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It was supposed to be an easy mission. But Sanemi Shinazugawa’s group of lower-ranking slayers were killed long ago when he sent them into the forest. So Ubuyashiki sent Giyu Tomioka of all people to help him.
Apparently another Hashira will be helpful. According to Sorai, damn bird.
The night air reeked of blood and earth. The forest groaned under the weight of something unnatural. Blossoms blooming out of season, pale flowers unfurling under the moonlight, their scent thick and suffocating. Sanemi tightened his grip on his blade, the hair on his arms prickling.
“She’s close,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. His breath formed quick, sharp clouds in the cold.
A faint rustle answered him, then a whisper of laughter that made his skin crawl.
The ground erupted. Dozens of writhing vines tore upward, snapping trees like twigs as they surged forward. The blossoms opened, revealing rows of teeth where petals should be. They shrieked, lunging toward them.
“Tch. damn weeds.” Sanemi leapt forward, sword flashing in arcs of wind. Wind Breathing, Third Form: Clean Storm Wind Tree. His slashes ripped through the plant-demons, shredding vines into confetti.
But for every one he cut down, two more twisted up from the soil. The flowers multiplied, their roots stretching wide, feeding off blood spilled from unseen victims.
“Keep them from surrounding us.” Giyu’s voice was calm, steady, but edged with urgency. He surged past Sanemi, his movements flowing like water. Water Breathing, Fourth Form: Striking Tide. His blade danced through the vines, cutting them down before they could coil around Sanemi’s legs.
Sanemi clicked his tongue. “I don’t need your damn babysitting!”
Yet, he didn’t miss how one of the snapping blossoms nearly caught him in the shoulder, only for Giyu’s strike to sever it clean.
The air grew heavier, the scent of blood-flowers suffocating. From the shadows of the forest, a figure stepped into view. Her kimono shimmered like silk woven from moonlight, her pale hair tumbling like a river down her back. The flowers bent toward her, worshipful.
“Lower Moon One…” Giyu’s voice dropped.
Her lips curved into a smile, sharp and sweet. “So, Wind and the Water have come together. How poetic. I’ll enjoy watching one of you wilt before the other.”
Sanemi spat on the ground. “Big words for a weed hiding behind her garden.” He raised his blade, fury sparking. “Come on, then. Let’s see you bleed.”
The demon laughed, a sound like glass shattering. Her eyes glowed, vines shivering in response. “Oh, I won’t bleed. But you will.”
The forest trembled as the real fight began.
It wasn’t until she unleashed another wave of her Blood Demon Art that Sanemi felt the world close in around him. Petals as sharp as blades sliced through the air, vines snapped from the earth, writhing and twisting with lethal intent. He braced himself for the impact, heart hammering against his ribs.
But the pain never came.
Instead, water roared to life in front of him, a shimmering current slashing through the oncoming storm. Giyu stood there, steady as a river, his blade moving in a fluid movement that seemed to bend the night itself. His Water Breathing shattered the attack, droplets scattering in the moonlight like fragments of glass.
Sanemi’s breath caught. He hadn’t even realised Giyu had moved until he was already in front of him, shielding him.
Kuroyuki snarled, her voice dripping with venom. “Why,” she spat, her face twisting with fury. “Why won’t you just die already?!”
Her body blurred, moving terrifying, inhuman speed. Before Giyu could even turn, thorned vines burst from the ground, snaking around his legs and arms in a crushing bind. His sword slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a hollow clunk that made Sanemi’s stomach drop.
“Damn it!” Sanemi surged forward, but vines lashed out to block him, a wall of thorns between him and the man who’d just saved his life.
Kuroyuki drifted closer, her movements slow now, her tone sickeningly sweet. “Such a shame,” she cooed, brushing a clawed fingertip against Giyu’s jawline. “A handsome face like this, wasted on mortality. But don’t worry…” her lips curled into a big smile. “In my moonlight garden, you’ll bloom forever”
Her hand caressed his cheek in mock affection. Giyu moved his head sharply away from her hand. Sanemi’s entire body screamed to move, to rip her apart, but he was tangled, helpless with rage boiling until it threatened to tear him apart.
He opened his mouth to curse her.
And then she struck.
Her claws plunged into Giyu’s chest, sliding between flesh and bone. The wet sound echoed in Sanemi’s skull.
“TOMIOKA!” The scream tore from his throat, raw and primal, his voice breaking on the edge of despair. His rage exploded outwards. The thorns binding him shredded beneath his power as he forced his way forward, every breath felt like fire in his lungs.
He cut down the thorns that hold Giyu, whose body hit the ground with a dull, sickening thud. Sanemi should've caught him, should've been there to keep him from falling. But all Sanemi saw was Lower Moon One with a red veil in front of his eyes.
Kuroyuki’s laugh rang sharp through the silence. “Oh, how precious!” she mocked, her eyes glinting with cruel delight. “Look at you, so desperate. You can’t bear to lose your flower, can you? Don’t worry, my thorny rose. You’ll be together forever soon enough!”
Sanemi’s grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles burned. His chest heaved with his fury. “Don’t. Touch. Him. Again!” he yelled with each slash of his sword.
She only grinned wider. With a flick of her wrist, another storm of deathly petals spiraled out, filling the air in a beautiful but blinding storm.
Sanemi set his stance, bracing himself. He could feel the sharp sting before they even reached him.
But then, he heard it.
“Water Breathing… Eleventh Form: Dead Calm”
The words were soft, barely a whisper, but they silenced the world.
Sanemi’s eyes snapped back to Giyu. Somehow, despite the blood soaking his chest, despite the way his limbs trembled, he stood. His sword was clutched in his hand once more before he collapsed back to the floor.
The storm froze. Every petal suspended midair, caught in an invisible current. One by one, they crumbled into dust, dissolving harmlessly before they could touch him.
Sanemi’s throat tightened. There was no time to question it. He launched forward, letting his Wind Breathing show his fury for him.
“Wind Breathing, Eight Form: Primary Slash Gale!”
It tore through the clearing, ripping the demon apart in an instant. Her head separated cleanly, spinning through the air before crashing on the ground. Her scream echoed long after her body collapsed into ash.
But Sanemi wasn’t listening.
He was already moving, skidding across the dirt as he reached Giyu. His knees hit the ground hard, but he barely felt it.
“Tomioka?!” His voice cracked, frantic. He shook him, hauling his limp body into his arms. “Oi, stay with me, damn it!”
Please. Please breathe. Please be alive.
For a terrifying moment, there was nothing. Only silence and the blood on Sanemi’s hands. Then, shallow and ragged, came the sound he prayed for.
A breathe.
Giyu’s eyes fluttered open, glassy but alive.
“You…survived it,” he rasped, blood bubbling at his lips.
Sanemi’s chest tightened and a hot sting was burning behind his eyes. “What the fuck were you thinking?!” he barked, his voice cracking between rage and fear. “Using your strength on me?! You should’ve saved it for yourself!”
But Giyu’s gaze unfocused, eyes rolling back. His body sagged limply, consciousness fading.
“Fuck. Fuck!” Sanemi’s voice broke. His hands shook as he checked the faint pulse at Giyu’s throat. Relief hit him like a blade. The pulse was weak and fragile, but still there.
He didn’t waste another second.
Clutching Giyu tight against him, Sanemi surged to his feet. His legs carried him faster than they ever had. The trees blurred, the night air tearing at his lungs.
Please. Please don’t take him. Give me this much. Don’t take him from me.#
For the first time in years, Sanemi prayed. Not for himself, but for the man whose blood stained his hands.
He ran while his lungs were burning. Every breath he took came with another desperate yell, as if sheer will alone could keep Giyu tethered to the world.
“Stay alive, Tomioka! You hear me? Don’t you dare stop breathing!”
To Giyu’s credit, he listened. Shallow gasps rattled in his chest, uneven but steady enough to count. Each one was a fragile thread keeping him alive, each one proof that Sanemi wasn’t too late. But he could feel it, the weight of Giyu’s body growing heavier and his warmth dimming. He wouldn’t last without help.
Which was why the sight of the Butterfly Mansion in the distance nearly broke Sanemi in half with relief. At three in the morning, the place was silent, except for the chirp of crickets and the pounding of his own heart.
He didn’t bother with courtesy. His foot slammed the door wide open, wood cracking against the wall as he stormed in with Giyu clutched tight in his arms.
“HEY! We need help!” his voice echoed through the halls, raw with panic.
A startled gasp answered him. A pigtailed girl in uniform, Aoi he thought her name was, darted into the hall. Her eyes widened when she saw who Sanemi carried. She ran into a room, only to come back with a bed.
But when she reached for Giyu, Sanemi recoiled violently, clutching him tighter against his chest like she was trying to tear him away forever. His breath came with ragged bursts, his chest aching. Letting go felt impossible and terrifying at once. What if this was the last time? His throat closed as he bent his head, pressing his face into Giyu’s hair, breathing him in as if that alone could anchor him here.
Aoi froze for half a beat before snapping, her voice sharp enough to cut through his haze. “Not letting go of him is the fastest way for him to die!”
Sanemi’s head jerked up, eyes wild. He wanted to bite back to say she didn’t understand. But of course she did. She had probably seen more dying slayers than he ever did.
“Promise me he’ll survive first!” he barked hoarsely.
Aoi faltered, her own fear flickering in her eyes, but her stance confident. “I can’t promise that! But I can promise he won’t if you don’t let him go right now!”
The words hit him like a knife. His grip trembled, but he still couldn’t let go of him. Not yet. Not when Giyu’s skin was so pale, not when his breathing was so faint.
“My, my,” a calm, lilting voice cut in. “I knew you disliked Tomioka, Shinazugawa. But to deny him the care he desperately needs is cruel, even for you.”
Shinobu’s footsteps were quiet but carried authority as she entered the hall, her sharp gaze flicking over Giyu’s wounds.
Sanemi’s head snapped towards her, his voice breaking. “He… He had a claw straight to his chest.” His throat tightened. “He needs to get better. He has to.”
His words cracked apart as his body finally betrayed him. Shaking, he lowered Giyu onto the bed Aoi prepared. His chest rose and fell shallowly, eyes closed and his face too still. Sanemi’s stomach twisted violently and his mind full of questions. What had he done, clinging to him like that? Why hadn’t he let go earlier?
And why, gods above, did he have to fight the urge to press his lips to Giyu’s forehead? Just to ground himself in the faint warmth still there?
“We’ll do our best,” Shinobu said too gently, though her eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Thank you. You can go home knowing you’ve done your duty for a fellow Hashira.”
Duty? The word made him want to laugh, or scream. Duty hadn’t crossed his mind once. All he’d felt was blind panic and a consuming rage toward the demon that had done this. He’d already cut her apart, but part of him still wanted to go back, to kill her again, ten times over, until nothing of her remained.
Sanemi turned abruptly, his chest heaving. His feet carried him toward the exit, the old habit taking over. Leave the patient, let the healers do their work and move on. He’d done it so many times before. Carried bodies into this very mansion, left them on their beds and walked away without looking back. It wasn’t personal, just purely survival.
But this time his legs stopped.
He stared at the door, but couldn’t cross it. Why? Why was this different? Why couldn’t he just go home?
He turned, his eyes dragged back to the bed Shinobu and Aoi were moving. To Giyu’s pale face and his chest just barely lifting with every breath. The strands of hair that clung to his sweaty forehead. To those eyes, those impossibly blue eyes, that he feared he’d never see open again.
The thought of leaving him there made bile rise in his throat. His body shook with the urge to be closer, to reach out and hold his hand, to tell Giyu he’d be fine. To touch him, make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.
Instead Sanemi sank down against the wall where Aoi and Shinobu just disappeared into, sliding until he sat on the floor. Out of the way, but close enough that if something happened, he’d know. Close enough that if the worst came, he’d be there.
His fists dug into his eyes, until he saw stars behind his eyelids. He bit his tongue hard to keep him from making a sound. He wasn’t going to cry, not here and not now. Even if his chest ached like it was tearing in two.
He must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew was someone shaking his shoulder. Sanemi jerked awake, disoriented and his back stiff from leaning against the wall. His eyes darted up, wild, until they landed on Shinobu.
Her hair was slightly out of place, her haori rumpled and faint shadows etched beneath her eyes.
Sanemi searched her face like a man drowning, desperate to read the truth before she even spoke. But there was no shadow, no grief, no pity. Just steady relief.
“He's okay,” she said, her voice soft but certain. “The claw marks were deep, but we managed to get him through the night.”
Sanemi’s body sagged, the tension he’d been holding loosening a little. His throat burned, and for a fleeting second he thought he might actually cry. He dragged a hand down his face, trying to disguise the tremor in it.
“Do you want to see him?” She asked. “He’ll be asleep for a few days, but he’ll recover.”
His head bobbed in a nod before his brain caught up with the motion. He shoved himself upright, his legs were shaky but unwilling to hesitate. His body carried him down the hall automatically, until he realised he had no idea which room he was going to. He stopped, his ears burning and glanced back.
Shinobu raised a brow, then pointed down the corridor. “Second door to your right, Shinazugawa.”
He grunted in acknowledgement and pushed past her. But just as he passed, a dangerous little chuckle followed. He froze mid-step, bracing for trouble.
“You know,” Shinobu said sweetly, “you’ve brought a lot of Corps members through these doors. And yet… none have ever been treated this special.”
Sanemi stiffened. “...Special?”
“Not willing to hand him over. Refusing to leave. And now, a visit.” She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “How fortunate Tomioka must be, to inspire such… concern from you.”
Heat crawled up his neck. He opened his mouth, then shut it again to grind his teeth. What the hell was he supposed to say? That the thought of Giyu dying had ripped him apart? That he couldn’t stop shaking because every shallow breath Giyu had taken last night had felt like his last?
Shinobu didn’t push. She just sighed, her expression softening. “Aoi is just finishing up. Try not to bite her head off this time, hm?”
Sanemi clicked his tongue but nodded stiffly. He forced himself to keep his pace even, but his chest was tight and his pulse was hammering as he walked. His legs were screaming at him to run, to burst through the door and see him so he could make sure with his own eyes that the bastard was still alive.
That was all. Just proof. Then he could leave. Go back home. Ask Oyakata-sama for a new mission so he could pretend nothing had happened.
The room was dim, filled with the faint smell of herbs and the quiet groans of other slayers who were still recovering. Beds lined the walls, but Sanemi’s eyes found Giyu immediately.
His feet carried him before he realized he’d moved, dragging him towards the bed as if he was pulled by a chain.
Aoi was bent over him, her brow furrowed as she checked the bandages. Her hands were steady despite the dark circles around her eyes. For a heartbeat, Sanemi wondered how long it had been since the girls of the Butterfly Mansion last had a good night's sleep. Aoi glanced up at him from the corner of her gaze, lips pressing together in irritation, but she didn’t say a word. She just sighed and jerked her chin towards a worn-down chair in the corner of the room.
Sanemi muttered a gruff thanks, dragging it closer with a scrape against the floor. He dropped into it heavily, his knees spread and braced his elbows on them.
For a long moment he just looked.
Giyu’s face was pale, his lips cracked. His hair was damp and tangled, clinging to his forehead. His chest rose and fell beneath the bandages, shallow but steady now. The rhythm was hypnotic, as if it was the only thing keeping Sanemi grounded.
He looked at his hand, limp on the top of the blanket. The fingers were half-curled, the knuckles scraped raw. The urge hit him like a punch. He wanted to reach out, to hold Giyu’s hand, to feel the warmth of his skin and prove he was alive by touch.
Sanemi curled his own fists tight instead. He wasn’t going to do something that stupid.
Still… He couldn’t drag his eyes away.
Aoi finished her work and quietly slipped out of the room. The room was quiet again except for the faint breathing of the injured. Sanemi shifted in his chair, his body aching from the tension but he refused to move.
Everytime he blinked, he saw that moment again. Vines binding Giyu, that claw plunging deep in his chest. His stomach turned over, bile burning in his throat.
He should have been faster. Stronger. He should have stopped it.
“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, staring at Giyu’s still face. “You should’ve let me take the hit.” His voice cracked, he sounded rougher than he intended. “Why’d you have to protect me, Tomioka?”
Giyu, of course, didn’t answer. There was only the soft and steady rise and fall of his chest.
Sanemi leaned back, pressing his fist against his mouth as his eyes were burning. He told himself it was just exhaustion. Just relief. Nothing more.
But when his gaze drifted again to that limp hand resting on the blanket, he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could.
He had been repressing the urge to hold Giyu’s hand for hours. His eyes kept flicking to it. Bandaged on the blanket, his finger curled ever so slightly as though it was waiting for someone to take it. Every time his chest tightened, every time the ache grew too strong, he dug his nails into his thighs and forced himself still.
He told himself it was weakness, that he had no right. Giyu didn’t need him clinging like a child.
But oh, how unbearable it was not to reach out.
When the door slid open, Sanemi jolted like a whip. He shot to his feet so fast that the chair behind him screeched across the floor.
Kagaya Ubuyashiki entered with Amane by his side. The room was filled with the Master's presence that couldn’t be denied, quiet but commanding. His pale eyes sought Giyu immediately, softening with sorrow as they settled on the form in the bed.
Sanemi’s throat worked. Shit. He hadn’t debriefed, hadn’t even sent Sorai to inform the Master. He was supposed to go straight to him with a report. Report where the fight went wrong, what Kuroyuki’s Blood Demon Art was, how close they came to losing. He hadn’t even said he beheaded her. All he had done was sit here, rooted like an idiot just waiting for Giyu to breathe another shallow breath.
“Sit back down, Sanemi,” Kagaya said, raising one frail hand in a calming gesture. His voice was gentle as always, yet carried no room for argument. “I’m only here to check on Giyu”
He lowered himself stiffly back into the chair, heat prickling at the back of his neck.
His mouth opened to fumble through an excuse, but Kagaya spoke first.
“It is always so hard,” he murmured, his voice weighted with both grief and love, “to see my children like this. Wounded. Broken. So close to being lost.” His hand trembled faintly as he stepped closer, Amane steadying him. His voice softened. “But… it warms my heart to see them so carefully tended to.”
Sanemi nodded quickly, eager to agree. “Yes. They know what they’re doing here.”
To his surprise, Kagaya chuckled. The sound was light, almost teasing though not unkind. “Ah, I will not deny the competency of this house. Shinobu and her girls are truly remarkable.” His eyes lifted to Sanemi, sharp even in their gentleness. “But I wasn’t speaking of them.”
He froze. “...You weren't?”
“I was speaking of you, Sanemi,” Kagaya said simply. “Shinobu told me you refused to leave. That you would not give him up, not even into their care.”
Heat rushed up to his ears. His shoulders tightened as shame coiled in his gut. He bowed his head low, his fists curling tight. “I… I don’t know why I didn't let go immediately. Please forgive me. I should’ve handed him over in an instant.” His eyes were squeezed shut, as if bracing for a reprimand.
“There is nothing to forgive.” Kagaya’s voice was warm, void of any anger or disappointment. “He lives. Thanks to your speed, your strength… and your care.”
Sanemi’s chest twisted, a painful throb behind his ribs. He wanted to argue, to deny it, but the words were stuck in his throat.
Kagaya stepped closer. With infinite gentleness, he lowered his palm to Giyu’s forehead. The sight made Sanemi choke up. It was fatherly, reverent and a blessing all at once.
“He…” He started but hesitated. Amane’s kind smile and Kagaya’s expectant gaze coaxed the rest of his words free. “He nearly died because he used his last strength to protect me. Can you believe that? The bastard wasted everything he had left. On me.” His voice cracked, the edge of anger failing to mask the fear underneath. “Isn’t that stupid?”
The words weren’t meant for the Master. They weren’t even meant for Amane. They were aimed at the unconscious man on the bed. They were aimed at the idiot who had nearly bled out just to keep Sanemi standing.
Kagaya smiled without a sound while his hand was still on Giyu’s brow. “That is a question you should ask him when he wakes. But if I may offer my own thoughts… Perhaps it means he valued your life a great deal.”
Sanemi tore his eyes away, but the words struck deep. It was lodged in a place he didn’t want to examine.
It was silent for a while, letting the Master hover over Giyu. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bandaged hand that has been mocking him for a while now.
Kagaya broke the silence as Amane steadied him. “The matters of the heart are complicated,” he started. He turned to Sanemi, his gaze piercing in its gentleness. “In the end, the only regrets we carry are for the things we never did. The words we never spoke. The hands we didn’t take”
Sanemi swallowed hard. His lips parted before he could stop himself. “And… that would be okay? If someone would do those things they want?” His voice was quiet and uncertain. It sounded almost boyish, as if he was asking permission for something forbidden.
Kagaya’s smile deepened, warm and tender. “I have always believed it is okay.” His hand reached out and rested lightly on Sanemi’s shoulder. “Do not be afraid of what your heart already knows.”
Sanemi’s breath caught. He stared at the Master, his chest tight and unable to reply. Kagaya gave him a final nod before Amane gently guided him towards the next patient to check on.
The door slid shut behind him and the room fell silent again.
Sanemi slumped back in the chair, his body heavy and his head spinning. Kagaya’s words circled through his mind like vultures, refusing to let go. The only regrets we carry are for the things we never did.
His gaze slid back to the bed. Back to the bandaged hand lying still against the blanket. The hand that had mocked him for hours, daring him to give in.
For the first time since their arrival at the Mansion, he did.
Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his own hand. His fingers hovered above Giyu’s for a trembling heartbeat before lowering a calloused palm against rough bandages.
Giyu’s hand felt warm, alive and solid.
The tight panic that had gripped his chest since the battle finally loosened a little. He released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, his shoulder sagging.
His thumb brushed once, unconsciously against the strip of skin of Giyu’s knuckles. The contact anchored him, it steadied him in a way he couldn’t explain.
“I hope this is okay, Tomioka,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. His eyes softened despite the harshness in his tone. “But you put me through hell. So this is the least you can do.”
The room was silent, except for the faint rhythm of Giyu’s breathing. For the first time since the fight, Sanemi allowed himself to lean back in the chair while his hand was still wrapped around Giyu’s, and breathe.
Time blurred into something heavy and unrelenting. Outside, night gave way to dawn, dawn to dusk and the moon crept back overhead. Sanemi didn’t move. His vigil was unbroken, his chair dragged so close to the bed it might as well have been part of it.
Aoi brought him trays of food and cups of tea he didn’t touch. At first she said nothing. She just simply setting them on the table near the bed. But when her food went untouched a third time, her patience cracked.
“You’ll be useless to him if you starve yourself,” she snapped in the morning, thrusting a bowl of rice into his hands.
Sanemi grumbled and scowled, nearly barked at her to mind her own damn business. But he caught the steel in her eyes and relented, shoveling a few spoonfuls into his mouth just to shut her up. It tasted amazing as usual. The tea, however, always went cold before he remembered to drink it.
If anyone asked why he was still there, he had an excuse ready. He’d say he was watching for retaliation. He just couldn’t trust demons, even with the wisteria trees choking the Butterfly Mansion on all sides.
Shinobu nearly doubled over laughing the first time he tried it.
“Yes, of course,” she drawled, her hand hiding a mocking smile. “We’re practically infested with demons every night. How lucky we are that the Wind Hashira is standing guard.”
He glared at her retreating back as his cheeks burned.
But when the room was empty again and there were no eyes on him, Sanemi’s walls cracked.
He let himself reach out, sliding his calloused hand over Giyu’s. It wasn’t a firm grip at first, just the faintest touch as if he was afraid even this would break him. But when he felt the warmth there, weak but undeniable, something in his chest loosened. It was proof that Giyu was still alive.
The habit formed quickly. Whenever the silence was too big to ignore, Sanemi would curl his fingers more securely around Giyu’s and talk.
Sometimes it was a mutter, sometimes a low growl. He was always gruff and never tender, except for the way his thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the bandages.
He talked about missions. About idiotic lower-rank slayers who had nearly gotten themselves killed because they hadn’t followed orders. About their crows. About the weather and other mundane things it was laughable.
But he also talked about Genya, how he wished he didn’t follow Sanemi into the Corps. About Tanjiro and Nezuko Kamado and how he didn’t understand Giyu’s decision not to kill her. He talked about a lot of things, while Giyu’s eyes were shut.
It wasn’t until the third night when it happened.
Sanemi had been slouched in his chair, his chin nearly on his chest while he was drifting in and out of sleep when the faintest shift jolted him awake. His eyes shot to the bed instantly.
At first he thought he’d imagined it. But then he felt it. Giyu’s fingers twitching against his hand with the barest movement. A strained sound followed. His lashes fluttered once, twice, and then parted.
Blue eyes, glassy and unfocused, blinked sluggishly up at the ceiling.
Sanemi’s heart lurched to his throat. His body moved before his mind caught up. He shot to his feet so fast that the chair clattered backwards against the wall. He dropped Giyu’s hand like it had burned him and tore out into the corridor.
“KOCHO!” His voice ripped through the quiet night, echoing down the hallways.
There was no response, but movement caught his eyes. Aoi, carrying a bundle of clean bandages towards another ward.
“HEY! Pigtails!” he barked, louder than he meant made her flinch.
She spun as she was already glaring. “What now?”
Sanemi didn’t waste time explaining. He grabbed her by her arm and dragged her down the corridor as he ignored her indignant squawk. “It’s Tomioka. He’s awake.”
Aoi’s expression dropped immediately, irritation changing into a sharp focus. She stumbled after him willingly.
Inside the room, Giyu was blinking slowly. His lips were parted as he tried to draw a breath.
Aoi was at his side in a heartbeat. She pressed cool fingers to his wrist, checked his chest and murmured reassurances while she adjusted his pillows and checked the bandages.
Sanemi hovered on the other side of the bed. His arms were stiff at his sides, his gaze was locked on every flicker of movement. His pulse thundered in his ears.His body was full of restless energy, as if he was bracing for an enemy’s next strike.
The door slid open again and Shinobu glided inside.
Sanemi rounded on her immediately, his voice raw. “What the hell took you so long?!”
Her eyes flicked to him, unimpressed and annoyed, before narrowing into a glare sharp enough to cut glass. She smoothed it away a moment later, her face returning to a calm neutrality, and brushed past him without a word. She went straight to the bed, her hands moving with practised ease as she joined Aoi in checking on Giyu.
Sanemi clenched his fists and forced himself back.
Ten minutes. That’s all it was. Ten minutes of them checking on Giyu, trading soft words to him and changing his bandages. But to Sanemi, it stretched into an eternity, every second tied to his chest like an anchor.
Finally, Shinobu leaned back as her lips curved faintly. “He’s stable. Awake and in pain, but it’s nothing we can’t manage. We’ve given him something for it.” She adjusted her haori and added smoothly, “He might want some company, though.”
She swept from the room, Aoi following but not before she gave Sanemi one last glare.
And then, the room was filled with silence again.
Sanemi froze, suddenly unsure what the hell he was supposed to do. His heart hammered against his ribs and his palms were itchy. What if Giyu didn’t want him here? What if the first thing was get out?
His pride screamed at him to leave, before he could humiliate himself. But his feet were rooted to the floor.
Slowly and stiffly, he lowered himself back into the chair.
A faint rustle made him glance up. Giyu had turned his head just slightly, his eyes finding him with obvious effort. Surprise flickered weakly across his pale face.
“...Shinazugawa?” His voice was raspy but it filled the room like a strike of lightning.
Sanemi felt heat rushing up to his neck, burning across his ears. He cleared his throat roughly. “How are you feeling? Okay?” The words stumbled out, clumsy and nothing like what he’d meant to say.
For days he had wanted nothing more than to see those eyes open, to hear Giyu’s voice again. And now that he had it, he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do with himself.
“Yes,” he rasped. “Well… my chest hurts. And my arms and legs are sore. But… I’m okay.”
Sanemi’s lips twitched. Against his will, a smile tugged at his mouth. It was awkward and unfamiliar but still very real and genuine.
“Thank the gods,” he muttered. The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”
Giyu blinked, slow and heavy. Still, there was a faint trace of softness in the blue of his eyes. “I did. Thank you… for bringing me here.”
His eyelids fluttered, drifted lower with every blink. Exhaustion threatened to tug him back under, his breathing slowing again.
Sanemi’s hand twitched against his knee. He wanted to reach out again, to curl his fingers around Giyu’s. He wanted to push that stubborn strand of hair out of his eyes. But now that Giyu was awake, he didn’t know if he was allowed.
He swallowed hard. And then, too carefully, he reached forward anyway.
“Just sleep, Tomioka,” he murmured. “I’ll be here.”
His calloused fingers brushed Giyu’s temple as he tucked the loose strand gently behind his ear.
Giyu’s lips twitched, small and fleeting. Sanemi’s heart thudded painfully. He wanted, no needed, to believe it was a smile.
After that night, Giyu’s recovery went smoothly. It was as if he was stubborn enough to force his body back to health. He could sit upright without grimacing and eat without help.
Sanemi never left his side. Not once.
Shinobu teased him endlessly, her tone dripping with honeyed venom. “Still here, Shinazugawa? Don’t you have missions to attend to?” she asked one morning.
Sanemi snarled at her, baring his teeth but he couldn’t argue the point. He expected to be sent away. He’d braced for the flap of wings, for Sorai to appear with new orders. But no crow came. No summons arrived.
Sanemi never asked why.
But when Shinobu finally declared Giyu well enough to leave his bed, something cold settled in Sanemi’s stomach. Because now Giyu could stand. He could walk the gardens. He didn’t need anyone hovering over him anymore.
Which meant he didn’t need Sanemi.
The thought left him uneasy. What’s next? Go back to missions, as if nothing had happened? As if he hadn’t carried Giyu’s broken body in his arms, begging the gods not to take him? As if Giyu’s name wasn’t etched into his chest like one of his scars?
Every night when he closed his eyes, he still saw it. The claws sinking into Giyu’s chest, the blood pouring out. He could still feel the limp weight in his arms. And he knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just panic or duty. Giyu meant something to him. He meant too much.
Ubuyashiki’s words still rang in his skull. The only regrets you will carry are for the things you never did.
So before Giyu had the chance to send him away and before Sanemi could lose the nerve, he acted.
It was late in the afternoon when he found him, walking slowly along the garden path. The air was cool, tinged with the faint sweetness of spring blossoms.
“Oi,” Sanemi called, striding up beside him. “Come with me.”
Giyu glanced at him, head tilted slightly. “...Where?”
Sanemi smirked, as he tugged at Giyu’s sleeve. “Sneak out with me.”
A faint crease formed between Giyu’s brows. “Sneaking out? Isn’t this just a walk in the garden?”
Sanemi rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Tch. Have some fun, Tomioka. Just follow me.”
He grabbed Giyu’s hand before he could overthink it, his calloused fingers curling around his with surprising gentleness. The contact startled him but he didn’t let go. He led him down a narrow, half-forgotten path.
At last, the path opened into the other side of the Butterfly Mansion.
A grove of plum blossoms stretched before them, branches heavy with pale flowers. The petals drifted on the breeze, scattering across the grass like falling snow.
Sanemi slowed, watching as Giyu’s eyes widened. For a moment, the quiet and tired mask he always wore slipped. There was a spark in his eyes and it made Sanemi’s chest ache.
He stopped beneath one of the trees and turned to face him fully. His throat was tight and his palms damp.
“Look,” he started, his voice rough. “I’m not one for speeches. You deserve one, but… I’m shit at them.” He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “You deserve a lot more than me. But when you almost died, I wanted to tear that demon apart again and again. I wanted to drag her back from hell just so I could kill her ten more times. I…” His jaw clenched, teeth grinding. He shook his head. “I’m not a great man. I know that.”
The words stuck. His chest burned with everything he couldn’t say. He didn’t know how to explain that he couldn’t imagine his life without Giyu now. That the thought of leaving him made him sick. He didn’t know how to say that Giyu had rooted himself so deeply inside Sanemi that nothing else matters.
He’d never been good with words. His actions had always spoken louder.
So he let them.
His hands lifted, finding the sides of Giyu’s neck. His thumbs brushing the edge of his jaw. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, their breath mingling in the small space between them.
He froze there. He gave Giyu time, time to shove him away. Time to curse him, to demand what the hell he thought he was doing.
But Giyu didn’t move. His eyes slipped shut. His shoulders eased and he exhaled a shaky breath. His hand was twitching faintly like he might have reached for Sanemi if he had his full strenght.
That was all the permission Sanemi needed.
He closed the distance, pressing his lips to Giyu’s. The kiss was rough at first, clumsy with hesitation but searing all the same.
And the moment it happened, Sanemi knew he was lost.
Because this was all he wanted. The closeness, the warmth, the man.
The outside world could burn. The others could curse them, none of it mattered. Because the only thing that mattered was him and Giyu, together.
When they parted, they rested their foreheads back together. The silence stretched, except for Sanemi’s heavy breathing.
Then Giyu moved.
It was subtle at first, a shift of his shoulders with the faint tilt forwards. But before Sanemi could react, soft lips brushed his, feather-light but deliberate.
For a split second, Sanemi froze. His pulse spiked even higher and his thoughts in chaos. He kissed me back.
When Giyu drew away, his eyes opened. It was calm and steady but with something sparking underneath.
“Tomioka,” Sanemi breathed.
Giyu’s brow furrowed faintly. “If you’re really sure about doing this,” he started, his voice quiet but firm, “then at the very least… call me Giyu”
Sanemi blinked, heat rising across his cheeks. “Hah? That’s what you’re worried about right now?”
Giyu didn’t flinch. He just watched him. His eyes were steady as he waited for an answer.
Sanemi huffed, but nodded. “Fine. But only if you call me by mine, too.”
A faint smile curved at his mouth. “...Sanemi.”
The sound of it nearly undid him. Rough and unpolished, but genuine. His name, spoken in that quiet and steady voice made his chest squeeze so tight he almost couldn’t breathe.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to meet his gaze. “...Giyu.”
It felt strange on his tongue. But it also felt right.
For a long moment, they just stood there beneath the plum blossoms. Kissing as if it was a long time coming. For the first time in years, Sanemi felt like he was home.