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Giyu watched quietly from across the room as Sanemi laughed at something Kanae said, the ease between them making a small, uncomfortable twist in his chest. He shouldn’t feel this way—after all, they were just friends, weren’t they? Yet, every glance Sanemi threw her way, every small smile, was like a reminder of what he’d been holding onto for years.
Since high school, he’d known Sanemi better than anyone—he could almost read his thoughts just by the way he furrowed his brow or absentmindedly drummed his fingers on a table. But now… now it felt like there was a wall between them, one that Kanae seemed to be stepping through effortlessly while he could only watch from the other side.
The holiday plans only added fuel to the fire. He’d imagined spending Christmas with Sanemi, just the two of them, maybe quietly exchanging gifts, maybe talking about nothing in particular—but now, he couldn’t even tell if Sanemi had remembered those unspoken plans, or if Kanae had taken his place.
Giyu clenched his hands in his lap, trying to mask the sting of jealousy as Sanemi leaned in, laughing a little too easily at something Kanae said. No, stop it, he scolded himself silently. It’s fine. He’s my friend. That’s all.
And yet, as Sanemi’s gaze lingered on Kanae a moment too long, Giyu couldn’t help but feel the familiar, prickling ache of something he hadn’t dared name out loud.
The group was scattered across the living room, laughing and teasing one another as they sipped hot chocolate and exchanged small gifts. Tengen and Kyojuro were in the middle of some ridiculous debate about the best Christmas movies, while Mitsuri and Obanai argued over who made the better cookies. Kanae was leaning closer to Sanemi, her voice soft but animated as she told a story from her week.
Giyu stayed slightly apart, arms folded loosely, his eyes tracing Sanemi a little too often. He caught the way Sanemi’s attention flicked toward him for a moment, the faint furrow of his brow, and he felt a tiny pang of guilt—or maybe something sharper.
“Giyu,” Sanemi said, sliding next to him, his tone low and concerned. “You’re awfully quiet. You okay?”
Giyu stiffened, forcing his lips into a small, neutral smile. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he replied smoothly, his voice calm. But he could feel Sanemi’s gaze lingering, reading him in that way only he could. He didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t fine—not here, not with everyone watching.
“Mm,” Sanemi muttered, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, Giyu leaned slightly away and caught Shinobu’s eye across the room. “Hey, Shinobu,” he said, voice carefully casual. “Want to help me with something over here?”
Shinobu blinked, a little surprised at the sudden attention, but nodded, and Giyu subtly guided her to a quieter corner, away from the chatter and the teasing. He could still feel Sanemi’s eyes on him, though, and it made his chest tighten. He hated feeling so… exposed, like even a glance could betray all the things he was trying to hide.
Meanwhile, Sanemi watched him go, a flicker of worry crossing his features. Something about Giyu’s expression didn’t sit right, and even as he turned back to Kanae, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Giyu was keeping something from him.
Shinobu tilted her head, looking at Giyu with curiosity as they settled into the corner of the room, away from the laughter and chatter of the group. “So… what exactly did you need help with?” she asked, her tone light but probing, sensing that he wasn’t here for any real task.
Giyu hesitated, running a hand through his hair, his usual calm composure faltering just slightly. “I… needed a distraction,” he admitted quietly, letting his gaze drift away from the others. “Just… away from everything.”
Shinobu raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eye. “Is this about Sanemi and… Kanae?” she asked softly, like a gentle nudge that cut straight to the heart of the matter.
Giyu froze for a fraction of a second, then, with a reluctant sigh, nodded. “Yeah,” he muttered, almost under his breath. He hated that it felt so easy to read—like even trying to stay composed was useless around Shinobu.
Shinobu leaned back slightly, resting her chin on her hand as she studied him. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice suddenly firm, though still comforting. “If Sanemi ever hurts you—deliberately or not—I’ll make sure he regrets it. Poison him, or whatever I have to do.”
Giyu blinked at her, caught off guard. The unexpected fierceness, the unflinching support—it made something in him ease, a little knot loosening in his chest. She’d actually do that for me, he realized, and a faint warmth spread through his chest, one he hadn’t expected to feel tonight.
“Thanks,” he murmured softly, and it wasn’t just polite—it was genuine. He shifted slightly, feeling more at ease just being here with someone who seemed to understand without judgment.
Shinobu smiled faintly. “You’ve been pinning on him for years, haven’t you?” she teased lightly, though her eyes remained sharp, reading him like a map. “It’s obvious. But you don’t have to deal with it alone. Not when I’m around.”
Giyu let out a small, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You make it sound… pathetic.”
“Maybe,” Shinobu replied with a smirk. “But even pathetic is still worth protecting.”
The corner of Giyu’s lips lifted just slightly, almost imperceptibly. For the first time that evening, he felt like the tension in his chest had loosened, if only a little. They settled into a comfortable rhythm, talking quietly about other things—school, their friends, odd little anecdotes from past holidays—while the noise of the group became a distant hum.
He found himself gradually relaxing, leaning slightly closer to Shinobu, drawn by the ease of conversation and the strange, grounding sense of safety her presence offered. Even when his thoughts drifted to Sanemi—laughing too easily at Kanae’s jokes, the way his brows furrowed whenever he noticed Giyu’s absence—Shinobu’s words lingered, a small shield against the gnawing pang of jealousy.
“See?” she said finally, nudging him gently. “Nothing to worry about. Focus on something else. Even if your brain insists on overthinking every glance he throws at her.”
Giyu gave her a faint, almost shy smile. “You make it sound… easier than it feels,” he admitted.
“Good,” Shinobu said with a wink. “Then at least you’re honest. And honesty is the first step toward surviving this holiday chaos without losing your mind—or your heart.”
For a long moment, Giyu simply let himself breathe, letting the warmth of the corner and the quiet company of Shinobu soothe him. And though Sanemi still lingered in his thoughts, for now, he allowed himself to enjoy a small reprieve from the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
After a while, Giyu and Shinobu rose from their corner, deciding to check in with Kyojuro and Tengen, who were still in a heated debate over which Christmas movie deserved to be the ultimate holiday classic. The two men barely noticed them at first, too caught up in their own theatrics, waving their hands dramatically and speaking over each other.
Giyu raised an eyebrow at the sight, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Seems like a lot of energy to argue over something so trivial,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
Shinobu chuckled softly, nodding. “You’d be surprised how seriously some people take Christmas traditions.”
As they approached, Giyu noticed something that made him pause. Shinobu’s posture had softened just slightly around Kyojuro, her voice a little gentler, a small laugh escaping her lips at one of his exaggerated gestures. It was subtle, but Giyu caught it immediately, his lips twitching into a teasing smile.
“You’re… softer around him, aren’t you?” he asked, elbowing her lightly.
Shinobu blinked, caught off guard, before rolling her eyes. “Am I? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her.
Giyu’s grin widened. “Uh-huh. That laugh? That smile? Very telling.”
“I—It’s nothing,” she muttered, clearly flustered. “Kyojuro’s just… energetic. That’s all.”
“Sure, energetic,” Giyu said, leaning back on the counter a little, his smirk playful. “I get it. I suppose some people just naturally bring out the soft side in others. Lucky him, I guess.”
Shinobu huffed, though a small smile tugged at her lips despite her protests. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, though there was warmth in her tone.
Before Giyu could tease her further, Tengen piped up, waving a hand dramatically as he leaned against the couch. “And I, of course, am celebrating Christmas with all three of my girlfriends! Each one is absolutely delighted by my festive charm.”
Giyu’s eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of disbelief and curiosity flickering across his face. Three girlfriends? he thought, quietly incredulous. How does someone even manage that? He couldn’t fathom the logistics—or the mental gymnastics required to keep that many people charmed and happy simultaneously.
“And… how do you even manage that?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with genuine curiosity, leaning slightly closer to Tengen.
Tengen beamed, clearly proud. “Ah, it’s simple, really! Attention, flattery, a touch of extravagance—and, of course, timing. Never let one feel neglected. Christmas is perfect for showing equal amounts of affection.”
Giyu blinked, processing the answer. Timing, flattery, extravagance… He could understand the theory, but the execution still seemed like a circus. And yet, Tengen made it sound effortless. A small, reluctant part of Giyu was impressed—though he’d never admit it aloud.
Meanwhile, Shinobu leaned against him slightly, her earlier flusteriness easing as she chimed in with her own commentary on Tengen’s chaotic romantic life. Giyu listened, watching her gestures, noticing the way her eyes softened when she laughed, the gentle tilt of her head toward Kyojuro whenever he made a grand point.
Giyu couldn’t help the small, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at his lips. So this is what it feels like to notice little things about someone…
As the conversation continued, filled with playful debates, teasing, and laughter, Giyu found himself distracted—not by Tengen’s romantic exploits or Kyojuro’s over-the-top energy—but by Shinobu’s quiet presence beside him, and the odd, comforting sense that, for now, he could breathe without the pangs of jealousy gnawing at him.
Giyu’s attention drifted from the playful chaos of Kyojuro and Tengen to the other side of the room. And there they were—Sanemi and Kanae.
Kanae was laughing softly at something Sanemi had said, her hand brushing against his arm. Then, almost casually, she intertwined her fingers with his.
Giyu’s chest tightened. His jaw went rigid, and for a moment he couldn’t tear his gaze away. The laughter, the easy closeness, the way Sanemi’s arm curved slightly toward her—it all felt like it was meant to irritate him, though he knew it probably wasn’t intentional.
Shinobu, who had been watching him from the corner of her eye, noticed the subtle shift in his posture. “Giyu,” she said quietly, nudging his side. “Stop staring at them. It’s not helping your mood.”
He blinked, realizing he’d been caught. “I—It’s fine,” he muttered, trying to sound casual, though the faint sting of jealousy was clear even to him.
Shinobu rolled her eyes, leaning a little closer. “No, it’s not fine. Look, just… focus on something else. Anything else. Right now.” Her voice was firm but gentle, grounding him.
Before Giyu could respond, Mitsuri came bustling back from the kitchen, a tray of warm, freshly baked cookies in her hands, Obanai following behind her, looking just a little smug. “Here! We made these for everyone!” Mitsuri announced, her excitement infectious. “Obanai helped, though he insists he only did the easy part.”
Obanai shrugged, but there was a faint blush on his cheeks. “Baking isn’t exactly my forte,” he muttered, adjusting his sleeves.
The scent of chocolate and cinnamon wafted over Giyu, and for a brief moment, the jealousy in his chest was replaced by a quiet, cozy warmth. The group gathered around the tray, laughing and teasing each other as they picked cookies.
Shinobu gave Giyu a small smile. “See? You can focus on this instead. No need to stew over them holding hands. You’ve got cookies and chaos right here.”
Giyu let out a soft sigh, letting the warmth of the room and the small comforts ground him. Still, his gaze flicked back briefly to Sanemi and Kanae, noting the ease of their gestures, and the faint sting remained. But with Shinobu quietly by his side, nudging him back toward reality, and the others chattering around him, he could at least temper the jealousy—if only slightly.
As he reached for a cookie, Giyu caught Shinobu’s subtle, knowing smirk. She gets me too well, he thought, taking a small bite and letting himself focus on the simple joy of the moment, even as Sanemi and Kanae’s laughter lingered at the edge of his thoughts.
Shinobu gently tugged at Giyu’s sleeve, guiding him away from the lingering sight of Sanemi and Kanae. “Come on,” she murmured softly, “let’s focus somewhere else. Go talk to Mitsuri and Obanai. You might actually enjoy yourself if you stop brooding.”
Giyu hesitated, letting out a quiet sigh, but he followed. Shinobu’s hand lingered on his shoulder for just a moment—reassuring, grounding—before she let him go.
Mitsuri’s eyes lit up as she spotted them approaching. “Giyu! Come help me with these cookies! I’m trying to arrange them neatly on the tray, but… well, I’m terrible at it,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing pink as she laughed. Obanai offered a faint smirk, holding a stack of plates.
Giyu knelt beside Mitsuri, carefully picking up a cookie, arranging it on the tray just as she pointed. “Like this?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, but there was a softness in the way he focused on the task.
“Yes! Perfect!” Mitsuri cheered, her smile bright enough to warm even Giyu’s stubborn heart. “See? You’re great at this!”
As they worked, the topic slowly shifted. Obanai mentioned something about holiday traditions and how people often paired gifts with people they liked, joking about who might have a crush on whom. Mitsuri tilted her head, her expression suddenly serious but still gentle.
“You know,” she said, leaning slightly toward Giyu, “I think some people have trouble admitting how they feel. Or even figuring it out.” Her tone was soft, almost conspiratorial.
Shinobu raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Are you implying Giyu is one of those people?”
Giyu froze slightly, the faintest flush creeping onto his cheeks. He opened his mouth to deny it, but Mitsuri, ever perceptive, cut in with a knowing smile.
“Mm-hm,” she said, nodding gently. “I can see it. You’ve been… thinking about someone a lot lately, haven’t you?”
Giyu’s jaw tightened subtly, but he didn’t deny it this time. He only gave a quiet, reluctant nod.
Mitsuri’s eyes softened, and she leaned a little closer, her voice lowering to a comforting, almost intimate whisper. “It’s okay, you know. Feelings aren’t easy. Sometimes they’re scary. But the important thing is to be honest with yourself first. If you like someone, don’t be afraid to feel it—even if it hurts sometimes.”
Shinobu chuckled softly, glancing at him with an amused glint. “See? Even Mitsuri’s giving you advice. That’s rare. You should probably listen.”
Giyu shifted slightly, his fingers fiddling with a cookie as he absorbed her words. “It… it’s not that simple,” he murmured. His voice was low, almost a whisper, and he avoided looking directly at anyone.
Mitsuri gave him a gentle, reassuring smile. “It never is,” she admitted. “But sometimes, the hardest part isn’t the other person—it’s letting yourself admit what’s in your heart. Take it slow, but don’t ignore it.”
Obanai, leaning back slightly, added, “Mitsuri’s right. Overthinking doesn’t help. Feel it, acknowledge it, then decide what to do. Simple as that… though I know it’s not really simple.”
Giyu let out a quiet, humorless laugh, a small sound that seemed more like relief than amusement. Somehow, having them talk to him—really talk, without judgment—was comforting. It made the tightness in his chest loosen, even if just a little.
Shinobu nudged him lightly, her smirk playful but her tone soft. “See? Advice. Heart-to-heart. You might actually survive this holiday gathering after all.”
Giyu’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Maybe,” he murmured, looking down at the tray of cookies in front of him, focusing on the small, ordinary task. But in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help the faint flutter of unease—and longing—whenever he thought of Sanemi laughing across the room.
For now, though, he let himself stay here, letting the warmth of the group and the quiet support of Mitsuri and Shinobu ease the tension just enough that he could breathe. And maybe… just maybe… he could figure out what to do with these feelings before the chaos of Christmas completely took over.
Sanemi caught Giyu lingering near the doorway, shoulders tense and averted gaze. His brow furrowed, a low, concerned sound escaping his throat. “Hey,” he said, stepping closer. “Can we… talk somewhere privately?”
Giyu glanced at him, hesitating for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Fine,” he murmured, but as he did, he leaned slightly toward Shinobu, just enough for her to hear. “If he… does anything, you’ll have to help me,” he whispered, his voice quiet but urgent. Shinobu gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, her expression serious.
They walked down the hall to an empty room—somewhere away from the warmth and chatter of the living room. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving them alone. Sanemi studied Giyu carefully, concern etched into his features.
“You’ve been… weird,” Sanemi began, crossing his arms. “More distant than usual. Not talking, avoiding me… what’s going on?”
Giyu let out a small, annoyed huff, not meeting his eyes. “It’s not a big deal,” he said, voice clipped. “You’ve got Kanae, anyway.”
Sanemi froze, the words hanging in the air. “What—?” he started, confusion flickering across his face.
Giyu turned slightly, cutting him off with a sharp glance. “I said, don’t bother me,” he muttered, tone icy. “Just… go hang out with her. She’s your ex—she’s the one you care about, right?”
Sanemi blinked, mouth opening to protest, but Giyu held up a hand, stopping him mid-word. “I’m canceling our plans. Spend Christmas with Kanae. I don’t want to ruin your fun, or whatever you have going on with her,” he said, his voice low but firm.
Sanemi’s expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then to a flicker of anger. “Giyu—wait, what? Are you serious?”
Giyu didn’t answer. He simply turned on his heel, heading for the door with a quiet determination. Sanemi called after him, frustration lacing his voice, but Giyu ignored it, stepping back into the hallway and heading straight for the living room.
Shinobu spotted him almost immediately, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the tight line of his mouth. “What happened?” she asked softly as he returned, her tone gentle, concerned.
Giyu exhaled slowly, letting himself slump a little as he sat beside her. “Sanemi… he wanted to talk. But I… I don’t know,” he murmured, voice quiet, frustrated. “I told him it’s not a big deal… but I meant it. I told him to spend time with Kanae instead. Cancelled our plans. And he didn’t understand.”
Shinobu stayed quiet for a moment, letting him talk it out. She didn’t offer advice immediately—she knew Giyu needed to vent first. Instead, she nudged him slightly, her eyes soft but firm. “Alright,” she said, leaning closer, “enough brooding. Let’s get you distracted before you stew yourself into a corner.”
Giyu let out a humorless chuckle, the tension in his chest easing slightly at her presence. “I guess…” he muttered, looking at her.
“Good,” Shinobu replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Come on. Let’s go talk to the others. Maybe get some more cookies before I let you sit here and sulk all night.”
Giyu allowed himself to be guided back into the group, still simmering with jealousy and frustration, but Shinobu’s quiet support and the comforting chaos of their friends slowly drew his attention away from Sanemi and Kanae—if only for a little while.
*̣̥☆·͙̥❄‧̩̥࿌ིྀ྇˟͙☃️˟͙࿌ིྀ྇‧̩̥❄·͙̥̣☆*̣̥
By the time the hangout wound down, the group was laughing more quietly, some of them a little too wobbly from the drinks to drive home safely. Since they were at Shinobu’s massive house—and it truly was enormous, with rooms sprawling down long hallways and cozy corners tucked everywhere—they all decided to stay the night. Everyone had their own rooms, and the house felt oddly warm and homey despite its size.
Giyu lingered near Shinobu for a while, wanting to stay close, needing the quiet support after everything that had happened with Sanemi. They sat together on the couch for a little while longer, chatting softly about trivial things—cookies, Christmas decorations, Kyojuro’s ridiculous antics—before finally agreeing to retreat to their respective rooms.
Giyu went to his usual room, which he’d practically claimed as his own during his many visits to Shinobu’s house. Some of his clothes were already there, and he quickly changed into something comfortable: a soft, worn shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He let out a tired sigh, stretching his shoulders, ready to just fall into bed and let the events of the evening fade from his mind.
Just as he was about to slide under the covers, a sharp knock came at the door. “Come in,” he called, assuming it was Shinobu checking on him or maybe grabbing something.
But when the door opened, it wasn’t Shinobu. It was Sanemi.
Giyu froze, leaning back slightly, instinctively cold. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice clipped, guarded.
Sanemi stepped inside, eyes dark and concerned. “What’s wrong with you, Giyu? Why are you acting like this?” he demanded, his tone tight. “You’ve been difficult all night, distant, snapping at me… always mentioning Kanae. What the hell is going on?”
Giyu didn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening. He looked away, crossing his arms. “I already said it’s nothing,” he murmured, voice low but tense.
Sanemi’s patience snapped. In one swift motion, he stepped closer and grabbed Giyu’s wrist firmly. “Stop being a brat!” he said sternly, his voice cutting through the quiet of the room. “I don’t care if you’re mad, jealous, or whatever—tell me what’s going on instead of shutting me out!”
Giyu blinked, momentarily stunned by the intensity in Sanemi’s eyes. He drew a slow breath, finally letting the words spill out. “Do you… like Kanae?” he asked quietly, almost whispering, searching for some honesty.
Sanemi’s brow furrowed, confusion and exasperation flickering across his face. “No,” he said firmly. “I don’t.”
Giyu let out a short, sharp laugh, more bitter than amused. “Then… why are you like… really close with her? All the time? Laughing, holding hands… it’s like you replaced me with her.”
Sanemi’s grip on his wrist loosened slightly, but his expression softened, a flicker of guilt passing over his face. “Giyu… it’s not like that. You’re imagining things,” he said, his voice gentler now, though still firm. “Kanae… she’s just… my ex. That’s it. Nothing more.”
Giyu’s gaze lingered on him, cold and questioning, but beneath the anger and jealousy was a faint, aching vulnerability. He wanted to believe Sanemi, but the image of them together earlier, laughing and close, made it impossible to fully trust the words.
Sanemi released his wrist completely, stepping back but keeping his eyes locked on Giyu. “Look,” he said, softer now, almost pleading. “I don’t know what I did to make you think I’d replace you. I didn’t. I’m not… her. You’re not… gone. I—” He faltered slightly, searching for the right words, the raw frustration of seeing Giyu push him away in full view of his ex bubbling under the surface.
Giyu swallowed, his chest tight. He wanted to argue, to lash out, to make Sanemi feel the same jealousy and hurt he’d been feeling. But he didn’t. He just let the silence stretch, eyes locked on Sanemi, waiting for… something. An explanation, a truth, a reassurance—anything to quiet the ache in his chest.
Sanemi’s expression softened even more, a mixture of guilt and determination shining through. “Giyu,” he said quietly but firmly, “you matter. Not Kanae, not anyone else. You. Do you understand me?”
Giyu blinked, his heart beating a little faster, torn between cold defiance and the warmth of being seen so clearly. For the first time that night, he felt a flicker of… hope. But it was fragile, like the quiet hum of the house around them.
For a fleeting moment, Giyu wanted to believe him. He wanted to. Sanemi’s words sounded sincere, and the intensity in his eyes made it hard not to trust him. But as soon as he tried, a flood of thoughts crashed into him, relentless and sharp. What if he’s lying? a voice hissed in his mind. What if he’s just saying that to calm you down? What if he’s really replaced you with her?
Giyu’s chest tightened as more voices joined in, relentless questions he couldn’t push away. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and the warmth of Sanemi’s concern felt almost suffocating under the weight of his doubts.
“Don’t lie to me,” Giyu said finally, his voice quiet but firm, almost a whisper. “Kanae… she’s just your ex? That… that doesn’t really help me at all.”
Sanemi froze, a flash of shock crossing his face. “What—? What do you mean it doesn’t help? She’s just my ex, Giyu! That’s all!” His voice grew sharper, frustration creeping in.
Giyu shook his head, stepping back slightly, his expression tight. “Then leave me alone,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice calm.
Sanemi’s brow furrowed, and his jaw tightened. “Stop being so difficult,” he snapped, stepping closer. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on!”
Giyu felt something inside him break, some restraint he hadn’t realized he was holding onto. He blinked rapidly, heart pounding, and for the first time in their three-year friendship, he snapped. “I said leave me alone!” he yelled, his voice raw, hurt and anger spilling over. “Why can’t you just follow such simple orders?!”
Sanemi’s eyes widened, taken aback by the intensity, but Giyu didn’t stop. The words poured out before he could think. “Maybe… maybe we shouldn’t even be friends anymore!”
The moment the words left his mouth, Giyu froze, his own heart hammering. He hadn’t meant it—at least, not fully—but the damage was already done. Sanemi’s face crumpled in hurt, eyes glossy with emotion, and guilt hit Giyu like a physical blow.
“I—I didn’t mean it…” Giyu whispered, his voice trembling, but Sanemi only looked at him, silent, stunned, and heartbroken.
Giyu’s chest tightened, and without another word, he turned sharply, leaving the room. The hallway felt cold and endless as he made his way to Shinobu’s room. He knocked softly, then entered, closing the door behind him.
Shinobu looked up immediately, concern flashing in her eyes. “Giyu, what happened?”
He sank onto the edge of her bed, burying his face in his hands. “I… I didn’t mean it,” he said, voice breaking. “I told him to leave me alone, I… I said maybe we shouldn’t be friends anymore. I didn’t mean it, it just… slipped out.”
Shinobu sat beside him, letting him vent, staying silent for now, knowing he needed to get it all out before he could even begin to process the hurt he’d caused.
Giyu took a shaky breath, recounting everything—his jealousy, the doubts, the voices in his head, the panic that made him snap at Sanemi. “I just… I don’t know how to deal with it,” he admitted, voice small. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I… I really didn’t.”
Shinobu placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, offering quiet support. “I know,” she said softly. “You didn’t mean it. You were overwhelmed, that’s all. We’ll figure out what to do next—but for now… just breathe. You’re allowed to feel all of this without it breaking you.”
Giyu leaned against her, the tension in his body slowly loosening, though the guilt and the ache in his chest lingered. For the first time in hours, he allowed himself to simply breathe—and hope that he could somehow make things right with Sanemi.
*̣̥☆·͙̥❄‧̩̥࿌ིྀ྇˟͙☃️˟͙࿌ིྀ྇‧̩̥❄·͙̥̣☆*̣̥
Giyu woke to the soft morning light streaming through Shinobu’s window, the memories of last night flooding back immediately. His chest tightened as guilt gnawed at him, the words he’d said to Sanemi echoing painfully in his mind. Shinobu stirred beside him, glancing at him with a small, knowing smile.
“You should probably go down,” she murmured, her voice gentle but firm. “The group’s playing some game… I think it’s called ‘12 Minutes in Christmas’ or something. They’re… spirited, even with hangovers.”
Giyu groaned softly, dragging himself out of bed. Most of them didn’t seem to be caring about the alcohol-induced headache; the laughter and shouting carried down the hall even before he reached the main room. Reluctantly, he went down without bothering to change, still in his sweatpants and shirt, and took a seat next to Shinobu. Across from him, Sanemi and Kanae were sitting, laughing lightly and seemingly unaware of—or ignoring—the tension.
Tengen, perched enthusiastically on a chair, explained, “It’s basically 7 Minutes in Heaven, but 12 Minutes fits the Christmas vibe better. Rules are simple: spin the bottle, face your fate!”
The bottle spun around, clinking against the floor, and the room erupted in cheers and laughter. Turn after turn passed, and finally it was Giyu’s. He blinked, heart thumping, and gave the bottle a careful spin. It twirled, teetered, and finally stopped—pointing straight at Sanemi.
Giyu froze. Sanemi’s eyes widened slightly, tensing, while Shinobu beside him gave an apologetic glance, whispering, “Sorry… but it’s just the game.”
Before he could react further, they were being guided—or more accurately, nudged—into a small, cramped closet. The door clicked shut, and the reality of the space hit him: it barely fit two people. Their chests brushed almost immediately, and their faces were only inches apart.
Giyu’s stomach knotted, and for a brief moment he wished he could simply disappear. But Sanemi’s voice, quiet yet firm, cut through the rising panic.
“Giyu… last night,” Sanemi began, eyes searching his, “what you said… was it true? About not being friends anymore… did you really mean that?”
Giyu’s throat went dry, confusion flickering in his mind. “I… what do you mean?” he murmured.
Sanemi’s gaze sharpened slightly. “About us… I need to know if you meant it.”
Giyu exhaled shakily, the tension in his chest coiling tighter. “No,” he admitted, voice low. “I didn’t mean it. I… I was overwhelmed. It just… slipped out. I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Sanemi’s expression softened, the anger and hurt of the previous night melting slightly. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I… I didn’t explain properly either. Kanae and I… we’re just friends. We don’t like each other anymore, even if we were exes. I didn’t mean to make you feel… replaced.”
Giyu’s chest loosened just slightly, the tension ebbing, though his face remained serious. “I… I’m sorry too. I… I wasn’t thinking clearly. And… I'm really sorry for being a brat," he added,
Before Sanemi could respond further, the sharp alarm of Shinobu’s timer went off, and the closet door swung open. “Time’s up!” she said with a soft laugh, peeking in at them before giving Giyu a small, knowing smile. “Go back to your seat.”
They stepped out slowly, the awkwardness lingering but softened by the clarity they had shared. Back at their seats, Shinobu leaned toward Giyu, her voice hushed. “Are you… alright?”
Giyu gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah,” he murmured, letting himself relax slightly. “I’m… okay.”
Shinobu gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and leaned back, letting him breathe, while across the room, Sanemi’s eyes lingered on him, a quiet mix of relief and lingering concern in his gaze. The tension hadn’t completely vanished, but the worst of it—the misunderstanding, the hurt—had at least begun to ease.
After the “12 Minutes in Christmas” game wound down, the group had sprawled across the living room, laughter and teasing filling the space. Giyu found himself sitting next to Shinobu, still recovering from the morning’s tension, and somehow the conversation drifted toward butterflies—their anatomy, migration patterns, and the surprisingly complex structure of their wings.
“It’s fascinating how the veins in their wings act like little highways for nutrients,” Giyu murmured, pointing at a butterfly illustration in a book Shinobu had pulled out.
Shinobu smiled, nudging him lightly. “You really get lost in these things, don’t you? It’s… kind of adorable.”
Their soft discussion was interrupted when Sanemi approached, his expression hesitant. “Giyu… can I talk to you privately?” he asked, voice low.
Shinobu raised an eyebrow at him, a teasing smirk on her face. “You talk to him privately a lot, don’t you? What’s the deal?”
Sanemi’s cheeks darkened, and he looked away, flustered. “I… it’s nothing,” he muttered, though his ears betrayed him, tinged with red.
Giyu, curious but wary, glanced at Shinobu, who gave a small shrug and smile before returning to her book. He sighed softly and finally nodded. “Fine,” he said, following Sanemi down the hallway to one of the quieter, private rooms in the house.
Once inside, Sanemi closed the door behind them and leaned against it, running a hand through his hair. “What did you want to talk about?” Giyu asked, his tone calm but cautious.
They spoke for a while, clearing the lingering tension from last night, slowly untangling the residual awkwardness. Words were careful, tentative at first, but gradually the air between them felt lighter.
Then, Sanemi’s expression shifted, and he looked Giyu straight in the eye. “Giyu… do you want to be my boyfriend?”
Giyu froze, his heart skipping a beat. “…Are you joking?” he asked, disbelief threading through his tone.
Sanemi shook his head, his gaze firm but gentle. “No. I’m serious. I’ve liked you since we met. All this time… I just didn’t know how to tell you. And I… I’m sorry for everything that made you feel hurt or overwhelmed before. I never wanted that.”
Giyu’s chest tightened, emotions swirling—shock, relief, lingering guilt, and a fluttering warmth that had nothing to do with butterflies. “I… I—” he began, voice quiet. “i—yes—I’m sorry too. For being childish… and overreacting last night.”
Sanemi’s lips curved into a small, relieved smile, and before Giyu could stop him, he leaned forward and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to Giyu’s lips. Giyu’s initial shock melted into something softer, more certain, as he returned the kiss, letting the warmth of their reconciliation settle around them.
When they finally pulled away, slightly breathless, Sanemi brushed a stray lock of hair from Giyu’s face, smiling. “So… we’re a couple, then?”
They stepped back into the living room together, and Tengen immediately perked up, eyes wide. “Congratulations!” he said, a sly smirk tugging at his lips.
Sanemi’s eyes narrowed slightly, though a small grin appeared. “Were you… listening to our conversation?”
Tengen only shrugged, an innocent smile on his face. “Maybe,” he admitted casually.
Giyu blushed faintly, but Sanemi reached out and gently squeezed his hand, grounding him. Eventually, they officially told everyone they were a couple, and the group erupted in congratulations and teasing, laughter filling the room once again.
Kanae, who had been watching quietly, stepped closer to Giyu, her expression soft. She pulled him slightly to the side, and her voice was small, apologetic. “ I’m sorry, Giyu. Shinobu told me everything… I didn’t mean to make things difficult.”
Giyu shook his head, giving her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s not your fault,” he said gently. “It was childish of me too. Don’t worry about it.”
He felt Sanemi’s gaze on him, warm and attentive, and the chaotic warmth of the room seemed to fade into a comforting blur. Despite the awkward moments, the fights, and the lingering guilt, he felt… right. Finally, he felt like he was exactly where he belonged.