sorry. I wasn’t expecting any visitors. It’s usually just Kanzaburou and Sa—"

He stopped, catching himself mid-sentence.

"…just Kanzaburou and me," he finished, a touch awkward.

If Sanemi noticed the slip, he didn’t show it.
He just nodded, lips twitching the faintest bit. "Relax. I’m just messing with you. Chamomile’s fine."

Giyuu set about making the tea, movements soft and deliberate, barely louder than the simmer of the kettle.

Meanwhile, Kanzaburou hopped up onto the table, tilting his head expectantly, clearly just woken a few moments ago

"Not for you," Giyuu murmured, guiding the bird aside with a gentle nudge.

The crow clicked his beak in offended protest, but hopped away nonetheless.

A short, unguarded snort slipped out of Sanemi before he could stop it.

"You spoil him too much," he muttered, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Giyuu paused, as if genuinely considering the statement.

"…He works hard," he said simply.

Kanzaburou puffed up in smug triumph, feathers fluffing like he’d just been awarded a medal.

Sanemi dragged a hand down his face. "You’re impossible," he grumbled, though there was no bite behind it.
______________________________________

They drank their tea in silence, the warmth of the cups curling around their hands while steam drifted lazily between them.

After a moment, Giyuu looked up — quiet and steady as always.

"…So," he asked softly, "what did you want to talk about?"

Sanemi set his cup down, his hand hovering there a beat too long. He exhaled once, sharp through his nose — as if bracing for impact.

"Right."
His voice came out rougher than he’d meant.

Giyuu didn’t push, waiting patently for him to continue. And somehow, that made this even harder.

"I…" Sanemi started, and immediately hated how his chest tightened.

He tried again.

"I like you."

Giyuu blinked — slow, startled, like the meaning needed a moment to settle.

"…Pardon?"

Sanemi’s jaw clenched. He forced himself to look him in the eyes — to say it without flinching or retreating or pretending it meant nothing.

"I like you, Tomioka."
Direct. Honest. No room for misinterpretation.

His heartbeat was a violent thing, loud enough he wondered if Giyuu could hear it.

For a few seconds, Giyuu just stared — not emotionless, but stunned.

"…Why?" he asked, barely audible.

Sanemi barked a humorless huff. "Why? What kinda question is that? I like you. That’s it. Feelings don’t make sense. They’re not supposed to."

The room went still, neither of them knowing what to say next.

Giyuu exhaled, an apologetic look settling on his face before breaking the silence.

"Sanemi… I’m flattered. Truly. I am. It’s just…"

Sanemi’s jaw tightened.
He already knew where this was going — he’d known from the moment the silence stretched too long, but he forced himself to hold Giyuu’s gaze anyway.

"I can’t say I feel the same."

The words didn’t crash — they just settled. Heavy. Final.

Sanemi let out a slow breath through his nose. "Yeah. Figures."

Giyuu’s head lifted, brows pulling inward. "Sanemi—"

"What?" Sanemi cut in, voice rough. "Not good enough for you?”

Giyuu shook his head, quick and earnest. "Not at all. On the contrary, I’m… surprised you’d settle for someone like me."

Sanemi blinked.

"…The hell is that supposed to mean?"

Giyuu hesitated for second, before continuing.

"I just thought you’d go for someone better. Someone less—" he gestured vaguely, searching for the word, "less quiet. Less depressing. Prettier, even."

Sanemi stared at him.

Then —

"Alright, stop."
His voice came out rough but steady.

Giyuu’s eyes lifted, startled again.

"Don’t talk about yourself like that," Sanemi said, jaw set. "It’s pathetic. And wrong."

Giyuu blinked.

"If I didn’t think you were worth it, I wouldn’t have said anything." Sanemi exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"And yeah — you are pretty. Prettiest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on, actually. So quit acting like you’re some kind of consolation prize."

Giyuu went still.

Completely still.

"…Thank you?" he said, flat and uncertain, like he wasn’t entirely convinced that was how one was supposed to respond.

Sanemi’s expression eased — just a fraction. "Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome," he muttered, sounding more amused than irritated.

He let the words sit for a heartbeat before leaning back slightly, meeting Giyuu’s eyes head-on.

"So," he said, voice steady, "If it wasn’t about me not being good enough… then what did you mean earlier?"

Giyuu lowered his gaze for a moment — then met Sanemi’s again.

"I meant that I already like someone else," he said bluntly.

The words landed like a blade slipping neatly between ribs. And yet… Sanemi didn’t flinch. Didn’t snarl. Didn’t laugh it off.

He inhaled once — sharp, but controlled.

"…Oh," he said.

Giyuu nodded, shoulders faintly tightening.

"Yeah."

Sanemi scrubbed a hand through his hair and let out a long exhale. "That makes sense, I guess."

Giyuu’s eyes flicked up, hesitant. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—"

"Don’t apologize," Sanemi cut in, tone firm but not unkind. "You didn’t do anything wrong."

Giyuu glanced down, thumb tracing the rim of his teacup, before speaking up once more.

"Can we… still be friends?" he asked quietly. "Or would that be too awkward?"

Sanemi didn’t even hesitate.

"Nah. We’re good. I’ll get over it."

A small breath left Giyuu — a quiet, unspoken relief.

Sanemi stood, stretching and rolling his shoulders. "Just remember—whoever this person is? They better treat you right."

Giyuu’s eyes softened — something warm flickering behind the blue.

"…He does," he said.

Sanemi nodded once, satisfied.

"Good."

He turned and left.
_______________________________________

Giyuu didn’t move right away.
He just stood there for a moment, the quiet of the estate settling back in around him like dust.

There was the faintest shift in the air beside him — not a sound, but a presence Giyuu had long since learned to recognize.

Sabito had been there the whole time.

He hovered near the shoji door, posture taut, expression caught somewhere between thoughtful and tense. His lilac eyes flicked toward where Sanemi had disappeared outside.

"…You handled that pretty well," Sabito said, quietly.

Giyuu exhaled slowly, turning around to meet his gaze. "He deserved an honest answer."

Sabito hovered closer, feet never quite touching the floor.

"He took it better than I expected," he said eventually. But the words were a little tight around the edges — a little forced.

Giyuu didn’t comment on it. He only moved to sit back at the low table, fingers curling absently around the now-cold cup.

They sat in silence.

Not uncomfortable — but not light, either.

After a while, Sabito spoke again. Quiet. Almost careful.

"…So," he began, tone trying for casual and failing, "you like someone huh?"

Giyuu blinked once — slow, measured — offering no clarification.

Sabito let out a breath that hovered somewhere between a dry laugh and a scoff.

"Let me guess then," he said, crossing his arms. "Kanroji? No, you don’t like girls. Uzui? No, he’s… not your type. And the man has three wives and a god complex, so… probably not—"

Giyuu gave him the flattest look imaginable.

But of course Sabito carried on like he didn’t see it.

"Rengoku, then? I noticed you’ve been having lunch with him quite often lately, and he is objectively handsome, so…"

Giyuu’s eyes narrowed — just a fraction.

"Sabito," he interrupted him, voice firmer than before, "don’t be ridiculous."

Sabito paused, surprised by the edge in his tone.

Giyuu’s fingers tightened slightly around his cup before he looked up again, a certain glint settling in his eyes.

"…Do I really have to say it out loud?"

Sabito went still.

No breathing. No heartbeat. Just complete stillness.

Giyuu held his gaze, letting out a quiet exhale before continuing.

"It’s you, Sabito. It’s always been you."

Something in Sabito’s face cracked open — bright, raw, unguarded joy flickering through him so quickly it almost hurt to look at.

A grin pulled at his mouth, wide and stupid and so full of warmth it could have lit the room.

Without thinking, he reached forward, his hand lifting toward Giyuu’s cheek—

And froze.

His fingers passed through the air. Through nothing.

The smile faltered.

He lowered his hand.

"Giyuu…" Sabito breathed, and the joy in his voice had already begun to tremble into something smaller. "You don’t know how— how happy I am to hear that."

Giyuu’s expression softened, gentle and open in a way he rarely was with anyone.

"But," Sabito continued.
The word cut deep, sharper than a katana.

"But we can’t. Not like this."

Giyuu’s posture shifted, shoulders drawing in just slightly.

"Sabito—"

"I can’t touch you. I can’t hold you. I can’t be there when it matters." His voice wavered, thin with restraint.

"And you deserve more than a ghost clinging to your side because he doesn’t know how to let go."

Giyuu’s brows drew together, a quiet pain flickering through him.

"Sabito," he said softly, "you being here… is already more than enough."

"No," Sabito said — and there was fear in it now. "No, it’s not. Giyuu, you deserve better then this. You deserve someone who can be beside you. Someone who—"

Giyuu cut him off — not loud, not sharp, but in a way that landed harder than any shout could have.

"So what?" he asked, voice low, breath unsteady. "You want me to just… move on? Choose someone else? Is that it?"

His hands curled at his sides.

"How am I supposed to do that when you’re right here?"

Sabito’s breath hitched, barely audible, his expression flickering with something raw and helpless.

"Giyuu, I…" he tried, barely above a whisper.

The silence that followed was thin — fragile, trembling at the edges before Giyuu finally spoke again, voice small and breaking at the seams.

"If you didn’t come back so we could be together…" He swallowed, breath catching.
"Then why did you come back down in the first place?"

Sabito’s mouth parted — but nothing came out.

Giyuu pressed on, the restraint in his voice wearing thin.

"Why come back? Why stay by my side every day?" he asked, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat. "Why give me false hope?"

Sabito flinched — a small, sharp thing.

"It wasn’t… I didn’t mean to—" he began, but the words tangled, fragmented, useless.

Giyuu’s eyes didn’t go cold. They didn’t burn with anger, nor were they brimming with tears. They just… dimmed.
And that was somehow worse.

Sabito swallowed hard, the air sitting heavy in his lungs. His throat worked — once, twice — before his voice finally surfaced, thin and unsteady.

"I came back because… I couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone."
His hand twitched at his side — wanting to reach, but unable to.
"Because I missed you. Because I’m… weak. And selfish. And I didn’t want to let you go."

Giyuu closed his eyes — just for a moment.

Then—
"No," he said, voice sharp as a blade.
"You don’t get to call yourself selfish."

His gaze lifted to Sabito’s — clear, unwavering.

"Not when you died protecting everyone but yourself."

Sabito stilled completely.

And that’s when it hit him — something deep in his chest, long locked and sealed tight — finally broke.

His breath shuddered out of him.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until he felt it — warm drops slipping over his cheeks, catching the light in a faint, golden shimmer, like flecks of sun caught in water.

Giyuu’s eyes widened.

"Sabito?"

Sabito tried to speak — but all that came out was a strangled sound. His hand lifted halfway toward his face before falling uselessly. His head bowed, shoulders tightening, voice shaking slightly.

"I’m sorry," he whispered.

Then again.

"I’m sorry."

And again.

"I’m sorry—"

Over and over, like he couldn’t stop, like the words were everything he had been swallowing down for years.

Giyuu moved before he even thought about it — kneeling in front of him, close, not touching, but near enough that Sabito could feel the steady presence of him.

"Sabito," Giyuu tried, worry threading through his voice. "Hey. Breathe. It’s alright."

But Sabito just kept shaking, tears falling in soft streaks of warm gold.

"I’m sorry… I left you. I wasn’t there, I—"

Giyuu reached out then — not touching skin, but setting his hand where Sabito’s shoulder would be.
A tether. A grounding point.

"Sabito," he said again — firmer this time. "Look at me."

It took a moment, but Sabito did.

His lilac eyes were raw. Uncovered. Human in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be since the day he died.

Giyuu’s voice softened.

"I know you only want what’s best for me,"
he said. "But you have to understand… that isn’t your decision to make."

Sabito’s breath hitched — but he didn’t look away this time.

"So don’t push me away," Giyuu continued, steady in that quiet, grounding way only he could manage. "Don’t decide for me who I get to care for."

He exhaled — soft, but sure.

"I like you, Sabito and that’s not going to change any time soon."

Sabito stared at him — stunned, undone in a way he hadn’t expected. For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Just let the words settle and take root.

Then slowly, carefully, he nodded.

"…Okay."

Giyuu’s expression softened — warm, relieved, something bright blooming behind his eyes.

But Sabito wasn’t done.

He took took a deep breath and met his eyes again. "Could you… say it again?"

Giyuu blinked, surprised by how vulnerable the request was.

He didn’t make Sabito ask twice.

"I like you Sabito," he said, a warm look on his face.

They stood there for a moment — not touching, but closer than they had ever been.

And for the first time since returning to this world… Sabito didn’t feel like a ghost.