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Fifty reasons, Sanemi reminded himself as he tried to look at the incoming dawn, the rice paddies below this cliff they found themselves perched on, the birds, the fucking birds—look at them—fifty reasons—
“—but I never really had the time to stop,” Giyuu continued. Voice much too soft, face much too serene—Sanemi had to remind himself not to look, lest he didn’t have it in him to look away. “To stop and sit still. Like this. I’ve never really… Never really done it before.”
“Yeah?” Sanemi scoffed, trying to summon the irritation that usually arose whenever Giyuu was near. It used to be so easy to summon. He used to call upon it all the time. Why wasn’t it here. Why wasn’t it here. “What, ‘cause you always got some place better to be?”
He’s arrogant and stuck-up and entirely unpleasant to be around and you never like the way he looks at you, Sanemi reminded himself when Giyuu turned to look at him—never like the way his eyes linger on you, like he’s studying you, like he could just look close enough to notice all the rot, all the bad, all the cracks—it’s fucking vexing, it’s annoying, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—
Giyuu chuckled, then, and Sanemi had to remind himself, yet again:
Fifty reasons, his mind desperately echoed—
“Well, no,” Giyuu quietly said, a small smile on his face. “Usually I don't fracture my foot.”
He thinks he’s so funny, huh—thinks he’s so witty and clever and fucking amusing—and—fifty reasons, Sanemi latched onto the words, fifty reasons not to kiss Tomioka Giyuu.
One.
“But you're alright, there, Shinazugawa?” Giyuu asked. “It’s unlike you to sit.”
“Not like I got fuckin’ warts on my ass,” Sanemi jabbed. “Why wouldn’t I sit.”
“With me,” Giyuu added. “Sit with me, I mean.”
What the hell is reason number one again.
“Is that so surprising, Tomioka.”
He’s arrogant and stuck up and entirely unpleasant to be around—and you hate him, you hate him, you hate him—
“I just thought. I thought you never liked me much—”
“Who said I didn’t like you?” Sanemi cut.
Giyuu’s eyes widened, the blue startling in the morning sun. Stare at it long enough, and Sanemi might just think it was still midnight, he thought. Sanemi looked away quicker than he glanced at him.
“I mean—I just assumed—”
“Don’t assume shit.”
Reason number two.
Giyuu nodded. “Got it.”
Reason number two.
Do you honestly think that kisses and the like are luxuries that demon slayers could afford? You’ll lose him like Kanae, like Masachika, like—
“I think,” Giyuu spoke again as he shuffled to get up. “I’ll get going now, Shinazugawa. I might have to see Kocho, see if it’s really broken or—”
“Don’t,” Sanemi barked.
Ordered.
Asked.
Reason number three.
Giyuu halted, waiting. His gaze bore deep into the side of Sanemi’s face, and Sanemi could feel himself burning, could hear the beats of his heart thrashing against his sternum.
Giyuu said nothing, and Sanemi knew he would continue to say nothing, wouldn’t think to ask for an explanation, wouldn’t even question it—would just look, and look, and look, and wait, and look—
Sanemi sighed and dared himself to look back.
“I’ll take you there.”
Giyuu had the fucking audacity to look surprised at the offer.
“You don’t have to,” he said. “It’s a long way to the Butterfly Estate—”
“Don’t have to walk, we’ll find a cart or something.”
“—and the sunrise’s too pretty to miss—”
“It’ll still be there tomorrow.”
“—and it doesn’t hurt that much, really—”
“Then stay,” Sanemi said.
Giyuu regarded this for a moment. The wind blew on his face, wisps of black hair framed his face, and Sanemi watched his face soften, watched him settle back down on the ground, sitting beside him, looking towards the sunrise once more, and he hoped, he hoped, he hoped so badly that it ached, that the wind would blow just slower. Slower, still. Slower, until the trees don’t sway, until the birds don’t fly, until the sun doesn’t rise and all the evils in the world stay beneath the earth and whatever hurt may come would stay in the future, where they belong.
Then perhaps he could keep him. Even if only for a moment.
Fifty reasons not to kiss Tomioka Giyuu, Sanemi reminded himself. Your arms are scarred and wet with exposed flesh and blood and it’ll be sticky and cold and you could never hold him like the sun—could never hold him like water—could never hold him like the wind—could never hold him like he deserves to.
“Okay,” Giyuu said quietly, his voice no more than a hush.
And this is too much, too much, too much, looking at him is too much, being here with him is too much already—any closer, and your head will explode, your chest will burst, and what comes out will just be rotting flesh and mold and a carrion of a heart and you can’t—you can’t—
Sanemi forced himself to look at the sun again. Ugly and yellow and an uninspiring thing.
He found that he much preferred blue.