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The man dreamed again after a long time. It was welcoming— after all, only nightmares plagued his mind at night.
The smell of fresh-roasted fish was the first thing he noticed, the one Sensei would bring home after a long day in the forest, that penetrated his nose and woke him from sleep. It was one of those days when the world was peacefully quiet. The soft breeze wafted through the air. Not too hot. Not too cold. Just there to ruffle your hair and kiss your skin.
Giyu stepped out of the small house. Sensei said he’d be fine to roam around, as long as he doesn’t overexert himself.
Healing’s no joke, he grimaced. His sister always cooed that he was such an active boy. Spending months bedridden and nursed back to health had taken more out of him than all those hours he would play out before his sister called him out for dinner.
He swore he knew this was a dream— a fragment of his imagination. Yet, he couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears as they pooled weakly in his eyes. He made quick work of them by wiping them away with the sleeve of his haori.
His gaze raked along the small stream, flowing over a humble pond resting near the fig tree. The large branches swayed slowly, their leaves rustled quietly— almost as if they were dancing.
“An old friend gave it to me before parting ways,” Sensei had reminisced one night, admiring the small tree that sat in the corner of the room. A small smile played at his lips, but Giyu saw his eyes droop. That night, Sensei had come home with black sesame ohagi and a couple of figs.
Giyu snapped out of his trance. He froze.
How the hell did I recall a memory in a dream?
He shook his head and walked to the tree. He wrapped his haori around him tighter— the air slightly colder. The taste of fig clung to his tongue, mouth salivating at the thought. He looked up to spot some hanging on the branches. The soft, deep purple shines in the evening light.
Would climbing the tree be too much?
Giyu stood staring for a while, sighing, then decided to sit under the tree instead. He could already feel the tiredness seep into his bones. Maybe Sensei would help him get some later.
He watched the grass ripple, and he wondered for a minute what it would be to just… exist without thought or motion.
His thoughts were interrupted when a boy fell from the sky. Giyu remembered his face clearly, and he looked just as he remembered.
His soft, peach-colored hair framed his face, which was slightly chubbier with stubborn baby fat. He still had his sharp, grey-lavender eyes that bore into his when he made direct contact. Giyu thought he looked beautiful— like an angel right out of one of Tsutako’s stories. Sabito— Sabito looked beautiful.
He was wearing a white haori, he noted, dirt coating its hem. Giyu wasn’t surprised, an involuntary smile tugging at his lips.
The boy held out his hands— for a while, it seemed, eying the frown on his lips. Giyu blinked, then looked down, then blinked, then it finally registered. Figs.
“I saw you were looking at them,” he declared, his voice the same— stern and confident, just as Giyu remembered him.
The blue-eyed boy took the figs with a quiet thank you. Now facing Sabito in such a mundane setting felt surreal after being accustomed to the guilt his nightmares usually let him drown in. He avoided the boy’s eyes, focused on taking apart the fig’s skin instead.
Sabito sat down next to him, braced his hands against the cool, green grass and stared at the sky. He called out once in a while, exclaiming that a cloud was shaped like a snake, or a cow. Giyu silently watched him. His heart was hammering at the familiarity everything brought. His mind… was at ease. He bit into the soft fruit, the sweetness exploding in his mouth, surprised at how realistic the dream felt.
He offered a peeled one to Sabito, and the boy took it with gratitude.
Giyu recalled the memory that drove this dream. The blue-eyed boy had been startled, suffocating the other with so many questions— who, what, when, where… he had asked them all.
But this time— Giyu inhaled— this time, he would savour the moment.
“It’s been a while,” he said.
His friend stopped mid-bite, as if caught off-guard, but his expression soon melted into something vulnerable, warm, and something else Giyu couldn’t name.
“It has.”
“I’ve missed you.”
A beat, then.
“Damn it, I was going to play it out just like that day! I even memorised all the lines! But… I missed you, too, you dork.”
Giyu rested his head on his shoulder.
Silence stretched around like a friend— welcoming and kind. They spent the minutes basking in each other’s grasp, taking in that this— this wasn’t just a dream.
“I’m proud of you, y’know?” Sabito laid his head on Giyu’s. “For making it this far, and still trying? I always wanted to tell you that.”
Giyu felt the tears well up in his eyes again and hoped Sabito couldn’t see the tear stains on his haori. He nodded, not trusting his voice.
"But- the water hashira-"
"Yeah, that's you. Listen, Giyu, I'm not here anymore. My time on this Earth is done, and what's done is done."
Sabito’s hand grasped his leg, pulling him closer, and he nestled further in his hair.
"I've wouldn't do anything different if I relived that time," Giyu looked up, his mouth open as if to argue, but Sabito shushed him, "I'm not you. And... I need you to understand that."
Giyu's heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest. He had so much to say. So much to tell him. But the words caught in his throat, and Giyu felt that feeling crawling up his spine— remorse with the guilt and regret it carried.
“I thought you’d just think this is a dream. Maybe you have grown smarter since the last time I saw you,” he mumbled. It drove a small chuckle out of Giyu, and Sabito beamed at the delicate sound.
“I always had the smarts, Sabi. You just make me lose them when I’m with you,” he argued back.
They laughed for a while. Not at the joke, but bittersweet at the normalcy the moment held.
“So…,” Giyu started after he’d finally calmed down, “Why? Not that I mind— but why are you here? No, better question, how are you here?”
Sabito looked away for a while, eyes locked onto the steady stream, as if in thought. “Well, I guess you could say— It’s confusing, really. Even I can’t wrap my mind around it, but I had a chance. A chance to—”
“Come see me?”
“—Yeah, come see you! I even had a chance to pick out the scene and everything!”
Giyu blinked. Sabito blinked.
“You picked this?”
Sabito’s smile faltered, doubt clinging to his eyes. “Do you not…?”
“NO! No, no! It’s nice. I love it,” Giyu immediately denied.
The peach-haired boy sighed and giggled. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so… you.” He smiled, the slightly loop-sided one Giyu loved so much.
“Wanna spar?”
The sun sank low over the horizon.
Sabito swung towards Giyu with his katana, hitting the other’s blade with a loud shing as it slid off when the blue-eyed boy stepped back.
The boys’ stances relaxed— their shoulders slumping and hands retreating from their blades’ handles, the two maintaining eye contact, chests heaving.
They walked back to the small house, hand in hand, laughing and talking about whatever came to mind.
And in that moment, Giyu wished this wouldn’t end.
But he knew.
“I’ll be waking up soon,” he whispered, watching Sabito tend to the fire.
The boy nodded, then spoke with his tone laced with understanding and a sadness that clenched Giyu’s heart, “Stay for dinner then, will you?”
Giyu smiled.
The fire’s warm glow illuminated the room, and fresh fish simmered in the earthen pot held atop it. It’d been a while— since Giyu felt at peace, that is. The world was quiet and, for once, devoid of the emptiness he carried with him like a fallen friend, and he felt warm all over—the comfort that comes from a heavy blanket draped over you on a cold winter night, and the heat of another soul breathing next to you.
The delicate morning sunlight streamed through the shoji paper, cascading little light squares on the hardwood floor of the desolate room. The fleeting fragrance of the sandalwood incense filled the room in a soft embrace, a present from Tanjiro. Giyu had been sceptical, but the boy had insisted it would help him relax.
And outside, he heard the said boy calling his name with such fierceness that it never failed to raise worry for his throat.
Was he drinking enough water? Maybe Giyu should take him out to eat again.
He could really go for some simmered salmon and daikon.