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The afternoon sun had settled into that particular warmth that made the world feel slow and drowsy. It was the kind of heat that encouraged long naps or stillness and the soft murmur of conversation that never quite rose above a whisper.
The Butterfly Estate was unusually quiet because most of its inhabitants were occupied with their various duties. The corridor outside the supply room remained empty save for two people who had found themselves standing much closer than either had originally intended.
Giyuu Tomioka had come to the estate to restock his medical supplies before his next mission. It was a routine visit and the kind he had made dozens of times before. He’d not expected to encounter anyone in the cramped supply room.
But Shinobu Kochou had been there already with her hands full of bandages and ointments. Her smile was as sharp as a newly forged blade. She had immediately enlisted his help in carrying several large boxes to the storage area.
He’d not refused her request. He never refused not because he specifically wanted to help but because refusing would require words or explanations and the kind of social negotiation that exhausted him more than any demon ever could.
They were standing in the corridor now with the boxes stacked neatly against the wooden wall. She was busy adjusting the collar of his mismatched haori. He didn’t know why she was adjusting his collar.
He didn’t know why her hands were so close to his neck or why she was standing so close because it made his heart beat faster than it ever should. He only knew that her fingers felt cool against his skin. She was humming something soft under her breath and he’d forgotten how to breathe properly.
"There...," she said while stepping back to survey her work, "....You looked like you’d dressed yourself in the dark. Honestly, Tomioka-san, you're a Hashira. You represent the Demon Slayer Corps. You cannot walk around with your collar twisted like a wrung-out rag because it reflects poorly on all of us."
He didn’t respond. He never responded to these particular comments because he didn't know how to formulate a reply. His collar looked the same to him as it always did. He didn’t understand why she cared but he also didn’t understand why she kept fixing it. He’d stopped trying to understand her a long time ago.
She was still close to him. She was closer than necessary perhaps though he couldn’t be sure because his sense of distance seemed to have abandoned him entirely. She was looking at his collar with a critical eye. Her head was tilted. Her lips were pressed together in that particular way that meant she was finding something else to fix. He stood very still. He didn't move. He tried to remember how to exist in his own skin when she was looking at him like that.
Footsteps came from around the corner. They were soft and hesitant like the footsteps of someone who wasn't sure they should be there. A kakushi appeared who was a young man with a nervous face and a stack of papers clutched to his chest. He was clearly new because his uniform was still crisp and his movements were uncertain. He stopped short when he saw them standing together in the corridor.
Giyuu saw the exact moment the assumption was made. The kakushi’s eyes went from Shinobu’s hands still raised toward his collar to their close proximity and to the casual ease of their posture. The young man’s face flushed a deep red. He bowed quickly while almost dropping his papers in the process.
"Oh I'm so sorry!," the kakushi said in a voice that was high with embarrassment, "....I didn't mean to interrupt! I was just looking for the supply room but I can totally come back later! Please forgive me, Kochou-sama! I really didn't mean to disturb you and your... your husband."
The word hung in the air like a stone dropped into still water. Giyuu felt his entire body go rigid. His mind was usually so quick to process threats or angles and the precise movements of combat but it seemed to have ground to a halt. Husband. The kakushi had said husband. He’d looked at them standing close in the corridor with her hands on his collar and he’d assumed that they were married.
Shinobu didn't correct him. Giyuu waited for her to laugh or to make a sharp comment or to set the record straight with the particular brightness she used when people made mistakes. But she didn't do any of those things. She simply smiled that same sharp and knowing smile. She let the silence stretch just long enough to make him feel incredibly uncomfortable.
The kakushi was still bowing and still apologizing while backing away as if he’d stumbled into something he wasn't supposed to see. Shinobu’s smile widened. She tilted her head in that way she had. She spoke in a voice that was light and warm and utterly unhelpful.
"No need to apologize...," she said, "....The supply room is the third door on the left. And do not worry about the interruption. My husband was just leaving."
Husband. She’d actually said it. She’d called him her husband and she’d said it with a straight face. Giyuu felt his face grow hot. He opened his mouth to correct her or to say something or anything to stop this before it went any further.
But the words couldn't come out. They never came when he needed them most. He stood there frozen with his collar still twisted despite her efforts. He watched the kakushi bow again and scurry away down the corridor.
The footsteps faded into nothingness. The corridor fell silent once more. Shinobu Kochou turned to look at him with an expression of pure and unholy amusement.
"My husband...," she said while drawing out the words to taste them and savor them, "....That certainly has a certain ring to it, don’t you think so too, Tomioka-san? Or should I say... Tomioka-kun? No that doesn't sound right. Perhaps I should simply call you 'dear' or 'darling' or 'the man who stands in corridors looking like he has been struck by lightning.'"
He stared at her. His face was burning with a heat he couldn't control. He could feel it creeping up his neck or spreading across his cheeks and settling into the tips of his ears. He wanted to say something cutting or something that would wipe that smile off her face or something that would prove that he was not affected by her teasing. But he was affected. He was very affected and she knew it because she was enjoying every moment of it.
"Why didn't you correct him...?," he asked. His voice came out rougher than he intended because it was edged with something that might’ve been embarrassment or exasperation. He couldn't tell anymore.
She blinked at him with an air of total innocence as if she had no idea what he was talking about.
"Correct him? About what?"
"About us...," he said and the words felt heavy in his mouth, "....We're not... we're not married. You should’ve told him."
She tilted her head. Her smile didn't waver but there was something in her eyes now that might’ve been curiosity or the particular pleasure of watching him squirm.
"Should I have...?," she asked, "....He seemed so certain. And he was already embarrassed. I didn't want to make it worse because that would be cruel. Besides it's not as if we'll ever see him again. Let him believe what he wants. It doesn't hurt anyone."
He didn’t know what to say to that. She was being logical or at least she was pretending to be logical and he couldn't find the flaw in her argument even though he knew it was there. He stood in the corridor with his collar still twisted and his face still burning while he wished very much that he was somewhere else. Anywhere else would do. Fighting a powerful demon would be preferable to this.
She stepped closer again. He’d not realized how much space she’d put between them and now she was erasing it step by step. She was standing close enough that he could see the small mole beneath her left eye or the faint shimmer of the powder she used on her skin and the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks.
He stepped back in a panic. His back hit the wall and he realized with a start that he’d been retreating without meaning to. She’d herded him against the wall like a sheepdog herding a particularly stubborn sheep. She was still smiling and still watching him. There was something in her eyes that looked almost like victory.
"You're very red Tomioka-san...," she observed, "....Are you feeling unwell? Should I fetch a doctor? Or perhaps you are simply overcome with emotion at the thought of being married to someone as charming and delightful as myself."
He said nothing. He couldn't said anything. His voice had abandoned him entirely because he was pressed against the wall. She was standing in front of him and the corridor was very quiet and he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
She laughed. It was a soft sound that was warm and bright. There was nothing sharp or teasing about it in that moment. It was simply the sound of someone who was enjoying herself and who had found something amusing and was not afraid to show it. She stepped back finally while giving him room to breathe. She shook her head in that particular way she had when she was trying to look exasperated but was not quite succeeding.
"You're too easy Tomioka-san...," she said, "....I barely said anything and you look like you're about to combust. What would you do if I actually tried to flirt with you? Would you simply disappear or vanish into thin air like a startled ghost?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. He was too busy trying to remember how to be a person or how to exist in his own body and how to respond to her without making things worse. She was looking at him and her smile was softer now because it was almost gentle. He felt something in his chest loosen.
"You don't have to look so terrified...," she said and her voice was quieter because it was almost kind, "....It was just a joke. The kakushi made an assumption and I didn't correct him. Now you are standing against the wall like I’ve threatened to poison you. Which I’ve not. Yet."
He exhaled. He’d not realized he was holding his breath. The air left his lungs in a rush and some of the tension drained from his shoulders. She was teasing him. She was always teasing him. That was what she did to survive or how she kept the world at arm’s length. It didn't mean anything. It couldn't mean anything.
Except that she’d called him her husband. Except that she’d not corrected the kakushi. Except that she was standing in front of him close enough to touch and she was looking at him with eyes that were not quite as sharp as usual.
"You're thinking very loudly, you know...," she said, "....I can hear it from here. It's distracting. Stop thinking and say something. Anything. Even a grunt would be an improvement over this silence."
He looked at her. She was beautiful. He’d always known she was beautiful in the way that a blade was beautiful or in the way that a storm was beautiful. She was like something dangerous and sharp and utterly beyond his reach.
But standing here in the quiet corridor with the afternoon light filtering through the paper screens and her smile soft and her eyes bright he thought that she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
"I'm not your husband...," he said. The words came out flat and inadequate but they were true. He needed to say them because he needed to remind himself of the distance between them. He needed to build the walls back up before he said something he could've not taken back.
She raised an eyebrow. Her smile widened and she crossed her arms over her chest. She looked at him with an expression that was equal parts amusement and something else that he couldn't name.
"No...," she agreed, "....You're not. But you could’ve fooled that kakushi. Standing there looking all stoic and serious while letting me fix your collar like a dutiful wife. You played the part perfectly. I was almost convinced myself."
He felt his face grow hot again. He’d not let her fix his collar. She’d simply started fixing it and he’d not known how to stop her. Now she was acting like he’d participated willingly in some kind of performance. He opened his mouth to protest but she held up a hand and he closed it again.
"Relax Tomioka-san...," she said, "....I'm only teasing. You know that. It's what I do. If I didn't tease you, you would think I was ill or dead or worse you might think I’d decided to be polite to you. Can you imagine? Me being polite? The world would end."
He couldn't help it. The corner of his mouth twitched just slightly and he saw her notice. Her eyes widened just for a moment and then she was smiling again. It was a different smile that was softer and almost surprised.
"Was that almost a smile...?," she asked, "....Tomioka-san are you actually amused? I didn't think you had it in you. I should mark this day on my calendar because it's a historic occasion."
He looked away. His face was still warm but the tension in his chest had eased. It was replaced by something lighter and something that might’ve been the beginning of a smile or might’ve been simply the relief of being understood. She was teasing him but she was not mocking him. There was a difference and he’d learned to tell the difference over the years though he couldn't have explained it if someone asked him.
The silence that followed was comfortable. It was not the awkward silence of earlier or the charged silence of standing too close but the easy silence of two people who’d spent enough time together to know when words were necessary and when they were not. He stood against the wall and she stood in front of him while the afternoon light shifted across the floor and neither of them moved.
She spoke first as she always did. Her voice was lighter now because she felt almost cheerful. She glanced down at the boxes they’d stacked against the wall at the supplies they’d been organizing before the kakushi’d interrupted them.
"I have a mission tonight...," she said, "....In the northern province. A demon has been targeting travelers on the mountain pass. It shouldn't take more than a few days but I'll be leaving within the hour."
He nodded. He didn’t know what to say to that. Missions were part of their lives because they were constant and inevitable. He’d long since stopped wishing that they could be anything else. But there was something in her voice and something that made him look at her more closely.
She was not looking at him. She was looking at the boxes or at the supplies and at anything that was not his face. Her hands were clasped behind her back and her shoulders were straight. She looked every inch the Insect Hashira who was poised and professional and utterly in control.
But he’d learned to see past that. He’d learned to notice the small tells that she could've not quite hide. He saw the way her fingers were pressed together a little too tightly. He saw the way her smile was a little too bright. He saw the way she was not meeting his eyes.
He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell her to be careful or to come back safe and to not do anything reckless. But he knew she would only laugh. She would turn his concern into a joke or deflect with her sharpness and her smile and the particular brightness she used to keep people at a distance. So he said nothing. He simply stood against the wall and he watched her and he waited.
She looked at him then. Her eyes were soft and they were softer than he expected. Her smile’ve faded into something smaller and something almost genuine.
"Don't look so grim, Tomioka-san...," she said, "....It's only a demon and you know that I've faced worse. I'll be back before you know it. You'll barely have time to miss me."
He didn't respond. He could've not respond. The words were there somewhere buried beneath years of silence or grief and the particular loneliness that’d become his only companion.
He wanted to tell her that he would miss her. He wanted to tell her that he always missed her when she was gone because the Butterfly Estate felt emptier without her voice. He wanted to tell her that he found himself standing in corridors and looking for her without meaning to. But he could not say those things. He didn’t know how.
She was watching him. Her head was tilted and her expression was curious and almost gentle. He felt something in his chest tighten.
"You're doing it again...," she said, "....Thinking loudly. It's very distracting. If you have something to say, Tomioka-san, you should just say it. I won't bite. Unless you ask nicely, that is."
He shook his head. His voice when it came was rough and barely more than a whisper.
"Come back safe."
She blinked at him. For a moment just a moment her mask slipped. He saw something flicker across her face and something that might’ve been surprise or might’ve been something softer and something that looked almost like gratitude. Then it was gone. She was smiling again in a way that was sharp and bright. She stepped back and smoothed her haori and became the person she was supposed to be.
"I always do...," she said, "....You're worrying too much. It's unbecoming. Try to relax while I'm gone. Perhaps practice smiling or speaking in complete sentences and any of the other social skills that you’ve somehow managed to avoid developing."
She turned toward the door. Her footsteps were light on the wooden floor and her haori swayed with each step. He watched her go with a feeling in his chest that he could've not name. She reached the doorway and stopped with her hand on the frame. She looked back at him over her shoulder.
Her smile was different now. It was smaller and softer. It was almost shy.
"Don't let anyone else fix your collar while I'm gone...," she said, "....I would hate to come back and find that someone’d been... adjusting you. That's my job. Or so that kakushi seems to think."
And then she was gone while disappearing into the corridor. Her footsteps faded into the distance while leaving him alone in the afternoon light with his twisted collar and his burning face and the echo of her words in his ears.
He stood against the wall for a long time. The sun shifted and the shadows grew longer and the estate went about its business around him. He didn't move. He stood there with his hand pressed against his collar because her fingers were still warm on his skin. He thought about what she’d said. My husband. That has a certain ring to it. He thought about the way she’d looked at him and the softness in her eyes and the almost-shy smile before she’d turned away. He thought about all the things he’d not said and all the words that’d stayed locked in his chest. He wondered if she knew. He wondered if she’d always known.
He didn't have an answer. He never had an answer. But as he pushed himself off the wall and straightened his haori and walked toward the door he found that he was almost smiling. Almost. He thought that perhaps when she came back from her mission he might try to say something. Something small. Something true. Something that would let her know that he’d missed her and that he always missed her and that the corridor was too quiet without her voice.
He walked out into the afternoon light. He let the door slide shut behind him. He carried the warmth of her smile with him into the rest of his day.