Work Text:
Sanemi knows for a fact that his mother and his father are not soul bonded. If they were, he wouldn't hit her. He'd find some other way to hurt her, sure, but the piece of shit would never inflict all that pain upon himself.
"You have to be kind and careful," his mother tells him, brushing Sanemi's hair out of his eyes with small, gentle fingers. In his father's rampage last night, he had smashed a sake bottle against the wall before turning his anger onto her. "Everytime you get yourself hurt, you're hurting the person attached to your soul. If you hurt someone else, another innocent person has to endure that same pain."
He looks at the swollen, purpling bruise along her cheekbone, and nods.
Sanemi thinks about whoever is out in the world right now, wincing for every blow she takes at her husband's fist. He wonders if he has someone out there, a kid around his age crying as Sanemi's father pushes him to the floor or kicks him in the ribs or slaps him across the face. Is it the same for all his siblings?
The day his father dies, Sanemi rejoices, because all the pain that leaves their lives is leaving someone else's too.
The day he murders his mother, he decides to stop caring about the sorry bastard who rolled their dice bad in the womb and got attached to his soul.
He's going to die soon anyway; there's no way he'll last like this, armed with garden shears and chains and chipped butcher knives, alone against immortal monsters. When he does, then his soulmate can finally live in peace, can find someone to be with who won't hurt them so bad.
Masachika makes him stop cutting himself open during fights, at least when he's around, which doesn't exactly mesh with the dying plan. Sanemi rolls his eyes and ignores all the annoying lectures, but when they're working together, he ends up not even needing his blood to win, so Masachika gets his way. When Masachika introduces him to an actual trainer, Sanemi's chances of death seem suddenly further away than they've ever been. But he still doesn't give a shit about the soul bond. He's going to train, he's going to fight, he's going to hurt and bleed and suffer until he's a Hashira, and there's nothing out there that will change his mind. Nothing.
Plus, he thinks his soulmate might be an asshole.
It took Sanemi a long time to finally feel a pain in his body that wasn't his. There've probably been a hundred little bruises and aches before now that were indistinguishable from his own, but the day he's knocked on his ass by a smack across his cheek when he's completely alone, Sanemi knows for certain his soulmate just got punched.
Sanemi puts his face in his hands and lets out an ugly, ragged sound that might be a laugh. Hot tears prick at his eyes, overflow and run down the smarting skin. He hasn't cried in a long time— after his family was ripped apart, he thought maybe he'd never have to cry again— and in that moment he hates his soulmate more than anything for making those tears leak out of his eyes.
The next morning, he trains until he can't feel his hands. There, you bastard, he thinks, how's that for ya?
Masachika gives him a concerned glance, which he ignores.
Sanemi adapts well to wind breathing, quickly building up as many calluses as he has scar tissue. The sword form feels right. Making a thousand cuts at once, his body twisting with the momentum of his movements, is invigorating as hell.
With the sheer amount of secondhand injuries he starts to accrue in the next few months, he wonders tentatively if his soulmate might be walking the same path he is.
"Are you a demon slayer?" he whispers, alone at night, sleep lingering far out of reach. He's cradling a wound on his arm that isn't his. "Idiot." He wishes he could tell them to stop, turn back, but he also knows that anyone who becomes a demon slayer does it because they have no other choice. Briefly, very briefly, he considers the chances that they'll meet someday. On a joint mission, or in an infirmary, or at a wisteria rest house. Then he smudges the thought out like he would his thumb over a smouldering ember in a doused campfire. Ridiculous.
It happens again the day after. He and Masachika are sparring when a sharp pain shoots straight through Sanemi's gut. He gasps hard, and in his stumble, Masachika sweeps his legs out from under him.
"Woah!" he cries, ditching his sword and rushing over to crouch at Sanemi's side. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to actually drop you."
"Fine," Sanemi spits. He winces and doesn't get up, staring at the morning-grey sky like it will help him. His soulmate's wound throbs through his abdomen. Sanemi presses the heel of his palm against it, which neither helps nor hurts, since it's not his.
Masachika's eyes track the movement. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, although something in his voice sounds skeptical. Over the course of their spar, neither of them had truly landed a blow onto the other.
"No!" Sanemi barks. "It's nothing." He forces himself to sit up. Damn, that hurts. What the fuck did you do? he asks the soulmate he knows nothing about. Is this from a demon's claws? A man's weapon?
As he ruminates, a look suddenly flashes across Masachika's face. Sanemi glares at him, an attempt at shutting his mouth before it opens. It doesn't work.
"Soulmate, huh?" he says. A bright smile stretches across his stupid face. "Is she getting stomach pains?"
"Shut. Up. Or I'll strangle you." And he means it too.
Masachika doesn't shut up though. "And here I thought you were totally hopeless at romance!" He wipes his forehead off in exaggerated relief. "It's a good thing the gods are watching out for you."
Sanemi launches himself forwards, catching Masachika off guard enough to shove his face against the ground. Recovering quick, he rolls, heaving Sanemi off to the side where he lands in a clumsy half-crouch. Masachika dodges Sanemi's next attack, and winks.
"Nice to know you're not gonna die alone, Sanemi," he says.
Sanemi screams and knocks them both into the dirt.
A handful of years later, Masachika gets himself killed.
Sanemi is alone again. Another dead brother in the back of his mind. More blood on his hands.
He yells in the face of the master of the Demon Slayer Corps— he can't stop himself, anger surging through his blood, hot enough to burn. Several sets of eyes bore into his back as he sneers at the man knelt on the shaded veranda in front of him, but he doesn't care. They can all shove it.
Then the master apologizes, and Sanemi is stunned into silence.
Sanemi is taller than the master, when he comes to stand before him, Masachika's will in hand. The rage drains out of him, Ubuyashiki's voice like rain on a wildfire. He tries not to cry, and fails.
Later, after the meeting ends, the other Hashira descend upon him. Sanemi was the eldest brother, so he never got scolded by his siblings, but he imagines this is what it would've felt like. Sanemi clenches both fists, and looks anywhere but at the Hashira surrounding him.
Then, off to the side, his eyes land on the Water Hashira. He's standing a stone's throw away, body angled neither completely towards nor completely away from them, like he's not sure what he wants to be doing. It strikes Sanemi as exceedingly irritating, but that may be a side effect of the three simultaneous lectures he's receiving.
Once they're finally done, he huffs and storms off, and tries not to think of any of them right up until the next Hashira meeting is called.
Sanemi occasionally runs into the others as he debriefs after missions. Other times, the Master sees fit to assign him a partner if the demon he's after has caused enough trouble. Most of the Hashira Sanemi respects just fine, particularly Iguro. The remaining few are a different story. Kanroji's ditziness is annoying, and Uzui is loud and tacky. He has to resist the urge to strangle Tomioka on the regular, even when the ass doesn't even bother opening his mouth. One pompous look from those dull eyes and Sanemi's blood practically boils.
Luckily, their interactions are few and far between, so it doesn't really matter.
Whoever's on the other side of the soul bond has stopped getting hurt so often— maybe they've improved, maybe they've quit, but Sanemi is glad for it either way. Fewer vicarious injuries means fewer distractions in battle, which means more dead demons.
As a Hashira, Sanemi doesn't often get injured either, but he still sometimes finds himself overwhelmed. A solo mission of his ends in disaster, with the demon decapitated, but Sanemi immobilized, just in time for the semi-annual Hashira meeting. He misses it, no surprise, laid up at the Butterfly Estate being treated by Kocho's little minions. He would've liked to see Oyakata-sama, but he can barely even stand.
Sanemi stares at the ceiling, scratching idly at the bandage wrapped around his middle. The wound still hurts, and now the healing process is starting to make it itch.
"Stop that," Kocho says, slapping at his hand.
Sanemi does, because Shinobu is three times as vicious as her sister had ever been and he doesn't want to be on the receiving end of that. "So," he says. "What'd I miss?"
She shrugs and folds her hands together over her lap. "It wasn't too eventful," she remarks. "Tomioka was in pain and the Master sent him back to his estate early."
"Huh," Sanemi says. "When was his last mission?" With how great he seems to think he is, Sanemi wouldn't guess he'd show his face with an injury that bad.
"He hasn't had one for a month."
Sanemi looks at her. She's smiling placidly, like she always is, light from the window a pale reflection on her wisteria eyes.
"…Weird," Sanemi says, and that's the end of the conversation.
A month later, Sanemi is reporting to the Ubuyashiki Mansion when he passes Tomioka on his way out the front gates.
And Sanemi is very, very loath admit that he knows Tomioka by now, but he does. In the same way Sanemi knows all the Hashira, he knows how Tomioka holds himself, how he stands with a sword at his hip, and how he moves with one too. And that is a limp. A well-disguised limp, yeah, but a limp.
Sanemi's fingers pass over the phantom pain he's been feeling in his thigh all week, and he keeps walking. It's a coincidence. It has to be.
Even Sanemi isn't unlucky enough for that.
But, as he reaches the entrance to the mansion and pauses to throw a glance over his shoulder, towards Tomioka's retreating form, he can't help but feel like the gods are laughing at him.
The next time all nine of them are gathered together, half a year later, Sanemi has a still-healing slash curved across his left side. Thoughts of Tomioka have been plagueing his mind for months. Everytime he feels a borrowed pulse of pain, a quick twinge, a cut or a bruise, he grits his teeth and has to desperately drown out the images of deep blue eyes that surface in his mind. Despite not having definitive proof, the faceless soulmate that has always lived in Sanemi's head has slowly been superceded by Giyuu fucking Tomioka, and it's pissing him off.
Sanemi watches Tomioka now, out of the corner of his eye. He's knelt in the white gravel before the veranda, ignoring everyone to stare silently ahead of him. Oyakata-sama hasn't arrived yet.
Well. Maybe it's time to gather proof.
Slowly, Sanemi snakes one hand underneath his haori, towards the recent wound. He takes a breath, holds it, and then digs his first two fingers into the tender slash. He keeps himself from flinching at the pain, but Tomioka doesn't.
He winces hard and puts a hand against his side, in the exact same spot. And then, most telling of all, he turns his gaze straight onto Sanemi.
The look in his eyes isn't surprised or confused. It's resigned.
That piece of shit.
Then Oyakata-sama arrives, and Sanemi bows, forehead into the gravel, instead of drawing his sword on Tomioka like he should.
To his shame, he can't even bring himself to focus on the Master's words. Hot static is rising up through his veins, dumbing his hearing down into an underwater mumbling. Fresh blood seeps out of the wound he'd just reopened, sticking his uniform to his side with wet warmth.
He receives a few glances throughout the meeting. Maybe they're sensing his anger. Maybe they can smell the blood. Sanemi doesn't care.
He waits patiently until the talking is done, bows deeply to Oyakata-sama as his children help him back inside, and then stands. He catches Tomioka by the hitch of his elbow, dragging him off deeper into the garden where there are no prying eyes.
"Explain yourself," he spits, letting go of an irritatingly unruffled Tomioka.
And dead-eyed, dull-mouthed Tomioka just stands there and says, "You reopened your wound."
"Yeah, I know!" Sanemi steps forward and fists one hand into Tomioka's haori, the green-yellow pattern bunching up under his grip. "I wanna know how you knew."
Tomioka's gaze flicks down to his chest, then back up to his face. A warmth starts to flush over Sanemi's cheeks before he realizes: he's looking at Sanemi's scars. "You have a distinct pattern of injuries," Tomioka says. "I assumed."
Sanemi bares his teeth. Fine, so Tomioka knew about the soul bond the whole time, and Sanemi was just sitting in the dark like an idiot. "Why didn't you say anything."
Tomioka's eyes meet his, the richest blue Sanemi's ever seen and yet completely lightless. "Would you have wanted me to?" he asks.
No, he wouldn't have. Not that it matters now. Sanemi releases Tomioka's haori with a shove. "Just… Leave me alone," he growls, and turns on his heel to stomp out of the mansion grounds.
That night, Sanemi lies on top of the covers of his futon and stares out the window. It's a dark night, the moon just a gleaming sliver cut out of the black sky.
The surge of anger has long left him, and now he just feels hollowed out. His soulmate has always been an ambiguous thing in the back of his mind. Sanemi never truly planned to find them, never wanted to build a relationship of any sort, but their existence had become a comfort nonetheless. A reassurance that no matter how many people he lost, the ones who walked away from him or the ones Sanemi pushed away with his own hands, there was always someone out there he was connected to. It used to be something that couldn't be ruined.
Tomioka… what are the fucking chances.
"Thanks for that," Sanemi says at the sky. "Couldn't have picked someone else? Anyone else?"
A breeze rustles the trees outside his window, and Sanemi rolls over and goes to sleep.
Despite the way it feels, knowing his soul is bonded to Tomioka doesn't actually change anything about Sanemi's life. He keeps going on missions, killing demon after demon after demon. When he feels an injury that isn't his, he knows exactly who's fault it is.
They have to see each other at Hashira meetings, but Tomioka never tries to make nice with the rest of them anyway, so it doesn't matter.
It's not until Tanjiro Kamado shows his face that things actually change.
Through some absurd twisted luck, the brat manages to land a headbutt on him, and Sanemi's only comfort against the kid's ridiculously hard skull is the knowledge that Tomioka technically just got headbutted too.
Serves him right. Three people staking their lives on the moral integrity of a demon? Has everyone lost their damn minds? Sanemi's thrown countless insults at the Water Hashira over the years, but 'stupid' has never been one.
Sanemi cuts a glance towards Tomioka as he slices his forearm open, hoping to see a flinch. There isn't one. Something about it feels like a rejection, not of his actions, but of him.
The second rejection comes when the demon girl turns away from his blood, and Sanemi is convinced he's in a dream. A demon— young and weak and injured— resisting the scent of marechi. Sanemi can only stare as she's forgiven for the crime of being a demon, and Kamado and Tomioka too, for protecting her.
So it's possible for a demon to fight their blood hunger, fine, but why did it happen to the Kamados and not to—
Sanemi bites down hard on his tongue and stops thinking. Tomioka gives him a look, but he can't bear to return it.
After that, it's not long before everything starts going to shit. Their endless war, which has always crawled slowly and painfully forwards, suddenly breaks into a sprint, and maybe if he was anything less than the Wind Hashira, Sanemi wouldn't have been able to keep up.
He matches it pace for exhausting pace, but he can't bring himself to feel relief at the end.
His brother is dead and he can't bring himself to feel anything at all. Not even a body left to bury. Not a single thing to hold in his hands.
Sanemi wakes up at the Butterfly Estate months after Muzan's defeat, but its owner isn't there to treat him. Instead, the little blue butterfly girl changes the bandages on his missing fingers and informs him that all the surviving Hashira are in the room with him.
Sanemi turns his head to see Tomioka, sleeping in the middle of the day with a visibly mended haori draped over his chest, and a burning starts up at the backs of his eyes. At least the guy managed to spare him the pain of death, if nothing else.
He can feel a pulsing, bone-deep ache just past his right shoulder, a perfect match to where Tomioka's haori-blanket goes flat where his right arm should be.
"Fuck," Sanemi tries to spit, but it comes out wobbly and his throat is suddenly closing tight. He squeezes his eyes shut, saltwater tracking down both temples and into his hair. It can't be just them, it can't.
The butterfly girl leaves, but not before changing out the rest of his bandaging. Sanemi wants to yell at her to get out, but he knows it only would end up as choked crying, so he just clenches his teeth and sniffles while she winds fresh gauze around all his wounds. Shouting probably wouldn't have worked anyway— she's one of Kocho's brats.
She gives him one last glance, and then is out the door.
Sanemi cries until he can't anymore.
Tomioka wakes up for the first time only a few days later, and it's not long after that they're allowed to go home. Neither of them say a word to each other. In fact, Sanemi doesn't say a thing in the weeks leading up to the final Hashira meeting; his house is empty, he has no job, no tasks. Sorai nestles in a tree outside his bedroom window, a black plumed lump hunching in between the green branches, but he delivers no messages.
Sanemi's rusted voice nearly sticks in his throat when Master Kiriya announces them officially disbanded.
"Understood," he says, but it's only in the most literal sense. How can he understand that everything to be done has been done now? How can he understand that there's nothing left? It feels like the thread connecting him to the world has been cut loose.
Tomioka praises the young master and it makes all three children cry, and Sanemi looks over at him, at that familiar face and the familiar haori, and he realizes that maybe there is something left.
So Sanemi grabs onto that thread and he tries to live his life and it's hard and it hurts almost all the fucking time. Somewhere along the way, the knowledge that half his pain is Tomioka's becomes a comfort again, like it used to be, before he knew his soulmate's face.
The Water Estate is a depressing place. And Sanemi's not sure how exactly he got himself invited here.
They don't talk about it. They haven't talked about it since Sanemi found out about the bond back at the Ubuyashiki Mansion. Instead, he sits across from Tomioka, a walnut shogi board between them, and stares at the ivory tile Tomioka's worrying between his first two fingers. It's a boring ass game, and Sanemi opens his mouth to tell this to Tomioka, but instead he says, "You got a splinter or something?" His finger has been bothering him since yesterday, and he can't figure out why, which means…
Tomioka looks up at him. Since they've started actually spending time together, Sanemi has gotten used to reading the guy's muted facial expressions. This one's surprise.
He places his tile down onto the board and holds his pointer finger up. "I couldn't get it out with my teeth," he says simply.
Sanemi reaches his hand out. "I'll get it," he says, then adds, "It's annoying," for good measure.
A moment of hesitation where their eyes meet, and then Tomioka places his fingers into the cradle of Sanemi's palm. His skin is soft, and cool to the touch. He still has tough calluses from all those years wielding a blade, but Sanemi thinks they might have started to fade in the last few months. There's the tiniest sliver of dark wood stuck into the very tip of his finger.
Sanemi doesn't say anything as he takes Tomioka's hand, using his thumb and pointer to wiggle the little bastard out from the sore skin. Eventually he realizes that he's holding his breath, his face only a few inches away from Tomioka's hand. The image of nuzzling a kiss against his pale wrist pops unwelcome into Sanemi's head and heat immediately blooms across his cheeks. Shit.
Sanemi pushes the splinter out, flicks it off to the side where it disappears against the floor, and leans back. He turns away, trying to hide his embarrassment. Out the window, a plum tree is flowering in the late light, probably a close match to the color of his face right now. "Uh," he says. "There." Sanemi stands up. "I should leave."
"Oh," Tomioka says, voice just as low and steady as it always is, despite Sanemi's abrupt proclamation. "Alright. Thank you, Shinazugawa."
"Don't mention it," Sanemi says, and practically flees.
After that he stays away from the Water Estate for some time in the hopes that he'll be able to stop thinking about Tomioka. Instead, Tomioka starts appearing in his dreams, which is ten times worse. It's like he's trying to spite Sanemi.
So what if he's got pretty eyes or if his presence alone has gone from infuriating to calming— that doesn't mean Sanemi should want to kiss him. That's ridiculous.
… Ridiculous.
He finds himself at Uzui's place on account of not having anything else to do. Retirement is boring— he doesn't know how Uzui does it.
The guy's been yammering on for the past twenty minutes about a hidden hot spring he and his wives found the week prior, and Sanemi is barely listening anymore, but for some reason isn't annoyed out of his skull.
"Hah, Shinazugawa," he says, and then smirks in a way that makes Sanemi think the rambling was entirely intentional. "Never thought I'd see the day you stopped being so prickly."
Sanemi crosses his arms. "Another word and I'll beat you into the ground."
Uzui laughs, and then leans close, eye going bright. "There's an idea," he grins. "I missed out on those spars you and the others were doing back during Hashira training. You keeping up on your swordsmanship?"
Sanemi does still occasionally practice against straw dummies, attempting to retrain his weakened right hand. Before he answers, Uzui's wife comes in with a tray of tea. Genmaicha, by the smell of it wafting his way.
She passes a cup to Uzui, then turns to him. Sanemi extends a hand to accept the tea—
"OW!"
He pitches forwards, out of his chair and onto the floor. Sharp, bright pain shoots through his left leg. White-hot, up from his shin, radiating into his kneecap, then further up into his hip. Nausea spots his vision. His cheek is pressed uncomfortably against the cold hardwood.
"Is he dead?! Is he dead?!" The ear-splitting screech of Uzui's wife cuts straight through the static muffling his hearing. The pissy one is trying to shut her up, he thinks. He wishes she'd succeed.
Uzui grabs his shoulder and sits him up roughly and starts yelling in his face. "Shinazugawa!"
Faintly, Sanemi shakes his head, trying to reorder his senses— he blinks the mottled darkness out of his vision, a wave of dizziness washing over him and then receding.
"Shinazugawa?"
When did he get so used to a lack of pain, that a soul bond wound would put him on the floor? This is humiliating. And pathetic. And irritating.
"Shinazugawa!"
"What!" Sanemi snaps.
"What do you mean what?!" Uzui squawks, a vein popping out on his forehead. The hand wrapped around Sanemi's shoulder tightens like a vise. "You just screamed and fell over out of nowhere!"
"It's nothing!" he shouts, dislodging Uzui's hand with a hard roll of his arm.
"Both of you stop yelling!" Uzui's wife— the reasonable one— whacks them both over the head. She turns to Sanemi and folds her arms, looming over him. "It's obviously not nothing. What's wrong?" she asks, with a tone that deeply impresses she won't be letting him get away with a non-answer.
Sanemi averts his eyes. He's got all his fingers curled rigid against the injury, but the bright pulsing pain is starting to fade into a steady ache. He lets go with a grimace. "I think…" He grits his teeth. It's been years and years. Might as well just spit it out at this point. "Tomioka just broke his leg."
Silence. All three wives stare at him. Uzui's mouth drops open.
"You're saying you two have been soulmates this whole time?! You and Tomioka? And you didn't say anything?"
Sanemi glares at him. "Why the hell would either of us tell you about it?"
"Well, I'd think one of you could maybe mention it to a comrade or two," Uzui gripes. "It's kind of an important bit of information!"
Sanemi sighs. "Whatever," he mutters, but there's no actual venom in his voice. He stands up, wobbles slightly on the bad leg. "I've gotta go."
"Huh? Where?" Uzui stands up too.
"The Water Estate," Sanemi says. "That idiot obviously got himself into trouble." How, he doesn't know. Something dumb, probably. Hopefully.
Uzui props his fist onto his hip. "I'm coming too, then," he declares. "Retired Hashira gotta stick together." He lifts his chin and looks down his nose at Sanemi, like he's expecting a challenge.
Joke's on him. Sanemi shrugs. "Fine."
Sanemi turns and walks out the door while Uzui says goodbye to his wives. He's halfway down the street by the time Uzui's done, but the former Hashira catches up to him in the blink of an eye. He had always been the quickest of them, and neither retirement nor the loss of his hand and eye have dulled his skill.
Sanemi, on the other hand, can't help but limp a bit. Whatever Tomioka did to himself must hurt like a bitch if Sanemi is still feeling it to this degree.
Uzui glances at him, and Sanemi already knows he's about to say something stupid. "Want me to pick you up? We'll get there faster."
"No!" Sanemi breaks into a run, and it hurts like hell, but he doesn't allow himself to slow down. Uzui matches him easily, his laugh catching on the wind and carrying in his wake.
When they get to the Water Estate, Sanemi barges in without knocking. "Tomioka!" he calls. His voice echoes through the front room. While it's not quite as personality-less as it was when Sanemi first visited here, the place is still fairly empty. Uzui walks in after him.
"Y'know, I've never actually been here before," he says, crossing his arms and scanning the space. "Definitely not flashy."
Sanemi can't help the little smile that quirks at his lips knowing he's been invited where Uzui has not.
It quickly fades though, when it becomes clear that Tomioka is not here.
The possibility that he might actually be in trouble sinks like a stone in Sanemi's stomach.
"Fuck," he hisses.
Just when he's considering getting that Kamado brat to scent out Tomioka's track like a dog, there's a tapping at the window. Sanemi looks over so fast his neck cracks.
It's Tomioka's old crow. He can't remember its name, only that it's always been a useless hunk of feathers. It taps the pane with its beak and beats its ragged wings wildly as it loses its balance on the sill. Sanemi pushes the window open.
"Hey, where is he?"
The dumb thing nearly collides with his face as it darts inside.
"This way! This way!" it croaks, swooping through a door frame and out of sight. Sanemi bursts after it.
"Long time no see, Kanzaburo!" Uzui calls in greeting as the bird flaps at the front door. He slides it open and the crow is gone again. They both follow as it leads them into the woods that border the Water Estate's south side.
"So," Uzui starts, and Sanemi rolls his eyes before the rest of the sentence. Great. "None of the other Hashira had soul bonds. Even I don't have one." He says it like it's some crime that he doesn't. "Guess the love gods have a sense of humor."
"Do you really think now is a good time?" Sanemi growls, and does his best to pretend he didn't just hear the word 'love' come out of Uzui's mouth.
Uzui points at his leg. "It's still hurting, right?" A shrug. "Then he's not dead."
Sanemi doesn't answer. It does still hurt. The pain hasn't intensified at all, holding baseline at a steady feverish throb, which means Tomioka probably hasn't tried to get on his feet. Good.
Before Uzui can attempt further interrogation, they're interrupted by a group of children rushing up to them.
"H-hey," the one in lead pants. "We need some help! We—"
"Cut to the chase," Sanemi snaps.
"Uh— T-this way," the kid says, and turns on his heel. His friends follow, Sanemi and Uzui behind them.
The kids bring them to a wooded cliff. Damn idiot.
Sanemi pushes past the group, skidding to a stop at the edge. His toe sends a pebble plummeting downwards to where a familiar red-and-patterned haori stands out against the scrubby gorge bottom. Tomioka is sitting hunched, left leg outstretched before him while the other is tucked close. It's a tall cliff— probably would've killed anyone else. The thought squeezes at his chest. He can't take it in one jump, so Sanemi scans the rocky face of it for handholds.
"Stay here," Sanemi tells Uzui, who surprisingly doesn't protest, and then he's over the edge of the cliff. Lands on a shallow outcropping, then hangs off it with one hand to drop to the next one.
Tomioka lifts his head, no doubt at the noise he's making clambering down to him, but says nothing.
"Lemme guess," Sanemi says once his feet hit the ground. "Dumb kids playing around where they shouldn't? One of 'em trips?"
Tomioka stares up at him with something in his face, something soft and stunned, like he's surprised Sanemi's even here. "I landed… badly," he says. His gaze falls to Sanemi's leg. "I'm—"
"Tch, you're getting rusty," Sanemi interrupts. He doesn't want an apology.
Kanzaburo lands roughly on Tomioka's shoulder, one wing walloping the back of his head as its claws struggle to find purchase on the haori. The crow pants heavily, throat ragged. Tomioka reaches his one hand up to scratch gently at its chin, and smiles. Fondness blooms in Sanemi's chest, startlingly intense.
"C'mon," he says, crouching down at Tomioka's side. "I want some painkillers."
The bird tumbles to the ground with an offended squawk as Sanemi gathers Tomioka into his arms and stands. Tomioka's hand fists at the front of Sanemi's kimono, but he doesn't make a sound.
Sanemi cranes his neck back. Uzui is peering over the edge of the cliff at them, his white head shining in the sun overhead. "Meet us back at the path!" Sanemi yells, and Uzui waves, then disappears.
"You brought Tengen?" Tomioka says quietly as Sanemi turns to walk along the cliff base, moving as fast as he can without jostling the injured leg in the crook of his elbow.
Sanemi shrugs. "I was at his house when you broke it."
"He knows, then," Tomioka says, tone almost questioning but not quite. Cautious. Unsteady.
"Yeah, I told 'im. Hope you don't mind."
"I don't. But I thought you did."
Sanemi tilts his face skyward. "Look, I know we've had our issues—"
"I've never disliked you," Tomioka interrupts before he can get any further. "Or been upset by the bond."
"Eh?" Sanemi glances down, but Tomioka is just gazing off into the distance. His hand is still curled against the front of Sanemi's kimono, the olive green cotton creasing between his fingers. "Coulda fooled me," he says.
"You implied you didn't want to speak about it, so I didn't."
Yeah, he did kind of do that. Sanemi frowns. "Well. We can talk about it now. I'm… glad—" He swallows the rest of the sentence. I'm glad now, that it was you. I'm glad I have you.
Tomioka's fist loosens, and he sets his palm flat to Sanemi's chest. The tips of his fingers edge upwards until they pass the hem of the fabric and make contact with his bare sternum. Sanemi holds his breath. Tomioka's skin is cool against his rapidly flushing chest. "I'm glad too."
And something about the way his blue eyes are gleaming so brightly in the sunlight makes Sanemi lean in and press his lips against Tomioka's. Tomioka kisses back. And, fuck, it feels good. Sanemi never would have guessed. Once, caught somewhere between frustrated and lonely, he had imagined grabbing Tomioka by the throat and smashing their lips together, feverish and hot and desperate.
This is nothing like that. This is so gentle it's making his heart flutter.
Tomioka pulls away. Sanemi's face feels warm; he has no doubt he's blushed completely red by now.
"Didn't you want painkillers?" Tomioka says, and Sanemi realizes that he's stopped walking.
With a grunt he restarts his legs. "For a Hashira, this was embarrassing, Tomioka," Sanemi says. "I'm never letting you live this down."
"Alright," Tomioka says, solemn and straight-faced, and Sanemi snorts, trying to quash the smile threatening to curve over his mouth.
He'll be kind and careful, from here on out, he decides. He looks down at the man in his arms, the smothered winces and the way his fingers still press against Sanemi's chest. Kind and careful.