Archive of Our Own

Giyuu Tomioka couldn’t remember when the memories had started returning.

At some point, years ago, they had simply appeared.
Fragments at first. Cold water. Blood staining snow. The familiar weight of a sword resting in his hands.

Then names. Voices. Faces.

Now, at twenty-six, he was older than he had ever been in his previous life. He had stopped questioning it a long time ago.

Maybe because this life was good.

Tsutako was alive.
Sabito too.

Sometimes it still felt unreal that fate had allowed him to find his way back to the very people whose loss had once hollowed him out completely.

None of them remembered.

Not Tsutako. Not Sabito. No one.

And so far, every person from that other life he had encountered again had looked at him with nothing but ordinary unfamiliarity.

Maybe that was for the best.

His life itself was quiet. Uneventful, even.

He had attended a good university. Afterwards, he became a writer — a profession that had never really surprised him. Spoken words had always failed him eventually. Writing was easier. Safer. Meaning stayed intact on paper; it didn’t dissolve beneath awkward pauses or poorly timed silences.

His novels sold well enough that money had long stopped being a concern.

Tsutako was married now. Her husband was kind, steady in a way Giyuu found easy to trust. They were expecting their first child.

Sabito, on the other hand, was still painfully, unmistakably Sabito.

Loud. Social. Chaotic enough for both of them.

Because of him, Giyuu spent far more time around people than he ever would have on his own. Whether those people actually liked him remained impossible to tell.

Ironically, Kocho had been right about that too.

Kocho.

Even thinking her name left something restless inside him.

Ever since the memories had returned — ever since he realized they truly were memories — some part of him had been searching for her constantly.

At intersections.
Inside crowded train stations.
Through the blurred reflections of passing subway windows.

His gaze kept catching on women who resembled her, even slightly.

It was irrational. He knew that.

Maybe she had been reincarnated somewhere else entirely. Maybe she hadn’t been reborn yet at all.

And still—

He had already found Iguro again. Kanroji too.
Or rather, both of them were Iguro now.

A few years older than him, married, running a small restaurant with warm lighting and wine that cost too much for its own good.
Neither of them remembered anything. Yet somehow, they had still found each other again.

Uzui had been the easiest to spot.
Apparently becoming an influencer had suited him disturbingly well.

Rengoku worked as a firefighter back in their hometown.

So why not Kocho?

Even if she remembered nothing, Giyuu wanted to see her at least once.

Just to know she was alive.
Happy.

To know this life had been kinder to her than the last one ever was.

That she had finally been given the future she deserved.

After a few years, Giyuu had almost given up.

There had been no sign of Shinobu anywhere.

Sometimes he wondered why seeing her mattered to him so much in the first place.

During his years as a Hashira, she had probably been the closest thing he ever had to a friend.
He had always liked when she spoke to him, even if he never fully understood why she bothered at all.

She had been constant.

Familiar.

Someone whose presence had felt strangely safe despite the teasing, despite the sharp smiles and half-mocking remarks.

And then she had been gone.

When he first learned about her death, he hadn’t known what he was supposed to feel. The grief had come later. Quietly. Slowly.

And when Kanao finally explained the circumstances of it — what Shinobu had done to herself, what she had endured for years — something cold and ugly had settled inside him.

Anger, perhaps.

Not at her.

Never at her.

At the life that had forced her into becoming that person.
At the fact that she had suffered for so long while still smiling through it.

At himself, too.

Because he had noticed.

The paleness. The exhaustion hidden beneath composure. The way her body had weakened little by little.

And still, he had never said anything.

The day was painfully warm.

Heat shimmered above the asphalt, and the city had spilled outside to enjoy the sun. Voices overlapped everywhere around him — laughter, conversations, traffic, music leaking faintly from open storefronts.

Sabito had tried to drag him to a party earlier.

Giyuu had refused.

When Sabito started arguing that he would otherwise spend the entire evening alone at home typing on his laptop again, Giyuu had immediately stood up and claimed he had plans already.

Technically, sitting in a park while typing on his laptop still counted as plans.

Sabito didn’t need to know that.

After walking for a while, Giyuu stopped at a large intersection crowded with people waiting for the light to change.

His thoughts had already drifted elsewhere, piecing together fragments of dialogue for the next chapter of his novel. The conversations around him blurred into meaningless noise.

Too loud.
Too crowded.

Still, he had always been good at tuning the world out.

Absentmindedly, his gaze wandered across the street—

And stopped.

Black-violet hair.

Eyes the color of amethysts.

Small frame. Around his age, maybe slightly younger. Summer clothes, modern and effortless. A ribbon tied back her hair where a butterfly ornament once used to rest.

Beautiful.

Achingly so.

Shinobu Kocho.

There was no doubt.

His eyes widened slightly before he could stop himself, and suddenly he could do nothing except stare.

After all this time, he had finally found her.

Now what?

Should he talk to her?

Absolutely not.

She didn’t remember him.

And if this Shinobu was anything like the one he once knew, she would probably laugh at him the second he failed to get a single coherent sentence out. Besides, women dealt with enough strange men already. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her.

So he kept staring instead.

Was she happy?

Did this life treat her kindly?

She looked well, at least.

His gaze lowered slightly.

A book tucked beneath her arm. A bag slung over one shoulder that looked heavy enough to carry a laptop.

A university student, maybe.

Medicine, perhaps.

For some reason, he couldn’t imagine her studying anything else.

How old was she in this life?

What kind of future had she built for herself?

His eyes lifted again—

And suddenly, hers met his.

Violet against blue.

His breath caught.

For one brief, impossible moment, the world seemed to still around him.

He thought her expression shifted slightly. The faintest widening of her eyes.

But maybe he imagined it.

More likely, she was simply wondering why a stranger kept staring at her from across the street.

Yes. That was probably it.

And yet her gaze lingered.

Could she remember?

No. Impossible.

No one else did.

Why would she?

Still, a small selfish part of him wanted to believe otherwise.

It was lonely, being the only one left carrying memories of something so violent, so painful. Carrying an entire lifetime no one else remembered.

But the more reasonable part of him — the kinder part — wanted everyone else spared from it.

Even so…

Maybe.

The sound of the crosswalk signal shattered the moment apart.

Time resumed all at once.

People began moving, and Shinobu stepped forward with the crowd, recovering far faster than he had.

Giyuu’s heartbeat had climbed uncomfortably high in his throat.

Why?

He crossed the street as well. That had been the plan originally, after all.

The distance between them shrank.

Ten steps.

Five.

Three.

Would he say something?

Would she?

Then the moment arrived—

And passed.

They walked by each other like complete strangers.

Of course they did.

What exactly had he expected?

By the time he reached the other side, something uncomfortable had already settled heavily in his chest.

Disappointment, perhaps.

Though he had no right to feel disappointed at all.

After a moment, he glanced back over his shoulder.

Shinobu was already disappearing into the crowd, and she never looked back even once.

He exhaled quietly and continued walking.

There was still a park waiting for him.
Still a half-finished manuscript sitting inside his bag.

And yet the strange ache in his chest followed him for the rest of the day.

Along with the memory of violet eyes meeting his across the street.

————————————————————

After the first day, he could still call it coincidence.

After the second, maybe too.

By the third and fourth time, however, it had become deeply embarrassing.

Apparently, his newest hobby involved going to the same park at the same hour every afternoon to write.

Purely by chance, of course.

It also happened to be the exact time a certain university student seemed to leave one of her lectures.

The entire thing was ridiculous.

He never approached her. Barely even looked at her for more than a few seconds. Technically, he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

And honestly, he didn’t even particularly like the park.

At least not at first.

It was too crowded most afternoons, filled with noisy children, barking dogs, and couples spread across picnic blankets pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Still, somehow, those brief moments had become enough.

A glance across the street.
A few seconds of eye contact, if he was unlucky.

That was all it ever was.

Every day, around the same time, she would cross the intersection bordering the park, usually with a book tucked beneath her arm and an expression that looked faintly tired beneath the summer heat.

Hopefully she didn’t think he was stalking her.

That thought alone nearly convinced him to stop coming altogether.

The problem was that he still kept showing up anyway.

He didn’t fully understand it himself.

There was something strangely reassuring about seeing her alive each day, even from a distance.

Safe.

Real.

As if part of him still needed visual confirmation that she truly existed in this lifetime too.

Now seated beneath the shade of a large tree with his laptop balanced across his knees, Giyuu found himself once again questioning his own mental stability.

What exactly was wrong with him?

He was twenty-six years old.

A functioning adult.
A published author.
Someone with an actual career.

And yet he was spending his afternoons secretly waiting to catch glimpses of a woman who didn’t even know him.

Though, admittedly, behaving strangely around Kocho wasn’t exactly new for him.

A mosquito promptly landed on his face and bit him directly beside his cheekbone.

Wonderful.

Maybe he really did love the park after all.

————————————————————

By the sixteenth or seventeenth time — or maybe the hundredth, he honestly wasn’t sure anymore — something changed.

As usual, she stood across the intersection waiting for the light.

And as usual, Giyuu did everything in his power not to look at her.

He stared at traffic lights. Store windows. Passing bicycles. Anywhere except directly at Kocho Shinobu.

The last thing he needed was to become visibly suspicious and somehow end up getting arrested over this deeply unfortunate routine he had created for himself.

Only when the crosswalk signal finally chimed did he glance back in her direction.

And freeze.

To his surprise, she already seemed to be looking at him.

Not accidentally, either.

Deliberately.

Before he could process that thought properly, she casually lifted one hand and gave a small wave, as though this were the most natural interaction in the world.

Giyuu immediately turned around to check whether someone was standing behind him.

There wasn’t.

When he looked back at her, Shinobu appeared to be suppressing a laugh.

At least, he thought she was.

She shook her head lightly, amusement flickering across her expression for only a second before the crowd around her shifted again.

His thoughts stumbled over themselves.

Had she noticed?

Had it become that obvious that they kept appearing at the same intersection every afternoon?

But if she had noticed, why did she look entertained instead of concerned?

The question remained unanswered.

Like always, she crossed the street and walked past him without stopping.

But this time, just before moving ahead of him completely, she glanced back over her shoulder and offered him the briefest smile.

Small.

Soft.

Gone almost immediately.

Maybe he imagined that part too.

That seemed possible.

His heartbeat climbing painfully into his throat, however, was definitely real.

————————————————————

Over the following weeks, the routine settled into something strangely familiar.

Whenever they crossed paths, they acknowledged each other somehow.

A small nod.
A brief smile.

Then life continued as usual.

And somehow, that was enough.

By now, it had become painfully obvious that she had no idea who he was.

Oddly, that didn’t bother him nearly as much as he thought it should.

Maybe fate was simply kinder this time around.

After all, Iguro and Kanroji had found each other again too.

Correction — Iguro and Iguro.

Honestly, seeing Mitsuri take Obanai’s last name still occasionally startled him.

Still, neither of them remembered their previous lives either, and yet they had gravitated back toward one another naturally, as though some things existed deeper than memory.

Huh.

The comparison made him pause.

Why was he even comparing them?

Iguro and Mitsuri had loved each other. That much had been obvious even back then.

He had never been in love with Shinobu.

…Had he?

The thought stopped him cold.

Was that why he kept searching for her?

Why seeing her every day had become something he quietly depended on?

No. Impossible.

And yet—

Maybe he had simply never allowed himself to think about it before.

Which, honestly, wasn’t entirely unreasonable. Their old lives had never left room for things like that. Survival had always mattered more.

And by the time there might have been room for it—

Kocho Shinobu had already been dead.

Well.

That certainly explained several things.

Fantastic.

He was in love with her.

Now he felt even more like a criminal considering he had slowly reorganized his entire daily routine around catching a glimpse of her once a day.

Distracted by the horrifying realization of his own emotional incompetence, Giyuu completely missed the crosswalk signal.

By the time he noticed, the light had already turned red again.

Wonderful.

He stood there silently, face probably as red as the traffic light above him, and sighed.

“Hey. You seem a little distracted today.”

The voice beside him nearly startled him into cardiac arrest.

Her voice.

Slowly, Giyuu turned his head toward her.

Shinobu stood only a step away, looking mildly amused.

He stared at her in complete silence.

So much for appearing normal.

She laughed softly when he failed to say anything, clearly entertained by his inability to form coherent human speech.

Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of water.

Still cold. Recently bought, most likely.

Without hesitation, she held it out toward him.

Giyuu only stared at that too.

“The sun’s especially aggressive today,” she said lightly. “You should make sure you drink enough water. Maybe then you’ll manage to survive the next crosswalk.”

Was she making fun of him?

She was absolutely making fun of him.

Still visibly confused, he accepted the bottle from her hands.

Not a single word managed to leave his mouth.

Apparently, she found that acceptable enough.

“There we go,” she said with an approving nod. “Good boy. See you around, then.”

And just like that, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the moving crowd as naturally as she always did.

Giyuu remained standing there holding the bottle long after she was gone.

The entire interaction had been simultaneously humiliating and unbearably nice.

And somehow, that felt significantly worse.

He rubbed a hand over his face slowly.

That had been his chance to actually speak to her.

Instead, he had simply stared at her like some deeply unsettling man incapable of social interaction.

Excellent.

Now she definitely thought he was weird.

————————————————————

The following days passed without her appearing at the intersection.

At first, Giyuu assumed she simply didn’t have lectures.

By the fourth day, he considered the possibility that their schedules had changed.

By the second week, however, his mind had reached a far more horrifying conclusion.

After the incident at the crosswalk, she probably thought he was deeply unsettling.

And now she was avoiding him.

Yes. That had to be it.

At least, that was the thought his mind insisted on returning to over and over again.

Objectively, it shouldn’t have bothered him this much not seeing her every day.

And yet somehow, it did.

Pathetic.

Most likely, she hadn’t thought anything of their interactions at all. She had simply helped a stranger who looked moments away from collapsing from heatstroke.

That was probably all it had been for her.

Which meant she probably wasn’t avoiding him.

…

But maybe she was.

He hadn’t seen her in almost a month now.

After spending nearly twenty minutes staring at the same sentence without writing a single additional word, Giyuu finally gave up and closed his laptop with a quiet sigh.

Maybe it had been longer than twenty minutes.

Looking around now, dusk had already settled over the park in muted shades of blue and gold.

At least the subway would be quieter this late.

The walk there was calm, the evening air finally cooler after the oppressive summer heat of the day.

By the time he boarded the train, the carriage was nearly empty.

Naturally, he chose one of the smaller seats near the far end, placing his laptop beside him specifically to discourage anyone from sitting too close.

The possibility of unnecessary human interaction remained exhausting.

Pulling out his phone, he glanced at the newest message Sabito had sent him.

Sabito 🌊:did you finally get a girlfriend or what? 😏👀

Ever since Giyuu had developed his suspicious habit of disappearing to the park every afternoon, Sabito had become increasingly convinced something was going on.

Obviously, Giyuu couldn’t explain the real reason.

So he usually answered vaguely enough to avoid further questions.

And at some point, the park itself had become routine.

Something quiet and familiar he no longer wanted to give up entirely.

After a moment, he typed back a short response.

You: no.

Then he opened a meaningless mobile game instead.

Lost in thought once again, he didn’t initially notice the sound of footsteps approaching through the otherwise quiet carriage.

Light steps.

Quick.

Slightly uneven, as though whoever they belonged to was moving faster than normal.

Only when they stopped very close to him did Giyuu finally look up.

His hand instinctively tightened around his laptop bag.

Perfect timing. Getting robbed would really complete the evening.

To his surprise, Shinobu stood there staring at him with an expression that mirrored his own.

No—

Not surprised.

Relieved.

A second later, more footsteps echoed from the direction she had come from.

Shinobu glanced back immediately, visible irritation flickering across her face.

Giyuu followed her gaze automatically.

From where he sat, he couldn’t fully see what had caught her attention, but something in her posture made unease settle instantly inside his chest.

Her brows pulled together slightly before she looked back at him with sudden resolve.

“Excuse me,” she said quietly. “Would it be alright if I sat here for a moment? There’s a strange man who’s been staring at me for a while, and I think he followed me onto the train.”

Giyuu’s expression darkened immediately.

Without a word, he stood up, grabbed his bag, and moved it aside so she could sit closer to the window — as far from any potential threat as possible.

Shinobu smiled at him, visibly grateful, and sat down without hesitation.

He returned to the seat beside her.

Sure enough, only moments later a man walked past them slowly, casting an unpleasant glance in their direction before clearly deciding against approaching any further.

Giyuu didn’t look away from him until he disappeared into the next carriage.

Beside him, Shinobu exhaled softly.

“Wow,” she murmured. “That was genuinely concerning. You definitely earned yourself a favor.”

“Don’t mention it,” Giyuu replied automatically.

And for the first time since meeting her again—

he actually managed to answer her properly.

“Well, look at that,” she said lightly. “You can talk after all.”

There was laughter hidden beneath her voice.

“Anyway, thank you. I need to get off in two stops, if that’s alright. Would it be okay if I stayed here until then? Strictly for safety reasons, of course.”

She glanced meaningfully at the laptop beside him.

“I promise I won’t steal your computer.”

And there it was again.

Teasing.

Of course.

Kocho Shinobu wouldn’t have been Kocho Shinobu in any universe if she didn’t relentlessly make fun of him whenever given the opportunity.

Apparently, the fact that he had briefly suspected her of being a laptop thief hadn’t escaped her either.

“…Sure,” Giyuu replied quietly.

Then he looked back down at his phone almost immediately.

Staring at her for the entire train ride would probably make him look significantly stranger than he already did.

Still, he couldn’t quite understand why she trusted him enough to sit beside him so casually.

Objectively speaking, he could have been just as dangerous as the man following her.

Honestly, after the crosswalk incident, he wouldn’t have blamed her for thinking exactly that.

And yet she had still chosen him.

For some reason, the realization made his heartbeat noticeably unsteady.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her pull out her headphones.

A moment later, her foot began tapping softly against the train floor in rhythm with whatever song she was listening to.

He found himself wondering what kind of music she liked.

Normally, repetitive noises like that would have bothered him eventually.

But not from her.

Not this.

The train continued forward steadily, the carriage quiet except for the distant mechanical hum of the tracks and the soft tapping of her foot beside him.

Her perfume lingered faintly in the air between them.

And for the first time in a long while, silence didn’t feel oppressive.

It felt warm.

Comfortable.

Absentmindedly scrolling through Instagram, Giyuu’s attention caught on a random post.

SUPER MOON TONIGHT
The full moon will appear brighter and larger than usual.

Beneath the headline sat a photograph of the moon glowing silver against a dark sky.

The image, combined with the quiet presence beside him and the familiar scent of her perfume, stirred an old memory loose somewhere deep inside him.

“Isn’t the moon beautiful tonight?”

Shinobu used to say that often.

He found himself wishing he could hear her say it again.

Honestly, he simply wanted to hear her speak more.

Beside him, her foot abruptly stopped tapping.

The sudden stillness made him glance sideways instinctively.

Shinobu was looking at him from the corner of her eye.

His entire body went cold.

…Had he said that out loud?

Of course he had.

Fantastic.

Now she definitely thought he was insane.

They were sitting inside a subway car.

The moon wasn’t even visible yet.

To any normal person, he had probably just randomly whispered cryptic moon poetry to himself for absolutely no reason.

Wonderful.

The eye contact lasted only a second before she looked away again.

A moment later, her foot resumed tapping quietly against the floor in time with her music.

Giyuu exhaled slowly.

Right.

She hadn’t heard him.

She was wearing headphones, after all.

He had gotten lucky. Again.

After a while, the train began slowing for her stop.

Giyuu stood automatically, stepping aside to give her enough room to leave comfortably.

Shinobu glanced up at him and smiled, soft and grateful.

Then she moved toward the doors to wait.

Giyuu sat back down slowly.

Honestly, what exactly was wrong with him?

That had been another opportunity to actually talk to her.

And once again, he had done almost nothing.

But even if he had—

What would he even say?

Was it fair to want to know her at all?

The person he loved had been the Shinobu from another lifetime. A woman shaped by battles, grief, anger, and sacrifices this version of her had never experienced.

This Shinobu wasn’t that person.

Not completely.

Maybe what he truly missed no longer existed at all.

The thought settled heavily inside him.

Perhaps it was better this way.

It wouldn’t be fair to place the weight of his longing onto someone who had never asked for it.

And she seemed happy.

That was what mattered most.

As the train finally came to a stop, Shinobu glanced back at him over her shoulder one last time.

Then her lips curved into something unmistakably familiar.

A sly, mischievous smile.

The exact kind she used to wear whenever she was moments away from tormenting him.

“saying something like that to a stranger on the train…” she said lightly, amusement dancing through her voice, “and I bet you still don’t even know what that phrase means.”

…What?

Giyuu stared at her blankly.

Had she heard him after all?

The confusion on his face only seemed to amuse her further.

She laughed softly.

The train doors slid open.

“You know,” she continued, stepping backward onto the platform, “this is exactly why nobody likes you, Tomioka-san.”

The world stopped.

That sentence.

His name.

She remembered.
.
.
.

SHE REMEMBERED.

Giyuu shot to his feet immediately — unfortunately several seconds too late — and hurried toward the doors just as they slid shut directly in front of him.

Through the glass, he caught one final glimpse of her standing on the platform.

Shinobu smiled at him warmly.

Then she waved.

And finally, just before the train pulled away, she stuck her tongue out at him with unmistakable satisfaction.

For several long seconds, Giyuu simply stood there staring through the subway doors long after the train had already begun moving again.

The platform disappeared slowly behind layers of glass and fluorescent light until Shinobu herself vanished with it.

And still, his heartbeat refused to calm down.

She remembered.

The thought echoed through him so loudly it almost drowned out everything else.

A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it, soft with disbelief.

Of course she had waited until the very last second to tell him.

Of course she had.

Around him, the subway continued on as normal. People glanced at their phones. Someone farther down the carriage yawned tiredly. The mechanical voice announced the next station overhead.

The world hadn’t changed at all.

And yet somehow, it felt entirely different now.

For the first time in years, the loneliness sitting inside his chest felt smaller.

Slowly, Giyuu sat back down in his seat.

Then, after a brief moment of hesitation, he pulled out his phone.

A new message appeared in Sabito’s chat.

You: maybe.