Chapter Text
“Giyuu-san, look! An izakaya’s still open!” Tanjirou jogged to the entrance, the noren parting as he slipped inside.
Giyuu sighed, having no choice now but to follow his tsuguko. Lanterns spilled golden light across the darkened street, softening shadows. The air was rich with the scent of grilled fish, miso, and sake—a heady combination for tired slayers.
Wooden floorboards creaked beneath his sandals as he entered, searching for the familiar head of burgundy. Even at this hour, the izakaya buzzed with life. Normally, Giyuu would have worried about their safety, but he trusted the work he and Tanjirou had done in the area.
Twenty demon killings in one night was a feat that deserved at least a delicious, warm meal.
A hostess greeted him with a polite bow before wiping down a table, and Giyuu’s gaze swept the room. At the back, a figure in a green-and-black checkered haori knelt on the tatami. He waved at Giyuu, that signature Kamado smile lighting up his face.
The warmth of the place seemed to shift toward him, drawing him forward. Giyuu followed instinctively, his tension melting at the sight of the person who had stood by his side for the past three years.
He moved to sit across from Tanjirou when a tug on his haori stopped him.
“Why are you so far from me?” Tanjirou pouted, patting the tatami beside him. “Sit here.”
Giyuu raised an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t be ordering your seniors around.”
Another tug, firmer this time. “Please? For your kohai?”
Wide, dark red eyes looked up at him, shining like jewels beneath the glow of a paper lantern swinging lazily above their low table. Giyuu had always thought they mirrored the fire within Tanjirou—so bright it was impossible to look away.
“Fine,” he mumbled, relenting as he always did when Tanjirou looked at him like that.
He went around the table, legs folded on the cool tatami. His tsuguko grinned triumphantly and waved down a hostess.
“Let’s celebrate! With that last assignment, I’m officially promoted to Kinoe, right?” The hostess bowed politely, ready to take their order.
“You mentioned it ten times on the way here,” Giyuu said dryly, though the corner of his mouth threatened to lift.
Tanjirou laughed. “Two cups and a bottle of sake, please! Oh, and a grilled mackerel set.”
Giyuu blinked. “Sake?”
The younger man pivoted to face him, looking far too innocent for someone ordering alcohol. “We’re off duty and celebrating, aren’t we?”
Giyuu narrowed his eyes, brows knitting. “You’re old enough for that now?”
Tanjirou snorted and then turned, knees brushing against the side of his thigh.
So close.
Tanjirou had always been too comfortable with him in ways that went beyond gratitude for the day he had saved him and his sister in the snow. Giyuu had always reasoned his proximity as an obligation, but time and time again, Tanjirou proved him wrong.
“I like being with you. Is that so hard to comprehend?”
Until now, it was. Giyuu was quiet and dull, easily missed in the background, while Tanjirou was expressive and vibrant, the center of everyone’s gravity.
He was nothing special except for his skill with the sword. He ended conversations too abruptly, too awkward to start new ones—he had nothing interesting to say, nothing to truly connect over.
But Tanjirou stuck to him like fresh dew on leaves. Under his sun, Giyuu bloomed, slowly but surely, into someone worthy of Tanjirou's unwavering attention.
“I’m already eighteen,” Tanjirou said with a proud nod. “You forget how long it’s been since we met.”
Giyuu only stared, silent, letting the revelation settle. He could still remember the boy who could barely lift a blade without trembling, who cried after killing his first demon, who shadowed him through moonless hunts in forests, determined to protect his protector.
That boy was now a man, with steadier hands that could fight demons singlehandedly, one rank away from being a Pillar.
Yet still with that same smile that reached anyone blessed enough to witness it.
The hostess returned with a tray, setting down two ceramic cups and a warm bottle between them.
Tanjirou poured sake into Giyuu’s cup first, holding it with both hands. The scent of rice wine rose, sharp and intoxicating. Once his own cup was filled, he raised it between them.
“To you, Giyuu-san!” Tanjirou declared.
“Aren’t we toasting to your promotion?” Giyuu asked, perplexed.
“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here,” he said softly but firmly. “You made it possible for me to reach my eighteenth name day, to spend more years with Nezuko, to drink sake right now, here with you.”
Tanjirou clinked his cup against Giyuu’s, that mouth curving into something tender. “Thank you, Giyuu-san. For all of it.” He drained his sake in one swift gulp, grimacing at the taste, but already refilling his cup.
Giyuu, on the other hand, was frozen. His heart raced in rapid disarray.
He didn’t know how to respond to gratitude like that. He never did. Tanjirou said such things so effortlessly—and accepted Giyuu's faults so easily.
“I’m lucky it was you who found me.”
“You give me too much credit,” Giyuu finally murmured. “You worked for it.”
“But you believed in me,” Tanjirou said, in that stubborn, gentle sincerity that left Giyuu defenseless and scattered. “Even when I didn’t. You were the only one!”
He took a sip, just to break the intensity of Tanjirou’s gaze, which felt hotter than the sake burning pleasantly down his throat.
His kohai hummed in approval and was already topping up Giyuu’s cup.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” he asked, suspicion in his tone.
A wide grin stretched across Tanjirou’s face. “You’re too serious. Loosen up a little! You never do.”
“Hnn.”
Tanjirou leaned closer, an elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand. The space between them shrank until Giyuu could see faint freckles dusting the apples of his cheeks. His jawline looked sharper, eyes wiser, lips fuller.
When had he grown so mature?
“Come on, let’s make it a contest! Whoever gets drunk first loses.”
Giyuu frowned at the idea of being vulnerable in an unfamiliar place, in front of his apprentice, no less. “That’s childish.”
“Then you shouldn’t have a problem winning,” Tanjirou teased. His grin softened, becoming almost shy. “Besides… It’s been a while since it was just us, hasn’t it?”
It had been a while. Too many missions, too many people depending on them. He’d missed this—quiet, ordinary moments that reminded him he wasn’t just a weapon.
Giyuu had missed him.
He observed the way a curl of hair fell over the scar on his forehead, luring him to tuck it behind an ear where a hanafuda earring dangled.
When did he look so attractive?
The realization hit harder than the first taste of sake.
Before Giyuu could reply, Tanjirou lifted his cup again. “Ready?”
Giyuu hesitated, then nodded.
“Three—two—one—”
They drank together, the sound of Tanjirou’s laughter and the clinking of cups swelling around them. By the fourth or fifth round, Giyuu felt the tension loosening from his shoulders.
“How come you can eat so much soba and hold your liquor?” Tanjirou complained, eyes half-lidded with the first hints of intoxication. “Are you hiding some secret technique from me?”
Giyuu chuckled, refilling their cups with steady hands. “It comes with experience.”
Tanjirou tilted his head, earrings swinging slightly. “Oh, are you?”
“Am I what?”
Tanjirou huffed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Experienced.”
The Water Pillar blinked owlishly, bewildered; the word suddenly carried too many meanings.
Then again, in the context of the moment, there was only one way it could be taken—yet his mind immediately wandered somewhere else entirely.
Sake was making him stupid.
“In drinking,” he clarified, a touch too quickly.
Tanjirou grinned, amused and knowing. “Mm. Drinking. Of course.”
Giyuu cursed the sake further for making him ask even more foolish questions. “Is there something else I should be experienced in?”
That lazy grin stretched further, as if Tanjirou had him exactly where he wanted. “I don’t know, you tell me.” He tapped a finger against his cup. “What other things could you be experienced in?”
Did he mean that? Surely Tanjirou hadn’t done that with anyone else, right?
And why does he keep thinking about that anyway?
“I’m good with fishing.” Deflection was his best defense, in both combat and drinking contests, it seems.
Warm, enveloping laughter spilled from Tanjirou, like a soft blanket on a cold day, always melting the edges of his worry. “That sounds like something an old man would say.”
He shot him a flat look. “I’m not that old.”
“Only a little,” Tanjirou winked before taking another sip.
Giyuu quickly drained his own drink, ignoring the flip in his stomach. His haori hung on the walls alongside Tanjirou’s, uniform sleeves rolled to his elbows, his usual restraint gradually slipping away.
The chatter of the izakaya dimmed to a soft hum. The world narrowed to the tatami beneath them, the cup in his hand, and the constant warmth beside him.
“You know,” Tanjirou began, words coming out more slowly, “even after all these years, I still don’t know much about you.”
He turned, now fully facing the younger man. They sat cross-legged, their shins flush against each other. “There’s not much to know.”
No one moved to pull away. Tanjirou leaned back on his hands, posture relaxed, easy. “That’s not true. You just dodge every personal question I ask.”
“That’s because you ask strange things.”
“Strange?” Tanjirou smiled, too bright, too perceptive. “Like, whether you’ve been in love?”
The high collar of his gakuran suddenly felt too hot against his skin. He poured himself another drink, needing something to do with his hands. “That’s none of your business.”
“Oh, so you have?”
“That’s—” Giyuu’s voice came out quieter than he intended. “—not something to discuss. It’s inappropriate.”
Tanjirou studied him. “Is it inappropriate because it’s me asking, or because you don’t know what to say?”
Giyuu took a drink before replying, drawing courage from the bottom of his cup. “I’m not good with people, so no.”
“But you look like someone who’s broken a few hearts.”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
Tanjirou leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, disbelief clear in his expression. “You really don’t see how people look at you?”
Moderation faded, curiosity pushing into the open as the alcohol worked through him. “How do you look at me?”
“Strong, kind,” Tanjirou said, listing each word quickly with certainty. “Beautiful.” There was no hesitation from him, only the quiet conviction of an observation made long ago.
The Water Pillar didn’t breathe for a moment. When he finally did, it hitched, feelings catching.
Giyuu swallowed, throat going dry. “You talk nonsense when you drink.”
Tanjirou chuckled softly, “I don’t need to drink to say that to you!”
“Why do you see the most in me?” he blurted, honesty loosening his tongue, his mind craving clarity.
“Why do you always expect the worst from yourself?” Tanjirou shot back.
That landed like a blow—too heavy to unpack while sober. Giyuu’s hands found the bottle once again, sake pouring into their bottomless cups.
Tanjirou accepted his offering, watching Giyuu over the rim of his cup, eyes glimmering.
“Ask me something. Anything.”
Now that he mentioned it, it was the only thing running through his sake-addled mind. “Have you ever been in love?”
Tanjirou drank first, head thrown back, the line of his throat catching the dim lantern light as he swallowed. Giyuu’s eyes followed, lips wetting even though they didn’t need it.
“No,” his tsuguko admitted, fiery eyes locked on him. “But I want to.”
What would it take for it to happen? The question hovered at the tip of Giyuu’s tongue. What was the point in knowing? What would he gain by asking? What did he even hope for?
“And you, Giyuu-san? Would you like to?”
Unsurprisingly, it was the first time he had truly thought about it. Demon slaying offered no assurance of tomorrow, no promise of another hello come morning. They carried out their duties knowing they might die in the process, and it was cruel to subject anyone to that kind of conscious abandonment. The Corps was a hopeless place for love.
Yet Tanjirou wanted it. Giyuu could feel it in the silence that waited for his answer.
Perhaps… it wouldn’t be as hopeless if it were with Tanjirou, who embodied hope and everything good in the world.
He imagined falling in love with someone like him, and the words grew easier to say.
“Someday, I’d like to.”
The instant he said it, something shifted. Tanjirou’s mouth parted, awe in his expression, as if he were seeing Giyuu in a whole new light. His smile afterward had never looked so radiant.
It was undeniable now—this attraction Giyuu felt so vividly toward him.
The cause of his quick-beating heart spoke, voice breathless. “Since we’re sharing things tonight, can I ask another strange question?”
Giyuu eyed him warily, feeling unmoored by the push and pull of unfamiliar emotions. “You will, whether I allow it or not.”
That earned a small laugh. “You’re right.” Tanjirou scooted forward with his legs still crossed, knees now on top of Giyuu’s.
Move closer.
His breath carried the faint sweetness of sake—the same sweetness lingering on Giyuu’s tongue.
“Have you ever kissed anyone?”
Giyuu exhaled slowly, trying not to look at the place where kisses were meant to go.
Another slow grin spread across Tanjirou’s face at his silence. “You haven’t, have you?”
“I fail to see what’s so amusing about that,” he replied flatly, though the tips of his warming ears betrayed him.
“You’re blushing,” Tanjirou teased.
“I am not.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
Giyuu suddenly became painfully aware of the heat radiating from where they touched.
The urge to pull away was nowhere to be found; his lips mouthed an admission instead. “I haven’t. There was never time for that.”
It was an unnecessary confession, unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
But here he was, gaze predictably locked on the curve of his tsuguko’s lips, glistening from the sake they shared.
“Would you like to know what it feels like?” Tanjirou whispered.
Amidst the killings and the years spent as a soldier, he had somehow forgotten he was also a man. And right now, he craved something human.
“Are you offering because you pity me?” He didn’t mean to sound bitter, didn’t mean to accuse Tanjirou of cruelty. But he was wide open, vulnerable to a wound if the attack came unparried.
Tanjirou shook his head, eyes soft but intent. “Because I’ve thought about it more than once,” he breathed. “And I want to know what you taste like. Just once.”
The words hung between them, demanding to be acknowledged.
They had saved each other more times than Giyuu could count, seen each other bleed and heal.
This was the person—beside Urokodaki—he had first brought to the graves of Sabito and Tsutako, who held his hand as he mourned them until now.
This was Tanjirou: the boy he saved, the first tsuguko he allowed to have, the friend who stood by him.
And now the man he was attracted to, who wanted to kiss him.
Giyuu’s breath caught as he let it sink in. “Why would you want me?”
“Why do you question me?” Tanjirou countered.
“Because you could have someone better,” he admitted, the truth weighing heavily on his heart.
He was nothing remarkable. He spoke little, had nothing captivating to say. He was stagnant waters.
And Tanjirou deserved clear seas, sparkling beneath the sunlight.
A hand ghosted over his cheek, delicate despite the roughness of skin hardened by labor and mastery of the sword.
“There’s no one better,” Tanjirou said, voice resolute. “Because there’s only you.”
His fingers drifted down Giyuu’s neck, slipping beneath the collar of his gakuran, settling against the hollow of his throat.
“I’ve tried to stay away, to respect what we were to each other, to let you keep your space.”
He began to undo the top button of Giyuu’s uniform.
“I’ve tried to find what I felt for you in somebody else.”
The button below it followed.
“I’ve tried to stop this, because I thought you wouldn’t let me get too close.”
A firm glide along his collarbone revealed more skin.
"Because we could lose each other when we can’t bear any more loss."
Tanjirou held him by the side of his neck. “I’ve tried not thinking about this.” A thumb brushed over Giyuu’s lips. “Even when you stay silent, it speaks to me, asking me to try anyway.”
A tilt of the head—that was all it took—to bring them closer, more intimately than ever before.
“I’ve never kissed anyone either,” Tanjirou admitted, breaths now mingling as one. “Can we be each other’s firsts, Giyuu-san?”
“Stop calling me that,” Giyuu snapped.
Tanjirou drew his brows in confusion. “Then what should I call you?”
“Just Giyuu,” he whispered, cradling his face between his hands. “Just yours.”
Then he closed the distance between them—tentative, yet purposeful.
Tanjirou’s lips molded perfectly to his, and he let the softness sink in. Their rhythm was slow, a languid exploration of something new, yet entirely welcome.
Giyuu traced the curve of Tanjirou’s bottom lip, cocking his head to follow it. Tanjirou responded with a gentle suck that had him groaning, feeling sensations he had never considered before.
He tasted a yearning so sweet it fed his courage, pressing harder, mouth opening wider to drink more of him.
Giyuu’s tongue was the first to slip inside, twining with Tanjirou’s, meeting every stroke with eagerness as they savored each other’s essence. Moans grew more liberated, more unrestrained, as they lost themselves in the kiss.
The izakaya faded, leaving only the sensual dance of their mouths, the heat of skin, and the electricity that hummed between them. Giyuu’s hand reached forward, threading through soft hair, anchoring Tanjirou closer—never wanting to leave his mouth, desperate to stay connected.
Their lips kept exploring, tongues meeting again and again as their concentrated breathing stretched the moment far beyond what was ordinary.
It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. Yet, they remained that way, and somehow, Giyuu thought it still wouldn’t be enough.
Tanjirou pulled away with a gasp. Giyuu chased his mouth, lips aching to return to where they now belonged.
“If you want to kiss me longer than that,” he said, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, “you’ll have to train me more. Your stamina’s insane!”
Giyuu chuckled, breath barely ruffled, yet feeling breathless all the same.
“Then let’s start tomorrow.”