Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a hard fight. Actually, it was a rather easy one. Because while there were many of them, they were all minor demons.
The only hard part is standing in the ruins of yet another village Giyuu has been too late to save. Even after all these years, he still feels sick at the sight of the corpses scattered around him.

Trying to empty his mind as best he can, Giyuu sheathes his sword. Distancing himself from his emotions has become harder and harder over the past two years—which is definitely the fault of all those brats who keep following him around.

Admittedly, very adorable brats.

The weeping that rips Giyuu out of his thoughts is faint and weak.

For a second, he thinks it’s another demon, and his hand goes automatically to his sword—but he can sense no danger. There’s nothing here that wants him dead.

He kind of wishes there was. Because the other option implies not only socializing, but socializing with someone in emotional distress.

Not exactly his strong suit.

He sighs deeply before starting toward the noise. Now that he’s focused on it, it’s clear it comes from the third house on his right—an old shack with ivy climbing the walls. If it weren’t for the blood splattered across the entry, it’s the kind of house Kanroji would probably describe as cute. At least, Giyuu thinks she would.

The door is completely torn off its hinges. Giyuu still goes to the trouble of knocking as he steps inside, muttering a quiet,

“Hello.”

The crying stops for a heartbeat—then returns, even louder. And Giyuu realizes this isn’t the crying of a grown person. It’s too high, too fragile.

Just his luck. Well, at least this probably means he won’t have to talk. Much.

Straightening up, he walks farther into the house, following the sound that grows louder with every step.

He finds the child in what used to be the kitchen, hidden in a cabinet and wrapped in several cloths. It’s young. Younger than any child Giyuu knows. A year old at most, if he had to guess.

It looks up at him with wide eyes when he opens the cabinet, and the crying stops. They stare at each other—the toddler in open curiosity and Giyuu in open fear.

He wishes—honestly, for both their sakes—that someone else had found the kid. Anyone else would be better.
…Well, maybe not everyone. Maybe not Shinazugawa. But aside from him, everyone.

Still, Giyuu does his best and offers the baby one of his rare smiles—the one people always tell him looks creepy. But no one ever managed to explain what exactly he’s doing wrong, so it’s the best he’s got.

Also, can babies even understand expressions yet? Or is that something that comes with age?

Hell, how would Giyuu know? It’s not like he remembers being one year old.

The baby giggles anyway, so whether it understands smiles or not, it clearly doesn’t find him too creepy.

“Hello,” Giyuu says slowly—people talk to babies, right?—“I’m Tomioka. Or I guess you could call me Giyuu… if you could call me anything, that is.”

He halts. The baby blinks up at him.

“Your family is dead,” Giyuu continues, “so… I’m gonna take you with me. I’d offer you a better option, but I’m afraid there isn’t one at the moment.”

Another two blinks. No crying. So either this is the most cold-hearted child in the world, or it’s still pre-verbal.

As slowly and cautiously as he can Giyuu lifts the toddler out of the cabinet who makes grabby hands as soon as it understands his attempt.

He holds it just a bit awkwardly with both his hands under its arms and their staring continues.

Now outside the cabinet and in the light Giyuu can see that the toddler has light red hair and green eyes that seem too big for its face.

Giyuu swallows

He’s not a big person. Actually – if his colleagues are to believed – he’s rather short for a Hashira. Still, the baby looks impossibly small in his hands.

And this is horrible. He’s the last person who should be responsible for a child.
Or well another child.

And this one is even younger than Nezuko, who at least always had her brother.

His new find has no one.

He whines, very unbefitting for his position.

Why always him?

//

The baby starts crying as soon as Giyuu starts running. But if he wants to reach the Water Estate before sundown, he can’t slow down.
And he really doesn’t want to find out how good he is at multitasking when it comes to fighting and baby-carrying.

So, he starts singing. Low and wordless—okay, maybe it’s more of a hum, but he’s pretty sure that’s something parents do to calm their children, right?

The baby must either like his voice or realize how exhausted it is, because after a few hundred meters the crying stops—replaced by soft snoring and a smear of spit on Giyuu’s uniform.

Great.

//

Giyuu’s home isn’t exactly child-friendly. Or friendly at all, really. It’s undecorated, unfurnished, and—honestly—pretty cold.

But it’s not like he started his day intending to bring a child home.

Normally, Giyuu would walk in, collapse onto his single futon, and then, after a few hours of questioning the point of his existence, finally fall asleep.

Not tonight.

Instead, he digs up the last of his potatoes, mashes them into a rough purée, and hopes the baby isn’t too picky.

The child doesn’t seem to be—judging by the way it devours the food—but it turns out that feeding a toddler with chopsticks is harder than any demon fight he’s ever had. Giyuu gives up fast, searches through the drawers, and finds the single spoon in his entire household.
Feeding goes much smoother after that.

After that spectacle, he decides the child needs a bath and clean clothes. So he washes it—something the baby seems to enjoy, if the loud giggling is anything to go by—and then wraps it in one of his older haoris.

And that’s where the little knowledge Giyuu has about childcare ends. So he just sits down on his futon, the baby bundled in his arms, and goes back to staring.

Apparently, that bores the baby. Because it doesn’t take long before she—after the bath, Giyuu had at least managed to determine the gender—starts tugging at his hair. Fast. And far stronger than should be possible for such a tiny being. By the time he reacts, she’s already ripped out several strands.

She laughs at his outcry—more out of shock than pain—and he glares at her. Of course. Obviously, the child he finds would be a sadist. And that’s before even reaching the double digits.

“Don’t do that,” he snaps, which doesn’t seem to impress the baby much. She immediately tugs at his hair again—though a little softer this time.

“Stop that,” he tries again, but he doesn’t actually do anything when she keeps playing with his hair—sometimes gentle, sometimes not.

At least she’s entertained.

With a sigh, he lies down, the baby resting on his chest. He doesn’t have another futon—or anything else for her to sleep in.
And without him as a source of warmth, it would be a bit too cold anyway.

Tonight, this will have to do. And tomorrow…

Tomorrow, this—she—will hopefully be someone else’s problem.

//

The next morning, Giyuu isn’t woken by the sun. He isn’t even woken by baby wailing.

No, instead, he’s woken by a loud—far too loud—“Giyuu-san!”

Or, more precisely, three loud “Giyuu-san!”s.

And then, because apparently no one respects him—why did he ever think the baby would?—the door to his sleeping room is thrown open, and in the doorway stand three teenagers, all panting like they’ve just run a marathon.

Tanjirou’s smile is bright and, frankly, disturbing for this hour of the day. Zenitsu’s smile is less wide but still clearly there, and Inosuke… well, Inosuke is wearing his boar mask, so his expression is anyone’s guess.

Anyway, they don’t look like they need his immediate help because the world is ending—so they most definitely don’t have a plausible reason to be standing in his bedroom.

He looks up at them, glaring as best as he can to make them disappear again. Wordlessly as possible.

And then the Baby starts to cry. Loud and demanding.

If it weren’t such an annoying situation it would be funny how all boy’s eyes widen at the same time. Well, Giyuu at least suspects Inosuke’s eyes are widening too.

“Giyuu-san”, Tanjirou stammers, eyes now on the little bundle in Giyuu’s arms, “is that… is that a child?!”

Beside him Zenitsu gasps: “You have a child?” Then even louder: “You have a wife?!”

Giving up on getting even just another second of sleep Giyuu sits up slowly, careful with the baby in his arms. She’s still crying so he clumsily rocks her in his arms and make soft shushing noises.

“No, I do not have a wife”, he sighs, “or a child.”

When would he even have time for that?

“Then.. the stork brought the baby to the wrong house tonight?”, Inosuke asks – sounding way to certain about this assessment.

Giyuu blinks at him. This is one of those times he’s unsure if someone’s making a joke or not. He fears it’s not. Maybe he should give them a lesson on human biology between the training.

“I don’t think that’s it”, Tanjirou says carefully.

“No. It’s not.” Giyuu stands up. “I found her yesterday on a mission. The rest of her village is dead.”

That instantly kills the easygoing mood.

“Oh…” Tanjirou whispers, eyes already teary. Giyuu really hopes he won’t start crying. He can’t handle a crying baby and a crying teenager.

To his despair, Zenitsu is already wailing. “The poor baby! She’s so young and innocent! No future beauty deserves this!”

Frowning, Giyuu tugs the baby a bit closer to his chest. The obsession Zenitsu has with the female sex is always a bit weird to him, and even if she isn’t his, she’s still a toddler.

Ignoring his mentees, he shushes the baby, who slowly calms down, grabbing at his hair again. Maybe he should start wearing it in an updo.

“Aww, you’re so cute together!” Zenitsu wails, still crying but with glittering eyes now. How can one person have so many emotions?

“Ehm, Giyuu-san,” Tanjirou says, “do you—do you know how to take care of a baby?”

“No,” Giyuu answers simply, then gives Tanjirou a considering look.

He had a lot of siblings, right? Some very young. He probably knows how to take care of a baby…

Giyuu shakes his head.

No. Because while he’s a hundred percent sure Tanjirou would be a wonderful caretaker, he’s also fifteen—already looking out for his little sister and carrying far too much responsibility.

“Then what are you going to do with the baby?” Tanjirou presses.

Giyuu shrugs, again carefully, minding the toddler in his arms.

“Find someone who knows how to take care of a baby.”

Like… Kanroji. She always wanted a baby, right?

//

Turns out, Kanroji does not want a baby. Or at least not yet—she wants to wait for the love of her life before having a child.

That doesn’t stop her from cooing at the baby. And then cooing at the baby and Giyuu together. And then at the baby, Giyuu and Giyuu’s three annoyances who refuse to leave his side together.

“Awww, you’re such a dad, Giyuu! You’re so cute together!” Kanroji sniffles—tears glimmering in her eyes. (Why is everyone so weepy today?) “You have to come inside so I can take a picture!”

Giyuu immediately wants to decline. But Kanroji resorts to unfair means.

“I have cake,” she says quickly, “and I could probably even make some carrot purée for the baby!”

So they end up at the Love Estate, eating—admittedly delicious—cake. And when Giyuu feeds the baby, Kanroji starts cooing all over again.

They leave the Love Estate two hours later, all of them probably a pound heavier and carrying three photos.

In all three, everyone is smiling—except Giyuu.

//

Next, they make their way to Rengoku. Tanjirou, Zenitsu, and Inosuke still follow Giyuu like three baby ducklings after their mother.

…

A comparison Giyuu will definitely never make again. Not even in his own head.

Like Kanroji, Rengoku is completely smitten with the baby. But also like Kanroji, he doesn’t want to take one in—not right now.

“My family life is far from perfect!” he declares, voice booming with tragic conviction. “So while I would love to help a friend—especially for such noble reasons—I must decline! There’s much I must work through before I can have a child of my own!”

He sounds so genuinely upset about it that Giyuu doesn’t press.

He really doesn’t want to know anything about Rengoku’s family drama. He’s had more than enough emotions for one day.

//

On the way to Himejima, the baby starts crying again. So Giyuu starts humming—which somehow ends with all of his mentees singing. Very loudly. It’s horrible for his ears, but it makes the baby laugh.

Well. You win some, you lose some.

Himejima is Giyuu’s last chance. There’s no other Hashira he could entrust a baby to with a clear conscience. The rest are all too mentally unstable. But Himejima is kind, gentle, and genuinely likes children.

Unfortunately, he also seems to have some kind of trauma involving them.

“I’m honored that you’d entrust me with this, Tomioka,” Himejima says, “but I already once failed to protect children under my care. I cannot… I dare not make that mistake again.”

Even more emotions. At this point, Giyuu might start crying.

Luckily, that’s when the baby decides his hair makes a good chewing toy.

“Stop that,” Giyuu murmurs, cutting in before Himejima can unpack his tragic backstory.

Obviously, instead of actually stopping, the baby just giggles. The utter disrespect.

Himejima chuckles softly. “It also seems to me the child has already chosen a guardian, don’t you think so, Tomioka?”

Giyuu is gripped by horror at the sincerity in his colleague’s voice—and as fast as possible, they leave the Stone Estate again.

//

By the time they reach the Ubuyashiki Estate, Giyuu feels like he’s aged ten years. He’s exhausted, the baby is drooling on his haori again, and his three students are still following him like a very loud, very opinionated parade.

Ubuyashiki listens quietly as Giyuu explains everything. When he finishes, the master’s expression is as calm and unreadable as always, but there’s warmth in his voice.

“I see,” he says. “You’ve done well bringing her here, Tomioka.”

“I was hoping,” Giyuu begins, “that maybe she could stay here. Or—anywhere that isn’t with me.”

The Master’s smile is kind, but there’s sadness in it. “I wish I could say yes. But the Estate is no place for a child—especially one so young. Too much illness, too much danger. She wouldn’t be safe here.”

Giyuu’s stomach sinks. “Then—what happens to her?”

“There are… homes,” Ubuyashiki says gently. “People who take in children without families.”

Giyuu has seen orphanages. Many over the years, always too full in a world where so many children have to grow up without there parents. The circumstances are never good. Sometimes the caretakers are mean and cold and when they aren’t there isn’t enough food and when there is enough food there isn’t enough money for clothes or playthings.

He stares down at the baby, asleep in his arms. Her tiny fist is curled around the fabric of his haori.

“Is this the only option?”, he asks.

Ubuyashiki tilts his head.

“No. It’s not.”

Giyuu stiffens. He knows what’s about to come and he really, really doesn’t want to hear it.

“You could still take her in yourself, Tomioka.”

The smile on Ubuyashiki’s face is as gentle as always, and his voice soft. Still, Giyuu feels as if he’s just been slapped.

“But,” he starts — a bit too fast, almost stumbling over his words — “I’m a Hashira. I don’t have time for a child. I also can’t cook, or have good social skills, or comfort crying humans, or—”

“We can help you!” Tanjirou interrupts before Giyuu can finish his very long list of misgivings.

“Yeah,” Inosuke says, “also you can’t be worse than my dad. I never even met him.”

Giyuu gives him a deadpan look. “What a big vote of confidence.”

Tanjirou gives Inosuke a light slap to the back of his head. “I’m sure you’re going to be a great dad, Giyuu-san!”

“I don’t want to be a dad at all!” Giyuu whines.

Zenitsu lays a hand on his shoulder and then says very seriously, “Sometimes you don’t want to be a dad or can be a dad, but you have to be a dad.”

Giyuu stares at him. “What does that even mean.”

“So, it is decided then,” Ubuyashiki says. “I’m sure the child will be in the best hands in your care.”

The look the man gives Giyuu is proud and warm, his mentees — as always — seem to have a steadfast belief that he can do anything, and the baby has started drooling again.

…

This is gonna suck so hard.

Chapter Text

It’s been two weeks, and Giyuu can barely recognize his own life anymore.
His beloved solitude has been replaced by loud voices, baby crying and—god forbid—hugs.

Because apparently, by agreeing to take in one baby, he has also somehow agreed to take in four more children.
Not that anyone asked him.

Tanjirou simply decided that they could help him best in his “new parenting mission” if they just moved in with him.
And, as always, neither Zenitsu, Inosuke nor Nezuko disagreed with the boy.

//

“Giyuu-san!” Tanjirou’s loud voice echoes through the Water Estate, making Giyuu flinch.

Giyuu is sitting on the floor in one of the now slightly less bare rooms of his house — after all, there are six residents now instead of one.

The baby in his lap giggles happily as she watches him and Nezuko stack simple wooden blocks only so she can knock them down the moment they’re upright.

Not for the first time, Giyuu is thankful that Tanjirou and Nezuko are the nicest kids in the world — because Nezuko just keeps patiently stacking the blocks, completely unfazed that they get knocked over again and again.

“Giyuu-san! Giyuu-san!” Tanjirou keeps calling — and then the door flings open and he stands there, gasping for air and grinning brightly.

In his hands he holds up an old-looking rattle.

“Look! Look what I found! It’s a rattle!”

Tanjiro looks absurdly proud of himself — as if he just victoriously fought an Upper Rank demon instead of buying a child’s toy.

Giyuu gives him an unimpressed look.

“Great. Please put it with the other hundreds of toys you brought home in the last week.”

He falters at his own words.

Home?

He shouldn’t say things like that. It would only encourage the family-building delusions of the boy.

Well… maybe he didn’t notice. Though, from Tanjirou’s shining eyes, Giyuu doesn’t dare hope.

Tanjiro kneels down in front of them, holding the rattle where the baby can reach it — she grabs at it immediately. She shakes it clumsily before letting it fall, right onto the stacked wooden blocks that instantly collapse again.

When she laughs, Tanjirou laughs too, and there’s a muffled happy sound from Nezuko through her muzzle.

Giyuu’s lips twitch upward.

“Well. Mame seems to have a bright musical career ahead of her.”

Tanjirou grimaces.

“You’re sure we can’t talk about that name again, Giyuu-san?”

Giyuu ignores him. They had already discussed this.

//

They decided on the baby’s name on the third day of having her. Or, well—Giyuu decided.

//

“You can’t keep calling her baby,” Tanjirou says. “She needs a name!”

“Yes, something fitting for a delicate lady,” Zenitsu swoons.

“No! A warrior’s name!” Inosuke disagrees. “Like BLOOD SLAYER MEAT GOD!”

Giyuu just raises an eyebrow at that and feeds the baby in his arms another spoon of nimame.

They are having dinner together. It’s weird. Giyuu honestly doesn’t think he’s ever had this many people around to eat in his house.

“Why meat?” Zenitsu asks, puzzled.

Tanjirou gives him a look. “That’s your only problem with ‘blood slayer meat god’?”

“Meat makes you strong!” Inosuke declares. “That’s why! Or do you have a better idea, huh?!”

Zenitsu blinks at him, seemingly unsure if the boy is joking.

“Yes, literally every other name?!”

“Oh, really? Even… Mild Concussion?”

Zenitsu gapes. “No! That’s not a name! That’s a brain injury!”

Inosuke nods proudly. “She would be a Severe Concussion anyway!”

While the bickering continues, Giyuu keeps feeding sugary bean mush to Blood Slayer Meat God / Severe Concussion.

Tanjirou pinches the bridge of his nose, chuckling weakly.

“Maybe something gentler…? She’s very sweet, isn’t she?”

This makes all eyes wander to the topic of discussion, who is giggling as she smears nimame into Giyuu’s hair.

Giyuu sighs. That will be hell to get out again.

“…she really likes beans,” he says flatly.

Tanjirou’s eyes widen as he realizes what’s coming.

“No, you can’t—”

But Giyuu isn’t listening anymore. He looks down at the baby.

“Mame,” he decides.

The baby giggles.

//

Like Giyuu had said the day he took the child in: being a Hashira does not pair well with raising a baby. He can’t just stop going on missions — if he did, people would die. The fact Ubuyashiki had been able to give him two weeks off to adjust to his new living situation is a minor miracle.

So, on the fifteenth day, he’s sent to a village where multiple young brides have gone missing over the last few months. Which makes Giyuu wonder why anyone keeps getting married in that place. Couldn’t they just go to another village?

Well, maybe it’s a money thing, or a romance thing. Keeping to your roots, or whatever. Giyuu doesn’t really understand romance.

To his dismay, he isn’t sent alone on the mission. No — his three new housemates — four if you count Nezuko — are sent with him. Which is just great. Giyuu definitely hasn’t been looking forward to some alone time or anything.

He was at least able to leave Mame with Kanroji. He’s still not ready to find out how good babysitting and demon-fighting go together.

They are greeted with open arms. Which is either thanks to the fact that he’s the Water Hashira, or because people are simply incapable of being mean to Tanjirou.

“No, no, you don’t have to pay to stay here!” the innkeeper tells them. “After all, you’re here to help! Who would we be to take money for that?”

Giyuu bows slightly, his three nuisances copying him.

“Thank you.”

“Aw, aren’t you cute,” the woman coos. “I always heard the Water Hashira was a bit standoffish, but teaching those little sunshines — you must actually be really nice, huh?”

And then she pinches Giyuu’s cheek, as he just stands there unmoving.

Behind him he hears muffled snorts that cut off when he turns to glare at the teenagers.

He’s been called cute or adorable a bit too often these last weeks. But, well — the woman also called Inosuke a little sunshine, so she must be mentally unwell anyway.

//

“Soo, who are we going to dress up as a bride?” Zenitsu asks as they settle down in their room. “I suggest Inosuke!”

He smirks at the other boy — who immediately shoves him off the bed.

“What?” he laughs, “you have long hair and are… you know, kind of pretty.”

“I’m not!” Inosuke shouts, kicking at Zenitsu, who just dodges him easily.

Giyuu doesn’t like the idea either, though for different reasons.

“We’re not doing that.”

Tanjirou looks from his friends to Giyuu and back. “I could do it, if you don’t want to.”

He smiles brightly — Nezuko looks up at him, concerned.

Giyuu frowns. “No. None of you are going to do that. It’s too dangerous.”

Well… with him there it probably isn’t all that dangerous — but using one of his mentees as bait still doesn’t sit right with him.

Tanjirou gives him a teary-eyed look as if to say ‘I know you cared.’ Giyuu just gives him a flat stare. Because of course he cares — even he’s not emotionally repressed enough to deny that.

“So…,” Zenitsu starts again, “you’re going to dress up as a bride?”

Giyuu blinks, opens his mouth and closes it again.

“…let’s circle back to that later.”

//

In the end, no one has to dress up as a bride. They find the demons on the first try. There are two of them — both not that dangerous, but still a challenge for the kids.

So Giyuu kills the first one, and watches the second be defeated. That counts as practical training, right? He’s standing close enough to jump in whenever needed anyway.

All three of them are panting in the end — Tanjirou looks up at him with sparkling eyes.

“Was that good?”

Observing their breathless, excited faces, Giyuu gives them one of his rare smiles.

“Yeah. That was very good.”

Then he ruffles Tanjirou’s and Zenitsu’s hair, and gives Inosuke an awkward pat on his boar mask.

Zenitsu stumbles at the gesture and would have fallen flat on his face if Giyuu hadn’t caught him.

“Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Giyuu looks the boy up and down. There are no external wounds, but you never know with demons. He could be poisoned.

“Y-yeah, everything’s fine, Giyuu-san,” Zenitsu stammers, blushing bright red.

Giyuu nods slowly. Back in the village, he makes sure all of them are looked over by a healer anyway.

//

Returning from their mission they immediately split up. Giyuu to get Mame from Kanroji and the kids to get something for later to cook.

Giyuu feels slightly bad that Tanjirou is still the main cook of their household. As the only adult he should probably invest more time into his cooking skills.

But it’s not as if it was his idea to start a small orphanage!

By the time he reaches the Love Estate, Kanroji is already waiting at the door with Mame in her arms, hugging her tightly as if she was the most precious thing she’s ever held. Mame squeals the moment she sees him — which only makes Kanroji squeal too.

“She was an angel!” she beams, reluctantly passing the child into Giyuu’s arms. “She ate well, slept through the whole night, and she didn’t even bite anyone! You must be doing something right, Giyuu!”

Giyuu doubts that but nods anyway as he accepts the baby. Mame immediately grabs his haori with both hands like he might escape.

“I— appreciate the babysitting,” he says.

“Anytime! Just send me a crow!” Kanroji says brightly.

Giyuu nods again. “I have to go to the Master for a mission report now.”

He’s not sure why he says it. It’s not as if Kanroji asked him to stay.

But the woman does not seem to care — she just smiles warmly. “You do that.”

She waves as he walks away, Mame already back to her favorite pastime of tugging at — and trying to eat — his hair.

“And really, Tomioka,” Kanroji calls after him, “I mean it — anytime!”

//

At the Ubuyashiki Estate the kids are already waiting for him, Tanjirou noticeably missing his wooden box. He must have left Nezuko at the Water Estate — she probably wanted to get out a bit after spending almost three whole days in that thing.

They straighten up immediately when they see him, Tanjirou waving as if they hadn’t seen each other in weeks — instead of being apart for not even an hour.

“We were told to wait outside,” Zenitsu explains. “The Master is still in a meeting.”

Giyuu hums and sits down on the empty cushion beside them, while Mame babbles something unintelligible. Now that he’s closer, Giyuu realizes all his students look slightly guilty, and he squints his eyes at them.

“What did you—”

“Where the fuck did you get a baby?!” a voice cuts in from behind them.

He turns, just as Shinazugawa rounds the corner — looking, as always, as if Giyuu’s very existence personally offends him.

Giyuu opens his mouth to explain himself, but the other Hashira doesn’t give him the chance.

“Who in their right mind would ever give you a child?!”

Giyuu sighs. He knows this game — Shinazugawa will keep screaming at him for an answer but not actually let him talk. And it’s not like he exactly disagrees with him. He shouldn’t have been given a baby.

So instead of even trying, he makes silent shush noises at Mame, so she doesn’t get upset by the shouting.

“Hey, don’t say that,” Tanjirou cuts in. “Giyuu is actually great at caring for Mame.”

Shinazugawa stares.

“Mame?” he repeats. “The baby’s name is bean?!”

“At least her name isn’t Shinazu-gutter,” Inosuke retorts. “You sewer grate!”

Which is… not the best pun Giyuu has ever heard. Though he doesn’t particularly like puns anyway.

“What did you call me, you little fuck?!” Shinazugawa growls, sounding like a rabid dog.

Giyuu wonders if he should intervene when Inosuke jumps up. But he doesn’t think Shinazugawa would actually hurt the boy. And him getting involved normally makes the other Hashira just even more aggressive.

Not that Giyuu knows what he ever did to the other man. So instead he keeps humming at the baby in his arms, bouncing her slightly.

And then Mame tugs at his hair and chirps: “Haha!”

Instantly Giyuu’s eyes snap from the unnecessarily angry boy and man to her — and the screaming stops from one moment to the next.

He blinks once. Twice.

“I’m not your mother.”

She giggles but repeats it anyway. “Haha.”

Giyuu frowns. “I’m not your mother,” he insists again.

He doesn’t really care whether she calls him haha or chichi—it’s not the gender mix-up that bothers him.
It’s the fact that she sees him as anything resembling a parental figure at all.

Shinazugawa snorts—loud and ugly. “Ha! Even the baby thinks you’ve got girly hair!”

Giyuu’s frown deepens. “I have?”

He’s never really thought about his hair. He mostly just lets it grow until it gets too annoying.

“Yeah, you look like a woman,” Shinazugawa snarls. Giyuu’s pretty sure it’s meant as an insult. He doesn’t really know why it would be.

Still frowning, Giyuu turns to Tanjirou.

“Do I look like a woman?”

It’s not that he’d mind if he did—he just never thought he had much in common with Kanroji or Kocho.

Tanjirou gives him that look Giyuu has, by now, learned to read as equal parts fondness and exasperation—the one he always gets when some kind of social nuance sails right over his head.

“No, you don’t look like a woman, Giyuu-san.”

“Yeah! You look super manly!” Inosuke declares.

“Well… maybe not that manly,” Zenitsu adds brightly

Which earns him an indignant gasp from Inosuke and an unpleasant laugh from Shinazugawa.

Giyuu thinks he should probably tell them that he doesn’t actually care.

Luckily, this is when the door to the Master’s chamber slides open and Hinaki steps out.

“The Master is ready to receive you now, Tomioka–san. Please follow me.”

//

The mission report is a rather short affair — after all, not a lot happened. For once, there weren’t even that many casualties.

Back at the Water Estate, Giyuu tries to help with dinner. He only burns some of the fish, so he thinks it could have been worse.

Mame falls asleep halfway through eating, cheek pressed to his thigh and it feels almost instinctual when he reaches out to wipe Inosuke’s mouth when he gets soy sauce all over his face. The boy doesn’t even react.

Somehow the weirdest part about this is that it doesn’t feel weird at all.

//

The next morning, Giyuu hadn’t actually planned on bringing Mame to the Hashira meeting.

He just didn’t have a choice. All the other Hashira are obviously at the meeting, and Tanjirou, Zenitsu and Inosuke came with him today because they wanted to discuss their next mission.

And it’s not like he knows many other people. Maybe a couple of nice families in the village near his estate… but not well enough to leave Mame with them.

So now he’s standing in the Master’s chamber, Mame on his hip and three teenagers hovering at his side.

“Oh, what a wonderful sight,” Rengoku declares, “I was not sure you would keep her! But fatherhood sure suits you, my friend!”

Then he lays an arm around Giyuu, who flinches at the sudden invasion of his personal space.

“Awww, you brought Mame!” Kanroji coos as soon as she enters, walking straight to them and starting to play peek-a-boo with the baby.

Giyuu is not used to this much attention at their meetings. He’s not sure how to feel about it.

“Ara, ara,” Kocho, who’s right on Kanroji’s heels, says, “who would have thought you would be the first of us with a child? Who did you get pregnant, Tomioka, huh?”

Giyuu tilts his head. Kocho has that tone in her voice that means she’s making fun of him. He just doesn’t get why.

“No one. I found her.”

“So you kidnapped a baby?” Iguro snarls, following behind Kocho — Sanemi beside him.

Sanemi snorts. “Well, that makes more sense than someone wanting to have sex with that, right?”

He looks Giyuu up and down, who just gives him a blank stare in return. It’s not as if he’s all that interested in sex. He tried a few times and decided it wasn’t worth his time — or the trouble of having someone in your bed that comes with it.

He has no idea how to retort so he just doesn’t, Mame has started pulling at his hair again as Kanroji has stopped playing with her, too upset by the one-sided exchange. So, he tries to free the strands out of Mame’s tiny hands instead of gracing his colleagues with more of his attention.

Rengoku’s arm around his shoulder has tightened and Giyuu knows this is going to escalate if the Flame Hashira is going to start defending him.

But before the man can say anything Tanjirou steps forward – shoulders squared and frowning.

“Shinazugawa-san”, he starts politely, “would you please refrain from insulting Giyuu-san?”

The wind pillar raises an eyebrow obviously unimpressed. “And why the fuck should I do that?”

"Because he didn’t actually do anything to you,” Tanjirou continues, keeping his voice level-headed.

Giyuu tilts his head. This is what he’s been thinking for years. Maybe he’ll finally find out what he did wrong.

“The fuck he didn’t?! He’s a pompous asshole who keeps walking around thinking he’s better than us!”

Huh. Giyuu blinks. He was not aware he was doing this and he certainly never thought he was better than… anyone, actually.

“He’s not an asshole”, Zenitsu chimes in, “he’s just grumpy sometimes. He’s actually really nice!”

“Yes”, Inosuke agrees, voice louder than the one of his friends, “he’s even teaching me how to read!”

Giyuu frowns. He still finds it rather concerning that the boy can’t read.

“And I’m sure he would be a great relationship partner to have a child with”, Tanjirou continues, a bit too convinced for Giyuu’s taste.

“Yes! Tomioka’s heart burns bright with responsibility!” Rengoku speaks up.

Giyuu is fairly sure his heart isn’t burning with anything — and if it were, it would be with the desire to go home.

Then tiny hands yank at his hair, and Giyuu realizes he’s committed the terrible crime of not giving Mame attention for almost five minutes.

“Haha,” she declares — whiny and loud. Why are there so many loud people in Giyuu’s life?

“I’m not your mother,” he says, as if it had helped the last twenty times he said it. Then he taps Mame’s forehead gently, which makes her giggle before she grabs onto his fingers.

When he looks up again, everyone is staring. Again. He wishes Himejima were already here so he could hide behind him.

“She doesn’t understand gender yet”, Giyuu states flatly, which does not stop anyone from staring.

That’s when the door opens and Ubuyashiki finally enters, the three missing Hashiras in tow.

Giyuu has never been happier to see the Master.

Chapter Text

Sanemi is angry.
Well, Sanemi is always a bit angry, but today it’s even worse than normal — and the reason, as so often, is Tomioka Giyuu.

Because somehow, his emotionless, stuck-up bastard of a coworker had not only adopted a baby, but also taken in multiple children — and suddenly became all buddy-buddy with Rengoku and Kanroji?!

What? And how?

Or, well — becoming friends with Rengoku and Kanroji is not that big of an achievement. Sanemi wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to befriend the spiders they find in their house.

But that Tomioka let Rengoku touch him? Let him sling his arm around his shoulders for a whole meeting?!

Outlandish. Unheard of. Probably a sign of the apocalypse.

A part of Sanemi wants to think Tomioka just did it to spite Sanemi… but he has honestly no idea why Tomioka would think it would bother him.

Not even Sanemi knows why it bothers him.

It’s probably just because it’s weird. To be fair Tomioka seemed a bit uncomfortable with it too.

He’s not the type to be touchy or soft. He’s just blank, cold, and kind of far away.

Though… maybe not so much anymore? Sanemi is almost completely positive that he actually saw him laughing at something the boar-kid said. Quietly, and hidden behind a hand, but still: laughing!

Sanemi has known Tomioka for over five years, and he has never seen him laugh. The upper limit of his emotional range has always been an eye-roll, a scoff, or — like once a year — a slight tug of his lips.

At least Obanai thinks the same.

“Yeah, it’s fucking creepy,” the Serpent Hashira snarls, “who the fuck taught him to show emotions? What kind of parallel universe did we fall into? He even talked to Kanroji!”

Okay, so his friend might mostly be jealous instead of completely emotionally unsettled, but Sanemi would take it anyway.

“And what is with those children?” Obanai continues. “He’s a Hashira — why does he need teenagers to defend him?!”

Sanemi grunts in agreement. Though he doesn’t actually think Tomioka needs anyone to defend him. After all, there are days when he snaps back. Today it just seemed as if he couldn’t be bothered to deal with them. Which always pisses Sanemi off even more because it gives him the feeling he isn’t even worth Tomioka getting off his high horse for.

Himejima once told Sanemi insulting Tomioka is not the best way to get a reaction out of him. Sanemi told Himejima to shut up.

“Like, honestly, stand up for yourself, asshole,” Obanai grumbles.

Sanemi actually feels a bit bad that those kids — who so obviously care about Tomioka — felt the need to protect him from Sanemi. It’s not as if he really hates the Water Hashira — it’s more of a… strong dislike?

He sighs.

It’s good that he’s meeting up with Genya for training today. He really needs to punch something and pretend it’s Tomioka’s (unnecessarily pretty) face.

//

The training grounds are nothing special — trampled grass, a few lonely trees, and makiwara dummies that have seen better days. Half the clearing lies in the shadows of the pines, and a wooden pavilion sits off to the right.

And instantly Sanemi wishes he’d chosen another place to meet Genya — because under the wooden pavilion, safe from the sun, sits that demon Kamado brat with the baby he only just met. Which means Tomioka and his junior trio of idiots can’t be far.

Just great.

Then, before Sanemi can even work himself up into a real rage, there’s a flash of red and orange in his vision and Tomioka steps out from behind a tree. He has a wooden sword in his hand and is sparring with the blond kid whose name Sanemi always forgets. And as always when he sees the Water Hashira fight, Sanemi can’t look away.

Tomioka’s moves are slower than normal — no question he’s showing his student his tactics — and he’s talking, probably explaining what he’s doing. But he still moves just as fluidly as always, as if he wasn’t using Water Breathing but was the water himself.

He’s more swirling than spinning, his footwork never rough and his strikes always graceful, even though he’s so obviously holding back. It’s so different from Sanemi’s own brash fighting style.

His is harsher — dirtier — somehow more brutal. Tomioka looks like he’s dancing. It’s almost hypnotizing.

Sanemi doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath before a voice pulls him out of his marveling.

“Sanemi!” Genya calls out, sounding a bit breathless, and when Sanemi turns he looks that way too. “Sorry — I’m late. I got held up on the way.”

Sanemi grunts. “Don’t waste my time again.”

Genya winces, and Sanemi instantly feels bad — but today there isn’t any hope of him holding back for anyone. He hasn’t been in this kind of mood in a long time.

“Let’s just train,” he says, and tosses one of the wooden practice swords he brought to his brother. Genya catches it, brows furrowed, looking more worried than hurt.

Sanemi fears Genya knows him too well not to notice that something’s wrong. Which makes him even angrier.

He doesn’t hold back when he strikes. He doesn’t slow his motions like Tomioka does when he fights his students. He uses his full strength — just making sure not to actually hurt Genya.

But he doesn’t flinch either when his brother starts trembling. Not from fear — Genya would never be scared of him — but from exhaustion. His breathing gets heavier, but Sanemi doesn’t stop.

After all, Genya decided this. He wanted to become a Demon Slayer no matter what Sanemi said.

The thought doesn’t stop Sanemi’s guilty conscience — but he keeps going anyway.

He only stops when another practice sword slams into his. The strike is steadier than Genya’s even at the beginning of their spar — and then Tomioka is suddenly in front of him, between Sanemi and his brother.

“Shinazugawa,” he says — louder and harsher than he normally speaks, yet still so much softer than Sanemi’s own voice. “What are you doing.”

The growl that escapes Sanemi sounds almost animalistic even to his own ears.

“What the fuck are you doing, Tomioka? I’m just training with my brother. This has nothing to do with you.”

He slashes at Tomioka, who easily deflects his strike.

“What do you think you’re teaching him, when the only thing he does is dodge your attacks?”

The other Hashira’s tone is still flat — but his expression… he looks disappointed. Maybe even the slightest bit angry.

“Why the hell do you care?” Sanemi snarls, hacking at him, finally able to fight like he really means it — maybe he even does. “He’s not your brother, is he?”

“No, he’s not,” Tomioka responds, not the slightest bit breathless as he eludes Sanemi’s sword, “but he’s yours.”

“You don’t say,” Sanemi spits, trying to put as much sarcasm into his tone as he puts anger into his strikes.

“If you want to hurt me that’s one thing,” Tomioka starts —"

And god, yeah, Sanemi wants to hurt him. He wants nothing more than to see bruises caused by his own hands on Tomioka’s perfectly unblemished skin and make him spit blood that would stand so stark against his fair complexion.

“— but don’t hurt your brother,” the Water Hashira continues, “when you’re so lucky to still have him.”

Sanemi only just parries the other man’s sword when he almost trips at how loudly Tomioka talks. Though it’s still much quieter than Sanemi himself.

“I would do anything to still have my sister,” Tomioka says, “don’t throw something so precious away only to realize what you lost when it’s already gone.”

For the first time since he’s known him, Tomioka’s face is open — raw with sorrow — and Sanemi realizes he’s heard more emotion from him in a single breath than ever before. He hesitates — just for a second — and his own sword flies from his hand, and Tomioka’s wooden blade is suddenly at his throat.

“I’m going to take your brother with me now,” Tomioka says, voice back to flat and unreadable, “but don’t… don’t be stupid, Shinazugawa. Not with something so important.”

Then he lowers his sword — and for the first time in a long, long time, Sanemi has nothing to say.

//////

“What the hell,” Genya spits, “I don’t need your fucking help, I don’t need your pity.”

Giyuu ignores his words — the boy is still following them anyway, walking beside Tanjirou who’s fussing over him even though he isn’t really hurt.

No matter how aggressive Shinazugawa can be, he would never actually hurt his brother. Giyuu knows that.

“Stop that,” Genya snaps at Tanjirou. “Everything is fine! My brother didn’t do anything!”

Tanjirou smiles weakly.

“I’m not pitying you or judging your brother—”
(from the look in the boy’s eyes, Giyuu knows he’s absolutely judging Shinazugawa)
“—I just want to help you because you matter.”

Giyuu feels his face soften almost at the same moment Genya’s does. Tanjirou is just too good for this world.

“You’re going to come with us,” Giyuu states, “I’m going to cook something, and if you want you can have dinner with us. But you don’t have to. All you have to do is wait until you don’t look like you’re going to faint the moment Tanjiro lets go of you.”

In contrast to Tanjirou’s warm voice, his own is completely blank — but Giyuu thinks he still got his point across.

For a second, they walk in silence — before Zenitsu asks, very cautiously:

“…you are going to cook?”

Giyuu’s only answer is an unimpressed glare.

//

Dinner is not as much of a disaster as Giyuu had expected — and the mizutaki he cooks is only slightly too spicy, which is totally Kanroji’s fault, because he got the recipe from her. The woman can eat pure hot peppers.

Normally — even after his decision that he, as the only adult in the household, has to learn to cook — Giyuu would’ve asked Tanjirou for help.

But Tanjirou is on Genya–watch. Something Giyuu would have been even worse at than he is at cooking.

“This… actually smells non-poisonous,” Zenitsu says as Giyuu sets the soup on the table.

Giyuu glares at him before hitting him over the head with the ladle — something Giyuu now actually owns.

The boy cries out dramatically even though there’s no way it actually hurt with how light the hit had been.

Inosuke, who’s already sitting beside Zenitsu, almost instantly starts eating — so Giyuu hits him too with the ladle.

“Wait until everyone is at the table.”

Inosuke rolls his eyes.

“Okay, mom.”

This earns him another slap.

“This tastes great, Giyuu–san!” Tanjirou praises, as if it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. Which is a bit of an overkill — but it’s Tanjirou, so Giyuu wouldn’t expect anything else.

Who doesn’t really like the mizutaki is Mame. Maybe because she got an extremely watered–down version — Giyuu checked with Kocho, spicy things are not good for toddlers— or maybe she just doesn’t like mushrooms. He wouldn’t judge her. He doesn’t like them either.

Genya looks a bit out of place sitting between Nezuko and Tanjirou, obviously unsure how to — or if he should — join the conversation.

At least he doesn’t seem to be angry or unwilling to be here anymore. Tanjirou must have worked his Tanjirou–magic.

“So, when are we going on the next mission,” Inosuke asks after spilling soup all over the table, “I want to show some demons the tsunami of fists!”

Giyuu raises an eyebrow, sipping at his water.

“We’re not going on any missions. I am going to Asakusa tomorrow, and you are going to continue training.” He tilts his head. “By the way, Inosuke, how far are you with the book I gave you?”

“Uuuh… at the point where we stopped last,” Inosuke mutters.

“Curious. I remember telling you that you should practice without me”, Giyuu continues, but makes sure not to actually sound disappointed.

He doesn’t remember learning to read but it can’t be easy.

“Should you really go on a mission alone?” Zenitsu asks, furrowed eyebrows and voice a bit faint.

Nezuko and Tanjirou nod vigorously at the question — both giving Giyuu matching worried puppy-dog eyes.

Giyuu almost smiles.

“You might not remember it, but I’m actually a Hashira”—a fake one, but whatever—“I can handle a mission alone.”

Though he might not look it at the moment, with Mame in his lap and his shirt soup-stained.

//

After dinner, Giyuu does something he really doesn’t want to do: he has a conversation with Genya.

He is absolutely not the right person for this, and he would love to just let Tanjirou handle the whole thing — but Tanjirou is not an adult, and what Genya needs right now is a trusted adult.

And well… Giyuu meets half of that requirement. He’s an adult.

Also he’s a (fake) Hashira, so every member of the Corps is in a way his responsibility, right?

Kind of, at least.

After eating, he gives Mame to Zenitsu — who always seems slightly overwhelmed by her but is also surprisingly good with kids — and motions for the others to go outside, until only he and Genya are left sitting beside each other on the tatami mats in really, really uncomfortable silence.

And then Giyuu does something he might have never done before — he speaks first. He’s the one who actually starts the conversation.

“You and your brother,” he starts slowly, “Shinazugawa — are you… are you okay?”

Which is a stupid question to ask. Because obviously they aren’t okay.

If Genya thinks it’s a stupid question too, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he avoids Giyuu’s eyes and starts playing with the hem of his haori, fiddling the fabric between his fingers.

“Yes. We’re fine. We were just training — and I think Sanemi had a lot of… emotions to work through.”

Giyuu thinks so too. And he isn’t even slightly surprised that for Sanemi, “working through his emotions” means fighting.

Not that Giyuu is one to talk.
He doesn’t work through emotions at all — he ignores them until they either disappear (which has literally never happened), or drag him into quiet kind of dissociation instead.

Giyuu nods slowly. Why did he think this was a good idea again?

“Shinazugawa loves you,” he finally states — that he knows without any uncertainty. Because while Shinazugawa would never admit it, they know each other — to some extent at least.

“But that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to ignore your limits like he did today during training.”

Genya shrugs, now staring down at the leftover chopsticks on the table as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

“He just — he wants to prepare me for what’s out there.”

Giyuu hums.

“And do you think he will achieve that? With the way you fought today?”

It’s silent for an agonizing moment — and then the worst case scenario arises. Genya sniffles.

Giyuu instantly cringes. Crying people. The thing that scares him most in the whole wide world.

“It’s just–,” Genya starts, “I know that he loves me, but just— why can’t he be more like you?”

The boy finally looks up at Giyuu. He isn’t full-on crying, but his eyes are shiny and he should probably blow his nose.

Giyuu really hopes Shinazugawa never finds out that someone — especially his brother — said he should be more like Giyuu. People will definitely die if he ever finds that out. More specifically: Giyuu would die.

“…like me?”, he repeats — his voice something between hysterical and almost too quiet to understand.

“Yes,” Genya sniffles, “I saw you today and you — it’s so obvious that you care for them.”

His voice rises with every word, and Giyuu is — again — completely out of his depth.

“It is?”, he finally asks.

“Yes! You listened to Inosuke ramble on about different types of bugs for half an hour and then you fucking smiled when Nezuko gave you a drawing – I’ve never seen you smile!”

Giyuu wrinkles his nose. Then — quietly:

“…it was a good drawing.”

Genya chuckles — wetly — and lowers his head again, eyes on his hands that are folded tightly in his lap.

“I just — I just want him to see me, you know?”

Giyuu does in fact not know. He never wants anyone to see him. He actually hates it when people see him.

“I can’t help you with that,” he says slowly and cautiously, “but if you ever need something — anything — you can always come here, okay?”

And then he has his arms full of crying person. Of crying teenager. Of crying little brother of his colleague who hates him.

Wonderful.

Giyuu can’t do anything except awkwardly pat his back as Genya cries into his shoulder.

“You’re so bad at this,” Genya whimpers, laughing and crying at the same time.

Giyuu nods stoically.

“Believe me, I know.”

//

Later, Giyuu sits at the engawa with Mame asleep in his lap, her tiny hands curled into his haori. The night air is cool and the sky too cloudy to see any stars.

He runs his hand through her fluffy baby hair — she’s so warm and soft in his arms. Almost fragile. And for the thousandth time he wonders how anyone could trust him with something — someone — so precious.

He’s pulled out of his doubts by footsteps behind him — too loud to be Nezuko, too soft to be Inosuke, too steady to be Zenitsu.

Tanjirou.

The boy doesn’t say a word as he sits down beside him, draping a blanket over both their shoulders.

Mame snores quietly. They sit in silence as Tanjirou lays his head on Giyuu’s shoulder — and Giyuu doesn’t flinch.

Without looking, Giyuu knows the boy copied him, staring up into the swirling darkness above them.

Not for the first time, Giyuu realizes that the presence of someone else doesn’t make him uncomfortable anymore. It even soothes the spiral of self-hatred he had been heading toward.

“Giyuu-san…,” Tanjirou finally breaks the silence. “I heard what you said to Shinazugawa today.”

Giyuu stiffens. He said a lot to the Wind Hashira today — most of which he does not want to talk about.

Still, he hums. If Tanjirou wants answers, he will give them.

“The part about how hurting you is one thing, but hurting Genya is different,” Tanjirou continues — and Giyuu relaxes.

He feared the boy would want to talk about Tsutako.

“But that’s not true,” Tanjirou goes on, then hesitates for just a second as if searching for the right words. “It isn’t ‘fine’ when people hurt you. It isn’t less bad.”

It’s a nice thing to say. It’s such a Tanjirou thing to say.

“Genya matters,” Tanjirou’s voice is soft — so soft that even with how close he is, Giyuu almost can’t hear him. “But you matter too.”

Giyuu’s throat tightens. He doesn’t know how to respond. But Tanjirou doesn’t seem to need him to.

“It’s true,” he insists — just a nuance more forceful. “I know you don’t believe it, but it’s true.”

Giyuu still doesn’t know what to say, so they keep sitting in silence — listening only to the nature around them and the endlessness of the sky above. At some point, Tanjirou’s breathing gets slower, matching Mame’s soft snoring, and his head grows heavier on Giyuu’s shoulder.

When Giyuu finally opens his mouth, it’s barely more than a whisper.

“Thanks, Tanjirou.”

Chapter Text

The Fire Estate is different from the Water Estate. Three months ago, Giyuu would have said it’s livelier — but not anymore, not with five, sometimes six new inhabitants cancelling out his silence. But the Fire Estate’s colors are brighter, and it’s painfully obvious someone with taste decorated this place.

His home is partly decorated by Inosuke. There is no hope.

He’s welcomed by a servant who leads him further into the estate, to the sunny garden in the back. Rengoku is already waiting there — Mame beside him, fascinated by a frog hopping through the grass.

Rengoku has been taking over babysitting almost as often as Kanroji. At some point, Giyuu should probably get them a thank-you present. He’ll ask Tanjiro what he could buy them — the boy probably knows what hobbies and interests they have. Tanjiro is someone who remembers things like that.

Mame spots him immediately. Somehow she always does, even though half the Hashira insist he’s so quiet it’s unsettling.

“Haha!”, she cries out, smiling almost too widely for her little, round face.

Giyuu gives a faint smile, waving just a bit awkwardly. He has given up on explaining to her that he’s not her parent and especially not her mother.

Rengoku turns at Mame’s outcry and gives him an equally blinding smile.

“My friend! You’re back! So I assume the mission was successful?”

Giyuu hums while Mame makes grabby hands — as if they hadn’t seen each other in weeks instead of only two days — and he finds himself walking just a bit faster.

From the unhappy little whine she makes he seems to still be too slow. He takes the last step and crouches down in front of her, offering two fingers that Mame instantly grabs onto.

He expects her to crawl forward — but instead she pushes herself upright, unexpectedly balanced, and then she lets go and closes the last bit of distance between them on her own.

Taking her very first steps.

“…oh,” Giyuu says, as she clutches at his arm now — and before he can think about it he lifts her up and twirls her around.

He mutters into her hair, laughing, voice higher than normal as she giggles.

“Haha!” she repeats.

And then Giyuu remembers they have a bystander. When he meets Rengoku’s eyes he freezes and instantly feels his face heat.

But the Fire Hashira doesn’t look as if he wants to make fun of him; instead he stares just as frozen, mouth open and a slight blush on his face.

“Oh,” Rengoku mutters — quieter than Giyuu has ever heard him speak.

A beat passes before Rengoku claps his hands, now back to his normal volume.

“Wonderful! Both of you!” he declares. “The first steps are something to be celebrated!”

He slings his arms around Giyuu and all but pulls him inside the estate.

“And you, my friend, need to smile more! It suits you quite well, if I say so myself!”

Giyuu sighs and resigns himself to his fate.

He has no idea where the cake comes from, but Mame is happy and Rengoku is only slightly too much for him to handle.

//

The crow with the invite to the biannual Corps Gathering comes two days later. It’s something that was started by Uzui long before Giyuu even became a Hashira.

It’s a get-together for anyone in the Corps — a bit of gallows humor disguised as celebration. Congratulations, you survived another six months.

The gatherings are normally at Uzui’s, a few times they were held at Rengoku’s or Kanroji’s — and exactly once at Shinazugawa’s.

Which was a total disaster.

Or at least Giyuu heard it was. It’s not as if he was there.

He’s sitting with Inosuke and Zenitsu while Nezuko is playing with Mame, trying to teach them basic math.Tanjirou is observing and hyping them up for getting the simplest subtractions right. Or wrong. Tanjirou isn’t very picky.

Giyuu is once again very worried about the kids’ education. Did no one ever teach them anything besides fighting?

Kanzaburo crashes into Giyuu, and only his quick reflexes keep the old crow from falling.

“Invite for Tomioka and his kids!”, the crow croaks — which instantly earns her a dirty look from Giyuu. Not that it’s the crow’s fault for repeating what she was told.

Giyuu takes the letter and, the moment he recognizes what it is, immediately hands it to Tanjirou. They’ve never talked about it, but Giyuu is absolutely certain that Tanjirou loves parties.

With wide eyes the boy reads the letter, before looking up with a sunny smile.

“A Corps gathering! What a great idea from Uzui–san!” He looks at Giyuu with pleading eyes. “Can we go?”

Giyuu raises an eyebrow. Why would they need his permission?

“Only if you learn double-digit addition until Friday,” he deadpans — not actually meaning it.

Inosuke and Zenitsu groan at that in equal despair. Giyuu rolls his eyes.

“No. Obviously you can go. I’m sure you’ll have fun.” Then he pauses. “Just don’t drink the alcohol Uzui will give you… actually don’t drink anything Uzui gives you.”

Tanjirou frowns. “You’ll have fun? Are we not going together?”

Slowly Giyuu shakes his head – how did Tanjirou ever get the idea that he would want to go to a social event?

“No… believe it or not, I’m not actually a party person,” he says flatly.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to the kids, but still they all pout at him. Even Nezuko, somehow, with her muzzle in her mouth — and Mame too, though she can’t possibly know what’s going on.

Zenitsu frowns, now also reading over the invite. “This says biannual… did you ever go to one of those?”

“What do you think?” Giyuu asks.

“So you get invited to this every six months and never go?” Tanjirou retorts — sounding actually upset.

Giyuu sighs, folding his hands under his chin and tilting his head.

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually a masochist. So no, I don’t feel the need to spend an entire night with people who don’t like me.”

That statement is followed by silence and Giyuu gets the feeling he said something wrong.

“Don’t like you?” Inosuke finally breaks the silence. “Who doesn’t like you? Do you want me to beat them up?!”

Giyuu blinks at him. “Uh. No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Is this because of what Kocho-san said?” Tanjirou sniffles — eyes already getting shiny — and Giyuu strongly suspects he really did say something wrong.

Although he genuinely doesn’t know what he said that would make the boy cry. But Tanjirou cries easily, so maybe it’s not his fault. Just yesterday he cried because he found a salamander that was, apparently, “just too tiny, Giyuu-san!”

“Partly,” he answers. “But even before… I’m not exactly an easy person to be around.”

“We like being around you!” Zenitsu declares — dramatic as ever.

Giyuu gives him a flat look — though he can’t help the small tug of his lips.

“Yeah. I noticed.”

After all, they don't leave him alone no matter what he tries. They even moved in with him – without his consent.

“Kanroji-san and Rengoku-san really like you too, you know that, right?” Tanjirou says cautiously.

Giyuu frowns. This assessment actually confuses him. Normally Tanjirou is really good at reading social dynamics.

“How can you not know that?” Tanjirou continues, still visibly upset. “We’re over at their estates every other week!”

Giyuu squints at him. Nezuko, in the meantime, has climbed into his lap, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Yes. Because Rengoku teaches you what I can’t. And Kanroji adores Mame.”

While talking, everyone has scooted just the tiniest bit closer to him. If he reads the room right he’s about to get multiple hugs. Abort whatever he’s doing now.

“It’s fine,” he says — a bit panicky. “I don’t care.”

Well, he cared for like one afternoon after Kocho told him — and then he decided he probably deserved it and stopped thinking about it. His go-to emotion management.

“I really don’t,” he repeats — but it’s too late. He’s already the center of an uncomfortable group hug.

“We lo—” Tanjirou starts.

“Don’t,” Giyuu cuts in, face heating. “I swear I’m going to stand up and leave.”

“But we love you,” Tanjirou says anyway.

And Giyuu stands up and leaves.

//

In the end, Giyuu agrees to go to the Corps gathering. Because — apparently — he has become a giant pushover who can’t say no to his little roommates who live with him rent-free and have become genuinely insufferable over the last week.

They’ve gotten it into their heads that Giyuu has to understand that they care about him. Which would be a nice sentiment, if they weren’t all so… unconventional about it.

Zenitsu — as a method of “bonding” — has started asking him for dating advice. Nezuko keeps making him flower crowns, which means there are now dried-up wilting flowers everywhere in the estate because he can’t bring himself to throw them out. And Inosuke brings home actual dead animals.

The only sane one is Tanjirou. But he keeps offering him hugs — which has led to Giyuu trying to hide from him as often as possible.

“She wants to do your hair,” Tanjirou explains the evening of the gathering, holding Nezuko up to his face — brush and shiny hairpins already in her hands.

She looks really determined, so he just gives in — not questioning where the pins came from.

Nezuko needs almost half an hour to do his hair. Though in her defense, it has probably been over a month since he brushed it — so the fact that she can even untangle it speaks for her capability.

By the end, the boys — and Genya, who has been over more and more lately — are all watching as she braids and pins leftover strands into place, humming contentedly.

She looks so proud of herself that Giyuu knows he won’t take it down, no matter how ridiculous it looks.

Zenitsu is the first to talk – to Nezuko, obviously.

“That looks so pretty ‘Zuko! The pins match his eyes so good!”

“Yes!”, Inosuke agrees, “you look ready for a battle!”

Giyuu stares at both of them for a moment.

“…okay.”

He stands, walks the two steps to the small mirror on the wall, and almost doesn’t recognize himself.

His hair is done up in a layered style, braids tucked and looped, now glossy strands arranged in complicated updo. The pins holding the hair in place glitter bluish and Giyuu understands what Zenitsu means when he says they match his eyes.

“Thanks, Nezuko,” he tilts his head in a small bow. “That looks very… structurally complex.”

The girl beams — and Giyuu reaches out to ruffle her hair.

But then they try to put him in different clothes, and that’s where he draws the line.

“It’s a Corps gathering. Why would I not wear my uniform? And I’m not putting on another haori — even if orange clashes with blue.”

In the end they let it go, only slightly pouting as they pull Giyuu outside — after he explains to Nezuko for the fourth time what she has to look out for while supervising Mame.

//////

Sanemi is late for the gathering. Because it’s obviously embarrassing to arrive on time to a party.

Obanai is with him — and by the time they finally step inside Uzui’s estate, there are already over a hundred Demon Slayers crowding the halls and gardens.

Uzui himself greets them at the entrance with a slap to their backs and two sake cups pressed into their hands.

“You won’t believe who showed up tonight,” Uzui grins, dragging them toward the back of the estate — where an improvised dance floor has been set up and a handful of Demon Slayers are trying to provide something that is, technically, music.

“Who?” Sanemi asks, because all he sees is a bunch of guests already pathetically drunk while it’s barely sun-down.

Humming to the music Uzui lifts his chin to point toward the lantern-lit edge of the dance floor.

“Over there.”

At first Sanemi doesn’t get who he means — he only sees Rengoku and Kanroji, both already flushed, which is not surprising at all. He’d be worried if they weren’t here or already tipsy — they’re both fucking lightweights.

Then Kanroji leans to the side and Sanemi sees who sits between them.

For a second he almost doesn’t recognize Tomioka. The fucking bane of his existence.

The Water Hashira’s normally unkempt, full head of hair is twisted up into some ridiculously elaborate festival updo. Soft locks frame his face — and for once no strands hide his eyes, the flowery blue pins in his hair complementing them.

He looks — well, he looks fucking perfect.

When Tomioka is normally already pretty enough to piss Sanemi off, now he’s so stunning that Sanemi wants nothing more than to punch him in the face. Or strangle him. He’s not picky.

Beside him Obanai gasps. “What the fuck. Since when does he leave the house for something else than to kill demons?”

Uzui laughs. “I know right? And my wives already love him so it’s certainly a shame he’s never been here before!”

As if on command, Suma leans over the bench Tomioka is sitting on and hugs him from behind. The man startles so hard his glass slips out of his hand — caught mid–air by Rengoku. Making Tomioka blush in an infuriatingly cute way.

“Where are his fucking brats?” Sanemi snarls — mostly to have a reason to look around and not keep his eyes on Tomioka. “No way he’s here voluntarily.”

Uzui laughs again, louder this time.

“No, he isn’t. His kids are around somewhere. They were really possessive of Tomioka at the beginning. I think they have a hard time trusting anyone with him.” Uzui pauses, grinning like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “It’s adorable.”

Sanemi scoffs. It’s annoying — that’s what it is. The Water Hashira is his… nemesis. He doesn’t need children to look out for him. He’s not that fucking weak.

In one go, he finishes his sake.

“I need more to drink,” he grunts, while Uzui watches him with obvious amusement.

“Why? See something that made you thirsty?”

It takes all of Sanemi’s willpower not to throw his cup at the man’s smug face.

“Shut up.”

//

Sanemi is drunk. Like really drunk. And as always it’s Tomioka’s fault. Everything is always Tomioka’s fucking fault.

Because he’s not only here with his three… adoptive sons or whatever they are, but also with Genya — who’s now sitting beside the Water Hashira, talking enthusiastically while the man smiles softly down at him. And then pats his head, which makes the boy brighten up even more.

It takes all of Sanemi’s self-control not to crush the glass in his hand.

“Dude,” Obanai says, “Tomioka pisses me off too, but don’t you think you give him a bit too much attention? Did you even listen to what I was saying?”

No, Sanemi didn’t. He didn’t even know they were having a conversation.

“Can you blame him?” Makio chirps — she must have joined them at some point of the evening while Sanemi was busy glaring at Tomioka. “Giyuu-chan is so pretty! I would never be able to ever concentrate if I worked with him!”

“Giyuu-chan?” Obanai repeats incredulously.

“That’s not it,” Sanemi snaps at the same time, “he just gets on my nerves, he’s always fucking annoying.”

Makio shrugs. “Well, I find him rather lovely. Such a beautiful soul.”

“Beautiful soul?” Obanai repeats her again. “Are we talking about the same guy?”

Makio ignores him, taking a sip of her drink, badly hiding the grin she’s throwing at Sanemi.

“But well, all the better if you’re not interested. I was thinking of inviting him for a bit of fun with my wives and husband. It’s not as if any of us is the jealous type.”

Sanemi blanks at that — and Obanai seems just as stunned.

“Do you think he would be loud?” Makio continues, tipping her chin as if in thought. “I think he would be all cute and demure.”

There is a glint in her eyes and Sanemi needs to think about something else right about now.

“I’m going to get another drink,” he blurts, before fleeing the scene.

//

Throughout the night, people have started dancing — some better and some worse. More bad than good, really… but well — everyone’s drunk, so who’s to judge?

Actually, Sanemi judges — but only because he always does. It’s one of his favorite pastimes.

At some point this evening, he found Kocho, who’s now talking his ear off about… something. Sanemi lost his ability to form clear thoughts about an hour ago.

“And that’s why I think voting rights for men might just not be the way to go, you know?” Kocho chatters, while Sanemi only nods.

“Sure.”

“So you get my point?” the woman keeps going. “Like — if you can’t even keep it in your pants when you see a woman in a short kimono, why should I trust you with the future of a country, right?”

“Totally.”

Kocho nods, satisfied — then freezes mid-inhale, staring at something over Sanemi’s shoulder.

“…oh.”

Lightly swaying, Sanemi grunts: “What.”

“Look,” she says, gripping his chin and physically turning him toward the half-full dance floor.

Where a very tipsy Rengoku is dragging an extremely flustered Tomioka into a waltz, one unsteady hand holding him by his waist.

It’s painfully obvious neither of them knows what they’re doing and even from where he’s standing Sanemi can tell Tomioka keeps trying to wriggle free — until, after the third off–beat spin, he just gives up.

And then he proves Sanemi’s theory that he fights as if he were dancing — because even though he doesn’t seem to know the steps, Tomioka’s movements get elegant and fluid, moving with the music like water with the current.

It’s just as enticing as it is to see him fight.

“I— I need to— uh,” Sanemi splutters, but then gives up and just holds up his glass and states, “Drink.”

//////

It takes Giyuu two full songs to make Rengoku finally let go. The man is the definition of a clingy drunk — which would be tolerable if not for all the attention they were attracting.

Practically passing the man to Kanroji like an overgrown golden retriever, Giyuu walks away from the music. Fast. As fast as he can walk without actually running.

Where are the kids when he needs them? Normally they won’t stop following him around — but now, when he actually wants to find them, they’re gone. Typical.

The sigh that escapes him is almost a whine as he rushes around the next corner — and runs directly into someone.

He needs a second to adjust his fuzzy mind, muttering a sorry before he focuses enough to see who he’s run into.

Shinazugawa.

Great.

A good one-sided argument is just what he needs.

//////

Up close, Tomioka is even prettier. Over the night, a few strands of hair have come loose and his lips are bitten red — a nervous habit Sanemi noticed years ago and never stopped noticing.

“Oh, Shinazugawa, sorry,” Tomioka mumbles, “I didn’t see you — could you just — uh — maybe let me through?”

Sanemi knows — somewhere under all the soft blur and slow mind — that to keep playing their endless game, he should insult the other Hashira right about now.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in closer — which makes Tomioka shrink back, though not as fast or far as he normally would.

They stumble a few steps together until Tomioka ends up pressed to the wall behind him, looking up at Sanemi wide-eyed.

And his expression isn’t blank. There’s more than nothing in the way he looks at Sanemi. More than even anger or hurt.

It doesn’t feel like a choice, but rather a need, when Sanemi presses his lips to Tomioka’s — with a lot more enthusiasm than technique.

//////

Giyuu can’t move — and not only because Shinazugawa is holding him literally in place, pinning him to the wall by the wrists — but because he’s frozen in shock.

Shinazugawa is kissing him.

His angry, abrasive coworker who never does anything but insult him… is kissing him.

What’s the etiquette here?

Giyuu has no idea, so he just keeps standing there, not moving. Not that that seems to discourage Shinazugawa.

No — if anything, the kissing gets more forceful, until Giyuu’s brain gets even fuzzier, now from the lack of air.

And then, before he has to actively push Shinazugawa off him, the other man lets go — and they’re back to staring at each other.

Well — Shinazugawa is staring, while Giyuu tries to look everywhere but at the Wind Hashira.

“You look like water,” Shinazugawa finally states.

Then he gives a nod — as if that was everything that needed to be said — and just walks away.

Leaving Giyuu still rooted in place and wondering what the fuck just happened. This can’t just be him misreading a social situation. This has to be weird.

//

To Giyuu’s endless relief — and maybe because the universe decided to finally cut him a break — it doesn’t take long to find the kids. They catch on instantly that he needs to leave. Now.

“Are you drunk, Giyuu–san?” Zenitsu asks, as they walk side-by-side.

“No,” Giyuu says simply. Which is true. That one-sided, completely unexpected make-out session with Shinazugawa sobered him up in an instant.

He glances at Genya. What would the boy say if he knew Giyuu had just kissed his brother? …or was kissed by his brother? Does that distinction even matter?

A headache is already forming — and not because of the hangover that’s probably waiting for him tomorrow.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” Zenitsu adds.

“I can’t,” he deadpans. Which is also true — he’s never danced before tonight.

Before Zenitsu can continue the interrogation, Giyuu quickens his pace until he’s beside Tanjirou.
For a moment, it’s quiet. Tanjiro smiles at him, patient as always, while Giyuu tries to figure out how to phrase the question without sounding insane.

“Tanjirou…” he starts cautiously.

“Yes, Giyuu–san?” Tanjirou prompts, encouraging.

“Uh,” Giyuu mutters, staring at the ground, “what do you — what does it mean when someone tells you you look like water?”

Tanjirou stops walking. Inosuke runs right into his back. Tanjirou blinks at him.

“Eh… what?”

Giyuu hums, satisfied. So it wasn’t just him. That genuinely was a weird interaction.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Giyuu is sent on a mission — which, after last night, he might have been thankful for, if Tanjirou, Inosuke, and Zenitsu weren’t also being sent on one. A different one. Without him.

They’re supposed to assist Rengoku in investigating a train, and while Giyuu fully trusts Rengoku, it’s still hard for him. The kids haven’t gone on a mission without him since moving in.

“Do you have everything?” Giyuu asks, kneeling in front of Mame and trying to button her jacket.

“Yes, we have,” Tanjirou answers.

Giyuu glances up. “Inosuke, put on a shirt.”

“What? No! That’s not manly at all!”

Giyuu raises an eyebrow. “But freezing is manly?”

The boy grumbles but still trudges off to his room to find something to wear.

“Did you pack food for the way?” Giyuu asks, fingers working at the buttons of Mame’s jacket as she refuses to hold still.

“Yes, we have,” Zenitsu says, amused.

“Do you have—”

“Yes, we have, Giyuu-san,” Tanjirou interrupts him.

“You’re such a mom,” Zenitsu snorts.

Giyuu glares at him. “And you’re so original.”

Inosuke has been calling him Mom (derogatory) for weeks now.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Tanjirou reassures. “It’s really nice, actually.”

Giyuu scoffs but doesn’t say anything else.

“By the way,” Zenitsu starts, “was something going on with Shinazugawa-san and you yesterday?”

Giyuu almost rips off a button as he chokes on air. “Eh—what? No. Why do you ask?”

It’s not a very believable denial, but Zenitsu doesn’t seem to think too much of it.

“Oh, just— I ran into Genya this morning,” Zenitsu says. “He told me his brother was in a real mood. Not his usual angry mood or hangover thing, but something completely different — something he’s never seen before.” He shrugs. “And, well, I just thought maybe you had something to do with it. When Shinazugawa’s acting strange, it’s usually because of you.”

Giyuu stops fiddling with the buttons. Is that true? Is he always the reason? And if he is… what does that mean?

“No. Nope. No idea what his problem is,” he mutters.

Zenitsu just hums, but Tanjirou gives Giyuu a doubtful look. Giyuu ignores him and finally finishes buttoning up Mame’s jacket.

“What mission are you going on, anyway?” Inosuke asks, emerging from his room.

Giyuu shrugs, lifting Mame up onto his shoulders — she’s taken quite a liking to it, probably because it gives her even better access to his hair on her ongoing mission to rip it out.

“A village in the east has a demon problem. I’m supposed to investigate it with Tokitou,” he answers. “Honestly, it doesn’t sound that bad, but the Master said he’s worried about him and wanted me to check if everything’s alright…”

Without thinking, he straightens Tanjirou’s collar.

“Though I have no idea why he thought I was the right person to look after a distressed teenager.”

That earns him three synchronized head tilts and equally disbelieving looks — which is fair.

“That’s different!” Giyuu blurts, flustered. “You just… kept following me around!”

“Uh-huh,” they all say in unison, and even Nezuko pokes her head out of the wooden box to give Giyuu a look that’s halfway amused, halfway incredulous.

He glares at them, turns on his heel, and heads for the door.

“Whatever.”

//

Rengoku is already waiting for them at the gate of the Fire Estate when they arrive — grinning as wide as always.

Giyuu isn’t surprised that he’s a morning person, or that he somehow shows no sign of the hangover he should have after how drunk he was yesterday. He probably went for a run at dawn to get rid of it. Or something similarly atrocious.

“Friends!” Rengoku greets, his voice bright and booming. “Good to see you all well! I’m quite excited for our mission together!”

Tanjirou waves, mirroring the Fire Hashira’s enthusiasm, while Giyuu gives a polite nod.

“Rengoku.”

The other man’s smile falters for a moment when their eyes meet, and if Giyuu had to guess, he’d say Rengoku almost looks… embarrassed.

Giyuu blinks. “…Is everything okay?”

“Ah, yes,” Rengoku says slowly — uncertainly. Giyuu didn’t think the Fire Hashira was capable of uncertainty.

“It was brought to my attention,” Rengoku continues, “that I may have made you uncomfortable yesterday when I tried to dance with you.”

Giyuu instantly flushes at the memory. With the whole Shinazugawa situation, he’d already managed to forget that part of the evening.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says stiffly.

Beside him, Tanjirou is stifling a laugh behind his hand — because he’s considerate like that — while Zenitsu and Inosuke are full-on cackling. Which makes Mame giggle, too.

Why is he worried about them again?

Rengoku shakes his head, frowning in earnest.

“No. I made a friend uncomfortable. That’s inexcusable!” he declares. “So I spent all morning thinking about how to make it up to you!”

“Really, don’t worry about it,” Giyuu repeats quickly. If anyone should be apologizing to him for last night, it’s certainly not Rengoku.

But the man ignores him, already pulling something from his pocket. He beams. “I made this myself! I hope you like it!”

Tilting his head, Giyuu inspects the small object in his hand — a braided fabric bracelet, woven from orange and blue ribbons and finished with a single shiny pearl.

“Uh. Thank you,” he says, giving Rengoku a tiny, uncertain smile.

Beside him, Tanjirou gasps. “Is that a friendship bracelet?”

Rengoku brightens immediately, practically vibrating with excitement. Like a golden retriever, Giyuu thinks — remembering last night.

“It is! Can I put it on you, Tomioka?”

His eyes are glittering, and really, the only thing missing is the wagging tail. How could Giyuu possibly say no to that?

It’s a kind gesture — unnecessary, but nice.

“Sure.”

Somehow, the other Hashira is even more excited after fastening the bracelet around Giyuu’s wrist. Giyuu is just thankful it’s not hugging time.

“So,” he says, turning to Inosuke, Zenitsu, Tanjirou — and, so too, Nezuko — “we talked about this. If anything happens — anything at all — send me a crow, yes? I don’t care what it is—”

“—or how minor it may seem,” they chime in together, “you want us to notify you.”

“We know,” Tanjirou says brightly.

“Yes, you told us about twenty times already,” Inosuke mutters.

Zenitsu raises an eyebrow. “Since when can you count to twenty?”

Laughing loudly, Rengoku throws an arm around Giyuu, who instantly stiffens. “Don’t worry, Tomioka! I’ll take good care of your kids, I promise! I know how dear they are to you!”

Frowning, Giyuu mumbles, “They aren’t my kids.”

The other Hashira ignores him.

And then it’s actually hugging time. Which Giyuu doesn’t dislike quite as much as he did three months ago.

“You take care of yourself too, alright?” Tanjirou says — slightly threatening. “Just because we’re not there doesn’t mean you get to skip meals.”

“Or breaks!” Zenitsu adds.

“Or—” Inosuke starts, but Giyuu cuts him off.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

He rolls his eyes — a bit too fondly.

“Just don’t—” die “—do anything stupid. And be good for Rengoku,” he says, waving back as they split up.

It doesn’t even take five minutes before he starts worrying. This mission is going to be a nightmare.

//

Giyuu meets up with Tokitou after dropping Mame off at Kanroji’s. The boy stares at him as blankly as he seems to stare at everything — always reminding Giyuu faintly of himself.

“Are you who I’m supposed to meet up with?” Tokito asks, voice light and airy.

Giyuu nods. “I’m Tomioka. The Water Hashira.”

It’s no surprise the Mist Hashira doesn’t remember him. They’ve had little — if any — actual interaction so far, and even if they had, Giyuu knows it’s normal for the boy not to remember, no matter how many meetings they’ve attended together.

Tokitou hums and falls into step beside him without hesitation. “And why are you here?”

“We’re assigned to a mission together,” Giyuu explains. “Three children have gone missing in a village to the east. Yato.”

“Okay,” Tokitou says simply — and doesn’t elaborate.

Giyuu falters for a step, unable to stop himself from comparing the boy to his own little roommates.

Even Genya is livelier than Tokitou — even if he expresses that liveliness mostly through anger. Must be a family thing.

“Are you… familiar with Yato?” Giyuu asks. Stupidly.

Why would Tokitou know some random village in the middle of nowhere when he can’t even remember his own colleagues?

“No.”

Tokitou's answer is immediate and flat. No curiosity, no confusion, nothing. Just a simple, unbothered denial.

Giyuu inhales slowly. This is going to be a long mission.

They walk beside each other in silence for almost half a day, and Giyuu is freaking out. Internally. Externally, he hasn’t moved a facial muscle in hours.

So far, Tokitou has asked him the same two questions six separate times. Who he is and why he’s here.

He can totally see why the Master is worried about him. But what is Giyuu supposed to do about this? Tokitou doesn’t need an emotionally stunted adult — he needs a therapist. And a lot of sessions.

“We should take a break,” Giyuu finally says, noticing that Tokito has started panting slightly.

He really should’ve caught that earlier. The kid is—what, fourteen? Zenitsu would have started complaining after a third of the distance.

Tokito shakes his head. “No. It’s fine. We can keep going.”

Giyuu sighs. “Ehm. No. I need a break.”

He looks around the barren forest they’re walking through until he spots a patch of dry ground.

“Over there is a good spot. We can sit for a moment, okay?”

Tokitou tilts his head at him. “Should you really have become a Hashira if you can’t even walk for a day?”

Great. This is the moment he decides to remember something and it’s how long they’ve been walking. He really hopes Tokitou never has long conversations with Shinazugawa.

Giyuu winces. No. Not thinking about him.

“Yeah, no, I don’t think I should be a Hashira,” he agrees flatly before ushering Tokitou toward the dry patch of ground to sit down.

Tokitou does not have anything with him — either to eat or drink. When Giyuu asks him when he ate last, he says he can’t remember.

Which could mean he hasn’t eaten in days or had a feast for breakfast. Giyuu ends up giving him almost all of his provisions either way. And then, after eating in more awkward silence, Tokitou falls asleep and looks content for the first time that day.

Which is just sad.

Giyuu doesn’t have the heart to wake him. So he spends the rest of the afternoon carrying hundred pounds of teenager through the countryside.

//

When Tokitou wakes up, he’s already lying on the bed in a slightly shabby inn, with Giyuu sitting beside him, going through the records Yato has of the occurrences from the last weeks.

“Good morning,” he greets the boy, who sits up as vacant as he does anything else.

“…who are you again?” comes the instant question.

“I’m Tomioka. Though I think after being the reason I’m gonna have chronic back pain at twenty-one, you can call me Giyuu.”

“Giyuu,” Tokitou repeats slowly. “I like that name.”

Giyuu blinks. That’s the first thing Tokitou has said that isn’t either completely emotionally void or vaguely insulting.

“Thanks. I like your name too.”

Tokitou hums, tilts his head, and looks around as if taking in the scratchy blanket that has fallen off him as he sat up, and his shoes standing neatly under the bed. Giyuu thinks he might know he hasn’t been the one to pull up the blanket or take off his shoes. Or maybe he doesn’t, and it’s just wishful thinking.

“You can call me Muichirou then.”

Giyuu nods. “Thanks.”

Then he explains what he has found out so far, because even if he might have become slightly more in touch with his emotions, he cannot do trauma-talk or small-talk. And Muichirou does not seem the type either.

“So, the babies killed in the last weeks have all been freshly newborns,” Giyuu says. “I think we’re looking for a demon who was female in her life. Probably lost her child.”

“Okay,” Muichirou says, just taking his words at face value. “Do you know where we’ll find her?”

“No,” Giyuu admits, “but I don’t think she’s a very strong demon. There’s only one victim per night, and only every three days. It won’t be hard to find her.”

Sending two Hashira here was total overkill. The Master must be really worried for Muichirou.

“But first,” Giyuu continues, “let’s go get you something to eat, okay?”

Muichirou nods.

“Okay. Giyuu.”

//

Like Giyuu thought, finding the demon isn’t very hard. The only thing he predicted wrong is that it’s not a mother who lost her children in her past life. Instead, it’s a mother with children. Demon children. Children who seem almost incapable of fighting for themselves.

Muichirou doesn’t seem to feel or think anything when he cuts them down. He looks just as emotionless as Giyuu is always told he himself is. But the Mist Hashira’s sword style is impeccable.

It comes out as instinct when Giyuu reaches up, ruffles his hair, and says, “That was really good.”

The boy looks at him wide-eyed, and Giyuu wonders when someone last told him he did something good — or when he last remembers someone saying it.

Back in Yato they speak with the village head and explain that the demon is dead, and then they talk to the families whose babies died — families who either thank them or hate them for being too late.

It all washes over Giyuu, not really affecting him anymore. He doesn’t think it affects Muichirou either, but he still tries to shield the boy from the worst of it.

At the end, when they make their way back toward the Ubuyashiki Estate, Muichirou stares at him completely bewildered — as if Giyuu is something he doesn’t understand at all. He hasn’t forgotten who he is or what his name is in almost a whole day.

They don’t talk. Even if they came to some kind of quiet understanding — at least Giyuu thinks they have — neither of them is a big talker.

When Muichirou takes his hand, Giyuu stumbles and almost runs into a tree. Which does not seem to bother the boy at all. He actually acts like this is something they’ve always done.

So Giyuu tries to act that way too.

The crow lands on his shoulder, and Giyuu instantly knows it’s bad news. After all, isn’t it always bad news?

“Urgent message for Tomioka Giyuu! You are needed at the Mugen Train! Message from Zenitsu Agatsuma: Please, we need help! Tanjirou is in danger!”

Giyuu’s heart stops for a moment before beating faster than he can ever remember it doing, like it’s trying to jump out of his chest.

“I have to go now,” he says, already scanning the forest and mentally charting the fastest route. He knows where the kids are — obviously he knows. He knows their mission inside out, and no matter how fast he is, it will take at least one and a half hours to get there.

“What?” Muichirou asks. Giyuu isn’t sure if he even registered the crow’s message.

“The Mugen Train. I have to go. Now,” Giyuu says more urgently, letting go of the boy’s hand.

“Why do you have to go there?” Muichirou asks.

Giyuu frowns, unsure how to explain the complete emotional chaos he’s feeling — the self-blame for ever letting the kids go alone, the spiraling worry that feels like too much emotion for one single person to carry.

“Because there are people I need to protect. People that need me right now,” he says.

Muichirou tilts his head. He looks… almost hurt.

“Don’t you want to protect me?”

The question is so simple, so flat — so unfitting for a boy who can barely remember his name for longer than a few hours. Who barely knows who Giyuu is. A question that speaks of such a deep, unspoken need for love and care.

Putting on the best smile he can muster — it must look awful — Giyuu reaches out and ruffles the boy’s hair.

“I want to protect you too. But right now, there’s someone — multiple someones — who need me more.”

Muichiro studies him for a long moment before nodding once.

“I understand. Then I’m going back and getting help for you,” he says. Then he pauses. “Don’t get hurt, Giyuu.”

Giyuu returns the nod before turning away.

It’s going to hurt when they meet again and Muichirou has no idea who he is.

//

The Mugen Train barely looks like a train anymore when Giyuu arrives. The compartments are shattered, the once-impressive vehicle derailed and split open, glass glittering everywhere. Corpses lie between the remnants of the wreck, and survivors cling to their lifeless loved ones.

Giyuu ignores all of it. His eyes instantly find Inosuke and Zenitsu lying unconscious at the side. Hurt, but breathing — he’ll tend to them later.

Because the real danger comes from a presence a little further from the train, where he can see fire cutting through the darkness.

Rengoku’s fire. And Tanjirou… Giyuu can feel Tanjirou, his specific breathing style stuttering with pain and panic.

He rushes toward the fight as fast as he can. Only just stopping himself from freezing in place because—the Upper Three is incredible. In the worst possible way.

Rengoku is not a weak demon slayer. He’s strong and determined and so, so brave.
But the Upper Three moves fast and precise, hands slicing through the air easily, cutting everything in their way and grinning that specific grin only demons wear — hungry, vicious and delighted.

Then Giyuu sees Tanjirou — kneeling in the dirt a few meters away, clutching his stomach, trying to stand and failing, shouting Rengoku’s name with a voice that keeps breaking.
And everything else stops mattering.

He’s in front of Tanjirou in the blink of an eye, steadying the boy who deflates as soon as he’s in Giyuu’s arms, tears springing in his eyes but looking so relieved.

“Giyuu-san,” he mutters. Voice soft but suddenly not hopeless anymore, as if he knows everything will be okay now. Giyuu is here, so everything will be fine.

Giyuu doesn’t know if he deserves that trust. Still, he nods at the boy.

“Good work, Tanjirou,” he whispers. “I’ll handle the rest.”

Tanjirou gives a single weak nod, and then his eyes fall close. Giyuu lowers him to the ground with all the gentleness he has.

Then he turns to the real fight, where Rengoku is giving everything he has but is still losing.
It’s obvious he’s not fighting to win anymore — he’s fighting to survive until the sun comes up.

Giyuu draws his sword.

Rengoku’s flames lash across the clearing, bright, while the demon laughs — loud and unsettling.

The Flame Hashira staggers, and it feels like slow motion when Giyuu shoots forward, slicing the demon’s hand off before it can connect.

Water meets fire, and an almost annoyed hiss slips from the demon.

Rengoku startles when Giyuu is suddenly in front of him, but Giyuu doesn’t dare turn around.

“That’s enough,” he says — quiet but certain. “Go look after Tanjirou. I’ll take it from here.”

He doesn’t know if his colleague listens. His eyes never leave the demon, who takes the sudden change of opponent in stride, cackling as he hacks at where Giyuu’s face was a second ago.

“Who are you?” the demon taunts. “You think you’re stronger than Kyoujurou? He and I were just becoming friends — it makes me a bit angry that you got between us!”

Giyuu ignores him as they exchange blows. Fighting the Upper Three feels like he has to know where the demon will strike three attacks from now while still defending against the first one.

Again and again he cuts off his opponent’s hands or feet, but the regeneration is too fast.

“Though I’ve gotta say, you might be faster,” the demon chirps. “And prettier.”

Giyuu grunts. Compliments from an Upper Rank demon are exactly what he needs right now.

He’s only just fast enough to dodge when his opponent kicks upward and swings his arm back at the same time.

He’s already six forms into Water Breathing, and — as always when a fight drags on — the surroundings begin to blur and slow. Giyuu’s entire focus narrows to his own steps, his breaths, and the danger in front of him.

Only now he can’t help but also sense Tanjirou behind him. Every move Giyuu makes is meant to keep the demon’s attention locked on him, to pull the threat away from the kid.

“I just realized we haven’t even introduced ourselves”, the demon says, sounding thoroughly entertained, “I’m Akaza, it’s an honor to meet you.”

Giyuu doesn’t answer.

The demon shakes his head in disappointment. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore someone? Come on, tell me your name, pretty boy?”

Another jump to the side. Another dodge.

“Tenth Form: Constant Flux.”

Akaza laughs brightly as both of his arms are ripped off at the same time — and then Giyuu makes the mistake of looking back at Tanjirou for just a second. Not even turning his head fully. But it’s enough.

“Ohh, I understand,” Akaza sing-songs. “That’s even better than your name! Is that boy your reason to fight? Isn’t that adorable!”

For the first time, Giyuu’s breath falters — just slightly — and suddenly Akaza’s mouth is almost at his ear, his lips grazing his cheek.

“I’ll make you a deal,” the demon purrs. “You come with me as a demon and I’ll spare your child. Hm?”

Akaza cackles and vanishes from in front of him, reappearing behind Giyuu in the same breath — aiming straight for Tanjirou.

Giyuu moves without thinking, throwing himself between them just as the demon’s fist slams into his side with a sound that feels like his ribs shattering.

He feels the first sunlight on his skin — Akaza over him hisses as it burns.

“’Til then, pretty boy,” Akaza gets out, winking before he disappears between the trees.

Giyuu falls to his knees. Breathing is hard. Has breathing always been this hard?

His vision flickers, and there are voices.

Tanjirou is in front of him. He’s crying. Why is he crying?

Giyuu tries to lift his hand to the boy’s face, to tell him everything will be fine.

But he can’t move. He can’t even feel his hands. Does he still have hands?

He’s being lifted up, not by Tanjirou but by someone bigger, stronger. Rengoku. But he can still only see the boy.

He thinks there might be tears in his eyes too. Because he never told them. He never told them that he loves them.

Before everything goes dark, a single thought flickers through his mind: Shinazugawa will yell at him for this. After all Shinazugawa is always yelling at him.

Chapter Text

Giyuu’s warm when he wakes. Almost too warm—just a hint away from uncomfortable. And there’s something wet on his neck, a sensation he knows way too well by now.

Mame is drooling on him.

He groans slightly, which sends a sharp pain through his body, and his eyes snap open.

It’s dark. Not pitch-black—just dim, the way it is at night when someone still needs to come home before the lights can be turned off.

The first thing Giyuu notices is that he’s not at the Water Estate. The room around him is bigger than anything at his house, and the blanket covering him is a little too soft. Still, he knows exactly where he is.

The Butterfly Estate. The infirmary in the Butterfly Estate specifically.

And just as he thought, Mame is lying on his chest, drooling. Her soft orange hair tickles his nose. But she’s not the only one in the infirmary.

On his left side lies Nezuko, snoring faintly and nuzzling into his shoulder. On the right, Tanjirou is slumped forward in a chair, arms crossed on the empty bed space beside Giyuu, his head resting on them.

And on the infirmary bed next over lie Inosuke and Zenitsu. Both talking in their sleep—luckily too incomprehensible for Giyuu to understand. He does not want to know what either of them is dreaming.

One of his almost-smiles tugs at Giyuu’s lips before he remembers what happened.

Akaza. Rengoku. Inosuke and Zenitsu unconscious. And Tanjirou—Tanjirou was hurt.

His heart speeds up. He tries to sit up—careful not to disturb Mame—so he can get a better look at Tanjirou.

Sitting up hurts. Which is not a surprise, because – as Giyuu realizes now - half of his chest is wrapped in bandages. His eyes fly to his hands. Still there. Still usable. Good.

Because right now, he needs them.

As carefully as he can, he turns Tanjirou’s head so he can see his face. Even though he can feel the boy’s breath on his skin, he has to see his face to know he’s okay.

The infirmary blankets have left fine lines on Tanjirou’s forehead, and his eyes are slightly red, but apart from that he looks alright—maybe a bit cold.

Giyuu will scold him later for not lying in his own bed, but for now he’s just happy all his little roommates are alright. He frowns. He hopes Rengoku is alright too. But as far as he could tell, the Fire Hashira seemed mostly fine—just overexhausted.

He wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t arrived when he did.

Then a faint whimper breaks the silence. Instantly, Giyuu’s attention snaps back to Tanjirou as the boy twitches in his sleep, turning his head from left to right. He whimpers again.

“Giyuu-san…”

Giyuu’s heart hurts. As softly as he can, he runs a hand through Tanjirou’s hair and mutters, “I’m alright, Tanjirou.”

//////

Sanemi is… not angry. For once. Or, well, not only angry at least. Because he’s also confused.

And—as always—it’s Tomioka’s fault. Though Sanemi isn’t really sure if it’s actually his coworker’s fault, or if it’s his emotions toward his coworker’s fault.

The last two days were… messy.

First, he wakes up after that damn Corps Gathering with the very clear memory of kissing the Water Hashira—and not hating it. Not hating it at all. Actually, the more he remembers, the more he realizes how much he did not hate kissing Tomioka. And then he remembers the disoriented look on the other Hashira’s face. And feels guilty.

Just because Tomioka is an ass doesn’t mean Sanemi—or anyone—should get to take advantage of him.

So, he decides he has to apologize. Already a very big step. Sanemi can’t remember the last time he apologized to someone. Problem here: he hates Tomioka’s guts, so how is he supposed to know how to apologize to him?

Which leads to him talking to Genya, because there isn’t a better person who is close to both him and Tomioka. Sanemi even tells him he wants to apologize to Tomioka—though not what for. Which definitely takes Genya aback at first, but then he seems to think of it as a great idea.

And what follows is at least an hour of why Tomioka is such a great person and all the ways in which Sanemi has been an asshole to him. And that coming from his own brother—someone who is basically genetically forced to be on his side!

It’s unnecessary to say that Genya does not help at all. Instead, Sanemi leaves slightly more confused and a lot more pissed off.

Especially because he recognizes that a lot of the things Genya adores Tomioka for are things Genya wants from Sanemi. And none of them take any special skill.

It actually sounds like Tomioka just… listens to Genya. Explains things when he doesn’t understand them. Tells him when he does something good.
And cooks—very badly, if Genya is to be believed, which Sanemi absolutely wants to believe. Tomioka can’t possibly be perfect at everything he does.

Apart from that, the Water Hashira also seems to be a giant mother hen. Sanemi has no idea what he’s supposed to do with that information.

A traitorous part of his brain reminds him that he is actually a great cook.

Next, after Genya was no help at all, Sanemi goes to the next best person. Kochou.

Her and Tomioka are kind of close. Or were once?
Their relationship confuses Sanemi. Sometimes Kochou is downright cruel to the Water Hashira, and sometimes she seems almost protective of him.

He could probably go to Rengoku or Kanroji, but their relentless cheerfulness annoys him. And he’s pretty sure Rengoku isn't even home right now—off on some mission somewhere.

“You want to know what…?” Kochou asks slowly, eyebrows raised as if she’s not sure she heard him right.

Sanemi rolls his eyes. “Just tell me why you don’t like Tomioka.”

Kochou hums, sipping her tea while Sanemi ignores the cup in front of him.

“And you suddenly want to know that now… why again?”

Sanemi clicks his tongue.

“Does it matter?”

The woman gives him a long, contemplative glance before shrugging and setting her teacup down.

“I guess not.”

“Great,” Sanemi snarls, “then just tell me why you think Tomioka is an asshole.”

That statement does not seem to sit right with Kochou at all—her expression shifts from amused to upset.

“I don’t dislike him, and I don’t think he’s an asshole,” she finally admits. Then, quieter: “I think he needs to open up.”

Sanemi eyes her skeptically, thinking of all the times she called Tomioka dense or insufferable, to his face and behind his back.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing that.”

She flinches, looking almost guilty now—and it clicks for Sanemi.

“You wanted to be the one he opens up to.”

And when he didn’t, the woman felt stung in her ego and started lashing out at Tomioka. Sanemi sighs.

“Well, that’s pretty childish.”

Kochou glares at him.

“Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re any better,” she snaps. “You hate him just because he doesn’t give you the attention you want.”

“That’s not true”, Sanemi growls back.

But… isn’t it? Doesn’t he dislike Tomioka because he always acts as if he’s better than him, refusing to lower himself to speak with the common crowd.

But if the Water Hashira really just has a problem with opening up…

Sanemi feels a headache forming.

“Oh, fuck this.”

Even without looking back, he can feel Kochou’s judging, unimpressed glare burning into the back of his neck as he storms out.

Then, two days later, his absolute dickhead of a colleague has the audacity to come back from not even his—but Rengoku’s—mission, half-dead in the Fire Hashira’s arms, with his kindergarten crying at his feet.

And that right after Sanemi had actually considered that he might be a person. With feelings.

This all together finally leads him here, standing in front of the infirmary of the Butterfly Estate, pondering if he should go in.

Because while he came to the decision to apologize, this is still Tomioka. And coming to his sickbed? That makes Sanemi seem weak. As if he were actually worried.

He groans. This is all so stupid. It’s not as if the Water Hashira cares. He probably doesn’t even remember the kiss. And it’s not as if he ever lost sleep over Sanemi being an asshole to him. Sanemi is an asshole to everyone anyway. It’s not as if Tomioka is anything special.

Sanemi is just about to turn around and walk away again when he hears a voice from inside the infirmary and halts. Because it’s not Tomioka’s voice. Or Kochou’s. Or any of the brats.

It’s Rengoku.

Sanemi wrinkles his nose. Are they that close of friends now that the Fire Hashira has to sit at Tomioka’s bedside? Hold his hand while he’s sick? Disgusting.

He really should walk away now. There’s no way Sanemi is going to try talking to Tomioka with anyone else in the room. And it’s not as if he gives a fuck what those two have to discuss.

Sanemi steps closer to the door anyway. He still can’t hear what they’re saying. And then, with full awareness that he’s being ridiculous, he opens the door just a crack.

The infirmary looks just like Sanemi remembers. Multiple beds lined up, wooden floors, and a subtle flower pattern on the walls.

Only the bed Tomioka is lying in is occupied and the only one in the room beside him is Rengoku.

He’s sitting on the guest chair beside the Water Hashira, completely focused on the other man. In his hands, Rengoku holds flowers—fire lilies, to be exact. When he speaks, Sanemi almost doesn’t register it as the Fire Hashira’s voice at all, it’s so much calmer and quieter than usual.

“Tomioka, my friend,” he begins, “from the bottom of my heart, I want to say thank you and apologize.”

Rengoku bows as deeply as one can bow while sitting. Tomioka looks incredibly uncomfortable. He’s propped up against the headboard, blanket pulled up to his chin, and seems to be seriously considering disappearing under it.

“Not only did I need you to save my life, I also wasn’t able to protect the children you entrusted to me. And then you got hurt because I wasn’t good enough. There’s nothing I can ever do to make that right again.”

The Fire Hashira looks distressed—almost shattered. What a wimp. No one even died.

“It’s all good, Rengoku,” Tomioka chokes out, “please stop bowing. Please.”

Rengoku lifts his head but doesn’t stop looking crestfallen.

“It is not all good, Tomioka, and it pains me that you would dismiss your suffering so easily. You are most important, and if you were to hate me, I would understand.”

Tomioka almost whines.

“I don’t hate you. I know you would have done the same. Could we stop this conversation here?”

The Fire Hashira nods at the first part but ignores the last entirely.

“I would. But that does not lessen your heroic feats!”

“Mhm,” Tomioka hums, forced. “Thanks.”

“You are a wonderful person,” Rengoku continues, “and I’m honored to call you my friend. As a sign of our bond, I brought you these flowers. They stand for devotion, and for the protection I will always offer you.”

Tomioka flushes bright red as he takes the flowers.

“Cool. Thanks, Rengoku.”

If this were any other situation—or just a few days ago—Sanemi would have thought he was being ungrateful with his clipped answers. But in this specific exchange, it’s just too obvious that Tomioka is nothing but extremely embarrassed.

“It would be my honor if you started calling me Kyoujurou,” the Fire Hashira says.

Tomioka nods, staring at the flowers instead of at Rengoku.

“Sure. Thanks. You can call me Giyuu too—if you want, I mean.”

Rengoku bows again, and Tomioka whimpers quietly.

“It will be my greatest pleasure to do so.”

When he lifts his head, eyes fixed on the Water Hashira once more, he truly looks devoted. Meanwhile Tomioka tries to hide as much of his face behind his hair as possible.

Rengoku opens his mouth again, and that’s when Sanemi decides he has had enough, throwing the door open with as much consideration as he does everything.

“Tomioka, what the fuck are you doing?” he snaps, ignoring Rengoku.

Tomioka instantly deflates when he sees Sanemi, but not in a positive way. If the Fire Hashira’s attention flustered him, he now just looks tired.

Rengoku, meanwhile, seems displeased at Sanemi’s entry. Which is new. Sanemi didn’t think he could ever not be happy to have as many people as possible around.

“Currently, I’m lying in a bed,” Tomioka answers dryly.

“Shinazugawa,” Rengoku says, “Giyuu and I were just having a conversation. Would you mind coming back later?”

Sanemi gives him a dirty look. He does not like him calling the Water Hashira by his given name.

“Yeah, well, conversation’s over. I’m talking with Tomioka now.”

Rengoku raises an eyebrow.

“And why do you want to, if I may ask?”

He sounds almost protective. And why the fuck do people keep thinking Tomioka needs protection from Sanemi?

“Well, you may fucking not,” Sanemi snaps.

Rengoku crosses his arms while Tomioka watches with an expression somewhere between uninvolved — despite being the topic of the argument — and fed up.

“Giyuu isn’t well. I think you might upset him, and that’s the last thing he needs right now,” Rengoku says, sounding like a teacher explaining something to a particularly dense student.

“I’m sure Giyuu can decide for himself if he’ll live through the horror that is my presence for a few minutes,” Sanemi growls.
And then immediately regrets saying it. What if Tomioka says no?

Rengoku draws a breath to speak, but Tomioka cuts in first.

“Kyoujurou, it’s okay,” he says calmly. “I can handle Shinazugawa on my own.”

Rengoku frowns — clearly not happy.

“Are you sure?”

A smile tugs at Tomioka’s lips, and Sanemi kind of wants to punch him. Or Rengoku.
Tomioka has never smiled at anything Sanemi has said.

“I’m sure, really.”

Still obviously displeased but hopefully remembering that Tomioka is a fully grown adult who does not need anyone to hold his hand, Rengoku nods.

“Okay,” he smiles, “then I’ll see you later.”

He nods at Sanemi on his way out of the infirmary, but — luckily — doesn’t say anything else.
Sanemi is pretty sure he would have started an actual brawl if the man told him to “be nice”.

Sanemi glares after the man, before walking forward and letting himself fall into the guest chair.

It’s silent for a moment. They take each other in — Sanemi checking how badly Tomioka is hurt, and Tomioka probably trying to figure out what the hell Sanemi is doing here. It’s not as if Sanemi has ever before come by after he got hurt on a mission.

“Are you good?”, Sanemi finally asks curtly.

Tomioka nods and carefully sets the flowers he’s still holding onto the nightstand beside him. “Yeah, it’s really not that bad. Everyone is overreacting.”

“No wonder”, Sanemi responds, “you look like shit.”

Which is not true. Sure, Tomioka is a bit paler than normal and his hair is even more of a mess than usual but he’s still infuriatingly pretty. And not for the first time Sanemi notices that there’s a light in the other Hashira’s eyes that has been missing before.

“If you say so”, Tomioka simply answers.

“Yes, I do”, Sanemi snaps back. And, god, he’s already fucking this up, isn’t he?

Tomioka rolls his eyes. “Is that everything you wanted?”

Sanemi takes a deep breath to calm himself down. He’s here for a reason. He has a mission and he’s going to complete it.

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not.”

And then it’s quiet again. Because what should come next is an apology. Which is just asking for a lot. Even if Sanemi is asking himself.

Tomioka raises an eyebrow. “Then why are you here?”

Just the eyebrow raise is already enough again to annoy Sanemi but for once he holds himself back.

“Uh. I’m here because… do you remember the Corps gathering?”, he starts.

From one moment to the next, Tomioka goes bright red.

“Uh. No. Nope. I was really drunk. Forgot the whole evening. Why?”, he says fast and high.

Sanemi is not impressed.

“You’re aware you suck at lying, yeah?”

The Water Hashira doesn’t respond. Instead, he suddenly finds the fabric of his cotton yukata—Kochou’s standard infirmary clothes—the most fascinating thing in the world. It’s too big on him and keeps slipping off his shoulders.

Sanemi sighs.

“Whatever. I just—I wanted to say sorry. I shouldn’t have just—you know—kissed you.”

He’s certain he’s bright red now too.

“Not without asking you. That was a dick move. Sorry.”

Still not looking up, Tomioka shrugs.

“It’s fine. I don’t care.”

Sanemi could let it stand like this. He’s done his duty and could walk out with a clean conscience. He doesn’t.

“Fuck. No,” he grumbles, almost a murmur. “It’s not fine. That was not okay.”

Tomioka doesn’t react, still fiddling with his kimono and really, really testing Sanemi’s patience. He clicks his tongue and keeps going.

“It also… I might—these last years, maybe, sometimes I wasn’t really nice to you,” he forces out between his teeth. “And I wanted to say sorry for that too.”

Finally, Tomioka lifts his head, eyes wide and looking completely taken aback. Which is fair. Sanemi didn’t think he was capable of this apology either.

So, obviously, he instantly has to ruin it.

“It’s just that you’re always acting so fucking aloof and unbothered. As if nothing touches you or affects you. It drives me freaking crazy. You drive me fucking crazy,” he rushes through in one breath, “and then you adopt those fucking kids and suddenly you have emotions.”

His eyes never leave Tomioka’s blue ones as he rambles on. Have they always been that blue? They look like the sea.

“And then on that shitty party you looked so goddamn pretty and then you were dancing with Rengoku and—and you drive me fucking crazy,” he repeats.

Tomioka looks extremely confused at this point. Again, totally fair. Sanemi is confused too.

The Water Hashira tilts his head as Sanemi pauses.

“Where are you going with this, Shinazugawa?”

With that head tilt, Tomioka’s hair falls in his eyes. He doesn’t seem bothered by it but for some reason Sanemi is.

Without thinking about it, he leans forward and tucks the strand behind Tomioka’s ear — making the Water Hashira flinch back and hit his head against the headboard.

“Hey—careful,” Sanemi says. “We don’t want the bed to kill you after Upper Three couldn’t.”

He chuckles lowly. Tomioka watches him with something like wonder in all that blue. Sanemi probably never laughed in front of him without being at least a little mean. Tomioka answers with a quiet, breathy laugh of his own, and when Sanemi feels the warmth of his breath on his skin, he realizes just how close they are. He catches the faint scent of disinfectant and lotus clinging to him — and wants nothing more than to make him laugh again.

That’s when it finally clicks. Because even if he didn’t want to admit it, Kochou was right. He’s been trying to get Tomioka’s attention for years. Trying to squeeze any kind of reaction out of him, never stopping to figure out why. But no matter how much he tried to despise the man, he was never able to overlook or forget how beautiful he was. And then he started playing house with all those kids, and smiling, which made him even prettier, and Genya liked him and—

“I think I love you,” Sanemi blurts out.

Tomioka’s eyes widen even more, Sanemi can practically see his breath stutter. He leans in further.

And just before their lips can meet, a faint sting runs through his cheek.

Tomioka slapped him.

//////

Giyuu is pissed. Giyuu is really pissed. He actually can’t remember ever feeling like this before.

Angry at a demon? Sure. Sad because of—well—his life? Definitely.

But full-heartedly, straight-up pissed?

No. Nope. He can’t remember.

“Are you fucking joking?” he bites out, louder than he’s said anything in a really long time.

For once, it’s Shinazugawa who stares at him—startled and wordless. Somehow, that only makes Giyuu even more furious.

“Do you really think you can just come in here after being an ass to me since… forever? Just because of some fantasy of yours where I’m a stuck up asshole that thinks he’s better than everyone? Something that could’ve been cleared if you ever tried to have one—one—real conversation with me!”

He takes a deep breath. With every word, he feels more rage rising.

“And then after the worst apology since humanity exists you think you can just… kiss me? Without asking? The exact thing you were just sorry for?! And tell me you love me? What? When did that happen? You don’t even know me!”

He’s almost panting when he finishes. Getting this worked up sure is exhausting. How does Shinazugawa do that every single day?

The Wind Hashira is still staring at him, holding his cheek. It honestly couldn’t have hurt much. It’s probably more the shock that keeps him from moving.

Again, Giyuu takes a deep breath, calming himself down. Somehow this is really cathartic. Maybe he should have snapped at Shinazugawa a long time ago.

Shinazugawa doesn’t answer. It’s for the best. Giyuu doesn’t know if he has more shouting in him. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he runs a hand through his hair—probably making the mess on his head even worse.

The Wind Hashira’s eyes won’t leave him, tracking every movement as if he’s seeing Giyuu for the first time.

That’s when a noise, just a light creak comes from the doorway and Giyuu realizes that they are not alone anymore.

He’s not sure when they came in or how much they heard but at the entry of the infirmary stand Tanjirou, Inosuke, Nesuko, Zenitsu and – worst of all – Genya.

All staring wide-eyed and frozen in place. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He almost wishes he’d let Shinazugawa kiss him and moved on with his day — if only to avoid this situation.

Almost.

Luckily, he’s saved from having to say anything when Tanjirou walks forward, stopping right in front of Shinazugawa.

He gives a quick bow.

“I’m sorry for this Shinazugawa-san.”

The Wind Hashira blinks at him. “Eh. Sorry for what?”

And then Tanjirou punches him in the face.

Sanemi staggers back, head hitting the backrest of the guest chair, looking utterly bewildered.

Tanjirou bows again — deeper this time.

“That was for Giyuu-san,” he says politely. “Please reflect on your actions.”

Shinazugawa jumps up, his just-almost-lost expression snapping back to his normal angry one, towering over Tanjirou.

“What the fuck do you think you just did, you little shit?!”

Giyuu doesn’t think Shinazugawa would actually hit Tanjirou. But right now, shouting is enough. He’s so fed up with the man.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” he snaps — not angry anymore, just cold. Almost back to his blank voice. Instantly, Shinazugawa’s attention is on him again.

“Actually, don’t talk to any of my kids like that,” he keeps going, now glowering — for once not uncomfortable with eye contact — “or I swear to god I will never talk to you again, Sanemi.”

Shinazugawa is the first to look away, deflating from angry to… defeated, maybe? Giyuu isn’t sure. He runs a hand over his face.

“Please just leave, Sanemi. Please.”

Shinazugawa’s eyes flicker from him to the kids, to Genya, and back to Giyuu. Then he nods.

“Okay.”

He walks past Tanjirou, past the others, and actually steps out of the doorway. Without any more arguing. And they say miracles don’t happen.

The room is silent until Zenitsu whispers, “Uhm… what the fuck just happened?”

Giyuu gives him a side glance.

“Language.”

Chapter Text

“What just happened?” Zenitsu repeats, louder this time and seemingly even more aghast now that his brain has caught up with the last fifteen minutes.

His eyes—like everyone else’s—are on Giyuu, but the Hashira can only shrug. He also desperately wishes he had an answer.

So Zenitsu turns to the leftover Shinazugawa in the room.

“Genya! What was that? What’s going on with your brother?!”

Genya is still torn between staring at Giyuu and the door his brother slammed shut behind him. He might look even more confused than Giyuu feels.

“I don’t— I mean— I knew Sanemi wanted to apologize?” he stammers.

The infirmary falls into dead silence before exploding again.

“Your brother planned this?!”

“He should have at least brought a gift!”

“Did you know why he wanted to apologize?!”

The kids are all talking over each other, and Genya shrinks back under the focused attention.

Giyuu scrubs at his eyes, sighing.

“Hey. Stop. Don’t bother Genya too much.”

His voice is quieter than any of the kids’, but they still listen.

“How could he know what his brother is doing? I’m pretty sure not even Shinazugawa knows what he’s doing,” he mutters and lies back down, pulling the slipped-down blanket up again. He would like to sleep now. For at least a week.

Obviously, that wish is not granted to him. Because Nezuko has climbed up onto the bed, looking down at him with big, bright, worried eyes. And he can’t ignore Nezuko. So instead he gives her a head pat.

“Everything is fine, Zuko.”

Copying the little girl, the boys also lean over him—at least without climbing onto the bed. It’s really a bit too small for one adult and five teenagers.

He squints at them. As they come to the worst possible conclusion.

“Do you want Shinazugawa-san to know what he’s doing?” Tanjirou asks carefully.

Giyuu furrows his brows. Yes, he would like Shinazugawa to know what he’s doing. Because then the other man would probably realize he’s being ridiculous and leave him alone.

Zenitsu’s eyes widen as he understands something Giyuu doesn’t.

“Oh no,” the boy says, shaking his head determinedly, “while I understand the wish for love, there have to be standards! You deserve better!”

Giyuu does not want better. Giyuu wants to sleep.

“Hey, my brother is good,” Genya interjects— a bit weakly, “he just needs a bit… help.”

“Your brother needs to be beaten up, that’s what he needs!” Inosuke declares. “It’s so unfair that only Tanjirou got to punch him!”

Giyuu almost smiles. If there’s one thing he can always count on, it’s that Inosuke is Inosuke.

And, apparently, that Tanjirou always loves to butt into things that have nothing to do with him.

“I mean, Shinazugawa-san probably has his… qualities,” the boy starts, sounding extremely unconvinced, “but there are better options if you want a partner, Giyuu-san.”

This makes Giyuu’s eyes—which had fallen half-mast—snap wide open again. What. When did they enter this territory?

It’s a topic he wants to discuss with exactly no one. And especially not with noisy teenagers.

“Yes!” Zenitsu agrees, now sounding excited—to Giyuu’s horror—“like, well, a certain Fire Hashira, maybe…?”

Tanjirou nods fervently, and Nezuko seems to brighten up. Maybe even Inosuke does under his boar mask—though Giyuu cannot imagine the boy having even half a thought about his love life.

Genya is pouting slightly.

“I mean, he was the one who brought you flowers, right?” Tanjirou beams, glancing at the fire lilies still lying on the bed stand.

“And then there was the bracelet!” Zenitsu continues.

“And the dancing!” Tanjirou is practically vibrating by now.

Giyuu would like to perish. Right about now. And change all the life decisions that led him to this point.

He’s also realizing something.

“This is not the first time you’ve discussed this.”

At least Zenitsu, Tanjirou, and Nezuko have the decency to look guilty.
Inosuke, however, just confesses — proudly — that he did have a thought about Giyuu’s love life, after all.

“No! You can’t stay a single mom forever! And I’m sure Rengoku would be a great dad! Shinazugawa, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t even pay alimony!”

Giyuu gapes at him. He’s overwhelmed, confused, mildly horrified… and impressed that Inosuke knows the word alimony.

“Hey! My brother would pay child support!” Genya protests.

“No he wouldn’t!” Inosuke fires back immediately.

That’s when Giyuu decides he’s had enough and buries his head under his pillow. He doesn’t feel like his input is doing much for this conversation anyway.
Nezuko pats his pillow-covered head.

//

Luckily, the kids have obligations and can’t stay forever.
Giyuu loves them all — truly — but he can definitely live without their scheming about his dating life.

His nonexistent dating life.

Giyuu’s last date was two years ago, forced on him by Kochou with one of her friends. One of her female friends. Needless to say, it was a disaster.

In the afternoon, Kanroji comes by, bringing Mame with her.
The Love Hashira stays only briefly and leaves the girl with him — who acts as if he died and just returned from the grave (instead of simply not seeing him since morning). She cries, crawls all over him and then jumps on the bed, rattling his injuries.

It’s the first time he wishes she hadn’t learned to walk yet. She’s also started learning her first words, though it’s still mostly gibberish.

The clearest so far are “haha,” then “want,” “beans,” and “battle cry.”
Giyuu blames Inosuke for the last one.

Somewhere around early evening they fall asleep together, Mame’s hands — as always — buried in his hair, always even more fascinated when it’s loose as it is when he’s lying in bed.

He wakes up about an hour later to the second visitor of the day he didn’t expect.

Though not an unwanted one like Shinazugawa — just a surprising one.

“Tokitou,” Giyuu mumbles, voice rough with sleep, “what are you doing here?”

At first the boy doesn’t answer, only frowning down at him.

“I told you not to get hurt,” he accuses.

Giyuu blinks up at him owlishly. Another surprise. He hadn’t expected the boy to remember him — or their exchanges.

“And don’t call me that. I told you to call me Muichirou.”

Slowly, Giyuu nods. “Right. Sorry.”

Muichirou sniffs, scrutinizing him for a moment before saying, with perfect seriousness, “You are forgiven.”

He looks at Giyuu expectantly, and Giyuu answers,

“Uh. Yeah, thanks.”

Then it’s silent — though Giyuu isn’t sure if it’s a comfortable silence or an awkward one.

“Is that your daughter?” Muichirou finally asks, nodding at Mame.

Giyuu had almost forgotten she was still curled against him, too taken aback by the Mist Hashira’s unexpected presence. His mind blanks at the question. Three, two or even one months ago he would have instantly denied it.
Mame is just a child he took in because there was no other (acceptable) option — though whether he is acceptable is also questionable. But now, calling her merely his obligation or charge feels… wrong. Too impersonal.

He shrugs. “Kind of… in a way. I guess?”

It isn’t exactly a confident or self-assured answer — more a question than a statement — but Muichirou doesn’t seem put off.

Instead, he just looks a bit wistful.

“She’s lucky then.”

Giyuu is not so sure about that. No matter how many people compliment his parenting skills, he’s certain there are hundreds of people she would be better off with.

“I heard Tanjirou talk about you too”, Muichirou continues.

It takes Giyuu aback that he doesn’t only remember Tanjirou but remembers him by name.

“With the extras that are always around him:”

Well, maybe Giyuu shouldn’t be too optimistic. “What where they saying about me?”

Muichirou frowns. “…I don’t remember.”

Giyuu nods. He really shouldn’t be too optimistic.

It’s quiet once more. It will probably always be quiet when it’s just the two of them.

When Muichirou speaks, his voice is softer than usual — maybe even a little uncertain.

“Did you mean it when you said you want to protect me?”

Not for the first time Giyuu aches for the boy. He doesn’t know much about Muichirou or his life so far, but that longing for human connections… that he knows far too well.

“I did. You can always come to me. I promise.”

He tries his best to smile at Muichirou, and it must be at least better than the last one the boy got from him, when he had been imagining Tanjirou, Nezuko, Inosuke, and Zenitsu dying at the hands of some unknown evil.

Muichirou answers with a similar almost-there tick of his lips.

They fall into silence again — and this time, Giyuu is nearly certain it’s a comfortable silence.

//

Giyuu leaves the infirmary to the wonderful news that he apparently has a date planned with Kyoujurou.
Planned by his overenthusiastic roommates. Who are still far too invested in his love life.

It’s probably really embarrassing to have other people ask for a date on his behalf.
Giyuu does not have the energy to be embarrassed about it.

He’s mostly shocked that Kyoujurou agreed.

Giyuu knows he’s still an autonomous, independent adult. He could just say no and not go to the… date. But the kids seem so excited about it, and he did just almost lose them.

So if it only takes three—probably incredibly awkward—hours spent with someone Giyuu is pretty sure is a friend, then so be it.

He mostly expects Kyoujurou to meet him only to let him down gently anyway. He seems like the type. Which would be a new kind of low: getting rejected by someone he isn’t even interested in.

The only truly difficult part is having to think about being in love at all. Giyuu has never been in love. He has never even had a crush. He was never close enough to people to feel something like that.

The only person there ever was…

But they had been children. Giyuu just always liked to think that if Sabito had grown up—had become an adult with him—maybe that could have been their future.

Or maybe not. Who knows. Sabito would have deserved someone better anyway.

//

Kyoujurou is late.

According to Tanjirou, the Fire Hashira agreed to meet Giyuu at a little teahouse in the village near his estate.

So now Giyuu is here, and Kyoujurou is not. He wonders, briefly, if this is some kind of prank — but that would be cruel, and Kyoujurou is not cruel.

Maybe he simply didn’t take the kids seriously?

Yeah, that’s more likely. He’ll probably feel horrible if he finds out Giyuu was waiting for him and he didn’t come.

Giyuu just has to make sure the kids never tell him. Sighing, he takes a sip of his tea.

He wonders how long he should wait. Are there rules for this? Probably. Giyuu just doesn’t know them.

He sets his cup down and decides that if Kyoujurou doesn’t show up by the time the tea cools, he’ll go home.

That’s when the door to the tea house is slammed open. Startling all the patrons and almost making Giyuu knock over the teapot.

Kyoujurou stands in the doorway, panting slightly. Realizing the fright he’s caused, he bows deeply.

“I beg your pardon, I did not mean to cause an uproar!”

He receives a few polite hums of acknowledgement—people recognize the Fire Hashira—and their eyes follow him as he strides over to Giyuu. He bows again, even deeper this time.

“Please forgive my tardiness, Giyuu. I ran into an old lady in need of help with her shopping bag. It shan’t happen again!”

Then he pulls a single red rose from his haori and holds it out for the Water Hashira to take.

“I’m delighted to be here with you today!”

Giyuu is not delighted. He had just warmed up to the idea of drinking his tea alone and not having to deal with this entire awkward setup. And now the Fire Hashira is here — seemingly aware this is a date — with everyone’s attention on them. Wonderful.

Still, he takes the flower and mutters a faint, “Thanks. No worries.” Nothing of this is Kyoujurou’s fault, after all.

Well, maybe the coming too late, but it’s not as if Giyuu actually minds, or as if he would ever think the Fire Hashira could walk by someone struggling with their groceries and not help out.

Kyoujurou sits across from him, smiling so widely it must hurt. Giyuu isn’t even sure he has enough facial muscles to smile like that.

“So, how have you been?” Kyoujurou asks.

Giyuu blinks. Is this an honest question, or just one of those things people ask because they’re supposed to?

“Good,” he finally replies.

Which is not completely untrue? He has certainly been a lot worse in his life.

Kyoujurou nods enthusiastically, seemingly undeterred by Giyuu’s lackluster response.

“That’s wonderful news! What have you been up to this week?”

The last person who seemed honestly interested in him — and wasn’t six years younger than him — was…

God, this whole dating thing is really fucking with his brain. He thought he was finally over Sabito.

Well. Seemingly not. How long is it normal to grieve your childhood best friend that died for you? Are there statistics for that?

“Nothing much”, he says, rummaging his memory for something to bring into the conversation, “…Mame learned a new word?”

People talk about their (kind of) kids right? That’s normal conversation input, right?

“Excellent!”, Kyoujuro says as enthusiastically as he always is, “what word is it?”

“Water,” Giyuu answers, with just the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. On one hand, he’s not sure what it does to a child to be that heavily influenced by him of all people. On the other hand, it feels… nice.

Kyoujurou’s smile softens, still self-assured but just a bit less over the top. And… did he always look so much like Sabito?

Does he even? Or is Giyuu imagining things?

“It truly is wonderful to see you opening up like this with your children,” Kyoujurou says. “I used to worry about your careless approach toward your own life.”

He did? Giyuu hadn’t thought anyone cared whether he lived or died just a few months ago. This is getting too honest far too soon.

“Well, dying is always a great option to get out of your responsibilities, isn’t it?”

Kyoujurou’s smile vanishes instantly. Inwardly, Giyuu sighs. Not even half an hour, and he’s already said the wrong thing.

“Do not ever wish for your own death! Your life is far more precious than that.”

Giyuu blinks. Those words… Maybe he deserves this. Going on a weird, only half-serious date with his coworker. Maybe he deserves Sabito’s ghost sitting in the back of his mind the entire time.

“It was just… a joke…”

Kyoujurou shakes his head. “Even as a joke this is unacceptable! You are very dear too many that would hate hear you talk like that! Myself included!”

Giyuu feels his face warm up at the conviction in Kyoujuro’s voice.

“Okay…”, he mumbles.

Then Kyoujurou’s smile is back, and the conversation moves to lighter topics. Giyuu actually doesn’t hate it. Sure, it’s him, so the conversation doesn’t flow easily through the whole date, but it could have been way worse.

The only thing really bothering him is the flood of thoughts about Sabito that he can’t keep at bay. Which is ridiculous, because Sabito would never have been as nice as Kyoujurou. Kind, sure, but this relentlessly nice? Never saying anything even remotely blunt? That’s all the Fire Hashira, not Sabito at all.

And yet, they are so, so similar — energetic, optimistic, and much stronger than Giyuu could ever be. Born to live, not to die.

They leave the teahouse two hours later, with an invitation from the owner to come by again soon.

Kyoujurou walks Giyuu home, telling him about his childhood and why he admires how Giyuu handles the kids. It’s a bit too honest and a bit too emotional for Giyuu, but bearable so.

The real issue comes at the end.

They reach the Water Estate, and Kyoujurou stops, turning toward him with that same unsure expression he’d worn when he apologized for the unwanted dance.

It immediately activates Giyuu’s flight instinct.

“I had a really good time today,” Kyoujurou smiles, and Giyuu thinks he might mean it. He might honestly enjoy his company. That’s… hm.
Giyuu hadn’t expected that. He never thought that even if Kyoujurou came — aware this was a date — he would like it. It’s a novel experience.

The few dates Giyuu has had in his life were never enjoyable. For anyone.

“Me too,” Giyuu replies.

Kyoujurou hesitates for a moment before reaching out, and at first Giyuu assumes he’ll place a hand on his shoulder — like he always does — but instead, he runs it through Giyuu’s hair with a barely-there touch.

While it definitely takes Giyuu off guard, he doesn’t hate it.

“You’re a beautiful person,” Kyoujurou says, simply. As if stating a fact. And Giyuu doesn’t get the feeling he means just his looks.

His face heats up.

Kyoujurou chuckles quietly, then lays a hand against Giyuu’s cheek, gently urging his gaze upward.

“I would like to… may I kiss you?” he asks, voice softer than Giyuu has ever heard it.

All Giyuu can focus on is the hand on his cheek — callused skin, warm against his face. But he doesn’t feel Kyoujurou’s hand.

He feels another one. Smaller, softer. Though it hadn’t felt small then. Sabito had felt so big. So all-consuming.

And this isn’t fair. Not to Kyoujurou. Not to Sabito. Not even to himself.

As carefully as he can, Giyuu takes Kyoujurou’s hand and pulls it away from his face. He doesn’t let go — just holds it, staring down at the contrast between his own hands and the Fire Hashira’s.

Giyuu clears his throat. Once. Twice. It doesn’t help.

“Kyoujurou,” he starts — and instantly hates how his voice cracks. The worst part of all this is that it’s a problem completely of his own making.

If he weren’t such a pushover for the kids, or if he weren’t so messed up in the head…

Kyoujurou’s eyes are still on him, hopeful in a way Giyuu does not deserve.

“I… uh…” Giyuu shakes his head. Words. He knows words. He knows how to speak. He’s done it his whole life. “I can’t.”

Kyoujurou blinks. Just once. “You can’t… kiss me?”

“No,” Giyuu blurts — too fast, too blunt. “I mean — yes. I mean — no.”

He shuts his eyes. He’s killed demons before — a lot, actually — he can do this.

Kyoujurou waits. Patiently. Giyuu wishes he would throw a hissy fit or something. It would even be fine if he slapped him. Though that might remind him even more of Sabito…

No. Mind back on track.

Giyuu exhales, staring at their joined hands.

“You,” he continues, stumbling over the words, “you’re great, just — uh — not… for me?”

It sounds horrible. Kyoujurou looks slightly hurt now.

“No!” Giyuu exclaims. “I mean, you’re just great! You would be for me, but… I’m just… you remind me of someone, and…”

The Fire Hashira furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly.

“And you didn’t like them?”

He looks so earnest again — not angry, not even hurt anymore — just as if he truly wants to understand Giyuu.

All the panic drains out of him.

“No… I— I loved him.”

The soft expression on Kyoujurou’s face is worse than any anger. He nods as he pulls his hand out of Giyuu’s.

“I understand,” he says, “and while I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed, I value that you won’t let me become the shadow of a memory. You and I both deserve more than that.”

Giyuu nods silently. He hopes his eyes convey how sorry he is without him having to utter another word.

When Kyoujurou raises his hand again, he actually places it on Giyuu’s shoulder this time.

“I hope we can still continue being friends. It would wound me to lose a wonderful friend like you!”

Giyuu nods again.

The next smile he gets is bright and griefless.

“Then let us walk forward together — to whatever awaits us!”

Giyuu can’t help but respond with one of his almost-there smiles. Kyoujurou truly is the personification of a golden retriever.