Work Text:
The First Glance
The sun was pouring down across the small playground, making the dark plastic nearly boil. Five children occupied the ground of the park, with two men sitting on the bench across the woodchips.
Kamado Tanjiro watched his siblings closely, paranoid that one of them would get hurt. Even though the man next to him reassured him they’d be fine, his shoulders stayed hunched, and his eyes worried and wide.
Tomioka Giyu passed Tanjiro his drink, glancing down at Tanjiro’s intense staring warily. He was a good big brother, but he could still be a bit… overprotective, to sugarcoat it, and Giyu knew how it felt to be on the opposite side of that staring.
Tanjiro didn’t notice Giyu trying to pass him the drink, too worried about the kids. Giyu sighed softly, nudging Tanjiro’s shoulder again with the can. Again, no acknowledgment.
“Tanjiro.”
Tanjiro’s head snapped up, finally noticing the drink being pressed against his shoulder. His cheeks immediately warmed up a bit with embarrassment. He grabbed the drink gently, wrapping both his hands around it.
“Sorry, Giyu-san..” Tanjiro muttered sheepishly.
“It’s fine, Tanjiro.” Giyu responded, lifting his own drink to his lips, taking a small sip. His Adams apple bobbed subtly as he swallowed, those dark blue eyes flickering to the playground, watching the children play a game of tag.
“You don’t have to worry about them so much. They’re not infants.”
Tanjiro sighed softly, and looked down at the woodchips beneath his feet, opening his mouth to respond, his gaze shifting away again to his left.
He paused.
There was someone there. He couldn’t make them out. They were in all black, and their silhouette immediately hid behind the tree they were standing against, but there was definitely a person.
That was weird.
Why would someone be watching?
Tanjiro’s brows knitted together, watching that spot with an intensity that prompted Giyu to also look over, confused as to why he looked like that.
Giyu’s eyes flickered between the tree, and Tanjiro a few times, not seeing anything questionable. “What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on Tanjiro’s shoulder.
That seemed to snap him out of it, his shoulders jerking as Giyu touched him, too entranced in the movement he had seen. He looked up at Giyu, eyes wide and panicked, then glanced back over at the tree.
There was nothing there. Not behind the tree, no scuff marks on the ground. Everything looked… perfectly fine.
Had he imagined the whole thing?
He had been paranoid, he just didn’t think he was that paranoid, …enough to be… seeing things. People.
“S-Sorry, I… I thought I saw something.” Tanjiro murmured, scratching the back of his neck as he fixed his posture, looking back at Giyu, who gave him a reassuring nod.
Giyu opened his mouth to reply, but a loud cry interrupted him, coming from the playground. Tanjiro’s eyes snapped over, and he immediately stood, setting his drink down as he rushed over to Hanako, who was clutching her knee, wailing on the playground.
The sounds of Tanjiro asking what happened, and Takeo answering, filled the small park. Giyu sighed, a rare hint of calm washing over his features as he watched the children interact, and crowd around each other.
He remembered how Tanjiro had been staring at the tree, and his own eyes flickered over again, trying to find anything wrong, yet, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.
Giyu sighed, shaking his head softly. There really hadn’t been anything. Tanjiro must've just seen something that wasn’t there.
“Fuck.”
Sanemi cursed under his breath, chest rising and falling as he panted heavily, his back pressed flush against a tree, avoiding the sharp gaze coming from behind him. He grit his teeth.
That boy had been too close. Too close to seeing him. Too close to what was his. Too close to Giyu. His Giyu.
He needed to back off. And now. Before things got ugly for him. Before Sanemi was forced to do something he didn’t want to do. Before he would mysteriously go missing. Just like how the last one did.
Tanjiro needed to back off.
Or he would pay.
_
After a long, hard day at work, Sanemi returned home.
Home was not a house.
Or an apartment.
But a shed in the backyard of his house.
His calloused fingers wrapped around the golden doorknob with more soft hesitation than necessary, and slowly twisted, pushing open the wooden, splintering door.
A deafening shriek ripped from the hinges as the door was peeled open, even with the man's gentle touch. The creaking didn't bother Sanemi, he was used to it by now. He focused on stepping inside, a camera dangling around his neck as he entered the shack.
His boots made thuds against the hardwood floor as he padded over to the other side of the room, his eyes sparkling as he stared up at the pin board nailed to the opposing wall.
Surprisingly, even in the small, decomposing room, there wasn’t a single speck of dust on the board. Sanemi always made an effort to clean it everyday. If he didn’t, it could get dirty.
There were photos pinned onto the board. Not pretty, aesthetic stuff, but photos of Tomioka Giyu.
Ones of him sleeping, at a cafe, even in the police department, handling files.
There were notebooks, upon notebooks on the table in front of the pinboard, with numerous pens and pencils.
A page from one singular journal was open, probably new.
‘Monday, May 4th.’ It started, and immediately dove into paragraphs upon paragraphs, describing the day from when Giyu was asleep, to when he was heading into work, with scribbled notes about how sad Sanemi was, since he couldn't follow him past the security cameras.
Sanemi was smiling ear to ear as he walked to the board, gently spilling the numerous photos that had been buried in his pockets onto the table, and reaching up to his neck, slowly pulling the camera off, and setting it down next to the pictures.
He slowly picked one of the photos up, thumb tracing across it as he stared, his cheeks flushing bright red, heart beginning to pound because of a simple picture.
It was of Giyu, through his bedroom window, asleep and clutching his pillow, cuddling into it.
How Sanemi desperately wished he himself could replace the cushion.