Chapter Text
The meeting was over. Thank fuck for that.
Sanemi Shinazugawa rolled his shoulders, the coarse fabric of his uniform grating against his skin. The tension of being in Oyakata-sama's presence always left a hum under his skin, a thrum of reverence and violent purpose that took hours to fade. But today, another, more irritating tension lingered, coiling low in his gut like a serpent.
His gaze, sharp and unforgiving, flickered across the serene gravel garden of the Ubuyashiki Estate. Most of the other Hashira were already dispersing in small, chattering groups. Kanroji was laughing at something the far-too-boisterous Rengoku had just declared, her voice like wind chimes in the afternoon sun. Uzui was already gone, no doubt off to somewhere more 'flamboyant'.
But Sanemi's eyes didn't stay on them. They never did. Like traitorous magnets, they found their target with infuriating ease.
Tomioka Giyuu.
He was standing alone, as usual, near the edge of the engawa overlooking the koi pond. He hadn't moved an inch since Oyakata-sama had been escorted back inside. He just stood there, a silent, unmoving statue in his mismatched haori, his back to everyone. The perfect picture of infuriating indifference.
Something hot and sharp, a feeling Sanemi refused to name, twisted in his chest.
Everything about Tomioka grated on his nerves. The blank, placid expression that never seemed to change. The economy of his words, as if speaking was a chore he'd rather avoid. The way he carried himself with a quiet, maddening sort of sorrow that he seemed to think made him better than everyone else. I'm not like the rest of you, his silence screamed.
Sanemi hated it. He hated him.
So why couldn't he stop looking?
He watched as Shinobu Kocho, a butterfly of false smiles and poison, drifted over to Tomioka's side. "Ara, ara, Tomioka-san," her lilting voice carried on the breeze, just loud enough for Sanemi to hear. "Staring at the fish again? Is it because they're the only ones who will listen to you without falling asleep?"
Tomioka didn't even grant her a sideways glance. His dark blue eyes remained fixed on the water, where vibrant orange and white carp swam in lazy circles. "No," was all he said. Monotone. Flat.
Sanemi's hand clenched into a fist at his side, his knuckles straining against the skin. He could feel the familiar, jagged anger rising in his throat. What the hell was his problem? Why couldn't he just react like a normal person? Yell back, get pissed off, do something. Anything other than just... existing.
"You really are no fun," Shinobu sighed, though the smile never left her face. She tapped his shoulder with a single finger before turning to leave, her job of poking the unshakeable pillar apparently done for the day.
As she passed, Rengoku's hearty voice boomed. "Tomioka! Come get some ohagi! My father sent a batch! They are delicious!" He grinned, a brilliant, sun-like expression, holding up a small, wrapped box.
Sanemi's jaw tightened. He despised most sweet things, but he loved ohagi. And the fact that Rengoku was offering it to him of all people felt like a personal insult.
Tomioka turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge the Flame Hashira. A flicker of something passed through his placid eyes—surprise? Confusion? It was gone before Sanemi could decipher it. "Thank you, Rengoku. But I am not hungry."
"Nonsense! A warrior must eat to maintain his strength!" Rengoku insisted, taking a step closer.
"I will eat later."
The finality in Tomioka's tone was soft, yet as unyielding as stone. Rengoku, for all his bluster, seemed to recognize the dismissal. He let out a slightly deflated "Umu!" before turning and heading off with a wave.
And then, they were alone.
The other Hashira were gone. The garden was quiet save for the gentle clacking of a bamboo shishi-odoshi and the rustle of maple leaves in the wind. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Sanemi knew he should leave. He had patrols to run, demons to slaughter, a world to purge. Standing here, staring at Tomioka's back like some kind of stalker, was a pathetic waste of time.
He took a step. Then another. But they weren't towards the exit. They were towards the engawa. Towards him.
The gravel crunched under his sandals, a harsh, abrasive sound in the tranquil garden. Tomioka didn't startle, but Sanemi saw the subtle tensing of his shoulders. He knew he was there.
Sanemi stopped a few feet behind him, the scent of fresh water and something else—something clean and cold like winter air—drifting from the Water Hashira. It was a scent he was beginning to recognize against his will.
"What the hell is so interesting?" Sanemi finally snarled, his voice a low growl.
Tomioka didn't turn around. For a long, agonizing moment, he said nothing, and Sanemi felt the urge to grab him by his stupid, ugly haori and slam him against a post.
Then, his voice came, quiet and even. "The water is calm today."
Sanemi blinked. Of all the arrogant, dismissive, or just plain weird things he could have said, that was not what he expected. It wasn't a rebuttal. It wasn't an insult. It was just... a statement. An observation.
"The water is calm," Sanemi repeated, his voice laced with venomous disbelief. "That's it? That's what you've been staring at this whole damn time? The fucking water?"
This time, Tomioka turned his head slightly, his profile stark against the afternoon light. His dark, unruly hair framed a face that was, to Sanemi's eternal fury, flawlessly impassive. His deep blue eyes, the color of the ocean at its most peaceful depths, finally met Sanemi's.
There was no malice in them. No anger. No condescension. There was just a quiet, bottomless depth that Sanemi felt he could fall into and never find his way out.
"It's nice," Tomioka said simply. "When things are calm."
With that, he turned back to the pond, his audience with Sanemi apparently concluded.
The rage that had been simmering in Sanemi's chest for the past hour erupted into a silent, scorching inferno. It wasn't the kind of rage that made him want to fight. It was a helpless, frustrating rage that clawed at the inside of his own skull. He was dismissed. Ignored. Treated like nothing more than a passing breeze.
He was the storm. He was the gale-force wind that ripped demons to shreds. He was chaos and scars and righteous fury. And this man, this pillar of ice and silence, looked at him and spoke of calm.
Sanemi spun on his heel, his teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached. He stormed away, his own footsteps a furious beat against the serene gravel path. He didn't look back. He wouldn't give Tomioka the satisfaction.
But even as he marched towards the gate, his mind was not on his patrol, nor on the demons that lurked in the coming dusk. His mind was filled with the image of still water, of impossibly deep blue eyes, and of a quiet voice that had somehow, inexplicably, become the epicenter of his own private, raging hurricane.
And Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira, hated nothing more than a storm he couldn't control.