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The rain hadn’t let up in hours.
Sanemi stood in the doorway of the abandoned shrine, soaked through, his jaw clenched tight as he watched Giyuu sit in the corner like a ghost, his expression unreadable.
“You’re gonna catch a cold if you stay in the rain there like that,” Sanemi muttered, voice sharper than he meant.
Giyuu didn’t respond.
Sanemi grit his teeth. “You really piss me off, you know that?”
Still nothing.
The Wind Hashira stormed inside, boots heavy on the wooden floor. When he saw the Giyuu wasent gonna come in anytime soon e grabbed him by the front of his uniform and yanked him inside. “You wanna catch a cold you can do that when I have to stay with you.”
Finally, Giyuu looked at him. His eyes were dark, rimmed red from exhaustion or maybe something deeper. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“And I didn’t ask if you care or not!” Sanemi snapped back. His grip tightened on the soaked fabric, breath catching in his throat. “But here I am—looking after a bastard who won’t even look after himself.”
Something fragile cracked between them then.
Giyuu’s voice was barely a whisper. “Why do you care?”
Sanemi’s hand dropped.
“I don’t know,” he said, truth tasting like blood. For a long moment, they just stood there. Rain drummed against the roof. The silence between them was louder than anything.
Their eyes met—Wind and Water, colliding.
The kiss was sudden.
Teeth. Heat and desperation.
Not soft. Not tender. But alive.
Like two storms crashing into each other, unwilling to drown alone anymore.
_____________________________
Sanemi pulled back first, breath ragged.
“What the hell was that,” he muttered, almost to himself. His voice wasn’t angry anymore—it was confused, raw, like something inside him just split open and he didn’t know how to put it back together.
Giyuu didn’t answer.
He stood still, lips slightly parted, like he hadn’t expected it either. Or maybe… like he had, and regretted it.
Sanemi scoffed, stepping back. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Giyuu’s voice was low.
“Like I broke something.”
A beat of silence. Then Giyuu whispered, “You didn’t.”
Sanemi turned away, fists clenched at his sides. “Then why do you look like you want to take it back?”
“I don’t.”
“You always do,” Sanemi snapped. “You shut down. Pretend nothing happened. Like nothing ever matters to you.”
“That’s not true,” Giyuu said, firmer this time. “You matter. That’s the problem.”
Sanemi froze.
The rain outside was finally slowing, but the pressure in the room only grew heavier.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Giyuu admitted. “I don’t know how to be… close. I’ve lost too much.”
Sanemi turned his head, jaw twitching. “You think I haven’t? You think I don’t—” His voice cracked, and he looked away again. “I don’t get close either. People die. That’s the rule.”
“But you kissed me.”
“You kissed me back.”
Silence again.
Then—soft, hesitant—Giyuu stepped forward. He didn’t touch Sanemi. Just stood beside him, like he was afraid too much closeness would make it all fall apart again.
“I don’t know where this goes,” he said. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel anything.”
Sanemi let out a shaky breath. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
Giyuu gave the faintest smile. “You’re worse.”
They didn’t kiss again.
Not yet.
But they stood there—two men broken in different ways—sharing warmth in the cold.
Not lovers.
Not enemies.
Just… human.